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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:16:21 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:16:21 -0700 |
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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/1019-0.txt b/1019-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1142bee --- /dev/null +++ b/1019-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6291 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1019 *** + +POEMS + +by Currer, Ellis, And Acton Bell + +(Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë) + + + + +POEMS BY CURRER BELL + + + + +PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. + + I've quench'd my lamp, I struck it in that start + Which every limb convulsed, I heard it fall-- + The crash blent with my sleep, I saw depart + Its light, even as I woke, on yonder wall; + Over against my bed, there shone a gleam + Strange, faint, and mingling also with my dream. + + It sank, and I am wrapt in utter gloom; + How far is night advanced, and when will day + Retinge the dusk and livid air with bloom, + And fill this void with warm, creative ray? + Would I could sleep again till, clear and red, + Morning shall on the mountain-tops be spread! + + I'd call my women, but to break their sleep, + Because my own is broken, were unjust; + They've wrought all day, and well-earn'd slumbers steep + Their labours in forgetfulness, I trust; + Let me my feverish watch with patience bear, + Thankful that none with me its sufferings share. + + Yet, oh, for light! one ray would tranquillize + My nerves, my pulses, more than effort can; + I'll draw my curtain and consult the skies: + These trembling stars at dead of night look wan, + Wild, restless, strange, yet cannot be more drear + Than this my couch, shared by a nameless fear. + + All black--one great cloud, drawn from east to west, + Conceals the heavens, but there are lights below; + Torches burn in Jerusalem, and cast + On yonder stony mount a lurid glow. + I see men station'd there, and gleaming spears; + A sound, too, from afar, invades my ears. + + Dull, measured strokes of axe and hammer ring + From street to street, not loud, but through the night + Distinctly heard--and some strange spectral thing + Is now uprear'd--and, fix'd against the light + Of the pale lamps, defined upon that sky, + It stands up like a column, straight and high. + + I see it all--I know the dusky sign-- + A cross on Calvary, which Jews uprear + While Romans watch; and when the dawn shall shine + Pilate, to judge the victim, will appear-- + Pass sentence-yield Him up to crucify; + And on that cross the spotless Christ must die. + + Dreams, then, are true--for thus my vision ran; + Surely some oracle has been with me, + The gods have chosen me to reveal their plan, + To warn an unjust judge of destiny: + I, slumbering, heard and saw; awake I know, + Christ's coming death, and Pilate's life of woe. + + I do not weep for Pilate--who could prove + Regret for him whose cold and crushing sway + No prayer can soften, no appeal can move: + Who tramples hearts as others trample clay, + Yet with a faltering, an uncertain tread, + That might stir up reprisal in the dead. + + Forced to sit by his side and see his deeds; + Forced to behold that visage, hour by hour, + In whose gaunt lines the abhorrent gazer reads + A triple lust of gold, and blood, and power; + A soul whom motives fierce, yet abject, urge-- + Rome's servile slave, and Judah's tyrant scourge. + + How can I love, or mourn, or pity him? + I, who so long my fetter'd hands have wrung; + I, who for grief have wept my eyesight dim; + Because, while life for me was bright and young, + He robb'd my youth--he quench'd my life's fair ray-- + He crush'd my mind, and did my freedom slay. + + And at this hour-although I be his wife-- + He has no more of tenderness from me + Than any other wretch of guilty life; + Less, for I know his household privacy-- + I see him as he is--without a screen; + And, by the gods, my soul abhors his mien! + + Has he not sought my presence, dyed in blood-- + Innocent, righteous blood, shed shamelessly? + And have I not his red salute withstood? + Ay, when, as erst, he plunged all Galilee + In dark bereavement--in affliction sore, + Mingling their very offerings with their gore. + + Then came he--in his eyes a serpent-smile, + Upon his lips some false, endearing word, + And through the streets of Salem clang'd the while + His slaughtering, hacking, sacrilegious sword-- + And I, to see a man cause men such woe, + Trembled with ire--I did not fear to show. + + And now, the envious Jewish priests have brought + Jesus--whom they in mock'ry call their king-- + To have, by this grim power, their vengeance wrought; + By this mean reptile, innocence to sting. + Oh! could I but the purposed doom avert, + And shield the blameless head from cruel hurt! + + Accessible is Pilate's heart to fear, + Omens will shake his soul, like autumn leaf; + Could he this night's appalling vision hear, + This just man's bonds were loosed, his life were safe, + Unless that bitter priesthood should prevail, + And make even terror to their malice quail. + + Yet if I tell the dream--but let me pause. + What dream? Erewhile the characters were clear, + Graved on my brain--at once some unknown cause + Has dimm'd and razed the thoughts, which now appear, + Like a vague remnant of some by-past scene;-- + Not what will be, but what, long since, has been. + + I suffer'd many things--I heard foretold + A dreadful doom for Pilate,--lingering woes, + In far, barbarian climes, where mountains cold + Built up a solitude of trackless snows, + There he and grisly wolves prowl'd side by side, + There he lived famish'd--there, methought, he died; + + But not of hunger, nor by malady; + I saw the snow around him, stain'd with gore; + I said I had no tears for such as he, + And, lo! my cheek is wet--mine eyes run o'er; + I weep for mortal suffering, mortal guilt, + I weep the impious deed, the blood self-spilt. + + More I recall not, yet the vision spread + Into a world remote, an age to come-- + And still the illumined name of Jesus shed + A light, a clearness, through the unfolding gloom-- + And still I saw that sign, which now I see, + That cross on yonder brow of Calvary. + + What is this Hebrew Christ?-to me unknown + His lineage--doctrine--mission; yet how clear + Is God-like goodness in his actions shown, + How straight and stainless is his life's career! + The ray of Deity that rests on him, + In my eyes makes Olympian glory dim. + + The world advances; Greek or Roman rite + Suffices not the inquiring mind to stay; + The searching soul demands a purer light + To guide it on its upward, onward way; + Ashamed of sculptured gods, Religion turns + To where the unseen Jehovah's altar burns. + + Our faith is rotten, all our rites defiled, + Our temples sullied, and, methinks, this man, + With his new ordinance, so wise and mild, + Is come, even as He says, the chaff to fan + And sever from the wheat; but will his faith + Survive the terrors of to-morrow's death? + + * * * * * * * + + I feel a firmer trust--a higher hope + Rise in my soul--it dawns with dawning day; + Lo! on the Temple's roof--on Moriah's slope + Appears at length that clear and crimson ray + Which I so wished for when shut in by night; + Oh, opening skies, I hail, I bless pour light! + + Part, clouds and shadows! Glorious Sun appear! + Part, mental gloom! Come insight from on high! + Dusk dawn in heaven still strives with daylight clear + The longing soul doth still uncertain sigh. + Oh! to behold the truth--that sun divine, + How doth my bosom pant, my spirit pine! + + This day, Time travails with a mighty birth; + This day, Truth stoops from heaven and visits earth; + Ere night descends I shall more surely know + What guide to follow, in what path to go; + I wait in hope--I wait in solemn fear, + The oracle of God--the sole--true God--to hear. + + + + +MEMENTOS. + + Arranging long-locked drawers and shelves + Of cabinets, shut up for years, + What a strange task we've set ourselves! + How still the lonely room appears! + How strange this mass of ancient treasures, + Mementos of past pains and pleasures; + These volumes, clasped with costly stone, + With print all faded, gilding gone; + + These fans of leaves from Indian trees-- + These crimson shells, from Indian seas-- + These tiny portraits, set in rings-- + Once, doubtless, deemed such precious things; + Keepsakes bestowed by Love on Faith, + And worn till the receiver's death, + Now stored with cameos, china, shells, + In this old closet's dusty cells. + + I scarcely think, for ten long years, + A hand has touched these relics old; + And, coating each, slow-formed, appears + The growth of green and antique mould. + + All in this house is mossing over; + All is unused, and dim, and damp; + Nor light, nor warmth, the rooms discover-- + Bereft for years of fire and lamp. + + The sun, sometimes in summer, enters + The casements, with reviving ray; + But the long rains of many winters + Moulder the very walls away. + + And outside all is ivy, clinging + To chimney, lattice, gable grey; + Scarcely one little red rose springing + Through the green moss can force its way. + + Unscared, the daw and starling nestle, + Where the tall turret rises high, + And winds alone come near to rustle + The thick leaves where their cradles lie, + + I sometimes think, when late at even + I climb the stair reluctantly, + Some shape that should be well in heaven, + Or ill elsewhere, will pass by me. + + I fear to see the very faces, + Familiar thirty years ago, + Even in the old accustomed places + Which look so cold and gloomy now, + + I've come, to close the window, hither, + At twilight, when the sun was down, + And Fear my very soul would wither, + Lest something should be dimly shown, + + Too much the buried form resembling, + Of her who once was mistress here; + Lest doubtful shade, or moonbeam trembling, + Might take her aspect, once so dear. + + Hers was this chamber; in her time + It seemed to me a pleasant room, + For then no cloud of grief or crime + Had cursed it with a settled gloom; + + I had not seen death's image laid + In shroud and sheet, on yonder bed. + Before she married, she was blest-- + Blest in her youth, blest in her worth; + Her mind was calm, its sunny rest + Shone in her eyes more clear than mirth. + + And when attired in rich array, + Light, lustrous hair about her brow, + She yonder sat, a kind of day + Lit up what seems so gloomy now. + These grim oak walls even then were grim; + That old carved chair was then antique; + But what around looked dusk and dim + Served as a foil to her fresh cheek; + Her neck and arms, of hue so fair, + Eyes of unclouded, smiling light; + Her soft, and curled, and floating hair, + Gems and attire, as rainbow bright. + + Reclined in yonder deep recess, + Ofttimes she would, at evening, lie + Watching the sun; she seemed to bless + With happy glance the glorious sky. + She loved such scenes, and as she gazed, + Her face evinced her spirit's mood; + Beauty or grandeur ever raised + In her, a deep-felt gratitude. + But of all lovely things, she loved + A cloudless moon, on summer night, + Full oft have I impatience proved + To see how long her still delight + Would find a theme in reverie, + Out on the lawn, or where the trees + Let in the lustre fitfully, + As their boughs parted momently, + To the soft, languid, summer breeze. + Alas! that she should e'er have flung + Those pure, though lonely joys away-- + Deceived by false and guileful tongue, + She gave her hand, then suffered wrong; + Oppressed, ill-used, she faded young, + And died of grief by slow decay. + + Open that casket-look how bright + Those jewels flash upon the sight; + The brilliants have not lost a ray + Of lustre, since her wedding day. + But see--upon that pearly chain-- + How dim lies Time's discolouring stain! + I've seen that by her daughter worn: + For, ere she died, a child was born;-- + A child that ne'er its mother knew, + That lone, and almost friendless grew; + For, ever, when its step drew nigh, + Averted was the father's eye; + And then, a life impure and wild + Made him a stranger to his child: + Absorbed in vice, he little cared + On what she did, or how she fared. + The love withheld she never sought, + She grew uncherished--learnt untaught; + To her the inward life of thought + Full soon was open laid. + I know not if her friendlessness + Did sometimes on her spirit press, + But plaint she never made. + The book-shelves were her darling treasure, + She rarely seemed the time to measure + While she could read alone. + And she too loved the twilight wood + And often, in her mother's mood, + Away to yonder hill would hie, + Like her, to watch the setting sun, + Or see the stars born, one by one, + Out of the darkening sky. + Nor would she leave that hill till night + Trembled from pole to pole with light; + Even then, upon her homeward way, + Long--long her wandering steps delayed + To quit the sombre forest shade, + Through which her eerie pathway lay. + You ask if she had beauty's grace? + I know not--but a nobler face + My eyes have seldom seen; + A keen and fine intelligence, + And, better still, the truest sense + Were in her speaking mien. + But bloom or lustre was there none, + Only at moments, fitful shone + An ardour in her eye, + That kindled on her cheek a flush, + Warm as a red sky's passing blush + And quick with energy. + Her speech, too, was not common speech, + No wish to shine, or aim to teach, + Was in her words displayed: + She still began with quiet sense, + But oft the force of eloquence + Came to her lips in aid; + Language and voice unconscious changed, + And thoughts, in other words arranged, + Her fervid soul transfused + Into the hearts of those who heard, + And transient strength and ardour stirred, + In minds to strength unused, + Yet in gay crowd or festal glare, + Grave and retiring was her air; + 'Twas seldom, save with me alone, + That fire of feeling freely shone; + She loved not awe's nor wonder's gaze, + Nor even exaggerated praise, + Nor even notice, if too keen + The curious gazer searched her mien. + Nature's own green expanse revealed + The world, the pleasures, she could prize; + On free hill-side, in sunny field, + In quiet spots by woods concealed, + Grew wild and fresh her chosen joys, + Yet Nature's feelings deeply lay + In that endowed and youthful frame; + Shrined in her heart and hid from day, + They burned unseen with silent flame. + In youth's first search for mental light, + She lived but to reflect and learn, + But soon her mind's maturer might + For stronger task did pant and yearn; + And stronger task did fate assign, + Task that a giant's strength might strain; + To suffer long and ne'er repine, + Be calm in frenzy, smile at pain. + + Pale with the secret war of feeling, + Sustained with courage, mute, yet high; + The wounds at which she bled, revealing + Only by altered cheek and eye; + + She bore in silence--but when passion + Surged in her soul with ceaseless foam, + The storm at last brought desolation, + And drove her exiled from her home. + + And silent still, she straight assembled + The wrecks of strength her soul retained; + For though the wasted body trembled, + The unconquered mind, to quail, disdained. + + She crossed the sea--now lone she wanders + By Seine's, or Rhine's, or Arno's flow; + Fain would I know if distance renders + Relief or comfort to her woe. + + Fain would I know if, henceforth, ever, + These eyes shall read in hers again, + That light of love which faded never, + Though dimmed so long with secret pain. + + She will return, but cold and altered, + Like all whose hopes too soon depart; + Like all on whom have beat, unsheltered, + The bitter blasts that blight the heart. + + No more shall I behold her lying + Calm on a pillow, smoothed by me; + No more that spirit, worn with sighing, + Will know the rest of infancy. + + If still the paths of lore she follow, + 'Twill be with tired and goaded will; + She'll only toil, the aching hollow, + The joyless blank of life to fill. + + And oh! full oft, quite spent and weary, + Her hand will pause, her head decline; + That labour seems so hard and dreary, + On which no ray of hope may shine. + + Thus the pale blight of time and sorrow + Will shade with grey her soft, dark hair; + Then comes the day that knows no morrow, + And death succeeds to long despair. + + So speaks experience, sage and hoary; + I see it plainly, know it well, + Like one who, having read a story, + Each incident therein can tell. + + Touch not that ring; 'twas his, the sire + Of that forsaken child; + And nought his relics can inspire + Save memories, sin-defiled. + + I, who sat by his wife's death-bed, + I, who his daughter loved, + Could almost curse the guilty dead, + For woes the guiltless proved. + + And heaven did curse--they found him laid, + When crime for wrath was rife, + Cold--with the suicidal blade + Clutched in his desperate gripe. + + 'Twas near that long deserted hut, + Which in the wood decays, + Death's axe, self-wielded, struck his root, + And lopped his desperate days. + + You know the spot, where three black trees, + Lift up their branches fell, + And moaning, ceaseless as the seas, + Still seem, in every passing breeze, + The deed of blood to tell. + + They named him mad, and laid his bones + Where holier ashes lie; + Yet doubt not that his spirit groans + In hell's eternity. + + But, lo! night, closing o'er the earth, + Infects our thoughts with gloom; + Come, let us strive to rally mirth + Where glows a clear and tranquil hearth + In some more cheerful room. + + + + +THE WIFE'S WILL. + + Sit still--a word--a breath may break + (As light airs stir a sleeping lake) + The glassy calm that soothes my woes-- + The sweet, the deep, the full repose. + O leave me not! for ever be + Thus, more than life itself to me! + + Yes, close beside thee let me kneel-- + Give me thy hand, that I may feel + The friend so true--so tried--so dear, + My heart's own chosen--indeed is near; + And check me not--this hour divine + Belongs to me--is fully mine. + + 'Tis thy own hearth thou sitt'st beside, + After long absence--wandering wide; + 'Tis thy own wife reads in thine eyes + A promise clear of stormless skies; + For faith and true love light the rays + Which shine responsive to her gaze. + + Ay,--well that single tear may fall; + Ten thousand might mine eyes recall, + Which from their lids ran blinding fast, + In hours of grief, yet scarcely past; + Well mayst thou speak of love to me, + For, oh! most truly--I love thee! + + Yet smile--for we are happy now. + Whence, then, that sadness on thy brow? + What sayst thou?" We muse once again, + Ere long, be severed by the main!" + I knew not this--I deemed no more + Thy step would err from Britain's shore. + + "Duty commands!" 'Tis true--'tis just; + Thy slightest word I wholly trust, + Nor by request, nor faintest sigh, + Would I to turn thy purpose try; + But, William, hear my solemn vow-- + Hear and confirm!--with thee I go. + + "Distance and suffering," didst thou say? + "Danger by night, and toil by day?" + Oh, idle words and vain are these; + Hear me! I cross with thee the seas. + Such risk as thou must meet and dare, + I--thy true wife--will duly share. + + Passive, at home, I will not pine; + Thy toils, thy perils shall be mine; + Grant this--and be hereafter paid + By a warm heart's devoted aid: + 'Tis granted--with that yielding kiss, + Entered my soul unmingled bliss. + + Thanks, William, thanks! thy love has joy, + Pure, undefiled with base alloy; + 'Tis not a passion, false and blind, + Inspires, enchains, absorbs my mind; + Worthy, I feel, art thou to be + Loved with my perfect energy. + + This evening now shall sweetly flow, + Lit by our clear fire's happy glow; + And parting's peace-embittering fear, + Is warned our hearts to come not near; + For fate admits my soul's decree, + In bliss or bale--to go with thee! + + + THE WOOD. + + But two miles more, and then we rest! + Well, there is still an hour of day, + And long the brightness of the West + Will light us on our devious way; + Sit then, awhile, here in this wood-- + So total is the solitude, + We safely may delay. + + These massive roots afford a seat, + Which seems for weary travellers made. + There rest. The air is soft and sweet + In this sequestered forest glade, + And there are scents of flowers around, + The evening dew draws from the ground; + How soothingly they spread! + + Yes; I was tired, but not at heart; + No--that beats full of sweet content, + For now I have my natural part + Of action with adventure blent; + Cast forth on the wide world with thee, + And all my once waste energy + To weighty purpose bent. + + Yet--sayst thou, spies around us roam, + Our aims are termed conspiracy? + Haply, no more our English home + An anchorage for us may be? + That there is risk our mutual blood + May redden in some lonely wood + The knife of treachery? + + Sayst thou, that where we lodge each night, + In each lone farm, or lonelier hall + Of Norman Peer--ere morning light + Suspicion must as duly fall, + As day returns--such vigilance + Presides and watches over France, + Such rigour governs all? + + I fear not, William; dost thou fear? + So that the knife does not divide, + It may be ever hovering near: + I could not tremble at thy side, + And strenuous love--like mine for thee-- + Is buckler strong 'gainst treachery, + And turns its stab aside. + + I am resolved that thou shalt learn + To trust my strength as I trust thine; + I am resolved our souls shall burn + With equal, steady, mingling shine; + Part of the field is conquered now, + Our lives in the same channel flow, + Along the self-same line; + + And while no groaning storm is heard, + Thou seem'st content it should be so, + But soon as comes a warning word + Of danger--straight thine anxious brow + Bends over me a mournful shade, + As doubting if my powers are made + To ford the floods of woe. + + Know, then it is my spirit swells, + And drinks, with eager joy, the air + Of freedom--where at last it dwells, + Chartered, a common task to share + With thee, and then it stirs alert, + And pants to learn what menaced hurt + Demands for thee its care. + + Remember, I have crossed the deep, + And stood with thee on deck, to gaze + On waves that rose in threatening heap, + While stagnant lay a heavy haze, + Dimly confusing sea with sky, + And baffling, even, the pilot's eye, + Intent to thread the maze-- + + Of rocks, on Bretagne's dangerous coast, + And find a way to steer our band + To the one point obscure, which lost, + Flung us, as victims, on the strand;-- + All, elsewhere, gleamed the Gallic sword, + And not a wherry could be moored + Along the guarded land. + + I feared not then--I fear not now; + The interest of each stirring scene + Wakes a new sense, a welcome glow, + In every nerve and bounding vein; + Alike on turbid Channel sea, + Or in still wood of Normandy, + I feel as born again. + + The rain descended that wild morn + When, anchoring in the cove at last, + Our band, all weary and forlorn + Ashore, like wave-worn sailors, cast-- + Sought for a sheltering roof in vain, + And scarce could scanty food obtain + To break their morning fast. + + Thou didst thy crust with me divide, + Thou didst thy cloak around me fold; + And, sitting silent by thy side, + I ate the bread in peace untold: + Given kindly from thy hand, 'twas sweet + As costly fare or princely treat + On royal plate of gold. + + Sharp blew the sleet upon my face, + And, rising wild, the gusty wind + Drove on those thundering waves apace, + Our crew so late had left behind; + But, spite of frozen shower and storm, + So close to thee, my heart beat warm, + And tranquil slept my mind. + + So now--nor foot-sore nor opprest + With walking all this August day, + I taste a heaven in this brief rest, + This gipsy-halt beside the way. + England's wild flowers are fair to view, + Like balm is England's summer dew + Like gold her sunset ray. + + But the white violets, growing here, + Are sweeter than I yet have seen, + And ne'er did dew so pure and clear + Distil on forest mosses green, + As now, called forth by summer heat, + Perfumes our cool and fresh retreat-- + These fragrant limes between. + + That sunset! Look beneath the boughs, + Over the copse--beyond the hills; + How soft, yet deep and warm it glows, + And heaven with rich suffusion fills; + With hues where still the opal's tint, + Its gleam of prisoned fire is blent, + Where flame through azure thrills! + + Depart we now--for fast will fade + That solemn splendour of decline, + And deep must be the after-shade + As stars alone to-night will shine; + No moon is destined--pale--to gaze + On such a day's vast Phoenix blaze, + A day in fires decayed! + + There--hand-in-hand we tread again + The mazes of this varying wood, + And soon, amid a cultured plain, + Girt in with fertile solitude, + We shall our resting-place descry, + Marked by one roof-tree, towering high + Above a farmstead rude. + + Refreshed, erelong, with rustic fare, + We'll seek a couch of dreamless ease; + Courage will guard thy heart from fear, + And Love give mine divinest peace: + To-morrow brings more dangerous toil, + And through its conflict and turmoil + We'll pass, as God shall please. + + [The preceding composition refers, doubtless, to the scenes + acted in France during the last year of the Consulate.] + + + + +FRANCES. + + She will not sleep, for fear of dreams, + But, rising, quits her restless bed, + And walks where some beclouded beams + Of moonlight through the hall are shed. + + Obedient to the goad of grief, + Her steps, now fast, now lingering slow, + In varying motion seek relief + From the Eumenides of woe. + + Wringing her hands, at intervals-- + But long as mute as phantom dim-- + She glides along the dusky walls, + Under the black oak rafters grim. + + The close air of the grated tower + Stifles a heart that scarce can beat, + And, though so late and lone the hour, + Forth pass her wandering, faltering feet; + + And on the pavement spread before + The long front of the mansion grey, + Her steps imprint the night-frost hoar, + Which pale on grass and granite lay. + + Not long she stayed where misty moon + And shimmering stars could on her look, + But through the garden archway soon + Her strange and gloomy path she took. + + Some firs, coeval with the tower, + Their straight black boughs stretched o'er her head; + Unseen, beneath this sable bower, + Rustled her dress and rapid tread. + + There was an alcove in that shade, + Screening a rustic seat and stand; + Weary she sat her down, and laid + Her hot brow on her burning hand. + + To solitude and to the night, + Some words she now, in murmurs, said; + And trickling through her fingers white, + Some tears of misery she shed. + + "God help me in my grievous need, + God help me in my inward pain; + Which cannot ask for pity's meed, + Which has no licence to complain, + + "Which must be borne; yet who can bear, + Hours long, days long, a constant weight-- + The yoke of absolute despair, + A suffering wholly desolate? + + "Who can for ever crush the heart, + Restrain its throbbing, curb its life? + Dissemble truth with ceaseless art, + With outward calm mask inward strife?" + + She waited--as for some reply; + The still and cloudy night gave none; + Ere long, with deep-drawn, trembling sigh, + Her heavy plaint again begun. + + "Unloved--I love; unwept--I weep; + Grief I restrain--hope I repress: + Vain is this anguish--fixed and deep; + Vainer, desires and dreams of bliss. + + "My love awakes no love again, + My tears collect, and fall unfelt; + My sorrow touches none with pain, + My humble hopes to nothing melt. + + "For me the universe is dumb, + Stone-deaf, and blank, and wholly blind; + Life I must bound, existence sum + In the strait limits of one mind; + + "That mind my own. Oh! narrow cell; + Dark--imageless--a living tomb! + There must I sleep, there wake and dwell + Content, with palsy, pain, and gloom." + + Again she paused; a moan of pain, + A stifled sob, alone was heard; + Long silence followed--then again + Her voice the stagnant midnight stirred. + + "Must it be so? Is this my fate? + Can I nor struggle, nor contend? + And am I doomed for years to wait, + Watching death's lingering axe descend? + + "And when it falls, and when I die, + What follows? Vacant nothingness? + The blank of lost identity? + Erasure both of pain and bliss? + + "I've heard of heaven--I would believe; + For if this earth indeed be all, + Who longest lives may deepest grieve; + Most blest, whom sorrows soonest call. + + "Oh! leaving disappointment here, + Will man find hope on yonder coast? + Hope, which, on earth, shines never clear, + And oft in clouds is wholly lost. + + "Will he hope's source of light behold, + Fruition's spring, where doubts expire, + And drink, in waves of living gold, + Contentment, full, for long desire? + + "Will he find bliss, which here he dreamed? + Rest, which was weariness on earth? + Knowledge, which, if o'er life it beamed, + Served but to prove it void of worth? + + "Will he find love without lust's leaven, + Love fearless, tearless, perfect, pure, + To all with equal bounty given; + In all, unfeigned, unfailing, sure? + + "Will he, from penal sufferings free, + Released from shroud and wormy clod, + All calm and glorious, rise and see + Creation's Sire--Existence' God? + + "Then, glancing back on Time's brief woes, + Will he behold them, fading, fly; + Swept from Eternity's repose, + Like sullying cloud from pure blue sky? + + "If so, endure, my weary frame; + And when thy anguish strikes too deep, + And when all troubled burns life's flame, + Think of the quiet, final sleep; + + "Think of the glorious waking-hour, + Which will not dawn on grief and tears, + But on a ransomed spirit's power, + Certain, and free from mortal fears. + + "Seek now thy couch, and lie till morn, + Then from thy chamber, calm, descend, + With mind nor tossed, nor anguish-torn, + But tranquil, fixed, to wait the end. + + "And when thy opening eyes shall see + Mementos, on the chamber wall, + Of one who has forgotten thee, + Shed not the tear of acrid gall. + + "The tear which, welling from the heart, + Burns where its drop corrosive falls, + And makes each nerve, in torture, start, + At feelings it too well recalls: + + "When the sweet hope of being loved + Threw Eden sunshine on life's way: + When every sense and feeling proved + Expectancy of brightest day. + + "When the hand trembled to receive + A thrilling clasp, which seemed so near, + And the heart ventured to believe + Another heart esteemed it dear. + + "When words, half love, all tenderness, + Were hourly heard, as hourly spoken, + When the long, sunny days of bliss + Only by moonlight nights were broken. + + "Till, drop by drop, the cup of joy + Filled full, with purple light was glowing, + And Faith, which watched it, sparkling high + Still never dreamt the overflowing. + + "It fell not with a sudden crashing, + It poured not out like open sluice; + No, sparkling still, and redly flashing, + Drained, drop by drop, the generous juice. + + "I saw it sink, and strove to taste it, + My eager lips approached the brim; + The movement only seemed to waste it; + It sank to dregs, all harsh and dim. + + "These I have drunk, and they for ever + Have poisoned life and love for me; + A draught from Sodom's lake could never + More fiery, salt, and bitter, be. + + "Oh! Love was all a thin illusion + Joy, but the desert's flying stream; + And glancing back on long delusion, + My memory grasps a hollow dream. + + "Yet whence that wondrous change of feeling, + I never knew, and cannot learn; + Nor why my lover's eye, congealing, + Grew cold and clouded, proud and stern. + + "Nor wherefore, friendship's forms forgetting, + He careless left, and cool withdrew; + Nor spoke of grief, nor fond regretting, + Nor ev'n one glance of comfort threw. + + "And neither word nor token sending, + Of kindness, since the parting day, + His course, for distant regions bending, + Went, self-contained and calm, away. + + "Oh, bitter, blighting, keen sensation, + Which will not weaken, cannot die, + Hasten thy work of desolation, + And let my tortured spirit fly! + + "Vain as the passing gale, my crying; + Though lightning-struck, I must live on; + I know, at heart, there is no dying + Of love, and ruined hope, alone. + + "Still strong and young, and warm with vigour, + Though scathed, I long shall greenly grow; + And many a storm of wildest rigour + Shall yet break o'er my shivered bough. + + "Rebellious now to blank inertion, + My unused strength demands a task; + Travel, and toil, and full exertion, + Are the last, only boon I ask. + + "Whence, then, this vain and barren dreaming + Of death, and dubious life to come? + I see a nearer beacon gleaming + Over dejection's sea of gloom. + + "The very wildness of my sorrow + Tells me I yet have innate force; + My track of life has been too narrow, + Effort shall trace a broader course. + + "The world is not in yonder tower, + Earth is not prisoned in that room, + 'Mid whose dark panels, hour by hour, + I've sat, the slave and prey of gloom. + + "One feeling--turned to utter anguish, + Is not my being's only aim; + When, lorn and loveless, life will languish, + But courage can revive the flame. + + "He, when he left me, went a roving + To sunny climes, beyond the sea; + And I, the weight of woe removing, + Am free and fetterless as he. + + "New scenes, new language, skies less clouded, + May once more wake the wish to live; + Strange, foreign towns, astir, and crowded, + New pictures to the mind may give. + + "New forms and faces, passing ever, + May hide the one I still retain, + Defined, and fixed, and fading never, + Stamped deep on vision, heart, and brain. + + "And we might meet--time may have changed him; + Chance may reveal the mystery, + The secret influence which estranged him; + Love may restore him yet to me. + + "False thought--false hope--in scorn be banished! + I am not loved--nor loved have been; + Recall not, then, the dreams scarce vanished; + Traitors! mislead me not again! + + "To words like yours I bid defiance, + 'Tis such my mental wreck have made; + Of God alone, and self-reliance, + I ask for solace--hope for aid. + + "Morn comes--and ere meridian glory + O'er these, my natal woods, shall smile, + Both lonely wood and mansion hoary + I'll leave behind, full many a mile." + + + + +GILBERT. + + I. THE GARDEN. + + Above the city hung the moon, + Right o'er a plot of ground + Where flowers and orchard-trees were fenced + With lofty walls around: + 'Twas Gilbert's garden--there to-night + Awhile he walked alone; + And, tired with sedentary toil, + Mused where the moonlight shone. + + This garden, in a city-heart, + Lay still as houseless wild, + Though many-windowed mansion fronts + Were round it; closely piled; + But thick their walls, and those within + Lived lives by noise unstirred; + Like wafting of an angel's wing, + Time's flight by them was heard. + + Some soft piano-notes alone + Were sweet as faintly given, + Where ladies, doubtless, cheered the hearth + With song that winter-even. + The city's many-mingled sounds + Rose like the hum of ocean; + They rather lulled the heart than roused + Its pulse to faster motion. + + Gilbert has paced the single walk + An hour, yet is not weary; + And, though it be a winter night + He feels nor cold nor dreary. + The prime of life is in his veins, + And sends his blood fast flowing, + And Fancy's fervour warms the thoughts + Now in his bosom glowing. + + Those thoughts recur to early love, + Or what he love would name, + Though haply Gilbert's secret deeds + Might other title claim. + Such theme not oft his mind absorbs, + He to the world clings fast, + And too much for the present lives, + To linger o'er the past. + + But now the evening's deep repose + Has glided to his soul; + That moonlight falls on Memory, + And shows her fading scroll. + One name appears in every line + The gentle rays shine o'er, + And still he smiles and still repeats + That one name--Elinor. + + There is no sorrow in his smile, + No kindness in his tone; + The triumph of a selfish heart + Speaks coldly there alone; + He says: "She loved me more than life; + And truly it was sweet + To see so fair a woman kneel, + In bondage, at my feet. + + "There was a sort of quiet bliss + To be so deeply loved, + To gaze on trembling eagerness + And sit myself unmoved. + And when it pleased my pride to grant + At last some rare caress, + To feel the fever of that hand + My fingers deigned to press. + + "'Twas sweet to see her strive to hide + What every glance revealed; + Endowed, the while, with despot-might + Her destiny to wield. + I knew myself no perfect man, + Nor, as she deemed, divine; + I knew that I was glorious--but + By her reflected shine; + + "Her youth, her native energy, + Her powers new-born and fresh, + 'Twas these with Godhead sanctified + My sensual frame of flesh. + Yet, like a god did I descend + At last, to meet her love; + And, like a god, I then withdrew + To my own heaven above. + + "And never more could she invoke + My presence to her sphere; + No prayer, no plaint, no cry of hers + Could win my awful ear. + I knew her blinded constancy + Would ne'er my deeds betray, + And, calm in conscience, whole in heart. + I went my tranquil way. + + "Yet, sometimes, I still feel a wish, + The fond and flattering pain + Of passion's anguish to create + In her young breast again. + Bright was the lustre of her eyes, + When they caught fire from mine; + If I had power--this very hour, + Again I'd light their shine. + + "But where she is, or how she lives, + I have no clue to know; + I've heard she long my absence pined, + And left her home in woe. + But busied, then, in gathering gold, + As I am busied now, + I could not turn from such pursuit, + To weep a broken vow. + + "Nor could I give to fatal risk + The fame I ever prized; + Even now, I fear, that precious fame + Is too much compromised." + An inward trouble dims his eye, + Some riddle he would solve; + Some method to unloose a knot, + His anxious thoughts revolve. + + He, pensive, leans against a tree, + A leafy evergreen, + The boughs, the moonlight, intercept, + And hide him like a screen + He starts--the tree shakes with his tremor, + Yet nothing near him pass'd; + He hurries up the garden alley, + In strangely sudden haste. + + With shaking hand, he lifts the latchet, + Steps o'er the threshold stone; + The heavy door slips from his fingers-- + It shuts, and he is gone. + What touched, transfixed, appalled, his soul?-- + A nervous thought, no more; + 'Twill sink like stone in placid pool, + And calm close smoothly o'er. + + + II. THE PARLOUR. + + Warm is the parlour atmosphere, + Serene the lamp's soft light; + The vivid embers, red and clear, + Proclaim a frosty night. + Books, varied, on the table lie, + Three children o'er them bend, + And all, with curious, eager eye, + The turning leaf attend. + + Picture and tale alternately + Their simple hearts delight, + And interest deep, and tempered glee, + Illume their aspects bright. + The parents, from their fireside place, + Behold that pleasant scene, + And joy is on the mother's face, + Pride in the father's mien. + + As Gilbert sees his blooming wife, + Beholds his children fair, + No thought has he of transient strife, + Or past, though piercing fear. + The voice of happy infancy + Lisps sweetly in his ear, + His wife, with pleased and peaceful eye, + Sits, kindly smiling, near. + + The fire glows on her silken dress, + And shows its ample grace, + And warmly tints each hazel tress, + Curled soft around her face. + The beauty that in youth he wooed, + Is beauty still, unfaded; + The brow of ever placid mood + No churlish grief has shaded. + + Prosperity, in Gilbert's home, + Abides the guest of years; + There Want or Discord never come, + And seldom Toil or Tears. + The carpets bear the peaceful print + Of comfort's velvet tread, + And golden gleams, from plenty sent, + In every nook are shed. + + The very silken spaniel seems + Of quiet ease to tell, + As near its mistress' feet it dreams, + Sunk in a cushion's swell + And smiles seem native to the eyes + Of those sweet children, three; + They have but looked on tranquil skies, + And know not misery. + + Alas! that Misery should come + In such an hour as this; + Why could she not so calm a home + A little longer miss? + But she is now within the door, + Her steps advancing glide; + Her sullen shade has crossed the floor, + She stands at Gilbert's side. + + She lays her hand upon his heart, + It bounds with agony; + His fireside chair shakes with the start + That shook the garden tree. + His wife towards the children looks, + She does not mark his mien; + The children, bending o'er their books, + His terror have not seen. + + In his own home, by his own hearth, + He sits in solitude, + And circled round with light and mirth, + Cold horror chills his blood. + His mind would hold with desperate clutch + The scene that round him lies; + No--changed, as by some wizard's touch, + The present prospect flies. + + A tumult vague--a viewless strife + His futile struggles crush; + 'Twixt him and his an unknown life + And unknown feelings rush. + He sees--but scarce can language paint + The tissue fancy weaves; + For words oft give but echo faint + Of thoughts the mind conceives. + + Noise, tumult strange, and darkness dim, + Efface both light and quiet; + No shape is in those shadows grim, + No voice in that wild riot. + Sustain'd and strong, a wondrous blast + Above and round him blows; + A greenish gloom, dense overcast, + Each moment denser grows. + + He nothing knows--nor clearly sees, + Resistance checks his breath, + The high, impetuous, ceaseless breeze + Blows on him cold as death. + And still the undulating gloom + Mocks sight with formless motion: + Was such sensation Jonah's doom, + Gulphed in the depths of ocean? + + Streaking the air, the nameless vision, + Fast-driven, deep-sounding, flows; + Oh! whence its source, and what its mission? + How will its terrors close? + Long-sweeping, rushing, vast and void, + The universe it swallows; + And still the dark, devouring tide + A typhoon tempest follows. + + More slow it rolls; its furious race + Sinks to its solemn gliding; + The stunning roar, the wind's wild chase, + To stillness are subsiding. + And, slowly borne along, a form + The shapeless chaos varies; + Poised in the eddy to the storm, + Before the eye it tarries. + + A woman drowned--sunk in the deep, + On a long wave reclining; + The circling waters' crystal sweep, + Like glass, her shape enshrining. + Her pale dead face, to Gilbert turned, + Seems as in sleep reposing; + A feeble light, now first discerned, + The features well disclosing. + + No effort from the haunted air + The ghastly scene could banish, + That hovering wave, arrested there, + Rolled--throbbed--but did not vanish. + If Gilbert upward turned his gaze, + He saw the ocean-shadow; + If he looked down, the endless seas + Lay green as summer meadow. + + And straight before, the pale corpse lay, + Upborne by air or billow, + So near, he could have touched the spray + That churned around its pillow. + The hollow anguish of the face + Had moved a fiend to sorrow; + Not death's fixed calm could rase the trace + Of suffering's deep-worn furrow. + + All moved; a strong returning blast, + The mass of waters raising, + Bore wave and passive carcase past, + While Gilbert yet was gazing. + Deep in her isle-conceiving womb, + It seemed the ocean thundered, + And soon, by realms of rushing gloom, + Were seer and phantom sundered. + + Then swept some timbers from a wreck. + On following surges riding; + Then sea-weed, in the turbid rack + Uptorn, went slowly gliding. + The horrid shade, by slow degrees, + A beam of light defeated, + And then the roar of raving seas, + Fast, far, and faint, retreated. + + And all was gone--gone like a mist, + Corse, billows, tempest, wreck; + Three children close to Gilbert prest + And clung around his neck. + Good night! good night! the prattlers said, + And kissed their father's cheek; + 'Twas now the hour their quiet bed + And placid rest to seek. + + The mother with her offspring goes + To hear their evening prayer; + She nought of Gilbert's vision knows, + And nought of his despair. + Yet, pitying God, abridge the time + Of anguish, now his fate! + Though, haply, great has been his crime: + Thy mercy, too, is great. + + Gilbert, at length, uplifts his head, + Bent for some moments low, + And there is neither grief nor dread + Upon his subtle brow. + For well can he his feelings task, + And well his looks command; + His features well his heart can mask, + With smiles and smoothness bland. + + Gilbert has reasoned with his mind-- + He says 'twas all a dream; + He strives his inward sight to blind + Against truth's inward beam. + He pitied not that shadowy thing, + When it was flesh and blood; + Nor now can pity's balmy spring + Refresh his arid mood. + + "And if that dream has spoken truth," + Thus musingly he says; + "If Elinor be dead, in sooth, + Such chance the shock repays: + A net was woven round my feet, + I scarce could further go; + Ere shame had forced a fast retreat, + Dishonour brought me low. + + "Conceal her, then, deep, silent sea, + Give her a secret grave! + She sleeps in peace, and I am free, + No longer terror's slave: + And homage still, from all the world, + Shall greet my spotless name, + Since surges break and waves are curled + Above its threatened shame." + + + III. THE WELCOME HOME. + + Above the city hangs the moon, + Some clouds are boding rain; + Gilbert, erewhile on journey gone, + To-night comes home again. + Ten years have passed above his head, + Each year has brought him gain; + His prosperous life has smoothly sped, + Without or tear or stain. + + 'Tis somewhat late--the city clocks + Twelve deep vibrations toll, + As Gilbert at the portal knocks, + Which is his journey's goal. + The street is still and desolate, + The moon hid by a cloud; + Gilbert, impatient, will not wait,-- + His second knock peals loud. + + The clocks are hushed--there's not a light + In any window nigh, + And not a single planet bright + Looks from the clouded sky; + The air is raw, the rain descends, + A bitter north-wind blows; + His cloak the traveller scarce defends-- + Will not the door unclose? + + He knocks the third time, and the last + His summons now they hear, + Within, a footstep, hurrying fast, + Is heard approaching near. + The bolt is drawn, the clanking chain + Falls to the floor of stone; + And Gilbert to his heart will strain + His wife and children soon. + + The hand that lifts the latchet, holds + A candle to his sight, + And Gilbert, on the step, beholds + A woman, clad in white. + Lo! water from her dripping dress + Runs on the streaming floor; + From every dark and clinging tress + The drops incessant pour. + + There's none but her to welcome him; + She holds the candle high, + And, motionless in form and limb, + Stands cold and silent nigh; + There's sand and sea-weed on her robe, + Her hollow eyes are blind; + No pulse in such a frame can throb, + No life is there defined. + + Gilbert turned ashy-white, but still + His lips vouchsafed no cry; + He spurred his strength and master-will + To pass the figure by,-- + But, moving slow, it faced him straight, + It would not flinch nor quail: + Then first did Gilbert's strength abate, + His stony firmness quail. + + He sank upon his knees and prayed + The shape stood rigid there; + He called aloud for human aid, + No human aid was near. + An accent strange did thus repeat + Heaven's stern but just decree: + "The measure thou to her didst mete, + To thee shall measured be!" + + Gilbert sprang from his bended knees, + By the pale spectre pushed, + And, wild as one whom demons seize, + Up the hall-staircase rushed; + Entered his chamber--near the bed + Sheathed steel and fire-arms hung-- + Impelled by maniac purpose dread + He chose those stores among. + + Across his throat a keen-edged knife + With vigorous hand he drew; + The wound was wide--his outraged life + Rushed rash and redly through. + And thus died, by a shameful death, + A wise and worldly man, + Who never drew but selfish breath + Since first his life began. + + + + +LIFE. + + Life, believe, is not a dream + So dark as sages say; + Oft a little morning rain + Foretells a pleasant day. + Sometimes there are clouds of gloom, + But these are transient all; + If the shower will make the roses bloom, + O why lament its fall? + Rapidly, merrily, + Life's sunny hours flit by, + Gratefully, cheerily + Enjoy them as they fly! + What though Death at times steps in, + And calls our Best away? + What though sorrow seems to win, + O'er hope, a heavy sway? + Yet Hope again elastic springs, + Unconquered, though she fell; + Still buoyant are her golden wings, + Still strong to bear us well. + Manfully, fearlessly, + The day of trial bear, + For gloriously, victoriously, + Can courage quell despair! + + + + +THE LETTER. + + What is she writing? Watch her now, + How fast her fingers move! + How eagerly her youthful brow + Is bent in thought above! + Her long curls, drooping, shade the light, + She puts them quick aside, + Nor knows that band of crystals bright, + Her hasty touch untied. + It slips adown her silken dress, + Falls glittering at her feet; + Unmarked it falls, for she no less + Pursues her labour sweet. + + The very loveliest hour that shines, + Is in that deep blue sky; + The golden sun of June declines, + It has not caught her eye. + The cheerful lawn, and unclosed gate, + The white road, far away, + In vain for her light footsteps wait, + She comes not forth to-day. + There is an open door of glass + Close by that lady's chair, + From thence, to slopes of messy grass, + Descends a marble stair. + + Tall plants of bright and spicy bloom + Around the threshold grow; + Their leaves and blossoms shade the room + From that sun's deepening glow. + Why does she not a moment glance + Between the clustering flowers, + And mark in heaven the radiant dance + Of evening's rosy hours? + O look again! Still fixed her eye, + Unsmiling, earnest, still, + And fast her pen and fingers fly, + Urged by her eager will. + + Her soul is in th'absorbing task; + To whom, then, doth she write? + Nay, watch her still more closely, ask + Her own eyes' serious light; + Where do they turn, as now her pen + Hangs o'er th'unfinished line? + Whence fell the tearful gleam that then + Did in their dark spheres shine? + The summer-parlour looks so dark, + When from that sky you turn, + And from th'expanse of that green park, + You scarce may aught discern. + + Yet, o'er the piles of porcelain rare, + O'er flower-stand, couch, and vase, + Sloped, as if leaning on the air, + One picture meets the gaze. + 'Tis there she turns; you may not see + Distinct, what form defines + The clouded mass of mystery + Yon broad gold frame confines. + But look again; inured to shade + Your eyes now faintly trace + A stalwart form, a massive head, + A firm, determined face. + + Black Spanish locks, a sunburnt cheek + A brow high, broad, and white, + Where every furrow seems to speak + Of mind and moral might. + Is that her god? I cannot tell; + Her eye a moment met + Th'impending picture, then it fell + Darkened and dimmed and wet. + A moment more, her task is done, + And sealed the letter lies; + And now, towards the setting sun + She turns her tearful eyes. + + Those tears flow over, wonder not, + For by the inscription see + In what a strange and distant spot + Her heart of hearts must be! + Three seas and many a league of land + That letter must pass o'er, + Ere read by him to whose loved hand + 'Tis sent from England's shore. + Remote colonial wilds detain + Her husband, loved though stern; + She, 'mid that smiling English scene, + Weeps for his wished return. + + + + +REGRET. + + Long ago I wished to leave + "The house where I was born;" + Long ago I used to grieve, + My home seemed so forlorn. + In other years, its silent rooms + Were filled with haunting fears; + Now, their very memory comes + O'ercharged with tender tears. + + Life and marriage I have known. + Things once deemed so bright; + Now, how utterly is flown + Every ray of light! + 'Mid the unknown sea, of life + I no blest isle have found; + At last, through all its wild wave's strife, + My bark is homeward bound. + + Farewell, dark and rolling deep! + Farewell, foreign shore! + Open, in unclouded sweep, + Thou glorious realm before! + Yet, though I had safely pass'd + That weary, vexed main, + One loved voice, through surge and blast + Could call me back again. + + Though the soul's bright morning rose + O'er Paradise for me, + William! even from Heaven's repose + I'd turn, invoked by thee! + Storm nor surge should e'er arrest + My soul, exalting then: + All my heaven was once thy breast, + Would it were mine again! + + + + +PRESENTIMENT. + + "Sister, you've sat there all the day, + Come to the hearth awhile; + The wind so wildly sweeps away, + The clouds so darkly pile. + That open book has lain, unread, + For hours upon your knee; + You've never smiled nor turned your head; + What can you, sister, see?" + + "Come hither, Jane, look down the field; + How dense a mist creeps on! + The path, the hedge, are both concealed, + Ev'n the white gate is gone + No landscape through the fog I trace, + No hill with pastures green; + All featureless is Nature's face. + All masked in clouds her mien. + + "Scarce is the rustle of a leaf + Heard in our garden now; + The year grows old, its days wax brief, + The tresses leave its brow. + The rain drives fast before the wind, + The sky is blank and grey; + O Jane, what sadness fills the mind + On such a dreary day!" + + "You think too much, my sister dear; + You sit too long alone; + What though November days be drear? + Full soon will they be gone. + I've swept the hearth, and placed your chair. + Come, Emma, sit by me; + Our own fireside is never drear, + Though late and wintry wane the year, + Though rough the night may be." + + "The peaceful glow of our fireside + Imparts no peace to me: + My thoughts would rather wander wide + Than rest, dear Jane, with thee. + I'm on a distant journey bound, + And if, about my heart, + Too closely kindred ties were bound, + 'Twould break when forced to part. + + "'Soon will November days be o'er:' + Well have you spoken, Jane: + My own forebodings tell me more-- + For me, I know by presage sure, + They'll ne'er return again. + Ere long, nor sun nor storm to me + Will bring or joy or gloom; + They reach not that Eternity + Which soon will be my home." + + Eight months are gone, the summer sun + Sets in a glorious sky; + A quiet field, all green and lone, + Receives its rosy dye. + Jane sits upon a shaded stile, + Alone she sits there now; + Her head rests on her hand the while, + And thought o'ercasts her brow. + + She's thinking of one winter's day, + A few short months ago, + Then Emma's bier was borne away + O'er wastes of frozen snow. + She's thinking how that drifted snow + Dissolved in spring's first gleam, + And how her sister's memory now + Fades, even as fades a dream. + + The snow will whiten earth again, + But Emma comes no more; + She left, 'mid winter's sleet and rain, + This world for Heaven's far shore. + On Beulah's hills she wanders now, + On Eden's tranquil plain; + To her shall Jane hereafter go, + She ne'er shall come to Jane! + + + + +THE TEACHER'S MONOLOGUE. + + The room is quiet, thoughts alone + People its mute tranquillity; + The yoke put off, the long task done,-- + I am, as it is bliss to be, + Still and untroubled. Now, I see, + For the first time, how soft the day + O'er waveless water, stirless tree, + Silent and sunny, wings its way. + Now, as I watch that distant hill, + So faint, so blue, so far removed, + Sweet dreams of home my heart may fill, + That home where I am known and loved: + It lies beyond; yon azure brow + Parts me from all Earth holds for me; + And, morn and eve, my yearnings flow + Thitherward tending, changelessly. + My happiest hours, aye! all the time, + I love to keep in memory, + Lapsed among moors, ere life's first prime + Decayed to dark anxiety. + + Sometimes, I think a narrow heart + Makes me thus mourn those far away, + And keeps my love so far apart + From friends and friendships of to-day; + Sometimes, I think 'tis but a dream + I treasure up so jealously, + All the sweet thoughts I live on seem + To vanish into vacancy: + And then, this strange, coarse world around + Seems all that's palpable and true; + And every sight, and every sound, + Combines my spirit to subdue + To aching grief, so void and lone + Is Life and Earth--so worse than vain, + The hopes that, in my own heart sown, + And cherished by such sun and rain + As Joy and transient Sorrow shed, + Have ripened to a harvest there: + Alas! methinks I hear it said, + "Thy golden sheaves are empty air." + + All fades away; my very home + I think will soon be desolate; + I hear, at times, a warning come + Of bitter partings at its gate; + And, if I should return and see + The hearth-fire quenched, the vacant chair; + And hear it whispered mournfully, + That farewells have been spoken there, + What shall I do, and whither turn? + Where look for peace? When cease to mourn? + + + 'Tis not the air I wished to play, + The strain I wished to sing; + My wilful spirit slipped away + And struck another string. + I neither wanted smile nor tear, + Bright joy nor bitter woe, + But just a song that sweet and clear, + Though haply sad, might flow. + + A quiet song, to solace me + When sleep refused to come; + A strain to chase despondency, + When sorrowful for home. + In vain I try; I cannot sing; + All feels so cold and dead; + No wild distress, no gushing spring + Of tears in anguish shed; + + But all the impatient gloom of one + Who waits a distant day, + When, some great task of suffering done, + Repose shall toil repay. + For youth departs, and pleasure flies, + And life consumes away, + And youth's rejoicing ardour dies + Beneath this drear delay; + + And Patience, weary with her yoke, + Is yielding to despair, + And Health's elastic spring is broke + Beneath the strain of care. + Life will be gone ere I have lived; + Where now is Life's first prime? + I've worked and studied, longed and grieved, + Through all that rosy time. + + To toil, to think, to long, to grieve,-- + Is such my future fate? + The morn was dreary, must the eve + Be also desolate? + Well, such a life at least makes Death + A welcome, wished-for friend; + Then, aid me, Reason, Patience, Faith, + To suffer to the end! + + + + +PASSION. + + Some have won a wild delight, + By daring wilder sorrow; + Could I gain thy love to-night, + I'd hazard death to-morrow. + + Could the battle-struggle earn + One kind glance from thine eye, + How this withering heart would burn, + The heady fight to try! + + Welcome nights of broken sleep, + And days of carnage cold, + Could I deem that thou wouldst weep + To hear my perils told. + + Tell me, if with wandering bands + I roam full far away, + Wilt thou to those distant lands + In spirit ever stray? + + Wild, long, a trumpet sounds afar; + Bid me--bid me go + Where Seik and Briton meet in war, + On Indian Sutlej's flow. + + Blood has dyed the Sutlej's waves + With scarlet stain, I know; + Indus' borders yawn with graves, + Yet, command me go! + + Though rank and high the holocaust + Of nations steams to heaven, + Glad I'd join the death-doomed host, + Were but the mandate given. + + Passion's strength should nerve my arm, + Its ardour stir my life, + Till human force to that dread charm + Should yield and sink in wild alarm, + Like trees to tempest-strife. + + If, hot from war, I seek thy love, + Darest thou turn aside? + Darest thou then my fire reprove, + By scorn, and maddening pride? + + No--my will shall yet control + Thy will, so high and free, + And love shall tame that haughty soul-- + Yes--tenderest love for me. + + I'll read my triumph in thine eyes, + Behold, and prove the change; + Then leave, perchance, my noble prize, + Once more in arms to range. + + I'd die when all the foam is up, + The bright wine sparkling high; + Nor wait till in the exhausted cup + Life's dull dregs only lie. + + Then Love thus crowned with sweet reward, + Hope blest with fulness large, + I'd mount the saddle, draw the sword, + And perish in the charge! + + + + +PREFERENCE. + + Not in scorn do I reprove thee, + Not in pride thy vows I waive, + But, believe, I could not love thee, + Wert thou prince, and I a slave. + These, then, are thine oaths of passion? + This, thy tenderness for me? + Judged, even, by thine own confession, + Thou art steeped in perfidy. + Having vanquished, thou wouldst leave me! + Thus I read thee long ago; + Therefore, dared I not deceive thee, + Even with friendship's gentle show. + Therefore, with impassive coldness + Have I ever met thy gaze; + Though, full oft, with daring boldness, + Thou thine eyes to mine didst raise. + Why that smile? Thou now art deeming + This my coldness all untrue,-- + But a mask of frozen seeming, + Hiding secret fires from view. + Touch my hand, thou self-deceiver; + Nay-be calm, for I am so: + Does it burn? Does my lip quiver? + Has mine eye a troubled glow? + Canst thou call a moment's colour + To my forehead--to my cheek? + Canst thou tinge their tranquil pallor + With one flattering, feverish streak? + Am I marble? What! no woman + Could so calm before thee stand? + Nothing living, sentient, human, + Could so coldly take thy hand? + Yes--a sister might, a mother: + My good-will is sisterly: + Dream not, then, I strive to smother + Fires that inly burn for thee. + Rave not, rage not, wrath is fruitless, + Fury cannot change my mind; + I but deem the feeling rootless + Which so whirls in passion's wind. + Can I love? Oh, deeply--truly-- + Warmly--fondly--but not thee; + And my love is answered duly, + With an equal energy. + Wouldst thou see thy rival? Hasten, + Draw that curtain soft aside, + Look where yon thick branches chasten + Noon, with shades of eventide. + In that glade, where foliage blending + Forms a green arch overhead, + Sits thy rival, thoughtful bending + O'er a stand with papers spread-- + Motionless, his fingers plying + That untired, unresting pen; + Time and tide unnoticed flying, + There he sits--the first of men! + Man of conscience--man of reason; + Stern, perchance, but ever just; + Foe to falsehood, wrong, and treason, + Honour's shield, and virtue's trust! + Worker, thinker, firm defender + Of Heaven's truth--man's liberty; + Soul of iron--proof to slander, + Rock where founders tyranny. + Fame he seeks not--but full surely + She will seek him, in his home; + This I know, and wait securely + For the atoning hour to come. + To that man my faith is given, + Therefore, soldier, cease to sue; + While God reigns in earth and heaven, + I to him will still be true! + + + + +EVENING SOLACE. + + The human heart has hidden treasures, + In secret kept, in silence sealed;-- + The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, + Whose charms were broken if revealed. + And days may pass in gay confusion, + And nights in rosy riot fly, + While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion, + The memory of the Past may die. + + But there are hours of lonely musing, + Such as in evening silence come, + When, soft as birds their pinions closing, + The heart's best feelings gather home. + Then in our souls there seems to languish + A tender grief that is not woe; + And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguish + Now cause but some mild tears to flow. + + And feelings, once as strong as passions, + Float softly back--a faded dream; + Our own sharp griefs and wild sensations, + The tale of others' sufferings seem. + Oh! when the heart is freshly bleeding, + How longs it for that time to be, + When, through the mist of years receding, + Its woes but live in reverie! + + And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer, + On evening shade and loneliness; + And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer, + Feel no untold and strange distress-- + Only a deeper impulse given + By lonely hour and darkened room, + To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven + Seeking a life and world to come. + + + + +STANZAS. + + If thou be in a lonely place, + If one hour's calm be thine, + As Evening bends her placid face + O'er this sweet day's decline; + If all the earth and all the heaven + Now look serene to thee, + As o'er them shuts the summer even, + One moment--think of me! + + Pause, in the lane, returning home; + 'Tis dusk, it will be still: + Pause near the elm, a sacred gloom + Its breezeless boughs will fill. + Look at that soft and golden light, + High in the unclouded sky; + Watch the last bird's belated flight, + As it flits silent by. + + Hark! for a sound upon the wind, + A step, a voice, a sigh; + If all be still, then yield thy mind, + Unchecked, to memory. + If thy love were like mine, how blest + That twilight hour would seem, + When, back from the regretted Past, + Returned our early dream! + + If thy love were like mine, how wild + Thy longings, even to pain, + For sunset soft, and moonlight mild, + To bring that hour again! + But oft, when in thine arms I lay, + I've seen thy dark eyes shine, + And deeply felt their changeful ray + Spoke other love than mine. + + My love is almost anguish now, + It beats so strong and true; + 'Twere rapture, could I deem that thou + Such anguish ever knew. + I have been but thy transient flower, + Thou wert my god divine; + Till checked by death's congealing power, + This heart must throb for thine. + + And well my dying hour were blest, + If life's expiring breath + Should pass, as thy lips gently prest + My forehead cold in death; + And sound my sleep would be, and sweet, + Beneath the churchyard tree, + If sometimes in thy heart should beat + One pulse, still true to me. + + + + +PARTING. + + There's no use in weeping, + Though we are condemned to part: + There's such a thing as keeping + A remembrance in one's heart: + + There's such a thing as dwelling + On the thought ourselves have nursed, + And with scorn and courage telling + The world to do its worst. + + We'll not let its follies grieve us, + We'll just take them as they come; + And then every day will leave us + A merry laugh for home. + + When we've left each friend and brother, + When we're parted wide and far, + We will think of one another, + As even better than we are. + + Every glorious sight above us, + Every pleasant sight beneath, + We'll connect with those that love us, + Whom we truly love till death! + + In the evening, when we're sitting + By the fire, perchance alone, + Then shall heart with warm heart meeting, + Give responsive tone for tone. + + We can burst the bonds which chain us, + Which cold human hands have wrought, + And where none shall dare restrain us + We can meet again, in thought. + + So there's no use in weeping, + Bear a cheerful spirit still; + Never doubt that Fate is keeping + Future good for present ill! + + + + +APOSTASY. + + This last denial of my faith, + Thou, solemn Priest, hast heard; + And, though upon my bed of death, + I call not back a word. + Point not to thy Madonna, Priest,-- + Thy sightless saint of stone; + She cannot, from this burning breast, + Wring one repentant moan. + + Thou say'st, that when a sinless child, + I duly bent the knee, + And prayed to what in marble smiled + Cold, lifeless, mute, on me. + I did. But listen! Children spring + Full soon to riper youth; + And, for Love's vow and Wedlock's ring, + I sold my early truth. + + 'Twas not a grey, bare head, like thine, + Bent o'er me, when I said, + "That land and God and Faith are mine, + For which thy fathers bled." + I see thee not, my eyes are dim; + But well I hear thee say, + "O daughter cease to think of him + Who led thy soul astray. + + "Between you lies both space and time; + Let leagues and years prevail + To turn thee from the path of crime, + Back to the Church's pale." + And, did I need that, thou shouldst tell + What mighty barriers rise + To part me from that dungeon-cell, + Where my loved Walter lies? + + And, did I need that thou shouldst taunt + My dying hour at last, + By bidding this worn spirit pant + No more for what is past? + Priest--MUST I cease to think of him? + How hollow rings that word! + Can time, can tears, can distance dim + The memory of my lord? + + I said before, I saw not thee, + Because, an hour agone, + Over my eyeballs, heavily, + The lids fell down like stone. + But still my spirit's inward sight + Beholds his image beam + As fixed, as clear, as burning bright, + As some red planet's gleam. + + Talk not of thy Last Sacrament, + Tell not thy beads for me; + Both rite and prayer are vainly spent, + As dews upon the sea. + Speak not one word of Heaven above, + Rave not of Hell's alarms; + Give me but back my Walter's love, + Restore me to his arms! + + Then will the bliss of Heaven be won; + Then will Hell shrink away, + As I have seen night's terrors shun + The conquering steps of day. + 'Tis my religion thus to love, + My creed thus fixed to be; + Not Death shall shake, nor Priestcraft break + My rock-like constancy! + + Now go; for at the door there waits + Another stranger guest; + He calls--I come--my pulse scarce beats, + My heart fails in my breast. + Again that voice--how far away, + How dreary sounds that tone! + And I, methinks, am gone astray + In trackless wastes and lone. + + I fain would rest a little while: + Where can I find a stay, + Till dawn upon the hills shall smile, + And show some trodden way? + "I come! I come!" in haste she said, + "'Twas Walter's voice I heard!" + Then up she sprang--but fell back, dead, + His name her latest word. + + + + +WINTER STORES. + + We take from life one little share, + And say that this shall be + A space, redeemed from toil and care, + From tears and sadness free. + + And, haply, Death unstrings his bow, + And Sorrow stands apart, + And, for a little while, we know + The sunshine of the heart. + + Existence seems a summer eve, + Warm, soft, and full of peace, + Our free, unfettered feelings give + The soul its full release. + + A moment, then, it takes the power + To call up thoughts that throw + Around that charmed and hallowed hour, + This life's divinest glow. + + But Time, though viewlessly it flies, + And slowly, will not stay; + Alike, through clear and clouded skies, + It cleaves its silent way. + + Alike the bitter cup of grief, + Alike the draught of bliss, + Its progress leaves but moment brief + For baffled lips to kiss + + The sparkling draught is dried away, + The hour of rest is gone, + And urgent voices, round us, say, + "Ho, lingerer, hasten on!" + + And has the soul, then, only gained, + From this brief time of ease, + A moment's rest, when overstrained, + One hurried glimpse of peace? + + No; while the sun shone kindly o'er us, + And flowers bloomed round our feet,-- + While many a bud of joy before us + Unclosed its petals sweet,-- + + An unseen work within was plying; + Like honey-seeking bee, + From flower to flower, unwearied, flying, + Laboured one faculty,-- + + Thoughtful for Winter's future sorrow, + Its gloom and scarcity; + Prescient to-day, of want to-morrow, + Toiled quiet Memory. + + 'Tis she that from each transient pleasure + Extracts a lasting good; + 'Tis she that finds, in summer, treasure + To serve for winter's food. + + And when Youth's summer day is vanished, + And Age brings Winter's stress, + Her stores, with hoarded sweets replenished, + Life's evening hours will bless. + + + + +THE MISSIONARY. + + Plough, vessel, plough the British main, + Seek the free ocean's wider plain; + Leave English scenes and English skies, + Unbind, dissever English ties; + Bear me to climes remote and strange, + Where altered life, fast-following change, + Hot action, never-ceasing toil, + Shall stir, turn, dig, the spirit's soil; + Fresh roots shall plant, fresh seed shall sow, + Till a new garden there shall grow, + Cleared of the weeds that fill it now,-- + Mere human love, mere selfish yearning, + Which, cherished, would arrest me yet. + I grasp the plough, there's no returning, + Let me, then, struggle to forget. + + But England's shores are yet in view, + And England's skies of tender blue + Are arched above her guardian sea. + I cannot yet Remembrance flee; + I must again, then, firmly face + That task of anguish, to retrace. + Wedded to home--I home forsake; + Fearful of change--I changes make; + Too fond of ease--I plunge in toil; + Lover of calm--I seek turmoil: + Nature and hostile Destiny + Stir in my heart a conflict wild; + And long and fierce the war will be + Ere duty both has reconciled. + + What other tie yet holds me fast + To the divorced, abandoned past? + Smouldering, on my heart's altar lies + The fire of some great sacrifice, + Not yet half quenched. The sacred steel + But lately struck my carnal will, + My life-long hope, first joy and last, + What I loved well, and clung to fast; + What I wished wildly to retain, + What I renounced with soul-felt pain; + What--when I saw it, axe-struck, perish-- + Left me no joy on earth to cherish; + A man bereft--yet sternly now + I do confirm that Jephtha vow: + Shall I retract, or fear, or flee? + Did Christ, when rose the fatal tree + Before him, on Mount Calvary? + 'Twas a long fight, hard fought, but won, + And what I did was justly done. + + Yet, Helen! from thy love I turned, + When my heart most for thy heart burned; + I dared thy tears, I dared thy scorn-- + Easier the death-pang had been borne. + Helen, thou mightst not go with me, + I could not--dared not stay for thee! + I heard, afar, in bonds complain + The savage from beyond the main; + And that wild sound rose o'er the cry + Wrung out by passion's agony; + And even when, with the bitterest tear + I ever shed, mine eyes were dim, + Still, with the spirit's vision clear, + I saw Hell's empire, vast and grim, + Spread on each Indian river's shore, + Each realm of Asia covering o'er. + There, the weak, trampled by the strong, + Live but to suffer--hopeless die; + There pagan-priests, whose creed is Wrong, + Extortion, Lust, and Cruelty, + Crush our lost race--and brimming fill + The bitter cup of human ill; + And I--who have the healing creed, + The faith benign of Mary's Son, + Shall I behold my brother's need, + And, selfishly, to aid him shun? + I--who upon my mother's knees, + In childhood, read Christ's written word, + Received his legacy of peace, + His holy rule of action heard; + I--in whose heart the sacred sense + Of Jesus' love was early felt; + Of his pure, full benevolence, + His pitying tenderness for guilt; + His shepherd-care for wandering sheep, + For all weak, sorrowing, trembling things, + His mercy vast, his passion deep + Of anguish for man's sufferings; + I--schooled from childhood in such lore-- + Dared I draw back or hesitate, + When called to heal the sickness sore + Of those far off and desolate? + Dark, in the realm and shades of Death, + Nations, and tribes, and empires lie, + But even to them the light of Faith + Is breaking on their sombre sky: + And be it mine to bid them raise + Their drooped heads to the kindling scene, + And know and hail the sunrise blaze + Which heralds Christ the Nazarene. + I know how Hell the veil will spread + Over their brows and filmy eyes, + And earthward crush the lifted head + That would look up and seek the skies; + I know what war the fiend will wage + Against that soldier of the Cross, + Who comes to dare his demon rage, + And work his kingdom shame and loss. + Yes, hard and terrible the toil + Of him who steps on foreign soil, + Resolved to plant the gospel vine, + Where tyrants rule and slaves repine; + Eager to lift Religion's light + Where thickest shades of mental night + Screen the false god and fiendish rite; + Reckless that missionary blood, + Shed in wild wilderness and wood, + Has left, upon the unblest air, + The man's deep moan--the martyr's prayer. + I know my lot--I only ask + Power to fulfil the glorious task; + Willing the spirit, may the flesh + Strength for the day receive afresh. + May burning sun or deadly wind + Prevail not o'er an earnest mind; + May torments strange or direst death + Nor trample truth, nor baffle faith. + Though such blood-drops should fall from me + As fell in old Gethsemane, + Welcome the anguish, so it gave + More strength to work--more skill to save. + And, oh! if brief must be my time, + If hostile hand or fatal clime + Cut short my course--still o'er my grave, + Lord, may thy harvest whitening wave. + So I the culture may begin, + Let others thrust the sickle in; + If but the seed will faster grow, + May my blood water what I sow! + + What! have I ever trembling stood, + And feared to give to God that blood? + What! has the coward love of life + Made me shrink from the righteous strife? + Have human passions, human fears + Severed me from those Pioneers + Whose task is to march first, and trace + Paths for the progress of our race? + It has been so; but grant me, Lord, + Now to stand steadfast by Thy word! + Protected by salvation's helm, + Shielded by faith, with truth begirt, + To smile when trials seek to whelm + And stand mid testing fires unhurt! + Hurling hell's strongest bulwarks down, + Even when the last pang thrills my breast, + When death bestows the martyr's crown, + And calls me into Jesus' rest. + Then for my ultimate reward-- + Then for the world-rejoicing word-- + The voice from Father--Spirit--Son: + "Servant of God, well hast thou done!" + + + ***** + + + + +POEMS BY ELLIS BELL + + + + +FAITH AND DESPONDENCY. + + "The winter wind is loud and wild, + Come close to me, my darling child; + Forsake thy books, and mateless play; + And, while the night is gathering gray, + We'll talk its pensive hours away;-- + + "Ierne, round our sheltered hall + November's gusts unheeded call; + Not one faint breath can enter here + Enough to wave my daughter's hair, + And I am glad to watch the blaze + Glance from her eyes, with mimic rays; + To feel her cheek, so softly pressed, + In happy quiet on my breast, + + "But, yet, even this tranquillity + Brings bitter, restless thoughts to me; + And, in the red fire's cheerful glow, + I think of deep glens, blocked with snow; + I dream of moor, and misty hill, + Where evening closes dark and chill; + For, lone, among the mountains cold, + Lie those that I have loved of old. + And my heart aches, in hopeless pain, + Exhausted with repinings vain, + That I shall greet them ne'er again!" + + "Father, in early infancy, + When you were far beyond the sea, + Such thoughts were tyrants over me! + I often sat, for hours together, + Through the long nights of angry weather, + Raised on my pillow, to descry + The dim moon struggling in the sky; + Or, with strained ear, to catch the shock, + Of rock with wave, and wave with rock; + So would I fearful vigil keep, + And, all for listening, never sleep. + But this world's life has much to dread, + Not so, my Father, with the dead. + + "Oh! not for them, should we despair, + The grave is drear, but they are not there; + Their dust is mingled with the sod, + Their happy souls are gone to God! + You told me this, and yet you sigh, + And murmur that your friends must die. + Ah! my dear father, tell me why? + For, if your former words were true, + How useless would such sorrow be; + As wise, to mourn the seed which grew + Unnoticed on its parent tree, + Because it fell in fertile earth, + And sprang up to a glorious birth-- + Struck deep its root, and lifted high + Its green boughs in the breezy sky. + + "But, I'll not fear, I will not weep + For those whose bodies rest in sleep,-- + I know there is a blessed shore, + Opening its ports for me and mine; + And, gazing Time's wide waters o'er, + I weary for that land divine, + Where we were born, where you and I + Shall meet our dearest, when we die; + From suffering and corruption free, + Restored into the Deity." + + "Well hast thou spoken, sweet, trustful child! + And wiser than thy sire; + And worldly tempests, raging wild, + Shall strengthen thy desire-- + Thy fervent hope, through storm and foam, + Through wind and ocean's roar, + To reach, at last, the eternal home, + The steadfast, changeless shore!" + + + + +STARS. + + Ah! why, because the dazzling sun + Restored our Earth to joy, + Have you departed, every one, + And left a desert sky? + + All through the night, your glorious eyes + Were gazing down in mine, + And, with a full heart's thankful sighs, + I blessed that watch divine. + + I was at peace, and drank your beams + As they were life to me; + And revelled in my changeful dreams, + Like petrel on the sea. + + Thought followed thought, star followed star, + Through boundless regions, on; + While one sweet influence, near and far, + Thrilled through, and proved us one! + + Why did the morning dawn to break + So great, so pure, a spell; + And scorch with fire the tranquil cheek, + Where your cool radiance fell? + + Blood-red, he rose, and, arrow-straight, + His fierce beams struck my brow; + The soul of nature sprang, elate, + But mine sank sad and low! + + My lids closed down, yet through their veil + I saw him, blazing, still, + And steep in gold the misty dale, + And flash upon the hill. + + I turned me to the pillow, then, + To call back night, and see + Your worlds of solemn light, again, + Throb with my heart, and me! + + It would not do--the pillow glowed, + And glowed both roof and floor; + And birds sang loudly in the wood, + And fresh winds shook the door; + + The curtains waved, the wakened flies + Were murmuring round my room, + Imprisoned there, till I should rise, + And give them leave to roam. + + Oh, stars, and dreams, and gentle night; + Oh, night and stars, return! + And hide me from the hostile light + That does not warm, but burn; + + That drains the blood of suffering men; + Drinks tears, instead of dew; + Let me sleep through his blinding reign, + And only wake with you! + + + + +THE PHILOSOPHER. + + Enough of thought, philosopher! + Too long hast thou been dreaming + Unlightened, in this chamber drear, + While summer's sun is beaming! + Space-sweeping soul, what sad refrain + Concludes thy musings once again? + + "Oh, for the time when I shall sleep + Without identity. + And never care how rain may steep, + Or snow may cover me! + No promised heaven, these wild desires + Could all, or half fulfil; + No threatened hell, with quenchless fires, + Subdue this quenchless will!" + + "So said I, and still say the same; + Still, to my death, will say-- + Three gods, within this little frame, + Are warring night; and day; + Heaven could not hold them all, and yet + They all are held in me; + And must be mine till I forget + My present entity! + Oh, for the time, when in my breast + Their struggles will be o'er! + Oh, for the day, when I shall rest, + And never suffer more!" + + "I saw a spirit, standing, man, + Where thou dost stand--an hour ago, + And round his feet three rivers ran, + Of equal depth, and equal flow-- + A golden stream--and one like blood; + And one like sapphire seemed to be; + But, where they joined their triple flood + It tumbled in an inky sea + The spirit sent his dazzling gaze + Down through that ocean's gloomy night; + Then, kindling all, with sudden blaze, + The glad deep sparkled wide and bright-- + White as the sun, far, far more fair + Than its divided sources were!" + + "And even for that spirit, seer, + I've watched and sought my life-time long; + Sought him in heaven, hell, earth, and air, + An endless search, and always wrong. + Had I but seen his glorious eye + ONCE light the clouds that wilder me; + I ne'er had raised this coward cry + To cease to think, and cease to be; + + I ne'er had called oblivion blest, + Nor stretching eager hands to death, + Implored to change for senseless rest + This sentient soul, this living breath-- + Oh, let me die--that power and will + Their cruel strife may close; + And conquered good, and conquering ill + Be lost in one repose!" + + + + +REMEMBRANCE. + + Cold in the earth--and the deep snow piled above thee, + Far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave! + Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee, + Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave? + + Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover + Over the mountains, on that northern shore, + Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover + Thy noble heart for ever, ever more? + + Cold in the earth--and fifteen wild Decembers, + From those brown hills, have melted into spring: + Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers + After such years of change and suffering! + + Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, + While the world's tide is bearing me along; + Other desires and other hopes beset me, + Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong! + + No later light has lightened up my heaven, + No second morn has ever shone for me; + All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given, + All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee. + + But, when the days of golden dreams had perished, + And even Despair was powerless to destroy; + Then did I learn how existence could be cherished, + Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy. + + Then did I check the tears of useless passion-- + Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine; + Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten + Down to that tomb already more than mine. + + And, even yet, I dare not let it languish, + Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain; + Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, + How could I seek the empty world again? + + + + +A DEATH-SCENE. + + "O day! he cannot die + When thou so fair art shining! + O Sun, in such a glorious sky, + So tranquilly declining; + + He cannot leave thee now, + While fresh west winds are blowing, + And all around his youthful brow + Thy cheerful light is glowing! + + Edward, awake, awake-- + The golden evening gleams + Warm and bright on Arden's lake-- + Arouse thee from thy dreams! + + Beside thee, on my knee, + My dearest friend, I pray + That thou, to cross the eternal sea, + Wouldst yet one hour delay: + + I hear its billows roar-- + I see them foaming high; + But no glimpse of a further shore + Has blest my straining eye. + + Believe not what they urge + Of Eden isles beyond; + Turn back, from that tempestuous surge, + To thy own native land. + + It is not death, but pain + That struggles in thy breast-- + Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again; + I cannot let thee rest!" + + One long look, that sore reproved me + For the woe I could not bear-- + One mute look of suffering moved me + To repent my useless prayer: + + And, with sudden check, the heaving + Of distraction passed away; + Not a sign of further grieving + Stirred my soul that awful day. + + Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting; + Sunk to peace the twilight breeze: + Summer dews fell softly, wetting + Glen, and glade, and silent trees. + + Then his eyes began to weary, + Weighed beneath a mortal sleep; + And their orbs grew strangely dreary, + Clouded, even as they would weep. + + But they wept not, but they changed not, + Never moved, and never closed; + Troubled still, and still they ranged not-- + Wandered not, nor yet reposed! + + So I knew that he was dying-- + Stooped, and raised his languid head; + Felt no breath, and heard no sighing, + So I knew that he was dead. + + + + +SONG. + + The linnet in the rocky dells, + The moor-lark in the air, + The bee among the heather bells + That hide my lady fair: + + The wild deer browse above her breast; + The wild birds raise their brood; + And they, her smiles of love caressed, + Have left her solitude! + + I ween, that when the grave's dark wall + Did first her form retain, + They thought their hearts could ne'er recall + The light of joy again. + + They thought the tide of grief would flow + Unchecked through future years; + But where is all their anguish now, + And where are all their tears? + + Well, let them fight for honour's breath, + Or pleasure's shade pursue-- + The dweller in the land of death + Is changed and careless too. + + And, if their eyes should watch and weep + Till sorrow's source were dry, + She would not, in her tranquil sleep, + Return a single sigh! + + Blow, west-wind, by the lonely mound, + And murmur, summer-streams-- + There is no need of other sound + To soothe my lady's dreams. + + + + +ANTICIPATION. + + How beautiful the earth is still, + To thee--how full of happiness? + How little fraught with real ill, + Or unreal phantoms of distress! + How spring can bring thee glory, yet, + And summer win thee to forget + December's sullen time! + Why dost thou hold the treasure fast, + Of youth's delight, when youth is past, + And thou art near thy prime? + + When those who were thy own compeers, + Equals in fortune and in years, + Have seen their morning melt in tears, + To clouded, smileless day; + Blest, had they died untried and young, + Before their hearts went wandering wrong,-- + Poor slaves, subdued by passions strong, + A weak and helpless prey! + + 'Because, I hoped while they enjoyed, + And by fulfilment, hope destroyed; + As children hope, with trustful breast, + I waited bliss--and cherished rest. + A thoughtful spirit taught me soon, + That we must long till life be done; + That every phase of earthly joy + Must always fade, and always cloy: + + 'This I foresaw--and would not chase + The fleeting treacheries; + But, with firm foot and tranquil face, + Held backward from that tempting race, + Gazed o'er the sands the waves efface, + To the enduring seas-- + There cast my anchor of desire + Deep in unknown eternity; + Nor ever let my spirit tire, + With looking for WHAT IS TO BE! + + "It is hope's spell that glorifies, + Like youth, to my maturer eyes, + All Nature's million mysteries, + The fearful and the fair-- + Hope soothes me in the griefs I know; + She lulls my pain for others' woe, + And makes me strong to undergo + What I am born to bear. + + Glad comforter! will I not brave, + Unawed, the darkness of the grave? + Nay, smile to hear Death's billows rave-- + Sustained, my guide, by thee? + The more unjust seems present fate, + The more my spirit swells elate, + Strong, in thy strength, to anticipate + Rewarding destiny! + + + + +THE PRISONER. + + A FRAGMENT. + + In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray, + Reckless of the lives wasting there away; + "Draw the ponderous bars! open, Warder stern!" + He dared not say me nay--the hinges harshly turn. + + "Our guests are darkly lodged," I whisper'd, gazing through + The vault, whose grated eye showed heaven more gray than blue; + (This was when glad Spring laughed in awaking pride;) + "Ay, darkly lodged enough!" returned my sullen guide. + + Then, God forgive my youth; forgive my careless tongue; + I scoffed, as the chill chains on the damp flagstones rung: + "Confined in triple walls, art thou so much to fear, + That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?" + + The captive raised her face; it was as soft and mild + As sculptured marble saint, or slumbering unwean'd child; + It was so soft and mild, it was so sweet and fair, + Pain could not trace a line, nor grief a shadow there! + + The captive raised her hand and pressed it to her brow; + "I have been struck," she said, "and I am suffering now; + Yet these are little worth, your bolts and irons strong; + And, were they forged in steel, they could not hold me long." + + Hoarse laughed the jailor grim: "Shall I be won to hear; + Dost think, fond, dreaming wretch, that I shall grant thy prayer? + Or, better still, wilt melt my master's heart with groans? + Ah! sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones. + + "My master's voice is low, his aspect bland and kind, + But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind; + And I am rough and rude, yet not more rough to see + Than is the hidden ghost that has its home in me." + + About her lips there played a smile of almost scorn, + "My friend," she gently said, "you have not heard me mourn; + When you my kindred's lives, MY lost life, can restore, + Then may I weep and sue,--but never, friend, before! + + "Still, let my tyrants know, I am not doomed to wear + Year after year in gloom, and desolate despair; + A messenger of Hope comes every night to me, + And offers for short life, eternal liberty. + + "He comes with western winds, with evening's wandering airs, + With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars. + Winds take a pensive tone, and stars a tender fire, + And visions rise, and change, that kill me with desire. + + "Desire for nothing known in my maturer years, + When Joy grew mad with awe, at counting future tears. + When, if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm, + I knew not whence they came, from sun or thunder-storm. + + "But, first, a hush of peace--a soundless calm descends; + The struggle of distress, and fierce impatience ends; + Mute music soothes my breast--unuttered harmony, + That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me. + + "Then dawns the Invisible; the Unseen its truth reveals; + My outward sense is gone, my inward essence feels: + Its wings are almost free--its home, its harbour found, + Measuring the gulph, it stoops and dares the final bound, + + "Oh I dreadful is the check--intense the agony-- + When the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see; + When the pulse begins to throb, the brain to think again; + The soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain. + + "Yet I would lose no sting, would wish no torture less; + The more that anguish racks, the earlier it will bless; + And robed in fires of hell, or bright with heavenly shine, + If it but herald death, the vision is divine!" + + She ceased to speak, and we, unanswering, turned to go-- + We had no further power to work the captive woe: + Her cheek, her gleaming eye, declared that man had given + A sentence, unapproved, and overruled by Heaven. + + + + +HOPE. + + Hope Was but a timid friend; + She sat without the grated den, + Watching how my fate would tend, + Even as selfish-hearted men. + + She was cruel in her fear; + Through the bars one dreary day, + I looked out to see her there, + And she turned her face away! + + Like a false guard, false watch keeping, + Still, in strife, she whispered peace; + She would sing while I was weeping; + If I listened, she would cease. + + False she was, and unrelenting; + When my last joys strewed the ground, + Even Sorrow saw, repenting, + Those sad relics scattered round; + + Hope, whose whisper would have given + Balm to all my frenzied pain, + Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven, + Went, and ne'er returned again! + + + + +A DAY DREAM. + + On a sunny brae alone I lay + One summer afternoon; + It was the marriage-time of May, + With her young lover, June. + + From her mother's heart seemed loath to part + That queen of bridal charms, + But her father smiled on the fairest child + He ever held in his arms. + + The trees did wave their plumy crests, + The glad birds carolled clear; + And I, of all the wedding guests, + Was only sullen there! + + There was not one, but wished to shun + My aspect void of cheer; + The very gray rocks, looking on, + Asked, "What do you here?" + + And I could utter no reply; + In sooth, I did not know + Why I had brought a clouded eye + To greet the general glow. + + So, resting on a heathy bank, + I took my heart to me; + And we together sadly sank + Into a reverie. + + We thought, "When winter comes again, + Where will these bright things be? + All vanished, like a vision vain, + An unreal mockery! + + "The birds that now so blithely sing, + Through deserts, frozen dry, + Poor spectres of the perished spring, + In famished troops will fly. + + "And why should we be glad at all? + The leaf is hardly green, + Before a token of its fall + Is on the surface seen!" + + Now, whether it were really so, + I never could be sure; + But as in fit of peevish woe, + I stretched me on the moor, + + A thousand thousand gleaming fires + Seemed kindling in the air; + A thousand thousand silvery lyres + Resounded far and near: + + Methought, the very breath I breathed + Was full of sparks divine, + And all my heather-couch was wreathed + By that celestial shine! + + And, while the wide earth echoing rung + To that strange minstrelsy + The little glittering spirits sung, + Or seemed to sing, to me: + + "O mortal! mortal! let them die; + Let time and tears destroy, + That we may overflow the sky + With universal joy! + + "Let grief distract the sufferer's breast, + And night obscure his way; + They hasten him to endless rest, + And everlasting day. + + "To thee the world is like a tomb, + A desert's naked shore; + To us, in unimagined bloom, + It brightens more and more! + + "And, could we lift the veil, and give + One brief glimpse to thine eye, + Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live, + BECAUSE they live to die." + + The music ceased; the noonday dream, + Like dream of night, withdrew; + But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem + Her fond creation true. + + + + +TO IMAGINATION. + + When weary with the long day's care, + And earthly change from pain to pain, + And lost, and ready to despair, + Thy kind voice calls me back again: + Oh, my true friend! I am not lone, + While then canst speak with such a tone! + + So hopeless is the world without; + The world within I doubly prize; + Thy world, where guile, and hate, and doubt, + And cold suspicion never rise; + Where thou, and I, and Liberty, + Have undisputed sovereignty. + + What matters it, that all around + Danger, and guilt, and darkness lie, + If but within our bosom's bound + We hold a bright, untroubled sky, + Warm with ten thousand mingled rays + Of suns that know no winter days? + + Reason, indeed, may oft complain + For Nature's sad reality, + And tell the suffering heart how vain + Its cherished dreams must always be; + And Truth may rudely trample down + The flowers of Fancy, newly-blown: + + But thou art ever there, to bring + The hovering vision back, and breathe + New glories o'er the blighted spring, + And call a lovelier Life from Death. + And whisper, with a voice divine, + Of real worlds, as bright as thine. + + I trust not to thy phantom bliss, + Yet, still, in evening's quiet hour, + With never-failing thankfulness, + I welcome thee, Benignant Power; + Sure solacer of human cares, + And sweeter hope, when hope despairs! + + + + +HOW CLEAR SHE SHINES. + + How clear she shines! How quietly + I lie beneath her guardian light; + While heaven and earth are whispering me, + "To morrow, wake, but dream to-night." + Yes, Fancy, come, my Fairy love! + These throbbing temples softly kiss; + And bend my lonely couch above, + And bring me rest, and bring me bliss. + + The world is going; dark world, adieu! + Grim world, conceal thee till the day; + The heart thou canst not all subdue + Must still resist, if thou delay! + + Thy love I will not, will not share; + Thy hatred only wakes a smile; + Thy griefs may wound--thy wrongs may tear, + But, oh, thy lies shall ne'er beguile! + While gazing on the stars that glow + Above me, in that stormless sea, + I long to hope that all the woe + Creation knows, is held in thee! + + And this shall be my dream to-night; + I'll think the heaven of glorious spheres + Is rolling on its course of light + In endless bliss, through endless years; + I'll think, there's not one world above, + Far as these straining eyes can see, + Where Wisdom ever laughed at Love, + Or Virtue crouched to Infamy; + + Where, writhing 'neath the strokes of Fate, + The mangled wretch was forced to smile; + To match his patience 'gainst her hate, + His heart rebellious all the while. + Where Pleasure still will lead to wrong, + And helpless Reason warn in vain; + And Truth is weak, and Treachery strong; + And Joy the surest path to Pain; + And Peace, the lethargy of Grief; + And Hope, a phantom of the soul; + And life, a labour, void and brief; + And Death, the despot of the whole! + + + + +SYMPATHY. + + There should be no despair for you + While nightly stars are burning; + While evening pours its silent dew, + And sunshine gilds the morning. + There should be no despair--though tears + May flow down like a river: + Are not the best beloved of years + Around your heart for ever? + + They weep, you weep, it must be so; + Winds sigh as you are sighing, + And winter sheds its grief in snow + Where Autumn's leaves are lying: + Yet, these revive, and from their fate + Your fate cannot be parted: + Then, journey on, if not elate, + Still, NEVER broken-hearted! + + + + +PLEAD FOR ME. + + Oh, thy bright eyes must answer now, + When Reason, with a scornful brow, + Is mocking at my overthrow! + Oh, thy sweet tongue must plead for me + And tell why I have chosen thee! + + Stern Reason is to judgment come, + Arrayed in all her forms of gloom: + Wilt thou, my advocate, be dumb? + No, radiant angel, speak and say, + Why I did cast the world away. + + Why I have persevered to shun + The common paths that others run; + And on a strange road journeyed on, + Heedless, alike of wealth and power-- + Of glory's wreath and pleasure's flower. + + These, once, indeed, seemed Beings Divine; + And they, perchance, heard vows of mine, + And saw my offerings on their shrine; + But careless gifts are seldom prized, + And MINE were worthily despised. + + So, with a ready heart, I swore + To seek their altar-stone no more; + And gave my spirit to adore + Thee, ever-present, phantom thing-- + My slave, my comrade, and my king. + + A slave, because I rule thee still; + Incline thee to my changeful will, + And make thy influence good or ill: + A comrade, for by day and night + Thou art my intimate delight,-- + + My darling pain that wounds and sears, + And wrings a blessing out from tears + By deadening me to earthly cares; + And yet, a king, though Prudence well + Have taught thy subject to rebel + + And am I wrong to worship where + Faith cannot doubt, nor hope despair, + Since my own soul can grant my prayer? + Speak, God of visions, plead for me, + And tell why I have chosen thee! + + + + +SELF-INTEROGATION, + + "The evening passes fast away. + 'Tis almost time to rest; + What thoughts has left the vanished day, + What feelings in thy breast? + + "The vanished day? It leaves a sense + Of labour hardly done; + Of little gained with vast expense-- + A sense of grief alone? + + "Time stands before the door of Death, + Upbraiding bitterly + And Conscience, with exhaustless breath, + Pours black reproach on me: + + "And though I've said that Conscience lies + And Time should Fate condemn; + Still, sad Repentance clouds my eyes, + And makes me yield to them! + + "Then art thou glad to seek repose? + Art glad to leave the sea, + And anchor all thy weary woes + In calm Eternity? + + "Nothing regrets to see thee go-- + Not one voice sobs' farewell;' + And where thy heart has suffered so, + Canst thou desire to dwell?" + + "Alas! the countless links are strong + That bind us to our clay; + The loving spirit lingers long, + And would not pass away! + + "And rest is sweet, when laurelled fame + Will crown the soldier's crest; + But a brave heart, with a tarnished name, + Would rather fight than rest. + + "Well, thou hast fought for many a year, + Hast fought thy whole life through, + Hast humbled Falsehood, trampled Fear; + What is there left to do? + + "'Tis true, this arm has hotly striven, + Has dared what few would dare; + Much have I done, and freely given, + But little learnt to bear! + + "Look on the grave where thou must sleep + Thy last, and strongest foe; + It is endurance not to weep, + If that repose seem woe. + + "The long war closing in defeat-- + Defeat serenely borne,-- + Thy midnight rest may still be sweet, + And break in glorious morn!" + + + + +DEATH. + + Death! that struck when I was most confiding. + In my certain faith of joy to be-- + Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing + From the fresh root of Eternity! + + Leaves, upon Time's branch, were growing brightly, + Full of sap, and full of silver dew; + Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly; + Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew. + + Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom; + Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride + But, within its parent's kindly bosom, + Flowed for ever Life's restoring tide. + + Little mourned I for the parted gladness, + For the vacant nest and silent song-- + Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness; + Whispering, "Winter will not linger long!" + + And, behold! with tenfold increase blessing, + Spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray; + Wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing, + Lavished glory on that second May! + + High it rose--no winged grief could sweep it; + Sin was scared to distance with its shine; + Love, and its own life, had power to keep it + From all wrong--from every blight but thine! + + Cruel Death! The young leaves droop and languish; + Evening's gentle air may still restore-- + No! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish- + Time, for me, must never blossom more! + + Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish + Where that perished sapling used to be; + Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish + That from which it sprung--Eternity. + + + + +STANZAS TO ---- + + Well, some may hate, and some may scorn, + And some may quite forget thy name; + But my sad heart must ever mourn + Thy ruined hopes, thy blighted fame! + 'Twas thus I thought, an hour ago, + Even weeping o'er that wretch's woe; + One word turned back my gushing tears, + And lit my altered eye with sneers. + Then "Bless the friendly dust," I said, + "That hides thy unlamented head! + Vain as thou wert, and weak as vain, + The slave of Falsehood, Pride, and Pain-- + My heart has nought akin to thine; + Thy soul is powerless over mine." + But these were thoughts that vanished too; + Unwise, unholy, and untrue: + Do I despise the timid deer, + Because his limbs are fleet with fear? + Or, would I mock the wolf's death-howl, + Because his form is gaunt and foul? + Or, hear with joy the leveret's cry, + Because it cannot bravely die? + No! Then above his memory + Let Pity's heart as tender be; + Say, "Earth, lie lightly on that breast, + And, kind Heaven, grant that spirit rest!" + + + + +HONOUR'S MARTYR. + + The moon is full this winter night; + The stars are clear, though few; + And every window glistens bright + With leaves of frozen dew. + + The sweet moon through your lattice gleams, + And lights your room like day; + And there you pass, in happy dreams, + The peaceful hours away! + + While I, with effort hardly quelling + The anguish in my breast, + Wander about the silent dwelling, + And cannot think of rest. + + The old clock in the gloomy hall + Ticks on, from hour to hour; + And every time its measured call + Seems lingering slow and slower: + + And, oh, how slow that keen-eyed star + Has tracked the chilly gray! + What, watching yet! how very far + The morning lies away! + + Without your chamber door I stand; + Love, are you slumbering still? + My cold heart, underneath my hand, + Has almost ceased to thrill. + + Bleak, bleak the east wind sobs and sighs, + And drowns the turret bell, + Whose sad note, undistinguished, dies + Unheard, like my farewell! + + To-morrow, Scorn will blight my name, + And Hate will trample me, + Will load me with a coward's shame-- + A traitor's perjury. + + False friends will launch their covert sneers; + True friends will wish me dead; + And I shall cause the bitterest tears + That you have ever shed. + + The dark deeds of my outlawed race + Will then like virtues shine; + And men will pardon their disgrace, + Beside the guilt of mine. + + For, who forgives the accursed crime + Of dastard treachery? + Rebellion, in its chosen time, + May Freedom's champion be; + + Revenge may stain a righteous sword, + It may be just to slay; + But, traitor, traitor,--from THAT word + All true breasts shrink away! + + Oh, I would give my heart to death, + To keep my honour fair; + Yet, I'll not give my inward faith + My honour's NAME to spare! + + Not even to keep your priceless love, + Dare I, Beloved, deceive; + This treason should the future prove, + Then, only then, believe! + + I know the path I ought to go + I follow fearlessly, + Inquiring not what deeper woe + Stern duty stores for me. + + So foes pursue, and cold allies + Mistrust me, every one: + Let me be false in others' eyes, + If faithful in my own. + + + + +STANZAS. + + I'll not weep that thou art going to leave me, + There's nothing lovely here; + And doubly will the dark world grieve me, + While thy heart suffers there. + + I'll not weep, because the summer's glory + Must always end in gloom; + And, follow out the happiest story-- + It closes with a tomb! + + And I am weary of the anguish + Increasing winters bear; + Weary to watch the spirit languish + Through years of dead despair. + + So, if a tear, when thou art dying, + Should haply fall from me, + It is but that my soul is sighing, + To go and rest with thee. + + + + +MY COMFORTER. + + Well hast thou spoken, and yet not taught + A feeling strange or new; + Thou hast but roused a latent thought, + A cloud-closed beam of sunshine brought + To gleam in open view. + + Deep down, concealed within my soul, + That light lies hid from men; + Yet glows unquenched--though shadows roll, + Its gentle ray cannot control-- + About the sullen den. + + Was I not vexed, in these gloomy ways + To walk alone so long? + Around me, wretches uttering praise, + Or howling o'er their hopeless days, + And each with Frenzy's tongue;-- + + A brotherhood of misery, + Their smiles as sad as sighs; + Whose madness daily maddened me, + Distorting into agony + The bliss before my eyes! + + So stood I, in Heaven's glorious sun, + And in the glare of Hell; + My spirit drank a mingled tone, + Of seraph's song, and demon's moan; + What my soul bore, my soul alone + Within itself may tell! + + Like a soft, air above a sea, + Tossed by the tempest's stir; + A thaw-wind, melting quietly + The snow-drift on some wintry lea; + No: what sweet thing resembles thee, + My thoughtful Comforter? + + And yet a little longer speak, + Calm this resentful mood; + And while the savage heart grows meek, + For other token do not seek, + But let the tear upon my cheek + Evince my gratitude! + + + + +THE OLD STOIC. + + Riches I hold in light esteem, + And Love I laugh to scorn; + And lust of fame was but a dream, + That vanished with the morn: + + And if I pray, the only prayer + That moves my lips for me + Is, "Leave the heart that now I bear, + And give me liberty!" + + Yes, as my swift days near their goal: + 'Tis all that I implore; + In life and death a chainless soul, + With courage to endure. + + + ***** + + + + + +POEMS BY ACTON BELL, + + + + +A REMINISCENCE. + + Yes, thou art gone! and never more + Thy sunny smile shall gladden me; + But I may pass the old church door, + And pace the floor that covers thee, + + May stand upon the cold, damp stone, + And think that, frozen, lies below + The lightest heart that I have known, + The kindest I shall ever know. + + Yet, though I cannot see thee more, + 'Tis still a comfort to have seen; + And though thy transient life is o'er, + 'Tis sweet to think that thou hast been; + + To think a soul so near divine, + Within a form so angel fair, + United to a heart like thine, + Has gladdened once our humble sphere. + + + + +THE ARBOUR. + + I'll rest me in this sheltered bower, + And look upon the clear blue sky + That smiles upon me through the trees, + Which stand so thick clustering by; + + And view their green and glossy leaves, + All glistening in the sunshine fair; + And list the rustling of their boughs, + So softly whispering through the air. + + And while my ear drinks in the sound, + My winged soul shall fly away; + Reviewing lone departed years + As one mild, beaming, autumn day; + + And soaring on to future scenes, + Like hills and woods, and valleys green, + All basking in the summer's sun, + But distant still, and dimly seen. + + Oh, list! 'tis summer's very breath + That gently shakes the rustling trees-- + But look! the snow is on the ground-- + How can I think of scenes like these? + + 'Tis but the FROST that clears the air, + And gives the sky that lovely blue; + They're smiling in a WINTER'S sun, + Those evergreens of sombre hue. + + And winter's chill is on my heart-- + How can I dream of future bliss? + How can my spirit soar away, + Confined by such a chain as this? + + + + +HOME. + + How brightly glistening in the sun + The woodland ivy plays! + While yonder beeches from their barks + Reflect his silver rays. + + That sun surveys a lovely scene + From softly smiling skies; + And wildly through unnumbered trees + The wind of winter sighs: + + Now loud, it thunders o'er my head, + And now in distance dies. + But give me back my barren hills + Where colder breezes rise; + + Where scarce the scattered, stunted trees + Can yield an answering swell, + But where a wilderness of heath + Returns the sound as well. + + For yonder garden, fair and wide, + With groves of evergreen, + Long winding walks, and borders trim, + And velvet lawns between; + + Restore to me that little spot, + With gray walls compassed round, + Where knotted grass neglected lies, + And weeds usurp the ground. + + Though all around this mansion high + Invites the foot to roam, + And though its halls are fair within-- + Oh, give me back my HOME! + + + + +VANITAS VANITATUM, OMNIA VANITAS. + + In all we do, and hear, and see, + Is restless Toil and Vanity. + While yet the rolling earth abides, + Men come and go like ocean tides; + + And ere one generation dies, + Another in its place shall rise; + THAT, sinking soon into the grave, + Others succeed, like wave on wave; + + And as they rise, they pass away. + The sun arises every day, + And hastening onward to the West, + He nightly sinks, but not to rest: + + Returning to the eastern skies, + Again to light us, he must rise. + And still the restless wind comes forth, + Now blowing keenly from the North; + + Now from the South, the East, the West, + For ever changing, ne'er at rest. + The fountains, gushing from the hills, + Supply the ever-running rills; + + The thirsty rivers drink their store, + And bear it rolling to the shore, + But still the ocean craves for more. + 'Tis endless labour everywhere! + Sound cannot satisfy the ear, + + Light cannot fill the craving eye, + Nor riches half our wants supply, + Pleasure but doubles future pain, + And joy brings sorrow in her train; + + Laughter is mad, and reckless mirth-- + What does she in this weary earth? + Should Wealth, or Fame, our Life employ, + Death comes, our labour to destroy; + + To snatch the untasted cup away, + For which we toiled so many a day. + What, then, remains for wretched man? + To use life's comforts while he can, + + Enjoy the blessings Heaven bestows, + Assist his friends, forgive his foes; + Trust God, and keep His statutes still, + Upright and firm, through good and ill; + + Thankful for all that God has given, + Fixing his firmest hopes on Heaven; + Knowing that earthly joys decay, + But hoping through the darkest day. + + + + +THE PENITENT. + + I mourn with thee, and yet rejoice + That thou shouldst sorrow so; + With angel choirs I join my voice + To bless the sinner's woe. + + Though friends and kindred turn away, + And laugh thy grief to scorn; + I hear the great Redeemer say, + "Blessed are ye that mourn." + + Hold on thy course, nor deem it strange + That earthly cords are riven: + Man may lament the wondrous change, + But "there is joy in heaven!" + + + + +MUSIC ON CHRISTMAS MORNING. + + Music I love--but never strain + Could kindle raptures so divine, + So grief assuage, so conquer pain, + And rouse this pensive heart of mine-- + As that we hear on Christmas morn, + Upon the wintry breezes borne. + + Though Darkness still her empire keep, + And hours must pass, ere morning break; + From troubled dreams, or slumbers deep, + That music KINDLY bids us wake: + It calls us, with an angel's voice, + To wake, and worship, and rejoice; + + To greet with joy the glorious morn, + Which angels welcomed long ago, + When our redeeming Lord was born, + To bring the light of Heaven below; + The Powers of Darkness to dispel, + And rescue Earth from Death and Hell. + + While listening to that sacred strain, + My raptured spirit soars on high; + I seem to hear those songs again + Resounding through the open sky, + That kindled such divine delight, + In those who watched their flocks by night. + + With them I celebrate His birth-- + Glory to God, in highest Heaven, + Good-will to men, and peace on earth, + To us a Saviour-king is given; + Our God is come to claim His own, + And Satan's power is overthrown! + + A sinless God, for sinful men, + Descends to suffer and to bleed; + Hell MUST renounce its empire then; + The price is paid, the world is freed, + And Satan's self must now confess + That Christ has earned a RIGHT to bless: + + Now holy Peace may smile from heaven, + And heavenly Truth from earth shall spring: + The captive's galling bonds are riven, + For our Redeemer is our king; + And He that gave his blood for men + Will lead us home to God again. + + + + +STANZAS. + + Oh, weep not, love! each tear that springs + In those dear eyes of thine, + To me a keener suffering brings + Than if they flowed from mine. + + And do not droop! however drear + The fate awaiting thee; + For MY sake combat pain and care, + And cherish life for me! + + I do not fear thy love will fail; + Thy faith is true, I know; + But, oh, my love! thy strength is frail + For such a life of woe. + + Were 't not for this, I well could trace + (Though banished long from thee) + Life's rugged path, and boldly face + The storms that threaten me. + + Fear not for me--I've steeled my mind + Sorrow and strife to greet; + Joy with my love I leave behind, + Care with my friends I meet. + + A mother's sad reproachful eye, + A father's scowling brow-- + But he may frown and she may sigh: + I will not break my vow! + + I love my mother, I revere + My sire, but fear not me-- + Believe that Death alone can tear + This faithful heart from thee. + + + + +IF THIS BE ALL. + + O God! if this indeed be all + That Life can show to me; + If on my aching brow may fall + No freshening dew from Thee; + + If with no brighter light than this + The lamp of hope may glow, + And I may only dream of bliss, + And wake to weary woe; + + If friendship's solace must decay, + When other joys are gone, + And love must keep so far away, + While I go wandering on,-- + + Wandering and toiling without gain, + The slave of others' will, + With constant care, and frequent pain, + Despised, forgotten still; + + Grieving to look on vice and sin, + Yet powerless to quell + The silent current from within, + The outward torrent's swell + + While all the good I would impart, + The feelings I would share, + Are driven backward to my heart, + And turned to wormwood there; + + If clouds must EVER keep from sight + The glories of the Sun, + And I must suffer Winter's blight, + Ere Summer is begun; + + If Life must be so full of care, + Then call me soon to thee; + Or give me strength enough to bear + My load of misery. + + + + +MEMORY. + + Brightly the sun of summer shone + Green fields and waving woods upon, + And soft winds wandered by; + Above, a sky of purest blue, + Around, bright flowers of loveliest hue, + Allured the gazer's eye. + + But what were all these charms to me, + When one sweet breath of memory + Came gently wafting by? + I closed my eyes against the day, + And called my willing soul away, + From earth, and air, and sky; + + That I might simply fancy there + One little flower--a primrose fair, + Just opening into sight; + As in the days of infancy, + An opening primrose seemed to me + A source of strange delight. + + Sweet Memory! ever smile on me; + Nature's chief beauties spring from thee; + Oh, still thy tribute bring + Still make the golden crocus shine + Among the flowers the most divine, + The glory of the spring. + + Still in the wallflower's fragrance dwell; + And hover round the slight bluebell, + My childhood's darling flower. + Smile on the little daisy still, + The buttercup's bright goblet fill + With all thy former power. + + For ever hang thy dreamy spell + Round mountain star and heather bell, + And do not pass away + From sparkling frost, or wreathed snow, + And whisper when the wild winds blow, + Or rippling waters play. + + Is childhood, then, so all divine? + Or Memory, is the glory thine, + That haloes thus the past? + Not ALL divine; its pangs of grief + (Although, perchance, their stay be brief) + Are bitter while they last. + + Nor is the glory all thine own, + For on our earliest joys alone + That holy light is cast. + With such a ray, no spell of thine + Can make our later pleasures shine, + Though long ago they passed. + + + + +TO COWPER. + + Sweet are thy strains, celestial Bard; + And oft, in childhood's years, + I've read them o'er and o'er again, + With floods of silent tears. + + The language of my inmost heart + I traced in every line; + MY sins, MY sorrows, hopes, and fears, + Were there-and only mine. + + All for myself the sigh would swell, + The tear of anguish start; + I little knew what wilder woe + Had filled the Poet's heart. + + I did not know the nights of gloom, + The days of misery; + The long, long years of dark despair, + That crushed and tortured thee. + + But they are gone; from earth at length + Thy gentle soul is pass'd, + And in the bosom of its God + Has found its home at last. + + It must be so, if God is love, + And answers fervent prayer; + Then surely thou shalt dwell on high, + And I may meet thee there. + + Is He the source of every good, + The spring of purity? + Then in thine hours of deepest woe, + Thy God was still with thee. + + How else, when every hope was fled, + Couldst thou so fondly cling + To holy things and help men? + And how so sweetly sing, + + Of things that God alone could teach? + And whence that purity, + That hatred of all sinful ways-- + That gentle charity? + + Are THESE the symptoms of a heart + Of heavenly grace bereft-- + For ever banished from its God, + To Satan's fury left? + + Yet, should thy darkest fears be true, + If Heaven be so severe, + That such a soul as thine is lost,-- + Oh! how shall I appear? + + + + +THE DOUBTER'S PRAYER. + + Eternal Power, of earth and air! + Unseen, yet seen in all around, + Remote, but dwelling everywhere, + Though silent, heard in every sound; + + If e'er thine ear in mercy bent, + When wretched mortals cried to Thee, + And if, indeed, Thy Son was sent, + To save lost sinners such as me: + + Then hear me now, while kneeling here, + I lift to thee my heart and eye, + And all my soul ascends in prayer, + OH, GIVE ME--GIVE ME FAITH! I cry. + + Without some glimmering in my heart, + I could not raise this fervent prayer; + But, oh! a stronger light impart, + And in Thy mercy fix it there. + + While Faith is with me, I am blest; + It turns my darkest night to day; + But while I clasp it to my breast, + I often feel it slide away. + + Then, cold and dark, my spirit sinks, + To see my light of life depart; + And every fiend of Hell, methinks, + Enjoys the anguish of my heart. + + What shall I do, if all my love, + My hopes, my toil, are cast away, + And if there be no God above, + To hear and bless me when I pray? + + If this be vain delusion all, + If death be an eternal sleep, + And none can hear my secret call, + Or see the silent tears I weep! + + Oh, help me, God! For thou alone + Canst my distracted soul relieve; + Forsake it not: it is thine own, + Though weak, yet longing to believe. + + Oh, drive these cruel doubts away; + And make me know, that Thou art God! + A faith, that shines by night and day, + Will lighten every earthly load. + + If I believe that Jesus died, + And waking, rose to reign above; + Then surely Sorrow, Sin, and Pride, + Must yield to Peace, and Hope, and Love. + + And all the blessed words He said + Will strength and holy joy impart: + A shield of safety o'er my head, + A spring of comfort in my heart. + + + + +A WORD TO THE "ELECT." + + You may rejoice to think YOURSELVES secure; + You may be grateful for the gift divine-- + That grace unsought, which made your black hearts pure, + And fits your earth-born souls in Heaven to shine. + + But, is it sweet to look around, and view + Thousands excluded from that happiness + Which they deserved, at least, as much as you.-- + Their faults not greater, nor their virtues less? + + And wherefore should you love your God the more, + Because to you alone his smiles are given; + Because He chose to pass the MANY o'er, + And only bring the favoured FEW to Heaven? + + And, wherefore should your hearts more grateful prove, + Because for ALL the Saviour did not die? + Is yours the God of justice and of love? + And are your bosoms warm with charity? + + Say, does your heart expand to all mankind? + And, would you ever to your neighbour do-- + The weak, the strong, the enlightened, and the blind-- + As you would have your neighbour do to you? + + And when you, looking on your fellow-men, + Behold them doomed to endless misery, + How can you talk of joy and rapture then?-- + May God withhold such cruel joy from me! + + That none deserve eternal bliss I know; + Unmerited the grace in mercy given: + But, none shall sink to everlasting woe, + That have not well deserved the wrath of Heaven. + + And, oh! there lives within my heart + A hope, long nursed by me; + (And should its cheering ray depart, + How dark my soul would be!) + + That as in Adam all have died, + In Christ shall all men live; + And ever round his throne abide, + Eternal praise to give. + + That even the wicked shall at last + Be fitted for the skies; + And when their dreadful doom is past, + To life and light arise. + + I ask not, how remote the day, + Nor what the sinners' woe, + Before their dross is purged away; + Enough for me to know-- + + That when the cup of wrath is drained, + The metal purified, + They'll cling to what they once disdained, + And live by Him that died. + + + + +PAST DAYS. + + 'Tis strange to think there WAS a time + When mirth was not an empty name, + When laughter really cheered the heart, + And frequent smiles unbidden came, + And tears of grief would only flow + In sympathy for others' woe; + + When speech expressed the inward thought, + And heart to kindred heart was bare, + And summer days were far too short + For all the pleasures crowded there; + And silence, solitude, and rest, + Now welcome to the weary breast-- + + Were all unprized, uncourted then-- + And all the joy one spirit showed, + The other deeply felt again; + And friendship like a river flowed, + Constant and strong its silent course, + For nought withstood its gentle force: + + When night, the holy time of peace, + Was dreaded as the parting hour; + When speech and mirth at once must cease, + And silence must resume her power; + Though ever free from pains and woes, + She only brought us calm repose. + + And when the blessed dawn again + Brought daylight to the blushing skies, + We woke, and not RELUCTANT then, + To joyless LABOUR did we rise; + But full of hope, and glad and gay, + We welcomed the returning day. + + + + +THE CONSOLATION. + + Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground + With fallen leaves so thickly strown, + And cold the wind that wanders round + With wild and melancholy moan; + + There IS a friendly roof, I know, + Might shield me from the wintry blast; + There is a fire, whose ruddy glow + Will cheer me for my wanderings past. + + And so, though still, where'er I go, + Cold stranger-glances meet my eye; + Though, when my spirit sinks in woe, + Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh; + + Though solitude, endured too long, + Bids youthful joys too soon decay, + Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue, + And overclouds my noon of day; + + When kindly thoughts that would have way, + Flow back discouraged to my breast; + I know there is, though far away, + A home where heart and soul may rest. + + Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine, + The warmer heart will not belie; + While mirth, and truth, and friendship shine + In smiling lip and earnest eye. + + The ice that gathers round my heart + May there be thawed; and sweetly, then, + The joys of youth, that now depart, + Will come to cheer my soul again. + + Though far I roam, that thought shall be + My hope, my comfort, everywhere; + While such a home remains to me, + My heart shall never know despair! + + + + +LINES COMPOSED IN A WOOD ON A WINDY DAY. + + My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring + And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze; + For above and around me the wild wind is roaring, + Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas. + + The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing, + The bare trees are tossing their branches on high; + The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing, + The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky + + I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing + The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray; + I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing, + And hear the wild roar of their thunder to-day! + + + + +VIEWS OF LIFE. + + When sinks my heart in hopeless gloom, + And life can show no joy for me; + And I behold a yawning tomb, + Where bowers and palaces should be; + + In vain you talk of morbid dreams; + In vain you gaily smiling say, + That what to me so dreary seems, + The healthy mind deems bright and gay. + + I too have smiled, and thought like you, + But madly smiled, and falsely deemed: + TRUTH led me to the present view,-- + I'm waking now--'twas THEN I dreamed. + + I lately saw a sunset sky, + And stood enraptured to behold + Its varied hues of glorious dye: + First, fleecy clouds of shining gold; + + These blushing took a rosy hue; + Beneath them shone a flood of green; + Nor less divine, the glorious blue + That smiled above them and between. + + I cannot name each lovely shade; + I cannot say how bright they shone; + But one by one, I saw them fade; + And what remained when they were gone? + + Dull clouds remained, of sombre hue, + And when their borrowed charm was o'er, + The azure sky had faded too, + That smiled so softly bright before. + + So, gilded by the glow of youth, + Our varied life looks fair and gay; + And so remains the naked truth, + When that false light is past away. + + Why blame ye, then, my keener sight, + That clearly sees a world of woes + Through all the haze of golden light + That flattering Falsehood round it throws? + + When the young mother smiles above + The first-born darling of her heart, + Her bosom glows with earnest love, + While tears of silent transport start. + + Fond dreamer! little does she know + The anxious toil, the suffering, + The blasted hopes, the burning woe, + The object of her joy will bring. + + Her blinded eyes behold not now + What, soon or late, must be his doom; + The anguish that will cloud his brow, + The bed of death, the dreary tomb. + + As little know the youthful pair, + In mutual love supremely blest, + What weariness, and cold despair, + Ere long, will seize the aching breast. + + And even should Love and Faith remain, + (The greatest blessings life can show,) + Amid adversity and pain, + To shine throughout with cheering glow; + + They do not see how cruel Death + Comes on, their loving hearts to part: + One feels not now the gasping breath, + The rending of the earth-bound heart,-- + + The soul's and body's agony, + Ere she may sink to her repose. + The sad survivor cannot see + The grave above his darling close; + + Nor how, despairing and alone, + He then must wear his life away; + And linger, feebly toiling on, + And fainting, sink into decay. + + * * * * + + Oh, Youth may listen patiently, + While sad Experience tells her tale, + But Doubt sits smiling in his eye, + For ardent Hope will still prevail! + + He hears how feeble Pleasure dies, + By guilt destroyed, and pain and woe; + He turns to Hope--and she replies, + "Believe it not-it is not so!" + + "Oh, heed her not!" Experience says; + "For thus she whispered once to me; + She told me, in my youthful days, + How glorious manhood's prime would be. + + "When, in the time of early Spring, + Too chill the winds that o'er me pass'd, + She said, each coming day would bring + a fairer heaven, a gentler blast. + + "And when the sun too seldom beamed, + The sky, o'ercast, too darkly frowned, + The soaking rain too constant streamed, + And mists too dreary gathered round; + + "She told me, Summer's glorious ray + Would chase those vapours all away, + And scatter glories round; + With sweetest music fill the trees, + Load with rich scent the gentle breeze, + And strew with flowers the ground + + "But when, beneath that scorching ray, + I languished, weary through the day, + While birds refused to sing, + Verdure decayed from field and tree, + And panting Nature mourned with me + The freshness of the Spring. + + "'Wait but a little while,' she said, + 'Till Summer's burning days are fled; + And Autumn shall restore, + With golden riches of her own, + And Summer's glories mellowed down, + The freshness you deplore.' + + And long I waited, but in vain: + That freshness never came again, + Though Summer passed away, + Though Autumn's mists hung cold and chill. + And drooping nature languished still, + And sank into decay. + + "Till wintry blasts foreboding blew + Through leafless trees--and then I knew + That Hope was all a dream. + But thus, fond youth, she cheated me; + And she will prove as false to thee, + Though sweet her words may seem. + + Stern prophet! Cease thy bodings dire-- + Thou canst not quench the ardent fire + That warms the breast of youth. + Oh, let it cheer him while it may, + And gently, gently die away-- + Chilled by the damps of truth! + + Tell him, that earth is not our rest; + Its joys are empty--frail at best; + And point beyond the sky. + But gleams of light may reach us here; + And hope the ROUGHEST path can cheer: + Then do not bid it fly! + + Though hope may promise joys, that still + Unkindly time will ne'er fulfil; + Or, if they come at all, + We never find them unalloyed,-- + Hurtful perchance, or soon destroyed, + They vanish or they pall; + + Yet hope ITSELF a brightness throws + O'er all our labours and our woes; + While dark foreboding Care + A thousand ills will oft portend, + That Providence may ne'er intend + The trembling heart to bear. + + Or if they come, it oft appears, + Our woes are lighter than our fears, + And far more bravely borne. + Then let us not enhance our doom + But e'en in midnight's blackest gloom + Expect the rising morn. + + Because the road is rough and long, + Shall we despise the skylark's song, + That cheers the wanderer's way? + Or trample down, with reckless feet, + The smiling flowerets, bright and sweet, + Because they soon decay? + + Pass pleasant scenes unnoticed by, + Because the next is bleak and drear; + Or not enjoy a smiling sky, + Because a tempest may be near? + + No! while we journey on our way, + We'll smile on every lovely thing; + And ever, as they pass away, + To memory and hope we'll cling. + + And though that awful river flows + Before us, when the journey's past, + Perchance of all the pilgrim's woes + Most dreadful--shrink not--'tis the last! + + Though icy cold, and dark, and deep; + Beyond it smiles that blessed shore, + Where none shall suffer, none shall weep, + And bliss shall reign for evermore! + + + + +APPEAL. + + Oh, I am very weary, + Though tears no longer flow; + My eyes are tired of weeping, + My heart is sick of woe; + + My life is very lonely + My days pass heavily, + I'm weary of repining; + Wilt thou not come to me? + + Oh, didst thou know my longings + For thee, from day to day, + My hopes, so often blighted, + Thou wouldst not thus delay! + + + + +THE STUDENT'S SERENADE. + + I have slept upon my couch, + But my spirit did not rest, + For the labours of the day + Yet my weary soul opprest; + + And before my dreaming eyes + Still the learned volumes lay, + And I could not close their leaves, + And I could not turn away. + + But I oped my eyes at last, + And I heard a muffled sound; + 'Twas the night-breeze, come to say + That the snow was on the ground. + + Then I knew that there was rest + On the mountain's bosom free; + So I left my fevered couch, + And I flew to waken thee! + + I have flown to waken thee-- + For, if thou wilt not arise, + Then my soul can drink no peace + From these holy moonlight skies. + + And this waste of virgin snow + To my sight will not be fair, + Unless thou wilt smiling come, + Love, to wander with me there. + + Then, awake! Maria, wake! + For, if thou couldst only know + How the quiet moonlight sleeps + On this wilderness of snow, + + And the groves of ancient trees, + In their snowy garb arrayed, + Till they stretch into the gloom + Of the distant valley's shade; + + I know thou wouldst rejoice + To inhale this bracing air; + Thou wouldst break thy sweetest sleep + To behold a scene so fair. + + O'er these wintry wilds, ALONE, + Thou wouldst joy to wander free; + And it will not please thee less, + Though that bliss be shared with me. + + + + +THE CAPTIVE DOVE. + + Poor restless dove, I pity thee; + And when I hear thy plaintive moan, + I mourn for thy captivity, + And in thy woes forget mine own. + + To see thee stand prepared to fly, + And flap those useless wings of thine, + And gaze into the distant sky, + Would melt a harder heart than mine. + + In vain--in vain! Thou canst not rise: + Thy prison roof confines thee there; + Its slender wires delude thine eyes, + And quench thy longings with despair. + + Oh, thou wert made to wander free + In sunny mead and shady grove, + And far beyond the rolling sea, + In distant climes, at will to rove! + + Yet, hadst thou but one gentle mate + Thy little drooping heart to cheer, + And share with thee thy captive state, + Thou couldst be happy even there. + + Yes, even there, if, listening by, + One faithful dear companion stood, + While gazing on her full bright eye, + Thou mightst forget thy native wood + + But thou, poor solitary dove, + Must make, unheard, thy joyless moan; + The heart that Nature formed to love + Must pine, neglected, and alone. + + + + +SELF-CONGRATULATION. + + Ellen, you were thoughtless once + Of beauty or of grace, + Simple and homely in attire, + Careless of form and face; + Then whence this change? and wherefore now + So often smoothe your hair? + And wherefore deck your youthful form + With such unwearied care? + + Tell us, and cease to tire our ears + With that familiar strain; + Why will you play those simple tunes + So often o'er again? + "Indeed, dear friends, I can but say + That childhood's thoughts are gone; + Each year its own new feelings brings, + And years move swiftly on: + + "And for these little simple airs-- + I love to play them o'er + So much--I dare not promise, now, + To play them never more." + I answered--and it was enough; + They turned them to depart; + They could not read my secret thoughts, + Nor see my throbbing heart. + + I've noticed many a youthful form, + Upon whose changeful face + The inmost workings of the soul + The gazer well might trace; + The speaking eye, the changing lip, + The ready blushing cheek, + The smiling, or beclouded brow, + Their different feelings speak. + + But, thank God! you might gaze on mine + For hours, and never know + The secret changes of my soul + From joy to keenest woe. + Last night, as we sat round the fire + Conversing merrily, + We heard, without, approaching steps + Of one well known to me! + + There was no trembling in my voice, + No blush upon my cheek, + No lustrous sparkle in my eyes, + Of hope, or joy, to speak; + But, oh! my spirit burned within, + My heart beat full and fast! + He came not nigh--he went away-- + And then my joy was past. + + And yet my comrades marked it not: + My voice was still the same; + They saw me smile, and o'er my face + No signs of sadness came. + They little knew my hidden thoughts; + And they will NEVER know + The aching anguish of my heart, + The bitter burning woe! + + + + +FLUCTUATIONS, + + What though the Sun had left my sky; + To save me from despair + The blessed Moon arose on high, + And shone serenely there. + + I watched her, with a tearful gaze, + Rise slowly o'er the hill, + While through the dim horizon's haze + Her light gleamed faint and chill. + + I thought such wan and lifeless beams + Could ne'er my heart repay + For the bright sun's most transient gleams + That cheered me through the day: + + But, as above that mist's control + She rose, and brighter shone, + I felt her light upon my soul; + But now--that light is gone! + + Thick vapours snatched her from my sight, + And I was darkling left, + All in the cold and gloomy night, + Of light and hope bereft: + + Until, methought, a little star + Shone forth with trembling ray, + To cheer me with its light afar-- + But that, too, passed away. + + Anon, an earthly meteor blazed + The gloomy darkness through; + I smiled, yet trembled while I gazed-- + But that soon vanished too! + + And darker, drearier fell the night + Upon my spirit then;-- + But what is that faint struggling light? + Is it the Moon again? + + Kind Heaven! increase that silvery gleam + And bid these clouds depart, + And let her soft celestial beam + Restore my fainting heart! + + + + + +SELECTIONS FROM THE LITERARY REMAINS OF ELLIS AND ACTON BELL. + +By Currer Bell + + + + +SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ELLIS BELL. + +It would not have been difficult to compile a volume out of the papers +left by my sisters, had I, in making the selection, dismissed from my +consideration the scruples and the wishes of those whose written +thoughts these papers held. But this was impossible: an influence, +stronger than could be exercised by any motive of expediency, +necessarily regulated the selection. I have, then, culled from the mass +only a little poem here and there. The whole makes but a tiny nosegay, +and the colour and perfume of the flowers are not such as fit them for +festal uses. + +It has been already said that my sisters wrote much in childhood and +girlhood. Usually, it seems a sort of injustice to expose in print the +crude thoughts of the unripe mind, the rude efforts of the unpractised +hand; yet I venture to give three little poems of my sister Emily's, +written in her sixteenth year, because they illustrate a point in her +character. + +At that period she was sent to school. Her previous life, with the +exception of a single half-year, had been passed in the absolute +retirement of a village parsonage, amongst the hills bordering Yorkshire +and Lancashire. The scenery of these hills is not grand--it is not +romantic it is scarcely striking. Long low moors, dark with heath, shut +in little valleys, where a stream waters, here and there, a fringe of +stunted copse. Mills and scattered cottages chase romance from these +valleys; it is only higher up, deep in amongst the ridges of the moors, +that Imagination can find rest for the sole of her foot: and even if she +finds it there, she must be a solitude-loving raven--no gentle dove. If +she demand beauty to inspire her, she must bring it inborn: these moors +are too stern to yield any product so delicate. The eye of the gazer +must ITSELF brim with a "purple light," intense enough to perpetuate the +brief flower-flush of August on the heather, or the rare sunset-smile of +June; out of his heart must well the freshness, that in latter spring +and early summer brightens the bracken, nurtures the moss, and cherishes +the starry flowers that spangle for a few weeks the pasture of the +moor-sheep. Unless that light and freshness are innate and self-sustained, +the drear prospect of a Yorkshire moor will be found as barren of poetic +as of agricultural interest: where the love of wild nature is strong, +the locality will perhaps be clung to with the more passionate +constancy, because from the hill-lover's self comes half its charm. + +My sister Emily loved the moors. Flowers brighter than the rose bloomed +in the blackest of the heath for her; out of a sullen hollow in a livid +hill-side her mind could make an Eden. She found in the bleak solitude +many and dear delights; and not the least and best loved was--liberty. + +Liberty was the breath of Emily's nostrils; without it, she perished. +The change from her own home to a school, and from her own very +noiseless, very secluded, but unrestricted and inartificial mode of +life, to one of disciplined routine (though under the kindliest +auspices), was what she failed in enduring. Her nature proved here too +strong for her fortitude. Every morning when she woke, the vision of +home and the moors rushed on her, and darkened and saddened the day that +lay before her. Nobody knew what ailed her but me--I knew only too well. +In this struggle her health was quickly broken: her white face, +attenuated form, and failing strength, threatened rapid decline. I felt +in my heart she would die, if she did not go home, and with this +conviction obtained her recall. She had only been three months at +school; and it was some years before the experiment of sending her from +home was again ventured on. After the age of twenty, having meantime +studied alone with diligence and perseverance, she went with me to an +establishment on the Continent: the same suffering and conflict ensued, +heightened by the strong recoil of her upright, heretic and English +spirit from the gentle Jesuitry of the foreign and Romish system. Once +more she seemed sinking, but this time she rallied through the mere +force of resolution: with inward remorse and shame she looked back on +her former failure, and resolved to conquer in this second ordeal. She +did conquer: but the victory cost her dear. She was never happy till she +carried her hard-won knowledge back to the remote English village, the +old parsonage-house, and desolate Yorkshire hills. A very few years +more, and she looked her last on those hills, and breathed her last in +that house, and under the aisle of that obscure village church found her +last lowly resting-place. Merciful was the decree that spared her when +she was a stranger in a strange land, and guarded her dying bed with +kindred love and congenial constancy. + +The following pieces were composed at twilight, in the school-room, when +the leisure of the evening play-hour brought back in full tide the +thoughts of home. + + + + +I. + + A LITTLE while, a little while, + The weary task is put away, + And I can sing and I can smile, + Alike, while I have holiday. + + Where wilt thou go, my harassed heart-- + What thought, what scene invites thee now + What spot, or near or far apart, + Has rest for thee, my weary brow? + + There is a spot, 'mid barren hills, + Where winter howls, and driving rain; + But, if the dreary tempest chills, + There is a light that warms again. + + The house is old, the trees are bare, + Moonless above bends twilight's dome; + But what on earth is half so dear-- + So longed for--as the hearth of home? + + The mute bird sitting on the stone, + The dank moss dripping from the wall, + The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown, + I love them--how I love them all! + + Still, as I mused, the naked room, + The alien firelight died away; + And from the midst of cheerless gloom, + I passed to bright, unclouded day. + + A little and a lone green lane + That opened on a common wide; + A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain + Of mountains circling every side. + + A heaven so clear, an earth so calm, + So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air; + And, deepening still the dream-like charm, + Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere. + + THAT was the scene, I knew it well; + I knew the turfy pathway's sweep, + That, winding o'er each billowy swell, + Marked out the tracks of wandering sheep. + + Could I have lingered but an hour, + It well had paid a week of toil; + But Truth has banished Fancy's power: + Restraint and heavy task recoil. + + Even as I stood with raptured eye, + Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear, + My hour of rest had fleeted by, + And back came labour, bondage, care. + + + + +II. THE BLUEBELL. + + The Bluebell is the sweetest flower + That waves in summer air: + Its blossoms have the mightiest power + To soothe my spirit's care. + + There is a spell in purple heath + Too wildly, sadly dear; + The violet has a fragrant breath, + But fragrance will not cheer, + + The trees are bare, the sun is cold, + And seldom, seldom seen; + The heavens have lost their zone of gold, + And earth her robe of green. + + And ice upon the glancing stream + Has cast its sombre shade; + And distant hills and valleys seem + In frozen mist arrayed. + + The Bluebell cannot charm me now, + The heath has lost its bloom; + The violets in the glen below, + They yield no sweet perfume. + + But, though I mourn the sweet Bluebell, + 'Tis better far away; + I know how fast my tears would swell + To see it smile to-day. + + For, oh! when chill the sunbeams fall + Adown that dreary sky, + And gild yon dank and darkened wall + With transient brilliancy; + + How do I weep, how do I pine + For the time of flowers to come, + And turn me from that fading shine, + To mourn the fields of home! + + + + +III. + + Loud without the wind was roaring + Through th'autumnal sky; + Drenching wet, the cold rain pouring, + Spoke of winter nigh. + All too like that dreary eve, + Did my exiled spirit grieve. + Grieved at first, but grieved not long, + Sweet--how softly sweet!--it came; + Wild words of an ancient song, + Undefined, without a name. + + "It was spring, and the skylark was singing:" + Those words they awakened a spell; + They unlocked a deep fountain, whose springing, + Nor absence, nor distance can quell. + + In the gloom of a cloudy November + They uttered the music of May; + They kindled the perishing ember + Into fervour that could not decay. + + Awaken, o'er all my dear moorland, + West-wind, in thy glory and pride! + Oh! call me from valley and lowland, + To walk by the hill-torrent's side! + + It is swelled with the first snowy weather; + The rocks they are icy and hoar, + And sullenly waves the long heather, + And the fern leaves are sunny no more. + + There are no yellow stars on the mountain + The bluebells have long died away + From the brink of the moss-bedded fountain-- + From the side of the wintry brae. + + But lovelier than corn-fields all waving + In emerald, and vermeil, and gold, + Are the heights where the north-wind is raving, + And the crags where I wandered of old. + + It was morning: the bright sun was beaming; + How sweetly it brought back to me + The time when nor labour nor dreaming + Broke the sleep of the happy and free! + + But blithely we rose as the dawn-heaven + Was melting to amber and blue, + And swift were the wings to our feet given, + As we traversed the meadows of dew. + + For the moors! For the moors, where the short grass + Like velvet beneath us should lie! + For the moors! For the moors, where each high pass + Rose sunny against the clear sky! + + For the moors, where the linnet was trilling + Its song on the old granite stone; + Where the lark, the wild sky-lark, was filling + Every breast with delight like its own! + + What language can utter the feeling + Which rose, when in exile afar, + On the brow of a lonely hill kneeling, + I saw the brown heath growing there? + + It was scattered and stunted, and told me + That soon even that would be gone: + It whispered, "The grim walls enfold me, + I have bloomed in my last summer's sun." + + But not the loved music, whose waking + Makes the soul of the Swiss die away, + Has a spell more adored and heartbreaking + Than, for me, in that blighted heath lay. + + The spirit which bent 'neath its power, + How it longed--how it burned to be free! + If I could have wept in that hour, + Those tears had been heaven to me. + + Well--well; the sad minutes are moving, + Though loaded with trouble and pain; + And some time the loved and the loving + Shall meet on the mountains again! + + +The following little piece has no title; but in it the Genius of a +solitary region seems to address his wandering and wayward votary, and +to recall within his influence the proud mind which rebelled at times +even against what it most loved. + + + Shall earth no more inspire thee, + Thou lonely dreamer now? + Since passion may not fire thee, + Shall nature cease to bow? + + Thy mind is ever moving, + In regions dark to thee; + Recall its useless roving, + Come back, and dwell with me. + + I know my mountain breezes + Enchant and soothe thee still, + I know my sunshine pleases, + Despite thy wayward will. + + When day with evening blending, + Sinks from the summer sky, + I've seen thy spirit bending + In fond idolatry. + + I've watched thee every hour; + I know my mighty sway: + I know my magic power + To drive thy griefs away. + + Few hearts to mortals given, + On earth so wildly pine; + Yet few would ask a heaven + More like this earth than thine. + + Then let my winds caress thee + Thy comrade let me be: + Since nought beside can bless thee, + Return--and dwell with me. + + +Here again is the same mind in converse with a like abstraction. "The +Night-Wind," breathing through an open window, has visited an ear which +discerned language in its whispers. + + + + +THE NIGHT-WIND. + + In summer's mellow midnight, + A cloudless moon shone through + Our open parlour window, + And rose-trees wet with dew. + + I sat in silent musing; + The soft wind waved my hair; + It told me heaven was glorious, + And sleeping earth was fair. + + I needed not its breathing + To bring such thoughts to me; + But still it whispered lowly, + How dark the woods will be! + + "The thick leaves in my murmur + Are rustling like a dream, + And all their myriad voices + Instinct with spirit seem." + + I said, "Go, gentle singer, + Thy wooing voice is kind: + But do not think its music + Has power to reach my mind. + + "Play with the scented flower, + The young tree's supple bough, + And leave my human feelings + In their own course to flow." + + The wanderer would not heed me; + Its kiss grew warmer still. + "O come!" it sighed so sweetly; + "I'll win thee 'gainst thy will. + + "Were we not friends from childhood? + Have I not loved thee long? + As long as thou, the solemn night, + Whose silence wakes my song. + + "And when thy heart is resting + Beneath the church-aisle stone, + I shall have time for mourning, + And THOU for being alone." + + +In these stanzas a louder gale has roused the sleeper on her pillow: the +wakened soul struggles to blend with the storm by which it is swayed:-- + + + Ay--there it is! it wakes to-night + Deep feelings I thought dead; + Strong in the blast--quick gathering light-- + The heart's flame kindles red. + + "Now I can tell by thine altered cheek, + And by thine eyes' full gaze, + And by the words thou scarce dost speak, + How wildly fancy plays. + + "Yes--I could swear that glorious wind + Has swept the world aside, + Has dashed its memory from thy mind + Like foam-bells from the tide: + + "And thou art now a spirit pouring + Thy presence into all: + The thunder of the tempest's roaring, + The whisper of its fall: + + "An universal influence, + From thine own influence free; + A principle of life--intense-- + Lost to mortality. + + "Thus truly, when that breast is cold, + Thy prisoned soul shall rise; + The dungeon mingle with the mould-- + The captive with the skies. + Nature's deep being, thine shall hold, + Her spirit all thy spirit fold, + Her breath absorb thy sighs. + Mortal! though soon life's tale is told; + Who once lives, never dies!" + + + + +LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. + + Love is like the wild rose-briar; + Friendship like the holly-tree. + The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, + But which will bloom most constantly? + + The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring, + Its summer blossoms scent the air; + Yet wait till winter comes again, + And who will call the wild-briar fair? + + Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now, + And deck thee with the holly's sheen, + That, when December blights thy brow, + He still may leave thy garland green. + + + + +THE ELDER'S REBUKE. + + "Listen! When your hair, like mine, + Takes a tint of silver gray; + When your eyes, with dimmer shine, + Watch life's bubbles float away: + + When you, young man, have borne like me + The weary weight of sixty-three, + Then shall penance sore be paid + For those hours so wildly squandered; + And the words that now fall dead + On your ear, be deeply pondered-- + Pondered and approved at last: + But their virtue will be past! + + "Glorious is the prize of Duty, + Though she be 'a serious power'; + Treacherous all the lures of Beauty, + Thorny bud and poisonous flower! + + "Mirth is but a mad beguiling + Of the golden-gifted time; + Love--a demon-meteor, wiling + Heedless feet to gulfs of crime. + + "Those who follow earthly pleasure, + Heavenly knowledge will not lead; + Wisdom hides from them her treasure, + Virtue bids them evil-speed! + + "Vainly may their hearts repenting. + Seek for aid in future years; + Wisdom, scorned, knows no relenting; + Virtue is not won by fears." + + Thus spake the ice-blooded elder gray; + The young man scoffed as he turned away, + Turned to the call of a sweet lute's measure, + Waked by the lightsome touch of pleasure: + Had he ne'er met a gentler teacher, + Woe had been wrought by that pitiless preacher. + + + + +THE WANDERER FROM THE FOLD. + + How few, of all the hearts that loved, + Are grieving for thee now; + And why should mine to-night be moved + With such a sense of woe? + + Too often thus, when left alone, + Where none my thoughts can see, + Comes back a word, a passing tone + From thy strange history. + + Sometimes I seem to see thee rise, + A glorious child again; + All virtues beaming from thine eyes + That ever honoured men: + + Courage and truth, a generous breast + Where sinless sunshine lay: + A being whose very presence blest + Like gladsome summer-day. + + O, fairly spread thy early sail, + And fresh, and pure, and free, + Was the first impulse of the gale + Which urged life's wave for thee! + + Why did the pilot, too confiding, + Dream o'er that ocean's foam, + And trust in Pleasure's careless guiding + To bring his vessel home? + + For well he knew what dangers frowned, + What mists would gather, dim; + What rocks and shelves, and sands lay round + Between his port and him. + + The very brightness of the sun + The splendour of the main, + The wind which bore him wildly on + Should not have warned in vain. + + An anxious gazer from the shore-- + I marked the whitening wave, + And wept above thy fate the more + Because--I could not save. + + It recks not now, when all is over: + But yet my heart will be + A mourner still, though friend and lover + Have both forgotten thee! + + + + +WARNING AND REPLY. + + In the earth--the earth--thou shalt be laid, + A grey stone standing over thee; + Black mould beneath thee spread, + And black mould to cover thee. + + "Well--there is rest there, + So fast come thy prophecy; + The time when my sunny hair + Shall with grass roots entwined be." + + But cold--cold is that resting-place, + Shut out from joy and liberty, + And all who loved thy living face + Will shrink from it shudderingly, + + "Not so. HERE the world is chill, + And sworn friends fall from me: + But THERE--they will own me still, + And prize my memory." + + Farewell, then, all that love, + All that deep sympathy: + Sleep on: Heaven laughs above, + Earth never misses thee. + + Turf-sod and tombstone drear + Part human company; + One heart breaks only--here, + But that heart was worthy thee! + + + + +LAST WORDS. + + I knew not 'twas so dire a crime + To say the word, "Adieu;" + But this shall be the only time + My lips or heart shall sue. + + That wild hill-side, the winter morn, + The gnarled and ancient tree, + If in your breast they waken scorn, + Shall wake the same in me. + + I can forget black eyes and brows, + And lips of falsest charm, + If you forget the sacred vows + Those faithless lips could form. + + If hard commands can tame your love, + Or strongest walls can hold, + I would not wish to grieve above + A thing so false and cold. + + And there are bosoms bound to mine + With links both tried and strong: + And there are eyes whose lightning shine + Has warmed and blest me long: + + Those eyes shall make my only day, + Shall set my spirit free, + And chase the foolish thoughts away + That mourn your memory. + + + + +THE LADY TO HER GUITAR. + + For him who struck thy foreign string, + I ween this heart has ceased to care; + Then why dost thou such feelings bring + To my sad spirit--old Guitar? + + It is as if the warm sunlight + In some deep glen should lingering stay, + When clouds of storm, or shades of night, + Have wrapt the parent orb away. + + It is as if the glassy brook + Should image still its willows fair, + Though years ago the woodman's stroke + Laid low in dust their Dryad-hair. + + Even so, Guitar, thy magic tone + Hath moved the tear and waked the sigh: + Hath bid the ancient torrent moan, + Although its very source is dry. + + + + +THE TWO CHILDREN. + + Heavy hangs the rain-drop + From the burdened spray; + Heavy broods the damp mist + On uplands far away. + + Heavy looms the dull sky, + Heavy rolls the sea; + And heavy throbs the young heart + Beneath that lonely tree. + + Never has a blue streak + Cleft the clouds since morn; + Never has his grim fate + Smiled since he was born. + + Frowning on the infant, + Shadowing childhood's joy + Guardian-angel knows not + That melancholy boy. + + Day is passing swiftly + Its sad and sombre prime; + Boyhood sad is merging + In sadder manhood's time: + + All the flowers are praying + For sun, before they close, + And he prays too--unconscious-- + That sunless human rose. + + Blossom--that the west-wind + Has never wooed to blow, + Scentless are thy petals, + Thy dew is cold as snow! + + Soul--where kindred kindness, + No early promise woke, + Barren is thy beauty, + As weed upon a rock. + + Wither--soul and blossom! + You both were vainly given; + Earth reserves no blessing + For the unblest of heaven! + + Child of delight, with sun-bright hair, + And sea-blue, sea-deep eyes! + Spirit of bliss! What brings thee here + Beneath these sullen skies? + + Thou shouldst live in eternal spring, + Where endless day is never dim; + Why, Seraph, has thine erring wing + Wafted thee down to weep with him? + + "Ah! not from heaven am I descended, + Nor do I come to mingle tears; + But sweet is day, though with shadows blended; + And, though clouded, sweet are youthful years. + + "I--the image of light and gladness-- + Saw and pitied that mournful boy, + And I vowed--if need were--to share his sadness, + And give to him my sunny joy. + + "Heavy and dark the night is closing; + Heavy and dark may its biding be: + Better for all from grief reposing, + And better for all who watch like me-- + + "Watch in love by a fevered pillow, + Cooling the fever with pity's balm + Safe as the petrel on tossing billow, + Safe in mine own soul's golden calm! + + "Guardian-angel he lacks no longer; + Evil fortune he need not fear: + Fate is strong, but love is stronger; + And MY love is truer than angel-care." + + + + +THE VISIONARY. + + Silent is the house: all are laid asleep: + One alone looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep, + Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze + That whirls the wildering drift, and bends the groaning trees. + + Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor; + Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door; + The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far: + I trim it well, to be the wanderer's guiding-star. + + Frown, my haughty sire! chide, my angry dame! + Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame: + But neither sire nor dame, nor prying serf shall know, + What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow. + + What I love shall come like visitant of air, + Safe in secret power from lurking human snare; + What loves me, no word of mine shall e'er betray, + Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay + + Burn, then, little lamp; glimmer straight and clear-- + Hush! a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air: + He for whom I wait, thus ever comes to me; + Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy. + + + + +ENCOURAGEMENT. + + I do not weep; I would not weep; + Our mother needs no tears: + Dry thine eyes, too; 'tis vain to keep + This causeless grief for years. + + What though her brow be changed and cold, + Her sweet eyes closed for ever? + What though the stone--the darksome mould + Our mortal bodies sever? + + What though her hand smooth ne'er again + Those silken locks of thine? + Nor, through long hours of future pain, + Her kind face o'er thee shine? + + Remember still, she is not dead; + She sees us, sister, now; + Laid, where her angel spirit fled, + 'Mid heath and frozen snow. + + And from that world of heavenly light + Will she not always bend + To guide us in our lifetime's night, + And guard us to the end? + + Thou knowest she will; and thou mayst mourn + That WE are left below: + But not that she can ne'er return + To share our earthly woe. + + + + +STANZAS. + + Often rebuked, yet always back returning + To those first feelings that were born with me, + And leaving busy chase of wealth and learning + For idle dreams of things which cannot be: + + To-day, I will seek not the shadowy region; + Its unsustaining vastness waxes drear; + And visions rising, legion after legion, + Bring the unreal world too strangely near. + + I'll walk, but not in old heroic traces, + And not in paths of high morality, + And not among the half-distinguished faces, + The clouded forms of long-past history. + + I'll walk where my own nature would be leading: + It vexes me to choose another guide: + Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding; + Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side. + + What have those lonely mountains worth revealing? + More glory and more grief than I can tell: + The earth that wakes one human heart to feeling + Can centre both the worlds of Heaven and Hell. + + + + +The following are the last lines my sister Emily ever wrote:-- + + + No coward soul is mine, + No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere: + I see Heaven's glories shine, + And faith shines equal, arming me from fear. + + O God within my breast, + Almighty, ever-present Deity! + Life--that in me has rest, + As I--undying Life--have power in thee! + + Vain are the thousand creeds + That move men's hearts: unutterably vain; + Worthless as withered weeds, + Or idlest froth amid the boundless main, + + To waken doubt in one + Holding so fast by thine infinity; + So surely anchored on + The stedfast rock of immortality. + + With wide-embracing love + Thy spirit animates eternal years, + Pervades and broods above, + Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears. + + Though earth and man were gone, + And suns and universes ceased to be, + And Thou were left alone, + Every existence would exist in Thee. + + There is not room for Death, + Nor atom that his might could render void: + Thou--THOU art Being and Breath, + And what THOU art may never be destroyed. + + +***** + + + + +SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ACTON BELL. + +In looking over my sister Anne's papers, I find mournful evidence that +religious feeling had been to her but too much like what it was to +Cowper; I mean, of course, in a far milder form. Without rendering her a +prey to those horrors that defy concealment, it subdued her mood and +bearing to a perpetual pensiveness; the pillar of a cloud glided +constantly before her eyes; she ever waited at the foot of a secret +Sinai, listening in her heart to the voice of a trumpet sounding long +and waxing louder. Some, perhaps, would rejoice over these tokens of +sincere though sorrowing piety in a deceased relative: I own, to me they +seem sad, as if her whole innocent life had been passed under the +martyrdom of an unconfessed physical pain: their effect, indeed, would +be too distressing, were it not combated by the certain knowledge that +in her last moments this tyranny of a too tender conscience was +overcome; this pomp of terrors broke up, and passing away, left her +dying hour unclouded. Her belief in God did not then bring to her dread, +as of a stern Judge,--but hope, as in a Creator and Saviour: and no +faltering hope was it, but a sure and stedfast conviction, on which, in +the rude passage from Time to Eternity, she threw the weight of her +human weakness, and by which she was enabled to bear what was to be +borne, patiently--serenely--victoriously. + + + + +DESPONDENCY. + + I have gone backward in the work; + The labour has not sped; + Drowsy and dark my spirit lies, + Heavy and dull as lead. + + How can I rouse my sinking soul + From such a lethargy? + How can I break these iron chains + And set my spirit free? + + There have been times when I have mourned! + In anguish o'er the past, + And raised my suppliant hands on high, + While tears fell thick and fast; + + And prayed to have my sins forgiven, + With such a fervent zeal, + An earnest grief, a strong desire + As now I cannot feel. + + And I have felt so full of love, + So strong in spirit then, + As if my heart would never cool, + Or wander back again. + + And yet, alas! how many times + My feet have gone astray! + How oft have I forgot my God! + How greatly fallen away! + + My sins increase--my love grows cold, + And Hope within me dies: + Even Faith itself is wavering now; + Oh, how shall I arise? + + I cannot weep, but I can pray, + Then let me not despair: + Lord Jesus, save me, lest I die! + Christ, hear my humble prayer! + + + + +A PRAYER. + + My God (oh, let me call Thee mine, + Weak, wretched sinner though I be), + My trembling soul would fain be Thine; + My feeble faith still clings to Thee. + + Not only for the Past I grieve, + The Future fills me with dismay; + Unless Thou hasten to relieve, + Thy suppliant is a castaway. + + I cannot say my faith is strong, + I dare not hope my love is great; + But strength and love to Thee belong; + Oh, do not leave me desolate! + + I know I owe my all to Thee; + Oh, TAKE the heart I cannot give! + Do Thou my strength--my Saviour be, + And MAKE me to Thy glory live. + + + + +IN MEMORY OF A HAPPY DAY IN FEBRUARY. + + Blessed be Thou for all the joy + My soul has felt to-day! + Oh, let its memory stay with me, + And never pass away! + + I was alone, for those I loved + Were far away from me; + The sun shone on the withered grass, + The wind blew fresh and free. + + Was it the smile of early spring + That made my bosom glow? + 'Twas sweet; but neither sun nor wind + Could cheer my spirit so. + + Was it some feeling of delight + All vague and undefined? + No; 'twas a rapture deep and strong, + Expanding in the mind. + + Was it a sanguine view of life, + And all its transient bliss, + A hope of bright prosperity? + Oh, no! it was not this. + + It was a glimpse of truth divine + Unto my spirit given, + Illumined by a ray of light + That shone direct from heaven. + + I felt there was a God on high, + By whom all things were made; + I saw His wisdom and His power + In all his works displayed. + + But most throughout the moral world, + I saw his glory shine; + I saw His wisdom infinite, + His mercy all divine. + + Deep secrets of His providence, + In darkness long concealed, + Unto the vision of my soul + Were graciously revealed. + + But while I wondered and adored + His Majesty divine, + I did not tremble at His power: + I felt that God was mine; + + I knew that my Redeemer lived; + I did not fear to die; + Full sure that I should rise again + To immortality. + + I longed to view that bliss divine, + Which eye hath never seen; + Like Moses, I would see His face + Without the veil between. + + + + +CONFIDENCE. + + Oppressed with sin and woe, + A burdened heart I bear, + Opposed by many a mighty foe; + But I will not despair. + + With this polluted heart, + I dare to come to Thee, + Holy and mighty as Thou art, + For Thou wilt pardon me. + + I feel that I am weak, + And prone to every sin; + But Thou who giv'st to those who seek, + Wilt give me strength within. + + Far as this earth may be + From yonder starry skies; + Remoter still am I from Thee: + Yet Thou wilt not despise. + + I need not fear my foes, + I deed not yield to care; + I need not sink beneath my woes, + For Thou wilt answer prayer. + + In my Redeemer's name, + I give myself to Thee; + And, all unworthy as I am, + My God will cherish me. + + +My sister Anne had to taste the cup of life as it is mixed for the class +termed "Governesses." + +The following are some of the thoughts that now and then solace a +governess:-- + + + + +LINES WRITTEN FROM HOME. + + Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground, + With fallen leaves so thickly strewn, + And cold the wind that wanders round + With wild and melancholy moan; + + There is a friendly roof I know, + Might shield me from the wintry blast; + There is a fire whose ruddy glow + Will cheer me for my wanderings past. + + And so, though still where'er I go + Cold stranger glances meet my eye; + Though, when my spirit sinks in woe, + Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh; + + Though solitude, endured too long, + Bids youthful joys too soon decay, + Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue, + And overclouds my noon of day; + + When kindly thoughts that would have way + Flow back, discouraged, to my breast, + I know there is, though far away, + A home where heart and soul may rest. + + Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine, + The warmer heart will not belie; + While mirth and truth, and friendship shine + In smiling lip and earnest eye. + + The ice that gathers round my heart + May there be thawed; and sweetly, then, + The joys of youth, that now depart, + Will come to cheer my soul again. + + Though far I roam, that thought shall be + My hope, my comfort everywhere; + While such a home remains to me, + My heart shall never know despair. + + + + +THE NARROW WAY. + + Believe not those who say + The upward path is smooth, + Lest thou shouldst stumble in the way, + And faint before the truth. + + It is the only road + Unto the realms of joy; + But he who seeks that blest abode + Must all his powers employ. + + Bright hopes and pure delight + Upon his course may beam, + And there, amid the sternest heights, + The sweetest flowerets gleam. + + On all her breezes borne, + Earth yields no scents like those; + But he that dares not gasp the thorn + Should never crave the rose. + + Arm--arm thee for the fight! + Cast useless loads away; + Watch through the darkest hours of night; + Toil through the hottest day. + + Crush pride into the dust, + Or thou must needs be slack; + And trample down rebellious lust, + Or it will hold thee back. + + Seek not thy honour here; + Waive pleasure and renown; + The world's dread scoff undaunted bear, + And face its deadliest frown. + + To labour and to love, + To pardon and endure, + To lift thy heart to God above, + And keep thy conscience pure; + + Be this thy constant aim, + Thy hope, thy chief delight; + What matter who should whisper blame + Or who should scorn or slight? + + What matter, if thy God approve, + And if, within thy breast, + Thou feel the comfort of His love, + The earnest of His rest? + + + + +DOMESTIC PEACE. + + Why should such gloomy silence reign, + And why is all the house so drear, + When neither danger, sickness, pain, + Nor death, nor want, have entered here? + + We are as many as we were + That other night, when all were gay + And full of hope, and free from care; + Yet is there something gone away. + + The moon without, as pure and calm, + Is shining as that night she shone; + But now, to us, she brings no balm, + For something from our hearts is gone. + + Something whose absence leaves a void-- + A cheerless want in every heart; + Each feels the bliss of all destroyed, + And mourns the change--but each apart. + + The fire is burning in the grate + As redly as it used to burn; + But still the hearth is desolate, + Till mirth, and love, and PEACE return. + + 'Twas PEACE that flowed from heart to heart, + With looks and smiles that spoke of heaven, + And gave us language to impart + The blissful thoughts itself had given. + + Domestic peace! best joy of earth, + When shall we all thy value learn? + White angel, to our sorrowing hearth, + Return--oh, graciously return! + + + + +THE THREE GUIDES. [First published in FRASER'S MAGAZINE.] + + Spirit of Earth! thy hand is chill: + I've felt its icy clasp; + And, shuddering, I remember still + That stony-hearted grasp. + Thine eye bids love and joy depart: + Oh, turn its gaze from me! + It presses down my shrinking heart; + I will not walk with thee! + + "Wisdom is mine," I've heard thee say: + "Beneath my searching eye + All mist and darkness melt away, + Phantoms and fables fly. + Before me truth can stand alone, + The naked, solid truth; + And man matured by worth will own, + If I am shunned by youth. + + "Firm is my tread, and sure though slow; + My footsteps never slide; + And he that follows me shall know + I am the surest guide." + Thy boast is vain; but were it true + That thou couldst safely steer + Life's rough and devious pathway through, + Such guidance I should fear. + + How could I bear to walk for aye, + With eyes to earthward prone, + O'er trampled weeds and miry clay, + And sand and flinty stone; + Never the glorious view to greet + Of hill and dale, and sky; + To see that Nature's charms are sweet, + Or feel that Heaven is nigh? + + If in my heart arose a spring, + A gush of thought divine, + At once stagnation thou wouldst bring + With that cold touch of thine. + If, glancing up, I sought to snatch + But one glimpse of the sky, + My baffled gaze would only catch + Thy heartless, cold grey eye. + + If to the breezes wandering near, + I listened eagerly, + And deemed an angel's tongue to hear + That whispered hope to me, + That heavenly music would be drowned + In thy harsh, droning voice; + Nor inward thought, nor sight, nor sound, + Might my sad soul rejoice. + + Dull is thine ear, unheard by thee + The still, small voice of Heaven; + Thine eyes are dim and cannot see + The helps that God has given. + There is a bridge o'er every flood + Which thou canst not perceive; + A path through every tangled wood, + But thou wilt not believe. + + Striving to make thy way by force, + Toil-spent and bramble-torn, + Thou'lt fell the tree that checks thy course, + And burst through brier and thorn: + And, pausing by the river's side, + Poor reasoner! thou wilt deem, + By casting pebbles in its tide, + To cross the swelling stream. + + Right through the flinty rock thou'lt try + Thy toilsome way to bore, + Regardless of the pathway nigh + That would conduct thee o'er + Not only art thou, then, unkind, + And freezing cold to me, + But unbelieving, deaf, and blind: + I will not walk with thee! + + Spirit of Pride! thy wings are strong, + Thine eyes like lightning shine; + Ecstatic joys to thee belong, + And powers almost divine. + But 'tis a false, destructive blaze + Within those eyes I see; + Turn hence their fascinating gaze; + I will not follow thee. + + "Coward and fool!" thou mayst reply, + Walk on the common sod; + Go, trace with timid foot and eye + The steps by others trod. + 'Tis best the beaten path to keep, + The ancient faith to hold; + To pasture with thy fellow-sheep, + And lie within the fold. + + "Cling to the earth, poor grovelling worm; + 'Tis not for thee to soar + Against the fury of the storm, + Amid the thunder's roar! + There's glory in that daring strife + Unknown, undreamt by thee; + There's speechless rapture in the life + Of those who follow me. + + Yes, I have seen thy votaries oft, + Upheld by thee their guide, + In strength and courage mount aloft + The steepy mountain-side; + I've seen them stand against the sky, + And gazing from below, + Beheld thy lightning in their eye + Thy triumph on their brow. + + Oh, I have felt what glory then, + What transport must be theirs! + So far above their fellow-men, + Above their toils and cares; + Inhaling Nature's purest breath, + Her riches round them spread, + The wide expanse of earth beneath, + Heaven's glories overhead! + + But I have seen them helpless, dash'd + Down to a bloody grave, + And still thy ruthless eye has flash'd, + Thy strong hand did not save; + I've seen some o'er the mountain's brow + Sustain'd awhile by thee, + O'er rocks of ice and hills of snow + Bound fearless, wild, and free. + + Bold and exultant was their mien, + While thou didst cheer them on; + But evening fell,--and then, I ween, + Their faithless guide was gone. + Alas! how fared thy favourites then,-- + Lone, helpless, weary, cold? + Did ever wanderer find again + The path he left of old? + + Where is their glory, where the pride + That swelled their hearts before? + Where now the courage that defied + The mightiest tempest's roar? + What shall they do when night grows black, + When angry storms arise? + Who now will lead them to the track + Thou taught'st them to despise? + + Spirit of Pride, it needs not this + To make me shun thy wiles, + Renounce thy triumph and thy bliss, + Thy honours and thy smiles! + Bright as thou art, and bold, and strong, + That fierce glance wins not me, + And I abhor thy scoffing tongue-- + I will not follow thee! + + Spirit of Faith! be thou my guide, + O clasp my hand in thine, + And let me never quit thy side; + Thy comforts are divine! + Earth calls thee blind, misguided one,-- + But who can shew like thee + Forgotten things that have been done, + And things that are to be? + + Secrets conceal'd from Nature's ken, + Who like thee can declare? + Or who like thee to erring men + God's holy will can bear? + Pride scorns thee for thy lowly mien,-- + But who like thee can rise + Above this toilsome, sordid scene, + Beyond the holy skies? + + Meek is thine eye and soft thy voice, + But wondrous is thy might, + To make the wretched soul rejoice, + To give the simple light! + And still to all that seek thy way + This magic power is given,-- + E'en while their footsteps press the clay, + Their souls ascend to heaven. + + Danger surrounds them,--pain and woe + Their portion here must be, + But only they that trust thee know + What comfort dwells with thee; + Strength to sustain their drooping pow'rs, + And vigour to defend,-- + Thou pole-star of my darkest hours + Affliction's firmest friend! + + Day does not always mark our way, + Night's shadows oft appal, + But lead me, and I cannot stray,-- + Hold me, I shall not fall; + Sustain me, I shall never faint, + How rough soe'er may be + My upward road,--nor moan, nor plaint + Shall mar my trust in thee. + + Narrow the path by which we go, + And oft it turns aside + From pleasant meads where roses blow, + And peaceful waters glide; + Where flowery turf lies green and soft, + And gentle gales are sweet, + To where dark mountains frown aloft, + Hard rocks distress the feet,-- + + Deserts beyond lie bleak and bare, + And keen winds round us blow; + But if thy hand conducts me there, + The way is right, I know. + I have no wish to turn away; + My spirit does not quail,-- + How can it while I hear thee say, + "Press forward and prevail!" + + Even above the tempest's swell + I hear thy voice of love,-- + Of hope and peace, I hear thee tell, + And that blest home above; + Through pain and death I can rejoice. + If but thy strength be mine,-- + Earth hath no music like thy voice, + Life owns no joy like thine! + + Spirit of Faith, I'll go with thee! + Thou, if I hold thee fast, + Wilt guide, defend, and strengthen me, + And bear me home at last; + By thy help all things I can do, + In thy strength all things bear,-- + Teach me, for thou art just and true, + Smile on me, thou art fair! + + +I have given the last memento of my sister Emily; this is the last of my +sister Anne:-- + + + I hoped, that with the brave and strong, + My portioned task might lie; + To toil amid the busy throng, + With purpose pure and high. + + But God has fixed another part, + And He has fixed it well; + I said so with my bleeding heart, + When first the anguish fell. + + Thou, God, hast taken our delight, + Our treasured hope away: + Thou bid'st us now weep through the night + And sorrow through the day. + + These weary hours will not be lost, + These days of misery, + These nights of darkness, anguish-tost, + Can I but turn to Thee. + + With secret labour to sustain + In humble patience every blow; + To gather fortitude from pain, + And hope and holiness from woe. + + Thus let me serve Thee from my heart, + Whate'er may be my written fate: + Whether thus early to depart, + Or yet a while to wait. + + If Thou shouldst bring me back to life, + More humbled I should be; + More wise--more strengthened for the strife-- + More apt to lean on Thee. + + Should death be standing at the gate, + Thus should I keep my vow: + But, Lord! whatever be my fate, + Oh, let me serve Thee now! + + +These lines written, the desk was closed, the pen laid aside--for ever. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1019 *** diff --git a/1019-h/1019-h.htm b/1019-h/1019-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7405389 --- /dev/null +++ b/1019-h/1019-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7156 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html 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.toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1019 ***</div> + + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + POEMS + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Currer, Ellis, And Acton Bell + </h2> + <h3> + (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë) + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>POEMS BY CURRER BELL</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> MEMENTOS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE WIFE'S WILL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> FRANCES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> GILBERT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> LIFE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> THE LETTER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> REGRET. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> PRESENTIMENT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE TEACHER'S MONOLOGUE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> PASSION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> PREFERENCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> EVENING SOLACE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> STANZAS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> PARTING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> APOSTASY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> WINTER STORES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> THE MISSIONARY. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> <b>POEMS BY ELLIS BELL</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> FAITH AND DESPONDENCY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> STARS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> THE PHILOSOPHER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> REMEMBRANCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> A DEATH-SCENE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> SONG. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> ANTICIPATION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> THE PRISONER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> HOPE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> A DAY DREAM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> TO IMAGINATION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> HOW CLEAR SHE SHINES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> SYMPATHY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> PLEAD FOR ME. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> SELF-INTEROGATION, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> DEATH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> STANZAS TO —— </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> HONOUR'S MARTYR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> STANZAS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> MY COMFORTER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> THE OLD STOIC. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> <b>POEMS BY ACTON BELL,</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> A REMINISCENCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> THE ARBOUR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> HOME. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> VANITAS VANITATUM, OMNIA VANITAS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> THE PENITENT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> MUSIC ON CHRISTMAS MORNING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> STANZAS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> IF THIS BE ALL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0051"> MEMORY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> TO COWPER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0053"> THE DOUBTER'S PRAYER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0054"> A WORD TO THE "ELECT." </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> PAST DAYS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0056"> THE CONSOLATION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0057"> LINES COMPOSED IN A WOOD ON A WINDY DAY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0058"> VIEWS OF LIFE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0059"> APPEAL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0060"> THE STUDENT'S SERENADE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0061"> THE CAPTIVE DOVE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0062"> SELF-CONGRATULATION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0063"> FLUCTUATIONS, </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0064"> <b>SELECTIONS FROM THE LITERARY REMAINS OF + ELLIS AND ACTON BELL.</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0065"> <b>SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ELLIS BELL.</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0066"> I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0067"> II. THE BLUEBELL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0068"> III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0069"> THE NIGHT-WIND. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0070"> LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0071"> THE ELDER'S REBUKE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0072"> THE WANDERER FROM THE FOLD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0073"> WARNING AND REPLY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0074"> LAST WORDS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0075"> THE LADY TO HER GUITAR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0076"> THE TWO CHILDREN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0077"> THE VISIONARY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0078"> ENCOURAGEMENT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0079"> STANZAS. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0081"> <b>SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ACTON BELL.</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0082"> DESPONDENCY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0083"> A PRAYER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0084"> IN MEMORY OF A HAPPY DAY IN FEBRUARY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0085"> CONFIDENCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0086"> LINES WRITTEN FROM HOME. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0087"> THE NARROW WAY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0088"> DOMESTIC PEACE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0089"> THE THREE GUIDES. [First published in FRASER'S + MAGAZINE.] </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + POEMS BY CURRER BELL + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I've quench'd my lamp, I struck it in that start + Which every limb convulsed, I heard it fall— + The crash blent with my sleep, I saw depart + Its light, even as I woke, on yonder wall; + Over against my bed, there shone a gleam + Strange, faint, and mingling also with my dream. + + It sank, and I am wrapt in utter gloom; + How far is night advanced, and when will day + Retinge the dusk and livid air with bloom, + And fill this void with warm, creative ray? + Would I could sleep again till, clear and red, + Morning shall on the mountain-tops be spread! + + I'd call my women, but to break their sleep, + Because my own is broken, were unjust; + They've wrought all day, and well-earn'd slumbers steep + Their labours in forgetfulness, I trust; + Let me my feverish watch with patience bear, + Thankful that none with me its sufferings share. + + Yet, oh, for light! one ray would tranquillize + My nerves, my pulses, more than effort can; + I'll draw my curtain and consult the skies: + These trembling stars at dead of night look wan, + Wild, restless, strange, yet cannot be more drear + Than this my couch, shared by a nameless fear. + + All black—one great cloud, drawn from east to west, + Conceals the heavens, but there are lights below; + Torches burn in Jerusalem, and cast + On yonder stony mount a lurid glow. + I see men station'd there, and gleaming spears; + A sound, too, from afar, invades my ears. + + Dull, measured strokes of axe and hammer ring + From street to street, not loud, but through the night + Distinctly heard—and some strange spectral thing + Is now uprear'd—and, fix'd against the light + Of the pale lamps, defined upon that sky, + It stands up like a column, straight and high. + + I see it all—I know the dusky sign— + A cross on Calvary, which Jews uprear + While Romans watch; and when the dawn shall shine + Pilate, to judge the victim, will appear— + Pass sentence-yield Him up to crucify; + And on that cross the spotless Christ must die. + + Dreams, then, are true—for thus my vision ran; + Surely some oracle has been with me, + The gods have chosen me to reveal their plan, + To warn an unjust judge of destiny: + I, slumbering, heard and saw; awake I know, + Christ's coming death, and Pilate's life of woe. + + I do not weep for Pilate—who could prove + Regret for him whose cold and crushing sway + No prayer can soften, no appeal can move: + Who tramples hearts as others trample clay, + Yet with a faltering, an uncertain tread, + That might stir up reprisal in the dead. + + Forced to sit by his side and see his deeds; + Forced to behold that visage, hour by hour, + In whose gaunt lines the abhorrent gazer reads + A triple lust of gold, and blood, and power; + A soul whom motives fierce, yet abject, urge— + Rome's servile slave, and Judah's tyrant scourge. + + How can I love, or mourn, or pity him? + I, who so long my fetter'd hands have wrung; + I, who for grief have wept my eyesight dim; + Because, while life for me was bright and young, + He robb'd my youth—he quench'd my life's fair ray— + He crush'd my mind, and did my freedom slay. + + And at this hour-although I be his wife— + He has no more of tenderness from me + Than any other wretch of guilty life; + Less, for I know his household privacy— + I see him as he is—without a screen; + And, by the gods, my soul abhors his mien! + + Has he not sought my presence, dyed in blood— + Innocent, righteous blood, shed shamelessly? + And have I not his red salute withstood? + Ay, when, as erst, he plunged all Galilee + In dark bereavement—in affliction sore, + Mingling their very offerings with their gore. + + Then came he—in his eyes a serpent-smile, + Upon his lips some false, endearing word, + And through the streets of Salem clang'd the while + His slaughtering, hacking, sacrilegious sword— + And I, to see a man cause men such woe, + Trembled with ire—I did not fear to show. + + And now, the envious Jewish priests have brought + Jesus—whom they in mock'ry call their king— + To have, by this grim power, their vengeance wrought; + By this mean reptile, innocence to sting. + Oh! could I but the purposed doom avert, + And shield the blameless head from cruel hurt! + + Accessible is Pilate's heart to fear, + Omens will shake his soul, like autumn leaf; + Could he this night's appalling vision hear, + This just man's bonds were loosed, his life were safe, + Unless that bitter priesthood should prevail, + And make even terror to their malice quail. + + Yet if I tell the dream—but let me pause. + What dream? Erewhile the characters were clear, + Graved on my brain—at once some unknown cause + Has dimm'd and razed the thoughts, which now appear, + Like a vague remnant of some by-past scene;— + Not what will be, but what, long since, has been. + + I suffer'd many things—I heard foretold + A dreadful doom for Pilate,—lingering woes, + In far, barbarian climes, where mountains cold + Built up a solitude of trackless snows, + There he and grisly wolves prowl'd side by side, + There he lived famish'd—there, methought, he died; + + But not of hunger, nor by malady; + I saw the snow around him, stain'd with gore; + I said I had no tears for such as he, + And, lo! my cheek is wet—mine eyes run o'er; + I weep for mortal suffering, mortal guilt, + I weep the impious deed, the blood self-spilt. + + More I recall not, yet the vision spread + Into a world remote, an age to come— + And still the illumined name of Jesus shed + A light, a clearness, through the unfolding gloom— + And still I saw that sign, which now I see, + That cross on yonder brow of Calvary. + + What is this Hebrew Christ?-to me unknown + His lineage—doctrine—mission; yet how clear + Is God-like goodness in his actions shown, + How straight and stainless is his life's career! + The ray of Deity that rests on him, + In my eyes makes Olympian glory dim. + + The world advances; Greek or Roman rite + Suffices not the inquiring mind to stay; + The searching soul demands a purer light + To guide it on its upward, onward way; + Ashamed of sculptured gods, Religion turns + To where the unseen Jehovah's altar burns. + + Our faith is rotten, all our rites defiled, + Our temples sullied, and, methinks, this man, + With his new ordinance, so wise and mild, + Is come, even as He says, the chaff to fan + And sever from the wheat; but will his faith + Survive the terrors of to-morrow's death? + + * * * * * * * + + I feel a firmer trust—a higher hope + Rise in my soul—it dawns with dawning day; + Lo! on the Temple's roof—on Moriah's slope + Appears at length that clear and crimson ray + Which I so wished for when shut in by night; + Oh, opening skies, I hail, I bless pour light! + + Part, clouds and shadows! Glorious Sun appear! + Part, mental gloom! Come insight from on high! + Dusk dawn in heaven still strives with daylight clear + The longing soul doth still uncertain sigh. + Oh! to behold the truth—that sun divine, + How doth my bosom pant, my spirit pine! + + This day, Time travails with a mighty birth; + This day, Truth stoops from heaven and visits earth; + Ere night descends I shall more surely know + What guide to follow, in what path to go; + I wait in hope—I wait in solemn fear, + The oracle of God—the sole—true God—to hear. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MEMENTOS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Arranging long-locked drawers and shelves + Of cabinets, shut up for years, + What a strange task we've set ourselves! + How still the lonely room appears! + How strange this mass of ancient treasures, + Mementos of past pains and pleasures; + These volumes, clasped with costly stone, + With print all faded, gilding gone; + + These fans of leaves from Indian trees— + These crimson shells, from Indian seas— + These tiny portraits, set in rings— + Once, doubtless, deemed such precious things; + Keepsakes bestowed by Love on Faith, + And worn till the receiver's death, + Now stored with cameos, china, shells, + In this old closet's dusty cells. + + I scarcely think, for ten long years, + A hand has touched these relics old; + And, coating each, slow-formed, appears + The growth of green and antique mould. + + All in this house is mossing over; + All is unused, and dim, and damp; + Nor light, nor warmth, the rooms discover— + Bereft for years of fire and lamp. + + The sun, sometimes in summer, enters + The casements, with reviving ray; + But the long rains of many winters + Moulder the very walls away. + + And outside all is ivy, clinging + To chimney, lattice, gable grey; + Scarcely one little red rose springing + Through the green moss can force its way. + + Unscared, the daw and starling nestle, + Where the tall turret rises high, + And winds alone come near to rustle + The thick leaves where their cradles lie, + + I sometimes think, when late at even + I climb the stair reluctantly, + Some shape that should be well in heaven, + Or ill elsewhere, will pass by me. + + I fear to see the very faces, + Familiar thirty years ago, + Even in the old accustomed places + Which look so cold and gloomy now, + + I've come, to close the window, hither, + At twilight, when the sun was down, + And Fear my very soul would wither, + Lest something should be dimly shown, + + Too much the buried form resembling, + Of her who once was mistress here; + Lest doubtful shade, or moonbeam trembling, + Might take her aspect, once so dear. + + Hers was this chamber; in her time + It seemed to me a pleasant room, + For then no cloud of grief or crime + Had cursed it with a settled gloom; + + I had not seen death's image laid + In shroud and sheet, on yonder bed. + Before she married, she was blest— + Blest in her youth, blest in her worth; + Her mind was calm, its sunny rest + Shone in her eyes more clear than mirth. + + And when attired in rich array, + Light, lustrous hair about her brow, + She yonder sat, a kind of day + Lit up what seems so gloomy now. + These grim oak walls even then were grim; + That old carved chair was then antique; + But what around looked dusk and dim + Served as a foil to her fresh cheek; + Her neck and arms, of hue so fair, + Eyes of unclouded, smiling light; + Her soft, and curled, and floating hair, + Gems and attire, as rainbow bright. + + Reclined in yonder deep recess, + Ofttimes she would, at evening, lie + Watching the sun; she seemed to bless + With happy glance the glorious sky. + She loved such scenes, and as she gazed, + Her face evinced her spirit's mood; + Beauty or grandeur ever raised + In her, a deep-felt gratitude. + But of all lovely things, she loved + A cloudless moon, on summer night, + Full oft have I impatience proved + To see how long her still delight + Would find a theme in reverie, + Out on the lawn, or where the trees + Let in the lustre fitfully, + As their boughs parted momently, + To the soft, languid, summer breeze. + Alas! that she should e'er have flung + Those pure, though lonely joys away— + Deceived by false and guileful tongue, + She gave her hand, then suffered wrong; + Oppressed, ill-used, she faded young, + And died of grief by slow decay. + + Open that casket-look how bright + Those jewels flash upon the sight; + The brilliants have not lost a ray + Of lustre, since her wedding day. + But see—upon that pearly chain— + How dim lies Time's discolouring stain! + I've seen that by her daughter worn: + For, ere she died, a child was born;— + A child that ne'er its mother knew, + That lone, and almost friendless grew; + For, ever, when its step drew nigh, + Averted was the father's eye; + And then, a life impure and wild + Made him a stranger to his child: + Absorbed in vice, he little cared + On what she did, or how she fared. + The love withheld she never sought, + She grew uncherished—learnt untaught; + To her the inward life of thought + Full soon was open laid. + I know not if her friendlessness + Did sometimes on her spirit press, + But plaint she never made. + The book-shelves were her darling treasure, + She rarely seemed the time to measure + While she could read alone. + And she too loved the twilight wood + And often, in her mother's mood, + Away to yonder hill would hie, + Like her, to watch the setting sun, + Or see the stars born, one by one, + Out of the darkening sky. + Nor would she leave that hill till night + Trembled from pole to pole with light; + Even then, upon her homeward way, + Long—long her wandering steps delayed + To quit the sombre forest shade, + Through which her eerie pathway lay. + You ask if she had beauty's grace? + I know not—but a nobler face + My eyes have seldom seen; + A keen and fine intelligence, + And, better still, the truest sense + Were in her speaking mien. + But bloom or lustre was there none, + Only at moments, fitful shone + An ardour in her eye, + That kindled on her cheek a flush, + Warm as a red sky's passing blush + And quick with energy. + Her speech, too, was not common speech, + No wish to shine, or aim to teach, + Was in her words displayed: + She still began with quiet sense, + But oft the force of eloquence + Came to her lips in aid; + Language and voice unconscious changed, + And thoughts, in other words arranged, + Her fervid soul transfused + Into the hearts of those who heard, + And transient strength and ardour stirred, + In minds to strength unused, + Yet in gay crowd or festal glare, + Grave and retiring was her air; + 'Twas seldom, save with me alone, + That fire of feeling freely shone; + She loved not awe's nor wonder's gaze, + Nor even exaggerated praise, + Nor even notice, if too keen + The curious gazer searched her mien. + Nature's own green expanse revealed + The world, the pleasures, she could prize; + On free hill-side, in sunny field, + In quiet spots by woods concealed, + Grew wild and fresh her chosen joys, + Yet Nature's feelings deeply lay + In that endowed and youthful frame; + Shrined in her heart and hid from day, + They burned unseen with silent flame. + In youth's first search for mental light, + She lived but to reflect and learn, + But soon her mind's maturer might + For stronger task did pant and yearn; + And stronger task did fate assign, + Task that a giant's strength might strain; + To suffer long and ne'er repine, + Be calm in frenzy, smile at pain. + + Pale with the secret war of feeling, + Sustained with courage, mute, yet high; + The wounds at which she bled, revealing + Only by altered cheek and eye; + + She bore in silence—but when passion + Surged in her soul with ceaseless foam, + The storm at last brought desolation, + And drove her exiled from her home. + + And silent still, she straight assembled + The wrecks of strength her soul retained; + For though the wasted body trembled, + The unconquered mind, to quail, disdained. + + She crossed the sea—now lone she wanders + By Seine's, or Rhine's, or Arno's flow; + Fain would I know if distance renders + Relief or comfort to her woe. + + Fain would I know if, henceforth, ever, + These eyes shall read in hers again, + That light of love which faded never, + Though dimmed so long with secret pain. + + She will return, but cold and altered, + Like all whose hopes too soon depart; + Like all on whom have beat, unsheltered, + The bitter blasts that blight the heart. + + No more shall I behold her lying + Calm on a pillow, smoothed by me; + No more that spirit, worn with sighing, + Will know the rest of infancy. + + If still the paths of lore she follow, + 'Twill be with tired and goaded will; + She'll only toil, the aching hollow, + The joyless blank of life to fill. + + And oh! full oft, quite spent and weary, + Her hand will pause, her head decline; + That labour seems so hard and dreary, + On which no ray of hope may shine. + + Thus the pale blight of time and sorrow + Will shade with grey her soft, dark hair; + Then comes the day that knows no morrow, + And death succeeds to long despair. + + So speaks experience, sage and hoary; + I see it plainly, know it well, + Like one who, having read a story, + Each incident therein can tell. + + Touch not that ring; 'twas his, the sire + Of that forsaken child; + And nought his relics can inspire + Save memories, sin-defiled. + + I, who sat by his wife's death-bed, + I, who his daughter loved, + Could almost curse the guilty dead, + For woes the guiltless proved. + + And heaven did curse—they found him laid, + When crime for wrath was rife, + Cold—with the suicidal blade + Clutched in his desperate gripe. + + 'Twas near that long deserted hut, + Which in the wood decays, + Death's axe, self-wielded, struck his root, + And lopped his desperate days. + + You know the spot, where three black trees, + Lift up their branches fell, + And moaning, ceaseless as the seas, + Still seem, in every passing breeze, + The deed of blood to tell. + + They named him mad, and laid his bones + Where holier ashes lie; + Yet doubt not that his spirit groans + In hell's eternity. + + But, lo! night, closing o'er the earth, + Infects our thoughts with gloom; + Come, let us strive to rally mirth + Where glows a clear and tranquil hearth + In some more cheerful room. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WIFE'S WILL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sit still—a word—a breath may break + (As light airs stir a sleeping lake) + The glassy calm that soothes my woes— + The sweet, the deep, the full repose. + O leave me not! for ever be + Thus, more than life itself to me! + + Yes, close beside thee let me kneel— + Give me thy hand, that I may feel + The friend so true—so tried—so dear, + My heart's own chosen—indeed is near; + And check me not—this hour divine + Belongs to me—is fully mine. + + 'Tis thy own hearth thou sitt'st beside, + After long absence—wandering wide; + 'Tis thy own wife reads in thine eyes + A promise clear of stormless skies; + For faith and true love light the rays + Which shine responsive to her gaze. + + Ay,—well that single tear may fall; + Ten thousand might mine eyes recall, + Which from their lids ran blinding fast, + In hours of grief, yet scarcely past; + Well mayst thou speak of love to me, + For, oh! most truly—I love thee! + + Yet smile—for we are happy now. + Whence, then, that sadness on thy brow? + What sayst thou?" We muse once again, + Ere long, be severed by the main!" + I knew not this—I deemed no more + Thy step would err from Britain's shore. + + "Duty commands!" 'Tis true—'tis just; + Thy slightest word I wholly trust, + Nor by request, nor faintest sigh, + Would I to turn thy purpose try; + But, William, hear my solemn vow— + Hear and confirm!—with thee I go. + + "Distance and suffering," didst thou say? + "Danger by night, and toil by day?" + Oh, idle words and vain are these; + Hear me! I cross with thee the seas. + Such risk as thou must meet and dare, + I—thy true wife—will duly share. + + Passive, at home, I will not pine; + Thy toils, thy perils shall be mine; + Grant this—and be hereafter paid + By a warm heart's devoted aid: + 'Tis granted—with that yielding kiss, + Entered my soul unmingled bliss. + + Thanks, William, thanks! thy love has joy, + Pure, undefiled with base alloy; + 'Tis not a passion, false and blind, + Inspires, enchains, absorbs my mind; + Worthy, I feel, art thou to be + Loved with my perfect energy. + + This evening now shall sweetly flow, + Lit by our clear fire's happy glow; + And parting's peace-embittering fear, + Is warned our hearts to come not near; + For fate admits my soul's decree, + In bliss or bale—to go with thee! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE WOOD. + + But two miles more, and then we rest! + Well, there is still an hour of day, + And long the brightness of the West + Will light us on our devious way; + Sit then, awhile, here in this wood— + So total is the solitude, + We safely may delay. + + These massive roots afford a seat, + Which seems for weary travellers made. + There rest. The air is soft and sweet + In this sequestered forest glade, + And there are scents of flowers around, + The evening dew draws from the ground; + How soothingly they spread! + + Yes; I was tired, but not at heart; + No—that beats full of sweet content, + For now I have my natural part + Of action with adventure blent; + Cast forth on the wide world with thee, + And all my once waste energy + To weighty purpose bent. + + Yet—sayst thou, spies around us roam, + Our aims are termed conspiracy? + Haply, no more our English home + An anchorage for us may be? + That there is risk our mutual blood + May redden in some lonely wood + The knife of treachery? + + Sayst thou, that where we lodge each night, + In each lone farm, or lonelier hall + Of Norman Peer—ere morning light + Suspicion must as duly fall, + As day returns—such vigilance + Presides and watches over France, + Such rigour governs all? + + I fear not, William; dost thou fear? + So that the knife does not divide, + It may be ever hovering near: + I could not tremble at thy side, + And strenuous love—like mine for thee— + Is buckler strong 'gainst treachery, + And turns its stab aside. + + I am resolved that thou shalt learn + To trust my strength as I trust thine; + I am resolved our souls shall burn + With equal, steady, mingling shine; + Part of the field is conquered now, + Our lives in the same channel flow, + Along the self-same line; + + And while no groaning storm is heard, + Thou seem'st content it should be so, + But soon as comes a warning word + Of danger—straight thine anxious brow + Bends over me a mournful shade, + As doubting if my powers are made + To ford the floods of woe. + + Know, then it is my spirit swells, + And drinks, with eager joy, the air + Of freedom—where at last it dwells, + Chartered, a common task to share + With thee, and then it stirs alert, + And pants to learn what menaced hurt + Demands for thee its care. + + Remember, I have crossed the deep, + And stood with thee on deck, to gaze + On waves that rose in threatening heap, + While stagnant lay a heavy haze, + Dimly confusing sea with sky, + And baffling, even, the pilot's eye, + Intent to thread the maze— + + Of rocks, on Bretagne's dangerous coast, + And find a way to steer our band + To the one point obscure, which lost, + Flung us, as victims, on the strand;— + All, elsewhere, gleamed the Gallic sword, + And not a wherry could be moored + Along the guarded land. + + I feared not then—I fear not now; + The interest of each stirring scene + Wakes a new sense, a welcome glow, + In every nerve and bounding vein; + Alike on turbid Channel sea, + Or in still wood of Normandy, + I feel as born again. + + The rain descended that wild morn + When, anchoring in the cove at last, + Our band, all weary and forlorn + Ashore, like wave-worn sailors, cast— + Sought for a sheltering roof in vain, + And scarce could scanty food obtain + To break their morning fast. + + Thou didst thy crust with me divide, + Thou didst thy cloak around me fold; + And, sitting silent by thy side, + I ate the bread in peace untold: + Given kindly from thy hand, 'twas sweet + As costly fare or princely treat + On royal plate of gold. + + Sharp blew the sleet upon my face, + And, rising wild, the gusty wind + Drove on those thundering waves apace, + Our crew so late had left behind; + But, spite of frozen shower and storm, + So close to thee, my heart beat warm, + And tranquil slept my mind. + + So now—nor foot-sore nor opprest + With walking all this August day, + I taste a heaven in this brief rest, + This gipsy-halt beside the way. + England's wild flowers are fair to view, + Like balm is England's summer dew + Like gold her sunset ray. + + But the white violets, growing here, + Are sweeter than I yet have seen, + And ne'er did dew so pure and clear + Distil on forest mosses green, + As now, called forth by summer heat, + Perfumes our cool and fresh retreat— + These fragrant limes between. + + That sunset! Look beneath the boughs, + Over the copse—beyond the hills; + How soft, yet deep and warm it glows, + And heaven with rich suffusion fills; + With hues where still the opal's tint, + Its gleam of prisoned fire is blent, + Where flame through azure thrills! + + Depart we now—for fast will fade + That solemn splendour of decline, + And deep must be the after-shade + As stars alone to-night will shine; + No moon is destined—pale—to gaze + On such a day's vast Phoenix blaze, + A day in fires decayed! + + There—hand-in-hand we tread again + The mazes of this varying wood, + And soon, amid a cultured plain, + Girt in with fertile solitude, + We shall our resting-place descry, + Marked by one roof-tree, towering high + Above a farmstead rude. + + Refreshed, erelong, with rustic fare, + We'll seek a couch of dreamless ease; + Courage will guard thy heart from fear, + And Love give mine divinest peace: + To-morrow brings more dangerous toil, + And through its conflict and turmoil + We'll pass, as God shall please. + + [The preceding composition refers, doubtless, to the scenes + acted in France during the last year of the Consulate.] +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FRANCES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + She will not sleep, for fear of dreams, + But, rising, quits her restless bed, + And walks where some beclouded beams + Of moonlight through the hall are shed. + + Obedient to the goad of grief, + Her steps, now fast, now lingering slow, + In varying motion seek relief + From the Eumenides of woe. + + Wringing her hands, at intervals— + But long as mute as phantom dim— + She glides along the dusky walls, + Under the black oak rafters grim. + + The close air of the grated tower + Stifles a heart that scarce can beat, + And, though so late and lone the hour, + Forth pass her wandering, faltering feet; + + And on the pavement spread before + The long front of the mansion grey, + Her steps imprint the night-frost hoar, + Which pale on grass and granite lay. + + Not long she stayed where misty moon + And shimmering stars could on her look, + But through the garden archway soon + Her strange and gloomy path she took. + + Some firs, coeval with the tower, + Their straight black boughs stretched o'er her head; + Unseen, beneath this sable bower, + Rustled her dress and rapid tread. + + There was an alcove in that shade, + Screening a rustic seat and stand; + Weary she sat her down, and laid + Her hot brow on her burning hand. + + To solitude and to the night, + Some words she now, in murmurs, said; + And trickling through her fingers white, + Some tears of misery she shed. + + "God help me in my grievous need, + God help me in my inward pain; + Which cannot ask for pity's meed, + Which has no licence to complain, + + "Which must be borne; yet who can bear, + Hours long, days long, a constant weight— + The yoke of absolute despair, + A suffering wholly desolate? + + "Who can for ever crush the heart, + Restrain its throbbing, curb its life? + Dissemble truth with ceaseless art, + With outward calm mask inward strife?" + + She waited—as for some reply; + The still and cloudy night gave none; + Ere long, with deep-drawn, trembling sigh, + Her heavy plaint again begun. + + "Unloved—I love; unwept—I weep; + Grief I restrain—hope I repress: + Vain is this anguish—fixed and deep; + Vainer, desires and dreams of bliss. + + "My love awakes no love again, + My tears collect, and fall unfelt; + My sorrow touches none with pain, + My humble hopes to nothing melt. + + "For me the universe is dumb, + Stone-deaf, and blank, and wholly blind; + Life I must bound, existence sum + In the strait limits of one mind; + + "That mind my own. Oh! narrow cell; + Dark—imageless—a living tomb! + There must I sleep, there wake and dwell + Content, with palsy, pain, and gloom." + + Again she paused; a moan of pain, + A stifled sob, alone was heard; + Long silence followed—then again + Her voice the stagnant midnight stirred. + + "Must it be so? Is this my fate? + Can I nor struggle, nor contend? + And am I doomed for years to wait, + Watching death's lingering axe descend? + + "And when it falls, and when I die, + What follows? Vacant nothingness? + The blank of lost identity? + Erasure both of pain and bliss? + + "I've heard of heaven—I would believe; + For if this earth indeed be all, + Who longest lives may deepest grieve; + Most blest, whom sorrows soonest call. + + "Oh! leaving disappointment here, + Will man find hope on yonder coast? + Hope, which, on earth, shines never clear, + And oft in clouds is wholly lost. + + "Will he hope's source of light behold, + Fruition's spring, where doubts expire, + And drink, in waves of living gold, + Contentment, full, for long desire? + + "Will he find bliss, which here he dreamed? + Rest, which was weariness on earth? + Knowledge, which, if o'er life it beamed, + Served but to prove it void of worth? + + "Will he find love without lust's leaven, + Love fearless, tearless, perfect, pure, + To all with equal bounty given; + In all, unfeigned, unfailing, sure? + + "Will he, from penal sufferings free, + Released from shroud and wormy clod, + All calm and glorious, rise and see + Creation's Sire—Existence' God? + + "Then, glancing back on Time's brief woes, + Will he behold them, fading, fly; + Swept from Eternity's repose, + Like sullying cloud from pure blue sky? + + "If so, endure, my weary frame; + And when thy anguish strikes too deep, + And when all troubled burns life's flame, + Think of the quiet, final sleep; + + "Think of the glorious waking-hour, + Which will not dawn on grief and tears, + But on a ransomed spirit's power, + Certain, and free from mortal fears. + + "Seek now thy couch, and lie till morn, + Then from thy chamber, calm, descend, + With mind nor tossed, nor anguish-torn, + But tranquil, fixed, to wait the end. + + "And when thy opening eyes shall see + Mementos, on the chamber wall, + Of one who has forgotten thee, + Shed not the tear of acrid gall. + + "The tear which, welling from the heart, + Burns where its drop corrosive falls, + And makes each nerve, in torture, start, + At feelings it too well recalls: + + "When the sweet hope of being loved + Threw Eden sunshine on life's way: + When every sense and feeling proved + Expectancy of brightest day. + + "When the hand trembled to receive + A thrilling clasp, which seemed so near, + And the heart ventured to believe + Another heart esteemed it dear. + + "When words, half love, all tenderness, + Were hourly heard, as hourly spoken, + When the long, sunny days of bliss + Only by moonlight nights were broken. + + "Till, drop by drop, the cup of joy + Filled full, with purple light was glowing, + And Faith, which watched it, sparkling high + Still never dreamt the overflowing. + + "It fell not with a sudden crashing, + It poured not out like open sluice; + No, sparkling still, and redly flashing, + Drained, drop by drop, the generous juice. + + "I saw it sink, and strove to taste it, + My eager lips approached the brim; + The movement only seemed to waste it; + It sank to dregs, all harsh and dim. + + "These I have drunk, and they for ever + Have poisoned life and love for me; + A draught from Sodom's lake could never + More fiery, salt, and bitter, be. + + "Oh! Love was all a thin illusion + Joy, but the desert's flying stream; + And glancing back on long delusion, + My memory grasps a hollow dream. + + "Yet whence that wondrous change of feeling, + I never knew, and cannot learn; + Nor why my lover's eye, congealing, + Grew cold and clouded, proud and stern. + + "Nor wherefore, friendship's forms forgetting, + He careless left, and cool withdrew; + Nor spoke of grief, nor fond regretting, + Nor ev'n one glance of comfort threw. + + "And neither word nor token sending, + Of kindness, since the parting day, + His course, for distant regions bending, + Went, self-contained and calm, away. + + "Oh, bitter, blighting, keen sensation, + Which will not weaken, cannot die, + Hasten thy work of desolation, + And let my tortured spirit fly! + + "Vain as the passing gale, my crying; + Though lightning-struck, I must live on; + I know, at heart, there is no dying + Of love, and ruined hope, alone. + + "Still strong and young, and warm with vigour, + Though scathed, I long shall greenly grow; + And many a storm of wildest rigour + Shall yet break o'er my shivered bough. + + "Rebellious now to blank inertion, + My unused strength demands a task; + Travel, and toil, and full exertion, + Are the last, only boon I ask. + + "Whence, then, this vain and barren dreaming + Of death, and dubious life to come? + I see a nearer beacon gleaming + Over dejection's sea of gloom. + + "The very wildness of my sorrow + Tells me I yet have innate force; + My track of life has been too narrow, + Effort shall trace a broader course. + + "The world is not in yonder tower, + Earth is not prisoned in that room, + 'Mid whose dark panels, hour by hour, + I've sat, the slave and prey of gloom. + + "One feeling—turned to utter anguish, + Is not my being's only aim; + When, lorn and loveless, life will languish, + But courage can revive the flame. + + "He, when he left me, went a roving + To sunny climes, beyond the sea; + And I, the weight of woe removing, + Am free and fetterless as he. + + "New scenes, new language, skies less clouded, + May once more wake the wish to live; + Strange, foreign towns, astir, and crowded, + New pictures to the mind may give. + + "New forms and faces, passing ever, + May hide the one I still retain, + Defined, and fixed, and fading never, + Stamped deep on vision, heart, and brain. + + "And we might meet—time may have changed him; + Chance may reveal the mystery, + The secret influence which estranged him; + Love may restore him yet to me. + + "False thought—false hope—in scorn be banished! + I am not loved—nor loved have been; + Recall not, then, the dreams scarce vanished; + Traitors! mislead me not again! + + "To words like yours I bid defiance, + 'Tis such my mental wreck have made; + Of God alone, and self-reliance, + I ask for solace—hope for aid. + + "Morn comes—and ere meridian glory + O'er these, my natal woods, shall smile, + Both lonely wood and mansion hoary + I'll leave behind, full many a mile." +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GILBERT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. THE GARDEN. + + Above the city hung the moon, + Right o'er a plot of ground + Where flowers and orchard-trees were fenced + With lofty walls around: + 'Twas Gilbert's garden—there to-night + Awhile he walked alone; + And, tired with sedentary toil, + Mused where the moonlight shone. + + This garden, in a city-heart, + Lay still as houseless wild, + Though many-windowed mansion fronts + Were round it; closely piled; + But thick their walls, and those within + Lived lives by noise unstirred; + Like wafting of an angel's wing, + Time's flight by them was heard. + + Some soft piano-notes alone + Were sweet as faintly given, + Where ladies, doubtless, cheered the hearth + With song that winter-even. + The city's many-mingled sounds + Rose like the hum of ocean; + They rather lulled the heart than roused + Its pulse to faster motion. + + Gilbert has paced the single walk + An hour, yet is not weary; + And, though it be a winter night + He feels nor cold nor dreary. + The prime of life is in his veins, + And sends his blood fast flowing, + And Fancy's fervour warms the thoughts + Now in his bosom glowing. + + Those thoughts recur to early love, + Or what he love would name, + Though haply Gilbert's secret deeds + Might other title claim. + Such theme not oft his mind absorbs, + He to the world clings fast, + And too much for the present lives, + To linger o'er the past. + + But now the evening's deep repose + Has glided to his soul; + That moonlight falls on Memory, + And shows her fading scroll. + One name appears in every line + The gentle rays shine o'er, + And still he smiles and still repeats + That one name—Elinor. + + There is no sorrow in his smile, + No kindness in his tone; + The triumph of a selfish heart + Speaks coldly there alone; + He says: "She loved me more than life; + And truly it was sweet + To see so fair a woman kneel, + In bondage, at my feet. + + "There was a sort of quiet bliss + To be so deeply loved, + To gaze on trembling eagerness + And sit myself unmoved. + And when it pleased my pride to grant + At last some rare caress, + To feel the fever of that hand + My fingers deigned to press. + + "'Twas sweet to see her strive to hide + What every glance revealed; + Endowed, the while, with despot-might + Her destiny to wield. + I knew myself no perfect man, + Nor, as she deemed, divine; + I knew that I was glorious—but + By her reflected shine; + + "Her youth, her native energy, + Her powers new-born and fresh, + 'Twas these with Godhead sanctified + My sensual frame of flesh. + Yet, like a god did I descend + At last, to meet her love; + And, like a god, I then withdrew + To my own heaven above. + + "And never more could she invoke + My presence to her sphere; + No prayer, no plaint, no cry of hers + Could win my awful ear. + I knew her blinded constancy + Would ne'er my deeds betray, + And, calm in conscience, whole in heart. + I went my tranquil way. + + "Yet, sometimes, I still feel a wish, + The fond and flattering pain + Of passion's anguish to create + In her young breast again. + Bright was the lustre of her eyes, + When they caught fire from mine; + If I had power—this very hour, + Again I'd light their shine. + + "But where she is, or how she lives, + I have no clue to know; + I've heard she long my absence pined, + And left her home in woe. + But busied, then, in gathering gold, + As I am busied now, + I could not turn from such pursuit, + To weep a broken vow. + + "Nor could I give to fatal risk + The fame I ever prized; + Even now, I fear, that precious fame + Is too much compromised." + An inward trouble dims his eye, + Some riddle he would solve; + Some method to unloose a knot, + His anxious thoughts revolve. + + He, pensive, leans against a tree, + A leafy evergreen, + The boughs, the moonlight, intercept, + And hide him like a screen + He starts—the tree shakes with his tremor, + Yet nothing near him pass'd; + He hurries up the garden alley, + In strangely sudden haste. + + With shaking hand, he lifts the latchet, + Steps o'er the threshold stone; + The heavy door slips from his fingers— + It shuts, and he is gone. + What touched, transfixed, appalled, his soul?— + A nervous thought, no more; + 'Twill sink like stone in placid pool, + And calm close smoothly o'er. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. THE PARLOUR. + + Warm is the parlour atmosphere, + Serene the lamp's soft light; + The vivid embers, red and clear, + Proclaim a frosty night. + Books, varied, on the table lie, + Three children o'er them bend, + And all, with curious, eager eye, + The turning leaf attend. + + Picture and tale alternately + Their simple hearts delight, + And interest deep, and tempered glee, + Illume their aspects bright. + The parents, from their fireside place, + Behold that pleasant scene, + And joy is on the mother's face, + Pride in the father's mien. + + As Gilbert sees his blooming wife, + Beholds his children fair, + No thought has he of transient strife, + Or past, though piercing fear. + The voice of happy infancy + Lisps sweetly in his ear, + His wife, with pleased and peaceful eye, + Sits, kindly smiling, near. + + The fire glows on her silken dress, + And shows its ample grace, + And warmly tints each hazel tress, + Curled soft around her face. + The beauty that in youth he wooed, + Is beauty still, unfaded; + The brow of ever placid mood + No churlish grief has shaded. + + Prosperity, in Gilbert's home, + Abides the guest of years; + There Want or Discord never come, + And seldom Toil or Tears. + The carpets bear the peaceful print + Of comfort's velvet tread, + And golden gleams, from plenty sent, + In every nook are shed. + + The very silken spaniel seems + Of quiet ease to tell, + As near its mistress' feet it dreams, + Sunk in a cushion's swell + And smiles seem native to the eyes + Of those sweet children, three; + They have but looked on tranquil skies, + And know not misery. + + Alas! that Misery should come + In such an hour as this; + Why could she not so calm a home + A little longer miss? + But she is now within the door, + Her steps advancing glide; + Her sullen shade has crossed the floor, + She stands at Gilbert's side. + + She lays her hand upon his heart, + It bounds with agony; + His fireside chair shakes with the start + That shook the garden tree. + His wife towards the children looks, + She does not mark his mien; + The children, bending o'er their books, + His terror have not seen. + + In his own home, by his own hearth, + He sits in solitude, + And circled round with light and mirth, + Cold horror chills his blood. + His mind would hold with desperate clutch + The scene that round him lies; + No—changed, as by some wizard's touch, + The present prospect flies. + + A tumult vague—a viewless strife + His futile struggles crush; + 'Twixt him and his an unknown life + And unknown feelings rush. + He sees—but scarce can language paint + The tissue fancy weaves; + For words oft give but echo faint + Of thoughts the mind conceives. + + Noise, tumult strange, and darkness dim, + Efface both light and quiet; + No shape is in those shadows grim, + No voice in that wild riot. + Sustain'd and strong, a wondrous blast + Above and round him blows; + A greenish gloom, dense overcast, + Each moment denser grows. + + He nothing knows—nor clearly sees, + Resistance checks his breath, + The high, impetuous, ceaseless breeze + Blows on him cold as death. + And still the undulating gloom + Mocks sight with formless motion: + Was such sensation Jonah's doom, + Gulphed in the depths of ocean? + + Streaking the air, the nameless vision, + Fast-driven, deep-sounding, flows; + Oh! whence its source, and what its mission? + How will its terrors close? + Long-sweeping, rushing, vast and void, + The universe it swallows; + And still the dark, devouring tide + A typhoon tempest follows. + + More slow it rolls; its furious race + Sinks to its solemn gliding; + The stunning roar, the wind's wild chase, + To stillness are subsiding. + And, slowly borne along, a form + The shapeless chaos varies; + Poised in the eddy to the storm, + Before the eye it tarries. + + A woman drowned—sunk in the deep, + On a long wave reclining; + The circling waters' crystal sweep, + Like glass, her shape enshrining. + Her pale dead face, to Gilbert turned, + Seems as in sleep reposing; + A feeble light, now first discerned, + The features well disclosing. + + No effort from the haunted air + The ghastly scene could banish, + That hovering wave, arrested there, + Rolled—throbbed—but did not vanish. + If Gilbert upward turned his gaze, + He saw the ocean-shadow; + If he looked down, the endless seas + Lay green as summer meadow. + + And straight before, the pale corpse lay, + Upborne by air or billow, + So near, he could have touched the spray + That churned around its pillow. + The hollow anguish of the face + Had moved a fiend to sorrow; + Not death's fixed calm could rase the trace + Of suffering's deep-worn furrow. + + All moved; a strong returning blast, + The mass of waters raising, + Bore wave and passive carcase past, + While Gilbert yet was gazing. + Deep in her isle-conceiving womb, + It seemed the ocean thundered, + And soon, by realms of rushing gloom, + Were seer and phantom sundered. + + Then swept some timbers from a wreck. + On following surges riding; + Then sea-weed, in the turbid rack + Uptorn, went slowly gliding. + The horrid shade, by slow degrees, + A beam of light defeated, + And then the roar of raving seas, + Fast, far, and faint, retreated. + + And all was gone—gone like a mist, + Corse, billows, tempest, wreck; + Three children close to Gilbert prest + And clung around his neck. + Good night! good night! the prattlers said, + And kissed their father's cheek; + 'Twas now the hour their quiet bed + And placid rest to seek. + + The mother with her offspring goes + To hear their evening prayer; + She nought of Gilbert's vision knows, + And nought of his despair. + Yet, pitying God, abridge the time + Of anguish, now his fate! + Though, haply, great has been his crime: + Thy mercy, too, is great. + + Gilbert, at length, uplifts his head, + Bent for some moments low, + And there is neither grief nor dread + Upon his subtle brow. + For well can he his feelings task, + And well his looks command; + His features well his heart can mask, + With smiles and smoothness bland. + + Gilbert has reasoned with his mind— + He says 'twas all a dream; + He strives his inward sight to blind + Against truth's inward beam. + He pitied not that shadowy thing, + When it was flesh and blood; + Nor now can pity's balmy spring + Refresh his arid mood. + + "And if that dream has spoken truth," + Thus musingly he says; + "If Elinor be dead, in sooth, + Such chance the shock repays: + A net was woven round my feet, + I scarce could further go; + Ere shame had forced a fast retreat, + Dishonour brought me low. + + "Conceal her, then, deep, silent sea, + Give her a secret grave! + She sleeps in peace, and I am free, + No longer terror's slave: + And homage still, from all the world, + Shall greet my spotless name, + Since surges break and waves are curled + Above its threatened shame." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + III. THE WELCOME HOME. + + Above the city hangs the moon, + Some clouds are boding rain; + Gilbert, erewhile on journey gone, + To-night comes home again. + Ten years have passed above his head, + Each year has brought him gain; + His prosperous life has smoothly sped, + Without or tear or stain. + + 'Tis somewhat late—the city clocks + Twelve deep vibrations toll, + As Gilbert at the portal knocks, + Which is his journey's goal. + The street is still and desolate, + The moon hid by a cloud; + Gilbert, impatient, will not wait,— + His second knock peals loud. + + The clocks are hushed—there's not a light + In any window nigh, + And not a single planet bright + Looks from the clouded sky; + The air is raw, the rain descends, + A bitter north-wind blows; + His cloak the traveller scarce defends— + Will not the door unclose? + + He knocks the third time, and the last + His summons now they hear, + Within, a footstep, hurrying fast, + Is heard approaching near. + The bolt is drawn, the clanking chain + Falls to the floor of stone; + And Gilbert to his heart will strain + His wife and children soon. + + The hand that lifts the latchet, holds + A candle to his sight, + And Gilbert, on the step, beholds + A woman, clad in white. + Lo! water from her dripping dress + Runs on the streaming floor; + From every dark and clinging tress + The drops incessant pour. + + There's none but her to welcome him; + She holds the candle high, + And, motionless in form and limb, + Stands cold and silent nigh; + There's sand and sea-weed on her robe, + Her hollow eyes are blind; + No pulse in such a frame can throb, + No life is there defined. + + Gilbert turned ashy-white, but still + His lips vouchsafed no cry; + He spurred his strength and master-will + To pass the figure by,— + But, moving slow, it faced him straight, + It would not flinch nor quail: + Then first did Gilbert's strength abate, + His stony firmness quail. + + He sank upon his knees and prayed + The shape stood rigid there; + He called aloud for human aid, + No human aid was near. + An accent strange did thus repeat + Heaven's stern but just decree: + "The measure thou to her didst mete, + To thee shall measured be!" + + Gilbert sprang from his bended knees, + By the pale spectre pushed, + And, wild as one whom demons seize, + Up the hall-staircase rushed; + Entered his chamber—near the bed + Sheathed steel and fire-arms hung— + Impelled by maniac purpose dread + He chose those stores among. + + Across his throat a keen-edged knife + With vigorous hand he drew; + The wound was wide—his outraged life + Rushed rash and redly through. + And thus died, by a shameful death, + A wise and worldly man, + Who never drew but selfish breath + Since first his life began. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LIFE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Life, believe, is not a dream + So dark as sages say; + Oft a little morning rain + Foretells a pleasant day. + Sometimes there are clouds of gloom, + But these are transient all; + If the shower will make the roses bloom, + O why lament its fall? + Rapidly, merrily, + Life's sunny hours flit by, + Gratefully, cheerily + Enjoy them as they fly! + What though Death at times steps in, + And calls our Best away? + What though sorrow seems to win, + O'er hope, a heavy sway? + Yet Hope again elastic springs, + Unconquered, though she fell; + Still buoyant are her golden wings, + Still strong to bear us well. + Manfully, fearlessly, + The day of trial bear, + For gloriously, victoriously, + Can courage quell despair! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LETTER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What is she writing? Watch her now, + How fast her fingers move! + How eagerly her youthful brow + Is bent in thought above! + Her long curls, drooping, shade the light, + She puts them quick aside, + Nor knows that band of crystals bright, + Her hasty touch untied. + It slips adown her silken dress, + Falls glittering at her feet; + Unmarked it falls, for she no less + Pursues her labour sweet. + + The very loveliest hour that shines, + Is in that deep blue sky; + The golden sun of June declines, + It has not caught her eye. + The cheerful lawn, and unclosed gate, + The white road, far away, + In vain for her light footsteps wait, + She comes not forth to-day. + There is an open door of glass + Close by that lady's chair, + From thence, to slopes of messy grass, + Descends a marble stair. + + Tall plants of bright and spicy bloom + Around the threshold grow; + Their leaves and blossoms shade the room + From that sun's deepening glow. + Why does she not a moment glance + Between the clustering flowers, + And mark in heaven the radiant dance + Of evening's rosy hours? + O look again! Still fixed her eye, + Unsmiling, earnest, still, + And fast her pen and fingers fly, + Urged by her eager will. + + Her soul is in th'absorbing task; + To whom, then, doth she write? + Nay, watch her still more closely, ask + Her own eyes' serious light; + Where do they turn, as now her pen + Hangs o'er th'unfinished line? + Whence fell the tearful gleam that then + Did in their dark spheres shine? + The summer-parlour looks so dark, + When from that sky you turn, + And from th'expanse of that green park, + You scarce may aught discern. + + Yet, o'er the piles of porcelain rare, + O'er flower-stand, couch, and vase, + Sloped, as if leaning on the air, + One picture meets the gaze. + 'Tis there she turns; you may not see + Distinct, what form defines + The clouded mass of mystery + Yon broad gold frame confines. + But look again; inured to shade + Your eyes now faintly trace + A stalwart form, a massive head, + A firm, determined face. + + Black Spanish locks, a sunburnt cheek + A brow high, broad, and white, + Where every furrow seems to speak + Of mind and moral might. + Is that her god? I cannot tell; + Her eye a moment met + Th'impending picture, then it fell + Darkened and dimmed and wet. + A moment more, her task is done, + And sealed the letter lies; + And now, towards the setting sun + She turns her tearful eyes. + + Those tears flow over, wonder not, + For by the inscription see + In what a strange and distant spot + Her heart of hearts must be! + Three seas and many a league of land + That letter must pass o'er, + Ere read by him to whose loved hand + 'Tis sent from England's shore. + Remote colonial wilds detain + Her husband, loved though stern; + She, 'mid that smiling English scene, + Weeps for his wished return. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + REGRET. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Long ago I wished to leave + "The house where I was born;" + Long ago I used to grieve, + My home seemed so forlorn. + In other years, its silent rooms + Were filled with haunting fears; + Now, their very memory comes + O'ercharged with tender tears. + + Life and marriage I have known. + Things once deemed so bright; + Now, how utterly is flown + Every ray of light! + 'Mid the unknown sea, of life + I no blest isle have found; + At last, through all its wild wave's strife, + My bark is homeward bound. + + Farewell, dark and rolling deep! + Farewell, foreign shore! + Open, in unclouded sweep, + Thou glorious realm before! + Yet, though I had safely pass'd + That weary, vexed main, + One loved voice, through surge and blast + Could call me back again. + + Though the soul's bright morning rose + O'er Paradise for me, + William! even from Heaven's repose + I'd turn, invoked by thee! + Storm nor surge should e'er arrest + My soul, exalting then: + All my heaven was once thy breast, + Would it were mine again! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PRESENTIMENT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Sister, you've sat there all the day, + Come to the hearth awhile; + The wind so wildly sweeps away, + The clouds so darkly pile. + That open book has lain, unread, + For hours upon your knee; + You've never smiled nor turned your head; + What can you, sister, see?" + + "Come hither, Jane, look down the field; + How dense a mist creeps on! + The path, the hedge, are both concealed, + Ev'n the white gate is gone + No landscape through the fog I trace, + No hill with pastures green; + All featureless is Nature's face. + All masked in clouds her mien. + + "Scarce is the rustle of a leaf + Heard in our garden now; + The year grows old, its days wax brief, + The tresses leave its brow. + The rain drives fast before the wind, + The sky is blank and grey; + O Jane, what sadness fills the mind + On such a dreary day!" + + "You think too much, my sister dear; + You sit too long alone; + What though November days be drear? + Full soon will they be gone. + I've swept the hearth, and placed your chair. + Come, Emma, sit by me; + Our own fireside is never drear, + Though late and wintry wane the year, + Though rough the night may be." + + "The peaceful glow of our fireside + Imparts no peace to me: + My thoughts would rather wander wide + Than rest, dear Jane, with thee. + I'm on a distant journey bound, + And if, about my heart, + Too closely kindred ties were bound, + 'Twould break when forced to part. + + "'Soon will November days be o'er:' + Well have you spoken, Jane: + My own forebodings tell me more— + For me, I know by presage sure, + They'll ne'er return again. + Ere long, nor sun nor storm to me + Will bring or joy or gloom; + They reach not that Eternity + Which soon will be my home." + + Eight months are gone, the summer sun + Sets in a glorious sky; + A quiet field, all green and lone, + Receives its rosy dye. + Jane sits upon a shaded stile, + Alone she sits there now; + Her head rests on her hand the while, + And thought o'ercasts her brow. + + She's thinking of one winter's day, + A few short months ago, + Then Emma's bier was borne away + O'er wastes of frozen snow. + She's thinking how that drifted snow + Dissolved in spring's first gleam, + And how her sister's memory now + Fades, even as fades a dream. + + The snow will whiten earth again, + But Emma comes no more; + She left, 'mid winter's sleet and rain, + This world for Heaven's far shore. + On Beulah's hills she wanders now, + On Eden's tranquil plain; + To her shall Jane hereafter go, + She ne'er shall come to Jane! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE TEACHER'S MONOLOGUE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The room is quiet, thoughts alone + People its mute tranquillity; + The yoke put off, the long task done,— + I am, as it is bliss to be, + Still and untroubled. Now, I see, + For the first time, how soft the day + O'er waveless water, stirless tree, + Silent and sunny, wings its way. + Now, as I watch that distant hill, + So faint, so blue, so far removed, + Sweet dreams of home my heart may fill, + That home where I am known and loved: + It lies beyond; yon azure brow + Parts me from all Earth holds for me; + And, morn and eve, my yearnings flow + Thitherward tending, changelessly. + My happiest hours, aye! all the time, + I love to keep in memory, + Lapsed among moors, ere life's first prime + Decayed to dark anxiety. + + Sometimes, I think a narrow heart + Makes me thus mourn those far away, + And keeps my love so far apart + From friends and friendships of to-day; + Sometimes, I think 'tis but a dream + I treasure up so jealously, + All the sweet thoughts I live on seem + To vanish into vacancy: + And then, this strange, coarse world around + Seems all that's palpable and true; + And every sight, and every sound, + Combines my spirit to subdue + To aching grief, so void and lone + Is Life and Earth—so worse than vain, + The hopes that, in my own heart sown, + And cherished by such sun and rain + As Joy and transient Sorrow shed, + Have ripened to a harvest there: + Alas! methinks I hear it said, + "Thy golden sheaves are empty air." + + All fades away; my very home + I think will soon be desolate; + I hear, at times, a warning come + Of bitter partings at its gate; + And, if I should return and see + The hearth-fire quenched, the vacant chair; + And hear it whispered mournfully, + That farewells have been spoken there, + What shall I do, and whither turn? + Where look for peace? When cease to mourn? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Tis not the air I wished to play, + The strain I wished to sing; + My wilful spirit slipped away + And struck another string. + I neither wanted smile nor tear, + Bright joy nor bitter woe, + But just a song that sweet and clear, + Though haply sad, might flow. + + A quiet song, to solace me + When sleep refused to come; + A strain to chase despondency, + When sorrowful for home. + In vain I try; I cannot sing; + All feels so cold and dead; + No wild distress, no gushing spring + Of tears in anguish shed; + + But all the impatient gloom of one + Who waits a distant day, + When, some great task of suffering done, + Repose shall toil repay. + For youth departs, and pleasure flies, + And life consumes away, + And youth's rejoicing ardour dies + Beneath this drear delay; + + And Patience, weary with her yoke, + Is yielding to despair, + And Health's elastic spring is broke + Beneath the strain of care. + Life will be gone ere I have lived; + Where now is Life's first prime? + I've worked and studied, longed and grieved, + Through all that rosy time. + + To toil, to think, to long, to grieve,— + Is such my future fate? + The morn was dreary, must the eve + Be also desolate? + Well, such a life at least makes Death + A welcome, wished-for friend; + Then, aid me, Reason, Patience, Faith, + To suffer to the end! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PASSION. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Some have won a wild delight, + By daring wilder sorrow; + Could I gain thy love to-night, + I'd hazard death to-morrow. + + Could the battle-struggle earn + One kind glance from thine eye, + How this withering heart would burn, + The heady fight to try! + + Welcome nights of broken sleep, + And days of carnage cold, + Could I deem that thou wouldst weep + To hear my perils told. + + Tell me, if with wandering bands + I roam full far away, + Wilt thou to those distant lands + In spirit ever stray? + + Wild, long, a trumpet sounds afar; + Bid me—bid me go + Where Seik and Briton meet in war, + On Indian Sutlej's flow. + + Blood has dyed the Sutlej's waves + With scarlet stain, I know; + Indus' borders yawn with graves, + Yet, command me go! + + Though rank and high the holocaust + Of nations steams to heaven, + Glad I'd join the death-doomed host, + Were but the mandate given. + + Passion's strength should nerve my arm, + Its ardour stir my life, + Till human force to that dread charm + Should yield and sink in wild alarm, + Like trees to tempest-strife. + + If, hot from war, I seek thy love, + Darest thou turn aside? + Darest thou then my fire reprove, + By scorn, and maddening pride? + + No—my will shall yet control + Thy will, so high and free, + And love shall tame that haughty soul— + Yes—tenderest love for me. + + I'll read my triumph in thine eyes, + Behold, and prove the change; + Then leave, perchance, my noble prize, + Once more in arms to range. + + I'd die when all the foam is up, + The bright wine sparkling high; + Nor wait till in the exhausted cup + Life's dull dregs only lie. + + Then Love thus crowned with sweet reward, + Hope blest with fulness large, + I'd mount the saddle, draw the sword, + And perish in the charge! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFERENCE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Not in scorn do I reprove thee, + Not in pride thy vows I waive, + But, believe, I could not love thee, + Wert thou prince, and I a slave. + These, then, are thine oaths of passion? + This, thy tenderness for me? + Judged, even, by thine own confession, + Thou art steeped in perfidy. + Having vanquished, thou wouldst leave me! + Thus I read thee long ago; + Therefore, dared I not deceive thee, + Even with friendship's gentle show. + Therefore, with impassive coldness + Have I ever met thy gaze; + Though, full oft, with daring boldness, + Thou thine eyes to mine didst raise. + Why that smile? Thou now art deeming + This my coldness all untrue,— + But a mask of frozen seeming, + Hiding secret fires from view. + Touch my hand, thou self-deceiver; + Nay-be calm, for I am so: + Does it burn? Does my lip quiver? + Has mine eye a troubled glow? + Canst thou call a moment's colour + To my forehead—to my cheek? + Canst thou tinge their tranquil pallor + With one flattering, feverish streak? + Am I marble? What! no woman + Could so calm before thee stand? + Nothing living, sentient, human, + Could so coldly take thy hand? + Yes—a sister might, a mother: + My good-will is sisterly: + Dream not, then, I strive to smother + Fires that inly burn for thee. + Rave not, rage not, wrath is fruitless, + Fury cannot change my mind; + I but deem the feeling rootless + Which so whirls in passion's wind. + Can I love? Oh, deeply—truly— + Warmly—fondly—but not thee; + And my love is answered duly, + With an equal energy. + Wouldst thou see thy rival? Hasten, + Draw that curtain soft aside, + Look where yon thick branches chasten + Noon, with shades of eventide. + In that glade, where foliage blending + Forms a green arch overhead, + Sits thy rival, thoughtful bending + O'er a stand with papers spread— + Motionless, his fingers plying + That untired, unresting pen; + Time and tide unnoticed flying, + There he sits—the first of men! + Man of conscience—man of reason; + Stern, perchance, but ever just; + Foe to falsehood, wrong, and treason, + Honour's shield, and virtue's trust! + Worker, thinker, firm defender + Of Heaven's truth—man's liberty; + Soul of iron—proof to slander, + Rock where founders tyranny. + Fame he seeks not—but full surely + She will seek him, in his home; + This I know, and wait securely + For the atoning hour to come. + To that man my faith is given, + Therefore, soldier, cease to sue; + While God reigns in earth and heaven, + I to him will still be true! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EVENING SOLACE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The human heart has hidden treasures, + In secret kept, in silence sealed;— + The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, + Whose charms were broken if revealed. + And days may pass in gay confusion, + And nights in rosy riot fly, + While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion, + The memory of the Past may die. + + But there are hours of lonely musing, + Such as in evening silence come, + When, soft as birds their pinions closing, + The heart's best feelings gather home. + Then in our souls there seems to languish + A tender grief that is not woe; + And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguish + Now cause but some mild tears to flow. + + And feelings, once as strong as passions, + Float softly back—a faded dream; + Our own sharp griefs and wild sensations, + The tale of others' sufferings seem. + Oh! when the heart is freshly bleeding, + How longs it for that time to be, + When, through the mist of years receding, + Its woes but live in reverie! + + And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer, + On evening shade and loneliness; + And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer, + Feel no untold and strange distress— + Only a deeper impulse given + By lonely hour and darkened room, + To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven + Seeking a life and world to come. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STANZAS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If thou be in a lonely place, + If one hour's calm be thine, + As Evening bends her placid face + O'er this sweet day's decline; + If all the earth and all the heaven + Now look serene to thee, + As o'er them shuts the summer even, + One moment—think of me! + + Pause, in the lane, returning home; + 'Tis dusk, it will be still: + Pause near the elm, a sacred gloom + Its breezeless boughs will fill. + Look at that soft and golden light, + High in the unclouded sky; + Watch the last bird's belated flight, + As it flits silent by. + + Hark! for a sound upon the wind, + A step, a voice, a sigh; + If all be still, then yield thy mind, + Unchecked, to memory. + If thy love were like mine, how blest + That twilight hour would seem, + When, back from the regretted Past, + Returned our early dream! + + If thy love were like mine, how wild + Thy longings, even to pain, + For sunset soft, and moonlight mild, + To bring that hour again! + But oft, when in thine arms I lay, + I've seen thy dark eyes shine, + And deeply felt their changeful ray + Spoke other love than mine. + + My love is almost anguish now, + It beats so strong and true; + 'Twere rapture, could I deem that thou + Such anguish ever knew. + I have been but thy transient flower, + Thou wert my god divine; + Till checked by death's congealing power, + This heart must throb for thine. + + And well my dying hour were blest, + If life's expiring breath + Should pass, as thy lips gently prest + My forehead cold in death; + And sound my sleep would be, and sweet, + Beneath the churchyard tree, + If sometimes in thy heart should beat + One pulse, still true to me. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PARTING. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There's no use in weeping, + Though we are condemned to part: + There's such a thing as keeping + A remembrance in one's heart: + + There's such a thing as dwelling + On the thought ourselves have nursed, + And with scorn and courage telling + The world to do its worst. + + We'll not let its follies grieve us, + We'll just take them as they come; + And then every day will leave us + A merry laugh for home. + + When we've left each friend and brother, + When we're parted wide and far, + We will think of one another, + As even better than we are. + + Every glorious sight above us, + Every pleasant sight beneath, + We'll connect with those that love us, + Whom we truly love till death! + + In the evening, when we're sitting + By the fire, perchance alone, + Then shall heart with warm heart meeting, + Give responsive tone for tone. + + We can burst the bonds which chain us, + Which cold human hands have wrought, + And where none shall dare restrain us + We can meet again, in thought. + + So there's no use in weeping, + Bear a cheerful spirit still; + Never doubt that Fate is keeping + Future good for present ill! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + APOSTASY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This last denial of my faith, + Thou, solemn Priest, hast heard; + And, though upon my bed of death, + I call not back a word. + Point not to thy Madonna, Priest,— + Thy sightless saint of stone; + She cannot, from this burning breast, + Wring one repentant moan. + + Thou say'st, that when a sinless child, + I duly bent the knee, + And prayed to what in marble smiled + Cold, lifeless, mute, on me. + I did. But listen! Children spring + Full soon to riper youth; + And, for Love's vow and Wedlock's ring, + I sold my early truth. + + 'Twas not a grey, bare head, like thine, + Bent o'er me, when I said, + "That land and God and Faith are mine, + For which thy fathers bled." + I see thee not, my eyes are dim; + But well I hear thee say, + "O daughter cease to think of him + Who led thy soul astray. + + "Between you lies both space and time; + Let leagues and years prevail + To turn thee from the path of crime, + Back to the Church's pale." + And, did I need that, thou shouldst tell + What mighty barriers rise + To part me from that dungeon-cell, + Where my loved Walter lies? + + And, did I need that thou shouldst taunt + My dying hour at last, + By bidding this worn spirit pant + No more for what is past? + Priest—MUST I cease to think of him? + How hollow rings that word! + Can time, can tears, can distance dim + The memory of my lord? + + I said before, I saw not thee, + Because, an hour agone, + Over my eyeballs, heavily, + The lids fell down like stone. + But still my spirit's inward sight + Beholds his image beam + As fixed, as clear, as burning bright, + As some red planet's gleam. + + Talk not of thy Last Sacrament, + Tell not thy beads for me; + Both rite and prayer are vainly spent, + As dews upon the sea. + Speak not one word of Heaven above, + Rave not of Hell's alarms; + Give me but back my Walter's love, + Restore me to his arms! + + Then will the bliss of Heaven be won; + Then will Hell shrink away, + As I have seen night's terrors shun + The conquering steps of day. + 'Tis my religion thus to love, + My creed thus fixed to be; + Not Death shall shake, nor Priestcraft break + My rock-like constancy! + + Now go; for at the door there waits + Another stranger guest; + He calls—I come—my pulse scarce beats, + My heart fails in my breast. + Again that voice—how far away, + How dreary sounds that tone! + And I, methinks, am gone astray + In trackless wastes and lone. + + I fain would rest a little while: + Where can I find a stay, + Till dawn upon the hills shall smile, + And show some trodden way? + "I come! I come!" in haste she said, + "'Twas Walter's voice I heard!" + Then up she sprang—but fell back, dead, + His name her latest word. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WINTER STORES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We take from life one little share, + And say that this shall be + A space, redeemed from toil and care, + From tears and sadness free. + + And, haply, Death unstrings his bow, + And Sorrow stands apart, + And, for a little while, we know + The sunshine of the heart. + + Existence seems a summer eve, + Warm, soft, and full of peace, + Our free, unfettered feelings give + The soul its full release. + + A moment, then, it takes the power + To call up thoughts that throw + Around that charmed and hallowed hour, + This life's divinest glow. + + But Time, though viewlessly it flies, + And slowly, will not stay; + Alike, through clear and clouded skies, + It cleaves its silent way. + + Alike the bitter cup of grief, + Alike the draught of bliss, + Its progress leaves but moment brief + For baffled lips to kiss + + The sparkling draught is dried away, + The hour of rest is gone, + And urgent voices, round us, say, + "Ho, lingerer, hasten on!" + + And has the soul, then, only gained, + From this brief time of ease, + A moment's rest, when overstrained, + One hurried glimpse of peace? + + No; while the sun shone kindly o'er us, + And flowers bloomed round our feet,— + While many a bud of joy before us + Unclosed its petals sweet,— + + An unseen work within was plying; + Like honey-seeking bee, + From flower to flower, unwearied, flying, + Laboured one faculty,— + + Thoughtful for Winter's future sorrow, + Its gloom and scarcity; + Prescient to-day, of want to-morrow, + Toiled quiet Memory. + + 'Tis she that from each transient pleasure + Extracts a lasting good; + 'Tis she that finds, in summer, treasure + To serve for winter's food. + + And when Youth's summer day is vanished, + And Age brings Winter's stress, + Her stores, with hoarded sweets replenished, + Life's evening hours will bless. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MISSIONARY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Plough, vessel, plough the British main, + Seek the free ocean's wider plain; + Leave English scenes and English skies, + Unbind, dissever English ties; + Bear me to climes remote and strange, + Where altered life, fast-following change, + Hot action, never-ceasing toil, + Shall stir, turn, dig, the spirit's soil; + Fresh roots shall plant, fresh seed shall sow, + Till a new garden there shall grow, + Cleared of the weeds that fill it now,— + Mere human love, mere selfish yearning, + Which, cherished, would arrest me yet. + I grasp the plough, there's no returning, + Let me, then, struggle to forget. + + But England's shores are yet in view, + And England's skies of tender blue + Are arched above her guardian sea. + I cannot yet Remembrance flee; + I must again, then, firmly face + That task of anguish, to retrace. + Wedded to home—I home forsake; + Fearful of change—I changes make; + Too fond of ease—I plunge in toil; + Lover of calm—I seek turmoil: + Nature and hostile Destiny + Stir in my heart a conflict wild; + And long and fierce the war will be + Ere duty both has reconciled. + + What other tie yet holds me fast + To the divorced, abandoned past? + Smouldering, on my heart's altar lies + The fire of some great sacrifice, + Not yet half quenched. The sacred steel + But lately struck my carnal will, + My life-long hope, first joy and last, + What I loved well, and clung to fast; + What I wished wildly to retain, + What I renounced with soul-felt pain; + What—when I saw it, axe-struck, perish— + Left me no joy on earth to cherish; + A man bereft—yet sternly now + I do confirm that Jephtha vow: + Shall I retract, or fear, or flee? + Did Christ, when rose the fatal tree + Before him, on Mount Calvary? + 'Twas a long fight, hard fought, but won, + And what I did was justly done. + + Yet, Helen! from thy love I turned, + When my heart most for thy heart burned; + I dared thy tears, I dared thy scorn— + Easier the death-pang had been borne. + Helen, thou mightst not go with me, + I could not—dared not stay for thee! + I heard, afar, in bonds complain + The savage from beyond the main; + And that wild sound rose o'er the cry + Wrung out by passion's agony; + And even when, with the bitterest tear + I ever shed, mine eyes were dim, + Still, with the spirit's vision clear, + I saw Hell's empire, vast and grim, + Spread on each Indian river's shore, + Each realm of Asia covering o'er. + There, the weak, trampled by the strong, + Live but to suffer—hopeless die; + There pagan-priests, whose creed is Wrong, + Extortion, Lust, and Cruelty, + Crush our lost race—and brimming fill + The bitter cup of human ill; + And I—who have the healing creed, + The faith benign of Mary's Son, + Shall I behold my brother's need, + And, selfishly, to aid him shun? + I—who upon my mother's knees, + In childhood, read Christ's written word, + Received his legacy of peace, + His holy rule of action heard; + I—in whose heart the sacred sense + Of Jesus' love was early felt; + Of his pure, full benevolence, + His pitying tenderness for guilt; + His shepherd-care for wandering sheep, + For all weak, sorrowing, trembling things, + His mercy vast, his passion deep + Of anguish for man's sufferings; + I—schooled from childhood in such lore— + Dared I draw back or hesitate, + When called to heal the sickness sore + Of those far off and desolate? + Dark, in the realm and shades of Death, + Nations, and tribes, and empires lie, + But even to them the light of Faith + Is breaking on their sombre sky: + And be it mine to bid them raise + Their drooped heads to the kindling scene, + And know and hail the sunrise blaze + Which heralds Christ the Nazarene. + I know how Hell the veil will spread + Over their brows and filmy eyes, + And earthward crush the lifted head + That would look up and seek the skies; + I know what war the fiend will wage + Against that soldier of the Cross, + Who comes to dare his demon rage, + And work his kingdom shame and loss. + Yes, hard and terrible the toil + Of him who steps on foreign soil, + Resolved to plant the gospel vine, + Where tyrants rule and slaves repine; + Eager to lift Religion's light + Where thickest shades of mental night + Screen the false god and fiendish rite; + Reckless that missionary blood, + Shed in wild wilderness and wood, + Has left, upon the unblest air, + The man's deep moan—the martyr's prayer. + I know my lot—I only ask + Power to fulfil the glorious task; + Willing the spirit, may the flesh + Strength for the day receive afresh. + May burning sun or deadly wind + Prevail not o'er an earnest mind; + May torments strange or direst death + Nor trample truth, nor baffle faith. + Though such blood-drops should fall from me + As fell in old Gethsemane, + Welcome the anguish, so it gave + More strength to work—more skill to save. + And, oh! if brief must be my time, + If hostile hand or fatal clime + Cut short my course—still o'er my grave, + Lord, may thy harvest whitening wave. + So I the culture may begin, + Let others thrust the sickle in; + If but the seed will faster grow, + May my blood water what I sow! + + What! have I ever trembling stood, + And feared to give to God that blood? + What! has the coward love of life + Made me shrink from the righteous strife? + Have human passions, human fears + Severed me from those Pioneers + Whose task is to march first, and trace + Paths for the progress of our race? + It has been so; but grant me, Lord, + Now to stand steadfast by Thy word! + Protected by salvation's helm, + Shielded by faith, with truth begirt, + To smile when trials seek to whelm + And stand mid testing fires unhurt! + Hurling hell's strongest bulwarks down, + Even when the last pang thrills my breast, + When death bestows the martyr's crown, + And calls me into Jesus' rest. + Then for my ultimate reward— + Then for the world-rejoicing word— + The voice from Father—Spirit—Son: + "Servant of God, well hast thou done!" +</pre> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + POEMS BY ELLIS BELL + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FAITH AND DESPONDENCY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The winter wind is loud and wild, + Come close to me, my darling child; + Forsake thy books, and mateless play; + And, while the night is gathering gray, + We'll talk its pensive hours away;— + + "Ierne, round our sheltered hall + November's gusts unheeded call; + Not one faint breath can enter here + Enough to wave my daughter's hair, + And I am glad to watch the blaze + Glance from her eyes, with mimic rays; + To feel her cheek, so softly pressed, + In happy quiet on my breast, + + "But, yet, even this tranquillity + Brings bitter, restless thoughts to me; + And, in the red fire's cheerful glow, + I think of deep glens, blocked with snow; + I dream of moor, and misty hill, + Where evening closes dark and chill; + For, lone, among the mountains cold, + Lie those that I have loved of old. + And my heart aches, in hopeless pain, + Exhausted with repinings vain, + That I shall greet them ne'er again!" + + "Father, in early infancy, + When you were far beyond the sea, + Such thoughts were tyrants over me! + I often sat, for hours together, + Through the long nights of angry weather, + Raised on my pillow, to descry + The dim moon struggling in the sky; + Or, with strained ear, to catch the shock, + Of rock with wave, and wave with rock; + So would I fearful vigil keep, + And, all for listening, never sleep. + But this world's life has much to dread, + Not so, my Father, with the dead. + + "Oh! not for them, should we despair, + The grave is drear, but they are not there; + Their dust is mingled with the sod, + Their happy souls are gone to God! + You told me this, and yet you sigh, + And murmur that your friends must die. + Ah! my dear father, tell me why? + For, if your former words were true, + How useless would such sorrow be; + As wise, to mourn the seed which grew + Unnoticed on its parent tree, + Because it fell in fertile earth, + And sprang up to a glorious birth— + Struck deep its root, and lifted high + Its green boughs in the breezy sky. + + "But, I'll not fear, I will not weep + For those whose bodies rest in sleep,— + I know there is a blessed shore, + Opening its ports for me and mine; + And, gazing Time's wide waters o'er, + I weary for that land divine, + Where we were born, where you and I + Shall meet our dearest, when we die; + From suffering and corruption free, + Restored into the Deity." + + "Well hast thou spoken, sweet, trustful child! + And wiser than thy sire; + And worldly tempests, raging wild, + Shall strengthen thy desire— + Thy fervent hope, through storm and foam, + Through wind and ocean's roar, + To reach, at last, the eternal home, + The steadfast, changeless shore!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STARS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ah! why, because the dazzling sun + Restored our Earth to joy, + Have you departed, every one, + And left a desert sky? + + All through the night, your glorious eyes + Were gazing down in mine, + And, with a full heart's thankful sighs, + I blessed that watch divine. + + I was at peace, and drank your beams + As they were life to me; + And revelled in my changeful dreams, + Like petrel on the sea. + + Thought followed thought, star followed star, + Through boundless regions, on; + While one sweet influence, near and far, + Thrilled through, and proved us one! + + Why did the morning dawn to break + So great, so pure, a spell; + And scorch with fire the tranquil cheek, + Where your cool radiance fell? + + Blood-red, he rose, and, arrow-straight, + His fierce beams struck my brow; + The soul of nature sprang, elate, + But mine sank sad and low! + + My lids closed down, yet through their veil + I saw him, blazing, still, + And steep in gold the misty dale, + And flash upon the hill. + + I turned me to the pillow, then, + To call back night, and see + Your worlds of solemn light, again, + Throb with my heart, and me! + + It would not do—the pillow glowed, + And glowed both roof and floor; + And birds sang loudly in the wood, + And fresh winds shook the door; + + The curtains waved, the wakened flies + Were murmuring round my room, + Imprisoned there, till I should rise, + And give them leave to roam. + + Oh, stars, and dreams, and gentle night; + Oh, night and stars, return! + And hide me from the hostile light + That does not warm, but burn; + + That drains the blood of suffering men; + Drinks tears, instead of dew; + Let me sleep through his blinding reign, + And only wake with you! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PHILOSOPHER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Enough of thought, philosopher! + Too long hast thou been dreaming + Unlightened, in this chamber drear, + While summer's sun is beaming! + Space-sweeping soul, what sad refrain + Concludes thy musings once again? + + "Oh, for the time when I shall sleep + Without identity. + And never care how rain may steep, + Or snow may cover me! + No promised heaven, these wild desires + Could all, or half fulfil; + No threatened hell, with quenchless fires, + Subdue this quenchless will!" + + "So said I, and still say the same; + Still, to my death, will say— + Three gods, within this little frame, + Are warring night; and day; + Heaven could not hold them all, and yet + They all are held in me; + And must be mine till I forget + My present entity! + Oh, for the time, when in my breast + Their struggles will be o'er! + Oh, for the day, when I shall rest, + And never suffer more!" + + "I saw a spirit, standing, man, + Where thou dost stand—an hour ago, + And round his feet three rivers ran, + Of equal depth, and equal flow— + A golden stream—and one like blood; + And one like sapphire seemed to be; + But, where they joined their triple flood + It tumbled in an inky sea + The spirit sent his dazzling gaze + Down through that ocean's gloomy night; + Then, kindling all, with sudden blaze, + The glad deep sparkled wide and bright— + White as the sun, far, far more fair + Than its divided sources were!" + + "And even for that spirit, seer, + I've watched and sought my life-time long; + Sought him in heaven, hell, earth, and air, + An endless search, and always wrong. + Had I but seen his glorious eye + ONCE light the clouds that wilder me; + I ne'er had raised this coward cry + To cease to think, and cease to be; + + I ne'er had called oblivion blest, + Nor stretching eager hands to death, + Implored to change for senseless rest + This sentient soul, this living breath— + Oh, let me die—that power and will + Their cruel strife may close; + And conquered good, and conquering ill + Be lost in one repose!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + REMEMBRANCE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Cold in the earth—and the deep snow piled above thee, + Far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave! + Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee, + Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave? + + Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover + Over the mountains, on that northern shore, + Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover + Thy noble heart for ever, ever more? + + Cold in the earth—and fifteen wild Decembers, + From those brown hills, have melted into spring: + Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers + After such years of change and suffering! + + Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, + While the world's tide is bearing me along; + Other desires and other hopes beset me, + Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong! + + No later light has lightened up my heaven, + No second morn has ever shone for me; + All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given, + All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee. + + But, when the days of golden dreams had perished, + And even Despair was powerless to destroy; + Then did I learn how existence could be cherished, + Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy. + + Then did I check the tears of useless passion— + Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine; + Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten + Down to that tomb already more than mine. + + And, even yet, I dare not let it languish, + Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain; + Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, + How could I seek the empty world again? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A DEATH-SCENE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "O day! he cannot die + When thou so fair art shining! + O Sun, in such a glorious sky, + So tranquilly declining; + + He cannot leave thee now, + While fresh west winds are blowing, + And all around his youthful brow + Thy cheerful light is glowing! + + Edward, awake, awake— + The golden evening gleams + Warm and bright on Arden's lake— + Arouse thee from thy dreams! + + Beside thee, on my knee, + My dearest friend, I pray + That thou, to cross the eternal sea, + Wouldst yet one hour delay: + + I hear its billows roar— + I see them foaming high; + But no glimpse of a further shore + Has blest my straining eye. + + Believe not what they urge + Of Eden isles beyond; + Turn back, from that tempestuous surge, + To thy own native land. + + It is not death, but pain + That struggles in thy breast— + Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again; + I cannot let thee rest!" + + One long look, that sore reproved me + For the woe I could not bear— + One mute look of suffering moved me + To repent my useless prayer: + + And, with sudden check, the heaving + Of distraction passed away; + Not a sign of further grieving + Stirred my soul that awful day. + + Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting; + Sunk to peace the twilight breeze: + Summer dews fell softly, wetting + Glen, and glade, and silent trees. + + Then his eyes began to weary, + Weighed beneath a mortal sleep; + And their orbs grew strangely dreary, + Clouded, even as they would weep. + + But they wept not, but they changed not, + Never moved, and never closed; + Troubled still, and still they ranged not— + Wandered not, nor yet reposed! + + So I knew that he was dying— + Stooped, and raised his languid head; + Felt no breath, and heard no sighing, + So I knew that he was dead. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SONG. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The linnet in the rocky dells, + The moor-lark in the air, + The bee among the heather bells + That hide my lady fair: + + The wild deer browse above her breast; + The wild birds raise their brood; + And they, her smiles of love caressed, + Have left her solitude! + + I ween, that when the grave's dark wall + Did first her form retain, + They thought their hearts could ne'er recall + The light of joy again. + + They thought the tide of grief would flow + Unchecked through future years; + But where is all their anguish now, + And where are all their tears? + + Well, let them fight for honour's breath, + Or pleasure's shade pursue— + The dweller in the land of death + Is changed and careless too. + + And, if their eyes should watch and weep + Till sorrow's source were dry, + She would not, in her tranquil sleep, + Return a single sigh! + + Blow, west-wind, by the lonely mound, + And murmur, summer-streams— + There is no need of other sound + To soothe my lady's dreams. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ANTICIPATION. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + How beautiful the earth is still, + To thee—how full of happiness? + How little fraught with real ill, + Or unreal phantoms of distress! + How spring can bring thee glory, yet, + And summer win thee to forget + December's sullen time! + Why dost thou hold the treasure fast, + Of youth's delight, when youth is past, + And thou art near thy prime? + + When those who were thy own compeers, + Equals in fortune and in years, + Have seen their morning melt in tears, + To clouded, smileless day; + Blest, had they died untried and young, + Before their hearts went wandering wrong,— + Poor slaves, subdued by passions strong, + A weak and helpless prey! + + 'Because, I hoped while they enjoyed, + And by fulfilment, hope destroyed; + As children hope, with trustful breast, + I waited bliss—and cherished rest. + A thoughtful spirit taught me soon, + That we must long till life be done; + That every phase of earthly joy + Must always fade, and always cloy: + + 'This I foresaw—and would not chase + The fleeting treacheries; + But, with firm foot and tranquil face, + Held backward from that tempting race, + Gazed o'er the sands the waves efface, + To the enduring seas— + There cast my anchor of desire + Deep in unknown eternity; + Nor ever let my spirit tire, + With looking for WHAT IS TO BE! + + "It is hope's spell that glorifies, + Like youth, to my maturer eyes, + All Nature's million mysteries, + The fearful and the fair— + Hope soothes me in the griefs I know; + She lulls my pain for others' woe, + And makes me strong to undergo + What I am born to bear. + + Glad comforter! will I not brave, + Unawed, the darkness of the grave? + Nay, smile to hear Death's billows rave— + Sustained, my guide, by thee? + The more unjust seems present fate, + The more my spirit swells elate, + Strong, in thy strength, to anticipate + Rewarding destiny! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PRISONER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A FRAGMENT. + + In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray, + Reckless of the lives wasting there away; + "Draw the ponderous bars! open, Warder stern!" + He dared not say me nay—the hinges harshly turn. + + "Our guests are darkly lodged," I whisper'd, gazing through + The vault, whose grated eye showed heaven more gray than blue; + (This was when glad Spring laughed in awaking pride;) + "Ay, darkly lodged enough!" returned my sullen guide. + + Then, God forgive my youth; forgive my careless tongue; + I scoffed, as the chill chains on the damp flagstones rung: + "Confined in triple walls, art thou so much to fear, + That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?" + + The captive raised her face; it was as soft and mild + As sculptured marble saint, or slumbering unwean'd child; + It was so soft and mild, it was so sweet and fair, + Pain could not trace a line, nor grief a shadow there! + + The captive raised her hand and pressed it to her brow; + "I have been struck," she said, "and I am suffering now; + Yet these are little worth, your bolts and irons strong; + And, were they forged in steel, they could not hold me long." + + Hoarse laughed the jailor grim: "Shall I be won to hear; + Dost think, fond, dreaming wretch, that I shall grant thy prayer? + Or, better still, wilt melt my master's heart with groans? + Ah! sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones. + + "My master's voice is low, his aspect bland and kind, + But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind; + And I am rough and rude, yet not more rough to see + Than is the hidden ghost that has its home in me." + + About her lips there played a smile of almost scorn, + "My friend," she gently said, "you have not heard me mourn; + When you my kindred's lives, MY lost life, can restore, + Then may I weep and sue,—but never, friend, before! + + "Still, let my tyrants know, I am not doomed to wear + Year after year in gloom, and desolate despair; + A messenger of Hope comes every night to me, + And offers for short life, eternal liberty. + + "He comes with western winds, with evening's wandering airs, + With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars. + Winds take a pensive tone, and stars a tender fire, + And visions rise, and change, that kill me with desire. + + "Desire for nothing known in my maturer years, + When Joy grew mad with awe, at counting future tears. + When, if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm, + I knew not whence they came, from sun or thunder-storm. + + "But, first, a hush of peace—a soundless calm descends; + The struggle of distress, and fierce impatience ends; + Mute music soothes my breast—unuttered harmony, + That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me. + + "Then dawns the Invisible; the Unseen its truth reveals; + My outward sense is gone, my inward essence feels: + Its wings are almost free—its home, its harbour found, + Measuring the gulph, it stoops and dares the final bound, + + "Oh I dreadful is the check—intense the agony— + When the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see; + When the pulse begins to throb, the brain to think again; + The soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain. + + "Yet I would lose no sting, would wish no torture less; + The more that anguish racks, the earlier it will bless; + And robed in fires of hell, or bright with heavenly shine, + If it but herald death, the vision is divine!" + + She ceased to speak, and we, unanswering, turned to go— + We had no further power to work the captive woe: + Her cheek, her gleaming eye, declared that man had given + A sentence, unapproved, and overruled by Heaven. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HOPE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hope Was but a timid friend; + She sat without the grated den, + Watching how my fate would tend, + Even as selfish-hearted men. + + She was cruel in her fear; + Through the bars one dreary day, + I looked out to see her there, + And she turned her face away! + + Like a false guard, false watch keeping, + Still, in strife, she whispered peace; + She would sing while I was weeping; + If I listened, she would cease. + + False she was, and unrelenting; + When my last joys strewed the ground, + Even Sorrow saw, repenting, + Those sad relics scattered round; + + Hope, whose whisper would have given + Balm to all my frenzied pain, + Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven, + Went, and ne'er returned again! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A DAY DREAM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On a sunny brae alone I lay + One summer afternoon; + It was the marriage-time of May, + With her young lover, June. + + From her mother's heart seemed loath to part + That queen of bridal charms, + But her father smiled on the fairest child + He ever held in his arms. + + The trees did wave their plumy crests, + The glad birds carolled clear; + And I, of all the wedding guests, + Was only sullen there! + + There was not one, but wished to shun + My aspect void of cheer; + The very gray rocks, looking on, + Asked, "What do you here?" + + And I could utter no reply; + In sooth, I did not know + Why I had brought a clouded eye + To greet the general glow. + + So, resting on a heathy bank, + I took my heart to me; + And we together sadly sank + Into a reverie. + + We thought, "When winter comes again, + Where will these bright things be? + All vanished, like a vision vain, + An unreal mockery! + + "The birds that now so blithely sing, + Through deserts, frozen dry, + Poor spectres of the perished spring, + In famished troops will fly. + + "And why should we be glad at all? + The leaf is hardly green, + Before a token of its fall + Is on the surface seen!" + + Now, whether it were really so, + I never could be sure; + But as in fit of peevish woe, + I stretched me on the moor, + + A thousand thousand gleaming fires + Seemed kindling in the air; + A thousand thousand silvery lyres + Resounded far and near: + + Methought, the very breath I breathed + Was full of sparks divine, + And all my heather-couch was wreathed + By that celestial shine! + + And, while the wide earth echoing rung + To that strange minstrelsy + The little glittering spirits sung, + Or seemed to sing, to me: + + "O mortal! mortal! let them die; + Let time and tears destroy, + That we may overflow the sky + With universal joy! + + "Let grief distract the sufferer's breast, + And night obscure his way; + They hasten him to endless rest, + And everlasting day. + + "To thee the world is like a tomb, + A desert's naked shore; + To us, in unimagined bloom, + It brightens more and more! + + "And, could we lift the veil, and give + One brief glimpse to thine eye, + Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live, + BECAUSE they live to die." + + The music ceased; the noonday dream, + Like dream of night, withdrew; + But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem + Her fond creation true. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO IMAGINATION. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When weary with the long day's care, + And earthly change from pain to pain, + And lost, and ready to despair, + Thy kind voice calls me back again: + Oh, my true friend! I am not lone, + While then canst speak with such a tone! + + So hopeless is the world without; + The world within I doubly prize; + Thy world, where guile, and hate, and doubt, + And cold suspicion never rise; + Where thou, and I, and Liberty, + Have undisputed sovereignty. + + What matters it, that all around + Danger, and guilt, and darkness lie, + If but within our bosom's bound + We hold a bright, untroubled sky, + Warm with ten thousand mingled rays + Of suns that know no winter days? + + Reason, indeed, may oft complain + For Nature's sad reality, + And tell the suffering heart how vain + Its cherished dreams must always be; + And Truth may rudely trample down + The flowers of Fancy, newly-blown: + + But thou art ever there, to bring + The hovering vision back, and breathe + New glories o'er the blighted spring, + And call a lovelier Life from Death. + And whisper, with a voice divine, + Of real worlds, as bright as thine. + + I trust not to thy phantom bliss, + Yet, still, in evening's quiet hour, + With never-failing thankfulness, + I welcome thee, Benignant Power; + Sure solacer of human cares, + And sweeter hope, when hope despairs! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HOW CLEAR SHE SHINES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + How clear she shines! How quietly + I lie beneath her guardian light; + While heaven and earth are whispering me, + "To morrow, wake, but dream to-night." + Yes, Fancy, come, my Fairy love! + These throbbing temples softly kiss; + And bend my lonely couch above, + And bring me rest, and bring me bliss. + + The world is going; dark world, adieu! + Grim world, conceal thee till the day; + The heart thou canst not all subdue + Must still resist, if thou delay! + + Thy love I will not, will not share; + Thy hatred only wakes a smile; + Thy griefs may wound—thy wrongs may tear, + But, oh, thy lies shall ne'er beguile! + While gazing on the stars that glow + Above me, in that stormless sea, + I long to hope that all the woe + Creation knows, is held in thee! + + And this shall be my dream to-night; + I'll think the heaven of glorious spheres + Is rolling on its course of light + In endless bliss, through endless years; + I'll think, there's not one world above, + Far as these straining eyes can see, + Where Wisdom ever laughed at Love, + Or Virtue crouched to Infamy; + + Where, writhing 'neath the strokes of Fate, + The mangled wretch was forced to smile; + To match his patience 'gainst her hate, + His heart rebellious all the while. + Where Pleasure still will lead to wrong, + And helpless Reason warn in vain; + And Truth is weak, and Treachery strong; + And Joy the surest path to Pain; + And Peace, the lethargy of Grief; + And Hope, a phantom of the soul; + And life, a labour, void and brief; + And Death, the despot of the whole! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SYMPATHY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There should be no despair for you + While nightly stars are burning; + While evening pours its silent dew, + And sunshine gilds the morning. + There should be no despair—though tears + May flow down like a river: + Are not the best beloved of years + Around your heart for ever? + + They weep, you weep, it must be so; + Winds sigh as you are sighing, + And winter sheds its grief in snow + Where Autumn's leaves are lying: + Yet, these revive, and from their fate + Your fate cannot be parted: + Then, journey on, if not elate, + Still, NEVER broken-hearted! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PLEAD FOR ME. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oh, thy bright eyes must answer now, + When Reason, with a scornful brow, + Is mocking at my overthrow! + Oh, thy sweet tongue must plead for me + And tell why I have chosen thee! + + Stern Reason is to judgment come, + Arrayed in all her forms of gloom: + Wilt thou, my advocate, be dumb? + No, radiant angel, speak and say, + Why I did cast the world away. + + Why I have persevered to shun + The common paths that others run; + And on a strange road journeyed on, + Heedless, alike of wealth and power— + Of glory's wreath and pleasure's flower. + + These, once, indeed, seemed Beings Divine; + And they, perchance, heard vows of mine, + And saw my offerings on their shrine; + But careless gifts are seldom prized, + And MINE were worthily despised. + + So, with a ready heart, I swore + To seek their altar-stone no more; + And gave my spirit to adore + Thee, ever-present, phantom thing— + My slave, my comrade, and my king. + + A slave, because I rule thee still; + Incline thee to my changeful will, + And make thy influence good or ill: + A comrade, for by day and night + Thou art my intimate delight,— + + My darling pain that wounds and sears, + And wrings a blessing out from tears + By deadening me to earthly cares; + And yet, a king, though Prudence well + Have taught thy subject to rebel + + And am I wrong to worship where + Faith cannot doubt, nor hope despair, + Since my own soul can grant my prayer? + Speak, God of visions, plead for me, + And tell why I have chosen thee! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SELF-INTEROGATION, + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The evening passes fast away. + 'Tis almost time to rest; + What thoughts has left the vanished day, + What feelings in thy breast? + + "The vanished day? It leaves a sense + Of labour hardly done; + Of little gained with vast expense— + A sense of grief alone? + + "Time stands before the door of Death, + Upbraiding bitterly + And Conscience, with exhaustless breath, + Pours black reproach on me: + + "And though I've said that Conscience lies + And Time should Fate condemn; + Still, sad Repentance clouds my eyes, + And makes me yield to them! + + "Then art thou glad to seek repose? + Art glad to leave the sea, + And anchor all thy weary woes + In calm Eternity? + + "Nothing regrets to see thee go— + Not one voice sobs' farewell;' + And where thy heart has suffered so, + Canst thou desire to dwell?" + + "Alas! the countless links are strong + That bind us to our clay; + The loving spirit lingers long, + And would not pass away! + + "And rest is sweet, when laurelled fame + Will crown the soldier's crest; + But a brave heart, with a tarnished name, + Would rather fight than rest. + + "Well, thou hast fought for many a year, + Hast fought thy whole life through, + Hast humbled Falsehood, trampled Fear; + What is there left to do? + + "'Tis true, this arm has hotly striven, + Has dared what few would dare; + Much have I done, and freely given, + But little learnt to bear! + + "Look on the grave where thou must sleep + Thy last, and strongest foe; + It is endurance not to weep, + If that repose seem woe. + + "The long war closing in defeat— + Defeat serenely borne,— + Thy midnight rest may still be sweet, + And break in glorious morn!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DEATH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Death! that struck when I was most confiding. + In my certain faith of joy to be— + Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing + From the fresh root of Eternity! + + Leaves, upon Time's branch, were growing brightly, + Full of sap, and full of silver dew; + Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly; + Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew. + + Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom; + Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride + But, within its parent's kindly bosom, + Flowed for ever Life's restoring tide. + + Little mourned I for the parted gladness, + For the vacant nest and silent song— + Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness; + Whispering, "Winter will not linger long!" + + And, behold! with tenfold increase blessing, + Spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray; + Wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing, + Lavished glory on that second May! + + High it rose—no winged grief could sweep it; + Sin was scared to distance with its shine; + Love, and its own life, had power to keep it + From all wrong—from every blight but thine! + + Cruel Death! The young leaves droop and languish; + Evening's gentle air may still restore— + No! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish- + Time, for me, must never blossom more! + + Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish + Where that perished sapling used to be; + Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish + That from which it sprung—Eternity. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STANZAS TO —— + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Well, some may hate, and some may scorn, + And some may quite forget thy name; + But my sad heart must ever mourn + Thy ruined hopes, thy blighted fame! + 'Twas thus I thought, an hour ago, + Even weeping o'er that wretch's woe; + One word turned back my gushing tears, + And lit my altered eye with sneers. + Then "Bless the friendly dust," I said, + "That hides thy unlamented head! + Vain as thou wert, and weak as vain, + The slave of Falsehood, Pride, and Pain— + My heart has nought akin to thine; + Thy soul is powerless over mine." + But these were thoughts that vanished too; + Unwise, unholy, and untrue: + Do I despise the timid deer, + Because his limbs are fleet with fear? + Or, would I mock the wolf's death-howl, + Because his form is gaunt and foul? + Or, hear with joy the leveret's cry, + Because it cannot bravely die? + No! Then above his memory + Let Pity's heart as tender be; + Say, "Earth, lie lightly on that breast, + And, kind Heaven, grant that spirit rest!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HONOUR'S MARTYR. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The moon is full this winter night; + The stars are clear, though few; + And every window glistens bright + With leaves of frozen dew. + + The sweet moon through your lattice gleams, + And lights your room like day; + And there you pass, in happy dreams, + The peaceful hours away! + + While I, with effort hardly quelling + The anguish in my breast, + Wander about the silent dwelling, + And cannot think of rest. + + The old clock in the gloomy hall + Ticks on, from hour to hour; + And every time its measured call + Seems lingering slow and slower: + + And, oh, how slow that keen-eyed star + Has tracked the chilly gray! + What, watching yet! how very far + The morning lies away! + + Without your chamber door I stand; + Love, are you slumbering still? + My cold heart, underneath my hand, + Has almost ceased to thrill. + + Bleak, bleak the east wind sobs and sighs, + And drowns the turret bell, + Whose sad note, undistinguished, dies + Unheard, like my farewell! + + To-morrow, Scorn will blight my name, + And Hate will trample me, + Will load me with a coward's shame— + A traitor's perjury. + + False friends will launch their covert sneers; + True friends will wish me dead; + And I shall cause the bitterest tears + That you have ever shed. + + The dark deeds of my outlawed race + Will then like virtues shine; + And men will pardon their disgrace, + Beside the guilt of mine. + + For, who forgives the accursed crime + Of dastard treachery? + Rebellion, in its chosen time, + May Freedom's champion be; + + Revenge may stain a righteous sword, + It may be just to slay; + But, traitor, traitor,—from THAT word + All true breasts shrink away! + + Oh, I would give my heart to death, + To keep my honour fair; + Yet, I'll not give my inward faith + My honour's NAME to spare! + + Not even to keep your priceless love, + Dare I, Beloved, deceive; + This treason should the future prove, + Then, only then, believe! + + I know the path I ought to go + I follow fearlessly, + Inquiring not what deeper woe + Stern duty stores for me. + + So foes pursue, and cold allies + Mistrust me, every one: + Let me be false in others' eyes, + If faithful in my own. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STANZAS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I'll not weep that thou art going to leave me, + There's nothing lovely here; + And doubly will the dark world grieve me, + While thy heart suffers there. + + I'll not weep, because the summer's glory + Must always end in gloom; + And, follow out the happiest story— + It closes with a tomb! + + And I am weary of the anguish + Increasing winters bear; + Weary to watch the spirit languish + Through years of dead despair. + + So, if a tear, when thou art dying, + Should haply fall from me, + It is but that my soul is sighing, + To go and rest with thee. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY COMFORTER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Well hast thou spoken, and yet not taught + A feeling strange or new; + Thou hast but roused a latent thought, + A cloud-closed beam of sunshine brought + To gleam in open view. + + Deep down, concealed within my soul, + That light lies hid from men; + Yet glows unquenched—though shadows roll, + Its gentle ray cannot control— + About the sullen den. + + Was I not vexed, in these gloomy ways + To walk alone so long? + Around me, wretches uttering praise, + Or howling o'er their hopeless days, + And each with Frenzy's tongue;— + + A brotherhood of misery, + Their smiles as sad as sighs; + Whose madness daily maddened me, + Distorting into agony + The bliss before my eyes! + + So stood I, in Heaven's glorious sun, + And in the glare of Hell; + My spirit drank a mingled tone, + Of seraph's song, and demon's moan; + What my soul bore, my soul alone + Within itself may tell! + + Like a soft, air above a sea, + Tossed by the tempest's stir; + A thaw-wind, melting quietly + The snow-drift on some wintry lea; + No: what sweet thing resembles thee, + My thoughtful Comforter? + + And yet a little longer speak, + Calm this resentful mood; + And while the savage heart grows meek, + For other token do not seek, + But let the tear upon my cheek + Evince my gratitude! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE OLD STOIC. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Riches I hold in light esteem, + And Love I laugh to scorn; + And lust of fame was but a dream, + That vanished with the morn: + + And if I pray, the only prayer + That moves my lips for me + Is, "Leave the heart that now I bear, + And give me liberty!" + + Yes, as my swift days near their goal: + 'Tis all that I implore; + In life and death a chainless soul, + With courage to endure. +</pre> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + POEMS BY ACTON BELL, + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A REMINISCENCE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yes, thou art gone! and never more + Thy sunny smile shall gladden me; + But I may pass the old church door, + And pace the floor that covers thee, + + May stand upon the cold, damp stone, + And think that, frozen, lies below + The lightest heart that I have known, + The kindest I shall ever know. + + Yet, though I cannot see thee more, + 'Tis still a comfort to have seen; + And though thy transient life is o'er, + 'Tis sweet to think that thou hast been; + + To think a soul so near divine, + Within a form so angel fair, + United to a heart like thine, + Has gladdened once our humble sphere. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ARBOUR. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I'll rest me in this sheltered bower, + And look upon the clear blue sky + That smiles upon me through the trees, + Which stand so thick clustering by; + + And view their green and glossy leaves, + All glistening in the sunshine fair; + And list the rustling of their boughs, + So softly whispering through the air. + + And while my ear drinks in the sound, + My winged soul shall fly away; + Reviewing lone departed years + As one mild, beaming, autumn day; + + And soaring on to future scenes, + Like hills and woods, and valleys green, + All basking in the summer's sun, + But distant still, and dimly seen. + + Oh, list! 'tis summer's very breath + That gently shakes the rustling trees— + But look! the snow is on the ground— + How can I think of scenes like these? + + 'Tis but the FROST that clears the air, + And gives the sky that lovely blue; + They're smiling in a WINTER'S sun, + Those evergreens of sombre hue. + + And winter's chill is on my heart— + How can I dream of future bliss? + How can my spirit soar away, + Confined by such a chain as this? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HOME. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + How brightly glistening in the sun + The woodland ivy plays! + While yonder beeches from their barks + Reflect his silver rays. + + That sun surveys a lovely scene + From softly smiling skies; + And wildly through unnumbered trees + The wind of winter sighs: + + Now loud, it thunders o'er my head, + And now in distance dies. + But give me back my barren hills + Where colder breezes rise; + + Where scarce the scattered, stunted trees + Can yield an answering swell, + But where a wilderness of heath + Returns the sound as well. + + For yonder garden, fair and wide, + With groves of evergreen, + Long winding walks, and borders trim, + And velvet lawns between; + + Restore to me that little spot, + With gray walls compassed round, + Where knotted grass neglected lies, + And weeds usurp the ground. + + Though all around this mansion high + Invites the foot to roam, + And though its halls are fair within— + Oh, give me back my HOME! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VANITAS VANITATUM, OMNIA VANITAS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In all we do, and hear, and see, + Is restless Toil and Vanity. + While yet the rolling earth abides, + Men come and go like ocean tides; + + And ere one generation dies, + Another in its place shall rise; + THAT, sinking soon into the grave, + Others succeed, like wave on wave; + + And as they rise, they pass away. + The sun arises every day, + And hastening onward to the West, + He nightly sinks, but not to rest: + + Returning to the eastern skies, + Again to light us, he must rise. + And still the restless wind comes forth, + Now blowing keenly from the North; + + Now from the South, the East, the West, + For ever changing, ne'er at rest. + The fountains, gushing from the hills, + Supply the ever-running rills; + + The thirsty rivers drink their store, + And bear it rolling to the shore, + But still the ocean craves for more. + 'Tis endless labour everywhere! + Sound cannot satisfy the ear, + + Light cannot fill the craving eye, + Nor riches half our wants supply, + Pleasure but doubles future pain, + And joy brings sorrow in her train; + + Laughter is mad, and reckless mirth— + What does she in this weary earth? + Should Wealth, or Fame, our Life employ, + Death comes, our labour to destroy; + + To snatch the untasted cup away, + For which we toiled so many a day. + What, then, remains for wretched man? + To use life's comforts while he can, + + Enjoy the blessings Heaven bestows, + Assist his friends, forgive his foes; + Trust God, and keep His statutes still, + Upright and firm, through good and ill; + + Thankful for all that God has given, + Fixing his firmest hopes on Heaven; + Knowing that earthly joys decay, + But hoping through the darkest day. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PENITENT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I mourn with thee, and yet rejoice + That thou shouldst sorrow so; + With angel choirs I join my voice + To bless the sinner's woe. + + Though friends and kindred turn away, + And laugh thy grief to scorn; + I hear the great Redeemer say, + "Blessed are ye that mourn." + + Hold on thy course, nor deem it strange + That earthly cords are riven: + Man may lament the wondrous change, + But "there is joy in heaven!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MUSIC ON CHRISTMAS MORNING. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Music I love—but never strain + Could kindle raptures so divine, + So grief assuage, so conquer pain, + And rouse this pensive heart of mine— + As that we hear on Christmas morn, + Upon the wintry breezes borne. + + Though Darkness still her empire keep, + And hours must pass, ere morning break; + From troubled dreams, or slumbers deep, + That music KINDLY bids us wake: + It calls us, with an angel's voice, + To wake, and worship, and rejoice; + + To greet with joy the glorious morn, + Which angels welcomed long ago, + When our redeeming Lord was born, + To bring the light of Heaven below; + The Powers of Darkness to dispel, + And rescue Earth from Death and Hell. + + While listening to that sacred strain, + My raptured spirit soars on high; + I seem to hear those songs again + Resounding through the open sky, + That kindled such divine delight, + In those who watched their flocks by night. + + With them I celebrate His birth— + Glory to God, in highest Heaven, + Good-will to men, and peace on earth, + To us a Saviour-king is given; + Our God is come to claim His own, + And Satan's power is overthrown! + + A sinless God, for sinful men, + Descends to suffer and to bleed; + Hell MUST renounce its empire then; + The price is paid, the world is freed, + And Satan's self must now confess + That Christ has earned a RIGHT to bless: + + Now holy Peace may smile from heaven, + And heavenly Truth from earth shall spring: + The captive's galling bonds are riven, + For our Redeemer is our king; + And He that gave his blood for men + Will lead us home to God again. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STANZAS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oh, weep not, love! each tear that springs + In those dear eyes of thine, + To me a keener suffering brings + Than if they flowed from mine. + + And do not droop! however drear + The fate awaiting thee; + For MY sake combat pain and care, + And cherish life for me! + + I do not fear thy love will fail; + Thy faith is true, I know; + But, oh, my love! thy strength is frail + For such a life of woe. + + Were 't not for this, I well could trace + (Though banished long from thee) + Life's rugged path, and boldly face + The storms that threaten me. + + Fear not for me—I've steeled my mind + Sorrow and strife to greet; + Joy with my love I leave behind, + Care with my friends I meet. + + A mother's sad reproachful eye, + A father's scowling brow— + But he may frown and she may sigh: + I will not break my vow! + + I love my mother, I revere + My sire, but fear not me— + Believe that Death alone can tear + This faithful heart from thee. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IF THIS BE ALL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O God! if this indeed be all + That Life can show to me; + If on my aching brow may fall + No freshening dew from Thee; + + If with no brighter light than this + The lamp of hope may glow, + And I may only dream of bliss, + And wake to weary woe; + + If friendship's solace must decay, + When other joys are gone, + And love must keep so far away, + While I go wandering on,— + + Wandering and toiling without gain, + The slave of others' will, + With constant care, and frequent pain, + Despised, forgotten still; + + Grieving to look on vice and sin, + Yet powerless to quell + The silent current from within, + The outward torrent's swell + + While all the good I would impart, + The feelings I would share, + Are driven backward to my heart, + And turned to wormwood there; + + If clouds must EVER keep from sight + The glories of the Sun, + And I must suffer Winter's blight, + Ere Summer is begun; + + If Life must be so full of care, + Then call me soon to thee; + Or give me strength enough to bear + My load of misery. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MEMORY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Brightly the sun of summer shone + Green fields and waving woods upon, + And soft winds wandered by; + Above, a sky of purest blue, + Around, bright flowers of loveliest hue, + Allured the gazer's eye. + + But what were all these charms to me, + When one sweet breath of memory + Came gently wafting by? + I closed my eyes against the day, + And called my willing soul away, + From earth, and air, and sky; + + That I might simply fancy there + One little flower—a primrose fair, + Just opening into sight; + As in the days of infancy, + An opening primrose seemed to me + A source of strange delight. + + Sweet Memory! ever smile on me; + Nature's chief beauties spring from thee; + Oh, still thy tribute bring + Still make the golden crocus shine + Among the flowers the most divine, + The glory of the spring. + + Still in the wallflower's fragrance dwell; + And hover round the slight bluebell, + My childhood's darling flower. + Smile on the little daisy still, + The buttercup's bright goblet fill + With all thy former power. + + For ever hang thy dreamy spell + Round mountain star and heather bell, + And do not pass away + From sparkling frost, or wreathed snow, + And whisper when the wild winds blow, + Or rippling waters play. + + Is childhood, then, so all divine? + Or Memory, is the glory thine, + That haloes thus the past? + Not ALL divine; its pangs of grief + (Although, perchance, their stay be brief) + Are bitter while they last. + + Nor is the glory all thine own, + For on our earliest joys alone + That holy light is cast. + With such a ray, no spell of thine + Can make our later pleasures shine, + Though long ago they passed. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO COWPER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sweet are thy strains, celestial Bard; + And oft, in childhood's years, + I've read them o'er and o'er again, + With floods of silent tears. + + The language of my inmost heart + I traced in every line; + MY sins, MY sorrows, hopes, and fears, + Were there-and only mine. + + All for myself the sigh would swell, + The tear of anguish start; + I little knew what wilder woe + Had filled the Poet's heart. + + I did not know the nights of gloom, + The days of misery; + The long, long years of dark despair, + That crushed and tortured thee. + + But they are gone; from earth at length + Thy gentle soul is pass'd, + And in the bosom of its God + Has found its home at last. + + It must be so, if God is love, + And answers fervent prayer; + Then surely thou shalt dwell on high, + And I may meet thee there. + + Is He the source of every good, + The spring of purity? + Then in thine hours of deepest woe, + Thy God was still with thee. + + How else, when every hope was fled, + Couldst thou so fondly cling + To holy things and help men? + And how so sweetly sing, + + Of things that God alone could teach? + And whence that purity, + That hatred of all sinful ways— + That gentle charity? + + Are THESE the symptoms of a heart + Of heavenly grace bereft— + For ever banished from its God, + To Satan's fury left? + + Yet, should thy darkest fears be true, + If Heaven be so severe, + That such a soul as thine is lost,— + Oh! how shall I appear? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DOUBTER'S PRAYER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Eternal Power, of earth and air! + Unseen, yet seen in all around, + Remote, but dwelling everywhere, + Though silent, heard in every sound; + + If e'er thine ear in mercy bent, + When wretched mortals cried to Thee, + And if, indeed, Thy Son was sent, + To save lost sinners such as me: + + Then hear me now, while kneeling here, + I lift to thee my heart and eye, + And all my soul ascends in prayer, + OH, GIVE ME—GIVE ME FAITH! I cry. + + Without some glimmering in my heart, + I could not raise this fervent prayer; + But, oh! a stronger light impart, + And in Thy mercy fix it there. + + While Faith is with me, I am blest; + It turns my darkest night to day; + But while I clasp it to my breast, + I often feel it slide away. + + Then, cold and dark, my spirit sinks, + To see my light of life depart; + And every fiend of Hell, methinks, + Enjoys the anguish of my heart. + + What shall I do, if all my love, + My hopes, my toil, are cast away, + And if there be no God above, + To hear and bless me when I pray? + + If this be vain delusion all, + If death be an eternal sleep, + And none can hear my secret call, + Or see the silent tears I weep! + + Oh, help me, God! For thou alone + Canst my distracted soul relieve; + Forsake it not: it is thine own, + Though weak, yet longing to believe. + + Oh, drive these cruel doubts away; + And make me know, that Thou art God! + A faith, that shines by night and day, + Will lighten every earthly load. + + If I believe that Jesus died, + And waking, rose to reign above; + Then surely Sorrow, Sin, and Pride, + Must yield to Peace, and Hope, and Love. + + And all the blessed words He said + Will strength and holy joy impart: + A shield of safety o'er my head, + A spring of comfort in my heart. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A WORD TO THE "ELECT." + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You may rejoice to think YOURSELVES secure; + You may be grateful for the gift divine— + That grace unsought, which made your black hearts pure, + And fits your earth-born souls in Heaven to shine. + + But, is it sweet to look around, and view + Thousands excluded from that happiness + Which they deserved, at least, as much as you.— + Their faults not greater, nor their virtues less? + + And wherefore should you love your God the more, + Because to you alone his smiles are given; + Because He chose to pass the MANY o'er, + And only bring the favoured FEW to Heaven? + + And, wherefore should your hearts more grateful prove, + Because for ALL the Saviour did not die? + Is yours the God of justice and of love? + And are your bosoms warm with charity? + + Say, does your heart expand to all mankind? + And, would you ever to your neighbour do— + The weak, the strong, the enlightened, and the blind— + As you would have your neighbour do to you? + + And when you, looking on your fellow-men, + Behold them doomed to endless misery, + How can you talk of joy and rapture then?— + May God withhold such cruel joy from me! + + That none deserve eternal bliss I know; + Unmerited the grace in mercy given: + But, none shall sink to everlasting woe, + That have not well deserved the wrath of Heaven. + + And, oh! there lives within my heart + A hope, long nursed by me; + (And should its cheering ray depart, + How dark my soul would be!) + + That as in Adam all have died, + In Christ shall all men live; + And ever round his throne abide, + Eternal praise to give. + + That even the wicked shall at last + Be fitted for the skies; + And when their dreadful doom is past, + To life and light arise. + + I ask not, how remote the day, + Nor what the sinners' woe, + Before their dross is purged away; + Enough for me to know— + + That when the cup of wrath is drained, + The metal purified, + They'll cling to what they once disdained, + And live by Him that died. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PAST DAYS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Tis strange to think there WAS a time + When mirth was not an empty name, + When laughter really cheered the heart, + And frequent smiles unbidden came, + And tears of grief would only flow + In sympathy for others' woe; + + When speech expressed the inward thought, + And heart to kindred heart was bare, + And summer days were far too short + For all the pleasures crowded there; + And silence, solitude, and rest, + Now welcome to the weary breast— + + Were all unprized, uncourted then— + And all the joy one spirit showed, + The other deeply felt again; + And friendship like a river flowed, + Constant and strong its silent course, + For nought withstood its gentle force: + + When night, the holy time of peace, + Was dreaded as the parting hour; + When speech and mirth at once must cease, + And silence must resume her power; + Though ever free from pains and woes, + She only brought us calm repose. + + And when the blessed dawn again + Brought daylight to the blushing skies, + We woke, and not RELUCTANT then, + To joyless LABOUR did we rise; + But full of hope, and glad and gay, + We welcomed the returning day. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CONSOLATION. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground + With fallen leaves so thickly strown, + And cold the wind that wanders round + With wild and melancholy moan; + + There IS a friendly roof, I know, + Might shield me from the wintry blast; + There is a fire, whose ruddy glow + Will cheer me for my wanderings past. + + And so, though still, where'er I go, + Cold stranger-glances meet my eye; + Though, when my spirit sinks in woe, + Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh; + + Though solitude, endured too long, + Bids youthful joys too soon decay, + Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue, + And overclouds my noon of day; + + When kindly thoughts that would have way, + Flow back discouraged to my breast; + I know there is, though far away, + A home where heart and soul may rest. + + Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine, + The warmer heart will not belie; + While mirth, and truth, and friendship shine + In smiling lip and earnest eye. + + The ice that gathers round my heart + May there be thawed; and sweetly, then, + The joys of youth, that now depart, + Will come to cheer my soul again. + + Though far I roam, that thought shall be + My hope, my comfort, everywhere; + While such a home remains to me, + My heart shall never know despair! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LINES COMPOSED IN A WOOD ON A WINDY DAY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring + And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze; + For above and around me the wild wind is roaring, + Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas. + + The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing, + The bare trees are tossing their branches on high; + The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing, + The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky + + I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing + The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray; + I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing, + And hear the wild roar of their thunder to-day! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIEWS OF LIFE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When sinks my heart in hopeless gloom, + And life can show no joy for me; + And I behold a yawning tomb, + Where bowers and palaces should be; + + In vain you talk of morbid dreams; + In vain you gaily smiling say, + That what to me so dreary seems, + The healthy mind deems bright and gay. + + I too have smiled, and thought like you, + But madly smiled, and falsely deemed: + TRUTH led me to the present view,— + I'm waking now—'twas THEN I dreamed. + + I lately saw a sunset sky, + And stood enraptured to behold + Its varied hues of glorious dye: + First, fleecy clouds of shining gold; + + These blushing took a rosy hue; + Beneath them shone a flood of green; + Nor less divine, the glorious blue + That smiled above them and between. + + I cannot name each lovely shade; + I cannot say how bright they shone; + But one by one, I saw them fade; + And what remained when they were gone? + + Dull clouds remained, of sombre hue, + And when their borrowed charm was o'er, + The azure sky had faded too, + That smiled so softly bright before. + + So, gilded by the glow of youth, + Our varied life looks fair and gay; + And so remains the naked truth, + When that false light is past away. + + Why blame ye, then, my keener sight, + That clearly sees a world of woes + Through all the haze of golden light + That flattering Falsehood round it throws? + + When the young mother smiles above + The first-born darling of her heart, + Her bosom glows with earnest love, + While tears of silent transport start. + + Fond dreamer! little does she know + The anxious toil, the suffering, + The blasted hopes, the burning woe, + The object of her joy will bring. + + Her blinded eyes behold not now + What, soon or late, must be his doom; + The anguish that will cloud his brow, + The bed of death, the dreary tomb. + + As little know the youthful pair, + In mutual love supremely blest, + What weariness, and cold despair, + Ere long, will seize the aching breast. + + And even should Love and Faith remain, + (The greatest blessings life can show,) + Amid adversity and pain, + To shine throughout with cheering glow; + + They do not see how cruel Death + Comes on, their loving hearts to part: + One feels not now the gasping breath, + The rending of the earth-bound heart,— + + The soul's and body's agony, + Ere she may sink to her repose. + The sad survivor cannot see + The grave above his darling close; + + Nor how, despairing and alone, + He then must wear his life away; + And linger, feebly toiling on, + And fainting, sink into decay. + + * * * * + + Oh, Youth may listen patiently, + While sad Experience tells her tale, + But Doubt sits smiling in his eye, + For ardent Hope will still prevail! + + He hears how feeble Pleasure dies, + By guilt destroyed, and pain and woe; + He turns to Hope—and she replies, + "Believe it not-it is not so!" + + "Oh, heed her not!" Experience says; + "For thus she whispered once to me; + She told me, in my youthful days, + How glorious manhood's prime would be. + + "When, in the time of early Spring, + Too chill the winds that o'er me pass'd, + She said, each coming day would bring + a fairer heaven, a gentler blast. + + "And when the sun too seldom beamed, + The sky, o'ercast, too darkly frowned, + The soaking rain too constant streamed, + And mists too dreary gathered round; + + "She told me, Summer's glorious ray + Would chase those vapours all away, + And scatter glories round; + With sweetest music fill the trees, + Load with rich scent the gentle breeze, + And strew with flowers the ground + + "But when, beneath that scorching ray, + I languished, weary through the day, + While birds refused to sing, + Verdure decayed from field and tree, + And panting Nature mourned with me + The freshness of the Spring. + + "'Wait but a little while,' she said, + 'Till Summer's burning days are fled; + And Autumn shall restore, + With golden riches of her own, + And Summer's glories mellowed down, + The freshness you deplore.' + + And long I waited, but in vain: + That freshness never came again, + Though Summer passed away, + Though Autumn's mists hung cold and chill. + And drooping nature languished still, + And sank into decay. + + "Till wintry blasts foreboding blew + Through leafless trees—and then I knew + That Hope was all a dream. + But thus, fond youth, she cheated me; + And she will prove as false to thee, + Though sweet her words may seem. + + Stern prophet! Cease thy bodings dire— + Thou canst not quench the ardent fire + That warms the breast of youth. + Oh, let it cheer him while it may, + And gently, gently die away— + Chilled by the damps of truth! + + Tell him, that earth is not our rest; + Its joys are empty—frail at best; + And point beyond the sky. + But gleams of light may reach us here; + And hope the ROUGHEST path can cheer: + Then do not bid it fly! + + Though hope may promise joys, that still + Unkindly time will ne'er fulfil; + Or, if they come at all, + We never find them unalloyed,— + Hurtful perchance, or soon destroyed, + They vanish or they pall; + + Yet hope ITSELF a brightness throws + O'er all our labours and our woes; + While dark foreboding Care + A thousand ills will oft portend, + That Providence may ne'er intend + The trembling heart to bear. + + Or if they come, it oft appears, + Our woes are lighter than our fears, + And far more bravely borne. + Then let us not enhance our doom + But e'en in midnight's blackest gloom + Expect the rising morn. + + Because the road is rough and long, + Shall we despise the skylark's song, + That cheers the wanderer's way? + Or trample down, with reckless feet, + The smiling flowerets, bright and sweet, + Because they soon decay? + + Pass pleasant scenes unnoticed by, + Because the next is bleak and drear; + Or not enjoy a smiling sky, + Because a tempest may be near? + + No! while we journey on our way, + We'll smile on every lovely thing; + And ever, as they pass away, + To memory and hope we'll cling. + + And though that awful river flows + Before us, when the journey's past, + Perchance of all the pilgrim's woes + Most dreadful—shrink not—'tis the last! + + Though icy cold, and dark, and deep; + Beyond it smiles that blessed shore, + Where none shall suffer, none shall weep, + And bliss shall reign for evermore! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + APPEAL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oh, I am very weary, + Though tears no longer flow; + My eyes are tired of weeping, + My heart is sick of woe; + + My life is very lonely + My days pass heavily, + I'm weary of repining; + Wilt thou not come to me? + + Oh, didst thou know my longings + For thee, from day to day, + My hopes, so often blighted, + Thou wouldst not thus delay! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0060" id="link2H_4_0060"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE STUDENT'S SERENADE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I have slept upon my couch, + But my spirit did not rest, + For the labours of the day + Yet my weary soul opprest; + + And before my dreaming eyes + Still the learned volumes lay, + And I could not close their leaves, + And I could not turn away. + + But I oped my eyes at last, + And I heard a muffled sound; + 'Twas the night-breeze, come to say + That the snow was on the ground. + + Then I knew that there was rest + On the mountain's bosom free; + So I left my fevered couch, + And I flew to waken thee! + + I have flown to waken thee— + For, if thou wilt not arise, + Then my soul can drink no peace + From these holy moonlight skies. + + And this waste of virgin snow + To my sight will not be fair, + Unless thou wilt smiling come, + Love, to wander with me there. + + Then, awake! Maria, wake! + For, if thou couldst only know + How the quiet moonlight sleeps + On this wilderness of snow, + + And the groves of ancient trees, + In their snowy garb arrayed, + Till they stretch into the gloom + Of the distant valley's shade; + + I know thou wouldst rejoice + To inhale this bracing air; + Thou wouldst break thy sweetest sleep + To behold a scene so fair. + + O'er these wintry wilds, ALONE, + Thou wouldst joy to wander free; + And it will not please thee less, + Though that bliss be shared with me. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0061" id="link2H_4_0061"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CAPTIVE DOVE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Poor restless dove, I pity thee; + And when I hear thy plaintive moan, + I mourn for thy captivity, + And in thy woes forget mine own. + + To see thee stand prepared to fly, + And flap those useless wings of thine, + And gaze into the distant sky, + Would melt a harder heart than mine. + + In vain—in vain! Thou canst not rise: + Thy prison roof confines thee there; + Its slender wires delude thine eyes, + And quench thy longings with despair. + + Oh, thou wert made to wander free + In sunny mead and shady grove, + And far beyond the rolling sea, + In distant climes, at will to rove! + + Yet, hadst thou but one gentle mate + Thy little drooping heart to cheer, + And share with thee thy captive state, + Thou couldst be happy even there. + + Yes, even there, if, listening by, + One faithful dear companion stood, + While gazing on her full bright eye, + Thou mightst forget thy native wood + + But thou, poor solitary dove, + Must make, unheard, thy joyless moan; + The heart that Nature formed to love + Must pine, neglected, and alone. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0062" id="link2H_4_0062"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SELF-CONGRATULATION. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ellen, you were thoughtless once + Of beauty or of grace, + Simple and homely in attire, + Careless of form and face; + Then whence this change? and wherefore now + So often smoothe your hair? + And wherefore deck your youthful form + With such unwearied care? + + Tell us, and cease to tire our ears + With that familiar strain; + Why will you play those simple tunes + So often o'er again? + "Indeed, dear friends, I can but say + That childhood's thoughts are gone; + Each year its own new feelings brings, + And years move swiftly on: + + "And for these little simple airs— + I love to play them o'er + So much—I dare not promise, now, + To play them never more." + I answered—and it was enough; + They turned them to depart; + They could not read my secret thoughts, + Nor see my throbbing heart. + + I've noticed many a youthful form, + Upon whose changeful face + The inmost workings of the soul + The gazer well might trace; + The speaking eye, the changing lip, + The ready blushing cheek, + The smiling, or beclouded brow, + Their different feelings speak. + + But, thank God! you might gaze on mine + For hours, and never know + The secret changes of my soul + From joy to keenest woe. + Last night, as we sat round the fire + Conversing merrily, + We heard, without, approaching steps + Of one well known to me! + + There was no trembling in my voice, + No blush upon my cheek, + No lustrous sparkle in my eyes, + Of hope, or joy, to speak; + But, oh! my spirit burned within, + My heart beat full and fast! + He came not nigh—he went away— + And then my joy was past. + + And yet my comrades marked it not: + My voice was still the same; + They saw me smile, and o'er my face + No signs of sadness came. + They little knew my hidden thoughts; + And they will NEVER know + The aching anguish of my heart, + The bitter burning woe! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0063" id="link2H_4_0063"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FLUCTUATIONS, + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What though the Sun had left my sky; + To save me from despair + The blessed Moon arose on high, + And shone serenely there. + + I watched her, with a tearful gaze, + Rise slowly o'er the hill, + While through the dim horizon's haze + Her light gleamed faint and chill. + + I thought such wan and lifeless beams + Could ne'er my heart repay + For the bright sun's most transient gleams + That cheered me through the day: + + But, as above that mist's control + She rose, and brighter shone, + I felt her light upon my soul; + But now—that light is gone! + + Thick vapours snatched her from my sight, + And I was darkling left, + All in the cold and gloomy night, + Of light and hope bereft: + + Until, methought, a little star + Shone forth with trembling ray, + To cheer me with its light afar— + But that, too, passed away. + + Anon, an earthly meteor blazed + The gloomy darkness through; + I smiled, yet trembled while I gazed— + But that soon vanished too! + + And darker, drearier fell the night + Upon my spirit then;— + But what is that faint struggling light? + Is it the Moon again? + + Kind Heaven! increase that silvery gleam + And bid these clouds depart, + And let her soft celestial beam + Restore my fainting heart! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0064" id="link2H_4_0064"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SELECTIONS FROM THE LITERARY REMAINS OF ELLIS AND ACTON BELL. + </h2> + <h3> + By Currer Bell + </h3> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0065" id="link2H_4_0065"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ELLIS BELL. + </h2> + <p> + It would not have been difficult to compile a volume out of the papers + left by my sisters, had I, in making the selection, dismissed from my + consideration the scruples and the wishes of those whose written thoughts + these papers held. But this was impossible: an influence, stronger than + could be exercised by any motive of expediency, necessarily regulated the + selection. I have, then, culled from the mass only a little poem here and + there. The whole makes but a tiny nosegay, and the colour and perfume of + the flowers are not such as fit them for festal uses. + </p> + <p> + It has been already said that my sisters wrote much in childhood and + girlhood. Usually, it seems a sort of injustice to expose in print the + crude thoughts of the unripe mind, the rude efforts of the unpractised + hand; yet I venture to give three little poems of my sister Emily's, + written in her sixteenth year, because they illustrate a point in her + character. + </p> + <p> + At that period she was sent to school. Her previous life, with the + exception of a single half-year, had been passed in the absolute + retirement of a village parsonage, amongst the hills bordering Yorkshire + and Lancashire. The scenery of these hills is not grand—it is not + romantic it is scarcely striking. Long low moors, dark with heath, shut in + little valleys, where a stream waters, here and there, a fringe of stunted + copse. Mills and scattered cottages chase romance from these valleys; it + is only higher up, deep in amongst the ridges of the moors, that + Imagination can find rest for the sole of her foot: and even if she finds + it there, she must be a solitude-loving raven—no gentle dove. If she + demand beauty to inspire her, she must bring it inborn: these moors are + too stern to yield any product so delicate. The eye of the gazer must + ITSELF brim with a "purple light," intense enough to perpetuate the brief + flower-flush of August on the heather, or the rare sunset-smile of June; + out of his heart must well the freshness, that in latter spring and early + summer brightens the bracken, nurtures the moss, and cherishes the starry + flowers that spangle for a few weeks the pasture of the moor-sheep. Unless + that light and freshness are innate and self-sustained, the drear prospect + of a Yorkshire moor will be found as barren of poetic as of agricultural + interest: where the love of wild nature is strong, the locality will + perhaps be clung to with the more passionate constancy, because from the + hill-lover's self comes half its charm. + </p> + <p> + My sister Emily loved the moors. Flowers brighter than the rose bloomed in + the blackest of the heath for her; out of a sullen hollow in a livid + hill-side her mind could make an Eden. She found in the bleak solitude + many and dear delights; and not the least and best loved was—liberty. + </p> + <p> + Liberty was the breath of Emily's nostrils; without it, she perished. The + change from her own home to a school, and from her own very noiseless, + very secluded, but unrestricted and inartificial mode of life, to one of + disciplined routine (though under the kindliest auspices), was what she + failed in enduring. Her nature proved here too strong for her fortitude. + Every morning when she woke, the vision of home and the moors rushed on + her, and darkened and saddened the day that lay before her. Nobody knew + what ailed her but me—I knew only too well. In this struggle her + health was quickly broken: her white face, attenuated form, and failing + strength, threatened rapid decline. I felt in my heart she would die, if + she did not go home, and with this conviction obtained her recall. She had + only been three months at school; and it was some years before the + experiment of sending her from home was again ventured on. After the age + of twenty, having meantime studied alone with diligence and perseverance, + she went with me to an establishment on the Continent: the same suffering + and conflict ensued, heightened by the strong recoil of her upright, + heretic and English spirit from the gentle Jesuitry of the foreign and + Romish system. Once more she seemed sinking, but this time she rallied + through the mere force of resolution: with inward remorse and shame she + looked back on her former failure, and resolved to conquer in this second + ordeal. She did conquer: but the victory cost her dear. She was never + happy till she carried her hard-won knowledge back to the remote English + village, the old parsonage-house, and desolate Yorkshire hills. A very few + years more, and she looked her last on those hills, and breathed her last + in that house, and under the aisle of that obscure village church found + her last lowly resting-place. Merciful was the decree that spared her when + she was a stranger in a strange land, and guarded her dying bed with + kindred love and congenial constancy. + </p> + <p> + The following pieces were composed at twilight, in the school-room, when + the leisure of the evening play-hour brought back in full tide the + thoughts of home. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0066" id="link2H_4_0066"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A LITTLE while, a little while, + The weary task is put away, + And I can sing and I can smile, + Alike, while I have holiday. + + Where wilt thou go, my harassed heart— + What thought, what scene invites thee now + What spot, or near or far apart, + Has rest for thee, my weary brow? + + There is a spot, 'mid barren hills, + Where winter howls, and driving rain; + But, if the dreary tempest chills, + There is a light that warms again. + + The house is old, the trees are bare, + Moonless above bends twilight's dome; + But what on earth is half so dear— + So longed for—as the hearth of home? + + The mute bird sitting on the stone, + The dank moss dripping from the wall, + The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown, + I love them—how I love them all! + + Still, as I mused, the naked room, + The alien firelight died away; + And from the midst of cheerless gloom, + I passed to bright, unclouded day. + + A little and a lone green lane + That opened on a common wide; + A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain + Of mountains circling every side. + + A heaven so clear, an earth so calm, + So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air; + And, deepening still the dream-like charm, + Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere. + + THAT was the scene, I knew it well; + I knew the turfy pathway's sweep, + That, winding o'er each billowy swell, + Marked out the tracks of wandering sheep. + + Could I have lingered but an hour, + It well had paid a week of toil; + But Truth has banished Fancy's power: + Restraint and heavy task recoil. + + Even as I stood with raptured eye, + Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear, + My hour of rest had fleeted by, + And back came labour, bondage, care. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0067" id="link2H_4_0067"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. THE BLUEBELL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Bluebell is the sweetest flower + That waves in summer air: + Its blossoms have the mightiest power + To soothe my spirit's care. + + There is a spell in purple heath + Too wildly, sadly dear; + The violet has a fragrant breath, + But fragrance will not cheer, + + The trees are bare, the sun is cold, + And seldom, seldom seen; + The heavens have lost their zone of gold, + And earth her robe of green. + + And ice upon the glancing stream + Has cast its sombre shade; + And distant hills and valleys seem + In frozen mist arrayed. + + The Bluebell cannot charm me now, + The heath has lost its bloom; + The violets in the glen below, + They yield no sweet perfume. + + But, though I mourn the sweet Bluebell, + 'Tis better far away; + I know how fast my tears would swell + To see it smile to-day. + + For, oh! when chill the sunbeams fall + Adown that dreary sky, + And gild yon dank and darkened wall + With transient brilliancy; + + How do I weep, how do I pine + For the time of flowers to come, + And turn me from that fading shine, + To mourn the fields of home! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0068" id="link2H_4_0068"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Loud without the wind was roaring + Through th'autumnal sky; + Drenching wet, the cold rain pouring, + Spoke of winter nigh. + All too like that dreary eve, + Did my exiled spirit grieve. + Grieved at first, but grieved not long, + Sweet—how softly sweet!—it came; + Wild words of an ancient song, + Undefined, without a name. + + "It was spring, and the skylark was singing:" + Those words they awakened a spell; + They unlocked a deep fountain, whose springing, + Nor absence, nor distance can quell. + + In the gloom of a cloudy November + They uttered the music of May; + They kindled the perishing ember + Into fervour that could not decay. + + Awaken, o'er all my dear moorland, + West-wind, in thy glory and pride! + Oh! call me from valley and lowland, + To walk by the hill-torrent's side! + + It is swelled with the first snowy weather; + The rocks they are icy and hoar, + And sullenly waves the long heather, + And the fern leaves are sunny no more. + + There are no yellow stars on the mountain + The bluebells have long died away + From the brink of the moss-bedded fountain— + From the side of the wintry brae. + + But lovelier than corn-fields all waving + In emerald, and vermeil, and gold, + Are the heights where the north-wind is raving, + And the crags where I wandered of old. + + It was morning: the bright sun was beaming; + How sweetly it brought back to me + The time when nor labour nor dreaming + Broke the sleep of the happy and free! + + But blithely we rose as the dawn-heaven + Was melting to amber and blue, + And swift were the wings to our feet given, + As we traversed the meadows of dew. + + For the moors! For the moors, where the short grass + Like velvet beneath us should lie! + For the moors! For the moors, where each high pass + Rose sunny against the clear sky! + + For the moors, where the linnet was trilling + Its song on the old granite stone; + Where the lark, the wild sky-lark, was filling + Every breast with delight like its own! + + What language can utter the feeling + Which rose, when in exile afar, + On the brow of a lonely hill kneeling, + I saw the brown heath growing there? + + It was scattered and stunted, and told me + That soon even that would be gone: + It whispered, "The grim walls enfold me, + I have bloomed in my last summer's sun." + + But not the loved music, whose waking + Makes the soul of the Swiss die away, + Has a spell more adored and heartbreaking + Than, for me, in that blighted heath lay. + + The spirit which bent 'neath its power, + How it longed—how it burned to be free! + If I could have wept in that hour, + Those tears had been heaven to me. + + Well—well; the sad minutes are moving, + Though loaded with trouble and pain; + And some time the loved and the loving + Shall meet on the mountains again! +</pre> + <p> + The following little piece has no title; but in it the Genius of a + solitary region seems to address his wandering and wayward votary, and to + recall within his influence the proud mind which rebelled at times even + against what it most loved. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Shall earth no more inspire thee, + Thou lonely dreamer now? + Since passion may not fire thee, + Shall nature cease to bow? + + Thy mind is ever moving, + In regions dark to thee; + Recall its useless roving, + Come back, and dwell with me. + + I know my mountain breezes + Enchant and soothe thee still, + I know my sunshine pleases, + Despite thy wayward will. + + When day with evening blending, + Sinks from the summer sky, + I've seen thy spirit bending + In fond idolatry. + + I've watched thee every hour; + I know my mighty sway: + I know my magic power + To drive thy griefs away. + + Few hearts to mortals given, + On earth so wildly pine; + Yet few would ask a heaven + More like this earth than thine. + + Then let my winds caress thee + Thy comrade let me be: + Since nought beside can bless thee, + Return—and dwell with me. +</pre> + <p> + Here again is the same mind in converse with a like abstraction. "The + Night-Wind," breathing through an open window, has visited an ear which + discerned language in its whispers. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0069" id="link2H_4_0069"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE NIGHT-WIND. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In summer's mellow midnight, + A cloudless moon shone through + Our open parlour window, + And rose-trees wet with dew. + + I sat in silent musing; + The soft wind waved my hair; + It told me heaven was glorious, + And sleeping earth was fair. + + I needed not its breathing + To bring such thoughts to me; + But still it whispered lowly, + How dark the woods will be! + + "The thick leaves in my murmur + Are rustling like a dream, + And all their myriad voices + Instinct with spirit seem." + + I said, "Go, gentle singer, + Thy wooing voice is kind: + But do not think its music + Has power to reach my mind. + + "Play with the scented flower, + The young tree's supple bough, + And leave my human feelings + In their own course to flow." + + The wanderer would not heed me; + Its kiss grew warmer still. + "O come!" it sighed so sweetly; + "I'll win thee 'gainst thy will. + + "Were we not friends from childhood? + Have I not loved thee long? + As long as thou, the solemn night, + Whose silence wakes my song. + + "And when thy heart is resting + Beneath the church-aisle stone, + I shall have time for mourning, + And THOU for being alone." +</pre> + <p> + In these stanzas a louder gale has roused the sleeper on her pillow: the + wakened soul struggles to blend with the storm by which it is swayed:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ay—there it is! it wakes to-night + Deep feelings I thought dead; + Strong in the blast—quick gathering light— + The heart's flame kindles red. + + "Now I can tell by thine altered cheek, + And by thine eyes' full gaze, + And by the words thou scarce dost speak, + How wildly fancy plays. + + "Yes—I could swear that glorious wind + Has swept the world aside, + Has dashed its memory from thy mind + Like foam-bells from the tide: + + "And thou art now a spirit pouring + Thy presence into all: + The thunder of the tempest's roaring, + The whisper of its fall: + + "An universal influence, + From thine own influence free; + A principle of life—intense— + Lost to mortality. + + "Thus truly, when that breast is cold, + Thy prisoned soul shall rise; + The dungeon mingle with the mould— + The captive with the skies. + Nature's deep being, thine shall hold, + Her spirit all thy spirit fold, + Her breath absorb thy sighs. + Mortal! though soon life's tale is told; + Who once lives, never dies!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0070" id="link2H_4_0070"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Love is like the wild rose-briar; + Friendship like the holly-tree. + The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, + But which will bloom most constantly? + + The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring, + Its summer blossoms scent the air; + Yet wait till winter comes again, + And who will call the wild-briar fair? + + Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now, + And deck thee with the holly's sheen, + That, when December blights thy brow, + He still may leave thy garland green. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0071" id="link2H_4_0071"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ELDER'S REBUKE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Listen! When your hair, like mine, + Takes a tint of silver gray; + When your eyes, with dimmer shine, + Watch life's bubbles float away: + + When you, young man, have borne like me + The weary weight of sixty-three, + Then shall penance sore be paid + For those hours so wildly squandered; + And the words that now fall dead + On your ear, be deeply pondered— + Pondered and approved at last: + But their virtue will be past! + + "Glorious is the prize of Duty, + Though she be 'a serious power'; + Treacherous all the lures of Beauty, + Thorny bud and poisonous flower! + + "Mirth is but a mad beguiling + Of the golden-gifted time; + Love—a demon-meteor, wiling + Heedless feet to gulfs of crime. + + "Those who follow earthly pleasure, + Heavenly knowledge will not lead; + Wisdom hides from them her treasure, + Virtue bids them evil-speed! + + "Vainly may their hearts repenting. + Seek for aid in future years; + Wisdom, scorned, knows no relenting; + Virtue is not won by fears." + + Thus spake the ice-blooded elder gray; + The young man scoffed as he turned away, + Turned to the call of a sweet lute's measure, + Waked by the lightsome touch of pleasure: + Had he ne'er met a gentler teacher, + Woe had been wrought by that pitiless preacher. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0072" id="link2H_4_0072"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WANDERER FROM THE FOLD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + How few, of all the hearts that loved, + Are grieving for thee now; + And why should mine to-night be moved + With such a sense of woe? + + Too often thus, when left alone, + Where none my thoughts can see, + Comes back a word, a passing tone + From thy strange history. + + Sometimes I seem to see thee rise, + A glorious child again; + All virtues beaming from thine eyes + That ever honoured men: + + Courage and truth, a generous breast + Where sinless sunshine lay: + A being whose very presence blest + Like gladsome summer-day. + + O, fairly spread thy early sail, + And fresh, and pure, and free, + Was the first impulse of the gale + Which urged life's wave for thee! + + Why did the pilot, too confiding, + Dream o'er that ocean's foam, + And trust in Pleasure's careless guiding + To bring his vessel home? + + For well he knew what dangers frowned, + What mists would gather, dim; + What rocks and shelves, and sands lay round + Between his port and him. + + The very brightness of the sun + The splendour of the main, + The wind which bore him wildly on + Should not have warned in vain. + + An anxious gazer from the shore— + I marked the whitening wave, + And wept above thy fate the more + Because—I could not save. + + It recks not now, when all is over: + But yet my heart will be + A mourner still, though friend and lover + Have both forgotten thee! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0073" id="link2H_4_0073"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WARNING AND REPLY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the earth—the earth—thou shalt be laid, + A grey stone standing over thee; + Black mould beneath thee spread, + And black mould to cover thee. + + "Well—there is rest there, + So fast come thy prophecy; + The time when my sunny hair + Shall with grass roots entwined be." + + But cold—cold is that resting-place, + Shut out from joy and liberty, + And all who loved thy living face + Will shrink from it shudderingly, + + "Not so. HERE the world is chill, + And sworn friends fall from me: + But THERE—they will own me still, + And prize my memory." + + Farewell, then, all that love, + All that deep sympathy: + Sleep on: Heaven laughs above, + Earth never misses thee. + + Turf-sod and tombstone drear + Part human company; + One heart breaks only—here, + But that heart was worthy thee! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0074" id="link2H_4_0074"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LAST WORDS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I knew not 'twas so dire a crime + To say the word, "Adieu;" + But this shall be the only time + My lips or heart shall sue. + + That wild hill-side, the winter morn, + The gnarled and ancient tree, + If in your breast they waken scorn, + Shall wake the same in me. + + I can forget black eyes and brows, + And lips of falsest charm, + If you forget the sacred vows + Those faithless lips could form. + + If hard commands can tame your love, + Or strongest walls can hold, + I would not wish to grieve above + A thing so false and cold. + + And there are bosoms bound to mine + With links both tried and strong: + And there are eyes whose lightning shine + Has warmed and blest me long: + + Those eyes shall make my only day, + Shall set my spirit free, + And chase the foolish thoughts away + That mourn your memory. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0075" id="link2H_4_0075"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LADY TO HER GUITAR. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + For him who struck thy foreign string, + I ween this heart has ceased to care; + Then why dost thou such feelings bring + To my sad spirit—old Guitar? + + It is as if the warm sunlight + In some deep glen should lingering stay, + When clouds of storm, or shades of night, + Have wrapt the parent orb away. + + It is as if the glassy brook + Should image still its willows fair, + Though years ago the woodman's stroke + Laid low in dust their Dryad-hair. + + Even so, Guitar, thy magic tone + Hath moved the tear and waked the sigh: + Hath bid the ancient torrent moan, + Although its very source is dry. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0076" id="link2H_4_0076"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE TWO CHILDREN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Heavy hangs the rain-drop + From the burdened spray; + Heavy broods the damp mist + On uplands far away. + + Heavy looms the dull sky, + Heavy rolls the sea; + And heavy throbs the young heart + Beneath that lonely tree. + + Never has a blue streak + Cleft the clouds since morn; + Never has his grim fate + Smiled since he was born. + + Frowning on the infant, + Shadowing childhood's joy + Guardian-angel knows not + That melancholy boy. + + Day is passing swiftly + Its sad and sombre prime; + Boyhood sad is merging + In sadder manhood's time: + + All the flowers are praying + For sun, before they close, + And he prays too—unconscious— + That sunless human rose. + + Blossom—that the west-wind + Has never wooed to blow, + Scentless are thy petals, + Thy dew is cold as snow! + + Soul—where kindred kindness, + No early promise woke, + Barren is thy beauty, + As weed upon a rock. + + Wither—soul and blossom! + You both were vainly given; + Earth reserves no blessing + For the unblest of heaven! + + Child of delight, with sun-bright hair, + And sea-blue, sea-deep eyes! + Spirit of bliss! What brings thee here + Beneath these sullen skies? + + Thou shouldst live in eternal spring, + Where endless day is never dim; + Why, Seraph, has thine erring wing + Wafted thee down to weep with him? + + "Ah! not from heaven am I descended, + Nor do I come to mingle tears; + But sweet is day, though with shadows blended; + And, though clouded, sweet are youthful years. + + "I—the image of light and gladness— + Saw and pitied that mournful boy, + And I vowed—if need were—to share his sadness, + And give to him my sunny joy. + + "Heavy and dark the night is closing; + Heavy and dark may its biding be: + Better for all from grief reposing, + And better for all who watch like me— + + "Watch in love by a fevered pillow, + Cooling the fever with pity's balm + Safe as the petrel on tossing billow, + Safe in mine own soul's golden calm! + + "Guardian-angel he lacks no longer; + Evil fortune he need not fear: + Fate is strong, but love is stronger; + And MY love is truer than angel-care." +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0077" id="link2H_4_0077"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE VISIONARY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Silent is the house: all are laid asleep: + One alone looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep, + Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze + That whirls the wildering drift, and bends the groaning trees. + + Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor; + Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door; + The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far: + I trim it well, to be the wanderer's guiding-star. + + Frown, my haughty sire! chide, my angry dame! + Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame: + But neither sire nor dame, nor prying serf shall know, + What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow. + + What I love shall come like visitant of air, + Safe in secret power from lurking human snare; + What loves me, no word of mine shall e'er betray, + Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay + + Burn, then, little lamp; glimmer straight and clear— + Hush! a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air: + He for whom I wait, thus ever comes to me; + Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0078" id="link2H_4_0078"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ENCOURAGEMENT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I do not weep; I would not weep; + Our mother needs no tears: + Dry thine eyes, too; 'tis vain to keep + This causeless grief for years. + + What though her brow be changed and cold, + Her sweet eyes closed for ever? + What though the stone—the darksome mould + Our mortal bodies sever? + + What though her hand smooth ne'er again + Those silken locks of thine? + Nor, through long hours of future pain, + Her kind face o'er thee shine? + + Remember still, she is not dead; + She sees us, sister, now; + Laid, where her angel spirit fled, + 'Mid heath and frozen snow. + + And from that world of heavenly light + Will she not always bend + To guide us in our lifetime's night, + And guard us to the end? + + Thou knowest she will; and thou mayst mourn + That WE are left below: + But not that she can ne'er return + To share our earthly woe. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0079" id="link2H_4_0079"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STANZAS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Often rebuked, yet always back returning + To those first feelings that were born with me, + And leaving busy chase of wealth and learning + For idle dreams of things which cannot be: + + To-day, I will seek not the shadowy region; + Its unsustaining vastness waxes drear; + And visions rising, legion after legion, + Bring the unreal world too strangely near. + + I'll walk, but not in old heroic traces, + And not in paths of high morality, + And not among the half-distinguished faces, + The clouded forms of long-past history. + + I'll walk where my own nature would be leading: + It vexes me to choose another guide: + Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding; + Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side. + + What have those lonely mountains worth revealing? + More glory and more grief than I can tell: + The earth that wakes one human heart to feeling + Can centre both the worlds of Heaven and Hell. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0080" id="link2H_4_0080"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + The following are the last lines my sister Emily ever wrote:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + No coward soul is mine, + No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere: + I see Heaven's glories shine, + And faith shines equal, arming me from fear. + + O God within my breast, + Almighty, ever-present Deity! + Life—that in me has rest, + As I—undying Life—have power in thee! + + Vain are the thousand creeds + That move men's hearts: unutterably vain; + Worthless as withered weeds, + Or idlest froth amid the boundless main, + + To waken doubt in one + Holding so fast by thine infinity; + So surely anchored on + The stedfast rock of immortality. + + With wide-embracing love + Thy spirit animates eternal years, + Pervades and broods above, + Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears. + + Though earth and man were gone, + And suns and universes ceased to be, + And Thou were left alone, + Every existence would exist in Thee. + + There is not room for Death, + Nor atom that his might could render void: + Thou—THOU art Being and Breath, + And what THOU art may never be destroyed. +</pre> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0081" id="link2H_4_0081"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ACTON BELL. + </h2> + <p> + In looking over my sister Anne's papers, I find mournful evidence that + religious feeling had been to her but too much like what it was to Cowper; + I mean, of course, in a far milder form. Without rendering her a prey to + those horrors that defy concealment, it subdued her mood and bearing to a + perpetual pensiveness; the pillar of a cloud glided constantly before her + eyes; she ever waited at the foot of a secret Sinai, listening in her + heart to the voice of a trumpet sounding long and waxing louder. Some, + perhaps, would rejoice over these tokens of sincere though sorrowing piety + in a deceased relative: I own, to me they seem sad, as if her whole + innocent life had been passed under the martyrdom of an unconfessed + physical pain: their effect, indeed, would be too distressing, were it not + combated by the certain knowledge that in her last moments this tyranny of + a too tender conscience was overcome; this pomp of terrors broke up, and + passing away, left her dying hour unclouded. Her belief in God did not + then bring to her dread, as of a stern Judge,—but hope, as in a + Creator and Saviour: and no faltering hope was it, but a sure and stedfast + conviction, on which, in the rude passage from Time to Eternity, she threw + the weight of her human weakness, and by which she was enabled to bear + what was to be borne, patiently—serenely—victoriously. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0082" id="link2H_4_0082"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DESPONDENCY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I have gone backward in the work; + The labour has not sped; + Drowsy and dark my spirit lies, + Heavy and dull as lead. + + How can I rouse my sinking soul + From such a lethargy? + How can I break these iron chains + And set my spirit free? + + There have been times when I have mourned! + In anguish o'er the past, + And raised my suppliant hands on high, + While tears fell thick and fast; + + And prayed to have my sins forgiven, + With such a fervent zeal, + An earnest grief, a strong desire + As now I cannot feel. + + And I have felt so full of love, + So strong in spirit then, + As if my heart would never cool, + Or wander back again. + + And yet, alas! how many times + My feet have gone astray! + How oft have I forgot my God! + How greatly fallen away! + + My sins increase—my love grows cold, + And Hope within me dies: + Even Faith itself is wavering now; + Oh, how shall I arise? + + I cannot weep, but I can pray, + Then let me not despair: + Lord Jesus, save me, lest I die! + Christ, hear my humble prayer! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0083" id="link2H_4_0083"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A PRAYER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My God (oh, let me call Thee mine, + Weak, wretched sinner though I be), + My trembling soul would fain be Thine; + My feeble faith still clings to Thee. + + Not only for the Past I grieve, + The Future fills me with dismay; + Unless Thou hasten to relieve, + Thy suppliant is a castaway. + + I cannot say my faith is strong, + I dare not hope my love is great; + But strength and love to Thee belong; + Oh, do not leave me desolate! + + I know I owe my all to Thee; + Oh, TAKE the heart I cannot give! + Do Thou my strength—my Saviour be, + And MAKE me to Thy glory live. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0084" id="link2H_4_0084"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN MEMORY OF A HAPPY DAY IN FEBRUARY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Blessed be Thou for all the joy + My soul has felt to-day! + Oh, let its memory stay with me, + And never pass away! + + I was alone, for those I loved + Were far away from me; + The sun shone on the withered grass, + The wind blew fresh and free. + + Was it the smile of early spring + That made my bosom glow? + 'Twas sweet; but neither sun nor wind + Could cheer my spirit so. + + Was it some feeling of delight + All vague and undefined? + No; 'twas a rapture deep and strong, + Expanding in the mind. + + Was it a sanguine view of life, + And all its transient bliss, + A hope of bright prosperity? + Oh, no! it was not this. + + It was a glimpse of truth divine + Unto my spirit given, + Illumined by a ray of light + That shone direct from heaven. + + I felt there was a God on high, + By whom all things were made; + I saw His wisdom and His power + In all his works displayed. + + But most throughout the moral world, + I saw his glory shine; + I saw His wisdom infinite, + His mercy all divine. + + Deep secrets of His providence, + In darkness long concealed, + Unto the vision of my soul + Were graciously revealed. + + But while I wondered and adored + His Majesty divine, + I did not tremble at His power: + I felt that God was mine; + + I knew that my Redeemer lived; + I did not fear to die; + Full sure that I should rise again + To immortality. + + I longed to view that bliss divine, + Which eye hath never seen; + Like Moses, I would see His face + Without the veil between. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0085" id="link2H_4_0085"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CONFIDENCE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oppressed with sin and woe, + A burdened heart I bear, + Opposed by many a mighty foe; + But I will not despair. + + With this polluted heart, + I dare to come to Thee, + Holy and mighty as Thou art, + For Thou wilt pardon me. + + I feel that I am weak, + And prone to every sin; + But Thou who giv'st to those who seek, + Wilt give me strength within. + + Far as this earth may be + From yonder starry skies; + Remoter still am I from Thee: + Yet Thou wilt not despise. + + I need not fear my foes, + I deed not yield to care; + I need not sink beneath my woes, + For Thou wilt answer prayer. + + In my Redeemer's name, + I give myself to Thee; + And, all unworthy as I am, + My God will cherish me. +</pre> + <p> + My sister Anne had to taste the cup of life as it is mixed for the class + termed "Governesses." + </p> + <p> + The following are some of the thoughts that now and then solace a + governess:— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0086" id="link2H_4_0086"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LINES WRITTEN FROM HOME. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground, + With fallen leaves so thickly strewn, + And cold the wind that wanders round + With wild and melancholy moan; + + There is a friendly roof I know, + Might shield me from the wintry blast; + There is a fire whose ruddy glow + Will cheer me for my wanderings past. + + And so, though still where'er I go + Cold stranger glances meet my eye; + Though, when my spirit sinks in woe, + Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh; + + Though solitude, endured too long, + Bids youthful joys too soon decay, + Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue, + And overclouds my noon of day; + + When kindly thoughts that would have way + Flow back, discouraged, to my breast, + I know there is, though far away, + A home where heart and soul may rest. + + Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine, + The warmer heart will not belie; + While mirth and truth, and friendship shine + In smiling lip and earnest eye. + + The ice that gathers round my heart + May there be thawed; and sweetly, then, + The joys of youth, that now depart, + Will come to cheer my soul again. + + Though far I roam, that thought shall be + My hope, my comfort everywhere; + While such a home remains to me, + My heart shall never know despair. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0087" id="link2H_4_0087"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE NARROW WAY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Believe not those who say + The upward path is smooth, + Lest thou shouldst stumble in the way, + And faint before the truth. + + It is the only road + Unto the realms of joy; + But he who seeks that blest abode + Must all his powers employ. + + Bright hopes and pure delight + Upon his course may beam, + And there, amid the sternest heights, + The sweetest flowerets gleam. + + On all her breezes borne, + Earth yields no scents like those; + But he that dares not gasp the thorn + Should never crave the rose. + + Arm—arm thee for the fight! + Cast useless loads away; + Watch through the darkest hours of night; + Toil through the hottest day. + + Crush pride into the dust, + Or thou must needs be slack; + And trample down rebellious lust, + Or it will hold thee back. + + Seek not thy honour here; + Waive pleasure and renown; + The world's dread scoff undaunted bear, + And face its deadliest frown. + + To labour and to love, + To pardon and endure, + To lift thy heart to God above, + And keep thy conscience pure; + + Be this thy constant aim, + Thy hope, thy chief delight; + What matter who should whisper blame + Or who should scorn or slight? + + What matter, if thy God approve, + And if, within thy breast, + Thou feel the comfort of His love, + The earnest of His rest? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0088" id="link2H_4_0088"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DOMESTIC PEACE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Why should such gloomy silence reign, + And why is all the house so drear, + When neither danger, sickness, pain, + Nor death, nor want, have entered here? + + We are as many as we were + That other night, when all were gay + And full of hope, and free from care; + Yet is there something gone away. + + The moon without, as pure and calm, + Is shining as that night she shone; + But now, to us, she brings no balm, + For something from our hearts is gone. + + Something whose absence leaves a void— + A cheerless want in every heart; + Each feels the bliss of all destroyed, + And mourns the change—but each apart. + + The fire is burning in the grate + As redly as it used to burn; + But still the hearth is desolate, + Till mirth, and love, and PEACE return. + + 'Twas PEACE that flowed from heart to heart, + With looks and smiles that spoke of heaven, + And gave us language to impart + The blissful thoughts itself had given. + + Domestic peace! best joy of earth, + When shall we all thy value learn? + White angel, to our sorrowing hearth, + Return—oh, graciously return! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0089" id="link2H_4_0089"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE THREE GUIDES. [First published in FRASER'S MAGAZINE.] + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Spirit of Earth! thy hand is chill: + I've felt its icy clasp; + And, shuddering, I remember still + That stony-hearted grasp. + Thine eye bids love and joy depart: + Oh, turn its gaze from me! + It presses down my shrinking heart; + I will not walk with thee! + + "Wisdom is mine," I've heard thee say: + "Beneath my searching eye + All mist and darkness melt away, + Phantoms and fables fly. + Before me truth can stand alone, + The naked, solid truth; + And man matured by worth will own, + If I am shunned by youth. + + "Firm is my tread, and sure though slow; + My footsteps never slide; + And he that follows me shall know + I am the surest guide." + Thy boast is vain; but were it true + That thou couldst safely steer + Life's rough and devious pathway through, + Such guidance I should fear. + + How could I bear to walk for aye, + With eyes to earthward prone, + O'er trampled weeds and miry clay, + And sand and flinty stone; + Never the glorious view to greet + Of hill and dale, and sky; + To see that Nature's charms are sweet, + Or feel that Heaven is nigh? + + If in my heart arose a spring, + A gush of thought divine, + At once stagnation thou wouldst bring + With that cold touch of thine. + If, glancing up, I sought to snatch + But one glimpse of the sky, + My baffled gaze would only catch + Thy heartless, cold grey eye. + + If to the breezes wandering near, + I listened eagerly, + And deemed an angel's tongue to hear + That whispered hope to me, + That heavenly music would be drowned + In thy harsh, droning voice; + Nor inward thought, nor sight, nor sound, + Might my sad soul rejoice. + + Dull is thine ear, unheard by thee + The still, small voice of Heaven; + Thine eyes are dim and cannot see + The helps that God has given. + There is a bridge o'er every flood + Which thou canst not perceive; + A path through every tangled wood, + But thou wilt not believe. + + Striving to make thy way by force, + Toil-spent and bramble-torn, + Thou'lt fell the tree that checks thy course, + And burst through brier and thorn: + And, pausing by the river's side, + Poor reasoner! thou wilt deem, + By casting pebbles in its tide, + To cross the swelling stream. + + Right through the flinty rock thou'lt try + Thy toilsome way to bore, + Regardless of the pathway nigh + That would conduct thee o'er + Not only art thou, then, unkind, + And freezing cold to me, + But unbelieving, deaf, and blind: + I will not walk with thee! + + Spirit of Pride! thy wings are strong, + Thine eyes like lightning shine; + Ecstatic joys to thee belong, + And powers almost divine. + But 'tis a false, destructive blaze + Within those eyes I see; + Turn hence their fascinating gaze; + I will not follow thee. + + "Coward and fool!" thou mayst reply, + Walk on the common sod; + Go, trace with timid foot and eye + The steps by others trod. + 'Tis best the beaten path to keep, + The ancient faith to hold; + To pasture with thy fellow-sheep, + And lie within the fold. + + "Cling to the earth, poor grovelling worm; + 'Tis not for thee to soar + Against the fury of the storm, + Amid the thunder's roar! + There's glory in that daring strife + Unknown, undreamt by thee; + There's speechless rapture in the life + Of those who follow me. + + Yes, I have seen thy votaries oft, + Upheld by thee their guide, + In strength and courage mount aloft + The steepy mountain-side; + I've seen them stand against the sky, + And gazing from below, + Beheld thy lightning in their eye + Thy triumph on their brow. + + Oh, I have felt what glory then, + What transport must be theirs! + So far above their fellow-men, + Above their toils and cares; + Inhaling Nature's purest breath, + Her riches round them spread, + The wide expanse of earth beneath, + Heaven's glories overhead! + + But I have seen them helpless, dash'd + Down to a bloody grave, + And still thy ruthless eye has flash'd, + Thy strong hand did not save; + I've seen some o'er the mountain's brow + Sustain'd awhile by thee, + O'er rocks of ice and hills of snow + Bound fearless, wild, and free. + + Bold and exultant was their mien, + While thou didst cheer them on; + But evening fell,—and then, I ween, + Their faithless guide was gone. + Alas! how fared thy favourites then,— + Lone, helpless, weary, cold? + Did ever wanderer find again + The path he left of old? + + Where is their glory, where the pride + That swelled their hearts before? + Where now the courage that defied + The mightiest tempest's roar? + What shall they do when night grows black, + When angry storms arise? + Who now will lead them to the track + Thou taught'st them to despise? + + Spirit of Pride, it needs not this + To make me shun thy wiles, + Renounce thy triumph and thy bliss, + Thy honours and thy smiles! + Bright as thou art, and bold, and strong, + That fierce glance wins not me, + And I abhor thy scoffing tongue— + I will not follow thee! + + Spirit of Faith! be thou my guide, + O clasp my hand in thine, + And let me never quit thy side; + Thy comforts are divine! + Earth calls thee blind, misguided one,— + But who can shew like thee + Forgotten things that have been done, + And things that are to be? + + Secrets conceal'd from Nature's ken, + Who like thee can declare? + Or who like thee to erring men + God's holy will can bear? + Pride scorns thee for thy lowly mien,— + But who like thee can rise + Above this toilsome, sordid scene, + Beyond the holy skies? + + Meek is thine eye and soft thy voice, + But wondrous is thy might, + To make the wretched soul rejoice, + To give the simple light! + And still to all that seek thy way + This magic power is given,— + E'en while their footsteps press the clay, + Their souls ascend to heaven. + + Danger surrounds them,—pain and woe + Their portion here must be, + But only they that trust thee know + What comfort dwells with thee; + Strength to sustain their drooping pow'rs, + And vigour to defend,— + Thou pole-star of my darkest hours + Affliction's firmest friend! + + Day does not always mark our way, + Night's shadows oft appal, + But lead me, and I cannot stray,— + Hold me, I shall not fall; + Sustain me, I shall never faint, + How rough soe'er may be + My upward road,—nor moan, nor plaint + Shall mar my trust in thee. + + Narrow the path by which we go, + And oft it turns aside + From pleasant meads where roses blow, + And peaceful waters glide; + Where flowery turf lies green and soft, + And gentle gales are sweet, + To where dark mountains frown aloft, + Hard rocks distress the feet,— + + Deserts beyond lie bleak and bare, + And keen winds round us blow; + But if thy hand conducts me there, + The way is right, I know. + I have no wish to turn away; + My spirit does not quail,— + How can it while I hear thee say, + "Press forward and prevail!" + + Even above the tempest's swell + I hear thy voice of love,— + Of hope and peace, I hear thee tell, + And that blest home above; + Through pain and death I can rejoice. + If but thy strength be mine,— + Earth hath no music like thy voice, + Life owns no joy like thine! + + Spirit of Faith, I'll go with thee! + Thou, if I hold thee fast, + Wilt guide, defend, and strengthen me, + And bear me home at last; + By thy help all things I can do, + In thy strength all things bear,— + Teach me, for thou art just and true, + Smile on me, thou art fair! +</pre> + <p> + I have given the last memento of my sister Emily; this is the last of my + sister Anne:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I hoped, that with the brave and strong, + My portioned task might lie; + To toil amid the busy throng, + With purpose pure and high. + + But God has fixed another part, + And He has fixed it well; + I said so with my bleeding heart, + When first the anguish fell. + + Thou, God, hast taken our delight, + Our treasured hope away: + Thou bid'st us now weep through the night + And sorrow through the day. + + These weary hours will not be lost, + These days of misery, + These nights of darkness, anguish-tost, + Can I but turn to Thee. + + With secret labour to sustain + In humble patience every blow; + To gather fortitude from pain, + And hope and holiness from woe. + + Thus let me serve Thee from my heart, + Whate'er may be my written fate: + Whether thus early to depart, + Or yet a while to wait. + + If Thou shouldst bring me back to life, + More humbled I should be; + More wise—more strengthened for the strife— + More apt to lean on Thee. + + Should death be standing at the gate, + Thus should I keep my vow: + But, Lord! whatever be my fate, + Oh, let me serve Thee now! +</pre> + <p> + These lines written, the desk was closed, the pen laid aside—for + ever. + </p> + + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1019 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..85cc30b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #1019 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1019) diff --git a/old/1019-0.txt b/old/1019-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bd575f0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1019-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6671 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems, by (AKA Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë) Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Poems + +Author: (AKA Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë) Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell + +Release Date: August, 1997 [eBook #1019] +[Most recently updated: January 28, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +POEMS + +by Currer, Ellis, And Acton Bell + +(Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë) + + + + +POEMS BY CURRER BELL + + + + +PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. + + I've quench'd my lamp, I struck it in that start + Which every limb convulsed, I heard it fall-- + The crash blent with my sleep, I saw depart + Its light, even as I woke, on yonder wall; + Over against my bed, there shone a gleam + Strange, faint, and mingling also with my dream. + + It sank, and I am wrapt in utter gloom; + How far is night advanced, and when will day + Retinge the dusk and livid air with bloom, + And fill this void with warm, creative ray? + Would I could sleep again till, clear and red, + Morning shall on the mountain-tops be spread! + + I'd call my women, but to break their sleep, + Because my own is broken, were unjust; + They've wrought all day, and well-earn'd slumbers steep + Their labours in forgetfulness, I trust; + Let me my feverish watch with patience bear, + Thankful that none with me its sufferings share. + + Yet, oh, for light! one ray would tranquillize + My nerves, my pulses, more than effort can; + I'll draw my curtain and consult the skies: + These trembling stars at dead of night look wan, + Wild, restless, strange, yet cannot be more drear + Than this my couch, shared by a nameless fear. + + All black--one great cloud, drawn from east to west, + Conceals the heavens, but there are lights below; + Torches burn in Jerusalem, and cast + On yonder stony mount a lurid glow. + I see men station'd there, and gleaming spears; + A sound, too, from afar, invades my ears. + + Dull, measured strokes of axe and hammer ring + From street to street, not loud, but through the night + Distinctly heard--and some strange spectral thing + Is now uprear'd--and, fix'd against the light + Of the pale lamps, defined upon that sky, + It stands up like a column, straight and high. + + I see it all--I know the dusky sign-- + A cross on Calvary, which Jews uprear + While Romans watch; and when the dawn shall shine + Pilate, to judge the victim, will appear-- + Pass sentence-yield Him up to crucify; + And on that cross the spotless Christ must die. + + Dreams, then, are true--for thus my vision ran; + Surely some oracle has been with me, + The gods have chosen me to reveal their plan, + To warn an unjust judge of destiny: + I, slumbering, heard and saw; awake I know, + Christ's coming death, and Pilate's life of woe. + + I do not weep for Pilate--who could prove + Regret for him whose cold and crushing sway + No prayer can soften, no appeal can move: + Who tramples hearts as others trample clay, + Yet with a faltering, an uncertain tread, + That might stir up reprisal in the dead. + + Forced to sit by his side and see his deeds; + Forced to behold that visage, hour by hour, + In whose gaunt lines the abhorrent gazer reads + A triple lust of gold, and blood, and power; + A soul whom motives fierce, yet abject, urge-- + Rome's servile slave, and Judah's tyrant scourge. + + How can I love, or mourn, or pity him? + I, who so long my fetter'd hands have wrung; + I, who for grief have wept my eyesight dim; + Because, while life for me was bright and young, + He robb'd my youth--he quench'd my life's fair ray-- + He crush'd my mind, and did my freedom slay. + + And at this hour-although I be his wife-- + He has no more of tenderness from me + Than any other wretch of guilty life; + Less, for I know his household privacy-- + I see him as he is--without a screen; + And, by the gods, my soul abhors his mien! + + Has he not sought my presence, dyed in blood-- + Innocent, righteous blood, shed shamelessly? + And have I not his red salute withstood? + Ay, when, as erst, he plunged all Galilee + In dark bereavement--in affliction sore, + Mingling their very offerings with their gore. + + Then came he--in his eyes a serpent-smile, + Upon his lips some false, endearing word, + And through the streets of Salem clang'd the while + His slaughtering, hacking, sacrilegious sword-- + And I, to see a man cause men such woe, + Trembled with ire--I did not fear to show. + + And now, the envious Jewish priests have brought + Jesus--whom they in mock'ry call their king-- + To have, by this grim power, their vengeance wrought; + By this mean reptile, innocence to sting. + Oh! could I but the purposed doom avert, + And shield the blameless head from cruel hurt! + + Accessible is Pilate's heart to fear, + Omens will shake his soul, like autumn leaf; + Could he this night's appalling vision hear, + This just man's bonds were loosed, his life were safe, + Unless that bitter priesthood should prevail, + And make even terror to their malice quail. + + Yet if I tell the dream--but let me pause. + What dream? Erewhile the characters were clear, + Graved on my brain--at once some unknown cause + Has dimm'd and razed the thoughts, which now appear, + Like a vague remnant of some by-past scene;-- + Not what will be, but what, long since, has been. + + I suffer'd many things--I heard foretold + A dreadful doom for Pilate,--lingering woes, + In far, barbarian climes, where mountains cold + Built up a solitude of trackless snows, + There he and grisly wolves prowl'd side by side, + There he lived famish'd--there, methought, he died; + + But not of hunger, nor by malady; + I saw the snow around him, stain'd with gore; + I said I had no tears for such as he, + And, lo! my cheek is wet--mine eyes run o'er; + I weep for mortal suffering, mortal guilt, + I weep the impious deed, the blood self-spilt. + + More I recall not, yet the vision spread + Into a world remote, an age to come-- + And still the illumined name of Jesus shed + A light, a clearness, through the unfolding gloom-- + And still I saw that sign, which now I see, + That cross on yonder brow of Calvary. + + What is this Hebrew Christ?-to me unknown + His lineage--doctrine--mission; yet how clear + Is God-like goodness in his actions shown, + How straight and stainless is his life's career! + The ray of Deity that rests on him, + In my eyes makes Olympian glory dim. + + The world advances; Greek or Roman rite + Suffices not the inquiring mind to stay; + The searching soul demands a purer light + To guide it on its upward, onward way; + Ashamed of sculptured gods, Religion turns + To where the unseen Jehovah's altar burns. + + Our faith is rotten, all our rites defiled, + Our temples sullied, and, methinks, this man, + With his new ordinance, so wise and mild, + Is come, even as He says, the chaff to fan + And sever from the wheat; but will his faith + Survive the terrors of to-morrow's death? + + * * * * * * * + + I feel a firmer trust--a higher hope + Rise in my soul--it dawns with dawning day; + Lo! on the Temple's roof--on Moriah's slope + Appears at length that clear and crimson ray + Which I so wished for when shut in by night; + Oh, opening skies, I hail, I bless pour light! + + Part, clouds and shadows! Glorious Sun appear! + Part, mental gloom! Come insight from on high! + Dusk dawn in heaven still strives with daylight clear + The longing soul doth still uncertain sigh. + Oh! to behold the truth--that sun divine, + How doth my bosom pant, my spirit pine! + + This day, Time travails with a mighty birth; + This day, Truth stoops from heaven and visits earth; + Ere night descends I shall more surely know + What guide to follow, in what path to go; + I wait in hope--I wait in solemn fear, + The oracle of God--the sole--true God--to hear. + + + + +MEMENTOS. + + Arranging long-locked drawers and shelves + Of cabinets, shut up for years, + What a strange task we've set ourselves! + How still the lonely room appears! + How strange this mass of ancient treasures, + Mementos of past pains and pleasures; + These volumes, clasped with costly stone, + With print all faded, gilding gone; + + These fans of leaves from Indian trees-- + These crimson shells, from Indian seas-- + These tiny portraits, set in rings-- + Once, doubtless, deemed such precious things; + Keepsakes bestowed by Love on Faith, + And worn till the receiver's death, + Now stored with cameos, china, shells, + In this old closet's dusty cells. + + I scarcely think, for ten long years, + A hand has touched these relics old; + And, coating each, slow-formed, appears + The growth of green and antique mould. + + All in this house is mossing over; + All is unused, and dim, and damp; + Nor light, nor warmth, the rooms discover-- + Bereft for years of fire and lamp. + + The sun, sometimes in summer, enters + The casements, with reviving ray; + But the long rains of many winters + Moulder the very walls away. + + And outside all is ivy, clinging + To chimney, lattice, gable grey; + Scarcely one little red rose springing + Through the green moss can force its way. + + Unscared, the daw and starling nestle, + Where the tall turret rises high, + And winds alone come near to rustle + The thick leaves where their cradles lie, + + I sometimes think, when late at even + I climb the stair reluctantly, + Some shape that should be well in heaven, + Or ill elsewhere, will pass by me. + + I fear to see the very faces, + Familiar thirty years ago, + Even in the old accustomed places + Which look so cold and gloomy now, + + I've come, to close the window, hither, + At twilight, when the sun was down, + And Fear my very soul would wither, + Lest something should be dimly shown, + + Too much the buried form resembling, + Of her who once was mistress here; + Lest doubtful shade, or moonbeam trembling, + Might take her aspect, once so dear. + + Hers was this chamber; in her time + It seemed to me a pleasant room, + For then no cloud of grief or crime + Had cursed it with a settled gloom; + + I had not seen death's image laid + In shroud and sheet, on yonder bed. + Before she married, she was blest-- + Blest in her youth, blest in her worth; + Her mind was calm, its sunny rest + Shone in her eyes more clear than mirth. + + And when attired in rich array, + Light, lustrous hair about her brow, + She yonder sat, a kind of day + Lit up what seems so gloomy now. + These grim oak walls even then were grim; + That old carved chair was then antique; + But what around looked dusk and dim + Served as a foil to her fresh cheek; + Her neck and arms, of hue so fair, + Eyes of unclouded, smiling light; + Her soft, and curled, and floating hair, + Gems and attire, as rainbow bright. + + Reclined in yonder deep recess, + Ofttimes she would, at evening, lie + Watching the sun; she seemed to bless + With happy glance the glorious sky. + She loved such scenes, and as she gazed, + Her face evinced her spirit's mood; + Beauty or grandeur ever raised + In her, a deep-felt gratitude. + But of all lovely things, she loved + A cloudless moon, on summer night, + Full oft have I impatience proved + To see how long her still delight + Would find a theme in reverie, + Out on the lawn, or where the trees + Let in the lustre fitfully, + As their boughs parted momently, + To the soft, languid, summer breeze. + Alas! that she should e'er have flung + Those pure, though lonely joys away-- + Deceived by false and guileful tongue, + She gave her hand, then suffered wrong; + Oppressed, ill-used, she faded young, + And died of grief by slow decay. + + Open that casket-look how bright + Those jewels flash upon the sight; + The brilliants have not lost a ray + Of lustre, since her wedding day. + But see--upon that pearly chain-- + How dim lies Time's discolouring stain! + I've seen that by her daughter worn: + For, ere she died, a child was born;-- + A child that ne'er its mother knew, + That lone, and almost friendless grew; + For, ever, when its step drew nigh, + Averted was the father's eye; + And then, a life impure and wild + Made him a stranger to his child: + Absorbed in vice, he little cared + On what she did, or how she fared. + The love withheld she never sought, + She grew uncherished--learnt untaught; + To her the inward life of thought + Full soon was open laid. + I know not if her friendlessness + Did sometimes on her spirit press, + But plaint she never made. + The book-shelves were her darling treasure, + She rarely seemed the time to measure + While she could read alone. + And she too loved the twilight wood + And often, in her mother's mood, + Away to yonder hill would hie, + Like her, to watch the setting sun, + Or see the stars born, one by one, + Out of the darkening sky. + Nor would she leave that hill till night + Trembled from pole to pole with light; + Even then, upon her homeward way, + Long--long her wandering steps delayed + To quit the sombre forest shade, + Through which her eerie pathway lay. + You ask if she had beauty's grace? + I know not--but a nobler face + My eyes have seldom seen; + A keen and fine intelligence, + And, better still, the truest sense + Were in her speaking mien. + But bloom or lustre was there none, + Only at moments, fitful shone + An ardour in her eye, + That kindled on her cheek a flush, + Warm as a red sky's passing blush + And quick with energy. + Her speech, too, was not common speech, + No wish to shine, or aim to teach, + Was in her words displayed: + She still began with quiet sense, + But oft the force of eloquence + Came to her lips in aid; + Language and voice unconscious changed, + And thoughts, in other words arranged, + Her fervid soul transfused + Into the hearts of those who heard, + And transient strength and ardour stirred, + In minds to strength unused, + Yet in gay crowd or festal glare, + Grave and retiring was her air; + 'Twas seldom, save with me alone, + That fire of feeling freely shone; + She loved not awe's nor wonder's gaze, + Nor even exaggerated praise, + Nor even notice, if too keen + The curious gazer searched her mien. + Nature's own green expanse revealed + The world, the pleasures, she could prize; + On free hill-side, in sunny field, + In quiet spots by woods concealed, + Grew wild and fresh her chosen joys, + Yet Nature's feelings deeply lay + In that endowed and youthful frame; + Shrined in her heart and hid from day, + They burned unseen with silent flame. + In youth's first search for mental light, + She lived but to reflect and learn, + But soon her mind's maturer might + For stronger task did pant and yearn; + And stronger task did fate assign, + Task that a giant's strength might strain; + To suffer long and ne'er repine, + Be calm in frenzy, smile at pain. + + Pale with the secret war of feeling, + Sustained with courage, mute, yet high; + The wounds at which she bled, revealing + Only by altered cheek and eye; + + She bore in silence--but when passion + Surged in her soul with ceaseless foam, + The storm at last brought desolation, + And drove her exiled from her home. + + And silent still, she straight assembled + The wrecks of strength her soul retained; + For though the wasted body trembled, + The unconquered mind, to quail, disdained. + + She crossed the sea--now lone she wanders + By Seine's, or Rhine's, or Arno's flow; + Fain would I know if distance renders + Relief or comfort to her woe. + + Fain would I know if, henceforth, ever, + These eyes shall read in hers again, + That light of love which faded never, + Though dimmed so long with secret pain. + + She will return, but cold and altered, + Like all whose hopes too soon depart; + Like all on whom have beat, unsheltered, + The bitter blasts that blight the heart. + + No more shall I behold her lying + Calm on a pillow, smoothed by me; + No more that spirit, worn with sighing, + Will know the rest of infancy. + + If still the paths of lore she follow, + 'Twill be with tired and goaded will; + She'll only toil, the aching hollow, + The joyless blank of life to fill. + + And oh! full oft, quite spent and weary, + Her hand will pause, her head decline; + That labour seems so hard and dreary, + On which no ray of hope may shine. + + Thus the pale blight of time and sorrow + Will shade with grey her soft, dark hair; + Then comes the day that knows no morrow, + And death succeeds to long despair. + + So speaks experience, sage and hoary; + I see it plainly, know it well, + Like one who, having read a story, + Each incident therein can tell. + + Touch not that ring; 'twas his, the sire + Of that forsaken child; + And nought his relics can inspire + Save memories, sin-defiled. + + I, who sat by his wife's death-bed, + I, who his daughter loved, + Could almost curse the guilty dead, + For woes the guiltless proved. + + And heaven did curse--they found him laid, + When crime for wrath was rife, + Cold--with the suicidal blade + Clutched in his desperate gripe. + + 'Twas near that long deserted hut, + Which in the wood decays, + Death's axe, self-wielded, struck his root, + And lopped his desperate days. + + You know the spot, where three black trees, + Lift up their branches fell, + And moaning, ceaseless as the seas, + Still seem, in every passing breeze, + The deed of blood to tell. + + They named him mad, and laid his bones + Where holier ashes lie; + Yet doubt not that his spirit groans + In hell's eternity. + + But, lo! night, closing o'er the earth, + Infects our thoughts with gloom; + Come, let us strive to rally mirth + Where glows a clear and tranquil hearth + In some more cheerful room. + + + + +THE WIFE'S WILL. + + Sit still--a word--a breath may break + (As light airs stir a sleeping lake) + The glassy calm that soothes my woes-- + The sweet, the deep, the full repose. + O leave me not! for ever be + Thus, more than life itself to me! + + Yes, close beside thee let me kneel-- + Give me thy hand, that I may feel + The friend so true--so tried--so dear, + My heart's own chosen--indeed is near; + And check me not--this hour divine + Belongs to me--is fully mine. + + 'Tis thy own hearth thou sitt'st beside, + After long absence--wandering wide; + 'Tis thy own wife reads in thine eyes + A promise clear of stormless skies; + For faith and true love light the rays + Which shine responsive to her gaze. + + Ay,--well that single tear may fall; + Ten thousand might mine eyes recall, + Which from their lids ran blinding fast, + In hours of grief, yet scarcely past; + Well mayst thou speak of love to me, + For, oh! most truly--I love thee! + + Yet smile--for we are happy now. + Whence, then, that sadness on thy brow? + What sayst thou?" We muse once again, + Ere long, be severed by the main!" + I knew not this--I deemed no more + Thy step would err from Britain's shore. + + "Duty commands!" 'Tis true--'tis just; + Thy slightest word I wholly trust, + Nor by request, nor faintest sigh, + Would I to turn thy purpose try; + But, William, hear my solemn vow-- + Hear and confirm!--with thee I go. + + "Distance and suffering," didst thou say? + "Danger by night, and toil by day?" + Oh, idle words and vain are these; + Hear me! I cross with thee the seas. + Such risk as thou must meet and dare, + I--thy true wife--will duly share. + + Passive, at home, I will not pine; + Thy toils, thy perils shall be mine; + Grant this--and be hereafter paid + By a warm heart's devoted aid: + 'Tis granted--with that yielding kiss, + Entered my soul unmingled bliss. + + Thanks, William, thanks! thy love has joy, + Pure, undefiled with base alloy; + 'Tis not a passion, false and blind, + Inspires, enchains, absorbs my mind; + Worthy, I feel, art thou to be + Loved with my perfect energy. + + This evening now shall sweetly flow, + Lit by our clear fire's happy glow; + And parting's peace-embittering fear, + Is warned our hearts to come not near; + For fate admits my soul's decree, + In bliss or bale--to go with thee! + + + THE WOOD. + + But two miles more, and then we rest! + Well, there is still an hour of day, + And long the brightness of the West + Will light us on our devious way; + Sit then, awhile, here in this wood-- + So total is the solitude, + We safely may delay. + + These massive roots afford a seat, + Which seems for weary travellers made. + There rest. The air is soft and sweet + In this sequestered forest glade, + And there are scents of flowers around, + The evening dew draws from the ground; + How soothingly they spread! + + Yes; I was tired, but not at heart; + No--that beats full of sweet content, + For now I have my natural part + Of action with adventure blent; + Cast forth on the wide world with thee, + And all my once waste energy + To weighty purpose bent. + + Yet--sayst thou, spies around us roam, + Our aims are termed conspiracy? + Haply, no more our English home + An anchorage for us may be? + That there is risk our mutual blood + May redden in some lonely wood + The knife of treachery? + + Sayst thou, that where we lodge each night, + In each lone farm, or lonelier hall + Of Norman Peer--ere morning light + Suspicion must as duly fall, + As day returns--such vigilance + Presides and watches over France, + Such rigour governs all? + + I fear not, William; dost thou fear? + So that the knife does not divide, + It may be ever hovering near: + I could not tremble at thy side, + And strenuous love--like mine for thee-- + Is buckler strong 'gainst treachery, + And turns its stab aside. + + I am resolved that thou shalt learn + To trust my strength as I trust thine; + I am resolved our souls shall burn + With equal, steady, mingling shine; + Part of the field is conquered now, + Our lives in the same channel flow, + Along the self-same line; + + And while no groaning storm is heard, + Thou seem'st content it should be so, + But soon as comes a warning word + Of danger--straight thine anxious brow + Bends over me a mournful shade, + As doubting if my powers are made + To ford the floods of woe. + + Know, then it is my spirit swells, + And drinks, with eager joy, the air + Of freedom--where at last it dwells, + Chartered, a common task to share + With thee, and then it stirs alert, + And pants to learn what menaced hurt + Demands for thee its care. + + Remember, I have crossed the deep, + And stood with thee on deck, to gaze + On waves that rose in threatening heap, + While stagnant lay a heavy haze, + Dimly confusing sea with sky, + And baffling, even, the pilot's eye, + Intent to thread the maze-- + + Of rocks, on Bretagne's dangerous coast, + And find a way to steer our band + To the one point obscure, which lost, + Flung us, as victims, on the strand;-- + All, elsewhere, gleamed the Gallic sword, + And not a wherry could be moored + Along the guarded land. + + I feared not then--I fear not now; + The interest of each stirring scene + Wakes a new sense, a welcome glow, + In every nerve and bounding vein; + Alike on turbid Channel sea, + Or in still wood of Normandy, + I feel as born again. + + The rain descended that wild morn + When, anchoring in the cove at last, + Our band, all weary and forlorn + Ashore, like wave-worn sailors, cast-- + Sought for a sheltering roof in vain, + And scarce could scanty food obtain + To break their morning fast. + + Thou didst thy crust with me divide, + Thou didst thy cloak around me fold; + And, sitting silent by thy side, + I ate the bread in peace untold: + Given kindly from thy hand, 'twas sweet + As costly fare or princely treat + On royal plate of gold. + + Sharp blew the sleet upon my face, + And, rising wild, the gusty wind + Drove on those thundering waves apace, + Our crew so late had left behind; + But, spite of frozen shower and storm, + So close to thee, my heart beat warm, + And tranquil slept my mind. + + So now--nor foot-sore nor opprest + With walking all this August day, + I taste a heaven in this brief rest, + This gipsy-halt beside the way. + England's wild flowers are fair to view, + Like balm is England's summer dew + Like gold her sunset ray. + + But the white violets, growing here, + Are sweeter than I yet have seen, + And ne'er did dew so pure and clear + Distil on forest mosses green, + As now, called forth by summer heat, + Perfumes our cool and fresh retreat-- + These fragrant limes between. + + That sunset! Look beneath the boughs, + Over the copse--beyond the hills; + How soft, yet deep and warm it glows, + And heaven with rich suffusion fills; + With hues where still the opal's tint, + Its gleam of prisoned fire is blent, + Where flame through azure thrills! + + Depart we now--for fast will fade + That solemn splendour of decline, + And deep must be the after-shade + As stars alone to-night will shine; + No moon is destined--pale--to gaze + On such a day's vast Phoenix blaze, + A day in fires decayed! + + There--hand-in-hand we tread again + The mazes of this varying wood, + And soon, amid a cultured plain, + Girt in with fertile solitude, + We shall our resting-place descry, + Marked by one roof-tree, towering high + Above a farmstead rude. + + Refreshed, erelong, with rustic fare, + We'll seek a couch of dreamless ease; + Courage will guard thy heart from fear, + And Love give mine divinest peace: + To-morrow brings more dangerous toil, + And through its conflict and turmoil + We'll pass, as God shall please. + + [The preceding composition refers, doubtless, to the scenes + acted in France during the last year of the Consulate.] + + + + +FRANCES. + + She will not sleep, for fear of dreams, + But, rising, quits her restless bed, + And walks where some beclouded beams + Of moonlight through the hall are shed. + + Obedient to the goad of grief, + Her steps, now fast, now lingering slow, + In varying motion seek relief + From the Eumenides of woe. + + Wringing her hands, at intervals-- + But long as mute as phantom dim-- + She glides along the dusky walls, + Under the black oak rafters grim. + + The close air of the grated tower + Stifles a heart that scarce can beat, + And, though so late and lone the hour, + Forth pass her wandering, faltering feet; + + And on the pavement spread before + The long front of the mansion grey, + Her steps imprint the night-frost hoar, + Which pale on grass and granite lay. + + Not long she stayed where misty moon + And shimmering stars could on her look, + But through the garden archway soon + Her strange and gloomy path she took. + + Some firs, coeval with the tower, + Their straight black boughs stretched o'er her head; + Unseen, beneath this sable bower, + Rustled her dress and rapid tread. + + There was an alcove in that shade, + Screening a rustic seat and stand; + Weary she sat her down, and laid + Her hot brow on her burning hand. + + To solitude and to the night, + Some words she now, in murmurs, said; + And trickling through her fingers white, + Some tears of misery she shed. + + "God help me in my grievous need, + God help me in my inward pain; + Which cannot ask for pity's meed, + Which has no licence to complain, + + "Which must be borne; yet who can bear, + Hours long, days long, a constant weight-- + The yoke of absolute despair, + A suffering wholly desolate? + + "Who can for ever crush the heart, + Restrain its throbbing, curb its life? + Dissemble truth with ceaseless art, + With outward calm mask inward strife?" + + She waited--as for some reply; + The still and cloudy night gave none; + Ere long, with deep-drawn, trembling sigh, + Her heavy plaint again begun. + + "Unloved--I love; unwept--I weep; + Grief I restrain--hope I repress: + Vain is this anguish--fixed and deep; + Vainer, desires and dreams of bliss. + + "My love awakes no love again, + My tears collect, and fall unfelt; + My sorrow touches none with pain, + My humble hopes to nothing melt. + + "For me the universe is dumb, + Stone-deaf, and blank, and wholly blind; + Life I must bound, existence sum + In the strait limits of one mind; + + "That mind my own. Oh! narrow cell; + Dark--imageless--a living tomb! + There must I sleep, there wake and dwell + Content, with palsy, pain, and gloom." + + Again she paused; a moan of pain, + A stifled sob, alone was heard; + Long silence followed--then again + Her voice the stagnant midnight stirred. + + "Must it be so? Is this my fate? + Can I nor struggle, nor contend? + And am I doomed for years to wait, + Watching death's lingering axe descend? + + "And when it falls, and when I die, + What follows? Vacant nothingness? + The blank of lost identity? + Erasure both of pain and bliss? + + "I've heard of heaven--I would believe; + For if this earth indeed be all, + Who longest lives may deepest grieve; + Most blest, whom sorrows soonest call. + + "Oh! leaving disappointment here, + Will man find hope on yonder coast? + Hope, which, on earth, shines never clear, + And oft in clouds is wholly lost. + + "Will he hope's source of light behold, + Fruition's spring, where doubts expire, + And drink, in waves of living gold, + Contentment, full, for long desire? + + "Will he find bliss, which here he dreamed? + Rest, which was weariness on earth? + Knowledge, which, if o'er life it beamed, + Served but to prove it void of worth? + + "Will he find love without lust's leaven, + Love fearless, tearless, perfect, pure, + To all with equal bounty given; + In all, unfeigned, unfailing, sure? + + "Will he, from penal sufferings free, + Released from shroud and wormy clod, + All calm and glorious, rise and see + Creation's Sire--Existence' God? + + "Then, glancing back on Time's brief woes, + Will he behold them, fading, fly; + Swept from Eternity's repose, + Like sullying cloud from pure blue sky? + + "If so, endure, my weary frame; + And when thy anguish strikes too deep, + And when all troubled burns life's flame, + Think of the quiet, final sleep; + + "Think of the glorious waking-hour, + Which will not dawn on grief and tears, + But on a ransomed spirit's power, + Certain, and free from mortal fears. + + "Seek now thy couch, and lie till morn, + Then from thy chamber, calm, descend, + With mind nor tossed, nor anguish-torn, + But tranquil, fixed, to wait the end. + + "And when thy opening eyes shall see + Mementos, on the chamber wall, + Of one who has forgotten thee, + Shed not the tear of acrid gall. + + "The tear which, welling from the heart, + Burns where its drop corrosive falls, + And makes each nerve, in torture, start, + At feelings it too well recalls: + + "When the sweet hope of being loved + Threw Eden sunshine on life's way: + When every sense and feeling proved + Expectancy of brightest day. + + "When the hand trembled to receive + A thrilling clasp, which seemed so near, + And the heart ventured to believe + Another heart esteemed it dear. + + "When words, half love, all tenderness, + Were hourly heard, as hourly spoken, + When the long, sunny days of bliss + Only by moonlight nights were broken. + + "Till, drop by drop, the cup of joy + Filled full, with purple light was glowing, + And Faith, which watched it, sparkling high + Still never dreamt the overflowing. + + "It fell not with a sudden crashing, + It poured not out like open sluice; + No, sparkling still, and redly flashing, + Drained, drop by drop, the generous juice. + + "I saw it sink, and strove to taste it, + My eager lips approached the brim; + The movement only seemed to waste it; + It sank to dregs, all harsh and dim. + + "These I have drunk, and they for ever + Have poisoned life and love for me; + A draught from Sodom's lake could never + More fiery, salt, and bitter, be. + + "Oh! Love was all a thin illusion + Joy, but the desert's flying stream; + And glancing back on long delusion, + My memory grasps a hollow dream. + + "Yet whence that wondrous change of feeling, + I never knew, and cannot learn; + Nor why my lover's eye, congealing, + Grew cold and clouded, proud and stern. + + "Nor wherefore, friendship's forms forgetting, + He careless left, and cool withdrew; + Nor spoke of grief, nor fond regretting, + Nor ev'n one glance of comfort threw. + + "And neither word nor token sending, + Of kindness, since the parting day, + His course, for distant regions bending, + Went, self-contained and calm, away. + + "Oh, bitter, blighting, keen sensation, + Which will not weaken, cannot die, + Hasten thy work of desolation, + And let my tortured spirit fly! + + "Vain as the passing gale, my crying; + Though lightning-struck, I must live on; + I know, at heart, there is no dying + Of love, and ruined hope, alone. + + "Still strong and young, and warm with vigour, + Though scathed, I long shall greenly grow; + And many a storm of wildest rigour + Shall yet break o'er my shivered bough. + + "Rebellious now to blank inertion, + My unused strength demands a task; + Travel, and toil, and full exertion, + Are the last, only boon I ask. + + "Whence, then, this vain and barren dreaming + Of death, and dubious life to come? + I see a nearer beacon gleaming + Over dejection's sea of gloom. + + "The very wildness of my sorrow + Tells me I yet have innate force; + My track of life has been too narrow, + Effort shall trace a broader course. + + "The world is not in yonder tower, + Earth is not prisoned in that room, + 'Mid whose dark panels, hour by hour, + I've sat, the slave and prey of gloom. + + "One feeling--turned to utter anguish, + Is not my being's only aim; + When, lorn and loveless, life will languish, + But courage can revive the flame. + + "He, when he left me, went a roving + To sunny climes, beyond the sea; + And I, the weight of woe removing, + Am free and fetterless as he. + + "New scenes, new language, skies less clouded, + May once more wake the wish to live; + Strange, foreign towns, astir, and crowded, + New pictures to the mind may give. + + "New forms and faces, passing ever, + May hide the one I still retain, + Defined, and fixed, and fading never, + Stamped deep on vision, heart, and brain. + + "And we might meet--time may have changed him; + Chance may reveal the mystery, + The secret influence which estranged him; + Love may restore him yet to me. + + "False thought--false hope--in scorn be banished! + I am not loved--nor loved have been; + Recall not, then, the dreams scarce vanished; + Traitors! mislead me not again! + + "To words like yours I bid defiance, + 'Tis such my mental wreck have made; + Of God alone, and self-reliance, + I ask for solace--hope for aid. + + "Morn comes--and ere meridian glory + O'er these, my natal woods, shall smile, + Both lonely wood and mansion hoary + I'll leave behind, full many a mile." + + + + +GILBERT. + + I. THE GARDEN. + + Above the city hung the moon, + Right o'er a plot of ground + Where flowers and orchard-trees were fenced + With lofty walls around: + 'Twas Gilbert's garden--there to-night + Awhile he walked alone; + And, tired with sedentary toil, + Mused where the moonlight shone. + + This garden, in a city-heart, + Lay still as houseless wild, + Though many-windowed mansion fronts + Were round it; closely piled; + But thick their walls, and those within + Lived lives by noise unstirred; + Like wafting of an angel's wing, + Time's flight by them was heard. + + Some soft piano-notes alone + Were sweet as faintly given, + Where ladies, doubtless, cheered the hearth + With song that winter-even. + The city's many-mingled sounds + Rose like the hum of ocean; + They rather lulled the heart than roused + Its pulse to faster motion. + + Gilbert has paced the single walk + An hour, yet is not weary; + And, though it be a winter night + He feels nor cold nor dreary. + The prime of life is in his veins, + And sends his blood fast flowing, + And Fancy's fervour warms the thoughts + Now in his bosom glowing. + + Those thoughts recur to early love, + Or what he love would name, + Though haply Gilbert's secret deeds + Might other title claim. + Such theme not oft his mind absorbs, + He to the world clings fast, + And too much for the present lives, + To linger o'er the past. + + But now the evening's deep repose + Has glided to his soul; + That moonlight falls on Memory, + And shows her fading scroll. + One name appears in every line + The gentle rays shine o'er, + And still he smiles and still repeats + That one name--Elinor. + + There is no sorrow in his smile, + No kindness in his tone; + The triumph of a selfish heart + Speaks coldly there alone; + He says: "She loved me more than life; + And truly it was sweet + To see so fair a woman kneel, + In bondage, at my feet. + + "There was a sort of quiet bliss + To be so deeply loved, + To gaze on trembling eagerness + And sit myself unmoved. + And when it pleased my pride to grant + At last some rare caress, + To feel the fever of that hand + My fingers deigned to press. + + "'Twas sweet to see her strive to hide + What every glance revealed; + Endowed, the while, with despot-might + Her destiny to wield. + I knew myself no perfect man, + Nor, as she deemed, divine; + I knew that I was glorious--but + By her reflected shine; + + "Her youth, her native energy, + Her powers new-born and fresh, + 'Twas these with Godhead sanctified + My sensual frame of flesh. + Yet, like a god did I descend + At last, to meet her love; + And, like a god, I then withdrew + To my own heaven above. + + "And never more could she invoke + My presence to her sphere; + No prayer, no plaint, no cry of hers + Could win my awful ear. + I knew her blinded constancy + Would ne'er my deeds betray, + And, calm in conscience, whole in heart. + I went my tranquil way. + + "Yet, sometimes, I still feel a wish, + The fond and flattering pain + Of passion's anguish to create + In her young breast again. + Bright was the lustre of her eyes, + When they caught fire from mine; + If I had power--this very hour, + Again I'd light their shine. + + "But where she is, or how she lives, + I have no clue to know; + I've heard she long my absence pined, + And left her home in woe. + But busied, then, in gathering gold, + As I am busied now, + I could not turn from such pursuit, + To weep a broken vow. + + "Nor could I give to fatal risk + The fame I ever prized; + Even now, I fear, that precious fame + Is too much compromised." + An inward trouble dims his eye, + Some riddle he would solve; + Some method to unloose a knot, + His anxious thoughts revolve. + + He, pensive, leans against a tree, + A leafy evergreen, + The boughs, the moonlight, intercept, + And hide him like a screen + He starts--the tree shakes with his tremor, + Yet nothing near him pass'd; + He hurries up the garden alley, + In strangely sudden haste. + + With shaking hand, he lifts the latchet, + Steps o'er the threshold stone; + The heavy door slips from his fingers-- + It shuts, and he is gone. + What touched, transfixed, appalled, his soul?-- + A nervous thought, no more; + 'Twill sink like stone in placid pool, + And calm close smoothly o'er. + + + II. THE PARLOUR. + + Warm is the parlour atmosphere, + Serene the lamp's soft light; + The vivid embers, red and clear, + Proclaim a frosty night. + Books, varied, on the table lie, + Three children o'er them bend, + And all, with curious, eager eye, + The turning leaf attend. + + Picture and tale alternately + Their simple hearts delight, + And interest deep, and tempered glee, + Illume their aspects bright. + The parents, from their fireside place, + Behold that pleasant scene, + And joy is on the mother's face, + Pride in the father's mien. + + As Gilbert sees his blooming wife, + Beholds his children fair, + No thought has he of transient strife, + Or past, though piercing fear. + The voice of happy infancy + Lisps sweetly in his ear, + His wife, with pleased and peaceful eye, + Sits, kindly smiling, near. + + The fire glows on her silken dress, + And shows its ample grace, + And warmly tints each hazel tress, + Curled soft around her face. + The beauty that in youth he wooed, + Is beauty still, unfaded; + The brow of ever placid mood + No churlish grief has shaded. + + Prosperity, in Gilbert's home, + Abides the guest of years; + There Want or Discord never come, + And seldom Toil or Tears. + The carpets bear the peaceful print + Of comfort's velvet tread, + And golden gleams, from plenty sent, + In every nook are shed. + + The very silken spaniel seems + Of quiet ease to tell, + As near its mistress' feet it dreams, + Sunk in a cushion's swell + And smiles seem native to the eyes + Of those sweet children, three; + They have but looked on tranquil skies, + And know not misery. + + Alas! that Misery should come + In such an hour as this; + Why could she not so calm a home + A little longer miss? + But she is now within the door, + Her steps advancing glide; + Her sullen shade has crossed the floor, + She stands at Gilbert's side. + + She lays her hand upon his heart, + It bounds with agony; + His fireside chair shakes with the start + That shook the garden tree. + His wife towards the children looks, + She does not mark his mien; + The children, bending o'er their books, + His terror have not seen. + + In his own home, by his own hearth, + He sits in solitude, + And circled round with light and mirth, + Cold horror chills his blood. + His mind would hold with desperate clutch + The scene that round him lies; + No--changed, as by some wizard's touch, + The present prospect flies. + + A tumult vague--a viewless strife + His futile struggles crush; + 'Twixt him and his an unknown life + And unknown feelings rush. + He sees--but scarce can language paint + The tissue fancy weaves; + For words oft give but echo faint + Of thoughts the mind conceives. + + Noise, tumult strange, and darkness dim, + Efface both light and quiet; + No shape is in those shadows grim, + No voice in that wild riot. + Sustain'd and strong, a wondrous blast + Above and round him blows; + A greenish gloom, dense overcast, + Each moment denser grows. + + He nothing knows--nor clearly sees, + Resistance checks his breath, + The high, impetuous, ceaseless breeze + Blows on him cold as death. + And still the undulating gloom + Mocks sight with formless motion: + Was such sensation Jonah's doom, + Gulphed in the depths of ocean? + + Streaking the air, the nameless vision, + Fast-driven, deep-sounding, flows; + Oh! whence its source, and what its mission? + How will its terrors close? + Long-sweeping, rushing, vast and void, + The universe it swallows; + And still the dark, devouring tide + A typhoon tempest follows. + + More slow it rolls; its furious race + Sinks to its solemn gliding; + The stunning roar, the wind's wild chase, + To stillness are subsiding. + And, slowly borne along, a form + The shapeless chaos varies; + Poised in the eddy to the storm, + Before the eye it tarries. + + A woman drowned--sunk in the deep, + On a long wave reclining; + The circling waters' crystal sweep, + Like glass, her shape enshrining. + Her pale dead face, to Gilbert turned, + Seems as in sleep reposing; + A feeble light, now first discerned, + The features well disclosing. + + No effort from the haunted air + The ghastly scene could banish, + That hovering wave, arrested there, + Rolled--throbbed--but did not vanish. + If Gilbert upward turned his gaze, + He saw the ocean-shadow; + If he looked down, the endless seas + Lay green as summer meadow. + + And straight before, the pale corpse lay, + Upborne by air or billow, + So near, he could have touched the spray + That churned around its pillow. + The hollow anguish of the face + Had moved a fiend to sorrow; + Not death's fixed calm could rase the trace + Of suffering's deep-worn furrow. + + All moved; a strong returning blast, + The mass of waters raising, + Bore wave and passive carcase past, + While Gilbert yet was gazing. + Deep in her isle-conceiving womb, + It seemed the ocean thundered, + And soon, by realms of rushing gloom, + Were seer and phantom sundered. + + Then swept some timbers from a wreck. + On following surges riding; + Then sea-weed, in the turbid rack + Uptorn, went slowly gliding. + The horrid shade, by slow degrees, + A beam of light defeated, + And then the roar of raving seas, + Fast, far, and faint, retreated. + + And all was gone--gone like a mist, + Corse, billows, tempest, wreck; + Three children close to Gilbert prest + And clung around his neck. + Good night! good night! the prattlers said, + And kissed their father's cheek; + 'Twas now the hour their quiet bed + And placid rest to seek. + + The mother with her offspring goes + To hear their evening prayer; + She nought of Gilbert's vision knows, + And nought of his despair. + Yet, pitying God, abridge the time + Of anguish, now his fate! + Though, haply, great has been his crime: + Thy mercy, too, is great. + + Gilbert, at length, uplifts his head, + Bent for some moments low, + And there is neither grief nor dread + Upon his subtle brow. + For well can he his feelings task, + And well his looks command; + His features well his heart can mask, + With smiles and smoothness bland. + + Gilbert has reasoned with his mind-- + He says 'twas all a dream; + He strives his inward sight to blind + Against truth's inward beam. + He pitied not that shadowy thing, + When it was flesh and blood; + Nor now can pity's balmy spring + Refresh his arid mood. + + "And if that dream has spoken truth," + Thus musingly he says; + "If Elinor be dead, in sooth, + Such chance the shock repays: + A net was woven round my feet, + I scarce could further go; + Ere shame had forced a fast retreat, + Dishonour brought me low. + + "Conceal her, then, deep, silent sea, + Give her a secret grave! + She sleeps in peace, and I am free, + No longer terror's slave: + And homage still, from all the world, + Shall greet my spotless name, + Since surges break and waves are curled + Above its threatened shame." + + + III. THE WELCOME HOME. + + Above the city hangs the moon, + Some clouds are boding rain; + Gilbert, erewhile on journey gone, + To-night comes home again. + Ten years have passed above his head, + Each year has brought him gain; + His prosperous life has smoothly sped, + Without or tear or stain. + + 'Tis somewhat late--the city clocks + Twelve deep vibrations toll, + As Gilbert at the portal knocks, + Which is his journey's goal. + The street is still and desolate, + The moon hid by a cloud; + Gilbert, impatient, will not wait,-- + His second knock peals loud. + + The clocks are hushed--there's not a light + In any window nigh, + And not a single planet bright + Looks from the clouded sky; + The air is raw, the rain descends, + A bitter north-wind blows; + His cloak the traveller scarce defends-- + Will not the door unclose? + + He knocks the third time, and the last + His summons now they hear, + Within, a footstep, hurrying fast, + Is heard approaching near. + The bolt is drawn, the clanking chain + Falls to the floor of stone; + And Gilbert to his heart will strain + His wife and children soon. + + The hand that lifts the latchet, holds + A candle to his sight, + And Gilbert, on the step, beholds + A woman, clad in white. + Lo! water from her dripping dress + Runs on the streaming floor; + From every dark and clinging tress + The drops incessant pour. + + There's none but her to welcome him; + She holds the candle high, + And, motionless in form and limb, + Stands cold and silent nigh; + There's sand and sea-weed on her robe, + Her hollow eyes are blind; + No pulse in such a frame can throb, + No life is there defined. + + Gilbert turned ashy-white, but still + His lips vouchsafed no cry; + He spurred his strength and master-will + To pass the figure by,-- + But, moving slow, it faced him straight, + It would not flinch nor quail: + Then first did Gilbert's strength abate, + His stony firmness quail. + + He sank upon his knees and prayed + The shape stood rigid there; + He called aloud for human aid, + No human aid was near. + An accent strange did thus repeat + Heaven's stern but just decree: + "The measure thou to her didst mete, + To thee shall measured be!" + + Gilbert sprang from his bended knees, + By the pale spectre pushed, + And, wild as one whom demons seize, + Up the hall-staircase rushed; + Entered his chamber--near the bed + Sheathed steel and fire-arms hung-- + Impelled by maniac purpose dread + He chose those stores among. + + Across his throat a keen-edged knife + With vigorous hand he drew; + The wound was wide--his outraged life + Rushed rash and redly through. + And thus died, by a shameful death, + A wise and worldly man, + Who never drew but selfish breath + Since first his life began. + + + + +LIFE. + + Life, believe, is not a dream + So dark as sages say; + Oft a little morning rain + Foretells a pleasant day. + Sometimes there are clouds of gloom, + But these are transient all; + If the shower will make the roses bloom, + O why lament its fall? + Rapidly, merrily, + Life's sunny hours flit by, + Gratefully, cheerily + Enjoy them as they fly! + What though Death at times steps in, + And calls our Best away? + What though sorrow seems to win, + O'er hope, a heavy sway? + Yet Hope again elastic springs, + Unconquered, though she fell; + Still buoyant are her golden wings, + Still strong to bear us well. + Manfully, fearlessly, + The day of trial bear, + For gloriously, victoriously, + Can courage quell despair! + + + + +THE LETTER. + + What is she writing? Watch her now, + How fast her fingers move! + How eagerly her youthful brow + Is bent in thought above! + Her long curls, drooping, shade the light, + She puts them quick aside, + Nor knows that band of crystals bright, + Her hasty touch untied. + It slips adown her silken dress, + Falls glittering at her feet; + Unmarked it falls, for she no less + Pursues her labour sweet. + + The very loveliest hour that shines, + Is in that deep blue sky; + The golden sun of June declines, + It has not caught her eye. + The cheerful lawn, and unclosed gate, + The white road, far away, + In vain for her light footsteps wait, + She comes not forth to-day. + There is an open door of glass + Close by that lady's chair, + From thence, to slopes of messy grass, + Descends a marble stair. + + Tall plants of bright and spicy bloom + Around the threshold grow; + Their leaves and blossoms shade the room + From that sun's deepening glow. + Why does she not a moment glance + Between the clustering flowers, + And mark in heaven the radiant dance + Of evening's rosy hours? + O look again! Still fixed her eye, + Unsmiling, earnest, still, + And fast her pen and fingers fly, + Urged by her eager will. + + Her soul is in th'absorbing task; + To whom, then, doth she write? + Nay, watch her still more closely, ask + Her own eyes' serious light; + Where do they turn, as now her pen + Hangs o'er th'unfinished line? + Whence fell the tearful gleam that then + Did in their dark spheres shine? + The summer-parlour looks so dark, + When from that sky you turn, + And from th'expanse of that green park, + You scarce may aught discern. + + Yet, o'er the piles of porcelain rare, + O'er flower-stand, couch, and vase, + Sloped, as if leaning on the air, + One picture meets the gaze. + 'Tis there she turns; you may not see + Distinct, what form defines + The clouded mass of mystery + Yon broad gold frame confines. + But look again; inured to shade + Your eyes now faintly trace + A stalwart form, a massive head, + A firm, determined face. + + Black Spanish locks, a sunburnt cheek + A brow high, broad, and white, + Where every furrow seems to speak + Of mind and moral might. + Is that her god? I cannot tell; + Her eye a moment met + Th'impending picture, then it fell + Darkened and dimmed and wet. + A moment more, her task is done, + And sealed the letter lies; + And now, towards the setting sun + She turns her tearful eyes. + + Those tears flow over, wonder not, + For by the inscription see + In what a strange and distant spot + Her heart of hearts must be! + Three seas and many a league of land + That letter must pass o'er, + Ere read by him to whose loved hand + 'Tis sent from England's shore. + Remote colonial wilds detain + Her husband, loved though stern; + She, 'mid that smiling English scene, + Weeps for his wished return. + + + + +REGRET. + + Long ago I wished to leave + "The house where I was born;" + Long ago I used to grieve, + My home seemed so forlorn. + In other years, its silent rooms + Were filled with haunting fears; + Now, their very memory comes + O'ercharged with tender tears. + + Life and marriage I have known. + Things once deemed so bright; + Now, how utterly is flown + Every ray of light! + 'Mid the unknown sea, of life + I no blest isle have found; + At last, through all its wild wave's strife, + My bark is homeward bound. + + Farewell, dark and rolling deep! + Farewell, foreign shore! + Open, in unclouded sweep, + Thou glorious realm before! + Yet, though I had safely pass'd + That weary, vexed main, + One loved voice, through surge and blast + Could call me back again. + + Though the soul's bright morning rose + O'er Paradise for me, + William! even from Heaven's repose + I'd turn, invoked by thee! + Storm nor surge should e'er arrest + My soul, exalting then: + All my heaven was once thy breast, + Would it were mine again! + + + + +PRESENTIMENT. + + "Sister, you've sat there all the day, + Come to the hearth awhile; + The wind so wildly sweeps away, + The clouds so darkly pile. + That open book has lain, unread, + For hours upon your knee; + You've never smiled nor turned your head; + What can you, sister, see?" + + "Come hither, Jane, look down the field; + How dense a mist creeps on! + The path, the hedge, are both concealed, + Ev'n the white gate is gone + No landscape through the fog I trace, + No hill with pastures green; + All featureless is Nature's face. + All masked in clouds her mien. + + "Scarce is the rustle of a leaf + Heard in our garden now; + The year grows old, its days wax brief, + The tresses leave its brow. + The rain drives fast before the wind, + The sky is blank and grey; + O Jane, what sadness fills the mind + On such a dreary day!" + + "You think too much, my sister dear; + You sit too long alone; + What though November days be drear? + Full soon will they be gone. + I've swept the hearth, and placed your chair. + Come, Emma, sit by me; + Our own fireside is never drear, + Though late and wintry wane the year, + Though rough the night may be." + + "The peaceful glow of our fireside + Imparts no peace to me: + My thoughts would rather wander wide + Than rest, dear Jane, with thee. + I'm on a distant journey bound, + And if, about my heart, + Too closely kindred ties were bound, + 'Twould break when forced to part. + + "'Soon will November days be o'er:' + Well have you spoken, Jane: + My own forebodings tell me more-- + For me, I know by presage sure, + They'll ne'er return again. + Ere long, nor sun nor storm to me + Will bring or joy or gloom; + They reach not that Eternity + Which soon will be my home." + + Eight months are gone, the summer sun + Sets in a glorious sky; + A quiet field, all green and lone, + Receives its rosy dye. + Jane sits upon a shaded stile, + Alone she sits there now; + Her head rests on her hand the while, + And thought o'ercasts her brow. + + She's thinking of one winter's day, + A few short months ago, + Then Emma's bier was borne away + O'er wastes of frozen snow. + She's thinking how that drifted snow + Dissolved in spring's first gleam, + And how her sister's memory now + Fades, even as fades a dream. + + The snow will whiten earth again, + But Emma comes no more; + She left, 'mid winter's sleet and rain, + This world for Heaven's far shore. + On Beulah's hills she wanders now, + On Eden's tranquil plain; + To her shall Jane hereafter go, + She ne'er shall come to Jane! + + + + +THE TEACHER'S MONOLOGUE. + + The room is quiet, thoughts alone + People its mute tranquillity; + The yoke put off, the long task done,-- + I am, as it is bliss to be, + Still and untroubled. Now, I see, + For the first time, how soft the day + O'er waveless water, stirless tree, + Silent and sunny, wings its way. + Now, as I watch that distant hill, + So faint, so blue, so far removed, + Sweet dreams of home my heart may fill, + That home where I am known and loved: + It lies beyond; yon azure brow + Parts me from all Earth holds for me; + And, morn and eve, my yearnings flow + Thitherward tending, changelessly. + My happiest hours, aye! all the time, + I love to keep in memory, + Lapsed among moors, ere life's first prime + Decayed to dark anxiety. + + Sometimes, I think a narrow heart + Makes me thus mourn those far away, + And keeps my love so far apart + From friends and friendships of to-day; + Sometimes, I think 'tis but a dream + I treasure up so jealously, + All the sweet thoughts I live on seem + To vanish into vacancy: + And then, this strange, coarse world around + Seems all that's palpable and true; + And every sight, and every sound, + Combines my spirit to subdue + To aching grief, so void and lone + Is Life and Earth--so worse than vain, + The hopes that, in my own heart sown, + And cherished by such sun and rain + As Joy and transient Sorrow shed, + Have ripened to a harvest there: + Alas! methinks I hear it said, + "Thy golden sheaves are empty air." + + All fades away; my very home + I think will soon be desolate; + I hear, at times, a warning come + Of bitter partings at its gate; + And, if I should return and see + The hearth-fire quenched, the vacant chair; + And hear it whispered mournfully, + That farewells have been spoken there, + What shall I do, and whither turn? + Where look for peace? When cease to mourn? + + + 'Tis not the air I wished to play, + The strain I wished to sing; + My wilful spirit slipped away + And struck another string. + I neither wanted smile nor tear, + Bright joy nor bitter woe, + But just a song that sweet and clear, + Though haply sad, might flow. + + A quiet song, to solace me + When sleep refused to come; + A strain to chase despondency, + When sorrowful for home. + In vain I try; I cannot sing; + All feels so cold and dead; + No wild distress, no gushing spring + Of tears in anguish shed; + + But all the impatient gloom of one + Who waits a distant day, + When, some great task of suffering done, + Repose shall toil repay. + For youth departs, and pleasure flies, + And life consumes away, + And youth's rejoicing ardour dies + Beneath this drear delay; + + And Patience, weary with her yoke, + Is yielding to despair, + And Health's elastic spring is broke + Beneath the strain of care. + Life will be gone ere I have lived; + Where now is Life's first prime? + I've worked and studied, longed and grieved, + Through all that rosy time. + + To toil, to think, to long, to grieve,-- + Is such my future fate? + The morn was dreary, must the eve + Be also desolate? + Well, such a life at least makes Death + A welcome, wished-for friend; + Then, aid me, Reason, Patience, Faith, + To suffer to the end! + + + + +PASSION. + + Some have won a wild delight, + By daring wilder sorrow; + Could I gain thy love to-night, + I'd hazard death to-morrow. + + Could the battle-struggle earn + One kind glance from thine eye, + How this withering heart would burn, + The heady fight to try! + + Welcome nights of broken sleep, + And days of carnage cold, + Could I deem that thou wouldst weep + To hear my perils told. + + Tell me, if with wandering bands + I roam full far away, + Wilt thou to those distant lands + In spirit ever stray? + + Wild, long, a trumpet sounds afar; + Bid me--bid me go + Where Seik and Briton meet in war, + On Indian Sutlej's flow. + + Blood has dyed the Sutlej's waves + With scarlet stain, I know; + Indus' borders yawn with graves, + Yet, command me go! + + Though rank and high the holocaust + Of nations steams to heaven, + Glad I'd join the death-doomed host, + Were but the mandate given. + + Passion's strength should nerve my arm, + Its ardour stir my life, + Till human force to that dread charm + Should yield and sink in wild alarm, + Like trees to tempest-strife. + + If, hot from war, I seek thy love, + Darest thou turn aside? + Darest thou then my fire reprove, + By scorn, and maddening pride? + + No--my will shall yet control + Thy will, so high and free, + And love shall tame that haughty soul-- + Yes--tenderest love for me. + + I'll read my triumph in thine eyes, + Behold, and prove the change; + Then leave, perchance, my noble prize, + Once more in arms to range. + + I'd die when all the foam is up, + The bright wine sparkling high; + Nor wait till in the exhausted cup + Life's dull dregs only lie. + + Then Love thus crowned with sweet reward, + Hope blest with fulness large, + I'd mount the saddle, draw the sword, + And perish in the charge! + + + + +PREFERENCE. + + Not in scorn do I reprove thee, + Not in pride thy vows I waive, + But, believe, I could not love thee, + Wert thou prince, and I a slave. + These, then, are thine oaths of passion? + This, thy tenderness for me? + Judged, even, by thine own confession, + Thou art steeped in perfidy. + Having vanquished, thou wouldst leave me! + Thus I read thee long ago; + Therefore, dared I not deceive thee, + Even with friendship's gentle show. + Therefore, with impassive coldness + Have I ever met thy gaze; + Though, full oft, with daring boldness, + Thou thine eyes to mine didst raise. + Why that smile? Thou now art deeming + This my coldness all untrue,-- + But a mask of frozen seeming, + Hiding secret fires from view. + Touch my hand, thou self-deceiver; + Nay-be calm, for I am so: + Does it burn? Does my lip quiver? + Has mine eye a troubled glow? + Canst thou call a moment's colour + To my forehead--to my cheek? + Canst thou tinge their tranquil pallor + With one flattering, feverish streak? + Am I marble? What! no woman + Could so calm before thee stand? + Nothing living, sentient, human, + Could so coldly take thy hand? + Yes--a sister might, a mother: + My good-will is sisterly: + Dream not, then, I strive to smother + Fires that inly burn for thee. + Rave not, rage not, wrath is fruitless, + Fury cannot change my mind; + I but deem the feeling rootless + Which so whirls in passion's wind. + Can I love? Oh, deeply--truly-- + Warmly--fondly--but not thee; + And my love is answered duly, + With an equal energy. + Wouldst thou see thy rival? Hasten, + Draw that curtain soft aside, + Look where yon thick branches chasten + Noon, with shades of eventide. + In that glade, where foliage blending + Forms a green arch overhead, + Sits thy rival, thoughtful bending + O'er a stand with papers spread-- + Motionless, his fingers plying + That untired, unresting pen; + Time and tide unnoticed flying, + There he sits--the first of men! + Man of conscience--man of reason; + Stern, perchance, but ever just; + Foe to falsehood, wrong, and treason, + Honour's shield, and virtue's trust! + Worker, thinker, firm defender + Of Heaven's truth--man's liberty; + Soul of iron--proof to slander, + Rock where founders tyranny. + Fame he seeks not--but full surely + She will seek him, in his home; + This I know, and wait securely + For the atoning hour to come. + To that man my faith is given, + Therefore, soldier, cease to sue; + While God reigns in earth and heaven, + I to him will still be true! + + + + +EVENING SOLACE. + + The human heart has hidden treasures, + In secret kept, in silence sealed;-- + The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, + Whose charms were broken if revealed. + And days may pass in gay confusion, + And nights in rosy riot fly, + While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion, + The memory of the Past may die. + + But there are hours of lonely musing, + Such as in evening silence come, + When, soft as birds their pinions closing, + The heart's best feelings gather home. + Then in our souls there seems to languish + A tender grief that is not woe; + And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguish + Now cause but some mild tears to flow. + + And feelings, once as strong as passions, + Float softly back--a faded dream; + Our own sharp griefs and wild sensations, + The tale of others' sufferings seem. + Oh! when the heart is freshly bleeding, + How longs it for that time to be, + When, through the mist of years receding, + Its woes but live in reverie! + + And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer, + On evening shade and loneliness; + And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer, + Feel no untold and strange distress-- + Only a deeper impulse given + By lonely hour and darkened room, + To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven + Seeking a life and world to come. + + + + +STANZAS. + + If thou be in a lonely place, + If one hour's calm be thine, + As Evening bends her placid face + O'er this sweet day's decline; + If all the earth and all the heaven + Now look serene to thee, + As o'er them shuts the summer even, + One moment--think of me! + + Pause, in the lane, returning home; + 'Tis dusk, it will be still: + Pause near the elm, a sacred gloom + Its breezeless boughs will fill. + Look at that soft and golden light, + High in the unclouded sky; + Watch the last bird's belated flight, + As it flits silent by. + + Hark! for a sound upon the wind, + A step, a voice, a sigh; + If all be still, then yield thy mind, + Unchecked, to memory. + If thy love were like mine, how blest + That twilight hour would seem, + When, back from the regretted Past, + Returned our early dream! + + If thy love were like mine, how wild + Thy longings, even to pain, + For sunset soft, and moonlight mild, + To bring that hour again! + But oft, when in thine arms I lay, + I've seen thy dark eyes shine, + And deeply felt their changeful ray + Spoke other love than mine. + + My love is almost anguish now, + It beats so strong and true; + 'Twere rapture, could I deem that thou + Such anguish ever knew. + I have been but thy transient flower, + Thou wert my god divine; + Till checked by death's congealing power, + This heart must throb for thine. + + And well my dying hour were blest, + If life's expiring breath + Should pass, as thy lips gently prest + My forehead cold in death; + And sound my sleep would be, and sweet, + Beneath the churchyard tree, + If sometimes in thy heart should beat + One pulse, still true to me. + + + + +PARTING. + + There's no use in weeping, + Though we are condemned to part: + There's such a thing as keeping + A remembrance in one's heart: + + There's such a thing as dwelling + On the thought ourselves have nursed, + And with scorn and courage telling + The world to do its worst. + + We'll not let its follies grieve us, + We'll just take them as they come; + And then every day will leave us + A merry laugh for home. + + When we've left each friend and brother, + When we're parted wide and far, + We will think of one another, + As even better than we are. + + Every glorious sight above us, + Every pleasant sight beneath, + We'll connect with those that love us, + Whom we truly love till death! + + In the evening, when we're sitting + By the fire, perchance alone, + Then shall heart with warm heart meeting, + Give responsive tone for tone. + + We can burst the bonds which chain us, + Which cold human hands have wrought, + And where none shall dare restrain us + We can meet again, in thought. + + So there's no use in weeping, + Bear a cheerful spirit still; + Never doubt that Fate is keeping + Future good for present ill! + + + + +APOSTASY. + + This last denial of my faith, + Thou, solemn Priest, hast heard; + And, though upon my bed of death, + I call not back a word. + Point not to thy Madonna, Priest,-- + Thy sightless saint of stone; + She cannot, from this burning breast, + Wring one repentant moan. + + Thou say'st, that when a sinless child, + I duly bent the knee, + And prayed to what in marble smiled + Cold, lifeless, mute, on me. + I did. But listen! Children spring + Full soon to riper youth; + And, for Love's vow and Wedlock's ring, + I sold my early truth. + + 'Twas not a grey, bare head, like thine, + Bent o'er me, when I said, + "That land and God and Faith are mine, + For which thy fathers bled." + I see thee not, my eyes are dim; + But well I hear thee say, + "O daughter cease to think of him + Who led thy soul astray. + + "Between you lies both space and time; + Let leagues and years prevail + To turn thee from the path of crime, + Back to the Church's pale." + And, did I need that, thou shouldst tell + What mighty barriers rise + To part me from that dungeon-cell, + Where my loved Walter lies? + + And, did I need that thou shouldst taunt + My dying hour at last, + By bidding this worn spirit pant + No more for what is past? + Priest--MUST I cease to think of him? + How hollow rings that word! + Can time, can tears, can distance dim + The memory of my lord? + + I said before, I saw not thee, + Because, an hour agone, + Over my eyeballs, heavily, + The lids fell down like stone. + But still my spirit's inward sight + Beholds his image beam + As fixed, as clear, as burning bright, + As some red planet's gleam. + + Talk not of thy Last Sacrament, + Tell not thy beads for me; + Both rite and prayer are vainly spent, + As dews upon the sea. + Speak not one word of Heaven above, + Rave not of Hell's alarms; + Give me but back my Walter's love, + Restore me to his arms! + + Then will the bliss of Heaven be won; + Then will Hell shrink away, + As I have seen night's terrors shun + The conquering steps of day. + 'Tis my religion thus to love, + My creed thus fixed to be; + Not Death shall shake, nor Priestcraft break + My rock-like constancy! + + Now go; for at the door there waits + Another stranger guest; + He calls--I come--my pulse scarce beats, + My heart fails in my breast. + Again that voice--how far away, + How dreary sounds that tone! + And I, methinks, am gone astray + In trackless wastes and lone. + + I fain would rest a little while: + Where can I find a stay, + Till dawn upon the hills shall smile, + And show some trodden way? + "I come! I come!" in haste she said, + "'Twas Walter's voice I heard!" + Then up she sprang--but fell back, dead, + His name her latest word. + + + + +WINTER STORES. + + We take from life one little share, + And say that this shall be + A space, redeemed from toil and care, + From tears and sadness free. + + And, haply, Death unstrings his bow, + And Sorrow stands apart, + And, for a little while, we know + The sunshine of the heart. + + Existence seems a summer eve, + Warm, soft, and full of peace, + Our free, unfettered feelings give + The soul its full release. + + A moment, then, it takes the power + To call up thoughts that throw + Around that charmed and hallowed hour, + This life's divinest glow. + + But Time, though viewlessly it flies, + And slowly, will not stay; + Alike, through clear and clouded skies, + It cleaves its silent way. + + Alike the bitter cup of grief, + Alike the draught of bliss, + Its progress leaves but moment brief + For baffled lips to kiss + + The sparkling draught is dried away, + The hour of rest is gone, + And urgent voices, round us, say, + "Ho, lingerer, hasten on!" + + And has the soul, then, only gained, + From this brief time of ease, + A moment's rest, when overstrained, + One hurried glimpse of peace? + + No; while the sun shone kindly o'er us, + And flowers bloomed round our feet,-- + While many a bud of joy before us + Unclosed its petals sweet,-- + + An unseen work within was plying; + Like honey-seeking bee, + From flower to flower, unwearied, flying, + Laboured one faculty,-- + + Thoughtful for Winter's future sorrow, + Its gloom and scarcity; + Prescient to-day, of want to-morrow, + Toiled quiet Memory. + + 'Tis she that from each transient pleasure + Extracts a lasting good; + 'Tis she that finds, in summer, treasure + To serve for winter's food. + + And when Youth's summer day is vanished, + And Age brings Winter's stress, + Her stores, with hoarded sweets replenished, + Life's evening hours will bless. + + + + +THE MISSIONARY. + + Plough, vessel, plough the British main, + Seek the free ocean's wider plain; + Leave English scenes and English skies, + Unbind, dissever English ties; + Bear me to climes remote and strange, + Where altered life, fast-following change, + Hot action, never-ceasing toil, + Shall stir, turn, dig, the spirit's soil; + Fresh roots shall plant, fresh seed shall sow, + Till a new garden there shall grow, + Cleared of the weeds that fill it now,-- + Mere human love, mere selfish yearning, + Which, cherished, would arrest me yet. + I grasp the plough, there's no returning, + Let me, then, struggle to forget. + + But England's shores are yet in view, + And England's skies of tender blue + Are arched above her guardian sea. + I cannot yet Remembrance flee; + I must again, then, firmly face + That task of anguish, to retrace. + Wedded to home--I home forsake; + Fearful of change--I changes make; + Too fond of ease--I plunge in toil; + Lover of calm--I seek turmoil: + Nature and hostile Destiny + Stir in my heart a conflict wild; + And long and fierce the war will be + Ere duty both has reconciled. + + What other tie yet holds me fast + To the divorced, abandoned past? + Smouldering, on my heart's altar lies + The fire of some great sacrifice, + Not yet half quenched. The sacred steel + But lately struck my carnal will, + My life-long hope, first joy and last, + What I loved well, and clung to fast; + What I wished wildly to retain, + What I renounced with soul-felt pain; + What--when I saw it, axe-struck, perish-- + Left me no joy on earth to cherish; + A man bereft--yet sternly now + I do confirm that Jephtha vow: + Shall I retract, or fear, or flee? + Did Christ, when rose the fatal tree + Before him, on Mount Calvary? + 'Twas a long fight, hard fought, but won, + And what I did was justly done. + + Yet, Helen! from thy love I turned, + When my heart most for thy heart burned; + I dared thy tears, I dared thy scorn-- + Easier the death-pang had been borne. + Helen, thou mightst not go with me, + I could not--dared not stay for thee! + I heard, afar, in bonds complain + The savage from beyond the main; + And that wild sound rose o'er the cry + Wrung out by passion's agony; + And even when, with the bitterest tear + I ever shed, mine eyes were dim, + Still, with the spirit's vision clear, + I saw Hell's empire, vast and grim, + Spread on each Indian river's shore, + Each realm of Asia covering o'er. + There, the weak, trampled by the strong, + Live but to suffer--hopeless die; + There pagan-priests, whose creed is Wrong, + Extortion, Lust, and Cruelty, + Crush our lost race--and brimming fill + The bitter cup of human ill; + And I--who have the healing creed, + The faith benign of Mary's Son, + Shall I behold my brother's need, + And, selfishly, to aid him shun? + I--who upon my mother's knees, + In childhood, read Christ's written word, + Received his legacy of peace, + His holy rule of action heard; + I--in whose heart the sacred sense + Of Jesus' love was early felt; + Of his pure, full benevolence, + His pitying tenderness for guilt; + His shepherd-care for wandering sheep, + For all weak, sorrowing, trembling things, + His mercy vast, his passion deep + Of anguish for man's sufferings; + I--schooled from childhood in such lore-- + Dared I draw back or hesitate, + When called to heal the sickness sore + Of those far off and desolate? + Dark, in the realm and shades of Death, + Nations, and tribes, and empires lie, + But even to them the light of Faith + Is breaking on their sombre sky: + And be it mine to bid them raise + Their drooped heads to the kindling scene, + And know and hail the sunrise blaze + Which heralds Christ the Nazarene. + I know how Hell the veil will spread + Over their brows and filmy eyes, + And earthward crush the lifted head + That would look up and seek the skies; + I know what war the fiend will wage + Against that soldier of the Cross, + Who comes to dare his demon rage, + And work his kingdom shame and loss. + Yes, hard and terrible the toil + Of him who steps on foreign soil, + Resolved to plant the gospel vine, + Where tyrants rule and slaves repine; + Eager to lift Religion's light + Where thickest shades of mental night + Screen the false god and fiendish rite; + Reckless that missionary blood, + Shed in wild wilderness and wood, + Has left, upon the unblest air, + The man's deep moan--the martyr's prayer. + I know my lot--I only ask + Power to fulfil the glorious task; + Willing the spirit, may the flesh + Strength for the day receive afresh. + May burning sun or deadly wind + Prevail not o'er an earnest mind; + May torments strange or direst death + Nor trample truth, nor baffle faith. + Though such blood-drops should fall from me + As fell in old Gethsemane, + Welcome the anguish, so it gave + More strength to work--more skill to save. + And, oh! if brief must be my time, + If hostile hand or fatal clime + Cut short my course--still o'er my grave, + Lord, may thy harvest whitening wave. + So I the culture may begin, + Let others thrust the sickle in; + If but the seed will faster grow, + May my blood water what I sow! + + What! have I ever trembling stood, + And feared to give to God that blood? + What! has the coward love of life + Made me shrink from the righteous strife? + Have human passions, human fears + Severed me from those Pioneers + Whose task is to march first, and trace + Paths for the progress of our race? + It has been so; but grant me, Lord, + Now to stand steadfast by Thy word! + Protected by salvation's helm, + Shielded by faith, with truth begirt, + To smile when trials seek to whelm + And stand mid testing fires unhurt! + Hurling hell's strongest bulwarks down, + Even when the last pang thrills my breast, + When death bestows the martyr's crown, + And calls me into Jesus' rest. + Then for my ultimate reward-- + Then for the world-rejoicing word-- + The voice from Father--Spirit--Son: + "Servant of God, well hast thou done!" + + + ***** + + + + +POEMS BY ELLIS BELL + + + + +FAITH AND DESPONDENCY. + + "The winter wind is loud and wild, + Come close to me, my darling child; + Forsake thy books, and mateless play; + And, while the night is gathering gray, + We'll talk its pensive hours away;-- + + "Ierne, round our sheltered hall + November's gusts unheeded call; + Not one faint breath can enter here + Enough to wave my daughter's hair, + And I am glad to watch the blaze + Glance from her eyes, with mimic rays; + To feel her cheek, so softly pressed, + In happy quiet on my breast, + + "But, yet, even this tranquillity + Brings bitter, restless thoughts to me; + And, in the red fire's cheerful glow, + I think of deep glens, blocked with snow; + I dream of moor, and misty hill, + Where evening closes dark and chill; + For, lone, among the mountains cold, + Lie those that I have loved of old. + And my heart aches, in hopeless pain, + Exhausted with repinings vain, + That I shall greet them ne'er again!" + + "Father, in early infancy, + When you were far beyond the sea, + Such thoughts were tyrants over me! + I often sat, for hours together, + Through the long nights of angry weather, + Raised on my pillow, to descry + The dim moon struggling in the sky; + Or, with strained ear, to catch the shock, + Of rock with wave, and wave with rock; + So would I fearful vigil keep, + And, all for listening, never sleep. + But this world's life has much to dread, + Not so, my Father, with the dead. + + "Oh! not for them, should we despair, + The grave is drear, but they are not there; + Their dust is mingled with the sod, + Their happy souls are gone to God! + You told me this, and yet you sigh, + And murmur that your friends must die. + Ah! my dear father, tell me why? + For, if your former words were true, + How useless would such sorrow be; + As wise, to mourn the seed which grew + Unnoticed on its parent tree, + Because it fell in fertile earth, + And sprang up to a glorious birth-- + Struck deep its root, and lifted high + Its green boughs in the breezy sky. + + "But, I'll not fear, I will not weep + For those whose bodies rest in sleep,-- + I know there is a blessed shore, + Opening its ports for me and mine; + And, gazing Time's wide waters o'er, + I weary for that land divine, + Where we were born, where you and I + Shall meet our dearest, when we die; + From suffering and corruption free, + Restored into the Deity." + + "Well hast thou spoken, sweet, trustful child! + And wiser than thy sire; + And worldly tempests, raging wild, + Shall strengthen thy desire-- + Thy fervent hope, through storm and foam, + Through wind and ocean's roar, + To reach, at last, the eternal home, + The steadfast, changeless shore!" + + + + +STARS. + + Ah! why, because the dazzling sun + Restored our Earth to joy, + Have you departed, every one, + And left a desert sky? + + All through the night, your glorious eyes + Were gazing down in mine, + And, with a full heart's thankful sighs, + I blessed that watch divine. + + I was at peace, and drank your beams + As they were life to me; + And revelled in my changeful dreams, + Like petrel on the sea. + + Thought followed thought, star followed star, + Through boundless regions, on; + While one sweet influence, near and far, + Thrilled through, and proved us one! + + Why did the morning dawn to break + So great, so pure, a spell; + And scorch with fire the tranquil cheek, + Where your cool radiance fell? + + Blood-red, he rose, and, arrow-straight, + His fierce beams struck my brow; + The soul of nature sprang, elate, + But mine sank sad and low! + + My lids closed down, yet through their veil + I saw him, blazing, still, + And steep in gold the misty dale, + And flash upon the hill. + + I turned me to the pillow, then, + To call back night, and see + Your worlds of solemn light, again, + Throb with my heart, and me! + + It would not do--the pillow glowed, + And glowed both roof and floor; + And birds sang loudly in the wood, + And fresh winds shook the door; + + The curtains waved, the wakened flies + Were murmuring round my room, + Imprisoned there, till I should rise, + And give them leave to roam. + + Oh, stars, and dreams, and gentle night; + Oh, night and stars, return! + And hide me from the hostile light + That does not warm, but burn; + + That drains the blood of suffering men; + Drinks tears, instead of dew; + Let me sleep through his blinding reign, + And only wake with you! + + + + +THE PHILOSOPHER. + + Enough of thought, philosopher! + Too long hast thou been dreaming + Unlightened, in this chamber drear, + While summer's sun is beaming! + Space-sweeping soul, what sad refrain + Concludes thy musings once again? + + "Oh, for the time when I shall sleep + Without identity. + And never care how rain may steep, + Or snow may cover me! + No promised heaven, these wild desires + Could all, or half fulfil; + No threatened hell, with quenchless fires, + Subdue this quenchless will!" + + "So said I, and still say the same; + Still, to my death, will say-- + Three gods, within this little frame, + Are warring night; and day; + Heaven could not hold them all, and yet + They all are held in me; + And must be mine till I forget + My present entity! + Oh, for the time, when in my breast + Their struggles will be o'er! + Oh, for the day, when I shall rest, + And never suffer more!" + + "I saw a spirit, standing, man, + Where thou dost stand--an hour ago, + And round his feet three rivers ran, + Of equal depth, and equal flow-- + A golden stream--and one like blood; + And one like sapphire seemed to be; + But, where they joined their triple flood + It tumbled in an inky sea + The spirit sent his dazzling gaze + Down through that ocean's gloomy night; + Then, kindling all, with sudden blaze, + The glad deep sparkled wide and bright-- + White as the sun, far, far more fair + Than its divided sources were!" + + "And even for that spirit, seer, + I've watched and sought my life-time long; + Sought him in heaven, hell, earth, and air, + An endless search, and always wrong. + Had I but seen his glorious eye + ONCE light the clouds that wilder me; + I ne'er had raised this coward cry + To cease to think, and cease to be; + + I ne'er had called oblivion blest, + Nor stretching eager hands to death, + Implored to change for senseless rest + This sentient soul, this living breath-- + Oh, let me die--that power and will + Their cruel strife may close; + And conquered good, and conquering ill + Be lost in one repose!" + + + + +REMEMBRANCE. + + Cold in the earth--and the deep snow piled above thee, + Far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave! + Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee, + Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave? + + Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover + Over the mountains, on that northern shore, + Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover + Thy noble heart for ever, ever more? + + Cold in the earth--and fifteen wild Decembers, + From those brown hills, have melted into spring: + Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers + After such years of change and suffering! + + Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, + While the world's tide is bearing me along; + Other desires and other hopes beset me, + Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong! + + No later light has lightened up my heaven, + No second morn has ever shone for me; + All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given, + All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee. + + But, when the days of golden dreams had perished, + And even Despair was powerless to destroy; + Then did I learn how existence could be cherished, + Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy. + + Then did I check the tears of useless passion-- + Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine; + Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten + Down to that tomb already more than mine. + + And, even yet, I dare not let it languish, + Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain; + Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, + How could I seek the empty world again? + + + + +A DEATH-SCENE. + + "O day! he cannot die + When thou so fair art shining! + O Sun, in such a glorious sky, + So tranquilly declining; + + He cannot leave thee now, + While fresh west winds are blowing, + And all around his youthful brow + Thy cheerful light is glowing! + + Edward, awake, awake-- + The golden evening gleams + Warm and bright on Arden's lake-- + Arouse thee from thy dreams! + + Beside thee, on my knee, + My dearest friend, I pray + That thou, to cross the eternal sea, + Wouldst yet one hour delay: + + I hear its billows roar-- + I see them foaming high; + But no glimpse of a further shore + Has blest my straining eye. + + Believe not what they urge + Of Eden isles beyond; + Turn back, from that tempestuous surge, + To thy own native land. + + It is not death, but pain + That struggles in thy breast-- + Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again; + I cannot let thee rest!" + + One long look, that sore reproved me + For the woe I could not bear-- + One mute look of suffering moved me + To repent my useless prayer: + + And, with sudden check, the heaving + Of distraction passed away; + Not a sign of further grieving + Stirred my soul that awful day. + + Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting; + Sunk to peace the twilight breeze: + Summer dews fell softly, wetting + Glen, and glade, and silent trees. + + Then his eyes began to weary, + Weighed beneath a mortal sleep; + And their orbs grew strangely dreary, + Clouded, even as they would weep. + + But they wept not, but they changed not, + Never moved, and never closed; + Troubled still, and still they ranged not-- + Wandered not, nor yet reposed! + + So I knew that he was dying-- + Stooped, and raised his languid head; + Felt no breath, and heard no sighing, + So I knew that he was dead. + + + + +SONG. + + The linnet in the rocky dells, + The moor-lark in the air, + The bee among the heather bells + That hide my lady fair: + + The wild deer browse above her breast; + The wild birds raise their brood; + And they, her smiles of love caressed, + Have left her solitude! + + I ween, that when the grave's dark wall + Did first her form retain, + They thought their hearts could ne'er recall + The light of joy again. + + They thought the tide of grief would flow + Unchecked through future years; + But where is all their anguish now, + And where are all their tears? + + Well, let them fight for honour's breath, + Or pleasure's shade pursue-- + The dweller in the land of death + Is changed and careless too. + + And, if their eyes should watch and weep + Till sorrow's source were dry, + She would not, in her tranquil sleep, + Return a single sigh! + + Blow, west-wind, by the lonely mound, + And murmur, summer-streams-- + There is no need of other sound + To soothe my lady's dreams. + + + + +ANTICIPATION. + + How beautiful the earth is still, + To thee--how full of happiness? + How little fraught with real ill, + Or unreal phantoms of distress! + How spring can bring thee glory, yet, + And summer win thee to forget + December's sullen time! + Why dost thou hold the treasure fast, + Of youth's delight, when youth is past, + And thou art near thy prime? + + When those who were thy own compeers, + Equals in fortune and in years, + Have seen their morning melt in tears, + To clouded, smileless day; + Blest, had they died untried and young, + Before their hearts went wandering wrong,-- + Poor slaves, subdued by passions strong, + A weak and helpless prey! + + 'Because, I hoped while they enjoyed, + And by fulfilment, hope destroyed; + As children hope, with trustful breast, + I waited bliss--and cherished rest. + A thoughtful spirit taught me soon, + That we must long till life be done; + That every phase of earthly joy + Must always fade, and always cloy: + + 'This I foresaw--and would not chase + The fleeting treacheries; + But, with firm foot and tranquil face, + Held backward from that tempting race, + Gazed o'er the sands the waves efface, + To the enduring seas-- + There cast my anchor of desire + Deep in unknown eternity; + Nor ever let my spirit tire, + With looking for WHAT IS TO BE! + + "It is hope's spell that glorifies, + Like youth, to my maturer eyes, + All Nature's million mysteries, + The fearful and the fair-- + Hope soothes me in the griefs I know; + She lulls my pain for others' woe, + And makes me strong to undergo + What I am born to bear. + + Glad comforter! will I not brave, + Unawed, the darkness of the grave? + Nay, smile to hear Death's billows rave-- + Sustained, my guide, by thee? + The more unjust seems present fate, + The more my spirit swells elate, + Strong, in thy strength, to anticipate + Rewarding destiny! + + + + +THE PRISONER. + + A FRAGMENT. + + In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray, + Reckless of the lives wasting there away; + "Draw the ponderous bars! open, Warder stern!" + He dared not say me nay--the hinges harshly turn. + + "Our guests are darkly lodged," I whisper'd, gazing through + The vault, whose grated eye showed heaven more gray than blue; + (This was when glad Spring laughed in awaking pride;) + "Ay, darkly lodged enough!" returned my sullen guide. + + Then, God forgive my youth; forgive my careless tongue; + I scoffed, as the chill chains on the damp flagstones rung: + "Confined in triple walls, art thou so much to fear, + That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?" + + The captive raised her face; it was as soft and mild + As sculptured marble saint, or slumbering unwean'd child; + It was so soft and mild, it was so sweet and fair, + Pain could not trace a line, nor grief a shadow there! + + The captive raised her hand and pressed it to her brow; + "I have been struck," she said, "and I am suffering now; + Yet these are little worth, your bolts and irons strong; + And, were they forged in steel, they could not hold me long." + + Hoarse laughed the jailor grim: "Shall I be won to hear; + Dost think, fond, dreaming wretch, that I shall grant thy prayer? + Or, better still, wilt melt my master's heart with groans? + Ah! sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones. + + "My master's voice is low, his aspect bland and kind, + But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind; + And I am rough and rude, yet not more rough to see + Than is the hidden ghost that has its home in me." + + About her lips there played a smile of almost scorn, + "My friend," she gently said, "you have not heard me mourn; + When you my kindred's lives, MY lost life, can restore, + Then may I weep and sue,--but never, friend, before! + + "Still, let my tyrants know, I am not doomed to wear + Year after year in gloom, and desolate despair; + A messenger of Hope comes every night to me, + And offers for short life, eternal liberty. + + "He comes with western winds, with evening's wandering airs, + With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars. + Winds take a pensive tone, and stars a tender fire, + And visions rise, and change, that kill me with desire. + + "Desire for nothing known in my maturer years, + When Joy grew mad with awe, at counting future tears. + When, if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm, + I knew not whence they came, from sun or thunder-storm. + + "But, first, a hush of peace--a soundless calm descends; + The struggle of distress, and fierce impatience ends; + Mute music soothes my breast--unuttered harmony, + That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me. + + "Then dawns the Invisible; the Unseen its truth reveals; + My outward sense is gone, my inward essence feels: + Its wings are almost free--its home, its harbour found, + Measuring the gulph, it stoops and dares the final bound, + + "Oh I dreadful is the check--intense the agony-- + When the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see; + When the pulse begins to throb, the brain to think again; + The soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain. + + "Yet I would lose no sting, would wish no torture less; + The more that anguish racks, the earlier it will bless; + And robed in fires of hell, or bright with heavenly shine, + If it but herald death, the vision is divine!" + + She ceased to speak, and we, unanswering, turned to go-- + We had no further power to work the captive woe: + Her cheek, her gleaming eye, declared that man had given + A sentence, unapproved, and overruled by Heaven. + + + + +HOPE. + + Hope Was but a timid friend; + She sat without the grated den, + Watching how my fate would tend, + Even as selfish-hearted men. + + She was cruel in her fear; + Through the bars one dreary day, + I looked out to see her there, + And she turned her face away! + + Like a false guard, false watch keeping, + Still, in strife, she whispered peace; + She would sing while I was weeping; + If I listened, she would cease. + + False she was, and unrelenting; + When my last joys strewed the ground, + Even Sorrow saw, repenting, + Those sad relics scattered round; + + Hope, whose whisper would have given + Balm to all my frenzied pain, + Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven, + Went, and ne'er returned again! + + + + +A DAY DREAM. + + On a sunny brae alone I lay + One summer afternoon; + It was the marriage-time of May, + With her young lover, June. + + From her mother's heart seemed loath to part + That queen of bridal charms, + But her father smiled on the fairest child + He ever held in his arms. + + The trees did wave their plumy crests, + The glad birds carolled clear; + And I, of all the wedding guests, + Was only sullen there! + + There was not one, but wished to shun + My aspect void of cheer; + The very gray rocks, looking on, + Asked, "What do you here?" + + And I could utter no reply; + In sooth, I did not know + Why I had brought a clouded eye + To greet the general glow. + + So, resting on a heathy bank, + I took my heart to me; + And we together sadly sank + Into a reverie. + + We thought, "When winter comes again, + Where will these bright things be? + All vanished, like a vision vain, + An unreal mockery! + + "The birds that now so blithely sing, + Through deserts, frozen dry, + Poor spectres of the perished spring, + In famished troops will fly. + + "And why should we be glad at all? + The leaf is hardly green, + Before a token of its fall + Is on the surface seen!" + + Now, whether it were really so, + I never could be sure; + But as in fit of peevish woe, + I stretched me on the moor, + + A thousand thousand gleaming fires + Seemed kindling in the air; + A thousand thousand silvery lyres + Resounded far and near: + + Methought, the very breath I breathed + Was full of sparks divine, + And all my heather-couch was wreathed + By that celestial shine! + + And, while the wide earth echoing rung + To that strange minstrelsy + The little glittering spirits sung, + Or seemed to sing, to me: + + "O mortal! mortal! let them die; + Let time and tears destroy, + That we may overflow the sky + With universal joy! + + "Let grief distract the sufferer's breast, + And night obscure his way; + They hasten him to endless rest, + And everlasting day. + + "To thee the world is like a tomb, + A desert's naked shore; + To us, in unimagined bloom, + It brightens more and more! + + "And, could we lift the veil, and give + One brief glimpse to thine eye, + Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live, + BECAUSE they live to die." + + The music ceased; the noonday dream, + Like dream of night, withdrew; + But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem + Her fond creation true. + + + + +TO IMAGINATION. + + When weary with the long day's care, + And earthly change from pain to pain, + And lost, and ready to despair, + Thy kind voice calls me back again: + Oh, my true friend! I am not lone, + While then canst speak with such a tone! + + So hopeless is the world without; + The world within I doubly prize; + Thy world, where guile, and hate, and doubt, + And cold suspicion never rise; + Where thou, and I, and Liberty, + Have undisputed sovereignty. + + What matters it, that all around + Danger, and guilt, and darkness lie, + If but within our bosom's bound + We hold a bright, untroubled sky, + Warm with ten thousand mingled rays + Of suns that know no winter days? + + Reason, indeed, may oft complain + For Nature's sad reality, + And tell the suffering heart how vain + Its cherished dreams must always be; + And Truth may rudely trample down + The flowers of Fancy, newly-blown: + + But thou art ever there, to bring + The hovering vision back, and breathe + New glories o'er the blighted spring, + And call a lovelier Life from Death. + And whisper, with a voice divine, + Of real worlds, as bright as thine. + + I trust not to thy phantom bliss, + Yet, still, in evening's quiet hour, + With never-failing thankfulness, + I welcome thee, Benignant Power; + Sure solacer of human cares, + And sweeter hope, when hope despairs! + + + + +HOW CLEAR SHE SHINES. + + How clear she shines! How quietly + I lie beneath her guardian light; + While heaven and earth are whispering me, + "To morrow, wake, but dream to-night." + Yes, Fancy, come, my Fairy love! + These throbbing temples softly kiss; + And bend my lonely couch above, + And bring me rest, and bring me bliss. + + The world is going; dark world, adieu! + Grim world, conceal thee till the day; + The heart thou canst not all subdue + Must still resist, if thou delay! + + Thy love I will not, will not share; + Thy hatred only wakes a smile; + Thy griefs may wound--thy wrongs may tear, + But, oh, thy lies shall ne'er beguile! + While gazing on the stars that glow + Above me, in that stormless sea, + I long to hope that all the woe + Creation knows, is held in thee! + + And this shall be my dream to-night; + I'll think the heaven of glorious spheres + Is rolling on its course of light + In endless bliss, through endless years; + I'll think, there's not one world above, + Far as these straining eyes can see, + Where Wisdom ever laughed at Love, + Or Virtue crouched to Infamy; + + Where, writhing 'neath the strokes of Fate, + The mangled wretch was forced to smile; + To match his patience 'gainst her hate, + His heart rebellious all the while. + Where Pleasure still will lead to wrong, + And helpless Reason warn in vain; + And Truth is weak, and Treachery strong; + And Joy the surest path to Pain; + And Peace, the lethargy of Grief; + And Hope, a phantom of the soul; + And life, a labour, void and brief; + And Death, the despot of the whole! + + + + +SYMPATHY. + + There should be no despair for you + While nightly stars are burning; + While evening pours its silent dew, + And sunshine gilds the morning. + There should be no despair--though tears + May flow down like a river: + Are not the best beloved of years + Around your heart for ever? + + They weep, you weep, it must be so; + Winds sigh as you are sighing, + And winter sheds its grief in snow + Where Autumn's leaves are lying: + Yet, these revive, and from their fate + Your fate cannot be parted: + Then, journey on, if not elate, + Still, NEVER broken-hearted! + + + + +PLEAD FOR ME. + + Oh, thy bright eyes must answer now, + When Reason, with a scornful brow, + Is mocking at my overthrow! + Oh, thy sweet tongue must plead for me + And tell why I have chosen thee! + + Stern Reason is to judgment come, + Arrayed in all her forms of gloom: + Wilt thou, my advocate, be dumb? + No, radiant angel, speak and say, + Why I did cast the world away. + + Why I have persevered to shun + The common paths that others run; + And on a strange road journeyed on, + Heedless, alike of wealth and power-- + Of glory's wreath and pleasure's flower. + + These, once, indeed, seemed Beings Divine; + And they, perchance, heard vows of mine, + And saw my offerings on their shrine; + But careless gifts are seldom prized, + And MINE were worthily despised. + + So, with a ready heart, I swore + To seek their altar-stone no more; + And gave my spirit to adore + Thee, ever-present, phantom thing-- + My slave, my comrade, and my king. + + A slave, because I rule thee still; + Incline thee to my changeful will, + And make thy influence good or ill: + A comrade, for by day and night + Thou art my intimate delight,-- + + My darling pain that wounds and sears, + And wrings a blessing out from tears + By deadening me to earthly cares; + And yet, a king, though Prudence well + Have taught thy subject to rebel + + And am I wrong to worship where + Faith cannot doubt, nor hope despair, + Since my own soul can grant my prayer? + Speak, God of visions, plead for me, + And tell why I have chosen thee! + + + + +SELF-INTEROGATION, + + "The evening passes fast away. + 'Tis almost time to rest; + What thoughts has left the vanished day, + What feelings in thy breast? + + "The vanished day? It leaves a sense + Of labour hardly done; + Of little gained with vast expense-- + A sense of grief alone? + + "Time stands before the door of Death, + Upbraiding bitterly + And Conscience, with exhaustless breath, + Pours black reproach on me: + + "And though I've said that Conscience lies + And Time should Fate condemn; + Still, sad Repentance clouds my eyes, + And makes me yield to them! + + "Then art thou glad to seek repose? + Art glad to leave the sea, + And anchor all thy weary woes + In calm Eternity? + + "Nothing regrets to see thee go-- + Not one voice sobs' farewell;' + And where thy heart has suffered so, + Canst thou desire to dwell?" + + "Alas! the countless links are strong + That bind us to our clay; + The loving spirit lingers long, + And would not pass away! + + "And rest is sweet, when laurelled fame + Will crown the soldier's crest; + But a brave heart, with a tarnished name, + Would rather fight than rest. + + "Well, thou hast fought for many a year, + Hast fought thy whole life through, + Hast humbled Falsehood, trampled Fear; + What is there left to do? + + "'Tis true, this arm has hotly striven, + Has dared what few would dare; + Much have I done, and freely given, + But little learnt to bear! + + "Look on the grave where thou must sleep + Thy last, and strongest foe; + It is endurance not to weep, + If that repose seem woe. + + "The long war closing in defeat-- + Defeat serenely borne,-- + Thy midnight rest may still be sweet, + And break in glorious morn!" + + + + +DEATH. + + Death! that struck when I was most confiding. + In my certain faith of joy to be-- + Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing + From the fresh root of Eternity! + + Leaves, upon Time's branch, were growing brightly, + Full of sap, and full of silver dew; + Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly; + Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew. + + Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom; + Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride + But, within its parent's kindly bosom, + Flowed for ever Life's restoring tide. + + Little mourned I for the parted gladness, + For the vacant nest and silent song-- + Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness; + Whispering, "Winter will not linger long!" + + And, behold! with tenfold increase blessing, + Spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray; + Wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing, + Lavished glory on that second May! + + High it rose--no winged grief could sweep it; + Sin was scared to distance with its shine; + Love, and its own life, had power to keep it + From all wrong--from every blight but thine! + + Cruel Death! The young leaves droop and languish; + Evening's gentle air may still restore-- + No! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish- + Time, for me, must never blossom more! + + Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish + Where that perished sapling used to be; + Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish + That from which it sprung--Eternity. + + + + +STANZAS TO ---- + + Well, some may hate, and some may scorn, + And some may quite forget thy name; + But my sad heart must ever mourn + Thy ruined hopes, thy blighted fame! + 'Twas thus I thought, an hour ago, + Even weeping o'er that wretch's woe; + One word turned back my gushing tears, + And lit my altered eye with sneers. + Then "Bless the friendly dust," I said, + "That hides thy unlamented head! + Vain as thou wert, and weak as vain, + The slave of Falsehood, Pride, and Pain-- + My heart has nought akin to thine; + Thy soul is powerless over mine." + But these were thoughts that vanished too; + Unwise, unholy, and untrue: + Do I despise the timid deer, + Because his limbs are fleet with fear? + Or, would I mock the wolf's death-howl, + Because his form is gaunt and foul? + Or, hear with joy the leveret's cry, + Because it cannot bravely die? + No! Then above his memory + Let Pity's heart as tender be; + Say, "Earth, lie lightly on that breast, + And, kind Heaven, grant that spirit rest!" + + + + +HONOUR'S MARTYR. + + The moon is full this winter night; + The stars are clear, though few; + And every window glistens bright + With leaves of frozen dew. + + The sweet moon through your lattice gleams, + And lights your room like day; + And there you pass, in happy dreams, + The peaceful hours away! + + While I, with effort hardly quelling + The anguish in my breast, + Wander about the silent dwelling, + And cannot think of rest. + + The old clock in the gloomy hall + Ticks on, from hour to hour; + And every time its measured call + Seems lingering slow and slower: + + And, oh, how slow that keen-eyed star + Has tracked the chilly gray! + What, watching yet! how very far + The morning lies away! + + Without your chamber door I stand; + Love, are you slumbering still? + My cold heart, underneath my hand, + Has almost ceased to thrill. + + Bleak, bleak the east wind sobs and sighs, + And drowns the turret bell, + Whose sad note, undistinguished, dies + Unheard, like my farewell! + + To-morrow, Scorn will blight my name, + And Hate will trample me, + Will load me with a coward's shame-- + A traitor's perjury. + + False friends will launch their covert sneers; + True friends will wish me dead; + And I shall cause the bitterest tears + That you have ever shed. + + The dark deeds of my outlawed race + Will then like virtues shine; + And men will pardon their disgrace, + Beside the guilt of mine. + + For, who forgives the accursed crime + Of dastard treachery? + Rebellion, in its chosen time, + May Freedom's champion be; + + Revenge may stain a righteous sword, + It may be just to slay; + But, traitor, traitor,--from THAT word + All true breasts shrink away! + + Oh, I would give my heart to death, + To keep my honour fair; + Yet, I'll not give my inward faith + My honour's NAME to spare! + + Not even to keep your priceless love, + Dare I, Beloved, deceive; + This treason should the future prove, + Then, only then, believe! + + I know the path I ought to go + I follow fearlessly, + Inquiring not what deeper woe + Stern duty stores for me. + + So foes pursue, and cold allies + Mistrust me, every one: + Let me be false in others' eyes, + If faithful in my own. + + + + +STANZAS. + + I'll not weep that thou art going to leave me, + There's nothing lovely here; + And doubly will the dark world grieve me, + While thy heart suffers there. + + I'll not weep, because the summer's glory + Must always end in gloom; + And, follow out the happiest story-- + It closes with a tomb! + + And I am weary of the anguish + Increasing winters bear; + Weary to watch the spirit languish + Through years of dead despair. + + So, if a tear, when thou art dying, + Should haply fall from me, + It is but that my soul is sighing, + To go and rest with thee. + + + + +MY COMFORTER. + + Well hast thou spoken, and yet not taught + A feeling strange or new; + Thou hast but roused a latent thought, + A cloud-closed beam of sunshine brought + To gleam in open view. + + Deep down, concealed within my soul, + That light lies hid from men; + Yet glows unquenched--though shadows roll, + Its gentle ray cannot control-- + About the sullen den. + + Was I not vexed, in these gloomy ways + To walk alone so long? + Around me, wretches uttering praise, + Or howling o'er their hopeless days, + And each with Frenzy's tongue;-- + + A brotherhood of misery, + Their smiles as sad as sighs; + Whose madness daily maddened me, + Distorting into agony + The bliss before my eyes! + + So stood I, in Heaven's glorious sun, + And in the glare of Hell; + My spirit drank a mingled tone, + Of seraph's song, and demon's moan; + What my soul bore, my soul alone + Within itself may tell! + + Like a soft, air above a sea, + Tossed by the tempest's stir; + A thaw-wind, melting quietly + The snow-drift on some wintry lea; + No: what sweet thing resembles thee, + My thoughtful Comforter? + + And yet a little longer speak, + Calm this resentful mood; + And while the savage heart grows meek, + For other token do not seek, + But let the tear upon my cheek + Evince my gratitude! + + + + +THE OLD STOIC. + + Riches I hold in light esteem, + And Love I laugh to scorn; + And lust of fame was but a dream, + That vanished with the morn: + + And if I pray, the only prayer + That moves my lips for me + Is, "Leave the heart that now I bear, + And give me liberty!" + + Yes, as my swift days near their goal: + 'Tis all that I implore; + In life and death a chainless soul, + With courage to endure. + + + ***** + + + + + +POEMS BY ACTON BELL, + + + + +A REMINISCENCE. + + Yes, thou art gone! and never more + Thy sunny smile shall gladden me; + But I may pass the old church door, + And pace the floor that covers thee, + + May stand upon the cold, damp stone, + And think that, frozen, lies below + The lightest heart that I have known, + The kindest I shall ever know. + + Yet, though I cannot see thee more, + 'Tis still a comfort to have seen; + And though thy transient life is o'er, + 'Tis sweet to think that thou hast been; + + To think a soul so near divine, + Within a form so angel fair, + United to a heart like thine, + Has gladdened once our humble sphere. + + + + +THE ARBOUR. + + I'll rest me in this sheltered bower, + And look upon the clear blue sky + That smiles upon me through the trees, + Which stand so thick clustering by; + + And view their green and glossy leaves, + All glistening in the sunshine fair; + And list the rustling of their boughs, + So softly whispering through the air. + + And while my ear drinks in the sound, + My winged soul shall fly away; + Reviewing lone departed years + As one mild, beaming, autumn day; + + And soaring on to future scenes, + Like hills and woods, and valleys green, + All basking in the summer's sun, + But distant still, and dimly seen. + + Oh, list! 'tis summer's very breath + That gently shakes the rustling trees-- + But look! the snow is on the ground-- + How can I think of scenes like these? + + 'Tis but the FROST that clears the air, + And gives the sky that lovely blue; + They're smiling in a WINTER'S sun, + Those evergreens of sombre hue. + + And winter's chill is on my heart-- + How can I dream of future bliss? + How can my spirit soar away, + Confined by such a chain as this? + + + + +HOME. + + How brightly glistening in the sun + The woodland ivy plays! + While yonder beeches from their barks + Reflect his silver rays. + + That sun surveys a lovely scene + From softly smiling skies; + And wildly through unnumbered trees + The wind of winter sighs: + + Now loud, it thunders o'er my head, + And now in distance dies. + But give me back my barren hills + Where colder breezes rise; + + Where scarce the scattered, stunted trees + Can yield an answering swell, + But where a wilderness of heath + Returns the sound as well. + + For yonder garden, fair and wide, + With groves of evergreen, + Long winding walks, and borders trim, + And velvet lawns between; + + Restore to me that little spot, + With gray walls compassed round, + Where knotted grass neglected lies, + And weeds usurp the ground. + + Though all around this mansion high + Invites the foot to roam, + And though its halls are fair within-- + Oh, give me back my HOME! + + + + +VANITAS VANITATUM, OMNIA VANITAS. + + In all we do, and hear, and see, + Is restless Toil and Vanity. + While yet the rolling earth abides, + Men come and go like ocean tides; + + And ere one generation dies, + Another in its place shall rise; + THAT, sinking soon into the grave, + Others succeed, like wave on wave; + + And as they rise, they pass away. + The sun arises every day, + And hastening onward to the West, + He nightly sinks, but not to rest: + + Returning to the eastern skies, + Again to light us, he must rise. + And still the restless wind comes forth, + Now blowing keenly from the North; + + Now from the South, the East, the West, + For ever changing, ne'er at rest. + The fountains, gushing from the hills, + Supply the ever-running rills; + + The thirsty rivers drink their store, + And bear it rolling to the shore, + But still the ocean craves for more. + 'Tis endless labour everywhere! + Sound cannot satisfy the ear, + + Light cannot fill the craving eye, + Nor riches half our wants supply, + Pleasure but doubles future pain, + And joy brings sorrow in her train; + + Laughter is mad, and reckless mirth-- + What does she in this weary earth? + Should Wealth, or Fame, our Life employ, + Death comes, our labour to destroy; + + To snatch the untasted cup away, + For which we toiled so many a day. + What, then, remains for wretched man? + To use life's comforts while he can, + + Enjoy the blessings Heaven bestows, + Assist his friends, forgive his foes; + Trust God, and keep His statutes still, + Upright and firm, through good and ill; + + Thankful for all that God has given, + Fixing his firmest hopes on Heaven; + Knowing that earthly joys decay, + But hoping through the darkest day. + + + + +THE PENITENT. + + I mourn with thee, and yet rejoice + That thou shouldst sorrow so; + With angel choirs I join my voice + To bless the sinner's woe. + + Though friends and kindred turn away, + And laugh thy grief to scorn; + I hear the great Redeemer say, + "Blessed are ye that mourn." + + Hold on thy course, nor deem it strange + That earthly cords are riven: + Man may lament the wondrous change, + But "there is joy in heaven!" + + + + +MUSIC ON CHRISTMAS MORNING. + + Music I love--but never strain + Could kindle raptures so divine, + So grief assuage, so conquer pain, + And rouse this pensive heart of mine-- + As that we hear on Christmas morn, + Upon the wintry breezes borne. + + Though Darkness still her empire keep, + And hours must pass, ere morning break; + From troubled dreams, or slumbers deep, + That music KINDLY bids us wake: + It calls us, with an angel's voice, + To wake, and worship, and rejoice; + + To greet with joy the glorious morn, + Which angels welcomed long ago, + When our redeeming Lord was born, + To bring the light of Heaven below; + The Powers of Darkness to dispel, + And rescue Earth from Death and Hell. + + While listening to that sacred strain, + My raptured spirit soars on high; + I seem to hear those songs again + Resounding through the open sky, + That kindled such divine delight, + In those who watched their flocks by night. + + With them I celebrate His birth-- + Glory to God, in highest Heaven, + Good-will to men, and peace on earth, + To us a Saviour-king is given; + Our God is come to claim His own, + And Satan's power is overthrown! + + A sinless God, for sinful men, + Descends to suffer and to bleed; + Hell MUST renounce its empire then; + The price is paid, the world is freed, + And Satan's self must now confess + That Christ has earned a RIGHT to bless: + + Now holy Peace may smile from heaven, + And heavenly Truth from earth shall spring: + The captive's galling bonds are riven, + For our Redeemer is our king; + And He that gave his blood for men + Will lead us home to God again. + + + + +STANZAS. + + Oh, weep not, love! each tear that springs + In those dear eyes of thine, + To me a keener suffering brings + Than if they flowed from mine. + + And do not droop! however drear + The fate awaiting thee; + For MY sake combat pain and care, + And cherish life for me! + + I do not fear thy love will fail; + Thy faith is true, I know; + But, oh, my love! thy strength is frail + For such a life of woe. + + Were 't not for this, I well could trace + (Though banished long from thee) + Life's rugged path, and boldly face + The storms that threaten me. + + Fear not for me--I've steeled my mind + Sorrow and strife to greet; + Joy with my love I leave behind, + Care with my friends I meet. + + A mother's sad reproachful eye, + A father's scowling brow-- + But he may frown and she may sigh: + I will not break my vow! + + I love my mother, I revere + My sire, but fear not me-- + Believe that Death alone can tear + This faithful heart from thee. + + + + +IF THIS BE ALL. + + O God! if this indeed be all + That Life can show to me; + If on my aching brow may fall + No freshening dew from Thee; + + If with no brighter light than this + The lamp of hope may glow, + And I may only dream of bliss, + And wake to weary woe; + + If friendship's solace must decay, + When other joys are gone, + And love must keep so far away, + While I go wandering on,-- + + Wandering and toiling without gain, + The slave of others' will, + With constant care, and frequent pain, + Despised, forgotten still; + + Grieving to look on vice and sin, + Yet powerless to quell + The silent current from within, + The outward torrent's swell + + While all the good I would impart, + The feelings I would share, + Are driven backward to my heart, + And turned to wormwood there; + + If clouds must EVER keep from sight + The glories of the Sun, + And I must suffer Winter's blight, + Ere Summer is begun; + + If Life must be so full of care, + Then call me soon to thee; + Or give me strength enough to bear + My load of misery. + + + + +MEMORY. + + Brightly the sun of summer shone + Green fields and waving woods upon, + And soft winds wandered by; + Above, a sky of purest blue, + Around, bright flowers of loveliest hue, + Allured the gazer's eye. + + But what were all these charms to me, + When one sweet breath of memory + Came gently wafting by? + I closed my eyes against the day, + And called my willing soul away, + From earth, and air, and sky; + + That I might simply fancy there + One little flower--a primrose fair, + Just opening into sight; + As in the days of infancy, + An opening primrose seemed to me + A source of strange delight. + + Sweet Memory! ever smile on me; + Nature's chief beauties spring from thee; + Oh, still thy tribute bring + Still make the golden crocus shine + Among the flowers the most divine, + The glory of the spring. + + Still in the wallflower's fragrance dwell; + And hover round the slight bluebell, + My childhood's darling flower. + Smile on the little daisy still, + The buttercup's bright goblet fill + With all thy former power. + + For ever hang thy dreamy spell + Round mountain star and heather bell, + And do not pass away + From sparkling frost, or wreathed snow, + And whisper when the wild winds blow, + Or rippling waters play. + + Is childhood, then, so all divine? + Or Memory, is the glory thine, + That haloes thus the past? + Not ALL divine; its pangs of grief + (Although, perchance, their stay be brief) + Are bitter while they last. + + Nor is the glory all thine own, + For on our earliest joys alone + That holy light is cast. + With such a ray, no spell of thine + Can make our later pleasures shine, + Though long ago they passed. + + + + +TO COWPER. + + Sweet are thy strains, celestial Bard; + And oft, in childhood's years, + I've read them o'er and o'er again, + With floods of silent tears. + + The language of my inmost heart + I traced in every line; + MY sins, MY sorrows, hopes, and fears, + Were there-and only mine. + + All for myself the sigh would swell, + The tear of anguish start; + I little knew what wilder woe + Had filled the Poet's heart. + + I did not know the nights of gloom, + The days of misery; + The long, long years of dark despair, + That crushed and tortured thee. + + But they are gone; from earth at length + Thy gentle soul is pass'd, + And in the bosom of its God + Has found its home at last. + + It must be so, if God is love, + And answers fervent prayer; + Then surely thou shalt dwell on high, + And I may meet thee there. + + Is He the source of every good, + The spring of purity? + Then in thine hours of deepest woe, + Thy God was still with thee. + + How else, when every hope was fled, + Couldst thou so fondly cling + To holy things and help men? + And how so sweetly sing, + + Of things that God alone could teach? + And whence that purity, + That hatred of all sinful ways-- + That gentle charity? + + Are THESE the symptoms of a heart + Of heavenly grace bereft-- + For ever banished from its God, + To Satan's fury left? + + Yet, should thy darkest fears be true, + If Heaven be so severe, + That such a soul as thine is lost,-- + Oh! how shall I appear? + + + + +THE DOUBTER'S PRAYER. + + Eternal Power, of earth and air! + Unseen, yet seen in all around, + Remote, but dwelling everywhere, + Though silent, heard in every sound; + + If e'er thine ear in mercy bent, + When wretched mortals cried to Thee, + And if, indeed, Thy Son was sent, + To save lost sinners such as me: + + Then hear me now, while kneeling here, + I lift to thee my heart and eye, + And all my soul ascends in prayer, + OH, GIVE ME--GIVE ME FAITH! I cry. + + Without some glimmering in my heart, + I could not raise this fervent prayer; + But, oh! a stronger light impart, + And in Thy mercy fix it there. + + While Faith is with me, I am blest; + It turns my darkest night to day; + But while I clasp it to my breast, + I often feel it slide away. + + Then, cold and dark, my spirit sinks, + To see my light of life depart; + And every fiend of Hell, methinks, + Enjoys the anguish of my heart. + + What shall I do, if all my love, + My hopes, my toil, are cast away, + And if there be no God above, + To hear and bless me when I pray? + + If this be vain delusion all, + If death be an eternal sleep, + And none can hear my secret call, + Or see the silent tears I weep! + + Oh, help me, God! For thou alone + Canst my distracted soul relieve; + Forsake it not: it is thine own, + Though weak, yet longing to believe. + + Oh, drive these cruel doubts away; + And make me know, that Thou art God! + A faith, that shines by night and day, + Will lighten every earthly load. + + If I believe that Jesus died, + And waking, rose to reign above; + Then surely Sorrow, Sin, and Pride, + Must yield to Peace, and Hope, and Love. + + And all the blessed words He said + Will strength and holy joy impart: + A shield of safety o'er my head, + A spring of comfort in my heart. + + + + +A WORD TO THE "ELECT." + + You may rejoice to think YOURSELVES secure; + You may be grateful for the gift divine-- + That grace unsought, which made your black hearts pure, + And fits your earth-born souls in Heaven to shine. + + But, is it sweet to look around, and view + Thousands excluded from that happiness + Which they deserved, at least, as much as you.-- + Their faults not greater, nor their virtues less? + + And wherefore should you love your God the more, + Because to you alone his smiles are given; + Because He chose to pass the MANY o'er, + And only bring the favoured FEW to Heaven? + + And, wherefore should your hearts more grateful prove, + Because for ALL the Saviour did not die? + Is yours the God of justice and of love? + And are your bosoms warm with charity? + + Say, does your heart expand to all mankind? + And, would you ever to your neighbour do-- + The weak, the strong, the enlightened, and the blind-- + As you would have your neighbour do to you? + + And when you, looking on your fellow-men, + Behold them doomed to endless misery, + How can you talk of joy and rapture then?-- + May God withhold such cruel joy from me! + + That none deserve eternal bliss I know; + Unmerited the grace in mercy given: + But, none shall sink to everlasting woe, + That have not well deserved the wrath of Heaven. + + And, oh! there lives within my heart + A hope, long nursed by me; + (And should its cheering ray depart, + How dark my soul would be!) + + That as in Adam all have died, + In Christ shall all men live; + And ever round his throne abide, + Eternal praise to give. + + That even the wicked shall at last + Be fitted for the skies; + And when their dreadful doom is past, + To life and light arise. + + I ask not, how remote the day, + Nor what the sinners' woe, + Before their dross is purged away; + Enough for me to know-- + + That when the cup of wrath is drained, + The metal purified, + They'll cling to what they once disdained, + And live by Him that died. + + + + +PAST DAYS. + + 'Tis strange to think there WAS a time + When mirth was not an empty name, + When laughter really cheered the heart, + And frequent smiles unbidden came, + And tears of grief would only flow + In sympathy for others' woe; + + When speech expressed the inward thought, + And heart to kindred heart was bare, + And summer days were far too short + For all the pleasures crowded there; + And silence, solitude, and rest, + Now welcome to the weary breast-- + + Were all unprized, uncourted then-- + And all the joy one spirit showed, + The other deeply felt again; + And friendship like a river flowed, + Constant and strong its silent course, + For nought withstood its gentle force: + + When night, the holy time of peace, + Was dreaded as the parting hour; + When speech and mirth at once must cease, + And silence must resume her power; + Though ever free from pains and woes, + She only brought us calm repose. + + And when the blessed dawn again + Brought daylight to the blushing skies, + We woke, and not RELUCTANT then, + To joyless LABOUR did we rise; + But full of hope, and glad and gay, + We welcomed the returning day. + + + + +THE CONSOLATION. + + Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground + With fallen leaves so thickly strown, + And cold the wind that wanders round + With wild and melancholy moan; + + There IS a friendly roof, I know, + Might shield me from the wintry blast; + There is a fire, whose ruddy glow + Will cheer me for my wanderings past. + + And so, though still, where'er I go, + Cold stranger-glances meet my eye; + Though, when my spirit sinks in woe, + Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh; + + Though solitude, endured too long, + Bids youthful joys too soon decay, + Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue, + And overclouds my noon of day; + + When kindly thoughts that would have way, + Flow back discouraged to my breast; + I know there is, though far away, + A home where heart and soul may rest. + + Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine, + The warmer heart will not belie; + While mirth, and truth, and friendship shine + In smiling lip and earnest eye. + + The ice that gathers round my heart + May there be thawed; and sweetly, then, + The joys of youth, that now depart, + Will come to cheer my soul again. + + Though far I roam, that thought shall be + My hope, my comfort, everywhere; + While such a home remains to me, + My heart shall never know despair! + + + + +LINES COMPOSED IN A WOOD ON A WINDY DAY. + + My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring + And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze; + For above and around me the wild wind is roaring, + Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas. + + The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing, + The bare trees are tossing their branches on high; + The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing, + The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky + + I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing + The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray; + I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing, + And hear the wild roar of their thunder to-day! + + + + +VIEWS OF LIFE. + + When sinks my heart in hopeless gloom, + And life can show no joy for me; + And I behold a yawning tomb, + Where bowers and palaces should be; + + In vain you talk of morbid dreams; + In vain you gaily smiling say, + That what to me so dreary seems, + The healthy mind deems bright and gay. + + I too have smiled, and thought like you, + But madly smiled, and falsely deemed: + TRUTH led me to the present view,-- + I'm waking now--'twas THEN I dreamed. + + I lately saw a sunset sky, + And stood enraptured to behold + Its varied hues of glorious dye: + First, fleecy clouds of shining gold; + + These blushing took a rosy hue; + Beneath them shone a flood of green; + Nor less divine, the glorious blue + That smiled above them and between. + + I cannot name each lovely shade; + I cannot say how bright they shone; + But one by one, I saw them fade; + And what remained when they were gone? + + Dull clouds remained, of sombre hue, + And when their borrowed charm was o'er, + The azure sky had faded too, + That smiled so softly bright before. + + So, gilded by the glow of youth, + Our varied life looks fair and gay; + And so remains the naked truth, + When that false light is past away. + + Why blame ye, then, my keener sight, + That clearly sees a world of woes + Through all the haze of golden light + That flattering Falsehood round it throws? + + When the young mother smiles above + The first-born darling of her heart, + Her bosom glows with earnest love, + While tears of silent transport start. + + Fond dreamer! little does she know + The anxious toil, the suffering, + The blasted hopes, the burning woe, + The object of her joy will bring. + + Her blinded eyes behold not now + What, soon or late, must be his doom; + The anguish that will cloud his brow, + The bed of death, the dreary tomb. + + As little know the youthful pair, + In mutual love supremely blest, + What weariness, and cold despair, + Ere long, will seize the aching breast. + + And even should Love and Faith remain, + (The greatest blessings life can show,) + Amid adversity and pain, + To shine throughout with cheering glow; + + They do not see how cruel Death + Comes on, their loving hearts to part: + One feels not now the gasping breath, + The rending of the earth-bound heart,-- + + The soul's and body's agony, + Ere she may sink to her repose. + The sad survivor cannot see + The grave above his darling close; + + Nor how, despairing and alone, + He then must wear his life away; + And linger, feebly toiling on, + And fainting, sink into decay. + + * * * * + + Oh, Youth may listen patiently, + While sad Experience tells her tale, + But Doubt sits smiling in his eye, + For ardent Hope will still prevail! + + He hears how feeble Pleasure dies, + By guilt destroyed, and pain and woe; + He turns to Hope--and she replies, + "Believe it not-it is not so!" + + "Oh, heed her not!" Experience says; + "For thus she whispered once to me; + She told me, in my youthful days, + How glorious manhood's prime would be. + + "When, in the time of early Spring, + Too chill the winds that o'er me pass'd, + She said, each coming day would bring + a fairer heaven, a gentler blast. + + "And when the sun too seldom beamed, + The sky, o'ercast, too darkly frowned, + The soaking rain too constant streamed, + And mists too dreary gathered round; + + "She told me, Summer's glorious ray + Would chase those vapours all away, + And scatter glories round; + With sweetest music fill the trees, + Load with rich scent the gentle breeze, + And strew with flowers the ground + + "But when, beneath that scorching ray, + I languished, weary through the day, + While birds refused to sing, + Verdure decayed from field and tree, + And panting Nature mourned with me + The freshness of the Spring. + + "'Wait but a little while,' she said, + 'Till Summer's burning days are fled; + And Autumn shall restore, + With golden riches of her own, + And Summer's glories mellowed down, + The freshness you deplore.' + + And long I waited, but in vain: + That freshness never came again, + Though Summer passed away, + Though Autumn's mists hung cold and chill. + And drooping nature languished still, + And sank into decay. + + "Till wintry blasts foreboding blew + Through leafless trees--and then I knew + That Hope was all a dream. + But thus, fond youth, she cheated me; + And she will prove as false to thee, + Though sweet her words may seem. + + Stern prophet! Cease thy bodings dire-- + Thou canst not quench the ardent fire + That warms the breast of youth. + Oh, let it cheer him while it may, + And gently, gently die away-- + Chilled by the damps of truth! + + Tell him, that earth is not our rest; + Its joys are empty--frail at best; + And point beyond the sky. + But gleams of light may reach us here; + And hope the ROUGHEST path can cheer: + Then do not bid it fly! + + Though hope may promise joys, that still + Unkindly time will ne'er fulfil; + Or, if they come at all, + We never find them unalloyed,-- + Hurtful perchance, or soon destroyed, + They vanish or they pall; + + Yet hope ITSELF a brightness throws + O'er all our labours and our woes; + While dark foreboding Care + A thousand ills will oft portend, + That Providence may ne'er intend + The trembling heart to bear. + + Or if they come, it oft appears, + Our woes are lighter than our fears, + And far more bravely borne. + Then let us not enhance our doom + But e'en in midnight's blackest gloom + Expect the rising morn. + + Because the road is rough and long, + Shall we despise the skylark's song, + That cheers the wanderer's way? + Or trample down, with reckless feet, + The smiling flowerets, bright and sweet, + Because they soon decay? + + Pass pleasant scenes unnoticed by, + Because the next is bleak and drear; + Or not enjoy a smiling sky, + Because a tempest may be near? + + No! while we journey on our way, + We'll smile on every lovely thing; + And ever, as they pass away, + To memory and hope we'll cling. + + And though that awful river flows + Before us, when the journey's past, + Perchance of all the pilgrim's woes + Most dreadful--shrink not--'tis the last! + + Though icy cold, and dark, and deep; + Beyond it smiles that blessed shore, + Where none shall suffer, none shall weep, + And bliss shall reign for evermore! + + + + +APPEAL. + + Oh, I am very weary, + Though tears no longer flow; + My eyes are tired of weeping, + My heart is sick of woe; + + My life is very lonely + My days pass heavily, + I'm weary of repining; + Wilt thou not come to me? + + Oh, didst thou know my longings + For thee, from day to day, + My hopes, so often blighted, + Thou wouldst not thus delay! + + + + +THE STUDENT'S SERENADE. + + I have slept upon my couch, + But my spirit did not rest, + For the labours of the day + Yet my weary soul opprest; + + And before my dreaming eyes + Still the learned volumes lay, + And I could not close their leaves, + And I could not turn away. + + But I oped my eyes at last, + And I heard a muffled sound; + 'Twas the night-breeze, come to say + That the snow was on the ground. + + Then I knew that there was rest + On the mountain's bosom free; + So I left my fevered couch, + And I flew to waken thee! + + I have flown to waken thee-- + For, if thou wilt not arise, + Then my soul can drink no peace + From these holy moonlight skies. + + And this waste of virgin snow + To my sight will not be fair, + Unless thou wilt smiling come, + Love, to wander with me there. + + Then, awake! Maria, wake! + For, if thou couldst only know + How the quiet moonlight sleeps + On this wilderness of snow, + + And the groves of ancient trees, + In their snowy garb arrayed, + Till they stretch into the gloom + Of the distant valley's shade; + + I know thou wouldst rejoice + To inhale this bracing air; + Thou wouldst break thy sweetest sleep + To behold a scene so fair. + + O'er these wintry wilds, ALONE, + Thou wouldst joy to wander free; + And it will not please thee less, + Though that bliss be shared with me. + + + + +THE CAPTIVE DOVE. + + Poor restless dove, I pity thee; + And when I hear thy plaintive moan, + I mourn for thy captivity, + And in thy woes forget mine own. + + To see thee stand prepared to fly, + And flap those useless wings of thine, + And gaze into the distant sky, + Would melt a harder heart than mine. + + In vain--in vain! Thou canst not rise: + Thy prison roof confines thee there; + Its slender wires delude thine eyes, + And quench thy longings with despair. + + Oh, thou wert made to wander free + In sunny mead and shady grove, + And far beyond the rolling sea, + In distant climes, at will to rove! + + Yet, hadst thou but one gentle mate + Thy little drooping heart to cheer, + And share with thee thy captive state, + Thou couldst be happy even there. + + Yes, even there, if, listening by, + One faithful dear companion stood, + While gazing on her full bright eye, + Thou mightst forget thy native wood + + But thou, poor solitary dove, + Must make, unheard, thy joyless moan; + The heart that Nature formed to love + Must pine, neglected, and alone. + + + + +SELF-CONGRATULATION. + + Ellen, you were thoughtless once + Of beauty or of grace, + Simple and homely in attire, + Careless of form and face; + Then whence this change? and wherefore now + So often smoothe your hair? + And wherefore deck your youthful form + With such unwearied care? + + Tell us, and cease to tire our ears + With that familiar strain; + Why will you play those simple tunes + So often o'er again? + "Indeed, dear friends, I can but say + That childhood's thoughts are gone; + Each year its own new feelings brings, + And years move swiftly on: + + "And for these little simple airs-- + I love to play them o'er + So much--I dare not promise, now, + To play them never more." + I answered--and it was enough; + They turned them to depart; + They could not read my secret thoughts, + Nor see my throbbing heart. + + I've noticed many a youthful form, + Upon whose changeful face + The inmost workings of the soul + The gazer well might trace; + The speaking eye, the changing lip, + The ready blushing cheek, + The smiling, or beclouded brow, + Their different feelings speak. + + But, thank God! you might gaze on mine + For hours, and never know + The secret changes of my soul + From joy to keenest woe. + Last night, as we sat round the fire + Conversing merrily, + We heard, without, approaching steps + Of one well known to me! + + There was no trembling in my voice, + No blush upon my cheek, + No lustrous sparkle in my eyes, + Of hope, or joy, to speak; + But, oh! my spirit burned within, + My heart beat full and fast! + He came not nigh--he went away-- + And then my joy was past. + + And yet my comrades marked it not: + My voice was still the same; + They saw me smile, and o'er my face + No signs of sadness came. + They little knew my hidden thoughts; + And they will NEVER know + The aching anguish of my heart, + The bitter burning woe! + + + + +FLUCTUATIONS, + + What though the Sun had left my sky; + To save me from despair + The blessed Moon arose on high, + And shone serenely there. + + I watched her, with a tearful gaze, + Rise slowly o'er the hill, + While through the dim horizon's haze + Her light gleamed faint and chill. + + I thought such wan and lifeless beams + Could ne'er my heart repay + For the bright sun's most transient gleams + That cheered me through the day: + + But, as above that mist's control + She rose, and brighter shone, + I felt her light upon my soul; + But now--that light is gone! + + Thick vapours snatched her from my sight, + And I was darkling left, + All in the cold and gloomy night, + Of light and hope bereft: + + Until, methought, a little star + Shone forth with trembling ray, + To cheer me with its light afar-- + But that, too, passed away. + + Anon, an earthly meteor blazed + The gloomy darkness through; + I smiled, yet trembled while I gazed-- + But that soon vanished too! + + And darker, drearier fell the night + Upon my spirit then;-- + But what is that faint struggling light? + Is it the Moon again? + + Kind Heaven! increase that silvery gleam + And bid these clouds depart, + And let her soft celestial beam + Restore my fainting heart! + + + + + +SELECTIONS FROM THE LITERARY REMAINS OF ELLIS AND ACTON BELL. + +By Currer Bell + + + + +SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ELLIS BELL. + +It would not have been difficult to compile a volume out of the papers +left by my sisters, had I, in making the selection, dismissed from my +consideration the scruples and the wishes of those whose written +thoughts these papers held. But this was impossible: an influence, +stronger than could be exercised by any motive of expediency, +necessarily regulated the selection. I have, then, culled from the mass +only a little poem here and there. The whole makes but a tiny nosegay, +and the colour and perfume of the flowers are not such as fit them for +festal uses. + +It has been already said that my sisters wrote much in childhood and +girlhood. Usually, it seems a sort of injustice to expose in print the +crude thoughts of the unripe mind, the rude efforts of the unpractised +hand; yet I venture to give three little poems of my sister Emily's, +written in her sixteenth year, because they illustrate a point in her +character. + +At that period she was sent to school. Her previous life, with the +exception of a single half-year, had been passed in the absolute +retirement of a village parsonage, amongst the hills bordering Yorkshire +and Lancashire. The scenery of these hills is not grand--it is not +romantic it is scarcely striking. Long low moors, dark with heath, shut +in little valleys, where a stream waters, here and there, a fringe of +stunted copse. Mills and scattered cottages chase romance from these +valleys; it is only higher up, deep in amongst the ridges of the moors, +that Imagination can find rest for the sole of her foot: and even if she +finds it there, she must be a solitude-loving raven--no gentle dove. If +she demand beauty to inspire her, she must bring it inborn: these moors +are too stern to yield any product so delicate. The eye of the gazer +must ITSELF brim with a "purple light," intense enough to perpetuate the +brief flower-flush of August on the heather, or the rare sunset-smile of +June; out of his heart must well the freshness, that in latter spring +and early summer brightens the bracken, nurtures the moss, and cherishes +the starry flowers that spangle for a few weeks the pasture of the +moor-sheep. Unless that light and freshness are innate and self-sustained, +the drear prospect of a Yorkshire moor will be found as barren of poetic +as of agricultural interest: where the love of wild nature is strong, +the locality will perhaps be clung to with the more passionate +constancy, because from the hill-lover's self comes half its charm. + +My sister Emily loved the moors. Flowers brighter than the rose bloomed +in the blackest of the heath for her; out of a sullen hollow in a livid +hill-side her mind could make an Eden. She found in the bleak solitude +many and dear delights; and not the least and best loved was--liberty. + +Liberty was the breath of Emily's nostrils; without it, she perished. +The change from her own home to a school, and from her own very +noiseless, very secluded, but unrestricted and inartificial mode of +life, to one of disciplined routine (though under the kindliest +auspices), was what she failed in enduring. Her nature proved here too +strong for her fortitude. Every morning when she woke, the vision of +home and the moors rushed on her, and darkened and saddened the day that +lay before her. Nobody knew what ailed her but me--I knew only too well. +In this struggle her health was quickly broken: her white face, +attenuated form, and failing strength, threatened rapid decline. I felt +in my heart she would die, if she did not go home, and with this +conviction obtained her recall. She had only been three months at +school; and it was some years before the experiment of sending her from +home was again ventured on. After the age of twenty, having meantime +studied alone with diligence and perseverance, she went with me to an +establishment on the Continent: the same suffering and conflict ensued, +heightened by the strong recoil of her upright, heretic and English +spirit from the gentle Jesuitry of the foreign and Romish system. Once +more she seemed sinking, but this time she rallied through the mere +force of resolution: with inward remorse and shame she looked back on +her former failure, and resolved to conquer in this second ordeal. She +did conquer: but the victory cost her dear. She was never happy till she +carried her hard-won knowledge back to the remote English village, the +old parsonage-house, and desolate Yorkshire hills. A very few years +more, and she looked her last on those hills, and breathed her last in +that house, and under the aisle of that obscure village church found her +last lowly resting-place. Merciful was the decree that spared her when +she was a stranger in a strange land, and guarded her dying bed with +kindred love and congenial constancy. + +The following pieces were composed at twilight, in the school-room, when +the leisure of the evening play-hour brought back in full tide the +thoughts of home. + + + + +I. + + A LITTLE while, a little while, + The weary task is put away, + And I can sing and I can smile, + Alike, while I have holiday. + + Where wilt thou go, my harassed heart-- + What thought, what scene invites thee now + What spot, or near or far apart, + Has rest for thee, my weary brow? + + There is a spot, 'mid barren hills, + Where winter howls, and driving rain; + But, if the dreary tempest chills, + There is a light that warms again. + + The house is old, the trees are bare, + Moonless above bends twilight's dome; + But what on earth is half so dear-- + So longed for--as the hearth of home? + + The mute bird sitting on the stone, + The dank moss dripping from the wall, + The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown, + I love them--how I love them all! + + Still, as I mused, the naked room, + The alien firelight died away; + And from the midst of cheerless gloom, + I passed to bright, unclouded day. + + A little and a lone green lane + That opened on a common wide; + A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain + Of mountains circling every side. + + A heaven so clear, an earth so calm, + So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air; + And, deepening still the dream-like charm, + Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere. + + THAT was the scene, I knew it well; + I knew the turfy pathway's sweep, + That, winding o'er each billowy swell, + Marked out the tracks of wandering sheep. + + Could I have lingered but an hour, + It well had paid a week of toil; + But Truth has banished Fancy's power: + Restraint and heavy task recoil. + + Even as I stood with raptured eye, + Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear, + My hour of rest had fleeted by, + And back came labour, bondage, care. + + + + +II. THE BLUEBELL. + + The Bluebell is the sweetest flower + That waves in summer air: + Its blossoms have the mightiest power + To soothe my spirit's care. + + There is a spell in purple heath + Too wildly, sadly dear; + The violet has a fragrant breath, + But fragrance will not cheer, + + The trees are bare, the sun is cold, + And seldom, seldom seen; + The heavens have lost their zone of gold, + And earth her robe of green. + + And ice upon the glancing stream + Has cast its sombre shade; + And distant hills and valleys seem + In frozen mist arrayed. + + The Bluebell cannot charm me now, + The heath has lost its bloom; + The violets in the glen below, + They yield no sweet perfume. + + But, though I mourn the sweet Bluebell, + 'Tis better far away; + I know how fast my tears would swell + To see it smile to-day. + + For, oh! when chill the sunbeams fall + Adown that dreary sky, + And gild yon dank and darkened wall + With transient brilliancy; + + How do I weep, how do I pine + For the time of flowers to come, + And turn me from that fading shine, + To mourn the fields of home! + + + + +III. + + Loud without the wind was roaring + Through th'autumnal sky; + Drenching wet, the cold rain pouring, + Spoke of winter nigh. + All too like that dreary eve, + Did my exiled spirit grieve. + Grieved at first, but grieved not long, + Sweet--how softly sweet!--it came; + Wild words of an ancient song, + Undefined, without a name. + + "It was spring, and the skylark was singing:" + Those words they awakened a spell; + They unlocked a deep fountain, whose springing, + Nor absence, nor distance can quell. + + In the gloom of a cloudy November + They uttered the music of May; + They kindled the perishing ember + Into fervour that could not decay. + + Awaken, o'er all my dear moorland, + West-wind, in thy glory and pride! + Oh! call me from valley and lowland, + To walk by the hill-torrent's side! + + It is swelled with the first snowy weather; + The rocks they are icy and hoar, + And sullenly waves the long heather, + And the fern leaves are sunny no more. + + There are no yellow stars on the mountain + The bluebells have long died away + From the brink of the moss-bedded fountain-- + From the side of the wintry brae. + + But lovelier than corn-fields all waving + In emerald, and vermeil, and gold, + Are the heights where the north-wind is raving, + And the crags where I wandered of old. + + It was morning: the bright sun was beaming; + How sweetly it brought back to me + The time when nor labour nor dreaming + Broke the sleep of the happy and free! + + But blithely we rose as the dawn-heaven + Was melting to amber and blue, + And swift were the wings to our feet given, + As we traversed the meadows of dew. + + For the moors! For the moors, where the short grass + Like velvet beneath us should lie! + For the moors! For the moors, where each high pass + Rose sunny against the clear sky! + + For the moors, where the linnet was trilling + Its song on the old granite stone; + Where the lark, the wild sky-lark, was filling + Every breast with delight like its own! + + What language can utter the feeling + Which rose, when in exile afar, + On the brow of a lonely hill kneeling, + I saw the brown heath growing there? + + It was scattered and stunted, and told me + That soon even that would be gone: + It whispered, "The grim walls enfold me, + I have bloomed in my last summer's sun." + + But not the loved music, whose waking + Makes the soul of the Swiss die away, + Has a spell more adored and heartbreaking + Than, for me, in that blighted heath lay. + + The spirit which bent 'neath its power, + How it longed--how it burned to be free! + If I could have wept in that hour, + Those tears had been heaven to me. + + Well--well; the sad minutes are moving, + Though loaded with trouble and pain; + And some time the loved and the loving + Shall meet on the mountains again! + + +The following little piece has no title; but in it the Genius of a +solitary region seems to address his wandering and wayward votary, and +to recall within his influence the proud mind which rebelled at times +even against what it most loved. + + + Shall earth no more inspire thee, + Thou lonely dreamer now? + Since passion may not fire thee, + Shall nature cease to bow? + + Thy mind is ever moving, + In regions dark to thee; + Recall its useless roving, + Come back, and dwell with me. + + I know my mountain breezes + Enchant and soothe thee still, + I know my sunshine pleases, + Despite thy wayward will. + + When day with evening blending, + Sinks from the summer sky, + I've seen thy spirit bending + In fond idolatry. + + I've watched thee every hour; + I know my mighty sway: + I know my magic power + To drive thy griefs away. + + Few hearts to mortals given, + On earth so wildly pine; + Yet few would ask a heaven + More like this earth than thine. + + Then let my winds caress thee + Thy comrade let me be: + Since nought beside can bless thee, + Return--and dwell with me. + + +Here again is the same mind in converse with a like abstraction. "The +Night-Wind," breathing through an open window, has visited an ear which +discerned language in its whispers. + + + + +THE NIGHT-WIND. + + In summer's mellow midnight, + A cloudless moon shone through + Our open parlour window, + And rose-trees wet with dew. + + I sat in silent musing; + The soft wind waved my hair; + It told me heaven was glorious, + And sleeping earth was fair. + + I needed not its breathing + To bring such thoughts to me; + But still it whispered lowly, + How dark the woods will be! + + "The thick leaves in my murmur + Are rustling like a dream, + And all their myriad voices + Instinct with spirit seem." + + I said, "Go, gentle singer, + Thy wooing voice is kind: + But do not think its music + Has power to reach my mind. + + "Play with the scented flower, + The young tree's supple bough, + And leave my human feelings + In their own course to flow." + + The wanderer would not heed me; + Its kiss grew warmer still. + "O come!" it sighed so sweetly; + "I'll win thee 'gainst thy will. + + "Were we not friends from childhood? + Have I not loved thee long? + As long as thou, the solemn night, + Whose silence wakes my song. + + "And when thy heart is resting + Beneath the church-aisle stone, + I shall have time for mourning, + And THOU for being alone." + + +In these stanzas a louder gale has roused the sleeper on her pillow: the +wakened soul struggles to blend with the storm by which it is swayed:-- + + + Ay--there it is! it wakes to-night + Deep feelings I thought dead; + Strong in the blast--quick gathering light-- + The heart's flame kindles red. + + "Now I can tell by thine altered cheek, + And by thine eyes' full gaze, + And by the words thou scarce dost speak, + How wildly fancy plays. + + "Yes--I could swear that glorious wind + Has swept the world aside, + Has dashed its memory from thy mind + Like foam-bells from the tide: + + "And thou art now a spirit pouring + Thy presence into all: + The thunder of the tempest's roaring, + The whisper of its fall: + + "An universal influence, + From thine own influence free; + A principle of life--intense-- + Lost to mortality. + + "Thus truly, when that breast is cold, + Thy prisoned soul shall rise; + The dungeon mingle with the mould-- + The captive with the skies. + Nature's deep being, thine shall hold, + Her spirit all thy spirit fold, + Her breath absorb thy sighs. + Mortal! though soon life's tale is told; + Who once lives, never dies!" + + + + +LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. + + Love is like the wild rose-briar; + Friendship like the holly-tree. + The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, + But which will bloom most constantly? + + The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring, + Its summer blossoms scent the air; + Yet wait till winter comes again, + And who will call the wild-briar fair? + + Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now, + And deck thee with the holly's sheen, + That, when December blights thy brow, + He still may leave thy garland green. + + + + +THE ELDER'S REBUKE. + + "Listen! When your hair, like mine, + Takes a tint of silver gray; + When your eyes, with dimmer shine, + Watch life's bubbles float away: + + When you, young man, have borne like me + The weary weight of sixty-three, + Then shall penance sore be paid + For those hours so wildly squandered; + And the words that now fall dead + On your ear, be deeply pondered-- + Pondered and approved at last: + But their virtue will be past! + + "Glorious is the prize of Duty, + Though she be 'a serious power'; + Treacherous all the lures of Beauty, + Thorny bud and poisonous flower! + + "Mirth is but a mad beguiling + Of the golden-gifted time; + Love--a demon-meteor, wiling + Heedless feet to gulfs of crime. + + "Those who follow earthly pleasure, + Heavenly knowledge will not lead; + Wisdom hides from them her treasure, + Virtue bids them evil-speed! + + "Vainly may their hearts repenting. + Seek for aid in future years; + Wisdom, scorned, knows no relenting; + Virtue is not won by fears." + + Thus spake the ice-blooded elder gray; + The young man scoffed as he turned away, + Turned to the call of a sweet lute's measure, + Waked by the lightsome touch of pleasure: + Had he ne'er met a gentler teacher, + Woe had been wrought by that pitiless preacher. + + + + +THE WANDERER FROM THE FOLD. + + How few, of all the hearts that loved, + Are grieving for thee now; + And why should mine to-night be moved + With such a sense of woe? + + Too often thus, when left alone, + Where none my thoughts can see, + Comes back a word, a passing tone + From thy strange history. + + Sometimes I seem to see thee rise, + A glorious child again; + All virtues beaming from thine eyes + That ever honoured men: + + Courage and truth, a generous breast + Where sinless sunshine lay: + A being whose very presence blest + Like gladsome summer-day. + + O, fairly spread thy early sail, + And fresh, and pure, and free, + Was the first impulse of the gale + Which urged life's wave for thee! + + Why did the pilot, too confiding, + Dream o'er that ocean's foam, + And trust in Pleasure's careless guiding + To bring his vessel home? + + For well he knew what dangers frowned, + What mists would gather, dim; + What rocks and shelves, and sands lay round + Between his port and him. + + The very brightness of the sun + The splendour of the main, + The wind which bore him wildly on + Should not have warned in vain. + + An anxious gazer from the shore-- + I marked the whitening wave, + And wept above thy fate the more + Because--I could not save. + + It recks not now, when all is over: + But yet my heart will be + A mourner still, though friend and lover + Have both forgotten thee! + + + + +WARNING AND REPLY. + + In the earth--the earth--thou shalt be laid, + A grey stone standing over thee; + Black mould beneath thee spread, + And black mould to cover thee. + + "Well--there is rest there, + So fast come thy prophecy; + The time when my sunny hair + Shall with grass roots entwined be." + + But cold--cold is that resting-place, + Shut out from joy and liberty, + And all who loved thy living face + Will shrink from it shudderingly, + + "Not so. HERE the world is chill, + And sworn friends fall from me: + But THERE--they will own me still, + And prize my memory." + + Farewell, then, all that love, + All that deep sympathy: + Sleep on: Heaven laughs above, + Earth never misses thee. + + Turf-sod and tombstone drear + Part human company; + One heart breaks only--here, + But that heart was worthy thee! + + + + +LAST WORDS. + + I knew not 'twas so dire a crime + To say the word, "Adieu;" + But this shall be the only time + My lips or heart shall sue. + + That wild hill-side, the winter morn, + The gnarled and ancient tree, + If in your breast they waken scorn, + Shall wake the same in me. + + I can forget black eyes and brows, + And lips of falsest charm, + If you forget the sacred vows + Those faithless lips could form. + + If hard commands can tame your love, + Or strongest walls can hold, + I would not wish to grieve above + A thing so false and cold. + + And there are bosoms bound to mine + With links both tried and strong: + And there are eyes whose lightning shine + Has warmed and blest me long: + + Those eyes shall make my only day, + Shall set my spirit free, + And chase the foolish thoughts away + That mourn your memory. + + + + +THE LADY TO HER GUITAR. + + For him who struck thy foreign string, + I ween this heart has ceased to care; + Then why dost thou such feelings bring + To my sad spirit--old Guitar? + + It is as if the warm sunlight + In some deep glen should lingering stay, + When clouds of storm, or shades of night, + Have wrapt the parent orb away. + + It is as if the glassy brook + Should image still its willows fair, + Though years ago the woodman's stroke + Laid low in dust their Dryad-hair. + + Even so, Guitar, thy magic tone + Hath moved the tear and waked the sigh: + Hath bid the ancient torrent moan, + Although its very source is dry. + + + + +THE TWO CHILDREN. + + Heavy hangs the rain-drop + From the burdened spray; + Heavy broods the damp mist + On uplands far away. + + Heavy looms the dull sky, + Heavy rolls the sea; + And heavy throbs the young heart + Beneath that lonely tree. + + Never has a blue streak + Cleft the clouds since morn; + Never has his grim fate + Smiled since he was born. + + Frowning on the infant, + Shadowing childhood's joy + Guardian-angel knows not + That melancholy boy. + + Day is passing swiftly + Its sad and sombre prime; + Boyhood sad is merging + In sadder manhood's time: + + All the flowers are praying + For sun, before they close, + And he prays too--unconscious-- + That sunless human rose. + + Blossom--that the west-wind + Has never wooed to blow, + Scentless are thy petals, + Thy dew is cold as snow! + + Soul--where kindred kindness, + No early promise woke, + Barren is thy beauty, + As weed upon a rock. + + Wither--soul and blossom! + You both were vainly given; + Earth reserves no blessing + For the unblest of heaven! + + Child of delight, with sun-bright hair, + And sea-blue, sea-deep eyes! + Spirit of bliss! What brings thee here + Beneath these sullen skies? + + Thou shouldst live in eternal spring, + Where endless day is never dim; + Why, Seraph, has thine erring wing + Wafted thee down to weep with him? + + "Ah! not from heaven am I descended, + Nor do I come to mingle tears; + But sweet is day, though with shadows blended; + And, though clouded, sweet are youthful years. + + "I--the image of light and gladness-- + Saw and pitied that mournful boy, + And I vowed--if need were--to share his sadness, + And give to him my sunny joy. + + "Heavy and dark the night is closing; + Heavy and dark may its biding be: + Better for all from grief reposing, + And better for all who watch like me-- + + "Watch in love by a fevered pillow, + Cooling the fever with pity's balm + Safe as the petrel on tossing billow, + Safe in mine own soul's golden calm! + + "Guardian-angel he lacks no longer; + Evil fortune he need not fear: + Fate is strong, but love is stronger; + And MY love is truer than angel-care." + + + + +THE VISIONARY. + + Silent is the house: all are laid asleep: + One alone looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep, + Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze + That whirls the wildering drift, and bends the groaning trees. + + Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor; + Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door; + The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far: + I trim it well, to be the wanderer's guiding-star. + + Frown, my haughty sire! chide, my angry dame! + Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame: + But neither sire nor dame, nor prying serf shall know, + What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow. + + What I love shall come like visitant of air, + Safe in secret power from lurking human snare; + What loves me, no word of mine shall e'er betray, + Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay + + Burn, then, little lamp; glimmer straight and clear-- + Hush! a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air: + He for whom I wait, thus ever comes to me; + Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy. + + + + +ENCOURAGEMENT. + + I do not weep; I would not weep; + Our mother needs no tears: + Dry thine eyes, too; 'tis vain to keep + This causeless grief for years. + + What though her brow be changed and cold, + Her sweet eyes closed for ever? + What though the stone--the darksome mould + Our mortal bodies sever? + + What though her hand smooth ne'er again + Those silken locks of thine? + Nor, through long hours of future pain, + Her kind face o'er thee shine? + + Remember still, she is not dead; + She sees us, sister, now; + Laid, where her angel spirit fled, + 'Mid heath and frozen snow. + + And from that world of heavenly light + Will she not always bend + To guide us in our lifetime's night, + And guard us to the end? + + Thou knowest she will; and thou mayst mourn + That WE are left below: + But not that she can ne'er return + To share our earthly woe. + + + + +STANZAS. + + Often rebuked, yet always back returning + To those first feelings that were born with me, + And leaving busy chase of wealth and learning + For idle dreams of things which cannot be: + + To-day, I will seek not the shadowy region; + Its unsustaining vastness waxes drear; + And visions rising, legion after legion, + Bring the unreal world too strangely near. + + I'll walk, but not in old heroic traces, + And not in paths of high morality, + And not among the half-distinguished faces, + The clouded forms of long-past history. + + I'll walk where my own nature would be leading: + It vexes me to choose another guide: + Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding; + Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side. + + What have those lonely mountains worth revealing? + More glory and more grief than I can tell: + The earth that wakes one human heart to feeling + Can centre both the worlds of Heaven and Hell. + + + + +The following are the last lines my sister Emily ever wrote:-- + + + No coward soul is mine, + No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere: + I see Heaven's glories shine, + And faith shines equal, arming me from fear. + + O God within my breast, + Almighty, ever-present Deity! + Life--that in me has rest, + As I--undying Life--have power in thee! + + Vain are the thousand creeds + That move men's hearts: unutterably vain; + Worthless as withered weeds, + Or idlest froth amid the boundless main, + + To waken doubt in one + Holding so fast by thine infinity; + So surely anchored on + The stedfast rock of immortality. + + With wide-embracing love + Thy spirit animates eternal years, + Pervades and broods above, + Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears. + + Though earth and man were gone, + And suns and universes ceased to be, + And Thou were left alone, + Every existence would exist in Thee. + + There is not room for Death, + Nor atom that his might could render void: + Thou--THOU art Being and Breath, + And what THOU art may never be destroyed. + + +***** + + + + +SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ACTON BELL. + +In looking over my sister Anne's papers, I find mournful evidence that +religious feeling had been to her but too much like what it was to +Cowper; I mean, of course, in a far milder form. Without rendering her a +prey to those horrors that defy concealment, it subdued her mood and +bearing to a perpetual pensiveness; the pillar of a cloud glided +constantly before her eyes; she ever waited at the foot of a secret +Sinai, listening in her heart to the voice of a trumpet sounding long +and waxing louder. Some, perhaps, would rejoice over these tokens of +sincere though sorrowing piety in a deceased relative: I own, to me they +seem sad, as if her whole innocent life had been passed under the +martyrdom of an unconfessed physical pain: their effect, indeed, would +be too distressing, were it not combated by the certain knowledge that +in her last moments this tyranny of a too tender conscience was +overcome; this pomp of terrors broke up, and passing away, left her +dying hour unclouded. Her belief in God did not then bring to her dread, +as of a stern Judge,--but hope, as in a Creator and Saviour: and no +faltering hope was it, but a sure and stedfast conviction, on which, in +the rude passage from Time to Eternity, she threw the weight of her +human weakness, and by which she was enabled to bear what was to be +borne, patiently--serenely--victoriously. + + + + +DESPONDENCY. + + I have gone backward in the work; + The labour has not sped; + Drowsy and dark my spirit lies, + Heavy and dull as lead. + + How can I rouse my sinking soul + From such a lethargy? + How can I break these iron chains + And set my spirit free? + + There have been times when I have mourned! + In anguish o'er the past, + And raised my suppliant hands on high, + While tears fell thick and fast; + + And prayed to have my sins forgiven, + With such a fervent zeal, + An earnest grief, a strong desire + As now I cannot feel. + + And I have felt so full of love, + So strong in spirit then, + As if my heart would never cool, + Or wander back again. + + And yet, alas! how many times + My feet have gone astray! + How oft have I forgot my God! + How greatly fallen away! + + My sins increase--my love grows cold, + And Hope within me dies: + Even Faith itself is wavering now; + Oh, how shall I arise? + + I cannot weep, but I can pray, + Then let me not despair: + Lord Jesus, save me, lest I die! + Christ, hear my humble prayer! + + + + +A PRAYER. + + My God (oh, let me call Thee mine, + Weak, wretched sinner though I be), + My trembling soul would fain be Thine; + My feeble faith still clings to Thee. + + Not only for the Past I grieve, + The Future fills me with dismay; + Unless Thou hasten to relieve, + Thy suppliant is a castaway. + + I cannot say my faith is strong, + I dare not hope my love is great; + But strength and love to Thee belong; + Oh, do not leave me desolate! + + I know I owe my all to Thee; + Oh, TAKE the heart I cannot give! + Do Thou my strength--my Saviour be, + And MAKE me to Thy glory live. + + + + +IN MEMORY OF A HAPPY DAY IN FEBRUARY. + + Blessed be Thou for all the joy + My soul has felt to-day! + Oh, let its memory stay with me, + And never pass away! + + I was alone, for those I loved + Were far away from me; + The sun shone on the withered grass, + The wind blew fresh and free. + + Was it the smile of early spring + That made my bosom glow? + 'Twas sweet; but neither sun nor wind + Could cheer my spirit so. + + Was it some feeling of delight + All vague and undefined? + No; 'twas a rapture deep and strong, + Expanding in the mind. + + Was it a sanguine view of life, + And all its transient bliss, + A hope of bright prosperity? + Oh, no! it was not this. + + It was a glimpse of truth divine + Unto my spirit given, + Illumined by a ray of light + That shone direct from heaven. + + I felt there was a God on high, + By whom all things were made; + I saw His wisdom and His power + In all his works displayed. + + But most throughout the moral world, + I saw his glory shine; + I saw His wisdom infinite, + His mercy all divine. + + Deep secrets of His providence, + In darkness long concealed, + Unto the vision of my soul + Were graciously revealed. + + But while I wondered and adored + His Majesty divine, + I did not tremble at His power: + I felt that God was mine; + + I knew that my Redeemer lived; + I did not fear to die; + Full sure that I should rise again + To immortality. + + I longed to view that bliss divine, + Which eye hath never seen; + Like Moses, I would see His face + Without the veil between. + + + + +CONFIDENCE. + + Oppressed with sin and woe, + A burdened heart I bear, + Opposed by many a mighty foe; + But I will not despair. + + With this polluted heart, + I dare to come to Thee, + Holy and mighty as Thou art, + For Thou wilt pardon me. + + I feel that I am weak, + And prone to every sin; + But Thou who giv'st to those who seek, + Wilt give me strength within. + + Far as this earth may be + From yonder starry skies; + Remoter still am I from Thee: + Yet Thou wilt not despise. + + I need not fear my foes, + I deed not yield to care; + I need not sink beneath my woes, + For Thou wilt answer prayer. + + In my Redeemer's name, + I give myself to Thee; + And, all unworthy as I am, + My God will cherish me. + + +My sister Anne had to taste the cup of life as it is mixed for the class +termed "Governesses." + +The following are some of the thoughts that now and then solace a +governess:-- + + + + +LINES WRITTEN FROM HOME. + + Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground, + With fallen leaves so thickly strewn, + And cold the wind that wanders round + With wild and melancholy moan; + + There is a friendly roof I know, + Might shield me from the wintry blast; + There is a fire whose ruddy glow + Will cheer me for my wanderings past. + + And so, though still where'er I go + Cold stranger glances meet my eye; + Though, when my spirit sinks in woe, + Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh; + + Though solitude, endured too long, + Bids youthful joys too soon decay, + Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue, + And overclouds my noon of day; + + When kindly thoughts that would have way + Flow back, discouraged, to my breast, + I know there is, though far away, + A home where heart and soul may rest. + + Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine, + The warmer heart will not belie; + While mirth and truth, and friendship shine + In smiling lip and earnest eye. + + The ice that gathers round my heart + May there be thawed; and sweetly, then, + The joys of youth, that now depart, + Will come to cheer my soul again. + + Though far I roam, that thought shall be + My hope, my comfort everywhere; + While such a home remains to me, + My heart shall never know despair. + + + + +THE NARROW WAY. + + Believe not those who say + The upward path is smooth, + Lest thou shouldst stumble in the way, + And faint before the truth. + + It is the only road + Unto the realms of joy; + But he who seeks that blest abode + Must all his powers employ. + + Bright hopes and pure delight + Upon his course may beam, + And there, amid the sternest heights, + The sweetest flowerets gleam. + + On all her breezes borne, + Earth yields no scents like those; + But he that dares not gasp the thorn + Should never crave the rose. + + Arm--arm thee for the fight! + Cast useless loads away; + Watch through the darkest hours of night; + Toil through the hottest day. + + Crush pride into the dust, + Or thou must needs be slack; + And trample down rebellious lust, + Or it will hold thee back. + + Seek not thy honour here; + Waive pleasure and renown; + The world's dread scoff undaunted bear, + And face its deadliest frown. + + To labour and to love, + To pardon and endure, + To lift thy heart to God above, + And keep thy conscience pure; + + Be this thy constant aim, + Thy hope, thy chief delight; + What matter who should whisper blame + Or who should scorn or slight? + + What matter, if thy God approve, + And if, within thy breast, + Thou feel the comfort of His love, + The earnest of His rest? + + + + +DOMESTIC PEACE. + + Why should such gloomy silence reign, + And why is all the house so drear, + When neither danger, sickness, pain, + Nor death, nor want, have entered here? + + We are as many as we were + That other night, when all were gay + And full of hope, and free from care; + Yet is there something gone away. + + The moon without, as pure and calm, + Is shining as that night she shone; + But now, to us, she brings no balm, + For something from our hearts is gone. + + Something whose absence leaves a void-- + A cheerless want in every heart; + Each feels the bliss of all destroyed, + And mourns the change--but each apart. + + The fire is burning in the grate + As redly as it used to burn; + But still the hearth is desolate, + Till mirth, and love, and PEACE return. + + 'Twas PEACE that flowed from heart to heart, + With looks and smiles that spoke of heaven, + And gave us language to impart + The blissful thoughts itself had given. + + Domestic peace! best joy of earth, + When shall we all thy value learn? + White angel, to our sorrowing hearth, + Return--oh, graciously return! + + + + +THE THREE GUIDES. [First published in FRASER'S MAGAZINE.] + + Spirit of Earth! thy hand is chill: + I've felt its icy clasp; + And, shuddering, I remember still + That stony-hearted grasp. + Thine eye bids love and joy depart: + Oh, turn its gaze from me! + It presses down my shrinking heart; + I will not walk with thee! + + "Wisdom is mine," I've heard thee say: + "Beneath my searching eye + All mist and darkness melt away, + Phantoms and fables fly. + Before me truth can stand alone, + The naked, solid truth; + And man matured by worth will own, + If I am shunned by youth. + + "Firm is my tread, and sure though slow; + My footsteps never slide; + And he that follows me shall know + I am the surest guide." + Thy boast is vain; but were it true + That thou couldst safely steer + Life's rough and devious pathway through, + Such guidance I should fear. + + How could I bear to walk for aye, + With eyes to earthward prone, + O'er trampled weeds and miry clay, + And sand and flinty stone; + Never the glorious view to greet + Of hill and dale, and sky; + To see that Nature's charms are sweet, + Or feel that Heaven is nigh? + + If in my heart arose a spring, + A gush of thought divine, + At once stagnation thou wouldst bring + With that cold touch of thine. + If, glancing up, I sought to snatch + But one glimpse of the sky, + My baffled gaze would only catch + Thy heartless, cold grey eye. + + If to the breezes wandering near, + I listened eagerly, + And deemed an angel's tongue to hear + That whispered hope to me, + That heavenly music would be drowned + In thy harsh, droning voice; + Nor inward thought, nor sight, nor sound, + Might my sad soul rejoice. + + Dull is thine ear, unheard by thee + The still, small voice of Heaven; + Thine eyes are dim and cannot see + The helps that God has given. + There is a bridge o'er every flood + Which thou canst not perceive; + A path through every tangled wood, + But thou wilt not believe. + + Striving to make thy way by force, + Toil-spent and bramble-torn, + Thou'lt fell the tree that checks thy course, + And burst through brier and thorn: + And, pausing by the river's side, + Poor reasoner! thou wilt deem, + By casting pebbles in its tide, + To cross the swelling stream. + + Right through the flinty rock thou'lt try + Thy toilsome way to bore, + Regardless of the pathway nigh + That would conduct thee o'er + Not only art thou, then, unkind, + And freezing cold to me, + But unbelieving, deaf, and blind: + I will not walk with thee! + + Spirit of Pride! thy wings are strong, + Thine eyes like lightning shine; + Ecstatic joys to thee belong, + And powers almost divine. + But 'tis a false, destructive blaze + Within those eyes I see; + Turn hence their fascinating gaze; + I will not follow thee. + + "Coward and fool!" thou mayst reply, + Walk on the common sod; + Go, trace with timid foot and eye + The steps by others trod. + 'Tis best the beaten path to keep, + The ancient faith to hold; + To pasture with thy fellow-sheep, + And lie within the fold. + + "Cling to the earth, poor grovelling worm; + 'Tis not for thee to soar + Against the fury of the storm, + Amid the thunder's roar! + There's glory in that daring strife + Unknown, undreamt by thee; + There's speechless rapture in the life + Of those who follow me. + + Yes, I have seen thy votaries oft, + Upheld by thee their guide, + In strength and courage mount aloft + The steepy mountain-side; + I've seen them stand against the sky, + And gazing from below, + Beheld thy lightning in their eye + Thy triumph on their brow. + + Oh, I have felt what glory then, + What transport must be theirs! + So far above their fellow-men, + Above their toils and cares; + Inhaling Nature's purest breath, + Her riches round them spread, + The wide expanse of earth beneath, + Heaven's glories overhead! + + But I have seen them helpless, dash'd + Down to a bloody grave, + And still thy ruthless eye has flash'd, + Thy strong hand did not save; + I've seen some o'er the mountain's brow + Sustain'd awhile by thee, + O'er rocks of ice and hills of snow + Bound fearless, wild, and free. + + Bold and exultant was their mien, + While thou didst cheer them on; + But evening fell,--and then, I ween, + Their faithless guide was gone. + Alas! how fared thy favourites then,-- + Lone, helpless, weary, cold? + Did ever wanderer find again + The path he left of old? + + Where is their glory, where the pride + That swelled their hearts before? + Where now the courage that defied + The mightiest tempest's roar? + What shall they do when night grows black, + When angry storms arise? + Who now will lead them to the track + Thou taught'st them to despise? + + Spirit of Pride, it needs not this + To make me shun thy wiles, + Renounce thy triumph and thy bliss, + Thy honours and thy smiles! + Bright as thou art, and bold, and strong, + That fierce glance wins not me, + And I abhor thy scoffing tongue-- + I will not follow thee! + + Spirit of Faith! be thou my guide, + O clasp my hand in thine, + And let me never quit thy side; + Thy comforts are divine! + Earth calls thee blind, misguided one,-- + But who can shew like thee + Forgotten things that have been done, + And things that are to be? + + Secrets conceal'd from Nature's ken, + Who like thee can declare? + Or who like thee to erring men + God's holy will can bear? + Pride scorns thee for thy lowly mien,-- + But who like thee can rise + Above this toilsome, sordid scene, + Beyond the holy skies? + + Meek is thine eye and soft thy voice, + But wondrous is thy might, + To make the wretched soul rejoice, + To give the simple light! + And still to all that seek thy way + This magic power is given,-- + E'en while their footsteps press the clay, + Their souls ascend to heaven. + + Danger surrounds them,--pain and woe + Their portion here must be, + But only they that trust thee know + What comfort dwells with thee; + Strength to sustain their drooping pow'rs, + And vigour to defend,-- + Thou pole-star of my darkest hours + Affliction's firmest friend! + + Day does not always mark our way, + Night's shadows oft appal, + But lead me, and I cannot stray,-- + Hold me, I shall not fall; + Sustain me, I shall never faint, + How rough soe'er may be + My upward road,--nor moan, nor plaint + Shall mar my trust in thee. + + Narrow the path by which we go, + And oft it turns aside + From pleasant meads where roses blow, + And peaceful waters glide; + Where flowery turf lies green and soft, + And gentle gales are sweet, + To where dark mountains frown aloft, + Hard rocks distress the feet,-- + + Deserts beyond lie bleak and bare, + And keen winds round us blow; + But if thy hand conducts me there, + The way is right, I know. + I have no wish to turn away; + My spirit does not quail,-- + How can it while I hear thee say, + "Press forward and prevail!" + + Even above the tempest's swell + I hear thy voice of love,-- + Of hope and peace, I hear thee tell, + And that blest home above; + Through pain and death I can rejoice. + If but thy strength be mine,-- + Earth hath no music like thy voice, + Life owns no joy like thine! + + Spirit of Faith, I'll go with thee! + Thou, if I hold thee fast, + Wilt guide, defend, and strengthen me, + And bear me home at last; + By thy help all things I can do, + In thy strength all things bear,-- + Teach me, for thou art just and true, + Smile on me, thou art fair! + + +I have given the last memento of my sister Emily; this is the last of my +sister Anne:-- + + + I hoped, that with the brave and strong, + My portioned task might lie; + To toil amid the busy throng, + With purpose pure and high. + + But God has fixed another part, + And He has fixed it well; + I said so with my bleeding heart, + When first the anguish fell. + + Thou, God, hast taken our delight, + Our treasured hope away: + Thou bid'st us now weep through the night + And sorrow through the day. + + These weary hours will not be lost, + These days of misery, + These nights of darkness, anguish-tost, + Can I but turn to Thee. + + With secret labour to sustain + In humble patience every blow; + To gather fortitude from pain, + And hope and holiness from woe. + + Thus let me serve Thee from my heart, + Whate'er may be my written fate: + Whether thus early to depart, + Or yet a while to wait. + + If Thou shouldst bring me back to life, + More humbled I should be; + More wise--more strengthened for the strife-- + More apt to lean on Thee. + + Should death be standing at the gate, + Thus should I keep my vow: + But, Lord! whatever be my fate, + Oh, let me serve Thee now! + + +These lines written, the desk was closed, the pen laid aside--for ever. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 1019-0.txt or 1019-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/1/1019/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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. 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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Poems</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: (AKA Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë) Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August, 1997 [eBook #1019]<br /> +[Most recently updated: January 28, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***</div> + + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + POEMS + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Currer, Ellis, And Acton Bell + </h2> + <h3> + (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë) + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>POEMS BY CURRER BELL</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> MEMENTOS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE WIFE'S WILL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> FRANCES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> GILBERT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> LIFE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> THE LETTER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> REGRET. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> PRESENTIMENT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE TEACHER'S MONOLOGUE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> PASSION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> PREFERENCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> EVENING SOLACE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> STANZAS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> PARTING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> APOSTASY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> WINTER STORES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> THE MISSIONARY. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> <b>POEMS BY ELLIS BELL</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> FAITH AND DESPONDENCY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> STARS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> THE PHILOSOPHER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> REMEMBRANCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> A DEATH-SCENE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> SONG. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> ANTICIPATION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> THE PRISONER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> HOPE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> A DAY DREAM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> TO IMAGINATION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> HOW CLEAR SHE SHINES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> SYMPATHY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> PLEAD FOR ME. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> SELF-INTEROGATION, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> DEATH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> STANZAS TO —— </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> HONOUR'S MARTYR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> STANZAS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> MY COMFORTER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> THE OLD STOIC. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> <b>POEMS BY ACTON BELL,</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> A REMINISCENCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> THE ARBOUR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> HOME. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> VANITAS VANITATUM, OMNIA VANITAS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> THE PENITENT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> MUSIC ON CHRISTMAS MORNING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> STANZAS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> IF THIS BE ALL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0051"> MEMORY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> TO COWPER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0053"> THE DOUBTER'S PRAYER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0054"> A WORD TO THE "ELECT." </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> PAST DAYS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0056"> THE CONSOLATION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0057"> LINES COMPOSED IN A WOOD ON A WINDY DAY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0058"> VIEWS OF LIFE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0059"> APPEAL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0060"> THE STUDENT'S SERENADE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0061"> THE CAPTIVE DOVE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0062"> SELF-CONGRATULATION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0063"> FLUCTUATIONS, </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0064"> <b>SELECTIONS FROM THE LITERARY REMAINS OF + ELLIS AND ACTON BELL.</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0065"> <b>SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ELLIS BELL.</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0066"> I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0067"> II. THE BLUEBELL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0068"> III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0069"> THE NIGHT-WIND. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0070"> LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0071"> THE ELDER'S REBUKE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0072"> THE WANDERER FROM THE FOLD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0073"> WARNING AND REPLY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0074"> LAST WORDS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0075"> THE LADY TO HER GUITAR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0076"> THE TWO CHILDREN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0077"> THE VISIONARY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0078"> ENCOURAGEMENT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0079"> STANZAS. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0081"> <b>SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ACTON BELL.</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0082"> DESPONDENCY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0083"> A PRAYER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0084"> IN MEMORY OF A HAPPY DAY IN FEBRUARY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0085"> CONFIDENCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0086"> LINES WRITTEN FROM HOME. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0087"> THE NARROW WAY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0088"> DOMESTIC PEACE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0089"> THE THREE GUIDES. [First published in FRASER'S + MAGAZINE.] </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + POEMS BY CURRER BELL + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I've quench'd my lamp, I struck it in that start + Which every limb convulsed, I heard it fall— + The crash blent with my sleep, I saw depart + Its light, even as I woke, on yonder wall; + Over against my bed, there shone a gleam + Strange, faint, and mingling also with my dream. + + It sank, and I am wrapt in utter gloom; + How far is night advanced, and when will day + Retinge the dusk and livid air with bloom, + And fill this void with warm, creative ray? + Would I could sleep again till, clear and red, + Morning shall on the mountain-tops be spread! + + I'd call my women, but to break their sleep, + Because my own is broken, were unjust; + They've wrought all day, and well-earn'd slumbers steep + Their labours in forgetfulness, I trust; + Let me my feverish watch with patience bear, + Thankful that none with me its sufferings share. + + Yet, oh, for light! one ray would tranquillize + My nerves, my pulses, more than effort can; + I'll draw my curtain and consult the skies: + These trembling stars at dead of night look wan, + Wild, restless, strange, yet cannot be more drear + Than this my couch, shared by a nameless fear. + + All black—one great cloud, drawn from east to west, + Conceals the heavens, but there are lights below; + Torches burn in Jerusalem, and cast + On yonder stony mount a lurid glow. + I see men station'd there, and gleaming spears; + A sound, too, from afar, invades my ears. + + Dull, measured strokes of axe and hammer ring + From street to street, not loud, but through the night + Distinctly heard—and some strange spectral thing + Is now uprear'd—and, fix'd against the light + Of the pale lamps, defined upon that sky, + It stands up like a column, straight and high. + + I see it all—I know the dusky sign— + A cross on Calvary, which Jews uprear + While Romans watch; and when the dawn shall shine + Pilate, to judge the victim, will appear— + Pass sentence-yield Him up to crucify; + And on that cross the spotless Christ must die. + + Dreams, then, are true—for thus my vision ran; + Surely some oracle has been with me, + The gods have chosen me to reveal their plan, + To warn an unjust judge of destiny: + I, slumbering, heard and saw; awake I know, + Christ's coming death, and Pilate's life of woe. + + I do not weep for Pilate—who could prove + Regret for him whose cold and crushing sway + No prayer can soften, no appeal can move: + Who tramples hearts as others trample clay, + Yet with a faltering, an uncertain tread, + That might stir up reprisal in the dead. + + Forced to sit by his side and see his deeds; + Forced to behold that visage, hour by hour, + In whose gaunt lines the abhorrent gazer reads + A triple lust of gold, and blood, and power; + A soul whom motives fierce, yet abject, urge— + Rome's servile slave, and Judah's tyrant scourge. + + How can I love, or mourn, or pity him? + I, who so long my fetter'd hands have wrung; + I, who for grief have wept my eyesight dim; + Because, while life for me was bright and young, + He robb'd my youth—he quench'd my life's fair ray— + He crush'd my mind, and did my freedom slay. + + And at this hour-although I be his wife— + He has no more of tenderness from me + Than any other wretch of guilty life; + Less, for I know his household privacy— + I see him as he is—without a screen; + And, by the gods, my soul abhors his mien! + + Has he not sought my presence, dyed in blood— + Innocent, righteous blood, shed shamelessly? + And have I not his red salute withstood? + Ay, when, as erst, he plunged all Galilee + In dark bereavement—in affliction sore, + Mingling their very offerings with their gore. + + Then came he—in his eyes a serpent-smile, + Upon his lips some false, endearing word, + And through the streets of Salem clang'd the while + His slaughtering, hacking, sacrilegious sword— + And I, to see a man cause men such woe, + Trembled with ire—I did not fear to show. + + And now, the envious Jewish priests have brought + Jesus—whom they in mock'ry call their king— + To have, by this grim power, their vengeance wrought; + By this mean reptile, innocence to sting. + Oh! could I but the purposed doom avert, + And shield the blameless head from cruel hurt! + + Accessible is Pilate's heart to fear, + Omens will shake his soul, like autumn leaf; + Could he this night's appalling vision hear, + This just man's bonds were loosed, his life were safe, + Unless that bitter priesthood should prevail, + And make even terror to their malice quail. + + Yet if I tell the dream—but let me pause. + What dream? Erewhile the characters were clear, + Graved on my brain—at once some unknown cause + Has dimm'd and razed the thoughts, which now appear, + Like a vague remnant of some by-past scene;— + Not what will be, but what, long since, has been. + + I suffer'd many things—I heard foretold + A dreadful doom for Pilate,—lingering woes, + In far, barbarian climes, where mountains cold + Built up a solitude of trackless snows, + There he and grisly wolves prowl'd side by side, + There he lived famish'd—there, methought, he died; + + But not of hunger, nor by malady; + I saw the snow around him, stain'd with gore; + I said I had no tears for such as he, + And, lo! my cheek is wet—mine eyes run o'er; + I weep for mortal suffering, mortal guilt, + I weep the impious deed, the blood self-spilt. + + More I recall not, yet the vision spread + Into a world remote, an age to come— + And still the illumined name of Jesus shed + A light, a clearness, through the unfolding gloom— + And still I saw that sign, which now I see, + That cross on yonder brow of Calvary. + + What is this Hebrew Christ?-to me unknown + His lineage—doctrine—mission; yet how clear + Is God-like goodness in his actions shown, + How straight and stainless is his life's career! + The ray of Deity that rests on him, + In my eyes makes Olympian glory dim. + + The world advances; Greek or Roman rite + Suffices not the inquiring mind to stay; + The searching soul demands a purer light + To guide it on its upward, onward way; + Ashamed of sculptured gods, Religion turns + To where the unseen Jehovah's altar burns. + + Our faith is rotten, all our rites defiled, + Our temples sullied, and, methinks, this man, + With his new ordinance, so wise and mild, + Is come, even as He says, the chaff to fan + And sever from the wheat; but will his faith + Survive the terrors of to-morrow's death? + + * * * * * * * + + I feel a firmer trust—a higher hope + Rise in my soul—it dawns with dawning day; + Lo! on the Temple's roof—on Moriah's slope + Appears at length that clear and crimson ray + Which I so wished for when shut in by night; + Oh, opening skies, I hail, I bless pour light! + + Part, clouds and shadows! Glorious Sun appear! + Part, mental gloom! Come insight from on high! + Dusk dawn in heaven still strives with daylight clear + The longing soul doth still uncertain sigh. + Oh! to behold the truth—that sun divine, + How doth my bosom pant, my spirit pine! + + This day, Time travails with a mighty birth; + This day, Truth stoops from heaven and visits earth; + Ere night descends I shall more surely know + What guide to follow, in what path to go; + I wait in hope—I wait in solemn fear, + The oracle of God—the sole—true God—to hear. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MEMENTOS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Arranging long-locked drawers and shelves + Of cabinets, shut up for years, + What a strange task we've set ourselves! + How still the lonely room appears! + How strange this mass of ancient treasures, + Mementos of past pains and pleasures; + These volumes, clasped with costly stone, + With print all faded, gilding gone; + + These fans of leaves from Indian trees— + These crimson shells, from Indian seas— + These tiny portraits, set in rings— + Once, doubtless, deemed such precious things; + Keepsakes bestowed by Love on Faith, + And worn till the receiver's death, + Now stored with cameos, china, shells, + In this old closet's dusty cells. + + I scarcely think, for ten long years, + A hand has touched these relics old; + And, coating each, slow-formed, appears + The growth of green and antique mould. + + All in this house is mossing over; + All is unused, and dim, and damp; + Nor light, nor warmth, the rooms discover— + Bereft for years of fire and lamp. + + The sun, sometimes in summer, enters + The casements, with reviving ray; + But the long rains of many winters + Moulder the very walls away. + + And outside all is ivy, clinging + To chimney, lattice, gable grey; + Scarcely one little red rose springing + Through the green moss can force its way. + + Unscared, the daw and starling nestle, + Where the tall turret rises high, + And winds alone come near to rustle + The thick leaves where their cradles lie, + + I sometimes think, when late at even + I climb the stair reluctantly, + Some shape that should be well in heaven, + Or ill elsewhere, will pass by me. + + I fear to see the very faces, + Familiar thirty years ago, + Even in the old accustomed places + Which look so cold and gloomy now, + + I've come, to close the window, hither, + At twilight, when the sun was down, + And Fear my very soul would wither, + Lest something should be dimly shown, + + Too much the buried form resembling, + Of her who once was mistress here; + Lest doubtful shade, or moonbeam trembling, + Might take her aspect, once so dear. + + Hers was this chamber; in her time + It seemed to me a pleasant room, + For then no cloud of grief or crime + Had cursed it with a settled gloom; + + I had not seen death's image laid + In shroud and sheet, on yonder bed. + Before she married, she was blest— + Blest in her youth, blest in her worth; + Her mind was calm, its sunny rest + Shone in her eyes more clear than mirth. + + And when attired in rich array, + Light, lustrous hair about her brow, + She yonder sat, a kind of day + Lit up what seems so gloomy now. + These grim oak walls even then were grim; + That old carved chair was then antique; + But what around looked dusk and dim + Served as a foil to her fresh cheek; + Her neck and arms, of hue so fair, + Eyes of unclouded, smiling light; + Her soft, and curled, and floating hair, + Gems and attire, as rainbow bright. + + Reclined in yonder deep recess, + Ofttimes she would, at evening, lie + Watching the sun; she seemed to bless + With happy glance the glorious sky. + She loved such scenes, and as she gazed, + Her face evinced her spirit's mood; + Beauty or grandeur ever raised + In her, a deep-felt gratitude. + But of all lovely things, she loved + A cloudless moon, on summer night, + Full oft have I impatience proved + To see how long her still delight + Would find a theme in reverie, + Out on the lawn, or where the trees + Let in the lustre fitfully, + As their boughs parted momently, + To the soft, languid, summer breeze. + Alas! that she should e'er have flung + Those pure, though lonely joys away— + Deceived by false and guileful tongue, + She gave her hand, then suffered wrong; + Oppressed, ill-used, she faded young, + And died of grief by slow decay. + + Open that casket-look how bright + Those jewels flash upon the sight; + The brilliants have not lost a ray + Of lustre, since her wedding day. + But see—upon that pearly chain— + How dim lies Time's discolouring stain! + I've seen that by her daughter worn: + For, ere she died, a child was born;— + A child that ne'er its mother knew, + That lone, and almost friendless grew; + For, ever, when its step drew nigh, + Averted was the father's eye; + And then, a life impure and wild + Made him a stranger to his child: + Absorbed in vice, he little cared + On what she did, or how she fared. + The love withheld she never sought, + She grew uncherished—learnt untaught; + To her the inward life of thought + Full soon was open laid. + I know not if her friendlessness + Did sometimes on her spirit press, + But plaint she never made. + The book-shelves were her darling treasure, + She rarely seemed the time to measure + While she could read alone. + And she too loved the twilight wood + And often, in her mother's mood, + Away to yonder hill would hie, + Like her, to watch the setting sun, + Or see the stars born, one by one, + Out of the darkening sky. + Nor would she leave that hill till night + Trembled from pole to pole with light; + Even then, upon her homeward way, + Long—long her wandering steps delayed + To quit the sombre forest shade, + Through which her eerie pathway lay. + You ask if she had beauty's grace? + I know not—but a nobler face + My eyes have seldom seen; + A keen and fine intelligence, + And, better still, the truest sense + Were in her speaking mien. + But bloom or lustre was there none, + Only at moments, fitful shone + An ardour in her eye, + That kindled on her cheek a flush, + Warm as a red sky's passing blush + And quick with energy. + Her speech, too, was not common speech, + No wish to shine, or aim to teach, + Was in her words displayed: + She still began with quiet sense, + But oft the force of eloquence + Came to her lips in aid; + Language and voice unconscious changed, + And thoughts, in other words arranged, + Her fervid soul transfused + Into the hearts of those who heard, + And transient strength and ardour stirred, + In minds to strength unused, + Yet in gay crowd or festal glare, + Grave and retiring was her air; + 'Twas seldom, save with me alone, + That fire of feeling freely shone; + She loved not awe's nor wonder's gaze, + Nor even exaggerated praise, + Nor even notice, if too keen + The curious gazer searched her mien. + Nature's own green expanse revealed + The world, the pleasures, she could prize; + On free hill-side, in sunny field, + In quiet spots by woods concealed, + Grew wild and fresh her chosen joys, + Yet Nature's feelings deeply lay + In that endowed and youthful frame; + Shrined in her heart and hid from day, + They burned unseen with silent flame. + In youth's first search for mental light, + She lived but to reflect and learn, + But soon her mind's maturer might + For stronger task did pant and yearn; + And stronger task did fate assign, + Task that a giant's strength might strain; + To suffer long and ne'er repine, + Be calm in frenzy, smile at pain. + + Pale with the secret war of feeling, + Sustained with courage, mute, yet high; + The wounds at which she bled, revealing + Only by altered cheek and eye; + + She bore in silence—but when passion + Surged in her soul with ceaseless foam, + The storm at last brought desolation, + And drove her exiled from her home. + + And silent still, she straight assembled + The wrecks of strength her soul retained; + For though the wasted body trembled, + The unconquered mind, to quail, disdained. + + She crossed the sea—now lone she wanders + By Seine's, or Rhine's, or Arno's flow; + Fain would I know if distance renders + Relief or comfort to her woe. + + Fain would I know if, henceforth, ever, + These eyes shall read in hers again, + That light of love which faded never, + Though dimmed so long with secret pain. + + She will return, but cold and altered, + Like all whose hopes too soon depart; + Like all on whom have beat, unsheltered, + The bitter blasts that blight the heart. + + No more shall I behold her lying + Calm on a pillow, smoothed by me; + No more that spirit, worn with sighing, + Will know the rest of infancy. + + If still the paths of lore she follow, + 'Twill be with tired and goaded will; + She'll only toil, the aching hollow, + The joyless blank of life to fill. + + And oh! full oft, quite spent and weary, + Her hand will pause, her head decline; + That labour seems so hard and dreary, + On which no ray of hope may shine. + + Thus the pale blight of time and sorrow + Will shade with grey her soft, dark hair; + Then comes the day that knows no morrow, + And death succeeds to long despair. + + So speaks experience, sage and hoary; + I see it plainly, know it well, + Like one who, having read a story, + Each incident therein can tell. + + Touch not that ring; 'twas his, the sire + Of that forsaken child; + And nought his relics can inspire + Save memories, sin-defiled. + + I, who sat by his wife's death-bed, + I, who his daughter loved, + Could almost curse the guilty dead, + For woes the guiltless proved. + + And heaven did curse—they found him laid, + When crime for wrath was rife, + Cold—with the suicidal blade + Clutched in his desperate gripe. + + 'Twas near that long deserted hut, + Which in the wood decays, + Death's axe, self-wielded, struck his root, + And lopped his desperate days. + + You know the spot, where three black trees, + Lift up their branches fell, + And moaning, ceaseless as the seas, + Still seem, in every passing breeze, + The deed of blood to tell. + + They named him mad, and laid his bones + Where holier ashes lie; + Yet doubt not that his spirit groans + In hell's eternity. + + But, lo! night, closing o'er the earth, + Infects our thoughts with gloom; + Come, let us strive to rally mirth + Where glows a clear and tranquil hearth + In some more cheerful room. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WIFE'S WILL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sit still—a word—a breath may break + (As light airs stir a sleeping lake) + The glassy calm that soothes my woes— + The sweet, the deep, the full repose. + O leave me not! for ever be + Thus, more than life itself to me! + + Yes, close beside thee let me kneel— + Give me thy hand, that I may feel + The friend so true—so tried—so dear, + My heart's own chosen—indeed is near; + And check me not—this hour divine + Belongs to me—is fully mine. + + 'Tis thy own hearth thou sitt'st beside, + After long absence—wandering wide; + 'Tis thy own wife reads in thine eyes + A promise clear of stormless skies; + For faith and true love light the rays + Which shine responsive to her gaze. + + Ay,—well that single tear may fall; + Ten thousand might mine eyes recall, + Which from their lids ran blinding fast, + In hours of grief, yet scarcely past; + Well mayst thou speak of love to me, + For, oh! most truly—I love thee! + + Yet smile—for we are happy now. + Whence, then, that sadness on thy brow? + What sayst thou?" We muse once again, + Ere long, be severed by the main!" + I knew not this—I deemed no more + Thy step would err from Britain's shore. + + "Duty commands!" 'Tis true—'tis just; + Thy slightest word I wholly trust, + Nor by request, nor faintest sigh, + Would I to turn thy purpose try; + But, William, hear my solemn vow— + Hear and confirm!—with thee I go. + + "Distance and suffering," didst thou say? + "Danger by night, and toil by day?" + Oh, idle words and vain are these; + Hear me! I cross with thee the seas. + Such risk as thou must meet and dare, + I—thy true wife—will duly share. + + Passive, at home, I will not pine; + Thy toils, thy perils shall be mine; + Grant this—and be hereafter paid + By a warm heart's devoted aid: + 'Tis granted—with that yielding kiss, + Entered my soul unmingled bliss. + + Thanks, William, thanks! thy love has joy, + Pure, undefiled with base alloy; + 'Tis not a passion, false and blind, + Inspires, enchains, absorbs my mind; + Worthy, I feel, art thou to be + Loved with my perfect energy. + + This evening now shall sweetly flow, + Lit by our clear fire's happy glow; + And parting's peace-embittering fear, + Is warned our hearts to come not near; + For fate admits my soul's decree, + In bliss or bale—to go with thee! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE WOOD. + + But two miles more, and then we rest! + Well, there is still an hour of day, + And long the brightness of the West + Will light us on our devious way; + Sit then, awhile, here in this wood— + So total is the solitude, + We safely may delay. + + These massive roots afford a seat, + Which seems for weary travellers made. + There rest. The air is soft and sweet + In this sequestered forest glade, + And there are scents of flowers around, + The evening dew draws from the ground; + How soothingly they spread! + + Yes; I was tired, but not at heart; + No—that beats full of sweet content, + For now I have my natural part + Of action with adventure blent; + Cast forth on the wide world with thee, + And all my once waste energy + To weighty purpose bent. + + Yet—sayst thou, spies around us roam, + Our aims are termed conspiracy? + Haply, no more our English home + An anchorage for us may be? + That there is risk our mutual blood + May redden in some lonely wood + The knife of treachery? + + Sayst thou, that where we lodge each night, + In each lone farm, or lonelier hall + Of Norman Peer—ere morning light + Suspicion must as duly fall, + As day returns—such vigilance + Presides and watches over France, + Such rigour governs all? + + I fear not, William; dost thou fear? + So that the knife does not divide, + It may be ever hovering near: + I could not tremble at thy side, + And strenuous love—like mine for thee— + Is buckler strong 'gainst treachery, + And turns its stab aside. + + I am resolved that thou shalt learn + To trust my strength as I trust thine; + I am resolved our souls shall burn + With equal, steady, mingling shine; + Part of the field is conquered now, + Our lives in the same channel flow, + Along the self-same line; + + And while no groaning storm is heard, + Thou seem'st content it should be so, + But soon as comes a warning word + Of danger—straight thine anxious brow + Bends over me a mournful shade, + As doubting if my powers are made + To ford the floods of woe. + + Know, then it is my spirit swells, + And drinks, with eager joy, the air + Of freedom—where at last it dwells, + Chartered, a common task to share + With thee, and then it stirs alert, + And pants to learn what menaced hurt + Demands for thee its care. + + Remember, I have crossed the deep, + And stood with thee on deck, to gaze + On waves that rose in threatening heap, + While stagnant lay a heavy haze, + Dimly confusing sea with sky, + And baffling, even, the pilot's eye, + Intent to thread the maze— + + Of rocks, on Bretagne's dangerous coast, + And find a way to steer our band + To the one point obscure, which lost, + Flung us, as victims, on the strand;— + All, elsewhere, gleamed the Gallic sword, + And not a wherry could be moored + Along the guarded land. + + I feared not then—I fear not now; + The interest of each stirring scene + Wakes a new sense, a welcome glow, + In every nerve and bounding vein; + Alike on turbid Channel sea, + Or in still wood of Normandy, + I feel as born again. + + The rain descended that wild morn + When, anchoring in the cove at last, + Our band, all weary and forlorn + Ashore, like wave-worn sailors, cast— + Sought for a sheltering roof in vain, + And scarce could scanty food obtain + To break their morning fast. + + Thou didst thy crust with me divide, + Thou didst thy cloak around me fold; + And, sitting silent by thy side, + I ate the bread in peace untold: + Given kindly from thy hand, 'twas sweet + As costly fare or princely treat + On royal plate of gold. + + Sharp blew the sleet upon my face, + And, rising wild, the gusty wind + Drove on those thundering waves apace, + Our crew so late had left behind; + But, spite of frozen shower and storm, + So close to thee, my heart beat warm, + And tranquil slept my mind. + + So now—nor foot-sore nor opprest + With walking all this August day, + I taste a heaven in this brief rest, + This gipsy-halt beside the way. + England's wild flowers are fair to view, + Like balm is England's summer dew + Like gold her sunset ray. + + But the white violets, growing here, + Are sweeter than I yet have seen, + And ne'er did dew so pure and clear + Distil on forest mosses green, + As now, called forth by summer heat, + Perfumes our cool and fresh retreat— + These fragrant limes between. + + That sunset! Look beneath the boughs, + Over the copse—beyond the hills; + How soft, yet deep and warm it glows, + And heaven with rich suffusion fills; + With hues where still the opal's tint, + Its gleam of prisoned fire is blent, + Where flame through azure thrills! + + Depart we now—for fast will fade + That solemn splendour of decline, + And deep must be the after-shade + As stars alone to-night will shine; + No moon is destined—pale—to gaze + On such a day's vast Phoenix blaze, + A day in fires decayed! + + There—hand-in-hand we tread again + The mazes of this varying wood, + And soon, amid a cultured plain, + Girt in with fertile solitude, + We shall our resting-place descry, + Marked by one roof-tree, towering high + Above a farmstead rude. + + Refreshed, erelong, with rustic fare, + We'll seek a couch of dreamless ease; + Courage will guard thy heart from fear, + And Love give mine divinest peace: + To-morrow brings more dangerous toil, + And through its conflict and turmoil + We'll pass, as God shall please. + + [The preceding composition refers, doubtless, to the scenes + acted in France during the last year of the Consulate.] +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FRANCES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + She will not sleep, for fear of dreams, + But, rising, quits her restless bed, + And walks where some beclouded beams + Of moonlight through the hall are shed. + + Obedient to the goad of grief, + Her steps, now fast, now lingering slow, + In varying motion seek relief + From the Eumenides of woe. + + Wringing her hands, at intervals— + But long as mute as phantom dim— + She glides along the dusky walls, + Under the black oak rafters grim. + + The close air of the grated tower + Stifles a heart that scarce can beat, + And, though so late and lone the hour, + Forth pass her wandering, faltering feet; + + And on the pavement spread before + The long front of the mansion grey, + Her steps imprint the night-frost hoar, + Which pale on grass and granite lay. + + Not long she stayed where misty moon + And shimmering stars could on her look, + But through the garden archway soon + Her strange and gloomy path she took. + + Some firs, coeval with the tower, + Their straight black boughs stretched o'er her head; + Unseen, beneath this sable bower, + Rustled her dress and rapid tread. + + There was an alcove in that shade, + Screening a rustic seat and stand; + Weary she sat her down, and laid + Her hot brow on her burning hand. + + To solitude and to the night, + Some words she now, in murmurs, said; + And trickling through her fingers white, + Some tears of misery she shed. + + "God help me in my grievous need, + God help me in my inward pain; + Which cannot ask for pity's meed, + Which has no licence to complain, + + "Which must be borne; yet who can bear, + Hours long, days long, a constant weight— + The yoke of absolute despair, + A suffering wholly desolate? + + "Who can for ever crush the heart, + Restrain its throbbing, curb its life? + Dissemble truth with ceaseless art, + With outward calm mask inward strife?" + + She waited—as for some reply; + The still and cloudy night gave none; + Ere long, with deep-drawn, trembling sigh, + Her heavy plaint again begun. + + "Unloved—I love; unwept—I weep; + Grief I restrain—hope I repress: + Vain is this anguish—fixed and deep; + Vainer, desires and dreams of bliss. + + "My love awakes no love again, + My tears collect, and fall unfelt; + My sorrow touches none with pain, + My humble hopes to nothing melt. + + "For me the universe is dumb, + Stone-deaf, and blank, and wholly blind; + Life I must bound, existence sum + In the strait limits of one mind; + + "That mind my own. Oh! narrow cell; + Dark—imageless—a living tomb! + There must I sleep, there wake and dwell + Content, with palsy, pain, and gloom." + + Again she paused; a moan of pain, + A stifled sob, alone was heard; + Long silence followed—then again + Her voice the stagnant midnight stirred. + + "Must it be so? Is this my fate? + Can I nor struggle, nor contend? + And am I doomed for years to wait, + Watching death's lingering axe descend? + + "And when it falls, and when I die, + What follows? Vacant nothingness? + The blank of lost identity? + Erasure both of pain and bliss? + + "I've heard of heaven—I would believe; + For if this earth indeed be all, + Who longest lives may deepest grieve; + Most blest, whom sorrows soonest call. + + "Oh! leaving disappointment here, + Will man find hope on yonder coast? + Hope, which, on earth, shines never clear, + And oft in clouds is wholly lost. + + "Will he hope's source of light behold, + Fruition's spring, where doubts expire, + And drink, in waves of living gold, + Contentment, full, for long desire? + + "Will he find bliss, which here he dreamed? + Rest, which was weariness on earth? + Knowledge, which, if o'er life it beamed, + Served but to prove it void of worth? + + "Will he find love without lust's leaven, + Love fearless, tearless, perfect, pure, + To all with equal bounty given; + In all, unfeigned, unfailing, sure? + + "Will he, from penal sufferings free, + Released from shroud and wormy clod, + All calm and glorious, rise and see + Creation's Sire—Existence' God? + + "Then, glancing back on Time's brief woes, + Will he behold them, fading, fly; + Swept from Eternity's repose, + Like sullying cloud from pure blue sky? + + "If so, endure, my weary frame; + And when thy anguish strikes too deep, + And when all troubled burns life's flame, + Think of the quiet, final sleep; + + "Think of the glorious waking-hour, + Which will not dawn on grief and tears, + But on a ransomed spirit's power, + Certain, and free from mortal fears. + + "Seek now thy couch, and lie till morn, + Then from thy chamber, calm, descend, + With mind nor tossed, nor anguish-torn, + But tranquil, fixed, to wait the end. + + "And when thy opening eyes shall see + Mementos, on the chamber wall, + Of one who has forgotten thee, + Shed not the tear of acrid gall. + + "The tear which, welling from the heart, + Burns where its drop corrosive falls, + And makes each nerve, in torture, start, + At feelings it too well recalls: + + "When the sweet hope of being loved + Threw Eden sunshine on life's way: + When every sense and feeling proved + Expectancy of brightest day. + + "When the hand trembled to receive + A thrilling clasp, which seemed so near, + And the heart ventured to believe + Another heart esteemed it dear. + + "When words, half love, all tenderness, + Were hourly heard, as hourly spoken, + When the long, sunny days of bliss + Only by moonlight nights were broken. + + "Till, drop by drop, the cup of joy + Filled full, with purple light was glowing, + And Faith, which watched it, sparkling high + Still never dreamt the overflowing. + + "It fell not with a sudden crashing, + It poured not out like open sluice; + No, sparkling still, and redly flashing, + Drained, drop by drop, the generous juice. + + "I saw it sink, and strove to taste it, + My eager lips approached the brim; + The movement only seemed to waste it; + It sank to dregs, all harsh and dim. + + "These I have drunk, and they for ever + Have poisoned life and love for me; + A draught from Sodom's lake could never + More fiery, salt, and bitter, be. + + "Oh! Love was all a thin illusion + Joy, but the desert's flying stream; + And glancing back on long delusion, + My memory grasps a hollow dream. + + "Yet whence that wondrous change of feeling, + I never knew, and cannot learn; + Nor why my lover's eye, congealing, + Grew cold and clouded, proud and stern. + + "Nor wherefore, friendship's forms forgetting, + He careless left, and cool withdrew; + Nor spoke of grief, nor fond regretting, + Nor ev'n one glance of comfort threw. + + "And neither word nor token sending, + Of kindness, since the parting day, + His course, for distant regions bending, + Went, self-contained and calm, away. + + "Oh, bitter, blighting, keen sensation, + Which will not weaken, cannot die, + Hasten thy work of desolation, + And let my tortured spirit fly! + + "Vain as the passing gale, my crying; + Though lightning-struck, I must live on; + I know, at heart, there is no dying + Of love, and ruined hope, alone. + + "Still strong and young, and warm with vigour, + Though scathed, I long shall greenly grow; + And many a storm of wildest rigour + Shall yet break o'er my shivered bough. + + "Rebellious now to blank inertion, + My unused strength demands a task; + Travel, and toil, and full exertion, + Are the last, only boon I ask. + + "Whence, then, this vain and barren dreaming + Of death, and dubious life to come? + I see a nearer beacon gleaming + Over dejection's sea of gloom. + + "The very wildness of my sorrow + Tells me I yet have innate force; + My track of life has been too narrow, + Effort shall trace a broader course. + + "The world is not in yonder tower, + Earth is not prisoned in that room, + 'Mid whose dark panels, hour by hour, + I've sat, the slave and prey of gloom. + + "One feeling—turned to utter anguish, + Is not my being's only aim; + When, lorn and loveless, life will languish, + But courage can revive the flame. + + "He, when he left me, went a roving + To sunny climes, beyond the sea; + And I, the weight of woe removing, + Am free and fetterless as he. + + "New scenes, new language, skies less clouded, + May once more wake the wish to live; + Strange, foreign towns, astir, and crowded, + New pictures to the mind may give. + + "New forms and faces, passing ever, + May hide the one I still retain, + Defined, and fixed, and fading never, + Stamped deep on vision, heart, and brain. + + "And we might meet—time may have changed him; + Chance may reveal the mystery, + The secret influence which estranged him; + Love may restore him yet to me. + + "False thought—false hope—in scorn be banished! + I am not loved—nor loved have been; + Recall not, then, the dreams scarce vanished; + Traitors! mislead me not again! + + "To words like yours I bid defiance, + 'Tis such my mental wreck have made; + Of God alone, and self-reliance, + I ask for solace—hope for aid. + + "Morn comes—and ere meridian glory + O'er these, my natal woods, shall smile, + Both lonely wood and mansion hoary + I'll leave behind, full many a mile." +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GILBERT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. THE GARDEN. + + Above the city hung the moon, + Right o'er a plot of ground + Where flowers and orchard-trees were fenced + With lofty walls around: + 'Twas Gilbert's garden—there to-night + Awhile he walked alone; + And, tired with sedentary toil, + Mused where the moonlight shone. + + This garden, in a city-heart, + Lay still as houseless wild, + Though many-windowed mansion fronts + Were round it; closely piled; + But thick their walls, and those within + Lived lives by noise unstirred; + Like wafting of an angel's wing, + Time's flight by them was heard. + + Some soft piano-notes alone + Were sweet as faintly given, + Where ladies, doubtless, cheered the hearth + With song that winter-even. + The city's many-mingled sounds + Rose like the hum of ocean; + They rather lulled the heart than roused + Its pulse to faster motion. + + Gilbert has paced the single walk + An hour, yet is not weary; + And, though it be a winter night + He feels nor cold nor dreary. + The prime of life is in his veins, + And sends his blood fast flowing, + And Fancy's fervour warms the thoughts + Now in his bosom glowing. + + Those thoughts recur to early love, + Or what he love would name, + Though haply Gilbert's secret deeds + Might other title claim. + Such theme not oft his mind absorbs, + He to the world clings fast, + And too much for the present lives, + To linger o'er the past. + + But now the evening's deep repose + Has glided to his soul; + That moonlight falls on Memory, + And shows her fading scroll. + One name appears in every line + The gentle rays shine o'er, + And still he smiles and still repeats + That one name—Elinor. + + There is no sorrow in his smile, + No kindness in his tone; + The triumph of a selfish heart + Speaks coldly there alone; + He says: "She loved me more than life; + And truly it was sweet + To see so fair a woman kneel, + In bondage, at my feet. + + "There was a sort of quiet bliss + To be so deeply loved, + To gaze on trembling eagerness + And sit myself unmoved. + And when it pleased my pride to grant + At last some rare caress, + To feel the fever of that hand + My fingers deigned to press. + + "'Twas sweet to see her strive to hide + What every glance revealed; + Endowed, the while, with despot-might + Her destiny to wield. + I knew myself no perfect man, + Nor, as she deemed, divine; + I knew that I was glorious—but + By her reflected shine; + + "Her youth, her native energy, + Her powers new-born and fresh, + 'Twas these with Godhead sanctified + My sensual frame of flesh. + Yet, like a god did I descend + At last, to meet her love; + And, like a god, I then withdrew + To my own heaven above. + + "And never more could she invoke + My presence to her sphere; + No prayer, no plaint, no cry of hers + Could win my awful ear. + I knew her blinded constancy + Would ne'er my deeds betray, + And, calm in conscience, whole in heart. + I went my tranquil way. + + "Yet, sometimes, I still feel a wish, + The fond and flattering pain + Of passion's anguish to create + In her young breast again. + Bright was the lustre of her eyes, + When they caught fire from mine; + If I had power—this very hour, + Again I'd light their shine. + + "But where she is, or how she lives, + I have no clue to know; + I've heard she long my absence pined, + And left her home in woe. + But busied, then, in gathering gold, + As I am busied now, + I could not turn from such pursuit, + To weep a broken vow. + + "Nor could I give to fatal risk + The fame I ever prized; + Even now, I fear, that precious fame + Is too much compromised." + An inward trouble dims his eye, + Some riddle he would solve; + Some method to unloose a knot, + His anxious thoughts revolve. + + He, pensive, leans against a tree, + A leafy evergreen, + The boughs, the moonlight, intercept, + And hide him like a screen + He starts—the tree shakes with his tremor, + Yet nothing near him pass'd; + He hurries up the garden alley, + In strangely sudden haste. + + With shaking hand, he lifts the latchet, + Steps o'er the threshold stone; + The heavy door slips from his fingers— + It shuts, and he is gone. + What touched, transfixed, appalled, his soul?— + A nervous thought, no more; + 'Twill sink like stone in placid pool, + And calm close smoothly o'er. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. THE PARLOUR. + + Warm is the parlour atmosphere, + Serene the lamp's soft light; + The vivid embers, red and clear, + Proclaim a frosty night. + Books, varied, on the table lie, + Three children o'er them bend, + And all, with curious, eager eye, + The turning leaf attend. + + Picture and tale alternately + Their simple hearts delight, + And interest deep, and tempered glee, + Illume their aspects bright. + The parents, from their fireside place, + Behold that pleasant scene, + And joy is on the mother's face, + Pride in the father's mien. + + As Gilbert sees his blooming wife, + Beholds his children fair, + No thought has he of transient strife, + Or past, though piercing fear. + The voice of happy infancy + Lisps sweetly in his ear, + His wife, with pleased and peaceful eye, + Sits, kindly smiling, near. + + The fire glows on her silken dress, + And shows its ample grace, + And warmly tints each hazel tress, + Curled soft around her face. + The beauty that in youth he wooed, + Is beauty still, unfaded; + The brow of ever placid mood + No churlish grief has shaded. + + Prosperity, in Gilbert's home, + Abides the guest of years; + There Want or Discord never come, + And seldom Toil or Tears. + The carpets bear the peaceful print + Of comfort's velvet tread, + And golden gleams, from plenty sent, + In every nook are shed. + + The very silken spaniel seems + Of quiet ease to tell, + As near its mistress' feet it dreams, + Sunk in a cushion's swell + And smiles seem native to the eyes + Of those sweet children, three; + They have but looked on tranquil skies, + And know not misery. + + Alas! that Misery should come + In such an hour as this; + Why could she not so calm a home + A little longer miss? + But she is now within the door, + Her steps advancing glide; + Her sullen shade has crossed the floor, + She stands at Gilbert's side. + + She lays her hand upon his heart, + It bounds with agony; + His fireside chair shakes with the start + That shook the garden tree. + His wife towards the children looks, + She does not mark his mien; + The children, bending o'er their books, + His terror have not seen. + + In his own home, by his own hearth, + He sits in solitude, + And circled round with light and mirth, + Cold horror chills his blood. + His mind would hold with desperate clutch + The scene that round him lies; + No—changed, as by some wizard's touch, + The present prospect flies. + + A tumult vague—a viewless strife + His futile struggles crush; + 'Twixt him and his an unknown life + And unknown feelings rush. + He sees—but scarce can language paint + The tissue fancy weaves; + For words oft give but echo faint + Of thoughts the mind conceives. + + Noise, tumult strange, and darkness dim, + Efface both light and quiet; + No shape is in those shadows grim, + No voice in that wild riot. + Sustain'd and strong, a wondrous blast + Above and round him blows; + A greenish gloom, dense overcast, + Each moment denser grows. + + He nothing knows—nor clearly sees, + Resistance checks his breath, + The high, impetuous, ceaseless breeze + Blows on him cold as death. + And still the undulating gloom + Mocks sight with formless motion: + Was such sensation Jonah's doom, + Gulphed in the depths of ocean? + + Streaking the air, the nameless vision, + Fast-driven, deep-sounding, flows; + Oh! whence its source, and what its mission? + How will its terrors close? + Long-sweeping, rushing, vast and void, + The universe it swallows; + And still the dark, devouring tide + A typhoon tempest follows. + + More slow it rolls; its furious race + Sinks to its solemn gliding; + The stunning roar, the wind's wild chase, + To stillness are subsiding. + And, slowly borne along, a form + The shapeless chaos varies; + Poised in the eddy to the storm, + Before the eye it tarries. + + A woman drowned—sunk in the deep, + On a long wave reclining; + The circling waters' crystal sweep, + Like glass, her shape enshrining. + Her pale dead face, to Gilbert turned, + Seems as in sleep reposing; + A feeble light, now first discerned, + The features well disclosing. + + No effort from the haunted air + The ghastly scene could banish, + That hovering wave, arrested there, + Rolled—throbbed—but did not vanish. + If Gilbert upward turned his gaze, + He saw the ocean-shadow; + If he looked down, the endless seas + Lay green as summer meadow. + + And straight before, the pale corpse lay, + Upborne by air or billow, + So near, he could have touched the spray + That churned around its pillow. + The hollow anguish of the face + Had moved a fiend to sorrow; + Not death's fixed calm could rase the trace + Of suffering's deep-worn furrow. + + All moved; a strong returning blast, + The mass of waters raising, + Bore wave and passive carcase past, + While Gilbert yet was gazing. + Deep in her isle-conceiving womb, + It seemed the ocean thundered, + And soon, by realms of rushing gloom, + Were seer and phantom sundered. + + Then swept some timbers from a wreck. + On following surges riding; + Then sea-weed, in the turbid rack + Uptorn, went slowly gliding. + The horrid shade, by slow degrees, + A beam of light defeated, + And then the roar of raving seas, + Fast, far, and faint, retreated. + + And all was gone—gone like a mist, + Corse, billows, tempest, wreck; + Three children close to Gilbert prest + And clung around his neck. + Good night! good night! the prattlers said, + And kissed their father's cheek; + 'Twas now the hour their quiet bed + And placid rest to seek. + + The mother with her offspring goes + To hear their evening prayer; + She nought of Gilbert's vision knows, + And nought of his despair. + Yet, pitying God, abridge the time + Of anguish, now his fate! + Though, haply, great has been his crime: + Thy mercy, too, is great. + + Gilbert, at length, uplifts his head, + Bent for some moments low, + And there is neither grief nor dread + Upon his subtle brow. + For well can he his feelings task, + And well his looks command; + His features well his heart can mask, + With smiles and smoothness bland. + + Gilbert has reasoned with his mind— + He says 'twas all a dream; + He strives his inward sight to blind + Against truth's inward beam. + He pitied not that shadowy thing, + When it was flesh and blood; + Nor now can pity's balmy spring + Refresh his arid mood. + + "And if that dream has spoken truth," + Thus musingly he says; + "If Elinor be dead, in sooth, + Such chance the shock repays: + A net was woven round my feet, + I scarce could further go; + Ere shame had forced a fast retreat, + Dishonour brought me low. + + "Conceal her, then, deep, silent sea, + Give her a secret grave! + She sleeps in peace, and I am free, + No longer terror's slave: + And homage still, from all the world, + Shall greet my spotless name, + Since surges break and waves are curled + Above its threatened shame." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + III. THE WELCOME HOME. + + Above the city hangs the moon, + Some clouds are boding rain; + Gilbert, erewhile on journey gone, + To-night comes home again. + Ten years have passed above his head, + Each year has brought him gain; + His prosperous life has smoothly sped, + Without or tear or stain. + + 'Tis somewhat late—the city clocks + Twelve deep vibrations toll, + As Gilbert at the portal knocks, + Which is his journey's goal. + The street is still and desolate, + The moon hid by a cloud; + Gilbert, impatient, will not wait,— + His second knock peals loud. + + The clocks are hushed—there's not a light + In any window nigh, + And not a single planet bright + Looks from the clouded sky; + The air is raw, the rain descends, + A bitter north-wind blows; + His cloak the traveller scarce defends— + Will not the door unclose? + + He knocks the third time, and the last + His summons now they hear, + Within, a footstep, hurrying fast, + Is heard approaching near. + The bolt is drawn, the clanking chain + Falls to the floor of stone; + And Gilbert to his heart will strain + His wife and children soon. + + The hand that lifts the latchet, holds + A candle to his sight, + And Gilbert, on the step, beholds + A woman, clad in white. + Lo! water from her dripping dress + Runs on the streaming floor; + From every dark and clinging tress + The drops incessant pour. + + There's none but her to welcome him; + She holds the candle high, + And, motionless in form and limb, + Stands cold and silent nigh; + There's sand and sea-weed on her robe, + Her hollow eyes are blind; + No pulse in such a frame can throb, + No life is there defined. + + Gilbert turned ashy-white, but still + His lips vouchsafed no cry; + He spurred his strength and master-will + To pass the figure by,— + But, moving slow, it faced him straight, + It would not flinch nor quail: + Then first did Gilbert's strength abate, + His stony firmness quail. + + He sank upon his knees and prayed + The shape stood rigid there; + He called aloud for human aid, + No human aid was near. + An accent strange did thus repeat + Heaven's stern but just decree: + "The measure thou to her didst mete, + To thee shall measured be!" + + Gilbert sprang from his bended knees, + By the pale spectre pushed, + And, wild as one whom demons seize, + Up the hall-staircase rushed; + Entered his chamber—near the bed + Sheathed steel and fire-arms hung— + Impelled by maniac purpose dread + He chose those stores among. + + Across his throat a keen-edged knife + With vigorous hand he drew; + The wound was wide—his outraged life + Rushed rash and redly through. + And thus died, by a shameful death, + A wise and worldly man, + Who never drew but selfish breath + Since first his life began. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LIFE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Life, believe, is not a dream + So dark as sages say; + Oft a little morning rain + Foretells a pleasant day. + Sometimes there are clouds of gloom, + But these are transient all; + If the shower will make the roses bloom, + O why lament its fall? + Rapidly, merrily, + Life's sunny hours flit by, + Gratefully, cheerily + Enjoy them as they fly! + What though Death at times steps in, + And calls our Best away? + What though sorrow seems to win, + O'er hope, a heavy sway? + Yet Hope again elastic springs, + Unconquered, though she fell; + Still buoyant are her golden wings, + Still strong to bear us well. + Manfully, fearlessly, + The day of trial bear, + For gloriously, victoriously, + Can courage quell despair! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LETTER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What is she writing? Watch her now, + How fast her fingers move! + How eagerly her youthful brow + Is bent in thought above! + Her long curls, drooping, shade the light, + She puts them quick aside, + Nor knows that band of crystals bright, + Her hasty touch untied. + It slips adown her silken dress, + Falls glittering at her feet; + Unmarked it falls, for she no less + Pursues her labour sweet. + + The very loveliest hour that shines, + Is in that deep blue sky; + The golden sun of June declines, + It has not caught her eye. + The cheerful lawn, and unclosed gate, + The white road, far away, + In vain for her light footsteps wait, + She comes not forth to-day. + There is an open door of glass + Close by that lady's chair, + From thence, to slopes of messy grass, + Descends a marble stair. + + Tall plants of bright and spicy bloom + Around the threshold grow; + Their leaves and blossoms shade the room + From that sun's deepening glow. + Why does she not a moment glance + Between the clustering flowers, + And mark in heaven the radiant dance + Of evening's rosy hours? + O look again! Still fixed her eye, + Unsmiling, earnest, still, + And fast her pen and fingers fly, + Urged by her eager will. + + Her soul is in th'absorbing task; + To whom, then, doth she write? + Nay, watch her still more closely, ask + Her own eyes' serious light; + Where do they turn, as now her pen + Hangs o'er th'unfinished line? + Whence fell the tearful gleam that then + Did in their dark spheres shine? + The summer-parlour looks so dark, + When from that sky you turn, + And from th'expanse of that green park, + You scarce may aught discern. + + Yet, o'er the piles of porcelain rare, + O'er flower-stand, couch, and vase, + Sloped, as if leaning on the air, + One picture meets the gaze. + 'Tis there she turns; you may not see + Distinct, what form defines + The clouded mass of mystery + Yon broad gold frame confines. + But look again; inured to shade + Your eyes now faintly trace + A stalwart form, a massive head, + A firm, determined face. + + Black Spanish locks, a sunburnt cheek + A brow high, broad, and white, + Where every furrow seems to speak + Of mind and moral might. + Is that her god? I cannot tell; + Her eye a moment met + Th'impending picture, then it fell + Darkened and dimmed and wet. + A moment more, her task is done, + And sealed the letter lies; + And now, towards the setting sun + She turns her tearful eyes. + + Those tears flow over, wonder not, + For by the inscription see + In what a strange and distant spot + Her heart of hearts must be! + Three seas and many a league of land + That letter must pass o'er, + Ere read by him to whose loved hand + 'Tis sent from England's shore. + Remote colonial wilds detain + Her husband, loved though stern; + She, 'mid that smiling English scene, + Weeps for his wished return. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + REGRET. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Long ago I wished to leave + "The house where I was born;" + Long ago I used to grieve, + My home seemed so forlorn. + In other years, its silent rooms + Were filled with haunting fears; + Now, their very memory comes + O'ercharged with tender tears. + + Life and marriage I have known. + Things once deemed so bright; + Now, how utterly is flown + Every ray of light! + 'Mid the unknown sea, of life + I no blest isle have found; + At last, through all its wild wave's strife, + My bark is homeward bound. + + Farewell, dark and rolling deep! + Farewell, foreign shore! + Open, in unclouded sweep, + Thou glorious realm before! + Yet, though I had safely pass'd + That weary, vexed main, + One loved voice, through surge and blast + Could call me back again. + + Though the soul's bright morning rose + O'er Paradise for me, + William! even from Heaven's repose + I'd turn, invoked by thee! + Storm nor surge should e'er arrest + My soul, exalting then: + All my heaven was once thy breast, + Would it were mine again! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PRESENTIMENT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Sister, you've sat there all the day, + Come to the hearth awhile; + The wind so wildly sweeps away, + The clouds so darkly pile. + That open book has lain, unread, + For hours upon your knee; + You've never smiled nor turned your head; + What can you, sister, see?" + + "Come hither, Jane, look down the field; + How dense a mist creeps on! + The path, the hedge, are both concealed, + Ev'n the white gate is gone + No landscape through the fog I trace, + No hill with pastures green; + All featureless is Nature's face. + All masked in clouds her mien. + + "Scarce is the rustle of a leaf + Heard in our garden now; + The year grows old, its days wax brief, + The tresses leave its brow. + The rain drives fast before the wind, + The sky is blank and grey; + O Jane, what sadness fills the mind + On such a dreary day!" + + "You think too much, my sister dear; + You sit too long alone; + What though November days be drear? + Full soon will they be gone. + I've swept the hearth, and placed your chair. + Come, Emma, sit by me; + Our own fireside is never drear, + Though late and wintry wane the year, + Though rough the night may be." + + "The peaceful glow of our fireside + Imparts no peace to me: + My thoughts would rather wander wide + Than rest, dear Jane, with thee. + I'm on a distant journey bound, + And if, about my heart, + Too closely kindred ties were bound, + 'Twould break when forced to part. + + "'Soon will November days be o'er:' + Well have you spoken, Jane: + My own forebodings tell me more— + For me, I know by presage sure, + They'll ne'er return again. + Ere long, nor sun nor storm to me + Will bring or joy or gloom; + They reach not that Eternity + Which soon will be my home." + + Eight months are gone, the summer sun + Sets in a glorious sky; + A quiet field, all green and lone, + Receives its rosy dye. + Jane sits upon a shaded stile, + Alone she sits there now; + Her head rests on her hand the while, + And thought o'ercasts her brow. + + She's thinking of one winter's day, + A few short months ago, + Then Emma's bier was borne away + O'er wastes of frozen snow. + She's thinking how that drifted snow + Dissolved in spring's first gleam, + And how her sister's memory now + Fades, even as fades a dream. + + The snow will whiten earth again, + But Emma comes no more; + She left, 'mid winter's sleet and rain, + This world for Heaven's far shore. + On Beulah's hills she wanders now, + On Eden's tranquil plain; + To her shall Jane hereafter go, + She ne'er shall come to Jane! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE TEACHER'S MONOLOGUE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The room is quiet, thoughts alone + People its mute tranquillity; + The yoke put off, the long task done,— + I am, as it is bliss to be, + Still and untroubled. Now, I see, + For the first time, how soft the day + O'er waveless water, stirless tree, + Silent and sunny, wings its way. + Now, as I watch that distant hill, + So faint, so blue, so far removed, + Sweet dreams of home my heart may fill, + That home where I am known and loved: + It lies beyond; yon azure brow + Parts me from all Earth holds for me; + And, morn and eve, my yearnings flow + Thitherward tending, changelessly. + My happiest hours, aye! all the time, + I love to keep in memory, + Lapsed among moors, ere life's first prime + Decayed to dark anxiety. + + Sometimes, I think a narrow heart + Makes me thus mourn those far away, + And keeps my love so far apart + From friends and friendships of to-day; + Sometimes, I think 'tis but a dream + I treasure up so jealously, + All the sweet thoughts I live on seem + To vanish into vacancy: + And then, this strange, coarse world around + Seems all that's palpable and true; + And every sight, and every sound, + Combines my spirit to subdue + To aching grief, so void and lone + Is Life and Earth—so worse than vain, + The hopes that, in my own heart sown, + And cherished by such sun and rain + As Joy and transient Sorrow shed, + Have ripened to a harvest there: + Alas! methinks I hear it said, + "Thy golden sheaves are empty air." + + All fades away; my very home + I think will soon be desolate; + I hear, at times, a warning come + Of bitter partings at its gate; + And, if I should return and see + The hearth-fire quenched, the vacant chair; + And hear it whispered mournfully, + That farewells have been spoken there, + What shall I do, and whither turn? + Where look for peace? When cease to mourn? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Tis not the air I wished to play, + The strain I wished to sing; + My wilful spirit slipped away + And struck another string. + I neither wanted smile nor tear, + Bright joy nor bitter woe, + But just a song that sweet and clear, + Though haply sad, might flow. + + A quiet song, to solace me + When sleep refused to come; + A strain to chase despondency, + When sorrowful for home. + In vain I try; I cannot sing; + All feels so cold and dead; + No wild distress, no gushing spring + Of tears in anguish shed; + + But all the impatient gloom of one + Who waits a distant day, + When, some great task of suffering done, + Repose shall toil repay. + For youth departs, and pleasure flies, + And life consumes away, + And youth's rejoicing ardour dies + Beneath this drear delay; + + And Patience, weary with her yoke, + Is yielding to despair, + And Health's elastic spring is broke + Beneath the strain of care. + Life will be gone ere I have lived; + Where now is Life's first prime? + I've worked and studied, longed and grieved, + Through all that rosy time. + + To toil, to think, to long, to grieve,— + Is such my future fate? + The morn was dreary, must the eve + Be also desolate? + Well, such a life at least makes Death + A welcome, wished-for friend; + Then, aid me, Reason, Patience, Faith, + To suffer to the end! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PASSION. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Some have won a wild delight, + By daring wilder sorrow; + Could I gain thy love to-night, + I'd hazard death to-morrow. + + Could the battle-struggle earn + One kind glance from thine eye, + How this withering heart would burn, + The heady fight to try! + + Welcome nights of broken sleep, + And days of carnage cold, + Could I deem that thou wouldst weep + To hear my perils told. + + Tell me, if with wandering bands + I roam full far away, + Wilt thou to those distant lands + In spirit ever stray? + + Wild, long, a trumpet sounds afar; + Bid me—bid me go + Where Seik and Briton meet in war, + On Indian Sutlej's flow. + + Blood has dyed the Sutlej's waves + With scarlet stain, I know; + Indus' borders yawn with graves, + Yet, command me go! + + Though rank and high the holocaust + Of nations steams to heaven, + Glad I'd join the death-doomed host, + Were but the mandate given. + + Passion's strength should nerve my arm, + Its ardour stir my life, + Till human force to that dread charm + Should yield and sink in wild alarm, + Like trees to tempest-strife. + + If, hot from war, I seek thy love, + Darest thou turn aside? + Darest thou then my fire reprove, + By scorn, and maddening pride? + + No—my will shall yet control + Thy will, so high and free, + And love shall tame that haughty soul— + Yes—tenderest love for me. + + I'll read my triumph in thine eyes, + Behold, and prove the change; + Then leave, perchance, my noble prize, + Once more in arms to range. + + I'd die when all the foam is up, + The bright wine sparkling high; + Nor wait till in the exhausted cup + Life's dull dregs only lie. + + Then Love thus crowned with sweet reward, + Hope blest with fulness large, + I'd mount the saddle, draw the sword, + And perish in the charge! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFERENCE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Not in scorn do I reprove thee, + Not in pride thy vows I waive, + But, believe, I could not love thee, + Wert thou prince, and I a slave. + These, then, are thine oaths of passion? + This, thy tenderness for me? + Judged, even, by thine own confession, + Thou art steeped in perfidy. + Having vanquished, thou wouldst leave me! + Thus I read thee long ago; + Therefore, dared I not deceive thee, + Even with friendship's gentle show. + Therefore, with impassive coldness + Have I ever met thy gaze; + Though, full oft, with daring boldness, + Thou thine eyes to mine didst raise. + Why that smile? Thou now art deeming + This my coldness all untrue,— + But a mask of frozen seeming, + Hiding secret fires from view. + Touch my hand, thou self-deceiver; + Nay-be calm, for I am so: + Does it burn? Does my lip quiver? + Has mine eye a troubled glow? + Canst thou call a moment's colour + To my forehead—to my cheek? + Canst thou tinge their tranquil pallor + With one flattering, feverish streak? + Am I marble? What! no woman + Could so calm before thee stand? + Nothing living, sentient, human, + Could so coldly take thy hand? + Yes—a sister might, a mother: + My good-will is sisterly: + Dream not, then, I strive to smother + Fires that inly burn for thee. + Rave not, rage not, wrath is fruitless, + Fury cannot change my mind; + I but deem the feeling rootless + Which so whirls in passion's wind. + Can I love? Oh, deeply—truly— + Warmly—fondly—but not thee; + And my love is answered duly, + With an equal energy. + Wouldst thou see thy rival? Hasten, + Draw that curtain soft aside, + Look where yon thick branches chasten + Noon, with shades of eventide. + In that glade, where foliage blending + Forms a green arch overhead, + Sits thy rival, thoughtful bending + O'er a stand with papers spread— + Motionless, his fingers plying + That untired, unresting pen; + Time and tide unnoticed flying, + There he sits—the first of men! + Man of conscience—man of reason; + Stern, perchance, but ever just; + Foe to falsehood, wrong, and treason, + Honour's shield, and virtue's trust! + Worker, thinker, firm defender + Of Heaven's truth—man's liberty; + Soul of iron—proof to slander, + Rock where founders tyranny. + Fame he seeks not—but full surely + She will seek him, in his home; + This I know, and wait securely + For the atoning hour to come. + To that man my faith is given, + Therefore, soldier, cease to sue; + While God reigns in earth and heaven, + I to him will still be true! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EVENING SOLACE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The human heart has hidden treasures, + In secret kept, in silence sealed;— + The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, + Whose charms were broken if revealed. + And days may pass in gay confusion, + And nights in rosy riot fly, + While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion, + The memory of the Past may die. + + But there are hours of lonely musing, + Such as in evening silence come, + When, soft as birds their pinions closing, + The heart's best feelings gather home. + Then in our souls there seems to languish + A tender grief that is not woe; + And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguish + Now cause but some mild tears to flow. + + And feelings, once as strong as passions, + Float softly back—a faded dream; + Our own sharp griefs and wild sensations, + The tale of others' sufferings seem. + Oh! when the heart is freshly bleeding, + How longs it for that time to be, + When, through the mist of years receding, + Its woes but live in reverie! + + And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer, + On evening shade and loneliness; + And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer, + Feel no untold and strange distress— + Only a deeper impulse given + By lonely hour and darkened room, + To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven + Seeking a life and world to come. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STANZAS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If thou be in a lonely place, + If one hour's calm be thine, + As Evening bends her placid face + O'er this sweet day's decline; + If all the earth and all the heaven + Now look serene to thee, + As o'er them shuts the summer even, + One moment—think of me! + + Pause, in the lane, returning home; + 'Tis dusk, it will be still: + Pause near the elm, a sacred gloom + Its breezeless boughs will fill. + Look at that soft and golden light, + High in the unclouded sky; + Watch the last bird's belated flight, + As it flits silent by. + + Hark! for a sound upon the wind, + A step, a voice, a sigh; + If all be still, then yield thy mind, + Unchecked, to memory. + If thy love were like mine, how blest + That twilight hour would seem, + When, back from the regretted Past, + Returned our early dream! + + If thy love were like mine, how wild + Thy longings, even to pain, + For sunset soft, and moonlight mild, + To bring that hour again! + But oft, when in thine arms I lay, + I've seen thy dark eyes shine, + And deeply felt their changeful ray + Spoke other love than mine. + + My love is almost anguish now, + It beats so strong and true; + 'Twere rapture, could I deem that thou + Such anguish ever knew. + I have been but thy transient flower, + Thou wert my god divine; + Till checked by death's congealing power, + This heart must throb for thine. + + And well my dying hour were blest, + If life's expiring breath + Should pass, as thy lips gently prest + My forehead cold in death; + And sound my sleep would be, and sweet, + Beneath the churchyard tree, + If sometimes in thy heart should beat + One pulse, still true to me. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PARTING. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There's no use in weeping, + Though we are condemned to part: + There's such a thing as keeping + A remembrance in one's heart: + + There's such a thing as dwelling + On the thought ourselves have nursed, + And with scorn and courage telling + The world to do its worst. + + We'll not let its follies grieve us, + We'll just take them as they come; + And then every day will leave us + A merry laugh for home. + + When we've left each friend and brother, + When we're parted wide and far, + We will think of one another, + As even better than we are. + + Every glorious sight above us, + Every pleasant sight beneath, + We'll connect with those that love us, + Whom we truly love till death! + + In the evening, when we're sitting + By the fire, perchance alone, + Then shall heart with warm heart meeting, + Give responsive tone for tone. + + We can burst the bonds which chain us, + Which cold human hands have wrought, + And where none shall dare restrain us + We can meet again, in thought. + + So there's no use in weeping, + Bear a cheerful spirit still; + Never doubt that Fate is keeping + Future good for present ill! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + APOSTASY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This last denial of my faith, + Thou, solemn Priest, hast heard; + And, though upon my bed of death, + I call not back a word. + Point not to thy Madonna, Priest,— + Thy sightless saint of stone; + She cannot, from this burning breast, + Wring one repentant moan. + + Thou say'st, that when a sinless child, + I duly bent the knee, + And prayed to what in marble smiled + Cold, lifeless, mute, on me. + I did. But listen! Children spring + Full soon to riper youth; + And, for Love's vow and Wedlock's ring, + I sold my early truth. + + 'Twas not a grey, bare head, like thine, + Bent o'er me, when I said, + "That land and God and Faith are mine, + For which thy fathers bled." + I see thee not, my eyes are dim; + But well I hear thee say, + "O daughter cease to think of him + Who led thy soul astray. + + "Between you lies both space and time; + Let leagues and years prevail + To turn thee from the path of crime, + Back to the Church's pale." + And, did I need that, thou shouldst tell + What mighty barriers rise + To part me from that dungeon-cell, + Where my loved Walter lies? + + And, did I need that thou shouldst taunt + My dying hour at last, + By bidding this worn spirit pant + No more for what is past? + Priest—MUST I cease to think of him? + How hollow rings that word! + Can time, can tears, can distance dim + The memory of my lord? + + I said before, I saw not thee, + Because, an hour agone, + Over my eyeballs, heavily, + The lids fell down like stone. + But still my spirit's inward sight + Beholds his image beam + As fixed, as clear, as burning bright, + As some red planet's gleam. + + Talk not of thy Last Sacrament, + Tell not thy beads for me; + Both rite and prayer are vainly spent, + As dews upon the sea. + Speak not one word of Heaven above, + Rave not of Hell's alarms; + Give me but back my Walter's love, + Restore me to his arms! + + Then will the bliss of Heaven be won; + Then will Hell shrink away, + As I have seen night's terrors shun + The conquering steps of day. + 'Tis my religion thus to love, + My creed thus fixed to be; + Not Death shall shake, nor Priestcraft break + My rock-like constancy! + + Now go; for at the door there waits + Another stranger guest; + He calls—I come—my pulse scarce beats, + My heart fails in my breast. + Again that voice—how far away, + How dreary sounds that tone! + And I, methinks, am gone astray + In trackless wastes and lone. + + I fain would rest a little while: + Where can I find a stay, + Till dawn upon the hills shall smile, + And show some trodden way? + "I come! I come!" in haste she said, + "'Twas Walter's voice I heard!" + Then up she sprang—but fell back, dead, + His name her latest word. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WINTER STORES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We take from life one little share, + And say that this shall be + A space, redeemed from toil and care, + From tears and sadness free. + + And, haply, Death unstrings his bow, + And Sorrow stands apart, + And, for a little while, we know + The sunshine of the heart. + + Existence seems a summer eve, + Warm, soft, and full of peace, + Our free, unfettered feelings give + The soul its full release. + + A moment, then, it takes the power + To call up thoughts that throw + Around that charmed and hallowed hour, + This life's divinest glow. + + But Time, though viewlessly it flies, + And slowly, will not stay; + Alike, through clear and clouded skies, + It cleaves its silent way. + + Alike the bitter cup of grief, + Alike the draught of bliss, + Its progress leaves but moment brief + For baffled lips to kiss + + The sparkling draught is dried away, + The hour of rest is gone, + And urgent voices, round us, say, + "Ho, lingerer, hasten on!" + + And has the soul, then, only gained, + From this brief time of ease, + A moment's rest, when overstrained, + One hurried glimpse of peace? + + No; while the sun shone kindly o'er us, + And flowers bloomed round our feet,— + While many a bud of joy before us + Unclosed its petals sweet,— + + An unseen work within was plying; + Like honey-seeking bee, + From flower to flower, unwearied, flying, + Laboured one faculty,— + + Thoughtful for Winter's future sorrow, + Its gloom and scarcity; + Prescient to-day, of want to-morrow, + Toiled quiet Memory. + + 'Tis she that from each transient pleasure + Extracts a lasting good; + 'Tis she that finds, in summer, treasure + To serve for winter's food. + + And when Youth's summer day is vanished, + And Age brings Winter's stress, + Her stores, with hoarded sweets replenished, + Life's evening hours will bless. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MISSIONARY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Plough, vessel, plough the British main, + Seek the free ocean's wider plain; + Leave English scenes and English skies, + Unbind, dissever English ties; + Bear me to climes remote and strange, + Where altered life, fast-following change, + Hot action, never-ceasing toil, + Shall stir, turn, dig, the spirit's soil; + Fresh roots shall plant, fresh seed shall sow, + Till a new garden there shall grow, + Cleared of the weeds that fill it now,— + Mere human love, mere selfish yearning, + Which, cherished, would arrest me yet. + I grasp the plough, there's no returning, + Let me, then, struggle to forget. + + But England's shores are yet in view, + And England's skies of tender blue + Are arched above her guardian sea. + I cannot yet Remembrance flee; + I must again, then, firmly face + That task of anguish, to retrace. + Wedded to home—I home forsake; + Fearful of change—I changes make; + Too fond of ease—I plunge in toil; + Lover of calm—I seek turmoil: + Nature and hostile Destiny + Stir in my heart a conflict wild; + And long and fierce the war will be + Ere duty both has reconciled. + + What other tie yet holds me fast + To the divorced, abandoned past? + Smouldering, on my heart's altar lies + The fire of some great sacrifice, + Not yet half quenched. The sacred steel + But lately struck my carnal will, + My life-long hope, first joy and last, + What I loved well, and clung to fast; + What I wished wildly to retain, + What I renounced with soul-felt pain; + What—when I saw it, axe-struck, perish— + Left me no joy on earth to cherish; + A man bereft—yet sternly now + I do confirm that Jephtha vow: + Shall I retract, or fear, or flee? + Did Christ, when rose the fatal tree + Before him, on Mount Calvary? + 'Twas a long fight, hard fought, but won, + And what I did was justly done. + + Yet, Helen! from thy love I turned, + When my heart most for thy heart burned; + I dared thy tears, I dared thy scorn— + Easier the death-pang had been borne. + Helen, thou mightst not go with me, + I could not—dared not stay for thee! + I heard, afar, in bonds complain + The savage from beyond the main; + And that wild sound rose o'er the cry + Wrung out by passion's agony; + And even when, with the bitterest tear + I ever shed, mine eyes were dim, + Still, with the spirit's vision clear, + I saw Hell's empire, vast and grim, + Spread on each Indian river's shore, + Each realm of Asia covering o'er. + There, the weak, trampled by the strong, + Live but to suffer—hopeless die; + There pagan-priests, whose creed is Wrong, + Extortion, Lust, and Cruelty, + Crush our lost race—and brimming fill + The bitter cup of human ill; + And I—who have the healing creed, + The faith benign of Mary's Son, + Shall I behold my brother's need, + And, selfishly, to aid him shun? + I—who upon my mother's knees, + In childhood, read Christ's written word, + Received his legacy of peace, + His holy rule of action heard; + I—in whose heart the sacred sense + Of Jesus' love was early felt; + Of his pure, full benevolence, + His pitying tenderness for guilt; + His shepherd-care for wandering sheep, + For all weak, sorrowing, trembling things, + His mercy vast, his passion deep + Of anguish for man's sufferings; + I—schooled from childhood in such lore— + Dared I draw back or hesitate, + When called to heal the sickness sore + Of those far off and desolate? + Dark, in the realm and shades of Death, + Nations, and tribes, and empires lie, + But even to them the light of Faith + Is breaking on their sombre sky: + And be it mine to bid them raise + Their drooped heads to the kindling scene, + And know and hail the sunrise blaze + Which heralds Christ the Nazarene. + I know how Hell the veil will spread + Over their brows and filmy eyes, + And earthward crush the lifted head + That would look up and seek the skies; + I know what war the fiend will wage + Against that soldier of the Cross, + Who comes to dare his demon rage, + And work his kingdom shame and loss. + Yes, hard and terrible the toil + Of him who steps on foreign soil, + Resolved to plant the gospel vine, + Where tyrants rule and slaves repine; + Eager to lift Religion's light + Where thickest shades of mental night + Screen the false god and fiendish rite; + Reckless that missionary blood, + Shed in wild wilderness and wood, + Has left, upon the unblest air, + The man's deep moan—the martyr's prayer. + I know my lot—I only ask + Power to fulfil the glorious task; + Willing the spirit, may the flesh + Strength for the day receive afresh. + May burning sun or deadly wind + Prevail not o'er an earnest mind; + May torments strange or direst death + Nor trample truth, nor baffle faith. + Though such blood-drops should fall from me + As fell in old Gethsemane, + Welcome the anguish, so it gave + More strength to work—more skill to save. + And, oh! if brief must be my time, + If hostile hand or fatal clime + Cut short my course—still o'er my grave, + Lord, may thy harvest whitening wave. + So I the culture may begin, + Let others thrust the sickle in; + If but the seed will faster grow, + May my blood water what I sow! + + What! have I ever trembling stood, + And feared to give to God that blood? + What! has the coward love of life + Made me shrink from the righteous strife? + Have human passions, human fears + Severed me from those Pioneers + Whose task is to march first, and trace + Paths for the progress of our race? + It has been so; but grant me, Lord, + Now to stand steadfast by Thy word! + Protected by salvation's helm, + Shielded by faith, with truth begirt, + To smile when trials seek to whelm + And stand mid testing fires unhurt! + Hurling hell's strongest bulwarks down, + Even when the last pang thrills my breast, + When death bestows the martyr's crown, + And calls me into Jesus' rest. + Then for my ultimate reward— + Then for the world-rejoicing word— + The voice from Father—Spirit—Son: + "Servant of God, well hast thou done!" +</pre> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + POEMS BY ELLIS BELL + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FAITH AND DESPONDENCY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The winter wind is loud and wild, + Come close to me, my darling child; + Forsake thy books, and mateless play; + And, while the night is gathering gray, + We'll talk its pensive hours away;— + + "Ierne, round our sheltered hall + November's gusts unheeded call; + Not one faint breath can enter here + Enough to wave my daughter's hair, + And I am glad to watch the blaze + Glance from her eyes, with mimic rays; + To feel her cheek, so softly pressed, + In happy quiet on my breast, + + "But, yet, even this tranquillity + Brings bitter, restless thoughts to me; + And, in the red fire's cheerful glow, + I think of deep glens, blocked with snow; + I dream of moor, and misty hill, + Where evening closes dark and chill; + For, lone, among the mountains cold, + Lie those that I have loved of old. + And my heart aches, in hopeless pain, + Exhausted with repinings vain, + That I shall greet them ne'er again!" + + "Father, in early infancy, + When you were far beyond the sea, + Such thoughts were tyrants over me! + I often sat, for hours together, + Through the long nights of angry weather, + Raised on my pillow, to descry + The dim moon struggling in the sky; + Or, with strained ear, to catch the shock, + Of rock with wave, and wave with rock; + So would I fearful vigil keep, + And, all for listening, never sleep. + But this world's life has much to dread, + Not so, my Father, with the dead. + + "Oh! not for them, should we despair, + The grave is drear, but they are not there; + Their dust is mingled with the sod, + Their happy souls are gone to God! + You told me this, and yet you sigh, + And murmur that your friends must die. + Ah! my dear father, tell me why? + For, if your former words were true, + How useless would such sorrow be; + As wise, to mourn the seed which grew + Unnoticed on its parent tree, + Because it fell in fertile earth, + And sprang up to a glorious birth— + Struck deep its root, and lifted high + Its green boughs in the breezy sky. + + "But, I'll not fear, I will not weep + For those whose bodies rest in sleep,— + I know there is a blessed shore, + Opening its ports for me and mine; + And, gazing Time's wide waters o'er, + I weary for that land divine, + Where we were born, where you and I + Shall meet our dearest, when we die; + From suffering and corruption free, + Restored into the Deity." + + "Well hast thou spoken, sweet, trustful child! + And wiser than thy sire; + And worldly tempests, raging wild, + Shall strengthen thy desire— + Thy fervent hope, through storm and foam, + Through wind and ocean's roar, + To reach, at last, the eternal home, + The steadfast, changeless shore!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STARS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ah! why, because the dazzling sun + Restored our Earth to joy, + Have you departed, every one, + And left a desert sky? + + All through the night, your glorious eyes + Were gazing down in mine, + And, with a full heart's thankful sighs, + I blessed that watch divine. + + I was at peace, and drank your beams + As they were life to me; + And revelled in my changeful dreams, + Like petrel on the sea. + + Thought followed thought, star followed star, + Through boundless regions, on; + While one sweet influence, near and far, + Thrilled through, and proved us one! + + Why did the morning dawn to break + So great, so pure, a spell; + And scorch with fire the tranquil cheek, + Where your cool radiance fell? + + Blood-red, he rose, and, arrow-straight, + His fierce beams struck my brow; + The soul of nature sprang, elate, + But mine sank sad and low! + + My lids closed down, yet through their veil + I saw him, blazing, still, + And steep in gold the misty dale, + And flash upon the hill. + + I turned me to the pillow, then, + To call back night, and see + Your worlds of solemn light, again, + Throb with my heart, and me! + + It would not do—the pillow glowed, + And glowed both roof and floor; + And birds sang loudly in the wood, + And fresh winds shook the door; + + The curtains waved, the wakened flies + Were murmuring round my room, + Imprisoned there, till I should rise, + And give them leave to roam. + + Oh, stars, and dreams, and gentle night; + Oh, night and stars, return! + And hide me from the hostile light + That does not warm, but burn; + + That drains the blood of suffering men; + Drinks tears, instead of dew; + Let me sleep through his blinding reign, + And only wake with you! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PHILOSOPHER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Enough of thought, philosopher! + Too long hast thou been dreaming + Unlightened, in this chamber drear, + While summer's sun is beaming! + Space-sweeping soul, what sad refrain + Concludes thy musings once again? + + "Oh, for the time when I shall sleep + Without identity. + And never care how rain may steep, + Or snow may cover me! + No promised heaven, these wild desires + Could all, or half fulfil; + No threatened hell, with quenchless fires, + Subdue this quenchless will!" + + "So said I, and still say the same; + Still, to my death, will say— + Three gods, within this little frame, + Are warring night; and day; + Heaven could not hold them all, and yet + They all are held in me; + And must be mine till I forget + My present entity! + Oh, for the time, when in my breast + Their struggles will be o'er! + Oh, for the day, when I shall rest, + And never suffer more!" + + "I saw a spirit, standing, man, + Where thou dost stand—an hour ago, + And round his feet three rivers ran, + Of equal depth, and equal flow— + A golden stream—and one like blood; + And one like sapphire seemed to be; + But, where they joined their triple flood + It tumbled in an inky sea + The spirit sent his dazzling gaze + Down through that ocean's gloomy night; + Then, kindling all, with sudden blaze, + The glad deep sparkled wide and bright— + White as the sun, far, far more fair + Than its divided sources were!" + + "And even for that spirit, seer, + I've watched and sought my life-time long; + Sought him in heaven, hell, earth, and air, + An endless search, and always wrong. + Had I but seen his glorious eye + ONCE light the clouds that wilder me; + I ne'er had raised this coward cry + To cease to think, and cease to be; + + I ne'er had called oblivion blest, + Nor stretching eager hands to death, + Implored to change for senseless rest + This sentient soul, this living breath— + Oh, let me die—that power and will + Their cruel strife may close; + And conquered good, and conquering ill + Be lost in one repose!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + REMEMBRANCE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Cold in the earth—and the deep snow piled above thee, + Far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave! + Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee, + Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave? + + Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover + Over the mountains, on that northern shore, + Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover + Thy noble heart for ever, ever more? + + Cold in the earth—and fifteen wild Decembers, + From those brown hills, have melted into spring: + Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers + After such years of change and suffering! + + Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, + While the world's tide is bearing me along; + Other desires and other hopes beset me, + Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong! + + No later light has lightened up my heaven, + No second morn has ever shone for me; + All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given, + All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee. + + But, when the days of golden dreams had perished, + And even Despair was powerless to destroy; + Then did I learn how existence could be cherished, + Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy. + + Then did I check the tears of useless passion— + Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine; + Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten + Down to that tomb already more than mine. + + And, even yet, I dare not let it languish, + Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain; + Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, + How could I seek the empty world again? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A DEATH-SCENE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "O day! he cannot die + When thou so fair art shining! + O Sun, in such a glorious sky, + So tranquilly declining; + + He cannot leave thee now, + While fresh west winds are blowing, + And all around his youthful brow + Thy cheerful light is glowing! + + Edward, awake, awake— + The golden evening gleams + Warm and bright on Arden's lake— + Arouse thee from thy dreams! + + Beside thee, on my knee, + My dearest friend, I pray + That thou, to cross the eternal sea, + Wouldst yet one hour delay: + + I hear its billows roar— + I see them foaming high; + But no glimpse of a further shore + Has blest my straining eye. + + Believe not what they urge + Of Eden isles beyond; + Turn back, from that tempestuous surge, + To thy own native land. + + It is not death, but pain + That struggles in thy breast— + Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again; + I cannot let thee rest!" + + One long look, that sore reproved me + For the woe I could not bear— + One mute look of suffering moved me + To repent my useless prayer: + + And, with sudden check, the heaving + Of distraction passed away; + Not a sign of further grieving + Stirred my soul that awful day. + + Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting; + Sunk to peace the twilight breeze: + Summer dews fell softly, wetting + Glen, and glade, and silent trees. + + Then his eyes began to weary, + Weighed beneath a mortal sleep; + And their orbs grew strangely dreary, + Clouded, even as they would weep. + + But they wept not, but they changed not, + Never moved, and never closed; + Troubled still, and still they ranged not— + Wandered not, nor yet reposed! + + So I knew that he was dying— + Stooped, and raised his languid head; + Felt no breath, and heard no sighing, + So I knew that he was dead. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SONG. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The linnet in the rocky dells, + The moor-lark in the air, + The bee among the heather bells + That hide my lady fair: + + The wild deer browse above her breast; + The wild birds raise their brood; + And they, her smiles of love caressed, + Have left her solitude! + + I ween, that when the grave's dark wall + Did first her form retain, + They thought their hearts could ne'er recall + The light of joy again. + + They thought the tide of grief would flow + Unchecked through future years; + But where is all their anguish now, + And where are all their tears? + + Well, let them fight for honour's breath, + Or pleasure's shade pursue— + The dweller in the land of death + Is changed and careless too. + + And, if their eyes should watch and weep + Till sorrow's source were dry, + She would not, in her tranquil sleep, + Return a single sigh! + + Blow, west-wind, by the lonely mound, + And murmur, summer-streams— + There is no need of other sound + To soothe my lady's dreams. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ANTICIPATION. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + How beautiful the earth is still, + To thee—how full of happiness? + How little fraught with real ill, + Or unreal phantoms of distress! + How spring can bring thee glory, yet, + And summer win thee to forget + December's sullen time! + Why dost thou hold the treasure fast, + Of youth's delight, when youth is past, + And thou art near thy prime? + + When those who were thy own compeers, + Equals in fortune and in years, + Have seen their morning melt in tears, + To clouded, smileless day; + Blest, had they died untried and young, + Before their hearts went wandering wrong,— + Poor slaves, subdued by passions strong, + A weak and helpless prey! + + 'Because, I hoped while they enjoyed, + And by fulfilment, hope destroyed; + As children hope, with trustful breast, + I waited bliss—and cherished rest. + A thoughtful spirit taught me soon, + That we must long till life be done; + That every phase of earthly joy + Must always fade, and always cloy: + + 'This I foresaw—and would not chase + The fleeting treacheries; + But, with firm foot and tranquil face, + Held backward from that tempting race, + Gazed o'er the sands the waves efface, + To the enduring seas— + There cast my anchor of desire + Deep in unknown eternity; + Nor ever let my spirit tire, + With looking for WHAT IS TO BE! + + "It is hope's spell that glorifies, + Like youth, to my maturer eyes, + All Nature's million mysteries, + The fearful and the fair— + Hope soothes me in the griefs I know; + She lulls my pain for others' woe, + And makes me strong to undergo + What I am born to bear. + + Glad comforter! will I not brave, + Unawed, the darkness of the grave? + Nay, smile to hear Death's billows rave— + Sustained, my guide, by thee? + The more unjust seems present fate, + The more my spirit swells elate, + Strong, in thy strength, to anticipate + Rewarding destiny! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PRISONER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A FRAGMENT. + + In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray, + Reckless of the lives wasting there away; + "Draw the ponderous bars! open, Warder stern!" + He dared not say me nay—the hinges harshly turn. + + "Our guests are darkly lodged," I whisper'd, gazing through + The vault, whose grated eye showed heaven more gray than blue; + (This was when glad Spring laughed in awaking pride;) + "Ay, darkly lodged enough!" returned my sullen guide. + + Then, God forgive my youth; forgive my careless tongue; + I scoffed, as the chill chains on the damp flagstones rung: + "Confined in triple walls, art thou so much to fear, + That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?" + + The captive raised her face; it was as soft and mild + As sculptured marble saint, or slumbering unwean'd child; + It was so soft and mild, it was so sweet and fair, + Pain could not trace a line, nor grief a shadow there! + + The captive raised her hand and pressed it to her brow; + "I have been struck," she said, "and I am suffering now; + Yet these are little worth, your bolts and irons strong; + And, were they forged in steel, they could not hold me long." + + Hoarse laughed the jailor grim: "Shall I be won to hear; + Dost think, fond, dreaming wretch, that I shall grant thy prayer? + Or, better still, wilt melt my master's heart with groans? + Ah! sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones. + + "My master's voice is low, his aspect bland and kind, + But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind; + And I am rough and rude, yet not more rough to see + Than is the hidden ghost that has its home in me." + + About her lips there played a smile of almost scorn, + "My friend," she gently said, "you have not heard me mourn; + When you my kindred's lives, MY lost life, can restore, + Then may I weep and sue,—but never, friend, before! + + "Still, let my tyrants know, I am not doomed to wear + Year after year in gloom, and desolate despair; + A messenger of Hope comes every night to me, + And offers for short life, eternal liberty. + + "He comes with western winds, with evening's wandering airs, + With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars. + Winds take a pensive tone, and stars a tender fire, + And visions rise, and change, that kill me with desire. + + "Desire for nothing known in my maturer years, + When Joy grew mad with awe, at counting future tears. + When, if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm, + I knew not whence they came, from sun or thunder-storm. + + "But, first, a hush of peace—a soundless calm descends; + The struggle of distress, and fierce impatience ends; + Mute music soothes my breast—unuttered harmony, + That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me. + + "Then dawns the Invisible; the Unseen its truth reveals; + My outward sense is gone, my inward essence feels: + Its wings are almost free—its home, its harbour found, + Measuring the gulph, it stoops and dares the final bound, + + "Oh I dreadful is the check—intense the agony— + When the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see; + When the pulse begins to throb, the brain to think again; + The soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain. + + "Yet I would lose no sting, would wish no torture less; + The more that anguish racks, the earlier it will bless; + And robed in fires of hell, or bright with heavenly shine, + If it but herald death, the vision is divine!" + + She ceased to speak, and we, unanswering, turned to go— + We had no further power to work the captive woe: + Her cheek, her gleaming eye, declared that man had given + A sentence, unapproved, and overruled by Heaven. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HOPE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hope Was but a timid friend; + She sat without the grated den, + Watching how my fate would tend, + Even as selfish-hearted men. + + She was cruel in her fear; + Through the bars one dreary day, + I looked out to see her there, + And she turned her face away! + + Like a false guard, false watch keeping, + Still, in strife, she whispered peace; + She would sing while I was weeping; + If I listened, she would cease. + + False she was, and unrelenting; + When my last joys strewed the ground, + Even Sorrow saw, repenting, + Those sad relics scattered round; + + Hope, whose whisper would have given + Balm to all my frenzied pain, + Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven, + Went, and ne'er returned again! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A DAY DREAM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On a sunny brae alone I lay + One summer afternoon; + It was the marriage-time of May, + With her young lover, June. + + From her mother's heart seemed loath to part + That queen of bridal charms, + But her father smiled on the fairest child + He ever held in his arms. + + The trees did wave their plumy crests, + The glad birds carolled clear; + And I, of all the wedding guests, + Was only sullen there! + + There was not one, but wished to shun + My aspect void of cheer; + The very gray rocks, looking on, + Asked, "What do you here?" + + And I could utter no reply; + In sooth, I did not know + Why I had brought a clouded eye + To greet the general glow. + + So, resting on a heathy bank, + I took my heart to me; + And we together sadly sank + Into a reverie. + + We thought, "When winter comes again, + Where will these bright things be? + All vanished, like a vision vain, + An unreal mockery! + + "The birds that now so blithely sing, + Through deserts, frozen dry, + Poor spectres of the perished spring, + In famished troops will fly. + + "And why should we be glad at all? + The leaf is hardly green, + Before a token of its fall + Is on the surface seen!" + + Now, whether it were really so, + I never could be sure; + But as in fit of peevish woe, + I stretched me on the moor, + + A thousand thousand gleaming fires + Seemed kindling in the air; + A thousand thousand silvery lyres + Resounded far and near: + + Methought, the very breath I breathed + Was full of sparks divine, + And all my heather-couch was wreathed + By that celestial shine! + + And, while the wide earth echoing rung + To that strange minstrelsy + The little glittering spirits sung, + Or seemed to sing, to me: + + "O mortal! mortal! let them die; + Let time and tears destroy, + That we may overflow the sky + With universal joy! + + "Let grief distract the sufferer's breast, + And night obscure his way; + They hasten him to endless rest, + And everlasting day. + + "To thee the world is like a tomb, + A desert's naked shore; + To us, in unimagined bloom, + It brightens more and more! + + "And, could we lift the veil, and give + One brief glimpse to thine eye, + Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live, + BECAUSE they live to die." + + The music ceased; the noonday dream, + Like dream of night, withdrew; + But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem + Her fond creation true. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO IMAGINATION. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When weary with the long day's care, + And earthly change from pain to pain, + And lost, and ready to despair, + Thy kind voice calls me back again: + Oh, my true friend! I am not lone, + While then canst speak with such a tone! + + So hopeless is the world without; + The world within I doubly prize; + Thy world, where guile, and hate, and doubt, + And cold suspicion never rise; + Where thou, and I, and Liberty, + Have undisputed sovereignty. + + What matters it, that all around + Danger, and guilt, and darkness lie, + If but within our bosom's bound + We hold a bright, untroubled sky, + Warm with ten thousand mingled rays + Of suns that know no winter days? + + Reason, indeed, may oft complain + For Nature's sad reality, + And tell the suffering heart how vain + Its cherished dreams must always be; + And Truth may rudely trample down + The flowers of Fancy, newly-blown: + + But thou art ever there, to bring + The hovering vision back, and breathe + New glories o'er the blighted spring, + And call a lovelier Life from Death. + And whisper, with a voice divine, + Of real worlds, as bright as thine. + + I trust not to thy phantom bliss, + Yet, still, in evening's quiet hour, + With never-failing thankfulness, + I welcome thee, Benignant Power; + Sure solacer of human cares, + And sweeter hope, when hope despairs! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HOW CLEAR SHE SHINES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + How clear she shines! How quietly + I lie beneath her guardian light; + While heaven and earth are whispering me, + "To morrow, wake, but dream to-night." + Yes, Fancy, come, my Fairy love! + These throbbing temples softly kiss; + And bend my lonely couch above, + And bring me rest, and bring me bliss. + + The world is going; dark world, adieu! + Grim world, conceal thee till the day; + The heart thou canst not all subdue + Must still resist, if thou delay! + + Thy love I will not, will not share; + Thy hatred only wakes a smile; + Thy griefs may wound—thy wrongs may tear, + But, oh, thy lies shall ne'er beguile! + While gazing on the stars that glow + Above me, in that stormless sea, + I long to hope that all the woe + Creation knows, is held in thee! + + And this shall be my dream to-night; + I'll think the heaven of glorious spheres + Is rolling on its course of light + In endless bliss, through endless years; + I'll think, there's not one world above, + Far as these straining eyes can see, + Where Wisdom ever laughed at Love, + Or Virtue crouched to Infamy; + + Where, writhing 'neath the strokes of Fate, + The mangled wretch was forced to smile; + To match his patience 'gainst her hate, + His heart rebellious all the while. + Where Pleasure still will lead to wrong, + And helpless Reason warn in vain; + And Truth is weak, and Treachery strong; + And Joy the surest path to Pain; + And Peace, the lethargy of Grief; + And Hope, a phantom of the soul; + And life, a labour, void and brief; + And Death, the despot of the whole! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SYMPATHY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There should be no despair for you + While nightly stars are burning; + While evening pours its silent dew, + And sunshine gilds the morning. + There should be no despair—though tears + May flow down like a river: + Are not the best beloved of years + Around your heart for ever? + + They weep, you weep, it must be so; + Winds sigh as you are sighing, + And winter sheds its grief in snow + Where Autumn's leaves are lying: + Yet, these revive, and from their fate + Your fate cannot be parted: + Then, journey on, if not elate, + Still, NEVER broken-hearted! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PLEAD FOR ME. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oh, thy bright eyes must answer now, + When Reason, with a scornful brow, + Is mocking at my overthrow! + Oh, thy sweet tongue must plead for me + And tell why I have chosen thee! + + Stern Reason is to judgment come, + Arrayed in all her forms of gloom: + Wilt thou, my advocate, be dumb? + No, radiant angel, speak and say, + Why I did cast the world away. + + Why I have persevered to shun + The common paths that others run; + And on a strange road journeyed on, + Heedless, alike of wealth and power— + Of glory's wreath and pleasure's flower. + + These, once, indeed, seemed Beings Divine; + And they, perchance, heard vows of mine, + And saw my offerings on their shrine; + But careless gifts are seldom prized, + And MINE were worthily despised. + + So, with a ready heart, I swore + To seek their altar-stone no more; + And gave my spirit to adore + Thee, ever-present, phantom thing— + My slave, my comrade, and my king. + + A slave, because I rule thee still; + Incline thee to my changeful will, + And make thy influence good or ill: + A comrade, for by day and night + Thou art my intimate delight,— + + My darling pain that wounds and sears, + And wrings a blessing out from tears + By deadening me to earthly cares; + And yet, a king, though Prudence well + Have taught thy subject to rebel + + And am I wrong to worship where + Faith cannot doubt, nor hope despair, + Since my own soul can grant my prayer? + Speak, God of visions, plead for me, + And tell why I have chosen thee! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SELF-INTEROGATION, + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The evening passes fast away. + 'Tis almost time to rest; + What thoughts has left the vanished day, + What feelings in thy breast? + + "The vanished day? It leaves a sense + Of labour hardly done; + Of little gained with vast expense— + A sense of grief alone? + + "Time stands before the door of Death, + Upbraiding bitterly + And Conscience, with exhaustless breath, + Pours black reproach on me: + + "And though I've said that Conscience lies + And Time should Fate condemn; + Still, sad Repentance clouds my eyes, + And makes me yield to them! + + "Then art thou glad to seek repose? + Art glad to leave the sea, + And anchor all thy weary woes + In calm Eternity? + + "Nothing regrets to see thee go— + Not one voice sobs' farewell;' + And where thy heart has suffered so, + Canst thou desire to dwell?" + + "Alas! the countless links are strong + That bind us to our clay; + The loving spirit lingers long, + And would not pass away! + + "And rest is sweet, when laurelled fame + Will crown the soldier's crest; + But a brave heart, with a tarnished name, + Would rather fight than rest. + + "Well, thou hast fought for many a year, + Hast fought thy whole life through, + Hast humbled Falsehood, trampled Fear; + What is there left to do? + + "'Tis true, this arm has hotly striven, + Has dared what few would dare; + Much have I done, and freely given, + But little learnt to bear! + + "Look on the grave where thou must sleep + Thy last, and strongest foe; + It is endurance not to weep, + If that repose seem woe. + + "The long war closing in defeat— + Defeat serenely borne,— + Thy midnight rest may still be sweet, + And break in glorious morn!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DEATH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Death! that struck when I was most confiding. + In my certain faith of joy to be— + Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing + From the fresh root of Eternity! + + Leaves, upon Time's branch, were growing brightly, + Full of sap, and full of silver dew; + Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly; + Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew. + + Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom; + Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride + But, within its parent's kindly bosom, + Flowed for ever Life's restoring tide. + + Little mourned I for the parted gladness, + For the vacant nest and silent song— + Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness; + Whispering, "Winter will not linger long!" + + And, behold! with tenfold increase blessing, + Spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray; + Wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing, + Lavished glory on that second May! + + High it rose—no winged grief could sweep it; + Sin was scared to distance with its shine; + Love, and its own life, had power to keep it + From all wrong—from every blight but thine! + + Cruel Death! The young leaves droop and languish; + Evening's gentle air may still restore— + No! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish- + Time, for me, must never blossom more! + + Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish + Where that perished sapling used to be; + Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish + That from which it sprung—Eternity. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STANZAS TO —— + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Well, some may hate, and some may scorn, + And some may quite forget thy name; + But my sad heart must ever mourn + Thy ruined hopes, thy blighted fame! + 'Twas thus I thought, an hour ago, + Even weeping o'er that wretch's woe; + One word turned back my gushing tears, + And lit my altered eye with sneers. + Then "Bless the friendly dust," I said, + "That hides thy unlamented head! + Vain as thou wert, and weak as vain, + The slave of Falsehood, Pride, and Pain— + My heart has nought akin to thine; + Thy soul is powerless over mine." + But these were thoughts that vanished too; + Unwise, unholy, and untrue: + Do I despise the timid deer, + Because his limbs are fleet with fear? + Or, would I mock the wolf's death-howl, + Because his form is gaunt and foul? + Or, hear with joy the leveret's cry, + Because it cannot bravely die? + No! Then above his memory + Let Pity's heart as tender be; + Say, "Earth, lie lightly on that breast, + And, kind Heaven, grant that spirit rest!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HONOUR'S MARTYR. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The moon is full this winter night; + The stars are clear, though few; + And every window glistens bright + With leaves of frozen dew. + + The sweet moon through your lattice gleams, + And lights your room like day; + And there you pass, in happy dreams, + The peaceful hours away! + + While I, with effort hardly quelling + The anguish in my breast, + Wander about the silent dwelling, + And cannot think of rest. + + The old clock in the gloomy hall + Ticks on, from hour to hour; + And every time its measured call + Seems lingering slow and slower: + + And, oh, how slow that keen-eyed star + Has tracked the chilly gray! + What, watching yet! how very far + The morning lies away! + + Without your chamber door I stand; + Love, are you slumbering still? + My cold heart, underneath my hand, + Has almost ceased to thrill. + + Bleak, bleak the east wind sobs and sighs, + And drowns the turret bell, + Whose sad note, undistinguished, dies + Unheard, like my farewell! + + To-morrow, Scorn will blight my name, + And Hate will trample me, + Will load me with a coward's shame— + A traitor's perjury. + + False friends will launch their covert sneers; + True friends will wish me dead; + And I shall cause the bitterest tears + That you have ever shed. + + The dark deeds of my outlawed race + Will then like virtues shine; + And men will pardon their disgrace, + Beside the guilt of mine. + + For, who forgives the accursed crime + Of dastard treachery? + Rebellion, in its chosen time, + May Freedom's champion be; + + Revenge may stain a righteous sword, + It may be just to slay; + But, traitor, traitor,—from THAT word + All true breasts shrink away! + + Oh, I would give my heart to death, + To keep my honour fair; + Yet, I'll not give my inward faith + My honour's NAME to spare! + + Not even to keep your priceless love, + Dare I, Beloved, deceive; + This treason should the future prove, + Then, only then, believe! + + I know the path I ought to go + I follow fearlessly, + Inquiring not what deeper woe + Stern duty stores for me. + + So foes pursue, and cold allies + Mistrust me, every one: + Let me be false in others' eyes, + If faithful in my own. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STANZAS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I'll not weep that thou art going to leave me, + There's nothing lovely here; + And doubly will the dark world grieve me, + While thy heart suffers there. + + I'll not weep, because the summer's glory + Must always end in gloom; + And, follow out the happiest story— + It closes with a tomb! + + And I am weary of the anguish + Increasing winters bear; + Weary to watch the spirit languish + Through years of dead despair. + + So, if a tear, when thou art dying, + Should haply fall from me, + It is but that my soul is sighing, + To go and rest with thee. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY COMFORTER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Well hast thou spoken, and yet not taught + A feeling strange or new; + Thou hast but roused a latent thought, + A cloud-closed beam of sunshine brought + To gleam in open view. + + Deep down, concealed within my soul, + That light lies hid from men; + Yet glows unquenched—though shadows roll, + Its gentle ray cannot control— + About the sullen den. + + Was I not vexed, in these gloomy ways + To walk alone so long? + Around me, wretches uttering praise, + Or howling o'er their hopeless days, + And each with Frenzy's tongue;— + + A brotherhood of misery, + Their smiles as sad as sighs; + Whose madness daily maddened me, + Distorting into agony + The bliss before my eyes! + + So stood I, in Heaven's glorious sun, + And in the glare of Hell; + My spirit drank a mingled tone, + Of seraph's song, and demon's moan; + What my soul bore, my soul alone + Within itself may tell! + + Like a soft, air above a sea, + Tossed by the tempest's stir; + A thaw-wind, melting quietly + The snow-drift on some wintry lea; + No: what sweet thing resembles thee, + My thoughtful Comforter? + + And yet a little longer speak, + Calm this resentful mood; + And while the savage heart grows meek, + For other token do not seek, + But let the tear upon my cheek + Evince my gratitude! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE OLD STOIC. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Riches I hold in light esteem, + And Love I laugh to scorn; + And lust of fame was but a dream, + That vanished with the morn: + + And if I pray, the only prayer + That moves my lips for me + Is, "Leave the heart that now I bear, + And give me liberty!" + + Yes, as my swift days near their goal: + 'Tis all that I implore; + In life and death a chainless soul, + With courage to endure. +</pre> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + POEMS BY ACTON BELL, + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A REMINISCENCE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yes, thou art gone! and never more + Thy sunny smile shall gladden me; + But I may pass the old church door, + And pace the floor that covers thee, + + May stand upon the cold, damp stone, + And think that, frozen, lies below + The lightest heart that I have known, + The kindest I shall ever know. + + Yet, though I cannot see thee more, + 'Tis still a comfort to have seen; + And though thy transient life is o'er, + 'Tis sweet to think that thou hast been; + + To think a soul so near divine, + Within a form so angel fair, + United to a heart like thine, + Has gladdened once our humble sphere. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ARBOUR. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I'll rest me in this sheltered bower, + And look upon the clear blue sky + That smiles upon me through the trees, + Which stand so thick clustering by; + + And view their green and glossy leaves, + All glistening in the sunshine fair; + And list the rustling of their boughs, + So softly whispering through the air. + + And while my ear drinks in the sound, + My winged soul shall fly away; + Reviewing lone departed years + As one mild, beaming, autumn day; + + And soaring on to future scenes, + Like hills and woods, and valleys green, + All basking in the summer's sun, + But distant still, and dimly seen. + + Oh, list! 'tis summer's very breath + That gently shakes the rustling trees— + But look! the snow is on the ground— + How can I think of scenes like these? + + 'Tis but the FROST that clears the air, + And gives the sky that lovely blue; + They're smiling in a WINTER'S sun, + Those evergreens of sombre hue. + + And winter's chill is on my heart— + How can I dream of future bliss? + How can my spirit soar away, + Confined by such a chain as this? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HOME. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + How brightly glistening in the sun + The woodland ivy plays! + While yonder beeches from their barks + Reflect his silver rays. + + That sun surveys a lovely scene + From softly smiling skies; + And wildly through unnumbered trees + The wind of winter sighs: + + Now loud, it thunders o'er my head, + And now in distance dies. + But give me back my barren hills + Where colder breezes rise; + + Where scarce the scattered, stunted trees + Can yield an answering swell, + But where a wilderness of heath + Returns the sound as well. + + For yonder garden, fair and wide, + With groves of evergreen, + Long winding walks, and borders trim, + And velvet lawns between; + + Restore to me that little spot, + With gray walls compassed round, + Where knotted grass neglected lies, + And weeds usurp the ground. + + Though all around this mansion high + Invites the foot to roam, + And though its halls are fair within— + Oh, give me back my HOME! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VANITAS VANITATUM, OMNIA VANITAS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In all we do, and hear, and see, + Is restless Toil and Vanity. + While yet the rolling earth abides, + Men come and go like ocean tides; + + And ere one generation dies, + Another in its place shall rise; + THAT, sinking soon into the grave, + Others succeed, like wave on wave; + + And as they rise, they pass away. + The sun arises every day, + And hastening onward to the West, + He nightly sinks, but not to rest: + + Returning to the eastern skies, + Again to light us, he must rise. + And still the restless wind comes forth, + Now blowing keenly from the North; + + Now from the South, the East, the West, + For ever changing, ne'er at rest. + The fountains, gushing from the hills, + Supply the ever-running rills; + + The thirsty rivers drink their store, + And bear it rolling to the shore, + But still the ocean craves for more. + 'Tis endless labour everywhere! + Sound cannot satisfy the ear, + + Light cannot fill the craving eye, + Nor riches half our wants supply, + Pleasure but doubles future pain, + And joy brings sorrow in her train; + + Laughter is mad, and reckless mirth— + What does she in this weary earth? + Should Wealth, or Fame, our Life employ, + Death comes, our labour to destroy; + + To snatch the untasted cup away, + For which we toiled so many a day. + What, then, remains for wretched man? + To use life's comforts while he can, + + Enjoy the blessings Heaven bestows, + Assist his friends, forgive his foes; + Trust God, and keep His statutes still, + Upright and firm, through good and ill; + + Thankful for all that God has given, + Fixing his firmest hopes on Heaven; + Knowing that earthly joys decay, + But hoping through the darkest day. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PENITENT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I mourn with thee, and yet rejoice + That thou shouldst sorrow so; + With angel choirs I join my voice + To bless the sinner's woe. + + Though friends and kindred turn away, + And laugh thy grief to scorn; + I hear the great Redeemer say, + "Blessed are ye that mourn." + + Hold on thy course, nor deem it strange + That earthly cords are riven: + Man may lament the wondrous change, + But "there is joy in heaven!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MUSIC ON CHRISTMAS MORNING. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Music I love—but never strain + Could kindle raptures so divine, + So grief assuage, so conquer pain, + And rouse this pensive heart of mine— + As that we hear on Christmas morn, + Upon the wintry breezes borne. + + Though Darkness still her empire keep, + And hours must pass, ere morning break; + From troubled dreams, or slumbers deep, + That music KINDLY bids us wake: + It calls us, with an angel's voice, + To wake, and worship, and rejoice; + + To greet with joy the glorious morn, + Which angels welcomed long ago, + When our redeeming Lord was born, + To bring the light of Heaven below; + The Powers of Darkness to dispel, + And rescue Earth from Death and Hell. + + While listening to that sacred strain, + My raptured spirit soars on high; + I seem to hear those songs again + Resounding through the open sky, + That kindled such divine delight, + In those who watched their flocks by night. + + With them I celebrate His birth— + Glory to God, in highest Heaven, + Good-will to men, and peace on earth, + To us a Saviour-king is given; + Our God is come to claim His own, + And Satan's power is overthrown! + + A sinless God, for sinful men, + Descends to suffer and to bleed; + Hell MUST renounce its empire then; + The price is paid, the world is freed, + And Satan's self must now confess + That Christ has earned a RIGHT to bless: + + Now holy Peace may smile from heaven, + And heavenly Truth from earth shall spring: + The captive's galling bonds are riven, + For our Redeemer is our king; + And He that gave his blood for men + Will lead us home to God again. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STANZAS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oh, weep not, love! each tear that springs + In those dear eyes of thine, + To me a keener suffering brings + Than if they flowed from mine. + + And do not droop! however drear + The fate awaiting thee; + For MY sake combat pain and care, + And cherish life for me! + + I do not fear thy love will fail; + Thy faith is true, I know; + But, oh, my love! thy strength is frail + For such a life of woe. + + Were 't not for this, I well could trace + (Though banished long from thee) + Life's rugged path, and boldly face + The storms that threaten me. + + Fear not for me—I've steeled my mind + Sorrow and strife to greet; + Joy with my love I leave behind, + Care with my friends I meet. + + A mother's sad reproachful eye, + A father's scowling brow— + But he may frown and she may sigh: + I will not break my vow! + + I love my mother, I revere + My sire, but fear not me— + Believe that Death alone can tear + This faithful heart from thee. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IF THIS BE ALL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O God! if this indeed be all + That Life can show to me; + If on my aching brow may fall + No freshening dew from Thee; + + If with no brighter light than this + The lamp of hope may glow, + And I may only dream of bliss, + And wake to weary woe; + + If friendship's solace must decay, + When other joys are gone, + And love must keep so far away, + While I go wandering on,— + + Wandering and toiling without gain, + The slave of others' will, + With constant care, and frequent pain, + Despised, forgotten still; + + Grieving to look on vice and sin, + Yet powerless to quell + The silent current from within, + The outward torrent's swell + + While all the good I would impart, + The feelings I would share, + Are driven backward to my heart, + And turned to wormwood there; + + If clouds must EVER keep from sight + The glories of the Sun, + And I must suffer Winter's blight, + Ere Summer is begun; + + If Life must be so full of care, + Then call me soon to thee; + Or give me strength enough to bear + My load of misery. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MEMORY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Brightly the sun of summer shone + Green fields and waving woods upon, + And soft winds wandered by; + Above, a sky of purest blue, + Around, bright flowers of loveliest hue, + Allured the gazer's eye. + + But what were all these charms to me, + When one sweet breath of memory + Came gently wafting by? + I closed my eyes against the day, + And called my willing soul away, + From earth, and air, and sky; + + That I might simply fancy there + One little flower—a primrose fair, + Just opening into sight; + As in the days of infancy, + An opening primrose seemed to me + A source of strange delight. + + Sweet Memory! ever smile on me; + Nature's chief beauties spring from thee; + Oh, still thy tribute bring + Still make the golden crocus shine + Among the flowers the most divine, + The glory of the spring. + + Still in the wallflower's fragrance dwell; + And hover round the slight bluebell, + My childhood's darling flower. + Smile on the little daisy still, + The buttercup's bright goblet fill + With all thy former power. + + For ever hang thy dreamy spell + Round mountain star and heather bell, + And do not pass away + From sparkling frost, or wreathed snow, + And whisper when the wild winds blow, + Or rippling waters play. + + Is childhood, then, so all divine? + Or Memory, is the glory thine, + That haloes thus the past? + Not ALL divine; its pangs of grief + (Although, perchance, their stay be brief) + Are bitter while they last. + + Nor is the glory all thine own, + For on our earliest joys alone + That holy light is cast. + With such a ray, no spell of thine + Can make our later pleasures shine, + Though long ago they passed. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO COWPER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sweet are thy strains, celestial Bard; + And oft, in childhood's years, + I've read them o'er and o'er again, + With floods of silent tears. + + The language of my inmost heart + I traced in every line; + MY sins, MY sorrows, hopes, and fears, + Were there-and only mine. + + All for myself the sigh would swell, + The tear of anguish start; + I little knew what wilder woe + Had filled the Poet's heart. + + I did not know the nights of gloom, + The days of misery; + The long, long years of dark despair, + That crushed and tortured thee. + + But they are gone; from earth at length + Thy gentle soul is pass'd, + And in the bosom of its God + Has found its home at last. + + It must be so, if God is love, + And answers fervent prayer; + Then surely thou shalt dwell on high, + And I may meet thee there. + + Is He the source of every good, + The spring of purity? + Then in thine hours of deepest woe, + Thy God was still with thee. + + How else, when every hope was fled, + Couldst thou so fondly cling + To holy things and help men? + And how so sweetly sing, + + Of things that God alone could teach? + And whence that purity, + That hatred of all sinful ways— + That gentle charity? + + Are THESE the symptoms of a heart + Of heavenly grace bereft— + For ever banished from its God, + To Satan's fury left? + + Yet, should thy darkest fears be true, + If Heaven be so severe, + That such a soul as thine is lost,— + Oh! how shall I appear? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DOUBTER'S PRAYER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Eternal Power, of earth and air! + Unseen, yet seen in all around, + Remote, but dwelling everywhere, + Though silent, heard in every sound; + + If e'er thine ear in mercy bent, + When wretched mortals cried to Thee, + And if, indeed, Thy Son was sent, + To save lost sinners such as me: + + Then hear me now, while kneeling here, + I lift to thee my heart and eye, + And all my soul ascends in prayer, + OH, GIVE ME—GIVE ME FAITH! I cry. + + Without some glimmering in my heart, + I could not raise this fervent prayer; + But, oh! a stronger light impart, + And in Thy mercy fix it there. + + While Faith is with me, I am blest; + It turns my darkest night to day; + But while I clasp it to my breast, + I often feel it slide away. + + Then, cold and dark, my spirit sinks, + To see my light of life depart; + And every fiend of Hell, methinks, + Enjoys the anguish of my heart. + + What shall I do, if all my love, + My hopes, my toil, are cast away, + And if there be no God above, + To hear and bless me when I pray? + + If this be vain delusion all, + If death be an eternal sleep, + And none can hear my secret call, + Or see the silent tears I weep! + + Oh, help me, God! For thou alone + Canst my distracted soul relieve; + Forsake it not: it is thine own, + Though weak, yet longing to believe. + + Oh, drive these cruel doubts away; + And make me know, that Thou art God! + A faith, that shines by night and day, + Will lighten every earthly load. + + If I believe that Jesus died, + And waking, rose to reign above; + Then surely Sorrow, Sin, and Pride, + Must yield to Peace, and Hope, and Love. + + And all the blessed words He said + Will strength and holy joy impart: + A shield of safety o'er my head, + A spring of comfort in my heart. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A WORD TO THE "ELECT." + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You may rejoice to think YOURSELVES secure; + You may be grateful for the gift divine— + That grace unsought, which made your black hearts pure, + And fits your earth-born souls in Heaven to shine. + + But, is it sweet to look around, and view + Thousands excluded from that happiness + Which they deserved, at least, as much as you.— + Their faults not greater, nor their virtues less? + + And wherefore should you love your God the more, + Because to you alone his smiles are given; + Because He chose to pass the MANY o'er, + And only bring the favoured FEW to Heaven? + + And, wherefore should your hearts more grateful prove, + Because for ALL the Saviour did not die? + Is yours the God of justice and of love? + And are your bosoms warm with charity? + + Say, does your heart expand to all mankind? + And, would you ever to your neighbour do— + The weak, the strong, the enlightened, and the blind— + As you would have your neighbour do to you? + + And when you, looking on your fellow-men, + Behold them doomed to endless misery, + How can you talk of joy and rapture then?— + May God withhold such cruel joy from me! + + That none deserve eternal bliss I know; + Unmerited the grace in mercy given: + But, none shall sink to everlasting woe, + That have not well deserved the wrath of Heaven. + + And, oh! there lives within my heart + A hope, long nursed by me; + (And should its cheering ray depart, + How dark my soul would be!) + + That as in Adam all have died, + In Christ shall all men live; + And ever round his throne abide, + Eternal praise to give. + + That even the wicked shall at last + Be fitted for the skies; + And when their dreadful doom is past, + To life and light arise. + + I ask not, how remote the day, + Nor what the sinners' woe, + Before their dross is purged away; + Enough for me to know— + + That when the cup of wrath is drained, + The metal purified, + They'll cling to what they once disdained, + And live by Him that died. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PAST DAYS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Tis strange to think there WAS a time + When mirth was not an empty name, + When laughter really cheered the heart, + And frequent smiles unbidden came, + And tears of grief would only flow + In sympathy for others' woe; + + When speech expressed the inward thought, + And heart to kindred heart was bare, + And summer days were far too short + For all the pleasures crowded there; + And silence, solitude, and rest, + Now welcome to the weary breast— + + Were all unprized, uncourted then— + And all the joy one spirit showed, + The other deeply felt again; + And friendship like a river flowed, + Constant and strong its silent course, + For nought withstood its gentle force: + + When night, the holy time of peace, + Was dreaded as the parting hour; + When speech and mirth at once must cease, + And silence must resume her power; + Though ever free from pains and woes, + She only brought us calm repose. + + And when the blessed dawn again + Brought daylight to the blushing skies, + We woke, and not RELUCTANT then, + To joyless LABOUR did we rise; + But full of hope, and glad and gay, + We welcomed the returning day. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CONSOLATION. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground + With fallen leaves so thickly strown, + And cold the wind that wanders round + With wild and melancholy moan; + + There IS a friendly roof, I know, + Might shield me from the wintry blast; + There is a fire, whose ruddy glow + Will cheer me for my wanderings past. + + And so, though still, where'er I go, + Cold stranger-glances meet my eye; + Though, when my spirit sinks in woe, + Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh; + + Though solitude, endured too long, + Bids youthful joys too soon decay, + Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue, + And overclouds my noon of day; + + When kindly thoughts that would have way, + Flow back discouraged to my breast; + I know there is, though far away, + A home where heart and soul may rest. + + Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine, + The warmer heart will not belie; + While mirth, and truth, and friendship shine + In smiling lip and earnest eye. + + The ice that gathers round my heart + May there be thawed; and sweetly, then, + The joys of youth, that now depart, + Will come to cheer my soul again. + + Though far I roam, that thought shall be + My hope, my comfort, everywhere; + While such a home remains to me, + My heart shall never know despair! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LINES COMPOSED IN A WOOD ON A WINDY DAY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring + And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze; + For above and around me the wild wind is roaring, + Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas. + + The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing, + The bare trees are tossing their branches on high; + The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing, + The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky + + I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing + The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray; + I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing, + And hear the wild roar of their thunder to-day! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIEWS OF LIFE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When sinks my heart in hopeless gloom, + And life can show no joy for me; + And I behold a yawning tomb, + Where bowers and palaces should be; + + In vain you talk of morbid dreams; + In vain you gaily smiling say, + That what to me so dreary seems, + The healthy mind deems bright and gay. + + I too have smiled, and thought like you, + But madly smiled, and falsely deemed: + TRUTH led me to the present view,— + I'm waking now—'twas THEN I dreamed. + + I lately saw a sunset sky, + And stood enraptured to behold + Its varied hues of glorious dye: + First, fleecy clouds of shining gold; + + These blushing took a rosy hue; + Beneath them shone a flood of green; + Nor less divine, the glorious blue + That smiled above them and between. + + I cannot name each lovely shade; + I cannot say how bright they shone; + But one by one, I saw them fade; + And what remained when they were gone? + + Dull clouds remained, of sombre hue, + And when their borrowed charm was o'er, + The azure sky had faded too, + That smiled so softly bright before. + + So, gilded by the glow of youth, + Our varied life looks fair and gay; + And so remains the naked truth, + When that false light is past away. + + Why blame ye, then, my keener sight, + That clearly sees a world of woes + Through all the haze of golden light + That flattering Falsehood round it throws? + + When the young mother smiles above + The first-born darling of her heart, + Her bosom glows with earnest love, + While tears of silent transport start. + + Fond dreamer! little does she know + The anxious toil, the suffering, + The blasted hopes, the burning woe, + The object of her joy will bring. + + Her blinded eyes behold not now + What, soon or late, must be his doom; + The anguish that will cloud his brow, + The bed of death, the dreary tomb. + + As little know the youthful pair, + In mutual love supremely blest, + What weariness, and cold despair, + Ere long, will seize the aching breast. + + And even should Love and Faith remain, + (The greatest blessings life can show,) + Amid adversity and pain, + To shine throughout with cheering glow; + + They do not see how cruel Death + Comes on, their loving hearts to part: + One feels not now the gasping breath, + The rending of the earth-bound heart,— + + The soul's and body's agony, + Ere she may sink to her repose. + The sad survivor cannot see + The grave above his darling close; + + Nor how, despairing and alone, + He then must wear his life away; + And linger, feebly toiling on, + And fainting, sink into decay. + + * * * * + + Oh, Youth may listen patiently, + While sad Experience tells her tale, + But Doubt sits smiling in his eye, + For ardent Hope will still prevail! + + He hears how feeble Pleasure dies, + By guilt destroyed, and pain and woe; + He turns to Hope—and she replies, + "Believe it not-it is not so!" + + "Oh, heed her not!" Experience says; + "For thus she whispered once to me; + She told me, in my youthful days, + How glorious manhood's prime would be. + + "When, in the time of early Spring, + Too chill the winds that o'er me pass'd, + She said, each coming day would bring + a fairer heaven, a gentler blast. + + "And when the sun too seldom beamed, + The sky, o'ercast, too darkly frowned, + The soaking rain too constant streamed, + And mists too dreary gathered round; + + "She told me, Summer's glorious ray + Would chase those vapours all away, + And scatter glories round; + With sweetest music fill the trees, + Load with rich scent the gentle breeze, + And strew with flowers the ground + + "But when, beneath that scorching ray, + I languished, weary through the day, + While birds refused to sing, + Verdure decayed from field and tree, + And panting Nature mourned with me + The freshness of the Spring. + + "'Wait but a little while,' she said, + 'Till Summer's burning days are fled; + And Autumn shall restore, + With golden riches of her own, + And Summer's glories mellowed down, + The freshness you deplore.' + + And long I waited, but in vain: + That freshness never came again, + Though Summer passed away, + Though Autumn's mists hung cold and chill. + And drooping nature languished still, + And sank into decay. + + "Till wintry blasts foreboding blew + Through leafless trees—and then I knew + That Hope was all a dream. + But thus, fond youth, she cheated me; + And she will prove as false to thee, + Though sweet her words may seem. + + Stern prophet! Cease thy bodings dire— + Thou canst not quench the ardent fire + That warms the breast of youth. + Oh, let it cheer him while it may, + And gently, gently die away— + Chilled by the damps of truth! + + Tell him, that earth is not our rest; + Its joys are empty—frail at best; + And point beyond the sky. + But gleams of light may reach us here; + And hope the ROUGHEST path can cheer: + Then do not bid it fly! + + Though hope may promise joys, that still + Unkindly time will ne'er fulfil; + Or, if they come at all, + We never find them unalloyed,— + Hurtful perchance, or soon destroyed, + They vanish or they pall; + + Yet hope ITSELF a brightness throws + O'er all our labours and our woes; + While dark foreboding Care + A thousand ills will oft portend, + That Providence may ne'er intend + The trembling heart to bear. + + Or if they come, it oft appears, + Our woes are lighter than our fears, + And far more bravely borne. + Then let us not enhance our doom + But e'en in midnight's blackest gloom + Expect the rising morn. + + Because the road is rough and long, + Shall we despise the skylark's song, + That cheers the wanderer's way? + Or trample down, with reckless feet, + The smiling flowerets, bright and sweet, + Because they soon decay? + + Pass pleasant scenes unnoticed by, + Because the next is bleak and drear; + Or not enjoy a smiling sky, + Because a tempest may be near? + + No! while we journey on our way, + We'll smile on every lovely thing; + And ever, as they pass away, + To memory and hope we'll cling. + + And though that awful river flows + Before us, when the journey's past, + Perchance of all the pilgrim's woes + Most dreadful—shrink not—'tis the last! + + Though icy cold, and dark, and deep; + Beyond it smiles that blessed shore, + Where none shall suffer, none shall weep, + And bliss shall reign for evermore! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + APPEAL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oh, I am very weary, + Though tears no longer flow; + My eyes are tired of weeping, + My heart is sick of woe; + + My life is very lonely + My days pass heavily, + I'm weary of repining; + Wilt thou not come to me? + + Oh, didst thou know my longings + For thee, from day to day, + My hopes, so often blighted, + Thou wouldst not thus delay! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0060" id="link2H_4_0060"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE STUDENT'S SERENADE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I have slept upon my couch, + But my spirit did not rest, + For the labours of the day + Yet my weary soul opprest; + + And before my dreaming eyes + Still the learned volumes lay, + And I could not close their leaves, + And I could not turn away. + + But I oped my eyes at last, + And I heard a muffled sound; + 'Twas the night-breeze, come to say + That the snow was on the ground. + + Then I knew that there was rest + On the mountain's bosom free; + So I left my fevered couch, + And I flew to waken thee! + + I have flown to waken thee— + For, if thou wilt not arise, + Then my soul can drink no peace + From these holy moonlight skies. + + And this waste of virgin snow + To my sight will not be fair, + Unless thou wilt smiling come, + Love, to wander with me there. + + Then, awake! Maria, wake! + For, if thou couldst only know + How the quiet moonlight sleeps + On this wilderness of snow, + + And the groves of ancient trees, + In their snowy garb arrayed, + Till they stretch into the gloom + Of the distant valley's shade; + + I know thou wouldst rejoice + To inhale this bracing air; + Thou wouldst break thy sweetest sleep + To behold a scene so fair. + + O'er these wintry wilds, ALONE, + Thou wouldst joy to wander free; + And it will not please thee less, + Though that bliss be shared with me. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0061" id="link2H_4_0061"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CAPTIVE DOVE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Poor restless dove, I pity thee; + And when I hear thy plaintive moan, + I mourn for thy captivity, + And in thy woes forget mine own. + + To see thee stand prepared to fly, + And flap those useless wings of thine, + And gaze into the distant sky, + Would melt a harder heart than mine. + + In vain—in vain! Thou canst not rise: + Thy prison roof confines thee there; + Its slender wires delude thine eyes, + And quench thy longings with despair. + + Oh, thou wert made to wander free + In sunny mead and shady grove, + And far beyond the rolling sea, + In distant climes, at will to rove! + + Yet, hadst thou but one gentle mate + Thy little drooping heart to cheer, + And share with thee thy captive state, + Thou couldst be happy even there. + + Yes, even there, if, listening by, + One faithful dear companion stood, + While gazing on her full bright eye, + Thou mightst forget thy native wood + + But thou, poor solitary dove, + Must make, unheard, thy joyless moan; + The heart that Nature formed to love + Must pine, neglected, and alone. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0062" id="link2H_4_0062"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SELF-CONGRATULATION. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ellen, you were thoughtless once + Of beauty or of grace, + Simple and homely in attire, + Careless of form and face; + Then whence this change? and wherefore now + So often smoothe your hair? + And wherefore deck your youthful form + With such unwearied care? + + Tell us, and cease to tire our ears + With that familiar strain; + Why will you play those simple tunes + So often o'er again? + "Indeed, dear friends, I can but say + That childhood's thoughts are gone; + Each year its own new feelings brings, + And years move swiftly on: + + "And for these little simple airs— + I love to play them o'er + So much—I dare not promise, now, + To play them never more." + I answered—and it was enough; + They turned them to depart; + They could not read my secret thoughts, + Nor see my throbbing heart. + + I've noticed many a youthful form, + Upon whose changeful face + The inmost workings of the soul + The gazer well might trace; + The speaking eye, the changing lip, + The ready blushing cheek, + The smiling, or beclouded brow, + Their different feelings speak. + + But, thank God! you might gaze on mine + For hours, and never know + The secret changes of my soul + From joy to keenest woe. + Last night, as we sat round the fire + Conversing merrily, + We heard, without, approaching steps + Of one well known to me! + + There was no trembling in my voice, + No blush upon my cheek, + No lustrous sparkle in my eyes, + Of hope, or joy, to speak; + But, oh! my spirit burned within, + My heart beat full and fast! + He came not nigh—he went away— + And then my joy was past. + + And yet my comrades marked it not: + My voice was still the same; + They saw me smile, and o'er my face + No signs of sadness came. + They little knew my hidden thoughts; + And they will NEVER know + The aching anguish of my heart, + The bitter burning woe! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0063" id="link2H_4_0063"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FLUCTUATIONS, + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What though the Sun had left my sky; + To save me from despair + The blessed Moon arose on high, + And shone serenely there. + + I watched her, with a tearful gaze, + Rise slowly o'er the hill, + While through the dim horizon's haze + Her light gleamed faint and chill. + + I thought such wan and lifeless beams + Could ne'er my heart repay + For the bright sun's most transient gleams + That cheered me through the day: + + But, as above that mist's control + She rose, and brighter shone, + I felt her light upon my soul; + But now—that light is gone! + + Thick vapours snatched her from my sight, + And I was darkling left, + All in the cold and gloomy night, + Of light and hope bereft: + + Until, methought, a little star + Shone forth with trembling ray, + To cheer me with its light afar— + But that, too, passed away. + + Anon, an earthly meteor blazed + The gloomy darkness through; + I smiled, yet trembled while I gazed— + But that soon vanished too! + + And darker, drearier fell the night + Upon my spirit then;— + But what is that faint struggling light? + Is it the Moon again? + + Kind Heaven! increase that silvery gleam + And bid these clouds depart, + And let her soft celestial beam + Restore my fainting heart! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0064" id="link2H_4_0064"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SELECTIONS FROM THE LITERARY REMAINS OF ELLIS AND ACTON BELL. + </h2> + <h3> + By Currer Bell + </h3> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0065" id="link2H_4_0065"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ELLIS BELL. + </h2> + <p> + It would not have been difficult to compile a volume out of the papers + left by my sisters, had I, in making the selection, dismissed from my + consideration the scruples and the wishes of those whose written thoughts + these papers held. But this was impossible: an influence, stronger than + could be exercised by any motive of expediency, necessarily regulated the + selection. I have, then, culled from the mass only a little poem here and + there. The whole makes but a tiny nosegay, and the colour and perfume of + the flowers are not such as fit them for festal uses. + </p> + <p> + It has been already said that my sisters wrote much in childhood and + girlhood. Usually, it seems a sort of injustice to expose in print the + crude thoughts of the unripe mind, the rude efforts of the unpractised + hand; yet I venture to give three little poems of my sister Emily's, + written in her sixteenth year, because they illustrate a point in her + character. + </p> + <p> + At that period she was sent to school. Her previous life, with the + exception of a single half-year, had been passed in the absolute + retirement of a village parsonage, amongst the hills bordering Yorkshire + and Lancashire. The scenery of these hills is not grand—it is not + romantic it is scarcely striking. Long low moors, dark with heath, shut in + little valleys, where a stream waters, here and there, a fringe of stunted + copse. Mills and scattered cottages chase romance from these valleys; it + is only higher up, deep in amongst the ridges of the moors, that + Imagination can find rest for the sole of her foot: and even if she finds + it there, she must be a solitude-loving raven—no gentle dove. If she + demand beauty to inspire her, she must bring it inborn: these moors are + too stern to yield any product so delicate. The eye of the gazer must + ITSELF brim with a "purple light," intense enough to perpetuate the brief + flower-flush of August on the heather, or the rare sunset-smile of June; + out of his heart must well the freshness, that in latter spring and early + summer brightens the bracken, nurtures the moss, and cherishes the starry + flowers that spangle for a few weeks the pasture of the moor-sheep. Unless + that light and freshness are innate and self-sustained, the drear prospect + of a Yorkshire moor will be found as barren of poetic as of agricultural + interest: where the love of wild nature is strong, the locality will + perhaps be clung to with the more passionate constancy, because from the + hill-lover's self comes half its charm. + </p> + <p> + My sister Emily loved the moors. Flowers brighter than the rose bloomed in + the blackest of the heath for her; out of a sullen hollow in a livid + hill-side her mind could make an Eden. She found in the bleak solitude + many and dear delights; and not the least and best loved was—liberty. + </p> + <p> + Liberty was the breath of Emily's nostrils; without it, she perished. The + change from her own home to a school, and from her own very noiseless, + very secluded, but unrestricted and inartificial mode of life, to one of + disciplined routine (though under the kindliest auspices), was what she + failed in enduring. Her nature proved here too strong for her fortitude. + Every morning when she woke, the vision of home and the moors rushed on + her, and darkened and saddened the day that lay before her. Nobody knew + what ailed her but me—I knew only too well. In this struggle her + health was quickly broken: her white face, attenuated form, and failing + strength, threatened rapid decline. I felt in my heart she would die, if + she did not go home, and with this conviction obtained her recall. She had + only been three months at school; and it was some years before the + experiment of sending her from home was again ventured on. After the age + of twenty, having meantime studied alone with diligence and perseverance, + she went with me to an establishment on the Continent: the same suffering + and conflict ensued, heightened by the strong recoil of her upright, + heretic and English spirit from the gentle Jesuitry of the foreign and + Romish system. Once more she seemed sinking, but this time she rallied + through the mere force of resolution: with inward remorse and shame she + looked back on her former failure, and resolved to conquer in this second + ordeal. She did conquer: but the victory cost her dear. She was never + happy till she carried her hard-won knowledge back to the remote English + village, the old parsonage-house, and desolate Yorkshire hills. A very few + years more, and she looked her last on those hills, and breathed her last + in that house, and under the aisle of that obscure village church found + her last lowly resting-place. Merciful was the decree that spared her when + she was a stranger in a strange land, and guarded her dying bed with + kindred love and congenial constancy. + </p> + <p> + The following pieces were composed at twilight, in the school-room, when + the leisure of the evening play-hour brought back in full tide the + thoughts of home. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0066" id="link2H_4_0066"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A LITTLE while, a little while, + The weary task is put away, + And I can sing and I can smile, + Alike, while I have holiday. + + Where wilt thou go, my harassed heart— + What thought, what scene invites thee now + What spot, or near or far apart, + Has rest for thee, my weary brow? + + There is a spot, 'mid barren hills, + Where winter howls, and driving rain; + But, if the dreary tempest chills, + There is a light that warms again. + + The house is old, the trees are bare, + Moonless above bends twilight's dome; + But what on earth is half so dear— + So longed for—as the hearth of home? + + The mute bird sitting on the stone, + The dank moss dripping from the wall, + The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown, + I love them—how I love them all! + + Still, as I mused, the naked room, + The alien firelight died away; + And from the midst of cheerless gloom, + I passed to bright, unclouded day. + + A little and a lone green lane + That opened on a common wide; + A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain + Of mountains circling every side. + + A heaven so clear, an earth so calm, + So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air; + And, deepening still the dream-like charm, + Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere. + + THAT was the scene, I knew it well; + I knew the turfy pathway's sweep, + That, winding o'er each billowy swell, + Marked out the tracks of wandering sheep. + + Could I have lingered but an hour, + It well had paid a week of toil; + But Truth has banished Fancy's power: + Restraint and heavy task recoil. + + Even as I stood with raptured eye, + Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear, + My hour of rest had fleeted by, + And back came labour, bondage, care. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0067" id="link2H_4_0067"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. THE BLUEBELL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Bluebell is the sweetest flower + That waves in summer air: + Its blossoms have the mightiest power + To soothe my spirit's care. + + There is a spell in purple heath + Too wildly, sadly dear; + The violet has a fragrant breath, + But fragrance will not cheer, + + The trees are bare, the sun is cold, + And seldom, seldom seen; + The heavens have lost their zone of gold, + And earth her robe of green. + + And ice upon the glancing stream + Has cast its sombre shade; + And distant hills and valleys seem + In frozen mist arrayed. + + The Bluebell cannot charm me now, + The heath has lost its bloom; + The violets in the glen below, + They yield no sweet perfume. + + But, though I mourn the sweet Bluebell, + 'Tis better far away; + I know how fast my tears would swell + To see it smile to-day. + + For, oh! when chill the sunbeams fall + Adown that dreary sky, + And gild yon dank and darkened wall + With transient brilliancy; + + How do I weep, how do I pine + For the time of flowers to come, + And turn me from that fading shine, + To mourn the fields of home! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0068" id="link2H_4_0068"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Loud without the wind was roaring + Through th'autumnal sky; + Drenching wet, the cold rain pouring, + Spoke of winter nigh. + All too like that dreary eve, + Did my exiled spirit grieve. + Grieved at first, but grieved not long, + Sweet—how softly sweet!—it came; + Wild words of an ancient song, + Undefined, without a name. + + "It was spring, and the skylark was singing:" + Those words they awakened a spell; + They unlocked a deep fountain, whose springing, + Nor absence, nor distance can quell. + + In the gloom of a cloudy November + They uttered the music of May; + They kindled the perishing ember + Into fervour that could not decay. + + Awaken, o'er all my dear moorland, + West-wind, in thy glory and pride! + Oh! call me from valley and lowland, + To walk by the hill-torrent's side! + + It is swelled with the first snowy weather; + The rocks they are icy and hoar, + And sullenly waves the long heather, + And the fern leaves are sunny no more. + + There are no yellow stars on the mountain + The bluebells have long died away + From the brink of the moss-bedded fountain— + From the side of the wintry brae. + + But lovelier than corn-fields all waving + In emerald, and vermeil, and gold, + Are the heights where the north-wind is raving, + And the crags where I wandered of old. + + It was morning: the bright sun was beaming; + How sweetly it brought back to me + The time when nor labour nor dreaming + Broke the sleep of the happy and free! + + But blithely we rose as the dawn-heaven + Was melting to amber and blue, + And swift were the wings to our feet given, + As we traversed the meadows of dew. + + For the moors! For the moors, where the short grass + Like velvet beneath us should lie! + For the moors! For the moors, where each high pass + Rose sunny against the clear sky! + + For the moors, where the linnet was trilling + Its song on the old granite stone; + Where the lark, the wild sky-lark, was filling + Every breast with delight like its own! + + What language can utter the feeling + Which rose, when in exile afar, + On the brow of a lonely hill kneeling, + I saw the brown heath growing there? + + It was scattered and stunted, and told me + That soon even that would be gone: + It whispered, "The grim walls enfold me, + I have bloomed in my last summer's sun." + + But not the loved music, whose waking + Makes the soul of the Swiss die away, + Has a spell more adored and heartbreaking + Than, for me, in that blighted heath lay. + + The spirit which bent 'neath its power, + How it longed—how it burned to be free! + If I could have wept in that hour, + Those tears had been heaven to me. + + Well—well; the sad minutes are moving, + Though loaded with trouble and pain; + And some time the loved and the loving + Shall meet on the mountains again! +</pre> + <p> + The following little piece has no title; but in it the Genius of a + solitary region seems to address his wandering and wayward votary, and to + recall within his influence the proud mind which rebelled at times even + against what it most loved. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Shall earth no more inspire thee, + Thou lonely dreamer now? + Since passion may not fire thee, + Shall nature cease to bow? + + Thy mind is ever moving, + In regions dark to thee; + Recall its useless roving, + Come back, and dwell with me. + + I know my mountain breezes + Enchant and soothe thee still, + I know my sunshine pleases, + Despite thy wayward will. + + When day with evening blending, + Sinks from the summer sky, + I've seen thy spirit bending + In fond idolatry. + + I've watched thee every hour; + I know my mighty sway: + I know my magic power + To drive thy griefs away. + + Few hearts to mortals given, + On earth so wildly pine; + Yet few would ask a heaven + More like this earth than thine. + + Then let my winds caress thee + Thy comrade let me be: + Since nought beside can bless thee, + Return—and dwell with me. +</pre> + <p> + Here again is the same mind in converse with a like abstraction. "The + Night-Wind," breathing through an open window, has visited an ear which + discerned language in its whispers. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0069" id="link2H_4_0069"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE NIGHT-WIND. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In summer's mellow midnight, + A cloudless moon shone through + Our open parlour window, + And rose-trees wet with dew. + + I sat in silent musing; + The soft wind waved my hair; + It told me heaven was glorious, + And sleeping earth was fair. + + I needed not its breathing + To bring such thoughts to me; + But still it whispered lowly, + How dark the woods will be! + + "The thick leaves in my murmur + Are rustling like a dream, + And all their myriad voices + Instinct with spirit seem." + + I said, "Go, gentle singer, + Thy wooing voice is kind: + But do not think its music + Has power to reach my mind. + + "Play with the scented flower, + The young tree's supple bough, + And leave my human feelings + In their own course to flow." + + The wanderer would not heed me; + Its kiss grew warmer still. + "O come!" it sighed so sweetly; + "I'll win thee 'gainst thy will. + + "Were we not friends from childhood? + Have I not loved thee long? + As long as thou, the solemn night, + Whose silence wakes my song. + + "And when thy heart is resting + Beneath the church-aisle stone, + I shall have time for mourning, + And THOU for being alone." +</pre> + <p> + In these stanzas a louder gale has roused the sleeper on her pillow: the + wakened soul struggles to blend with the storm by which it is swayed:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ay—there it is! it wakes to-night + Deep feelings I thought dead; + Strong in the blast—quick gathering light— + The heart's flame kindles red. + + "Now I can tell by thine altered cheek, + And by thine eyes' full gaze, + And by the words thou scarce dost speak, + How wildly fancy plays. + + "Yes—I could swear that glorious wind + Has swept the world aside, + Has dashed its memory from thy mind + Like foam-bells from the tide: + + "And thou art now a spirit pouring + Thy presence into all: + The thunder of the tempest's roaring, + The whisper of its fall: + + "An universal influence, + From thine own influence free; + A principle of life—intense— + Lost to mortality. + + "Thus truly, when that breast is cold, + Thy prisoned soul shall rise; + The dungeon mingle with the mould— + The captive with the skies. + Nature's deep being, thine shall hold, + Her spirit all thy spirit fold, + Her breath absorb thy sighs. + Mortal! though soon life's tale is told; + Who once lives, never dies!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0070" id="link2H_4_0070"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Love is like the wild rose-briar; + Friendship like the holly-tree. + The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, + But which will bloom most constantly? + + The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring, + Its summer blossoms scent the air; + Yet wait till winter comes again, + And who will call the wild-briar fair? + + Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now, + And deck thee with the holly's sheen, + That, when December blights thy brow, + He still may leave thy garland green. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0071" id="link2H_4_0071"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ELDER'S REBUKE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Listen! When your hair, like mine, + Takes a tint of silver gray; + When your eyes, with dimmer shine, + Watch life's bubbles float away: + + When you, young man, have borne like me + The weary weight of sixty-three, + Then shall penance sore be paid + For those hours so wildly squandered; + And the words that now fall dead + On your ear, be deeply pondered— + Pondered and approved at last: + But their virtue will be past! + + "Glorious is the prize of Duty, + Though she be 'a serious power'; + Treacherous all the lures of Beauty, + Thorny bud and poisonous flower! + + "Mirth is but a mad beguiling + Of the golden-gifted time; + Love—a demon-meteor, wiling + Heedless feet to gulfs of crime. + + "Those who follow earthly pleasure, + Heavenly knowledge will not lead; + Wisdom hides from them her treasure, + Virtue bids them evil-speed! + + "Vainly may their hearts repenting. + Seek for aid in future years; + Wisdom, scorned, knows no relenting; + Virtue is not won by fears." + + Thus spake the ice-blooded elder gray; + The young man scoffed as he turned away, + Turned to the call of a sweet lute's measure, + Waked by the lightsome touch of pleasure: + Had he ne'er met a gentler teacher, + Woe had been wrought by that pitiless preacher. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0072" id="link2H_4_0072"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WANDERER FROM THE FOLD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + How few, of all the hearts that loved, + Are grieving for thee now; + And why should mine to-night be moved + With such a sense of woe? + + Too often thus, when left alone, + Where none my thoughts can see, + Comes back a word, a passing tone + From thy strange history. + + Sometimes I seem to see thee rise, + A glorious child again; + All virtues beaming from thine eyes + That ever honoured men: + + Courage and truth, a generous breast + Where sinless sunshine lay: + A being whose very presence blest + Like gladsome summer-day. + + O, fairly spread thy early sail, + And fresh, and pure, and free, + Was the first impulse of the gale + Which urged life's wave for thee! + + Why did the pilot, too confiding, + Dream o'er that ocean's foam, + And trust in Pleasure's careless guiding + To bring his vessel home? + + For well he knew what dangers frowned, + What mists would gather, dim; + What rocks and shelves, and sands lay round + Between his port and him. + + The very brightness of the sun + The splendour of the main, + The wind which bore him wildly on + Should not have warned in vain. + + An anxious gazer from the shore— + I marked the whitening wave, + And wept above thy fate the more + Because—I could not save. + + It recks not now, when all is over: + But yet my heart will be + A mourner still, though friend and lover + Have both forgotten thee! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0073" id="link2H_4_0073"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WARNING AND REPLY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the earth—the earth—thou shalt be laid, + A grey stone standing over thee; + Black mould beneath thee spread, + And black mould to cover thee. + + "Well—there is rest there, + So fast come thy prophecy; + The time when my sunny hair + Shall with grass roots entwined be." + + But cold—cold is that resting-place, + Shut out from joy and liberty, + And all who loved thy living face + Will shrink from it shudderingly, + + "Not so. HERE the world is chill, + And sworn friends fall from me: + But THERE—they will own me still, + And prize my memory." + + Farewell, then, all that love, + All that deep sympathy: + Sleep on: Heaven laughs above, + Earth never misses thee. + + Turf-sod and tombstone drear + Part human company; + One heart breaks only—here, + But that heart was worthy thee! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0074" id="link2H_4_0074"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LAST WORDS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I knew not 'twas so dire a crime + To say the word, "Adieu;" + But this shall be the only time + My lips or heart shall sue. + + That wild hill-side, the winter morn, + The gnarled and ancient tree, + If in your breast they waken scorn, + Shall wake the same in me. + + I can forget black eyes and brows, + And lips of falsest charm, + If you forget the sacred vows + Those faithless lips could form. + + If hard commands can tame your love, + Or strongest walls can hold, + I would not wish to grieve above + A thing so false and cold. + + And there are bosoms bound to mine + With links both tried and strong: + And there are eyes whose lightning shine + Has warmed and blest me long: + + Those eyes shall make my only day, + Shall set my spirit free, + And chase the foolish thoughts away + That mourn your memory. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0075" id="link2H_4_0075"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LADY TO HER GUITAR. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + For him who struck thy foreign string, + I ween this heart has ceased to care; + Then why dost thou such feelings bring + To my sad spirit—old Guitar? + + It is as if the warm sunlight + In some deep glen should lingering stay, + When clouds of storm, or shades of night, + Have wrapt the parent orb away. + + It is as if the glassy brook + Should image still its willows fair, + Though years ago the woodman's stroke + Laid low in dust their Dryad-hair. + + Even so, Guitar, thy magic tone + Hath moved the tear and waked the sigh: + Hath bid the ancient torrent moan, + Although its very source is dry. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0076" id="link2H_4_0076"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE TWO CHILDREN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Heavy hangs the rain-drop + From the burdened spray; + Heavy broods the damp mist + On uplands far away. + + Heavy looms the dull sky, + Heavy rolls the sea; + And heavy throbs the young heart + Beneath that lonely tree. + + Never has a blue streak + Cleft the clouds since morn; + Never has his grim fate + Smiled since he was born. + + Frowning on the infant, + Shadowing childhood's joy + Guardian-angel knows not + That melancholy boy. + + Day is passing swiftly + Its sad and sombre prime; + Boyhood sad is merging + In sadder manhood's time: + + All the flowers are praying + For sun, before they close, + And he prays too—unconscious— + That sunless human rose. + + Blossom—that the west-wind + Has never wooed to blow, + Scentless are thy petals, + Thy dew is cold as snow! + + Soul—where kindred kindness, + No early promise woke, + Barren is thy beauty, + As weed upon a rock. + + Wither—soul and blossom! + You both were vainly given; + Earth reserves no blessing + For the unblest of heaven! + + Child of delight, with sun-bright hair, + And sea-blue, sea-deep eyes! + Spirit of bliss! What brings thee here + Beneath these sullen skies? + + Thou shouldst live in eternal spring, + Where endless day is never dim; + Why, Seraph, has thine erring wing + Wafted thee down to weep with him? + + "Ah! not from heaven am I descended, + Nor do I come to mingle tears; + But sweet is day, though with shadows blended; + And, though clouded, sweet are youthful years. + + "I—the image of light and gladness— + Saw and pitied that mournful boy, + And I vowed—if need were—to share his sadness, + And give to him my sunny joy. + + "Heavy and dark the night is closing; + Heavy and dark may its biding be: + Better for all from grief reposing, + And better for all who watch like me— + + "Watch in love by a fevered pillow, + Cooling the fever with pity's balm + Safe as the petrel on tossing billow, + Safe in mine own soul's golden calm! + + "Guardian-angel he lacks no longer; + Evil fortune he need not fear: + Fate is strong, but love is stronger; + And MY love is truer than angel-care." +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0077" id="link2H_4_0077"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE VISIONARY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Silent is the house: all are laid asleep: + One alone looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep, + Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze + That whirls the wildering drift, and bends the groaning trees. + + Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor; + Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door; + The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far: + I trim it well, to be the wanderer's guiding-star. + + Frown, my haughty sire! chide, my angry dame! + Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame: + But neither sire nor dame, nor prying serf shall know, + What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow. + + What I love shall come like visitant of air, + Safe in secret power from lurking human snare; + What loves me, no word of mine shall e'er betray, + Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay + + Burn, then, little lamp; glimmer straight and clear— + Hush! a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air: + He for whom I wait, thus ever comes to me; + Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0078" id="link2H_4_0078"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ENCOURAGEMENT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I do not weep; I would not weep; + Our mother needs no tears: + Dry thine eyes, too; 'tis vain to keep + This causeless grief for years. + + What though her brow be changed and cold, + Her sweet eyes closed for ever? + What though the stone—the darksome mould + Our mortal bodies sever? + + What though her hand smooth ne'er again + Those silken locks of thine? + Nor, through long hours of future pain, + Her kind face o'er thee shine? + + Remember still, she is not dead; + She sees us, sister, now; + Laid, where her angel spirit fled, + 'Mid heath and frozen snow. + + And from that world of heavenly light + Will she not always bend + To guide us in our lifetime's night, + And guard us to the end? + + Thou knowest she will; and thou mayst mourn + That WE are left below: + But not that she can ne'er return + To share our earthly woe. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0079" id="link2H_4_0079"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STANZAS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Often rebuked, yet always back returning + To those first feelings that were born with me, + And leaving busy chase of wealth and learning + For idle dreams of things which cannot be: + + To-day, I will seek not the shadowy region; + Its unsustaining vastness waxes drear; + And visions rising, legion after legion, + Bring the unreal world too strangely near. + + I'll walk, but not in old heroic traces, + And not in paths of high morality, + And not among the half-distinguished faces, + The clouded forms of long-past history. + + I'll walk where my own nature would be leading: + It vexes me to choose another guide: + Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding; + Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side. + + What have those lonely mountains worth revealing? + More glory and more grief than I can tell: + The earth that wakes one human heart to feeling + Can centre both the worlds of Heaven and Hell. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0080" id="link2H_4_0080"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + The following are the last lines my sister Emily ever wrote:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + No coward soul is mine, + No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere: + I see Heaven's glories shine, + And faith shines equal, arming me from fear. + + O God within my breast, + Almighty, ever-present Deity! + Life—that in me has rest, + As I—undying Life—have power in thee! + + Vain are the thousand creeds + That move men's hearts: unutterably vain; + Worthless as withered weeds, + Or idlest froth amid the boundless main, + + To waken doubt in one + Holding so fast by thine infinity; + So surely anchored on + The stedfast rock of immortality. + + With wide-embracing love + Thy spirit animates eternal years, + Pervades and broods above, + Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears. + + Though earth and man were gone, + And suns and universes ceased to be, + And Thou were left alone, + Every existence would exist in Thee. + + There is not room for Death, + Nor atom that his might could render void: + Thou—THOU art Being and Breath, + And what THOU art may never be destroyed. +</pre> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0081" id="link2H_4_0081"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ACTON BELL. + </h2> + <p> + In looking over my sister Anne's papers, I find mournful evidence that + religious feeling had been to her but too much like what it was to Cowper; + I mean, of course, in a far milder form. Without rendering her a prey to + those horrors that defy concealment, it subdued her mood and bearing to a + perpetual pensiveness; the pillar of a cloud glided constantly before her + eyes; she ever waited at the foot of a secret Sinai, listening in her + heart to the voice of a trumpet sounding long and waxing louder. Some, + perhaps, would rejoice over these tokens of sincere though sorrowing piety + in a deceased relative: I own, to me they seem sad, as if her whole + innocent life had been passed under the martyrdom of an unconfessed + physical pain: their effect, indeed, would be too distressing, were it not + combated by the certain knowledge that in her last moments this tyranny of + a too tender conscience was overcome; this pomp of terrors broke up, and + passing away, left her dying hour unclouded. Her belief in God did not + then bring to her dread, as of a stern Judge,—but hope, as in a + Creator and Saviour: and no faltering hope was it, but a sure and stedfast + conviction, on which, in the rude passage from Time to Eternity, she threw + the weight of her human weakness, and by which she was enabled to bear + what was to be borne, patiently—serenely—victoriously. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0082" id="link2H_4_0082"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DESPONDENCY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I have gone backward in the work; + The labour has not sped; + Drowsy and dark my spirit lies, + Heavy and dull as lead. + + How can I rouse my sinking soul + From such a lethargy? + How can I break these iron chains + And set my spirit free? + + There have been times when I have mourned! + In anguish o'er the past, + And raised my suppliant hands on high, + While tears fell thick and fast; + + And prayed to have my sins forgiven, + With such a fervent zeal, + An earnest grief, a strong desire + As now I cannot feel. + + And I have felt so full of love, + So strong in spirit then, + As if my heart would never cool, + Or wander back again. + + And yet, alas! how many times + My feet have gone astray! + How oft have I forgot my God! + How greatly fallen away! + + My sins increase—my love grows cold, + And Hope within me dies: + Even Faith itself is wavering now; + Oh, how shall I arise? + + I cannot weep, but I can pray, + Then let me not despair: + Lord Jesus, save me, lest I die! + Christ, hear my humble prayer! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0083" id="link2H_4_0083"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A PRAYER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My God (oh, let me call Thee mine, + Weak, wretched sinner though I be), + My trembling soul would fain be Thine; + My feeble faith still clings to Thee. + + Not only for the Past I grieve, + The Future fills me with dismay; + Unless Thou hasten to relieve, + Thy suppliant is a castaway. + + I cannot say my faith is strong, + I dare not hope my love is great; + But strength and love to Thee belong; + Oh, do not leave me desolate! + + I know I owe my all to Thee; + Oh, TAKE the heart I cannot give! + Do Thou my strength—my Saviour be, + And MAKE me to Thy glory live. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0084" id="link2H_4_0084"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN MEMORY OF A HAPPY DAY IN FEBRUARY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Blessed be Thou for all the joy + My soul has felt to-day! + Oh, let its memory stay with me, + And never pass away! + + I was alone, for those I loved + Were far away from me; + The sun shone on the withered grass, + The wind blew fresh and free. + + Was it the smile of early spring + That made my bosom glow? + 'Twas sweet; but neither sun nor wind + Could cheer my spirit so. + + Was it some feeling of delight + All vague and undefined? + No; 'twas a rapture deep and strong, + Expanding in the mind. + + Was it a sanguine view of life, + And all its transient bliss, + A hope of bright prosperity? + Oh, no! it was not this. + + It was a glimpse of truth divine + Unto my spirit given, + Illumined by a ray of light + That shone direct from heaven. + + I felt there was a God on high, + By whom all things were made; + I saw His wisdom and His power + In all his works displayed. + + But most throughout the moral world, + I saw his glory shine; + I saw His wisdom infinite, + His mercy all divine. + + Deep secrets of His providence, + In darkness long concealed, + Unto the vision of my soul + Were graciously revealed. + + But while I wondered and adored + His Majesty divine, + I did not tremble at His power: + I felt that God was mine; + + I knew that my Redeemer lived; + I did not fear to die; + Full sure that I should rise again + To immortality. + + I longed to view that bliss divine, + Which eye hath never seen; + Like Moses, I would see His face + Without the veil between. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0085" id="link2H_4_0085"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CONFIDENCE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oppressed with sin and woe, + A burdened heart I bear, + Opposed by many a mighty foe; + But I will not despair. + + With this polluted heart, + I dare to come to Thee, + Holy and mighty as Thou art, + For Thou wilt pardon me. + + I feel that I am weak, + And prone to every sin; + But Thou who giv'st to those who seek, + Wilt give me strength within. + + Far as this earth may be + From yonder starry skies; + Remoter still am I from Thee: + Yet Thou wilt not despise. + + I need not fear my foes, + I deed not yield to care; + I need not sink beneath my woes, + For Thou wilt answer prayer. + + In my Redeemer's name, + I give myself to Thee; + And, all unworthy as I am, + My God will cherish me. +</pre> + <p> + My sister Anne had to taste the cup of life as it is mixed for the class + termed "Governesses." + </p> + <p> + The following are some of the thoughts that now and then solace a + governess:— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0086" id="link2H_4_0086"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LINES WRITTEN FROM HOME. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground, + With fallen leaves so thickly strewn, + And cold the wind that wanders round + With wild and melancholy moan; + + There is a friendly roof I know, + Might shield me from the wintry blast; + There is a fire whose ruddy glow + Will cheer me for my wanderings past. + + And so, though still where'er I go + Cold stranger glances meet my eye; + Though, when my spirit sinks in woe, + Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh; + + Though solitude, endured too long, + Bids youthful joys too soon decay, + Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue, + And overclouds my noon of day; + + When kindly thoughts that would have way + Flow back, discouraged, to my breast, + I know there is, though far away, + A home where heart and soul may rest. + + Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine, + The warmer heart will not belie; + While mirth and truth, and friendship shine + In smiling lip and earnest eye. + + The ice that gathers round my heart + May there be thawed; and sweetly, then, + The joys of youth, that now depart, + Will come to cheer my soul again. + + Though far I roam, that thought shall be + My hope, my comfort everywhere; + While such a home remains to me, + My heart shall never know despair. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0087" id="link2H_4_0087"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE NARROW WAY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Believe not those who say + The upward path is smooth, + Lest thou shouldst stumble in the way, + And faint before the truth. + + It is the only road + Unto the realms of joy; + But he who seeks that blest abode + Must all his powers employ. + + Bright hopes and pure delight + Upon his course may beam, + And there, amid the sternest heights, + The sweetest flowerets gleam. + + On all her breezes borne, + Earth yields no scents like those; + But he that dares not gasp the thorn + Should never crave the rose. + + Arm—arm thee for the fight! + Cast useless loads away; + Watch through the darkest hours of night; + Toil through the hottest day. + + Crush pride into the dust, + Or thou must needs be slack; + And trample down rebellious lust, + Or it will hold thee back. + + Seek not thy honour here; + Waive pleasure and renown; + The world's dread scoff undaunted bear, + And face its deadliest frown. + + To labour and to love, + To pardon and endure, + To lift thy heart to God above, + And keep thy conscience pure; + + Be this thy constant aim, + Thy hope, thy chief delight; + What matter who should whisper blame + Or who should scorn or slight? + + What matter, if thy God approve, + And if, within thy breast, + Thou feel the comfort of His love, + The earnest of His rest? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0088" id="link2H_4_0088"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DOMESTIC PEACE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Why should such gloomy silence reign, + And why is all the house so drear, + When neither danger, sickness, pain, + Nor death, nor want, have entered here? + + We are as many as we were + That other night, when all were gay + And full of hope, and free from care; + Yet is there something gone away. + + The moon without, as pure and calm, + Is shining as that night she shone; + But now, to us, she brings no balm, + For something from our hearts is gone. + + Something whose absence leaves a void— + A cheerless want in every heart; + Each feels the bliss of all destroyed, + And mourns the change—but each apart. + + The fire is burning in the grate + As redly as it used to burn; + But still the hearth is desolate, + Till mirth, and love, and PEACE return. + + 'Twas PEACE that flowed from heart to heart, + With looks and smiles that spoke of heaven, + And gave us language to impart + The blissful thoughts itself had given. + + Domestic peace! best joy of earth, + When shall we all thy value learn? + White angel, to our sorrowing hearth, + Return—oh, graciously return! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0089" id="link2H_4_0089"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE THREE GUIDES. [First published in FRASER'S MAGAZINE.] + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Spirit of Earth! thy hand is chill: + I've felt its icy clasp; + And, shuddering, I remember still + That stony-hearted grasp. + Thine eye bids love and joy depart: + Oh, turn its gaze from me! + It presses down my shrinking heart; + I will not walk with thee! + + "Wisdom is mine," I've heard thee say: + "Beneath my searching eye + All mist and darkness melt away, + Phantoms and fables fly. + Before me truth can stand alone, + The naked, solid truth; + And man matured by worth will own, + If I am shunned by youth. + + "Firm is my tread, and sure though slow; + My footsteps never slide; + And he that follows me shall know + I am the surest guide." + Thy boast is vain; but were it true + That thou couldst safely steer + Life's rough and devious pathway through, + Such guidance I should fear. + + How could I bear to walk for aye, + With eyes to earthward prone, + O'er trampled weeds and miry clay, + And sand and flinty stone; + Never the glorious view to greet + Of hill and dale, and sky; + To see that Nature's charms are sweet, + Or feel that Heaven is nigh? + + If in my heart arose a spring, + A gush of thought divine, + At once stagnation thou wouldst bring + With that cold touch of thine. + If, glancing up, I sought to snatch + But one glimpse of the sky, + My baffled gaze would only catch + Thy heartless, cold grey eye. + + If to the breezes wandering near, + I listened eagerly, + And deemed an angel's tongue to hear + That whispered hope to me, + That heavenly music would be drowned + In thy harsh, droning voice; + Nor inward thought, nor sight, nor sound, + Might my sad soul rejoice. + + Dull is thine ear, unheard by thee + The still, small voice of Heaven; + Thine eyes are dim and cannot see + The helps that God has given. + There is a bridge o'er every flood + Which thou canst not perceive; + A path through every tangled wood, + But thou wilt not believe. + + Striving to make thy way by force, + Toil-spent and bramble-torn, + Thou'lt fell the tree that checks thy course, + And burst through brier and thorn: + And, pausing by the river's side, + Poor reasoner! thou wilt deem, + By casting pebbles in its tide, + To cross the swelling stream. + + Right through the flinty rock thou'lt try + Thy toilsome way to bore, + Regardless of the pathway nigh + That would conduct thee o'er + Not only art thou, then, unkind, + And freezing cold to me, + But unbelieving, deaf, and blind: + I will not walk with thee! + + Spirit of Pride! thy wings are strong, + Thine eyes like lightning shine; + Ecstatic joys to thee belong, + And powers almost divine. + But 'tis a false, destructive blaze + Within those eyes I see; + Turn hence their fascinating gaze; + I will not follow thee. + + "Coward and fool!" thou mayst reply, + Walk on the common sod; + Go, trace with timid foot and eye + The steps by others trod. + 'Tis best the beaten path to keep, + The ancient faith to hold; + To pasture with thy fellow-sheep, + And lie within the fold. + + "Cling to the earth, poor grovelling worm; + 'Tis not for thee to soar + Against the fury of the storm, + Amid the thunder's roar! + There's glory in that daring strife + Unknown, undreamt by thee; + There's speechless rapture in the life + Of those who follow me. + + Yes, I have seen thy votaries oft, + Upheld by thee their guide, + In strength and courage mount aloft + The steepy mountain-side; + I've seen them stand against the sky, + And gazing from below, + Beheld thy lightning in their eye + Thy triumph on their brow. + + Oh, I have felt what glory then, + What transport must be theirs! + So far above their fellow-men, + Above their toils and cares; + Inhaling Nature's purest breath, + Her riches round them spread, + The wide expanse of earth beneath, + Heaven's glories overhead! + + But I have seen them helpless, dash'd + Down to a bloody grave, + And still thy ruthless eye has flash'd, + Thy strong hand did not save; + I've seen some o'er the mountain's brow + Sustain'd awhile by thee, + O'er rocks of ice and hills of snow + Bound fearless, wild, and free. + + Bold and exultant was their mien, + While thou didst cheer them on; + But evening fell,—and then, I ween, + Their faithless guide was gone. + Alas! how fared thy favourites then,— + Lone, helpless, weary, cold? + Did ever wanderer find again + The path he left of old? + + Where is their glory, where the pride + That swelled their hearts before? + Where now the courage that defied + The mightiest tempest's roar? + What shall they do when night grows black, + When angry storms arise? + Who now will lead them to the track + Thou taught'st them to despise? + + Spirit of Pride, it needs not this + To make me shun thy wiles, + Renounce thy triumph and thy bliss, + Thy honours and thy smiles! + Bright as thou art, and bold, and strong, + That fierce glance wins not me, + And I abhor thy scoffing tongue— + I will not follow thee! + + Spirit of Faith! be thou my guide, + O clasp my hand in thine, + And let me never quit thy side; + Thy comforts are divine! + Earth calls thee blind, misguided one,— + But who can shew like thee + Forgotten things that have been done, + And things that are to be? + + Secrets conceal'd from Nature's ken, + Who like thee can declare? + Or who like thee to erring men + God's holy will can bear? + Pride scorns thee for thy lowly mien,— + But who like thee can rise + Above this toilsome, sordid scene, + Beyond the holy skies? + + Meek is thine eye and soft thy voice, + But wondrous is thy might, + To make the wretched soul rejoice, + To give the simple light! + And still to all that seek thy way + This magic power is given,— + E'en while their footsteps press the clay, + Their souls ascend to heaven. + + Danger surrounds them,—pain and woe + Their portion here must be, + But only they that trust thee know + What comfort dwells with thee; + Strength to sustain their drooping pow'rs, + And vigour to defend,— + Thou pole-star of my darkest hours + Affliction's firmest friend! + + Day does not always mark our way, + Night's shadows oft appal, + But lead me, and I cannot stray,— + Hold me, I shall not fall; + Sustain me, I shall never faint, + How rough soe'er may be + My upward road,—nor moan, nor plaint + Shall mar my trust in thee. + + Narrow the path by which we go, + And oft it turns aside + From pleasant meads where roses blow, + And peaceful waters glide; + Where flowery turf lies green and soft, + And gentle gales are sweet, + To where dark mountains frown aloft, + Hard rocks distress the feet,— + + Deserts beyond lie bleak and bare, + And keen winds round us blow; + But if thy hand conducts me there, + The way is right, I know. + I have no wish to turn away; + My spirit does not quail,— + How can it while I hear thee say, + "Press forward and prevail!" + + Even above the tempest's swell + I hear thy voice of love,— + Of hope and peace, I hear thee tell, + And that blest home above; + Through pain and death I can rejoice. + If but thy strength be mine,— + Earth hath no music like thy voice, + Life owns no joy like thine! + + Spirit of Faith, I'll go with thee! + Thou, if I hold thee fast, + Wilt guide, defend, and strengthen me, + And bear me home at last; + By thy help all things I can do, + In thy strength all things bear,— + Teach me, for thou art just and true, + Smile on me, thou art fair! +</pre> + <p> + I have given the last memento of my sister Emily; this is the last of my + sister Anne:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I hoped, that with the brave and strong, + My portioned task might lie; + To toil amid the busy throng, + With purpose pure and high. + + But God has fixed another part, + And He has fixed it well; + I said so with my bleeding heart, + When first the anguish fell. + + Thou, God, hast taken our delight, + Our treasured hope away: + Thou bid'st us now weep through the night + And sorrow through the day. + + These weary hours will not be lost, + These days of misery, + These nights of darkness, anguish-tost, + Can I but turn to Thee. + + With secret labour to sustain + In humble patience every blow; + To gather fortitude from pain, + And hope and holiness from woe. + + Thus let me serve Thee from my heart, + Whate'er may be my written fate: + Whether thus early to depart, + Or yet a while to wait. + + If Thou shouldst bring me back to life, + More humbled I should be; + More wise—more strengthened for the strife— + More apt to lean on Thee. + + Should death be standing at the gate, + Thus should I keep my vow: + But, Lord! whatever be my fate, + Oh, let me serve Thee now! +</pre> + <p> + These lines written, the desk was closed, the pen laid aside—for + ever. + </p> + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 1019-h.htm or 1019-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/1/1019/</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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. 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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: Poems + +Author: (AKA Charlotte, Emily and Anne Bronte) Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell + +Posting Date: July 23, 2008 [EBook #1019] +Release Date: August, 1997 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +An Anonymous Volunteer + + + + + +POEMS + +by Currer, Ellis, And Acton Bell + +(Charlotte, Emily and Anne Bronte) + + + + +POEMS BY CURRER BELL + + + + +PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. + + I've quench'd my lamp, I struck it in that start + Which every limb convulsed, I heard it fall-- + The crash blent with my sleep, I saw depart + Its light, even as I woke, on yonder wall; + Over against my bed, there shone a gleam + Strange, faint, and mingling also with my dream. + + It sank, and I am wrapt in utter gloom; + How far is night advanced, and when will day + Retinge the dusk and livid air with bloom, + And fill this void with warm, creative ray? + Would I could sleep again till, clear and red, + Morning shall on the mountain-tops be spread! + + I'd call my women, but to break their sleep, + Because my own is broken, were unjust; + They've wrought all day, and well-earn'd slumbers steep + Their labours in forgetfulness, I trust; + Let me my feverish watch with patience bear, + Thankful that none with me its sufferings share. + + Yet, oh, for light! one ray would tranquillize + My nerves, my pulses, more than effort can; + I'll draw my curtain and consult the skies: + These trembling stars at dead of night look wan, + Wild, restless, strange, yet cannot be more drear + Than this my couch, shared by a nameless fear. + + All black--one great cloud, drawn from east to west, + Conceals the heavens, but there are lights below; + Torches burn in Jerusalem, and cast + On yonder stony mount a lurid glow. + I see men station'd there, and gleaming spears; + A sound, too, from afar, invades my ears. + + Dull, measured strokes of axe and hammer ring + From street to street, not loud, but through the night + Distinctly heard--and some strange spectral thing + Is now uprear'd--and, fix'd against the light + Of the pale lamps, defined upon that sky, + It stands up like a column, straight and high. + + I see it all--I know the dusky sign-- + A cross on Calvary, which Jews uprear + While Romans watch; and when the dawn shall shine + Pilate, to judge the victim, will appear-- + Pass sentence-yield Him up to crucify; + And on that cross the spotless Christ must die. + + Dreams, then, are true--for thus my vision ran; + Surely some oracle has been with me, + The gods have chosen me to reveal their plan, + To warn an unjust judge of destiny: + I, slumbering, heard and saw; awake I know, + Christ's coming death, and Pilate's life of woe. + + I do not weep for Pilate--who could prove + Regret for him whose cold and crushing sway + No prayer can soften, no appeal can move: + Who tramples hearts as others trample clay, + Yet with a faltering, an uncertain tread, + That might stir up reprisal in the dead. + + Forced to sit by his side and see his deeds; + Forced to behold that visage, hour by hour, + In whose gaunt lines the abhorrent gazer reads + A triple lust of gold, and blood, and power; + A soul whom motives fierce, yet abject, urge-- + Rome's servile slave, and Judah's tyrant scourge. + + How can I love, or mourn, or pity him? + I, who so long my fetter'd hands have wrung; + I, who for grief have wept my eyesight dim; + Because, while life for me was bright and young, + He robb'd my youth--he quench'd my life's fair ray-- + He crush'd my mind, and did my freedom slay. + + And at this hour-although I be his wife-- + He has no more of tenderness from me + Than any other wretch of guilty life; + Less, for I know his household privacy-- + I see him as he is--without a screen; + And, by the gods, my soul abhors his mien! + + Has he not sought my presence, dyed in blood-- + Innocent, righteous blood, shed shamelessly? + And have I not his red salute withstood? + Ay, when, as erst, he plunged all Galilee + In dark bereavement--in affliction sore, + Mingling their very offerings with their gore. + + Then came he--in his eyes a serpent-smile, + Upon his lips some false, endearing word, + And through the streets of Salem clang'd the while + His slaughtering, hacking, sacrilegious sword-- + And I, to see a man cause men such woe, + Trembled with ire--I did not fear to show. + + And now, the envious Jewish priests have brought + Jesus--whom they in mock'ry call their king-- + To have, by this grim power, their vengeance wrought; + By this mean reptile, innocence to sting. + Oh! could I but the purposed doom avert, + And shield the blameless head from cruel hurt! + + Accessible is Pilate's heart to fear, + Omens will shake his soul, like autumn leaf; + Could he this night's appalling vision hear, + This just man's bonds were loosed, his life were safe, + Unless that bitter priesthood should prevail, + And make even terror to their malice quail. + + Yet if I tell the dream--but let me pause. + What dream? Erewhile the characters were clear, + Graved on my brain--at once some unknown cause + Has dimm'd and razed the thoughts, which now appear, + Like a vague remnant of some by-past scene;-- + Not what will be, but what, long since, has been. + + I suffer'd many things--I heard foretold + A dreadful doom for Pilate,--lingering woes, + In far, barbarian climes, where mountains cold + Built up a solitude of trackless snows, + There he and grisly wolves prowl'd side by side, + There he lived famish'd--there, methought, he died; + + But not of hunger, nor by malady; + I saw the snow around him, stain'd with gore; + I said I had no tears for such as he, + And, lo! my cheek is wet--mine eyes run o'er; + I weep for mortal suffering, mortal guilt, + I weep the impious deed, the blood self-spilt. + + More I recall not, yet the vision spread + Into a world remote, an age to come-- + And still the illumined name of Jesus shed + A light, a clearness, through the unfolding gloom-- + And still I saw that sign, which now I see, + That cross on yonder brow of Calvary. + + What is this Hebrew Christ?-to me unknown + His lineage--doctrine--mission; yet how clear + Is God-like goodness in his actions shown, + How straight and stainless is his life's career! + The ray of Deity that rests on him, + In my eyes makes Olympian glory dim. + + The world advances; Greek or Roman rite + Suffices not the inquiring mind to stay; + The searching soul demands a purer light + To guide it on its upward, onward way; + Ashamed of sculptured gods, Religion turns + To where the unseen Jehovah's altar burns. + + Our faith is rotten, all our rites defiled, + Our temples sullied, and, methinks, this man, + With his new ordinance, so wise and mild, + Is come, even as He says, the chaff to fan + And sever from the wheat; but will his faith + Survive the terrors of to-morrow's death? + + * * * * * * * + + I feel a firmer trust--a higher hope + Rise in my soul--it dawns with dawning day; + Lo! on the Temple's roof--on Moriah's slope + Appears at length that clear and crimson ray + Which I so wished for when shut in by night; + Oh, opening skies, I hail, I bless pour light! + + Part, clouds and shadows! Glorious Sun appear! + Part, mental gloom! Come insight from on high! + Dusk dawn in heaven still strives with daylight clear + The longing soul doth still uncertain sigh. + Oh! to behold the truth--that sun divine, + How doth my bosom pant, my spirit pine! + + This day, Time travails with a mighty birth; + This day, Truth stoops from heaven and visits earth; + Ere night descends I shall more surely know + What guide to follow, in what path to go; + I wait in hope--I wait in solemn fear, + The oracle of God--the sole--true God--to hear. + + + + +MEMENTOS. + + Arranging long-locked drawers and shelves + Of cabinets, shut up for years, + What a strange task we've set ourselves! + How still the lonely room appears! + How strange this mass of ancient treasures, + Mementos of past pains and pleasures; + These volumes, clasped with costly stone, + With print all faded, gilding gone; + + These fans of leaves from Indian trees-- + These crimson shells, from Indian seas-- + These tiny portraits, set in rings-- + Once, doubtless, deemed such precious things; + Keepsakes bestowed by Love on Faith, + And worn till the receiver's death, + Now stored with cameos, china, shells, + In this old closet's dusty cells. + + I scarcely think, for ten long years, + A hand has touched these relics old; + And, coating each, slow-formed, appears + The growth of green and antique mould. + + All in this house is mossing over; + All is unused, and dim, and damp; + Nor light, nor warmth, the rooms discover-- + Bereft for years of fire and lamp. + + The sun, sometimes in summer, enters + The casements, with reviving ray; + But the long rains of many winters + Moulder the very walls away. + + And outside all is ivy, clinging + To chimney, lattice, gable grey; + Scarcely one little red rose springing + Through the green moss can force its way. + + Unscared, the daw and starling nestle, + Where the tall turret rises high, + And winds alone come near to rustle + The thick leaves where their cradles lie, + + I sometimes think, when late at even + I climb the stair reluctantly, + Some shape that should be well in heaven, + Or ill elsewhere, will pass by me. + + I fear to see the very faces, + Familiar thirty years ago, + Even in the old accustomed places + Which look so cold and gloomy now, + + I've come, to close the window, hither, + At twilight, when the sun was down, + And Fear my very soul would wither, + Lest something should be dimly shown, + + Too much the buried form resembling, + Of her who once was mistress here; + Lest doubtful shade, or moonbeam trembling, + Might take her aspect, once so dear. + + Hers was this chamber; in her time + It seemed to me a pleasant room, + For then no cloud of grief or crime + Had cursed it with a settled gloom; + + I had not seen death's image laid + In shroud and sheet, on yonder bed. + Before she married, she was blest-- + Blest in her youth, blest in her worth; + Her mind was calm, its sunny rest + Shone in her eyes more clear than mirth. + + And when attired in rich array, + Light, lustrous hair about her brow, + She yonder sat, a kind of day + Lit up what seems so gloomy now. + These grim oak walls even then were grim; + That old carved chair was then antique; + But what around looked dusk and dim + Served as a foil to her fresh cheek; + Her neck and arms, of hue so fair, + Eyes of unclouded, smiling light; + Her soft, and curled, and floating hair, + Gems and attire, as rainbow bright. + + Reclined in yonder deep recess, + Ofttimes she would, at evening, lie + Watching the sun; she seemed to bless + With happy glance the glorious sky. + She loved such scenes, and as she gazed, + Her face evinced her spirit's mood; + Beauty or grandeur ever raised + In her, a deep-felt gratitude. + But of all lovely things, she loved + A cloudless moon, on summer night, + Full oft have I impatience proved + To see how long her still delight + Would find a theme in reverie, + Out on the lawn, or where the trees + Let in the lustre fitfully, + As their boughs parted momently, + To the soft, languid, summer breeze. + Alas! that she should e'er have flung + Those pure, though lonely joys away-- + Deceived by false and guileful tongue, + She gave her hand, then suffered wrong; + Oppressed, ill-used, she faded young, + And died of grief by slow decay. + + Open that casket-look how bright + Those jewels flash upon the sight; + The brilliants have not lost a ray + Of lustre, since her wedding day. + But see--upon that pearly chain-- + How dim lies Time's discolouring stain! + I've seen that by her daughter worn: + For, ere she died, a child was born;-- + A child that ne'er its mother knew, + That lone, and almost friendless grew; + For, ever, when its step drew nigh, + Averted was the father's eye; + And then, a life impure and wild + Made him a stranger to his child: + Absorbed in vice, he little cared + On what she did, or how she fared. + The love withheld she never sought, + She grew uncherished--learnt untaught; + To her the inward life of thought + Full soon was open laid. + I know not if her friendlessness + Did sometimes on her spirit press, + But plaint she never made. + The book-shelves were her darling treasure, + She rarely seemed the time to measure + While she could read alone. + And she too loved the twilight wood + And often, in her mother's mood, + Away to yonder hill would hie, + Like her, to watch the setting sun, + Or see the stars born, one by one, + Out of the darkening sky. + Nor would she leave that hill till night + Trembled from pole to pole with light; + Even then, upon her homeward way, + Long--long her wandering steps delayed + To quit the sombre forest shade, + Through which her eerie pathway lay. + You ask if she had beauty's grace? + I know not--but a nobler face + My eyes have seldom seen; + A keen and fine intelligence, + And, better still, the truest sense + Were in her speaking mien. + But bloom or lustre was there none, + Only at moments, fitful shone + An ardour in her eye, + That kindled on her cheek a flush, + Warm as a red sky's passing blush + And quick with energy. + Her speech, too, was not common speech, + No wish to shine, or aim to teach, + Was in her words displayed: + She still began with quiet sense, + But oft the force of eloquence + Came to her lips in aid; + Language and voice unconscious changed, + And thoughts, in other words arranged, + Her fervid soul transfused + Into the hearts of those who heard, + And transient strength and ardour stirred, + In minds to strength unused, + Yet in gay crowd or festal glare, + Grave and retiring was her air; + 'Twas seldom, save with me alone, + That fire of feeling freely shone; + She loved not awe's nor wonder's gaze, + Nor even exaggerated praise, + Nor even notice, if too keen + The curious gazer searched her mien. + Nature's own green expanse revealed + The world, the pleasures, she could prize; + On free hill-side, in sunny field, + In quiet spots by woods concealed, + Grew wild and fresh her chosen joys, + Yet Nature's feelings deeply lay + In that endowed and youthful frame; + Shrined in her heart and hid from day, + They burned unseen with silent flame. + In youth's first search for mental light, + She lived but to reflect and learn, + But soon her mind's maturer might + For stronger task did pant and yearn; + And stronger task did fate assign, + Task that a giant's strength might strain; + To suffer long and ne'er repine, + Be calm in frenzy, smile at pain. + + Pale with the secret war of feeling, + Sustained with courage, mute, yet high; + The wounds at which she bled, revealing + Only by altered cheek and eye; + + She bore in silence--but when passion + Surged in her soul with ceaseless foam, + The storm at last brought desolation, + And drove her exiled from her home. + + And silent still, she straight assembled + The wrecks of strength her soul retained; + For though the wasted body trembled, + The unconquered mind, to quail, disdained. + + She crossed the sea--now lone she wanders + By Seine's, or Rhine's, or Arno's flow; + Fain would I know if distance renders + Relief or comfort to her woe. + + Fain would I know if, henceforth, ever, + These eyes shall read in hers again, + That light of love which faded never, + Though dimmed so long with secret pain. + + She will return, but cold and altered, + Like all whose hopes too soon depart; + Like all on whom have beat, unsheltered, + The bitter blasts that blight the heart. + + No more shall I behold her lying + Calm on a pillow, smoothed by me; + No more that spirit, worn with sighing, + Will know the rest of infancy. + + If still the paths of lore she follow, + 'Twill be with tired and goaded will; + She'll only toil, the aching hollow, + The joyless blank of life to fill. + + And oh! full oft, quite spent and weary, + Her hand will pause, her head decline; + That labour seems so hard and dreary, + On which no ray of hope may shine. + + Thus the pale blight of time and sorrow + Will shade with grey her soft, dark hair; + Then comes the day that knows no morrow, + And death succeeds to long despair. + + So speaks experience, sage and hoary; + I see it plainly, know it well, + Like one who, having read a story, + Each incident therein can tell. + + Touch not that ring; 'twas his, the sire + Of that forsaken child; + And nought his relics can inspire + Save memories, sin-defiled. + + I, who sat by his wife's death-bed, + I, who his daughter loved, + Could almost curse the guilty dead, + For woes the guiltless proved. + + And heaven did curse--they found him laid, + When crime for wrath was rife, + Cold--with the suicidal blade + Clutched in his desperate gripe. + + 'Twas near that long deserted hut, + Which in the wood decays, + Death's axe, self-wielded, struck his root, + And lopped his desperate days. + + You know the spot, where three black trees, + Lift up their branches fell, + And moaning, ceaseless as the seas, + Still seem, in every passing breeze, + The deed of blood to tell. + + They named him mad, and laid his bones + Where holier ashes lie; + Yet doubt not that his spirit groans + In hell's eternity. + + But, lo! night, closing o'er the earth, + Infects our thoughts with gloom; + Come, let us strive to rally mirth + Where glows a clear and tranquil hearth + In some more cheerful room. + + + + +THE WIFE'S WILL. + + Sit still--a word--a breath may break + (As light airs stir a sleeping lake) + The glassy calm that soothes my woes-- + The sweet, the deep, the full repose. + O leave me not! for ever be + Thus, more than life itself to me! + + Yes, close beside thee let me kneel-- + Give me thy hand, that I may feel + The friend so true--so tried--so dear, + My heart's own chosen--indeed is near; + And check me not--this hour divine + Belongs to me--is fully mine. + + 'Tis thy own hearth thou sitt'st beside, + After long absence--wandering wide; + 'Tis thy own wife reads in thine eyes + A promise clear of stormless skies; + For faith and true love light the rays + Which shine responsive to her gaze. + + Ay,--well that single tear may fall; + Ten thousand might mine eyes recall, + Which from their lids ran blinding fast, + In hours of grief, yet scarcely past; + Well mayst thou speak of love to me, + For, oh! most truly--I love thee! + + Yet smile--for we are happy now. + Whence, then, that sadness on thy brow? + What sayst thou?" We muse once again, + Ere long, be severed by the main!" + I knew not this--I deemed no more + Thy step would err from Britain's shore. + + "Duty commands!" 'Tis true--'tis just; + Thy slightest word I wholly trust, + Nor by request, nor faintest sigh, + Would I to turn thy purpose try; + But, William, hear my solemn vow-- + Hear and confirm!--with thee I go. + + "Distance and suffering," didst thou say? + "Danger by night, and toil by day?" + Oh, idle words and vain are these; + Hear me! I cross with thee the seas. + Such risk as thou must meet and dare, + I--thy true wife--will duly share. + + Passive, at home, I will not pine; + Thy toils, thy perils shall be mine; + Grant this--and be hereafter paid + By a warm heart's devoted aid: + 'Tis granted--with that yielding kiss, + Entered my soul unmingled bliss. + + Thanks, William, thanks! thy love has joy, + Pure, undefiled with base alloy; + 'Tis not a passion, false and blind, + Inspires, enchains, absorbs my mind; + Worthy, I feel, art thou to be + Loved with my perfect energy. + + This evening now shall sweetly flow, + Lit by our clear fire's happy glow; + And parting's peace-embittering fear, + Is warned our hearts to come not near; + For fate admits my soul's decree, + In bliss or bale--to go with thee! + + + THE WOOD. + + But two miles more, and then we rest! + Well, there is still an hour of day, + And long the brightness of the West + Will light us on our devious way; + Sit then, awhile, here in this wood-- + So total is the solitude, + We safely may delay. + + These massive roots afford a seat, + Which seems for weary travellers made. + There rest. The air is soft and sweet + In this sequestered forest glade, + And there are scents of flowers around, + The evening dew draws from the ground; + How soothingly they spread! + + Yes; I was tired, but not at heart; + No--that beats full of sweet content, + For now I have my natural part + Of action with adventure blent; + Cast forth on the wide world with thee, + And all my once waste energy + To weighty purpose bent. + + Yet--sayst thou, spies around us roam, + Our aims are termed conspiracy? + Haply, no more our English home + An anchorage for us may be? + That there is risk our mutual blood + May redden in some lonely wood + The knife of treachery? + + Sayst thou, that where we lodge each night, + In each lone farm, or lonelier hall + Of Norman Peer--ere morning light + Suspicion must as duly fall, + As day returns--such vigilance + Presides and watches over France, + Such rigour governs all? + + I fear not, William; dost thou fear? + So that the knife does not divide, + It may be ever hovering near: + I could not tremble at thy side, + And strenuous love--like mine for thee-- + Is buckler strong 'gainst treachery, + And turns its stab aside. + + I am resolved that thou shalt learn + To trust my strength as I trust thine; + I am resolved our souls shall burn + With equal, steady, mingling shine; + Part of the field is conquered now, + Our lives in the same channel flow, + Along the self-same line; + + And while no groaning storm is heard, + Thou seem'st content it should be so, + But soon as comes a warning word + Of danger--straight thine anxious brow + Bends over me a mournful shade, + As doubting if my powers are made + To ford the floods of woe. + + Know, then it is my spirit swells, + And drinks, with eager joy, the air + Of freedom--where at last it dwells, + Chartered, a common task to share + With thee, and then it stirs alert, + And pants to learn what menaced hurt + Demands for thee its care. + + Remember, I have crossed the deep, + And stood with thee on deck, to gaze + On waves that rose in threatening heap, + While stagnant lay a heavy haze, + Dimly confusing sea with sky, + And baffling, even, the pilot's eye, + Intent to thread the maze-- + + Of rocks, on Bretagne's dangerous coast, + And find a way to steer our band + To the one point obscure, which lost, + Flung us, as victims, on the strand;-- + All, elsewhere, gleamed the Gallic sword, + And not a wherry could be moored + Along the guarded land. + + I feared not then--I fear not now; + The interest of each stirring scene + Wakes a new sense, a welcome glow, + In every nerve and bounding vein; + Alike on turbid Channel sea, + Or in still wood of Normandy, + I feel as born again. + + The rain descended that wild morn + When, anchoring in the cove at last, + Our band, all weary and forlorn + Ashore, like wave-worn sailors, cast-- + Sought for a sheltering roof in vain, + And scarce could scanty food obtain + To break their morning fast. + + Thou didst thy crust with me divide, + Thou didst thy cloak around me fold; + And, sitting silent by thy side, + I ate the bread in peace untold: + Given kindly from thy hand, 'twas sweet + As costly fare or princely treat + On royal plate of gold. + + Sharp blew the sleet upon my face, + And, rising wild, the gusty wind + Drove on those thundering waves apace, + Our crew so late had left behind; + But, spite of frozen shower and storm, + So close to thee, my heart beat warm, + And tranquil slept my mind. + + So now--nor foot-sore nor opprest + With walking all this August day, + I taste a heaven in this brief rest, + This gipsy-halt beside the way. + England's wild flowers are fair to view, + Like balm is England's summer dew + Like gold her sunset ray. + + But the white violets, growing here, + Are sweeter than I yet have seen, + And ne'er did dew so pure and clear + Distil on forest mosses green, + As now, called forth by summer heat, + Perfumes our cool and fresh retreat-- + These fragrant limes between. + + That sunset! Look beneath the boughs, + Over the copse--beyond the hills; + How soft, yet deep and warm it glows, + And heaven with rich suffusion fills; + With hues where still the opal's tint, + Its gleam of prisoned fire is blent, + Where flame through azure thrills! + + Depart we now--for fast will fade + That solemn splendour of decline, + And deep must be the after-shade + As stars alone to-night will shine; + No moon is destined--pale--to gaze + On such a day's vast Phoenix blaze, + A day in fires decayed! + + There--hand-in-hand we tread again + The mazes of this varying wood, + And soon, amid a cultured plain, + Girt in with fertile solitude, + We shall our resting-place descry, + Marked by one roof-tree, towering high + Above a farmstead rude. + + Refreshed, erelong, with rustic fare, + We'll seek a couch of dreamless ease; + Courage will guard thy heart from fear, + And Love give mine divinest peace: + To-morrow brings more dangerous toil, + And through its conflict and turmoil + We'll pass, as God shall please. + + [The preceding composition refers, doubtless, to the scenes + acted in France during the last year of the Consulate.] + + + + +FRANCES. + + She will not sleep, for fear of dreams, + But, rising, quits her restless bed, + And walks where some beclouded beams + Of moonlight through the hall are shed. + + Obedient to the goad of grief, + Her steps, now fast, now lingering slow, + In varying motion seek relief + From the Eumenides of woe. + + Wringing her hands, at intervals-- + But long as mute as phantom dim-- + She glides along the dusky walls, + Under the black oak rafters grim. + + The close air of the grated tower + Stifles a heart that scarce can beat, + And, though so late and lone the hour, + Forth pass her wandering, faltering feet; + + And on the pavement spread before + The long front of the mansion grey, + Her steps imprint the night-frost hoar, + Which pale on grass and granite lay. + + Not long she stayed where misty moon + And shimmering stars could on her look, + But through the garden archway soon + Her strange and gloomy path she took. + + Some firs, coeval with the tower, + Their straight black boughs stretched o'er her head; + Unseen, beneath this sable bower, + Rustled her dress and rapid tread. + + There was an alcove in that shade, + Screening a rustic seat and stand; + Weary she sat her down, and laid + Her hot brow on her burning hand. + + To solitude and to the night, + Some words she now, in murmurs, said; + And trickling through her fingers white, + Some tears of misery she shed. + + "God help me in my grievous need, + God help me in my inward pain; + Which cannot ask for pity's meed, + Which has no licence to complain, + + "Which must be borne; yet who can bear, + Hours long, days long, a constant weight-- + The yoke of absolute despair, + A suffering wholly desolate? + + "Who can for ever crush the heart, + Restrain its throbbing, curb its life? + Dissemble truth with ceaseless art, + With outward calm mask inward strife?" + + She waited--as for some reply; + The still and cloudy night gave none; + Ere long, with deep-drawn, trembling sigh, + Her heavy plaint again begun. + + "Unloved--I love; unwept--I weep; + Grief I restrain--hope I repress: + Vain is this anguish--fixed and deep; + Vainer, desires and dreams of bliss. + + "My love awakes no love again, + My tears collect, and fall unfelt; + My sorrow touches none with pain, + My humble hopes to nothing melt. + + "For me the universe is dumb, + Stone-deaf, and blank, and wholly blind; + Life I must bound, existence sum + In the strait limits of one mind; + + "That mind my own. Oh! narrow cell; + Dark--imageless--a living tomb! + There must I sleep, there wake and dwell + Content, with palsy, pain, and gloom." + + Again she paused; a moan of pain, + A stifled sob, alone was heard; + Long silence followed--then again + Her voice the stagnant midnight stirred. + + "Must it be so? Is this my fate? + Can I nor struggle, nor contend? + And am I doomed for years to wait, + Watching death's lingering axe descend? + + "And when it falls, and when I die, + What follows? Vacant nothingness? + The blank of lost identity? + Erasure both of pain and bliss? + + "I've heard of heaven--I would believe; + For if this earth indeed be all, + Who longest lives may deepest grieve; + Most blest, whom sorrows soonest call. + + "Oh! leaving disappointment here, + Will man find hope on yonder coast? + Hope, which, on earth, shines never clear, + And oft in clouds is wholly lost. + + "Will he hope's source of light behold, + Fruition's spring, where doubts expire, + And drink, in waves of living gold, + Contentment, full, for long desire? + + "Will he find bliss, which here he dreamed? + Rest, which was weariness on earth? + Knowledge, which, if o'er life it beamed, + Served but to prove it void of worth? + + "Will he find love without lust's leaven, + Love fearless, tearless, perfect, pure, + To all with equal bounty given; + In all, unfeigned, unfailing, sure? + + "Will he, from penal sufferings free, + Released from shroud and wormy clod, + All calm and glorious, rise and see + Creation's Sire--Existence' God? + + "Then, glancing back on Time's brief woes, + Will he behold them, fading, fly; + Swept from Eternity's repose, + Like sullying cloud from pure blue sky? + + "If so, endure, my weary frame; + And when thy anguish strikes too deep, + And when all troubled burns life's flame, + Think of the quiet, final sleep; + + "Think of the glorious waking-hour, + Which will not dawn on grief and tears, + But on a ransomed spirit's power, + Certain, and free from mortal fears. + + "Seek now thy couch, and lie till morn, + Then from thy chamber, calm, descend, + With mind nor tossed, nor anguish-torn, + But tranquil, fixed, to wait the end. + + "And when thy opening eyes shall see + Mementos, on the chamber wall, + Of one who has forgotten thee, + Shed not the tear of acrid gall. + + "The tear which, welling from the heart, + Burns where its drop corrosive falls, + And makes each nerve, in torture, start, + At feelings it too well recalls: + + "When the sweet hope of being loved + Threw Eden sunshine on life's way: + When every sense and feeling proved + Expectancy of brightest day. + + "When the hand trembled to receive + A thrilling clasp, which seemed so near, + And the heart ventured to believe + Another heart esteemed it dear. + + "When words, half love, all tenderness, + Were hourly heard, as hourly spoken, + When the long, sunny days of bliss + Only by moonlight nights were broken. + + "Till, drop by drop, the cup of joy + Filled full, with purple light was glowing, + And Faith, which watched it, sparkling high + Still never dreamt the overflowing. + + "It fell not with a sudden crashing, + It poured not out like open sluice; + No, sparkling still, and redly flashing, + Drained, drop by drop, the generous juice. + + "I saw it sink, and strove to taste it, + My eager lips approached the brim; + The movement only seemed to waste it; + It sank to dregs, all harsh and dim. + + "These I have drunk, and they for ever + Have poisoned life and love for me; + A draught from Sodom's lake could never + More fiery, salt, and bitter, be. + + "Oh! Love was all a thin illusion + Joy, but the desert's flying stream; + And glancing back on long delusion, + My memory grasps a hollow dream. + + "Yet whence that wondrous change of feeling, + I never knew, and cannot learn; + Nor why my lover's eye, congealing, + Grew cold and clouded, proud and stern. + + "Nor wherefore, friendship's forms forgetting, + He careless left, and cool withdrew; + Nor spoke of grief, nor fond regretting, + Nor ev'n one glance of comfort threw. + + "And neither word nor token sending, + Of kindness, since the parting day, + His course, for distant regions bending, + Went, self-contained and calm, away. + + "Oh, bitter, blighting, keen sensation, + Which will not weaken, cannot die, + Hasten thy work of desolation, + And let my tortured spirit fly! + + "Vain as the passing gale, my crying; + Though lightning-struck, I must live on; + I know, at heart, there is no dying + Of love, and ruined hope, alone. + + "Still strong and young, and warm with vigour, + Though scathed, I long shall greenly grow; + And many a storm of wildest rigour + Shall yet break o'er my shivered bough. + + "Rebellious now to blank inertion, + My unused strength demands a task; + Travel, and toil, and full exertion, + Are the last, only boon I ask. + + "Whence, then, this vain and barren dreaming + Of death, and dubious life to come? + I see a nearer beacon gleaming + Over dejection's sea of gloom. + + "The very wildness of my sorrow + Tells me I yet have innate force; + My track of life has been too narrow, + Effort shall trace a broader course. + + "The world is not in yonder tower, + Earth is not prisoned in that room, + 'Mid whose dark panels, hour by hour, + I've sat, the slave and prey of gloom. + + "One feeling--turned to utter anguish, + Is not my being's only aim; + When, lorn and loveless, life will languish, + But courage can revive the flame. + + "He, when he left me, went a roving + To sunny climes, beyond the sea; + And I, the weight of woe removing, + Am free and fetterless as he. + + "New scenes, new language, skies less clouded, + May once more wake the wish to live; + Strange, foreign towns, astir, and crowded, + New pictures to the mind may give. + + "New forms and faces, passing ever, + May hide the one I still retain, + Defined, and fixed, and fading never, + Stamped deep on vision, heart, and brain. + + "And we might meet--time may have changed him; + Chance may reveal the mystery, + The secret influence which estranged him; + Love may restore him yet to me. + + "False thought--false hope--in scorn be banished! + I am not loved--nor loved have been; + Recall not, then, the dreams scarce vanished; + Traitors! mislead me not again! + + "To words like yours I bid defiance, + 'Tis such my mental wreck have made; + Of God alone, and self-reliance, + I ask for solace--hope for aid. + + "Morn comes--and ere meridian glory + O'er these, my natal woods, shall smile, + Both lonely wood and mansion hoary + I'll leave behind, full many a mile." + + + + +GILBERT. + + I. THE GARDEN. + + Above the city hung the moon, + Right o'er a plot of ground + Where flowers and orchard-trees were fenced + With lofty walls around: + 'Twas Gilbert's garden--there to-night + Awhile he walked alone; + And, tired with sedentary toil, + Mused where the moonlight shone. + + This garden, in a city-heart, + Lay still as houseless wild, + Though many-windowed mansion fronts + Were round it; closely piled; + But thick their walls, and those within + Lived lives by noise unstirred; + Like wafting of an angel's wing, + Time's flight by them was heard. + + Some soft piano-notes alone + Were sweet as faintly given, + Where ladies, doubtless, cheered the hearth + With song that winter-even. + The city's many-mingled sounds + Rose like the hum of ocean; + They rather lulled the heart than roused + Its pulse to faster motion. + + Gilbert has paced the single walk + An hour, yet is not weary; + And, though it be a winter night + He feels nor cold nor dreary. + The prime of life is in his veins, + And sends his blood fast flowing, + And Fancy's fervour warms the thoughts + Now in his bosom glowing. + + Those thoughts recur to early love, + Or what he love would name, + Though haply Gilbert's secret deeds + Might other title claim. + Such theme not oft his mind absorbs, + He to the world clings fast, + And too much for the present lives, + To linger o'er the past. + + But now the evening's deep repose + Has glided to his soul; + That moonlight falls on Memory, + And shows her fading scroll. + One name appears in every line + The gentle rays shine o'er, + And still he smiles and still repeats + That one name--Elinor. + + There is no sorrow in his smile, + No kindness in his tone; + The triumph of a selfish heart + Speaks coldly there alone; + He says: "She loved me more than life; + And truly it was sweet + To see so fair a woman kneel, + In bondage, at my feet. + + "There was a sort of quiet bliss + To be so deeply loved, + To gaze on trembling eagerness + And sit myself unmoved. + And when it pleased my pride to grant + At last some rare caress, + To feel the fever of that hand + My fingers deigned to press. + + "'Twas sweet to see her strive to hide + What every glance revealed; + Endowed, the while, with despot-might + Her destiny to wield. + I knew myself no perfect man, + Nor, as she deemed, divine; + I knew that I was glorious--but + By her reflected shine; + + "Her youth, her native energy, + Her powers new-born and fresh, + 'Twas these with Godhead sanctified + My sensual frame of flesh. + Yet, like a god did I descend + At last, to meet her love; + And, like a god, I then withdrew + To my own heaven above. + + "And never more could she invoke + My presence to her sphere; + No prayer, no plaint, no cry of hers + Could win my awful ear. + I knew her blinded constancy + Would ne'er my deeds betray, + And, calm in conscience, whole in heart. + I went my tranquil way. + + "Yet, sometimes, I still feel a wish, + The fond and flattering pain + Of passion's anguish to create + In her young breast again. + Bright was the lustre of her eyes, + When they caught fire from mine; + If I had power--this very hour, + Again I'd light their shine. + + "But where she is, or how she lives, + I have no clue to know; + I've heard she long my absence pined, + And left her home in woe. + But busied, then, in gathering gold, + As I am busied now, + I could not turn from such pursuit, + To weep a broken vow. + + "Nor could I give to fatal risk + The fame I ever prized; + Even now, I fear, that precious fame + Is too much compromised." + An inward trouble dims his eye, + Some riddle he would solve; + Some method to unloose a knot, + His anxious thoughts revolve. + + He, pensive, leans against a tree, + A leafy evergreen, + The boughs, the moonlight, intercept, + And hide him like a screen + He starts--the tree shakes with his tremor, + Yet nothing near him pass'd; + He hurries up the garden alley, + In strangely sudden haste. + + With shaking hand, he lifts the latchet, + Steps o'er the threshold stone; + The heavy door slips from his fingers-- + It shuts, and he is gone. + What touched, transfixed, appalled, his soul?-- + A nervous thought, no more; + 'Twill sink like stone in placid pool, + And calm close smoothly o'er. + + + II. THE PARLOUR. + + Warm is the parlour atmosphere, + Serene the lamp's soft light; + The vivid embers, red and clear, + Proclaim a frosty night. + Books, varied, on the table lie, + Three children o'er them bend, + And all, with curious, eager eye, + The turning leaf attend. + + Picture and tale alternately + Their simple hearts delight, + And interest deep, and tempered glee, + Illume their aspects bright. + The parents, from their fireside place, + Behold that pleasant scene, + And joy is on the mother's face, + Pride in the father's mien. + + As Gilbert sees his blooming wife, + Beholds his children fair, + No thought has he of transient strife, + Or past, though piercing fear. + The voice of happy infancy + Lisps sweetly in his ear, + His wife, with pleased and peaceful eye, + Sits, kindly smiling, near. + + The fire glows on her silken dress, + And shows its ample grace, + And warmly tints each hazel tress, + Curled soft around her face. + The beauty that in youth he wooed, + Is beauty still, unfaded; + The brow of ever placid mood + No churlish grief has shaded. + + Prosperity, in Gilbert's home, + Abides the guest of years; + There Want or Discord never come, + And seldom Toil or Tears. + The carpets bear the peaceful print + Of comfort's velvet tread, + And golden gleams, from plenty sent, + In every nook are shed. + + The very silken spaniel seems + Of quiet ease to tell, + As near its mistress' feet it dreams, + Sunk in a cushion's swell + And smiles seem native to the eyes + Of those sweet children, three; + They have but looked on tranquil skies, + And know not misery. + + Alas! that Misery should come + In such an hour as this; + Why could she not so calm a home + A little longer miss? + But she is now within the door, + Her steps advancing glide; + Her sullen shade has crossed the floor, + She stands at Gilbert's side. + + She lays her hand upon his heart, + It bounds with agony; + His fireside chair shakes with the start + That shook the garden tree. + His wife towards the children looks, + She does not mark his mien; + The children, bending o'er their books, + His terror have not seen. + + In his own home, by his own hearth, + He sits in solitude, + And circled round with light and mirth, + Cold horror chills his blood. + His mind would hold with desperate clutch + The scene that round him lies; + No--changed, as by some wizard's touch, + The present prospect flies. + + A tumult vague--a viewless strife + His futile struggles crush; + 'Twixt him and his an unknown life + And unknown feelings rush. + He sees--but scarce can language paint + The tissue fancy weaves; + For words oft give but echo faint + Of thoughts the mind conceives. + + Noise, tumult strange, and darkness dim, + Efface both light and quiet; + No shape is in those shadows grim, + No voice in that wild riot. + Sustain'd and strong, a wondrous blast + Above and round him blows; + A greenish gloom, dense overcast, + Each moment denser grows. + + He nothing knows--nor clearly sees, + Resistance checks his breath, + The high, impetuous, ceaseless breeze + Blows on him cold as death. + And still the undulating gloom + Mocks sight with formless motion: + Was such sensation Jonah's doom, + Gulphed in the depths of ocean? + + Streaking the air, the nameless vision, + Fast-driven, deep-sounding, flows; + Oh! whence its source, and what its mission? + How will its terrors close? + Long-sweeping, rushing, vast and void, + The universe it swallows; + And still the dark, devouring tide + A typhoon tempest follows. + + More slow it rolls; its furious race + Sinks to its solemn gliding; + The stunning roar, the wind's wild chase, + To stillness are subsiding. + And, slowly borne along, a form + The shapeless chaos varies; + Poised in the eddy to the storm, + Before the eye it tarries. + + A woman drowned--sunk in the deep, + On a long wave reclining; + The circling waters' crystal sweep, + Like glass, her shape enshrining. + Her pale dead face, to Gilbert turned, + Seems as in sleep reposing; + A feeble light, now first discerned, + The features well disclosing. + + No effort from the haunted air + The ghastly scene could banish, + That hovering wave, arrested there, + Rolled--throbbed--but did not vanish. + If Gilbert upward turned his gaze, + He saw the ocean-shadow; + If he looked down, the endless seas + Lay green as summer meadow. + + And straight before, the pale corpse lay, + Upborne by air or billow, + So near, he could have touched the spray + That churned around its pillow. + The hollow anguish of the face + Had moved a fiend to sorrow; + Not death's fixed calm could rase the trace + Of suffering's deep-worn furrow. + + All moved; a strong returning blast, + The mass of waters raising, + Bore wave and passive carcase past, + While Gilbert yet was gazing. + Deep in her isle-conceiving womb, + It seemed the ocean thundered, + And soon, by realms of rushing gloom, + Were seer and phantom sundered. + + Then swept some timbers from a wreck. + On following surges riding; + Then sea-weed, in the turbid rack + Uptorn, went slowly gliding. + The horrid shade, by slow degrees, + A beam of light defeated, + And then the roar of raving seas, + Fast, far, and faint, retreated. + + And all was gone--gone like a mist, + Corse, billows, tempest, wreck; + Three children close to Gilbert prest + And clung around his neck. + Good night! good night! the prattlers said, + And kissed their father's cheek; + 'Twas now the hour their quiet bed + And placid rest to seek. + + The mother with her offspring goes + To hear their evening prayer; + She nought of Gilbert's vision knows, + And nought of his despair. + Yet, pitying God, abridge the time + Of anguish, now his fate! + Though, haply, great has been his crime: + Thy mercy, too, is great. + + Gilbert, at length, uplifts his head, + Bent for some moments low, + And there is neither grief nor dread + Upon his subtle brow. + For well can he his feelings task, + And well his looks command; + His features well his heart can mask, + With smiles and smoothness bland. + + Gilbert has reasoned with his mind-- + He says 'twas all a dream; + He strives his inward sight to blind + Against truth's inward beam. + He pitied not that shadowy thing, + When it was flesh and blood; + Nor now can pity's balmy spring + Refresh his arid mood. + + "And if that dream has spoken truth," + Thus musingly he says; + "If Elinor be dead, in sooth, + Such chance the shock repays: + A net was woven round my feet, + I scarce could further go; + Ere shame had forced a fast retreat, + Dishonour brought me low. + + "Conceal her, then, deep, silent sea, + Give her a secret grave! + She sleeps in peace, and I am free, + No longer terror's slave: + And homage still, from all the world, + Shall greet my spotless name, + Since surges break and waves are curled + Above its threatened shame." + + + III. THE WELCOME HOME. + + Above the city hangs the moon, + Some clouds are boding rain; + Gilbert, erewhile on journey gone, + To-night comes home again. + Ten years have passed above his head, + Each year has brought him gain; + His prosperous life has smoothly sped, + Without or tear or stain. + + 'Tis somewhat late--the city clocks + Twelve deep vibrations toll, + As Gilbert at the portal knocks, + Which is his journey's goal. + The street is still and desolate, + The moon hid by a cloud; + Gilbert, impatient, will not wait,-- + His second knock peals loud. + + The clocks are hushed--there's not a light + In any window nigh, + And not a single planet bright + Looks from the clouded sky; + The air is raw, the rain descends, + A bitter north-wind blows; + His cloak the traveller scarce defends-- + Will not the door unclose? + + He knocks the third time, and the last + His summons now they hear, + Within, a footstep, hurrying fast, + Is heard approaching near. + The bolt is drawn, the clanking chain + Falls to the floor of stone; + And Gilbert to his heart will strain + His wife and children soon. + + The hand that lifts the latchet, holds + A candle to his sight, + And Gilbert, on the step, beholds + A woman, clad in white. + Lo! water from her dripping dress + Runs on the streaming floor; + From every dark and clinging tress + The drops incessant pour. + + There's none but her to welcome him; + She holds the candle high, + And, motionless in form and limb, + Stands cold and silent nigh; + There's sand and sea-weed on her robe, + Her hollow eyes are blind; + No pulse in such a frame can throb, + No life is there defined. + + Gilbert turned ashy-white, but still + His lips vouchsafed no cry; + He spurred his strength and master-will + To pass the figure by,-- + But, moving slow, it faced him straight, + It would not flinch nor quail: + Then first did Gilbert's strength abate, + His stony firmness quail. + + He sank upon his knees and prayed + The shape stood rigid there; + He called aloud for human aid, + No human aid was near. + An accent strange did thus repeat + Heaven's stern but just decree: + "The measure thou to her didst mete, + To thee shall measured be!" + + Gilbert sprang from his bended knees, + By the pale spectre pushed, + And, wild as one whom demons seize, + Up the hall-staircase rushed; + Entered his chamber--near the bed + Sheathed steel and fire-arms hung-- + Impelled by maniac purpose dread + He chose those stores among. + + Across his throat a keen-edged knife + With vigorous hand he drew; + The wound was wide--his outraged life + Rushed rash and redly through. + And thus died, by a shameful death, + A wise and worldly man, + Who never drew but selfish breath + Since first his life began. + + + + +LIFE. + + Life, believe, is not a dream + So dark as sages say; + Oft a little morning rain + Foretells a pleasant day. + Sometimes there are clouds of gloom, + But these are transient all; + If the shower will make the roses bloom, + O why lament its fall? + Rapidly, merrily, + Life's sunny hours flit by, + Gratefully, cheerily + Enjoy them as they fly! + What though Death at times steps in, + And calls our Best away? + What though sorrow seems to win, + O'er hope, a heavy sway? + Yet Hope again elastic springs, + Unconquered, though she fell; + Still buoyant are her golden wings, + Still strong to bear us well. + Manfully, fearlessly, + The day of trial bear, + For gloriously, victoriously, + Can courage quell despair! + + + + +THE LETTER. + + What is she writing? Watch her now, + How fast her fingers move! + How eagerly her youthful brow + Is bent in thought above! + Her long curls, drooping, shade the light, + She puts them quick aside, + Nor knows that band of crystals bright, + Her hasty touch untied. + It slips adown her silken dress, + Falls glittering at her feet; + Unmarked it falls, for she no less + Pursues her labour sweet. + + The very loveliest hour that shines, + Is in that deep blue sky; + The golden sun of June declines, + It has not caught her eye. + The cheerful lawn, and unclosed gate, + The white road, far away, + In vain for her light footsteps wait, + She comes not forth to-day. + There is an open door of glass + Close by that lady's chair, + From thence, to slopes of messy grass, + Descends a marble stair. + + Tall plants of bright and spicy bloom + Around the threshold grow; + Their leaves and blossoms shade the room + From that sun's deepening glow. + Why does she not a moment glance + Between the clustering flowers, + And mark in heaven the radiant dance + Of evening's rosy hours? + O look again! Still fixed her eye, + Unsmiling, earnest, still, + And fast her pen and fingers fly, + Urged by her eager will. + + Her soul is in th'absorbing task; + To whom, then, doth she write? + Nay, watch her still more closely, ask + Her own eyes' serious light; + Where do they turn, as now her pen + Hangs o'er th'unfinished line? + Whence fell the tearful gleam that then + Did in their dark spheres shine? + The summer-parlour looks so dark, + When from that sky you turn, + And from th'expanse of that green park, + You scarce may aught discern. + + Yet, o'er the piles of porcelain rare, + O'er flower-stand, couch, and vase, + Sloped, as if leaning on the air, + One picture meets the gaze. + 'Tis there she turns; you may not see + Distinct, what form defines + The clouded mass of mystery + Yon broad gold frame confines. + But look again; inured to shade + Your eyes now faintly trace + A stalwart form, a massive head, + A firm, determined face. + + Black Spanish locks, a sunburnt cheek + A brow high, broad, and white, + Where every furrow seems to speak + Of mind and moral might. + Is that her god? I cannot tell; + Her eye a moment met + Th'impending picture, then it fell + Darkened and dimmed and wet. + A moment more, her task is done, + And sealed the letter lies; + And now, towards the setting sun + She turns her tearful eyes. + + Those tears flow over, wonder not, + For by the inscription see + In what a strange and distant spot + Her heart of hearts must be! + Three seas and many a league of land + That letter must pass o'er, + Ere read by him to whose loved hand + 'Tis sent from England's shore. + Remote colonial wilds detain + Her husband, loved though stern; + She, 'mid that smiling English scene, + Weeps for his wished return. + + + + +REGRET. + + Long ago I wished to leave + "The house where I was born;" + Long ago I used to grieve, + My home seemed so forlorn. + In other years, its silent rooms + Were filled with haunting fears; + Now, their very memory comes + O'ercharged with tender tears. + + Life and marriage I have known. + Things once deemed so bright; + Now, how utterly is flown + Every ray of light! + 'Mid the unknown sea, of life + I no blest isle have found; + At last, through all its wild wave's strife, + My bark is homeward bound. + + Farewell, dark and rolling deep! + Farewell, foreign shore! + Open, in unclouded sweep, + Thou glorious realm before! + Yet, though I had safely pass'd + That weary, vexed main, + One loved voice, through surge and blast + Could call me back again. + + Though the soul's bright morning rose + O'er Paradise for me, + William! even from Heaven's repose + I'd turn, invoked by thee! + Storm nor surge should e'er arrest + My soul, exalting then: + All my heaven was once thy breast, + Would it were mine again! + + + + +PRESENTIMENT. + + "Sister, you've sat there all the day, + Come to the hearth awhile; + The wind so wildly sweeps away, + The clouds so darkly pile. + That open book has lain, unread, + For hours upon your knee; + You've never smiled nor turned your head; + What can you, sister, see?" + + "Come hither, Jane, look down the field; + How dense a mist creeps on! + The path, the hedge, are both concealed, + Ev'n the white gate is gone + No landscape through the fog I trace, + No hill with pastures green; + All featureless is Nature's face. + All masked in clouds her mien. + + "Scarce is the rustle of a leaf + Heard in our garden now; + The year grows old, its days wax brief, + The tresses leave its brow. + The rain drives fast before the wind, + The sky is blank and grey; + O Jane, what sadness fills the mind + On such a dreary day!" + + "You think too much, my sister dear; + You sit too long alone; + What though November days be drear? + Full soon will they be gone. + I've swept the hearth, and placed your chair. + Come, Emma, sit by me; + Our own fireside is never drear, + Though late and wintry wane the year, + Though rough the night may be." + + "The peaceful glow of our fireside + Imparts no peace to me: + My thoughts would rather wander wide + Than rest, dear Jane, with thee. + I'm on a distant journey bound, + And if, about my heart, + Too closely kindred ties were bound, + 'Twould break when forced to part. + + "'Soon will November days be o'er:' + Well have you spoken, Jane: + My own forebodings tell me more-- + For me, I know by presage sure, + They'll ne'er return again. + Ere long, nor sun nor storm to me + Will bring or joy or gloom; + They reach not that Eternity + Which soon will be my home." + + Eight months are gone, the summer sun + Sets in a glorious sky; + A quiet field, all green and lone, + Receives its rosy dye. + Jane sits upon a shaded stile, + Alone she sits there now; + Her head rests on her hand the while, + And thought o'ercasts her brow. + + She's thinking of one winter's day, + A few short months ago, + Then Emma's bier was borne away + O'er wastes of frozen snow. + She's thinking how that drifted snow + Dissolved in spring's first gleam, + And how her sister's memory now + Fades, even as fades a dream. + + The snow will whiten earth again, + But Emma comes no more; + She left, 'mid winter's sleet and rain, + This world for Heaven's far shore. + On Beulah's hills she wanders now, + On Eden's tranquil plain; + To her shall Jane hereafter go, + She ne'er shall come to Jane! + + + + +THE TEACHER'S MONOLOGUE. + + The room is quiet, thoughts alone + People its mute tranquillity; + The yoke put off, the long task done,-- + I am, as it is bliss to be, + Still and untroubled. Now, I see, + For the first time, how soft the day + O'er waveless water, stirless tree, + Silent and sunny, wings its way. + Now, as I watch that distant hill, + So faint, so blue, so far removed, + Sweet dreams of home my heart may fill, + That home where I am known and loved: + It lies beyond; yon azure brow + Parts me from all Earth holds for me; + And, morn and eve, my yearnings flow + Thitherward tending, changelessly. + My happiest hours, aye! all the time, + I love to keep in memory, + Lapsed among moors, ere life's first prime + Decayed to dark anxiety. + + Sometimes, I think a narrow heart + Makes me thus mourn those far away, + And keeps my love so far apart + From friends and friendships of to-day; + Sometimes, I think 'tis but a dream + I treasure up so jealously, + All the sweet thoughts I live on seem + To vanish into vacancy: + And then, this strange, coarse world around + Seems all that's palpable and true; + And every sight, and every sound, + Combines my spirit to subdue + To aching grief, so void and lone + Is Life and Earth--so worse than vain, + The hopes that, in my own heart sown, + And cherished by such sun and rain + As Joy and transient Sorrow shed, + Have ripened to a harvest there: + Alas! methinks I hear it said, + "Thy golden sheaves are empty air." + + All fades away; my very home + I think will soon be desolate; + I hear, at times, a warning come + Of bitter partings at its gate; + And, if I should return and see + The hearth-fire quenched, the vacant chair; + And hear it whispered mournfully, + That farewells have been spoken there, + What shall I do, and whither turn? + Where look for peace? When cease to mourn? + + + 'Tis not the air I wished to play, + The strain I wished to sing; + My wilful spirit slipped away + And struck another string. + I neither wanted smile nor tear, + Bright joy nor bitter woe, + But just a song that sweet and clear, + Though haply sad, might flow. + + A quiet song, to solace me + When sleep refused to come; + A strain to chase despondency, + When sorrowful for home. + In vain I try; I cannot sing; + All feels so cold and dead; + No wild distress, no gushing spring + Of tears in anguish shed; + + But all the impatient gloom of one + Who waits a distant day, + When, some great task of suffering done, + Repose shall toil repay. + For youth departs, and pleasure flies, + And life consumes away, + And youth's rejoicing ardour dies + Beneath this drear delay; + + And Patience, weary with her yoke, + Is yielding to despair, + And Health's elastic spring is broke + Beneath the strain of care. + Life will be gone ere I have lived; + Where now is Life's first prime? + I've worked and studied, longed and grieved, + Through all that rosy time. + + To toil, to think, to long, to grieve,-- + Is such my future fate? + The morn was dreary, must the eve + Be also desolate? + Well, such a life at least makes Death + A welcome, wished-for friend; + Then, aid me, Reason, Patience, Faith, + To suffer to the end! + + + + +PASSION. + + Some have won a wild delight, + By daring wilder sorrow; + Could I gain thy love to-night, + I'd hazard death to-morrow. + + Could the battle-struggle earn + One kind glance from thine eye, + How this withering heart would burn, + The heady fight to try! + + Welcome nights of broken sleep, + And days of carnage cold, + Could I deem that thou wouldst weep + To hear my perils told. + + Tell me, if with wandering bands + I roam full far away, + Wilt thou to those distant lands + In spirit ever stray? + + Wild, long, a trumpet sounds afar; + Bid me--bid me go + Where Seik and Briton meet in war, + On Indian Sutlej's flow. + + Blood has dyed the Sutlej's waves + With scarlet stain, I know; + Indus' borders yawn with graves, + Yet, command me go! + + Though rank and high the holocaust + Of nations steams to heaven, + Glad I'd join the death-doomed host, + Were but the mandate given. + + Passion's strength should nerve my arm, + Its ardour stir my life, + Till human force to that dread charm + Should yield and sink in wild alarm, + Like trees to tempest-strife. + + If, hot from war, I seek thy love, + Darest thou turn aside? + Darest thou then my fire reprove, + By scorn, and maddening pride? + + No--my will shall yet control + Thy will, so high and free, + And love shall tame that haughty soul-- + Yes--tenderest love for me. + + I'll read my triumph in thine eyes, + Behold, and prove the change; + Then leave, perchance, my noble prize, + Once more in arms to range. + + I'd die when all the foam is up, + The bright wine sparkling high; + Nor wait till in the exhausted cup + Life's dull dregs only lie. + + Then Love thus crowned with sweet reward, + Hope blest with fulness large, + I'd mount the saddle, draw the sword, + And perish in the charge! + + + + +PREFERENCE. + + Not in scorn do I reprove thee, + Not in pride thy vows I waive, + But, believe, I could not love thee, + Wert thou prince, and I a slave. + These, then, are thine oaths of passion? + This, thy tenderness for me? + Judged, even, by thine own confession, + Thou art steeped in perfidy. + Having vanquished, thou wouldst leave me! + Thus I read thee long ago; + Therefore, dared I not deceive thee, + Even with friendship's gentle show. + Therefore, with impassive coldness + Have I ever met thy gaze; + Though, full oft, with daring boldness, + Thou thine eyes to mine didst raise. + Why that smile? Thou now art deeming + This my coldness all untrue,-- + But a mask of frozen seeming, + Hiding secret fires from view. + Touch my hand, thou self-deceiver; + Nay-be calm, for I am so: + Does it burn? Does my lip quiver? + Has mine eye a troubled glow? + Canst thou call a moment's colour + To my forehead--to my cheek? + Canst thou tinge their tranquil pallor + With one flattering, feverish streak? + Am I marble? What! no woman + Could so calm before thee stand? + Nothing living, sentient, human, + Could so coldly take thy hand? + Yes--a sister might, a mother: + My good-will is sisterly: + Dream not, then, I strive to smother + Fires that inly burn for thee. + Rave not, rage not, wrath is fruitless, + Fury cannot change my mind; + I but deem the feeling rootless + Which so whirls in passion's wind. + Can I love? Oh, deeply--truly-- + Warmly--fondly--but not thee; + And my love is answered duly, + With an equal energy. + Wouldst thou see thy rival? Hasten, + Draw that curtain soft aside, + Look where yon thick branches chasten + Noon, with shades of eventide. + In that glade, where foliage blending + Forms a green arch overhead, + Sits thy rival, thoughtful bending + O'er a stand with papers spread-- + Motionless, his fingers plying + That untired, unresting pen; + Time and tide unnoticed flying, + There he sits--the first of men! + Man of conscience--man of reason; + Stern, perchance, but ever just; + Foe to falsehood, wrong, and treason, + Honour's shield, and virtue's trust! + Worker, thinker, firm defender + Of Heaven's truth--man's liberty; + Soul of iron--proof to slander, + Rock where founders tyranny. + Fame he seeks not--but full surely + She will seek him, in his home; + This I know, and wait securely + For the atoning hour to come. + To that man my faith is given, + Therefore, soldier, cease to sue; + While God reigns in earth and heaven, + I to him will still be true! + + + + +EVENING SOLACE. + + The human heart has hidden treasures, + In secret kept, in silence sealed;-- + The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, + Whose charms were broken if revealed. + And days may pass in gay confusion, + And nights in rosy riot fly, + While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion, + The memory of the Past may die. + + But there are hours of lonely musing, + Such as in evening silence come, + When, soft as birds their pinions closing, + The heart's best feelings gather home. + Then in our souls there seems to languish + A tender grief that is not woe; + And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguish + Now cause but some mild tears to flow. + + And feelings, once as strong as passions, + Float softly back--a faded dream; + Our own sharp griefs and wild sensations, + The tale of others' sufferings seem. + Oh! when the heart is freshly bleeding, + How longs it for that time to be, + When, through the mist of years receding, + Its woes but live in reverie! + + And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer, + On evening shade and loneliness; + And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer, + Feel no untold and strange distress-- + Only a deeper impulse given + By lonely hour and darkened room, + To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven + Seeking a life and world to come. + + + + +STANZAS. + + If thou be in a lonely place, + If one hour's calm be thine, + As Evening bends her placid face + O'er this sweet day's decline; + If all the earth and all the heaven + Now look serene to thee, + As o'er them shuts the summer even, + One moment--think of me! + + Pause, in the lane, returning home; + 'Tis dusk, it will be still: + Pause near the elm, a sacred gloom + Its breezeless boughs will fill. + Look at that soft and golden light, + High in the unclouded sky; + Watch the last bird's belated flight, + As it flits silent by. + + Hark! for a sound upon the wind, + A step, a voice, a sigh; + If all be still, then yield thy mind, + Unchecked, to memory. + If thy love were like mine, how blest + That twilight hour would seem, + When, back from the regretted Past, + Returned our early dream! + + If thy love were like mine, how wild + Thy longings, even to pain, + For sunset soft, and moonlight mild, + To bring that hour again! + But oft, when in thine arms I lay, + I've seen thy dark eyes shine, + And deeply felt their changeful ray + Spoke other love than mine. + + My love is almost anguish now, + It beats so strong and true; + 'Twere rapture, could I deem that thou + Such anguish ever knew. + I have been but thy transient flower, + Thou wert my god divine; + Till checked by death's congealing power, + This heart must throb for thine. + + And well my dying hour were blest, + If life's expiring breath + Should pass, as thy lips gently prest + My forehead cold in death; + And sound my sleep would be, and sweet, + Beneath the churchyard tree, + If sometimes in thy heart should beat + One pulse, still true to me. + + + + +PARTING. + + There's no use in weeping, + Though we are condemned to part: + There's such a thing as keeping + A remembrance in one's heart: + + There's such a thing as dwelling + On the thought ourselves have nursed, + And with scorn and courage telling + The world to do its worst. + + We'll not let its follies grieve us, + We'll just take them as they come; + And then every day will leave us + A merry laugh for home. + + When we've left each friend and brother, + When we're parted wide and far, + We will think of one another, + As even better than we are. + + Every glorious sight above us, + Every pleasant sight beneath, + We'll connect with those that love us, + Whom we truly love till death! + + In the evening, when we're sitting + By the fire, perchance alone, + Then shall heart with warm heart meeting, + Give responsive tone for tone. + + We can burst the bonds which chain us, + Which cold human hands have wrought, + And where none shall dare restrain us + We can meet again, in thought. + + So there's no use in weeping, + Bear a cheerful spirit still; + Never doubt that Fate is keeping + Future good for present ill! + + + + +APOSTASY. + + This last denial of my faith, + Thou, solemn Priest, hast heard; + And, though upon my bed of death, + I call not back a word. + Point not to thy Madonna, Priest,-- + Thy sightless saint of stone; + She cannot, from this burning breast, + Wring one repentant moan. + + Thou say'st, that when a sinless child, + I duly bent the knee, + And prayed to what in marble smiled + Cold, lifeless, mute, on me. + I did. But listen! Children spring + Full soon to riper youth; + And, for Love's vow and Wedlock's ring, + I sold my early truth. + + 'Twas not a grey, bare head, like thine, + Bent o'er me, when I said, + "That land and God and Faith are mine, + For which thy fathers bled." + I see thee not, my eyes are dim; + But well I hear thee say, + "O daughter cease to think of him + Who led thy soul astray. + + "Between you lies both space and time; + Let leagues and years prevail + To turn thee from the path of crime, + Back to the Church's pale." + And, did I need that, thou shouldst tell + What mighty barriers rise + To part me from that dungeon-cell, + Where my loved Walter lies? + + And, did I need that thou shouldst taunt + My dying hour at last, + By bidding this worn spirit pant + No more for what is past? + Priest--MUST I cease to think of him? + How hollow rings that word! + Can time, can tears, can distance dim + The memory of my lord? + + I said before, I saw not thee, + Because, an hour agone, + Over my eyeballs, heavily, + The lids fell down like stone. + But still my spirit's inward sight + Beholds his image beam + As fixed, as clear, as burning bright, + As some red planet's gleam. + + Talk not of thy Last Sacrament, + Tell not thy beads for me; + Both rite and prayer are vainly spent, + As dews upon the sea. + Speak not one word of Heaven above, + Rave not of Hell's alarms; + Give me but back my Walter's love, + Restore me to his arms! + + Then will the bliss of Heaven be won; + Then will Hell shrink away, + As I have seen night's terrors shun + The conquering steps of day. + 'Tis my religion thus to love, + My creed thus fixed to be; + Not Death shall shake, nor Priestcraft break + My rock-like constancy! + + Now go; for at the door there waits + Another stranger guest; + He calls--I come--my pulse scarce beats, + My heart fails in my breast. + Again that voice--how far away, + How dreary sounds that tone! + And I, methinks, am gone astray + In trackless wastes and lone. + + I fain would rest a little while: + Where can I find a stay, + Till dawn upon the hills shall smile, + And show some trodden way? + "I come! I come!" in haste she said, + "'Twas Walter's voice I heard!" + Then up she sprang--but fell back, dead, + His name her latest word. + + + + +WINTER STORES. + + We take from life one little share, + And say that this shall be + A space, redeemed from toil and care, + From tears and sadness free. + + And, haply, Death unstrings his bow, + And Sorrow stands apart, + And, for a little while, we know + The sunshine of the heart. + + Existence seems a summer eve, + Warm, soft, and full of peace, + Our free, unfettered feelings give + The soul its full release. + + A moment, then, it takes the power + To call up thoughts that throw + Around that charmed and hallowed hour, + This life's divinest glow. + + But Time, though viewlessly it flies, + And slowly, will not stay; + Alike, through clear and clouded skies, + It cleaves its silent way. + + Alike the bitter cup of grief, + Alike the draught of bliss, + Its progress leaves but moment brief + For baffled lips to kiss + + The sparkling draught is dried away, + The hour of rest is gone, + And urgent voices, round us, say, + "Ho, lingerer, hasten on!" + + And has the soul, then, only gained, + From this brief time of ease, + A moment's rest, when overstrained, + One hurried glimpse of peace? + + No; while the sun shone kindly o'er us, + And flowers bloomed round our feet,-- + While many a bud of joy before us + Unclosed its petals sweet,-- + + An unseen work within was plying; + Like honey-seeking bee, + From flower to flower, unwearied, flying, + Laboured one faculty,-- + + Thoughtful for Winter's future sorrow, + Its gloom and scarcity; + Prescient to-day, of want to-morrow, + Toiled quiet Memory. + + 'Tis she that from each transient pleasure + Extracts a lasting good; + 'Tis she that finds, in summer, treasure + To serve for winter's food. + + And when Youth's summer day is vanished, + And Age brings Winter's stress, + Her stores, with hoarded sweets replenished, + Life's evening hours will bless. + + + + +THE MISSIONARY. + + Plough, vessel, plough the British main, + Seek the free ocean's wider plain; + Leave English scenes and English skies, + Unbind, dissever English ties; + Bear me to climes remote and strange, + Where altered life, fast-following change, + Hot action, never-ceasing toil, + Shall stir, turn, dig, the spirit's soil; + Fresh roots shall plant, fresh seed shall sow, + Till a new garden there shall grow, + Cleared of the weeds that fill it now,-- + Mere human love, mere selfish yearning, + Which, cherished, would arrest me yet. + I grasp the plough, there's no returning, + Let me, then, struggle to forget. + + But England's shores are yet in view, + And England's skies of tender blue + Are arched above her guardian sea. + I cannot yet Remembrance flee; + I must again, then, firmly face + That task of anguish, to retrace. + Wedded to home--I home forsake; + Fearful of change--I changes make; + Too fond of ease--I plunge in toil; + Lover of calm--I seek turmoil: + Nature and hostile Destiny + Stir in my heart a conflict wild; + And long and fierce the war will be + Ere duty both has reconciled. + + What other tie yet holds me fast + To the divorced, abandoned past? + Smouldering, on my heart's altar lies + The fire of some great sacrifice, + Not yet half quenched. The sacred steel + But lately struck my carnal will, + My life-long hope, first joy and last, + What I loved well, and clung to fast; + What I wished wildly to retain, + What I renounced with soul-felt pain; + What--when I saw it, axe-struck, perish-- + Left me no joy on earth to cherish; + A man bereft--yet sternly now + I do confirm that Jephtha vow: + Shall I retract, or fear, or flee? + Did Christ, when rose the fatal tree + Before him, on Mount Calvary? + 'Twas a long fight, hard fought, but won, + And what I did was justly done. + + Yet, Helen! from thy love I turned, + When my heart most for thy heart burned; + I dared thy tears, I dared thy scorn-- + Easier the death-pang had been borne. + Helen, thou mightst not go with me, + I could not--dared not stay for thee! + I heard, afar, in bonds complain + The savage from beyond the main; + And that wild sound rose o'er the cry + Wrung out by passion's agony; + And even when, with the bitterest tear + I ever shed, mine eyes were dim, + Still, with the spirit's vision clear, + I saw Hell's empire, vast and grim, + Spread on each Indian river's shore, + Each realm of Asia covering o'er. + There, the weak, trampled by the strong, + Live but to suffer--hopeless die; + There pagan-priests, whose creed is Wrong, + Extortion, Lust, and Cruelty, + Crush our lost race--and brimming fill + The bitter cup of human ill; + And I--who have the healing creed, + The faith benign of Mary's Son, + Shall I behold my brother's need, + And, selfishly, to aid him shun? + I--who upon my mother's knees, + In childhood, read Christ's written word, + Received his legacy of peace, + His holy rule of action heard; + I--in whose heart the sacred sense + Of Jesus' love was early felt; + Of his pure, full benevolence, + His pitying tenderness for guilt; + His shepherd-care for wandering sheep, + For all weak, sorrowing, trembling things, + His mercy vast, his passion deep + Of anguish for man's sufferings; + I--schooled from childhood in such lore-- + Dared I draw back or hesitate, + When called to heal the sickness sore + Of those far off and desolate? + Dark, in the realm and shades of Death, + Nations, and tribes, and empires lie, + But even to them the light of Faith + Is breaking on their sombre sky: + And be it mine to bid them raise + Their drooped heads to the kindling scene, + And know and hail the sunrise blaze + Which heralds Christ the Nazarene. + I know how Hell the veil will spread + Over their brows and filmy eyes, + And earthward crush the lifted head + That would look up and seek the skies; + I know what war the fiend will wage + Against that soldier of the Cross, + Who comes to dare his demon rage, + And work his kingdom shame and loss. + Yes, hard and terrible the toil + Of him who steps on foreign soil, + Resolved to plant the gospel vine, + Where tyrants rule and slaves repine; + Eager to lift Religion's light + Where thickest shades of mental night + Screen the false god and fiendish rite; + Reckless that missionary blood, + Shed in wild wilderness and wood, + Has left, upon the unblest air, + The man's deep moan--the martyr's prayer. + I know my lot--I only ask + Power to fulfil the glorious task; + Willing the spirit, may the flesh + Strength for the day receive afresh. + May burning sun or deadly wind + Prevail not o'er an earnest mind; + May torments strange or direst death + Nor trample truth, nor baffle faith. + Though such blood-drops should fall from me + As fell in old Gethsemane, + Welcome the anguish, so it gave + More strength to work--more skill to save. + And, oh! if brief must be my time, + If hostile hand or fatal clime + Cut short my course--still o'er my grave, + Lord, may thy harvest whitening wave. + So I the culture may begin, + Let others thrust the sickle in; + If but the seed will faster grow, + May my blood water what I sow! + + What! have I ever trembling stood, + And feared to give to God that blood? + What! has the coward love of life + Made me shrink from the righteous strife? + Have human passions, human fears + Severed me from those Pioneers + Whose task is to march first, and trace + Paths for the progress of our race? + It has been so; but grant me, Lord, + Now to stand steadfast by Thy word! + Protected by salvation's helm, + Shielded by faith, with truth begirt, + To smile when trials seek to whelm + And stand mid testing fires unhurt! + Hurling hell's strongest bulwarks down, + Even when the last pang thrills my breast, + When death bestows the martyr's crown, + And calls me into Jesus' rest. + Then for my ultimate reward-- + Then for the world-rejoicing word-- + The voice from Father--Spirit--Son: + "Servant of God, well hast thou done!" + + + ***** + + + + +POEMS BY ELLIS BELL + + + + +FAITH AND DESPONDENCY. + + "The winter wind is loud and wild, + Come close to me, my darling child; + Forsake thy books, and mateless play; + And, while the night is gathering gray, + We'll talk its pensive hours away;-- + + "Ierne, round our sheltered hall + November's gusts unheeded call; + Not one faint breath can enter here + Enough to wave my daughter's hair, + And I am glad to watch the blaze + Glance from her eyes, with mimic rays; + To feel her cheek, so softly pressed, + In happy quiet on my breast, + + "But, yet, even this tranquillity + Brings bitter, restless thoughts to me; + And, in the red fire's cheerful glow, + I think of deep glens, blocked with snow; + I dream of moor, and misty hill, + Where evening closes dark and chill; + For, lone, among the mountains cold, + Lie those that I have loved of old. + And my heart aches, in hopeless pain, + Exhausted with repinings vain, + That I shall greet them ne'er again!" + + "Father, in early infancy, + When you were far beyond the sea, + Such thoughts were tyrants over me! + I often sat, for hours together, + Through the long nights of angry weather, + Raised on my pillow, to descry + The dim moon struggling in the sky; + Or, with strained ear, to catch the shock, + Of rock with wave, and wave with rock; + So would I fearful vigil keep, + And, all for listening, never sleep. + But this world's life has much to dread, + Not so, my Father, with the dead. + + "Oh! not for them, should we despair, + The grave is drear, but they are not there; + Their dust is mingled with the sod, + Their happy souls are gone to God! + You told me this, and yet you sigh, + And murmur that your friends must die. + Ah! my dear father, tell me why? + For, if your former words were true, + How useless would such sorrow be; + As wise, to mourn the seed which grew + Unnoticed on its parent tree, + Because it fell in fertile earth, + And sprang up to a glorious birth-- + Struck deep its root, and lifted high + Its green boughs in the breezy sky. + + "But, I'll not fear, I will not weep + For those whose bodies rest in sleep,-- + I know there is a blessed shore, + Opening its ports for me and mine; + And, gazing Time's wide waters o'er, + I weary for that land divine, + Where we were born, where you and I + Shall meet our dearest, when we die; + From suffering and corruption free, + Restored into the Deity." + + "Well hast thou spoken, sweet, trustful child! + And wiser than thy sire; + And worldly tempests, raging wild, + Shall strengthen thy desire-- + Thy fervent hope, through storm and foam, + Through wind and ocean's roar, + To reach, at last, the eternal home, + The steadfast, changeless shore!" + + + + +STARS. + + Ah! why, because the dazzling sun + Restored our Earth to joy, + Have you departed, every one, + And left a desert sky? + + All through the night, your glorious eyes + Were gazing down in mine, + And, with a full heart's thankful sighs, + I blessed that watch divine. + + I was at peace, and drank your beams + As they were life to me; + And revelled in my changeful dreams, + Like petrel on the sea. + + Thought followed thought, star followed star, + Through boundless regions, on; + While one sweet influence, near and far, + Thrilled through, and proved us one! + + Why did the morning dawn to break + So great, so pure, a spell; + And scorch with fire the tranquil cheek, + Where your cool radiance fell? + + Blood-red, he rose, and, arrow-straight, + His fierce beams struck my brow; + The soul of nature sprang, elate, + But mine sank sad and low! + + My lids closed down, yet through their veil + I saw him, blazing, still, + And steep in gold the misty dale, + And flash upon the hill. + + I turned me to the pillow, then, + To call back night, and see + Your worlds of solemn light, again, + Throb with my heart, and me! + + It would not do--the pillow glowed, + And glowed both roof and floor; + And birds sang loudly in the wood, + And fresh winds shook the door; + + The curtains waved, the wakened flies + Were murmuring round my room, + Imprisoned there, till I should rise, + And give them leave to roam. + + Oh, stars, and dreams, and gentle night; + Oh, night and stars, return! + And hide me from the hostile light + That does not warm, but burn; + + That drains the blood of suffering men; + Drinks tears, instead of dew; + Let me sleep through his blinding reign, + And only wake with you! + + + + +THE PHILOSOPHER. + + Enough of thought, philosopher! + Too long hast thou been dreaming + Unlightened, in this chamber drear, + While summer's sun is beaming! + Space-sweeping soul, what sad refrain + Concludes thy musings once again? + + "Oh, for the time when I shall sleep + Without identity. + And never care how rain may steep, + Or snow may cover me! + No promised heaven, these wild desires + Could all, or half fulfil; + No threatened hell, with quenchless fires, + Subdue this quenchless will!" + + "So said I, and still say the same; + Still, to my death, will say-- + Three gods, within this little frame, + Are warring night; and day; + Heaven could not hold them all, and yet + They all are held in me; + And must be mine till I forget + My present entity! + Oh, for the time, when in my breast + Their struggles will be o'er! + Oh, for the day, when I shall rest, + And never suffer more!" + + "I saw a spirit, standing, man, + Where thou dost stand--an hour ago, + And round his feet three rivers ran, + Of equal depth, and equal flow-- + A golden stream--and one like blood; + And one like sapphire seemed to be; + But, where they joined their triple flood + It tumbled in an inky sea + The spirit sent his dazzling gaze + Down through that ocean's gloomy night; + Then, kindling all, with sudden blaze, + The glad deep sparkled wide and bright-- + White as the sun, far, far more fair + Than its divided sources were!" + + "And even for that spirit, seer, + I've watched and sought my life-time long; + Sought him in heaven, hell, earth, and air, + An endless search, and always wrong. + Had I but seen his glorious eye + ONCE light the clouds that wilder me; + I ne'er had raised this coward cry + To cease to think, and cease to be; + + I ne'er had called oblivion blest, + Nor stretching eager hands to death, + Implored to change for senseless rest + This sentient soul, this living breath-- + Oh, let me die--that power and will + Their cruel strife may close; + And conquered good, and conquering ill + Be lost in one repose!" + + + + +REMEMBRANCE. + + Cold in the earth--and the deep snow piled above thee, + Far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave! + Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee, + Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave? + + Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover + Over the mountains, on that northern shore, + Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover + Thy noble heart for ever, ever more? + + Cold in the earth--and fifteen wild Decembers, + From those brown hills, have melted into spring: + Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers + After such years of change and suffering! + + Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, + While the world's tide is bearing me along; + Other desires and other hopes beset me, + Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong! + + No later light has lightened up my heaven, + No second morn has ever shone for me; + All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given, + All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee. + + But, when the days of golden dreams had perished, + And even Despair was powerless to destroy; + Then did I learn how existence could be cherished, + Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy. + + Then did I check the tears of useless passion-- + Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine; + Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten + Down to that tomb already more than mine. + + And, even yet, I dare not let it languish, + Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain; + Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, + How could I seek the empty world again? + + + + +A DEATH-SCENE. + + "O day! he cannot die + When thou so fair art shining! + O Sun, in such a glorious sky, + So tranquilly declining; + + He cannot leave thee now, + While fresh west winds are blowing, + And all around his youthful brow + Thy cheerful light is glowing! + + Edward, awake, awake-- + The golden evening gleams + Warm and bright on Arden's lake-- + Arouse thee from thy dreams! + + Beside thee, on my knee, + My dearest friend, I pray + That thou, to cross the eternal sea, + Wouldst yet one hour delay: + + I hear its billows roar-- + I see them foaming high; + But no glimpse of a further shore + Has blest my straining eye. + + Believe not what they urge + Of Eden isles beyond; + Turn back, from that tempestuous surge, + To thy own native land. + + It is not death, but pain + That struggles in thy breast-- + Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again; + I cannot let thee rest!" + + One long look, that sore reproved me + For the woe I could not bear-- + One mute look of suffering moved me + To repent my useless prayer: + + And, with sudden check, the heaving + Of distraction passed away; + Not a sign of further grieving + Stirred my soul that awful day. + + Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting; + Sunk to peace the twilight breeze: + Summer dews fell softly, wetting + Glen, and glade, and silent trees. + + Then his eyes began to weary, + Weighed beneath a mortal sleep; + And their orbs grew strangely dreary, + Clouded, even as they would weep. + + But they wept not, but they changed not, + Never moved, and never closed; + Troubled still, and still they ranged not-- + Wandered not, nor yet reposed! + + So I knew that he was dying-- + Stooped, and raised his languid head; + Felt no breath, and heard no sighing, + So I knew that he was dead. + + + + +SONG. + + The linnet in the rocky dells, + The moor-lark in the air, + The bee among the heather bells + That hide my lady fair: + + The wild deer browse above her breast; + The wild birds raise their brood; + And they, her smiles of love caressed, + Have left her solitude! + + I ween, that when the grave's dark wall + Did first her form retain, + They thought their hearts could ne'er recall + The light of joy again. + + They thought the tide of grief would flow + Unchecked through future years; + But where is all their anguish now, + And where are all their tears? + + Well, let them fight for honour's breath, + Or pleasure's shade pursue-- + The dweller in the land of death + Is changed and careless too. + + And, if their eyes should watch and weep + Till sorrow's source were dry, + She would not, in her tranquil sleep, + Return a single sigh! + + Blow, west-wind, by the lonely mound, + And murmur, summer-streams-- + There is no need of other sound + To soothe my lady's dreams. + + + + +ANTICIPATION. + + How beautiful the earth is still, + To thee--how full of happiness? + How little fraught with real ill, + Or unreal phantoms of distress! + How spring can bring thee glory, yet, + And summer win thee to forget + December's sullen time! + Why dost thou hold the treasure fast, + Of youth's delight, when youth is past, + And thou art near thy prime? + + When those who were thy own compeers, + Equals in fortune and in years, + Have seen their morning melt in tears, + To clouded, smileless day; + Blest, had they died untried and young, + Before their hearts went wandering wrong,-- + Poor slaves, subdued by passions strong, + A weak and helpless prey! + + 'Because, I hoped while they enjoyed, + And by fulfilment, hope destroyed; + As children hope, with trustful breast, + I waited bliss--and cherished rest. + A thoughtful spirit taught me soon, + That we must long till life be done; + That every phase of earthly joy + Must always fade, and always cloy: + + 'This I foresaw--and would not chase + The fleeting treacheries; + But, with firm foot and tranquil face, + Held backward from that tempting race, + Gazed o'er the sands the waves efface, + To the enduring seas-- + There cast my anchor of desire + Deep in unknown eternity; + Nor ever let my spirit tire, + With looking for WHAT IS TO BE! + + "It is hope's spell that glorifies, + Like youth, to my maturer eyes, + All Nature's million mysteries, + The fearful and the fair-- + Hope soothes me in the griefs I know; + She lulls my pain for others' woe, + And makes me strong to undergo + What I am born to bear. + + Glad comforter! will I not brave, + Unawed, the darkness of the grave? + Nay, smile to hear Death's billows rave-- + Sustained, my guide, by thee? + The more unjust seems present fate, + The more my spirit swells elate, + Strong, in thy strength, to anticipate + Rewarding destiny! + + + + +THE PRISONER. + + A FRAGMENT. + + In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray, + Reckless of the lives wasting there away; + "Draw the ponderous bars! open, Warder stern!" + He dared not say me nay--the hinges harshly turn. + + "Our guests are darkly lodged," I whisper'd, gazing through + The vault, whose grated eye showed heaven more gray than blue; + (This was when glad Spring laughed in awaking pride;) + "Ay, darkly lodged enough!" returned my sullen guide. + + Then, God forgive my youth; forgive my careless tongue; + I scoffed, as the chill chains on the damp flagstones rung: + "Confined in triple walls, art thou so much to fear, + That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?" + + The captive raised her face; it was as soft and mild + As sculptured marble saint, or slumbering unwean'd child; + It was so soft and mild, it was so sweet and fair, + Pain could not trace a line, nor grief a shadow there! + + The captive raised her hand and pressed it to her brow; + "I have been struck," she said, "and I am suffering now; + Yet these are little worth, your bolts and irons strong; + And, were they forged in steel, they could not hold me long." + + Hoarse laughed the jailor grim: "Shall I be won to hear; + Dost think, fond, dreaming wretch, that I shall grant thy prayer? + Or, better still, wilt melt my master's heart with groans? + Ah! sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones. + + "My master's voice is low, his aspect bland and kind, + But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind; + And I am rough and rude, yet not more rough to see + Than is the hidden ghost that has its home in me." + + About her lips there played a smile of almost scorn, + "My friend," she gently said, "you have not heard me mourn; + When you my kindred's lives, MY lost life, can restore, + Then may I weep and sue,--but never, friend, before! + + "Still, let my tyrants know, I am not doomed to wear + Year after year in gloom, and desolate despair; + A messenger of Hope comes every night to me, + And offers for short life, eternal liberty. + + "He comes with western winds, with evening's wandering airs, + With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars. + Winds take a pensive tone, and stars a tender fire, + And visions rise, and change, that kill me with desire. + + "Desire for nothing known in my maturer years, + When Joy grew mad with awe, at counting future tears. + When, if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm, + I knew not whence they came, from sun or thunder-storm. + + "But, first, a hush of peace--a soundless calm descends; + The struggle of distress, and fierce impatience ends; + Mute music soothes my breast--unuttered harmony, + That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me. + + "Then dawns the Invisible; the Unseen its truth reveals; + My outward sense is gone, my inward essence feels: + Its wings are almost free--its home, its harbour found, + Measuring the gulph, it stoops and dares the final bound, + + "Oh I dreadful is the check--intense the agony-- + When the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see; + When the pulse begins to throb, the brain to think again; + The soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain. + + "Yet I would lose no sting, would wish no torture less; + The more that anguish racks, the earlier it will bless; + And robed in fires of hell, or bright with heavenly shine, + If it but herald death, the vision is divine!" + + She ceased to speak, and we, unanswering, turned to go-- + We had no further power to work the captive woe: + Her cheek, her gleaming eye, declared that man had given + A sentence, unapproved, and overruled by Heaven. + + + + +HOPE. + + Hope Was but a timid friend; + She sat without the grated den, + Watching how my fate would tend, + Even as selfish-hearted men. + + She was cruel in her fear; + Through the bars one dreary day, + I looked out to see her there, + And she turned her face away! + + Like a false guard, false watch keeping, + Still, in strife, she whispered peace; + She would sing while I was weeping; + If I listened, she would cease. + + False she was, and unrelenting; + When my last joys strewed the ground, + Even Sorrow saw, repenting, + Those sad relics scattered round; + + Hope, whose whisper would have given + Balm to all my frenzied pain, + Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven, + Went, and ne'er returned again! + + + + +A DAY DREAM. + + On a sunny brae alone I lay + One summer afternoon; + It was the marriage-time of May, + With her young lover, June. + + From her mother's heart seemed loath to part + That queen of bridal charms, + But her father smiled on the fairest child + He ever held in his arms. + + The trees did wave their plumy crests, + The glad birds carolled clear; + And I, of all the wedding guests, + Was only sullen there! + + There was not one, but wished to shun + My aspect void of cheer; + The very gray rocks, looking on, + Asked, "What do you here?" + + And I could utter no reply; + In sooth, I did not know + Why I had brought a clouded eye + To greet the general glow. + + So, resting on a heathy bank, + I took my heart to me; + And we together sadly sank + Into a reverie. + + We thought, "When winter comes again, + Where will these bright things be? + All vanished, like a vision vain, + An unreal mockery! + + "The birds that now so blithely sing, + Through deserts, frozen dry, + Poor spectres of the perished spring, + In famished troops will fly. + + "And why should we be glad at all? + The leaf is hardly green, + Before a token of its fall + Is on the surface seen!" + + Now, whether it were really so, + I never could be sure; + But as in fit of peevish woe, + I stretched me on the moor, + + A thousand thousand gleaming fires + Seemed kindling in the air; + A thousand thousand silvery lyres + Resounded far and near: + + Methought, the very breath I breathed + Was full of sparks divine, + And all my heather-couch was wreathed + By that celestial shine! + + And, while the wide earth echoing rung + To that strange minstrelsy + The little glittering spirits sung, + Or seemed to sing, to me: + + "O mortal! mortal! let them die; + Let time and tears destroy, + That we may overflow the sky + With universal joy! + + "Let grief distract the sufferer's breast, + And night obscure his way; + They hasten him to endless rest, + And everlasting day. + + "To thee the world is like a tomb, + A desert's naked shore; + To us, in unimagined bloom, + It brightens more and more! + + "And, could we lift the veil, and give + One brief glimpse to thine eye, + Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live, + BECAUSE they live to die." + + The music ceased; the noonday dream, + Like dream of night, withdrew; + But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem + Her fond creation true. + + + + +TO IMAGINATION. + + When weary with the long day's care, + And earthly change from pain to pain, + And lost, and ready to despair, + Thy kind voice calls me back again: + Oh, my true friend! I am not lone, + While then canst speak with such a tone! + + So hopeless is the world without; + The world within I doubly prize; + Thy world, where guile, and hate, and doubt, + And cold suspicion never rise; + Where thou, and I, and Liberty, + Have undisputed sovereignty. + + What matters it, that all around + Danger, and guilt, and darkness lie, + If but within our bosom's bound + We hold a bright, untroubled sky, + Warm with ten thousand mingled rays + Of suns that know no winter days? + + Reason, indeed, may oft complain + For Nature's sad reality, + And tell the suffering heart how vain + Its cherished dreams must always be; + And Truth may rudely trample down + The flowers of Fancy, newly-blown: + + But thou art ever there, to bring + The hovering vision back, and breathe + New glories o'er the blighted spring, + And call a lovelier Life from Death. + And whisper, with a voice divine, + Of real worlds, as bright as thine. + + I trust not to thy phantom bliss, + Yet, still, in evening's quiet hour, + With never-failing thankfulness, + I welcome thee, Benignant Power; + Sure solacer of human cares, + And sweeter hope, when hope despairs! + + + + +HOW CLEAR SHE SHINES. + + How clear she shines! How quietly + I lie beneath her guardian light; + While heaven and earth are whispering me, + "To morrow, wake, but dream to-night." + Yes, Fancy, come, my Fairy love! + These throbbing temples softly kiss; + And bend my lonely couch above, + And bring me rest, and bring me bliss. + + The world is going; dark world, adieu! + Grim world, conceal thee till the day; + The heart thou canst not all subdue + Must still resist, if thou delay! + + Thy love I will not, will not share; + Thy hatred only wakes a smile; + Thy griefs may wound--thy wrongs may tear, + But, oh, thy lies shall ne'er beguile! + While gazing on the stars that glow + Above me, in that stormless sea, + I long to hope that all the woe + Creation knows, is held in thee! + + And this shall be my dream to-night; + I'll think the heaven of glorious spheres + Is rolling on its course of light + In endless bliss, through endless years; + I'll think, there's not one world above, + Far as these straining eyes can see, + Where Wisdom ever laughed at Love, + Or Virtue crouched to Infamy; + + Where, writhing 'neath the strokes of Fate, + The mangled wretch was forced to smile; + To match his patience 'gainst her hate, + His heart rebellious all the while. + Where Pleasure still will lead to wrong, + And helpless Reason warn in vain; + And Truth is weak, and Treachery strong; + And Joy the surest path to Pain; + And Peace, the lethargy of Grief; + And Hope, a phantom of the soul; + And life, a labour, void and brief; + And Death, the despot of the whole! + + + + +SYMPATHY. + + There should be no despair for you + While nightly stars are burning; + While evening pours its silent dew, + And sunshine gilds the morning. + There should be no despair--though tears + May flow down like a river: + Are not the best beloved of years + Around your heart for ever? + + They weep, you weep, it must be so; + Winds sigh as you are sighing, + And winter sheds its grief in snow + Where Autumn's leaves are lying: + Yet, these revive, and from their fate + Your fate cannot be parted: + Then, journey on, if not elate, + Still, NEVER broken-hearted! + + + + +PLEAD FOR ME. + + Oh, thy bright eyes must answer now, + When Reason, with a scornful brow, + Is mocking at my overthrow! + Oh, thy sweet tongue must plead for me + And tell why I have chosen thee! + + Stern Reason is to judgment come, + Arrayed in all her forms of gloom: + Wilt thou, my advocate, be dumb? + No, radiant angel, speak and say, + Why I did cast the world away. + + Why I have persevered to shun + The common paths that others run; + And on a strange road journeyed on, + Heedless, alike of wealth and power-- + Of glory's wreath and pleasure's flower. + + These, once, indeed, seemed Beings Divine; + And they, perchance, heard vows of mine, + And saw my offerings on their shrine; + But careless gifts are seldom prized, + And MINE were worthily despised. + + So, with a ready heart, I swore + To seek their altar-stone no more; + And gave my spirit to adore + Thee, ever-present, phantom thing-- + My slave, my comrade, and my king. + + A slave, because I rule thee still; + Incline thee to my changeful will, + And make thy influence good or ill: + A comrade, for by day and night + Thou art my intimate delight,-- + + My darling pain that wounds and sears, + And wrings a blessing out from tears + By deadening me to earthly cares; + And yet, a king, though Prudence well + Have taught thy subject to rebel + + And am I wrong to worship where + Faith cannot doubt, nor hope despair, + Since my own soul can grant my prayer? + Speak, God of visions, plead for me, + And tell why I have chosen thee! + + + + +SELF-INTEROGATION, + + "The evening passes fast away. + 'Tis almost time to rest; + What thoughts has left the vanished day, + What feelings in thy breast? + + "The vanished day? It leaves a sense + Of labour hardly done; + Of little gained with vast expense-- + A sense of grief alone? + + "Time stands before the door of Death, + Upbraiding bitterly + And Conscience, with exhaustless breath, + Pours black reproach on me: + + "And though I've said that Conscience lies + And Time should Fate condemn; + Still, sad Repentance clouds my eyes, + And makes me yield to them! + + "Then art thou glad to seek repose? + Art glad to leave the sea, + And anchor all thy weary woes + In calm Eternity? + + "Nothing regrets to see thee go-- + Not one voice sobs' farewell;' + And where thy heart has suffered so, + Canst thou desire to dwell?" + + "Alas! the countless links are strong + That bind us to our clay; + The loving spirit lingers long, + And would not pass away! + + "And rest is sweet, when laurelled fame + Will crown the soldier's crest; + But a brave heart, with a tarnished name, + Would rather fight than rest. + + "Well, thou hast fought for many a year, + Hast fought thy whole life through, + Hast humbled Falsehood, trampled Fear; + What is there left to do? + + "'Tis true, this arm has hotly striven, + Has dared what few would dare; + Much have I done, and freely given, + But little learnt to bear! + + "Look on the grave where thou must sleep + Thy last, and strongest foe; + It is endurance not to weep, + If that repose seem woe. + + "The long war closing in defeat-- + Defeat serenely borne,-- + Thy midnight rest may still be sweet, + And break in glorious morn!" + + + + +DEATH. + + Death! that struck when I was most confiding. + In my certain faith of joy to be-- + Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing + From the fresh root of Eternity! + + Leaves, upon Time's branch, were growing brightly, + Full of sap, and full of silver dew; + Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly; + Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew. + + Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom; + Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride + But, within its parent's kindly bosom, + Flowed for ever Life's restoring tide. + + Little mourned I for the parted gladness, + For the vacant nest and silent song-- + Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness; + Whispering, "Winter will not linger long!" + + And, behold! with tenfold increase blessing, + Spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray; + Wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing, + Lavished glory on that second May! + + High it rose--no winged grief could sweep it; + Sin was scared to distance with its shine; + Love, and its own life, had power to keep it + From all wrong--from every blight but thine! + + Cruel Death! The young leaves droop and languish; + Evening's gentle air may still restore-- + No! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish- + Time, for me, must never blossom more! + + Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish + Where that perished sapling used to be; + Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish + That from which it sprung--Eternity. + + + + +STANZAS TO ---- + + Well, some may hate, and some may scorn, + And some may quite forget thy name; + But my sad heart must ever mourn + Thy ruined hopes, thy blighted fame! + 'Twas thus I thought, an hour ago, + Even weeping o'er that wretch's woe; + One word turned back my gushing tears, + And lit my altered eye with sneers. + Then "Bless the friendly dust," I said, + "That hides thy unlamented head! + Vain as thou wert, and weak as vain, + The slave of Falsehood, Pride, and Pain-- + My heart has nought akin to thine; + Thy soul is powerless over mine." + But these were thoughts that vanished too; + Unwise, unholy, and untrue: + Do I despise the timid deer, + Because his limbs are fleet with fear? + Or, would I mock the wolf's death-howl, + Because his form is gaunt and foul? + Or, hear with joy the leveret's cry, + Because it cannot bravely die? + No! Then above his memory + Let Pity's heart as tender be; + Say, "Earth, lie lightly on that breast, + And, kind Heaven, grant that spirit rest!" + + + + +HONOUR'S MARTYR. + + The moon is full this winter night; + The stars are clear, though few; + And every window glistens bright + With leaves of frozen dew. + + The sweet moon through your lattice gleams, + And lights your room like day; + And there you pass, in happy dreams, + The peaceful hours away! + + While I, with effort hardly quelling + The anguish in my breast, + Wander about the silent dwelling, + And cannot think of rest. + + The old clock in the gloomy hall + Ticks on, from hour to hour; + And every time its measured call + Seems lingering slow and slower: + + And, oh, how slow that keen-eyed star + Has tracked the chilly gray! + What, watching yet! how very far + The morning lies away! + + Without your chamber door I stand; + Love, are you slumbering still? + My cold heart, underneath my hand, + Has almost ceased to thrill. + + Bleak, bleak the east wind sobs and sighs, + And drowns the turret bell, + Whose sad note, undistinguished, dies + Unheard, like my farewell! + + To-morrow, Scorn will blight my name, + And Hate will trample me, + Will load me with a coward's shame-- + A traitor's perjury. + + False friends will launch their covert sneers; + True friends will wish me dead; + And I shall cause the bitterest tears + That you have ever shed. + + The dark deeds of my outlawed race + Will then like virtues shine; + And men will pardon their disgrace, + Beside the guilt of mine. + + For, who forgives the accursed crime + Of dastard treachery? + Rebellion, in its chosen time, + May Freedom's champion be; + + Revenge may stain a righteous sword, + It may be just to slay; + But, traitor, traitor,--from THAT word + All true breasts shrink away! + + Oh, I would give my heart to death, + To keep my honour fair; + Yet, I'll not give my inward faith + My honour's NAME to spare! + + Not even to keep your priceless love, + Dare I, Beloved, deceive; + This treason should the future prove, + Then, only then, believe! + + I know the path I ought to go + I follow fearlessly, + Inquiring not what deeper woe + Stern duty stores for me. + + So foes pursue, and cold allies + Mistrust me, every one: + Let me be false in others' eyes, + If faithful in my own. + + + + +STANZAS. + + I'll not weep that thou art going to leave me, + There's nothing lovely here; + And doubly will the dark world grieve me, + While thy heart suffers there. + + I'll not weep, because the summer's glory + Must always end in gloom; + And, follow out the happiest story-- + It closes with a tomb! + + And I am weary of the anguish + Increasing winters bear; + Weary to watch the spirit languish + Through years of dead despair. + + So, if a tear, when thou art dying, + Should haply fall from me, + It is but that my soul is sighing, + To go and rest with thee. + + + + +MY COMFORTER. + + Well hast thou spoken, and yet not taught + A feeling strange or new; + Thou hast but roused a latent thought, + A cloud-closed beam of sunshine brought + To gleam in open view. + + Deep down, concealed within my soul, + That light lies hid from men; + Yet glows unquenched--though shadows roll, + Its gentle ray cannot control-- + About the sullen den. + + Was I not vexed, in these gloomy ways + To walk alone so long? + Around me, wretches uttering praise, + Or howling o'er their hopeless days, + And each with Frenzy's tongue;-- + + A brotherhood of misery, + Their smiles as sad as sighs; + Whose madness daily maddened me, + Distorting into agony + The bliss before my eyes! + + So stood I, in Heaven's glorious sun, + And in the glare of Hell; + My spirit drank a mingled tone, + Of seraph's song, and demon's moan; + What my soul bore, my soul alone + Within itself may tell! + + Like a soft, air above a sea, + Tossed by the tempest's stir; + A thaw-wind, melting quietly + The snow-drift on some wintry lea; + No: what sweet thing resembles thee, + My thoughtful Comforter? + + And yet a little longer speak, + Calm this resentful mood; + And while the savage heart grows meek, + For other token do not seek, + But let the tear upon my cheek + Evince my gratitude! + + + + +THE OLD STOIC. + + Riches I hold in light esteem, + And Love I laugh to scorn; + And lust of fame was but a dream, + That vanished with the morn: + + And if I pray, the only prayer + That moves my lips for me + Is, "Leave the heart that now I bear, + And give me liberty!" + + Yes, as my swift days near their goal: + 'Tis all that I implore; + In life and death a chainless soul, + With courage to endure. + + + ***** + + + + + +POEMS BY ACTON BELL, + + + + +A REMINISCENCE. + + Yes, thou art gone! and never more + Thy sunny smile shall gladden me; + But I may pass the old church door, + And pace the floor that covers thee, + + May stand upon the cold, damp stone, + And think that, frozen, lies below + The lightest heart that I have known, + The kindest I shall ever know. + + Yet, though I cannot see thee more, + 'Tis still a comfort to have seen; + And though thy transient life is o'er, + 'Tis sweet to think that thou hast been; + + To think a soul so near divine, + Within a form so angel fair, + United to a heart like thine, + Has gladdened once our humble sphere. + + + + +THE ARBOUR. + + I'll rest me in this sheltered bower, + And look upon the clear blue sky + That smiles upon me through the trees, + Which stand so thick clustering by; + + And view their green and glossy leaves, + All glistening in the sunshine fair; + And list the rustling of their boughs, + So softly whispering through the air. + + And while my ear drinks in the sound, + My winged soul shall fly away; + Reviewing lone departed years + As one mild, beaming, autumn day; + + And soaring on to future scenes, + Like hills and woods, and valleys green, + All basking in the summer's sun, + But distant still, and dimly seen. + + Oh, list! 'tis summer's very breath + That gently shakes the rustling trees-- + But look! the snow is on the ground-- + How can I think of scenes like these? + + 'Tis but the FROST that clears the air, + And gives the sky that lovely blue; + They're smiling in a WINTER'S sun, + Those evergreens of sombre hue. + + And winter's chill is on my heart-- + How can I dream of future bliss? + How can my spirit soar away, + Confined by such a chain as this? + + + + +HOME. + + How brightly glistening in the sun + The woodland ivy plays! + While yonder beeches from their barks + Reflect his silver rays. + + That sun surveys a lovely scene + From softly smiling skies; + And wildly through unnumbered trees + The wind of winter sighs: + + Now loud, it thunders o'er my head, + And now in distance dies. + But give me back my barren hills + Where colder breezes rise; + + Where scarce the scattered, stunted trees + Can yield an answering swell, + But where a wilderness of heath + Returns the sound as well. + + For yonder garden, fair and wide, + With groves of evergreen, + Long winding walks, and borders trim, + And velvet lawns between; + + Restore to me that little spot, + With gray walls compassed round, + Where knotted grass neglected lies, + And weeds usurp the ground. + + Though all around this mansion high + Invites the foot to roam, + And though its halls are fair within-- + Oh, give me back my HOME! + + + + +VANITAS VANITATUM, OMNIA VANITAS. + + In all we do, and hear, and see, + Is restless Toil and Vanity. + While yet the rolling earth abides, + Men come and go like ocean tides; + + And ere one generation dies, + Another in its place shall rise; + THAT, sinking soon into the grave, + Others succeed, like wave on wave; + + And as they rise, they pass away. + The sun arises every day, + And hastening onward to the West, + He nightly sinks, but not to rest: + + Returning to the eastern skies, + Again to light us, he must rise. + And still the restless wind comes forth, + Now blowing keenly from the North; + + Now from the South, the East, the West, + For ever changing, ne'er at rest. + The fountains, gushing from the hills, + Supply the ever-running rills; + + The thirsty rivers drink their store, + And bear it rolling to the shore, + But still the ocean craves for more. + 'Tis endless labour everywhere! + Sound cannot satisfy the ear, + + Light cannot fill the craving eye, + Nor riches half our wants supply, + Pleasure but doubles future pain, + And joy brings sorrow in her train; + + Laughter is mad, and reckless mirth-- + What does she in this weary earth? + Should Wealth, or Fame, our Life employ, + Death comes, our labour to destroy; + + To snatch the untasted cup away, + For which we toiled so many a day. + What, then, remains for wretched man? + To use life's comforts while he can, + + Enjoy the blessings Heaven bestows, + Assist his friends, forgive his foes; + Trust God, and keep His statutes still, + Upright and firm, through good and ill; + + Thankful for all that God has given, + Fixing his firmest hopes on Heaven; + Knowing that earthly joys decay, + But hoping through the darkest day. + + + + +THE PENITENT. + + I mourn with thee, and yet rejoice + That thou shouldst sorrow so; + With angel choirs I join my voice + To bless the sinner's woe. + + Though friends and kindred turn away, + And laugh thy grief to scorn; + I hear the great Redeemer say, + "Blessed are ye that mourn." + + Hold on thy course, nor deem it strange + That earthly cords are riven: + Man may lament the wondrous change, + But "there is joy in heaven!" + + + + +MUSIC ON CHRISTMAS MORNING. + + Music I love--but never strain + Could kindle raptures so divine, + So grief assuage, so conquer pain, + And rouse this pensive heart of mine-- + As that we hear on Christmas morn, + Upon the wintry breezes borne. + + Though Darkness still her empire keep, + And hours must pass, ere morning break; + From troubled dreams, or slumbers deep, + That music KINDLY bids us wake: + It calls us, with an angel's voice, + To wake, and worship, and rejoice; + + To greet with joy the glorious morn, + Which angels welcomed long ago, + When our redeeming Lord was born, + To bring the light of Heaven below; + The Powers of Darkness to dispel, + And rescue Earth from Death and Hell. + + While listening to that sacred strain, + My raptured spirit soars on high; + I seem to hear those songs again + Resounding through the open sky, + That kindled such divine delight, + In those who watched their flocks by night. + + With them I celebrate His birth-- + Glory to God, in highest Heaven, + Good-will to men, and peace on earth, + To us a Saviour-king is given; + Our God is come to claim His own, + And Satan's power is overthrown! + + A sinless God, for sinful men, + Descends to suffer and to bleed; + Hell MUST renounce its empire then; + The price is paid, the world is freed, + And Satan's self must now confess + That Christ has earned a RIGHT to bless: + + Now holy Peace may smile from heaven, + And heavenly Truth from earth shall spring: + The captive's galling bonds are riven, + For our Redeemer is our king; + And He that gave his blood for men + Will lead us home to God again. + + + + +STANZAS. + + Oh, weep not, love! each tear that springs + In those dear eyes of thine, + To me a keener suffering brings + Than if they flowed from mine. + + And do not droop! however drear + The fate awaiting thee; + For MY sake combat pain and care, + And cherish life for me! + + I do not fear thy love will fail; + Thy faith is true, I know; + But, oh, my love! thy strength is frail + For such a life of woe. + + Were 't not for this, I well could trace + (Though banished long from thee) + Life's rugged path, and boldly face + The storms that threaten me. + + Fear not for me--I've steeled my mind + Sorrow and strife to greet; + Joy with my love I leave behind, + Care with my friends I meet. + + A mother's sad reproachful eye, + A father's scowling brow-- + But he may frown and she may sigh: + I will not break my vow! + + I love my mother, I revere + My sire, but fear not me-- + Believe that Death alone can tear + This faithful heart from thee. + + + + +IF THIS BE ALL. + + O God! if this indeed be all + That Life can show to me; + If on my aching brow may fall + No freshening dew from Thee; + + If with no brighter light than this + The lamp of hope may glow, + And I may only dream of bliss, + And wake to weary woe; + + If friendship's solace must decay, + When other joys are gone, + And love must keep so far away, + While I go wandering on,-- + + Wandering and toiling without gain, + The slave of others' will, + With constant care, and frequent pain, + Despised, forgotten still; + + Grieving to look on vice and sin, + Yet powerless to quell + The silent current from within, + The outward torrent's swell + + While all the good I would impart, + The feelings I would share, + Are driven backward to my heart, + And turned to wormwood there; + + If clouds must EVER keep from sight + The glories of the Sun, + And I must suffer Winter's blight, + Ere Summer is begun; + + If Life must be so full of care, + Then call me soon to thee; + Or give me strength enough to bear + My load of misery. + + + + +MEMORY. + + Brightly the sun of summer shone + Green fields and waving woods upon, + And soft winds wandered by; + Above, a sky of purest blue, + Around, bright flowers of loveliest hue, + Allured the gazer's eye. + + But what were all these charms to me, + When one sweet breath of memory + Came gently wafting by? + I closed my eyes against the day, + And called my willing soul away, + From earth, and air, and sky; + + That I might simply fancy there + One little flower--a primrose fair, + Just opening into sight; + As in the days of infancy, + An opening primrose seemed to me + A source of strange delight. + + Sweet Memory! ever smile on me; + Nature's chief beauties spring from thee; + Oh, still thy tribute bring + Still make the golden crocus shine + Among the flowers the most divine, + The glory of the spring. + + Still in the wallflower's fragrance dwell; + And hover round the slight bluebell, + My childhood's darling flower. + Smile on the little daisy still, + The buttercup's bright goblet fill + With all thy former power. + + For ever hang thy dreamy spell + Round mountain star and heather bell, + And do not pass away + From sparkling frost, or wreathed snow, + And whisper when the wild winds blow, + Or rippling waters play. + + Is childhood, then, so all divine? + Or Memory, is the glory thine, + That haloes thus the past? + Not ALL divine; its pangs of grief + (Although, perchance, their stay be brief) + Are bitter while they last. + + Nor is the glory all thine own, + For on our earliest joys alone + That holy light is cast. + With such a ray, no spell of thine + Can make our later pleasures shine, + Though long ago they passed. + + + + +TO COWPER. + + Sweet are thy strains, celestial Bard; + And oft, in childhood's years, + I've read them o'er and o'er again, + With floods of silent tears. + + The language of my inmost heart + I traced in every line; + MY sins, MY sorrows, hopes, and fears, + Were there-and only mine. + + All for myself the sigh would swell, + The tear of anguish start; + I little knew what wilder woe + Had filled the Poet's heart. + + I did not know the nights of gloom, + The days of misery; + The long, long years of dark despair, + That crushed and tortured thee. + + But they are gone; from earth at length + Thy gentle soul is pass'd, + And in the bosom of its God + Has found its home at last. + + It must be so, if God is love, + And answers fervent prayer; + Then surely thou shalt dwell on high, + And I may meet thee there. + + Is He the source of every good, + The spring of purity? + Then in thine hours of deepest woe, + Thy God was still with thee. + + How else, when every hope was fled, + Couldst thou so fondly cling + To holy things and help men? + And how so sweetly sing, + + Of things that God alone could teach? + And whence that purity, + That hatred of all sinful ways-- + That gentle charity? + + Are THESE the symptoms of a heart + Of heavenly grace bereft-- + For ever banished from its God, + To Satan's fury left? + + Yet, should thy darkest fears be true, + If Heaven be so severe, + That such a soul as thine is lost,-- + Oh! how shall I appear? + + + + +THE DOUBTER'S PRAYER. + + Eternal Power, of earth and air! + Unseen, yet seen in all around, + Remote, but dwelling everywhere, + Though silent, heard in every sound; + + If e'er thine ear in mercy bent, + When wretched mortals cried to Thee, + And if, indeed, Thy Son was sent, + To save lost sinners such as me: + + Then hear me now, while kneeling here, + I lift to thee my heart and eye, + And all my soul ascends in prayer, + OH, GIVE ME--GIVE ME FAITH! I cry. + + Without some glimmering in my heart, + I could not raise this fervent prayer; + But, oh! a stronger light impart, + And in Thy mercy fix it there. + + While Faith is with me, I am blest; + It turns my darkest night to day; + But while I clasp it to my breast, + I often feel it slide away. + + Then, cold and dark, my spirit sinks, + To see my light of life depart; + And every fiend of Hell, methinks, + Enjoys the anguish of my heart. + + What shall I do, if all my love, + My hopes, my toil, are cast away, + And if there be no God above, + To hear and bless me when I pray? + + If this be vain delusion all, + If death be an eternal sleep, + And none can hear my secret call, + Or see the silent tears I weep! + + Oh, help me, God! For thou alone + Canst my distracted soul relieve; + Forsake it not: it is thine own, + Though weak, yet longing to believe. + + Oh, drive these cruel doubts away; + And make me know, that Thou art God! + A faith, that shines by night and day, + Will lighten every earthly load. + + If I believe that Jesus died, + And waking, rose to reign above; + Then surely Sorrow, Sin, and Pride, + Must yield to Peace, and Hope, and Love. + + And all the blessed words He said + Will strength and holy joy impart: + A shield of safety o'er my head, + A spring of comfort in my heart. + + + + +A WORD TO THE "ELECT." + + You may rejoice to think YOURSELVES secure; + You may be grateful for the gift divine-- + That grace unsought, which made your black hearts pure, + And fits your earth-born souls in Heaven to shine. + + But, is it sweet to look around, and view + Thousands excluded from that happiness + Which they deserved, at least, as much as you.-- + Their faults not greater, nor their virtues less? + + And wherefore should you love your God the more, + Because to you alone his smiles are given; + Because He chose to pass the MANY o'er, + And only bring the favoured FEW to Heaven? + + And, wherefore should your hearts more grateful prove, + Because for ALL the Saviour did not die? + Is yours the God of justice and of love? + And are your bosoms warm with charity? + + Say, does your heart expand to all mankind? + And, would you ever to your neighbour do-- + The weak, the strong, the enlightened, and the blind-- + As you would have your neighbour do to you? + + And when you, looking on your fellow-men, + Behold them doomed to endless misery, + How can you talk of joy and rapture then?-- + May God withhold such cruel joy from me! + + That none deserve eternal bliss I know; + Unmerited the grace in mercy given: + But, none shall sink to everlasting woe, + That have not well deserved the wrath of Heaven. + + And, oh! there lives within my heart + A hope, long nursed by me; + (And should its cheering ray depart, + How dark my soul would be!) + + That as in Adam all have died, + In Christ shall all men live; + And ever round his throne abide, + Eternal praise to give. + + That even the wicked shall at last + Be fitted for the skies; + And when their dreadful doom is past, + To life and light arise. + + I ask not, how remote the day, + Nor what the sinners' woe, + Before their dross is purged away; + Enough for me to know-- + + That when the cup of wrath is drained, + The metal purified, + They'll cling to what they once disdained, + And live by Him that died. + + + + +PAST DAYS. + + 'Tis strange to think there WAS a time + When mirth was not an empty name, + When laughter really cheered the heart, + And frequent smiles unbidden came, + And tears of grief would only flow + In sympathy for others' woe; + + When speech expressed the inward thought, + And heart to kindred heart was bare, + And summer days were far too short + For all the pleasures crowded there; + And silence, solitude, and rest, + Now welcome to the weary breast-- + + Were all unprized, uncourted then-- + And all the joy one spirit showed, + The other deeply felt again; + And friendship like a river flowed, + Constant and strong its silent course, + For nought withstood its gentle force: + + When night, the holy time of peace, + Was dreaded as the parting hour; + When speech and mirth at once must cease, + And silence must resume her power; + Though ever free from pains and woes, + She only brought us calm repose. + + And when the blessed dawn again + Brought daylight to the blushing skies, + We woke, and not RELUCTANT then, + To joyless LABOUR did we rise; + But full of hope, and glad and gay, + We welcomed the returning day. + + + + +THE CONSOLATION. + + Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground + With fallen leaves so thickly strown, + And cold the wind that wanders round + With wild and melancholy moan; + + There IS a friendly roof, I know, + Might shield me from the wintry blast; + There is a fire, whose ruddy glow + Will cheer me for my wanderings past. + + And so, though still, where'er I go, + Cold stranger-glances meet my eye; + Though, when my spirit sinks in woe, + Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh; + + Though solitude, endured too long, + Bids youthful joys too soon decay, + Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue, + And overclouds my noon of day; + + When kindly thoughts that would have way, + Flow back discouraged to my breast; + I know there is, though far away, + A home where heart and soul may rest. + + Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine, + The warmer heart will not belie; + While mirth, and truth, and friendship shine + In smiling lip and earnest eye. + + The ice that gathers round my heart + May there be thawed; and sweetly, then, + The joys of youth, that now depart, + Will come to cheer my soul again. + + Though far I roam, that thought shall be + My hope, my comfort, everywhere; + While such a home remains to me, + My heart shall never know despair! + + + + +LINES COMPOSED IN A WOOD ON A WINDY DAY. + + My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring + And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze; + For above and around me the wild wind is roaring, + Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas. + + The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing, + The bare trees are tossing their branches on high; + The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing, + The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky + + I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing + The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray; + I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing, + And hear the wild roar of their thunder to-day! + + + + +VIEWS OF LIFE. + + When sinks my heart in hopeless gloom, + And life can show no joy for me; + And I behold a yawning tomb, + Where bowers and palaces should be; + + In vain you talk of morbid dreams; + In vain you gaily smiling say, + That what to me so dreary seems, + The healthy mind deems bright and gay. + + I too have smiled, and thought like you, + But madly smiled, and falsely deemed: + TRUTH led me to the present view,-- + I'm waking now--'twas THEN I dreamed. + + I lately saw a sunset sky, + And stood enraptured to behold + Its varied hues of glorious dye: + First, fleecy clouds of shining gold; + + These blushing took a rosy hue; + Beneath them shone a flood of green; + Nor less divine, the glorious blue + That smiled above them and between. + + I cannot name each lovely shade; + I cannot say how bright they shone; + But one by one, I saw them fade; + And what remained when they were gone? + + Dull clouds remained, of sombre hue, + And when their borrowed charm was o'er, + The azure sky had faded too, + That smiled so softly bright before. + + So, gilded by the glow of youth, + Our varied life looks fair and gay; + And so remains the naked truth, + When that false light is past away. + + Why blame ye, then, my keener sight, + That clearly sees a world of woes + Through all the haze of golden light + That flattering Falsehood round it throws? + + When the young mother smiles above + The first-born darling of her heart, + Her bosom glows with earnest love, + While tears of silent transport start. + + Fond dreamer! little does she know + The anxious toil, the suffering, + The blasted hopes, the burning woe, + The object of her joy will bring. + + Her blinded eyes behold not now + What, soon or late, must be his doom; + The anguish that will cloud his brow, + The bed of death, the dreary tomb. + + As little know the youthful pair, + In mutual love supremely blest, + What weariness, and cold despair, + Ere long, will seize the aching breast. + + And even should Love and Faith remain, + (The greatest blessings life can show,) + Amid adversity and pain, + To shine throughout with cheering glow; + + They do not see how cruel Death + Comes on, their loving hearts to part: + One feels not now the gasping breath, + The rending of the earth-bound heart,-- + + The soul's and body's agony, + Ere she may sink to her repose. + The sad survivor cannot see + The grave above his darling close; + + Nor how, despairing and alone, + He then must wear his life away; + And linger, feebly toiling on, + And fainting, sink into decay. + + * * * * + + Oh, Youth may listen patiently, + While sad Experience tells her tale, + But Doubt sits smiling in his eye, + For ardent Hope will still prevail! + + He hears how feeble Pleasure dies, + By guilt destroyed, and pain and woe; + He turns to Hope--and she replies, + "Believe it not-it is not so!" + + "Oh, heed her not!" Experience says; + "For thus she whispered once to me; + She told me, in my youthful days, + How glorious manhood's prime would be. + + "When, in the time of early Spring, + Too chill the winds that o'er me pass'd, + She said, each coming day would bring + a fairer heaven, a gentler blast. + + "And when the sun too seldom beamed, + The sky, o'ercast, too darkly frowned, + The soaking rain too constant streamed, + And mists too dreary gathered round; + + "She told me, Summer's glorious ray + Would chase those vapours all away, + And scatter glories round; + With sweetest music fill the trees, + Load with rich scent the gentle breeze, + And strew with flowers the ground + + "But when, beneath that scorching ray, + I languished, weary through the day, + While birds refused to sing, + Verdure decayed from field and tree, + And panting Nature mourned with me + The freshness of the Spring. + + "'Wait but a little while,' she said, + 'Till Summer's burning days are fled; + And Autumn shall restore, + With golden riches of her own, + And Summer's glories mellowed down, + The freshness you deplore.' + + And long I waited, but in vain: + That freshness never came again, + Though Summer passed away, + Though Autumn's mists hung cold and chill. + And drooping nature languished still, + And sank into decay. + + "Till wintry blasts foreboding blew + Through leafless trees--and then I knew + That Hope was all a dream. + But thus, fond youth, she cheated me; + And she will prove as false to thee, + Though sweet her words may seem. + + Stern prophet! Cease thy bodings dire-- + Thou canst not quench the ardent fire + That warms the breast of youth. + Oh, let it cheer him while it may, + And gently, gently die away-- + Chilled by the damps of truth! + + Tell him, that earth is not our rest; + Its joys are empty--frail at best; + And point beyond the sky. + But gleams of light may reach us here; + And hope the ROUGHEST path can cheer: + Then do not bid it fly! + + Though hope may promise joys, that still + Unkindly time will ne'er fulfil; + Or, if they come at all, + We never find them unalloyed,-- + Hurtful perchance, or soon destroyed, + They vanish or they pall; + + Yet hope ITSELF a brightness throws + O'er all our labours and our woes; + While dark foreboding Care + A thousand ills will oft portend, + That Providence may ne'er intend + The trembling heart to bear. + + Or if they come, it oft appears, + Our woes are lighter than our fears, + And far more bravely borne. + Then let us not enhance our doom + But e'en in midnight's blackest gloom + Expect the rising morn. + + Because the road is rough and long, + Shall we despise the skylark's song, + That cheers the wanderer's way? + Or trample down, with reckless feet, + The smiling flowerets, bright and sweet, + Because they soon decay? + + Pass pleasant scenes unnoticed by, + Because the next is bleak and drear; + Or not enjoy a smiling sky, + Because a tempest may be near? + + No! while we journey on our way, + We'll smile on every lovely thing; + And ever, as they pass away, + To memory and hope we'll cling. + + And though that awful river flows + Before us, when the journey's past, + Perchance of all the pilgrim's woes + Most dreadful--shrink not--'tis the last! + + Though icy cold, and dark, and deep; + Beyond it smiles that blessed shore, + Where none shall suffer, none shall weep, + And bliss shall reign for evermore! + + + + +APPEAL. + + Oh, I am very weary, + Though tears no longer flow; + My eyes are tired of weeping, + My heart is sick of woe; + + My life is very lonely + My days pass heavily, + I'm weary of repining; + Wilt thou not come to me? + + Oh, didst thou know my longings + For thee, from day to day, + My hopes, so often blighted, + Thou wouldst not thus delay! + + + + +THE STUDENT'S SERENADE. + + I have slept upon my couch, + But my spirit did not rest, + For the labours of the day + Yet my weary soul opprest; + + And before my dreaming eyes + Still the learned volumes lay, + And I could not close their leaves, + And I could not turn away. + + But I oped my eyes at last, + And I heard a muffled sound; + 'Twas the night-breeze, come to say + That the snow was on the ground. + + Then I knew that there was rest + On the mountain's bosom free; + So I left my fevered couch, + And I flew to waken thee! + + I have flown to waken thee-- + For, if thou wilt not arise, + Then my soul can drink no peace + From these holy moonlight skies. + + And this waste of virgin snow + To my sight will not be fair, + Unless thou wilt smiling come, + Love, to wander with me there. + + Then, awake! Maria, wake! + For, if thou couldst only know + How the quiet moonlight sleeps + On this wilderness of snow, + + And the groves of ancient trees, + In their snowy garb arrayed, + Till they stretch into the gloom + Of the distant valley's shade; + + I know thou wouldst rejoice + To inhale this bracing air; + Thou wouldst break thy sweetest sleep + To behold a scene so fair. + + O'er these wintry wilds, ALONE, + Thou wouldst joy to wander free; + And it will not please thee less, + Though that bliss be shared with me. + + + + +THE CAPTIVE DOVE. + + Poor restless dove, I pity thee; + And when I hear thy plaintive moan, + I mourn for thy captivity, + And in thy woes forget mine own. + + To see thee stand prepared to fly, + And flap those useless wings of thine, + And gaze into the distant sky, + Would melt a harder heart than mine. + + In vain--in vain! Thou canst not rise: + Thy prison roof confines thee there; + Its slender wires delude thine eyes, + And quench thy longings with despair. + + Oh, thou wert made to wander free + In sunny mead and shady grove, + And far beyond the rolling sea, + In distant climes, at will to rove! + + Yet, hadst thou but one gentle mate + Thy little drooping heart to cheer, + And share with thee thy captive state, + Thou couldst be happy even there. + + Yes, even there, if, listening by, + One faithful dear companion stood, + While gazing on her full bright eye, + Thou mightst forget thy native wood + + But thou, poor solitary dove, + Must make, unheard, thy joyless moan; + The heart that Nature formed to love + Must pine, neglected, and alone. + + + + +SELF-CONGRATULATION. + + Ellen, you were thoughtless once + Of beauty or of grace, + Simple and homely in attire, + Careless of form and face; + Then whence this change? and wherefore now + So often smoothe your hair? + And wherefore deck your youthful form + With such unwearied care? + + Tell us, and cease to tire our ears + With that familiar strain; + Why will you play those simple tunes + So often o'er again? + "Indeed, dear friends, I can but say + That childhood's thoughts are gone; + Each year its own new feelings brings, + And years move swiftly on: + + "And for these little simple airs-- + I love to play them o'er + So much--I dare not promise, now, + To play them never more." + I answered--and it was enough; + They turned them to depart; + They could not read my secret thoughts, + Nor see my throbbing heart. + + I've noticed many a youthful form, + Upon whose changeful face + The inmost workings of the soul + The gazer well might trace; + The speaking eye, the changing lip, + The ready blushing cheek, + The smiling, or beclouded brow, + Their different feelings speak. + + But, thank God! you might gaze on mine + For hours, and never know + The secret changes of my soul + From joy to keenest woe. + Last night, as we sat round the fire + Conversing merrily, + We heard, without, approaching steps + Of one well known to me! + + There was no trembling in my voice, + No blush upon my cheek, + No lustrous sparkle in my eyes, + Of hope, or joy, to speak; + But, oh! my spirit burned within, + My heart beat full and fast! + He came not nigh--he went away-- + And then my joy was past. + + And yet my comrades marked it not: + My voice was still the same; + They saw me smile, and o'er my face + No signs of sadness came. + They little knew my hidden thoughts; + And they will NEVER know + The aching anguish of my heart, + The bitter burning woe! + + + + +FLUCTUATIONS, + + What though the Sun had left my sky; + To save me from despair + The blessed Moon arose on high, + And shone serenely there. + + I watched her, with a tearful gaze, + Rise slowly o'er the hill, + While through the dim horizon's haze + Her light gleamed faint and chill. + + I thought such wan and lifeless beams + Could ne'er my heart repay + For the bright sun's most transient gleams + That cheered me through the day: + + But, as above that mist's control + She rose, and brighter shone, + I felt her light upon my soul; + But now--that light is gone! + + Thick vapours snatched her from my sight, + And I was darkling left, + All in the cold and gloomy night, + Of light and hope bereft: + + Until, methought, a little star + Shone forth with trembling ray, + To cheer me with its light afar-- + But that, too, passed away. + + Anon, an earthly meteor blazed + The gloomy darkness through; + I smiled, yet trembled while I gazed-- + But that soon vanished too! + + And darker, drearier fell the night + Upon my spirit then;-- + But what is that faint struggling light? + Is it the Moon again? + + Kind Heaven! increase that silvery gleam + And bid these clouds depart, + And let her soft celestial beam + Restore my fainting heart! + + + + + +SELECTIONS FROM THE LITERARY REMAINS OF ELLIS AND ACTON BELL. + +By Currer Bell + + + + +SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ELLIS BELL. + +It would not have been difficult to compile a volume out of the papers +left by my sisters, had I, in making the selection, dismissed from my +consideration the scruples and the wishes of those whose written +thoughts these papers held. But this was impossible: an influence, +stronger than could be exercised by any motive of expediency, +necessarily regulated the selection. I have, then, culled from the mass +only a little poem here and there. The whole makes but a tiny nosegay, +and the colour and perfume of the flowers are not such as fit them for +festal uses. + +It has been already said that my sisters wrote much in childhood and +girlhood. Usually, it seems a sort of injustice to expose in print the +crude thoughts of the unripe mind, the rude efforts of the unpractised +hand; yet I venture to give three little poems of my sister Emily's, +written in her sixteenth year, because they illustrate a point in her +character. + +At that period she was sent to school. Her previous life, with the +exception of a single half-year, had been passed in the absolute +retirement of a village parsonage, amongst the hills bordering Yorkshire +and Lancashire. The scenery of these hills is not grand--it is not +romantic it is scarcely striking. Long low moors, dark with heath, shut +in little valleys, where a stream waters, here and there, a fringe of +stunted copse. Mills and scattered cottages chase romance from these +valleys; it is only higher up, deep in amongst the ridges of the moors, +that Imagination can find rest for the sole of her foot: and even if she +finds it there, she must be a solitude-loving raven--no gentle dove. If +she demand beauty to inspire her, she must bring it inborn: these moors +are too stern to yield any product so delicate. The eye of the gazer +must ITSELF brim with a "purple light," intense enough to perpetuate the +brief flower-flush of August on the heather, or the rare sunset-smile of +June; out of his heart must well the freshness, that in latter spring +and early summer brightens the bracken, nurtures the moss, and cherishes +the starry flowers that spangle for a few weeks the pasture of the +moor-sheep. Unless that light and freshness are innate and self-sustained, +the drear prospect of a Yorkshire moor will be found as barren of poetic +as of agricultural interest: where the love of wild nature is strong, +the locality will perhaps be clung to with the more passionate +constancy, because from the hill-lover's self comes half its charm. + +My sister Emily loved the moors. Flowers brighter than the rose bloomed +in the blackest of the heath for her; out of a sullen hollow in a livid +hill-side her mind could make an Eden. She found in the bleak solitude +many and dear delights; and not the least and best loved was--liberty. + +Liberty was the breath of Emily's nostrils; without it, she perished. +The change from her own home to a school, and from her own very +noiseless, very secluded, but unrestricted and inartificial mode of +life, to one of disciplined routine (though under the kindliest +auspices), was what she failed in enduring. Her nature proved here too +strong for her fortitude. Every morning when she woke, the vision of +home and the moors rushed on her, and darkened and saddened the day that +lay before her. Nobody knew what ailed her but me--I knew only too well. +In this struggle her health was quickly broken: her white face, +attenuated form, and failing strength, threatened rapid decline. I felt +in my heart she would die, if she did not go home, and with this +conviction obtained her recall. She had only been three months at +school; and it was some years before the experiment of sending her from +home was again ventured on. After the age of twenty, having meantime +studied alone with diligence and perseverance, she went with me to an +establishment on the Continent: the same suffering and conflict ensued, +heightened by the strong recoil of her upright, heretic and English +spirit from the gentle Jesuitry of the foreign and Romish system. Once +more she seemed sinking, but this time she rallied through the mere +force of resolution: with inward remorse and shame she looked back on +her former failure, and resolved to conquer in this second ordeal. She +did conquer: but the victory cost her dear. She was never happy till she +carried her hard-won knowledge back to the remote English village, the +old parsonage-house, and desolate Yorkshire hills. A very few years +more, and she looked her last on those hills, and breathed her last in +that house, and under the aisle of that obscure village church found her +last lowly resting-place. Merciful was the decree that spared her when +she was a stranger in a strange land, and guarded her dying bed with +kindred love and congenial constancy. + +The following pieces were composed at twilight, in the school-room, when +the leisure of the evening play-hour brought back in full tide the +thoughts of home. + + + + +I. + + A LITTLE while, a little while, + The weary task is put away, + And I can sing and I can smile, + Alike, while I have holiday. + + Where wilt thou go, my harassed heart-- + What thought, what scene invites thee now + What spot, or near or far apart, + Has rest for thee, my weary brow? + + There is a spot, 'mid barren hills, + Where winter howls, and driving rain; + But, if the dreary tempest chills, + There is a light that warms again. + + The house is old, the trees are bare, + Moonless above bends twilight's dome; + But what on earth is half so dear-- + So longed for--as the hearth of home? + + The mute bird sitting on the stone, + The dank moss dripping from the wall, + The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown, + I love them--how I love them all! + + Still, as I mused, the naked room, + The alien firelight died away; + And from the midst of cheerless gloom, + I passed to bright, unclouded day. + + A little and a lone green lane + That opened on a common wide; + A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain + Of mountains circling every side. + + A heaven so clear, an earth so calm, + So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air; + And, deepening still the dream-like charm, + Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere. + + THAT was the scene, I knew it well; + I knew the turfy pathway's sweep, + That, winding o'er each billowy swell, + Marked out the tracks of wandering sheep. + + Could I have lingered but an hour, + It well had paid a week of toil; + But Truth has banished Fancy's power: + Restraint and heavy task recoil. + + Even as I stood with raptured eye, + Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear, + My hour of rest had fleeted by, + And back came labour, bondage, care. + + + + +II. THE BLUEBELL. + + The Bluebell is the sweetest flower + That waves in summer air: + Its blossoms have the mightiest power + To soothe my spirit's care. + + There is a spell in purple heath + Too wildly, sadly dear; + The violet has a fragrant breath, + But fragrance will not cheer, + + The trees are bare, the sun is cold, + And seldom, seldom seen; + The heavens have lost their zone of gold, + And earth her robe of green. + + And ice upon the glancing stream + Has cast its sombre shade; + And distant hills and valleys seem + In frozen mist arrayed. + + The Bluebell cannot charm me now, + The heath has lost its bloom; + The violets in the glen below, + They yield no sweet perfume. + + But, though I mourn the sweet Bluebell, + 'Tis better far away; + I know how fast my tears would swell + To see it smile to-day. + + For, oh! when chill the sunbeams fall + Adown that dreary sky, + And gild yon dank and darkened wall + With transient brilliancy; + + How do I weep, how do I pine + For the time of flowers to come, + And turn me from that fading shine, + To mourn the fields of home! + + + + +III. + + Loud without the wind was roaring + Through th'autumnal sky; + Drenching wet, the cold rain pouring, + Spoke of winter nigh. + All too like that dreary eve, + Did my exiled spirit grieve. + Grieved at first, but grieved not long, + Sweet--how softly sweet!--it came; + Wild words of an ancient song, + Undefined, without a name. + + "It was spring, and the skylark was singing:" + Those words they awakened a spell; + They unlocked a deep fountain, whose springing, + Nor absence, nor distance can quell. + + In the gloom of a cloudy November + They uttered the music of May; + They kindled the perishing ember + Into fervour that could not decay. + + Awaken, o'er all my dear moorland, + West-wind, in thy glory and pride! + Oh! call me from valley and lowland, + To walk by the hill-torrent's side! + + It is swelled with the first snowy weather; + The rocks they are icy and hoar, + And sullenly waves the long heather, + And the fern leaves are sunny no more. + + There are no yellow stars on the mountain + The bluebells have long died away + From the brink of the moss-bedded fountain-- + From the side of the wintry brae. + + But lovelier than corn-fields all waving + In emerald, and vermeil, and gold, + Are the heights where the north-wind is raving, + And the crags where I wandered of old. + + It was morning: the bright sun was beaming; + How sweetly it brought back to me + The time when nor labour nor dreaming + Broke the sleep of the happy and free! + + But blithely we rose as the dawn-heaven + Was melting to amber and blue, + And swift were the wings to our feet given, + As we traversed the meadows of dew. + + For the moors! For the moors, where the short grass + Like velvet beneath us should lie! + For the moors! For the moors, where each high pass + Rose sunny against the clear sky! + + For the moors, where the linnet was trilling + Its song on the old granite stone; + Where the lark, the wild sky-lark, was filling + Every breast with delight like its own! + + What language can utter the feeling + Which rose, when in exile afar, + On the brow of a lonely hill kneeling, + I saw the brown heath growing there? + + It was scattered and stunted, and told me + That soon even that would be gone: + It whispered, "The grim walls enfold me, + I have bloomed in my last summer's sun." + + But not the loved music, whose waking + Makes the soul of the Swiss die away, + Has a spell more adored and heartbreaking + Than, for me, in that blighted heath lay. + + The spirit which bent 'neath its power, + How it longed--how it burned to be free! + If I could have wept in that hour, + Those tears had been heaven to me. + + Well--well; the sad minutes are moving, + Though loaded with trouble and pain; + And some time the loved and the loving + Shall meet on the mountains again! + + +The following little piece has no title; but in it the Genius of a +solitary region seems to address his wandering and wayward votary, and +to recall within his influence the proud mind which rebelled at times +even against what it most loved. + + + Shall earth no more inspire thee, + Thou lonely dreamer now? + Since passion may not fire thee, + Shall nature cease to bow? + + Thy mind is ever moving, + In regions dark to thee; + Recall its useless roving, + Come back, and dwell with me. + + I know my mountain breezes + Enchant and soothe thee still, + I know my sunshine pleases, + Despite thy wayward will. + + When day with evening blending, + Sinks from the summer sky, + I've seen thy spirit bending + In fond idolatry. + + I've watched thee every hour; + I know my mighty sway: + I know my magic power + To drive thy griefs away. + + Few hearts to mortals given, + On earth so wildly pine; + Yet few would ask a heaven + More like this earth than thine. + + Then let my winds caress thee + Thy comrade let me be: + Since nought beside can bless thee, + Return--and dwell with me. + + +Here again is the same mind in converse with a like abstraction. "The +Night-Wind," breathing through an open window, has visited an ear which +discerned language in its whispers. + + + + +THE NIGHT-WIND. + + In summer's mellow midnight, + A cloudless moon shone through + Our open parlour window, + And rose-trees wet with dew. + + I sat in silent musing; + The soft wind waved my hair; + It told me heaven was glorious, + And sleeping earth was fair. + + I needed not its breathing + To bring such thoughts to me; + But still it whispered lowly, + How dark the woods will be! + + "The thick leaves in my murmur + Are rustling like a dream, + And all their myriad voices + Instinct with spirit seem." + + I said, "Go, gentle singer, + Thy wooing voice is kind: + But do not think its music + Has power to reach my mind. + + "Play with the scented flower, + The young tree's supple bough, + And leave my human feelings + In their own course to flow." + + The wanderer would not heed me; + Its kiss grew warmer still. + "O come!" it sighed so sweetly; + "I'll win thee 'gainst thy will. + + "Were we not friends from childhood? + Have I not loved thee long? + As long as thou, the solemn night, + Whose silence wakes my song. + + "And when thy heart is resting + Beneath the church-aisle stone, + I shall have time for mourning, + And THOU for being alone." + + +In these stanzas a louder gale has roused the sleeper on her pillow: the +wakened soul struggles to blend with the storm by which it is swayed:-- + + + Ay--there it is! it wakes to-night + Deep feelings I thought dead; + Strong in the blast--quick gathering light-- + The heart's flame kindles red. + + "Now I can tell by thine altered cheek, + And by thine eyes' full gaze, + And by the words thou scarce dost speak, + How wildly fancy plays. + + "Yes--I could swear that glorious wind + Has swept the world aside, + Has dashed its memory from thy mind + Like foam-bells from the tide: + + "And thou art now a spirit pouring + Thy presence into all: + The thunder of the tempest's roaring, + The whisper of its fall: + + "An universal influence, + From thine own influence free; + A principle of life--intense-- + Lost to mortality. + + "Thus truly, when that breast is cold, + Thy prisoned soul shall rise; + The dungeon mingle with the mould-- + The captive with the skies. + Nature's deep being, thine shall hold, + Her spirit all thy spirit fold, + Her breath absorb thy sighs. + Mortal! though soon life's tale is told; + Who once lives, never dies!" + + + + +LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. + + Love is like the wild rose-briar; + Friendship like the holly-tree. + The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, + But which will bloom most constantly? + + The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring, + Its summer blossoms scent the air; + Yet wait till winter comes again, + And who will call the wild-briar fair? + + Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now, + And deck thee with the holly's sheen, + That, when December blights thy brow, + He still may leave thy garland green. + + + + +THE ELDER'S REBUKE. + + "Listen! When your hair, like mine, + Takes a tint of silver gray; + When your eyes, with dimmer shine, + Watch life's bubbles float away: + + When you, young man, have borne like me + The weary weight of sixty-three, + Then shall penance sore be paid + For those hours so wildly squandered; + And the words that now fall dead + On your ear, be deeply pondered-- + Pondered and approved at last: + But their virtue will be past! + + "Glorious is the prize of Duty, + Though she be 'a serious power'; + Treacherous all the lures of Beauty, + Thorny bud and poisonous flower! + + "Mirth is but a mad beguiling + Of the golden-gifted time; + Love--a demon-meteor, wiling + Heedless feet to gulfs of crime. + + "Those who follow earthly pleasure, + Heavenly knowledge will not lead; + Wisdom hides from them her treasure, + Virtue bids them evil-speed! + + "Vainly may their hearts repenting. + Seek for aid in future years; + Wisdom, scorned, knows no relenting; + Virtue is not won by fears." + + Thus spake the ice-blooded elder gray; + The young man scoffed as he turned away, + Turned to the call of a sweet lute's measure, + Waked by the lightsome touch of pleasure: + Had he ne'er met a gentler teacher, + Woe had been wrought by that pitiless preacher. + + + + +THE WANDERER FROM THE FOLD. + + How few, of all the hearts that loved, + Are grieving for thee now; + And why should mine to-night be moved + With such a sense of woe? + + Too often thus, when left alone, + Where none my thoughts can see, + Comes back a word, a passing tone + From thy strange history. + + Sometimes I seem to see thee rise, + A glorious child again; + All virtues beaming from thine eyes + That ever honoured men: + + Courage and truth, a generous breast + Where sinless sunshine lay: + A being whose very presence blest + Like gladsome summer-day. + + O, fairly spread thy early sail, + And fresh, and pure, and free, + Was the first impulse of the gale + Which urged life's wave for thee! + + Why did the pilot, too confiding, + Dream o'er that ocean's foam, + And trust in Pleasure's careless guiding + To bring his vessel home? + + For well he knew what dangers frowned, + What mists would gather, dim; + What rocks and shelves, and sands lay round + Between his port and him. + + The very brightness of the sun + The splendour of the main, + The wind which bore him wildly on + Should not have warned in vain. + + An anxious gazer from the shore-- + I marked the whitening wave, + And wept above thy fate the more + Because--I could not save. + + It recks not now, when all is over: + But yet my heart will be + A mourner still, though friend and lover + Have both forgotten thee! + + + + +WARNING AND REPLY. + + In the earth--the earth--thou shalt be laid, + A grey stone standing over thee; + Black mould beneath thee spread, + And black mould to cover thee. + + "Well--there is rest there, + So fast come thy prophecy; + The time when my sunny hair + Shall with grass roots entwined be." + + But cold--cold is that resting-place, + Shut out from joy and liberty, + And all who loved thy living face + Will shrink from it shudderingly, + + "Not so. HERE the world is chill, + And sworn friends fall from me: + But THERE--they will own me still, + And prize my memory." + + Farewell, then, all that love, + All that deep sympathy: + Sleep on: Heaven laughs above, + Earth never misses thee. + + Turf-sod and tombstone drear + Part human company; + One heart breaks only--here, + But that heart was worthy thee! + + + + +LAST WORDS. + + I knew not 'twas so dire a crime + To say the word, "Adieu;" + But this shall be the only time + My lips or heart shall sue. + + That wild hill-side, the winter morn, + The gnarled and ancient tree, + If in your breast they waken scorn, + Shall wake the same in me. + + I can forget black eyes and brows, + And lips of falsest charm, + If you forget the sacred vows + Those faithless lips could form. + + If hard commands can tame your love, + Or strongest walls can hold, + I would not wish to grieve above + A thing so false and cold. + + And there are bosoms bound to mine + With links both tried and strong: + And there are eyes whose lightning shine + Has warmed and blest me long: + + Those eyes shall make my only day, + Shall set my spirit free, + And chase the foolish thoughts away + That mourn your memory. + + + + +THE LADY TO HER GUITAR. + + For him who struck thy foreign string, + I ween this heart has ceased to care; + Then why dost thou such feelings bring + To my sad spirit--old Guitar? + + It is as if the warm sunlight + In some deep glen should lingering stay, + When clouds of storm, or shades of night, + Have wrapt the parent orb away. + + It is as if the glassy brook + Should image still its willows fair, + Though years ago the woodman's stroke + Laid low in dust their Dryad-hair. + + Even so, Guitar, thy magic tone + Hath moved the tear and waked the sigh: + Hath bid the ancient torrent moan, + Although its very source is dry. + + + + +THE TWO CHILDREN. + + Heavy hangs the rain-drop + From the burdened spray; + Heavy broods the damp mist + On uplands far away. + + Heavy looms the dull sky, + Heavy rolls the sea; + And heavy throbs the young heart + Beneath that lonely tree. + + Never has a blue streak + Cleft the clouds since morn; + Never has his grim fate + Smiled since he was born. + + Frowning on the infant, + Shadowing childhood's joy + Guardian-angel knows not + That melancholy boy. + + Day is passing swiftly + Its sad and sombre prime; + Boyhood sad is merging + In sadder manhood's time: + + All the flowers are praying + For sun, before they close, + And he prays too--unconscious-- + That sunless human rose. + + Blossom--that the west-wind + Has never wooed to blow, + Scentless are thy petals, + Thy dew is cold as snow! + + Soul--where kindred kindness, + No early promise woke, + Barren is thy beauty, + As weed upon a rock. + + Wither--soul and blossom! + You both were vainly given; + Earth reserves no blessing + For the unblest of heaven! + + Child of delight, with sun-bright hair, + And sea-blue, sea-deep eyes! + Spirit of bliss! What brings thee here + Beneath these sullen skies? + + Thou shouldst live in eternal spring, + Where endless day is never dim; + Why, Seraph, has thine erring wing + Wafted thee down to weep with him? + + "Ah! not from heaven am I descended, + Nor do I come to mingle tears; + But sweet is day, though with shadows blended; + And, though clouded, sweet are youthful years. + + "I--the image of light and gladness-- + Saw and pitied that mournful boy, + And I vowed--if need were--to share his sadness, + And give to him my sunny joy. + + "Heavy and dark the night is closing; + Heavy and dark may its biding be: + Better for all from grief reposing, + And better for all who watch like me-- + + "Watch in love by a fevered pillow, + Cooling the fever with pity's balm + Safe as the petrel on tossing billow, + Safe in mine own soul's golden calm! + + "Guardian-angel he lacks no longer; + Evil fortune he need not fear: + Fate is strong, but love is stronger; + And MY love is truer than angel-care." + + + + +THE VISIONARY. + + Silent is the house: all are laid asleep: + One alone looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep, + Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze + That whirls the wildering drift, and bends the groaning trees. + + Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor; + Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door; + The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far: + I trim it well, to be the wanderer's guiding-star. + + Frown, my haughty sire! chide, my angry dame! + Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame: + But neither sire nor dame, nor prying serf shall know, + What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow. + + What I love shall come like visitant of air, + Safe in secret power from lurking human snare; + What loves me, no word of mine shall e'er betray, + Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay + + Burn, then, little lamp; glimmer straight and clear-- + Hush! a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air: + He for whom I wait, thus ever comes to me; + Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy. + + + + +ENCOURAGEMENT. + + I do not weep; I would not weep; + Our mother needs no tears: + Dry thine eyes, too; 'tis vain to keep + This causeless grief for years. + + What though her brow be changed and cold, + Her sweet eyes closed for ever? + What though the stone--the darksome mould + Our mortal bodies sever? + + What though her hand smooth ne'er again + Those silken locks of thine? + Nor, through long hours of future pain, + Her kind face o'er thee shine? + + Remember still, she is not dead; + She sees us, sister, now; + Laid, where her angel spirit fled, + 'Mid heath and frozen snow. + + And from that world of heavenly light + Will she not always bend + To guide us in our lifetime's night, + And guard us to the end? + + Thou knowest she will; and thou mayst mourn + That WE are left below: + But not that she can ne'er return + To share our earthly woe. + + + + +STANZAS. + + Often rebuked, yet always back returning + To those first feelings that were born with me, + And leaving busy chase of wealth and learning + For idle dreams of things which cannot be: + + To-day, I will seek not the shadowy region; + Its unsustaining vastness waxes drear; + And visions rising, legion after legion, + Bring the unreal world too strangely near. + + I'll walk, but not in old heroic traces, + And not in paths of high morality, + And not among the half-distinguished faces, + The clouded forms of long-past history. + + I'll walk where my own nature would be leading: + It vexes me to choose another guide: + Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding; + Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side. + + What have those lonely mountains worth revealing? + More glory and more grief than I can tell: + The earth that wakes one human heart to feeling + Can centre both the worlds of Heaven and Hell. + + + + +The following are the last lines my sister Emily ever wrote:-- + + + No coward soul is mine, + No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere: + I see Heaven's glories shine, + And faith shines equal, arming me from fear. + + O God within my breast, + Almighty, ever-present Deity! + Life--that in me has rest, + As I--undying Life--have power in thee! + + Vain are the thousand creeds + That move men's hearts: unutterably vain; + Worthless as withered weeds, + Or idlest froth amid the boundless main, + + To waken doubt in one + Holding so fast by thine infinity; + So surely anchored on + The stedfast rock of immortality. + + With wide-embracing love + Thy spirit animates eternal years, + Pervades and broods above, + Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears. + + Though earth and man were gone, + And suns and universes ceased to be, + And Thou were left alone, + Every existence would exist in Thee. + + There is not room for Death, + Nor atom that his might could render void: + Thou--THOU art Being and Breath, + And what THOU art may never be destroyed. + + +***** + + + + +SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ACTON BELL. + +In looking over my sister Anne's papers, I find mournful evidence that +religious feeling had been to her but too much like what it was to +Cowper; I mean, of course, in a far milder form. Without rendering her a +prey to those horrors that defy concealment, it subdued her mood and +bearing to a perpetual pensiveness; the pillar of a cloud glided +constantly before her eyes; she ever waited at the foot of a secret +Sinai, listening in her heart to the voice of a trumpet sounding long +and waxing louder. Some, perhaps, would rejoice over these tokens of +sincere though sorrowing piety in a deceased relative: I own, to me they +seem sad, as if her whole innocent life had been passed under the +martyrdom of an unconfessed physical pain: their effect, indeed, would +be too distressing, were it not combated by the certain knowledge that +in her last moments this tyranny of a too tender conscience was +overcome; this pomp of terrors broke up, and passing away, left her +dying hour unclouded. Her belief in God did not then bring to her dread, +as of a stern Judge,--but hope, as in a Creator and Saviour: and no +faltering hope was it, but a sure and stedfast conviction, on which, in +the rude passage from Time to Eternity, she threw the weight of her +human weakness, and by which she was enabled to bear what was to be +borne, patiently--serenely--victoriously. + + + + +DESPONDENCY. + + I have gone backward in the work; + The labour has not sped; + Drowsy and dark my spirit lies, + Heavy and dull as lead. + + How can I rouse my sinking soul + From such a lethargy? + How can I break these iron chains + And set my spirit free? + + There have been times when I have mourned! + In anguish o'er the past, + And raised my suppliant hands on high, + While tears fell thick and fast; + + And prayed to have my sins forgiven, + With such a fervent zeal, + An earnest grief, a strong desire + As now I cannot feel. + + And I have felt so full of love, + So strong in spirit then, + As if my heart would never cool, + Or wander back again. + + And yet, alas! how many times + My feet have gone astray! + How oft have I forgot my God! + How greatly fallen away! + + My sins increase--my love grows cold, + And Hope within me dies: + Even Faith itself is wavering now; + Oh, how shall I arise? + + I cannot weep, but I can pray, + Then let me not despair: + Lord Jesus, save me, lest I die! + Christ, hear my humble prayer! + + + + +A PRAYER. + + My God (oh, let me call Thee mine, + Weak, wretched sinner though I be), + My trembling soul would fain be Thine; + My feeble faith still clings to Thee. + + Not only for the Past I grieve, + The Future fills me with dismay; + Unless Thou hasten to relieve, + Thy suppliant is a castaway. + + I cannot say my faith is strong, + I dare not hope my love is great; + But strength and love to Thee belong; + Oh, do not leave me desolate! + + I know I owe my all to Thee; + Oh, TAKE the heart I cannot give! + Do Thou my strength--my Saviour be, + And MAKE me to Thy glory live. + + + + +IN MEMORY OF A HAPPY DAY IN FEBRUARY. + + Blessed be Thou for all the joy + My soul has felt to-day! + Oh, let its memory stay with me, + And never pass away! + + I was alone, for those I loved + Were far away from me; + The sun shone on the withered grass, + The wind blew fresh and free. + + Was it the smile of early spring + That made my bosom glow? + 'Twas sweet; but neither sun nor wind + Could cheer my spirit so. + + Was it some feeling of delight + All vague and undefined? + No; 'twas a rapture deep and strong, + Expanding in the mind. + + Was it a sanguine view of life, + And all its transient bliss, + A hope of bright prosperity? + Oh, no! it was not this. + + It was a glimpse of truth divine + Unto my spirit given, + Illumined by a ray of light + That shone direct from heaven. + + I felt there was a God on high, + By whom all things were made; + I saw His wisdom and His power + In all his works displayed. + + But most throughout the moral world, + I saw his glory shine; + I saw His wisdom infinite, + His mercy all divine. + + Deep secrets of His providence, + In darkness long concealed, + Unto the vision of my soul + Were graciously revealed. + + But while I wondered and adored + His Majesty divine, + I did not tremble at His power: + I felt that God was mine; + + I knew that my Redeemer lived; + I did not fear to die; + Full sure that I should rise again + To immortality. + + I longed to view that bliss divine, + Which eye hath never seen; + Like Moses, I would see His face + Without the veil between. + + + + +CONFIDENCE. + + Oppressed with sin and woe, + A burdened heart I bear, + Opposed by many a mighty foe; + But I will not despair. + + With this polluted heart, + I dare to come to Thee, + Holy and mighty as Thou art, + For Thou wilt pardon me. + + I feel that I am weak, + And prone to every sin; + But Thou who giv'st to those who seek, + Wilt give me strength within. + + Far as this earth may be + From yonder starry skies; + Remoter still am I from Thee: + Yet Thou wilt not despise. + + I need not fear my foes, + I deed not yield to care; + I need not sink beneath my woes, + For Thou wilt answer prayer. + + In my Redeemer's name, + I give myself to Thee; + And, all unworthy as I am, + My God will cherish me. + + +My sister Anne had to taste the cup of life as it is mixed for the class +termed "Governesses." + +The following are some of the thoughts that now and then solace a +governess:-- + + + + +LINES WRITTEN FROM HOME. + + Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground, + With fallen leaves so thickly strewn, + And cold the wind that wanders round + With wild and melancholy moan; + + There is a friendly roof I know, + Might shield me from the wintry blast; + There is a fire whose ruddy glow + Will cheer me for my wanderings past. + + And so, though still where'er I go + Cold stranger glances meet my eye; + Though, when my spirit sinks in woe, + Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh; + + Though solitude, endured too long, + Bids youthful joys too soon decay, + Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue, + And overclouds my noon of day; + + When kindly thoughts that would have way + Flow back, discouraged, to my breast, + I know there is, though far away, + A home where heart and soul may rest. + + Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine, + The warmer heart will not belie; + While mirth and truth, and friendship shine + In smiling lip and earnest eye. + + The ice that gathers round my heart + May there be thawed; and sweetly, then, + The joys of youth, that now depart, + Will come to cheer my soul again. + + Though far I roam, that thought shall be + My hope, my comfort everywhere; + While such a home remains to me, + My heart shall never know despair. + + + + +THE NARROW WAY. + + Believe not those who say + The upward path is smooth, + Lest thou shouldst stumble in the way, + And faint before the truth. + + It is the only road + Unto the realms of joy; + But he who seeks that blest abode + Must all his powers employ. + + Bright hopes and pure delight + Upon his course may beam, + And there, amid the sternest heights, + The sweetest flowerets gleam. + + On all her breezes borne, + Earth yields no scents like those; + But he that dares not gasp the thorn + Should never crave the rose. + + Arm--arm thee for the fight! + Cast useless loads away; + Watch through the darkest hours of night; + Toil through the hottest day. + + Crush pride into the dust, + Or thou must needs be slack; + And trample down rebellious lust, + Or it will hold thee back. + + Seek not thy honour here; + Waive pleasure and renown; + The world's dread scoff undaunted bear, + And face its deadliest frown. + + To labour and to love, + To pardon and endure, + To lift thy heart to God above, + And keep thy conscience pure; + + Be this thy constant aim, + Thy hope, thy chief delight; + What matter who should whisper blame + Or who should scorn or slight? + + What matter, if thy God approve, + And if, within thy breast, + Thou feel the comfort of His love, + The earnest of His rest? + + + + +DOMESTIC PEACE. + + Why should such gloomy silence reign, + And why is all the house so drear, + When neither danger, sickness, pain, + Nor death, nor want, have entered here? + + We are as many as we were + That other night, when all were gay + And full of hope, and free from care; + Yet is there something gone away. + + The moon without, as pure and calm, + Is shining as that night she shone; + But now, to us, she brings no balm, + For something from our hearts is gone. + + Something whose absence leaves a void-- + A cheerless want in every heart; + Each feels the bliss of all destroyed, + And mourns the change--but each apart. + + The fire is burning in the grate + As redly as it used to burn; + But still the hearth is desolate, + Till mirth, and love, and PEACE return. + + 'Twas PEACE that flowed from heart to heart, + With looks and smiles that spoke of heaven, + And gave us language to impart + The blissful thoughts itself had given. + + Domestic peace! best joy of earth, + When shall we all thy value learn? + White angel, to our sorrowing hearth, + Return--oh, graciously return! + + + + +THE THREE GUIDES. [First published in FRASER'S MAGAZINE.] + + Spirit of Earth! thy hand is chill: + I've felt its icy clasp; + And, shuddering, I remember still + That stony-hearted grasp. + Thine eye bids love and joy depart: + Oh, turn its gaze from me! + It presses down my shrinking heart; + I will not walk with thee! + + "Wisdom is mine," I've heard thee say: + "Beneath my searching eye + All mist and darkness melt away, + Phantoms and fables fly. + Before me truth can stand alone, + The naked, solid truth; + And man matured by worth will own, + If I am shunned by youth. + + "Firm is my tread, and sure though slow; + My footsteps never slide; + And he that follows me shall know + I am the surest guide." + Thy boast is vain; but were it true + That thou couldst safely steer + Life's rough and devious pathway through, + Such guidance I should fear. + + How could I bear to walk for aye, + With eyes to earthward prone, + O'er trampled weeds and miry clay, + And sand and flinty stone; + Never the glorious view to greet + Of hill and dale, and sky; + To see that Nature's charms are sweet, + Or feel that Heaven is nigh? + + If in my heart arose a spring, + A gush of thought divine, + At once stagnation thou wouldst bring + With that cold touch of thine. + If, glancing up, I sought to snatch + But one glimpse of the sky, + My baffled gaze would only catch + Thy heartless, cold grey eye. + + If to the breezes wandering near, + I listened eagerly, + And deemed an angel's tongue to hear + That whispered hope to me, + That heavenly music would be drowned + In thy harsh, droning voice; + Nor inward thought, nor sight, nor sound, + Might my sad soul rejoice. + + Dull is thine ear, unheard by thee + The still, small voice of Heaven; + Thine eyes are dim and cannot see + The helps that God has given. + There is a bridge o'er every flood + Which thou canst not perceive; + A path through every tangled wood, + But thou wilt not believe. + + Striving to make thy way by force, + Toil-spent and bramble-torn, + Thou'lt fell the tree that checks thy course, + And burst through brier and thorn: + And, pausing by the river's side, + Poor reasoner! thou wilt deem, + By casting pebbles in its tide, + To cross the swelling stream. + + Right through the flinty rock thou'lt try + Thy toilsome way to bore, + Regardless of the pathway nigh + That would conduct thee o'er + Not only art thou, then, unkind, + And freezing cold to me, + But unbelieving, deaf, and blind: + I will not walk with thee! + + Spirit of Pride! thy wings are strong, + Thine eyes like lightning shine; + Ecstatic joys to thee belong, + And powers almost divine. + But 'tis a false, destructive blaze + Within those eyes I see; + Turn hence their fascinating gaze; + I will not follow thee. + + "Coward and fool!" thou mayst reply, + Walk on the common sod; + Go, trace with timid foot and eye + The steps by others trod. + 'Tis best the beaten path to keep, + The ancient faith to hold; + To pasture with thy fellow-sheep, + And lie within the fold. + + "Cling to the earth, poor grovelling worm; + 'Tis not for thee to soar + Against the fury of the storm, + Amid the thunder's roar! + There's glory in that daring strife + Unknown, undreamt by thee; + There's speechless rapture in the life + Of those who follow me. + + Yes, I have seen thy votaries oft, + Upheld by thee their guide, + In strength and courage mount aloft + The steepy mountain-side; + I've seen them stand against the sky, + And gazing from below, + Beheld thy lightning in their eye + Thy triumph on their brow. + + Oh, I have felt what glory then, + What transport must be theirs! + So far above their fellow-men, + Above their toils and cares; + Inhaling Nature's purest breath, + Her riches round them spread, + The wide expanse of earth beneath, + Heaven's glories overhead! + + But I have seen them helpless, dash'd + Down to a bloody grave, + And still thy ruthless eye has flash'd, + Thy strong hand did not save; + I've seen some o'er the mountain's brow + Sustain'd awhile by thee, + O'er rocks of ice and hills of snow + Bound fearless, wild, and free. + + Bold and exultant was their mien, + While thou didst cheer them on; + But evening fell,--and then, I ween, + Their faithless guide was gone. + Alas! how fared thy favourites then,-- + Lone, helpless, weary, cold? + Did ever wanderer find again + The path he left of old? + + Where is their glory, where the pride + That swelled their hearts before? + Where now the courage that defied + The mightiest tempest's roar? + What shall they do when night grows black, + When angry storms arise? + Who now will lead them to the track + Thou taught'st them to despise? + + Spirit of Pride, it needs not this + To make me shun thy wiles, + Renounce thy triumph and thy bliss, + Thy honours and thy smiles! + Bright as thou art, and bold, and strong, + That fierce glance wins not me, + And I abhor thy scoffing tongue-- + I will not follow thee! + + Spirit of Faith! be thou my guide, + O clasp my hand in thine, + And let me never quit thy side; + Thy comforts are divine! + Earth calls thee blind, misguided one,-- + But who can shew like thee + Forgotten things that have been done, + And things that are to be? + + Secrets conceal'd from Nature's ken, + Who like thee can declare? + Or who like thee to erring men + God's holy will can bear? + Pride scorns thee for thy lowly mien,-- + But who like thee can rise + Above this toilsome, sordid scene, + Beyond the holy skies? + + Meek is thine eye and soft thy voice, + But wondrous is thy might, + To make the wretched soul rejoice, + To give the simple light! + And still to all that seek thy way + This magic power is given,-- + E'en while their footsteps press the clay, + Their souls ascend to heaven. + + Danger surrounds them,--pain and woe + Their portion here must be, + But only they that trust thee know + What comfort dwells with thee; + Strength to sustain their drooping pow'rs, + And vigour to defend,-- + Thou pole-star of my darkest hours + Affliction's firmest friend! + + Day does not always mark our way, + Night's shadows oft appal, + But lead me, and I cannot stray,-- + Hold me, I shall not fall; + Sustain me, I shall never faint, + How rough soe'er may be + My upward road,--nor moan, nor plaint + Shall mar my trust in thee. + + Narrow the path by which we go, + And oft it turns aside + From pleasant meads where roses blow, + And peaceful waters glide; + Where flowery turf lies green and soft, + And gentle gales are sweet, + To where dark mountains frown aloft, + Hard rocks distress the feet,-- + + Deserts beyond lie bleak and bare, + And keen winds round us blow; + But if thy hand conducts me there, + The way is right, I know. + I have no wish to turn away; + My spirit does not quail,-- + How can it while I hear thee say, + "Press forward and prevail!" + + Even above the tempest's swell + I hear thy voice of love,-- + Of hope and peace, I hear thee tell, + And that blest home above; + Through pain and death I can rejoice. + If but thy strength be mine,-- + Earth hath no music like thy voice, + Life owns no joy like thine! + + Spirit of Faith, I'll go with thee! + Thou, if I hold thee fast, + Wilt guide, defend, and strengthen me, + And bear me home at last; + By thy help all things I can do, + In thy strength all things bear,-- + Teach me, for thou art just and true, + Smile on me, thou art fair! + + +I have given the last memento of my sister Emily; this is the last of my +sister Anne:-- + + + I hoped, that with the brave and strong, + My portioned task might lie; + To toil amid the busy throng, + With purpose pure and high. + + But God has fixed another part, + And He has fixed it well; + I said so with my bleeding heart, + When first the anguish fell. + + Thou, God, hast taken our delight, + Our treasured hope away: + Thou bid'st us now weep through the night + And sorrow through the day. + + These weary hours will not be lost, + These days of misery, + These nights of darkness, anguish-tost, + Can I but turn to Thee. + + With secret labour to sustain + In humble patience every blow; + To gather fortitude from pain, + And hope and holiness from woe. + + Thus let me serve Thee from my heart, + Whate'er may be my written fate: + Whether thus early to depart, + Or yet a while to wait. + + If Thou shouldst bring me back to life, + More humbled I should be; + More wise--more strengthened for the strife-- + More apt to lean on Thee. + + Should death be standing at the gate, + Thus should I keep my vow: + But, Lord! whatever be my fate, + Oh, let me serve Thee now! + + +These lines written, the desk was closed, the pen laid aside--for ever. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by +(AKA Charlotte, Emily and Anne Bronte) Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 1019.txt or 1019.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/1/1019/ + +An Anonymous Volunteer + +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. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +POEMS + +by + +CURRER, ELLIS, AND ACTON BELL. +(Charlotte, Emily and Anne Bronte) + + + + +POEMS BY CURRER BELL, + + + + +PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. + +I've quench'd my lamp, I struck it in that start +Which every limb convulsed, I heard it fall-- +The crash blent with my sleep, I saw depart +Its light, even as I woke, on yonder wall; +Over against my bed, there shone a gleam +Strange, faint, and mingling also with my dream. + +It sank, and I am wrapt in utter gloom; +How far is night advanced, and when will day +Retinge the dusk and livid air with bloom, +And fill this void with warm, creative ray? +Would I could sleep again till, clear and red, +Morning shall on the mountain-tops be spread! + +I'd call my women, but to break their sleep, +Because my own is broken, were unjust; +They've wrought all day, and well-earn'd slumbers steep +Their labours in forgetfulness, I trust; +Let me my feverish watch with patience bear, +Thankful that none with me its sufferings share. + +Yet, oh, for light! one ray would tranquillize +My nerves, my pulses, more than effort can; +I'll draw my curtain and consult the skies: +These trembling stars at dead of night look wan, +Wild, restless, strange, yet cannot be more drear +Than this my couch, shared by a nameless fear. + +All black--one great cloud, drawn from east to west, +Conceals the heavens, but there are lights below; +Torches burn in Jerusalem, and cast +On yonder stony mount a lurid glow. +I see men station'd there, and gleaming spears; +A sound, too, from afar, invades my ears. + +Dull, measured strokes of axe and hammer ring +>From street to street, not loud, but through the night +Distinctly heard--and some strange spectral thing +Is now uprear'd--and, fix'd against the light +Of the pale lamps, defined upon that sky, +It stands up like a column, straight and high. + +I see it all--I know the dusky sign-- +A cross on Calvary, which Jews uprear +While Romans watch; and when the dawn shall shine +Pilate, to judge the victim, will appear-- +Pass sentence-yield Him up to crucify; +And on that cross the spotless Christ must die. + +Dreams, then, are true--for thus my vision ran; +Surely some oracle has been with me, +The gods have chosen me to reveal their plan, +To warn an unjust judge of destiny: +I, slumbering, heard and saw; awake I know, +Christ's coming death, and Pilate's life of woe. + +I do not weep for Pilate--who could prove +Regret for him whose cold and crushing sway +No prayer can soften, no appeal can move: +Who tramples hearts as others trample clay, +Yet with a faltering, an uncertain tread, +That might stir up reprisal in the dead. + +Forced to sit by his side and see his deeds; +Forced to behold that visage, hour by hour, +In whose gaunt lines the abhorrent gazer reads +A triple lust of gold, and blood, and power; +A soul whom motives fierce, yet abject, urge-- +Rome's servile slave, and Judah's tyrant scourge. + +How can I love, or mourn, or pity him? +I, who so long my fetter'd hands have wrung; +I, who for grief have wept my eyesight dim ; +Because, while life for me was bright and young, +He robb'd my youth--he quench'd my life's fair ray-- +He crush'd my mind, and did my freedom slay. + +And at this hour-although I be his wife-- +He has no more of tenderness from me +Than any other wretch of guilty life ; +Less, for I know his household privacy-- +I see him as he is--without a screen; +And, by the gods, my soul abhors his mien! + +Has he not sought my presence, dyed in blood-- +Innocent, righteous blood, shed shamelessly? +And have I not his red salute withstood? +Ay, when, as erst, he plunged all Galilee +In dark bereavement--in affliction sore, +Mingling their very offerings with their gore. + +Then came he--in his eyes a serpent-smile, +Upon his lips some false, endearing word, +And through the streets of Salem clang'd the while +His slaughtering, hacking, sacrilegious sword-- +And I, to see a man cause men such woe, +Trembled with ire--I did not fear to show. + +And now, the envious Jewish priests have brought +Jesus--whom they in mock'ry call their king-- +To have, by this grim power, their vengeance wrought; +By this mean reptile, innocence to sting. +Oh! could I but the purposed doom avert, +And shield the blameless head from cruel hurt! + +Accessible is Pilate's heart to fear, +Omens will shake his soul, like autumn leaf; +Could he this night's appalling vision hear, +This just man's bonds were loosed, his life were safe, +Unless that bitter priesthood should prevail, +And make even terror to their malice quail. + +Yet if I tell the dream--but let me pause. +What dream? Erewhile the characters were clear, +Graved on my brain--at once some unknown cause +Has dimm'd and razed the thoughts, which now appear, +Like a vague remnant of some by-past scene;-- +Not what will be, but what, long since, has been. + +I suffer'd many things--I heard foretold +A dreadful doom for Pilate,--lingering woes, +In far, barbarian climes, where mountains cold +Built up a solitude of trackless snows, +There he and grisly wolves prowl'd side by side, +There he lived famish'd--there, methought, he died; + +But not of hunger, nor by malady; +I saw the snow around him, stain'd with gore; +I said I had no tears for such as he, +And, lo! my cheek is wet--mine eyes run o'er; +I weep for mortal suffering, mortal guilt, +I weep the impious deed, the blood self-spilt. + +More I recall not, yet the vision spread +Into a world remote, an age to come-- +And still the illumined name of Jesus shed +A light, a clearness, through the unfolding gloom-- +And still I saw that sign, which now I see, +That cross on yonder brow of Calvary. + +What is this Hebrew Christ?-to me unknown +His lineage--doctrine--mission; yet how clear +Is God-like goodness in his actions shown, +How straight and stainless is his life's career! +The ray of Deity that rests on him, +In my eyes makes Olympian glory dim. + +The world advances; Greek or Roman rite +Suffices not the inquiring mind to stay; +The searching soul demands a purer light +To guide it on its upward, onward way; +Ashamed of sculptured gods, Religion turns +To where the unseen Jehovah's altar burns. + +Our faith is rotten, all our rites defiled, +Our temples sullied, and, methinks, this man, +With his new ordinance, so wise and mild, +Is come, even as He says, the chaff to fan +And sever from the wheat; but will his faith +Survive the terrors of to-morrow's death ? + +* * * * * * * + +I feel a firmer trust--a higher hope +Rise in my soul--it dawns with dawning day; +Lo! on the Temple's roof--on Moriah's slope +Appears at length that clear and crimson ray +Which I so wished for when shut in by night; +Oh, opening skies, I hail, I bless pour light! + +Part, clouds and shadows! Glorious Sun appear! +Part, mental gloom! Come insight from on high! +Dusk dawn in heaven still strives with daylight clear +The longing soul doth still uncertain sigh. +Oh! to behold the truth--that sun divine, +How doth my bosom pant, my spirit pine! + +This day, Time travails with a mighty birth; +This day, Truth stoops from heaven and visits earth; +Ere night descends I shall more surely know +What guide to follow, in what path to go; +I wait in hope--I wait in solemn fear, +The oracle of God--the sole--true God--to hear. + + + + +MEMENTOS. + +Arranging long-locked drawers and shelves +Of cabinets, shut up for years, +What a strange task we've set ourselves! +How still the lonely room appears! +How strange this mass of ancient treasures, +Mementos of past pains and pleasures; +These volumes, clasped with costly stone, +With print all faded, gilding gone; + +These fans of leaves from Indian trees-- +These crimson shells, from Indian seas-- +These tiny portraits, set in rings-- +Once, doubtless, deemed such precious things; +Keepsakes bestowed by Love on Faith, +And worn till the receiver's death, +Now stored with cameos, china, shells, +In this old closet's dusty cells. + +I scarcely think, for ten long years, +A hand has touched these relics old; +And, coating each, slow-formed, appears +The growth of green and antique mould. + +All in this house is mossing over; +All is unused, and dim, and damp; +Nor light, nor warmth, the rooms discover-- +Bereft for years of fire and lamp. + +The sun, sometimes in summer, enters +The casements, with reviving ray; +But the long rains of many winters +Moulder the very walls away. + +And outside all is ivy, clinging +To chimney, lattice, gable grey; +Scarcely one little red rose springing +Through the green moss can force its way. + +Unscared, the daw and starling nestle, +Where the tall turret rises high, +And winds alone come near to rustle +The thick leaves where their cradles lie, + +I sometimes think, when late at even +I climb the stair reluctantly, +Some shape that should be well in heaven, +Or ill elsewhere, will pass by me. + +I fear to see the very faces, +Familiar thirty years ago, +Even in the old accustomed places +Which look so cold and gloomy now, + +I've come, to close the window, hither, +At twilight, when the sun was down, +And Fear my very soul would wither, +Lest something should be dimly shown, + +Too much the buried form resembling, +Of her who once was mistress here; +Lest doubtful shade, or moonbeam trembling, +Might take her aspect, once so dear. + +Hers was this chamber; in her time +It seemed to me a pleasant room, +For then no cloud of grief or crime +Had cursed it with a settled gloom; + +I had not seen death's image laid +In shroud and sheet, on yonder bed. +Before she married, she was blest-- +Blest in her youth, blest in her worth; +Her mind was calm, its sunny rest +Shone in her eyes more clear than mirth. + +And when attired in rich array, +Light, lustrous hair about her brow, +She yonder sat, a kind of day +Lit up what seems so gloomy now. +These grim oak walls even then were grim; +That old carved chair was then antique; +But what around looked dusk and dim +Served as a foil to her fresh cheek; +Her neck and arms, of hue so fair, +Eyes of unclouded, smiling light; +Her soft, and curled, and floating hair, +Gems and attire, as rainbow bright. + +Reclined in yonder deep recess, +Ofttimes she would, at evening, lie +Watching the sun; she seemed to bless +With happy glance the glorious sky. +She loved such scenes, and as she gazed, +Her face evinced her spirit's mood; +Beauty or grandeur ever raised +In her, a deep-felt gratitude. +But of all lovely things, she loved +A cloudless moon, on summer night, +Full oft have I impatience proved +To see how long her still delight +Would find a theme in reverie, +Out on the lawn, or where the trees +Let in the lustre fitfully, +As their boughs parted momently, +To the soft, languid, summer breeze. +Alas! that she should e'er have flung +Those pure, though lonely joys away-- +Deceived by false and guileful tongue, +She gave her hand, then suffered wrong; +Oppressed, ill-used, she faded young, +And died of grief by slow decay. + +Open that casket-look how bright +Those jewels flash upon the sight; +The brilliants have not lost a ray +Of lustre, since her wedding day. +But see--upon that pearly chain-- +How dim lies Time's discolouring stain! +I've seen that by her daughter worn: +For, ere she died, a child was born;-- +A child that ne'er its mother knew, +That lone, and almost friendless grew; +For, ever, when its step drew nigh, +Averted was the father's eye; +And then, a life impure and wild +Made him a stranger to his child: +Absorbed in vice, he little cared +On what she did, or how she fared. +The love withheld she never sought, +She grew uncherished--learnt untaught; +To her the inward life of thought +Full soon was open laid. +I know not if her friendlessness +Did sometimes on her spirit press, +But plaint she never made. +The book-shelves were her darling treasure, +She rarely seemed the time to measure +While she could read alone. +And she too loved the twilight wood +And often, in her mother's mood, +Away to yonder hill would hie, +Like her, to watch the setting sun, +Or see the stars born, one by one, +Out of the darkening sky. +Nor would she leave that hill till night +Trembled from pole to pole with light; +Even then, upon her homeward way, +Long--long her wandering steps delayed +To quit the sombre forest shade, +Through which her eerie pathway lay. +You ask if she had beauty's grace? +I know not--but a nobler face +My eyes have seldom seen; +A keen and fine intelligence, +And, better still, the truest sense +Were in her speaking mien. +But bloom or lustre was there none, +Only at moments, fitful shone +An ardour in her eye, +That kindled on her cheek a flush, +Warm as a red sky's passing blush +And quick with energy. +Her speech, too, was not common speech, +No wish to shine, or aim to teach, +Was in her words displayed: +She still began with quiet sense, +But oft the force of eloquence +Came to her lips in aid; +Language and voice unconscious changed, +And thoughts, in other words arranged, +Her fervid soul transfused +Into the hearts of those who heard, +And transient strength and ardour stirred, +In minds to strength unused, +Yet in gay crowd or festal glare, +Grave and retiring was her air; +'Twas seldom, save with me alone, +That fire of feeling freely shone; +She loved not awe's nor wonder's gaze, +Nor even exaggerated praise, +Nor even notice, if too keen +The curious gazer searched her mien. +Nature's own green expanse revealed +The world, the pleasures, she could prize; +On free hill-side, in sunny field, +In quiet spots by woods concealed, +Grew wild and fresh her chosen joys, +Yet Nature's feelings deeply lay +In that endowed and youthful frame; +Shrined in her heart and hid from day, +They burned unseen with silent flame. +In youth's first search for mental light, +She lived but to reflect and learn, +But soon her mind's maturer might +For stronger task did pant and yearn; +And stronger task did fate assign, +Task that a giant's strength might strain; +To suffer long and ne'er repine, +Be calm in frenzy, smile at pain. + +Pale with the secret war of feeling, +Sustained with courage, mute, yet high; +The wounds at which she bled, revealing +Only by altered cheek and eye; + +She bore in silence--but when passion +Surged in her soul with ceaseless foam, +The storm at last brought desolation, +And drove her exiled from her home. + +And silent still, she straight assembled +The wrecks of strength her soul retained; +For though the wasted body trembled, +The unconquered mind, to quail, disdained. + +She crossed the sea--now lone she wanders +By Seine's, or Rhine's, or Arno's flow; +Fain would I know if distance renders +Relief or comfort to her woe. + +Fain would I know if, henceforth, ever, +These eyes shall read in hers again, +That light of love which faded never, +Though dimmed so long with secret pain. + +She will return, but cold and altered, +Like all whose hopes too soon depart; +Like all on whom have beat, unsheltered, +The bitter blasts that blight the heart. + +No more shall I behold her lying +Calm on a pillow, smoothed by me; +No more that spirit, worn with sighing, +Will know the rest of infancy. + +If still the paths of lore she follow, +'Twill be with tired and goaded will; +She'll only toil, the aching hollow, +The joyless blank of life to fill. + +And oh! full oft, quite spent and weary, +Her hand will pause, her head decline; +That labour seems so hard and dreary, +On which no ray of hope may shine. + +Thus the pale blight of time and sorrow +Will shade with grey her soft, dark hair; +Then comes the day that knows no morrow, +And death succeeds to long despair. + +So speaks experience, sage and hoary; +I see it plainly, know it well, +Like one who, having read a story, +Each incident therein can tell. + +Touch not that ring; 'twas his, the sire +Of that forsaken child; +And nought his relics can inspire +Save memories, sin-defiled. + +I, who sat by his wife's death-bed, +I, who his daughter loved, +Could almost curse the guilty dead, +For woes the guiltless proved. + +And heaven did curse--they found him laid, +When crime for wrath was rife, +Cold--with the suicidal blade +Clutched in his desperate gripe. + +'Twas near that long deserted hut, +Which in the wood decays, +Death's axe, self-wielded, struck his root, +And lopped his desperate days. + +You know the spot, where three black trees, +Lift up their branches fell, +And moaning, ceaseless as the seas, +Still seem, in every passing breeze, +The deed of blood to tell. + +They named him mad, and laid his bones +Where holier ashes lie; +Yet doubt not that his spirit groans +In hell's eternity. + +But, lo! night, closing o'er the earth, +Infects our thoughts with gloom; +Come, let us strive to rally mirth +Where glows a clear and tranquil hearth +In some more cheerful room. + + + + +THE WIFE'S WILL. + +Sit still--a word--a breath may break +(As light airs stir a sleeping lake) +The glassy calm that soothes my woes-- +The sweet, the deep, the full repose. +O leave me not! for ever be +Thus, more than life itself to me! + +Yes, close beside thee let me kneel-- +Give me thy hand, that I may feel +The friend so true--so tried--so dear, +My heart's own chosen--indeed is near; +And check me not--this hour divine +Belongs to me--is fully mine. + +'Tis thy own hearth thou sitt'st beside, +After long absence--wandering wide; +'Tis thy own wife reads in thine eyes +A promise clear of stormless skies; +For faith and true love light the rays +Which shine responsive to her gaze. + +Ay,--well that single tear may fall; +Ten thousand might mine eyes recall, +Which from their lids ran blinding fast, +In hours of grief, yet scarcely past; +Well mayst thou speak of love to me, +For, oh! most truly--I love thee! + +Yet smile--for we are happy now. +Whence, then, that sadness on thy brow? +What sayst thou? "We muse once again, +Ere long, be severed by the main!" +I knew not this--I deemed no more +Thy step would err from Britain's shore. + +"Duty commands!" 'Tis true--'tis just; +Thy slightest word I wholly trust, +Nor by request, nor faintest sigh, +Would I to turn thy purpose try; +But, William, hear my solemn vow-- +Hear and confirm!--with thee I go. + +"Distance and suffering," didst thou say? +"Danger by night, and toil by day?" +Oh, idle words and vain are these; +Hear me! I cross with thee the seas. +Such risk as thou must meet and dare, +I--thy true wife--will duly share. + +Passive, at home, I will not pine; +Thy toils, thy perils shall be mine; +Grant this--and be hereafter paid +By a warm heart's devoted aid: +'Tis granted--with that yielding kiss, +Entered my soul unmingled bliss. + +Thanks, William, thanks! thy love has joy, +Pure, undefiled with base alloy; +'Tis not a passion, false and blind, +Inspires, enchains, absorbs my mind; +Worthy, I feel, art thou to be +Loved with my perfect energy. + +This evening now shall sweetly flow, +Lit by our clear fire's happy glow; +And parting's peace-embittering fear, +Is warned our hearts to come not near; +For fate admits my soul's decree, +In bliss or bale--to go with thee! + + +THE WOOD. + +But two miles more, and then we rest! +Well, there is still an hour of day, +And long the brightness of the West +Will light us on our devious way; +Sit then, awhile, here in this wood-- +So total is the solitude, +We safely may delay. + +These massive roots afford a seat, +Which seems for weary travellers made. +There rest. The air is soft and sweet +In this sequestered forest glade, +And there are scents of flowers around, +The evening dew draws from the ground; +How soothingly they spread! + +Yes; I was tired, but not at heart; +No--that beats full of sweet content, +For now I have my natural part +Of action with adventure blent; +Cast forth on the wide world with thee, +And all my once waste energy +To weighty purpose bent. + +Yet--sayst thou, spies around us roam, +Our aims are termed conspiracy? +Haply, no more our English home +An anchorage for us may be? +That there is risk our mutual blood +May redden in some lonely wood +The knife of treachery? + +Sayst thou, that where we lodge each night, +In each lone farm, or lonelier hall +Of Norman Peer--ere morning light +Suspicion must as duly fall, +As day returns--such vigilance +Presides and watches over France, +Such rigour governs all? + +I fear not, William; dost thou fear? +So that the knife does not divide, +It may be ever hovering near: +I could not tremble at thy side, +And strenuous love--like mine for thee-- +Is buckler strong 'gainst treachery, +And turns its stab aside. + +I am resolved that thou shalt learn +To trust my strength as I trust thine; +I am resolved our souls shall burn +With equal, steady, mingling shine; +Part of the field is conquered now, +Our lives in the same channel flow, +Along the self-same line; + +And while no groaning storm is heard, +Thou seem'st content it should be so, +But soon as comes a warning word +Of danger--straight thine anxious brow +Bends over me a mournful shade, +As doubting if my powers are made +To ford the floods of woe. + +Know, then it is my spirit swells, +And drinks, with eager joy, the air +Of freedom--where at last it dwells, +Chartered, a common task to share +With thee, and then it stirs alert, +And pants to learn what menaced hurt +Demands for thee its care. + +Remember, I have crossed the deep, +And stood with thee on deck, to gaze +On waves that rose in threatening heap, +While stagnant lay a heavy haze, +Dimly confusing sea with sky, +And baffling, even, the pilot's eye, +Intent to thread the maze-- + +Of rocks, on Bretagne's dangerous coast, +And find a way to steer our band +To the one point obscure, which lost, +Flung us, as victims, on the strand;-- +All, elsewhere, gleamed the Gallic sword, +And not a wherry could be moored +Along the guarded land. + +I feared not then--I fear not now; +The interest of each stirring scene +Wakes a new sense, a welcome glow, +In every nerve and bounding vein ; +Alike on turbid Channel sea, +Or in still wood of Normandy, +I feel as born again. + +The rain descended that wild morn +When, anchoring in the cove at last, +Our band, all weary and forlorn +Ashore, like wave-worn sailors, cast-- +Sought for a sheltering roof in vain, +And scarce could scanty food obtain +To break their morning fast. + +Thou didst thy crust with me divide, +Thou didst thy cloak around me fold; +And, sitting silent by thy side, +I ate the bread in peace untold: +Given kindly from thy hand, 'twas sweet +As costly fare or princely treat +On royal plate of gold. + +Sharp blew the sleet upon my face, +And, rising wild, the gusty wind +Drove on those thundering waves apace, +Our crew so late had left behind; +But, spite of frozen shower and storm, +So close to thee, my heart beat warm, +And tranquil slept my mind. + +So now--nor foot-sore nor opprest +With walking all this August day, +I taste a heaven in this brief rest, +This gipsy-halt beside the way. +England's wild flowers are fair to view, +Like balm is England's summer dew +Like gold her sunset ray. + +But the white violets, growing here, +Are sweeter than I yet have seen, +And ne'er did dew so pure and clear +Distil on forest mosses green, +As now, called forth by summer heat, +Perfumes our cool and fresh retreat-- +These fragrant limes between. + +That sunset! Look beneath the boughs, +Over the copse--beyond the hills; +How soft, yet deep and warm it glows, +And heaven with rich suffusion fills; +With hues where still the opal's tint, +Its gleam of prisoned fire is blent, +Where flame through azure thrills! + +Depart we now--for fast will fade +That solemn splendour of decline, +And deep must be the after-shade +As stars alone to-night will shine; +No moon is destined--pale--to gaze +On such a day's vast Phoenix blaze, +A day in fires decayed! + +There--hand-in-hand we tread again +The mazes of this varying wood, +And soon, amid a cultured plain, +Girt in with fertile solitude, +We shall our resting-place descry, +Marked by one roof-tree, towering high +Above a farmstead rude. + +Refreshed, erelong, with rustic fare, +We'll seek a couch of dreamless ease; +Courage will guard thy heart from fear, +And Love give mine divinest peace: +To-morrow brings more dangerous toil, +And through its conflict and turmoil +We'll pass, as God shall please. + +[The preceding composition refers, doubtless, to the scenes +acted in France during the last year of the Consulate.] + + + + +FRANCES. + +She will not sleep, for fear of dreams, +But, rising, quits her restless bed, +And walks where some beclouded beams +Of moonlight through the hall are shed. + +Obedient to the goad of grief, +Her steps, now fast, now lingering slow, +In varying motion seek relief +From the Eumenides of woe. + +Wringing her hands, at intervals-- +But long as mute as phantom dim-- +She glides along the dusky walls, +Under the black oak rafters grim. + +The close air of the grated tower +Stifles a heart that scarce can beat, +And, though so late and lone the hour, +Forth pass her wandering, faltering feet; + +And on the pavement spread before +The long front of the mansion grey, +Her steps imprint the night-frost hoar, +Which pale on grass and granite lay. + +Not long she stayed where misty moon +And shimmering stars could on her look, +But through the garden archway soon +Her strange and gloomy path she took. + +Some firs, coeval with the tower, +Their straight black boughs stretched o'er her head; +Unseen, beneath this sable bower, +Rustled her dress and rapid tread. + +There was an alcove in that shade, +Screening a rustic seat and stand; +Weary she sat her down, and laid +Her hot brow on her burning hand. + +To solitude and to the night, +Some words she now, in murmurs, said; +And trickling through her fingers white, +Some tears of misery she shed. + +"God help me in my grievous need, +God help me in my inward pain; +Which cannot ask for pity's meed, +Which has no licence to complain, + +"Which must be borne; yet who can bear, +Hours long, days long, a constant weight-- +The yoke of absolute despair, +A suffering wholly desolate? + +"Who can for ever crush the heart, +Restrain its throbbing, curb its life? +Dissemble truth with ceaseless art, +With outward calm mask inward strife?" + +She waited--as for some reply; +The still and cloudy night gave none; +Ere long, with deep-drawn, trembling sigh, +Her heavy plaint again begun. + +"Unloved--I love; unwept--I weep; +Grief I restrain--hope I repress: +Vain is this anguish--fixed and deep; +Vainer, desires and dreams of bliss. + +"My love awakes no love again, +My tears collect, and fall unfelt; +My sorrow touches none with pain, +My humble hopes to nothing melt. + +"For me the universe is dumb, +Stone-deaf, and blank, and wholly blind; +Life I must bound, existence sum +In the strait limits of one mind; + +"That mind my own. Oh! narrow cell; +Dark--imageless--a living tomb! +There must I sleep, there wake and dwell +Content, with palsy, pain, and gloom." + +Again she paused; a moan of pain, +A stifled sob, alone was heard; +Long silence followed--then again +Her voice the stagnant midnight stirred. + +"Must it be so? Is this my fate? +Can I nor struggle, nor contend? +And am I doomed for years to wait, +Watching death's lingering axe descend? + +"And when it falls, and when I die, +What follows? Vacant nothingness? +The blank of lost identity? +Erasure both of pain and bliss? + +"I've heard of heaven--I would believe; +For if this earth indeed be all, +Who longest lives may deepest grieve; +Most blest, whom sorrows soonest call. + +"Oh! leaving disappointment here, +Will man find hope on yonder coast? +Hope, which, on earth, shines never clear, +And oft in clouds is wholly lost. + +"Will he hope's source of light behold, +Fruition's spring, where doubts expire, +And drink, in waves of living gold, +Contentment, full, for long desire? + +"Will he find bliss, which here he dreamed? +Rest, which was weariness on earth? +Knowledge, which, if o'er life it beamed, +Served but to prove it void of worth? + +"Will he find love without lust's leaven, +Love fearless, tearless, perfect, pure, +To all with equal bounty given; +In all, unfeigned, unfailing, sure? + +"Will he, from penal sufferings free, +Released from shroud and wormy clod, +All calm and glorious, rise and see +Creation's Sire--Existence' God? + +"Then, glancing back on Time's brief woes, +Will he behold them, fading, fly; +Swept from Eternity's repose, +Like sullying cloud from pure blue sky? + +"If so, endure, my weary frame; +And when thy anguish strikes too deep, +And when all troubled burns life's flame, +Think of the quiet, final sleep; + +"Think of the glorious waking-hour, +Which will not dawn on grief and tears, +But on a ransomed spirit's power, +Certain, and free from mortal fears. + +"Seek now thy couch, and lie till morn, +Then from thy chamber, calm, descend, +With mind nor tossed, nor anguish-torn, +But tranquil, fixed, to wait the end. + +"And when thy opening eyes shall see +Mementos, on the chamber wall, +Of one who has forgotten thee, +Shed not the tear of acrid gall. + +"The tear which, welling from the heart, +Burns where its drop corrosive falls, +And makes each nerve, in torture, start, +At feelings it too well recalls: + +"When the sweet hope of being loved +Threw Eden sunshine on life's way: +When every sense and feeling proved +Expectancy of brightest day. + +"When the hand trembled to receive +A thrilling clasp, which seemed so near, +And the heart ventured to believe +Another heart esteemed it dear. + +"When words, half love, all tenderness, +Were hourly heard, as hourly spoken, +When the long, sunny days of bliss +Only by moonlight nights were broken. + +"Till, drop by drop, the cup of joy +Filled full, with purple light was glowing, +And Faith, which watched it, sparkling high +Still never dreamt the overflowing. + +"It fell not with a sudden crashing, +It poured not out like open sluice; +No, sparkling still, and redly flashing, +Drained, drop by drop, the generous juice. + +"I saw it sink, and strove to taste it, +My eager lips approached the brim; +The movement only seemed to waste it; +It sank to dregs, all harsh and dim. + +"These I have drunk, and they for ever +Have poisoned life and love for me; +A draught from Sodom's lake could never +More fiery, salt, and bitter, be. + +"Oh! Love was all a thin illusion +Joy, but the desert's flying stream; +And glancing back on long delusion, +My memory grasps a hollow dream. + +"Yet whence that wondrous change of feeling, +I never knew, and cannot learn; +Nor why my lover's eye, congealing, +Grew cold and clouded, proud and stern. + +"Nor wherefore, friendship's forms forgetting, +He careless left, and cool withdrew; +Nor spoke of grief, nor fond regretting, +Nor ev'n one glance of comfort threw. + +"And neither word nor token sending, +Of kindness, since the parting day, +His course, for distant regions bending, +Went, self-contained and calm, away. + +"Oh, bitter, blighting, keen sensation, +Which will not weaken, cannot die, +Hasten thy work of desolation, +And let my tortured spirit fly! + +"Vain as the passing gale, my crying; +Though lightning-struck, I must live on; +I know, at heart, there is no dying +Of love, and ruined hope, alone. + +"Still strong and young, and warm with vigour, +Though scathed, I long shall greenly grow; +And many a storm of wildest rigour +Shall yet break o'er my shivered bough. + +"Rebellious now to blank inertion, +My unused strength demands a task; +Travel, and toil, and full exertion, +Are the last, only boon I ask. + +"Whence, then, this vain and barren dreaming +Of death, and dubious life to come? +I see a nearer beacon gleaming +Over dejection's sea of gloom. + +"The very wildness of my sorrow +Tells me I yet have innate force; +My track of life has been too narrow, +Effort shall trace a broader course. + +"The world is not in yonder tower, +Earth is not prisoned in that room, +'Mid whose dark panels, hour by hour, +I've sat, the slave and prey of gloom. + +"One feeling--turned to utter anguish, +Is not my being's only aim; +When, lorn and loveless, life will languish, +But courage can revive the flame. + +"He, when he left me, went a roving +To sunny climes, beyond the sea; +And I, the weight of woe removing, +Am free and fetterless as he. + +"New scenes, new language, skies less clouded, +May once more wake the wish to live; +Strange, foreign towns, astir, and crowded, +New pictures to the mind may give. + +"New forms and faces, passing ever, +May hide the one I still retain, +Defined, and fixed, and fading never, +Stamped deep on vision, heart, and brain. + +"And we might meet--time may have changed him; +Chance may reveal the mystery, +The secret influence which estranged him; +Love may restore him yet to me. + +"False thought--false hope--in scorn be banished! +I am not loved--nor loved have been; +Recall not, then, the dreams scarce vanished; +Traitors! mislead me not again! + +"To words like yours I bid defiance, +'Tis such my mental wreck have made; +Of God alone, and self-reliance, +I ask for solace--hope for aid. + +"Morn comes--and ere meridian glory +O'er these, my natal woods, shall smile, +Both lonely wood and mansion hoary +I'll leave behind, full many a mile." + + + + +GILBERT. + +I. THE GARDEN. + +Above the city hung the moon, +Right o'er a plot of ground +Where flowers and orchard-trees were fenced +With lofty walls around: +'Twas Gilbert's garden--there to-night +Awhile he walked alone; +And, tired with sedentary toil, +Mused where the moonlight shone. + +This garden, in a city-heart, +Lay still as houseless wild, +Though many-windowed mansion fronts +Were round it; closely piled; +But thick their walls, and those within +Lived lives by noise unstirred ; +Like wafting of an angel's wing, +Time's flight by them was heard. + +Some soft piano-notes alone +Were sweet as faintly given, +Where ladies, doubtless, cheered the hearth +With song that winter-even. +The city's many-mingled sounds +Rose like the hum of ocean; +They rather lulled the heart than roused +Its pulse to faster motion. + +Gilbert has paced the single walk +An hour, yet is not weary; +And, though it be a winter night +He feels nor cold nor dreary. +The prime of life is in his veins, +And sends his blood fast flowing, +And Fancy's fervour warms the thoughts +Now in his bosom glowing. + +Those thoughts recur to early love, +Or what he love would name, +Though haply Gilbert's secret deeds +Might other title claim. +Such theme not oft his mind absorbs, +He to the world clings fast, +And too much for the present lives, +To linger o'er the past. + +But now the evening's deep repose +Has glided to his soul; +That moonlight falls on Memory, +And shows her fading scroll. +One name appears in every line +The gentle rays shine o'er, +And still he smiles and still repeats +That one name--Elinor. + +There is no sorrow in his smile, +No kindness in his tone; +The triumph of a selfish heart +Speaks coldly there alone; +He says: "She loved me more than life; +And truly it was sweet +To see so fair a woman kneel, +In bondage, at my feet. + +"There was a sort of quiet bliss +To be so deeply loved, +To gaze on trembling eagerness +And sit myself unmoved. +And when it pleased my pride to grant +At last some rare caress, +To feel the fever of that hand +My fingers deigned to press. + +"'Twas sweet to see her strive to hide +What every glance revealed; +Endowed, the while, with despot-might +Her destiny to wield. +I knew myself no perfect man, +Nor, as she deemed, divine; +I knew that I was glorious--but +By her reflected shine; + +"Her youth, her native energy, +Her powers new-born and fresh, +'Twas these with Godhead sanctified +My sensual frame of flesh. +Yet, like a god did I descend +At last, to meet her love; +And, like a god, I then withdrew +To my own heaven above. + +"And never more could she invoke +My presence to her sphere; +No prayer, no plaint, no cry of hers +Could win my awful ear. +I knew her blinded constancy +Would ne'er my deeds betray, +And, calm in conscience, whole in heart. +I went my tranquil way. + +"Yet, sometimes, I still feel a wish, +The fond and flattering pain +Of passion's anguish to create +In her young breast again. +Bright was the lustre of her eyes, +When they caught fire from mine; +If I had power--this very hour, +Again I'd light their shine. + +"But where she is, or how she lives, +I have no clue to know; +I've heard she long my absence pined, +And left her home in woe. +But busied, then, in gathering gold, +As I am busied now, +I could not turn from such pursuit, +To weep a broken vow. + +"Nor could I give to fatal risk +The fame I ever prized; +Even now, I fear, that precious fame +Is too much compromised." +An inward trouble dims his eye, +Some riddle he would solve; +Some method to unloose a knot, +His anxious thoughts revolve. + +He, pensive, leans against a tree, +A leafy evergreen, +The boughs, the moonlight, intercept, +And hide him like a screen +He starts--the tree shakes with his tremor, +Yet nothing near him pass'd; +He hurries up the garden alley, +In strangely sudden haste. + +With shaking hand, he lifts the latchet, +Steps o'er the threshold stone; +The heavy door slips from his fingers-- +It shuts, and he is gone. +What touched, transfixed, appalled, his soul?-- +A nervous thought, no more; +'Twill sink like stone in placid pool, +And calm close smoothly o'er. + + +II. THE PARLOUR. + +Warm is the parlour atmosphere, +Serene the lamp's soft light; +The vivid embers, red and clear, +Proclaim a frosty night. +Books, varied, on the table lie, +Three children o'er them bend, +And all, with curious, eager eye, +The turning leaf attend. + +Picture and tale alternately +Their simple hearts delight, +And interest deep, and tempered glee, +Illume their aspects bright. +The parents, from their fireside place, +Behold that pleasant scene, +And joy is on the mother's face, +Pride in the father's mien. + +As Gilbert sees his blooming wife, +Beholds his children fair, +No thought has he of transient strife, +Or past, though piercing fear. +The voice of happy infancy +Lisps sweetly in his ear, +His wife, with pleased and peaceful eye, +Sits, kindly smiling, near. + +The fire glows on her silken dress, +And shows its ample grace, +And warmly tints each hazel tress, +Curled soft around her face. +The beauty that in youth he wooed, +Is beauty still, unfaded; +The brow of ever placid mood +No churlish grief has shaded. + +Prosperity, in Gilbert's home, +Abides the guest of years; +There Want or Discord never come, +And seldom Toil or Tears. +The carpets bear the peaceful print +Of comfort's velvet tread, +And golden gleams, from plenty sent, +In every nook are shed. + +The very silken spaniel seems +Of quiet ease to tell, +As near its mistress' feet it dreams, +Sunk in a cushion's swell +And smiles seem native to the eyes +Of those sweet children, three; +They have but looked on tranquil skies, +And know not misery. + +Alas! that Misery should come +In such an hour as this; +Why could she not so calm a home +A little longer miss? +But she is now within the door, +Her steps advancing glide; +Her sullen shade has crossed the floor, +She stands at Gilbert's side. + +She lays her hand upon his heart, +It bounds with agony; +His fireside chair shakes with the start +That shook the garden tree. +His wife towards the children looks, +She does not mark his mien; +The children, bending o'er their books, +His terror have not seen. + +In his own home, by his own hearth, +He sits in solitude, +And circled round with light and mirth, +Cold horror chills his blood. +His mind would hold with desperate clutch +The scene that round him lies; +No--changed, as by some wizard's touch, +The present prospect flies. + +A tumult vague--a viewless strife +His futile struggles crush; +'Twixt him and his an unknown life +And unknown feelings rush. +He sees--but scarce can language paint +The tissue fancy weaves; +For words oft give but echo faint +Of thoughts the mind conceives. + +Noise, tumult strange, and darkness dim, +Efface both light and quiet; +No shape is in those shadows grim, +No voice in that wild riot. +Sustain'd and strong, a wondrous blast +Above and round him blows; +A greenish gloom, dense overcast, +Each moment denser grows. + +He nothing knows--nor clearly sees, +Resistance checks his breath, +The high, impetuous, ceaseless breeze +Blows on him cold as death. +And still the undulating gloom +Mocks sight with formless motion: +Was such sensation Jonah's doom, +Gulphed in the depths of ocean? + +Streaking the air, the nameless vision, +Fast-driven, deep-sounding, flows; +Oh! whence its source, and what its mission? +How will its terrors close? +Long-sweeping, rushing, vast and void, +The universe it swallows; +And still the dark, devouring tide +A typhoon tempest follows. + +More slow it rolls; its furious race +Sinks to its solemn gliding; +The stunning roar, the wind's wild chase, +To stillness are subsiding. +And, slowly borne along, a form +The shapeless chaos varies; +Poised in the eddy to the storm, +Before the eye it tarries. + +A woman drowned--sunk in the deep, +On a long wave reclining; +The circling waters' crystal sweep, +Like glass, her shape enshrining. +Her pale dead face, to Gilbert turned, +Seems as in sleep reposing; +A feeble light, now first discerned, +The features well disclosing. + +No effort from the haunted air +The ghastly scene could banish, +That hovering wave, arrested there, +Rolled--throbbed--but did not vanish. +If Gilbert upward turned his gaze, +He saw the ocean-shadow; +If he looked down, the endless seas +Lay green as summer meadow. + +And straight before, the pale corpse lay, +Upborne by air or billow, +So near, he could have touched the spray +That churned around its pillow. +The hollow anguish of the face +Had moved a fiend to sorrow; +Not death's fixed calm could rase the trace +Of suffering's deep-worn furrow. + +All moved; a strong returning blast, +The mass of waters raising, +Bore wave and passive carcase past, +While Gilbert yet was gazing. +Deep in her isle-conceiving womb, +It seemed the ocean thundered, +And soon, by realms of rushing gloom, +Were seer and phantom sundered. + +Then swept some timbers from a wreck. +On following surges riding; +Then sea-weed, in the turbid rack +Uptorn, went slowly gliding. +The horrid shade, by slow degrees, +A beam of light defeated, +And then the roar of raving seas, +Fast, far, and faint, retreated. + +And all was gone--gone like a mist, +Corse, billows, tempest, wreck; +Three children close to Gilbert prest +And clung around his neck. +Good night! good night! the prattlers said, +And kissed their father's cheek; +'Twas now the hour their quiet bed +And placid rest to seek. + +The mother with her offspring goes +To hear their evening prayer; +She nought of Gilbert's vision knows, +And nought of his despair. +Yet, pitying God, abridge the time +Of anguish, now his fate! +Though, haply, great has been his crime: +Thy mercy, too, is great. + +Gilbert, at length, uplifts his head, +Bent for some moments low, +And there is neither grief nor dread +Upon his subtle brow. +For well can he his feelings task, +And well his looks command; +His features well his heart can mask, +With smiles and smoothness bland. + +Gilbert has reasoned with his mind-- +He says 'twas all a dream; +He strives his inward sight to blind +Against truth's inward beam. +He pitied not that shadowy thing, +When it was flesh and blood; +Nor now can pity's balmy spring +Refresh his arid mood. + +"And if that dream has spoken truth," +Thus musingly he says; +"If Elinor be dead, in sooth, +Such chance the shock repays: +A net was woven round my feet, +I scarce could further go; +Ere shame had forced a fast retreat, +Dishonour brought me low. + +"Conceal her, then, deep, silent sea, +Give her a secret grave! +She sleeps in peace, and I am free, +No longer terror's slave: +And homage still, from all the world, +Shall greet my spotless name, +Since surges break and waves are curled +Above its threatened shame." + + +III. THE WELCOME HOME. + +Above the city hangs the moon, +Some clouds are boding rain; +Gilbert, erewhile on journey gone, +To-night comes home again. +Ten years have passed above his head, +Each year has brought him gain ; +His prosperous life has smoothly sped, +Without or tear or stain. + +'Tis somewhat late--the city clocks +Twelve deep vibrations toll, +As Gilbert at the portal knocks, +Which is his journey's goal. +The street is still and desolate, +The moon hid by a cloud; +Gilbert, impatient, will not wait,-- +His second knock peals loud. + +The clocks are hushed--there's not a light +In any window nigh, +And not a single planet bright +Looks from the clouded sky; +The air is raw, the rain descends, +A bitter north-wind blows; +His cloak the traveller scarce defends-- +Will not the door unclose? + +He knocks the third time, and the last +His summons now they hear, +Within, a footstep, hurrying fast, +Is heard approaching near. +The bolt is drawn, the clanking chain +Falls to the floor of stone; +And Gilbert to his heart will strain +His wife and children soon. + +The hand that lifts the latchet, holds +A candle to his sight, +And Gilbert, on the step, beholds +A woman, clad in white. +Lo! water from her dripping dress +Runs on the streaming floor; +From every dark and clinging tress +The drops incessant pour. + +There's none but her to welcome him; +She holds the candle high, +And, motionless in form and limb, +Stands cold and silent nigh; +There's sand and sea-weed on her robe, +Her hollow eyes are blind; +No pulse in such a frame can throb, +No life is there defined. + +Gilbert turned ashy-white, but still +His lips vouchsafed no cry; +He spurred his strength and master-will +To pass the figure by,-- +But, moving slow, it faced him straight, +It would not flinch nor quail: +Then first did Gilbert's strength abate, +His stony firmness quail. + +He sank upon his knees and prayed +The shape stood rigid there; +He called aloud for human aid, +No human aid was near. +An accent strange did thus repeat +Heaven's stern but just decree: +"The measure thou to her didst mete, +To thee shall measured be!" + +Gilbert sprang from his bended knees, +By the pale spectre pushed, +And, wild as one whom demons seize, +Up the hall-staircase rushed; +Entered his chamber--near the bed +Sheathed steel and fire-arms hung-- +Impelled by maniac purpose dread +He chose those stores among. + +Across his throat a keen-edged knife +With vigorous hand he drew; +The wound was wide--his outraged life +Rushed rash and redly through. +And thus died, by a shameful death, +A wise and worldly man, +Who never drew but selfish breath +Since first his life began. + + + + +LIFE. + +Life, believe, is not a dream +So dark as sages say; +Oft a little morning rain +Foretells a pleasant day. +Sometimes there are clouds of gloom, +But these are transient all; +If the shower will make the roses bloom, +O why lament its fall? +Rapidly, merrily, +Life's sunny hours flit by, +Gratefully, cheerily +Enjoy them as they fly! +What though Death at times steps in, +And calls our Best away? +What though sorrow seems to win, +O'er hope, a heavy sway? +Yet Hope again elastic springs, +Unconquered, though she fell; +Still buoyant are her golden wings, +Still strong to bear us well. +Manfully, fearlessly, +The day of trial bear, +For gloriously, victoriously, +Can courage quell despair! + + + + +THE LETTER. + +What is she writing? Watch her now, +How fast her fingers move! +How eagerly her youthful brow +Is bent in thought above! +Her long curls, drooping, shade the light, +She puts them quick aside, +Nor knows that band of crystals bright, +Her hasty touch untied. +It slips adown her silken dress, +Falls glittering at her feet; +Unmarked it falls, for she no less +Pursues her labour sweet. + +The very loveliest hour that shines, +Is in that deep blue sky; +The golden sun of June declines, +It has not caught her eye. +The cheerful lawn, and unclosed gate, +The white road, far away, +In vain for her light footsteps wait, +She comes not forth to-day. +There is an open door of glass +Close by that lady's chair, +From thence, to slopes of messy grass, +Descends a marble stair. + +Tall plants of bright and spicy bloom +Around the threshold grow; +Their leaves and blossoms shade the room +From that sun's deepening glow. +Why does she not a moment glance +Between the clustering flowers, +And mark in heaven the radiant dance +Of evening's rosy hours? +O look again! Still fixed her eye, +Unsmiling, earnest, still, +And fast her pen and fingers fly, +Urged by her eager will. + +Her soul is in th'absorbing task; +To whom, then, doth she write? +Nay, watch her still more closely, ask +Her own eyes' serious light; +Where do they turn, as now her pen +Hangs o'er th'unfinished line? +Whence fell the tearful gleam that then +Did in their dark spheres shine? +The summer-parlour looks so dark, +When from that sky you turn, +And from th'expanse of that green park, +You scarce may aught discern. + +Yet, o'er the piles of porcelain rare, +O'er flower-stand, couch, and vase, +Sloped, as if leaning on the air, +One picture meets the gaze. +'Tis there she turns; you may not see +Distinct, what form defines +The clouded mass of mystery +Yon broad gold frame confines. +But look again; inured to shade +Your eyes now faintly trace +A stalwart form, a massive head, +A firm, determined face. + +Black Spanish locks, a sunburnt cheek +A brow high, broad, and white, +Where every furrow seems to speak +Of mind and moral might. +Is that her god? I cannot tell; +Her eye a moment met +Th'impending picture, then it fell +Darkened and dimmed and wet. +A moment more, her task is done, +And sealed the letter lies; +And now, towards the setting sun +She turns her tearful eyes. + +Those tears flow over, wonder not, +For by the inscription see +In what a strange and distant spot +Her heart of hearts must be! +Three seas and many a league of land +That letter must pass o'er, +Ere read by him to whose loved hand +'Tis sent from England's shore. +Remote colonial wilds detain +Her husband, loved though stern; +She, 'mid that smiling English scene, +Weeps for his wished return. + + + + +REGRET. + +Long ago I wished to leave +"The house where I was born;" +Long ago I used to grieve, +My home seemed so forlorn. +In other years, its silent rooms +Were filled with haunting fears; +Now, their very memory comes +O'ercharged with tender tears. + +Life and marriage I have known. +Things once deemed so bright; +Now, how utterly is flown +Every ray of light! +'Mid the unknown sea, of life +I no blest isle have found; +At last, through all its wild wave's strife, +My bark is homeward bound. + +Farewell, dark and rolling deep! +Farewell, foreign shore! +Open, in unclouded sweep, +Thou glorious realm before! +Yet, though I had safely pass'd +That weary, vexed main, +One loved voice, through surge and blast +Could call me back again. + +Though the soul's bright morning rose +O'er Paradise for me, +William! even from Heaven's repose +I'd turn, invoked by thee! +Storm nor surge should e'er arrest +My soul, exalting then: +All my heaven was once thy breast, +Would it were mine again! + + + + +PRESENTIMENT. + +"Sister, you've sat there all the day, +Come to the hearth awhile; +The wind so wildly sweeps away, +The clouds so darkly pile. +That open book has lain, unread, +For hours upon your knee; +You've never smiled nor turned your head; +What can you, sister, see?" + +"Come hither, Jane, look down the field; +How dense a mist creeps on! +The path, the hedge, are both concealed, +Ev'n the white gate is gone +No landscape through the fog I trace, +No hill with pastures green; +All featureless is Nature's face. +All masked in clouds her mien. + +"Scarce is the rustle of a leaf +Heard in our garden now; +The year grows old, its days wax brief, +The tresses leave its brow. +The rain drives fast before the wind, +The sky is blank and grey; +O Jane, what sadness fills the mind +On such a dreary day!" + +"You think too much, my sister dear; +You sit too long alone; +What though November days be drear? +Full soon will they be gone. +I've swept the hearth, and placed your chair,. +Come, Emma, sit by me; +Our own fireside is never drear, +Though late and wintry wane the year, +Though rough the night may be." + +"The peaceful glow of our fireside +Imparts no peace to me: +My thoughts would rather wander wide +Than rest, dear Jane, with thee. +I'm on a distant journey bound, +And if, about my heart, +Too closely kindred ties were bound, +'Twould break when forced to part. + +"'Soon will November days be o'er:' +Well have you spoken, Jane: +My own forebodings tell me more-- +For me, I know by presage sure, +They'll ne'er return again. +Ere long, nor sun nor storm to me +Will bring or joy or gloom; +They reach not that Eternity +Which soon will be my home." + +Eight months are gone, the summer sun +Sets in a glorious sky; +A quiet field, all green and lone, +Receives its rosy dye. +Jane sits upon a shaded stile, +Alone she sits there now; +Her head rests on her hand the while, +And thought o'ercasts her brow. + +She's thinking of one winter's day, +A few short months ago, +Then Emma's bier was borne away +O'er wastes of frozen snow. +She's thinking how that drifted snow +Dissolved in spring's first gleam, +And how her sister's memory now +Fades, even as fades a dream. + +The snow will whiten earth again, +But Emma comes no more; +She left, 'mid winter's sleet and rain, +This world for Heaven's far shore. +On Beulah's hills she wanders now, +On Eden's tranquil plain; +To her shall Jane hereafter go, +She ne'er shall come to Jane! + + + + +THE TEACHER'S MONOLOGUE. + +The room is quiet, thoughts alone +People its mute tranquillity; +The yoke put off, the long task done,-- +I am, as it is bliss to be, +Still and untroubled. Now, I see, +For the first time, how soft the day +O'er waveless water, stirless tree, +Silent and sunny, wings its way. +Now, as I watch that distant hill, +So faint, so blue, so far removed, +Sweet dreams of home my heart may fill, +That home where I am known and loved: +It lies beyond; yon azure brow +Parts me from all Earth holds for me; +And, morn and eve, my yearnings flow +Thitherward tending, changelessly. +My happiest hours, aye! all the time, +I love to keep in memory, +Lapsed among moors, ere life's first prime +Decayed to dark anxiety. + +Sometimes, I think a narrow heart +Makes me thus mourn those far away, +And keeps my love so far apart +From friends and friendships of to-day; +Sometimes, I think 'tis but a dream +I treasure up so jealously, +All the sweet thoughts I live on seem +To vanish into vacancy: +And then, this strange, coarse world around +Seems all that's palpable and true; +And every sight, and every sound, +Combines my spirit to subdue +To aching grief, so void and lone +Is Life and Earth--so worse than vain, +The hopes that, in my own heart sown, +And cherished by such sun and rain +As Joy and transient Sorrow shed, +Have ripened to a harvest there: +Alas! methinks I hear it said, +"Thy golden sheaves are empty air." + +All fades away; my very home +I think will soon be desolate; +I hear, at times, a warning come +Of bitter partings at its gate; +And, if I should return and see +The hearth-fire quenched, the vacant chair; +And hear it whispered mournfully, +That farewells have been spoken there, +What shall I do, and whither turn? +Where look for peace? When cease to mourn? + +* + +'Tis not the air I wished to play, +The strain I wished to sing; +My wilful spirit slipped away +And struck another string. +I neither wanted smile nor tear, +Bright joy nor bitter woe, +But just a song that sweet and clear, +Though haply sad, might flow. + +A quiet song, to solace me +When sleep refused to come; +A strain to chase despondency, +When sorrowful for home. +In vain I try; I cannot sing; +All feels so cold and dead; +No wild distress, no gushing spring +Of tears in anguish shed; + +But all the impatient gloom of one +Who waits a distant day, +When, some great task of suffering done, +Repose shall toil repay. +For youth departs, and pleasure flies, +And life consumes away, +And youth's rejoicing ardour dies +Beneath this drear delay; + +And Patience, weary with her yoke, +Is yielding to despair, +And Health's elastic spring is broke +Beneath the strain of care. +Life will be gone ere I have lived; +Where now is Life's first prime? +I've worked and studied, longed and grieved, +Through all that rosy time. + +To toil, to think, to long, to grieve,-- +Is such my future fate? +The morn was dreary, must the eve +Be also desolate? +Well, such a life at least makes Death +A welcome, wished-for friend; +Then, aid me, Reason, Patience, Faith, +To suffer to the end! + + + + +PASSION. + +Some have won a wild delight, +By daring wilder sorrow; +Could I gain thy love to-night, +I'd hazard death to-morrow. + +Could the battle-struggle earn +One kind glance from thine eye, +How this withering heart would burn, +The heady fight to try! + +Welcome nights of broken sleep, +And days of carnage cold, +Could I deem that thou wouldst weep +To hear my perils told. + +Tell me, if with wandering bands +I roam full far away, +Wilt thou to those distant lands +In spirit ever stray? + +Wild, long, a trumpet sounds afar; +Bid me--bid me go +Where Seik and Briton meet in war, +On Indian Sutlej's flow. + +Blood has dyed the Sutlej's waves +With scarlet stain, I know; +Indus' borders yawn with graves, +Yet, command me go! + +Though rank and high the holocaust +Of nations steams to heaven, +Glad I'd join the death-doomed host, +Were but the mandate given. + +Passion's strength should nerve my arm, +Its ardour stir my life, +Till human force to that dread charm +Should yield and sink in wild alarm, +Like trees to tempest-strife. + +If, hot from war, I seek thy love, +Darest thou turn aside? +Darest thou then my fire reprove, +By scorn, and maddening pride? + +No--my will shall yet control +Thy will, so high and free, +And love shall tame that haughty soul-- + Yes--tenderest love for me. + +I'll read my triumph in thine eyes, +Behold, and prove the change; +Then leave, perchance, my noble prize, +Once more in arms to range. + +I'd die when all the foam is up, +The bright wine sparkling high; +Nor wait till in the exhausted cup +Life's dull dregs only lie. + +Then Love thus crowned with sweet reward, +Hope blest with fulness large, +I'd mount the saddle, draw the sword, +And perish in the charge! + + + + +PREFERENCE. + +Not in scorn do I reprove thee, +Not in pride thy vows I waive, +But, believe, I could not love thee, +Wert thou prince, and I a slave. +These, then, are thine oaths of passion? +This, thy tenderness for me? +Judged, even, by thine own confession, +Thou art steeped in perfidy. +Having vanquished, thou wouldst leave me! +Thus I read thee long ago; +Therefore, dared I not deceive thee, +Even with friendship's gentle show. +Therefore, with impassive coldness +Have I ever met thy gaze; +Though, full oft, with daring boldness, +Thou thine eyes to mine didst raise. +Why that smile? Thou now art deeming +This my coldness all untrue,-- +But a mask of frozen seeming, +Hiding secret fires from view. +Touch my hand, thou self-deceiver; +Nay-be calm, for I am so: +Does it burn? Does my lip quiver? +Has mine eye a troubled glow? +Canst thou call a moment's colour +To my forehead--to my cheek? +Canst thou tinge their tranquil pallor +With one flattering, feverish streak? +Am I marble? What! no woman +Could so calm before thee stand? +Nothing living, sentient, human, +Could so coldly take thy hand? +Yes--a sister might, a mother: +My good-will is sisterly: +Dream not, then, I strive to smother +Fires that inly burn for thee. +Rave not, rage not, wrath is fruitless, +Fury cannot change my mind; +I but deem the feeling rootless +Which so whirls in passion's wind. +Can I love? Oh, deeply--truly-- +Warmly--fondly--but not thee; +And my love is answered duly, +With an equal energy. +Wouldst thou see thy rival? Hasten, +Draw that curtain soft aside, +Look where yon thick branches chasten +Noon, with shades of eventide. +In that glade, where foliage blending +Forms a green arch overhead, +Sits thy rival, thoughtful bending +O'er a stand with papers spread-- +Motionless, his fingers plying +That untired, unresting pen; +Time and tide unnoticed flying, +There he sits--the first of men! +Man of conscience--man of reason; +Stern, perchance, but ever just; +Foe to falsehood, wrong, and treason, +Honour's shield, and virtue's trust! +Worker, thinker, firm defender +Of Heaven's truth--man's liberty; +Soul of iron--proof to slander, +Rock where founders tyranny. +Fame he seeks not--but full surely +She will seek him, in his home; +This I know, and wait securely +For the atoning hour to come. +To that man my faith is given, +Therefore, soldier, cease to sue; +While God reigns in earth and heaven, +I to him will still be true! + + + + +EVENING SOLACE. + +The human heart has hidden treasures, +In secret kept, in silence sealed;-- +The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, +Whose charms were broken if revealed. +And days may pass in gay confusion, +And nights in rosy riot fly, +While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion, +The memory of the Past may die. + +But there are hours of lonely musing, +Such as in evening silence come, +When, soft as birds their pinions closing, +The heart's best feelings gather home. +Then in our souls there seems to languish +A tender grief that is not woe; +And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguish +Now cause but some mild tears to flow. + +And feelings, once as strong as passions, +Float softly back--a faded dream; +Our own sharp griefs and wild sensations, +The tale of others' sufferings seem. +Oh! when the heart is freshly bleeding, +How longs it for that time to be, +When, through the mist of years receding, +Its woes but live in reverie! + +And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer, +On evening shade and loneliness; +And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer, +Feel no untold and strange distress-- +Only a deeper impulse given +By lonely hour and darkened room, +To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven +Seeking a life and world to come. + + + + +STANZAS. + +If thou be in a lonely place, +If one hour's calm be thine, +As Evening bends her placid face +O'er this sweet day's decline; +If all the earth and all the heaven +Now look serene to thee, +As o'er them shuts the summer even, +One moment--think of me! + +Pause, in the lane, returning home; +'Tis dusk, it will be still: +Pause near the elm, a sacred gloom +Its breezeless boughs will fill. +Look at that soft and golden light, +High in the unclouded sky; +Watch the last bird's belated flight, +As it flits silent by. + +Hark! for a sound upon the wind, +A step, a voice, a sigh; +If all be still, then yield thy mind, +Unchecked, to memory. +If thy love were like mine, how blest +That twilight hour would seem, +When, back from the regretted Past, +Returned our early dream! + +If thy love were like mine, how wild +Thy longings, even to pain, +For sunset soft, and moonlight mild, +To bring that hour again! +But oft, when in thine arms I lay, +I've seen thy dark eyes shine, +And deeply felt their changeful ray +Spoke other love than mine. + +My love is almost anguish now, +It beats so strong and true; +'Twere rapture, could I deem that thou +Such anguish ever knew. +I have been but thy transient flower, +Thou wert my god divine; +Till checked by death's congealing power, +This heart must throb for thine. + +And well my dying hour were blest, +If life's expiring breath +Should pass, as thy lips gently prest +My forehead cold in death; +And sound my sleep would be, and sweet, +Beneath the churchyard tree, +If sometimes in thy heart should beat +One pulse, still true to me. + + + + +PARTING. + +There's no use in weeping, +Though we are condemned to part: +There's such a thing as keeping +A remembrance in one's heart: + +There's such a thing as dwelling +On the thought ourselves have nursed, +And with scorn and courage telling +The world to do its worst. + +We'll not let its follies grieve us, +We'll just take them as they come; +And then every day will leave us +A merry laugh for home. + +When we've left each friend and brother, +When we're parted wide and far, +We will think of one another, +As even better than we are. + +Every glorious sight above us, +Every pleasant sight beneath, +We'll connect with those that love us, +Whom we truly love till death! + +In the evening, when we're sitting +By the fire, perchance alone, +Then shall heart with warm heart meeting, +Give responsive tone for tone. + +We can burst the bonds which chain us, +Which cold human hands have wrought, +And where none shall dare restrain us +We can meet again, in thought. + +So there's no use in weeping, +Bear a cheerful spirit still; +Never doubt that Fate is keeping +Future good for present ill! + + + + +APOSTASY. + +This last denial of my faith, +Thou, solemn Priest, hast heard; +And, though upon my bed of death, +I call not back a word. +Point not to thy Madonna, Priest,-- +Thy sightless saint of stone; +She cannot, from this burning breast, +Wring one repentant moan. + +Thou say'st, that when a sinless child, +I duly bent the knee, +And prayed to what in marble smiled +Cold, lifeless, mute, on me. +I did. But listen! Children spring +Full soon to riper youth; +And, for Love's vow and Wedlock's ring, +I sold my early truth. + +'Twas not a grey, bare head, like thine, +Bent o'er me, when I said, +"That land and God and Faith are mine, +For which thy fathers bled." +I see thee not, my eyes are dim; +But well I hear thee say, +"O daughter cease to think of him +Who led thy soul astray. + +"Between you lies both space and time; +Let leagues and years prevail +To turn thee from the path of crime, +Back to the Church's pale." +And, did I need that, thou shouldst tell +What mighty barriers rise +To part me from that dungeon-cell, +Where my loved Walter lies? + +And, did I need that thou shouldst taunt +My dying hour at last, +By bidding this worn spirit pant +No more for what is past? +Priest--MUST I cease to think of him? +How hollow rings that word! +Can time, can tears, can distance dim +The memory of my lord? + +I said before, I saw not thee, +Because, an hour agone, +Over my eyeballs, heavily, +The lids fell down like stone. +But still my spirit's inward sight +Beholds his image beam +As fixed, as clear, as burning bright, +As some red planet's gleam. + +Talk not of thy Last Sacrament, +Tell not thy beads for me; +Both rite and prayer are vainly spent, +As dews upon the sea. +Speak not one word of Heaven above, +Rave not of Hell's alarms; +Give me but back my Walter's love, +Restore me to his arms! + +Then will the bliss of Heaven be won; +Then will Hell shrink away, +As I have seen night's terrors shun +The conquering steps of day. +'Tis my religion thus to love, +My creed thus fixed to be; +Not Death shall shake, nor Priestcraft break +My rock-like constancy! + +Now go; for at the door there waits +Another stranger guest; +He calls--I come--my pulse scarce beats, +My heart fails in my breast. +Again that voice--how far away, +How dreary sounds that tone! +And I, methinks, am gone astray +In trackless wastes and lone. + +I fain would rest a little while: +Where can I find a stay, +Till dawn upon the hills shall smile, +And show some trodden way? +"I come! I come!" in haste she said, +"'Twas Walter's voice I heard!" +Then up she sprang--but fell back, dead, +His name her latest word. + + + + +WINTER STORES. + +We take from life one little share, +And say that this shall be +A space, redeemed from toil and care, +From tears and sadness free. + +And, haply, Death unstrings his bow, +And Sorrow stands apart, +And, for a little while, we know +The sunshine of the heart. + +Existence seems a summer eve, +Warm, soft, and full of peace, +Our free, unfettered feelings give +The soul its full release. + +A moment, then, it takes the power +To call up thoughts that throw +Around that charmed and hallowed hour, +This life's divinest glow. + +But Time, though viewlessly it flies, +And slowly, will not stay; +Alike, through clear and clouded skies, +It cleaves its silent way. + +Alike the bitter cup of grief, +Alike the draught of bliss, +Its progress leaves but moment brief +For baffled lips to kiss + +The sparkling draught is dried away, +The hour of rest is gone, +And urgent voices, round us, say, +"Ho, lingerer, hasten on!" + +And has the soul, then, only gained, +From this brief time of ease, +A moment's rest, when overstrained, +One hurried glimpse of peace? + +No; while the sun shone kindly o'er us, +And flowers bloomed round our feet,-- +While many a bud of joy before us +Unclosed its petals sweet,-- + +An unseen work within was plying; +Like honey-seeking bee, +From flower to flower, unwearied, flying, +Laboured one faculty,-- + +Thoughtful for Winter's future sorrow, +Its gloom and scarcity; +Prescient to-day, of want to-morrow, +Toiled quiet Memory. + +'Tis she that from each transient pleasure +Extracts a lasting good; +'Tis she that finds, in summer, treasure +To serve for winter's food. + +And when Youth's summer day is vanished, +And Age brings Winter's stress, +Her stores, with hoarded sweets replenished, +Life's evening hours will bless. + + + + +THE MISSIONARY. + +Plough, vessel, plough the British main, +Seek the free ocean's wider plain; +Leave English scenes and English skies, +Unbind, dissever English ties; +Bear me to climes remote and strange, +Where altered life, fast-following change, +Hot action, never-ceasing toil, +Shall stir, turn, dig, the spirit's soil; +Fresh roots shall plant, fresh seed shall sow, +Till a new garden there shall grow, +Cleared of the weeds that fill it now,-- +Mere human love, mere selfish yearning, +Which, cherished, would arrest me yet. +I grasp the plough, there's no returning, +Let me, then, struggle to forget. + +But England's shores are yet in view, +And England's skies of tender blue +Are arched above her guardian sea. +I cannot yet Remembrance flee; +I must again, then, firmly face +That task of anguish, to retrace. +Wedded to home--I home forsake; +Fearful of change--I changes make; +Too fond of ease--I plunge in toil; +Lover of calm--I seek turmoil: +Nature and hostile Destiny +Stir in my heart a conflict wild; +And long and fierce the war will be +Ere duty both has reconciled. + +What other tie yet holds me fast +To the divorced, abandoned past? +Smouldering, on my heart's altar lies +The fire of some great sacrifice, +Not yet half quenched. The sacred steel +But lately struck my carnal will, +My life-long hope, first joy and last, +What I loved well, and clung to fast; +What I wished wildly to retain, +What I renounced with soul-felt pain; +What--when I saw it, axe-struck, perish-- +Left me no joy on earth to cherish; +A man bereft--yet sternly now +I do confirm that Jephtha vow: +Shall I retract, or fear, or flee? +Did Christ, when rose the fatal tree +Before him, on Mount Calvary? +'Twas a long fight, hard fought, but won, +And what I did was justly done. + +Yet, Helen! from thy love I turned, +When my heart most for thy heart burned; +I dared thy tears, I dared thy scorn-- +Easier the death-pang had been borne. +Helen, thou mightst not go with me, +I could not--dared not stay for thee! +I heard, afar, in bonds complain +The savage from beyond the main; +And that wild sound rose o'er the cry +Wrung out by passion's agony; +And even when, with the bitterest tear +I ever shed, mine eyes were dim, +Still, with the spirit's vision clear, +I saw Hell's empire, vast and grim, +Spread on each Indian river's shore, +Each realm of Asia covering o'er. +There, the weak, trampled by the strong, +Live but to suffer--hopeless die; +There pagan-priests, whose creed is Wrong, +Extortion, Lust, and Cruelty, +Crush our lost race--and brimming fill +The bitter cup of human ill; +And I--who have the healing creed, +The faith benign of Mary's Son, +Shall I behold my brother's need, +And, selfishly, to aid him shun? +I--who upon my mother's knees, +In childhood, read Christ's written word, +Received his legacy of peace, +His holy rule of action heard; +I--in whose heart the sacred sense +Of Jesus' love was early felt; +Of his pure, full benevolence, +His pitying tenderness for guilt; +His shepherd-care for wandering sheep, +For all weak, sorrowing, trembling things, +His mercy vast, his passion deep +Of anguish for man's sufferings; +I--schooled from childhood in such lore-- +Dared I draw back or hesitate, +When called to heal the sickness sore +Of those far off and desolate? +Dark, in the realm and shades of Death, +Nations, and tribes, and empires lie, +But even to them the light of Faith +Is breaking on their sombre sky: +And be it mine to bid them raise +Their drooped heads to the kindling scene, +And know and hail the sunrise blaze +Which heralds Christ the Nazarene. +I know how Hell the veil will spread +Over their brows and filmy eyes, +And earthward crush the lifted head +That would look up and seek the skies; +I know what war the fiend will wage +Against that soldier of the Cross, +Who comes to dare his demon rage, +And work his kingdom shame and loss. +Yes, hard and terrible the toil +Of him who steps on foreign soil, +Resolved to plant the gospel vine, +Where tyrants rule and slaves repine; +Eager to lift Religion's light +Where thickest shades of mental night +Screen the false god and fiendish rite; +Reckless that missionary blood, +Shed in wild wilderness and wood, +Has left, upon the unblest air, +The man's deep moan--the martyr's prayer. +I know my lot--I only ask +Power to fulfil the glorious task; +Willing the spirit, may the flesh +Strength for the day receive afresh. +May burning sun or deadly wind +Prevail not o'er an earnest mind; +May torments strange or direst death +Nor trample truth, nor baffle faith. +Though such blood-drops should fall from me +As fell in old Gethsemane, +Welcome the anguish, so it gave +More strength to work--more skill to save. +And, oh! if brief must be my time, +If hostile hand or fatal clime +Cut short my course--still o'er my grave, +Lord, may thy harvest whitening wave. +So I the culture may begin, +Let others thrust the sickle in; +If but the seed will faster grow, +May my blood water what I sow! + +What! have I ever trembling stood, +And feared to give to God that blood? +What! has the coward love of life +Made me shrink from the righteous strife? +Have human passions, human fears +Severed me from those Pioneers +Whose task is to march first, and trace +Paths for the progress of our race? +It has been so; but grant me, Lord, +Now to stand steadfast by Thy word! +Protected by salvation's helm, +Shielded by faith, with truth begirt, +To smile when trials seek to whelm +And stand mid testing fires unhurt! +Hurling hell's strongest bulwarks down, +Even when the last pang thrills my breast, +When death bestows the martyr's crown, +And calls me into Jesus' rest. +Then for my ultimate reward-- +Then for the world-rejoicing word-- +The voice from Father--Spirit--Son: +"Servant of God, well hast thou done!" + + + + +* + +POEMS BY ELLIS BELL, + + + + +FAITH AND DESPONDENCY. + +"The winter wind is loud and wild, +Come close to me, my darling child; +Forsake thy books, and mateless play; +And, while the night is gathering gray, +We'll talk its pensive hours away;-- + +"Ierne, round our sheltered hall +November's gusts unheeded call; +Not one faint breath can enter here +Enough to wave my daughter's hair, +And I am glad to watch the blaze +Glance from her eyes, with mimic rays; +To feel her cheek, so softly pressed, +In happy quiet on my breast, + +"But, yet, even this tranquillity +Brings bitter, restless thoughts to me; +And, in the red fire's cheerful glow, +I think of deep glens, blocked with snow; +I dream of moor, and misty hill, +Where evening closes dark and chill; +For, lone, among the mountains cold, +Lie those that I have loved of old. +And my heart aches, in hopeless pain, +Exhausted with repinings vain, +That I shall greet them ne'er again!" + +"Father, in early infancy, +When you were far beyond the sea, +Such thoughts were tyrants over me! +I often sat, for hours together, +Through the long nights of angry weather, +Raised on my pillow, to descry +The dim moon struggling in the sky; +Or, with strained ear, to catch the shock, +Of rock with wave, and wave with rock; +So would I fearful vigil keep, +And, all for listening, never sleep. +But this world's life has much to dread, +Not so, my Father, with the dead. + +"Oh! not for them, should we despair, +The grave is drear, but they are not there; +Their dust is mingled with the sod, +Their happy souls are gone to God! +You told me this, and yet you sigh, +And murmur that your friends must die. +Ah! my dear father, tell me why? +For, if your former words were true, +How useless would such sorrow be; +As wise, to mourn the seed which grew +Unnoticed on its parent tree, +Because it fell in fertile earth, +And sprang up to a glorious birth-- +Struck deep its root, and lifted high +Its green boughs in the breezy sky. + +"But, I'll not fear, I will not weep +For those whose bodies rest in sleep,-- +I know there is a blessed shore, +Opening its ports for me and mine; +And, gazing Time's wide waters o'er, +I weary for that land divine, +Where we were born, where you and I +Shall meet our dearest, when we die; +From suffering and corruption free, +Restored into the Deity." + +"Well hast thou spoken, sweet, trustful child! +And wiser than thy sire; +And worldly tempests, raging wild, +Shall strengthen thy desire-- +Thy fervent hope, through storm and foam, +Through wind and ocean's roar, +To reach, at last, the eternal home, +The steadfast, changeless shore!" + + + + +STARS. + +Ah! why, because the dazzling sun +Restored our Earth to joy, +Have you departed, every one, +And left a desert sky? + +All through the night, your glorious eyes +Were gazing down in mine, +And, with a full heart's thankful sighs, +I blessed that watch divine. + +I was at peace, and drank your beams +As they were life to me; +And revelled in my changeful dreams, +Like petrel on the sea. + +Thought followed thought, star followed star, +Through boundless regions, on; +While one sweet influence, near and far, +Thrilled through, and proved us one! + +Why did the morning dawn to break +So great, so pure, a spell; +And scorch with fire the tranquil cheek, +Where your cool radiance fell? + +Blood-red, he rose, and, arrow-straight, +His fierce beams struck my brow; +The soul of nature sprang, elate, +But mine sank sad and low! + +My lids closed down, yet through their veil +I saw him, blazing, still, +And steep in gold the misty dale, +And flash upon the hill. + +I turned me to the pillow, then, +To call back night, and see +Your worlds of solemn light, again, +Throb with my heart, and me! + +It would not do--the pillow glowed, +And glowed both roof and floor; +And birds sang loudly in the wood, +And fresh winds shook the door; + +The curtains waved, the wakened flies +Were murmuring round my room, +Imprisoned there, till I should rise, +And give them leave to roam. + +Oh, stars, and dreams, and gentle night; +Oh, night and stars, return! +And hide me from the hostile light +That does not warm, but burn; + +That drains the blood of suffering men; +Drinks tears, instead of dew; +Let me sleep through his blinding reign, +And only wake with you! + + + + +THE PHILOSOPHER. + +Enough of thought, philosopher! +Too long hast thou been dreaming +Unlightened, in this chamber drear, +While summer's sun is beaming! +Space-sweeping soul, what sad refrain +Concludes thy musings once again? + +"Oh, for the time when I shall sleep +Without identity. +And never care how rain may steep, +Or snow may cover me! +No promised heaven, these wild desires +Could all, or half fulfil; +No threatened hell, with quenchless fires, +Subdue this quenchless will!" + +"So said I, and still say the same; +Still, to my death, will say-- +Three gods, within this little frame, +Are warring night; and day; +Heaven could not hold them all, and yet +They all are held in me; +And must be mine till I forget +My present entity! +Oh, for the time, when in my breast +Their struggles will be o'er! +Oh, for the day, when I shall rest, +And never suffer more!" + +"I saw a spirit, standing, man, +Where thou dost stand--an hour ago, +And round his feet three rivers ran, +Of equal depth, and equal flow-- +A golden stream--and one like blood; +And one like sapphire seemed to be; +But, where they joined their triple flood +It tumbled in an inky sea +The spirit sent his dazzling gaze +Down through that ocean's gloomy night; +Then, kindling all, with sudden blaze, +The glad deep sparkled wide and bright-- +White as the sun, far, far more fair +Than its divided sources were!" + +"And even for that spirit, seer, +I've watched and sought my life-time long; +Sought him in heaven, hell, earth, and air, +An endless search, and always wrong. +Had I but seen his glorious eye +ONCE light the clouds that wilder me; +I ne'er had raised this coward cry +To cease to think, and cease to be; + +I ne'er had called oblivion blest, +Nor stretching eager hands to death, +Implored to change for senseless rest +This sentient soul, this living breath-- +Oh, let me die--that power and will +Their cruel strife may close; +And conquered good, and conquering ill +Be lost in one repose!" + + + + +REMEMBRANCE. + +Cold in the earth--and the deep snow piled above thee, +Far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave! +Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee, +Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave? + +Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover +Over the mountains, on that northern shore, +Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover +Thy noble heart for ever, ever more? + +Cold in the earth--and fifteen wild Decembers, +From those brown hills, have melted into spring: +Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers +After such years of change and suffering! + +Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, +While the world's tide is bearing me along; +Other desires and other hopes beset me, +Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong! + +No later light has lightened up my heaven, +No second morn has ever shone for me; +All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given, +All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee. + +But, when the days of golden dreams had perished, +And even Despair was powerless to destroy; +Then did I learn how existence could be cherished, +Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy. + +Then did I check the tears of useless passion-- +Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine; +Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten +Down to that tomb already more than mine. + +And, even yet, I dare not let it languish, +Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain; +Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, +How could I seek the empty world again? + + + + +A DEATH-SCENE. + +"O day! he cannot die +When thou so fair art shining! +O Sun, in such a glorious sky, +So tranquilly declining; + +He cannot leave thee now, +While fresh west winds are blowing, +And all around his youthful brow +Thy cheerful light is glowing! + +Edward, awake, awake-- +The golden evening gleams +Warm and bright on Arden's lake-- +Arouse thee from thy dreams! + +Beside thee, on my knee, +My dearest friend, I pray +That thou, to cross the eternal sea, +Wouldst yet one hour delay: + +I hear its billows roar-- +I see them foaming high; +But no glimpse of a further shore +Has blest my straining eye. + +Believe not what they urge +Of Eden isles beyond; +Turn back, from that tempestuous surge, +To thy own native land. + +It is not death, but pain +That struggles in thy breast-- +Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again; +I cannot let thee rest!" + +One long look, that sore reproved me +For the woe I could not bear-- +One mute look of suffering moved me +To repent my useless prayer: + +And, with sudden check, the heaving +Of distraction passed away; +Not a sign of further grieving +Stirred my soul that awful day. + +Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting; +Sunk to peace the twilight breeze: +Summer dews fell softly, wetting +Glen, and glade, and silent trees. + +Then his eyes began to weary, +Weighed beneath a mortal sleep; +And their orbs grew strangely dreary, +Clouded, even as they would weep. + +But they wept not, but they changed not, +Never moved, and never closed; +Troubled still, and still they ranged not-- +Wandered not, nor yet reposed! + +So I knew that he was dying-- +Stooped, and raised his languid head; +Felt no breath, and heard no sighing, +So I knew that he was dead. + + + + +SONG. + +The linnet in the rocky dells, +The moor-lark in the air, +The bee among the heather bells +That hide my lady fair: + +The wild deer browse above her breast; +The wild birds raise their brood; +And they, her smiles of love caressed, +Have left her solitude! + +I ween, that when the grave's dark wall +Did first her form retain, +They thought their hearts could ne'er recall +The light of joy again. + +They thought the tide of grief would flow +Unchecked through future years; +But where is all their anguish now, +And where are all their tears? + +Well, let them fight for honour's breath, +Or pleasure's shade pursue-- +The dweller in the land of death +Is changed and careless too. + +And, if their eyes should watch and weep +Till sorrow's source were dry, +She would not, in her tranquil sleep, +Return a single sigh! + +Blow, west-wind, by the lonely mound, +And murmur, summer-streams-- +There is no need of other sound +To soothe my lady's dreams. + + + + +ANTICIPATION. + +How beautiful the earth is still, +To thee--how full of happiness? +How little fraught with real ill, +Or unreal phantoms of distress! +How spring can bring thee glory, yet, +And summer win thee to forget +December's sullen time! +Why dost thou hold the treasure fast, +Of youth's delight, when youth is past, +And thou art near thy prime? + +When those who were thy own compeers, +Equals in fortune and in years, +Have seen their morning melt in tears, +To clouded, smileless day; +Blest, had they died untried and young, +Before their hearts went wandering wrong,-- +Poor slaves, subdued by passions strong, +A weak and helpless prey! + +'Because, I hoped while they enjoyed, +And by fulfilment, hope destroyed; +As children hope, with trustful breast, +I waited bliss--and cherished rest. +A thoughtful spirit taught me soon, +That we must long till life be done; +That every phase of earthly joy +Must always fade, and always cloy: + +'This I foresaw--and would not chase +The fleeting treacheries; +But, with firm foot and tranquil face, +Held backward from that tempting race, +Gazed o'er the sands the waves efface, +To the enduring seas-- +There cast my anchor of desire +Deep in unknown eternity; +Nor ever let my spirit tire, +With looking for WHAT IS TO BE! + +"It is hope's spell that glorifies, +Like youth, to my maturer eyes, +All Nature's million mysteries, +The fearful and the fair-- +Hope soothes me in the griefs I know; +She lulls my pain for others' woe, +And makes me strong to undergo +What I am born to bear. + +Glad comforter! will I not brave, +Unawed, the darkness of the grave? +Nay, smile to hear Death's billows rave-- +Sustained, my guide, by thee? +The more unjust seems present fate, +The more my spirit swells elate, +Strong, in thy strength, to anticipate +Rewarding destiny! + + + + +THE PRISONER. + +A FRAGMENT. + +In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray, +Reckless of the lives wasting there away; +"Draw the ponderous bars! open, Warder stern!" +He dared not say me nay--the hinges harshly turn. + +"Our guests are darkly lodged," I whisper'd, gazing through +The vault, whose grated eye showed heaven more gray than blue; +(This was when glad Spring laughed in awaking pride;) +"Ay, darkly lodged enough!" returned my sullen guide. + +Then, God forgive my youth; forgive my careless tongue; +I scoffed, as the chill chains on the damp flagstones rung: +"Confined in triple walls, art thou so much to fear, +That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?" + +The captive raised her face; it was as soft and mild +As sculptured marble saint, or slumbering unwean'd child; +It was so soft and mild, it was so sweet and fair, +Pain could not trace a line, nor grief a shadow there! + +The captive raised her hand and pressed it to her brow; +"I have been struck," she said, "and I am suffering now; +Yet these are little worth, your bolts and irons strong; +And, were they forged in steel, they could not hold me long." + +Hoarse laughed the jailor grim: "Shall I be won to hear; +Dost think, fond, dreaming wretch, that I shall grant thy prayer? +Or, better still, wilt melt my master's heart with groans? +Ah! sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones. + +"My master's voice is low, his aspect bland and kind, +But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind; +And I am rough and rude, yet not more rough to see +Than is the hidden ghost that has its home in me." + +About her lips there played a smile of almost scorn, +"My friend," she gently said, "you have not heard me mourn; +When you my kindred's lives, MY lost life, can restore, +Then may I weep and sue,--but never, friend, before! + +"Still, let my tyrants know, I am not doomed to wear +Year after year in gloom, and desolate despair; +A messenger of Hope comes every night to me, +And offers for short life, eternal liberty. + +"He comes with western winds, with evening's wandering airs, +With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars. +Winds take a pensive tone, and stars a tender fire, +And visions rise, and change, that kill me with desire. + +"Desire for nothing known in my maturer years, +When Joy grew mad with awe, at counting future tears. +When, if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm, +I knew not whence they came, from sun or thunder-storm. + +"But, first, a hush of peace--a soundless calm descends; +The struggle of distress, and fierce impatience ends; +Mute music soothes my breast--unuttered harmony, +That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me. + +"Then dawns the Invisible; the Unseen its truth reveals; +My outward sense is gone, my inward essence feels: +Its wings are almost free--its home, its harbour found, +Measuring the gulph, it stoops and dares the final bound, + +"Oh I dreadful is the check--intense the agony-- +When the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see; +When the pulse begins to throb, the brain to think again; +The soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain. + +"Yet I would lose no sting, would wish no torture less; +The more that anguish racks, the earlier it will bless; +And robed in fires of hell, or bright with heavenly shine, +If it but herald death, the vision is divine!" + +She ceased to speak, and we, unanswering, turned to go-- +We had no further power to work the captive woe: +Her cheek, her gleaming eye, declared that man had given +A sentence, unapproved, and overruled by Heaven. + + + + +HOPE. + +Hope Was but a timid friend; +She sat without the grated den, +Watching how my fate would tend, +Even as selfish-hearted men. + +She was cruel in her fear; +Through the bars one dreary day, +I looked out to see her there, +And she turned her face away! + +Like a false guard, false watch keeping, +Still, in strife, she whispered peace; +She would sing while I was weeping; +If I listened, she would cease. + +False she was, and unrelenting; +When my last joys strewed the ground, +Even Sorrow saw, repenting, +Those sad relics scattered round; + +Hope, whose whisper would have given +Balm to all my frenzied pain, +Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven, +Went, and ne'er returned again! + + + + +A DAY DREAM. + +On a sunny brae alone I lay +One summer afternoon; +It was the marriage-time of May, +With her young lover, June. + +From her mother's heart seemed loath to part +That queen of bridal charms, +But her father smiled on the fairest child +He ever held in his arms. + +The trees did wave their plumy crests, +The glad birds carolled clear; +And I, of all the wedding guests, +Was only sullen there! + +There was not one, but wished to shun +My aspect void of cheer; +The very gray rocks, looking on, +Asked, "What do you here?" + +And I could utter no reply; +In sooth, I did not know +Why I had brought a clouded eye +To greet the general glow. + +So, resting on a heathy bank, +I took my heart to me; +And we together sadly sank +Into a reverie. + +We thought, "When winter comes again, +Where will these bright things be? +All vanished, like a vision vain, +An unreal mockery! + +"The birds that now so blithely sing, +Through deserts, frozen dry, +Poor spectres of the perished spring, +In famished troops will fly. + +"And why should we be glad at all? +The leaf is hardly green, +Before a token of its fall +Is on the surface seen!" + +Now, whether it were really so, +I never could be sure; +But as in fit of peevish woe, +I stretched me on the moor, + +A thousand thousand gleaming fires +Seemed kindling in the air; +A thousand thousand silvery lyres +Resounded far and near: + +Methought, the very breath I breathed +Was full of sparks divine, +And all my heather-couch was wreathed +By that celestial shine! + +And, while the wide earth echoing rung +To that strange minstrelsy +The little glittering spirits sung, +Or seemed to sing, to me: + +"O mortal! mortal! let them die; +Let time and tears destroy, +That we may overflow the sky +With universal joy! + +"Let grief distract the sufferer's breast, +And night obscure his way; +They hasten him to endless rest, +And everlasting day. + +"To thee the world is like a tomb, +A desert's naked shore; +To us, in unimagined bloom, +It brightens more and more! + +"And, could we lift the veil, and give +One brief glimpse to thine eye, +Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live, +BECAUSE they live to die." + +The music ceased; the noonday dream, +Like dream of night, withdrew; +But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem +Her fond creation true. + + + + +TO IMAGINATION. + +When weary with the long day's care, +And earthly change from pain to pain, +And lost, and ready to despair, +Thy kind voice calls me back again: +Oh, my true friend! I am not lone, +While then canst speak with such a tone! + +So hopeless is the world without; +The world within I doubly prize; +Thy world, where guile, and hate, and doubt, +And cold suspicion never rise; +Where thou, and I, and Liberty, +Have undisputed sovereignty. + +What matters it, that all around +Danger, and guilt, and darkness lie, +If but within our bosom's bound +We hold a bright, untroubled sky, +Warm with ten thousand mingled rays +Of suns that know no winter days? + +Reason, indeed, may oft complain +For Nature's sad reality, +And tell the suffering heart how vain +Its cherished dreams must always be; +And Truth may rudely trample down +The flowers of Fancy, newly-blown: + +But thou art ever there, to bring +The hovering vision back, and breathe +New glories o'er the blighted spring, +And call a lovelier Life from Death. +And whisper, with a voice divine, +Of real worlds, as bright as thine. + +I trust not to thy phantom bliss, +Yet, still, in evening's quiet hour, +With never-failing thankfulness, +I welcome thee, Benignant Power; +Sure solacer of human cares, +And sweeter hope, when hope despairs! + + + + +HOW CLEAR SHE SHINES. + +How clear she shines! How quietly +I lie beneath her guardian light; +While heaven and earth are whispering me, +"To morrow, wake, but dream to-night." +Yes, Fancy, come, my Fairy love! +These throbbing temples softly kiss; +And bend my lonely couch above, +And bring me rest, and bring me bliss. + +The world is going; dark world, adieu! +Grim world, conceal thee till the day; +The heart thou canst not all subdue +Must still resist, if thou delay! + +Thy love I will not, will not share; +Thy hatred only wakes a smile; +Thy griefs may wound--thy wrongs may tear, +But, oh, thy lies shall ne'er beguile! +While gazing on the stars that glow +Above me, in that stormless sea, +I long to hope that all the woe +Creation knows, is held in thee! + +And this shall be my dream to-night; +I'll think the heaven of glorious spheres +Is rolling on its course of light +In endless bliss, through endless years; +I'll think, there's not one world above, +Far as these straining eyes can see, +Where Wisdom ever laughed at Love, +Or Virtue crouched to Infamy; + +Where, writhing 'neath the strokes of Fate, +The mangled wretch was forced to smile; +To match his patience 'gainst her hate, +His heart rebellious all the while. +Where Pleasure still will lead to wrong, +And helpless Reason warn in vain; +And Truth is weak, and Treachery strong; +And Joy the surest path to Pain; +And Peace, the lethargy of Grief; +And Hope, a phantom of the soul; +And life, a labour, void and brief; +And Death, the despot of the whole! + + + + +SYMPATHY. + +There should be no despair for you +While nightly stars are burning; +While evening pours its silent dew, +And sunshine gilds the morning. +There should be no despair--though tears +May flow down like a river: +Are not the best beloved of years +Around your heart for ever? + +They weep, you weep, it must be so; +Winds sigh as you are sighing, +And winter sheds its grief in snow +Where Autumn's leaves are lying: +Yet, these revive, and from their fate +Your fate cannot be parted: +Then, journey on, if not elate, +Still, NEVER broken-hearted! + + + + +PLEAD FOR ME. + +Oh, thy bright eyes must answer now, +When Reason, with a scornful brow, +Is mocking at my overthrow! +Oh, thy sweet tongue must plead for me +And tell why I have chosen thee! + +Stern Reason is to judgment come, +Arrayed in all her forms of gloom: +Wilt thou, my advocate, be dumb? +No, radiant angel, speak and say, +Why I did cast the world away. + +Why I have persevered to shun +The common paths that others run; +And on a strange road journeyed on, +Heedless, alike of wealth and power-- +Of glory's wreath and pleasure's flower. + +These, once, indeed, seemed Beings Divine; +And they, perchance, heard vows of mine, +And saw my offerings on their shrine; +But careless gifts are seldom prized, +And MINE were worthily despised. + +So, with a ready heart, I swore +To seek their altar-stone no more; +And gave my spirit to adore +Thee, ever-present, phantom thing-- +My slave, my comrade, and my king. + +A slave, because I rule thee still; +Incline thee to my changeful will, +And make thy influence good or ill: +A comrade, for by day and night +Thou art my intimate delight,-- + +My darling pain that wounds and sears, +And wrings a blessing out from tears +By deadening me to earthly cares; +And yet, a king, though Prudence well +Have taught thy subject to rebel + +And am I wrong to worship where +Faith cannot doubt, nor hope despair, +Since my own soul can grant my prayer? +Speak, God of visions, plead for me, +And tell why I have chosen thee! + + + + +SELF-INTEROGATION, + +"The evening passes fast away. +'Tis almost time to rest; +What thoughts has left the vanished day, +What feelings in thy breast? + +"The vanished day? It leaves a sense +Of labour hardly done; +Of little gained with vast expense-- +A sense of grief alone? + +"Time stands before the door of Death, +Upbraiding bitterly +And Conscience, with exhaustless breath, +Pours black reproach on me: + +"And though I've said that Conscience lies +And Time should Fate condemn; +Still, sad Repentance clouds my eyes, +And makes me yield to them! + +"Then art thou glad to seek repose? +Art glad to leave the sea, +And anchor all thy weary woes +In calm Eternity? + +"Nothing regrets to see thee go-- +Not one voice sobs' farewell;' +And where thy heart has suffered so, +Canst thou desire to dwell?" + +"Alas! the countless links are strong +That bind us to our clay; +The loving spirit lingers long, +And would not pass away! + +"And rest is sweet, when laurelled fame +Will crown the soldier's crest; +But a brave heart, with a tarnished name, +Would rather fight than rest. + +"Well, thou hast fought for many a year, +Hast fought thy whole life through, +Hast humbled Falsehood, trampled Fear; +What is there left to do? + +"'Tis true, this arm has hotly striven, +Has dared what few would dare; +Much have I done, and freely given, +But little learnt to bear! + +"Look on the grave where thou must sleep +Thy last, and strongest foe; +It is endurance not to weep, +If that repose seem woe. + +"The long war closing in defeat-- +Defeat serenely borne,-- +Thy midnight rest may still be sweet, +And break in glorious morn!" + + + + +DEATH. + +Death! that struck when I was most confiding. +In my certain faith of joy to be-- +Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing +From the fresh root of Eternity! + +Leaves, upon Time's branch, were growing brightly, +Full of sap, and full of silver dew; +Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly; +Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew. + +Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom; +Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride +But, within its parent's kindly bosom, +Flowed for ever Life's restoring tide. + +Little mourned I for the parted gladness, +For the vacant nest and silent song-- +Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness; +Whispering, "Winter will not linger long!" + +And, behold! with tenfold increase blessing, +Spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray; +Wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing, +Lavished glory on that second May! + +High it rose--no winged grief could sweep it; +Sin was scared to distance with its shine; +Love, and its own life, had power to keep it +From all wrong--from every blight but thine! + +Cruel Death! The young leaves droop and languish; +Evening's gentle air may still restore-- +No! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish- +Time, for me, must never blossom more! + +Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish +Where that perished sapling used to be; +Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish +That from which it sprung--Eternity. + + + + +STANZAS TO ---- + +Well, some may hate, and some may scorn, +And some may quite forget thy name; +But my sad heart must ever mourn +Thy ruined hopes, thy blighted fame! +'Twas thus I thought, an hour ago, +Even weeping o'er that wretch's woe; +One word turned back my gushing tears, +And lit my altered eye with sneers. +Then "Bless the friendly dust," I said, +"That hides thy unlamented head! +Vain as thou wert, and weak as vain, +The slave of Falsehood, Pride, and Pain-- +My heart has nought akin to thine; +Thy soul is powerless over mine." +But these were thoughts that vanished too; +Unwise, unholy, and untrue: +Do I despise the timid deer, +Because his limbs are fleet with fear? +Or, would I mock the wolf's death-howl, +Because his form is gaunt and foul? +Or, hear with joy the leveret's cry, +Because it cannot bravely die? +No! Then above his memory +Let Pity's heart as tender be; +Say, "Earth, lie lightly on that breast, +And, kind Heaven, grant that spirit rest!" + + + + +HONOUR'S MARTYR. + +The moon is full this winter night; +The stars are clear, though few; +And every window glistens bright +With leaves of frozen dew. + +The sweet moon through your lattice gleams, +And lights your room like day; +And there you pass, in happy dreams, +The peaceful hours away! + +While I, with effort hardly quelling +The anguish in my breast, +Wander about the silent dwelling, +And cannot think of rest. + +The old clock in the gloomy hall +Ticks on, from hour to hour; +And every time its measured call +Seems lingering slow and slower: + +And, oh, how slow that keen-eyed star +Has tracked the chilly gray! +What, watching yet! how very far +The morning lies away! + +Without your chamber door I stand; +Love, are you slumbering still? +My cold heart, underneath my hand, +Has almost ceased to thrill. + +Bleak, bleak the east wind sobs and sighs, +And drowns the turret bell, +Whose sad note, undistinguished, dies +Unheard, like my farewell! + +To-morrow, Scorn will blight my name, +And Hate will trample me, +Will load me with a coward's shame-- +A traitor's perjury. + +False friends will launch their covert sneers; +True friends will wish me dead; +And I shall cause the bitterest tears +That you have ever shed. + +The dark deeds of my outlawed race +Will then like virtues shine; +And men will pardon their disgrace, +Beside the guilt of mine. + +For, who forgives the accursed crime +Of dastard treachery? +Rebellion, in its chosen time, +May Freedom's champion be; + +Revenge may stain a righteous sword, +It may be just to slay; +But, traitor, traitor,--from THAT word +All true breasts shrink away! + +Oh, I would give my heart to death, +To keep my honour fair; +Yet, I'll not give my inward faith +My honour's NAME to spare! + +Not even to keep your priceless love, +Dare I, Beloved, deceive; +This treason should the future prove, +Then, only then, believe! + +I know the path I ought to go +I follow fearlessly, +Inquiring not what deeper woe +Stern duty stores for me. + +So foes pursue, and cold allies +Mistrust me, every one: +Let me be false in others' eyes, +If faithful in my own. + + + + +STANZAS. + +I'll not weep that thou art going to leave me, +There's nothing lovely here; +And doubly will the dark world grieve me, +While thy heart suffers there. + +I'll not weep, because the summer's glory +Must always end in gloom; +And, follow out the happiest story-- +It closes with a tomb! + +And I am weary of the anguish +Increasing winters bear; +Weary to watch the spirit languish +Through years of dead despair. + +So, if a tear, when thou art dying, +Should haply fall from me, +It is but that my soul is sighing, +To go and rest with thee. + + + + +MY COMFORTER. + +Well hast thou spoken, and yet not taught +A feeling strange or new; +Thou hast but roused a latent thought, +A cloud-closed beam of sunshine brought +To gleam in open view. + +Deep down, concealed within my soul, +That light lies hid from men; +Yet glows unquenched--though shadows roll, +Its gentle ray cannot control-- +About the sullen den. + +Was I not vexed, in these gloomy ways +To walk alone so long? +Around me, wretches uttering praise, +Or howling o'er their hopeless days, +And each with Frenzy's tongue;- + +A brotherhood of misery, +Their smiles as sad as sighs; +Whose madness daily maddened me, +Distorting into agony +The bliss before my eyes! + +So stood I, in Heaven's glorious sun, +And in the glare of Hell; +My spirit drank a mingled tone, +Of seraph's song, and demon's moan; +What my soul bore, my soul alone +Within itself may tell! + +Like a soft, air above a sea, +Tossed by the tempest's stir; +A thaw-wind, melting quietly +The snow-drift on some wintry lea; +No: what sweet thing resembles thee, +My thoughtful Comforter? + +And yet a little longer speak, +Calm this resentful mood; +And while the savage heart grows meek, +For other token do not seek, +But let the tear upon my cheek +Evince my gratitude! + + + + +THE OLD STOIC. + +Riches I hold in light esteem, +And Love I laugh to scorn; +And lust of fame was but a dream, +That vanished with the morn: + +And if I pray, the only prayer +That moves my lips for me +Is, "Leave the heart that now I bear, +And give me liberty!" + +Yes, as my swift days near their goal: +'Tis all that I implore ; +In life and death a chainless soul, +With courage to endure. + + + + +* + +POEMS BY ACTON BELL, + + + + +A REMINISCENCE. + +Yes, thou art gone! and never more +Thy sunny smile shall gladden me; +But I may pass the old church door, +And pace the floor that covers thee, + +May stand upon the cold, damp stone, +And think that, frozen, lies below +The lightest heart that I have known, +The kindest I shall ever know. + +Yet, though I cannot see thee more, +'Tis still a comfort to have seen; +And though thy transient life is o'er, +'Tis sweet to think that thou hast been; + +To think a soul so near divine, +Within a form so angel fair, +United to a heart like thine, +Has gladdened once our humble sphere. + + + + +THE ARBOUR. + +I'll rest me in this sheltered bower, +And look upon the clear blue sky +That smiles upon me through the trees, +Which stand so thick clustering by; + +And view their green and glossy leaves, +All glistening in the sunshine fair; +And list the rustling of their boughs, +So softly whispering through the air. + +And while my ear drinks in the sound, +My winged soul shall fly away; +Reviewing lone departed years +As one mild, beaming, autumn day; + +And soaring on to future scenes, +Like hills and woods, and valleys green, +All basking in the summer's sun, +But distant still, and dimly seen. + +Oh, list! 'tis summer's very breath +That gently shakes the rustling trees-- +But look! the snow is on the ground-- +How can I think of scenes like these? + +'Tis but the FROST that clears the air, +And gives the sky that lovely blue; +They're smiling in a WINTER'S sun, +Those evergreens of sombre hue. + +And winter's chill is on my heart-- +How can I dream of future bliss? +How can my spirit soar away, +Confined by such a chain as this? + + + + +HOME. + +How brightly glistening in the sun +The woodland ivy plays! +While yonder beeches from their barks +Reflect his silver rays. + +That sun surveys a lovely scene +From softly smiling skies; +And wildly through unnumbered trees +The wind of winter sighs: + +Now loud, it thunders o'er my head, +And now in distance dies. +But give me back my barren hills +Where colder breezes rise; + +Where scarce the scattered, stunted trees +Can yield an answering swell, +But where a wilderness of heath +Returns the sound as well. + +For yonder garden, fair and wide, +With groves of evergreen, +Long winding walks, and borders trim, +And velvet lawns between; + +Restore to me that little spot, +With gray walls compassed round, +Where knotted grass neglected lies, +And weeds usurp the ground. + +Though all around this mansion high +Invites the foot to roam, +And though its halls are fair within-- +Oh, give me back my HOME! + + + + +VANITAS VANITATUM, OMNIA VANITAS. + +In all we do, and hear, and see, +Is restless Toil and Vanity. +While yet the rolling earth abides, +Men come and go like ocean tides; + +And ere one generation dies, +Another in its place shall rise; +THAT, sinking soon into the grave, +Others succeed, like wave on wave; + +And as they rise, they pass away. +The sun arises every day, +And hastening onward to the West, +He nightly sinks, but not to rest: + +Returning to the eastern skies, +Again to light us, he must rise. +And still the restless wind comes forth, +Now blowing keenly from the North; + +Now from the South, the East, the West, +For ever changing, ne'er at rest. +The fountains, gushing from the hills, +Supply the ever-running rills; + +The thirsty rivers drink their store, +And bear it rolling to the shore, +But still the ocean craves for more. +'Tis endless labour everywhere! +Sound cannot satisfy the ear, + +Light cannot fill the craving eye, +Nor riches half our wants supply, +Pleasure but doubles future pain, +And joy brings sorrow in her train; + +Laughter is mad, and reckless mirth-- +What does she in this weary earth? +Should Wealth, or Fame, our Life employ, +Death comes, our labour to destroy; + +To snatch the untasted cup away, +For which we toiled so many a day. +What, then, remains for wretched man? +To use life's comforts while he can, + +Enjoy the blessings Heaven bestows, +Assist his friends, forgive his foes; +Trust God, and keep His statutes still, +Upright and firm, through good and ill; + +Thankful for all that God has given, +Fixing his firmest hopes on Heaven; +Knowing that earthly joys decay, +But hoping through the darkest day. + + + + +THE PENITENT. + +I mourn with thee, and yet rejoice +That thou shouldst sorrow so; +With angel choirs I join my voice +To bless the sinner's woe. + +Though friends and kindred turn away, +And laugh thy grief to scorn; +I hear the great Redeemer say, +"Blessed are ye that mourn." + +Hold on thy course, nor deem it strange +That earthly cords are riven: +Man may lament the wondrous change, +But "there is joy in heaven!" + + + + +MUSIC ON CHRISTMAS MORNING. + +Music I love--but never strain +Could kindle raptures so divine, +So grief assuage, so conquer pain, +And rouse this pensive heart of mine-- +As that we hear on Christmas morn, +Upon the wintry breezes borne. + +Though Darkness still her empire keep, +And hours must pass, ere morning break; +From troubled dreams, or slumbers deep, +That music KINDLY bids us wake: +It calls us, with an angel's voice, +To wake, and worship, and rejoice; + +To greet with joy the glorious morn, +Which angels welcomed long ago, +When our redeeming Lord was born, +To bring the light of Heaven below; +The Powers of Darkness to dispel, +And rescue Earth from Death and Hell. + +While listening to that sacred strain, +My raptured spirit soars on high; +I seem to hear those songs again +Resounding through the open sky, +That kindled such divine delight, +In those who watched their flocks by night. + +With them I celebrate His birth-- +Glory to God, in highest Heaven, +Good-will to men, and peace on earth, +To us a Saviour-king is given; +Our God is come to claim His own, +And Satan's power is overthrown! + +A sinless God, for sinful men, +Descends to suffer and to bleed; +Hell MUST renounce its empire then; +The price is paid, the world is freed, +And Satan's self must now confess +That Christ has earned a RIGHT to bless: + +Now holy Peace may smile from heaven, +And heavenly Truth from earth shall spring: +The captive's galling bonds are riven, +For our Redeemer is our king; +And He that gave his blood for men +Will lead us home to God again. + + + + +STANZAS. + +Oh, weep not, love! each tear that springs +In those dear eyes of thine, +To me a keener suffering brings +Than if they flowed from mine. + +And do not droop! however drear +The fate awaiting thee; +For MY sake combat pain and care, +And cherish life for me! + +I do not fear thy love will fail; +Thy faith is true, I know; +But, oh, my love! thy strength is frail +For such a life of woe. + +Were 't not for this, I well could trace +(Though banished long from thee) +Life's rugged path, and boldly face +The storms that threaten me. + +Fear not for me--I've steeled my mind +Sorrow and strife to greet; +Joy with my love I leave behind, +Care with my friends I meet. + +A mother's sad reproachful eye, +A father's scowling brow-- +But he may frown and she may sigh: +I will not break my vow! + +I love my mother, I revere +My sire, but fear not me-- +Believe that Death alone can tear +This faithful heart from thee. + + + + +IF THIS BE ALL. + +O God! if this indeed be all +That Life can show to me; +If on my aching brow may fall +No freshening dew from Thee; + +If with no brighter light than this +The lamp of hope may glow, +And I may only dream of bliss, +And wake to weary woe; + +If friendship's solace must decay, +When other joys are gone, +And love must keep so far away, +While I go wandering on,-- + +Wandering and toiling without gain, +The slave of others' will, +With constant care, and frequent pain, +Despised, forgotten still; + +Grieving to look on vice and sin, +Yet powerless to quell +The silent current from within, +The outward torrent's swell + +While all the good I would impart, +The feelings I would share, +Are driven backward to my heart, +And turned to wormwood there; + +If clouds must EVER keep from sight +The glories of the Sun, +And I must suffer Winter's blight, +Ere Summer is begun; + +If Life must be so full of care, +Then call me soon to thee; +Or give me strength enough to bear +My load of misery. + + + + +MEMORY. + +Brightly the sun of summer shone +Green fields and waving woods upon, +And soft winds wandered by; +Above, a sky of purest blue, +Around, bright flowers of loveliest hue, +Allured the gazer's eye. + +But what were all these charms to me, +When one sweet breath of memory +Came gently wafting by? +I closed my eyes against the day, +And called my willing soul away, +From earth, and air, and sky; + +That I might simply fancy there +One little flower--a primrose fair, +Just opening into sight; +As in the days of infancy, +An opening primrose seemed to me +A source of strange delight. + +Sweet Memory! ever smile on me; +Nature's chief beauties spring from thee; +Oh, still thy tribute bring +Still make the golden crocus shine +Among the flowers the most divine, +The glory of the spring. + +Still in the wallflower's fragrance dwell; +And hover round the slight bluebell, +My childhood's darling flower. +Smile on the little daisy still, +The buttercup's bright goblet fill +With all thy former power. + +For ever hang thy dreamy spell +Round mountain star and heather bell, +And do not pass away +From sparkling frost, or wreathed snow, +And whisper when the wild winds blow, +Or rippling waters play. + +Is childhood, then, so all divine? +Or Memory, is the glory thine, +That haloes thus the past? +Not ALL divine; its pangs of grief +(Although, perchance, their stay be brief) +Are bitter while they last. + +Nor is the glory all thine own, +For on our earliest joys alone +That holy light is cast. +With such a ray, no spell of thine +Can make our later pleasures shine, +Though long ago they passed. + + + + +TO COWPER. + +Sweet are thy strains, celestial Bard; +And oft, in childhood's years, +I've read them o'er and o'er again, +With floods of silent tears. + +The language of my inmost heart +I traced in every line; +MY sins, MY sorrows, hopes, and fears, +Were there-and only mine. + +All for myself the sigh would swell, +The tear of anguish start; +I little knew what wilder woe +Had filled the Poet's heart. + +I did not know the nights of gloom, +The days of misery; +The long, long years of dark despair, +That crushed and tortured thee. + +But they are gone; from earth at length +Thy gentle soul is pass'd, +And in the bosom of its God +Has found its home at last. + +It must be so, if God is love, +And answers fervent prayer; +Then surely thou shalt dwell on high, +And I may meet thee there. + +Is He the source of every good, +The spring of purity? +Then in thine hours of deepest woe, +Thy God was still with thee. + +How else, when every hope was fled, +Couldst thou so fondly cling +To holy things and help men? +And how so sweetly sing, + +Of things that God alone could teach? +And whence that purity, +That hatred of all sinful ways-- +That gentle charity? + +Are THESE the symptoms of a heart +Of heavenly grace bereft-- +For ever banished from its God, +To Satan's fury left? + +Yet, should thy darkest fears be true, +If Heaven be so severe, +That such a soul as thine is lost,-- +Oh! how shall I appear? + + + +THE DOUBTER'S PRAYER. + +Eternal Power, of earth and air! +Unseen, yet seen in all around, +Remote, but dwelling everywhere, +Though silent, heard in every sound; + +If e'er thine ear in mercy bent, +When wretched mortals cried to Thee, +And if, indeed, Thy Son was sent, +To save lost sinners such as me: + +Then hear me now, while kneeling here, +I lift to thee my heart and eye, +And all my soul ascends in prayer, +OH, GIVE ME--GIVE ME FAITH! I cry. + +Without some glimmering in my heart, +I could not raise this fervent prayer; +But, oh! a stronger light impart, +And in Thy mercy fix it there. + +While Faith is with me, I am blest; +It turns my darkest night to day; +But while I clasp it to my breast, +I often feel it slide away. + +Then, cold and dark, my spirit sinks, +To see my light of life depart; +And every fiend of Hell, methinks, +Enjoys the anguish of my heart. + +What shall I do, if all my love, +My hopes, my toil, are cast away, +And if there be no God above, +To hear and bless me when I pray? + +If this be vain delusion all, +If death be an eternal sleep, +And none can hear my secret call, +Or see the silent tears I weep! + +Oh, help me, God! For thou alone +Canst my distracted soul relieve; +Forsake it not: it is thine own, +Though weak, yet longing to believe. + +Oh, drive these cruel doubts away; +And make me know, that Thou art God! +A faith, that shines by night and day, +Will lighten every earthly load. + +If I believe that Jesus died, +And waking, rose to reign above; +Then surely Sorrow, Sin, and Pride, +Must yield to Peace, and Hope, and Love. + +And all the blessed words He said +Will strength and holy joy impart: +A shield of safety o'er my head, +A spring of comfort in my heart. + + + + +A WORD TO THE "ELECT." + +You may rejoice to think YOURSELVES secure; +You may be grateful for the gift divine-- +That grace unsought, which made your black hearts pure, +And fits your earth-born souls in Heaven to shine. + +But, is it sweet to look around, and view +Thousands excluded from that happiness +Which they deserved, at least, as much as you.-- +Their faults not greater, nor their virtues less? + +And wherefore should you love your God the more, +Because to you alone his smiles are given; +Because He chose to pass the MANY o'er, +And only bring the favoured FEW to Heaven? + +And, wherefore should your hearts more grateful prove, +Because for ALL the Saviour did not die? +Is yours the God of justice and of love? +And are your bosoms warm with charity? + +Say, does your heart expand to all mankind? +And, would you ever to your neighbour do-- +The weak, the strong, the enlightened, and the blind-- +As you would have your neighbour do to you? + +And when you, looking on your fellow-men, +Behold them doomed to endless misery, +How can you talk of joy and rapture then?-- +May God withhold such cruel joy from me! + +That none deserve eternal bliss I know; +Unmerited the grace in mercy given: +But, none shall sink to everlasting woe, +That have not well deserved the wrath of Heaven. + +And, oh! there lives within my heart +A hope, long nursed by me; +(And should its cheering ray depart, +How dark my soul would be!) + +That as in Adam all have died, +In Christ shall all men live; +And ever round his throne abide, +Eternal praise to give. + +That even the wicked shall at last +Be fitted for the skies; +And when their dreadful doom is past, +To life and light arise. + +I ask not, how remote the day, +Nor what the sinners' woe, +Before their dross is purged away; +Enough for me to know-- + +That when the clip of wrath is drained, +The metal purified, +They'll cling to what they once disdained, +And live by Him that died. + + + + +PAST DAYS. + +'Tis strange to think there WAS a time +When mirth was not an empty name, +When laughter really cheered the heart, +And frequent smiles unbidden came, +And tears of grief would only flow +In sympathy for others' woe; + +When speech expressed the inward thought, +And heart to kindred heart was bare, +And summer days were far too short +For all the pleasures crowded there; +And silence, solitude, and rest, +Now welcome to the weary breast-- + +Were all unprized, uncourted then-- +And all the joy one spirit showed, +The other deeply felt again; +And friendship like a river flowed, +Constant and strong its silent course, +For nought withstood its gentle force: + +When night, the holy time of peace, +Was dreaded as the parting hour; +When speech and mirth at once must cease, +And silence must resume her power; +Though ever free from pains and woes, +She only brought us calm repose. + +And when the blessed dawn again +Brought daylight to the blushing skies, +We woke, and not RELUCTANT then, +To joyless LABOUR did we rise; +But full of hope, and glad and gay, +We welcomed the returning day. + + + + +THE CONSOLATION. + +Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground +With fallen leaves so thickly strown, +And cold the wind that wanders round +With wild and melancholy moan; + +There IS a friendly roof, I know, +Might shield me from the wintry blast; +There is a fire, whose ruddy glow +Will cheer me for my wanderings past. + +And so, though still, where'er I go, +Cold stranger-glances meet my eye; +Though, when my spirit sinks in woe, +Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh; + +Though solitude, endured too long, +Bids youthful joys too soon decay, +Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue, +And overclouds my noon of day; + +When kindly thoughts that would have way, +Flow back discouraged to my breast; +I know there is, though far away, +A home where heart and soul may rest. + +Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine, +The warmer heart will not belie; +While mirth, and truth, and friendship shine +In smiling lip and earnest eye. + +The ice that gathers round my heart +May there be thawed; and sweetly, then, +The joys of youth, that now depart, +Will come to cheer my soul again. + +Though far I roam, that thought shall be +My hope, my comfort, everywhere; +While such a home remains to me, +My heart shall never know despair! + + + + +LINES COMPOSED IN A WOOD ON A WINDY DAY. + +My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring +And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze; +For above and around me the wild wind is roaring, +Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas. + +The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing, +The bare trees are tossing their branches on high; +The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing, +The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky + +I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing +The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray; +I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing, +And hear the wild roar of their thunder to-day! + + + + +VIEWS OF LIFE. + +When sinks my heart in hopeless gloom, +And life can show no joy for me; +And I behold a yawning tomb, +Where bowers and palaces should be; + +In vain you talk of morbid dreams; +In vain you gaily smiling say, +That what to me so dreary seems, +The healthy mind deems bright and gay. + +I too have smiled, and thought like you, +But madly smiled, and falsely deemed: +TRUTH led me to the present view,-- +I'm waking now--'twas THEN I dreamed. + +I lately saw a sunset sky, +And stood enraptured to behold +Its varied hues of glorious dye: +First, fleecy clouds of shining gold; + +These blushing took a rosy hue; +Beneath them shone a flood of green; +Nor less divine, the glorious blue +That smiled above them and between. + +I cannot name each lovely shade; +I cannot say how bright they shone; +But one by one, I saw them fade; +And what remained when they were gone? + +Dull clouds remained, of sombre hue, +And when their borrowed charm was o'er, +The azure sky had faded too, +That smiled so softly bright before. + +So, gilded by the glow of youth, +Our varied life looks fair and gay; +And so remains the naked truth, +When that false light is past away. + +Why blame ye, then, my keener sight, +That clearly sees a world of woes +Through all the haze of golden light +That flattering Falsehood round it throws? + +When the young mother smiles above +The first-born darling of her heart, +Her bosom glows with earnest love, +While tears of silent transport start. + +Fond dreamer! little does she know +The anxious toil, the suffering, +The blasted hopes, the burning woe, +The object of her joy will bring. + +Her blinded eyes behold not now +What, soon or late, must be his doom; +The anguish that will cloud his brow, +The bed of death, the dreary tomb. + +As little know the youthful pair, +In mutual love supremely blest, +What weariness, and cold despair, +Ere long, will seize the aching breast. + +And even should Love and Faith remain, +(The greatest blessings life can show,) +Amid adversity and pain, +To shine throughout with cheering glow; + +They do not see how cruel Death +Comes on, their loving hearts to part: +One feels not now the gasping breath, +The rending of the earth-bound heart,-- + +The soul's and body's agony, +Ere she may sink to her repose. +The sad survivor cannot see +The grave above his darling close; + +Nor how, despairing and alone, +He then must wear his life away; +And linger, feebly toiling on, +And fainting, sink into decay. + +* * * * + +Oh, Youth may listen patiently, +While sad Experience tells her tale, +But Doubt sits smiling in his eye, +For ardent Hope will still prevail! + +He hears how feeble Pleasure dies, +By guilt destroyed, and pain and woe; +He turns to Hope--and she replies, +"Believe it not-it is not so!" + +"Oh, heed her not!" Experience says; +"For thus she whispered once to me; +She told me, in my youthful days, +How glorious manhood's prime would be. + +"When, in the time of early Spring, +Too chill the winds that o'er me pass'd, +She said, each coming day would bring +a fairer heaven, a gentler blast. + +"And when the sun too seldom beamed, +The sky, o'ercast, too darkly frowned, +The soaking rain too constant streamed, +And mists too dreary gathered round; + +"She told me, Summer's glorious ray +Would chase those vapours all away, +And scatter glories round; +With sweetest music fill the trees, +Load with rich scent the gentle breeze, +And strew with flowers the ground + +"But when, beneath that scorching ray, +I languished, weary through the day, +While birds refused to sing, +Verdure decayed from field and tree, +And panting Nature mourned with me +The freshness of the Spring. + +"'Wait but a little while,' she said, +'Till Summer's burning days are fled; +And Autumn shall restore, +With golden riches of her own, +And Summer's glories mellowed down, +The freshness you deplore.' + +And long I waited, but in vain: +That freshness never came again, +Though Summer passed away, +Though Autumn's mists hung cold and chill. +And drooping nature languished still, +And sank into decay. + +"Till wintry blasts foreboding blew +Through leafless trees--and then I knew +That Hope was all a dream. +But thus, fond youth, she cheated me; +And she will prove as false to thee, +Though sweet her words may seem. + +Stern prophet! Cease thy bodings dire-- +Thou canst not quench the ardent fire +That warms the breast of youth. +Oh, let it cheer him while it may, +And gently, gently die away-- +Chilled by the damps of truth! + +Tell him, that earth is not our rest; +Its joys are empty--frail at best; +And point beyond the sky. +But gleams of light may reach us here; +And hope the ROUGHEST path can cheer: +Then do not bid it fly! + +Though hope may promise joys, that still +Unkindly time will ne'er fulfil; +Or, if they come at all, +We never find them unalloyed,-- +Hurtful perchance, or soon destroyed, +They vanish or they pall; + +Yet hope ITSELF a brightness throws +O'er all our labours and our woes; +While dark foreboding Care +A thousand ills will oft portend, +That Providence may ne'er intend +The trembling heart to bear. + +Or if they come, it oft appears, +Our woes are lighter than our fears, +And far more bravely borne. +Then let us not enhance our doom +But e'en in midnight's blackest gloom +Expect the rising morn. + +Because the road is rough and long, +Shall we despise the skylark's song, +That cheers the wanderer's way? +Or trample down, with reckless feet, +The smiling flowerets, bright and sweet, +Because they soon decay? + +Pass pleasant scenes unnoticed by, +Because the next is bleak and drear; +Or not enjoy a smiling sky, +Because a tempest may be near? + +No! while we journey on our way, +We'll smile on every lovely thing; +And ever, as they pass away, +To memory and hope we'll cling. + +And though that awful river flows +Before us, when the journey's past, +Perchance of all the pilgrim's woes +Most dreadful--shrink not--'tis the last! + +Though icy cold, and dark, and deep; +Beyond it smiles that blessed shore, +Where none shall suffer, none shall weep, +And bliss shall reign for evermore! + + + + +APPEAL. + +Oh, I am very weary, +Though tears no longer flow; +My eyes are tired of weeping, +My heart is sick of woe; + +My life is very lonely +My days pass heavily, +I'm weary of repining; +Wilt thou not come to me? + +Oh, didst thou know my longings +For thee, from day to day, +My hopes, so often blighted, +Thou wouldst not thus delay! + + + + +THE STUDENT'S SERENADE. + +I have slept upon my couch, +But my spirit did not rest, +For the labours of the day +Yet my weary soul opprest; + +And before my dreaming eyes +Still the learned volumes lay, +And I could not close their leaves, +And I could not turn away. + +But I oped my eyes at last, +And I heard a muffled sound; +'Twas the night-breeze, come to say +That the snow was on the ground. + +Then I knew that there was rest +On the mountain's bosom free; +So I left my fevered couch, +And I flew to waken thee! + +I have flown to waken thee-- +For, if thou wilt not arise, +Then my soul can drink no peace +From these holy moonlight skies. + +And this waste of virgin snow +To my sight will not be fair, +Unless thou wilt smiling come, +Love, to wander with me there. + +Then, awake! Maria, wake! +For, if thou couldst only know +How the quiet moonlight sleeps +On this wilderness of snow, + +And the groves of ancient trees, +In their snowy garb arrayed, +Till they stretch into the gloom +Of the distant valley's shade; + +I know thou wouldst rejoice +To inhale this bracing air; +Thou wouldst break thy sweetest sleep +To behold a scene so fair. + +O'er these wintry wilds, ALONE, +Thou wouldst joy to wander free; +And it will not please thee less, +Though that bliss be shared with me. + + + + +THE CAPTIVE DOVE. + +Poor restless dove, I pity thee; +And when I hear thy plaintive moan, +I mourn for thy captivity, +And in thy woes forget mine own. + +To see thee stand prepared to fly, +And flap those useless wings of thine, +And gaze into the distant sky, +Would melt a harder heart than mine. + +In vain--in vain! Thou canst not rise: +Thy prison roof confines thee there; +Its slender wires delude thine eyes, +And quench thy longings with despair. + +Oh, thou wert made to wander free +In sunny mead and shady grove, +And far beyond the rolling sea, +In distant climes, at will to rove! + +Yet, hadst thou but one gentle mate +Thy little drooping heart to cheer, +And share with thee thy captive state, +Thou couldst be happy even there. + +Yes, even there, if, listening by, +One faithful dear companion stood, +While gazing on her full bright eye, +Thou mightst forget thy native wood + +But thou, poor solitary dove, +Must make, unheard, thy joyless moan; +The heart that Nature formed to love +Must pine, neglected, and alone. + + + + +SELF-CONGRATULATION. + +Ellen, you were thoughtless once +Of beauty or of grace, +Simple and homely in attire, +Careless of form and face; +Then whence this change? and wherefore now +So often smoothe your hair? +And wherefore deck your youthful form +With such unwearied care? + +Tell us, and cease to tire our ears +With that familiar strain; +Why will you play those simple tunes +So often o'er again? +"Indeed, dear friends, I can but say +That childhood's thoughts are gone; +Each year its own new feelings brings, +And years move swiftly on: + +"And for these little simple airs-- +I love to play them o'er +So much--I dare not promise, now, +To play them never more." +I answered--and it was enough; +They turned them to depart; +They could not read my secret thoughts, +Nor see my throbbing heart. + +I've noticed many a youthful form, +Upon whose changeful face +The inmost workings of the soul +The gazer well might trace; +The speaking eye, the changing lip, +The ready blushing cheek, +The smiling, or beclouded brow, +Their different feelings speak. + +But, thank God! you might gaze on mine +For hours, and never know +The secret changes of my soul +From joy to keenest woe. +Last night, as we sat round the fire +Conversing merrily, +We heard, without, approaching steps +Of one well known to me! + +There was no trembling in my voice, +No blush upon my cheek, +No lustrous sparkle in my eyes, +Of hope, or joy, to speak; +But, oh! my spirit burned within, +My heart beat full and fast! +He came not nigh--he went away-- +And then my joy was past. + +And yet my comrades marked it not: +My voice was still the same; +They saw me smile, and o'er my face +No signs of sadness came. +They little knew my hidden thoughts; +And they will NEVER know +The aching anguish of my heart, +The bitter burning woe! + + + + +FLUCTUATIONS, + +What though the Sun had left my sky; +To save me from despair +The blessed Moon arose on high, +And shone serenely there. + +I watched her, with a tearful gaze, +Rise slowly o'er the hill, +While through the dim horizon's haze +Her light gleamed faint and chill. + +I thought such wan and lifeless beams +Could ne'er my heart repay +For the bright sun's most transient gleams +That cheered me through the day: + +But, as above that mist's control +She rose, and brighter shone, +I felt her light upon my soul; +But now--that light is gone! + +Thick vapours snatched her from my sight, +And I was darkling left, +All in the cold and gloomy night, +Of light and hope bereft: + +Until, methought, a little star +Shone forth with trembling ray, +To cheer me with its light afar-- +But that, too, passed away. + +Anon, an earthly meteor blazed +The gloomy darkness through; +I smiled, yet trembled while I gazed-- +But that soon vanished too! + +And darker, drearier fell the night +Upon my spirit then;-- +But what is that faint struggling light? +Is it the Moon again? + +Kind Heaven! increase that silvery gleam +And bid these clouds depart, +And let her soft celestial beam +Restore my fainting heart! + + + + +SELECTIONS FROM THE LITERARY REMAINS OF ELLIS AND ACTON BELL. + +BY CURRER BELL. + + +* + +SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ELLIS BELL. + +It would not have been difficult to compile a volume out of the +papers left by my sisters, had I, in making the selection, +dismissed from my consideration the scruples and the wishes of +those whose written thoughts these papers held. But this was +impossible: an influence, stronger than could be exercised by any +motive of expediency, necessarily regulated the selection. I +have, then, culled from the mass only a little poem here and +there. The whole makes but a tiny nosegay, and the colour and +perfume of the flowers are not such as fit them for festal uses. + +It has been already said that my sisters wrote much in childhood +and girlhood. Usually, it seems a sort of injustice to expose in +print the crude thoughts of the unripe mind, the rude efforts of +the unpractised hand; yet I venture to give three little poems of +my sister Emily's, written in her sixteenth year, because they +illustrate a point in her character. + +At that period she was sent to school. Her previous life, with +the exception of a single half-year, had been passed in the +absolute retirement of a village parsonage, amongst the hills +bordering Yorkshire and Lancashire. The scenery of these hills is +not grand--it is not romantic it is scarcely striking. Long low +moors, dark with heath, shut in little valleys, where a stream +waters, here and there, a fringe of stunted copse. Mills and +scattered cottages chase romance from these valleys; it is only +higher up, deep in amongst the ridges of the moors, that +Imagination can find rest for the sole of her foot: and even if +she finds it there, she must be a solitude-loving raven--no +gentle dove. If she demand beauty to inspire her, she must bring +it inborn: these moors are too stern to yield any product so +delicate. The eye of the gazer must ITSELF brim with a "purple +light," intense enough to perpetuate the brief flower-flush of +August on the heather, or the rare sunset-smile of June; out of +his heart must well the freshness, that in latter spring and +early summer brightens the bracken, nurtures the moss, and +cherishes the starry flowers that spangle for a few weeks the +pasture of the moor-sheep. Unless that light and freshness are +innate and self-sustained, the drear prospect of a Yorkshire moor +will be found as barren of poetic as of agricultural interest: +where the love of wild nature is strong, the locality will +perhaps be clung to with the more passionate constancy, because +from the hill-lover's self comes half its charm. + +My sister Emily loved the moors. Flowers brighter than the rose +bloomed in the blackest of the heath for her; out of a sullen +hollow in a livid hill-side her mind could make an Eden. She +found in the bleak solitude many and dear delights; and not the +least and best loved was--liberty. + +Liberty was the breath of Emily's nostrils; without it, she +perished. The change from her own home to a school, and from her +own very noiseless, very secluded, but unrestricted and +inartificial mode of life, to one of disciplined routine (though +under the kindliest auspices), was what she failed in enduring. +Her nature proved here too strong for her fortitude. Every +morning when she woke, the vision of home and the moors rushed on +her, and darkened and saddened the day that lay before her. +Nobody knew what ailed her but me--I knew only too well. In this +struggle her health was quickly broken: her white face, +attenuated form, and failing strength, threatened rapid decline. +I felt in my heart she would die, if she did not go home, and +with this conviction obtained her recall. She had only been three +months at school; and it was some years before the experiment of +sending her from home was again ventured on. After the age of +twenty, having meantime studied alone with diligence and +perseverance, she went with me to an establishment on the +Continent: the same suffering and conflict ensued, heightened by +the strong recoil of her upright, heretic and English spirit from +the gentle Jesuitry of the foreign and Romish system. Once more +she seemed sinking, but this time she rallied through the mere +force of resolution: with inward remorse and shame she looked +back on her former failure, and resolved to conquer in this +second ordeal. She did conquer: but the victory cost her dear. +She was never happy till she carried her hard-won knowledge back +to the remote English village, the old parsonage-house, and +desolate Yorkshire hills. A very few years more, and she looked +her last on those hills, and breathed her last in that house, and +under the aisle of that obscure village church found her last +lowly resting-place. Merciful was the decree that spared her when +she was a stranger in a strange land, and guarded her dying bed +with kindred love and congenial constancy. + +The following pieces were composed at twilight, in the school- +room, when the leisure of the evening play-hour brought back in +full tide the thoughts of home. + + +I. + +A LITTLE while, a little while, +The weary task is put away, +And I can sing and I can smile, +Alike, while I have holiday. + +Where wilt thou go, my harassed heart-- +What thought, what scene invites thee now +What spot, or near or far apart, +Has rest for thee, my weary brow? + +There is a spot, 'mid barren hills, +Where winter howls, and driving rain; +But, if the dreary tempest chills, +There is a light that warms again. + +The house is old, the trees are bare, +Moonless above bends twilight's dome; +But what on earth is half so dear-- +So longed for--as the hearth of home? + +The mute bird sitting on the stone, +The dank moss dripping from the wall, +The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown, +I love them--how I love them all! + +Still, as I mused, the naked room, +The alien firelight died away; +And from the midst of cheerless gloom, +I passed to bright, unclouded day. + +A little and a lone green lane +That opened on a common wide; +A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain +Of mountains circling every side. + +A heaven so clear, an earth so calm, +So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air; +And, deepening still the dream-like charm, +Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere. + +THAT was the scene, I knew it well; +I knew the turfy pathway's sweep, +That, winding o'er each billowy swell, +Marked out the tracks of wandering sheep. + +Could I have lingered but an hour, +It well had paid a week of toil; +But Truth has banished Fancy's power: +Restraint and heavy task recoil. + +Even as I stood with raptured eye, +Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear, +My hour of rest had fleeted by, +And back came labour, bondage, care. + + + + +II. THE BLUEBELL. + +The Bluebell is the sweetest flower +That waves in summer air: +Its blossoms have the mightiest power +To soothe my spirit's care. + +There is a spell in purple heath +Too wildly, sadly dear; +The violet has a fragrant breath, +But fragrance will not cheer, + +The trees are bare, the sun is cold, +And seldom, seldom seen; +The heavens have lost their zone of gold, +And earth her robe of green. + +And ice upon the glancing stream +Has cast its sombre shade; +And distant hills and valleys seem +In frozen mist arrayed. + +The Bluebell cannot charm me now, +The heath has lost its bloom; +The violets in the glen below, +They yield no sweet perfume. + +But, though I mourn the sweet Bluebell, +'Tis better far away; +I know how fast my tears would swell +To see it smile to-day. + +For, oh! when chill the sunbeams fall +Adown that dreary sky, +And gild yon dank and darkened wall +With transient brilliancy; + +How do I weep, how do I pine +For the time of flowers to come, +And turn me from that fading shine, +To mourn the fields of home! + + + + +III. + +Loud without the wind was roaring +Through th'autumnal sky; +Drenching wet, the cold rain pouring, +Spoke of winter nigh. +All too like that dreary eve, +Did my exiled spirit grieve. +Grieved at first, but grieved not long, +Sweet--how softly sweet!--it came; +Wild words of an ancient song, +Undefined, without a name. + +"It was spring, and the skylark was singing:" +Those words they awakened a spell; +They unlocked a deep fountain, whose springing, +Nor absence, nor distance can quell. + +In the gloom of a cloudy November +They uttered the music of May ; +They kindled the perishing ember +Into fervour that could not decay. + +Awaken, o'er all my dear moorland, +West-wind, in thy glory and pride! +Oh! call me from valley and lowland, +To walk by the hill-torrent's side! + +It is swelled with the first snowy weather; +The rocks they are icy and hoar, +And sullenly waves the long heather, +And the fern leaves are sunny no more. + +There are no yellow stars on the mountain +The bluebells have long died away +From the brink of the moss-bedded fountain-- +From the side of the wintry brae. + +But lovelier than corn-fields all waving +In emerald, and vermeil, and gold, +Are the heights where the north-wind is raving, +And the crags where I wandered of old. + +It was morning: the bright sun was beaming; +How sweetly it brought back to me +The time when nor labour nor dreaming +Broke the sleep of the happy and free! + +But blithely we rose as the dawn-heaven +Was melting to amber and blue, +And swift were the wings to our feet given, +As we traversed the meadows of dew. + +For the moors! For the moors, where the short grass +Like velvet beneath us should lie! +For the moors! For the moors, where each high pass +Rose sunny against the clear sky! + +For the moors, where the linnet was trilling +Its song on the old granite stone; +Where the lark, the wild sky-lark, was filling +Every breast with delight like its own! + +What language can utter the feeling +Which rose, when in exile afar, +On the brow of a lonely hill kneeling, +I saw the brown heath growing there? + +It was scattered and stunted, and told me +That soon even that would be gone: +It whispered, "The grim walls enfold me, +I have bloomed in my last summer's sun." + +But not the loved music, whose waking +Makes the soul of the Swiss die away, +Has a spell more adored and heartbreaking +Than, for me, in that blighted heath lay. + +The spirit which bent 'neath its power, +How it longed--how it burned to be free! +If I could have wept in that hour, +Those tears had been heaven to me. + +Well--well; the sad minutes are moving, +Though loaded with trouble and pain; +And some time the loved and the loving +Shall meet on the mountains again! + + + + +The following little piece has no title; but in it the Genius of +a solitary region seems to address his wandering and wayward +votary, and to recall within his influence the proud mind which +rebelled at times even against what it most loved. + + +Shall earth no more inspire thee, +Thou lonely dreamer now? +Since passion may not fire thee, +Shall nature cease to bow? + +Thy mind is ever moving, +In regions dark to thee; +Recall its useless roving, +Come back, and dwell with me. + +I know my mountain breezes +Enchant and soothe thee still, +I know my sunshine pleases, +Despite thy wayward will. + +When day with evening blending, +Sinks from the summer sky, +I've seen thy spirit bending +In fond idolatry. + +I've watched thee every hour; +I know my mighty sway: +I know my magic power +To drive thy griefs away. + +Few hearts to mortals given, +On earth so wildly pine; +Yet few would ask a heaven +More like this earth than thine. + +Then let my winds caress thee +Thy comrade let me be: +Since nought beside can bless thee, +Return--and dwell with me. + + + + +Here again is the same mind in converse with a like abstraction. +"The Night-Wind," breathing through an open window, has visited +an ear which discerned language in its whispers. + + +THE NIGHT-WIND. + +In summer's mellow midnight, +A cloudless moon shone through +Our open parlour window, +And rose-trees wet with dew. + +I sat in silent musing; +The soft wind waved my hair; +It told me heaven was glorious, +And sleeping earth was fair. + +I needed not its breathing +To bring such thoughts to me; +But still it whispered lowly, +How dark the woods will be! + +"The thick leaves in my murmur +Are rustling like a dream, +And all their myriad voices +Instinct with spirit seem." + +I said, "Go, gentle singer, +Thy wooing voice is kind: +But do not think its music +Has power to reach my mind. + +"Play with the scented flower, +The young tree's supple bough, +And leave my human feelings +In their own course to flow." + +The wanderer would not heed me; +Its kiss grew warmer still. +"O come!" it sighed so sweetly; +"I'll win thee 'gainst thy will. + +"Were we not friends from childhood? +Have I not loved thee long? +As long as thou, the solemn night, +Whose silence wakes my song. + +"And when thy heart is resting +Beneath the church-aisle stone, +I shall have time for mourning, +And THOU for being alone." + + + + +In these stanzas a louder gale has roused the sleeper on her +pillow: the wakened soul struggles to blend with the storm by +which it is swayed:-- + + +Ay--there it is! it wakes to-night +Deep feelings I thought dead; +Strong in the blast--quick gathering light-- +The heart's flame kindles red. + +"Now I can tell by thine altered cheek, +And by thine eyes' full gaze, +And by the words thou scarce dost speak, +How wildly fancy plays. + +"Yes--I could swear that glorious wind +Has swept the world aside, +Has dashed its memory from thy mind +Like foam-bells from the tide: + +"And thou art now a spirit pouring +Thy presence into all: +The thunder of the tempest's roaring, +The whisper of its fall: + +"An universal influence, +From thine own influence free; +A principle of life--intense-- +Lost to mortality. + +"Thus truly, when that breast is cold, +Thy prisoned soul shall rise; +The dungeon mingle with the mould-- +The captive with the skies. +Nature's deep being, thine shall hold, +Her spirit all thy spirit fold, +Her breath absorb thy sighs. +Mortal! though soon life's tale is told; +Who once lives, never dies!" + + + + +LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. + +Love is like the wild rose-briar; +Friendship like the holly-tree. +The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, +But which will bloom most constantly? + +The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring, +Its summer blossoms scent the air; +Yet wait till winter comes again, +And who will call the wild-briar fair? + +Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now, +And deck thee with the holly's sheen, +That, when December blights thy brow, +He still may leave thy garland green. + + + + +THE ELDER'S REBUKE. + +"Listen! When your hair, like mine, +Takes a tint of silver gray; +When your eyes, with dimmer shine, +Watch life's bubbles float away: + +When you, young man, have borne like me +The weary weight of sixty-three, +Then shall penance sore be paid +For those hours so wildly squandered; +And the words that now fall dead +On your ear, be deeply pondered-- +Pondered and approved at last: +But their virtue will be past! + +"Glorious is the prize of Duty, +Though she be 'a serious power'; +Treacherous all the lures of Beauty, +Thorny bud and poisonous flower! + +"Mirth is but a mad beguiling +Of the golden-gifted time; +Love--a demon-meteor, wiling +Heedless feet to gulfs of crime. + +"Those who follow earthly pleasure, +Heavenly knowledge will not lead; +Wisdom hides from them her treasure, +Virtue bids them evil-speed! + +"Vainly may their hearts repenting. +Seek for aid in future years; +Wisdom, scorned, knows no relenting; +Virtue is not won by fears." + +Thus spake the ice-blooded elder gray; +The young man scoffed as he turned away, +Turned to the call of a sweet lute's measure, +Waked by the lightsome touch of pleasure: +Had he ne'er met a gentler teacher, +Woe had been wrought by that pitiless preacher. + + + + +THE WANDERER FROM THE FOLD. + +How few, of all the hearts that loved, +Are grieving for thee now; +And why should mine to-night be moved +With such a sense of woe? + +Too often thus, when left alone, +Where none my thoughts can see, +Comes back a word, a passing tone +From thy strange history. + +Sometimes I seem to see thee rise, +A glorious child again; +All virtues beaming from thine eyes +That ever honoured men: + +Courage and truth, a generous breast +Where sinless sunshine lay: +A being whose very presence blest +Like gladsome summer-day. + +O, fairly spread thy early sail, +And fresh, and pure, and free, +Was the first impulse of the gale +Which urged life's wave for thee! + +Why did the pilot, too confiding, +Dream o'er that ocean's foam, +And trust in Pleasure's careless guiding +To bring his vessel home? + +For well he knew what dangers frowned, +What mists would gather, dim; +What rocks and shelves, and sands lay round +Between his port and him. + +The very brightness of the sun +The splendour of the main, +The wind which bore him wildly on +Should not have warned in vain. + +An anxious gazer from the shore-- +I marked the whitening wave, +And wept above thy fate the more +Because--I could not save. + +It recks not now, when all is over: +But yet my heart will be +A mourner still, though friend and lover +Have both forgotten thee! + + + + +WARNING AND REPLY. + +In the earth--the earth--thou shalt be laid, +A grey stone standing over thee; +Black mould beneath thee spread, +And black mould to cover thee. + +"Well--there is rest there, +So fast come thy prophecy; +The time when my sunny hair +Shall with grass roots entwined be." + +But cold--cold is that resting-place, +Shut out from joy and liberty, +And all who loved thy living face +Will shrink from it shudderingly, + +"Not so. HERE the world is chill, +And sworn friends fall from me: +But THERE--they will own me still, +And prize my memory." + +Farewell, then, all that love, +All that deep sympathy: +Sleep on: Heaven laughs above, +Earth never misses thee. + +Turf-sod and tombstone drear +Part human company; +One heart breaks only--here, +But that heart was worthy thee! + + + + +LAST WORDS. + +I knew not 'twas so dire a crime +To say the word, "Adieu;" +But this shall be the only time +My lips or heart shall sue. + +That wild hill-side, the winter morn, +The gnarled and ancient tree, +If in your breast they waken scorn, +Shall wake the same in me. + +I can forget black eyes and brows, +And lips of falsest charm, +If you forget the sacred vows +Those faithless lips could form. + +If hard commands can tame your love, +Or strongest walls can hold, +I would not wish to grieve above +A thing so false and cold. + +And there are bosoms bound to mine +With links both tried and strong: +And there are eyes whose lightning shine +Has warmed and blest me long: + +Those eyes shall make my only day, +Shall set my spirit free, +And chase the foolish thoughts away +That mourn your memory. + + + + +THE LADY TO HER GUITAR. + +For him who struck thy foreign string, +I ween this heart has ceased to care; +Then why dost thou such feelings bring +To my sad spirit--old Guitar? + +It is as if the warm sunlight +In some deep glen should lingering stay, +When clouds of storm, or shades of night, +Have wrapt the parent orb away. + +It is as if the glassy brook +Should image still its willows fair, +Though years ago the woodman's stroke +Laid low in dust their Dryad-hair. + +Even so, Guitar, thy magic tone +Hath moved the tear and waked the sigh: +Hath bid the ancient torrent moan, +Although its very source is dry. + + + + +THE TWO CHILDREN. + +Heavy hangs the rain-drop +From the burdened spray; +Heavy broods the damp mist +On uplands far away. + +Heavy looms the dull sky, +Heavy rolls the sea; +And heavy throbs the young heart +Beneath that lonely tree. + +Never has a blue streak +Cleft the clouds since morn; +Never has his grim fate +Smiled since he was born. + +Frowning on the infant, +Shadowing childhood's joy +Guardian-angel knows not +That melancholy boy. + +Day is passing swiftly +Its sad and sombre prime; +Boyhood sad is merging +In sadder manhood's time: + +All the flowers are praying +For sun, before they close, +And he prays too--unconscious-- +That sunless human rose. + +Blossom--that the west-wind +Has never wooed to blow, +Scentless are thy petals, +Thy dew is cold as snow! + +Soul--where kindred kindness, +No early promise woke, +Barren is thy beauty, +As weed upon a rock. + +Wither--soul and blossom! +You both were vainly given; +Earth reserves no blessing +For the unblest of heaven! + +Child of delight, with sun-bright hair, +And sea-blue, sea-deep eyes! +Spirit of bliss! What brings thee here +Beneath these sullen skies? + +Thou shouldst live in eternal spring, +Where endless day is never dim; +Why, Seraph, has thine erring wing +Wafted thee down to weep with him? + +"Ah! not from heaven am I descended, +Nor do I come to mingle tears; +But sweet is day, though with shadows blended; +And, though clouded, sweet are youthful years. + +"I--the image of light and gladness-- +Saw and pitied that mournful boy, +And I vowed--if need were--to share his sadness, +And give to him my sunny joy. + +"Heavy and dark the night is closing; +Heavy and dark may its biding be: +Better for all from grief reposing, +And better for all who watch like me-- + +"Watch in love by a fevered pillow, +Cooling the fever with pity's balm +Safe as the petrel on tossing billow, +Safe in mine own soul's golden calm! + +"Guardian-angel he lacks no longer; +Evil fortune he need not fear: +Fate is strong, but love is stronger; +And MY love is truer than angel-care." + + + + +THE VISIONARY. + +Silent is the house: all are laid asleep: +One alone looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep, +Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze +That whirls the wildering drift, and bends the groaning trees. + +Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor; +Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door; +The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far: +I trim it well, to be the wanderer's guiding-star. + +Frown, my haughty sire! chide, my angry dame! +Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame: +But neither sire nor dame, nor prying serf shall know, +What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow. + +What I love shall come like visitant of air, +Safe in secret power from lurking human snare; +What loves me, no word of mine shall e'er betray, +Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay + +Burn, then, little lamp; glimmer straight and clear-- +Hush! a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air: +He for whom I wait, thus ever comes to me; +Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy. + + + + +ENCOURAGEMENT. + +I do not weep; I would not weep; +Our mother needs no tears: +Dry thine eyes, too; 'tis vain to keep +This causeless grief for years. + +What though her brow be changed and cold, +Her sweet eyes closed for ever? +What though the stone--the darksome mould +Our mortal bodies sever? + +What though her hand smooth ne'er again +Those silken locks of thine? +Nor, through long hours of future pain, +Her kind face o'er thee shine? + +Remember still, she is not dead; +She sees us, sister, now; +Laid, where her angel spirit fled, +'Mid heath and frozen snow. + +And from that world of heavenly light +Will she not always bend +To guide us in our lifetime's night, +And guard us to the end? + +Thou knowest she will; and thou mayst mourn +That WE are left below: +But not that she can ne'er return +To share our earthly woe. + + + + +STANZAS. + +Often rebuked, yet always back returning +To those first feelings that were born with me, +And leaving busy chase of wealth and learning +For idle dreams of things which cannot be: + +To-day, I will seek not the shadowy region; +Its unsustaining vastness waxes drear; +And visions rising, legion after legion, +Bring the unreal world too strangely near. + +I'll walk, but not in old heroic traces, +And not in paths of high morality, +And not among the half-distinguished faces, +The clouded forms of long-past history. + +I'll walk where my own nature would be leading: +It vexes me to choose another guide: +Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding; +Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side. + +What have those lonely mountains worth revealing? +More glory and more grief than I can tell: +The earth that wakes one human heart to feeling +Can centre both the worlds of Heaven and Hell. + + + + +The following are the last lines my sister Emily ever wrote:- + + +No coward soul is mine, +No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere: +I see Heaven's glories shine, +And faith shines equal, arming me from fear. + +O God within my breast, +Almighty, ever-present Deity! +Life--that in me has rest, +As I--undying Life--have power in thee! + +Vain are the thousand creeds +That move men's hearts: unutterably vain; +Worthless as withered weeds, +Or idlest froth amid the boundless main, + +To waken doubt in one +Holding so fast by thine infinity; +So surely anchored on +The stedfast rock of immortality. + +With wide-embracing love +Thy spirit animates eternal years, +Pervades and broods above, +Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears. + +Though earth and man were gone, +And suns and universes ceased to be, +And Thou were left alone, +Every existence would exist in Thee. + +There is not room for Death, +Nor atom that his might could render void: +Thou--THOU art Being and Breath, +And what THOU art may never be destroyed. + + +* + +SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ACTON BELL. + +In looking over my sister Anne's papers, I find mournful evidence +that religious feeling had been to her but too much like what it +was to Cowper; I mean, of course, in a far milder form. Without +rendering her a prey to those horrors that defy concealment, it +subdued her mood and bearing to a perpetual pensiveness; the +pillar of a cloud glided constantly before her eyes; she ever +waited at the foot of a secret Sinai, listening in her heart to +the voice of a trumpet sounding long and waxing louder. Some, +perhaps, would rejoice over these tokens of sincere though +sorrowing piety in a deceased relative: I own, to me they seem +sad, as if her whole innocent life had been passed under the +martyrdom of an unconfessed physical pain: their effect, indeed, +would be too distressing, were it not combated by the certain +knowledge that in her last moments this tyranny of a too tender +conscience was overcome; this pomp of terrors broke up, and +passing away, left her dying hour unclouded. Her belief in God +did not then bring to her dread, as of a stern Judge,--but hope, +as in a Creator and Saviour: and no faltering hope was it, but a +sure and stedfast conviction, on which, in the rude passage from +Time to Eternity, she threw the weight of her human weakness, and +by which she was enabled to bear what was to be borne, patiently +--serenely--victoriously. + + + + +DESPONDENCY. + +I have gone backward in the work; +The labour has not sped; +Drowsy and dark my spirit lies, +Heavy and dull as lead. + +How can I rouse my sinking soul +From such a lethargy? +How can I break these iron chains +And set my spirit free? + +There have been times when I have mourned! +In anguish o'er the past, +And raised my suppliant hands on high, +While tears fell thick and fast; + +And prayed to have my sins forgiven, +With such a fervent zeal, +An earnest grief, a strong desire +As now I cannot feel. + +And I have felt so full of love, +So strong in spirit then, +As if my heart would never cool, +Or wander back again. + +And yet, alas! how many times +My feet have gone astray! +How oft have I forgot my God! +How greatly fallen away! + +My sins increase--my love grows cold, +And Hope within me dies: +Even Faith itself is wavering now; +Oh, how shall I arise? + +I cannot weep, but I can pray, +Then let me not despair: +Lord Jesus, save me, lest I die! +Christ, hear my humble prayer! + + + + +A PRAYER. + +My God (oh, let me call Thee mine, +Weak, wretched sinner though I be), +My trembling soul would fain be Thine; +My feeble faith still clings to Thee. + +Not only for the Past I grieve, +The Future fills me with dismay; +Unless Thou hasten to relieve, +Thy suppliant is a castaway. + +I cannot say my faith is strong, +I dare not hope my love is great; +But strength and love to Thee belong; +Oh, do not leave me desolate! + +I know I owe my all to Thee; +Oh, TAKE the heart I cannot give! +Do Thou my strength--my Saviour be, +And MAKE me to Thy glory live. + + + + +IN MEMORY OF A HAPPY DAY IN FEBRUARY. + +Blessed be Thou for all the joy +My soul has felt to-day! +Oh, let its memory stay with me, +And never pass away! + +I was alone, for those I loved +Were far away from me; +The sun shone on the withered grass, +The wind blew fresh and free. + +Was it the smile of early spring +That made my bosom glow? +'Twas sweet; but neither sun nor wind +Could cheer my spirit so. + +Was it some feeling of delight +All vague and undefined? +No; 'twas a rapture deep and strong, +Expanding in the mind. + +Was it a sanguine view of life, +And all its transient bliss, +A hope of bright prosperity? +Oh, no! it was not this. + +It was a glimpse of truth divine +Unto my spirit given, +Illumined by a ray of light +That shone direct from heaven. + +I felt there was a God on high, +By whom all things were made; +I saw His wisdom and His power +In all his works displayed. + +But most throughout the moral world, +I saw his glory shine; +I saw His wisdom infinite, +His mercy all divine. + +Deep secrets of His providence, +In darkness long concealed, +Unto the vision of my soul +Were graciously revealed. + +But while I wondered and adored +His Majesty divine, +I did not tremble at His power: +I felt that God was mine; + +I knew that my Redeemer lived; +I did not fear to die; +Full sure that I should rise again +To immortality. + +I longed to view that bliss divine, +Which eye hath never seen; +Like Moses, I would see His face +Without the veil between. + + + + +CONFIDENCE. + +Oppressed with sin and woe, +A burdened heart I bear, +Opposed by many a mighty foe; +But I will not despair. + +With this polluted heart, +I dare to come to Thee, +Holy and mighty as Thou art, +For Thou wilt pardon me. + +I feel that I am weak, +And prone to every sin; +But Thou who giv'st to those who seek, +Wilt give me strength within. + +Far as this earth may be +From yonder starry skies; +Remoter still am I from Thee: +Yet Thou wilt not despise. + +I need not fear my foes, +I deed not yield to care; +I need not sink beneath my woes, +For Thou wilt answer prayer. + +In my Redeemer's name, +I give myself to Thee; +And, all unworthy as I am, +My God will cherish me. + + + + +My sister Anne had to taste the cup of life as it is mixed for +the class termed "Governesses." + +The following are some of the thoughts that now and then solace a +governess:-- + + +LINES WRITTEN FROM HOME. + +Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground, +With fallen leaves so thickly strewn, +And cold the wind that wanders round +With wild and melancholy moan; + +There is a friendly roof I know, +Might shield me from the wintry blast; +There is a fire whose ruddy glow +Will cheer me for my wanderings past. + +And so, though still where'er I go +Cold stranger glances meet my eye; +Though, when my spirit sinks in woe, +Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh; + +Though solitude, endured too long, +Bids youthful joys too soon decay, +Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue, +And overclouds my noon of day; + +When kindly thoughts that would have way +Flow back, discouraged, to my breast, +I know there is, though far away, +A home where heart and soul may rest. + +Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine, +The warmer heart will not belie; +While mirth and truth, and friendship shine +In smiling lip and earnest eye. + +The ice that gathers round my heart +May there be thawed; and sweetly, then, +The joys of youth, that now depart, +Will come to cheer my soul again. + +Though far I roam, that thought shall be +My hope, my comfort everywhere; +While such a home remains to me, +My heart shall never know despair. + + + + +THE NARROW WAY. + +Believe not those who say +The upward path is smooth, +Lest thou shouldst stumble in the way, +And faint before the truth. + +It is the only road +Unto the realms of joy; +But he who seeks that blest abode +Must all his powers employ. + +Bright hopes and pure delight +Upon his course may beam, +And there, amid the sternest heights, +The sweetest flowerets gleam. + +On all her breezes borne, +Earth yields no scents like those; +But he that dares not gasp the thorn +Should never crave the rose. + +Arm--arm thee for the fight! +Cast useless loads away; +Watch through the darkest hours of night; +Toil through the hottest day. + +Crush pride into the dust, +Or thou must needs be slack; +And trample down rebellious lust, +Or it will hold thee back. + +Seek not thy honour here; +Waive pleasure and renown; +The world's dread scoff undaunted bear, +And face its deadliest frown. + +To labour and to love, +To pardon and endure, +To lift thy heart to God above, +And keep thy conscience pure; + +Be this thy constant aim, +Thy hope, thy chief delight; +What matter who should whisper blame +Or who should scorn or slight? + +What matter, if thy God approve, +And if, within thy breast, +Thou feel the comfort of His love, +The earnest of His rest? + + + + +DOMESTIC PEACE. + +Why should such gloomy silence reign, +And why is all the house so drear, +When neither danger, sickness, pain, +Nor death, nor want, have entered here? + +We are as many as we were +That other night, when all were gay +And full of hope, and free from care; +Yet is there something gone away. + +The moon without, as pure and calm, +Is shining as that night she shone; +But now, to us, she brings no balm, +For something from our hearts is gone. + +Something whose absence leaves a void-- +A cheerless want in every heart; +Each feels the bliss of all destroyed, +And mourns the change--but each apart. + +The fire is burning in the grate +As redly as it used to burn; +But still the hearth is desolate, +Till mirth, and love, and PEACE return. + +'Twas PEACE that flowed from heart to heart, +With looks and smiles that spoke of heaven, +And gave us language to impart +The blissful thoughts itself had given. + +Domestic peace! best joy of earth, +When shall we all thy value learn? +White angel, to our sorrowing hearth, +Return--oh, graciously return! + + + + +THE THREE GUIDES. [First published in FRASER'S MAGAZINE.] + +Spirit of Earth! thy hand is chill: +I've felt its icy clasp; +And, shuddering, I remember still +That stony-hearted grasp. +Thine eye bids love and joy depart: +Oh, turn its gaze from me! +It presses down my shrinking heart; +I will not walk with thee! + +"Wisdom is mine," I've heard thee say: +"Beneath my searching eye +All mist and darkness melt away, +Phantoms and fables fly. +Before me truth can stand alone, +The naked, solid truth; +And man matured by worth will own, +If I am shunned by youth. + +"Firm is my tread, and sure though slow; +My footsteps never slide; +And he that follows me shall know +I am the surest guide." +Thy boast is vain; but were it true +That thou couldst safely steer +Life's rough and devious pathway through, +Such guidance I should fear. + +How could I bear to walk for aye, +With eyes to earthward prone, +O'er trampled weeds and miry clay, +And sand and flinty stone; +Never the glorious view to greet +Of hill and dale, and sky; +To see that Nature's charms are sweet, +Or feel that Heaven is nigh? + +If in my heart arose a spring, +A gush of thought divine, +At once stagnation thou wouldst bring +With that cold touch of thine. +If, glancing up, I sought to snatch +But one glimpse of the sky, +My baffled gaze would only catch +Thy heartless, cold grey eye. + +If to the breezes wandering near, +I listened eagerly, +And deemed an angel's tongue to hear +That whispered hope to me, +That heavenly music would be drowned +In thy harsh, droning voice; +Nor inward thought, nor sight, nor sound, +Might my sad soul rejoice. + +Dull is thine ear, unheard by thee +The still, small voice of Heaven; +Thine eyes are dim and cannot see +The helps that God has given. +There is a bridge o'er every flood +Which thou canst not perceive; +A path through every tangled wood, +But thou wilt not believe. + +Striving to make thy way by force, +Toil-spent and bramble-torn, +Thou'lt fell the tree that checks thy course, +And burst through brier and thorn: +And, pausing by the river's side, +Poor reasoner! thou wilt deem, +By casting pebbles in its tide, +To cross the swelling stream. + +Right through the flinty rock thou'lt try +Thy toilsome way to bore, +Regardless of the pathway nigh +That would conduct thee o'er +Not only art thou, then, unkind, +And freezing cold to me, +But unbelieving, deaf, and blind: +I will not walk with thee! + +Spirit of Pride! thy wings are strong, +Thine eyes like lightning shine; +Ecstatic joys to thee belong, +And powers almost divine. +But 'tis a false, destructive blaze +Within those eyes I see; +Turn hence their fascinating gaze; +I will not follow thee. + +"Coward and fool!" thou mayst reply, +Walk on the common sod; +Go, trace with timid foot and eye +The steps by others trod. +'Tis best the beaten path to keep, +The ancient faith to hold; +To pasture with thy fellow-sheep, +And lie within the fold. + +"Cling to the earth, poor grovelling worm; +'Tis not for thee to soar +Against the fury of the storm, +Amid the thunder's roar! +There's glory in that daring strife +Unknown, undreamt by thee; +There's speechless rapture in the life +Of those who follow me. + +Yes, I have seen thy votaries oft, +Upheld by thee their guide, +In strength and courage mount aloft +The steepy mountain-side; +I've seen them stand against the sky, +And gazing from below, +Beheld thy lightning in their eye +Thy triumph on their brow. + +Oh, I have felt what glory then, +What transport must be theirs! +So far above their fellow-men, +Above their toils and cares; +Inhaling Nature's purest breath, +Her riches round them spread, +The wide expanse of earth beneath, +Heaven's glories overhead! + +But I have seen them helpless, dash'd +Down to a bloody grave, +And still thy ruthless eye has flash'd, +Thy strong hand did not save; +I've seen some o'er the mountain's brow +Sustain'd awhile by thee, +O'er rocks of ice and hills of snow +Bound fearless, wild, and free. + +Bold and exultant was their mien, +While thou didst cheer them on; +But evening fell,--and then, I ween, +Their faithless guide was gone. +Alas! how fared thy favourites then,-- +Lone, helpless, weary, cold? +Did ever wanderer find again +The path he left of old? + +Where is their glory, where the pride +That swelled their hearts before? +Where now the courage that defied +The mightiest tempest's roar? +What shall they do when night grows black, +When angry storms arise? +Who now will lead them to the track +Thou taught'st them to despise? + +Spirit of Pride, it needs not this +To make me shun thy wiles, +Renounce thy triumph and thy bliss, +Thy honours and thy smiles! +Bright as thou art, and bold, and strong, +That fierce glance wins not me, +And I abhor thy scoffing tongue-- +I will not follow thee! + +Spirit of Faith! be thou my guide, +O clasp my hand in thine, +And let me never quit thy side; +Thy comforts are divine! +Earth calls thee blind, misguided one,-- +But who can shew like thee +Forgotten things that have been done, +And things that are to be? + +Secrets conceal'd from Nature's ken, +Who like thee can declare? +Or who like thee to erring men +God's holy will can bear? +Pride scorns thee for thy lowly mien,-- +But who like thee can rise +Above this toilsome, sordid scene, +Beyond the holy skies? + +Meek is thine eye and soft thy voice, +But wondrous is thy might, +To make the wretched soul rejoice, +To give the simple light! +And still to all that seek thy way +This magic power is given,-- +E'en while their footsteps press the clay, +Their souls ascend to heaven. + +Danger surrounds them,--pain and woe +Their portion here must be, +But only they that trust thee know +What comfort dwells with thee; +Strength to sustain their drooping pow'rs, +And vigour to defend,-- +Thou pole-star of my darkest hours +Affliction's firmest friend! + +Day does not always mark our way, +Night's shadows oft appal, +But lead me, and I cannot stray,-- +Hold me, I shall not fall; +Sustain me, I shall never faint, +How rough soe'er may be +My upward road,--nor moan, nor plaint +Shall mar my trust in thee. + +Narrow the path by which we go, +And oft it turns aside +From pleasant meads where roses blow, +And peaceful waters glide; +Where flowery turf lies green and soft, +And gentle gales are sweet, +To where dark mountains frown aloft, +Hard rocks distress the feet,-- + +Deserts beyond lie bleak and bare, +And keen winds round us blow; +But if thy hand conducts me there, +The way is right, I know. +I have no wish to turn away; +My spirit does not quail,-- +How can it while I hear thee say, +"Press forward and prevail!" + +Even above the tempest's swell +I hear thy voice of love,-- +Of hope and peace, I hear thee tell, +And that blest home above; +Through pain and death I can rejoice. +If but thy strength be mine,-- +Earth hath no music like thy voice, +Life owns no joy like thine! + +Spirit of Faith, I'll go with thee! +Thou, if I hold thee fast, +Wilt guide, defend, and strengthen me, +And bear me home at last; +By thy help all things I can do, +In thy strength all things bear,-- +Teach me, for thou art just and true, +Smile on me, thou art fair! + + + + +I have given the last memento of my sister Emily; this is the last +of my sister Anne:-- + + +I hoped, that with the brave and strong, +My portioned task might lie; +To toil amid the busy throng, +With purpose pure and high. + +But God has fixed another part, +And He has fixed it well; +I said so with my bleeding heart, +When first the anguish fell. + +Thou, God, hast taken our delight, +Our treasured hope away: +Thou bid'st us now weep through the night +And sorrow through the day. + +These weary hours will not be lost, +These days of misery, +These nights of darkness, anguish-tost, +Can I but turn to Thee. + +With secret labour to sustain +In humble patience every blow; +To gather fortitude from pain, +And hope and holiness from woe. + +Thus let me serve Thee from my heart, +Whate'er may be my written fate: +Whether thus early to depart, +Or yet a while to wait. + +If Thou shouldst bring me back to life, +More humbled I should be; +More wise--more strengthened for the strife-- +More apt to lean on Thee. + +Should death be standing at the gate, +Thus should I keep my vow: +But, Lord! whatever be my fate, +Oh, let me serve Thee now! + +These lines written, the desk was closed, the pen laid aside-- +for ever. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Poems, by the Bronte Sisters + diff --git a/old/old/brntp10.zip b/old/old/brntp10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d41718e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/brntp10.zip |