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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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