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i lI BIiARY OF ClOaiHESS. j 
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 JUNITED STATES OF AMERICA. J 
 
\S 
 
 '^W^' 
 
 THE GLAD NEW YEAH, 
 
 AND O T H E R P () E M S 
 
 BY 
 
 €tl)el lllolf. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 MOORHEAD, SIMPSON & BOND. GO DUANE STREET. 
 
 1SG7. 
 
Yo-b^ 
 
 A^ 
 
 \^<b'^ 
 
 Eutercd accordiug to Act 'of Congress, in the year 1S67, by H. Cooktenay Atwooi, 
 
 M.D., in ilie Clerk's office of the District Court of the United States 
 
 for the Southern District of New Yorli. 
 
 AoATHYNiAN PuKss, GO Duauc Street, New York. 
 
EDITOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 TO THE WEITER. 
 
 This little volume is offered for jour acceptance in 
 partial fulfilment of my promise that I would, at some 
 time, publish the " effusions," as you used playfully to 
 call them, which you confided to me years ago. 
 
 As you liad prefixed no heading to the different 
 pieces, and as the distance which separates us has pre- 
 vented my consulting you on that subject, I hope the 
 arrangement I have made will not be unsatisfactory to 
 you. 
 
 I have given the book the title of "The Glad New 
 Year," from the poem which I have placed first in 
 order, as appropriate to the present season ; and I hope 
 you may yet see many new years as glad as you made so 
 many of those of my childhood and early youth. 
 
 H. C. A. 
 1st January, 1868. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Fagb 
 
 The Glad New Year 1 
 
 The Song of Father Chi-istmas 5 
 
 Onward Ever 10 
 
 Home 11 
 
 The Exile's Grave 15 
 
 I Shall not be Alone 19 
 
 Hymn to the Holy Trinity 23 
 
 Evening Hymns 24 
 
 On Earth we'll Meet no More 26 
 
 The Chilstian's Light 27 
 
 Whither? 28 
 
 Wait 31 
 
 M. E. T 33 
 
 Break Not, Sad Heart 34 
 
 Life 35 
 
 Dream Echoes 53 
 
 God's MiiTor 54 
 
 My All 55 
 
 A. M. A 56 
 
 The Isle of Portsea 57 
 
 Sleepy Sentiments 60 
 
 OSoul! Too Sad to Live 62 
 
 Translations from the French : 
 
 From Lamartine's " Jocelyn" 63 
 
 From "La Henriade " 66 
 
m)t Q^m Neb) Sear. 
 
 Toll, gently toll the passing bell 
 For the year that dies to-day ; 
 Ring softly out a last farewell 
 
 As it gasps its life away. 
 Slowly and sadly it parts alone, 
 Joining the years that are ]3assed and gone, 
 Sighing for work that it might have done, 
 And for joys that might have been. 
 And now the New Year ring in, 
 Quickly and merrily, 
 Lightly and cheerily; 
 Ere quite the dirge is done 
 Be the new peal begun, 
 Lest the dad New Year should know 
 Auffht of the dead one's woe : 
 
2 THE GLAD NEW TEAR. 
 
 Wreathe its young brow with Hope's garland 
 
 green ; 
 Bat, alas ! for the joys that might have been. 
 
 Oh ! brightly glistens the trackless snow, 
 
 In the rays of the wintry sun; 
 And joyous hearts, in their youthful glow, 
 
 Greet the year that is just begun. 
 But slowly the snow-wreaths melt away. 
 The ice-drops fall from the leafless spray, 
 And the winter's white glory is gone, 
 And the bleak winds whistle and moan. 
 Coldly and drearily, 
 Sadly and wearily. 
 The shivering year looks on 
 The work that the old has done ; 
 And a chill strikes to its breast. 
 With a strange, new fear oppressed. 
 Alas ! for the sorrow so quickly seen. 
 And alas! for the joys that might have been. 
 
 Vain fears, vain sorrow! for quickly, see. 
 Here cometh the gentle Spring, 
 
THE GLAD NEW YEAE. 
 
 And clothes witri new verdure eacli leafless tree, 
 
 And round her sweet flowers doth fling. 
 Kindly she waketh the earth again, 
 And the year is glad of her joyous reign; 
 Then the rosy Summer comes in her train, 
 And the Autumn brings its store, 
 And the blest year sighs no more. 
 
 Joyfully, hopefully, 
 
 Gladly and thankfully, 
 
 Bearing the harvest home, 
 
 See the tired reapers come ; 
 
 And the winter time brings rest, 
 
 Cold and dark, but not unblest. 
 Yet the year, as it dies, sighs the new one in 
 With alas ! for the joys that might have been. 
 
 Thus, for the work that has been done, 
 And the work that might have been. 
 
 Earth has but sighs, as the year is gone. 
 That in hope and joy canae in. 
 
 But the last shall usher a glad year in. 
 
 Joyful and endless and free from sin ; 
 
 Pleasures unfading shall then begin, 
 
4 THE GLAD NEW TEAE. 
 
 And the good seed that on earth was sown 
 Shall be gathered all ripe and grown, 
 
 Safely and carefully, 
 
 Gladly and joyfully, 
 
 Never to feel again 
 
 Earth's wintry fear and pain. 
 
 And thus the End shall bring 
 
 More than the hopes of Spring ; 
 Wreaths of fair garlands, than Hope's more green. 
 More than the joys that on earth might have been. 
 
I ROUSED me from my yearly sleep I 
 
 And put ou my snowy best, 
 As the morning beams began to peej) 
 
 And the world arose from its rest. 
 
 Their sweetest carols the wild birds sang, 
 
 The winter sun shone bright, 
 And all, as I passed, with my ]3raises rang, 
 
 And welcomed me back with delight. 
 
 I stopped at the gate of an ancient hall 
 
 And gently tapj^ed at the door :] 
 And forth came to meet me, both great and 
 small. 
 
 Fair children and grandsire hoar. 
 
6 THE SONG OF FATHER CHEISTMAS. 
 
 They bade me welcome with smiles of joy, 
 
 And blessed my friendly face ; 
 And their simple pleasure knew no alloy, 
 
 For sorrow had there no place. 
 
 They spread the board with their goodliest cheer, 
 They jailed the logs on the hearth ; 
 
 And all their kindred, from far and near. 
 They summoned to share our mirth. 
 
 We sang and feasted till evening fell. 
 
 And then I bade them adieu ; 
 And a hope there lingered in their farewell 
 
 That next year would our pleasure renew. 
 
 And for many a year I came again, 
 
 And they blessed me and bade me stay ; 
 
 And the little children grew up to be men. 
 And the sii-e grew each year more grey. 
 
 And I came agjain to that ancient hall, 
 
 And gently tapped at the door : 
 But no glad welcome answered my call, 
 
 As had been their wont before. 
 
THE SOISTG OF FATHER CHRISTMAS. 7 
 
 I knocked again, but no answer came ; 
 
 Then I noiselessly opened tlie door 
 And silently entered : — tlie flickering flame 
 
 Fell coldly on tlie floor. 
 
 No sound of merriment readied my ear, 
 
 And I saw no smiling face ; 
 But the cold, shrill voice of the dying year 
 
 Screamed wildly through the place. 
 
 And there sat beside the smouldering fire 
 
 A sad and lonely pair ; 
 And bent with grief was the aged sire. 
 
 And the mother was worn with care. 
 
 They wept to see me, and sadly thought 
 
 Of the days when I came before ; 
 For they said their sons for their country had fought 
 
 And died on a foreio;n shore. 
 
 » 
 
 And their daughter was gone to the spiritdand, 
 And had left them to mourn alone ; 
 
 For there was not one of that little band 
 In their once so happy home. 
 
8 THE SONG OF FATHER CHRISTMAS. 
 
 I tried to clieer them and soothe their woe ; 
 
 I told them their grief was vain, 
 For the bitterest tears that from sorrow flow 
 
 Could not bring them back again. 
 
 I bade them think of their glorious deeds 
 When they fought for their country's fame ; 
 
 And I told them that he who for Freedom bleeds 
 Has earned him a hero's name. 
 
 I bade them remember their s^entle worth. 
 
 Their words and deeds of love ; 
 And I told tbem that One who is not of earth 
 
 Had prepared them a j)lace above. 
 
 And I told of a day, that soon would come, 
 When their lost ones they should meet ; 
 
 And they, in that bright and heavenly home. 
 Should their parted parents greet. 
 
 And, as they listened, they dried their tears, 
 
 And they smiled and bade me hail ; 
 And the fire burned bright and the dark day cleared. 
 
 And the wind ceased its mournful wail. 
 
THE SONG OF FATHEK CHRISTMAS. 9 
 
 They spread the board, and around it came 
 
 The memories of the dead ; 
 And in the li2:ht of the brio:ht fire flame 
 
 Each loved one's name they read. 
 
 With smiles and tears they welcomed back 
 
 The scenes of brighter days ; 
 And as Memory traced the flowery track 
 
 They swelled the note of praise. 
 
 And slowly they watched the setting sun, 
 
 As his red beams sank to rest ; 
 And, as they vanished, a bright star shone 
 
 Resplendent in the west. 
 
 It seemed to point to the spirit-land. 
 
 Where those bright seraphs dwell ; 
 And they thought how their loved ones in glory 
 stand, 
 
 And the endless anthems swell. 
 
 Then they turned and blessed me; and I, they said. 
 
 Should still their old friend be : 
 For, though I cannot restore the dead. 
 
 Their memories come with me. 
 
 2 
 
Onward ever, staying never, 
 Flows tlie restless tide away; 
 
 Resting never, fleeting ever, 
 Thus our brightest joys decay ! 
 
 Hasting ever, reaching never, 
 See the bubble on the stream ; 
 
 Seeking ever, finding never, 
 
 Such is youth's too hopeful dream! 
 
 Tranquil never, dashing ever, 
 See the easier waves roll on ; 
 
 Craving ever, tasting never, 
 Soon our longing life is gone ! 
 
 Resting never, striving ever, 
 
 Onward, ouv»^ard still they flow ; 
 
 Onward ever, halting never, 
 Thus may we life's lesson show ! 
 
There is a little Eno-Iisli word, — 
 We love it wlien we roam — 
 
 In other tono-ues 'tis never heard : 
 That little word is Iwme, 
 
 It tells of loving looks and smiles, 
 Of gentle tones and deeds; 
 
 Whose memory still our pain beguiles, 
 E'en while the reft heart bleeds. 
 
 I said we love it, yet to me 
 
 This word is only dear 
 For the sake of a false melody 
 
 It murmurs in my ear ; 
 
 That whispers of a memory, 
 So strangely clear and bright, 
 
 Of a far off time that never was. 
 Save in the shadowy light 
 
12 HOME. 
 
 Of a soft day-dream tliat haunts me still, 
 Wherever my steps may stray ; 
 
 A phantom guest that no good or ill 
 Ever wholly scares away. 
 
 I dreamed of it in the night hours, 
 And I dreamed of it by day ; 
 
 And I marvelled what that memory was. 
 And why it would always stay. 
 
 And at last I knew 'twas a memory 
 Of something that was not yet ; 
 
 Like a shadow, cast, not from the past. 
 But from something; that comes to meet. 
 
 'O 
 
 In hope and feai', in joy and pain, 
 
 I sought it everywhere — 
 The substance whence that shadow came, 
 
 So fcilse and yet so dear. 
 
 Sometimes my heart beat wild and high. 
 My hand was stretched to grasp, 
 
 As some fair phantom flitted by 
 That would not 'bide my clasp. 
 
HOME. 
 
 13 
 
 Sometimes my tears fell hopelessly ; 
 
 But ever, in my ear, 
 Rang tlie old music constantly, 
 
 And thrillingly and clear. 
 
 And somehow grew within my heart 
 The thought that it was true ; 
 
 That something sang the melody, 
 And the soft shadow threw. 
 
 It was not in the night hour. 
 
 It was not in the day; 
 But in the morning twilight. 
 
 When shadows flee away : 
 
 I looked, with eyes scarce opened, 
 
 I listened wonderingly. 
 As the shadow grew to substance 
 
 And the sound to harmony. 
 
 And I knew 'twas Love foreshadowed, 
 'Twas Love's voice faintly heard, 
 
 That had been with me ever. 
 To guide me when I erred. 
 
14 H03IE. 
 
 And now I love tliat little word, 
 I love it while I roam ; 
 
 And dearer ev^ery day to me 
 
 Shall grow that dear word liome. 
 
^!je iExile'ss Crabe. 
 
 The sea, tte sea ! how I love the sea ! 
 'Tis the only friend that is left to me. 
 Houseless and homeless I wander on, 
 My friends all parted, my hopes all gone ; 
 In the wide, wide world I am all alone : 
 Then I'll seek the sea. 
 
 In this rocky cave, by the sea-girt shore, 
 I'll rest me and list to its ceaseless roar. 
 And watch the wild heave of its surc^ing; breast. 
 And the dark cold waves with their foamy crest 
 'Tis a fitting spot for my lonely rest. 
 Here beside the sea ! 
 
 On a seaweed couch, by some mermaid strewn. 
 The exile shall lay his tired frame down. 
 By the friendly waves gently sung to sleep, 
 "While o'er my slumbers kind guard they keep. 
 
16 THE exile's GEAYE. 
 
 I Lave found me a liome beside the deep ; 
 Oil ! I love tlie sea. 
 
 Metliinks its waves tell a tale to me 
 Of friends tliat I never more may see ; 
 It echoes the voices I loved so well, 
 I hear them blend with the ocean-swell, 
 Gently of kindness and love they tell. 
 Across the sea. 
 
 Oh ! 'tis sweet to list to the waves' wild song; 
 But see how fiercely they dash along! 
 Nearer and nearer the dark waves come. 
 Rushing so madly and blindly on ! 
 'Twere death to linger ; I must be gone 
 From the friendly sea. 
 
 Heaven ! I cannot ! they gird me round, 
 No path is left me, no aid is found ; — 
 
 1 hear no sound but the rushing wave ! 
 No human arm is near to save. 
 
 Oh ! must I indeed find a lonely grave 
 'Neath the treacherous sea ? 
 
THE exile's grave. 17 
 
 Yet wliy should I fear it ? Earth holds for me 
 No friend so kind as the dee]) blue sea; 
 For some are changed, and some are dead, 
 And none for me would a warm tear shed. 
 Then welcome the rest of thy rocky bed, 
 Thou kindly sea ! 
 
 For I know that One hath thy wave-path trod, 
 Whose power can guide through the watery road. 
 Oh ! might I the print of His footsteps see, 
 Tranquil and safe would my death-sleep be. 
 Waking at length when he calleth me 
 Home from the sea. 
 
 Yet so hoarsely it raves in its surging flow, 
 That I fear to its cold, strong arms to go; 
 And I hear strange voices, its sounds among, 
 Shrieks of wild anguish from torn hearts wrung, 
 As a far-off ship goes madly down 
 'Neath the angry sea. 
 
 They are hushed — those wild notes of human woe, 
 
 For the lips that breathed them sleep far below. 
 3 
 
18 THE exile's grave. 
 
 Hark ! the sea-spirits their requiem sing, 
 Gently and sweetly their soft notes ring, 
 And my soul is soothed by that mystic hymn : 
 Come on, thou Sea ! 
 
 It comes ! it comes ! they lave my brow, 
 The waves that gather around me now. 
 What are those mystic tones I hear ? 
 What are those strange scenes that seem so near ? 
 I come ! I come ! no more I fear 
 Thy rest, O Sea ! 
 
$ Siall not \it Elouc. 
 
 There lay a shadow on my early life, 
 
 That ever hid from me the glad sunshine ; 
 
 And oft I sought, with unavailing strife, 
 
 To reach the joyous light that was not mine, 
 But in my shaded morn it might not shine. 
 
 My years went on sadly and listlessly, 
 Sorrow with sin did ceaselessly entwine, 
 
 And oft I wept in lonely misery ; 
 
 Nor knew I yet that Thou wert still with me. 
 
 And now my soul within her prison sits. 
 
 And from its window gazes wistfully, 
 The while Thy furnace fires burn fierce within. 
 
 And all unshared her hidden pain must l)e. 
 
 And oft I fear and long despoudingly 
 For word or sign of human sympathy ; 
 
 So slowdy pass the days and wearily. 
 So utterly alone I seem to be : 
 Yet am I not alone, but still with Thee. 
 
20 I SHALL NOT BE ALONE. 
 
 And, through dim shadows of the days to come, 
 
 I seek in vain, with eager straining eyes. 
 To trace some form outshining from the gloom 
 
 Of all that hid within the future lies. 
 
 The faint twilight shows not its mysteries, 
 I know not what that coming time will be. 
 
 What woes will whelm me or what joys sur- 
 prise : 
 But this I know — and 'tis enough for me — 
 I shall not be alone, but still with Thee. 
 
 And onward still to that cloud-hidden river. 
 Lonely and unexplored, whither I go. 
 
 Whither I go alone, and nearer ever 
 
 Th' untrodden vale where its cold waters flow. 
 Whose untold sights and sounds I cannot know; 
 
 Or what strange scenes my waking soul will see, 
 Till the rent veil of life beyond shall show 
 
 The unknown spirit- world : enough for me 
 
 I shall not be alone, but still with Thee. 
 
 Enough for me ! I may not, would not guess 
 The secrets of that wondrous, vast Forever. 
 
I SHALL NOT BE ALONE. 21 
 
 Enougli for me, that Thou art there to bless ; 
 
 Nor aught can me from Thy loved presence sever. 
 
 With Thee, no matter how, with Thee forever ! 
 With thee, no matter where, 'tis all to me 
 
 That thou art there and here, and leav'st me 
 never 
 In life or death. This all my Heaven shall be ; 
 I shall not be alone, but still with Thee ! 
 
I^gmn to tje l^olg ^tinitg. 
 
 O God, our Spirit-guide ! 
 
 Bear with our stubbornness ; 
 Still in our hearts abide, 
 
 Leave us not comfortless. 
 Guide us to Jesus Christ, 
 
 He can for us atone ; 
 He who our life hath priced 
 
 At His most precious own. 
 
 O God. our Saviour, Son, 
 
 Peer through eternity 
 Of the Eternal One! 
 
 Shield our infirmity. 
 Plead with Thy Father, God, 
 
 That Thou didst die to free 
 From sin's avenging rod 
 
 All who confide in Thee. 
 
HYMN TO THE HOLY TRINITY. 23 
 
 O God, our Father! hear 
 
 This our repentant cry! 
 Though Thy just wrath we fear, 
 
 We on Thy Word rely. 
 Here is the Sacrifice 
 
 Offered for all mankind ; 
 Let Him for us suffice, 
 
 Pardon and Peace to find. 
 
 Glory to God, the One 
 
 Father Omnipotent! 
 Glory to God, the Son, 
 
 Saviour benevolent! 
 To God the Spirit, too, 
 
 Let equal Glory be! 
 One God, Eternal, True, 
 
 Veiled in the Mystic Three ! 
 
(I^bening J^gmnjs. 
 
 See, evening's shadows close, 
 
 Tlie sun's bright rays are gone ; 
 And weary hearts repose, 
 
 Their day of labor done. 
 But hopes that once were bright 
 
 Fade with the light of day ; 
 And, into shades of night, 
 
 Pass thus, in gloom, away. 
 
 Say, will they bloom no more ? 
 
 Are they forever fled ? — 
 Soon morning will restore 
 
 The light that now seems dead. 
 So Hope's bright morning star 
 
 Can never know decay ; 
 But soon will herald from afar 
 
 A brighter day. 
 
EVENING HYMNS. 25 
 
 11. 
 
 Softly the vesper bell 
 
 Falls on the evening air ; 
 
 Sweetly its low tones tell 
 The hour of prayer. 
 
 Day's toil and care are o'er, 
 
 Earth's sounds disturb no more; 
 
 Heavenward our spirits soar : 
 Come to prayer ! 
 
 Turn we from earth away. 
 
 Lord, we Thy blessing pray ; 
 Oh ! hear, at close of day, 
 
 Our evening prayer. 
 Oh ! guard us while we sleep ; 
 Kindly and safely keep. 
 And for Death's slumbers deep 
 
 Our souls prepare. 
 
<©n IBartt toe'U Mttt no Wore. 
 
 Far o'er the ocean's breast, 
 
 Dearest, I go from thc^ ! 
 Rocked by the waves to rest, 
 
 Here must my cradle be. 
 Yet, though we now must part. 
 
 And seas between us lie, 
 Still, still my constant heart 
 
 Feels thou art nigh. 
 
 Breathe but a prayer for me ; 
 
 So shall our souls unite. 
 By day I pray for thee ; 
 
 I pray and weep by night. 
 My sad heart feels that here, 
 
 On earth, we'll meet no more ; 
 But parting we'll not fear 
 
 On yon blest shore. 
 
Like hers — the gentle queen of night— 
 The Christian's is a borrowed light, 
 Reflected from the Lord of day ; 
 But, when we turn, in part, away, 
 Or when some shadow glides between 
 The soiil and his ethereal beam, 
 Or lost in part, or wholly gone, 
 Its light, no longer shone upon. 
 
 The soul, in this bright mantle drest, 
 Shines clearest when discerned least ; 
 Self shrouded 'neath His robe of gold, 
 His glory all that men behold: 
 When that is drawn in part aside. 
 How dark the spot it fails to hide ! 
 No longer worn, how sadly seen 
 The vacant spot where life has been ! 
 
The days of my youth are gone, 
 
 Ah! whither? whither? 
 And my life drifts slowly on, 
 
 Ah ! whither ? whither ? 
 Around me the Autumn's brown leaves are strewn. 
 The summer birds from their bowers are flown. 
 And the year drifts swiftly and surely on. 
 
 Ah ! whither ? whither ? 
 
 The joys of my youth are flown. 
 
 Ah ! whither ? whither ? 
 The light of my life is gone. 
 
 Ah ! whither ? whither ? 
 The bright morn has yielded to stormy night, 
 Faded and gone is the sun's warm light. 
 Vanished his last rays from mortal sight, 
 
 Ah ! whither ? whither ? 
 
WHITHER? 29 
 
 The hopes of my youth are fled, 
 
 Ah! whither? whither? 
 In pitiless haste they sped, 
 
 Ah ! whither ? whither ? 
 Thus the fair blossoms of Spring may die. 
 Ere they have opened to glad the eye ; 
 Withered and wasted their warm tints fly. 
 
 Ah ! whither ? whither ? 
 
 " Mourn not the lonely tree, 
 
 Now leafless made : 
 Ere long his boughs shall be 
 
 Again arrayed. 
 To a sunnier clime the birds are gone ; 
 Spring shall restore them, nor these alone. : 
 Learn from the trees and the birds to own 
 
 One cares for them and thee. 
 
 " The sun, that in clouds to-night goes down. 
 
 Will rise to-morrow ; 
 And the bright new day may yet atone 
 
 For present sorrow. 
 
so WHITHER? 
 
 And shall not the sunshine of life return, 
 Soothing the anguish of hearts that mourn, 
 Blessing the sorrows in patience borne ? 
 There's sunshine yet for thee." 
 
 But the hopes of youth, the buds of spring, 
 
 Say, where are they ? 
 What season shall their blighted promise bring ? 
 
 Oh ! canst thou say ? 
 " Ask not, but trust. Know this alone, 
 Life dies not ; that which life hath known 
 Shall live again. Then hope and own 
 
 One lives and cares for thee." 
 
The sky was clouded, the wind blew cold, 
 
 The stars veiled their silvery light ; 
 And, in restless fury, the dark tide rolled 
 
 On — on through the gloomy night. 
 
 I stood on a rock that rose, bare and high, 
 
 From the cold, black waves below, 
 That, dashed into spray, from its bleak sides fly, 
 
 Unchecked in their ceaseless flow. 
 
 And I mused on my life, that seemed cold and drear. 
 Like the nisrht and the scene around : 
 
 For no light to guide and no joy to cheer 
 My restless spirit found. 
 
32 WAIT. 
 
 And I mused and murmured in dull despair, 
 Till my swimming eyes grew dim ; 
 
 And methouglit I heard the spirits of air 
 Sing low this simple hymn. 
 
 " Wait, wait ! The night is dark, 
 
 But the night dureth not long ; 
 And soon the voice of the merry lark 
 
 Shall warble her matin song. 
 
 " Wait, wait ! The stranded boat 
 
 On the sandy beach may lie ; 
 But the tide has turned, and she soon shall float 
 
 O'er the waves right merrily. 
 
 " Wait ! wait, sad child of earth ! 
 
 Day comes though it dawn not yet : 
 And thy sun shall rise, and thy bark shall float ; 
 
 Then patiently wait, wait ! " 
 
With tearful eyes we sadly stood 
 
 Around a dying year, 
 And watched, in melanclioly mood, 
 
 His liour of deatli draw near. 
 
 And, as his life was waning fast, 
 With trembling voice lie said : 
 
 " Oh ! take this gift — my best, my last- 
 And love me when I'm dead. 
 
 "This babe, when I am gone, shall be 
 
 A woman all shall love ; 
 And fondly j^ou'll remember me 
 
 All other years above." 
 
 And now as each in turn departs 
 We bless it, while we sing 
 
 His requiem with exultant hearts — 
 Of all our years the King. 
 5 
 
larcat not, Satr S^cart. 
 
 Break not, sad Heart ! 
 Full many a bitter tear must yet be shed, 
 Full many a tender cord lie strained and dead, 
 Ere thou hast learned, through sorrow's rough 
 path led, 
 
 How strong thou art. 
 
 Death cometh not 
 At sorrow's call. The wretched cannot die. 
 Long at his gate the wo-crushed heart must lie, 
 Till, raised at length, it findeth with a sigh, 
 
 Grief killeth not. 
 
 Would'st thou learn why ? 
 Perfect through suffering must thy weakness be ; 
 Then, sorrow-taught, thou good in all shalt see. 
 And joy that not till then was given to thee 
 
 The time to die. 
 
Eife. 
 
 Dowis^, down, dark and low ! 
 
 Not under the sea, 
 
 For til ere miglit be 
 Some silver pliosplior-glow ; 
 
 Some star-tipped wave 
 
 Might lightly lave 
 And whisper its music over my grave ; 
 But under the ground, 
 
 Dark, dark, dark and low, — 
 
 Too dark for the wind to blow, 
 Too dark for a sound, 
 
 Too dark to hear. 
 
 To weep, to fear, — 
 There is nothing living or breathing near. 
 
 Here must I die ! Here, in this dark, cold mine. 
 My Tree of Knowledge, in whose taste was death! 
 
 The sons of toil have met its fate, — but mine 
 
 Comes of my wish to know. I spend my breath, 
 My last, in the rash question. What is Death ? 
 
36 LIFE. 
 
 The living death, the sinners call their life ; 
 To them, to me. Death darkly hasten eth : 
 
 A few short hours will end our mortal strife, 
 Here in this darksome shroud that compasseth 
 Our life — which yet is Life, though thou art come, 
 O Death ! 
 
 O Death ! O Life ! what are ye ? One is gone — - 
 Gone swiftly, half unfelt ; without my will 
 
 It drifted hourly, daily, yearly on 
 
 To these last hours — and now the final chill 
 Creeps coldly on — Death cometh straight to still 
 
 My heart's last beating. Here apart I lie. 
 
 Far from the rest ; and strange wild fancies fill 
 
 My dying hour. What can it be to die ? 
 
 And in my ear strange sounds are echoed shrill, 
 Till one low whispered voice all other sounds 
 doth still. 
 
 " O Death ! O Life ! what are ye ? say ! 
 
 Life, thou art Death, and Death is Life ; 
 Death's shadows fall — then melt away 
 
 Before the Sun that ends their strife ; 
 For Death is Life. 
 
LIFE. 
 
 37 
 
 " Death sows tlie seed ; Life brings tlie flower 
 
 In that true Life that is to be. 
 The grave may hide the germ an hou^, 
 
 Then yields it to Eternity ; 
 For Death is Life." 
 
 I heard; and blessed the light that gilds the tomb,— 
 His Light, who o'er it gained the victory ; 
 
 His Life, that lives through all the life to come 
 In His, who live in him eternally ; 
 And in that joy I slept, and dreamily 
 
 Deep thoughts of earthly life in that last hour 
 Gave back my life,— for long and wearily 
 
 I lay and watched and hoped, till all the power 
 Of hope was spent. I knew no aid could be — 
 But now I slept in peace though Death had come 
 for me. 
 
 O'er our bright earth I roved, all green and fair 
 In that glad Spring I never more should see ; 
 
 I breathed the fragrance of her morning air, 
 I heard sweet birds, in their wild minstrelsy. 
 Sing forth their joy, — the joy it was to he 
 
 In such glad life. O earth ! I love thee well ! 
 
38 LIFE. 
 
 Thou art so wildly, grandly fair to see ! 
 
 Eden ! still thy beauties live and tell 
 
 Of what thou wert, but never more canst be ! 
 And still the gentle voice sang whispering to me, — 
 
 " Stay, gentle flowers ! ye are so bright and fair, 
 I not enough have marked your beauty yet ; 
 
 1 not enough have breathed your perfume rare. 
 
 So fresh and sweet, with lingering dew-drops 
 
 wet — 
 
 Stay ! stay ! ah, stay ! 
 
 " Stay, glorious sun ! O shorten not my day ! 
 
 The gladdest, brightest ; linger, linger yet ! 
 Too swiftly speed thy hastening hours away, — 
 
 Ah ! couldst thou once thy setting time forget ! 
 Stay ! stay ! ah, stay ! 
 
 " Stay, late-come joy ! too soon it seems to part 
 While yet I scarce have dared believe thee true ; 
 
 Ah ! grant this breathing-time to my worn heart. 
 Thy transient smiles are vanished as I view : — 
 Stay ! stay ! ah, stay ! 
 
LIFE. 39 
 
 " Thej stay not ! Gone wliile yet I tearful plead ! 
 
 They would not, might not linger — woe is me ! 
 Away, away all bright things ever speed, — 
 
 I only left ! I left alone to see ! 
 I only stay ! 
 
 "I will not stsijl I too will haste away; 
 
 I seek my vanished joy, my faded flowers. 
 Where is my sun ? my yet unfinished day ? 
 
 In some bright other sphere its wingless hours 
 Shall ever stay ! " 
 
 Still in my dreams, I gained the open door 
 Of a fair temple : entering I found 
 
 A learned doctor, with a priceless store 
 
 Of books and instruments of names profound, 
 Scattered in rich profusion all 'around ; 
 
 While from his lips there flowed a deep discourse 
 Of mathematics, metaphysics, all 
 
 The secrets of all nature, and the source 
 Of wisdom, truth, philosophy ; — the hall 
 Rang with his eloquence, which deeply did en- 
 thral 
 
40 LIFE. 
 
 At first my listening soul, as pleased I heard. 
 With all the wonderins: crowd. Anon lie seemed 
 
 To wander into regions unexplored 
 
 As yet by simple minds, and then I deemed 
 That through his brilliant fancies still there 
 gleamed 
 
 A paler light than Truth is wont to show : 
 
 Methought he erred, or else perchance he dreamed 
 
 Of mysteries too deep for man to know 
 
 In this our life. Then in my dream it seemed 
 He turned and spoke to me, and thus his words I 
 dreamed : 
 
 " Things which are equal to the same, I say, 
 Are equal to each other. None can doubt 
 The certain truth of such a proposition. 
 Attend, and thou shalt hear how I will prove, 
 From this one truth, that all things else are false, 
 Or falsely apprehended by the herd. 
 When thou art dead, what will remain of thee? 
 A handful of poor dust, and nothing more. 
 For see thy dog, whom now thou scornest, then 
 By death thine equal rendered, for of him 
 
LIEE. 41 
 
 Dust shall remain as of tliy prouder form, 
 
 Now fallen to his level. Look around 
 
 On all thou seest of rock or flower or tree ; 
 
 See all things crumbled to their parent dust, 
 
 Blown by the wind of life a little space, 
 
 Then, when the storm is o'er, cast down again 
 
 Upon our mother earth — herself but dust : 
 
 Her life the air that in its diverse ways 
 
 Doth stir her atoms, shaking them about 
 
 In earth, and sea, and man, and beast, and tree ; 
 
 Wherefore, proud mortal, know thyself but dust, 
 
 And dust thy dog ; dust the fair flower thou lovest, 
 
 And so all equal — dog and flower and thou ! 
 
 Equal in death, since all are dust, — and so 
 
 In life too equal ; living dust — no more ! 
 
 The principle of life that stirs the whole 
 
 The same in essence, though its varied forms 
 
 Of outward, visible development 
 
 Confuse thy shallow brain that sees not where 
 
 They meet and all are one." 
 
 " I cannot prove, 
 And yet I feel within me something here 
 I see not in my dog. I am not learned 
 
42 LIFE. 
 
 To demonstrate tlie trutli of that I feel. 
 Or, if too high my aim should soar, and I 
 Should seek to use your weapons in my cause, 
 Too much I fear that I should rather prove 
 Falsehood than truth — should prove that I myself 
 Exist not, since I cannot prove I am. 
 For if all thino;s be false which are not true. 
 And none be true but those that can be proved. 
 Then am I but a myth and nothing more, — 
 For who shall prove I am f It seems, indeed, 
 To me that 'tis so ; but so often have 
 The wisest been deceived ; so often I 
 Have fancied things were other than they were ; 
 So often dreamed of things I never did, — 
 Why may not all my life have been a dream. 
 And I a vain creation of my brain ? " 
 
 " Hold, foolish youth, for that you truly live 
 Is proof enough in that you live to dream. 
 To fancy foolish things within your brain 
 Doth presuppose the brain where they were bred." 
 
 " Methinlvs this argument doth well apply 
 To all this vast creation and myself ; 
 
LIFE. 43 
 
 For, in that we exist, (which I, unlearned. 
 Am all unskilled to prove,) this very fact 
 Doth presuppose, as I have learned from you, 
 That He existeth, by whose power we are. 
 And whose high wisdom is wrought out in us. 
 And whose is all our life, howe'er displayed, — 
 Though yet I cannot prove His life or mine. 
 And since He lives and hath declared Himself 
 In that one book in which is told to us 
 All that we need to know of Earth or Heaven, 
 Methinks it were more wise to mark and learn 
 And hold for truth the truth we cannot prove ; 
 Since in our infant science, yet ungrown 
 To manly strength, there are no instruments 
 As yet devised, whose perfect nicety 
 Can accurately square and compass Truth. 
 I, in my ignorance and want of skill 
 To fence with mathematics, logic or 
 The mysteries of metaphysics, — I 
 Hold but one simple proposition true : 
 ' It is impossible for the same thing 
 To be and not to be.' So I, you grant, 
 Must needs exist. So He who makes my life. 
 And therefore is, is, and must always be 
 
44 LIFE. 
 
 Till He can die. The which, till you can prove, 
 
 (Which none can do, nor can it e'er be proved 
 
 While any live to prove it,) He must live, 
 
 Since it is all impossible for Him 
 
 To be and not to be. So in His life 
 
 Which only is, and is the source of all. 
 
 In it I rest, and find it all I need. 
 
 And since He could create, I hold that He 
 
 Is able to sustain, and wise enough 
 
 To teach me how to live, whose life He gave, 
 
 And how to die at last and come to him." 
 
 " Fond youth," the grave Professor said, " you err 
 In thinking me less wise than you in this ; 
 For I have said no word of doubt that He 
 From whom all life proceed eth ever lives. 
 Enthroned far above this creature- world 
 Where rule and reign His wise and perfect laws, 
 He dwells serene ; and, far beneath His feet, 
 Obedient ebbs and flows the tide of life 
 In a perpetual motion. 'Twas of thee — 
 Thee in thy nothingness of atom life — 
 Of thee I spoke, and told thee thou wert dust. 
 And for that Book, of which thou spak'st but now, 
 
LIFE. 45 
 
 I never bade thee think of it as false, 
 But only as transcending thy weak brain, 
 Which knows not how to tell the false from true 
 In text or meaning. The great Human mind, 
 Kipening through ages, hastens to attain 
 Its fullest growth. Then labors vast and grand 
 Await its strength mature. Till then we tread 
 On the threshold of knowledge ; gathering Truth 
 In fragments here and there, till the great whole 
 Be piece-meal formed. Then let us join, with care 
 Reverent, the severed fragments, and know all 
 That can be known by man." 
 
 "Stay, learned sir, 
 Your wisdom is too eloquent for me, 
 A simple youth. And yet to me it seems 
 There might be found a shorter, safer way 
 To reach the summit of the hill of Truth, 
 By the firm-planted steps His care hath placed 
 Who knew our weakness, than by slow degrees 
 Of deep-cut roads by human skill designed, 
 To labor round the circuit of our life. 
 And having reached (if haply reached at last), 
 Though late, the highest point, look down to see 
 
46 LIFE. 
 
 How easily and shortly, though perchance 
 
 The ascent were somewhat rugged, might have been 
 
 The height attained, and there life's work begun 
 
 Which our late reaching left no time to do. 
 
 It seems to me that each man's proper sense 
 
 Is wiser and more precious far to him 
 
 Than all the reasoning of all the schools. 
 
 By his own consciousness he knows he lives ; — 
 
 He needs no arguments to prove him that, 
 
 Or that he grows and eats and sleeps and feels. 
 
 God speaks to each man's conscience, nor he needs 
 
 Much foreign aid to come between his soul 
 
 And God his Maker. For He writes so plain, 
 
 All but the wise can plainly understand. 
 
 What if, receiving in my father's hand 
 
 Written, a letter of some vast import. 
 
 Concerning me to haste and do some work 
 
 Which failing would involve some consequence 
 
 Of life and death : — what think you if I should, 
 
 (Knowing the writing such as from my youth 
 
 I ever saw from him) I should with care 
 
 Consult some learned professor of the law 
 
 Whether the hand were genuine ? What if he. 
 
 Acknowledging the writing, should employ 
 
LIFE. 47 
 
 His learned skill and all tlie time I had 
 
 To do the weighty business it enjoined, 
 
 In showing how the words might be construed 
 
 To mean some other sense than that I knew 
 
 My father would convey : — till I at last 
 
 Should almost come to wonder what he meant, 
 
 And view the letter as some wondrous piece 
 
 Of curiosity, whose sense might be 
 
 Or anything, or nothing, at my will? 
 
 Would not the letter still be simple, true, 
 
 And easily discerned ? And for the work 
 
 I was too wise to understand to do. 
 
 Thus left undone, — were not the fault my own ? 
 
 And I, for all my learned pains, a fool ? " 
 
 Methought ev'n as I spoke I heard the bell 
 That marked the hour of study. From his 
 chair 
 
 Rose the Professor, and, while yet there fell 
 The echo of his footsteps on my ear, 
 A reverend Father entered. He did bear 
 
 Within the circle of his arms a load 
 Of dusty tomes, and in the vacant chair 
 
 Did gravely seat himself; his black robes flowed 
 
48 LIFE. 
 
 In sombre majesty. Witli reverent air 
 He solemnly discoursed in words and gestures 
 fair. 
 
 " My friends, I come, with what success I may, 
 To counteract the poisonous tendency 
 Of my most learned brother's eloquence ; 
 By which, if you should be unhappily 
 Led into error (as, alas ! alas ! 
 Too many oft have been), you yet may learn 
 By careful study of the Fathers, here 
 Taught and explained by me, (unworthy I 
 Of such high honor and great privilege) 
 May learn, I say, how widely he has erred 
 From truth as taught by our dear Mother Church, 
 To whose grave judgment and ripe wisdom all 
 The wise and faithful of all ages have 
 Justly deferred. And you must do the same 
 If you would live serene and peaceful die. 
 In these most venerable volumes see 
 The treasured wisdom of that purer age, 
 (Ere torn as now by heresies and schisms) ; 
 Our Mother Church, one then, as ever one. 
 Covered her children with her sheltering wing 
 And taught them doctrine pure." 
 
LIFE. 49 
 
 " But, Father, say. 
 How were the Fathers of that happy time 
 So guarded from all error, and so sure 
 That all they taught was only simple truth ? 
 How came it then that they were not agreed 
 Amongst themselves? but those most holy men. 
 If history say true, did soon begin 
 To quarrel and dispute, ev'n as we do, 
 We, in this darkened and degenerate ao;e ? 
 Methinks 'twere easier to understand 
 Scripture itself than those deej) commentaries 
 Which need themselves to be explained to us, 
 Who, being ignorant to guide ourselves. 
 Lack wisdom, as I think, to choose our guides 
 Themselves not always wise." 
 
 " My son, beware. 
 Nor trust thyself on such a dangerous sea 
 Without a compass ; lest some swelling wave. 
 Lashed into fury by the sudden storm. 
 Swamp thy frail bark presumptuous. Know, my 
 
 son. 
 The Church is one. She holds the keys of life 
 And death : all knowledge dwells alone with her. 
 
50 LIFE. 
 
 Boldly to reason it becomes not thee, 
 And thus to argae, as if thou could' st find 
 Truth for thyself. 'Tis thine, my son, to obey. 
 Think what thou art — an erring mortal man ! 
 Be humble and be wise." 
 
 " My Father, I 
 Would know the truth and meekly bow to it. 
 But sure, though Reason guiding, proud, alone, 
 May lead astray, yet, when the truth is found, 
 She is not then forbid to apprehend 
 The light revealed she was too weak to find 
 Unaided. Eeverent I would gaze and muse 
 On sacred wisdom : and, as still I gazed. 
 New beauties should arise, unmarked before ; 
 Bending still lower, and yet lower, till 
 The growing light should make me blush for shame 
 That I should be so ignorant, so vile. 
 So wholly insufficient to myself. 
 So worthless to all other ; till at last. 
 In self-forgetfulness my 'raptured soul 
 " Grew pure by being purely shone upon." 
 
 I ceased and woke. I hear ! I come, O Death ! 
 
LIFE. 51 
 
 I die to live. Blest Life that cannot die ! 
 For death is all of earth. This trembling breath 
 
 Is all I lose. O earth ! my latest sigh 
 
 Is all I give to thee. I but lay by 
 A robe I need no more. I little know 
 
 Of that fair world I enter, Death, by thee ; 
 Led by thy friendly hand I gladly go 
 
 My home, my life, my all of good to see. 
 
 Thou art a friend, O Death ! thou bringest life to 
 me ! 
 
 Still the voice sang : " Oh ! not with ray eyes, 
 They see too dimly for aught so bright ! 
 
 But in the still depth of my soul there lies 
 A new, sixth sense that has seen thy light — 
 Thy light, O Life ! 
 
 " Oh ! truer, truer than aught of earth, 
 Glad sights and sounds of the spirit-land ! 
 
 They tell me that death is an hour of birth. 
 I hear life's wave as it laves the strand 
 "Whither I go ! 
 
52 LIFE. 
 
 "I go to know that the stars told true ; 
 
 I go to know that the word was plain ; 
 *Tis earthly wisdom that blinds our view ; 
 
 It makes the darkness, its fears are vain, 
 I see,_I see ! " 
 
IMITATIONS. 
 
 IBream iEdjoes. 
 
 Dreams, hopeless dreams ! I marvel whence ye come. 
 Dreams from the shadows of the heart's recess 
 Glide spectre-like and shrouded through the soul, 
 Haunting its vacant chambers evermore, 
 And tuning their wild echoes to a dirge. 
 
 O love and joy ! the substance of our dreams, 
 Shadows no more, nor echoes of past days, 
 Nor shrouded spectres gliding fearfully. 
 But dwelling ever in the gladdened heart 
 That knows no sigh for days that are no more. 
 
Oh ! might I see, 
 As in a glass, the glory of thy love : 
 
 That so on me, 
 Thy light reflected, I to men might prove 
 A mirror that might something show of Thee. 
 
 Fain would I gaze 
 Unwearied, till I gazed all self away, 
 
 That so Thy praise 
 I might in every act and word display, 
 And Thou in me live only all my days. 
 
 So, through my heart. 
 Thy love unchecked, unceasingly should flow : 
 
 This all my part — 
 The glad possession evermore to know, 
 And then to all the living joy impart. 
 
 Oh ! might it be ! 
 O Thou that dwellest in the gardens, hear ! 
 
 Grant this to me. 
 Cause me to hear Thy voice, to feel Thee near, 
 That so I may forget all self in thee ! 
 
When once my soul has fled to Thy embrace 
 
 I have no danger left to fear ; 
 With Thee in every time and place 
 
 And sheltered everywhere. 
 
 The life eternal is begun for me 
 
 When once Thou givest me to know Thy love ; 
 On earth by faith I live with Thee ; 
 
 Thou art my Heaven above. 
 
 Thou art my all, and I am Thine alone, 
 
 I have no longer any part in me ; 
 'Tis Thine to care for and protect Thine own : 
 
 'Tis mine to trust in Thee. 
 
 Thou art my Life in life ; in death Thou art 
 Still, still my life, and evermore shalt be. 
 
 My failing flesh, my sinking heart 
 Are naught — Thou livest for me. 
 
As dawns the day- 
 After some long, tempestuous nigtt, 
 Breaking but slowly on our siglit, 
 Fitfully shining through clouds and rain, 
 Which yet may gather not again 
 
 To quench its ray ; 
 So dawn thy life-day, clear and bright, 
 Triumphing over the vanquished night ; 
 
 Full of bright flowers 
 
 And sunny hours, 
 
 Whose gentle showers 
 Shall only make them grow more fair. 
 
^Se Isle of ilortsea. 
 
 Know ye an isle where proud Britain's defenders 
 
 Kest from their labors and cease from their strife ; 
 Where each brave warrior gladly surrenders 
 
 War's rude alarms for a peaceable life ? 
 Soldiers and sailors both gladly contribute 
 
 To her adornment their laurels and bays ; 
 And, in return for their dutiful tribute, 
 
 England's proud banner she fondly displays. 
 This heaven-favored spot is the Isle of Portsea. 
 How blest must its happy inhabitants be ! 
 Yet these, in such glory unworthy to dwell. 
 Know no music so sweet as the dear word, " Fare- 
 well ! " 
 
 Sweet island ! where nor cares nor toil distress, 
 
 But ease and indolence combine to bless. 
 
 Here patriot zeal and proud ambition sleep. 
 
 No vigils here nor weary guard they keep. 
 
 By duty's voice nor glory's call opprest. 
 
 In this loved spot no sound shall break their rest. 
 
58 THE ISLE OF POETSEA. 
 
 Four townships are within the isle contained, 
 Landport, Portsea, Portsmouth, and Southsea, 
 
 named. 
 The former three in commerce have surpassed, 
 While fashion and haut ton select the last. 
 These as a whole for brevity unite. 
 And we as Portsmouth the whole district write. 
 
 Her foes with fear and reverence to inspire. 
 And teach the awe-struck stranger to admire, 
 Proud England's forts he first with wonder sees, 
 And notes their curtains, bastions and glacis ; 
 These to the world her vaunted strength display 
 And warn her enemies to keep away. 
 But humbly entering at the nearest gato, 
 To take a nearer view of so much state, 
 Far different scenes salute his wondering eyes. 
 The varied landscape wakens his suprise. 
 Scarlet and green the gorgeous scene adorn, 
 (More sober tints the builder viewed with scorn) ; 
 The streets with endless grace their course jjursue. 
 (No mathematics their projector knew. 
 Unskilled sharp angles or straight lines to trace, 
 Nor squares nor parallels his taste disgrace) ; 
 
THE ISLE OP PORTSEA. 59 
 
 Begun and ended how and where they can, 
 They speak their architect no common man. 
 Here, slow meandering with unguided tread, 
 Through devious paths his weary steps may thread 
 Each narrow street, each winding lane explore. 
 To find himself just where he was before. 
 
 Stop ! for our tread is on forbidden ground. 
 
 In praise or blame we may no further go. 
 Who dares to censure ever wrong is found. 
 At least for knowing what he should not 
 
 know: 
 Learn we, while all with their loud praises 
 
 glow, 
 In this short maxim all their secret lies, — 
 " Where ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be 
 
 wise." 
 
Soft died away the hum of day, 
 
 Soft fell night's shadows round, 
 Soft melted toils and cares away, 
 
 Like dews within the ground. 
 The gentle rays that Dian lent, 
 Through my uncurtained window sent, 
 
 So shyly seemed to peep, 
 So sweetly fell that witching hour 
 On every sleeping tree and flower. 
 
 That I — went oif to sleep. 
 
 So ripplingly, so tunefully 
 
 The river seemed to glide ; 
 So silently, so peacefully 
 
 The silver rays replied. 
 As if they whispered through the night 
 The burden of those visions bright 
 
 In mortal dreams that fall, — 
 Sweet thoughts that poets love to hoard, 
 But I — went off to sleep, and snored, 
 
 And did not dream at all. 
 
SLEEPY SENTIMENTS. 61 
 
 And what though night may not endure 
 
 To brook the dawn of day ? 
 The fair young moon, so fresh and pure, 
 
 May well excuse her stay ; 
 The rosy glories of the east, 
 To poets' eyes so rich a feast, 
 
 — They did not shine on mine ; 
 The risen sun will light my way 
 Though longer I may sleep than they, 
 
 And rise at half-past nine. 
 
(J^ Soul ! ([Too Satr to Elbe ! 
 
 O SOUL ! too sad to live, too weak to die ! 
 
 Go seek a spot 
 To Hde tkee, where the world's obtrusive eye 
 
 May find tkee not. 
 
 Then, though thou be unnoticed and alone, 
 
 Thy troubled ear 
 Shall catch no more the cold, unfeeling tone 
 
 That rends it here. 
 
 Nor, weighing heavy on thy heaving breast. 
 
 Shall evermore 
 Welch rarebits rob thee of thy rightful rest, 
 
 As heretofore.^ 
 
 • See Appendix, Note l. 
 
^Translations from tf)e jFrencf). 
 
 Feom Lamartink's " Jooeltn." 
 
 With bursting heart I reacli my humble door. 
 There, as I slowly tread with toilworn feet, 
 A gentle whine is the sole sound to greet. 
 My faithful dog, beneath my window crouched, 
 Watching my coming, barked as I approached ; 
 His master's cares had worn him thin and old. 
 And now his bark my only welcome told. 
 Martha sat at her wheel, all lonely there ; 
 She dropped the reel, it rolled upon the stair : 
 She glanced around, and then, as if her eye 
 Had read my heart, she rose and silently 
 Opened my chamber door. The dog ran on ; 
 We stood within, my dog and I, alone. 
 Frisking around me, with his mute caress, 
 He strove to soothe my utter loneliness ; 
 Licking my passive fingers o'er and o'er, 
 
64 TRANSLATIONS FEOM THE FRENCH. 
 
 Bounding from bed to chair, from sill to floor, 
 He seemed even to tlie very walls to tell 
 His joy to see tlie friend lie loved so well. 
 Now on my dusty trunk he lays him down 
 And with keen eyes he seems to read my own. 
 Forgive me, ye whose utter loneliness 
 Is even unshared by such a friend as this, 
 Forgive that at the glance of those mute eyes 
 Quick to my own the ready tear-drops rise ! 
 Now swells his neck with joy to my embrace, 
 And my warm tears are shed upon his face. 
 O poor and only friend ! come, let us love. 
 Taught by that instinct lent us from above 
 Which leaves this comfort still, if only this. 
 Where God hath placed two hearts to love is bliss. 
 
 Alas ! to gain alone a desert home. 
 To see no window opening as you come ; 
 Nor think, as first the distant roof you see, 
 " Some heart within will joy to welcome me : 
 Some sister, mother, wife, some friend at least. 
 Counts even the few remaining steps that rest ; 
 And soon the joyful welcome shall resound 
 And love and peace my entering steps surround." 
 
TEANSLATIONS FEOM THE FEENCH. 65 
 
 Alone to enter, and in silence glide 
 
 Througli tlie lone court where sounds no step beside 
 
 While of the echoes of that happier time 
 
 Not one repeats that trembling voice of thine; 
 
 And thy lone grief, thy weary heart's unrest, 
 
 O'erflows no more within a kindred breast — 
 
 Save only in thy dog's ! whose ear alone 
 
 Has caught thy step to bark thy welcome home. 
 
 To have but this one heart in unison, 
 
 Your thoughts reflected here, and here alone; 
 
 That only eye to mark your stay or go, 
 
 To note your tears and wonder why they flow. 
 
 To watch you and return your seeking glance, 
 
 To whom alone your loss were true mischance, — 
 
 'Tis sad perhaps, yet still 'tis sadly sweet ! 
 
 Poor dog ! God only knows how near they meet. 
 
 My soul and thine. He only knows how far 
 
 Beneath my own thy gentle instincts are ; 
 
 Knows, too, how thou, by some mysterious tie, 
 
 Livest in my life, and in my death must die, 
 
 And by what pity He thy heart doth guide 
 
 To love me still- — now loved by none beside ! 
 9 
 
66 TEANSLATIONS FEOM THE FRENCH. 
 
 From "La Heneiade." 
 
 Two gentle friends to mortals Heaven liatli sent 
 
 To clieer our sorrows, soothe our discontent; 
 
 Eternal pledges of His power to bless, 
 
 Supports in toil and treasures in distress: 
 
 A grateful sliade, a ray from Heaven's light cast, 
 
 Kind Sleep the formei', gentle Hope the last. 
 
 The one, Avhen, wearied with the toils of day, 
 
 Her strength o'ertaxed, the failing frame gives way, 
 
 Aids sinking Nature with a sweet repose 
 
 And lends forgetfulness to hide her woes. 
 
 The other warms and guides our slow desire. 
 
 Kindles within the soul a heaven-lit fire ; 
 
 And, tending ever to its parent light, 
 
 Ev'n in deceiving gives a true delight. 
 
 A special mission to some hearts she bears, 
 
 Inspires no short-lived joy in hearts like theirs: 
 
 God's promise and His aid in her combine, 
 
 Like Him immortal — and of Him divine. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 Note 1. This poem was one of the earlier productions of the writer. 
 The third verse originally stood thus (the circumstances under which 
 it was composed were of extreme melancholy) : 
 
 And envy, jealous of the race more blest, 
 
 Shall nevermore 
 Disturb the quiet of thy gloomy rest 
 
 As heretofore. 
 
Wm 
 
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