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FROM THE LIBRARY OF
REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON. D. D.
BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO
THE LIBRARY OF
PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2012 with funding from
Princeton Theological Seminary Library
http://archive.org/details/miscellpoeOOkebl
Poems by the Rey. J. Keble,
'\<
MISCELLANEOUS
POEMS
Rev. J. Keble, M. A.
Ficar of Hursley,
NEW YORK:
POTT & AMERY,
Cooper Union, Fourth Avenue,
1869.
^^^ TROW & S^Vt^
Book ^VIanufactui^ing po.
^^4S& 50 Greene St,,^^
NEW YORK.
PREFACE.
A GOOD many of the Poems contained in this
^ volume have already appeared in print in various
collections of poetry.
The Ode with which the volume opens was composed
by Mr. Keble as Professor of Poetry, on the occasion
of the Installation of the Duke of Wellington as
Chancellor of the University of Oxford in the year
1834. It was set to music by the Professor of Music,
Dr. Crotch, and performed in the Theatre in Oxford at
the Encaenia in that year.
The next forty-five poems were contributed to the
Lyra ApostoUca^ in which they are distinguished by the
signature y. To these is added a translation of an
ancient Greek Hymn of the first or second century.
VI PREFACE.
which (as I learn from the best authority) has acciden
tally been printed in several editions of that book with
a different signature.
The three H}anns for Emigrants, for use at Midnight,
Morning, and Evening, were written at the request of
his friend Sir Frederick Rogers, at that time Emigra-
tion Commissioner. They were printed in the first
edition of the " Prayers for Emigrants," which he had
compiled, but were subsequently omitted, perhaps as
being thought not sufficiently simple for the class of
people for whose use the Book of Prayers was chiefly
intended.
Then follow four poems from the " Child's Christian
Year," and four of which have been printed in the
" Salisbury Hymnal."
Mr. Keble offered other contributions to the " Salis-
bury Hymnal " besides these four, several of which are
printed in this volume. They are mostly translations
of ancient Church Hymns. Among these are some
which are, I believe, wholly translated by hims^elf.
These are "Nocte surgentes," "Nunc sancte," "Rector
PREFACE. Vll
potens," "Rerum Deus," " Salvete flores," " Cultor
Dei memento," " O, Deus, ego amo Te," and "Alleluia,
dulce carmen." Others are altered, so largely as to be
in fact new translations, from other versions, partic-
ularly those of Dr. Neale, Mr. Copeland, and the
" Hymnal Noted." It was thought by the compilers of
Hymnal that the extreme faithfulness of these transla-
tions gave them an air of stiffness, which made them
less fit for congregational singing ; they were therefore
omitted from that publication. But in a collection of
his own poems it seems well to print some of them, as
exhibiting in a remarkable degreee his power of vigo-
rous and exact translation, in respect of compositions
of which extremely condensed thought, and profound
acquaintance with Holy Scripture are the chief charac-
teristics. Any person who will compare these versions
with those on which they are confessedly framed, will,
I think, not fail to recognize these qualities in them.
Of a few well-known modern hymns he also offered
variations ; but these it has been thought better not to
print. One, however, I add as a specimen : —
VIU PREFACE.
" The Lord magnified Joshua." — Joshua iv. 14.
" Guide us, Thou whose name is Saviour,
Pilgrims in the barren land,
We are weak, and Thou Almighty,
Hold us with Thy strong right-hand,
As in Egypt,
As upon the Red Sea strand.
" Let the cloud and fire supernal
Day and night before us go :
Lead us to the rock and fountain
Whence the living waters flow :
Bread of Heaven,
Feed us till no want we know.
" When we touch the cold, dark river,
Cleave for us the swelling tide ;
Through the flood, and through the whirlpool
Let Thine Ark our footsteps guide :
Jesus, lead us.
Land us safe on Canaan's side.
" Praise the Father, God of Heaven,
Him who reigns supreme on high ;
Praise the Son, for sinners given,
E'en to suffer and to die ;
Praise the Spirit,
Guiding us so lovingly.
Amen."
PREFACE. IX
The original of the above, fro77t the '•'■Book of Praise ''
" Guide me, O Thou great Jehovah ;
Pilgrim through this barren land ;
I am weak, but Thou art mighty ;
Hold me with Thy powerful hand !
Bread of Heaven ! Bread of Heaven !
Feed me now and evermore.
" Open now the crj^stal Fountain,
Whence the healing streams do flow ;
Let the fiery, cloudy pillar
Lead me all my journey through ;
Strong Deliverer ! strong Deliverer !
Be Thou still my strength and shield !
" When I tread the verge of Jordan,
Bid my anxious fears subside ;
Death of death, and Hell's destruction,
Land me safe on Canaan's side ;
Songs of praises, songs of praises,
I will ever give to Thee."
Willia?n Williams, "^^77^-
Beautiful as it is in the original, it will be readily
seen what a rich and solemn colouring is thrown over
it by the deep Scriptural knowledge, and the exact
doctrine of the poet.
X , PREFACE.
The remaining poems in the volume are arranged,
as nearly as can be ascertained, in the order of the
years in which they were composed. This will account
for a considerable mixture of subjects in them ; but it
will also throw no small light upon the great general
consistency of his character from early youth to mature
old age.* For as there was a singular maturity of
sacred thought in his earliest writings, so was there a
sweet freshness — almost what might be called boyish-
ness— of feeling which lasted on and is visible in those
which were written last. It is not improbable that he
would in his later life have withheld some of the earlier
poems from publication, nor that expressions may be
found here and there, breathing a somewhat different
tone from that which he would have adopted in after
years. Such light varieties, however, if such there are,
are but the true detail of the working of an uniform
and consistent spirit in the course of many years ; and
it is with the view of shewing this, that the exact dates
of tjie several pieces are added whenever they can be
certainly ascertained.
The poem on the Annunciation is, it will be seen, in
PREFACE. XI
great measure the same as that which is printed on the
same subject in the " Christian Year." There is no
doubt that it was -written in the first place as here
given, and on the occasion of the death of his own
mother in June, 1823. But in its original form, it
came too close to his own personal and most sacred
feelings to allow him to print it ; so omitting the
concluding stanzas, and substituting others, he gave it
a more general turn, and fitted it for its place in the
" Christian Year." I trust that it is no improper un-
veiling of those sacred feelings to print the poem as
originally written, now that he is gone. Those con-
cluding stanzas are not only in themselves eminently
beautifully, and remarkably expressive of the sweetness
and affection, and of the tenderness of conscience
which characterized him in all his life, but they also
reflect a new and true light upon the train of thought
in the earlier part of the poem, and render intelligible
expressions in the first stanza, which, as it stands in
the " Christian Year," need explanation.
The poem entitled " Mother out of Sight " was
written for the Lyra Innocentiufn, but withheld from
Xll PREFACE.
publication at the time, with his consent but against
his wish, at the earnest request of some of his dearest
friends. The reasons which were sufficient to cause it
to be withheld then do not exist any longer, and inas-
much as he did not himself disapprove of its being
printed, and that different considerations may be
allowed to enter into the questions of contemporary
and posthumous publication, I have thought it not
wrong to publish it. It has recently been printed at
length in Sir John Coleridge's memoir, and a part of it
was quoted a few years since in the " Month," a
Roman Catholic periodical. It belongs to " troublous
days of anguish and rebuke," and if in some part it
seems to indicate any doubt of the position of the
Church of England as part of the Catholic Church of
Christ, the remainder of it, and his own most loyal life
till death as a Priest in the Anglican communion, are
abundantly sufficient to shew that that doubt, if it ever
existed at all, was fully and practically satisfied. Let
it be allowed to one — who had the honour of his
intimate friendship during the last thirty years of his
life, and was in habits of the closest and most confi-
PREFACE. Xlll
dential communication with him during the anxious
times referred to — to bear the clearest and strongest
witness to the fact that in the midst of great and sore dis-
tress he never (not, I verily believe, for a single mo-
ment) entertained the idea of deserting the commu-
nion in which he was baptized, or, with all his true and
filial yearning for Catholic union, felt less than extreme
repugnance to the unscriptural doctrines and claims of
the Church of Rome.
Among the earlier poems will be found two or three
copies of love-verses, bearing the date of 1812, when
he was in his twentieth year. These have been printed
partly on account of their own beauty, and partly as
furnishing a real trait of himself when he was a young
man. For he had a singularly loving spirit, and to him
may well be transferred the beautiful words which
in one of the poems of this volume he applies to
Petrarca, for he too
" Chanted his hermit-hymn to Heaven and Love,
Soft and severe : for Piety had framed
The melody, and every wilder chord
Was tempered to her solemn undersong.
XIV PREFACE.
So Love seemed what he is, — a spirit devout,
Owning God most in His most beauteous work."
Two odes also, written in early life, are inserted in
their places : the one referring to the rising of the
Portuguese in 1808, the other to the battles in the
Pyrenees in the year 18 13. They shew that though the
prevailing character of his poetry is one of gentleness,
yet t^iere was in him a fire of feeling and expression
which might have found noble utterance in more secular
and stirring poetry, if he had not deliberately preferred
to " abide where the holy shadow lay, where Heaven
his lot had cast."
There is, as is inevitable in a volume consisting in
great degree of " Remains," a fragmentar}^ and incom-
plete character, not only in the collection in general,
but also in several of the pieces contained in it. This,
however, does not seem to form a sufficient reason for
keeping such pieces back. Indeed, in this, as in
various other respects, there is much difference between
the grounds for selecting poetry for publication during
PREFACE. XV
an author's lifetime, and after his death. While he is
alive and can make his own selection, it is due to the
public and to himself that he should put forward only
such pieces as are finished to the utmost of his power,
and express his thought most exactly in the form in
which he desires it to be seen and understood. But
when he is gone, and the picture of his mind and
genius is to be completed, as nearly as may be, from
the scattered traits which his posthumous papers fur-
nish, it would be a great sacrifice of the truth and
genuineness of the portrait if pieces were excluded,
either because, written at different periods of his life,
they might show some diiference in expression or sen-
timent, or because they were wanting in the last finish
which he would have given to them if he had printed
them himself Some of the most lifelike of these traits
are furnished in the present instance by such fragments,
thrown off at a heat, as it were, and never returned to
again, but full of the sparkles of true Christian gold,
which it would be a real loss to lose. The precious
treasure which many Christian hearts feel that they
possess is the " Christian Year," does not depend upon
XVI PREFACE.
the completeness or the finish of the separate poems.
It is often, I apprehend, a stanza, a line, even a single
expression which dwells upon the memory, and leads
men to bless God for the help and comfort which He
has given them in the sweet writings of the Christian
poet.
It is the characteristic of Keble's poetry to be in a
very high degree the reflex of himself. It is probable
that (except perhaps in the Installation Ode, which was
required of him in his office of Professor of Poetry) he
never sat down expressly for the purpose of writing
poetry as such ; but gifted with a mind highly poetical
by nature, and refined by the highest cultivation, it was
a relief to him, as various circumstances arose, to
express in verse the thoughts and feelings which those
circumstances suggested. His deeply devotional cast
of mind, his great and unfailing reverence for holy
things, his profound knowledge of the Scriptures, and
of the sacred Truth taught in all ages in the Church,
gave to these occasional effusions a prevailingly reli-
gious character, while liis tender love of home, and
PREFACE. XVU
whatever belonged to home, mingled with his natural
playfulness of mind and delight in children, threw over
everything he wrote a gracious sweetness which was
exactly characteristic of all his life and conversation.
Time after time some little incident, often of the very
slightest kind, has given occasion to one of these sweet
gushes, if I may so call them, of verse, in which very
deep thought and feeling found their natural and gen-
uine expression. Once written, he thought of them no
more. Scraps of this kind are found on the backs of
letters, in leaves of old pocket-books, and in other
such places, where apparently they were first put down
and then forgotten.
If there is one quality which more than another may
be said to mark his writings, it is their intense and
absolute veracity. Never for a moment is the very
truth sacrificed to effect. I will venture to say with con-
fidence that there is not a sentiment to be found eleva-
ted or amplified beyond what he really felt ; nor, I
would add, even an epithet that goes beyond his actual
and true thought. What he was in life and character.
XVin PREFACE.
that he was, transparently, in every line he wrote, —
entirely, always, reverentially true.
It was his own theory of poetry, — a theory most
beautifully and completely drawn out in his Praelections,
— that poetry when regarded in its own true and essen-
tial being, is the natural outpouring of a mind labouring
inwardly, so to speak, with lofty and tender thought,
and endeavouring to obtain relief by an expression
which, using images and sentiments gathered on every
side of nature, should be conveyed in elevated lan-
guage and rhythmical measure.
Of poetry in this high sense, he thought that modes-
ty is an essential quality : for while the mind in its
secret agitation craves and finds relief in verse, that
very verse is of the nature of a veil, hiding in part
what in part it reveals. Thus the withholding of the
full and entire confession of the feelings inwardly
stirred he held to be as essential to the character of a
true poet, as the absolute truthfulness and reality of
such as, with such reserve, he found relief in expres-
sing.
PREFACE. XIX
He held that essential poetry in this sense was to be
recognized not only in those whom the world acknowl-
edges as poets, and who are blessed with "the accom-
plishment of verse," but in children, in persons unedu-
cated, and in such as perhaps never made nor read a
line of verse in their lives, but whose acts or words
exhibit the essential requisites of poetry, the mind
labouring with lofty or tender thought, and the imagin-
ative expression in which that thought finds its reserv-
ed and modest, but sufficient outlet. He illustrated
this view in the case of rustics, by alleging their love
of home, exhibited in all sorts of indirect ways of act
and word, by their reverence of the memory and
memorials of dead firiends, and by their strong sense of
superhuman and invisible powers, of omens, and the
like ; acknowledging, however, that " it is to be con-
fessed that there is in the lowest and rudest people that
which often obscures, and sometimes miserably ex-
tinguishes that silent poetry and light of fancy of which
we speak, inasmuch as in their desire to relieve their
agitation of feeling, they are incapable of restraining
themselves from pouring out alike what ought and
XX PREFACE.
what ought not to be expressed, and so have no room
whatever left for the sweet discipHne of poetry."
In the well-nigh universal presence of this essential
poetry in men's minds, he found the secret of the
delight which so many take in the perfect works of true
poets. For the silent strings which God has set in the
hearts of very many, if not all, of His people, vibrate
inwardly to the true notes, when they are skilfully
struck by those gifted hands to which God has been
pleased to impart the further gift of utterance in ad-
dition to that of appreciation.
Pursuing this view of poetry, and dividing poets into
the two classes of primary and secondary, according as
they either write verse " spontaneously, under a sense
of distress, desiring to pour out and thereby soothe
their feelings of sorrow, or other kinds of emotion, or,
from other motives, construct in verse poetical senti-
ments and rhythmical words," he examines in detail
the works of all the great poets of antiquity, classifying
and criticising them with great skill, and giving to
each his own character and praise, with a power and
PREFACE. XXI
delicacy at once so original and so just, as to make his
lectures one of the most charming and valuable vol-
umes of classical criticism that have ever issued from
the press.
It is plain from this slight sketch of his theory of
poetry, that the mere artifice of verse-making, however
perfect, held a very secondary place in his estimation ;
and it must be confessed that with a sweet and melo-
dious flow of natural verse there is mingled in his
writings an occasional inexactness and roughness of
expression and rhythm which he did not care to
smoothe. Indeed, it is said on very good authority
that the poet Wordsworth (for whom Keble always en-
tertained the highest reverence, as is shewn by the
expressions he uses respecting him in the dedication to
the Oxford Praelections), having read the "Christian
Year," expressed his high sense of its beauty, and also
of the occasional imperfections of the verse, in the fol-
lowing most characteristic terms : " It is very good,"
he said ; " so good, that if it were mine, I would write
it all over again."
XXll PREFACE.
Still more strikingly is the truthful and modest verse
of the Christian poet contrasted with the sensational
writings which are much in vogue in the present age.
Immodesty of all kinds was utterly repugnant to his
nature, by which I mean not only such flagrant immo-
desty as actually disfigures some of the elaborate
poetry of the day, but also the immodesty which lays
bare to the whole world the inmost secrets of the heart,
and, as it were, dissects and analyzes them for the
purpose of shewing the profundity of thought, and
mastery of language of the poet, and which in so
doing, can hardly fail to exaggerate, and exaggerating
to distort the truth of nature, and to do violence to the
veiled reserve of true poetry.
It may be freely granted that in a merely artistic
point of view Keble's poems may not rank so high as
those of some other writers, whose claim to the higher
characteristics of the true poet are incalculably inferior
to his. And it is not impossible that those who take
delight in such stimulating and less wholesome strains,
however artificially perfect, may have lost their ear and
PREFACE. XXlll
taste for gentler and deeper music. But it would indi-
cate a strangely low and mistaken estimate of that
which constitutes the real nature of heavenly poetry, if
verse like that of the " Christian Year," which, as it
issued from one deep and holy heart, has found its way
to the hearts of so many thousands, were to be regard-
ed as a work of art only, and judged of according to
its outward rules. No doubt that precious volume
might have been brought up to a higher finish in res-
pect of the exterior qualities of verse. But which of
those who love it dearly and thankfully, — and they are
a countless multitude of the best and truest servants of
God in His Church, — would now consent to part with
even its oocasional roughnesses of word and rhythm,
recalling as they do, and truthfully representing the
exact thought of the writer, in the very form in which
it issued, pure and genuine, from the sweetest and ho-
liest of minds ? When we have our friends still with
us, we may perhaps prefer the smooth portrait, elabora-
ted by the skill of the painter, to the faithful and less
flattering photograph. But when they are gone, do we
regret to recognize the very marks, the very wrinkles it
XXIV PREFACE.
may be, which bring our beloved ones before our eyes
with the undeniable and unmistaken exactness of the
truth ?
The poems in this volume will be found to add
various traits to the portrait of the beloved author, as
furnished by the books which he published in his life-
time. Some of the love-verses of his youth have
already been referred to. The picture would have been
strangely incomplete if it had contained no recollec-
tions of his deep humbleness * and tenderness of con-
science, of his great charity, of his affectionate and
clinging love to his home and family, and of his merry
playfulness, especially with children. A few trifles of
this last-mentioned kind have been inserted in their
respective places, while others have been omitted.
Among these is a playful letter from Oxford, addressed
a On the day before his funeral his wife said to one who was by
her bedside, " There is one thing that I do not think any one
could know but those who were constantly with him — the depth
of his humility and charity. Notwithstanding his very keen feel-
ing about doctrine, he always made such great allowances for
other people. He never spoke a sharp word about those who
differed from him without correcting himself immediately."
PREFACE. XXV
to the Miss Pruens with a copy of Bowdler's Shak-
speare. It is not worth printing at length, but the
following lines are characteristic : —
" He has been in the dirt, but you'll please to take note
One Bowdler has lately been brushing his coat ;
So let me present him to make his best bow,
Assured that you'll not have to blush for him now."
To those who have kno-\^Ti and loved the author, this
collection will hardly fail to be highly interesting. It
may not add much to his fame as a poet, yet neither
will it be found to fall beneath it. But it will help to
present even more fully than the other volumes, the
very truth — from boyhood to old age, in his home,
among his friends, in his parish, — of the holy man
whose memory the Church cherishes, and will surely
continue to cherish as one of the most fragrant and
precious of her treasures.
G. M.
Chester,
Feb. 22, 1869.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Ode for the Encaenia at Oxford
I
The Three Absolutions
8
Encouragement . . .
ID
Bereavement. — Resignation
13
Burial of the Dead ....
• IS
Lighting of Lamps ....
19
Lights at Vesper ....
21
Lights in the Upper Chamber
23
The Churchman to his Lamp .
. 25
The Watch by Night
28
Christian Chivalry ....
. 29
To a Thrush Singing in the Middle of a Villag
^e, Jan.
1833
32
The African Church ....
• 35
Hooker
3^
Dissent . . . . .
• 37
Let us Depart Hence
39
Athanasian Creed ....
41
Burial Service ....
42
Length of the Prayers ....
• 43
A Remnant .....
44
Jeremiah .....
• 45
The Ruler of the Nations .
46
The Avenger .....
• 47
XXVlll
CONTENTS.
The Herald of Woe .
The Comforter
Sacrilege ....
United States
Champions of the Truth
The Creed ....
Spoliation ....
Church and King
Oxford .....
Fire.— Part I.
The Burning at Taberah
Korah, Dathan, and Abiram
Elijah and the Messengers of Ahaziah
Fire. — Part II. .
Juhan .....
The FaU of Babylon
Divine Wrath
Commune Pontificum
Tokens .....
Seals ....
Gifts .....
Arms ....
Light
The Gathering of the Church
Hymns for Emigrants .
The Innocents' Day
First Sunday after Easter
Tenth Sunday after Trinity
Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity
St. John's Day
Harvest .....
CONTENTS.
XXIX
Easter Eve
Holy Matrimony ....
Translations of Ancient Church Hymns
Somno refectis artubus
Jam lucis orto sidere
Nocte surgentes
Nunc sancte
Rector potens
Rerum Deus
Primo dierum omnium
Lucis Creator optime
Salvete flores Martyrum
Cultor Dei memento
Chorus novae Hierusalem
Vexilla Regis
Verbum superum prodiens
Vox clara ecce personat . . • .
Range lingua, gloriosi praelium certaminis .
O, Deus, ego amo Te .
Alleluia, dulce carmen . . .
Corde natus ex Parentis ....
" Libertas, quae sera tamen respexit inertem,-' 1808
To -, on her Sister's Death .
To a Girl, who was complaining that she had forgotten
her Sister's Birthday
Lines suggested by the remembrance of an early but
long-lost Friend ....
On visiting the Ruins of Farleigh Castle, Somersetshire
On leaving Corpus Christi College, on his Election to
a Fellowship of Oriel ....
Song. ......
PAGE
116
122
124
126
127
128
129
130
132
136
138
140
142
143
144
147
149
154
160
161
162
164
166
XXX CONTENTS.
A Thought on a Fine Morning
To the Nightingale
Sonnet .....
Stanzas addressed to a " Gloomy Thinker "
" Nee me discedere flevit "
A Wet Day at Midsummer
The First Sight of the Sea
Written at Sidmouth ....
To a Cave under High Peak, Sidmouth
To the Memory of John Leyden, M.D. .
On being requested to write some Verses in a Friend
Commonplace-book . .
Robin Lee .....
Stanzas on leaving Sidmouth. (Fragment)
" Nunquam Auditurae " .
Sonnet " concerning the True Poet " .
To J. T. C, with Petrarca .
Song ......
Ode on the Victories in the Pyrenees, 1813
O, stay Thee yet, &:c. ....
Sonnet .....
Lines sent with the Lives of Ridley and Cranmer
At Hooker's Tomb .
Forward ....
Early Visions
On a Monument in Lichfield Cathedral
At Penshurst
Hammond's Grave
Spring Flowers
On the North Road
Newton Cliff, near Fledborough
PAGE
167
168
170
171
173
174
175
177
179
180
CONTENTS.
XXXI
By an Old Bachelor very disconsolate at parting with
his Four Wives .....
To the Same .....
The Rook ......
A Thought upon taking Leave of some Friends .
Hymn for the Annunciation ....
A Hint for a Fable .....
Moonlight, Ulcombe Parsonage
Fragment on his Sister Mary Anne's Death
Huntspill Tower .....
The Exe below Tiverton at Sunrise
A Mile from Totness on the Tor Road, looking back.
Fairford again .....
Turning out of the London Road, down to Sapperton .
Nay, but these are Breezes ....
How shall the Righteous ?
There have been mighty Winds
In Harmony, &c.
Two Lamps apart, &c.
To E. K., jun. .
Malvern at a Distance
Fragment
May-day Song for the Hursley Children
Mother out of Sight
When is Communion nearest ?
Holy is the Sick Man's Room
St Mark xvi. 4
O Lord, if ever, &c.
St. John xiv. i
Ye of nice Touch, &c. .
The Clarion calls, &c.
222
223
225
228
230
134
235
236
237
238
139
240
241
243
245
246
247
ib.
248
250
251
253
254
260
262
263
264
265
266
268
XXXll
CONTENTS.
In Choirs and Places where they Sing, here followeth
the Anthem ..... 269
Jeremiah xxiii. 23 . . . . . 270
Why seek we, sounding high and low . . .271
Fragment .....* 272
St. John V. 16, 17 . . . . .275
When in her Hour of still Decay . . . 276
To the Lord of the Manor of Merdon . . . 278
To his Sister Elizabeth .... 282
Written in the Album at Cuddesdon Palace . . 284
Nurse, let me draw, &c. .... 285
Hymn for Easter-tide . . . . .287
For the Opening of the West Window of the Hall of
St. Andrew's College, Bradfield. April 5, 1859 291
Prayers of Saints ..... 293
Epitaph ...... 295
Dart and Weber . • . . . 296
Hymn ...... 298
To a Little Girl . . . . . .300
To Master Bernard Wilson's Dog . . . 302
ODE rOR THE ElTOilNIA AT OXFOED,
Written for the Installation of Ms Grace Arthur, Duke
of Wellington, Chancellor of the University.
June 11, 1834.
IF, when across the autumnal heaven.
The rude winds draw their restless shroud,
One glorious star to sight be given,
Now dim, now clear, an isle in deeps of cloud ;
Watchmen on their lonely tower.
Shepherds by their mountain hold,
AVistful gazing hour by hour.
Trace it through the tempest's fold ;
Even such, in records dark of care and crime
Each in high Heaven's appointed time.
Bright names of Heroes glow, that gem the days of old.
Ode for the Enccenia at Oxford^
II.
When ours are days of old,
VVhom will our children's children name
The Star of our dark time, the man high-soul'd,
At whose undying orb the true and bold
May light their lamps with pure heroic flame ?
Go ask of every gale that blows.
Of every wave that curls the main ; —
Where at burning noon repose
Tigers by some Indian fane ;
Where hoary cliffs of Lusitane,
Like aged men, stand waiting on the shore.
And watch the setting sun, and hear th' Atlantic roar.
III.
Then onward, where th' Iberian mountain gale
O'er many a deep monastic vale.
O'er many a golden river loves to fling
His gatherings from the thymy lap of spring.
071 the Installation of the Duke of Wellington. 3
Ask wide waters proudly spann'd,
Towers upheav'd by War's strong hand,
Oaks upon their mountains rent,
Where th' avenging whirlwind went ;
Torrents of Navarre that boil
Choking with abandon'd spoil. —
Ask of the shades endear'd of yore
By tread of holy feet.
Monarch, or maiden vow'd, or calm-eyed priest,
Ask them by whom releas'd,
They breathe their hermit hymns, awful and sweet.
In saintly stillness, as before ;
But chiefly pause where Heroes' bones are laid
By Learning's haunted home in Salamanca's glade.
IV.
There, on the cloister'd youth of Spain,
The trumpet call'd, nor call'd in vain ; —
Not Aaron's clarion, tun'd and blest on high,
The dread Ark moving nigh,
Thrill'd in a nobler cause, or pour'd a keener strain.
Ode for the Enccenia at Oxford,
'Mid other cloisters now, and dearer slirines,
The memory rings of that victorious blast,
And years and glories past,
Charm'd to new life, advance in brightening lines.
Restorer of the rightful thrones !
Thee, cottage hearth, thee, palace tower,
Thee, busy mart and studious bower,
Thee, Isis, thine at last, her great deliverer owns.-
Who knows not how the vulture woke.
Whose " deadly wound was heal'd ? "
One breathless aim — 'tis o'er — one stroke
That felon wing for ever broke.
Oh, laurell'd, bloody field !
Day of stern joy for heaven and earth !
Wrong'd earth, avenging heaven !
How well might War's ungentle lore
With thee depart for evermore.
And to the weary world th' expected birth
Of calm, bright years be given !
V.
It may not be : lo, wild and free
Swarms out anew the dragon kind ;
on the Listallation of the Duke of Wellington. 5
Spreads fast and far the kindling war
Against th' Anointed and Enshrined.
But thou, my Mother ! green as erst and pure
Thy willows wave, thy meeting waters glide ;
Untarnish'd on thy matron breast endure
The treasur'd gems, thy youth's delight and pride :
Firm Loyalty, serene and fond,
Wearing untir'd her lofty bond ;
Awful Reverence, bending low
AVhere'er the heavens their radiance throw :
And Wisdom's mate. Simplicity,
That in the gloom dares trust the guiding arm on
high—
These, of old thy guardians tried.
Daily kneeling at thy side,
And wont by night to fan thy vigil fires —
We feel them hovering now around th' aerial spires.
Our votive lays unalter'd swell,
Our angels breathe their wiUing spell.
Breathe on our incense cloud, and bear
Our welcome high in lucid air.
Telling dark Evil's banded powers
That he who freed the world is ours.
Ode for the Encccnia at Oxford^
VI.
Stand still in heaven, fair cloud, a space.
Nor urge too fast thy liquid race
Through fields of day ! for while thou lingerest here,
Soft hazy gleams from thee descending,
Present, and past, and future blending,
Renew the vision lov'd, our glorious trial-year.
The sainted monarch lights again our aisles
With his own calm foreboding smiles,
(Not courtly smiles, nor earthly bred,)
Sobering Pleasure's airy wiles.
And taming War's too haughty tread.
Around him wait, a grave, white-robed throng.
The chosen Angels of the Church he loves :
Guided by them, in her meek power he moves
On to that brightest crown, prepared for him ere long.
VII.
And mailed forms are there.
Such as heroic spirits wear,
Seal'd for high deeds in yon ethereal halls.
oil the Installation of the Duke of Wellington.
Oh if th' Elysian Dream
Were true, and with emerging gleam
Dread warrior shades at fated intervals
Were seen like stars returning,
And ever brighter burning.
Well might our shrines and bowers their Ormond hail.
Friend of his king, reviv'd in thee,
Ere, quite expiring, on the base earth fail
The trodden spark of loyalt}-.
Ormond, who paced the tottering deck,
Upright amid a nation's wreck.
Who spurned the boon the traitor gave**,
And slumber'd fearless on the wave. —
Warrior ! be such our course and thine !
The eye that never sleeps
With undecaying fires benign
Will guide us o'er the deeps.
a See Clarendon, vi. 1184, Edit. Oxf. 1819. " The Lord Lieutenant, about
the middle of Decc-mber, 1650, embarked himself in a small vessel for France,
after he had refused to receive a pass from Ireton, who offered it; choosins:
lather to trust the seas and winds, in that rough and boisterous season of
the year, than to receive an obligation from the rebels."
THE THEEE AESOLUTIONS^
"And there shall in nowise enter into it anything that defileth,
neither whatsoever worketh abomination, or maketh a lie ; but
they which are written in the Lamb's Book of Life." — Rev. xxi. 27.
Each morn and eve, the Golden Keys "
Are lifted in the sacred hand,
To shew the sinner on his knees
Where Heaven's bright doors wide open stand.
On the dread Altar duly laid
The Golden Keys their witness bear.
That not in vain the Church hath pray'd.
That He, the Life of souls, is there.
b I. In the Daily Service ; II. In the Communion ; III. In the Visitation
of the Sick.
c This, and the forty-four poems wliich follow it, are printed in the Lyra
Apostolica, and distinguished by the signature y.
The Three Absolutions,
Full of the past, all shuddering thought,
Man waits his hour with upward eye*^ :
The Golden Keys in love are brought,
That he may hold by them and die.
But touch them trembling ; for that gold
Proves iron in the unworthy hand,
To close, not ope, the favour'd fold.
To bind, not loose, the lost soul's band.
dVid. Death-bed Scenes. " The Barton Family." §. 3.
ENOOURAaEMENT.
" He which testifieth these things, saith, Surely
I come quickly." Rev- xxii. 20.
Fear not : for He hath sworn :
Faithful and true His name :
The glorious hours are onward borne ;
'Tis lit, th' immortal flame ;
It glows around thee : kneel, and strive, and win
Daily one living ray — 'twill brighter glow within.
Yet fear : the time is brief ,
The Holy One is near ;
And, like a spent and wither'd leaf
In autumn-twilight drear.
Faster each hour, on Time's unslackening gale,
The dreaming world drives on, to where all visions fail.
Encoura^ejnent. 1 1
Surely the time is short :
Endless the task and art,
To brighten for the ethereal court
A soil'd earth-drudging heart. —
But He, the dread Proclaimer of that hour,
Is pledged to thee in Love, as to thy foes in Power.
His shoulders bear the Key :
He opens — who can close ?
Closes — and who dare open ? — He
Thy soul's misgiving knows.
If He come quick, the mightier sure will prove
His Spirit in each heart that timely strives to love.
Then haste Thee, Lord ! Come down.
Take Thy great power, and reign !
But frame Thee first a perfect Crown
Of spirits freed from stain.
Souls mortal once, now match'd for evermore
With the immortal gems that form'd Thy wreath before.
1 2 Eficoiiragefnent.
Who in Thy portal wait,
Free of that glorious throng,
Wondering, review their trial-state,
The life that erst seem'd long ;
Wondering at His deep love, who purged so base
And earthly mould so soon for th' undefiled place.
BEEEAVEMENT.-EESiaifATION.
" Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and
ashes." — yod xhi. 6.
And dare I say, " Welcome to me
The pang that proves Thee near?'
O words, too oft on bended knee
Breathed to th' Unerring Ear.
While the cold spirit silently
Pines at the scourge severe.
Nay, try once more — thine eyelids close
For prayer intense and meek :
When the warm light gleams through and shews
Him near who helps the weak.
Unmurmuring then thy heart's repose
In dust and ashes seek.
14 Bereavement. — Resignatioii.
But when the self-abhorring thrill
Is past, as pass it must,
When tasks of life thy spirit fill.
Risen from thy tears and dust,
Then be the self renouncing will
The seal of thy calm trust.
BTJEIAL OF THE DEAD.
I THOUGHT to meet no more, so dreary seem'd
Death's interposing veil, and thou so pure,
Thy place in Paradise
Beyond where I could soar ;
Friend of this worthless heart ! but happier thoughts
Spring like unbidden violets from the sod,
Where patiently thou tak'st
Thy sweet and sure repose.
The shadows fall more soothing : the soft air
Is full of cheering whispers like thine own ;
While Memory, by thy grave.
Lives o'er thy funeral day ;
The deep knell dying down, the mourners pause,
Waiting their Saviour's welcome at the gate. —
Sure with the words of Heaven
Thy spirit met us there,
1 6 Burial of the Dead.
And sought with us along th' accustom'd way
The hallow'd porch, and entering in, beheld
The pageant of sad joy,
So dear to Faith and Hope.
O ! hadst thou brought a strain from Paradise
To cheer us, happy soul, thou hadst not touch'd
The sacred springs of grief
More tenderly and true,
Than those deep-warbled anthems, high and low,
Low as the grave, high as th' Eternal Throne,
Guiding through light and gloom
Our mourning fancies wild.
Till gently, like soft golden clouds at eve
Around the western twilight, all subside
Into a placid faith.
That even with beaming eye
Counts thy sad honours, cofBn, bier, and pall ;
So many relics of a frail love lost.
So many tokens dear
Of endless love begun.
Burial of the Dead. 1 7
Listen ! it is no dream : th' Apostles' trump
Gives earnest of th' Archangel's ; — calmly now
Our hearts yet beating high
To that victorious lay.
Most like a warrior's to the martial dirge
Of a true comrade, in the grave we trust
Our treasure for awhile :
And if a tear steal down,
If human anguish o'er the shaded brow
Pass shuddering, when the handful of pure earth
Touches the coffin-lid ;
If at our brother's name,
Once and again the thought, " for ever gone,"
Come o'er us like a cloud ; yet, gentle spright,
Thou turnest not away,
Thou know'st us calm at heart.
3 Burial of the Dead.
One look, and we have seen our last of thee,
Till we too sleep and our long sleep be o'er.
O cleanse us, ere we view
That countenance pure again,
Thou, who canst change the heart, and raise the dead!
As Thou art by to soothe our parting hour.
Be ready when we meet.
With Thy dear pardoning words;
NoTB.— This poem was intended for the " Burial of the Dead " in the first
MS. of the Christian Tear, but was afterwards changed for " Who says, the
wan autumnal sun?" It was first intended for the Sixteenth Sunday after
Trinity.
LIGHTING OF LAMPS.
Lights in the Temple.
" And Aaron shall burn thereon sweet incense every morning :
when he dresseth the lamps he shall burn incense upon it. And
when Aaron lighteth the lamps at even, he shall burn incense upon
it ; a perpetual incense before the Lord, throughout your genera-
tions."— Exod. XXX. 7, 8.
Now the stars are lit in heaven,
We must light our lamps on earth :
Every star a signal given
From the God of our new birth :
Every lamp an answer faint,
Like the prayer of mortal Saint.
Mark the hour and turn this way,
Sons of Israel, far and near !
Wearied with the world's dim day,
Turn to Him whose eyes are here,
Open, watching day and night.
Beaming unapproached light !
20 Lighting of La7nps.
With sweet oil-drops in His hour
Feed the branch of many Hghts,
Token of protecting power,
Pledg'd to faithful Israelites,
Emblem of the anointed Home,
When the glory deigns to come.
Watchers of the sacred flame.
Sons of Aaron ! serve in fear, —
Deadly is th' avenger's aim,
Should th' unhallowed enter here ;
Keen His fires, should recreants dare
Breathe the pure and fragrant air.
There is One will bless your toil —
He who comes in Heaven's attire,
Morn by morn, with holy oil ;
Eve by eve, with holy fire !
Pray ! — your prayer will be allowed,
Mingling with His incense cloud !
LIGHTS AT VESPEES.
** Then spake Jesus again unto them, sa3dng, I am the Light of
the world : he that followeth Me shall not walk in darkness, but
shall have the light of life. — -5^. John viii. 12.
Full many an eve, and many a morn,
The holy Lamps have blazed and died ;
The floor by knees of sinners worn,
The mystic altar's golden horn,
Age after age have witness borne
To faith that on a lingering Saviour cried.
"At evening time there shall be light " —
'Twas said of old — 'tis wrought to-day :
Now with the stolbd priest in sight.
The perfumed embers quivering bright.
Ere yet the ceiling's spangled height
The glory catch of the new kindled ray !
2 Lights at Vespers.
A voice not loud, but thrilling clear,
On hearts prepared falls benign : —
" I am the world's true Light : who hear
And follow Me, no darkness fear,
Nor waning eve, nor changing year ;
The Light of Life is theirs : pure Light of Life divine !"
LIGHTS IN THE HPPEE OHAMEEE.
"And there were many lights in the upper chamber, where
they were gathered together. — Acts xx. 8,
He spake : He died and rose again —
And now His Spirit lights
The hallowed fires o'er land and main,
And every heart invites.
They glow : but not in gems and gold
With cedar arched o'er ;
But in far nooks obscure and cold,
On many a cabin floor :
^Vhen the true soldiers steal an hour
To break the bread of Life,
And drink the draught of love and power,
And plan the holy strife.
24 Lights in the Upper Chamber.
Ye humble Tapers, fearless bui n —
Ere in the morn ye fade,
Ye shall behold a soul return,
Even from the last dim shade :
That all may know what love untold
Attends the chosen race.
Whom apostolic arms enfold.
Who cling to that embrace.
And wheresoe'er a cottage light
Is trimmed for evening prayer.
Faith may recall that wondrous night-
Who raised the dead, is there.
THE OHUEOHMAN TO HIS LAMP.
Light in tlie Closet.
Come, t^vinkle in my lonely room,
Companion true in hours of gloom ;
Come, light me on a little space,
The heavenly vision to retrace.
By Saints and Angels loved so well,-
My Mother's glories ere she fell.
There was a time, my friendly Lamp,
When, far and wide, in Jesus' camp.
Oft as the foe dark inroads made,
They watch'd and fasted, wept and prayed ;
But now, they feast and slumber on.
And say, " Why pine o'er evil done ? "
26 The Churchman to his Lamp.
Then hours of Prayer, in welcome round,
Far-sever'd hearts together bound :
Seven times a day, on bejided knee^
They to their Saviour cried ; and we —
One hour we find in seven long days,
Before our God to sit and gaze !
Then, lowly Lamp, a ray like thine
Waked half the world to hymns divine
Now it is much if here and there
One dreamer, by the genial glare.
Trace the dim Past, and slowly climb
The steep of Faith's triumphant prime.
Yet by His grace, whose breathing gives
Life to the faintest spark that lives,
I trim thee, precious Lamp, once more,
Our fathers' armoury to explore,
And sort and number wistfully
A few bright weapons, bathed on high.
The Churchinan to his Lanip. 27
And may thy guidance ever tend
Where gentle thoughts with courage blend ;
Thy pure and steady gleaming rest
On pages with the Cross imprest ;
Till, touch'd with lightning of calm zeal,
Our fathers' very heart we feel.
THE WATCH BY NIGHT.
"And Uriah said unto David, The ark, and Israel, and Judah,
abide in tents ; and my lord Joab, and the servants of my lord,
are encamped in the open fields ; shall I then go into mine house,
to eat and to drink ? As thou livest, and as thy soul liveth,
I will not do this thing." — 2 Sam. xi. II.
The Ark of God is in the field,
Like clouds around the alien armies sweep ;
Each by his spear, beneath his shield,
In cold and dew the anointed warriors sleep.
And can it be thou liest awake.
Sworn watchman, tossing on thy couch of down ?
And doth thy recreant heart not ache
To hear the sentries round the leaguer'd town t
Oh dream no more of quiet life j
Care finds the careless out : more wise to vow
Thine heart entire to Faith's pure strife ;
So peace will come, thou know'st not when or how.
OHEISTIAN OHIYALEY.
The VigiL
" Silence, unworthy ! how should tones like thine
Blend with the warnings of the good and true ?
God hath no need of waverers round His shrine :
What hath th' unclean with Heaven's high cause to do ?"
Thus in the deep of many a shrinking heart
The murmurings swell and heave of sad remorse,
And dull the soul, that else would keenly dart
Fearless along her heaven-illumin'd course.
But, wayward doubter, lift one glance on high ;
What banner streams along thy destin'd way ?
The pardoning Cross, — His Cross who deign'd to die
To cleanse th' impure for His own bright array.
Wash thee in His dear blood, and trembling wear
His holy Sign, and take thy station there.
so Christian Chivalry.
II.
Wash thee, and watch thine armour ; as of old
The champions vow'd of Truth and Purity,
Ere the bright mantle might their limbs enfold.
Or spear of theirs in knightly combat vie.
Three summer nights out\vatch'd the stars on high,
And found the time too short for busy dreams.
Pageants of airy prowess dawning nigh.
And fame far hovering with immortal beams.
And more than prowess theirs, and more than fame ;
No dream, but an abiding consciousness
Of an approving God, a righteous aim.
An arm outstretch'd to guide them and to bless :
Firm as steel bows for Angels' warfare bent
They went abroad, not knowing where they went.
III.
For why ? the sacred Pentecostal eve
Had bathed them with its own inspiring dew,
And gleams more bright than summer sunsets leave
Lingering well-nigh to meet the morn's fresh hue,
Christian Chivalry. 31
Dwelt on each heart ; as erst in memory true,
The Spirit's chosen heralds o'er all lands
Bore the bright tongues of fire. Thus, firm and few,
Now, in our fallen time, might faithful bands
Move on th' eternal way, the goal in sight.
Nor to the left hand swerve for gale or shower,
Nor pleasure win them, wavering to the right :
Alone with Heaven they were that awful hour,
When their oath seal'd them to the war of Faith ;
Alone they will be in the hour of death.
TO A THEUSH SINGING IE THE MIDDLE OF A
VILLAGE, JAN. 1833.
Sweet bird ! up earliest in the morn,
Up earliest in the year,
Far in the quiet mist are borne
Thy matins soft and clear.
As linnet soft, and clear as lark.
Well hast thou ta'en thy part^
Where many an ear thy notes may reach,
And here and there a heart.
The first snow-wreaths are scarcely gone,
(They stayed but half a day)
The berries bright hang ling'ring on ;
Yet thou hast learn'd thy lay.
To a Thricsh Singing, d^c. 33
One gleam, one gale of western air
Has hardly brush'd thy wing ;
Yet thou hast given thy welcome fair,
Good-morrow to the spring !
Perhaps within thy carol's sound
Some wakeful mourner lies,
Dim roaming days and years around,
That ne'er again may rise.
He thanks thee with a tearful eye.
For thou hast wing'd his spright
Back to some hour when hopes were nigh
And dearest friends in sight ;
That simple, fearless note of thine
Has pierced the cloud of care.
And lit awhile the gleam divine
That bless'd his infant prayer ;
Ere he had known, his faith to blight,
The scorner's withering smile ;
While hearts, he deem'd, beat true and right,
Here in our Christian Isle.
c
34 To a Thrush Singing, &=€.
That sunny, morning glimpse is gone,
That morning note is still ;
The dun dark day comes lowering on,
The spoilers roam at will ;
Yet calmly rise, and boldly strive j
The sweet bird's early song,
Ere evening fall shall oft revive,
And cheer thee all day long.
Are we not sworn to serve our King ?
He sworn with us to be ?
The birds that chant before the spring.
Are truer far than we.
THE APEIOAN OHTJEOH.
"The gifts and calling of God are without repentance." — Rom.
xi. 29.
The lions prowl around, thy grave to guard,
And Moslem prayers profane
At morn and eve come sounding : yet unscared
The Holy Shades remain : —
Cyprian, thy chief of watchmen, wise and bold.
Trusting the lore of his own loyal heart.
And Cyprian's Master, as in age high-soul'd,
Yet choosing as in youth the better part.
There, too, unwearied Austin, thy keen gaze
On Atlas' steep, a thousand years and more.
Dwells, waiting for the first rekindling rays.
When Truth upon the solitary shore
For the fall'n West may light his beacon as of yore.
HOOKEE.
"The night is far spent, the day is at hand." — Rom. xiii 12.
Voice of the wise of old !
Go breathe thy thrilling whispers now
In cells where learned eyes late vigils hold,
And teach proud Science where to vail her brow.
Voice of the meekest man !
Now while the Church for combat arms,
Calmly do thou confirm her awful ban.
Thy words to her be conquering, soothing charms.
Voice of the fearless Saint !
Ring like a trump, where gentle hearts
Beat high for truth, but, doubting, cower and faint : —
Tell them, the hour is come, and they -must take their
parts.
DISSENT.
The One Way.
" That we should earnestly contend for the faith that was once
[for all] delivered unto the saints." — Sf. Jude 3.
One only Way to life :
One Faith, deliver'd once for all ;
One holy Band, endow'd with Heaven's high call j
One earnest, endless strife ; —
This is the Church, th' Eternal framed of old.
Smooth open ways, good store ;
A Creed for every clime and age,
By Mammon's touch new moulded o'er and o'er ;
No cross, no war to wage ;
This is the Church our earth-dimm'd eyes behold.
38 Dissejit.
But ways must have an end,
Creeds undergo the trial-flame,
Nor with th' impure the Saints for ever blend,
Heaven's glory with our shame : —
Think on that hour, and choose 'twixt soft and bold.
LET US DEPAET HElfOE.'
Profanation.
Is there no sound about our Altars heard
Of gliding forms that long have watched in vain
For slumbering discipline to break her chain,
And aim the bolt by Theodosius feared ?
" Let us depart ; " — these English souls are sear'd,
Who, for one grasp of perishable gold,
Would brave the curse by holy men of old
Laid on the robbers of the shrines they rear'd ;
e MeTa^alVwJu.€T' evrevOev. Among the portents which took place before the
taking of Jerusalem by the Romans, the following is mentioned by Josephus;
'•During the festival which, is called Pentecost, the priests, by night, having
come into the inner temple to perform their services, as was their custom,
reported that they perceived, firs+ a motion, a noise, and then they heard as
it were a great crowd, saying, 'Let us depart hence/ '' Vide Bishop Newton
on the Prophecies, vol. ii. Dissert. 18.
40 Lei us Depart Hence.
Who shout for joy to see the ruffian band
Come to reform, where ne'er they came to pray,
E'en where unbidden, Seraphs never trod.
Let us depart, and leave the apostate land
To meet the rising whirlwind as she may.
Without her guardian Angels and her God.
ATHANASIAN OKEED.
" Seek we some realm where \drgin souls may pray
In faith untamish'd by the sophist's scorn,
And duly raise on each diviner morn
The Psalm that gathers in one glorious lay
All chants that e'er from heaven to earth found way
Majestic march ! as meet to guide and time
Man's wandering path in life's ungenial clime,
As Aaron's tmmp for the dread Ark's arra}'.
Creed of the Saints, and Anthem of the Blest,
And calm-breathed warning of the kindliest love
That ever heaved a wakeful mother's breast,
(True love is bold, and gravely dares reprove,)
Who knows but myriads owe their endless rest
To thy recalling, tempted else to rove ?
BUEIAL SERYIOE.
And they who grudge the Omnipotent His praise
What wonder if they grudge the dead his hope ?
The irreverent, restless eye finds room and scope,
E'en by the grave, to wrangle, pry, and gaze.
Heaven in its mercy hides, but man displays ;
Heaven throws a gleam, where they would darken all ;
A shade, where they, forgetting worm and pall,
Sing triumph ; they excite, but Heaven allays.
Alas, for England's mourners, if denied
The soothing tones of Hope, though faint and low,
Or swol'n up high with partial tearless pride !
Better in silence hide their dead, and go.
Than sing a hopeless dirge, or coldly chide
The faith that owns release from earthly woe.
LEITGTH OP THE PEAYEES.
" But Faith is cold, and wilful men are strong,
And the blithe world, with bells and harness proud,
Rides tinkling by, so musical and loud,
It drowns the Eternal Word, the Angelic Song ;
And one by one the weary, listless throng
Steals out of church, and leaves the choir unseen
Of winged guards to weep, where prayer had been,
That souls immortal find that hour too long.
Most fatal token of a falling age !
Wit ever busy. Learning ever new.
Unsleeping Fancy, Eloquence untired; —
Prayer only dull ! The Saints' and Mart}Ts' page
A tedious scroll ; the scorn'd and faitbJul few
Left to bewail such beauty undesired."
A EEMNANT.
Sons of our Mother ! such the indignant strain
Might haply strike, this hour, a pastor's ear,
Purged to discern, for once, the aerial train
Of heavenly sentinels yet lingering here ;
And what if, blending with the chant austere,
A soft inviting note attune the close ?
" We go j — but faithful hearts will find us near.
Who cling beside their Mother in her woes.
Who love the Rites that erst their fathers lov'd.
Nor tire of David's Hymn, and Jesus' Prayer : —
Their quiet Altars, wheresoe'er removed.
Shall clear with incense sweet the unholy air ;
In persecution safe, in scorn approv'd,
Angels, and He who rules them, will be there."
JEEEMIAH.
The Patriot.
" Thou fallest away to the Chaldeans." — Jer. xxxvii. 13.
They say, " The man is false, and falls away : "
Yet sighs my soul in secret for their pride ;
Tears are mine hourly food, and night and day
I plead for them, and may not be denied.
They say, " His words unnerve the warrior's hand,
And dim the statesman's eye, and disunite
The friends of Israel : " yet, in every land.
My words, to Faith, are Peace, and Hope, and Might.
They say, " The frenzied one is fain to see
Glooms of his own ; and gathering storms afar ; —
But dungeons deep, and fetters strong have we."
Alas ! Heaven's lightning would ye chain and bar 1
Ye scorn ers of th' Eternal ! wait one hour ;
In His seer's weakness ye shall see His power.
THE EULEE OP THE NATIONS,
" I have set thee this day over the nations, and over the
kingdoms." — Jer. i. lo.
" The Lord hath set me o'er the kings of earth,
To fasten and uproot, to build and mar ;
Not by mine own fond will : else never war
Had still'd in Anathoth the voice of mirth.
Nor from my native tribe swept bower and hearth :
Ne'er had the light of Judah's royal star
Fail'd in mid heaven, nor trampling steed and car
Ceas'd from the courts that saw Josiah's birth.
'Tis not in me to give or take away,
But He who guides the thunder-peals on high.
He tunes my voice, the tones of His deep sway
Faintly to echo in the nether sky.
Therefore I bid earth's glories set or shine.
And it is so ; my words are sacraments divine."
THE AYEI^GES.
" This man is worthy to die : for he hath prophesied against
this city." — Jer. xxvi. II.
" No joy of mine to invite the thunder down,
No pride, th' uprising whirhvind to survey,
How gradual from the north, with hideous frown
It veers in silence round the horizon grey,
And one by one sweeps the bright isles away.
Where fondly gaz'd the men of worldly peace.
Dreaming fair weather would outlast their day.
Now the big storm-drops fall, their dream must
cease —
They know it well, and fain their ire would wreak
On the dread arm that yields the bolt j but He
Is out of reach, therefore on me they turn ; —
On me, that am but voice, fading and weak,
A wither'd leaf inscribed with Heaven's decree.
And blown where haply some in fear may learn."
THE HEKALD OF WOE.
" I said, I will not make mention of him. . . . But his word was
in mine heart as a burning fire." — Jer. xx. 9.
" Sad privilege is mine, to shew
What hour, which way, the bitter streams will flow.
Oft have I said, ' enough — no more
To uncharm'd ears th' unearthly strain I pour ! '
But the dread word its way would win,
E'en as a burning fire my bones within,
And I was forced to tell aloud
My tale of warning to the reckless proud."
Awful warning ! yet in love
Breathed on each believing ear,
How Heaven in wrath would seem to move
The landmarks of a thousand year,
And from the tablets of th' eternal sky
The covenant oath erase of God Most High.
That hour, full timely was the leaf unroll'd,
AVhich to the man belov'd the years of bondage told.
And till his people's chain should be outworn,
Assign'd him for his lot times past and times unborn.
THE OOMPOETEE.
" O ye remnant of Judah, go ye not into Egypt." — Jer. xlii. 19.
" O SWEETLY timed, as e'er was gentle hand
Of mother press'd on weeping infant's brow,
Is every sign that to His fallen land
Th' Almighty sends by prophet mourners now.
The glory from the ark is gone, —
The mystic cuirass gleams "no more,
In answer from the Holy One, —
Low lies the temple, wondrous store
Of mercies seal'd with blood each eve and morn ;
Yet Heaven hath tokens for faith's eye forlorn.
" Heaven by my mouth was fain to stay
The pride that, in our evil day,
Would fain have struggled in Chaldea's chain :
Nay kiss the rod : th' Avenger needs must reign :
D
50 The Comforter.
And now, though every shrine is still,
Speaks out by me the unchanging will ;
* Seek not to Egypt ; there the curse will come ;
But, till the woe be past, round Canaan roam,
And meekly 'bide your hour beside your ruin'd home.'
SAOEILEGE.
** I have heard of Thee by the hearing of the ear, but no%Y mine
eye seeth Thee." — Job xlii. 5.
'TwAS on the day' -when England's Church of yore
Hail'd tlie New Year — a day to angels known,
Since holy Gabriel to meek Mary bore
The presence-token of th' Incarnate Son —
Up a low vale a Shepherd strayed alone ;
Slow was his step and lowly bent his eye,
Save when* at times a thought of tasks undone
His waken'd wincing memor\- stung too nigh :
Then startled into speed, else wandering wearily.
f The above Avas written March 25, 1S33, whilst the Irish Chnrch Bill was
in progress.
52 Sacrilege.
II.
A Shepherd he, but not of lambs and ewes,
But of that flock redeem'd with precious Blood ;
Thoughtless too oft, now deeply seen to muse
O'er the cold lea and by the rushing flood,
And where the pathway skirts the leafless wood,
And the heap'd snow, in mockery of the spring.
Lies mantling primrose flower and cowslip bud,
And scared birds forget to build and sing.
So rudely the cold North has brush'd each tender
wing.
III.
These Easter snows, of evil do they bode ?
Of Faith's fair blossoms withering ere their
prime ;
And of a glorious Church that early glow'd
Bright as yon crown of stars in cold clear
time.
That never sets, pride of our arctic clime.
Sacrilege. 53
Xow deeply plunged where tempests drive and
sweep,
Wavering and flickering, while rude gusts of crime
Rush here and there across th' ethereal deep.
And scarce one golden isle her station seems to keep ?
IV.
Nay — 'tis our human eyes, our airs of earth.
That waver ; yet on high th' unquenched stars
Blaze as they blazed, and in their might go forth :
The Spouse of Heaven nor crime nor rapine mars.
But the Most High permits these earthly jars,
That souls yet hearing only, may awake
And see Him near, and feel and own the bars
'Twixt them and Him. O be Thou near, to make
The worldly dream dissolve, the seared conscience
ache !
V.
But chiefly theirs, who at Thine Altar serve.
And for the soul's elect Thy life-blood pour ;
O grief and shame, when aged pastors swerve
To the base world or wild schismatic lore.
54 Sacrilege.
Alas, too lightly, by Thine open door,
They had been listening ; not within the shrine
Kneeling in Christian calmness to adore,
Else had they held untired by Thee and Thine :
Nor gain nor fancy then had lured them from Thy
shrine.
VI.
Lord of a world in years, a Church decayed.
If from Thy whirlwind answering, as of old.
Thou with the vile wilt plead, till we have laid
Our hand upon our mouth, and truly told
Our tale of contrite faith — (O not too bold
The prayer) — then welcome whirlwind, anger, woe,
Welcome the flash that wakes the slumbering fold
Th' Almighty Pastor's arm and eye to know,
And turn their dreamy talk to holy Fear's stern glow.
OTITED STATES.
" Because that Tyrus hath said against Jerusalem, Aha, she is
broken that was the gates of the people : she is turned unto
me : I shall be replenished, now she is laid waste : Therefore
thus saith the Lord God; Behold, I am against thee, O Tyrus."
— Ezek. xxvi. 2, 3.
Tyre of the farther ^ West ! be thou too warn'd
Whose eagle wings thine own green world o'er-
spread,
Touching two oceans : w^herefore hast thou scorn'd
Thy father's God, O proud and full of bread ?
AVhy lies the Cross unhonour'd on thy ground,
While in mid air thy stars and arrows flaunt ?
That sheaf of darts, will it not fall unbound,
Except, disrob'd of thy vain earthly vaunt,
TKou bring it to be bless'd where Saints and Angels
haunt ?
e This expression ref. rs to the poem which immediately preceded it in the
Lyra Apostolica, beginning '« Tyre of the West." It was signed 6, and is
reprinted in Dr. NewTiian's poem.
56 United States.
The holy seed, by Heaven's peculiar grace,
Is rooted here and there in thy dark woods ;
But many a rank weed round it grows apace,
And Mammon builds beside thy mighty floods,
O'ertopping Nature, braving Nature's God.
O while thou yet hast room, fair fruitful land.
Ere war and want have stain 'd thy virgin sod,
Mark thee a place on high, a glorious stand.
Whence Truth her sign may make o'er forest, lake,
and strand.
Eastward, this hour, perchance thou turn'st thine ear.
Listening if haply with the surging sea.
Blend sounds of Ruin from a land once dear
To thee and Heaven. O trying hour for thee !
Tyre mock'd when Salem fell : where now is Tyre t
Heaven was against her. Nations thick as waves
Burst o'er her walls, to ocean doom'd and fire :
And now the tideless water idly laves
Her towers, and lone sands heap her crowned mer-
chants' graves.
CHAMPIONS OF THE TETJTH.
The "Watchman.
" Who ^vill go for us ? Then said I, Here am I ;
send me." — Isa. vi. 8.
Dull thunders moan around the Temple Rock,
And deep in hollow caves, far underneath,
The lonely watchman feels the sullen shock.
His footsteps timing as the low mnds breathe ;
Hark ! from the Shrine is asked, What stedfast heart
Dares in the storm go forth? Who takes th' Almighty's
part ?
And with a bold gleam flush'd, flill many a brow
Is rais'd to say, " Behold me. Lord, and send."
But ere the words be breathed, some broken vow
Remember'd, ties the tongue; and sadly blend
With Faith's pure incense, clouds of conscience dim
And faltering tones of guilt mar the Confessor's h}'mn.
THE OEEED.
If waiting by the time-crown'd halls,
Which nurtur'd us for Christ in youth,
We love to watch on the grey walls
The lingering gleam of Evangelic Truth ; —
If to the spoilers of the soul,
Proudly we shew our banner'd scroll,
And bid them our old war-cr^' hear,
" God is my Light ^ : whom need I fear ! "
How bleak, that hour, across our purpose high,
Sweeps the chill damping shade of thoughtless years
gone by !
How count we then lost eve and morn,
The bell unwelcom'd, prayer unsaid.
And holy hours and days outworn
In youth's wild race. Sin's lesson newly read !
•> "Dominus illuminaliompa'" is the motto of the University of Oxford.
The Creed, 59
Then deem we, "ill could Angels brook
That lore that on our lips we took,
On lips profane celestial lore : "'
And hardly dare we keep the door,
Thougli sentries sworn : the memor}' tlirills so keen,
How with unready hearts at first we ventured in.
SPOLIATION.
But sadder strains, and direr bodings dark,
Come haunting round th' Almighty's captive ark,
By proud PhiHstian hosts beset,
With axe and dagger newly whet
To hew the holy gold away.
And seize their portion as they may.
Fain would we fix th' unswerving foot, and bare
The strong right arm, to share.
The glorious holy war ; but how undo
The knot our father tied ? Are we not spoilers too ?
How for God's Altar may that arm be bold.
Where cleaves the rust of sacrilege of old ?
Oh, would my country once believe,
But once her contrite bosom heave.
And but in wish or vow restore
But one fair shrine despoil'd of yore !
spoliation. 6i
How would the windows of th' approving sky
Shower down the dews on high !
Arm'd Levites then, within the Temple dome,
Might we the foe await, nor yet profane God's home.
Vain disappointing dream ! but oh ! not vain,
If haply on the wakening heart remain
The vow of pure self-sacrifice,
The conscience yearning to devise
How God may have His treasure lost.
And we not serve Him without cost.
To such methought I heard an Angel say,
" Offer not all to-day,
"While spoilers keep the shrine : yet offer all,
Treasurer of God's high cause : half priestly is thy
call.''
OHUEOH Aro KING.
Nor wants there Seraph warnings, morn and eve,
And oft as to the holiest Shrine we bear
Our pure, unbloody gifts, what time our prayer
In Heaven's sure ward all Christian kings would
leave.
Why should that prayer be faltering ? Wherefore heave
With sadness loyal hearts, when hallow'd air
That solemn suffrage hears ? Alas ! our care
Is not for storms without, but stains that cleave
Ingrain'd in memory, wandering thoughts profane ;
Or worse, proud thoughts of our instructress meek.
The duteous Church, Heaven-prompted to that
strain.
Thus, when high mercy for our King we seek,
Back on our wincing hearts our prayers are blown
By our own sins, worst foes to England's throne.
And with our own, the offences of our land
Too well agree to build our burthen high,
Christ's charter blurr'd with coarse, usurping hand,
Church and King. (^-^
And gall'd with yoke of feudal tyranny
The shoulders where the keys of David lie.
Angel of England ! who might thee withstand ?
Who for the spoil'd and trampled Church deny
Thy suit in Heaven's high courts, might one true
band
Of holy brethren, breathing English air,
Be found, their Cross in thine array to bear,
And for their Mother cast earth's dreams away ?
Till then, all gaily as our pennons glance.
And at the trumpet's call the brave heart dance,
In fear and grief for Church and King we pray.
oxroED.
(Prom Bagley, at 8 A. M.)
The flood is round thee, but thy towers as yet
Are safe, and clear as by a summer's sea
Pierce the calm morning mist, serene and free,
To point in silence heavenward. There are met
Thy foster-children ; — there in order set
Their nursing fathers, sworn to Heaven and thee
(An oath renewed this hour on bended knee,)
Ne'er to betray their Mother nor forget. —
Lo ! on the top of each aerial spire
What seems a star by day, so high and bright,
It quivers from afar in golden light :
But 'tis a form of earth, though touch 'd with fire
Celestial, rais'd in other days to tell
How, when they tired of prayer. Apostles fell.
riEE.
Pajt I.
The Lord thy God is a consuming fire." — Detit. iv. 24.
Nadab and Abilm.
" Away, or ere the Lord break forth !
The pure ethereal air
Cannot abide the spark of earth,
'Twill lighten and not spare."
" Nay, but we know our call divine,
We feel our hearts sincere j
What boots it where we light our shrine,
If bright it blaze and clear ? "
God of the unconsuming fire,
On Horeb seen of old.
Stay, Jealous One, Thy burning ire . . ,
It may not be controlled !
E
66 Fire.
The Lord breaks out, the unworthy die ;
Lo ! on the cedar floor
The robed and mitred corses lie —
Be silent and adore.
Yet sure a holy seed were they,
Pure hands had o'er them past,
Cuirass and crown, their bright array,
In Heaven's high mould were cast.
Th' atoning blood had drench'd them o'er,
The mystic balm had seal'd ;
And may the blood atone no more,
No charm the anointing yield ?
Silence, ye brethren of the dead.
Ye Father's tears, be still \
But choose them out a lonely bed,
Beside the mountain rill ;
Then bear them as they lie, their brows
Scath'd with the avenging fire,
And wearing (sign of broken vows)
The blest, the dread attire.
Fire. 67
Nor leave unwept their desert grave,
But mourn their pride and thine,
Oft as rebellious thought shall crave
To question words divine.
TEE BUENIlfG AT TABEEAE
The fire of Heaven breaks forth,
When haughty Reason pries too near,
Weighing th' eternal mandate's worth
In philosophic scales of earth.
Selecting these for scorn, and those for holy fear.
Nor burns it only then :
The poor that are not poor in heart, —
Who say, " The bread of Christian men.
We loathe it, o'er and o'er again," —
The murmurers in the camp, must feel the blazing dart
Far from the Lord's tent-door.
And therefore bold to sin, are they :
"What should we know of Faith's high lore ?"
Oh ! plead not so — there's wrath in store,
And temper'd to our crimes the lightnings find their
way.
KOEAH, DATHAIT, AND ABIRAM.
Dathan and Abiram.
" How long endure this priestly scorn,
Ye sons of Israel's eldest born ?
Shall t\vo, the meanest of their tribe,
To the Lord's host the way prescribe,
And feed our wildering phantasy
With every soothing dream and lie
Their craft can coin ? We see our woe,
Lost Egypt's plenty well we know :
But where the milk and honey ? — where
The promised fields and vineyards fair ?
Lo ! wise of heart and keen of sight
Are these — ye cannot blind them quite —
Not as our sires are we : we fear not open light."
70 Korahj Dathan^ and Abiram.
Korah.
"And we too, Levites though we be,
We love the song of Hberty.
Did we not hear the Mountain Voice
Proclaim the Lord's impartial choice?
The camp is holy, great and small,
Levites and Danites, one and all j
Our God His home in all will make. —
What if no priestly finger strake
Or blood or oil o'er robe or brow,
Will He not hear His people's vow ?
Lord of all Earth, will He no sign
Grant but to Aaron's haughty line ?
Our censers are as yours : we dare you to the shrine."
Thus spake the proud at prime of mom ;
Where was their place at eve ? Ye know
Rocks of the wild in sunder torn.
And altars scath'd with fires of woe !
Earth heard and sank, and they were gone ;
Only their dismal parting groan
The shuddering ear long time will haunt.
Korah, Dathan^ and Abiram, 71
Thus rebels fare : but ye profane,
Who dared th' anointing Power disdain
For freedom's rude unpriestly vaunt,
Dire is the fame for you in store :
Your molten censers evermore
Th' atoning altar must inlay ;
Memorial to the kneeling quires
That Mercy's God hath judgment fires
For high-voiced Korahs in their day.
ELIJAH AND THE MESSENGEKS OP AHAZIAH.
Oh ! surely Scorner is his name,
Who to the Church will errands bring
From a proud world or impious king,
And, without fear or shame.
In mockery own them " men of God,"
O'er whom lie gaily shakes the miscreant spoiler's rod.
But if we be God's own indeed.
Then is there fire in heaven, be sure,
And bolts deep-wounding, without cure,
For the blasphemer's seed ; —
Wing'd are they all, and aim'd on high.
Against the hour when Christ shall hear His martyrs'
cry.
Elijah and the Messengers of Ahaziah. 73
Oh ! tell me not of royal hosts ; —
One hermit, strong in fast and prayer,
Shall gird his sackcloth on, and scare
"Whatever the vain earth boasts j
And thunder-stricken chiefs return
To tell their Lord how dire the Church's lightnings
burn.
riEE.
Part n.
" Our God is a consuming fire." — Hebr. xii, 29.
The Samaritans spared.
And dare ye deem God's ire must cease
In Christ's new realm of peace ?
'Tis true, beside the scorner's gate
The Lord long-suffering deign'd to wait,
Nor on the guilty town
Call'd the stern fires of old Elijah down :
A victim, not a judge. He came.
With His own blood to slake th' avenging flame.
Now, by those hands so rudely rent
The bow of Heaven is bent ;
And ever and anon His darts
Find out e'en here the faithless hearts,
Fire, 75
Now gliding silently,
Now rushing loud, and blazing broad and high,
A shower or ere that final storm
Leave earth a molten ocean without form.
True Love, all gentle though she be,
Hath eyes, the wrath to see :
Nor may she fail in faith to pray
For hastening of Redemption's day.
Though with the triumph come
Forebodings of the dread unchanging doom : —
Though with the Saints' pure lambent light
Fires of more lurid hue mysteriously unite.
JULIAN.
Dread glimpses, e'en in gospel times, have been ;
Nor was the holy Household mute,
Nor did she not th' Avenger's march salute
With somewhat of exulting mien. —
Angel harps ! of you full well
That measure stern
The Church might learn
When th' apostate Caesar fell ; —
Proud champion he, and wise beyond the rest,
His shafts not at the Church, but at her Lord addrest.
What will He do, the Anointed One on high,
Now that hell-powers and powers of Rome
Are banded to reverse His foemen's doom.
And mar His Sovereign Majesty?
Seers in Paradise enshrin'd !
Your glories now
Must quail and bow
To th' high-reaching force of mind —
yulian. 77
Vainly o'er Salem rolls your dooming tone :
Her sons have heard, this hour, a mightier trumpet
blown.
The foes of Christ are gathering, sworn to build
Where he had sworn to waste and mar ;
Plummet and line, arms of old Babel's war.
Are ready round Moriah's field. —
But the clouds that lightning breathe
Were ready too
And, bursting through,
Billows from the wrath beneath.
For Christ and for His Seers so keenly wrought,
They half subdued to faith the proud man's dying
thought.
THE PALL OF BABYLON.
But louder yet the heavens shall ring,
And brighter gleam each Seraph's wing,
When, doom'd of old by every Prophet's lyre,
Theme of the Saints' appealing cry.
While underneath the shrine they lie,
Proud Babel in her hour sinks in her sea of fire.
While worldlings from afar bemoan
The shatter'd Antichristian throne.
The golden idol bruis'd to summer dust —
" Where are her gems ? — her spices, where ?
Tower, dome, and arch, so proud and fair —
Confusion is their name — the name of all earth's
The while for joy and victory
Seers and Apostles sing on high,
The Fall of Babylon. 79
Chief the bright pair who rest in Roman earth :
Fall'n Babel well their lays may earn,
Whose triumph is when souls return,
Who o'er relenting pride take part in angels' mirth.
DIYIKE WEATH.
Thus evermore the Saints' avenging God
With His dread fires hath scath'd th' unholy ground ;
Nor wants there, waiting round th' uphfted rod,
Watchers in heaven and earth, aye faithful found.
God's armies, open-eyed His aim attend.
Wondering how oft these warning notes will peal,
Ere the great trump be blown, the Judge descend :
Man only wears cold look and heart of steel.
Age after age, where Antichrist hath reign'd
Some flame-tipt arrow of th' Almighty falls.
Imperial cities lie in heaps profan'd.
Fire blazes .round apostate council-halls.
Divine Wrath. 8i
And if the world sin on, yet here and there
Some proud soul cowers, some scorner learns to
pray;
Some slumberer rouses at the beacon glare.
And trims his waning lamp, and waits for day.
COMMUNE PONTHIOUM.
Calling.
" At evening, being the first day of the week, the doors were
shut where the disciples were assembled for fear of the Jews." —
St. John XX. 19.
" Are the gates sure ? — is every bolt made fast }
No dangerous whisper wandering through —
Dare we breathe calm, and unalarm'd forecast
Our calls to suffer or to do ? "
O ye of little faith ! twelve hours ago,
He whom ye mourn, by power unbound
The bonds ye fear ; nor sealed stone below
Barred Him, nor mailbd guards around.
The Lord is risen indeed ! His own have seen.
They who denied, have seen His face.
Weeping and spared. Shall loyal hearts not lean
Upon His outstretch'd arm of grace ?
Commune Pontificum. 83
Shine in your orbs, ye stars of God's new heaven,
Or gather'd or apart, shine clear !
Far, far beneath the opposing mists are driven,
The Invisible is waiting near.
TOKENS,
*' Jesus came and stood in the midst, and saith unto them,
Peace be unto you. And when He had so said, He shewed them
His hands and His side. Then were the disciples glad when
they saw the Lord." — Si. John xx. 19, 20.
Is He not near ? — look up and see :
Peace on His lips, and in His hands and side
The wounds of love. He stays the trembling knee,
Nerves the frail arm, His ark to guide.
Is He not near ? O trust His seal
Baptismal, yet uncancell'd on thy brow ;
Trust the kind love His holy months reveal,
Oft as His altar hears thy deep heart-searching vow.
And trust the calm, the joy benign,
That o'er the obedient breathes in life's still hour.
When Sunday lights with summer airs combine.
And shadows blend from cloud and bower.
Tokens. 85
And trust the wrath of Jesus' foes ;
They feel Him near, and hate His mark on you ;
O take their word, ye whom He lov'd and chose !
Be joyful in your King j the rebels own you true.
SEALS.
Then said Jesus unto them again, Peace be unto you : as My
Father hath sent Me, so send I you." — S^. John xx. 21.
And shrink ye still ? — He nearer draws,
And to his mission and His cause
Welcomes His own with words of grace and might :
" Peace be to you ! " — their peace, who stand
In sentry with God's sword in hand,
The peace of Christ's lov'd champions warring in His
sight.
" Peace be to you ! " — their peace, who feel
E'en as the Son the Father's seal,
So they the Son's ; each in his several sphere
Gliding on fearless angel wing,
One heart in all, one hope, one King,
Each an Apostle true, a crowned and robed seer.
Seals. 87
Sent as the Father sent the Son,
'Tis not for you to swerve nor shun
Or power or peril ; ye must go before :
If caught in the fierce bloody shower,
Think on your Lord's overwhelming hour ;
Are ye not priests to Him who the world's forfeit
bore ?
Throned in His Church till He return,
Why should ye fear to judge and spurn ^
This evil world, chain'd at His feet and yours ?
Why with dejected faltering air
Your rod of more than empire bear ?
Your brows are royal yet ; God's unction aye en-
dures.
I Vide Eev. iL 26—28, which is also addressed to a Christian Bishop.
GUTS,
And having said this, He breathed on them, and saith unto
them. Receive ye the Holy Ghost." — St. Johti xx. 22.
By your Lord's creative breath.
Breathing hope, and scorn of death ;
Love untired, on pardon leaning,
Joy, all mercies sweetly gleaning ;
Zeal, the bolts of Heaven to dart.
Fragrant purity of heart ;
By the voice ineffable,
Wakening your mazed thoughts with an Almighty
spell \
By His word, and by His hour
When the promise came with power, —
By His Holy Spirit's token,
By His saintly chain unbroken,
Gifts. 89
Lengthening, while the world lasts on,
From His cross unto His throne, —
Guardians of His virgin spouse !
Know that His might is yours, whose breathing sealed
your vows.
AEMS.
" Whosesoever sins ye remit, they are remitted unto them ;
and whosesoever sins ye retain, they are retained." — St. John
XX. 23.
Behold your annoury : — sword and lightning shaft,
Cuird from the stores of God's all-judging ire,
And in your wielding left ! The words, that waft
Power to your voice absolving, point with fire
Your awful curse. O grief! should Heaven's dread
Sire
Have stayed, for you, the mercy-dews of old
Vouchsafed, when pastors' arms in deep desire
Were spread on high to bless the kneeling fold !
If censure sleep, will absolution hold ?
Will the great King affirm their acts of grace.
Who careless leave to cankering rust and mould
The flaming sword that should the unworthy chase
From his pure Eden 1 O beware ! lest vain
Their sentence to remit., who never dare retain.
THE DTNOOEITTS' DAY'".
In Ramah was there a voice heard, lamentation and
weeping, and great mourning." — St. Matt. ii. i8.
Bethlehem, above all cities blest !
Th' Incarnate Saviour's earthly rest,
Where in His manger safe He lay.
By angels guarded night and day.
Bethlehem, of cities most forlorn.
Where in the dust sad mothers mourn,
Nor see the heavenly glory shed
On each pale infant's martyT'd head.
1" This and the three next poems are printed in the '• Child's Christian
Year."
104 ^^ Innocents^ Day.
'Tis ever thus : who Christ would win,
Must in the school of woe begin ;
And still the nearest to His grace,
Know least of their own glorious place.
" Of such is the kingdom of God." — St. Luke xviii. i6.
PIEST SUNDAY AFTEE EASTEE.
" And there are three that bear witness in earth — the Spirit,
and the Water, and the Blood ; and these three agree in one."
I Sf. John V. 8.
Our God in glory sits on high :
Man may not see and live :
Yet witness of Himself on earth
For ever does He give.
His Spirit dwells in all good hearts ;
All precious fruits of love,
Thoughts, words, and works, made holy, bear
His witness from above.
The Baptism waters have not ceas'd
To spread His Xame, since first
From the Redeemer's wounded Side
The holy fountain burst.
io6 First Sunday after Easter,
That other stream of endless Hfe,
His all-atoning Blood :
Is it not still our Cup of Grace ?
His Flesh, our spirits' food ?
O ! never may our sinful hearts,
What Thou hast joined, divide !
Thy Spirit in Thy mysteries still
For life, not death, abide !
Epistle.
What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put
asunder." — St. Matt. xix. 6.
TENTH SUNDAY AFTEE TEINITY.
" Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings Thou hast
perfected praise." — St. Matt. xxi. i6.
Lo ! from the Eastern hills the Lord
Descends in lowly state ;
Let us go out \vith one accord,
And where He passes, wait.
Prepare, with willing hearts and true,
Glad hymn and garland gay :
0 joy ! if He should look on you.
And with His kind voice say, —
" I hear thee, and it is My will.
By thee to perfect praise ;
1 have a place for thee to fill.
Have mark'd thy times and ways ;
" I, in the music of the blest.
To thee a part assign,
Only do thou sing out thy best, —
I call thee, be thou Mine."
io8 Tenth Sunday after Trijtity.
Thine heart would beat full high, I know
If Jesus, on His way,
Had turn'd aside to greet thee so,
Thy very soul would pray.
But mark Him well one moment more.
Behold, the Saviour weeps ;
He weeps while heaven and earth adore
Through all eternal deeps.
\Vhy weeps He ? for His people's sin,
And for thy follies all :
For each bad dream thine heart within.
Those tears the bitterer fall.
Gospel.
"■ Teach me Thy way, O Lord, and I will walk in Thy truth ;
O knit my heart unto Thee, that I may fear Thy Name." —
Fs. Ixxxvi. II.
SIXTEENTH SUKDAY AETEE TEINITY.
" And you hath he quickened, who were dead in trespasses
and sins." — Eph. ii. i.
When Christ to village comes or town,
With priests that on Him wait,
The Church her living dead lays down
Before Him in the gate.
For whoso know His will, and yet
Have stolen, sworn, or lied.
In His dread book their sin is set,
That hour, to Him, they died.
What if thou be but young in years,
A boy, or simple maid.
Yet in His sight thy soul appears
A corse for burial laid.
no Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity.
Thy sins, from His own holy place
Are bearing thee away,
But He may touch the bier, His grace
May bid thee rise and pray.
The Church, thy mother, weeps for thee,
Her tearful prayer perchance
May win the word of pardon, He
May break the deadly trance.
Only do thou sit up and speak
Soon as thou hear'st His call.
Him honour with confession meek,
He will forgive thee all.
Gospel.
" Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and
Christ shall give thee light.' — Eph. v. 14.
ST. JOHN'S DAT°.
" He then, lying on Jesus' breast." — Sf. John xiii. 25.
" And I, John, saw these things and heard them." — Rev. xxii.
Word supreme, before creation
Born of God eternally,
Who didst will for our salvation,
To be born on earth, and die ;
Well Thy saints have kept their station,
Watching till Thine hour drew nigh.
Now 'tis come, and faith espies Thee,
Like an eaglet in the morn.
One in stedfast worship eyes Thee,
Thy belov'd. Thy latest born :
In Thy glory He descries Thee
Reigning from the tree of scorn.
>' This, and the three next poems, are from the Salisbury Hymnal.
112 St Johfi's Day.
He upon Thy bosom lying
Thy true tokens learn'd by heart ;
And Thy dearest pledge in dying
Lord, Thou didst to him impart. —
Shew'dst him how, all grace supplying,
Blood and water from Thee start.
He first, hoping and believing,
Did beside the grave adore ;
Latest he, the warfare leaving,
Landed on the eternal shore ;
And his witness we receiving
Own Thee Lord for evermore.
Much he ask'd in loving wonder,
On Thy bosom leaning. Lord !
In that secret place of thunder.
Answer kind didst Thou accord.
Wisdom for Thy Church to ponder
Till the day of dread award.
St yohn's Day. 113
Lo ! Heaven's doors lift up, revealing
How Thy judgments earthward move ;
Scrolls unfolded, trumpets pealing,
Wine-cups from the wrath above.
Yet o'er all a soft Voice stealing —
" Little children, tiiist and love ! "
Thee, the Almighty King eternal,
Father of the eternal Word j
Thee, the Father's Word supernal.
Thee, of both, the breath adored ;
Heaven and earth, and realms infernal
Own, One glorious God and Lord. Amen.
Hursley, April ig, 1856.
HARVEST.
" Thou visitest the earth and blessest it, Thou makest it
very plenteous." — Fs. Ixv. 9.
Lord in Thy Name Thy servants plead,
And Thou hast sworn to hear ;
Thine is the harvest, Thine the seed.
The fresh and fading year :
Our hope, when Autumn winds blew wild.
We trusted, Lord, with Thee j
And still, now Spring has on us smiled,
We wait on Thy decree.
The former and the latter rain.
The summer sun and air.
The green ear, and the golden grain,
'All Thine, are ours by prayer.
Harvest. 115
Thine too by right, and ours by grace,
The wondrous growth unseen,
The hopes that soothe, the fears that brace.
The love that shines serene.
So grant the precious things brought forth
By sun and moon below.
That Thee in Thy new heaven and earth
We never may forego.
Malvern, Aug. 4, 1856.
EASTEK EVE.
He went and preached unto the spirits in prison."
I Pet. iii. 19.
Father and Lord of our whole life,
As Thine our burden and our strife,
As Thine it was to die and rise.
So Thine the grave and Paradise.
Lord of the eternal Sabbath-day,
Lo, at Thy tomb for rest we pray :
Here, rest from our own work ; and there.
The perfect rest with Thee to share.
True God, true Flesh of Mary made.
In a true grave for sinners laid.
With Thee this mortal frame we trust ;
O guard and glorify our dust !
Easter Eve,
Soul of the Lord, so freely breathed,
And to the Father's hands bequeathed.
Draw us with heart's desire to Thee,
When we among the dead are free.
Dread Preacher, who to fathers old
Didst wonders in the gloom unfold ;
Thy perfect creed O may we learn
In Eden, waiting Thy return.
They saw Thy day, and heard Thy voice.
And in Thy glory did rejoice ;
And Thou didst break their prison-bars.
And lead them high above the stars.
"Captivity led captive " then
Was sung by angels and by men :
Grant us the same to sing by faith.
Both now, and at the hour of death.
Our souls and bodies, Lord, receive
To Thine own blessed Easter-eve :
All our belov'd in mercy keep.
As one by one they fall asleep.
117
ii8 Easter Eve.
To Thee, who, dead, again dost live,
All glory, Lord, Thy people give,
With the dread Father, as is meet,
And the eternal Paraclete. Amen.
Llandudno^ Aug. 14, 1856.
HOLY MATKIMONT.
To be sung at the Oommencement of the Semce.
"A threefold cord is not quickly broken. — Eccles. iv. 12.
The voice that breathed o'er Eden,
That earUest wedding-day,
The primal marriage blessing.
It hath not passed away.
Still in the pure espousal
Of Christian man and maid,
The holy Three are with us,
The threefold grace is said.
For dower of blessed children,
For love and faith's sweet sake,
For high mysterious union.
Which nought on earth may break.
I20 Holy Matrimony.
Be present, awful Father,
To give away this bride,
As Eve Thou gav'st to Adam
Out of his own pierced side
Be present, Son of Mary,
To join their loving hands,
As Thou didst bind two natures
In Thine eternal bands :
Be present, Holiest Spirit,
To bless them as they kneel.
As Thou for Christ, the Bridegroom,
The heavenly Spouse dost seal.
O spread Thy pure wing o'er them,
Let no ill power find place,
When onward to Thine altar
The hallowed path they trace,
Holy Matrimony. 121
To cast their crowns before Thee
In perfect sacrifice,
Till to the home of gladness
With Christ's own Bride they rise. Amen.
July 12, 1857.
TEANSLATIONS OP ANCIENT OHUEOH
HYMNS.
" Sonmo Eefectis Aitubus."
(For an early Morning Service.)
Sleep has refresh'd our limbs : we spring
Out of our beds, as men in fear :
Look on us, Father, while we sing ;
We pray Thee, be Thou very near.
Be Thou the first in every tongue ;
Thine be each heart's first loving glow
That all its doings, all day long,
O, holy One, from Thee may flow.
Let darkness to the glory yield,
And gloom unto the star of day ;
So may night's ill be purged and heal'd
By gift of Thy celestial ray.
Translations of Ancient Church Hymns. 123
So may night's harm (this too we ask
In humble prayer) be hewn away :
So praise may be our endless task,
E'en as we hymn Thee, Lord, to-day.
" JAM LUCIS OETO SIDEEE."
The Star of day hath risen, and we
Must pray our God on bended knee
From all our doings, all this day,
To chase and keep ill powers away.
The tongue to tune, and bridle in
From Discord's harsh, unpitying din :
With soothing hand to screen the sight
From eager gleams of vain delight.
Pure be the secrets of the heart,
Unruly will, stand thou apart.
The proud flesh bruise we, and control
By meat and drink in measured dole.
That when the day departs, and we
In course again the dim night see.
By self-denial clean, we may
His glory sing to whom we pray.
Translations of Aficient Church Hymns. 125
To God the Father glory be,
And glor}', Only Son, to Thee ;
With the most holy Paraclete,
Now and for ever, as is meet.
"NOOTE SUEaENTES."
Watch us by night, with one accord uprising,
Psalms in due course our meditation always,
Hymns strong and sweet in all their might and
softness
Sing on, adoring.
So to Love's King our melodies combining,
We may find grace with all the saints to enter
Love's palace hall, the blessed life among them
There to inherit.
Such be our boon from Thee, Thou blessed Godhead I
Father, and Son, and Holy Ghost co-equal.
Grant it alike, as through the world Thy glory
Rings undivided.
"NOTO SANOTE."
E'en now vouchsafe, Good Spirit, One
Both with the Father and the Son,
Into our hearts Thyself to pour,
A treasure heap'd and running o'er.
Eye, soul, tongue, mind, with all your might
In tones of perfect praise unite !
Celestial Love, break out and blaze.
Touch all around with living rays !
Father of Love, this boon confer,
And Thou, co-equal only Son,
And Holy Ghost the Comforter,
For ever reigning, Three in One.
''EEOTOE POTENS."
(Sixth Hour.)
Strong Ruler, God whose word is truth,
Who ordering all things and their change,
With brightness dost the morn array,
And with Thy fires the noontide hour.
Quench Thou the flame, where'er is strife,
Take all our harmful heat away ;
Health to our mortal bodies give.
And to our souls true peace of heart.
Grant it, O Father of all Love,
And Thou, co-equal only son,
Who reignest through all ages with
The Holy Ghost the Comforter. Amen.
"KEEUM DEUS."
(Ninth Hour.)
O God, th' enduring might of things,
Abiding in Thyself unmoved,
Who measurest out each time and tide
By changing lights from day to day j
Lord, grant it clear at eventide
That life may never fade, nor fall,
But everlasting brightness dawn
At once — true meed of holy death.
Grant it, O Father of all Love,
And Thou, co-equal only Son,
Who reignest through all ages with
The Holy Ghost the Comforter. Amen.
"LUOIS OEEATOK OPTIME."
(For Sunday Evening <=.)
Thou, Light's Creator, first and best,
By whom new days in Hght are drest.
The young world making glad and bright
By gleaming of that earliest light :
Whose wisdom joined in meet array
The morn and eve, and named them Day :-
Night glideth on in dim, dark air, —
Regard Thy people's tearful prayer !
Lest sin-bound souls with Thee at strife.
Prove outcasts from the gift of life ;
While thinking but of earth and time
They weave them still new chains of crime.
O may we knock at Heaven's dread door.
And win the wreath that fades no more !
Shun harms without, clear hearts within
Of all their worst, their haunting sin.
c Altered from the "Hymnal Xoteil."
Translations of Ancient Church Hymns. 133
Father, do Thou this boon accord,
Through Jesus Christ, Thy Son, our Lord !
Who with the Holy Ghost, and Thee,
Dost Hve and reign eternally.
" SALYETE FLOEES MAETYEUM."
(Holy Innocents.)
Hail, Martyr-flowers, who gleaming forth,
Just on the edge of your brief day.
By Christ's keen foe were swept from earth,
As rosebuds by the whirlwind's sway !
The first-fruits unto Christ are ye,
His lambs new-slain, a tender sort.
E'en by the shrine in childlike glee
Ye with your palms and garlands sport.
Ah ! what avails so dire a doom ?
What boots the stain on Herod's soul ?
The One of many 'scapes the tomb,
The Christ is gone, unharm'd and whole.
Far from their streaming blood who shared
His birth-hour. He at rest is laid :
The Virgin-born that steel hath spared
Which many a matron childless made.
Translations of Ancient Church Hymns. 135
So did one child of yore elude
The wild laws of the wicked king,
With likeness of the Christ endued,
Ordain'd His people home to bring.
"CULTOK DEI MEMENTO."
Servant of God, remember
The drops thy brow bedewing
From holy font, and laver,
The unction thee renewing.
See, that on brow and bosom.
When gentle sleep is calling.
The Cross abide to seal thee,
Upon thy chaste bed falling.
No gloom the Cross endureth,
All crime the Cross repelleth.
By that strong sign devoted
The soul unwavering dwelleth.
Begone, ye wandering portents.
Ye dreams so base and dreary ;
Begone, unclean Deceiver,
Of cheating never weary.
Translations of A7icient Church Hymns. 137
O foul, O crooked Serpent,
A thousand mazes trying,
And winding frauds, to trouble
The hearts on Heaven relying.
Depart, — the Christ is present !
The Christ is present, — vanish !
The Sign that well thou knowest
Thee and thy crew shall banish.
What if awhile the body
Sink wearily reclining .?
Faith wakes, in very slumber
The truth of Christ divining.
Praise to the Eternal Father,
To Christ, true King of Heaven,
And to the Blessed Spirit
Now, and for aye be given !
"OHOEUS mYE HIEEUSALEM''."
The choir of new Jerusalem
A new sweet song must choose and frame,
Her Paschal feast (O glad emplo}^ !)
So honouring with all sober joy.
See Christ the unconquered Lion rise !
The Dragon crush'd beneath Him lies.
His living voice thrills through the gloom,
The dead awakening from the tomb.
Insatiate Hell to light once more
Hath given the prey devour'd of yore,
And captives freed in due array
Are following Jesus on the way.
He triumphs now in glorious light.
By His great power, as meet and right,
The Heavenly and the earthly kind,
In one sole City He doth bind.
d Altered from the " Hymnal Noted."
Translations of Ancient Church Hymns. 139
He is our King, His soldiers we,
Our lowl}- chanted prayer must be
That He ma}' station each and all
In His own glorious palace-hall.
Through ages tnat no limit know
Father Supreme, to Thee we owe
Glor}' and honour, with the Son
And Holy Spirit, Three in One.
"YEXILLAEEGIS."
The banners of the King appear,
The mysteiy of the Cross shines clear,
Whereby upon the Tree of shame
In flesh He hangs who flesh did frame.
With palms outstretch'd our Victim view
His very Heart nail'd through and through,
Vouchsafing, for Redemption's price.
Here to be slain in sacrifice.
And here too, wound on wound, we see
By dint of that dire lance, how He
To cleanse us caused His side to run
With Blood and Water all in one.
FulfiU'd ^ is now what David sings,
(True verse that through the wide world rings,)
"Among the nations all," saith he,
"The Lord hath reigned from the Tree."
p Ps xcvi. 10. Tliere was an ;incieiit, but r,(iiri]i)t readins of this verse,
'Tell it out among the heathen, that the Lord reijrneth from the Tree."
Translatio7is of Ancient Church Hyfnns. 141
O stately Tree, so bright and fair,
Who dost the King's own purple wear,
Whose stem He chose and fitly framed
That holiest Form to touch unblamed !
O blessed, on whose arms sustained
The Ransom hung for all ordained !
His Body there in balance lay.
And spoil'd Hell-powers of all their prey.
Hail, Altar ! awful Victim, hail !
Whose glorious pains did so prevail ;
Whose Life bore Death, and did restore
By dying, Life for evermore.
Thee, Lord most highest. Three in One
With praise let every spirit own.
Whom by the mystery of the Tree
Thou sav'st, their Guide Eternal be !
V
"VEEBUM SUPEENUM PEODIE^S."
Dread Word, who from the Father hast
Thy goings forth of old, now born.
When waning Time is well-nigh past.
Sole succour to a world outworn.
Enlighten now all bosoms, Lord,
Consume them with Thy love, we pray.
That heard at last, the Royal Word
Earth's dreamy lights may chase away.
And when Thou com'st a Judge, one day.
The heart's dim records to unrol.
Dark deeds with anguish to repay
And with a crown the righteous soul,
We may not, for our several sin,
Each in his chain of darkness lie,
But with the blest in glory win
A virgin wTeath eternally.
"VOX OLAEA EGOE PEESONAT."
Give ear, — the Voice rings keen and true
The world's dim corners through and through
Ye dreams and shadows, speed your flight,
Lo ! Christ from heaven is darting light ! .
Now let each slumbering soul arise
That yet impure and wounded lies ;
Now a new Star its light doth give,
And where it beams no ill may live.
The Lamb from heaven is on His way,
Our debt of His free love to pay.
O may we all with tears most meet,
And loving voice that mercy greet !
So when anew the Light doth rise,
A horror girding earth and skies,
Not as our sin Thy scourge may pro\e.
O shield us with Thy pit}'ing love !
"PANGE LINGUA, GLOEIOSI PEllLIUM
OEETAMINIS ."
Sing, my tongue, of glorious warfare,
Sing the last, the dread aftray !
O'er the Cross, high Victory's token,
Sound the glad triumphant lay,
How the Sacrifice enduring
Earth's Redeemer won the day.
He with our first father mourning
For his crime and broken faith.
Who of that ill fruit partaking
In a moment died the death, —
Mark'd e'en then a Tree to ransom
All the first tree's woe and scathe.
Such the work for our salvation
In its order fix'd and due ;
Art, the Traitor's art to baffle
And his wiles of changeful hue ;
Thence to draw the balm and healing
Whence the foe the poison drew.
f Altered from Dr. Noale's ve.sion.
Translations of Ancient Church Hymns. 145
Wherefore in His season's fitness,
When the sacred years were spent,
Came the Son, the world's Creator,
From the Father's palace sent,
From the Virgin's womb proceeding,
Flesh most pure and innocent.
Hear His cries, an Infant hidden
W^here the narrow manger stands ;
See the Mother Maid His members
Wrapping in rude lowly bands :
See the cradle-garments swathing
God's own feeble feet and hands !
Now, the thirty years accomplish'd,
(All the time to flesh assign'd,)
With good will, for therefore came He,
To His Agony resign'd.
On the Cross our Lamb is lifted.
There the Sacrifice they bind.
Gall and vinegar, and spittle,
Reed and nails and lance, and lo !
Now the tender Form is piercbd.
Now the Blood and Water flow !
146 Translations of Ancicjit Church Hymns.
Earth and stars, and sky, and ocean
Well that cleansing river know.
Faithful Cross ! above all other,
One and only noble Tree !
None in foliage, none in blossom.
None in fruit Thy peer may be.
Sweetest wood, and sweetest iron,
Sweetest weight is hung on Thee ^ !
To the Trinity be glory
Everlasting, as is meet,
Equal to the Father, equal
To the Son and Paraclete ;
Trinal Unity, whose praises
All created things repeat.
g This stanza is taken altogether from Dr. Neale's version.
" 0, DEUS, EGO AMO TE."
Fain would we love Thee, Lord ; for Thou
Didst love us first, and lo !
In willing chains to follow Thee
Our freedom we forego.
Let memor}^ nought to us recall.
But of Thy love and praise ;
Nor understanding brood on aught
But Thee, and Thy dread ways.
No will but what we learn'd as Thine,
(Thou knowest. Lord !) have we :
WTiatever by Thy gift is ours,
By our gift Thine shall be.
All was of Thee : receive Thou all.
Teach what with all to do :
Rule, as Thou know'st and will'st : we know
Thou art a Lover true.
148 Translations of A?ide?it C/mrch Hyfnns.
With love alone endow us ; so
Shall we in turn love Thee.
Give this, and Thou giv'st all : for why ?
The rest is vanity.
"ALLELUIA, DULOE OAEMEN."
Alleluia, sweetest Anthem,
Voice of jo}^ that may not die ;
Alleluia, voice delightsome
E'en to blessed choirs on high j
Sung by holy ones abiding
In God's home eternally.
Alleluia, — O, blest mother,
Salem, crown'd above and free, —
Alleluia is thy watchword,
So thine own shall joy with thee :
But as yet by Babel's waters.
Mourning exiles still are we.
Alleluia we deserve not
Plere to chant for evermore ;
Alleluia for our trespass
We must for a while give o'er ;
For a Lenten time approaches
Bidding us our sins deplore.
150 Trans latiojis of Ancient Church Hymns.
Wherefore in our hymns we pray Thee,
Blessed, Holy Trinity !
Grant us all to keep Thine Easter
In our home beyond the sky ;
There to Thee our Alleluia
Singing everlastingly. Amen.
"OOEDE NATUS EX PAEI;NTIS\"
(For Christmas.)
Born of God the Father's bosom,
Ere the worlds to hght had come,
Alpha surnamed and Omega,
He alone the source and sum
Of all things that are or have been,
Or hereafter shall find room,
Ever, and for evermore.
This is He whom Heaven-taught minstrels
Hymned of yore with one accord ;
Pledged to man in faithful pages
Of the Prophets' sure strong word.
As foreshewn. His Star is gleaming ; —
Now let all things praise the Lord
Ever, and for evermore.
•» Altered from the " Hymnal Noted.''
152 Translations of A?icieiit Church Hymns,
O that pure and blessed dawning,
When the unspotted Mother bright
By the Holy Ghost made fruitful,
Our salvation brought to light,
And the Babe, the world's Redeemer,
Shew'd His sacred face in sight
Ever, and for evermore.
Let Heaven's height sing Psalms adoring,
Psalms let all the angels sing.
Powers and Virtues wheresoever
Praise with Psalms our God and King ;
None of all the tongues be silent.
Mightily all voices sing,
Ever, and for evermore.
Thee let aged men and youthful.
Boys in choral brotherhood,
Mothers, virgins, simple maidens.
One adoring multitude,
Hymn aloud in tones harmonious,
Of devoutest, purest mood,
Ever, and for evermore.
Translations of Ancient Church Hymns. 153
Christ, to Thee with God the Father,
And the Holy Spirit, be
Praise unweared, high thanksgiving,
Song, and perfect melody.
Honour, virtue, might victorious,
And to reign eternally
Ever, and for evermore.
"LIBEETAS, QUJE SEEA TAMEN RESPEXIT
DTERTEM," 1808.
O Sun of Lusitane, are those thy rays
Of glory set for evermore, that erst
On rising Lisboa pour'd so bright a blaze,
And gilded Tajo's stream, and proudly burst
From foul eclipse, what time Braganza first
Uprais'd the banner of her prostrate reign.
And cried, " To arms, thou race in freedom nurst,
Arouse thee as of yore ! be free again !
Art thou for ever set, O Sun of Lusitane ? "
Heaven wills not so : lo ! from long death-like sleep
Waked by the storm of war, by murder's yell,
Upstarts the Angel of the Western steep.
And shaking off the loathsome dews that fell
Liber t as ^ qucB sera tameii^ 6^^. 155
From Slavery's poison-tree, whose blighting spell
Hath numb'd so long his darken'd sense, — behold !
He dimbs once more his mountain citadel.
Where hovering amid hero-saints of old,
He sounds the trump that bursts the slumbers of the
bold.
And at the fury of that blast I mark
Ten thousand swords flash upward to the sky :
Swords, that inglorious rust no more shall cark.
Quick glancing in the light of Liberty.
And infants lisp their fathers' battle-cry,
And mothers quit the cradle-side to hear,
And from the cell of spotless Piety
The spouse of Heaven, that shrank if man came
near.
Moves forth with downcast look, but not in maiden
fear.
'Tis not the blush of maiden shame that dyes,
Nor fear that blanches her unveiled cheek ;
But she hath heard her weeping country's cries.
Heard how the spoiler made Heaven's altars reek
156 Libertas, qiicB sera ta7}ien^ &^c.
With innocent blood, and drown'd the infant's
shriek
In fiendish laughter. She hath heard the tale,
And her sick heart hath sunk as it would break
For human kind : so shrinks she, sad and pale,
Till fouler wrongs are told, and sterner longings swell.
Longings of sacred vengeance, — for the fair,
The chaste, the pious, dragged to insult dire,
Dragged by the uplifted arm, or streaming hair,
Then left in shame and horror to expire.
The altars saw, and shudder'd ; and the fire
Of holy lamps, that lighted saints to prayer.
And witnessed throbs erewhile of pure desire,
Trembling sank down, and cast a pale cold glare,
Like miner's torch half-quench 'd in some sepulchral
air.
For glory couldst thou dare the monstrous deep ?
For empire couldst thou stretch thy eagle wings.
Where ocean's echoes lay in lifeless sleep,
Save when they caught the storm's wild miurmurings?
Libertas, qicce sera tamen, &>€. 157
Couldst thou be brave for gold ? and shall no stings
Of holy vengeance thrill thee ? shall no arm
Be bared for blood, now while each valley rings
With thy oppressors' shout ? shall baneful charm
Unnerve thee, Lusitane ? shall shape of toil or harm ?
Far mightier spells the priests of Freedom try,
Of power to rouse from their entombbd rest
The mailed forms of chiefs, whom Victory
Hath lull'd to sleep upon their country's breast.
Now starting at her well-remember'd 'best,
Within yon circle, lo ! they take their stand.
Of heroes girt for war, holy and blest,
Thence towards the West and North they wave
their brand,
And to their banner call the free of heart and hand.
'Tis done : for not unmark'd by Albion pass'd
That voice, that gleam : her giant arm is rais'd,
Her sail is spread. And hark ! Castile as fast
Echoes the shout, and lifts her shield emblazed
158 Libert as, quce sera tame?i, 6^<:.
With deeds of high emprize. O ever praised,
Yet ever wept ! Thy banner is unfurl'd
Thy waken'd Eagle on the sun hath gazed.
So on they fare in faith, till they have hurl'd
Their triple bolt on guilt, defenders of a world.
TO , ON HEE SISTEE'S DEATH.
O THOU, whose dim and tearful gaze
Dwells on the shade of blessings gone !
^Vhose fancy some lost form surv^eys,
Half-deeming it once more thine own ;
O check that shuddering sob, control
That lip all quivering with despair ;
The thrillings of the startled soul
That wakes and finds no lov'd one there.
'Tis hard, in life's first wearying stage,
From guiding, soothing souls to part j
To part, unchill'd by grief or age.
Sister from sister, heart from heart !
Yet though no more she share, her love
Thy way of woe still guides and cheers j
And from her cup of bliss above
One drop she mingles with thy tears.
1810.
TO A GIEL, WHO WAS COMPLAINING THAT SHE HAD
FOEGOTTEN HER SISTEE'S BIETHDAY.
Grieve not though Mary's birthday pass'd
Without one joyous rhyme ;
When days are bright, and hours fly fast,
Who measures bhss by time ?
When grief has dimmed our darkUng way,
Such lonely gleams are dear :
But who can mark one happy day,
If happy through the year ?
Such sweet forgetfulness be thine !
So ever live and love !
No need of gift, or votive line.
The fond, glad heart to prove.
Nov. 1810.
LDTES SUGGESTED BY THE EEMEMBRANCE OP AN
EAELY BUT LONG-LOST EEIEND,
O BLESSED gem, of saintly, spotless kind,
Too pure for earthly casket long to hide !
Thou sparkiest now with the true light, supplied
From heaven's eternal fountain, where enshrined
God hides Himself in brightness. Too refined
For mortal gaze, thou shin'st without a stain.
Yet mayst thou, when my spirit springs amain
Toward heaven, though faintly, strike the eye of
mind
And draw thought upward, as with polar gleam,
And shed a holy glow o'er prayer, and hope, and
dream !
Aug. 1810.
ON YISITmG THE EUINS OF PAELEIGH OASTLE,
SOMERSETSHIEE.
Thou, who in Farleigh's ivied bower,
Sit'st musing on remember'd power.
To whom reflection's eye recalls
The glories of her roofless halls ;
Reminded by the fitful breeze
Of long-forgotten minstrelsies ;
By shrubs that crown the turret's height.
Of the red flag that stream'd so bright
When warriors laid them here to rest.
And bowed to dames the blood-dyed crest.
And Cromwell sheath'd his untired sword
To share the feast with Hungerford : —
Though mournful, o'er thy musing heart
The gleam of faded glories dart.
Give not that rising sigh its way.
Nor grieve that pride should so decay.
On visiting Farleigh Castle^ So?nersets/iire. 163
High blazed the hall in regal state,
But want hung shivering on the gate.
Unclad, untill'd the desert scene,
Nor glowed in gold, nor smiled with green.
Who battles shared might feasts attend ;
The spoiler was his chieftain's friend ;
While pined, unwelcome and forgot,
The tenant of the peaceful cot.
For him nor jasmine bloom'd beneath.
Nor woodbine clomb with upward wreath,
To meet the slanting thatch, where played
From darksome elms the waving shade.
Nor portal brown, nor rustic seat
Gave air and shade for noon's retreat :
Nor flower-entangled casement peep'd
Through bowers in tears of morning steep'd ;
No comfort smooth'd his lowly bed,
No Houlton liv'd to bless his shed.
Aug. 24, 1810.
ON LEAvnra ooepus oheisti college, on his
ELECTION TO A PELLOWSHIP OE OEIEL.
How soft, how silent has the stream of time
Borne me unheeding on, since first I dream'd
Of poetry and glory in thy shade.
Scene of my earliest harpings ? There, if oft,
(As through thy courts I took my nightly round,
Where thy embattled line of shadow hid
The moon's white glimmerings) on my charm'd ear
Have swell'd of thy triumphant minstrelsy '
Some few faint notes ; if one exulting chord
Of my touched heart has thrill'd in unison,
Shall I not cling unto thee ? shall I cast
No strained glance on my adopted home.
Departing ? Seat of calm delight, farewell !
Home of my muse, and of my friends ! I ne'er
'. Sir John T. Colerirlge, at that time a Scholar of C.C.C., had won tht
Prize for Latin Verses, on " Pyramides iEgyptiacae," in tlie year 1810.
On leavifig Corpus Christi College, 165
Shall see thee but with such a gush of soul
As flows from him who welcomes some dear face
Lost in his childhood. Yet not lost to me
Art thou : for still my heart exults to own thee,
And memory still, and friendship make thee mine.
June 28, 1811.
SONG.
They say I am no faithful swain,
Because I do not fold my arms,
And gaze and sigh, and gaze again,
And curse my fair one's fatal charms.
I cannot weep, I cannot sigh.
My fair one's heart laughs in her eye.
I cannot creep like weary wight,
My fair one's step is free and light.
When fix'd in memory's mirror dwells
Some dear-lov'd form to fleet no more,
Transform'd as by Arabian spells.
We catch the likeness we adore.
Then ah ! who would not love most true ?
Who would not be in love with you ?
So might he learn the bliss of heart
Which waits on those who bliss impart.
Might learn through smiles and tears to shine.
Like Angels, and like Caroline.
1811.
A THOUaST ON A TINE MOENING.
God's mercy is in the pure beam of Spring :
The gale of morning is His blessed breath,
Cheering created things, that as they drink
At these low founts of intermitting joy
Their souls may bless Him, and with quicken'd thirst
Pant for the river of life, and light of heaven.
O, sun-bright gleams, and ye unfolding depths
Of azure space, what are ye but a pledge
And precious foretaste of that cloudless day.
Gladdening at intervals the good man's heart
With earnest of infinitude ? The while
He on his rugged path moves cheerily.
Toward joys that mock the measuring eye of hope,
As yon abyss ethereal mocks our gaze.
March 8, 1S12.
TO THE NIGHTINGALE.
All hail, thou messenger of spring and love,
Instinct with music, and with blissful thought !
\Vhat spell unknown from genial southern grove,
From purer gales, and skies without a blot.
Does round thy charmed beak and pinions move,
Mellowing our rude air to receive thy note ?
Art thou indeed a thing of soulless frame ?
And heaves that bosom with no minstrel flame ?
O, no ! for sure those thrilling tones had mind,
That trembled from beneath the evening star,
In whose dear light thou sittest as enshrined
While woods and waves do rustle from afar,
And to thy varied descant the low wind
Makes fitful answer, which no sound may mar
Of beast or meaner bird : they silent all
Are held by that sweet chain in willing thrall.
To the Nightingale. 169
Thy song has language : to each heart of man
It sounds in unison : but who are they
Who best thy mystic melodies may scan ?
The Poet musing at the close of day.
He who with heavy heart and visage wan
In thought of vanish'd bliss does sadly stray :
The lover when his true love is not by,
And the rapt ear of Heaven-taught infancy.
Full greedily the joyous infant drinks
Those wildly quivering notes thou fling'st on high ;
Shuddering in griei's dear joy, the mourner shrinks
From what he loves, thy sadder melody ;
And in thy long low strain the lover thinks
He hears the echo of his lonely sigh :
And be thy song of joyaunce or of woe,
Still o'er his inmost heart the Poet feels it flow.
May II, 1812.
SONNET.
Yes, I will stamp her image on my soul,
Though all unworthy such high portraiture
Tablet so vile, — for ever to endure.
Nor, though by fits across my spirit roll
Dim clouds of anguish, shall my heart give way.
For not in weak and infant- hke distress
Behoves it the fair moonlight to survey
Because we cannot grasp it : rather bless
The dear mild ray that on the throbbing heart
Falls soft as seraph's glance of kindliest power,
And doth its melting loveliness impart
To all it looks upon. In happy hour
So may I frame my soul to think on thee.
Whom never but from far these worthless eyes
may see.
June, i8i2.
STANZAS ADDEESSED TO A "GLOOMY THINKEE^
Ah ! cease my friend, that mournful lay !
Arouse thee from thy gloomy dream !
The clouds that dimmed thy morning's ray
Shew but more bright thy noon-day gleam.
Foremost in glory's sun-bright steep,
Foremost in duty's mild career,
No drop for thee thy friends shall weep,
But proud affection's burning tear.
And when, thy giant course gone by,
On clouds of bliss thy sun shall fall,
How joyous then shall Memor)''s eye
View sorrows borne at Virtue's call !
k I am afraid these were ■written in answer to some stanzas entitled
•Gloomy tboughts," by me. J. T. C.
172 Stafizas addressed to a " Gloomy Thinker ^
Then shalt thou know the bliss of blessing,
Thou, whom no selfish joy could move ;
In peace thy stedfast soul possessing,
Rich in good deeds, and good men's love.
June^ 1812.
"NEC ME DISOEDEEE PLEVIT."
My spirit lingers round that blessed space,
Which prisons her fair form. Still on mine ear
Like dying notes of angels' minstrelsy
Her lips' last music dwells. Yet not to me
O, not to me was pour'd the parting glance,
Enrapturing anguish : not to me the hand
Held out in kindness, whose remember'd touch
Might soothe the absent heart. And it is well.
Why should she think on me ? she holds her course
A happy star in heaven, by gales of bliss
LuU'd to repose on the soft-bosom'd clouds,
Or bathing in the pure blue deep of light.
In grossness I, and mists of earthly sense,
Creep on my way benighted : half afraid
To lift my eye to brightness : or perchance
If wayward fate so wills, a moment rais'd
To float an unsubstantial meteor-light,
Born of this nether air, and there to die.
yune 15, 1812.
A WET DAY AT MIDSUMMEE.
How mournfully the lingering rain-drops sound,
As one by one they rustle on the leaves,
To him who inly groans in sad suspense
AVatching some pale lov'd face ! The summer eve
Is dimm'd by showers, and murky hues o'ercast
The comfortable glow that wont to cheer
This musing hour. E'en such a mist has hung
O'er thee, my sister, w4ien-so thou hast look'd
From thy sad couch o'er lawns and turfy glades,
Where erst, the lightest in the rural throng.
Blithesome you roved, in blessing all most blest.
And as e'en now beneath yon dusky arch
Bursts unexpected light, so Faith's fond eye
Looks on to days of health, when smilingly
We shall recount these long anxieties.
And bhss be dearer for remember'd woe.
June 23, 1812.
THE riEST SIGHT OP THE SEA^.
(Probably written in the Isle of Wight.)
'* For now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face:
now I know in part, but then shall I know even as also I am
known." — I Cor. xiii. 12.
Visions of vastness and of beauty ! long
Too long have I neglected ye : content
Nor to have sooth'd my soul to rest among
Your evening lullaby of breeze and wave,
While the low sun retiring glow'd from far
Like pillar'd gold upon a marble plain;
Nor yet wild waked from that deceitful sleep,
When the storm waved his giant scourge, and rode
Upon the rising billow, have I sate
Listening with fearful joy, and pulse that throbbed
In unison with every bursting wave.
Yet the strong passion slept within my soul
Like an unwaken'd sense : e'en as the blind
1 This poem was first printed in " Days and Seasons."
176 The First Sight of the Sea.
Mingles in one dear dream all softest sounds,
All smoothest surfaces, and calls it Light.
Such lovely, formless visions late were mine,
Dear to remembrance yet : but far more dear
The present glories of this world of waves.
So through a glass seen darkly, mortals deem
Of things eternal : but even now is the hour
When gales from heaven shall blow, and the true
Sun,
Rising in glory o'er the unknown expanse.
Shall pour at once upon the unbodied soul
Floods of such blessedness, as mortal sense
Might not endure, nor spirit pent in flesh
Imagine dimly. Be my race so run,
In holy faith, and righteous diligence,
That purged from earthly film and fear my soul
May catch her first glimpse of Eternity,
Mists gradual roll away, and the calm waves
Still smile and brighten as I draw more near.
'&'
Attg. 5, 1812.
WKITTEN AT SIDMOUTH.
Why art thou sad, my soul, when all around
Such loveliness salutes thee ? fragrant airs,
Bowers of unfading green, soft murmuring brooks,
Gay sunny slopes that wear their vernal hues.
Mocking the breath of winter ; gorgeous cliffs,
And Ocean's awful pageantry ; — and more
And dearer far, soft smiles, and radiant eyes.
Thou wert not wont vvith dim and tearful gaze
To look on these ; — then wherefore art thou sad ?
Thou art not here : far distant many a mile
Thou lingerest, nor beneath a genial sky :
Hovering unseen around th' untimely couch
Of her, thy best beloved : and thou dost grieve
Because thou art not of that happy choir
That holds sweet evening converse at her side ;
Because thou sharest not that pledge of peace
M
178 Wriiteji at Sidmouth.
A father's nightly orison ; because
Hearts knit to thine as its own vital flakes
Partake not of thy wonderings, and thy joys.
I stifle not thy sighs. 'Tis meet that thou should'st
mourn.
Jan I, 1813.
TO A OAYE OTDEE HIGH PEAK, SIDMOUTH.
I LOVE thee well, thou solitary Cave,
Though thee no legend, or of war or love,
Or mermaid issuing from her coral grove
Ennoble : nought beside the fretful wave
That round thy portal arch doth idly rave.
Has waked thine echoes ; nor in lonely age
Has seaman sought thee for his hermitage,
That ocean's voice might lull him to his grave.
I love thee for his sake who brought me here.
Companion of my wildered walk, and bore
A part in all those visions dim and dear
In which my tranced spirit loves to soar.
When gales sigh soft, and rills are murmuring near,
And evenly the distant billows roar.
Feb. 21, 1813.
TO THE MEMOEY OP JOHN LEYDEN'", M.D.
O, MOURNFUL on our ears the wild harp died
When the bard sang farewell to Teviotside ;
And gentle hearts, while thou wert far away,
Own'd sad misgivings for thy plaintive lay.
Ah, too prophetic ! in the flush of years
Sweet minstrel, far from thine Aurelia's tears,
Thy glorious task hath bowed thee to the tomb.
Most mournful, yet most blessed was thy doom !
Most blessed was thy doom, the rural Muse
Dropp'd on thy cradled head her blandest dews,
And melting hues of moonlight loveliness,
And fairy forms thy childish eyne would bless.
Thou, too, hadst learn'd to love ; and not in vain,
If right I guess, was pour'd thy soothing strain.
m Dr. John Leyden, who assisted Sir Walter Scott in procuring materials
and ill istrations for the *■ Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," died as Pro-
fessor of the Native Dialects in the Bengal College, Calcutta, in the year
1811. He was engaged in translating the Uoly Scriptures at the time of
his death into ^even languages into which they had not then been translated
A small volume of his poems was published in i8ai, which contained some
very beautiful pieces, now, it is to be feared, entirely forgotten ; one es-
pecially, an Address to an Indian Gold Coin.
To the Memory of John Leyde^t, M.D. i8i
To each fond note that down the valley sigh'd
Some chord within thy fair one's heart replied ;
Breathless she listen'd for the song of love,
Nor miss'd the nightingale from Teviot's grove.
Most blessed was thy doom : to thy bold glance
Flew wide the gorgeous portals of Roma ace ;
From living gems that deck her mystic cell
Thine eye caught lustre, and the sacred spell
Of high chivalric song upon thy spirit fell.
O, sweeter than the music of the grove,
The border clarion, or the lute of love,
Those angel-notes that on thy dying ear
Fell soft, recalling all thy soul held dear,
All bright remembrances of deeds well done.
Of Mercy's work for half mankind begun,
All the calm joys of hearts in virtue sure.
All holy longings, all affections pure.
With thy free soul in bliss for ever to endure.
Feb. 5, 1813.
ON BEING EEQUESTED TO WEITE SOME YEESES
m A PKIEND'S OOMMON-PLAOE BOOK".
IN" AY, ask not for a lay of mine,
Too fitful is my spirit's gleam ;
With wavering and unsteady shine
It mocks me like a lover's dream.
And O, my heart is all too weak,
And all too faltering is my tongue ;
I cannot gain, I dare not seek
The ennobling meed of sacred song.
For lofty look, and open brow.
Heart fearless in its glorious aim,
That shrinks not from the slanderer's blow
Shrinks not from aught save wise men's
blame ;
n Written by himself in my Look. J. T. C.
Na}\ ask not for a lay of mine. 183
These, and the self-possessing mind
That views unmoved, though not in scorn,
All earth-born aims of lowlier kind,
With the true bard should all be born.
But I, — if e'er from dewy eye
Or summer sun my soul catch fire, —
Too soon the lights of minstrelsy
Quench'd in some gale of care expire.
Nor upward to its native heaven
Ascends the altar-flame; but wild
By some capricious passion driven
Leaves all forlorn Hope's dreaming child.
March 15, 1813.
EOBIN LEE.
A Ballad founded on a tradition still preserved at
Salcombe Eegis, Devon.
" O, HEARD ye not the night-wind's roar
How in his rage he swept the cove ?
O, father, hie thee to the shore,
My heart is shuddering for my love.''
" Cease, daughter, cease thine idle fears,
Far off in port he safely sleeps •
And now, behold, thy sighs and tears
Have rous'd thy child ; — poor babe, he weeps.
" Sing, daughter, sing thy lullaby.
But when the babe is soothed to rest
Lend thy light step and eagle eye
To aid me in my fearful quest.
Robin Lee. 185
" For I will hie me to the coast,
Haply some founder'd bark lies there,
Or some poor seaman, tempest tost,
For my son's sake demands my care !"
She listen'd as his footsteps part,
She listen'd with a stifled sigh ;
Then to her child with heavy heart
She turn'd and sang her lullaby.
" O, hush thee, poor baby, I like not thy moan,
Thou need'st not weep, though thy father be gone ;
The wild winds have borne thy father afar,
To ride o'er the waves, and to join the war.
" O, it dwells on my heart how he smiled and
sighed,
When he tore him away from his love-lorn bride ;
Bitter the smile, and boding the sigh,
And the parting kiss was agony.
" He said, ' ;My love, O think on me
When thou singest thy darling's lullaby ;'
And all too well have I kept his 'hest,
For my sighs oft waken thee on my breast.
1 86 Robin Lee.
" But see, how my lovely one smiles in sleep !
O, mayst thou never wake to weep !
O, when will such joy as now thou'rt dreaming,
Upon this darken'd heart be gleaming ? "
Soft was the mother's parting kiss.
But mingled with a bitter tear ;
So softly sweet his dream of bliss.
So bitter sad her dream of fear.
All as she traced old Robin Lee
Along that wild and winding dell.
Responsive to the fitful sea,
Her bursting bosom rose and fell.
But when she reached the lonely strand.
For aye that bosom ceas'd to beat :
Her sire all speechless wrung her hand.
Her husband's corse lay at her feet!
Soft was her infant's sleep the while.
He dream'd his wonted dream of bliss.
But when he turn'd with waking smile
He met no more a mother's kiss.
Robin Lee. 187
Seest thou yon grey and woe-worn form
Slow wandering by the wintry sea,
Watching with haggard smile the storm ?
That aged man is Robin Lee.
And that lorn boy, whose eager eye
Wanders so wild from wave to wave,
Sings a sad soothing lullaby
Each evening o'er his parents' grave.
April 10, 1 813.
STANZAS ON LEAVING SIDMOUTH.
(Fragment.)
Ye lingering hours speed on ! with infant haste
My heart springs homeward, springs to meet the
bhss,
Which but in one dear spot it ne'er can taste,
Joy's surest pledge, the dear domestic kiss.
Yet ere I leave thee, vale of many flowers.
My lowly harp would whisper one farewell ;
Though glad to go, I linger in thy bowers,
And half could wish thou wert my native dell.
For oft from rustling copse, or fountain's flow.
Thine echoes soft have thrill'd mine heart along.
Lulling each wayward care and dream of woe.
And the wild wave made solemn undersong.
Oft as the conscious freedom swell'd my breast,
As on thy downs I drank the rushing gale.
Or mark'd, far stretching in the dark blue West,
The buoyant glories of the sun-bright sail.
Stanzas on leaving Sidmoiith. 189
And but my spirit sear'd by sorrow's brand
Can taste no more the bitter sweets of love,
Some fairy queen of that enchanted land
Had heard my harpings in the moonlight grove.
Forbidden is that dearest thrill to me,
But I can feel and bless the kindly gale,
That in thy bowers of ease and rural glee
Cheers the forlorn, and bids the stranger hail.
April 17, 1813.
"NTJNQUAM AUDITUEll."
How can I leave thee all unsung,
While my heart owns thy dear control ;
And Heaven and Love have o'er thee flung
The softest moonlight of the soul ?
O, I have long'd for thee to call
Soft echo from the West Wind's hall,
Some notes as blithely wild to seek,
As the wild music of thy voice,
As the wild roses that rejoice
In thine eyes' sunshine on thy glowing cheek.
For not the breath of mortal praise
Thine artless beauty dares profane ;
For thee wild Natiure wakes her lays,
And thy soul feels the blessed strain.
The song that breaks the grove's repose,
The shower-drop rustling on the rose,
The brooklet's morning melody, —
To these with soft and solemn tone
Thy spirit stirs in unison,
Owning the music of its native sky.
" Nunquam A uditurcey 191
And when in some fair golden hour
Thy heart-strings shall give back the sigh
Of Love's wild harp, no earthly bower
Shall lend such hues as bloom to die ;
But earnest of the eternal spring
Their amarant wreaths shall angels bring,
And preluding the choir of heaven
Soft Eden gales shall sweep the lyre,
And star-like points of guiltless fire
From God's own altar-flame to gem thy brow be given.
It is my pride that I can deem
Though faintly, of that being's worth,
Who to th' All-gracious Mind shall seem
Meet help for thee in heaven and earth.
Long as before life's gale I drive
Shall holiest hope within me live,
Thee fair, thee blessed while I view.
And when the port of endless rest
Receives me, may my soul be blest
With everlasting, endless gaze on you.
April 13, 1813.
SOraET<^ "OONCEKNING THE TEUE POET."
Whom blesseth most the gentle dew of heaven ?
Whose heart is sweetest thrill'd by Nature's song ?
Who in still musings moonlight bowers among
Drinks purest light from the soft star of Even ?
Is it not he who knows whence each is given ?
Who, not unweeting of that Ocean source
Whence springs each stream of glory, where in
course
This lower world first compass'd, all are driven.
Sees upon each fair thing the stamp and seal
Of Him who made it ; hears and owns His voice
Linking all harmonies ; but most his heart
The impulse of its master-key doth feel.
And in the consciousness of Heaven rejoice,
When woman duly plays her angel-part ?
Au^. 8, 1813.
o Written at the end of an essay on the Lake Poets, which concluded with
mentioning their beautiful exhibition of female character.
TO J. T. 0, WITH PETEAEOA. ,
These are the workings of a spirit pure,
And high and zealous ; one of those elect
Whom the All-wise hath beckon'd from the crowd
Of meaner souls, to set their thrones on high
Among the sons of men. Do thou, my friend.
My Coleridge ! spirit zealous, pure, and high !
Accept them, not misdeeming of their worth,
Because the worldly and the sensual slight
Their precious fragrance, all too fine for nerves
Gross and unpurged as theirs. But thou hast
walk'd
Among the gardens of true Poesy,
And every nectar-dew that drops at eve,
And every balmy steam that morn exhales.
Hath steep'd thy soul in gladness. Thou wilt love
The laurell'd bard, whether his burning wire,
Touch'd by the sun-beam of reviving Rome,
Ring out, as Memnon's erst, and rouse the sons
Of his own Italy to arms and songs :
194 To y. T. C, with Pet r area.
Or chant his hermit hymn to Heaven and Love,
Soft, yet severe : for Piety had framed
The melody, and every wilder chord
Was temper'd to her solemn undersong.
So Love seem'd what he is, — a spirit devout.
Owning God most in His most beauteous work.
Such shalt thou feel, and such for thee be felt,
My Coleridge ! at the appointed hour, if Heaven
Loathe not my daily suit ; — for I have tried
And known thee. I have proved thee true and kind.
Wise for the simple, for the wavering firm ;
And much it grieves me that in Life's dark maze
So soon our paths shall sever.
Fare thee well !
And as along the lowly vale I wind,
Scale thou untired, yet sometimes making sign
That thou rememberest me, the mountain's height ;
And be thy glory as thy virtue ! yet,
Yet once again, insatiable of good
For thee and thine, my tide of gratitude
Must flow towards Heaven, for I am nought below.
O, Thou All-merciful ! Be these my friends
Beneath Thy wing for ever ! Visit them
To y. T. C, with Petrarca. 195
With daily blessings, nightly dreams of bliss !
Be Memory still their comforter, be Hope
Their constant guide j and wise and good men's
love
Their stay on earth. Be Thou their rest in
heaven !
Sept. 14, 1813.
SONG.
Tell me, ye maidens fair and wise,
Who joy in Nature's loveliness,
What forms, what hues in earth or skies
Doth Beauty most delight to bless ?
Comes she on Autumn's sounding wing,
Or on the frolic breath of Spring ?
Dwells she beneath that banner bright
That o'er the car of Morning streams.
Or trembling in the wan moonlight
When faint the rose of Evening gleams ?
Kindles her eye with Hope's full blaze.
Or melts in Memory's lingering gaze ?
If right I guess, our hearts beguiling.
By turns she pours her fairy glance,
Now in Regret all sadly smiling.
Now fix'd in Faith's prophetic trance :
Still luring us to heaven, our home.
By bliss gone by, or bliss to come.
Oct. 12, 1 813.
ODE ON THE YIOTORIES IN THE
PYRENEES, 1813.
What mountain-echoes roll
Across the roughening main ?
Is it the torrent's voice that shakes my soul ?
Is it the wolf wild howling o'er the slain ?
That torrent in its stormy might
Hath swept a thousand flags away,
That blithely danced in glory's light
Mocking the sun of yesterday.
Long o'er Biscaya's lonely wold
That war-wolfs howl, at midnight hour
Hath scared the watchers of the fold ;
Now walks he forth at noon in vengeance to devour.
198 Ode on the Victories in the Pyrenees^ 18 13.
In justice walks he forth :
Before his red eye's glare
They shrink, the wasters of the smiling earth,
They bow themselves, they sicken with despair.
Dash'd from their foul unholy grasp
The silver-winged Eagle lies,
Each tyrant draws one wildering gasp,
Curses his anguish once, and dies.
Then from Cantabria's cloudy height
Freedom in thunder spake to Spain,
Her pealing voice dispers'd the night
Of mist that long had hover'd o'er her mountain
reign.
Doth yet one lingering war-note dwell
In arched grot or bowery dell.
Of that triumphant clarion blast
O'er rock, and copse, and torrent cast
From Ronceval's immortal fight ;
That told how many a prowest knight,
Hurl'd headlong from his seat of pride.
Beneath thy grasp, Iberia, died ?
Ode 071 the Victories in the Pyrenees, 1813. 199
Wake, Echo, from thy sleep of years !
Pour, long and loud, that solemn melody !
Let it arise like chanted orison
Toward heaven-gate. The holy work is done,
Britain hath wiped Iberia's tears
And Ronceval beheld the Christians' victory !
July 30, 1813.
0, STAY THEE YET, &c.
O, STAY thee yet, bright image, stay.
Fleet not so fast from this sad heart ;
Cheer yet awhile my weary way,
Nor e'en with parting life depart.
Let Memory paint thee as she will,
Whether all blithe in childhood's smile.
Or with that look so meek and still
That wayward care so well could guile ;
Or languishing like lily pale.
That waits but till the sunlight cease,
Then hides her in her dewy veil,
And bows her head, and sleeps in peace.
Most angel-like ! I trust in Heaven
That yet some impress faint of thee
May to this wearied heart be given,
All sad and earth-worn though it be.
(9, stay Thee yet ^ 6^c. 201
Who wears so bright a gem within,
How should his heart from God remove ?
How can he change for toys of sin
The earnest of a seraph's love ?
For well I guess, — and oft my soul
Holds tearful triumph in the dream, —
That when Religion's soft control
Lights me with pure and placid beam ;
When I do good and think aright,
At peace with man, resign'd to God,
Thou look'st on me with eyes of light,
Tasting new joy in Joy's abode.
But in my dark and evil hour
Wlien wan despair mine eyelids seals.
When worldly passions round me lower,
And all the man corruption feels,
Thou turn'st not then thine eyes below,
Or clouds of glory beam between,
Lest earthly pangs of fear or woe
Upon an angel's brow be seen.
202 O, stay Thee yet ^ &>€.
By one alone, — thy sister saint, —
Thou watchest e'en in grief and ill;
Though on her couch of woe she faint,
Thine eye of joy is on her still.
For well thou know'st her every tear
Becomes a deathless gem in heaven ;
To every pang well suffer'd here
A suffering Saviour's love is given.
June i6, 1814,
The day of his sister Sarah^s death.
SONNET.
When I behold yon arch magnificent
Spanning the gorgeous West, the autumnal bed
Where the great Sun now hides his weary head,
With here and there a purple isle, that rent
From that huge cloud, their solid continent,
Seem floating in a sea of golden light,
A fire is kindled in my musing sprite,
And Fancy whispers, such the glories lent
To this our mortal life : most glowing fair
But built on clouds, and melting while we gaze.
Yet since those shadowy lights sure witness bear
Of One not seen, the undying Sun and Source
Of good and fair, who wisely them surveys.
Will use them well to cheer his heavenward
course.
Sunday, Oct. 20, l8l6.
LINES SENT WITH THE LIVES OP EIDLEY
AND CEANMEE.
Thou, whom with proud and happy heart I call
Mine, first by birth, but more by love unfeign'd,
And by that awful warfare most of all,
To which by holiest vows we are constrain'd,
Brother, behold thy calling ! These are they,
Who arm'd themselves with Prayer, and boldy tried
Wisdom's untrodden steeps, and won their way ;
God's Word their lamp. His Spirit was their guide.
These would not spare their lives for fear or ruth j
Therefore their God was with them, and the glare
Of their death-fires still lights the land to Truth,
To shew what might is in a Martyr's prayer.
Read, and rejoice ; yet humbly : for our strife
Is perilous like theirs ; for Death or Life.
Jan. 5, 1 817.
AT HOOKER'S TOMB p.
The grey-eyed Morn was sadden'd with a shower,
A silent shower, that trickled down so still.
Scarce drooped beneath its weight the tenderest
flower,
Scarce could you trace it on the twinkling rill.
Or moss-stone bathed in dew. It was an hour
Most meet for prayer beside thy lowly grave.
Most for thanksgiving meet, that Heaven such power
To thy serene and humble spirit gave.
'' Who sow good seed with tears shall reap in joy."
So thought I as I watch'd the gracious rain,
And deem'd it like that silent sad employ
Whence sprung thy glory's harvest, to remain
For ever. God hath sworn to lift on high
Who sinks himself by true humility.
A2io.^ 1817.
P The original MS. is on a half-sheet of foolscap paper, folded, with a
pieee of dried wall-rue in it, no doubt gathered on the spot.
rORWAED^
" The hope which is laid up for you in heaven," — CoL i. 5.
The traveller "", when his time is short,
Speeds, careless of the rugged way ;
He lingers not for village sport,
He lingers not for landscape gay.
The birds his woodland path beside,
Riot in wildest bliss of song ;
The moonlight streams so sweetly guide, —
He dares not look, or linger long.
The Christian knows his time is short,
But oh ! the way is rough and drear ;
And bowers of bliss are nigh, to court
His spirit from its high career.
q First printed in " Days and Seasons."
r Composed during a hard trot on the Wituey road, on a Monday morning,
March, 1818.
Forward. 207
Let him not swerve ; for storms and night
The erring soul have oft opprest :
But who rides on is sure of light
To guide him to his promis'd rest.
EAELt VISIONS.
Farewell, bright visions of my lonely hours,
Gay dreams of buoyant hope, a long farewell !
No room for me in Hymen's holy bowers :
I have no part in Love's delightful spell.
Still must I hold alone my weary course.
No tender arm upon mine arm to lean ;
No kind and loving eye, whose gentle force
From selfish grief my wayward heart might wean.
Deep in the windings of a bowery dale,
(A spot where angels might delight to roam,)
Haunt of each sun-bright hue, each fragrant gale,
Presumptuous fancy built my pastoral home.
And many a flower adorn'd the low-roof 'd hall
And round the half-hidden casement cluster'd fair.
And hard beside the iv3^-mantled wall,
In holiest beauty rose the House of Prayer.
Early Visions. 209
The sounds of rivulets was not far away,
Of soft rains rustling on the dewy eaves ;
Or of that mimic shower when west winds play
At random in the trembling poplar-leaves.
Birds, lambs, and children made our vocal quire,
With here and there a village roundelay ; —
Such tones as careless flung from Nature's lyre.
Best help two faithful hearts to love and pray.
No louder sound might our sweet rest annoy.
Save that companion of our twilight hours.
Sobering with thoughts of heaven our earthly joy.
The church-bell's voice went round our quiet bowers.
Nor seem'd the holy invitation vain ; — ■
Duly at morn and eve (so spake my dream)
From rest, or labour done, a rustic train,
Pursued the churchway path beside the stream.
ON A MOiniMENT IN LIOHPIELD OATHEDEAL.'
This cannot be the sleep of death,
Or sure it must be sweet to die ;
So calm, this holy roof beneath,
On such a quiet couch to lie.
Each gently pressing, gently prest.
To slumber in each other's arms ;
This shrinking to her sister's breast.
For shelter from all earth's alarms,
With such entire and perfect trust.
That e'en in sleep she seems to say,
" I shall lie safe, I know I must.
My Ellen holds me night and day."
• Printed, but without the four last stanzas, in " Church Poetry." 1848.
On a Monu?nent in Lichfield Cathedral. 211
The other with maturer grace,
In dawn of thoughtful womanhood,
Half upward turns her fair, meek face,
As if an angel o'er her stood.
As calm her brow, as sure her faith,
But more than infants use, she knew
(If right I guess,) of Life, and Death,
Of Death, and Resurrection too.
Already now her ear began
The depths of solemn sound to trace;
The thrilling joys that round her ran
When mu.-ic fill'd this holy place.
Yon dark arch'd galleries, high aloof.
The glory and the mystery
Of long-drawn aisle and fretted roof.
Already caught her wondering eye.
And she would gaze, when morning's glow
Through yonder gorgeous panes was streaming,
As if in every niche below
Saints in their glory-robes were gleaming.
212 On a Monument in Lichfield Cathedral.
To thee, dear maid, each kindly wile
Was known that elder sisters know,
To check the unseasonable smile
AVith warning hand, and serious brow.
From dream to dream with her to rove,
Like fairy nurse with hermit child :
Teach her to think, to pray, to love,
Make grief less bitter, joy less wild ;
These were thy tasks : and who can say,
What visions high, what solemn talk.
What flashes of unearthly day.
Might bless them in their evening walk ?
Oft as with arms and hearts entwined
They mused aloud, this twilight hour,
What awful truths high God hath shrined
In every star, and cloud, and flower !
But one day, when the glorious theme
Seem'd but to mock their feeble sight ;
As they look'd up from earth's dark dream
To worlds where all is pure and bright.
On a Alonument in Lichfield Cathedral. 213
Strong in the strength of infancy,
In httle children's wisdom wise,
They heard a Voice " Come home to Me ;
Yours is the kingdom of the skies."
Their home is won, their simple faith
Is crown'd : in peace behold they lie.
This cannot be the sleep of death,
Or sure it must be sweet to die.
But thou, fond man, whose earth-bound eye.
By sorrow dimm'd, but more by sin.
Thus vainly strains itself to spy
The purer world that liv'd their innocent hearts within j
Back, soldier ! to thy daily strife !
The virgin whiteness of thy shield
Is sullied ; nor till setting life
Can their enjoyments be to thee reveal'd.
214 On a Monument in Lichfield Cathedral.
Only this secret take with thee,
And let it calm each murmuring thought,
The blissful rest thou here dost see,
By vigils of deep agony was bought.
And He, whose Blood the purchase made.
Yet guards it. Make His arms thine home.
As soft a veil thine eyes shall shade.
To soothe thy wearied soul as glorious visions come.
July 22, 1 819.
AT PENSHTJEST.
Not the dark shade of thy majestic groves,
Not the rich verdure of thine oaken bowers,
Not thy fair winding stream that wanton roves
By tufted lawns, and sloping banks of flowers ;
Not e'en those awful and time-honour'd towers.
That in their grey old age yet seem to sliine
As bright with glory as in those high hours
\Vhen some new trophy of the illustrious line.
By high-soul'd chiefs, and bards of strains di\ine
O'er the arch'd portal day by day was hung :
Nor yet that sacred oak, the undpng shrine
Of Sidney's name by all the Muses sung,
Have lured us, Penshurst, here : a holier shade
Haunts thee. We come to pray where Hammond
prayed.
HAMMOND'S aEAVE.
Meek, pastoral, quiet souls, whoe'er ye be,
Who love to ply in peace your daily task.
Nor of your gracious God find aught to ask,
But what may help you in Eternity.
Kind spirits, sooth'd and cheer'd by all you meet.
Soothing and cheering all yourselves no less.
Because in all ye see ye own and bless
A God who loves you, and accepts your love :
Would ye find out a fitting tomb ? These firs.
Their sea-like dirge soft whispering day and night.
Hither your weary wandering steps invite.
These yew-trees' massive shade, that hardly stirs
On the grey tomb-stones : all the still churchyard.
Not mingling with the haunts of men, yet seen
From some few cottage-windows o'er the green,
(As if just so much of the world it shared.
As might wake Charity, and silence Pride,)
Come take your rest with these, by holy Hammond's
side.
Sept. 9, 1819.
SPEDTG FLOWEES/
The loveliest flowers the closest cling to earth,
And they first feel the sun ; so violets blue,
So the soft star-like primrose drench'd in dew,
The happiest of Spring's happ}^, fragrant birth.
To gentlest touches sweetest tones reply.
Still humbleness with her low-breathed voice
Can steal o'er man's proud heart, and win his choice
From earth to heaven, with mightier witchery
Than eloquence or wisdom e'er could own.
Bloom on then in your shade, contented bloom.
Sweet flowers, nor deem yourselves to all unknown.
Heaven knows you, by w^hose gales and dews ye
thrive.
They know, who one day for their alter'd doom
Shall thank you, taught by you to abase themselves
and live.
April, 1820.
t First printed in the " Casket," 1829
ON THE NOETH EOAD.
Yon tower that gleams against the blackening east,
Borrowing such haughty radiance of the sun,
Stands like a Christian in the dark cold world.
Confronting, in the glory Heaven has lent.
The loathsomeness of ill, and making sin
The fouler for ils fairness. On his way
The traveller pauses with insatiate gaze.
And turns his back upon Heaven's fountain fire,
To admire its faint reflection in man's work.
Vain moralizer ! Know'st thou not thyself ?
Azio-, 25, 1820.
NEWTON OLirr, NEAE PLEDBOKOUGH,
"Written on the occasion of Mrs. Arnold's Birthday, ten day?
after lier Marriage.
Blow fresli and fair, thou cheerful summer breeze,
Let rustling corn, light reeds, and wav}^ trees.
Join the soft swell of Trent's majestic wave.
All sounds that loudest tell of Nature's life,
Bespeaking mirth, and joy, and mimic strife.
Blend with a few low notes in measure glad but grave.
And be the time when the last summer sun
From his meridian throne has just begun
To slope his westering course ; let one soft cloud
Mantling around him pour its liquid glow
O'er wood, and dale, and tower and spire below.
And in its showery skirts the horizon blue enshroud.
2 20 Newton Cliffy 7iear Fledborough.
So may the various view best answer make
To thoughts that in their bosoms are awake,
Who now on this sequester'd terrace roam,
With eyes now wandering round the prospect wide,
Now fondly fix'd where ail their hearts abide,
On one dear shelter'd spot, their sacred, happy home.
And if tliose eyes I read not all amiss.
The day seems richer in its tearful bliss.
Than even in its gayest hours of mirth.
Sweet dreams, sweet hopes, sweet recollections rise.
And she \\\io now is hidden from their eyes
Seems closer to their hearts, their best-beloved on
earth.
O, then, blest tenants of the sweetest isle
That ever welcom'd with its soothing smile
Tired wanderers o'er the world's tempestuous
void.
Mourn not though henceforth one lov'd footstej
less.
Your consecrated turf may duly press.
And tend your quiet bowers, enjoying and enjoy 'd.
Newton Cliffy ?iear Fledborough. 221
Look how yon stream, of you belov'd so well,
Is lovelier, sometimes plunging in his dell,
And lost in winding round his verdurous wall.
Than if to broad bright sunshine all the way
He held his mirror : so this happy day
Shines happier through such tears as now from you
may fall.
So, too, your own fair garden fairer shev/s
For the grey tombs that in its grass repose.
And solemn arches with your flowers inwreathing,
WTiere round the church, as from its central shrine.
The charm of love domestic, love di\ine.
O'er every little leaf by day and night is breathing.
Happ}-, who know their happiness not here !
To whom sad thoughts of time and change are dear.
As bearing earnest of eternal rest ;
\Vho at Love's call, or Death's, contented part.
And feel Heaven's peace the deeper in their heart.
Brooding like fondest dove upon her darling nest.
Aug. 21, 1820.
BY AN OLD BACHELOR VEEY DISCONSOLATE
AT PAETINC WITH HIS POUE WIVES".
Is it not sad dear friends should part
Ere each has to the other shewn
More than one Httle corner of a heart ?
Were it not better to abide unknown ?
Nay, but in this dull, darkling earth
If more than transient gleams were given .
Of full confiding love, and the heart's mirth,
'Twould surely steal our spirits frail from
heaven.
Then let us thankfully forego
What fancy loves to paint so bright,
Nor grieve our sweetest solace here to know,
Like our last hope, by faith and not by sight.
Ano, 30, 1822,
u This ami the foUowins? poem wore addressed to the daughters of the
Rev. Mr. Pruen, curate to the Eev. Stafford Pmith, Mr. Keble's godfather. ,
TO THE SAME.
Mary, Margaret, Anne, Eliza,
Silent maidens of the mill.
Hear a culprit's sad confession,
Whom your frowns would almost kill.
You w^ere plying heads and elbows.
Puzzling all your c}^hering wit.
Fidgeting in twenty postures.
Polls were scratch'd, and nails were bit.
I, meantime, ungrateful varlet,
Quite forgetting all my vows,
(If I could, I'd blush like scarlet,)
Was gone up to Craycombe House.
Now so sad the pangs of conscience,
I am wasted, bark and pith.
Like a wither'd branch of elder,
(So says Mrs. Stafford Smith).
2 24 To the Sajne.
Spare me in consideration
Of my weak and nervous state :
Think, when I am drown'd in Avon,
Your regret may come too late.
I should spoil my Sunday waistcoat,
Oxford lose her fairest sprig,
And I'd haunt, I do assure you.
Haunt you in a doctor's wig !
THE EOOK,
There was a young rook, and he lodged in a nook
Of grandpapa's tallest elm-tree ;
There came a strong wind, not at all to his mind,
All out of the north-west countree.
With a shrill piping sound this wind whistled round,
The boughs they all danced high and low ;
Rock, rock went the nest, where the birds were at
rest.
Till over and over they go.
Uncle John walking round saw the rook on the
ground.
And smooth'd it, and wish'd to revive ;
Anne, Robert and Hill, they all tried their skill
In vain ; the poor rook would not live,
p
2 26 The Rook.
And if in your fun round the orchard you run,
You really would wonder to see,
How sticks, moss and feather are strewed by the
weather
Beneath each old racketing tree.
'Tis very bad wind, as in proverbs we find,
The wind that blows nobody good ;
I have read it in books ; yet sure the young rooks
Would deny it to-day if they could.
They sure would deny, but they cannot well try,
Their cawing not yet have they learn'd ;
And 'tis just as well not ; for a fancy I've got,
How the wind to some use may be turn'd.
Do you see Martha Hunt, how she bears all the brunt
Of the chilly, damp, blustering day '^.
How gladly she picks all the littering sticks !
Her kettle will soon boil away.
How snug she will sit by the fireplace and knit,
While Daniel her fortune will praise.
The wind roars away, — " Master Wind," they will say,
" We thank you for this pretty blaze."
The Rook. 227
Then spite of the rooks, what we read in the books
Is true, and the storm has done good.
It seems hard, I own, when the nests are o'erthrown,
But Daniel and Martha get wood.
A THOUGHT UPON TAXim LEAVE OF
SOME PEIEmS.
How varied, how rich, in the light-curtain'd west
Glow the tints that the sun's setting majesty veil,
When through bright clouds disporting he sinks into
rest.
And sheds his last radiance o'er mountain and dale.
But the soft summer landscape shall soon fade away,
As twilight draws o'er it her mantle of dew ;
The sky gleam no more with the gilding of day.
And silence and dimness o'ershadow the view.
Yet lingering awhile, the last remnant of light
Through the dark blue expanse shoots a silvery
ray,
And faint glimmering mildly recals to the sight
The charms that late shone in the landscape of day.
A Thought upon taking Leave of some Fne?ids. 229
So fleet the blithe visions of friendship and joy,
So fancy the dream of delight can restore,
And in fond recollection again we descry
Faint-imaged those pleasures that now are no more.
HYMN rOE THE AIOUNOIATION \
St. Liike xi. 27.
Oh ! Thou who deign'st to sympathize
With all our frail and fleshly ties,
Maker, yet Brother dear.
Forgive the too presumptuous thought.
If, calming wayward grief, I sought
To gaze on Thee too near.
Yet sure 'twas not presumption, Lord,
Twas Thine own comfortable word
That made the lesson known :
Of all the dearest bonds we prove.
Thou countest sons' and mothers' love
Most sacred, most Thine own.
a Vide the Preface, p. viii.
Hymn for the Annunciation. 231
When wandering here a little span,
Thou took'st on Thee to rescue man,
Thou hadst no earthly sire :
That wedded love we prize so dear.
As if our heaven and home were here.
It Ht in Thee no fire.
On no sweet sister's faithful breast
Would'st Thou Thine aching forehead rest,
On no kind brother lean ;
But who, O perfect filial heart,
E'er did like Thee a true son's part,
Endearing, firm, serene ?
Thou wept'st, meek maiden, mother mild,
Thou wept'st upon thy sinless Child,
Thy very heart was riven :
And yet, what mourning matron here
Would deem thy sorrows bought too dear
By all on this side heaven ?
A Son that never did amiss.
That never shamed His Mother's kiss,
Nor cross'd her fondest prayer :
232 Hy7?in for the Anminciation,
E'en from the tree He deign'd to bow
For her His agonized brow,
Her, His sole earthly care.
Alas ! when those we love are gone,
Of all sad thoughts, 'tis only one
Brings bitterness indeed ;
The thought what poor, cold, heartless aid
We lent to cheer them while they stayed ;
This makes the conscience bleed.
Lord, by Thy love, and by Thy power.
And by the sorrows of that hour,
Let me not weep too late.
Help me in anguish meet and true
My thankless words and ways to rue,
Now justly desolate.
By Thine own Mother's first caress.
Whom Thou with smiles so sweet didst bless,
'Twas heaven on earth to see ;
Help me, though late, to love aright
Her who has glided from my sight.
To rest (dear Saint) with Thee.
Hymn for the Annunciation, 233
Thou knowest if her gentle glance
Look on us, as of old, to enhance
Our evening calm so sweet :
But, Son of Mary, Thou art there.
O, make us ('tis a mourner's prayer)
For such dear visits meet.
June T, 1823.
rEAGMENT ON HIS SISTER MAET AME'S DEATH.
Sweet bed of death ! how oft to thee
In joy and woe my heart shall turn :
How dearer than delight to me
Thy spirit-soothing love to learn.
In thought to watch that angel-face,
When now the storm had pass'd away,
And all mine anxious eye could trace
Was only sweetness in decay.
O, truest, kindest, gentlest maid !
Earth has no words so soft and pure
That they our dreams of thee should aid.
But Heaven will help them to endure.
There is no cloud that floats on high,
No violet in the dewy vale.
But breathes of thee, and brings thee nigh ;
Thy dear memorials cannot fail.
Sept. 20, 1826.
HUNTSPILL TOWEE.
Cove beyond cove, in faint and fainter line
I trace the winding shore, and dream I hear
The distant billows where they break and shine
On the dark isles. Around us, far and near,
The bright gay breeze is sweeping cheerily,
Chequering the green moor, like the summer field
Of ocean, \vith the shadows of the sky.
In all their graceful majesty reveal'd,
Now purple-shaded, now in playful light,
To south and north the glorious hills are seen ;
Where hovering fancy may at will alight
By pastoral dingle, or deep rocky screen.
Such airs, light sallies of thy cheerful heart,
A living joy, dear friend'', to all impart.
Ati^. 3, 1827.
The "dear friend" -was Xoel Thomas Ellison, the Rector of Hu tits pill :
whoever kne'n' him would feel as most touching and most characteristic the
"light sallies" and the '' living joy " they imparted. — J. T. C
N
PAIEFOED AGAm.
The road-side airs are sweet that breathe of home,
When from their hedge-row nooks the merry flowers
Greet our return, much wondering they should roam
Who might have stayed within these pleasant bowers.
For wonders seen by ocean or by land,
For treasures won in some far orient clime,
No ear have they, but leaves by breezes fann'd
Awake them soon, and showers at morning prime.
A happy choir ; but happier, sweeter still
The sounds of welcome from the well-known hearth,
Where gay, home-loving hearts entwine at will
The living garland of content and mirth.
Green be the far-off bowers, the skies benign ;
These only say, " rest here, for we are thine."
SepL I, 1827.
TUENHTG OUT OF THE LONDON EOAD,
DOWN TO SAPPEETON.
Tired of the rude world's angry din,
Thine ear still echoing with the sounds
Of toil and strife, of gain and sin,
Welcome within our peaceful bounds !
Come down by moonlight, see the breath
Of slumbering autumn ; how serene
'Tis gathering round lone copse and heath,
And o'er the deep rill's alder screen.
So silent all, you well might deem
'Twas midnight on the verge of morn.
But for the smoke's dim silvery wreath
From yon low-nestling cot upborne.
Q
244 ^^y^ ^^^ these are Breezes.
Now shall waft thee steadily
Upward through the lucid sky,
Like the deep air gathering
Underneath an eagle's wing.
Then fearless let the sacred whirlwind bear
Thee, wearied else, where Christlike souls ascend
But mark : — no gales may waft thee there.
But thence were breathed, and homeward tend.
Oct. I [1835.]
I
HOW SHALL THE RIGHTEOUS.
How shall the righteous win their way
In a dark v;orld of snares, where they
With jealous care their eyes must hide,
Lest mth the glance the heart be lured aside ?
How may she know, to mend, her brethren's sin.
Whom grace baptismal guards from sympathy within ?
Faith, as she lies on Jesus' breast.
Will humbly, gently, ask how best
She unentangled may discern
The wild wood path, and point the safe return.
Heaven will instruct her, with averted gaze
To stoop and reach her arm, and grovelling sinners
raise.
k
THEEE HAVE BEEN MIGHTY WINDS.
There have been mighty winds on high,
The hail-clouds fell and keen
Have marred the mild autumnal sky,
Just gaily aping Spring's soft eye,
And rent earth's robe of all but vernal green.
But now again the West will breathe.
The storms afar will fleet,
And clouds above, and woods beneath.
Weave, ere they fade, one joyous wreath,
For a kind soothing autumn-farewell meet.
OcU 31, 1835.
»
IN HAEMONY, &o.
In Harmony, they say, the part
Which rules the strain, and wins the heart,
Is that which children compass best.
Who learns the lesson, he is blest.
TWO LAMPS APAET, &c.
Two lamps apart may brightly burn.
But brighter if you blend their flame ;
This lesson may our Churches learn.
And all who worship in the same.
TO E. K., Jun.
You ask me for a song, my dear ;
Born with no music in mine ear,
And harden'd now, and dull'd, I fear,
By many a care, and many a year.
But never mind ! of music sweet
No lack is here the day to greet ;
Summer and Spring are both in tune
To honour this fourteenth of June.
April and May, and June together,
Have treasur'd up their choicest weather,
Cloud, verdure, sunlight, shower and breeze.
And twinkling skies, and waving trees,
Politely have kept back their store,
This happy morn to grace the more.
And hark ! what notes from every bower.
And whiff! what gales from every flower.
Sure if you're not content with these.
My little Bess, you're hard to please.
To E. K., Jun. 249
But if to match this out-door song
For something nearer home you long,
I think I know two fairies small,
And one light elf will come at call.
And whosoe'er shall see them stand
With you, my maiden, hand in hand,
Shall own 'tis music even to see
Eight round blue eyes so full of glee.
No need one word to sing or say j
Your smiles will be a song as gay
As ever crown'd a wedding-day.
June 14, 1838.
MALVEKN AT A DISTANCE.
Soft ridge of cloud or mountain ! which thou art
I know not well ; so delicately fine
Swells to mine eye the undulating line,
Where gazing to and firo, as loth to part,
Unwearied Fancy plies her busy part.
To trace what lurks in those deep folds of thine,
Streak'd by the varying heavens with hues divine.
With me 'tis fancy all ; but many a heart
Perchance e'en now perusing thee afar
The meaning reads of every spot and wave
That seems to stain thee, or thine outline mar.
Here is their home, and here their father's grave.
Such is our holy Mount ; all dream it fair,
Those only know, whom Faith hath nurtured there.
TEAGMENT.*
There sate one lonely on a gieen hill-side
Watching an April cloud : his place of rest
An upland meadow with its mossy slope
Losing itself beneath a winding copse,
Where willow-blossoms glanced in sun and breeze.
Not noticeable was the spot, unless
For the rich world, perchance, of vernal flowers,
That seem'd as each had there a claim by right
For cradle, home, death-bed, and grave, all one.
Violets, by hundreds seen, a token were
Of thousands out of sight : anemonies
In their own sweet fresh venturing out, or e'er
The south- wind blow. Around them, most like boys
Ronnd timid maidens in their hour of play.
The celandine so bold and open-eyed.
Singly, or in wild clusters, far and near.
» I cannot refuse myself the pleasure of inserting this sweet picture, in-
complete as it is. Tlie spot referred to was a very favorite one of the
Author. It is the upper part of a field on Ladwell Hill, in the parish of
Hursley, just under the " winding " line of the " copse," in the direction of
Fieldhouse Farm.
252 Fragment.
Nor wants there the soft primrose, wheresoe'er
Advancing hours will draw a veil of shade,
In her glad quiet nook musing at home.
Sure 'twas a joyous company : — the more
For the bright Easter bells, that hardly yet
Had ceased to stir the noontide air. But he
Who in the midst reclined, seemed dreaming on
Of something far away. Was it his flock ?
For souls were in his charge, and he had vowed
His cares, his visions, one sole way to turn. —
MAT-DAT SONG TOE THE HUESLET
OHILDEEN.
April's gone, the king of showers ;
May is come, the queen of flowers ;
Give me something, gentles dear.
For a blessing on the year.
For my garland give, I pray.
Words and smiles, of cheerful May :
Birds of Spring to you ^ve come,
Let us pick a little crumb.
May, 1840.
MOTHEK OUT OP SIGHT.''
Written for the "Lyra Innocentiuni."
Saw ye the bright-eyed stately child,
With sunny locks so soft and wild,
How in a moment round the room
His keen eye glanced, then into gloom
Retired, as they who suffer wrong
When most assured they look and long ?
Heard ye the quick appeal, half in dim fear,
In anger half, " My Mother is not here ! "
Perchance some burthen'd heart was nigh,
To echo back that yearning cry
In deeper chords than may be known
To the dull outward ear alone.
a Vide the Preface, p. ix.
Mother out of Sight. 255
What if our English air be stirred
With sighs from saintly bosoms heard,
Or penitents, to leaning angels dear,
" Our own, our only Mother is not here."
The murmurings of that boyish heart
They hush with many a fostering art.
Soon o'er the islands of the west
The weary sun will sink to rest ;
The rose-tints fade, that gradual now
Are climbing Ben-y-veer's green brow,
Soon o'er the loch the twilight stars will peer,
Then shalt thou feel thy soul's desire is here.
Lightly they soothe the fair, fond boy,
Nor is there not a hope and joy
For spirits that half-orphan'd roam
Forlorn in their far island home.
Oft, as in penance lowly bowed.
Prayer — like a gentle evening cloud
Enfolds them, through the mist they seem to trace
By shadowy gleams a royal Mother's face.
256 Mother out of Sight.
The holy Church is at their side,
Not in her robes a glorious Bride : —
As sister named of Mercy mild
At midnight by a fever'd child
Might watch, and to the dim eye seem
A white-stoled angel in a dream,
Such may the presence of the Spouse appear
To tender, trembling hearts, so faint, so dean
The babe for that sweet vision's sake
Courts longer trance, afraid to wake ;
And we for love would fain lie still.
Though in dim faith, if so He will.
And wills He not ? Are not His signs
Around us oft as day declines ?
Fails He to bless or home, or choral throng.
Where true hearts breathe His Mother's evensong ?
Mother of God ! O, not in vain
We learn'd of old thy lowly strain.
Fain in thy shadow would we rest.
And kneel with thee, and call thee blest ;
I
Mother' out of Sight. 257
With thee would '■" magnify the Lord,"
And if thou art not here adored,
Yet seek we, day by day, the love and fear
Which bring thee, with all saints, near and more near.
What glory thou above hast won,
By special grace of thy dear Son,
We see not yet, nor dare espy
Thy crowned form with open eye.
Rather beside the manger meek
Thee bending with veiled brow we seek,
Or where the angel in the thrice-great Name
Hail'd thee, and J esus to thy bosom came.
Yearly since then with bitterer cry
Man hath assail'd the Throne on high.
And sin and hate more fiercely striven
To mar the league 'tvvixt earth and heaven.
But the dread tie, that pardoning hour,
Made fast in Mary's awful bower,
Hath mightier proved to bind than we to break.
None may that work undo, that Flesh unmake.
R
258 Mother out of Sight.
Thenceforth, whom thousand worlds adore,
He calls thee Mother evermore \
Angel nor Saint His face may see
Apart from what He took of thee.
How may we choose but name thy name
Echoing below their high acclaim
In holy Creeds ? Since earthly song and prayer
Must keep faint time to the dread anthem there.
How, but in love on thine own days.
Thou blissful one, upon thee gaze ?
Nay every day, each suppliant hour.
Whene'er we kneel in aisle or bower,
Thy glories we may greet unblamed,
Nor shun the lay by seraphs framed,
" Hail, Mary, full of grace ! " O, welcome sweet,
Which daily in all lands all saints repeat !
Fair greeting, with our matin vows
Paid duly to the enthroned Spouse,
His Church and Bride, here and on high.
Figured in her deep purity.
Alother out of Sight. 259
Wlio, born of Eve, high mercy won,
To bear and nurse the Eternal Son.
O, awful station, to no seraph given.
On this side touching sin, on the other heaven !
Therefore as kneeling day by day
We to our Father duteous pray,
So unforbidden may we speak
An Ave to Christ's Mother meek :
(As children with " good morrow " come
To elders in some happy home :)
Inviting so the saintly host above
With our unworthiness to pray in love.
To pray with us, and gently bear
Our falterings in the pure bright air.
But strive we pure and bright to be
In spirit, else how vain of thee
Our earnest dreamings, awful Bride !
Feel we the sword that pierced thy side !
Thy spotless lily flower, so clear of hue,
Shrinks from the breath impure, the tongue untrue
Dec. 8, hi Concept iojie B. M. V., 1844.
WHEN IS OOMMOTIOU I^AEEST ?
When is Communion nearest ?
When blended anthems dearest ?
Is it where far away dim aisles prolong
The cadence of the choral song ?
Whose notes like waves in ocean,
When all are heard, yet none,
With ever upward surging motion
Approach the Eternal Throne ?
Notes that would of madness tell.
So keen they pierce, so high they swell.
But for heaven's harmonious spell ;
Keen to the listening ear, as to the sight
The purest wintry star's intolerable light.
Yet mild as evening gleams just melting into night.
Or rather where soft soaring
One silent heart adoring
Loves o'er the stillness of the sick man's room
To breathe intensest prayer's perfume.
W/ie?i is Communion nearest 2 261
AMiether calm rest be sealing
The pained and wearied eyes,
Or in high blended feeling
Watcher and sufferer rise.
Sweet the sleep, the waking dear
When the holy Church is near
With mother's arms to hush and cheer.
Seems it not then as though each prayer and psalm.
Came like one message more from that far world of
calm.
An earnest of His love, whose Blood is healing balm ?
HOLY IS THE SIOK MAN'S EOOM.
Holy is the sick man's room.
J^emper'd air, and curtain'd gloom,
Measured steps, and tones as mild
As the breath of new-born child,
Postures lowly, waitings still,
Looks subdued to duty's will.
Reverent, thoughtful, grave and sweet
These to wait on Christ are meet.
These may kneel where He lies low,
In His members suffering woe.
Nor in other discipline
Train we hearts that to His shrine
May unblamed draw near, and be
With His favour'd two and three.
Therefore in its silent gloom
Holy is the sick man's room
ST. MAEK xvi. 4.
Draw near as early as we may,
Grace, like an angel, goes before.
The stone is roll'd away,
We find an open door.
O, wondrous chain ! where aye entwine
Our human wills, a tender thread,
With the strong will divine.
We run as we are led.
We, did I say ? 'tis all Thine own ;
Thou in the dark dost Mary guide.
Thine angel moves the stone.
Love feels Thee at her side.
0 LOED, IP EYEE, &c.
O Lord, if ever of Thy Spouse forlorn
Thy mercy heard the loud and bitter cry,
Then loudest, when in silent agony
She pleads her children's hate, her subjects' scorn,
Now be that hour : now pride, that all would know,
Proclaims Thee Saviour, but obeys Thy foe.
Ere love's one relic crumble quite away.
Ere, as we scorn to fast, we cease to pray,
Spare us, good Lord : speak out once more
The word that wrought Thy work of yore,
" Sell all, and all forsake ; and trust
The Cross for treasure : God is just."
ST. JOHN xiv. 1.
" Trust in God, and trust in Me."
How should a sinner turn to Thee,
Maker of a world of glory,
Brother of a race forlorn,
If questions, fancy-bred and earthly-born.
Rise and obscure the sacred story ?
Thee must we own God-Man, even as Thy Sire
Sole fount of Godhead, ere we turn to Thee entire.
YE OP NICE TOUCH, &c.
Ye of nice touch, and keen true eye
To measure gain and loss, O say,
Hail'd the bright City built on high
No joyful winning day,
When angel accents chimed so clear
On great Augustine's ear.
When from God's open book
The holy fire brake out
And flash'd, and thrill'd at once in every nook
Of his sad soul, consuming fear and doubt.
Each cloud of earthly care,
And left heaven's fragrance there ?
Thine, holiest hermit, was the spell ;
(Heaven crowning so thy humble love ;)
Earth, and the glory of thy call
Within his bosom strove.
Far off he mark'd heaven's portal ope to thee,
And pray'd for wings as free.
Ye of 7iice Touchy 6^r. 267
O torch, from saint to saint
From age to age pass'd on,
Still may we see thee, when Church fires grow faint,
Wave bright'ning in some grasp of gifted holy one.
\_T'WO lilies wanting.']
THE OLAEIOIT CALLS, &c.
The clarion calls : away ! to take
Thy station in God's host ;
And with His mitred watchmen wake ;
And in meek silence for His sake
Endure what scornful music earth can make
When holy ground seems lost.
Too well I read thy shrinking brow j
A sting is busy there :
A fretful conscience, wondering how
Such boldness suits with broken vow.
Didst thou not erst before the Anointed bow
And glad obedience swear ?
IN OHOIES AND PLACES WHERE THEY SING,
HERE rOLLOWETH THE ANTHEM.
LoRDj make my heart a place where angels sing !
For surely thoughts low-breath'd by Thee
Are angels gliding near on noiseless wing ;
And where a home they see
Swept clean, and garnished with adoring joy,
They enter in and dwell.
And teach that heart to swell
With heavenly melody, their own untired employ.
k
JEEEMIAH xxiii. 23.
Far, far on other isles,
Where other stars are beaming,
Where the bright rose on Christmas smiles,
And Whitsun lights with frost are gleaming,
Yon kindly Moon, and glorious Sun
Their race, as here, unwearying run.
What if all else be strange ?
The two great lights of heaven
Know neither error, stay, nor change.
By them all else to sight is given ;
And with them duly, fresh and bright,
Home thoughts return both day and night.
Glory to our true Sun,
Who shineth far and near ;
Who for His duteous Spouse hath won
A place as of a lunar sphere ;
And by their light, where'er she roam,
Faith finds a safe, familiar home.
WHY SEEK WE, SOTODINa HIGH AND LOW?
Why seek we, sounding high and low
Through heaven and earth, as though
The Eternal Son were yet enthroned on high
In His first unincarnate Majesty ?
Why, tottering on the dizzy steep,
Gaze down the lowest deep ?
Find'st thou a cave so dark but His dear might
Hath burst the bars, and wing'd the prisoner's flight ?
Nay homewards, wandering soul, repair,
The gloom, the bars are there :
The word is nigh, even in thy mouth and heart,
Only obey, and He will all impart.
A leaf or spray at hand may hide
A landscape fair and wide.
Thy casement clear, and thou a reach shalt find
Of earth, air, sea, quite to an eagle's mind.
PKAGMENT.
The shepherd lingers on the lone hill side,
In act to count his faithful flock again,
Ere to a stranger's eye and arm untried
He 3'ield the rod of his old pastoral reign:
He turns ; and round him memories throng
amain.
Thoughts that had seem'd forever left behind
O'ertake him, e'en as by some greenwood lane
The summer flies the passing traveller find ;
Keen, but not half so shaqD as now thrill o'er his mind
He sees the things that might have been arise.
The heavenly vision how the saints adore
Erst slighted by his cold, unworthy eyes,
Then upward drawn in wrath, and seen no more.
Now it returns, — too late, — his time is o'er ;
Fragment. 2 73
The moms and eves are gone when Heaven bade
pray,
And earth bade slumber, and he lov'd earth's
lore
Better than Heaven's. What angel now might say
How dear he fain would buy one precious week or
day?
He sees from things that are the veil half-drawn,
The souls, his charge, awaiting their dire doom
On earth, or where earth's light no more may
dawn.
What if, that hour, in more than dreams they
come,
IMarred by his baseness, by his sloth bade roam ?
O, spare him, heavenly chastener ! spare his soul
That bitterest pang; — nay, urge it close and
home,
So the dark Past the Future may control,
And blood and tears be found to blot the accusing
scroll.
s
k
274 Fragment.
Seeks he the weary heart's appointed rest ?
Each soothing verse to him is stern rebuke.
Lo ! a wide shore that feels the breezy West, —
He sees where kneeUng saints with upward look
Assuage the farewell pang Love scarce can brook,
With upward look, and tears subdued to prayer.
And He who never yet true love forsook
By His own loved Apostle sealing there
His presence through the veil, wafts high each cloud
of care.
Well may the faithful flock hang o'er that page
In joy ; but pastors of no pastoral mood,
Or slumb'rers o'er God's wasted heritage ! —
Oft as they read " Behold me pure of blood,
None have I left unwarn'd, no breath of good
Stifled or tainted," — hard and cold the heart
Which can endure unbroken ! dull and rude
The spirit, which to heal such sudden smart,
Flees to the bUnd world's praise, or custom's soothing
art!
ST. JOHIT V. 16, 17,
Ye know not what ye ask :
Should he but once yoUr rude words hear,
And cease from His eternal task,
The heavens would start asunder, sphere from
sphere.
Such Sabbath as ye bid him keep
Were to the world and you, a deathful endless sleep.
Ye know not whom ye seek
With murderous aim, the Lord of Life.
So is it yet ; when foes would wreak
On His immortal Church their haughty strife.
What do they else but seal and stay
The fount of their own grace. Life's open, only way }
March i8.
WHEN m SEE HOUE OP STILL DECAY.
When in her hour of still decay,
The matron Earth to her worn breast
The relics of her Spring array
Folds, ere she sink in quiet rest ;
Envying her calm, thou wak'st that hour,
Prince of the tainted air's rude power :
And twisting, sweeping, rushing, rending.
With every gentlest motion blending
Of frailest shrub in greenwood lair,
Before their time thou lay'st them bare.
E'en so when Christian souls are sere,
And fading leaves of earthly life
Drop one by one, and leave all clear
For a new Spring, whose buds are rife
Already, then the unsleeping foe
Watches to lay that glory low ;
W/ien ifi her Hotir of still Decay. 277
Some breath of passion wild preparing,
Pride, hate, desire's untimely glaring ;
And in a moment mars our best.
Autumnal wanderers, keep your nest !
Sept. 30.
TO THE LOED OF THE MANOR OP MEEDON,
The Petition of sundiy Life Tenants, or Hereditary-
Denizens of the said Manor.
Humbly shfweth,
That by the custom of this clime
Even from immemorial time,
We, or our forefathers old
(As in Withering's list enrolled)
Have in occupation been
Of all nooks and corners green,
Where the swelling meadows sweet
With the wavy woodlands meet.
There we peep and disappear ;
There in games to fairies dear
All the spring-tide hours we spend,
Hiding, seeking without end.
And sometimes a merry train
Comes upon us from the lane.
To the Lord of the Manor of Merdon. 279
Every gleaming afternoon
All through April, May, and June,
Boys and maidens, birds and bees,
Airy whisperings of all trees.
With their music well supply
All we need of sympathy.
Now and then a graver guest
For one moment here will rest,
I-oitering in his pastoral walk.
And with us hold kindly talk.
To himself we've heard him say,
"Thanks that I may hither stray ;
Worn with age, and sin, and care.
Here I breathe the pure, glad air :
Here Faith's lesson learn anew
Of this happy vernal crew.
Here the fragrant shrubs around
And the graceful, shadowy ground.
And the village tones afar.
And the steeple with its star,
And the clouds that gently move
Tune the heart to trust and love."
Thus we fared in ages past :
But the nineteenth age at last
28o To the Lord of the Maiior of Merdon.
(As your suppliants are advised)
Reigns, and we no more are prized.
Now a giant, plump and tall,
Called "High Farming," stalks o'er all.
Platforms, railings, and straight lines
Are the charms for which he pines.
Forms mysterious, ancient hues,
He with un tired hate pursues ;
And his cruel word and will
Is from every copse-crown'd hill,
Every glade in meadow deep
Us, and our green bowers to sweep.
Now our prayer is, here and there,
May your Honour deign to spare
Shady spots and nooks, where we
Yet may flourish, safe and free.
So old Hampshire still may own
(Charm to other shires unknown)
Bays and creeks of grassy lawn
Half beneath his woods withdrawn ;
So from many a joyous child.
Many a sire and mother mild.
For the sheltering boughs so sweet,
And the blossoms at their feet.
I
To the Lord of the Manor of Merdon. 281
Thanks, with prayers, shall find their way.
And we flowers, if we could pray.
With our very best would own
Your young floweret newly blown.
Anemone Nemorosa, Daffodil,
Primula Vulgaris, Cowslip,
Orchis, Strawberry,
Violet, &c., &c., &c., innumerable signatures.
Ladwell Hill, April 3, 1851.
TO HIS SISTEE ELIZABETH.
Saints in Paradise, we know,
Wait and long for saints below.
Sure, if in realms of joy begun
Earth's pilgrims are remembered one by one,
If days and times are noted there.
Now, on this Sunday still and fair.
Dearest Sister, there are two,
Two, as dear, that turn toward you.
One that on this favour'd day
Down in happy slumber lay.
O, who the thoughts may guess and deem
That haply mingle with her angel-dream.
When among graces tasted here
She counts thy warnings. Sister dear.
Smiles and words, and ways of love
Here half-seen, now felt above.
To his Sister Elizabeth. 283
With her waits by Eden's stream,
Partner of her blissful dream
A younger spirit, too pure, too fair
E'en for love's sake, this mean earth long to bear.
She in her partial love had plann'd
This sacred task for an unworthy hand.
May it now, till life shall end,
With her sweetest memorv blend !
WEITTEN IN THE ALBUM AT OUDDESDON
PALACE.
Whoe'er from Cuddesdon's pastoral shade
Shall seek the green hill's point, and gaze
On Oxford in the " watery glade,"
And seem half-lost in memory's maze.
Much wondering where his thoughts of good
Have flown, since last in that lone nook he stood,
But wondering more untiring Love should be
So busy round the unworthiest ; — let him see
There hath before him been one musing e'en as he.
Jan. 13, 1854.
NUESE, LET ME DRAW, &c.
" Nurse, let me draw the baby's veil aside,
I want to see the Cross upon her brow."
Nay, maiden dear, that seal may not abide
In sight of mortals' ken ; 'tis vanish'd now.
" Alas, for pity ! when the holy man
Said even now, * I sign thee with the cross,'
What joy to think that I at home should scan
The bright, clear lines ! O, sad and sudden loss !"
Complain not so, my child : no loss is here,
But endless gain. If thou wilt open wide
Faith's inward eye, soon shall to the^appear
What now by wondering angels is descried,
Thy Lord's true token, seen not but believ'd,
And therefore doubly blest. O, mark it well,
And be this rule in thy young heart receiv'd.
Blest, who content with Him in twilight dwell.
286 Nurse ^ let me draw, Qj^c.
Saints, while the very image He denied,
Made much of the dim shadow : now He gives
The image. In adoring faith abide,
As in spring-time we watch unfolding leaves.
Woe to impatient hands, that ere its prime
Force the bud open, mar the unready flower :
Woe to faint hearts that will not wait the time,
To know the secrets of your blissful bower.
Thy saints, O Lord, and Thine own Mother dear
Are round Thee as a glory-cloud : we see
The general glow, not each in outline clear,
Or several station: all are hid in Thee.
In prayer we own Thee, Father, at our side.
Not always feel or taste Thee j and 'tis well.
So hour by hour, courageous faith is tried ;
So, gladlier will the morn all mists dispel.
Feb. 19, 1854.
HYMN POE EASTEK-TIDE.
Written for the Book of Prayers, at Oiiddesdon College.
" Also, I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, ^Yhom shall I
send, and who will go for us ? Then said I, Here I am, send
me." — Isa. vi. 8.
Lord of life, prophetic Spirit !
In sweet measure evermore
To the holy children dealing
Each his gift from Thy rich store ;
Bless Thy family adoring
As in Israel's schools of yore.
Holy Jesus ! Eye most loving
On each young disciple bent ;
Voice, that, seeming earthly, summon'd
Samuel to the awful tent; —
Hand, that cast Elijah's mantle ;
Thine be all Thy grace hath lent !
2 88 Hyjnn for Easter-tide.
As to Thine own seventy scholars
Thou of old Thine arm didst reach,
Under Thy majestic shadow
Guiding them to do, and teach,
Till their hour of solemn unction,
So be with us, all and each.
God, and Father of all spirits
Whose dread call young Joshua knew.
Forty days in darkness waiting
With Thy servant good and true ;
Thence to wage Thy war descending,
Own us, Lord, Thy champions too.
One Thy Light, the Temple filling.
Holy, holy, holy Three :
Meanest men, and brightest angels
Wait alike t]ie word from Thee.
Highest musings, lowliest worship,
Must their preparation be.
Hymn for Easter-tide. 289
Now Thou speakest, — hear we trembling,
From the Glory comes a Voice.
" Who accepts the Almighty's mission ?
Who will make Christ's work his choice ?
Who for us proclaim to sinners
Turn, believe, endure, rejoice ? "
Here we are. Redeemer, send us !
But because Thy work is fire,
And our lips, unclean and earthly,
Breathe no breath of high desire.
Send Thy Seraph from Thine altar
Veiled, but in his bright attire.
Cause him. Lord, to fly full swiftly
With the mystic coal in hand,
Sin-consuming, soul- transforming,
(Faith and Love will understand,)
Touch our lips, Thou awful Mercy,
With Thine own keen, healing brand.
T
290 Hymn for Easter-tide.
Thou didst come that fire to kindle ;
Fain would we Thy torches prove,
Far and wide Thy beacons lighting
With the undying spark of love.
Only feed our flame, we pray Thee,
With Thy breathings from above.
Now to God, the soul's Creator,
To His Word and Wisdom sure.
To His all-enlightening Spirit,
Patron of the frail and poor.
Three in One, be praise and glory.
Here, and while the heavens endure.
Amen.
rOE THE OPEKENG OF THE WEST WITOOW OP THE
HALL OF ST. ANDEEW'S COLLEGE, BEADFIELD.
APEIL 5, 1859.
" In the sweat of thy face thou shalt eat bread."
When Adam his first Sunday kept,
It dawn'd on work, and not on rest;
Yet when he laid him down and slept.
No travail sore his soul opprest ;
Work, easy as an angel's flight.
Brought slumber as an infant's, light.
Upon the ground he casts him now.
The ground, accursed for his sake ;
The chill damps on his weary brow,
And even in sleep his heart will ache.
If to his fellow-men he call,
There is the curse of Babel's wall.
292 For the Opening, d^r.
But thou the Lord's new Eden seek,
The garden-mount where olives grow,
There prostrate lies a Sufferer meek,
Go, bathe thee in His Sweat, — and lo !
Thou, as at first, shall rise renewed,
For Jesus' sweat is healing Blood.
Thy work a blessbd pastime then
Shall prove, — thy rest a sacred song ;
The Babel-cries of scattered men
Attuned to anthems pure and strong.
The treasures of King Solomon
For holy Church redeem'd and won.
t
PRAYEES OP SAINTS.
Half-hearted men we creep
Along our listless way,
And where we sowed but yesterday,
E'en now presumptuous would reap.
We stir the root
And see no tender shoot ;
Too fine the work of grace for our rude eye.
Then in proud wrath
Turn on our homeward path,
Leaving th' untended plant in the bleak air to die.
Not so the unwearied Saints,
Yet shadowing with their prayers
The fallen land that erst was theirs ;
Where they repose hope never faints.
There, day or night,
Before that altar bright
294 Prayers of Saints.
They kneel, if haply from its stores benign,
One healing ray
May dart its downward way,
In course unerring towards some English shrine.
I
EPITAPH.
For tlie Tomb of tlie old Biddlecombes, May 24, 1861.
Lord Jesus, loving hearts and dear
Are resting in Thy shadow here ;
In life Thou wast their hope, and we
In death would trust them, Lord, with Thee.
DAET AND WEBEE.
Dart. Wild AVeber, wild Weber, why rush on so fast ?
Your speed is so reckless, it never can last
Why can't you glide gently around the rough
stones,
They'll not move a hair's breadth for all your
loud moans.
Besides, at the angle which mortals call
" right "
Head-foremost you charge me ; I shrink with
affright.
The primroses, open-eyed there on the brink.
Are watching us quite at a loss what to think.
Weber. Indeed, Mrs. Dart, I must own it is true ;
But then, pray consider, I'm younger than you ;
And really till here in this dingle we met,
A lesson in manners I never did get.
Dart and Weber. 297
Henceforth arm-in-arm we'll move on, if you please,
And just at your pace ; pray be quite at your ease \
But ere we arrive at Holne Chase, I foresee,
The echoes will hear you far louder than me.
April 29, 1863.
HYMN
Composed on the occasion of tlie Visit of the British Asso-
ciation for the Promotion of Science, to be sung in the
Parish .Church of St. Nicholas, Newcastle-upon-Tyne,
1863.
The Lord is King ; He wrought His will
In heaven above, in earth below ;
His wonders the wide ocean fill,
The cavern'd deeps His judgment show.
The Lord is King ; the world stands fast :
Nature abides, for He is strong ;
The perfect note He gave, shall last
Till cadence of her even-song.
The Lord is King ; ye worlds rejoice !
The waves of power, that from His shrine
Thrill out in silence, have no choice :
They harm not till He gives the sign.
Hymn. 299
The Lord is King j hush, wayward heart !
Earth^s wisdom fails, earth's daring faints.
There seek Him whence He ne'er departs.
And own Him greatest in His saints.
Thou, Lord, art King : crown'd Priests are we,
To cast our crowns before the Throne.
By us the creature worships Thee,
Yet we but bring Thee of Thine own.
To the great Maker, to the Son
Himseh"" vouchsafing to be made,
To the good Spirit, Three in One,
All praise by all His works be paid. Amen.
TO A LITTLE GIEL.
Seal of the Letteb.
HuTsley Vicarage,
Dec. 22, 1863.
There was a kind small maiden,'' and she was fain to
greet
Her Godpapa and Vicar with a little loving treat.
So she counsell'd with her sisters, and all the three
agreed,
And by an old acquaintance, a letter sent with speed ;
Which, when the Vicar open'd, he pondcr'd o'er
and o'er :
" The time I see is Wednesday, a quarter after four.
a The "kind small maiden" of this little poem is one of the daughters
of Sir W. Heathcote, Bart , the Vicar's god-child.
F
H
To a Little Girl. 301
But when we're all assembled, what will the pastime
be?
No word is here to say, but a Heart and Crown I
see: —
A little Heart brimful of love, a Crown without a care :
O, this is Christmas mirth indeed I'll joyfullv be
there!"
TO MASTER BEENAED WILSON'S DOG.
Dear Fussy,
This morning so kindly without any call
You met me, and shewed me the way to the Fall,
That I feel drawn towards you, and now am inclined
In confidence strict to unburden my mind.
I know I may trust you, for e'en if you bark,
As well you may, startled, and seem to cry, " Hark ! "
At such bad behaviour as I must confess.
Folks know not your language, and hardly will guess.
Oh, Fussy ! a well-bred young creature like you,
Who have lived with the courteous all your life
through.
Cannot tell how a conscience at morning will ache
If with thought of kind letters unanswered it wake.
(Here suppose a lengthy confession.)
To Master Bernard Wilson^ s Dog. 303
Then tell Mr. Bernard, dear dog, if you please,
That the man whom he knows of his error now sees,
And is quite fain to promise in prose or in rhyme.
That he never will do so again till next time.
Mr. Bernard will say, " I forgive like a king.
He's free to lie loitering by the cool spring ;
And hear the gay Percie-bird whistle and sing
From morning to eve, in his conscience no sting."
Ferniekurst, Aug. 16, 1864.
IJSTDEX
Ah ! cease, my friend, that moumfol lay .
Alleluia, s^ireetest Anthem
A!l hail, thou messenger of spring: and love
And dare I say, " "Welcome to me ?"
And dire ye deem God's ire must cease
And shrink ye still? — He nearer draws .
And they who grudge the Omnipotent His praise
Apri 's gone, the king of showers
Are ihe gates sure? — is every holt made Cist?
Away, or e'er the Lord hreak forth 1
i-!9
1 68
74
86
4^
65
Behold your armoury : —sword and lightning shaft
Bethlehem, above all cities blest
Blow fresh and fair, thou ch.eeiiul summer breeze .
Born of God the Father's bosom .
But Faith i«! cold, and wilful men are strong
But louder yet the heavens shall ring
But sadder strain5, and direr bodin^s dark .
By your I<ord's creative breath .
90
219
151
4?
78
60
Come, twinkle in my lonely room .
Cove beyond cove, in faint and fainter line
25
2?7
Dark mountains, happy valley, glorious sky-
Draw near as early as we may
Dread glimpses, e'en in gospel times, have been
Dread "Word, who from the Father h:;st .
Dull thimders moan around the Temple Bock
239
263
76
142
57
Each, mom and eve, the Golden Keys
E'en now vouchsafe. Good Spirit, One
Fain would we love Thee, Lord : for Thou
Far, far on other isles ....
Farewell, bright visions of my lonely hours
U
147
220
2C8
3o6
INDEX.
Tarewell, thou soft Moon, and ye shadowy gleams
Father and Lord of our whole life
Fear not : for He hath sworn .
Full many an eve, and many a mom
Give ear, —the Voice rings keen and true
God's mercy is in the pure beam of Spring
Grieve not, though Mary's birthday pass'd .
Uail ! gladdening Light, of His pure glory poured
Hail, Martyr-flowers, who gleaming forth .
Half-hearted men we creep ....
He spake : He died and rose again
Holy is the sick man's room
How can I leave thee all unsung
How long endure this priestly scorn
How mournfully the lingering rain-drops sound
How shall the righteous win their way
How soft, how silent has the stream of time
How varied, how rich, in the Ught-curtain'd west
If waiting by the time-crown''d halls .
If, when across the autumnal heaven
I love thee well, thou solitary Cave .
In Harmony, they say, the part .
Is He not near ? — look up and see .
Is it not sad dear friends should part
Is th^ro no sound about our Altars heard .
I thought to meet no more, so dreaiy seem'd
Lo ! from the Easter Hills the Lord .
Lord in Thy jN'ame Thy servants plead .
Lord Jesus, loving hearts and dear .
Lord, lift my heart to Thee at morn
Lord, make my heart a place where angels smg
Lord of life, piophetic Spirit
Mary, Margaret, Anne, Eliza .
Meek, pastoral, quiet souls, whoe'er ye be
My spirit lingers around that blessed space .
Nay, ask not for a lay of mine
Nay, but these are breezes bright
INDEX.
307
No joy of mine to invite the thuader down .
Nor wants there Seraph warnings, morn and eve
Not the dark shade of thy majestic groves .
Now the stars are lit in heaven
Nurse, let me draw the baby's veil aside
O blessed gem, of saintly, spotless kind
O God, th' enduring might of things
0, hear ye not the night-wind's roar .
Oh ! surely Scorner is his name .
Oh ! Thou who deign'st to sympathize
O Lord, if ever of Thy Spouse forlorn
O, mournful on our ears the wild harp died
One only "Way to life
O, stay thee yet, bright image stay .
O Sun of Lusitane, are those thy lays
0 sweetly timed, as e'er was gentlo hand
0 thou, whose dim and tearful g-aze
Our God in glory sits on high
Sad privilege is mine, to show
Saints in Paradise, we know
B iw ye the briglit-eyed stately child
Seek -we some realm were virgin souls may pray
Servant of God, remember
Silence, unworthy ! how should tones like thine
Sing, my tongue, of glorious warfare
Sleep has refreshed oiir limbs : we spring
Slowly the gleaming stars retire
Soft ridge of cloud or mountain ! which thou art
Sons of our Mother ! such the indignant strain
Strong Ruler, God whose Word is truth
Sun. Moon, and Stars, one day contending sought
Sweet bed of death ! how oft to thee
Sweet bird ! up earliest in the mom .
Tell me, ye maidens fair and wise . . ,
That by the custom of this clime .
The Ark of God is in the field . . . ,
The banners of tb e King appear .
The choir of new Jerusalem . . . ,
The clarion calls : away ! to take
The fire of Heaven breaks forth
PAGli
47
62
215
19
28s
161
129
184
72
230
264
J 00
37
200
154
49
159
105
48
282
254
41
136
29
144
122
96
250
44
128
2J4
236
3a
196
278
28
140
138
268
68
3o8
INDEX.
The flood is round thee, but thy towers as yet
The gicy-cycd Morn was sadden'd with a ehower
The lions prowl around, thy gv:\.YC to guard
The Lord hath set me o'er the kings of earth
The Lord is King ; He •svTought His will .
The lovliest flowers the closest cling to earth .
There have been mighty winds on high
There sat one lonely on the green hill-side
There was a kind small maiden, and she was fain to greet
There was a young rook, a.id he lodged in a nook
The road-side airs are sweet that breathe of home .
These are the workings of a spirit pure .
The shepherd lingers on the lono hill-side .
The Star of day hath risen, and we . . .
The traveller, when his time is short
The twi'.ight hoiu' is sweet at homo
The voice that breathed o'er Eden ....
They say I am no f iithful swain ....
They say, '• The man is false, and falls away :"
This cannot be ihe sleep of death
This glorious mom, Time's eldest born
This morning so kindly without any call
Thou gentle Moon, so lone and sweet
Thou, Light's Creator, first and best
Thou, who in Farleigh's ivied bower
Thou, whom with proud and happy heart I call
Tims evermore the Saints' avenging God .
Tired of the rude world's angry din
" Trust in God, andtust in Me •'....
'Twas on the day when England's Church of yore
Two lamps apart may brightly bum .
Tyre of the farther "West I be thou too wam'd .
Visions of vastness and of beauty ! long
Voice of the wise of old .....
Watch us by night, with one accord uprising
"What mountain-echoes roll
^V7len Adnm his first Sunday kept .
When Christ to village comes or town .
"When I behold yon arch magnificent
When in her hour of still decay .
INDEX.
309
"WTien is Communion nearest?
"Wherefore shrink, and say, " 'TLs vain .
WTioe'er from Cuddesdon's pastoral shado .
"Whom blesseth most the gentle dew of htaven?
Why art thou sad, my soul, when all around
Why seek we, sounding high and low
Wild Weber, wild Weber, why rush on so fast?
Word supreme, before creation
PAG13
, 260
92
, .284
192
271
, 296
III
Ye know not what ye ask
Ye Hngering hours speed on ! with infant haste
Ye of nice touch, and keen true eye .
Yes, I will stamp her image on my soul .
Yon tower that gleams against the blackening ei
You ask me for a song, my dear .
27s
188
266
170
218
248