ODE TO FANCY.

O! thou art a sweet and playful thing,
And light as a lark upon the wing,
Pouring the melody of thy mirth,
In sunny showers down to the earth.
The sunbeams pave o’er the crystal waters
A pathway for thee to Triton’s daughters,
Down in the depths of the waving sea,
Where their bright arched palaces be:
There mermaids hasten unto thy side,
And sing their songs till the ravished tide
Feels the soft music through all its swells,
And whispers them o’er to the coral shells.
Fays are thy playmates at dewy e’en,
For o’er their land they have made thee queen,
Crowned thee with flowers of fadeless hue,
And drained thy health in the honey dew;
And over mountain, and hill, and dale,
’Lumed by the glow of the moonbeams pale,
Thy merry train in the stillness dance,
Like a beam of pleasure and radiance;
Thine are the revels each summer night,
Held on the mead by the glow-worm’s light,
Till maidens, straying at early dawn,
Trace thy blithe footsteps upon the lawn;
Thus dost thou lead on thy joyous rout,
And trip around till thou’rt wearied out;
And in the harebells the yellow bee
Creeps in the morning to waken thee
Forth from thy sweet dreams of joy and love,
That rise in odorous breath above.

Like some fair wizard thou weavest spells
Over all flowers, and brooks, and dells,
Wreathing above every mossy bed,
Till with bright dreams it is canopied
And through the rose-coloured atmosphere
All things more lovely and bright appear,
Losing the faintness of earthly things,
And shining with heaven’s illuminings.
Thine are the Naiads and Nymphs which rise
From dell and fountain to daze our eyes;
Thine are the spirits ’mid leafy trees,
Whose voices come to us on the breeze.
Thine are the maidens whose trackless feet
Bear to the flower cups their honey sweet,
Pressing their perfume till through and through
Is pierced the soul of the rising dew.

Lead me, sweet sprite, to thy sunny dwelling!
Is it where brooklets are softly welling
Amid the greenwoods with many a fall,
Making the lily-cups musical?
Is it where mosses and violets meet,
And blend their lives in an union sweet,
Whither the butterflies speed to tell
Glad tales of the flowers thou lovest so well?
Is’t in the covert whose lonely shade
The ring-dove her resting place hath made,
Lulled by the melody of her note
Till dreams of Elysium round thee float?
Is’t on the breast of the sunlit sea,
With ripples of glory to circle thee,
Bright flashing dolphins to bear thy car,
And waft thee to glorious isles afar?
Is’t in some cave where the light of day
Borrows new hues from the diamond ray,
Paven with jewels and silv’ry sand
Borne by the waves from the mermaid’s land
Is’t in the arms of the balmy gale
Over the ocean thou lovest to sail,
Loosing the folds of thy silken hair
To float at will on the perfumed air?
Is it by valley or heath-clad mountain?
Is it by streamlet or limpid fountain?
Tell me, and I will come to thee,
Follow thy flight through immensity!

Dost thou not roam in the realms of sleep,
While stars above thee their bright watch keep,
Lapping the soul in a crystal sea,
Whose every swell is felicity?
And in the halls of her quiet home,
Where darkness pillars the starry dome,
Making all beauty more beautiful,
And keeping the moonbeams soft and cool,
Dost thou not sit till the morning beams
Weaving the fabric of happy dreams,
Bringing dear visions to weeping eyes,
Till sorrow transforms to paradise?
Dost thou not kiss sweet lips till they smile,
And murmur of joys they knew erewhile,
And build up hopes that are shatter’d quite,
Decking the past in a robe of light?

O! thou art a kind and gentle thing,
Bearing the gifts that good angels bring,
Joying in all that is bright and free,
And soothing the sting of misery;
If thou would’st dwell in my beating heart,
And breathe thy fragrance through every part,
I would ever love and obey thee,
Never slight thee and never betray thee
Into the hands of cruel scoffers,
Who sell their souls to fill their coffers,
Crush every flower beneath their feet,
And make the sole bliss of life to cheat;
Cheat the greenwoods of happy ramblers,
To rear a race of slaves and gamblers;
Cheat the summer, cheat the spring,
Cheat the sweet flowers of their ministring;
Cheat the soft meadows and sunny skies
Of their glad tribute from glist’ning eyes;
Cheat the birds in their leafy bowers,
Cheat every day of its few short hours,
Cheat even life of its little pleasure,
Dealing its needfuls out in short measure;
Cheating all beauty while they draw breath,
But true to one commerce, that is Death!

Come to me then, and I’ll cherish thee,
Thou shalt my loving companion be;
From the cold world we will live apart,
And build up a new one within my heart.

WHAT IS A SIGH?

It is the sound
Raised by the sweeping of an angel’s wing,
As through the air
It bears a prayer
Of the soul’s uttering.

It is the sweet
Melodious echo of some thrilling thought
Retold by sadness
Unto gladness,
Which memory hath brought.

It is the hymn
Breath’d ever by the votaries of love,
Whose dulcidence,
Soft and intense,
Soars dreamily above.

It is the sign
Of Earth’s fraternity, the only tie
That links us all,
Both great and small,
In common sympathy.

It is the heart
Issueing from its prison house of clay;
Perchance gladly,
Perchance sadly,
Wending on its way.

IONE.

Sad are the glances from thy deep blue eyes,
Ione,
Soft as the mirror of the summer skies
When twilight shadows o’er its surface steal,
And twinkling stars their radiant orbs reveal!
Why are they sad
Which were so glad,
Ione?
Have their rays bathed in dew-drops ’mid the air,
And still the sparkling moisture trembles there?
Then, smile, for dewy tears
Melt when the sun appears,
Ione!
Yet thou art very beautiful in sadness,
Ione!
More beautiful e’en than in gladness,
And the sweet music of thy gentle sighs
Comes like the language of thy speaking eyes;
What do they say?
Tell me their lay,
Ione!
Fain would I learn from thee what passing thought
Can with such plaintive melody be fraught
Ah! wherefore turn away,
Stay, yet a little stay,
Ione!

REALITY.

O the heart has dreams Elysian!
That steal o’er it calm and sweet,
Hushing pain like a magician
Who binds spirits at his feet.

But the forms that throng its mazes
Are too bright for mortal birth,
And the scenes that fancy raises
Far too beautiful for earth.

Let us turn with humbler spirits
To the things that God has made,
Pass the weakness flesh inherits,
Since the sunshine, too, has shade.

’Tis the pride of human nature
That makes life seem cold and drear,
Drawing up a dwarfish stature
To o’ertop its proper sphere.

Gath’ring round it misty fancies,
Like the mountain’s cloudy wreath,
Till the spirit’s errant glances
See no beauty underneath.

There are true hearts beating nigh us
As we fight the fight of life,
Hearts unstain’d by guilty bias,
Hearts unharden’d by its strife.

There are gentle bosoms swelling
With all motions pure and kind,
That unceasingly are welling
Solace to the weary mind.

Few there are without possessing
Some good virtue in their heart,
Whence, beneath love’s soft compressing,
As from flowers, sweet perfumes start.

Dreamer, turn then to the real
With a frank and trusting soul,
Not alone to the ideal
Let thy genial currents roll.

Pierce the clay that oft encloses
The pure brightness of a gem,
Think thee, flowers less fair than roses,
In their sweetness rival them.

Thus in truth, and not in dreaming,
Life will blossom to the full,
Unto love’s eyes all things seeming
Prism’d through the beautiful.

RETROSPECTION.

Oh, my heart throbs ever wildly, half in joy and half in scorning,
As the course of my life’s story dimly flits across my mind,
Now that fate seems clear and steady, and the mist that veil’d its
morning
Has resolved into bright sunshine with the azure heaven behind.

And I cry with exultation “Bless he who feeling in him
Precepts of pure grace and beauty guiding on his willing soul,
Yields himself unto their teaching, nor lets toil nor danger win him
To forsake the race he runneth till he resteth at the goal.”

I was sprung, from lineage noble, with a spirit inly burning
To uphold my name and honor taintless from the blast of shame,
I was born to be a freeman, by my birthright therefore spurning
All the gilded chains of fashion that make freedom but a name.

From the forms and outward emblems of the deep-lored spirit Nature
Drew I inspiration early for the moulding of my thought,
Gath’ring strength from her o’erflowing, till I grew unto the
stature
Of a man nerved to accomplish all the good her wisdom taught.

So when years had ripen’d on me, and the world’s great portals
yawning,
Bid me enter the enchanted palace of youth’s mystic life,
Eager, breathless to explore it, at each step new wonders dawning,
I went on with stedfast courage, arm’d alike for peace or strife.

And I loved, that I might ever in my bosom bear a treasure
Strong to ransom life from sorrow, strong to furnish it with joy;
So I sought with keenest insight neither small nor scant the
measure
To content my requisition purest gold without alloy.

And I found it lying lowly, far beneath my proud line’s dreaming,
Who if they perchance had seen it, would with scorn have turn’d
away,
But I sought it with soul-gladness, e’en with pride, for to my
seeming
A pure gem is worth the lifting though it lie amongst the clay.

She was fair, a lumin’d beauty rippling o’er each chisell’d feature,
Changing ever like the sunshine playing on the summer sea,
Revelations of God’s spirit permeating through his creature,
Making loveliness all perfect by infused divinity.

What to me though all her dow’ry were the wealth of love and
kindness,
And a heart full fraught with feelings vein’d with gentleness
and grace?
Which the worldling holds as nothing, smitten with judicial
blindness,
But which I o’er all things prizing, wed her in the weak world’s
face.

Scared my kinsmen were and bitter for the shame and the dishonour,
Said they, I had brought upon them and the noble name I bore;
And my sire with passion burning launch’d his deepest curses on her,
And as though I were a felon, drove me fiercely from his door.

I was destined for some puppet, some gold image of his choosing,
Doubtless, who was made to worship like the golden calf of old,
With no merit but her riches, but such shame my soul refusing,
I was cast forth without blessing, poor and guideless from the fold.

Poor? Not poor, for she went with me, pouring still with patient
spirit
Balm upon my wounded feelings, peace upon my burning soul;
So that though man’s love was reft me, ’twas the better to inherit
That which far transcends man’s favour, sentience of Heaven’s
sweetest dole.

Words of scorn and deep contemning gave I back for their reviling,
For my soul waxed wroth within me to be judged by such as they,
Fools so sage in their great folly, that they shake their bells, and
smiling
With an imbecile self-blindness, sneer the wise of heart away.

Let them wear their masking purple, threadbare now with vilest uses,
All the ancient gloss and brightness faded from it through their
stains,
They may be disgraced, degraded, but true nobleness, ne’er loses
By relinquishing its trappings, whilst the spirit still remains.

Did I shame them that I ceded all the forms and false adorning
That doth deck them for their stations heedless of the stuff within,
And stood forth in my own fashion, such as God had made me, scorning
To be made a man of tinsel, to be honoured for my kin.

Did I shame them that rejoicing in the freedom of my spirit
I asserted all its fulness, spite of prejudice and pride;
Whilst they, slaves of wealth and fashion, trembling cowards did not
dare it,
Would not risk a pointed finger e’en to gain an angel bride.

Was the noble name they cited but the badge of slaves and vassals,
Bound beyond emancipation to obey another’s mood?
Better far to be a peasant ’neath the shadow of their castles,
Than debase the soul within me to such brutish servitude.

What were they with all their lordship, all their riches,
measured duly,
That they looked with scorn upon her in her unadorned worth?
Ashy fruit with surface golden, she with goodness leavened
throughly,
All her wealth by heaven imparted, their’s derived alone from
Earth.

Oh! I felt a high compassion for their warp’d and narrow feelings
As I press’d my bride unto me, and read o’er her gentle eyes,
Gaining deeper insight daily, meeting ever new revealings
Of the grace of woman’s spirit, and her holy sympathies.

So we pilgrim’d on together, buffeting the ills about us,
Sharing hope, and joy, and sorrow, as we shared our daily bread,
Keeping still a pleasaunce scathless in our hearts, though all
without us
Might be cheerless desolation, and the sky with clouds o’erspread.

Through much toil and tribulation, we attain’d at last to honour
With no succour from my kindred, I upreared my house alone,
And I see my cherish’d maiden, with admiring gazes on her,
Glide amid the high and noble with a grace beyond their own.

And those proud ones now are gracious, bowing fawningly before her,
Whilst she with her true eyes calmly takes the measure of their
hearts,
Weighs aright the honied speeches, and the praise they heap upon
her,
Her own innocence instinctively disarming all their arts.

For she knows their tongues are venal, sold to flatter wealth and
power,
And to crouch with serpent homage in the dust at Fortune’s shrine,
Ready to revile and slander if calamity should lower,
And to flout as base, deceitful, what they late had termed divine.

Thus unmask’d and sifted throughly let them stoop and fawn at
pleasure,
Little reck I to revenge me better for their former spite
As I mark their degradation falling on them in full measure
When they humble themselves vilely, thus, to one who reads them
right.

THE STORMY PETREL.

Far in the wilderness of waves,
Where vision dieth ’mid endless motion,
Where only the madden’d storm-wind raves,
And sinketh its chains in the soundless ocean;
Far from the ken and the power of men,
And lone as though Earth were in chaos again,
The Stormy Petrel cleaveth the air,
And maketh the surging billow its lair.

The black cloud scuddeth along on high,
Silent and swift as the angel Death,
Led by Euroclydon through the sky
Unto its victim with bated breath,
Whilst only God and the Petrel seeth
The path by which the Avenger fleeth,
And with shrill accent of wail and mourning
Riseth the Petrel’s wild cry of warning.

Anon the bones of the wreck come past
Bitterly mock’d of the roaring tide,
From wave to wave in derision cast
With scorn and jeers at poor human pride;
And still the Petrel with lightning sweep
Circles their way through the raging deep,
Settling in awe on some shatter’d spar,
And tracking its course as it drifts afar.

Into this realm of the winds and waves
Man cometh not with his living soul,
But like the mounds over clammy graves,
Over his body the surges roll;
No mortal weeper hath seen his tomb,
Buried he lies in eternal gloom,
Save that the Petrel with wailing cry
Hover’d around as he floated by.

What doth the Petrel so far away
From the home of love and the field of strife?
In this lone spot doth the Petrel stay
To show the beauty and power of LIFE.
For the broad Earth and the boundless sea,
Time and the endless eternity,
All, all acknowledge the spirit’s controul,
And like the frail body, were made for the soul.

TO--

When the stars are up and keeping
Holy vigils in the skies,
Whilst Night’s train is passing slowly,
Footsteps hush’d, and voices lowly,
And on earth sweet dreams are steeping
Slumbering souls in Paradise,
In my heart there comes a vision,
Angel-like from its elysian,
Bent upon some blessed mission,
And its form resembleth thee
In thy grace and purity.

I with tranced rapture gazing,
Scan each lineament divine,
Trace again thy pensive sweetness,
Beauty’s soul, and love’s completeness,
Heart and hands devoutly raising
Like a pilgrim at Love’s shrine,
Evermore within me feeling
Like a charm thy beauty stealing,
Hushing pain, and sorrow healing,
And I pray to dream for ever
Gazing thus, and waking never;

For the morn comes, and the Real
Once again resumes its sway,
Scattereth these radiant fancies,
Cloudeth o’er thy gentle glances,
And still seeking my Ideal
Through this life I take my way,
Weary, heart-sick, longing, sighing,
Praying much, yet no replying,
Phantom Hope before me flying
Leading ever back to thee,
To behold thee in thy beauty,
Feel that love is only duty,
Meritless, save that so dying
Gain I Love’s eternity.

THE MERMAID.

A mermaid smoothing her sunny hair,
Fanned by the breath of the summer air,
Sang to me, “Love, wilt thou go with me
“Down to the depths of the purple sea?”
“Maiden, ah yes! I will go with thee,
“And lap my soul in felicity!”

Down we went through the crystal waters
Evermore waving round Neptune’s daughters,
Down, till the light of the starry sky
Melted away like an echoed sigh,
And the rapt breast of the restless ocean
Sank into still dreams of past emotion,
Down, and we stood on a pleasant shore
Paven with shells from the Naiad’s store,
Shining and rosy-lipp’d such as keep
The mermaid’s songs for their balmy sleep.
Flowers there were set with sparkling gems,
Gleaming amid the white coral stems,
And flinging their measure of light and scent
Up through the translucent firmament.
And as the air by a bird’s wing laven,
Or a deep pool by a white hand waven,
Floated the swells of the dewy tide
Round the sea-maiden and me beside.
Onward we went where a diamond portal
Kept the pure light of the dawn immortal,
Making the heart sicken o’er to win
The halcyon joys it enclosed within;
Entered we under its arching sweep
Into the palace hall of the deep,
Where ’neath the vault of its lofty dome
Have the nymphs and mermen gay their home;
There sat old Neptune upon his throne,
A foaming wave that was turn’d to stone,
And round about him his merry crew
With brimming cups of the purple dew;
Wandering far through the lumin’d halls,
Where light was bred in the ruby walls,
Stray’d the fair Naiads with golden hair,
That wanton’d about in the perfumed air;
And flowing robes round their white limbs waved,
Like moonbeams bright into substance laved.
Neptune in tones that spread far and wide,
“Ho! Ho! a man with a mermaid bride!”
And the blue dome rung with cruel laughter,
Till all the arches mutter’d it after;
Then came the nymphs in a radiant string,
And circled us round like Saturn’s ring,
Forms that appearing to mortal eyes
Dazzle them so that the spirit dies.
Then to my mermaid old Neptune saith,
“Hymn the rash mortal unto his death!”
She with a voice that murmuring stole
Deep as a heaven thought into my soul
“O! in the land that is under the waves
“To dwell with my love in the coral caves,
“To bind his brows with a diamond zone,
“And call the light of his eyes mine own;
“To roam with him through the boundless space,
“And make the billow our resting place,
“There sing our songs till we fall asleep,
“And dream of Elysium in the deep;
“Waves are flowing for ever and ever,
“O they will rock us for ever and ever,
“Hush every sorrow to quiet rest,
“And pillow love in each other’s breast;
“O they will sink us deeper and deeper,
“Until they themselves sleep with the sleeper,
“Until there is only love awake,
“That cannot sleep for his own sweet sake;
“Come in my bosom, then, come with me,
“Down to the depths of the purple sea!”
All my soul thrill’d and panted for bliss
As pilgrims thirst in the wilderness;
I cried, “O maiden, whose softest sighs
“Are sweeter than all Earth’s melodies,
“If thou wilt wander with me for ever,
“And naught have power our true hearts to sever,
“I shall forget all that earth calls fair,
“And all that I fondly treasured there,
“The meadows and hills and sunny dells,
“And the birds and fragrant heather-bells,
“And I will follow thee through the deep,
“Where waves shall rock us to tender sleep;
“All powers of ocean I will defy,
“And follow thee though it be but to die!”
Neptune then, “Youth thou hast bravely said,
“And meet art thou with a nymph to wed,
“So thou shalt live out thy little span
“Unscathed by the hands of the blithe merman.”

So they bound me fast in cruel sleep,
And bore me silently from the deep,
And ne’er have I seen my mermaid more,
Though oft I watch for her on the shore.

THE SPIRIT OF THE AIR.

A spirit came to me on the breeze
Sweet with the breath of the orange trees,
Floated about me, and murmur’d soft,
“O Poet! wilt fly with me far aloft?
“And I will show thee the realms of space
“Where the lightning can find no resting place.
“We will away to the home of morn,
“And see the first youngling sunbeams born.
“We will away to the cave of Night,
“And wake the echoes to sudden fright,
“And then we’ll wander among the stars
“And mark the roll of their golden cars?”
“Spirit! I’ll go with thee through the sky,
“For my soul pants ever to soar on high,
“If thou wilt bear me upon thy wings,
“And guide me amid our bright wanderings.”

Swiftly we went through the sunny air,
Higher than ever the skylark dare,
And the bright clouds where the summer beams
Slumber and revel in golden dreams,
Lay far beneath us like dewy fumes
Hovering over the flower-blooms.
Higher we went till the puny Earth
Dwindled away to an atom girth,
And the record of our rapid way
Was the far death of a starry ray;
Then we drew nigh to the palace bright
Where morning treasures her dewy light,
Cool’d by the breath of the angels’ wings,
And sweet with their musical utterings.
There we saw the young day-beams awaken,
And the earth’s rays from their soft tresses shaken,
And there we saw the sweet zéphyrs rise,
That woo the flowers with gentle sighs,
And kiss the mist from the streamlet’s tide,
As tears are kiss’d from a happy bride;
The angels of Joy and bliss were there,
Lapt in the folds of the balmy air,
Breathing their pæans till far away
The echoes went with the light of day;
The spirit said, “Hence the ray of morn,
“Like a poor child unto sorrow born,
“Wends to the earth with sweet smiles uplit,
“And from the darkness awakens it;
“But though it whisper of peace and love,
“And tell the world of the joys above,
“They will not hearken unto the voice
“Whose accents faint make the flowers rejoice,
“But still grovel on in strife and sorrow,
“And make the signal of war, ‘the morrow.’”
Onward we went through the heavens afar
Swift as the course of a shooting star,
Until dark shadows began to fall
Around our way, like a funeral pall,
Deeper and deeper, and then the gloom
Grew thick as it were the Night’s own tomb;
There was no sound save the rushing wave
Closing the furrow our passing clave;
There was no sound save the beating heart,
That at its own throbbings seemed to start;
There was no sound save the ebb and flow
Of my own breathing drawn long and low;
Then the air-spirit gave forth a cry
That rang through the arches of the sky,
Whereat a myriad echoes leapt
Forth from the darkness ’mid which they slept,
Shouted an answer in fierce surprise,
That rumbled far into faintest sighs,
Then slowly sank to their rest again,
And left the Night to her silent reign.
On we went whilst the sounds grew dimmer,
Till stars afar began to glimmer
Like flashing lights on a lonely mere,
Like tapers dim round a sable bier;
Onward, till many a radiant world
In solemn glory across us whirl’d,
Shaking the air in their mighty march,
Like thunder beneath its prison arch;
Ever louder the swift wind bore us
The swell of their eternal chorus,
Filling the soul of the boundless sky
With strains of adoring harmony.
Past us came Mars all fiery and red,
Like a warrior stain’d with the blood he shed;
And his voice o’er all rang clear and high
Pealing for ever Truth’s battle-cry;
Saturn came with his blazing ring,
Like a crown round the brows of a Titan king,
Circled by many a satellite,
That made his pathway through heaven bright;
The star of eve like a maiden sphere,
Gleaming with beauty and grace, drew near,
Sweeping along ’mid heaven’s panoply,
The sweetest and fairest child of the sky;
Onward they came in myriad lines
From space whereon the sun never shines,
But fades away like a twinkling star
’Neath orbs whose glory is greater far;
Many a beautiful world appear’d,
Such as not even Fancy hath rear’d,
Sinless and happy as Heaven will be,
And stamp’d with the seal of Eternity.

But sadly we sank to Earth again,
And heard the discord and strife of men,
Like a harp that jars from a sudden fall,
And turns to discord tones musical.

WHY DO I LOVE THEE?

’Tis not because thou art so fair,
So beautiful unto the sight;
’Tis not because thy silken hair
Curls o’er a neck of spotless white;
’Tis not because thy speaking eye
Claims kindred with the deep blue sky,

Alone I love thee!

No! ’tis because around thee gleams
The light of innocence and truth,
Adorning with its radiant beams,
And pure reflex the charms of youth;
Because thine every word and thought
With thy soul’s gentleness is fraught,

Therefore I love thee!

LADY ANNABEL.

She had suitors many, many,
The fair Lady Annabel,
But she loved him more than any,
For she knew he loved her well.
She was rich, but he was lowly,
Lowly in the world’s esteem,
But that made her love more holy,
As the darkness gilds the beam;
For she knew his manly honour,
All the beauties of his mind,
And they sweetly stole upon her
Like the scent borne on the wind;
So she loved him ere she knew it,
Ere she thought to close her heart
’Gainst the tender spells that drew it
Evermore to take his part
When in idlesse or in malice
Others lightly spoke of him,
Careless that in his life’s chalice
They poured sadness to the brim;
For he was a dreamer throughly,
Feeding on sweet Poesie,
And few knew his spirit truly,
And none prized it well as she;
But upon the thymy mosses,
With wild flowers by his side,
Blossoms that the summer glosses
For the brow of fairy bride,
He would lie and weave bright fancies
From the maze within his heart,
Which her gentle smiles and glances
Kindled with an angel’s art;
For a firmament of beauty
Hung like heaven o’er his mind,
And it seem’d a sacred duty
To hymn all the fair it shrined;
So he praised her golden tresses,
And he thought them fair and soft
As the locks the sun caresses
On bright angels far aloft;
And her eyes so blue and tender,
Made for love to glisten through,
That their gentleness might render
Love as welcome as the dew;
And her cheeks with roses blushing,
And her lips with sunshine drest,
Her white bosom gently hushing
With its swells all ill to rest,
All came to him in his dreaming
Like things from another sphere,
Till bewildered by their gleaming
He felt only they were dear.
Must he perish, must he languish
For the love of one so fair,
Till the cruel sting of anguish
Change a blessing to despair?
He is poor, and favour never
Smiles on one so weak as he,
Poverty still comes to sever
All hopes of felicity.
But she loves him, and communion
With his soul gives strength to hers,
So they blend their lives in union
Careless of cold fashion’s slurs;
She resigns what earth calls treasure,
Titled suitors, wealthy-dower,
That is commerce, she seeks pleasure,
For she knows life’s but an hour,
Far too short and full of sadness,
Far too full of grief and pain,
For the heart to barter gladness
For a shadow or for gain;
So she fondly stood beside him,
And she placed her hand in his
With a smile that seem’d to chide him
For the shade that veil’d his bliss,
As he thought how he could duly
Make return for all her love,
Only could he serve her truly,
Love her as the light above;
And she said “We will live gaily
In some sylvan hermitage,
Worshipping all beauty daily,
Till my foolish heart grow sage;
We will have sweet flowers about us,
Birds to sing from every tree
No suspicious friends to doubt us,
So we must live merrily!”

Thus they went, and of their marriage
Jesting spake the giddy world;
Nobles, pillow’d in their carriage,
Laugh’d aloud with proud lips curled,
And fair ladies smiled their pity,
With a sigh for mortal folly,
Whilst rich merchants in the city
Frown’d, and called it, “Melancholy.”
What they said, or what they ponder’d
Little reck’d fair Annabel,
As with joyous hearts they wander’d
By green vale and shady dell;
And she cried “O! life was never
Made to be ambition’s fool,
Bound in fashion’s chains, and ever
Banish’d from the Beautiful!”

TO JENNY LIND.

ON HER RE-APPEARANCE IN ENGLAND

MAY 4t.

Summer hath come, led on by sunny May
The blue-eyed, round whose brow the first pure ray
That trembles from the opening gates of dawn
Still seems to circle, and the mossy lawn,
As they glide gently onward, ever breathes
A beauty and a fragrance, which enwreathes
Within the being until every thought
With a strange mystery of joy is fraught.
And where the hazel forms a leafy screen
Of verdant matting, the cuckoo, unseen,
Chaunts forth her woodnotes through the stilly air,
Whose silent motions far the accents bear.
And thou hast come, sweet Nightingale! once more
O’er our entranced spirits to outpour
Thy liquid warblings! ‘Mid the flow’rets’ scent
And summer’s gladness rises interblent
Thy loving welcome! Not the bird that sighs
Her thrilling love-tale through the moonlit skies
Of Italy, as erst to Juliet’s ear
From the pomegranate tree ’twas wafted near,
Seizes the soul with ravishment more sweet
Than thy soft tones, stealing unto the seat
Of passion, waking echoes in the breast
Of love, and purity, and quiet rest,
Murmuring through the windings of the soul,
Till interpenetrated is the whole
With holy harmonies, and blissful sense
Of joyance, and straightway is refted thence
All baser feeling, and all earthly leaven,
By the dear magic of that voice from heaven.
Fair Priestess of the Beautiful! that bringest
Missions of sweetness from above, and flingest
In a rich flood of song now faint, yet clear
As Helicon’s own murmurs to the ear,
Now swelling till around our being floats
In thrilling cadences thy bell-like notes,
The poetry of poetry, the deep
Mysterious essences whose wavings steep
Life in the bliss of angels, and the real
In the ethereal hues of the ideal;
A welcome to thee! heartfelt as the lay
Hymn’d by the panting lark to the young day,
Joyous and loving as the sunny beam
That greets the early primrose, when the dream
Of flowery revels through the noontide hours
First steals upon it. Such a joy is ours
Now, as with falt’ring tones our spirits hail
Thy glad return, O sweetest Nightingale!

THE GOLD SEEKERS.

Ever onward sweep the Nations, marching with a mighty train,
Prince and peasant, youth and maiden, toiling, struggling o’er
Life’s plain;

Turning from the land that bore them, from the loving ties of old,
Still to wander, weary pilgrims, o’er the wide world after gold.

Little reck they of the dangers, little reck they of the woes,
Urged along by strong endeavour, heedless both of friends and foes;

Gazing on the shadow moving at their sides till sun hath set,
Ever whisp’ring to their spirit, “Courage! we will grasp it yet!”

Over plain and over mountain, rocks their zeal cannot resist,
Up the rugged heights they clamber till they perish in the mist;

Down the precipital hollows blindly falling as they speed,
Calling still with dying accents on their fellows to take heed;

Over stream, and trackless ocean, with the storm-cloud hatching
nigh,
Ever waiting there to thunder at the bidding of the sky;

Tossing on the angry billow, heart and soul beset with fear,
Yet with longing all unshaken, onward through the blast they steer;

Over marsh, and sandy desert, sinking ’neath the scorching sun,
Hopeless, weary, madly thirsting, slowly dying one by one;

Leaving many a bone to whiten by the wayside, and to tell
By mortality’s drear tide-marks, how its surges rose and fell;

Through the spring, and through the summer, when the flowers are on
the lea;
Through the Autumn when the blossoms fade and wither drearily;

Through the chill and ghostly Winter when the year is in its shroud,
And corruption preys on Nature, stooping fiercely from its cloud;

Through the light and through the darkness, through the rain and
through the snow,
Striving onward without resting seeking it above, below,

In the earth, and in the water, in the rock, and in the clay,
Gathering up the sandy beaches, searching, sifting them away;

Never resting, but with spirits eager, breathless to attain,
Evermore they hurry forward to their purpose o’er life’s plain,

With their garments waxen olden, and their sandals wearing out,
And the sinews growing weaker that once bore them up so stout,

With the vision ever dimmer to discern the cherish’d prize,
Till at length upon the highway, at each step some pilgrim dies,

His glazed eyes still feebly turning e’en in death unto the goal
That yet glimmers far beyond him, the life haven of his soul.

But a stalwart phalanx presseth onward still with hearts serene,
Strong in faith and stedfast courage, meeting toil with dauntless
mien;

Working out their primal mission through the calm and through the
blast,
Gath’ring fitness for the Future from the Present, and the Past.

Thus enduring, thus pursuing upheld by a mighty hand
Through all dangers of the travel, come they to the Golden Land,

Find the treasures they are seeking richly pour’d into their breast;
Toil and danger ever finish’d, now they sweetly take their rest,

With the light of glory shining from the Godhead on their souls,
Whilst above them the broad banner of Eternity unrolls.

TO WOMAN.

Beautiful Spirit! Angel of the Earth!
That glidest through the storm-tost world,
And bearest
Blessings of peace and rest unto the weak,
Giddy and faint within its vortex whirled;
O! fairest,
Sweetest Pilot of the wavering soul
Through the wide-yawning gulfs and shoals of crime,
Whence issue siren-spells that seek
To sink the wayward in their noxious slime;
Emblem of Purity!
That like the star of Bethlehem dost lume
The wise of heart through this life’s deepest gloom
To hope, and joy, and blessedness,
Hail to thee!
Thou art the Priestess of all Holiness!
Standing midway betwixt the earth and heaven,
Part shared of either,
Mortality inwrought with purer leaven,
Good sympathies, sweet thoughts, and stainless love,
That like distilled perfume float above
To charm the breather!

O vision of soft eyes and flowing hair,
Mild gentle eyes that chasten as they glance,
And on their dewy brightness ever bear
The heart’s warm language writ in radiance!
O blessed smiles! heaven’s golden sunrays shed
On life’s cold stream,
Renewed summer when the old is fled
Like a dream!
O voice tinct with the spirit’s sweetness,
Last tone of heaven’s clear harmonies
Ere in the silence of wide space it dies,
Music’s completeness!
O gentle laughters! rising from the crystal spring
Of joyance and free-hearted sympathy,
Pure rills to trickle sunnily
From eyes and rosy lips in liquid warbling,
Sweetly ye win us
To shrine the blest spirit of Beauty
Within us!

O tender heart! Love’s everlasting dwelling,
Beautiful fountain of all generous thoughts,
From whose unsealed fulness, ever welling,
Come to mankind their purest pleasure draughts;
O gentle heart! Grief’s only sanctuary,
Safe refuge from the rude assaults of woe,
Throbbing with mild compassion constantly,
That never change nor withering can know;
From the pure spring of virgin slumbers
Peace falls upon the soul when thou art by,
Lulling it sweeter than Philomel’s numbers,
Lapping it deep within felicity.
O brightest! dearest! still there floats to thee
The incense of pure minds eternally,
Thoughts sown of loveliness, that bud and bloom,
And through the summer-time of after years

Shed sweet perfume,

Love-imaginings that rise through tears
Like rainbows, and soft dreams

That are the heaven-gleams,

Caught from the deep

Of Elysian sleep!

THE POET.

You might think, to look upon them with their arms around each
other,
And the tale that he is breathing softly crimsoned on her cheek,
That a sweeter spell enwound them than the love she bears a brother,
And that sweeter words are spoken than the words that brothers
speak.

For, fair one, she loves him dearly, dearly as a woman’s spirit
Full of gentleness and beauty loves all pure and holy things,
Just as though some blessed angel, screened from sight, were
floating near it,
Fanning every tender feeling into motion with its wings.

So she hears with echoed rapture hopes that in his breast are
swelling,
Of the glory and the honour that have sunned his poet’s dream,
Charmed him by their bright illusion madly from his quiet dwelling
To immerse him in life’s ocean, there to lose him like a stream.

Ay! look in her eyes, poor poet, kiss the tears that tremble
brightly
On their fringes till thou deem’st them her pure soul distill’d
for thee,
They are true ones, they are fond ones, and that vision, coming
nightly,
May refresh thee like a fountain rising ’mid sterility.

Backward from her upturned beauty did he smooth the golden tresses,
That Madonna-like fell clust’ring round the softness of her cheek;
’Twas a frank one, and a fair one, with the grace that truth
impresses
Beaming o’er it without shadow, so he gazed but did not speak.

Then he whispered, “Bright May, dear May, in the world where I am
going,
Going, it may be unwisely, but some magic draws me on,
There to win the fame and honour with whose fire my soul is glowing,
Thou shalt be my guiding angel, thou shalt be my helicon.

I will paint thee in my verses, thee, so beautiful and tender,
Till that world shall thrill with pleasure, and pure hearts shall
cherish thee;
Bright May, dear May, they will love thee, and thy gentleness shall
render
Earth again a sunny Eden dedicate to Poesy.

They will crown me for thy beauty, they will love me for thy
sweetness,
They will shrine my name in glory, hear it like a household thing,
They will feel the spell of beauty, think of heaven for thy
meetness,
Thus I’ll do the poet’s mission, thou an angel’s ministring.”

So he went into the wide world with bright hopes around him playing,
Youth to make his footsteps buoyant, and firm trust to nerve his
heart,
Fame and glory clear before him like a sun the path arraying,
Witless that the golden vision of his dreams could ere depart.

II.

There are thousands in the highways buffeting the waves beside
them,
Struggling onward without respite in pursuit of sandbuilt gain;
There are thousands sinking daily, but the selfish crowd deride
them,
Only hurry on the swifter there’s no time to pity pain.

Ah! what hope for thee, poor poet! in the race that they are
running,
When the jar of stormy passions makes thy temples wildly beat;
Can’st thou wrestle with the torrent, can’st thou stand against
their cunning,
Who will crush thee without mercy, like a flower beneath their feet.

Wherefore did’st thou leave thy dwelling ’mid the calm and pleasant
places,
Where no sorrow came to rouse thee from the heaven of thy dreams,
Where the wood-birds gave thee music, and the path the wild bee
traces
For its sweetness thou could’st follow, or repose by gentle streams.

O poor world! immersed in folly, O dull world! that will not hearken
To the music of a Poet singing of the Beautiful,
Close your heart against its teaching, though it be so sweet, and
darken
All the sunshine of the spirit by the coldness of your rule.

Who would bid us draw the curtain that conceals the poet’s sorrow,
Who would need to hear his anguish when they look upon his brow,
It is written there in tracings far more true than tongue could
borrow,
It is brimming in his glances, once so bright, so woeful now.

Gaze upon him! dost thou know him? to his long-left home returning,
For his step is very feeble, and his cheek is very pale,
And amid it like a sunset is the hectic plague-spot burning,
Ye who know no shatter’d hope-dreams, gaze upon him there’s the
tale!

O the holy love of woman! O the gentle love of woman!
Breathing like a balmy zephyr on the fever’d brows of care,
Centrate sweetness of all sweetness, only in its sorrow human,
Joy without you were a phantom, grief without you were despair!

See! how tenderly she leads him with her arm around him pressing,
As to shield him from the rough world that had wrought him so much
woe,
And his eyes are filled with moisture, scarcely can he breathe his
blessing,
But she feels it in the throbbing of his full heart as they go.

Gaze again into her kind eyes, gaze into them, weary poet,
Fill thy soul with holy calmness from the fountain of her love,
If there’s peace for thy poor spirit in this earth they will bestow
it,
For she is a gentle angel sent to bless thee from above.

And she said, as she bent o’er him, half in language, half in
glances,
For there is a hidden meaning far too deep for words to tell,
“We will dwell,” she said, “with nature, nourishing all gentle
fancies,
And the lark shall be our minstrel, and the flowers shall love us
well.”

So he smiled upon her gently with a glance more sad than weeping,
That a bitter thrill ran through her like a harp struck suddenly,
And she thought upon the summer with cold shadows o’er it creeping,
And she thought upon the flowers fading on the mossy lea.

But she turn’d her till the paleness, and the tears that would be
flowing
Faded from her that they might not be the mirrors of his own;
Smiling comfort on him ever, evermore as they were going,
For she said “Ah! there are none to smile on him but I alone.”

III.

He is lying in the sunshine with the blithe birds round him singing,
There are flowers beside his pillow, there are flowers beneath his
feet,
Summer pours her treasures round him, like a gentle maiden flinging
Fragrant blossoms from her bosom o’er a path to make it sweet.

She is kneeling in the sunshine with the radiant glory o’er her,
And his palm is on her tresses, her’s are folded on her breast;
He were very calm and happy, only for the love he bore her,
Which was far too sweet a feeling to resign it e’en for rest.

“Bright May! dear May! draw still nearer, nearer, dear May! till my
spirit
Sun itself within your brightness, as the lark doth in the day;
Soon the air will be so lumined that my weakness will not bear it,
So I’ll gather new strength from thee to support me on my way.

“There are tears within your eyes, May, let me kiss them from your
eyes, May,
They will taste as sweet to me as do the dews upon the rose;
Dear eyes how I love them! they oft tell me of the skies, May,
Tell me secrets of the Blessed more than mortal spirit knows.

“Ah! I knew not in the old time half the sweetness that doth linger
Round the simple things of Nature which the proud heart passes by,
Now I see there’s not a wildflower but doth point with warning
finger,
To the unobservant passer, truths of immortality.

“Bright May, thou shalt be my beadsman, and thy golden tresses
drooping
Round thee shall be all the vesture that my loving soul shall seek;
Thou shalt be a meet confessor for a lowly poet stooping
To breathe forth his secret failings, and read pardon on thy cheek.

“Bright May! I have been a strayer from the narrow path that wanders
Through this world to lead the traveller to a glad eternity,
I have been an erring madman, for the blind heart never ponders
Till the fancied light it follows lead it from felicity.

“I have been most false and perjured, false to all a poet’s duty,
Even whilst my heart was boasting proudly of a poet’s creed,
I have loudly claimed the title of a worshipper of beauty,
Yet could gaze upon a flower till I thought it but a weed.

“Yes! I dwelt amid the woodlands with bright streamlets singing
round me,
Sunny dells, moss-paven alleys, and cool shades to ramble in;
All was happy, all was peaceful, yet e’en there ambition found me,
Charm’d me forth into the rough world to engulph me in its din.

“Yes! I wearied of the woodlands, of the streams and sunny places
Where I lay me in the summer to dream all the noontide o’er,
Like the child of a sweet mother lapt within her fond embraces
Drawing fitness from her beauty to lisp forth in poet’s lore.

But the time is drawing nigh; now, when my soul sublimed from folly
Shall see all things in their trueness, with no sun-veil drawn
between;
Know that glory is mere weakness and that aim alone is holy
Which, wrought out in life with patience, fits man for a higher
scene.

EVENING.

Far away in Western ether
Day and Night at length have met,
Like old friends that come together,
And their eyes with tears are wet.

In the heart, too, joy and sorrow
Meet together without pain,
Loving friends who, on the morrow,
At the dawning, part again.

’Tis the time for sweet contentment,
Thoughts all dedicate to love,
Soften’d down from all resentment,
Chasten’d as the light above.

’Tis the time to breathe a blessing
Forth on all things good and fair,
That make life so sweet, repressing
Like a charm the strokes of care.

Tis the time when those who love us
Rise like stars in Fancy’s sky,
Shining steadily above us,
Though afar, in seeming nigh.

Sure our life is but a gloaming
Deep’ning slowly unto Night,
To give rest unto the roaming,
To the sad, dreams of delight.

Should not life, then, be contentment,
Only dedicate to love,
Softened down from all resentment,
Holy as the light above.

LIFE.

Many a bright and pleasant vision
Hath the heart in youth,
Visions that the wizard Fancy
Conjures by sweet Necromancy,
Ever robed in hues Elysian,
From the world of Truth;
Many a bright and pleasant vision
Cheers the heart of youth!

Just as though the curtain parted
From the Life Unseen,
And a portion of its gladness,
Unalloy’d by any sadness,
O’er the ripening spirit darted
Like the morning’s sheen,
Making us awhile pure-hearted
And our sky serene.

Many a pleasure from the real
Hath our manly prime,
Though the mystic light is shaded,
And the rosy dreams have faded;
For our strengthen’d spirits see all
Things matured by Time,
Growing out of the ideal
Unto truth sublime;

Blossom unto fruitage golden,
Hope to certainty;
All things by divine transition
Keeping pace with life’s ambition,
New joys springing from the olden
As we pass them by
Climbing still, by faith upholden,
Onward to the sky.

Many a pleasant recollection
Hath the heart of Age,
That life’s tide hath staunchly breasted,
Wrought, achieved and nobly rested,
Musing with calm retrospection
Their past pilgrimage;
Many a sweet and wise reflection
Hath the heart of Age;

Looking forward, dreaming ever
Of the Better Land;
Waiting for the promised glory,
That shall bind their temples hoary
With a brightness fading never
On that holy strand,
Crowning life’s devout Endeavour
With a bounteous hand.

SORROW.

Through the Earth a Spirit goeth
Onward still from morn till night,
Silent as the Time-stream floweth
Out of darkness into light.

And her heart is very tender,
Full of love and kindliness,
Yearning evermore to render
Goodness fuller, error less.

Through the Earth the spirit wendeth,
And full many a little child
With light heart her course attendeth,
By her gentle eyes beguiled;

Turning to her fond embraces,
Playing round her as she goes,
With no shade on their glad faces
Deeper than the budding rose.

A maiden dreaming of her lover
Like a star amid the night,
Felt the spirit bend above her,
In between her and the light;

And she quivered back in terror
From the spirit’s offered kiss;
Ah! how often, thus, doth error
Backward fright our souls from bliss!

Then the spirit “Ah! thou dearest,
Wilt thou close thy heart from me?
Through the shadow that thou fearest
Heaven’s own light will shine on thee.

“Like the streams that most refresh us
In the desert parch’d and drear,
Sorrow renders love more precious,
Makes the cherish’d one more dear.”

On the spirit circled gently,
Kindly round a Poet’s heart,
Gazing through the veil intently
After life’s diviner part;

And the poet bent to meet her,
For he said “The truth will be
Made through Sorrow ever sweeter,
Ever clearer unto me.

“We are blinded by the sunlight
From the heaven’s unclouded blue,
But through mist we eye the One-light
Till we read it through and through.”

To the beautiful the Spirit
Open’d wide her loving breast,
Wooed their souls to nestle near it
And from life’s excitement rest,

Whispering, “Sleep on Sorrow’s bosom,
Dear ones, and your souls will rise
With fresh sweetness on their blossom,
Richer perfume, brighter dyes.”

Most shrunk from her, but some weeping
Yielded to her soft controul;
And whilst on that bosom sleeping
Heaven-dew fell upon each soul.

Young and old fled from her ever
Waving off her proffered grace,
Thwarting each divine endeavour,
Trembling still before her face;

And she said “Ah! ye are blinded,
Seeing not the things that are,
For unto the earnest-minded
Sorrow is life’s guiding star;

“Not delusive, not unsparing,
Richer fraught with good than pain,
Unto life sweet blessings bearing
Though she scatter them in rain.”