The Parting

1

The chestnut steed stood by the gate
His noble master's will to wait,
The woody park so green and bright
Was glowing in the morning light,
The young leaves of the aspen trees
Were dancing in the morning breeze.
The palace door was open wide,
Its lord was standing there,
And his sweet lady by his side
With soft dark eyes and raven hair.
He smiling took her wary hand
And said, 'No longer here I stand;
My charger shakes his flowing mane
And calls me with impatient neigh.
Adieu then till we meet again,
Sweet love, I must no longer stay.'


2


'You must not go so soon,' she said,
'I will not say farewell.
The sun has not dispelled the shade
In yonder dewy dell;
Dark shadows of gigantic length
Are sleeping on the lawn;
And scarcely have the birds begun

To hail the summer morn;
Then stay with me a little while,'
She said with soft and sunny smile.

3


He smiled again and did not speak,
But lightly kissed her rosy cheek,
And fondly clasped her in his arms,
Then vaulted on his steed.
And down the park's smooth winding road
He urged its flying speed.
Still by the door his lady stood
And watched his rapid flight,
Until he came to a distant wood
That hid him from her sight.
But ere he vanished from her view
He waved to her a last adieu,
Then onward hastily he steered
And in the forest disappeared.


4


The lady smiled a pensive smile



And heaved a gently sigh,
But her cheek was all unblanched the while

And tearless was her eye.
'A thousand lovely flowers,' she said,
'Are smiling on the plain.


And ere one half of them are dead,
My lord will come again.
The leaves are waving fresh and green
On every stately tree,
And long before they die away
He will return to me!' Alas!
Fair lady, say not so;
Thou canst not tell the weight of woe
That lies in store for thee.

5


Those flowers will fade, those leaves will fall,
Winter will darken yonder hall;
Sweet spring will smile o'er hill and plain
And trees and flowers will bloom again,
And years will still keep rolling on,
But thy beloved lord is gone.
His absence thou shalt deeply mourn,
And never smile on his return.

The Narrow Way

Believe not those who say
The upward path is smooth,
Lest thou shouldst stumble in the way
And faint before the truth.
It is the only road
Unto the realms of joy;
But he who seeks that blest abode
Must all his powers employ.


Bright hopes and pure delights
Upon his course may beam,
And there amid the sternest heights,
The sweetest flowerets gleam;


On all her breezes borne
Earth yields no scents like those;
But he, that dares not grasp the thorn
Should never crave the rose.


Arm, arm thee for the fight!
Cast useless loads away:
Watch through the darkest hours of night;
Toil through the hottest day.


Crush pride into the dust,
Or thou must needs be slack;
And trample down rebellious lust,
Or it will hold thee back.


Seek not thy treasure here;
Waive pleasure and renown;
The World's dread scoff undaunted bear,
And face its deadliest frown.


To labour and to love,
To pardon and endure,
To lift thy heart to God above,
And keep thy conscience pure,


Be this thy constant aim,
Thy hope and thy delight, What
matters who should whisper blame,
Or who should scorn or slight?


What matters if
thy God approve,
And if within thy breast,
Thou feel the comfort of his love,
The earnest of his rest?

The Consolation

Though bleak these woods and damp the ground
With fallen leaves so thickly strewn,
And cold the wind that wanders round
With wild and melancholy moan,
There is a friendly roof I know
Might shield me from the wintry blast;
There is a fire whose ruddy glow
Will cheer me for my wanderings past.


And so, though still where'er I roam
Cold stranger glances meet my eye,
Though when my spirit sinks in woe
Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh,


Though solitude endured too long
Bids youthful joys too soon decay,
Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue
And overclouds my noon of day,


When kindly thoughts that would have way
Flow back discouraged to my breast
I know there is, though far away
A home where heart and soul may rest.


Warm hands are there that clasped in mine
The warmer heart will not belie,
While mirth and truth and friendship shine
In smiling lip and earnest eye.


The ice that gathers round my heart
May there be thawed; and sweetly then
The joys of youth that now depart
Will come to cheer my soul again.


Though far I roam, this thought shall be
My hope, my comfort everywhere;
While such a home remains to me
My heart shall never know despair.


Hespera Caverndel

The Arbour

I'll rest me in this sheltered bower,
And look upon the clear blue sky
That smiles upon me through the trees,
Which stand so thickly clustering by;
And view their green and glossy leaves,
All glistening in the sunshine fair;
And list the rustling of their boughs,
So softly whispering through the air.


And while my ear drinks in the sound,
My winged soul shall fly away;
Reviewing long departed years
As one mild, beaming, autumn day;


And soaring on to future scenes,
Like hills and woods, and valleys green,
All basking in the summer's sun,
But distant still, and dimly seen.


Oh, list! 'tis summer's very breath
That gently shakes the rustling trees But
look! the snow is on the ground How
can I think of scenes like these?


'Tis but the frost that clears the air,
And gives the sky that lovely blue;
They're smiling in a winter's sun,
Those evergreens of sombre hue.


And winter's chill is on my heart How
can I dream of future bliss?
How can my spirit soar away,
Confined by such a chain as this?

The Captive Dove

Poor restless dove, I pity thee;
And when I hear thy plaintive moan,
I mourn for thy captivity,
And in thy woes forget mine own.
To see thee stand prepared to fly,
And flap those useless wings of thine,
And gaze into the distant sky,
Would melt a harder heart than mine.


In vain in
vain! Thou canst not rise:
Thy prison roof confines thee there;
Its slender wires delude thine eyes,
And quench thy longings with despair.


Oh, thou wert made to wander free
In sunny mead and shady grove,
And, far beyond the rolling sea,
In distant climes, at will to rove!


Yet, hadst thou but one gentle mate
Thy little drooping heart to cheer,
And share with thee thy captive state,
Thou couldst be happy even there.


Yes, even there, if, listening by,
One faithful dear companion stood,
While gazing on her full bright eye,
Thou mightst forget thy native wood.


But thou, poor solitary dove,
Must make, unheard, thy joyless moan;
The heart, that Nature formed to love,
Must pine, neglected, and alone.

Severed and Gone

Severed and gone, so many years!
And art thou still so dear to me,
That throbbing heart and burning tears
Can witness how I cling to thee?
I know that in the narrow tomb
The form I loved was buried deep,
And left, in silence and in gloom,
To slumber out its dreamless sleep.


I know the corner where it lies,
Is but a dreary place of rest:
The charnel moisture never dries
From the dark flagstones o'er its breast,


For there the sunbeams never shine,
Nor ever breathes the freshening air,
But
not for this do I repine;
For my beloved is not there.


O, no! I do not think of thee
As festering there in slow decay: '
Tis this sole thought oppresses me,
That thou art gone so far away.


For ever gone; for I, by night,
Have prayed, within my silent room,
That Heaven would grant a burst of light
Its cheerless darkness to illume;


And give thee to my longing eyes,
A moment, as thou shinest now,
Fresh from thy mansion in the skies,
With all its glories on thy brow.


Wild was the wish, intense the gaze
I fixed upon the murky air,
Expecting, half, a kindling blaze
Would strike my raptured vision there,


A shape these human nerves would thrill,
A majesty that might appal,
Did not thy earthly likeness, still,
Gleam softly, gladly, through it all.


False hope! vain prayer! it might not be
That thou shouldst visit earth again.
I called on Heaven I
called on thee,
And watched, and waited all
in vain.


Had I one shining tress of thine,
How it would bless these longing eyes!
Or if thy pictured form were mine,



What gold should rob me of the prize?


A few cold words on yonder stone,
A corpse as cold as they can be Vain
words, and mouldering dust, alone Can
this be all that's left of thee?


O, no! thy spirit lingers still
Where'er thy sunny smile was seen:
There's less of darkness, less of chill
On earth, than if thou hadst not been.


Thou breathest in my bosom yet,
And dwellest in my beating heart;
And, while I cannot quite forget,
Thou, darling, canst not quite depart.


Though, freed from sin, and grief, and pain
Thou drinkest now the bliss of Heaven,
Thou didst not visit earth in vain;
And from us, yet, thou art not riven.


Life seems more sweet that thou didst live,
And men more true that thou wert one:
Nothing is lost that thou didst give,
Nothing destroyed that thou hast done.


Earth hath received thine earthly part;
Thine heavenly flame has heavenward flown;
But both still linger in my heart,
Still live, and not in mine alone.

Song 2

Come to the banquet triumph
in your songs!
Strike up the chords and
sing of Victory!
The oppressed have risen to redress their wrongs;
The Tyrants are o'erthrown; the Land is free!
The Land is free! Aye, shout it forth once more;
Is she not red with her oppressors' gore?
We are her champions shall
we not rejoice?
Are not the tyrants' broad domains our own?
Then wherefore triumph with a faltering voice;
And talk of freedom in a doubtful tone?
Have we not longed through life the reign to see
Of Justice, linked with Glorious Liberty?


Shout you that will, and you that can rejoice
To revel in the riches of your foes.
In praise of deadly vengeance lift you voice,
Gloat o'er your tyrants' blood, you victims' woes.
I'd rather listen to the skylarks' songs,
And think on Gondal's, and my Father's wrongs.


It may be pleasant, to recall the death
Of those beneath whose sheltering roof you lie;
But I would rather press the mountain heath,
With naught to shield me from the starry sky,
And dream of yet untasted victory A
distant hope and
feel that I am free!


O happy life! To range the mountains wild,
The waving woods or
Ocean's heaving breast,
With limbs unfettered, conscience undefiled,
And choosing where to wander, where to rest!
Hunted, oppressed, but ever strong to cope With
toils, and perils ever
full of hope!


'Our flower is budding' When
that word was heard
On desert shore, or breezy mountain's brow,
Wherever said what
glorious thoughts it stirred!
'Twas budding then Say
has it blossomed now?
Is this the end we struggled to obtain?
O for the wandering Outlaw's life again!

Power of Love

Love, indeed thy strength is mighty
Thus, alone, such strife to bear Three
'gainst one, and never ceasing Death,
and Madness, and Despair!
'Tis not my own strength has saved me;
Health, and hope, and fortitude,
But for love, had long since failed me;
Heart and soul had sunk subdued.

Often, in my wild impatience,
I have lost my trust in Heaven,
And my soul has tossed and struggled,
Like a vessel tempestdriven;


But the voice of my beloved
In my ear has seemed to say '
O, be patient if thou lov'st me!'
And the storm has passed away.

When outworn with weary thinking,
Sight and thought were waxing dim,
And my mind began to wander,
And my brain began to swim,

Then those hands outstretched to save me
Seemed to call me back again Those
dark eyes did so implore me
To resume my reason's reign,

That I could not but remember
How her hopes were fixed on me,
And, with one determined effort,
Rose, and shook my spirit free.

When hope leaves my weary spirit All
the power to hold it gone That
loved voice so loudly prays me,
'For my sake, keep hoping on,'

That, at once my strength renewing,
Though Despair had crushed me down,
I can burst his bonds asunder,
And defy his deadliest frown.

When, from nights of restless tossing,
Days of gloom and pining care,
Pain and weakness, still increasing,
Seem to whisper 'Death is near,'

And I almost bid him welcome,
Knowing he would bring release,
Weary of this restless struggle



Longing to repose in peace,

Then a glance of fond reproval

Bids such selfish longings flee
And a voice of matchless music

Murmurs 'Cherish life for me!'

Roused to newborn strength and courage,

Pain and grief, I cast away,
Health and life, I keenly follow,

Mighty Death is held at bay.

Yes, my love, I will be patient!

Firm and bold my heart shall be:
Fear not though
this life is dreary,

I can bear it well for thee.

Let our foes still rain upon me

Cruel wrongs and taunting scorn;
'Tis for thee their hate pursues me,

And for thee, it shall be borne!

A.E.

Self Communion

'The mist is resting on the hill;
The smoke is hanging in the air;
The very clouds are standing still:
A breathless calm broods everywhere.
Thou pilgrim through this vale of tears,
Thou, too, a little moment cease
Thy anxious toil and fluttering fears,
And rest thee, for a while, in peace.'


'I would, but Time keeps working still
And moving on for good or ill:
He will not rest or stay.

In pain or ease, in smiles or tears,
He still keeps adding to my years
And stealing life away.

His footsteps in the ceaseless sound
Of yonder clock I seem to hear,

That through this stillness so profound
Distinctly strikes the vacant ear.
For ever striding on and on,

He pauses not by night or day;
And all my life will soon be gone
As these past years have slipped away.
He took my childhood long ago,
And then my early youth; and lo,


He steals away my prime!
I cannot see how fast it goes,
But well my inward spirit knows

The wasting power of time.'

'Time steals thy moments, drinks thy breath,
Changes and wastes thy mortal frame;
But though he gives the clay to death,
He cannot touch the inward flame.
Nay, though he steals thy years away,
Their memory is left thee still,
And every month and every day
Leaves some effect of good or ill.
The wise will find in Memory's store
A help for that which lies before


To guide their course aright;
Then, hush thy plaints and calm thy fears;
Look back on these departed years,

And, say, what meets thy sight?'

'I see, far back, a helpless child,
Feeble and full of causeless fears,
Simple and easily beguiled

To credit all it hears.
More timid than the wild wooddove,
Yet trusting to another's care,
And finding in protecting love


Its only refuge from despair, Its
only balm for every woe,
The only bliss its soul can know;


Still hiding in its breast.
A tender heart too prone to weep,
A love so earnest, strong, and deep

It could not be expressed.

Poor helpless thing! what can it do
Life's stormy cares and toils among; How
tread this weary desert through
That awes the brave and tires the strong?
Where shall it centre so much trust
Where truth maintains so little sway,
Where seeming fruit is bitter dust,
And kisses oft to death betray?
How oft must sin and falsehood grieve
A heart so ready to believe,


And willing to admire!
With strength so feeble, fears so strong,
Amid this selfish bustling throng,

How will it faint and tire!

That tender love so warm and deep,

How can it flourish here below?
What bitter floods of tears must steep
The stony soil where it would grow!
O earth! a rocky breast is thine A
hard soil and a cruel clime,
Where tender plants must droop and pine,
Or alter with transforming time.
That soul, that clings to sympathy,
As ivy clasps the forest tree,

How can it stand alone?
That heart so prone to overflow
E'en at the thought of others' woe,

How will it bear its own?

How, if a sparrow's death can wring
Such bitter tearfloods
from the eye,
Will it behold the suffering
Of struggling, lost humanity?
The torturing pain, the pining grief,
The sindegraded
misery,
The anguish that defies relief?'


'Look back again What
dost thou see?'


'I see one kneeling on the sod,
With infant hands upraised to Heaven,
A young heart feeling after God,
Oft baffled, never backward driven.



Mistaken oft, and oft astray,
It strives to find the narrow way,


But gropes and toils alone:
That inner life of strife and tears,
Of kindling hopes and lowering fears

To none but God is known.
'Tis better thus; for man would scorn
Those childish prayers, those artless cries,
That darkling spirit tossed and torn,

But God will not despise!
We may regret such waste of tears
Such darkly toiling misery,
Such 'wildering doubts and harrowing fears,
Where joy and thankfulness should be;
But wait, and Heaven will send relief.
Let patience have her perfect work:
Lo, strength and wisdom spring from grief,
And joys behind afflictions lurk!

It asked for light, and it is heard;
God grants that struggling soul repose
And, guided by His holy word,
It wiser than its teachers grows.
It gains the upward path at length,
And passes on from strength to strength,


Leaning on Heaven the while:
Night's shades departing one by one,
It sees at last the rising sun,
And feels his cheering smile.
In all its darkness and distress
For light it sought, to God it cried;
And through the pathless wilderness,
He was its comfort and its guide.'

'So was it, and so will it be:
Thy God will guide and strengthen thee;


His goodness cannot fail.
The sun that on thy morning rose
Will light thee to the evening's close,

Whatever storms assail.'

'God alters not; but Time on me
A wide and wondrous change has wrought:
And in these parted years I see
Cause for grave care and saddening thought.
I see that time, and toil, and truth,
An inward hardness can impart, Can
freeze the generous blood of youth,
And steel full fast the tender heart.'


'Bless God for that divine decree! That
hardness comes with misery,



And suffering deadens pain;
That at the frequent sight of woe
E'en Pity's tears forget to flow,
If reason still remain!
Reason, with conscience by her side,
But gathers strength from toil and truth;
And she will prove a surer guide
Than those sweet instincts of our youth.
Thou that hast known such anguish sore
In weeping where thou couldst not bless,
Canst thou that softness so deplore That
suffering, shrinking tenderness?
Thou that hast felt what cankering care
A loving heart is doomed to bear,


Say, how canst thou regret
That fires unfed must fall away,
Long droughts can dry the softest clay,

And cold will cold beget?'

'Nay, but 'tis hard to feel that chill
Come creeping o'er the shuddering heart.
Love may be full of pain, but still,
'Tis sad to see it so depart, To
watch that fire whose genial glow
Was formed to comfort and to cheer,
For want of fuel, fading so,
Sinking to embers dull and drear, To
see the soft soil turned to stone


For lack of kindly showers, To
see those yearnings of the breast,
Pining to bless and to be blessed,
Drop withered, frozen one by one,
Till, centred in itself alone,

It wastes its blighted powers.

Oh, I have known a wondrous joy
In early friendship's pure delight, A
genial bliss that could not cloy My
sun by day, my moon by night.
Absence, indeed, was sore distress,
And thought of death was anguish keen,
And there was cruel bitterness
When jarring discords rose between;
And sometimes it was grief to know
My fondness was but half returned.
But this was nothing to the woe
With which another truth was learned: That
I must check, or nurse apart,
Full many an impulse of the heart


And many a darling thought:
What my soul worshipped, sought, and prized,
Were slighted, questioned, or despised;



This pained me more than aught.
And as my love the warmer glowed
The deeper would that anguish sink,
That this dark stream between us flowed,
Though both stood bending o'er its brink;
Until, as last, I learned to bear
A colder heart within my breast;
To share such thoughts as I could share,

And calmly keep the rest.
I saw that they were sundered now,
The trees that at the root were one:
They yet might mingle leaf and bough,
But still the stems must stand alone.

O love is sweet of every kind!
'Tis sweet the helpless to befriend,
To watch the young unfolding mind,
To guide, to shelter, and defend:
To lavish tender toil and care,
And ask for nothing back again,
But that our smiles a blessing bear
And all our toil be not in vain.
And sweeter far than words can tell
Their love whose ardent bosoms swell


With thoughts they need not hide;
Where fortune frowns not on their joy,
And Prudence seeks not to destroy,

Nor Reason to deride.

Whose love may freely gush and flow,
Unchecked, unchilled by doubt or fear,
For in their inmost hearts they know
It is not vainly nourished there.
They know that in a kindred breast
Their long desires have found a home,
Where heart and soul may kindly rest,
Weary and lorn no more to roam.
Their dreams of bliss were not in vain,
As they love they are loved again,
And they can bless as they are blessed.


O vainly might I seek to show
The joys from happy love that flow!
The warmest words are all too cold
The secret transports to unfold
Of simplest word or softest sigh,
Or from the glancing of an eye


To say what rapture beams;
One look that bids our fears depart,
And well assures the trusting heart.
It beats not in the world alone Such
speechless rapture I have known,


But only in my dreams.

My life has been a morning sky
Where Hope her rainbow glories cast
O'er kindling vapours far and nigh:
And, if the colours faded fast,
Ere one bright hue had died away
Another o'er its ashes gleamed;
And if the lower clouds were grey,
The mists above more brightly beamed.
But not for long; at
length behold,
Those tints less warm, less radiant grew;
Till but one streak of paly gold
Glimmered through clouds of saddening hue.
And I am calmly waiting, now,
To see that also pass away,
And leave, above the dark hill's brow,
A rayless arch of sombre grey.'


'So must it fare with all thy race
Who seek in earthly things their joy:
So fading hopes lost hopes shall chase


Till Disappointment all destroy.
But they that fix their hopes on high
Shall, in the bluerefulgent
sky,

The sun's transcendent light,
Behold a purer, deeper glow
Than these uncertain gleams can show,

However fair or bright.
O weak of heart! why thus deplore
That Truth will Fancy's dreams destroy?
Did I not tell thee, years before,
Life was for labour, not for joy?
Cease, selfish spirit, to repine;
O'er thine own ills no longer grieve;
Lo, there are sufferings worse than thine,
Which thou mayst labour to relieve.
If Time indeed too swiftly flies,
Gird on thine armour, haste, arise,

For thou hast much to do; To
lighten woe, to trample sin,
And foes without and foes within

To combat and subdue.
Earth hath too much of sin and pain:
The bitter cup the
binding chain

Dost thou indeed lament?
Let not thy weary spirit sink;
But strive not
by one drop or link

The evil to augment.
Strive rather thou, by peace and joy,
The bitter poison to destroy,

The cruel chain to break.


O strive! and if thy strength be small,
Strive yet the more, and spend it all
For Love and Wisdom's sake!'

'O I have striven both hard and long
But many are my foes and strong.
My gains are light my
progress slow;
For hard's the way I have to go,
And my worst enemies, I know,


Are these within my breast;
And it is hard to toil for aye, Through
sultry noon and twilight grey

To toil and never rest.'

'There is a rest beyond the grave,
A lasting rest from pain and sin,
Where dwell the faithful and the brave;
But they must strive who seek to win.'
"Show me that rest I
ask no more.
Oh, drive these misty doubts away;
And let me see that sunny shore,


However far away!
However wide this rolling sea,
However wild my passage be,
Howe'er my bark be tempest tossed,
May it but reach that haven fair,
May I but land and wander there,
With those that I have loved and lost:
With such a glorious hope in view,
I'll gladly toil and suffer too.
Rest without toil I would not ask;
I would not shun the hardest task:
Toil is my glory Grief
my gain,
If God's approval they obtain.
Could I but hear my Saviour say, "
I know thy patience and thy love;
How thou hast held the narrow way,
For my sake laboured night and day,
And watched, and striven with them that strove;
And still hast borne, and didst not faint," Oh,
this would be reward indeed!'

'Press forward, then, without complaint;
Labour and love and
such shall be thy meed.'

Night


I love the silent hour of night,
For blissful dreams may then arise,
Revealing to my charmed sight
What may not bless my waking eyes!
And then a voice may meet my ear
That death has silenced long ago;
And hope and rapture may appear
Instead of solitude and woe.


Cold in the grave for years has lain
The form it was my bliss to see,
And only dreams can bring again
The darling of my heart to me.