De Clifford, the Philosopher. With notes historical and illustrative, and personal observations in the kingdom of nature

Front matter

J. w . DE CLIFFORD THE PHILOSOPHER 1 WITH Notes historical ant) -Hlugtratibr, AND PERSONAL OBSERVATIONS IN THE KINGDOM OF NATURE. BY JOHN GODFREY ANGLEY, M.A. OF TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN AND CAMBRIDGE. AUTHOR OF " FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY," &C. &C. LONDON : HATCHARD & SON, 187, PICCADILLY ; CUBBY AND CO., 9, UPPER SACKVILLE STREET, DUBLIN, 1847. LONDON : ritlUTF.I) BY 0. J. I'ALMEK, SAVOY STKEI.T, STrAIir. TO HIS EXCELLENCY THE RIGHT HONOURABLE JOHN WILLIAM PONSONBY, EARL OF BESSBOROUGH, LORD LIEUTENANT OF IRELAND, &C. &C. THE DISTINGUISHED HEAD OF AN ANCIENT HOUSE, ILLUSTRIOUS ALIKE IN THE SENATE, THE CAMP, AND THE CABINET; Wi)t $aUaiam% OTtor-t, WITH HIS LORDSHIP'S PER.MSSION, IS INSCRIBED, WITH THE BEST WISHES OF THE AUTHOR.

ADVERTISEMENT.

. The following Work was delayed longer in the press than the Author expected, as several portions of the Volume were altered, or enlarged, since the first sheet was placed in the printer's hands. It may be right to mention that the Work was written, for the most part, four or five years ago ; but it received such corrections since as were deemed necessary for publication ; and also took a colouring frequently from the scenes where the Author resided, or subsequently visited, in England, Ireland, and France, as will be seen in the prose portions of the Volume. Some of its luxuriances were pruned away, and perhaps, of its more barren parts better cultivated ; and thus it is hoped it may be not only more acceptable to those who gave it their approval in Manuscript, but also, as every author desires, more acceptable to the public. The reader will be good VI

Book I. Book The Second

spirit of f^atmonp. I. Spirit of Harmony! in highest Heaven, Beneath the Throne of God thy birth was given ; When light first beamed from Heaven's Eternal Lord And woke angelic harps' sublime accord — With origin immortal — brow star-crown' d, From Paradise thou wanderest worlds around, Thy locks begemmed with loveliest pearls ofjoy, Thy smiles extatic spirits' life employ, Thy voice sweet whispers from Celestial lyres, Thy path the winged light's supernal fires, The rolling thunders but thy royal bass, To Heavenly Houris music as they pass, Swift in their lightning-cars in concert by, Thy choral heralds round Eternity ! nature's unity. 64 Nor Venus' beauty is compared with thine, Nor all the music of the Heavenly Nine, Weaving wild melodies on Aonian hills, As loved Apollo's lyre their bliss distils, Where throned in flowers, mid every tuneful sound, He breathes celestial raptures all around ; Nor groves of song, mid nature's glory born, Sparkling with million eyes of balmy morn — Nor all the light, love, joy, of starry Even, Can charm man's heart like thine to native Heaven !

O give me Spirit, emanant from God, To mark thy majesty mid earth abroad ! To list thy sweet voice in the whispering wind ; Thro' Nature's fields thy heavenly forms to find ; To mark thy footsteps graved on odorous flowers, Thy bright analogies in Flora's bowers — And spelled with rapture, 'neath the jewelled skies, To drink the sunbeams of thy starry eyes ! II. There is a Music in sweet Vesper-hours, Like seraphs' whispering love mid dewy flowers, Ringing celestial chimes on hyacinth bells, It breathes angelic joys, and fairy spells ; When ope the starry founts of Heaven above, It links the soul to Isles of gentlest love, The Poet drinks its strains of deep delight, And soars on its bright wings to worlds of heavenly light. nature's unity. 65 There is a Music in the wild Storm's roar, When its loud trumpets ring round Ocean's shore, Thro' Heaven its thunders wing their fiery way, Laughing at reeling Earth in dire dismay ; The Hero drinks its voice, and soul of flame — It nerves his dauntless heart for deeds of fame — Its whirlwind strains but stir Poetic blood, The wild magnificence of Nature's angry mood.

But Music lovelier breathes thro Nature's fields, Than Hesper's hymn — or bellowing tempest yields ; It wakes as dewy moru, or even, appears, Harmonious as the harps of Stellar spheres, Tis Nature's wondrous Unity, whose voice, Bids man, immortal man, in all rejoice — As tho' an angel's melodies sweetly flow'd, Whispering the praises of the Present God ; Who bends in worship o'er bright forms beneath, Aud opes the fountains of Seraphic Faith, And breathing o'er the jarring strings of Strife From Nature shews, the Harmony of Life, And pointing upward to her native skies, Charms the rapt spirit on her wings to rise, And mid the concert of ten thousand lyres, To curb the tempest of Earth's harsh desires. Aud list, the rolling worlds in bliss rehearse, Their songs harmonious round the Universe — The calm Philosopher's supreme delight, The Poet's dream of beauty, day and night.

NIGHTINGALES. III. In wildering groves to drink the woodlark' s song, Spell-bound by mystic notes wild birds prolong, — Where foaming Cataracts leap in beauty down, Where some old Abbey swells — or, mountains frown- Where bowers of roses bloom, or jasmines weave, An odorous canopy at purply eve, A sun-lit sea of tranquil love beside — Chained by the jewels of Night in Beauty's pride, Lost in some forest wild, by Fancy's power — A golden Valley, or a flowery bower, While sweet aerial voices float around, T here rapt in reveries, The Bard is found — Or spelled as now beside my Study door, Drinking the seraph-strains two Nightingales pour, Alternate in rich tides of harmony borne, High on the opening ears of lovely Morn. One weaves wild chains of song from yon old oak, Binding the soul in Rapture, sweetly woke The eye of day, now kindling purply light, His serenade prolonged from yesternight — As tho' the woodland choirs in concert sweet, All the full music of their loves repeat.

And wandering Houris, sang to golden lyres, Tuned mid the extacy of Orient fires. One from the green acacia eloquent clear, O'er a sweet bed of Roses dreaming near, Sings her pure visions of a brighter land, The fragrant Lebanon's deep bliss at hand, NIGHTINGALES. Or Ceylon's Eden, where her early love, The Rose of Paradise aye blooms above — Her spirit wanders there mid brightest dreams, Here hymns in extacy her darling themes — Thrilling calm Nature's heart, these bowers among, And gains the homage of all sons of song. Three birds admiring drink those spirit lays, And bend with me in Rapture's reverent praise, Till one first Star of Song now shines above, Bright queen victorious of the enraptured grove ! Sweet Philomel, thy honey-voice who hears, Learns the pure music of angelic spheres, And lost in transport while thy wild notes ring, Hails thee best, sweetest Visitant of Spring !

As every lovely flower and odorous gem, Wreathe the bright Earth with Beauty's diadem, The cuckoo's velvet voice is sighing near, And all the warblers of the South appear, Borne on the pinions of some gentle gale, To tell the joys of Valombrosa's Vale, Or Gul's bright gardens, mid Arabia's bowers, Where genii weave their palace-domes mid flowers, Thou mourn'st their joys, in dreams of such delight As steal away the soul of wondering Night, And start from Orient bed ambrosial day, To bend in glory o'er thy wildly warbling lay ! * * During the entire spring and early summer of the present year (1845), I was often greatly delighted with the music of the Forth from the Home of Childhood's happiest days, De Clifford wandered mid the world's wide maze, The bloom of morn was on his heart, and cheek, The light of kindling Hope his dark eyes speak. nightingales in this county (Hertford,) and especially with two who located themselves in our little grove and garden, and theie every night and morning filled the whole neighbourhood with the most delicious melodies.

The above Stanza owes its existence to a curious incident alluded to in a letter to a near relative, and which, as some Professional duties now demand attention, I take the liberty of inserting as a note here, as it refers also to a few other matters of some interest in the neighbourhood. — " You de sire to learn something more of the habits of my favourite Philo mels, and which you say the sterner pursuits of Science and Lan guage prevent you from studying as correctly as you could wish in the South ; although it is so, can you forget our visit in 1843 to the ' Nightingale Grove' near Winchester ? I had frequent op-, portunities since then of observing more closely the habits of the nightingale (Silvia luscinia), when resident in the north of Eng land, in the West Riding, and where I purchased one from a bird merchant in B arnsley, who obtained several from Sir George Womb well's woods, in the vicinity, or in the adjacent domains of the Right Hon. Lord Wharncliffe.

The account of my visit to the remarkable Rocks, on whose estate, you will remember. You are aware that nightingales are our annual visitors, and on the approach of autumn seek a more genial climate for the winter. Notwithstanding, they can be domesticated in our climate by being kept, as I have seen them in winter, in warm cages three parts covered, for they are fond of a twilight, and will often then, or early in the year, amply repay the trouble, by warbling their sweet music at daybreak, prolonged often, if the light be melancholy, to high noon. Mid City's crowd, or Hall of brilliant light, His heart wore deeper thoughts than met the sight ; Tho' melancholy's ray rose on his brow, A fount ofjoy sublimest flowed below, " The great difficulty is to obtain and preserve a sufficient supply of ants' eggs, of which they are very fond, for I have attentively watched a nightingale here in May, hop to an ant-hill in a flower bed in the garden, and carefully select his favourite eggs, neglect ing the ants— cows, or aphides, who are kept there in pasture by the ants, and from whom they obtain honey-milk.

These eggs may be carefully preserved in bran, or the nightingale will be satisfied with some delicate meat in winter ; while considerable care must be taken of him, or he will die. *' From my own observations, I am inclined to believe there is strong foundation for the Oriental stories of the loves of the Nightingale and the Rose ; for one of them, whom I have called Meliphone, or honey-voiced, from her music, delights to weave the wild changes of her spiritual melodies on a small laurel tree among a bed of China roses, not far from some Lisle de Bourbons, and allows me often to approach within an arm's length, and eye ing me familiarly does not cease singing ; but when I throw some ants' eggs on thegravel, she sometimes descends familiar as a robin redbreast, and when satisfied repays me with a most charming song in return for my trouble.

" Another nightingale patronizes a fine old oak opposite the door of the Norwegian species, planted here, as I am informed, an acorn from one in Fonthill Abbey, Vathek's (Mr. Beckford's) celebrated domain.* He is very fond also ofa fine acacia tree in the middle of the garden. Nothing can be more exquisite in sound * I planted two acorns from this oak here in October, in a bed of mignionette near a bee-hive beside our orchard. DE CLIFFORD. And gushing oft in springs of bliss untold, Clad all the scenes he loved in liquid gold. Thus hopeful, loving, in young manhood's hour, Ere Hope's sweet star is gone — life's tempests lower, than the songs of the nightingale, especially in the fulness and variety of the rich low notes, at one time, beautifully embodied in the most melancholy, yet pleasing music, as though the sweet echoes of distant harmony scarcely breathing on the ear ; and anon, his powerful organ pouring forth a wild flood of melody, loud, high, and rapid, in mingling tides of voluble and manyvoiced song, as though it swelled from innumerable melodious birds singing in unison.

While I write, two of these most delightful warblers of nature alternately weave the most charming strains of eloquent music, and you would not wonder at my attachment to La Rossignol, did you hear him ring the delicious changes of his wild melodies, extemporizing music, if I may so call it, for he never utters the same strain without additional variations and embellishments. On the fine nights sometimes either by whistling Rossignoler, or by also imitating his notes by playing on my flute, I awake the nightingale's song, and then the silence of night is over, for from every side of the woods half a dozen answer one another in concert. Of course no imitation can reach the original, and even after the best I have heard, I agree with Philip, king of Macedon, as one imitated the sweet melodist, when he said, / prefer the nightingale herself.

The best time to hear her song, however, is from ten to twelve o'clock at night, or early in the morning, when I have often heard her till twelve or one o'clock in the day, and especially so if the morning be not very bright. The melodies of the nightingale undoubtedly eclipse all the music of the other woodland choirs ; this is perhaps owing to the power of its organ : its mouth is opened very wide, and the beautiful volume of sound seems to issue without any effort : as if her whole life were melody, she DE CLIFFORD. And all our Plants of Promise as they rise Perish by Earth's cold chills before our eyes. — Forth from the Halls of Learning's soberest school, Where Science calms the soul by Reason's rule, sings asleep, or dreaming, for I have often watched her singing with closed eyes, her head turned up to heaven, and could easily have taken her in my hand if I pleased, but I had such poetical reverence that I could not do so.

You will never say now that I wrote about nightingales before I heard them, although I think it is certain that not one in ten of the poets who have made the nightingale a living gem to adorn their verse, has not only not heard, but ever taken any trouble to learn its natural history. " A curious illustration of the nightingale's power in song over other singing birds, occurred here a few mornings since. I was not only kept long awake the former night with her nocturnal serenade beside my bedroom window, but was awakened at grey dawn by the exquisite melodist, singing in the Norwegian oak before my window. As it was impossible to sleep, I put on my robe de chambre, threw open my window, and sat long, a delighted auditor. As day dawned clearer, a fine blackbird, perched on the laurel hedge, began to sing a little when La Rossignol paused awhile ; a thrush also appeared there, but both ceased in an instant, and seemed most attentive hearers while the nightingale again poured forth her wild strains of rapture : the former flew away, and presently brought another blackbird, and the happy trio seemed wrapped in silent extacy, drinking in the sweet strains of the queen of the woodland choir !

" The nightingales, I understand, never came so near the house before, and you will smile when a friend resolved the reason into their instinct in discovering a poet. One of the two I see most frequently here, and which are apparently male and female, (the female sings also,) had a nest in the garden, but I am afraid a DE CLIFFORD. And sweet Philosophy's sublimer powers, Thrill the pure mind mid Academic bowers — Where flowers of Classic beauty frequent start, To fire the Fancy, and encharm the heart, huge torn cat, who persecutes the birds here most ferociously, will either destroy or drive away my sweet friends to Mr. Cooper's wood beyond. However, if they escape — and I was in time to save one yesterday — I may certainly expect their return here again early in next spring, as, strange to say, they invariably come back, for the purpose of incubation and where their food abounds, to their chosen resorts the prior year.

How truly wonderful and mysterious is that power of instinct implanted in the Swallow, the Swift, the Cuckoo, that bird of the ' wandering voice,' as I think Wordsworth calls it, and in the other migratory feathered tribes ! im. planted in them for wise purposes by the God of nature ! If they did not arrive annually, our fields and gardens would be destroyed by the millions upon millions of gnats, ants, and other insects, their appointed food. In fine, you remember the classical meta morphosis of Philomela, daughter of Pandion, king of Athens, into the nightingale, in Ovid, but I am hourly in fear of a less poetic metamorphosis, a feline tragedy, which shall cause Meliphone, like the Virgilian prototype of Orpheus' honors, to chant a more melancholy song for the loss of her mate, and brood. — Qualis populea mærens Philomela sub umbra, Amissos queritur foetus; quos durus arator Observans nido implumis detraxit : at ilia Flet noctem, ramoque sedens miserabile carmen Integrat, et mæstis late loca questibus implet.

Vide Geor. Lib. IV. " So much for nightingales. I can only give now a brief sketch of this place, as you desire. The church is a very antiquated pile of architecture, with a few relics of olden time, but containing no- With holier thoughts De Clifford wandered now, Than woke Mind's pensive light around his brow ; By scenes of Southern bliss, mid Albion's Isle, Or, where North Britain's hills in grandeur smile, thing very particular, it is situated on a bill, with a square tower and steeple, and in which are five good bells which often delight us with their harmony. Sir Henry Chauncey, (whose descendant C. S Chauncey, Esq., my neighbour, is celebrated for his cultiva tion of roses, which are indeed very numerous and beautiful in his grounds,) says the parish is properly called Great Mundon, (not den), from the Saxon mund, a safe place, and don, a hill, which agiees with the situation of the church.

The country around is somewhat picturesque, especially towards Mr. Abel Smith's, M.P., to Hertford, and on to Barnett : Lord Cowper's, which I visited on the day of a bridal, has a dash of the romantic, but nothing like the vale of Ovoca ; there is no water in theparish, even a rivulet, which you know adds so much to the beauty of scenery. The Conqueror gave the manor of Great Mundon to Earl Alan for good services ; it was part of the earldom of Richmond, and given with Constance, daughter and sole heir of Conan Alan who married Jeoffrey, fourth son of Henry II., king of England. Gerrard de Fuinival, younger son of Furnival of Sheffield, afterwards held it ;* he had been in the holy land at theseige of Aeon temp. Rie. I., and his son Gerrard was employed by King John, with John De Lacy, Earl of Lincoln, and Jeoffrey de Neville, to treat with Robert de Roos, about reducing the discontented Barons to obedience.

From him it passed on to Lady Nichola de Haya, then to John Fray and R. Hadley, Esq. The present lord of the manor is WiL R. Baker, Esq. ; But the living is in the gift of the crown. To the last gentleman we are indebted for a site for our new national * This is noticed, I find, in Camden. r: Aud many a memory still the soul sublimes, Of poet's rapture, and historic times — Thro' Emerald Erin's bowers, bright mountains' side, The Giants' Causeway, and loved Galtee's pride schools in this parish. About three miles from the church there is a very old building popularly called Rowney Abbey, in the parish which I visited not long since. It is properly called the Priory of Poheiny, or Rowenea, which Conan, duke of Brittany, and lord of the manor of Great Mundon, founded temp. Henry II. about a. d, 1 164, as a priory of nuns dedicated to the honour of St. John the Baptist, directed to live according to the order of St. Benedict.

It was suffered to fall into decay, (church, house, &c.) until the prioress Agnes Selby and the nuns gave up all their claims to the said John Fray as the true patron, ' who had a sin cere devotion,' and who when constituted second baron of the ex chequer, obtained a charter from King Henry VI. to found a chantry, &c, in Roweny. It has passed into many hands since Henry VIII., who so much injured the church property in this kingdom, granted it to the earl of Essex. The present possessor is Mr. Adams of London, the banker. It is a perfect wreck ; I went over all the old chapel, which is now used as a barn ; the nuns' rooms were full of oats, and provender for horses ; and the habitable portions of the priory, alas for architecture ! none now inhabit but the birds of night, and the family who take care of the grounds — a lovelier sight opens with its associations of the distant Church-spire among the green trees.

The College of St. Edmund, a Romish seminary, is on the borders of this parish ; and Standon Church, from which I have only returned, having made a couple happy there for my neighbour the Rev. Henry Law, son of the late archdeacon of Rochester, was a Knight Templars' Church, and has some good monuments. For further information I must refer you to Chauncey's Antiquities of Hertfordshire." Where his ancestral Abbey's mellow light, Shone like a star of day o'er life's clear night, While fleur de lis with red rose gained in wars, His Gallic — Anglo-Saxon race declares — He drank extatic bliss each morn and even, An eye for nature, and a heart for heaven — Till where Ierne's loveliest joys prevail, His heart was raptured by a flowry vale. V. It was a gem of light in Erin's sky, An Orient garden with bright Ocean nigh, A cynosure of beauty fringed with woods, A cygnet of delight by glittering floods, A mine of golden wealth by science found, Another paradise with emeralds crown d — Like those he loved in brighter southern bowers, Where Hope's bright dreams arose 'mid happier hours There like a wizard far from noise and strife, He sighed to spend in peace a studious life, Did not his star of destiny decree He other scenes and other climes sliould see — To cull from Nature's lap rich food for thought, And shew the wonders round creation wrought — And point each pilgrim to his guidance given, To joys supernal 'mid the Isles of Heaven — E'en as a shepherd leads his fleecy fold, With fostering care thro' scenes of bliss untold, Guards them from every foe, and gently leads His flocks by streams of light, and emerald meads, e A HAPPY VALLEY.

Guides back the erring, all his care to prove, And bears each tender lamb in arms of love — By murmuring waters of celestial joy, And bowers of bliss their innocent hours employ — WThile he oft seated on some bank of flowers, "Where all is sunshine, and no tempest lowers, Now wakes his ivory pipe of heavenly sound, And charms the echoing wilds with rapture round. Sweet Belvale ! in thy bosom's flowery pride, How oft thy mingling streams in bliss beside, He drank the perfumes of the hawthorn tree, Or the wild music of the industrious Bee ? Or from some hill beheld bright Ocean-floods, Rambling delighted thro' thy merry woods, The rock-bound Cliffs of Wales oft clearly seen, The glittering seas, the ships in golden sheen, Or 'neath his favourite oak with ivy crown'd, Woke the wild echoes of the vales around.

How oft in social scenes of innocent joy, Did Chymic feats his vacant hours employ, Or lit by kindling light of household love, Woke the wild harmonies of some neighbouring grove In Spring the first to cull bright cowslip bells, In Winter last, the primrose round thy dells, 'Mid Summer's pride, or Autumn's lovely wane, He marked the rolling year's celestial reign, A HAPPY VALLEY. 'Neath Castle Howard's red flag in the breeze, Whose old tower's clock oft startled 'mong the trees Each wild bird wondering at the deep-voiced sound, Which thrilled in thunder all the wilds around ; Oft by the Lion's Bridge he stopped his steed, To view thine Avon kiss each emerald mead, And like a silvery swan in beauty turn Her form of light to swell Ovoca's golden urn. How oft De Clifford climbed thy purply hills, Whose panoramic power the spirit fills With all the rapture of some Eden's light, With bowers of bliss, and emerald gems bedight ; Where mines of treasure from Earth's chaos hurl'd, Still fling their precious wealth 'round all the world.

There woke the music of the bugle-horn, Oft round the glens in deathless echoes borne ; The hounds' full chorus on the hills was heard, The scarlet riders round the dales appeared, Nor fence nor field could force their coursers' stay, For all like birds uncaged now scour away, As timid puss her utmost courage tried, Or ere by ruthless foes her life-blood died. Else, quick as light, the hundred horsemen race, In all the raptures of the wintry chase, Sweep in wild frenzy thro' the little town, Now up the hills, now all the vallies down ; — But dashing thro' The Streams with gasping breath, See ! Renard mocks the joys of certain death, GLORIES OF MORNING. And bounding briskly with the winged wind, Laughs at the brood of death at fault behind ! How oft 'mid tranquil scenes and fragrant bowers, He gathered food for Thought's maturer hours?

As round the mountain's brow his pathway steep Sought from the homestead's joy some wandering sheep, And pointing to the pure flock's ancient fold, All the Good Shepherd's care, love, mercy, told ; His bliss to gain a name, no storms assail The gentle Shepherd of the Golden Vale. VI. One day a type of others tell his joys, One festal day sweet Memory's Muse employs, As gazing on the mirror's mental light, De Clifford caught bright forms from Time's swift flight, And bodied Nature's joys ere power depart, 'Mid radiant sunshine of the tranquil heart, — Thus from the oak on which it whilom hung, His fond harp's kindling chord again he strung, As the bright flowers appeared of lovely May, And hailed the season's queen in love's array. Awake sweet Muse ! Aurora smiling brings Celestial beauty on her starry wings, While 'mid the rosy Hours Sol's car is borne, Come drink the balmy breath of blushing Morn.

GLORIES OF MORNING. 79 I Taught by the woodland choirs awaking now, Who tune their ivory pipes on every bough, And 'mid the majesty of Heaven above, And glittering Earth — come weave thy notes of love Sweet solace of my idle hours, to thee To lisp my weal or woe I fondly flee, To cheer and bind the heart with some pure strain, High o'er the madding world's bewildering reign.* Behold the Spirit of Morn, 'mid cradled clouds, Now drives his steeds of Joy from roseate shrouds ; Down in far Ocean's bed sinks Lucifer, As swells, 'mid purple light, Sol's orient car, Earth bathes her emerald face in diamond tears, And hymns her choral hymn to heavenly spheres. Now lost in splendours 'mid bright Phœbus' ray, Roused from his glorious temple Lord of Day, Ten thousand worlds of beauty all look forth, Smiling in virgin loveliness round earth, As Morn's pure glory burns in magic spell, Enkindling life on mountain, mead and dell, A gentle breeze breathes beauty, light, life, love, From the sweet sunny South where'er we move, * Thus also the Horatian : — O decus Phœbi et dapibus supremi Grata testudo Jovis, O lahorum Dulce lenimen mihi cumque salve Rite vocanti.

Car. ad Lyram. ANTHEM TO THE CREATOR. 80 On zephyr wings, as aromatic flowers Waft balmy argosies thro' Eastern bowers, Ten thousand richest perfumes mingling rise, An Orient Lebanon 'neath Western skies. VII. Hark from her watch-tower, built 'mid starry spheres, With matin melodies, the lark appears ! Woven in mazy chimes, her harmony's chain Seems angel's music mixed with seraph's strain, E'en to the gates of Paradise she sings, And pours her tuneful soul on tireless wings A wandering melody. Joy's soul in sight, First sweetest minstrel 'midst the fields of light, Alauda's soul now drinks 'mid starry choirs, The immortal music of their golden lyres, And big with extacy and song again, Warbles the anthems of the Heavenly Plain, Shrill as the goldfinch sounds each clarion note, Soft as the mellow throstle's wild strains float, Her countless changes ring, or sweetly flow, And wake the raptures of the world below.

Sweet bird like thine my matin hymn be given, In songs of reverent praise to bounteous Heaven ; Nor worship purer than thy sweet notes bring, Could Poet picture, or sage Minstrel sing ! 1. Father of million worlds ! Earth, Heaven proclaim, Thy wondrous Wisdom and Almighty Name ; ANTHEM TO THE CREATOR. It gems the starry curtains of grey West, Or gilds those golden chambers of bright East, Whence Heaven's glad bridegroom wakes with radiant face, With pearl-starred hair, now runs his glorious race, And 'mid the stars which pave his path of light, Hymns round the Universe thy Sovereign might, Eternal Centre of all light, life, health, Whose smile is Heaven, man's bliss, immortal wealth. 2. Hail Bounteous Lord ! those eyes of roseate Day, Begemmed with orient pearls, Thee homage pay ; From Alp to Alp of Earth, sweet anthems rise, And mighty Ocean's song in bliss replies ; Whole forests bend their heads in worship round, And Nature's million tongues in concert sound, — Shall all things hymn Thy glory ?