Working and Singing: poems, lyrics, and songs on the life-march

Front matter

ORKING AND RINGING POEMS, LYRICS, AND SONGS ON THE LIFE-MARCH. i;Y SHELDON CtJADWICX, AUTHOR OF "PARADISB OF PASSION AND OTHER POEMS," BOGUE, PUBLISHER, LONDON, 1854; AND "POEMS OF LIFE,'* ROUTLEDGE, PUBLISHER, LONDON, 1858; REVISED AND INCLUDED IN THfS EDITION.

LONDON : PUBLISHED BY EDWIN BENSON, 56, MORTIMER ROAD, KINGSLAND, N. 1875. 4wtMt$i PAGE PAGE Procession of the Children at the Eoman Carnival .... 45 The Pilgrim Players ; a Story without Romance 46 DEDICATION,— To my Father . vii PRELUDE 1 SONNET.— To my Wipe . . . 1 THE PARADISE OF PASSION ; A POET'S DREAM OF LOVE AND HEAVEN .... 3 Romance of the Hawthorn . . 49 God's World might be a Paradise . 49 Twilight by the Ocean ... 50 " Spirit of Beauty " .... 4 The Cuckoo's Song .... 50 " Spirit of Love " .... 4 Song of the Pen . . . .50 The Soul's Portrait Painters . .51 " Mother's Song " .... 6 The Universal Telegraph . 7 . 51 " The Sunday Scholar's Funeral " . 8 The Actor, the Priest, and the Captain 51 " The Spirit's Hymn "... 8 " The Voice of the Sea " ... 9 The Life Boat and the Battery . _ 53 The Free Public Library ... 63 " Rosalaine, an Idyll of Love " . .11 Song of the Beautiful ... 53 " Song of the Rose " . . . .13 " Spirit of Hope " .... 14 The Rose and the Primrose . 64 Unforgotten Things .... 64 The Frozen Skylark .... 55 My Early Love ..... 56 The Dream of the Seamstress . . 56 "KVeep for her a Tear of Pity . . 57 "An Angel's Story" . . .19 " Song of the Dying Girl " . . 20 " Angel Child Weaving Garlands" . 21 " A Wandering Angel " . . .22 " Cherub's Song " . 22 " Cherubs, with Flowers, Singing " . 24 To my Baby Asleep .... 67 Friendship's Garland Broken . . 68 WORKING AND SINGING . . 26 On the Sands at Sunset ... 69 The Maiden and the May Blossoms . 59 Singing, ever Singing ... 26 May Wreaths of Peace Crown England 60 The little Winter Grave ... 27 An Episode from Real Life . . 27 The Blue Majestic Sky ... 60 Love under the Lindens ... 61 Pretty Little Lizzie .... 28 Fisherman's Song to his Boat . . 61 Gentle Bobby 29 Love at the Seaside .... 61 The Dying Mother .... 30 Song of Love 31 The Lover's Farewell ... 62 A Song of Progress . . . .63 To the Spirit of Ruth ... 31 The Welsh Exile to Cambria . . 63 Our Gallant Fire Brigade . . . 32 The Stray Sheep .... 33 Labour's Peace March ... 64 A Life-History . . . . .64 Genius and the Sibyl ... 33 Shake Hands and be Friends . . . 64 What if Black Envy Brand thy Name 34 An Infant's Lullaby . . - . . 65 Song of Gold 34 The Birth of Poetry .... 35 The Poet to his Blind Child . . 65 Little Blanche 66 Saved from Suicide .... 36 To a Skylark Singing in a Snowstorm 60 Eve to her Firstborn .... 37 The Cottage Auction in a Country Village 67 Give Blessings, my Brothers, to each and all 67 Never Lag Behind .... 39 The Voyage of Life .... 40 The Crown of Merit .... 40 A Spring Carol 40 Oh !

Give me back my Rose . . 41 The Summer Rain .... 68 There 's for all a Field of Labour . 69 The Coronal of Labour ... 41 Song of the Future Time ... 69 The Exile to the Wind in Winter . 42 Phases of Beauty and Passion . . 44 No Cross no Crown .... 70 Numbered with His Jewels . . 44 Little Rachel's Reverie ... 70 A CONTENTS.

Part I

Queen Summer her royal raiment wore, And counted her daisied rosary o'er, Glistening with dewy gloss ; The kine in the meadows stood breast-deep, The lambs in the sunshine lay asleep, Like children in beds of moss. The Pilgrim-Player was young in years, But he was no stranger to toil and tears, And his soul still flashed with flame ; Though furrows appeared on his steadfast brow, Deep-grooved by Suffering's iron plough, In struggles for bread and fame. To our Village some Pilgrim-Players came, With an old grey horse with one leg lame, And a rickety four-wheeled car ; THE PILGRIM PLAYERS : A STORY WITHOUT ROMANCE. Unlike his play was the Player's life, He fought with realities in the strife, Not with pasteboard sword and shield. No tinsel-drops were the tears he shed When his WrfeandDaughterstarvcd for bread, And labour no bread would yield.

But, while he'bowed to the reckless storm, Her spirit was strong, though weak her form, And meekly bent to the blast. The hours winged by in their swallow-flight, Wafting laughter from palaces bright, And sorrow from dungeon-walls ; Laden with joy to a fortunate few, With woe to a million hearts as true, Where sunshine but seldom falls. In Nature's temple his soul adored, And oft on poetic pinions soared In joy like a bird in the bowers ; His heart with all-glorious things was blent, With Shakspeare's wondrous shapes he spent Luxurious and loving hours. Softly drew onward the time of dreams, Pellucidly slid the dark brown streams, Each blade and stone tinged with gold ; The last sun-ray on the world was shed, The stars peeped forth from their midnight bed, And the lamb3 were in then: fold.

But vainly he sought for an anodyne To light up his eye with sunbeam-shine, And gild with rose-hues his cheek ; The glory of Nature could never sill An empty cupboard, nor melody still The pangs which of hunger speak. Then nestling close to her Mother's face, The little Girl said, with artless grace, " Oh, Mother, your lips are chill ! " Said she, " 'Tis a very cold night, my Child." " But your cheek is pale ; your eyes are wild ! " " 'Tis the taper's rays. Be still!" With iron sceptre and scowling brow Poverty ilung o'er his household now Its shadow accursed and black ; A wreck on the waves, he drifted fast, And only to Heaven his prayers were cast, While followed Death on his track. Then the Maiden sank into peaceful rest ; The Wife laid her headon her husband's breast, And softly to him she said, " Beloved, Death's friendly hand I feel, Like a wave to the shore my life doth steal ; I soon shall be with the dead.

He mused how lightly the world doth hold Most precious lives against tangible Gold, The Idol it most adores ; How favoured flunkeys and gilded knaves With golden spurs ride harnessed slaves, Crawling along on all-fours. " Uphill together we've borne our load, And our life has been a weary road, With briers and thorns bestrewn ; But, oh ! there is light in the cloud for th.ee, And somewhere in Winter's lap may be A fanand a flowery June. Poor little souls with sinister views He saw turn away from those who amuse, And tickle their hearts of dust ; Not half of the crowd, he thought, with a frown, Who laugh with delight at the jests of the Clown, If hungry would give him a crust. " My hopes lie crumbled within my heart, Since I from thee and my Child must part, Oh ! guard our dear Daughter well.

Wake, breeze of Heaven ! beam, ray divine ! The river is crossed ! Great God, I'm Thine ! " And her eyelids gently fell. The Player he lived in one humble room, Its window was bright with plants in bloom, Which the place with fragrance filled ; And there each morn his sweet child-saint Sate reading a book 'mid their odours faint, While the Skylark's music trilled. Like a holy spirit that stills the strife, Death moved o'er the troubled tide of life ; Rehearsal and play were o'er ; A broken lute whence the music's gone, A golden cage whence the bird hath flown, Lay she who would grieve no more. Like golden-hearted lake-lilies fair, Were the flowers of his heart which blossomed there, His delicate Wife and Child ; For the virtues of life as lovely grow, Secluded in sunless vales below, As on hills where light hath smiled.

The motherless Girl, like a white rosebud, By a faded lily in anguish stood, Very tearful, and pale, and sad ; 'Twas a pitiful sight, that childish grief, As sudden blight on the early leaf, In its glossy greenness clad. Ah ! when Misfortune turns gold to dross, And the hopes of life have lost their gloss, A haven is Woman's breast ; Like sunshine athwart the morning-mist, The vapours she changes to amethyst, And clouds are in jewels dressed. Her Father's words o'er her heart had power Like sunshine on the storm-beaten flower, But ah ! her loved sun had set ; He strained her head to his aching breast, With kisses he hushed her sobs to rest ; But her soul was sorrowful yet. Then, heavily fell on his heart a blow, In sickness his beautiful Wife lay low, And troubles came thick and fast ; THE PILGRIM PLAYERS : A STORY WITHOUT ROMANCE.

Grand Edinbro' town was robed in white, The Frost-King sparkled in gems of light, And keenly the north wind blew. He said, " On a stronger arm we'll lean, Lorn dove, and seek for a brighter scene, Have done with the Showman's care;" And a sunbeam crept through the silent room, And sadly it glittered amid the gloom, Sacred to death and despair. While glimmered the Moon, with beams halfshorn, Benumbed with the cold, and all forlorn, Two figures fronted the storm. One was haggard, though strong of limb, The other was delicate, young, and slim, With little to keep her warm. Kind neighbours supplied their every need — One to take care of the Girl agreed, And soften a lot so hard; Another to stitch the "poor body's" shroud, And others to carry it through the crowd, To the mossy, old Churchyard. With hair dishevelled and garments wild, The stalwart Sire and his gifted Child Their harps at the lattice played !

And well might the stones have wept to hear The plaintive music that fell on the ear, From him and the little Maid. They looked their last on the faded face Of the Player's Wife in its narrow place, Then shrouded it up from view ; No slow-stepping steeds the coffin bore In a stately hearse, but shoulders four, Attended by mourners two. The chill air glistened at every gust, Like a floating cloud of diamond-dust, As they left a roystering throng. The gay young Singer grew fainter now, Her limbs were wearied and pale her brow, And she tired of dance and song. In a nook of the old Churchyard so lone, Enwreathed with flowers a small head-stone This simple memento bore, " Pause, stranger, drop on this grave a tear, The Wife of a Stroller lies buried here ; The lights are out — the play is o'er 1 " It was Christmas-Eve, and that poor Girl lay, With her gentle spirit passing away, While the bells rang in the air. No more would she sing in her joy and pride, No more would her feet to music glide, So heavy their fetters were.