The Poetical Works of W. T. Matson, etc

Front matter

From a Photograph by Mr. Chas. F. Rand, Kingston, Portsmouth. THE POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM TIDD MATSON, (Born 1833.) NOW FIRST COLLECTED AND INCLUDING A LARGE NUMBER OF PIECES NOT BEFORE PUBLISHED. 1894. Printed and Published by A. H. Stride, 2, Green Road, Southsea, Portsmouth. London : Elliot Stock, 62, Paternoster Row. "Anch' io son piltore," Correggio. To the Memory of the Late JOHN MATSON, of Hackney, TO WHOSE CAREFUL TRAINING AND NOBLE EXAMPLE IN THE DAYS OF MY CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH I OWE my reverence for all that is holy, my love of Truth, Right and Freedom, my hatred of fraud, oppression and wrong, AND MY LIFE-LONG FAITH IN THE SACRED CaUSE OF Human Progress the Wide World over, this Volume is inscribed by His Grateful and Admiring Son The Author.

Preface

. On the 17th of October, 1893, I passed the limit of my sixtieth year. At such an age a writer may regard himself as having accomplished all his chief work. It is time that he should collect the fruits of his fancy if the Public are to possess them in enduring form. Hence this volume. Of its contents more than half of the poems have hitherto remained unpublished, as I have been in no hurry to rush them into print. Still other pieces are here for the first time brought together from the pages of long extinct and forgotten periodicals in which they lay scattered and where they originally saw the light. I had intended to include a few unfinished pieces which it is hardly likely I shall now complete, but I find that I cannot do this without swelling out the book to an inconvenient bulk and size.

Of these are the First Book in blank verse of the Pleasures of Religion, the Prologue and First Act of a Lyrical Drama on the Story of Job, Seven Cantos of a Poem in Spenserian Stanza, entitled The Shadow/and, interrupted by certain trying experiences that befel me at Sleaford and of which I have never been able to recover the thread, the Introduction and First Canto of a Satirical Poem on Britannia, modelled after the style of Heine's Germany, and some fragments of an ode entitled Christos Pantheos. I have also omitted a blank verse Idyll on the old classic story of Pomona which needs a little revision before I publish it, as I hope one day to do. I had also intended at first, to arrange my poems in chronological order, but on second thought it seemed best for the interest of the General Reader that they should be classified according to form and subject,but I have appended to each the date of the year of composi tion for the sake of those readers, though fewer in number, who take a psychological interest in tracing the growth and varied developments of the poetic mind.

Should the sale of this volume cover the expense of its publication, I purpose to follow it up with one of like size containing a Selection from my Prose Writings. It was hardly possible but that in a book of this dimension, some errors of typography should creep in. I think, however, that all of these, or at least all of any importance, have been noted and corrected in the subjoined Table of Errata. Sarisbury Green, Hants, 1894. Wm. Tidd Matson. ERRATA. Page 26 — Line 35 for flow read glow. ,, 31 — 11 35 for ai/io read aiAo»«. n 41 — 11 21 omit comma between had and been. 11 4S — ,1 22 for aronnd read around. ,, 221 — ,, 2 omit the second that. 11 267 — „ 14 for hath read /W.. 11 3°T — ,1 13 for care read car. 11 386 — Note — for ground read aground. „ 406 — Line 24 insert the word a./ between be and x'» vain. n 43° — 11 20 omit semi -colon after crowd. 11 5^5 — ,1 14 for He read //aw. 11 574 — 11 4 'or matters read matter.

CONTENTS. PAGE $ocms of Eomance. Little Mary ... ... ... i The Tarn in the Forest ... ... 3 A Guernsey Legend ... ... ... 4 The Celt's Lament ... ... 6 Ballad of Dolbadarn ... ... ... 8 Edderline ... ... ... 10 The Pilgrim of the Ages ... ... 11 The Bride of Athenrxiy ... ... 13 The Farrier's Daughter ... ... 14 Bonnie Lass of Patteidale ... 17 The Bride of the Soul ... ... 18 The Mother's Lament ... ... 28 Philip Armitage ... ... ... 30 All in a Year ... ... ... 33 Coralie ... ... ... ... 34 Bleir Block, a Legend of Warblington Castle 35 A Story of Two Loves ... ... 49 On the Waves ... ... ... 62 A Lover's Vision ... ... 65 The Miller's Maid ... ... ... 69 A Morning in Autumn ... ... 75 Lament of an Old Man ... ... 78 The Lady Alice Fleming ... ... 80 Ballad of the White Steed ... ... 82 'Aray/07 ... ... ... 83 A Dream of The Sinless World ... 89 A Night Sketch ... ... ... 92 By the River ... ... ... 93 Athenore ... ... ... 95 The Castle on the Rhine ... ... 97 Poems of Eeligtoit.

A Hymn ... ... ... 99 Christmas Ode ... ... ... 101 The Cry of Humanity ... ... 102 Ode at Midnight ... ... ... Poems of Religion— continued. PAGE. The Night Cometh ... ... 105 An Easter Thought ... ... ... 105 The Triumph of Faith ... ... 107 Pass-Words ... ... ... 107 Monition ... ... ... 108 Christian Sorrow ... ... ... 109 The Unchanging Friend ... ... no The Ever-present Word ... ... m Resurgam ... ... ... 112 The Inner Life ... ... ... 113 The World Redeemed— Book I. ... 149 „ „ Book II. ... 162 Book III. ... 178 „ „ Book IV. ... 190 Book V. ... 208 „ „ Book VI. ... 219 The Pleasures of the Sanctuary ... 229 The Night Season ... ... ... 237 On Prayer ... ... ... 244 Behind the Veil ... ... ... 245 Paul before Martyrdom ... 246 An Address to the Deity ... ... 248 Ode to Hope ... ... ... 252 Lines on Prayer ... ... ... 256 Eucharistia ... ... ... 257 Ode ... ... ... ... 259 Lines in Calamity ... ... 261 Aspiration ... ... ... ... 262 " Immortality alone can solve the darkest of enigmas" ... ... 264 Love ... ... ... ... 265 The Church of God ... ... 266 of Jantasg.

The Land of Dreams ... ... 26g Ideality and Art ... ... 2-0 Springtide ... ... ... ... 2JO Serenading ... ... ... 27I Under the Garden Bough ... ... 272 In a Wood ... ... ... 373 The Rosebud ... ... ip< 2y± An Old Love-Letter ... ... Poems of Fantasy — continued. PAGE, My Three Loves ... ... 276 Mirabel May ... ... ... 277 By the Seaside ... ... ... 277 The Old Home ... ... ... 279 Phantoms ... ... ... 280 'Twas all a Dream ... ... ... 281 Then and Now ... ... ... 282 At a Stile ... ... ... ... 283 Sailing ... ... ... 284 Emigra ... ... ... ... 286 Angela ... ... ... 287 At a Grave ... ... ... ... 289 Over the Deep ... ... ... 290 The Phantom ... ... ... 291 A Voice from the Tomb ... ... 292 Storm Driven ... ... ... 293 The Days Long Ago ... ... 294 To a Wild Fowl ... ... ... 294 The Heart's Dead ... ... 295 Memory's Spirit-World ... ... 296 In the Meadows... ... ... 298 Remonstrance ... ... ... 299 JTOiscellaneous pieces.

The Poet's Dream ... ... 301 The Reward of Genius ... ... 303 My Motherland ... ... ... 303 Italy (Fettered) ... ... ... 306 Italy (Free) ... ... ... 309 The Passing of Autumn ... ... 313 A Summer Day's Ramble ... 314 Post Exsequias ... ... ... 319 The Poet's Holiday ... ... 320 A Page from the Book of Human Life ... 325 Vespers ... ... ... 327 Disillusioned ... ... ... 329 Mirth and Minstrelsy ... ... 330 Ignotus ... ... ... ... 332 A Song of Summer ... ... 333 Uncertainty ... ... ... 335 Cloud Fissures ... ... ... Miscellaneous Pieces — continued. page. The Hexameter ... ... ... 337 Dead ... ... ... ... 337 J. M. ... ... ... ... 338 The Ruin ... ... ... 339 My Castle ... ... ... ... 341 Dirge ... ... ... ... 342 A Song Concerning Erin ... ... 343 Three Bird-Songs ... ... 344 A Summer Morning ... ... ... 345 To Poesy ... ... ... 346 Mv Mary ... ... ... ... 347 Grief ... ... ... ... 348 Armiger, an Elegy ... ... ... 349 A Ramble on the Seashore ... 355 Ode, 1855 ... ... ... ... 356 Ode, August 1856 ... ... 357 Ode to Genius ... ... ... 359 Ode to Memory ... ... ... 360 Ode to Contemplation ... .. 362 The Birthday by the Sea ... .. 363 An Unrhymed Lyric ... ... ... 365 Poland ... ... ... 367 Toil ... ... ... ... 369 Remembrance ... ... ... 370 The Soul ... ... ... ... 371 Gone Away ... ... ... 372 Mountain Sunshine ... ... ... 373 The Colloquy of Life and Death ... 374 Stanzas ... ... ... ... 382 The Ideal ... ... ... 383 Cherished Scenes ... ... ... 384 To the River Lea ... ... 385 Childhood's Happy Days ... ... 386 Last Night ... ... ... 387 Love-Bloom ... ... ... 333 The Nameless Waterfall ... ... 389 The Sea Nymph ... ... ... ?q0 Only a Year Ago ... ... 302 Curran's Daughter ... ... ... ™.

The Wanderer's Song of Home ... 395 Eventide ... ... ... ... 3^5 The Daisy ... ... ... 307 Poemetti ... ... ... ... Poems on Special Occasions. PAGE. The Fourteenth of September, 1852 415 An Address ... ... 415 Invective Stanzas ... ... 417 Funeral Ode for Fergus O Connor, m. p. . 419 Death of the Prince Consort ... 420 Marriage of the Prince of Wales ... 422 Death of Richard Cobden ... 427 Ironical Invective ... ... 429 Visit of the French Fleet ... ... 430 Burial of Livingstone ... .. 431 A Greeting to the Independent ... 433 A Dedication Hymn . .. ... 434 Bomestic pieces. 436 ([Translations. God, from Jelaleddin ... ... 446 Death of Adonis, from Bion ... 446 The Evening Star, from Bion ... ... 448 Love Resistless, from Bion ... 448 Runaway Cupid, from Moschus ... 448 The Choice, from Moschus ... 450 Capricious Love, from Moschus ... 450 Love Benighted, from Anacreon ... 450 On Woman, from Anacreon ... 451 Orpheus, from Virgil ... ... 452 The Procemion, from Lucretius ... 454 The Sun, from Lucretius ... 455 Ode to Fuscus, from Horace ... ... 455 Francesca of Rimini, from Dante .. 456 To Fortune, from Metastasio ... 458 Divine Providence, from Filicaja ... 458 Song of the Archangels, from Goethe 459 The Storm, from Heine ... .. 460 Song, from Pleine ... ... ... 461 The Widowed Lyre, from De Chatelain 461 Fable, from De Chatelain ... ... 462 The Highway, from George Sand ... 463 Napoleon III, from Victor Hugo ... 463 Polish Patriotic Hymn ... .. 464 446 Subcnilia.

PAGE. The Nun's Dream ... ... ... 465 Love Abounding ... ... 4^7 The Sea-Queen ... ... ... 468 Ode to Poesy ... ... ... 473 The Christian's Death-bed ... .. 479 Geraldine .. ... ••• 480 The Mystic ... ... ... 481 The Changeling ... ... 482 The Bardto Come ... ... ... 483 Sonnets anti ©uartor^ians. Miscellaneous Sonnets ... ... 487 The Lover's Lament ... ... 521 E\)t Eeberte of 3ofjn Jttilton. ... 527 humorous anti Satirical pieces. Putting up the Banns ... ... 533 The Priest in the Village (Four Eclogues) 535 Epigrams . ... ... 549 The Persecuted Housemaid ... 552 Wasted Wit ... 554 A Bachelor's Wants ... ... 555 Imitations of Flood ... ... 556 William Slow, the Cabman .. 561 The Trials of Matrimony ... ... 561 The Gifts of the Gods ... ... 563 An Old Fable ... ... ... 565 What Next? ... ... 565 An " Arab " Lay, a la Tennyson ... 565 Mr. Charley, m. p. ... 566 .

An Irish Church-Bill Squib ... Disraeli's View of a State-Church ... 567 Mr, Goschen's Budget ... 567 The Rustic's Prayer ... ... 568 (Esther, the ©uren: & ©rarna. ... 569 S.gmns anti Sacreu Hurtcs. ... 606 (Extracts from SlnftnisteU Pieces. The Song of the Sun-Worshippers ... 621: The Patriarch's Hymn. .. ... 626 The Mercy of God ... ... ... ) 1 THE POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM TIDD MATSON Born 1833. JPotms of Homartc.. LITTLE MARY. Little Mary, dream-eyed Mary, Mary with her mother dear Dwelt within a mountain cottage, By the banks of Windermere. Many a strange and subtle fancy Oft that little maid beguiled ; Thoughts that are but seldom blended With the dreamings of the child. Youthful age sat on her forehead, Clustered round with many a curl ; In her blue eyes joyful sadness Floated. Dream-eyed little girl !

Village people, as she passed them, All looked grave and shook the head ; But the maiden smiled upon them, Went her way and wondered. The Old Wind, as oft he saw her, Kist her, played with each fair curl, Thought she was a mountain spirit, Not a little wandering girl. But of all her happy rambles, That which mostly pleased the child, Was to roam to Stock Ghyll Water, And to list his music wild. On the air her song would tremble, Like an arrow's silver stir ; There she warbled to the torrent, And the torrent sang to her. Gazing at the gloom beneath her, She would stand upon the brink Of the dark abyss, and listen To the torrent's voice and think. Oft her little heart would beat One, — two, — and three against her side ; And she clapt her hands, and laught " Ha, ha ! I am the torrent's bride !

" Listening then, the more intently, To the hoarse and rugged tone ; She would wonder, why the waters Ever thus kept rolling down. So one summer morning dreaming, Heart wild beating 'gainst her side, Came the Spirit of the Waters, Kist her, claimed her for his bride. Nevermore within the cottage By the mere was seen the child ; For the Torrent-Spirit took her, In her own sweet dream beguiled. But at midnight, when the rolling Waters murmur wild and hoarse, Then they say two spirits wander 'Mong the rocks of Stock Ghyll Force. On the air a song comes trembling, Like a little streamlet's stir ; And she sings unto the torrent, And the torrent sings to her. THE TARN IN THE FOREST Through the forest at evening The Baron doth ride : But he weens that a spectre Is aye by his side ; For riding or walking, A twelvemonth hath flown, And never that shadow- Hath left him alone.

And now by an impulse He cannot control, As though 'twere some demon O'er-mastering his soul, He rides through the forest To where the black lake Lies darkling, o'ershadowed By crag and by brake. By the lone pool's dank margin, Where waves the tall reed, And quivers the bulrush, He lights from his steed. To an oak's gnarled trunk he The bridle makes fast ; Then o'er the grim water A wild gaze he cast. And now the huge beetling White crag doth he climb, And stands on the summit, The scene of his crime. For there at the trysting, A twelvemonth agone, His leman had met him With heart all his own — Had met him with blue eye So trustful and bland, And thence he had hurled her, With murderous hand. Lo ! o'er the dark waters, The pale moon shines down ; A phantom uprises, A soft voice makes moan, — " Cold, cold are these waters Wherein thou hast doomed The damsel who loved thee To lie lone entombed ; " But colder and crueller Wait they for thee, As, by spell all resistless, I draw thee to me.

".Come, come! I adjure thee! For oft, with false heart, Thou hast vowed that no power Should hold us apart." Ha ! see how he shudders And stareth aghast, He looks on the phantom — That look was his last. The spell she had wrought him He cannot resist, As, dizzy and dazed, he His foothold hath mist. He sinks in the waters With gurgling groan. And his good steed is left In the forest alone. 1881. A GUERNSEY LEGEND.* Softly shines the silver moonlight, on the rocks of Vazon Bay, Where the surges muimur ever to the shore their mystic lay. * I am indebted, for the prose original of this legend, to a clipping from an old newspaper, in which it was quoted as an extract from Bentley's Miscellany. ■j 'Tis a summer Sabbath even, and a solemn quiet lies On the bosom of the waters, in the azure of the skies.

Homeward from the church returning, with a young heart beating warm. And her golden-claspe-d missal prest against it, like a charm, Slowly wanders gentle Marie ; sad and downcast is her look ; Is it o'er the prayers she ponders, written in the holy book ? No ! her thoughts are of her lover, who should now be at her side, Soon, before the Virgin's altar to receive her as his bride. But of late Pierre was altered, cold and distant, strangelychanged, And she wondered: '-'Has some other maid from me his heart estranged ? " Thus with jealousy surmising fears, that would not be repelled, All at once she starts and trembles, as her lover she beheld, In the moonlight, down a rocky path, that opened on the wave, Leading, as tradition fabled, to a syren-haunted cave. With a feeling of vague terror, curious what were his intent, To her heart she tighter clasped her missal, following as he went.

Till he gained the haunted cavern ; quickly, Marie breathed a prayer To the Virgin's grace to keep her, as she saw him enter there. But what anguish seized upon her, when within the cave her sight Rested on her faithless lover, seated in the pale moonlight ; Bv his side, a lovely syren whom his truant lips caress ; Down her lily-shining shoulders floated many an auburn tress ; On her cheeks of matchless beauty, blushing rose with lily strove, And her eyes of liquid lustre swam with smiles of burning love. A white robe of gauzy texture round her form was loosely thrown, And her tender waist was circled by a golden jewelled zone. In the moonbeams, all around them, countless fairy creatures fleet Sported gaily, pausing often to pay homage at their feet. With a heart well nigh to breaking, gentle Marie watched them there, Till she thought her of her missal, from her lips outbrake a prayer.

" Ave Mary ! " cried the maiden — but the words were like a spell, And the sudden change that followed, passes mortal rhyme to tell. Changed the form of that fair syren to a sorceress old and grey, Changed to hideous hags the fairies, and they shrieked and fled away. And Pierre, now disenchanted, sees alone his Marie's face, As with joy he clasps the maiden to his heart in warm embrace. Nevermore he sought that cavern 'mong the rocks of Vazon Bay, Nevermore from gentle Marie did his treacherous fancy stray ; And before another Sabbath moon had risen above the tide, Stood he by the Virgin's altar, with sweet Marie for his bride. 1863. THE CELT'S LAMENT FOR HIS CHIEFTAIN. The roar of the rushing torrent is echoing 'mong the lone mountains, As she sweeps down into the dell where the grave of our chieftain lies : The voice of the streamlet hath grown to a dirge since she leapt from her fountains.

Far off 'mong the fir-clad heights, that are kissed by the dawning skies. No more, with a song of gladness, her way through the wilds she pursueth, But, leaping down over the rocks, she wails like a spirit in pain ; She remembers the red-handed strife, and the fatal hour she rueth, When, 'neath the keen blade of the foeman, our bravehearted hero was slain. How often his horn in the valley, erst, summoned his clansmen around him, When forth to the valiant chase we sallied so merry and free ! Alas ! for Death, the grim huntsman, on his sable horse riding, hath found him. And cold in his grave he lies sleeping, where blossoms the alder tree. How oft from his rock-built fortress, leading his warriors fiery, He ravaged the lowland plains, while the Saxon fled in dismay ! Like the proud and kingly eagle that darts from its crag-girt eyrie, And pounces, at one fell swoop, with his talons down on the prey.

How oft in his bark, at evening, he sailed o'er the placid waters Of the lake, whilst his lusty rowers to the plash of their oars kept tune With the song of our clan, and the fairest of all our country's daughters. His lily-necked bride by his side, sat watching the silver moon ! Ah ! woe the hour when the Saxon, with overwhelming numbers, By stealth through the valley, creeping like a wolf that invades the fold, Hemmed us in, and the sudden war cry broke rudely upon our slumbers ! My curse on the felon who led them, and his chief betrayed and sold ! But short and sharp was the contest, and many a foe fell bleeding, . And, had we but equally striven, not one had e'er seen tne morn ; The battle was ours— but, alas ! of victory, we never heeding, Mourned over our fallen chieftain, while his wraith to the shades was borne.

Ah! who shall comfort now the lily-necked bride, who weepeth And moans like a dove forsaken, day and night, and night and day ; And haunts, like a wraith, the green barrow where pallid her warrior sleepeth, Beseeching his bodiless phantom to come and bear her away ? Roar down, thou rushing torrent, o'er the rocks, through the valley sweeping, And wail out thy sobbing dirges where the valiant chieftain lies low ! Ah ! would that thy voice might awake him, where, wrapt in his shroud, he is sleeping To rise up and lead us to battle, and take revenge on the foe ! 1873- THE BALLAD OF DOLBADARN. No winds disturb the summer night. No clouds the stars obscure, Which in the mere reflected shine, As in a mirror pure. The moon, a rain of silver beams Upon the waters, showers, And lightens up the haughty crest Of old Dolbadarn's towers.

But lo! as sounds the midnight chime, A bark puts off from shore ; It bears Dolbadarn's youthful chief And his retainers four. Now whither do his oarsmen row Their chieftain o'er the lake ? And wherefore at the midnight hour ? 'Tis for a maiden's sake. For he, from yon far-gleaming cot, By stealth, this night will bear, To dwell within Dolbadarn's walls, Her who awaits him there. All tremulous with guilty fear, Lest those within should wake. She waits, beneath the cottage porch, Her lover o'er the lake. But hark ! as midway, o'er the mere. The boat her course hath gained, What music rises on the air, So sweetly sadly plained ? And, right before their prow, what form, Amid the moonshine clear, That silvers o'er her flowing locks, Is this that doth appear ? It is the syren of the Mere, So cruel and so fair, Who sings the plaintive song that brings The boatman's wild despair.

For never on that lake at night, Did bark which mortals bore, Who on her gazed or heard her voice, E'er touch again the shore. Dolbadarn's chieftain turns the helm, " Row for your lives, " he cried ; They toil and strain, but all in vain, For she is at their side. And down the fated boat she drags, Beneath the shining mere ; — Ah, waiting one ! Dolbadarn's lord To thee will ne'er appear. The cruel Phantom of the Mere Hath claimed him for her own ; And thou fond fledgling, in thy nest, Abidest, still unflown. 1877. EDDERLINE. Cold on thy couch thou liest, And thou no more repliest, With glances calm and lustrous, to words and looks of mine ; As some bright star of even Fades from the face of heaven, When morning comes, so hast thou passed, my life's star, Edderline ! Thy morning hath arisen ; But me dark shades imprison ; The night of grief around me throws its coils of dismal twine ; Thy bridal song is ringing, Where the angel bands are singing ; But the echoes all are silent to my sorrow, Edderline !

Ah ! why, when death came to thee, Even as a bride to woo thee, So cruelly enamoured of that dear form of thine, Why did'st thou leave thy lover ? Ah, why could I not cover, And fold thee from him in my warm embrace, my Edderline? The flowers upon the mountains, And by the laughing fountains, And overhanging from their banks the waters crystaline, Bloom gaily ; but my bosom Mourns o'er the tender blossom Of love's frail plant, crushed hapless in the bud, my Edderline. The birds their loves are telling, Hid in their leafy dwelling, The stock-dove woos his happy mate in the tall shadowing For me, bereft and lonely, [pine ; No carol wakes ; I only Can utter forfh the anguishing lament, my Edderline ! The honey-suckles clamber, With clusters white and amber. And to the bacchanalian bees hold out their cups of wine, Around the lattice creeping ; But I, alas ! am keeping A festival of tears by thy dead form, my Edderline !

Can death know no relenting, Nor hear my wild lamenting, And steer again his bark this way, nor leave me here to pine, With woe all unavailing ? Ah, would I now were sailing, With him o'er his mysterious deeps, to meet thee, Edderline ! Shall I rejoin thee ever ? For voices o'er the river, But dimly, indistinctly heard, come whispering things divine, Of some far-distant meeting, When with eternal greeting, Our spirits shall embrace in love immortal, Edderline ! 1861. THE PILGRIM OF THE AGES. For ever, wearily I wander on, And bear the groaning burden of my life ; The seasons pass, and bring to youth and maid The ripe fruition of their dear desire ; The years still chase each other, and lead down Earth's toiling kindreds to the quiet grave ; Cruel alone to me, Time brings no touch Of quiet, and no rest in weariness ; The ancient curse is on me, like a spell, And all in vain is my desire to die.

" For ever, henceforth, thou until I come, To rest shalt be a stranger,'' — so he said, The patient Galilean, as He stood. Bending beneath the burden of His cross, Beside the threshold of my home and begged To rest awhile His limbs upon the bench Within my cottage porch — I cried — " Begone, And find Thee rest elsewhere ! " Ah, cruel speech That might I but recal, a myriad lives Were freely given, so myriad lives were mine. Oh ! never, from the light of those calm eyes Can my worn spirit hide herself, they still Do haunt me with rebukes that I must bear, As wearily I wander till the End. For ever reft of rest, ah, woe is me ! Ye clear-set stars, that glitter overhead, Let me the secret of your patience learn ! And ye white waves that wash the humid strand, Nor ever tire of your dull monotone, Oh ! murmur unto me, how I may share Though but a moment your tranquility !

I can but envy things inanimate. That never chafe and fret at Destiny, While I must struggle 'gainst the force of doom Which urges onward my reluctant steps. Fain would my heart a little while repose In hope and prayer, kind rests to none denied, Denied to me ; for what can Hope presage, Confronted by the irrevocable curse ? And say, what boon can Prayer expect of Him, Whose word, once passed, pursues me to the end ? For ever joyously the matin larks Fill all the chambers of the Dawn with song ; The wild bees wanton in the noontide air, And in the warm, still hours of summer eve The passionate nightingales prolong their lays. For ever, from their fountains mong the hills, The sparkling torrents foam ; while o'er the plains The rivulets softly murmur as they flow. For ever the green forests wave abroad Their mighty arms, and in among the dells, The gay flowers blossom with returning Spring ; And still for ever o'er the mounded heaps, Where sleep the mouldering dead, the grasses wave, Till Time, that levels all things, levels them, And of their place no lingering trace remains.

But all sweet sounds, sweet scenes, sweet memories, That once had power to charm my heart, have ceased To charm me now ; Beauty, light, melody, The changing landscape and the glowing sky, Weary my soul as nights and days drag on, And with a restless yearning unappeased, Impatiently my heart awaits the End. Will the end never come ? Why tarry ye, Great thunder-wheels of doom ? And why delay, Thou mighty angel, unto whom 'tis given O'er all the worlds to sound the trumpet-blast, Whose peal shall paralyse the wings of Time ? Awake, thou morn of dread to men, thou morn Of joy to me and let me face the Judge ! That I may hear His voice again, perchance, No more severe, that I may meet the glance Of His calm searching eyes, perchance no more To freeze me with rebuke. For who can tell ? I may find grace, and Immortality, No longer then, as now, be found a curse.