A Collection of Poems, Chiefly Manuscript, and from Living Authors.

]> A Collection of Poems, Chiefly Manuscript, and from Living Authors.Baillie, Joanna, 1762‐1851Rianna Au,creation of electronic text.Electronic edition431KbBritish Women Romantic Poets ProjectShields Library, University of California, Davis, California 956162001BailJColle

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Davis British Women Romantic Poets Series78Nancy Kushigian,General EditorCharlotte Payne,Managing EditorA Collection of poems, chiefly manuscript, and from living authorsBaillie, JoannaLongman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and BrownLondon , 1823[This text was scanned from its original in the Shields Library Kohler Collection, University of California, Davis. Kohler ID no. I:48. Another copy available on microfilm as Kohler I:48mf.]

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[Title Page] A COLLECTION OF POEMS,CHIEFLY MANUSCRIPT, AND FROM LIVING AUTHORS.EDITED FOR THE BENEFIT OF A FRIEND,BY JOANNA BAILLIE.LONDON:PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN,PATERNOSTER‐ROW,1823.LONDON:Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode,New‐Street‐Square.ADVERTISEMENT.

THE numerous and respectable subscribers to this volume are well entitled to the warmest acknowledgments of the Editor, and she begs they will do her the honour to accept her grateful thanks, which are presented with a deep and cordial sense of the kind and generous motives that have led them to favour this collection of Poems with their countenance and liberality. But what will please them more than any thanks which she can offer, is the assurance, that they have enabled her, in a year so peculiarly unfavourable for such an undertaking, to promote the object for which it is published far beyond what she could have hoped, and that they have thereby done a permanent service to one who is worthy of receiving it.

To her literary friends, who have so liberally, readily, and cheerfully supplied her with the manuscripts which compose this collection, she cannot too strongly express her obligations. She is proud of the names she has been permitted to produce as her poetical helpmates on this occasion; and, so supported, feels herself honoured beyond what has ever yet fallen to the lot of any editor. To those, who, from diffidence or other reasons, have given her verses without a name, of which no name needed to have been ashamed, she is likewise greatly indebted, and she thanks them all with a warm and lively gratitude.

This volume also contains several MS. poems of one, who is now out of the reach of all thanks from a being of this world, written with that elegance, tenderness, and graceful facility which characterized every thing that came from her pen: a dutiful daughter, who loves and respects her memory, will consider the acknow‐ledgments implied in this notice as belonging to herself. *

* Since this volume was put to the press, Mr. Charles Johnson, the amiable and elegant writer of the greater number of the sonnets which are scattered over it, has sunk into an early grave. But it is to be hoped, that this melancholy event will not prevent the Public from being made acquainted with the other poetical productions which he has left behind him.

The Editor begs the indulgence of the Reader, and the pardon of her poetical contributors, for any oversights or mistakes which may be discovered in the various pieces contained in this volume. The former will do well to attribute any want of correctness to herself, which will make the requested indulgence almost a personal boon: the latter will be assured that she has done no injury to their verses from any wilful carelessness; and will recollect, that in submitting them to an Editor, without classical learning, who never has written correctly, they have rendered themselves liable to be so injured,which does the more enhance their kindness in contributing to this collection.

She ought not to omit mentioning that the liberality of her bookseller, printer, and stationer, have reduced the expences of publication to those merely of cost charges.

SUBSCRIBERS' NAMES.THE KING'S MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY. 5 copies.HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUKE OF YORK.HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUKE OF GLOUCESTER. 5 copies.HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER. 2 copies.Viscount Andover.Right Hon. Lady Ashburton.Lord Chief Justice Abbott.Lady Abbott.Hon. Hugh Arbuthnot.Sir Thomas Ackland, Bart.Lady Apreece. 3 copies.Sir Edmund Antrobus, Bart. 2 copies.General Sir Henry Askew.Miss Isabella Askew. — Askew, Esq.Mrs. Askew.Mrs. Affleck. 2 copies.The Rev. Archibald Alison, Edinburgh.Boyd Alexander, Esq. [10 copies.][The number of copies was added to printed text in contemporary manuscript hand. Ed.]Mrs. Alcock. 2 copies.Mrs. Andrews.— André, Esq.Miss Louisa André.G. C. Antrobus, Esq.Mrs. Aspinal.Miss Aitchison, Airdrie.Miss Alexander.Miss C. Alexander.Miss J. Alexander.James L' Amy, Esq.J. D. Alexander, Esq.Rev. C. Anstey.Edmund Antrobus, Esq. 2 copies.Mrs. Anderson, Russell Square.Sir William Adams, Albemarle Street.J. J. Angerstein, Esq. 5 copies.J. 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Miss Brodrick, Bath.Sir Henry Bunbury.Lady Bunbury.Lt. Gen. Brown, Curzon Street. 20 copies.Rev. Archdeacon Bonney.Rev. Archdeacon Benger.Mrs. Benger.Robt. Barber, Esq.Everard Brand, Esq., Arlington Street.Mrs. Brand.Mrs. M. P. Benfield, Cumberland Street.Mrs. Berkley.Dr. Robertson Barclay, Keavil.Miss Berry.Mrs. Brant, Frances Street.Mrs. Blanchard.— Blanchard, Esq.— Bourdillon, Esq.Miss Brown.Mrs. J. Blanchard.George L. Blount, Esq. 2 copies.Rev. Sackville Bale.Edward Boodle, Esq., Lower Brook Street.Mrs. Belli, Bruton Street.Rev. J. B. Blount.Rev. Charles Belli.Dr. Baillie, 10 copies.Mrs. Baillie. 5 copies.W. H. Baillie, Esq. 5 copies.Mrs. Agnes Baillie, Hampstead. 2 copies.B. C. Brodie, Esq., Saville Row.Mrs. Brodie.Miss Bennet.Miss C. Bennet.Mrs. Bennet.Mrs. Benyon.Mrs. T. Bradney, Hampstead.H. W. 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Batt, Esq.Mrs. Batt.James Burn, Esq. 10 copies.Dr. Bliss, Bath.Mrs. Burgess.Robert Barclay, Esq., Bury Hill. 5 copies.Mrs. Barclay.Miss Barclay.[James Burton, Esq.][This name was added to printed text in contemporary manuscript hand. Ed.]Rev. J. G. Bollond.J. Bollond, Esq.Mrs. Bevan, Half‐moon Street.Mrs. Brown, Upper Grosvenor Street.Robert Bruce, Esq., M. P., Kennet, N. B.Mrs. Bruce, Kennet, N. B.Miss Boulton, Givens Grove, Surrey.W. Bolland, Esq.Mrs. Bolland.Mr. Serjeant Bosanquet.Samuel Bosanquet, Esq.Robert Bell, Esq., Edinburgh.James Balfour, Esq., Edinburgh.J. Hunter Blair, Esq., Edinburgh.Dr. Bain.Mrs. Bazalgette. 2 copies.Mrs. Burr, Portland Place.Mrs. Brent, St. James's Palace.Mrs. Burroughs, Chetwynd Park.Mrs. Barker, Baker Street.John Blackburn, Esq., Edinburgh. 5 copies.Mrs. Blackburn. 5 copies.E. Burn, Esq.— Brandt, Esq.Mrs. Brandt.R. W. Brandt, Esq.James Brandt, Esq.Rev. W. O. Brandt.Miss Brandt.A. 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Cooke, Beckley.Mrs. Cooke.Miss Chapman.Miss J. Cooke, Bath.Mrs. Charrington, Mile End.— Charrington, Esq.John Campbell, Esq., Edinburgh.Rev. Mr. Craig.C. M. Christie, Esq.Col. Gilbert Cooper.Dr. Currie.G. Currie, Esq., Cornhill.Miss M. Cheveley.Mrs. Cambridge, Whitminster House, Gloucestershire.Mrs. Currie, Chester.General Cartwright.— Carrick, Esq.Mrs. Claxton, Bath.J. Cooper, Esq., Ballendalloch.Mrs. Hamilton Campbell.The Misses Campbell, Canaith. 2 copies.— Campbell, Esq., Moran. 3 copies.Miss Campbell.Miss Helen Campbell.Mrs. Campbell, Strathearn.Mungo Campbell, Esq. 2 copies.Miss Elizabeth Campbell.William Cathcart, Esq., Towers. 2 copies.Miss Cathcart.Miss Isabella Cathcart.Mrs. Cunningham, Kilmarnock. 2 copies.Mrs. Clerk, Elm Bank.Robert Cunningham, Esq., Seabank.William Campbell, Esq., Nether Place.Miss Campbell.Wm. Clark, Esq. 2 copies.Mrs. Campbell, Succoth.Miss Craig, Glasgow.Miss Mary Craig.Mrs. Colquhoun, Killermont.Mrs. Crooks.David Connell, Esq., Glasgow.Mrs. Cathcart, BlairstonR. Cathcart, Esq., Corbiston.Miss Cathcart.Arch. Campbell, Esq., FinlaystonJohn Colquhoun, Esq., Killermont.Edward Cockett, Esq., St. James's Palace.Richard Church, Esq., Bedford Place.S. J. Cupper, Esq., Crosby Square. 2 copies.W. Cririe, Esq., Manchester.Richard Cardwell, Esq., Blackburne. 10 copies.Rev. Richard Cardwell, Liverpool. 5 copies.John Cardwell Esq., Liverpool. 5 copies.James Cardwell, Esq., Wigan. 2 copies.Mrs. Edward Coxe.Mrs. Dalzell Colquhoun.Mrs. Lethan Cuthell, Kelvenside.Mrs. Collings, Hampstead.Miss Cathcart, Gayfield.Miss Colbery, Cavendish Square.L. A. De la Chaumette, Esq.Benjamin Cohen, Esq.Mrs. Cohen.James Cleland, Esq.Mrs. Cleland.D.The Hon. and Right Rev. the Lord Bishop of Durham. 5 copies.The Bishop of St. David's.The Right Hon. Lady Dacre.The Right Hon. Lady Dunstanville.Lord Chief Justice Dallas.Lady Dallas.Mrs. Dallas.Hon. Mrs. Douglas, Bothwell Castle.Hon. Miss Douglas, Bothwell Castle.Hon. and Rev. Champion Dymoke.Hon. and Rev. Thomas Dawnay.Sir Francis Drake, Bart.Lady Drake.Sir Humphry Davy, Bart. P. R. S. &c.Sir David Dundas, Bart.Lady P. Dalrymple, Woodside, Lymington.Gen. Sir John Doyle.Sir John Milley Doyle.General Dirom, Mount Annan.Mrs. Dirom.Lieut. Col. Drummond, 3d Guards.H. Dobree, Esq.James Dunlop, Esq. 5 copies.R. B. Dunlop, Esq. 2 copies.Robert Davidson, Esq.Mrs. Dixon, Portland Place. 5 copies.Miss Dauncey.Mrs. Davy, Devonshire Square.Mrs. Dyce. 2 copiesLieut. Col. Davies, M. P.Mrs. Dumaresq.Mrs. Doveton, Upper Wimpole Street.Miss Dobson.Wm. Delafield, Esq.Miss Dickens.Miss Deane, Lincoln's Inn Fields.Col. Durrant, Wimpole Street.W. J. Dennison, Esq. M. P. 5 copies.Mrs. Denman. 5 copies.Thomas Denman, Esq., M. P. 5 copies.Mrs. Thomas Denman. 5 copies.Henry Davidson, Esq.Mrs. Davidson.Miss Davidson.Duncan Davidson, Esq.General Douglas, Woolwich.Major Douglas.John Douglas, Esq., Twyford Abbey.Mrs. Douglas.Mrs. Tyrwhitt Drake.Miss Drake.Mrs. Deffell.The Misses Deffell.Dr. Duesbury.Miss Duckworth.Richard Duppa, Esq. [5 copies.][The number of copies was added to printed text in contemporary manuscript hand. Ed.]Philip Duncan, Esq., Bath.Mrs. T. Dickins, Bolsover Street.T. Dyson, Esq., Lavington, Sussex.Mrs. Dyson.George Daniell, Esq., Lincolns Inn Fields.E. R. Daniell, Esq., Lincoln's Inn Fields.Miss Dallas, Gloucester Place. 3 copies.Mrs. Drewe.J. Duncan, Esq., New College, Oxford.Rev. A. Dawson, Brazennose College.Mrs. Daniel, Warwick.E. T. Daniel, Esq., Southampton.David Dundas, Esq., Edinburgh.James Dundas, Esq., Edinburgh.Mrs. Douglas, Douglas Park. 5 copies.Ralph James Dundas, Esq.Dr. J. H. Davidson. 5 copies.George Dunlop, Esq. 5 copies.Mrs. Dunlop.Mrs. Edward Dawkins.Mrs. Dawson, St. Leonard's.W. J. Davidson, Esq., Inchmarto. 2 copies.R. Davies, Esq.Mrs. Dumbleton, Bath.Miss Dunlop, Glasgow.William Davidson, Esq.Mrs. Robert Dunlop.A. Dunlop, Esq., Clober.John Dunlop, Esq., Greenock.Mrs. John Dunlop.Mrs. W. Dowal.Professor Davidson, Glasgow.Richard Duncan, Esq., Glasgow.Mrs. Denniston, Kelvin Grove. 5 copies.Miss Douglas, Rosehall.Mrs. Dinwiddie.Mrs. Dunlop, Annan Hill.Mrs. Dundas, Dundas Castle.Thomas Dobson, Esq., Bucklersbury.Rev. James Dallaway.— Duff, Esq., Hutton.Mrs. Home Drummond.D. D. 3 copies.Mrs. Douglas Dickson, Hartree.William Dundas, Esq., Temple.James Dundas, Esq., Clerk to the Signet.Mrs. Denni, Winchelsea, Sussex.Miss J. Denni, Winchelsea, Sussex.Mrs. Donald, Glasgow.E.Marchioness of Exeter,Countess of Effingham.Lord Ellenborough.Hon. Mrs. Estcourt.Hon. Mrs. T. Erskine, Lower Brook Street.Lady English, Grosvenor Street. 2 copies.Mrs. Edwards.Colonel Eustace.Mrs. George Ellis, Sunning Hill.— Edwards, Esq.Mrs. Evan, Seaton Grove.N. B. Edmonstone, Esq.Wm. Empson, Esq., Temple.John Elliott, Esq.Mrs. Elliott.Rev. Luther Elliott, Salviston.Mrs. A. Elliott, Egland. 4 copies.Mrs. Elliott, Fenchurch Street.Robert Liston Elliott, Esq.Robert Elliott, Esq. 2 copies.G. H. Errington, Esq.Miss Edgeworth.Miss F. Edgeworth.Miss H. Edgeworth.Rev. Noel T. Ellison, Baliol Coll. Oxford. 2 copies.Mrs. Erskine, Linlathen.John Elliott, Esq., Montague Place, Russell Square.Mrs. Eaton, Kitton Hall, Stamford.Ellis Ellis, Esq.Wm. Eccles, Esq., Eccles, Manchester.John Evans, Esq., Aldermanbury.T. Erskine, Esq., Linlichan.Rowland Evan, Esq., Bond Street.Miss Eccles.Mrs. Grenville Ewing.James Ewing, Esq. 5 copies.F.Viscountess Fielding.Lord William Fitzgerald.His Excellency Baron Fagel.The Hon. Miss Fox.Sir Wm. Forbes, Bart., Pitsligo.Sir Thomas Farquhar, Bart.Lady Farquhar.Miss Farquhar. 5 copies.Wm. Franklin, Esq.Mrs. Franklin.Mrs. Flower. 2 copies.Mrs. Fisher, Upper Seymour Street.Mrs. Farrer.Miss Fector.Miss A. C. Fryer, Cedars, Hammersmith.Miss Jane Fryer.Mrs. Farquhar.Richard Franklin, Esq.— Flood, Esq., Clement's Lane.John Freeman, Esq , New Kent Road.Mrs. Foreman, Upper Harley Street. 5 copies.Francis Freeling, Esq., Bryanstone Square.Miss Ferrier.Mrs. Fenwick.Edward Fletcher, Esq., Lime Grove, Putney.Mrs. Fletcher.M. A. Fletcher, Esq., Edinburgh.J Fullerton, Esq. Edinburgh.Miss Fawkland.Captain Forrest, Montague Place.Mrs. Forrest.— Farquhar, Esq.Mrs. Farquhar.A Friend. 10 copies.Mrs. Floyer, Stanford, Gloucestershire.Miss Freeman.Miss Fanshawe, Berkeley Square.Miss Catherine Fanshawe.Miss Elizabeth Fanshawe.George Frere, Esq., HampsteadMrs. Frere, Downing Lodge, Cambridge.Miss Fountayne, Popplewick, Nottinghamshire.Mrs. Fountayne, Bath.Mrs. Fordyce, Bath.Mrs. Fitzgerald, Bath.John Foster, Esq., Bread Street.Mrs. Fielder, Bath.Miss Fielder, Bath.Wm. Fielder, Esq. jun., Bath. 2 copies.Wm. Fielder, Esq., Blackburn. 2 copies.Wm. Farrer, Esq., Bread Street.G. W. Finch, Esq., Lincoln's Inn Fields.James Fyfe, Esq. 5 copies.Mrs. Fairlie, Holms.J. Fullerton, Esq., Glenorchard.Mrs. Freeland.Miss Freeland.Kirkman Finlay, Esq. 20 copies.Wm. Finlay, Esq., Trees. 2 copies.Thos. Farrer, Esq.Miss Frodsham.J. B. Ferrers, Esq., Throgmorton Street.A Friend. 2 copies.Mrs. Wm. Fulton, Paisley.Mrs. Fletcher, Castle Street, Edinburgh.Miss Ferguson, Monkwood. 2 copies.James Finlay, Esq., Glasgow.John Finlay, Esq., Glasgow.Wm. Finlay, Esq., Trees.J. K. Finlay, Esq., Glasgow.G.Earl of Glasgow.Countess of Glasgow.Earl Gower.Countess de Grey.Countess of Gosford.Right Hon. Lady Gwydir. 2 copies.Right Hon the Dowager Lady Grantham.Right Hon. Lady Grantham.Lord GlenbervieLady Coffin Greenly, Tilly Court, Herefordshire.Sir Alexander Gordon.George Goodenough, Esq., Hertford Street.Mrs. Goodenough.Mrs. Gordon, Manchester Square. 10 copies.Mrs. Gundry, Richmond.Mrs. Graham.Mrs. Green, Bedford Square.Mrs. Greaves, Hampstead.Allan Gilmour, Esq., Portland Place.— Goring, Esq., Weston Park, Sussex.Miss Goring.Miss F. Goring.Miss Gurney, Keswick.John Glennie, Esq.J. G. Graeff, Esq. 10 copies.Miss Gisborne.Miss Gunning.Henry Gosse, Esq. Mrs. Gregory, Biggleswade.S. Greaves, Esq.Mrs. Darby Griffith, Padworth House.— Gurney, Esq.James Graham, Esq., Edinburgh.Dr. Gillies.The Rev. Dr. Gray.Mrs. Gray, Quarry Bank, Manchester.Miss Graham.Rev. Wm. Garnier.Mrs. Garnier.G. B. Greenough, Esq.Captain George Gooch. 5 copies.James Gibson, Esq. Dr. Graham, Professor of Botany, Edinburgh.Mrs. C. Gurney, Bath.Charles Greenway, Esq., Manchester.— Guild, Esq., Glasgow.John Gordon, Esq., Aitkin Head. 5 copies.Miss Graham, Gairbraid. 5 copies.Rev. Professor M'Gill, Glasgow.Mrs. Glasgow, Mount Greening. 2 copies.W. L. Gower, Esq. 3 copies.Mrs. Henry Grant, Portman Square.A Lady, by Mrs. Gundry.William Graham, Esq.Mrs. G. Grame, George's Square, Edinburgh.H. Goldsmid, Esq.George Grant, Esq., Russell Place, 2 copies.Alexander Garden, Esquire. 5 copies.Robert Grahame, Esq., Whitehill. 2 copies.Mrs. Grahame.Thomas Grahame, Esq. 2 copies.H.Countess of Harcourt.Countess of Hopeton. Earl of Hardwick. 2 copies.Countess of Hardwick. 2 copies.Viscountess Hampden. 2 copies.Right Hon. Lady Holland.Hon. Henry Howard. 5 copies.Right Hon. Wm. Heygate, Lord Mayor.Sir Henry Halford, Bart. P. C. P.Hon. Lady Halford.Hon. Lady Haselrige.Hon. Mrs. Hopwood, Hopwood Hall, Lancashire.Sir John Hope, Bart., Pinkie.Sir John Hay, Bart., Hayston.Lady Hamlyn.Sir George Hewitt, Bart., Mamhead.Mrs. Howley, London House. 5 copies.Lady Hope, Carriden.General Hughes.Mrs. Hughan. 20 copies.Mrs. Humphreys.— Hall, Esq., St. James's Street. 5 copies.Miss Helen Halkett.— Hewett, Esq.Dr. Holland.S. Hoare, Esq., Hampstead Heath. 5 copies.Mrs. Hoare.Mrs. S. Hoare. 2 copies.Capt. Hamilton.Mrs. Hay. 5 copies.S. C. Holland, Esq. 2 copies.John Huldjo, Esq. 2 copies.Miss Hunter.Mrs. Hibbert, Lower Berkeley Street.Mrs. Sampson Hanbury, Poles, Herts.Henry Handley, Esq., M. P.Col. Higgins, 3d. Guards.— Harvey, Esq.Miss Harper, Montague Square.Mrs. Hest, Rester Mill, Cornwall.Dr. Haviland.Mrs. J. Hamilton, Cambridge.Jeremiah Harman, Esq., Adam's Court, Broad Street.Mrs. Harman.Wm. Hunter, Esq., Sackville Street.Mrs. Hamilton.Mrs. M. 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Wintle.Miss Wright, Norwood Park.Henry Lee Warner, Esq.W. A. Wilkinson, Esq. 2 copies.Miss Wilkinson.Mrs. Westfaling, Rudhall.Y.— Yuile, Esq., Bedford Square.MAC DUFF'S CROSS,A DRAMA.PRELUDE.NAY, smile not, lady, when I speak of witchcraft,And say that still there lurks amongst our glensSome touch of strange enchantment.—Mark that fragment,I mean that rough‐hewn block of massive stone,Placed on the summit of this mountain pass,Commanding prospect wide o'er field and fell,And peopled village, and extended moorland,And the wide ocean and majestic Tay,And the far distant Grampians.—Do not deem itA loosened portion of the neighbouring rock,Detach'd by storm and thunder,—'twas the pedestalOn which, in ancient times, a cross was rear'd,Carv'd o'er with words which foil'd philologists;And the events it did commemorateWere dark, remote, and undistinguishable,As were the mystic characters it bore.But, mark,—a wizard by a southern stream,Tuned but his magic harp to this wild theme,And, lo! the scene is hallow'd.—None shall pass,Now or in after days, beside that stone,But he shall have strange visions;—thoughts and words,That shake, or rouse, or thrill the human heart,Shall rush upon his memory when he hearsThe spirit‐stirring name of this rude symbol,—Oblivious ages, at that simple spell,Shall render back their terrors with their woes,Alas! and with their crimes,—and the proud phantomsShall move with step familiar to his eye,And accents which, once heard, the ear forgets not,Though ne'er again to list them.—Siddons, thine,Thou matchless Siddons! thrills upon our ear;And on our eye thy lofty brother's formRises as Scotland's monarch.—But, to thee,Joanna, why to thee speak of such visions?Thine own wild wand can raise them.—Yet since thou wilt an idle tale of mine,Take one which scarcely is of worth enoughTo give or to withhold.—But time creeps on,Fancy grows colder as the silvery hairTells the advancing winter of our life.But if it be of worth enough to please,That worth it owes to her who set the task,If otherwise, the fault rest with the author.MAC DUFF'S CROSS.SCENE.—The summit of a Rocky Pass, about two miles from the ancient Abbey of Lindores in Fife. In the centre is Mac Duff's Cross, an antique Monument; and at a small distance, on one side, a Chapel, with a lamp burning.Enter NINIAN and WALDHAVES, Monks of Lindores. —NINIAN crosses himself, and seems to recite his devotions.—WALDHAVES stands gazing on the prospect, as if in deep contemplation.NINIAN.HERE stands the cross, good brother, consecratedBy the bold thane unto his patron saintMagridius, once a brother of our house.Canst thou not spare an ave or a creed?Or hath the steep ascent exhausted you?You trode it stoutly, though 'twas rough and toilsome.—WALDHAVES.I have trode a rougher—NINIAN.On the highland hills,Scarcely within our sea‐girt province here,Unless upon the Lomonds or Bennarty.WALDHAVES.I spoke not of the literal path, good father,But of the road of life which I had travell'd,Ere I assumed this habit;—it was bounded,Hedged in, and limited by earthly prospects,As ours beneath was closed by dell and thicket.Here we see wide and far, and the broad sky,With wide horizon, opens full around,While earthly objects dwindle.—Brother Ninian,Fain would I hope that mental elevationCould raise me equally o'er worldly thoughts,And place me by so much the nearer heaven.—NINIAN.'Tis good morality.—But yet forget not,That though we look on heaven from this high eminence,Yet doth the Prince of all the airy space,Arch foe of man, possess the realms between.WALDHAVES.Most true, good brother; and men may be fartherFrom the fair haven they aim at, even becauseThey deem themselves secure on't.NINIAN (after a pause).You do gaze,Strangers are wont to do so—on the prospect.Yon is the Tay rolled down from highland hills,That rests his waves after so rude a raceIn the fair plains of Gowrie—westward yonder,Proud Stirling rises—yonder to the east,Dundee, the gift of God, and fair Montrose,And still more northward lie the hills—WALDHAVES.Of Edzell.NINIAN.How know you the towers of Edzell?WALDHAVES.I've heard of them.NINIAN.Then have you heard a tale,Which, when he tells, the peasant shakes his head,And shuns the mouldering and deserted walls.WALDHAVES.Why, and by whom deserted?NINIAN.Long the tale—Enough to say, that the last lord of Edzell,Bold Reynold Lindesay, had a wife, and found—WALDHAVES.Enough is said, indeed—for a weak woman;Aye, and a tempting fiend, lost paradise,When man was innocent.NINIAN.They fell at strife,Men say, on slight occasion that fierce LindesayDid bend his sword against De Berkeley's breast,And that the lady threw herself between:That then De Berkeley dealt the Baron's death‐wound.Enough, that from that time De Berkeley boreA spear in foreign wars;—and, it is said,He hath returned of late; and therefore, brother,The prior hath ordain'd our vigil here,To watch the privilege of the sanctuary,And, rights of Clan Mac Duff.—WALDHAVES.What rights are these?NINIAN.Most true! You are but newly come from Rome,And do not know our ancient usages.Know then, when fell Mac Beth beneath the armOf the predestined knight, unborn of woman,A triple boon he ask'd, and thrice did Malcolm,Stooping the sceptre, which the thane restored,Assent to his request. And hence the rule,That first when Scotland's king assumes the crown,Mac Duff's descendant rings his brow with it:And hence, when Scotland's king calls forth his host,Mac Duff's descendant leads the van in battle;And last, in guerdon of the crown restored,Red with the blood of the usurping tyrant,The right was granted in succeeding time,That, if a kinsman of the thane of FifeCommit a slaughter on a sudden impulse,And fly for refuge to this Cross Mac Duff;He for his sake shall find it sanctuary;For here must the avenger's step be staid,And here the panting homicide find safety.WALDHAVES.And here a brother of your order watches,To see the custom of the place observed?—NINIAN.Even so;—such is our convent's holy right,Since Saint Magridius, blessed be his memory!Did by a vision warn the abbot Eadmer,—And chief we watch, when there is bickeringAmong the neighbouring nobles, as most likelyFrom this return of Berkeley from abroad,Having the Lindesay's blood upon his hand.—WALDHAVES.The Lindesay then was loved among his friends?NINIAN.Honour'd and fear'd he was—but little loved:For even his bounty bore a show of sternness,And when his passions waked, he was a Sathan,For wrath and injury.WALDHAVES.How now, sir Priest—forgive me—I was dreamingOf an old baron, who did bear about himSome touch of your lord Louis.NINIAN.Lindesay's name, my brother,Indeed was Louis; and methinks besideThat, as you spoke even now, he would have spoken.I brought him a petition from our convent:He granted straight, but in such tone and manner,By my good saint! I thought myself scarce safeTill Tay roll'd broad between us. I must nowUnto the chapel—meanwhile the vigil's thine;And, at thy word, the hurrying fugitive,Should such arrive, must here find sanctuary;And, at thy word, the fury‐paced avengerMust stop his bloody course—e'en as swoln JordanControll'd his waves, soon as they touch'd the feetOf those who bore the ark.WALDHAVES.Is this my charge?NINIAN.Even so;—and I am near, should chance require me.At midnight I relieve you on your watch,When we may taste together some refreshment.I have cared for 't, and for a flask of wine,There is no sin, so that we drink it notUntil the midnight hour, when lauds have toll'd.Farewell awhile, and store of peace be with you.[Exit towards the Chapel. WALDHAVES.It is not with me, and alas! alas!I know not where to seek it. This monk's mindIs with his cloister mark'd, nor lacks more room.Its petty duties, formal ritual,Its humble pleasures, and its paltry troubles,Fill up his round of life. Even as some reptiles,They say, are moulded to the very shape,And all the angles of the rocky crevice,In which they live and die. But for myself,Hunted by passion to the narrow cell,Couching my tired limbs in its recesses,So ill‐adapted am I to its limits,That every attitude is agony.How now! what brings him back?Re‐enter NINIAN.NINIAN.Look to your watch, my brother;—horsemen come:I heard the tread when kneeling in the chapel.WALDHAVES.My thoughts have rapt me more than thy devotions.Else had I heard the tread of rushing horsesFarther than thou could'st hear the sacring bell;But now in truth they come:—flight and pursuitAre sights I've been long strange to.—NINIAN.See how they strain adown the opposing hill;Yon grey steed bounding on the headlong pathAs on the level meadow; and the black,Urged by the rider with his naked sword,Stoops on his prey, as I have seen the falconDashing upon the heron.—Thou dost frownAnd clench thy hand, as if it grasp'd a weapon.WALDHAVES.'Tis but for shame to see one man fly thusWhile only one pursues him.—Coward, turn!—Turn thee, I say! thou art as stout as he,And well may'st match thy single sword with his.Shame, that a man should rein a steed like thee,Yet fear to turn his front against a foe:—I am ashamed to look on them.NINIAN.Yet look again,—they quit their horses now,Unfit for the rough path:—the fugitiveKeeps the advantage still.WALDHAVES.I'll not believe that ever the bold thaneRear'd up his cross to be a sanctuaryTo the base coward, who shunn'd an equal combat.—How's this?—that look—that mien—my eyes grow dizzy.—NINIAN.He comes:—thou art a novice on this watch:—Brother, I'll take the word and speak to him.Let down thy cowl;—know that we spiritual championsHave honor to maintain, and must not seemTo quail before the laity.[WALDHAVES lets down his cowl, and steps back.Enter MAURICE BERKELEY.NINIAN.Who art thou, stranger? speak thy name and purpose.BERKELEY.I claim the privilege of Clan Mac Duff.My name is Maurice Berkeley, and my lineageAllies me nearly with the thane of Fife.NINIAN.Give us to know the cause of sanctuary?BERKELEY.Let him shew it,Against whose violence I claim the privilege.Enter LINDESAY with his Sword drawn; he rushes at BERKELEY; NINIAN interposes.NINIAN.Peace in the name of Saint Magridius!Peace in our prior's name, and in the nameOf that dear symbol which did purchase peaceAnd good‐will towards man! I do command theeTo sheathe thy sword and stir no contest here.LINDESAY.One charm I'll try first,To lure this craven from the enchanted circleWhich he hath harbour'd in.—Hear you, De Berkeley,This is my brother's sword,—the hand it armsIs weapon'd to avenge a brother's death:—If thou had heart to step a furlong offAnd change three blows,—and for so short a spaceAs these good men may say an avemary,So, heaven be good to me! I would forgive theeThy deed and all its consequences.BERKELEY.Were not my right hand fetter'd by the thoughtThat slaying thee were but a double guiltIn which to steep my soul, no bridegroom everStepp'd forth to trip a measure with his brideMore joyfully than I, young man, would waitUpon your challenge.LINDESAY.He quails and shuns to look upon my weapon,Yet boasts himself a Berkeley.BERKELEY.Lindesay; and if there were no deeper causeFor shunning thee than terror of thy weapon,That rock‐hewn cross as soon should start and stir,Because a hunter‐boy blew horn beneath it,As I for brag of thine.NINIAN.I charge you both, and in the name of heaven,Breathe no defiance on this sacred spot,Where christian men must bear them peacefully,On pain of the church‐thunders.—Calmly tellYour cause of difference;—and lord Lindesay thenBe first to speak them.LINDESAY.Ask the blue welkin—ask the silver Tay,The northern Grampians—all know my wrongs;But ask not me to tell them while a villain,Who wrought them, stands and listens with a smile.—NINIAN.It is said——Since you refer us thus to general fame,That Berkeley slew thy brother, the lord Louis,In his own halls at Edzell—LINDESAY.Aye, in his halls—In his own halls, good father, that's the wordIn his own halls he slew him, while the winePass'd on the board between!—The gallant thane,Who wreaked Mac Beth's inhospitable murder,Built not his cross to sanction deeds like these.BERKELEY.Thou say'st I came a guest;—I came a victim—A destined victim, train'd on to the doomHis frantic jealousy prepar'd for me:He fix'd a quarrel on me, and we fought.Can I forget the form that came between us,And perish'd by his sword?—'Twas then I foughtFor vengeance—until then I guarded life,But then I sought to take it, and prevail'd.LINDESAY.Wretch! thou didst dishonor,And then didst slay him.BERKELEY.There is a busy fiend tugs at my heart,But I will struggle with it.—Youthful knight,My heart is sick of war, my hand of slaughter;I come not to my lordships or my land,But seek just so much earth in some cold cloisterAs I may kneel on living, and when deadWhich may suffice to cover me.—Forgive me that I caus'd your brother's death;And I forgive thee the injurious termsWith which thou taxest me.——LINDESAY.Take worse and blacker;—murderer—adulterer—Art thou not moved yet?—BERKELEY.Do not press me further;The hunted stag, even when he seeks the thicket,If forc'd to stand at bay, grow dangerous!—Most true, thy brother perish'd by my hand,And if you term it murther, I will bear it.Thus far my patience can—but if thou brandThe purity of yonder martyr'd saint,Whom thus my sword but poorly did avenge,With one injurious word, come to the valley,And I will show thee how it shall be answer'd.—NINIAN.This heat, lord Berkeley, doth but ill accordWith thy late pious patience.—BERKELEY.Father, forgive, and let me stand excusedTo Heaven and thee, if patience brooks no more.—I loved this lady fondly—truly loved;Loved her, and was beloved, ere yet her fatherConferr'd her on another.—While she lived,Each thought of her was to my soul as hallowedAs those I send to Heaven; and on her grave,Her bloody, early grave, while this poor handCan hold a sword, shall no one cast a scorn.—LINDESAY.Follow me:—I am glad there is one spurCan rouze thy sluggard metal.—BERKELEY.Make then obeisance to the blessed cross,For it shall be on earth thy last devotion.—(They are going off.)WALDHAVES. (Rushing forward.)Madman, stand—Stay but one second,—answer but one question.There, Maurice Berkeley, can'st thou look uponThat blessed sign, and swear thou'st spoken truth?—BERKELEY.I swear by Heaven,And by the memory of that murder'd innocent,Each seeming charge against her was as falseAs Ermengarde was spotless.—Hear, each saint!Hear me, thou holy rood!—hear me from Heaven,Thou martyr'd excellence!—Hear me from penal fire,(For sure not yet thy guilt is expiated?)Stern ghost of her destroyer!——WALDHAVES. (Throws back his cowl.)He hears! he hears!—thy spell hath rais'd the dead.LINDESAY.My brother!—and alive!—WALDHAVES.Alive, but yet, my Richard, dead to thee.—No tie of kindred binds me to the world:All were renounc'd, when with reviving lifeCame the desire to seek the sacred cloister.—Alas, in vain! for to that last retreat,Like to a pack of blood‐hounds in full chace,My passions and my wrongs have followed me,Wrath and remorse—and to fill up the cry,Thou hast brought vengeance hither.—LINDESAY.I but soughtTo do the act and duty of a brotherWALDHAVES.I ceased to be so when I left the world.—But if he can forgive, as I forgive,God sends me here a brother in mine enemy,To pray for me, and with me.—If thou can'st,De Berkeley, give thy hand.—BERKELEY. (Gives his hand.)It is the willOf Heaven made manifest, in thy preservation,To save from further bloodshed; for, De Berkeley,The votary, Maurice, lays the title down.—Go to his halls, lord Richard, where a maiden,Kin to his blood, and daughter in affection,Heirs his broad lands.—If thou can'st love her, Lindesay,Woo her and be a speeder.FAIR MEAD LODGE,EPPING FOREST. (AN EXTRACT FROM "RETROSPECTION," A MS. POEM.)HAIL, Fair Mead! hail, my forest glade!Thou green isle, girt around with shade!Woods, where of old with hound and hornThe Norman hunter woke the morn:Where yet along the grassy lawnAt dim of eve, and grey of dawn,The deer his silent way pursues,And prints his hoofs in treacherous dews:—And thou, my lone and little lake,Where the stag loves his thirst to slake,When summer on the gilded stream,Darts the broad sun‐shine's noon‐day beam!Hail, peaceful Lodge! my summer‐seat,A wild, sequestered, lone retreat,Oer‐shadow'd by a Druid oakThat whilome felt the woodman's stroke,Then, as disdainful of the blow,Drove its gnarl'd roots more deep below,And proudlier to the tempest spread,An ampler girt, a broader head.There, underneath its brow that rearsThe burden of a thousand years,Beneath the arms whose branch of yoreThe quiver of the Norman bore,And heard the twanging of the yewWhen Harold's shaft like lightning flew;I trace the spots in grove and glade,Where in wild woods my childhood stray'd,When the full moon at magic hourShot thro' the leaves a spangled show'r,That show'd upon the dewy bladeFresh rings that fairy feet betray'dAre these the haunts where stray'd the child,Thro' thorny brakes and thickets wild?How chang'd the scene! With fond delay,The woodman, lingering on his way,Asks the cold soil, and clay‐bound earth,What magic hand has chang'd its birth,Or art—if art—in that recessHas tam'd the forest wilderness?Mary! thy hand hath touch'd that place,And o'er it cast an added grace;And where wild nature spread the wood,And o'er the darken'd solitude,The beech, the oak, the horn‐beam sprung,And hollies spir'd the thorns among,Thy touch hath clear'd th' ungenial shade,And gladden'd with new suns the glade.Th' acacia, laurel, cypress, thine,And bow'rs that breathe of eglantine.It was thy hand that rear'd my grove,And lin'd with moss the seat I love,Entic'd the ivy‐twine that weavesO'er the thatch'd roof its glossy leaves;Shap'd each gay plot that decks the scene,And wound my walk their flow'rs between:There, from Italia's fragrant shore,Gay shrubs to deck my dwelling bore;There bade the myrtle scent the gale,With sweets that breath'd on Arno's vale;Woo'd gentlest Zephyrs to awakeThe flow'rs that glow'd o'er Como's lake,And Britain's boldest suns illumeThe Pæstan rose's double bloom.——Sweet is it in such haunts to dwell,And bid life's troublous scenes farewell,Nursing in peaceful solitudeHigh visions that the world exclude!If yet one spot—one resting place—Where Peace may build on earth her bow'r,And in its hallow'd haunt retraceA dream of Eden's blissful hour,'Tis in that sole, that sacred spot,Where innocence and woman dwell;'Tis in that heart, which wavering not,Believes what God has deign'd to tell;And anchoring its hope above,Passes o'er earth in simple love.Such, Mary! thy unsully'd heart,And such the spot, where'er thou art.—THE LAY OF THE BELL.(FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER.)

"THE most original and beautiful, perhaps, of all Schiller's poems, unequalled by any thing of Goethe's, is called 'The Song of the Bell,'— a varying irregular lyric strain. The casting of a bell is, in Germany, an event of solemnity and rejoicing. In the neighbourhood of the Hartz, and the other mine districts, you read formal announcements in the newspapers from bell‐founders, that at a given time and spot a casting is to take place, to which they invite all their friends. An entertainment out of doors is prepared, and held with much festivity. Schiller, in a few short stanzas, forming a sort of chorus, describes the whole process of the melting, the casting, and the cooling of the bell, with a technical truth and a felicity of expression, in which the sound of the sharp sonorous rhymes and expressive epithets constantly forms an echo to the sense. Between these technical processes he breaks forth into the most beautiful episodaic pictures of the various scenes of life, with which the sounds of the bell are connected." *

* The above passage, in which the peculiar character of "The Bell of Schiller" is described with much taste and feeling, is extracted from a very entertaining publication of Mr. Dodd, "An Autumn near the Rhine." Vivos voco. —Mortuos plango.—Fulgura frango.FAST immur'd within the earth,Fixt by fire the clay‐mould stands,This day the Bell expects its birth;Courage, comrades! ply your hands!Hotly from the browMust the sweat‐drop flow:If by his work the master known,Yet—Heav'n must send the blessing down.The work we earnestly prepare,May well an earnest word demand:When cheering words attend our care,Gay the labour, brisk the hand.Then, let us weigh with deep reflection,What by more force must be achiev'd;And rightly scorn his mis‐direction,Whose foresight ne'er his work conceiv'd.'Tis this, that human nature graces,This, gifted reason's destin'd aim,That in itself the spirit tracesWhate'er the hand shall fitly frame.Billets of the fir‐wood take,Every billet dry and sound;That flame on gather'd flame awake,And vault with fire the furnace round.Cast the copper in,Quick, due weight of tin,That the Bell's tenacious food,Rightly flow in order'd mood.What now within the earth's deep wombOur hands by help of fire prepare,Shall on yon turret mark our doom,And loudly to the world declare!There its aërial station keeping,Touch many an ear to latest time;Shall mingle with the mourner's weeping,And tune to holy choirs its chime.All that to earth‐born sons belowThe changeful turns of fortune bring,The Bell from its metallic browIn warning sounds shall widely ring.Lo! I see white bubbles spring:—Well!—the molten masses flow.Haste, ashes of the salt‐wort fling,Quick'ning the fusion deep below.Yet, from scoria freeMust the mixture be,That from the metal, clean and clear,Its sound swell tuneful on the ear.Hark! 'tis the birth‐day's festive ringingIt welcomes the beloved child,Who now life's earliest way beginning,In sleep's soft arm lies meek and mild.As yet in time's dark lap repose,Life's sunshine lot, and shadowy woes,While tenderest cares of mothers bornWatch o'er her infant's golden morn.The years like winged arrows fly:The stripling from the female handBursts into life all wild to roam;And wandering far o'er sea and land,Returns a stranger home.There, in her bloom divinely fair,An image beaming from the sky,With blushing cheek and modest airA virgin charms his eye.A nameless longing melts his heart,Far from his comrades' revels rude,While tears involuntary start,He strays in pathless solitude,—There, blushing, seeks alone her trace;And if a smile his suit approve,He seeks the prime of all the place,The fairest flow'r to deck his love.—Enchanting hope! thou sweet desire!Thou earliest love! thou golden time!Heav'n opens to thy glance of fire,The heart o'erflows with bliss sublime.Oh that it might eternal proveThe vernal bloom of youthful love!See! the pipes are browning over!This little rod I inly dip;If coated there with glassy cover,Let not the time of fusion slip.Now, companions!—move,Now, the mixture prove.If each alike, in one designThe brittle and the ductile join.For where strength with softness joins,Where force with tenderness combines,Firm the union, sweet the song.Thus, ere thou wed no more to part,Prove first if heart unite with heart:The dream is brief, repentance long.Sweet, 'mid the tresses of the bride,Blooms the virgin coronal,When merry bells ring far and wideKind welcome to the festivalAh, that life's fairest festive dayFades with the blossom of our May!That when the veil and cestus fall,The sweet illusions vanish, all!—The passion,—it flies,The love must endure:The blossom,—it dies,The fruit must mature.Forth the husband must wendTo the combat of life;Plunge in turmoil and strife.Must plant, and must plan;Gain get as he can.Hazard all, all importune,To woo and win fortune.Then streams, like a spring‐flood, his wealth without measure,And his granaries groan with the weight of their treasure;And his farm‐yards increase, and his mansion expands.Now the house‐wife withinHer course must begin;Nurse, mother, and wifeShare the troubles of life:Discreetly severeRule all in her sphere;Give each maiden employ,Watch each troublesome boy.With orderly care,Keep all in repair;And store without ceasingHer riches increasing:Fill her sweet‐scented coffers; and, restlessly twirling,Set each spindle a spinning, each wheel ever whirling;And in smooth polish'd ward‐robes range row above row,Her woollen all radiant, her linen all snow;And trim them, and pranck them, and fashion them ever,And rest—never.—The father now, with deep delight,From his proud seat's wide‐seeing roof,Sums up the wealth that feasts his sight;The branching columns that supportThe loaded barns rang'd round the court;Granaries that with corn o'er‐flow,And harvests billowing to and fro:And deems, fond man! that, propt on gain,Like pillars that the globe sustain,His house in glory shall withstandMisfortune's rough and ruthless hand.But—none—no mortal can detainFate in adamantine chain.Mischance with hurried foot advances.'Tis time.—Now, now begin the fusion:The crevice now yields promise fair.Yet, pause—nor hasten the conclusion,Till Heav'n has heard our pious pray'r.Push the stopper out.Saints! watch the house about.Smoking in the handle's bow,Shoot the waves that darkly glow.—Beneficent the fire, whose flameThe pow'r of man can watch and tame;When all, whate'er he forms and makes,From Heav'n's kind gift perfection takes.But terrible this gift of Heav'n,When bursting forth, its fetters riv'n,This free‐born child of nature freeIssues in random liberty.Woe—woe—when loose, without controul,Gathering fresh force to feed their ire,On thro' the populous city roll,Sheeted flames of living fire!The elements, unpitying, hateWhate'er the hands of man create.From the cloudsBlessings flow,Rain streams below:From the clouds,Here and there,Lightnings glare.Heard you yon turret moan from high?Storm is nigh.Red as bloodThe Heav'n's suffusion;Not that, daylight's glowing flood.What confusion!Clouds of smokeThe dark streets choke;Flaring mounts up higher and higher,Through lengthen'd streets, the pillar'd fire,Borne before the wild wind's ire.The flame as from a furnace streams,Glows the ether, crack the beams;Mothers wandering, children moaning,Cattle under ruins groaning;Windows clattering, pillars crushing,All for safety wildly rushing.This way, that way, twisting, turning,Midnight like the noonday burning,Hand to hand, a lengthen'd chain,How they strain!Fly the buckets; flood and fountainBurst in liquid arches mounting:The howling tempest on its courseGives to the flames resistless force:The fire‐flood through each granary streams,And blazes o'er the rafter'd beams;And, as if the self‐same hourWould earth and all its growth devour,To heav'n it rears its tow'ring flight,Giant high!HopelesslyBeneath its godlike strength man bows the head:And, as his treasures sink and sunder,Beholds the ruins round him spread,In idle wonder—Consum'd by flame.One waste the place:Nought but the storm there leaves a trace.In the wide casement's vacancyDire horrors brood,And clouds that sweep aloft the skyLook on its solitude.One look—one last—On that earth‐womb,His treasure's tomb:One lingering look—'tis o'er—'tis past—He grasps his staff—the world has roomThe raging flame not all has reft,One heartfelt solace yet is left.He numbers those belov'd the most,—Of those, so lov'd, not one is lost.All prosp'rous seems beneath the earth,Full and kindly fill'd the mould:But will the day that views its birth,What crowns our toil and art behold?If the fusion fail!—If the mould prove frail!—Ah! haply, while Hope's sunbeams glow,Fate has already wrought the woe!To the dark lap of holy earthWe trust the unaccomplish'd deed:The sower fearless trusts his seed,In hope to gather in the birthAt the blest time by heav'n decreed.And far more precious seed concealing,We mournful hide in earth's dark womb,In hope that God, the grave unsealing,Revive it, grac'd with brighter bloom.From the dome,Sad and slow,Tolls the Bell,The song of woe;—Its sad, its solemn, strokes attendA wand'rer to his journey's end.Ah! 'tis the dear one—'tis the wife!'Tis the belov'd, the loving mother!Who by the prince of darkness borne,From her fond husband's arms is torn,—Torn from each tender child awayShe bore him in her bloom of day,—Those who had grown upon her breast,By love—a mother's love—carest.Ah! the household's gentle bandIs loos'd for ever,—ever more;She dwells within the shadowy landWhose fondness hung that household o'er.Now ceas'd her zealous occupation,None her kindness more shall prove;O'er that wide waste, that orphan station,A stranger rules devoid of love.While the Bell is cooling, rest,Rest from toil and trouble free;Each, as fits his fancy best,Sport like bird at liberty.Peeps a star in air,The man void of careAt vesper chime from labor ceases:No hour the master's care releases.Quickly with unwearied pacesThe wand'rer in wild woods afarSeeks his household roof's embraces:Bleating, homeward draw the sheep:Herds and cowsSleek their hides, and broad their brows,Come back lowing,Each his wonted manger knowing.Charg'd with grainIn rocks the wain,Harvest laden:With gay leaves,On the sheaves,Garlands lie;While to the dance the youthful mowersBriskly fly.Street and market hush their speaking;The householders, when day decays,Gather around their blissful blaze;And the town‐gate closes creaking.Earth with clouds is darken'd over;Yet underneath his roof's safe cover,The peaceful burgher dreads not night,Which wakes the wicked with affright,While Law's keen eye ne'er rests its sight.Holy Order! rich in blessing;Heavenly daughter! whose caressingTo social bonds free man endears:Thou, whose base the city rears;Thou, who from the wild and woodCall'st the unsocial savage brood,To roofs that bind the household tie,And sooth the soul with courtesy!Hail, Thou that weav'st the dearest band,The union of a Father‐land!A thousand busy hands in motionEach to each its aid imparts,And in brotherly devotionAdds strength and grace to all the arts.Man and master, in their station,In Freedom's holy safeguard rest;And in joyful occupationLaugh to scorn the scorner's jest.Work!—'tis the burgher's exaltation,—A blessing rests on labor's head:Honor the king who rules the nation,Honor the hand that earns its bread.Holy Peace!Concord sweet!Remain, remain:O'er this region kindly reign.Never may that day ariseWhen war's rough plund'rers shall assail!And violate this peaceful vale:Never may those lovely skies,Which roseate eve's soft colours faintLovelily paint,View on the blissful village roofThe battle‐beacon flame aloof!Break me the mould: its due employmentNow done, no more its aid we need.Let heart and eye in full enjoyment,On the well‐formed image feed.Swing, the hammer swing,Till the cover spring.When the earth the Bell releases,The mould may split in thousand pieces.The master breaks the mould in pieces,And timely frees the precious charge;But woe—if, as the flame encreases,The glowing metal stream at large.Blind‐raging with the roar of thunder,Forth from its riv'n cell it rushes;And as from hell‐jaws burst asunder,Destruction with the fire‐flood gushes.Where senseless force misrules at pleasure,No form comes forth in rule and measure—When nations burst the social band,Ill fares it with the ravag'd land.Ah! woe! when in the city's slumberBy stealth a spark of fire gains force:Woe! when the mob's unfetter'd numberFinds in itself its sole resource.Then—Uproar, to the bell‐ropes springing,Spreads far and wide the dread alarm;And where Peace hail'd its joyful ringing,Its signal bids the city arm."Freedom! Equality!"—all crying,The burgher arms for his defence;Through streets, through halls, this, that way flying,Fell Murder's bands their work commence.Wild women, like hyænas darting,Laughs mixed with groans, strange dread impart;While thrills the nerve, while blood is starting,The woman rends the quivering heart.No sanctity the bosom shielding,No decency, restraint, or shame,The wicked, as the good are yielding,To crime impunity proclaim.'Tis dire to rouse a lion sleeping,Terrific is the tiger's jaw;But there's a woe surpasses weeping,—'Tis savage man let loose from law:Woe!—who to him, the blind, the cruel,Lends the blest gift from heav'n brought down—It lights him not, but fires the fuelThat turns to ashes land and town.Joy! joy to me, kind heav'n has giv'n:Lo! like a star of golden birth,The metal polish'd, smooth, and even,Comes from its coverture of earth.Lo! round its beauteous crownSunlike radiance thrownAnd the coat of arms' gay burnishShall to my skill new honor furnish.Come all! come all!Close your ranks, in order settle;Baptize we now the hallow'd metal:"Concordia!"—Such her name we call.To harmony, to heartfelt union,It gathers in the blest communion.Be this henceforward its vocation;For this I watch'd o'er its creation,That while our life goes lowly under,The Bell, 'mid yon blue heav'n's expansion,Should soar, the neighbour of the thunder,And border on the starry mansion. Its voice from yon aërial heightShall seem the music of the sphere,That rolling lauds its Maker's might,And leads along the crowned year:To solemn and eternal thingsAlone shall consecrate its chime,And hourly, as it swiftly swings,O'ertake the flying wing of time:Shall lend to Fate its iron tongue,Heartless itself, nor form'd to feel,Shall follow life's mix'd scenes among,Each turn of Fortune's fickle wheel—And, as its echo on the galeDies off, though long and loud the tone,Shall teach that all on earth shall fail,All pass away—save God alone.Now, with the rope's unweary'd might,From its dark womb weigh up the Bell,That it may gain th' aërial height,And in the realm of Echo dwell.Draw! draw!—it swings;Hark! hark! it rings.Joy to this town, be heard around!Peace unto all, the Bell's first sound!TO THE RAINBOW.TRIUMPHANT arch! that fill'st the skyWhen storms prepare to part,I ask not proud philosophyTo teach me what thou art:—Still seem, as to my childhood's sight,A midway station given,For happy spirits to alightBetwixt the earth and heaven.Can all that optics teach unfoldThy form to please me so,As when I dreamt of gems and goldHid in thy radiant bow?When science from creation's faceEnchantment's veil withdraws,What lovely visions yield their placeTo cold material laws!And yet, fair bow! no fabling dreams,But words of the Most High,Have told why first thy robe of beamsWas woven in the sky.When o'er the green undeluged earthHeaven's covenant thou did'st shine,How came the world's grey fathers forthTo watch thy sacred sign!And when its yellow lustre smil'dO'er mountains yet untrod,Each mother held aloft her childTo bless the bow of God.Methinks, thy jubilee to keep,The first‐made anthem rang,On earth deliver'd from the deep,And the first poet sang.Nor ever shall the Muse's eyeUnraptur'd greet thy beam:Theme of primeval prophecy!Be still the poet's theme.The earth to thee its incense yields,The lark thy welcome sings,When glitt'ring in the freshen'd fieldsThe snowy mushroom springs.How glorious is thy girdle castO'er mountain, tower, and town;Or mirror'd in the ocean vast,A thousand fathoms down!As fresh in yon horizon dark,As young thy beauties seem,As when the eagle from the arkFirst sported in thy beam.For faithful to its sacred page,Heaven still rebuilds thy span;Nor lets the type grow pale with age,That first spoke peace to man.THE LOT OF THOUSANDS.WHEN hope lies dead within the heart,By secret sorrow long conceal'd,We shrink lest looks or words impartWhat may not be reveal'd.'Tis hard to smile when one could weep,To speak when one would silent be;To wake when one would wish to sleep,And wake to agony.Yet such the lot for thousands cast,Who wander in this world of care,And bend beneath the bitter blast,To save them from despair.But nature waits her sons to greet,Where disappointment cannot come;And time leads with unerring feet,The weary wanderer home.OH! Pow'r Supreme, that fill'st the wholeOf wide creation's boundless space!The Life of life, the Soul of soul,Where shall we find thy dwelling‐place?Is it in ether's boundless plains,Where radiant suns unnumber'd rise,To warm their planetary trains,And cheer with light far‐distant skies?Above, below, and all around,Existence rises at thy call,And, wrapt in mystery profound,Thy works proclaim thee, Lord of all.On this small speck, our parent earth,How bounteously thy gifts are spread!Rich blessings here receive their birthFrom Intellect by Science led.Exploring land, and air, and sea,Bringing far‐distant objects nigh;And in thy works adoring thee,Beneath thy own all‐seeing eye.ADDRESS TO THE EVENING PRIMROSE.THE sun declines; his parting rayShall bear the cheerful light away,And on the landscape close:Then will I seek the lonely vale,Where sober ev'ning's primrose pale,To greet the night‐star, blows.Soft, melancholy bloom! to theeI turn with conscious sympathy;Like thee, my hour is come:When length'ning shadows slowly fade,Till, lost in universal shade,They sink beneath the tomb.By thee I'll sit, and inly museWhat are the charms in life we loseWhen time demands our breath:Alas! the load of ling'ring ageHas little that can hope engage,Or point the shaft of death.No! 'tis the pang alone to partFrom those we love, that rends the heart;That agony to saveSome nameless pow'r in nature strives;Our fading hope in death revives,And blossoms on the grave. LINES,WRITTEN IN LADY LONSDALE'S ALBUM, AT LOWTHER CASTLE, OCT. 13. 1821.SOMETIMES in youthful years,When in some ancient ruin I have stood,Alone and musing, till with quiet tearsI felt my cheeks bedew'd,A melancholy thought hath made me grieveFor this our age, and humbled me in mind,That it should pass away and leaveNo monuments behind.Not for themselves aloneOur fathers lived; nor with a niggard handRaised they the fabrics of enduring stone,Which yet adorn the land:Their piles, memorials of the mighty dead,Survive them still, majestic in decay;But ours are like ourselves, I said,The creatures of a day.With other feelings now,Lowther! have I beheld thy stately walls,Thy pinnacles, and broad embattled brow,And hospitable halls.The sun those wide spread battlements shall crest,And silent years unharming shall go by,Till centuries in their course investThy towers with sanctity.But thou the while shalt bear,To after times, an old and honour'd name,And to remote posterity declare,Thy founder's virtuous fame.Fair structure! worthy the triumphant ageOf glorious England's opulence and power,Peace be thy lasting heritage,And happiness thy dower!SONNET.NOT love, nor war, nor the tumultuous swellOf civil conflicts, nor the wrecks of change,And duty struggling with afflictions strange,Not these alone inspire the tuneful shell;But where untroubled peace and concord dwell,There also is the muse not loth to range,Watching the blue smoke of the elmy grange,Skyward ascending from the twilight dell.Meek aspirations please her lone endeavour,And sage content and placid melancholy;She loves to gaze upon a crystal river,Diaphanous, because it travels slowly:Soft is the music that would please for ever,The flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly.SONNET.A VOLANT tribe of bards on earth are found,Who, while the flatt'ring zephyrs round them play,On "coignes of vantage" hang their nests of clay,Work cunningly devis'd, and seeming sound;But quickly from its airy hold unboundBy its own weight, or wash'd, or blown awayWith silent imperceptible decay.If ma