The Social Hearth.

The Social Hearth.How oft man looks for happiness afar,Amid loud tumult, or the din of war;O’er foreign lands, through distant climes, he’ll roamTo win that pleasure he may gain at home.Here does the error in its root begin;He seeks without when he should search within,And strive to see included in his breastThe seeds of happiness, the germs of rest.All bounteous nature upon man doth showerHer gifts of pleasure, with more equal dowerThan we, dim-sighted and unwise, discern,But by due effort we the truth may learn.In the charmed circle of the cheerful hearthLife’s purest pleasures, richest joys have birth;Where heart meets heart with confidence serene,Truth smiles in brightness, Goodness rules benign.How calmly sweet, how soothing to retireFrom pains and toils to peace beside the fire;Whilst round the blaze, true-hearted friends are met,In whose gay converse we all care forget.The merry laugh, the simple playful jest,The soul of gladness in each look expressed,The wit retorted, and the temperate mirth,Are like rich sunshine glowing o’er the earth.Fresh thoughts imparted, truths unknown before,In freedom given but increase our store;And each kind feeling with prolific reignIn kindred breasts is multiplied again.When song or music elevates the time,The homely dance or poet’s lofty rhyme,All feel their pleasure and delight increasedBy each partaking in the social feast.When thus we mingle, how it will impartFeelings more kind and noble to the heart,Increase its warmth by love unknown before,And where it has loved, make it love the more.The sacred psalmist strung his harp to tellHow goodly ’tis in harmony to dwell;E’en like the ointment poured upon the head,That to the skirts of priestly vestments spread!Oh! ne’er should scandal, or detraction mean,Or words unkindly desecrate the scene;But all with pure sincerity conspireTo strengthen friendship, fan love’s holy fire.If thus we meet—if thus in peace unite,And make each home a temple of delight,Our hearts will tell us there is not on earthA place more sacred than the social hearth.As this sweet strain of poesy came forth,All felt its truth and beauty. It describedThe pleasures now enjoyed, and but portrayedSuch scenes of innocent and social gleeAs often filled that room. The feelings pureTherein expressed, the higher tone of life,The sweeter charity, unfolded clear,Was but a transcript of that law which ruledThe spirit of their Host. Whene’er the lifeIs tuned accordant to the poet’s song,And all his actions manifest his laysThe offspring of sincerity, how greatHow wonderful their power! And not aloneIts truthfulness was valued; but the skillIn poetry its melody displayedSurpassed expectance. Each delighted guestFelt curiosity within him riseTo know what subject would compose the next,And how it would be treated. Arthur thenWas called upon for his. With roguish lookHe begged them all to guess the theme he choseTo render into verse. Some thought it War,Some Peace, some Honour, some Heroic life,Some Solitude. At last a venturous voiceWhispered it might be Love. The simple wordGave birth to pleasant smiles. When does it not?To old, to young, to those of middle years,It aye comes welcome. Those who have not knownThe power of love, with curious longing hope,Still wish that they may know it. Those who feelIts present sway, if they but hear its name,Have sacred visions to their fancy broughtOf certain curling locks, bright eyes, sweet smiles,And forms to them angelic. Those who’ve pastThat passion’s mysteries, recall with joyThe season of its sway, and dote to seeYoung hearts just flitting o’er the selfsame netBy which they were entangled. Is not thisA picture of the truth, all ye who bearThe hearts of warm humanity? The smileWas not diminished when the heir confessedSuch guess was near the mark. With steady voice,And gravity maintained by effort firm,As conscious that the subject well deservedHigh thought and lofty sentiment, he gaveA quick recital to a lyric pieceEntitled simply—Passing Thoughts on Love.The ancient poets sang a loveWhose spell of wild and fiery powerRuled men below, and gods above,And conquered in its burning hour.The wine-cup’s rich delicious draughtNe’er maddened more the reeling brain,Or filled the heart so full, when quaffed,With ecstacy akin to pain.Then like a dream it passed away,A fervid vision of the night,Till some bright beauty’s potent swayAwoke again the fierce delight.Such might be passion’s wayward courseThat flashes like the lightning’s gleam;But ne’er was love, whose fountain-sourceSends ever forth a constant stream.True love is like the stars on highThat shine with undiminished ray,And glows all warm and ferventlyAs does the splendid orb of day.Naught but the beauty of the soul,Arrayed in virtue’s peerless dress,Can pure love waken, or controulThe bosom with its loveliness.It is the glorious bond of lifeThat joins two kindred souls in one;And when they meet, amid earth’s strife,The same bright path they journey on.Heart yields to heart a living strength,And thought to thought increase of light,Until their happy days at lengthWell nigh partake of heaven’s delight.’Tis not the high and manly browEnlinked to beauty’s witching charm,Can make such deep-soul’d passion glow,Or keep it from decay and harm.The pure in heart, the pure in thought,Alone such inward union gain;And by the law in heaven wroughtSuch souls can never more be twain.Alas! for earth where love is soldFor station, honour, pride, and power;Bartered for fame, betrayed for gold,And often scarcely lasts an hour.Yet some there be who do partakeA measure of this love divine;Then such deep love, for love’s pure sake,Oh may I own, or none be mine!The smiling look, and cheerful playfulness,Continued through the piece. But many foundA loftier element pervade the song,And deeper sentiments than they had deemedIndwellers of such theme. When he had doneHe cast around a furtive glance to seeThe influence of his verse. All faces woreA look of bland approval. One aloneHung bending down, as if to mark the bloomOf rosy flowerets in the rich bouquetThat beautified her bosom. Did her cheekCatch deeper crimson from their lovelinessThat made it glow so brightly? Sooth to tellThere was a hue like that of sunset cloudsWhich fluttered sweetly there. It might be caughtBy strong reflection from those happy flowersWhich hung upon that breast; or it might springFrom thoughts still happier, nestled warm within,Whose stirring motions made the pure blood flowMore freely o’er that cheek. Were such the truth,It might betoken sympathy of soulWith those high sentiments, and with the heartThat gave them utterance. Young Arthur longHad deemed her beautiful, and she to himHad moved a star of light; but mutual wordsOf loving import had not yet revealedTheir hearts unto each other. With a glanceOf quick delight, like to the lambent flashOf summer lightning, he beheld that blush,So meek and rosy, and with instinct trueHis soul divined its meaning. With a wordOf rapid whisper in Matilda’s ear,He bad that sister hasten to bring forthHer promised verse; whilst he awhile withdrewFrom the gay circle, that in solitudeHe might indulge the overpowering thoughtWhich filled his raptured breast. His joy intense,No words could tell; whilst now in soul convincedThat Emma’s noble and susceptive heartWas his for ever! Shortly he returnedWith looks elate, and joys delightful glowOn his proud countenance. When he rejoinedHis father’s guests, his sister had not yetCommenced her promised task. With timid heartAnd shrinking feeling, she awhile forboreIn modest diffidence; for she was oneOf tender nature, of affections warm,And delicately sensitive of soul.Her truth of heart, and nobleness of thought,Made her abhor all wrong. Her simple mind,As clear as crystal, made her ever loveSimplicity in all things. Hence she choseTo frame a ballad of domestic scenesAnd their endearments. In a gentle voice,Replete with feeling, she began to readA tale of rural life, of fervent passion,That bore inscribed the humble name of—Lucy.Sweet Lucy, in the Pastor’s houseHad dwelt from early years,The scene of all her childish joys,Gay hopes, young smiles and tears.It stood beside the rustic churchEngirt with noble trees;A quiet nook, a calm abode,A home for rural peace.Before its walls with roses twined,And ivy interlaced,A lovely plot of cultered flowersThe simple dwelling gracedA rustic fence, with lattice gate,The sole dividing bound,Between that garden, fair and rich,And grassy graves around.And here, an infant, free from care,In summer’s jocund hoursGlad Lucy played, as insect blithe,Companion of the flowers.To her, amidst the dawning blushOf life’s unfolding bloom,The grave was not a thing to wakeA thought of pain or gloom.Yet well it might—beneath the sodHer parents both were laid;The father ere her hour of birthWas numbered with the dead.Her mother, pierced with keenest grief,Heart-broken with deep woe,Scarce heard the little infant cryEre she departed too.The babe, forlorn, compassion found,Though kindred she had none;The Pastor took her to his heartAnd reared her as his own.He childless was, yet with a soulIn children to delight;To see the love he bore to thisIt was a touching sight!An orphan! O, the very thoughtBrings tenderness of heart;Then what must one so frail and youngTo his pure breast impart?’Twas like some holy vision fairTo see his glance so mild,His hoary head, his moistened eye,Bent over that sweet child.How joyed he at the first clear soundsHer infant lips could make,And o’er the first free wandering stepsHer little feet could take.His friend of life, his wife beloved,In all felt equal glee,And joined to rear the orphan maidIn truth and purity.As feeling grew within her breast,To them a love she boreAs fervent as an own child’s love—Yea warmer, deeper, more.Yet were her parents oft in mind;A holier thought was given,And purer love to those she deemedHer guardians in heaven.What can so elevate the soul,Refine its richest love,As to be linked by kindred’s tiesTo radiant worlds above?A mind so delicate and pureIn learning took delight,And treasured up each noble thoughtAnd deed with virtue bright.But chiefly was the Sacred pageEngraven on her heart,And did to her its lofty hopes,Its joys, its peace impart.Thus she who was his highest joyIn childhood’s sprightly day,Became the Vicar’s cheerful friendAnd aid in life’s decay.How graceful was her lovely form,How rich her curling hair,And her cheeks’ hue like rosy beamsOf evening blushing there.Her gladsome smile’s delicious play,Her eyes’ entrancing lightWon sweet regard from every heartAnd filled it with delight.Such peerless charms! how could they failTo rouse impassioned love?And bind some willing heart in chains,A captive loth to move.Young Albert to the village cameAnd saw the maid so fair;Then straight resolved to win her heartA trophy rich to wear.His manly form, his dauntless look,His elegance of mien;A voice that spoke in dulcet tones,An eye with glances keen;A ready flow of touching wordsTo tell a tender tale;Must they not fire a maiden’s soulAnd make a suit prevail?His words of love! as dew they fellUpon her stainless heart,And made it, like fresh fragrant flowers,To loftier being start.All simple, guileless, framed of truth,It knew no frail disguise;But let unchecked its passions springIts deepest feelings rise.And oft at even-time they strolledThe rural lanes alone,In converse deep, with kindred thoughtsAnd feelings blent in one.Both nature prized, and took delightIn sunset skies and flowers,And talking of all fairest things,They wiled away the hours.Naught can so swiftly light two breastsWith mutual flames of love;As finding that all beauteous scenesThe same deep pulses move.Pure, simple, Lucy, scarcely knewHer heart’s full passion won,Until the idol of its hopeFrom her fond side was gone.He bad farewell in gentle toneAnd vowed with hasty breath;Farewell, she cried, in truth’s own voice,“Albert! I’m thine till death!”And such she was! but oh that heLike faithfulness had shewn,Then we upon her maiden graveNo timeless flowers had strewn.He went and mingled with the world,And learnt its sordid ways;Till noble thought, and feeling trueWithin his soul decays.Then gold for love, and state for worth,For truth parade and show,His bosom prized, and soon forgotHis first-love and his vow.Soon for him, and a maid of wealth,Pealed forth the marriage bell;But its gay sound assumed afarA tone like Lucy’s knell.Soon as she heard—from her gay cheekThe roses swiftly fled,And left fair lillies, pale and wan,To flourish in their stead.The lillies fluttered there awhile,But lost their bloom with speed,And withering swift, shewed on their root,The canker worm did feed.She calmly pined—all meek of soul;The grief she strove to hideLike poison wrought, and caused life’s streamTo flow with feeble tide:Just ere it ceased, with gentle voice—All pain and wrong forgiven—She said—I leave false earth to gainUnfailing truth in heaven.And now she in the church-yard lies,And soon was followed thereBy those two loving hearts who’d madeHer life their bounteous care.In five green graves together ranged,Their frail remains abide;Her foster parents, and her own,And hers, all side by side.All ye who win a true heart’s love,Of faithlessness beware!Go view that simple midmost graveAnd learn a lesson there!When she had ceased, the simple pathos shewnIn that pure song, had touched each feeling heart,And some bright eyes were brighter for a tearThat gemmed their loveliness. A pause ensuedOf few brief moments, and then Alfred steppedWith freedom forward to impart his shareOf promised verse. He had but just returnedFrom college, where his studious hours were spentWith fervour most devoted, to acquireAn ample store of learning. He had foundRich treasures hid amidst the ponderous tomesOf ancient days, and with determined heartHe sought to make them his. A fervent loveGlowed in his bosom for their noble thoughtsAnd sentiments and feelings, and he gaveHis hours with zeal, enthusiastic zeal,To communings with them. Short time had heTo dally with the muse, or let the playOf vagrant fancy interrupt his aims;Yet in the festival he would take part,And brought, as fittest offspring of his harp—A Sonnet To the Master-Minds of Earth.Immortal bards, philosophers, and sagesWhose glorious thoughts have lit this darkened worldAnd raised Truth’s banner, a bright flag unfurled,To guide men onwards through all future agesTo liberty and peace. Upon your pagesMy mind would pasture, as along the meadsThe simple flock in innocency feeds,Till nourished into strength. Through all life’s stages,In youth, in manhood, and in calm declineAt your clear fountains may my spirit drinkTo quench her thirst for knowledge, to refineEach feeling quick, and learn to nobly think!Oh! much we need ye! ye bright stars from heaven,And to our aid may thousands more be given!Fair Eva next came forward to the task;She was a joyous creature full of lifeAnd health and beauty. In her rich blue eyeThere was a light of gladness, and her cheekWas clear and rosy as the flowers of spring.Her step was free, as if the morning breezeWere ever her companion, and each limbHad motions graceful as the waving bough.The love of nature dwelt within her heartIn all its aspects; but her chief delightWas in the silver, sunny lovelinessOf noontide splendours, or the gorgeous scenesAll gold and crimson, when the day declinesAnd bids farewell to earth with kingly pomp.On such she looked with ever-raptured eye,Until their brilliance had imbued her soulWith joyous thoughts and bright. The theme she choseWas one expressive of that cheerful toneWhich filled her spirit, and with mellow voiceShe gave glad utterance to her—Love of Spring.I love the time when buds and bellsHang fragrant in the woodland dells;The primrose and the violetOn richest mossy banks are set.How joyous when the warmth of springInvites the merry birds to sing,And their sweet bowers of love are madeAmid the flowering hawthorn’s shade.Then robed in verdure, stately treesStretch their broad branches to the breeze,Rejoicing in the glorious lightOf sun and sky, like silver bright.Amid fair meads young lambkins playTheir sprightly games in pure array;And insects sport on gauzy wing,Live gems in sunshine fluttering.Each rural scent, each rustic sound,Enchantment lend the landscape round;And every sight conspires to blessMy heart with wild sweet happiness.I love the summer’s golden reign,And autumn’s ripeness o’er the plain;But to my spirit naught can bringSuch gladness as the days of spring.For then I rove the woodland wild,With heart as simple as a child,And spend the pure fresh morning hoursAmid the breezes, birds, and flowers.Reclining on some grassy seatWithin a leafy dark retreat,I con the Poet’s living bookBeside the clear-streamed stony brook.Such calm seclusion strengthens thought,And all His visions bright are broughtAcross my mind, more fair and clear,Mid scenes His spirit would hold dear.I love stern winter’s reign sublime,Rich autumn, and sweet summer time;But nothing to my heart can bringSuch gladness as the days of spring!The blithesome tone of this gay melody,This pastoral song, spread cheerfulness around,And made all hearts beside the winter fireThink hopefully of spring. Some moments passedIn pleasant converse; then Lucrece was urgedHer poem to recite. With gentle graceAnd modest diffidence, she forward came,Yet with becoming confidence, as oneWho knew, but did not over-rate, her powers.She was a poetess by nature framedAnd had a soul for song. Her flowing thoughtMoved on in hidden melody, that gaveEach word expressive feeling; and her faceIn every feature, witnessed to a mindOf passions strong and pure. Her eye was dark,And black, and eagle-like. It shone a starBy its own inward light; but o’er it hungSilk, raven lashes, that subdued its blazeBut lessened not its power. Her lofty brow,By its expansion, shewed a kingdom wideWhere thought might rule; and o’er her well-formed headRich sable hair, in smooth and glossy braids,Displayed its shining beauty. Down her cheekSome bright curls clustered, and amid their shadeThere peeped the pearl-white lustre of her ear.O’er her fair countenance the pallid roseAssumed the precedence, and nigh subduedIts rich and blushing sister. ’Twas the hueOf thought spread o’er her features, leaving thereThe marble’s clear transparence. You might dreamShe were a statue, did not feelings flashTheir radiance from her look, and mind’s pure lightFloat halo-like around her. Tall her formAnd moulded into grace; each polished limbSeemed full of life and motion; and her step,Though light and agile, yet had statelinessAnd maiden dignity. She older seemedThan were her years, for eighteen summer sunsAlone had passed with ripening influence,Her beauty to mature; but you might dateHer more advanced in womanhood, her mindBy its expansion, and the thrill of thoughtAnd earlier strength of feeling, had impressedSuch semblance on her aspect. She was oneTo whom the world was beautiful; but yetHer mind had thirst for higher beauty stillThan met her waking vision. One to whomThe tales of old romance, and fairy lore,And songs of chivalry, were needful food.Each noble thought, bold deed, and virtue bright,Found echoes in her breast; heroic acts,Undaunted words, or patriotic loveMet sympathy with her. Creative thought,Imagination’s realising power,Gave form and substance to the visions fairThat flitted o’er her fancy; abstract themesLost their elusive subtlety and gainedEmbodiment and shape. And thus in truthShe was a poetess; and all her verse,Though wrought from fancy’s airy gossamer,Had strength and life and strange reality.She thoughts refined, and spirit-like could chainIn binding language, and give power and lifeTo evanescent sentiments. She choseTo frame a legend full of rich romance,Such as we picture in the days of old,When love was lofty passion—woman seemedA more etherial being sent to tameMan’s rude stern heart mid glorious chivalry.With thought concentred on the theme; with heartAlive to changing feelings, and with voiceDeep, rich, and varied, such as well could shewThe latent beauty in a poet’s song,She read the story, not unfitly named—Fidelio and Lenore.Oh! Muse, inspirer of the old romance,Sweet songs of chivalry, rich fairy lore,Let thy deep influence through my spirit glance,For I would vision forth a tale of yore,—A legend of true love, that evermoreMay in bright fiction to the mind displayThe power of constant truth, to triumph o’erThe ills of life in all their dire array,And how that virtue pure speeds conquering on its way.But thus to sing my soul must be subduedTo softest tenderness and gentle thought,And every feeling dissonant and rudeTo full and perfect harmony be brought;Whilst richest colours, from gay fancy caught,Must paint the whole, and with their light illumeWell-chosen words, though seemingly unsought,That run in cheerful music, and assumeRich melodies of verse,—like breezes o’er spring’s bloom.

The Social Hearth.

How oft man looks for happiness afar,Amid loud tumult, or the din of war;O’er foreign lands, through distant climes, he’ll roamTo win that pleasure he may gain at home.

How oft man looks for happiness afar,

Amid loud tumult, or the din of war;

O’er foreign lands, through distant climes, he’ll roam

To win that pleasure he may gain at home.

Here does the error in its root begin;He seeks without when he should search within,And strive to see included in his breastThe seeds of happiness, the germs of rest.

Here does the error in its root begin;

He seeks without when he should search within,

And strive to see included in his breast

The seeds of happiness, the germs of rest.

All bounteous nature upon man doth showerHer gifts of pleasure, with more equal dowerThan we, dim-sighted and unwise, discern,But by due effort we the truth may learn.

All bounteous nature upon man doth shower

Her gifts of pleasure, with more equal dower

Than we, dim-sighted and unwise, discern,

But by due effort we the truth may learn.

In the charmed circle of the cheerful hearthLife’s purest pleasures, richest joys have birth;Where heart meets heart with confidence serene,Truth smiles in brightness, Goodness rules benign.

In the charmed circle of the cheerful hearth

Life’s purest pleasures, richest joys have birth;

Where heart meets heart with confidence serene,

Truth smiles in brightness, Goodness rules benign.

How calmly sweet, how soothing to retireFrom pains and toils to peace beside the fire;Whilst round the blaze, true-hearted friends are met,In whose gay converse we all care forget.

How calmly sweet, how soothing to retire

From pains and toils to peace beside the fire;

Whilst round the blaze, true-hearted friends are met,

In whose gay converse we all care forget.

The merry laugh, the simple playful jest,The soul of gladness in each look expressed,The wit retorted, and the temperate mirth,Are like rich sunshine glowing o’er the earth.

The merry laugh, the simple playful jest,

The soul of gladness in each look expressed,

The wit retorted, and the temperate mirth,

Are like rich sunshine glowing o’er the earth.

Fresh thoughts imparted, truths unknown before,In freedom given but increase our store;And each kind feeling with prolific reignIn kindred breasts is multiplied again.

Fresh thoughts imparted, truths unknown before,

In freedom given but increase our store;

And each kind feeling with prolific reign

In kindred breasts is multiplied again.

When song or music elevates the time,The homely dance or poet’s lofty rhyme,All feel their pleasure and delight increasedBy each partaking in the social feast.

When song or music elevates the time,

The homely dance or poet’s lofty rhyme,

All feel their pleasure and delight increased

By each partaking in the social feast.

When thus we mingle, how it will impartFeelings more kind and noble to the heart,Increase its warmth by love unknown before,And where it has loved, make it love the more.

When thus we mingle, how it will impart

Feelings more kind and noble to the heart,

Increase its warmth by love unknown before,

And where it has loved, make it love the more.

The sacred psalmist strung his harp to tellHow goodly ’tis in harmony to dwell;E’en like the ointment poured upon the head,That to the skirts of priestly vestments spread!

The sacred psalmist strung his harp to tell

How goodly ’tis in harmony to dwell;

E’en like the ointment poured upon the head,

That to the skirts of priestly vestments spread!

Oh! ne’er should scandal, or detraction mean,Or words unkindly desecrate the scene;But all with pure sincerity conspireTo strengthen friendship, fan love’s holy fire.

Oh! ne’er should scandal, or detraction mean,

Or words unkindly desecrate the scene;

But all with pure sincerity conspire

To strengthen friendship, fan love’s holy fire.

If thus we meet—if thus in peace unite,And make each home a temple of delight,Our hearts will tell us there is not on earthA place more sacred than the social hearth.

If thus we meet—if thus in peace unite,

And make each home a temple of delight,

Our hearts will tell us there is not on earth

A place more sacred than the social hearth.

As this sweet strain of poesy came forth,All felt its truth and beauty. It describedThe pleasures now enjoyed, and but portrayedSuch scenes of innocent and social gleeAs often filled that room. The feelings pureTherein expressed, the higher tone of life,The sweeter charity, unfolded clear,Was but a transcript of that law which ruledThe spirit of their Host. Whene’er the lifeIs tuned accordant to the poet’s song,And all his actions manifest his laysThe offspring of sincerity, how greatHow wonderful their power! And not aloneIts truthfulness was valued; but the skillIn poetry its melody displayedSurpassed expectance. Each delighted guestFelt curiosity within him riseTo know what subject would compose the next,And how it would be treated. Arthur thenWas called upon for his. With roguish lookHe begged them all to guess the theme he choseTo render into verse. Some thought it War,Some Peace, some Honour, some Heroic life,Some Solitude. At last a venturous voiceWhispered it might be Love. The simple wordGave birth to pleasant smiles. When does it not?To old, to young, to those of middle years,It aye comes welcome. Those who have not knownThe power of love, with curious longing hope,Still wish that they may know it. Those who feelIts present sway, if they but hear its name,Have sacred visions to their fancy broughtOf certain curling locks, bright eyes, sweet smiles,And forms to them angelic. Those who’ve pastThat passion’s mysteries, recall with joyThe season of its sway, and dote to seeYoung hearts just flitting o’er the selfsame netBy which they were entangled. Is not thisA picture of the truth, all ye who bearThe hearts of warm humanity? The smileWas not diminished when the heir confessedSuch guess was near the mark. With steady voice,And gravity maintained by effort firm,As conscious that the subject well deservedHigh thought and lofty sentiment, he gaveA quick recital to a lyric pieceEntitled simply—

As this sweet strain of poesy came forth,

All felt its truth and beauty. It described

The pleasures now enjoyed, and but portrayed

Such scenes of innocent and social glee

As often filled that room. The feelings pure

Therein expressed, the higher tone of life,

The sweeter charity, unfolded clear,

Was but a transcript of that law which ruled

The spirit of their Host. Whene’er the life

Is tuned accordant to the poet’s song,

And all his actions manifest his lays

The offspring of sincerity, how great

How wonderful their power! And not alone

Its truthfulness was valued; but the skill

In poetry its melody displayed

Surpassed expectance. Each delighted guest

Felt curiosity within him rise

To know what subject would compose the next,

And how it would be treated. Arthur then

Was called upon for his. With roguish look

He begged them all to guess the theme he chose

To render into verse. Some thought it War,

Some Peace, some Honour, some Heroic life,

Some Solitude. At last a venturous voice

Whispered it might be Love. The simple word

Gave birth to pleasant smiles. When does it not?

To old, to young, to those of middle years,

It aye comes welcome. Those who have not known

The power of love, with curious longing hope,

Still wish that they may know it. Those who feel

Its present sway, if they but hear its name,

Have sacred visions to their fancy brought

Of certain curling locks, bright eyes, sweet smiles,

And forms to them angelic. Those who’ve past

That passion’s mysteries, recall with joy

The season of its sway, and dote to see

Young hearts just flitting o’er the selfsame net

By which they were entangled. Is not this

A picture of the truth, all ye who bear

The hearts of warm humanity? The smile

Was not diminished when the heir confessed

Such guess was near the mark. With steady voice,

And gravity maintained by effort firm,

As conscious that the subject well deserved

High thought and lofty sentiment, he gave

A quick recital to a lyric piece

Entitled simply—

Passing Thoughts on Love.

The ancient poets sang a loveWhose spell of wild and fiery powerRuled men below, and gods above,And conquered in its burning hour.

The ancient poets sang a love

Whose spell of wild and fiery power

Ruled men below, and gods above,

And conquered in its burning hour.

The wine-cup’s rich delicious draughtNe’er maddened more the reeling brain,Or filled the heart so full, when quaffed,With ecstacy akin to pain.

The wine-cup’s rich delicious draught

Ne’er maddened more the reeling brain,

Or filled the heart so full, when quaffed,

With ecstacy akin to pain.

Then like a dream it passed away,A fervid vision of the night,Till some bright beauty’s potent swayAwoke again the fierce delight.

Then like a dream it passed away,

A fervid vision of the night,

Till some bright beauty’s potent sway

Awoke again the fierce delight.

Such might be passion’s wayward courseThat flashes like the lightning’s gleam;But ne’er was love, whose fountain-sourceSends ever forth a constant stream.

Such might be passion’s wayward course

That flashes like the lightning’s gleam;

But ne’er was love, whose fountain-source

Sends ever forth a constant stream.

True love is like the stars on highThat shine with undiminished ray,And glows all warm and ferventlyAs does the splendid orb of day.

True love is like the stars on high

That shine with undiminished ray,

And glows all warm and fervently

As does the splendid orb of day.

Naught but the beauty of the soul,Arrayed in virtue’s peerless dress,Can pure love waken, or controulThe bosom with its loveliness.

Naught but the beauty of the soul,

Arrayed in virtue’s peerless dress,

Can pure love waken, or controul

The bosom with its loveliness.

It is the glorious bond of lifeThat joins two kindred souls in one;And when they meet, amid earth’s strife,The same bright path they journey on.

It is the glorious bond of life

That joins two kindred souls in one;

And when they meet, amid earth’s strife,

The same bright path they journey on.

Heart yields to heart a living strength,And thought to thought increase of light,Until their happy days at lengthWell nigh partake of heaven’s delight.

Heart yields to heart a living strength,

And thought to thought increase of light,

Until their happy days at length

Well nigh partake of heaven’s delight.

’Tis not the high and manly browEnlinked to beauty’s witching charm,Can make such deep-soul’d passion glow,Or keep it from decay and harm.

’Tis not the high and manly brow

Enlinked to beauty’s witching charm,

Can make such deep-soul’d passion glow,

Or keep it from decay and harm.

The pure in heart, the pure in thought,Alone such inward union gain;And by the law in heaven wroughtSuch souls can never more be twain.

The pure in heart, the pure in thought,

Alone such inward union gain;

And by the law in heaven wrought

Such souls can never more be twain.

Alas! for earth where love is soldFor station, honour, pride, and power;Bartered for fame, betrayed for gold,And often scarcely lasts an hour.

Alas! for earth where love is sold

For station, honour, pride, and power;

Bartered for fame, betrayed for gold,

And often scarcely lasts an hour.

Yet some there be who do partakeA measure of this love divine;Then such deep love, for love’s pure sake,Oh may I own, or none be mine!

Yet some there be who do partake

A measure of this love divine;

Then such deep love, for love’s pure sake,

Oh may I own, or none be mine!

The smiling look, and cheerful playfulness,Continued through the piece. But many foundA loftier element pervade the song,And deeper sentiments than they had deemedIndwellers of such theme. When he had doneHe cast around a furtive glance to seeThe influence of his verse. All faces woreA look of bland approval. One aloneHung bending down, as if to mark the bloomOf rosy flowerets in the rich bouquetThat beautified her bosom. Did her cheekCatch deeper crimson from their lovelinessThat made it glow so brightly? Sooth to tellThere was a hue like that of sunset cloudsWhich fluttered sweetly there. It might be caughtBy strong reflection from those happy flowersWhich hung upon that breast; or it might springFrom thoughts still happier, nestled warm within,Whose stirring motions made the pure blood flowMore freely o’er that cheek. Were such the truth,It might betoken sympathy of soulWith those high sentiments, and with the heartThat gave them utterance. Young Arthur longHad deemed her beautiful, and she to himHad moved a star of light; but mutual wordsOf loving import had not yet revealedTheir hearts unto each other. With a glanceOf quick delight, like to the lambent flashOf summer lightning, he beheld that blush,So meek and rosy, and with instinct trueHis soul divined its meaning. With a wordOf rapid whisper in Matilda’s ear,He bad that sister hasten to bring forthHer promised verse; whilst he awhile withdrewFrom the gay circle, that in solitudeHe might indulge the overpowering thoughtWhich filled his raptured breast. His joy intense,No words could tell; whilst now in soul convincedThat Emma’s noble and susceptive heartWas his for ever! Shortly he returnedWith looks elate, and joys delightful glowOn his proud countenance. When he rejoinedHis father’s guests, his sister had not yetCommenced her promised task. With timid heartAnd shrinking feeling, she awhile forboreIn modest diffidence; for she was oneOf tender nature, of affections warm,And delicately sensitive of soul.Her truth of heart, and nobleness of thought,Made her abhor all wrong. Her simple mind,As clear as crystal, made her ever loveSimplicity in all things. Hence she choseTo frame a ballad of domestic scenesAnd their endearments. In a gentle voice,Replete with feeling, she began to readA tale of rural life, of fervent passion,That bore inscribed the humble name of—

The smiling look, and cheerful playfulness,

Continued through the piece. But many found

A loftier element pervade the song,

And deeper sentiments than they had deemed

Indwellers of such theme. When he had done

He cast around a furtive glance to see

The influence of his verse. All faces wore

A look of bland approval. One alone

Hung bending down, as if to mark the bloom

Of rosy flowerets in the rich bouquet

That beautified her bosom. Did her cheek

Catch deeper crimson from their loveliness

That made it glow so brightly? Sooth to tell

There was a hue like that of sunset clouds

Which fluttered sweetly there. It might be caught

By strong reflection from those happy flowers

Which hung upon that breast; or it might spring

From thoughts still happier, nestled warm within,

Whose stirring motions made the pure blood flow

More freely o’er that cheek. Were such the truth,

It might betoken sympathy of soul

With those high sentiments, and with the heart

That gave them utterance. Young Arthur long

Had deemed her beautiful, and she to him

Had moved a star of light; but mutual words

Of loving import had not yet revealed

Their hearts unto each other. With a glance

Of quick delight, like to the lambent flash

Of summer lightning, he beheld that blush,

So meek and rosy, and with instinct true

His soul divined its meaning. With a word

Of rapid whisper in Matilda’s ear,

He bad that sister hasten to bring forth

Her promised verse; whilst he awhile withdrew

From the gay circle, that in solitude

He might indulge the overpowering thought

Which filled his raptured breast. His joy intense,

No words could tell; whilst now in soul convinced

That Emma’s noble and susceptive heart

Was his for ever! Shortly he returned

With looks elate, and joys delightful glow

On his proud countenance. When he rejoined

His father’s guests, his sister had not yet

Commenced her promised task. With timid heart

And shrinking feeling, she awhile forbore

In modest diffidence; for she was one

Of tender nature, of affections warm,

And delicately sensitive of soul.

Her truth of heart, and nobleness of thought,

Made her abhor all wrong. Her simple mind,

As clear as crystal, made her ever love

Simplicity in all things. Hence she chose

To frame a ballad of domestic scenes

And their endearments. In a gentle voice,

Replete with feeling, she began to read

A tale of rural life, of fervent passion,

That bore inscribed the humble name of—

Lucy.

Sweet Lucy, in the Pastor’s houseHad dwelt from early years,The scene of all her childish joys,Gay hopes, young smiles and tears.

Sweet Lucy, in the Pastor’s house

Had dwelt from early years,

The scene of all her childish joys,

Gay hopes, young smiles and tears.

It stood beside the rustic churchEngirt with noble trees;A quiet nook, a calm abode,A home for rural peace.

It stood beside the rustic church

Engirt with noble trees;

A quiet nook, a calm abode,

A home for rural peace.

Before its walls with roses twined,And ivy interlaced,A lovely plot of cultered flowersThe simple dwelling graced

Before its walls with roses twined,

And ivy interlaced,

A lovely plot of cultered flowers

The simple dwelling graced

A rustic fence, with lattice gate,The sole dividing bound,Between that garden, fair and rich,And grassy graves around.

A rustic fence, with lattice gate,

The sole dividing bound,

Between that garden, fair and rich,

And grassy graves around.

And here, an infant, free from care,In summer’s jocund hoursGlad Lucy played, as insect blithe,Companion of the flowers.

And here, an infant, free from care,

In summer’s jocund hours

Glad Lucy played, as insect blithe,

Companion of the flowers.

To her, amidst the dawning blushOf life’s unfolding bloom,The grave was not a thing to wakeA thought of pain or gloom.

To her, amidst the dawning blush

Of life’s unfolding bloom,

The grave was not a thing to wake

A thought of pain or gloom.

Yet well it might—beneath the sodHer parents both were laid;The father ere her hour of birthWas numbered with the dead.

Yet well it might—beneath the sod

Her parents both were laid;

The father ere her hour of birth

Was numbered with the dead.

Her mother, pierced with keenest grief,Heart-broken with deep woe,Scarce heard the little infant cryEre she departed too.

Her mother, pierced with keenest grief,

Heart-broken with deep woe,

Scarce heard the little infant cry

Ere she departed too.

The babe, forlorn, compassion found,Though kindred she had none;The Pastor took her to his heartAnd reared her as his own.

The babe, forlorn, compassion found,

Though kindred she had none;

The Pastor took her to his heart

And reared her as his own.

He childless was, yet with a soulIn children to delight;To see the love he bore to thisIt was a touching sight!

He childless was, yet with a soul

In children to delight;

To see the love he bore to this

It was a touching sight!

An orphan! O, the very thoughtBrings tenderness of heart;Then what must one so frail and youngTo his pure breast impart?

An orphan! O, the very thought

Brings tenderness of heart;

Then what must one so frail and young

To his pure breast impart?

’Twas like some holy vision fairTo see his glance so mild,His hoary head, his moistened eye,Bent over that sweet child.

’Twas like some holy vision fair

To see his glance so mild,

His hoary head, his moistened eye,

Bent over that sweet child.

How joyed he at the first clear soundsHer infant lips could make,And o’er the first free wandering stepsHer little feet could take.

How joyed he at the first clear sounds

Her infant lips could make,

And o’er the first free wandering steps

Her little feet could take.

His friend of life, his wife beloved,In all felt equal glee,And joined to rear the orphan maidIn truth and purity.

His friend of life, his wife beloved,

In all felt equal glee,

And joined to rear the orphan maid

In truth and purity.

As feeling grew within her breast,To them a love she boreAs fervent as an own child’s love—Yea warmer, deeper, more.

As feeling grew within her breast,

To them a love she bore

As fervent as an own child’s love—

Yea warmer, deeper, more.

Yet were her parents oft in mind;A holier thought was given,And purer love to those she deemedHer guardians in heaven.

Yet were her parents oft in mind;

A holier thought was given,

And purer love to those she deemed

Her guardians in heaven.

What can so elevate the soul,Refine its richest love,As to be linked by kindred’s tiesTo radiant worlds above?

What can so elevate the soul,

Refine its richest love,

As to be linked by kindred’s ties

To radiant worlds above?

A mind so delicate and pureIn learning took delight,And treasured up each noble thoughtAnd deed with virtue bright.

A mind so delicate and pure

In learning took delight,

And treasured up each noble thought

And deed with virtue bright.

But chiefly was the Sacred pageEngraven on her heart,And did to her its lofty hopes,Its joys, its peace impart.

But chiefly was the Sacred page

Engraven on her heart,

And did to her its lofty hopes,

Its joys, its peace impart.

Thus she who was his highest joyIn childhood’s sprightly day,Became the Vicar’s cheerful friendAnd aid in life’s decay.

Thus she who was his highest joy

In childhood’s sprightly day,

Became the Vicar’s cheerful friend

And aid in life’s decay.

How graceful was her lovely form,How rich her curling hair,And her cheeks’ hue like rosy beamsOf evening blushing there.

How graceful was her lovely form,

How rich her curling hair,

And her cheeks’ hue like rosy beams

Of evening blushing there.

Her gladsome smile’s delicious play,Her eyes’ entrancing lightWon sweet regard from every heartAnd filled it with delight.

Her gladsome smile’s delicious play,

Her eyes’ entrancing light

Won sweet regard from every heart

And filled it with delight.

Such peerless charms! how could they failTo rouse impassioned love?And bind some willing heart in chains,A captive loth to move.

Such peerless charms! how could they fail

To rouse impassioned love?

And bind some willing heart in chains,

A captive loth to move.

Young Albert to the village cameAnd saw the maid so fair;Then straight resolved to win her heartA trophy rich to wear.

Young Albert to the village came

And saw the maid so fair;

Then straight resolved to win her heart

A trophy rich to wear.

His manly form, his dauntless look,His elegance of mien;A voice that spoke in dulcet tones,An eye with glances keen;

His manly form, his dauntless look,

His elegance of mien;

A voice that spoke in dulcet tones,

An eye with glances keen;

A ready flow of touching wordsTo tell a tender tale;Must they not fire a maiden’s soulAnd make a suit prevail?

A ready flow of touching words

To tell a tender tale;

Must they not fire a maiden’s soul

And make a suit prevail?

His words of love! as dew they fellUpon her stainless heart,And made it, like fresh fragrant flowers,To loftier being start.

His words of love! as dew they fell

Upon her stainless heart,

And made it, like fresh fragrant flowers,

To loftier being start.

All simple, guileless, framed of truth,It knew no frail disguise;But let unchecked its passions springIts deepest feelings rise.

All simple, guileless, framed of truth,

It knew no frail disguise;

But let unchecked its passions spring

Its deepest feelings rise.

And oft at even-time they strolledThe rural lanes alone,In converse deep, with kindred thoughtsAnd feelings blent in one.

And oft at even-time they strolled

The rural lanes alone,

In converse deep, with kindred thoughts

And feelings blent in one.

Both nature prized, and took delightIn sunset skies and flowers,And talking of all fairest things,They wiled away the hours.

Both nature prized, and took delight

In sunset skies and flowers,

And talking of all fairest things,

They wiled away the hours.

Naught can so swiftly light two breastsWith mutual flames of love;As finding that all beauteous scenesThe same deep pulses move.

Naught can so swiftly light two breasts

With mutual flames of love;

As finding that all beauteous scenes

The same deep pulses move.

Pure, simple, Lucy, scarcely knewHer heart’s full passion won,Until the idol of its hopeFrom her fond side was gone.

Pure, simple, Lucy, scarcely knew

Her heart’s full passion won,

Until the idol of its hope

From her fond side was gone.

He bad farewell in gentle toneAnd vowed with hasty breath;Farewell, she cried, in truth’s own voice,“Albert! I’m thine till death!”

He bad farewell in gentle tone

And vowed with hasty breath;

Farewell, she cried, in truth’s own voice,

“Albert! I’m thine till death!”

And such she was! but oh that heLike faithfulness had shewn,Then we upon her maiden graveNo timeless flowers had strewn.

And such she was! but oh that he

Like faithfulness had shewn,

Then we upon her maiden grave

No timeless flowers had strewn.

He went and mingled with the world,And learnt its sordid ways;Till noble thought, and feeling trueWithin his soul decays.

He went and mingled with the world,

And learnt its sordid ways;

Till noble thought, and feeling true

Within his soul decays.

Then gold for love, and state for worth,For truth parade and show,His bosom prized, and soon forgotHis first-love and his vow.

Then gold for love, and state for worth,

For truth parade and show,

His bosom prized, and soon forgot

His first-love and his vow.

Soon for him, and a maid of wealth,Pealed forth the marriage bell;But its gay sound assumed afarA tone like Lucy’s knell.

Soon for him, and a maid of wealth,

Pealed forth the marriage bell;

But its gay sound assumed afar

A tone like Lucy’s knell.

Soon as she heard—from her gay cheekThe roses swiftly fled,And left fair lillies, pale and wan,To flourish in their stead.

Soon as she heard—from her gay cheek

The roses swiftly fled,

And left fair lillies, pale and wan,

To flourish in their stead.

The lillies fluttered there awhile,But lost their bloom with speed,And withering swift, shewed on their root,The canker worm did feed.

The lillies fluttered there awhile,

But lost their bloom with speed,

And withering swift, shewed on their root,

The canker worm did feed.

She calmly pined—all meek of soul;The grief she strove to hideLike poison wrought, and caused life’s streamTo flow with feeble tide:

She calmly pined—all meek of soul;

The grief she strove to hide

Like poison wrought, and caused life’s stream

To flow with feeble tide:

Just ere it ceased, with gentle voice—All pain and wrong forgiven—She said—I leave false earth to gainUnfailing truth in heaven.

Just ere it ceased, with gentle voice—

All pain and wrong forgiven—

She said—I leave false earth to gain

Unfailing truth in heaven.

And now she in the church-yard lies,And soon was followed thereBy those two loving hearts who’d madeHer life their bounteous care.

And now she in the church-yard lies,

And soon was followed there

By those two loving hearts who’d made

Her life their bounteous care.

In five green graves together ranged,Their frail remains abide;Her foster parents, and her own,And hers, all side by side.

In five green graves together ranged,

Their frail remains abide;

Her foster parents, and her own,

And hers, all side by side.

All ye who win a true heart’s love,Of faithlessness beware!Go view that simple midmost graveAnd learn a lesson there!

All ye who win a true heart’s love,

Of faithlessness beware!

Go view that simple midmost grave

And learn a lesson there!

When she had ceased, the simple pathos shewnIn that pure song, had touched each feeling heart,And some bright eyes were brighter for a tearThat gemmed their loveliness. A pause ensuedOf few brief moments, and then Alfred steppedWith freedom forward to impart his shareOf promised verse. He had but just returnedFrom college, where his studious hours were spentWith fervour most devoted, to acquireAn ample store of learning. He had foundRich treasures hid amidst the ponderous tomesOf ancient days, and with determined heartHe sought to make them his. A fervent loveGlowed in his bosom for their noble thoughtsAnd sentiments and feelings, and he gaveHis hours with zeal, enthusiastic zeal,To communings with them. Short time had heTo dally with the muse, or let the playOf vagrant fancy interrupt his aims;Yet in the festival he would take part,And brought, as fittest offspring of his harp—

When she had ceased, the simple pathos shewn

In that pure song, had touched each feeling heart,

And some bright eyes were brighter for a tear

That gemmed their loveliness. A pause ensued

Of few brief moments, and then Alfred stepped

With freedom forward to impart his share

Of promised verse. He had but just returned

From college, where his studious hours were spent

With fervour most devoted, to acquire

An ample store of learning. He had found

Rich treasures hid amidst the ponderous tomes

Of ancient days, and with determined heart

He sought to make them his. A fervent love

Glowed in his bosom for their noble thoughts

And sentiments and feelings, and he gave

His hours with zeal, enthusiastic zeal,

To communings with them. Short time had he

To dally with the muse, or let the play

Of vagrant fancy interrupt his aims;

Yet in the festival he would take part,

And brought, as fittest offspring of his harp—

A Sonnet To the Master-Minds of Earth.

Immortal bards, philosophers, and sagesWhose glorious thoughts have lit this darkened worldAnd raised Truth’s banner, a bright flag unfurled,To guide men onwards through all future agesTo liberty and peace. Upon your pagesMy mind would pasture, as along the meadsThe simple flock in innocency feeds,Till nourished into strength. Through all life’s stages,In youth, in manhood, and in calm declineAt your clear fountains may my spirit drinkTo quench her thirst for knowledge, to refineEach feeling quick, and learn to nobly think!Oh! much we need ye! ye bright stars from heaven,And to our aid may thousands more be given!

Immortal bards, philosophers, and sages

Whose glorious thoughts have lit this darkened world

And raised Truth’s banner, a bright flag unfurled,

To guide men onwards through all future ages

To liberty and peace. Upon your pages

My mind would pasture, as along the meads

The simple flock in innocency feeds,

Till nourished into strength. Through all life’s stages,

In youth, in manhood, and in calm decline

At your clear fountains may my spirit drink

To quench her thirst for knowledge, to refine

Each feeling quick, and learn to nobly think!

Oh! much we need ye! ye bright stars from heaven,

And to our aid may thousands more be given!

Fair Eva next came forward to the task;She was a joyous creature full of lifeAnd health and beauty. In her rich blue eyeThere was a light of gladness, and her cheekWas clear and rosy as the flowers of spring.Her step was free, as if the morning breezeWere ever her companion, and each limbHad motions graceful as the waving bough.The love of nature dwelt within her heartIn all its aspects; but her chief delightWas in the silver, sunny lovelinessOf noontide splendours, or the gorgeous scenesAll gold and crimson, when the day declinesAnd bids farewell to earth with kingly pomp.On such she looked with ever-raptured eye,Until their brilliance had imbued her soulWith joyous thoughts and bright. The theme she choseWas one expressive of that cheerful toneWhich filled her spirit, and with mellow voiceShe gave glad utterance to her—

Fair Eva next came forward to the task;

She was a joyous creature full of life

And health and beauty. In her rich blue eye

There was a light of gladness, and her cheek

Was clear and rosy as the flowers of spring.

Her step was free, as if the morning breeze

Were ever her companion, and each limb

Had motions graceful as the waving bough.

The love of nature dwelt within her heart

In all its aspects; but her chief delight

Was in the silver, sunny loveliness

Of noontide splendours, or the gorgeous scenes

All gold and crimson, when the day declines

And bids farewell to earth with kingly pomp.

On such she looked with ever-raptured eye,

Until their brilliance had imbued her soul

With joyous thoughts and bright. The theme she chose

Was one expressive of that cheerful tone

Which filled her spirit, and with mellow voice

She gave glad utterance to her—

Love of Spring.

I love the time when buds and bellsHang fragrant in the woodland dells;The primrose and the violetOn richest mossy banks are set.

I love the time when buds and bells

Hang fragrant in the woodland dells;

The primrose and the violet

On richest mossy banks are set.

How joyous when the warmth of springInvites the merry birds to sing,And their sweet bowers of love are madeAmid the flowering hawthorn’s shade.

How joyous when the warmth of spring

Invites the merry birds to sing,

And their sweet bowers of love are made

Amid the flowering hawthorn’s shade.

Then robed in verdure, stately treesStretch their broad branches to the breeze,Rejoicing in the glorious lightOf sun and sky, like silver bright.

Then robed in verdure, stately trees

Stretch their broad branches to the breeze,

Rejoicing in the glorious light

Of sun and sky, like silver bright.

Amid fair meads young lambkins playTheir sprightly games in pure array;And insects sport on gauzy wing,Live gems in sunshine fluttering.

Amid fair meads young lambkins play

Their sprightly games in pure array;

And insects sport on gauzy wing,

Live gems in sunshine fluttering.

Each rural scent, each rustic sound,Enchantment lend the landscape round;And every sight conspires to blessMy heart with wild sweet happiness.

Each rural scent, each rustic sound,

Enchantment lend the landscape round;

And every sight conspires to bless

My heart with wild sweet happiness.

I love the summer’s golden reign,And autumn’s ripeness o’er the plain;But to my spirit naught can bringSuch gladness as the days of spring.

I love the summer’s golden reign,

And autumn’s ripeness o’er the plain;

But to my spirit naught can bring

Such gladness as the days of spring.

For then I rove the woodland wild,With heart as simple as a child,And spend the pure fresh morning hoursAmid the breezes, birds, and flowers.

For then I rove the woodland wild,

With heart as simple as a child,

And spend the pure fresh morning hours

Amid the breezes, birds, and flowers.

Reclining on some grassy seatWithin a leafy dark retreat,I con the Poet’s living bookBeside the clear-streamed stony brook.

Reclining on some grassy seat

Within a leafy dark retreat,

I con the Poet’s living book

Beside the clear-streamed stony brook.

Such calm seclusion strengthens thought,And all His visions bright are broughtAcross my mind, more fair and clear,Mid scenes His spirit would hold dear.

Such calm seclusion strengthens thought,

And all His visions bright are brought

Across my mind, more fair and clear,

Mid scenes His spirit would hold dear.

I love stern winter’s reign sublime,Rich autumn, and sweet summer time;But nothing to my heart can bringSuch gladness as the days of spring!

I love stern winter’s reign sublime,

Rich autumn, and sweet summer time;

But nothing to my heart can bring

Such gladness as the days of spring!

The blithesome tone of this gay melody,This pastoral song, spread cheerfulness around,And made all hearts beside the winter fireThink hopefully of spring. Some moments passedIn pleasant converse; then Lucrece was urgedHer poem to recite. With gentle graceAnd modest diffidence, she forward came,Yet with becoming confidence, as oneWho knew, but did not over-rate, her powers.She was a poetess by nature framedAnd had a soul for song. Her flowing thoughtMoved on in hidden melody, that gaveEach word expressive feeling; and her faceIn every feature, witnessed to a mindOf passions strong and pure. Her eye was dark,And black, and eagle-like. It shone a starBy its own inward light; but o’er it hungSilk, raven lashes, that subdued its blazeBut lessened not its power. Her lofty brow,By its expansion, shewed a kingdom wideWhere thought might rule; and o’er her well-formed headRich sable hair, in smooth and glossy braids,Displayed its shining beauty. Down her cheekSome bright curls clustered, and amid their shadeThere peeped the pearl-white lustre of her ear.O’er her fair countenance the pallid roseAssumed the precedence, and nigh subduedIts rich and blushing sister. ’Twas the hueOf thought spread o’er her features, leaving thereThe marble’s clear transparence. You might dreamShe were a statue, did not feelings flashTheir radiance from her look, and mind’s pure lightFloat halo-like around her. Tall her formAnd moulded into grace; each polished limbSeemed full of life and motion; and her step,Though light and agile, yet had statelinessAnd maiden dignity. She older seemedThan were her years, for eighteen summer sunsAlone had passed with ripening influence,Her beauty to mature; but you might dateHer more advanced in womanhood, her mindBy its expansion, and the thrill of thoughtAnd earlier strength of feeling, had impressedSuch semblance on her aspect. She was oneTo whom the world was beautiful; but yetHer mind had thirst for higher beauty stillThan met her waking vision. One to whomThe tales of old romance, and fairy lore,And songs of chivalry, were needful food.Each noble thought, bold deed, and virtue bright,Found echoes in her breast; heroic acts,Undaunted words, or patriotic loveMet sympathy with her. Creative thought,Imagination’s realising power,Gave form and substance to the visions fairThat flitted o’er her fancy; abstract themesLost their elusive subtlety and gainedEmbodiment and shape. And thus in truthShe was a poetess; and all her verse,Though wrought from fancy’s airy gossamer,Had strength and life and strange reality.She thoughts refined, and spirit-like could chainIn binding language, and give power and lifeTo evanescent sentiments. She choseTo frame a legend full of rich romance,Such as we picture in the days of old,When love was lofty passion—woman seemedA more etherial being sent to tameMan’s rude stern heart mid glorious chivalry.With thought concentred on the theme; with heartAlive to changing feelings, and with voiceDeep, rich, and varied, such as well could shewThe latent beauty in a poet’s song,She read the story, not unfitly named—

The blithesome tone of this gay melody,

This pastoral song, spread cheerfulness around,

And made all hearts beside the winter fire

Think hopefully of spring. Some moments passed

In pleasant converse; then Lucrece was urged

Her poem to recite. With gentle grace

And modest diffidence, she forward came,

Yet with becoming confidence, as one

Who knew, but did not over-rate, her powers.

She was a poetess by nature framed

And had a soul for song. Her flowing thought

Moved on in hidden melody, that gave

Each word expressive feeling; and her face

In every feature, witnessed to a mind

Of passions strong and pure. Her eye was dark,

And black, and eagle-like. It shone a star

By its own inward light; but o’er it hung

Silk, raven lashes, that subdued its blaze

But lessened not its power. Her lofty brow,

By its expansion, shewed a kingdom wide

Where thought might rule; and o’er her well-formed head

Rich sable hair, in smooth and glossy braids,

Displayed its shining beauty. Down her cheek

Some bright curls clustered, and amid their shade

There peeped the pearl-white lustre of her ear.

O’er her fair countenance the pallid rose

Assumed the precedence, and nigh subdued

Its rich and blushing sister. ’Twas the hue

Of thought spread o’er her features, leaving there

The marble’s clear transparence. You might dream

She were a statue, did not feelings flash

Their radiance from her look, and mind’s pure light

Float halo-like around her. Tall her form

And moulded into grace; each polished limb

Seemed full of life and motion; and her step,

Though light and agile, yet had stateliness

And maiden dignity. She older seemed

Than were her years, for eighteen summer suns

Alone had passed with ripening influence,

Her beauty to mature; but you might date

Her more advanced in womanhood, her mind

By its expansion, and the thrill of thought

And earlier strength of feeling, had impressed

Such semblance on her aspect. She was one

To whom the world was beautiful; but yet

Her mind had thirst for higher beauty still

Than met her waking vision. One to whom

The tales of old romance, and fairy lore,

And songs of chivalry, were needful food.

Each noble thought, bold deed, and virtue bright,

Found echoes in her breast; heroic acts,

Undaunted words, or patriotic love

Met sympathy with her. Creative thought,

Imagination’s realising power,

Gave form and substance to the visions fair

That flitted o’er her fancy; abstract themes

Lost their elusive subtlety and gained

Embodiment and shape. And thus in truth

She was a poetess; and all her verse,

Though wrought from fancy’s airy gossamer,

Had strength and life and strange reality.

She thoughts refined, and spirit-like could chain

In binding language, and give power and life

To evanescent sentiments. She chose

To frame a legend full of rich romance,

Such as we picture in the days of old,

When love was lofty passion—woman seemed

A more etherial being sent to tame

Man’s rude stern heart mid glorious chivalry.

With thought concentred on the theme; with heart

Alive to changing feelings, and with voice

Deep, rich, and varied, such as well could shew

The latent beauty in a poet’s song,

She read the story, not unfitly named—

Fidelio and Lenore.

Oh! Muse, inspirer of the old romance,Sweet songs of chivalry, rich fairy lore,Let thy deep influence through my spirit glance,For I would vision forth a tale of yore,—A legend of true love, that evermoreMay in bright fiction to the mind displayThe power of constant truth, to triumph o’erThe ills of life in all their dire array,And how that virtue pure speeds conquering on its way.

Oh! Muse, inspirer of the old romance,

Sweet songs of chivalry, rich fairy lore,

Let thy deep influence through my spirit glance,

For I would vision forth a tale of yore,—

A legend of true love, that evermore

May in bright fiction to the mind display

The power of constant truth, to triumph o’er

The ills of life in all their dire array,

And how that virtue pure speeds conquering on its way.

But thus to sing my soul must be subduedTo softest tenderness and gentle thought,And every feeling dissonant and rudeTo full and perfect harmony be brought;Whilst richest colours, from gay fancy caught,Must paint the whole, and with their light illumeWell-chosen words, though seemingly unsought,That run in cheerful music, and assumeRich melodies of verse,—like breezes o’er spring’s bloom.

But thus to sing my soul must be subdued

To softest tenderness and gentle thought,

And every feeling dissonant and rude

To full and perfect harmony be brought;

Whilst richest colours, from gay fancy caught,

Must paint the whole, and with their light illume

Well-chosen words, though seemingly unsought,

That run in cheerful music, and assume

Rich melodies of verse,—like breezes o’er spring’s bloom.

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