The Child of the Islands (1846):

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Norton, Caroline Sheridan (1808-1877)

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Victorian Women Writers Project: an Electronic Collection

Perry Willett, General Editor.

The Child of the Islands: a Poem

by Caroline Norton
2nd edition 238 p.
Chapman and Hall
London
1846

        The transcribed copy is from the Research Collections, Indiana University


        All quotation marks, hyphens, dashes, apostrophes and colons have been transcribed as entity references.


        All apostrophes and single right quotation marks are encoded as ’.


        Any hyphens occurring in line breaks have been removed; all hyphens are encoded as "-" and em dashes as —.


        Publisher's advertisement, dated "December 1845," has been omitted.

THE CHILD OF THE ISLANDS. A Poem.

BY THE

HON. MRS. NORTON.


"As half in shade, and half in sun,
    This world along its course advances,
May that side the Sun's upon
    Be all that shall ever meet thy glance!"

MOORE.
SECOND EDITION. LONDON:
CHAPMAN AND HALL,

186 STRAND.

MDCCCXLVI.

"There is another topic which, I think, must force itself on your attention before long; I mean the condition of the people of England."
LORD JOHN RUSSELL, at the close of the Session of 1844.
"There is too little communication between classes in this country. We want, if not the feeling, at least the expression, of more sympathy on the part of the rich towards the poor; and more personal intercourse between them."
Speech of the HON. SIDNEY HERBERT, at the Salisbury Diocesan Church Meeting, Nov. 17, 1842.
"If the poor had more justice, they would need less charity."
JEREMY BENTHAM.
"Men who hate the whole theory of Political Economy with a hatred unspeakable, and consider it a most utter and iniquitous delusion, will yet reserve one clause. The one jewel in this Toad's head is the rule of not giving except for an exact equivalent."
Times Newspaper, Nov. 13, 1844.
"A high class, without duties to do, is like a tree planted on precipices, from the roots of which all the earth has been crumbling."
Past and Present, by THOMAS CARLYLE.


"Pallida mors æequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas
Regumque turres."

HORACE, Ode iv.


                    "Æqua tellus
Pauperi recluditur
Regumque Pueris;"--

HORACE, Ode xviii.

        



Page vii


        TO MY BROTHER,
RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN,
This Poem is dedicated
IN THE HOPE AND BELIEF THAT WE THINK ALIKE
ON ALL THE MORE IMPORTANT TOPICS TO WHICH IT REFERS;
IN MEMORY OF MANY EARNEST CONVERSATIONS
HELD WITH HIM ON THOSE SUBJECTS;
AND IN TOKEN OF SYMPATHY WITH HIS UNWEARIED EFFORTS
TO AMELIORATE THE CONDITION
AND PROMOTE THE HAPPINESS
OF ALL WHO ARE IN ANY WAY DEPENDENT UPON HIM.



Page ix

    

PREFACE.


        IT is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to inform my readers that the title of this Poem ("The Child of the Islands") has reference to His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales.


        Had I been able to carry out my original plan, the volume now published would have appeared on the 9th of November, 1842, being the first anniversary of the birth of His Royal Highness. The recurrence of domestic affliction, in two consecutive autumns, compelled me to relinquish the literary tasks in which I was engaged; and I abandoned all thoughts of publishing at that particular time.


        I hope and believe that this enforced delay

Page x

has been favourable to the work, by enabling me to correct much that seemed crude and imperfect in the treatment of my subject. To the subject itself, the date is of little importance. The Child of the Islands was chosen, not as the theme of a Birthday Ode, or Address of Congratulation, but as the most complete existing type of a peculiar class--a class born into a world of very various destinies, with all the certainty human prospects can give, of enjoying the blessings of this life, without incurring any of its privations. I desired to contrast that brightness with the shadow that lies beyond and around. In the brief space of time since this poem was commenced, there has been great evidence of increasing attention to the sufferings, and to the endurance, of the lower classes. Much has been said--and something hass been done. Inquiries have been instituted; measures of relief have

Page xi

been passed; voice after voice, and spirit after spirit, among the noble-hearted and influential, have risen to support the cause of the helpless; till the reign of Victoria bids fair to claim a more hallowed glory than that which encircled the "Golden Age" of Elizabeth. The Feeble are calling (not vainly) on the Strong; the hoarse wail of the shipwrecked is answered by a cheer of promise from the shore; men's hearts have been roused, and are listening as to the sound of a rallying cry.


        It is true that, had I intended merely to illustrate the Difference of Condition, I might have chosen from among those who have heaped up riches or climbed to power. I selected the Prince of Wales as my illustration, because the innocence of his age, the hopes that hallow his birth, and the hereditary loyalty which clings to the throne, concur in enabling men of all parties, and

Page xii

of every grade in society, to contemplate such a type, not only without envy or bitterness, but with one common feeling of earnest good-will. There are none, however sore their own battle with Adversity, who will refuse to join in applying to "The Child of the Islands" the wish so beautifully expressed by our Minstrel-poet, Moore:


"As half in shade, and half in sun,
    This world along its course advances,
May that side the Sun's upon
    Be all that shall ever meet thy glances!"


        Nor will the presence of this good-will weaken the contrast or destroy the argument. It is, on the contrary, a gleam of that union and kindliness of feeling between the Higher and Lower Classes, which it is the main object of the writer of these pages (and of far better, wiser, and more powerful writers,) to inculcate; a gleam which may fade into darkness or brighten into sunshine,

Page xiii

but which no one who attentively observes the present circumstances of this country, can believe will remain unaltered.


        I shall only add, that I have endeavoured to profit by the criticisms and suggestions made on former occasions, and that I hope the indulgence so often extended to me as an author, will not be withheld from this poem. I can truly copy the plea of quaint John Bunyan with respect to its pages, and say,


"It came from mine own heart,--so, to my head,
And thence into my fingers tricklëd;
Then, to my pen,"--

and if I have executed my task imperfectly, it has not been for lack of earnest feeling in the cause which I have attempted to advocate.


            3 Chesterfield Street, May Fair, March 20, 1845.

Page xv

    

THE ARGUMENT.



    

OPENING.

Page 3

    

OPENING.

    

THE ARGUMENT.


        The Welcome Given, and Rejoicing Over, the Birth of a Child--A Degree of Welcome for All, however Poor or Unfortunate, on their First Entrance into Life--The Exceptions Unnatural--Infanticide a Madness--The Peculiar Welcome of "The Child of the Islands," with Gladness, Thanksgiving, and Prayer--Even the Earth appears to Welcome Him.

    

I.


    OF all the joys that brighten suffering earth,
        What joy is welcomed like a new-born child?
    What life so wretched, but that, at its birth,
        Some heart rejoiced--some lip in gladness smiled?
        The poorest cottager, by love beguiled,
    Greets his new burden with a kindly eye;
        He knows his son must toil as he hath toiled;
    But cheerful Labour, standing patient by,
Laughs at the warning shade of meagre Poverty!
Page 4

    

II.


    The pettiest squire who holds his bounded sway
        In some far nook of England's fertile ground,
    Keeps a high jubilee the happy day
        Which bids the bonfires blaze, the joybells sound,
        And the small tenantry come flocking round,
    While the old steward triumphs to declare
        The mother's suffering hour with safety crowned;
    And then, with reverent eyes, and grey locks bare,
Falters--"GOD bless the Boy!" his Master's Son and Heir!

    

III.


    The youthful couple, whose sad marriage-vow
        Received no sanction from a haughty sire,
    Feel, as they gaze upon their infant's brow,
        The angel, Hope, whose strong wings never tire--
        Once more their long discouraged hearts inspire;
    Surely, they deem, the smiles of that young face,
        Shall thaw the frost of his relentless ire!
    Homeward they turn in thought; old scenes retrace;
And, weeping, yearn to meet his reconciled embrace!
Page 5

    

IV.


    Yea, for this cause, even SHAME will step aside,
        And cease to bow the head and wring the heart;
    For she that is a mother, but no bride,
        Out of her lethargy of woe will start,
        Pluck from her side that sorrow's barbéd dart,
    And, now no longer faint and full of fears,
        Plan how she best protection may impart
    To the lone course of those forsaken years
Which dawn in Love's warm light, though doomed to set in tears!

    

V.


    The dread exception--when some frenzied mind,
        Crushed by the weight of unforeseen distress,
    Grows to that feeble creature all unkind,
        And Nature's sweetest fount, through grief's excess,
        Is strangely turned to gall and bitterness;
    When the deserted babe is left to lie,
        Far from the woeful mother's lost caress,
    Under the broad cope of the solemn sky,
Or, by her shuddering hands, forlorn, condemned to die:
Page 6

    

VI.


    Monstrous, unnatural, and MAD, is deemed,
        However dark life's Future glooms in view,
    An act no sane and settled heart had dreamed,
        Even in extremity of want to do!
        And surely WE should hold that verdict true,
    Who, for men's lives--not children's--have thought fit
        (Though high those lives were valued at their due)
    The savage thirst of murder to acquit,
By stamping cold revenge an error of crazed wit!(¹)

    

VII.


    She--after pains unpitied, unrelieved--
        Sate in her weakness, lonely and forlorn,
    Listening bewildered, while the wind that grieved,
        Mocked the starved wailing of her newly born;
        Racking her brain from weary night till morn
    For friendly names, and chance of present aid;
        Till, as she felt how this world's crushing scorn,
    Passing the Tempter, rests on the Betrayed,--
Hopeless, she flung to Death the life her sin had made!
Page 7

    

VIII.


    Yes, deem her mad! for holy is the sway
        Of that mysterious sense which bids us bend
    Toward the young souls new clothed in helpless clay,--
        Fragile beginnings of a mighty end,--
        Angels unwinged,--which human care must tend
    Till they can tread the world's rough path alone,
        Serve for themselves, or in themselves offend.
    But God o'erlooketh all from His high throne,
And sees, with eyes benign, their weakness--and our own!

    

IX.


    Therefore we pray for them, when sunset brings
        Rest to the joyous heart and shining head;
    When flowers are closed, and birds fold up their wings,
        And watchful mothers pass each cradle-bed
        With hushed soft steps, and earnest eyes that shed
    Tears far more glad than smiling! Yea, all day
        We bless them; while, by guileless pleasure led,
    Their voices echo in their gleesome play,
And their whole careless souls are making holiday.
Page 8

    

X.


    And if, by Heaven's inscrutable decree,
        Death calls, and human skill be vain to save;
    If the bright child that clambered to our knee,
        Be coldly buried in the silent grave;
        Oh! with what wild lament we moan and rave!
    What passionate tears fall down in ceaseless shower!
        There lies Perfection!--there, of all life gave--
    The bud that would have proved the sweetest flower
That ever woke to bloom within an earthly bower!

    

XI.


    For, in this hope our intellects abjure
        All reason--all experience--and forego
    Belief in that which only is secure,
        Our natural chance and share of human woe.
        The father pitieth David's heart-struck blow,
    But for himself, such augury defies:
        No future Absalom his love can know;
    No pride, no passion, no rebellion lies
In the unsullied depth of those delightful eyes!
Page 9

    

XII.


    Their innocent faces open like a book,
        Full of sweet prophecies of coming good;
    And we who pore thereon with loving look,
        Read what we most desire, not what we should;
        Even that which suits our own Ambition's mood.
    The Scholar sees distinction promised there,--
        The Soldier, laurels in the field of blood,--
    The Merchant, venturous skill and trading fair,--
None read of broken hope--of failure--of despair!

    

XIII.


    Nor ever can a Parent's gaze behold
        Defect of Nature, as a Stranger doth;
    For these (with judgment true, severe, and cold)
        Mark the ungainly step of heavy Sloth,--
        Coarseness of features,--tempers quickly wroth:
    But those, with dazzled hearts such errors spy,
        (A halo of indulgence circling both:)
    The plainest child a stranger passes by,
Shews lovely to the sight of some enamoured eye!
Page 10

    

XIV.


    The Mother looketh from her latticed pane--
        Her Children's voices echoing sweet and clear:
    With merry leap and bound her side they gain,
        Offering their wild field-flow'rets: all are dear,
        Yet still she listens with an absent ear:
    For, while the strong and lovely round her press,
        A halt uneven step sounds drawing near:
    And all she leaves, that crippled child to bless,
Folding him to her heart, with cherishing caress.

    

XV.


    Yea, where the Soul denies illumined grace,
        (The last, the worst, the fatallest defect;)
    SHE, gazing earnest in that idiot face,
        Thinks she perceives a dawn of Intellect:
        And, year by year, continues to expect
    What Time shall never bring, ere Life be flown:
        Still loving, hoping,--patient, though deject,--
    Watching those eyes that answer not her own,--
Near him,--and yet how far! with him,--but still alone!
Page 11

    

XVI.


    Want of attraction this love cannot mar:
        Years of Rebellion cannot blot it out:
    The Prodigal, returning from afar,
        Still finds a welcome, giv'n with song and shout!
        The Father's hand, without reproach or doubt,
    Clasps his,--who caused them all such bitter fears:
        The Mother's arms encircle him about:(²)
    That long dark course of alienated years,
Marked only by a burst of reconciling tears!

    

XVII.


    CHILD OF THE ISLANDS! if the watch of love
        To even the meanest of these fates belong,
    What shall THINE be, whose lot is far above
        All other fortunes woven in my song?
        To guard THY head from danger and from wrong,
    What countless voices lift their prayers to Heaven!
    Those, whose own loves crowd round, (a happy throng!)
    Those, for whom Death the blessed tie hath riven;
And those to whose scathed age no verdant branch is given!
Page 12

    

XVIII.


    There's not a noble matron in the land,
        Whose christen'd heir in gorgeous robes is drest,--
    There's not a cottage mother, whose fond hand
        Rocks the low cradle of her darling's rest,--
        By whom THOU art not thought upon and blest!
    Blest for thyself, and for HER lineage high
        Who lull'd thee on her young maternal breast;
    The Queenly Lady, with the clear blue eye,
Through whom thou claimest love, and sharest loyalty!

    

XIX.


    They pray for THEE, fair child, in Gothic piles,
        Where the full organ's deep reverberate sound
    Rolls echoing through the dim cathedral aisles,
        Bidding the heart with inward rapture bound,
        While the bent knee sinks trembling to the ground.
    Till, at the signal of some well-known word,
        The white-robed choristers rise circling round;
    Mingling clear voices with divine accord,
In Hallelujahs loud, that magnify the Lord!
Page 13

    

XX.


    They pray for THEE in many a village church,
        Deep in the shade of its sequester'd dell,
    Where, scarcely heard beyond the lowly porch,
        More simple hymns of praise less loudly swell;
        Oft led by some fair form,--remember'd well
    In after years among the grateful poor--
        Whose lot it is in lordly halls to dwell,
    Thence issuing forth to seek the cotter's door,
Or tread with gentle feet the sanded schoolhouse floor.

    

XXI.


    They pray for THEE, in floating barks that cleave
    Their compass-guided path along the sea;
    While through the topmast shrouds the keen winds grieve,
    As through the branches of some giant tree;
    And the surf sparkles in the vessel's lee.
    Par from thine Albion's cliffs and native home,
    Each crew of loyal mariners may be,
    But, mingling with the dash of Ocean's foam,
That prayer shall rise, where'er their trackless course they roam.
Page 14

    

XXII.


    And where, all newly on some foreign soil
        Transplanted from the o'erpeopled Fatherland,
    (Where hardy enterprise and honest toil
        Avail'd them not) the Emigrant's thin band,
        Gather'd for English worship, sadly stand;
    Repressing wandering thoughts, which vainly crave
        The Sabbath clasp of some familiar hand,
    Or yearn to pass the intervening wave
And wet with Memory's tears some daisy-tufted grave:--

    

XXIII.


    There, even there, THY name is not forgot--
        Child of the land where they were children too!
    Though sever'd ties and exile be their lot,
        And Fortune now with different aspect woo,--
        Still to their country and religion true,
    From them the Indian learns, in broken phrase,
        To worship Heaven as his converters do;
    Simply he joins their forms of prayer and praise,
And, in Thy native tongue, pleads for Thy valued days.
Page 15

    

XXIV.


    Yea, even Earth, the dumb and beautiful,
        Would seem to bid Thee welcome--in her way;
    Since from her bosom thou shalt only cull,
        Choice flowers and fruits, from blossom and from spray.
        Spring--Summer--Autumn--Winter--day by day,
    Above thy head in mystery shall brood;
    And every phase of glory or decay,
        And every shift of Nature's changeful mood,
To THEE shall only bring variety of good!

    

XXV.


    No insufficient harvest's poverty,
        One grain of plenty from thy store can take;
    No burning drought that leaves green meadows dry,
        And parches all the fertile land, shall make
        The fountains fail, where thou thy thirst shalt slake!
    The hardest winter that can ever bind
        River, and running rill, and heaving lake,
    With its depressing chain of ice, shall find
An atmosphere round THEE, warm as the summer wind!
Page 16

    

XXVI.


    From woes which deep privations must involve,
        Set in luxurious comfort far aloof,
    THOU shalt behold the vanishing snow dissolve,
        From the high window and the shelter'd roof;
        Or, while around thee, webs of richest woof
    On gilded pillars hang in many a fold;
        Read, in wise books, writ down for thy behoof,
    (Sounding like fables in the days of old!)
What meaner men endure from want and pinching cold.

    

XXVII.


    Oh, since this is, and must be, by a law
        Of God's own holy making, shall there not
    Fall on thy heart a deep, reflecting awe,
        When thou shalt contemplate the adverse lot
        Of those by men, but not by Heaven, forgot?
    Bend to the lowly in their world of care;
        Think, in thy Palace, of the labourer's cot;
    And justify the still unequal share
By all they power to aid, and willingness to spare!

Page 17

    

SPRING.

    

THE ARGUMENT.


        The Delights of Spring--Its Value to those who seldom taste its Pleasures--The Sempstress--The Trapper in the Mines--The Weaver at his Loom--The Lady of Fashion--Hyde Park at Intervals--The Serpentine--Suicide--Tyburn Gate and Tyburn Gallows--The Sleep of the Homeless Wanderer in the Lounge of Idlers--"The Child of the Islands"--His Share of what Spring can Give--The Inventions of Man's Genius--Invention the Spring of Human Intellect--Artist-Life--The Duty of Encouragement to Genius in Obscurity.

    

I.


    WHAT shalt THOU know of Spring? A verdant crown
        Of young boughs waving o'er thy blooming head:
    White tufted Guelder-roses, showering down
        A fairy snow-path where thy footsteps tread:
        Fragrance and balm,--which purple violets shed:
    Wild-birds,--sweet warbling in commingled song:
        Brooklets,--thin murmuring down their pebbly bed;
    Or more abundant rivers,--swept along
With shoals of tiny fish, in many a silver throng!
Page 18

    

II.


    To THEE shall be unknown that weary pain,
        The feverish thirsting for a breath of air,--
    Which chokes the heart of those who sigh in vain
        For respite, in their round of toil and care:
        Who never gaze on Nature fresh and fair,
    Nor in sweet leisure wile an hour away;
        But, like caged creatures, sullenly despair,
    As day monotonously follows day,
Till youth wears on to age, and strength to faint decay.

    

III.


    A feeble girl sits working all alone!
        A ruined Farmer's orphan; pale and weak;
    Her early home to wealthier strangers gone,
        No rural beauty lingers on her cheek;
        Her woe-worn looks a woeful heart bespeak;
    Though in her dull, and rarely lifted eye,
        (Whose glances nothing hope, and nothing seek,)
    Those who have time for pity, might descry
A thousand shattered gleams of merriment gone by!
Page 19

    

IV.


    Her window-sill some sickly plants adorn,
        (Poor links to memories sweet of Nature's green!)
    There to the City's smoke-polluted morn
        The primrose lifts its leaves, with buds between,
        'Minished and faint, as though their life had been
    Nipped by long pining and obscure regret;
        Torn from the sunny bank where erst were seen
    Lovely and meek companions, thickly set,--
The cowslip, rich in scent, and humble violet!

    

V.


    Too fanciful! the plant but pines, like her,
        For purer air; for sunbeams warm and kind;
    Th' enlivening joy of nature's busy stir,
        The rural freedom, long since left behind!
        For the fresh woodlands,--for the summer wind,--
    The open fields with perfumed clover spread;--
        The hazel copse,--whose branches intertwined
    Made natural bow'rs and arches overhead,
With many a narrow path, where only two could tread.
Page 20

    

VI.


    Never, oh! never more, shall these afford
        Her stifled heart their innocent delight!
    Never, oh! never more, the rich accord
        Of feathered songsters make her morning bright!
        Earning scant bread, that finds no appetite,
    The sapless life she toils for, lingers on;
        And when at length it sinks in dreary night,
    A shallow, careless grave is dug,--where none
Come round to bless her rest, whose ceaseless tasks are done!

    

VII.


    And now, the devious threads her simple skill
        Wove in a quaint device and flowery line,
    Adorn some happier maid, whose wayward will
        Was struck with wishing for the fair design:
        Some "curléd darling" of a lordly line,
    Whose blooming cheek, through veils of texture rare,
        Mantling with youth's warm blood is seen to shine;
    While her light garments, draped with modest care,
Soft as a dove's white wings, float on the breezy air.
Page 21

    

VIII.


    Oh, there is need for permanent belief
        In the All-Equal World of Joy to come!
    Need for such solace to the restless grief
        And heavy troubles of our earthly home!
        Else might our wandering reason blindly roam,
    And ask, with all a heathen's discontent,(³)
        Why Joy's bright cup for some should sparkling foam,
    While others, not less worthy, still lament,
And find the cup of tears the only portion sent!

    

IX.


    But for the Christian's hope, how hard, how cold,
        How bitterly unjust, our lot would seem!
    How purposeless and sad, to young and old!
        How like the struggles of a torturing dream,
        When ghastly midnight bids us strive and scream!
    All fades--all fleets--of which our hearts grow fond;
        Pain presses on us to the last extreme,--
    When lo! the dawn upriseth, clear beyond,
And, radiant from the East, forbids us to despond.
Page 22

    

X.


    And many a crippled child, and aged man,
        And withered crone, who once saw "better days,"
    With just enough of intellect to scan
        This gracious truth; uncheered by human praise,
        Patient plods through the thorn-encumbered ways:
    Oh, trust God counts the hours through which they sigh,
        While His green Spring eludes their suffering gaze,
    And flowers along Earth's spangled bosom lie,
Whose barren bloom, for them, must unenjoyed pass by!

    

XI.


    So lives the little Trapper(4 ) underground;
        No glittering sunshine streaks the oozy wall;
    Not e'en a lamp's cold glimmer shineth round
        Where he must sit (through summer days and all,
        While in warm upper air the cuckoos call,)
    For ever listening at the weary gate
        Where echoes of the unseen footsteps fall.
    Early he comes, and lingers long and late,
With savage men, whose blows his misery aggravate.
Page 23

    

XII.


    Yet sometimes, (for the heart of childhood is
        A thing so pregnant with joy's blessed sun,
    That all the dismal gloom that round him lies
        Can scarce suffice to bid its rays begone)
        In lieu of vain complaint, or peevish moan,
    A feeble SONG the passing hour will mark!
        Poor little nightingale! that sing'st alone,
    Thy cage is very low, and bitter dark;
But God hears thee, who hears the glad upsoaring lark.

    

XIII.


    God seeth thee, who sees the prosperous proud
        Into the sunshine of their joy go forth:
    God marks thee, weak one, in the human crowd,
        And judgeth all thy grief, (as all their mirth,)
        Bird with the broken wing that trails on earth!
    His angels watch thee, if none watch beside,
        As faithfully--despite thy lowly birth--
    As the child-royal of the queenly bride,
Or our belief is vain in Christ the Crucified!
Page 24

    

XIV.


    In Christ! who made young children's guileless lives
        The cherished objects of His love and care;
    Who bade each sinner that for pardon strives,
        Low, at Heaven's feet, a child-like heart lay bare;
        Opening the world's great universal prayer
    With these meek words: "Our Father!" Strange, that we
        The common blessings of His earth and air
    Deny to those who, circling round His knee,
Embraced, in mortal life, His immortality!

    

XV.


    Those "common blessings!" In this chequered scene
        How scant the gratitude we shew to God!
    Is it, in truth, a privilege so mean
        To wander with free footsteps o'er the sod,
        See various blossoms paint the valley clod,
    And all things into teeming beauty burst?
        A miracle as great as Aaron's rod,
    But that our senses, into dulness nurst,
Recurring Custom still with Apathy hath curst.
Page 25

    

XVI.


    They who have rarest joy, know Joy's true measure;
        They who most suffer, value Suffering's pause;
    They who but seldom taste the simplest pleasure,
        Kneel oftenest to the Giver and the Cause.
        Heavy the curtains feasting Luxury draws,
    To hide the sunset and the silver night;
        While humbler hearts, when Care no longer gnaws,
    And some rare holiday permits delight,
Lingering, with love would watch that earth-enchanting sight.

    

XVII.


    So sits the pallid weaver at his loom,
        Copying the wreaths the artist-pencil drew;
    In the dull confines of his cheerless room
        Glisten those tints of rich and living hue.
        The air is sweet, the grass is fresh with dew,
    And feverish aches are throbbing in his veins,
        But his are work-day Springs, and Summers too;
    And if he quit his loom, he leaves his gains--
That gorgeous, glistering silk, designed with so much pains!
Page 26

    

XVIII.


    It shall be purchased as a robe of state
        By some great lady, when his toil is done;
    While on her will obsequious shopmen wait,
        To shift its radiance in the flattering sun:
        And as she, listless, eyes its beauty, none
    Her brow shall darken, or her smile shall shade,
        By a strange story--yet a common one--
    Of tears that fell (but not on her brocade,)
And misery weakly borne while it was slowly made.

    

XIX.


    For while that silk the weaver's time beguiled,
        His wife lay groaning on her narrow bed,
    The suffering mother of a new-born child,
        Without a cradle for its weakly head,
        Or future certainty of coarsest bread;
    Not, in that hour of Nature's sore affright,
        A fire, or meal that either might be fed;
    So, through the pauses of the dreadful night,
Patient they lay, and longed for morning's blessed light.(5 )
Page 27

    

XX.


    Not patient--no; I over-rate his strength
        Who listened to the infant's wailing cry,
    And mother's weary moan, until at length
        He gave them echo with a broken sigh!
        Daylight was dawning, and the loom stood nigh:
    He looked on it, as though he would discern
        If there was light enough to labour by.
    What made his heart's-blood leap, and sink, in turn?
What, in that cold gloom caused his pallid cheek to burn?

    

XXI.


    What made him rise, with wild and sudden start?
        Alas! the poor are weak, when they are tried!
    (Can the rich say, that they, with steadfast heart,
        Have all temptations constantly defied?)
        He counts the value of that robe of pride;
    And while the dawn clears up, that ushers in
        His child's first morn on life's uncertain tide,
    He keeps its birthday with a deed of sin,
And pawns his master's silk, bread for his wife to win.
Page 28

    

XXII.


    Let none excuse the deed, for it was wrong:--
        And since 'twas ruin to the wretch employed,
    No doubt the hour's despair was wild and strong
        Which left that loom of silken splendours void:
        Let Virtue trust their meal was unenjoyed,
    Eaten in trembling, drenched with bitterness,--
        And that the faint uncertain hope which buoyed
    His heart awhile, to hide his guilt's excess,
And get that silk redeemed, was vain, from his distress:

    

XXIII.


    So that true Justice might pursue her course;
        And the silk, finished by "a different hand,"
    Might in good time (delayed awhile perforce)
        Be brought to clothe that lady of the land
        Whom I behold as in a vision stand.
    Lo! in my vision, on its folds are laid
        The turquoise-circled fingers of her hand;
    While by herself, and her attendant maid,
Its texture, soft and rich, is smiled on and surveyed.
Page 29

    

XXIV.


    Indifferent to her, the heavy cost
        Of that rich robe, first pawned for one poor meal;
    She that now wears it, and her lord, may boast
        No payment made,--yet none dare say THEY steal!
        No, not if future reckoning-hours reveal
    Debts the encumbered heir can never pay;
        But whose dishonest weight his heart shall feel
    Through many a restless night and bitter day,
Hearing what cheated men of the bad dead will say.

    

XXV.


    Onward she moves, in Fashion's magic glass,
        Half-strut, half-swim, she slowly saunters by:
    A self-delighting, delicate, pampered mass
        Of flesh indulged in every luxury
        Folly can crave, or riches can supply:
    Spangled with diamonds--head, and breast, and zone,
        Scorn lighting up her else most vacant eye,
    Careless of all conditions but her own,
She sweeps that stuff along, to curtsey to the throne.
Page 30

    

XXVI.


    That dumb woof tells no story! Silent droops
        The gorgeous train, voluminously wide;
    And while the lady's knee a moment stoops
        (Mocking her secret heart, which swells with pride,)
        No ragged shadow follows at her side
    Into that royal presence, where her claim
        To be admitted, is to be allied
    To wealth, and station, and a titled name,--
No warning voice is heard to supplicate or blame.

    

XXVII.


    Nor,--since by giving working hands employ,
        Her very vanity must help their need
    Whom, in her life of cold ungenerous joy,
        She never learned to pity or to heed,--
        Would sentence harsh from thoughtful minds proceed;
    But that the poor man, dazzled, sees encroach
        False lights upon his pathway, which mislead
    Those who the subject of his wrongs would broach,
Till Rank a bye-word seems,--and Riches a reproach.
Page 31

    

XXVIII.


    How oft some friendly voice shall vainly speak
        The sound true lessons of Life's holier school;--
    How much of wholesome influence prove weak,
        Because one tinselled, gaudy, selfish fool,
        Hath made the exception seem the practiced rule!
    In Luxury, so prodigal of show,--
        In Charity, so wary and so cool,--
    That wealth appeared the poor man's open foe,
And all, of high estate, this language to avow:--

    

XXIX.


    "A life of self-indulgence is for Us,
        "A life of self-denial is for them;
    "For Us the streets, broad-built and populous,
        "For them, unhealthy corners, garrets dim,
        "And cellars where the water-rat may swim!
    "For Us, green paths refreshed by frequent rain,
        "For them, dark alleys where the dust lies grim!
    "Not doomed by Us to this appointed pain,--
"God made us, Rich and Poor--of what do these complain?"
Page 32

    

XXX.


    Of what? Oh! not of Heaven's great law of old,
        That brightest light must fall by deepest shade;
    Not that they wander hungry, gaunt, and cold,
        While others in smooth splendours are arrayed;
        Not that from gardens where they would have strayed
    You shut them out, as though a miser's gem
        Lay in the crystal stream or emerald glade,
    Which they would filch from Nature's diadem;
But that you keep no thought, no memory of THEM.

    

XXXI.


    That, being gleaners in the world's large field
        (And knowing well they never can be more,)
    Those unto whom the fertile earth must yield
        Her increase, will not stand like him of yore,
        Large-hearted Boaz, on his threshing-floor,
    Watching that weak ones starve not on their ground.
        How many sills might frame a beggar's door,
    For any love, or help, or pity found,
In rich men's hearts and homes, to help the needy round!
Page 33

    

XXXII.


    Meanwhile, enjoy your Walks, your Parks, your Drives,
        Heirs of Creation's fruits, this world's select!
    Bask in the sunshine of your idle lives,
        And teach your poorer brother to expect
        Nor share, nor help! Rouse up the fierce-toned sect
    To grudge him e'en the breeze that once a-week
        Might make him feel less weary and deject;(6)
    And stand, untouched, to see how thankful-meek
He walks that day, his child close nestling at his cheek.

    

XXXIII.


    Compel him to your creed; force him to think;
        Cut down his Sabbath to a day of rest
    Such as the beasts enjoy,--to eat, and drink,
        And drone away his time, by sleep opprest:--
        But let "My lady" send, at her behest,
    A dozen different servants to prepare,
        Grooms, coachmen, footmen, in her livery drest,
    And shining horses, fed with punctual care,
To whirl her to Hyde Park, that she may "take the air."
Page 34

    

XXXIV.


    Yet, even with her, we well might moralise;
        (No place too gay, if so the heart incline!)
    For dark the Seal of Death and Judgment lies
        Upon thy rippling waters, Serpentine!
        Day after day, drawn up in linkèd line,
    Your lounging beauties smile on idle men,
        Where Suicides have braved the Will Divine,
    Watched the calm flood that lay beneath their ken,
Dashed into seeming peace, and never rose again!

    

XXXV.


    There, on the pathway where the well-groomed steed
        Restlessly paws the earth, alarmed and shy;
    While his enamoured rider nought can heed
        Save the soft glance of some love-lighted eye;
        There, they dragged out the wretch who came to die
    There was he laid--stiff, stark, and motionless,
        And searched for written signs to notify
    What pang had driv'n him to such sore excess,
And who should weep his loss, and pity his distress!
Page 35

    

XXXVI.


    Cross from that death-pond to the farther side,
        Where fewer loiterers wander to and fro,
    There,--buried under London's modern pride,
        And ranges of white buildings,--long ago
        Stood Tyburn Gate and gallows! Scenes of woe,
    Bitter, heart-rending, have been acted here;
        While, as he swung in stifling horrid throe,
    Hoarse echoes smote the dying felon's ear,
Of yells from fellow-men, triumphant in his fear!

    

XXXVII.


    Not always thus. At times a Mother knelt,
        And blest the wretch who perished for his crime;
    Or a young wife bowed down her head, and felt
        Her little son an orphan from that time;
        Or some poor frantic girl, whose love sublime
    In the coarse highway robber could but see
        Her heart's ideal, heard Death's sullen chime
    Shivering and weeping on her fainting knee,
And mourned for him who hung high on the gallows-tree.
Page 36

    

XXXVIII.


    Nowhere more deeply stamped the trace of gloom
        Than in this light haunt of the herding town;
    Marks of the world's Forgotten Ones, on whom
        The eye of God for ever looketh down,
        Still pitiful, above the human frown,
    As Glory o'er the Dark! Earth's mercy tires!
        But Heaven hath stored a mercy of its own,
    Watching the feet that tread among the briars,
And guiding fearful eyes, when fainter light expires.

    

XXXIX.


    Yet no such serious thoughts their minds employ,
        Who lounge and wander 'neath the sunshine bright,
    But how to turn their idleness to joy,
        Their weariness to pleasure and delight;
        How best with the ennui of life to fight
    With operas, plays, assemblies, routs, and balls--
        The morning passed in planning for the night
    Feastings and dancings in their lighted halls;
And still, as old ones fade, some newer pleasure calls.
Page 37

    

XL.


    Betwixt the deathly stream and Tyburn Gate
        Stand withered trees, whose sapless boughs have seen
    Beauties whose memory now is out of date,
        And lovers, on whose graves the moss is green!
        While Spring, for ever fresh, with smile serene,
    Woke up grey Time, and drest his scythe with flowers,
        And flashed sweet light the tender leaves between,
    And bid the wild-bird carol in the bowers,
Year after year the same, with glad returning hours.

    

XLI.


    Oh, those old trees! what see they when the beam
        Falls on blue waters from the bluer sky?
    When young Hope whispers low, with smiles that seem
        Too joyous to be answered with a sigh?
        The scene is then of prosperous gaiety,
    Thick-swarming crowds on summer pleasure bent,
        And equipages formed for luxury;
    While rosy children, young and innocent,
Dance in the onward path, and frolic with content.
Page 38

    

XLII.


    But when the scattered leaves on those wan boughs
        Quiver beneath the night wind's rustling breath;
    When jocund merriment, and whispered vows,
        And children's shouts, are hushed; and still as Death
        Lies all in heaven above and earth beneath;
    When clear and distant shine the steadfast stars
        O'er lake and river, mountain, brake, and heath,--
    And smile, unconscious of the woe that mars
The beauty of earth's face, deformed by Misery's scars;

    

XLIII.


    What see the old trees THEN? Gaunt, pallid forms
        Come, creeping sadly to their hollow hearts,(7 )
    Seeking frail shelter from the winds and storms,
        In broken rest, disturbed by fitful starts;
        There, when the chill rain falls, or lightning darts,
    Or balmy summer nights are stealing on,
        Houseless they slumber, close to wealthy marts
    And gilded homes:--there, where the morning sun
That tide of wasteful joy and splendour looked upon!
Page 39

    

XLIV.


    There the man hides, whose "better days" are dropped
        Round his starvation, like a veil of shame;
    Who, till the fluttering pulse of life hath stopped,
        Suffers in silence, and conceals his name:--
        There the lost victim, on whose tarnished fame
    A double taint of Death and Sin must rest,
        Dreams of her village home and Parents' blame,
    And in her sleep by pain and cold opprest,
Draws close her tattered shawl across her shivering breast.(8)

    

XLV.


    Her history is written in her face;
        The bloom hath left her cheek, but not from age;
    Youth, without innocence, or love, or grace,
        Blotted with tears, still lingers on that page!
        Smooth brow, soft hair, dark eyelash, seem to wage
    With furrowed lines a contradiction strong;
        Till the wild witchcraft stories, which engage
    Our childish thoughts, of magic change and wrong,
Seem realised in her--so old, and yet so young!
Page 40

    

XLVI.


    And many a wretch forlorn, and huddled group
        Of strangers met in brotherhood of woe,
    Heads that beneath their burden weakly stoop,--
        Youth's tangled curls, and Age's locks of snow,--
        Rest on those wooden pillows, till the glow
    Of morning o'er the brightening earth shall pass,
        And these depart, none asking where they go;
    Lost in the World's confused and gathering mass,--
While a new slide fills up Life's magic-lantern glass.

    

XLVII.


    CHILD OF THE ISLANDS! in thy royal bowers,
        Calm THOU shalt slumber, set apart from pain;
    Thy spring-day spent in weaving pendent flowers,
        Or watching sun-bows glitter through the rain,
        Spanning with glorious arch the distant plain;
    Or listening to the wood-bird's merry call;
        Or gathering sea-shells by the surging main;
    And, wheresoe'er thy joyous glances fall,
The wise shall train thy mind, to glean delight from all.
Page 41

    

XLVIII.


    But most thou'lt love all young and tender things,
        And open wide and bright, in pleased surprise,
    When the soft nestling spreads its half-fledged wings,
        Thy innocent and wonder-loving eyes,
        To see him thus attempt the sunny skies!(9)
    Thou shalt enjoy the kitten's frolic mood,
        Pursue in vain gay-painted butterflies,
    Watch the sleek puppy lap its milky food,
And fright the clucking hen, with all her restless brood.

    

XLIX.


    Eager thou'lt gaze, where, down the river's tide,
        The proud swan glides, and guards its lonely nest;
    Or where the white lambs spot the mountain's side,
        Where late the lingering sunshine loves to rest;
        Midst whom, in frock of blue and coloured vest,
    Lies the young shepherd boy, who little heeds
        (The livelong day by drowsy dreams opprest)
    The nibbling, bleating flock that round him feeds,
But to his faithful dog leaves all the care it needs.
Page 42

    

L.


    In time, less simple sights and sounds of Earth
        Shall yield thy mind a pleasure not less pure:
    Mighty beginnings--schemes of glorious birth--
        In which th' Enthusiast deems he may secure,
        By rapid labour, Fame that shall endure;
    Complex machines to lessen human toil,
        Fair artist-dreams, which Beauty's forms allure,
    New methods planned to till the fertile soil,
And marble graven works, which time forbears to spoil.

    

LI.


    For, like the Spring, Man's heart hath buds and leaves,
        Which, sunned upon, put forth immortal bloom;
    Gifts, that from Heaven his nascent soul receives,
        Which, being heavenly, shall survive the tomb.
        In its blank silence, in its narrow gloom,
    The clay may rest which wrapped his human birth;
        But, all unconquered by that bounded doom,
    The Spirit of his Thought shall walk the earth,
In glory and in light, midst life, and joy, and mirth.
Page 43

    

LII.


    Thou'rt dead, oh, Sculptor--dead! but not the less
        (Wrapped in pale glory from th' illumined shrine)
    Thy sweet St. Mary stands in her recess,
        Worshipped and wept to, as a thing divine:
        Thou'rt dead, oh, Poet!--dead, oh, brother mine!
    But not the less the curbèd hearts stoop low
        Beneath the passion of thy fervent line:
    And thou art dead, oh, Painter! but not so
Thy Inspiration's work, still fresh in living glow.

    

LIII.


    These are the rulers of the earth! to them
        The better spirits due allegiance own;
    Vain is the might of rank's proud diadem,
        The golden sceptre, or the jewelled crown;
        Beyond the shadow of a mortal frown
    Lofty they soar! O'er these, pre-eminent,
        God only, Sovran regnant, looketh down,
    God! who to their intense perception lent
All that is chiefest good and fairest excellent.
Page 44

    

LIV.


    Wilt thou take measure of such minds as these,
        Or sound, with plummet-line, the Artist-Heart?
    Look where he meditates among the trees--
        His eyelids full of love, his lips apart
        With restless smiles; while keen his glances dart,
    Above--around--below--as though to seek
        Some dear companion, whom, with eager start,
    He will advance to welcome, and then speak
The burning thoughts for which all eloquence is weak.

    

LV.


    How glad he looks! Whom goeth he to meet?
        Whom? God:--there is no solitude for him.
    Lies the earth lonely round his wandering feet?
        The birds are singing in the branches dim,
        The water ripples to the fountains' brim,
    The young lambs in the distant meadows bleat;
        And he himself beguiles fatigue of limb
    With broken lines, and snatches various sweet,
Of ballads old, quaint hymns for Nature's beauty meet!
Page 45

    

LVI.


    Love is too earthly-sensual for his dream;
        He looks beyond it, with his spirit-eyes!
    His passionate gaze is for the sunset-beam,
        And to that fainting glory, as it dies,
        Belongs the echo of his swelling sighs.
    Pale wingèd Thoughts, the children of his Mind,
        Hover around him as he onward hies;
    They murmur to him "Hope!" with every wind,
Though to their lovely Shapes our grosser sight is blind.

    

LVII.


    But who shall tell, when want and pain have crost
        The clouded light of some forsaken day,
    What germs of Beauty have been crushed and lost,
        What flashing thoughts have gleamed to fade away?(10 )
        Oh! since rare flowers must yet take root in clay,
    And perish if due culture be denied;
        Let it be held a Royal boast to say,
    For lack of aid, no heaven-born genius died;
Nor dwindled withering down, in desert-sands of Pride!
Page 46

    

LVIII.


    The lily-wand is theirs! the Angel-gift!
        And, if the Earthly one with failing hand
    Hold the high glory, do Thou gently lift,
        And give him room in better light to stand.
        For round THEE, like a garden, lies the land
    His pilgrim feet must tread through choking dust;
        And Thou wert born to this world's high command,
    And he was born to keep a Heavenly Trust;
And both account to ONE, the Merciful and Just.

    

LIX.


    Youth is the spring-time of untarnished life!
        Spring, the green youth of the unfaded year!
    We watch their promise, midst the changeful strife
        Of storms that threaten and of skies that clear,
        And wait, until the harvest-time appear.
    CHILD OF THE ISLANDS, may those springs which shed
        Their blossoms round thee, give no cause for fear;
    And may'st thou gently bend, and meekly tread,
Thy garlanded glad path, till summer light be fled!

Page 47

    

SUMMER.

    

THE ARGUMENT.


        The Pleasures and Toils of Summer--The Woodlands--Moonlight by Land and Sea--Gipsey Girl in Prison--Thoughts on the Education of the Poor--The Child's Prison at Parkhurst, in the Isle of Wight--The Ignorant the Worst Offenders--Trial of a Felon--Power of Leading the Minds of others a Talent entrusted to us, for which we shall be held accountable--Father Mathew--"The Child of the Islands"--His Guidance and Education a subject of unremitting Care--The Claim of the Poor and Ignorant on his Compassion and Assistance--The Oaks of Windsor--England's Glory--The Ship--Vicissitudes of a Sea-life.

    

I.


    FOR Summer followeth with its store of joy;
        That, too, can bring thee only new delight;
    Its sultry hours can work thee no annoy,
        Veiled from thy head shall be its glowing might.
        Sweet fruits shall tempt thy thirsty appetite;
    Thy languid limbs on cushioned down shall sink;
        Or rest on fern-grown tufts, by streamlets bright,
    Where the large-throated deer come down to drink,
And cluster gently round the cool refreshing brink.
Page 48

    

II.


    There, as the flakèd light, with changeful ray
        (From where the unseen glory hotly glows)
    Through the green branches maketh pleasant way,
        And on the turf a chequered radiance throws,
        Thou'lt lean, and watch those kingly-antlered brows--
    The lustrous beauty of their glances shy,
        As following still the pace their leader goes,
    (Who seems afraid to halt--ashamed to fly,)
Rapid, yet stately too, the lovely herd troop by.

    

III.


    This is the time of shadow and of flowers,
        When roads gleam white for many a winding mile;
    When gentle breezes fan the lazy hours,
        And balmy rest o'erpays the time of toil;
        When purple hues and shifting beams beguile
    The tedious sameness of the heath-grown moor;
        When the old grandsire sees with placid smile
    The sunburnt children frolic round his door,
And trellised roses deck the cottage of the poor.
Page 49

    

IV.


    The time of pleasant evenings! when the moon
        Riseth companioned by a single star,
    And rivals e'en the brilliant summer noon
        In the clear radiance which she pours afar;
        No stormy winds her hour of peace to mar,
    Or stir the fleecy clouds which melt away
        Beneath the wheels of her illumined car;
    While many a river trembles in her ray,
And silver gleam the sands round many an ocean bay!

    

V.


    Oh, then the heart lies hushed, afraid to beat,
        In the deep absence of all other sound;
    And home is sought with loth and lingering feet,
        As though that shining tract of fairy ground,
        Once left and lost, might never more be found!
    And happy seems the life that gipsies lead,
        Who make their rest where mossy banks abound,
    In nooks where unplucked wild-flowers shed their seed;
A canvass-spreading tent the only roof they need!
Page 50

    

VI.


    Wild Nomades of our civilised calm land!
        Whose Eastern origin is still betrayed
    By the swart beauty of the slender hand,--
        Eyes flashing forth from over-arching shade,--
        And supple limbs, for active movement made;
    How oft, beguiled by you, the maiden looks
        For love her fancy ne'er before pourtrayed,
    And, slighting village swains and shepherd-crooks,
Dreams of proud youths, dark spells, and wondrous magic books!

    

VII.


    Lo! in the confines of a dungeon cell,
        (Sore weary of its silence and its gloom!)
    One of this race: who yet deserveth well
        The close imprisonment which is her doom:
        Lawless she was, ere infancy's first bloom
    Left the round outline of her sunny cheek;
        Vagrant, and prowling Thief;--no chance, no room
    To bring that wild heart to obedience meek;
Therefore th' avenging law its punishment must wreak.
Page 51

    

VIII.


    She lies, crouched up upon her pallet bed,
        Her slight limbs starting in unquiet sleep;
    And oft she turns her feverish, restless head,
        Moans, frets, and murmurs, or begins to weep:
        Anon, a calmer hour of slumber deep
    Sinks on her lids; some happier thought hath come;
        Some jubilee unknown she thinks to keep,
    With liberated steps, that wander home
Once more with gipsy tribes a gipsy life to roam.

    

IX.


    But no, her pale lips quiver as they moan:
        What whisper they? A name, and nothing more:
    But with such passionate tenderness of tone,
        As shews how much those lips that name adore.
        She dreams of one who shall her loss deplore
    With the unbridled anguish of despair!
        Whose forest-wanderings by her side are o'er,
    But to whose heart one braid of her black hair
Were worth the world's best throne, and all its treasures rare.
Page 52

    

X.


    The shadow of his eyes is on her soul--
        His passionate eyes, that held her in such love!
    Which love she answered, scorning all control
        Of reasoning thoughts, which tranquil bosoms move.
        No lengthened courtship it was his to prove,
    (Gleaning capricious smiles by fits and starts)
        Nor feared her simple faith lest he should rove:
    Rapid and subtle as the flame that darts
To meet its fellow flame, shot passion through their hearts.

    

XI.


    And though no holy priest that union blessed,
        By gipsy laws and customs made his bride;
    The love her looks avowed, in words confessed,
        She shared his tent, she wandered by his side,
        His glance her morning star, his will her guide.
    Animal beauty and intelligence
        Were her sole gifts,--his heart they satisfied,--
    Himself could claim no higher, better sense,
So loved her with a love, wild, passionate, intense!
Page 53

    

XII.


    And oft, where flowers lay spangled round about,
        And to the dying twilight incense shed,
    They sat to watch heaven's glittering stars come out,
        Her cheek down-leaning on his cherished head--
        That head upon her heart's soft pillow laid
    In fulness of content; and such deep spell
        Of loving silence, that the word first said
    With startling sweetness on their senses fell,
Like silver coins dropped down a many-fathomed well.

    

XIII.


    Look! her brows darken with a sudden frown--
        She dreams of Rescue by his angry aid--
    She dreams he strikes the Law's vile minions down,
        And bears her swiftly to the wild-wood shade!
        There, where their bower of bliss at first was made,
    Safe in his sheltering arms once more she sleeps:
        Ah, happy dream! She wakes; amazed, afraid,
    Like a young panther from her couch she leaps,
Gazes bewildered round, then madly shrieks and weeps!
Page 54

    

XIV.


    For, far above her head, the prison-bars
        Mock her with narrow sections of that sky
    She knew so wide, and blue, and full of stars,
        When gazing upward through the branches high
        Of the free forest! Is she, then, to die?
    Where is he--where--the strong-armed and the brave,
        Who in that vision answered her wild cry?
    Where is he--where--the lover who should save
And snatch her from her fate--an ignominious grave?

    

XV.


    Oh, pity her, all sinful though she be,
        While thus the transient dreams of freedom rise,
    Contrasted with her waking destiny!
        Scorn is for devils; soft compassion lies
        In angel-hearts, and beams from angel-eyes.
    Pity her! Never more, with wild embrace,
        Those flexile arms shall clasp him ere she dies;
    Never the fierce sad beauty of her face
Be lit with gentler hope, or love's triumphant grace!
Page 55

    

XVI.


    Lonely she perishes; like some wild bird
        That strains its wing against opposing wires;
    Her heart's tumultuous panting may be heard,
        While to the thought of rescue she aspires;
        Then, of its own deep strength, it faints and tires:
    The frenzy of her mood begins to cease;
        Her varying pulse with fluttering stroke expires,
    And the sick weariness that is not peace
Creeps slowly through her blood, and promises release.

    

XVII.


    Alas, dark shadows, press not on her so!
        Stand off, and let her hear the linnet sing!
    Crumble, ye walls, that sunshine may come through
        Each crevice of your ruins! Rise, clear spring,
        Bubbling from hidden fountain-depths, and bring
    Water, the death-thirst of her pain to slake!
        Come from the forest, breeze with wandering wing!
    There, dwelt a heart would perish for her sake,--
Oh, save her! No! Death stands prepared his prey to take.
Page 56

    

XVIII.


    But, because youth and health are very strong,
        And all her veins were full of freshest life,
    The deadly struggle must continue long
        Ere the free heart lie still, that was so rife
        With passion's mad excess. The gaoler's wife
    Bends, with revolted pity on her brow,
        To watch the working of that fearful strife,
    Till the last quivering spark is out. And now
All's dark, all's cold, all's lost, that loved and mourned below.

    

XIX.


    She could not live in prison--could not breathe
        The dull pollution of its stagnant air,--(11 )
    She, that at dewy morn was wont to wreathe
        The wild-briar roses, singing, in her hair,--
        She died, heart-stifled, in that felon-lair!
    No penitence; no anchor that held fast
        To soothing meditation and meek prayer,
    But a wild struggle, even to the last--
In death-distorted woe her marble features cast!
Page 57

    

XX.


    And none lament for her, save only him
        Who choking back proud thoughts and words irate,
    With tangled locks, and glances changed and dim,
        Bows low to one who keeps the prison-gate,
        Pleading to see her; asking of her fate;
    Which, when he learns, with fierce and bitter cries
        (Howling in savage grief for his young mate)
    He curseth all, and all alike defies;--
Despair and fury blent, forth flashing from worn eyes!

    

XXI.


    With vulgar terror struck, they deem him wild--
        Fit only for the chains which madmen clank.
    But soon he weepeth, like a little child!
        And many a day, by many a sunny bank,
        Or forest-pond, close fringed with rushes dank,
    He wails, his clenched hands on his eyelids prest;
        Or by lone hedges, where the grass grows rank,
    Stretched prone, as travellers deem, in idle rest,
Mourns for that murdered girl, the dove of his wild nest.
Page 58

    

XXII.


    Little recks he, of Law and Law's constraint,
        Reared in ill-governed sense of Liberty!
    At times he bows his head, heart-stricken, faint;
        Anon--in strange delirious agony--
        He dreams her yet in living jeopardy!
    His arm is raised,--his panting breast upheaves,--
        Ah! what avails his youth's wild energy?
    What strength can lift the withering autumn leaves,
Light as they drifting lie on her for whom he grieves!

    

XXIII.


    Her SPRING had ripened into Summer fruit;
        And, if that fruit was poison, whose the blame?
    Not hers, whose young defying lips are mute--
        Though hers the agony, though hers the shame--
        But theirs, the careless crowd, who went and came,
    And came and went again, and never thought
        How best such wandering spirits to reclaim;
    How earnest minds the base have trained and taught,
As shaping tools vile forms have into beauty wrought.
Page 59

    

XXIV.


    The land that lies a blank and barren waste
        We drain, we till, we sow, with cheerful hope:
    Plodding and patient, looking yet to taste
        Reward in harvest, willingly we cope
        With thorns that stay the plough on plain and slope,
    And nipping frosts, and summer heats that broil.
        Till all is done that lies within the scope
    Of man's invention, to improve that soil,
Earnest we yet speed on, unceasing in our toil.

    

XXV.


    But for the SOUL that lieth unreclaimed,
        Choked with the growth of rankest weeds and tares,
    No man puts forth his hand, and none are blamed;
        Though plenteous harvest might repay his cares,
    Though he might "welcome angels, unawares."
        The earth he delves, and clears from every weed,
        But leaves the human heart to sinful snares;
    The earth he sows with costly, precious seed,
But lets the human heart lie barren at its need.
Page 60

    

XXVI.


    Once I beheld (and, to my latest hour,
        That sight unfaded in my heart I hold)
    A bright example of the mighty power
        One human mind, by earnest will controlled,
        Can wield o'er other minds--the base and bold,
    Steeped in low vice, and warped in conscious wrong;
        Or weaker wanderers from the Shepherd's fold,
    Who, sinning with averted faces, long
To turn again to God, with psalm and angel-song.

    

XXVII.


    I saw one man,(12 ) armed simply with God's Word,
        Enter the souls of many fellow-men,
    And pierce them sharply as a two-edged sword,
        While conscience echoed back his words again;
        Till, even as showers of fertilising rain
    Sink through the bosom of the valley clod,
        So their hearts opened to the wholesome pain,
    And hundreds knelt upon the flowery sod,
One good man's earnest prayer the link 'twixt them and God.
Page 61

    

XXVIII.


    That amphitheatre of awe-struck heads
        Is still before me: there the Mother bows,
    And o'er her slumbering infant meekly sheds
        Unusual tears. There, knitting his dark brows,
        The penitent blasphemer utters vows
    Of holy import. There, the kindly man,
        Whose one weak vice went near to bid him lose
    All he most valued when his life began,
Abjures the evil course which erst he blindly ran.

    

XXIX.


    There, with pale eyelids heavily weighed down
        By a new sense of overcoming shame,
    A youthful Magdalen, whose arm is thrown
        Round a young sister who deserves no blame;
        (As though like innocence she now would claim,
    Absolved by a pure God!) And, near her, sighs
        The Father who refused to speak her name:
    Her penitence is written in her eyes--
Will he not, too, forgive, and bless her, ere she rise?
Page 62

    

XXX.


    Renounce her not, grieved Father! Heaven shall make
        Room for her entrance with the undefiled.
    Upbraid her not, sad Mother! for the sake
        Of days when she was yet thy spotless child.
        Be gentle with her, oh, thou sister mild!
    And thou, good brother! though by shame opprest;
        For many a day, amid temptations wild,
    Madly indulged, and sinfully carest,
She yearned to weep and die upon thy honest breast.

    

XXXI.


    Lost Innocence!--that sunrise of clear youth,
        Whose lovely light no morning can restore;
    When, robed in radiance of unsullied truth,
        Her soul no garment of concealment wore,
        But roamed its paradise of fancies o'er
    In perfect purity of thought--is past!
        But He who bid the guilty "sin no more"
    A gleam of mercy round her feet shall cast,
And guide the pilgrim back to heaven's "strait Gate" at last.
Page 63

    

XXXII.


    By that poor lost one, kneel a happier group,
        Children of sinners, christened free from sin;
    Smiling, their curled and shining heads they stoop,
        Awed, but yet fearless; confident to win
        Blessings of God; while early they begin
    (The Samuels of the Temple) thus to wait
        HIS audible voice, whose Presence they are in,
    And formally, from this auspicious date,
Themselves, and their young lives, to HIM to dedicate.

    

XXXIII.


    While, mingling with those glad and careless brows,
        And ruddy cheeks, embrowned with honest toil;
    Kneels the pale artisan (who only knows
        Of Luxury--how best its glittering spoil,
        Midst whirring wheels, and dust, and heat, and oil,
    For richer men's enjoyment to prepare);
        And ill-fed labourers of a fertile soil,
    Whose drunkenness was Lethe to their care,--
All met, for one good hope, one blessing, and one prayer!
Page 64

    

XXXIV.


    I will not cavil with the man who sneers
        At priestly labours, as the work of hell;
    I will not pause to contradict strange fears
        Of where the influence ends, begun so well;
        One only thought remained with me to dwell,
    For ever with remembrance of that scene,
        When I beheld hearts beat and bosoms swell,
    And that melodious voice and eye serene
Govern the kneeling crowd, as he their God had been.

    

XXXV.


    I thought, in my own secret soul, if thus,
        (By the strong sympathy that knits mankind)
    A power untried exists in each of us,
        By which a fellow-creature's wavering mind
        To good or evil deeds may be inclined;
    Shall not an awful questioning be made,
        (And we, perchance, no fitting answer find!)
    "Whom hast THOU sought to rescue, or persuade?
Whom roused from sinful sloth? whom comforted, afraid?"
Page 65

    

XXXVI.


    For whom employed,--e'en from thy useless birth,--
        The buried Talent at thy Lord's command?
    Unprofitable servant of the earth!
        Though here men fawned on thee, and licked thy hand
        For golden wealth, and power, and tracts of land;
    When the Eternal Balance justly weighs,
        Above thee, in the ranks of heaven, shall stand,
    Some wretch obscure, who through unnoticed days,
Taught a poor village school to sing their Maker's praise.

    

XXXVII.


    A mournful memory in my bosom stirs!
        A recollection of the lovely isle
    Where, in the purple shadow of thy firs
        Parkhurst!(13 ) and gloomy in the summer smile,
        Stands the CHILD'S PRISON: (since we must defile
    So blest a refuge, with so curst a name)
        The home of those whose former home was vile;
    Who, dogged, sullen, scoffing, hither came,
Tender in growth and years, but long confirmed in shame.
Page 66

    

XXVIII.


    Alas! what inmates may inhabit there?
        Those to whose infant days a parent's roof,
    In lieu of a protection, was a snare;
        Those from whose minds instruction held aloof,
        No hope, no effort made in their behoof;
    Whose lips familiar were with blasphemy,
        And words obscene that mocked at all reproof,
    But never uttered prayer to the Most High,
Or learned one gentle hymn, His name to glorify.

    

XXXIX.


    Th' Untaught, Uncared-for, 'neath whose stolid look
        The Scriptures might have lain, a block of wood,
    Hewn to the shape and semblance of a book,
        For any thing they knew in it of good,
        Or any text they heard or understood.
    THESE are your Prisoned Children! Germs of Men,
        Vicious, and false, and violent of mood,
    Such as strange carelessness first rears, and then
Would crush the sting out by a death of pain!
Page 67

    

XL.


    But skilful hands have drawn the arrow's barb
        From the unfestered wound which Time shall heal!
    And though 'tis mournful, in their prison garb,
        To see them trooping to their silent meal;
        And though, among them, many brows reveal
    Sorrow too bitter for such childish hearts;
        Yet the most pitiful (if just) must feel
    (E'en while the tear of forced compassion starts)
That blessed is the hope their suffering imparts!

    

XLI.


    The Saved are there, who would have been the Lost;
        The Checked in crime, who might have been the Doomed;
    The wildbriar buds, whose tangled path was crost
        By nightshade poison trailing where they bloomed!
        The Wrecked, round whom the threatening surges boomed,
    Borne in this Life-boat far from peril's stress;
        The Sheltered, o'er whose heads the thunder loomed;
    Convicts (convicted of much helplessness;)
Exiles, whom Mercy guides through guilt's dark wilderness.
Page 68

    

XLII.


    I saw One sitting in that Island Prison
        Whose day in solitude was going down,
    E'en as in solitude its light had risen!(14 )
        His little savage sullen face, bent down,
        From all kind words, with an averted frown--
    A world of dumb defiance in his scowl!
        Or, looking up, with gaze that seemed to own,
    "I scorn the smiting of your forced control;
My body scourge or slay, you shall not bend my soul!"

    

XLIII.


    But one was weeping--weeping bitter tears!
        Of softer mould his erring heart was made;
    And, when the sound of coming steps he hears
        Advancing to his lone cell's cheerless shade,
        He turns, half welcoming and half afraid,
    Trustful of pity, willing to be saved;
        Stepping half way to meet the proffered aid;
    Thankful for blessings kind and counsel grave;
Strange to this new sad life, but patient, calm, and brave.
Page 69

    

XLIV.


    Brave! for what courage must it not require
        In a child's heart, to bear those dreadful hours?
    Think how WE find the weary spirit tire,
        How the soul sinks with faint and flagging powers,
        Pent in, in these indulgent lives of ours,
    By one monotonous day of winter's rain!
        Woe for the prisoned boy, who sadly cowers,
    In his blank cell, for days of dreary pain,
Pining for human looks and human tones in vain.

    

XLV.


    Nor let it be forgot, for these young spirits,
        (Although by gross and vulgar sin defiled,)
    How differently judged were their demerits,
        Were each a noble's or a gentle's child.
        Are there no sons at college, "sadly wild?"
    No children, wayward, difficult to rear?
        Are THEY cast off by Love? No, gleaming mild
    Through the salt drops of many a bitter tear,
The rainbow of your hope shines out of all your fear!
Page 70

    

XLVI.


    For they are YOUNG, you say; and this green stem
        With shoots of good shall soon be grafted in:
    Meanwhile, how much is FROLIC, done by them,
        Which, in the poor, is punishable SIN?
        Nor mark I this, a useless sigh to win,
    (They lose their ground, who falsely, lightly chide,)
        But to note down how much your faith you pin
    Upon the worth of that, to them supplied--
Revealed Religion's light, and Education's guide.

    

XLVII.


    Yea, for yourselves and sons, ye trusted it,
        And knew no reed it was you leaned upon;
    Therefore, whoso denies that benefit
        To meaner men in ignorance chained down,
        From each this true reproach hath justly won:--
    "Oh, selfish heart! that owned the healing sure,
        Yet would not help to save MY erring son!"
    They cry to you, "PREVENT!"--You cannot cure,
The ills that, once incurred, these little ones endure!
Page 71

    

XLVIII.


    The criminal is in the felon's dock:
        Fearful and stupified behold him stand!
    While to his trial cold spectators flock,
        And lawyers grave, and judges of the land.
        At first he grasps the rail with nervous hand,
    Hearing the case which learnedly they state,
        With what attention ignorance can command:
    Then, weary of such arguing of his fate,
Torpid and dull he sinks, throughout the long debate.

    

XLIX.


    Vapid, incomprehensible to him
        The skilful pleader's cross-examining wit;
    His sullen ear receives, confused and dim,
        The shouts of laughter at some brilliant hit,
        When a shrewd witness leaves the Biter bit.
    He shrinks not while the facts that must prevail
        Against his life, unconscious friends admit;
    Though Death is trembling in the adverse scale,
He recks no more than if he heard the autumn gale.
Page 72

    

L.


    Oh, Eloquence, a moving thing art thou!
        Tradition tells us many a mournful story
    Of scaffold-sentenced men, with noble brow,
        Condemned to die in youth, or weak and hoary,
        Whose words survived in long-remembered glory!
    But eloquence of words the power hath not
        (Nor even their fate, who perished gaunt and gory)
    To move my spirit like his abject lot,
Who stands there, like a dog, new-sentenced to be shot!

    

LI.


    Look, now! Attention wakes, with sudden start,
        The brutish mind which late so dull hath been!
    Quick grows the heavy beating at his heart!
        The solemn pause which rests the busy scene,
        He knows, though ignorant, what that must mean--
    The Verdict! With the Jury rests his chance!
        And his lack-lustre eye grows strangely keen,
    Watching with wistful, pleading, dreadful glance,
Their consultation cease, their foreman slow advance.
Page 73

    

LII.


    His home, his hopes, his life, are in that word!
        His ties! (for think ye not that he hath ties?)
    Alas! Affection makes its pleading heard
        Long after better sense of duty dies,
        Midst all that Vice can do to brutalise.
    Hark to the verdict--"Guilty!"--All are foes!
        Oh, what a sight for good, compassionate eyes,
    That haggard man; as, stupified with woes,
Forth from the felon's dock, a wretch condemned he goes!

    

LIII.


    A wretch condemned, but not at heart subdued.
        Rebellious, reckless, are the thoughts which come
    Intruding on his sentenced solitude:--
        Savage defiance! gnawing thoughts of home!
        Plots to escape even now his threatened doom!
    Sense of desertion, persecution!--all
        Choke up the fount of grief, and bid the foam
    Stand on his gnashing lips when tears should fall,
And mock the exhorting tones which for repentance call!
Page 74

    

LIV.


    For if one half the pity and the pains,
        The charity, and visiting, and talk,
    Had been bestowed upon that wretch in chains,
        While he had yet a better path to walk,
        Life's flower might still have bloomed upon its stalk!
    He might not now stand there, condemned for crime,(15)
        (Helpless the horror of his fate to balk!)
    Nor heard the sullen bell, with funeral chime,
Summon him harshly forth, to die before his time!

    

LV.


    CHILD OF THE ISLANDS! thou, whose cradle-bed
        Was hallowed still with night and morning prayer!
    Thou, whose first thoughts were reverently led
        To heaven, and taught betimes to anchor there!
        Thou, who wert reared with fond peculiar care,
    In happiest leisure, and in holiest light!
        Wilt THOU not feed the lamp whose lustre rare
    Can break the darkness of this fearful night,
Midst dim bewild'ring paths to guide faint steps aright?
Page 75

    

LVI.


    Wilt thou not help to educate the poor?
        They will learn something, whether taught or no;
    The Mind's low dwelling hath an open door,
        Whence, wandering still uneasy, to and fro,
        It gathers that it sh