A land that sees no parting,
That hears no sound of sighs,
That waits thee with immortal air
Lift, lift those anxious eyes!
Oh! how like thee, thou trembler !
Man's spirit fondly clings
With timid love, to this, its world
Of old familiar things!
We pant, we thirst for fountains
That gush not here below!
On, on we toil, allured by dreams
Of the living water's flow:
We pine for kindred natures
To mingle with our own;
For communings more full and high
Than aught by mortal known:
We strive with brief aspirings
Against our bounds in vain;
Yet summoned to be free at last,
We shrink-and clasp our chain !
And fearfully and mournfully
We bid the earth farewell, Though passing from its mists, like thee, In a brighter world to dwell.
Many things answered me.-Manfred.
I Go, I go!—and must mine image fade,
From the green spots wherein my childhood played,
By my own streams?
Must my life part from each familiar place,
As a bird's song, that leaves the woods no trace
Of its lone themes?
Will the friend pass my dwelling, and forget
The welcomes there, the hours when we have met
In grief or glee?
All the sweet counsel, the communion high,
The kindly words of trust, in days gone by,
Poured full and free?
A boon, a talisman, O Memory! give,
To shrine my name in hearts where I would live
For evermore!
Bid the wind speak of me where I have dwelt,
Bid the stream's voice, of all my soul hath felt,
A thought restore!
In the rich rose, whose bloom I loved so well,
In the dim brooding violet of the dell,
Set deep that thought!
And let the sunset's melancholy glow,
And Memory answered me:-" Wild wish and vain!
I have no hues the loveliest to detain
In the heart's core.
The place they held in bosoms all their own,
Soon with new shadows fill'd,new flowers o'ergrown,
Is theirs no more."
Hast thou such power, O Love?-And Love replied "It is not mine! Pour out thy soul's full tide Of hope and trust,
Prayer, tear, devotedness, that boon to gain'Tis but to write, with the heart's fiery rain, Wild words on dust!"
Song, is the gift with thee?—I ask a lay, Soft, fervent, deep, that will not pass away
From the still breast;
Filled with a tone-oh! not for deathless fame But a sweet haunting murmur of my name, Where it would rest.
And Song made answer-" It is not in me, Though called immortal; though my gifts may be All but divine.
A place of lonely brightness I can give ;— A changeless one, where thou with Love wouldst live
Death, Death! wilt thou the restless wish fulfil?
And Death, the Strong One, spoke:-"I can but still
Each vain regret.
What if forgotten?-All thy soul would crave,
Thou too, within the mantle of the grave,
Wilt soon forget."
Then did my heart in lone faint sadness die,
As from all nature's voices one reply,
But one, was given :—
"Earth has no heart, fond dreamer! with a tone To send thee back the spirit of thine ownSeek it in Heaven."
THE GRAVES OF MARTYRS.
THE kings of old have shrine and tomb,
In many a minster's haughty gloom;
And green, along the ocean side,
The mounds arise where heroes died;
But show me, on thy flowery breast,
Earth! where thy nameless martyrs rest!
The thousands that, uncheered by praise,
Have made one offering of their days;
For Truth, for Heaven, for Freedom's sake,
Resigned the bitter cup to take,
And silently, in fearless faith,
Bowing their noble souls to death.
And let the spring's first whisper, faint and low, Where sleep they, Earth?-by no proud stone
Their narrow couch of rest is known;
'The still sad glory of their name, Hallows no mountain unto Fame; No-not a tree the record bears
Of their deep thoughts and lonely prayers.
Yet haply all around lie strewed
The ashes of that multitude:
It may be that each day we tread,
Where thus devoted hearts have bled,
And the young flowers our children sow,
Take root in holy dust below.
Oh! that the many-rustling leaves,
Which round our homes the summer weaves,
Or that the streams, in whose glad voice
Our own familiar paths rejoice,
Might whisper through the starry sky,
To tell where those blest slumberers lie!
Would not our inmost hearts be stilled,
With knowledge of their presence filled,
And by its breathings taught to prize
The meekness of self-sacrifice?
-But the old woods and sounding waves
Are silent of those hidden graves.
Yet what if no light footstep there
In pilgrim-love and awe repair,
So let it be!-like him, whose clay
Deep buried by his Maker lay,
They sleep in secret,-but their sod,
Unknown to man, is marked of God!
DREAM'ST thou of Heaven ?-What dreams are thine?
Fair child, fair gladsome child!
With eyes that like the dew-drop shine,
And bounding footstep wild.
Tell me what hues th' immortal shore
Can wear, my Bird! to thee,
Ere yet one shadow hath passed o'er
Thy glance an 1 spirit free?
"Oh! beautiful is heaven, and bright
With long, long summer days! I see its lilies gleam in light, Where many a fountain plays. "And there unchecked, methinks, I rove Seeking where young flowers lie, In vale and golden-fruited groveFlowers that are not to die!"
Thou Poet of the lonely thought,
Sad heir of gifts divine!
Say, with what solemn glory fraught
Is Heaven in dream of thine?
Oh! where the living waters flow
Along that radiant shore,
My soul, a wanderer here, shall knew
The exile-thirst no more!
"The burden of the stranger's heart
Which here unknown I bear,
Like the night-shadow shall depart
With my first wakening there.
"And borne on eagles wings afar,
Free thought shall claim its dower
From every sphere, from every star,
Of glory and of power."
O, Woman! with the soft sad eye
Of spiritual gleam!
Tell me of those bright realms on high,
How doth thy deep heart dream?
By thy sweet mournful voice I know,
On thy pale brow I see,
That thou hast loved in silent wo,
Say, what is Heaven to thee?
"Oh! Heaven is where no secret dread
May haunt Love's meeting hour;
Where from the past, no gloom is shed
O'er the heart's chosen bower;
"Where every severed wreath is bound;
And none have heard the knell
That smites the soul in that wild sound-
Farewell! Beloved, Farewell !"
Scenes and Hymns of Life.
A SCENE OF THE DAYS OF QUEEN MARY.
Is all at once spread over with a calm
More beautiful than sleep, or mirth, or joy.
I am no more disconsolate.
Scene in a Prison.
EDITH alone.
Edith. MORN once again! Morn in the lone
dim cell,
The gushings of my prayer! And would I not
Once more be free? I, that have been a child
Of breezy hills, a playmate of the fawn
In ancient woodlands, from mine infancy!
A watcher of the clouds and of the stars,
Beneath the adoring silence of the night;
And a glad wanderer with the happy streams,
Whose laughter fills the mountains! Oh! to hear
Their blessed sounds again!
Gomez.
Rejoice! rejoice!
Our Queen hath pity, maiden, on thy youth;
She wills not thou shouldst perish.-I am come
To loose thy bonds.
Edith.
And shall I see his face,
And shall I listen to his voice again,
And lay my head upon his faithful breast,
Weeping there in my gladness? Will this be ?-
Blessings upon thee, father! my quick heart
Hath deem'd thee stern-say, wilt thou not for.
give
The cavern of the prisoner's fever dream,
And morn on all the green rejoicing hills,
And the bright waters round the prisoner's home,
Far, far away! Now wakes the early bird
That in the lime's transparent foliage sings,
Close to my cottage lattice-he awakes,
To stir the young leaves with his gushing soul,
And to call forth rich answers of delight
From voices buried in a thousand trees,
Through the dim starry hours. Now doth the On a swift gust of sudden joy away,
Darken and flash in rapid interchange
Unto the matin breeze; and the blue mist
Rolls, like a furling banner, from the brows
Of the forth-gleaming hills and woods that rise
As if new-born. Bright world! and I am here!
And thou, O thou! th' awakening thought of
whom
Was more than day-spring, dearer than the sun,
Herbert! the very glance of whose clear eye
Made my soul melt away to one pure fount
Of living, bounding gladness!-where art thou?
My friend my only and my blessed love!
Herbert, my soul's companion!
[GOMEZ, a Spanish priest, enters.
Daughter, hail!
Gomez.
I bring thee tidings.
Edith.
Heaven will aid my soul
Calmly to meet whate'er thy lips announce.
Gomez. Nay, lift a song of thanksgiving to
Heaven,
And bow thy knee down for deliverance won!
Hast thou not pray'd for life? and wouldst thou
Edith.
Have I not pray'd for life?
I, that am so beloved! that love again
With such a heart of tendrils? Heaven! thou
know'st
The wayward child, too long in sunshine rear'd, Too long unused to chastening? Wilt thou not?
But Herbert, Herbert! Oh, my soul hath rush'd
Forgetting all beside? Speak, father, speak!
Herbert-is he too free?
With a young bosom's hope! Farewell, glad | My flower, my blighted flower! thou that wert
Bright opening path to love and home, farewell!
And thou-now leave me with my God alone!
Gomez. Dost thou reject Heaven's mercy'
y?
Edith.
Heaven's! doth Heaven
Woo the free spirit for dishonour'd breath
To sell its birthright? doth Heaven set a price
On the clear jewel of unsullied faith,
And the bright calm of conscience? Priest, away!
God hath been with me 'midst the holiness
Of England's mountains-not in sport alone
I trod their heath-flowers-but high thoughts
From the broad shadow of the enduring rocks,
And wander'd with me into solemn glens,
Where my soul felt the beauty of His word.
I have heard voices of immortal truth,
Blent with the everlasting torrent-sounds
That make the deep hills tremble.-Shall I quail?
Shall England's daughter sink?-No! He who
there
Spoke to my heart in silence and in storm,
Will not forsake his child!
Gomez, (turning from her.) Then perish! lost
In thine own blindness!
Edith, (suddenly throwing herself at his feet.)
Father! hear me yet!
Oh! if the kindly touch of human love
Hath ever warm'd thy breast-
Edith. Yet hear! if thou hast known The tender sweetness of a mother's voiceIf the true vigil of affection's eye
Hath watch'd thy childhood-if fond tears have e'er
Been shower'd upon thy head-if parting words
E'er pierced thy spirit with their tenderness-
Let me but look upon his face once more,
Let me but say-Farewell, my soul's beloved!
And I will bless thee still!
Gomez, (aside.)
Her soul may yield,
Beholding him in fetters; woman's faith
Wi'l bend to woman's love-
Thy prayer is heard; Follow, and I will guide thee to his cell. Edith. Oh! stormy hour of agony and joy! But I shall see him-I shall hear his voice! [They go out.
For the kind fostering of sweet summer airs, How hath the storm been with thee!-Lay thy
On this true breast again, my gentle one!
And tell me all.
Edith. Yes, take me to thy heart,
For I am weary, weary! Oh! that heart!
The kind, the brave, the tender!-how my soul
Hath sicken'd in vain yearnings for the balm
Of rest on that warm heart! full, deep repose!
One draught of dewy stillness after storm!
And God hath pitied me, and I am herc→
Yet once before I die!
Herbert.
They cannot slay
One, young and meek, and beautiful as thou!
My broken lily! Surely the long days
Of the dark cell have been enough for thee!
Oh! thou shalt live, and raise thy gracious head
Yet in calm sunshine.
Edith.
Herbert! I have cast
The snare of proffer'd mercy from my soul,
This very hour. God to the weak hath given
Victory o'er life and death!-The tempter's price
Hath been rejected-Herbert, I must die.
Herbert. O Edith! Edith! I, that led thee first From the old path wherein thy fathers trodI, that received it as an angel's task, To pour the fresh light on thine ardent soul, Which drank it as a sunflower-I have been Thy guide to death!
Edith. To Heaven, my guide to Heaven, My noble and my bless'd! Oh! look up, Be strong, rejoice, my Herbert! But for thee, How could my spirit have sprung up to God, Through the dark cloud which o'er its vision hung,
The night of fear and error? thy dear hand
First raised that veil, and show'd the glorious
world,
My heritage beyond-Friend! love and friend!
It was as if thou gavest me mine own soul
In those bright days! Yes! a new earth and
heaven,
And a new sense for all their splendours born,
These were my gifts! and shall I not rejoice
To die, upholding their immortal worth,
Even for thy sake? Yes, fill'd with nobler life
By thy pure love, made holy to the truth,
Lay me upon the altar of thy God,
The first fruits of thy ministry below;
Thy work, thine own!
Herbert.
My love, my sainted love
Oh! I can almost yield thee unto heaven;
Earth would but sully thee! Thou must depart
With the rich crown of thy celestial gifts
Untainted by a breath! And yet, alas!
Edith! what dreams of holy happiness,
Even for this world, were ours! the low, sweet
home-
The pastoral dwelling, with its ivied porch, And lattice gleaming through the leaves-and thou,
My life's companion!-Thou, beside my hearth Sitting with thy mcek eyes, or greeting me
Back from brief absence with thy bounding step,
In the green meadow path, or by my side
Kneeling-thy calm uplifted face to mine,
In the sweet hush of prayer! and now-oh
How have we loved-how fervently, how long!
And this to be the close!
Edith.
Oh! bear me up
Against the unutterable tenderness
Of earthly love, my God! in the sick hour
Of dying human hope, forsake me not!
Herbert! my Herbert! even that sweet home
Where it had been too much of Paradise
To dwell with thee-even thence the oppressor's
hand
Might soon have torn us; or the touch of death
Might one day there have left a widow'd heart,
Pining alone. We will go hence, beloved!
To the bright country, where the wicked cease
From troubling, where the spoiler hath no sway;
Where no harsh voice of worldliness disturbs
The Sabbath-peace of love. We will go hence,
Together with our wedded souls, to Heaven:
No solitary lingering, no cold void,
No dying of the heart! Our lives have been
Lovely through faithful love, and in our deaths
We will not be divided.
Herbert.
Oh! the peace
Of God is lying far within thine eyes,
Far underneath the mist of human tears,
Lighting those blue still depths, and sinking thence
On my worn heart. Now am I girt with strength,|
Now I can bless thee, my true bride for Heaven!
Edith. And let me bless thee, Herbert! in this
hour
Let my soul bless thee with prevailing might!
Oh! thou hast loved me nobly! thou didst take
An orphan to thy heart, a thing unprized
And desolate; and thou didst guard her there,
That lone and lowly creature, as a pearl
Of richest price; and thou didst fill her soul
With the high gifts of an immortal wealth.-
bless, I bless thee! Never did thine eye
Look on me but in glistening tenderness,
My gentle Herbert! Never did thy voice
But in affection's decpest music speak
To thy poor Edith! Never was thy heart
Aught but the kindliest sheltering home to mine
My faithful, generous Herbert! Woman's peace
Ne'er on a breast so tender and so true
Reposed before.-Alas! thy showering tears
Fall fast upon my cheek-forgive, forgive!
I should not melt thy strength away
In such an hour.
Herbert. Sweet Edith, no! my heart
Will fail no more; God bears me up through thee,
And, by thy words, and by the heavenly light
Shining around thee, through thy very tears,
Will yet sustain me! Let us call on Him!
Let us kneel down, as we have knelt so oft,
Thy pure cheek touching mine, and call on Him,
Th' all-pitying One, to aid.
[They kneel. O, look on us, ather above! in tender mercy, look
On us, thy children! through th' o'ershadowing
cloud
Of sorrow and mortality, send aid,
Save or we perish! we would pour our lives
Forth as a joyous offering to thy truth.
But we are weak-we, the bruised reeds of earth,
Are sway'd by every gust. Forgive, O God!
The blindness of our passionate desires,
The fainting of our hearts, the lingering thoughts
Which cleave to dust! Forgive the strife; accept
The sacrifice, though dim with mortal tears,
From mortal pangs wrung forth! and if our souls
In all the fervent dreams, the fond excess,
Of their long-clasping love, have wander'd not,
Holiest! from thee; oh! take them to thyself,
After the fiery trial, take them home
To dwell, in that imperishable bond
Before thee link'd for ever. Hear, througn Him
Who meekly drank the cup of agony,
Who pass'd through death to victory, hear and
Pity us, Father! we are girt with snares;
Father in Heaven! we have no help but thee.
[They rise
Is thy soul strengthen'd, my beloved one?
O Edith! couldst thou lift up thy sweet voice,
And sing me that old solemn-breathing hymn
We loved in happier days-the strain which tells
Of the dread conflict in the olive shade?
He knelt, the Saviour knelt and pray'd,
When but his Father's eye
Look'd through the lonely garden's shade
On that dread agony;
The Lord of All above, beneath,
Was bow'd with sorrow unto death.
The sun set in a fearful hour,
The stars might well grow dim,
When this mortality had power
So to o'ershadow HIM!
That He who gave man's breath, might know
The very depths of human woe.
He proved them all! the doubt, the strife
The faint perplexing dread,
The mists that hang o'er parting life,
All gather'd round his head;
And the Deliverer knelt to pray-
Yet pass'd it not, that cup, away!
It pass'd not-though the stormy wave
Had sunk beneath his tread;
It pass'd not-though to him the grave
Had yielded up its dead.
But there was sent from him on high
A gift of strength for man to die.
And was the sinless thus beset
With anguish and dismay?
How may we meet our conflict yet.
In the dark narrow way?
Thro' Him-Thro' Him, that path who tro
Save, or we perish, Son of God!
Hark! hark! the parting signal
|