III.-SONNET TO THE GENTIAN.

(FROM "MAD MOMENTS.")

WEET flower of holiest blue! why bloom'st thou so

In solitary loveliness, more fair

In this thy artless beauty, than the rare

And costliest garden-plant? why dost thou grow
On the unthankful ice-cliff's printless brow,
Like the fond offerings, which true hearts bear
To the cold inmate of the grave? The air
Is redolent of Heaven, and thy glow

Of azure blue is caught from thence; but why
Hid'st thou thy beauties from the sight of man?
There is a moral in thy privacy!

Truth will not grow where vulgar eyes may scan, Or hands unholy pluck-'tis for the sky

She blooms, and those who seek, must climb, nor fear to die.

IV.-A SUNSET THOUGHT.

AS REVISED FOR "THE POETRY OF REAL LIFE."

HE sun is burning with intensest light

Behind you grove, which, in the golden glow

Of unconsuming Fire, burns; as though It were the Bush, in which to Moses' sight The Lord appeared! And O, am I not right In thinking that he reappears e'en now To me, in the old Glory? So I bow My head, in wonder hush'd, before His might! Yea! this whole world so vast, to Faith's clear eye, Is but that burning Bush full of His Power, His Light, and Glory; not consumed thereby, But made transparent: till, in each least flower, Yea! in each smallest leaf, she can descry His Spirit shining through it visibly!

V. THE STARS.

(FROM "MAD MOMENTS.")

HE Stars come forth, a silent hymn of praise

To the great God, and shining every one,

Make up the glorious harmony, led on By Hesperus their Chorister; each plays A part in the grand concert with its rays, And yet so stilly, modestly, as none Claimed to himself ought of the good thus done By all together, mingled in soft blaze. Each has his path, there moves unerringly, Nor seeks for empty fame, do we as they. Let each soul lend its utmost light, each play In the grand concert of Humanity

Its destined part ;-then mankind on its way Shall move as surely as those stars on high.

VI.-LONDON AFTER MIDNIGHT. (FROM THE "POETRY OF REAL Life.") ILENCE broods o'er the mighty Babylon,

S twin him keeps

His solemn watch; the wearièd city sleeps,
And Solitude-strange contrast! muses on
The fate of man, there, whence the crowd anon
Will scare her with life's tumult! the great deeps
Of human thought are stirless, yet there creeps,
As 'twere, a far-off hum, scarce heard, then gone,
On the still air: 'tis the heart doth move

And beat at intervals, soon, from its sleep,
To start refreshed.

O Thou Who rul'st above,

Be with it in its dreams, and let it keep,

Awake, the spirit of pure peace and love,

Which Thou breath'st thro' it now, so still and deep!

VII.-ON ROBERT BURNS' HUMANITY.

(FROM THE "POETRY OF REAL LIFE.')

H noble Burns! thy soul was like the lark

O thy was up to greet the sky,

Yet singing of the earth eternally,

And pleading up to heaven-while yet dark
It lay beneath thee, thou afar didst mark
The Day that cometh in its majesty;
And, kindling up thereat thy poesy,

With its articulate blasts didst blow the spark!
That spark of Love divine, which in thy soul
God placed, and which, as still thou sang'st, did grow,
And kindle, till it warm'd this mighty Whole-
Until that Whole, transfigured in its glow,
Revealed to thee the one great Word, the sole
Abiding Truth-that LOVE is all below.

VIII.-TO WORDSWORTH.

(FROM THE "Poetry of Real Life.")

`HRO' clouds and darkness to meridian height

To glory, thou hast upward climbed, and now

In empyrean blue, with cloudless brow Look'st o'er a prospect clear and infiniteRejoicing by, rejoicing in, thy light!

The vapours, which at first would not allow Full view of thee, are gone, we know not how; Absorbed into thy splendour, and thy might! And now, great spirit, thou unto thy close Art hastening, and trails of glory make The heavens gorgeous for thy repose

Thou hast made day for all men to partake, And having thought of others and their woes, Shalt be remembered now for thy own sake.

THE POETRY OF REAL LIFE.

1844.

HENRY ELLISON.

1. THE UPRIGHT MAN.

HE Upright Man, he goes his way,

His where-abouts are like the day,
Suspecting none, none him suspect.

erect,

He wears his arm upon his sleeve,
Though spiteful daws may peck at will,
And, though his fellow-men aggrieve,
His heart of good they cannot kill.

He loves and pities them, in spite
Of all the ill they cause him too,
Their loss, he knows, is infinite,

Better to suffer wrong than do!

He scorns to hide his thoughts, for 'tis
His glory to be free at heart,
And if his tongue were tied, he'd miss
His freedom, or its better part.

He scorns to do, too, i' the dark

What he should do in all men's sight;
This is of Freedom, the true ark,
The real Palladium of Right.

He sees not in the ballot-box

The hope and freedom of a State,
But in Truth, Peace, and Justice, rocks,
Pillars, on which to lean its weight.

He does as he would be done by,

And covets not another's good, But with it gladdens heart and eye, And would increase it if he could. He does increase it truly too,

And swells the general sum of bliss, As through the moon, though hid from view By other worlds, the sun lights this! He yields obedience e'en where The law is not as it should be, For violence doth Peace impair, Who brings, at last, all to agree. Yet must he speak against the wrong, Aye, though he suffer, he must speak, For Truth is stronger than the strong, And mightiest often in the weak.

And thoughts, high thoughts, like angels are, And work unseen their work of grace, Conveying their ministries afar,

When nearer home they leave no trace!

And oft when fall'n on evil days
Freedom awhile seems lost to Man,
One witness may again upraise,

And many end what one began.
He labours not for some poor end,

In darkling mole-ways of his own, But with Mankind doth onward wend, And his Good doth to its postpone.

Or, rather, they have one same Good,

And that which makes Mankind more wise

And happy, doth the one include,

And all his blessings multiplies.