What a fair world were ours for verse to paint, If Power could live at ease with self-restraint! Opinion bow before the naked sense
Of the great Vision,-faith in Providence; Merciful over all his creatures, just To the least particle of sentient dust; But fixing, by immutable decrees, Seedtime and harvest for his purposes ! Then would be closed the restless oblique eye That looks for evil like a treacherous spy; Disputes would then relax, like stormy winds That into breezes sink; impetuous minds By discipline endeavour to grow meek
As Truth herself, whom they profess to seek. Then Genius, shunning fellowship with Pride, Would braid his golden locks at Wisdom's side; Love ebb and flow untroubled by caprice; And not alone harsh tyranny would cease, But unoffending creatures find release From qualified oppression, whose defence Rests on a hollow plea of recompense; Thought-tempered wrongs, for each humane respect Oft worse to bear, or deadlier in effect. Witness those glances of indignant scorn From some high-minded Slave, impelled to spurn The kindness that would make him less forlorn ; Or, if the soul to bondage be subdued,
His look of pitiable gratitude!
Alas for thee, bright Galaxy of Isles,
Whose day departs in pomp, returns with smiles— To greet the flowers and fruitage of a land, As the sun mounts, by sea-born breezes fanned; A land whose azure mountain-tops are seats For Gods in council, whose green vales, retreats Fit for the shades of heroes, mingling there To breathe Elysian peace in upper air.
Though cold as winter, gloomy as the grave, Stone-walls a prisoner make, but not a slave. Shall man assume a property in man? Lay on the moral will a withering ban? Shame that our laws at distance still protect Enormities, which they at home reject!
'Slaves cannot breathe in England'-yet that boast Is but a mockery! when from coast to coast, Though fettered slave be none, her floors and soil Groan underneath a weight of slavish toil,
For the poor Many, measured out by rules Fetched with cupidity from heartless schools, That to an Idol, falsely called 'the Wealth Of Nations,' sacrifice a People's health, Body and mind and soul; a thirst so keen Is ever urging on the vast machine
Of sleepless Labour, 'mid whose dizzy wheels
The Power least prized is that which thinks and feels.
Then, for the pastimes of this delicate age,
And all the heavy or light vassalage Which for their sakes we fasten, as may suit Our varying moods, on human kind or brute, "Twere well in little, as in great, to pause, Lest Fancy trifle with eternal laws. Not from his fellows only man may learn Rights to compare and duties to discern! All creatures and all objects, in degree, Are friends and patrons of humanity.
There are to whom the garden, grove, and field, Perpetual lessons of forbearance yield;
Who would not lightly violate the grace The lowliest flower possesses in its place;
Nor shorten the sweet life, too fugitive,
Which nothing less than Infinite Power could give.
HE unremitting voice of nightly streams
That wastes so oft, we think, its tuneful powers,
If neither soothing to the worm that gleams
Through dewy grass nor small birds hushed in bowers, Nor unto silent leaves and drowsy flowers,
That voice of unpretending harmony
(For who what is shall measure by what seems To be, or not to be,
Or tax high Heaven with prodigality?)
Wants not a healing influence that can creep Into the human breast, and mix with sleep To regulate the motion of our dreams For kindly issues-as through every clime Was felt near murmuring brooks in earliest time; As, at this day, the rudest swains who dwell Where torrents roar, or hear the tinkling knell Of water-breaks, with grateful heart could tell.
LATTERED with promise of escape
Spring takes, O sprightly May! thy shape,
Her loveliest and her last.
Less fair is summer riding high In fierce solstitial power,
Less fair than when a lenient sky Brings on her parting hour.
When earth repays with golden sheaves The labours of the plough, And ripening fruits and forest leaves All brighten on the bough;
What pensive beauty autumn shows,
Before she hears the sound
Of winter rushing in, to close The emblematic round!
Such be our Spring, our Summer such ; So may our Autumn blend
With hoary Winter, and Life touch, Through heaven-born hope, her end!
UPON THE BIRTH OF HER FIRST-BORN CHILD, MARCH 1833
"Tum porro puer, ut saevis projectus ab undis Navita, nudus humi jacet,' etc.-LUCRETIUS.
IKE a shipwreck'd Sailor tost
By rough waves on a perilous coast, Lies the Babe, in helplessness And in tenderest nakedness, Flung by labouring nature forth Upon the mercies of the earth. Can its eyes beseech?—no more Than the hands are free to implore:
Voice but serves for one brief cry; Plaint was it? or prophecy
Of sorrow that will surely come? Omen of man's grievous doom!
But, O Mother! by the close Duly granted to thy throes; By the silent thanks, now tending Incense-like to Heaven, descending Now to mingle and to move With the gush of earthly love, As a debt to that frail Creature, Instrument of struggling Nature For the blissful calm, the peace Known but to this one release- Can the pitying spirit doubt That for human-kind springs out From the penalty a sense Of more than mortal recompense?
As a floating summer cloud, Though of gorgeous drapery proud, To the sun-burnt traveller, Or the stooping labourer,
Oft-times makes its bounty known By its shadow round him thrown; So, by chequerings of sad cheer, Heavenly Guardians, brooding near, Of their presence tell-too bright Haply for corporeal sight! Ministers of grace divine Feelingly their brows incline O'er this seeming Castaway Breathing, in the light of day, Something like the faintest breath That has power to baffle death- Beautiful, while very weakness Captivates like passive meekness.
And, sweet Mother! under warrant Of the universal Parent,
From his everlasting throne,
That-whatever griefs may fret, Cares entangle, sins beset,
This thy First-born, and with tears Stain her cheek in future years— Heavenly succour, not denied To the babe, whate'er betide, Will to the woman be supplied!
Mother! blest be thy calm ease; Blest the starry promises,- And the firmament benign
Hallowed be it, where they shine!
Yes, for them whose souls have scope Ample for a winged hope,
And can earthward bend an ear For needful listening, pledge is here,
That, if thy new-born Charge shall tread In thy footsteps, and be led
By that other Guide, whose light Of manly virtues, mildly bright, Gave him first the wished-for part In thy gentle virgin heart; Then, amid the storms of life Presignified by that dread strife Whence ye have escaped together, She may look for serene weather; In all trials sure to find
Comfort for a faithful mind; Kindlier issues, holier rest,
Than even now await her prest,
Conscious Nursling, to thy breast!
A SEQUEL TO THE FOREGOING
IST, the winds of March are blowing;
Her ground-flowers shrink, afraid of showing
Their meek heads to the nipping air,
Which ye feel not, happy pair!
Sunk into a kindly sleep.
We, meanwhile, our hope will keep;
And if Time leagued with adverse Change (Too busy fear!) shall cross its range,
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