Part 6

But what were all these charms to me, When one sweet breath of memory Came gently wafting by? I closed my eyes against the day, And called my willing soul away, From earth, and air, and sky;

That I might simply fancy there One little flower--a primrose fair, Just opening into sight; As in the days of infancy, An opening primrose seemed to me A source of strange delight.

Sweet Memory! ever smile on me; Nature's chief beauties spring from thee; Oh, still thy tribute bring Still make the golden crocus shine Among the flowers the most divine, The glory of the spring.

Still in the wallflower's fragrance dwell; And hover round the slight bluebell, My childhood's darling flower. Smile on the little daisy still, The buttercup's bright goblet fill With all thy former power.

For ever hang thy dreamy spell Round mountain star and heather bell, And do not pass away From sparkling frost, or wreathed snow, And whisper when the wild winds blow, Or rippling waters play.

Is childhood, then, so all divine? Or Memory, is the glory thine, That haloes thus the past? Not ALL divine; its pangs of grief (Although, perchance, their stay be brief) Are bitter while they last.

Nor is the glory all thine own, For on our earliest joys alone That holy light is cast. With such a ray, no spell of thine Can make our later pleasures shine, Though long ago they passed.

TO COWPER.

Sweet are thy strains, celestial Bard; And oft, in childhood's years, I've read them o'er and o'er again, With floods of silent tears.

The language of my inmost heart I traced in every line; MY sins, MY sorrows, hopes, and fears, Were there-and only mine.

All for myself the sigh would swell, The tear of anguish start; I little knew what wilder woe Had filled the Poet's heart.

I did not know the nights of gloom, The days of misery; The long, long years of dark despair, That crushed and tortured thee.

But they are gone; from earth at length Thy gentle soul is pass'd, And in the bosom of its God Has found its home at last.

It must be so, if God is love, And answers fervent prayer; Then surely thou shalt dwell on high, And I may meet thee there.

Is He the source of every good, The spring of purity? Then in thine hours of deepest woe, Thy God was still with thee.

How else, when every hope was fled, Couldst thou so fondly cling To holy things and help men? And how so sweetly sing,

Of things that God alone could teach? And whence that purity, That hatred of all sinful ways-- That gentle charity?

Are THESE the symptoms of a heart Of heavenly grace bereft-- For ever banished from its God, To Satan's fury left?

Yet, should thy darkest fears be true, If Heaven be so severe, That such a soul as thine is lost,-- Oh! how shall I appear?

THE DOUBTER'S PRAYER.

Eternal Power, of earth and air! Unseen, yet seen in all around, Remote, but dwelling everywhere, Though silent, heard in every sound;

If e'er thine ear in mercy bent, When wretched mortals cried to Thee, And if, indeed, Thy Son was sent, To save lost sinners such as me:

Then hear me now, while kneeling here, I lift to thee my heart and eye, And all my soul ascends in prayer, OH, GIVE ME--GIVE ME FAITH! I cry.

Without some glimmering in my heart, I could not raise this fervent prayer; But, oh! a stronger light impart, And in Thy mercy fix it there.

While Faith is with me, I am blest; It turns my darkest night to day; But while I clasp it to my breast, I often feel it slide away.

Then, cold and dark, my spirit sinks, To see my light of life depart; And every fiend of Hell, methinks, Enjoys the anguish of my heart.

What shall I do, if all my love, My hopes, my toil, are cast away, And if there be no God above, To hear and bless me when I pray?

If this be vain delusion all, If death be an eternal sleep, And none can hear my secret call, Or see the silent tears I weep!

Oh, help me, God! For thou alone Canst my distracted soul relieve; Forsake it not: it is thine own, Though weak, yet longing to believe.

Oh, drive these cruel doubts away; And make me know, that Thou art God! A faith, that shines by night and day, Will lighten every earthly load.

If I believe that Jesus died, And waking, rose to reign above; Then surely Sorrow, Sin, and Pride, Must yield to Peace, and Hope, and Love.

And all the blessed words He said Will strength and holy joy impart: A shield of safety o'er my head, A spring of comfort in my heart.

A WORD TO THE "ELECT."

You may rejoice to think YOURSELVES secure; You may be grateful for the gift divine-- That grace unsought, which made your black hearts pure, And fits your earth-born souls in Heaven to shine.

But, is it sweet to look around, and view Thousands excluded from that happiness Which they deserved, at least, as much as you.-- Their faults not greater, nor their virtues less?

And wherefore should you love your God the more, Because to you alone his smiles are given; Because He chose to pass the MANY o'er, And only bring the favoured FEW to Heaven?

And, wherefore should your hearts more grateful prove, Because for ALL the Saviour did not die? Is yours the God of justice and of love? And are your bosoms warm with charity?

Say, does your heart expand to all mankind? And, would you ever to your neighbour do-- The weak, the strong, the enlightened, and the blind-- As you would have your neighbour do to you?

And when you, looking on your fellow-men, Behold them doomed to endless misery, How can you talk of joy and rapture then?-- May God withhold such cruel joy from me!

That none deserve eternal bliss I know; Unmerited the grace in mercy given: But, none shall sink to everlasting woe, That have not well deserved the wrath of Heaven.

And, oh! there lives within my heart A hope, long nursed by me; (And should its cheering ray depart, How dark my soul would be!)

That as in Adam all have died, In Christ shall all men live; And ever round his throne abide, Eternal praise to give.

That even the wicked shall at last Be fitted for the skies; And when their dreadful doom is past, To life and light arise.

I ask not, how remote the day, Nor what the sinners' woe, Before their dross is purged away; Enough for me to know--

That when the cup of wrath is drained, The metal purified, They'll cling to what they once disdained, And live by Him that died.

PAST DAYS.

'Tis strange to think there WAS a time When mirth was not an empty name, When laughter really cheered the heart, And frequent smiles unbidden came, And tears of grief would only flow In sympathy for others' woe;

When speech expressed the inward thought, And heart to kindred heart was bare, And summer days were far too short For all the pleasures crowded there; And silence, solitude, and rest, Now welcome to the weary breast--

Were all unprized, uncourted then-- And all the joy one spirit showed, The other deeply felt again; And friendship like a river flowed, Constant and strong its silent course, For nought withstood its gentle force:

When night, the holy time of peace, Was dreaded as the parting hour; When speech and mirth at once must cease, And silence must resume her power; Though ever free from pains and woes, She only brought us calm repose.

And when the blessed dawn again Brought daylight to the blushing skies, We woke, and not RELUCTANT then, To joyless LABOUR did we rise; But full of hope, and glad and gay, We welcomed the returning day.

THE CONSOLATION.

Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground With fallen leaves so thickly strown, And cold the wind that wanders round With wild and melancholy moan;

There IS a friendly roof, I know, Might shield me from the wintry blast; There is a fire, whose ruddy glow Will cheer me for my wanderings past.

And so, though still, where'er I go, Cold stranger-glances meet my eye; Though, when my spirit sinks in woe, Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh;

Though solitude, endured too long, Bids youthful joys too soon decay, Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue, And overclouds my noon of day;

When kindly thoughts that would have way, Flow back discouraged to my breast; I know there is, though far away, A home where heart and soul may rest.

Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine, The warmer heart will not belie; While mirth, and truth, and friendship shine In smiling lip and earnest eye.

The ice that gathers round my heart May there be thawed; and sweetly, then, The joys of youth, that now depart, Will come to cheer my soul again.

Though far I roam, that thought shall be My hope, my comfort, everywhere; While such a home remains to me, My heart shall never know despair!

LINES COMPOSED IN A WOOD ON A WINDY DAY.

My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze; For above and around me the wild wind is roaring, Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.

The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing, The bare trees are tossing their branches on high; The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing, The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky

I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray; I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing, And hear the wild roar of their thunder to-day!

VIEWS OF LIFE.

When sinks my heart in hopeless gloom, And life can show no joy for me; And I behold a yawning tomb, Where bowers and palaces should be;

In vain you talk of morbid dreams; In vain you gaily smiling say, That what to me so dreary seems, The healthy mind deems bright and gay.

I too have smiled, and thought like you, But madly smiled, and falsely deemed: TRUTH led me to the present view,-- I'm waking now--'twas THEN I dreamed.

I lately saw a sunset sky, And stood enraptured to behold Its varied hues of glorious dye: First, fleecy clouds of shining gold;

These blushing took a rosy hue; Beneath them shone a flood of green; Nor less divine, the glorious blue That smiled above them and between.

I cannot name each lovely shade; I cannot say how bright they shone; But one by one, I saw them fade; And what remained when they were gone?

Dull clouds remained, of sombre hue, And when their borrowed charm was o'er, The azure sky had faded too, That smiled so softly bright before.

So, gilded by the glow of youth, Our varied life looks fair and gay; And so remains the naked truth, When that false light is past away.

Why blame ye, then, my keener sight, That clearly sees a world of woes Through all the haze of golden light That flattering Falsehood round it throws?

When the young mother smiles above The first-born darling of her heart, Her bosom glows with earnest love, While tears of silent transport start.

Fond dreamer! little does she know The anxious toil, the suffering, The blasted hopes, the burning woe, The object of her joy will bring.

Her blinded eyes behold not now What, soon or late, must be his doom; The anguish that will cloud his brow, The bed of death, the dreary tomb.

As little know the youthful pair, In mutual love supremely blest, What weariness, and cold despair, Ere long, will seize the aching breast.

And even should Love and Faith remain, (The greatest blessings life can show,) Amid adversity and pain, To shine throughout with cheering glow;

They do not see how cruel Death Comes on, their loving hearts to part: One feels not now the gasping breath, The rending of the earth-bound heart,--

The soul's and body's agony, Ere she may sink to her repose. The sad survivor cannot see The grave above his darling close;

Nor how, despairing and alone, He then must wear his life away; And linger, feebly toiling on, And fainting, sink into decay.

* * * *

Oh, Youth may listen patiently, While sad Experience tells her tale, But Doubt sits smiling in his eye, For ardent Hope will still prevail!

He hears how feeble Pleasure dies, By guilt destroyed, and pain and woe; He turns to Hope--and she replies, "Believe it not-it is not so!"

"Oh, heed her not!" Experience says; "For thus she whispered once to me; She told me, in my youthful days, How glorious manhood's prime would be.

"When, in the time of early Spring, Too chill the winds that o'er me pass'd, She said, each coming day would bring a fairer heaven, a gentler blast.

"And when the sun too seldom beamed, The sky, o'ercast, too darkly frowned, The soaking rain too constant streamed, And mists too dreary gathered round;

"She told me, Summer's glorious ray Would chase those vapours all away, And scatter glories round; With sweetest music fill the trees, Load with rich scent the gentle breeze, And strew with flowers the ground

"But when, beneath that scorching ray, I languished, weary through the day, While birds refused to sing, Verdure decayed from field and tree, And panting Nature mourned with me The freshness of the Spring.

"'Wait but a little while,' she said, 'Till Summer's burning days are fled; And Autumn shall restore, With golden riches of her own, And Summer's glories mellowed down, The freshness you deplore.'

And long I waited, but in vain: That freshness never came again, Though Summer passed away, Though Autumn's mists hung cold and chill. And drooping nature languished still, And sank into decay.

"Till wintry blasts foreboding blew Through leafless trees--and then I knew That Hope was all a dream. But thus, fond youth, she cheated me; And she will prove as false to thee, Though sweet her words may seem.

Stern prophet! Cease thy bodings dire-- Thou canst not quench the ardent fire That warms the breast of youth. Oh, let it cheer him while it may, And gently, gently die away-- Chilled by the damps of truth!

Tell him, that earth is not our rest; Its joys are empty--frail at best; And point beyond the sky. But gleams of light may reach us here; And hope the ROUGHEST path can cheer: Then do not bid it fly!

Though hope may promise joys, that still Unkindly time will ne'er fulfil; Or, if they come at all, We never find them unalloyed,-- Hurtful perchance, or soon destroyed, They vanish or they pall;

Yet hope ITSELF a brightness throws O'er all our labours and our woes; While dark foreboding Care A thousand ills will oft portend, That Providence may ne'er intend The trembling heart to bear.

Or if they come, it oft appears, Our woes are lighter than our fears, And far more bravely borne. Then let us not enhance our doom But e'en in midnight's blackest gloom Expect the rising morn.

Because the road is rough and long, Shall we despise the skylark's song, That cheers the wanderer's way? Or trample down, with reckless feet, The smiling flowerets, bright and sweet, Because they soon decay?

Pass pleasant scenes unnoticed by, Because the next is bleak and drear; Or not enjoy a smiling sky, Because a tempest may be near?

No! while we journey on our way, We'll smile on every lovely thing; And ever, as they pass away, To memory and hope we'll cling.

And though that awful river flows Before us, when the journey's past, Perchance of all the pilgrim's woes Most dreadful--shrink not--'tis the last!

Though icy cold, and dark, and deep; Beyond it smiles that blessed shore, Where none shall suffer, none shall weep, And bliss shall reign for evermore!

APPEAL.

Oh, I am very weary, Though tears no longer flow; My eyes are tired of weeping, My heart is sick of woe;

My life is very lonely My days pass heavily, I'm weary of repining; Wilt thou not come to me?

Oh, didst thou know my longings For thee, from day to day, My hopes, so often blighted, Thou wouldst not thus delay!

THE STUDENT'S SERENADE.

I have slept upon my couch, But my spirit did not rest, For the labours of the day Yet my weary soul opprest;

And before my dreaming eyes Still the learned volumes lay, And I could not close their leaves, And I could not turn away.

But I oped my eyes at last, And I heard a muffled sound; 'Twas the night-breeze, come to say That the snow was on the ground.

Then I knew that there was rest On the mountain's bosom free; So I left my fevered couch, And I flew to waken thee!

I have flown to waken thee-- For, if thou wilt not arise, Then my soul can drink no peace From these holy moonlight skies.

And this waste of virgin snow To my sight will not be fair, Unless thou wilt smiling come, Love, to wander with me there.

Then, awake! Maria, wake! For, if thou couldst only know How the quiet moonlight sleeps On this wilderness of snow,

And the groves of ancient trees, In their snowy garb arrayed, Till they stretch into the gloom Of the distant valley's shade;

I know thou wouldst rejoice To inhale this bracing air; Thou wouldst break thy sweetest sleep To behold a scene so fair.

O'er these wintry wilds, ALONE, Thou wouldst joy to wander free; And it will not please thee less, Though that bliss be shared with me.

THE CAPTIVE DOVE.

Poor restless dove, I pity thee; And when I hear thy plaintive moan, I mourn for thy captivity, And in thy woes forget mine own.

To see thee stand prepared to fly, And flap those useless wings of thine, And gaze into the distant sky, Would melt a harder heart than mine.

In vain--in vain! Thou canst not rise: Thy prison roof confines thee there; Its slender wires delude thine eyes, And quench thy longings with despair.

Oh, thou wert made to wander free In sunny mead and shady grove, And far beyond the rolling sea, In distant climes, at will to rove!

Yet, hadst thou but one gentle mate Thy little drooping heart to cheer, And share with thee thy captive state, Thou couldst be happy even there.

Yes, even there, if, listening by, One faithful dear companion stood, While gazing on her full bright eye, Thou mightst forget thy native wood

But thou, poor solitary dove, Must make, unheard, thy joyless moan; The heart that Nature formed to love Must pine, neglected, and alone.

SELF-CONGRATULATION.

Ellen, you were thoughtless once Of beauty or of grace, Simple and homely in attire, Careless of form and face; Then whence this change? and wherefore now So often smoothe your hair? And wherefore deck your youthful form With such unwearied care?

Tell us, and cease to tire our ears With that familiar strain; Why will you play those simple tunes So often o'er again? "Indeed, dear friends, I can but say That childhood's thoughts are gone; Each year its own new feelings brings, And years move swiftly on:

"And for these little simple airs-- I love to play them o'er So much--I dare not promise, now, To play them never more." I answered--and it was enough; They turned them to depart; They could not read my secret thoughts, Nor see my throbbing heart.

I've noticed many a youthful form, Upon whose changeful face The inmost workings of the soul The gazer well might trace; The speaking eye, the changing lip, The ready blushing cheek, The smiling, or beclouded brow, Their different feelings speak.

But, thank God! you might gaze on mine For hours, and never know The secret changes of my soul From joy to keenest woe. Last night, as we sat round the fire Conversing merrily, We heard, without, approaching steps Of one well known to me!

There was no trembling in my voice, No blush upon my cheek, No lustrous sparkle in my eyes, Of hope, or joy, to speak; But, oh! my spirit burned within, My heart beat full and fast! He came not nigh--he went away-- And then my joy was past.

And yet my comrades marked it not: My voice was still the same; They saw me smile, and o'er my face No signs of sadness came. They little knew my hidden thoughts; And they will NEVER know The aching anguish of my heart, The bitter burning woe!

FLUCTUATIONS,

What though the Sun had left my sky; To save me from despair The blessed Moon arose on high, And shone serenely there.

I watched her, with a tearful gaze, Rise slowly o'er the hill, While through the dim horizon's haze Her light gleamed faint and chill.

I thought such wan and lifeless beams Could ne'er my heart repay For the bright sun's most transient gleams That cheered me through the day:

But, as above that mist's control She rose, and brighter shone, I felt her light upon my soul; But now--that light is gone!

Thick vapours snatched her from my sight, And I was darkling left, All in the cold and gloomy night, Of light and hope bereft:

Until, methought, a little star Shone forth with trembling ray, To cheer me with its light afar-- But that, too, passed away.

Anon, an earthly meteor blazed The gloomy darkness through; I smiled, yet trembled while I gazed-- But that soon vanished too!

And darker, drearier fell the night Upon my spirit then;-- But what is that faint struggling light? Is it the Moon again?

Kind Heaven! increase that silvery gleam And bid these clouds depart, And let her soft celestial beam Restore my fainting heart!

SELECTIONS FROM THE LITERARY REMAINS OF ELLIS AND ACTON BELL.

By Currer Bell

SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ELLIS BELL.

It would not have been difficult to compile a volume out of the papers left by my sisters, had I, in making the selection, dismissed from my consideration the scruples and the wishes of those whose written thoughts these papers held. But this was impossible: an influence, stronger than could be exercised by any motive of expediency, necessarily regulated the selection. I have, then, culled from the mass only a little poem here and there. The whole makes but a tiny nosegay, and the colour and perfume of the flowers are not such as fit them for festal uses.

It has been already said that my sisters wrote much in childhood and girlhood. Usually, it seems a sort of injustice to expose in print the crude thoughts of the unripe mind, the rude efforts of the unpractised hand; yet I venture to give three little poems of my sister Emily's, written in her sixteenth year, because they illustrate a point in her character.