Part 2

The morn was gloomy, and the russet earth Gave to the eye a landscape drear and dim; The clouds, low hung, seemed resting on the hills Fraught with unusual weight, and cast around Deep shades of blackness o’er each swelling peak, By leafless woodlands clad; along the vales The farmsteads glimmered, and the fields around— Some grey with stubble, some with scanty grass Pinched yellow by the cold, and some dark brown, Where recent ploughshares had turned up the soil,— A varied scene presented to the eye, But sombre all, and sad. Not that the earth Hath aught of sadness, but at all times gives Some beauty to the mind, e’en when the smile Of sunshine and fertility least glows On her rich countenance, for then she speaks In tones prophetic to the heart, and tells Of secret strength preparing to bring forth The gifts and bounties of another year. The hollow wind moaned wildly through the trees, And waved their solemn branches to and fro In endless motion. Scarce a single leaf, Scarlet or golden, olive or red-brown, Adorned the forest, save where gloomy firs Stretched their red arms, or melancholy pines Reared their tall pyramids of foliage black, Filling the dusky scene with deeper shade, And adding darkness to the clouds of heaven. The naked branches of the hedgerow elms Lashed wildly round, and threatened to cast forth The jetty masses of the old rook nests Lodged midst their topmost twigs. The withered leaves Coursed swiftly o’er the ground, and danced about In strange fantastic coils, and eddies wild Like whirlpools in a river. Heaven and earth Foretel a coming storm, that soon will clothe The naked landscape in a robe of white, Until it shines more beautiful and pure Than fleecy cloudlets o’er the sun-bright sky. How calm and peaceful, e’en amidst the gloom, The simple village looks! With aspect south, From a hill-side of mild declivity, It gazes sweetly o’er the meads below, Through which a winding river, o’er mossed stones, Makes pleasing murmurs. All the cottage roofs Are clad with rustic thatch, and round their doors In summer time, the climbing plants creep up, And make sweet scented bowers. A garden-plot, For use and beauty, is assigned to each, Which industry’s firm hand, by pleasing toil, Arrays in loveliness so rich and bright, It seems a nook from paradise. But now In tidy order they await the spring To make them bloom again. Amongst the trees That rise in stately tiers above the roofs, Along the hill-side steep o’er steep, the smoke In light blue wreaths, from every chimney curls With ample convolution, giving note Of snug warm hearths, and comfortable homes Where winter is not feared. The lattice-panes Shine clear and bright, and to each flitting ray Give keen reflections, whilst their cheerful glance Bespeaks the reign of cleanliness. O’er all There broods an air of quiet and content Of peace, of plenty in that lowly sphere Where heart meets heart in pure simplicity Unchecked by station, and unchilled by wealth. Oh that the earth of such calm homes were full! And such fair villages adorned the plains In countless numbers, where the labouring poor Might live respected, and respect themselves! Who is a hero,—he who daily fights The fearful hosts of poverty and want With industry’s strong sword, and wins the spoils, The honourable spoils of raiment, food, And kindly shelter to make glad all hearts Around his hearth. No stately cenotaph Of costly stones is to his honour reared, But yet he owns a richer monument, Built up of kindly thoughts within each mind, That justly thinks, and loves the really great, The honest and the true. How much of good, One being can perform, whose heart delights To see all prosperous round! And here dwells one Who scatters blessings with a liberal hand, Directed wisely by a mind discreet, That seeks the greatest good. He strives to give Employment to each hand, and due reward To each that labours. With new thought to swell The poor man’s stock of knowledge, that his work May yield a richer harvest; to instil Instruction varied on his craving mind, That it may be matured, to bear the flowers Of pure and simple pleasure; and the fruits Of profit and utility. To sow, To plant, to prune; to plan, frame, rear, and build; To watch the seasons, to enrich the soils, And do unnumbered things to multiply The simple comforts of their quiet homes Have each been taught. And still a higher lore Has thereunto been added; that which tells Of man’s immortal destiny, and seeks To elevate his thought to higher good Than earth contains, and holier principles Than this world’s maxims; that the heart may love In just equality each fellow-man, And bow with holy reverence and joy Before the throne of Light; and thus become More pure and happy, and a citizen Of higher worlds whilst sojourning on earth. And who is he who wisely ministers To all the wants of poor humanity, Each in its kind, and strives to scatter round Throughout his sphere the purest happiness That earth can own? Sir Arthur, at the Hall! To him belong the fertile acres round, To him the village; but he holds them not In pomp and pride and narrow selfishness, But as a man amongst his fellowmen, Knowing and feeling that his hand hath power To curse or bless, and with determined heart He chooses blessing. With an eye that beams, As with parental love, he looks on all, The young, the old, and with a kindly voice Speaks words of warm encouragement; or gives The needed counsel, or the calm rebuke. His words are ever welcome; e’en the churl Who meets reproof, does so in quietness, Straight thinks thereon, and turns him to amend. All look upon him with respectful love And firm devotion. Never hero bold Of ancient feudal times, who led along His faithful vassals to the battle field, To crown them with renown, and win proud fame, Was e’er encompassed with such fervent hearts And such dependent zeal. He leads them on To purer triumphs, conquests more benign; They overcome not to spread round them tears And misery and death. The wars they wage Are with the stubborn soil; the wreaths they win Are fruits and flowers. The triumphs they attain, Are over ignorance, and want and sin, Which bring their meed of pleasure and of peace. The old Age had its heroes, and the new Must have its heroes also. Men of thought, Of knowledge and of skill, whose ample minds Are armories of wisdom to supply The need of lesser minds, and lead them on All strong and mighty to the coming war Of truth with falsehood. Times have greatly changed; And errors and traditions growing dim Flicker like fleeting mists. Their power is gone, And hearts are yearning for the morning beams Of pure, unsullied truth! When will arise The mighty Prophet, radiant with light To lighten nations; to lift up mankind From petty sects and systems, groveling thoughts, Vain dreams, false policies, and bring them forth To bask serenely in truth’s cheerful light United into one? Man’s heart hath hope, By prophecy upheld, and though he long Hath tarried for it, nigh two thousand years, Yet now the dawning seems to streak the east, All things are stirring, slumberers awake, And watchers peer into the rising day! Thus much in passing! Ere we enter in That antique Hall, more fully to attain A knowledge of its owner, all whose acts Are works of goodness, and whose pure life breathes The spirit of rich charity: We’ll trace A ready path across yon meadow-field, To where, in solitude and calm repose, The village church rears up its ancient spire Above surrounding trees. Its antique walls Are softly tinted by the hand of time With varied hues, all chastened and subdued, But exquisitly beautiful. Each arch, Each massive column, and each window quaint, Compels to thoughts of long-passed, hoary days And human ancestry. Oh where are they Who reared that tower, and they whose voices woke The first deep echo from those sacred walls By sounds of holy minstrelsey? And they Of generations, each succeeding each, Through the long current of a thousand years, Down to the last whose bones were hither brought, And o’er whose grave of brown and roughened soil The grass hath not yet crept? “They sleep in dust,” “They slumber in the ground”—’tis thus we speak, And by such speaking we in thought forego The glorious truths of immortality; The birth-right of the soul! What sleeps in dust? What brought we here to slumber deep in earth? The living spirit or the soulless clay? That thing of thought, that seeing, hearing mind, That living active being first had fled, And left its husk rejected. This alone Was hid in earth, to veil it from the sight Ere severed by corruption, part from part, And scattered widely to the winds of heaven, Or cast abroad through earth. Then let not thought Stop chained below, or buried in the grave, But bearing upwards, as with eagle flight, Behold earth’s habitants assembled all, Contemporaneous in the spirit-world, The great, the grand receptacle of life, Where all live unto God, for he is God Not of the dead but living. Each one there Is gathered to his fathers, not of flesh, But of the spirit. Like is linked with like, The pure with pure; the evil, filthy, vile, Are with their fellows. As the tree has fallen So it lies. Oh contemplation great, Sublime and aweful; yet enriched by hope, Where faith is strong in God’s Redemptive love, And knows his Providence, from evil brings A birth of good. The sorrows, pains, and cares Of outward life, oft deeply work within To purify the spirit, and exalt To holier thought and feeling. Let none then Pass judgement on his fellow, but in love, And fitting charity. The inward life No human eye can read; or what that life May yet bring forth. Then let us judge ourselves, And looking round on things that make us mourn, Console our spirits with the glorious truth Christ hath not died in vain! Though in the grave The spirit lies not, and the form of clay Is soon dispersed amid the elements, Yet in the church-yard, or the place of tombs, Fraught with mementos of the ancient past, Our thought is strengthened, and the links re-bound That join us to the dead. We there revive Old loves, and sweet affections, purified, Refined, and softened; and go forth to life More calm in spirit, and with brighter hopes. The threatened storm advances—snowy flakes Fall thin and waving to the half-froze ground, Then slowly melt. They soon in quick descent Must seek the earth, and whirling densely down Shut out the landscape, and array the scene In gorgeous raiment of unsullied white. But ’ere this chances ’twill be well to seek The hospitable shelter of the Hall, And gain a certain welcome. Christmas-tide, So full of joy and open-hearted love, Finds there a liberal reign. But do not think A few more steps will bring us to some seat Of wealth and stately grandeur, whose high lord, Just scatters round his superfluity And blesses as by chance. No marble walls, No colonnades, no proud magnificence, Have now to greet us, but an antique home, Not spacious, but of ample size for all, The needs and elegance of cultured life. Far down yon avenue of noble limes, That spread their leafless branches broad and free, You may behold it. Pointed gables rise And straight tall chimneys rear themselves aloft In strange variety, and by their forms Bespeak a mansion that for centuries Has held a worthy hearth. Though winter broods, The park around looks beautiful, and shews The strictest neatness, and incessant care; For many hands here labour, not alone To please the owner, and delight the sight, But that they each by honest work may gain An independent home, and eat therein That sweetest of all bread—the justly earned! And though Sir Arthur has a taste refined, A sense most delicate, a mind alive To every beauty, native or of art, It is not merely to regale this taste That such pure elegance and order reign, But rather that his feeling heart thereby May spread a due prosperity around Through every grade, and thus he strives to give Unfailing work to all within his sphere. Before the mansion a broad terrace spreads, By steps ascended, and quaint balustrades With pillars, globes and urns, engird it well. And in the centre, most grotesque of form All richly carved, a massive sundial stands To mark the hours. Most ancient horologe That gives a tongue to nature, and compels The mighty sun to measure out the time! Below the terrace, on a velvet lawn, There stands a fountain, where a cherub boy, Carved in white marble, beautiful as life, Holds proudly high a waterlilly’s bell, Whence springs a copious shower of silver rain To drop in music, mid the pool below, And fill the air with murmurs. Here and there, In open spaces, or mid spreading trees, Pure statues stand, or elevated busts Of men renowned, whose mighty deeds or songs Have blessed mankind. Nor is there wanting here Some sweet embodiments of Grecian thought And ancient fable. The bright water-nymph, Pure as the fount; or that enamoured youth, Who gazed for ever in the crystal well Entranced by his own beauty. Clumps of trees, Some in the hollows, some upon the knolls, Give rich variety; and through the dell A winding river sweeps, now polished bright Like some fair mirror, and anon in foam As beautiful as snow, from dashing down A rocky shelf, or gushing o’er mossed stones With playful freakishness. Thick woods enclose The outskirts of the park, with frequent breaks, Through which the sight, well pleased, may wander far O’er distant lands, and view the soft blue hills. The quaint stone carvings, round the massive porch, Along the gables, cornices and sills, Have lost their sharpness, softly moulded down, But not defaced, and time-tints cover all With pleasing richness. O’er the once bright brick Grey hues are dappled, and give harmony That blends the building with the ancient oaks, Planes, beeches, chesnuts, whose outstretching arms Give shelter and protection. Entering in The lofty vestibule, the eye perceives A mixed array of ancient armour, swords, Pikes, shields, and banners, antlered heads of stags, Brave hunting horns, with arrows, bows, and spears, And other relics marking the career Of different ages—freeborn forest life— The reign of chivalry—bold sporting days— Down to the quiet of the present time Of peace and fireside comfort. Many rooms, To link the present with the past, unchanged Retain their ancient fashion, some are framed To modern elegance in style and form. Ancestral thoughts! they fall upon the mind Like twilight shadows, or the first fresh dews That cool the earth! As some soft pensive strain Of mournful music, heard at sombre eve, Recalling early joys, so they recall Dim visions of the vanished. Who can pace An oaken old apartment, dim with years, And not re-people it again by thought And bring the past before him? Youthful forms, Arrayed in early beauty, mid the joys Of feast and dance and song, who soon became Themselves the parents of a race as bright, And passing onwards to life’s calm decline, In honourable age, with aspect mild, Sat hoary-headed by the hearth to watch Their children’s children act again the sports That once were their delight. The voices heard In olden times, within such walls, no more Will echo softly there, but virtues bright May be re-copied, or revive again As fresh plants spring from seed. The great, the good Might thus become immortal on the earth Beyond their immortality of fame, And live a second deathless life enshrined In thoughts and deeds of men. It is the pride, The true, the noble pride of ancestry, When man, on his forefathers looking, strives Their virtues to re-build within his soul, And make their goodness his. Thus would he bear Their shield with honour, and their heraldry By undisputed right be justly his. Such is the aim of some, and here dwells one Whom honour thus engirds. The portraits hung Upon his walls, Sir Arthur views with pride, But ’tis a pride whose inmost life is formed Of deep humility. Such words are weak To truly tell its nature! Joy he feels That such men were before him; deep desire To copy out their merits, and adapt Their sterling virtues to the present age; And linked with this a sense of feebleness, Of unattained perfection, chastens down All exultation, and to gentleness Subdues his mind. Where’er he comes, his eye Is bright with pleasure, and pure joy to greet Each he esteems a friend. His silver hair Twines thinly round his brow, whose high expanse Reveals keen intellect; upon his cheek The hue of healthy age; and that calm smile— If such it may be called—which ever plays Like autumn sunshine on the countenance, Where pure benevolence and holy hopes Possess the heart. It seems a thing of heaven, And hath on earth no antitype but when Some lovely infant, in life’s early bloom, And calm sweet innocence, in slumber lies, And smiles amidst its sleep. Yet firmness too, And dauntless energy, possess his soul With mighty perseverance. Naught can turn His steady purpose when assured of right, Or warp him to the wrong. Yet soft and bland His manner, and the utterance of his thought To those who differ. No harsh words destroy The harmony of truth, or proud looks mar Its beauty to the hearer. Like to one Who, mid spring sunshine, sows prolific seed, He gently scatters round improving thoughts, And leaves the soil to raise them into life According to its nature. Thus he wins The love of all, and the unfeigned esteem; For those whose maxims are opposed to his Respect his firm opinion; held they see In deep sincerity; with deference due And fit regard to independent thought, And moral freedom in all other minds. ’Tis not alone amid the villagers This influence beneficent hath wrought With elevating power. We might speak Of public life, and more extensive spheres Of thought and action, did the time permit And were occasion fitting. But as now For some few happy days we dwell amidst The circle round his hearth; and at this time Of social joy, and glad festivity, ’Twere better far to give a picture bright,— Were but my pencil equal to the task— Of that calm happiness, that tranquil joy, That interchange of mental pure delight Which here prevails, and which has risen up Like some rich harvest ’neath the fostering care Of such a parent, whose example spoke More loudly than his precepts. But ere this, A few quick sketches, of the chief events That marked his life, and helped to mould its form, Shall now be made—though feeble to portray The bright reality, or give life and form To inward workings of the subtil mind. Sir Arthur was the sole surviving child Of him whose name he bears. The other sons And infant daughters passed away from earth Like fruit-tree blossoms, beautiful and brief In their career. The tablets in the church, Recording ancestry through ages past, Record as briefly the short time betwixt Their birth and death. Thus he alone was left The living centre, where the fervent love Of two fond parents, could condense its rays. From budding infancy, the tender care And sweet affection of a mother’s breast, Filled his young heart with tenderness. In youth A father’s wish, and more ambitious love Gave each advantage, and secured each means That could advance in life. A home so fraught With kind indulgence, and where every wish Within the bounds of reason was fulfilled Almost as soon as framed was not a school Best fitted to prepare an active mind, To struggle boldly with the ills of life, And combat with its evils. But their love Rose higher in its grade, than that which thinks Alone of ease and pleasure and delight. It far preferred a future happiness To present joy; and sterling moral worth, With intellectual wealth, and mental strength, As man’s chief earthly good. And hence it came That when his young mind had imbibed at home Ennobling principles and pious thoughts To give it strength, their faithful love forewent The pleasure of his presence to secure The sterner discipline of school, and bring Those precepts into action. With an eye Of keenest vigilance, and heart of care, They watched his progress, and with rich delight Beheld the fruits of their unwearied love Swell into promise. Here he learned to feel, As one amongst a many, and to know The limits of his rights, and thence regard The rights of others. Being much beloved Amongst his playmates, for a truthful heart, An amiable temper, and due skill In many boyish sports; to which was joined Inventive talent, ingenuity, Mechanic art, by which was aptly framed, Things strange and curious, and thus he gained A fame for intellect, and soon became A leader of his fellows, whilst his days Passed on in peace and happiness serene. When youth was verging into man, he went To college, that severer discipline, And study more intense, might build his mind In knowledge, strength, and vigour. Honours due Were soon awarded, and he home returned Well nurtured to take part in public life, And serve the state whene’er it might require. The time of leisure had employment due In lighter studies, caring the estate, And welcome visits to the nobles round, That ever won such friendship and esteem As time could not revoke. Amid the fair, The lovely and the beautiful, to him One shone more lovely, fair, and beautiful Than all the rest; as shines the evening star Above the brightness of the ether round. Wealth, station, grandeur, shed their gifts on her And all their rich endowments. In her eye There beamed the light of pure and gentle love, Whilst in her heart the modest virtues dwelt Calm, soft and feminine; a woman she, “A perfect woman”—one whose form of soul Was framed for union with the heart of man To be its solace, to restore its strength When wearied with the world; to pour the oil Of rich affection on the wounded soul, To heal the spirit, to revive the mind, And with angelic ministrings restore To life and health again. Such sway when reign The storms of trial and adversity, But through the calm and balmy days of life, To make his home a temple, and his hearth An altar, where for ever glowing bright, The flame of gentle and enduring love Sheds its clear beams around, and burning fair Points sweetly up to heaven. When first his eye Beheld this loveliness, he felt within A new life waken, and the life gone by Seemed but a heavy dream. Bright hopes, glad thoughts And richest feelings stirred within his breast In joyous tumult. Solitary hours, And woodland musings, nursed the passion sweet, Until that Being had become the star Of his life’s destiny. In hope, in doubt, In strange conflicting turbulence of soul, He sought, he sued, he won. One blushing word Of sweet consent from her pure modest lips Turned all to peace again, and more than peace, To ecstacy and rapture! Earth seemed changed To paradise, and heaven above him shone With brighter radiance. Happy fled the hours, All swiftly bringing in their golden train Their brightest and their best, the hour to seal This bliss for ever his. The bridal wreath, The fair attire, the pure attendant maids, And all the pomp and pageantry that tells The joy and gladness that awaits the bond, And consummation of a holy love, Were each prepared. When ah! the fearful change Awaiting mortal destinies! A cloud Spread its black shadow o’er this sunny scene, And from its bosom, thunder-charged, sent forth The shaft of death! A sudden illness seized The young and beautiful. Her bridal train Wept o’er her bier. And he who should have led A bride in triumph from the altar, strewed Sad flowers on Ellen’s grave, and with a grief Tearless, consuming, in its mighty strength, Himself seemed death-struck. Agony intense, Dark desolation of the inmost soul, And dread prostration of its sympathies He long endured. The light of life to him Appeared for ever gone; the glorious earth Bereft of all its beauties. Cheerless, lone, He felt as in a desert; naught in life Could win his spirit to activity, And social links seemed severed. Soon again His footsteps rested on the gloomy verge Of the dark sepulchre. The voice of death Called that fond parent, who with gentle love Had nurtured his weak infancy, and she, With heavenly meekness, listened to the call, And softly passed from life. He who had sat Beside the self-same hearth, when auburn hair Curled round her brow, till now bright silver braids Adorned her aged forehead, missed the look, The fair, the placid look of time-tried love Illumining his home, and though his soul Held calmest resignation, yet he pined With secret longing to rejoin in heaven She who had been an angel on the earth, In purity and gentleness. The sun Had scarcely circled round the seasons ere His spirit’s prayer was answered, and he seemed To melt from time into eternity, So peaceful was his end. Thus left alone, And of all nearest earthly ties bereaved, A double desolation, cast its gloom On Arthur’s wounded heart. Though wealth was his, Titles and honours, they retained no charm To soothe his broken spirit. In the prime Of early manhood, just emerged from youth When life is full of promise, life to him Had scarce a promise left. Home scenes, beloved From early childhood, and endeared by thoughts Of warm affection, only served to pierce His breast with deeper pangs. In vain he sought To cast aside his sorrows and arouse The slumbering energies of mind to snap The gloomy bonds that fettered. Efforts vain, Attempts abortive, drove him forth at length An exile from his country, in the search Of unknown scenes, whose aspects new and strange, Could not recall dark visions of the past To fix them stronger on the memory. In foreign lands, mid mountain peaks sublime And desolate rocks, he sought companionship And soothing solace. Nature’s placid face, Her calm, her stillness, and her solitudes Wrought with an healing influence. The song Of ancient bards, the clear historic page, Called forth his spirit as the years fled by From inward cankering. The face of man, The voice of friendship, and affection’s smile Again had light for him. But in his heart There was a hollowness, a fearful void That naught could fill. The power of love seemed gone, But yet his soul, yearned ardently for love, With unquenched thirst. No more could Beauty’s smile Or her bright glances, kindle in his breast A living warmth. He would have given worlds To feel its vital strength revive again The life of his affections; and to pour Their freshness on some sweet responsive heart Linked into one with his. This seemed denied To him for ever. But the discipline Of sorrowful years, and agonising thoughts, Built up within a grandeur of the soul And purified his spirit. Feelings deep, Expansive views, and sympathies enlarged, Had hence a birth. More elevated thoughts Of human life, and human destiny, With all its strange vicissitudes arose; A brighter faith in providence; and hopes More calm and cheerful; lifting thought beyond Time’s narrow bounds; to see existence stretch Far on in realms immortal; and a faith That pierced the clouds of evil, and beheld The light of Goodness shining bright above With vast extense of ray. A loftier life Seemed now within him, and a cheerfulness Illumed his countenance; yet like some bold And dauntless hero, whose deep wounds were healed, He yet retained dark scars. Life now for him Revealed some pleasures; and its duties gave In their performance, solace and delight, But never more could he have hoped to gain That freshness of the heart, that warmth of soul Which glows in faithful love. He oft had sought To wake such life within him; but he strove In vain, in vain! Though years had passed away, He seemed as doomed to carry on through life A solitude of soul. Returning home To his paternal mansion, greetings kind And cheerful welcomes waited him. With firm Determined spirit, he resolved to fill His life with deeds of usefulness, and spread Some happiness around. Whilst thus employed The days grew brighter, and the hours fled by On wings of cheerfulness. Upon the hearth Darkness yet brooded, and a shadow there Sat undisturbed, and, as he thought, for ever! Alas for human life, how oft its hopes Are vain and fruitless! yet the truth to add Its fears are oft as vain. Forebodings dark Have no fulfilment, and the things we dread Are changed to joys and pleasures, like a night Of storm and tempest that brings forth a morn Of radience and beauty. Thus employed In deeds of charity; all thoughts of love For ever laid aside; Sir Arthur’s life Passed smoothly onwards, as some stream whose course, Though clear and lovely, is o’erhung with shade Of forest boughs, and feels not the full warmth Of glowing glorious day. As oft a turn Abrupt and sudden brings the river forth Along the open plain, a change as bright Awaited in his destiny. The hour Of restitution had arrived, and soon, Amidst the maidens beautiful and fair That passed before him, moving not his heart To deep pulsations, one, amidst the train, Lovely as moonlight on the summer sea, Awoke a mystic sympathy, and called To life renewed, the throbbings of his breast. Her form was beautiful, her eye was bright, And rosy blushings tinted o’er her cheek With softest dyes. But yet the beauty there Sprang chiefly from the spirit, whose pure light Illumined every feature. On her brow, Lofty and polished, intellect sat throned In mild dominion. Modesty’s fair beams Arrayed the countenance; and holy love, Benevolence, and purity of soul, Shone forth with living radiance, and threw Celestial lustre round her. Gentle, mild, And bland of manner, calmly she withdrew From observation like some pale spring flower That woos the lonely shade. Her aspect wore The touch of sorrow past, that beautified And made it still more lovely; like the sky Revealing fairer hues when summer clouds To earth have fallen in refreshing rains. Her heart had known the depths of agony, And care and anguish. In that deadly strife The soul had conquered; and she stood on earth With spirit chastened, purified, subdued, And strengthened by the conflict. Her light step Had something saint-like, as, with upward look, She trod the earth; and her soft mellow voice Bore music in its tones, as rich and deep In all its modulations, as if caught From distant echoes of angelic song. How strange are human sympathies! and all The subtle secret workings of the soul That link us to each other. Oft we meet Some unknown being, and short converse gives A knowledge as of ages; then again Long years of converse cannot bring our minds In unison with others. We may live In friendship, kindness, gentle amity, But yet our hearts are conscious of a power Preventing inmost union. This is seen Oft in the intercourse of man with man; But still more oft, though not less wonderful, Of man with woman; chiefly where the love Is pure and perfect, from the inmost mind. Two beings now, whose spirits were prepared For union with each other—though each thought Such thing could never be—together met, And scarce had met before they felt within An inward prompting, instinct of the soul, That their two lives were destined to run on In one united course. Passion for them Had lost its fiery power and heedless rage, And burnt with steady flame. Like summer morn From rosy twilight, with expansion calm, Unfolding into day, such was the course Of their unsullied love. Their hands were pledged With hopeful promise, ’ere few moons had passed; And ’ere the seasons once had circled round, Before the altar of yon village church, Fraught with old memories of wedded love, The happy pair confirmed their truthful vows With sacred sanction. Joyous was the day Through the glad village, and the ancient Hall Was filled with loud rejoicings. All things wore An aspect of rich promise, e’en the sky, As if in sympathy, shone forth with light More clear and radiant. The early sun Rose with keen splendour, and at eve he set In pomp of gold and crimson. Fleecy clouds, With rainbow colours, graced the burnished vault Of heaven’s cerulean azure. Day declined In hues prophetic of succeeding days As fair and bright, and sweetly shadowed forth As by an omen, calmer life had dawned And happier seasons for that wedded pair. We may grow old in heart, ’ere old in years, And share age-wisdom, ’ere its glory-crown Of hoary hairs hath sanctified the brow. Whatever stirs the inmost depths of soul, Arousing thought and feeling, calling forth Life’s strongest passions, rearing into strength All free-born energies, more swiftly brings A full maturity than passing time And common life experience. Thus were taught These inmates of the Hall; and thus had learned To look on life with more discerning eye, Regarding its true aims, its happiness, And noblest objects. They had felt and found Earth’s purest pleasures, dwell in social love And sweet serenities of home, and not In gaudy pomp and pageantry and show. Hence with united aim they sought to rear To loftier growth each faculty and power, Each thought and feeling that could beautify, Enrich and sanctify the homely hearth. The joys of wealth, its dignity and power Were not despised. The grandeur it confers Had due appreciation; but the strength It lends the hand to scatter blessing round Was thought its noblest privilege. To give, With generous freedom to the mild demand Of true necessity, was deemed delight; But not to scatter with a thoughtless hand In very wantonness of teeming wealth, And think such bounty charity. They knew The richest benefit their aid could give, The most enduring, most replete with joy And noble independence, was the means To all who sought their aid and sustenance, To help themselves, and by their native power Rear their own weal. Such prudent practice spread That peace and comfort, cheerfulness and joy Amidst the peasants, and around their homes Threw comliness and beauty; whilst it gave A richer harvest for the scattered seed Of generous gift, and made a little wealth Produce more goodness and true happiness, Than fortunes lavished with imprudent zeal And indiscreet deficiency of thought. Sir Arthur had just passed the middle term Of “three score years and ten,” when full of hope Renewed, and cheerful thought, with joy he led His fair bride from the altar. Every day, As time rolled on, gave precious proof that hope Was not unfounded. Brighter grew each hour Of his expanding life, whilst now he found The strength of purpose, and the joy of heart A kindred spirit gives; as thought with thought, And feeling with deep feeling, swiftly rose With sweet coincidence in either breast. And thus their path of life ran smoothly on Unvaried in direction, like a stream Whose waters pure had hitherto been led Within two separate channels; but anon In peaceful union joining, henceforth pass Straight onwards o’er some sunny, flowery plain, To mingle with the ocean. Not that life For them was destitute of cares and tears And piercing sorrows; but those fearful pangs, That tear the heart, and lacerate the soul, No more were theirs; and having known of such, And borne with resignation, fortitude, And hopeful patience, now the lesser ills, The common pains of life, struck not so deep Nor with so fell a shock, as arrows glance Aside from sturdy breasts in armour cased, And shake not by impinging. Round the hearth Their richest joys were clustered. Oft at eve, In converse sweet, enriched by love’s dear tones, The hours fled gladly by, as on the wings Of woodland birds rejoicing. Now the muse Of history would unfold her living page And make the past the present; and anon Some work of fiction, writ with moral aim, Would stir their spirits, as with truthfulness It shewed the workings of the human heart And uttered wisdom whilst it gave delight. Full oft the music of the poet’s page Would spring to life again: his numbers sweet Translated into vocal harmony, and thoughts Transcendent, eloquent, impassioned, bright, Revealed by living lips. Thus noble minds Of bygone ages, or of modern date, Moulded their spirits to a lofter thought And more exalted feeling. Kindled thus In kindly concert, to like sympathies And deep emotions, their united hearts Grew to more strict similitude, and beat More perfect in their unison. A bliss, So calm and sweet, so purely of the soul, Enriched their life, that earth to them resumed, Full oft, amidst its shadows and its clouds, A radiance as of primal paradise. Twice had the sun’s benign prolific ray Enrobed the earth with harvest, since the hour When bridal peals made all the village glad, And gave a mistress to the vacant Hall, To dwell there in her beauty, when again The old bells uttered forth as rich a strain Of heart-arousing melody. A Son Was born to carry down that ancient line To future generations, and all hearts Rejoiced in sympathy with that glad hope Which swelled each parent’s breast. The passing years Gave now a daughter, and anon a son, Till six fair children filled that home with glee And childhood’s happy laughter. Each grew up From innocent sweet infancy to days Of blossoming youth. The elders now have reached Life’s prime maturity, and one alone, Fair Edith, ranking fourth in age, hath been Translated to the heavens. One spring hath passed On its gay flowery path, since earth received, When twenty summers had adorned her brow, Her mortal vestments, and the spirit fled To the bright regions of immortal life. The first-born bears his father’s honoured name; Matilda, Alfred, Eva, and Lucrece, Mark out the rest, and each one duly shares In nature’s gift of beauty. Mind and form Are of the highest, and amidst them all Great likeness and great difference prevails, Giving a oneness with variety, Like forest trees of diverse branch and leaf, Or sweet flowers intermixed in form and hue. Oh! what a change, beneficent and fair Some thirty years have wrought! The vacant hearth, Deserted by its owner, lone and drear, Is now illumined by the happy looks Of many radiant faces. Stillness deep, And mournful as the charnel, brooding there, Is now exchanged for music far more sweet Than harp or viol; voices breathing forth Affections purest tones, rich words of joy, And sprightly laughter from the gladsome heart! How rich the happiness Sir Arthur feels, And how enhanced, when with the dreary past Contrasted. His unfolding lot in life Seems like a plant, whose form in winter months Lies buried deep in earth, but in the spring Puts forth green shoots, expands its swelling buds, And through the summer multiplies fair flowers All beautiful in sunshine. Grateful thoughts And holy aspirations, crowd his breast And give a blessedness, a joy, a peace Not often known on earth. As every child Was ushered into life, his heart enlarged With love’s divine affections. His delight And steady aim was to prepare each mind For usefulness in life, for well he knew It was the shortest path to happiness: To mark each talent and each faculty In its first opening, and to bring it forth By fitting cultivation; to supply Of intellectual food the purest, best And most ennobling; to rear into strength Each moral purpose, and direct the will To loftiest objects; and above the rest To elevate the heart by cheerful hopes And prospects sweet of immortality, Till fervent love, and reverent piety Glowed in each breast; such was the constant mode Of teaching he pursued, and such he taught By precept and example, till the lore Sank deeply on each heart, and every child In its own individuality, gave birth To noble fruitage, that repaid this care. By such tuition it was sought to mould Their minds to power and strength: but to refine And add due elegance, the finer arts Of music, painting, poetry, and song Were called in aid; and to unbend awhile And give free recreation, every taste Had due scope granted—some were left to rear Fair flowers to beauty; some sought far and wide Things strange and curious, to store them up For full inspection; others tried at will The powers of elements, mechanic force, Or laws of nature, by experiment Renewed and oft repeated. Every hour Had thus its full employment, every heart Some worthy object, and the day fled by On cheerful wing, for every mind was gay, Filled with delight by pure and useful thoughts. All evil is perversion of the good Through wrong direction, or by foul excess! How gaily skips the lambkin in the field Mid sunshine and bright daises. How the fawn Bounds light and gladsome o’er the grassy slope Exulting in existence. Insects wing Their wondrous measures, music-timed, amidst The golden twilight. Health and vigour flow From this activity. Then needs not man, Whose strength is fretted by the cares of mind As well as toils of body, to renew His wearied spirits by the livening joys Awaiting on the dance? Whene’er prolonged To midnight hours, immodestly pursued, Or borne to weariness, a thing thus good Transmutes itself to evil. But not so Was it perverted at the Hall. Sometimes When weariness of mind forbad the strain Attending mental efforts, music’s sounds Distinct and marked, would summon to the dance Amid the social circle, or at times Of friendly meeting it would oft afford Sweet interchange of pleasure, intermixed With cheerful converse, modulated song Or sound of instrumental harmonies. The power of competition oft unfolds A latent genius into richer growth Or more energic action. To bring forth Each talent to full strength, Sir Arthur sought, Amid his household, to stir loving strife And friendly rivalry, by calling all To execute some task of art or skill In one department.—Now to picture fair Some view from nature, or by fancy’s aid Create a scene of beauty. Now to strive On their respective instruments, to give The richest utterance to the magic notes Of some inspired musician; and anon To choose a song, each one to private taste, And then to execute with utmost skill, And see who won, by free consent of all, The palm of willing praise. Thus each was brought To shew some excellence, by right their own, And feel that they contributed a share To mutual joy and benefit. ’Tis thus Mankind are aided by each others skill And nations linked by wants in turn supplied. Of all the arts that elevate mankind, Refine their feelings, and exalt their thoughts From gross and base conceptions, Poesy Must reign pre-eminent. It is the next To inspiration, and almost divine. From human nature’s inmost depths it springs, And blends the will and intellect, till both Give forth their life with strange intensity, And seek to live incarnated in words Through many generations. To the terms Of daily life and common intercourse, It gives new strength, and o’er their rudeness breathes Rich music and soft beauty. When the soul Is sublimated by poetic thought And raptured feeling, no unnumbered words Can give fit utterance, but it seeks by song To tell the harmonies that reign within, And visions bright reveal. The poet’s page Is as a casket, wherein he has hid The treasures of his heart. The talisman, The magic key which can alone unlock Such sacred jewels, is a mind attuned Responsive to his own. Where this is not, His book becomes a blank, and sordid breasts Can find no beauty there. How happy they Whose finer spirits can with joy perceive The luscious sweetness of the poet’s song, Partake the grandeur of like noble thought, And feel entranced with him. The gains of gold, The pomp of life, the pride of circumstance, Can ne’er convey such pleasure to the heart Or give a bliss so pure. To her high bards The world owes much, and more than oft is thought. ’Tis not alone that they have lit the fires Of sacred poesy in other breasts, And taught young bards to touch the lyric strings To sweet, though meaner music; but the might Of their high thoughts hath kindled in the souls Of statesmen, warriors, sage philosophers, And all earth’s greatest emulative thought And nobleness of heart. Whene’er the world Neglects sweet poesy, and dis-esteems The songs of bards, her holier life burns dim And flickers in the temple, and the voice Of prophets may send forth the cry of woe! Oft when the spirit hath been deeply tried By grief or love, or disappointment stern, A healing balsam hath the poet’s skill Sent forth to soothe such smarting wounds of soul And still their fearful throbbing. Melodies Of mournful music, breathing from the heart A vital sympathy, have given strength And healed a kindred sorrow; till at last The unstrung chords within the shattered breast Have been retuned, and every note restored Could sound a richer music than before! Thus was it with Sir Arthur; and the lays Of ancient bards were blended with his life And wrought into his being. On their songs His heart was nourished in his hour of woe Till strengthened into joy. With reverence deep He now beheld them, and their subtle power To give delight, and elevate the soul By ministries of pleasure. Now he sought To wake in others, a like sense and taste To relish their chaste beauties. From its birth He strove to open in each child the spring Of freshly flowing poesy. The book, For his chief teaching, was the glorious scenes Of ever-verdant nature; sunset skies; Soft floating clouds; umbrageous forest shades; Bright stars or flowers; the splendour of the noon, The gloom of storms; the gorgeous pall of night, Were each a lesson, that with double power, Taught Piety and Poetry. Fair twins And loving sisters are they! sent to raise Mankind to higher purity of thought And holier purposes. With cheerful smiles And love reciprocal, they, hand in hand, Oft journey on together, noting well The true and beautiful in all around. Whilst Poesy points out the fair and bright The pure and lovely, Piety will lift Her hand aloft to indicate the Source Whence such sweet visions spring; then both rejoice With kindred raptures, and with keener zest Seek fresh occasions for exalted praise. With hearts thus moulded from their early years And tutored into song, each one hath gained Some small perfection in the gentle art Of linking thought with verse. This Christmas eve— A season dedicate to showing forth Their loving strife by works of utmost skill— To grace the festival, each one must bring, By former compact, an original poem Wrought out in solitude, from private thought And inward feeling, so as best to shew The individual heart. By privilege Of ancient friendship, from our boyish days, And love as that of brotherhood, I’ve come To join the circle by Sir Arthur’s fire, Partake his hospitality, and share The social converse round this happy hearth. Oh Christmas, what a host of sacred thoughts Come thronging at thy name! The mind is filled With holy visions of our human loves Exalted and refined. The charities Of daily life, of kindred and of home, Glow warmer ’neath thy sway. With hasty flight The mind runs backward to more ancient times And simpler manners, when the pomps of life Had wrought not such division, but the heart Of man met that of man, and all rejoiced As in one brotherhood, at higher hopes And brighter prospects, given to the earth By Him who made it. Round the blazing fire Each family assembled, must’ring all Their nearest kindred; whilst with social love And hospitable cheer, mid dance and song And mirth and minstrelsey, the hours fled by With joy and brightness, leaving on the heart A glow more warm than autumn sunshine throws On corn-clad uplands. Plenty filled the barns, And teeming stores gave birth to grateful thoughts And heavenly musings; whilst sweet carols sung Took up the burden of the angels’ song Of “peace on earth, good will to man,” and made A holy joy pervade the sportive glee. To grace the season, at this ancient Hall, The feast is held, in the most antique room, And largest it contains. With wainscoting Of polished oak, and carvings rich and quaint The walls are clad. Along the ceiling run Strong oaken beams that oft each other cross, Dividing all into compartments square, With pendents hanging down, adorned with gold And flower-like wreathings. Pannels here and there Are filled with pictures, where some classic piece, Or ancient love tale, gives to modern eyes The thoughts and feelings in the heart of old. The noble hearth spreads wide, and glorious flames Roar up the chimney, as if wild with joy And laughing at the bitter frost without. Amid their light the yule-log huge burns red, Diffusing round a warmth that seems to reach The very heart and make it happier. Boughs Of laurel, fitted to entwine the brows Of heroes, mingled with all evergreens The season yields, in gay and rich festoons, Or proud bouquets, adorn the walls around. The holly, with its grey-green crumpled leaves And berries bright as rubies, shoots red gleams Like sunset through a forest. Mistletoe, The choice of Druids, with its slimy balls And mystic branchings, fills the pensive mind With memories wild and weird. All things are here To link thought to the past; all emblems full Of rich memento, giving to the heart Sweet impulses, the while the village bells Peal their glad music with the same deep notes That struck the ear long centuries ago. The group assembled owned the mystic power Of these associations. Ancient rites, Time-honoured customs, and the cheerful sounds All sacred to the season, gave delight That brightened in the countenance. Not one But felt the mind o’erflowing with rich thoughts, And stirred with deeper feelings. But on earth Pure joy can never reign, whilst death can part The loved and the beloved. And as around That smiling family the Father glanced, And saw one vacant chair, a tear bedimmed His eye for his lost daughter. On the brow Of her fond Mother, resignation sat In peaceful calm, that gave a purer tone To every word and look. The lively band Of sisters and of brothers, though the heart In youthful freshness hath a buoyant spring, Amid their songs and merry laughter, shewed Their spirits dwelt on Edith. Converse sweet And mutual interchange of sprightly thought Passed on the hours—such hours as leave the mind More full of love and charity, and gleam With starry radiance o’er our path of life When viewed in retrospection. Intervals Of song or music would beguile the time And make the moments sweeter. Verses framed By some skilled poet breathing truth and life, Where raised to loftier power by the voice In melody’s deep tones, transmuting them To heart-enchaining songs. Sweet instruments, Diverse in sort, combined their varied notes In dulcet harmonies, and made a stream Of music as delightful to the ear, As to the eye a gorgeous bank of flowers, Where richly mingled every size and height, And hue and tint, combine their lovely forms To make the fancy, at the splendid scene, Straight dream on paradise. The evening’s feast In rich abundance shewed the liberal hand Of hospitality. Rare viands, meats, With varied wines and drinks, o’erspread the board; But chiefly those which custom, ancient right And use ancestral, have with willing heart Devoted to the season. Flowing thought, The play of merriment, the flash of wit, Enriched the banquet, whilst o’er all there reigned The sway of Temperance. She, with cheerful smile, Gave each enough, the while a graver look Forbad excess, and by this healthful rule Increased the gladness of the social meal. The dearest friends and closest kindred formed Alone this meeting; such as would delight To hear the strains of poetry brought forth By Members of that household, and not deem, With chill austerity, and critic scorn, Their bringing forth an effort at display. Cheered by the pure repast, and seeking now Some other source of pleasure, all the guests With one consent proceeded to demand The promised boon—for boon in truth ’twas deemed, And held on promise too, since last they met To celebrate this season. In the course Of varied conversation on the art Of poesy, the skill required to make Words run in music, subjects fit to frame A song of beauty, desultory talk On power of language, criticism just, And kindred subjects; it was then proposed, Half jest, half earnest, that Sir Arthur should, With each one of his family, present A poem as portion of the Christmas feast When next they met. With merry laugh from all The challenge was accepted, and the scheme Of reading then laid down: Sir Arthur first Should bring forth his production; then the sons And daughters, each in order of their years, Should offer theirs; and to conclude the scene, The Mother chose, with modest diffidence, To rank the last. Now seated round the hearth In one vast circle, with the sparkling eye Of expectation, and the eager glance Of curiosity, the group are ranged To have the plan fulfilled. The ruddy glow Of blazing faggots gives the cheek of youth Redoubled beauty. As the firelight smiles Throughout th’ illumined room, its lustre falls On looks more cheerful still. The lively warmth That fills the sprightly air, now clear by frost, Diffuses gladness, and a cheerful sense Of home-born pleasures—purest of the earth! Delighted with the scene, as one he loved And prized beyond all price, Sir Arthur brought Without delay, his manuscript, and read In tones that shewed the utterance of his heart, To auditors attentive, what he’d named—