Far from the roar of hostile cannonade,
From shock of clashing armaments, and made
A shrine for worship consecrate to him
Who sits on high between the cherubim ;
Now echoing to the voice of praise and prayer
Where once the broadside peal'd on the vext air
Its dissonant thunder; grateful change, I ween,
To Christian hearts; but soon this busy scene
Gave place to one more peaceful: we had past
The realm of commerce: hull and sail and mast
Had faded in the distance, and we went
Along the coast of Surrey and fair Kent,
Fringed with rich woods and many a smooth ascent
Of green and sunny slopes, where village spires,
And stately mansions of stout English squires,
And villas of rich cits, by turns appear'd,
In swift succession, till at last we near'd
The mouth of the broad Thames.
children between sleep and play Had been alternating; our eldest boy, (Himself not five) found matter to employ His thought precocious, with observant eye Noting whate'er he saw, and curiously Investigating all things. We meanwhile With books or conversation did beguile Our not too tedious voyage: thou wast gay With the blithe thoughts that in thy bosom lay, Anticipating health, and strength, and joy, Less for thyself than for our infant boy,
Whose premature and grief-o'erclouded birth,
Follow'd by sickness, long had caused a dearth
Of perfect gladness by our quiet hearth;
And yet that day how passing blithe was he,
How full of the sweet freaks of infancy,
As to and fro he paced along the deck
Hand-led, with restless step, or round thy neck
Flinging his passionate arms, with sportive glee
Mimick'd the hiss of the resentful sea,
Cloven by our keel, or gazed, with wistful eyes,
And heart of wonder on some new found prize
Soon chang'd for other novelty;-that look
Of his, I well remember, quickly took
The notice of one shipmate, who to me
Exclaim'd with air of thoughtful gravity,
"That child will be no common one."
How strangely that prediction came to pass!
Why dwell upon our landing? why recall The toils and disappointments, one and all, Of our whole search for lodgings? in few days All was arranged, and we were free to gaze From our front windows on the open sea, Which sometimes slept beneath them peacefully, Sometimes, with wrathful and obstreperous roar, Swept the loose shingles from our sloping shore, And hurl'd them back in scorn :-before us lay A mighty pier, bisecting the broad bay
With its huge length, and stretching far away To where the waves grew fiercer-work sublime
Of Telford's genius, which shall outlive Time,
In Britain's grateful memory enshrined ;-
On either side our lodging, and behind,
In most admired disorder, up and down,
Straggled the new built and still spreading town,
A chaos wide of embryo street and square,
And stately terrace built for the sea-air,
To visit with its health-restoring breath,
And chase, if that might be, disease and death
From drooping invalids. Along the beach,
Eastward and westward, far as eye could reach,
Piles of unfinish'd building did extend,
Commingled strangely for the twofold end
Of rest and dissipation; here was seen
The bathing-house remote, with trim machine
Dipping its awning in the waves, and here,
Mocking the face of sickness, did appear
Ball room, and billiard room, and gay parade,
Villa marine, aquatic esplanade,
And sea-commanding cottage.
Had we with the gay world: we came to Herne
For health, not revelry; so, in our calm
And shelter'd dwelling, we inhaled the balm
Of the fresh sea breeze, or along the shore
Stray'd with our children, to whose ear the roar
Of breakers was a new and stirring sound,
Enjoying their glad wonder, when they found
Shells or sea weed, or pebbles strangely form'd,
Orchased the tiny crabs, which crawl'd and swarm'd
From underneath the shingles; while the sea
Daily, we fondly hoped, on them and thee
Shed life and bracing freshness.
As for me,
My time, thou know'st, was short, so from the shore
Inland I turn'd my footsteps, to explore
(When first the heat permitted) those fair woods,
And pleasant dells, whose leafy solitudes
Stretch'd smilingly behind us. The first day,
I well remember, I had bent my way
With pencil in my hand, and serious book,
To seek some shady and sequester'd nook,
Where, unmolested, I might read at ease,
Or haply scribble some such lines as these,
As the whim took me. Such a nook I found
Hard by Herne Church, and, stretch'd on the
O'erhung by clustering trees, spent some few hours
In study grave, beneath close sheltering bowers
Most meet for such employment; but what then
I noted most, and now recall again
Most fondly, was the loveliness which shone
In that old church, and church-yard still and lone :
A resting place most fit it seem'd to be
For gentle dust, hung round by many a tree
Of deepest shade, and from intrusion free
Of foot or voice profane :—a holier gloom
Rests on it now-there stands our infant's tomb.
So one brief week was spent; and now the day
Too soon arrived which summon'd me away
From thee and my sweet children. Off the coast
The steam-boat's smoke was rising, when the post
Brought thee a letter from thou know'st what friend,
Fraught with dark news, and eloquently penn'd
By grief's deep inspiration; as we walk'd
Toward the pier head, how earnestly we talk'd
Of her and of her sorrows, till the grief
Of our own parting seem'd to find relief
E'en from the deep and yearning sympathy
Which we both felt for her; and when the sea
Swept me away upon its swelling breast
From thee and my dear boy, (whose grief, exprest
By silent tears, which, with averted face,
He strove to smother in my close embrace,
Had touch'd me with a father's deepest love,)
The spirit of old days began to move
Within me, and almost before mine eye,
Fixt on the pier, saw nought but vacancy
Where late your forms had stood, the power of song
Was re-awaken'd, and sent forth ere long
Haply a worthless, yet a loving strain,
Which I well know for ever shall remain
To us and those whose sorrow found it vent,
A record dear, a deathless monument
Of deep and pure affection, which must be
'Twixt us and them to all eternity.
Nor was this all; for when once more I stood
Beneath my Father's roof, my tuneful mood,
Thus weaken'd, cheer'd my spirit's solitude,
(For solitude, sweet love, invests each spot,
Tho' crowded with dear forms, where thou art not,)
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