Fillest our home with gladness all day long,
Singing, with all thy little might and main,
Thy inarticulate and infant song.
SONNET XXV. TO BAPTIST NOEL.
NOEL, our paths, in academic days,
Lay far apart, though by one Mother bred,
And with her noblest sons together fed
On food which healthiest intellects doth raise :
But thou, even then, didst walk in Wisdom's ways
With steadfast purpose; while my heart and head,
To loftier aims and aspirations dead,
Cared but to win a worthless crown of bays,
Which then, with childish fickleness, I cast
Even to the winds; now middle age is here,
And haply all my better days are past
With small improvement; while thou, year by year,
Art hiving glory, which for aye shall last,
When he, whose cross thou bearest, shall appear.
TO THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY.
WELL won and glorious trophies have been thine,
Macaulay, since we two "together stray'd"
(As young bards sing) "in Granta's tranquil shade;"
Now far divided by the ocean brine:
And thou, already a bright star, dost shine
Among our statesmen; yet fame hath not made
Thy young simplicity of heart to fade,
Nor is thy sympathy less warmly mine.
Therefore I trust that, in no distant time,
Thy oriental toils and duties o'er,
Thou shalt revisit this our native clime,
Strengthen'd in soul through that bereavement sore,
For which, of late, my gift of plaintive rhyme
Such welcome solace on thy grief did pour.
SONNET XXVII. TO A LADY OF RANK.
MANY there be, in these our factious days,
Whose hate would unrelentingly lay low
Crown, coronet, and mitre, at a blow,
Scarce sparing even the poet's wreath of bays,
For that thereto they may not hope to raise
Their own dull brows; with me it is not so,
Who rather would chivalric fealty owe
To rank and virtue which o'ertop my praise.
Oh, lady! 'tis a pleasant thought to me
That there exists on earth a higher sphere
Than that in which I am content to be,
Adorn'd by worth like thine, which all revere;
Whereto I yield, with lowly heart sincere,
Homage profound and reverent courtesy.
WITHIN two days, (if registers tell truth)
I and the nineteenth century were born;
Nor let me lightly such memorial scorn
Of ripen'd manhood and departed youth.
Twin wayfarers are we, although, in sooth,
My pilgrimage will soonest reach the bourn
Whence, saith the adage, travellers ne'er return:
Calm be our final rest, our passage smooth.
My path hath been the pleasanter so far,
Though haply the less busy; all his life
My fellow traveller hath been vext with war,
Fierce change, and dire convulsion, broils and strife.
Be my course govern'd by a milder star,
With Christian hopes and calm affections rife.
SONNET XXIX. TO THE REV. DR. CHALMERS.
WELL hast thou reason'd, Chalmers, on the deep
And awful mystery of redeeming love,
With argument profound intent to prove
How the Omniscient Mind doth ever keep
Protective watch on Heaven's empyreal steep,
O'er suns and systems through all space
that move;
While yet its sleepless eyes minutely rove
Through lowliest dwellings in which mortals sleep.
Methinks, great Teacher, of that Mind thine own
Yields a faint emblem, who hast power to soar
On wing seraphic toward the Eternal Throne,
And Heaven and Hell's mysterious depths explore ;*
Yet on the meanest cot where poor men groan †
Deignest thy wisdom's healing light to pour.
* Sermons on Modern Astronomy, &c.
+ Political and Civic Economy, &c.
ALAS! for those, whose bigot zeal would fain
Compress and crush, with Procrustean force,
All energies, all spirits fine and coarse,
All tempers, feelings, habits, heart and brain,
Nation, race, climate, white and negro stain
Into one changeless and unbending course
Of discipline and form; without remorse
Devoting church and sect to Satan's chain.
Chalmers, we do not worship at one shrine,
Albeit, I trust, both children of one Sire;
Nor would I wish my altar to be thine,
Delighting most thy greatness to admire,
When on our alien church its sunbeams shine
With warm effulgence of congenial fire.
SONNET XXXI. TO THE SAME.
Ir aught of pastoral labour, not unblest,
Since youth's maturer prime I may have wrought;
If from the pressure of unquiet thought
My weary heart and brain have long had rest;
If from my own emancipated breast
To world-worn minds comfort hath e'er been brought;
Thanks be to thee, from whom my spirit sought
And found repose, by youthful doubts opprest:
Nor thou amidst thy triumphs, and the praise
Which well, from all the churches, thou hast won,
Disdain the puny tribute of these lays;
For thou, they say, art Wisdom's meekest son,
And ever walkest humbly in her ways,
Giving God thanks for all that thou hast done.
ON REVISITING LUDLOW CASTLE. JULY, 1836.
THREE days had we been wedded, when we stood
Within thy well known walls, (my bride and I)
Majestic Ludlow; from a cloudless sky
Fell the rich moon-beams, in a silver flood,
On tower and terrace, river, hill, and wood;
Then heart wander'd to the years gone by,
But Hope and Love to Memory made reply
That those to come look'd doubly bright and good.
Since then the eleventh year hath well nigh past,
And, with our children, here we stand again;
Again a thankful glance doth memory cast
On years of gladness, not unmixt with pain.
Meanwhile our hearts are changed and changing
But thou, fair ruin, dost unchanged remain.
To patient study and unwearied thought,
And wise and watchful nurture of his powers,
Must the true poet consecrate his hours:
Thus, and thus only, may the crown be bought
Which his great brethren, all their lives, have
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