Bloom doubly fair, sweet flowers, to-day.
And all your rarest hues display.
For Clare has left her couch of pain,
And longs to see your forms again.

Shine doubly bright, fair sun, to-day.
And chase the envious clouds away,
Clare will again the greensward tread.
If thou art reigning high overhead.

Be doubly clear, swift stream, to-day, ip
As thou pursu'st thine onward way ;
Clare may along thy margin pass.
And thou her form may'st wave to glass.

Sing doubly sweet, glad birds, to-day,
In wood and grove, on bough and spray;
Clare may be by to hear your strains
Go floating o'er the happy plains.

Sweet flowers, fair sun, swift stream, glad birds,
Bespond to my beseeching words.
By being as I'd have you be.
And gentle Clare again you'll see.

Farewell To The Wye.

Farewell to thee, enchanting Wye !
The day is drawing near
When I must bid thy banks good bye,
For banks not half so dear :
A troubled life's most happy hours
'Mid thy sweet scenes I've past ;
But^ like the best of earth's frail dowers,
Their fate was not to last.
And now Pm doom'd to leave again
The streamlet and the dell ;
To bid adieu to hill and plain,
In trade's base marts to dwell ;
But all the gold, and all the gain,
From Calpe to the pole,
Their treach'rous lures might spread, in vain.
To wean from thee my soul.
Whene'er I roam the Avon's side,
Or on its banks recline,
I oft shall wish its turbid tide
Could be exchang'd for thine.
Thy banks are free from traffic's stains ;
Thy waters clear and bright ;
In wand'ring o'er thy flow'r-clad plains
There's rapture and delight ;
And sweet it is, at eventide,
By Belmont's wooded shores.
To see the light skiffs gaily glide.
And hear the dash of oars.
The letter'd bard may strike his lyre
In teeming Tempe's praise ;
But, blest with thee, I've no desire
On Tempe's vale to gaze.
That classic land is doubtless fair ;
Has charms that glad the eye ;
But none that I will e'er compare
With thine, bright, bounding Wye.
Then fare-thee-well, enchanting stream !
Where'er my footsteps roam,
My noonday thought, my midnight dream.
Will be of thee and home.

Come away, gentle Clare, to the banks of the Wye,
While the stars of the earth shine to gladden thine eye,
And the sward of the dell by the hazel-wood grove
Is a carpet most meet for thy light feet to rove ;
While the echoes repeat the wild bird's gushing song ;
While the bright babbling brook goes careering along ;
And all things are so fair no delights can outvie
The delights that abound on the banks of the Wye.

On Maplecliffe's top there's a wide-spreading yew.
From beneath whose dark boughs the glad eye gains a view
Of a prospect so grand thy pure heart can but praise,
As away o'er its beauties thy bright blue eyes gaze ;
For the smooth-gliding river, the oak, elm, and pine.
Will enrapture a soul so susceptive as thine ;
Then bid the gay city's allurements good bye,
And repair to the beautiful banks of the Wye.

Drawn fresh from the founts of perennial joy.
The delights of thy mind shall be free from alloy ;
For in cool, quiet glades, where the leafy boughs wave.
We'll peruse the wise words of the learned and grave ;
And, as gaily we roam the bright valleys along,
Eehearse the sweet strains of the Children of Song,
Then bid the gay city's allurements good bye,
And repair to the beautiful banks of the Wye.

The sage's rich lore and the poet's sweet lay,
The fields gaily dight in their choicest array ;
The musical brook and the leaf-vestur'd tree,
Are ready to yield their enjoyments to thee,
For delights such as these that thine advent await
A Queen might abandon her splendour and state.
Then bid the gay city's allurements good bye,
And repair to the beautiful banks of the Wye.

FROM sunny climes, beyond the main,
Come, potent Spring,
On rapid wing,
And glorify our isle again.

Banish the cold, ungenial snow.
From the high hills ;
Unbind the rills.
And in fair freedom let them flow

Through valleys lone and dingles wild ;
Where, as they pass,
They'll joy to glass
Bright blooms by no lude touch defil'd.

Cause me again, benignant Spring,
To pause and mark
The loud-voic'd lark,
While with his lays the valleys ring.

As high he soars, on pinions fleet,
0'er many a field
That soon will yield
Rich stores of barley, beans, and wheat.

The butterfly, on wing rich-hu'd,
Send forth again
O'er hill and plain
By urchin foemen unpursu'd ;

While the green robes of all the meads
Of daisies white
And kingcups bright
Profusely bear the beauteous beads.

Star deftly with anemones
The copses' moss ;
Let harebells toss
Their azure heads in every hreeze ;

While the shy cushat's mellow coo,
From far and near,
Falls on the ear,
Filling the heart with gladness true.

Let with the gorse's golden light
The commons flame,
And proudly claim
Meet notice from each passer's sight ;

While from the trees that round them stand.
The speckled thrush,
Gush after gush,
Pours forth his music sweetly bland.

Distilments rich of honey sweet
Let the wild bee
Delighted see
When it alights, with tiny feet.

On clover boss, pink, sweet and soft,
On orchis frail.
On primrose pale,
Or soars to chesnat cones aloft.

Let bush and tree rich raiment seek
From thy apt loom ;
Bring back the bloom
To many a patient's pain-pal'd cheek ;

And glad the heart of sinless childhood
With mirth and joy,
Free from alloy—
Found fairly so in glen and wildwood.

Quick use, sweet Spring, thy powers divine,
And loftier lays
Thy deeds shall praise
Then e'er can flow from pen of mine.

To A Bunch Of Wild Flowers

OH ! deem me not cruel, bright, many-hu'd flowers,
That I bear you away from the meads and the bowers,
Where the butterfly might on your petals alight.
And the breeze gather perfume to shed in its flight ;
For T bear you away, in your beauty and bloom.
To cheer and enliven the solemn sick room
Of one who still lo\res, with a love deep and true.
Your hues, odours, and foims, and the spots where you grew.

He will gaze on your beauties witli pleasure and pride.
As you stand in a vase by his quiet bedside.
And he'll talk of the days when, fleet-footed and strong.
Through the woods and the meads he went rambling along,
As delighted and gay, and as free from all care.
As the fawns of the park or the birds of the air ;
And, when sleep for awhile softly steals o'er his brain.
In his dreams he will tread all his old haunts again.

He will wander away through the green winding lanes.
Where the bright golden gorse in its gay glory reigns ;
Where the rays of the starwort are fair to the sight,
And the speedwell discloses its eyelets of white ;
Where the brown linnet sits on the hedgerow's frail spray,
And elatedly carols his tenderest lay ;
While above, in the blooms of the old chestnut trees,
Sounds the satisfied hum of the amber-zon'd bees.

He will wander along by the bright streamlet's side,
Where the murmuring waves by the sweet hawthorns glide ;
Where the tall, graceful crane's-bill displays its fair head.
And the cardamine's petals wide open are spread ;
While the sooty-wing'd merle, darting off in affright.
Shakes a shower of white blooms o'er its surface most bright.
While swiftly away the suspicious trout glide
In their deepest retreats from the gazer to hide.

When the sun brightly shines in the sky overhead.
The soft, emerald turf of the meads he will tread ;
Where the cowslip erects its pale fairly-fleck'd bells.
While beside it the orchis in calm beauty dwells ;
Where the crowfoot displays its bright beakers of gold.
And the daisies their purple-tipp'd petals unfold ;
While borne up aloft, on his pinions so strong,
The rosset-rob'd skylark emits his glad song.

Through the woods and the glades his glad way he will wend
Where the strawberries creep and the bright blue-bells bend ;
Where their sweet-smelling blossoms the violets show,
And the primroses pale still in large clusters grow ;
While distant and near, in the trees all around.
The enrapturing lays of the happy birds sound.
And the lapse of the musical streamlet anear.
Is a fount of delight to the listener's ear.

Then deem me not cruel, bright many hu'd flowers !
That I bear you away from the meads and the bowers.
Where the butterfly might on your petals alight ;
And the breeze gather perfume to shed in its flight ;
For I bear you away, in your beauty and bloom,
To cheer and enliven the solemn sick room
Of one who still loves, with a love deep and true.
Your hues, odours, and forms, and the spots where you grew.

DIDST thou but know how soon, bright stream,
Thy charms thou must forego,
And be no more the poet's theme,
So fast thou wouldst not flow,
Bright stream—
So fast thou wouldst not flow.

But linger where green willows wave,
And wild bees boom along ;
Where birds their glossy plumage lave, I
And fill the air with song, .
Bright stream—
And fill the air with song.

No waves, save those of brooks and rills,
From glens where woodbines twine,
And vales begirt with wooded hills,
Have conie to thix with thine,
Bright stream—
Have come to mix with thine.

But soon dark, slow, and turbid streams.
That through Iarge cities glide.
Will veil thy brightest pebbles' gleams.
Arid all thy beauties hide,
Bright stream—
And all thy beauties hide.

By stately streets and lordly homes
Thy waters soon will flow,
Where art and science rear their domes.
In grand and glorious show,
Bright stream—
In grand and glorious show.

But homesteads calm, in valleys deep,
Anear the village fane,
Or cottage homes on hillsides steep,
Thou'lt never see again,
Bright stream—
Thoult never see again.

Thou'lt hear the sound of merry bells
From towers and steeples high,
And catch the roaring noise that swells
From crowded streets hard by,
Bright stream—
From crowded streets hard by.

But no glad bleat of fresh-penned flocks,
No lowing of sleek kine,
Depastured near the sunlit rocks,
Will ever more be thine,
Bright stream—
Will ever more be thine.

Past docks, and wharves, and stores thoult glide
Where costly goods abound.
Where cargoes come with every tide,
And shipwrights' hammers sound.
Bright stream—
And shipwrights' hammers sound.

But though thy broad expanded breast
I May bear boat, barque, and barge,
No bird near thee will weave its nest,
No wild flowers gem thy marge.
Bright stream—
No wild flowers gem thy marge.

At midnight's lone, remorseful time,
Some poor misguided girl,
Who, in her happy maiden prime,
Oft watch'd thy bright waves' whirl.
Bright stream—
Oft watch'd thy bright waves' whirl ;

All weary of a life of sin.
Without a home or friend.
May seek thy waves, and plunge therein,
Her life of shame to end,
Bright stream—
Her life of shame to end.

By warning buoys, that roll and dip,
Thy final course will be,
Where many a lofty-masted ship
Sails to the open sea.
Bright stream—
Sails to the open sea.

But thou wilt lose the teams and ploughs
That all thy rich fields grace,
And glass no more the alder-boughs
That o'er thee interlace.
Bright stream—
That o'er thee interlace.

I've been the way that thou must go,—
Seen much that thou must see,—
And, knowing all of life I know,
I can but pity thee.
Bright stream—
I can but pity thee.

For, having left hill, wood, and plain-
All scenes of calm content—
Thou can'st no more come back again
To where life's morn was spent,
Bright stream—
To where lifers morn was spent.

The Legend Of The Aspen

THE QUESTION.

DEAR to the bright cerulean sky
Unstirr'd the silvery cloudlets lie ;
O'er yonder wide, unruffl'd bay
The white-sail'd ships can make no way;
No rustling from the sedges near
Falls on the loitering listener's ear ;
From the old cottage in the croft
Straightly ascends the smoke aloft ;
The spreading oak, the silver birch.
The yew beside the village church,
And the tall pine upon the hill.
Are all at rest—serenely still ;
No zephyrs o'er the meadows pass
With balmy breath to fan the grass,
Or raise a ripple on the river ;
Why, aspen, then, dost thou still quiver?

THE ANSWER.

O'er eighteen hundred years ago,
Where Jordan's amber waters flow,
Green, graceful, calm, and fair to view,
My ruthless old forefathers grew ;
But, on a morn of spring-tide bright.
When, from the blue unclouded sky,
The sun shone down with dazzling light.
Inviting flowers of varied dye
Their fragile petals to unfold.
And glad the bees that rov'd the plains,
Filling the birds with joy untold,
The air with their melodious strains ;
Wiling the adder from its lair,
And making all Creation's face,
From high hill's top to rough rock's base,
Bright, peaceful, smiling, calm, and fair ;
Up Jordan's vale an angel flew,
Array'd in robes of lily hue,
Exclaiming, as she wing'd her way.
In accents fraught with dire dismay :—
' Weep, flocks and herds ;
Weep, beasts and birds ;
Weep, flowers and trees ;
Weep, adders and bees ;
Weep, insects small ;
Weep, creatures all ;
And let the joys you hold most dear
Give place to wonder, woe, and fear ;
For now, with insult, blow, and curse,
The God of all the Universe
By ruthless men, with impious zest,
Is being led
His blood to shed
On Calvary's gore-encrimson'd crest.'
Soon as these words of woe were said,
The flocks and herds no longer fed ;
The coney sought the loneliest dell ;
The bee forsook the floret's bell ;
The adder sought its lair again ;
No wild bird's song swept o'er the plain ;
No insect hummed its tiny strain ;
The flowers, rich in scent and hue,
Their beauties from the gaze withdrew ;
And every shrub and tree that grew,
Excepting my forefathers proud,
In fear and awe their branches bow'd ;
But they, on selfish joys intent,
With every breeze that through them went.
Still sported on without a pause ;
And in the waves that by them passed
With guilty pride their beauty glass'd.
As if of grief they had no cause.
But soon the sun its beams withdrew,
And such a gloom o'er earth was thrown,
As until then had ne'er been known—
Veiling all things around from view.
And while the lightning lit the air
With lurid and appalling glare ;
While the loud thunder, peal on peal,
Made the old hills' foundations reel ;
While the strong earthquake's mighty shocks
Asunder rent the hoary rocks ;
And those who in their graves had lain
Were seen to tread the earth again ;
In sap and fibre, bough and spray.
They felt a thrill of fear and pain ;
And when the darkness cleared away,
And Nature's face grew fair again.
The victims of remorse and grief
They trembling stood in every leaf ;
And since that day of anguish deep,
Not for the space of one brief hour
Have their descendants had the power
A single leaf at rest to keep ;
And thus, until the end of time,
They'll mourn for their forefathers' crime.

A Fragment.

In Fancy's realm I saw a teeming vale
In which there lay a homestead old and rude,
Whose fields with flocks and herds were thickly strew'd—
Telling of rural peace a pleasant tale.
It was an eve in hright and busy May—
So beautiful and calm that not a sound,
Except the wild bird's mellow vesper lay,
Broke through the stillness deep that reign'd around.

The joyous lark had ceas'd to soar on high,
The flowers begun to close their petals briglit.
Toil-weary bees to wing their hivebound flight,
And now and then a timid hare ran by.
Down by a gloomy wood of beeches large
A streamlet bright ran with a noiseless flow
Towards the sea ; while on its verdant marge
A pensive Maiden stray'd with footsteps slow.

Her form was tall, symmetrical, and slight ;
Her lofty brow deep thought's impression bore ;
Her cheeks the bloom of waning girlhood wore ;
Her eyes were dark and beautifully bright ;
Her crimson-snooded locks so deep in dye
No raven's wing could be more darkly fair ;
Her garments plain, but pleasing to the eye.
And such as peasants girls were wont to wear.

Immers'd in thought she wandered on until
A lofty beech she gain'd ; beneath whose boughs,
With golden radiance haloing their brows,
She saw fair messengers of Heaven's will.
Who bade her go and lead her country's hosts,
Against its proud and unrelenting foes;—
To quell their haughty and insulting boasts,
And free fair France from fell invasion's woes.

* * * * * *

Clad in the shining armour of a knight.
Mounted upon a richly-bridled steed.
Matchless in strength, docility, and speed,
And bearing in her hand a banner white.
The Maid, attended by a cavalcade
Of soldiers, knights, esquires, and pages gay,
Her entry into leagured Orleans made.
Filling its foes with terror and dismay.

Tired with a morn of toil, asleep she lay ;
Her colour went and came in gushes fleet ;
And starting with a bound upon her feet,
She cried aloud in accents of dismay: —

'Twas midnight dark ; and as she rode along
Its gloomy streets, amid the plaudits loud
Of an o'erjoyed, enthusiastic crowd.
The lurid sky was lit with lightnings strong,
And the murk air with peals of thunder rent ;
But on amidst the elemental strife,
To its cathedral old, their way they bent,
Whose aisles were soon with glad Te Deums rife.

* * * * * *

Tired with a morn of toil, asleep she lay;
Her colour went and came in gushes fleet;
And starting with a bound upon her feet,
She cried aloud in accents of dismay: —
'My arms ! My arms ! My horse ! The blood of France
I Is ebbing fast from many a noble heart ;
Quick ! Quick ! My arms ! 'Twill be a dire mischance
If in the strife I fail to bear my part.'

Quickly in glittering armour she was dight ;
Quickly her banner and her steed were brought ;
And mounting with the speed of swift-wing'd thought,
She shook her bridle-rein and sought the fight.
Led by the sounds of conflict in the air,
Full soon she saw bright-gleaming weapons sway,
And waving o'er her head her standard fair.
Fearlessly plung'd into the bloody fray.

For three hour's space the conflict rag'd amain ;
And ever in the thickest of the fight
The Maiden waved aloft her banner white,
While round her lay the wounded and the slain.
But still, despite the culverins' loud roar—
The barbed arrows' flight, the sabre's sway,
And groans of brave men weltering in their gore.
She urged the troops to keep their onward way.

Anon they gain'd and storm'd a fortress strong;
Within those walls there raged such deadly strife,
Few of its garrison escaped with life—
So desperately did they the fight prolong.
At last the dreadful conflict reached its close,
And not a living foe remained in view ;
When the glad victors' shouts of triumph rose,
And sated Havoc from the scene withdrew.

* * * * * *

In Rouen's market-place there is a stake,
EncircPd by a pile of pitch-smeared wood ;
Hound which there stands a throng of soldiers rude-
Hoping at last their vengeance dire to slake ;
And, through the grave and anxious crowd around,
The Maid is brought along, o'erwhelmed with woe,
And to the stake with heavy chains is bound—
The fearful death of fire to undergo.

Her long, luxurious raven locks, whose flow
Was wont erewhile to be so neatly checkt,
Are floating all in wildness and neglect
Adown her graceful neck of stainless snow.
Her ear, that drank the tunes of streamlets clear,
And loved the joyous wild bird's gushing song,
Is now assail'd by insult, scoff, and jeer,
From ruthless foes that thickly round her throng.

Her eye, that fed in happy, bygone days.
On changeful nature's most alluring charms.
Upon a mass of mail-clad men-at-arms
Is casting now its sad, uneasy gaze.
A sign to light the pyre is made at last ;
Eelentless hands the ready lights apply.
And soon the smoke ascends in volumes vast.
Veiling the victim frail from every eye.

In silence deep some moments pass away ;
A gust of wind to fury fans the pyre ;
And then her form is seen through sheets of fire—
Writhing about, to agony a prey.
Stern Horror's thrill shakes many a daring heart,
And many an eye sweet Pity's teardrop dims,
While cries of anguish from her lips depart,
As the hright flames curl rouud her quivering Hmhs.

But now more fiercely wild the huge fire grows—
The stake that held her up is burnt away—
And down she sinks. The flames have gained their prey,
And o'er her blistering form their hot lips close.
While this scene pass'd, God's priest assumed his place.
And o'er her held the Crucifix on high ;
So, gazing on Christ's sweet but woe-worn face,
She learnt resignedly her death to die.

* * * * * *

Enthusiasts, in an earthly cause,
These scenes go ponder well ;
Then weigh, against the world's applause,
The peace of some fair dell.
Of youth's illusions think no more,—
Ko longer pant for fame,
For virtue's wreath, unstained by gore,
Can joys unending claim.