Harriet Acton.

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The joyous excitement by forest and fell ;
The right to pass onward, unquestioned and free,
And the bold daring life of the Gipsy for me.

II. A.



The wild-bird hath told of the bright Summer's birth;
She hath come, bringing light to each creature of

earth :
Her glance hath been seeking in loneliest bowers
Her long-hidden treasures, the Winter-bound flowers,
And her breath hath passed o'er them, renewing their

And raising them up from their withering tomb.
Children ! Earth's children ! she comes once again,
Searching round for content, and her search is in vain;
She hath sought but one heart free from anguish and

And she finds where dwelt sunshine now bideth de-
Whence is your sorrow ? The world is the same !
There is still hope's bright tide — still the pathway to

Still the beacon of Faith. Then why bendeth the

heart ?
Why, amid all its joys, let contentment depart ?
Children ! why know ye not yet that, alone,
The true heart hath gladness and peace of its own ?


Why know ye not yet, 'tis for you to be gay

When the world's tempests rise, when its joys pass

away !
'Tis for you, in your path through its deserts, to find
Your clear stream within, in a right-thinking mind !
List to her, there is delight in the smile
So radiant now, so long yearned for ere while !
When the hand you have stretched has uplifted De-
And o'er its dark mantle cast Hope's garment fair ;
There is joy in remembrance of Gratitude's tear,
Of the sunlight you gave to the wilderness drear ;
Is't for you then to sorrow, when Peace doth but

In slumber, awaiting the call to your breast ?
Oh ! scorn ye its blessing ? deride ye its might
To give day to your souls when around ye is night ?
List to her ! — Summer is passing away,
To cast, o'er a far-distant realm, her bright sway.
(Already the first trace of Autumn is seen ;
Ev'n now is his footstep more marked on the green.)
Yet leaves she with sorrow; fain, fain would she mark
The light she could kindle in each bosom dark ;
She gladly would yield ye her last parting sigh,
Did ye watch her depart with Hope's glistening eye,
And would ye do this ? Though she passeth away
In your Winter-chilled hearts, let the Summer's
warmth stay ;


Let it melt the iced current of sympathy there,
And the sere things of Earth make ye look on as

fair !
Let it aid you, by binding to yours the cold heart,
To make, by your sunshine, its dark clouds depart ;
Let it lead you, while basking in bliss of your own,
To feel 'tis not bliss, if you hold it alone.
Oh ! thus 'tis to mark Summer pass with a smile ;
Tho' each season changed with regretting, erewhile ;
'Tis thus to view calmly Time's step speed along,
And listen in peace to bright Summer's last song ;
You have gathered her gifts, and have scattered again
Where'er Summer's gifts have been yearned for in

And the blessing upon you is but that bright sun
Which, like Summer-warmth, cheers him whose

duty is done.

R. A.




There stood a youth hy a withered tree,
And he looked on its branches old ;

And he thought his heart could never he
So cheerless and so cold

As that withered tree.

So the young reason, so they say ;
Their feelings cannot pass away :

It was not strange
That he should think the open brow,
And the heart that beat so warmly now,

Could never change.

Years, stirring years, pass'd o'er his forni-
Sometinies of dark'ning clouds and storm,

Sometimes of joy ;
But his heart had hardened in that space,
And none in the haughty man could trace

The gentle boy.

He had won himself a lofty name,
And the garland of a warrior's fame
Was on his brow ;


But the joyous soul, the open heart,
The thoughts with guile that had no part,
Where were they now ?

How changed that man so proudly cold,
From the gallant youth of hearing bold

In days of yore !
Did ever pass that time long gone,
When he looked the withered tree upon,

His memory o'er ?

Aye ! and his brain with anguish burned,
And from the busy world he turned

In bitter scorn ;
When he would silently recall
The heart so prompt to feel for all,

He then had borne.

Years still rolled on, when one bright day,
Ere Autumn hues had pass'd away

For winter snow ;
When e'en the withered tree looked bright.
Beneath the rich and streaming lio-ht

Of the sunset's glow ;

There stood beside its leafless bough
An aged man, with furrowed brow
And silv'ry hair.


Full many a year had o'er Mm pass'd,
Full many a flower had bloomed since last
He had been there.

With the bright and sunny smile of youth,
With bounding step and heart of truth,

He left it then :
A feeble man, by sickness bowed,
While whitened was the brow so proud,

He came again.

And mournfully he looked around
Upon the well-remembered ground

Of bygone years ;
He had turned him from the world at last ;
He had mourned his pride and errors past,

With bitter tears.

And now he came to look once more,
Ere yet his stay on earth was o'er,

Each spot upon ;
Where in his childhood he had played,
Where in his joyous glee he strayed,

In years long gone.

But dearer to his memory
Was that old and leafless withered tree
Than all beside ;


For he thought upon the sunny time,
When he in all his youth's fresh prime,
Each change defied.

And his heart with yearning fondness turned
To those years when falsehood he had spurned,

With proud disdain ;
And he humhly knelt him down to pray
That the peace he felt in childhood's day

Might come again.

And granted was that chastened prayer,
Breathed forth in deep repentance there,

With bended knee ;
For gentle was his calm decay,
And they laid him, when he pass'd away,

'Neath the Withered Tree.

H. A.



(Words for Music.)

The human heart is as the Day ;

At its first dawn how bright,
Wrapped in a holy peacefulness

That bodeth not of Night.

a &

Oh ! it is happier at that hour,
'Mid its early hopes and fears,

When the beam of mirth can sweep away
The traces of its tears.

And it is ever left to us,

Our heart's first dawn to keep,

Ne'er in the evening of our life
In penitence to weep.

It is for us to choose between
A fierce and gentler light;
One which will deepen at the last,

The other fade to Night.

R. A.



Why seek we ever happiness

Where least it loves to hide,
Shunning the daisy-spangled plain,

To climb the mountain side ?
Why strive to reach the stately bough

That waveth far on high,
And glance not on the velvet moss

That at our feet doth lie ?

There is a potent charm can give

The gem we yearn to clasp ;
Which brightly shines till nearly won,

Yet fades within our grasp.
Seek then that great yet simple charm,

So rarely understood ;
That wakes the soul to feelings warm —

The power of doing good.

And think not that to work its spells

'Tis wealth alone can lend

The thousand means that aid our hearts

The needy to befriend.



No ! the kind word, the friendship true.

That change doth never know ;
Though the cold breath of Poverty

Upon a friend may blow.

The ready hand stretched forth to raise

The crushed, yet erring one ;
The lips that dare to speak of wrong

When worth lies trampled on ;
These, tho' but slight their pow'r appears,

Peace to the soul may bring,
And heal a wound when gold could give

No balm to suffering.

And since such humble deeds may call

A blessing on our path,
Why seek we still where happiness

Its dwelling never hath ?
Let us not reach the stately bough

That waveth far on high,
But stoop to pluck the velvet moss

That at our feet doth lie.

H. A.



Loved guide of our childhood thro' life's silver
Ere yet its calm ripples to billows could change ;
Ere yet we could picture the wild depths before us,

And bow to Fate's summons across them to range ;
'Tvvas thou wert the beacon-light warning from
And pointing the safe way by which thou hadst
Thro' thy sea of troubles, thy blasts of affliction,
And rested at peace from their terrors at last !
Faithful friend of our youth ! thine hath still been
the spirit
To cheer us whde stemming the treacherous wave;
When crushed in Fate's tempest thy hand hath up-
held us,
And raised the bright hopes which had else found
their grave.
And now should the dark cloud o'er-shadow our
Or Hope's sun illumine a future unknown,
We may turn to the same cheering smile to uphold us,
Or mourning may feel that Ave mourn not alone.


Loved sharer and soother of joys and of sorrows,
In moments of gladness, in long hours of care,
Afar from thee e'er may life's wild tempests darken,
Thy sunshine ne'er fade to the gloom of despair :
With the dreams of my childhood, a fervent prayer
That o'er Trouble's waters Joy's shore may be
won ;
Together we have seen dark Night close around us,
Together may watch it give place to our sun.

R. A.


Who cometh, who cometh, with footsteps light,
Calling up smiles to the woodlands bright,
Casting rich tints where a shadow hath been,
Clothing the fields in a mantle of green?
The snowdrop is smiling his coming to meet,
The violet springs from its hiding-place sweet ;
There's a glow on the earth, there's a glow in the


And the blossoms burst forth as his step passes by.


Whence cometli, whence cometh, this stranger fair ?

Tell me, ye hirds of the balmy air !

mortal ! this stranger is joyous Spring;

Soon shall the earth with his footsteps ring.

Who cometh, who cometh, with laugh and song,
Bearing rich fruits and b right flowers along?
The rose and the lily are twined on her brow,
Light is her step 'neath the dark forest bough ;
Swift at her presence the clouds pass away,
Bright glows the earth 'neath the sun's golden ray :
Soft sighs the breeze as she comes in her pride,
And panting, the kine seek the cool river side.
Whence cometh, whence cometh, this stranger

bright ?
Answer me, stars of the peaceful night !
mortal ! 'tis Summer, who casteth her spell
Over forest and plain, over mountain and dell.

Who cometh, who cometh, with sober pace ?
Clusters of vine -leaves o'ershadow his face ;
Clasped in his hand are the thick sheaves of corn,
And the hunter's wild notes on his footsteps are

Lo ! as he cometh, the leaves fall and die,
And a deep yellow tint hath spread over the sky :
The poppies and corn-flow'rs wave high him to greet,
And the rich purple grape lays its stores at his feet.


Whence cometh, whence conieth, this stranger gay ?
Speak, oh ! ye birds, ere he vanish away !
mortal ! 'tis Autumn, who blithely hath come
To gladden the fields with his harvest home.

"Who cometh, who cometh, in mantle grey,

While the blossoms and leaves at his breath pass

away ?
The holly is twined in his thin, whitened hair ;
E'en, as he passes, the forests are bare.
Icicles hang from the garment he wears ;
Ivy is bound on the staff that he bears ;
East from his presence the startled birds fly,
And the chilling wind sweeps through the dark

cloudy sky.
Whence cometh, whence cometh, this stranger dread?
Say, oh ! ye leaves from the forest trees shed !
mortal ! 'tis Winter : Ave fly from his blast.
Fare ye well, fare ye well ! 'till his sojourn be past.

H. A.



A father's tears were falling fast
On a young though faded brow ;

They were falling bitterly, for hope
Had passed for ever now.

Yet the 'reft parent bent the knee,
With prayers for mercy still,

Mingled with murmurs, that his child
Bent to a holier will.

But the hand of Death was on it,
And the fading breath was hushed ;

And the mourner of the sainted one
Lay, by that last blow, crushed.

He had so twined within his soul
That frail and withered flowV,

It seemed he could not tear it thence,
And live through that dark hour.

And truly was the angel-boy
Meet shrine for parent's love ;

He had had early visions

Of that happier realm above.


And calmly, as his life had passed,
Passed forth his spirit bright ;

And the child awoke to rapture's day,
And the man to sorrow's night.

J B'

* *

Still seemed it as a dream, until

The grass grew o'er the dead,
And the flowers he had cherished

Waved gently o'er his head ;

For the father's heart still, still it clung

To the grave of all his joy :
The brilliant future of his hopes

Lay with his fair-haired boy.

And he thought the tears which ever dewed

That tomb of loveliness,
Had, far beyond all other tears,

Of a stern world's bitterness.

But years have passed ; and, passing, can
Bring balm to blighted hearts ;

And the parent's grief — like morning mists
Before the sun — departs.



He has started from his woe to feel

Again love's joys and fears,
And paused upon his lonely path

Through this dark vale of tears ;

To circle, with his time-chilled hopes,

Another spirit "bright ;
To welcome to his darkened soul

Once more a ray of light.

Aye, once again young footsteps ring

In the deserted halls ;
And the shadow of a fair young form

On each gloomy spot there falls.

More years have passed, and that laugh of mirth

Hath changed in its glad tone ;
In childhood's hour we must seek to list

To the careless laugh alone.

'Tis manhood : and that laugh hut wakes

In scorn of guiding age,
Mocking the hand that pointeth out

Fate's darkly- written page —

And then that parent stands hereft

Of the heart's peace and pride ;
Made desolate on earth hy one,

Best loved of all heside !



Left to watch o'er the fallen shrine,

By Guilt's red hand laid low,
To pass alone again upon

His weary way of woe.

To see the young heart turned to sin,
The young brow seared by shame ;

To know that justice dares not breathe
The so-long-honoured name :

Left to lay all of hope within
A lone and guilt-made grave ;

W here e'en earth's blossoms droop, as o'er
A. felon form they wave.

It seemed as if he had but lived

And loved to learn of woe ;
How wild the doom which man would call

His happiness below !

How oft the frowns on fortune's brow

May be its smiles — and care
May make so dark the soul at last,

That e'en past gloom seems fair !

And how there may be solace found

For the 'reft heart's despair,
When it but mourns one passed to bliss —

One for this earth too fair.


How there may be sad tears for such,
Which time's swift hand can dry ;

Unmingled with the bitter drops
Of hopeless misery !

Tears which — the dark hour gone — will flow

Like the untroubled stream,
And gently cease, when that past grief


Is as a sadd'ning dream.

R. A.


Linger still, oh sunbeam bright !
With thy rich and gushing light,
Through the pleasant summer's day.
Sunbeam ! pass not thou away,
But within my lattice low,
Cast thy warm and sunny glow ;
Brighter seems the rose's crest
When thy smiles upon it rest.
Sunbeam ! I'm a timid child ;
Fearful tales of danger wild
Fill my breast when night comes on,
And thy golden ray is gone.



Wilt thou not, ah, then, remain,
Brightening my thoughts again ?
Much I love thy joyous ray —
Sunbeam, pass not yet away !

Gentle child ! I'm call'd afar,
Higher than the gleaming star,
Distant realms to shine upon,
Ere my daily task is done.
O'er the mountain-tops I go,
Sparkling on the crusted snow,
And within the valley green
Cheeringly my light is seen.
The captive, in his prison cell,
Loves to meet my glance full well ;
For my coming seems to bring
Solace to his suffering;.
To the dying one I go,
With my soft and sunny glow,
And the bed of sickness light
With my smile of summer bright :
Peasant's cot and stately tower,
Rushing stream and greenwood bower,
All must greeted be by me
Ere, fair child, I look on thee.

Joyous sunbeam ! linger not ;
Haste thee to each distant spot.


Others pine thy light to see,
Linger not, ah, then, with me ;
For my heart with grief would break,
Should they sorrow for thy sake ;
And to-morrow thou wilt come
Smiling- on my cottage home.
Dearly though I love thy ray,
Gladsome sunbeam, pass away !

H. A.


Oh ! ask no gayer measure

From the Wand 'ring Minstrel lone ;
Of lays of mirth and pleasure

Even memory is gone.
Ask ye for words of gladness

'Mid the mourner's bitter woe ?
Seek ye a tale of love from one

Whose hopes have been laid low ?
Kneel ye to call to earth again

The loved ones who are gone,
Ere ye ask a gayer measure

Of the Wand'ring Minstrel lone.


As the soul-wearied pilgrim,

Through a world of ceaseless care,
Watches, at last, fate's low'ring clouds

Sweep by, without despair —
So is it with the stricken heart,

Whose dreams of joy are o'er ;
Through its drear path of life, deceived

By hope's mirage no more :
So is it with the heart ye seek

To gladden, as your own,
The sickening, unpitied heart

Of the Wand'ring Minstrel lone.

Woidd ye raise the fancied cup of bliss

To the pale and trembling lip,
And hid it dream it tastes the draught

It, waking, could not sip ?
Would ye ask for tones of gladness,

Whose echoes must be sighs ?
Would ye seek for sunny smiles of joy,

In wan and care-dimmed eyes ?
Then ask not lays of pleasure

Where their memory is gone ;
Ye can list no gayer measure

From the Wand'ring Minstrel lone.


toems. 49


The Sea King am I,

On my shining- crystal throne ;
From the ocean to the sky,

All that greets me is my own.

The ships that o'er me sweep,
In their stateliness rejoice :

But they tremhle in the deep,

When they hear my mighty voice.

I wave my trident proud,

And the storms their wings unfold ;
And the waters make a shroud

For the reckless sailor hold.

The masts are rent in twain,
Pale death the hillow crowns ;

And the help of man is vain

When the dreaded Sea Kins; frowns.


Rich pearl and costly gem
At my feet unheeded lie ;

And my jewelled diadem

Woidd a mighty kingdom huy.


And my treasures laugh to scorn
All that's fair the earth can shew ;

For a thousand storms have home
Countless riches down helow.

Give place, ye earth-born kings,
To my firm and lasting sway ;

For your crowns are fading things,
And your sceptres pass away :

But the golden sun has shone
Many ages o'er my head ;

And still I reign alone,

In my ocean kingdom dread.

Youth and beauty, strength and pride.
Palsied age, and childhood sleep,

Cold and silent, side by side,
In my hidden caverns deep.

The rushing ocean foam

Has sighed their passing knell ;

For the secrets of my home
Mortal lips may never tell.

Then quail, ye tilings of earth,
When I send my tempest forth !

And tremble in your mirth,

When ye hear my stormy wrath !


For the sun's resplendent light

In the heavens shall he o'er,
And the starry orbs of night

From on high shall shine no more ;

And a chaos once again

Must your world of beauty he,
Ere the Sea King cease to reign

In his ocean-kingdom free !

H. A.


Farewell ! sweet village, 'mid thy calm
And quiet beauty, fare thee well !

Oft will a kindly thought of thee
Arise, within my heart to dwell !

Earth's gayer pictures ask not thou ;

The robe, each meadow boasts its own,

Beseems it, in its nature, more

Than the wrought purple of a throne.

e 2


Art thou not peaceful ? 'Tis a name
Unknown 'neath many a lordly dome ;

There are sad hearts in stately halls,
When smiles light up the cottage home !

Sweet spot ! Thou art like that fair flower,
Whose heauties ever hidden lie ;

Couched in thy mossy bed, apart

From a vain world's all-searching eye.

Long he thy calm unbroken; long-
Passed o'er unseen by lightest care ;

Long may they lift thy cotter's latch,
And look upon contentment there.

Perchance the hand of time is raised
To scatter bitter sorrows here ;

E'en now may be stretched forth to crush
The vision-hopes, held all too dear.

But it hath not the power to quench
A sweet remembrance of past hours

Of peace and calm, tho' it may change
To withered weeds our path of flow'rs.

It hath no power to dim the thought,
Oft-rising — of a household band,

Whose kindly hearts have answered mine,
Whose cheering grasp hath met my hand.


Oh ! scene of peace and beauty rare !

Meet home art thou for those whose path
Leads them from that vain world, whose cares

Blight the few pleasures that it hath.

Peace be within thee ! Peace around
The hearts of truth thou shelt'rest now ;

And calm, like that which reigns o'er thee,
Be traced upon each peasant-brow.

Farewell ! Farewell ! One who hath now

But a bright memory left of thee,
Would fain possess a magic pow'r

To crown thee with prosperity.

To turn away the shaft of woe

From worth's proud home — each honest heart;
And bid the smile contentment brings

To guileless lips, no more depart.

R. A.



The old grey fountain 'neath the lime,

Methinks I see it now ;
Its sparkling stream full many a time

Hath bathed my sunburnt brow !
When in the sultry summer day

Through winding lane and glade,
While round the path the wheat-ears lay,

My youthful footsteps strayed.

The old grey fountain 'neath the lime !

Those joyous days are o'er ;
I see it in its autumn prime

And prize it even more ;
For loved companions seem to stand

Its mossy front beside,
And mirrored is that kindred band

Within the crystal tide.

The old grey fountain 'neath the lime
E'en autumn's hours have passed,

Yet o'er its bank of scented thyme
Sweet memories are cast.


The ivy round the stone that crept,

The willow bending nigh,
Which with its graceM branches swept

The stream that murmured by.

The old grey fountain 'neaththe lime,

Long may it scathless stand ;
Carved o'er and o'er with village rhyme

By many a rustic hand.
Still round its base the daisies gleam

Beneath the drooping bough,
As when a child within its stream

I plunged my sunburnt brow !



There stood an oak, a gallant oak,

Within a forest proud,
And high above the woodman's stroke

Its leafy branches bowed ;
The lord amid the woodland scene

Of all that flourished near,
And round its trunk the ivy green

Had twined for many a year.

H. A.


fondly did the ivy cling,

Around that stately tree,
And lovely in the budding spring

Its leaves were wont to he.
No storm its clasping stem could move

As round each branch it grew,
And oft the oak had said its love

Was with the ivy true.

But one sad day a nightingale,

From its woodbine scented glade,
And the roses of the sunny vale,

To the forest's shelter strayed ;
And chose the kingly oak so high

Its resting-place to make,
And the tree forgot the ivy nigh,

For the gifted stranger's sake.

the ivy wept both day and night,

Such altered love to know,
And scarcely seemed the sunbeams bright.

To its heart so choked with woe ;
But the faithless oak still prized the bird,

With its silv'ry notes so rare ;
And its melody the forest heard,

Through the balmy summer air.


The steps of winter, silently,

Came stealing o'er the earth,
And the flowers hent them down to die,

And the leaves forgot their mirth ;
And the nightingale, without a look

Of gratitude or pain,
The high and stately oak forsook

For its woodbine home again.

Then the tree's proud heart with shame was torn,

So lightly prized to he ;
« And the woods around beheld with scorn

Its slighted majesty.
The glow-worms in their leafy bower

Laughed gleefully below,
And shook with mirth each forest flower,

Its lowered pride to know.

But though so long thrown coldly by,

The ivy nearer drew,
And o'er the drooping branches nigh

Its brightest leaves it threw ;
And never when the dewy spring

Came forth in beauty free,
Did the ivy e'er so firmly cling,

As round that humbled tree.


And clearly for such trusting care

Did the oak its duty prove,
Nor turned again for aught more fair,

From its fond and ancient love ;
But proudly in the forest's shade

Stood long unchanged and true,
And when the stately oak decayed,

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