"I HAD A VISION YESTERNIGHT OF A LOVELIER LAND THAN THIS,-WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED)

"THE CHANGeless zeal, wHICH ON, FROM LAND TO LAND,—(PRAED)

342

WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED.

It was his doctrine, that the poor

Were always able, never willing;
And so the beggar at the door

Had first abuse, and then-a shilling.
Some public principles he had,

But was no flatterer, nor fretter;
He rapped his box when things were bad,
And said, "I cannot make them better!"
And much he loathed the patriot's snort,
And much he scorned the placeman's snuffle;
And cut the fiercest quarrel short

With "Patience, gentlemen-and shuffle!"
For full ten years his pointer Speed,
Had couched beneath his master's table;
For twice ten years his old white steed
Had fattened in his master's stable.
Old Quince averred, upon his troth,
They were the ugliest beasts in Devon ;
And none knew why he fed them both,
With his own hands, six days in seven.
Whene'er they heard his ring or knock,
Quicker than thought, the village slatterns
Flung down the novel, smoothed the frock,
And took up Mrs. Glasse, or patterns;
Adine was studying baker's bills;
Louisa looked the queen of knitters;
Jane happened to be hemming frills;
And Bell, by chance, was making fritters.
But all was vain; and while decay

Came, like a tranquil moonlight, o'er him,
And found him gouty still, and gay,

With no fair nurse to bless or bore him,

Speeds the FAINT FOOT, AND NERVES THE WITHERED HAND."-PRAED.

WHERE HEAVEN WAS CLOTHED IN WARMTH AND LIGHT, WHERE EARTH WAS FULL OF BLISS."-PRAED.

"I THINK, WHATEVER MORTALS CRAVE, WITH IMPOTENT ENDEAVOUR,-(WINTHROP M. PRAED)

"" THE MILD, MILD CHARITY, WHICH, DAY BY DAY,-(PRAED)

QUINCE.

His rugged smile and easy chair,

His dread of matrimonial lectures,
His wig, his stick, his powdered hair,

Were themes for very strange conjectures.
Some sages thought the stars above

Had crazed him with excess of knowledge;
Some heard he had been crossed in love

Before he came away from College;
Some darkly hinted that His Grace

Did nothing, great or small, without him;
Some whispered, with a solemn face,

That there was "something odd about him."

I found him, at three score and ten,
A single man, but bent quite double ;
Sickness was coming on him then,

To take him from a world of trouble:
He prosed of sliding down the hill,
Discovered he grew older daily;
One frosty day he made his will,—
The next, he sent for Dr. Baillie.

And so he lived,—and so he died!-
When last I sat beside his pillow
He shook my hand, and "Ah!" he cried,
"Penelope must wear the willow.
Tell her I hugged her rosy chain
While life was flickering in the socket;
And say that when I call again
I'll bring a license in my pocket.

"I've left my house and grounds to Fag,-
I hope his master's shoes will fit him ;
And I've bequeathed to you my nag,
To feed him for my sake,-
-or shoot him.

WEEPS EVERY WOUND AND EVERY STAIN AWAY."-PRAED.

343

A WREATH, A RANK, A THRONE, A GRAVE, THE WORLD GOES ROUND FOR EVER."-PRAED.

[From "Poems of W. M. Praed," 2 vols., Moxon and Co.]

"MAN'S WORLD IS BLEAK AND BITTER; WHEREVER HE HAS TROD-(ADELAIDE A. PROCTER)

HE SPOILS THE TENDER BEAUTY THAT BLOSSOMS ON THE SOD."-ADELAIDE A. PROCTER.

Adelaide Anne Procter.

[ADELAIDE Anne Procter, the daughter of Bryan Waller Procter, was born in 1825. Her first poetical effusions were published anonymously in Mr. Charles Dickens's Household Words, and revealed so delicate a fancy and so much tenderness of sentiment as at once to attract the public attention, and justify their appearance in a collected form. "Legends and Lyrics: A Book of Verse," was published in 1858. A second series has since appeared, and much was hoped from the high promise of Miss Procter's genius, when an illness, induced by her indefatigable exertions in the cause of charity, abruptly terminated her career in February 1864.]

SENT TO HEAVEN.

HAD a message to send her,

To her whom my soul loves best;
But I had my task to finish,
And she was gone home to rest:

SOME PURE IDEAL OF A NOBLE LIFE?"-PROCTER.

"ABOVE GOD'S WORLD BENDS HEAVEN, WITH DAY'S KISS PURE AND BRIGHT,-(PROCTER)

"NO STAR IS EVER LOST WE ONCE HAVE SEEN,-(a. A. PROCTER)

SENT TO HEAVEN.

345

To rest in the far bright Heaven—
Oh, so far away from here!

It was vain to speak to my darling,
For I knew she could not hear!

I had a message to send her,

So tender, and true, and sweet,
I longed for an Angel to bear it,
And lay it down at her feet.
I placed it, one summer evening,
On a cloudlet o' fleecy breast;
But it faded in golden splendour,
And died in the crimson west.

I gave it the Lark next morning,
And I watched it soar and soar;
But its pinions grew faint and weary,
And it fluttered to earth once more......
I cried, in my passionate longing:--
"Has the heart no Angel-friend
Who will carry my Love the message
My heart desires to send?"

Then I heard a strain of music,
So mighty, so pure, so clear,
That my very sorrow was silent,
And my heart stood still to hear......
It rose in harmonious rushing,

Of mingled voices and strings,
And I tenderly laid my message

On the Music's outspread wings.

And I heard it float farther and farther,
In sound more perfect than speech;

Farther than sight can follow,

Farther than soul can reach.

WE ALWAYS MAY BE WHAT WE MIGHT HAVE BEEN."-PROCTER.

OR FOLDS HER STILL MORE FONDLY IN THE TENDER SHADE OF NIGHT."-A. A. PROCTER.

"MANY, IF GOD SHOULD MAKE THEM KINGS, MIGHT NOT DISGRACE THE THRONE HE GAVE;

346

"TO HELP AND TO HEAL A SORROW-(PROCTER)

ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.

And I know that at last my message

Has passed through the golden gate:
So my heart is no longer restless,

And I am content to wait.

[From A. A. Procter's "Legends and Lyrics," second volume.]

A DOUBTING HEART.

HERE are the swallows fled?
Frozen and dead,

Perchance upon some bleak and stormy shore.
O doubting heart!

Far over purple seas,

They wait in sunny ease,

The balmy southern breeze,

To bring them to their northern home once more.

Why must the flowers die?
Prisoned they lie

In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain.

O doubting heart!

They only sleep below

The soft white ermine snow,

While winter winds shall blow,

To breathe and smile upon you soon again.

The sun has hid his rays
These many days;

Will dreary hours never leave the earth?
O doubting heart!

The stormy clouds on high

Veil the same sunny sky,

That soon (for spring is nigh)

Shall wake the summer into golden mirth.

LOVE AND SILENCE ARE ALWAYS BEST."-PROCTER.

HOW FEW WHO COULD AS WELL FULFIL THE HOLIER OFFICE OF A SLAVE!"-A. A. PROCTER.