Produced by Sergio Cangiano, Juliet Sutherland, Charles

Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.

LAYS FROM THE WEST

BY

"STELLA"—M.A. NICHOLL

  Then the spirit reached her fingers,
    Taper things of rosy snow,
  Took my songs, and as she took them,
    "Tiny germs," she whispered "go!
  Root among the coming hours,
    Seeds are ye of many flowers,
  Which from out the winds will grow!"

* * * * *

Dedicated

WITH MUCH GRATITUDE AND AFFECTION

TO

MRS. T. SPOTISWOOD ASH,

THE MANOR HOUSE,

BELLAGHY, IRELAND.

* * * * *

IN THE NORTHWEST.

"I'll not forget Old Ireland, were it fifty times as fair."

  In myriads o'er the prairie
    Bright flowers bloom strangely fair,
  There's beauty in the clear blue sky,
    There's sweetness in the air;
  And loveliness, with lavish hand,
    Decks dell and dingle gay;
  Yet still I love my native land—
    The Green Isle, far away.

  The poplar quivers in the breeze,
    And by the blue lake's side.
  The regal iris, tall and fair,
    Blooms in her native pride;
  But I dream of the broad beeches' shade
    In glens beside Lough Neagh
  And my longing thoughts go back to thee,
    O, Green Isle, far away!

  Strange birds, in painted plumage gay,
    In hundreds haunt the grove;
  O'er marsh and moor, the loon and heron,
    The coot and plover rove;
  But I miss the lark's glad matin song,
    And the thrush and blackbird's lay,
  The summer songsters, sweet and wild,
    In the Green Isle, far away.
  Along the blue horizon line
    The "bluffs" rise 'gainst the sky,
  But in dreams I see Old Erin's coast—
    Her mountains wild and high
  Slieve Gallon, with his hoary head
    Gold-crowned at close of day,
  When sunset lights the grand old hills
    In the Green Isle, far away.

  There's beauty in the woodland wilds
    With their varied foliage fair,
  But, cowering from the light of day,
    The grim wolf shelters there.
  Ah! dear old woods, where I have roamed
    At eve of summer day,
  No hidden dangers haunt your glades,
    In the Green Isle, far away.

  The clear Assiniboine winds free
    Through many a fertile vale;
  The antlered deer and graceful hind
    Bound o'er the wooded dale;
  But I miss the quiet rural scenes—
    The farm-house, thatched and grey,
  That memory fondly pictures now
    Of the Green Isle, far away.

  The Sabbath morn its holy calm
    Breathes o'er the prairie lands,
  And the answering heart hears Nature's psalm
    And the wild woods clap their hands.
  But I long to hear the church bell's sound
    Tell to these wilds that day,
  When thousands meet to praise and pray
    In the Green Isle far away.

  Here life lays hold of brighter things
    For the fair years to be,
  But the deathless Past and all her dreams,
    Old land, belong to thee!
  The buried love, the buried hope
    Of youth's glad summer day,
  That blend with unforgotten scenes
    Of the Green Isle, far away.

  And while we love this pleasant land
    And own it good and fair,
  Our hearts' first love goes backward
    And fondly lingers there—
  Back to the dear home country,
    Then forward to that day
  When all shall meet together,
    From the Green Isle pass'd away.

SONG.

"In the gloaming Oh, my darling."

  Oh! green-bosomed Isle, as the summer day's gloaming,
    Lies dreamy and dun on the prairie's wild breast
  There my worn, wayward heart o'er the wild waves is roaming
    Far, far to the scenes that are dearest and best.

  As by bluff and by woodland, by swamp and by meadow,
    The gloom gathers round in its dim, mystic pall,
  Then my fancies come forth, spirit-children of shadow,
    Slow gliding from haunts where the lone night-birds call.

  When the wind, ardent lover, in songful caressing,
    Speaks low to the grasses that bend to his breath,
  And the dew woos the rose with the balm of its blessing
    And steals it with love from the shadow of death.

  Then I seek the wild glen, when the new moon is beaming
    All weirdly and wan, through a cloud's fleecy haze,
  'Till I stand, young and free, in the land of my dreaming,
    Clasping hands with the phantoms of happier days.

  And then, oh! mavourneen, in grey distance flying
    The present, the real, grows dimmer, and dies,
  See but the moonbeams, but hear the winds sighing,
    And bask, fancy bound, in the light of your eyes.

  My own! though the years in the gloom of their sadness
    Stand, frowning, 'tween me and the light of my star,
  And memory can feel the wild might of loves madness,
    Or scoff as rude Time its first sweetness would mar.

  Again, by the banks where Moyola is flowing
    We stray as the moonbeams smile sweet through the dell

  Unheeded the moments, unmarked in their going,
    Nor dreamed we of woe in the sound of "farewell."

  Is it lost—all the light of the fair morning vision?
    Is spirit to spirit unanswering, cold?
  No, it never shall die, while in memory's Elysian
    It lingers in beauty and brightness untold.

  Love is love, and though Fate blasts our hope vines may sever
    From the stay which their tendrils in fondness entwine
  Yet the past of our joy we must cherish forever
    And spirit meet spirit at memory's shrine.

A MEMORY.

  "Indulgent Memory wakes, and, lo! they live!"
  —RODGERS

  Deathless, while the years are flying,
  And all lesser hopes are dying.
  To my widowed heart near lying
      By a life-time's love embalmed,
  Is a memory, dear and tender,
  And in dreams its bygone splendour
  Sweetest, holiest, balm can render
      To my grief, by Time uncalmed.

  In life's morning, young and early
  Glistening fair through dew-drops pearly,
  Burst a bud that promised fairly
      Through the length of future days.
  Ah! it charmed my passion'd dreaming,
  Bathed in beauty's brightness, beaming
  Fadeless still, and deathless seeming
      In fond Hope's delusive haze.

  And, as when in wild December,
  June's calm twilights we remember,
  So this dream in shadowy splendour

  Ever haunts my lonely way;
  And I see in fond delusion,
  Glowing as in light Elysian,
  The entrancing, old-time vision
        Doom'd so early to decay.

  Days when Hope, how false! still flaunted
  Through my dreamings, love enchanted,
  Framed by busy Fancy, haunted
        By glad visions of delight,—
  Morns of light, and sunsets golden,
  Dreams of legends, grand and olden,
  Hopes for future years, withholden
        From our youthful, yearning sight.

  Past and gone! Ah! vain my sighing,—
  Hope's dead leaves are round me lying,
  But their fragrances, undying,
        Like a hallowed incense rise;
  And I feel, with joy unspoken,
  That the spirit love unbroken
  Leaves this Memory for a token
        Of its truth, that never dies.

  In that land whose beauty vernal
  Through tried ages blooms eternal
  Thou, in bliss undreamed, supernal
        Baskest in the glory-light
  Where celestial joys inspire
  All heaven's vast, unnumbered choir
  With sweet songs that never tire,
        Through the fadeless summer bright.

  Here, how sad this dreary roaming,
  Through the shadows of earth's gloaming,
  Waiting for the longed-for coming
        Of the lingering Morning Star;
  But swift time is onward fleeting—
  Backward is the past retreating,
  Nearer, nearer draws our meeting
        In the future, dim and far.

AFTER LIFE'S FEVER.

Obiit, June, 1882.

     —"And then, a flood of light, a seraph's hymn,
     And God's own smile, forever, and forever."

  Oh! pale, calm face; eyes by the Death-kiss sealed,
    Cold hands, upon the silent bosom folden;
  Oh! soul, set free—of all sin's sickness healed,
    Basking in light, from mortal eyes withholden,
                                   In cœlo quies.

  Still heart, that ached and throbb'd with human passion,
    Locks, white with snow of many a winter past,
  Tired body, weary after earth's poor fashion,
    Sleep calmly till the waking trumpet blast—
                                   In cœlo quies.

  All over now—the heart-ache and the burning
    Of thoughts, so trammelled by this "mortal coil;"
  The soul has cast behind its moans and yearning,
    The hands are resting from the long life's toil,—
                                   In cœlo quies.

  I, mournful gazer, watching by the portal
    Whence thou, from death to life, hast entered in,
  Would fain catch one stray gleam of light immortal,
    To tell me, ever drowning earth's wild din,
                                   In cœlo quies.

  I might not hear the angel welcome ringing,
    Nor see the pearly portals open wide,
  Wherein the ransomed band, the new song singing,
    In white robes wander by life's river side,
                                   In cœlo quies.

  "In cœlo quies," while the storms are beating
    Along earth's desert moorlands, wild and wide;
  While skies shall lower, and angry waves are meeting
    Thy bark is moored—thou art beyond the tide,
                                   In cœlo quies.

  "In cœlo quies"—Rest, pure, deep, eternal,
    Peace, in a perfect, blissful, endless calm;
  Charmed by the beatific joys supernal,
    Lull'd by the melody of seraph's psalm,
                                   In cœlo quies.

  Here, we but dream it all—the rest—the glory,
    Here we but yearn for it in sob and pain;
  Till knees wax weary and till locks grow hoary,
    Still "westward journeying," at length to gain,
                                   In cœlo quies.

  But thou mayest sleep; thy toilsome warfare ended,
    The long, rough life-path has been nobly trod,
  And with our lost ones, thou sweet songs hast blended,
    To hail them found, beside the throne of God?
                                   In cœlo quies.

LIGHT AT EVENTIDE.

  Round us in the stillness spreading,
    Comes the night.
  Mortal ears can't hear the treading
    Of her footsteps, soft and light.

  Dusky veil that shades the valleys,
    Bringing rest;
  Shadowy glooms in greenwood alleys.
    Twilight dreamings, sweet and blest.

  All the day-time cares are ended,
    And instead,
  Now by unseen bands attended,
    Far, in fancy, we are led.

  Misty forms of mystic seeming
    Hover near;
  Memory's myriad tapers gleaming
    Light old scenes and make them clear—

  Morn's vain hopes, and noon's stern sorrows,
    Tears and cares;
  Days of toiling, and to-morrow's
    Bringing less of wheat than tares.

  And the chequered, varied pages
    Of life's book
  Seem a sea whose calms and rages
    Now the tired heart cannot brook.

  Evening calm! ah, best and purest
    Time of peace;
  Soothing balm, when hope is surest,
    To bid all vain doubting cease.

  Pointing on, when near the pleasant,
    Rest awaits;
  When we leave this weary present
    And have gained the pearly gates.

  And as evening shadows, creeping,
    Gather round
  Dim eyes, worn so weak with weeping,
    Learn to smile as peace is found.

  In the hope so full of cheering
    And delight—
  Home, sweet home! our rest we're nearing!
    Evening time shall bring us light.

  Light of heaven! Earth's gloom adorning
    With thy smile,
  Earnest of the eternal morning
    After this brief "little while."

CHRISTMAS EVE.

  Ruddy bright the dying embers
    In the glooming, glow and burn,
  Scenes of olden-time Decembers,
    Ashes now in Times' great urn,
  That the heart so well remembers
    At this haunted hour reborn:—
  All the fairy scenes Elysian
    Born again in recollection,
    Seen with mirror-like reflection,
  Throng upon the wondering vision.
  Once again I hear the river
    In the darkness rush and roar,
  See the pine-boughs wave and quiver,
    Hear the oak trees, blasted, hoar,
  Muttering, as their gaunt arms shiver,
    "Come again, oh! days of yore!"
  Come, oh times of hope and longing,
    When the beauteous, pure ideal,
    Seemed tangible and real—
   "Love the light of Truth's belonging."

  And the woodland walks, enchanted,
    By the moonlight's mystic sheen,
  Seen as near as when Hope flaunted
    In the distance, dimly seen,
  That the witched hour seems haunted
    By the joys that once have been.
  Dear old days! they seem returning.
  Though their radiance long has vanished,
    Though their rays stern fate has banished,
  Fancy still can see them burning.

  See their magic, nameless graces,
    Through the shadows flit and gleam,
  See again beloved faces
    Shine around as in a dream,
  And the well-remembered places
    Of the bygone, nearer seem,
  Till all present melancholy,
    Fades away, and sweet and tender,
    Visions of life's spring-time splendour,
  Gleam among the bay and holly.

  Hark! the Christmas bells are ringing
    From the grey church-steeple near,
  And the choir are sweetly singing,
    "Nowel! Hail Messiah here!
  Nowel! for He cometh, bringing
    Unto all mankind good cheer."
  Through the night the music stealing
    Bringeth soothing sweet and pleasant,
    Sheds a peace upon the present,
  Future days in light revealing.

AT ANCHOR.

    "Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and forever"
    HEBREWS xiii. 8.

  In life's young morning blue-eyed promise smiled
    O'er a fair future of enchanting grace,
  And sweet toned love the golden hours beguiled,
    And Fortune's radiant smile illumed the place.

  But change, dread vulture, swooped upon her prey.
    And seized my treasures as Time's car sped on,
  Then traitor love took wings, and fled away.
    And long ere noon I wept a setting sun.

  Then Phoenix-like, beside the smoldering pile,
    Kind friendship rose with open, outstretched hands,
  But, ere I grasped them, death with icy smile
    Had rudely snapp'd in twain the three-fold bands.

  E'en while I mourned, I heard a thrilling voice
    That said in stirring accents, "Up! arise!
  Work, that in harvest time thou mayest rejoice!"
    And Fame stood pointing to the brightening skies.

  Then dreams, false phantoms, filled the gloaming air
    And lured me, spell-bound, by a labyrinth maze,
  But morning beams awakened new despair—
    The meteor glories passed in mist and haze.

  Through shady groves I strayed, and on before
    Walked high-browed Knowledge, calm-eyed and severe
  Unwearied still, I trod his footprints o'er,
    But fainting fell, the longed-for prize anear.

  Hard-smitten then, I wept; all woe-all gloom!
    The heart-void still unfilled, ached keen and sore,
  When through the inky darkness shot a gleam
    Of new-born glory, unrevealed before.

  Dear Lord! How frail these bauble-toys of Time
    When Thy "forever" dawns upon the heart;
  Thy perfect fullness, Saviour, how divine,
    E'en while we taste its blessedness in part!
  Still yesterday, to-day, while ages roll
    In grand, eternal vastness, still the same,
  Oh! potent Healer! every whit made whole,
    I sing glad Hallelujah to Thy name!

THE OLD TRYSTING PLACE.

"Die erste Liebe ist die beste."

  Through the green boughs the golden sunshine falling
    Glints on the glades and lonely woodland bowers;
  Bird answers bird, through the wide woodlands calling,
    In the deep hush of the calm summer hours.

  The limpid river winding through the meadows,
    Laughing and sparkling in the sunny noon,
  Takes peaceful tones here, 'neath the beeches' shadows,
    And sings sweet idylls in low, fitful tune.

  Songs of the olden days, of hopes and pleasures,
    Songs of the love of youth's glad morning times,
  That sigh around our path like dream-world treasures,
    Soothing as music of the vesper chimes.

  The rustic bridge, the leaves' soft shadows playing
    Down in the water-depths, and from away
  'Mong the blue hills, come mingled echoes straying,
    The pleasant sounds that fill the summer day.

  Aburnum's gold, and quivering beech-leaves blending,
    Sway, dancing in the breezes, to and fro;
  Wild hyacinths, their blue heads lowly bending,
    Listen the secrets of the winds to know.

  Oh! quaint old trysting-place! oh! lights and shadows,
    And sounds that haunt the dreams of Life's glad May!
  Dreams withered like the May-flowers in the meadows
    Or roses of the Junes long passed away.

  Here, oft in dreams, I see my own true maiden,
    The pure flower-face, the rippling golden hair;
  Ah! many years have roll'd past, sorrow-laden,
    Since blue-eyed Edmee waited for me there!

  Ah! murmuring brook, with waving willow fringes,
    Ah! woodland picture, all your charmed glow
  Is touched and changed by Truth's own sober tinges,
    Tints that youth's eager eyes see not, nor know.

  Fraught with these gleams of old-time faith and feeling,
    Fraught with the memory of "what might have been,"
  A still, small voice says all is God's wise dealing,
    Behind the clouds is brightness yet unseen.

  Young love and hope in all their matchless glory,
    Smile on our morning-time, then fade away;
  Teaching unwilling hearts the sad, true story,
    No lasting joy is here, all knows decay.

  "Die erste Liebe ist die beste," leaving
    A holy radiance round the scenes we knew;
  A potent power to point lone spirits, grieving,
    To deathless Love whose charms are ever new.

  It ever shows, "in part," in sweet tuition,
    What we shall know when we have gained the light,
  When all our highest hopes fade in fruition,
    Where the Eternal Summer beameth bright.

THY WORD IS A LIGHT UNTO MY FEET.

  Oh! Light of Lights! dark, dark is earth's long way,
  Cloud upon cloud looms o'er the path I stray;
  Far-off and dim the heavenly Land appears,
  Through the thick mist of weak distrust—and fears.
  Helpless, I seek Thy Word, and hear Thy voice,
  That bids me always in the Lord rejoice;
  Pointing from doubts within, and this world's wile
  To peace and victory, in "a little while."

  Oh! Saviour, Friend, how dark is life's rough path.
  What gloom and sorrow haunts this Vale of Death;
  Subtle the way, beset with many a snare
  And hidden evils lurking everywhere.
  But in this Light that shows my love, I see,
  This path Thou'st trod, and borne these griefs, for me,
  "Fear not!" I hear in tones of tenderest love
  "'Tis in thy weakness that my strength I prove."

  The world's temptations rage on life's wild sea,
  Drifting the fragile bark I steer to Thee,
  But safe I pass the rocks and angry waves,
  Helped by Thy mighty arm that shields and saves.
  And still above the wind's and water's roar
  A calm voice hails me from the distant shore,
  "Cast all your care undoubtingly on Me,
  Fully and freely, for I care for thee."

  When twilight shades fall round me, dim and grey,
  All those I love the most are far away,
  I look to Thee, and dry my willful tears—
  With love like Thine, I dread no lonely years.
  If 'tis Thy will, let bitter partings come,
  Sweet shall the meetings be in yonder Home;
  While here I have Thy love that cannot die,
  And could I feel alone when Thou art nigh?

  Weary with waiting for Thy promised rest,
  Dismayed with doubts, with sinfulness distressed;
  "Oh! let Thy kingdom come!" I pray "that I
  May join the glad new song they sing on high;"
  Then thy sweet words bring patience, "I prepare
  For thee an heavenly mansion, bright and fair,
  That where I am Thou mayest with Me abide,
  And taste full joy for ever by My side."

  I bless thee, Saviour, for this word of life,
  This light to guide me safe through every strife,
  This lantern o'er my pathway shining clear
  To show the dangers, and the Helper near.
  I love to see it beaming, day by day,
  Thine own bright smile, that lights the darksome way;
  "Led by Thy counsel," oh! what joy to be
  "Received in glory," Lord, at last by Thee.

MEMORIES.

  "In der Weit, weit,
  Aus der Einsamkeit,
  Wollen sie Dich locken."—FAUST.

  When the glad, bright days of our youth's fresh prime,
    Shall have pass'd, as a dream that at morning dies;
  When the long blank stretch of the coming time
    Like a desolate desert before us lies,
    Dreary and cheerless, 'neath sunless skies.

  When young, sweet love, with her luring smile,
    The mystic charm-light of halcyon hours,
  Shall no more with her witch'ry our souls beguile,
    As the leaves grow seer on Life's fading bowers,
    And the blushes are pale on its withering flowers.

  When the strains we loved in the days of yore
    No more with their sweetness our heart's-chords thrill,
  When Hope's roseate meteors glow no more,
    Like the summer sunrise o'er vale and hill,
    That our dreamings with radiance were wont to fill.

  When these are gone, shall the lone heart know
    No solace the solitude's gloom to cheer?
  Shall no stray beams lighten the spirit's woe
    As it moans "alone!" e'en when crowds are near?
    Must all be lost that was once so dear?

  Ah, no! Though Time is a thief, I ween,
    Stealing youth's best wealth as the swift years go,
  Still the memories of pleasures which once have been—
    The dreams of the beautiful "Long ago,"
    Are our own to keep, and shall aye be so!

"THE KING IS DEAD."

  Hush! There's a solemn pause,
    And looks of fear!
  You ask—Whence comes the cause?
    Grim Death is here!

  Oh! well thou answerest, well—
    'Tis fairly said;
  Our hearts thrill to the knell,
    "The King is dead!"

  Dead! And the bell swings, swings
    On in its deep, sad tone;
  We own the King of Kings
    Is King alone!

  We crown our Kings, we place
    Bay leaves on victors' brow,
  But all our mortal race
    Can boast is now.

  The body lay in state,
    All fair to mortal eye;
  The soul's eternal fate—
    Oh! Death, thy mystery!

  TO "X. Y. Z.,"
  On receiving a paper from him.

  "Old places have a charm for me
    The new can ne'er attain;
  Old faces—how I long to see
    Their kindly looks again!"—Anon.

  "X. Y. Z.," your paper was
    A welcome thing, indeed, to me;
  It brought the memories of old days,
    Like fragrance wafted o'er the sea.

  It spake about familiar nooks,
    The dear old paths I know so well;
  I almost thought I heard the brooks,
    Or roamed again my favourite dell.

  The happy hours, the rustic glades,
    The gloaming time, the twilight stroll,
  Ah, me! these April evening shades
    With old-time dreams can haunt one's soul.

  The heart feels young again and free,
    And no such word is known as care;
  Sweet rays of light that used to be
    Seem hovering in the twilight air!

  The hedges and the fields of green,
    The lanes, the flowers, the wild bird's trill,
  The trees, seen down the water's sheen.
    The cattle lowing o'er the hill!

  Your well-drawn school-life picture, too,
    My school-time morn recalls again;
  'Tis like an old tune, sweet and true,
    That mingles pleasing notes with pain.

  The fields, the schools, the village way,
    The quaint, old-fashioned, country rhyme,
  All come, like mystic glows that stray
    Across the yellowing fields of Time.

  The English lanes have lovely flowers,
    And moss, and ferns, and birds that sing,
  But Erin—green Erin—still is ours.
    And to her name our fond hearts cling.

  Each land we visit claims some grace—
    Some special charm it calls its own;
  Yet patriot souls must love the place
    Which childhood's happy memories crown.

LOVE.

  When first from Eden's blissful bowers,
    Man roamed o'er earth in exile driven,
  Kind Heaven, to cheer his lonely hours,
    A source of joy to him hath given.

  'Tis Love, that lights our darkest days,
    'Tis Love, that cheers our keenest woe,
  'Tis Love, whose soul inspiring rays,
    Gilds all our lives with heaven-lent glow.

  Ambition leads us for a while
    To follow many a meteor light—
  Whose flickering beams our souls beguile,
    And lure us on to hopeless night.

  And Fame may sound her clarion voice—
    Wealth bring his hoards from every clime,
  But Age shall come, and earth's frail joys
    Must own the sway of sovereign Time.

  But Love, as flying years go past,
    Shall glow with holier, tenderer beam,
  And shine, our guiding star at last
    Till our dull hearts shall catch a gleam.

  And when our life on earth is o'er
    And we from all our toil shall rest,
  The beams of Love will light that shore
    Where Love has ransomed all the Blest!

A BIRTHDAY ANNIVERSARY.

  "Tis sweet, when year by year we lose
  Friends out of sight, in faith to muse
  How grows in Paradise our store!"—KEBLE.

  His Birthday! but to-night there is no gladness,
    As in the bright old days forever flown;
  And in my heart one aching thought of sadness
    Seems ever whispering, Alone! Alone!

  The darkness gathers round, and, wan and olden,
    The worn day paler grows, and dies away,
  And all life's light and brightness now seem folden
    Beneath the twilight's dusky mantle gray.

  The old church tower, amid the shadows looming,
    Stands grim and sombre in the dying light;
  The trees with leafless branches shiver, moaning,
    As the sad winds sigh softly through the night.

  Weird looks the ruined church, where ivy creeping
    Decks the old walls fast mouldering in decay;
  And peace rests o'er the graves in whose calm keeping,
    In quiet safety, sleeps the treasured clay.

  Here in this corner, where his grave is lying,
    The fir trees throw deep shade, and soft and low,
  When summer eve or winter day is dying,
    The winds seem ever sighing songs of woe!

  Oh! cherished spot! beloved beyond all measure,
    Your holy peace that brings a balm so blest!
  When turning from the world, in grief or pleasure,
    I seek your calm, and hunger for your rest!

  How feeble, then, seem all the ties that bound me
    To this world's ways, that held such charms for me
  And heaven-born dreams and holy thoughts surround me
    Until from earth's vain things my soul is free!

  Then do I feel this wound of Mercy's giving
    Draws all my hopes from earth to holier love.
  An e'en while here, sin-stained and lonely living,
    My heart is with my treasure fixed above!

  Still, looking upward to the Heavenly Mansion,
    Where he abides—where we shall meet him there—
  Where soul with soul shall blend in the expansion
    Of that world's higher life, immortal, fair!

  That land of beauty, where the Lamb in glory
    Gathers His own to perfect bliss and peace,
  Where all the ransomed sing Redemption's story
    In joys celestial that can never cease.

  Thrice happy lot was thine, oh, blessed spirit!
    So early called from this dark vale of woe—
  From chequered scenes of warfare—to inherit
    That perfect love that God's own favoured know.

  Then could we wish thee back to dwell with mortals
    And bear those storms that toss Time's troubled sea?
  No! from that home beyond the pearly portals
    Thou canst not come, but we will go to thee!

IN MEMORIAM

OF

R. A. WILSON, ESQ.,

EDITOR OF THE BELFAST MORNING NEWS.

  Fair vales of Ulster! in the noontide smiling,
    Blue Northern mountains, frowning to the sky;
  Rivers that flow along, with song beguiling
    The summer day your beauties, too, must die!

  Know ye no requiem? Ah! streamlets borrow
    Your tones from tearful voices! Mountains blue,
  O'er your high heads let heavy clouds of sorrow
    Tell that ye mourn the death of Patriot true.

  Erin! green Erin! let your great heart feel it!
    Bid all your sons and daughters, fair and brave,
  By dropping tears and mourning faces tell it,
    As they place laurels on a new-made grave!

  Lowly he lies to day? Death's deep, calm slumber
    Has claimed another of our cherished ones;
  As he, the talented, ranks with the number
    Of Erin's lost, best-loved—her gifted sons!

  "Barney Maglone" is dead! Let the winds sighing
    On their fleet wings, bear far the wail of woe
  To every land. Let them in wild, sad crying
    Tell out to all the sorrow that we know.

  Our Poet, and not all Westminster's glory
    Could ever give him half so loved a grave
  As this green mound, with simple cross, whose story
    Shall live 'mong annals of our gifted brave!

  Methinks that far among old Ireland's mountains
    I hear the breezes sing a sad dirge, low,
  Wild, and yet soft, with tears from many fountains
    And murmuring riven wailing in their flow.

  The grand old woods, with leafy branches waving,
    Mingle their many harps in one refrain,
  Blent with the waves, whose foam our coast is laving,
    Rolling afar, weeping aloud the strain—

  Waters and wondrous deep,
    Mountains and valleys;
  Woodlands and heathery steep,
    Lone greenwood alleys,

  Sound the long wail of woe,
  Tell the news, sad and low,
  Let all the wide world know
    Of the loved, lost one!

  Waves of deep, boundless sea,
  Boiling for ever free,
  Tell through the time to be
    Of the bright, lost one!

  Erin, whose bosom green,
  His own, his loved shrine has been,
  Feel the woe thou hast seen
    For the true, lost one!

  His land, in weal or woe,
  In dark gloom or sunny glow,
  Do all Ireland's great ones know
    Such zeal as this lost one?

  Bright dreams! ah, how fleeting
    Was his life's fair story!
  Swift, swift was the meeting
    Of Death, with earth's glory!

  Unrivalled in splendour
    His sky was at morning,
  Still brightening, its grandeur
    His noonday adorning.

  But a dark cloud rose glooming,
    Ah, me! 'twas Death's shadow!
  It chilled the heat blooming
    Of hillside or meadow!

  Oh, waters and wondrous deep,
    Mountains and valleys,
  Woodlands and heathery steep,
    Lone greenwood alleys—

  Sound the weird wail of woe,
    Tell the news sad and low,
  Let all the wide world knew
    Of Erin's best lost one!

WELCOME TO SPRING.

  Oh, Spring! sweet Spring! with your golden hours,
  Thrice welcome back to our vales and bowers!
  I have sighed for you through the Winter's gloom,
  And counted the months, till again you come.
    Then, welcome, sweetest! I hail you here,
    Fairest child of the smiling year!

  I have watched for your advent with longing eyes,
  As you lingered 'neath sunnier southern skies;
  I have wafted songs o'er the winds to thee
  The sighs of a lover's fond constancy.
    Then, welcome, darling! to glen and grove,
    Child of gladness, and nope, and love!

  I see your footprints along the woods,
  And your magic touch on the opening buds,
  Bursting to birth on hedge and tree,
  In promise of vernal life to be.
    Then, welcome, Spring! to our land again,
    Bringing beauty and me in your happy train!

  I have marked where you paused by the streamlet's side,
  There smiled the primrose, in early pride,
  All golden fair 'mid her leaves of green.
  Dropped from your garland, oh, beauteous queen!
    Then, welcome! to brighten our long-left bower
    Fair child of sunshine, and joy, and flowers!

  I have paused entranced in the early morn,
  When the birds awoke as the day was born,
  Pealing welcomes wild in their native glee.
  And my heart went out in their songs to thee,
    On the fresh winds borne o'er the hills along,
    Child of music, and mirth, and song!

  Oh, Spring! sweet Spring! 'neath your gentle reign.
  Life, light, and beauty are born again;
  And sad hearts, hopeless in Winter days,
  Break forth to singing glad songs of praise—
    For that promise renewed in your yearly birth
    Of a fadeless Spring and a ransomed Earth!

ONLY "A LITTLE WHILE."

  I saw the sun arise in light at morning;
    My being drank the beauty, like some dream
  That comes when all is dark, the gloom adorning
    With gilding mystic—bright—a soul-world gleam

  I saw the noontide flush on grove and meadow,
    I heard the coo of birds that seem'd at rest;
  And the fair radiance, all undimm'd by shadow,
    Was like a foretaste of the bright and blest.

  I saw, when evening's mellow sunlight glinted,
    Far and anear, gleaming on wood and gold;
  Mountain and valley shone all carmine-tinted,
    Old Ocean's burnished breast seem'd heaving gold.

  Only "a little while" since morn rose brightly,
    Followed by noontide calm: a little while
  Since sunset glory lit all Nature, lightly
    Blessing the earth with one sweet parting smile.

  Only "a little while" a meet type, showing
    How brief is earth's short day—how soon 'tis o'er;
  Morn, noon, and night, still onward, onward going,
    So soon to land us on the eternal shore.

  Only "a little while," poor child of sadness!
    The shadows must come first, the clouds and gloom;
  Then, the full glow of Heaven, the new born gladness,
    When Christ, thy risen Lord, prepares thee room.

  In that fair Home, where He has passed before us,
    And in "a little while," shall call us in;
  Here, with His love's own glory shining o'er us,
    Strong in His strength, we run that goal to win!

  Only "a little while," gay child of pleasure!
    The night is spent so far—the morn is near;
  Then think! oh, think! where hast thou hid thy treasure?
    In these frail, dying toys that charm thee here.

  Oh! in "a little while," their borrowed radiance
    Shall fade, as starlight fades when dawn is nigh;
  And all earth's glittering show, her smiles and fragrance,
    In the fierce fire of wrath shall melt and die!

  Only "a little while!" would we but ponder
    These three brief words, their length and breadth and
  height
  A solemn sign to each, a ray of wonder
    From the Unseen, to light the spirit's night.

  "A little while"—past, present, future blending
    Shall be a tale soon told, and pass'd for aye;
  Then the eternal life, that cannot die—unending,
    Undying woe, or Heaven's own dazzling day.

LIFE'S PATHWAY.

  We walk among labyrinths of wonder, but tread the mazes with
       a club;
  We sail in chartless seas, but behold! the Pole-star is above
       us—TUPPER.

  Life is a pathway, stretched from morn till eve,
    O'er which, through shade and sunshine, we must go
  And, whether bright or dark this life we live,
    Its end must bring us unto joy or woe;
  Joy, that no mortal's holiest dreams can know,
    Or dread, unending; fearful depths of woe!

  This path is fair at morning, wondrous fair;
    With verdant windings, hiding from the view
  The far-off journey, and what may be there,
    Hid by the Future hilltops, high and blue;
  And morn's glad sunlight smiles from dazzling skies,
    Gilding the path we tread with heaven-lent dyes.

  Oh! youth is sweet! for tender hands are near,
    And eyes aglow with Love's own magic ray,
  Heart meeting heart, each to the other dear—
    Through hours that, ere we count them, glide away;
  For none can turn to seek a cherished place—
  One only life, whose path we can't retrace!

  And soon they pass, these meteor joys of earth,
    That flash and gleam along the troubled way;
  Till wondering wanderers question if their birth
    Dawns from a Land that knows no sad decay;
  Some sinless region, from whose portals bright
  These fleeting rays descent in heavenly light.

  Such glorious hues, in golden glory glowing,
    When sunrise splendour glads the morning sky;
  That bloom awhile, and as they bloom bestowing
    Beauty and light, so soon to melt and die,
  Leaving a yearning in the darkened heart
  To know more closely what we see in part.

  The noonday calm, the sunny Summer hours,
    The wild-birds' warbled songs, the balmy air;
  Life's early pathway strewn with earth's sweet flowers—
    Can these be dying things—so bright, so fair?
  Or lights to lead us o'er a chequered road,
  And cheer the shadows to a blest abode?

  Oh! spell-bound Fancy fain would wander far,
    If we might only break this mortal thrall;
  And roam, unshackled, o'er Time's broken bar,
    Trace these gleams whose glory lights on all!
  Then would we see in all below, above,
  The Great Creator's perfect power and love.

  Yet in this path that stretched before us lies
    We may, as oft with weary feet we tread
  Through chequered ways of change, see through the mysteries
    The living promise from their gleamings shed,
  That far from mortal things, and sin, and care,
  There is a glorious world, unchanging, fair.

  Oh! may we trace in all that lives and grows
    The shadows of a perfect life, unseen;
  As when some star that in the twilight glows
    In mirrored dimly in the water's sheen,
  And we can see, in the calm lake's cool breast,
  The far-off glow that lingers in the West.

  Thus, as we onward go, may thoughts be ours
   Whose holy pureness in our souls may raise
  An anthem of thanksgiving, till life's hours,
   Ending, shall find our hearts' attuned to praise
  That Love which cheered us on earth's chequered way,
  O'er the long path that led to Cloudless Day!

CLOUDS IN MAY.

  "May is here, sweet 'Mois de Marie,' but my sky is
   overcast!"—ST. GERMAN.

  The hush of twilight, fair and still
      Great cloud-ranks, bright with gorgeous dyes
      That linger in the Western skies,
  Ere Night's deep gloom steals o'er the hill.
  The wind sighs softly round the eaves,
     The May's fresh sweetness fills the air,
     And Peace seems hovering everywhere.
  Oh, restless heart, that aches and grieves!—
  Grieves when the earth is bright and green,
     And Summer's balmy breeze and flowers
     Are brightening, charming all the hours
  That span the long, long "bridge between"
  Dear hopes and their fruition, laid
     In many a way, by human plan.
     But ah! these dream-world thoughts of man
  Soon, soon can droop, and blight and fade!

  We know 'tis best. Then wherefore try
      To ask whence come the darksome clouds?
      We know 'tis God's own hand that shroud
  Our coming days in mysteries.
  "A little while," and there is room
      In that bright, blessed land above,
      To see, and feel, and taste the love
  That sends us now the clouds and gloom.
  Why come the clouds? God only knows
      Why human hearts need pain and woe;
      But Faith's glad gleams still come and go,
  Like sunbeams flashing on the snows
  Of earth's dark winter-time, and He
      Shall smile at last, and frosts shall melt,
      And heavenly sunshine shall be felt
  When Time fades in Eternity

A FRAGMENT.

  "My spirit beats her mortal bars
  As down dark tides the glory glides,
  Then, star-like, mingles with the stars."—TENNYSON.

  Oh, restful peace of night! The balmy air
  Laden with myriad sounds of things so fair,
  The waving branches, and the leaves' low whispering
  The wondrous songs the winding river sings,
  That through the meadow-lands and forest ways,
  By flowery nooks, and glades, and valleys strays.

  Oh! shadowy time of dreams, and mysteries,
  And longing hopes! Far in the dark blue skies
  The star-worlds glimmer brightly through the night;
  The flowers are sleeping that at close of day
  Wept dew-tears, as the sun's last fading light
  From glen and moor land slowly passed away,
  When amorous zephyrs wooed them softly sighing
  In odorous breaths, as eve's last glow was dying.

  Oh! stars, that through the darkness smile and gleam,
  Like glory-rays that gild the dreary gloom,
  Or like some soul-world glance or mystic dream
  That from the mind's vast store of summer bloom
  We feel at times—your influence comes to raise
  Our hearts above earth's night of doubts and haze
  For all these holy thoughts of peace, that spring
  From hearts at rest from daytime cares and pains,
  Are messengers of love, sent from the King
  That in the blessed country lives and reigns.
  And from its gates, above the starry heaven,
  Come mystic rays that round our pathway stray—
  His guiding lights that to our souls are given,
  Foretastes that cheer and brighten all our way!

SPRING THOUGHTS.

  "Of the bright things in earth and air
    How little can the heart embrace-
  Soft shades and gleaming lights are there
    I know it well, but cannot trace!"—KEBLE

  Spring comes again, and the freed flowers are springing
    From the cold, frost-bound earth;
  And on the budding trees the wild birds singing,
    Hail Nature's glad new birth!

  And hope awakes from many a heart-grave using,
    Glad gloriously and new;
  And many souls, in faith and trust, are prizing
    That promise sweet and true;

  Summer and Winter, ever coming, going,
    Springtime and Harvest days,
  And falling leaves and opening buds are showing
    God's ever faithful ways.

  That point us to the resurrection morning,
    And to the gladsome day,
  When light eternal, the far East adorning,
    Shall chase these glooms away.

  And she shall rise who left our home so early,
    And left our hearts in gloom,
  Clad like the flowers, in beauty's bloom all fairly
    Arising from the tomb.

  In that fair Spring and in that Summer shadeless,
    With her we, too, shall live—
  There, 'neath His smile whose glory, beaming fadeless,
    Eternal peace shall give.

  And all these ties that Time's rough hand had driven
    Shall be united there,
  And every cross a Father's hand had given
   Be gemmed with jewels fair!

LINES.

On reading "Lays of Love and Fatherland," by X. Y. Z.

  Oh! say not now that Erin's harp
    Is left untouched by minstrel hand;
  Oh! say not that no minstrel heart
    Sings now of "Love and Fatherland."
  Green Ulster's mountains and her vales
    Hear once again a patriot's lyre;
  Ierna's legendary tales
    Once more are told in patriot fire!

  And hearts beat high, as when of old
    In chieftain's hall or peasant's cot
  The stories of our land were told
    In songs whose spell was half forgot
  Till, touched again, the chords resound
    That bid our slumbering zeal return,
  And souls, so long in coldness bound,
    With old-time fire and fervour burn!

  And favoured ones, whom love shall bless
    In life's bright, sunny morning hours,
  Shall sing in joy and happiness
    These songs in Hope's enchanted bowers,
  For youth hath dreams, and tho' they go
    like sunset fading from the sky,
  The cherished songs of "long ago,"
    While memory lives, can never die.

  Song's potent powers, like holy things
    That hover round our path unseen,
  On airy wings, to fancy brings
    Old scenes, new-clad in fairy sheen.
  And like sweet music heard at eve
    In some cathedral, old and grey,
  Such songs can cheer the hearts that grieve,
    And chase all present gloom away.

IF "SOMEONE" LOVES US.

  If life's path grows dull and dreary,
     With grim shadows on it cast;
  If the tired heart grows weary
     When all joy seem o'er and past;
  When e'en Hope hath ceased to cheer us
    With its warm and sunny ray,
  And the peace that once was near us
   From our pathway steals away
     There's one source where we can borrow
      Sweetest wealth to keep and claim,
     If we feel in joy or sorrow
     Someone loves us all the same!

  If fair-faced Pleasure brightly
    Beam upon our happy home,
  And our hearts with hope beat lightly
    Of brighter days to come;
  If fickle Fortune, smiling,
    Strew the pleasant path with flowers,
  And Mirth, with song beguiling,
    Lead the merry-footed hours—
      There's a deeper, holier gladness
       That is ours to keep and claim,
      If we feel in joy or sadness
       Someone loves us all the same!

  If our thoughts, at evening blending
     With the dim and shadowy light,
  Bring us dreams of bliss unending
     In the Haven, calm and bright—
  Oh! how sweet the thought—"for ever
     'Mong the sinless we shall stand,
  There united, ne'er to sever,
      In the bright and better land:"
        And e'en then, refined and holy,
          Free from earthly stain and sin,
        Shall the pure heart, meek and lowly,
          Wear the crown true love shall win.

NEW YEAR'S SONG.

  "Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky.
    The flying clouds, the frosty light;
    The year is dying in the night—
  Ring out, wild bells, and let it die!

  "Ring out the Old; ring in the New!
    Ring, happy bells, across the snow!
    The year is going; let it go—
  Ring out the false! ring in the truer!"—TENNYSON.

  Oh! welcome! welcome! glad New Year!
    We hail with joy your birth.
  Let peace and love reign far and near,
    And plenty fill the earth!

  Old Year, good-bye! a last good-bye
    To sorrow, woe and sin!
  Let all of darkness with thee die
    And all of light begin!

  When first we bade you welcome here
    We hailed you with delight;
  But ah! how many then were near,
    So far away to-night!

  Ah! well! if thorns were 'mong thy flowers,
    Or clouds were in thy sky,
  We owe thee many blissful hours
    Whose memory ne'er can die!

  Farewell, farewell, for aye, Old Year,
    And as you pass from view,
  For all those golden hours a tear
    That pass away with you!

  "Le Roi est mort!" "Vive le Roi!"
    The Old Year, weeping, dies!
  Ere we can mourn, a joyous chime
    Peals through the midnight skies.

  Oh! welcome! welcome! New-born Year!
    We join the strains of joy;
  To everyone our hearts hold dear
    Be peace without alloy!

  May fadeless light their pathway bless;
    And, for a lasting stay,
  Oh! may they find that happiness
    That cannot pass away.

  For years may come, and years may go,
    And earthly joys grow old;
  But heavenly love no change can know—
    No time can make it cold.

  Oh! welcome! welcome! New-born Year!
    And, as we hail your birth,
  May pure and holy thoughts come near
    And raise our hopes from earth!