And so, one day, when all had passed
The erring creature by,
And many a one had sought to catch
The youthful pastor's eye,
He came to that lone being's side,
And spake in accents bland,
A few, but kindly, cordial words,
And frankly gave his hand.
It stirred the fountains of her heart,
And mid that gathered crowd,
Heedless of all their whispered scorn,
She stood, and wept aloud!
O, never more to sin's dark way
Shall that poor soul return;
The holy flame relighted then
Shall never cease to burn.
And blessings on his earnest heart,
Who fearlessly hath trod
In the beloved Master's steps, -
"The pure in heart see God!"
All things shall prosper in his hands;
His deeds his truth shall prove;
Salvation is his triumph-song,
His ministry is LOVE!
TO A TEMPERANCE LECTURER.
"How beautiful the feet of him" who sheds
A precious ointment upon drooping heads!
Who o'er the darkened soul a sunbeam flings,
And the glad message of salvation brings!
Unfurl thy banner, herald brave and true!
Press nobly onward, there's a work to do!
Forth from the platform be thy thunders hurled;
Rouse with thy clarion voice the slumbering world!
Father! who gazest on thy gallant son,
The well-beloved, and thine only one,
Hast thou no fear, lest, in unguarded youth,
His feet shall wander from the way of Truth?
Mother! who cradlest on thy yearning breast
Thy infant daughter to her peaceful rest,
Canst thou, who watchest o'er her budding charms,
Give thy beloved to a drunkard's arms?
Parent and daughter, sister, friend, and wife!
Is there no object, dearer than thy life,
Round whom the fibres of the heart entwine,
Whose joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, are thine?
Enter the lists against the mighty foe,
Who brings the lovely and the gifted low,
Blights the affections with his poison-breath,
And dooms his victims to a living death!
And thou, oh herald! onward, in thy might,
Till earth be bathed in Truth's refulgent light,
Till Sin, dark tyrant, from his throne be hurled,
And Freedom's banner from our heights unfurled!
REMINISCENCES.
THERE's a sunny spot that my childhood knew, Where I used to roam when the skies were blue, When the lowly vale and the mountain height Were bathed in a flood of golden light.
'Twas far from the busy haunts of men,
Away in a deep, romantic glen,
Where the woodland birds their matins sung,
And their tiny nests in the elm-trees hung.
And there, from the brightest, sunniest nook,
Leaped merrily forth a crystal brook,
That sparkled and danced in its joyous glee,
And sung like a captive bird set free.
There the violet blue, and the golden-rod,
And the purple foxglove, bedecked the sod;
And nature seemed to have gathered there
All that was beautiful, bright and fair.
'T was a quiet spot, and I long to roam Once more in the haunts round my early home; To sit and read in that cozy nook,
Or follow the course of the laughing brook.
To watch the glorious sunlight gleam
Like a radiant crown in the silver stream,
And to gather flowers from its banks once more
To wreath in my curls, as in days of yore.
Once more on the fresh greensward to lie,
And, gazing up at the clear blue sky,
To number the stars as forth they come,
A glittering host in the spacious dome.
It may not be ! I may rove again
Through the meadow-paths or the grassy lane;
may cull sweet flowers by the brooklet's side,
And braid my hair in its mirror tide;
I may laugh, but not with the careless mirth
That erst like a wild bird's note gushed forth;
For never again shall the lightsome glee
Which gladdened those hours return to me.
I have learned the lessons of later years,
To smile at grief with a heart in tears,
To scoff at the blessed romance of youth,
And mock whate'er bears the name of Truth.
Oft, wearied and sick of life's vain parade,
I sigh for an humble and quiet shade,
And a spirit tameless and free, as when
My world was comprised in that narrow glen.
[The accompanying stanzas were suggested by an engraving, entitled the "Bridal Wreath," representing two females, one wreathing the hair of the other with orange-blossoms. The face of the bride, though beautiful, wore an expression of intense melancholy, which attracted my attention, and suggested a little romance, which I have woven into verse, as follows:]
TWINE not amid my tresses now
Those orange-blossoms fair!
Their beauty ill befits this brow,—
They 'll fade and wither there.
And take these glistening pearls away,-
Their purity would shame
The unquiet breast whereon they lay,
That bartered peace for fame.
Those beautiful, pale orange-flowers!
What dreams of olden time,
Of vanished joys, departed hours,
And my own sunny clime,
They bring before my aching eyes,
Until I yearn to be
Once more beneath thy sapphire skies,
Mine own fair Italy!
Those skies, they never look so blue,
In this far distant land;
And hearts are colder, friends are few
To press the stranger's hand.
I loathe this carved and gilded dome,
With gorgeous tap'stries hung!
O, give me back my childhood's home,
Where first my lute was strung!
Why did I leave that vine-clad cot,
To gain a prouder name,
And bear a minstrel's chequered lot,
To win a minstrel's fame?
I deemed that was the highest bliss,
The triumph of my art!
I left my native land for this,
And broke a trusting heart!
My laurel wreath with blood is stained-
How great hath been its cost!
What is the glory I have gained,
Compared with what I've lost?
Earth's proudest ones have sought my shrine,
And offered incense there;
But gladly would I all resign,
A quiet heart to bear!
Ye've twined the bridal orange-wreath
Amid my raven hair ;
Alas! the brow that smiles beneath
Doth hide a weight of care!
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