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Past cot and farm, through vale and dell ;

Winding like a silken cord
Through ravines, where the red deer dwell
Beside the forest ford ;

Where hawthorn wild,

The woodland's child, Delights the eye with bloom.

Where trailing honeysuckles wind their stems

Around the trees and rocks ;
While in the sheltered, shadowy bends
Grow sweet forget-me-nots

Of starry hue

And deep, dark blue, Bright groups of silent beauty.

Past reeds and rushes, where the duck,

The coot and water-hen
Oft find a shelter for themselves
From prying eyes of nien;

And rest secure,

Though still endure The sounds of dog and gun.

By mill and weir, with bridge and pier,

Across the foaming tide;
Where mosses rank adorn the bank,

And ferns both tall and wide.

Where turning round

With joyous sound
The mill-wheel churns the tide.

In small, tumultuous cataracts

Of waters white and strong ; Whose rushing, leaping, bounding waves Are full of life and song ;

As on their course

They murmur hoarse Throughout the livelong day.

So ever on, and deep'ning as it goes,

A tributary bright,
The Brooklet to the River flows,
There closely to unite

In bonds for ever

Which none can sever, Save He who made us all.

And thence toward the Mighty Sea,

Whose billows evermore Proclaim that future Vast Eternity Beyond this Earthly Shore,

Where weary rest

Amid the blest,
And God alone doth Reign.

That Night again amid my Dreams

I saw the Streamlet glide ; And heard again as distant bells The music of its tide;

To rise and swell

As an Ocean shell
Re-echoes the surges of its home.

It spoke to me of a gladsome time

In years long, long ago ;
When Boyhood's rosy morning prime
With Youth was all aglow;

And free from care,

And swift as hare,
I bounded like the Brooklet's flow.

How soon those happy Schoolboy Days flew by!

Full well do I remember ; Till eagerly I longed to cast The ties of School asunder;

alack ! I wish them back, With all the Master's Thunder.

But now,

Then came the Maiden whom I loved

With eyes of winning glow;
And glossy, beauteous, blue-black hair,

Like bloom upon the sloe.

She won my heart,

But oh, the smart !
Death claimed her for his own.

Then sought I in the World's broad Battlefield

To win a share of Fame,
And write on Time's deep-dinted Shield
The lustre of my name.

And thus remove

The pangs of Love
By hard Work and Renown.

Alas, alas ! as Time sped by,

I found no Comfort there;
But only Schemes and Vanity,
Which made the Heart despair

And left me lone

Yea, all alone
Among my Fellow-men!

Yet onward still this Course of Life

Through varied Scenes doth run
Toward that Heav'nly land of Rest
Beyond the Setting Sun.

Already to mine ear

In accents sweet and clear
The music of that Land is


Composed at Brawby, July, 1885. The Rye and Seven are the Rivers from whence the various Scenes are taken.


SWEET messenger

of Eve! I love thy soft caress, As Daylight, loth to leave,

Still lingers in the West.

I love thy gentle Song ;

As through the Country lanes, Thine anthems peal along;

With fragrance of the plains.

Thy breath is nectar sweet,

Like honey from the bee; Borne on thy pinions fleet,

From mountain, moor, and lea.

'Tis sweet to hear thee pass

O'er rocky Cliffs at Night; Making music mid the grass,

That crowns their rugged height.

With wondrous soothing sound,

And lonely wild refrain; Thine airy chariots bound,

To join the restless Main.

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