That some rich lord, she hardly knew, had come to bear away The pride of all the country round-the poor man's hope and stay
The glory and the darling of
Our old Manorial Hall.
I heard her plight to him the troth she could not understand,
I saw her weeping turn her head and wave her parting hand;
And from that hour no thing on earth has gone with me but
wrong,
And soon I left the Garden and the Home I loved so long :
It was a haunted house to me,
And now I wander up and down, I labour as I can,
Without a wish for rest or friends, a sorry-hearted man ;
Yet at the bottom of my thoughts the saddest lies, that She,
With all her wealth and noble state, may none the happier be
Than I, the poor old Garde'ner of
I WANDERED by the brook-side,
I wandered by the mill,-
I could not hear the brook flow,
The noisy wheel was still;
There was no burr of grasshopper,
Nor chirp of any bird,
But' the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.
I sat beneath the elm-tree,
I watched the long, long, shade,
And as it grew still longer,
I did not feel afraid;
For I listened for a footfall,
I listened for a word,—
But' the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.
He came not,-no, he came not,—
The night came on alone,—
The little stars sat, one by one,
Each on his golden throne;
The evening air passed by my cheek,
The leaves above were stirr'd,—
But' the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.
Fast silent tears were flowing,
When something stood behind,—
A hand was on my shoulder,
I knew its touch was kind:
It drew me nearer-nearer,—
We did not speak one word,
For' the beating of our own hearts
Was all the sound we heard.
HEART of the People! Working men!
Marrow and nerve of human powers;
Who on your sturdy backs sustain
Through streaming Time this world of ours;
Hold by that title,-which proclaims,
That ye are undismayed and strong,
Accomplishing whatever aims
May to the sons of earth belong.
Yet not on you alone depend
These offices, or burthens fall;
Labour for some or other end
Is Lord and master of us all.
The high-born youth from downy bed
Must meet the morn with horse and hound, While Industry for daily bread
Pursues afresh his wonted round.
With all his pomp of pleasure, He
Is but your working comrade now,
And shouts and winds his horn, as ye
Might whistle by the loom or plough;
In vain for him has wealth the use
Of warm repose and careless joy,—
When, as ye labour to produce,
He strives, as active to destroy.
But who is this with wasted frame,
Sad sign of vigour overwrought?
What toil can this new victim claim?
Pleasure, for Pleasure's sake besought.
How men would mock her flaunting shows, Her golden promise, if they knew
What weary work she is to those
Who have no better work to do!
And He who still and silent sits
In closed room or shady nook,
And seems to nurse his idle wits
With folded arms or open book :-
To things now working in that mind,
Your children's children well may owe
Blessings that Hope has ne'er defined
Till from his busy thoughts they flow.
Thus all must work with head or hand,
For self or others, good or ill;
Life is ordained to bear, like land,
Some fruit, be fallow as it will:
Evil has force itself to sow
Where we deny the healthy seed,—
And all our choice is this,-to grow
Pasture and grain or noisome weed.
Then in content possess your hearts,
Unenvious of each other's lot,—
For those which seem the easiest parts
Have travail which ye reckon not:
And He is bravest, happiest, best,
Who, from the task within his span,
Earns for himself his evening rest
And an increase of good for man.
WHEN God built up the dome of blue,
And portioned earth's prolific floor,
The measure of his wisdom drew
A line between the Rich and Poor;
And till that vault of glory fall,
Or beauteous earth be scarred with flame,
Or saving love be all in all,
That rule of life will rest the same.
We know not why, we know not how,
Mankind are framed for weal or woe-
But to the' Eternal Law we bow;
If such things are, they must be so.
Yet, let no cloudy dreams destroy
One truth outshining bright and clear,
That Wealth abides in Hope and Joy,
And Poverty in Pain and Fear.
Behold our children as they play !
Blest creatures, fresh from Nature's hand;
The peasant boy as great and gay
As the young heir to gold and land;
Their various toys of equal worth,
Their little needs of equal care,
And halls of marble, huts of earth,
All homes alike endeared and fair.
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