Chapter 1
Transcribed by an anonymous volunteer from a book owned by David Price, email [email protected]
A LEAF FROM THE OLD FOREST.
POEMS BY JOHN D. COSSAR.
LONDON: SMART & ALLEN, LONDON HOUSE YARD, PATERNOSTER ROW. 1870.
A LEAF FROM THE OLD FOREST.
O bring me a leaf from the Old Forest, The forest of beauty and song; Where the Ettrick, through woods and fair meadows, Doth lead its sweet waters along.
O bring me a leaf from the Old Forest, A tuft from the glossy black pine; A leaf from the oak and high chestnut tree And a branch of green holly combine.
O bring me a leaf from the Old Forest, A token so sacred, O bring; 'Twill recall those bright scenes to remembrance, Old friendships around it will cling.
INDEX.
PAGE.
PRELUDE 5
KING NIMAERA 15
LORD HENRY OF THE EDEN-SIDE 87
MY MOTHER'S DEATH 107
THE WORLD'S END 127
THE SABBATH DAY 133
BEAUTY ADORNED 141
WALTER (AN ACROSTIC) 157
THE ARRIVAL IN LEITH DOCKS ON A VISIT TO SCOTLAND 158
RECOLLECTIONS (TO SARAH) 161
A STOLEN KISS 162
THE ORPHAN BOY 166
A BRIGHT DAY, AFTER A SEASON OF DULL WEATHER 167
MUSIC 169
THE EVIL ONE 172
FRIENDSHIP 174
TO THE SPIRIT OF POETRY 177
BOYISH DAYS 180
BEAUTY 182
MY SCHOOLMATES 184
THE DEPARTED YEAR 185
TO THE SNOWDROP 187
SPRING 189
THE BEREAVEMENT (WRITTEN FOR S. L.) 191
FAREWELL 195
IN FANCY BOUND 196
COUNTRY RAMBLES 198
THE OWL 200
MINNIE LEE (A PICTURE) 201
THE AIM OF LIFE 204
THE PRIMROSE 206
IN MOONLIGHT MET (TO L. A. A.) 208
A WAYWARD CHILD (TO K. N.) 209
A FLIRT (TO L. W.) 210
THE LITTLE ROGUE (TO H. B.) 211
ENAMOURED 212
A PRESENCE SWEET 213
FAITHLESS 214
DECEITFUL 215
PRELUDE.
ADDRESSED TO THE CRITIC.
Critics of art, connoisseurs of fair Fame, Who on her bulwarks stand, to guard the way Unto the courts wherein her favored dwell, Where they have gained admittance by the pass "True merit," which alone can bring them there; Thine is the power the unworthy to debar, To tell them that they are unfit to come To seek a standing near her honored throne. Away in sorrow the beseigers turn, Foiled in their effort, to more humble scenes, With showers of censure pouring round them fast, And shame in volleys flying on to them. These are thy missiles, and they lose no mark, But bear sore torture to the vanquished wretch, Until oblivion hides him from their power. Stay they to barter, then the task is vain; 'Tis but a weary while they can withstand The many darts sent with a fatal aim. I make me bold to speak a word with thee, Though better far my tongue had held its peace, And though my mission be a barren task, And woe betide me in the course I take. If ye my motive deem it good to ask, In form of motto, I will give it thus: "He who doth not to battle venture forth No trophy takes, as they who go to win." It is not meet that I should dare to judge If Merit tend me in the mission here; But I will trust that Honor may attend, And that ye will a fair decision give. I urge no claim to learning high and great, Nor kinship to the noble in descent, Nor hold a name to offer of renown; But from the ranks of secret come, unknown, And trust in time of fortune to advance, Then to behold thee in a happy mood. For men have moods which to their acts imply An impulse, which doth change the scenes in view From cheerful unto gloomy, or reverse; And critics, doubtless, are as other men, Prone to the changes which incite the throng.
TO THE SEER.
Time honored Seers, of every age bestowed The reverence of man; whose is the power To scan the future, and draw back the veil, That people of the present may behold The scenes and fates which lie secluded there; To tell strange stories of the time to come, The kind of life which is awaiting some; Whereat the heart doth shudder to behold What it shall be, of revel mirth propelled, Or bound in joys licentious and wild, Inoculate with sin of blackest hue, Verging on crime--yea, crime in hideous form, To crown the ruin of this hapless one. If any of this God-like race remain, Who pry the future with such wondrous skill, Pass on the pages of this book a glance, And tell if ye can see upon the time to come, Aught which is worthy in the art of rhyme; If from this rugged riplet ye can glean A flower or two which bear poetic worth; And if ye see the stream go gliding on In pleasant ways, through the far distance, spread On fertile banks, till it at length attain A fair and undisturbed flow, and give A beauty to the scenes which round it lie, Or if it ripple for a weary while, And die at length into a marshy waste, Give choice to say the former; for the voice Of him who doth a tiding good convey Is sweeter far than his which speaketh ill.
TO THE SAGE.
Ye sages, wise and good, or, if not good, Though wise, the more thy loss, attend and hear Awhile, though but a pensive ear ye lend, If ye will deign to hearken as I speak. More wont are ye to hear the well-tuned voice Of classic writer flow in brilliant thought, Poured from a noble mind, and deep and clear. Learned of the liberty I take, resolved, I come thy favor to seduce, and crave That ye will hearken with a patient heed Until my story hath been fully told. Spurn not a man because his years are few, Or that he seems a novice at the first; But lend a fair and an impartial heed, Till he can prove if aught which he can bring, Is fit to harbour for the worth it holds. The fame of all the great, first as a bud appears, And daily spreads till gay perfections shine; So must it ever be to those who rise; And thus I claim indulgence at thy hand. Raised with fair hope, I leave thee to the task, And trust that of a judgment wise and good Ye will declare a fair decision, such As Justice (ever just) would deem it right To give to one confiding for the truth. I hold no purpose dark, but proudly tell I long to bear the barrier down which stays The narrow path unto the hill of Fame, And win a way unto the lustrous heights, When, looking hence, behold the seat of toil, And they who labor, striving to ascend; And now in sweet reflection view once more The days of old, when the like toil was mine.
TO THE PEOPLE.
All ye who form, each in thy mite, the vast And countless chaos of humanity, Named, as of use, "The Public," I dispute No term as base or just, but join thereto An atom with the motley crowd, resigned, Of kings, and lords, and people, all as one, Who hold no claim as critic, seer, or sage, And spurn the name of Sloth as loathsome to The ear; who dwell within the pale, and breathe The air of this delirious age, when pomps And fashions rage throughout the land, and half Of all the people know not why they live, But live to feast on sensual delights, And deck the body with insipid show; When they who are not would be great and high; And, if their fortune doth not bear them on With the incessant speed they seek, then fraud Is called to aid, until the bubble bursts, Because the pressure is beyond the means; And they are cast, in anguish and despair, Unto the depths of ruin, there to lie With jeers of many pouring on to them. Unto the speech these times give slippery words, And to the tongue alike a flattering robe; That falsehood seems like unto sacred truth, And enmities the bonds of friendship seem. O rife Perfidity! O Vanity! O Pride! Great are thy ravages among This simple race, who for a lucre strive, And pomp, and gain, with an unquenched thirst; Whose hand is avaricious, and who hold No check upon it; but, to swell their store In overflowing barns, do from the poor Extort unjust and utmost usury, Nor scruple have to snatch the morsel from The widow's mouth, or leave the orphan bare. When kings and rulers do for glory pant, Till thousands of their fellow mortals fall, In dead or wounded, at a single blow Laid prostrate, thus to feed their evil lust, Their satiate thirst which can no limit know. Or it may be for one's offended pride, Or some imagined insult to avenge With the outpouring of a people's blood. Oh! it doth seem an awful thing indeed That the wild demon should so rage in man, And that the learning of the present age Should not advance his wisdom more than now; But that, with vengeance rising from his path, He should in heedless haste go driving on To the dark pits of torture called "Hell." Arise, ye slothful people! ye who live In the soft ways of luxury and ease; Awake and sit in mooted ease no more, But count the stern realities of life. Ye who in drowsy slumber have destroyed, Have slept all these fair golden hours away, Whose footprints are inscribed upon thy brow, Think of the marks of sin against thy name, And say if no reproach doth sting thy soul. For why was man created? I may deem It were for nobler purpose than to waste-- To sin and loll in idleness away-- The only life which he shall ever live, Save in the long and last eternity. Cast idle sloth and sinfulness away, All ye who are the people; and, methinks, When that is done, I see a nobler race Begin to crown the land with joy and love, And tranquil, sweet, and fair prosperity. Power is supreme, and power in unity Is thine, renown to give or keep, if ye Are of the few who walk in ways upright, (For it is joy to think there yet are some Who to their ways do give an earnest heed), Or with the crowd, who heed not how they go, But walk in blindness and in corrupt ways Unto a death which they will long to shun. Though foolish ye may deem me thus to come, And reason say this were a doubtful way To seek abroad for favor, yet it is Thy goodly favor which I come to ask; And I am but a novice, yet will hope Ye will not that withhold which seemeth just To give. Fair maidens, more than all, 'tis thine Approval which I long the most to gain. Ambition bids me rise, aspiring, bids Me seek from thee a word of favor, kind; For ye are more compassionate than man, And give your judgments in a softer way. If ye, and if the public, see it fit To render me a judgment good, then will My joy be full, and I shall strive anew; But, if ye give opposing judgment, then I yield my pen to better hands, and seek No more to speak, and from the quest of fame Return to calm seclusiveness again.
King Nimaera.
A SATIRE.
INTRODUCTION.
In the following Poem, the purpose of the Author shall be to shew that man is born to vicissitudes, and to censure the lewdness and frivolities to which he stoops.
To personate characters, time is represented by King Nimaera; birth, life, and death respectively by Kalim, Weemus, and Sero; while mankind is represented by Nimaera's subjects, and the world by his kingdom, heaven by "The Land of Bliss," and hell by "The Pit of Terrors."
KING NIMAERA.