Part 5

But is it so? And I have really trod Thy soil again? Or did I only _dream_? Methought I mingled with thy multitudes, And saw the swarms of thy industrial hives Plying their ceaseless task, and piling stores To meet the wide world’s wants. Methought I saw Thy quickened life-blood of commercial being Pour through its iron veins the vital stream, Infusing universal energy. Did not thy glorious structures rise before me-- Houses of mercy, halls and kingly courts? Did not imperial Windsor glad my eyes, Where England’s banner, free and proud, was waving; Brother-like greeting the free winds of heaven? Did I not wander through the gorgeous halls Where England’s senators, in trumpet tones, Have poured forth eloquence that awed the world? Where, mildly ruling, sits a mother Queen,-- Her real throne a nation’s loving heart. Have I not stood within thy sacred fanes, Listening entranced, as billowing music rolled, And distant, broke upon the sculptured stone Like ocean’s waves upon their rocky bounds? And--tenderer, dearer recollection still-- My mother’s and my childhood’s humble home, With childhood’s memories clustering thick around it: Did I not stand again upon its threshold, And greet my childhood’s playmates? Ah! how changed! Or was all this a dream? A happy dream, That rose in brightness, and then passed away For ever? No! It was not all a dream. The welcome of warm hearts was _real_, and then The glow of friendships formed was no illusion. Men great and good have spoken sacred truth; And I have listened with enraptured ears, As eloquence of Heaven’s own kindling burst In burning power from consecrated lips. And I have seen the Church’s standard-bearers: Men, crowned in hoary age with silver glory, Have blessed me in the Master’s sacred name, And bidden me God-speed in God’s great service. And I have mingled with the throngs that sent Up to high heaven their swelling song of praise, That, as “the voice of many waters,” rose Exultant from the lips and hearts of thousands, When the glad tidings came that “God was raised Up from His holy habitation” and Was pouring forth His Spirit on the nations.

I did not dream when I beheld the light Of holy rapture beam from thousand eyes: I was not dreaming when I shared the glow Of wondering gratitude with thousand hearts. And when our “Hallelujah” rent the skies, And our rapt spirits felt the bliss of heaven Descend to meet us in the golden cloud Of God’s own presence, ’twas a glorious truth, A joy to feed the soul upon for ever!

And yet ’tis like a dream: for, scarcely seen, Thy beauties fade from view; and the rich notes, That thrilled the soul to rapture, thrill no more. ’Twas but a glimpse of glory,--and ’tis gone. ’Twas but a taste of joy that left the soul Hungering with keener appetite. I go Just as my spirit is awaking, quick With new strange life and feeling; just As awakens fresh the home-throb of my heart, Owning its English birth. Well, be it so! ’Tis God that bids me go; ’tis duty calls Back to the land of darkness. Be it so! ’Tis well that I should go, ere silken webs, Woven by Christian kindness round my heart, Become too strong to leave me power to rend them. I go, to look upon thee never more; I go, but breathing prayers and blessings on thee.

O England, speck amidst the world of waters! Thou art the world’s great wonder. Realms afar Have heard thy voice, have seen thy light, have felt thy power. Some, jealous, envy thee; some bless thy name, The might of freedom, and the light of truth,-- The freedom that can burst the _spirit’s_ bonds, The light that leads that spirit up to heaven,-- These are thy charge, and for the wide world’s weal, Be faithful to thy trust, thou honour’d Isle! Thou hast a glorious mission to the nations. Hold fast the truth of God with strong right hand, Cast forth the traitors that would “take thy crown.” Still send thy sons, as Mercy’s angels, forth To sound in silver tones, to far-off lands, The trumpet of the everlasting gospel; So shall Heaven’s smile be thy perpetual light, And Heaven’s dread power, “a wall of fire,” thy guard.

* * * * *

And now ’tis past! nor faintest trace remains Of headland, cliff, or mountain in the line Of the far off horizon; and in vain I strain my aching sight to catch one glimpse, But one glimpse more. England, farewell! Island of beauty, changing not with seasons; Island of glory, dimming not with years; Isle rich in blessings strewn by God’s own hand,-- My native Isle! A fond long last farewell!

_Rev. H. H. Dugmore._

ENGLISH CHANNEL, _October 9, 1859_.

_A REMINISCENCE OF 1820._

In the lone wilderness behold them stand, Gazing with new strange feelings on the scenes Now spread around them in a foreign clime, Far from the sea-girt home that gave them birth.

They had been landed on a cheerless shore, Dreary and solitary; and the hope That erst had brightened all their visions, when, O’er the blue waters looming from afar, They had seen Afric’s mountains rise to view, Had nigh been quenched again. But they had left The barren strand, and over hill and dale Had slowly toiled to reach a place of rest, And give their children once again a home.

Men roughly kind, of speech and manners strange, Had guided them; and bidding them farewell, Had left them houseless in the wilderness, Pitying, and wondering what their fate might be. Fathers and mothers, with their children round them, Stand on the green sward, while the sunny skies, Flecked with bright clouds, bend o’er them from above, And thoughts are far away o’er the wide waters. The parting scene comes back to memory’s view,-- The last embrace of loved ones left behind, The fears, and hopes, and prayers of that sad hour.

And now the little ones in thoughtless glee Chase the bright butterflies of this strange land,-- Their new and untried home. Ah! ’twas for _them_ The fathers braved the storm-tossed waters, and The mothers hushed their own alarms to peace, When the loud tempest howled around the bark That bore them onward o’er the surging waves. _These_ gave the springs to their great enterprise, And broke the bonds that else had held them still In the old home circle of the Fatherland.

Dark days had been in England. Darker still Seemed coming fast, and o’er the crowded throngs Of Britain’s cities, stern adversity Was frowning. Then the cry arose, “What of our _children_? What awaits _them_ here? Must we look on, and see their budding life, _Before_ it blossoms, wither in our sight? Are there not other lands where pining want Shall cease to mock at honest industry, That asks but leave to labour? Will no star Of hope arise to point to happier climes Where skies are not _all_ dark? Be it to rend The ties of kindred, we must venture forth Over the unknown seas, and seek a home On foreign shores, where there is room to live, And light to see a future for our children, Happy and bright when _we_ have sunk to rest.”

And this is now their home. ’Tis lone and wild; But there is beauty in its wildness. See! Yonder are mountains; in their deep ravines Dark woods are waving, whence in noisy flight Wild parrots issue forth, while loonies hide Amidst their deep recesses. Water springs Send limpid streamlets down the mountain side, Fringed with bright evergreens, and brighter flowers.

Issuing from yonder dark and craggy gorge, Where lurks the stealthy leopard, and where shouts With loudly echoing voice the bold baboon, Kareiga winds its devious course along Between its willowed banks; while here and there The dark-leaved yellow wood lifts its proud head In stately dignity. Along the vale The wildwood’s sheltering covert stretches, where The bushbok barks; the duiker, sudden, springs; The timid bluebok through the moonlight glides; And monkey mimics chatter saucily.

And there are feathered songsters in the groves; Not with the thrush’s or the blackbird’s notes, That flood Old England’s woods with melody; But short, and sharp, and ringing in their tones, Responsive to each other from afar, While telling of a life of light and joy.

In the green pastures on the sunny slopes, Where the mimosa’s golden blossoms shed Gales of perfume around; and fertile soils Promise the husbandman a rich return To cheer him in his toil. “This is our home! A spot on earth we now can call _our own_; A starting-point for a new life’s career. Wake all our energies afresh! A brighter day Has dawned at last upon us. Let us raise A song of gratitude to Heaven, And gird us for our duties.”

_PAST AND PRESENT._

Over the waters wide and deep Where the storm-waves roll, and the storm-winds sweep,-- Over the waters see them come! Breasting the billows’ curling foam, Fathers for children seeking a home In Afric’s Southern Wilds.

Wilderness lands of brake and glen, The wolf’s and the panther’s gloomy den;-- Wilderness plains where the springbok bounds, And the lion’s voice from the hill resounds,-- And the vulture circles in airy rounds, Are Afric’s Southern Wilds.

“Hand to the labour!--heart and hand! Our sons shall inherit an altered land: Harvests shall wave o’er the virgin soil, Cottages stand, and gardens smile, And the songs of our children the hours beguile, ’Mid Afric’s Southern Wilds.

“Make we the pride of the forest yield; Wrest from the wilderness field on field; And to brighten our hope, and lighten our care, And gain the aid of our Father there, Raise we to heaven the voice of prayer From Afric’s Southern Wilds.”

* * * * *

The locust clouds have darkened heaven; The “rusted” fields to the flame are given: The war-cry is echoing wild and loud; For the war of the savage, fierce and proud, Has burst like the storm from the thunder-cloud On Afric’s Southern Wilds.

“_Never despair_, though the harvests fail; Though the hosts of a savage foe assail; _Never despair_; we shall conquer yet, And the toils of our earlier years forget In hope’s bright glory our sun shall set ’Midst Afric’s Southern Wilds.”

* * * * *

Our toilworn fathers are sinking to rest; But their children inherit their hope’s bequest. Valleys are smiling in harvest pride; There are fleecy flocks on the mountain side; Cities are rising to stud the plains; The life-blood of commerce is coursing the veins Of a new-born Empire, that grows and reigns Over Afric’s Southern Wilds.

_Rev. H. H. Dugmore._

_April 10, 1861._

_A SOUTH AFRICAN WILDERNESS._

The wilderness! The wilderness! It stretches wide and drear, As I stand amidst its solitudes with no companion near: I watch the vulture sailing as he circles in the sky, The ostrich stalking o’er the wilds--the springbok bounding by.

The wilderness! The wilderness! ’Tis where the lion roars; And whence the wasting locust-flood its living torrent pours: With rushing ruin on their wings, its myriad myriads sweep, Like waters from the mountains, or the surges of the deep.

The wilderness! The wilderness! The desert blast is there; And the sun sends down his fiery rays with fierce and blinding glare. ’Tis there the infant whirlwinds their new-born vigour try; And spiral columns o’er the waste rise circling to the sky.

There gathering vultures’ sounding wings swoop on their hapless prey; And they clamour round their victim ere life has ebbed away. The “ringhals” rises on his coil at the startled traveller’s side; The false mirage’s wavy streams in phantom ripples glide.

Strange sounds are in the wilderness: the wild dog’s plaintive wail, As he calls his fellows from afar, comes faintly on the gale. The vulture’s voice screams harshly, as he sights his prey on high; The bursting meteor echoes from the regions of the sky.

A thousand insect voices, with their thousand notes are there; With chirrup, ring, or buzz of wing, they fill the sounding air; And waking fancy starts to hear the trumpet’s note afar; The pibroch’s martial gathering, the barbarian’s cry of war.

But the wilderness has lessons: in danger’s lonely hour, How weak man’s solitary arm! How vain his boast of power! The humbled spirit learns to look for Heaven’s protecting care; Is _safety_ in the wilderness? Then God is present there.

The wilderness might wean the heart from earth and earthly love; And bid the freed affections soar to happier realms above. Look now upon this barren waste, then turn thy wistful eyes To the fields where flowers immortal bloom, beyond the starry skies.

No scorching sun, no withering wind, no serpent’s tooth is there: No vulture swoop of terror; no locust-cloud of care. No faithless mocking phantom-streams the longing eyes beguile; But living fountains sparkle bright in God’s eternal smile.

_Rev. H. H. Dugmore._

_A SUNRISE THOUGHT AT “COVE ROCK.”_

King of the Golden Orient:--lo! he comes And mounts, magnificent, his burning throne; Smiling in glory o’er the world of waters, Whose joyous waves leap welcome to his coming. See how the streaming rays, his almoners, Fling forth his largesses in flashing brilliants. Which the waves catch, and toss from crest to crest In dancing rapture! ’Tis a glorious sight To see a king right welcome to his subjects; To hear the voice of gladness universal Greeting his royal smile. Not sea _alone_, But ocean, earth, and sky join look and voice In smile and song. See there in the far west, Where little cloudlets cluster, as they hang In modest diffidence upon the outskirts Of the vast audience-throng: they too are flushing Bright with the universal joy:--and hark! Breezes are striking their Æolian harps Among the woods that wave along the hills; While the deep voices of the surge, far pealing, Thunder their ceaseless anthem to his praise. Brief, as befitting, is the monarch’s audience; For who may look upon the King of light With eye unblenching? Now in massy folds, The darkening curtains of his cloud pavilion Gather around him;--and though dazzling still Their broad gold fringes wave, the weak eye rests From his transpiercing glance of _unveiled_ glory. Hail! glorious image of the KING OF KINGS! Seen or unseen, thou givest light, and life, And joy, and beauty to revolving worlds That circle round thy throne. Centre of power! Thy mystery of might upholds, sustains, And governs as the Delegate of God, Their measured harmony of ceaseless motion; Reining their fleetness with “an arm of strength” Felt and obeyed in the far depths of space, Where roll remotest planets round their spheres In twilight solitude, unseen, unknown.

_Rev. H. H. Dugmore._

_AN OCEAN SUNSET._

’Tis sunset on the ocean! Let us gaze:-- A Sabbath sunset; and all things combine To give it peace and beauty; for the winds Have folded their broad pinions, and have sunk To peaceful slumber on the ocean’s breast-- The sportive waves, that tossed their spray erewhile, Displume their crests in reverence for the hour, And all is calm around. The curtain cloud That hung o’er all the west throws wide its folds, And in the clear blue ether far away Bright islands of the blest seem floating, free From the rough cares that fret this lower world, And radiant in a glory all divine.

Are not our long-lost loved ones hov’ring there, Can we not see them wave their hands of light, As if to beckon to their bright abodes? Are not celestial harp-strings sounding? Oh! Let glad imagination spread her wings, And soar to catch the echoes of their songs Ere the ethereal vision fades away.

Hail to a scene that wakens thoughts like these. ’Tis sweet to rise, though but on _fancy’s_ wing, And antedate communion with the blest, For Heaven is _real_! May its magnet power Touch every point of vision! till the soul, Drawn by a might resistless, _centres there_!

_A SIGHT FROM THE SHORE._

I look upon the ocean. Far away, A fleet of thunder-clouds is sailing by. High in mid heaven the aërial canvas swells, And proudly scorns the breeze’s proffered aid; Instinct with its own spirit’s breath of life, That bears it onward in its majesty: While ever and anon the signal flash From van, and rear, and centre, tells of might Resistless. Stern, and slow, and dark, and grand, Its shadows sweep o’er ocean’s heaving billows; While avant couriers, on the lightning’s wing, Herald its coming to the distant realms Beyond the horizon’s verge.

_THE THUNDERSTORM AT BATHURST._

’Twas eve; but ’twas not as it oft had been, When the sun, ere he sank from the lovely scene, Had smiled in glory o’er mount and dale, And the forest gloom, and the cloudlet pale, And the verdant lawn, and the flow’ret gay, Were tinged with the gold of his parting ray. While sweet was the breath of the scented gale; While the flocks bounded foldwards along the vale, And the soberer herds from the distant plain Were wending towards home in their lengthened train. ’Twas eve; but there was not the softened hue Which the twilight oft o’er the landscape threw: I felt not the breath of the evening breeze; I saw not the wave of the forest trees; I heard not the warbler’s vesper song;-- They had sunk in silence their woods among. But the landscape was wrapped in a thickening gloom, Like a funeral pall for a night of doom; For a storm frowned dark from the western sky, And the gloom deepened more as the storm drew nigh. I listened;--the music of eve was stilled; But heavy the distant thunder pealed. I looked;--I saw not the sun’s bright beam, But there was the lurid lightning’s gleam:-- And they came in fury,--the lightning’s flash, And the wild wind’s sweep, and the thunder’s crash; The fire stream poured on the fear-struck sight A moment of day,--then a deeper night Sank black on all, while the forest reeled ’Neath the rushing blast, and the thunder pealed Through the echoing heaven;--in that dread hour How puny the arm of a _mortal’s_ power! --But they passed away; the thunder’s crash, And the wild wind’s sweep, and the lightning’s flash, And the dark cloud’s gloom;--they rolled afar; While the moon’s mild beam, and the twinkling star Again shed their light o’er the peaceful scene, And the storm was gone,--as it ne’er had been. I looked again;--the morning beamed, And the golden rays of the bright sun streamed: A richer blue in the ether mild, And a lovelier hue in the flow’ret smiled. The landscape was vested with softer green, And the dewdrops pure in their silvery sheen Were sparkling around in the morning ray, And night had melted in cloudless day.-- I thought of an hour when round my _soul_ I had heard heaven’s _justice_-thunders roll; When dark clouds gathering o’er my head Were filling a guilty heart with dread; When I feared each flash of the wrath divine, And tremblingly watched each nearing sign Of a righteous anger’s rushing power That was making a sin-struck spirit cower. But the storm swept by;--the lightning dread Left all unscathed my guilty head, And the dark cloud melted as it passed In showers of blessing, while the blast Sank to the whisper of mercy’s voice, That bade the trembling soul rejoice In peace and pardon, light and love.-- I looked;--’twas a starlit heaven above! And bright-eyed angels seemed to gaze In smiling myriads through the rays; To watch the sinner’s heaving breast, And mark how its terrors sank to rest. And then the light of angel eyes Melted away in the brightening skies, As silent, soothing, gently stole The sense of pardon on the soul, For _now_ ’twas God’s own smile that beamed, And the rays of His mercy around me streamed; The SUN had risen! The night was o’er;-- The SUN had risen, _to set no more_!

_A MORNING WISH FOR A FRIEND._

Darkness retires, and the brightening morn Smiles as he heralds the day new born. Mists roll away from the mountain’s brow, And his head wears a circlet of sunlight now. Night’s savage prowlers to caverns glide, As seeking in darkness their deeds to hide; While, mounting majestic his radiant throne, With the glance of a monarch who reigns alone, The sun looks forth from his palace of light, And bids from his presence the gloom of night. Glittering dewdrops reflect his ray, Songsters carol on hillock and spray, The woodlands wave to the breeze’s breath, The ripple plays light o’er the lake beneath, The flocks from the fold towards the uplands bound, And the echoing hills with their voices sound: Nature unanimous joins to pay A tribute of joy to the welcome day.

But there’s a day of a brighter beam, For its light from a brighter sun doth stream: Sin and sorrow’s dark clouds from its brightness fly And the _soul_ gains a prospect to worlds on high. ’Tis a day that dawns from the realms above, ’Tis illumined by beams of eternal love: ’Tis a day whose light is the smile of God, Shedding heaven-born peace in the heart abroad. The gloom of grief, and the mists of care Melt away in its radiance, while black despair, Far chased by the beams of its glory, flies, And leaves to the soul heaven’s cloudless skies.

Sister, may _this_ bright day be thine! Around thy soul may its sunbeams shine! Be thy path in the light of its brightening rays, And its gladdening glory on “all thy ways;” Revealing from heaven thy title clear, “To mansions” of endless glory there!

_A NIGHT THOUGHT._

I have seen the meteor’s transient light, As, a moment, it gilded the gloom of night; I have watched the shower of starlets bright That bespangled its glittering way: But though dazzling the flash of its brilliant beam, It has passed away like a fading dream, And a sadder and deeper gloom would seem To mourn for the meteor’s ray.

I thought ’twas an emblem of pleasure’s power O’er the mind of man in its mirthful hour, When the clouds of care o’er the soul that lower To its transient ray give room: A moment, its beams round the spirit play;-- A moment, the dazzled spirit is gay;-- A moment!--the meteor has passed away, And there follows a deeper gloom.

_THE LITTLE SHELL AT COVE ROCK._