RETURN TO SHEFFIELD.
To swelter in the town's distemper'd glow, Heart-sick to sleep, and weary wake to strife, To make a curse of hope, a broil of life, And blight the rose to bid the cypress grow, Pain's angel calls me; and I rise to go
Back from the castled wood, the sainted tower- Scenes where man's home is lovely as a flower, And he himself still fair, though stain'd with woe! Where Nid, and Aire, and Wharfe through Eden glide,
Or Brimham's rocks of Druid terrors tell,
No longer, little lyre, may I abide;
No more with Nature's lonely powers to dweli,
I leave thee here on Skell's all-beauteous side;
Toy of the Titans ! tiny Harp, farewell!!
BARD of the Future! as the morning glows O'er lessening shadows, shine thou in this land. Till the rich drone pays Labour what he owes, "Strive unto death" against his plundering hand; And bid the temple of free conscience stand Roof'd by the sky, for ever. "As the rose,
Growing beside the streamlet of the field," Send sweetness forth on every breeze that blows; Bloom like the woodbines where the linnets build; Be to the mourner as the clouds, that shield, With wings of meeken'd flame, the summer flower; Still, in thy season, beautifully yield
The seeds of beauty; sow eternal power;
And wed eternal truth! though suffering be her dower
Don whispers audibly; but Wharncliffe's dread, Like speechless adoration, hymns the Lord; While, smiting his broad lyre, with thunder stored, He makes the clouds his harp-strings.
O'er Midhope, gloom o'er Tankersley, with red Streak'd; and noon's midnight silence doth afford Deep meanings, like the preaching of the Word
Then, let thy heart be fed
With honest thoughts! and be it made a lyre, That God may wake its soul of living fire, And listen to the music. O do thou, Minstrel serene! to useful aims aspire!
And, scorning idle men and low desire,
Look on our Father's face with meek submitted brow.
Yes, Lister! bear to him who toils and sighs The primrose and the daisy, in thy rhyme; Bring to his workshop odorous mint and thyme; Shine like the stars on graves, and say, Arise, Seed sown in sorrow! that our Father's eyes May see "the bright consummate flower" of mind; And the great heart of ransom'd human kind Sing in all homes the anthem of the wise: "Freedom is peace! Knowledge is Liberty! Truth is religion." O canst thou refuse To emulate the glory of the sun,
That feedeth ocean from the earth-fed sky;
And to the storm, and to the rain-cloud's hues,
Saith, "All that God commandeth shall be done!"
THE CHAINED EAGLE.
SLOW Time seems swift. Since Charles stood here with me
Three years have pass'd o'er Wharncliffe's wood and
And Charles is busy still, where'er he be, Willing to labour, if he may but dream.
Poor Pemberton! the forest speaks of thee;
The eagles? No; they dwell with other things; (") But he who caged them here, though chain'd, is free, And might do better for us, with his wings, Than flap his mental bonds, to flatter kings. When will he fly away, and be at rest? Can he roll back the ocean to its springs?
Ye chain'd in soul! what must be, shall be best : To Space and Time, their food Improvement brings; "We dwell with God in both," Obstruction's poet
PALFREYMAN! hither, with toil-strengthen'd frame, What time Napoleon warr'd on Russian snows, I came, a wanderer's privilege to claim,
And gaze on deathless death, and deathless woes. The soul of truth glow'd then, as now it glows, O'er all the life and glory of these walls; Ideal Power, in pomp of gloom and flame, Call'd on my spirit then as now he calls:
"Do not my sons," he said, "deserve their fame?" I could not scorn his bright star-written name, Though, in her majesty heart-deified,
A beauteous friend, all graceful, with me came; Yet I turn'd from him with a husband's pride, And bless'd the LIVING WOMAN at my
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