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EXTRACTS, WITHOUT COMMENT, FROM OUR TWO VASES.

SONNETS.

BY THE REV. FREDERIC W. FABER.

COLLEGE CHAPEL.

A SHADY Seat by some cool mossy spring,
Where solemn trees close round, and make a gloom,
And faint and earthy smells, as from a tomb,
Unworldly thoughts and quiet wishes bring:-
Such hast thou been to me each morn and eve;
Best loved when most thy call did interfere
With schemes of toil or pleasure, that deceive
And cheat young hearts; for then thou mad'st me feel
The holy Church more nigh, a thing to fear.

Sometimes all day with books, thoughts proud and wild
Have risen, till I saw the sunbeams steal
Through painted glass at even-song, and weave
Their threefold tints upon the marble near,
Faith, prayer, and love, the spirit of a child!

COLLEGE HALL.

Still may the spirit of the ancient days
Rest on our feasts, nor self-indulgence strive,
Nor languid softness to invade the rule
Manly, severe and chaste-the hardy school
Wherein our mighty fathers learnt to raise

Their souls to Heaven, and virtue best could thrive
They, who have felt how oft the hour is pass'd
In idle, worldly talk, would fain recall
The brazen eagle that in times of yore
Was wont to stand in each monastic hall,

From whence the Word, or some old father's lore,
Or Latin hymns that spoke of sin and death,
Were gravely read; and lowly-listening faith
In silence grew, at feast as well as fast.

COLLEGE GARDEN.

Sacred to early morn and evening hours,
Another Chapel reared for other prayers,

And full of gifts,-smells after noon-day showers,
When bright-eyed birds look out from leafy bowers,

And natural perfumes shed on midnight airs,

And bells and old Church clocks and holy towers,

All heavenly images, that cluster round.

The rose and pink acacia and green vine,
Over the fretted wall together twine
With creepers fair and many, woven up
Into religious allegories, made

All out of strange Church meanings, and inlaid
With golden thoughts drunk from the dewy cup
Of morns and evenings spent in that dear ground!

COLLEGE LIBRARY.

A churchyard, with a cloister running round,
And quaint old effigies in act of prayer,
And painted banners mouldering strangely there,
Where mitred prelates and grave doctors sleep,-

Memorials of a consecrated ground!
Such is this antique room, a haunted place
Where dead men's spirits come, and angels keep
Long hours of watch with wings in silence furled.
Early and late have I kept vigil here:

And I have seen the moonlight shadows trace
Dim glories on the missals blue and gold,
The work of my monastic sires, that told
Of quiet ages men call dark and drear,
For faith's soft light is darkness to the world.

THE WHEELS.

There are strange, solemn times, when serious men
Sink out of depth in their own spirit,—caught
All unawares, and held by some strong thought
That comes to them they know not how or when,
And bears them down through many a winding cell,
Where the soul's busy agents darkly dwell—
Each watching by his wheel that, bright and bare,
Revolveth day and night to do its part

In building up for Heaven one single heart.
And moulds of curious form are scattered there,
As yet unused, the shapes of after-deeds;
And veiled growths, and thickly-sprouting seeds
Are strewn, in which our future life doth lie
Sketched out in dim and wondrous prophecy!

THE COMPLAINT.

I heard thee say that thou wert slow of speech;
Thou didst complain thy words could never reach
The height of thy conceptions. Ah! dear friend,
Envy me not, if thou art wise, this gift.

Fierce reckless acts and thoughts unbridled range,
And cherished passion, that at times hath rocked
My soul to its foundations,-these did lift
Me into eloquence: 'twas sad to spend
So great a price to win so poor a dower.

Thine is a deep clear mind: nor inward change,
Nor outward visitation yet hath shocked
Thy heart into a consciousness of power.
So calm and beautiful thou art within,
That thou wilt scarce believe that power is sin.

ON THE HEIGHTS NEAR DEVOKE WATER.-AUGUST 7, 1838.

Dreary and gray the twilight hour came on,
Duddon was sounding in his wooded vale;

And through the ferns, and round each hollow stone,
The spirit of the chill night-breeze did wail.

With low and piteous moaning did it swell,

Like a poor ghost, upon the shaggy fell.

When, as we rode, the sun came round and stood
On the hill top,-an altar all of gold:
Twisting in gorgeous coils, like a huge flood,
The crimson stream along the valleys rolled.
Rain drops, like gems, upon the heath were seen,
And the whole earth was hid in golden green.
O, it was well our hearts within us quailed,-
The throne of the Eternal was unveiled!

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The lamps and veils through heaven and earth that move Go in and out, as jealous of their light,

Like sailing stars upon a misty night.

Death is the shade of coming life; and love

Yearns for her dear ones in the holy tomb,

Because bright things are better seen in gloom !

Univ. Coll. Oxford.

TWO SONNETS BY MR CHAPMAN.

I.

A LITTLE heap of dust! yet might that clay
Have been informed with a glorious mind,
Like Galileo's, quick to leave behind
The grosser world, and pierce the starry way;
Or else like Milton's, with divinest ray
Instructed, to soar upward, and unbind
The mystic roll, and give unto his kind
The Delphic lines of some immortal lay.
Ah, for one seed that takes root in our earth
How many perish! under the broad sun
Abounding life yet flows-nor is there dearth
Of what maintains it; all is wisely done,
Bud, blossom, fruit-blight and untimely birth :
Nature's fresh urns with new life ever run.

II.

Alas! to think that well-shaped piece of clay
No Christian baptism had, nor sepulture!
No after life-a death without a cure!
That unborn hope was the Destroyer's prey,
Before its eyes were opened on the day;
No living soul informed it, to endure
For ever; no immortal spirit pure

Did from that fleshly mansion pass away.

'Twas an unfurnished house where none had dweltA stringless lyre-a soulless skeleton—

A shape for being that no being felt

A thing built up with care and then undone

Hush! hush! for with you Wisdom thus has dealt
To prove you; bow unto the Wisest One.

SONNETS BY THE SKETCHER.

THE MYSTERY OF NIGHT.

ALAS! the weakness of our human praise,
Disparaging the Power that we adore!
We fondly dream He walks the silent shore,
Th' illimitable Godhead-feign he strays
The Genius of deep woods, and solemn ways-

And think, when darkness clouds the mountain hoar,
The shadow of his hand is passing o'er-
And hide our faces from his dreaded gaze.
Last night-as centinelling stars 'gan shed

Dim light o'er coming gloom, that did enclose

And curtain in and pillow as a bed

The Earth with clouds, awe-struck, I straight arose"Sure, here," thought I, "some God would lay his head, And lie unseen in this prepared repose."

TEARS OF JOY.

From the dark chamber where the sick one lay,
The Sister came-I ask'd-" Is she no more
No words she spake-but a sweet sunshine o'er
Her parted lips in thankfulness did play,-
And tears that chased the darkness all away
Pour'd from their lucid founts, so dim before-
That blessed rain did all our hearts restore—
And, oh! the brightness of that healing day!
So, one from prison escaped, hath stayed his flight
'Neath the green tree, and dreams of unjust power,
Awakes to the green earth, and morning light,
And deems whereon he rests some heavenly bower-
The ground where Spirits had walked the live-long night-
And left sweet pearls on blade, and leaf, and flower.

A PICTURE.

And there a rolling Ocean did abound,

Deep scoop'd in many a black and watery vale,
And there his nightly pastime a huge whale
Took, like the Lord Leviathan-the sound
Of distant roar spread Solitude around,-
And bade the monster in his empire hail-
He roll'd along, and swung his surging tail-
Then rose the Moon over the dim profound.
It was no time brute Nature now to deem
Predominant. For Heaven's large Eye, awake,
Shone in the Majesty of Night supreme
O'er the proud Sea, that underneath did shake.
The monster rose, as he were ta'en aback,
And felt the mighty rein that kept him in his track.

PROTECTION.

Dreary the moor, low blasts set up their dirge,
And moaned, to stay my steps: still on I sped-
Th' uprisen winds swept by me-then o'erhead,
Like Spirits of Good that Evil ones did urge,
Rushed in wild conflict and repelling surge.
On still I fared: "Your warfare, winds," I said,
"Is God's protection to my humble shed,

That lights with gleam of love yon mountain verge."
As the stern Angel of Death passed Egypt o'er
And smote not, where God's token did appear;
So, Spirits of Ill unseen bow down before
The lowly light of home, that shineth clear
Through blackest night and Angels at the door
Stand guard, and say " Pass on, nor enter here."

DIRECTION.

As by an ancient ruin long I lay,
Contemplating the end of human pride,

Night came with curtain'd blackness far and wide;
Then, peradventure, ill had been my way,
But that a humble casement shot a ray,
That did my steps to a lone cottage guide;
There, with his book, an old man I espied,
That reverently, by turns, did read and pray.
O happy guidance, did we understand
The love that leadeth oft to walk aright,

'Mid dark and thorny ways-whose unseen hand
Holds the pure lamp. When darkness more than Night,
E'en to be felt, o'erspread th' Egyptian land,
In Israel's homes there beamed a Heavenly Light.

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