ON A FRIEND

BURIED IN HENDON CHURCHYARD, MIDDLESEX.

"As my thoughts were dwelling upon him, who hath left us for a little season, they seemed to shape themselves spontaneously into these lines." (Extract from a Letter.)

E'EN as the lovely scene, in which he lies,
Looks calmly o'er yon city-world of strife,

His soul, conversing with its kindred skies,
Walked stainless through the busy paths of life.

He never knew the bitter taste of woe;

All joy to life,-all peace in death was given :

He left a family of love below,

To join the family of bliss in Heaven.

November 18, 1833.

CHRISTMAS IN IRELAND.

A FRAGMENT.

DEAR Christmas! while the wings of winter brood
O'er the bleak muirland, and the tuneless wood,
While winds, in cadence desolate and drear,
Sigh their sad requiem for the dying year,
Thou comest with smiles upon thy buxom brow,
Dancing like sunshine o'er the waste of snow!
Dear to the man, who blithly quits awhile

The load of life, and learns like thee to smile!
Dear to the boy, his weeks of waiting past,
On whose notched calendar thou com'st at last,
With spells of holy peace and harmless mirth
To draw thy circle round the charmed hearth,
Where thine own yule-logs bid their splendours play

On cheeks as warm and eyes as bright as they!

In yon
The flower of earth and jewel of the sea,

fair Isle, which heaven ordained to be

There dwelt an holy man, whose ardent mind

Was formed to better and to bless mankind;
Sprung from patrician sires, 'twas only traced
In that unconscious elegance of taste,

Which, as he mingled with the vulgar crowd,
Abashed the foremost, and o'erawed the proud;
If wealth were his, he did but feel its worth
When want or misery called his bounty forth;
Warm heart to sympathize,-prompt hand to save,
Freely he had received and freely gave.

A faithful few his pastoral charge embraced,

A little garden in a boundless waste;

For Rome's dark priestcraft in its fatal coil
Had nipped the moral promise of the soil;

Yet his no bigot pride; where'er he came
The general welcome hailed M'Fillan's name.

We spake of Christmas ;-'twas a joyous sight, When Winter sat on Keeper's lonely height,

And loosed his storm-sprites from their mountain caves

To ply their pastime on Lough Derrig's waves,

Oh, 'twas a joyous sight, at such a time,

To see M'Fillan brave the bitter clime,

Dispensing comfort, warmth, and kindly cheer,
And gracious words that made the gift more dear;
Till spite of frowns on Nature's brow that dwelt,
The glorious jubilee was kept and felt.

That morn beheld him in the house of prayer
Chain every eye, and spell-bind every ear,
Unfolding Heaven's sublimely simple plan,
Glory to God on high, good will to man!
To us, so long from Eden's portals driven,
To us a child is born,-to us a Son is given !
The mighty God, the Sire of endless days,
The Prince of peace, whose gentle sceptre sways
A realm that owns no bound, and knows no end,
O'er all the Sovereign, and of all the Friend!
Meekly, yet earnestly, that simple horde

Drank the deep waters of the Sacred Word;

E'en the poor Papist, doubting and in fear,
Crept to the well of life, and stole his share.

That eve, while grateful hearts assembled round,
The hall was lighted, and the board was crowned,
The pine tree spoils had left the mountain side,
And roared and crackled up the chimney wide;
On high, the carv'd oak tracery between,
Laurel and holly blent their deathless green;
Below, with temperate feast and guiltless sport,
The happy Pastor held his rustic court.

Who had not smiled to see those rugged kerne Sleek the rough locks, and smooth the visage stern, Proffering their thanks in that wild phrase and tone, Which none may catch save Erin's genuine son: "God bless your reverence, and your lady's grace! "God bless the darlings, bless each bonnie face;

Grant each and all, in after years to prove

Worthy their father's care-their mother's love."

*

Camberwell, 1836.