IN MEMORY OF THE REV. F. W. ROBERTSON, OF BRIGHTON.

WOULD I had known that mind of largest mould,

Of rare intelligence, and lofty love!

Would I could now th' assembled throng behold,
Before thy words like wind-stirr'd billows move!

As convex lens collects the scatter'd rays,

And brings them to one focus, glowing bright; Thy mind could seize on truths enwrapt in haze, And pour them forth in concentrated light.

Oh! what a glorious arch was thy mind's

span,

That high o'er bigotry its sweep did bend!

Oh, how I had admired thee as a man !

Oh, how I could have loved thee as a friend!

K

As by the sandstone print we may aver

How vast the form that pass'd along that way; So each clear page proclaims the calibre

Of that great spirit gone to realms of day.

As the wild bird upon the mountain lake

Beholds his form reflected tall and fair,

But when his upward wings their Heaven-flight take, That image lessens as he mounts in air.

So thou, for God's vast honour, cheerfully
Didst let thine own be trampled in the mire,
And soaring to his great humility,

Saw thyself lower as thou mountedst higher.

No mortal ever spake, whose wondrous words
Did e'er like thine my inmost will control;
No mortal ever swept my heart's dull chords,

And brought such music from that slumbering soul.

Thine was that spirit chivalrous, which rose

At danger and alarm,-the soul that dared

Affront and hatred; oft the fate of those

Who speak great truths for which men's hearts are unprepared.

Not like the prisoned silver in its cell 1,

Shrank thy brave soul before the coming storm,
But turned tow'rd danger as it grew more fell,
As to the tempest turns the vane's light form.

Not for the glowing fervour of thy speech

Not for the earnest crowds that thronging came; But for the lives of those thy words did reach, Angels on high rejoice and bless thy name.

Amid the glorious company where they
That many turn to God like suns shall glow,
Oh, be it mine to seek thee in That Day,
And gaze upon that face I never saw below!

The quicksilver in the barometer.

IN MEMORY OF LORD MACAULAY.

AND he has passed away, that noble mind,

To perfect there the truth and wisdom rare

So long and much loved here. We mourn, indeed ; For not again can buoyant Hope expect

That through the distant corridors of Time

Will sound the echoes of a voice like his

To whom, Elisha-like, shall power be given

To wear with grace the mantle he has dropped.

The common ore of syllables and words,

So little worthy in the unskilled hand,

When fused in that mind's wondrous crucible

Came forth refined as purest virgin gold.

O God, that such a high-built gorgeous tower,
And the poor hovel crouching at its foot,
Should both be based on th' uncertain sand!
The sea of Time comes ever flowing on,
Engulfing in its flood each shape alike
However grand the superstructure be!

The deep broad wake upturned by the keel
Of thy colossal bark will long remain

In lengthened furrows on the tides of Time
Indelible, until that flowing flood

Is swallowed in the ocean of eternity.

His mental frame was that rare two-edged blade
With both sides bright and trenchant to the touch,
The pure good spirit and the massive mind.
Like the sublimest peak of some Alp range

That towers above its fellows broad and high,
Thy spirit caught the first rays from afar
Of History's Sun unrisen to all beside;

Yet that one peak its rays were steeping bright