



Produced by David Garcia, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks,
and the Online Distributed Proofreaders Team











HOME LYRICS.

A Book of Poems.

BY

H. S. BATTERSBY.

VOLUME II.




PREFACE.

       *       *       *       *       *

This second volume of HOME LYRICS has been published since the death of
the authoress, and in fulfilment of her last wishes, by her children,
and is by them dedicated to the memory of the dearest of mothers, whose
whole life was consecrated to their happiness and welfare and who fully
reciprocated her self-denial, devotion and love.

HER CHILDREN.





INDEX.

       *       *       *       *       *

To the Memory of a Beloved Son who passed from Earth April 3rd, 1887

Birdies. For a Little Five Year Old

The Angel on War

In Memoriam

The Rink

A Binghampton Home

Mrs. Langtry as Miss Hardcastle in "She Stoops to Conquer"

The Shaker Girl

Ice Palace

The Fable of the Sphynx

Up, Sisters, Morn is Breaking

Oh! I Love the Free Air of the Grand Mountain Height

Sunrise

Love

To the Empress Eugenie on the Death of Her Son

Science

Christmas Morn

A Victim to Modern Inventions

It is but an Autumn Leaflet

Written on board the S. S. "Egypt," September 5th, 1884

Roberval. A Legend of Old France

The Brooklyn Catastrophe

The Naini Tal Catastrophe

To Our Polar Explorers

To the Inconstant

Thanksgiving

"Peace with Honour"

The New Year

Home

It is but a Faded Rosebud

Cleopatra's Needle

A Voice from St. George's Hall

To the Museum Committee, on opening Museums on Sundays

Only a Few Links Wanting

A Painful History

Self Denial

To a Faithful Dog

Flowers

A Welcome from Liverpool to the Queen

In Response to a Kind Gift of Flowers

Health

Ingratitude

Trees

To a Faithful Dog

Self Discipline

The Centenary of a Hero

Springbank

Recollections of Fontainebleau

The Tunbridge Wells Flower Show






HOME LYRICS.

TO THE MEMORY OF A BELOVED SON WHO PASSED FROM EARTH, APRIL 3rd, 1887.


I would gaze down the vista of past years,
In fancy see to-night,
A loved one passed from sight,
But whose blest memory my spirit cheers.

Shrined in the sacred temple of my soul,
He seems again to live,
And fond affection give,
His mother's heart comfort and console.

Perception of the beautiful and bright,
In nature and in art,
Evolved from his true heart
Perpetual beams like sunshine's cheering light.

A simple unsophisticated life,
With faith in action strong,
And perseverance long,
Made all he did with vigorous purpose rife.

Responsive to sweet sympathy's kind claim,
His quick impulsive heart
Loved to take active part
In mirthful joy or sorrowing grief and pain.

His manly face would glow with honest glee.
As with parental pride,
Which he ne'er sought to hide,
He fondly gazed on his loved family.

For them he crowned with industry his days;
Ever they were to him
The sweetest, holiest hymn
Of his heart's jubilant, exultant praise.

And Oh, the tender pity of his eye.
The gentle touch and word,
When his fond heart was stirred
To practical display of sympathy.

His true affection, manners gently gay,
The kiss that seems e'en now
Warm on my lips and brow,
Are memories that ne'er can pass away.

Naught can e'er lessen the fond hope that we
May, one day, meet above
With all we dearly love,
To live again in blissful unity.

       *       *       *       *       *






BIRDIES. FOR A LITTLE FIVE YEAR OLD.

A tender birdie mother sat
  In her soft nest one day,
Teaching her little fledglings, three,
  To gambol, sing, and play.

Dear little brood, the mother said,
  'Tis time for you to fly
From branch to branch, from tree to tree,
  And see the bright blue sky.

Chirrup, the eldest, quick replied,
  O yes, sweet mother mine,
We'll be so glad to hop about,
  And see the bright sunshine.

Twitter and Downy also said,
  We, too, shall happy be,
To bask within the sun's warm rays,
  And swing on branch and tree.

Well, then, the mother said, you shall,
  And straight the birdies all,
Perched on the edge of the high nest,
  Beside the chestnuts tall.

Remember, said the mother bird,
  You must not go beyond
That row of trees that skirt the edge
  Of the transparent pond.

For if you do you might get lost,
  Or drowned, and die in pain,
And never to our dear home nest
  Return in joy again.

Well mind your orders, mother dear,
  And will not disagree,
But do just what you tell us now,
  Said all the birdies three.

They hopped off on delighted wing,
  To the next chestnut tree,
O'erjoyed and panting with delight,
  The great, grand world to see.

Oh! what a bright, glad scene, they cried,
  And what a wond'rous sky!
What joy 'twould be to kiss the Sun,
  And be with him on high.

And I, said Downy, I should like
  To sail on yonder sea,
And with that pretty milk-white bird,
  Skim o'er the waters free.

Said Twitter, you talk very large,
  And do not seem to know
Our little wings have not yet power
  Beyond these trees to go.

Besides, said Chirrup, mother said
  We must not go beyond,
But only hop and fly about
  The trees that skirt the pond.

But mother's gone to get us food,
  And she will never know,
Said Downy, so upon the pond
  I am resolved to go.

O fie! exclaimed the birdies both,
  To think of such a thing,
You might get harm, and on us all
  Sorrow and trouble bring.

Oh, I am not a bit afraid,
  I feel so strong and free,
And will not homeward go until
  I float on yonder sea.

Ah, well, said both the other two,
  We will not go with you,
Good-bye, we will not disobey
  Our mother kind and true.

Off went the two obedient birds,
  And safely reached their nest,
The little birdies' happy home
  Of sweet delight and rest.

Meanwhile, poor naughty Downy flew
  From off the chestnut tree,
Away towards the milk-white bird
  That skimmed the waters free.

But ah! his wings were much too weak
  To bear him all the way,
And Downy fell imploring aid
  From loved ones far away.

But no help came. The mother bird
  Was far off gathering food,
From perfumed clover meadows round,
  For her beloved brood.

And when she reached her nest and found
  But two birds there alone,
And heard that Downy to the pond
  So wilfully had flown,

Her heart, so lately full of joy,
  Was rent with grief and pain,
For fear lest she should never see
  Her darling bird again.

Calling upon his name she flew,
  In terror, far and near,
From tree to pond, from pond to tree,
  Seeking her birdie dear.

She called; alas, no answer came
  To that poor mother's cry,
She searched among the sweet, wild flowers,
  And chestnut branches high.

At length she spied a tiny speck
  Beside the waters clear,
It was, alas, the lifeless form
  Of her lost Downy dear.

She drew him on the soft green grass,
  And chafed his lifeless form,
Opened his glassy eyes and mouth,
  And tried his limbs to warm.

But all in vain, her darling bird
  Was dead, and nevermore
Would he into that mother's ear,
  His pretty warblings pour.

Then in despair she buried him
  Beside the chestnut tree,
And covered him with twigs and leaves,
  While weeping bitterly.

And then, with torn and sorrowing heart,
  She flew back to her home,
Where Twit and Chirrup trembling staid,
  Disconsolate and lone.

My little birdie dears, she said,
  In bitterness and pain,
Our darling Downy to his nest
  Will never come again.

His wilful disobedience
  To my direct commands,
Has brought its own dire punishment,
  Such as all sin demands.

I thought I could have trusted him,
  For he, as you well know,
Promised me very faithfully
  Not from these trees to go.

I want you both, my birdies dear,
  To learn from this to see
How lying disobedience
  Will ever punished be.

So take a lesson from it, dears,
  And be resolved that you
Will never disobey or lie,
  Whatever else you do.

O yes, we'll try our very best,
  Your orders to obey,
And always strive to tell the truth,
  Whether at work or play.

Dear children who may hear this tale,
  You, too, should also try
To do whatever you are told,
  And never tell a lie.

       *       *       *       *       *






THE ANGEL ON WAR.


An angel spirit winging
Through aerial space her flight,
O'er peaceful, sleep-bound nature
Thus sang one autumn night:
What are those hosts advancing
In legions o'er the plain,
Through orchards heavy laden
And fields of full-eared grain?

Eastward and westward come they
Shining like gems of light,
Beneath soft, silvery moonbeams
Of peaceful, silent night.
Surely assembled nations
Are gathering for a fête
Of tournament, sham fight or joist,
In pride of strength elate.

Or, may be, some grand meeting
On field of cloth of gold,
Attracts those swarming legions
A peaceful tryst to hold;
For see, the steeds caparisoned
In trappings rich and bright,
With noble, high-bred men astride,
In transports of delight!

The flower of German fatherland,
In manhood's strength and pride,
Press on in measured marching,
By grey-haired veterans' side,
And westward press the youth of France,
Whose ardour none can stay,
Thirsting for laurels in the tilts
And contests of the day.

Emperors, with marshals, generals,
And stalwart men, are there;
Flushed with excitement swift they come
The splendid sports to share,
Doubtless each wears the colours
Of some loved lady fair
Whom they predict shall one day
Their heart and fortunes share.

Now sable night droops kindly
Into the arms of morn,
Who comes to herald in the day
And nature's face adorn?
Heaven's soft grey eastern portals
For her wide open fly,
As the grand sun's golden chariot
Wheels proudly through the sky.

Night's gentle Queen and star gems
Withdraw their gracious sway,
As the sun in rose-hued splendour
Kisses to life the day.
Waters like polished silver
Dotting the plain like shields,
Babble their morning greeting
From golden, grain-crowned fields.

Then the glad light of morning
Trips joyful o'er the plain,
As the angel horror stricken
Takes up her strain again,
Alas! those hosts advancing
In hot haste from afar,
But yesternight so joyous,
Now close in bloody war.

And, as ferocious tigers,
On tasting human blood,
Revel in greedy madness
Amid the crimson flood,
So these fierce hostile warriors,
Now stained with human gore,
Grow unrestrained and reckless,
And fiercer than before.

The valley late so peaceful
Steams with the rage of strife,
Fast down the gloated furrows
Flows the red stream of life.
Maddened to rage and fury,
Th' opposing hosts contend,
And murder, ruin, carnage, death,
Through the gorged plains extend.

What can be, cried the angel,
The meaning of such strife,
And how dare man thus rashly
Trifle with human life?
Can all the so-called glory,
That man to man can pay,
Outweigh the dire inheritance
Of this unhallowed fray?

Are hearts thus drunk with life blood,
And hands thus steeped in gore,
Not calculated to become
More brutal than before?
And do not youth and manhood
Deserve a better fate,
Than to be rashly sacrificed
To jealous greed and hate?

Thousands of glittering lances
Cut through the startled air,
As valiant chiefs and mighty men
The blood-red carnage share.
Flashes, like sunlight splendour,
Gleam forth from brazen shields,
And burnished arms dart back the light,
O'er the blood-gorged fields.

List! said the angel, sighing,
From many a ghastly mound
Deep groans of torture mingle
With the battle din around.
What piteous cries of anguish
Are those, who dying moan,
That they may never more behold
Their dearly loved at home!

Some of earth's best and brightest,
'Mid prospects glad and gay,
Others to loved ones plighted
Slaughter