fruit of his princely hand:
Homes for the poor, wound-stricken to the sod;
And altars for the worship of his God.

III.

The blazing meteor glares along the sky;
The thunder shakes the mountain with its roar;
But meteors for a moment live--then die:
The thunder peals--and then is heard no more.
The most refreshing rains in silence fall;
The most entrancing tones are sweet and low;
The greatest, mightiest truths, are simplest all;
Life's dearest light comes forth in voiceless flow;
E'en so his heart and hand were ever found
Flinging in mute beneficence around
The germs of Truth and Charity combined,
To heal the heart and purify the mind.

(_a_) The life of Mr. Vaughan was one daily round of charitable deeds,
in furtherance of religion and social amelioration. His munificent
donation to the Swansea Hospital, offered conditionally, led to the
enlarged foundation of that noble institution, which stands a silent
tribute to his memory. This Elegy was written at the request of the
late Mr. John Williams, proprietor of the _Cambrian_, Swansea, who, in
the letter requesting me to write the verses, said: "Such noble
qualities as Mr. Vaughan possessed deserve everything good which human
tongue can say of them."

MONODY.

ON THE DEATH OF MRS. NICHOLL CARNE. (_a_)

Down the long vista of historic years
I look, and through the dusky haze descry
Funereal pomp, and Royal pageantry,
Gracing the tombs of queens, and kings, and peers.

I see on marble monuments deep hewn
The name and fame of mighty and of great,
Who lie in granite effigy and state,
Waiting the summons to the last Tribune.

But 'mongst the hero-host that shrouded sleep
'Neath purple banner and engraven stone,
Death hath not numbered one among his own
More regal-souled than she for whom we weep.

Though a right Royal lineage she could claim,
Proudly descendant from a Cambrian King;
She was content to let her virtues bring
Something more noble than a Royal name.

Her's was no sceptered life in queenly state:
Yet queen she was, in all that makes a Queen;
No deeds heroic marked her life serene:
Yet heroine she in all that makes us great.

Through all the phases of a blameless life
She lingered round the threshold of the poor:
Where brighter scenes less noble minds allure,
Her's was the joy to move 'midst martyr-strife.

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