RURAL MUSINGS 
 
S K I P T O N : 
 
 EDMONDSON AND CO., GENERAL PRINTERS, BOOKSELLERS, &C. 
 HIGH-STREET. 
 
YOURS TRULY, 
 
 JOHN EMSLEY. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN EMSLEY, 
 
 (VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.) 
 
 SKIPTON : 
 
 KDMONDSON ANIJ 00., GENERAL PEINTKK.S AN 7 D PUBI.lltKllS, 
 24, HIGH-STREET. 
 
PREP' A CE. 
 
 IN introducing this little volume of Rural Musings 
 to the public, I wish to state that they have no 
 pretension to learning or refinement, but arc 
 simply the spontaneous outflow of homely-spun rhymes. 
 They may appear to men of learning rather uncouth, 
 but I trust their imperfections will be excused, seeing 
 that they are the production of a working blacksmith. 
 Even while I am penning these lines, I am halting 
 between two opinions as to whether I ought to have 
 them published or not. My thoughts seem to say they 
 will be criticised and censured by the educated. But 
 a second thought suggests that " nothing ventured, 
 nothing won," and hence I venture to "launch them on 
 the sea of time," to "sink or swim." If I can say 
 anything that will minister to the pleasure of my 
 fellow-man, I shall not regret the publication of this 
 
VI. 1'UKFACE. 
 
 small book. Although they are dressed in homely 
 garb, and nothing imposing about them, I trust that 
 the sympathising reader will peruse them with charity, 
 and kindly extend his indulgence. 
 
 JOHN EMSLEY. 
 March, 1,^:5. 
 
 > . J v, ., .-V* - 
 
 ^^ > k_< ^ 
 
 
INTR OD UCTION. 
 
 EADER, if e'er you chance to look 
 Within the pages of this small book, 
 The man who wrote it, I may say, 
 Has laboured hard for many a day 
 Before the swelting, blazing forge, 
 With sweat on brow like drops of rain, 
 That trickle down the window pane. 
 Adhering to the good old creed 
 That diligence maketh rich indeed ; 
 Adds no sorrow nor rankling care, 
 Wins bread enough and some to spare. 
 The writer has this truth realised 
 When balmy sleep has closed his eyes, 
 After a day of honest toil ; 
 No guilty pangs his rest to spoil ; 
 A conscience clear of duty done, 
 And risen refreshed like morning's sun. 
 Of all the gifts which men possess, 
 For making trials all the less, 
 It is the will to do their best, 
 And leave to Providence the rest. 
 
viii. INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Whatever folks may think or say, 
 When these few lines are brought to day ; 
 And some, no donbt, will criticise, 
 And others view with scornful eyes. 
 Tin 1 faults are many, I must own; 
 Of some I've many a time been shown ; 
 lint this, 1 think, can't damp my pen, 
 Some faults are found in best of men. 
 Although my rhymes are home-spun stuff, 
 And may at times seem rather rough ; 
 Home-made things oft wear as well 
 As those which professionals sell. 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 SUBSCRIBERS all, both great and small, 
 /"I I dedicate to you 
 
 (r~-^ ' 
 
 */^ This work of mine, yea, every line, 
 In hopes you'll read it through. 
 
 And if the lays should merit praise 
 
 This favour grant to me, 
 To some kind friend just reccommend, 
 
 Then happy I shall be. 
 
 T might the laws of verse or prose 
 
 Break or mangle sore, 
 But this I want, one pardon grant. 
 
 Just this one favour more. 
 
 If by and by that I should try 
 
 To spin another yarn, 
 I hope, kind friends, to make amends 
 
 The little holes to darn. 
 
 So now I think my pen and ink 
 
 I'll nicely put away, 
 I find it's time to stop this i-hyme, 
 
 T wish you all good day. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 BOLTON WOODS AND WIIARFEDALE (SPRING) 1 
 
 BOLTON WOODS AND WHARFEDALE (SUMMER) 11 
 
 BOLTON WOODS AND WHARFEUALE (AUTUMN) 22 
 
 BOLTON WOODS AND WIIARFEDALE (WINTER) 36 
 
 LOOKING BACK ON WEDDING DAY 43 
 
 LONELY MOMENTS 48 
 
 GRASSWOOD, GRASSINGTON 51 
 
 ASSASSINATION OF LORD F. CAVENDISH 55 
 
 THE APPROACH OF WINTER 57 
 
 SUNDAY MORNING PRAYER 59 
 
 A STORY OF A MOTHER'S LOVE 62 
 
 MEMORY LOOKS BACK 67 
 
 SKIPTON FAIR 70 
 
 A SONG FOR THE SPRING-TIME 74 
 
 LINKS ON HEARING HEBUEN CHURCH BELL 78 
 
 A STROLL ALONG LYTHE 81 
 
 AN EVENING WALK IN APRIL 86 
 
 THE FARMER'S WIFE 88 
 
 DRINK! DRINK!! DRINK!!! 90 
 
 LINES WRITTEN AT CHRISTMAS TIME 94 
 
 HUMAN LIKE 97 
 
 COPPER-GILL HOUSE, HEBDEN 97 
 
 THE SHEPHERD AND HIS DOG... 100 
 
Xll. CONTENTS. 
 
 LINKS WRITTEN KNJER A TKEE 101 
 
 THE OKASSWOOD 1'AKTV 102 
 
 THE MARCH \V1.M) 107 
 
 NARROW MINDS 109 
 
 A PASSIM; EVENT Ill 
 
 THE PKOMi.Al. SON Ill 
 
 THE TONGUE OF SLANDER 118 
 
 A IKA<.MKNT 119 
 
 RKRAL LIFE 120 
 
 LINKS TO MY FAVOURITE HORSE 121 
 
 IJLANI/s. KRIDCE OF THE ISLES 125 
 
 A PASSIM; EVENT 128 
 
 ST. WILKKIl/.S BELLS, KfRXSALL 129 
 
 SONNET 130 
 
 11AK1> TIMES COME AND CO 131 
 
 THE UNKCLY LITTLE MEMIiEB 132 
 
 THE LITTLE RED RODIN 138 
 
 I HIVE MY POLLY 139 
 
 N1C1IT REFLECTIONS 141 
 
 SON NET H'J 
 
 ODD LINES .. 143 
 
BOLTON WOODS, IN WHARFEDALE. 
 
 CANTO FIRST. 
 
 SPRING TIME. 
 
 \ HY praises often have been writ and sung, 
 By ancient and by modern pen and. tongue ; 
 Thy fame has reached the utmost parts of earth, 
 And none can fully estimate thy worth. 
 We've stood on the bridge full many a time, 
 And witness'd commingling of human beings 
 From different parts of the British Isle, 
 Dress'd and equipp'd in best and foremost style. 
 From coach-and-four down to the donkey cart, 
 With pleasure and enjoyment for their chart ; 
 Having left their fears and anxious cares behind, 
 Anticipating better things to find ; 
 The merchant, along with the factory boy, 
 With a face that bespeaks his rapturous joy. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 You ask what is it that thus yearly brings 
 The vast mixed multitude of human things ; 
 Be patient with me for a little while, 
 And I will try and help you o'er the stile. 
 They come, I suppose, to inhale the breeze 
 That is emitted from the flowers and trees 
 Which grow in this rich vale called Wharfedale ; 
 One of the finest rivers, I surmise, 
 That ever met the admiring eyes, 
 The river Wharfe, as on it gently flows, 
 Through rich meadow and verdant pasture land, 
 Singing its lullaby to the pebbled strand ; 
 As browsing on its banks in summer time, 
 The fleecy sheep and various colour'd kine, 
 Giving a touch of beauty to the place ; 
 Some fine specimens the artist may trace. 
 He may employ his pencil and his brush 
 In painting giant oaks or hawthorn bush ; 
 Or ivy-mantled tower and moss-crowned walls, 
 The rocky dells and rushing waterfalls. 
 In the dark VALLEY OP DESOLATION 
 The artist may take his lonely station, 
 And view one of the prettiest scenes, 
 Either for man or youth that's in his 'teens, 
 That's to be met with in the winding dale ; 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 To please the mind I think it cannot fail. 
 The angry current leaping o'er the rocks, 
 Falling down in showers like silvery locks, 
 Or sparkling like so many precious pearls, 
 Descending with many fantastic twirls, 
 Alighting on the grav'lly bed below, 
 Then dissolving into the liquid stream, 
 Like the passing thoughts in a morning's dream. 
 No wonder that the tourist's mind is pleased, 
 When visiting awhile such scenes as these ; 
 With awe and amazement we've seen them stand, 
 To view the charming woods on either hand. 
 The trees that differ in their form and shade, 
 Do form a cool retreat for man and maid ; 
 Where they may rest their tired, weary bones 
 From climbing over rocks and slippery stones ; 
 Nature has provided such like blessings 
 In abundance. 
 
 There's something to charm the attentive ear, 
 As well as please the curious eye, 
 When the great luminary of heaven 
 Sheds athwart his spring-reviving beams. 
 Then the song and chorus of the woods begin 
 Too cheer and animate the mind of man ; 
 One of the gayest scenes e'er seen 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 Is Bolton's woods when dressed in leafy green ; 
 With music pouring forth from branch and spray, 
 And wild birds sending up their morning lay, 
 Cheering all hearts with their enchanting song, 
 As through the shady woods you trudge along ; 
 While they rejoice in this delightful state, 
 Praising Him who did the woods and them create. 
 The faithful woodman with his axe and bill, 
 He marches to his work with right good will ; 
 Whistling his favourite air as on he plods 
 To cut the wither'd branch and useless pods ; 
 Or fell the tree that cumbers much the ground, 
 Or amputate the limbs that are not sound ; 
 The stroke amid the stillness you may hear 
 With muffled sound assail the listening ear ; 
 While comes the keeper with his dog and gun, 
 Which makes the timid hare and rabbit run. 
 It is his walk, at early morn and night, 
 To look around and see that all is right ; 
 If poachers with their nets and murdering wire 
 Should steal the game from lordly duke or squire, 
 A faithful keeper will no doubt defend, 
 And make the poachers' stubborn passions bend. 
 When watching through the stillness of the night, 
 The lamps of heaven giving forth their light ; 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 Or night-queen on her throne with silv'ry rays, 
 
 Which fills the keeper's mind with joy and praise ; 
 
 For these enable him to hear and see, 
 
 And take or make the bold intruders flee ; 
 
 That all the game may rest in quiet peace, 
 
 And enjoy their wild and happy freedom. 
 
 Next comes the angler, with his hook and line, 
 
 To tempt the finny tribe when weather's fine 
 
 With imitation of false wanton flies, 
 
 And so betray the fishes' sparkling eyes. 
 
 He, mindful, thi-ows his bait upon the flood, 
 
 And trout mistake it for delicious food ; 
 
 When, seizing hold, its prey with dexterous skill 
 
 Is caught with barb'd hook just in the gill ; 
 
 The struggle for life and freedom then begins, 
 
 The brute he twists and twirls and spreads his fins ; 
 
 His efforts all are vain, and he must die, 
 
 And in the pan no doubt will shortly fry. 
 
 So ofttinies men are tempted like the fish 
 
 To cross the broad and dark deceitful flood, 
 
 Viewing the distant bank in hope and fear ; 
 
 When, lo ! at once the current is too strong, 
 
 They shriek, they're gone and disappear ; 
 
 In the bloom of life they're caught in death, 
 
 The broad river murmuring forth their requiem. 
 
RURAL ML' SIXGS. 
 
 The next place where our mind and vision falls 
 Is on the ABBEY with its Grumbling walls. 
 Where monk and friar in the days of old 
 Sought for and gathered victims to their fuld ; 
 Nuns and Popish priests in vestures white, 
 Claiming to be the true and gospel light ; 
 Where are they now ? they all have disappeared, 
 That were engaged when this vast pile was reared. 
 A part of the huge masonry still stands, 
 And proves what has been done by human hands ; 
 It marks the spot where many a brave man lies, 
 Till summoned by the Judge of earth to rise; 
 The monumental names you there may read 
 When the last rite performed that they did need. 
 A solemn stillness marks the Abbey's ground, 
 Its walls you view, and every rising mound, 
 Do form a nice retreat for bats and owls, 
 That nightly through the ancient ruin prowl. 
 When walking through the woods at midnight hour 
 You hear them whooping from the old grey tower ; 
 Or perched aloft in some huge shattered tree, 
 Its said at night small objects they can see ; 
 When nature's wrapped in stillness quite profound, 
 They quickly seize their prey from off the ground, 
 And fly away to some dead hollow trunk 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 To feast themselves like some old Popish monk. 
 
 These little things doth it attractive make, 
 
 When scanning round our better feelings wake ; 
 
 Trees of almost every size and kind, 
 
 Around the stately pile you there may find j 
 
 Where nymphs and swains can rest from scorching sun, 
 
 Or breathe the amorous tale when work is done 
 
 Point out the place where lovers often meet 
 
 To perform their vows in spite of wind and sleet ; 
 
 I mean the Church within the Abbey walls, 
 
 Where parson from the sacred desk oft calls 
 
 On men that they may turn from evil ways, 
 
 And join with those who say the evening prayers. 
 
 From such like scenes as these our eyes must turn, 
 
 And thoughts of evil days from minds we'll spurn, 
 
 To view the flowers that grow in field and glen. 
 
 The fields are spotted o'er with every hue, 
 
 From the giant oak to the violet blue ; 
 
 For nature doth sustain both tree and flower 
 
 With many a warm and genial sunny shower ; 
 
 Clothing them in their rich and summer suit, 
 
 Some blossoms yielding most delicious fruit. 
 
 If not the fruit, a most delightful smell, 
 
 Pervades the evening's walk and mountain fell. 
 
 Such things call forth our best and warmest praise, 
 
10 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 Seeing we are the bless'd and rightful heirs, 
 To all this rich and varied ample store 
 That's placed within the sight of every door, 
 Which hath been praised by nature-loving men. 
 Primrose and cowslip, each in modest pride, 
 Do often o'er the meadow lands preside ; 
 Nodding their yellow heads unto the breeze, 
 A joy to everyone that hears and sees. 
 The dandelion, with its golden crown, 
 A rare old plant of value and renown ; 
 Noted for virtue that it doth possess 
 In making human suffering all the less ; 
 It grows in abundance almost everywhere, 
 Spontaneoiisly without the slightest care ; 
 Men tread it ruthlessly beneath their feet, 
 Although it blooms amid the summer's heat ; 
 The milky stem, the virtue of the plant, 
 A better tonic never was extant. 
 The daisy, with its white and golden fringe ; 
 The buttercup, with rich and yellow tinge ; 
 The blue-bell, and the sweet forget-me-not, 
 Do bloom and thrive in many a shady spot. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 11 
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 SUM M E R . 
 
 REEN lields begin to wave in western breeze ; 
 The com springs up besides the fallow leas, 
 f Showing that the busy time will soon arrive 
 When Wharfedale farmers must be all alive 
 With mettled steeds to cut the juicy grass 
 A mournful sight to see as on you pass. 
 The flowers cut down beneath the chattering knife, 
 Regarding not the short-lived beauty's life, 
 Victimising all the flowers in field, 
 Their slender stems are bound to quickly yield 
 Unto the keen and finely-temper'd blade ; 
 Beneath a scorching sun are lowly laid, 
 Their beauty's withered, ere an hour is gone, 
 Where's their loveliness well, you say there's none ; 
 Their beauty's gone completely in a -day, 
 Chang'd from flowers to sweetly-scented hay ; 
 The flowers and grass resemble human life 
 When all the faculties with health are rife 
 The limbs active, the cheeks blooming and fair, 
 
12 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 No wrinkles with corroding anxious care, 
 And spirits buoyant as the air balloon 
 That mounts above the busy world so soon, 
 When looscn'd from the tight and stranded post, 
 From spectators' eyes in distance soon is lost ; 
 Thus in the human breast vain hope oft springs, 
 Kind Providence forsees and clips her wings, 
 Lest she in her most rude attempts to fly 
 Should wound herself by mounting far too high ; 
 The Giver of all good thus wisely knows, 
 As creatures and creation plainly shows, 
 What things are suited best to human kind, 
 Although it may not please the curious mind. 
 Flowers may bloom and lovely lips may speak, 
 But all must fade, however mild or meek. 
 
 Another picture now our eyes must view, 
 Great praise to it we think is really due : 
 'Tis BOLTON HALL, his Grace's country seat, 
 Where lords and squires in August often meet. 
 A building fine with strong and massive walls, 
 Which for our admiration often calls ; 
 "Beneath an avenue of spreading trees, 
 Impregnated by the passing evening breeze 
 Imparadised it is on every side 
 With richest foliage nature can provide ; 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 13 
 
 And in the front a handsome, fruitful lawn, 
 Where spotted deer, with young and timid fawn, 
 Once fed and drank of Wharfe's pure limpid flood, 
 Enjoyed the draught and sweet delicious food. 
 But now no deer nor fawns are to be found 
 Sporting on the velvet lawn or Abbey ground 
 But fleecy dams, with young and tender charge, 
 Are seen to wander round the fields at large : 
 Pictures of innocence and beauty sweet, 
 Chasing around the place with nimble feet ; 
 Fair emblems of a pure and spotless life, 
 Although they're doom'd to butcher's cruel knife, 
 As torn away from mother's tender care 
 While she doth stand an object of despair, 
 Sympathy pictured in her mournful eyes, 
 As to save her pet from cruel hands she tries. 
 The shepherd, unmindful of her anxious looks, 
 Seizes her tender lamb with shepherd's crook. 
 It's legs are tied and placed in butcher's cart, 
 Thus to the place of execution start, 
 To take away the life they cannot give. 
 Thus lambs submit without the least complaint, 
 Which makes a tender heart almost turn faint 
 To see their little coats all drench'd in gore. 
 Thus We ebbs out Nature's last struggle o'er 
 
14 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 Such is the universal state of things ; 
 
 Death throws his mantle over living things, 
 
 Beauty and loveliness must fade in death, 
 
 Yield to the avenging stroke their vital breath. 
 
 The poor old ewe, how she bemoans her loss, 
 
 As to and fro in quick succession cross 
 
 The spacious park or field from side to side 
 
 She'll not object to ford the swollen tide 
 
 In search of that which she did once possess, 
 
 Which Nature's instinct leads her to caress 
 
 Like a fond mother, with her tender babe, 
 
 That smiles and prattles full upon her lap, 
 
 A sight to almost move the hardest heart, 
 
 To see the lovely one and mother part. 
 
 Or cruel death step in and seize the plant, 
 
 And take it to a place that knows no want ; 
 
 Thus to bloom in a fair and happy clime 
 
 Among celestial scenery, things sublime ! 
 
 Where sickness, pain, and death are never known, 
 
 And all who enter wear a starry crown. 
 
 This world, with all its new and varied charms, 
 
 Is oft arous'd with divers false alarms, 
 
 About it's coming to a final close ; 
 
 But He, who has controll'd all past events, 
 
 Supplies both man and beast with rich contents ; 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 15 
 
 To Him we must submit ; He's wise and cannot err; 
 
 For every good to Him we must refer ; 
 
 He has supplied with scenes vast and grand. 
 
 Beside the boiling STRID we'll take our stand, 
 Where many thousands have so often crossed, 
 Where foam and spray, with boiling current tossed 
 The place, too, has become immortalised 
 Through the bold daring ' Boy of Egremond,' 
 In his attempt to cross, with hound in string ; 
 'Tis said the hound drew back the boy fell in, 
 He found an early death and watery grave, 
 No one being near his precious life to save ; 
 A mother, wild and frantic with despair, 
 Her sighs and tears mingling with the midnight air 
 For him, her son, so much beloved and prized, 
 Fell death has all her griefs and loves despised, 
 Sundered the parental and mysterious woof 
 That has been wove from infancy to youth. 
 Poor mother, thy grief is very great, 
 But still we all must yield to fate. 
 Hark ! stop ! listen ! almost like distant thunder, 
 As it leaps from rock to rock, then darts under, 
 Boils and foams like a strangely heated pot, 
 Then leaves in solemn silence the far-famed spot. 
 This strange freak in nature is visited 
 
16 RURAL MUSINCIS. 
 
 Most invariably, from time to time, 
 
 By meu and maids from nearly every clime. 
 
 The stones all worn by footsteps on the brink, 
 
 Where men have stood aghast to view and think, 
 
 And speak the friendly joke to passers by ; 
 
 Daring one another their strength to try 
 
 To leap across the maddened boiling flood, 
 
 Both youth and age have run the risk, and stood 
 
 Upon the brink ready for the daring spring ; 
 
 The unwise task performed, no doubt 'twould bring 
 
 Some consolation to their hopeful friends, 
 
 Who stood by in almost breathless fear 
 
 Lest they the wild and frantic shout should hear 
 
 That one has slipp'd and fallen headlong in. 
 
 Such has been the case above once or twice, 
 
 That men have paid the last and fearful price : 
 
 The price of death for the unwise attempt. 
 
 We'll leave this freak of Nature now behind, 
 More pleasing scenes in Bolton Woods to find ; 
 The COTTAGE by the Strid deserves some praise, 
 Spirit of inspiration, plume thy wing, 
 While I attempt to feebly touch the string, 
 The noble bards and seers of ancient times 
 Have frequently wrote prose and verse and rhyme ; 
 On lovely scenes and beauties of the woods, 
 
RUEAL MUSINGS. 19 
 
 With all their variegated charms and floods, 
 
 They've scarcely left me room to scratch my pen. 
 
 Descriptions have been wrote by other men 
 
 Of genius, and of wit, and sparkling wit, 
 
 On every place of interest they have writ. 
 
 Although so many rhymes are nobly spun, 
 
 I find that Nature's shuttle thread 's not done ; 
 
 The loom with woof and weft is well supplied 
 
 Or else I think I scarcely durst have tried 
 
 My hand to weave another rustic piece ; 
 
 On every flock there is a tatter'd fleece, 
 
 I find description almost past my power, 
 
 To paint or sketch the lovely shady bower ; 
 
 Language fails to delineate the spot, 
 
 The surroundings of this much admired cot. 
 
 The fragrance from the flowers in hot July, 
 
 Beneath a burning sun and cloudless sky ; 
 
 How enrapturing is the varied scene ! 
 
 To sit and bask beneath an evergreen, 
 
 Old Dame Nature's rich and handy work, 
 
 Assisted by a good and faithful clerk, 
 
 Light and shadows play among the towering larch, 
 
 Rearing their heads like soldiers on the march ; 
 
 Feathery plumes nodding to the gentle breeze, 
 
 Like ships upon the angry surging seas ; 
 
20 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 The golden sunset gilding every spray, 
 
 As he departs at close of summer's day ; 
 
 Such a place for beauty's rarely found, 
 
 Its proved to many eyes enchanting ground ; 
 
 Large beds of garlic yielding savoury smell ; 
 
 Not far from Cottage grounds a mineral well, 
 
 Where scores have drunk the rich and cooling draught, 
 
 When each in turn has plied the joke and laughed, 
 
 When appearance has been better than the taste ; 
 
 But not found out till longing lips were placed 
 
 To china cups or rounded drinking horn, 
 
 Which by the hands of friends and neighbours borne ; 
 
 Around the mossy well in groups they stand, 
 
 The horn or cup goes round from hand to hand ; 
 
 Till all have quenched their appetite of thirst. 
 
 Then on the flowery bank they sit and rest, 
 
 Very suggestive of the Eden fair, 
 
 Where the young and virtuous happy pair, 
 
 Were placed before the curse and final fall ! 
 
 Alas ! the coil's spread to one and all ; 
 
 Although the emblems of the curse are seen, 
 
 In shape of thorns and many a thistle green, 
 
 There's still a vast amount of loveliness. 
 
 The British oak, old England's pride and boast, 
 
 O'erhangs and shadows many a lonely way, 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 21 
 
 With ponderous arms and acorn-laden spray ; 
 A busy place for all the insects small, 
 That on the hands and face in showers fall, 
 To pierce you with their sharp and pointed lance, 
 Enough to make a drowsy man advance. 
 The gossamer thread, the spider's skilful net, 
 So well arranged between the twigs and set, 
 To catch the unsuspecting moth or fly, 
 Which on the balmy breeze goes flitting by ; 
 And when the little thing's caught in the trap, 
 With exciting fear its downy wings do flap, 
 The murderer starts from out his hiding place, 
 Devoid of mercy, sympathy, or grace ; 
 Seizes his looked-for prize with demon grip, 
 Lest it should make an extra spring and slip. 
 We've seen them humbly beg, as it would seem, 
 For life and freedom from the murderer's scheme ; 
 Send forth a plaintive tone as one in grief, 
 And from passers-by soliciting relief ; 
 But like a criminal at the judgment bar, 
 Without one ray of hope or glimmering star ; 
 Thus no reprieve when needed is at hand, 
 The spider feeds, his appetite is grand. 
 By vain shadows men are thus allured 
 From every-day life of this we are assured ; 
 
22 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 Caught like moths in sinful, evil traps, 
 When suddenly the thread of life it snaps ; 
 We disappear from worldly stage and life, 
 Leaving aching hearts in sorrow often rife ; 
 Piazza walks, and lovely roseate bowers, 
 Feeding their stems from summer's genial showers. 
 
 CANTO THIRD. 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 THE autumn winds have now commenced to blow, 
 Their beauty will of course full soon lie low ; 
 Stripped of their bloom both plants and noble tree, 
 Such is the fate of all by the All-wise decree. 
 Trees should lose their foliage, flowers their bloom, 
 To moulder in their native dusty tomb, 
 And feed the parent stock for future spring ; 
 Delightful time the precious seasons bring, 
 The white hoar frost has come and nipped the leaves, 
 The robin chirps about the cottage eaves, 
 The wind makes hollow moans in chimney tops, 
 And down the sooty flue the smoke it pops ; 
 The distant hills are capp'd with mist and haze, 
 Obscures the autumn sun's declining rays ; 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 23 
 
 And blooming heather on the mountain fell, 
 
 Has lost that sweet and charming roseate smell ; 
 
 It wears a brown and haggard looking face, 
 
 Too well compare with solitary place, 
 
 The mountain home of plover, grouse, and snipe, 
 
 Which feed on heather seed when brown and ripe ; 
 
 Far remote from house or habitation, 
 
 Take up their wild abode and lonely station, 
 
 In soft and boggy swamps and marshy ground, 
 
 The grey curlew with lengthened bill is found 
 
 Draining the spongy moss for daily food ; 
 
 And when disturbed by man they cry aloud ; 
 
 They are a wild yet curious, timid bird, 
 
 I've been informed a storm is nigh when heard, 
 
 Or seen to fly across the meadow land, 
 
 When perceived the farmer will thus gaze and stand, 
 
 And watch the zigzag flight across the plain, 
 
 And then remark we shall have wind or rain. 
 
 Whether that's the truth or not, I cannot say, 
 
 So I will leave it till some future day. 
 
 The leaves are turning yellow, sere, and brown, 
 
 As if the rich dark green they'd never known j 
 
 As light as puffed up vanity they seem, 
 
 Empty as the unconscious sleeper's dream ; 
 
 They shake and tremble in the autumn breeze, 
 
24 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 Like human weakness on the stormy seas, 
 
 When waves are dashing high and breakers roar, 
 
 Without a sight of land or wished-for shore ; 
 
 The hard heart sobs, the strong knees they do bend, 
 
 And lips a humble prayer to heaven ascend ; 
 
 Down by the moss-crowned stone the violet's laid, 
 
 And in the lonely wood or silent glade, 
 
 Its modest tender head has drooped and died, 
 
 Sunk to the grave in all its flowery pride, 
 
 Where dead leaves form the grave and winding sheet, 
 
 Which rustle at the tread of timid feet ; 
 
 The north wind sighing through the brunches bare, 
 
 As one oppressed with sorrow, grief, and care ; 
 
 Which drop their tears of ice when north winds blow, 
 
 Such tribute of respect doth nature show. 
 
 The feathery fern with sparkling dewdrop.s wet, 
 
 Shines in the sun like some rich diamond set ; 
 
 Fit hiding place for robin and for wren, 
 
 When chased by birds of prey or wicked men. 
 
 Wharfedale can boast of many different kinds 
 
 Of rarest ferns which the curious tourist finds 
 
 When walking by the lonely river's side, 
 
 Watching the glassy waters smoothly glide, 
 
 He comes, by chance, upon a bed of green, 
 
 As sweet a spot as he has ever seen, 
 
VALLEY OF THE WHARFE. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 27 
 
 And spies the plant close sheltered by a rock, 
 Where it the fierce and raging storm doth mock. 
 There lie examines it from root to tip, 
 Then off a little branch will smoothly nip, 
 And hide away in trunk or carpet bag, 
 Lest he should be detected by some wag. 
 Did I say detected ? aye, that I really did, 
 There's someone set to watch beside the Strid, 
 By order of the Duke, we understand, 
 Lest men uproot the ferns, deface the land, 
 By pulling up the plants of various kinds, 
 Just to please their own enquiring minds, 
 Minds of thought for other times and men 
 As long as they can please their own dear " sen." 
 Now comes BARDEN with its church and tower, 
 The ancient seat of great and fancied power ; 
 Although its pomp has gone and passed away, 
 The ruins stand to grace the passing day ; 
 For when you view its old and shatterd wall, 
 No doubt you'll think it very soon may fall ; 
 The lime and stone stick very close together, 
 Bidding defiance to rough and stormy weather. 
 The host and hostess have it in their power, 
 To show the church as well as round the tower 
 Things of especial interest, to be sure, 
 
28 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 Are to be seen within the old church door, 
 
 Which carry back our minds to Clifford's Lord, 
 
 When richest viands graced his noble board ; 
 
 When oaken beams with jolly laughter rung, 
 
 And glittering shield and sword from ceiling hung, 
 
 With home-brewed beer and beef of choicest kind, 
 
 To cheer the heart and animate the mind. 
 
 The roof and rafters rung at early morn, 
 
 With cry of hounds and sound of hunter's horn ; 
 
 They sallied forth with all their eager train, 
 
 In welcome sunshine or in clond or rain, 
 
 To hunt the timid deer on Barden Fell, 
 
 When repeating echoes through the dale would swell. 
 
 The deer in view, the strong-mouthed hounds in ciy, 
 
 From hoofs of fiery steeds the dirt would fly, 
 
 The moorland heath in scattered fragments tossed, 
 
 As each brave rider on his charger crossed ; 
 
 The panting deer with nostrils spreading wide ; 
 
 The flanks in motion like the ebbing tide ; 
 
 A race for life, when death is close behind, 
 
 No hiding place can timid creatures find. 
 
 The hounds are getting near and nearer still ; 
 
 The huntsman shouts, ' We soon shall have a kill.' 
 
 O'er this sad scene the curtain now must fall ; 
 
 We'll leave the deer and hunters one and all, 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 31 
 
 And saunter round the moss-crowned walls and tower, 
 
 Emblems of departed life and power, 
 
 And listen to the music of the stream, 
 
 Enjoy the evening sun's departing gleam, 
 
 Sit down upon some grass- crowned stone or hill, 
 
 And watch the brook come tumbling down the hill, 
 
 Babbling as it winds its course through sedge and weed, 
 
 To water in its flow some verdant mead. 
 
 We've seen the cattle stand upon the brink, 
 
 Wag their long tails, then, stooping, drink ; 
 
 March in to cool their heated sides and legs : 
 
 Move their defence 'gainst stinging flies and clegs. 
 
 Many rural tales and stories have been told 
 
 Of what has happened in the dale of old ; 
 
 They're handed down in works by other men, 
 
 So from the task I now refrain my pen. 
 
 Mr. L , who lives beside the tower, 
 
 Can tell you tales that's sweet as well as sour ; 
 
 Or if you wish to have a pleasant drive, 
 
 To brace your nerves and make you bloom and thrive, 
 
 Mr. L. will gladly take you out 
 
 On very easy terms, I have no doubt, 
 
 And give you information by the way, 
 
 About the past, and up to present day. 
 
 A kinder man you seldom ever meet, 
 
32 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 In country lanes or in the crowded street ; 
 If inner man doth need refreshment, by 
 His friendly dame will thus your wants supply 
 By making tea or coffee I may say, 
 Morn, noon, and night, or any time of day ; 
 Inside or out the tea will be supplied ; 
 The greatest care being taken to provide 
 For comfort and convenience of the guests. 
 This truth is felt by all those feeling breasts 
 That come from busy town thus year by year, 
 Recruit their strength, their aching heads to clear, 
 If care has wrought some wrinkles on your brow, 
 The woods invite their beauty to bestow ; 
 Leave your pent-up streets and come away, 
 The air will make you bloom as fresh as May. 
 Ye lawyers' clerks, who waste the midnight oil, 
 Who strain the nerves with stress of mental toil, 
 The change will work like magic on your soul, 
 If through these dales you only take a stroll. 
 Ye editors, who work for public good, 
 Along with those who toil for daily food, 
 In midnight studies for the eager press, 
 Mis-timing makes the energies grow less ; 
 You'll find an antidote in Wharfedale's air, 
 If thus you can afford the time to spare, 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 33 
 
 It will repay you for the sacrifice, 
 
 By giving beauty to your vacant eyes. 
 
 Ye housewives, who are fret with daily cares, 
 
 With the domestic and needful affairs ; 
 
 Scarcely a spare minute to call your own, 
 
 Your fingers work if you yourself sit down ; 
 
 The shirts are rent, the stockings need a darn, 
 
 Thus the weaker sex must bear the daily strain ; 
 
 Untimely graves receive them year by year, 
 
 The burden being more than they can bear ; 
 
 Their feeble frames succumb and welcome death, 
 
 Choosing it rather than misery in life. 
 
 Husbands feel more for your "better halves," 
 
 And let them come and pace the banks of Wharfe 
 
 Vigour it will give to wasted nerves, 
 
 Impart a smile when she at table serves. 
 
 You doctors, with your physic and your pills, 
 
 A benefit may find among these hills ; 
 
 Bracing air, and water clear and pure, 
 
 In most of cases will effect a cure ; 
 
 Just fold your arms, let Nature do the work, 
 
 Disease in human forms does often lurk, 
 
 To baffle skill of wisest that we find, 
 
 The best informed and well-enlightened mind ; 
 
 The crystal drops from many a living spring, 
 
34 RURAL 
 
 Will oft do more than many a costlier thing, 
 
 In moving foul diseases from the frame 
 
 Of many a good and kind and friendly dame. 
 
 All ye that court and cultivate the muse, 
 
 New life and soul to you it will infuse, 
 
 When wandering through the green and leafy woods, 
 
 Beholding beauty in the opening buds ; 
 
 A storehouse for the port's active mind, 
 
 In which all choicest dainties he may find. 
 
 Nature dons on her gay and rich attire ; 
 
 To highest flights of fancy you aspire, 
 
 While sauntering through the grassy meadow land, 
 
 You feast the mind with scenes vast and grand ; 
 
 Nature has bestowed her choicest gift, 
 
 And man may reap the benefit by thrift ; 
 
 The honest thrifty farmer may be seen, 
 
 When days are short and weather cold and keen, 
 
 Walking up the dale along the river's side, 
 
 Scanning, as he goes, the rough and swelling tide, 
 
 By heavy rains, the frost and melting snow ; 
 
 Thus caused the river Wharfe o'er banks to flow, 
 
 Flooding the best and richest meadow land, 
 
 Which has been till'd by farmer's thrifty hand. 
 
 A cow or sheep is sometimes taken down, 
 
 When thunders roar and elements do frown ; 
 
RURAL MTJSIXGS. 35 
 
 And thus the farmer many a loss sustains 
 
 When Wharfe o'erflows through long continued rains. 
 
 A circumstance just now occurs to mind, 
 
 'Tis of a sad and gloomy, painful kind ; 
 
 One lovely Sabbath day in summer time, 
 
 When Nature wore her dress of youthful prime, 
 
 Some men were wandering by the river's side, 
 
 The previous heavy rains increased the tide ; 
 
 The elements were fearful, dark, and cold, 
 
 As on past bush and tree and bramble roll'd, 
 
 One among them, more daring than the rest, 
 
 Did of his shoes and clothes himself divest, 
 
 And plunged into the maddened boiling flood, 
 
 A little above the place known as " Haugli Wood ;" 
 
 His comrades said they saw him dive across, 
 
 As in the angry waters he did toss, 
 
 And when he'd reached the farther side and brink, 
 
 They saw him turn, then disappear and sink. 
 
 Some thought his head had struck against a rock, 
 
 Which to his vital frame had caused the shock ; 
 
 To Wharfe's famed stream he yielded up his life, 
 
 Left all his friends behind and sorrowing wife ; 
 
 A search was made by neighbours many a day, 
 
 Before they found his lifeless piece of clay ; 
 
 At last by stepping stones they saw it laid, 
 
36 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 By sticks and stones its progress had been stayed, 
 Or thus it might have gone for many a mile, 
 Past Bard en's old and ancient moss-crown'd pile. 
 Poor man, how soon his earthly race was run, 
 Nipp'd off when full of vigour, life, and fun ; 
 His folly wrought his ruin and his death, 
 And robbed him of his vigour, bloom, and breath. 
 
 CANTO FOURTH. 
 WINTER. 
 
 MOW winter comes and varies man's employ, 
 For each new task must have its phase of joy ; 
 eJV The sleet and snow come rattling from the north, 
 With blinding fury as you sally forth. 
 Leave your choice bed, so cosy, soft, and warm, 
 To combat with the fierce and raging storm ; 
 The cattle eagerly some mouthfuls need ; 
 Alternately the farmer he must feed. 
 Pigs, hens, and ducks, keep on a constant cry, 
 Expect their morning's meal as you pass by. 
 How they pursue the housewife to the door ! 
 Their hungry bellies prompt them, to be sure. 
 Jack Frost has come and locked up all the ground ; 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 37 
 
 There's not a worm or insect to be found ; 
 
 Of course they must be fed say, twice a day 
 
 Or else you can't expect that they will lay. 
 
 The sheep are doora'd to plod among the snow, 
 
 The grass for them has almost ceas'd to grow ; 
 
 Thus they are left with very scanty fare, 
 
 The farmer having little hay to spare ; 
 
 Ever and anon the grass it comes and goes, 
 
 It must obey the seasons and their laws ; 
 
 The ice king with his strong and sturdy train, 
 
 Has thus congealed the sparkling drops of rain, 
 
 Glazed all the little ponds and purling streams, 
 
 Which reflect old Sol's momentary beams. 
 
 The earth, hard as the flinty rock, 
 
 The efforts of the drainer's spade doth mock, 
 
 The loaded cart goes rattling o'er the ground, 
 
 To spread itsjuicy litter all around ; 
 
 The farmer's fingers, numbed with biting cold, 
 
 As on the drag he takes his daring hold, 
 
 To pull it out in heaps behind the cart, 
 
 Which makes his frost-pinched fingers ache and smart, 
 
 As o'er the grass-grown land with weary strides 
 
 The horse and cart the farmer gently guides ; 
 
 Eyeing his work as on he gladly goes, 
 
 Leaving results to Nature and her laws ; 
 
38 RURAL .MfSlXGS. 
 
 Anticipating sun, and warmth, and showers, 
 
 As a reward for his laborious hours. 
 
 He may have aching limbs and weary bones, 
 
 But balmy sleep for these tilings soon atones ; 
 
 When wind and rain are roaring loud and strong, 
 
 Blast after blast goes fearlessly along. 
 
 The cattle safe in cowhouse snug and warm, 
 
 The storm may howl itself into a calm ; 
 
 The farmer's sleep is peaceful, sweet, and sound, 
 
 Having perform'd his last and nightly round, 
 
 Lies down with consciousness that all is right, 
 
 To sleep, perhaps, till first faint streak of light. 
 
 Unless disturbed by cock or cock'rel's crow. 
 
 It may by chance chase sleepiness from brow, 
 
 And cause to rise before the usual time, 
 
 To give supply of hay that smells so prime 
 
 Unto the cows, that watch with eager eyes, 
 
 Like one that's bent on winning some great pri/e ; 
 
 Itight joyously they toss their anxious head, 
 
 When first they hear the farmer's welcome tread ; 
 
 The door creaks on hinge and opens wide, 
 
 The farmer enters in with well-known stride, 
 
 And gives a portion to the tethered kine, 
 
 Which yield their flowing streams ;it milking time ; 
 
 lie hears a canful daily to the door, 
 
RURAL MUSIN'GS. 39 
 
 The dame receives and siles it, to be sure ; 
 
 Her head is oft immersed iu rising steam 
 
 When scalding out the bowls that held cream ; 
 
 Thus time is spent in honest labour hard, 
 
 Anticipating faithful, just reward ; 
 
 Such occupation's healthful in this dale, 
 
 Although remuneration often fail ; 
 
 The seasons have been rather wet and cold, 
 
 Thus on the farmers' purses these things have told. 
 
 Look up, for better times are coming now, 
 
 To help to erase the -wrinkles from your brow ; 
 
 'Twill chase the gloom and burden from your mind, 
 
 That you in yearly toil a joy may find. 
 
 The next, but not the least, that T may name, 
 I don't expect that I shall speed its fame ; 
 But still I'll wind it in among the rest, 
 We can't tell which may please the reader best ; 
 APPLETREEWICK, with mines of shining ore, 
 Which are being worked by men as heretofore ; 
 The prospect's bright for those that have to toil, 
 To gain the mite as well as cruse of oil. 
 The hills abound with vast and hidden wealth ; 
 For active limbs and men with robust health 
 The untold wealth are blasting from the rock, 
 And bringing up in many a shining block, 
 
40 RURAL MUSING*. 
 
 Along with dirt, and lime, and flinty spar, 
 
 Which glitters like some distant evening star. 
 
 Pern might boast of mines of shining gold, 
 
 Which being dug in ages past and old. 
 
 Enriched the homes of many ancient kings ; 
 
 As Homer sung when first he touched the strings ; 
 
 He breathed the living strains of olden times, 
 
 Which have been aped in many modern rhymes ; 
 
 Virgil, Horace, Ovid, and Socrates, 
 
 Their bodies have been long at rest and ease, 
 
 Whose works still live and tell of thoughts sublime, 
 
 Of verses nobly spun in manhood's prime ; 
 
 True wisdom doth outshine the finest gold, 
 
 Whether from pens of authors young or old ; 
 
 Rich gems of thought from minds of lasting worth 
 
 Outvie the rich produce of all the earth ; 
 
 The lead may fail and gold grow dim through time, 
 
 But truth will live and shine in worlds sublime j 
 
 These Elysian fields of beauty and delight, 
 
 Apollo might be awed with such a sight, 
 
 The Son of Jupiter, too, strike the lyre, 
 
 And breathe fresh beauty as in living fire ; 
 
 Health and sweetness sit smiling on the hills, 
 
 Listening the music of the trickling rills ; 
 
 The grey lark, the sweet songster of the skies, 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 41 
 
 From off the vales is often seen to rise, 
 
 And dip his wings in the blue arch of heaven, 
 
 Pealing his anthems to the rising sun, 
 
 Proclaiming that his noble work's begun ; 
 
 Each pours forth his songs of sweetest praise, 
 
 From off the hills amid the morning's haze ; 
 
 And though they build their nest 'mongst dewy grass, 
 
 True emblems of the very humblest class, 
 
 They teach loud song and sing their Maker's praise, 
 
 Through all the length of April's lovely days, 
 
 Fit examples for man to imitate, 
 
 Learn to trust, to labour, and to wait ; 
 
 The writer has been cheer'd in early days, 
 
 When listening to the first sweet morning lays, 
 
 Of this gay songster of the sunny skies, 
 
 Whose form could not be seen by naked eyes ; 
 
 The sound came floating on the gentle bi-eeze, 
 
 Wafted through the vale among the budding trees, 
 
 Mingling with the water's gentle flow, 
 
 Then sweetly dying in the vale below. 
 
 Ye towns and cities, that are vast and great, 
 
 With all your dazzling wealth, and pomp of state, 
 
 Will not compare with scenes in this sweet dale, 
 
 When spring casts off her winter's hood and veil, 
 
 Puts on her dress of universal green, 
 
42 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 Sits on her throne as Nature's modest queen. 
 
 The cuckoo the bird the farmer longs to hear 
 
 When winter lias been cold. and long and drear, 
 
 This pleasing messenger of meek-eyed spring, 
 
 Shouts " Cuckoo," as she from place to place doth wing 
 
 The little bird will follow close behind, 
 
 The pilot, we may say, of cuckoo kind ; 
 
 And thus she lays her eggs in ling-tweet's nest, 
 
 The ling-tweet sits and does her very best, 
 
 To rear the young of this so careless bird, 
 
 And looks content with no complaining word. 
 
 A useful lesson here for mortal man, 
 
 Do good, assist your neighbour all you can ; 
 
 Historians may visit other climes, 
 
 Extol them in their prose and witty rhymes, 
 
 Temples of Greece, the ancient city Rome, 
 
 The Vatican with grand extending dome, 
 
 Palmyra and Babylon the great, 
 
 We read of them almost from earliest date, 
 
 And Nineveh, that place so vast and strung, 
 
 The people Jonah went to preach among, 
 
 Where he the true and faithful warning gave, 
 
 And saved so many from untimely grave ; 
 
 These things are of the far and distant past, 
 
 Their history through ages seems to last, 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 43 
 
 Predicted by the prophets long ago, 
 Which was their true and final overthrow ; 
 Travellers, you may wander where you may, 
 In climes beneath the sun's director ray, 
 Or scale the Alps amid perpetual snow, 
 Or in the vales of Switzerland below, 
 To view the cots arranged with laboured skill, 
 On many a grass-grown flowery little hill ; 
 Wharfedale, with its landscapes rich and green, 
 No grander sight in all the universe is seen. 
 
 LOOKING BACK ON WEDDING DAY. 
 
 "T'S twenty years this Christ i;i -.is time, 
 
 Since me and mine were Aved, 
 And all that time, yea, side by side, 
 We've both slept in one bed. 
 Our love to-i lay's as strong and true, 
 
 As when , c first were tied, 
 Although upon the sea of time, 
 We've oft been tossed and tried. 
 
44 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 We feel ourselves grow worse for wear 
 
 As other people do, 
 But still we try to do our best 
 
 And help each other through. 
 The pulse of time is throbbing in 
 
 Our animated veins, 
 Reminding us thus daily of 
 
 Our feebleness and pains. 
 
 Our rude forefathers, where are they ? 
 
 They've slept the sleep of death, 
 Old Father Time has robbed their bloom, 
 
 Deprived them of their breath. 
 Although our cheeks are wrinkling now, 
 
 And hair is turning grey, 
 Our minds feel young when we look back 
 
 Upon our wedding day. 
 
 Of money we've at times been scarce, 
 
 Could hardly pay our way, 
 But poverty has taken flight 
 
 We're better off to-day. 
 We're not ashamed, both Jane and I, 
 
 Of speaking of the past, 
 It almost makes us young again, 
 
 When eyes and thoughts are cast, 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 45 
 
 Upon our youth and early days, 
 
 And many a happy scene, 
 When we together trudged across 
 
 The well-known plot of green ; 
 And sat upon the rough gill side, 
 
 Our secrets to make known, 
 We found in week of absence, 
 
 Our hearts had fonder grown. 
 
 And thus in simple love-like strains 
 
 We breathed our humble prayer, 
 That we to our love's plighted vows, 
 
 Might prove a faithful pair. 
 Although our path were oft beset 
 
 With trials most severe, 
 We always cheered each other up, 
 
 We'll conquer, never fear. 
 
 The stars might cease to blink or shine, 
 
 The moon withhold her light ; 
 But we vowed that for each other 
 
 We'd never cease to fight. 
 And thus far on our journey, 
 
 We've proved the record true ; 
 And we have overcome them all, 
 
 Yea, trials not a few. 
 
46 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 'Tis my advice to all young men 
 
 Who live a single life, 
 If means they have of keeping one 
 
 To take themselves a wife ; 
 But just before the step is ta'en 
 
 Give heed to what I say, 
 And then y : may together live, 
 
 Yes, haj very day. 
 
 No secret M. :bles you must have 
 
 But whar \.i.u tell in brief, 
 Revealing to each other those 
 
 Are sure to bring relief. 
 The money that you both possess, 
 
 Be it little or be it much, 
 Always share it equally 
 
 Without a grudging touch. 
 
 And never tell your husband's faults 
 
 To neighbours all around, 
 For if you do. I'm very sure, 
 
 They will increase the sound. 
 You must his faults contrive to hide, 
 
 As much as e'er you can ; 
 By doing which, I have no doubt, 
 
 He'll make the better man. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 47 
 
 The buttons on his Sunday shirt 
 
 You always must secure, 
 For if this duty you neglect 
 
 The husband can't endure. 
 At first he will look rather glum 
 
 As if a storm were near, 
 But you must say, " I quite forgot ; 
 
 Forgive me, 0, my dear." 
 
 " For in the future I will try 
 
 This duty to fulfil; 
 And try to please you all I can, 
 
 I say I really will." 
 Your household duties have complete 
 
 When husband comes at night, 
 Then you and he may sit content, 
 
 With fire burning bright. 
 
 Thus you may darn his Sunday socks, 
 
 Or mend his week-day shirt, 
 Nor fear your husband's taunting word 
 
 Of being an untidy flirt. 
 Don't gossip with your so-called friends 
 
 When husband is from home, 
 For if you practise foolish things 
 
 There's sure to be a storm. 
 
48 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 Holding parties will not do 
 
 For common working folks, 
 But it might do for money'd men 
 
 Who are rather fond of jokes. 
 Young people all adhere to this, 
 
 And let it be your guide, 
 Whatever troubles you may have, 
 
 In each other pray confide. 
 
 Ne'er let old strife enter your door, 
 
 To mar your peace of mind, 
 But act a man and woman's part 
 
 By always speaking kind ; 
 The day no doubt will soon arrive 
 
 When man and wife must part, 
 And recollecting unkind words, 
 
 Is sure to pain the heart. 
 
 LONELY MOMENTS. 
 
 |Y the ingle as I sit 
 
 And watch the embers fly, 
 I think about my wife and child; 
 My breast heaves forth a sigh. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 49 
 
 I feel all lonely by myself, 
 And wish them back to me, 
 
 To soothe my mind when it is sad, 
 And prattle by my knee. 
 
 I feel bewildered when I look 
 
 Into the vacant chair ; 
 I see it is deserted too ; 
 
 No wife nor child is there. 
 
 The time seems now to slowly pass, 
 When they are far away, 
 
 And I within myself oft wish 
 That they were back to-day. 
 
 Oft when I come into the house, 
 
 I find the fire out ; 
 Then, to kindle it again, 
 
 I have to set about. 
 
 To get the water for to boil, 
 
 To make a cup of tea, 
 Or else I have to go without, 
 
 And think on child and ye. 
 
 I feel quite wretched and forlorn r 
 As by myself I sit ; 
 
50 RURAL MlHM.s. 
 
 No one with whom to speak a word, 
 Nor sympathise a bit. 
 
 No infant dear to lisp my name, 
 And win me with a smile, 
 
 Whenever I come home at night, 
 After my daily toil. 
 
 " No thrifty wife's beguiling smile," 
 To cheer my grieving heart ; 
 
 No one with me in daily life, 
 To take an active part 
 
 The world appears to lose its charms' 
 When you are gone away ; 
 
 An hour looks almost as long 
 As any summer's day. 
 
 1 wish that you were back again, 
 
 And seated by my side : 
 Then 1 should feel content, and say, 
 
 " How sweetly time doth glide !" 
 
 I'm sure the man is greatly blessed 
 
 Who has a loving wife, 
 To always live at peace with him, 
 
 And never raise a strife. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 51 
 
 GRASS WOOD, GRASSINGTON. 
 
 fPIRIT of musing, fan the fire, 
 Put in tune the rustic lyre, 
 ^y. And make the mind and fancy burn 
 And guide aright the old steel pen. 
 
 The theme's been touched in days of yore, 
 Poets have ponder'd Nature o'er ; 
 And now I give a touch of mine, 
 Although it is not very fine. 
 
 "Tis of Grass Wood that I would sing, 
 May balmy breezes plume my wing, 
 That I may picture true and fair 
 The lovely scenes of Nature there. 
 
 Dibb Scar we say is very grand, 
 With wonderment it fills the mind ; 
 Gazing upon its shattered face, 
 Awe ever in our minds has place. 
 
 To feelings and to fancy wild, 
 To see the rocks so rudely piled, 
 
52 RURAL MUSING*. 
 
 With ivy clinging to the edge, 
 The storms and tempests to engage. 
 
 There solitude for ever dwells 
 Amid high rocks and shady dells ; 
 The silence there is never broke 
 Unless it is by tourists' talk. 
 
 The fossil stones of various kinds, 
 Typical of ancient times, 
 Peeping from beneath the mossy sward, 
 Enough to inspire the muse of bard. 
 
 The craggy steeps you there may climb, 
 And view all things around sublime, 
 Descend amid the jagged rocks, 
 That ne'er 've been broke by delvers' strokes. 
 
 The jackdaw and the whooping owl, 
 And many other kinds of fowl, 
 Build their nests in the huge cliffs side, 
 Their young ones safely there to hide. 
 
 In Carnal Wood the hazel grows, 
 And on the hills the cattle browse ; 
 And here and there on plots of green, 
 The timid hares at times are seen. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 53 
 
 Upon the hilks the lapwings stray 
 Upon the sultry summer's day ; 
 And when the traveller passes by 
 Above his head in circles fly. 
 
 On mountain tops the breezes blow, 
 When all is calm and still below ; 
 Beauty and gracefulness are seen 
 In various flowers with colours keen. 
 
 If in the wood you take a look, 
 And view the trees in any nook ; 
 You'll find almost of every kind 
 On which the ivy closely wind. 
 
 Forming as it were a winter's cloak, 
 To shield them from the woodman's stroke 
 It twines around their .knotted forms, 
 To hide them from the winter's storms. 
 
 The woodbine, with its odours sweet, 
 The longing eye doth often greet, 
 Shedding perfume to all around, 
 On rock, and tree, and rising mound. 
 
 Wild flowers in abundance grow 
 Beneath the tall tree's spreading bough : 
 
54 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 The lily springs in flowery pride, 
 With nodding blue bells at its side. 
 
 The roses blush, yea, smell so prime, 
 And closely joined by beds of thyme ; 
 To scent the woodland's balmy breeze, 
 Diffused among the leafy trees. 
 
 Nature for herself she speaks, 
 Surrounded by huge mountain peaks ; 
 Which almost pierce the passing cloud, 
 When lightnings flash with thunders loud. 
 
 When eastern sun begins to rise, 
 And Nature's darkness quickly flies ; 
 The woods are often heard to ring 
 When British birds begin to sing. 
 
 Perching on the waving trees, 
 Catching the morning's healthful breeze ; 
 They sing both sweet and loud and long, 
 Their happiness expressed in song. 
 
 If you've travelled till you're tired, 
 
 And every place so well admired ; 
 
 'Tis fine and mossy for your feet, 
 
 And spreading boughs to shield from heat. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 55 
 
 To hide you from the noonday's sun, 
 If thus you feel your strength is done 
 You all may sit beneath the boughs, 
 On mossy carpet if you choose. 
 
 Come, all ye townsmen, pause a time, 
 And listen to these strains of mine ; 
 And if you have a day to spare, 
 Come to Grass Wood and sniff the air. 
 
 THE ASSASSINATION OF LORD FREDERICK 
 CAVENDISH, MAY 6th, 1882. 
 
 MOURN ! mourn ! ye sons of British soil, 
 
 For one who's_left the ranks of noble blood, 
 Who fell a victim to the assassin's knife, 
 In the prime of manhood and bloom of life. 
 In the faithful discharge of his duty 
 They pounced upon him like a lion does his prey, 
 And took his precious life in open day ; 
 While walking out with Burke, his trusty friend, 
 To inhale the breeze the passing hour to spend 
 
56 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 Little thinking grim death so near at hand, 
 
 As they went chatting all along the strand. 
 
 Curse, curse, the foul and bloody crime, 
 
 May justice overtake in space of time ; 
 
 Vengeance awaits the dark and cruel deed, 
 
 So in the old and tested Book we read. 
 
 0, England's daughters, weep with those who weep 
 
 While passing through their sorrows great and deep ; 
 
 Shed tears of sympathy for one in dire distress, 
 
 It might relieve or make her troubles less ; 
 
 The lady's mind no one can fully tell 
 
 Since this sad fate her dearest dear befel ; 
 
 To lose the partner of her happy days 
 
 Through Irish League and their deceitful ways. 
 
 Ye men of loyal hearts, pray drop a tear, 
 
 For one this country held most truly dear ; 
 
 Deplore his loss like one who's lost a friend, 
 
 On whom in time of need he could depend ; 
 
 Although he's gone his memory still shall live, 
 
 The greatest tribute that this world can give ; 
 
 We can't but mourn for his sad tragic end, 
 
 As Englishmen we must our rights defend. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 57 
 
 THE APPROACH OF WINTER. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 "OVEMBER again once more doth appear, 
 To remind us of a cold time of year, 
 When snow and rain on the winds oft are borne, 
 Making the woods and the fields look forlorn. 
 
 The leaves are all withered and almost decayed, 
 Down in the valley they thickly are laid ; 
 Leaving the branches all rugged and bare, 
 Exposed to grim winter's keen frosty air. 
 
 Not long ago they were blooming and green, 
 And now where's the leaves ? not one to be seen ; 
 Boughs they've forsaken and left them to stand, 
 Like a cot that's deserted in some foreign land. 
 
 Goldfinch and linnet that perch ; d on the spray, 
 Thus shielded from heat on a hot summer's day ; 
 But now there's no shelter for them to be got, 
 They're oblig'd to seek refuge in some snugger spot. 
 
 Little red robin's deserted the glen, 
 
 To ask for a portion from kind-hearted men; 
 
58 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 There, at the cottage, he'll hop in and out, 
 And as for his welcome he seems to doubt. 
 
 Instead of the bird being driven from the door, 
 He's invited to peck the crumbs from the floor ; 
 His presence is held a sacred thing, 
 As if to the cot a blessing did bring. 
 
 The song of the blackbird and lark is now still, 
 No carol is heard from woodland or hill ; 
 Their notes like the leaves have all died away, 
 And mute they'll remain till another spring day. 
 
 The swift-winged swallow has fled from the barn, 
 To some genial clime where weather is warm ; 
 There to remain till the spring time returns, 
 Then back to Old England to visit his friends. 
 
 A health to the swallow, that swift-winged bird, 
 With belly so white and breast all so red ; 
 May friends kindly greet him in some other clime, 
 As roosting he hears the steeple clock chime. 
 
 The farmers all round their cattle take in, 
 To rest in the shippon as snug as a pin ; 
 There to repose when snowflakes doth fall, 
 Shielded from wind by a lime and stone wall. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 59 
 
 The farmer at night he prizes his home, 
 When enter'd the door and shut out the storm ; 
 For there by the fire he snugly sits down, 
 Partakes of his supper his labours to crown. 
 
 SUNDAY MORNING PRAYER. 
 
 LMIGHTY God, the King of kings, 
 
 And Everlasting Prince ; 
 For all thy mercies we adore, 
 With feelings most intense. 
 
 For every mercy bestowed on us, 
 And helping all through life ; 
 
 For caring and for keeping us, 
 From evil and from strife. 
 
 And raising us to thus behold 
 
 Another Sabbath day ; 
 To hear the word of truth proclaim' d, 
 
 And walk in wisdom's way. 
 
60 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 It calls to our unthinking minds 
 
 The resurrection morn ; 
 When angels were despatched 
 
 To roll away the stone. 
 
 He on the powers of darkness trod, 
 And triumphed in his might ; 
 
 And was declared the Son of God, 
 To give the darkness light. 
 
 May we this day arise above 
 All worldly thoughts and cares ; 
 
 And in our hearts be thus constrained 
 To offer prayer and praise. 
 
 This is the day that God has made, 
 
 May we for it be glad ; 
 And may it prove the best to us 
 
 That we have ever had. 
 
 may it be a true foretaste 
 
 Of that eternal one, 
 Which we hope to spend in Heaven 
 
 When our earthly toil is done. 
 
 We must confess, God, to Thee 
 Our sins and wickedness ; 
 
RURAL MUSIXGS. 61 
 
 But if we truly all repent, 
 Thou'st promised us to bless. 
 
 Mercies all belong to Thee, 
 
 Forgiveness, too, as well ; 
 So let us learn to love Thy word, 
 
 And never more rebel. 
 
 0, grant us all increasing strength 
 
 To help us day by day ; 
 That we from truth and virtue's path 
 
 May never go astray. 
 
 May every nation be well blessed 
 With honest Gospel light ; 
 
 The heathen with their idols part, 
 And worship God aright. 
 
 May superstition soon give way, 
 
 And cease to ever be ; 
 May every land embrace Thy word ; 
 
 From bonds of sin be free. 
 
 0, Lord, fulfil Thy promises 
 
 Unto us every one ; 
 That from the rising of the sun, 
 
 Unto its going down ; 
 
62 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 Thy name on earth it shall be great ; 
 
 The people will Thee praise ; 
 Yea, God, Thy people all 
 
 A joyful song will raise. 
 
 Hear, Lord, our humble prayers, 
 
 Imperfect though they be ; 
 And wKen on earth we've breathed our last, 
 
 Receive us unto Thee. Amen. 
 
 A STORY OF A MOTHERS LOVE. 
 
 "Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not 
 have compassion on the son of her womb ? Yea, they may forget ; 
 yet will I not forget thee." ISA. x\i\, l-">. 
 
 "N the Highlands of Scotland, as I have heard say, 
 There lived a poor widow far out of the way, 
 Who had but one treasure a fair only child, 
 On whom her affections were mostly beguiled. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 63 
 
 Two years of age was this handsome smart boy, 
 In whom the poor mother beheld her chief joy ; 
 One fine sunny morning in the sweet month of May, 
 From her rude Highland home she stalled away. 
 
 With child on her back, like a huge bundle tied, 
 And off on her journey she quickly did stride ; 
 Intending to visit, if all turned out well, 
 A friend that she needed to help her a spell. 
 
 This friend had thiis promised to lend her a sum, 
 To arm her for rent day when landlord would come ; 
 Alas ! before noon, the bright sun disappeared, 
 The dark heavy clouds their huge forms had upreared. 
 
 Some cold rain and sleet began now to fall, 
 Which made the poor widow cling tight to her shawl ; 
 The sleet and the rain were soon changed to snow, 
 This caused the lone woman to feel rather low. 
 
 Wet, weary, and cold, the dear mother and child 
 Reached the high moun tain it became very wild ; 
 The storm was severe, and the wind was so strong, 
 She found it impossible to journey along. 
 
 And to make a retreat, sure that could not be, 
 Being ten miles away from her cottage, you see ; 
 
64 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 " 0, what must I do 1" she thought to herself, 
 With my poor darling boy my treasure of wealth. 
 
 A long time she wandered across rude, rocky ground, 
 But at last in a nook some shelter she found ; 
 And into the corner she crept with her all, 
 Wrapped close to her bosom beneath the thin shawl 
 
 Here the poor victim crouched alone by the hour, 
 Her heart and her soul to her Maker did pour ; 
 At last night came on very bitter and cold ; 
 Among the great rocks the wind whistled and howled ; 
 
 Which made her poor heart turn sickly and faint, 
 Her grief it was such that no language can paint ; 
 The wind veered a little, which made the snow drift 
 All into her hiding place, through the rent rift. 
 
 This caused the poor widow to strip off her clothes, 
 To wrap round her darling whom God only knows ; 
 She searched for a place more safe and secure, 
 The cry of her child she could not endure. 
 
 In the cleft of a rock she found some dry leaves, 
 While her breast with emotion alternately heaves ; 
 Between hope and despair she laid her child down ; 
 Poor thing, in her anguish, her wits had near flown. 
 
RURAL MUSIXGS. G5 
 
 To leave her young darling assistance to seek, 
 In this lonely region on high mountain peak ; 
 How fondly she kissed the dear helpless thing, 
 As floods from her eyes her affections did bring. 
 
 She lulled him to sleep as a kind mother can, 
 Then earnestly prayed with her cheeks pale and wan ; 
 And kindly committed to her Father above 
 The dear little boy whom so fondly she loved. 
 
 To Him who has promised a father to be 
 To the fatherless, and a friend to the widow : 
 Then into the snow-drift she rushed with intent, 
 Her mind on returning thus seemed to be bent, 
 
 To the place from whence she did earnestly start ; 
 But she and her darling for ever did part ; 
 She perished, poor creature, in the snow-storm, 
 Without earthly friend, and far from her home. 
 
 When morning had dawned upon the high hills, 
 
 The strong highland shepherds were crossing the gills ; 
 
 Then up the hill side they boldly did creep, 
 
 In search of their stock the snow-buried sheep. 
 
 When, lo, and behold, some footprints they spied, 
 Which led them to wonder and look far and wide ; 
 
66 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 At last on the corpse of the half-naked mother 
 
 They came unexpected, which caused them to shudder. 
 
 Her footprints were traced among deep- drifted snow, 
 Then the cries of a child they heard faint and low ; 
 Although through the night he had lain in the rock, 
 With no one to soothe, but a storm for to mock. 
 
 With bed of dry leaves he'd been kept snug and warm ; 
 To outward appearance he'd met with no harm ; 
 The story was told of that mother's sweet love, 
 By last humble prayer to her Father above. 
 
 And many the tears that were shed for her sake, 
 
 When they gazed on her form it made their hearts ache ; 
 
 It caused many a sigh from their breasts to arise, 
 
 And with o'er-burdened hearts brought tears to their eyes. 
 
 The sorrowful event was by pastor improved, 
 It caused many a one o'er sad tidings to brood ; 
 To think of the child that was left all alone, 
 Without loving mother or father to own. 
 
 My sad story now must come to an end, 
 I trust that some kind hearts attention will lend ; 
 And read it right through, and treasure it all, 
 And tliink of the widow and her ragged shawl. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. G7 
 
 MEMORY LOOKS BACK, 
 
 T1TTEST END with heath-clad hills and purple fells, 
 ty r, ( 'ly-stal drops from a thousand self-formed wells, 
 
 Springing from the mountain's rude and shaggy 
 
 side, 
 
 And tumbling down to form a river wide; 
 The element in rich abundance flows, 
 As thus Dame Nature's kindness always shows, 
 By sending rich supplies from moss-clad nook, 
 That comes from out each small and babbling brook. 
 West End, from these it has obtained a name, 
 For purity of springs to heal the lame. 
 There's some, no doubt, will pass this country spot, 
 And view the rude and isolated cot, 
 And treat it with an air of haughty scorn, 
 As if no noble hearts had e'er been born, 
 Within the thatched and old unsightly hut, 
 With windows small and eaves from ground three foot ; 
 Look in some day when passing by the place, 
 You'll see the dame with clean and ruddy face, 
 A friendly smile beneath a new starched cap ; 
 While on the hearth her old and worthy chap, 
 
68 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 Puffing his weed to kettle's simmering din, 
 Trying with honest might his bread to win. 
 A fire of turf dug from the moorland heath, 
 To warm against the bitter biting north, 
 A fleak well lined with wholesome oaten cakes, 
 Which housewife in her round of duties bakes, 
 And then, suspended from the old crossbeam, 
 The sides of bacon hang, right well they seem, 
 Bidding poverty through winter months depart, 
 Giving humbleness and plenty better start. 
 The Mansion's not the happiest place on eavlli, 
 Although Royalty and noblemen have birth ; 
 No, not by far, we venture thus to say, 
 Some clouds are often seen on brightest days, 
 There's men that envy their supreme estate, 
 And lurk for blood in vengeance often wait ; 
 A man's a man, high or low, rich or poor, 
 Who plays a manly part, and keeps in store 
 A warm and honest heart and truthful tongue ; 
 Speaks well of all his neighbours, old and young. 
 My native hills, and scenes of youthful days, 
 Retrospection causes me to raise 
 Again my hand to strike the tuneful lyre 
 Whilst memory lingers round the old peat fire, 
 Where many pleasant aud happy hours were spent, 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 69 
 
 So much resembling gypsies in a tent ; 
 
 For oft doth memory recall the time, 
 
 When youth his native hills was wont to climb ; 
 
 Memory, thou blessed gift of heaven's King, 
 
 Scented with the hyacinths that bloom in spring, 
 
 Hidden storehouse of man's immortal part, 
 
 How oft thou causes us to think and start, 
 
 And ponder on our childhood's playful ways ; 
 
 Our minds at times feel almost in a maze, 
 
 To trace the " ups and downs " through length of days. 
 
 Memory, thou nymph on angel's swift wing, 
 
 Thou often cheers the path and makes us sing, 
 
 As with the telescope of mind we trace, 
 
 The footprints of our youth in memory's face ; 
 
 And fixing fadeless wreaths in many a spot, 
 
 Where youthful scenes can never be forgot, 
 
 Refreshed by the revolving wheel of time, 
 
 Made plain as if in schoolboy's merry prime. 
 
 Alas ! the time seems short when we look back 
 
 On life's uneven, rough, and beaten track ; 
 
 We miss our friends from many a well-known spot, 
 
 Who lived content, although in humble cot ; 
 
 But still their forms in memory do live, 
 
 And recollection pleasure seems to give. 
 
 From youth to age the time is very short, 
 
70 IUKAI. MUSINGS. 
 
 But still some useful lessons may bo taught ; 
 
 Keep weeding out the blinding dust and chaff, 
 
 And lean upon the pilgrim's trusty staff; 
 
 'Tis very strong and yields the best support, 
 
 To tell its worth we find our language short ; 
 
 The words of truth that consolation bring, 
 
 And o'er the pilgrim's path a light doth fling, 
 
 The Book of books that puts all others by, 
 
 That sounds the depths, and scales the worlds on high, 
 
 The storehouse whence we gather all our good, 
 
 From thence we feed our minds with richest food ! 
 
 SKIPTON FAIR. 
 
 "'VE often been to Skipton fair, 
 
 And \\itucssed great commotion there, 
 With farmers driving in their cows, 
 From east and west, from north and south, 
 Of every age, and size, and growth ; 
 Exposing them for public sale, 
 And praising them from head to tail. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 71 
 
 At times you scarce can pass along 
 The farmers are so very throng 
 Selling their cattle in the street, 
 A cart can scarcely pass or meet. 
 But that, I think, is not the worst ; 
 Of all the plagues that do infest 
 This old and handsome country town, 
 That is so well and widely known 
 Bold Mr. Quack, with " cure-'em-all," 
 Mounts 011 his stage and loud does bawl, 
 So that the people in the fair 
 Crowd together, gape, and stare. 
 To hear what he has got to say 
 They many a time obstruct the way ; 
 And while the crowd are gathered round 
 The Quack begins at once to expound 
 The cure and cause of every wound ; 
 Pains within and pains without 
 He can heal without a doubt ; 
 His herbs and roots can never fail 
 To make a weak man well and hale ; 
 The tooth-ache and the painful tic 
 He can cure them very quick ; 
 His stuff was never known to miss 
 (These statements are not mine, but his). 
 
72 KUHAl. ML-1M,-. 
 
 " I'm not come here to take you in." 
 
 He says ; " I think 'twould be a sin 
 
 To try to deceive you working men ; 
 
 But I've come here to do yon good 
 
 To tell you how to enjoy your food. 
 
 Just give me your attention, please, 
 
 And I will try your doubts to ease, 
 
 By showing yon that I can cure 
 
 With herbs, and roots, and barks, all pure- 
 
 The ills that flesh is liable to ; 
 
 Aches and pains of every kind, 
 
 That oft disturb the peace of mind, 
 
 Will yield like magic to my pills, 
 
 And save you many doctor's bills. 
 
 If you are troubled after a meal, 
 
 And do a sense of fullness feel, 
 
 Or sourness from your stomach rise, 
 
 A dimness also in your eyes, 
 
 A singing in your useful ears ; 
 
 If you've forebodings, groundless fears, 
 
 You may conclude digestion's wrong, 
 
 And something worse ere very long 
 
 Is sure to follow in the train, 
 
 As certain as the clouds drop rain. 
 
 My herbal pills remove the cause 
 
RURAL M USING*. 73 
 
 Of all the symptoms I disclose ; 
 
 And when the cause is once removed 
 
 The health of body is soon improved ; 
 
 Healthful sleep is thus obtained, 
 
 Flesh and strength are soon regained 
 
 By taking these my far-famed pills. 
 
 They're sure to move the worst of ills. 
 
 Shall I a box to you just reach ? 
 
 I say they're only eightpence each ; 
 
 The larger ones are thirteenpence. 
 
 If you be wise and men of sense 
 
 You'll take the larger of the two ; 
 
 I say. if not, you ought to do. 
 
 With voice unmusical but strong, 
 
 And with a speech both loud and long, 
 
 He thus deludes the simple mind. 
 
 This state of things you'll often find 
 
 At Skipton fortnight cattle fair. 
 
 But in the crowds that gather there 
 
 Are other men as well as quacks, 
 
 Who often style themselves Cheap Jacks 
 
 Who sell hardware of every kind 
 
 (They say to suit the public mind) ; 
 
 But men are often thus deceived, 
 
 And feel themselves right sorely grieved 
 
74 UUUAL 
 
 Through buying goods that are not sound, 
 As all cheap things are mostly found. 
 If all these clever and wily quacks, 
 And all these noisy Auction-Jacks, 
 Were truthful in their fine long speech, 
 Some useful lessons they might teach. 
 Truth and falsehood mixed together 
 llesemble grass in frosty weather, 
 That withers soon, and fades, and dies 
 And so it ever is with lies. 
 
 A SONG FOR THE SPRING-TIME. 
 
 "ERE'S a song and a cheer 
 For the spring of the year, 
 
 With dress all so lovely and green ; 
 With the song of the birds, 
 To inspire sweet words, 
 
 And makes it so varied a scene. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 75 
 
 The fields decked with daisies, 
 Our minds it fair mazes. 
 
 To see them so richly bestrewn ; 
 With their many rich dyes, 
 'Neath the blue-vaulted skies, 
 
 All in full perfection are grown. 
 
 Awake in the morning, 
 Just as it is dawning, 
 
 And Phoebus o'er hills doth appear ; 
 AVe hear the grey lark, 
 In the field or the park, 
 
 Always in the spring of the year. 
 
 And the trees in the wood, 
 They're beginning to bud, 
 
 And put forth their blossoms so sweet ; 
 While the bees on the spray, 
 Sipping honey all day, 
 
 The spring-time together do greet. 
 
 For cold winter has fled, 
 And deserted his bed ; 
 
 To some other country has flown ; 
 AA T ith locks that are hoary, 
 To tell his cold story, 
 
 And make all things withered and brown. 
 
76 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 The warm genial showers, 
 Which wash the spring flowers, 
 
 And make them look lovely and bright ; 
 With a carpet of green, 
 Springing up in between, 
 
 Which enhances the pleasant sight. 
 
 And the lambs, with their dames, 
 Skip and sport on the plains, 
 
 So innocent, playful, and white ; 
 When they've gambolled all day, 
 Then quietly down they lie, 
 
 To rest and sleep through the night. 
 
 The welcome cuckoo's note 
 Through the air doth softly float 
 
 As he sits on a neighbouring tree ; 
 Coming to chant of spring, 
 For he himself does bring 
 
 Those honeyed days so bright and free. 
 
 And wherever we look, 
 In comer or in nook, 
 
 The grass and the flowers do spring ; 
 Sweet the breezes that sail 
 O'er hill and o'er dale, 
 
 Where wild birds soar high on the wing. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 77 
 
 The throstles and thrushes, 
 Do lurk in the bushes, 
 
 To see a fit place for to build, 
 And when they've decided, 
 The nest is provided, 
 
 For in nest making they arc skilled. 
 
 The grouse and the plover 
 Are seeking for the cover 
 
 Remote from the presence of men ; 
 Among purple-tipp'd ling, 
 They do whistle and sing, 
 
 As joyous as birds in the glen. 
 
 All nature is smiling, 
 Our cares all beguiling, 
 
 To see the brute creatures content ; 
 And all murmur is mute, 
 From the fowl and the brute, 
 
 For all things in order are sent. 
 
 All the flocks and the herds, 
 And the golden-plumed birds, 
 
 Are endowed with sense to fulfil, 
 All their duties in life, 
 Without envy or strife, 
 
 With kindness and pleasant good will. 
 
78 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 Here's a song and a cheer, 
 For the spring of the year, 
 
 With dress all so lovely and green 
 And the song of the birds, 
 To inspire sweet words, 
 
 Which makes it so varied a scene. 
 
 LINES ON HEAR TNG HEBDEN CHURCH 
 HELL. 
 
 i ING on, ring on, thou solemn bell, 
 We love to hear thy cadence swell ; 
 Thy clapper swinging to anil fro, 
 Regarding neither friend nor foe. 
 
 In the tall steeple thou hast hung, 
 And given warning by thy tongue, 
 To all the people round and square, 
 It is the time to offer prayer. 
 
 Ring on, ring on, thy music's sweet 
 To all the men who wish to meet, 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 79 
 
 To bend beneath thy sacred dome, 
 To Him who did for sin atone. 
 
 Ring on, ring in thy turret grey, 
 Invite the parishioners to pray ; 
 The turret may so well be seen, 
 It towers above the village green. 
 
 All honour to the men who reared 
 The fane in which men's hearts are cheered ; 
 The Bishops, Priests, and Deacons all, 
 Who to the work have had a call. 
 
 Ring on, ring on, thy course pursue, 
 There's still more work for thee to do ; 
 All men have drunk the poisoned cup, 
 And need a call to rouse them up. 
 
 Thy work thou duely does perform, 
 On Sunday afternoon or morn ; 
 Thy sound is heard both far and near, 
 All calling out " Come, worship here !" 
 
 " Come to this temple that's divine, 
 To hear the sacred truths sublime ; 
 That's read and preached in this house, 
 To young and old and rich and poor. 
 
80 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 " Nor will you let me call in vai n ; 
 For if you do I'll not refrain 
 To call aloud from time to time, 
 With music in my ringing chime. 
 
 " All come and worship, I invite, 
 And let the temple have its right ; 
 Respond unto my faithful call, 
 And let me have your presence all." 
 
 An honest answer we will give, 
 That thon reminds we must not live ; 
 So we the sacred aisle will tread, 
 Before we're numbered with the dead. 
 
 Thou hast a timely warning given 
 Before we from this earth arc driven ; 
 And we ai-e happy for to tell 
 That thou performest thy part so well. 
 
 This little edifice it stands 
 Amidst the verdant pasture lands ; 
 With its walls and pillars strong, 
 That doth reverberate with song. 
 
 Ring on, ring on, thou warning bell, 
 Full many a time thou's had to tell, 
 
RURAL MUSI X( IS. 
 
 Some happy soul has winged its flight, 
 To Him who will judge all aright. 
 
 Thou's witnessed weeping friends of some, 
 E'en when the solemn moments come ; 
 That friends with friends must ever part, 
 However much it rends the heart. 
 
 But something else thou seem'st to say, 
 That we as well must pass away ; 
 And with them in the dust must sleep, 
 Until we rise the Judge to meet. 
 
 A STROLL ALONG LYTHE. 
 
 fNE morning as I wandered out, 
 Just at the break of day ; 
 Of all the lovely pleasant months, 
 It was the month of May. 
 
 I took a stroll along the banks 
 Of Wharfe's meandering stream, 
 
RUR.U; 
 
 And there indulged my thinking powers 
 Tn fancy's musing dream. 
 
 My thoughts .soon turned to bygone days, 
 
 When T from care was free ; 
 When my young heart did dance for joy, 
 
 In childish sportive glee. 
 
 For then I used to wander out, 
 
 By hedgerow, brook, and rill, 
 And ninny an airy castle built, 
 
 By might of mind and will. 
 
 lint they -were built in flimsy air, 
 
 And thus they passed away, 
 And left me to commence afresh, 
 
 With feelings of dismay. 
 
 And thus my childhood's days were spent, 
 
 Like many other boys ; 
 Employed in making soap balloons, 
 
 Or playing with such toys. 
 
 But now my childhood's days are past, 
 
 And I've become a man, 
 My genius wakes at nature's touch, 
 
 Her wonderous works to scan. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 I am a child of rustic song, 
 
 In this delightful vale, 
 Who loves to breathe his morning lay. 
 
 In simple rustic strains. 
 
 In this sweet lovely sylvan dale, 
 Where nature's flowers spring, 
 
 And woods with airy concert all, 
 In joyous chorus ring. 
 
 The quiet musings through my brain, 
 
 In quick succession ran ; 
 While all alone I paced the banks. 
 
 Unseen by mortal man. 
 
 The morning breeze did gently blow, 
 All o'er the grass-grown plain, 
 
 Revived the spark of nature's fire, 
 And made me very fain. 
 
 To see Lythe House in beauty stand, 
 
 Surrounded by the trees, 
 On which they sip the luscious drops, 
 
 The busy swarming bees. 
 
 Beautiful and enchanting, too, 
 The homestead seemed to be ; 
 
^ ! i:n;.\i, 
 
 Hounded by the Wharfe's broad stream, 
 And moss-grown well and tree. 
 
 The birds send forth their melody, 
 
 To charm the ear and eye ; 
 Which makes it more inviting still, 
 
 To every passer by. 
 
 The walks arc grand if not. so famed, 
 
 As those in other parts, 
 Where nymphs and swains have often met, 
 
 With warm and tender hearts, 
 
 To tell the tale of love and joy, 
 
 In that secluded spot ; 
 Expressing- their intense desire 
 
 To tie the marriage knot. 
 
 Those who are with care oppressed 
 
 And busy toil of life, 
 Visit this delightful spot, 
 
 That bears the name of Lythe. 
 
 Rural poets and artists, too, 
 
 l'Ye<|uent the place as well ; 
 And then in rustic prose or verse. 
 
 Its beauties often tell. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 85 
 
 Nature in her aspects wild 
 
 Surrounds the lovely grove, 
 Which may be seen to tower aloft, 
 
 As through the fields we rove. 
 
 The men of God with hearts devout, 
 
 Like patriarchs of old ; 
 Come here to visit Nature's scenes, 
 
 And sweet communion hold. 
 
 To join the feathered worshippers, 
 In their sweet morning lays, 
 
 Offering to their Maker all, 
 
 Their heart-felt songs of praise. 
 
 And thus the God of nature smiles, 
 
 Upon this peaceful vale ; 
 To sympathize with visitors, 
 
 In joy or sorrow's tale. 
 
 Thou flowing Wharfe with glassy stream, 
 That flows through Amerdale, 
 
 Art linked with many a poet's dream, 
 And legends old and stale. 
 
86 KIKAL Ml, SIN' US. 
 
 AN EVENING ll'ALK IN APRIL. 
 
 K night as 1 from Burden came, 
 If/ Through the woods and meadows green, 
 
 It set my heart upon a flame, 
 To view the varied charming scene. 
 
 I listened to the sweet-voiced thrush 
 
 Trilling his cheerful evening song, 
 Perched upon the green thorn bush, 
 
 As I trudged the road along. 
 
 The blackbird, too, with notes so clear, 
 
 Sat on the green fir tree ; 
 His merry song assailed mine ear, 
 
 And made the woods resound with glee. 
 
 The skylark with its tuneful throat, 
 
 Soaring among the silvery clouds ; 
 So softly through the air did float, 
 
 Making hill and dale resound. 
 
 The milk-white lambs with friendly dames, 
 In the meads did sport and play ; 
 
RURAL MUSIXGS. 87 
 
 Quite free from guilty staius, 
 On a lovely April day. 
 
 On my left was Wharfe's broad stream, 
 Thundering o'er its rocky bed ; 
 
 On my right was Ap'trick seen, 
 With the houses quaintly spread. 
 
 I posted on to Halem's-hill, 
 
 And sat me down to rest awhile ; 
 
 My mind with pleasure soon did fill, 
 To see dame Nature's lovely smile. 
 
 Then up I got and jogg'd along, 
 Past the Woodhouse shady grove ; 
 
 With heart and mind well cheered with sun< 
 Of birds in flowery field and cove. 
 
 Then next to Hartlington I came, 
 And marched forward up the hill ; 
 
 O'er the top and across the plain, 
 On the Sceuph to Hebden Mill. 
 
 And thus my walk was at an end, 
 And darkness then began to fall : 
 
 The shades of evening to descend, 
 As on I marched past Hebden Hall. 
 
88 KURAL Mi 
 
 And when I reached my humble cot, 
 I entered in and shut the door ; 
 
 1 felt my home a happy spot, 
 As 1 had often done before. 
 
 The fire was burning warm and bright, 
 And I felt happy as a king ; 
 
 In prospect of a quiet night, 
 To rest a weary, tired limb. 
 
 THE FARMERS WIFE. 
 
 FARM Kll'S wife, how hard her lot, 
 
 She's sweating all the day ; 
 With toiling hai'd from morn till night, 
 Through all the live-long way. 
 
 A farmer's wife does early rise, 
 
 Her work it must be done ; 
 Her services are oft required 
 
 r>y daughter or by son. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 89 
 
 A farmer's wife must skim the milk, 
 And feed the pigs and calves ; 
 
 Such work as this it must be dune, 
 Obey old Nature's laws. 
 
 A farmer's wife must bake the bread 
 
 The family doth consume, 
 And thus her time is quite employed 
 
 From morning until noon. 
 
 A farmer's wife must wash and churn, 
 And sometimes inilk the cows ; 
 
 And when her work is to be done, 
 She scarcely ever knows. 
 
 A farmer's wife must knit and sew, 
 And patch and darn the clothes ; 
 
 From Monday morn till Saturday 
 Her round of duty goes. 
 
 A farmer's wife, with weary limbs, 
 Exhausted nerves and brain, 
 
 She having through hard labouring, 
 O'er taxed her feeble frame. 
 
 A farmer's wife needs sympathy 
 From every son of toil ; 
 
90 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 For a good wife is the glory 
 Of England's native soil. 
 
 To comfort and relieve a man, 
 
 In sorrow or distress, 
 A woman's loving sympathy 
 
 Makes troubles all the less. 
 
 Ye married men, you should speak well 
 Of your good, useftd wives, 
 
 Be faithful to your plighted vows 
 When knot was tied for lives. 
 
 DRINK ! DRINK .' .' DRINK .' ! ! 
 
 & in the house I sat one night, 
 r>y the lire so warm and bright ; 
 My children laid .nil gone to lied, 
 And I the paper just had read. 
 
liUKAL MUSINGS. 91 
 
 1 heard a noise outside the door, 
 And what it was i was not sure ; 
 Something within moved me to go, 
 That I the cause might surely know. 
 
 So to the door I softly went, 
 The stars their light but feebly lent, 
 That I could see some human forms 
 Staggering on towards their homes. 
 
 And some began to loudly talk, 
 
 While others only tried to walk ; 
 
 The Avords were loud, their threats were strong ; 
 
 About what was right and what was wrong. 
 
 Foul words and threats were freely used, 
 Their manly nature they abused ; 
 Let loose the fiend of dark desire, 
 And with rage their eyes flashed fire. 
 
 I guessed the cause of all this strife, 
 The demon drink was surely rife ; 
 It prompts a man to evil deeds, 
 And spend his brass which family needs. 
 
 A man that's led away by drink, 
 Seldom or never stops to think 
 
RURAL MLrtlNC*. 
 
 About the due results which follow 
 As long us he's a drop to swallow. 
 
 Drink has poisoned many a life, 
 And broke the heart of many a wife ; 
 And little ones she's left behind, 
 To think of mother dear and kind. 
 
 With empty stomachs, shoeless feet, 
 To beg and tramp about the street ; 
 Dependent on kind people's deeds, 
 To just supply their daily needs. 
 
 A man can scarcely dare to think, 
 O' the evil that's been wrought by drink 
 Of health impaired and money spent, 
 Of clothing shabby, torn, anoVrent. 
 
 Time mis-spent and character gone, 
 Friends arc few or might be none, 
 The conscience seared, and feelings lost, 
 The eyes beclouded, reason tossed. 
 
 Vile drink has peopled many jails ; 
 When freely used it never fails 
 To ruin soul and body all, 
 A moral wreck they're sure to fall, 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 93 
 
 When once within the slavish chain, 
 A man will tramp through wind and rain, 
 To have his evening sparkling glass, 
 And with his " chums " an hour to pass. 
 
 Yes, leave his wife to sit alone, 
 And o'er his conduct sigh and groan, 
 And pass her evenings by herself, 
 While he's spending hard earned pelf. 
 
 She's apt at times to weep and cry, 
 While thinking over days gone by ; 
 When she was young and blythe and gay, 
 As lambkins on a summer's day. 
 
 But now an anxious, furrowed brow, 
 Has been produced by time's rough plough, 
 And faded cheeks and tearful eyes, 
 Beclouded are like winter skies. 
 
94 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN AT CHRISTMAS TIM!'.. 
 
 fNf 'E more the silent march of time, 
 His yearly round has sped ; 
 And many to the silent tomb, 
 From this cold world have fled. 
 
 We welcome the bright Christmas Day, 
 
 A day of joy and rest, 
 A time to be remembered, 
 
 In which the world was blessed. 
 
 When angels on the star-lit plains, 
 
 Of Bethlehem did sing, 
 All glory to the Saviour born, 
 
 Our great High Priest and King. 
 
 may this day remembered be, 
 Throughout the world at large ; 
 
 And may our hearts and voices, ton. 
 In grateful praise engage. 
 
 It is a time when friends unite 
 To spend a social hour, 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 95 
 
 Who have not met for one twelve months, 
 To talk on days of yore. 
 
 And little boys with faces clean, 
 And eyes all sparkling bright, 
 
 Marching about from door to door, 
 Before 'tis fairly light. 
 
 Wishing "A Merry Christmas" 
 
 To all who dwell within ; 
 They, with their youthful songs, 
 
 A penny hope to win. 
 
 A penny or a something else, 
 
 I'm sure they'll not despise ; 
 For whate'er you choose to give them 
 
 There seems a joy to rise. 
 
 Their little tongues articulate, 
 
 They run along the street, 
 Showing all the pence they've got 
 
 To every one they meet. 
 
 Thinking they are rich indeed, 
 
 And happy, too, as well ; 
 With all the money in their hand 
 
 They seem to cut a swell. 
 
9G ItriiAI. MUSINGS. 
 
 When all the cots they've visited, 
 
 With joyful haste they fly 
 All homeward to their parents dear, 
 
 To put the pennies by. 
 
 To place them in the savings' bank 
 
 Kur any needful day ; 
 Their parents tell them kindly, too, 
 
 It is the wisest way. 
 
 Now, ye whose tables creak and groan 
 Beneath the Christmas cheer ; 
 
 Think of those who have no food, 
 And scarcely ought to wear. 
 
 And think how many at this time 
 With poverty are oppressed, 
 
 While you with plenty and to spare, 
 Arc well and truly blest. 
 
 To all such I would simply say, 
 
 Let charity be seen ; 
 By giving to the humble poor, 
 
 Whose poverty biteth keen. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 97 
 
 HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 'XITS and entrances from day to day, 
 So runs the round of life as on a stage ; 
 Both old and young do play their parts, and then 
 
 Meet that which awaits them, and so pass 
 
 From off* the stage of action. 
 
 COPPER-GILL HOUSE, HE B DEN. 
 
 T Copper-gill stands a handsome cot, 
 In a snug, sequestered, country spot 
 Romantic scenes are all around, 
 And on one side a rocky mound. 
 
 The old grey rocks with time-worn heads, 
 All peeping from their heathy beds ; 
 Towering in their native air, 
 Braving the weather foul or fair. 
 
98 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 For centuries they have stood the storm, 
 Old Nature there in giant form ; 
 In winter from their snow-clad beds, 
 They've reared their bold majestic heads. 
 
 The mossy fringe and purple ling, 
 Around the granite there do cling ; 
 With health and beauty smiling there, 
 Driving away disease and care. 
 
 Clear water gushing from the springs, 
 Form into murm'ring silver rills ; 
 And gliding past the lovely spot, 
 Just giving beauty to the cot. 
 
 There's fertile fields and pastures green, 
 And here and there a cowslip seen ; 
 And lovely flowei's with many hues, 
 The yellow, pink, and smiling blues. 
 
 Wild flowers, wild birds, scenes wild, 
 
 Where Nature has so often smiled ; 
 
 In lovely May and merry June, 
 
 When birds send forth their sweetest tune. 
 
 The lark you'll see at early morn, 
 Just as the day begins to dawn, 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 99 
 
 All rising from his grassy nest, 
 With pearly dew upon his In-east, 
 
 The cuckoo's note so loud and clear, 
 Falls on the fascinated ear ; 
 The blackbird, too, and lively thrush, 
 Sing blithely on the green thorn bush. 
 
 The throstle on the bending spray, 
 On many a summer's sultry day ; 
 And all among the ling and bent 
 The breezes waft the sweetest scent. 
 
 All in the lovely month of May, 
 When lambs begin to sport and play ; 
 The moorcocks are heard to cry, 
 When they're disturbed by passers by. 
 
 They flutter 'mong the ling and heath, 
 To save their broods from cruel death ; 
 And thus Deceive the passers by, 
 By showing that they scarce can fly ; 
 
 Delude him from the fancied spot, 
 The parent bird this instinct's got ; 
 Such scenes as these around the place, 
 Give beauty fresh unto the face. 
 
100 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 THE SHEPHERD AND HIS DOG. 
 
 'OME, Laddie, with me, we must look after sheep, 
 There may be some buried in snow rather deep ; 
 The wind it is howling and blowing severe, 
 And some will be lost I have reason to fear. 
 
 The snow is falling very thick on the ground, 
 The hills are ice-mantled and white all around ; 
 There's scarcely a rush or a bob to be seen 
 In meadows and pastures that used to be green. 
 
 The moor shall be the first place that we'll look, 
 And search it we must in corner and nook ; 
 For every shepherd his duty should do, 
 In watching his flock the whole winter through. 
 
 " I'm willing, good master," thus answered the dog, 
 " I'm able to travel the rough peaty bog ; 
 With my four tanned legs and neatly curled tail, 
 I'm able the mountains and valleys to scale. 
 
 " So let us be going, good master, I pray, 
 And not with consulting quite spend all the day ; 
 The days are so short, the nights are so long, 
 The frosts are so keen and the winds are so strong. 
 
BUBAL MUSINGS. 101 
 
 "Just don on your coat and leggings beside, 
 And I will jog faithfully on by your side ; 
 With crook and your mittens, top-coat, and rug, 
 I think, by and by, we shall feel very snug." 
 
 "Agreed on, my doggie, we'll start right away, 
 And waste no more time in what we may say ; 
 But off on our errand to do what we can 
 Towards discharging our duty as dog and as man." 
 
 TOOK my pencil and my book, 
 And walked across the little brook ; 
 And sitting down beneath a tree, 
 Nature's beauties for to see. 
 
 While sitting neath its shady bowers 
 I thought of childhood's happy hours, 
 How quickly they had passed and gone, 
 And left me here to mourn alone. 
 
102 IU KAI, MUSINGS. 
 
 I thcmght how swiftly time hud flod, 
 While through the world I had been led 
 And how the Lord in mercy kind, 
 On me endowed a thinking mind. 
 
 Of blessings, too, which he bestows 
 On wayward man who breaks his laws : 
 Does despite to the Spirit's call ; 
 Before His throne forgets to fall. 
 
 Till': CRASS -WOOD PARTY. 
 
 r\Nl] morn in May when all was gay, 
 
 And charming to behold; 
 The hills were seen all clothed in green. 
 The clouds were tinged with gold. 
 
 The grass did spring, the birds did sing, 
 
 So sweetly on the spray ; 
 A charming sight to view their Hight, 
 
 In Hocks from woods away. 
 
RURAL MUSIXGS. 103 
 
 The trees were seen in healthy sheen, 
 
 Low bending to the breeze ; 
 Affording home in fiercest storm, 
 
 For busy swarming bees. 
 
 Whit-Monday morn, just newly born, 
 With prospects bright and fair ; 
 
 A party went with hearts intent, 
 To breathe the "Grass- Wood" air. 
 
 With baskets filled as party willed, 
 
 To have a luncheon there ; 
 So off they start without a cart, 
 
 Gig, 'bus, or jaunting car. 
 
 With merry laugh and noisy chat, 
 
 Along the road they go, 
 Until they reach the rocky height, 
 
 And view the land below. 
 
 And down they sit to talk a bit, 
 
 About the lovely scene ; 
 While some do sweat, till shirts are wet, 
 
 With walking up the green. 
 
 And one complains of aches and pains, 
 With old age creeping on ; 
 
104 KUKAL MUSINGS. 
 
 What with the heat and burning feet, 
 Beneath a scorching sun. 
 
 Just now the thought begins to float, 
 
 About the tarts and pies ; 
 what a joy there was to sec, 
 
 When lids began to rise. 
 
 Both old and young now held their tongue, 
 
 The grinders had a turn ; 
 All felt the need that they should feed, 
 
 Before they trod the bourne. 
 
 And now the thorn was quite withdrawn, 
 
 Of hunger and of thirst ; 
 And all seemed glad that they had had 
 
 A nice and cosy rest. 
 
 Adown the hill with right good will, 
 They tripped along with speed ; 
 
 And over stones and lifeless bones. 
 The moss and springing weed. 
 
 And now was seen a gulph between, 
 
 Of awful depth and size ; 
 Enough to make the stoutest shake, 
 
 And fill them with surprise. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 105 
 
 Xo time was lost the gulph was crossed, 
 
 The party met again ; 
 Through thorns and brush with many a crush, 
 
 The body did sustain. 
 
 " Here we are all both great and small," 
 
 One wight did thus exclaim ; 
 Upon this ground so firm and sound, 
 
 We've reason to be fain. 
 
 With joyful haste the track was traced, 
 
 In leading to the wood ; 
 It racked the mind somehow to find, 
 
 A road both safe and good. 
 
 xVt last with turns, and all's and 'hems, 
 
 The spot was fully seen, 
 Which to their eyes brought great surprise, 
 
 Who ne'er before had been. 
 
 Prospects new were brought to view, 
 The trees their branches spread ; 
 
 Which did console and comfort all, 
 Who had an aching head. 
 
 The gentle breeze did move the trees, 
 And fanned each burning brow ; 
 
10G RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 Which caused delight, to name it right, 
 Through heart and mind to flow. 
 
 A lovely place on nature's face, 
 
 This " Grass-Wood " sure must be ; 
 
 Where men can walk and sweetly talk, 
 Among scenes wild and free. 
 
 The hills they loom, the flowers they bloom, 
 
 With colours bright and fair ; 
 A mossy green springs up between, 
 
 With roses very rare. 
 
 The lily springs, the ivy clings 
 
 Around the sturdy oak ; 
 The larches grow and beauty show, 
 
 To evade the woodman's stroke. 
 
 The daisy peeps on mountain steeps, 
 
 The savoury sage and thyme ; 
 From herbs that grow the virtue flow, 
 
 To heal the sons of time. 
 
 There's many things that bloom, and spring, 
 
 That's for the use of man ; 
 But in this rhyme we can't define, 
 
 The virtue of the same. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 107 
 
 The herbs and roots and springing shoots, 
 
 Must now be laid aside ; 
 To linger here, we cannot bear, 
 
 But onward we must stride. 
 
 The summer seat and cool retreat, 
 
 At last were occupied ; 
 So rudely made in cooling shade, 
 
 With branches spreading wide. 
 
 All felt impressed to have a rest, 
 
 In the secluded spot ; 
 With nature's tint so kindly lent, 
 
 To shield from sun so hot. 
 
 THE MARCH WIND. 
 
 COLD March wind as fierce and keen, 
 As ever blew before, I ween ; 
 It makes our faces smart with cold, 
 It is so fearless and so bold. 
 The robin leaves his mossy hedge, 
 
108 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 O'er-grown with weeds and withered sedge ; 
 
 And haunts the humble cottage door, 
 
 Though e'er so lowly, mean, and poor ; 
 
 And perching on the window sill, 
 
 His hungry belly trusts to fill, 
 
 With scattered crumbs that he may find, 
 
 Fallen 'neath the window blind ; 
 
 And there he chirps and hops about, 
 
 Free from all care and anxious doubt ; 
 
 However fierce the storm may rage, 
 
 He seems content without a cage. 
 
 The plover leaves the mountain fell, 
 
 And seeks for shelter in the dell ; 
 
 The blackbird now forgets to sing, 
 
 Although it is the time for spring ; 
 
 And seems bewildered and forlorn, 
 
 Amid the biting frost and storm. 
 
 The throstle and the grey-winged thrush, 
 
 Arc mute upon the hazel bush ; 
 
 A merry song we scarce can hear, 
 
 Although it is the time of year. 
 
 The blithesome lark at break of day, 
 
 To cheer the labourer on his way, 
 
 Forgets his merry song to trill, 
 
 And folds his wing beneath the hill. 
 
RURAL MUSIXGS. 109 
 
 Old winter he doth linger long, 
 
 With icy beard and cheerless song, 
 
 And makes us to the fire cling, 
 
 As well as birds that fold their wing ; 
 
 A cold March wind as fierce and keen, 
 
 As ever blew before, I ween, 
 
 Which makes our faces smart with cold, 
 
 It is so fearless and so bold. 
 
 NARROW MINDS. 
 
 "OW narrow some men's minds do seem, 
 
 And limited their views ; 
 Respecting all creation's laws, 
 The knowledge they infuse. 
 
 The universal knowledge of 
 
 The great Eternal One 
 Is very oft confined to 
 
 The narrow stage they're on. 
 
110 RURAL 
 
 Or just extending to the hills ; 
 
 That skirt their native place, 
 Oft forms the boundary of their sight, 
 
 So far as they can trace. 
 
 Within this narrow circle are 
 
 All their ideas of God ; 
 They disbelieve what they can't see, 
 
 And pass it as absurd. 
 
 But there are other men we find, 
 Who take a different view ; 
 
 Whose minds are not always confined, 
 To that in which they grew. 
 
 But. look on nature far and wide, 
 Oil hill, vale, rock, and tree, 
 
 To give delight unto the mind, 
 When they their beauties see. 
 
 To watch the skill of nature's God 
 
 In making all sublime ; 
 Or rocks grown grey, by dimpled rills, 
 
 That stand the march of time. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. Ill 
 
 A PASSING EVENT. 
 
 fERY oft in a village many wonders arise, 
 To astonish our ears and dazzle our eyes, 
 <i ' 
 
 ^ And now there's a rumour that's got well afloat 
 And as if by chance I have caught the key note. 
 
 In a village in Craven, there happened one day 
 A dispute to arise, as I have heard say ; 
 The contention it was between shepherd and sheep, 
 And it caused ill-feeling to sink very deep. 
 
 One of the sheep had been treated unkind, 
 And to patiently bear it she was not inclined ; 
 For one of its fellows had told a false lie, 
 And she for to prove it determined to try. 
 
 So before the old shepherd they face to face stood, 
 Hoping the truth to bring out if they could ; 
 When the truth of the matter she wished for to know, 
 The surly old shepherd he turned up his brow. 
 
 To answer her questions he seemed to resist, 
 But to have a right answer she says, " I insist," 
 
112 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 And to prove who it is who has told the false tale, 
 I hope with my efforts I thus shall prevail. 
 
 And so the old shepherd began for to plead, 
 
 " To answer your questions, I don't see the need ; 
 
 For here it is not a fit place to dispute, 
 
 We'll talk on the road, if just now you'll be mute." 
 
 " No, no," said the sheep, and to this did reply, 
 " Now is the time while there's some standing by, 
 To hasten and hear what we've both got to say, 
 That we from our words may not run astray." 
 
 " For I mean to find out who the wolf it may be, 
 And strip off his clothing that the sheep may all see ; 
 It appears that a wolf not far from this spot, 
 Upon his rough back sheep's clothing has got." 
 
 " We see when a wolf gets into a fold, 
 He makes shocking havoc among young and old ; 
 Tearing to pieces with ravenous jaws, 
 Neither regarding the sheep nor (heir laws. 
 
 " So now, Mr. Shepherd, I must tell you plain, 
 You as a shepherd you ought to feel shame ; 
 For one of your sheep to treat so unkind, 
 And cause her to have a fresh pasture to find. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 113 
 
 " The most of you shepherds at this present day, 
 Look more at the fleece than the sheep, I must say : 
 And thus by your deeds, sir, we do all find ; 
 So now, Mr. Shepherd, 1 tell you my mind." 
 
 " I must say you're insulting, you insolent sheep, 
 And I hope from this place in future you'll keep, 
 You are just such a sheep as I have been told, 
 The sooner the better you're gone from the fold." 
 
 ' If that be the countenance you now give to me, 
 From the yoke of bondage I'll ever be free ; 
 And none of your burdens no more I will bear, 
 But try to keep out of your cunningly-laid snare. 
 
 " If I am thus stained and polluted you say, 
 From the shepherd and sheep so far run astray ; 
 Why have you taken the fleece that's been clipped, 
 And never before any words to me slipped. 
 
 " If you thought me not fit to dwell in the fold, 
 You might before now these things to me told ; 
 And shown unto me wherein I had erred, 
 And spoken thereof with a kind civil word." 
 
 I say " Begone, begone, and go to the dogs, 
 
 Your pleading's no more than the dirt from the bogs, 
 
114 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 I am wearied to hear your insolent din, 
 
 And think you're committing a very great sin." 
 
 " Mr, Shepherd, I'll tell you before we depart. 
 If T am a sinner, that you form a part ; 
 And as to the dogs you must go there yourself, 
 You greedy old shepherd of mammon and pelf." 
 
 THE PRODIGAL SON. 
 
 E lived a man in the East, we are told, 
 
 t V 
 
 Who had a large fortune in silver and gold ; 
 
 Besides the large fortune he also possessed 
 A many good things with which he was blessed. 
 He had two sons and servants beside, 
 Who for his household had to provide ; 
 Ready to go at their master's command 
 And bring unto him what he might demand. 
 One of the sons had bethought him one day, 
 And unto his father thus he did say, 
 " Give me the portion that falleth my lot, 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 115 
 
 That I may win fortune in some other spot." 
 The father consented, and straightway obeyed, 
 And gave to his son just as lie had said, 
 Without much ado he made ready to part 
 From the roof of his father with joy in his heart. 
 Away to a country he travelled afar, 
 With countenance beaming no prospects could mar ; 
 Leaving kind friends and his father behind, 
 Expecting some happier place he would find. 
 And there in a country a long way from home, 
 In search of fresh phantoms about he did roam ; 
 At last he had wasted his money and store, 
 And had no means at hand to produce any more. 
 When thus he had spent every thing that he had, 
 He began in his mind to feel very sad ; 
 And so as time sped a sore famine arose, 
 He was stripped of his money and almost of clothes, 
 And nought but bare poverty staring his face 
 Wandered lonely and sad in search of a place. 
 At last to a citizen himself he did join, 
 And unto the fields he was sent to feed swine ; 
 The sharp thorn of hunger had entered his breast , 
 While engaged in a work his soul would detest ; 
 All his companions had forsaken and fled, 
 And no one to give him a crust of their bread ; 
 
11G RURAL MtMM.s. 
 
 And so in his mind he began to reflect, 
 
 And think of the home he had foolishly left. 
 
 He thought of his father and servants all there, 
 
 How each had of bread enough and to spare ; 
 
 " While I here with hunger must perish alone, 
 
 And o'er my bad conduct I silently mourn. 
 
 But I will arise and to father will go, 
 
 Hoping some pity to me he will show ; 
 
 Confess that I've sinned before father and heaven, 
 
 And trust through his mercies I shall be forgiven." 
 
 He arose and came to his father with speed, 
 
 His heart with repentance began for to blood, 
 
 As in the direction of home lie did run, 
 
 The loving old father espied his lost son. 
 
 But when in the distance he saw him appear, 
 
 He did not upbraid his son's wild career ; 
 
 But ran out to meet him and kissed him with joy, 
 
 At the thought he'd again seen his wandering boy. 
 
 The son to his father confession then made, 
 
 Acknowledged how far from his home lie had strayed ; 
 
 And humbly confessed all his folly and sin, 
 
 When his father so kindly did welcome him in. 
 
 The father in haste to his servants did say, 
 
 " We must have rejoicing on this blessed day ; 
 
 And the best robe you have with gladness must bring, 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 117 
 
 On the hand of niy son now place a gold ring ; 
 
 The calf that is fat go bring in a hurry, 
 
 And kill and let's eat, and be all very merry ; 
 
 For I grieved for my son and thought he was dead, 
 
 Perished of hunger, alone, without bread. 
 
 I thought he was lost, and in grief have long mourned, 
 
 But he to his father once more has returned. 
 
 And now we'll rejoice and make all resound, 
 
 The dead is alive and the lost one is found." 
 
 A good moral lesson from this we may learn, 
 
 It speaks unto us that we can return, 
 
 If our conduct as mirror'd by the prodigal son, 
 
 And far into degradation has run, 
 
 The Father of Mercies he bids us return, 
 
 With " Blessed are they that begin for to mourn," 
 
 By a kiss of his pardon he has promised to bless, 
 
 When all prodigals like we do humbly confess. 
 
118 IIUUAL MUSINGS. 
 
 THE TONGUE OF SLANDER. 
 
 E tongue of slander loosely swings, 
 
 Br 
 
 And poisoned darts at neighbours flings ; 
 $& But often fired in the dark, 
 Which causes them to tniss their mark. 
 How ofttimes it delights to tell, 
 When aught to neighbour has befel, 
 That sinks him rather in disgrace, 
 The news is borne from place to place. 
 It flies along with lightning's speed, 
 With whip and spur on galloping steed ; 
 The member lets no time be lost, 
 But tries to gain the winning post. 
 The post where gossips rally round, 
 To hear what slander does expound ; 
 There they sit and judgment hold, 
 As if they were the purest gold. 
 
KURAL MUSINGS. 119 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 (EAUTIFUL rosebud, young and fair, 
 Loved and reared with tender care ; 
 Sweetly blooming in thy bower, 
 Mayest never fade in life's rough shower. 
 Innocence and beauty shine, 
 As the rose in summer time ; 
 If the youth should lay a suare, 
 And wish to wrong the rosebud fair, 
 May thy virtue shine more bright, 
 And put the one to quickest flight. 
 At times the youth he makes a vow, 
 And wears a smile upon his brow, 
 When perhaps within his heart 
 He has hid a poisoned dart ; 
 Thus he blights the virtues fair, 
 And leaves them in a world of care, 
 To lament and to regret. 
 
120 KUKAL MUSINGS. 
 
 RURAL LU'T.. 
 
 I"U A I, life, how sweet the sound, 
 And what delightful thoughts abound, 
 And spring up in the minds of those 
 Who have an eye to Nature's lav 
 And appreciate her every charm, 
 In various form around which swarm. 
 Of humble life in sequestered vales, 
 On sunny hills or quiet dales, 
 Or on the edge of lonely 111001*8, 
 To spend a few sweet happy hour.-. 
 Among the blooming heather bells, 
 Where wildest music often swells ; 
 How beneficial is the treat, 
 How soothing to the careworn heart, 
 To leave the lanes and crowded alleys, 
 And breathe the fragrance of the valleys. 
 
RURAL MUSIXGS. 121 
 
 LINES TO MY FAVOURITE HORSE. 
 
 r HOU noble Dick, when but a foal, 
 I bought thee of my friend, H. Wall, 
 And 1 must say tbou's turned out well, 
 
 Which makes me not ashamed to tell. 
 
 1 broke thee in when two years old, 
 
 And thou hast proved as good as gold ; 
 
 Thy body's brown, thy legs are black, 
 
 No man could wish a better hack, 
 
 In temper mild as gentle dew, 
 
 To equal thee there's very few ; 
 
 In cart, or trap, or anything, 
 
 So that's the reason I do sing 
 
 Thy praises in this humble verse ; 
 
 I think I fairly can't do less ; 
 
 Though some might blame my homely muse, 
 
 Who do those brutes so badly use, 
 
 And treat them with unfeeling hearts, 
 
 And strain them in o'crloaded carts ; 
 
 I'm sure we cannot tell their worth, 
 
 No nobler creature dwells on earth ; 
 
 But oft we see how hard their lot, 
 
122 UURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 In some men's hands that do not care, 
 Whether they're fed or groomed withal. 
 But often placed in dirty stall, 
 Yet thon, good Dick, shall not complain, 
 That ever I did cause thee pain ; 
 Our family loves thee, old and young, 
 Thy name's oft lisped by infant tongue, 
 And boyish hands oft pat thy side, 
 And on thy back delight to ride. 
 Thou art accustomed to our tread, 
 And marks the time when to be fed, 
 By the instinct which is given, 
 To every creature under Heaven ; 
 The horse was made for private use, 
 And not the subject of abuse, 
 What could we do without the horse ? 
 Tramp on foot would be the course 
 That country folk would have to take, 
 And tedious work 'twould often make, 
 When going to the market town, 
 A trudging over hill and down, 
 I think no man of common sense, 
 Will thus abuse this useful beast. 
 The noble steed, the friend of man ; 
 History doth tell of ancient kings, 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 123 
 
 How they performed some daring things, 
 While mounted on their gallant steed, 
 Urging them forth at quickest speed 
 With eyes of fire and breath of flame, 
 Bidding defiance to all that came, 
 In opposition to their path, 
 They snorted out their warlike wrath. 
 With panting breath and lathered flanks, 
 The chargers played their merry pranks ; 
 The war-horse in his coat of mail, 
 Also his rider strong and hale ; 
 With glittering sword and polished shield, 
 Advancing to the battle-field. 
 To engage in war's most deadly strife, 
 And take the dear and valued life, 
 Which human aid nor power could give, 
 Since first the race of man did live ; 
 Some thousands of this noble steed, 
 Have been slain in war's dark deed ; 
 The horses kept for time of war, 
 Are often groomed and fed with care, 
 By the servants of the Queen, 
 With fancy colours, red and green ; 
 And then when England has to fight, 
 They rear and prance on left and right ; 
 
124 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 At the sound of the bugle horn, 
 Like hunters on a jocund morn, 
 Little knowing what is before them, 
 Ignorant of the shot and shell, 
 Which on their dusky forms must tell 
 A tale of ghastly wounds and death, 
 Deprive them of their pride and breath 
 \Ve hope the hand of war is stayed, 
 When Ccesars will no more invade, 
 To disturb the national peace, 
 As in the deadly wars of Greece. 
 May despotism cease to be, 
 And every slave oppressed set free 
 From his taskmaster's iron grip, 
 And learn to sail in the gospel ship. 
 The dove of peace fly o'er the land, 
 And touch all hearts with magic wand, 
 And melt them into tenderness, 
 When each and all must then confess, 
 That love and peace the nations bless. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 125 
 
 BLANUS BRIDGE OF THE ISLES. 
 
 fOETS of yore in olden time, 
 On simple things oft wrote a rhyme ; 
 j^ Simple things are often good, 
 Tn word or deed or human food ; 
 You must not think that I'm unwise, 
 Nor let me take you by surprise, 
 If I attempt in simple lays, 
 The " Bridge of Isles " to duly praise : 
 On Thursday last, I'll toll you plain, 
 A lovely day, no showers of rain, 
 Was the first time that I did see, 
 Those towers and bridge by lordly tree. 
 I felt the fire begin to burn, 
 When on the bridge my eyes did turn ; 
 The workmanship so neat and strong, 
 I thought it worthy of a song ; 
 And so to write I. thus began, 
 As thoughts in quick succession ran : 
 A bridge has long time been in need, 
 That Mr. Bland might cross and feed 
 His flocks and herds in stormy weather, 
 
12G RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 With corn or cake or hay together. 
 
 A boat's been used for many years, 
 
 The stream's been crossed in doubts and fears, 
 
 But now those fears are past and gone, 
 
 The bridge is reared both firm and strong ; 
 
 It shows what man can really do, 
 
 Assisted by a friend or two. 
 
 T now would have you understand, 
 
 The plan is due to Mr. Bland ; 
 
 The engineer he's been throughout, 
 
 My words are true without a doubt ; 
 
 And here it stands you all may see, 
 
 A monument of what can be 
 
 Achieved by men who persevere, 
 
 And cast aside all doubt and fear. 
 
 The far-famed stream can now be crossed, 
 
 When fine or foul, in storm or frost ; 
 
 And at a distance you might think, 
 
 Before you reach the river's brink, 
 
 That you were nigh some old grey tower, 
 
 Whose head had reared in shady bower ; 
 
 But when you get a perfect view, 
 
 Instead of old 'tis really new, 
 
 And something to be much admired, 
 
 A bridge with sides so neatly wired, 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 127 
 
 And from its crown a perfect view, 
 
 Of nature in her loveliest hue : 
 
 Green fields with trees all studded o'er, 
 
 Where deer have fed in days of yore, 
 
 And huntsman wandered forth at morn, 
 
 To summon with his bugle horn, 
 
 The neighbouring sportsman to the chase, 
 
 Hastening on with bounding pace. 
 
 But now those hunting clays are gone, 
 
 Antlered spotted deer we've none ; 
 
 Something better we possess, 
 
 Our herds and flocks browse on the grass. 
 
 In olden time, we have been told, 
 
 The Druids ranged, warlike and bold, 
 
 Hunting and fishing in the river, 
 
 Making the speckled trout to quiver : 
 
 Those things deserve a passing thought, 
 
 To picture them we come far short ; 
 
 But ne'ertheless we drop a word, 
 
 Though some may think it quite absurd. 
 
 You now may see when the weather's fine, 
 
 The gentlemen with hook and line, 
 
 Throwing on the stream the treacherous fly, 
 
 To deceive the wanton fry, 
 
 Who now can cross from side to side, 
 
128 RURAL Ml'MNCS. 
 
 No fear of fording of the tide. 
 
 I think the anglers one and all, 
 
 On Mr. Bland should deign to call, 
 
 To tender thanks that's really due, 
 
 For Eland's tight bridge, red, white, and blue. 
 
 A PASSING EVENT. 
 
 r OME, my dear maidens, just listen to me, 
 [C) And 1 will relate what happened to be ; 
 
 A certain young damsel, as I did hear say, 
 Bought four cock chickens of a neighbour one day. 
 Four pretty birds as ever was seen, 
 But, lo, in the morning they'd changed into green, 
 Some mischievous man had been using his paint, 
 That made the young lady almost turn faint ; 
 To see the sad plight her roosters were in ; 
 No doubt but the maiden she thought it a sin, 
 To treat the young brutes in such like a way, 
 Destroy their rich plumage by night or by day. 
 
RURA.L MUSINGS. 129 
 
 ST. WILFRID'S BELLS, BURNS ALL. 
 
 Wilfrid's Bells are heard to chime, 
 As I commence to write this rhyme ; 
 The mellow peals are ushered forth, 
 From east to west, from south to north ; 
 Their solemn cadence sweetly swells, 
 And echoes through the mountain fells, 
 The clock that marks the fleeting hour, 
 Suspended in St. Wilfrid's tower, 
 With gilded hands and figures bright, 
 Pealing forth the time of night. 
 When death-like silence reigns around, 
 The midnight hour is heard to sound. 
 The church we cannot well forget, 
 Where thousands have so often met, 
 To hear the word of truth proclaimed, 
 Also the Blessed Saviour named. 
 This pretty little structure stands, 
 Surrounded by rich pasture lands, 
 And in the distance may be seen, 
 Burnsall Fell in snowclad sheen ; 
 Bold Simon's Seat with rugged crest, 
 
130 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 It takes its stand amongst the rest. 
 There's Barden Woods and Barden Fell, 
 Within the sound of Wilfrid's Bell ; 
 Romantic hills are round the place, 
 Which gives a beauty and a grace, 
 To church and village altogether, 
 
 Tn Summer or in Winter weather. 
 
 c 
 
 To Appletreewick the merry peals 
 
 Along the evening breeze oft steals ; 
 
 And down the vale of Wharf e's broad stream, 
 
 And dies away like poet's dream. 
 
 The ringers and singers, the parson and people, 
 
 Are all indebted to the clock in the steeple, 
 
 When night's sable curtain covers o'er the vast earth, 
 
 The clock marks the time of each death and each birth. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 (EFORE Thy Majesty we stand and look 
 At this wonderful creation of ours ; 
 Perfection and beauty in everything, 
 Which the fur-seeing and curious eye beholds ; 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 131 
 
 Whether we gaze at the green and tufted grass, 
 
 Or the blue and star-bespangled heavens, 
 
 We see the finger of the all-wise God, 
 
 In all things animate or inanimate. 
 
 Marks of imperfection in works of man, 
 
 We trace them here and there, yea, everywhere, 
 
 However complete they seem to prying eyes, 
 
 They come short of the mark of perfection. 
 
 Everything in Nature's work is perfect, 
 
 From the minutest point of examination. 
 
 HARD TIMES COME AND GO. 
 
 fHE old year has gone with its trials and care, 
 And most of us think we've experienced our share; 
 
 No doubt but we have through trade and depres- 
 sion, 
 Learnt what is meant by wording digression. 
 
 The farmers have felt the rod to bite keen, 
 Studied and pondered with tears in their e'en ; 
 
132 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 How the next cash for the rent could be raised, 
 Fretting, repining, and nearly turned crazed. 
 
 They've mortgaged their stock to the utmost extent, 
 In order to pay their Martinmas rent ; 
 And what's to be done in the future half-year, 
 With most of the farms that are over dear. 
 
 We hear of some landlords who act very kind. 
 And open their purse as well as their mind ; 
 Returning a part of the coveted cash, 
 And assisting the farmer to go on a-fresh. 
 
 THE UNRULY LITTLE MEMBER. 
 
 "HEN first the tongue begins to talk, 
 And little feet attempt to walk, 
 The heart o'erflows with joy and love, 
 As gentle as the turtle dove. 
 The words, at first, are incorrect, 
 Such as from tongue you might expect, 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 133 
 
 That lacks the practice thus required ; 
 But still the words are oft admired. 
 But practice tends to perfect words, 
 Whether articles, iiouns, or verbs, 
 And thus the mind and body grows, 
 As all creation plainly shows. 
 Some grow goodly, wise, and kind, 
 While others are both deaf and blind 
 To every thing that's just and true, 
 In spite of what the good can do. 
 The tongue, it is a little thing, 
 But in it there's a deadly sting, 
 The feelings it can cut and wound 
 Through spreading evil all around. 
 Bad feeling it doth often make, 
 When virtue's path it does forsake, 
 For, sharper than a two-edged sword, 
 It wounds the heart and makes discord. 
 The heart a many times has bled, 
 When any unkind word's been said, 
 By this unruly little member, 
 That burns the flesh like fiery ember. 
 A little thing, but bad to tame, 
 When once gets kindled into flame 
 It darts and stings like serpent's bite, 
 
134 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 Neither regarding wrong nor right. 
 
 The gift of speech to man's been given, 
 
 'Bove the creature under heaven, 
 
 But sin has taught the tongue to lie, 
 
 All creation to groan and die. 
 
 Tongue first betrayed our mother Eve, 
 
 To pluck the fruit which did deceive ; 
 
 Thus yielding to the tempter's snare, 
 
 Which caused her sorrow, grief, and care, 
 
 She raised her hand and pulled the fruit, 
 
 And Adam stood and gaz'd quite mute, 
 
 Wondering how the fruit might taste 
 
 That she, his help-meet, had displaced ; 
 
 But, he and she, they both did eat, 
 
 And found it to be delicious meat. 
 
 But soon they felt the bitter sting 
 
 Which disobedience did bring ; 
 
 Tongue, the instrument of sorrow, 
 
 Both perceived with silent horror. 
 
 They felt the sting of conscience keen, 
 
 Which brought the tears from eyes, I ween ; 
 
 The devil instituted lies, 
 
 Which did deceive the longing eyes. 
 
 He thus succeeded in his plot, 
 
 Which wrought expulsion from the spot : 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 135 
 
 From lovely trees and flowers fair, 
 From herbs and plants of virtue rare, 
 The happy pair was forced to part, 
 However much against the heart. 
 Who must we blame for all this grief 
 The devil and their unbelief ; 
 He laid the snare which did deceive 
 Our father Adam and mother Eve, 
 
 And what a strife amongst the tongues 
 Of Adam's fallen race, 
 
 Since the crown fell from their brow 
 
 In Eden's happy place. 
 How nice it is to have a friend ! 
 When we've an hour or two to spend ! 
 To hear a homely chat, and talk 
 About our past and future walk. 
 How grand to hear the good old Sage 
 Relate the past from life's fair page, 
 Sat snugly down by some warm fire, 
 Where strife of tongues doth expire. 
 The tongue may very often please, 
 When seated down to take our ease ; 
 We might display some ready wit, 
 Enjoy a laugh while sides near split ; 
 The tongue may yield some rare delight, 
 
136 RURAL MUSLNG.S. 
 
 ] f we it only use aright ; 
 
 Put on the curb at proper time, 
 
 And try to shape our words sublime, 
 
 Kind words are spoken just as soon 
 
 I'm sure they'll prove to be a boon ; 
 
 To every speaker, young or old, 
 
 There value's more than shining gold. 
 
 All gold grows dim through length uf time, 
 
 Like men who lose their youthful prime ; 
 
 But words that's kind can never die, 
 
 They shine like stars that deck the sky. 
 
 May words and deeds together grow 
 
 No separate life they ought to know ; 
 
 Live like man and wife together, 
 
 In fair or foul or stormy weather, 
 
 Other tongues we might first name, 
 
 Like a volcano spark and flame, 
 
 Throwing out their burning wrath. 
 
 Wounding those in virtue's path. 
 
 * 
 
 Whene'er you see them, morn or night, 
 All things are crooked and nothing straight ; 
 Their face bespeaks a well-known plant, 
 To name it now I do not want, 
 They will not show a pleasant look, 
 Their picture would disgrace a book ; 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 137 
 
 They seem to have a darkened miud, 
 
 And in the face reflect its kind ; 
 
 Bit and bridle for prancing steed, 
 
 That man or boy might safely lead, 
 
 The useful creature by the head, 
 
 To engage in work or to be fed ; 
 
 The noble charger can be tamed, 
 
 And for his worth become much famed, 
 
 By all who know his graceful form, 
 
 When cheered by sound of huntsman's horn. 
 
 But man's unruly spiteful tongue, 
 
 Which has the conscience ofttimes stung, 
 
 By throwing out the poisoned darts, 
 
 That's wounded many noble hearts ; 
 
 No man or men can yet subdue, 
 
 With bit or bridle, old or new, 
 
 The tongue of mail or woman kind : 
 
 My words are true you'll often find. 
 
138 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 THE LITTLE RED ROBIN. 
 
 ITTLE robin, dear, will you come, 
 
 And from my hand just take a crumb 1 
 I'm sure you're welcome, if you will, 
 
 Your hungry belly for to fill. 
 
 Your little feet are red and cold ; 
 
 You move our pity, young and old, 
 
 To see you hopping in the snow ; 
 
 By giving crumbs we wish to show 
 
 Our kindness to you, little bird, 
 
 With nature's bosom painted red ; 
 
 The frost and snow are on the ground, 
 
 No worms or snails to be found ; 
 
 No house to shield your little head ; 
 
 The cottage eaves your sleeping bed 
 
 So we're inclined to let you share, 
 
 The little crumbs we have to spare ; 
 
 And if you dare come in the house, 
 
 No one shall harm you, I will vouch ; 
 
 Neither cat nor dog shall touch your wing ; 
 
 We love to hear you chirp and sing, 
 
 And hop about the kitchen door, 
 
 And pick the scattered crumbs from floor. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 139 
 
 I LOVE MY POLLY. 
 
 the winter blasts doth blow, 
 And the snow lies thick and low, 
 On each mountain's lofty brow, 
 I will love thee, Polly. 
 
 In the cold and winter frost, 
 On the mountains rudely tossed, 
 In the storm be nearly lost, 
 
 I will love thee, Polly. 
 
 If the ice hangs at the door, 
 Of our humble cottage poor, 
 We'll hope for good on before ; 
 
 I will love thee, Polly. 
 
 When the snowdrop first appears, 
 Pressed with snow and icy tears, 
 Blessed with joys or anxious cares ; 
 
 I will love thee, Polly. 
 
 When the birds do sweetly sing, 
 Mounting up in lovely spring ; 
 And tidings glad the cuckoo's bring ; 
 
 I will love thee, Polly, 
 
140 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 When the heat of summer glows, 
 On each lovely blooming rose, 
 Scenting every breeze that blows ; 
 
 I will love thee, Polly. 
 
 When autumn's approaching near, 
 See the grain with golden ear, 
 Reminds us all that harvest's near ; 
 
 I will love thee, Polly. 
 
 When the corn is gathered in, 
 We will gladly shout and sing, 
 Giving praises to the Heavenly King ; 
 I will love thee, Polly. 
 
 All through life we hope the best, 
 On our minds have truth impressed, 
 Afi'ectiou bloom in our breast ; 
 
 I will love thee, Polly. 
 
 Live together all through life, 
 Loving husband, faithful wife, 
 Until, one has ended life ; 
 
 I will love thee, Polly. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 141 
 
 NIGHT REFLECTIONS, 
 
 f?VNE night in November, I sat by my fire, 
 
 I I 
 
 I thought to myself I'd tune up my lyre, 
 
 And try with the muses a verse for to make, 
 To pass the spare time and my eyes keep awake. 
 My wife and her flock to their bed had just gone, 
 And I with myself was left thinking alone ; 
 Not a soul in the house my thoughts to molest, 
 And with a warm fire I truly was blessed. 
 I felt, yes, as happy as a king or a queen, 
 Although in a palace T never had been ; 
 I thought that true happiness did not consist 
 In the crown of a monarch nor yet in his crest, 
 There's many a king that a sceptre doth sway, 
 Who lives in high life and pomp every day ; 
 That's not half so happy as he in his cot, 
 When a crust and good health is all he has got. 
 
142 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 [HE works of man sink into nothingness 
 Before the majesty of Jehovah ; 
 He piled this vast and noble universe 
 By His great, All-wise, and powerful hand. 
 He spake the dark and silent void obeyed ; 
 He hollowed out the seas, and spread the land, 
 Caused vegetation spring into new life, 
 To beautify and adorn the new world ; 
 The trees budded and put forth their green leaves, 
 The streams began to murmur in the vales, 
 And clouds to float above the new formed earth, 
 To water with their drops the thirsty land ; 
 All nature willingly obeyed his word 
 Came together in perfect harmony. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 143 
 
 ODD LINES. 
 
 "E men of talent and renown, 
 Who live in country or in town, 
 
 These lines for you I've writ ; 
 Come, listen to my simple tale, 
 To show I think it cannot fail, 
 
 A little country wit. 
 
 No doubt you'll sympathise with me, 
 If e'er these lines you chance to see, 
 
 Of a rustic blacksmith ; 
 Who at the forge was daily trained, 
 And many a time his heart was pained, 
 
 With things that went amiss. 
 
 Work that he has had to do, 
 
 To shoe a horse or mend a plough, 
 
 Or any other thing ; 
 Forks and spades in groups to mend, 
 Or any thing which people send, 
 
 Or which they chance to bring. 
 
144 RURAL MUSINGS. 
 
 All at his forge he ready stands, 
 To do whate'er comes to his hands, 
 
 From morning until night ; 
 To any smith in nature's field, 
 No cause at all he has to yield, 
 
 Nor thinks he has a right. 
 
 His hammer he does stoutly wield, 
 To hardy independence steeled ; 
 
 And day by day he learns 
 Some useful lessons by his fire ; 
 When smoke and sparks ai-e mounting higher 
 
 His fancy often burns. 
 
 The muse, she flaps her aerial wings, 
 And he uncouthly strikes the strings 
 
 Of his rustic lyre ; 
 Thus having many a lesson learned, 
 While in the forge the iron turned, 
 
 That's warmed the bosom fire. 
 
 Smiths are men we feel and know, 
 That oft have sweat upon their brow, 
 
 With toiling very hard ; 
 To earn their daily livelihood, 
 He thinks as right that thus he should, 
 
 To gain the true reward. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 145 
 
 It seems to be the lot of mine, 
 
 To have to work and write a rhyme, 
 
 And learn to be content ; 
 Not to murmur, nor to complain, 
 Or spend the precious time in vaiii, 
 
 And not at fate relent. 
 
 But press along from day to day, 
 And march along the devious way, 
 
 Face the gathering storm, 
 That may arise to toss and tear, 
 O'erwhelm the mind with doubt and fear, 
 
 Of mental strength being shorn. 
 
 At times the road it may be rough, 
 When man of bread has scarce enough, 
 
 To keep his body warm ; 
 But still he has a Friend above, 
 Who is unchanging in His love 
 
 He makes the storm a calm. 
 
 Our earthly friends oft prove untrue, 
 To see man fall they laugh anew, 
 
 And stick fast in the mire ; 
 And they upon him gazing stand, 
 And will not even lend a hand, 
 
 To raise a little higher. 
 
146 RURAL ML.SlXt.S. 
 
 And when I write sometimes I weep, 
 To think of men in sorrow deep, 
 
 Without one social friend ; 
 Yea, quite forsaken and forlorn, 
 By worldly people laughed to scorn, 
 
 Their feelings will not bend. 
 
 There's many a noble generous breast 
 Beneath a ragged coat and vest, 
 
 In corner quite unknown, 
 Whose genius wakes at nature's spell, 
 And he in lines delights to tell, 
 
 Of fortune's smile or frown. 
 
 The poet may have flattering friends, 
 But their support in words oft ends, 
 
 Instead of actions kind ; 
 And their support is little more 
 Than autumn leaves for winter's store, 
 
 And empty as the wind. 
 
 We've often seen that men have friends, 
 Heady to make to them amends, 
 
 When they stood in no need, 
 But if dame fortune chance to frown, 
 And they are like to tumble down, 
 
 Their ears are deaf as reed. 
 
RURAL MUSINGS. 147 
 
 They vanish and they pass away, 
 Like misty clonds at peep of day, 
 
 That melt before the sun. 
 And when he should have their support, 
 They will not even lend a groat 
 
 His very path they shun. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Thomas Abbott, West End 
 
 Mrs. Atkins, Bcamsley 
 
 Dr. Bates, Addingham 
 
 Mrs. Bewshaw, Hebden 
 
 James Binns, Bnrnsall 
 
 Jonathan Birch, Bnrnsall 
 
 Parker Birch, (Irassington 
 
 Thomas Birch, Appletreewick 
 
 William Birch, Appletreewick 
 
 John A. Bland, Woodhouse, Burnsall 
 
 .Mrs. 1'iolton, Tf.-iilway Street, Nelson 
 
 William Bomcr, West End 
 
 Ralph Bowdin, Hebden 
 
 W. H. E. Bramley, Hardisty Hill 
 
 B. Brooksbank, Burnsall 
 
 Robert H. Brown, Holme House, Barden 
 
 Michael Brown, Hetton 
 
 Mrs. Brown, Hebden 
 
 William R. Brown, West End 
 
 Rev. C. H. Carlisle, Burnsall (2 copir*) 
 
 Anthony Clark, Hartlington 
 
 John Clark, Hebden 
 
 Richard Clark, Bnrnsall 
 
 John Constantino, Thorp 
 
 Joseph Constantino, Low Hall, Applftrrrwi-'k 
 
 Rev. J. Coxon, (Jrassington 
 
 Thomas Daggett, (Jrimwith 
 
 Robert Darnborough, Appletreewick 
 
 \Villiam Darnborough, Skyreholme 
 
 John Davy, Embsay 
 
 W. H. Dawson, Skipton 
 
LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 149 
 
 George Demaine, Bolton Abbey 
 
 Christopher Demaine, Little Gate, Barden 
 
 Henry Duckett, Barden Moor 
 
 Edwin Dunkin, Appletreewick 
 
 Edmoudson and Co., Skipton 
 
 Thos. L. Ellis, Skipton 
 
 Charles Enisley, Blubberhouses 
 
 George Emsley, Burnsall 
 
 George Farley, Grassington 
 
 Mrs. Fattorini, Skipton 
 
 J. G., Skipton 
 
 Edwin Gamett, Skipton 
 
 Elijah Garth, West End 
 
 John Garth, Padside 
 
 Messrs. Garth, West End 
 
 Messrs. Gill, West End 
 
 William Gi'een, Greenhowhill 
 
 Miss Greenwood, Mason's Arms, Eastby 
 
 Francis Hammond, Hebden 
 
 T. F. Hammond, Green Terrace, Hebden 
 
 Mrs. Hardacre, Hebden 
 
 Edmund Hargraves, Skipton 
 
 Mrs. Hargreaves, Appleti-eewick 
 
 Emma Harrison, Blnbberhouses 
 
 Joseph Harrison, Chapel House, Barden 
 
 Harper Hartley, Storiths 
 
 T. R. Hartley, 8, Grosvenor Terrace, Otley (2 copies) 
 
 John Haythornthwaite, Skipton 
 
 William Hebden, Hebden 
 
 Mrs. Herd, Prospect House, Hebden 
 
 William Hill, Hebden 
 
 James Hodgson, Skipton 
 
 Lister Hodgson, Beamsley 
 
 Fieldhouse Holmes, Liverpool House, Grassington 
 
150 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 John Holmes, Hazlewood 
 
 Miss Holmes, Wharfe View House, Barden 
 
 Thomas Holmes, Drebley, Barden 
 
 George Homer, Settle 
 
 Christopher Horsman, West End 
 
 George Horsman, West End 
 
 Miss Horsman, West End 
 
 Simon Horsman, West End 
 
 Rev. A. P. Howes, The Rectory, Bolton Abbey 
 
 Matthew Hudson, Craven Arms, Appletreewick 
 
 John Hurst, Skipton 
 
 Christopher Inman, Burnsall 
 
 W. Jf. Lambert, Kirkgate, Silsdon. //'" Lf<-d ; 
 
 William Lceeli, Appletreewick 
 
 Charles E. Low cock, Skipton 
 
 Duncan Mackwcll, Greenhowhill 
 
 George de Maine, Fold House, Dreblry 
 
 Fred. Manby, Skipton 
 
 Hemy Manby, Skipton 
 
 Geo. H. Mason, Skipton 
 
 George Mattock, Skipton 
 
 Eliza Maud, Blnbberhouses 
 
 William Maude, Moorside 
 
 William Maude, West End 
 
 Christopher Maudsley, Skipton 
 
 Henry Metcalfe, Fancarl House 
 
 Andrew Moon, Beamsley 
 
 Sylvester Moorhouse, Beamsley 
 
 Robert Mungall, Skipton 
 
 Robert Myers, West End 
 
 William Myers, Breaks House, West End 
 
 H. N., Hazlewood 
 
 T. J. Nelson, West End 
 
 Mark Newlxmld, Grouse Inn, Drygill 
 
LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 151 
 
 William Parker, Heugh House, Eastby 
 
 John Peel, Gate Inn, West End 
 
 Jesse Peel, Stone Hoiise, West End 
 
 Preston Pickles, Hartlington 
 
 Mrs. Press, Appletreewick 
 
 James Procter, Rylstone House 
 
 William Raw, Hartlington Rakes 
 
 N. J. Renton, Blubberhouses 
 
 John Reynard, Appletreewick 
 
 Mrs. Reynard, Appletreewick 
 
 Robert Ridsdale, West End 
 
 Henry Robinson, Barden 
 
 Henry Robinson, 31, Holford Road, Liverpool 
 
 Robert Rodwell, Hartlington 
 
 John Scott, Esq., Ashfield, Skipton (3 copies) 
 
 George Sedgwick, Grimwith 
 
 Thomas Sedgwick, Dale Head, Barden 
 
 John Sheldon, Appletreewick 
 
 George Shepherd, West End 
 
 Edward Simpson, Skyreholme 
 
 Mrs. Simpson, Norwood 
 
 Sampson Speight, Greenhowhill 
 
 Louis Stansfield, 28, Barkerend-road, Bradford 
 
 George Stobbs, Hebden 
 
 Fred. Stockdale, Skipton 
 
 Thomas Stockdale, Skipton (3 copies) 
 
 William Stockdale, Thorpe 
 
 Samuel Sugden, Silsden 
 
 John Sutcliffe, Skipton 
 
 Christopher Tattersall, Hebden 
 
 Richard Taylor, Blubberhouses 
 
 Stephen Teal, Skyreholme 
 
 J. Thompson, Red Lion Hotel, Burnsall 
 
 T. G. Thompson, The Intake, Bolton Bridge 
 
LIST OF SUBSC 
 
 Fred. W. Thornton, Skipton 
 
 Mathew Towers, West End 
 
 Miss A. Towers, West End 
 
 Stephen H. Towers, West End 
 
 Thomas Townson, Hel)den 
 
 Thomas Twisleton, Burnsall 
 
 Dr. Usher, Addingham 
 
 Thomas A'erity, West End 
 
 .lames Waddilove, Hebdeu 
 
 Jacob Walton, Hebdeu 
 
 William Walton, Grassington 
 
 S. \Vaterhouse, Keighley Road, Skipton 
 
 William Weatherhead, The Lodge 
 
 Mrs. Whitaker, Nnrsery House 
 
 Miss E. Whiteley, Low Hall, Appletrcewiek 
 
 Samuel Whiteley, Burnsall 
 
 AYilliam Whiteley, Skyrcholme 
 
 James Wigglesworth, West End 
 
 Henry Willis, Skipton 
 
 Robert Wilks, Skipton 
 
 Sir Mathew Wilson, Bart., M.P., Eshton Hall (2 copies) 
 
 John W. Wilson, Skipton 
 
 Christopher Wiseman, Appletreewick 
 
 Miss A. Wiseman, Appletreewick 
 
 Nixon Worsley, Hebden 
 
 Lupton Wrathall, Appletreewick 
 
 Henry Young, Hill End, Hazlcwood 
 
 Thomas Young, Laund 
 
 EDMONDSON AND CO., GENERAL PRINTERS, SKIPTON. 
 
FEB 3 1986 
 
A 000563878 8