■< THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES V-? METRICAL TALES, AND OTHER PIECES. THE LESS THET DESERVE, THE MORE MERIT IN TOUR BOUNTY. Shakspere. BY THE LATE JOHN WALDRON. LONDON: SMITH, ELDER AXD COMPANY, CORNHILL; J. HENDERSON, MANCHESTER. 1839. J. HKN'DERSON, PRINTER, MARKET-STREET, MANCHESTER. [£)i®o©i>\'iro@[?a. To RICHARD MATLEY, Esquire, The Hodge, Near Mottram-in-Longdendale. Respected Sir, Allow me to dedicate to you this little volume of my lamented father's humhle efforts in poesy, as earnest of the gratitude his ■roidow and family entertain towards you, for your uniform kindness. I cannot but revert with honest pride to the cir- cumstance of my father having been in your confidential service more than twenty years; and I know that that mutual respect and esteem (which is at all times desirable between the employer and the employed,) subsisted between you up to the melancholy hour of his death: therefore, I feel persuaded, you will gladly accept this, our simple offering, in remembrance of bi-m ; and permit me to sub- scribe m.y self. Dear Sir, With many thanks. Tour much obliged and very humble Servant, EDWARD W. WALDRON. Manchester, January 31st, 1839. ADVERTISEMENT. The Widow and family of the late John Waldron, in presenting their deceased relative's poetical eflusious to the Public, have to bespeak indulgence for all imperfections; and thev trust the eye of criticism will not be too searching, as the Work has been published under obvious disadvantages: the parent hand was wanting to con-ect and revise it in its progress through the press. To those Friends, and to all those Ladies and Gen- tlemen, who have so zealously, so efficiently, and, in many instances, so very liberally, aided the publication, by kindly subscribing for one or more copies, the warmest acknow- ledgments of a grateful family are most respectfully and cordiallv tendered. Manchester, .Tanuary .31,1839. SUBSCRIBERS. Richai-d Matley, Estjuii-e, The Hodge, Motti-am Adam Roxburgh, Esquire, Cringle Brook Vale, Bumage W. M, Burt, Esquire, Chorlton Hotise, Kusholme Francis Young, Esquire, Upper Brook-street, Chorlton-upon-Medlock Sir Benjamin' Heywood, Baronet, Claremont, Eccles George WUliam Wood, Esquire, M.P., Singleton Lodge, Prestwich William Grant, Esquire, Spring Side, Bury Daniel Grant, Esquire, Mosley-street, Manchester James CoUier Harter, Esquire, Broughton Hall, Higher Broughtou Kobert Philips, Esquire, The Park, Prestwich John Brooks, Esquire, Manchester Robert Christie, Esquire, Ardwick James Burt, Esquire, Chorlton House, Eusholme Thomas Broadbent, Esquire, Ardwick William Smith, Esquu-e, Reddish House, Stockport P. Lucas, Esquire, Temple House, Cheetbam Andrew Baunerman, Esquii-e, Bamsdale House, Didsbury SUBSCRIBERS. Samuel Ashton, Esquire, Pole Baiik, Wemeth, Hyde. S. L. Bebrens, Esquire, Longsight Lodge, Plymouth Grove A. Paton, Esquire, Cornbrook Robert C. Shaq), Esquire, Ashfield Hall Alexander Hemy, Esquire, Woodlands John Potter, Esquu'e, Buile HiU, Pendleton William Robertson, Esquire, Ardwick S. Frangbiadi, Esquire, Cbeetham Hill Alfred Walford, Esquii-e, Cbeetham Hill J. S. Grafton, Esquire, Chorlton-upon-Medlock James Burt, Junior, Esquii-e, Chancery Lane, Ardwick James Caiiton, Esquire, Broughton Elkanab Amiitage, Esquire, Sallbrd Antonio Lascaridi, Esquire, Manchester John Whittaker, Esquire, Hurst, Hyde John Ci'oss, Esquire, Bolton Charles Cross, Esquire, Ai'dwick R. E. Blackwall, Esquire, Cbeetham HiU W. Wilson, Esquii'e, Mosley-street, Manchester John Jesse, Esquire, Ardwick Charles Dnnderdale, Esquire, Manchester Wainwright BeUhouse, Esquire, Chorlton-upon-Medlock Robert Hervey, Esquire, Stony KnoUs Samuel Dyson, Esquire, Cbeetham Hill Francis Casey, Esquire, Manchester Edmund Edmunds, Esquu-e, Worcester P. J. Cavafy Esquii-e, Cbeetham Hill SUBSCKIBEKS. George Faulkner, Esquire, Cheetham Hill Jolui Barker, Esquire, Manchester Messi-s. Samuel Radcliffe and Sons, Manchester Messrs. William Spencer and Co., Belmont Messi-s. John Lomas and Son, Manchester Messrs. Eden and Thwaites, Sharpies, near Bolton Messi-s. John Smith, Junior, and Co., Great Lever, Bolton Mr. S. Meyers, Longsight Mr. Canick Hervey, Greenheys Mr. Milton Smith, Manchester Mr. W. R. Johnson, Grosvenor-street, Chorlton-upon-Medlock Mr. W . F. Scholfield, George-street, Manchester Mr. Dunnett, Rusholme Mr. Peter Kerr, Ardwick Mr. Thomas Fuller, Stony Knolls Mr. Jolm G. Thomson, Strangeways Mr. John Thomason, Broughton Mr. Richard Thomason, Manchester Mr. John Piatt, Stony Knolls Mr. A. P. Halliday, Salford Mr. James Batho, Hulme Mr. Thomas Hunter, Chorlton-upon-Medlock Mr. J. S. Lockett, Lower Broughton Mr. R. Mc. Ewen, Manchester Mr. B. Bindloss, AdelpUi, Salford Mr. A . Balfour, Ardwick Mr. Alexander Whyte, Ardwick A SUBSCRIHintS. Mr. Arthur WTiite, LonJon Mr. William Arthvu', Manchester Mr. Charles Banuerman, Chorltou-upon-Medlock Mr. W. W. Piatt, Stony KnoUs Mr. J. G. Wadswoith,Mottram Mr. S. Cross, Chorlton-upon-Medlock Mr. G. Wheatley, Chorlton-upon-Medlock Mr. John Box, Chorlton-upon-Medlock Mr. John Don-ington, Chorlton-upon-Medlock Mr. Thomas Hibbert, Chorlton-upon-Medlock Mr. Thomas Fender, Manchester Mr. Joseph Cooper, Manchester Mr. Charles Eaton, Chorlton-upon-MeiUock Mr. James Edwards, Manchester Mr. Thomas Holt, Manchester Mr. A. B. Jameson, Salford Mr. J. C. Percival, Manchester Mr. Joseph Rooke, Cheetham Mr. Christopher Fell, Spiing Field, Bolton Mr. Thomas Fell, Spring Field, Bolton Mr. John Eooke, Cheetham Mr. John Bowker, Junior, Cheetham Mr. John Swallow, Pendleton Mr. Benjamin Hill, Hulme Mr John Lloyd, Salford Mr. E. Walter, Corn Market, Worcester Mr. Thomas F Gaskill, Salford SUBSCRIBEKS. Mr. John P. Smith, Manchester Mr WiUiam Abbott, Salford Mr. Woodhoiise, Cheetham Hill Mr. Samuel Greenleaves, Hulme Mr. John Smith, Manchester Mr. P. W. Hammond, Manchester Mr. Thomas Browning, Chorlton-upon-Medlock Mr. George "Wood, Chorlton-upon-Medlock Mr. Moss, Salford Mr. Hem-y Potter, near Witliington Mr. WiUiam Barratt, Manchester Mr. W. Heushaw, Manchester Mr. W. G. Kearsley, Manchester Mr. Thomas Barton, Manchester Mr. John Wood, Manchester Mr. George Deane, Manchester Mr. Knight, Manchester Mr. B. Hehn, Hulme Mr. Michael Noton, Salford Mr. Geoi-ge Xoton, Manchester Mr. R. A. B. Clayton, Manchester Mr. John Codling, Chorlton-upon-Medlock Mr. Thomas C. Cai-ter, Salford Mr. F. G Prideaux, Chorlton-upon-Medlock Mr. B. Dewhm-st, Manchester Mr. Ai-thui' H. Cowai'd, Manchester Mr. E. F Saul, Chorlton-upon-Medlock SUBSCRIBEKS. Mr. Johu Irving, Cheetham Mr. H. B Cundall, Chorlton-upou-Medlock Mr. G E. Barber, Cheetham Mr. Samuel Clarke, Manchester Mr. James Crookes, Manchester Mr J. Oldham, Manchester Mr. James Hill, Manchester Mr. J. Dearden, Manchester Mr. WilUam Deane, Manchester Mr. John Pickles, Manchester Mr. W. TeneU, Broughton Mr. J. Boulter, Worcester Mr. Cole, Worcester Mr. Joseph Brown, Salford Mr. John Taylor, Salford Mr. David Lewis, Manchester Mr. John Foreyth, Chorlton-upon-Medloc.k Mr. Geoi^e Taylor, Cheetham Hill Mr. George Walker, Pendleton Mr. Jacob Goulboum, Hai-purhey Mr. Charles Watson, Red Bank Mr James Stuttai'd, Clitheroe Mr. Alexander Turner, Stand Mr. James Hood, Halliwell Mr. James Hamer, Hulme Mr. William Habgood, Manchester Mr. William Marshall, Chorlton-cum-Hardy SUBSCKIBERS. Mr Joha Latbanij Red Bank Mr. Bradsliatv, Manchester Mr. B. Sarsou, Chorlton-upon-Medlock Mr. John Seddon, near Bolton Mr. James Tyler, Manchester Mr. Nathaniel Lloyd, Pi'estwich Mr. Thomas Lloyd, Salford Mr. W. Townend, Chorlton-upon-Medlock Mr. WiUiam Kuight, Junior, Chorlton-upon-Medlock Mr. G. Webber, Manchester Mr. Arthur Boult, Manchester Mr. Slack, Manchester Mr. C. Howarth, Walshuches Mr. C. H. Ellson, Manchester Mr. John Hoope)-, Manchester Mr. J. G. Hope, Manchester Mr. J. Higginbottom, Salford Mr. Mc. Naughton, Strangeways Mr. John Boardman, Salford Mr. Pidduck, Stoui-port Mr. Thomas Noton, Chorltou-upou-Medlock Mrs. Howell, Kempsey, Worcester Mrs. Holmes, Woi-cester Mrs. Smith, Worcester Mrs. Shuck, Worcester Mi-s. Aspinall, Lily Hill, Bury SUBSCRIBERS. Mrs. Piilduck, Stoui'port Mrs. Noton, Manchester Mrs. S. King, Manchester Miss Knowles, Manchester Miss Margaret Deane, Manchester Miss Wood, Manchester Miss Fletcher, Manchester CONTENTS. Page. Rustic Simplicity . . . . 1 The Parson's DUemma . . . . . . 7 The Miller; or Faii--Day, Part 1 17 Part II 29 RecoUectious in an Evening Walk 39 "WiU-o'-the-Wisp 43 The Fugitives 46 Alcander; or Dead Alive 52 The Prohibition 63 Edwin and Kate 71 The Sailor Boy 77 The Orphan Gill 81 The Poor Veteran 84 The Dark and Dreary Waste 86 Day-Break 88 Jasper and Ellen 90 Lines Written during Kereal-Moor Races ' 100 On the Embellishments of the Theatre-Pioyal, Manchester . . 103 Ceres 109 Elegy in a Countrj- Prison 113 The Letter 121 Hookers-In 122 Green Peas . . 127 Lucy 14-5 The Cottage 148 Cinthia's Dwelling 152 The Hermit 154 Ode to Fancy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157 The Lover's of the Alps 161 CONTENTS. Page. Delia 165 Envy 167 Beauty 169 The Complaint 171 The Birth-Bay 173 No Rule Without an Exception 175 The Tablet of Fame 177 Britons Still Shall Triumph 179 Elegiac Stanzas 182 Julia's Cottage .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 185 Elegy on the Death of Captian Bird 18U Dirge 190 The Deity 192 The Rose 194 Another 196 The Child of Son-ow 198 Invocation to Peace 201 Election Promises; or The Excise Aspirant 203 A Conunili'um . . . . . . . . 209 Daylight's Welcome 210 The Village Rose 212 Lines Addressed to a Friend 214 Sonnet * 216 The Maid of the Wood 217 The Rustic Faction 219 A Song 240 Verses to a Young Lady . . . . . . 242 An Admonitory Address . . . . . . . . .... 244 RUSTIC SIMPLICITY. a ^^a^f. In the East Indies (questionless the grave Of many an European, who in vain Had tum'd his thoughts towards home, and hop'd to have The joy of breathing native air again,) Serv'd a brave soldier — luckless too as brave — For Fortune's show'r did never on him rain; Promotion, though deserv'd, ne'er swell'd his pride : He enter'd in the ranks — and in them dy'd. B KVSTIC SIMPLICITY. II. He dy'd — day's glorious orb, of life an'd light The sovirce and nurse, was bane and death to him: Fever r&g'd in his veins, as well it might — He left a frigid for a torrid clime. He dy'd — ^but still, unconscious of his plight. His distant parents fondly hop'd the time Would "come, and soon too, when, with pride and joy, Lock'd in their arms, tliey yet might bless their boy. III. Time wore away, and still no letter came: His friends exclaim'd and felt a little sore ; Of what had happen'd they did little dream ; They knew that Tom deem'd penmanship a horc — (Tom to scholastic honors had small claim), But sure his mark he might contrive to score To letter, trac'd for him by some kind comrade: This might be manag'd even on a drum-head. RUSTIC SIMPLICITY. IV. But none yet came with this much-lov'd beginning, " Dear father," or " Dear mother, this, comes hoping"- Oh ! such kind worJ§ would pardon soon be .winning, And rapture would succeed to sighs and moping; For now, in truth, they deem'd that he was sinning U'en past forgiveness; and big tears, fast dropping, Would follow their complainings — wretched state ! Suspense like theirs — what is there wprse in fate .' And this suspense they long did undergo : In fact, they were but ignoramuses, And nought of clime or country did they know ; For "quick conveyance" India famous is: Life's thread is brittle there, tho' no dark foe Rise vengeful — yet what most should shame us i.s, We send our sons there to serve thankless masters, Who care not or for them or their disasters. RU'STIC SIMPLICITY. VI. Years thus elapsed, when lo ! it chanc'd one morning Tom's regiment thro' his native hamlet pass'd ; Of this the good old pair lack'd previous warning; Surprise — hope — fear — at once impell'd their haste T' assure themselves that Tom was now returning, And joy's full measure would he theirs at last: So clo.se the scrutiny of sunburnt faces, Tlie wond'ring soldiers star'd at their grimaces. VII. Alas! poor Tom was nowhere to be seen; Time and warm climes may make strange alteration. Yet parents know the difference between A darling son and one that's no i-elation: Intuitively, love's strong glance, I ween. Can pierce the mask of time and clime's creation; "Tell us," they cry'd, "what is become of one — The bravest of you all — our dear, dear son?" RUSTIC SIMPLICITY. VIII. '•^Inform us first," said Corp'ral Hanison, " Whether this bravest man had any name ; And henceforth, pray, make no comparison That may disparage our good reg'ment's fame : Brave as he was — if here, he'd dare as soon Eat fire— what was he call'd ?" " T\Tiy, Thomas Gra;me!" "Tom Graeme!" the corp'ral cry'd, (and wiped his eye,) " Poor lad! he's gone into Eternity." IX. The soldiere now mov'd on; and truly giiev'd The cotters that their son was left behind; Yet of all hope their hearts were not bereav'd; For to his fate sheer ign'rance made them blind: That he might yet return they stUl believ'd: (Since keener pangs attend th' eulighten'd mind, Who would be wise?) " Let's ask," the father cries, "Where this Eternity he spoke of lies." RUSTIC SIMPLICITY. " Yet be it where it may," (the old man now, As fear subsided, wax'd into a passion,) "Dame, be the country where it may, I vow Tom's a sad dog to use uS in this fashion; He has forgot his earliest fiiends, I trow : Once let me see him — zooks! I'll lay my ash on." " Stop, Jolm !" cry'd dame, "let not thy wrath get head so; Thank God he lives! — the man as good as said so. • ^ XI. Straight to the village schoolmaster they hied : A pedagogue much noted for his lore ; nOOKERS-IN. 125 TI. Sliamo to the system — baiic of our repose ! Shame to the hookers-in — disgrace of trade ! Those pedlars, worse than dealers in old clothes ! The drapers' curse, while impudenre has lead ! There'll be no end to these besetting woes, Till we maintain the rights they now invade, Like men resolved — and, daring to be free, Send our tonnentors all — to Coventry! VII. The song says, " Manchester's Improving Daily:" Is it in manners, or in morals, shewn ? By the pure inmates of its throng'd New Bailey ? Or Jislic deeds in Halls of Council done? And for its streets of mire — 'twere better, really, Mr. Macadam's ways had ne'er been known ! Lo ! C«***n-street, where idlers congregate, And mud and scandal on our footsteps wait. 126 HOOKEUS-IN. VIII. "The Schoolmaster's abroad!" (see Brougham's trimmer, The other night, of Wellington and Co.) " The 'schoolmaster's abroad, sir, with his primer !" A fact which friends of order grieve to know. Oh ! for those days when intellects were dimmer ! And servitude preserved a tranquil brow ! We all have found — or shall some short time hence — That "march of mind" is m/irch of impudence ! GREEN PEAS. a SCalp. I sing Green Peas! delicious fare! Much coveted while young and rare ; To epicures a treat most fine, When smoaMng with a rich sui'loin ; With hacon me they much content, Or duck — O super-excellent ! Zookers ! the very thought, I vow, Makes my mouth water even now ! Of all the good things gard'ners rear There's none that can with peas compare ! Ere I proceed, I must premise In France my scene of action lies — 128 GREEN PEAS. Paris the city — that resort Of panders to a pamper'd court ! Observe — 'twas ere the revolution Had thrown all Europe in confusion: Poor Louis' race was then not run ; Nor gentle Robespierre's begun. A lover, who a lady woo'd, That yet in coy disdainful mood Had treated all his fond advances With frigid speech, or scornful glances, One day, to gain the fair one's favor. Or gain, at least, more land behaviour, Resolv'd to send her, under cover, Great though the cost (for to a lover What is expense?) — some young green peas ! The boon, sure, could not fail to please — He judg'd so, for this special reason. They were the earliest of the season ; The very first to market brought, And, therefore, very dearly bought : Four half-pint pottles were their measure — Four times six louis gain'd the treasure. GREEN VEAS. 129 Fair blooming flow'rs the basket graced, Wherein the costly pulse were placed — By careful messenger was carried The i)recious gift — who (bowing) tarried, Obedient to his lord's behest, For thanks — too flippantly express'd! " Me has your lord (she, smiling, said,) Under vast obligation laid ; And yet (thus mix'd she gall with honey,) I think he has less wit than money !" This lady, whom I'll henceforth name Belinda ! well might raise a flame In young male hearts, so soon ignited By beauty's ej-es with genius lighted : She was indeed divinely fair — The goddess mov'd in all her air — Men call'd her Bcanti/s pararjon ; But when, with smiles, her blue eyes shone- To see them — was to he undone! Belinda had nor father, brother. Nor sister — but she had a mother; A shrewd, close, bustling matron she, s |;50 GREEN 1'EAS. Who well made up for t' other three ! Each hour, (good soul!) with zeal most fervent, She school'd her daughter and her servant; A careful manager — she made The most of those small means she had ; For health's sake, gave her maid a sweat • Daily — and not too much to eat! 'Twas right, indeed, they should be saving, And check sometimes the stomach's craving : Fashion decreed it — since without, Adieu to gala, ball, and rout — It went against the grain 'tis true; But, then, what else, pray, could they do ? Fashion was paramount they knew. Beside, they had a law-suit pending— Who can foresee a law-suit's ending? "Victors have triumph'd at their cost, And winning cocks their feathers lost; And, e'en though right be on your side, Justice, alas, sometimes shoots wide. Right joyous was the elder dame When thus th' unlook'd for treasure came— "Green peas (she cried,) are my delight — GRF.EN PEAS. The gentleman I am siu-e's i^olite ; And then they look so fresh and nice — They must have cost a monstrous price." The matron now in silence weigh'd (As 'mong the peas her fingers play'd,) ^\^lether 'tsvere best that they should eat Or sell — the rare and precious treat. "Let's eat!" the yearning stomach cries — "Let's sell!'' urg'd greedier Avarice; And Avarice's stronger cry Obtaiu'd at last the victory. Thought now found utt'rance— "Bell, my child, (Whisper'd the pmdent dame, and smil'd,) WeHl sell these peas— m.j start not, love — False delicacy you're above.'' " Sell them, mamma!" the daughter cried, " Sell them ! I marvel where's your pride- Think what disgi-ace 'twill on us biing — I shudder at so mean a thing.'' " 'Twould be vexatious, I must own, Were the transaction to be known ; 1 31 132 GREEN PEAS. (The dame replied,) but it will be Wrapt in impervious secrecy. The woman who the court supplies With nature's earliest raiities, And whom I sometimes deal with, she Shall be commission'd jiresently. To blab, when I've her mind impress'd. She'll think against her interest. Yes — I'm determin'd — though 'tis true I like green peas; yet entre nous, Cash I like better of the two.'' 'Tis fix'd: consignment duly made, The agent sallies forth to trade. This bus'ness scarce was done, when shook The mansion with a thund'ring knock ! A gay and splendid marquis came T' emit bright flashes of his flame — Soissons, I think, the marquis' name. Full easy was it to discover He was Belinda's favor'd lover. GREEN PEAS. \''^-i The sparkling eye — the falt'ring speech- In spite of all that art could teach — (Art did indeed one proof conceal — Since blushes could not tell the tale — Rouge kindly interpos'd its veil,) Her tremor when he was announc'd; Her start of joy when in he bounced; All spoke the love-impassion'd maid — By love unconsciously betray'd! I pass the lovers' tender chat — Vows, squeezings, ogl'ings — and all that— Till when the matron's sober presence Robb'd converse of its am'rous essence, Then scandal came upon the tapis: The senior lady now was happy In her turn — (elder ladies handle Most dext'rously a little scandal,) For ev'ry friend she had a wreath Of honor, freshen'd by her breath; She told her neighbours' foibles o'er Till scandal could invent no more ! 134 GREEN PEAS. Afraid, perhaps, to chatter treason, Now conversation fell (-n-ith reason,) Upon — the lateness of the season : Soon the discussion tum'd, with ease, Upon the bachvardness of peas. This topic dra^\-lng to a close. The marquis now abruptly rose. Abruptly, said Belinda's eyes, Which spoke suspicion and surprise — Love is so full of jealousies! An angry glance Belinda darted, As, courtier-like, my lord departed, As if to say — "Oh! you hard-hearted!'' The emissary, in short space, Returns with joy-announcing face, And to her charge, most just and true, Renders her patroness' due ; Full thirty louis-d'ors she counted — The sum to which her sale amounted. " Wlio was the purchaser?" " The marquis !'' GREEN PEAS. 135 Belinda's clouded brow more dark is. Love, jealous love, so magnifies, He makes a mole-hill top the skies ! He sees — what Reason cannot find — And to what Reason sees — is blind. " False man !'' Belinda, unrestrain'd, Thus rav'd, "'tis well! 'tis now explain'd ! For this — for this — he from me hurried ! For this — my poor fond heart was flurried ! Supplanted by some happier maid. My love's insulted and betray'd ! For her those peas — rare bribe for favor ! Gods ! mingle poison with their flavor ! Or let keen appetite jirovoke her, Till eagerness in eating — choke her !'' A friend — a female friend — now came To heap fresh fuel on the flame : One of those friends whose chief desire Is to give vigor to that fire ^Vherein long-cherish'd hopes expire; An envious, malapert \'irago — l:3H GIIEEN PKAS. A mischief-making she lago ! Belinda's mind, with asjiics fraught, Was now almost to madness wrought — When, lo ! a messenger of peace ! Whose missives all dark visions chase, And Hope, sweet Hope, resumes her place. A hasket's hrought into the room, Bedeck'd with flow'rs of choicest bloom : With it a note, whose scent o'erpow'rs The weaker odour of the flow'rs ; A note so fashionably writ But few could have decipher'd it: On vellum smooth the lines were scrawl'd, Within stamp'd borders, edg'd with gold. "'Tis,'' cries Belinda, *'from the marqiiis !" Her lovely brow no longer dark is : White taper lingers, trembling, tear The roseate work so neat and fair. When (O blest sight !) the peas appear ! A joyful, half-hysteric, cry Proclaim'd aloud love's victory ! GREEN PEAS. 137 Her lucky stars the maiden blesses — The matron scarce less joy expresses; Forthwith a privy-council sits, To judge what best the case befits: Whether tlie peas they shall re-sell, Or eat — each loving peas so well. A speedy sale the dame prefers, Till, sudden, a new thought occurs. " To end," she said, " this wise debate. The peas well neither sell nor eat; Yet they shall go another journey — I'll send them to my friend, th' attorney, Who has that suit of mine in hand — \\Tiat lawyer can a bribe withstand ? A timely tribute to the laws May gain, perhaps, a widow's cause." Pleas'd was the sapient man of law When he the verdant present saw ; And still more pleas'd his gentle mate, Whose bowels yearn'd the peas to eat. But when she found that, in despite T 1:38 GREEN PEAS. Of her most eager appetite, Her spouse desigia'd them for a client, The lady grew most uncompliant; She storm'd — she swore ! — it would not do- For each of her oaths he swore two ! Persisting in his hai'sh denial, There was a famous hattle-royal ; And (what's more wonderful to say,) For once the husband gain'd the day ! To this same client's grand chateau (Some duke he was— no matter who,) Now follow we the vagrant treasure, To mark dame Fortune's further pleasure. Complacency the great man eyes, And much commends the dainty prize: Just then, to pay his prompt devoir. Our marquis enters the boudoir ! Instant he recogniz'd the basket — The truth was out! what need to ask it? The very flow'rs lay scatter'd by. Which he had cuH'd so daintily ! GREEN PEAS. 139 "0 false Belinda! faithless maid!" Inaudibly tlie marquis said: In fact he thought her a sad jade. What man that loves can, pleas'd, discover Another, and more favor d, lover ? Though the great nuin was somewhat small, Or what some people dwarfish call ; And just as lovely to the sight As Walter Scott's fam'd wizard wight; Yet jealousy to err so prone is, The marquis thought him — an Adonis! With love and jealousy so hearted, He made excuse, and soon departed. The marquis to Belinda flies, Dread fury flashing from his eyes ! And now the threaten'd war he wages ! And now the bursting tempest rages ! At first, Belinda — scar'd — amaz'd — Shrunk back, and thought her lover craz'd : Now, anger conqu'ring fear, she rallied. And on the foe with vigor sallied. 140 GREEN PEAS. 'Twas tongue-war; for I can't suppose Those well-bred lovers came to blows. Now when this war was at its height, And Vict'ry hover'd o'er the fight, Deciding on whose crest to light, In came the fatal peas again! And Reason took her turn to reign ! " That I may solve," the marquis cries, " This mystery of mysteries, O maid! I crave an armistice." The dute, who felt, like many more, Of fair Belinda's charms the pow'r, Had sent, his high respect to shew, The peas which came so apropos. Poor man! he little thought, I ween, That hers they twice before had heen ! Sudden, like bolt from heav'n, came Conviction — witli conviction— sftame. The mariiuis couch'd beneath her glance Of stern, but heav'nly, radiance: GREEN PEAS. 141 She seem'd an angel from on Mgh, Bright in celestial panoply. The contrite lover's tender pleadings; Th' offended beauty's sharp uphraidings; What sighs he breath'd — what tears she shed- And all he vow'd — and all she said — Till reconcilement, -vrith a kiss, Seal'd a fair bond of futiu-e bliss. This scene we pass as nothing rare — All know what lovers' quarrels are. Now, once more, on the floor's rich cover, (Round work of Brussels,) kneels the lover. " Oh ! be thou kinder yet !" he cried, " Since thou to be my blooming bride Hast promis'd — now, in pity, yield — And let thy promise be fulfill'd ! In pity, on thy slave bestow That bliss his bosom burns to know — And, lest fresh crosses intervene. Be his — while yet these peas are green." 142 GREEN PEAS. The maid (as other maidens do When thus presumptuous lovers sue,) Blush'd — and, with smiling downcast eyes And wishfnl hejirt, the suit denies — Denies, to be more strongly press'd: Some pretty fears, too, were express'd— Should she too speedily consent, Too speedily they might repent; Ere long she might become his scorn — A wife forsaken and forlorn j Perhaps some beauty's lovelier charms Might tempt him from her faithful arms — Ah ! should he ever her forsake, Her tender heart would surely break ! Her maiden scruples, one by one, Vanish'd like snow-flakes in the sun. O blissful courtship ! heav'nly parley ! There's none can estimate it fairly. But those who have enjoy'd the bliss — The thrillings of a scene like this. One point unsettled yet remain'd — " Mammi's consent must be obtain'd." GKEEN PEAS. 143 Sly rogue ! she knew her mother's mind Had long been to the match inclin'd. Th' aspiring matron, worldly wise, The marquis deem'd a golden prize Worth stale punctilio's sacrifice. She, therefore, readily consented — To what she could not have prevented ; For, though the lovers pray'd consent, Beshrew them! 'twas mere compliment — Piously as they taWd about it, They would have done the deed without it! Surmise I this ; but certain am, Next day, in church of Notre-dame, Love gave to Hymen's torch its flame, And this fond pair one flesh became. That night, in silver tureen plac'd. The peas adom'd the nuptial feast — Their hist'ry tickled ev'ry guest. Reader ! if you're not pleas'd, the fault Lies in my want of attic salt. You'll say, perhaps — "Your 'peas' want relish — H4 GREEN PEAS. Wit both to season and embellish." My culinary ail, at best, Affords a dish but plainly dress'd ; Profess'd cooks often over-do it, So that weak stomachs sometimes rue it — Mine's wholesome, and you're welcome to it. LUCY. How wildly-sad yon shepherd's look, His white locks streaming in the breeze ! Intent he eyes the rippling brook Where many a chequer'd moonbeam plays. II. There, at the peaceful hour of eve, While silence wraps the sleeping grove — Save where the rill's light billows heave, And Philomel sings notes of love ; V 14() Li'cy. III. As constant as the coming hour, Inclining o'er a pendant rail, He fondly yields to mem'ry's pow'r — And broods— till thought and reason fail ! IV. In life's gay mom, when hope was strong, And love and rapture mark'd the scene. He courted Lucy, blithe and young — The loveliest on the village green. Their breasts with wild emotions glow'd, And sanguine love tried many a lure To have the mutual wish allow'd — But, ah ! the shepherd-lad was poor. vr. Driven from her home by cniel pride, He left his love to mourn its pow'r j Where she, Hope's fost'ring beam denied, Droop'd like a pale neglected flow'r. Li'cv. 147 VII. Bereft, at last, of Reason's aid, (Tlie sail effect of hopeless love!) One summer's eve the fair one sti'ay'd — And sought, unseen, the silent gi'ove. VIII. Poor girl ! she reach'd yon fatal stream — Need more the pensive muse relate ? No — let remembrance close the theme — Too well you guess poor Lucy's fate. THE COTTAGE. Sweet Cottage ! abode of true joys ! The home of Contentment and Health ! Nor Envy, nor Care, ttiee annoys — The constant companion's of Wealth. II. There Nature, untainted by art, Shines bright in each joy-dimpl'd face; There no gaudy trappings impart A borrow'd and pride-giving grace. THE COTTAGE. 149 HI. The peasant quits early his bed, And labors with unruffl'd brow; While at home Dorcas bakes the brown bread, Or hastes with her pail to the cow. IV. And Sue, Nature's loveliest child, Apparell'd in garments she spun, Like the mom, smiles refreshing and mild. And rises each day Avith the sun. V. And, scorning at toil to repine. Since to toil is the cottager's doom, She feeds both the poultry and swine, And within plies the needle and broom. VI. Love and Peace reign throughout the glad day, And, when its employments are o'er. The young, on the green, meet to play — The elder, to chat in the bow'r. 150 THE COTTAGE. VII. What time the sim's lingering light Crowns with gold the blue hills in the west, And birds, that rejoice not in night, Fly twilt'ring and shy to their rest. VIII. Refresh'd by the apple's bright juice, The husbandman frolics and joLes; Else a ballad, a tale, or the news, Amuses his mind as he smotes. IX. And, hark ! the lorn songster of night— What melody flows from his bill! As he hails the round moon's silver light, And echo replies from the hill. Meet season for love-tale, which falls In sweet concord on maiden's pleas'd ear ! For Truth, which flies cities and halls, Here reigns in her own proper sphere. THE COTTAGE. 151 XI. Nor joyless is Winter to these, Though its blasts lovely Nature deform — In their cot dwell Contentment and Peace, Nor heed they the voice of the stonn. XII. There the traveller, chancing to stray, Finds welcome, a guide, and good cheer; And, if misery dai-ken his way. The solace of Sympathy's tear. XIII. There oft the poor pilgrim, forlorn, Both liis frame and his spirits repaii's. And pays his kind host, in return. The rich treasui'e of blessings and pray'rs. CINTHIA'S DWELLING. O Peace ! thou nymph benign and meek, How many mortals vainly seek Thy smiles to cheer their travels; How oft, by Fancy led astray, They turn to Vice's flow'ry way, Till Reason, with her friendly ray, Their blind mistake unravels. II. Turn, pilgiim, from its mazes turn. And Truth's unerring guidance learn. Each mist of doubt dispelling — Bend thy lorn footsteps down the vale To where yon shrubs their sweets exhale. And there the white-rob'd goddess hail In Cinthia's humble dwelling. cinthia's dwelling. J.J3 III. Unnumber'd beauties mark the spot — The woodbine twines around the cot, The rural picture aiding; In front a gentle current flows, Whose murmurs yield the soul repose ; And on its verge majestic grows An oak — the scene o'ershading. IV. Peace long has dwelt in Cinthia's cot, And still endears her humble lot, Each gloomy care repelling: Virtue and Wisdom there abide. With Beauty, unimpair'd by Pride, And Health, with Hebe by her side. The joys of Cinthia's dwelling. yr THE HERMIT. Behold yon poor Hermit slow-pacing the vale, While the wind waves his ringlets of snow; Full oft has the desert-breeze moan'd at his tale, And the wild flood been fed with his woe. II. See those tear-furrow'd cheeks, where the roses once bloom'd, "Which the dimple of joy often wore, Now, pale as the lily, their blossoms consum'd. And the dimple of joy smiles no more. THE nERMIT. 155 III. See those eyes, which once sparkl'd ^^th youth's brightest fire, Frown dim with Affliction's sad tear ; And that form, whose soft grace could each \-irgiii inspire, Now wither'd — decrepit — and drear. IV. Like the roe-buck, I've seen him bound swift o'er the lawn, When young Love gave his bosom delight; But, alas ! the gay prospects of Hope's smiling dawn Soon wore lost in the shadows of night. In the sunshine of youth, when his pulse with warm love Throbb'd responsive to Emma's soft tongue. With the voice of persuasion, he woo'd like the dove, And excell'd the gay lark in his song. TI. Ah! sudden and sad, child of grief! was thy lot. Clouds and stoims quickly gather'd around — 'Twas the tempest of fate — for Love's vows were forgot — And despair bow'd thy head to the ground. l.'jH THE HERMIT. VII. He lov'd the fair Emma — ah ! lov'd her so true ; With what fervor he courted her smiles ! But seduction (foul demon!) its snare basely threw- And he saunters a prey to its wiles. VIII. Secluded, e'er since, from the world's wicked strife, Oft the valley has echo'd his sighs; But Religion's mild beam gilds his winter of life, And his soul rests her hope in the slues. ODE TO FANCY. O Fancy ! on thy air\- wing, With magic song, with fairy flow'rs, Thy soul-entrancing visions bring, And woo with smiles the weary hours : For soon, I ween, the throb of woe Will make the song of fond complaining; And soon thy sweet flow'rs cease to blow, And leave, alas, but thorns remaining. ).58 ODE TO FANCY. II. O ! when the lark, with dewy wing, Up-flies to greet the laughing morn; When, in full concert, wildly ring The woods — and man alone's forlorn — O tlien let thy creation glow ! O Fancy ! join the warbling throng, Ere storms, invidious, round me blow, And kill thy flow'rs, and choke thy song. III. And oft at evening's hour, reclin'd Beside some wild brook's willow'd stream, While to soft plaints of dying wind The voice of music aids my dreamj There, as the sun's last ling'ring fire Bedecks with gold the ti'emb'ling wave. O Fancy ! thou my soul inspire, And from Despair's rude empin- save ! ODE TO FANCY. 159 IV. Then soothe the lonely captive's soul : For sweet the dream thy magic yields — Back with excursive mem'ry roU And lead him o'er his native fields. O paint the grove, and paint the cot, Wliere roses twin'd the brow of love — Pour sweet oblivion o'er his lot, And round in fairy-circles move. And ere thy sylvan shadows flee — Ere pain and soitow wake to languish — O let his dear babes climb his knee, And joy suspend the throb of anguish : And let that lovelier form appear With handmaid sylphs, in jocund train; Waft sounds celestial through his ear, And twine Love's garlands roiuid his brain. 160 ODE TO FANCr. VI. Thus, Fancy ! though the throb of woe Soon wake the song of fond complaimng, And soon thy sweet flow'rs cease to blow — But leave, alas, the thorns remaining; O Fancy ! thus on frolic wing, With magic song, with fairy flow'rs, Thy soul-entrancing visions bring, And woo with smiles the weary hours. THE LOVERS OF THE ALPS. VERSIFIED FROM KEATE S TALE OF " RODOLPHO AND MATILDA. Now when the Alpine heights deep snow o'erspreads, And fonns unreal hills and faithless plains, The blood-chill'd traveller with caution treads, Whilst fear, invincible, his bosom pains. The crescent snow, now nodding o'er the steep. In foiin terrific, by an eddying gale Is plung'd in air — and soon the pond'rous heap With one vast length of niin fills the vale — Aghast, the ill-starr'd traveller espies The congregated mass — beholds — and dies ! X I*>"2 THE LOVERS OF THE ALPS. II. Deep in a vale, beneath a mountain's shade Whose lofty summit raock'd the climber's toil, Dwelt fair Matilda, Nature's blooming maid, The sweetest blossom of her native soil. Full many a swain had felt her beauty's pow'r. And to her car avow'd a faithful flame — Full many a swain liad sought the fair one's bow'r, And on each tree inscribed Matilda's name: But vain their loves — none could her breast inspire- None (save Rodoljiho,) cause a mutual fire. III. Rodolpho was of ev'ry grace possess'd — Of youth the envy, and the pride of age; His shining virtues Slander half-confess'd, And Wisdom's self pronounc'd that he was sage. Early he learn'd to prize a rural life. Where smiling Peace and Contemplation dwell — Was taught to shun the noisy city's strife By grey-hair'd shepherds, wont to counsel well. He saw Matilda — soon a holy fire Sprang in their breasts and kindled chaste desire. THE LOVERS OF THE ALPS. 163 IV. But such, alas ! is mau's unhappy lot, Hope cheers awhile with visionary joys; Then woe, the bane of palace and of cot, Succeeds — and Hope's bright pageantry destroys ! Come, muse of Keate! inspire tlie verse I sing — Lend thy strong influence to my feeble lyre! CaU'd forth by Hymen, now on Love's light wing, The bridegroom flies to greet his soul's desire — Ah! fly not thus to seal thy hapless lot — Nor haste so joyous to the fatal spot. How soon his transports change to dread amaze, When, where Matilda's dwelling lately stood — Near which the peaceful flocks were wont to graze. Where pilgrims sojourn'd, and where dwelt the good- A scene of wild confusion meets his eyes, (Sad scene for him, and source of direst woe !) Nor flocks, nor well-known cottage he espies, But in their place — a cumbrous pile of snow ! From the near Alp, that morn, the fatal mound Fell on the roof, and crush'd it to the ground. 164 THE LOVERS OF THE ALPS. VI. The shepherds met to lend their anxious aid; And from the ruins, now by shepherd's borne, Once more in sight appears the luckless maid, Blooming in death, and lovely as the mom: That native smile, which charm 'd each feeling heart. Still, as in sleep, adom'd her angel face — While with seraphic beauty shone each part. And bridal ti'appings heighten'd ev'ry grace ! Ah ! where are now thy promis'd transports fled ? Death is thy portion — and the Grave thy bed ! VII. The deadly anguish of Rodolpho's breast What tongue can utter, or what heart conceive ? Despair's sad image, lo ! he stands confess'd, And peillid sorrow marks him for the grave. On the fail- corse are fix'd his straining eyes ; In frantic calls he spends his latest breath ; Pale as the snow, at length, Rodolpho dies. And joins Matilda in the bed of death. Still all the vale their memory revere, While pity drops a tributary tear. DELIA. Sweet is the violet's humid leaf That spangles with the morning dew ; But, ah ! sweet liow'r, in my belief, My Delia's far more sweet than you. II. White is the lily's humble crest. That sweetly smiles in yonder vale ; But whiter far my Delia's breast, Unknown to ev'ry blighting gale. lliG DELIA. III. And beauteous is the blushing rose, Whose buds the spring expands to view; But Delia's cheek more freshly glows, And through each season keeps its hue. IV. The violet sweet — the lily fair — And beauteous rose — such charms impart: In Delia they have form'd a snare , That has enslav'd her Sylvio's heart ENVY. Say, who is she with wrinkled brow, With eye of fire, and cheek of snow; Her hair all matted, lank and thin. Her mouth stretch'd wide with hellish giin ; Whose gnashing teeth are black as jet, And most irregiilarly set. And which, by pressing, wound her tongue, Wliich now hangs out, all gor'd and long; Whose chin's protub'rant, sharp, and crook'd ; Whose lips are white; whose nose is hook'd ? Behold ! one eye is thrown askance — The other turns an inward glance Kih KNVY. Upon herself — deep in her head Sunk, like a pehble in its bed; And, horrible to say, beside, Her breasts are shrivell'd, black, and dried! *' Say, who is she, this frightful dame ?" I cried, amaz'd, appall'd ; Genius replied — " From hell she came, And Envy is she call'd !'' BEAUTY. But now the picture we'll reverse, And Beauty's dazzling charms rehearse. She, on a glitt'ring chariot drawn, Comes slowly o'er the velvet lawn; Four milk-white steeds, in rich array. Proud of their charge, and young and gay, (Their harness all with gold inlaid,) Like those hright coursers which, 'tis said, ApoUo drives — lead on the maid. Rich gems the vehicle adorn, More luminous than pearls of mom — Like stars they seem. The axletree One mass of gold appears to be ; The spokes are wrought most daintily. y 170 BEAUTlf. All loose the maiden's ringlets flow, Divided, graceful, on her hrow ; Whence down her lily neck they fall. And weave, unhid, the lover's thrall. In all her fail" angelic mien Softness and symmetiy are seen. Her snow-white forehead is the throne Of graces which are all her own. In her arch'd hrow may be descried A dignity exempt from pride; Yet seem her eyes sometimes to turn From gay to grave, from soft to stem; So oft, in heav'n's ethereal blue. Appear to Fancy's dazzl'd view Phantoms of various shape and hue. Her cheeks, to paint with tints divine, The lily and the rose combine; But of her voice, ah! who can tell? More sweet than sweetest poet's shell — Than Orpheus' sti-ains more magical ! THE COMPLAINT. O say, cruel Delia, whose mandate severe Bids me wander an exile forlorn, Canst thou doom my sad bosom to languish in fear. And in absence, dull absence, to mourn ? Ah! revoke the hard sentence; 'tis fraught with despair; It consumes every joy of my breast : Let Hymen's bright torch light this lab'ilnth of care, And thy arms be my haven of rest. 172 THE COMPLAINT. 11. As a flow'r, when the sun has withdrawn his warm rays, And rude winds hlow untimely around, Forsaken, uncherish'd, in chilness decays, And its head sadly droops to the ground ; So I, doom'd the sunshine of love to forego, And to mourn the cold progress of time. Must droop 'neath the premature winter of woe, And decay (like the flow'r,) in my prime. III. Then in pity, dear maid, take my soul from suspense; Banish scruples thy prudence would form ; Though in life's tender spring. Love shall be thy defence, And his bow'r screen thee well from each storm. Oh relent— nor delay the blest moment, my fair; For delay chills the hope of my breast: Let Hymen's bright torch light this lab'rinth of care, And thy arms be my haven of rest. THE BIRTH-DAY. Though Autumn's sear and drooping leaf Bespeaks fair Nature's fast decay. Oh ! let the muse arrest the thief That hastes to steal her charms away : Let Time, for once, relenting yield The rural sports of blooming May, And Flora deck the verdant field, To welcome Delia's natal day ! 174 THE BIRTH-DAY. II. But, ah ! my muse, thy wish is vain ; For still the wither'd tokens fall, ^Vhile rustling winds but mock my strain, And ask me, " who can time recall ?" Yet though, ere long, the skies will low'r, And tyrant Winter bear the sway ! Still Nature cheers the passing hour, And hails my Delia's natal day. III. Full many autumnal beauties smile, And fling their perfum'd breath around ; And still the grove's wild notes beguile. And wake to love with witching sound: Then let the heart of Love rejoice, And shepherds chant the sportive lay. While gladden'd Nature lifts her voice To hail my Delia's natal day. NO RULE WITHOUT AN EXCEPTION. Lady Bab said, one day, to her rakehelly lord, "Lord Bob, like a biaite you behave to me; An alien from bed, and an alien from board : Pray what am I more than a slave to ye ? But 'tis all my own fault ; for I acted the fool In taking this maxim for truth — ' That they make the best husbands (a cm-s'd lying rule,) Who have been wicked dogs in then* youth.'" " The rule is a good one, (Lord Bobby replied,) If reform but prove clear to perception ; But, however, my dear, it must not be denied. There is ^no rule ivithout an exception.' '' 176 NO RVJLE WITHOUT AN EXCEPTION. II. A few days after this matrimonial duet, My lady herself was caught tripping; John was knock'd down the stairs by my lord, in a pet, And my lady scarce 'scap'd a horse-whipping. " Oons, madam !'' he cried, " when I tied the curs'd noose. It was on this precious wise rule — 'That a girl of true spirit is never so loose As one who is tame and a fool.' " " The maxim, no doubt, (she replied,) appear'd good To your lordship's most sapient perception ; But, you know, my dear lord, it is well understood. There is ' no rule without an exception.' " THE TABLET OF FAME. Sin ailf gorp. ON THE DEATH OF LORD NELSON. Why weeps the genius of our conquering isle.' Why with such sorrow heaves her throbbing breast? Though on her cheek sits Glory's radiant smile, And new-reap'd honors crown her blooming crest. Now smiling Joy Britannia's bosom cheers — And now usurping Grief dissolves in tears. z 178 THE TABLET OF FA.Mp:. II. Behold swift-flying through the shout- rent air, Deck'd with proud laurels Fame her mission brings- " Britons have conquer'd!'' doth her voice declare; But griff is borne upon her agile wings — " Britons have conquer'd !" is the glorious strain, " And still triumphant brave the hostile main!" III. Now Joy, elate, (but transient in her reign- Too often ti-ansient where her smile most charms,) Her empire holds, till Grief's coiTosive pain Blasts her fail- tints, and all her pow'r disarms. Britannia's breast no more with triumph glows- Fame ends her tale— but Sorrow marks the close. IV. " Weep, weep !'' she cried, while from her lucid eyes Gush'd the big tear that dimm'd their joyful beam, « Behold this name— your nation's darling prize— And mourn the gloomy sequel of my theme'' — She spake, then on her tablet wrote, (and sigh'd,) "Nelson!- who bravely fought— who bravely died." BRITONS STILL SHALL TRIUMPH! £1 Patrtotit Song. (Tune: "God save the King.") WKllTEX DUKINO THK THREATENED INVASION OF THE FRENCH. I. Should the fell tyrant dai'e England's repose to mar, Soon will he rue : Britons, who Freedom prize. And a vile foe despise, Will, with fierce vengeance, rise fJallant and tiiie. 180 BRITONS STILL SHALL TRIUMPH. II. Then will our volunteers, Brave, and uncheck'd by fears, Boldly advance; Crush each invading knave, And, by their conduct brave. Their envied country save From haughty France. III. Soon will the projects, then, Of the proud Corsican To ruin fall : Let him new schemes devise- England his arts defies, And will triumphant rise Over them all! liRITOSs STILL SHALL TRIl.MPH. |N| IV. Soon mil he find, that still We our fam'd ardor feel In Britain's cause ; That we disdain to yield \Miile we can weapons wield, But will protect and shield George and our Laws. God is our sme defence ; And with fuU confidence Still let us sing — ^Vhile all our hearts luiite Firmly to guard each right — God give us strength and might- God save our King ! ELEGIAC STANZAS, ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED FATHER. ' Wait the ^reat teacher Death."— Pops. Ah ! mortals — blind to fate's unfailing doom — Deaf to each lesson that the gi-ave conveys — Say, can you shudder at the darksome tomb, And wander still in guilt's forbidden maze ? What boots our lamentation o'er the sod, Or the sad deluge of o'erwhelming tears. If still, rebellious to the will of God, We seek the haunt where tempting vice appears, Or fly religion's balm to shake with heathen fears. ELEGIAC STANZAS. ]83 II. Now, while my bosom mourns the work of Death, And filial love bedews a father's tomb, Come, O my muse ! with cypress-woven wreath. Record his virtues, and proclaim his doom. Ah me ! Affection writhes beneath the blow; Mirth yields her song to Sorrow's plaintive strain; Benign Religion breathes a sigh of woe; And Grief, oppressive, saddens all the train — E'en meek-ey'd Patience weeps — but weeps, alas, in vain ! III. And as fond mem'ry, wand'ring o'er the past, Reviews each act of virtue that endear'd — How many bosoms, torn by fate's keen blast, Shai-'d his compassion, while his bounty cheer'd; How, through each scene of fond, domestic love, Wisely and truly he perform'd his part — Ah ! who can wonder such a loss should move. Or blame the sad effusions of the heart ? Cold, cold must be the breast that knows not Pitv's smart. 184 KLEtilAC STANZAS. IV. Tom by the ravages of wan disease, Calm and resign'd, he kiss'd th' afflictive rod ; Though from liis couch fled sleep's consoling ease, One balm had he — Assurance in his God. O Faith! thou pillar of the Christian's soul! Though far to sea our fragile bark be driv'n; — Though o'er our heads the gather'd tempests roll, And life's last stay by winds and waves be riv'n — Thou, Faith, unluut, surviv'st, and point'st our thoughts to heav'n. Then, O my soul ! these bursting throes restrain, And fall, ye soiTow-streaming tears, no more. Moiu-n'd I erewhile to see a father's pain. Yet dare I, impious, his release deplore? O ye ! whose grief yet mingles with the dew Of heav'n's own tears — sad tribute of your love- Not to the gi'ave, sweet mourners, bound j-our view. But O ! let Piety the veil remove. And shew your ravish'd sight — there is a heav'n above. JULIA'S COTTAGE. Sweet seat of innocence and peace, May thy pure joys know no decrease ! May Plenty still with thee abide ; And Health at each repast preside ! May scowling Care ne'er lift thy latch; Nor Envy dwell beneath thy thatch ! What foretaste of a bliss divine Would chai-m each sense, were Julia mine ! With joy I'd hail her humble cot. Nor wish a more exalted lot : Let princes live in splendid state. And Pomp attend the rich and great; The bliss my bosom seeks to prove Is rural peace— with Julia's love. A A ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN BIRD, Wlio died in consequence of a fall from his horse, on his retTirn from Droitwich Annual Feast, 30th Sept., 1805. 1. Heard'st thou that bell ? its solemn sound Yet lingers in my ear; A gloom, unwonted, hangs around, And Pleasure, struck with awe profound. Stops in her wild career. II. Oh! 'twas Death's knell! for one it mug Whose mem'ry all hearts prize — Behold what thousands move along. Mute SoiTOW chaining ev'ry tongue — Tears gushing from all eyes! ELEG5f ON THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN BlRll. 187 III. No worldly int'rest now benumbs — No rage inflames the soul — Pure feeling reigns — those mournful drums Proclaim the sad procession comes With deep funereal roll. IV. For whom, for whom, thus freely fall Those tears of silent woe ? Whose fate from natures rude can call Such floods of giief to grace his pall ? Alas ! for Bird they flow. For Bird — who, Valor's darling son, His banner scarce unfurl'd, Promis'd bright Glory's course to run- But, ah ! untimely sets that sun Just rising on the world ! 1K8 ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN BIKD. VI. For him yon slowly-moviug train, Arrang'd with martial art, By duty summon'd, to the strain Of music sadly sweet, sustain Their melancholy part VII. Mourn, Patriots, moum ! your cause has lost A champion bold and brave — Oh ! if bright Honor e'er emboss'd Th' escutcheons of the patriot-host, I.et Honor deck his grave ! VIII. Wit's flown; and lifeless is that heart Where social virtues reign'd : In mirth, right fond to bear a part. His soul shone forth, devoid of art. Gay, noble, unresti-ain'd ! ELEGV ON THE DEATH OF CAI'TAJN BIRD. 189 IX. Alas ! Mirth's dimples are eras'd, And stopp'd is Laughter's breath : But now, in Momus' temple plac'd — His form the joyous banquet grac'd — That form lies stiflF in death ! Man's days are few, and soon depait — And life's best tenure's frail ; But when, from ambush aim'd, Death's dart, Invidious, strikes the youthful heart, Fear mingles with our wail. XI. But hence be dai"k despondence driv'n- Enslaver of the mind ! Come, Piety ! to thee is giv'n (Blest solace !) Confidence in Heav'n — Which all who seek shall find. DIRGE, PERFOKMED AT THE GRAVE OF HARLEQUIN. Here lies a youth, who, like a flow'r, Was late in gayest bloom aiTay'd ; But (cruel fate !) a rival's pow'r This blossom, like a frost, decay 'd. II. Love dwelt within his tender breast — His lov'd-one equal love return'd ; For both, with vows of faith, confess'd The flame that in their bosoms burn'd. DlKuK. I'M III. Alas ! how quickly woe succeeds The pleasures man enjoys on earth ! How soon that heart with anguish bleeds Which late was fill'd with joy and mirth ! IV. Ye lovers! let your bosoms swell With pity for Lorenzo's fate — Tom from his heart's belov'd, he fell A victim to a Rival's hate ! THE DEITY. FEOM PHILANDEB'S EPISTLE TO EUSEBIUS, IN BLANK VERSE. Rowe's Letters. O Pow'r .supreme ! Bright Excellence unknown ! All Nature's works thy gloiious being own — Through ev'rj' scene— through ev'ry fan- disguise Thou charm'st our souls— delight'st our wondring eyes. That rosy blush which blooms on Beauty's face; Those smiles seraphic, and that heav'nly grace, From Thee receive their charms— their conquering pow'rs- Amidst the blessings which thy bounty show'rs ! Borne on the balmy breezes of the west, In Spring's soft fragrance is thy pow'r confess'd— From Thee Arabia all her sweets exhales; Thou foi-m'st the hills, and deck'st the fertile vales. THE DEITY. I'ja Whatever channs to dulcet strains belong — Whether like those by old Timotheus sung — The soul with love's soft throbs the sounds inspire, Attune to pity, or with vengeance fire; — 'Tis Thou giv'st inspiration to the whole. And wak'st the music that inthrals the soul. But oh ! Great Source of Glory ! who can tell Those wondrous beauties which all thought excel ? — Beauties which never mortal eye yet saw, Nor Fancy, in her boldest flight, could draw. Yet from Thy Glory shine some glimm'ring rays, Whose light oft cheers us through the world's dark maze ; Some soft celestial voice our hopes inspires, Invites our souls, and kindles wann desires — Hopes and desires that, with a boundless flight, Break through the gloom of soul-absorbing night, And seek thy presence in the Realms of Light ! B B THE ROSE. Sweet blushing rose, that bloom'st so gay On yon impervious thom, Ere long thou'lt droop and fade away — Or from thy stalk be torn ! II. Unconscious flow'r ! whose fragrant breath Thy op'ning buds exhale, Knew'st thou each blast were big with death, Sure /ear would make thee pale. THE ROSE. 195 III. Just semblance of all human state ! In youth's bright sunshine warm, Like thee, we dread no change of fate. Nor heed the wint'ry storm. IV. And, lo! in manhood's blooming prime. Heart-blighting griefs decay; Or, wither'd by the hand of Time, Like thee, we die away. ANOTHEIl. See yonder llow'r, fair Nature's pride, Whose tints reflect the ray of morn, With roseate channs, expanding wide, Seems proud of beauties newly born. II. Vainly it lifts its blushing crest, And round it balmy odour flings — While each young flow'ret shuns the test. And shrinks with envy as it springs! ANOTUKK. 1!I7 III. Yet, all ! this flow'r, so proudly gay, Unmatcli'd in all the chequer'd vale, Whose sweets compose the breath of May — Whose charms all eyes with pleasure hail ; IV. This darling gem of Nature's birth. Ere long, when blighting night-storms fly, Nipt in its bloom, will shrink to earth, And, like the puny wild-flow'r, die. Then let, vain man ! its fate convey A lesson to tliy wayward he£^rt: O think, lest pride should lead astray, How life and all its dreams depart. THE CHILD OF SORROW. How blest are they of health possess'd, Content and peace of raind ! Beyond the sons of greatness blest — Such bliss they rarely find. II. Ah me ! that I so long should feel Affliction's iron hand ! Such constant grief, that Fortune's wlieel Seems wearied to a stand. III. Now, when strong youth, with spirits gay, Should animate my frame, I, in life's prime and eai'ly day, Know health hut hi/ ila name. THK CHILD OK SORROW. 199 IV. And 'neath dark Melancholy's pow'r, I mope as one forlorn; And, impious, rue my natal hour — And weep that I was bom ! While village swains, at day's decline, Their rural gambols play, Instead of joy, despair is mine — I, sighing, turn away — VI. And seek, alone, some deep retreat, To commune with my grief; And ponder man's unhappy state In ev'ry falling leaf. VII. The bird that pours its warbling throat Near yon sequester'd grot. But mocks me with its cheerful note, And bids me shun the spot. 200 I'HE CHILD OF SOUKOW. VIII. Though smiling Nature robes each field, And blossoms on each tree, Her gaily-lavish'd beauties yield No joy, alas ! to mc. IX. Uncheer'd, I view the bright sun rise, Or paint with gold the west ; His glories lighter hearts may prize — • They cannot soothe my breast. Joy's not for me — no cheering ray Bespeaks a happier mon-ow : Time but confirms me, each new day, The ill-staiT'd " Child of Soitow." INVOCATION TO PEACE. WRITTEN DURING THE FltEXCH WAR. Come, Peace, fail' goddess ! with benignant sway, Spread thy bright influence o'er a wearied land; Let War no longer nile the troubled day, Nor bleeding Love mourn Honor's stem command; Oh ! let content, the cottage inmate, smile, And sweet Affection shelter from the stoiTa ; And, freed from perils, or from bondage vile. Oh ! let the warrior rest his mangled fonn! c c 202 INVOCATION TO PEACE. II. Come, niral transports! joys that quiet yields ! For ever, ah ! for ever, could I stray Where lovely Nature clothes the ripen'd fields. And her gay songsters chant their merry lay : For there, unsever'd by the hand of War, United love would bless the joyous vale; — Hymen, instead of Mars, would mount the cai', And sounds of concord float on cv'ry gale. III. Nor are thy blessings, bounteous Peace! confin'd To scenes where Love and rural Nature smile: Commerce would spread her sails to ev'ry wind, And Trade,* once more, invigorate our isle. Come, tlien, blest nymph! and rule each passing hour! Oh! cherish all that love to cherish thee — Let tyrant War forego his ruthless pow'r, And Discord's blasts be lull'd to melody. * The reverse was the case. On the return of Peace, trade droopeJ more than ever, so that many regretted the termination of the War. Government tried to console the country, by declaring that the depression was the natural consequence of a " transition from War to Peace." The depression, however, proved of long continuance ; and, even now, in the fourteenth year of general Peace, thei-e are who look back, w ith regi-et, to the time of War as a season, when trade most flourished. But we are a " nation" of grumblers, as well as " sliopkeepers ;" and never happier than when we have something to find faialt with in the "state of affairs;" or can, with the least appearance of reason, indulge in the comfortable prognostic oi general ruin and national bankruptcy. ELECTION PROMISES; OR, THE EXCISE ASPIRANT. 1829. "Election Promises!" pshaw! what's their worth? Mark how my lord to the guU'd voter bends — To gain your suffrage, not a slave on earth Is more submissive to his "ies< of friends!" 11. Most candidates, like Hamlet's player-queen, "Protest too much" — yet cred'lous fools exclaim, " Oh, but they'll keep their word !" truhj, I ween. As does that royal and protesting dame. III. Once on a time, some duke a cause espous'd, \^^lich, by a casting-vote was nicely won ; The great man's gratitude at once was rous'd, And bursts of joy confess'd the service done. 204 ELECTION promises; or, the excise aspirant. IV. The casting voter in his arms he press'd — " O my dear friend ! I love you — love you dearly — What can I do for you ? name some request ! Whate'er it be, Vis yours — I speak sincerely." Th' astonish'd burgess, freed from his embrace, Paus'd to recover breath — then thus replied : " Why, yes — one favor — I would ask your grace" — " Speak !" cried the duke, " it shall not be denied.'' VI. " May't please your gracious grace, then, in our town Dwells an Exciseman who is weak with age; Humbly I crave — that, when he's dead and gone, I may succeed him — and take up his gauge." VII. "You shall — by pow'rs immaculate I swear! And would the man were dead and buried now, StiflF as his stick ! — when he's defunct, repair. Forthwith, to claim performance of my vow. ELECTION PROMISES^ OR, THE EXCISE ASPIRANT. 20o VIII. " Demand to see me, be it night or day, Or whether I am sleeping or awake ; In country or at court — free is your way — Council shall be suspended for your sake. IX. " Free ingress you shall have to any place — No rule or custom shall have force t' opjjose it; Nay, I will order you shall have access E'en to the sanctum of the Royal Closet. " Nought to so kind a friend shall be denied." The duke and freeman now shook hands, and parted. In a sho)-t sjjace the ag'd Exciseman died — For London, straight, the picas'd plebeian started; XI. And to that quarter, Downing-street yclept, He hied — and reach'd about the midnight hour ; Where his sojourn the noble statesman kept Beset with cares — the plagues of place and pow'r. 206 ELECTION promises; or, the excise aspirant. XII. Rumor prevailing that the Spanish King Had well-nigh clos'd his mortal life's career, The duke a courier had dispatch'd, to bring First tidings of what much he long'd to heai-. XIII. U'hy he should wish the King of Spain deceas'd Is foreign to my tak-— nor know nor care I; But, true it is, Ids grace had been well pleas'd To send his Cath'lic Kingship to Old Harry. XIV. And so "devoutly" hop'd that "consummation," "If that same messenger return," he said, " At dead of night, waiving all form and station. Let him have audience with me — though in bed. XV. That night, that very night, oin- freeman came, Secure the promis'd interview to gain — The servants of the duke ask'd not his name Or bus'ness— i/{/'«f/ him Ihr man from Spain. ELECTION promises; OR, THE EXCISE ASPIRANT. '207 XVI. Into the chamber of his gi-ace he bounc'd — " He's dead ! he's dead !" he cried, " my lord, he's dead!" The duke, right joj'ous thus to hear announc'd His hope's fulfilment, rose erect in bed. XVII. " Thank God ! thank God !" he cried, " and thank thee, too, For tliese glad tidings — say, when did he die ?" " Last night, my gracious lord !" " Last night, man ! pooh ! Excuse my freedom, friend — but that's a lie. xvni. " Baut'ring apart, cume tell me when he died?" " Last night, my lord, from earthly sorrow freed him; And now I come to claim, with honest pride. Your grace's promise that I shall succeed him !" XIX. " Succeed liim ! Thou! Thou, King of Spain, indeed! Acquaint me, royal sir, with your pretensions?" The freeman star'd — "my lord, I would succeed Th' Exciseman— not the King your lordship mentions." 208 ELECTION promises; or, the excise aspirant. XX. " Ah ! curse thine impudence, I know thee now, Thou scurvy, base-born, most ill-manner'd fellow ! Out of my sight ! nor ever dare to shew Thy d d face here again !" — with that, the pillow, XXI. Right in th' astonish'd voter's face, he threw, Ungoveni'd wrath distorting ev'ry feature — Nay, from its hiding place, 'tis said, he drew A missile of a harder, brittler, nature ; XXII. But that th' affrighted visitor escap'd, Effecting a precipitate retreat ; And cursing, as his homeward course he shap'd, The vain, unstable, friendship of the great. XXIII. My tale is at its close. The duke, growing cool, (A very placable, if not a ivise, man,) Laugh'd at the cred'lous voter for a fool — And made \am,fur the jokers sake — An Exciseman! A CONUNDRUM. Says Harry to Tom, in a jocular mood, " Come, tell me, my friend, if you're witty, Wliy a chandler's best deeds can't be said to be good, And why he's deserving mir pity ?" Tom guesses— and guesses. Cries Harry, " O thickhead ! Thou never \nll solve it ai'ight — Wliy are not the works of a chandler, sir, — icickcd ? And do not his deeds — come to light ?" D D DAYLIGHT'S WELCOME. "Wish.'d raorning's come." — Otway. I. When through the long dark night we lie Restless — and cannot sleep at all, How oft we look, with wishful eye, For day's first glimm'ring on the wall ! II. When pain attends our thorny couch, And pray'rs for sleep are fruitless all, It soothes to view the mom's approach — Daylight's first glimm'ring on the wall. III. Bless'd dawn ! thy welcome still prevails, When, prompt at pleasure's joyous call, Th' expectant school-hoy, watchful, hails Daylight's first glimm'ring on the wall. daylight's welcome. 211 IV. It still prevails, when, pledg'd to meet His lady-love in bridal hall, The joyfiil lover wakes to greet Daylight's first glimm'ring on the wall. \Mio has not felt, through night's dark hours, Oppressive fears his mind inthi-al ? And, sleep denied, what hahn restores Like day's fii-st glimm'ring on the wall ? VI. Dread fancies lise — of murd'rers, thieves. Or goblins — 'neath night's murky pall ; But ev'iy idle terror leaves When day first glimmers on the wall. VII. Our wearied pow'rs then find repose — And balmy sleep, tir'd Nature's call. Obeys at length — our eyes unclose To (lai/'s hrlijht mnshinc on the wall ! THE VILLAGE ROSE. I. Would you behold a rose more fair Than e'er adorn'd th' enamell'd vale — More fragrant than the morning air, Whose dews the sweets of Spring exhale- Ah ! see, in yonder native glade, Unblighted by the Winter's stonn, A Rose — the village boast and pride — In gentle Delia's angel form ! THE VILLAGE ROSE. 213 II. Blest be the fertile soil that rear'd A flow'r so blooming, sweet, and gay ! By many a vernal sun-beam cheer'd, Long may those charms escape decay ! Yet fain would I ti'ansplant this flow'r, (Still dreading every blast that blows,) To spread delight around my bow'r, And shield from harm the " Village Rose." in. There, Delia, would I mark each year Unfold thy op'ning buds to view; And, shouldst thou droop, a gentle tear Should cheer thee lite the morning dew; And when at last Time's stealing hours Bereave thee of thy roseate bloom. And Death decays the pride of flow'rs, I'd, pining, share my Delia's doom. LINES ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND. No bliss so pure but subject to alloy, And sudden giief too often damps our joy. With this design — to try the human heart — The gods decreed that dearest friends should jjart ; Man, else, would slight the end for which he lives — Flush'd with the joys that social Friendship gives. O, then, mjfrietid ! — for such I finow thou ai-t — Though Fate's stem mandate dooms us now to part. Yet may old Time (and rapid be his flight. As when fond hearts their fervent vows first plight. And youthful dalliance wings the hours of night,) Bring forth the moment we again may meet, Unchang'd in Friendship — and with bliss replete ! LINES ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND. 215 O Absence ! proof of Friendship's sacred flame ! When chill'd by thee, what's friendship but a name ? Men then but court ihe favors of a friend, And absent moments ev'ry bond suspend, 'Till, like the sun, returning pow'r he sways. And they, like insects, bask beneath his rays. O vile Deceit ! base counterfeit of Truth ! — Whose smiles decoy the guileless heart of Youth — Whose tongue oft makes experienc'd Age believe — And who, when known, leav'st Youth and Age to grievej- How many bosoms throb beneath thy reign — How many friends are only friends to gain ! Sincerity's unfeign'd and constant flame No change allows, but ever bums the same ; Though between Friendship's vot'ries seas may roll, Each still is present to the other's soul; And should black Scandal, with malicious aim. Point at a friend, and stigmatize his name, To turn its weapons Friendship boldly fights — Th' undaunted champion of another's rights. SONNET. STo a Univ. And canst thou then suspect my ftvithful heart ? This heart wliich only throhs with love for you — And whilst it heats ■will never prove untrue ! Deep in its inmost core is fts'd the dart That Cupid shot, with well directed aim, Some twelve months past, when first I saw those eyes, Before whose lustre stoicism flies, And ev'ry hosom feels a rising flame ! Banish, oh! banish fi-om thy tender breast Those fears ohtmsive which the jealous know ; And trust me, fair one, of thy love possess'd, I ask no greater happiness below — For sure Elysium cannot be more blest, When lovers' joys from mutual passion flow! THE MAID OF THE WOOD. 3. Song. In a neat little cottage, the seat of content, ■WTiere the cares of the world ne'er intrude- Where nature excels all that art can invent, Dwells Mary the Maid of the Wood. II. Her face is angelic, and graceful her mien; Her mind, too, is pious and good : A nymph so enchanting sure never was seen, As Mary the Maid of the Wood. E E 218 THE MAID OF THE WOOD. HI. In the forest I met her one mom with her sire, As beside him she carried his food — She blush'd — and that instant my bosom caught fire From the channs of the Maid of the Wood. IV. If, by love's inspiration, I've pow'r to persuade, (Though the world scorn a purpose so good,) To the Altar of Hymen I shortly will lead Sweet Mary the Maid of the Wood. THE RUSTIC FACTION. si JSallatr, founijfD oniFatts. The following "Ballad" is desci-iptive of two mm-dei-s which were commilted ia the parish of OdJuigley, in the county of Worcester; the first on the 24th. of June, 1806; and the second on the day following. Concerning the latter, the facts did not transpire until the month of Januaiy in the present yeai% 1830, and then in the extraordinary manner described. During that iutei-val (almost tn-enty-four years,) the fate of the wretched victim (who was himself the pei-petrator of the first murder,) remained in obscurity. There was a suspicion, indeed, that he had fallen by violent hands; but it was merely suspicion — many persons believing an often-circulated report that he had escaped to America, and, consequently, might be still living. The following verses contain a faithful relation of facts sworn to, and, for the most part, first divulged, at the late Inquest; therefore, if truth be any recommendation to my Ballad, that it assui-edly possesses. Good neighbours! listen while I tell ('Tis truth inspires my ditty,) Of what at Oddingley befel, Near Wor'ster's pleasant city. 220 THE RISTIC FACTION. II. And though things strange have chanc'd since then Which claim the historic page ; And boys have grown to bearded men — And manhood sunk to age ; III. Though since fierce War has round the world His loudest clarion blown ; And kings have from their thrones been hurl'd, And Governments o'erthrown ; IV. Yet God's eternal justice see ! The murd'rer's deed transpires, Obvious, though late — by that decree Which " blood for blood " requires. V. O God! 'tis dreadful to behold A teacher of thy laws thirst and zealous more Than for thy sacred cause. Athirst and zealous more for gold THK RUSTIC FACTION. 221 VI. 'Tis sad to see a Christian pastor, Forgetful of Ms station, Shame his long-suff'ring, heav'nly Master, With broils and litigation. VII. Woe to the man who weekly preaches " Peace and good-will on earth," Yet acts as if the truths he teaches Were fedse, or nothing worth ! VIII. Is such the pastor of his flock, ■\Miose care is well-bestow'd ? Yes — as the wolfs, whose howlings shock The scar'd and fleecy crowd. IX. Sucli did the men of Oddingley Their ill-starr'd Rector deem — (1) Extortion, tithes, and tyranny Were still their dailv theme. 222 THE RUSTIC FACTION. X. Though Nature o'er their smiling fields Her rich luxuriance pours, They're thankless for th' increase she yields Their decimated stores. XI. Sour discontent, still day by day, On labor's footsteps waits, Making life gall — for Mordecai Still hov'reth at their gates ! XII. The house of pray'r, too, they forsook, (2) (Save when they cavill'd loud, In vestry met,) nor op'd that Book ^Vhence comfort might have flow'd. XIII. And one there was, whom I could name, In rank and fortune higher Than the base hinds — and more to blame — Who faun'd this coal of lire. THE RUSTIC FACTION. 223 XIV. From discontent and murmurings deep Loud threat'uings now arose — Fierce as the storm, whose ocean-sweep Wrecks all that interpose. XV. And, oh ! let Christian eyes be dim With pity, when I say — They proflfer'd a reward for him Who should their Rector slay ! XVI. 'Twas Midsummer — the day was fair — Bright shone the sun around — Rich fragrance fiU'd the ambient air — Soft verdure deck'd the ground — XVII. Oh ! 'twas a heav'nly day — and well Might heav'nly feelings move : Meet day to make man's bosom swell With tenderness and love. 224 THF. RUSTIC FACTION. XVIIl. Was day so glorious set apart For deed of guilt and blood ? O guile of hell! — that steels the heai-t Against surrounding good. XIX. Beneath yon green and blossom'd fence The lurking murd'rer crawls ! (3) The gun he points — death issues thence - Th' unconscious Rector falls ! XX. The cruel deed no human ej'e Saw, save th' assassin's own — But, by the sound alarm'd, drew nigh Two trav'lers from the town. XXI. The ruffian fled — the men pursu'd, And gain'd upon him fast — 'Till, threat'ning sore, the mur'drer stood- And then they quail'd at last. TOE RUSTIC FACTION. 22o XX 11. " Lay finger on me, and, by hell ! That instant both shall die ! Lo ! I have weapons — and 'twere well You act advisedly." XXIII. Th e cravens tum'd — and far away The villain sped amain — Nor in the light of open day Was ever seen again. XXIV. Now far and wide swift Rumor runs — Rous'd Justice waves on high Her glitt'ring sword — her mynnidons Around the country fly. XXV. Deep woods are search'd, and cavem'd rocks, And eke, the haunts of men — In vain! pursuit tlje murd'rer mocks, Secure within his den. F F 22G THE RUSTIC FACTION. XXVI. Suspicion's dark and scowling eye Long on the faction glanc'd — Most on its claief (4) — no scrutiny Justice's fair cause advanc'd. XXTII. Thus spake Surmise — " The wretch has sped Far on the trackless main — Or by self-violence is dead — Or by confed'rates slain." XXVIII. The strangest thing's a nine days' wonder Loud tempests soon subside — And this deed's noise, like distant thunder, Now roll'd away — and died. XXIX. Good neighbours ! once again draw near — My harp resumes its strain 5 Would you of darker doings hear^ €ome, listen once again. THE RUSTIC FACTION. XXX. 227 Now down the rapid tide of Time Eventful years had roll'd, And nought transpir'd of that foul crime More than the muse has told. XXXI. The mstic faction, one by one, Their ancient homes had left ; Some changes sad had undergone — Of worldly gear bereft. XXXII. Fall'n were their fortunes and their pride — They mov'd as men forlorn ; Foredoom'd of heav'n— " their cattle died, And blighted was their corn.'' XXXIII. Theii- captain, too, (so men avouch,) Sought, yet could find no rest — Though he died old, his dying couch No ray of comfort bless'd. 228 THE RUSTIC FACTION. XXXIV. Ill thoughts to drown, he deeply quaff'd Th' intoxicating bowl ; But madness curs'd the ft-equent draught, And horror fill'd his soul. XXXV. God's wrath was on them day and night ! Justice, earth-bom, is blind; But, oh ! from His all-searching sight What soul can refuge find ! XXXVI. Yet think not blood, by murder spilt, Earth-clods will aye conceal — Mark how the hidden deed of guilt Sti'ange chance may yet reveal ! XXXVII. I've said, as men oppress'd with shame. Most of the faction pass'd To other homes — fresh tenants came — And quiet reign'd at last. THE nUSTIC FACTION. 22J) XXXVIII. With lapse of years, (twenty-and-three Had vanish'd since that day Of blood, and guilt, and mystery,) Buildings, like men, decay. XXXIX. An ancient bam, whose shatter'd plight A decent farm disgrac'd, (5) Useless, at once, and rude to sight, Was destin'd to be raz'd. XL. The farm in fonner times was till'd By a stout yeoman bold. Who, "jocund, drove his team a-tield," And own'd a well-stock'd fold. XLI. Happy, 'till that unhappy time When fierce dissentions i-ose, Ending in Murder's awful crime- Then fled his soul's repose. 230 THE RUSTIC FACTION. XLII. He droop'd, an alter'd, broken, man, Cowering 'neath human eyes. Like one guilt-stain' d — so gossip ran — But who on such relies ? XLIII. TJie lam ivas raz'd — the lab'rer's (6) spade* Had gain'd two feet i'th' ground. When a strange sight his heart dismay 'd — Mark what the delver found — XLIV. A human skeleton ! of size Full-grown, and well-defin'd. Anon, fresh wonders to liis eyes Appear, and bring to mind XLV. A kinsman, long time lost! for, see! What damning proofs occur — These shoes were his! But who was he ? The Rector's murderer!!! THE RUSTIC FACTION. 231 XLVI. " And, here, (the awe-struck laborer said,) This joiner's rule, thus broken, I'd swear upon my dying-bed, Was his — 'twas friendship's token." XLVII. Proofs thicken'd fast. The Coroner A solemn court array'd — Justice again was on the stir — Numerous arrests were made — XLVIII. And he — that "alter'd, broken, man" — Was seiz'd among the rest: With bloodless lip, and visage wan. The culprit thus confess'd : XLIX. " My name is Clewes — small was my part In that atrocious deed, The Rector's murder ; yet, (break heart !) Soul-sunk, I guilty plead. '2:}2 THE RI'STIC FACTION. " Guilty — because I knew full well What fiercer men desigii'd : Monsters — more fit to league with hell, Than aught of human kind ! LI. " For him, whose bones are newly rais'd From their unhallow'd tomb, I saw him slain ! My heart, amaz'd, Revolted at his doom. LII. " I saw the murd'rer's soul of guilt Forth from its temple rent By murd'rous hands — I no blood spilt — I knew not their intent. LIII. • " No— though I've quail'd 'neath sin, and woe, And shame — these hands are free From human blood : th' assassin's blow Was never aim'd by me. THE RtSTIC FACTION. 233 LIV. " 'Twas on the moiTow of that day (Day of eternal stain !) Which saw — what good men must dismay- A Christian pastor slain ! " Saw the green turf, smiling i'th' sun, With Christian blood besprent, Drain'd by the hireling hands of one On damning lucre bent. Lvr. " 'Twas on the morrow of that day I met our faction's head, (Fit leader in hell's darkest way !) When thus th' arch tempter said : LVII. " ' He's lurking yonder — we, his friends, His quick escape must aid; Our safety upon his depends — Shun him — and we're betray'd. G G 234 THE RUSTIC FACTION. LVIII. " ' He must be car' d for — and this night, When dark, dispatcKdfrom hence — First having, to support his flight, His well-earned recompense. LIX. "'We must be prompt — 'till midnight, Clewes, Thy bam must be his lair; I know no fitter place to choose — At midnight meet me there!' LX. '* My promise (wretch !) I render'd him, And kept — with midnight came The captain, and a man with grim Dark visage, and stout frame ; (7) LXI. " There was another, too — a youth, Muffled (8) — the captain bore A lantern, darken'd — and, in sooth, Murd'rers we seem'd all four. THE RUSTIC FACTION. 235 LXII. " The barn we enter'd: silence there Reign'd — save that round the light The hat his dark wings flapp'd in fear, And wheel'd his circling flight. LXIII. " Low spake the captain — ' Richard, rise ! Rise, man! art thou awake?' ' Yes, sir !' (9)— the death-doom'd wretch replies- ' Up, then, for safety's sake ! LXIV. " ' Ere morning's dawn thou must away — Thy course secure is made : For thy good work of yesterday We owe thee all our aid. LXV. " ' Up, then ! the bloodhounds of the law Are out, and hunt thee hard — Come, i-ouse thee from that bed of straw. And take thy just reward !' 236 THE RUSTIC FACTION. LXVI. " Just God ! 'twas then that dark stout man, By the base captain led, Forth on their uprous'd victim ran — And struck him instant dead ! (10) LXVII. " Forthwith they dug his hasty grave In that unhallow'd place — Theirs only was the deed — so save My soul, O God of Grace ! LXVIII. " Thus far, alone, I guilty plead. In lab 'ring to conceal All vestige of that cruel deed (II) — I sioore rd not reveal. LXIX. "I deem'd the 'muffled youth,' I knew — If wrong, may Truth atone For Error! — the far guiltier two Are to God's Judgment gone! THE RISTIC FACTION. 237 LXX. " Now, though, with other's acts compar'd. Mine was a minor part, Yet long has conscious sin home hard And heavily on my heart. LXXI. " Around my restless couch, at night. Fierce hideous spectres glare, 'Midst gi-oans, and shiieks of wild affright- Oh ! all hell's pangs are there ! LXX II. " You've heard me now the truth relate, And you have heard the whole — Aid me, O God, to meet my fate — Have mercy on my soul!" (12) NOTES. (1) This character, however, ought not, injustice, to be applied to the Eev. Mr. Parker, the Rector here alluded to. He was a man of whom the poor spoke well; but, unhappily, offended his parishioners by collecting his tithes. (2) They also expressed a desire that their servants would avoid going to Chui-ch, 238 NOTES. (3) Richard Heming, a joiner, who was frequently employed by Captain Evans, of Odilingley. (4) Captaiu Evans, before mentioned. (5) Netherwood Fai-m, in the parish of Oddingley, at the time of the murder in the occupation of Thomas Clevves. (()) Chai'les Burton, a cai-penter, and brother-in-law to Heming. (7) James Taylor, farrier, of Droitwich*. (8) George Baiikes, as sworn by Clewes, but denied by Bankes — Bankes was then a very young man in the service, or under the protection of the Captain. (9) His literal answer, and the last words he spoke. (10) Taylor struck him on the head with a bloodstiek, an instrument used by farriers. (11) He carried soil, (by desire of the Captain,) to make the ground level where the unfortunate man was buried. (12) At the time the above verses were written, the trial of the accused persons had not taken place. Contrary to the general expectation, they are all now at large, — no longer answerable to any tribunal, save that of an All- righteous Judge who searches the hearts of men, and whei-e no legal subtlety will prevail. Against Bankes, and a i)erson of the name of Barnett, an opulent farmer, who was apprehended as having a guilty knowledge of the tragical transactions described, no bill was found. A law, in being at the time of those mui-ders, but since wisely repealed, which decreed that, in the event of the principal's escape, no accessary should be amenable, was allowed to operate in their favor: Bankes and Barnett, therefore, were not put upon theii- trial. Clewes, evidently most deeply implicated, was placed at the bar ; but, eventally, was acquitted: partly under the operation of the old law regarding accessaries, and partly from the fact of his confession having been made under a promise, dii-ect or implied, that efforts shoidd be used to screen him from the penalty of his guilt. UnhappUy, neither of the accused was discharged on proof of his innocence — no such proof apjjeai'ing. In conclusion, I cannot refrain from adverting to an oecuiTence which in- duced me to believe that I met Heming on the evening of the murder, a few hours after the peiiietration of the diabolical act. My friends, who resided in the neighbourhood, and to whom I related the cii-cum'stance, were decidedly of the same opinion. I was proceeding from Pirton-Coramon to Worcester, where, about ten o'clock at night, and at that point of the lane whence there is a branch cartway to Whittington, I was accosted in the following singular manner:— I must obsei-ve that, though it was not (as FalstaiF says,) " so dark you could not see your hand, " yet the shades of evening so far obscm-ed my vision as to prevent my seeing the man who addressed me — more especially as he happened to be on the contrary side of the hedge to myself. With a glow- worm upon my hat, (emblem of the biilliant coruscations of fancy which were playing around my brain — for it was my season of couitship,) I was silently pursuing my way along the fields— the stranger was in the lane. After hailing me abruptly, in the language of an ill-bred rustic, he proceeded to inform me that there was strange news abroad — "Somebody (said he,) has murdered the parson at Oddingley." Not giving implicit credit to the information, and knowing noUiing of the reverend person alluded to, I carelessly answered — NOTES. 239 "Indeed! and who has murdered him?" This, simple and uatui-al enough, interrogatory threw my infonnant into a sudden paroxysm of rage, as starthng as it was unexpected : he applied to me every epithet of \iolent and vulgai- abuse — which might (as I then believed,) have temiinated in personal assaidt, perhaps murder, if I had not departed, with all speed, from his dangerous vicinity. In my flight, and about two fields distant, I well-nigh stumbled against an oSicer's servant, who, asleep or intoxicated, was resting his head upon a gate. There was sufficient light to enable me to see that he wore a laced hat, witb a miUtary cockade. Facts, which afterwards transpued, led me, in the aptitude of conjecture, to this conclusion — iindouhledhj the man in livery was the scrrant of Captain Evans ! 'UTiat strengthened the supposition that Heming was tlie person who accosted me, was the fact of bis having been seen at Whittington that same night;, joined to the no less remarkable coiToboration — his well-known intimacy with some cottagers in the neighbouihood of the place of encounter, whose houses were searched the day after. His apprizing me of the murder, we ascribed to the overflowing of a perturbed conscience, oftentimes unneeessaiily communicative and loquacious. His subsequent \iolence, also, we considered equally demonstrative of a guilty conscience, ungovernably sensitive at the slightest touch. After all, the real truth of the matter may be very remote from the inferences di'awn by myself and friends; and Heming, horribly guilty as he was, touching the rude attack upon mtj nerves above described, may be white as snow. But the violence of the man who was my gi'atuitous infonnant was certainly remarkable ; and, in a person not implicated in the bloody transaction, quite unaccountable. A SONG. Tune : " Where shall the lover rest?" Now is my cash all spent, And I'm in debt yet, For monies to me lent, And goods on credit. Oh ! which way shall I turn For consolation ? How that best wisdom learn- Calm resignation ? Pockets empty Scarce exempt me From desperation ! A SONG. 241 II. Where does the error lie ? Error tremendous ! From such misfortunes, I Pray heav'n defend us! I must retrench, that's plain ! How? 'sdeath! I'm furious! Don't I e'en now abstain From things luxurious ? Oh ! what miser Can he wiser? — I'm quite penurious ! III. Then there's no hope for me ! None I can 'spy yet; Debt, duns, and poverty Must mar my quiet ! Ill health, (that greatest curse !) Mental and bodily. Still will make matters worse, 'Till 'neath the sod I lie ! Hope bereft me What is left me— But with my God to be ! H H VERSES TO A YOUNG LADY, ACCOMPANYING A SMALL PRESENT. As a token of love, though the boon is but small, Oh! deign to accept what I proffer; And could I, fair angel, lost treasure recall, Something else would I instantly offer. II. But, ah ! that same boon I so freely would give, Were it mine to bestow — would you prize it ? Or would you disdain my poor gift to receive ? Ah ! no — surely Pity denies it. VERSES TO A YOUNG LADY. 243 III. And Reason declares — what I fear to reveal, Though my breast fondly throbs with the notion — That you'd surely accept what you scom'd not to steal, And Love quickly seconds the motion. IT. But, ah! since you've stolen my heart quite away, Of that I can ne'er be the giver — Accept, then, this trifle — nor doubt, when I say I'll love and adore you for ever! AN ADMONITORY ADDRESS TO MY CHILDREN. All jjleasures else I'd freely give, At home in love and peace to live ; To have no jars, Nor infant wars, To mar the joys Of home with noise; To know no ire Beside our fire, Whose evening-gleam Should shew the heam Of fondness dart Pure from the heart, Through the dear eyes Of those I prize — Each on the other; Sister and brother, Father and mother ! How sweet would be , Such harmony ! AN ADMONITORY ADDRESS. 245 Thus to improve Each hour with love ; To read the page Of moral sage; Or with gay talk Dull care to balk, And all the foes Of sweet repose! My children dear, Good counsel hear ! Oh! put your ti'ust In th' All-wise and just — Whose boundless view Kens all you do! To whose searching eye Hearts open lie, And ev'ry thought With which they're fraught, Wicked or good, By Him they're view'd. And duly noted — Thence to be quoted 246 AN ADMONITORY ADDRESS. At that Great Doom When Chiist shall come — That dreadful day, When the world's awful Judge will say : " Go, miserable sinners, go To torturing, endless, flames below ; There with the fall'n for ever dwell — Hopeless inhabitants of hell!" But, to the good — Those who've withstood The snai-es of ill, And done His will ; Lov'd sister and brother, Obey'd father and mother; Never quarrell'd, or rated. Nor soul ever hated ; Nor swore, nor lied. Nor swell'd with pride; Who duly pray'd To God for aid; Nor sabbath broke, But bore the yoke Of Sorrow's load, AN ADMONITORY ADDRESS. 247 Resign'd and good — To such, that awful day, Thus will th' Almighty Ruler say: — "Come, children of love! To my Kingdom above — Here a gloiious reward For your truth is prepar'd ! Open wide Heaven's gates ; Let the loud trumpets sounding, And hosannas abounding, To myriads around, TeU the triumph that waits Those who faithful are found ! Blessed flock! enter in, Freed from death — void of sin! Here shall Virtue survive, And eternally thrive ! Envious foe here shall never Impede good endeavour, Or for mastery strive! Here Pleasure shall reign Unalloy'd — without stain — For ever and ever !'' 248 AN ADMONITOllV ADDRESS. And to those who once swerv'd, But his cause have since serv'd ; Repenting each fault Of act, word, and thought — Recall'd from bad ways. By the pow'r of true Grace, To them will be giv'n A welcome to Heav'n; He hath said it — whose word Never chang'd — never eiT'd ! Then may sinners repent While yet they've time lent — Take grace — and delay not — To-morrow they may not ! And, dear children ! be wise, Take a Father's advicej Dwell together in peace and in love ; Learn to bear And forbear; You will have reward here, But far greater in mansions above. J. HENDERSON, PRINTER, MARKET-STREET. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. lOM-1 1-50 29551470 REMINGTON RAND I N C . ZO UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 367 414