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 PAGE 
 
 THE TRENT 3 
 
 TO THOS. J. CANTRELL, ESQ 28 
 
 MOONLIGHT •■ 29 
 
 SILENCE 30 
 
 SONNET 31 
 
 AUTUMN 32 
 
 SONNET 33 
 
 THE SABBATH 34 
 
 THE SNOWDROP 35 
 
 SONNET 36 
 
 REMPSTONE GROVE 37 
 
 THE HAREBELL f.. ... 38 
 
 CHILDHOOD'S LOVE ... 40 
 
 OH ! SPARE OUR LOVED ONES YET 42 
 
 LAST WISHES 44 
 
 ON SPRING 47 
 
 TO A LADY AT NEEDLEWORK 49 
 
 WOMAN 50 
 
 TO THE TRENT 52 
 
 FRAGMENTS 55 
 
 MORN ON WATERLOO 58 
 
 THE WHITE DEER 61 
 
 NOTES 67
 
 IKUrefions. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 KING'S NEWTON HALL 6 
 
 HOLY WELL S 
 
 WESTON CLIFF 12 
 
 BOAT HOUSE/ DONINGTON CLIFF 52 
 
 OLD OAK TREE IN DONINGTON PARK 64
 
 TO THE 
 
 LADY EDITH MAUD ABNEY HASTINGS, 
 
 Madam, 
 
 If an offering is to be estimated according to its 
 magnitude or value, I should scarcely have ventured to solicit the 
 honor of dedicating this httle Volume to your Ladyship. But 
 since it is not, but rather on account of the sincerity with which 
 it is offered, I have no hesitation in throwing this simple wreath 
 at your feet, although the flowers of which it is composed consist 
 merely of the daisy or the primrose. With a work wdiich treats 
 upon the river Trent and the woods of Donington, the name of 
 Hastings seems to have special connexion. 
 
 Ancient as the oaks beneath whose shadow it has so 
 long dwelt — seated, as it has been, upon the very brink of the 
 Trent — the noble family of Hastings seems closely allied with the 
 scenes and objects which form the principal subject of the 
 following Poems. Added to these circumstances, is the fact, that
 
 amidst the scenes described and refen*ed to your Ladyship spent 
 some of your earhest years ; and it may naturally be supposed 
 that with them are connected many pleasant associations. To you, 
 then, respectfully, and, I feel sm-c, appropriately, I dedicate this 
 humble verse. 
 
 That your Ladyship may long live to retain that respect 
 which you have inspired by the exercise of "the vu'tucs which 
 adorn," and "the charities which sweeten life," is the sincere wish 
 of him who 
 
 Has the honour to subscribe himself, 
 
 Madam, 
 
 Your Ladyship's most Humble and 
 
 Veiy obedient Sei-vant, 
 
 THE AUTHOE.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The following Poems have appeared in various publi- 
 cations. The " Sonnet," called " Silence," was originally published 
 in the "Sun" newspaper, edited by Kent. It was afterwards 
 copied into a standard work called " Beautiful Poetry," compiled 
 by the editors of "The Critic." The Sonnet caUed "Autumn" 
 appeared in "Hood's Magazine," and the remaining Pieces in 
 various provincial newspapers. The flowers — if flowers they may 
 be called — which have bloomed on various soils are now gathered 
 into a wreath. 
 
 The view of the Boat-house at Donington Cliff, and 
 an Oak Tree, gi'owing in Donington Park, are copied, by 
 permission, from photographic drawings taken by W. A. Warwick, 
 Esq., and published by Mr. Keene, Irongate, Derby. The 
 wood cuts are executed by my friend Llewellynn Jewett, Esq., 
 F.S.A., a suflicient guarantee for their excellence. The title-page 
 was designed and executed at the establishment of my esteemed 
 friend and quondam master, the publisher, W. Bemrose of Derby. 
 
 King's Newton, Swarkeston, Derby.
 
 tB^f t^vml 
 
 A DESCRIPTIVE POEM, 
 
 ^^ij|M)IS eve — 'tis gentle eve — that calm, sweet hour, 
 g;^^ When, in their sleep, Dews kiss each fresh young flower ; 
 
 The thrush hath hushed his song, the merle her lay, 
 And the lone plover mourns departing day ; 
 The buoyant lark that fiUed the morning sky 
 With sprightly song, sleeps in the clover nigh ; 
 Those rural sounds that cheered the busy day. 
 Grown faint and few, have sweetly died away, 
 'Till all things round from noise and motion cease, 
 And in Night's ear. Eve softly whispers, "Peace." 
 Amidst the golden islands of the sky 
 A single cloud — bark-like — sails tranquilly ; 
 And o'er the portal of the Keep of Night 
 The Moon displays her shield of glowing light — 
 
 B
 
 Illumes the peasant's cot, the lady's bower, 
 And leaves her radiance on the blushing flower, 
 AVhose dew-drops glisten as the orient peai'ls 
 Which bead fair Beauty's bi'ow, or bind her curls. 
 Cheered by her beams, alone this hour I stroll 
 Through the green fields to yonder gentle knoll : 
 What beauteous visions now mine eye beholds ! 
 Beneath my feet, old (iTrCtXt in serpent folds 
 Leads on his waves in many a wandering maze, 
 By which the dappled herds and white flocks graze ; 
 Here let me rest and dream of other times. 
 And catch the sound of Memory's hallowed chimes. 
 Sweet is thy name to me, old hoary ^rCUt J 
 'Twas liy thy marge mine earliest steps I bent, 
 When round my neck lov'd Childhood threw her arm, 
 And called me her's, and bade me fear no harm, 
 'TM'as near thy brink I spent the laughing hours, 
 And eager culled the daisy's snowy flowers. 
 And stretched my hands wet with the dripping dew. 
 O'er the clear wave where broad the lily grew. 
 'Twas there I watched the swan spread forth her sail 
 Of snow-white plumes, and drift before the gale ;
 
 And there, when later years had o'er me thi'own 
 
 Life's weightier cares, I oft have roamed alone, 
 
 The cliff — the wave — the tree — the field have view'd, 
 
 And prostrate knelt to worship Solitude ; 
 
 And the deep truths inscribed on Nature's page 
 
 Made the first study of my riper age. 
 
 But let me turn from hom's long flitted by, 
 
 To those fair scenes which now before me lie. 
 
 Sweet j}iCU3t01l, (^) first to thee my song I raise. 
 Thy charms, loved hamlet, need no poet's praise ; 
 O'er thy gTeen meads first trips the laughing Spring, 
 And shakes primroses from each flower-wreathed wing 
 There the first swallow skims the daisied vale, 
 And the loved cuckoo breathes her mellow tale ; 
 And merry chiff-chaff" from the budding tree. 
 Gives out his joyous notes so wild and free. 
 And when old Autumn sheds o'er field and bower 
 The radiant hues of many a gorgeous flower, 
 And bids the sun lead do'WTi his stately dance. 
 Thy fields are last to catch his parting glance.
 
 Within thy bouuds I drew mine earliest breath, 
 
 And there, grant, heaven, these eyes may close in death ! 
 
 My kindred's mouldering dust is gathered near. 
 
 And there still dwell the forms this heart holds dear ; 
 
 Of sister, mother, whose deep care through life 
 
 Sui-passeth ministering of the tenderest wife. 
 
 Yes ! thou hast bound, loved hamlet, round this heart 
 
 Those golden ties, that time nor change can part ; 
 
 Thy precincts hold her treasured form, whose love 
 
 Has lent its charm to every field and grove ; 
 
 Retired — known but to few — and just where swells 
 
 Yon bright gi-een knoll, that gentle sister dwells : 
 
 Her modest actions fear not critic's frown, 
 
 The foot of scandal caimot tread them down ; 
 
 The soul of misery is she first to cheer, 
 
 Afiiiction's woes draw forth her ready tear ; 
 
 In her. Religion finds an ardent friend. 
 
 The Sabbath School her willing steps attend ; 
 
 And when from yonder old and gi'ay chm-ch-towcr, 
 
 The hallowed chimes pi'oclaim the appointed hour. 
 
 To meet and offer up the soul-breathed prayer, 
 
 My Marian's form is over present there.
 
 -.L.JEVJITT.*'^** 
 
 Ring's D^cWatt pall.
 
 Her heart ne'er echoes back the voice of wrong, 
 The words of truth flow from her dulcet tongue ; 
 Through all life's trials ever has she been 
 The fit-st to blunt the poisoned shaft of Spleen ; 
 The last to blame ; and soon her ready eye 
 Has sought the cause and shewn the remedy. 
 The winds may whistle through the vessel's shroud, 
 And the wild sea arrest her progress proud ; 
 But the firm compass can no tide estrange, 
 Turns to one point, whatever else may change ; 
 So through the world's tumultuous cares and strife. 
 Turned that sweet soul to mine and gave new life. (-) 
 
 Oh ! beauteous hamlet, w^hat fair charms are thine, 
 As now o'er all the en-silvered moonbeams shine ! 
 How still — how peaceful — are the hut and hall, (^) 
 As drowsy Night enwraps them in her pall ! 
 So softly nestling in their nook of trees. 
 Whose foliage stirs not in the cool night breeze. 
 Thy orchard-blossoms steeped in rose and white, 
 Seem sweetly resting in the silver light ;
 
 8 
 
 Thy brooklet, dancing on in joy and mirth, 
 
 Breathes its low music to the listening earth. 
 
 Time was (ere yet thy raven wing, Decay ! 
 
 Had from the hamlet swept its stones away,) '■ 
 
 That on yon knoll an old grey Cljlirclj^Objer stood, (') 
 
 Which flung rich Sabbath music o'er Trent's flood. 
 
 There, too, half overgrown with weeds and moss, 
 
 And gray with age, a simple village ^I'OSS, {^) 
 
 Where prayed in stone (of face and feature mild,) 
 
 Apostle, Saint, the Virgin and her Child, 
 
 And there was, too, within a little dell, (*') 
 
 A limpid fountain named the '' P^OlV SEcll/* 
 
 Where pilgrims came to di-ink the sacred wave. 
 
 That hcal'd their wounds and snatched them from the grave. 
 
 Those times, those customs now have passed away ; 
 
 Those pilgrim feet no more a-ncar them stray. 
 
 But still the waters bubble as of yore, 
 
 And yield a gi'ateful offering to the poor. 
 
 Oh ! when on earth we've lived oiir transient day, 
 
 And clay has mingled with its native clay, 
 
 Some small memorial may we leave behind. 
 
 That we have sought to benefit mankind.
 
 ^t ioljr mtW, Jlhrg's fcfofoir.
 
 Oh ! may we cause to flow some little well, 
 A blessed spring, within life's narrow dell, 
 Whose waves may gladden the then sterile ground, 
 The world leave better, than the world we found.
 
 10 
 
 PART II. 
 
 'j|m\gN couch of odorous flowers, whereon she lies, 
 .'v^.rj rpj^g |v^-j, j^a^i(j^ Mom, now opes her soft blue eyes ; 
 
 The warbling merle hath bid her swiftly rise 
 "^ And view the rose-clouds stretched o'er yonder skies. 
 The sun is up, and, radiaut with his beams, 
 Thy vale, © ^XtXltl in all its beauty gleams ; (') 
 Green field, fair tree, old hamlet, and broad wood, 
 Enrich the banks that cm-b thy classic flood. 
 Thy osier-groves grow tremulous and bright ; 
 Thy willows wave, all radiant with the hght ; 
 Thy meads are dotted o'er with flocks and herds ; 
 Thy woods are vocal with the songs of birds ; 
 Rich-foliaged trees diversify the scene. 
 While village temples Hft their spires between.
 
 11 
 
 Field beyond field in rich succession lies, 
 Their wide range girdled by the clear blue skies. 
 
 Ere White, (^) or Bailey Q wore the unfading bay 
 
 Lived one who sang of thee a simpler lay. 
 
 Long years have passed, yet Fancy's eye doth see, 
 
 Bancroft ('") attuning his soft lyre to thee, 
 
 The " little bard of friendlie ironie." 
 
 Honor' d, respected, once : now, on the spot 
 
 Where 'erst ho dwelt, his very name forgot. 
 
 Save but by liim whose rustic ear doth move 
 
 Not the loud bird whose wild notes fill the grove — 
 
 But she who tells the simple tales we love. 
 
 Methinks I see the bard on yon green ridge, 
 
 Or 'midst the pleasant meads at Swarkcston Bridge, (") 
 
 Loving to hear the wind by Trent's soft edge 
 
 Whisper in reeds or sigh amongst the sedge ; 
 
 Peering with gentle eye in every nook, 
 
 Or conning o'er with care some favourite book ; 
 
 Gathering rich thoughts : then with a poet's tongue. 
 
 Breathing his dulcet utterances in song.
 
 12 
 
 Just rising froui fair fields clad now in green, 
 
 Thy Cliff, sweet SECStOll, {'■) stands to crown the scene. 
 
 Its beauteous chui-ch-spire tapering o'er the wood, 
 
 Near which lie those who erst beneath it stood. 
 
 'Tis Avell, fair Edifice ! within thy walls 
 
 The ray of heavenly truth now brightly falls ; 
 
 That weekly to a lowly village band 
 
 Are preached glad tidings of a " better land ;" 
 
 Bread of true knowledge placed within the scrip, 
 
 And living waters offered to the lip — 
 
 'Tis well that in this false and wavering age 
 
 A hand unswei'ving opes the Gospel page, 
 
 A voice unused to disputatious strife. 
 
 Reads the rich charter of eternal life. 
 
 Long may the much-loved Pastor (^^) lead his flock 
 
 Beneath the shadow of the Immortal Rock, 
 
 And when the heat and scorching simbeams cease, 
 
 Beside " still waters" in the vale of peace — 
 
 Long may he live, armed with the vital power. 
 
 To soothe the sinner in his dying hour ; 
 
 To cheer the aged on that lonely way, 
 
 Whose rugged course leads to a brighter day.
 
 Mtdan dTliff.
 
 13 
 
 When thou art launched, oh, Pastor ! on that sea, 
 That vast and shoreless deep, Futurity. 
 May the Great Pilot steer thy course for thee : 
 Thine be the Ark of Faith which bears the blest 
 To the hio-h Ararat of eternal rest. 
 
 Sweet SEeStOlt (Uplift ! how beautiful art thou ! 
 How dark the firs that crown thy rugged brow ! 
 Adown thy sides the straggling wliite sloe falls, 
 And blossom' d thorns outspread their snowy palls, 
 And the glad furze hath beauteously unroll' d 
 For the Spring's feet her gorgeous cloth of gold. 
 
 Where broader rolls old ^rtttt its stately flood. 
 Uplifts fair ©OninStOtX ('^) her Cliff of Wood, 
 Whose proud trees bend, and on its waves descry 
 Their own bright image as it passes by. 
 Oh ! where is he whose noble form held sway 
 O'er those green woods and knolls, where idly play 
 The graceful deer, the squirrel, and the birds 
 Whose songs mellifluous are as human words 1
 
 14 
 
 Gone in the plenitude of youth and power, 
 
 A blighted branch cut off, a frost-nipped flower, 
 
 Just when its opened leaves began to glow 
 
 With those bright hues matured which manhood show. 
 
 Courteous he was to all, of manner bland, 
 
 Of nature generous, and of liberal hand ; 
 
 The peasant's woe drew forth his ready tear, 
 
 The sigh of grief his ear was first to hear; 
 
 Distress her victims crowded to his door. 
 
 He eased their wants, nor went as came they, poor ; 
 
 The liar's tale drew forth his darkening frown, 
 
 He scorn' d the lip that called not truth its own. 
 
 Oh ! wlio can look upon his fur demesne, 
 
 ISTor sigh to think what Hastings (^^) would have been 1 
 
 When names have died renowned for good or ill, 
 
 Thine, generous Hastings, will be treasured still. 
 
 No more for thee puts forth the old grey thorn 
 
 Its frosted blooms ; nor e'er at early morn 
 
 Will tlic wild thinish his loud, fresh lay prolone-. 
 
 Or midst thy brakes the merle give forth her song? 
 
 No more for thee those gnarled ancestral trees 
 
 Rear their blanched forms to brave the storm and breeze
 
 15 
 
 Nor the sweet plants their vernal leaves renew 
 lu the still woods where thick the hyacinth grew. 
 But still thy worth will live in good, men's hearts, 
 The tear will long be thine that downward starts 
 From eyes ftxmiliar with thy generous deeds, 
 The fruits that time matured — thine own the seeds.
 
 16 
 
 PART III. 
 
 ^#^?#JOW seasons change ! Sometimes old Winter comes 
 
 ^3^^ Howling like jackal ronnd our sun-lit homes : 
 Then on his brow he hath, a deep, deep, frown, 
 For winds have stripped the snow-flakes from his crown. 
 
 And now, a worn, decrepid man is he 
 
 Gathering a few diy sticks upon the lea. 
 
 And then he comes with smile and song, as gay 
 
 As coimtry lass amidst the new-mown hay : 
 
 Or like a rustic at a neighbouring fair 
 
 Tliat a fine nosegay in his coat doth wear. (""') 
 
 Come as he will to me, he's always dear. 
 
 The pet of all the children of the year. 
 
 What care I if he's wayward, weep or chide. 
 
 My hearth is warm and literature my bride. 
 
 Would that as bright a home bless'd all the world beside.
 
 17 
 
 With dainty foot now modest Spring appears, 
 Wearing the pendant Snowdrop at her ears : 
 Flinging at random over field and wold 
 The early Celandine's (^') small coins of gold. 
 The sun rests on the stream : he makes the hills 
 Bloom as with sheen of countless daffodils. 
 See ! now the fern, from her brown covert stealing. 
 The winter's leaves her bosom half concealing. 
 See ! the blue Speedwell ('*) blow : and on the air 
 Hark ! to the notes of Woodlark trilling there, 
 Each wintry thing hath life : how light and free 
 The graceful squirrel springs from tree to tree. 
 And the red Dormouse Q^) quits his nest of leaves ; 
 The Martin {^) builds and twitters 'neath our eaves. 
 Mark ! how the little bird comes day by day, 
 And hour by hour, and brings each pea of clay ; 
 'Tis very small, yet added to the rest, 
 It soon builds up her fabric of a nest. 
 She toils from morn till eve, through wind and rain, 
 Until complete, it rests above the pane. 
 May we not take a lesson ? though the bird, 
 Be but a bird, is there not something heard
 
 18 
 
 To cheer ovir hearts in her mere artless t\Yitter 1 
 This precept WTitteu ou her clay and litter 1 
 " Genius may be true ore ; it may be thine, 
 But what avails it bm-ied in the mine 1 
 'Tis not the mere possession, but the use 
 That gives it value : then remember Bruce 
 And Spider : (-') how, her thread on thread 
 The insect threw, till to the beam one sped. 
 Though nineteen times her utmost efforts failed 
 Before the task, her courage never quailed. 
 Past efforts were forgot, labours unheeded, 
 She threw her twentieth thread and then succeeded. 
 So Robert Bruce from her took a good hint ; 
 He saw the choicest medal in Life's mint 
 Was perseverance : then, no more he thought 
 Of all his perils, passed ; his battles fought 
 And lost : forgetting Fortune's frown, 
 He made one effort more and won his crown. 
 Genius her jewels to the mind may bring. 
 But Pei-severance sets them in the rinar. 
 The axe is shai-p, but how without the grip 
 Can e'er it scatter round, the flying cliip 1
 
 19 
 
 Give it the stroke firm, trusty, straight, and free, 
 Grasp it with willing hand and soon 'twill fell the tree.' 
 
 Oh ! let me till the ground my fathers tilled, (^-) 
 
 And fill the station which my fathers filled. 
 
 Let me go forth, when merrily smiles the morn, 
 
 Amidst my harmless flocks and lambs just born ; 
 
 And, as delight my rapturous bosom fills, 
 
 Count my fine herds upon the distant hills. 
 
 Let honest independence be my lot. 
 
 Let city strife and bustle harm me not — 
 
 Freedom of limb be mine, and health to roam 
 
 By wood and field, and stream, which skirt my home : 
 
 Surrounded by a rural, labouring band, 
 
 Let me go forth to plough the willing land : 
 
 And, as the green up-springing blades appear. 
 
 See future harvests crown the plenteous year. 
 
 And when my flocks are ready for the fold, 
 
 And my rich corn-fields turn to waving gold, 
 
 From my heart's censer, let the incense rise, 
 
 To Him, the Great, the Giver, Just, All-wise :
 
 20 
 
 Such be my life, and oli ! how passing fair 
 Are the rich hues which niral Hfe doth wear ; 
 It brings contentment, peace, flings o'er the mind 
 Such tranquil joy, as leaves no shade behind : 
 That joy which never wounds with poisonous sting, 
 When the rich bloom is brush'd from off its wing, 
 But shines a cheerful light ; a blessed boon, 
 Such as the I'adiance which a Summer moon 
 Will fling adown some rich cathedral aisle, 
 When each sweet thing grows sweeter in her smile.
 
 21 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 ONDERS surround our path : Mark ! thi'otighout Earth 
 £)iJfel® How Order and Contrivance have their birth. 
 
 Old Winter j^ast, how soon the fresh flowers blow, 
 Concealed beneath his ermined robe of snow ! 
 
 The trees all leaf : the wild birds conae and go ! 
 
 The April days, 'tween love and hate perplext, 
 
 Shake hands one hour and measure swords the next. 
 
 And yet how soon their various qu.arrels cease 
 
 When May alights on earth with branch of peace. 
 
 Mark ! how each individual in its place 
 
 Lives : and fulfils the dutici of its race ! 
 
 The bee contrives her exquisite, small cell. 
 
 Fills it with rifled sweets from every bell : 
 
 How the Reed Warbler ('^) builds her lovely nest
 
 22 
 
 Between the reeds, whcrciu her eggs do rest : 
 
 The boist'roiis winds may rustle thro' the sedge 
 
 And rock her hammock to the river's edjre. 
 
 But stih the bird rides on, secure and free, 
 
 As doth the rook upon the firmest tree. 
 
 Look ! how the Mole that lives within the soil, 
 
 Is amply fitted for his night of toil. 
 
 His palms are broad : his nose like snout of pig, 
 
 Enabling him to excavate and dig ; 
 
 His coat of plush no earth can rest between, 
 
 'Tis glossy, close, and tliick, like velveteen. 
 
 And from his work, he issues neat and clean. 
 
 Her creatures, nature guards witli tender care. 
 Shielded from danger by the coat they wear : 
 The timid hare, iu modest brown is drcst, 
 Like the bare fallow, where it lies at rest : 
 The Ptarmigan hath winter robe of white 
 Pure as the snow upon the mountain height ; 
 The plumage of the Woodcock, Snipe, and Rail, 
 Is like the tints that on tlic marsli prevail.
 
 23 
 
 How wonderfully nature doth provide 
 
 For all her creatures spread on eveiy side ! 
 
 Some have their snug retreats in which to hide, 
 
 In holes, and nests, and crevices abide ; 
 
 Whilst the poor snail strikes from the beaten track. 
 
 And travels with her tent upon her back. 
 
 Some beings live upon the same small prey- 
 Yet each one captures it in different way : 
 The Toad and Swallow feed upon the fly, 
 The first takes it on earth, the last in sky. 
 The Swallow, by provision, is decreed 
 To hawk it down by her superior speed. 
 But the poor Toad hath neither wings nor bill. 
 And yet he captures it with equal skill : 
 Placing himself upon the dark rough earth, 
 Near sorae broad plant, that on its breast hath birth. 
 The cimning reptile waits with watchful eye. 
 Till on its leaves alights the artless fly. 
 When, launching foiiih his tongue, both fine and smooth, 
 He draws the little flv within his mouth.
 
 24 
 
 And thus by nature's law it is decreed, 
 Contrivance here supplies the place of speed. 
 
 In common things the naturalist may find 
 
 Food for the thoughtful and reflective mind ; 
 
 The richness of his district eveiy day 
 
 For its historian may suffice alway ; 
 
 The wonders of his homestead, wood or fen. 
 
 Are quite sufficient to employ his pen. 
 
 For nature is a Book, wherein are written, 
 
 Truths which philosopher and sage have smitten. 
 
 'Tis perfect now as when the day it came 
 
 Fresh from its Author's hands ; the same 
 
 Through each edition issued by the Year : 
 
 Its precepts are most beautiful and clear. 
 
 It shows how wisdom, goodness, skill and power 
 
 On earth are manifest ; on rock, as flower ; 
 
 Seen in the Heavens, lovely in repose, 
 
 As in the colour of the opening rose : 
 
 Written in stars upon the page of night : 
 
 Chased on tlie Morning's chalice fill'd witli light :
 
 25 
 
 Visible on Ocean's thousand forms, 
 
 Her wild unresting waves, her tides and storms ; 
 
 Seen when the night resigns to bolder day 
 
 That sceptre which she timidly did sway : 
 
 Seen when from Summer's iiand the year receives 
 
 Chaplets of fir-cones twin'd with oaken leaves ; 
 
 When Autumn treads upon the golden leaf, 
 
 Or binds 'midst beauteous fields, the rustling sheaf : 
 
 When Spring and Winter weave in maze alway 
 
 The dance of renovation and decay ; 
 
 Seen in the plan which animates Earth's whole, 
 
 Gives to her body's wond'rous parts — the soul. 
 
 Marks of design above, around, are rife — 
 
 On animal, on vegetable life. 
 
 Showing some gi-eat Designer : One, whose skill, 
 
 Makes every part its office to fulfil. 
 
 Then who shall deem to study or to scan 
 
 Such things, beneath the dignity of man ? 
 
 Small things are noble ; their true value lies 
 
 In their construction, beauty, and not size. 
 
 The little worm that heaves the coral rocks
 
 26 
 
 Is ciu'ious as the Elephant, or Ox. 
 
 The finite well may study, small or great, 
 
 The things which did the Infinite create. 
 
 Such are the thoughts I have been taught to think 
 Fair Trent ! as I have wandered by thy brink. 
 Such are the thoughts that oft have had the power 
 To wdiile away the calm and peaceful hour. 
 Thy gentle murmur oft hath been to me 
 A hymn : thy pebbled marge, a homily. 
 Long may such charms, as now thou hast, be thine ; 
 The hcai-t, to love and worship them, be mine ; 
 And, when the daisy must bloom o'er my grave, 
 Mine ear no more be solaced by thy wave. 
 May the rude stone, raised by affection's care, 
 This simple, beautiful, small tribute bear : 
 
 " Sweet-heart of nature, from a child 
 
 " He lov'd hor sunniest nooks ; 
 
 " And streams and flowers, and wood notes wild, 
 
 " Supplied him well with books ;
 
 27 
 
 " Trent's sinuous course, and Weston's spire 
 "Scathed oak, and daisied mead, 
 "The matin lark — the glowworm's fire 
 " Attuned his rustic reed." (**) 
 
 E
 
 28 
 
 JUDGE OF THE DEEBY COUNTY COURT. 
 
 '(;'1^^,PRUNG from thy soil, fair Newton ! there is one 
 ),)d2X^ Who in peculiar place now stands alone. 
 
 Then Cantrell f ^) let my sportive cause be free 
 To twine of song one little thread for thee. 
 Learn'd in the law : grave, calm, of judgment due. 
 And thought, to sift " the false from out the true ;" 
 Well has thy Country placed thee on that seat, (-") 
 Wliere just appeals impartial verdicts meet. 
 Of office high : more honorable thy gown, 
 Than Roman toga, or the civic crown. 
 And yet, methinks, delight must gild the hour 
 Spent 'neath Newtonian shade, and hollied bower ; 
 Retired from crowded courts, is it not sweet, 
 To find the daisy scattcr'd at thy feet 1 
 To see the thrush, shy as the spotted fawn, 
 Steal from the shrubs to feed upon thy lawn 1 
 Or pluck the coral beads from oft' the fruited thorn t
 
 29 
 
 mi^oonligllt 
 
 ^«^sN Autumn day hath died on wood and cloud : 
 His red blood stains the witheriuu' forest bouch 
 
 Eve comes with her light footstep, softly now, 
 Folds his still corse in a white moonlight sliroud. 
 How fair is earth ! To her, it seems, as if 
 Heaven now had lent a beauty sweet and new. 
 Skies have no cloud, save one, which as a skiff 
 With white sail spread, doth navigate the blue. 
 No leaf's astir : no sigh is on the gale : 
 No stars peep out save one, and only one, 
 The pearl Night wears upon her forehead pale. 
 So mute is earth, man seems with God alone, 
 Listening the solemn whispers low and clear 
 Breathed from the shell Night places to his ear.
 
 30 
 
 ^ilfpnrp. 
 
 KS^^ILENCE hath set her finger with deep touch 
 i^ki Upon Creation's brow. Like a young wife, the Moon 
 Lifts up Night's curtains, and, with countenance mild. 
 Smiles on the beauteous Earth — her sleeping child. 
 For joy the wild flowers weep. Soft incense, such 
 As steals from herbs, 'midst pleasant fields in June, 
 Freights the night air. Each light tree's waving tress 
 Is edged with silver. Flocks lie motionless. 
 How sweet arc hours spent in such scenes as this, 
 When Peace looks down from Heaven in plaintive mood, 
 And Earth, in deep tranquillity of bliss, 
 Becomes a suitor to fair Sohtudc ! 
 
 What noble actions spring to fruited prime 
 
 Spring — from the seeds Thought sows in such a time!
 
 31 
 
 jSonnpl^. 
 
 Written in Mr. Bateman's Museum of British Antiquities. 
 
 gJPl|jRAISED be the hand that with unflinching zeal 
 Hath ope'd the Past's rich, rare sepulchral mm 
 And ciilled its treasures. Histoiy's lamp may biu-n, 
 But cannot show how in her cradle lay 
 
 Our infant country : axe and urn of clay 
 
 Here speak with eloquence at every turn ; 
 
 Rude weapons point to a far distant day, 
 
 When Britons by their use the battle won, 
 
 The red-deer took, or trout from out the burn. 
 
 The Briton's life is writ in flint and bone, 
 
 Made visible by arrow-head of stone : 
 
 By pebble, trinket, red-deers' horn or celt 
 
 These earth had seal'd but Bateman f ) broke the seal 
 
 To show us how our fathers thought or felt.
 
 • 
 
 2 
 
 SStuJ^umn. 
 
 (IDE o'er the woodlands, clad till now in green, 
 Autumn her gorgeous banner doth um-oll ; 
 jSTot saintly missal, nor emblazon' d scroll, 
 Can boast of richer hues than it, I ween : 
 
 She holds a wondrous pageant in the wood ; 
 
 The sylph-lil£e Birch hath dress of lemon tinge ; 
 
 Tlie queenly Elm a robe with orange fringe ; 
 
 The warrior Beech hath "garments rolled in blood;" 
 
 The kingly Maple dons his golden crown ; 
 
 The Sycamore a coat of russet hue ; 
 
 While, gloomy as the Midnight's frown, the Yew 
 
 Hath his funereal mantle round him thrown, 
 
 As though he drcam'd earth all too bright, Lo I now. 
 
 Winds strip with i-uthless breath, the many-coloured bough.
 
 33 
 
 ^onnpf. 
 
 Addressed to Commander M'Clure, of the "Investigator," on his 
 
 Arctic voyage. 
 
 ^l^^OBLE M'Clure : heaven speed thy gallant sail 
 |li^^ That hath so bravely battled with the deep ; 
 
 Armed with the steel of duty, donn'd in mail 
 Of dauntless magnanimity of soul, 
 Thou hast defied the foes of storm, snow, hail 
 And wind — hosts of ice-crested waves that roll, 
 
 To guard the portal of the Arctic's keep. 
 The enterprize hath open'd a dark seal, 
 
 And thou hast read the secrets of that scroll. 
 Which none had been permitted to reveal. 
 
 For this thy country loves thee ; but thy name 
 
 Writes she in fairest amaranth — for thy aim. 
 
 To rescue from a sepulchre of wave 
 
 Her long-lost cherished baud of " unreturning brave."
 
 34 
 
 ^t $M(if% 
 
 j^^^OFT is the music, which those village bells 
 SXij/ii Now breathe upon the calm and listening air ; 
 Save it, no soimd of earth seems lingering there, 
 But all is hushed and still. In gentle swells, 
 And dying falls, o'er Britain's hills and dells. 
 Ever, oh ! ever, may that music sound. 
 The voice that bids us throng her altars round, 
 Of joy and peace its softened cadence tells, 
 Ever, oh ! ever, from our places holy. 
 May Sabbath song and Sabbath prayer arise 
 Responsive to that anthem of the skies 
 By host seraphic hymn'd ! Oh ! pure and lowly 
 Is om- faith, yet rife with love untold, 
 Which melts man's hetu-t to frame it in her mould.
 
 35 
 
 W^f $m\ahvii^. 
 
 ;S the small snowdrop draped in hood of white, 
 Mi^ Which seems too frail, too fair, for floral mould, 
 Heedless of bhnding rain, wind, sleet and cold. 
 Leaves, like a mm, her cell ere Morning's light : 
 So, in unsullied purity of soul, 
 The modest virgin steals upon the world, 
 Fearless of Envy's shafts around her hurled, 
 And unalloy'd by praise which false lips dole : 
 Scorning to prize the spangled robe which Wealth 
 Would round her sweet and cherished form enfold, 
 Loving that charity which aids by stealth 
 Rather than that admiring eyes l^ehold : 
 Seeking — not proud rewards the world calls blest. 
 But the calm joy which gilds a stainless breast. 
 
 p
 
 36 
 
 $timft. 
 
 (CANT. 2 Cn. 10 V.) 
 
 iJiSWAKE ! arise ! my fair one, come away, 
 3^ Winter is past, the flowers on earth appear ; 
 The tui-tle's murmur from the budding spray, 
 With song of birds awakes the opening year ; 
 The myrtle's bloom, by softest breezes fanned ; 
 
 The olives fair their infant leaves unfold ; 
 The gushing citrons now adorn the land, 
 
 Fairer than when they droop with fruits of gold. 
 The fig-tree putteth forth her freshest green ; 
 The vine ambrosial, rich in leaf is seen ; 
 Then let the lute and merry pipe resound, 
 Tlien let the dimpled laugh of Mirth be found : 
 Haste, my Beloved ! why dost thou delay 1 
 Awake ! arise ! my fair one, come away.
 
 37 
 
 PlpraptonF (^Ttibf, 
 
 \ffM^jK'E gentle miirmvir of thy low-voiced dove 
 i^ StiU fiills iijion mine ear : tho' years have -past 
 Since with the friends of youth I saw thee last, 
 Haimt of my boyish days sweet Eempstone Grove ! f®) 
 To linger o'er such scenes doth memory love. 
 'Twas there we watch'd the robin print the ground, 
 Its small round nest of moss and oak leaves found ; 
 And there it was that in one circle twin'd 
 We carved our names upon a beech tree's rind. 
 Such were Youth's simple joys : and yet methinks, 
 Than Manhood's bliss they had a nobler birth, 
 Than Manhood's merriment a blither mirth ; 
 Of that bright chain which binds the soul to earth, 
 They were the purest, fairest, loveliest links.
 
 38 
 
 t^p Ijarpi&plK. 
 
 9/t 
 
 j|i^N shaggy brae a Harebell grew, 
 (pl^a Jewell' d by Morn with pearls of dew, 
 A chaste and lovely blossom ; 
 Spring clad it in a light-blue di'ess, 
 So delicate in loveliness. 
 E'en dappled white roes feared to press 
 Its form to earth's gi'een bosom. 
 
 Sweet Jessie Bell came tripping by, 
 Whose beauty caught the Harebell's eye, 
 
 Which breathed an earnest prayer — 
 That round so fair and lov'd a thing 
 Her odorous sweets she e'er might flin<i:, 
 Or to her winsome bosom cling, 
 
 And softly nestle there. 
 
 o>
 
 • 39 
 
 But o'er the green and fragi-ant sod 
 Disdainfully the maiden trod, 
 
 And crushed the floweret sweet : 
 Its dying breath perfumed the air, 
 And these its latest accents were — 
 " Death e'en to life is passing fair, 
 
 Caused by such beauteous feet."
 
 40 
 
 (JiiKbloob's ILobF. 
 
 ^^^TFi^HERE is a deep, abiding love 
 ^^l^ii In childhood's gentle breast, 
 
 Which burns when those who lighted it 
 
 Are gathered to their rest. 
 
 Can a child forget the fair field-flowers 
 A mother bade her seek 1 
 Or the tear-water' d loving kiss 
 She planted on her cheek ] 
 
 Can she forget youth's sunny j 03^3 
 'Midst lovehest things of earth, 
 When death has still'd the sister feet 
 Which shar'd with her the mh-th 1
 
 41 
 
 On Memory's stream, which as a dream, 
 Is calm and smooth and fair 
 That sister star will shine from far, 
 
 And glass its image there 
 
 And oft her feet in fancy sweet 
 Will seek that sister's grave, 
 And love the fair, will hallow there 
 The flowers that o'er her wave ; — 
 
 For dear is e'en the idlest weed 
 That in a churchyard grows, 
 And dear is there the gather'd dust 
 In which the blossom blows.
 
 42 
 
 0|? sperp oup fo&pb onps Qpf. 
 
 ^^»|.(^H ! spare our loved ones yet, 
 
 <^^M Thou, who dost guard the treasured forms of earth 
 Give back theu- lip its hue, their cheek its mirth. 
 Cause not life's sun to set. 
 
 Oh ! spare them yet awhile, 
 Those dear companions of our brightest years : 
 They who have shared our joys, have dried om* tears. 
 
 And sweetened every smile. 
 
 Our lives have been too fair, 
 Too full of bliss : around earth's radiant bowers 
 Delight hath seemed to hang perennial flowers : 
 
 Hope bud with vcrdm'e rare. 
 
 " But stay, fond wishes, stay, 
 Why call to earth the joyous wanderei'S back ] 
 Why check thch' spirits in then* heavenward track 
 
 To realms of brighter day ?"
 
 43 
 
 No ! rather let them go, 
 A glorious lot, a brighter home is theirs, 
 To crowus of immortality the heirs, 
 
 Why wish them here below 1 
 
 Then take them, take them. Lord, 
 Assured that they shall see thy glorious face ; 
 Make them thy love, thy wondrous mercy trace, 
 
 And rest upon thy word. 
 
 And though thy dealings here, 
 May seem mysterious to our mortal eyes, 
 Perchance ere long some bright day will arise 
 
 And make all darkness clear. 
 
 Then we shall see and tell. 
 How perfect justice rules thy ways to man ; 
 How perfect wisdom shines in every plan — 
 
 Thou, orderest all things well. 
 
 G
 
 44 
 
 Hesf Mh^t%. 
 
 ^I^I^HERE is a nook, a calm, sweet, sylvan spot, 
 
 ^^^'^ Far from the strife of crowds, and the thick hum 
 HJ^ Of myriads struggling for their gold and greed ; 
 Nought breaks its silence, save the lowing herd, 
 The ploughman's whistle, or the rural song 
 Of village maiden, as she hies her home 
 At eventide, her latest labour done. 
 Most hallowed are its precincts : side by side 
 Ranged orderly, are graves of young and old. 
 The fair, the beautiful ; daughters and sons, 
 With those who nursed them, lie for aye at rest. 
 A village temple rising 'midst them all. 
 Rears unto heaven its tall, thin, tapering spire, 
 (Seeming to point us to a temple higher,) 
 O'er whose gray walls broad elms their shadows fling, 
 And x-evcrend yews, whose sable boughs seem born
 
 45 
 
 Of many a generation's gathered dust. 
 
 "When I have shuffled off this mortal coil," 
 
 Sweet, passing sweet, methinks 'twould be to lie 
 
 In that green nook. 'Tis true this earth 
 
 Shows not her dead the sheen of beauteous things 
 
 'Tis true the blossoms of the budding Spring 
 
 Charm not the eye for ever clos'd against them ; 
 
 The charnel house no visions of green fields 
 
 Displays — nor doth the cold grave hear 
 
 The enrapturing melody of awakened birds. 
 
 Yet 'tis no idle wish ; for, oh ! 'tis sweet 
 
 To feel our ashes will for ever lie 
 
 'Midst the fair scenes that we have loved in life. 
 
 Then lay me there, for there do daisies pied 
 
 Besprinkled lightly o'er the grassy turf 
 
 The earliest bloom. There, too, round trees 
 
 Of beauteous growth, or gnarled with many years, 
 
 (Obedient to the dulcet voice of Spring,) 
 
 First peep anemonies, and cluster thick ; 
 
 And the first swallow from the gray church tower 
 
 Twitters his pleasant tales of sunnier lands. 
 
 Let not the stately tomb or sculptured stone,
 
 46 
 
 Freighted with praise, which, Hving, I should blush 
 
 To call mine own — above my relics rise. 
 
 Let pliant willows swathe my gi-een grave round, 
 
 Like the young cotters' that have risen near. 
 
 Culled from the branches of some brook-fed tree 
 
 Where I was wont at eve to hang my harp 
 
 When its last sounds had died upon the breeze. 
 
 Oh ! lay me, too, with those I've loved in youth, 
 
 Or those to whom Affection's bonds 
 
 Of friendship bound me — those whose memories dwell 
 
 In many an honest, if not noble deed.
 
 47 
 
 0n ^Spring. 
 
 fUMfpiJiE year awakes ! soft, southern breezes bring 
 ^iJk^ Glad news of Winter's bridal with the Spring 
 Her sunniest smile wears each created tiling. 
 
 Mark the calm beauty of the violet's eye, 
 
 As with expressive, native modesty, 
 
 She peepeth from the budding brake hard by. 
 
 In yellow vests, a rich and clustering train, 
 
 The mead-flowers now come trooping o'er the plain, 
 
 Bringing new life and beauty back again. 
 
 The leaf is green upon the forest tree, 
 And myi-iad daisies sprinkled o'er the lea 
 Shine like white barks upon an emerald sea.
 
 48 
 
 'Midst nodding heather flowers, old oaks and fern, 
 The low-A'oiced stream and wild-bird each in turn. 
 Fill with delicious song the Morning's urn. 
 
 Swallow ! that from fair groves of myrtle, palm. 
 Or orange, comest \ what a radiant charm 
 Thy presence flings o'er meads, by rivers calm ! 
 
 The butterfly, on deeply-damask'd wing, 
 The first and frail companion of the Spring, 
 'Mongst crocus flowers is gaily journeying. 
 
 All things have life — all things have beauty now, 
 Contentment calm doth sit on Nature's brow : 
 In our life's bay, joy anchors many a prow.
 
 49 
 
 k fl £ifl&B fli^ JQFF&KFfnopL 
 
 ^M^OME, leave gentle lady, thy needle and flowers, 
 
 g^^^l The beautiful forms that have grown 'neath thy hand ; 
 Let us haste to the thickets and sweet woodland bowers, 
 Where e'en brighter than they, in their loveliness stand. 
 
 Or wander through meads, where the cowslip is springing, 
 And the hawthorns are white, with the blossoms of May, 
 
 And the air with the notes of the skylai'k is ringing. 
 Or the thrush that is bidding his farewell to-day. 
 
 Or perchance by the brink of some sweet flowing river, 
 
 On whose sm-face unbroken the pale lily lies. 
 When the breeze stirs the flowers, and the green willows quiver. 
 
 And her hair twined with gold-threads Eve walks thro' the skies- 
 Yes ! leave, gentle lady, thy needle and flowers, 
 
 Come, wander abroad, with the bird and the bee ; 
 For such, and such ever, as these are the hours 
 
 That I fain would devote, but to love and to thee.
 
 50 
 
 Montan. 
 
 ^T is not in seasons of sunshine and wealth, 
 5ft!#s?) That we see woman's virtues shine forth : 
 
 o"'^^ Nor e'en when our cheeks show the foot-prints of health, 
 \y And joy's flowei*s by life's pathways have birth. 
 
 But when sickness hath sheathed in man's bosom its dart, 
 
 Woman's natm-e seems all but divine : 
 She's the woodbine that roiind the scathed oak of his heart, 
 
 Loves its deHcate wreathes to entwine. 
 
 How patient her watchings — her wants then how few ! — 
 
 Man's loneliness eager to share ; 
 And how oft is her lily cheek bathed with the dew 
 
 Of warm tears that hang silently there. 
 
 She heeds not the length of the cold, sunless night, 
 
 That is robbing her check of its bloom ; 
 She heeds not the taper's pale glimmering light, 
 
 That just burns through the dai-kness and gloom.
 
 51 
 
 With an eye ever watchful — an ear that e'er hears, 
 Each half-uttered, each soft whispered word, 
 
 Her vigil she keeps, and hope hushes the fears — 
 The dark fears which anxiety stirred. 
 
 Oh, woman ! I love not thy beauty and grace — 
 (Though rich are these gifts thou dost wear :) 
 
 I love thee, because thou dost closer embrace 
 Him whom sorrow hath stricken, or care. 
 
 Man may boast of fair deeds ; in prowess and might, 
 
 In arts and in arms may he shine : 
 But he shrinks back appalled and dismayed at a sight, 
 
 When a nobler courage is thine. 
 
 With thy patient endurance he never can tend, 
 The lone couch where the sick ones recline : 
 
 Let others choose man — boasted man — for their friend 
 Let woman — true woman — be mine.
 
 52 
 
 ^0 f^f ^ppnl 
 
 / / ^1^^^^^ ^"^^^ ^^^® ^^'^^^i thou river old, 
 ^^1^ As on thy banks I lie, 
 
 Which lov'st thou best of all fair things 
 
 Thy silver waves pass by 1 
 
 Lov'st thou the antler-garnished hall ? 
 
 Or castle proud and hoar, 
 Where 'scutcheon' d banners grace the wall, 
 
 And spears old warriors bore ? 
 
 The sun, that with his blazing hand 
 Fling's fire-flakes o'er the West 1 
 
 Eve, folding in many-coloiu'ed plaid 
 The babe-cloud to her breast 1
 
 L. jemTT. 
 
 ®;ij£ goat povis«, gjcmitrgtou Cliff.
 
 53 
 
 If none of these, oh ! river old, 
 
 Is it the streamlet wild 
 That runneth down from jileasant hills 
 
 To meet thee as a child ? 
 
 Or may it be the queenly June 
 
 In purple heath arrayed, 
 Sitting crown'd with golden broom 
 
 Beneath a gnarled oak's shade 1 
 
 Is it the storm 1 the thunder-cloud 1 
 
 The lightning in his ire, 
 Scribbling on scroll of blackest night 
 
 His autograph in fii-e 1 
 
 Perchance it is some humbler thing ; 
 
 An insect rich and rare ? 
 The red-moth resting its tired wing 
 
 On lilies thou dost wear ?
 
 54 
 
 The bee — that devotee, whose shrine 
 
 Is the rose in every bower 1 
 The zephyr — whispering lovingly 
 
 In the ear of a listening flower ? 
 
 Or lovest thoxi enchanting sounds 
 The merle's melodious song 1 
 
 Or shepherd-lark that plays his flute 
 The clouds, his flock among 1 
 
 Thus did the river old reply : 
 " All things to me are fair, 
 
 The forms that decorate the eartl^i. 
 That animate the air. 
 
 All things I love : the beautiful 
 The grand — the vast — the small, 
 
 For God, in perfect wisdom, love, 
 And mercy made them all."
 
 55 
 
 Frappnfs. 
 
 Joy and Sorrow. 
 
 liCl?*C?^^ chisel out our soitows on the rock ; 
 ^^® In sand, we WTite our mercies : the elements 
 
 Of Time, change not the first : the last, 
 The lightest ocean wave doth wash away. 
 
 False Friends. 
 
 They cluster roiind us in our hours of ease. 
 
 When sorrow comes we sigh for them in vain : 
 
 So the small scarlet flower opes her false eye, 
 
 To catch the sun's sweet smile, but closes with the rain.
 
 56 
 
 An Evil Tongue, 
 
 Thou know'st a viper by the sting he gives ; 
 Aud by the loathsome slime he leaves behind, 
 The snail : thou knowest a rej)tilc heaii 
 By the envenom'd words the tongue doth utter. 
 
 Gloom. 
 
 Dark was his brow, but darker was his soul, 
 Amidst surrounding joys : in the world's wood 
 He stood, a pine, when all around was green. 
 
 Coming Spring. 
 
 Yon naked trees 
 Stand like a group of beggars at Spring's door, 
 Asking a rag to cover their cold limbs ; 
 A pitying tear steals down her velvet cheek, 
 As from her wardrobe brings she choicest suits 
 And one to each apportions : on the good deed 
 Kaius down the sun most sweet, approving smiles.
 
 57 
 
 Song-bird with stream in gentle music vies 
 
 To lisp her praises : and for her feet 
 
 April doth damask the green earth with flowers. 
 
 Hidden Jewels. 
 
 Long dormant in some chamber of the brain, 
 
 A valtiable acquirement may have lain, 
 
 Till accident, or circumstance arise. 
 
 To bring to light the undiscovered prize : 
 
 So the rich pearl 'neath Ocean's breast doth lie, 
 
 Hidden a thousand fathoms from the eye, 
 
 When some adventurous diver seeks it there. 
 
 And brings it up for Beauty's ear to wear. 
 
 How many a priceless pearl of thought doth dwell 
 
 In a hard, crude, and uninviting shell !
 
 58 
 
 pl^orn on MalprKoo. 
 
 (A BALLAD.) 
 
 rp^jHE early lark had scarcely risen, 
 O'er fields of ripening corn, 
 And with his wild and jocund song 
 Aroused the slumbering morn. 
 
 When marshalling in all tlieir might, 
 
 Two oft-tried hosts advance, 
 The flower of England's chivalry. 
 
 The bravest hearts of France. 
 From east, from west, from north and south, 
 
 Seem'd gathering far and near. 
 The fierce hussar — the brave dragoon — 
 
 The dauntless curassier,
 
 59 
 
 O'er ranks of braver, nobler men, 
 
 The sun ne'er shed his lilaze, 
 Outvying e'en the warUke hosts, 
 
 Of England's proudest days. 
 By Heaven ! it was a glorious thing, 
 
 To see in arms and might. 
 The veterans of a hundred fields, 
 
 Assembled for the fight. 
 How shone the sun on glittering plume ! 
 
 How burnished he the steel ! 
 How flashed his glance from sword and lance ! 
 
 And every spur on heel ! 
 How lightly over countless men, 
 
 Napoleon's eagles flew ! 
 How proudly waved our banners bright 
 
 By many a shot pierced through. 
 The war-horse crested high his neck, 
 
 And burned to skim with speed, 
 The RTOund which ere to-morrow's sun 
 
 His carcase was to feed : 
 And he was there, whose thirst for power 
 
 To death had thousands hurl'd ;
 
 60 
 
 And he was there (that veteran chief) 
 
 Whose conquests filled the world. 
 Full many a hard, well-foughten field, 
 
 Their ranks had drenched with gore, 
 But now they met (those warlike chiefs) 
 
 As ne'er they met before. 
 They sought to avenge no petty feud — 
 
 No trifling cause to try, 
 On Waterloo hung England's fate — 
 
 E'en Em'ope's destiny.
 
 61 
 
 W^f tH|lfp Bfpr. 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 {Vide Hist, of England, reign of Ed. IV.) 
 
 ^^F all the herd in Burdetfs jDark, 
 
 '^p One stately deer the pride 
 
 And pure milk-white, as daisies bright, 
 That couched his glossy side 
 Roam'd wide and free ; more agile far 
 
 And graceful was his bound 
 Than every fair companion there, 
 
 Which sped the oaks around. 
 So gentle, that the russet fern, 
 
 O'er which he swiftly trod 
 Felt not his soft foot's pressure. 
 
 Nor drooped to kiss the sod —
 
 62 
 
 As beautiful, that stately deer, 
 
 So gallant he and bold 
 That scarcely for a monarch's price, 
 
 The favourite A\oiild be sold : 
 
 He stood upon a grassy knowl, 
 Beneath the forest bough, 
 
 His antlers high, most gallantly 
 
 Broad branching from his brow. 
 
 From Burdett's towers, the castle bell, 
 
 The eleventh hour had toll'd. 
 When issuing forth across the park 
 
 Were men in green and gold ; 
 And winded they the mellow horn, 
 
 And chided they the hound 
 Till quick from out their heathery lairs, 
 
 The forest dwellers bound. 
 The milk-white deer is singled out — 
 
 The merry hounds give tongue, 
 The hoai-y woods are rolling back 
 
 The music of their song ;
 
 63 
 
 Onward he presses over hill — 
 
 Through brake — through copsewood, all, 
 Till many a panting horse and hound, 
 
 Behind his footsteps fail. 
 But see the hounds are at him now — 
 
 He bounds — he turns — he flies — 
 He plunges in the swollen stream 
 
 And there the pack defies ; 
 But no — it is no resting place — 
 
 Again he seeks the hill, 
 But soon his nimble feet must tii'e — 
 
 His gallant heart lie still, 
 For baying hounds are at his heels. 
 
 And horsemen at his back, 
 And stoutest hart that roam'd the chase 
 
 Must fall before the pack. 
 Right bravely he is dying now — 
 
 His blood is flowing fast — 
 
 And reddening deep the forest leaves 
 
 That o'er the earth are cast. 
 And pencilling adown his side. 
 
 Full many a narrow band
 
 64 
 
 Like the clear veius that wander o'er 
 
 Sweet Beauty's bridal hand. 
 Then quick from off his antler'd brow 
 
 The huntsman broke the crown, 
 And gave it to the foremost hand 
 
 That pulled the monarch down ; 
 But scarcely on the wintry air 
 
 The deer had breathed his last, 
 When mounted on his fleetest steed, 
 
 Came BniTlctt spurring fast ; 
 And angrily, and proudly wished 
 
 To all assembled near, 
 " That in the belly were the horns 
 
 Of him who slew the deer" — 
 And who was he who slew the deer 1 
 
 It was his lord, the King, 
 Who speedily commanded 
 
 " That before him they should bring, 
 " The traitor who had used such words "- 
 
 Then Burdett's cause was tried, 
 And like some felon foul in guilt 
 
 The fated noble died.
 
 
 
 ®lir Ci^ak oTrw in pomngtott ^arL
 
 65 
 
 Nor argument — nor eloquence 
 His faultless head could save, 
 
 And for his favourite white deer's life- 
 His dearer life he gave. 
 
 jFmt0,
 
 67 
 
 jiofps. 
 
 (1) The " Newton" here alluded to is the village of King's Newton, situated on 
 the banks of the river Trent, in the parish of Melbourne, Derbyshire. 
 
 (2) I little thought in how short a period after penning those lines I should have 
 to deplore the loss of this sincere friend and amiable sister. She slept in peace 
 on the 10th of May, 1846. From her childhood to her grave her life was one of 
 unwearied iisefulness and indefatigable industry in the cause of doing good. She 
 was, in the true sense of the term, a sincere Christian. It has been beautifully 
 said of her by a Christian lady, " that she was as unfailing in every good work she 
 undertook, and as sure of its accomplishment, as though she thought to merit 
 Heaven by her virtues, and yet humility was decidedly one of the most prominent 
 features in her character." Sunday-Schools— the building of Churches— clothing 
 societies — visiting the sick and distressed, were objects to which she devoted her 
 leisure hours with cheerfulness and alacrity. As a daughter, she was kind and 
 considerate ; as a friend, sincere, showing regardlessness of self and kindness to 
 others. 
 
 (3) King's Newton Hall is a pleasant mansion, situated on an agreeable knowl 
 on the south bank of the Trent. Built, as it is in the Tudor style, and 
 half screened by luxuriant limes and elms, its appearance is picturesque. It was 
 built by the Hardinges, a family which resided at King's Newton for some centuries. 
 Sir Robert Hardinge, a distingtiished Royalist, who was buried in Melboui-ne 
 Church, was honored with a visit from King Charles I, at this mansion. On one
 
 68 
 
 of the windows he scribbled with his diamond ring this anagram, which when 
 transposed makes Carolus Rex—" Cnis ero lux:' Anagrams were very popular 
 about this period. Thus, there was written one on the Attorney General of King 
 Charles I, whose name was William Noy, which was turned into — ''1 moyle in laic" 
 After the Hardinges left King's Newton Hall, the property was sold, and was 
 purchased by the Melbourne family. The late Lord Hardinge, who was Governor 
 General ot India, in consideration of his brilliant exploits on the banks of the 
 Sutlej, was created Viscount Hardinge of King's Newton. Wishing to possess 
 the old hall and estate formerly the property of his ancestors, he wrote to the late 
 Lord Melbourne to purchase it. His Lordship's answer was brief and charac- 
 teristic—" The Sikhs might as well ask your Lordship to restore to them the 
 territory which you have recently won from them, as me to give up King's Newton 
 Hall anel my Trent meadows." 
 
 It is somewhat singular that the place has frequently been occupied by 
 individuals who were fond of literary pursuits. Here resided for .some time 
 Mr. Speech'ey, who wrote a valuable treatise " On the Cultivation of the Grapo 
 Vine." Here, also, Francis Noel Clarke Mundy, Esq., the sound magistrate 
 and sweet poet, who sang of " Needwood Forest," and "The Fall of Need- 
 wood ; " and here too, at present, resides Mrs. Green, the accomplished 
 authoress of a little work called " John Gray of Willoughby." 
 
 Mr. Mundy's works are now so scarce, and his poetry is so sweet, that we ai-e 
 tempted to give a slight notice of both. 
 
 Francis Xoel Clarke Mundy was bona in Leicestershire in 1758 His descent 
 ivas ancient, and has been fully given by Nichols the historian. His ancestor was 
 Lord Mayor of London in the reign of King Henry VIII. His mother was the 
 sister of Sir Robert Burdett of Foremark, and he man-ied his first cousin, Sir 
 Robert's daughter. Mr. Mundy was known to the literary world as the author of thoso 
 justly admired poems, " The Fall of Needwood," and ^'Needwood Forest." These 
 works are pervaded by a train of sweet feeling ; the sentiments are frequently 
 beautiful and clothed in chaste and elegant diction. His Needwood Forest origin- 
 filly printe<l forprivate circulation, is commended by Dr. Wharton in his Life of Pope, 
 as " an excellent descriptive piece." but from some cause or other he would never 
 allow it to be published. Some time after leaving college, he issued a 4to. pamphlet 
 of Ills jioems without his name. The reviewers treated it somewhat harshly, and 
 certainly very unjustly. This circumstance, which caused him to retire for 
 ever from the litei-ary world, is one to be regretted, as possibly the lovers of litera- 
 ture have lost many beautiful productions. The wi-iter of Needwood Forest had
 
 69 
 
 a mind on which was strongly impressed all the breathing imagery of nature. 
 His works contain no attempt at magnificent description or pomposity of diction. 
 His verse flows on in an easy gentle course, like the waters of a quiet streamlet 
 through a tract of forest land, dotted with brakes and copses of yew, holly, or 
 mountain ash, or covered with fems and flowers, reflecting on its bosom the dels - 
 cate or beautiful objects by which it is surrounded. He depicts his favourite 
 " Needwood" in her true colours under the different aspects which she presents 
 during the ever-variable changes of the seasons; and his descriptions " are the 
 express image of natm-e." Whatever is touched by his wand lives before the eye. 
 In his page the holhes seem to grow— the harebells are as bine and wave as lightly 
 as on their native banks — the ferns push up their nisset scrolls to meet the Spring 
 as life-like and as vigorous as in their native forest. In his verse, too, are many 
 graceful allusions to time-honored families — as the Vernons, Fitzherberts, Bardetts, 
 Bagots, Talbots, Browns, and Meynells — which, introduced as they are, shew the 
 warmth of his heart and the kindliness of his disposition. Mr. Mundy's works 
 have now become rare and valuable. A cojjy of "Needwood Forest," to wliieh 
 were added marginal notes by the author, sold at a sale in 1851, for 10 Guineas, 
 although the work consisted only of 32 pages. The following is an extract from 
 that work : we wish we had space to quote at greater length — 
 
 " Here every flower improves the gale 
 From the meek violet of the vale, 
 To her who flaunts in air sublime, 
 The woodbine queen of Summer's prime : 
 Whilst each delicious shade may vie 
 With those of boasted Arcady. 
 There, sweet varieties appear 
 Of thickets shaped by nibbling deer, 
 Of hills that swell with gradual ease, 
 Wood-skirted lawns and scattered trees ; 
 Of valleys seen down distant glades. 
 That break the mass of mingling shades ; 
 Wliilst Nature's attribute extent, 
 Crowns each inferior ornament. 
 
 In Mr. Mundy was seen exemplified a combination of qualities which many 
 persons have deemed impossible to exist in the same individual, viz. : the pos- 
 session of poetical power and great aptitude for business. Admired as he was as a 
 poet, he was much more so on the legal bench. For nearly 50 years he was a 
 Magistrate of the County of Derby, and at his death he was regretted by all who 
 had the honor of his acquaintance. In the Grand Jury Room at the County Hall 
 is a bust of him by Chantrey, placed there by his friends, with an appropriate inscrip- 
 tion stating that he jDossessed "a cleaiTiess of judgment and integrity of decision
 
 70 
 
 well worthy of being gratefully and honorably recorded, and that he was beloved 
 for the gentleness of his manners, and revered for his public and private virtues." 
 Few individuals in his peculiar walk have reflected more honor upon Derbyshire 
 than Francis Noel Clarke Mundy. 
 
 (4) The village of King's Newton formerly possessed a Church, but now not one 
 stone is left upon another. In " Pryme's Hist., iii. 594," it appears that protec- 
 tion was granted to Willielmus de Birley persona Ecdesice de King's Newton in 22 
 Ediv. I. In 24th Edward I., the same parson was possessed of this Church. 
 
 (5) The Cross stood in the centre of the village, was of stone, curiously sculp- 
 tured with figiu-es. The headstone, now ornamenting a wall, is the only fragment 
 of it remaining. 
 
 (6) The "Holy Well" is situated at the west end of the village, in a retired nook 
 near the Hall. The water is beautifully clear, and the supply copious. Over it 
 was erected in 16** a stone covering, on the headstone of which was carved a 
 Latin inscription, saying that it was built by Robert Hardinge. The well and 
 
 inscrijDtion still remain. 
 
 (7) The waters of the Trent are peculiarly clear and bright. Shakespeare 
 noticed this fact, calling it the "smug and silver Trent." Some years ago, 
 however, an American stranger, in the shape of a water- weed, threatened not 
 only to block up and disfigure many parts of it, but to interfere materially with 
 the drainage in its vicinity. The weed grew rapidly for some time, insinuated 
 itself into the neighbouring streams and outlets, and proved a great annoyance. 
 In my own neighbourhood, however, it has of late decreased, and the Trent is now 
 nearly as clear as before. The accompanying is a sketch of a sprig. It is called 
 by Botanists (Anacliaris Alsinastrum. ) 

 
 71 
 
 (8) Hexry Kirke White, author of the sweet poem called "Clifton Grove," 
 in which are many allusions to the river Trent. 
 
 (0) Philip James Bailey, author of " Festus," and the following beautiful 
 lines to the Trent — 
 
 " Of all the rivers in the land. 
 
 Thee most I love, fair Trent, 
 For in thy stream and by thy banks 
 
 My haiJjjiest hours I've spent. 
 Twas here, bard by, I first drew breath. 
 
 There hope to end my days, 
 And eveiywhere I'U tell till death. 
 
 My native river's praise. 
 
 " O Shannon hath a wilder shore. 
 
 And Thames a richer freight. 
 And silver-linked Forth is banked 
 
 By more baronial state ; 
 But neither hath a purer wave, 
 
 Nor deeper, stiller stream ; 
 'Tis quiet as a grassy grave. 
 
 Or a saint's dying dream. 
 
 " Let me, in sunshine or in storm, 
 
 Still linger by her side ; 
 I'll always look on her with love. 
 
 And speak of her with pride. 
 By rock and mead, and grove and Isle, 
 
 She goes from deep to deep ; 
 I love her in her dawning smile, 
 
 And in her sunset sleep. 
 
 And when she riseth with the rain, 
 
 And bringeth forth her flood. 
 And sweeps up to the high town's foot 
 
 Her spoil of field and wood, — 
 I love her more than ever then, 
 
 For then she hath her will ; 
 And over mounds and herds and men • 
 
 She bears the victory still. 
 
 May such a calm triumphant course 
 
 To sacred souls be given. 
 That, river-like, though born on earth. 
 
 They image only Heaven : 
 And tending ever towards the light. 
 
 In this their earthly race. 
 Meet, mixing with eternity. 
 
 In joy, their maker's face.
 
 72 
 
 (10) Thomas Bancroft. This gentleman was descended from a good family 
 long resident at Swarkeston. Branches of the same family still remain in the 
 neighbourhood : one is located at Sinfin. Although "a most famous writer in his 
 day," he is almost foi-gotten in our's, save by those who have paid attention to 
 local history and biography. Little can be gathered of his life or person, save from 
 his own works, and that is veiy meagre. In one of his squibs, addressed to 
 Thomas Dixie, gentleman, he says, " Thy stature is, like mine, but low : " indeed, 
 we are told by Philip Kinder, his contemporary, and who contemplated publishing 
 a history of Derbyshire, that, "bye wave of friendlie ironie," he was called the 
 "Small Poet." He was born towards the close of the 16th century (1), but the 
 exact period cannot be ascertained, owing to the mutilated condition of the Swarkes- 
 ton Register at that period. He is silent about his early years and education, but 
 records that he studied at Catherine Hall, Cambridge, which, probably, he left 
 without taking a degree. Whilst there he formed an acquaintance with James 
 Shirley, the dramatic poet. In after life he lived chiefly at Bradley, near Ash- 
 bourne, and ajipcars to have been npon excellent terms with many of the neigh - 
 bouring gentry of that jjeriod. Amongst these was Sir Aston Cockayne, himself 
 a poet, who, in addressing his uncle in law, Sir Richard Sutton, says — 
 
 " When you and I meet master Bancroft, we 
 Envy no mirth of any company : 
 We all love cordially ; his wit and sack 
 Make us enjoy ourselves and feel no lack." 
 
 In Sir Aston Cockayne's Work called "Small Poems," he has no less than four 
 complimentary addresses to Bancroft, In one of these the following lines occur, 
 which certainly are very flattering to our Trent poet — 
 
 " Our Derbyshire (that never, as I knew, 
 Afforded us a poet until you) 
 You have redeemed from obliquies, that it 
 Might boast of wool and lend, but not of wit." 
 
 The works both of CockajTie and Bancroft are certainly curious in one respect, 
 viz : — as showing how little real talent was i-equircd in their time, to enable a man 
 to obtain a very respectable reputation. What a Tenyson would now think of 
 Bancroft's poetry, or a Dotiglas Jerrold of CockajTie's wit, it is not hard to divine. 
 Reams of much better writing than thcir's are annually consigned to the 
 trunk-maker. Yet, in his day, Bancroft is spoken of as an author who had ^^Tit 
 the "Glutton's Feast," which was worthy of being ranked amongst the best 
 cla.ssics and greater volumes. This work was reprinted by John Delafield Phelps, 
 
 (1) M.S. Collections of Thomas Bateman, Esq.
 
 73 
 
 Esq., in 1817, 4to., as his contribution to the "Roxburgh Ckib." Bancroft also 
 wrote "The Heroical Lover; or, Antheon and Fidelta," 1658, Svo., and "Two 
 Bojks of Epigrams and Epitaphs." The latter work has now become vei-y scarce, 
 and amongst okl and rare book collectors commands a great j)rice. A copy, 
 now in possession of Llewellynn Jewitt, Esq., of Derby, cost, we believe, 
 £1 7s. Od. We .shall, hereafter, do ourselves the jaleasure of making several 
 extracts from it. Copious extracts from Banci-oft's Epigrams are given in Sir 
 Egerton Bridges' " Restitution," and notices of them and their author occasionally 
 occur in several volumes of the ''Gentleman's Magazine." 
 
 Bancroft was living in 1658. The time of his death is not recorded. The 
 following quotations are from his "Two Bookes of Epigrammes and Epitaphs, 
 dedicated to two top-branches of gentry, Sir Charles Shirley, Bart., and William 
 Devonport, Esqre.," 1639. 
 
 " EPrr.VPH ON HIS FATHER AND MOTHER, BURIED NKAKE TOGhTHER 
 IN SWARSTON CHURCH." 
 
 "Here lies a paire of peerless friends. 
 Whose goodness, like a precious chaine, 
 Adorned their souls in lives and ends ; 
 Whom when detraction's selfe wovdd staine, 
 She drops her teares instead of gall. 
 And helps to mourne their fimeral." 
 
 "EPITAPH ON MISTRIS ANNE KNIVETON." 
 
 " (Gentle friends, with teares forbeare 
 To drowne a withered flower here, 
 That in Spring of Nature's pride, 
 Dranke the morninj dew and dy'd. 
 Death may teach you how to live. 
 And a friendly call doth give 
 To this humble house of mine, 
 Here's his time, and this the signe." 
 
 "TO THOMAS MAY, OF SUTTOX-CIIENEY, GENT." 
 
 "Sweet Tom, that dike that minion Earine, 
 Wliose beauty great Domitian held divine) 
 Dost in thy name the youth and pleasure beare 
 Beauty and loveliness of all the yeare ; 
 Yet in thy galldesse temper dost imply 
 More sweetness than thy name dost signifie ; 
 My true heart loves thee (what can more be said) ; 
 Were I but Jove thou wer't my (lanymed."
 
 74 
 
 "A GOOD wit's DYET." 
 
 " That which upholds our tottering walla of flesh 
 Is food : and that which doth our wits refresh 
 Is wholesome study : for like stronger fare 
 Be solid Arts : sweetmeats like Poems are." 
 
 " OF REPENTANCE." 
 
 "Put not repentance off till thou be'st old 
 For such devotion heartless grows, and cold : 
 Nor e'er shall that man for a wise one passe, 
 ■\\Tio lays much treasure on a tyred asse." 
 
 "OUR kingdome's happinesse." 
 
 " Mild showers make sweet flowers spring amaine. 
 So blessings grow apace where good kings reigne." 
 
 (11) Swarkeston Bridge. This very curious structure crosses the valley of the 
 Trent, trailing its irregular course for nearly a mile through meadows "green as 
 an emerald.' ' It conuects the village of Swarkeston with that of Stanton. This 
 bridge has an historic interest. During the invasion of the great Pretender, the 
 advanced-guard of the Scotch army, then quartered at Derby, arrived at Swai-kes- 
 ton, but— no further. It never crossed the Trent. Prince Charles, then at Exeter 
 House, in Derby, having received a letter picked up accidentally on this bridge, and 
 stating that the Duke of Cumberland was coming from Lichfield to meet him, ordered 
 the retreat of the advanced-guard to Derby. He was greatly influenced in this 
 act by a little circumstance which he considered denoted ill-luck. The standard- 
 bearer, in leaving the hoad-iiuartcrs at Derby, contrived unfortunately to break 
 the flag-staflf, which the Prince considered augured ill of his expedition. It is 
 exceedingly amusing to note the popular terror at the approach of the Pretender, 
 but still more so to find the measures which were to be resorted to, to resist his 
 approach. Thus— as the parish books show— at Weston, a neighbouring village, 
 John Pritchard, probably the most shrewd man of the place, was sent to Derby to 
 see if " ye rebeals " were coming ; and Francis Honshaw, and William Dawson were 
 primed with three quarts of ale to watch for them, whilst William Rose was paid 
 one shilling for mending the " town musquet ; " and it was decided by the collec- 
 tive wisdom of the village to spend 07ie shilling and sixpence in jiowder, to charge 
 the said " musquet." After the retreat of the " rebeals, " the Constables gave 
 two shillings and sixpence at the Day of Thanksgiving for their safe deliverance. 
 These entries are rather amusing when we consider that the rebel army consisted 
 probably of 9000 men. During the time of the Civil War Col. Ha-stings tlirew up
 
 75 
 
 some earthworks at the bridge, and fortified Sir John Harpur's house, now occupied 
 by Mr. Massey. The garrison at the bridge was attacked with Sir George Gresley's 
 horse, under command of that sturdy Parliamentarian, Sir John Gell. It fought 
 bravely, and the men only retired from their post with considerable loss. Sir John 
 Harpur's house, or rather, perhaps, some prtrt of it, is still in existence, and from 
 that part of the bridge which crosses the Trent, forms a very picturesque object. 
 It is situate on a grassy mead close to the Trent, and its grey walls and quaint 
 gables are draped with masses of ivy. 
 
 Those who have passed over Swarkeston Bridge must have noticed just as they 
 have crossed the Trent, lying close to the bridge, in a meadow, a small house and 
 venerable tree, in which, since the author can remember, the rooks built. Some 
 portion of this house formed, in ancient times, a chapel, in which was a priest to 
 sing masses for the souls of those who passed over the bridge — a not uncommon 
 practice. It is referred to in the following documents. 
 
 Swarkeston Bridge, with its Gothic-shaped arches and irregular zig-zag parapets, 
 would lead the most casual observer to refer its erection to a very early period ; 
 but the exact period has never been discovered. A short time before the 
 recent alterations were effected, we distinctly traced, on one of the arches 
 towards the centre of the bridge, the figures 1192, and we infer from various 
 circumstances that the date was probably correct. No one who has compared 
 the architecture of Burton Bridge with that of Swarkeston, would fail to 
 arrive at any other conclusion than that they were both erected about the same 
 period. Now assuming that the date 1192 upon Swarkeston Bridge to be correct, 
 there would not be 20 years difference between the two : for the bridge at Swarkes- 
 ton would be built in 1192 and that of Burton in 1174. The latter was built by 
 Bernard, one of the Abbots of Burton Monastery. 
 
 In ancient times the bridge at Swarkeston was frequently in a most unsatisfactory 
 state, and the following documents (culled by Mr. Charles Devon, antiquarian, from 
 ancient archives) are curious as showing the manner by which it was maintained. 
 One document has an interest beyond that which attaches to its being connected 
 with the bridge : it shows that in the 18th year of his reign King Edward the II. 
 visited Melbourne. It appears that in the fourth year of the reign of Edward I., 
 "the Jury to inquire into the rights and privileges" present to the Justices in 
 Eyre, " that the merchants of the soke of Melbourne passing the bridge at 
 Swarkeston and elsewhere within the limits of the liberty, for the reception of 
 passage and toll of the lord the king always had been accustomed to pay such 
 toll and passage to the king and borough of Derby, to which it belonged, but for
 
 76 
 
 the last three years had unj ustly withheld the same without warrant, to the prejudice 
 of the lord the king, and had done the same at Dove Bridge." 
 
 From the above return or inquisition of the Jury, it appears that at this early 
 period the bridge and causeway at Swarkeston were considered as part of the public 
 highway from the town of Derby to Ashby, as it was customary in those times for 
 lords of boroughs and franchises to repair public bridges and highways, exacting 
 there for certain tolls or customs from persons jjassing over or through the same. 
 If these tolls were inadequate to keep them in good repair, it was customary to 
 petition parliament or the king to furnish them with certain "grants of aid," viz. 
 to take other tolls for such purposes. In the case of Swarkeston Bric'ge, it seems 
 that three such grants were made. They occurred in the 18th year of Edward II. 
 the 12th of Edward III., and the 20th of Edward III., and are called "Grants for 
 Pontage " for the town of Swarkeston, and "Customs to be received for the repairs 
 of Swarkeston Bridge." In substance they are as follows. — ISth of Edward II., 
 " The King to the bailiffs and good men of the town of Swarkeston, greeting ; " 
 We have gi'anted to you for three years from the day of making these presents, in 
 aid of repairing the bridge over the water of the Trent, by the hands of William 
 Grave, of Swarkeston, Richard of Swarkeston, and two others, or those whom they 
 shall appoint for the purpose, and for whom they shall be answerable, — and by the 
 inspection of our well-beloved in Christ, the prior of Repingdon, or his deputy, 
 for things passing over the bridge, the following tolls and customs : that is to say — 
 
 For every horse-load of corn ^d. 
 
 For every ox, cow, &c ^d. 
 
 For every horse laden with hides, &c |d. 
 
 For a cart of fish id. 
 
 For a horse laden with cloth |d. 
 
 For a cask of wine ^d. 
 
 For a cart laden with lead Id. 
 
 For all other merchandise not specified, worth 5s., |d. The grant then concludes, 
 " And therefore we command that you take the customs for the aforesaid term of 
 three years, and with the money arising therefrom make the repairs and amend- 
 ments, &c., necessary for the said bridge, &c. Witness, ourselves at Melbourne, &c." 
 
 By a similar document to the preceding one, King Edward III., in the 12th year 
 of his reign, empowers " Hugh-del-Calk and John the son of Adam, to take tolls 
 at Swarkeston Bridge iovfour years, for things coming to Swarkeston to sell, as 
 well by land as by water. The following tolls and customs were to be taken and
 
 77 
 
 applied to repairing the bridge, which was then "ruinous and brolien up, to the 
 great peril and danger of persons passing over, as well as under it : " — 
 
 For a horse-load of wheat gd. 
 
 For a sack of wool 4d. 
 
 For a cart laden with lead 2d. 
 
 Ditto ditto with timber 2d. 
 
 Ditto ditto with firewood and coal |d. 
 
 Edward III. also in the 20th year of his reign, empowers John, the son of Adam 
 of Melbourne, sen., and John the son of Adam, junr., of Melbourne, to take the 
 following tolls for three years at Swarkeston Bridge, and apply them to the repara- 
 tion of it and to no other use. It was again "broken up and perilous to persons 
 passing over it, and manifestly injurious to the parts adjacent : " — 
 
 Every horse laden with corn Id. 
 
 Every boat carrying firewood &c., &c. 
 
 The burgesses of Derby had their privileges granted to them by King 
 Henry VII., and confirmed by subsequent kings upon the express condition of 
 repairing many of the bridges in Derbyshire within their liberty, for which they 
 were to take toll. 
 
 There was an inquisition taken at Newark in the 19th year of King Henry VII. , 
 •wherein the jurors returned " That also a parcel of meadow lying between the 
 bridge of Swarkeston and Engleby was given in ancient time to the Prior of 
 Kepingdon and his successors that he should for ever provide a priest to sing upon 
 the same Iridge in a chapel there," and that the meadow aforesaid was worth yearly 
 six marks ; but the Prior appears to have neglected to find such priest, nor is there 
 any trace of this chantry in the minister's accounts of that priory after the revolu- 
 tion, though the prior of Repingdon granted to S. Petre a lease of the manor of 
 Calke with a certain parcel of meadow lying beside the Swarkeston Bridge in the 
 parishes of Melbourne and Stanton. It may be here observed, that many of the 
 public bridges had in earlier times a small chapel or house erected thereon, called 
 the hermitage, where the hermit used to sit and collect the toll. "The parcel 
 of meadow " alluded to is now lost, and has in some way or other become merged 
 in other property. At the period of the dissolution of monastries and chantries 
 it was probably sold. The bridge is now repaired at the expense of the County, 
 and of late years has been much improved, made safe and convenient, and 
 widened to accommodate the increased and increasing traffic south of the Trent.
 
 78 
 
 (12) Weston Cliff. A very picturesque, rocky bank, rising somewhat abruptly 
 from the green meads on the banks of the Trent. At this point of the river Trent 
 is a ferry for foot passengers, who enter a wide boat and are pulled from bank to   
 bank by a rope stretched across the river. This feny existed at a pei'iod previous 
 to the Norman Conquest. Doomsday-Book records that there was here ' ' a ferry 
 of thirteen shillings." 
 
 (13) The "pastor" referred to is the Eev. Francis Moore, a zealous clergj'man, 
 who at the time these lines were written, resided at Weston. 
 
 (14) Donington Park is the seat of the noble family of Hastings. Towards the 
 north-west is the rich hanging woodland described in the poem, which almost dips 
 into the river and forms a veiy picturesque object. The park of Donington is one 
 of the most ancient in the county of Leicester. It is diversified with hill and dale, 
 and aboimds with innumerable specimens of beautiful or venerable timber. The 
 oaks of Donington may vie with the oaks of Sherwood. A noble tree, standing 
 near the bank, which runs down the park and divides the county of Derby from 
 that of Leicester, and which we always call " The Boundary Oak," is a magnificent 
 specimen of its species. Many of the trees probably existed before the Norman 
 conquest. They are gnarled, grey, and almost leafless, hollow in the bole, and twist 
 their irregular trunks into all kinds of fantastic shapes. The engraving at page 65 is a 
 figure of one which stands near the Hall and in front of it. One on the western 
 side of the Hall is 15 yards round the bole in one part. On the north-western side 
 of the park is a high green knowl overlooking the valley of the Trent ; and the 
 river is seen for perhaps ten or twelve miles trailing its silvery folds by woods and 
 through meadows of green. This spot might, not inappropriately, be called " The 
 Wanderer's Halt ; " for many have been the wanderers — and some too who have 
 wandered far in our own and other lands — who have halted on this spot and 
 expressed their admu-ation at the surpassing beauty of the scene. 
 
 (15) Tlie most noble George Rawdon, Marquis of Hastings, son of Lord 
 Hastings, who was Governor-General of India. 
 
 (16) The close of the year 1857 was almost un\vintered. The 31st of December 
 was a most charming day. Up to that period the weather had proved the mildest 
 which had prevailed for nearly seventy years. At Christmas I was in company 
 with several gentlemen, when the subject turned upon the weather. " Well ! " 
 said one, " this is the mildest season I ever knew. I actually gathered a bunch of 
 roses this morning in full bloom, and retaining all their Summer fragrance." " No," 
 Raid a second, an old man, " I have known one, and only one, more mild : that
 
 79 
 
 occurred about sixty years ago. T forget the exact year ; but I do know that I 
 gathered a bunch of cowslips at Christmas." A third observed, "the gnats were 
 keeping Christmas holidays before my windows two days, and frisking about as if 
 in Summer." A fourth observed—" And I gathered a sprig of rose leaves to-day 
 quite encrusted with the Aphis." A fifth : " And I some primroses." A sixth : 
 " I saw numbers of gorse bushes in bloom to-day." A seventh : " And I examined 
 some buds of the oak swelling for leaf, and as far advanced as they usually are in 
 February." "Ah! but," said another, "I know a gentleman's garden in the 
 which is a nest of young Robins, just fledged." 
 
 The mildness of the season was very remarkable. Animal and vegetable life 
 seemed as forward in their progress as in March. Violets and primroses were in 
 full bloom. Gooseberry and currant bushes began to leaf. The bat flitted his 
 evening rounds. Rooks were busy in their nesting trees. Starlings and sparrows 
 began to build. Many nests of the blackbird, and thrush, and hedge accenter, were 
 found with eggs : one of the former on Christmas day. The thrush, redbreast, 
 lark, and pipit, were in full song. In the south of England strawberries flowered, 
 and the fruit was gathered as large as nuts. " Flora and Ponoma vigorously 
 contested the sovereigntj' of the season with their thorny-crowned successor." On 
 moist days, in the Midland Covmties, the sun shone out with vernal brightness, 
 freely and fully. Arable land worked loose and friable. The filbert put out its 
 pensile catkins and small scarlet blossoms. Pike were caught, in the which the 
 spawn was as fully advanced as in March. The Water Rat had young. 
 
 (17) The Celandine. In Spring, and in sunny situations, this lovely little 
 flower has a beautiful appearance, sprinkled here and there amongst the fresh 
 green grass. 
 
 (18) Speedwell. The Germander Speedwell, a very common but beautiful 
 flower, with small blue blossom. Found in profusion on the banks of hedgerows 
 in Spring. 
 
 (19) Dormouse. Amongst those animals which hybernate for the winter is the 
 Dormouse. About November it builds a dormitory of leaves and moss, and lines 
 it with the needle-shajjed .'eaves of the larch, into which it creeps, and sleeps away 
 the winter. In appearance it somewhat resembles a squirrel, but has a yellower 
 appearance. When Spring apjjears it awakes and leaves its nest, and again sports 
 about in the woods. Thomas Hood, the celebrated comic poet, in some lines on 
 "Bed," in his poem of "Miss GUmanseg and her Golden Leg," very sweetly 
 introduces the Dormouse to illustrate his sentiments. He likened that deep.
 
 80 
 
 winter sleep, into which it goes, to the untroubled rest of childhood. These are 
 his lines — 
 
 "But the child that bids the world 'good-night,' 
 In downright earnest and 'cuts it quite,' 
 
 A Cherub no art can copy : 
 'Tis a perfect picture to see liim lie 
 As if he had supped off Dormouse pie, 
 (An ancient classical dish by-the-bye) 
 Witli a sauce of sjTup of poppy." 
 
 (20) The Martin. Few rural sights are more familiar in Spring than that of 
 the Martin building its nest underneath the eaves of a house, or in the corner of a 
 window. Many persons call this bird by the name of " Swallow ;" but that bird 
 never builds in such situations, but always in a chimney, or on the beam of an 
 outhouse. The Martin builds her nest of mud, of which, when wet, it takes about 
 sixteen ounces, which the bird brings in small jiellats, and of which so many are 
 brought that it only takes about 12 days to complete the nest, showing great 
 perseverance and industry in the construction. 
 
 (21) There are few persons who have not read in their childhood the story of 
 Robert Bruce and the Spider. It is unnecessary to repeat it. 
 
 (22) The authors ancestor's have been yeomen who have occupied lands under 
 the noble families of Coke, Hardinge, Melbourne, and Palmerston for hundreds of 
 years, a circumstance of which he feels more proud than does many a Baron of the 
 patent of his nobility. 
 
 (23) Reed Waebler. A small bird which builds a most beautiful and unique 
 nest between the reeds in marshes and by rivers. 
 
 (24) Thomas Pass. This verse is taken from an " Ode" composed and addressed 
 to me by Mr. Thomas Pass, of Melbourne. Mr. Pass may almost be called the 
 " Thomas Hood " of the district in which he dwells. Many of his lighter poems 
 sparkle with flashes of wit and humour, as his graver ones are mai-ked by much 
 beauty and sweetness. The following little poem must commend itself to tho 
 taste of all lovers of true poetry. 
 
 "STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD." 
 
 (To H. 0., King's Newton.) 
 
 " Weep not for the little Stranger 
 Sent to visit you below ;
 
 81 
 
 He hath left a realm of danger — 
 
 Ye have loved him — let him go ; 
 Weep not — he has gone before 
 
 To the spirit's resting shore. 
 
 "Weep not for the dear departed — 
 
 Hush each murmur — check each sigh ; 
 Ye can ne'er be broken-hearted 
 
 While ye know his destiny. 
 Weep not — he hath joined the song 
 
 Of the ransomed spirit throng. 
 
 " Weep not for Affection's token, 
 
 Though it mingle with the dust : 
 Though an earthly tie be broken 
 
 Heavenly chains can never rust ; 
 Weep not then — this link of love 
 
 Joins you to a home above. 
 
 "Weep not — let your faith's strong vision 
 
 Track the lov'd one to his rest — 
 Inconceivable transition — 
 
 Mortal for immortal guest. 
 Weep not — there his mind shall reach 
 
 Mysteries mortals cannot teach. 
 
 " Weep not — heed no more death's slaughter, 
 Listen to Jehovah's word, 
 
 " Better name than son or daughter 
 Will I give him," saith the Lord. 
 
 Weep not — God recalls his own- 
 Let his righteous will be done ! " 
 
 The following Verses are extracted from a Poem called " Flowers from the Grave." 
 
 "Flowers from the Grave ! flowers from the land of Death ! 
 
 Flowers from the soulless, sunless sepulchre ! 
 They tell of triimiphs in their very breath — 
 
 They set our buried memories astir. 
 
 "Flowers of the Grave ! oh ! speak they not of love 
 
 Ethereal, pure, unchanging ? breathe they not 
 Love's syllables ? are they not interwove 
 
 With Love's communions past, yetunforgot? 
 
 " Flowers from the Grave ! bright living links which bind 
 
 The Past and Present as in magic chain. 
 Recalling smiles and voices to the mind. 
 
 And bringing lost ones to our eyes again.
 
 82 
 
 "Flowers from the Grave ! voiceless, yet eloquent, 
 
 Impressive, living preachers, ye proclaim 
 Death terrorless — his final arrows spent — 
 
 His scythe unedged — annihilate his name. 
 
 The following extracts show Mr. Pass in a different vein- 
 
 JANUARY. 
 
 " If this be January, I'll be whipp'd 
 Into a syllabub ; since that first day 
 We've hail'd him Janus : he has cast away 
 His cloud cowl : in masquerade equlpp'd 
 He sallies out : his bluster balmy-lipp'd ; 
 His " How d'ye do," how soft, 'tis hard to say ; 
 His hurricanes and storms are mild as May ; 
 His toes unfurr'd — his midriff unbeflipp'd ; 
 The "young idea" seeker wo'nt believe 
 It can be he, and dark forebodings heave 
 His tiny throbber, lest his Janus-ship 
 Should turn conseri'ative, and cut his nip 
 Without a snowball battle : hard the trial 
 For tyros yet unscliool'd in self-denial." 
 
 MARCH. 
 
 " His sudden gleams from heaven's blue acreage, 
 Om- youthhood's treasured memories uncage, 
 And we grow young again. Industrious bees 
 Begin their caterings— un timid hares 
 Hop happy hops — the modest violet dares 
 Intrusion welcome— orphan, wry-necked lamb3 
 Are caded, petted, and forget their dams — 
 And 'neath the hedge the epicurean throstle 
 Saves many a snail from life's progressive jostle." 
 
 JUNE. 
 
 " 'Tis Nature's carnival— 'tis life in clover. 
 And, like Life's longest day, will soon be over." 
 
 SEPTEMBER. 
 
 " Now com-crowned Summer topples from his throne. 
 And fawns and dryads laugh him to the shades ; 
 September skips through dingles, dells, and glades, 
 And metamorphoses to russet tone
 
 83 
 
 Their greenery. Who longs not to be one 
 
 To go a nutting ? choice and zealous blades 
 
 To shake the browns for " a la gypsy" maids, 
 
 And share the sylvan feast. King Oberon 
 
 'Neath some gigantic fungus holds his court, 
 
 And sends "sweet Puck" upon some shadowy sport ; 
 
 The spider's geometric gossamer. 
 
 With dew-drops glistens ; and the atmosphere, 
 
 Dia-phonous, new beauty still discloses, 
 
 Wliere'er the joyance-brightened eye reposes. 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 " still we love to stroll 
 Where gorgeous woodlands rouse the "poet's soul," 
 And bid his inspirations chalice quaff. 
 Inscribed with Deity's own autograph : 
 Nature, beatified, courts adoration ; 
 'Tis glory on the eve of desolation." 
 
 DECEMBER. 
 
 "Welcome December ! thine's a 'Winter's tale — ' 
 But we will hear thee out : our betters say 
 We ought to reverence locks when turning grey. 
 So sing thee on : for mournfully the wail 
 Of hollow winds sweeps over crag and dale, 
 Joining in chorus with the raucious bray 
 Of nudi J branches ; but thy simnier lay 
 Around the yule-lit hearth, iims up a scale 
 Of merrier music ; passionless the soul 
 Which quits not grossness when thy wassail bowl, 
 And spicy edibles, and misseltoe. 
 And mince concomitants are all the go :— 
 But we must part ; — anon. Time's nimble pages 
 Will tumble thee into the sea of ages." 
 
 Mr. Pass is one of those individuals who occasionally relieve the duties and 
 responsibilities of a life of toil by indulging in literary pursuits. Quiet and unos- 
 tentatious in manner, and amiable in disposition, he piu-sues the even tenor of his 
 way, apparently without possessing any higher ambition than that of following the 
 duties of his vocation. For if ho occasionally pays court to the Muses, and contri- 
 butes to the newspaper press, his contributions invariably appear under initials. 
 Following the united occupations of di'uggist, bookseller, and i^rinter, in the little 
 town of Melbourne, he is much respected for his probity and uprightness of con- 
 
 M
 
 84 
 
 duct. " From a pin's head to a common ball," the customer may almost obtain 
 any known article at the shop of the poet. His method of advertising his articles is 
 frequently quaint and original. He is married, and has a small family. He is a poet 
 of the heart and affections, rather than one of the imagination. Some of his poems 
 have been much admired for their tenderness and feeling. The late Ebenezer 
 Elliot, the Corn-Law Ehymer, thought very highly of them. Dr. Spencer Hall 
 ha\ang read some pieces in the Nottingham papers, and hearing that the poet was to 
 be in the town on a certain day, went some miles to have a peep at him. Many of 
 the squibs which he has occasionally issued in Melbourne, on local subjects, are 
 exceedingly amusing, witty, and original. 
 
 (25) Joseph Thomas Cantrell, Esq., whose residence is situated at King's 
 Newton, At the present time he is Judge of the Derby County Court. His family 
 have long been territorial possessors at Newton, probably about 500 years. The 
 late Lord Hardinge, Commander-in-Chief and Governor-General of India, descended 
 fi-om a marriage contracted by Nicholas Hardinge, gentleman, of King's Newton, 
 and Ag-nes, daughter of John Cantrell, Esq. , of the same place, in the 20th year of 
 King Henry VTI. Mr. Cantrell, the subject of these lines, is the son of Joseph 
 Cantrell, Esq., and Elizabeth Eobins, eldest daughter and heiress of the Eev. 
 Joseph Smith, perpetual curate of Osmaston, near Derbj^, and vicar of Stapleford, 
 in the county of Nottingham. He married Cecilia, daughter of the Kev Henry 
 Foster Mills, Chancellor of York Minster, and grandaughter of the most Eev Dr. 
 JLarkham, Archbishop of York. This lady died in July, 1841, extremely regretted, 
 and was buried in the north transept of Melbourne church, in the family vault of 
 the Cantrells. 
 
 (26) In his position as Judge of the Derby County Court, Mr. Cantrell fulfils his 
 delicate and difficult duties with honour to himself and advantage to the public. 
 His decisions are given after a patient hearing, and are the result of extensive legal 
 knowledge, calm judgment, practical good sense, and strict impartiality. Tho 
 consequence is that they are very rarely appealed against. When called 
 upon to preside over public assemblies, Mr. Cantrell speaks with fluency, but 
 still always to tho point. Into his remarks he occasionally infuses a slight 
 dash of humour. Those who were sufficiently fortunate to be present when 
 he presided over the dinner given to Lord Palmerston, at Melbourne, some 
 years ago, will not readily forget the happy method which he possesses of 
 making gatherings pass off pleasantly, and the ability with which he conducts them. 
 In matters connected with the locality in which he dwells he usually takes part. 
 lu some instances ho has been instrumental in forwarding great local improvements. 
 Thus, when, owing to the greatly increased traffic south of the Trent, Swarkcston
 
 85 
 
 Bridge was found too narrow to accommodate it, Mr. Cantrell succeeded in drawing 
 public attention to it, and inducing the County Magistrates to appropriate a sum 
 of money for widening and otherwise improving the bridge. As this bridge extends 
 over three quarters of a mile, the improvements were attended with great conveni- 
 ence to the public. When, also, the state of Chellaston Roads was such that 
 they became almost impassable, Mr. Cantrell directed his attention towards them, 
 and as the only practicable method of obtaining that improvement, succeeded in 
 getting a Bill passed through Parliament to form them into a Turnpike. 
 
 (27) The Museum is that of Tliomas Bateman, Esq., the distinguished anti- 
 quarian, situated at Yolgrave, near Bakewell, Derbyshire. Mr. Bateman devotes 
 bis attention to the investigation of the primeval remains of this country, and his 
 collection at Yolgrave is one of the most extensive and interesting which has ever 
 been brought together. The beautiful but primitive weapons of flint and bone 
 used by the ancient Britons, may here be seen by hundreds. 
 
 (28) A little grove, situated near the village of Rempstone, in Nottinghamshire, 
 In its centre was an ancient burial ground. A few broken gravestones still remain 
 
 but the grove has "been filled and adieu to its shade." 
 
 [Since writing the account of King's Newton Hall, at page 67, that interesting 
 old building has been destroyed by fire The view of it at page 7 was sketched 
 about a fortnight before the occurrence took place, and acquires additional interest 
 from the fact that it is the only one — as far as the author is aware— that was ever 
 taken of the Hall befoi-e it was consumed The ruins have been most admirably 
 sketched by an artist employed by the " Illustrated London News," and a view 
 of them appeared in that Journal of April 30th ult. 
 
 The fire broke out about 2 o'clock on Sunday moniing, April, 17th ult., being 
 first perceived in the dining-room, whence it extended with great rapidity by the 
 staircase to the roof of the western wing : thence by the north front to the east 
 wing. The most determined and heroic eflbrts were made by the rillagers to 
 subdue the flames, but without avail. In about one hoiir the work of destruction 
 was complete, and the hall was left a mere wreck. The fli-e is supposed to have 
 been accidental At the time of its destruction it was occupied by Robert 
 Green, Esq. and family, who were, fortunately, away from home when the flames 
 broke out. The hall was the property of the Lady Viscountess Palmerston. It 
 existed about 400 years.]
 
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