£.</>« ^-x 
 
 e^y^ 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE 
 
 HOUSE OF BROCKLESBY, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 DEDICATED TO THE EARL OF YARBOROUGH. 
 
 BY ROBERT FRANKLIN, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " IllE MILLER S MUSE. 
 
 HULL: 
 
 PRINTED BY SAMUEL DIBB & CO., MYTOXGATE, 
 
 AND 
 
 SOLD BY WILLIAM STEPHENSON, LOWGATE, 
 1844.
 
 SAMUEL DIBB & CO., 
 
 PRINTERS, 
 MyrONGATE, HULL.
 
 
 ^^ 
 
 TO THE 
 
 RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF YAEBOROUGH. 
 
 Mr Lord, 
 
 The dedication of Poems to a Nobleman, (from an 
 humble individual like myself, without his jiennission or 
 knowledge) will, I am afraid, at first sight, appear a 
 stretch of boldness and freedom on my part that may require 
 explanation. Disclaiming the hypocrite, and actuated by 
 the purest motives, I trust the following remarks will, in 
 a great measure, vindicate my conduct, if not be found a 
 sufficient apology. Had I not heard and known something of 
 your lordship's liberality and kindness in patronising those in 
 humble life, as well as those of more exalted station, several 
 of the following ideas had never been brought into existence, 
 through the fear that they might either have been treated with 
 contempt, or considered little better than impertinence. It 
 having fallen to my lot to be born and brought up within a 
 few miles of the Brocklesby Estate, and to have heard of the 
 unbounded benevolence of a deceased father, and the pre- 
 
 853851
 
 IV 
 
 eminent excellence of a departed mother sounded in my ears from 
 my youth up, to the present time, not only by my o^vn relatives, 
 but the public at large, I can, therefore, conscientiously assert 
 I have had a mind glowing in favour of yom* famih^ from my 
 boyhood ; and, in admiration of your Lordship's taste, talents, 
 and distinguished ^-irtues, urged on by the promptings of 
 genius, I at length felt a sort of bounden duty to attempt to 
 sing in humble rhyme, the praises of the ancient House 
 of Brocklesby. At the time of forming this resolution, 
 Avell knowing the imperfections of human undertakings, and 
 that we cannot connnand our talents, my particular motive 
 was to ])ay a faithful tribute of respect to the memorj' of the 
 dead, to give the honour and praise due to (he living, grati- 
 fication to your Lordship and the public at large on the 
 perusal of it, and credit to myself as the author : and if this 
 feeble effort should be found so fortunate as to meet the 
 approbation of your Lordship, and the members of jour 
 family, I am in hopes it will be read by. posterity when the 
 statesm.an shall be at rest in his shroud, and the poet shall be 
 mouldered in the dust. 
 
 In aid of metrical composition, Dr. Blair, in his lectin'c on 
 Rhetoric, informs us the art of poetry jjossesses great claims 
 to antiquity, having prevailed amongst the ancient Arabs from 
 a very early period of time, who were in the habit of singing 
 their verses and odes to their lovers and heroes, and that 
 wherever they found the bard inspired, or possessed of poetic 
 genius, as tliey imagined, he was held sacrod bv liis country- 
 menr Ages nearer our own lime having partly separated the
 
 sister arts, music and poetry, and latter years having established 
 music as a science of its own, this may, in some measure, 
 have lowered poetry in the estimation of many; certain it is, 
 a great portion of mankind do not make it their amusement, 
 much more their study, treating it as frivolous and of no utility. 
 On the other hand, it is a great consolation to know, wherever 
 it has been found entitled to merit, and of a religious or good 
 moi'al tendency, it has been cherished, patronised, admii'ed, 
 and supported by the greatest, the wisest, and the most 
 virtuous in all ages. 
 
 I have been partly indebted to jNIr. Hesleden, of BaiTow, 
 for the historical account of the chivalric Pelhams, and the 
 irreproachable House of Anderson. 
 
 On visiting Brocklesby, aiul viewing the relics of antiquity, 
 the monuments of art, and the charms of nature, I experienced 
 great delight, and have here attempted to group or unite 
 together a few of what I conceive the most prominent poetical 
 beauties, which, I trust, will be familiar to your Lordship's 
 notice, leaving a thousand behind worthy of more minute 
 observation. 
 
 In the description of various objects, I encourage a hope 
 I have taken nature for my guide, and confide in the certainty, 
 truth for my basis, and not advanced a single particle of 
 praise llic^ honourable House of Brocklesby is not fairly 
 entitled to.
 
 VI 
 
 I have taken the liberty of annexing " Lines on Visiting 
 Tliornlon Abbey," as a suitable appendage or accompaniment 
 to the House of Brocklesby. This monument of antiquity 
 having come under your Lordship's protection, is now 
 likely to remain for a long period one of the most interesting 
 ruins in Lincolnshire. 
 
 The poetical memoir of the deceased George Uppleby, 
 Esq., Barrow village, may revive recollections that I am almost 
 .sure will not be unwelcome as a neighbour, and known to your 
 Loi-dship in early life. His respectability as a country gen- 
 tleman — his hospitality to the poor— his suavity of manners— 
 just discrimination, kindness, and forbearance as a magistrate, 
 ought to be recorded ; and his discernment, and friendly advice 
 given to (he Ferry Captain regarding his oath, thereby pre- 
 venting the misery of two human beings who would either have 
 been banished or met an ignominous death, and living years 
 afterwards to proclaim their innocence, was a trait in his 
 character worthy of being handed down to posterity. His 
 memory continues to be gratefully cherislied to this day, by the 
 principal inhabitants of Barrow who had the happiness of his 
 acquaintance, verifying the sentence in Sacred Writ — 
 " Blessed is the peacemaker." 
 
 Trusting nothing will be found offensive or displeasing in 
 the remaining effusions here submitted to notice, this small 
 volume of Poems is most res])ectfully dedicated to your Lord- 
 ship, without permission ; and, if in this instance, my assurance
 
 vu 
 
 shall be foimd to have overstepjied my ability, I humbly 
 implore forgiveness, indulging the hope I may not be thought 
 unworthy of credit for good intentions. 
 
 That your Lordship may long live to possess the best of 
 health, to enjoy the many blessings showered upon you by 
 Divine Providence m this life, and final happiness hereafter, 
 is the wish of 
 
 Your very obedient humble servant, 
 
 ROBERT FRANKLIN. 
 
 Bai'ton-upon-Humber, Lincolnshke, 
 Februai-y 20th, 1844.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE HOUSE OF BROCKLESBY 1 
 
 LINES ON VISITING THORNTON ABBEY 49 
 
 THE JUSTICE OF THE PEACE 57 
 
 THE VILLAGE CHURCHYARD 64 
 
 THE VILLAGE CLERK 73 
 
 CORONATION ODE 78
 
 THE HOUSE OF BROCKLESBY. 
 
 In Park, at Brocklesby, in lovely May, 
 
 When leaves and flowers their earliest channs display. 
 
 Skirted with blooming furze in nature's pride. 
 
 Where the sleek fox in safety loves to hide. 
 
 Where many a nestling tries the new fledg'd wing, — 
 
 The calm retreat of many a living thing. 
 
 In Park, at Brocklesby, in glorious June, 
 Ere yet melodious birds had lost their tune j 
 Beyond the Lodge, where faithful Dodds is seen. 
 With gun in hand, aiTay'd in Lincoln-green; 
 Where timid hares less fearful cross your way. 
 And many a warbler hails the opening day; 
 Where the bright pheasant gaily stalks along. 
 And Philomel salutes the year with song. 
 
 Who hath not witness 'd, in his wanderings here. 
 Those interesting herds of beauteous deer ? 
 Those somewhat shy attendants on the lawn. 
 The brindled doe — or more delightful fawn, 
 O f almost infant innocence possest. 
 Or antler, monarch, towring o'er the rest ;
 
 The noble stag as here beheld of late. 
 
 With horns high rais'cl in dignity and state — 
 
 For never king more lordly wore his crown. 
 
 Or more reluctant laid his honom-s down — 
 
 A sjjlendid creatm-e, and, when unconfin'd. 
 
 In speed, how near the fieetness of the wind ! 
 
 When foes pm'sue him, from his thraldom freed. 
 
 The hmiter's victims all are jjoor indeed. 
 
 In lonely pride he loves the woodland glade ; 
 
 And reigns in beauty in the niral shade. 
 
 Worthy the spacioiis Park — the rich man's wall,— 
 
 Worthy baronial feast in ancient Hall. 
 
 The Ancient Hall ! the pride of other days. 
 
 Demands our admiration and our praise : 
 
 An highly honour 'd, generous, virtuous race. 
 
 For centuries past have occupied the place. 
 
 To let our earliest records here be sung. 
 
 And show from whence this honour 'd House hath sprung j 
 
 To here attempt their worthy names in rhyme, — 
 
 Walter de Pelham, in first Ediviird's time, 
 
 Preceeds a William noted in his tum. 
 
 Followed by Thomas and the great Sir John, 
 
 Honour'd with title by great John of Gaunt, 
 
 On his great merits we might long descant. 
 
 Whose gallant prowess and exalted fame. 
 
 Gave the first Pelham s their distinguish'd name.
 
 At thoughts of him the valorous bosom wamis ; 
 
 From belt and buckle blazon'd ou his anus. 
 
 Reward of courage for his bold advance. 
 
 On seizing prisoner King John of France ; 
 
 In high repute for gi'eat achievements past, 
 
 A warrior, bold as brave, he breath 'd his last. 
 
 Follow'd by Son right worthy of his sire. 
 
 His blood in every vein — his breast of fire. 
 
 Sir John the second, no less famous found. 
 
 Knighted when Henry Fourth King was crown 'd; 
 
 And was, indeed, a truly worthy knight. 
 
 As well beloved in council as in fight. 
 
 And proved himself the very first to bring 
 
 A ransom forth for Scotia's captive King; 
 
 Esteem'd by royalty, a shining star. 
 
 For great exploits and all the arts of war; 
 
 In three kings reigns he held his high renowii. 
 
 And crov\ n'd with honours to the dust went doAvn. 
 
 From whom ilic first Sir William Pelham rose. 
 An hero too — the dread of foreign foes; 
 Laughlon, in Sussex, for his birth's renown'd ; 
 Henry the. Eighth in France with title crown'd 
 Sire of Sir William, second in the line. 
 Whose fame most noble Brocklesby was thine. 
 His worth, and sterling qualities of mind, 
 Preserv'd the name his sires had left behind;
 
 Havre-de-Grace, and lues at siege of Leith, 
 
 Beheld his active sword releas'd from sheath: 
 
 In Ireland, too, he ran a bright career — 
 
 Here chose chief justice, or lord justicier ; 
 
 Field Marshal next, he sought the embattled plain. 
 
 With Earl of Leicester o'er the dang'rous mainj 
 
 He lived as soldiers live — the bold and brave. 
 
 And died in foreign land beyond the wave-* 
 
 His life was spent in many a martial scene; 
 
 He nobly served, till death, his gi'acious Queen, -f 
 
 From whom sprang third Sir William, not the last — 
 
 Oh ! hold him equal to the warriors past. 
 
 Though train 'd in early youth to use of anus; 
 
 As wanior, too, oft shar'd its dire alarms ; 
 
 Yet, deem'd the greatest scholar of his age. 
 
 The friend of literature adoms our page ; 
 
 Well versed ui books — although a soldier true. 
 
 He doubtless read the channmg muses too: 
 
 And where a kindly taste for these are given. 
 
 Few live and die without the fear of Heaven. 
 
 Oft shall the studious, sentimental mmd. 
 
 To friends and relatives prove truly kind ; 
 
 And such Sir William, this was one bright part — 
 
 He held a generous and a feeling heart ; 
 
 Beloved at home, and saved from foes afar. 
 
 Beyond the raging main, in feats of war ; 
 
 * riii.jluiig, Holland. + Elizabeth.
 
 'Twas here he lived, with blooming offspring round — ■ 
 *T\vas here with peace his latest days were crown'd ; 
 Sharing the common lot, the general doom. 
 Thy church, Oh ! Brocklesby, became his tomb. 
 Where hangs a sentence penn'd with pious care, 
 " Pray and be humble," — sacred motto there. 
 
 He had a nephew — one no doubt betray 'd, ^ 
 Malignant tongues have term'd the renegade, — 
 He had a nephew — deem it not unkind. 
 Who might unnoticed have remam'd behind; 
 Yet if one speck, or one historic stain. 
 On this most honom-able House remain ; 
 If one hath en-'d though distant in the line. 
 Who great good Anderson was none of thine — 
 For him we mourn, in hopes his better mind 
 Would fain have left his worst of foes behind ; 
 Happy we live more free from blood and scars. 
 Those sad attendants on the civil wars. 
 
 None holdmg the estate in this affair. 
 
 Appear to have partook the slightest share. 
 
 Though last Sir William liv'd in evil times. 
 
 When earth was stain 'd with blood and fiU'd with crimes ; 
 
 He, firm to throne and country's ancient laws, 
 
 Rais'd foot and horse to serve the royal cause. 
 
 Much we deplore the last Sir William's fate. 
 
 Although our sympathy arrives so late ;
 
 Oft have we mouni'd to mark the grief he bore. 
 After the gory fight on Marston Moor : 
 True to his injured King in every part. 
 Yet died, alas, himself of broken heart, 
 A victim to those treacherous times, and when 
 The worst of passions sway'd the minds of men. 
 In thee, fair Kendal, his remains were laid. 
 Oh ! honour still the fallen soldier's shade. 
 Whose troubles almost seemed to form a chain — 
 His first son died, the third in battle slain — 
 That when Sir Wiiliam left this world of care, 
 Edward his second son became his heir. 
 Thus far om' pedigree is fairly told. 
 Of heroes, statesmen, and of warriors bold. 
 And now with joy our cheerful notes we raise 
 To sing of brighter and much happier days ; 
 And mark the pleasing change amongst mankind. 
 That left a Cromwell and his crimes behind. 
 
 And note a train of worthy sons and sires. 
 An highly honour 'd list of country squires — 
 Men who, from fear, were not compell'd to roam. 
 But lived in love and died in peace at home. 
 At length, as Edward without issue died. 
 First Charles came next, fourth brother close allied. 
 Whose days were free from anarchy and strife. 
 Who liv'd at ease a calm and peaceful life.
 
 Amidst his children fair, a numerous race. 
 
 Till death; when second Charles supplied his place^, 
 
 On whose fair name with great delight we dwell. 
 
 Because more near our times and known so well. 
 
 High on the Turf he stood, in honour hoimd. 
 
 And famed for rm-al sports the country round. 
 
 Last of the Pelhams, ere we change the line. 
 
 Much merit and gi'eat praise, good Charles, were thine; 
 
 Kind to the poor, he had the power and will — 
 
 " He lives like Pelham," is proverbial still : 
 
 He rais'd the hoofs, ne'er beaten in the race. 
 
 The famous Fox-hound vig'rous in the chase. 
 
 No draggling cur, to suit an aged hack. 
 
 Holding best horse and boldest rider back. 
 
 But what would dash through thicket, mire, and clay. 
 
 With strength sufficient for the longest da}' ; 
 
 He liv'd to good old age, a lengthen 'd span. 
 
 Beyond the somewhat common term of man ; 
 
 In choice, to bear his name was no disgrace — 
 
 No mean descendant occupied his place ; 
 
 A chosen nephew, although very young. 
 
 Had from an honourable lineage sprung : 
 
 Sir Edmund Anderson, a glorious name. 
 
 Stood high in station and judicial fame ; 
 
 As judge, the paths of rectitude he trod. 
 
 He dealt in mercy as he feared his God — 
 
 Not one afraid to check the human race. 
 
 When false and evil tongues usurp'd the place ;
 
 8 
 
 Blest with sound judgment, ready to decide^r 
 He stood a chami)ion bold on mercy's side ; 
 Crown'd with long life, his work most nobly done. 
 His spotless fame descended to his son — 
 Sir Francis Anderson, good knight was seen. 
 From fam'd Elizabeth his maiden Queen. 
 The next, was Stephen, in his father's right, 
 A worthy scion too, although no knight. 
 From him sprang forth a fair extensive race. 
 All well belov'd and honoured in their place ; 
 Follow'd by second Francis in the line; 
 From whom third Francis rose in life to shine, 
 Possesing great and highly honour'd name. 
 Although no wanior, from the field of fame ; 
 With House of Pelham he became allied. 
 From thence received his fair and lovely bride. 
 Whose marriage bed was blest with daughters fair. 
 Whose nuptial bliss was crown'd with son and heii- 
 Francis the fourth, hail ! the parent tree. 
 The stai-s of Brocklesby aiose from thee. 
 
 Forgive, whilst from the lineal line we stray. 
 To name a branch or two beside the way. 
 As o'er the historic page we calmly turn — 
 Broughton, alas ! records in death Sir John. 
 Descending downwards to the present age. 
 Sir Charles lives worthy of poetic page. ^
 
 Long may he live^ and blest when life shall cease, 
 Esteemed for justice, piety, and peace ! 
 
 Well pleased, our scattered thoughts we now combine 
 
 To note the worth of next distinguished linej 
 
 The setting sun salutes each western wall. 
 
 And sheds his latest beams on Manby Hall,* 
 
 With noble Worsley's name at present crown'd. 
 
 From his gi'eat charity diffused around ; 
 
 And Manby woods and rides a tribute raise. 
 
 That give departed Andersons the praise; 
 
 Without one imperfection on their name. 
 
 From this respected House first Yarbokough came. 
 
 And shall we leave unsung, to memory dear. 
 One so belov'd, so generous, so sincere ? 
 No ! let his comely name be handed down. 
 And others profit from his just renown. 
 That he was great, my country know full well ; 
 That he was good, some thousands yet will tell; 
 Sought by the wise on whom they could depend. 
 The great Fitzwilliam was his early friend. 
 Then Star of Wentworlh, whom we now deplore. 
 Heart more humane can never bless the poor; 
 'Tis said, like brothers, they were heart and hand. 
 Two worthy Nobles of my native land. 
 
 • The seat of Lord Worsley. 
 C
 
 iO 
 
 No wonder, from associate so kind, 
 
 Yarborough the first possest such lib'ral mind; 
 
 The ox from stall and sheep from flow'ry mead. 
 
 Food for the neighbouiing poor were doom'd to bleed. 
 
 Though Lindsey boast her worthies not a few, 
 
 A better heart fair Lindsey never knew ; 
 
 Without just cause his friendship knew no end, 
 
 A kind good master, and the poor man's friend; 
 
 The best of friends in sorrow, want, or shame. 
 
 The first to comfort and the last to blame ; 
 
 Widow and orjihan, and the vagrant train. 
 
 Were seldom known to seek his aid in vain : 
 
 In deeds of alms he needed no advice. 
 
 He held the very pearl of highest price — 
 
 A ready hand in every time of need ; 
 
 Blest with the gift of Charity indeed. 
 
 And without loss of rank, with gi-eat or small — 
 
 In one short sentence, he was kind to all ! 
 
 His taste refin'd to boast, he held this part. 
 
 Behold yon spacious gallety of art. 
 
 Existing i3roof that his superior mind. 
 
 Was friend to science of the highest kind. 
 
 In early life he lov'd — was lov'd again, 
 
 A cherish'd source of pleasure and of pain; 
 
 For whom he lov'd, alas ! the lonely tomb 
 
 Too soon receiv'd in its unconscious womb. 
 
 Hail ! virtuous love, since we are led to see. 
 
 Yon beauteous temple rear its head to thee.
 
 n 
 
 How truly worthy of his plenteous store. 
 He cherished all the Pelhams lov'd before; 
 Adhering to each wish they left behind, 
 Firm as the ivy round the oak entwin'd. 
 Oh ! could those venerable heads laid low 
 Behold the scenes in fair existence now. 
 Though they might love to mark the olden view. 
 They'd bless the name of him who rais'd the new — 
 Yarborough the first, and prove his life no waste. 
 From wealth dispers'd in elegance and taste ; 
 Whether in spring, in walk, or morning lide. 
 Or when the woods possess their summer pride ; 
 Or when fair autumn's charms are here display 'd 
 Array'd in tints of almost every shade; 
 Or when the winds have left the trees in sport. 
 Like naked masts from ships in friendly port. 
 To boast no wizard haunts, no magic wand. 
 From fictious fairy, o'er the smiling land, — 
 Yabborough the first liv^es in the woodland scene. 
 Oh ! term his name the glorious evergreen : 
 The woodman's stroke that lays his beauties low. 
 Records his honour 'd name in every blow, — ■ 
 His veriial shades that hill and dale adorn, 
 'Will bless the sight of thousands yet unborn ! 
 
 Thus, having sung, regretful of the past. 
 And moum'd the worth of one who died the last. 
 The willing muse would now attempt to raise 
 Fresh themes to give the present House its praise.
 
 12 
 
 Though parting time that never brooks delay. 
 And years on years have roll'd themselves away. 
 The House of Brocklesby and fair domains. 
 In more than former beauty still remains ; 
 What though no massy columns, stout and tall. 
 Rear high their heads to grace thy entrance hall ; 
 What though no lofty towers or tuiTets rise, 
 Glittermg with sunbeams streaming from the skies; 
 Hallow'd by death, and crown'd with length of years. 
 Neatness and gi'andeur in thy foi-m appears ! 
 Although we mourn, it is not ours to trace 
 Thy early founder to his resting place. 
 As hands by which thy corner stones were laid. 
 Dust of the earth, ere this, are doubtless made. 
 In thy old front 'tis gi'eat delight to see, 
 Buckingham ancient House revived in thee; 
 Yet most we love thy fair internal part, 
 Grac'd with the numerous monuments of art; 
 Those marble busts that all but life recall. 
 And foiTns that almost breathe upon each wall. 
 Stamping the Artist's genius most sublime. 
 Who steals his beauties from departing time ; 
 Bright emanations of the human mind. 
 From master-hands supreme amongst mankind 
 
 And though 'tis not our privilege to pore 
 Thy thousand or ten thousand volumes o'er. 
 Or scan the merits of each golden line 
 From the fam'd dramatist to sage divine;
 
 13 
 
 Yet 'tis with pleasure, looking round, we trace 
 
 Some works familiar in each goodly case: 
 
 Here that blest Book in various forms is given. 
 
 That points to erring man the way to heaven ; 
 
 Burn, Bacon, Blackstone, too, attention draw. 
 
 For abstract reasonings and shrewd points of law ; 
 
 Great Locke and Newton, and how many more. 
 
 Highly esteemed for philosophic lore ; 
 
 Bright, Hume, and Smollett, tastes somewhat combin'd 
 
 Men of sound judgment and great strength of mind. 
 
 Who told the world her virtues and her crimes. 
 
 Faithful historians of departed times ! 
 
 And leaving much to guess, not less to leani. 
 
 The most pathetic sentimental Sterne ; . 
 
 Burke, Fox, and Sheridan, who nobly stood. 
 
 Bequeathing their advice for public good. 
 
 And wise the man who much to each attends — 
 
 Books as companions are the surest friends ; 
 
 Congenial minds were these, and our regard 
 
 Will ever rest upon inspired bard 
 
 ^Vho breathes a spirit in devoted lay, 
 
 That worlds can neither give nor take away — 
 
 To whom great nature's channs are kindly shown. 
 
 Oft without spot on earth to call his own ; 
 
 Such Goldsmith's fate — long lov'd, our earliest pride ; 
 
 Thompson, Gay, Shenstone, Pope, and Akenside, 
 
 Steele, Addison, and Rowe, distinguish'dhere; 
 
 And Johnson, too, a critic most severe;
 
 14 
 
 Delightful Moore — chaste Campbell, ne'er forgot ; 
 
 A noble Byron, and Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 These, scarce a tithe in number or in name 
 
 Highly deserving of poetic fame, 
 
 Who gave their time, their talents, and their toil, 
 
 The dying taper, and the midnight oil. 
 
 Denouncing vice in many a faithful page 
 
 And holding virtue up in every age — 
 
 Worthy, indeed, our tributary lays 
 
 Of admiration, gi'atitude, and praise ! 
 
 Great Brocklesbt! to give thy name its due. 
 For many a shadowy walk and pleasing' view — 
 Thy trees, thy sculpture, pictures, -books, and flow'rs. 
 Are feasts, indeed, for man's instructive powers. 
 Here may be seen, in this delightful time, 
 A splendid rose, from almost every clime ; 
 Yet oh ! how short of true poetic grace 
 To name the splendour of the flow'iy race ; 
 Yes, vain indeed ! our best endeavour's found. 
 To paint each gem that blooms in glory round. 
 
 Fair Brocklesbt ! to praise thy fruitful soil. 
 And name the worth of those who daily toil ; 
 Thy gardens boast an aromatic air, 
 Fill'd with the rich, the useful, and the rare ;
 
 15 
 
 Here fragiant pines have long acquired their fame. 
 And here the grape deserves an honour 'd name ; 
 In vigVous leaf 'tis no less joy to see. 
 The fig-tree flourish in no small degiee. 
 
 Befitting lady's breast or wanior's brow. 
 Here the bright laurels in profusion grow ; 
 Here oak that's evergreen appears in view. 
 And famous Turkey oak in vernal hue. 
 And forest glories of the first degree, 
 Virginian cedars, and the tulip tree ; 
 And 'midst a thousand beauties that appear 
 In all the changes of the varying year. 
 Cedars of Lebanon adorn the scene. 
 For ever fragrant, and for ever green. 
 
 The wide-spread sycamore, the moumful yew 
 The ancient Briton ever lov'd to view : 
 Cressy and Agincourt, dread fields of fame. 
 Proud tree ! advanced thy glory and thy name ; 
 Though death, long since, hath laid their heroes low. 
 Of wood like thine each conqueror form'd his bow. 
 The shadowy elm, the gi-aceful puii:)le beech. 
 And chesnut in full flower, are beauties each ; 
 The larch, the silver fir, and Weymouth pine. 
 Delightful Brocklesby! all these are thine ; 
 And British oak, supreme amongst the rest. 
 The oldest, boldest, bravest, and the best.
 
 16 
 
 Preferr'd by man when he embarks his life 
 
 To combat war or conquer ocean's strife ; 
 
 Unlike frail mortal's short uncertain stay, 
 
 A thousand springs may yet behold thee gay ; 
 
 King of the oaks art thou in power and might. 
 
 May future heirs long mai"k thee with delight ; 
 
 He stands triumphant on the eastern lawn, 
 
 Grac'd with the first bright beams of glorious morn. 
 
 Each big-broad branch in deep dark green array 'd ; 
 
 Those out-stretch'd arms that form a friendly shade. 
 
 In the full tide of majesty appears, 
 
 A patriarch, indeed, from length of years. 
 
 Huge chronicle of time ! stupendous tree ! 
 
 "What is the emmet race of man to thee ? 
 
 What can he boast of ? all his lengthen'd line. 
 
 United ages, scarce would equal thine ! 
 
 Death, wars, and huiTicanes have swept the earth. 
 
 Since a small acorn first produced thy birth. 
 
 Oh ! music, key to memory's boundless store 
 Of present joys and pleasures, we deplore ; 
 Presum'd to forai in heaven a glorious part. 
 Most potent spell, enchantress of the heart. 
 Our love to thee those by-gone days recall. 
 When the blind harper sought the ancient Hall 
 With thrilling tones, that grac'd the trembling wire. 
 Whene'er he touched his fascinating lyre.
 
 l^ 
 
 Depaited Bromlf.y shall no more command ; 
 His haqi's unstrung, or owns a stranger's hand, 
 Those tones beloved his happy spirit gave. 
 For ever slumber in the silent grave. 
 The friend of science and of sounds refin'd. 
 That calm the passions and exalts the mind. 
 
 To speak of one in highest circle seen, 
 
 A late attendant on our youthful Queen ; 
 
 Good Lady Charlotte shall we pause from fear,* 
 
 To kindly wish a lady's presence here ? 
 
 No ! 'tis our duty now to give you place. 
 
 The only daughter of this noble race — 
 
 Daughter of one whese love, whose hopes, and fears, 
 
 As mem'ry glances through the mist of years. 
 
 Beholds long buried in the mournful gloom 
 
 Of lost affection, in a mother's tomb. 
 
 iNIost cheering thought, a father still remains. 
 
 The rightful owner of those rich domains ; 
 
 Though born in town amidst the crowded throng, f 
 
 Near the fam'd city long renown'd in song. 
 
 Here past in part the interesting time. 
 
 Of pleasing childhood and your maiden's prime ; 
 
 'Twas here the lovely firmament above. 
 
 Sun, Moon, and Stars, at first received your love ; 
 
 * Lady Charlotte Copley. + Stratford Place, London, 
 
 X)
 
 18 
 
 Here nature blest your siglit arid charm 'd your ear 
 With all the beauties of the changing year. 
 Old favourite trees, and long remember'd flowers. 
 May still delight you in those friendly bowers ; 
 i\nd aptly here peruse the pleasing page 
 Of happy moralist or holy sage. 
 And numerous objects w^ell reward your toil — - 
 Oh ! deign to visit still paternal soil. 
 'Tis yours to here perform a pleasing part. 
 Whose presence ever glads a parent's heart ; 
 May health and joy, attendants in your train. 
 Oft bless you in those channing haunts again ! 
 The gay parten'e, still blooming fresh and fair. 
 Invites your gentle hand and fost'ring care. 
 And music waits, a most attractive call, • 
 To bid you welcome to a father's Hall — 
 Delightful chords that wake the lightsome strain. 
 And sweetly solemn sounds of Jubal Cain. 
 Illustrious female ! in this honour'd line. 
 Accept our motives from the best design — 
 Most gen'rous lady ! whom we kindly greet, 
 Happy to name your worth in praises meet ; 
 Placing our humble poem in your view. 
 Yet deem our feeble lay scarce half your due. 
 
 To notice worthy objects our desire. 
 
 And few more welcome than the village spire j
 
 19 
 
 Tis here ! the ancient church adorns the way. 
 
 And house of God requires a serious lay — 
 
 'Tis mercy's seat, where man may hope to save 
 
 His Maker's love in worlds beyond the gi'ave ; 
 
 Long since made holy by true sighs and tears. 
 
 Soon shall your records boast a thousand years. 
 
 Great and good men these hallow'd paths have trod. 
 
 Who lov'd their fellow-man and serv'd their God ; 
 
 Those rough-hewn stones that form thy mould'ring tower. 
 
 Contrast themselves with time's improving power ; 
 
 Thy solemn porch, with mantling ivy crown 'd. 
 
 And five lone yews in mournful beauty round. 
 
 Dimming the glare of day for feeble sight. 
 
 Throw round a somewhat more relig-ious light. 
 
 Tomb of the Pelhams, long departed race ! 
 
 All tend to greatly solemnize the place. 
 
 How still around ! no living forms are seen ; 
 
 Tis now a truly quiet churchyard green. 
 
 When Sabbath reigns, far diff'rent scenes appear. 
 
 When sacred bell invites to worship here ; 
 
 The fairest earthly scene, allied to Heaven, 
 
 Pervades this glorious day — one day in seven, 
 
 When man throws off the bonds of worldly care. 
 
 And humbly seeks the peaceful house of prayer. 
 
 Descriptive muse ! to make thy pathway clear, 
 Compell'd too soon to quit thy wand'rings here.
 
 20 
 
 With many a pleasing object still in view. 
 
 Let honour 'd House thy lengthen'd strains renew ; 
 
 Whose oak-bound staircase, and sound oaken floors. 
 
 High spacious rooms, and huge substantial doors. 
 
 Are proof that once solidity of frame 
 
 Was one bold step to architectural fame. 
 
 The Servants' Hall holds one in service grey. 
 Who aids the man of business on his way ; 
 Where nature's relics on the walls are shown, 
 Adorn'd with woodland honours all thine own — 
 The stag's bold front, and once the plaintive dove. 
 That grac'd the j^ark in beauty, peace, and love — 
 Retreat of those most useful in their sphere. 
 Noted for fine old ale, and best of cheer ! ' 
 Ah ! see the bright old can, with copper face. 
 Long time a resident within the place ; 
 And mark, with silver tipp'd, the famous horn. 
 That lips have prest when infant heirs were boni — 
 In friendly horn, so long the table's pride. 
 May true domestics, rang'd on either side. 
 Drink from the heart in glad assembly there, 
 Yarborough the second, and his worthy heir!* 
 
 Lindsey ! renown 'd for feast and merry tale, 
 
 Long fam'd for wholesome cheer and home-brew'd ale ; 
 
 " Lord Worsley.
 
 21 
 
 The House of Brocklesby, amongst the rest. 
 Hath brew'd the strongest and the very best— 
 Some of peculiar strength, preserved with care, 
 Is ever kept to toast the future heir. 
 Tho' favour 'd visitant might here explore. 
 In spacious vaults below, a plenteous store 
 Of choicest wines — old, cold, and prime. 
 From the best vintage in each southern clime ; 
 Yet, spite of sparkling hock and bright champaign, 
 Here's great provision for the humble train. 
 Here, nicely shaded from the sun's bright ray. 
 In prison's darkness hid from glorious day, 
 March and October lies in cool retreat. 
 Wisely protected from the summer's heat — 
 A beverage cherished from a distant time. 
 Warm, and well-suited to our northern clime. 
 
 The sons of toil proclaim good ale the best. 
 
 Nor envy costly wines for nobler guest. 
 
 Though some denounce, most insolently bold. 
 
 What our good ancient fathers lov'd of old, 
 
 'Twill prove, though some may brand the cup with shame. 
 
 The happiest candidate for village fame. 
 
 Far be the thought, that drunkenness profane 
 
 Within your noble House should ever reign ; 
 
 Not doubting but the hearts that round you dwell. 
 
 Are really those who strive to serve }ou well ;
 
 22 
 
 And blest tlie servant that shall here abide, 
 
 A friendly monitor, a faithful guide. 
 
 To well perform and not o'er act his part. 
 
 Who holds a master's honour 'd name at heart ; 
 
 For, labour done, oh ! may he never fail 
 
 To glad the j)oor man's breast with home-brew'd ale. 
 
 For whilst the spirit cheers his drooping frame. 
 
 He'll wish the greatest blessings on your name — 
 
 In after-times repeat the kindness o'er. 
 
 And tell how fam'd yom- House in days of yore. 
 
 All parts are interesting from the past. 
 
 And dining-room is neither least nor last ; 
 
 Though life's fair pleasures may be man-'d with pain. 
 
 Here joys have been, and joys will come again. 
 
 When Christmas reigns, with his accustomed grace. 
 
 When radiant fires illume his merry face. 
 
 Full oft in mantle wrapt of driven snow. 
 
 With wreaths of ever-green around his brow. 
 
 Whose fairest form and greatest chamis appear 
 
 On the first entrance of the infant year ; 
 
 As this delightful season comprehends 
 
 The happy greeting of illustrious friends, 
 
 IVIuch it might gratify the eye, at least. 
 
 To here behold the true baronial feast. 
 
 When martial strains of music first begin. 
 
 By which the noble guests are ushered in.
 
 23 
 
 'Midst numerous seiTants in gay liveries clad, 
 With cheerful faces, and their hearts as glad. 
 When garni sh"d boar's head grins in green array. 
 An ancient symbol of the gala day ; 
 When loins of noble ox, from weight alone, 
 Tries the stout arm and bids the table groan ; 
 Where smokes the very best of boil'd and roast. 
 Plum-pudding and prime beef, Old England's boast ; 
 And near huge pie with dainty meats well stored. 
 Transparent jellies tremble on the board; 
 Where plate and golden cups, preserv'd with care, 
 (True sign of riches) shed their splendour there. 
 Let this suffice ! 'twere vain to name the rest. 
 Where all that's good awaits each welcome guest. 
 Whilst noble YAiiBOROtrcH in good health is found 
 To bid the toast and mantling bliss go round. 
 
 As meny Christmas kindly smiles on all, 
 Tis pleasing here to mark the servants' ball ; 
 No favour'd guest need wish for happier doom 
 Than introduction to the Steward's room ; 
 Chiefs in the service occupy the place — 
 A much-respected, confidential race. 
 Who to the wish and wants of each attends. 
 On whom the business of the House depends; 
 And whilst the tables here are richly crowii'd. 
 And plenty greets the cheerful guests around.
 
 24 
 
 To honour'd House true fealty nev^er fails. 
 And social joy and harmony prevails. 
 
 in Servants' Hall, midst all in the em])loy. 
 
 The feast prevails, and here no less the joy. 
 
 Where punch and frothing hom sent up and down. 
 
 Gives impulse to the mind, to some unknov\ii ; 
 
 Where num'rous toasts are giv'n from hearts sincere, 
 
 Members of family remember'd here— 
 
 Earl Yarboroitgh first, and heirs, the gi'eat and small. 
 
 Health and long life is warmly drank to all ! 
 
 The walls in gay festoons of beauteous green, 
 
 And sounds of music quickly shift the scene. 
 
 When various forms, from love or friendship known. 
 
 In the delightful dance range up and down. 
 
 The old remember, too, in times like this. 
 
 The joy so oft receiv'd from stolen kiss. 
 
 When youthful hearts were light and bosoms warm. 
 
 When mistletoe was held the central charm ; 
 
 E'en for the good old floor respect we feel. 
 
 So oft a respite to the dancers' heel ; 
 
 And though some may despise the joys we name. 
 
 The ancient pastimes here are still the same. 
 
 And the wide hall re-echoes loud and long. 
 
 To Christmas gambols or the woodman's song. 
 
 Such is a part of Engl.and's merry limes. 
 
 When men delighted heard the Christmas chimes.
 
 25 
 
 jBy our forefathers form'dj the good and kmd. 
 We would not have their customs left behind, 
 When lich scarce hop'd a blessing on their store 
 Without their kind remembrance of the poor. 
 Sweet Christmas bells ring out the olden year. 
 And Christmas worship is the most sincere ; 
 When greater' love and gratitude arc shown 
 To Him who kindly sent salvation down. 
 Christmas ! esteem'd, belov'd, on land and sea. 
 With joy our bosoms warmly turn to thee ; 
 Long shall thy ling'ring charms be felt and known 
 In village cot, in hamlet, and in town ! 
 Long shall the ball in lighted hall display 
 Thy cheerful joys, to lord and lady gay ; 
 For though our state is changed for good or ill. 
 Delightful Christmas ! most will love thee still. 
 
 Enjoying now the mild and balmy air, 
 Pleas'd to behold each object new and rare — 
 Next we must llbte those truly sprightly steeds 
 That grace each stall, or bask on verdant meads ; 
 A little time will mark them, bright and gay, 
 O'er hedge and ditch pursue their vent'rous way. 
 
 When autumn's fogs and wint'ry glooms appeal', 
 Those sure attendants on declining year. 
 Beneath the morning stars, at earliest dawn. 
 The hunter-train salutes the opening mom ;
 
 26 
 
 When woods re-echo back the welcome sound 
 
 Of beating hoofs, and cheerful voices round, 
 
 Happy to share at the appointed place, 
 
 The joys, the toils, and perils of the chase. 
 
 Where horses, hounds, and huntsmen blythe and bland;. 
 
 Join the high order of my native land. 
 
 Praiseworthy Smith, possess'd of judgment sound* 
 In well-bred hunter and sagacious hound ; 
 Wiles of the fox, and every shift he tries. 
 When close pursued, ere yet the felon dies. 
 The tones and signs of Reynard's direst foe. 
 That forms thy faithful, cheerful, tally-ho ". 
 Ere yet the skulking villain sweeps the lawn. 
 Proclaim 'd in break away from sprightly horn. 
 Fear'd, lov'd, and honour'd by thy jovial pack ; 
 Alike to thee well known each devious track ; 
 The frightful precipice, with frowning brow. 
 And yawning pit the jaws of death below ; « 
 Each treach'rous bog hath met thy searching ken,. 
 Where the big rushes fatten in the fen. 
 And tow 'ring hill, and long-descending vale, 
 'Midst rain and hail that arm the pi&rging gale ; 
 Chief in the chase, o'er drains and fallows wide 
 No fearful rider, and a faithful guide ! 
 
 * William Smith, himtsman.
 
 27 
 
 'Tis said thy recipe hath cleaus'd the breath. 
 Where hydi'ophobia had been certain death- 
 Most happy found, to shield afflicted mind 
 From the worst malady amongst mankind, 
 Assm-'d those virtues are the veiy best 
 That tend to aid and succour the distrest. 
 Son of a worthy father in the past. 
 May health and peace attend thee to the last ! 
 Yet prompted here by gratitude to state. 
 As hands and eyes on worthy master wait. 
 The praise of olden sportsmen, every line. 
 He humbly terms, most noble Yarborough, thine. 
 Disclaiming sordid interest in our choice. 
 We add a friendly wish from heart and voice — 
 May Yarborough's camp, for chivalry and chase. 
 Live in our song a long remembered place ! 
 
 A noble dairy, hid amongst the trees, 
 Shaded from surt yet open to the breeze. 
 Where the rich milk from flowing fountains stream. 
 Famous for butter, curds, and clotted cream. 
 Whose windows fair will stand the test of years. 
 In which the second Yarborough's taste appears; 
 
 To name the equipage of every sort. 
 
 For use, for ease, for comfort, ball, or court ;
 
 28 
 
 A part is liei-e— the rest is better known 
 
 Near the old Mansion in the busy town.* 
 
 On famous gun-room, too, the muse might dwells, 
 
 From which, at length, we take a kind farewell. 
 
 Seat of the brave, the good, the wise, the gay ! 
 Full forty years have slowly pass'd away 
 Since first, a boy, thou blest my wand'ring sight ; 
 Here mark'd thy many windows with delight ; 
 Unus'd to little more than cottage wall, 
 'T was joy, indeed, to view the ancient Hall; — 
 If memory errs not thou wert much the same ; 
 My country still preserves thy olden fame. 
 May heav'n protect thee in thy present form. 
 From foes, from fire, and elemental storm. 
 And crown our benedictions on the place — 
 The House of Bkocklesby and noble race ! 
 
 Beneath the mid-day's sun, the noontide ray. 
 Through beauteous park now let us wend our way ; 
 The spreading hawthorns late in bloom aiTay'd, 
 By nature formed for shelter and for shade. 
 And nobler use than these that's here combin'd. 
 Suggests itself to the reflective mind. 
 A few short months, and lo ! 'midst frost and snow. 
 The ruddy haw will grace the leafless bough ; 
 
 * Town House, Arlington- Street.
 
 29 
 
 All things possess their great Creator's cai-e— 
 Then these how welcome to the fowls of air 
 To mark some distant views that here prevail 
 Embow'rd in shade within the southern vale — 
 See, Church of Kirmington, and spire above, 
 That kindly points to Heaven in christian love 
 
 West of the park appears, on neighbouring hill. 
 The long-remembered antiquated mill. 
 With canvas furl'd, and naked sails transverst. 
 In happy semblance of the Sabbath's rest. 
 To dwell on passing time — that still expires — 
 In ages past, behold our worthy sires. 
 Ere yet their minds had fonn'd the stately tow'r. 
 Brought forth their forest oaks in might and pow'r. 
 That loudly laugh 'd man's feebler power to scorn. 
 When thus the mill arose to grind his com — 
 No weak invention, altho' rude in form ! 
 To bear the wrath of each relentless storm. 
 Long may the old post mill adorn the view ! 
 Antiquity hath never graced the new. 
 
 More to the right is seen what most admire- 
 Above the trees, fair Ulceby's ancient spire ; 
 A pleasing object, and for ever will. 
 Reminding us of Harrow-on-the-HilL
 
 30 
 
 Now woods assume their universal green. 
 
 The lighter shades of sprmg no longer seen ; 
 
 The full-grown branch of vernal leaf display 'd. 
 
 Precludes the sun, and forms the cooling shade. 
 
 Near those fair scenes, releas'd from smoke and din. 
 
 You'll meet the welcome of a rural inn.* 
 
 Come forth, my friends, who love your walks abroad,-' 
 
 Fair nature greets you on a channuig road ; 
 
 The wild I'ose blooms in hedge-rows as you stray. 
 
 And odorous hay-fields sweetly, scent the way ; 
 
 The zephyr moves the gently waving corn. 
 
 And truly glorious is the opening morn ! 
 
 The sheep-walk, and the bean-fields fiU'd with flowers. 
 
 And summer wreaths for you her fairest bowers ; 
 
 And where great nature's charms to sight are given, 
 
 'Tis then the rising soul ascends to Heaven — 
 
 Led to adore the Power existing there. 
 
 That form'd this earth so beautiful and fair ! 
 
 Here grove on grove in youthful beauty rise. 
 
 That strikes the stranger with no small surprise; 
 
 Rich lawns and vistas opening on the view. 
 
 For ever changing, and for ever new j 
 
 Circuitous routes, extending far and wide. 
 
 Demanding honest Leighton for a guide.f 
 
 As forester, 'tis thou the best canst tell 
 Where all the greatest sylvan glories dwell ; 
 
 * Limber Inn. + Charles Leighton, forester.
 
 31 
 
 Their earliest signs and symptoms of decay. 
 And tliose in vig'rous health, bright, gi-een, and gay : 
 Where the rank ivy, with its shining face, 
 Kill'd a stont lover in the fond embrace ; 
 And where the stonn in greatest fury broke. 
 That rent the elm, and scath'd the mighty oak ; 
 And where the mistletoe, on numerous boughs. 
 And various trees in most perfection grows. 
 'Tis thine to mark the earliest birds that sing — 
 First leaves and flowers, and all the joys of spring ; 
 Thick shady bowers beneath the summer skies. 
 And autumn with her thousand or ten thousand dies ! 
 The chattering squirrel and the screaming jay. 
 And lonely red-breast hail thee on thy way. 
 O'er leaf-strewn walks, where lifeless foliage lies. 
 Emblem of man ! whose strength and beauty dies; 
 And list the woods, when stonns or tempests roar. 
 Like rolling billows on the sea-beat shore. 
 
 Oft left to point out many a shadowy dell 
 In which the sons of toil are doom'd to dwell. 
 Where all is still, save when from silence woke 
 Loud echo tells the woodman's fatal stroke. 
 In wide-spread woods full oft compell'd to roam. 
 In deep green shades we find thy peaceful home ; 
 And near thy friendly domicile is seen 
 The gi-eatest forest beauties ever green.
 
 32 
 
 And weeping ash is no less pleasing found ; 
 So near a form of drooping anguish round. 
 The daring muse will task her foes to find, 
 A more engaging mourner of the kind ! 
 To pay the objects here their praises due. 
 As the bright seasons pass in kind review, 
 Man of the woods forgive, if thoughts incline. 
 To almost sin to covet life like thine ! 
 
 Taking the left-hand walk, a rising way. 
 
 Saluted here from many a venial spray. 
 
 Ye feather 'd minstrels of the shadowy grove. 
 
 Free as the mountain air delighted rove. 
 
 Sing on your thousand notes, distinct and clear. 
 
 Here's none to violate your warblings here. 
 
 The owl may fly these shades for ruin'd tow'r. 
 
 And sullen hoot throughout the midnight hour ; 
 
 Yet there is one to love and friendship dear — 
 
 The dove is found a faithful mourner here. 
 
 Hail, wond'rous bird ! that sail'd through trackless air. 
 
 And prov'd from olive branch the mountains bare : "^ 
 
 Hail, sacred bird ! from righteous Noah's release 
 
 The blissful harbinger of joy and peace ! 
 
 Crowning the rich elysian scenes around. 
 The mausoleum stands on classic ground ; 
 "Who rests in earth beneath we cannot know. 
 But doubtless many a Roman sleeps below.
 
 33 
 
 In Leightoiia* hands the bright worn key appears, 
 A faithful servant here for length of years. 
 There is a sanctitVj an holy dread. 
 Whene'er our feet approach the silent dead. 
 In this fair place what serious thoughts abound — 
 Be grave, my soul, for this is hallow'd gi'ound ! 
 In such a place t'vvould be no crime to bow, 
 The Heaven's above, the silent dead below; 
 Yes ! the respected, once the truly wise — 
 There the great founder and his consort lies ! 
 Whose beauteous monument will doubtless stand 
 Long as the church shall grace my native land ; 
 In hopes mankind will never live to trace 
 One sacreligious hand defile the place. 
 
 Delightful statue ! still unchang'd by years. 
 In which the choicest workmanship appears. 
 O NoLLEKiN ! to view thy pleasing art. 
 How shall the poet here perfomm his part ? 
 To reach thy well touch 'd chisel's matchless skill. 
 May praise that's justly due direct his quill. 
 
 Yes ! beauteous marble, though 'tis good to trace 
 The outward form and lineaments of face. 
 
 * Joseph Leighton, who shews the Mausoleum.
 
 »4 
 
 And well tum'd ann on fav'rite oak reclin'd^ 
 
 These cannot tell the beauties of the mind. 
 
 Or fomi a shadow of those virtues rare 
 
 That blest O'Frere's only daughter fair. 
 
 'Tis true she died, and yet her goodly name 
 
 Is fresh on mem'ry as the lists of fame ; 
 
 In her kind bomity, from the best design. 
 
 She blest the poor ^vith clothing, wannth, and wine. 
 
 How great her worth amidst the grief profound. 
 
 Her death proclaim 'd to all the country round. 
 
 A sorrowing husband and her children dear 
 
 She left to weep around a mournful bier ; 
 
 Some far too young to note her latest prayer. 
 
 Or kindly thank her for a mother's care. 
 
 In early life, with num'rous offspring blest. 
 From youngest born she failing strength express'!; 
 The thoughts of death assail'd her spirit meek. 
 An hectic flush sat mournful on her cheek. 
 Yet as she liv'd, the Christian and the friend. 
 Calm resignation was her glorious end ! 
 Chann'd with the joys religious acts inspire. 
 She lov'd the Sabbath and the village spire. 
 Yet only liv'd in pious thoughts sincere 
 To mark three springs beyond her thirtieth year ; 
 Of happy temper and of taste refin'd. 
 To bless her husband every wish inclin'd.
 
 35 
 
 And, lasting proof of his unceasing flame. 
 
 He stamped this goodly fabric with her name. 
 
 Now trust, releas'd from ev'ry earthly pain. 
 
 Their souls are blest where happy spirits reign ! 
 
 Kindly peiinitted here to gaze awhile 
 
 On views from top of this transcendent pile — 
 
 Ye vernal scenes array'd in living gi'een. 
 
 Far, very far, beyond fair Limber seen ; 
 
 Delightful groves in rising beauty still 
 
 That cross the vale and crown the distant hill ; 
 
 To wish that added charms might still appear, 
 
 O, JVeivshajn ! would thy flowing springs were here. 
 
 Amid those barrier woods on rising ground. 
 
 To shed their pure refreshing streams around. 
 
 Vain wish indeed — why seek affected pride. 
 
 Here nature cannot fail, though art's deni'd ! 
 
 JVewshani, for thee to touch the lyre again, 
 Peace to thy beauties where they now remain ; 
 Thy limpid waters suit the living swell 
 Where fish and wild fowl in abundance dwell, ■ 
 Where one sujjreme amongst the feather'd throng. 
 The stately swan, majestic rows along; 
 ^Vhere ancient meads and monarch oaks abide, 
 Crown'd with a thousand years, their owner's pride ! 
 Long may the yacht, for second Yarborough's sake. 
 Float on the bosom of thy peaceful lake ;
 
 36 
 
 And yon fair bridge, possess'd of beauteous frame, 
 Record his taste, his genius, and his name ! 
 
 Lo ! where yon stately rows of trees are seen, 
 
 With one green broad savannah stretch'd between. 
 
 O'er which the sun his bright effulgence throws. 
 
 Beyond the banks where ancient Humber flows — 
 
 A tranquil lake when calm, so mild in fonn ; 
 
 A mimic ocean in the raging storm. 
 
 Most noble Earl ! tis thine with joy to see, 
 
 In woods and groves, in lawns, in flower and tree, 
 
 A prospect fair beneath ethereal blue 
 
 That never blest thy honour'd father's view ; 
 
 Part of thy heritage, to him unknown, 
 
 Grac'd with his great improvement and thine own. 
 
 Oft shall poetic fancy call to mind 
 
 The lovely scenes she now must leave behind. 
 
 Where contemplation may no longer dwell — 
 
 Shades of departed worth, now fare you well ! 
 
 Yet, whilst we bid the solemn dead adieu, 
 A living character is still in view ; 
 A pleasing pedigree supports his name — 
 From the best heart and honest sire he came ; 
 'Midst music, merry bells, and joyous mirth. 
 Time of wheat han'est was our hero's birth ; * 
 Beneath the Sun, with yellow sheaves around. 
 The cheerful reapers heard the pleasing sound.
 
 37 
 
 And blest the tidings found so truly rare, 
 
 To House of Brocklesby the son and heir ! 
 
 Yarborough the second ! cheerful, bright, and gay. 
 
 Of whom, in fairness, it is just to say 
 
 The chief of Lindsey, worthy of the name — 
 
 The first in talent, honour, wealth, and fame ; 
 
 On whom my countrymen have fixed their choice. 
 
 Their approbation in the public voice. 
 
 And loudly swear from him no ties shall sever. 
 
 But serve his noble House and heirs for ever ! 
 
 Then toast, in goblet bright, the chosen pearl. 
 
 And sound the virtues of the noble Earl, 
 
 How many from his bounty sink to rest 
 
 In happy homes, with every comfort blest; 
 
 A hundred,* ere they sleep, must wish him well — ■ 
 
 A hundred, when they wake, his goodness tell ! 
 
 And thousands would admire, if clearly shown. 
 
 The thousand acts of kindness never known ; 
 
 How truly wise, and O ! how wisely great. 
 
 To condescend to men of low estate ; 
 
 Who ever knew long blessings on their store. 
 
 Who liv'd for self alone, and scom'd the poor ! 
 
 Possess'd of judgment and superior parts, 
 Patron of useful and the finer arts, 
 
 * Pensioners.
 
 38 
 
 Lincoln ! thy institute, with loud acclaim. 
 
 Resounds great Yarborough's patriotic name. 
 
 Who owns with joy, and marks with true delight. 
 
 The pale mechanics' labours brought to sight ; 
 
 Better jirepared to live, no less to die. 
 
 As noble brother of the mystic tie ; 
 
 True to the ancient Church himself, yet known 
 
 To give to all opinions of their own ; 
 
 And holds at heart one sterling virtue more — 
 
 A lasting wish to educate the poor ! 
 
 For acts like these, his name will reach renown 
 
 Beyond his coronet, beyond a crown — 
 
 "Wliere wealth and charity united dwell. 
 
 Honour and titles fit their wearer well. 
 
 'Tis also just to raise great Yarborough's name 
 High on the list of agricultural fame ; 
 As Chief of Lindsey, he unrivalled stands 
 For num'rous pleasant farms and spacious lands. 
 Although in senate pass'd his early years. 
 Till call'd to higher seat in House of Peers ; 
 From gi'eat experience on his own estate 
 We cannot err to tenn his judgment gi-eat. 
 In ox, horse, heifer, fram'd in beauty's mould. 
 And sheep that forms the most productive fold. 
 
 The change in Lindsey fifty years have shown. 
 To none than second Yarborough better known.
 
 39 
 
 When scarce an hedge-row for long miles was seen. 
 Alternate fallows and gi'een fields between ; 
 Half baiTen wolds, and deeply sunken fen. 
 How much improved ! the manner* how, and when ; 
 Now scarce can Britain in her wide domain 
 Boast nobler haiTests or superior grain ; 
 'Tis now, indeed, a richly cultured soil. 
 From heads who guide the peasant in his toil. 
 
 A grateful tenantry on every side. 
 
 His yeomen, too, of whom he lives their pride. 
 
 Ready to sen'e him, when soe'er he calls. 
 
 With man and horse, sword, jiowder, and with balls ! 
 
 A warlike band, in evolutions true. 
 
 And he their chief and their commandant too. 
 
 Our peaceful nobleman-, averse to strife. 
 
 Hath led an active and an useful life. 
 
 And what in after years will sound the best. 
 
 No gory blood-drops ever stained his crest ; 
 
 Yet ever ready, with his heart and hand. 
 
 To guard from every foe his native land. 
 
 Not one to hack and stab, devoid of fear. 
 
 And mar his Maker's lovely image here ; 
 
 Intent to catch the fleeting breath of fame. 
 
 And gain, too oft, a most inglorious name ! 
 
 Who thus destroys a fellow mortal's breath. 
 
 Can surely die no very easy death —
 
 32 
 
 He plays, alas ! the licens'd villain's part ; 
 How near a murderer in the pride of heart ! 
 
 Permit the wand'ring muse, in anxious flight. 
 
 To rest her pinions on the Isle of Wight. 
 
 Fair isle ! primeval fix'd thy rocky seat. 
 
 With prostrate ocean rolling at thy feet ; 
 
 Rich in great nature's beauty everywhere. 
 
 Blest with sea breezes and salubrious air. 
 
 Hither, in early life, by fancy lead. 
 
 Round the Wight Isle his fame hath long been spread. 
 
 Appuldercomhie ! where thy fair walls arise. 
 
 And thy green park in vernal beauty lies ; 
 
 Though love and honour followed here in turn, 
 
 Yarborough the second had his cause to mourn ! 
 
 He, like a father, lost in early life. 
 
 In Worsley's heiress good and faithful wife ; 
 
 He, like a father, in affection true. 
 
 As faithful lover — faithful mourner too. 
 
 Though some may linger on life's busy stage. 
 
 Blest with an almost patriarchal age ; 
 
 Others, alas ! with whom 'tis joy to dwell. 
 
 Just come to shew their love, and sigh — farewell ! 
 
 To take our moral from the vernal shade. 
 
 The fairest flowers are oft the first to fade. 
 
 'Twas pale consumption marr'd his consort's bloom : 
 
 Here, too, kind mother met an early tomb ;
 
 41 
 
 Yet, 'luklsl two sons she left, and daughter fair, 
 To House of Brocklesby the rightful heir; 
 For present honour, and for future fame. 
 The House of Brocklesby is now the name 
 In which late King,* in gracious favours shown. 
 Blended good Worsley's title with its own. 
 Yarborough the second claims the honour due ; 
 Through him. Sir Richard's name will long he new. 
 
 Possessing post of honour and renoAvn, 
 'Midst generous hearts as wortlw as his own, 
 Great Commodore, o'er Company the best, 
 Chief guide in council over all the rest ; 
 Proud station! by superior talents gain'd. 
 Long time supported, and as well maintain'd. 
 Fond of the ocean, in its features wild. 
 From native inclination when a child ; 
 Nor fear'd the rocks or shoals abounding there. 
 The frowning tempest, or the fierce corsair. 
 Friend of the world, he wished to look around. 
 No idler he — not easy to be found 
 On a soft couch to nurse a pamper'd limb ; 
 A book of travels can be found in him. 
 'Twas wise ; the gen'rous and the truly brave. 
 Will ever find their friends beyond the wave. 
 As frigate rigg'd, and truly valiant ci'ew. 
 With twelve stout gims that bristled in the view. 
 
 * William the Fourth. 
 G
 
 42 
 
 In this fam'd ship was second Yarborough seen. 
 To glad the sight of kings and youthful queen; 
 In splendid Falcon, mark'd Trafalgar's bay. 
 Where the great Nelson's life was ebb'd away. 
 The fort of Cadiz and the ports of Spain, 
 And Lisbon, too, have mark'd his gallant train. 
 When Don Miguel strove with all his might 
 To basely steal away a brother's right ; 
 In hopes to witness here his just defeat. 
 His Lordship's Falcon joined the British fleet. 
 At Gibraltar, too, whose frowning look 
 Revives the mem'ry of the famous Rooke, 
 And ancient Malta hail'd yacht Commodore; 
 At Navarino, on the Turkish shore. 
 Beheld a much lov'd son, with true delight. 
 Kindly protected through the bloody fight. 
 From hence he sail'd, and with his faithful band 
 Next came to anchor on the Egyptian strand.* 
 Here, mark'd the bay and spot long known so well, 
 "V^'here Nelson fought, and Abercrombie fell. 
 With victory cro^Ti'd, alas ! from fatal wound. 
 When crimson current stream'd upon the ground. 
 Where the rich Nile o'erflows the scorching plain. 
 Where Pompey's pillar overlooks the main. 
 Bound to grand Cario, on a mission rare. 
 To Syrian chief, through British consul there — 
 
 * Alexandria.
 
 43 
 
 Mehemet Ali, whose exalted name 
 Once more revives his country's faded fame ; 
 Fearless of health, behold him, at this time 
 On Egypt's burning sand in sultry clime. 
 Survey the pyramids from age sublime. 
 That mock the all-destroying hand of time : 
 Stupendous monuments of art here shown, 
 Whose origin to none is truly known. 
 By various travellers esteem 'd, extoU'd ; 
 One of the seven wonders of the world ! 
 
 Spirit of song ! still farther truths unfold. 
 
 That might by happier bard be better told. 
 
 Our sailor nobleman, of vig'rous mind. 
 
 Now safe returned, to travel still inclin'd ; 
 
 Fond of excursions o'er the watery plain. 
 
 Oft hath his Lordship sought the classic main,* 
 
 Happy to mark the interesting ground 
 
 For learning, arts, and arms so long renown'd ; 
 
 Well arm'd in self defence, yet friend of peace. 
 
 Around the lovely isles of ancient Greece. 
 
 On land and sea, at times induc'd to roam. 
 
 He mark'd the tow'rs of proud imperial Rome : 
 
 Mount Etna and Vesuvius, vine-clad sides. 
 
 Requiring busy feet and friendly guides. 
 
 Where summer smiles, yet oft-times capp'd with snow. 
 
 Though fire and burning lava lurk below. 
 
 * Mediterranean.
 
 44 
 
 Twas thus, in part, great Yarborough pass'd his time. 
 
 At home, ahroad, in many a different clime ; 
 
 Not always on those tranquil sunny seas. 
 
 Stealing along before the favouring breeze. 
 
 But where those dreadful sudden squalls prevail. 
 
 Warning the mariner to shorten sail ; 
 
 And in the darksome hyperborean blast. 
 
 Where the dark clouds have gather 'd round him fast. 
 
 Yet, when on angry surges wildly driven. 
 
 The sport of ruthless winds, 'twixt earth and heaven. 
 
 On rolling seas where mountain billows rise, 
 
 When thimder burst tremendous from the skies. 
 
 And the fork'd lightning flash 'd in awful fonn. 
 
 His courage ne'er forsook him in the storm ; 
 
 Perils, by Him sustain 'd, on land and wave. 
 
 Will ever crown the second Yarborough brave ! 
 
 Esteem'd, admir'd in many a foreign part, 
 
 Belov'd at home, and well receiv'd at court. 
 
 In Falcon, too, amidst the royal train. 
 
 With George the Fourth, on the Irish main ; 
 
 At Cherbourg he was found a lib'ral host. 
 
 On the fair confines of great Gallia's coast. 
 
 When nobles, princes, monarch, guests, how rare. 
 
 With great delight were his attendants there : 
 
 And deem it, from our hearts, much happier thing. 
 
 To kindly feed than fight a gen'rous king. 
 
 His flowing streamers grac'd the Frenchman's strand. 
 
 And honour to himself and native land ;
 
 45 
 
 Tokens of friendship found existing still. 
 Emblems of ])eace to France, and right good will. 
 The feats and triumphs of his happy time 
 Adorn his honour'd name without a crime. 
 Oft has been heard his cannon's friendly roar. 
 In kind salute on many a distant shore. 
 Esteem'd a judge of seamen's wants and cares. 
 In maritime and nautical affairs : — 
 Beacons and landmarks, objects foul and fair; 
 The needle, rocks, and dangers lurking there : 
 The gleaming tower, that lends its friendly light. 
 To aid the mariner in darksome night : 
 Each eddying current, and the set of tide — 
 A\Tiere best to steer, and where to safely ride ; 
 Cliffs, shoals, and sands, and craggy rocks that frowns- 
 All these to thee, illustrious Earl, are known ! 
 Behold the Kestrel skim the azure main. 
 Heading the various yachts, a noble train ; 
 Display her signals o'er the wat'ry way, 
 Answer'd in numerous flags and pennants gay. 
 To us the Kestrel greatest interest lends. 
 In which his lordship hail'd his northern friends ; 
 When native Humber, from her grass-green shore. 
 Loudly re-echoed back his cannon's roar. 
 Long may the Kestrel grace the liquid plain. 
 Or mount the feathery foam on troubl'd main ; 
 Braving each billowy wave or dreadful blast. 
 And land her great Commander safe at last.
 
 46 
 
 On native shore ; when, hanng ceas'd to roam. 
 Long to enjoy his cahn and peaceful home. 
 Proud of our nobleman, the brave and bold. 
 Proud of his virtues which will long be told — 
 Yarborough the second, gen'rous, frank, and free. 
 All hail ! my countr}^nen rejoice in thee ! 
 Yet, though we gladly sound the trump of fame. 
 And warmly advocate an honour'd name ; 
 Although we would not check those spirits gay. 
 Or damp a breast because the head is grey ; 
 Yet, give one friendly hint — to not offend — 
 With you, how soon this transient life must end ; 
 With you, the youthful paths of spring have past. 
 And summer's manhood's prime is fleeting fast ! 
 'Tis autumn now — the leaf is somewhat sear 
 With all who look beyond their sixtieth year ! 
 Still sound, my lord, possess'd of gallant frame. 
 Without a shadow of the halt or lame. 
 Our warmest wish is you may long remain 
 Free from the palsied limb, and every pain. 
 Long may you live to sound your Maker's praise. 
 Blest in the happy winter of your days : 
 And when that period comes — for come it must, 
 WTien your worn frame will join its kindred dust. 
 May the bright Christian's hopes, and mind serene, 
 Mark your last exit from this earthly scene ! 
 And like the radiant sun that seeks the west. 
 Beyond the distant vale appears to rest
 
 5 
 
 47 
 
 In shades of darkness there, to only rise 
 With more resplendent glory in the skies ! 
 
 To still increase our complicated strains, 
 One word to Captain Pelham yet remains ; 
 Well known as brave in battle and the storm, 
 A father's profile, and a father's form ; 
 Long may he live, to act in life the part 
 That's nearest, dearest, to a father's heart. 
 
 And whilst good health adorns your lordship's brow. 
 
 To heirs and offspring we will gladly bow : 
 
 To these, in kindness and in candour say — 
 
 For, not like Judas, we would not betray — 
 
 With joy raise high your heads, illustrious line. 
 
 Since charity's an attribute divine. 
 
 Your highest interest, and your greatest fame 
 
 Springs from this glorious virtue on the name ! 
 
 Long may you live, to emulate still more 
 
 The Sire that lives, and those who died before. 
 
 Happy to leave high deeds of arms behind. 
 
 To boast in you the love of all mankind ; 
 
 As " Live and let live," is the motto known. 
 
 The present race can justly call their o\\'ti : 
 
 May heirs be ever extant in the blood 
 
 Of House so noble, and of name so good ; 
 
 Whilst our chief toast shall be — forgetting never — 
 
 Yarborough the Second, and his heirs for ever !
 
 NOTES TO THE HOUSE OF BROCKLESBV, 
 
 "He had a nephew — one no clo'.tbt betrni/'d." 
 
 Alderman Pelham, of Hull, was a nephew of Sir William Pelham, of 
 Brocklesby, and member for Hull in 1648. 
 
 ^ " Sir Charles lives worthy of poetic page." 
 Sir Charles Anderson, Lea, near Gainsborough. 
 
 ^ ^'Come forth, my friends, uho love your tcalhs abroad." 
 
 Visiting the Mausoleum, the Park of Brocklesby, &c., in the latter end of 
 June, 1843, I was much pleased with the agricultural scenery on the way 
 from Barton, particularly between the village of Wooton and Kirmington ; 
 the odour of the new-made hay — the hedges, low, and nicely tiimmed, in 
 which the wild rose bloomed delightfully — the waving corn, new plumed, 
 Avith nodding wheat ear — the green barley, like innumerable lances glitering 
 in the sun — the blossomed bean-field, and the sheep basking on flowery 
 carpets (trefoil, white clover, &c.) were alternately passed in review. A 
 devotional feeling of gratitude is awakened in my breast when gazing on the 
 charms of nature ; and I trust I shall be pai'doned when I state, that my 
 desire is to communicate this pleasure to others ; assured that the returning 
 season wUl bring with it similar- beauties, when the whole face of nature 
 wears a smile, the varied objects described (although imperfectly) in the 
 poem, will continue to afford gratification to thousands, when the poefs 
 lyre is unsti-ung, and his remains ai'e numbered with his sii-es. 
 
 ■* " Time oficheat harvest was our hero's birth." 
 
 The inhabitants of the village of Ulceby, in the wheat harvest of 1781, 
 gave proof of their attachment to the honourable House of Brocklesby, by 
 ordering the bells, by their merry peals, to welcome to eai-th the present 
 Earl of Yarborough. The reapers in the early wheat harvest heard the 
 music borne on gentle zephyrs, and rejoiced ; the old, to this day, record 
 the event as precocious of his Lordship's birth. 
 
 * " One ivord to Captain I'cUiam yet remains." 
 
 Tlie present Captain Dudley Pelham commenced lus naval career as a 
 midshipman on board the Dartmouth Frigate, only just before the battle of 
 Navarino, in which he displayed great courage.
 
 LINES ON VISITING THORNTON ABBEY, 
 
 Here the old Abbey stands, in its ruins alone ! 
 
 With how little now left, save the brick and the stone. 
 
 And the old oaken doors, still found hanging sublime. 
 
 That so truly depict the deep ravage of time. 
 
 Yes ! those doors, in their might, speak of peril and pain. 
 
 Though no chronicles tell of the conquered or slain. 
 
 Hail, Abbey ! once great and renown'd in thy day> 
 
 In the part still preserv'd, thou art blest in decay ! 
 
 Spared from lightnings that blast, and the storm that devours^ 
 
 'Midst a thousand fair snows, that have capp'd thy grey towers; 
 
 Thy entrance wears well throughout honour and shame. 
 
 And thy long-faded glory still hallows thy name ! 
 
 Though thy once-flowing moat is o'ergrown and forlorn. 
 
 With trees, weeds, and brushwood, the bramble, and thorn ; 
 
 Though thy inmates are now but the noisome and small. 
 
 There's the owl in the ivy, the bat in the wall. 
 
 And the poor noisy daw, and his grey feather'd race. 
 
 Seem of all things the most to rejoice ui the place. 
 
 In truth be it spoken, it once was not so. 
 
 Could we mark thee some few generations ago, 
 
 H
 
 50 
 
 No ! great was the joy, the bustle and state. 
 
 When a kmg and his queen were received at thy gate : ^ 
 
 When the good faithful abbot came out with his train. 
 
 To welcome his monarch o'er pasture and plain ; 
 
 Then, the great of the earth, in their wealth and their power^ 
 
 Day and night were thy guests — not the guests of an hour ! 
 
 Ah ! who could have deem'd that so noble a call 
 
 Should have e'er prov'd a prelude to hasten thy fall ? 
 
 Ah ! who could have dreamt that so stem a decree 
 
 Should have ever gone forth, to be fix'd upon thee ? 
 
 Yet, when others were down, thou could'st not stand alone. 
 
 When despised by the world, and assail'd by the throne ; 
 
 Yet, conscience, that calms e'en the ruthless in heart. 
 
 For the kindness received, still preserved thee in part : 
 
 But a shadow of gieatness, the grave, not the gay ! 
 
 For the next in succession, who swept thee away, 
 
 And left the bold front where late royalty rode, 
 
 A lonely, forsaken, deserted abode — 
 
 By the timid still shunn'd, or approached with some fear. 
 
 Who too oft vainly fancy some ghost might appear. 
 
 How foolish the notion ! — how false the alann ! 
 
 When the dead are once gone they can do man no hami ! 
 
 Yet, 'tis true thou art lonely in gloom of the night. 
 
 Never blessed mth a voice, never cheer'd with a light. 
 
 Save when the bold smugglers, who fear the high road. 
 
 Here attempt to deposit their contraband load ; 
 
 Or, except, when the gypsies, a wandering train. 
 
 Light their faggots, and shelter from wind and frorti rain ;
 
 51 
 
 Who, cheerful at heart, and few fears in the head. 
 With the building above, seldom think of the dead— 
 Of the troubles, the joys, the frown, or the smile 
 Of those who once labour'd to raise the huge pile. 
 Thousrh the work of their hands amidst ruin is thrown, 
 And the pride of past ages is tumbling down ; 
 Yet the old Abbey lands in their beauty still lie. 
 Rich meads and green pastures — how fair to the eye ! 
 It is pleasing to mark, for some distance, the ground. 
 Where the living once doubtless were scattered around ; 
 A clear gentle stream passes near the place still. 
 Where a once gentle stream had so oft turn'd the mill ; 
 But the old dashing mill-wheel hath joined the decay. 
 And the mill and the miller have long pass'd away ! 
 
 And the abbot's old mansion enlivens the scene, 
 
 With its lone weeping ash, and its tenant the Dean, 
 
 Whom, the snows of old age have at length whiten'd o'er. 
 
 Having pass'd here some forty long winters or more ; 
 
 And long may the Dean be found here as a guide. 
 
 To all who possess antiquarian jjride : 
 
 His key opes the door, and through which, as we stray. 
 
 Let us mark this old turret's stone steps worn away. 
 
 So deeply indented, inform us, how clear. 
 
 What thousands of once busy feet have been here ; 
 
 And those loop-holes and side-walls strike awe, and their power 
 
 Are signs of the guarded, or oft dreaded hour !
 
 52 
 
 These, doubtless, were rais'd in a perilous time. 
 
 When foes were around, when the Danes sought oiu* clime. 
 
 Now man meets his fellow, devoid of all fear. 
 
 Nor needs the defences and battlements here. 
 
 And here's food for reflection in this spacious room. 
 
 Once the seat of the living, now lost in the tomb ! 
 
 It is painful to witness how time, in its flight. 
 
 Hath so sadly revers'd scenes that once gave delig-ht ; 
 
 Where the canvas once hung that pourtray'd the sublime^ 
 
 From the hand of the artist, a theft upon time ; 
 
 Now behold a pale vamish is glaz'd on thy walls. 
 
 From the slime of the snail as she lazily crawls ; 
 
 AVhere the once noble footstool was dovMi to the feet. 
 
 Here the meanest of reptiles have found a retreat ! 
 
 Here the gi'eat have oft met to be meny and gay, 
 
 (For none will suppose it was always to pray,) 
 
 Where the best of good cheer that the earth could afford, 
 
 AVhere the viands once smok'd on a bountiful board. 
 
 Where the goblet was press'd, and the wine cup went round. 
 
 In full token of friendship — here nothing is found ! 
 
 The tables are gone — and alas ! every guest 
 
 Has been food for the worms where their ashes now rest. 
 
 Yes ! the founder and builder, and all that were there, 
 
 FoiTO the dust of the eai'th, yet we cannot tell where : 
 
 Though 'tis now clearly shown, where yon ruins are spread. 
 
 In the church where they worshipp'd, they buried their dead.
 
 53 
 
 Ah ! the church ! solemn scene, where the altar was lais'd. 
 Where the Great God of Hosts m past ages was prais'cl ; 
 Where the sounds of soft music oft stole on the ear. 
 Now the winds o'er tliy ruins howl mounifuUy drear. 
 'Tis but just to suppose, as we cannot define. 
 All who knelt in devotion, or bowed at this shrine ; 
 Peradventure the virgin, whose blush might disclose. 
 When the ring was dsplay'd, the bright tints of the rose. 
 Here plighted her troth, and in vows to be true. 
 To the first and the kindest her heart ever knew ; 
 Here once was beheld, in religious attire. 
 The gay gallant knight, the monk, and the friar. 
 The saint, and the sage, with religion and lore, 
 Wlio taught and ilium 'd the dark ages of yore; 
 From whom science and art, that in darkness long lay. 
 Here arose from their trammels and burst into day ; 
 And the gloom might o'ershadow the paths which they trod. 
 Here the heart's wannest praise oft arose to their God ; 
 And though vice might be theirs, much true virtue they bore- 
 It has ever been held they were kind to the poor. 
 Ye forms long departed, who once lingered here. 
 Who pray'd, sung, or wept, o'er the soiTowful bier ; 
 Whose lives were devoted, with toil and with care. 
 In part to mankind and to penitent prayer ; 
 Whate'er were your trials, your troubles have fled. 
 Life's journey is ended, and peace to the dead ; 
 And O ! at the last, may true joy be your doom. 
 When you break the confines of the desolate tomb !
 
 54 
 
 To the Abbey once move ! and at parting dei^lore 
 
 Many scenes in the past, that may never be more. 
 
 Who shall ever renew thy lost wood and thy bowers ? 
 
 Where's the hands to replenish thy long-faded flowers ? 
 
 How little 'tis known that the rasp and the vine. 
 
 From the hands of crusaders, were fostered in thine. 
 
 Here the traveller, benighted and worn by the way. 
 
 Shall no more find repose, and a welcome to stay ; 
 
 From the wealthy no more at thy gate shall be seen. 
 
 The horse and his rider, in jacket of green. 
 
 With the richly plum'd pheasant, the fine branching horn 
 
 From the beauteous deer, the just pride of the lawn ! 
 
 No more scraps for the poor of this elegant cheer. 
 
 As custom or kindness prevail'd in the year ; 
 
 No longer the \vidow and orphan are found 
 
 On their way to the Abbey, once justly renown'd ! 
 
 So ample its bounty, how worthy its pride ! 
 
 Where the sick and the needy were seldom denied ; 
 
 Where solace, and alms, and free gifts that were given, 
 
 Were many, and doubtless recorded in heaven ! 
 
 No longer the great ones are here to declare. 
 
 Their deeds, and their titles, preserved with much care ; 
 
 No herald now comes, with great joy or alann. 
 
 With commands from the senate, or news from the farm ! 
 
 To the trumpet's shrill note, and the sweet vesper bell. 
 
 And the kindliest greetings, for ever farewell ! 
 
 And yet, though the heart's best rejoicings are o'er. 
 
 Though thy walls are broke dqwn and thy people no more :
 
 55 
 
 Still a grave lonely grandeur around ihee is seen. 
 And we truly respect thee for what thou hast been , 
 And as many there are who would rudely profane 
 The last reigning beauties thy ruins contain — 
 Here's joy to the heart, who hath deem'd it no ciime^ 
 To resist for a season the ravage of time. 
 And cherish'd the remnant still doom'd to decay. 
 To the mem'ry of those long since moulder 'd away ! 
 As abode of mankind in those long faded days. 
 All who strive to protect thee are worthy of praise !
 
 NOTES TO THORNTON ABBEY. 
 
 ' " TVhen a king and his queen were receiced at thy ijate" 
 
 In the year 1541, Henry VIII. visited the North, under the pretence of 
 quelling some discontent among his subjects; but more particularly to have 
 an interview with his nephew, James V., Iving of Scotland, who at that 
 period was at York. The king's object was to engage James to follow liis 
 example in endeavouring to extirpate the Pope's supremacy and suppressing 
 Monasteries ; he was, however, disappointed, and failed in carrying out Ms 
 projects. On Ms return, after having spent some time in Hull, he embarked, 
 accompanied by Ms royal attendants, on board of two of his own ships, and 
 landed safely at Barrow Haven, in Lincolnshire, from whence they proceeded 
 to Thornton Abbey, which they honoiu-ed with a ceremonious visit, the whole 
 of the Monastery coming out in solemn procession to meet the King, Ms 
 royal Consort, (Catherine Howard) and their attendants. For several days 
 they were sumptuously entertained by the monks in that House, wMch, in 
 a short time after, Heni-y compelled them to relinriuish. It appears, however, 
 the king had not entirely forgot the flattering attention he had received, for in 
 the tMrty-third year of Ms reign, although he had dissolved the Abbey, he 
 reserved great part of the possessions for the endowment of a College. 
 This, however, continued only until Edward VI., 1547, when it was 
 entirely dissolved. 
 
 - " Here's joy to the heart, ivho hath deemed it no crime 
 To resist for a season the ravage of time." 
 
 Generations have passed away since first the ivy clung around the walls, 
 or the sun-beams fell upon the turrets of this ancient Abbey ; but the 
 destroying hand of time has been pei-mitted to revel undisturbed, mantling 
 its ruins with moss, wild thyme, and wall-flowers, rich embelhshments of 
 antiquated gi-andeur and magnificence. It is but just to acknowledge the 
 kindness and excellent taste of its present proprietor, the Eai-1 of Yai-borough, 
 in causing the refectory room to be covered in by a slated roof, the fallen 
 parts to be removed, and the rubbish round the church to be cleared away ; 
 with orders for preserving the remainder, as monuments of past ages, from 
 future dilapidations beyond natural decay.
 
 THE JUSTICE OF THE PEACE 
 
 Here as your liumble poet moves along, 
 
 To find new objects worthy of his song : 
 
 On looking round, with retrosi:)ective eye. 
 
 At times, and days, and months, and years gone by — 
 
 Selects an hero from no fields of slain, 
 
 Once first and foremost, of the village train ; 
 
 In holies to weave, revering much the dead ! 
 
 At best, a fading chaplet round his head. 
 
 In early spring, and when the childish mind 
 
 Was fill'd with joys before — scarce look'd behind ! 
 
 My visits then were secret on his ground, 
 
 A truant schoolboy, fearful to be found; 
 
 And yet mth joy, amid his walks so fair. 
 
 Beheld the birds, and various fiow'rets there. 
 
 Ofi have we mark'd him in his daily rout, 
 
 For much he lov'd to ride the fields about 
 
 On favourite horse ; — he was, what most admire, 
 
 A well-form'd, good-like, comely, country squire. 
 
 As farmer, he was chief amongst the rest. 
 His flocks and herds were of the very best ; 
 The fine sleek ox around was seen to feed. 
 And lambs disporting, of the Leicester breed j
 
 68 
 
 The well-bred heifer, and the beauteous cow. 
 
 That might have gi'ac'd an agricultural show ! 
 
 The various feather'd fowl around the place. 
 
 From peacock, tiu'key, to the bantam race ; 
 
 The useful draught horse, and the choicest swine. 
 
 Departed Upplebt ! — these once were thine. 
 
 He lov'd indeed — what kings have lov'd of old — 
 
 The plough, the fields, the fann-yard, and the fold ; 
 
 Nor was his cheerful, ever active mind. 
 
 To this or those pursuits alone confin'd — 
 
 Far otherwise ; his taste may still be seen 
 
 In gardens, meadows, woods, and pastures green — 
 
 Around the very House, he fonn'd to please. 
 
 Where long he liv'd in elegance and ease. 
 
 The comi)any he kept was of the best. 
 
 The first Lord Yarborough frequently his guest. 
 
 When Christmas came his hall was light and gay. 
 
 For oft the neig'hbouring great ones came to stay ; 
 
 And servants smil'd, and youthful eyes shone bright. 
 
 At thoughts of music and the dairce at night ; 
 
 But why record this oft recorded time. 
 
 Fraught with much merriment throughout our clime .'' 
 
 'Twas not mth him a single festive scene, 
 
 Fonn'd now and then, and naught of life between ! 
 
 A well-conducted house, and handsome cheer, 
 
 Prevail'd in every season of the year ; 
 
 Nor was his friendship fickle, false, or cold. 
 
 His servants some were kept till very old :
 
 59 
 
 Nurs'd in their failing strength with every care. 
 
 Till time, through sickness, fonn'd their death-heds there. 
 
 Six well-matched greys his siiacious stables blest. 
 With harness rang'd for each — the very best ! 
 And here his livery seiTants, smart and clean, 
 His coachman and postillions, might be seen 
 In buckskin, and light drab, with yellow fac'd. 
 And each with neat black velvet cap was grac'd : 
 Oft have we seen them in this nice aii'ay, 
 WTiisking, with joy, his coach and four away ; 
 And mark'd a truly pleasing combination there 
 Of well-form'd sons and daughters truly fair; 
 Six greys their train, when for a distance bound. 
 An honour to the place, and country round. 
 At church, we only mark'd an humble pair. 
 When all were pleased to find his household there ; 
 A numerous one — and, 'tis but just to say. 
 When Sabbath came, the most were sent to pray. 
 And e'en the poorest of the village poor 
 For most part found a welcome at his door ; 
 The big red pitchers form'd a lengthen'd row. 
 Teeming vsith soup, and produce from the cow ; 
 And many a parent o'er these alms have smil'd. 
 And blest the name that fed a stai-ving child ! 
 How many, too, when snow-flakes dimm'd the air. 
 Found food and raiment from employment thore.
 
 60 
 
 Old men, and aged motlievs, widows too ; 
 
 He found some little works for all to do. 
 
 1{ faults are namd, let virtuous breasts recoil : 
 
 If such — with these he blest the sons of toil ; 
 
 And he who plants and builds, for good design'd;. 
 
 Confers a benefit on all mankind. 
 
 With patience suited to the trying hour 
 His name stood high in magisterial power ; 
 In private coui% at sessions, or assize. 
 He met the welcome of approving eyes ; 
 Yet, for his merits there's no cause to roam. 
 No 1 let us state his usefulness at home. 
 Free, open, friendly, easy of access. 
 To heal the wounded mind, and give redress ; 
 And with a peaceful spirit truly blest. 
 
 He sooth'd the angry passions into rest. 
 
 Preventing neighbouring broils, and wounds, and scars. 
 
 Too oft the sad result of village jars ; 
 
 Well known for miles around, through love and fear. 
 
 In council and advice a friend sincere. 
 
 When fallen virtue in his presence stood. 
 
 The mind was cheer'd — because the man was good ; 
 
 And 'tis but few, when found in such a place. 
 
 But fear, and grieve, to name their own disgrace ; 
 
 He kindly warn'd, whate'er had been the past. 
 
 To calmly swear the only truth at last y
 
 And when offender young before liini came. 
 With sunken eye and feverish brow of shame, 
 He would sometimes forgive, in hopes — yea, twice- 
 That penitence would take the place of vice ; 
 For loving mercy, mild, he us'd no power. 
 To reign the petty tyrant of an hour. 
 
 Poachers, from malice, from caprice, or whim. 
 Few gaz'd, forlorn, through jnison bars for him ; 
 For trespass slight he could not put to shame. 
 He lov'd his peace beyond the price of game ; 
 And yet from this no false conclusions draw. 
 He did not — would not — could not thwart the law ; 
 No, he was faithful to his solemn trust. 
 But from discernment he was wise and just. 
 Praise-worthy man ! for what more base at heart 
 Than man in power to overact his part — 
 Inflicting torture, penalty, and pains. 
 Because he holds a fellow inortal's chains. 
 Not so with him — to state one serious case, 
 The ferry Captain here must hold a place. 
 Who would, alas ! have most unjustly sworn. 
 And doom'd to death two fellow men, forlorn. 
 Had not a voice been heard from good design ; 
 Illustrious Uppleby, this voice was thine ! 
 From sympathy, affection — yes, from both. 
 Our good Samaritan deferr'd the oath.
 
 62 
 
 Thrice blessed poAver ! example truly bright ! 
 
 Hail, conscious rectitude ; this pause was right. 
 
 A band of robbers near this time was found. 
 
 Committing various depredations round. 
 
 In prison bound, at length, their crimes made known. 
 
 All so deprav'd, small mercy could be shown ; 
 
 Lo ! one of these confess'd amidst his need. 
 
 He stole the watch, and did the daring deed. 
 
 Happy event ! for those who long had home 
 
 The greatest insults from the lips of scorn. 
 
 The village bells proclaim'd, with silvery sound. 
 
 Their complete innocence to all around ; 
 
 And who can tell in this delightful peal. 
 
 From injur'd names, what injur *d hearts would feel ? 
 
 No more from shame, to evil tongues a proy. 
 
 They rose from darkness into glorious day. 
 
 "Wliat follow'd next was free from all disguise. 
 
 Great admiration from the good and wise : 
 
 Bright shone the act, from whence new honour came. 
 
 That crown'd its author with a lasting fame ; 
 
 Hence from this time, and still as free from pride, 
 
 A quorum magistrate, he liv'd and died ! 
 
 And, as my feeble strains of praise must cease 
 
 On this once worthy Justice of the Peace : 
 
 Long may his heirs, his latest help to fame, ^ 
 
 Long may they live, to bless his honour'd name ! 
 
 And gladly — firmly — proudly bear in mind. 
 
 The sterling worth his actions left behind !
 
 NOTE TO THE JUSTICE OF THE PEACE. 
 
 ' " Lomj may his heirs, his latest help to fame, 
 Lomj may they live, to bless his honour'd name ! 
 
 Sacred to the Memory of 
 GEOEGE UPPLEBY, ESQUIKE, 
 A Gentlemau of the Privy Chamber to George III. 
 
 In the discharge of his public duties 
 
 as a Deputy Lieutenant and a Magistrate of the County^ 
 
 his zeal, tempered with a strict regard to Justice 
 
 and imited with Gentleness and Patience, 
 
 enabled him to decide with Equity, 
 
 and so to heal animosities 
 
 as to secure to himself Kindness, Esteem, and Gratitude. 
 
 He Married SAKAH, the only child of 
 
 Charles Eobinson, of Beverley, 
 
 and sole heiress of her Grandfathei", WLUiam Glides, Esq., 
 
 of Bai-dney Hall, by whom he had seven Childi-en. 
 
 He died Apiil 20th, 1816, in the 
 
 Goth Year of his Age. 
 
 FROM A MURAL MONUMENT IN BARROW CHURCH.
 
 THE VILLAGE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 The native village holds a secret charm 
 
 On view of cot and cultivated farm. 
 
 And paths of childhood, almost every part, 
 
 A pleasing melancholy strikes the heart. 
 
 Here the first knot of cowslips blest my view. 
 
 And there's the bank where earliest violets grew ; 
 
 The stream belov'd, when life was young and gay. 
 
 Emblem of time, in silence steals away ; 
 
 And here's the churchyard, long remembered green. 
 
 From fancied visions that were never seen. 
 
 From death and burial here, from prayer and praise. 
 
 And various objects lov'd in early days ; 
 
 The giey stone tower that bravely meets decay. 
 
 The bells that cheer'd the happy bridal day ; 
 
 In all my wand'rings I have never found 
 
 Your truly sweet equality of sound ; 
 
 Oft have I heard you tell your pleasing tale, 
 
 When echo mock'd you in the distant dale. 
 
 Right menily record each joyful time. 
 
 More lovely still in Sabbath's peaceful chime : 
 
 Here also heard so oft, the mournful knell 
 
 Sound o'er departed friends a last farewell.
 
 65 
 
 The Church — the witnesss of my childish prayer. 
 
 First coldly felt, and feebly offered there ; 
 
 First led to love the hallow'd scene around. 
 
 From sacred melody's delightful sound. 
 
 When Vickerman* airived from neighbouring shore. 
 
 Teacher of music here, and led the choir; 
 
 Avoiding discords was his greatest care. 
 
 He smil'd on those who justly led the aii- ; 
 
 Now with sweet viol would aid the treble band. 
 
 Anon the bass would share his mild command, 
 
 \^Tiilst the old aisles and various arches rung 
 
 In counter hallelujahs from his tongue. 
 
 Within the precincts of that solemn place 
 
 Now lie intened the ministers of grace : 
 
 A pious KiRKE first nam'd, yet far from last, 
 
 The vicar here beyond a century past ; 
 
 The precepts on his tomb he left behind,^ 
 
 Are what the Christian heart will love to find. 
 
 As memory runs through many a distant year. 
 The name of Trevor lingers on the ear ; 
 And some there are, who love an olden name, 
 Still tell his virtues and record his fame ; 
 We, on the tablet to his mem'ry, trace 
 Him forty years the vicar of the place ; 
 
 * Swine, Holderness. 
 K
 
 66 
 
 For this alone he merits fair renown. 
 And Barrow long hath claim 'd him as her o\vn. 
 Detailing still the clerg}^ that have been, 
 Brockbank must here begin the living scene. 
 Brockbank ! the kind preceptor, priest, and sage. 
 In various tongues perus'd the sacred page; 
 His mind deep-stored with learning most profound. 
 He taught the rising youth the country romid. 
 From him his hearers too, w-ere taught to feel. 
 Devoid of cant and hyjDocritic zeal. 
 That conscience kejit at peace, with all our power,^ 
 Was what would best befit a dying hom\ 
 And on these solemn themes he lov'd to dwell. 
 The blissful joys of Heaven, the woes of Hell; 
 The Christian's matchless peace, the sinner's pain. 
 Till eyes that wept, were dried, and wept again ! 
 He died in prime of life ; his end was peace. 
 In some assurance of his flock's increase. 
 A once good master next adorns my pen. 
 The Reverend Edward Henry Hesleden. 
 He came with youth and vigour on his brow ; 
 Here a wann lover sign'd his marriage vow ; 
 And badges of his youthful merit wore, 
 A true collegian skill'd in classic lore, 
 A\Tiose love to ancient church was so sincere. 
 That 'gainst dissent he might be term'd severe ; 
 His youthful zeal, in after years his mind 
 Became with all the friendly, good, and kind ;
 
 67 
 
 And though lie held his gun, and lov'd the chase. 
 
 His heart was truly worthy of the place. 
 
 In graceful attitude at church he stood ; 
 
 His voice distinct and clear, his sermons good ; 
 
 And mem'ry still retains, at least in part. 
 
 The pulpit truths impress'd on youthful heart. 
 
 Ere snows of age had gi'ac'd his reverend head. 
 
 He too, alas ! was number'd with the dead. 
 
 He built yon parsonage house, which holds some claim. 
 
 For modern taste, to long record his name. 
 
 And long may Egremont,* of Christian heart. 
 
 In health and strength perform the pious part ! 
 
 Here, as we take of life a past review. 
 And think of those esteem'd, whom once we knew 
 Our earliest friends, how few are left behind ! 
 Playmates, alas ! how many here we find. 
 Chief in the fight, and swiftest in the race. 
 Are each laid down in his appointed place. 
 May beauteous nature o'er their ashes rise ; 
 The gi'ave dissolves, yet holds life's nearest ties. 
 Reckless of friends, and home, and piercing gale. 
 No more " Poor William" seeks the lonely vale ; 
 In rattling chains no longer heard to rave. 
 He calmly rests within the peaceful gi'ave ! 
 
 * The Kev. George Godfrey Egremont, the present vicar of Barrow.
 
 68 
 
 No more llie milk-maid's haiinless rat-tat-too. 
 Awakes, at early dawTi, the youth to woo ; 
 For her no more sat down in flow'ry spring. 
 On bright May-day he fonns the joyful ring; 
 When blushing maid proclaiin'd, amongst the rest. 
 From tap of back the youth she lov'd the best ! 
 
 How deaf the ear, once light at earliest dawn. 
 Nor heeds the clarion cock or sounding horn ; 
 Mute lies the shepherd, guardian of the fold. 
 And ploughman's feats are here no longer told ; 
 Hush'd is the voice first heard in morning's call. 
 And clos'd those eyes that overlook'd them all. 
 Nor tempest, or the thunder's loudest roar. 
 Shall ever wake them from their slumbers more : 
 Sound is their sleep — 'till awful judgment day 
 Arouse them from their naiTow beds of clay ! 
 
 Here may be read a catalogue of names. 
 
 In life — good masters, and as gen'rous dames : 
 
 Stamps, Sargeants, Hardys, Newtons, and a Bell,^ 
 
 And Wilkins, too, a name belov'd as well ; 
 
 And many more, yet vain to name the rest. 
 
 All worthy of the lands they once possest. 
 
 Great was their bounty to the sons of toil. 
 
 To' all who clear'd the land and till'd the soil ; 
 
 Sheep-shearing, harvest-home, and seed, when sown. 
 
 Were times in which their bounteous acts were shown
 
 69 
 
 With them briglit Christmas was a friendly part. 
 Fraught with the best affections of the heart; 
 Holding their new year's gifts and Christmas cheer 
 Due for the blessings of departed year. 
 That they were kind, the cheerful, wise, and gay, 
 O ! 'tis in truth the easiest thing to say : 
 Warm advocates of good old-fashioned ways. 
 Customs, and village sports of ancient days ! 
 
 Rest, kind forefathers, mould'ring in the dust. 
 
 In hopeful resurrection of the just ; 
 
 Blest is your mem'ry, and the gifts you've given, 
 
 Are surely written in the book of Heaven. 
 
 Your toils are o'er, the weary limbs' at rest, 
 
 No angiy passions rack the troubl'd breast ; 
 
 Sorrow and suff'ring, anguish, grief, and pain. 
 
 The ills of life for you exist in vain. 
 
 Your fate is ours — your state before us lies ; 
 
 The grave's the darksome passage to the skies. 
 
 From whence shrill trump shall sound man's final doom 
 
 Piercing the lone recesses of the tomb ! 
 
 Advice in churchyard given is oft the best ; 
 A mighty teacher for the human breast. 
 Ye living sons, some few ignobly great, 
 Step in, and ponder on your future fate ! 
 Step in, whilst you retain your fleeting breath. 
 Nor spurn this moralizing seat of death
 
 70 
 
 Here rich and poor commingle side by side. 
 And here's the grave of disappointed pride ; 
 The weak vain-glorious man, whose vacant mind. 
 Once deem'd the lowly scarce of human kind ; 
 Too proud of friends, who liv'd to gather pelf ; 
 PufTd up with false importance, of himself; 
 Beneath the great, above the humbler race. 
 Who lived a stranger in his native place ; 
 Lightly esteem'd by virtuous, wise, and good. 
 He sigh'd his life away for nobler blood. 
 How true to vanity and folly past ! 
 Humiliation haunts him to the last ; 
 In death, alas ! he finds no better cheer. 
 At least his grave bears no distinction here ; 
 Unconsciously his friends have laid him down. 
 How near the better man — the honest clown ! 
 
 The meanly rich man, whose obdurate heart 
 Possess'd, beyond his gold, no feeling pai't, 
 A\Tio ever shunn'd the weeping widow's wail. 
 And never listen'd to the orphan's tale ; 
 Who scorn 'd the bounty of the good and kind. 
 Intent to leave a wealthy name behind; 
 Though length of years to him was not denied. 
 That solemn season came in which he died ; 
 Nor wonder at his death — around his bier. 
 No friends were fomid to drop the heart felt tear.
 
 71 
 
 He kept his wealth in life to feed the moth. 
 And lost the blessings of departed worth ! 
 
 Here lie the i^oorest of the village poor. 
 No stones to mark the names in life they bore ; 
 Few name the troubles they were doom'd to know. 
 In their rough pilgrimage whilst here below ; 
 111 sheltered from the cold, and poorly fed. 
 Hard, too, the couch that form'd their lowly bed : 
 Ne'er blest by fortune, and unknown to fame. 
 Despised, dejected, feeble, halt, and lame ! 
 Ah ! who can tell, but some of these at last. 
 From various griefs and disappointments past. 
 May joyful rise by gracious heaven extoll'd. 
 Above their fellows in a brighter Morld !
 
 NOTES TO THE VILLAGE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 ' " Tlie precepts on his tomb he left behind, 
 
 Are what the Christian heart u-ill love to find." 
 
 Beneath this marble lieth interred 
 
 the remains of the 
 
 Rev. Mr. ROBEET KIRKE, A. M., 
 
 late Vicar of this Place : 
 
 he depai-ted this life the 22nd of May, 1755, 
 
 in the 51st Year of his Age. 
 
 R. K., being dead, yet speaketh, 
 
 Keep stedfastin the Faith; 
 
 be constant at private and public worship ; 
 
 be charitable ; 
 
 do justice, love mercy, live soberly, 
 
 and the Peace of God be with you. Amen. 
 
 Sacred to the memory of the 
 
 Reverend EDWARD HENRY HESLEDEN, Clerk, M. A., 
 
 late Fellow of Mag. Coll. Oxon., 
 
 Vicar of this Pai-ish, 
 
 who departed this life Februaiy lith, 1828, 
 
 AE. 53 Years. 
 
 FROM MOXUMEXTS IN BARROW CHURCH. 
 
 - " Stamps, Sargcanis, Hardys, Neictons, and a Bell." 
 
 Although 1 may be charged with levity of mind for introducing the avo- 
 cations and pleasures of Ufe in the solemn Churchyard, I humbly trust I 
 shall be forgiven. Having, in the eaily period of life, previous to the 
 enclosures of the fields, lived at BaiTow, and become acquainted with the 
 habits, maimers, and customs of the principal inhabitants at that time, and 
 witnessed the hai-vest-suppers, sheep-clippings, hoppercakes, cowherd 
 meetings, and many innocent amusements; above all, their hospitality to the 
 poor, and all who had any pretensions to their kindness — ^myself in common 
 with the rest, then a boy from the miU, at the heels of my uncle John 
 Naylor. The happy recollections of those mentioned in the Churchyai'd, 
 and others that might have been named, will only cease with my life ; and I 
 could not resist the desire, when treading on their graves, of paying this 
 small tribute of respect to their memory.
 
 THE VILLAGE CLEEK, 
 
 Remov'd from this world's joys, its cares, and woes. 
 
 Where does our humble Maddison* repose ? 
 
 'Tis here the grass waves o'er his mould'ring head, 
 
 And here he lies amongst the silent dead. 
 
 Had education of the higher kind 
 
 Beam'd on his quick and comprehensive mind. 
 
 And smiling plenty gratified his need, — 
 
 No doubt but this man had been great indeed ! 
 
 And great he was ! — though not enroll'd by fame. 
 
 Or tomb to bear the record of his name. 
 
 A stone o'ergrown with moss, memento here, 
 
 Carvd by himself, he left ivith friend sincere, f 
 
 Requesting him, at death, to kindly show 
 
 The month and year he left this world below. 
 
 The annals of his life let none despise. 
 
 But mark the spot where worth and virtue lies. 
 
 When but a youth, he left his father's cot. 
 
 To till the soil and bear the peasant's lot. 
 
 And braved, unmurm'ring, winter's snow and sleet. 
 
 The chilling blasts of spring, and summer's heat ; 
 
 * Thomas MacUlison, thiity-six years clerk of Barrow Church. 
 
 + John Bell, still living. 
 L
 
 74 
 
 Seed-time and han'est — and the various careS;, 
 
 All that the hale and hardy ploughman shares. 
 
 In after years he changed from what he'd been. 
 
 To different semce, and a different scene ; 
 
 Time in his mind this new resolve display'd. 
 
 He rais'd a loom, and next assumed a trade ! 
 
 And many a well-wrought web from him was found. 
 
 When bleach'd, that pleased and clothed the neighboui's round. 
 
 Still farther name the gifts to him assign'd. 
 
 For sure he was a w^onder of his kind ! 
 
 Old clocks he cleau'd, and practis'd small repairs, 
 
 Fonn'd the best bee-hives and re-seated chairs ; 
 
 A wheehvi'ight ! — and his wheels were better made - 
 
 Than some by those who really leamt the trade ; 
 Cages for birds he framed — made children's toys j 
 In each employ he had his hannless joys. 
 A mimic ship of war his table gi'aced, 
 Rigg'd by himself, with scarce a rope misplaced. 
 The ancient abbey* and the church in frame 
 Proclaim'd him artist — he deserv'd the name ! 
 He faithful sketch 'd each tower and turret grey. 
 And snatch'd their beauties pleasing in decay j 
 In short, whate'er his vigorous mind pourtray'd. 
 His hands the fancied picture soon display'd. 
 A poet, too — he tuned, if not sublime, 
 "The life of Joseph" into easy rhymeo 
 
 » Thornton Abbey, and Baiiow Cluucli.
 
 75 
 
 Great were his toils, for he had much to do ; 
 
 Was singer, ringer, clerk, and sexton too. 
 
 Three priests he sei-v'd, who singly, one by one. 
 
 Have each departed, now are dead and gone ; 
 
 Or 'twould have been their very pride to tell 
 
 How faithfully he serv'd them, and how well ! 
 
 On his first clerkship tithes were ta'en in kind. 
 
 Hence some declared he had a barb'rous mind, — 
 
 Who took not truth and reason for their guide. 
 
 Nor knew how firm he stood on duty's side ; 
 
 Yet what those found in him a failing part 
 
 Was error of their heads, and not his heart : — 
 
 'Twas not in him to take by force or stomr ; 
 
 Yet could not swerve from what he must perform ; 
 
 But future years, to him, brought better days, 
 
 And some who slander'd, liv'd at last to praise ; 
 
 And some who rail'd, at length made open vow. 
 
 They miss'd the good wide common and the cow ; 
 
 And own'd those trifles light that press'd before. 
 
 Since fields enclosed had made them very poor. 
 
 Music from bells, he lov'd their meny round. 
 
 His ear was good and chaste, — his judgment sound ; 
 
 And seldom first to pause — or grudge the time. 
 
 In lively peal, or sweetly plaintive chime. 
 
 No drunkard he, found staggering o'er the bowl. 
 
 And yet he had a cheerfulness of soul, 
 
 A lively spirit — aje ! and one of use — 
 
 More lasting than the grape's refreshing juice !
 
 70 
 
 True as the new-year came, Avith calm delight 
 
 He made a feast, and saw his friends at night — 
 
 His ringing friends; — and proved to all who came. 
 
 That friendship lay in deed as well as name. 
 
 At others' good he welcome joy exprest. 
 
 And shared his cup and blessings with the rest. 
 
 A thousand hearts have mov'd before him gay, 
 
 Pleas'd with his presence on their wedding day : 
 
 Thousands have shared his serious look or smile, 
 
 WTiole years of sabbaths in that sacred pile : — 
 
 Yet one sad thought befits the cypress shade — 
 
 Alas ! how many in their graves he laid ; 
 
 And weary toil'd in cold and sultiy day. 
 
 To form their humble tenements of clay, 
 
 'Midst moul'dring bones, to him in life well knoAvn— 
 
 A true prophetic emblem of his own ! 
 
 Though some might dread to lead the life he led 
 
 In toils and walks around the silent dead ; 
 
 In night's thick gloom, he sought that lonely tower. 
 
 Gay and serene, at e'en the latest hour ; 
 
 For passing bell, or aught that claim 'd his care. 
 
 No coward he ! — or he had not been there ! 
 
 No fancied spectre broke his quiet rest, 
 
 A peaceful conscience fortified his breast. 
 
 In books he took delight ; — and what he read 
 
 A faithful memory treasured in his head. 
 
 Deeds on the ocean, fights or wrecks forlorn, — 
 
 He told, with joy, where lay the point Cape Horn ;
 
 77 
 
 Show'd science taught the first advenl'rous band. 
 
 To brave the billows and forsake the land ; 
 
 At times he dwelt with somewhat mournful look. 
 
 On the sad fate of much-lamented Cook : — 
 
 In lighter mood would tell with half a smile. 
 
 How gallant Bruce explored the source of Nile ; 
 
 And not unconscious of his mortal state. 
 
 Prepared for death ere it was deem'd too late. 
 
 Pond 'ring the scriptures o'er, with pious care. 
 
 He found a lasting consolation there. 
 
 Except when sleep or sickness chain'd his powers, 
 
 'Tis truly said he spent few idle hours ; 
 
 And deem'd by some so strictly just and true. 
 
 He made their wills, and kept them secret too ! 
 
 y 
 
 Twas thus he lived ; and mark the course he ran,- 
 An active, useful, honest, good old man ; 
 Beloved by most, and firm on virtue's side, 
 Crown'd with long life, and hoary locks he died ; 
 And, taking all his little works combin'd. 
 Scarce left his equal in the place behind !
 
 COEONATION ODE/ 
 
 What means this busy bustling day. 
 Those meny bells and banners gay ? 
 The music and the joy we trace 
 In crowded street and happy face ; 
 Somewhat with sabbath scenes imprest. 
 An holiday — or day of rest ? 
 The pleasing cause is truly known. 
 This day Victoria wears a crown. 
 Then pass round the wine, let your spirits be seen 
 In a bumper, with health and long life to the Queen ! 
 
 Victoria ! — Star of Brunswick line, 
 Accept our hearts, so warmly thine ; 
 Britannia's Gem, fair Queen of Isles, 
 We greet thee, with our welcome smiles ; 
 
 * At the Coronation of Queen Victoria, seventy of the gentry, clergy, and 
 respectable tradesmen of Barton, sat down to dinner at the George Inn. 
 After the cloth was withdrawn, previous to the Queen's health being drank, 
 Mr. Hesleden read the ode, which was well received, and each verse loudly 
 encored. A large subscription was raised, and the poor regaled with beef 
 and ale, at their homes. The ode is here introduced to commemorate that 
 happy event.
 
 79 
 
 In loyalty outdone by none. 
 
 True to the altar and thy throne ; 
 
 We mark with joy the poor sit down. 
 
 To bless the day thou wears't a ciown. 
 Then once more a toast, and with joy, heart, and hand. 
 To the fair Rose of England, First Flower of the Land ! 
 
 May truth and justice frame her laws. 
 To bless and aid each righteous cause ; 
 May union, peace, and love abound. 
 And knowledge chann her kingdom round. 
 And a long train of happy years. 
 Still find her eyes unchanged by tears ; 
 Long honour'd here — to dust go down. 
 To wear in Heaven a brighter crown. 
 And last, not the least, let your spirits.be seen 
 In a heart-stirring toast, and may God bless the Queen
 
 S, DIBB AND CO., PBINXEBS, MYTONGAXE, HULL.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 
 J^iix f. 
 
 iJA' 
 
 UJL i- «>" -^ ' 
 
 
 j>zr» « ffllO 
 
 ■J UO>^>^ 
 
 -RljlVl 
 
 DATE RECEIVED 
 
 Form L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444
 
 Ur, SOUTHFRN RFGIONAL LIBRARY FAriLlTY 
 
 AA 000 373 837 4 
 
 PR 
 
 hlOS 
 
 F«U8h
 
 i\\\\M\W\V\tt\m\\\\\\\u\\V\VVAiV\V\