./ , r ^^i^/A.^'^^/^a y ^ N . \ . \ i dovaston's Third Edition, with Additions. Z£GENDARY, INCIDENTAI., AND HUMOROUS, BY JOHN F. M. DOVASTON, Esq. A. M. " The Earth has Bubbles, as the Water hath, " And these are of them." MACBETH. » ' ' , ' > ' . ' ' • • » » ' ' Printed and Republished by and for IV. Morris, Shrewsbury, 23rd April, 1825. cc c c C C t. c c c 4613 ^ V u ^ TO THE REVEREND CHARLES AR THUR ALBANY LLO YD, A. M, RECTOR OF WHITTINGTOIV, THE BALLAD OF FITZ-GWAFilNE^. - IS INSCRIBED, BY HIS FRIEND, JOHN F. M. DOVASTON. Nursery, Westfelton, Salop, May, 1811. CTJ O CO to 356489 TO MY FRIEND - On his Metrical Romance of Fitz-Gwarine^ Cambria, tliy harp too long untouch' d halh been, Save by the mountaiii-wiml's far-roving wing Tliat waves the fern on Dreidden, light and green, It's sweet notes swelling on each trembling string. But DovASTON has borue it from the wild, To ring iu halls where Gwarine's sons abide, Their daughters smil'd to hear his preludes tried, And liail'd him early Fancy's wayward child. •A bolder note he strikes ; tho Chief attends, Uprise the tow'rs of Whittington spell-wroughf, While o'er his harp the lovely Clarice bends, And tempers mildly sweet each glowing thought. Listen his lays, for, while they vibrate clear, Past age's clouds roll off, and distant times appear. R. RYLANCE. London f Aocemkr, 1812. A BALLAD OF THE WELSH BORDER. IN THREE CANTOS. CAr^TO !• ■^" ^ ^aiVMi^B^HM^^ FiTZ-GwARiNE — Lord of the Castle. ^IR Albany— « Captive Knight. Sib Wrenoc de Lis— a Knight of the English Court. . . . .^^i John of RAUMPA-ifNE— ^a -Soothsayer. Clarice— Daughter of Fitz-Gwarine. Uarioh— Daughter of Sir Joos of Normandy. Tiie Scene is entirely in and near Whittirigfon Castle ; niul the Time a Day ond Night in Summer. JFit^(^^^Jartne» CANTO I, \ Blithe in a British-border Hall (Near Whittiugton's old castle wall With weeds and wild-flow'rs hung) When feasted had each gallant guest. This Legend at his Lord's request, A youthful minstrel sung. Much doubting how his rustic lays Could hope such curious ears to please, Tho' many a list'ning lady nigh With rapture fir'd his truant eye. ( 2 ) Why — (as Village tales recite) Yon castle's gloomy tow'r beside. Is dimly seen at fall of night A Phantom vested all in white Along the lake to glide. Where yon old window's ruins rude. Appear inverted in the flood; And then, as fades the twilight grey. Glides with the curling mist away? In ancient days of high renown Not always did yon castle frowu With ivy-crested brow; Nor were its' walls with moss embrown'd. Nor hung the lanky weeds around That fringe its' ruins now. Other hangings deck'd the wall Where now the nodding foxgloves tall Their spotty hoods unfold; Harebells there with bugloss vie. And gilliflowers of yellow dye. Seem now, to musing Fancy's eye. To mock the mimic tapestry That flaunted there of old. ( 3 ) Other guests than yon lone bird. And other music here was heard In times of better daysj Festive revelry went round The board with blushing goblets crowu'd> And costly carpets clad the ground Where now yon cattle graze. Days were those of splendour hig-h. Days of hospitality. When to his rich domain Welcom'd many a crested knight. Welcomed many a lady bright, Fitz-Gwarine of Loraine, Sires were his from days of yore That all the same distinction bore Of title and of name ; A name that Valour's blazon'd blade In feats of chivalry had made The favourite of Fame. He oft in border-battle sped, Aud many a noble captive led / ( 4 ) Back to the walls of Whittington, Aud soon each foeman's friendship won: For Kindness soon can reconcile Adversity herself to smile. Can soften Disappointments' frown, And line the captive's chain with down. This knew full many a captive lord At fam'd Fil2-Gwarine's friendly board; This knew each captive stranger nigh Except the knight Sir Albany. " Sir Albany," Fitz-Gwarine said, " Crown high thy cup with sparkling red. And cheer thy drooping soul; Thy bravery Fame trumpets loud. And makes thy host, Fitz-Gwarine, proud To pledge thee with his bowl: What if for once Fame tells the fate That waited on thy courage late By Vyrnwy's river shewn? She'll also tell in praises high. How rushing on too daringly 1o save thy comrades' liberty, Thou'st sacrific'd thy own. ( 5 ) " Too soon for me thy friends will bring " A noble ransom from thy king : " I marvel'd much they were so slow " As not to send two moons ago, " When home thy friends were ransom'd hence, " That thou no message had'st from thence. " I bade thee, knowing well thy heart, " Upon thy honour to depart; " Yet do'st thou on thy honour stay " Till ransom'd by thy friends away. " Fill with sparkling wine thy bowl, " Fill with hope thy ebbing soul; " And tell us why amid our cheer " Thou alone art joyless here, " Why each night, at Sorrow's call, ," Thou leav'st our gayly-taper'd hall, " To mark the pale moon's liquid beam " Play on yon poplar-bordered stream? " Pity 'tis the manly heart " Should e'er affliction find, " Pity 'tis Reflection's dart •" Should hurt the upright miuJ; ( 6 ) " Yet minds unconscious of alloy " Sometimes affliction loads ; " Or with some dear departed joy " Too busy memory goads; " Or why should silent grief entwine " A heart. Sir Albany, like thine ? " " Hours there are," the knight replied, " Tho' unto sorrow near allied, " Yet such to me their worth, " "While pensive o'er the past I range " That hour, tho' sad, I would not change " For many a day of mirth. " Through the Summer's evening long, " Listening to the small birds' song, " I love to wander all alone, " Brooding on joys that long are gone; " Or sit beside a green-hedge bank " Where the fern grows long and rank, *' With many a peeping flow'ret bright " Of red or yellow, blue or white; " then, of melancholy full, " My throbbing soul I love to lull, "'Mid clouded Hope, and Memory dull; ( 7 ) ' Yet beams from both I borrow " That do my heart with rapture fill, " (L.ke sunbeams on a distant hill) " And gild the gloom of sorrow. *' Long were my tale, and tedious too, " (Ah! pleasing here, I fear, to few,) " Should I my present grief renew " By naming pleasures gone; " But, if my noble host's inclin'd, " The tale of woe that haunts my mind, " ril briefly tell when him I find " At leisure, and alone. " Yet think not I was always sad; " The time has been no heart so glad " To join the festive ring; " Nor then was there a guest more gay " To chaunt the merry roundelay, " Or to the harp's responsive key " The ballad blithe to sing. " But joys, like flow'rs, too soon decay, "Too soon give place to sorrow; " For where a rose has blown to-day, " You'll find a thorn to-morrow.'^ C 8 ) Paus'd here the knight; for none of all The guests throughout the festive hall Seem'd of his speech to mark a word. But careless sat around the board. One, leaning on his neighbour's chair. Told him how Ringwood chas'd the deer; Describ'd each thicket, wood, and glade. Each close pursuit, each doubling made. How they through birchy Blodwell came. And forded Morda's brawling stream. Another prais'd his fav'rite steed, Unmatch'd in beauty, strength, or speed. While this, upon his elbow laid. Sat mute, and with his goblet play'd. And that, in the mix'd converse blending. Was speaking now, and now attending, Half-list'ning to his neighbour's talk. Twirling a cherry by the stalk, And oft, amid the merry tattle. The toastman's empty cup would rattle. Beating the board as he address'd The next to name her he lov'd best. With various voice the table rung, Aud half a line was sometimes sung. ( 9 ) And sometimes at a story's pause Burst the loud laugh's sincere applause. Yet think not 'mid this merry cheer That all were inattentive here In festive laughter lostj I only said the guests were so. While spoke the stranger-knight of woe. For ah! not so the host: He mark'H the stranger's altering brow. Now bright with joy, and darkening now. As beam'd or gloom'd his mind; His features seem'd for smiling made. Where joy unwilling seem'd to fade. Just like a landscape in the shade Where sun-beams just have shin'd. But well the kind Fitz-Gwarine knew. Where silent grief of mind is true. And time must heal the heart. How v,ain the kindest comfort's found, 'Tis but to fret a closing wound. And so encrease the smart. Then to the knight he smiling said (As gently on his arm he laid ( 10 ) His friendly hand) " Sir knight, I pray " Tell me thy tale some other day; " And now, the pastime to prolong', " Afford my gallant friends a song. " Thou hast a fav'rite plaintive air " That from thy flute I sometimes hear, " What time thy walk thou dost pursue " As gently falls the ev'ning dew. " The notes, so delicate and coy, "Are touched to tell of grief and joy; " The very verses seem to float " And love to linger on the note : " Then sing. Sir Albany, the song " That sure must to that lay belong." The knight complied, a harp he strung. And thus to " The ashen grove" he sung. (Welsh Air. — Llwyn-on.) Thro' the tints oftherainbow the tree that we' re vieicing Soft-colour' d and lovely at distance appears; But on to the grove the delusion pursuing We find the wet foliage all dripping with tears; ( 11 ) So the soft beams of Hope to the heart of the lover Illumine ivith rapture some lingering day; But Time, gliding on, leads him there to discover His joys, like the rainbow, all faded away. From the gloom of the show'r to the past valley turning. It smiles yet behind in the beams of the sun; The lover alike, disappointed and mourning. Remembers in sorrow the joys that are gone. But transient alike are the ray and the shower, The show'r that shall freshen the fields to the ray; And Adversity' s clouds o'er the lover that lower Shall brighten his joy when they're faded away. The notes along the castle swell Aad search responsive Echo's cell. Who, from the vaulted roof on high. Gave the last note in symphony. The hall's great western window gleams To the sun's descending beams That 'twixt the fretted muunions fall And mark them slanting on the wall. While over head the rays decline In many a level lengthen'd line. I ( 12 ) Now walk the guests as lists them forth. And leave in groups the hall of mirth: Some within the castle court To manly exercise resort; Or else in playful pastime rove Beyond the moat in the ashen groVe: While others gallantly repair To dally with the ladies fair, (And many a lovely maid was there) For cheerless is the place, I ween. Where soothing woman is not seen. And rugged sure is that abode ' Where female foot has never trode. But Albany, no care had he To join the company so gay. But forth he walk'd alone; And did his heedless footsteps urge Beyond the oak-wood's farthest verge. While the last sunbeams shone. They shone o'er Berwin's mountains high. And gilt the tow'rs of Oswestry, With the rich vale below; ( 13 ) And (lid their latest lustre shed To grace old Breiddeii's lofty head With crown of golden glow. And earliest and latest still They love to kiss that honour'd hill. Against an oak's grey-licheuM side. Whose crooked roots a seat supplied. Awhile the kniglit reclin'd; And much it sooth'd him to survey The western sky in rich array, Where dallying with departing day The coming night combined. The curly clouds of purple hue Were broke by glassy fields of blue. That seera'd as lakes and rivers clear Winding through woody rocks afar, Isl'd with many a yellow mead That only fairy footsteps tread. Tread on bloomy flow'rs unpress'd. In fields of joy, and realms of rest. While wander'd thus the pensive knight. There did at Whittington alight ( 14 ) A warrior from his steetl; With streiiyth of stride and manly port He walk'd aci'oss the castle court. And pass'd the porch with speed. Nor heeded he or knight or dame. But to Fitz-Gwarine's chamber came. And, doffing there his lillied crest. The noble chief he thus address'd. " My lord, to Albany I come, " And leave for him my distant home, " Tho' nought he knows of me; " Deputed by his friends afar, " His ample ransom here I bear, " My name Wrcuoc de Lis. " But first, my lord, I must entreat " Your favour to a frolic feat, " A lady's love to aid ;" Then, stepping lightly o'er the floor. He clos'd with care the chamber door. And thus enquiring, said, "You might not know, my noble Chief, " A lady long has liv'd in grief ( 15 ) " For love of Albany P "Wot ye, ray lord, his secret flame? " Perchance ye know the lady/s name ? " — The chief replied, " Since here he came " Of neither told am I. " Tho' I had somewhere heard it said " He sorrow'd for an absent maid " He'd seen in Normandy; '•' (The place I left but yester-year) " But gently when I did him jeer, " He said he lov'd no lady there, " Then sigh'd, and turnM away." Said Wrenoc," ^twas a lady there " He lov'd j and now that lady's here, " To-day with me she came; " But ere to him she will appear " She means to prove his love sincere; " She waits within the village near, " And Marion is her name. " Thou know'st her noble father well, " He does in fair-wall'd Ludlow dwell, " Thy neighbour's name scarce need I tell. ( 16 ) "Sir Joos of Normandy; " Yet here she comes in low attire, " Sighing to think how oft her sire " Has fought with Albany. " Have ye not mark'd a chilly breeze, " Too feeble far to stir the trees, " Just fret the leaves and flow'rs? " So little hopes and fears impart " A flutter to the female heart, " That fall unfelt on ours. " Women have whims and small requests " That agitate their tender breasts, " Tho' we as trifles eye them; ♦' But Avhen their feelings they divulge, " With looks that ask us to indulge, Can any man deny them? " Now Marion fain would have you press " Sir Albany, with close address, " To tell his tender tale; "And, thus to prove his faith, while I " Behind the tapestry hard by " The list'ning maid conceal. v.'i ( 17 ) •' The tale you'll easily obtain, " As lovers like to tell their pain, " When friends the story claim; " But Marion most of all entreats " That you'll avoid, while he relates, " To tell or ask her name. " A lover's tale with ardour glows " While some warm friend attention shews : " But if some harmless hint he throws^ " The lover's heart is such, " It proudly shrinks from what it scorns; "Like that shy plant, beset with thorns, " That shrivels at a touch." " Enough," the gallant Chief replied, " Your plan I clearly have descried, " And pity 'twere I should prevent " A feat so arch and innocent. " ril have prepar'd within an hour " A chamber in yon eastern tow'r, " Where Marion safely may remain " Unseen of all the festive train; " But you that are not known at all " May join us in the coiicert-hall. { 18 ) " And after that may safely come " To supper in the banquet room, " Where oft we sit an hour or so " To talk of tales of wit or woe. " And when the revellers retire " Loud summon'd by the sounding quire, " While you unto the hall advance " To mingle in the merry dance, " ril pace with pensive Albany " The gallery of tapestry, " And hear his tender tale reveal' d, " While list'ning Marion stands conceal'd. " The gallery now pass you through, " And back unto the village go : " My trusty servant at the gate, " Instructed well, shall for you wait, " And when the shades of ev'ning lour, " Lead Marion to the eastern tow'r, " Refreshment and repose to take; " (The window, see, looks o'er the lake) " When all is safe you then may come " And join us in the concert-room," ( 19 ) The distant moon now rais'd her head O'er massy cleiids high-tuiTeted, As back did Wrenoc pass; The eastern tow'r receiv'd her beam That shewed the window's fluted frame. And glinted on the glass. (BuJ ivy now at eve receives The moonbeam on it's glossy leaves.) And Albany beheld it clear, Retiuiiiing now the castle near. And as it rose the towers between. He gaz'd delighted on the scene: He heard the vain'.y ( 24 ) Soft, to the song, their bosoms swell. And, breathing, ev'ry cadence tell. The stranger Wrenoc too was there. Of lofty port and brow severe, Tho' sooth, a wand'ring warrior he That little car'd for minstrelsey. But who the maid of sable eye That blooms yon crimson curtain nigh? Is it the curtain's crimson flush That lends her cheek that lovely blush? Is it the waxen taper's light That lustres in her eye so bright? Blushes her bosom's kerchief fair To see itself outwhiten'd there? And has some Fairy's magic pow'r Her shape with beauties angel'd o'er? No — there no borrow'd charms are shewn. Thy beauties, Clarice, are thy own. Clarice now commands my song, Clarice, she imnam'd so long. ( 25 ) The nymph so May and mild, Majestic, gen'rous; free adress, But female'd all with loveliness. Bespeaks the noble maid no less Than great Fitz-Gwarine's child. The painter that with mimic power Affects to ape the op'ning flower Or limn the luscious fruit. When touch'd with all his curious care, With nature's self the piece compare. Alas! how poor they suit. Yet poorer suit my lifeless lays To tell of lovely Clarice praise; So elegant her form. As if Prometheus, old and sly, Had touch'd with taper from the skr The marble maid of Medici, And made it flush and warm. But what avail the vermil cheek. Or brows that ringlets wreathe; Or what the braided tresses sleek. And breasts that balmly breathe. ( 26 ) Did not each Virtue, mansion'tl there. Enkindle bright tlie whole. And fling on ev'ry feature fair The sunbeams of the soul ! And, Clarice, such a heart was thine That brightly bade each virtue shine When following far thy noble sire. Who fled a haughty monarch's ire, (And, tho' unblemished with blame. Was furc'd to bear a borrow'd name) To cheer him with Iriy filial smile O'er Ocean, Continent, and Isle, While won and lost, and lost and won Was his domain at Whittington. And now but doubtfully restored He seeks again his household board. Still duteous in his train art thou Smiling to smoothe his harrass'd brow. 'o Still symphonied was many a song With native music rich and strong. Whose melodies so SAveet and clear We still delighted love to hear; { 27 ) For judgment chaste must ever own Thy pow'r, Simplicity alone, Untrick'd with all the flimsy chime, • The dearthy din of modern titne. (The' HE* indeed wrought wonders high Whose full melodious harmony Through all the diapason driven Scraph'd the Songs of Earth to Heaven.) Fitz-Gwarine spirited with praise The vocal and the lyric lays ; When thus, while each tlic praises shar'd. Prophetic spoke a British bard. " The nation ours, and ours the fire *■■ To sweep the poet's lofty lyre, " And sway the pow'r of song ; '' In after-times shall England shine " With Bards to build the living line, " Though Science yet is young. " But ONE§ above the rest shall rise, " Whose magic shall the world surprise, *' Shall raise Imagination's strain, " And memorise a Virgin's reign. * Handel. § Shakspearc. ( 2S ) " He shall with strange uncopied art " Call up the phantoms of the heart, '' And rule them with his sole behest " In fire to glow, or glide to rest. " Nor shall he urge his modest aim " To whiffle on the vane of Fame, '* But, dying, she his name shall place " Her temple's noblest niche to grace, " No bays from Rome or Athens torn " His gentle brow shall half-adorn, " But British ivy shall entwine " Around his ever-hallowed shrine. " And Bards, of no ignoble strain, " Shall after him in laurel'd train " Grace thee in metre's ev'ry style, " Thee, Britain, Ocean's monarch-isle, " Thee, Amphitrite's brightest gem, " 'Twill honour thee to honour them." The prophet's rapture fir'd the throng. And plaudits rung the room along. Meanwhile a signal was declar'd Of viands daintily prepar'd \ ( 29 ) And suraraon'd were the moving; train To join the festive board again. Fitz-Gwarine led the courtly crowd. While bards and minstrels choriiss'd loud To all and each the sweet delight Of mirth and peace " the live-long nig/it." And pity 'twere so fair a throng Had left unprais'd the sons of song. Oh! pity had they not decreed The real poet's humble meed O ye, who kindly have so long- Indulging mark'd my early song. Oh! had I, what 1 cannot claim. Due particle of poet's flame. With that, thro' life whate'er my fare, I'd warm the chilly heart of care ; For neither gold nor pow'r I'd pray, Tho' poor my purse, tho' small my sway; Whate'er my toil, whate'er my task. One ivy-bud is all I'd ask. Where I, poor May-fly, couch'd may hide From spiteful spiders, many-eyed j ( 30 ) And that one leaf might spread at last To screen me from the biting blast. With chearful hum I yet would sing. And sun it with my summer wing. The youthful minstrel paus'd; for here A harp symphonious met his ear; Unpeer'd Louisa's graceful hand Ran o'er the strings with soft command; Her lovely fingers smoothly rais'd The native notes he just had prais'd. The guests' admire the silver sound. While fruits and wines are handed round. Then as they walk Of tales they talk With something of a poet's pleasure; Some reprehend, , And some commend The various-raetred measure. ( 31 ) Some prais'd the Genius of their age In Him who sung the Goblin-Page; And her of Branksonie, fair and sage. And some with pleasure spake Of him, who. Palmer-like array'd. The tyrant scar'd who mured the maid. Tho' some the meed of merit paid To Ellen of the Lake. Some prais'd the master's hand, who fram'd The wondrous rhymeless measure, nara'd . Of Thalaba the lay. While others namM with more delight The maid who metred Falkirk fight. And barded Her with bay. Bat now Louisa's lyre again For silence calls in lofty strain. The guests take off the goblets' blush; And once again the hall is hush. When no mean bard (whom now to name Might bring on fav'ring friendship blame) Kindled the youthful minstrel's zeal. And bade him now resume his tale. ( 32 ) Refresh'd, his harp the stripling strung. Encouraged, thus again he sung. But first a fitful flourish flung. I J^lt^(^tuat:me, A BALLAD OF THE WELSH BORDER, IN THREE CANTOS. CANTO IT« jFit^^laarute. CANTO II. On, Wliittiagtoti, among thy tow'rs Pleas'd did my early childhood stray, Bask'd on thy walls in sunny hours. And puird thy moss, and pluck'd thy flow'rs. Full many a truant day. And 'mid thy weed-bewilder'd ways I've thought on Giants, Hags, and Fays, Or ought that in those elfish days ( 36 ) My eager eye had read; Aud hying home at. ev'ning tidcj Scar'd if the circling bat 1 spied, I've pass'd in haste tliy portals wide With no unpleasing dread. And oft I've stood in mute amaze, With fearful inquest fond to gaze. When lab'rours 'mid the stones Deep in the mortar-mingled ground Huge gyves, and iron fetters found. And canker- crusted bones. Tho* oft were found, of .antique mold Quaint bottles, burnish'd as with gold; Branch'd antlers of the deer; And fragments boss'd that bowls had been; With reliques more, yet shewn, I ween. Within the mansion here. And much I've raus'd with strange delight On him, the faintly-figur'd knight On fiery steed, Fitz-Gwarine hight, Berhym'd with rustic verse; But never did I dare to dream, Tho* mad to sip the Avonian stream. ( 37 ) That I this lawless lay should frame. His prowess to rehearse : And fault'ring fear would still prevail Half-told to leave my tedious tale. Did not your partial praise inspire Aud rouse again my ling'riug lyre. The wassailers awhile ago Broke up the pasty of the doe ; And now with revel rung the board. With luscious wines and fruitage stor'd ; The supper's gone, the goblets crowu'd. And jest and jollity go round. While each to each his talk addressing. With finger and with look expressing. The converse of convivial crowd Chaos'd in voices low and loud. Yet ceas'd awhile the noisy cheer A youthful sailor's song to hear. 356489 ( 38 ) ( Welsh Air. — Merch Megan.) The daughter of Megan so lovely and blooming I tnet in Glanavon's gaij glittering hall. And high rose my heart, ambition assuming To dance with the damsel, the bloom of the hall. O daughter of Megan, look not so alluring On a youth that his hope with tky hand must resign, That now the sad pang of Despair is enduring^ For the splendour thou lovest can never be mine. Go, daughter of Megan, to circles of splendour. Each eye that beholds thee thy presence shall bless. And the delicate mind feel a passion more tender On thy beauties to gaze than another's possess. But, daughter of Megan, to morrow I'm going On ocean to sail where the rude billows roar. And I feel my full heart with affliction o'erfoicing. For perhaps I tnay gaze on thy beauties no more. ( 39 ) The chair supreme Fitz-Gwarine grac'd. The stranger Wrenoc near him plac'd, With whom he join'd in converse, long Unmark'd of ail the noisy throng. " But how," said he, (and turn'd his breast, Leaning toward the stranger-guest) " But how could he his royal boon " His plighted faith forget so soon"? Quoth Wrenoc, " nouglit can I reply, " A stranger in his court am I; " But would you ought in brief recite, " Attention shall your task requite/' Proceeded then Fitz-Gwarine's tale, Tho' high the hubbub's voicy gale. But when attention once begun They hush'd to hear him one by one. " I need not tell the man w'ho's trode *' Of courts the smooth and icy road, " That falsehood makes her chief abode " With those mis-call'd the great; " But little thinks the untutor'd vouth. " Taught by the cottage-tale of truth. { 40 ) " Their titles, honours, pomp forsooth, " All, all a glist'nitig cheat. " The titled virtues they assume, " Like flowery tropliies on a tomb, " Unless the real virtues live, " Do but a sad memento give, " That he who got them, good or brave, " Bore them to blossom on his grave, " While feeble upstarts catch the name, '• And glimmer with the fatuous flame. " Your king e'er look'd with jealous eye " On. me, the court of Wales so nigh, " Our families by ring allied, " He fears me on tliis border side; " Nor is he also unadvis'd " How much my friendship should be priz'd. " Our treaty's therefore like the time " Of March's age and April's prime, " Each to the other lending " A sujuiy smile, not over warm, " A gust, the whisper of a storm, •• Each with the other blending. ( 41 ) " Enough to name our last affray. " The prince, his temper lost at play, " The ches-board swung with coward sway, " And hurl'd my head upon: " 111 could the wrong my bosom brook; " I sent him first a furious look, *' Then firm with knuckles clench'd, I strook " The pate of royal John. " The gathering storm soon did I see, " England wai< then no place for me, " Outlawed myself, my castle seiz'd, " Gold my rebellious head-price blaz'd, " Yet did no British bosom know " Where I retired, or friend or foe. " Poor Clarice on that troublous night '' Was sole partaker of my flight; " Bellow'd the blast, the surges ro^uM, " As tho' a murd'rer were on buarJ. " In Normandy I djd commend *' My daughter to an abbess-friend, " With whom in convent to remain *' 'Till I ray castle might regain. { 42 ) " To Lewis' court, a wandering kuighl " Disguis'd I wentj Sir Amice hight. " Nor lack'd the lists wherewith to owu *' My title to a knight's renown. " The courtly king my prowess prais'd, " And high to honours would have raisM; " A Barony I did reject, " Yet grateful bowM with deep respect; " And well I did, for soon by name " Did England's king his rebel claim; " With me description did accord, " Sir Amice provM the rebel lord. " Me Lewis offering to protect, " I did his tender'd love reject; " For well I wot how small a seed " ^Twixt king and king will burst and breed, " And through each nation's fields afar " Enroot the lurid weed of war. " Then long I trode the trackless woods, " I drank of Don and Danube's floods, " At tilts my prowess proving; " I pac'd with hoof and plowM with helm " The sandy and the salty realm. ( 43 ) " Pursuance kept me moving. "■ But as the binnacle's bright bar " When driven from it's home afar " Will agitated veer, " Still trembling as it wavers round, " True to it's native north 'tis found, " And always settles there. " So homeward still my bosom turn'd, •' The foreign feats of strangers earn'd, " I held of small account; " A British fiiend fell in my way, " A jolly captain he by sea, " Hight Madour of the Mount. '* One morn as we in channel lay, " Loit'ring 1 mark'd the playful spray " Back on the big wave washing, " And lisf^ning to the trickling tide " That rippled on the vessel's side " Green with the billows dashing, ' " I kent among the sailor crew " A knight disguis'd that well I knew, " And well his purpose guess'd: ( 44 ) " With sinewy oar, fatigued and wet, " On board I saw that ev'ning set " Far in the wavy west. " Yet do not deem thro' fear I fled, " I might have laid the lurcher dead, " But proudly did disdain, " His king less fearing to oiFend " Than stain the vessel of my friend, " And so my honour stain. " The sail that now I gain'd, erewhile " Gave up her gale to Orkney's islej " Where learning that a prison'd maid " Needed a knight her cause to aid, " I deeds of arms again begun, " And many a warrior's trophy won, " There won 'mid armour's clanking peal " My famous hauberk of hard steel. " I did the damsel now release, " Judge of her joy, my wonder wild; " 3he felt a father's fond embrace, ♦' Oh it was Clarice, 'twas my child! ( 45 ) " Borne from the Noimau convent's bowers " She captive came to Orkney's towers. " A knight (she said) of honour high " Looked for her love with am'rous eye. " And oft with fault'ring tongue had tried " To ask her for his honour'd bride; " But secret sigh'd the silent maid, " To tell her father's fate afraid, " Yet willing (did my stars relent) " To grace her own with ray consent. " They walk'd each eve the convent grove " Scarce conscious of encreasing lovt. " One day before her knight arriv'd *' The British Monarch's spies contriv'd . " Poor Clarice from the grove to tear " And captive oft' to Orkney bear. " By tempests toss'd the seas we cross'd, " Thro' Calpe's straits to Carthage coast, " And bore the brunt of war and weather j " Yet did we find that fate grew kind " For oh — we were together. " Thro' northern cold and southern heat " She taught my heart to smile on fate. ( 46 ) " Landing at length on Albion's isle, " But secret and disguis'd the while, " Of changeless friends a firm defile " That all to aid us chose, " Met us that mighty White ClifF nigh, " That raising abrupt it's head on high, " Seems bidding, as it seeks the sky, " Defiance to it's foes. " For woodman's garb I chang'd my cloak, *' In Windsor's woods of ancient oak ** We found a safe retreat ; *' The king I knew there chac'd the deer, ** And with my faithful comrades there " I conn'd a cunning feat. " One day the king alone appear'd, " When scarce the distant horn was heard " Our hiding place hard by ; " And as across my way he came, " Know'st thou (quoth he) of any game ? " Aye — game enough (quoth I) " Ride to yon briery dingle rough " Trust me, I'll rouse ye game enough. ( 47 ) " My bugle then I sounded; " My comrades heard the blast I blew, " Obey'd the signal that they knew, " And soon the king surrounded. *' Cow'd was the king with speechless fear, " Yet stammer'd out, who have we here? " I flung the bonnet from my brow, " Know'st thou, (quoth I,) Fitz-Gwarine now? " I took a sword and o'er him swung it, *' Then at bis feet contemptuous flung it, ^ " And turning to my comrade class, " Open, (I cried,) and let him pass. " Now go. Sir King, in freedom go " And copy courage from a foe. " ril grant (he cried) a pardon free, " Fitz-Gwarine, unto thine and thee, " And I'll restore to thee anon " Thy franchise fair of Whittington, *' Wilt thou again in homage bend, " And be my subject and my friend; (.48 ) '■' And here I pliglit ray royal faith " Thy forfeiture free pardon hath. " Then, taught by me, the rebel ring " Bow'd, and we own'd him for our king. " But homeward ere we scarce had gone, " Scarce merry made at Whittington, " Surpriz'd we heard it said " That thrice five knights the king had sent " Who soon to make me captive meant, " And Albany their head. " The noblest foe I ever fought " Is Albany; and hira we sought " As he came from Ludlow's tow'rs; " And where in Vyrnwy's yellow vale " Whitens the willow to the gale " When the south chill blackening lours " We met; and our coursers with galloping tread " Crush'd the tall buttercups down, " And the blood that we shed streak'd the orchis red " With a ruddier dye than its own. *' But Albany, my foe profess'd, *' Did fearless far before the rest ( 49 ) " The depth of danger stem; " But, thank my friends, I brought hiin here " To taste my castle's choicest cheer, " And make him one of them. " Since when the faithless monarch shews " An outward offer of repose, " Yet still I stand prepar'd; " For when my foes their whirlwinds cast, *■' I disregai'd the blust'ring blast, " But when they're calm I guard. " The silent water-drops alone " Deeper decay yon turret stone, " Than delug'd storms that dash; " Harmless the thunder's thumping jarr " That rocks the earth and rends tlie air, " But fatal is the flash. " Me Raumpayne John too, bids beware; " A Minstrel he, and Soothsayer, " To him I did a dream declare; ** I shudder now to know it. ( 50 ) " Methought I view'd with fond delight, " Winter's chaste flow'r of green and ^hite, " When 'twixt the leaves just met my sight " A turgid toad below it; " Sharply methought 1 then could see " It's jewel'd eye-ball dart on mej " That moment pass'd a honied bee, " That to the snowdrop came ; " The biggening reptile rued his stroke, " And bloating burst with hideous croak; " I started shock'd, and shivering 'woke. -'Twas morning's earliest beam. " Then tell your king, in me he'll know " The firmest friend, or fiercest foe. — *' The dastard ! when our rebel crowd *' In Windsor's wood his subjects bow'd, " We meant, 'fore Heav'n! (so did not he) '* Honour and true fidelity. " But he beware! — his realm around *' We Barons yet are brothers bound, *' Since that Great Deed, for which with fame *' Posterity shall bless our name. (51 ) " And still each other's cause we'll aid. " Has he forgotten Runnemede ? " My temper's hot, my anger loud, " Like rolling rack of stormy cloud", " In souls, that should be great, to scan " Meanness, that misbecomes a man. " But where I find true Honour sway, " Not milder is the breath of May." Here ceas'd the Chief. Th' admiring crowd Applauded ^till the board rang loud. While Great Fitz-Gwarine graceful bow'd. " Dwell ye on dreams," Wrenoc replied " Old women's idlings I deride, " Or much indeed I might be mov'd " By one that yesternight I prov'd. " ril tell ye all I wot, nor care " For Raumpayne John, your jocular, " What it may bode I nothing heed " Wist ye I reck such idle rede? " Tho', by St. George, as I'm a knight, " Waking, it chill'd me witli affright. 1 ( 5-2 ) " But with the morning's rising ray " The swallows twitter' <1 it away. mxtmc^ Dream, / teas laid at the feet of a Virgin in white^ And methought all of heavenly hue. For I saw by the soles of her sandals so light, That were lac'd round her ancles so taper and tight. That she trode not the dust or the deic. Regard me, Sir Wrenoc, regard me (she said) And regard the white rose that I hear. For a talisman's virtue around it is shed To bless loith delight both the board and the bed Of him that regards it with care, JBut a sable magician, before it is thine. Must a mystical oJjUce perform. Must a magical circle around it entwine. Must adjure thee to swear by his Spirit and min/e. To preserve it in sunshine and storm. ( 53 ) The rose it blush'd lovely as greedy I gaz'd. And I snatched it ivith eager delight. But I found 'twas a blossomless briar I seiz'd. And, as vanished the Virgin, I shudder'd amaz'd At a hellishly horrible Sprite. Entangled in terrors, I laboured to jly. But my path ivas all dizzy and dim; And glancing aside ever glar'd to my eye The gaunt apparition ivith chattering cry Of jaws that ivere lipless and grim. On, on. Thou Deceiver, on, on, be thou borne The rack of Repentance upon, By phantoms and furies thy brain shall be torn. Mine, mine is the blossom, but thine is the thorn, On, on, thou Deceiver! on, on! Then swept the grey spirits around me in crowds. And the dismal ivind trhistled forlorn; At midnight ive sail'd on the dark heavy clouds, The spectres still mutt' ring, as flutter' d their shrouds, Deceiver! on, on with thy thorn!. ( 54 ) The rugged clouds parting uncurtain'd the night, And the moon for a moment was seen; On a white rock that pass'd us just glinted her light, Where my oun shadow seem'd like a skeleton sprite. And my ribs sheio'd the moonshine between. We pass'd o'er a river, dull, sluggish, and drear; I look'd down it's smooth surface upon, But oh! the reflection that star'd at me there! A frightful grey skeleton's chattering snetr Seem'd to say, thou Deceiver! on, on! Then down the dark eddy a blossom teas borne. And a tchite hand emerg'd from the ivave; As they sunk, I could hear from the waters forlorn, Mine, mine is the blossom, but thine is the thorn, Deceiver! on, on, to the grave! Then, on, on, thou Deceiver! on, on, was the howl, As they shew'd me, icith muttering tone, A corpse all uncoffin'd, all bloody and foul; I shiver'd, for oh, as it grinn'd with a scowl, I fancied the face was my own. ( 55 ) O then did a scream that loud yell'd in mine ear With a groan full of horror combine To awake me all chilly, and palsied with fear ; — — But the scream was the cry of the shrill chanticleer, And the groan was the low of the kine. Yet ev'n when awake, and beholding the day, 'Twos long ere my terror was gone; For I fancied the geese, in the cot tchere I lay. With their cackling and hissing ev'n still secm'd to say On, on, thou Deceiver! on, on. When Wrenoc ceas'd 'twas silence all. They, heard tlie taper's icle fall; Nor car'd the guests remarks to make. But rising as their wine they take. Half lost half heard their voices ran As they to leave the hall began; To join the dance they soon were gone. In pailies some, and some alone. Yet one, of more attentive mien. Low at the board was seen to lean; ( 56 ) While Wrenoc spoke, he glanc'd awry. And seldom twink'd his list'ning eye. But mark'd the dream with thoughtful look; Then off his cup's deep remnant took. And rose, when Wrenoc's dream was done. To leave the room. — 'Twas Raumpayne John. And as he op'd the door, the air Just made the tapers near it flare. And just was heard, in distance drown'd. The fitful harp's uncertain sound. A moment heard, and heard no more. For all was still when clos'd the door. A vacant silence now ensued. And both awhile unheeding view'd The lights that shot with length'ning flame. Or melting dropp'd in trickling stream. Around the table many a chair Left carelessly stood here and there; The goblets, in uneven line, Lefl empty some, and some with wine; Wet circles glisten'd round, the board. Or streaks of wine some guest had scor'd. ( 57 ) Perchance as some design he wrought. Or eke perchance for want of thought. " Come, take tliy wine" (Fitz-Gwarine saitt, As he to Wrenoe turn'd his head) " Strange fears across ray fancy came " Hearing thy wild bewilder'd dream; *' Come, drink, we'll join the dance anon; " 1 did not see my guests were gone." " Strange fears ?" (then Wrenoe starting said) " What fears can bold Fitz-Gwarine dread? '' What fears across thy fancy came? " Did — did 1 tell thee all my dream ?'' " Or all," (Fitz-Gwarine cried) " or none, '' I saw 'twas marked by Raumpayne John. " For as his ear thy accents caught " His looks embodied all his thought. " And in thy dreara he seem'd to see " Some warning that awaited thee; " For thee, my guest, the fears I felt, " Lest o'er thy head some danger dwelt. " And as I mark'd his long-lash'd eye •• My bosom beat, I knew not why." ( 58 ) (Quoth Wrenoc) " troth, this searching wine " Has warm'd thy head as well as minej " I do forget what I have said, " Bewilder'd wand'rings fill'd my head; " CansH thou regard such idle toys? " Bugbears to frighten girls and boys! " But come, we'll to the busy dance, " And mark each maiden's ogling glance, *' As lightly by they foot it fair, " And waft around the od'rous air. " But oh. Sir Chief, could I advance " The lovely Marion to the dance! " The blossom she of hall or bower, " Now clos'd in yonder eastern tower; " While sighs her absent Albany " For her he deems in Normandy. " Absence to love is like the shower, " That dims the sun, and dews the flower. " Then oh. Sir Chief, could'st thou prevail " On him to-night to tell his tale, " I have the gentle Marion bid *' To stand behind the arras hid. ( 59 ) " 'Twill soon be o'er if once begun. *' 1 would the stratagem were done." Smiling, Fitz-Gwarine answer'd quick " I had for^'jt fair Marion's trick. " I like for her thy service shewn " Anxious, as if it were thy own. " I'll seek Sir Albany; go thou " And join the merry-makers now. *' I'll catch this heart-shot warrior soon, " Hiding his shadow from the moon." (Quoth Wrenoc) " in the tender theme " Take care you ask not Marion's name, " And as ye talk, your steps incline " Near where the parted hangings join, " Where Oak and Roses are combin'd, " 'Tis there that Marion stands behind. " Now part we, thou the knight to bring, " And I to join the revel ring, " Where I shall look for you anon, " With Albany and Marion." The lessen'd moon was mounted high. And seem'd to hurry o'er the sky. ( 60 ) As fleecy clouds were passing by. Light scudding on the blast; The little stars were gone and seen. Peeping the parted clouds between. And many a moonbeam o'er the scene A fitful lustre cast; But in the distant woods afar Was heard the long and lasting jarr That told the wind was rising there. "With sounding step of eager haste Fitz-Gwarine o'er each draw-bridge pass'd Across the ditches deep; Dimly the ramparts round he eyed. And soon Sir Albany espied. With Raumpayne John close at his side, Descending from the Keep. Ye know the Keep, my hearers fair. The grainger's garden now is there. And plaister'd beehives, thatch'd with care. , ( 61 ) Where pinks and pansies grow; Yet still beneath the garden ground. The pavement to the spade will sound. That penetrates too low. And now where oft was seen on high The banner, streaming to the sky. Or blaz'd the beacon bright. The woodbine in a crevice clings. And low it's dangling tracery flings In tresses long and light. As tho' to kiss the sister-wreath Reflected in the lake beneath. So fi'owns upon the biiskin'd stage Awhile, the ruthless Richard's rage. And clanks the sword and shield; Then skip the light-sock'd lasses gay. In flowery bloom all fresh as May, And frisk on Bosworth field. But back, my Muse, back to thy song. Thou art toofrolic: but thou'rt young. ( 62 ) Fiiz-Gwarhie saw them both descend. Conversing close as friend with friend; But as he bent to hear their tale The distant harps swell'd on the gale. And from the hall by fits were sent The sounds of dance and merriment. Yet nearer as tiiey darkling came He thought they mention'd Wrenoc's name; But as he caught the doubtful word A gust the rustling poplars slirr'd. And as it died upon the spray They parted each a several way ; The circle gay sought Raumpayne John, But Albany came forward on. Where with his host Fitz-Gwarine meeting. He spoke him thus with friendly greeting. " Sir Chief, courteous thou, and kind, " Struggles thy heart with ravel'd cave? " Or why's yon brilliant room resigned '* For moonlight pale and humid air?" ( r.3 ) (Fitz-Gwarine then) " Sir knight, I com* " Thy steps to seek, thy cares to end; " Can I enjoy yon brilliant room " While sorrows thus my noble friend? " Much have I mourn'd to see thee stray, " Leaving my guests and festive cheer; " But soon will shine thy happier day, " Ev'n now thy dawn of joy is near. " But see, the moon looks watery dim, " And drizzly dews begin to fall; " Let's walk my gallery dry and trim, " I'll hear thy tale and tell thee alK " Thy promis'd tale there let me know, " I'm now at leisure and alone; " Then the bright ray that ends thy woe " That I've discover'd shall be shewn." With fiull'ring step, and sudden start. As loud he heard his beating heart, " Discover'd!" thought Sir Albany, ** Discover'd ! — no it cannot be." Then damp his chilly forehead kuew vDamp other than the fulling dew; ( 64 ) Nor was that long and inward sigh The passing gust that eddied by. Then said he, as with blushing thought Fitz-Gwarine^s friendly hand he caught, " Sir Chief, I know thy noble heart, " And will my bosom's wound impart, " Altho' too certain do I see '•■ I cannot hope for cure from thee; " But gladly in obedience due " I'll tell thee much and tell thee true; " But do not, do not probe too deep, " Her name at least, oh ! let me keep; " For well thou know'st her noble sire " 'Gainst whom I've rais'd my sword in ire, " Nay ev'n his very life have sought, " But 'twas to serve my king I fought. " Then spare the heart a word may wound, ^ fetir not the thorns that twine it round." Gloomy the gallery appear'd As high it's branchy arches rear'd. And dull the moon, as tho' she fear'd Within to trust her light; " ( 65 ) And triple-chaiu'd a cresset swung. That scarce it's lonesome lustre flung To where the figur'd arras hung, The' triple-trimm'd and bright. Fitz-Gwarine gaz'd around, to find The Roses with the Oak corabinM, Where close the parted hangings joined Nor gazM he long in vain; Then arm in arm they silent pass'd. While rose at times the whistling blast 'o That rough against the windows dash'd The sharp and pattering rain. But, gentle hearers, oh, too long I fear you deern my lengthen'd song; And here I fain meet pause would ask To renovate my tedious task; My harp ('till now but us'd to play The little song, the merry lay) Can ill the lofty tone retain Demanded in the border strain. For as my hand the flourish flings Feeble, I feel the slacken'd strings. ( ee ) Unlike the harps you've heard of late Whose fire and tension ne'er abate. But waft the song in rapture thrown With rich and undulating tone. While Fancy feels her bosom bound. And Genius rides upon the sound. Again (the tighten'd tone supplied) His harp the youthful minstrel tried. And swept shortwhile the strings along Preparing fof th' approaching song. But, ere he did his tale renew. He thus a little prelude threw. •&» A BALLAD OF THE WELSH BORDER, IN THREE CANTOS. CANTO III. It'? JFtt^(^at:ine, CANTO III. Spirit of Song, oh I at thy feet Imparadis'd the poet lies To court thy countless beauties sweet. And watch the wildfire of thine eyes. How mean to him the gilded toys. The baubles that Ambition brings; He'd closer hug thy bosom joys T.ho' callM to grace the courts of kings. The spoils tliat Wealth assiduous yields. The rustling robe, the titled gear. He leaves, to reap thy richer fields, Aad drink thy sweets with eager ear. And as he marks each glowing glance That from thy radiant eyes are thrown, Bounds his big heart in trembling trance. And lights the lustre in his own. ( 70 ) Ev'n I (alas, no gifted bard) With flowing heart thy haunts approach; And if at times my hand has dar'd To wake thy harp with timid touch. In sooth forgive the sounds so dull. The infant hand in sooth forgive. The very flowers it loves to cull Their memory shall long outlive. Not wavers more the trembling shade That by the silken beech is made As May's delightful zephyr waves In playful sport its lucid leaves; Than every thought the lover knows When Memory the embers blows. And bids the glowing warmth arise That buried in his bosom lies. Awhile to sparkle in his eyes ; And quick thro' tleam and gloom to run. Like chequcr'd leaves in shade and sun. Such feeling Albany confess'd As thus Fitz-Gwarine he address'd; \ ( 71 ) *' No titled ancestry I boast, , " AH ia Time's upper current lost; " Hard-handed men my fathers were " Inur'd to guide the brighten'd share. " Tliey ran their course in lowly lot, " Just streakM the stream, and were forgot. " Yet had their shields in 'scutcheoii'd pride " Each rich heraldric blazon dyed, " On me less vantage had they shed " Than did my father's honour'd head. " My hoary sire me early taught " "Wiiat substance was, and shadow what^ *' That honour flows from noble race *' No more than shame from sire's disgrace; *' That oaks may rise erect and free " From acorns of an humble tree; " That honour he alone acquires " Who after it himself aspires; ** That the best gift from sire to son " Is heav'nly Education, " She, the chaste nymph, so free and fair, " Will prompt to deeds, that, rich and rare, *' Shall with more glory grace his grave, " Than paltry 'scutcheons ever gave. ( 72 ) *' And bear his honours to tliat shore " Where toys and titles are no more. *' This sword. Sir Chief, that now I bear, " But ill becomes my peaceful thigh; " For, tho' this tassel'd garb I wear, " No plume-proud warrior am I. *' Year after year 1 peaceful strayM, " To Art betroth'd, to Nature more, *' Where; faithful to her Alfred's shade, " Fair Isis sweeps the classic Bhore. ** And only once has Autumn strew'd " With drifted leaves her lofty bowers, " And once has Spring those leaves renew'd " Since last I left her sacred towers. " Her tow'rs I left with silent sigh, " As parting from a parent's arms; *' For ah, no parents then had I " Save Heav'n, and Oxford's heav'nly charms. *' But her, I say, I then forsook " To ramble Gallia's bosky bourne; ** Of Nature's wide un-errour'd book ** Eager each living leaf to turn. ( 73 ) "*• Travel in early youth I sought, *' Long ere my noon of life was come; " That noon and eve with joy, I thought, " Might gild my little native home. " For he (unless in early time) " That rambling leaves his native clime, *' Is not unlike the sapling tree " Rooting, where Nature drop'd it, free, '" Transplanted from it's native place *' Some dry and barren spot to grace, *' Stinted it bears nor flow'r nor fruit, *' In spite of foudly-water'd root, " But pines, with toughen'd bark tight bound, " And scurfy lichens moss it round. " So he that leaves his long-lov'd home, " Too soon, too late, may find *' Go where he will, that cares will come, — " The lichens of the mind. ^' As for court-favours, thought have I ^ When in the woods reclin'd, my eye ( 74 ) " Watch'd the wan leaf the zephyr whirls *' That, cobweb-caught, light spinning twirls, " Court-favours! — hang they not, I wis, " Ev'u on a brittler thread than this ! " But oh, in some sweet vale unknown " A cot that I might call my own " Was all my heart's desire; " A stock select of letter'd lore, " An eye to glance all Nature o'er, " And leisure for the lyre. " And as for Love, I deem'd his dart " Just temper'd by the poet's art, " Could there alone prevail : " But (O, forgive a soldier's sigh) " Too soon a black and brilliant eye " Taught me another tale. " It taught me that the poet's eye " But only tinged with prismy dye " The woof that Nature wove; *' Taught me how hard it was to tear, " Tho' fine as filmy gossamer, ** The woven web of Love. ( 75 ) " It taught me ivhy in vale unknown " A cot that 1 might call my own " Was all my heart's desire, " With stock select of letter'd lore, " And eye to glance all Nature o'er, " With leisure for the lyre. " O Woman ! not confin'd thy pow'r " To sweeten life's embitter' d hour, " But needed, O enchantress sweet, " To make it's very joys complete ! " Who feels not when a woman's bv " That approbation of her eye " Gives added azure to the sky ; " Warmth to the poet's fire ; " Beauty to each little flow'r; *' Richness to the letter'd hour; " And sweetness to the lyre ! " Who feel not this, tho' high their lot, " Their pow'r, their wealth, I envy not; " Who feel not this, may pleasure prove, " But cannot, dare not, say they love. ( 76 ) " Pardon a lover's rambling vein, " I'll try to check my bnsy brain ; " Enough to say I met the maid, '* And oft we sought the moonlight glade| " But the succeeding moon that shone ** My wand'ring shadow shew'd alone. " Of her, of heart, of hope bereft, ** Not ev'n her very name was left, •' For always, obstinately shy, " She did her name and house deny. " Then sad and heart-sick home I hied, ■" And to my former haunts appliedj " But there no object could I find " But brought the lovely maid to mind. " In Music's note her voice I heard, " Her blush in the wild-rose appear'd, " The balmy breeze, the od'rous air, " The hall, the bow'r was full of htr; "My lyre, like his the Teian bard^ " Did ev'ry theme but love discards " And, \o encrease ray fever's rage, *' 1 drank at Ovid's amorous page. ( 77 ) " Thus ever haunted by the maid, " 1 flung me from the thoughtful shade, *• Sought the gay scene, the bright resort " Of city crowd, and royal court. " Where learning that the king had need " Of knights at arms for hostile deed, " 1 threw aside the classic gown, " In chivalry to gain renown, " And prove that sons of British line " In arms, as well as arts may shine. " Hoping the deeds of arms I prov'd "• Might reach the ear of her I lov'd, " And soon they did ; for, oh ! unknown " Against her sire those deeds were shewn. " ^Twas then with fatal fear and shame " I learn'd her honour'd house and name ; " A British Baron's daughter she, " And oh, her sire well known to thee. " This late I learned (no matter how) " But cannot, dare not, tell it now, " For- ■what was that ? — hush — blood and death I " Did you not hear some one's breath ?" ( 78 ) Fitz-Gwaiine thought he heard a sigh As close they pass'd the arras nigh ; But louder treading, quick replied — " Breath! — no, it was myself that sigh'd, " SighM, anxious for your laden breast j " But comCj my friend, come tell the rest, " For if I am her father's friend, " Your enmity 1 soon may end." Quoth Albany, " O Chief belov'd, " My arm againt his life hath mov'd, " Which makes us smother close our fire,, " In fear of her oflended sire. " But would he on our union smile, " The king and him I'd reconcile. '' Think ye he'd grant my urgent suit? " Think ye. Sir Chief, that you could do't ?'* " Aye, trolh,^' (he cried) " Sir Albany, •'• To such a noble foe as thee." " Then" (cried Sir Albany) « I'd faia *' Request death ! there's the breath again. ( 79 ) " It waf5 not you, I can^t niistftke, " Look there 1 saw the arras shake." " Come, timid lover, calm thy mind," (Fitz-Gwarine said) — " it was the wind. " Go on:" (ajid then his arm he took) ♦' Why do'st thou so attentive look ?" The knight here stop'd, and fix'd his eye Fast ou the figur'd tapestry. And long with eager gaze he strove Expecting soon to see it move j Then cried, " O, if for me. Sir Chief, " Thou can'st obtain the lovely thief " That stole ray heart's-ease, in that cell " Sole tenant she shall ever dwell, "Her guardian I, divinely blest " To guard and tend so sweet a guest. " For thee. Sir Chief, I have in view " Some services that I may do. " By this good sword, that now I draw, *' I'll swear to keep thy foes in awe; " Nay more, those foes thy friends I'll bring;» " Aniev'n for thee will speak the king. ( 80 ) " With thee as friend will ever go, " And should I find some lurking foe, " With this good sword (that only fail'd " When it thy mighty hand assail'd) " rU pierce him 'till his life-blood flows, " As now I pierce this figur'd Rose." Then fiercely, as the word he spoke. He stabb'd the arrassM Rose and Oakj And instant heard, in dying tone, A shrieking scream and hollow groan. O, fancy, as some ploughboy rude Deprives her of her downy brood. How feels the cushat dove ! Her anxious hope defeated now. She trembles on a bending bough. With looks of raurder'd love. So felt Fitz-Gwarine as he rais'd His arm, and Albany's he seiz'd. But ah, he seiz'd too late, As, " hold, thou heedless youth," he said, *' It is thy love, thy own true maid/^ ( 81 ) Birt oh, the wound was fate. Judge ye the wild and fix'd surprize. The looks of his astonish'd eyes O how shall language tell ? When from the parting tapestry. With gory gash and languid eye The dying Wrenoc fell ! " Forgive," (he fault'ring thus began) " Forgive a wretched dying man, " Alas, for death how unprepar'd ! " For lured with hope of large reward, " Encourag'd by a dastard king, " I here this cursed dagger bring; " This dagger, O Fitz-Gwarine good, " Design'd to-night to drink thy blood/** Fitz-Gwarine loud to call begaa " Support, assist the dying man."" Repentant Wrenoc cried again " Support, alas, is all in vain, " For Albany by hand divine " To save thy life has fiuish'd mine; " But let me all my crimes coufesSj ( 82 ) " My panting heart heaves less and lessj " I feel the fihn enfold my eyes, *' And fast my recollection flies." Then heaving on his elbow high He fetch'd a deep and long-drawn sigh. After short pause, with quivering lip, His hand hard pressing on his hip. He cried — " at Ludlow from a friend, " I learnM that Albany Oh lend '* Thy hand, undo my breast, *' For by the belt 'tis sore opprest — " I did a crafty falshood frame, " O false, all false — except the dream." Then fearfully with hurried eye He said, with agitated sigh, " Oh, drive those shadows from the wall, " Look there — there — where the moonbeams fall ; " — Ye frightful fiends — I'll come anon — " Hark ! — don't ye hear them — — on, on, on ! { 83 ) " maddens fast my burning brain ; " But here— this letter will explain— " This letter to the king I -wrote — " — 'Tis lost— alas, I have it not." Quoth Albany, "just now 'twas found " I'th' banquet-roora upon the ground, " And brought to me by Raumpayne John, '' It urgM me to the deed I've done. " Here, as we paced it to and fro, " Villian, I saw thy foot below ; " Hints then I threw here in thy way " To rouse thee unto equal fray. ^' I not so soon to slay thee meant ; " To rouse thee was rny blow^s intent,'' You've seen in March's chilly morn A heavy raindrop on a thorn A moment bright aud glaring ; Then for a moment dim and dead ; Then burnish'd bright all fiery red. With dazzling flashes flaring ; And, as the sighing gust came o'er. Fall damp and dead to shine no more. ( 84 ) So Wrenoc's ^an and heavy eye The quivering lids of pallid dye At times but barely parttd ; Theu sudden o'er his features came A fearful, wild, and vivid gleatn That looks of horror darted ; And theu again they seem'd to close. And sink a moment in repose. Short while they paus'd, as wild and wan They mark'd and sootb'd the dying man. They heard the wind with rushing sound That eddied shrill the castle round. The trees howl'd hollow to the blast. The moon her flickering lustre cast Among the rocking branches tall. And mark'd them waving on the wall. With languid eye and lessening pain;, Wrenoc essay'd to speak again : — " Hear me forgive before I go, " Sir Knight, thy well-directed blow ; " Can ye forgive the crimes so foul " That torture now my struggling sou! ?" ( 85 ) Fitz-Gwaiine then " O as I live '" Most freely I thy crimes forgive, " For who can dare to pray to Heaven " That bids his foe die unforeriven ?" '6' Quoth Albany, " that text is true, " And Oh, may Heav'u forgive tliee too." Wrenoc rejoin'd, with heaving heart, *' Tve but confess'd a little part— " The maid deceiv'd — oh burst, my breast, ** — Let injur'd virtue tell the rest. — *^ See, see again — upon the wall — " And, hark!— I dimly hear them call. " — Tortuie no more my rustling ears — " Shrowd not my dying soul with fears — " Go, fiends, — I'll follow — aye — begone — *' — Oh! how they tear me — — on, on, on!** Then with a long, and lengthen'd sigh. He rais'd his dimly-glistening eye. One look upon Fitz-Gwarine cast. And deeply groaning, .breatli'd his last i ( 86 ) Heaving convuls'd; then on the floor Dropp'd all at once, and mov'd no more. Fell the curs'd dagger from his hold; And soon his face look'd deathly cold, Fix'd with a hard and stony glare That Horror siiong had sculptured there. Hold out, my harp, n..r let a string Relax, the deeds of death to tell; Of weal and woe we yet must sing. That soon this castle fair befell. Proceed we now o'er many a stair As great Fitz-Gwarine led his guest. To feast his eyes with lady fair. All in her chamber in the east. And as they pass'd along, he said, *' Before to-morrow's ev'ning come, *' Shall Wrenoc's mis-directed head " Be laid below the silent tomb. " Clerks shall attend in sable stole, " And holy masses shall be said; " I'll pray for his eternal soul; — " Fitz-Gwarine wars not with the dead. ( 87 ) " But come. Sir Kirght, to \Fhom I owe " My life for what thy hand has donej " ril give Ihee life, for now PU shew " Thy own true love, thy Marlon." Fitz-Gwarine wouder'd much in mind The knight was rous'd not at her name ; He foUow'd pondering slow behind, When to the eastern tow^r they came. The tow'r then all in rich array With ewers, couch, and settles gay. With golden toys and cresset bright. For lady fair, or carpet-knight. But now, around, and down below The nightshade and the nettle grow. And early pileworts there unfold Their little stars of burnish'd gold j And close beneath the weedy walls The spotty-bellied lizard crawls; Or (turn a stone) the mailed worm Enrings itself in spiral form ; And winds away on gliding tread The fiber-footed millepede. ( 88 ) Such squallid habitants are plac'd In halls that beauty, once has grac'd. Fitz-Gwarine rous'd the musing knight. And bade him now prepare his sight, " Come, laggard, eiit.-r thou before, « Come, courage, friend, this is the door." He op'd the door, and there was seen A mai len of dejected mien. That sat the table nigh ; Her head upon her hand reclin'd. She wistful seem'd, but yet resigu'd. And laden was her eye. Again Fitz-Gwarine's wonder grew. They not unto each other flew. As thus he smiling said: « In truth she'll make a bonny bride;" And Albany all cool replied, " In truth a goodly maid." All three awhile in wonder gaz'd. Each with the other's look amaz'd. For Marion neither knew; But when they told of Wrenoc's fiite^ She did her simple tale relate. ( 89 ) Too sad, and oh ! too true : With wringing hands and tears and wail It was she told her simple tale ; But first she heav'd a silent sigh. And ev*ry feature seem'd to speak; The big drop glisten'd in her eye, Then trickled down her cheek. *' Slain is ray love, my hopes are gone, " And fi'ieuds now have I never a one; " Wrenoc, tho' false and recreant prov'd, " 1 lov'd, alas, too dearly lov'd. '*^ When captive him in dungeon deep ** Thy valiant neighbour Joos did keep, ** I freed him, but with quenchless flame,, " I in ray turn his captive came. *' By day Sir Joos he fear'd to see, " But nightly paid his court to me : " Ladd_ers of love I knotted tight,, " And m my chamber placM a light; " But oh, the pangs I've since endur'd, *' Shew me tliat 'twa& myself I Iur"d. " Spite of his oaths, and heedless vows, ** He never meaat to be my spouse. ( 90 ) " On hearts like his the vows they make " No longer-lasting traces leave " Than sportive flies that circling streak • " The glassy pool on summer's eve. " He left me for the monarch's court, " Of lighter hearts the gay resort, " Yet still to lure him back I strove, " And penn'd the breatliing page of love. " At length he came ; but then he said " To Whittington in haste he sped; " A mandate from the royal hand " Secret he carried by command; " And if, disguis'd and private, I *' Would thither him accompany, •' His message o'er, perform'd his 'best, " Our hands should by the clerk be blesl., " All day we rode yon hills across, " Nor stopp'd by forest, moor, or moss ; " Bright was the day, and fair the scene, " Yet Wrenoc rode with gloomy mien, " At length (what time the insects gay " Disported in the evening ray) ( 91 ) " He left me in yon bushy ground " With blossom'd furze all yellow'd rouud^ " To fetch me, soon retura'd again, ** And bade me in this room remain, " ^Till he had done his king's behest, — " Alas,-yl see ye know the rest." She sobbing, with her lilly hand Kerchief d her lovely face ; 111 could their manly hearts withstand Such bosom-breaking grace. Like flakes left by a snowy shower On Winter's meek and modest flower. Its bending head enveiling. While o'er the flowery folds so white Trickles the chrystal tear-drop bright. All slow and silent stealing, « Misfortun'd Marion" (said the chief) " A social friend's unforc'd relief " My daughter shall apply; " In sleep forget awhile thy woes, *' Peace to thee, child, and sweet repose^ — " Come, noble Albany." ( 92 ) As they descend the '\^inding stair. At times they stop, and thoughts compare. Where hang the cressets high: Fitz-Gwarine wish'd his doubts remov'd; The maid his brave deliverer lov'd He sought with asking eye. Ye hearers kind, tliat list my lay, I wot your looks all seem to say The maid ye long have guess'd ; Attend, for shortens now my strain. As he with quickly-pulsing vein. The secret name confessM. *' Chief, thy captive guest forgive, " Nor wonder here he chose to live, *' When here abode his secret love, *' Tho' small of converse could we prove.. *' Need I declare. Sir Chief, that I *' Am that same knight of Normandy? " Need I recount the sharp assail " I gave thy hand in Vyniwy's vale ? *' Then captive brought to Whittington,, " Bound to the rock I split upon. C 93 ) " I saw, and sorrowing learn'd her name, " Yet we contriv'd to hide our flame, " ^Till I no more might dread the ire *' Of thee my foe, of thee her sire, " needs it then, Sir Chief, he said " Thy Clarice is my faithful maid?" I wot it boots not here to tell What soon this happy pair befell. The merry jest, the revel gay That circled on a distant day. Fair maids, I wot ye guess it well; Befits my lay alone to tell That tho' Fitz-Gwarine's noble name Now habits but the house of Fame, His virtues live, his honours shine Tlu-o' Albany's yet living line: Grace may they e'er from son to son This fair domain of Whittington, Espousing, as of late they have. The daughters of the truly brave; And shine may each succeeding paip Brave as our knight,— as Clarice fair. ( 94 ) Yet leave we not untold, I trow. The fate of Marion, maid of woe. But shew before the story die. On what we hang our drapery; And soon, I ween, will all be done. Closing with what we first begun. Then, O my harp, for thee and me Silence is best apology. Damp, dull, and cloudy look'd the day As morn arose in shrowd of grey ; Stirr'd not the wind the sighing oak. Yet downwards dash'd the spreading smoke; A fringey cloud, dark, heavy, still, Curtain'd thy brow, Selattyn hill. The fog was slowly seen to glide Adown old Breidden's craggy side. That scarce his head abrupt could shew Thro' heavy clouds that hung below ; — Sign certain to the knowing swaia Portentive of impending rain. And now, with more than sister's care,. Sweet Clarice sought for Marion fair. ( 55 ) With hop«s to heal her woe; in vain, alas, she look'd around. For ah ! poor Marion's corse was found Deep in the lake below! Since when, as villagers believe. Her spirit haunts the lake at eve. But soon the fog of error flies. As bright the rays of knowledge rise. With light, and warmth, and comfort kind Glancing within the gloomy mind. And soon the rays of knowledge here The rising villagers shall cheer; For fast beside the castle pool A Christian true has rais'd a school, (Of Albany descended He The friend belov'd of Man and me) Where bright her beams Religion flings. And Science plumes her infant wings. And little eyes with tear-drops dim Smile gratitude to God and him. And as my harp's now ceasing lay Upon the distance dies away^ ( 96 ) Whose witching notes of comfort kind Dispel the gloom of my poor mindj So Science soon shall Reason bid To exorcise the spirit-rid. And Superstition drive ere long To live but in the poet's song. Now, harp, farewell; no more we'll hold The tir'd attention ; f or 'tis told — Why — (as village tales recite) Yon castle's gloomy tow'r beside. Is dimly seen at fall of night, A Phantom vested all in white. Along the lake to glide. Where yon old window's ruins rude Appear inverted in the flood; And then, as fades the twilight grey, Qlides with the curling mist away. The Aujhor, unwilling to burden his little book .vv-iili notes, refers those readers who may wish to peiuse some historical account of the Fitz-Gwarines, to Leland's Collectanea.; Philips's Shrewsbury; and Penant's Tour in North Wales; ss being the books of readiest access. — The ancient Welsh Melodies alluded to, may be found :n Joaei's B.elf<]ues of the Bards, and the collection of Parry. Eegentiarp. PART I. -- •' it is old and plain, The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids that weave their threads with bones Do use to chaunt it ; it is silly sooth." TWELfTH MIGHT. VCfft 6re^e 9$aron; A BALLAD, IN IMITATION OF " THE RED-CP.OSSE KNYGHTE.' PARTE THE FIRST E., " Whither so faste, Ihou ladye f.iire, " Ah stoppe thy steedc so whytt', " The suniie is livs^he in the wtsterne skvt;. " Aud distaute is the uyghte: " Ah stoppe and soothe the sorrowts sadde " That in my castle preye, *♦ Where no songe can sonitde, nor dance goc rounde, ** Nor musicke merrilie phiye." ( 102 ) '' Ah why me staye, thou 3aron grcyc ? " Ah why delaye my flyghte ? * " The siinnc is hyghe, but I must fly& " To distant realmas to-nyghte : " I hasten o'er tlie mossie moore, " To wedde my lover gaye. "Whera the songe shall sounde and the dance g^e rouudje " And the mueicke merrilie playe/' " Yet deigne to taste the lordlie feas.le " That I this nyghte prepare, " For wliat's a feast unless it's grac'd " With store of ladyes faire ? " 'i lie tender mynde no joye can fynde " Where ladyes are awaye, ••' Tlio' the songe may sounde and the dance goe rounde^ " And the musicke merrilie playe." •' 1 cannot staye, thou Baron grcye^ " 'I'hro' woodie wildes I rove ; " AikI Where's tlie thing can staye the winge> " Th' unwearied wing of love? ( 103 ) *■* Yet to soothe Ihy care and sadde despaire '" An boure or two 1^11 staye, " Tho' nosonge shall sounde nor dance goe rounde, " Nor musicke merrilie playe " The roliinge sunne his race hath runne, " The twylyg'hte's glimmerings fade; *' The moon is bryghte and the starres are lyghte — — " Six tedious- houres i've stay'd. " Far hence I rove to meet my love, " (This is my wedding daye) "Where the songe shall sounde and the dance goe rounde " And the musicke merrilie play«. " Yet ladye, staye, once more 1 praye, " Another boone I crave; " My onlie sonne is deade and gone, " — This nyghte he seekes the gTa,ve; " Sixe virgins faire his palle will beare, " And see him laide in clave, *' And the belle shall sounde and the chaunte goe rounde ** And the slowe dirge heavilie playc ( 104 ) " Then heare my prayer, thou ladye faire., " Nor o'er the mountains rove; " Remaine with me a youthe to see " That dy'd for ladye's • love.— " — Prepare the tombe, the houre is come, " Goe beare my sonne awaye ; "Let the death-belle sound and the chaunte goe rouude, " And the slowe dirge heavilie playe, " Goe on, goe on, ye sable thronge, " In solemn silence move ; " A youthe ye beare, ye virgins faire, " That dy'd for ladye's love. — " Acrosse the nyghte let tapers bryght* " Shoote forthe a lengthen'd raye, ' Let the deathe-belle sounde and the chaunte goerounde " And the slowe dirge heavilie playe." Then sadde and slowe the virgins goe, — The ladye follow'd too, When lookinge dowue the coffin on — —Her lover's name she knewe ? ( 105 ) Her limbes so faire no more could beare. But on a tombe she laide. While the beHe did sounde and the chaunte wenterounde And the slowe dirge heavilie play'd. %f^t (§vtpt Baron. PARTE THE SECONDE. " Yet wipe thy teare, thou ladye faire, " Thou yet may'st happie bee ; " But since my sonne is deade and gone^ " No joye remains for mee: " A lover kinde thou soon may'st fiude " 'Mid scenes of pleasure gaye, "Where the songe shall sounde and the dance goe rounde " And the rausicke merrilie playe. " Yet, ladye, praye, -when far awaye " To happie mansions gone, *' Ah thinke, I praye, on the Baron greye, *' And of his hapless sonne. ( 107 ) *' Then fare thee welle, aud may'st thou dwelle " 'Mid scenes of pleasure gaye, " Where no chauntegoesrounde nordeathe-bellessounde " But musicke merrilie playe." " Ah cease, I praye, thou Baron greye, " Thy comforte is in vaine; " The hearte for aye that's given awaye " Can ne'er be given againe. " I'll put me on thy niourninge gowne, " And at breake and close of daye, " The belle shall sounde aud the chaunte goe rouude, " And requiems heavilie playe. " Yet ah, throw backe thy vreedes of blacks, " Since now the dirge is done, " For in thy face I faintlie trace *' Some features of thy sonne : To soothe thy paine I'll here remaine, " 'Till thy laste yeares decaye ; " 'Till thy belle shall sounde aud thy chaunte goerounde *' Aud thy slowe dirge heavilie playe/' ( 108 ) He then laide downe his sable gowne, — And his horie lockes and bearde ! And to her eyes withouten guise Her lover true appeared. *' Drie up thy teare, thou ladye faire, " I've prov'd thy faithe to-daye; " Nowe the songe shall sounde and the dance goe rounde. *' And the musicke merrilie playe." ■' Our kindrede all within the halle " The weddinge feaste array e; *' Where the songe sliall sounde and the dance goe rounde " And the musicke merrilie playe." They found them all within the halle And the weddinge feaste arrayde. And tlie songe did sounde,- and the dance wente rouudc. And the musicke merrilie playde. A BALLAD. Up Pen-yr-Voel in Summer days We youths and damsels climb; And listless press, reclin'd at ease. The freckled mountain thyme. The bev'rage of the China weed Sipping so cherrily. Some sad or simple tale we read. Or sing right merrily. "Tis sooth to see the sunny gleam Where Vyrnwy's waters glide; And sooth to hear the mournful stream Of Tanat's murra'riug tide. ( 110 ) But soother far the uiaideu's eyes, More bris,flit the drops they hold. And far more sorrowful her sighs When some lorn tale is told. How happy must that minstrel be That moves the maiden's tear! The bard obtains his proudest fee "When ladies lend an ear. J5ut all! the feeblest of the train. No magic glass I hold The web fi-om Fancy's loom to stain. You bid me now unfold. But what of that? these mountain flowers As aptly suit their place. As those that flaunt on braided bowersi. Or tricksy gardens grace. The maid commands: my lyre, obey, Tho' poor thy tuneful toil. To fling a legendary lay On faraeless Pen-yr-Voel. ( 111 ) tfhcreon, since first yoii camp was pilM, Full many a blast has blown; And many a Summer's ev'ning mild In peaceful beam has shone. Alike the warrior's blast or beam. To fall or fade resign 'd. If reckless of the poet's flame, " Leares not a rack behind." Strange misteries fill yon neighboring hillj Bones, caverns, camps, and graves-. And all the antiquarian's skill To wild conjecture leaves. But had some bard in days of old But left one living line, His page with joy would be unroll'd, Tho' wer& it weak as mine. Yet hoar Tradition loves to tell This tale of Voel's toil; How here that hapless warrior ftH, And calls it Peuyr-Voeh ( 112 ) Voel, a youtlifiil warrior he. For so the legend goes, March'd in the British forces free, To fifjht their Saxon foes. •■a " With courage, guards, your watches keep, " The Saxon foe is nigh; " Beware the drowsy dew of sleep, '•' For he that sleeps shall die." Commands like these from Voel flevr Unto the guards of night. Who to his tented turf withdrew. Foreboding on the fight. " Ah, soon wilt thou thy love forget, " Gwendolen dear," he cries, 'For ere to-morrow's sun be set,. " Perhaps thy Voel dies. *' But I am arm'd with right of heart, " For death I look to find; " Yet still with life am loth to par^, " For thee I leave behind. ( 113 ) " But should our arms in triumph shine, " (Ye Powers grant it so) " For ever then is Voel thine, " And thou art Voel's too. *' But while the battle round me roar)?, " And arms and arrows ring, *' A thought on her my heart adores " Will strength and courage bring. " Enough — if hope deserts my heart, " This thought my bosom chears, " How she when Voel did depart, " Stood gazing thro' her tears." He paus'd — and list'ned to the blast That blew with beating rain. In clouds the sky was overcast. And not a star was seen.. •'Twas such a night when shrill and keen. The spitting scud is driven. And troubled tree-tops, dimly seen, 4ust fret the edge of heaven. ( 114 ) When o'er yon rushy marshes damp A youthful soldier mov'd, Who sought to join brave Voel's camp, For Voel was belov'd. '"' Direct me, guard, and O advise " How 1 may come unto " The tented turf where Voel lies, " For I'm his soldier true. " O'er marsh and mountain far 1 corae " Strange tidings here to bring " From fair Gwendolen's distant home, " Behold her signet ring. " But, guard, I deem it is denied " For aught to enter here ; " Do thou, then, while I here abide, " This ring to Voel bear. " Upon your post I'll firmly stand, " And will your office learn j " And with your halberd in my hand, " I'll wait 'till you return." ( 115 ) The guard complies; deserts his keep; Aad hies to Voe'i's teut; But soon the soldier sunk to sleep, AVilh toil futigu'd and spent. No sweet repose brave Voel felt. Upon his turf recliuM;. His thoughts upon Gweudoten dwelt, Gwendolen fill'd liis mind. And oft he pac*d the camp around. The wakeful guards to view ; The wakeful guards he constant found Upon their stations true. Brave Yoel then was pleas'd to see The guards their watches keepj But passing by the outer way. He found the guard asleep. Unguarded when the place he found That stood in greatest need. With hasty hand he gave a wound That made the soldier bleed. ( 116 ) But quick a voice assail'd his etirj " What hest does Voel send? '^ But, guard, why strike my bosom her^j " Hast thou forgot thy friend ? ^ But haste, my words to Voel bear, " My words can be but few; * I would a moment he were herg, " Or he my tidings knew. " Tell him," the bleeding soldier cried, " To join his ranks I thought, *' And by the valiant Voel's side, " Most brave would I have fought. " Go bid him here, for death is nigh, " His dying friend to view ; " And say, that he may speedier fly, " I lov'd Gwendolen too." Then Voel thought the voice he knew. Aught else the night conceal'd, " And who," he fault'ring cried, "art thoUx. " That hi/st tliis tale reveal'd?" ( 117 ) The dying soldier fainting lay. Whom loss of blood overcame. And scarce had breath enough to say — " Gwendolen is my name !'' Nor tree nor tombstone now exist To 'mark their resting spot ; Of iTieVe §Sme village ihdralist Jlight well this rhyme have wrote ; Beware, ye maids, tho' fair and chaste. That leave your proper sphere ; And youths, that yield to heedless haste, Tho* valiant and sincere. %pmston's Cabe Is high in the West Point of the rock at NessclifT, and seen over the wood from the great road : it is much visited by passing strangers, to whom the following Ballad (containing most of the authentic particulars known of him) is told, and given for a small perquisite, by the old woman who inhabits it. Come sit ye down, fair gentlefolks. Sit around my sunny cell ; For fresh and gay is the summer's day. And rU of wild Humphrey tell. Oh have ye not heard of the Wild Humphrey, Surnam'd of Kynaston ? His father was dead, and he in his stead As governor liv'd alone. ( 119 ) Tlie casfle of Middle, then high in pridft, Obeyed young Humphrey's law: But his state-room now is a stall for tlie cow. Where the cottager keeps his sti'aw. ^Twas merry in the hall of the young Humphrey, And the gay mirth sounded high; When home to his bed young Humphrey led Isabel I c of Oswestry. ^ow she was a maiden of low degree. He in pow'r and parents great: Oh had they but thought on their difPrent Ic^, Far better had been their fate. But Williara-coch her father fond Sought a match for his daughter high; Ami it pleas'd him well when young Humphrey felt In love with her coal-black eye. And, in sooth to tell, it might have been well. And bliss have bless'd their board. Had he but thought on his wife's poor lot. And hearken'd to Prudence' word. ( 120 ) But thoughtless and wild with his gay gallants. The Twelve good rules he broke; So many a good house by a thoughtless spouse Is marr'd by modern folk. — High breach of trust at length he made. And was by the king outlaw'd ; Then his wild career began to appear. And a bold freebooter he rode. This cavern (then the poor quarriers' cell) He biggen'd and took for his own; And those hooks then bore an iron door. In Severn's town yet shewn. His name and the date ye see cut on the cave, Tho' Time has the traces worn ; And the gentlefolks here say ^tis tlie same year When Nature's great Poet was born. He call'd Spirits from hell, as the old folks tell. And they say that he dealt with the Devil; If so learned he was, it were pity, alas. To turn that blessing to evil. ( 121 ) The horse that he rode was a spirit, they say. That came at his whistle, and turri'd; But show-horses I've seen that convince me, I ween. That his horse, and not he, was so learn'd. To poor Isabelle he bade no farewell. But bade her go home to her kin : Now an't it a shame that great genilefolks That ought to know better should siii ' His whistle so shrill arous'd from the hill. The daws in the cliffs that build: Then *twas up and away with the dawn of day To try what the road would yield. Old Montford-bridge the sheriff took down. And to take him in ambush lay ; But the horse at a reach sprung over the breach. And to Nesscljff safe bore him away. The leap was since measur'd on Dovaston-heath, And bequeath'd was a tester a-year. While the sun-beams shone, or the rain-drops run. To keep the great letters clear. ( 122 ) The letters and leap were a spade-grafF deep. For 'twas tipp'd with an H and a K; And (unless I'm bely'd) it was forty-foot wide. And the Horse-leap 'tis call'd to this day. Then the Horse-leap butt, where the letters were cut. With the heath-ling blossom was red : But the sun and the rain now on Dovaston-plain, Fill the wheat and the barley's head. 'Twould be breathless to tell of all that befell Wild Humphrey so lawless and bold; Tho' much there is wrote, and more too, I wot. By the marvelling villagers told. As how from the rich he their purses took To fill up the wants of the poor: And how victuals and corn he found each mora Left close at his cavern door. How his horse up these steps, now half cut away. From the fields at a whistle would come: See there was his stall, with a bolt in the wall, 'Tis now my snug sleeping room. ( 123 ) And I oft ask myself as to Heaven I pray. When I in that chamber recline, Tho' grandeur is great with its riches and state. Is its bed so peaceful as mine? And I wonder to think on you fine gentlefolks, (While over my Bible I'm bent) Of the power possess'd to bless and be bless'd. Ye are not with all contentt But, alack, I am rambling; I'm foolish and old. Or needs must have judg'd it uncommon. That folks who such texts from the parson neglect. Should attend to a preaching old woman. Well, as 1 was a-telling. Wild Humphrey he led This wayward life many a year; But he found he grew old, and time as it roll'd To the end of his stage drew near. When life starting young is both healthy and strong. Unbridled it gallops with haste ; But when it no more likes the prospect before. It turns to look back on the past. ( 124 ) So Humphrey the Wild look'd back on the past. But all look'd fogoy and foul; And as Death drew near, Hope labour'd with Fear To glint on his gloomy soul. All one as the clouds of a winter's eve O'er yonder rocks are seen. When dimly the gleam of a faint sun-beam Endeavours to break between. Now a woman did dwell at WestfeIton*s fam'd well. That in simples and herbs was skill'd; And well she knew for what purpose the dew . TLcii- .iuwers and leafage fill'd.. And 'twas said by her care but more by her pray'r The sick and the simple they sped; And the old folks tell that now live at the well What a goodly life she led. Now this good woman came to the Wild Humphrey, But found when she came there. To avert Death's hour was past her pow'p. But he hop'd for her help in pray'r. ( 125 ) Oh dim and dull was his dwindling eye, "When thus did the good dame say, What most should I, thou poor Humphrey, Unite with thee to pray ? Wild Humphrey then, with faultering word. For myself I repent to Heaven; But if in life yet breathes my wife I would be by her forgiven. Then as he died the lady cried At my last hour of life God pardon mc as I do thee — — Now, she was Humphrey's wife. Then for his soul she knelt and pray'd. To reach that happy shore Where for ever blest the weary rest. And the wicked sin no more. So, fair gentlefolks, of the Wild Hu-ijphrey I've told you in hobbling stave. That I something may earn, and you something may learn By visiting this his cave. ' C 126 ) One ev'ning a youth, a friend to truth. For me made this homely strain; And should it procure but a mite for the poor. He has not made it in vain. A BALLAD. Llunck-Llys Pool is a small but beautiful lake, of ex- traordinary depth, on the Welsh Border near Oswestry. The name in the Welsh signifies Sunk-Palace, and the vulgar have a firmly-believed superstition (in which this neighbourhood abounds) corresponding with the catastrophe of this ballad : nay, some even at this day go so far as to affirm, that when the water is clear and the surface smooth, towers and chim- neys may be seen in it at a great depth ! In the summer months fishing parties of ladies and gentlemen frequently spend the day on it in a boat with music and refreshments: for one of such occasions this ballad was hastily written, when my ingenious friend Mr. T. Yates, (though as little skilled as myself in the Welsh) suggested a more fanciful and per- haps more accurate derivation of the name — Llyn-glaj, the Blue Lake The story of the vulgar is here enlarged by a very slight hint taken from Burton's " Anatomy of Melancholy," where he treate of Incubi and Succuii, page 405. fol. edit. Oxford. t6a8. A BALLAD. Clerk Willin he sat at king Alaric's board^^ And a cunning clerk was he. For he'd liv'd in the land of Oxenford With the sons of gramarie. And they listen'd to the harps of the merry miustrel«. And they look'd on the banquet bright; But of all that was there the young queen so- fair Shone brightest of all that night. * High glitter'd the crown on her graceful brow, 'Twas with beryl and sapphire pearl'd; And roses enwreath'd the rim beneath. Where the raven ringlets curl'd. ( 129 ) And they quaffd the red tide to the blooming bride. And their goblets heav'd on high; But clerk Willin took up no brimming cup. Nor join'd in the jovial cry. " Now Christ thee save, thou clerk Willin, " Why sits't thou sad and low ? " And why do'st thou pry with attentive eye " So long on the west window ?" " I am watching the star that shines afar " O'er the rocks of the Giant's grave, " That sinking soon with the sharp-hora'd moon, " Will set in the western wave." Then oh paler than the pale primrose Wax'd the cheeks of the fair ladye. And, as she withdrew, on the clerk she threw A glance of her anger'd eye. " Now Christ thee save, thou king Alaric, " Why gloomly bends thy brow ? " And why athwart thy heavy eyelids " Hansfs silent sorrow now ?" ( 130 ) " Oh sad and dark, thou learned clerk, " Is my life, with sorrow riven ; " And thus am I doom'd with grief to be gloora'd " One night in every seven. " Then what though my splendid banquet board " With golden beakers shines, " And friends fill up each costly cup *' With the mead and the racy wines! " One night in each week does my blooming bride " In grief from my palace go ; *' But what she does, or where she goes, " I dare not seek to know. " One night in seven she leaves my bed, " When the owls and the crickets cryj " And cold as a stone then I lie all alone, " 'Till the day-star burns in the sky. " Then a thick slumber falls on my heavy eye-balls; " And I start from a feverish sleep, " And my blooming bride I find at my side, " When the red sun 'gins to peep. ( 131 ) " And tho' she has been all the night abroad " III a thill loose night-robe dress'd, " Oil strange to be told, she is nothing cold, " But glows with a warmth encreas'd. " Nine summers nigh are now gone by, " And I thought it a blessed day " "When iny aged bride I put aside, " And took this lady gay. " As a hunting I rode in the green forest «' Fair Blodwell's rocks among, " By my side each day rode this lady gay, " And sweetly thus she sung — ' Oh, take me to thy fair palace, *. Oh, take me for thy queen, ' And racy wines sliall then be thine, * As never a man has seen. « And never shall fail thy rich banquet, ' And my beauty no change shall know, * 'Till within thy hall the flag-reeds tall, * And the long green rushes grow. ( 132 ) * 'Till instead of the cloth now spread on thy board, * And the goblets lin'd with gold, ' The lilliesoflhe pool spread their broad leaves cool, ' And their chalice'd flow'rs unfold, e But ere I become thy wedded wife, ' Thou a solemu oath must make, ' And let hap whate'er thou must not dare ' That solemn oath to break : ' That to leave thy bed unfollowed ' To me 'tis freely given, * And that none shall enquire where I retire, ' One night in every seven.* " Then I vow'd I would put my old wife away, " As firm to the oath I swore ; " But mayhap she had hent of my cruel intent, " For I never beheld her more. " Yet no peace I find in the rich banquet, *' And with peace is my bed unblest, " Th«!* lies at my side no wrinkled bride, « But the maid of the green forest." ( 133 ) then clerk Willin he cried to the troubled kiWy, " Thy peace can I repair, ^* If each year fi'om yon field ten beeves thon'lt yicH " To the monks of the White-Mixnster,* *■' And peace shall preside in this fair palace, " And thy bed with peace be blest, ^' If to me thou'It resign, with her racy wine, " The maid of the green forest. *' For I can by a spell, that I dare not tell, " Relieve thy fetter'd fate; " And I shew'd the young queen my power, I weea, *' By a sign that I dare not repeat." Then the king he complied to resign his bride. And each year on the monks bestow The tenth of what fed in his palace green mead. And of what in his vaults did flow. * Blanchminster, afterwards Maserfield, now Oswestry. If ( 134 ) Then clerk Willin he took his clasped book. And did the fair palace leave ; And arrived soon, ere set the moon. On the rocks of the Giant's grave. By the mouth of a cavern a bowshot beyond Clerk Willin he took his stand; Which ev'n at this day, as the villagers say. Leads down to the Fairy-land. Tho' none now dare to adventure so far, Yet many this day have aver'd They its windings did thread 'till over their bend. The far Vyrnwy's stream they have heard. Now soon did appear and enler there A maid right royally drest. Whose glistering crown in the moon-beam shone, — *Twas the maid of the green forest. And while she was in did the clerk begin His spells of potent skill ; While the rising blast sigh'd low as it pass*d Thro' the stunted bush on the hill. ( 135 ) Then he made that revokelcss shonld be his word. As thus to his spirits he said, " Let peace be restor'd to king Alaric's board, " And peace be on his bed. " And may 1 and the monks of the White-Minster " No other fare e'er know, " Than what shall be fed in his palace green mead, " And what from his vaults shall flow. *' And his queen so fine be for ever mine, " And no change let her form betide, " But thro' all her years be as now it appears, " And ne^er let her leave my side. " At the cross near tlie town of the White-Minster, " To make her my own I swear, " There let her be borne ere glimpse of morn, " And I'll meet her and wed her there." And then as he swore, his book he tore. And hasten'd away from the cave. It was dark; for the moon it had long gone down. And set in the western wave. ( 130 ) It was dark as he pass'd the palace so fai]^ Nor aught did his sight engross 'Till he came to the cross^ near the White-Mins.tep. Yet call'd clerk AVilliu's cross. Then he saw by the light of the torches bright That strange Spirits there did hold, ^n old Ogress grim that smiPd on him. And her rheumy eye balls roll'd. ©n her wrinkled chin stood the grey hairs thin. And she close did her skin lips squeeze. And thick on her brow did the grey hairs grow. Like the moss of old orchard-trees. And she reach'd to the clerk her bony finger. On which was brightly seen. And well was it known by its sparkling stone. The ring of king Alaric's queeif. " Oh take me to thy cloister'd bed, " To be thy bosom guest, 'f For 1 am the wife thou art sworn to wedj " The maid of the green forest, ( 137 ) "' Au ugly Ogress now am I. " Tbonali thrice tea years agone, " In youthful pride the blooming bride " Of king Alaric 1 shone. " But I found as I my beauties lost, " I lost his love as well, " 'Till nine years since I chavm'd that prince " With this a Spirit's spell: " That his eyes shonkl delight in my beauty bright, " Which never should lose it's hue, " 'Till within bis hall the flag-reeds tall, " And the long green rushes grew " And this spell was given if one night in seven " Ere the pale moon set in the wave, " I alone did go to 'he grim Ogo, " And au Ogress form receive. " This night I sat late at the gay banquet, " And just ere my task was done, " Thy* spells were said, and the pale moo:.'s head " Was down to the west wave gone. ( 138 ) " Our power is pass'd, our spells have clasli*(l,. " No charra can our fate redress j " And a penitent now for life art Ihou^ " And I a grim Ogress. ** Thy spells were sure, for now peace secure " Doth bless king Alaric's bed, " And peace is restor'd at his banquet board, " — But it is the peace of the dead. " For down went the king, and his palace, and aU, " And the waters now o'er it flow, " And already in his hall do the flag-reeds tall, " And the long green rushes grow. " Then take thy bride to thy cloister'd bed, " As by oath and by spell decreed, ** And nought be thy fare but the pike and the dare, '• And the water in which they feed.*' Still the villagers near, when the lake is clear. Shew the tow'rs of the palace below. And of Croes-Willin there will the traveller hear, • And the cave call'd tlie grim Ogo. ( 139 ) And oft from our boat on a Summer's ev« Sweet music is heard to flow. As we push ftom the side of the Blue-Lake's tide>. Where the long green rushes grow. And our banquet is spread on the boat's flat head,. And our cool wine drawn from the hold. Where the lillies of the pool spread their broad, leaves cool. And their chalic'd flowers unfold. And we make good fare of the pike and the dare,. And merrily laugh at the jest, HoTjf clerk Willin was caught in his own dark plot. With the maid of the green forest. And quaffing the glass we pray that each lass May each constant lover bless; And may guests that would cheat a kind host of his mate. Be match'd with a grim Ogress. fttcitietttal. PART II. 1 am nae poet, in a sense, But just a rhymer, like, by chance. BUKNS. 3JrresuIar #tie TO ^a!i0peare's( SSirtpa^. Written and recited on occasion of a few literary friends planting a Walnut-tree (having a wine-bottle buried under the root, with an appropriate inscription cut thereon, with a diamond) in the^ author's ground, on that day in 1810, and intending to celebrate it annually. TO INSCRIBED TO JOHN CLAVEIUNG WOOD, bsq. Nature, now thy be;inties brinjj. Bid Genius now it's tribute- pay; Haste the many-blossom'd spring, 'Tis thy Darling's natal day: Borne ou Zephyr's breezy wiag:s Her varied vesture Fancy flings; i^ethinks I see her rainbow-colour'd car gliding oa curl'd clouds thro' blue fields of air. To Avon's meadows cowslip-clad She wheels her mazy way; Well pleas'd to see all nature glad. And Spring her flaunting flow'rets add. To hail the greatly-gifted lad Upon his natal day. ( 146 ) lu showery April's sunshine bright, (Who calPd that day Her sister May To hasten with her hawthorns white) In Avon's mead The kd was laid When first he saw the light; Primroses peeping from their buds of gold Seem'd eagerly their eye-lids to unfold. As though they smil'd To see tlie child Who in his turn their cliarms enraptur'd should behold. The lingering flow'rs push'd forth their heads And burst their downy-cradled bedsj The ladysmock with silver-tipp'd. The opening daisy crimson-lipp'd. And all with April's dew inipearl'd, Their finely-tinted folds unfurl'd, As tho' they wish'd by him to have their praises told. Hush'd is the breeze, 'tis silence drear. The sun enclouds his watery beams; The skies a thickening aspect wear. And Nature's self in sadness seems; ( 147 ) A chilly fearful murmur stirs The hollow-hissing grove of firs. And far the dark horizon o'er The dim-distinguish'd thunders roar. •"Tis Fancy hangs o'er Nature's brow This gloom so sad and wild. Lest scenes to be unfolded now Should fright her fav'rite child; For now athwart the troubled sky The HELLISH Passions hurry by; And each with hasty louring flight. Glaring by fits before his sight. Like phantoius of a horrid night Their grisly features roll ; But Nature fir'd her infants' eye. That, glancing as they glided by, Prov'd all their various pow'rs to lie Beneath his vast coiitroul. He bow'd his head. The phantoms fled. The gloom forsook the plain; The fearless child Look'd round and smil'd. And Nature^ brij^htening, seem'd to smile again. ( 148 ) Pi-esh'tl is the flow'ry scene, The blackbird swells his mellow throatj And thro' the blue serene Light fleecy clouds beyond the mountains float: On Avon's softly-flowing stream Now brightly-burnish'd, sunbeams gleam Among tide-kissing trees; Their lustres on the wet leayes glance As they lightly-trembling danee To the balmy breeze. The HEAVENLY Passions now decend To hail this gentle child their friend j Virgin-vested maidens fair Whose slender waists some ribband rare Engirdled, by whose varied hue The little bard each Passion knew: Their cover'd bosoms' lovely glow Ting'd their gauzy robes of snow As if carnations blush'd below. Fairies left their lurking-cells " Where the bee sucks" in blossom bells. Whom the blue-fly and humble bee CaroT'd with their minstrelsey. \ ( 149 ) Tlie heart-enraptur'd poet saw The Passions all with fearless awe.. And lookM with steady view ; Until the flighty foot of Fame On tiptoe step among them came, And to the poet flew: The little urchin ran around. And flung his flow'rets o'er the ground. While Fame still follow'd hard; Each scatter'd flow'r she cull'd with care To wreathe a chaplet for his hair. But could not catch the bard. Being cheated, as away she flew She cried, " in fifty years and two Upon this very morn He shall be mine, for ever sure While Time, and Taste, and 1 endure. My Temple to adorn : Let Nature now the prince of Passions call To crown him ruler of them all/^ The waggish archer then attended. The maids and fairies form'd a ring. While each the infant bard befricndt-d. And of the Passions crown 'd hiju king. ( 150 ) Now the taper-ankled maids Lightly dance the bard around ; Modest cowslips bow'd their heads. And seeni'd to kiss the hallow'd ground ; And as they danc'd He on them glanc'd. And at them scatter'd flow 'rets fair; Each Passion took The flow'rs he shook. And stuck them in her braided hairj Conscious how much beauty hung On ev'ry little flow'r He flung. Ev'n yet on Stratford's elmy lawn In cowslip-days at early dawn Where he was crown'd, I ween, Unnibbled, and of deeper dye. By soul-delighted poet's eye The ring may still be see»\. irge FOR THE SAME OCCASION, 23d. APRIL, 1811. •' Sweets to the sweet; — farewell." UAULtt. His fate fulfi]l'tl, his duty done. Nature now calls her favour'd son. And smiles witli proud tlio' sweet defiance, Pleas'd to the world that site has shewn How He, ordaiii'd by her alone, Out-raagic'd all the spells of Science. Tutor'd by Nature, not the Nine, More than the Sluses pow'rs combine Triumphautly o'er deajh to raise him; Isis, with Attic-laurePd brow. Bends to the Bard of Avon now. And all her sons are proud to praise him. ( 152 ) Ye Spirits, bend around his bier. Ye Fays, in filmy palls appear. Cold is the hand that once attir'd vou: There chaunt, ye flies of burnish'd blue. And, cowslips, drop your teary dew, Clos'd are the eyes that once admir'd yov. Enshrowded in that curtain noxr He archly drew from Nature's brow When first enraptur'd he survey'd her; But, ere he left her fost'ring arms. Fresh he enrob'd her doubled charms. And to the aslonish'd world display'd her. Time, I ask thee not to spare My rhymes, unworthy of thy care. Yet for this day, O let me strow thera Like wi!d-flow*rs on a village grave Thut fondness flings (but cannot save) For love of him that lies below them. ( 153 ) But HE, the bright star we hail to-day, O Time, shall never own thy sway. But plume thy wing with angel-feather j His light shall lustre on thy glass Gilding the sand-grains as they pass. And both— oh both shall fall together. TO Cj^omas Spring ( SCOTTISH DIALECT. ) Fye sent thee, Tarn, a wee-bit present. An' tho' it binna «ock of pheasant I trust it wonna prove unpleasant, Tho' fain I'd mend it; But, that thou raay'st na think the less on't. Thy frien' doth send it. Gin I were but a guid hale laird, Au' could or wealth or pow'r afford, Ev'n tho' by swirlie Fortune gor'd. Thou should'st na stumble; But sin' nae wealth on me is pour'd, I raaunua grumble. ( 1-55 ) Jem wishes a' mankind like you. But, 'faith, I maumia wish sae too, 'Twould ruin a' the cantie crew O' my profession ; Poor lawyers would hae nought to do At 'esize or Session. I love the life that fools despise. The breezy brae, wliere lav'rocks rise, Aueath the shade to close my eye*, Content and nappy; Au' tho' I hi una unco wise, I'm unco happy. Fou' fa' the fool that did creat« The fikie fashions o' the great. Their liraber-lingo'd prinisie prate. An' a' the rest on't : Ae wee-bit welcome tete a tete 's aboon tlie best ou't. ( 15G ) I'll tell thee what, my honest Tarn, The faithless warl my ears may cram Wi' honied wonls, an* friend.ly flam, False a' thegither! But, lad, I diima care a damn For a' their blether. A set o' proud conceited fools. That turn an' stand, like glowr'ing mules. An' worship God by stated rules. An' iKever mind him : . 'mang a' their logic, books, an' schools. They canna find hira. Gae, fools, an' lay your logic by, Gae, fools, an' leave the wrangling stye. An' look for God wi' Tam an' I Thro' Nature clear; We peep into a cowslip's eye An' ken him there* ( 157 ) My learned brothers, whose deceit Tangles what God himsel' makes straij,^hl, Tho^ wi' fou' words o' logic's heat I seldom strike ye. Indeed, for a' your robes o' state, I dinua like ye. Come, Tarn, and taste my muslin kale, I'll stoup for thee the laughin ale. An' gar thee smile wi' mony a tale I'th' lum thigither; An' gin to please aue sang should fail, I'll try anither. Wi' music then we'll cheer oursel,' Nor rob the rich o' scandal fell. Hypocrisy we'll send to Hell, For thence her trade is ; Tho' aft on Earth she deigns to dwell Wi' lairds and ladies. ( 158 ) But, honest Tam, could I but see My ither friends as firm as thee. An' ken their hearts wi' tentie ee, A' blithe an' bonnie. The king hirasel' might wish to be Thy poor friend Johnnie. anseltno iRabmson etl^xi&t, esq, la, ^, DIED AT CAMBRIDGE, 24th MAY, 1803, IN HIS 28th YEAR. *' nam mc discedere flevit, •♦ Et, longum, dUecte, vale, vale, inquit, lola." Mourn, Friendship, mourn Anselrao dead. Who most rever'd thy sacred name j And, Sympathy, thy pity shed. And, Music, waft the woeful theme: Ye purest Passions, him deplore, — Your faithful vot'ry is no more. ( 160 ) Who now with us adown the dale At eve serene our walk shall cheer? Wlio le.-td the poet's tender tale. And drop the sympathetic tear? Ah social joys ! for ever fled. Since he, the best of friends, is dead. Still may the voice of music sound. The social ev'nings still return; Still may the friendly glass go round. And bright the blazing fire may burn. But little now these sweets bested. For he that made them sweet — is dead. Now oft I leave the crowd behind To wander where he once has been; And call each incident to mind That happy oft with him Pve seen : Sad Memory ! ah why so just When those we lov'd are laid in dust! ( 161 ) Come mourn with me. Companions, come. We'll sing the dirge he us'd to sing. To poor Anselmo's " grassy tomb" Each youth a tender tear shall bring; And Friendship shall his loss bemoan. For he, the best of friends, is gone : And Love but hold — no more I'll sing. No more I'll add to Sorrow's smart; I fear I've touch'd a tender string That thrills a mourning maiden's heart: Sweet maid, like him, to Heav'n resign. And he and Heav'n shall then be thine. Had we, dear youth, thy poet's pow'rs. For thee we'd lift the lofty line ; No praises then should equal ours. For no deserts e'er equal' d thine: May all like thee alike be bless'd^ To live belov'd and die caress'd. ( 162 ) But come, the poet's task forbear. Affliction makes our efforts faint; Let's imitate his virtues fair. And practice what we cannot paint; Let's tread the noble path he trod-— — It leads to happiness and God. THE 3^ittS. TO A YOUNG LADY. Thou hast sent me a circle of gold Undeck'd with the diamond's shine; But a lovelier sijjfht I behold — — Thy initial united with mine! And e'er to the "eye of my mind'* Thy picture it seems to unfold. For when beauty and goodness are join'd They seem as a circle of gold. ( 164 ) Let the life of profusion and pride To shine like a jewel be seen; 'Twill be found like a jewel beside— — As cold and as callous ■within. But the beauties of wisdom and worth Are in modest apparel enroU'd; Yet when Tenderness summons them farth They shine like a circle of gold. May the hop'd day of happiness haste When our joys like the circle shall be, "When the future shall vie with the past. And thou take a circle from me : Content in our cot shall be found. Our life Love and Friendship enfold. And each year, as it dances around. Shall to us .be a circle of gold. THE TO THE SAME. Each youth before ho leaves his friends The battle's bray to prove. Some tributary token sends Of friendship or of love. A brooch W\e faulchion' s form that bears The love-sick soldier leaves ; The sailor's lass an anchor wears. While he the battle braves. ( 166 ) But I no martial symbol send To wake the woeful sigh : The gifts of Love should never lend A pang to Memory. Then on thy beauteous bosom bear This little lyre from me; And let no sad suggestions tear That seat of harmony. For \, where'er I chance to roam» Shall ever fearless fight; The thought that thou art safe at hom« Puts ev'ry fear to flight. Let Memory from this lyre I send A cheering flame derive; And Hope (the lover's constant friend) Preserve that flame alive. Yet grieve not should I fall, my love, Nor feel a moment's pain. For, trust me, there's a hand above Shall string my lyre again. My dearest Ella, sweetest maid. To me the sweetest far. In poor aud humble verse array'd. Receive thy Corin's pray'r. Ah leave, ah leave that bu^ scene Where cares and cankers dwell; A noble mind can ne'er disdain To view a village cell. 'Mid flow'ry vales with herbage green. And hills with verdure crown'd. My little lovely cot is seen. By woods encircled round. ( 168 ) My cot is "elegantly neat/* Nor pomp nor poverty; But peace and happiness await, Reserv'd for Love and thee. Then leave, ah leave the guilty town. And still more guilty crew; And come and wear the rustic gowa. And hat of harvest hue. Let wealthy lords in grandeur great Li robes and rubies shine; In simple humble habit neat Be love and Ella mine. I'd rather live in humble state. And call that state my own. Than be dependant on the great. And subject to their frown. Then come, my love, with Corin live In sweets that never cloy: What would a mighty monarch give To join the rural joy ! ( 169 ) Each morn when on the blushing sky The sun begins to peer. The lark, that quiv'ring carols high. Shall break upon thine ear. Together then we'll stray along Thro' brakes of woodbine sweet. Where many a bii'd with many a «on§f Thee and the morning greet. I'll lead thee thro' a flowery vale. Where purple violets grow ; And tell thee many a pleasing talc. And many a landscape shew. With rustic reed I'll pipe a strain. And strive to please thee well; For I'm allow'd by ev'ry swain In piping to excel. At noon, when glist'ning gos'mers lie. And sultry gleams invade. We'll hear the busy bustling fly That hums beneath the shade. ( 170 ) At eve we'll court the bosky bourne. Where cooling breezes breathe. And see the shepherd's lad return Shrill whist'Jing o'er the heath. At night (when lore of legends tire) The minstrers task be mine; My skill to touch the trembling wire Shall vie with all — but thine. Thus morning, ev'ning, noon, and night. Shall please alike the mind; For they that study Nature right "Will endless pleasure find. The mightiest work Creation shews Is dull to Folly's sight: But he that God and Nature knows Finds wonders in a mite. Then hither, dearest love, repair. Nor Corin's vote decline. For night and morn still is his pray'r— Be love and Ella mine. ( 171 ) What if my humble village bed No costly silk affords; Far sweeter rest awaits my head Than many a mighty lord's. Believe me, love, I'd rather hold An humble honest heart. Than strut in gems and guilty gold To act a faithless part. I've walked each gay assembly round. In courtly vesture drest; But rural life I've ever found The sweetfst and the best. In outward grace and manners rude. No boasted charms are mine; But trust me, love, my heart is good. Because that heart is thine. Beneath the walnut's shabby shell A luscious kernel lies ; But mark what pois'nous juices swell The poppy's painted dyes ! ( 172 ) Then let this truth thy hosom fill, With which I now conclude; — That — all that's ugly is not ill. Nor all that's gaudy good. THE Bee- IMITATED FROM THE GREEK OF THEOCRITUS. Tov KXETTTav TTor' e^wra &C. Idyl. 19. among, r Clara, beautiful and younj Straying once the woods By a little bee was stung. She cried, and danc'd, and beat the ground. And press'd and suck'd the smarting wound. The nymph at length her lover spies. And, sobbing, thus in anguish cries: — " Is it not strange that little bees " Should make such mighty wounds as these ! The lover smil'd with downcast eyes. And, sweetly whisp'ring, thus replies: — ( 174 ) " Thou, my love, art like the bee, " Sweets and stings unite in thee; " Thou art small, but well I kaow *' Thy wounds, sweet nymph, are seldom so. THE ^Barometer : OR FAIR AND CHANGEABLE. 'Tis hard, (the foir Amelia cried) The weather ne'er will please us: I fear to-day we cannot ride To Hagley or The Leasowes: I look'd at the Barometer, And sorry am to say That, tho' Hwas yesterday at fair, 'Tis changeable to-day. Ne'er mind it, love, (I then replied) Nor grieve at what is common. Alike is all that's yair beside. Nay — not exempting woman. ( 176 ) Then wonder not, nor think it rare, (Tve found it to my sorrow) That what to-day has promisM fair^ Has changed before to-morrow. Ah me! — (yet surely such things are Not only as to weather) — 'Tis pity changeable and fair Are plac'd so near together! You men (she cried) e'er do us wrong. Yet think not now to cheat me, For trust me' friend, while I've a tongue No Barrister shall beat me. Then calling all her conq'rours forth. As little nymphs know how. And looking such an angry oath, Exclaim'd — I have you now; While men, as women's atmosphere. Are fickle as a feather. Sure we, as their Barometer, May vary with the weather. C 177 ) But ah ! would'st thou but cease to range. And take me to thy care. My heart from thee should never change, But prove for ever fair. She srail'd — and look'd for my reply, — She knew I car'd for no man : Alack ! how hard it is ( thought I ) To argue with a woman ! TO THOMAS YATES, WITH A fjalispeare. IN ONE VOLUME. The farther, Yates, from thee I go. My friendship warms with stronger glow; Like that lone star that evening graces Shines brighter as the dark, encreases. As late I join'd the busy press Of Loudon's weedy wilderness, 1 ponder'd doubting what to send By way of trifle to my friend; Not to repay him half his due. For that — a trifle cannot do; ( 179 ) But jnst to give a friendly item That, if I could, I would requite him. The fittest present I could find Was Shakspeare — mirror for the mind. Then take this mental mirror true, *Tis what you need not blush to view. Within this little compass lies All that's happy, good, and wise. Where souls, attun'd to feeling, borrow Smiles of Mirth, and tears of Sorrow. Here thou may'st thy fancy fit With tearful tales, or waggish wit; Or mark in his exalted lay How earthly grandeur melts away. Mighty master of the heart. What wonders does thy page impart! Persuades the breast, instructs the mind. At once to know and love mankind; ( 180 ) Thy strains, of noble souls the food. Can make us happy, wise, and goodj For lessons in thy numbers lie How to live, and bow to die. p IBoxtn Botoer- I love my little boxen bower Fringed with Aj)ril's early flower; On it's leaves of glossy green The climbing sunbeams shed their sheen; Cool it's shade, it's shelter warnt, lu summer's heat, or winter's storm; The social and the lonely hour Endear my little boxen bow'r. Within my little boxen bow'r With friends 1 fill the social hour; Or, wanting them, the feats unfold That bards of Greece and Rome have told; Or prove no meaner magic reigns Id Britain's more endearing strains : ( 182 ) Contentment sheds her snnny shower Around my little. boxen bower. Should I leave my boxen bower Panting up the paths of Power, PufPd with empty pomp of Pride, Blind Ambition for my guide, Ev'n in Splendour's gaudy glare, Cushion'd on the couch of Care, Might I not bewail the hour I left my little boxen bow'r? THE Blacfecap* Woodland warbler, clear and strong^, 1 joy to hear thy early song, Desleiitliiig large thy little throat To swell thy loud melodious note; Leaving, O desultory guest. On some low briar thy flimsy nest. To carol the green woods among. In happy extacy of song ; How is it that I never see The poet's praise hestow'd on thee? O emblem thou of poet true ! He ought to give thee honour due, Because, like him, in forest green Retir'd, thou lov'st to sing unseen; ( 184 ) By naluFe deiicate and shy. Avoiding Folly's vacant eye: And there tiiy note, neglected bird. Is lost, unnoticM or unheard. Though the pert finch of golden plume May twitter in each lady's roora ; - Thy body brown, and pole so black, Grace both in form and feathers lack; Like his, thy song's unheeded past. When O I that song is — all thou hast. TO Cl^omas Pates. You told me^ Tom, in sportive spite. The' of the world I speak and write 1 do but little know it : And when for my advice you sue'd, Altlio' 1 gave the best I could. You sjieer'd, and call'd me — Poet ! Then since, ray friend, you hold so light Both what 1 think, and what I write. From me no more you scan shall; lil drop my reason and my rhyme. And try to make my friendship chime With something more substantial. ( 186 ) But ere my Pegasus I quit. This last offence you must permit, Tho' muddy rhymes I spatter; And tho' I g-ive advice and verse, Believe me, neither I rehearse To spite you or to flatter. The wide world educated you, And plac'd before you what men do; Thence shines your real knowledge: But mine is mere reflected light, Obtaiu'd by reading what men write. And that within a College. Then by that sense you ever shew, (Sense, to your arrow'd wit the bow) You ought to be apprized That tapers howsoever small Giving of light their little all Should not be quite despised. ( 1S7 ) The Poets too (and oh! for shaiue!' My humble with their honour'd name- Your wicked wit combines-) They're not the only folks by far Who teach to plow and sow the air,- And bore the sea for mines. Of Theory the beaten road By you, and me, and all is trode, Nor ruts nor hillocks dreading; But Practice-path, tho' plainly seen, lake garden-walks all smooth and greea. Is little mark'd by tretiding. Oh ! may I take advice myself ! May worms eat Shakspeare on my shelf! If e'er again I offer To give you verses or advice. But pay ray little sacrifice From more substantial coffer. ( 188 ) There's many a friend, whose tender part Thus wounded with a wit-shot dart. Would turn their backs upon ye ; But trust me, Tom, such friends as those More dang'rous are than honest foes. And no such friend is Johnny. Inscribed in Old English characters, on a root-seat at NURSERY, WESTFELTON. come not to these peacefulle bowres ChagriuM at humane follie; Nor censure here mv harmlesse houres Of blisefulle melaiicholie. For if ye spurnc the ioyes serene From solitude accruing, Mixe with the busie world againe. Or wealthe or fame pursuiuge. But quarrelle not with humane-kinde For little faultes ofFendinge; Better to beare with what ye finde. Than mane it in the ineadinge. Soe shall ye walke eche crowded courte And smile at humane follie; Or pleas'd, like niee, to bowres resorte^ Aiid feaste on niulancholie. INSCRIBED IN A Cell, Discovered in the Town-walls of Shrewsbury^ IN THE GARDEN OF MR. PARKES. tcche mee to foregoe this worldis care. The vauntinge vanities of humane-kinde ; Yet teche mee to forgive eche errour there. That mine elsewhere may like forgivenesse findck This mossie cell, for toile and tumult raayde. When hostile arras oppos'd Salopia's towres. Is iiowe to mee the sweete and sacred shade Of peacefulle thoughtes in solitarie houres. May thus my hearte, disturb'd by manie a storme, Eche foe to Love-of-humane-kinde repelle; Soe shall Contente life's latest ev'ning warme, Like settinge sun-beams warme this -westenie celle. And may I, when life lingers in the weste, Looke backe serenelie on this sun-gilt shore ; Then stretche my saile to where the wearie reste, Where toile and tumult vexe the minde no more. brought a seedling from the Leasowcs, August, 1806. Young offspring of an aged tree That erst o^er Shentone rear'd it's head. That wav'd in wild luxuriance free. And deck'd it's boughs with berries red, O grace my little grove retir'd. As he of Friendship grac'd the sphere 5 So shalt thou be of Taste admir'd. So shalt thou stand to Memory dear. Hereafter 'neath thy sable shade To him the votive urn I'll raise ; Nor shall trim Folly's ruthless blade E'er dare to clip thy graceful sprays. And here shall bards unborn recline To pay to him the tribute due; And genius shall be proud to shine Beneath the shade of Shenstone's yevr. ( 192 ) But, yew-tree, if at eve or dawn Hither some nymph should haply turn. And wail of Love to Heav'u withdrawn. Or for unvalued Friendship mourn; Bid her to yonder cot repair Where willows weep and flow'rets twine; With mine her tale of woe compare. And mix her melting tears with mine. There music soft to Shenstone's strain Shall join for us her soothing pow'rs; Nor shall his woes be sung in vain If they but steal a pang from ours. Departed bard ! A friendly part Has he in plaintive numbers shewn, — — To ease another's aching heart He sung the sorrows of his own. OttS- ( Scotch Air. — Pinkey hoose. ) Near Pinkey hoose aboon the brae 'Mang birks and osiers slender. In hawthorn-da J s I love to stray. And pipe my wild notes tender; But little boots the gowan'd plain Unless my lassie's near me; And sadly flows my sweetest straia Unless she's there to hear me. O Nature, keep thy nectar'd cup Gin I alane maun take it. For sweeter far's a cozie drop When those we love partake it. Then, lassie, seek yon hawthorns gay. And hear my wild notes tender. Near Pinkey hoose aboon the brae, *Mang birks and osiers slender. Ottg. (Air. — Peggy Baivn.) Why should I si^h ? The maid I love Declares she loves me true; In constancy she peers the dove. And oh ! in beauty too ; On me her eyes enamour'd roll. Her lips in dimples play; Yet sad am I, and sick at soul. For oh, she's far away. Why should I sigh? The maiden mine Nor scornful is, nor coy ; Each morrow brings her loving line To make my bosom joy ; The maiden mine, she loves me well,. And bids ray heart be gay; Yet sighs my pensive bosom swell. Because she's far away. ( li)-5 } Why should I sigh? Sweet Spring is here. And blithe each bird and flow'r And pleas'd I sit, ray soul to cheer. Within her fav'rite bow'r; Her lyre I take, and fain rehearse The song she lovM to play; But still the burden of each vers* Is,^ph- she's far away. THE Thou yellow bunch with berries white. By juice of neighbour nourished, 'Tis said in Druid's holy rite Thy brittle branches flourished. Found on the mossy arms of oak With golden blade they cut thee; And, as the mystic words they spoke. On sacred pile they put thee. But Druid rites are over now. Yet never be thou missing ; ril sacred hold thy hallowM bough. Because it sanction's kissing: Thy branches o'er my couch I'll twine. And round my brows I'll wreathe them. And rites, than Druid's more divine, I'll celebrate beneath them. ( 197 ) Ah ! what's the luscious lip to me, Tho' dews of nectar tip it ? Unless I'm privilegeM by thee, Alas ! T diire not sip it. Then while the Gorse, with golden blow. Shall kissing keep in fashion. Be thou at hand, O Missleloe, And help the harmless passion. But so it haps, if one is near. The other's out of season ; Or if the other should be tliere. To touch it would be treason. Ye pretty plants! admir'd of me; Oh, by ye both 1 swear it. Whene'er the one of ye I see, I wish the other near it ! OSWESTRY SCHOOL. Alone I love to haunt, fair Oswestry, The 'woods and hills that bosom thee around. Sprinkling ray lyre of guideless miustrelsey With notes that, like thy rills, unheeded sound. Trickling at times all wild along. Lush herbs and mossy stones among. Then sraootlily gliding o'er the meadow ground, ^Till in some roaring torrent toss'd. Their little melody is lost; Or borne to some deep river's muddy shore. Is heard no more. Yet can I not restrain the lay. For ah, this lonely scene Minds me of many a distant day. And many a time between. ( 199 ) Since here I first at early age Began to con the column'd page. A little waddling trowser'd lad 1 came, and tedious toil'd O'er leaves in yellow canvass clad. Leaves corner' curl'd andsoil'd: And hid the bitten apple, half-afraid. Flushed at the noise the munching made. *o I say I love to stray alone. For school-companions all are gone; Far countries some to see ; In Fortune's dome some refuge find ; Wealth's dusty ways while others wind; And some in Fame's bright noon reclin'd. Care little now for me. And how to strangers can I tell The joys that now my bosom swell To trace my tree-cut name? To them, alas, 'twill only shew That I was twice ten years ago A candidate for fame; And warn me would the waggish throng To trust to trees, and not to song. ( 200 ) f And many a flow'r of purest dye That open'd in that garden then. Long- since has clos'd it's little eye, Unplanted in the fields of men. Fair snowdrops they, that early fall In the young lap of April gay. Nor live to see the glories tall That flourish in the train of May. Wotless how many a blooming head May grace the ground when they are dead. And He* that trained our tender stem Now sleeps, good man, the long long sleep with them. I then 'mid proud Salopia's towers Lightly my little pinnace plied O'er Ovid's river, bank'd with bowers. Or push'd it's more invigour'd powers Through Virgil's graceful tide; 'Till Fancy loos'd the cables of controul. And, lauuch'd at large, I felt th' astonish'd soul High on the roaring surge of Homer's ocean roll. * Revd. Eusebius Edwards. ( 201 ) Some, firM with hot mis-guiding light. Like northern flakes that fret the night. False-glory's meteor glare. Hurried afar to human fight. In fields that blasts of evil blight. To do the work of hell, the butcher- work of war. Such have afiiicted fathers mourn'd. Such have applauding senates prais'd. Their bones in holy house iuuru'd. And high the stately stone have rais'd. give me but to trace my name The lowest on Parnassus' base. With pencil dipp'd in Avon's stream. Though faint and feeble be the trace. At death I'll deem it higher grace Than tomb with trophied honours clad. Though aisl'd in Abbey's hallow'd place, With all that Sculpture's art can add. So pray'd my young heart, then all akin To the numbers wild and free That here did my boyish bosom win. As I read of the feats of the bold Robin, All under the green-wood tree. ( 202 ) Nor lov'd I less in simple dress The tender verse that ran Of her that won an earlis son. And him the hanish'd man. With fev'rish thirst of rhyme inflam'd I oft the quaint acrostic frani'd ; Or spread the jingling riddle's maze To catch a comrade's partial praise. Nor did my stolen leisure lose On him the Mariner to muse. Who, far from home's endearing smile. Dwelt on the solitary isle. And oft I own'd the despot reign Of high Romance's giant strain, Bewitch'd by all the spells that lie In storied nights of Araby. No wonder that to minds like mine Such fancies then seem'd wond'rous fine : For he, the rude untravel'd wight, That stares at Breidden's craggy height, Weets not to what superior skies The mightier Alps or Andes rise : ( 203 ) Nor dream'd I in those early days Of Hamlets or of Odysseys. Since then how varied scenes I've seen ! And dearer learning bought; Sipp'd at the mingled cups of men. Ah cups, not always found, I ween. So pure as then I thought. Yet not so muddy is the draught But it may he refin'd. And ev'n Life's bitterest cup be quaffd A med'cine for the mind. And tliat dull canting fool, I wis. That finds on earth no real bliss. Rails at the cup himself hath mix'd amiss. Nature for him no blessings show'rs. With spleen his very soul he sours. — He needs not seek a scene like this. Ye flowery vales, ye woody hills. Thou lengthening prospect wide ! With Gratitude my bosom fills ; And Joy's o'erflowing tide. ( 204 ) To think that, insect though I be. Yet ev'n to me is given To con this foir creation free From insects of a less degree To orbs that roll in heaven ; Yea, to the fixed fires the mind may soar That freck night's azure arch and look on millions more. Yet here on this terrestrial spot Enough of good is given To bid us bless our humble lot. And plume our souls for Heaven. If aught Devotion can bestow. And Love-of-man and all below. 'Twas this that led a Newton's soul Beyond the starry way to roll. And that, of Heav'n's own fire a part, Enshrin'd itself in Howard's heart. And fell, when he to God was gone^ On him, the Man of Whittington. Thou, sainted Memory, art mine. And smiling Hope, of birth divine. { 20-5 ) Ev'n now I feel your mingled pow'r, Ev'n in this solitary hour. You church that lofty limes half hide. High pinnacled in Gothic pride. The chime the quarter'd hour that tells Li"ht toHch'd on three discordant bells. Nay all I hear, and all I see. And all I think has charms for me. I mark the tow'r's ill-raeasur'd chimes. And think on cliildhood's truant times. For still the self-same tune is troH'd, " My lodging's on the ground so cold." Then squalling rapid pass the pile A flight of wheeling swifts the while. Or crevic'd in some cornice rough Chaffers the pert and prattling chough. And sooth, these sounds, tho' harsh to hear. At times are music to my ear. They tell of times that long are gone. They speak of deeds that long are done. And musing Memory loves to dw^ell On every trifle that they tell. ( 206 ) For taintless times ami fraudless deeds Are of Life's loveliest tree Ihe seeds. Of which on every branch it rears Fond Memory pours her pleasing tears. And if 'tis lopp'd by Fortune's shafts Sweet Hope her cyons there engrafts. While on the He;iv'n-aspiriug shoot Ripens the everlasting fruit. WRITTEN ON THE NIGHT OF MY What have I been doing ? Blitbe was the board, and festive were the hours When many a friend regaiM my natal day; And Mirth and Music joiuM their witching pow'rs To make the very gloom of Winter gay: AVhen I by chance beneath the nipping ray Of the cold moon, that glisteii'd keen and clear, Indulg'd at eve a momentary stray. The Spirit of my birth, with voice severe. Yet looks serenely sweet address'd my list'ning ear : ( 208 ) Hold, Youth, a moment hold, nor yet return Where sweet Forgetfulness thy mind decoys. From rathe Rememb'rance one true maxim learn, — One thoughtless step Life's journey oft alloys; Put off from hence the soft indulgent joys. The dream of youth that leads to waking woe. Fond scenes of love, and rhymes, and idle toys. And all that youth and playful fancies shew. — Poor is the rose's fruit tho' sweet it's blossoms blow. Since first thy little infant steps I view'd Full twice ten times the verdure's come and flown; Yet not in vain these trees their bloom renew'd, — Full twice ten times the useful fruits have grown ^ Then what hast thou in all these seasons done ? Does Truth expand while Science cloathes thy mind? Bring'st thou from Oxford's pageant porch, alone A tufted cap, and hood " that droops behind I" With sleeves of fluttering silk replete with empty wind ? ( 209 ) Was it for this by Severn's circling stream I tausfht thy vouth to cull the fairest flow'rs ? Was it for this I oft to Isis came And cheer' J thy vrand'ring solitary hours? But now my wing with sad reluctance cours To see thy youth in soft enjoynieiit flown; To see neglected all thy native pow'rs. And twice ten velars of youthful vigour gone. Say, in these years of prime — ivhat hast thou done? Hast thou aright the league of God explor'd That Nature's comments on her Author shew? Hast thou in op'iiing herbs and minerals por'd Where soothings soft for man's afflictions grow ? Do'st thou of Laws the nice distinction know, To hold 'twixt man aiid man the scales of right ? Can'st thou give Truth in Eloquence to flow. And wrest oppression from tyrannic might ? — — 1 sigh'd. — The Sj)irit frown'd — and sighing took her flight. CANTICVM eui Anglice ingressus " O Nancy tcilt thou gang icV tnc — '* Latine redditum. Anna, ! nonue tremes mecura procul ire per agros, Deliciasque urbis linquere, nonnc tremes? Parva domusne tibi viridi sub rupe placebit? Te rieqiie lassabit rustica vita rudis? Quo neque Golcoiid2e spoliis gemmata nitebis. Quo ueque vestis erit raurice tincta tibi ? Liuquere noune gemes, virgo charissima, sedes Quo pulcbras inter pulchrior ipsa fores? Ciim procul a choreis, laeta procul urbe relicti, Festum non cupies turn revocare diem ? Tune potes sol is fervorera ferre furentis. Tune potes rigidae frigora saeva uivis ? ( -^11 ) Quam qiieat (heu! dictu miserura) tua blandula forma, Quain pectus teueram tanta pericla pati ? Ah ! cupiesae redire domosqiie revisere dulces Quo pulchras inter pulchrior ipsa fores'* Estne fidelis amor tibi tantus, araabilis Anna, Extrcmas mecum sortis adire vices? Sique onerosa mat clades, mea fida puella, Noniie dolebis onus triste levare meum ? Die, veniente gravi cruciata per ossa dobjre. Tune fovebis, amans^ membra calore mihi ? Pectore nee memori lugebis festa relicta. Quo pulchras inter pulchrior ipsa fores ? Cum moribundus ero, amplexus properatque supremos. Tune dabis lacrymans basia chara mihi? Atque oculos dextra tremulos mulcebis amata, Dulceque sedabis tristia tela necis ? Et super exanimum lacrymas spargesne cadaver, Singultansque feres serta caduca manu ? Turn neque praeteritos lugebis in urbe lepores. Quo pulchras inter pulchrior ipsa fores ? - RESPONSIO, per amicuin. LmrfL libi, Gulielmej comes nihil ire recusara. Qua fera fata trahant, te diice, Ijeta sequar : Tecta casae deseita colam modo compos amantis, Muta milii tecum gaudia sylva feret. Rustica si vestis Gulielmo pluris habetur, Anna cupit serum vellera nulla sibi. Te sine magnificaeque urbis mihi raunera sordent, Et prae te sordent regia dona mihi. J^a^ta sequar, dilecte virum, qua previus ibis, Tirdia ncc capieut me meraiiiisse donuini : Seii propriore rota me Sirius urget iniquus, Sive furit Boreas, ingeminatque minas. Tu modo sis semper prsesens mihi, nulla tiuiebo Quid mihi ferre potest sievior ira Dei; Temnere vel summos potero secura dolores, I lira tua per terras, te dace, fata sctjuar. ( 213 ) Fingc, age, te gravibus, dirum precor omen abesto I Iniplicitum vit;e graiule dolere malis; Suppositus capiti prohibet laaguere lacertus. Cantatas curas sopit et Anna tibi. Quae tibi soUicito suspensa assidat ainore. Hand milii, si qua fides, aemula martis erit: Nee prius abscedam, victrix quam muneris alnii. Nil nobis, quod te pluris habemus, adest. Si tibi fata mauus, quod Dii prohibete, nocentes Admoveant, miserum ! quid rai'ni mentis erit? Namque })ii miiiinie poterunt depingere fletus, Sollicitara qui me perget habere dolor. Mors autem Stygias cum te vocet atra sub umbras. Me morti tradara promptior ipsa sequi : Et moribunda pr^car, quo sint sua gaudia morti, Contiguam poni me, GuUelnae, tibi. SOMNIVM AMANTIS. " Ter conatuj ibi collo dare brachia circum, " Tcr frustra com'prensa manus effugit imago, " Par levibus ventis, volucrique simillima somno.'' Firgil. Chara mihi apparuit per noctera forma Marije, Froute decor micuit, risiis in orefuit: Dulre lyrain iligitis niveis percussit eburnam, Dulcior at cecinit vocibus ipsa simul. Alba fuit vestis (pectus louge albius) illi, Luxeruiit gemmae, frontis at astra raagis. Vidi dura speciem tam divam tamque venustani. Flagranti tumuit pectus amore mihi, Rideutes toties in me direxit ocellos. Ah ! quoties hoesit cordc sagitta meo. Formam dum miror, miror dum musica verba. Parvus perrumpit, somnia grata culex : inimice culex ! — citharaeque melosque silescunt, Occurritque oculis nulla Maria meis. ( 215 ) Quanlum me pr«sens tam diva beavit imago. Tantiim nunc absens saucia corda secat. Ah I raodo hetus eram^ Divum felicior ullo. At lumc me miserum pessimus angor habeft. Jam scio qui^a paulum distant dolor at que voluptas, Quodque haec hora levat proxima forte premat. INSCRIPTION For an Urn to Linnaeus, under a Lime-tree, iu the grounds of John Clavering Wood, Esq. of Marsh Hall, Salop. LINN^VS DE RE vSCRIBlT QVAQVE BREVITER COPIOSE. NATVR.^ SPISSVS FIDVS CLARVS INTERPRES. NOTA VERVS, AVDITA CAVTVS, COGITATA MODESTVS. VTILE MINIME IGNORAVIT, NECNON DVLCI MISCVIT. ATTICE SPARTANVS. EST LINNiEVS. TALI ET TANTO CORDI MORTVI VRNAM, VIVENTI SE LVBENS VOVEAT I. C. W. INSCRIPTION On a root-seat, luuler a larg-e Purple-Beech, dedicated to Thomas Yates, at Nursery, Westfelton. AMK ITl.E ET T. Y. SELLVLAM HANC, ET QVA TEC;ER[S ARBOREM, SACRAS ESSE VOLUIT J. F. M. D. ^umoxom. PART III. Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash ; Some rhyme (vain thought! ) for needfu' cash; Some rhyme to court the countra clash, An' raise a din : For me, aa aim I never fash ; / rhjmc for fun. Bt'JlKS, THE SEEKING A amt- A TALE. Before I enter on my story. Good Readers, I must first implore ye T' observe I serve this saucy dish up To neither deacon, priest, nor hishop. To ev'ry mind it must be plain That 'tis the old popish priests I mean. Let not my slory be mistaken By English bishop, priest, or diacou. For they who wince when nothing hits 'em Appear to " take the cap that tits 'cra/^ ( 222 ) A Lawyer onccj as legenas tell us. For his profession warmly jealous That they no sainted patron boasted Of whores enshrin'd, or martyrs roasted. Of all the black and bloody number Whose names our calendars encumber, Resolv'd uulo the Pope t' apply, A palron there to beg- or buy; He put his gown, and ruffles fair on. His band, and better head of hair onj But, lest his eloquence should flag, He stor d within a yellow bag Round arguments, that well he kne^ir Would more than Law or Language do; And such as always should be pleaded When parsons are to be persuaded. And now, where Poverty's petition Pleads long in vain to get admission, Our lawyer took a method shorter. For trying on the honest porter One of his arguments, it straight Unbarr'd to him the sacred gat«. ( 223 ) So (;is I've somewhere heard or read) A certain Trojan took iii's head To see the Devil's parliament, And to the gates of Hell he went. Where 'till this time he miglit have tarried Had not the wilch before him carried A golden bongh: perhaps this fact is The precedent of modern practice. For gold is still the ticket to The courts above and courts below : Nay, some maintain that this same bough To maces is converted now. And borne in church and stiste, to shew Where those who follow it are to go. Before his Holiness arriving Our lawyer's now his speech contriving. Pulls up his gov/n, puts straight his tails. Twisting a red-tape round his nails. His fingers tabbering, smooths his band. His long sleeve fumbling in his hiiud; Then hemming — simpering — bowing — rises ; Like other counsel do at 'ssizes. ( 224 ) For he the reason had discerned Why coiiiicellors are call'd "the learned;*' And 'lis hecause our jtleading men are all Like that old Greek attorney-general. Who (munibling- in liis month a jackstone)'^ Maintain'd that Eloquence's knack shone ^ In nought hut " action, aciion, action." j Melliinks our modern men of fees Have heard of this Demosthenes. Our lawyer bended to the Pope, and Thus his urgent case he open'd : " O tliou that art St, Peter's curate, " Let not thy bosom prove obdurate, " But grant my suit, that neither wislies " The scrapings of your loaves or fishes, " Nor do I beg, however humble, " The crumbs tliat from your table tumble; " Tlie boon I ask to glad my heart with " Is whtit the veriest j)riest may part with, " For such a trifliifg' blessing is it " That when 'lis giv'n you will not miss it. ( 2-25 ) *' For all the object of my plaint " Is, to obtaiji a patron saint. " I see not wliy onr honest labours ^' Should not be notic'd like our nciglibours. " In case of need there's no pbysician " But good St. I-uke grants his petition. *' Death-warrants — pshaw — I mean prescriptions " Are sio-n'd beneath his benedictions. *' Divines have Peter, Paul, and John, '* And all the rest to call upon. " The cobler drives nor peg nor his pin " Without a pray'r to good St. Crispin. " I can make good by cases cited ** How poor we lawyers are requited; " We have no saint in beav'n to shew " The good deeds tliat on earth we do; " (Tbo some folks think 'twere need we had one *' To intercede for many a bad one.) " We care not what his rank or name is, " A lawyer never should be sqnemish, " Tho' if to cbuse I am })ermitted, " ril name one to our calling fitted^ ( 226 ) " The great St. Michael, saint reuowii'd, " Wlio piiin'd the Devil ia the pound, " From whence (O thiiik it not uncommon) " He was replevied by a woman. " This saint then let the lawyers greet, " Who heat down Salau at his feet. '* So may your holy order be ** As leeches to the laity, " Ye kno\T th' effects of too much blood, " And kindly suck it for our good. " So may your holy order stand " The glow-worms of each gloomy land ; " So may your lights lost sheep allure, " Like lanthorus of the marshy moor ; " So may ye feast on all thats nice, " And pardons fetch their highest price ; " So may ye after dealh inherit " The meed that most becomes your merit." Thus spoke the Lawyer, bending low : The oily Pope began to blow. For he in size might safely mock The knight who fought by Shrewsbury clock; ( 227 ) On couch bis listless body lolling, *' His eyes in a fine frenzy rolling" Glauc'd, from within their fiery sockets. From lawyer's wig to lawyer's pockets; And, judging only by his cloathes, (Like them whose all depends on those) Concluded from his plain apparel He was a worthless empty barrel. And, pennyless because he guess'd him. With haughty look he thus address'd hira: " Thou little limb of litigation, " Thou art the Devil's near relation, " Such impudence I never saw here, " But impudence becomes a lawyer; * " A lawyer too a saint requiring, ^' But weeds will ever be aspiring, " Return, man, to thy long-robM brothers, « Our saints are all engag'd to others." While yet he spoke with many a fiowo. The lawyer's hand, beneath his gown, , His yellow bag from pocket took, And loud the jingling shiners shook. ( 228 ) O golden tones ! liow grent your force is. How passioii-sootliiiig your discourse is! Were not the wond'rous lyres of old Tliat churinM the beasts all .strung with gold? Could he, as I've heard scholars tell. That fool who fetch'd his wife from hell. Could he (I say) have done such things By twanging caigut tiddleslrings ! Oh no it was wilh golden tones He mov'd the heasts, the stocks, and stonei. It must be true for at this hour The lawyer has reviv'd their pow'r. Nor do they leave him in the lurch. But move a pillar of the church: For as the lawyer's music jingled. The Pope's soft heart with pleasure tingled. ■\4- This very .fact: explains the riddle Why after-poeti prais'd the fiddle, (Tile fiddle here, observe, I go to Like Rhetoricians, pars pro toto.) And why the fiddle they confess'd Had "charms to soothe a savage breast.' ( 220 ) What miracles may we not hope Since music "beads a knotty" Pope? And by its magic pow'r \ve find The true "affections of his min.l/' " His mind^ made up of proper soils " For treasons, stratagems, and spoils." Now as the bag came forth to view. Quite mild and affable he grew. But when 'twas on the table emptied His holy heart was almost tempted To ow;i his insult he regretted. But that's what parson never yet did. The honest lawyer saw his doubt. And thus replying, help'd him out. " If then your Holiness won't bestow me *' A patron saint, do but allow me " To leave this little mite of mine " Intended for my patron's shrine; K ( 230 ) " Tho' I had hopes for to appear " Before his shrine from year to year, " And to have home in your procession " The tributes of our poor profession. " But since, ahis! as you imply, " Your saints " have otlier fish to fry," '* I'll go, and think no more about 'em, " An honest man may do without 'em, '' We'll try to find another road, " And get to heav'n by doing good.'* The crafty priest began to stare. He found he'd carried things too far; For then he first reflected on The lawyer's conduct and his own, 'Twas then he saw the close attendance Of Spirit upon Independence; 'Twas then he saw 'twas Pride, not Sense, That gives a priest impertinence. Then O ! be they for blocklieads bookM Who play with fish before they're hook'd. And now the lawyer's money fingering, (The counsel bowing, leaving, lingering) ( 231 ) The Pope to staj a moment iiress'd him. And rising, gracious thus address'd him: " O learned brother of the Law, " Do not unsatisfied withdraw, " It is the duty of our place " To grant petitioners our grace, " And with indulgent search to aim it " On sinners that with reason claim it. " Now it appears that your profession " Stands much in need of intercession, ** And tho' our siiiuts have each their client " (The fact is true, you may rely on't) *■' Yet I've a stratagem invented " That your profession may be sainted; " A priest may quibble if there's cause, " And set it down a pia fraus. " Then if I grant you this petition, " It must be done on this condition: " You church you see, with painted panes, " The statue of each saint contains, " In sculptur'd niche each stands alone, " Display'd by carver's skill in stone; ( 232 ) **" These aisles you'll nine times walk around, " Your eyes with ninefold bandage bound, " And, while you wear the blinding- bands on, " The figure first you lay your hands on, " Be it on sinner, saint, or matron, " Shall hence be call'd the Lawyer's patron : ■" To him your humble pray'rs be made, " To him your tribute sJiall be paid, " Your earnest hopes on him rely " That he'll promote ye when ye die." These terms deolar'd they both consent. And to the sainted walls they w^eut. And now the cautious parson ties A bandage o'er the lawyer's eyes ; Like cows are hood-wink'd by their master That pilfer in another's pasture. Now, forwards bent, the long-rob'd man With out-stretch'd arms his course began : Just like a blind old bony horse Around a crab-mill gropes his course. Each sliding foot the pavement tries. Lest steps should trip him by surprise; ( 233 ) Nine times the aisles he hobbled round. Nine times the startisig-pillar found. Nine times each sainted sliriue he pass'd. And with bewildtr'd step at lust The tenth time stood upon the stone Where first his Circuit was begun. " All's fair," exclaim'd the Pope, " proceed to *' Elect the saint tiiat chance may kad to." Again the hood-wink'd gownsman gropes. And for a princely patron hopes, Slo\v thro' the dull and damp aisles groping. Moving sometimes, and sometimes stopping; At length a sudden stand he made, And thoughtful seem'd, as tho' he pray'd. The Pope (for narrow minds the soonest Imagine other men's dishonest) His eyes upon the lawyer keeping. Strongly suspected him of peeping* For he by chance had ta'ea his station. And seem'd in earnest contemplation. Just where on high St. Michael stood. With Satan at his feet subdu'd. ( 234 ) " Let's see before you lay your hands on," Exclaim'd the Pope, " if safe the band's on," He found it safe, liis doubts were eas'd. He bade him touch whene'er he pleas'd. But first he whisper'd in his ear What now must in my tale appear; For 'tis the duty of my story A popish trick to lay before ye, Altho' it is as idle stuff cast From til' ancient tale that now I roughcast; Which reason to conclude may urge ye 'T has been corrected by the clergy; For th' oldest books are most suspected T' have been by popish priests corrected. The trick was this the Pope observing (A lucky thought his purpose serving) The lawyer being in stature low Could hardly reach St. Michael's toe. And that he needs must lay his hands on The figure that St. Michael stands on; Approach'd the doubting lawyer near. And, nudging, whisper'd in his ear ( 23-3 ) " We clergy ever are iacliu'il " To help the iguoraiit and blind, " Therefore, my friend, if you should halt here, " You're sure to touch St. Michael's altar." This hint the lawyer ihuch delighted. Who Ihus his vows in raptures plighted. Exclaiming " by the Virgin matron, " Be this our saint, be this our patron, " To this saint (be it who it may) " Henceforth let ev'ry lawyer pray; " r th' name of all our tribe I take him, •* O never may our tribe forsake him, " To him each lawyer's vows be made, « To him each lawyer's tribute paid, " Our earnest hopes on him rely " That he'll promote us when we die.'* With that (misled by counsel' evil) One hand he reacli'd, and grasp'd the Devil 1 And (as by sympathy) he puts The other on the parson's guts. ( 236 ) And now tlie Pope (O cunning elf! Thinking to be the saint liimself ) The disappointed hiwyer press'd As saint to chuse which lie thought best. Either the Devil or the Priest. Quoth he, " our tribe 1 bring this farce on '< By taking counsel of a parson j " So therefore I reject the priest, " And of two evils chiisc the least !" I know, that a woman is a dish for the gods, If the Devil dress her not." Antoky axd Cleopatra. THE STORY OF ^rometjiettsi done into doggrel. We read in Greek Romances old Tliat one Prometheus was so bold Sraoaking with friends and ale jocosely At heaveii^s lamp to light his Bro^dey. But how he got the etherial prize. By convex glass, or lady's eyes. Is not by th' old recorders cited. But certain ^tis his pipe was lighted; For, as I know the story ran, "With that same pipe he made a man; He mix'd his chiy and alabaster. And cast in earthen meld his plaister. ( 238 ) And wond'rous ! when the mold was fractur'd, A living man was mauufactur'd. Now Jovfc, a Justice of the Peace, Hearing the said rrometheus' case. Cried, " Zounds ! from us our trade he's taking, " We have a patent for man-making. " Go order Vulcan and his lads " To bring their hammers and some gads, " To bear him hence, and fast nail him oil *' The snowy summit of PUnlimmou. " And let him hang for ages thereon " To feed the kites and crows with carrion.'^ Up there for thrice ten years he stuck. While vulture's gnaw'd his growing pluck. From whence at length he got release By giant-killer Hercules, Yet Jove, of heav'n the Lord Chief Baron, Sitting one day his elbow chair on. Could not forget his ancient huff. And thought his sufferings not enough. ( 239 ) Then much he por'd with dire intent To find a greater punishment; He thought of scourges, racks, and chains. Of living deaths, and lingering pains. Of burning, freezing, frying, toasting. Piercing, cutting, starving, roasting; And one by one his fancy fell On all the punishments of hel!. Nay, once it came his cruel head in To make him study special-pleading. Or feel, like me, how keen the curse is To want a rhyme when writing verses. Or, wiiat is worse, like you're now plighted. To hear a tedious tale recited. But while each torture thus he singled. He was resolv'd to have them mingled ; And that Prometheus should be fix*d Where all these miseries are mix'd; And so in doubt no longer tarried. But straight rcsoiv'd to have him married! ( 240 ) Quoth he, " in Hymen's stocks I'll place him, " Where ev'u Repentance can't release hira : " And there, if I am not mistaken, " He'll get his belly-full of bacon. " "W^ith his own blow-pipe there I'll bend him, " And an extinguisher will send him, " Which, if he once begins to handle, " Will soon put out his farthing candle, " And soon will he, I warrant, then " Be surfeited of making men. " But til en (thought he) 'twill all depend " Upon what sort of wife I send : *' AVomen, like cards, before they're tried, " Display to view the fairer sidej " But, taken up, make many start " To find a club who sought a heart, '* A partner that, with altered face, *' Will play the deuce and lose the ace. " Then should 1 such a trump bestow " As I have dealt to — (one you know) — " A greater blessing can't be given " Not ev'u by me, tho' king of heaven. ( 241 ) " But if it is my luck to pitck " On such a seif-conceited bitch '' As once the Devil dropp'd — (I fear The reader will too soon guess wlier^) — " More curses will his couch encumbef " Than all the devils in hell can number. " To find a wife of such a grain " In heaven, the closest search is vain ; " In heaven I'm sure no lady's maid is, " Nor are there boarding-schools for ladies. " This bus'ness I'll no longer sulk on, " But find ray old fac-totum Vulcan." This Vulcan was a man of mettle. Could clean a jack, or mend a kettle. With all the gods he'd crack his joke. And had of work a decent stroke; Old Neptune's fish-fork he'd repair. Or clap a shoe on Juno's mare. Nay once (as I have somewhere read it) He made a shiidd that did him credit. He shone alike in great and small trades, la short, he was — a Jack of all trades. ( 242 ) Now Jove went out with anger itching. And found this Vulcan in the kitchen; He'd brought a poker for the maid, Aud o'er a mug of beer he stay'd. " Vulcan, (quoth he) my crafty cobb, " I'll help thee to a titish jobb ; " Which, if well done, shall make thee prouder,' " Shall wider spread thy fame and louder, " Than all my casks of thunder-powder. " For, when complete, I have a notion " 'Twill represent perpetual motion. " Yet, tho' I sketch thee here an outline, " Without rule do it, and without line. " This instrument, when first 'tis found, " Has sweetest melody of sound, " But seldom, like the flute, appears " To sweeten as it grows in years. " Nay oftentimes its sweetest tones *' Will turn to discords all at once, '* And so astonish those that play it '• That all their power cannot lay it. ( 243 ) " Yet many a man that once has seen it " Would give the world could he obtain it; " But having it, he'd grieve and flout it, *' And give the world to be without itj " Just like the magnet is its action, " Possessing wonderful attraction, " And like the inverted magnet too " It often drives what once it drew. " And though this little neat machine " Is weak and tender to be seen, " And knows submission is its station, " It rules the lords of the creation." " Quoth Vulcan (slyly tossing up The drippings of his empty cup) " The thing you want is not uncommon, ** Your riddle means, a sort of woman " By nature made to fit her station, " But warp'd by modern education ; " And, by my faith, friend Jove, between us " You Cdird to mind our Missus — Veiius; " The veriest devil in the skies, " But, hang her — she's got pretty eyes. ( 244 ) " Your wish, friendJove, fulfill'd you'll find, " I'll rig a vessel to your mind." He molds a maid in form so fair That ev'n with Venus might compare. In graceful attitude might ape her. The foot so neat, the leg so taper. Peeping heneath her snowy cloathes That careless o'er her limbs he throws; Her graceful hair in fillet furls, Her forehead half-conceals in curls; Her eyes with lengthen'd lashes tips. And parts with pearls her luscious lips ! But ah ! no spark of mind or soul Was there to brighten up the whole. He gave her life, and that was all, And made her just about as tall As girls when first they go a madding. And sent her 'mong the gods a gaddin^j Like girls go gadding here in London, 'vf;'' To have their brains and tuckers undone. And spend a world of pence and pains To spoil their tuckers and their brains. ( 24-3 ) She'll something learn, aiid yet 'tis oJds, I'th higher circles 'niong tiie gods. She first to Juno pays devotions And learns of her to have high notions ; Thinking her haughtiness to hide Because she calls it " proper pride." Venus soon learns her tittle-tattle. And Mars the captain brags of battle j And Monsieur Mercury, d'ye see. Shews rigadoon and balance'. But, oh Apollo ! 'twould make you sick To hear her strura, and call it music. In short, she visited their halis. Their dinner-parties, routs, and balls. And took, in this exalted station, What Fashion calls iier Education; But, as 'tis call'd by men of ielters. To ape the vices of her betters. And 'cause she something learn'd from all, ley did her luaue Pandora cull. Now having taken her degrees. Mistress of Arts, such arts as these. #■ ( 246 ) Straight unto Jove old Vulcan brought her/ And shew'd how stylishly he'd fraught her, — Equal to any modern daughter. Well pleas'd was then old Jove to find A vixen suited to his mind; A face so fair, a head so evil, 'Twould catch a saint, and plague a devil. Then iu her hand a box he put. And charg'd her close to keep it shut. And give it to the man she led To be the part'ner of her bed; And while the box was in their keeping She never once should dare to peep in. He order'd Vulcan then to carry her. And ask Prometheus — if he'd marry her. Prometheus, cunning as old ISick, Knew Jove intended him some trick. And rightly all her trappings took For feathers that conceal'd a hook, " No, no, (quoth he) friend Vulcan, here ** You bring the wrong sow by the ear; i ( 247 ) " And so my door 1 beg you'll step by, " And take her to iny brother Epi." Now JE^jiinetheus was more slow In judgment, than his brother Pro* A plain good-natur'd sort of chap. Quite unsuspicious of mishap ; His judgment always, by the bye. Was dazzled with a woman's eye ; And when a lovely nymph he saw He never thought of blot or flaw ; Or seeing them would be their bail, — Like him who tells this silly tale. Nor wonder that his brother Pro This act unbrotherly should do. For now-a-days full many a brother Is often catch'd in such another. Poor Epimetheus soon consented. And Vulcan soon the knot cemented. Ere scarce the parties had agreed. Like that old chap beyond the Tweed, ( 248 ) And now for almost half a year Quite happy livM the wedded pair ; Not but sometimes the wife was pleading Her claims to quality and breeding ; And honest Epi now and then Would wish the noose untied again. But these had been small stumbling-blocks. Had she not op'd her fatal box. Upon the lock, which open'd easy. Was seen the name of " Delicacy j " The key presented to appearance These words — " I'm mutual Fokbearance.'* She burst the bolt, and out a crew Of hideous winged harpies flew; Of various vice a combination — The fruits of female education. And, as the hellish army fled. Was seen Repentance at their head. They grinn'd and passM like those grim sprites Tliat length'ning load a sick man's nights. ( 249 ) And ever after, each by fils 'Twixt Epi and Pandora sits. Ill bed among the curtains creep ; At board betwixt the dishes peep ; Ching to his thoughts with griping pow'r; Hung on her looks to make them lour ; Nay, ev'n their very words bestrode. And spurr'd them sharply as they rodej Lurk'd in each dimple's downy hole. And made it seem a hairy mole ; Bestrode the optics of their eyes. And gave all colours different dyes j Made every-thing appear improper. Like objects thro' a bottle stopper* Within the broken box they find That Hope alone "was left behind. O think not by my silly song. Ye lovely sex, I do ye wrong ; I sorrow that your angel forms Should be the beds of canker-worms, ( 2-50 ) Most hateful in that lovely tree Where luscious fruits and fiow'rs should be ; As weeds ?^»{>ear more odious far la gardens sure than any where. O maidcus, would it but content ye To be but arm'd, as Nature meant ye. With real Beauty, Sense, raid Virtue, No silly song could ever hurt you. No sly Prometheus in each lass Need then beware the snake i* th' grass ; Nor would poor Epi meet our raiud In many a modern husband kind. Whose leaky box of harpies more has Than ever issued from Pandora's. But as things stand, 'tis fit we see Into what hole we thrust our key ; For Jove himself could not invent For man a greater punishment Than to condemn him to be mated With woman falsely educated. ( 251 ) Unmarried friends, the proverb keep. And mind to " look before ye leap." Beware the witching' spell that lies In sugar lips and shining eyes. And v/hen ye are on woman studying. Think on a nicely-sngar'd pudding, Having, fur all it looks so nice. Too little taste, or too much spice ; Beware all outside sham and cheating, " The jiroof (ye know) is in the ealing," THE A TALE. " Ecce Iterum Ctispinus!" Juvenal. Come titter at my tale of ticklish times. Come dou't ye know me ? I am the was^ -who sung in rugged rhymes The Lawyer and his chosen Saint.; Yes, I am he ; now if I ben't The Devil blow me. And I too into doggrel did Promelheus, I vote that fun may never fail ; Of sullen sulkiness I cannot see the use, If things go wrong it won't avail. Then titter at ray tale ; for ye shall hear All that I have written there. Come titter at my tale.* * Come listen to a tale of times of old ! Come, for ye know me : I am he who sung The maid of Arc : and I am he who framed Of Thalaba the wild and wonderous song. Come listen to my lay, and ye shall hear How Madoc from the shores of Britain spread The adventurous sail Come listen to my lay. Introduction to Southey's " Madoc«" ( 253 ) Wives and their wedding-shoes I sing;, Fail may the proverb never That bids us wives in due subjection bring In their wedding-shoes, Or else we lose The victory for ever. The blooming maid, I own, may scoKl That with some fiibbling monkey matches, A little month or ere those shoes are old In which slie foilow'd him, for lace and gold. Like Harlequin all patches. For not the true elastic sword Is his, wilh Cupid's magic stor'd. But 'twill her expectations bilk. And prove " a chip in milk." But he my hero was a blade A blithe young barrister, and no such prig ; Law's knotty cues (the essence of his trade) Seem'd ou his head entail'd, for it display'd A wig. ( 254 ) Logic he lov'd, and thus he logic'd love : AVomeii, I grant, liave tliat which must endear them ; But that they have a tongue — I need not prove, Argal — I fear them. For such he knew there were (I mercy cry them) Thai seem incarnate angels — 'till you try them. Deceitful thus did beauty dwell In Milton's angels — 'till they fell. Yet for myself in honest truth I'll add. As I'm a sinner, I could not bear a wife unless she had Some devil in her. Not that I'm greedy for a deal. But just enough to turn the scale ; About as much as she — but stay. Here comes the heroine of my play. High on a green-baiz'd bench in court that far O'erlook'd the judge, the jury, and the bar. The maid exalted sat, by cushions rais'd. That ladies e'er should there res'ort, Sc^ueez'd in a steamy crowded court, I'm quite amaz'd ! ( 255 ) Are they with pleading, fraud, ciira:con: and scandal. And all the long stiff points that lawyers handle. So higlily pleas'd? Nay, I declare, (Though I'm aware They'll wish my pate a hearty banging) Far more resort To the other court. As though they lov'd to hear of hanging. It must be so : or have I reason'd bad ? No matter. ^ly heroine was there, neat, trimly clad ; She set the barristers a boggling. They could not read their briefs for ogling. And ev'n the Old-one squinted at her. If I a metaphor must give her, I'll call her Cupid's favourite quiver. And now just comes into my head A simile I've somewhere read ; From head to foot her form divine Was like — -just like — a porcupine ! Because her shape from all its parts Possess'd the gow'r of shooting darts. ( 256 ) Of course, 1 wot. Our Lawyer's caui^iit. And got into her trap he has ; For, as he gazM with silent sighs, Cupid's bum-hailiffs issued from her eyes. And serv'd him with a capias, {They're body-writs, and those who send 'ein Want it ad satisfaciendum ) Oh for the godk old Homer got "When scenes or actors wanted shifting! For in my plot Occurs a knot "Worthy a god to give .a lift in. Lift me the lady out of courtj «. Come, do be civil ; Jump at the jobb, ye gods, and thank me for't ; Or I'll invoke the Devil. •'TIS done. Th' infernal spells prevail ; Court, crowd, counselj disappear ; All, but the lovers of my tale. Are gone the lord knows where. ( 257 ) / Now speed, my Muse, in roving rhyme. Break thro' the unities of Place and Time; And for their mutual satisfaction. Proceed we now to try the Action, For be it known, between them both It stands thus stipulated. That she, the wife, tho' something lotli. Yields to this point her lover stated j That all her whims shall but be borne 'Till fairly out her shoes are worn In which the wedding's consummated. And that, to have her Will the longer. She might procure those shoes the stronger ; Nay more, she ev'n so far prevail'd That, if she chose — they might be naiPd. But when the wedding morn appear'd. The timid lover almost fear'd • To look upon her feet ; For, pondering on approaching fate. He'd dream'd of cloven ones of late. And thought to see two wooden logs Weil fitted in the form of clogs. Firm stilch'd and naii'd comnlete. ( 258 ) When peep'tl her slender foot half-hid, Eiislipper'd neat iu thin new kid. The wondering youth was overjoy'd ; Took courage and puU'd up his breeches ; Odd's flesh! there's comfort yet (he cried) This flimsy leather Can't last for ever. Though tough, and tight the stitches. Now the next morning early. As the young bride Lay by his side bhe thus bespoke him fairly : My love, explain Wliat lawyers mean By consummation of a wedding!* Doubtless (he cri«d) My dearest bride. The bedding^. Why then (said she) my Will I've won, For shoes of living skin I've on ; And, if my dearest thinks I've fail'd, I'll prove my wedding-shoes are — NAIl'd ! OR, THE BIRTH OF BREIDDEN; Being a Pindario Grin for the Convivials of Breidden-hill, 1811. BY THEIR POET-FERNEAT. Friends, Britons, Breiddenites, lend me your ears, I come to lay the Devil, not to praise liira ; Tlio' if you'll keep ray courage up \vith cheers, ril raise him. For I've a 'whim To make a bit of fua of him. We need not fear his arts or arms. Encircled as we are— — with charms. ( 260 ) Tho', by the bye, he wo'nt appear la Shropshire or Montgomeryshire ; So well they wish him For the old grudge he meant them here. They'll send him home with a flea in his ear. They'll dish him. 'Tis an old granny's story — 'tis a queer one; Come, pass the cup. For now I'm up I'll tell it — for you perhaps may like to hear one. Thus I, your Ferneat, may shew You've not misplac'd the wreath my head that graces. For fern is natural — quite at home, you know. In barren places. When the Devil in old times got a jobb of wofk In his owii proper person he'd pursue it ; And not, I trow. As he does now. In other folks's persons lurk And make than do it. But even now he's quickly known Whether in Lawyer's or in Parson's gown ( 261 ) He dares to shew hira ; Look to his deeds. And spite of his silken or his sable weeds You'll know him. But to iny story. — It befel Once on an embassy from Hell, He sought thro' stout Montgomery and honest Salop, Some caitiff heart wherein to hide him; But there he found his curs'd design was all up. They couldn't abide him. Quoth he then, niutt'ring, since no friend I've found, 'Twixt both these counties I'll the Severn pound By dropping a huge mountain in that river ; So will the one be dried, the other drown'd ; If I dou't do it — damn my liver ! Now in those days (as Poets tell) There was in Hell A hill np which with many a groau A fellow heav'd a huge round stone. Which, when he'd got it almost to the top, ^ Would obstinately trundle down (Before he could say Jack Robinson.) And, bouncing, plump aguitist another stone Won. ( 262 ) And so his work was never done, "Which to the Devil was rare inn; And 'cause the chap had longing seen Some damsePs downy-dimpled chin, Thus did Old Nick his longings cross; For well 'tis known To roll a stone Is not to gather moss. The Devil in haste Around his waist An apron-string of tape run, Pick'd up this hill and stone at a souse. As easily as crack a louse. And clapp'd them in his apron. Then came he waddling on his way. And puffingly he bore him; Like a fat Alderman on a lord-mayor's day. That straddling struts After his guts. For fear they should break loose and get there before him. ( 263 ) Now whether we're like Old Nick or he like us I'll not make a fuss. Odious comparisons I mustn't haul here; Tho' in some things it does me strike. That we and he are like to like. As he said when he kiss'd the collier. But certain 'tis, the more we hurry us When on the Devil's bus'ness bent, 'Twill often wake us frustrate our intent, 'Twill flurry us. So did it him : — for when he came Within a stone's-throw of the stream. Grunting and writhing, A rough edge of this nigged rock Nick'd the tape apron- string, which broke. And down dropp'd Breidden ! He, cursing, left it where it fell. And in a huff shot hack to hell ! But first the rolling stone he swung, ' And farther tow'rd the Severn flung j Where to this day it still is shewn. And stili is call'd — The Kissing Stone. ( 264 ) Now ever since, when the Devil lend* His apron to his friends To do some dirty jobb in. He bids them thus beware the worst, " Beware th' old nick that Breiddcn burst, " Beicare th' old nick i' th' bobbin, " Lest you, unapron' d, feel like me the shame of " A scurvy trick." And hence, no doubt, the Detil got the name of Old Nick. Now if in your way the Devil sends His friends ; In whatsoever robes array'd. As aforesaid. Look to their deeds, I sa\, you can't mistake 'era; And if folks will tie up vile things. Under their apron-strings. Oh ! may the Old Nick break 'em. ( 265 ) Hut ere Life's cup of care we fill Let us distil Good thoughts from evil ; With Mirth's essential spirit let's anoint Life's creaking- joint And when old Time our apron-string unties. Mount may we, like old Breidden, to the skies. And, like old Breidden, disappoint the Devil. *• OLD NICK" is nothing more than the popular story of the peasantry around the BRtiDDEN mountains, carelessly thrown into measure tor the entertainment of the convivial party of Ladies and Gentlemen, who fin eommenioration of nothing more than their former meetings of mirth and amusement) spend a summer's day there, under the conduct of an annual President, Recorder, and Poet-Ferneat ; which latter office the Author had the honour of holding in 1811, being their 22ud anniversary. See '•Beauties op England AND Wales," VoL 13- P- 289. SArofihire. A a PROLOGUE FOR A Writlen aid sent to London at the requeit of some juvenile actors there. Enter Manager. Ladies and Gentlemen, Let me read you a letter, that patly now pops here In the place of a prologue.— 'Tis dated from Sluopshire. Dear Jack, I have spurr'd ray dull Muse to make one try To tell how we actors get praise in the country. Where our audience ne'er yawn at the squallings of Naldi, Never weep at your Kerable, nor grin at Grimaldi. ( 267 ) But they fix on a farce (for too just are our fears Since they sleep at our hamlets they'd snore at our Lears.) Our bedquilt is hung on whose patchwork so gay Trees, trophies, and temples, at once we display ; Our parts are rehearsed, and our playbills indited ; Aud all good-natur'd friends (but none else) are invitedi To whom, while our actors are putting their dress on. Little Miss thumbs and elbows her only Hook's lesson; While each actor by turns thro' a slit in the quilt His well-rad(JIed nose pushes up to the hilt; Or peeps willi importance behind the proscenium; ( — That's a name that we give to two pots of geranium) But hark ! — 'twas the sheep-bell ! — a sure signal that is That summons to fame our pcrsonce dramatis. See I— the coverlet moves ! — like the forest of Birnara! (Curse the pullies and cords — how they creak as we tura 'em) — The wit it then wags, and the fun it goes featly And 'twixt prompter and actor 'tis done most com- pletely. Then how from our audience can plaudits be scarce. When our acting- is all — (what they fix'don) — a farce? €pi(ofiue "For the Theatricals at Prado, the seat of the Honourable Thomas Kenyon. (In the character of a Barrister.) May it please ye, ray lords, and you jury of ladies. Ye well know neither speaking nor acting our trade is ^ But in hopes to amuse our poor efforts we strain. We blacken our whiskers and spangle our train ; And your ridicule risk while we strive to resemble The voice of a Siddous, and strut of a Kemble But "the deed is now done," all our faults are committed And your verdict we wait to be quash'd or acquitted. Tho' with brief in my hand here their counsel you see ^Tis their fault if 1 fail — for they've giv^i me no fee. Yet to shew the warm wish of my clients' intention. One case that's in point from my brief will I mention. ( 269 ) You all may remember the Midsummer sports — (The Case is reported in Shakspeare's Reports) Of Suout, Quince, and Snug — bright Athenian fellows; Poor Starveling the stitch-louse, and a mender of bellows; How their play was prefer'd, and their parts how they got 'em. All conducted i)i style under manager Bottom. Poor Pyramus, plum'd with a turkey-cock's feather. And Thisbc, sweet maid, in an apron of leather. And her majesty's tinker, stout, clever, and tall, Daub'd over with mortar — " presented a wall." That king Theseus was wise, we hardly may doubt him. For he took care to have honest players about him. In perfection he look'd not for such to succeed. But kindly accepted — the will for the deed. If at Athens, for wisdom and justice renown'd. And in goodness of heart kind indulgence is found. Sure we (tho' of acting we shew but the shadow. May with confidence look for indulgence at Prado. Yet another word more. — Should we meet your denial. We'll move to amend, and obtain a new trial ; Then, M'hate'er the decree, we shall feel salisf.iclioa If the friends of a Kenyon &\idi\l judge of our action. TO MRS. REYNOLDS, OF LAMBETH, with a (ioose- As I oft have been told By the poets of old Of the swans at their death singing once, I ask'd of my Muse A few rhymes for ray goose. For she knew that " my geese were all swans,* But 0(1 learning to whom My poor rhymes were to come She told me your happier Muse Would declare with shrewd wit That m>j note was scarce fit To accompany that of my goose. ( 271 ) But. i' faith (replied I) . My poor efforts Til try, Aii'l if tliey should fail to amuse. Give my paper the fire That my verses require. And they'll shiue — when they're siugeiug the gooKe. Old historians describe How this cackling tribe One night sav'd a city from plunder; But more laurels shall shine Over this goose of mine That one day saves a lady from hunger. " Mother Goose" and her eggs. And Grimaldi's loose legs Suit a cockney's theatrical rage; But such jokes who'd not quit To partake of your wit. And my goose — stuft'd with onions and sage ? ( 272 ) Was my goose but a speaker (As good iiit'rest might make her) To your social table when carried She'd exclaim — " 'tis now clear " Why my master comes here, " — 'Tis to learn to live happy when married. " May each unmarried pair " See how happy ye are, " Admire the sweet lesson, and learn it ; " For without it 'tis plain " Life's a straw without grain, *' The veriest gander would spurn it. " Then O long may ye live " Tiie example to give, ** And its influence widely diffuse ; *' And may all who despise " Be refor'd for advice ** To the last dying speech of a goose.' THE BUftLESQUE TRANSLATION Of the frst Ode of Horace. *' Maecenas, atavis edite regibus." &c. Some yculhs (ye Presideuts and Wardens) That reign in college courts, and gardens) Delight in dashing gigs to raise Oxonian dust in summer days. And with hot wheels to hurry home I'th 'nick of time for tolling Tom; To gain your grace and commendation. And save their blockheads from translation. This youth, for rows to honour rais'd. Is by the noisy gownsmen prais'd ; ( 274 ) Nor can tlie present, past, or future, Oblige him to attend his tutor; Contented if he only gains An imposition for his pains. Another (to he reckon'd great) Squanders health, money, and estate ; Nor can the Muses or Apollo Persuade him good advice to follow. The student in some college moping On Rhetoric., or Logic chopping. Whose brains a syllogism teases. And idle life of plearsure praises. And in "plain terms" begins to curse all Particulars and Universal ; But soon he finds his fallacy. And takes his Aldrich up with joy. Here Euclid's poring sophist wrangles To prove that squares are not triangles; And draws great learning from his pate To shew that crooked is not straight; And proves by argument (d'ye see) 'Tis clear as mud that A's not B. Or stuffs with algebra his head From a h c \.o X y z. ( 273 ) Another, whom no problems puzzle. The purple poison loves to guzzle i And, happy with his drunken rabble. Reclines at ease beneath the table. Others in streets with clubs rejoice. Regardless, of the proctor's voice; And heed them not, but ev'n deride 'era When they exclaim " siste per Jidem.^* This loves his teasing duns to bully. And break their heads with Locke or Tully, And that all gentler joys despises To steer a girl upon the Isis. While 'tis another's summiim boniim To cheat the manciple and Hownam.* Be mine the curly wig of state That decks the lawyer's empty pate; In ragged, gown to thump and stare 'Mid bums and bullies at the bar. teach me, Lyttlcton and Coke, To bother from the bench of oak. But graft me 'mid the twelve a member, I'll lift me to the " starred-chamber;" Then shall my name be known afar — From Charing Cross to Temple Bar! _ • The late butler of Christ Church, Oxford. MpStU and ecffO, A DIALOGUE. " Potesne mihi dicere verum, Echo? £kasmu8. Sweet Echo, if tlioul't to my plaint reply. And counsel me, to learn of thee I'll try ? I'll try. First tell me how to pay my court to thee That thy replies and counsel may be free? Be free. Then tell me of my faults, but not too loud Lest of thy privilege I think thee proud. I think thee proud. ( 277 ) And what do'st thou expect that dar'st adveiitu^p Thus bold to brand thy votaries with censure ? Censure. What makes me proud ? come, Echo, spare me neve'r, I see, pert nymph, you fancy yourself clever. You fancy yourself clever. Why people tell me so, I know not why, Good-natur'd fsouls, — tlien should 1 think they lie ? I think, they lie. What do they think me then, come tell me cool. To see me feed on flattery from a fooP A fool. Then what is he that says my verse has fire. And swears that mine's a simple and sweet lyre- A simple and sweet liar. Then what are all the hopes I entertain To pierce at last the rich poetic vein ? Vain B b ( 278 ) Then in the lyre no longer Til delight. Nor court the Muse, nor jingling verses write. - Right. What think'st thou of my promise to apply And make the Bar my firm and fond ally ? A lie. In fair Westfelton's groves, of me admir'd. How shall I feel to live alone, retir'd.f* Tir'd. Why then to music, books, and friends I'll fly. And for a wife I'll wed Philosophy. O fie! What then, sly nymph, thou fair would'st have me marry Like heedless boys, all rash and momentary ? Tarry. Am I then such a simple fool, whose heart Listens to babbling gossips like thou art ? Thou art. ( 279 ) What should I think each flaunting- girl whose pride all Breaks out in dress, whom foplets call an idol ? An eye-doll. Can they be good, whose pride and wealth immense Stalks o'er the simple fields of innocence ? In no sense. How shall 1 give their minds a spark of freedom ? Tho' bards like angels wrote, they'd never read *em Never heed *em. Oh ! shall I ever on this side the grave. Find a good wife, as I've seen others have ? Others have. And finding such, I then should mar the matter. How should I know her mind <' I'm no Lavater. Have at her. But how, if she in Love's coy smiles enmask her. Will she be led in Hymen's ray to bask, her? Ask her. ( 280 ) But wo'nt a woman's word, tho' firm she boast it. Deceive the truest youth ? Ah ! nyraph, thou know'st it. Thou know'st it. But if she swear it, and the ring he shews her. And all seems fix'd, is he then sure he knows her ? No, Sir. Some few I've seen so sweet, that, (on my conscience,) For their dear sakes 1 can think ill of none since. ^ Nonsense ! Of woman more I'd learn, but not fatigue thee Sweet nymph, with questions, for I fear they'l plague tliee. They'll plague thc«. When can I best my own opinion shew Apply as thou do'st, nymph, when spoken to ? When spoken to, ^Vhat, do I then (to sense and manners lost) Babble the stuff of others, as thou do'st ? Thou do'«t. ( 281 ) Thou'It tell me then, pert nymph, hy the same rule. For very talking's sake I talk to a fool. I talk to a fool. Nay, Echo, nay, give me a fair reply. For, gentle nymph, in a mistake yon lie. Yo'i lie. Uncourteous maid ! affronting a young man To court your smiles and favours who began. Who began ? Baggage, I know thy prattling sex too well; Fool me no more ; I'm tir'd, so fare thee well. I'm tir'd, so far«s thee -wtll. FAREWELL TO THE Must. I fear me. Muse, that fond and young My heart inebriate misgave me. When first I sipp'd thy winning song. And lovM thy looks, that do deceive mej Had I but reach'd a riper age. And Reason to her main-mast bound me, I then, like him the wandering Sage, Hadstopp'd nay ears ere thou had'st found m«^ Thou Svren. ( 284 ) la fair Westfeltoii's srroves of rest Thou cam'st with halcyon draughts of others. And, as their nectar fir'd my breast, Sorc'ress ! thou bad'st me think them brothers} Bright evergreens, that lustering shine. Their brows embower'd and honour'd made them; While thou poor wild-flow'rs thrust on mine. Nor told of frost that soon would fade them. Thou Syren. Yet has thy little lyre the pow'r. Though deem'd by defter bards a bad one. For me to gild a gloomy hour. And wake a warmth to gi-eet a glad one Then should I lay thy lyre aside. And, Muse, a parting farewell wish thee. Though launch'd on Lucre's yellow tide, I marvel not but I should miss thee. Thou Syren. ( 285 ) But ah ! thou laughter-loving jade. On many a rhyme-smit youth thou leerest, Whom, by thy smile to song betray'd. Soon 'mid the witless world thou jeerest Say, Muse, am I not one of those? — For oft (our lot, alack, how common!) Thy favour, wheedling to expose, " Can smile and smile*' — just like a woman. Thou Syren Yet where' s the youth that ever felt But one look of a lady's favour. Though in her smile delusion dwelt. Could bid his bosom turn and leave her? Therefore the Sire of Song design'd (Tn extacy his fancy swimming) His race recoverless to bind. And made the Muses all of women. The Syrens! ( 286 ) Then since I'm fetter'd to my fate, (Thy apron-string " nine times around'* me ! ) And thou, my Muse, at early date. With wreath of short-liv'd flow'rs ha'st crown'd me. Of Truth the lessons let me learn. By thee and all thy favourites aided. And if 1 teach but one^ 'twill earn A better crown wheu thine is faded. Thou Syren, 9[tit>itiottal ^oems. H«0<^«rfMWiifiS ^btiressi ■Spoken to the Literary Friends asscmhled at West- felton, on Shakspeare's Birth-Day, 1814. iFormed from \M ^^^^^* Kind friends, sweet friends, peace be unto tliis meeting-, Joy and fair time, healtli, and good wishes ever. Now, worthy friends, the cause why we are met. Is in celebration of the day that gave Our matchless Shakspeare birth : and took him to That undiscover'd country, from whose bourne No traveller returns. He was in sooth The most replenished sweet work of Nature, Which from the prime creation e!er she fram'd ; And trained up within her own sweet court ; Where, being but young, he framed to the harp Full many an English ditty lovely well. Do not smile at me that I boast him off. For ye shall find he will outstrip all praise, C c C '290 ) And make it halt behind him : — 'twere as well To gild refined gold, to paint the lilly. To throw a perfume on the violet. To smoollie the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous face of heaven to garnish. Oh! he's above all praise: it were all one That I should love a bright particular star. And think to wed it, he is so above me : In his bright radiance, and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. Yet was he gentle : for who were below him He us'd as creatures of another place. And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks. Making them proud of his humility. O thou divinest Nature ! how thyself thou blazon'st In this thy princely boy ! he was as gentle As zephyrs blowing below the violet Not wagging its sweet head : and yet as rough. His noble blood enchaf'd, as th' rudest wind That by the top doth take the mountain pines And make them stoop to Ih' vale. 'Tis wonderful, That an invisible instinct should frame him ( 291 ) To poetry, unlearu'd; honour, untaught j Civility, not seen in other ; knowledge. That wildly grew in him, yet yielded crops As though it had heen sown : for he could find Tongues in the trees, books in the running brooks. Sermons in stones, and good in every thing ; Holding as 'twere the mirror up to NAure, Shewing Virtue her own feature. Scorn her image. The very age and body of the time Its form and pressure : — Hear but his Mirth, Perforce you'd laugh, sans intermission. An hour by the dial ; for in his brain, (Which then's as dry as the remainder biscuit After a voyage), he hath strange places cramm'd With observation, the which he vents In mangled forms. In sooth a merrier man Witiiin the limit of becoming mirth W' e cannot spend an hour's talk withal : His eye begets occasion for his wit; For every object that the one doth catch. The other turns to a mirth-moving jest. Which his fair pen (Conceit's expositor) Delivers iu such apt and gracious words. ( 292 ) That aged ears play tnutr.t at his tales. And younger hearings are quite ravished; So sweet and voluble is his discourse. That hear him reason in Divinity, And, all-admirillg, with an inward wish You would desire he had been made a prelate. Hear him debate on Commonwealth affairs. You'd say — it had been all-in-all his study. List his discourse of War, and you shall heac A fearful battle render'd you in music* Turn him t© any part of Poesy,, The Gordian knot of it will he unloose Familiar as his garter ; that when he speaks, A still mute wonder lurketh in men's ears To steal his sweet and honied sentences. That not o'erstep the modesty of Nature, Take them and cut them out in little stars. They're thick inlaid with patines of bright gold,^ And fall on us, like gentle dews from heav'n Upon the plants beneath ; they are twice blest. They bless both him that gives, and him that take^. ( 293 ) Tho' Gentleness his soft cuforcement be. Yet he in fiction, in a dream of Passion, Can force his soul so to his whole conceit. That he can drown the very stage with tears. And cleave the general car with horrid speech. Make mad the guilty, and appal the free. Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed The very faculties of eyes and ears. He can call spirits from the vasty deep. Make church-yards yawn, and shew the sheeted ghosts Revisiting the glimpses of the moon. Making night horrible, and tales unfold That harrow up the soul, and freeze the blood To hear them squeal and gibber. — He is Fancy's- midwife. Ruling at will, by his so potent art. The elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves, That do by moonshine, green sour ringlets make. Whereof the ewe not bites ; that dew-drops seek. And hang a pearl in ev'ry cowslip's ear, "While aweet the moonlight sleeps upon the bank And tips with silver all the fruit-tree top*. ( 294 ) He's of Imagination all.corapaet. For aye his eye, in a fine phrenzy rolling, Doth glance from heav'n to earth, from earth to heav'n, And as Imagination bodies forth The forms of tilings unknown, his ready pen Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothings A local habitation and a njarae. Oh ! what a noble piece of work was he, In faculty, in reason infinite ! Express and admirable, like an angel I A combination and a form indeed. Where every god did seem to set his seal. Heav'n has him now. — Yet let our idolal'rous fancy Still sanctify his reliques ; and this day Stand aye distinguish'd in the calendar To the last syllable of recorded time. And from his fair and unpolluted grave May violets spring. — With sweetest fairest flowers. While proud pied April, drest in all his trim. And Summer lasts, and I live here. Sweet William, We'll strew thy grave. Carnations and streaked gilli- flowers. ( 295 ) Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram. The freckled cowslip, buniet, and green clover , The marigold, that goes to bed with ' Sun, And with hiritfiRfees y..eeuiug» 5 }>aflS9aJls,,. . , ^^=f£"- That come before the'^swalloV dareC and'taXe"' The winds of March with bteanty : violets dim^ But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes. Or Cytheraea's breath :. pale primroses: That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright PJicebus in his strength. Bold oxlips, and The crown Imperial : iillies offall kinds The flower-de-lis being one. — And then we'll all Ring Fancy's knell, with concord of sweet sounds. And true-love showers. — Sweets to the sweet, farewel) For if we take him but for all in all. We ue'er shall look upon his like again. C|)e ^lUase Ctee* There was a tree grew on a green hill top. Amid a tuft of hawthorns and wild roses, A mighty fav'rite with the village swains And girls of gayment. The bright ivy clung Around its arms in tufted bushiness. And through its boughs the dangling woodbine peer'd With hora-tipt cor-onets. The healthful tree Made Summer music to the nimble gale. And briskly tum'd its fresh leaves up to meet The meri-y breeze of morn : or wav'd at ease Right graceful in the cool and languid breath Of noontide silence: or at evening soft Would sleep in still repose, with deep-bowerM arm^ Warm in the level sunbeam's mellowness. Yet have I seen it in the Wintry blast Toss its high top in triumph, and sing out The storm-song of the season : and I've trac'd { 297 ) In Autumn's misty morn, or moonlight fog. It's outline indistinct hut soft and miid; In^ dark day indeed, 'twould sometimes wear A louring^ gloom, but then it suited' sweet The features of the scene. Was never hour Merry or mournful, hut it caught a charm Accordant, tho' of multitudes unmark'dy Or mark'd with merest apathy. That tree Is now no more : and in a few short years It, and the heart that now remembers it, (As many a similar soul has been before) And which, like it, each varying' hour and year Of Life's uncertain Seasons, true to Nature, Aye caught a kindred charm, will be forgot^ And never tint the field of Memory more. INSCRIPTION FOR THE Cottage AT PORKINGTON. Cottage or Court liio liand of BlessoJncsg Alike may sraoothe, or that of Misery Roughen alike : for oh ! nor Court nor Cot Either confer, but either Self alone. Not murkier gloom November's darkest day Lays on these woods, than what some conceal'd Vice Views thro' her heavy eye, tho' fuU-flowerM Ma^y Bloom lush in loveliness : nor brighter shines The spangled crown that Royalty adorns. Than the pure gem that Pity drop& to thaw The frost of Poverty. — Goodness alone Gives lustre to the Court ; or to the Cot Content. — In each, peace-makers may abide. And where they bide^ sure the abode is- blessed. ?r INSCRIPTION FOR NORTH WALES. T/te Scene of the Hallelujah Victory, A. C. 420. Oiioe let the Muse, Ab, once at least ! record A bloodless victory. At Easter-tide Four Centuries and one Score years frora Christ Here Saint Gerraanus led the British file. Wet from his hands baptiz'd on Alyn's banks, 'Cainst legion'd Picts and Saxons. At a sign Three times the faithfttl band shout Hallelujah ! — The echoing woods, as from ten thousand tongues. Shout Hallelujah ! — Back the balSed hosts Retire precipitate, confus'd, astonish' d, Aad spa?e the woes of War. — Oh ! spare them too, Ye, mis-nam'd followers of " the Prince of Peace," That to your Christian creeds can reconcile What Earth still perpetrates, and Heav'n abbor«. Ottnet0. "1. •» VALENTINE. Now, by Saint Valentine, my hope is bold To tell thee, maid, I love thee : for thy smil6 Bids courage bud, yet bids but to beguile. As yonder crocus, peeping to unfold It's leaves of emerald and cloth of gold To February's sliort tho* shining day. Doubtful of cloudy ehill and coming cold, Titiud it opens to the sunny ray. — And must I, maid, endure with lab'ring heart Dark louring March, and April's changeful sky. Ere May mild beaming in thy heav'n-blue eye To my heart's blossoms shall it's warmth impart ? Sweet maid ! I'll meet, nor mm-mur at, my doom. If but at last thou'lt bid Love's heav'nly Summer bloomt ( 301 ) II. Lady, upon yon mountain as ye gaze. The melting snow-lock on it's side behold. Sweetly on which the Sun of April plays. Think on my heart — as pure, but not as cold ; For in that snow my heart's sad tale is told-j Melting beneath the sunbeams of thine eyes Sparkling and chaste, a little while it lies. Then all at once to long oblivion's roU'd. Yet will thy smiles be lovely as before, Tho* I must never never see them more. ' Too cruel maid ! what tho' my lowly cot Boast not the hall of state, the glittering cove ^ Aye habit there to compensate my lot The heav'n-born soul of Song, and liberal heart of Lore, I> 3 ( 302 ) III. Proud maid ! for thee Bochara's diamond sliincs. Sparkles for thee the wine in golden bowl : While round my brow the humble ivy twines. And flows the tide of large and liberal soul. Yet once admitted to thy blissful hall. Where Splendour mansions on her glittering throne. Where Beauty smiles as Music weaves her thrall. Who's he so bold thy bondage to disown ? O maid unmatch'd ! thy witching charms have strung Worth, Wisdom, Wit, to grace thy subject train : And had the Syrens erst like thee but sung, Ulysses self had own'd their captive chain : Tho' scorn'd fair Circe, and Calypso kind. Thy bowl, tho* poisou-fiU'd, had won his stubborn mind. ( 303 ) IV. TO JOHN CLAVERING WOOD, ESQ. With a Volume of my Rhymes, Congenial friend ! when o'er th' Atlantic far. In suit of Nature's charms, and classic lore. Thy fond eye feasting greets the Latian shore. This little volume near thy hosom bear. Then think on him whose Rhymes are written here, On him whose eye with thine in youthful mirth Gaz'd on the garniture of Summer fair. Whose hand has cheerful trimm'd thy Winter's hearth. Think on the rills and dingles woodbine-hung. The lush wild roses of each grassy lane ; And own not sweeter charms has Nature flung O'er vales of Sicily or Lusitane. Then on thy raem'ry these poor posies cast Tp grace the grave of many a pleasure past. ( 304 ) V. Adversity ! to teach us what we are Is thy appointed task. — We learn from thee That we are barques on an uncertain sea Sleeping o'er rugged rocka serene and fair. Sleeping short-while as Youth'^s unruffled sail Swells to the breeze of Joy on Pleasure's tides^ And skims all easy to the vernal gale. As the green halcyon o'er the surface glides. Anon, at thy rude breath the sky is dinim'd. Flutter the shrouds^ and the big billows heave. And where all azure late the halcyon skimm'd. The sea-mew screaming rides the stormy wave. Then does thy voice this wholesome lesson bear. Adversity, to teach us what we are. ( 305 ) VI. Streamlet ! methinks thy lot resembles mine. For thou art wayward, and delight* st to run Thro' dingles wild, where writhen roots entwine; The haunts that Pow'r and Pride are like to shun ; Or if by chance they cross thy playful stream They mark thee not, nor seek to know thy source. For men have never mapp'd thy modest course. Nor thought worth while to give thee ev*n a name. Yet art thou not unlov'd ; for on thy brink The primrose blossoms early, and the bird Of orange hill down thy deep glen is heard By some lone youth that pauses there to think That he o'er life's sequester'd vales, like thee, Tho' not unmournful, runs right merrily. ( 300 ) VII. How sullenly, chill March, how sullenly Dost thou depart ! tho' not long- since the while Thy looks were trick'd with many a sunny smile. That coldly now turn back with frownful eye. Sharply, tho' short, thy sudden snow-gusts fly,. And light upon the little whitethroat's wing. That on the bare twig chirps so cheerfully. The first-come feather'd guest of early Spring. Hard month ! thy reign is o'er. — It seems to me The proud pert maiden has been school'd by thee. That her cold smile on some poor stripling throws. Enticed to credit her all-faithless eye. But short her sway j and, like thee, as she goes She casts a backward look; and frowns full sullenly*. ( 307 ) vrii. Not so, sweet Aprils oh ! not so art thoir Like thj' cold sister March : for thou art shy At first : thy tender cowslip scarce knows how To raise his head, or ope his timid eye, Tho' sweetly tempted by thy fine blue sky ; ^ et sudden oft thy hasty show'rs are shed. At length, tho' modestly, he lifts his head When of thy smile assured so lovingly. Ah ! could I find, to shine on Life's lone way, A maid like thee ! sooth, I would gladly bear Her first cold looks, her half-said yea or nay. And ev'ry female change she chose to wear. Would she, sweet April, (some few poutings past) But look like thee aud smile all lovely to the last ( 308 ) IX. Ivy, I say thou art the Poet's plant. For fondly round some sapling art thou seen Checking it's early growth : but thou dost grant It's lifeless trunk a wreath for ever green. Lowly thou art, but aye thy leaves so sheen Catch the bright beams, and with the zephyrs play ; Yet thou cau'st mount the clouded cliffs, I ween. And grace the proudest tow'rs with garlands gay. Thou, too, thy blossoms wild dost kindly spread In the cold lap of Winter, scarce repaid With a slant sunbeam, while some sickly blade. Some foreign flow'r, is honour'd in thy sted, Tho' Nature has adorn'd thee nothing scant.— —Therefore, I say, thou art the Poet's plant. ( 309 ) X. Like some vast Theatre whose ample stage Presents what gifted pea or pencil find To win the rapt heart, or the eye engage. Where all seems magic to the youthful mind. Is thy domain, sweei Poesy : — thy hand Draws up the veil that curtains earthless joys. And all unloos'd the busy fancy buoys Thro' river'd vales and woods of Elfialand, Where, thron'd on flow'rs with 1 illy-sceptred hand . \ In graceful ease reclines the lovely Queen, And marks the maidens of her frolic band To sweetest notes light foot it on the green. Enchanted Theatre ! thy glittering wall's From this cold world — see, see, the curtain falls. ( 310 ) XI. Hark ! His that harp whose undulating slrings. Give music to the wind. — How sudden oft From some low shivering note serene and soft All wildly swelling loud, and shrill it rings j Then dies away, and choral dirges sings As though it hover'd on some distant shore So mild and many-ton'd : now loud it flings A whistling sweep — and now His heard no more. Hark — there again! — and faint amid the fall Of richest harmony a wayward note I dimly hear in trembling discord float. Then melt into the chord, and sink in silence all. Oft in the hour of thought. Harp of the wind, I liken thee to my own waywajd mind. ( 311 ) xn. TflT.RE is a fielfl in Feltou's woodland vaJe, MaKls call it Fairyland ; for there at eve Thet say the elves their merry morrice weave. And fliut^- faint reed-notes on the feeble gale. Beneath an oakj to listen Fancy's tate. There we recline us sometime of the day What time high June, or blitliely-yellow May Broider the slope-mead and the hedge-row veil. And, as we give to life the Poet's page. We sigh to thiuk that ne'er but 'neath his reign Existence had that peaceful airy age ; Yet soothly swear that this our pr.esent scene Mellow'd by Time in future memory Shall with those fairy scenes of Fancy vie. ( 312 ) XIII. Music, to charm or change each Passion's pow'r 'Tis thy surprizing gift. — Thy witch-harp rings, And down ev*n Grief her crown of cypress flings. Which Joy engems with many a twinkling flow'rj And, ere the motley chaplet is replac'd. Pilfers a sprig from off the gloomy bough And with such cunning coils it round his broW That soothly seem his merry flow'rs out-grac'd. Still ring thy rich notes, sprinkled wild with ease> And Joy and Grief each seem to suck them all. While in their eyes, that on each other gaze. Trembles the bright drop, tho' it fears to fall. But slow or sudden cease thy magic strain, Joy takes his blossoms back, and Grief's herself again. ( 313 ) XIV. Sure, merry May, thy reign is near allied To that of early Love. — Thy subjects play Blushing in bloom ; and prankM in frolic pride l Right freshly shines thy blithe and breezy dayi ' "- In the green shade, that scarce excludes the ray. The insect hum is up ; the brilliant fly Lights on a sunny leaf and glistens gay ; While the coy blackcap warbles wildly nigh. Quick shoots the gossamer all redd'ning bright With sunny glance : the sharp-wing'd swallows high Sail nimbly : and full many a flow'ret's eye Looks eager on thy realm with flush delight. Sure thou'rt akin to Love, sweet May. — And I Perchance could tell some other reasons why. .E c ( 314 ) Go bid the Poet, iu it's loveliest bloom, Look on the Orchard's blossoms : largely spread In white profuse, light pink, and richet red. And varying but in beauty and perfume. Then tell him of the sad untimely doom That sure awaits them. — Millions soon must shew That ev'en coy May can Winter's garb assume. And sportive shed her show'rs of mimic snow. Many the canker-worm's keen tooth shall gripe. Or choke with tangled web : and many rue The blight of insects black : but few ! Oh few Shall live to blush in Autumn ruddy npe. Go tell the Poet this.— He'll toll thee straight Of other blossoms subject tu like fate. ( 315 ) XVI. I said uuto the Muse, Muse^ we must part. And thou'lt be law'd ; for that whereas thy smile Hath stol'n my time. Quoth she, with all my heart. And so forsooth we parted for a while. Then iu the books of Law 1 took to toil. And conn'd his Comments (Oh ! rauch-miuded Sage) That lov'd the Muse, but did her luremeiits foil ; Yet peep'd her well-known eye thro' many a pag'e. And wink'd, as 'twere in scorn. — With that, in rage I sought the Justice-Hall : but there she flung Her " airy nothings/' like friend Dauncey's tongue;, Vers'd witnesses against me did engage. Swore, by the Bay botanic, that ahe could By th' Attic Act transport me when she would. { 316 ) xvn. The man tljat's poor, and prosecutes the Muse> Said I, alas ! is like to lose his cause. So I resolv'd Avith her to have a truce. Quite well aware I could not learn her laws. Tho' some assert that her's, like ours, have flaws, AVhich let her pleaders 'peach. I'm cv'n content To own her pow'r, and give my bickerings pause, A liegeman to her gambol government. For late, as saunt'ring thro' the woods I went, She met me smiling. Come, said I, let's plight Our troth again. Quoth she (with lips up-bent) We're not so near akin but what we might ! So now we lead a joyous jangling life. And kiss and quarrel — ^just like man and wife. ( 317 ) xvm. Worm of the night ! thee let the Poet view. And learn to point his ra«ntal spark aright. When on the wayside bank light sprent with dew. Thou kindlest thy green lamp of em'rald bright. Pure, self-illurain'd ; not with borrow'd light TinseI'd, like busy insects of the day ; Thou giv'st a brilliance to the silent night. That cheers the homeward traveler on his way. Poor worm ! (the pensive poet well might say) Ev'u He that lit thee on his humble sail. Hung all yon lamps that His high dome array. And feeds their fires with everlasting oil. And ev'n ray lamp, poor worm, like theirs and thine. Shines not in vain, if in His praise it shine. ( 318 ) XIX. Lord, when I look upon thy starry sky With pearls empath'd like scatter'd dust of gold, I humble me, lost in amazement high To think what he thy gifted son hath told. Far-sighted Newton ; that round each are roll'd Un-number'd worlds. And then 1 marvel sore That any eye that can Thy works behold Should in the schoolmen's tangled volumes pore. That ev'ry Age may garble o'er and o'er. Yet cannot blot from Thine the smallest part. God ! tho* I cannot comprehend their lore, 1 bless thy hallowed name with humble heart ; And hope, with them, uncumber'd of my clay, Sabbath'd in peace to see thy bright eternal day. ( 319 ) XX. My fairest thus a mystic charm did chalk. — — ^A circle that should ey^'ry miod jayest. For it. will tice the merriest fays ; and balk The spleenish hags that hauut connubial rest. The mightiest Bard without it is unblest : Sweet Music hails it as her hallowed cell ; It more than magic circle guards its guest. And pow'r imparts rude spirits to compell. 'Tis bright and blushing as the tinted shell, Tho' tenderer than the day-moth's downy wings. And smear'd with slighter touch ; yet can repell (So ye o'erstep it not) the foulest things.— — How true, my fairest fabled ! — for I hent True Delicacy was the churm she meant. ( 320 ) XXI Insects that flit in ev'riing's yellow beam Are my light musings^ that in airy maze. Thoughtless how short the warm and gilded gleam. Buoy their light hey-dance in it's mellow blaze ; Joyous to sun themselves while passing praise Of genial goodness large it's lustre flings, Tho' then, ev'n then, full many a vacant gaze Or disregards or deems them worthless things. But soon the North it's hissing storm-pipe rings. And drives a murky mist across their sky. Roughens their down, and rips their gauzy wiugs^ And bids them, reft of joy, dull reptiles die. Then flutter, while ye may, my little lines. Sweet is your setting sun, tho' short it shines» ( 321 ) XXIT. TO Mr. JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS, Author of " Safie/' and other Poems. Reynolds, no more as erst two frolic boys By Severa^s side our school-day tricks we try^ For rae now holds the love of rural joys, Thee city pomp, light Sock, and Buskin high. Yet Distance dares not bid us leave to ply The social sheet, or court our mutual Muse, For Distance cannot time-tied souls untie. Nor dim the long horizon of their views. " o .. But never let my woods their leafage lose *Till thou ha'st there adrair'd ripe August glow ; Nor shall in turn my friendly foot refuse '"■ ' • ' ."' To beat thy threshold with December's snow. So shall thou love my rural joys : and I Approve thy scenic pomp, light Sock, and Buskiu high. (' 322 ) XXIIh To R, RYLANCE ; then in Scotland. Rylance, from sweet "Wcstfelton's lone resorts To thee two bardlings now in union write. Much wishing thee Spectator of their sports. Sir Roger this, and that Will Wimble hight. Whether thou view'st Melrose in pale moonlight, Or Norham*s tow'rs in yellow ev'ning glow. Or morning glitter on Loch Katrine bright. Or pond'ring pacest Rokeby's niins low, We greet thee cordial : for right well we know Thee not forgetful of the merry glee When last warm August's ev'ning sun, as now, Spark'd our three glasses thro' the greenwood tree,/ Whence we two send, as here our wreaths we twine. This little friendly flow'r to fade in thine. C 323 ) XXIV. PvE bade the Muse a million times farewell. And parted — just as youthful lovers do : Yet still on heath, hill, forest, dale, or dell. Turn where I will she fascinates my view. She adds a bloom to ev'ry object's hue. She calls nie up the fays of footsteps light. That shake, but never shetl, the glittering' dew. All dancing on tlie hedge-webs, beaded bright. Like, as l*ve read on a blithe Winter's night Of the foor maid that nurs'd the fairy-child. And with elf-unguent dar'd anoint her sight That in a vision'd spell her eyes beguil'd. For ever doom'd to see the dapper elves Tripping where'er she turn'd " o'er tables, stools, and shelves." i ( 324 ) XXV. WRITTEN ON A FROSTED WINDOW^ With a Lady's Bodkin. The clirystal foliage of the frosted pane Enflak'd with flow'rs and silvery feathers fair, Seems tablet meet my fancies to retain. And so I scrawl this idle Sonnet there. Belike to ladies' love I might compare Blossoms of ice: or like to lover lorn Spangling his dreams in Hope's nocturnal star. For some more pow'rful sun to melt at morn. Or should some quaint conceit my lines adorn I'd say Dan Phoebus dofts the sparry crown From Winter's brow, to 'venge his Autumn shorn. — But Frost and Flow'rs affirm 'twere fitter done To pray the Hand that these frail beauties made, \n me to raise the flow'rs that neither freeze nor fade. ( 325 ) XXVI. TO WILLIAM ROSCQE, ESQ. When first at early age on Isis' shore Thy distant notes just reach'd ray raptur'd ear, How little did I dreara thy harp would here Beside thy board, on me it's music pour. Bless'd be my little lyre, though it uo more Of honour bring, than from the lustre clear That ranks thee, Roscoe, no mean poet's peer, T' have caught a ray of radiance on it's lore. Yet beams (Oh ! brighter, warmer, worthier far) Shall gild thy laurel when thy harp's unstrung.— But since I cannot their due praise impart. Be now thy meed, that certain is the star That waits thy welcome. — Mine, for lack of song. The silent solace of a grateful heart. Ff ( 326 ) XXVII. TO Mrs. MARY YATES ; On her sending me a branch of the Crabtree in which Shakspeare is said to have slept. Poets may proudly prize the laurel bough, Aud lovers foadly the fair myrtle see. But prouder, fonder far, I honour now. Lady, the wilding cyon sent by thee. Brought from the branches of that hallow'd tree That screened benighted Shakspeare iu it's shade.— — Tho' like forsooth, yq thought it meet for me, Sour, stubborn wight — a crown of crab-tree made I But I shall plant it in some grassy glade Where oft at eve I con his peerless page ; And there at rootled morning, duly paid. Shall fondly be my walk in waning age. Reminded by the Firmness of the tree, A,nd by it's Blossoms pure, of Him and Thee* ( 327 ) XXVIIl. TO Mr. b. PARKES. Right sootb the Painter's and the Poet's skill From the same source in kindred currents flows; And as the heart-springs pulse it on the will. Just so the Canvass or the Canto shows. Thus comes it, Parkes, that on the soft repose (Soft as thy tints) of Shenstone's landscape line, Lull'd in delight thy fancy loves to gloze. And thy chaste pencil with his pen combine. He was my father's friend, as thou art mine. Nor slighted he the mute admiring thouglit Awak'd in others by his Art divine. And hail'd him friend that but the feeling cauglit. If then the Muses' sons do not disdain Who feel what they perform — I'm of your trajn ( 32S ) XXIX. There are who say the Sonnet's meted maze Is all too fctter'd for the Poet's pow'rs, Compell'd to crowd his flush and airy flow'ra. Like pots of tall imperials, ill at ease. Or should some tiny thought his fancy seize, A violet on a Vase's top it tow'rs, And 'mid the mass of leaves he round it sliow'rs It's little cap and tippet scarce can raise. Others assert the Sonnet's proper praise. Like petal'd flow'rs, to each it's due degree. The kitig-cup five, the pilewort eight bright rays. The speedwell four, the greeii-tipp'd snowdrop three : So 'mid the Bard's all-petal'd sorts is seen The Sonnet — simple flow'ret of fourteen. 3Sala Water, A BALLAD J IN TWO PARTS. PART I. It was a wealthy Chief of Wales, Aad his a lone and lovely daughter ; And his castle stood in the sloping wood That skirts the side of Bala Water. And many a youth in open truth. And many a carl in cant or cunning. In vain essay'd to win the maid Alike their faith or flattery shunning. ( 330 ) But oue, a youtlifd minstrel wight. In her suit for love alone enroli'd him ; And soon he believ'd his hope atchiev'd. For so by looks alone she told him. Yet feasting in her father's hall, Tho' high in heart and social blossom. If he met her eye, a silent sigh Unheard, unheav'd, came o'er his bosom. For always on the ebb or flow. Poor lovers' hearts are faint or flushing; Like the lights that glide on a mountain's side. Or a gust o'er the glassy water brushing. But his was the heart of bold emprize. And his the head of Fancy's storing. And well could his hand the harp command To wake the witch-notes, soft or soaring. At ev'ning cool his skiff" on the pool Oft bore the Chieftain's lovely daughlo-r; While the low sunbeam flung it's long long gleam On the glittering waves of Bala Water, ( 331 ) riicn up, and spoke the minstrel youth. As light his oars he feather'd featly. While ev'ning^ smilM on the mountains mild. And the wide wide lake slept calm and sweetly. ** Lady, soon yon setting sun " My days iu distant lauds may lighten, * And far from thee when him I see, " The teardrop in mine eye will brighten ; ** Lest when I part thy changing heart " Forget the love of him that charms it ; " And like yon hill be dark and chill " As soon as sets the sun that warms it. " Say, wilt thou view yon mountains blue " With all the love we late have conn'd them, " Led by a spell I need not tell " To think on him that's far beyond them V He paus'd ; and press'd her oflfer'd hand. As eager in his arm he caught herj While the twilight glanc'd, and the lone star dauc'd Ou the dimpling calm of Bala Water. ( 332 ) Then up, and spoke the fair maiden, l>ike tlie rippling wave all soft and sparkling: While the thin mist crept where the wide lake slept. And the liigh liigh hills look'd dim and darkling. " Thongh sun or moon, or dawn or noon " Thy days in distant lands may lighten, " When each 1 see I'll Ihiiik on thee, " Tho' the teardrop in mine eye may brighten. *' Nor when we part shall my constant heart " Forget the love of him that charms it j " Tho' like yon hill it be dark and chill " For lack of thee, the sun that warms it. *' And I will view yon mountains blue " With all the love we late have connM them, '' Led by a spell I need not tell " To think on him that's far beyond them." Then up, and spoke the minstrel youth. His strokes at stated pauses taking ; While the waves of his oar as they rcach'd the shore. Were heard o'er the still still waters breaking. ( 333 ) *' La»ly, a Lord of Powysland, " I learn, intends his suit to profFef, " And high iu birth, witli all his worth, " Himself before thy feet to ofter. " And tho' to thee a stranger, he " Has wou thy wiling father's favour; •* And soon will thine with theirs combine " To blot me from thy heart for ever." He could no more ; but on his oar He lean'd ; then spoke the maiden troubling. As awhile linrow'd the smooth boat flow'd. And heard were the small small oar-drops bubbling. " I know that a Lord of Powysland " To me intends his suit to proffer, " And high in birth with all his worth " Himself before my feet to offer. " A stranger he indeed to me, " Yet tho' he win my father's favour, *' Fear not what they can do cr say, " I'll hold thee in my heart for ever. C 334 ) " My father's wealth and lauds are large, " And I'm his sole and darling daughter; ** And to live with thee is enough for me *' On the lonely side of Bala Water." The youth he plied to reach the side. Where the crisp white waves on the sands were a-breaking, .» While his light oars glanc'd, and the raooubeam danc'd Where the curl'd curl'd lines were the lakea-streaking. Then softly sigU'd the minstrel youth. As beneath the moonlight wall he brought her ; Said, " adieu, ray sweet j 'till again we meet, " 1*11 thiak OD thee and Bala Water." PART II. It was a Lord of Powysland That wish'd to wed the Chieftian*s daughter;. But not for her land he sought her hand. Nor all her wealth on Bala Water. ( 335 ) But 'twas all for the sake of her sweet body. As Fame afar he had heard record her ; From Dee's high sea to Dovey's bay She was call'd— " The Blossom of the Border." And he, tho' high in titled worth. Yet held in his heart a worth more wealthy ; And the spark of his eye spoke him merry and sly. And the bloom of his cheek spoke him young and healthy. But far away and over sea From early years he long had journey'd ; And late, to gain his sire's domain. He with the Summer's sun returned. It was all in the merry Christmas time. When up the Chief, and spoke his daughter ; AVhile the breakers white rode the rude waves' height On the rough rough tide of Bala Water. " It is thy birth-day, my darling child, " And pass'd have thrice sev'u Winters o'er thee j *' And the feast shall delight my hall to-night, " And lords and barons bend before thee. ( 336 ) " I learn that a Lord of Powysland " Will grace our feast with kind compliance : " And the' high in birth, and large in worth, *' He scfcks thy. heart in love's alliance. " And many a peer will, I ween, be here, " And many a knight to thy hand aspiring ; " But thy will shall be free, my child, for me, *' To use it at thy own desiring." Then she tenderly kii^s'd her hoary father. And a bright bright tear he shed as he felt it; Like the drop that flows on the morning rose From the white white frost as the sunbeams melt it. The Lady went up to her high chamber. And with gems and armlets fair she fraught her; While the harps rang loud, and the courtly crowd Fill'd the gay gay hall of Bala Water. And one by one she refus'd them all, Tho' smiling sweet and courteous ever; Said, " I mean no slight to lord or knight, " 15ut he's not here that wins my favour." ( 337 ) Then smilM well pleas'd her old father. On the Lord of Powyslaud he thought hira : For he knew that he there would anon appear. And with eager eye at the door he sought him. And now by the cold cold light of the moon To the long lake side went the Chieftain's daughtef". For on this birth-night was her minstrel wight Pledged to appear at Bala Water. Then up, and spoke the fair maiden. As he came o'er the windy waters tossing ; While the white spray splashM, and the breakers dashM On his light light skiff the wild waves crossing. *' Oh ! welcome thou to my father's hall, " Tho' the Lord of Powysland be in it, *' For him before and a million more, " Ask thou my heart, and thou shalt win it." Then before them all in her father's hall. He graceful bent, and ask'd her favour; And the lovely flush of her blooming blush Assur'd him of her love for ever. ( 338 ) He knelt and kist her beaded wrist. And did with ardent eyes adore her ; Tho' the potent Lord of Powysland In the bloom of youth was there before her. Then up, and spoke the minstrel wight. As a harp he caught and swept it featly. While the brow arch'd high o'er his busy busy eye, And the loud loud notes rang rich and sweetly. " O love, we'll lead a merry merry life, *' As the year runs round its charms a-changing ; " In early Spring when the sweet birds sing, " Thro' primrose paths by the green thorn ranging. " When the motled sky is in hay-time high, " On swaths of red-topp'd grass reclining, '' My roundelay shall bloom for the day, *' Like the wreatlie of field-flow'rs thou'lt be twining. " And in Autumn's prime, in the sunny sunny time, *' We'll mount the hills of blooming heather : " And our Winter's night shall be warm and bright, f' As the blithe harp rings to the whistling weathe.r. ( 339 ) « For I love the life in freedom rife, " And aye in social joys enrol! me ; " Or afar to roam, or be merry at home, " Nor lives there a lord that dares controul me. " Then ye merry merry minstrels strike the string " In praise of the noble Chieftain's daughter ; " For I am the Lord of Powysland, " And mine is the Maid of Bala Water." 'The father he srail'd on his darling child. And bending shed his blessings on her; For all this was a plot of his own, I wot. Or knight or noble ne'er had won her. And then as the Loxd of Powysland To the festive board all graceful brought her. The minstrels sung, and the liigh harps rung To the Youth and the Bride of Bala AVatcr. iHatJrifialsf* JSweet Fancy, free advance With light and lively air ; For on thy brow the fresh flowers dance. And ev'ry flow'r is, fair. Thine are the sunny hours That sweet and soon are past ; But, tiio' as fading as tliy flow'rs. They're lovely while they last. Then here delay thy foot. And here thy garlands twine. For Reason's ray ne'er ripen'd fruit So rich as flow'rs in thine. ( 341 ) r r II. A blossom' J "wreathe of rich perfume 1 for ray fairest wove ; She to her Beauty gave it's bloom. It's transcience to hej love. I sent her then a pearl to prize, V/ith ■which she soon did part ; But kept it's brilliance in her eyes. It's hardness in her heart, / / / lit. Oh ! 'twas a day of dear delight That musing I shall fondly find As back I send my longing sight A landmark on the mind ; A halcyon bay On Memory's sea Where the sky breaks bine and fine. Where the banner of Hope will nimbly play. Seen afar in the sweet sunshine. ( 342 ) tb» Nor clock nor calendar I'll seek. When thou, alluring nymph, art nigh^ For May lives charter'd in thy cheek. And Morning in thine eye. Ripe Autumn's berries red and bright Thy luscious lips may well beguile j Thy curls the clouds of soft twilight. And Summer's eve thy smile. The day and year have all combin'd Their beauties in each outer part : — But oh ! 'tis midnight in thy mindj And Winter in thy heart. ( 343 ) b> Oh ! seek ye where the mermaiJs are That braided erst their bands ? Down to the Summer sea Jepair Where yonder shapely females fair. Tread on the trackless sands. And forms ye'll find more glib and gay Than e'er were syrens of the sea. Their snowy teeth surpass the peafl Below the wave that dwells. Their lucid locks more curiotis carl» Their coral lips more flush unfurl Than e'er did vermil shells ; And oh. ! their eyes of heavenly hue, Out-azure Ocean's deepest blue. Then seek their rounds of revelries. Their pranks and pleasures high. ( 344 ) Gloze on their mermaid melodies. Their wiles and winsome witcheries. And hap ye'll heave a sigh To think on the sea-maids of yore Amid these syrens of the shore. hu ALCAIC. Virgo, veni, nam purpureis venit Pubens Aprilis floribus : et hibens Mecum tenellas (dum tenellas) Carpe rosaa violasque, "Virgo. Et sparge, Virgo, turn violas, rosas ; Et, dico dum quam blandula, dulcia ! Die,— ut venustas his odorque, Pubet amor per it etpuellis. Bountielap. ■"Tis life to j'Dung lovers in early Spring time. In the Spring time all so fair. Thro' the meadows to go where the primroses grow, A-breathing the mild mild air ; When the butterfly comes, and the great hee hums Round the sallow bush gosling-clad. And a-tweet tweet tweet, go the little birds sweet. For the heart. Oh 1 the heart it is glad. *Tis life to young lovers in high Somraer day^. In the Summer days all so fine. All lithe to be laid in the green green shade. Or bask in the broad sunshine. When the hawk sails high in the blue blue sky With light clouds thinly clad. And the merry flies brisk on the warm wall frisky For the heart, Oh ! the heart it is glad. ( 346 ) 'Tis life to young lovers in deep Winter nights. In the Winter nights all so long. When the fire shines light on the faces so bright Of the gay gay social throng ; With the feast, and the dance, and the sparkling glance Of the damsels deftly clad. When the sharp notes ring on the minstrel's string. For the heart. Oh ! the heart it is glad. ■'Tis life with young lovers in every time. And the year it runs blithely about; For the heart that is honest is happy within. And all is then happy without : Like the glad Sun still, let Earth turn as she will, Sees her face in his beams ever clad ; So the eye of Delight sees ev'ry thing bright^ For the heart, Oh ! the heart it is glad. OttgS. I. English Air. The soft-jiowing Avon. } HARMONIZED. 1. Come, Spirits of Fancy, green Naiads, and Fays, By die soft-flowing Avon sweet strains let us raise. Round tile shrine ofourShakspeare bright ivy we'll braid, And tear-strew the turf where his ashes are laid. And when the spire blushing greets morning again They'll be glittering and pure — like the drops of hispe)!. 2. See, the Gossamer-Fairy her shuttle untwines To shoot like his fancy, and gleam like his lines j And, like her unassuming, he left at the dawn His tissue to shine, when to reet he was gone. For wherever he wander'd (so playful his pow'rs !) In a dew.bedropp'd web-lace he link'd all the flow'rs. ( 348 ) 3. O IMiustrel immortal ! of Nature possess'd To lift the elated, and soothe the distress'd. Thy Harp on the heart-striugs can symphonies shed That may seraph the living, and soar with the dead Where imparadis'd poets with angels combine In full Choir of such notes as here tinkled in thiae.- Torriad y Dydd. The Break of Day. It. } WELSH AIR. 1. Though chaste the blush of morning. And sweet the breathing dew. Yet sweeter breath'd the maiden mild With cheek of diaster hue. Ah ! would I still had slumber'd In dreams of dear delight; Or oh ! that Truth would fix by day What Fancy forms by night. ( 349 ) Then had 1 still been gazing. Beyond ambition glad To sit beside her blooiping breast In lilly kerchief clad.| But since the morn denies me These dear delights to see. The day may break to all beside. But needs not break to mc. 2. Though dreaqas are hut deceiver* Whose joys do not endure, I love them bette»^tho' they're false* Than sorrows that are sure. Beside the harp methonght her. And oh ! 'twas joy to spy The spark that warm'd her heaving heaft Light up her laughing ie/6. Kiss'd by her cunning fingers How leap*d each living string ! And rich the music in mine ear Yet sweetly si&ems to ring. Hk m ( 350 ) But since the morn denies n^e These dear delights to see. The day may break to all beside. But needs not break to bie. f f r iiu SCOTTISH AIR. a. I hae lost a heart, sweet lassie, her^ And gin *tis faund by thee. Until I do reclaim it, dear. Oh ! keep it safe for me : But gin thy ain the signs approve. That mark it to be mine, ril gie thee a* for thine, lov e, I'll gie thee a' for tliine;; ^ 2. Yel, lassie, oh ! frae' me, I fear. Thy heart >ya(l soon be gaue; Then keep it for thy ain, dear. Oh ! keep it for thy ain; % ( 351 ) And sin they baith bin gi'eii to rove, I ween 'twere wiser done. To bind them baith in one, love. To bind them baith in one. tb. IRISH AIR. 1. Tho' iny lodging is on the cold ground, Annabelle, And the chilly wind sighs in the tr^e. Neither cruel nor cold is it found, Annabelle, When 1 think on thy falsehood and thee : For the youth that believes thy affection and faith. Only while yonder moon goes her round. May rely on the wind, and repose on the heath. The' his lodging be on the cold ground. 2. Ob ! my passion was tender and true, Annabelle, And my heart, tho' 'tis broken, is thine ; But as true-love thy own never knew, Annabelle, 'Tis no matter to tell thee of mine. I ( 352 ) Wily Woman ! I weep that a creature so faicr Can to Love give a basilisk wound. That has only for solace and peace to repaiv' ~ To a lodging wilhin the cold ground. 3. Was it not in the jessamine walk, Annabelle, By the bow'r on a sweet Summer morn. When the snowy slars geram'd the green stalk, Annabelle, Tliat thy faith and affection wprs sworn ? Yet the jessamine flow'r is in blow on the bow'r. And a wealthier suitor is found ; But before it is faded thy love will be o'er — And my lodging be in the cold ground. ^ Cruel €^st. Two maida^ adorn'd with different grace. With one poor bard are srait : One tries to win him with her face. The otlier wilh her wit. ( 353 ) And how can either he deny ? When he alike esteems Reflected light in Wisdom's eye. Or -warmth in Beauty's beams ! He would indeed, if but he might. Give each alternate sway. By taking one to rule the night. And one to rule the day. Yet both^ intent his heart to rule, Are both alike rejected ; Because — the fair one is a fool. The learned one — affected. For how can either be preferr'd. When he alike disdains Ev'n Sense with affectation blurr'd, And Beauty without brains ? Boofetoorms HO IV TO KILL. There is a sort of busy worm That will the fairest books deform. By gnawing lioles throughout Uieio ;. Alike through ev'ry leaf they go. Yet of it's merits nought they know. Nor care they ought about them* Their tasteless tooth will tear and faint The poet, patriot, sage, or saint. Nor sparing wit nor learning :• — Now if you'd know the reason why. The best of reasons I'll supply — 'Tis. Bread to the poor vermin.. Of pepper, snuff, or 'bacco-smoke. And Russia-calf, they make a joke» Yet why should sons of Science ' These puny, rankling reptiles dread ?— ^Tis but to let their books be read. And bid the worms defiance. MYSELF. Poor mor.odist ! How few will care my lays to list. As wandering; as my walk t •'? f?*' ?■ And free (were friend bat thfere) ttvUt, As transitory talk, • -i '^ii For I'm a solhafy oiie jsjl.y hj 'lii' Given to lounge alone. Through tangled dells. By mossy ^<•ells , Or bask at ease In sunny days Beside the mountain stone. Not that I lag with leaping heart to gi^el Companion boon, or festal gay, ''^ But that the rolling year has many a day When those that make such meetings sweet Are far away*. ( 356 ) Alone, When solace of society I've none, I converse hold with ev'ry thing I see ; Aye, ev'ry tree, and brook, and mossy stone Are friends to me. I launch that wond'rous barque, the mind, Toss'd on a tide of thought. To sail before the -wavering wind By Fancy's canvass caught; 'Till far on wide Imagination's seas Reason the rudder stays/ And home the long-lost vessel guides From azure isles, thro' stormy tides, With fairy treasures fraught; I know not why. It is not that my temper's shy. Nor that my heart is proud ; But sooth I can not hit the way To mix with minds of ev'ry day In converse of the crowd. ( 3.57 ) Ev^i at the board Oflib'ral lord With many a raansion'd guest at ease reclin'ft, 'Spite of the glittering glasses gay. My absent mind Will slip it's cable, and put ofi'to sea. The bustle of the Bar, And all it's wordy war. Reft of it's spoils, yea of it's honours reffc. For thee I left, Sweet mountain Muse, daughter of Liberty. For thee I've borne The proud world's sCorn ;' Reproach by Friendship thrown ; And ev'u the tenderest Father's frowH I've borne for thee. Not that I ask the honour of a name Among the sons of soul In the bright roll That decorates the echoing dome of Fam^. -1 but ( 36S ) Nor seek I that my song From the unthinking throng One kinged chord of approbation call.— — The breeze-awaken'd harp as well May softly sAvell Fast by the stunning 1*031 of Rhaidr's thundering fall. But give me, mountain Muse, AVhether I chuset- Perch'd on the point of Snowdou's topmost height. My keen-eyed ken to throw Around the mighty map that lies below ; Or gaze with aching eye On all the vast concavity of sky. Myself an undistinguishM mite r Or if I watch the driving storm, Sheltering within some cavern warm That opens where the Ocean raves And tumbles tossing wide it's weltering waves With ceaseless roar Lashing the shore, «• While dim-discern'd some labouring vessel heaves. And bending strains before the battering rain : ( 3-50 ) While the scream is heard Of the grey sea-bird That rides the rolling main ; — • Or whether at the hour of noon All in the sultry day of jane, Beneath the broad and mantling shade Of some green sycamore I'm laid. Upon vs^hose pendant flow'rs I see High in the boughs the dangling bee, . j i I Give me, I say, mountain Muse, Whatever scene I chance to chuse. If not like poet to impart. To gaze with poet's eye, and feel with poet's heart. But sonietimes if at eve Thou'd'st give me but to touch the lyre With something more than vulgar fire. And some light lay in venial verse to weave. Time's weary wings it would with plumes supply In lagging hours : Or should some twin-soul'd friend be nigh. Lest Time unhonour'd and too swiftly fly. Load him with flow'rs. ( 360 ) The child On whom a mother never smil'<3. Can little feel that mother's loss. So I, whose name Has never known the smile of Fame, Care not what clouds her dawn may cross , Without her feeble ray, (Like that of March's sickly day) Content unhonour'd my short round to roam. There is a steadier star will light My edge of night, Aiid sweetly guide me t© my long long ho^e. ."■; Cfje €lfitt Brttie, A FAIRY BALLAD. " Time travels in divers paces with divers persons : I'll tell you who time ambles wiLhal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal." As YOU Like it. THE ARGUMENT. Time has no existence but with motion and matter: with the Deity, " whose centre is everywhere, and circum- ference nowhere," — and with " millions of spiritual creatures"' (the emanations and ministers of Power, Wisdom, and Be- nevolence) Duration is without Time. To avoid the too- familiar introduction of such Beings into light and amusive poetry, an attempt is made to illustrate this by a Fairy Ballad. Merlin is in love with an Elfin Lady, and in lur bower, just as the sun is disappearing below the hills, re- t[uests a sight of Fairyland. The Lady takes a glass Goblet and ivory Ball, determined, that when she strikes the one li ( 362 ) and flings the other into the air, he shall pass Twenty-one years in the Land of Elves, and letuin ere the Sun has set, and before the Glass ceases to ring, or the Ball drop to the earth. This instantly takes place, and they are in Fairyland, where, while he is delighted with a fanciful dance representing the Four Seasons, he is told that Seven Years are already flown. Enraptured with happiness, he commitsi a slight intrusion, by snatching a kiss from his Lady ; this in Fairyland, where all is perfect delicacy, is punished by Seven Years exile on a barren heath, wliere he calculates Time by his skill in Astronomy ; on repentance, he is led to the bridal feast 5 where he is entertained by a botanical concert of musical instruments composed of the tubes and bells of blossoms. He now petitions that the next Seven Years pass neither rapid as the fiisf, nor wearisome as the iiist, but just as with mankind. This is granted ; and he lives Seven Years with his Lady, and has seven childien : 'till remembering his friends in Wales, he wishes to revisit them, and instantly finds himself in the bower, where the Sun had not set, — where the Ball had just fallen, — and the Goblet was still faintly ringing. The thought is taken from the beautiful Tale of the Dervisc quoted in the Spectator j and the moral intended to be enforced, is, the Equal Distribution of Happiness, and the duty of Man contentedly to fulfil, in whatever situation placed, the intention of Providence. The Ballad was composed on a bench in the beautiful grounds of Mrs. Kayman, at Gresfurd, in the summer of 1818, in consequence of some delightful conversation j and is respectfully inscribed to that Lady by the Author, ( 363 ) Young Merlin he sat with the White Lady, All in her summer bower. And the redbreast sung, and the suckle-slalk sprung As the humble-bee lit on its flower. The ev'ning was calm, and the air was balm. And the sun's upper rim was bright As it melted away o'er the mountains grey In a line of burning light. Now shew me (quoth he) the Fairyland, Since thou art a maid of their race. For I fain would sec that airy country That wots not of Time nor Place. Thou shalt visit it now (q-iolh tlie ^Vhite Lady) While this Goblet of Glass is liiigitig, Ere this ivory Ball to the earlh shall fall That uow in the air I am fliagiug. Then smartly she struck the Goblet of Glass With her nail so pink and so white; And keenly it rung, as the Ball she flung Aloof in the air upright. ( 364 ) On a sudden he seem'd in a far country. Where the light of the broad noon day Was such as is seen thro' the silken green Of the young beech leaves in May, Now arise, and have with me, thou sage Merlin, (Quoth his Elfin Lady in white) For the feast it is set, and the Fairy-guests met To welcome an earthly wight. Either stately as man, or in stature a span The good Fairy-folk may appear. But shapely and slim aye in feature and limb. With all things according clear. On two palfreys they sprang, and tiie silver bits rang. As o'er mountain and moor they rode ; They gallop'd across the soft deep moss. But it sunk not where they trode. And everywhere small shrilly and clear He heard the Fairy-folk singing 'Mid the silvery swells of pipes and bells That around him for ever were ringing. ( 365 ) The voices he heard were sweet as the bir ( 382 ) in. Codiad yr Hcdydd. The Risiiic^ of the Lark. 1. Light oft' my lowly beil, When dapple dawn is fleck'd with red. On russet wings I rise; Long ere the earliest beam Has put Aurora's pearls a-flame, I meet it in the skies. Quivering, mounting, free free sailing. Sweet sweet notes I scattering sound, Glimmering, circling, shrill peal pealing, •Mid the mottles lost and found. With chear chear chear I warble clear Around, around, around. 2. When rye begins to ear. And through the blades red poppies peer With corn-flow'rs heav'nly blue. ( 383 ) I've seen the Poet stay Beside the fragrant hawlhorri spray, And keep me keen in view. Haply, on my frolicks ji:a/iii!j;, In my life he marks his own ; Few observing, fewer praising When my little all is tlirown, Unmiss'd I stop. And sudden drop Adown, adown, adown. IV. f Llwyn Onn. 1 MELODY. -^ > WELSH. (^ The Ashen grove, j Through the tints of the rainbow, &c. (See page 10.) V. Cfjoral g)Ong of tlje JFaCries OVER THE GRAVE 0» ^Ijalispeare. MELODY r ■) ^ Thou soft-flowing Avon. > ENGLISH. HARMONIZED. (^ 3 Come, Spirits of Fancy, &c. (See page 347.) ( 384 ) VI. |)oni soit qui inal p pense. 1 Megan a gollod ei gardasl WELODY. > > WELSH. 3 Margaret that lost her Garter j 1. Lightsome and lovely the damsels were dancing. With knights, lords, and nobles in courtly attire. Setting, pursuing, receding, advancing. In measures that mock'd the sweet lays of the lyre ; All features in blossom, all floatingly blending. Their nimble feet waving on wings of delight. Or sinking, or circling, declining, or bending. Their motions seera'd music address'd to the sight. 2. Edward led Margaret, modest and sprightly, AVhen ah ! from her light limb the garter fell down. Smiling, the King caught it gallant and lightly. Thus checking his courtiers' sly looks with a frown j Who hence in brave dignities highest asccndeth. The badge of his pride be this bright silken toy j So evil to him be that evil intendelh. And joy to the bosom that's open for joy. M ELODY. ( 385 ) VII. C Ar hycl y nos. 1 J V WELSH. \ The live-long niglit, } 1. AH the live-long night reclining, 1 think on thee. While the silent moon is shining I think on thee ; Plans of pleasure fondly framing. Or in Love's Elysium dreaming, 'Till the glorious morn is gleaming, I think on thee. 2 Where the mountain-brooklet riraples I Ihink on thee. While the noon-sunn'd water dimples I think on thee ; When the vernal birds are singing. And ambrosial blossoms springing Flush their evening fragrance flinging I think on thee. LI ' { 386 ) AVhen my rural harp is swelling I think on thee. And of bliss and beauty telling 1 think on thee. When Romance her magic's throwing'. Strange and sweet adventures shewing. All my soul in gladness glowing, 1 think on thee. 4. Though with maids the dance I measure, I think on thee ; At the social board of pleasure I think on thee, Ileartsonie healths our glasses gleaming. Beauty, Wit, and Worth acclaimino". Though another's praises naraincr. I think on thee. ( 387 ) VIII. C Mercli Megan. 1 MELODY. \ > ^^£^^«- I The daughter of Megan. ) The daughter of Megan, so lovely and blooming, &c. (See page 3S.} IX. Oh ! ponder icell. 1 MELODY. -^ f ENGLISH. Babea in the Wood. ; Oh ! ponder -well, ye lovers light. Nor play with hearts too soon ; Love, like a ci.ild, will break ere night. The toys lie niu'dM at noon. He dreams not in his Elfia bow'rs "Where Bliss is newly blowu. Chill May has often wept o'er flovv'rs By thoughtless April thrown. ( 3S8 ) Then poisder well your early suit. And Autumn's cv'niug hour With riclicr bloom will flush the fruit. Than April did the flo'.v'r. X. MELODY. Peggy Baion. trisii. Why should I sigh ! &c. (See page 194.) XI. MELODY. f Glan incddu'dod micyn. "^ HARMONIZED. (^Good-liumoured and drunk. j WELSH. 1. Good-liumourM and cheery, how joyous our meeting, AVherc Wit, Worth, and Beauty the banquet controul ; Far off our horizon dull Care is retreating, And Mirth, like the morning, breaks fresh on the soul ; ( 389 ) For Beauty soft biushingr. And V/orth warmly flushing. Each eye lights with laughter, all darting delight Thro' the dew-drops that Wit scatters glitt'ring- and bright. How nimbly the notes ou the live strings are ringing. Row swells the sweet voice, even sweeter than they ! No lark o'er his love from the rose-briar springing More merrily mounts in the chorus of May. Our charms ever changing. New raptures arranging. Applauding each pleasure that troops in our train, ' Till the tide of the table flows gladsome again. 3. Good wine like a show'r, not o'er-plenteously flowing. Expands in our bosoms the seeds they contain. Gives freshness elastic, and bloom to their blowing. While the sunshine of Reason gleams thro' the brig'tit rain. ( 390 ) So may we rej^ale us. Ami joy never fail us. When Friendship's warm summer we freshen with wine. The heart in high blossom, and soul in full shine. XII. MELODY. Moggy Lauder, scotch. 1. By Fairy's aid I saw display'd My love's good Fays that blest her, Like bees that to her beauties flew. With Virtues to invest her; Discretion sped around her head With bay-leaves there to bind them. While Mirth and Taslc in eager haste With pearls and pinks entwin'd them. 2. Beside her feet the Graces sweet In airy dances ambled, Pcep'd throngli her dress witli Playfulness, As round her form Ihcy nunbled j ( 391 ) Brisk Wit upon her lashes lit. And quicken'd in her eye-beams. Like gossamer in sunny air. He shot along their sly beams. 3. 'Twas joy to trace some Good or Grace In ev'ry part throughout her; But Cupid light, that restless Sprite, Was busy all about her ; Each act or look she did or took lie held a place upon them; Aud when to her song the harp-strings rung He placed his arrows on them. 4. Around her waist with Honour chaste. And spotless Sport he Avrestled, Or iu her breast of Bliss caress'd. He with Affection nestled : But as I thought I just had caught Some evil Sprites about her, A shaft he threw that shut ray view. And swore 'twere sin to doubt her. ( 392 ) Xlil. Anhawdd ymadael. MELODY. ^ ^ WELSH. Loth to depart. )DY. < 1. Loth to depart, love. And heavy at heart, love, RIy thoughts all athwart love. Thy bower to leave; Like the pale sun declining. The sweet hills resigning ; Through water-clouds shining He weeps o'er the wave. 2. Life has no blessing Half worth the possessing Like heart to heart pressing In true love that heave ; In this halo'd glow, love, Enblossoui'd we grow, love. And thus in full blow, love, I linger to leave. ( 393 ) 3. Moments arc May-flow'rs, With thee 'mid the gay flow'rs, AVhile Love with his day-flow'rs Illumines the heart; In thine eyes dewy-beaming His parting ray's streaming. And Oh ! while 'tis gleaming I'm loth to depart. XIV. MELODY. C Erddisran Caer Waun HARMONIZED, f The Minstrelsy of Chirk Castle .} J WELSH. In Cambria's noon of story. Ere bright she set in glory. The brave and great In princely state All hail'd Chirk Castle walls: With splendid arms returning. In the flaring noon-beams burning, ( 394 ) 'Mid armour's clang The Clarions rang. And search'd the sounding halls. Rich feasts profuse the garnish'd tdbles crown'd. Where the chords of flashing fire loud flourish'd pealings flung. Gay banners wav'd the trophied walls around. And high with heartful roar the grand carousal rung. 'Till the light-finger'd minstrels in silver ton'd measure With sharp notes of nimbleness sprinkled the strings; And the neat maidens dancing,all prauksome in pleasure, Seem'd fairies that frisk'd it on zephyrine wings. While the Bards on harps, in tcr.rs of triumph wet. With feats of Liberty their deep full closes fill'd, That long, tho' Cambria's sun in glory set. Her bold and lofty tale, like mountain gleams, shall ^ gild. ( 395 ) XV. 3SrtDal Bom. MELODY. C "^ WELSH. -< Reged. >- HARMONIZED, f \ OR CUMBRIAN ? 1. Reged royal bride of splendour, Dow'r'd with honours, lands, and lea. Brings what Fortune cannot lend her. Nor can Fortune take away. Lips of love, and eyes of brightness Radiant as the rosy morn. Blooming health, and virgin lightness All her looks and steps adorn. 2. White-rob'd maidens wreath'd with roses Trip the spousal sports among ; Harps of Minstrels prank'd with posies Thrilling swell the Bridal Song : ( 396 ) He's the stem that strong and blooming Meets the sunny mountain gale ; She the flow'ret unassuming, Violet of the shady vale. , 3. Love's first twilight's dim and darkling Lit by one soft star alone ; Others after, faintly sparkling*. Break in brilliance one by one j 'Till each Grace and Virtue sprinkling'. Great and little all combine. Through the world's wide midnig'ht twinkling Sweetly-constellated shine. XVI. MELODY. Sally in our alley. ENGLISH 1. Love had a castle in the air, Young Hope with dew drops built it For infant Joys to cradle there. And Fancy's sunbeams gilt it. ( 397 ) It hung ill sunny skies serene. Delightsome, clear, and peaceful. And ivy-wreathes of chearful green It's tow'rs emborder'd graceful. 2. It's arches were of rainbow dyes. The windows glass Elysian, Enchanting lovers' peeping eyes With fairy-tinted vision ; Enrobing all in purple snow Blight Summer's hot dominions. And 'Winter's feathery frost with glow Of Love's own bloomy pinions. 3. Around it spread blue mountain lakes. With golden islands studding. Sweet birchen groves, and rosy brakes, The flow'rs for ever budding. Light mufSed rang soft Music's falls O'er chords by zephyrs breathed ; And odours air'd the breezy halls Through pillars blossom-wreathed. Mm ( 3SKS ) 4. I saw it once — that lovely fane. The sight a Sorc'ress granting ; But oh ! — dissolv'd it all to rain Her black arts disenchanting. But Love, sweet maid, has giv'n to thee The charms that form'd and fill'd it. And Oh ! might 1 thy helpmate be. We could, mayhap, rebuild it. XVII. MELODY. My lodging is on the cold ground. IRISH. Tho^ my lodging be on the cold ground, Annabelle, &c (See page 351.) XVIII. Eryri iccn. MELODY. < y WELSH. Wliite Snowdon. } 1. Ill all thy majesty of cJiarms When first I bent before thee. My heart, that ev'ry beauty warms. Did more than half adore thee ; ( 399 ) But all ! like Snowdon's summits white. Though flow'rs and sunbeams wreathe thera^ I found with all thy beauties bright A hard cold heart beneath them. 2. Thy love is like some gaudy weed In the glassy gleam's protection. That shoots in bloom with summer speed. And sudden finds perfection ; Though July's frost of gentlest gem Would crimp it's tints so tender; And July's breeze would break its stem So brittle, weak, and slender. 3. Who'd fancy lips and voice so fine Such pain had e'er imparted ? Or think those angel eyes of thine Such lurid looks had darted ? Thus sweet-briar wreathes in roses drest Teach lovers that would pall them. Ere such gay things the heart invest With cautious hand to cull them. ( 400 ) XIX. MELODY f Dilyn Scrch. ^ HARMONIZED. (^Tlie Pursuit of Love.} WELSH. 1. Love, like a butterfly in May, Through flow'rs pursues his pastimes gay, But seldom to return is known To that same flow'r he once has flown. On Beauty's various-blossom'd smile He loves to linger for a while. But Boon, though sad, he flies from there. And sobbinjj sighs — "there's nothing here." 2. If chance in Fashion's flow'rs he peep, Where Pride and Vice their venom steep. He finds the cup that's costliest crown'd Is bitterest oft at bottom found. At Pleasure's nectaries he sii)*, And deep in (iraughts delicious dips. But finds tliose fiow'rs as soon as blown Are doom'd to fade— just like his own. 4 401 ) 3. 'Till heated, tired, and half heart-broke He seeks the shade of Reason's oak. And 'twixt two flow'rs of heart's-ease lights That Nature oix one stenoi unites; Their spots alike, alike their dye». And dew-drops gem their jetty eyes ; Round each his little arms he throws. And shuts his pinions in repose. 4. Would ye this day-fly. Love, pursue. He's known by Delicacy true. His wings, when clos'd, are scarcely scann'd. But flush'd with blooms — when they expand. And -would ye take the tender elf. See ye be Gentleness itself. For ere his charms your own ye call. One luckless touch — may smear them all. ( 402 ) XX. MELODY. Maltraeth. WELSH. 1. On the smooth shore of Maltraeth I walk'd with the Maid, When the broad sun of summer hung o'er the bright waves ; Like the flow'rs of the rock in the zephyrs we p!ay'd, And amus'd the \\g,\\i echoes that laugh'd in their caves. 2. For we mortals are May-flies, bright, airy, and blest. When in Love's happy sunbeams enlustering met; And Oh ! like the sunbeams that weep in the West. They are brightest and balmest when sinking to set. 3. But the moments are few, wlien all heaving and high The full heart is feasting in transports so true ; To the ear all is music, all charms to the eye. To the soul all delight, — but llie moments are few. ( 403 ) 4. like the hours of high summf , when heilge-roses wild Bentl clustering fliisii on the blossomy spray. When bright mornings are fresh, and late ev'nings are mild. Oh ! how lovely they bloom, b-jt how soon fall away. 5. I'artwell to Ihee, Mallraeth, and Maiden, farewell. Thy bliss and thy beauties my sad spirit leaves, 'Till again the light harebell nods o'er thy green dell. And the Summer-birds skim o'er thy blue sunny waves. 6. But I'll think on thee, Maltraeth, in far distant lands. How sportive I caught up a coralline shell And wrote at her feet in the silvery sands AVhat the more we are bless'd with, the less we can tell. 7. Like the short word I wrote are its moments of bloom. Few, tender, expressive, bright, open, and gay ; And Oh ! like those letters, they're trac'd on their tomb. For the full heart has tides too, that sweep them away. ( 404 ) XXI. f Serch hudoL 1 MELODY. < > WELSH. {JVhe allurement of Love, j 1. Of Love's allurements well beware, A trifle each, but each a snare. A faultless form that blooming shows The rivals of each opening rose. A voice whose witch-notes warble small. Or melt in music's dying fall. Beware of all, for each may prove How little can allure to Love. 2. An eye that sparkles native fire. Or languishes in soft desire. A foot that rests in graceful ease. Or wings the dance's wavy maze. An arm as lily white, beset With azure veins of violet. Beware of all, for each may prore How little can allure to Love. ( 405 ) 3. A vesture wliite that bordcr'd sheen Falls like the snowilrop, freck'd with green, Nay ev'n the iniiiiic flow'rs beware That blushing braid her flowing hair. But should the iijniph to these unite A glowing soul, and sj)irit bright, Then bless the hour that bids thee prove How little can allure to love. XXII. MELODY, — " Cease your funning," — English, 1. Cease your fanning, slaves of Folly, Slight not sorrows ye never can know j Nor imagine hearts unholy E'er in soul-beams of Sympathy glow. At her altars rose-enwreathed Fresh in bright dew-drops green sweetbriar blows. Where each Virtue's vows are breathed. Wisdom worships, and high Beauty bows. ( 406 ) 2. O Thou, sacred source of feeliug, Shriii'd where sweet tears their luxuries form. Deep thy trickling streamlets stealing From bright fountains of Tenderness warm. Oh ! thrice happy, bosom-Messed Whom thy^full heart-heaving pulses controul. Of thy hallovv'd font possessed, Feels it welling, fair Saint, in the soul. liOve, the Summer of pure bosoms. Blooms the waysides of Life with his hues. Shines on Fancy's op'ning blossoms. And enkindles Despondency's dews; But to thoughtless minds of Ii2:htness Cold to sweet Sympathy's sunshine or rain. Love's delicious looks of brightness Beam unblessed, and sparkle in vaiu. ( 407 ) XXIII. C Twll yn ei hoch. 1 MELODY. ^ > WELSH (^ The dimpled cheek, j 1. Oh ! hide that dimpled cheek of thine. And, Lady, smile on me no more. For love-lorn I at Reason's shrine To live her lonely hermit swore; And if that dimpled cheek ag^ain. And that ambrosial smile I see, I may forget my vows so vain. And all the balm she ofFer'd rae. 2. And yet that dimpled cheek and smile. Lady, *tis hard to bid thee hide ; But I have snfFer'd bilter guile By Woman's perjury and pride. And if that dimpled cheek again. And that ambrosial smile I see, I may forgive the pangs of pain. And all the scorn she offer'd me. ( 408 ) 3. Then hide that dimpled cheek of thine. My wounds of woe I would not cure; Though, Lady sweet, those looks divine Seem just like her's — as angel's pure. But ne'er can dimpled cheek again, Nor all th' ambrosial smiles I see. Such hours of blooming love attain, Nor half the joys she offer'd me.— XXIV. MELODY. Fair Sally. English. 1. Young Sally was the first and fairest That flush'd with love, my op'ning breast. And when she vow'd she held me dearest 1 look'd on life as more than blest. Believing all of hearts' delight That lovers dream, or poets write. Were centred full in Sally. ( 409 ) 2. Love, yet iinschool'd, my lays adorning In rainbow rhymes her beauties drew. Her smiling eyes like May-day morning. In tears — like harebells hung with dew; Ran Eden o'er on Fancy's feet. But lit on nothing half so sweet. Nor half so fair as Sally. 3. Though ev'ry flow'r assurM me daily That what is fair, alas ! is frail ; Each Muse her year spent glad and gaily To trim for her my tender tale ; But ah ! with all our courteous care We lit on nothing half so fair, — — Nor half so false as Sally. Nu ( 410 ) XXV. MFLODY HARMONIZ f Nos Galan. 1 ED. (^ New-yeai's Eve. J VVF.LiiH. 1. Ncw-yefir's festal Eve high hearted Sprigg'd with berried hollies briglit. Decks the shrine of days departed Clos'd on many a lov'd delight. Quaff the flow'rs of Life while glowing. Rarely blooms their highest hue< Tears nor tempt the buds to blowing, Nor v/hen blown can tears renew. 2. Over hearts in cold graves sleeping. Hearts elate with love no more. Many a maid has fresh been weeping Since New-year's Eve was hail'd before; As o'er ours that leaping listen Mirtii and iMusic's raptur'd strain. Daisies in the dew may glisten Ere New-year's Eve return again. ( 411 ) 3. Joys departed pure and tender Long illume the darkling' breast. Like the days that set in splendour Flush awhile the fading West; And^ as clouds at morning o'er us Brighten in the breaking skies, Hope, from joys that lie before us. Feels a radiance ere they rise. 4. Sweep the full harp, swell it brightly. Fresh as gales on sunny sea. While on high hopes bounding lightly Glad we launch the New-year gay : And, as cluster'd stars to steer us Mount on each moon's brilliant train. So may social pleasures cheer us •'Till New-year's Eve return again. ( 412 ) XXVI. Birge FOR Tin: FUNFUAL OF THF. pi'i'ncess Cljarlotte of t^lales, lOth of November, 1817. MELODY C Mii-ynen Gwynedd ) ) > -WELSH. HARMONIZED. (The swcet Melody of North Wales.) 1. Toll, Britain, toll Thy knell the deepest. Peace to thy soul. Fair Saitit, that sleepest. Veil thy valour-hlazon'd throne. Where olive rich with laurel shone. It's glory's now with willows strown. United Nations spread them. Cambria's triple plume of snow That danc'd in Joy's elastic flow, "With heavy tear-drops glimmers low. United Nations shed them. — ( 413 ) 2. O'er Albion's bier Mourn, while ye show'r it. Her roses there. Both, flow'r and flow'ret. Thistle, bend thy blossoms red. Thy pearly dew-drops. Shamrock, shed. And, neighbour Lily, bow thy head. With long, long farewell greet her ; Drooping wail her obsequies. Then iip^ and h»il her to the skies. And hope another bud may rise, — — But never hope a sweeter. 3. Oh! England's rose. Oh ! Hopes presuming. Both thee and those Now we^re entombing. Mind of Freedom, Heart of Worth, To glow at Altar, Helm, or Hearth, With all that promisM Peace on Earth, To thee was largely given. ( 414 ) When on high in happier day We lift the laudatory lay, Or blessings on thy People pray, We'll think on thee in Heaven I MELODY. ^ Morva RhuiJdlan. WELSB. Rhuddlan Marsli. 1. Weep for the Brave that in panoply shrouded Fell champions of Freedom on Ilhuddlan's red plain. Where now all is sad, in wide heavy gloom clouded. And Elwy sighs deep to the murmuring main. Tho' firm as a mountain in battle we bore us. And clung to our banners that bioom'd in the gales,^ The dark gathered cloud of the Saxons broke o'er us. And swept from our sides the brave blossoms of Wales. 2. Weep for to-day, but rely on the morrow. The Good have a charm in tiieir midniglil of woe. If Hope only breathe on the embers of Sorrow They brighten to kindle her torch at the glow. ( 415 ) Tho' Pride and Oppression in transient ascendence May dazzle and burn in their flary career, More bright is thy failure and fall. Independence, Moreiioiy and pure is the gleam of tliy tear. MELODY. r HARMONIZED, (^ Rhyfelgyrch Cudpcn Morgan \ WELSH. Captain Morgan's March, 1. A health to the Brave in fields afar Sweet Fieedom's foes assailing j And high the Choral burden bear. Their names with honours hailing. AViiat meed awaits the fallen Brave ? — A Nation's tears to iSevi them ; And Bards the "blooming flow'rs to weave. And Virgin hands to strew them. 2. But what their meed to whom retura In 'J'riumph's car is granted ? — — Beside their comrades' laurel'd urn To see the olive planted. ( 416 ) To Iieai' the Good, Ihe Free, the Fair Rich notes of rapture pealing. That high the Choral burden bear Their names with honours hailing. — ... c ilZED. (^ MELODY. The Cornish May Song. HARMON 1 1. Come, let us all a-Maying go To tlie Meadows green and brightsome Where primroses and gold-cups blow. And the sweet birds pipe so lightsome : To hail the morn of all adinir'd With games and garlands gay O; The Men as various months attir'd. But the maidens all as the May 0. 2. Thoughts chequer Life as months the year. With blights or blossoms teeming ; Some cold and chill, some dark aad drear. And some with gladness gleaming. ( 417 ) Sweet Hope is April blooming cold, High Joy is July gay O; October's Frieudsbip ripe and old. But Love^ Oh Love, is the May O. 3. Coy nymphs all neat from face to feet On atn'rous tiptoe dancing In trappings new from hat to shoe. With rattling ribbands glancing. Tall cowslip stalks leap with their locks, "While Nature, all in array O, From earth to sky sings loud and high To the choral song of the May O. MELODY. C Robin Adair, "i scotch. ALTERNATE DUEiT. f AiUen Arooti, 3 IRISH. 1. ROBIN. Cold is thy scorn to me. Lady so fair, Hope is forlorn to me. Vain is my pray'r: ( 419 ) I-ady, thy lip bestows Roses on others' woes. But sharp the thorn it shows Robin Adair. 2. LADY. Tell not thy woe to me. Vain is thy pray'r; Thy lot's too low for me, Robin Adair ! Nobles of high degree Proud are to sigh for mc ; Go, nor come nigh to me, Robin Adair. 3. ROBIN. Kings may pay court to thee. Lady so fair ; Lords may resort to thee. Speed may their pray'r^ C 419 ) Gold bring- the lords and kings. Titles and tawdry thintfs* Heart's Jove is all that brings Robin Adair. 4, LADV How can I dwell with thee From courts afar ? Thy rural cell with thee How c{in I share? "Where on the Vjllage green Splendour is aever seen ? Sad is thy, |uit, I ween, Robin Adair. 5. ROBIN. Go, let it blaze for thee. Poor is the glare}' Sweet be the gaze to thee, ,^x„.. Passing' as air ; ( 420 ) But wheu on Splendour's throne. Ask where true Love is flown ? —Oh ! — then thouMt think upon Robin Adair. MELODY SLOW >Y. C ") FINE OLD ^ The Dusty Miller. V (. 3 ENGLISH. 1. Woman's love ! away Thou vain and vaunting passion ; I disown thy sway Thou slave of fools and Fashion. Though indeed I own Wert thou in Truth victorious^ Suns of the mid-zone Were not more bright or glorious, 2. True Love's like the bird Belov'd in Persian bowers. Who, the rose prefer'd. Rejects all other flowers. ( 421 ). But thou ! Butterfly O'er ev'ry rich weed ranging. Soon art doom'd to die, Chili'd with ever changing.— 3. Smiling as thou art I bitterly upbraid thee. And lament the heart That honest vows e'er paid thee. Though thou hast a ray. Delightful, dear, delicious, 'Tis of April's day — — Short, cunning, and capricious. 4. Bat in Friendship's train I bow "with pilgrims plenty ; Where thou hast but twain. Oh ! He can honour twenty, Thou'rt a clouded sun Coop'd in a coy pavilion ; When thy fire is done Old Friendship ligiits a million, Oo ( 422 ) C Marwnad Tehjn Hod. ^ imitation of avllsh MELODY. ■< > I The Lay of Hoel's Harp. ) by the author. 1. Cold and lone looks the moon ou lliy walls, Dinas Tiiaii, And nioiuiifully murmurs the liark-rolling Dee ; But the lamp of my life is more lonely and wan. And sorrow high-swelling, fiows daiker to me; Yet bright was ray joy in the spring of my love, And rich were the blossoms in Hope's early gluw; But Myvanwy is cold, and poor Hoel must prove On his harp and his heaven, the ^V inter of ^^ oe. 2. O Myvanwy divine, thou art Britain's bright sl;ir, Tho' malignant to llocl,thoa merciless maid ; Yet it soothes me to think I thy radiance may s!i;ue V.'licu iii yonder lone Abbt-y my sorrows are laid. For to gtm the bright raptures of beauties unborn Brotlicr Bards in their garlands my tears will enshrine ; And while Dee shall the Vale of Llangollen adorn Will liie name of Myvanwy be mingled will; iiiino. WF.LODY. ( 423 ) Havod. 1 niiTATioN The Summer Seal. S of welsh. 1. Um\ to ihee. Summer! Nym|)li blootnliig and fair, Swallows in gossamers lacM to tlsy car. Flora thy pulii sprinkles flauntiiig awd sweet. Tall flowers bend to eiigarlaiid thy fi.et ; ' Thy gauzy green veil, and dark locks lily-drest But for thy flight on thy white neck would rest Birds of all beauties their melodies sound, While Fairies and Dryads bend swee|ting around. Ilastf to Usy Temp!?, Nvrnph, lorirly and !^J1!!, Teejiiiig liiro' sloj)e woods tliaf. maiiiie U'.o iiiii, Vailies btiow it swcej) ricli lo {lie view. Prosjicc-ts arctiiul it sjuead dishiut and blue. There crowns thy fair uliar, (Oli ! long mny it h.sl) Sprinkled with sprigs the cool rustic repast; Fancy and Music illume the lii^ht hours. And Souls, like thy season, fliiig oji^n their flow'rs. ( 424 ) 3. Bloom, lovely Summer, we bless thy sojourn. Late may'st thou liiijrer, and early return ; Fragrance arid Freshness await all thy flow'rs. Sunshine and Rainbow attend all thy show'rs. May thy delicate mornings shine breezy and brighf. Clouds o'er thy blue noon sail fleecy and white, Steep'd in soft sunbeams each evening close. And crimson-gold curtains hang round thy repose. BIELODY C Bodlondcb. 1 IMITATION (^ Contentment. J of welsh. 1. On the walls of old Conway still ev'ning was glinting. And the tide's silver surge a soft murmuring kept. While the edgings of Autumn the slope-wood were tinting. And the brown sunny mountains in mellowness slept ; There I mark'd the sweet villa, my heart huif-declining Where the jessamine linger'd with late roses blent. Where the scarkl-leav'd creepers neat-lrolac'd were twining', And they cali'd it Bodlondeb— the Cot of Content. ( 425 ) Bloom, lovely Codloiulf b, and m;iY thy possessor. In her beauties as soft and as soothing as thine, Bloora onto Life's Anliimn, while bleisding to bless her The blossoms of feature and Fancy combine. Tis enough for the Minstiel, if lia;)Iy dejected , In Elysian remembrance thy tints to retain, When his cot of Contentment in air is crecteJ, With thy rdies to wreathe it — that bloom in his brain. FOR A MIDSUMMER WEDDING. Come haste totheWedding, 'tis Hymen's bright holiday. Midsummer hedges with blossoms are gay. Our maids are all pranksome, and friends keep a jolly day. Nature herself is in bridal array . The sweet birds are singing. The merry bells ringing. And breezy leaves dance o'er each green sunny knoll. Life's joys frolic around us. And Heaven approving illumines the whole. ( 426 ) 2. May Jove to this pair be as June is to Nature, Their life, like this day, be delightful and long. Brisk Health in her beauties adorning each feature. And Taste wreathing blossoms of Music and Song : Their merry thoughts glancing. Like sunny leaves dancing, AVhile Love's silent ecslacies breathe on the soni. Life's joys frolic around them. And Heaven approving illumine the whole. FOU TWO LADIES LEAVING WESTFELTON^ And requesting a Song in Remembrance. 1. Pray think not of me in proud circles of Fashion, If lur'd by the liyht voice of Folly to qo Where looks without lustre, and hearts without passion. Are paler and colder than moonshine on snow. Nor think yet of rae where the brawls of Devotion With Vanity's gawds fill the Temples of Dearth, Where the lip and the leer with the mock of emotion Blend fancies of Heaven with frailties of Earth. ( 427 ) 2. But think ye of me where the silence of Nature Breathes Truth, Love, and Beauty ye cannot controui When the rapture of Reason is felt in each feature. And the sunshine of Glory expands on the soul. Or, if haply too high be the task I'm requiring. Seek pleasures domestic, friends, music, and glee ; And, rich in Romance, the Bard's magic admiring. In the frolicks of Fancy, — then think ye of me- ipmn. Sl. Matthew's tune, harmonized. 1. In ev'ry place, at ev'ry liour. Though poor our worship be. In weal or woe, in shine or show'r, O liord, we worship Thee. We worship Thee in Fear by night. And thoughts of Death employ ; But soon as gleams the glorious light We worship Thee in Joy. 2. In Wonder, Lord, we worship Thee As on Thy works we gaze. So various, lovely, vast, they be. We pause — in mute amaze. ( 429 ) We worship Thee in Hope \\l»en low Each cUiily toil we prove; And when rich fields in fulness flow Wo worship Thee in Love. 3. When thunders roll, and whirlwinds fly, We worship Thee in Awe, And praise, as clears the beauteous sky. Thy Mercy, Pow'r, and Law. Thus ev'ry hour, in ev'ry place, Though poor our worship be, Li Feau, Love, Wonder, Joy, and Praise, O Lord, we worship Thee. Tune by the Auihor. 1. What have I done ? lliat ev'ii to mc Thy gladd'niiig gleams are shown I For all Thy boundless bounties free, O Lord, what have 1 done ? 2. Have I in Works, or Worlds ere thi« Rever'd Thy Laws divine ? Oh no ! — in me no merit is, Unsought the gifts are thine. 3. Yet I in Worlds and Works to conic May still Thy glories view ; For mercies here, and o'er the tomb, O Lord, what can I do ? ( 431 ) 4. With social heart, and rnptur'd eye, My feelilc thanks I'll frame, Deli5i;hteJ live ; ai)il as I die Adore thy iiallowed name. )pmn. FOR THE LADIES' CLUB, OB, FEMALE FRIENDLY SOCIETY, OSWESTRY, 1817. MELODY. TkeSuffoUi Tune, or Evening Hymn, harmonized. 1. Oh ! bright and blessed be the Bands That link in Love our sister hands ; True servants we of Him in Heav'n To mark the " New Commandment" giv'a. 2. Bo't ours the Olive-branch to sirow, And f|ucll the tares of Want and woe; Affliclion's brows with Palm to twine. And round the Cottage coil the Vine. ( 433 ) 3. Our feet shall smoothe the slope of Age, Our hands the pangs of Pain assuage. And ev'n this life shall bloom with hours Of blessed fruits, and balmy flow'rs. 4. So angel sisters from above Shall hail us to their home of Love, When Death our fading Band untwines. And Heav'n's eternal Sabbath shines, Pp prologue To a Play at the Shrewsbury Theatre, acted bj' a company of tie Inhabitants, for the Benefit of the Industrious Poon, in the hard Winter, March 1817, Spoken by the Author in tht Character of Pkospero. Abjuu'd tny Art, and spoil'd of every Spell, I powerless Prospero leave my lowiycell. But, as the poor-man's pilot I appear, Mct'ninks I have no need of Magic here; Ye are my potent EWes, my Arts, my Anns, My Circle this, of more than magic charms : Your Alms my Philtres, Charity my Wand, My Book, — the Sorrows of a suffering Land. Yet Music comes my sinkingf soul to cheer; Strains like my Ariel's magic notes are here.* * Tlie Gkntlemen of Shrewsbury Choral Society in the Orchtstrc. ( 435 ) Thus by your power call'd up in every heart. Around I see celestial spirits siart ; Spirits that shall disperse the gloom of Care — Allay the rising Tempest of Despair — Convert by alms and education kind Each foul rebellious monsler of the mind — Bid Culture crown the board, and heap the hearth — Bid social Love turn Malice all to Mirth — The swelling waves of Sin and Sorrow check — And save the good Ship In dustuy from wreck. Thus shall my Spirits, summouM by your smile. Renew their blessed in this bounteous isle. Then fly to register your Acts elsewhere, Wing'd on the pinions of each Fanner's pray'r. — Ye proud Salopians ! proud in beauties grac'd. By Talent honour'd, and admirM of Taste ; Proud in your princely mart's distinguish'd claim To civic Oak, — and Bays of Academe ;t t Slight as was this CompHinent in the presence of the Rev. Dr. Butler, under whom the Author had the honour of being educated, it was felt and rapturously applauded by the full and brilliant audience. ( 436 ) Deem not this balmy boon tht smallest gem, That studs your many-wreathed diadem. So the fair flood that laves your lovely bow'rs. And lingers fondly round your s[)iry towers. With graceful grandeur sparkling as it flows, Bears wealth and blessings wheresoe'er it goes. The Poor shall praise ye — 'tis for them I bow — Not for my Actors : — You are the Actors now ; For what am I, and all these mimic elves. But poor imperfect shadows of your Selves ? And, when our Stage this curtain shall unveil. Not to your Sense, but to your Selves appeal. Nor fear by us your kind applause disgrac'd. Not to our merit, but our Motive, plac'dl X The amount received, £ 113 H*. Gd. was the next morn- iag paid into the Bank for the benefit of the Poor. epilogue. For the Benefit of Two Actresses who assisted in the Play for the Industrious Poor. — Shrewsbury, Dec. 1817. When Hydra Poverty with chilly stints, Darkeu'd our Land on demon-pointed wings. And strove awhile to eaitli her loathsome lair Amid these Severn. circled walls so fair, 'Twas here Ye crowding met last Winter's ni;,'l'.t. All — all, in virtues warm, and vestures hright, Call'd by your youthful Heralds to this stage For the sad Poor a noble war to wage. Scar'd by your power, and at your presence aw'd, (Not by our Arts, or Prospero's rhymes and rod) The lanky Fiend her vampire-pennons spread. Slung up her slacken'd length, and yelling fled j While poor-men shouting pealed their blessings true And poor-raeu's hearts by thousands prayed for you. That brilliant night, by you so brilliant made. We sister Thespians lent our little aid. ( 438 ) And wear to-night tlie wreathes your Heralds wore. Asking your alms again, to aid — t lie poor ! You, — Actors young", — if in these groups ye are. We thank not for your plaudits : — well aware That night while on these curtain'd boards ye dwelt The one, the warm desire to please ye felt. Will prompt you now instinctive praise to give To us, that by those very efforts live. Fated around the rolling year to feel Trembling, each fearful turn of" Fortune's Wheel" But Ye, that never trode such walks as these, JSor fell that sole solicitude to please. If by your hands kind platidits are decreed. We hold such plaudits charity indeed. Come, my fair Colleague, meet these generous ranks. And mix with mine all courteous cordial thanks, Assur'd that humble hope, and zeal sincere. May always find a fit tribunal here. prologue. to a Play for (he Benefit c»f a Public Library: spoken in thf character of Lord Duberly, foimerly Old Daniel Dowlas the Grocer.— Osv.estry Theatre, 1822. Though here I struts a lord so great anil gay, I was iKit tallow-chandler t'other day ; I've riches, dress, good dinners, rank and station. But what are all these without headdication ? If I dines out, and says hut aye or no. Sir, As sure as figs is figs — out peeps the Grocer. I sees as clear as isinglass or varnish Wealth without larnin — is but tawdry tarnish : Poor men, of Manners, Sense, and Wit all handy, Are to Society- — bright Sugar-candy ; While ev'n in Senate, Bar, Church, Tabernacle, Brass without Brains, — is Brimstone without Treacle. I to the Playhouse goes, to see their vainery. And (tho' enraptur'd with their fine new Scenery^ I knows not what their wit or v/eeping takes there. Nor what they means by Sheridan or Shakspeare. ( 440 ) We've got no Books, — and this our show's all brib'ry To ax good-natur'd folks to fill our Librey. We gives books to the poor — and all approves them ? Then why not by example shew we loves them ? Knowledge, in this World's counting-house's mass. Is tjood store candle, mould, or brilliant gas To keep our day-book faithful ; which, when furl'd, AVill post us fitter for a future world. i^lonuis turneD jHinstrel; OR, APOLLO'S PROPHECY. In the Album at Pen y Bryn, Vale of Llangollen, the residence of Mr. Turner : 21 June, 1815. In old ages of yore When the gods in a corps III the frolics of mortals did busy 'em. With their hearts all akin They sought Pen y Bryn, And founded on earth an Elysium, On a bank of the Dee Sat Apollo in glee. While Cambria with native fiow'rs crownM him, And the Muses they sung, And the Graces they flung Their liglil feet in airy dance round hini. ( 442 ) With chaste wit, mirth, and jest The bauqiict was blest. It was cum dignitatibus otia ; And the free converse flow'd O'er the table's rich load Of sweet nectar briijht, and ambrosia. "When warm with the wine The Harper divine Took a Harp, and in allegro strumming it To a fife new ballad (Like Garrick's mixM sallad) Prophetic he thus fell a-humming it. " When my chaiiot first peeps " Over yon ridjjy steeps, " And raddles Aurora's gay portals, " We feasters shall fly " To our homes in the skr, " And mingle no longer with mortals. *• 'Till this spot shall be grae'd " With a man of my taste, (443 ) " That in Reason's riuht festal shall rule ye ; " Ami the Muses and Graces '* Mix their fancies and faces " In a Nymph that shall then be call'd Julia. " And then for their age " Will this place be a stage " Where the gods of each Virtue shall chuse 'em " To da-capo this feast " Each in form of a guest " Conceal'd in each head and each bosom. " Then our songs and glees clear " Shall again echo here " In the strains of a Handel and Calcolt ; " And our frolics, I trow, " Be as pranksorae as now, " lu that bastard of Pindar, John Waicott. "Even Momus shall there " Like a Minstrel appear, " With his nonsense and fun that offends not^ " To record this prediction, " And feel 'tis no fiction, "Tho' his pen to express it pretends not." ( 444 ) Then with heavenly din They all bless'd Pen y Bryn, While Apollo kept playing a symphony. And made Momus recorder Here on the Welsh Border, Tho' the gods and the Graces thought him funny, So they all took their flight When the day-star shone bright. O'er the high ridgy rocks of Vale Crucis;* Nor have they forgot To revisit this spot. Or in it the Devil and deuce is. For the god of that lay Ye'll find at this day Emortal'd in Friendship and Turner ; And the Nymph that he chuses To match all the Muses, Wilh the tenth of an eye ye'll discern her. And I Momus, I ween. In the revels am seen ( 445 ) And I felt like a Bard, tho' not look'd it When her AHjiim I took By coiniwand of her look. And thus, like a boggier, have hook'd it. Mom us. Ql OF SHREWSBURY, On her gohig out as Governess. Go, iiiciid, thy pleasing powers impart 'Mid social scenes^ and friends relinM, To flush the flowing springs of heart. And aid the opening folds of mind. Impart the pages strong and bright Tljat clear Historic Sages shewj Tiie suns, and rolling orbs of liglit That gleam with truth and Newton's glow. Each opening bud with beauty fraught That smiles on niountain^ field, or mead, Exjiiorc ■\villi fondest feeling, taught By Nature, and the Noble Swede. /iiid Oh! display sweet Fancy's lore That tasle-illumin'd Poets sing : "What forms \he pencil's mimic store; Or pants upon the living String. ( 447 ) Nor yet the lesser lights disdain Each humbler Art or Science find To form the constellated train That gem with joys our night of mmd. Let ev'ry step Instruction prints Some little lasting thread receive That Truth entNvines and Fancy tints The web of Manners mild to weave. And all those cleaving claims of heart That to a parent's fondness fall. Those duteous debts, O ! large impart. For, Harriet,— thou hast felt them all. But ever mark amid the whole One star and flower that ne'er deceive,- — It pilots home the wandering Soul, Nor dreads the Winter of the (Jrave. r-^ 'onitet To JOHN CLAVERING WOOD, Esq. And didst thou think on me in Belgic lands? Where smil'd to hire thy all-delighted mind The charms of change, and choicer friend combin'd ; And thou did'st think on me! — Time's knotted bands (Not snare of flow'rs) that link our hearts and hands Tighten by length. — Content I slightly twin'd (In dear Westfelton's sunny groves reclin'd) Some weeds I cull'don Cambria's craggy strands; When as I traced our steps of former days Through her lone vales, all up to Snowdoa's skies ; Where erst with thee, all rich in thy good praise, I wingM my thoughts on her bright Melodies Now richer in the praise Ihy heart has penn'd That crowns me still. Worth honour'd Wood, thy Friend. •ottnet To THOMAS BEAVICK. Xylograph ER I name thee, Bewick, taught By tliy wood-Art, that from rock, fiood, and tree Home to our hearths, all lively, light, and free In suited scene, each living thing- has brought. As life elastic, animate with thought. Well hast thou Fabled too, would man but see Each masqued lure. And Oh ! what cordial glee To con thy fancies shrewd, and sharply wrought ! Age-honour'd friend, of open heart and mind. Like Nature's fields, all bounteous, broad and bright With Freedom, Love, Sublimity, and Slirth ; Thy praise in thy own page fair Truth has shrin'd Gladsome, for each declares, in lines of light. How Heav'n's high Choral-songs preach lo dull ears of Earth, Newcastle-upoa-Tynr, Northumberland, 3d Oct, 1823, 'onnet. On leaving Gresford. Gresfoui), lliy woods, and vales of gentle swell, Biiiliaiit with vernal dew and daisies gay. And bright stream glittering in the morning ray. Thy sunny church that cheerful crowns the dell; Fine luscious hyacinths, of brittle bell Fragraut ; and lilac's heavy-blossom'd spray. Laburnum golden-tress'd, and flow'rs of May, And all thy beauties now 1 bid farewell. Musicians, limners, ladies, men of vcrsti. Who feed on fancy, music, herbs, and mutton. Will frolic as before; and what the worse Makes my satl rhymes this doleful visage put on. The merry Mistress Hayuiaii and Tom Pierce "When Dovaston is gone — won't care a I.Mittou. Angler's COMIC SONG.* Tune.— Ally Croaker. 1. Oilus' iU\\\ as I'm an Angler true, i'li shewj to suit my wishes. One luilf the world are anglers too. And t'other half are fishes: For some in craft asid haits, ye'll find. Are trollers to a tittle ; And sooth 'tis said of all mankind The bitj live on t:ie little. TTol lol de vol, &c. * This, and the ThiTe followijig-, are fiom Two unpublished Diamalic Poems, ( 452 ) The girls, like artificial flies III feathers, silk, and dubbing-, "VVitliout a bait make lovers rise V» hen e'er tliey go a chubbing : But they, like us, are often out. Yet take it more in dudgeon ; For oft, when tickling for a trout. They get a bite of gudgeon. Tol lol de rol, &c. 3. The statesmen mostly ply for plaice. And warily they watch them j Or deep or shallow be the case They care not so they catch them. With grease the priest allures the soles. And, should he fail to hook them. He ships them off to hell in shoals. And bids the Devil cook them. Tol lol dc rol, &c. ( 453 ) 4. The lawyer loves the fish of gold. And close when caught he clips him. But like an eel, is hard to hold. And through all fingers slips him. The playful Poet, fish of fun. Though brightest beauties dye him, "Will after flow'rs and feathers run That can no food supply him. Tol iol de rol, &c. Nor man nor maid is there so sly But, if ye care to catch them, Ye'U surely find some gilded fly. Or maggot, just to match them. Like Anglers, down Life's bubbled brook Our flimsy reel we spin itj But, Fish-like, seldom see the hook Each Folly has within it. Tol loi de rol, kc. TIJE O'er foggy fens we Goblins glide. And flit around the moor-fieHdite- taper Alluring wilder'd wights aside. Led by the dim and lambent vapour Through tufted rushes, segs, and reeds. Through ponds of slimy water-weeds. And when they get Their cockers wet. Ho ! ho ! we crv. And away we hie Laughing aloud right lustily. We too the heavy Nightmare stride. On the sick-man's bosom sitting' With frightful eyes, and visage wide. When first his slumbers soft are knitting; He seems on joyous journey gone. Yet labouring gets no footstep on. ( 455 ) Then toppling starls As sleep departs. Ho ! ho ! we cry. And ^ay v/e hie Laughing aloud right lustily. In war our wicked crew careers Round Death's pale horse on arrows flying Quaff matrons' cries, and virgins' tears, Mangle the dead, and mock the dying. At kings, and their poor fools we laugh. Whose lives are scatter'd cheap as chafT; And when the roar Of havoc's o'er Kg 1 ho ! we cry. And away we hie Laughing aloud right lustily. THE We Fairy folks deliglit in sport. And pass the Summer's night iu spoitj In many a ring. We dance and sing. And sometimes even fight in sport. The zephyr bends the broom for us. And wafts the night perfume for us, And the moonlight plays On the golden sprays That bow'r the banquet room for us. Unshed the pearly dew we cross, Unmar'd the blossoms' hue we cross. And a feather shook. On the breezy brook Will carry all our crew across. ( 457 ) Her light the glow-worm flings to us. The gnat her shrill horn rings to us. And the spider's wire From briar 16 briar When we bestride it, swings to us. We ever are inclin'd to good. And watch with eager mind the good. Nor is aught displayed In all that's made Wherein we cannot find a good. Would mortals be possess'd like us Of pleasure, peace, and rest like us. Oh ! let them be Guiltless as we. And then they will be bless'd like us. Rr THE #ooti Mm's Smht Lovely :F8ySi Suspend your coronals of fading flowers. And strin<,^s of leafy wreaths from "free to trfe'^ ; Arsd when the mist bf morning &VeiiU rlWay" Before the glimmering silnbeamfe, tti'ey shall all Be chang'd to filmy threads, long, hoar, and heavy. Beaded with tiny tears. Short while I leave ^^e. Having some pleasing- duty yet to do Where I shall ask your aid ; and then consign ye Back to your blossom-bells, Hill farther need. But ere ye follow me, sing by this Well Each after each commingling, some sweet Dirge As we are wont, ev'n in our happiness. To dew as 'twere the day-flow'rs of delight. Let it fall, melting in the lesser chords Lingering in tenderness ; yet withal brilliant At times, with inlelleclual melody. Bright on the greater tones j each heightening each Like April sun-show'rs. — How hallowed is the Good Man's Gi-ave ? — While Earth and Heav'a iiis garlands weave. Of' ev'dry tender tie caressed. With every finer feeling bless'd. Wedlock weeps with bandage broke. Like ivy on the sever'd oak ; And filial IManhood mourns aside. His tear from softer souls to hide. Cherub Childhood's glimmering eye Is wet, though half-unconscious why. And Beauty's cheek of augel hue. Like April pinks impearl'd with dew. Not for the dead, but worldly woe These tears of silent sorrow flow; For sleep the Good on sweeter bed Than Sylph or Summer erer spread, ( 460 ) Kesignation tolls his knell. Truth and Hope his vespers swell, While Friendship fondly strews his tomb, And Seraph'd Kindred choir him home. With every finer feeling btess'd Of every tender tie caress'd. While Earth and Heaven his garlands weave, — Thus hallowed is the Good Man's Grave ! Contents* HegenOaf? Sallatis. PACE Fitz-Gwariiie; in Three Cantos, I The Grey Baron ; ill Two Parts, 101 Pen-vr-Voel, 109 Kynaston's Cave, 118 LlunckLlys 127 Bala Water ; in Two Parts, 129 The Elfia Bride, 3G1 Sfncitiental poems. Ode for Shakspeare's Birth-day, 143 Dirge, for the same occasion, 151 Address, on Shakspeare's Birth-day, 289 Scottish Epistle, to Thomas Spring-, 154 On the Death of A. R. Gilchrist, 159 The Ring J to a young Lady, , ,,..^. 163 CONTENTS. PAGE The Broach ; to the same, 1(35 Pastoral Epistle, 107 The Bee; paraphrased from theGreek of Theocritus 173 The Barometer; or, fair and changeable, 175 To Thomas Yates ; with a Shakspeare, 178 My Boxen Bower ; a Roundelay, ,.... 181 The Blackcap, I53 To Thomas Yates; remonstrtitive Epistle, 1S5 Melancholic, , 1S9 Inscription for Mr. Parkes's Cell, Shrewsbury, ... 190 Shentone's Yew, „ 191 The Missletoe, , lyQ Monody ; Oswestry School, 198 Monody ; Myself, 35.5 Oa the night of my Birth-day, 3Gth Dec. 1802, 207 The Village Tree, 296 Inscription for the Collage in Porkingtoti grounds, 298 Inscription for Maes-Garmon : Hallelujah Yiclory, 299 To Miss Parkes, as Governess, 446 " O Nancy, wilt thou gang- wi' me." Latin, ... 210 Responsio ; per amicum. Latiii, 212 Somniuin amantis, Latin, ,.,, 214 CONTENTS. PACE Inscription for an Urn to Linnaeus. Latin, 216 Inscription under a purple Beech. Latin, .....* 217 Farewell to the Muse, 283 bonnets* (Li the order they were composed.) Valentine, 300 The Snow-lock, 301 Proud Maid ! for thee. Sec. . . . , 302 To John Clavering Wood, Esq 303 Adversity, 304 To a Streamlet in the grounds of Marsh-Hall, . . 305 March, 306 April, (previous Sonnet continued) 307 To the Ivy, 308 Poesy, 309 The ^olian Harp, 310 The meadow, called Fairyland, near Weatfelton 311 Music, 3j^ Way, 313 The Orchard in blossom, 314 CONTENTS. PAGE Quarrel with the Muse, 315 Reconciliation, (previous Sonnet continued) . . 316 The Glow-worm, 317 The Deity, (previous Sonnet continued) 318- True Delicacy, 319 On my own Poems, 320 To Mr. John Hamilton Reynolds, 321 To R. Rylance ; then in Scotland, 322 Another farewell to the Muse, 323 Written on a frosted window, , 324 To William Roscoe, Esq 325 To Mrs. Mary Yates, (Shakspeare's Crab-tree,) 326 To Mr. D. Parkes, Shrewsbury, 327 Another to John Clavering Wood, Esq 448 To Thomas Bewick, 449 On leaving Gresford 450 Concluding Sonnet on the Sonnet, 328 33ritisi) jHeUsDies, antJ ctljcr Boms. Address to the Welsh Harp 376 Ode to Harmony, 21 The Break of Day, 348 CONTENTS. PAGE The Skylark, 3S2 Through the tints of the Raiubow, 10 The Soft-flowing Avon, 347 Margaret that lost her garter, 384 The live-long night ; (I think on thee) 385 The Daughter of Megau, 33 Oh! ponder well, ye lovers light, 387 "Why should I sigh ? 194 Good-humour'd and cheery, -• 388 By Fairy's aid I saw displayed, 390 Loth to depart, _^. ". 392 The Minstrelsy of Chirk Castle, 393 Reged, a Bridal Song, 39t> Love had a Castle in the air, 396 Though my lodging be on the cold ground, . . 351 In all thy majesty of Charms, 398 The Pursuit of Love, 400 Maltraeth, 402 The Allurement of Love, 404 Cease your funning, 405 The dimpled cheek, 407 YoungSally, 408 CONTENTS. PAGE New-year's Eve, 410 The Princess Charlotte's Dirge, 412 Morva RhuddlaH, 414 A health to the Brave, 415 The Cornish May.song, 416 Pinkey house, 193 I hae lost a heart, sweet lassie, 194 Robiu Adair, 417 Woman's love ! away, (Dusty Miller) 420 The Lay of Hoel's Harp, (Myfanwy) :. . 422 The Song of Summer, (Havod) 423 Bodlondeb, 424 Come, haste to the Wedding, 425 Pray think not of tne, , 426 Angler's comic song, 451 The Goblins' Glee, 454 The Fairy Glee, 456 The Good Man's Grave, Dirge, 458 In every place, at ev'ry hour, (Universal Hymn) 428 What have I done ? (Contentment Hymn) .... 430 Hymn for Ladies' Club, 432 CONTENTS. * PAGE Sweet Fancy, free advance, .^. . .7.. . . . 340 A blossom' (1 wreathe, 341 Oh! 'twas a day of dear delight, 341 Nor clock nor calendar I'll seek, 342 The Sirens of the Shore, 343 Alcaic, (Latin) , 344 Roundelay ; 'Tis life to young lovers, 345 Cljeatricals. Epilogue for Theatricals at Prado, .......... 268 Prologue for a Farce, London, 266 Prologue, Shrewsbury, Lidustrious Poor, 434 Actresses' Epilogue, Shrewsbury, 437 Prologue, for benefit of Oswestry Library, 439 ©umofcu0 ipoems. The Lawyer seeking a Saint, 221 Prometheus, done into doggrel, «... 237 The Wedding-shoes, 052 CONTENTS. PAGE Old Nick, (Breiddeu) , 259 To Mrs. Reynolds, with a Goose, 270 Durlesqne paraphrase of 1st Ode of Horace, . . 273 Myself and Echo ; a Dialogue, 276 A Cruel Case, 352 Momus turned Minstrel ; or, Apollo's Prophecy, 441 Bookworms, how to kill, 354 W. Morris, Prinfer, Shrewthvry. THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY This book is DUE on the last date stamped below B 1 'l95;i m JUN 1 x^ ^E^. ^W Form L-ft 2(ini-l, '41(1122) 1986 ^;7 000 364 641 ^ PR 4615 D44A14 1825 illii 3 1158 01113 33 '."^