THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 m
 
 >c
 
 LINDSEY, 
 
 RURAL POEM 
 
 IN 
 
 TWO PARTS 
 
 \ N D 
 
 SIX CANTOS
 
 LINDSEY 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 THEODORE SHURT, M.A., Clerk. 
 
 Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, 
 and makes familiar objects to le as if they were not familiar. 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 Leamington : 
 H. WIPPELL, Victoria Terrace. 
 
 London : 
 SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & Co. 
 
 MDCCCLXXY.
 
 
 TO 
 
 THE EARL OF YARMOUTH, M . P 
 
 FOR 
 
 South Warwickshire, 
 (the scene of the poem,) 
 
 In gratitude for his own and his Father s beneficence among the 
 Agricultural Classes of this County. 
 
 THE FOLLOWING PASTORAL 
 
 (With his Lordship's kind permission) , 
 
 IS HUMBLY AND RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 
 
 862180
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 -4Q&- 
 
 LINDSEY— 
 
 PAG 
 
 Preface ...... 
 
 
 Introduction to Part I. 
 
 3 
 
 Canto I. ..... 
 
 ii 
 
 „ II 
 
 . 27 
 
 „ HI 
 
 . . 46 
 
 Introduction to Part II. . 
 
 
 Canto IV 
 
 • 7i 
 
 „ V 
 
 . 103 
 
 „ VI 
 
 • r 37 
 
 The Resurrection .... 
 
 . 171 
 
 To My Deceased God-daughter 
 
 . . 185 
 
 Thoughts ox the Sea-shore 
 
 . 189 
 
 Vivisection ...... 
 
 • t93 
 
 Glossary ...... 
 
 • 203 
 
 Errata ....... 
 
 . 205
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 To publish verses is become a sort of evidence that a man wants 
 sense. — Sydney Smith. 
 
 In the following pages, an attempt is made to treat the 
 subject somewhat in a poetical way, and yet with regard to 
 common sense. It may justly be doubted if the taste of the 
 present age be not unhealthy, not to say depraved. The best 
 poems in the English language were written many years ago 
 by poets who, not only with genius, but with judgment, 
 adorned their subjects with the finest figures of imagination, 
 but, true to nature, kept clear of absurdities. In more 
 recent times, one party have found satisfaction in rubbing up 
 again the old, worn-out themes of heathen mythology — 
 wasting much precious time and talent over the land where 
 "beauteous error trod." Another party, treading on for- 
 bidden ground, have been fond of dwelling upon subjects 
 upon which, for the wisest reasons, nothing has been revealed 
 to them or others. In speaking of heaven and spirits, they 
 have rashly introduced a quantity of materialism and worldly 
 furniture, and thus travelled into contradictions without any 
 useful object. The tendency, of course, has been to en- 
 courage a craving after forbidden knowledge, and a desire for 
 what is fanciful and absurd. It is to be regretted that even 
 some professing to be under strong religious impressions, 
 have been led astray to treat upon such sacred subjects as if 
 a special revelation had been made to them, and not known
 
 11 
 
 to the world at large. Even the great Milton, in his magni- 
 ficent work, " Paradise Lost," when touching upon such 
 subjects, becomes absurd. Sometimes his angels bleed, at 
 other times they rise superior to the influences of space and 
 matter. His failure might have been a warning to these 
 ardent spirits to avoid such awkward themes. Celebrated 
 heroes, giants, knights of the age of chivalry, imaginary 
 kings, and other wonderful personages have had their day. 
 Poems upon such subjects may be interesting, and to a 
 certain extent instructive, but such themes have been almost 
 worn threadbare. Even the " Tale of Troy divine " has 
 been handled so often, and in such various ways, that with 
 many it must be as stale as the death of Hector with a 
 certain Roman Emperor. Two of our retired Prime Ministers, 
 when divested of political power, have betaken themselves to 
 Homer, and we will hope have found some satisfaction in 
 adding to the number of the translators of the " Iliad." But 
 this being a practical age, instead of going back into the 
 beauties of ancient mythology, it seems desirable to bring 
 before the public — if it can be done in an acceptable way — 
 subjects that may conduce, directly or indirectly, either to the 
 cultivating or the strengthening of the moral and religious 
 faculties. 
 
 For a long time — up to about the time when Cowper's poems 
 first appeared — poems upon religious subjects in the English 
 language had proved, generally speaking, mere failures. So 
 generally had this been the case, that the great lexicographer, 
 Dr. Johnson, had come to the conclusion that all poems 
 upon such subjects must necessarily be so, if the writer curbed 
 his fancy and adhered to truth. Cowper, and since his time 
 many others have shown that this dictum is not correct.
 
 Ill 
 
 Certainly, a regard for truth and a pious dread of making too 
 free with the Scriptures, must be a great check upon a lively 
 imagination when a man is writing upon a religious subject. 
 In that case he undoubtedly does labour under difficulties 
 which the wild and luxuriant mind of a real poet would 
 dread. Still, if he be really one who has the glory of God 
 at heart more than his own petty, short-lived fame, he will 
 value this obstacle at a low price. Pastoral poems have often 
 been loaded with references to heathen gods and goddesses, 
 which scarcely seemed in harmony with the minds of the 
 Christian authors, or the sacred themes they dwelt upon. 
 Such allusions the author of the following poems carefully 
 eschewed. He had some difficulty in choosing between 
 rhyme and blank verse. By way of variety he composed the 
 Introduction in rhyme. It has been said by the editor of a 
 modern poem of great and acknowledged worth, that poets 
 are unwilling to admit how much the rhyme leads to the 
 idea expressed. There may be truth in this. But, however 
 great may be the help in this irregular way from rhyme, it 
 must be far more than counterbalanced by the fetters which 
 it continually imposes. Blank verse leaves full liberty for 
 freedom of thought and imagination. The English language, 
 from various causes, seems to be particularly well constituted 
 for compositions in this style. These considerations induced 
 the author to compose three Cantos in each Part of Lindsey 
 in this style, and thus clothe his ideas in a garb suited to their 
 rustic character. 
 
 Truth is the substratum of the poem entitled Lindsey. 
 The object of the poem is to show that with very limited 
 means, happiness to a certain extent may be obtained in 
 some quiet, obscure places. This is shown by the contented
 
 IV. 
 
 and comparatively happy lives led by some in Lindsey. Of 
 those who attained to manhood, a very great proportion 
 descended to the grave in a good old age. " The fear of the 
 Lord is the beginning of wisdom ;" and this undoubted truth 
 the people of Lindsey recognised and exemplified. Hence 
 that moderate degree of happiness which fell to their lot 
 while they travelled on their way to a blessed eternity. 
 
 The names are formed from some connexion with the real 
 names of the persons they represent, or from some conspicuous 
 personal distinction of a creditable character. 
 
 It may seem strange to a hasty observer that the names 
 should be derived from so many languages — English, French, 
 Icelandic, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew — but it must be borne 
 in mind how mixed is the race to which they belong, and our 
 names which we use in daily life are quite as varied. 
 
 Many of the individuals alluded to might, to the writer's 
 knowledge, with much humility and thankfulness, have 
 applied to themselves the words of the Psalmist as we 
 find them in Psalm Ixxi., from verse 12 to the end of the 
 psalm. 
 
 Leamington, Feb. z\th, 1875.
 
 PART I.
 
 I 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 S there no place, O Albion, in thy bounds 
 Free from the din of bustle, and the sounds 
 Of jarring discord, and the feverish strife 
 That dogs the steps of modern English life? 
 No place where proud men with their haughty ways. 5 
 Break not the even tenour of our days ; 
 Where lawyers never bring their tangled schemes, 
 And misers of their gold indulge no dreams ? 
 Is there no village in whose calm retreat, 
 Our days may pass in meditation sweet, 10 
 
 Wheie undisturb'd by fashion's garish glare, 
 Peace can be found, mix'd with but little care ; 
 Where love of lucre and the noise of trade 
 Our wearied ears no lonarer shall invade ? 
 Yes, there are spots where yet the railway train 15 
 
 Has never shot across the groaning plain, 
 Spots dear to lovers of the rural scene, 
 And rich in beauty, modest, and serene ; 
 Spots where the pastor and his flock unite 
 And join in acts of kindness with delight : 20 
 
 The pastor seeks in his unselfish plan, 
 But God's great glory and the good of man ;
 
 IXTRODL'CTIOX. 
 
 Nor lends his office, like a traitor sly, 
 
 His own and others' whims to gratify. 
 
 And such wast thou, sweet Lindsey, calm, retired, 25 
 
 Known but to few, but by those few admired ! 
 
 No dank canal cut through thy peaceful shades, 
 
 Nor railway whistle terrified thy glades: 
 
 No charioteering lords in pomp of pride 
 
 Along thy rustic roads were wont to ride, 30 
 
 But happy in his toil the simple swain 
 
 Talk'd to his horses whilst he drove his wain. 
 
 Free from all troubles of the great and gay, 
 
 Though not far hence the modern Corinth lay. 
 
 Can nought but wonders please? The public taste, 35 
 Is it become so morbid, so debased 
 That few but wild imaginary schemes, 
 Beings that never lived except in dreams, 
 Can gain attention, or the mind depraved 
 Turn from the vanities it long has craved ? 40 
 
 Must gods and goddesses, such as of yore 
 A leading part in strains Homeric bore, 
 Be still the theme and fill the poet's page, 
 Where Christian deeds might well our thoughts engage? 
 Ideal knights and damsels swell the song, 45 
 
 Angels of light and demons round us throng ; 
 
 4
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Or heaven itself is enter'd, hell reveal' d, 
 
 And human pride would show what God conceal 'd. 
 
 Draw back, my soul, from such presumptuous plan : 
 
 Content thyself with what God tells to man : 50 
 
 Ignore the glories of the pagan state : 
 
 Cull what we know the Scriptures do relate : 
 
 Israel's sweet Psalmist found enough to praise, 
 
 And with the truths of God adorned his lays. 
 
 Eternal praise attend my Maker's name, 55 
 
 Immortal harps His mighty acts proclaim ! 
 Goodness and greatness dimly we behold, 
 Which e'en eternity cannot unfold. 
 Pond'ring on Thee, my God, my soul shall burn 
 And for Thy boundless grace show some return. 60 
 
 Let me in gratitude review in song, 
 When as an infant from the breast I hung, 
 The watchful love that hovered round my head, 
 And kept secure from harm life's slender thread : 
 Then bore me guarded through advancing years, 65 
 
 Bright'ning my hopes, dispelling all my fears, 
 Revealing in the earliest dawn of youth 
 The only way to happiness and truth. 
 Through manhood's stormy times, through all the wiles 
 By which the foe of God and man beguiles, 70 
 
 5
 
 LMRODUCTIOX. 
 
 Thine arm hath held me safe, secure, serene 
 'Midst all the trials of this earthly scene. 
 E'en to hoar age Thy providential care 
 Hath been my guide, my safety, and ray prayer ! 
 And what, my God, what in return to Thee 7^ 
 
 For all the mercy Thou hast shown to me 
 Have I giv'n np ? Alas, my conscious soul 
 O'erpower'd with shame looks back upon the whole ! 
 Thy love did spare me, when in sinful pride 
 Thy will forgetting I had turn'd aside, 80 
 
 Unworthy even of the lowest place 
 In Thy paternal care, yet still Thy grace 
 Thus long hath spared me, foolish, thoughtless, wild, 
 Of sin and folly the ungrateful child. 
 Yes, ott will I look back through years long past, 85 
 And bless that God whose love will ever last : 
 Who pours on me each day a new-born flood 
 Of mercy, and ne'er tires of doing good : 
 And loads not me alone with gifts divine, 
 But showers His grace on every friend of mine : 90 
 
 Nor circumscribes His love. His bounteous hand 
 Spreads blessings freely over all the land. 
 E'en on far-distant shores, earth's utmost bound, 
 Rich proofs of mercy everywhere are found : 
 
 6
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Though man and Satan may combine to mar 93 
 
 His great designs, and sin His bounty bar, 
 Triumphant over all, with might sublime, 
 1 see His goodness rise throughout all time. 
 But one great wonder towers above all thought, — 
 A world redeem'd and man's salvation wrought: 100 
 Deeds of transcendent worth are but as dross, 
 Paled in the splendour of that glorious cross : 
 And by the Holy Spirit the whole plan 
 Reveal'd and made available to man ! 
 Oh, how shall worms of earth Thy might proclaim 105 
 In worthy strains, and magnify Thy name ? 
 Seraphs in vain to hymn Thy praise aspire, 
 The mighty theme o'erwhelms the heavenly lyre. 
 To some fair spot like Lindsey let me run, 
 And muse on what my gracious God has done: no 
 
 Sweet Lindsey, loved of all — the rustic's pride — 
 Perch'd on the summit and the green hill-side, 
 Looks down o'er many a mead and lovely vale 
 That bare their bosoms to the western gale. 
 Spread to the view, seen from the churchyard height, 1 15 
 A rich expanse of verdure greets the sight. 
 No sterile heaths, no barren rocks are ^een, 
 But joy and plenty crown the smiling scene. 
 
 7
 
 IXTRODl'CTIOX. 
 
 At easy distance to the east, behold 
 
 The hoary town, where Alfred's child of old, 120 
 
 Though weak in sex, yet mindful of the foes, 
 From whom the troubles of her people rose, — 
 Rear'd a grim fortress, strong in art and place, 
 To curb the spirits of that Danish race. 
 The halo of old times still hovers round 125 
 
 The ancient site, and makes it hallow'd ground. 
 Those chiefs that once bore sway, and ruled the land, 
 And moved in splendour, in their day so grand, 
 Lost in the ocean of eternity, 
 
 Have only here a place in memory. 130 
 
 Their very forms, their grandeur, and their might, 
 And all the toys in which they took delight, 
 But dimly shadow' d in some ancient tale, 
 Scarce o'er the ravages of time prevail. 
 Gone are the mighty men, the stately dames, 135 
 
 And left no record even of their names. 
 Their bones are mouldering in the dust below ; 
 Where rest their souls, 'tis not in man to know. 
 The woodlands echo with a kindred song, 
 And spring and summer dance the meads along : 140 
 Nature pours forth her charms, and laughs as gay 
 As when the rulers of old time held sway. 
 
 8
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Shorn is the forest : many an aged oak, 
 Long known, has yielded to the woodman's stroke. 
 The children of the land more numerous grow ; 145 
 
 Less space is left for game and empty show. 
 Still, even now, high-bounding o'er the green, 
 Scared by some swain, the timorous hare is seen. 
 Up starts the partridge, with his ill-timed cry, 
 Before the horses as the plough draws nigh ; I 50 
 
 And whirring from the brake, with outstretch' d wings, 
 Roused by the hedger's axe, the pheasant springs. 
 Few and less fierce, the wild of nature rove, 
 Through the rich cornfields and the neighbouring grove, 
 Mark'd by the peasant-boy, who notes with care 155 
 Where each shy creature loves to form its lair. 
 Wolves prowl no longer round the village folds : 
 His rural wealth secure the farmer holds. 
 Humble and joyful with contented toil, 
 Each evening sees the weary labourer smile, 160 
 
 Turn to his little cot, nor heed the world 
 With discord torn, in endless troubles whirl'd. 
 His is the happy mind, the lowly soul, 
 To feel no wish impatient of control ; 
 His foremost thought his wife and child to see, 165 
 
 Who hail his coming with unfeigned glee. 
 
 9
 
 lXTRODVCTIOX. 
 
 Then, on the Sunday, what sweel 303 is theirs, 
 
 To worship God, all tree from toil and cares. 
 
 The lather in his livery smock so white, 
 
 The cheerful wife in rustic neatness dight, 170 
 
 Haste up the gentle hillock, from whose brow 
 
 The little church o'erlooks the vale below. 
 
 With lightsome hearts, young children round them run, 
 
 Their smart, gay dresses reddening in the sun, 
 
 Gentle and pleased, like butterflies that sip 175 
 
 The sweets of flowers, from various points they trip. 
 
 Sweet was the Sabbath morn : the sky serene 
 
 Look'd clown in beauty on the pleasing scene : 
 
 A holy calmness hover' d in the air; 
 
 Far off the world but near the house of prayer. 180 
 
 Then humbly kneeling in that blest abode, 
 
 How deep they felt the presence of their God ! 
 
 Hush'd was the busy tongue, the wandering eye 
 
 Check'd by a kinsman or some neighbour nigh. 
 
 All watched their paster as Ins place he took, [85 
 
 And knelt in prayer before the holy book. 
 
 Thus Sundays once began, serene and mild. 
 
 In Lindsey, loved alike by man and child.
 
 CANTO I.
 
 CAXTO I. 
 
 Difficile est proprie communia dicere. — Horace. 
 
 In Lindsey Church, beset with rotten pews, 
 
 Cold, comfortless, in rustic honours dight, 
 
 Nortonio stood and eyed his little flock. 
 
 This calm survey he took ere yet he stepp'd, — 
 
 Robed in a vesture of unspotted white, 5 
 
 Fair symbol of what piety should be, — 
 
 Forth to his place of worship, little raised, 
 
 So he might lead their prayers, and counsel give. 
 
 There, prominent amidst the pious swains, 
 
 Sat Possumus", with hoary head reclined, 10 
 
 Conspicuous with his rosy face and smile. 
 
 Promnens and two strong sons there, too, were seen : 
 
 Domestic duties kept his wife at home, 
 
 Save when they met within that hallow'd house, 
 
 And the sun hastening sought the western sky. 15 
 
 Shrewd Anakson, grave, tall, in frame robust, 
 
 Sat there, and thankful felt he did not want. 
 
 There, too, sat Eric, with his lovely wife 
 
 And Christian-minded sister, all intent 
 
 * As a clue to the names, see the Glossary at the end of the Poem. 
 B II
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 Upon their duties both to God and man, 20 
 
 In piety and mien distinct from all. 
 He was a man, to fashion's vain parade 
 Once known, but now the pea.l of precious price 
 Himself and wife, and sister, all had found. 
 There, too, was Calvus seen — old soldier he — 25 
 
 Bald, venerable, like an aged oak 
 Reft of his branches, and his hoary top 
 Bleach'd by the northern blast : and close at hand 
 His daughter, Calva, dutifully near : 
 There, too, was Miles, his son, tall, slim, and gaunt. 30 
 Amnes his pallid face and bulky form 
 Uprear'd, and near his faithful partner sat — 
 Good, hospitable, thinking on the poor, 
 And wishful to be kind to all around. 
 Homo or wife was there: they dwelt of old 35 
 
 In that famed spot well known to honest clowns 
 Who loved on Saturday their well-earn'd ale. 
 Nor let the modern Pharisee turn up 
 His scoffing lip, and think how sad was this, — 
 That sweating hinds, who all the week had toil'd, 40 
 Should with such beverage recruit their strength, 
 Ease their tired bodies, and e'en thus prepare 
 To give one day to God in joy and peace. 
 
 12
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Aubrey (of parish clerks himself he deem'd 
 The prime), was duly in his place, and bore 45 
 
 On h:s good-humour'd face looks most serene, 
 Of satisfaction with himself and all. 
 And in the gallery just opposite, 
 Confronting him with full-blown dignity, 
 Sat Snap, with violin, prepared to strike 50 
 
 The chords sonorous, singing as he played, 
 Like David with his harp of solemn souud. 
 Schoolmistress Sartor, with a loving train 
 Of fair young creatures, sat around the rails 
 That stood before the table of the Lord. 55 
 
 Such were the leading souls that seldom fail'd 
 To pay their homage to the Lord Most High, 
 And listen to the solemn words and truths 
 Nortonio publish'd from his rustic desk. 
 And whilst he spake in language plain, succinct, 60 
 
 All classes, high and low, both rich and poor, 
 Felt that he spake the truth, responsive felt 
 Their frames were mortal, but their souls should live, 
 When their frail bodies mingled with the dust. 
 All were attentive ; all with reverence bent 65 
 
 And prayed, and sang and worshipp'd as they felt. 
 No hypocrites were there ; no canting churl 
 
 13
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 Pour'd forth his penitence in sighs and groans. 
 
 Dissenters there were none : in holy things 
 
 They thought and acted as their sires had done. 70 
 
 A learned priest they deem'd their own, and knew 
 
 Full well that he was college-bred, and train' d 
 
 In arts scholastic far above their ken. 
 
 And yet they loved to search their Book and see 
 
 How what he said agreed with Holy Writ. 75 
 
 Himself encouraged this: he urged them on, 
 
 Taught them to seek th' unerring Spirit's aid, 
 
 Through Christ their great Redeemer, and the love 
 
 Of God the Father for His dear Son's sake. 
 
 He led their simple minds to think and judge, 80 
 
 Prove text by text, and ponder on the truth. 
 
 This was the secret charm that held secure 
 
 Both priest and people in the bonds of love, 
 
 And bade defiance to the hosts of hell. 
 
 Memory, be thou my musej say something more 85 
 Of those who took the lead in this small place, 
 And whom their brethren look'd to as their guides. 
 Small scope for pride was here ; 'twas better found 
 To live in peace, and love, and harmony. 
 In pleasant raillery, one was yclepp'd 90 
 
 The squire, and two fair dames were dubb'd the queens, 
 
 14
 
 LTXDSEY. 
 
 And hence the lane in which they dwelt was styled 
 
 Queen-street. Few, e'en among the female tribe, 
 
 Their queenly wrath encounter'd : silently, 
 
 By hospitable deeds and timely gifts, 95 
 
 In sickness or some accident, they gain'd 
 
 All they desired, the homage of the heart. 
 
 Nortonio was a man unique in mind, 
 Peculiar, fond of novelty and change. 
 He loved true wisdom ; from his heart abhorr'd 100 
 
 ii.ll that look'd like disorder, and pretence 
 Regarded with ineffable disgust : 
 Quick and dbxriminating, too acute 
 To dive full deeply into dry details. 
 The speechifier and the demagogue 105 
 
 Alike to him were objects of contempt. 
 Full well he knew the masses of mankind 
 Were gull'd and cheated by designing knaves, 
 And what is nicknamed popular applause, 
 He deem'd but incense fit for foolish pride. 110 
 
 Far different from some brother priests, he sought 
 No place of fame, no exaltation high, 
 But turu'd his back, in utter scorn, on means 
 Practised by priests in this degenerate age, 
 To gain a step in dignity or wealth. 115 
 
 15
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 If for this course you ask the reasons why, 
 One is enough — responsibility ! 
 And yet had he aspired, he might have scaled 
 The ladder of ambition, and have fill'd 
 A post far more conspicuous : for his friends 120 
 
 Were numerous and potential, from the prime 
 Of England's peers and comm 'ners to the swain 
 That lowliest sat beside the farmer's hearth. 
 And he possess'd some talent, and the power 
 Of talking till the wrong appear'd the right. 125 
 
 His mind was drugg'd with human lore, his wits 
 Sharpen'd and roused to constant vigilance, 
 But this he valued at small price ; for he, 
 Driven by the current of events, had found, 
 E'en in his youth, what Solomon in age 130 
 
 Discover'd, all was vanity at last. 
 His soul craved something better, nothing less 
 Than what he found in serving God alone. 
 His lot had varied been ; oft in the clouds, 
 Oft in the depths his soul was toss'd about. 135 
 
 Not seldom 'gainst his will he found a place 
 Where luxury and grandeur reign'd superb. 
 And often with the lowliest child of grief 
 He shared his sorrows, and the balmy cup 
 
 16
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Of sympathy held out to anguish'd hearts, 140 
 
 A work congenial to his soul far more 
 
 Than flowing: bowls and feasts of heartless mirth. 
 
 Thankful was he that he had found a place 
 
 Where he could minister in peace and love, 
 
 Uninterrupted by a carping world. i 45 
 
 But thankful more was he that God had given 
 
 Grace to discern where he could labour best, 
 
 Both for his Master's glory and his own. 
 
 And yet he only fill'd the second place 
 
 In that small charge : mere substitute was he. 150 
 
 The vicar of a neighbouring church retain'd 
 
 The supervision of this little place. 
 
 But he, whom we shall call Clardonis, hail'd 
 
 Nortonio as a brother, and with love, 
 
 Superior to all jealousy and pride, 155 
 
 Most gladly welcomed to a share of toil. 
 
 He held the heavier charge, and overlook'd, 
 
 Not only on a Sunday, but each day, 
 
 The worslfp of his people, loved by all. 
 
 Six days in seven Nortoivo labour'd hard 160 
 
 To train his pupils for their future toils, 
 
 And send them forth, not only armed complete 
 
 With arts and science, and the learned lore 
 
 17
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 That Greece and Rome could furnish, but prepared 
 
 To serve their God in every walk of life. 165 
 
 Good-natured Possumus, in rural pride, 
 Lived happy on the land his own strong arms 
 And steady r toil had earn'd : land which had once 
 Been almost profitless, but now by care 
 And diligence unwearied had been brought 170 
 
 To thrice the value that it held before, 
 When first he raised a loan upon that farm 
 To buy the freehold. There, with two brave swains 
 To help him in (he culture of his land, 
 And an old housekeeper to tend his house, 175 
 
 He pass'd through life contented. Liberal, too, 
 As well became the Warden of the Church, 
 His house was open at all proper times, 
 To hospitable rites and welcome friends, 
 But most on Sundays : on those holy days, 180 
 
 Boil'd leg of mutton was his favourite joint. 
 Ho, then he loved his minister to come, 
 With godly conversation share his feast, 
 And set the parish right for all the week. 
 Nor were the poor forgotten : well he knew 185 
 
 Who merited his favours, and he gave 
 Proportion'd to their industry and worth. 
 
 18
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Each of the two old labourers enjoy'd 
 
 Full many a dinner in that house, and quaff'd 
 
 Cups of cold buttermilk, or cyder clear : 190 
 
 More rarely ale or beer rejoiced his heart : 
 
 And three half-crowns paid for his weekly toil. 
 
 As for old Calvus, he had time to think 
 Upon the follies of mankind, retired 
 And closeted within his calm abode. 195 
 
 Caught with the love of military pomp, 
 Like many a crowned fool, his life had been 
 Spent, 'midst the noise of arms : and empty fame 
 Had well-nisrh led him to the brink of ruin. 
 A regiment to resist his country's foes 200 
 
 Himself had raised, and so a great exploit 
 He thought he had perform'd : but, thus o'erlook'd, 
 That what he did was done to gratify 
 His own peculiar whim. If he design' d 
 Simply to serve his country, that he could 205 
 
 More fully have effected, had he curb'd 
 His own ambition, and the nation's cause 
 Maintain'd and strengthen'd in the u^ual way. 
 His substance wasted and his children press'd 
 By poverty's hard trials, much he thought 210 
 
 Upon the past : what might have been perform'd, 
 
 19
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Had lie view'd differently this changeful worll: 
 Or had the ungrateful nation valued more 
 His gallant efforts to uphold its fame. 
 
 Then there was Prornnens, sturdy yeoman he, 215 
 Who blest with solid sense, contented heart, 
 And humble spirit, in the sight of God 
 Most prec'ous, till'd his acres, some his own 
 And some his brother's. Tom and Harry, too, 
 H's lus'y lads, though young and but mere boys, 220 
 Shared in their father's energy and care. 
 He dwelt in that old house, in days of yor3 
 Where lived a sapient counsellor, well skiTd, 
 In human laws, to wrangle and define 
 Most technically ; but in common sense 225 
 
 Strangely deficient, as his conduct show'd, 
 When cruelly, to gratify his pride, 
 He urged his steed o'er miles of half-form'd roads, 
 From London's Tower to distant Avon's banks. 
 The sun was shining when he left the bounds 230 
 
 Of England's capital, and ere the night 
 Had thrown her mantle o'er the Lindsey fields, 
 He rench'd his home and triumph' d in hi- c'e :d, 
 Boasting, vain man, of what his horse had done ! 
 Ill-fated animal, thy lot was sad, 2J5 
 
 20
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 To fall into the hands of such a wretch : 
 
 The next day brought an end to all thy pain, 
 
 And rescued thee from tyranny by death. 
 
 Great contrast to this lawyer — proud, austere — 
 
 Was simple-minded Promnens. He possess'd 240 
 
 But little human learning : yet his heart, 
 
 ChastetiM and sober'd by the grace of God, 
 
 And sacred lore he in his Bible found, 
 
 Enabled him to lead a quiet life, 
 
 Above the turmoil of a restless world. 245 
 
 Deeply attaclfd was he to church and state : 
 
 And though he might not feel himself prepared 
 
 To combat difficulties or decide, 
 
 By subtle argument or cases apt, 
 
 The intricacies of schoolmen and divines : 250 
 
 Like his own bull that roam'd his pasture round, 
 
 And kept from all encroachment stranger beasts, 
 
 He stuck to his old princ'ples, abhorr'd 
 
 All modern fallsc'es and Romish views. 
 
 Barbats, his brother, near on Blacon top, 255 
 
 H'gh and conspicuous far to east and north, 
 In peace and lcve with all his neighbouis lived. 
 
 Not far from him dwelt Anakson, a man 
 Of mighty energy. 'Twas said of him, 
 
 21
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 No idle clown need go to him for work. 2T0 
 
 Active was he from morn e'en to late eve, 
 
 And ate the bread of carefulness, intent 
 
 Not merely to save money, but to give 
 
 To every one his due 5 and as he paid, 
 
 So he required returns in honest toil. 265 
 
 Like some strong branching ash-tree, placed beside 
 
 The public road, throwing out his arms above, 
 
 And intersecting with his roots the ground 
 
 Which otherwise would useless be for growth 
 
 Of foliage, by incessant care he throve j 270 
 
 And flouri.di'd, too, where less industrious men 
 
 In disappointment would have closed their schemes. 
 
 Sore plagued had he been by the lawyer tribe, 
 
 Who harried all his gains for many a year. 
 
 No wonder was it that his neighbours thought 275 
 
 He cut things close, when thus the toiling man 
 
 Found the results of all his daily care, 
 
 Perverted and applied to fatten those 
 
 Who feed upon the weakness of mankind. 
 
 With these her peers, and a long train besides 280 
 Of lo\ing sons and daughters, blithe and strong, 
 Nursed in the lap of ease and peace profound, 
 And crown' d with plenty, Lindsey flouribh'd fair ; 
 
 22
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Obscure, unnoticed, whilst the outer world 
 Was torn with revolution, mad designs, 285 
 
 Religious fury, jealousy, and rage. 
 There, in the heart of England, safe she lay, — 
 Safe from all foreign foes, safe from the taint 
 Of restless spirits and the scheming crowd. 
 Few of her denizens o'er saw the sea, 290 
 
 Or hoped to see it, though they heard with joy 
 Of British triumphs, and the conquering fleets 
 That rode victorious round their sea-s;irt land. 
 Few, too, indeed, to visit had presumed 
 That famous town upon the banks of Thames, 295 
 
 Of which they heard such wonders, and e'en saw 
 With their own eyes the terrible details 
 In some stray journal that had come to hand. 
 The great emporium of the Midland shires . 
 Was not far distant. To that toiling hive, 300 
 
 Perchance for business or some other cause, 
 One from the village would his journey take ; 
 And bring word back how there his senses keen 
 Had injured been by noise and smells most foul : 
 How, too, the people raved on things of state, 305 
 
 On politics, on subjects far removed 
 From understanding, till the dire debate 
 
 23
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Confounded reason, charity, anil truth. 
 Strange tales, too, brought he of the railway world: 
 How huge, loud-snorting engines tore their way, 310 
 And traversed distances, as far in length 
 As from the village to the Midland Mart, 
 In hall an hour, instead of half a day, — 
 Their usual pace. Much did lh' astonish'd swains 
 Admire, but seldom cared to see, 315 
 
 This wonder of the age, or try its power: 
 Four miles from home was all some dared to go. 
 They recollected, and with loving care 
 Caution'd each other, how that two had gone, — 
 One to the wars, and one his country's laws 320 
 
 To guard at home. The soldier once return'd, 
 And then departed, ne'er again to see 
 Parents or home. Full many a month and year 
 Watch'd his sad mother, ask'd and sought in vain 
 For some slight clue to find her absent boy. 325 
 
 Rumour at length the intelligence conveyed, 
 That battles had been fought, and 'midst the list 
 Of kill'd in action, something like the name 
 Was found in an old journal, as opined : 
 Maternal instinct soon confirmed the guess. 330 
 
 As for the other, he at times return'd, 
 
 24
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 But not improved, as all his fellows thought} 
 
 And discontented with a rural life, 
 
 Stayed but short intervals and went his way. 
 
 Such sad experience deep impression made 335 
 
 On startled villagers, and even led 
 
 Some youthful spirits, that had dared to talk 
 
 Of seeing the great world, to pause and th'nk, 
 
 And rest more happy in their humble sphere. 
 
 END OF CANTO I. 
 
 m§ 
 
 B5w!(|w2
 
 CANTO II.
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 Perpetual motion in the wheels of time, 
 Soon brought Nortonio to the early close 
 Of his first year among his Lindsey friends. 
 As springs the school-boy from his hated bounds, 
 Jocund, exulting in a youthful dream $ 
 
 Of mirthful weeks enjoyed without alloy, 
 In his dear home amidst his kindred group : 
 As leaps the terrier when, with heart elate, 
 He bounds before his master in the fields, 
 And snuffs the breezes of the coming spring : 10 
 
 As the young linnet, after many a vain 
 And hopeless struggle to escape the bars 
 Of the dire cage, meant for his future home 
 By would-be friends on selfish pleasure bent, 
 Finds at the last an exit, and aloft 1$ 
 
 Pours forth his soul in liberty and bliss : 
 So joyed Nortonio, when to Lindsey's bowers, 
 From the proud suburbs of the Garden Town, 
 He bent his way, all free from books and care. 
 In that luxurious place full of vain arts, 20 
 
 c 27
 
 LINDSEY 
 
 Mean imitations of the great and good, 
 Fanatic zeal, professions loud and tierce, 
 And fruitless efforts to combine in one 
 The cause of pleasure, Mammon and of God, 
 Nortonio lived, and kept with care aloof 2JJ 
 
 From all their factions and distorted schemes. 
 Strange was the medley, that he saw around 
 His daily movements in that upstart town, 
 Chaos of folly, vice and luxury. 
 
 And yet some small admixture of the good 30 
 
 Could there be found : some salt of Christian truth 
 Saved from entire corruption the whole mass. 
 A land of loveliness stretch' d far and wide 
 On all sides round the town — There nature's God 
 Had pour'd His bounty with unsparing hand. 35 
 
 Umbrageous trees, green meads, salubrious streams. 
 And balmy gales, health-bearing, soft and pure, 
 Sweet solace brought to charm both man and brute, 
 Art too, by various means, these treasures placed 
 In easy distance from the world around ; 40 
 
 So that from towns of greatest eminence, 
 And many a lonely hall, came hither oft 
 Those who sought ease for body or for mind. 
 No joy in this frail world can perfect be. 
 
 28
 
 L1NDSEY. 
 
 Alas ! the lovely scene soon caught the eye 45 
 
 Of quacks, of harpies, male and female fools. 
 Thither in swarms they flew, and locust-like 
 Marr'd the fresh beauties of the rising Spa. 
 Pleased was Nortonio to escape the din 
 Of such a motley crowd, and refuge find 50 
 
 In Lindsey's quiet shades, and converse hold 
 With her poor swains untutor'd but sincere. 
 He took them to his heart and gladly found 
 A quick response of feeling pure and kind : 
 The golden key of love unlock'd their souls. 55 
 
 What might have raised their scruples, now was shut 
 In silence. Freely full assent they gave 
 To him who drew them with affection's cords. 
 Oft had he struggled in the dark back streets 
 Of some hugh town, or e'en in London dens, 60 
 
 To cope with vice and hardened sinners bring 
 To some slight knowledge of their future state : 
 Oft with the discontented infidel 
 Points he had argued ; and to sceptics proud 
 Imagined difficulties had explain'd : 6j 
 
 And after all his labours fortified 
 By all that wit and learning could devi.se, 
 Gain'd from the wrangling tribe, untired with fctrife, 
 
 29
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Consent reluctant, acquiescence vain. 
 Rapt was Nortonio's heart, when thus he found 70 
 
 A people willing to receive the truth 
 Of God in all humility and love. 
 Charm'd with the loved idea he rejoiced 
 And revell'd in it with luxurious joy. 
 Farewell then to all visionary schemes, 75 
 
 To wild ambition, to the dazzling bribe 
 Of admiration, to the vain applause, 
 Of crowds of erring sinners like himself. 
 Henceforth his soul congenial scenes should know 
 And labour where his labour was esteem'd. 80 
 
 And if no guerdon of high fame, or meed 
 Of popular applause, his efforts crown'd, 
 He had what more he prized ; love as sincere 
 And sweet as issued from a mother's breast. 
 There too unnoticed he escaped the gibes 85 
 
 Of clerical dictators, and the sting 
 Of would-be critics. As for bishops, he 
 Who then bore sway, had weighty cares that call'd 
 For his attention in the larger towns 
 And parishes around, besides the toil 90 
 
 Of planning schemes how to increase his hoard, 
 And twist his olive-branches round the seats, 
 
 3°
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Aristocratic deem'd, in times like these 
 And in a selfish world, no easy task. 
 Disturb'd not then by qualms episcopal 9$ 
 
 And meddling rulers, proud of public note, 
 People and priest, contented with the ; r lot, 
 Managed their matters in a rural charge. 
 A scintillation of that holy flame 
 
 That glow'd in Paul, now fired Nortonio's soul, 100 
 And raised his mind above the vain pursuit 
 Of self, to labour for another's good. 
 To give than to receive more blessed far 
 His Lord had said, and he the truth had found. 
 Nor deem'd he it a point of foremost thought 105 
 
 Only to guard their souls : their bodies too 
 And worldly matters claim'd his watchful care. 
 By conversation he this purpose gain'd. 
 Observant closely of what pass'd around 
 Both near at home, and in more distant fields, 1 10 
 
 He saw much time and labour misapplied j 
 Or only so applied as to result 
 In crops inferior and the land half till'd. 
 But most with Possumus, as old, inured 
 To ancient usage, was the theme discussed. 1 1 5 
 
 " How comes it, worthy Warden," thus exclaim'd 
 
 3i
 
 LIXDSEY 
 
 Nortonio, "that, while rents and rales thus press 
 
 So heavy on the produce of the soil 
 
 As you describe, yet corners large and wide 
 
 All guiltless of the plough in many a held ]20 
 
 Unfertile lie, while clumps of nettles too 
 
 Grow strong and rank and useless clog the ground." 
 
 " The corners that you speak of," thus replied 
 
 Contented Possumus, " a purpose serve 
 
 To give fresh vigour to th' exhausted land. 125 
 
 Our sheep must there be folded and rejoice 
 
 To find a patch of ground with verdure clad. 
 
 As for the rent, thanks to the grasping soul 
 
 That drove my father tenant from his farm 
 
 None have I now to pay. — His tyranny 130 
 
 Led me all landlords to distrust, and seek 
 
 By toil and care and borrow'd means to buy 
 
 Land that I could improve and call my own. 
 
 As for the horrid nettles, they will grow 
 
 As well as grass : when mown, they spring again ; 135 
 
 And if cut up by ploughshare or by spud, 
 
 The turf now firm by age, and rich in grass, 
 
 Would be disturb'd and spoilt fur years to come." 
 
 " Then let your hind with bludgeon thick and strong," 
 
 The parson said, " bruise well each nettle stalk 140 
 
 32
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 And every leaf belabour on the ground. 
 If thus the tops you kill, the root will die 
 And then the grass from all obstruction free 
 Green with fresh verdure will delight your flock. 
 I well remember when in eastern shires 145 
 
 Where Ouse slow-eddying rolls his turbid tide 
 It was my lot to live. The farmers there 
 Made shafts some eight or ten feet deep and hurl'd 
 The silt and moist deposit that had lain 
 For ages at the bottom to the top ; 150 
 
 And thus an artificial surface form'd 
 So good, that if the process were renew'd, 
 But thrice in fifteen years, luxuriant crops 
 Of wheat and oats alternate well repaid 
 The farmer for his toils, and tripled oft 155 
 
 The value of the land on which he wrought. 
 Thus men well-known for industry and skill 
 Could often borrow all the land would cost 
 At first, and after fifteen years thus spent 
 In getting from beneath, what once was fen, 160 
 
 That mixture of marine and shelly clay, 
 Which mingled with the surface made the soil 
 So fertile, each acquired a goodly farm, 
 Well worthy of his judgment and his skill. 
 
 33
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 But now in matters of my flock give aid. 165 
 
 Grieved am I, Warden, to behold so few 
 
 On sacramental Sundays round the Board 
 
 Of our dear Lord, commemorate thnt death 
 
 And blood most precious shed for sinners' souls. 
 
 And yet at Clarebrook'* close at hand, where once 170 
 
 It was my privilege to serve as here, 
 
 The pastor of a few contented souls, 
 
 Communicants there were, more numerous far 
 
 Than bore a fair proportion to th' adults, 
 
 That dwelt in that small village. Well, I deem, 175 
 
 They valued what their Lord had done for them : 
 
 And neighbours in the holy banquet join'd. 
 
 Here on that solemn day, when most of all 
 
 They should His temple rill, they stop away 
 
 Or turn their backs upon His feast ingrate." 180 
 
 Then said the farmer: "With sincere regret 
 
 Myself have noticed that so few attend 
 
 That holy ordinance ; but still I claim 
 
 Some credit for the people of this place, 
 
 Who fear their God, and live as if His eye 18-, 
 
 Were always on them, which indeed is true. 
 
 My men have labour'd now full many a year 
 
 * See Glossary at thj end of tbo Pojdi. 
 
 34
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Early and late. My interest has been theirs : 
 
 And Aubrey, now your clerk, a prize has gain'd 
 
 For long and steady service on this farm — 190 
 
 But as you speak of Clarebrook, tell me now 
 
 How fared it with old Woven/* that grave man, 
 
 The Squire and Pastor of that parish once, 
 
 "When you his substitute supplied his place. 
 
 He was, as you well know, beloved by all, 195 
 
 Who served or knew him ; hospitable, kind, 
 
 And generous to a fault. His largest farm 
 
 My brother occupied and found in him 
 
 All that he wish'd in landlord or in friend, 
 
 Far different from some landlords I have known." 200 
 
 " The man you speak of was a godly man 
 Worthy of all esteem," replied the priest. 
 And well I ween the poor his loss lament 
 As squire and pastor both. That fair estate 
 That comprehended every stick and stone 205 
 
 In Clarebrook bounds, the Church, the land and all 
 His ancestors had held without a break 
 E'er since that king, whose bones in Worcester rest, 
 Ruled o'er the land. Deep and sincere the grief 
 That seized on all who tenanted the soil 210 
 
 * See Glossary, 
 
 35
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 When first they heard the news too sad, too true, 
 
 That to a stranger he had sold the place, 
 
 Although that stranger was a worthy man, 
 
 And one who had means will, and talent too 
 
 To push improvements for the good of all. 215 
 
 With silent pleasure oft I call to mind « 
 
 Last time I saw that venerable man, 
 
 And stayed beneath his hospitable roof, 
 
 And help'd to make arrangements then required 
 
 Both ih Church matters and his changed estate. 220 
 
 His memory brought him back to other times. 
 
 He told how in his youth fair Tardaton,* 
 
 The Garden Town, now gay in pomp and pride, 
 
 With wide right-angled streets of fashion full 
 
 And crowded with the cavalcades of wealth, '225 
 
 For forty thousand pounds could all be bought ; 
 
 Advowson, freehold, every stick and stone : 
 
 And now a million could not compass all. 
 
 Then to his native Clarebrook he rccurr'd 
 
 And told how pester' d with attorneys, bent 230 
 
 On selfish gains, the mortgages call'd in, 
 
 Urged he had been with added toil and loss 
 
 To raise fresh funds and cumber thus the land, 
 
 * Seo Gloi 
 36
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Till wearied with the strife he made short work 
 By selling all his land,, although th' estate 235 
 
 For centuries his family had held. 
 Worn out the race was : children he had none 3 
 His brother old and childless like himself. 
 The right name of his family had long 
 Been discontinued. An old ancestor 240 
 
 Sold cloth, and travell'd through the country roads 
 Impassable by vehicles, with teams 
 Of pack-horses, tied head and tail together. 
 Welcome to all the villagers was then 
 The foremost horse's head, when tired and slow, 245 
 Through dreary lanes wet with autumnal showers 
 To daylight he emerged and snurf'd with joy 
 The smell yet distant of the village inn. 
 Not only cloth was brought, but news as well. 
 Joy seized the villagers when rirst they saw 250 
 
 The foremost horse's head, and all exclaim'd — 
 '• Here comes the Woven." Hence his name disused 
 They hail'd him Woven, and as years roll'd on 
 Still Mister Woven was to all most dear, 
 Both for his cloth and for his news beloved. 255 
 
 From this distinguish'd scion of the race 
 Sprang a long line of progeny renown'd, 
 
 37
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 That filled in Clarebrook for some centuries 
 The post of squire or priest with little change, 
 Save that the pomp of shrievalty at timi 260 
 
 Adorn'd some layman, or disturb'd awhile 
 That holy calm hereditary there. 
 Then to the times when his own grandsire built 
 The parish church the old man turn'd, and told 
 How when the structure had been raised, he gave 265 
 Land to provide for ministerial wants, 
 Land too which then produced an annual rent 
 Of seventeen pounds ten shillings : in that age 
 No despicable sum, though likely now 
 To call forth ridicule or raise a smile. 270 
 
 Then to his hounds the venerable sage 
 Referr'd, and told how his forefathers sought 
 Health and amusement in our rural sports, 
 Free from the taint and luxury of towns. 
 As for himself the cant of modern times 275 
 
 Moved not : with grateful heart he lived and bless'd 
 That God who gave him to enjoy so well 
 This life and look with chasten'd hope and faith 
 Through the rich merits of a Saviour's love 
 E'en to a better in that world to come. 280 
 
 Priest as he was, he loved his pack of hounds, 
 
 38
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 And in few words declared his health required 
 
 Such recreation, need not less to him 
 
 Than food of mind or body, such his wont. 
 
 Through his well-order' d house a spirit pure 285 
 
 Of piety and charity prevail'd. 
 
 Early each morn, ere to their daily task 
 
 His household turn'd, he as their priest besought 
 
 The Lord, and craved a blessing on their toil. 
 
 And nightly as the labour of the day 290 
 
 Closed in, assembled in the servants' hall, 
 
 His menials stood prepared to join him there 
 
 In earnest worship at the throne of grace. 
 
 Love made them his in heart, not name alone. 
 
 Consideration for their little wants 295 
 
 And all their ailments was his constant care. 
 
 His huntsman, when disabled by a wound, 
 
 Caused by collision in the hunting field, 
 
 Bless'd not his luck as some half-heathens do, 
 
 But thank'd his God, to whose kind providence 300 
 
 He felt himself indebted for the boon 
 
 Of having such a master. When the chase 
 
 He still could follow, though not yet restored 
 
 To perfect health, still with paternal love 
 
 His master watch' d him, and would not permit 305 
 
 39
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 The man to clean his hunter, lest th' attempt 
 
 Should mar his health or make the cure less sound. 
 
 I need not tell you how this worthy man 
 
 Held in the hearts of all his farmer friends 
 
 The foremost place. Full many a silver cup 310 
 
 He gave to call their competition forth 
 
 And crown their efforts to improve their farms ; 
 
 Cups that are kept now with religious care, 
 
 And so to generations still pioclaim 
 
 His generous heart and the receiver's praise. 3 15 
 
 Welcome was he with all his steeds and dosfs 
 
 O 
 
 To urge the chase and scour the country round, 
 
 Studded with lovely woods, plantations thick, 
 
 That topp'd the gentle hills, and yet left bare 
 
 An open country for the sportsman's work. 320 
 
 E'en from the banks of Avon, Shakespeare's land, 
 
 To where dark Severn in his stately pride 
 
 Rolls by the towers of Wulftan,* our old friend 
 
 Could pass uncheck'd with all his hunting train. 
 
 No ancient patriarch in the days of old 325 
 
 Was dearer to his kinsmen or more loved 
 
 Than by the farmers was this aged priest. 
 
 And well it might be so : reciprocal 
 
 See Glossary. 
 40
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Was their esteem. They knew him as their friend 
 
 As well as priest and magistrate ; and he 330 
 
 Watch'd for their good in this world and the next. 
 
 Pious and humble, though of ancient race, 
 
 Not only honour'd but beloved, he lived 
 
 A terror only to the poacher tribe. 
 
 Yet would he check an upstart in his pride 335 
 
 And seasonably keep him in his place. 
 
 If in his hot young blood some lordling rode 
 
 Careless and trampling on the crops now grown 
 
 Too much to bear such treatment without loss, 
 
 If after mild remonstrance, he resumed 340 
 
 This reckless course, the master gave the word 
 
 And forthwith huntsman hounds and horses all 
 
 Were hurrying homeward on the well-known road. 
 
 Well I remember when we rode alonsr 
 
 Obedient to the bishop, who had call'd 345 
 
 This worthy man his conduct to explain 
 
 And give a reason, why he held a cure 
 
 Of souls at Clarebrook and yet made his home 
 
 Some twelve miles distant from that parish church, 
 
 He spoke with glee how with the love of all 350 
 
 And hearty welcome of his neighbours round, 
 
 He and his dogs could traverse that fair land. 
 
 41
 
 LINDSEY 
 
 Clarebrook was blest with many a rural charm, 
 But no sweet vicarage with a lovely lawn 
 And smiling garden was its pastor's lot. 355 
 
 And mindful what his family had done 
 Through ages for that place, the people too 
 Contented, thriving, but few very poor, 
 And those well cared for by the richer class, 
 It seem'd an act ungracious thus to chafe 560 
 
 Our aged friend, an act not wise indeed. 
 Since to the priest no house had been assign'd 
 There to reside the law did not require. 
 The prelate graciously received us both : 
 But soon a look uncomfortable spread 365 
 
 O'er all the bishop's face : he writhed and winced 
 Sore at the tauntings of the stern old priest. 
 No match was he for our quick-witted friend, 
 Who soon reversed the state of things, and sat 
 As arbiter of what was right and charged 370 
 
 Right reverend ears with truths unpalatable. 
 Signs unmistakable the bishop gave 
 To bring the skirmish to an end, but once 
 Our vicar roused, no quarter would he give 
 Nor cease till fully to his heart's content, 375 
 
 He had unbosomed all he held in store 
 
 42
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 It was a strange unseemly spectacle 
 For me, a young man, recently ordain'd 
 To this my holy office, to behold 
 
 Those men with sparring tongues and angry eyes, 380 
 Two gentlemen, and one a prelate too, 
 And one who always with a father's love 
 Guided my youth and inexperienced years. 
 That large square face, where kindness beam'd serene, 
 At other times, now pale with ire suppress'd 385 
 
 Confronted the cow'd bishop with fierce looks. 
 Alas, the duel was a bootless one. 
 The bishop, a smooth courtly gentleman, 
 Kind, with but little learning and no wit, 
 By whiggish interest and a brother's art 390 
 
 Placed as a ruler of the nation's Church, 
 To combat arguments such as our friend 
 Advanced, was ill prepared. And he was known 
 To be well-skill' d in polemics and law. 
 Of all the treatises I ever read 39J 
 
 On Confirmation his was far the best. 
 Complying with the vicar's wish express'd 
 I went as his companion to this scene, 
 And sat a silent hearer in dismay. 
 
 With joy unfeign'd the bishop saw at last 400 
 
 d 43
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 The old man rise up from his scat and turn 
 His huge broad back and slowly seek the door. 
 Glad too was I to see him sate beyond 
 The palace-gates, inhaling the fresh air. 
 Tall Malvern purpling in the distance shone 405 
 
 Lit by the evening sun, and mantled round 
 With rosy clouds that cheer'd us on our way. 
 But whilst we walk'd along the carriage road 
 Straight from the palace to the city streets, 
 The vicar glanced at former times, and told 410 
 
 How different bishops had become, since he 
 Himself was chaplain to a godly man, 
 Who wore a mitre in this very place. 
 " Once they were hospitable, glad to see 
 Their clergy, glad to comfort and sustain, 41 5 
 
 But," added he, " a dinner we shall have 
 Not in a bi-1 op's palace but an inn." 
 So to the Hare and Harriers off we went, 
 And fared a-, sumptuously as heart could wish. 
 Then in Ids lumbering coach we took our way 420 
 
 And, God be praised, returu'd in safety home. 
 And 1 o\v, good Warden, tired no doubt are you, 
 Willi tbis discourse: but well you know, if once 
 You set my mind in motion on this theme, 
 
 44
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 It is a labour to restrain my thoughts. 
 
 But time now tells me, homeward I must go, 
 
 And close my tale by bidding you farewell. 
 
 425 
 
 END OF CANTO II.
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 Hoar winter sullenly retired, and slow 
 Relax'd his grasp upon the frost-bound fields. 
 Spring peepM forth shyly, and the woodland choir, 
 Their light hearts panting for connubial joys, 
 
 Chirp'd cheerily but check' d ; nor yet secure 5 
 
 Carolfd in all the ecstacy of song. 
 
 Snow hover'd in the air : in flakes at times 
 
 It tipp'd the summit of the neighbouring hills. 
 
 Sharp winds were scudding with the April showers 
 
 Oft tempered by a sudden glare of light 10 
 
 Shot from the opening sky. Thus cold and heat 
 
 Combined and softea'd the relaxing earth. 
 
 Winter and Spring by turns some trying weeks 
 
 Uncertain empire held, till now the time 
 
 Approach'd, so dear to every Lindsey child, 15 
 
 When relatives and friends from distant parts 
 
 Cair.e trooping in to celebrate the wake. 
 
 At length the sun pour'd from his eastern throne 
 
 A flood of golden light, and led the day 
 
 In all its beauty, full of genial warmth, 20 
 
 46
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 The meads bespangling with the pearls of dawn. 
 
 Joy touch'd the heart of Lindsey : joyous all 
 
 Her sons and daughters hail'd the vernal morn, 
 
 And blessed the Giver of all good, who bade 
 
 His clouds drop fatness o'er the laughing land. 25 
 
 Mirth spread contagious : flew from man to brute. 
 
 The stupid heifer that had brooded long 
 
 O'er heaps of cold dry fodder, till her limbs 
 
 Benumb'd and stiffen' d scarce would move at all, 
 
 Throws off her lethargy, and bounding forth 30 
 
 With tail erect extended o'er the back 
 
 Runs bellowing through the fields. The woods and hills 
 
 Reverberate, and answer with their glee. 
 
 Roused by the spirit of the time, the colt 
 
 Shakes his rough coat, and ragged mane, and springs 35 
 
 In youthful rapture o'er the sounding plain, 
 
 Scaring th' astonish' d lambkins, scattering wide 
 
 The bleating playmates, and their grave-faced dams. 
 
 Alas ! the bliss is fugitive : short-lived 
 
 Must all our pleasures be : 'tis so decreed 40 
 
 By God all-wise, for here is not our home. 
 
 Ten thousand secret causes all at work 
 
 Perpetually, by night, by day, conspire 
 
 To frustrate all the schemes that man would form 
 
 47
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 Of during happiness. He toils and strives, 45 
 
 Builds up an edifice of pride and wealth ; 
 And knowing that his stay must here be short 
 Looks for an heir to carry out the plan. 
 Then calls his lawyer to his aid, and schemes 
 How immortality can be acquired 50 
 
 For this his cherish' d dear design — Fond fool ! 
 To think that wit of man can contravene 
 What God has order'd and declared shall be. 
 No such ambition shared the Lindsey folk, 
 Nor e'en their children. Happy for the time, 55 
 
 Contented with their lot an 1 thankful too, 
 Proud of their village, deeming in their thoughts 
 No other parish equal to their own, 
 They earn'd that comfort and enjoyed it well 
 Denied to riches, luxury and fame. Co 
 
 Blest souls ! the happiest of their kind, who knew 
 The primal good, and had the sense to live. 
 Pleased in the humble sphere that God assigned. 
 Yet not unc'.equer'd was their course of life. 
 Clouds mix'd with sunshine, oft would intervene; 65 
 Failure of health, or some domestic flaw 
 Ruffled the even current of their days ; 
 Or some disaster sudden, unforseen, 
 
 48
 
 LIKDSEY. 
 
 Caused agitation in the little state. 
 
 So it fell out, when Aubrey, luckless wight, 70 
 
 At Guerrick* got embroil'd about this time ; 
 
 And wrathful at the jade who stole his watch 
 
 Had dragg'd her to the magisterial bench. 
 
 Not fortunate like Judah, he had none, 
 
 No kind Adullamite, no friend so suie 75 
 
 To send for watch or pledge : but blind with rage, 
 
 He charged the wretched girl, and thus reveal'd 
 
 His folly, and his sin thus found him out. 
 
 Yet nothing of the deed was heard or known 
 
 Among the Lindsey folk : so quiet all, 80 
 
 So calm, contented, with but knowledge scant 
 
 Of all the outside world, lived they unmoved : 
 
 Until their minister, who rarely sought 
 
 Police reports, by providence had seen 
 
 A notice of this strange untoward affair 85 
 
 Duly recorded in provincial news. 
 
 Old Aubrey's wife much wonder'd why her man 
 
 Should go to Guerrick twice in the same week, 
 
 Nor valued much the reasons that he grave. 
 
 O 
 
 Shock'd was Nortonio when he read the tale, 90 
 
 And re-read, scarcely crediting his eyes ; 
 
 See Glossary, 
 
 49
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 But there it was in all its ugliness, 
 A record foul of folly and of guilt : 
 Rendered more hateful by the glaring fact, 
 That what led to inquiry had been done 95 
 
 The day before, when he as parish clerk 
 Had taken part in that most holy rite 
 Commemorative of the Saviour's death. 
 The crime was one week old, when first it caught 
 The wondering parson's eye. Deep was his grief: 100 
 Horror and black vexation rack'd his mind. 
 The Lord's day follow'd with the rising sun, 
 And quick dismissal of the unseemly clerk 
 Was peremptory. — Time there was not left 
 Clardonis to consult, then distant far. 105 
 
 Much did he ponder — With the early dawn 
 He sought his friend the Warden Possunms 
 And opened all his troubles in detail. 
 Stagger'd was he to hear such dreadful news 
 Of one who long a faithful slave had been, no 
 
 And recently obtained a prize conferr'd 
 For length of service and a just career. 
 Amazement for a moment held him mute. 
 Not more astonished is the antler' d hart, 
 When wondering at the approach of horrid sounds, 1 1^ 
 
 5°
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Roused from his lair, he hears the yelling pack 
 
 And bounds impetuous through the crackling brake. 
 
 Words found at last a vent, and honest rage 
 
 Commutual fired the warden and his priest. 
 
 Prompt was the declaration : now no more 120 
 
 Clerk of dear Lindsey should that Aubrey be. 
 
 Grieved if he were the bishop he might seek, 
 
 If more he wanted in the courts of law. 
 
 But Snap should take his place in church that day. 
 
 And if approved before seven days had run, 125 
 
 With sanction of the vicar be install 'd 
 
 And charged with all the duties of that post. 
 
 Busier than usual on that solemn day 
 
 Were Lindsey tongues. Swift flew the rumour round 
 
 From house to house : but bit by bit at first 130 
 
 The horrible discovery was made. 
 
 At length it reached his own dear cottage, once 
 
 The scene of peace and homeborn happiness ; 
 
 Bereft of all the dread arena now, 
 
 The theatre of strife, contention dire ! 135 
 
 Age all forgotten, fiery eyes and tongues 
 
 Flaming with vengence vollied forth a storm 
 
 Of passion unrestrain'd. Weakness no more 
 
 Withheld the wife, though crippled in both legs. 
 
 5i
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Fierce from her chair she sprang: Grasp'd with J 40 
 Both hands the besom stale that lay beside the door, 
 And in a corner caught her guilty spouse. 
 There she and her old sister, prompt to help, 
 From quiet souls both into furies changed, 
 Belabour'd the poor wretch, till shrieks of woe 145 
 
 Resounded through the neighbourhood, and told 
 The sad effects of wicked thoughts and sin. 
 
 Stuns: with disgust the first time since he knew 
 The place, Nortonio turn'd his back and sought 
 Eric's abode, called Curlieu, not remote 150 
 
 From Lindsey church, an easy evening walk. 
 There piety and elegance combined 
 To soften human cares and shed a charm 
 O'er all the changes that each day brought forth. 
 There in the loved society of those 155 
 
 He valued for their virtues, comfort sure 
 Nortonio found, and could his thoughts disclose 
 In perfect safety without fear of guile. 
 The ladies of that house with lovely tact 
 Brighten'd the darkest hour, nor suffer'd gloom 160 
 
 And melancholy to absorb the soul. 
 There grateful as the smell of new-mown hay 
 And sweet as fragrance from the jess'mine bowers 
 
 5-
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 At summer eve, their observations fell, 
 
 Well-timed, well-tempered, seasonable, pure, 165 
 
 And duly weighted with a modest fear, 
 
 That much there might be yet unknown to them : 
 
 What e'er their subject never press'd too far. 
 
 To that abode of harmony and love, 
 
 Sure of a welcome by his generous friend, 170 
 
 Could time be spared, the parson oft would go 
 
 And pick up local knowledge and advice. 
 
 Thither he turn'd his steps, and seated soon 
 
 Began the converse, and shook from his mind 
 
 The hateful burden of the Lindsey clerk, 175 
 
 And made but slight allusion though he saw 
 
 By signs infallible that all was known. 
 
 They talk'd of Hattham* and the changes there, 
 
 The frequent changes, that had taken place 
 
 Since he, the prince of Grecian scholars, ruled 180 
 
 The neighbouring parish and lord paramount 
 
 Of learned oracles awed country squires. 
 
 Mighty was he in word if not in deed. 
 
 Due homage from the sons of trade he gained 
 
 In all the midland parts, who deem'd their homes 185 
 
 Honour' d by banquets, where this tasteful clerk 
 
 * See Glossary. 
 
 53
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 Partook of sucking pig and pufFd his smoke. 
 
 The smoke had vanish'd and the learning too, 
 
 When some years later, on the coach outside 
 
 Travelling from Guerrick to the Midland mart, 190 
 
 Nortonio pointing to that domicile, 
 
 Where once the hero of the schools abode, 
 
 Call'd to his comrade on the coach and said, 
 
 " There lived the mighty Parr, the famous man." 
 
 .Alas ! the traveller nothing knew of Greek, 195 
 
 And pondering on the fame of Parr, exclaim'd 
 
 " Old Parr ! Parr's pills are famous pills indeed ! 
 
 Amused was Eric with the strange mistake, 
 
 Proof of the vanity of high renown 
 
 In ancient languages and classic lore. 200 
 
 " Still was his fame as good," exclaim'd the wife, 
 
 " As that of the young poet, who admired 
 
 " In distant parts, left where he once had dwelt 
 
 But one memorial, that an unpaid debt : 
 
 A debt so trivial, that it had escaped 205 
 
 The debtor's memory, but still remain' d 
 
 Long due and vivid, in the tradesman's mind. 
 
 Time cut the conversation short, for night 
 
 Drew nigh : and hast'ning through the dark'ning road 
 
 The parson sought his home and breathed awhile 210 
 
 5+
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Free from his village cares, but mortified 
 And humbled that his mission proved so vain. 
 
 Now changes came apace : some grown in years 
 And some in ailments, dying, breaches made, 
 In such a population, sad and great. 215 
 
 Say ye, who know the causes of all things 
 In this material world, who shrewdly prove 
 The secrets of sly nature, and can show 
 How many million years must intervene 
 Between the present and the past, before 220 
 
 The layers and strata of this puzzling earth 
 Had form'd their dark deposits and proclaim'd 
 The world much older than the Scriptures tell, 
 Say, ye philosophers, the reason why 
 Births, deaths, and marriages in clusters come. 225 
 
 In prosperous days and in a populous town 
 When wealth flows in, young couples wisely seize 
 The joyous time and enter on their bliss. 
 Like causes all urge on : example spreads 
 Contagious : and the reasons we can tell. 230 
 
 If neighbours too who have grown old together 
 Should die at the same time, needs not surprise. 
 But in a little calm community, 
 Where every day but the reflection is 
 
 55
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Of what was yesterday, and knows no change 235 
 
 Of poverty or riches, and the folk 
 Not subject to those influences exist, 
 Strange is it that the same rule should prevail. 
 Calvus, a new inhabitant but old, 
 
 Ten years beyond the three score years and ten 240 
 
 Had seen, and still with martial ardour glow'd. 
 To walk to Guerrick from his village home 
 And thence walk back he but a trifle deem'd, 
 Though younger men a seven mile walk eschew'd. 
 This feat he dared, accomplish'd and retired 245 
 
 To bed as usual : thence he ne'er arose 
 In health again, but breathed away his soul 
 Calm and confiding in his Saviour's love. 
 Vain had it been to tell the aged man, 
 That youth no more was his ; his strength no more 250 
 Could bear such labours. Still he fondly clung 
 To lonc-form'd habits and his ancient boast, 
 That with his regiment he could march full-arm'd 
 Without fatigue and camp himself at night. 
 No bed of sickness his : mere o'er- wrought strength 255 
 And nature tax'd beyond its proper powers 
 Failing succumb'd to an unwise attempt. 
 The close was sudden, unforeseen by all, 
 
 56
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 The neighbours, children, doctor, or the priest, 
 
 So hale and jovial had the veteran been. 260 
 
 His children were at hand and did their part : 
 
 No stranger nurse embitter'd his last hour. 
 
 His daughter, Calva, faithful to the last 
 
 With filial piety supplied his wants, 
 
 Consoled his languid limbs, eased the fatigue 265 
 
 That press'd his worn-out frame, and turn' d his thoughts 
 
 To brighter worlds and pointed to that hope 
 
 Given to believers in their blessed Lord. 
 
 Soon follow'd from this ever changing scene 
 One whose lot was far different, Homo's wife, 270 
 
 A loving mother and a helpmate true, 
 Honest, industrious, kind to all around. 
 Slowly the malady had wrought its way 
 And given her notice that this world no more 
 Must be her resting place : that soon her child 275 
 
 And husband must be left to toil alone. 
 With meek submission to the Saviour's will 
 She gave up all and turn'd her thoughts entire 
 To preparation for a future world. 
 
 Dear to Nortonio was this child of God, 280 
 
 Though rear'd and nurtured in a place least fit 
 As some would think, e'en in a village inn. 
 
 57
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Oft to that place the parson turn'd his course, 
 And in the chamber where the sufferer lay, 
 Sore tried by mortal throes a welcome found. 285 
 
 A willing listener on that bed of pain 
 Join'd in his prayers and fervently replied 
 To all his exhortations, nor e'er deem'd 
 That of the Gospel she could hear enough. 
 Oh ! there were two or three who really felt 290 
 
 That He was with them, that the word divine 
 To those who met and worshipped in His name 
 Was then fulfill'd. The world and all its gear 
 Was banish'd for a time from all their minds; 
 Whilst in the interval from suffering snatch'd 295 
 
 Their much-loved minister raised high their thoughts 
 From earth to heaven, from holiness to God. 
 Sweet was the pastor's work when thus engaged, 
 When such a blest occasion he enjoyed, 
 And to congenial spirits could unfold 300 
 
 The mighty wonders of redeeming love. 
 Sweet too to such to read those psalms inspired, 
 Th' immortal labours of the Hebrew king, 
 Who found in piety that peace of mind 
 He vainly sought in empire or in pomp. 305 
 
 There in that humble room, all unadorn'd 
 
 58
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 But barely furnish'd, rustic, clean and neat, 
 
 Those sacred songs that comforted of old 
 
 The children of their God on Z ion's hill 
 
 Fell like the dew of heaven on English hearts. 310 
 
 There it was their delight, supreme delight, 
 
 To priest and people to ignore the world, 
 
 To join in s\\ eet communion, to converse 
 
 And tell what great things had been done for them 
 
 By God the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. 31 j 
 
 What matter'd it to them, the world knew not, 
 
 The world could not appreciate joys like theirs ! 
 
 And so Norton io left his Christian friend 
 
 In Jesus' hands, her firm, her only hope ; 
 
 And He received her. Calm her spirit pass'd. 320 
 
 The body worn with suffering peaceful lay ■ 
 
 Prepared to pay the penalty of sin. 
 
 This living friends interr'd, and tears sincere 
 
 As ever issued from a human eye 
 
 Were shed on that occasion. But they thank'd 325 
 
 God who had taken to Himself the soul 
 
 Of their departed sister : gain to her, 
 
 Loss to survivors ! None more truly moorn'd 
 
 Though full of thankfulness and joy serene, 
 
 Than did their pastor. To his cottage room, 330 
 
 E 59
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 Where temporary rest he sometimes found, 
 
 In haste he sped, and there in solitude 
 
 Wept bitterly — wept that the sins of men 
 
 Had brought into this world such scenes of death, 
 
 Such separations from the dearest friends, 335 
 
 Such deep humiliation, such disgrace 
 
 E'en to that being who at first was form'd 
 
 In likeness of his God. 'Twas all in vain ! 
 
 Dead on account of sin the body is. 
 
 No tears that men can shed can wash the stain 340 
 
 That sin has made. Thanks then be to our God 
 
 For that supreme unutterable gift — 
 
 The gift of a Redeemer ! One, whose power 
 
 Both sin and death have felt and Satan too, 
 
 Who vanquish' d lies beneath His conquering arm. 345 
 
 Now death and sickness dogg'd his steps so close, 
 That not unwillingly Nortonio turn'd, 
 When call'd to bear a share in others' woes 
 And visit neighbouring parishes, where aid 
 Was sought for public or for private ends. 350 
 
 A loving union still prevail* d between 
 Nortonio and his time-tried Clarebrook friends : 
 On his side gratitude, on theirs respect 
 And love and faithfulness, remembrance sweet 
 
 60
 
 LTNDSEY. 
 
 Of many conversations they enjoyed, 355 
 
 And hints and kind suggestions all well-timed. 
 So in their troubles still they look'd to him, 
 As friend and neighbour, as a man who lived 
 Not for his own alone, but others' good. 
 The brother of old Possumus lived there, 360 
 
 And still the farm he held in former days, 
 When Woven was his landlord, he retain'd. 
 And now a malady whose fatal end 
 Sound science could foretell, had seized his wife. 
 She was a woman in whose loyal heart 36$ 
 
 Her husband could confide : his happiness 
 For time and for eternity she sought. 
 All other subjects held a second place 
 Save love to God and faith in Jesus Christ. 
 Well did she look to all her household's ways — 370 
 Active by day, and vigilant by night. 
 No lazy servant maids or lads uncouth 
 Found comfort there : unwarn'd they fled the place, 
 And saw with ready instinct in that house 
 Where such a mistress ruled, no home for them. ^75 
 Good did she to her husband all her days, 
 A.nd sent him forth good humour'd to his toil, 
 Early each morning, e're the sun suck'd up 
 
 61
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 The dew-drop twinkling on the mountain side. 
 Well was he known too in the county hall, 380 
 
 When as a juryman he took his place, 
 And sat among the elders of the land, 
 Clean and well-dress'd, respectable not prim, 
 A sample of what honest men should be. 
 When to his house he came four goodly sons 385 
 
 Rose up to do his pleasure ; such they knew 
 Was mother's wish, their first care and delight : 
 And close at hand to welcome back her sire 
 The daughter stood, prepared with smiles to greet 
 And by her love anticipate each wish. 390 
 
 Such was his happy home, and such he knew 
 He owed all under God to her now sick. 
 Deep anguish struck into his inmost soul 
 When first he heard the terrible report, 
 That she, the partner of his joys and cares, 295 
 
 Must quit ere long this worldly scene, no more 
 Be seen in those loved rooms, where hitherto 
 All things had moved in harmony with her. 
 And great was her distress when first she knew 
 That ere some months had passed she must depart, 400 
 Must quit all that had charm'd her on her way 
 In this world, husband, home, and children dear. 
 
 62
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 Some terrors too beset that loving heart, 
 When first she thought on death's dark valley nigh, 
 Though regular in all her duties, loved 405 
 
 By God and man, in charity with all. 
 She felt herself a sinner far removed 
 From what a perfect child of God should be : 
 And so she trembled, when she look'd beyond 
 The limits of this world and faintly saw 410 
 
 The awful matters of eternity — 
 She loved her bible : o'er its pages pored 
 And honour' d much the Church and minister : 
 But still some yearning to remain and see 
 Her family still prosperous held her soul : 4 J 5 
 
 Whilst meditating on the sad result 
 She shrank with some misgivings from the change. 
 Most opportune then was Nortonio's call, 
 Who reason'd gently and brought back her mind 
 Into a tranquil state, serene, resign'd 420 
 
 To God's most holy will. That He alone 
 Knew what was best : that whatsoe're He will'd 
 Must wisdom be. Her old friend fix'd her thoughts 
 On that blest Book, which always in the prime 
 Of health was her delight, and there she found, 425 
 If it were good in the eternal eye, 
 
 6 3
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Like Lazarus and Dives friends should see 
 
 And know each other : therefore husband dear, 
 
 And children much beloved, might meet again 
 
 In that mysterious world, where they who loved 430 
 
 Their God above all beings, should enjoy 
 
 What ear hath never heard, nor eye hath seen, 
 
 Nor heart conceived. And as for proper times, 
 
 The time when to be born, the time to die, 
 
 Lay far beyond the ken of human wit. 435 
 
 Cheer'd was the godly woman : quickly she 
 
 Recover'd all her usual peace of mind, 
 
 And view'd the approaching crisis, calm prepared 
 
 To meet her God and give up earth for heaven. 
 
 Next "Wolverdingtre claim'd Nortonio's care. 440 
 Deep in a quiet dell it lay, obscure, 
 But little known, close to the Lindsey bounds. 
 The pastor of that small and lovely spot 
 Press'd by his private matters was well pleased 
 To have such help as then Nortonio gave. 445 
 
 And there he found fresh objects to arrest 
 His pity and attention, and receive 
 Drops of sweet solace from the word of God. 
 There a poor soul he found, whose shattered frame 
 Was rack'd with pains rheumatic, shrunk and bent : 450 
 
 64
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 And yet with honest industry he strove 
 
 To earn a livelihood : and since his legs 
 
 Were powerless now their office to perform, 
 
 He sat as schoolmaster to teach the swains 
 
 Their alphabet and some arithmetic. 45 5 
 
 He had been famous in his day to draw 
 
 Long drains beneath the clayey soil, and judge 
 
 Where best superfluous moisture might exude : 
 
 But now the sad results of such a damp 
 
 Unhealthy occupation supervened. 460 
 
 The little knowledge at a Sunday school 
 
 Gain'd years ago was now most dearly prized, 
 
 And made him useful to his friends around. 
 
 The farmers, glad to keep their rates all free 
 
 From such a burden, fail'd not to support 465 
 
 And help him forward in his good design. 
 
 In that diseased body dwelt a mind 
 
 Still active, independent, anxious too 
 His fellow creatures to improve and aid ; 
 
 A mind which had it known the genial rays 470 
 
 Of science, might have led the ecus cf wealth 
 
 Through uudisccver'd realms of art and skill. 
 
 Close by in perfect contrast dwelt a clovsn, 
 
 The village blacksmith, rough, uncouth, untamed, 
 
 65
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Sordid and selfish. Worthy of the stem 475 
 
 From which they sprang his children had grown up, 
 A son and daughter. She now distant lived 
 In service. Troublesome reports had reac h'd 
 The lather, caring little, but compell'd 
 To fetch her home, for charges were alleged 480 
 
 Impugning her integrity, and she 
 Recriminated by a charge most foul 
 Against her master's son. In hurried haste 
 Forthwith her brother to the rescue flew, 
 And brought her home without a day's delay. 485 
 
 111 she arrived, for she had fallen sick 
 Just when suspicions of the missing things 
 Cluster'd about her like a swarm of bees. 
 No time was lost in seeking parish aid 
 And gifts of money from the rich around, 490 
 
 Though funds sufficient for his daily wants, 
 And large allowance for his alehouse freaks, 
 The blacksmith's trade had yielded. Such a chance 
 Was not to be neglected. Loud the cry, 
 The vicar was away, and he, who now 495 
 
 Acted as substitute, was dull and slow 
 Want to anticipate where none should be. 
 A fussy magistrate who in his zeal 
 
 66
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 To rise to notice would officious be, 
 
 Caught up the cry, and thus became a tool 500 
 
 In their designing hands, though every need 
 
 Of soul and body was at once supplied. 
 
 The girl lay ill ; but what was her complaint 
 
 The surgeon would not or he could not tell. 
 
 Ere many days the son himself fell sick 505 
 
 And soon he died : and dying, said he caught 
 His ailment from his sister. She still lived, 
 
 Nor suffered much from weakness or from pain, 
 
 So long as goodly fare abundant came 
 
 From richer neighbours or the Union Board. 510 
 
 Dirt, discontent, and gloomy looks around 
 
 Pervaded that drear dwelling ; absent all 
 
 Attempts at cleanliness : and piety 
 
 In such a climate it was hard to find. 
 
 Near stood a cottage where at that time lay 515 
 
 A poor young creature just upon the verge 
 
 Of womanhood, whose hectic cheek and face 
 
 And form attenuated plainly show'd 
 
 That in her budding youth her strength was gone. 
 
 And yet contentment sat upon her face, 520 
 
 Calm resignation and a placid frame 
 
 Of mind composed and patiently prepared 
 
 67
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 To bear whatever burden hers might be. 
 The kind good daughter of a farmer near, 
 A few years older, tended her with care 525 
 
 And watching every symptom, minister' d 
 To all her wants, as one with her in Christ, 
 Smoothing her pillow with a sister's love. 
 Glad was Nortonio to behold the girl 
 So good and so afflicted, cherish'd thus 530 
 
 By such a saintly soul, for leave he must : 
 His warden Possumus required his care, 
 A sudden malady his frame had seized 
 And clogg'd the action of those parts within 
 By which alone his body could exist 535 
 
 In health and strength ; yet cheerful he held up 
 His venerable head, and rosy still, 
 But streak'd with suffering, his good tempered face 
 Turn'd with a pleasant smile on all around. 
 The best and most judicious, who excell'd 540 
 
 In healing arts, to his assistance came 
 But came in vain. Short was the interview 
 Between the pastor and his much-loved friend. 
 The doctor's orders and good sense forbade 
 Much conversation. So Nortonio closed 345 
 
 With little reading and a few brief prayers, 
 
 68
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 And left the worthy warden to his God, 
 With grave misgivings that his death was nigh, 
 A sad presentiment that proved too true. 
 
 Nor yet unnoticed was Nortonio's toil. 5 jo 
 
 More than one benefice had he declined. 
 His quiet course he held, combining both 
 The care of pupils and a rural charge. 
 But now a godly man had gone to rest 
 And left his flock forlorn without a guide. 555 
 
 Press'd was the Patron : with hot haste a swarm 
 Of hungry candidates beset his path, 
 And urged their claims to fill the vacant post. 
 But he, grown old and wary, paused awhile, 
 Took time to think and check'd the clamorous tribe. 560 
 Of scholarship some notion he could form, 
 Not far from a correct one : but their hearts 
 He could not dive into : so counsel sought 
 From reverend neighbours known through many years. 
 The income of the living was but small, 565 
 
 And yet a pastor to befriend the poor 
 Was sadly needed. With becoming care 
 The patron look'd around and sought advice. 
 Consulting with his neighbours soon he found 
 That what was wanted was a man of sense, 570 
 
 6 9
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Kind-hearted, pious, one who would reside 
 
 Upon the spot and tend the little flock. 
 
 The vicarage for years in ruin lay ; 
 
 The pastor living in the mansion-house 
 
 He rented from the squire; and thence arose 575 
 
 A difficulty : means small, but expense 
 
 Not light, to keep up usages begun. 
 
 His reverend friends unhesitating told 
 
 The patron that Nortonio was the man 
 
 To hold this cure of souls, if but inclined 580 
 
 To live as did the last priest in that house. 
 
 The hint was taken and the offer made. 
 
 And so Nortonio after guidance sought 
 
 Low at the throne of grace, from wisdom's fount 
 
 Infallible, this new charge undertook. 585 
 
 END OF CANTO III.
 
 PART II.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 TT) LACED in a world of wonders from his birth, 
 ■*• Man sees but little of its real worth. 
 Incessant changes crowd life's narrow span, 
 Changes no mortal can foresee or plan. 
 Youth treads on childhood, manhood follows fast, 5 
 
 Before of follies he has seen the last. 
 Then schemes unnumber'd tantalize the brain, 
 Till age steps in and shows all cares but vain. 
 In Eden's holy shades there might be rest 
 And love, the daily portion of the blest. JO 
 
 But strife and change and troubles undefined 
 Fill'd up the curse on Adam and his kind. 
 Whilst human life in centuries was told 
 Some schemes enduring human minds could hold. 
 Great power did he possess o'er young compeers 15 
 
 Who counted birthdays through nine hundred years.
 
 I\ 1 UODUCTIOX. 
 
 The rising spirit of grim discontent 
 
 Scarce dared to show itself or find a vent. 
 
 Succeeding generations view'd with aw e 
 
 Their sire and priest, and deem'd his will their law. 20 
 
 But sin had enter' d and its wages death 
 
 And the earth quaked the horrid scourge beneath. 
 
 The spirit of unrest had found a stage 
 
 On which to revel and to glut its rage. 
 
 Though for a season it was held at bay, 23 
 
 It broke at last o'er patriarchal sway ; 
 
 Made of the human brain a fruitful mine 
 
 To carry out its own insane design. 
 
 The apple of contention Satan hurl'd 
 
 Among the tenants of the seething world, 30 
 
 And saw with hellish joy the human race 
 
 Bring on themselves both ruin and disgrace. 
 
 From bad to worse the worthless creatures sank, 
 
 Till all around with deep corruption stank. 
 
 Excesses, violence and utter scorn 35 
 
 Of right and justice seized the woman-born. 
 
 God saw th' ungrateful wretch His love despise 
 
 And bade the Deluge o'er his revels rise. 
 
 One only family remain' d to tell 
 
 IIow with the righteous God would deign to dwell, 40
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Then life was shorten'd : as the days of man 
 
 Decreased in number, rapid change began : 
 
 Change in the world of nature, change in food, 
 
 Change in the habits both of bad and good. 
 
 This soon was seen ; and to o ercome the power 45 
 
 Of time and change th' ambitious built a tower, 
 
 A tower to be with its great top sublime 
 
 A centre of endurance through all time, 
 
 Forgetful that the Lord if He incline 
 
 Could with a breath disperse their grand design. 50 
 
 Then war and slaughter, blood-shed without end 
 
 In quick succession on their steps attend. 
 
 Red through the annals of four thousand years, 
 
 The tale of murder, scarcely check'd, appears. 
 
 Change then became a source of health and joy, $$ 
 
 Means which the God of wisdom would employ. 
 
 Stagnation in the social state had been 
 
 As great a bane, as if the world marine, 
 
 Void of health-bearing gales and tides had stood, 
 
 One vast, one motionless and noisome flood. 9 60 
 
 On much-loved subjects still the mind would dwell, 
 
 And fondly deem in such no change were well. 
 
 So thought the Roman ruler,* when he gave 
 
 Most pressing orders to his trusty slave, 
 
 Vespasian.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 That not a plant or tree or stone or wall 65 
 
 Should change its place or alter'd be, of all 
 
 That fbnn'd the nursery of his early days, 
 
 The scene of boyhood that he loved to praise. 
 
 How pleased beholds the veteran of fourscore 
 
 The fields that strong in youth he bounded o'er ; 70 
 
 Views every tree, examines every nook 
 
 And scarce can satisfy his loving look. 
 
 Change then must be our lot, whilst here we wait 
 
 A mightier change, that brings us to a state, 
 
 Which, whatsoe'er it be, we know is rest, 75 
 
 If by God's grace we be among the blest.
 
 CANTO IV.
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 Years multitudinous had roll'd away, 
 
 Deep buried in the vortex of the past, 
 
 When in that church-yard on the Lindsey height 
 
 Nortonio stood, and far and wide surveyed 
 
 The lovely landscape, whilst across his mind 5 
 
 Shot vivid images of times gone by. 
 
 Not far off in the valley spread below, 
 
 Just seen above the tops of tufted trees, 
 
 A little church-spire twinkled in the sun ; 
 
 While lost in thought he scann'd the well-known 
 
 scene, 1 o 
 
 New was this object. Soon he recognized 
 The site of Clarebrook, and recall'd to mind 
 The rumours at a distance he had heard : 
 How filial piety a solace sought, 
 
 How the loved child enshrined the dear remains 15 
 
 Of a fond father, and with wealth untold 
 Bade the best architect with all his taste 
 Rear on that spot a gem-like church to God. 
 Then glanced his eye upon the mansion front 
 That whiten'd in the distance, where endear'd 20 
 
 7*
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 By acts of charity and sympathy 
 With all, the Widow and the Daughter dwelt. 
 Bathed in a flood of light, for then the sun 
 Career'd in dazzling splendour, nature round 
 Beposed, complacent in the Sahbath calm. 25 
 
 Sweet were the rapid moments, whilst he mused 
 And gazed delighted on the different points 
 That caught his eye, and quickly brought again 
 Back to remembrance friends both old and dear. 
 Spread like an amphitheatre the scene 3° 
 
 Before him lay, embracing far and wide 
 Spots where his lot had been to minister 
 Or sojourn. Far upon the utmost verge 
 That eye could reach peer'd up the hazy heights 
 Of Edgehill, noted for the strife of Charles 35 
 
 And Lindsay's bloody relics, still preserved 
 With selfish care, memorials of the fray. 
 Not far off lay the fields, but dimly seen, 
 If seen at all, where once as beneficed 
 He lived, and blessing others bless'd himself. 40 
 
 Much did he muse upon the days gone by, 
 And a long li->t of dear parishioners 
 Rose quick into his mind and pictured forth 
 Sweet visions of the past, where love to God 
 
 72
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 And love to man had cheer'd this vale of tears. 45 
 
 Then turn'd his eye upon the Garden-Town 
 Where dimly rising slow the smoke appear'd, 
 And fringed th' horizon with a sable cloud. 
 There rested long his thoughts : much he recall'd 
 Of sin, of folly, piety and pride ; 50 
 
 How Irish parsons penniless and proud 
 Work*d on weak women, and beneath the cloak 
 Of zeal religious schemed for selfish ends. 
 In contrast with the beauteous scene around, 
 And black with envy for the heavenly calm 55 
 
 That rested for a moment on the world, 
 The evil spirit seem'd to hover near, 
 And bring into his mind a train of thoughts, 
 Retracing rapidly a hideous list 
 
 Of pious quacks and self-deceiving fools. 60 
 
 But there stood forth amidst the misty crowd 
 That throng'd his mind, some few, some godly souls, 
 That sought the praise of God, not praise of man. 
 Long had he mused, and longer still had stayed 
 And fed on recollections of the past, 65 
 
 Had not his friend Promnens impatient grown, 
 And, sallying from his domicile, cut short 
 The parson's meditations too prolong'd. 
 
 73
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 ' Good Sir, you 're long in coming : I and friends 
 Await you with a welcome," thus exclaim' d 70 
 
 The farmer, " in my old and well-known home." 
 He spake, and with a cordial shake of hands 
 Hurried his friend along the garden-walk 
 That led them to his hospitable door. 
 Then entering in Nortonio welcome found 75 
 
 Sincere and hearty from his Lindsey friends 
 That met beneath the roof-tree of his host. 
 The mistress of that family he learn' d 
 Had died long since, and now another friend — 
 The sister of his host — presided there : 80 
 
 No stranger to him, for in former times 
 She with her brother lived on Blacon top. 
 The sons were grown to manhood, whom he hail'd 
 As boys when last he saw them, now become 
 Two sprightly youths, well-form'd, and ardent both 85 
 In horsemanship and yeomanry pursuits 
 To show their skill and challenge future fame. 
 Barbats his brother and his sister now, 
 The widow of poor Amnes long deceased, 
 Were close at hand to welcome back their friend, 90 
 For as their pastor he had not yet come, 
 But simply to fill up a void then caused 
 
 74
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 By illness of the usual minister. 
 
 Steaming with balmy heat and simmering sighs 
 
 A mighty tea-pot of the ancient school 95 
 
 Stood on the table, promising to all 
 
 Refreshing beverage good for head and soul. 
 
 Rich currant cake and jams whose odours sweet 
 
 Charm'd the guest's nose, were spread around 
 
 the board, 
 Thick interspersed with plates of home-made bread 100 
 Cut into slices and with butter clad, 
 The bread and butter pure without alloy. 
 Such were the friends, and such the fragrant meal 
 Nortonio now was summoned to partake. 
 Soon finish'd was all eating : drain'd were cups 105 
 
 Of dark decoction from the Chinese plant 
 Well-sweeten' d, mantled with a coat of cream, 
 Such as an honest dairy only yields, 
 All innocent of city wiles and art 5 
 
 While pleasing conversation fill'd each void. no 
 
 Many and pregnant were the questions ask'd 
 And answers promptly given by guest and host ; 
 But broken, unconnected was discourse, 
 Till tea-urn, tea-tray, apparatus all 
 Had been removed, and in their place disposed 115 
 
 F 75
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Full canisters of cakes and fruits well-dried, 
 With bright decanters shining in the sun, 
 Well-fill'd with home-made wines, dark elderberry 
 And amber cowslip, sight indeed to some, 
 Blest with a strong digestion and hale health, 120 
 
 Acceptable, but to their guest that day 
 A source of secret horror, for he knew 
 Such sweets., if taken, would but prove to him 
 The sad forerunners of stomachic woe. 
 Impatient grew Nortonio to acquire 125 
 
 Some certain knowledge of the state of things 
 That had existed since he left the place. 
 The death of dear Clardonis, and the change 
 In Wardenship that follow'd the decease 
 Of Possumus, were things well-known to him ; 130 
 
 But still he wish'd particulars to learn, 
 And press'd his friend Promnens to tell the whole. 
 Two glasses of old cowslip cheer'd his heart, 
 And then with modest accent he began. 
 " When first you left us sorrowing to assume 135 
 
 The charge that we supposed would be the last, 
 And occupy your thoughts as long as life 
 Was spared, from different parts came ministers, 
 Who with the Vicar's help the duty took, 
 
 7 6
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 As well as circumstances would permit. 140 
 
 Soon happily our church the notice gain'd 
 Of wealthy neighbours ; one himself a priest, 
 Who with his wife, a godly woman too, 
 Purchased the mansion, where in times gone by 
 Your presence oft was seen, and he became 145 
 
 As it was thought Perpetual Curate here. 
 Possess'd of ample means and cultured taste 
 And free to follow all their good designs, 
 They lost no time in planning various schemes 
 For spending money. First it was their care 150 
 
 The mansion to enlarge, erect a lodge, 
 Stables construct, and beautify the grounds. 
 But whilst thus busy in their own affairs, 
 Forward they were to help our little church, 
 Pull down the rotten pews and in their place 155 
 
 Put up new seats, well-season'd, clean, and dry. 
 Our worthy vicar cordially concurr'd. 
 He and the new-arrived, good Protestants, 
 Were zealous in Church matters ; thought the same 
 About Church doctrines 5 and repell'd with scorn 160 
 The novelties and innovations vain, 
 Such as we hear have stealthily crept in, 
 And discord bred in parishes elsewhere. 
 
 77
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Thus fortunate we deem'd our lot, rejoiced 
 And thankful felt for such a happy state. i6j 
 
 Not many months had pass'd ere discord rose, 
 And quarrels about pews, the dry old bone 
 Of bitter strife, contested all in vain. 
 Our late good Warden's nephew had arranged 
 That where his uncle lived, his foreman now 170 
 
 Should dwell, and overlook the farm for him : 
 The pew, that had been to that house assign'd 
 For years, he claim'd, and bade his children there 
 Sit at the time of worship, which annoyed 
 Our minister's good lady, who had claim'd 175 
 
 This for her own especial use, and deem'd 
 What she had done had given a right 
 To choose before all others, but our swains. 
 As you well know, to all dictation deaf, 
 Spurn'd the idea, and I grieve to add 180 
 
 Resisted the attempt with insolence. 
 Then both withdrew offended : I was grieved, 
 And thought that better temper and respect 
 Our people should have shown to those who sought 
 To do them good and little interfere. 185 
 
 Another minister was soon obtain'd ; 
 And we were left with the remains of strife, 
 
 73
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 And a church newly pew'd and well arranged. 
 
 But soon the near died, and then a change 
 
 Took place more sweeping : new plans introduced, 190 
 
 The people call'd on to bestir themselves. 
 
 Shake off old habits, grasp ideas fresh, 
 
 And keep pace with the spirit of the times. 
 
 But meanwhile changes in the ways and views 
 
 Of worship, foreign to our church and rule, 195 
 
 Had silently crept in and undermined 
 
 That harmony and peace that once prevail'd 
 
 In this our village. Rank and rapid grew 
 
 This upstart doctrine, like some new-thrown seed 
 
 Of swede or mangold from a distance brought, 200 
 
 Cast by the sower on ground well prepared. 
 
 Some who had humbly come before to learn, 
 
 Now boldly and officiously held up 
 
 Their empty heads, to teach and to explain 
 
 "What they themselves could never comprehend. 205 
 
 Fervour, fanatic zeal and violence, 
 
 Coarse language, nasal twang and sour grimace, 
 
 Usurped the place of humble piety. 
 
 With all their cant much I incline to think 
 
 Some were sincere and wished to serve their God. 210 
 
 One far beyond the rest was prominent, 
 
 19
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 And gave a proof that he did. He avouch' d 
 And argued well that if a soul were saved 
 'T were worth a whole life's labour. He was right ! 
 But much I fear that ere a soul was saved, 215 
 
 Evils innum'rable had enter'd in, 
 Seized many a soul and covered it with guile, 
 Pride, ignorance, assurance without ground, 
 Which they call faith, these ate into their heart 
 As rust eats into iron. Still that man 220 
 
 Of whom I spoke, well by his conduct show'd 
 That what he sought was glory to his God. 
 Well nigh had he contrived to have a piece 
 Of land conveyed in all due legal style, 
 And bought, henceforth to be the future site 225 
 
 Of a new meeting-house, a thing unknown 
 In our calm village, had not Anakson 
 With his shrewd usual foresight intervened. 
 And quietly convinced him that such deed 
 Would lead to discord : hitherto much strife 230 
 
 Had not been known amongst us, and the worst 
 Of bickering and contention was indeed 
 Religious strife. He show'd himself alive 
 To common sense, expostulation calm, 
 And dropp'd the dear design. I must confess 235 
 
 80
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 That in the doings of our neighbour now 
 I did concur : though Anakson and I 
 In almost all things else opposed each other. 
 This agitation, these dissenting schemes 
 Began some years before, and I opine 240 
 
 Neglect of the commandment number Five 
 Was the true cause. Our children first begin 
 To set us at defiance ; servants then 
 Are quick to follow bad example set, 
 And so at last all order and all rule 245 
 
 In matters holy and things temporal 
 Are thought of little moment, till at last 
 The world a scene of wild confusion seems. 
 No doubt whatever the Arch-fiend himself 
 Was at the bottom of this hated change. 250 
 
 Our present vicar when he came and found 
 Things so unsettled, tried with gentle hand 
 To stay the evil, and the canting tribe 
 To lead into the church ; but found he might 
 As well have tried an adder to subdue 255 
 
 And bid him fondly with his children play. 
 Most energetic he appears to be 
 In missionary efforts, and in all 
 The objects that Societies design 
 
 81
 
 L1NDSEY. 
 
 Which love the Bible and the truth of God. 260 
 
 Good is what he desires, and well deserves 
 
 His name Philagathus. It had been well, 
 
 If with a weighty hand he had suppress'd 
 
 The rising evil : crush' d its head at once, 
 
 As you once taught us to crush nettle tops. 265 
 
 I bode no good among our labouring class 
 
 From this mistaken zeal. Bishops and priests 
 
 Of all men should teach order and stop strife. 
 
 Reflections have I heard oft freely thrown 
 
 On former parsons, but the priests of old 270 
 
 Were gentlemen and men of honour too, 
 
 Who to their doctrines stuck, turn'd not about 
 
 To all points of the compass, just as whim 
 
 Or interest or popular applause 
 
 Dictated, and with less profession too 275 
 
 Were quite as pious as the modern race. 
 
 Witness how true religion, reverence due 
 
 To God Almghty enter'd into deeds 
 
 That public were consider'd. Common wills 
 
 And e'en th' indentures that in duty bound 280 
 
 The parish 'prentice to his master's trade 
 
 Proclaim'd to all the providence of God. 
 
 But now in these free-thinking times the name 
 
 82
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Of God is oft omitted : that of man 
 
 Put forward as if he alone were lord, 285 
 
 And all the universe must yield to him." 
 
 He spake and paused ; for now he saw full well 
 
 His reverend friend was weary grown, to hear 
 
 Such tedious details, such unhoped complaints. 
 
 Silence was quickly broken : sundry thoughts 290 
 
 Found utterance in the circle. Sage remark 
 
 Pass'd rapidly with solemn emphasis 
 
 As well became so deep a theme discuss' d. 
 
 All were agreed that they should like to know 
 
 The chief points in Nortonio's late career. 295 
 
 And unmistakably gave him to see 
 
 That such was their desire, who thus replied : 
 " Dear friends and worthy neighbours, dear to me 
 
 For many reasons which I will not state : 
 
 Thus in your presence it is best to be. 300 
 
 For years you know that I resided near, 
 Incumbent of a parish not far hence, 
 And heard oft of your doings, till at length 
 ImpeU'd by conscience and a strong desire 
 To serve the Lord more fully, I resign'd 305 
 
 The living and prepared for other scenes. 
 But to the patron first I notice gave 
 
 83
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 One year before, that to resign the post 
 Was my intention. Thus he had the time 
 To choose a good successor, which design, 310 
 
 At his request, I help'd him to effect. 
 Unwillingly I left the place, but felt 
 That I must leave then, if I left at all : 
 That e'en delays but for some few years more 
 Would bar all future change, that rooted then 315 
 
 And bound by stronger ties, advanced in years 
 Change to another scene I must forego. 
 So with the patron we a parson chose : 
 And chose the fittest man, uninfluenced 
 By family connexions, or the claims 320 
 
 Of pushing friends or private selfish schemes. 
 Free then to rove I and my careworn wife, 
 Who in my labours always took her share, 
 As well you know, thought that occasion fair 
 To give ourselves a holiday, and see 325 
 
 Lands sever'd from us by that silver streak 
 Which some have deem'd the safeguard of our land. 
 To wealthy capitals we made our way, 
 And there beheld with mingled grief and joy 
 Endless experiments of human pride, 330 
 
 Innumerable scenes of vanity. 
 
 84
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Pomp, splendour, gorgeous show, dire poverty- 
 Met in close contrast, form'd a medley strange, 
 On which the mind of man might ponder long. 
 Close to the walls of huge cathedrals, built 335 
 
 In grandest style, where wealth and art superb 
 Had spent their utmost powers, we often found 
 A wretched crowd of human beings, sunk 
 In filth, half-starved, half-naked and half-housed. 
 The smells were horrible ! how different far 340 
 
 From the fresh breeze we catch upon this hill ! 
 One good effect of travel is to make 
 The heart content with what it finds at home. 
 Not that I think that capitals abroad 
 Are worse than our own London, or afford, 345 
 
 Except in some few points, more cause to mourn. 
 Where human beings congregate in crowds 
 Vice seems inherent in our present state : 
 However crush'd it struggles on, at times 
 Rises defiant, or creeps undiscern'd, 350 
 
 But like a snake behind it leaves a trail. 
 Intemp'rance here holds riot, drunkenness 
 Stinks at the corner ; fraud and avarice 
 In ambush lie, th' unwary to entrap. 
 But forms acknowledged of licentiousness 35 5 
 
 85
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Which sanction' d are by laws in foreign parts 
 In London are not legal. Bigotry 
 Is there more rarely seen. The danger is 
 That too much freedom is allow'd to those 
 Who arrogate the right to judge of creeds. 360 
 
 Our Romish brethren on the continent 
 Are not all devotees : indifferent some, 
 Or deem religion a mere tool of state. 
 But most are kind and hospitable, like 
 Our Romish neighbours here, whose hearts enlarged 36$ 
 And free from narrow views deserve all praise. 
 In sculpture and in painting foreign hands 
 Excel our own. Their galleries and halls 
 Free from the venal fee ope wide their doors, 
 And greet with courtesy the visitor. 370 
 
 But the great charm that makes a British home 
 Is there not seen. The Bible, that blest book, 
 That sits in state upon the cottage shelf 
 And consecrates the lowliest English house, 
 Is there but rarely found. Domestic sweets, 375 
 
 Such as in England bind us to the spot, 
 Seem little valued. Show and vain parade 
 And public pleasure most attention gain. 
 God's holy day, which every pious soul 
 
 86
 
 L1NDSEY. 
 
 Loves here to honour, there is oft profaned 380 
 
 By greed of trade or folly's vain pursuits. 
 
 Oft on our way to worship on that day 
 
 We pass'd by scenes of vanity and vice, 
 
 Mix'd up with symbols and strange spectacles 
 
 Of slavish superstition and blind faith. 385 
 
 One man -I saw stretch'd prostrate on the flags 
 
 Absorb'd in deep devotion, crouch'd before 
 
 A senseless image fasten'd in the wall. 
 
 So earnest was he that he ne'er perceived 
 
 Me, the spectator, though I gazed some time. 390 
 
 In person as to make and frame most like 
 
 Yourself, good Promnens, was this man devote ; 
 
 In mind far ditferent as we all well know. 
 
 When with our friends we traversed Waterloo 
 
 And view'd the plains where Gaul and Briton join'd 395 
 
 In mortal strife, at Hougomout we found 
 
 An image of the Virgin placed aloft, 
 
 The toes of which had been but slightly scorch'd, 
 
 Ere our brave guards the conflagration quench'd. 
 
 With shot and shell the French that post assail'd 400 
 
 And fired the chapel, but our men repell'd 
 
 All their assaults, and crush'd the rising flame, 
 
 The zealous Belgians pointed out to us 
 
 87
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 How shrank the fire before the Virgin form, 
 Not daring more, although the toes were caught. 405 
 Right glad were we to turn our steps and hail 
 Far in the distance once more Albion's cliffs 
 And sojourn for a time in Brighton town. 
 Thence to the huge metropolis we went. 
 There long we had not stayed ere offers came 410 
 
 And invitations to accept a charge 
 E'en in this county and not far from hence. 
 The call I lbllow'd. There my stay was short. 
 The people grateful far too highly prized 
 My labours for them brief but profitable ; 415 
 
 The schools got into order, and a piece 
 Of land was added to their burial ground, 
 Which years before they vainly strove to gain. 
 And when I left, they did not let me leave 
 Without substantial proof of their esteem. 420 
 
 Thence to the north we turn'd and there abode, 
 Charged with a mission in a busy place, 
 Throng'd with a population dense and coarse. 
 Clever, industrious, strong, inured to toil, 
 The people labour'd in the dirtiest trades 425 
 
 And earn'd enormous wages : then consumed 
 Their profits in intemperance and vice. 
 
 88
 
 LINDSEY 
 
 As usual all the penalties of sin 
 
 They had to pay. Disease in hideous forms 
 
 Struck down their strength, made them reluctant 
 
 think, 430 
 
 And ponder on the folly of their lives. 
 Judge what a change to me from these fair scenes. 
 So rough in their appearance, so uncouth 
 The people were, that my poor wife was scared 
 And scarcely ventured to walk down a street. 435 
 
 As for your humble servant, my first task 
 Was chiding, crimination, finding fault. 
 Sweet you may rest assured was such a state : 
 A pastor on one side cut to the heart, 
 Aggrieved to see such wretchedness and sin, 440 
 
 And on the other side a people sunk 
 In wickedness, in degradation deep. 
 But God be prais'd, amidst this chaos sad 
 Some jewels sparkled, much to my surprise. 
 I spoke out freely, visited and prayed 445 
 
 Beside poor wretches, horrible to view, 
 Mark'd and distorted with some dire disease. 
 And after this, though sharp were my rebukes, 
 And frequent too, among the strong and hale 
 Abuse was all unknown, and gratitude 450 
 
 89
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 Beam'd in the eye of the rough artisan. 
 But time admonishes that I must close. 
 Another charge I held near Liverpool, 
 And thence was summoned to the midland parts. 
 As years roll'd on I watch'd a chance to turn 455 
 
 Back to the scenes where oft in early youth 
 I roved delighted, free from care and toil. 
 And thus was led my residence to fix 
 Once more in Tardaton, and there was found 
 By your good vicar and brought here to-day. 460 
 
 In olden time the Levite, if he served 
 Full twenty years, discharged from active life 
 Was deem'd at liberty to rest from toil. 
 And I, who had myself served twice this time, 
 Had with my wife hoped to have lived retired. 465 
 
 Obedient to the call your vicar made 
 I came this day, and trust your minister, 
 Disabled now, may soon his place resume. 
 No small inducement, rest assured, was mine 
 To see old friends, old faces, and renew 470 
 
 Acquaintance dearly prized and long since form'd. 
 Scarce had I hoped to find so many friends 
 Alive and healthy. Thankful do I feel 
 That in the providence of God so kind 
 
 90
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 We all are spared once more to meet again. 475 
 
 Some faces once well known I miss, but see 
 
 Others alive, and bless that gracious God, 
 
 Who in His goodness has prolong'd our days, 
 
 And given us thus the wished-for privilege 
 
 To greet each other and our thoughts exchange. 480 
 
 He ended, and with many a cordial shake 
 Of hands, abrupt the friendly circle left, 
 For distant was the station, and the train 
 Was due ere long. The railway and its plans 
 Had all been form'd since there he minister'd. 485 
 
 On rush'd he through the lanes with eager haste 
 To catch the train, but frequent were his halts. 
 Anxious to speed, his heart could not refuse 
 The welcome to return, and say one word 
 To well-known faces hailing at their doors, 490 
 
 Radiant with smiles and full of meaning clear 
 That much there was to tell, could he but check 
 His hurried march. All were alike assured 
 Another visit must be paid, and then 
 Time would be given more freely to reveal 495 
 
 Their joys and sorrows, accidents and cares. 
 
 Now Lindsey was divided : it was once 
 In thought, in politics, religion too, 
 
 O QI
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 United : quiet once her children all 
 Nursed in the bosom of contentment lay, 500 
 
 Adoring God, and enemies to none. 
 Now alter'd was all this. Fresh people came 
 From various parts and new ideas brought. 
 These counsell'd mighty changes, but the swains, 
 The old inhabitants of Lindsey homes, 505 
 
 Outnumber'd the new-comers, and their views, 
 Approved by some, by others spurn'd, obtain'd 
 Not much respect, but village discord bred. 
 The change inevitable was, and so 
 
 Its consequences were, howe'er condemn'd, 510 
 
 The current of events no human skill 
 Can fashion or forestall, though in their pride 
 The kings and conquerors of earth may plan 
 And in their hearts say such shall be the world. 
 The mightiest and the meanest bend beneath 515 
 
 The sway of Him who by His providence 
 Governs th' upheaving turmoil of the world, 
 And bids the nations know that He is God, 
 No place or being save Himself unchanged. 
 The father toying with his infant-child 520 
 
 Would wish the winsome creature to remain 
 A little girl in childish innocence, 
 
 92
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 From modish arts and affectation free. 
 The youthful husband, gazing with fond looks 
 Upon the beauties of his new-made bride, 525 
 
 Gladly would hope that these may long survive 
 And triumph o'er the ruthless hand of Time. 
 But age and wrinkles, haggard looks and gloom 
 Ere long creep in, eclipsing loveliness, 
 And care corrodes where beauty beam'd before. 530 
 
 Earth, sea and air, the stars and heavenly host 
 Pass through vicissitude, and know no state 
 Enduring still the same : this change required 
 As health for all, e'en as the restless waves 
 Drawn up by strong attraction keep the sea 535 
 
 Salubrious, free from pestilence and stench. 
 The very surface of the earth is changed. 
 Hills tower where valleys open'd to the view, 
 And corn-crops wave where once sea-monsters played. 
 Could our forefathers, who in Saxon times 540 
 
 Chased the wild deer across the open heath, 
 This world revisit, would they recognize 
 The England of to-day, as once their own ? 
 See'st thou all changing ? Ponder then, O Man, 
 The great, the final change that waits thee here. 545 
 Thou know'st not what thy after state may be, 
 
 93
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 Though bards and vain enthusiasts may declaim 
 
 And rill their heaven with furniture of earth ; 
 
 But here is real joy, if thou hast placed 
 
 Thy trust in God and His appointed means, 550 
 
 And safety sought beneath the Saviour's cross. 
 
 The child unborn knows nothing of this world 
 
 Unconscious struggling into life and joy, 
 
 And yet in God's good time finds here a home 
 
 Where guarded by his heavenly Father's care 555 
 
 Happy he may the path of duty tread. 
 
 Scenes of surpassing loveliness and life 
 
 Far higher, free from all alloy, beyond 
 
 The grasp of sense, await thy last great change, 
 
 The consummation of thy Christian toil, 560 
 
 Thy warfare ended, changed to change no more. 
 
 Vain were all expectations that the priest 
 Who help'd their Vicar, should resume his charge 
 And minister again in Lindsey Church. 
 So Sunday after Sunday came and pass'd, 565 
 
 And still Nortonio found his lot was there. 
 With hesitation and distrust he saw 
 Lindsey again committed to his care, 
 Though light the duty, for his health had fail'd. 
 But still it seem'd to him who guidance sought, 570 
 
 94
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 The finder of a gracious Providence 
 Mark'd out that spot that there his charge should be. 
 So turn'd he to his labours once again 
 With all his might, and blessing from above 
 On his unworthy efforts sought forthwith. 575 
 
 Soon busied was he with his ancient friends, 
 Welcome to all and glad once more t' inhale 
 The breezes freshening o'er the Lindsey meads. 
 Nature herself seem'd to revive again 
 In all her youth, and warblers of the woods 580 
 
 Swell'd their lithe throats and cheer'd him on his way. 
 Few found he missing : those he sought in vain 
 Had pass'd from this world, save a very few 
 Who toil for trade in neighbouring towns had changed. 
 But a strong mixture of dissenting sort 585 
 
 Was leavening now the lump, and harmony, 
 Such as of old in Lindsey, reign'd no more. 
 Disquieted he was but not surprised 
 And tasked himself severely ; could this change 
 Have been, or been so great, had he remain'd 590 
 
 Firm at his post and never left the place 
 For benefice or fields of distant toil ? 
 Reflection cut the vain inquiry short. 
 The force of circumstances no one miud 
 
 95
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Could stem or govern. Best he thought it then 595 
 To God's great glory to divert the tide, 
 And thus the elements discordant join. 
 No time was lost in disputation vain. 
 By all it was agreed the soul must be 
 The first of cares. All must combine and serve, 600 
 Howe'er their notions differ'd, the same God. 
 And now as formerly in all their cares, 
 Both great and small, he sympathised and found 
 Thus ready access to their inmost hearts. 
 Not long he labour'd ere events reveal 'd 605 
 
 Seasons that call'd forth sage suggestion, hints 
 How to find comfort even in the grasp 
 Of hard-pinch'd poverty, and cheerful smiles 
 Well-timed renew around the cottage^hearth. 
 Churchwarden Promnens soon his aid requir'd. 610 
 
 Some years with honour had his eldest son 
 Served in the yeomanry, and many a prize 
 For skill in arms or horsemanship had won ; 
 The young men envied but the maids admired. 
 And one before the rest his notice caught, 61 5 
 
 But young and inexperienced : still secure 
 His heart was fixed, a great event for him, 
 And much to be desired for all young men 
 
 96
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Just entering on the busy stage of life. 
 The sage old warden, full of thought and care, 620 
 
 Deem'd it full soon for son of his to wed ; 
 And could he so contrive, would wish his son 
 Should see more of the world and knowledge gain 
 Ere in the cares of family involved. 
 Little he said, but counsel sought alone 625 
 
 With his old friend Nortonio, who advised 
 No obstacles to raise, but uncontroll'd 
 Leave the glad lovers to arrange affairs. 
 Without delay the youthful couple came 
 And sought Nortonio 's blessing, and his aid 630 
 
 To make them man and wife, all which was done. 
 A hasty visit to great London town 
 Follow'd, and soon with all propriety 
 They own'd a house well-furnished, which by death 
 An aunt vacated some few months before. 635 
 
 Right heartily to work the husband went, 
 And the young wife was busy in her home, 
 Whilst older heads regretted not the change. 
 Roomy and spacious was that house, too large 
 For folk new-married, without olive shoots ; 640 
 
 So deem'd Nortonio and th' occasion meet 
 To get a lodgment for himself and wife. 
 
 97
 
 L1NDSEY. 
 
 Soon were they quarter' d there, their house resign'd 
 To servants' care, while Lindsey and her swains 
 Engross'd their whole attention : so they wish'd, 645 
 Anxious to give them residential care. 
 With glad activity he soon renew'd 
 His old acquaintance, and the new-arrived 
 With special care attended, lest perchance 
 O'erlook'd or slighted they might deem themselves. 650 
 Some godly souls he found : one family 
 A valued acquisition was indeed 
 To all the parish. Sorrow had been theirs, 
 Dark disappointment and affliction deep, 
 And Christian grace and holiness the fruit. 655 
 
 New was the place to them, but not unknown # 
 Their good name to Nortonio. Once they dwelt 
 Not far from Clarebrook, near his ancient cure. 
 In simple resignation to the will 
 
 Of God, the father yielded to his lot 660 
 
 Without a murmur : him we Lemuel call. 
 With equal hope and faith e'en brighter still 
 His faithful partner kiss'd the rod that smote, 
 And acquiesc'd in all her Lord had will'd. 
 Cheer'd by their daughter Helen, and by one 665 
 
 Sweet sister of the father, Naomi, 
 
 98
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Declining in the vale of years they lived, 
 
 Bent on one object, their departure hence, 
 
 In peace with all and reconciled to God. 
 
 Here was a gentle group, respected, loved, 670 
 
 Look'd up to by their neighbours, and esteem'd 
 
 By all the gentry round, as worthy were 
 
 Their virtues, manners, merits all retired, 
 
 Like some fair plants that cluster in the shade 
 
 And show their presence not by lofty heads 675 
 
 Or boughs bedizen'd with the flowers of May, 
 
 But catch th' attention of the passer- by, 
 
 Arresting notice by their sweet perfume. 
 
 Glad was Nortonio to find such old friends 
 
 And neighbours well deserving all his care, 680 
 
 He and his wife and this whole family 
 
 Enter'd at once upon a fierce crusade 
 
 'Gainst sin and vice of every kind and form. 
 
 But now a difficulty new and strange, 
 
 And one not easy to o'ercome, occurr'd. 685 
 
 Good Lemuel's wife wish'd every household there 
 
 Free from all discord, every father too 
 
 Loving and sober, to his children kind, 
 
 And glad to try e'en such amount of toil 
 
 As would secure to every soul he own'd m 690 
 
 99
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Comfort and health, from every want escape. 
 The wish benevolent, alas ! was vain : 
 And well Nortonio knew that such a state 
 So near perfection ne'er could be attain'd. 
 And so he taught her that with all her zeal, 695 
 
 Discretion must be mix'd, allowance made 
 For early habits, rough uncultured ways, 
 Howe'er repulsive they might seem to be 
 To those whose lot in fairer scenes was cast. 
 Joyous the villagers their visits hail'd 700 
 
 And amply paid were all by gratitude, 
 Evinced in various ways, though far below 
 Their utmost wishes was the work achieved. 
 And now a labour to his heart most dear 
 Was well nigh near fulfilment, when reports 70^ 
 
 Of doings in his house at Tardaton 
 Reach'd vex'd Nortonio and his hopes destroyed : 
 So frail is human happiness, so brief 
 The satisfaction that we find on earth, 
 Though earn'd and sought for in the cause of truth. 710 
 Whilst he was busy in his rural charge 
 His house the scene of revelry became. 
 The sprightly grooms and lackeys, prompt to learn 
 And revel in the joys of Tardaton, 
 
 100
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Soon found out damsels forward to be found, 715 
 
 By master and by mistress trusted much 
 
 But all unwisely, as events made known. 
 
 Sofa with broken leg and fractured chairs 
 
 Show'd conduct most unseemly, deeds uncouth, 
 
 Where meditation, prayer, and holy song 720 
 
 Had turn'd 'twas hoped, their minds to better things. 
 
 Roused by the rumours, in intense disgust 
 
 And hurried haste, the parson and his wife 
 
 Back to their home their sudden journey took, 
 
 Much to the wonder of the Lindsey swains, 725 
 
 Who knowing not the cause, conjectures wild 
 
 Form'd most unusual, and their leisure hours 
 
 For twice seven days were whiled away in doubt. 
 
 EXD OF CANTO IV.
 
 CANTO V.
 
 CANTO V. 
 
 Dark loom'd the future — In the womb of time 
 Events were labouring : and the deep designs 
 Of shrewd sagacious statesmen, now matured, 
 Were struggling into action — Tempests lower'd : 
 Men held their breath, and scared by rumours wild 5 
 Presaged some strange convulsion. He who once 
 The charioteer of Europe deem'd himself, 
 Felt the volcano rock his upstart throne. 
 Fires kindled by his own self-seeking crew, 
 Long slumbering, now burst forth, and hurried on 10 
 Commotions fierce, defying all restraint. 
 His uncle, once the blood-red star of Gaul, 
 The great arch-tyrant steep'd in human gore. 
 Chain'd to a solitary rock forlron, 
 
 Had paid the penalty of selfishness. 15 
 
 His vain admiring people too had groan'd 
 And drain'd the cup of vengeance, but not all, 
 That Nemesis required, had been discharged. 
 Wounds deep and many rankled in the soul 
 Of German chivalry — Forgotten not 20 
 
 103
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Were all the insults heap'd in times gone by 
 
 On Prussia's beauteous queen and royal state. 
 
 Mutter'd the nations in dark dread : the noise 
 
 Of distant thunder boom'd along the deep, 
 
 And horror hover'd in the howling wind. 25 
 
 Safe stood the rocks of Albion, safe in mail 
 
 Of heavenly temper, from her Bible drawn : 
 
 And safe stood little Lindsey undismayed 
 
 Amidst the clamour of a world in arms. 
 
 Strange rumours reach'd her sons ; ideas vague 30 
 
 Fill'd their untutor'd minds ; where Germany 
 
 A.nd where was Prussia dimly they discern'd : 
 
 But France they thought was somewhere not far off. 
 
 Troubles more near at home and more their own 
 
 Held the first place in their domestic thoughts. $$ 
 
 The leaven of dissent fermenting stirr'd 
 
 That small community so quiet once, 
 
 Placed in the heart of England, far withdrawn 
 
 From foreign discord and the ways of fame. 
 
 Not long was Lemuel destined to enjoy 40 
 
 His new abode, though reconciled to change 
 Of place and scene, far different from the home 
 He once possess'd, his own for many years. 
 Deep secret sorrow more than sickness scathed 
 
 104
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 His tall thin figure, stripp'd of strength and health, 45 
 Marr'd but erect in his integrity ; 
 His faith unshaken : still most sorely tried ; 
 Assured that what his heavenly Father will'd 
 Must be the best, though all seem'd black around. 
 Week after week the suffering man declined, 50 
 
 The flesh all wasting, and the powers of life 
 Failing, each day beheld still more decreased. 
 Pale, weakly, with a humble face resign'd, 
 Once more he sought the church, and occupied 
 The pew, where he had loved to sit before 55 
 
 And hear of mercy through a Saviour's love. 
 Of public worship this was his last act. 
 Then to his house confined, his little room 
 Well furnish' d with religious books, supplied 
 Food for his piety and thoughts devout. 60 
 
 There oft was seen Nortonio, there he held 
 Sweet conversations with his Christian friend, 
 And calmly look'd eternity in view. 
 The wasting malady now wrought its way 
 Silent and rapid : efforts all were vain 63 
 
 To give the patient help. His stomach soon 
 Rejected cordial draughts, nutritious food, 
 And all the aid that healing art could yield. 
 
 I0 5
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 Ere long increasing weakness circumscribed 
 His movements so, that his sole dwelling place 70 
 
 Was one small bedroom, large enough for thought 
 To muse on mercies more than he could tell. 
 There with his family he loved to hear 
 Of holy things, though to the last degree 
 Of utter weakness and exhaustion brought : 75 
 
 Still never tired was he of prayer and praise. 
 Enlighten'd by the Holy Spirit, he 
 Could feel and gratefully acknowledge too, 
 Mercy and bliss unknown to carnal minds. 
 With gratitude he told his minister 80 
 
 How blest were they who godly parents claim'd : 
 The happy privilege that they possess'd 
 Who had been nurtured in the fear of God 
 And early taught their passions to control. 
 Though now no longer rich, yet happy still, 85 
 
 His sick bed tended by the three beloved, 
 His wife, his daughter, and his sister dear, 
 He traced in all his heavenly Father's care, 
 Pour'd out his thankfulness in words and looks 
 Of grateful feeling ; not a murmur heard 90 
 
 But love to God and charity to man. 
 His married daughters burden' d with the charge 
 
 106
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 Of infant children, living miles away 
 
 Did what they could to soothe his bed of pain ; 
 
 They saw the end at hand aud fondly bade 95 
 
 A loving sad adieu, by faith assured 
 
 That all was right and they should meet again. 
 
 Nor long he waited : soon convulsions strong 
 
 Shatter'd the little fragments that remain'd 
 
 Of vital power. Prostrated but resign'd 100 
 
 The dying man once more look'd round, and then — 
 
 Calm in the presence of the faithful three 
 
 Its mortal tenement the spirit left. 
 
 Quick contrast follow'd in this changeful world 
 Of life and death, of infancy and age. 105 
 
 A choir of screaming babies rife and strong 
 With parents crowded in the little church, 
 Call'd on Nortonio to perform his part 
 And seal them all as soldiers of the Lord. 
 The joyful summons quickly was obeyed. no 
 
 No obstacles arose when once impress'd 
 Duly with sense of duty sponsors came. 
 Sometimes a difficulty might arise 
 About the name or where the child was born. 
 One loving mother would her son call Tom : 115 
 
 " Thomas," the priest replied : " Oh, no," said she, 
 
 H IO7
 
 IJXDSEY. 
 
 " Tom :" and no other name but Turn was right 
 In her maternal eyes ■ so he was named. 
 Another would her son have Vanus call'd, 
 A name that sounded like the one assign'd 120 
 
 In ancient times to hei, who, ocean-born, 
 Reign'd Queen of beauty o'er the Cyprian isle, 
 A name so heath' nish that the minister 
 Demurr'd to give it to a Christian child. 
 But after much discussion it was found 125 
 
 Silvanus was the name the parent meant, 
 A name both orthodox and scriptural. 
 From other parishes were children brought 
 Whose dwellings, placed beside bad pathways, stood 
 Nearer to Lindsey than their parish church. 130 
 
 Much loved Nortonio the parochial scheme, 
 And urged each parent in due course to seek 
 From his own minister baptismal rite: 
 But well he knew, 'twas dang'rous to delay. 
 And health and distance must be thought of more 135 
 Than strict adherence to a rigid rule. 
 Due consultation with his neighbour priests 
 Gain'd their approval : glad consent they gave, 
 For wide and straggling were their rural cure-'. 
 One child came from a parish more remote, 140 
 
 108
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 But of his coming ample notice gave 
 The anxious father, for his minister 
 Had shock'd his own and others' feelings too 
 By monkish oddities and Romish forms. 
 The child was brought with all propriety ; 145 
 
 The parents well prepared, the sponsors too 
 To answer all inquiries and discharge 
 The grave and solemn duties then enjoin'd. 
 Prepared too was the pastor to receive 
 A furious missive from the angry priest 1^0 
 
 Whose fold the lamb belong'd to 5 but had gone 
 Where the fond parents deem'd the rite divine 
 With less of priestly craft might be received. 
 Th' expected note arrived : the answer was, 
 That if in humble mode, with decency, 155 
 
 Becoming reverence and an air devout, 
 Prepared to do what they then undertook, 
 The sponsors brought an infant to the priest 
 And at his hands claim'd Christian baptism. 
 It was, in prompt obedience to his Lord, 160 
 
 His duty gladly to receive the child, and do 
 All that his Christian parents could desire, 
 Thankful, rejoicing in their pious wish, 
 That long it had been, long might it be so, 
 
 109
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 The dearest aim of faithful ministers 165 
 
 To press into the fold of Jesus Christ 
 A willing people, and not drive them thence 
 By crooked notions of their own ill-timed. 
 This was enough : the Lindsey parson's views 
 Drew no more comments from the clerk chagrined. 170 
 Then came the marrying swains, all blithe and gay, 
 Rosy and vigorous, bright with hope and bliss 
 Anticipated without base alloy. 
 Various the brides appear'd : some smiling came, 
 Some with a downcast and distrustful look, ij$ 
 
 As if a doubt were hovering in the mind 
 As to the future and the risk incurr'd. 
 Faith was not wanting, such as may be found 
 In youthful hearts rear'd in a pious home : 
 But where th' expressive eye, the thoughtful face 180 
 Show'd that reflection had perform' d its part, 
 Some trace of fear or shyness might be seen. 
 Banns were so often ask'd that prudent Snap, 
 The shrewd old parish clerk began to fear, 
 That no more spinsters would be left to marry. 185 
 
 For years together was no wedding seen ; 
 But latterly church-service had been charged 
 With banns so numerous that the people stared, 
 
 no
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 And public worship often was disturb'd. 
 
 The ancient bell that toll'd at other times 190 
 
 Was knock'd about most merrily, and rang 
 
 Uproarious, resonant, re-echoing 
 
 Through all the village, till the tell-tale smiles 
 
 Of all around the great event proclaim'd. 
 
 All pass'd off happily, except the last 19J 
 
 Intended marriage — that was sad indeed ! 
 Poor Mabel in her inexperienced youth 
 Suspicious of no wrong, had shown her love 
 Too readily. A fatal step she took 
 In yielding to her charmer, and the path 200 
 
 Of love made much too smooth, and now the toy 
 He once had sought, the faithless swain declined. 
 Great promises were made : fine ribs of beef 
 And rich provision for the nuptial feast, 
 All he most promptly undertook to find. 205 
 
 The banns ask'd out, the time was duly fix.*d 
 For solemnising in the usual form 
 This last of a Ions; list of marriages. 
 The maiden came herself and sought the priest : 
 He heard the summons : noted too the fact 210 
 
 That she, th' expected bride, alone assumed 
 The charge of all arrangements, whilst the man 
 
 in
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 Was seldom seen and only known to sleep 
 And sojourn there, a residence to claim. 
 He came a stranger from a distant part 2 1 1 
 
 In search of work and thus th' acquaintance form'd. 
 The wish'd for day was asher'd in with storms 
 Fierce and lugubrious: torrents of dense rain 
 Descended, ominous of cold and woe. 
 The mother and the grandam, widows both, 220 
 
 Clean'd up their cottage, furbish'd every tool, 
 Made all things smart as rustic pride aspired : 
 And there prepared sat with a few select 
 Of neighbours and of children, to receive 
 The ling' ring bridegroom and his gifts enjoy. 225 
 
 Much had the children heard of fruit and cake, 
 And now impatient grew, and clamorous cried 
 To taste the promised sweets, but none appear'd. 
 Amidst the pelting rain the priest arrived, 
 Cold, comfortless, and weak, and anxious then 230 
 
 To do his part without delay forthwith, 
 For long had be been suffering from ill health. 
 But ah ! no bridegroom could be found ! the nymph 
 Had made herself too cheap. The treacherous youth 
 Laugh'd at a distance : no fine presents came ; 235 
 
 No wedding feast or cake was there that day. 
 
 112
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Sad look'd the visitors all dinnerless, 
 
 And loud were the complaints. Amidst the rest 
 
 Her grandam told the disappointed maid 
 
 That " now no doubt off to some other part 240 
 
 The youth would turn his steps, and there would wed 
 
 Some maid more fortunate : that she no more 
 
 Would see his face, and so might rest assured." 
 
 " Oh, no !" said she, " this cannot, cannot be, 
 
 " But he " — A flood of tears absorb' d the rest. 245 
 
 Gay was- the village with so many brides : 
 Mirth led the way and hoary care retired. 
 Light sprightly figures flitted through the lanes, 
 And gossip was all rife. The savings earn'd 
 Through many a hard work'd month were lavish'd 
 
 now 250 
 
 Gladly and freely without stint or grudge. 
 The colours of the different garments worn 
 By bridal parties or their visitors 
 Enliven'd many a cottage, cheer'd their hearts 
 And banish'd sorrow to less favour' d homes. 255 
 
 Some few could have a house they call'd their own 
 By dint of mutual savings well employed. 
 But all were not so happy : some must wait 
 Till means were more abundant, and meanwhile 
 
 "3
 
 IJXDSEY. 
 
 Abide with relatives or hire a room. 260 
 
 But these were matters of but small account 
 
 With youthful lovers, anxious to complete 
 
 One dear design, and settle down tor life : 
 
 Happy in ignorance of the pain and care 
 
 That richer mortals have to undergo 265 
 
 Adjusting settlements and all the schemes 
 
 That lawyers can imagine, to secure 
 
 The property for ever ; above all 
 
 To work out a long bill, that vies in length 
 
 E'en with the settlements that gave it birth. 270 
 
 But whilst this scene of merriment at large 
 
 Spread through the village and the neighbourhood, 
 Two Christian souls were sorrowing close at hand. 
 
 Schoolmistress Sartor who herself had taught 
 
 Most of the newly-married, now succumb'd. 275 
 
 Her malady had hung about her long. 
 
 At first a small lump on her side appear'd, 
 
 But little notice drew. Time pass'd away 
 
 And it seem'd ominous : no pain at first 
 
 But painful if press'd down. Still it was hoped 280 
 
 Time would a change effect and health return. 
 
 It was not so j through more than three long years 
 
 Slowly the malady increased, and then 
 
 114
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 What long had been suspected, now confirm' d 
 
 Beyond all doubt a cancer proved to be, 285 
 
 Her strength entirely failing, all the charge 
 
 Of school and children on her daughter fell. 
 
 The daughter, fatherless, herself had shown 
 
 Germs of consumption. Weak, without complaint 
 
 Her mother she attended, and such aid, 290 
 
 As only could a loving daughter, gave. 
 
 Kind friendsia gracious watchful Providence, 
 
 Who for the sheep denuded of its fleece 
 
 Tempers the wind, provided and prepared 
 
 To bring prompt help just at the trying time. 295 
 
 Good Lemuel's widow ceased not oft to come 
 
 And comfort the schoolmistress and her child. 
 
 His daughter and her aunt were forward too 
 
 To aid in various ways. Their timely help 
 
 Gave vigour to the school, declining now, 300 
 
 In charge of its young mistress, quite o'erwhelm'd 
 
 With cares domestic and scholastic join'd. 
 
 Gifts from the vicar and the neighbours round 
 
 Flow'd in apace, most grateful ; for the wants 
 
 Of such long sickness had well nigh reduced 30^ 
 
 To utter poverty this suffering saint. 
 
 And rapidly the fatal hour drew nigh : 
 
 "5
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 Nortonio mourn' d, but saw that it must be, 
 
 And so he told Ins patient. She received 
 The gentle hint, as if she knew the words J 10 
 
 He was about to utter ; well prepared 
 To go whene'er her Heavenly Father call'd. 
 Soon came the summons : well her daughter met 
 The strain so trying to a loving child. 
 Close to the gate, that from the churchyard led 315 
 
 To her abode, were her remains interr'd. 
 And there Philagathus a tablet placed 
 Enduring, if in this world ought endure : 
 For it was made of iron, fix'd erect 
 
 So that each village child might mark the spot 320 
 
 Where lies the corpse of her who years long since 
 Had taught his mind and ruled his infant powers. 
 She knew but little : little had to teach, 
 But famed for discipline was she, and curb'd 
 Tumultuous passions in the youthful breast. 325 
 
 And now her child, a sorrowing orphan, seem'd 
 Thrown on this heartless world, forlorn and bare, 
 Helpless and houseless, destitute of health, 
 Yet happy in her troubles, calm, composed, 
 And unexcited in her hour of woe. 33° 
 
 Her faith was in her heavenly Father's care. 
 
 116
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 She had no fear of death : the world for her 
 Had few temptations : pleasures she had none, 
 But heard that such things led to sin and pain. 
 Unfit for teaching from the want of health, 333 
 
 She now must venture forth and face the world, 
 And strive, relying on God's help, to earn 
 An honest livelihood. So forth she went, 
 And some would deem hers was a cheerless life ; 
 But on her steps a watchful Providence 340 
 
 Waited, and smooth'd the way. Round this poor soul 
 Whom proud and wealthy souls disdain' d to own 
 As Christian sister, angel-bands kept guard, 
 Peers of the universe her ministers. 
 
 Soon found Nortonio in a friendly home 345 
 
 Close to his own abode, an easy place, 
 Just suited for the girl, where one kind soul 
 And two fair daughters, like herself in heart, 
 Could comfort the poor creature, and require, 
 Although they paid her wages in due form, 350 
 
 Only such service as her broken strength 
 Could yield, and not bring on intense fatigue. 
 Most lovingly did these young ladies help 
 Their weakly servant : carried water-cans 
 To save her strength, and studied to avoid 355 
 
 117
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Her need of climbing stairs, her breath to spare. 
 Their good deeds are recorded and are known, 
 And their reward shall follow in due course. 
 But all in vain was human help ; the fruit 
 "Was ripening last. Too good for earth was she. 360 
 She fear'd not death : to her 'twas gain indeed ! 
 And so the mother and the daughter died, 
 Two precious souls, dear in their simple faith. 
 Some few hours ere the mother breathed her last 
 Nortonio read some parts of Holy Writ, 365 
 
 And for the last time in this world she took 
 A part in that most blessed sacrament, 
 Memorial of her Lord's most precious death. 
 Weak as she was, raised on her lowly couch, 
 She gladly enter' d into all she heard, 370 
 
 Serene and certain that the promises 
 Made to good Christians would be all her own. 
 The daughter, when so weak that service thus 
 Must be abandon' d , ere she left her place 
 To visit country cousins, call'd to see 375 
 
 Nortonio, now her friend, her pastor once. 
 She promised to return and see him soon, 
 A promise visionary, for he saw 
 Death stamp'd upon her visage, and full soon 
 
 118
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 She join'd her mother in the realms of bliss. 380 
 
 The world cared nothing for them, but their deaths 
 
 Were precious in God's sight. Nortonio thank' d 
 
 His heavenly Father : these his jewels were, 
 
 Dearer to him than gold or silver heaps 
 
 Or all the honours that the world could give. 385 
 
 Whilst visiting these poor, these pious souls 
 Oft did Nortonio to his mind recall 
 Scenes of past life, where vain and courtly dames 
 Burden'd with this world's wealth and bloated, full 
 Of vanity, of luxury and pride 390 
 
 Stalk'd through their halls majestic, wilfully 
 Ignoring what the child of want endured. 
 Some few were waken'd to their grievous sin 
 And saw the error of their ways in time. 
 This was the exception : others labour'd on, 395 
 
 Slaves to their own inordinate desires. 
 One wealthy mistress, far too grand to speak 
 To lowly maidens, once express'd surprise 
 That the poor girl, the object of her gifts, 
 Was reconciled to death, whilst she was not. 400 
 
 "Why should she not be glad," Nortonio cried, 
 "When death to her is change from earth to heaven ? " 
 Grim poverty ! thy patient followers then 
 119
 
 UXDSEY. 
 
 Share not an unmix' d evil. Some good fruit 
 
 May be at times pluck' d from the crab-tree stock 405 
 
 When grafted with the kindlier apple stem. 
 
 Thy struggling people cumber' d with less care 
 
 Thou leadest to the brink that overhangs 
 
 The bridgeless chasm of eternity ; 
 
 And less unwillingly they leave the shore 410 
 
 Where nought but troubles and dire difficulties 
 
 Their portion was, whilst fortune's minions quail, 
 
 Writhing in anguish, trembling on the edge, 
 
 And shrink with horror from the bourn unseen ! 
 
 Suspended now was week-day work in school. 415 
 The pious daughter of kind Lemuel 
 Had form'd her classes for the Sunday work : 
 And help came from the neighbouring parish too. 
 Young Voisin, who in .scenes of busy life 
 Had taken part, and once to commerce turn'd 420 
 
 His thoughts in London, glad was to escape 
 From civic toils, and health and rural peace 
 Find in the hospitable home, where dwelt 
 His uncle Kuper on high Blacon Hill. 
 Mcst opportunely he as teacher came 425 
 
 With voluntary aid, look'd up the school, 
 Gave to the inmates clear judicious help, 
 
 120
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 And join'd the lady in attempts to train 
 Some of the children for a village choir. 
 And now a notice from the bishop came 430 
 
 That in a certain town, not distant far 
 From Lindsey, all of proper age be call'd 
 To be confirm' d, who had not yet assumed 
 The vows their sponsors made in their behalf. 
 This summons furnish'd an occasion fair 435 
 
 To rouse both young and old : the first to teach 
 In mind and spirit knowledge of God's word, 
 The last to aim at, whilst the young were taught. 
 Church catechising long had practised been 
 At Lindsey : there old people long had heard 440 
 
 Truths wholesome and much needed, whilst the priest 
 Seem'd all intent upon his youthful charge. 
 Good reason too it gave him to renew 
 His frequent calls on families, and see 
 The mode of life each candidate had led, 445 
 
 And form some notion with all care and love 
 How far profession with true facts agreed. 
 Kind help was always ready, if sought out 
 In loving spirit; efforts too were made 
 By parents or relations, who with zeal 450 
 
 Would do the work, if such as could be done, 
 
 12 1
 
 LLXDSEY. 
 
 That their young friends more time might have to spend 
 
 In preparation for the holy rite. 
 
 Sweet reminiscences of former days 
 
 Occurr'd, when to his priest the parent brought 4^ 
 
 His child as candidate, and with respect 
 
 Most deferential, gratefully recall'd 
 
 How years ago he was himself prepared 
 
 When first Nortonio visited that place. 
 
 And now he wish'd the self-same minister 460 
 
 His child to train as he himself was train'd. 
 
 In work like this Nortonio help received 
 
 From neighbour Voisin and the family 
 
 Of dear deceased Lemuel, never tired 
 
 Of working for their Saviour and their priest. 465 
 
 Their servant girl a candidate became : 
 
 Her name Eliza Faithful well express' d 
 
 Her character, and happy in her place 
 
 Her mistress she repaid by love and care. 
 
 Oft did Nortonio at the houses call 470 
 
 Where youthful swains were labouring, and obtain'd 
 
 Some welcome knowledge of their ways and thoughts. 
 
 But well he knew these visits must be timed 
 
 As not to interfere with duty's call ; 
 
 Or furnish an excuse to shirk or slight 475 
 
 122
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 The debt of labour to the master due. 
 
 Oft from another parish some young man, 
 
 Known to Nortonio well, would wish to join 
 
 The party of young candidates, and share 
 
 His Scripture lectures and advice required. 480 
 
 One placid Sunday on his way he went, 
 By one youth companied well-known to him, 
 Who confirmation sought. He minister'd, 
 Heard all his classes and his candidates ; 
 But long before all this had been achieved, 485 
 
 Good Lemuel's widow, hospitably bent, 
 Had found that with a friend that day he came, 
 And so an invitation pressing, kind, 
 Was forthwith forwarded that they should take 
 Refreshing beverage at her evening meal. 490 
 
 Now long Nortonio had been pledged to spend 
 Some Sunday half-hour with the eldest son 
 Of his respected warden, and behold 
 How proud both he and his young wife would be 
 Their minister to hail and entertain. 49^ 
 
 Postponements there had been, and many months 
 Elapsed before the day was fix'd : at last 
 Arranged it was that this should be the day, 
 When his young friends and their old minister 
 
 123
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 ourse long-thought-of should at length enjoy. 500 
 When now the message from the widow came, 
 Grave reasons urged Nortonio to comply. 
 Time press'd : her servant Faithful well prepared 
 For confirmation now appear'd to be, 
 Except on one point, which Nortonio deem'd 505 
 
 Would soon be remedied, if he could gain 
 Help from the mistress to assist the girl. 
 He scrupled not, but called upon his friend 
 Again the hoped-for pleasure to postpone, 
 Which, kind as usual, he agreed to do. 510 
 
 Thus set at liberty Nortonio join'd 
 His widow'd hostess and his wish obtain'd. 
 And well it was so, for no more alive 
 Destined was he to see this child of God. 
 Pleased at that hospitable hoard he sat, 515 
 
 His young companion seated at his side 
 And three dear lady friends, prepared to join 
 In Christian conversation, as became 
 That solemn day, though then but little thought 
 That it would be the last on earth for two, 520 
 
 Poor Helen's mother and her aunt so dear ! 
 Pleased with one subject were both young and old, 
 The bishop coming to confirm, and soon 
 
 124
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 The junior members of the church prepared, 
 Allegiance to their Saviour would profess. 525 
 
 Good things before him on the table spread 
 Were press'd for his acceptance by the kind, 
 The liberal hostess, who with right good-will 
 Welcomed his young companion to her house. 
 And there they sat rejoicing, and felt free 530 
 
 From care, anxiety, and worldly thoughts ; 
 All loving, ardent for the good of souls, 
 Fill'd with a sense of thankfulness profound 
 For what they had done, little as confess'd : 
 All glory giving to the Lord their God, 535 
 
 And only wishful they could more evince 
 Their love to Jesus and exalt His name. 
 Oh ! happy is it for the human race 
 The future is conceal'd : could but a glimpse 
 Of what impended, then to them been given, 540 
 
 How would a curtain of funereal hue 
 Have hung about them and o'ershadow'd all ! 
 Swift flew the happy moments : time was gone : 
 Their guests must leave them, never more to meet, 
 Though nothing further from his thoughts could be 545 
 Than that Nortonio should no more behold 
 This widow and her sister, whom he loved 
 
 125
 
 L1XDSEY. 
 
 And deem'd the bright examples of his flock. 
 He and his young companion reach' d their homes, 
 And rose as usual for the morrow's claims, 550 
 
 But ere the sun had finish' d half his course 
 Tidings arrived, that early, ere the (.lawn 
 That day h td streak'd the east, the shouts of lire 
 Startled the village. From their beds aroused 
 The drowsy swains, bewilder'd, half-awake 555 
 
 And terrified, not knowing what to do, 
 Ran in wild tumult to the scene of woe. 
 Through the crash'd windows of that house, where once 
 In former times dwelt peaceful Possumus, 
 Volumes of smoke now rush'd enveloping 560 
 
 The few faint gleams of light that broke the gloom. 
 There by their cries they recognized full soon 
 The daughter and the servant girl, aghast 
 With horror, frantic, madden' d with despair, 
 Their garments all disorder' d, soil'd and torn, 565 
 
 And hanging loosely as not made for them. 
 Soon stable lamps and other aids were brought 
 To break the lurid mass, and vain attempts 
 Were made to force an entrance, but the smoke 
 Burst forth overwhelming and all efforts fail'd. 570 
 
 Amidst the turmoil and the stilling smoke 
 
 126
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 At the same window near the garden gate 
 Whence the young woman had descended safe, 
 By grappling with the pear tree branches spread 
 That grasp'd the wall beneath, just then appear d 575 
 An aged woman, standing, half-undress'd 
 And looking calmly on the crowd below. 
 With countenance serene she look'd and cried, 
 " The Lord, good people, will provide, the Lord !" 
 And then from sight withdrew, whilst toil'd the 
 crowd 580 
 
 Distracted, dubious, without i-ule or plan. 
 Thus precious time was lost : the master mind 
 To guide them to success was wanting here. 
 Ladders were sought but all in vain at first. 
 Whilst desperate with the thought that even then 585 
 Her mother might from suffocation die, 
 The daughter rashly tried to scale the wall 
 By clinging to the pear-tree, but fell back, 
 Caught by the swains uninjured as she fell. 
 At length amongst the crowd push'd forth a youth 590 
 Who lately from great London had arrived, 
 And married in the village. He had seen 
 Scenes oft like this, and for a time had served 
 In one famed fire brigade. As captain he 
 
 127
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 Was willing to co-operate and give S95 
 
 Some guidance to their zeal. The willing swains 
 Most gladly heard his orders ; labour'd hard 
 With pails of water to supply his wants. 
 And now a ladder had arrived, and such 
 As to the chamber-window could be raised. 600 
 
 Cover'd with humid sacks, his face all veil'd 
 With well-soak'd wrapper, rapid up the steps 
 He sprang determined, agile as a goat, 
 And jump'd into the room through surging smoke, 
 And snatch'd the body of the poor old dame 605 
 
 Kneeling beside the bed, but motionless. 
 Breathless himself, the body was so light 
 That he could bear it to the window, whence 
 With care descending down the steps it pass'd, 
 The bead reclining o'er his arm, and help 610 
 
 Prompt to relieve him ere he reach'd the ground. 
 Thence borne across the road to Sombre's home, 
 One sigh she gave, and no more signs of life 
 RemainM. Placed gently there, kind women stood 
 And sooth'd and comforted, alas ! in vain. 615 
 
 Speechless from grief the daughter and the maid 
 Wiped the dear face and scatter'd dress arranged. 
 Back to the burning house the bearers flew, 
 
 128
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 Aud now a cry arose, "Where was the aunt" ? 
 Till then one thought had occupied all minds, 620 
 
 The rescue of the mother, that achieved, 
 Returning suddenly they call'd to mind 
 That high up in the back, behind the house, 
 The aunt had slept, and there she doubtless was. 
 On rush'd the fireman, follow'd by a train 625 
 
 Of zealous helpmates. Scarce the ladder reach'd, 
 The back room window was so far aloft. 
 Now she was taller than the mother, placed 
 Not easy to approach, and now well-nigh 
 His strength had been exhausted. Two bold boys, 630 
 Active and vigorous, volunteer'd their aid, 
 And in wet garments follow'd up the steps. 
 'Twas well they did so, for the fireman scarce 
 His footing could maintain. The sturdy youths 
 Upheld him bravely, ready strength supplied, 635 
 
 Though smother'd by the smoke and pafch'd with heat. 
 One desperate plunge they made, and then they found 
 The hapless woman kneeling at her bed, 
 Fix'd and inanimate, a lifeless form, 
 A shawl thrown o'er the shoulders, both her hands 640 
 Gloved, slippers on her feet, all decently 
 Composed, and bent as if at prayer she died. 
 
 129
 
 L/XDSEY. 
 
 Great was the effort now required to pass 
 
 The helpless body down the ladder steep : 
 
 But will there was not wanting, and sue 64- 
 
 Crown'd the attempt, though choked were all the three, 
 
 And ill and useless for some little time. 
 
 The corpse was carried tenderly and placed 
 
 Beside the mother : there they both reposed 
 
 For ever free from this world's toil and pain. 6^0 
 
 Meanwhile the news had spread, and people came 
 From different parts to help and to inquire. 
 The youngest son of Promnens, in hot haste, 
 Call'd from his dreams abruptly, booted, spurr'd, 
 Urged his best courser at its utmost speed 655 
 
 To Guerrick for the engine, and it came, 
 Prompt and equipp'd, and ample work perform'd : 
 But the chief loss, the loss of two dear In 
 Ere it could come, was placed beyond all help. 
 At length the morning light reveal'd the scene " 660 
 Dismal and hopeless: black and charr'd it seem'd, 
 Disfigured, windows quite destroy'd, and doors 
 Hanging in fragments, whilst a horrid smell 
 At times forth-issuing fumed the place around. 
 Soon fell the fire beneath the drenching rain 665 
 
 Pour'd on it by the engine : here and there 
 
 130
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Smoke burst at intervals, but peril all 
 
 Had disappear'd and vanquish' d was the pest. 
 
 Some bits of furniture were rescued now, 
 
 And in the barn disposed with jealous care, 670 
 
 Till came the son-in-law, who call'd had been, 
 
 But lived some few miles off. Delayed not he, 
 
 But came and sought his relatives in vain, 
 
 With one exceptiou. Every effort made 
 
 Life to recall in mother or in aunt 675 
 
 Was futile. Overwhelm'd he stood and gazed, 
 
 View'd the dead bodies with a bursting heart 
 
 And bis; with anguish went to see the house. 
 
 And there it stood a ruin, blacken'd, soak'd 
 
 With water steaming o'er the heated bricks : 680 
 
 Dirty, bespatter'd, foul with soot and fire, 
 
 Like some poor wretch begrimed, that long had toil'd 
 
 In coal-pit darkness or the gaseous flue. 
 
 Hideous it look'd, a spectacle of woe, 
 
 Disown'd by love and hope, a scathed heap. 685 
 
 Where but a few hours since Nortonio sat 
 
 And talk'd delighted with those pious friends. 
 
 Was now an ugly void, where lawless flames 
 
 Had left the traces of their ruthless rage : 
 
 And this was all remain'd of what was once 690 
 
 131
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 The calm sweet dwelling of kind Possumus, 
 Girt round with shrubs and fruit-trees flourishing 
 In richest verdure, as if joyed the plants 
 To pay their owner for his watchful care. 
 Deep sigh'd the miserable man and gave 695 
 
 His willing labourers orders to remove 
 The wreck, and what remain' d to make secure. 
 Then turn'd his steps to where the bodies lay- 
 In Sombre's crowded cottage : there he found 
 His sister and the maid with sorrow spent. 700 
 
 A vain essay he made to And the cause 
 Of this mysterious fire, but all the maid 
 Could tell him was, that "she was waken' d up 
 With stifling deep sensations, and she found 
 Her bed-room full of smoke. Her door unclosed 705 
 In rush'd a mass of smoke so dense and dark 
 That scarce with difficulty she could breathe. 
 Not knowing what to do she knock' d aloud, 
 And roused the mistress and her daughter too." 
 The daughter here took up the tale and said : 710 
 
 " Her door she open'd and a cloud of smoke 
 That instant enter'd and o'erwhelm'd them all. 
 In haste she closed it 3 then her mother told 
 The house was all on fire : quick counsel they 
 
 132
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Together took, and as escape behind 7 r5 
 
 Could not be made, decided soon it was 
 That succour to obtain the girl and she 
 Must from the window drop, and then return 
 Her mother to release. Forthwith she put 
 Herself outside, felt for the strongest boughs, 720 
 
 For well she knew the tree that grasp'd the house, 
 And quick descended to the ground below 
 But little injured, for being very tall, 
 She reach'd out far to parts that best could bear 
 Her weight incumbent, but was bruised and torn 725 
 And sadly shaken by the final fall. 
 The servant Faithful follow'd with all speed, 
 But not so warily her way discern'd 
 And suddenly came tumbling in a lump, 
 Her ankle damaged and her side contused. 730 
 
 Then both besought her mother to descend 
 As she was light and little, and could cling 
 To the torn pear-tree with more hope of aid. 
 But firmly she refused and so they flew 
 And roused their nearest neighbours and return'd. 735 
 Time after time they call'd, but call'd in vain ; 
 Begg'd and implored her to escape at once, 
 And they would catch her if her hold she lost. 
 
 133
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Once, only once, was she e'er seen again 
 
 Alive: when at the window she appear'd, 740 
 
 Utter'd a few qnick words and then retired. 
 
 This was the sum of what the saved could tell. 
 
 Inquiry more he made but ne'er could learn 
 
 The real cause : it seem'd beyond all doubt 
 
 That in the kitchen parts the fire began, 745 
 
 But what the origin was never known. 
 
 Sad but resign'd, arrangements then he made 
 That where they were the bodies should remain 
 Until an inquest had been held : but now 
 His sister and the maid with him must go, 750 
 
 And quit this harrowing scene. In his abode 
 And with his wife, her sister, she might find 
 By God's great mercy even for this wound 
 Balm, consolation, comfort yet unknown, 
 Love mingled with her sorrow, love divine, 755 
 
 Hope for th' afflicted and the fatherL 
 Above the perils of this changeful world. 
 
 END OF CANTO V.
 
 CANTO VI.
 
 CANTO VI. 
 
 Fled now were many charms from Lindsey homes, 
 
 The charms of former days, when rude and blest 
 
 In happy ignorance, the labouring swain 
 
 Pass'd on his way contented, nor repined 
 
 For townlike luxuries, or fare beyond 5 
 
 His humble means. Clean, calm in mind, robust, 
 
 His knowledge little, his desires as small, 
 
 If daily bread by easy toil he earn'd, 
 
 Enough he deem'd it for an honest man. 
 
 But now the spirit of unrest had seized 10 
 
 The younger branches of the Lindsey folk ; 
 
 And meek simplicity was only seen 
 
 Among the few old-fashion'd residents. 
 
 New-comers introduced their own new schemes : 
 
 Each had his favourite plan : dissent was rife. 15 
 
 Church rules were too contracted. Boisterous zeal 
 
 *37
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 O'erflowing from the bounds of Tardaton, 
 More fiery than discreet, found hearers here. 
 The lovers of dissent, brisk, fierce, and big 
 With vast designs to alter all mankind, 20 
 
 Now roused themselves to action, and found means 
 To hire a cottage and their meetings hold. 
 The newly-opened railway, though it touch'd 
 No part of the small parish, near at hand 
 Pass'd, and as usual brought both good and bad. 25 
 
 New notions, new ideas crept among 
 The youthful swains, till they began to doubt 
 The wisdom of their fathers, and to think 
 Themselves most worthy higher things to claim. 
 Three parishes extended to a point 30 
 
 Not far from Lindsey Church, and residents 
 From all the three came oft to worship there. 
 Some valued much the services, and held 
 Themselves indebted for the good enjoyed. 
 Others came forward with some new design, 3$ 
 
 And v, ish'd for surpliced choristers, and psalms 
 And anthems chanted in cathedral style. 
 But funds were wanting. Welcome the excuse 
 To vex'd Nortonio, tired of novel plans, 
 Who with the vicar quietly resolved 40 
 
 138
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 That whilst with wise improvements life and strength 
 
 Might be infused, yet still the simple style 
 
 Characteristic of our Church Reform'd 
 
 Should be maintain'd, nor strangers interfere. 
 
 Most thankful did Nortonio feel to find 45 
 
 The vicar firm and Protestant, unmoved 
 
 Amidst the clamours for new forms and schemes. 
 
 Press'd with suggestions immature, uncall'd, 
 
 They look'd to duty, noted every change, 
 
 And prayed and hoped the issue might be bless'd. 50 
 
 Both advocates for progress, both well knew 
 
 That to old principles they still must cling, 
 
 And in the spirit of the age must march. 
 
 With endless talking for the good of souls 
 
 And doleful groanings for the sins of men 55 
 
 Much hoped Nortonio that some good would come 
 
 To his beloved flock, and kindle zeal 
 
 More ardent, more alive to duty's call. 
 
 Some, now advanced in years, and who well knew 
 
 Ere long their bodies in the grave must lie, 60 
 
 Seem'd little troubled that account must soon 
 
 Be given to God and judgment must begin 
 
 E'en at the house of God. His boundless love, 
 
 The Saviour's merits and the help they hoped 
 
 139
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 From grace divine had occupied their thoughts ; 65 
 
 But sorrow for the sins spread broad and thick 
 
 O'er many years of folly and of sin 
 
 He saw but seldom amongst such as these. 
 
 Painful it was and difficult to rouse 
 
 These veteran souls to vigilance, inclined 70 
 
 By age, by nature, and long habits too 
 
 To think but only ot the passing hour. 
 
 Close at the bottom of a pleasant lane, 
 Where join'd the main road, three young poplars stood ; 
 And mark'd the spot, where in a lonely cot 75 
 
 Dwelt two old relics of the Lindsey folk. 
 Both now had pass'd the threescore years and ten : 
 The wife the older by three years or morej 
 Had well nigh touch'd her eighthieth year, but still 
 According to old usage Guerrick sought, 80 
 
 Walk'd all the way, and often undertook 
 The charge and labour of a tradesman's house. 
 Honest and cheerful, noted well was she 
 As nurse in illness, when some dire disease 
 Contagious scared the neighbours, and afar 85 
 
 In terror drove faint-hearted souls away, 
 Whose charity was only on their tongues. 
 Old George, her husband, left in charge to guard 
 
 140
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 Their household goods, their cottage, and their pig, 
 
 Felt solitude no burden, well employed 90 
 
 In in-door duties and his garden cares. 
 
 Xo anxious thoughts were his, for well he knew 
 
 His good old dame, to-morrow or next day, 
 
 "Would safe return, and from the town bring back 
 
 Some creature comforts that were dear to both. 95 
 
 Both were industrious. Years ago old George 
 
 "Work'd for the village and the country round 
 
 As blacksmith. Ignorant of books and pens 
 
 Accounts he kept not, but the farmers charged 
 
 Alike each year, however much was done. 100 
 
 Children they rear'd ; but these had long since left 
 
 And found employment in the neighbouring towns. 
 
 But oft they came their parents to look up, 
 
 And freely gave what little they could spare. 
 
 One fail'd not every Sunday morn to shave ioj 
 
 His aged sire, and with his mother's help 
 
 Array the old man in his best attire. 
 
 The wife look'd on well pleased with sire and son. 
 
 Unfit for work long had he now withdrawn 
 
 From active life : his spouse more aged still 1 1 o 
 
 Blest with hale vigour, honest wages earn'd. 
 
 No savings could they boast : through many years 
 
 K 141
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Both had been labouring and both had been paid. 
 What money wants at home did not require 
 Old George expended upon malt and hops. 115 
 
 Thus lived they, like the birds of air, devoid 
 Of care about the future, satisfied 
 With present wants supplied, and heedless how 
 The world was changing or themselves were changed. 
 Reminded by Nortonio that their lives 120 
 
 Their years foretold could not be much prolong' d 
 They acquiesced and often join'd in prayer. 
 Urged to prepare for his departure hence, 
 The old man meek replied, " He did do so 
 As well as he was able 5 " shed a tear, T21J 
 
 Fell back into a state of mind composed, 
 Easy, assured that all would yet be right. 
 A life so calm, unruffled, undisturb'd 
 By thought of this world or the world to come, 
 Contrasted strangely with the turbid wave 130 
 
 Of human passions seen at Tardaton. 
 Advantages it had, its evils too : 
 Good for the body's health, but in the mind 
 Prone to relax, dull sloth and stupor fed. 
 One Sunday morn Nortonio on his way 135 
 
 Had near'd the poplars. Turning round he saw 
 
 142
 
 L1NDSEY. 
 
 The old man perch'd high in an apple-tree. 
 Surprised and fearful lest the branch should fail 
 Beneath the man, big, heavy with the weight 
 Of more than seventy years, he call'd aloud, 140 
 
 " George, could you not get apples yesterday ? " 
 " Oh no," said he, " I had not time," and look'd 
 As if escape he would, but there stuck fast. 
 'Twas plain the pastor unawares had come 
 And caught him in the act : stiff limbs and age 145 
 
 Barr'd the attempt, whate'er the wish might be. 
 A few years more and George one Sunday morn 
 To feed his pig essayed, and tried to speak, 
 But found he could not. Fast the fit progress'd, 
 And down he fell. Just at the moment came 150 
 
 Nortonio on his way to church, who rush'd 
 Up the steep hill and from the village sent 
 Prompt aid to help the wife, now left alone. 
 Recover'd for a time, George linger'd on 
 For many months, and without pain expired. 155 
 
 His widow, though bereaved of him who shared 
 Her joys and sorrows for nigh sixty years 
 Still wish'd to labour and retain her home. 
 And so she struggled on for some months more, 
 And took a lodger to provide the rent. 160 
 
 H3
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 But time prevail'd. Some faculties still good, 
 
 Her spirits cheerful and her mind serene, 
 
 Her aged limbs no longer could sustain 
 
 The task herself imposed. And so she stayed 
 
 At home from dire necessity, and toil'd 165 
 
 About her garden and her well-clean'd house. 
 
 Early one day she told her lodger friend 
 
 She felt unwell. A box of pills she kept, 
 
 Her favourite medicine : one of'the-e she took 
 
 And fell upon her chair that instant dead. 170 
 
 To these and such as these Nortonio hoped, 
 The zeal and fervour that he heard express'd 
 Among new-comers, would extend, and teach 
 How lire and vigour might be blended slill 
 With primitive simplicity and faith. 175 
 
 But he was doom'd to disappointment sore. 
 The younger branches of old residents 
 Had listen'd not unwillingly to views 
 Broach'd by new-comers. Grandsires look'd askance, 
 Shook their white heads, and doubted much the truth 180 
 Of what was said. Sound sense and reason fell 
 Dwarf'd and dismayed before the blatant clique. 
 Sour Discontent, pale-visaged, blear-eyed bend 
 Thrust in his hateful schemes, and caught the heart 
 
 144
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Of young and idle, bent on something new. 185 
 
 Quick with the eye of love Nortonio saw 
 
 The change come o'er the village, saw and sigh'd. 
 
 Surprised he was not, for he moved about 
 
 The English world, and had beheld with grief 
 
 The love of novelty that now prevail'd. 190 
 
 Faintly he hoped that villages, withdrawn 
 
 Far from the busy world, would have escaped 
 
 The pestilential breath of demagogues. 
 
 Full soon he found that vain were all his hopes. 
 
 He look'd abroad, and saw e'en men renown'd 195 
 
 For honour, talent, equity, and sense, 
 
 Willing to lead a mob, and compass schemes 
 
 Opposed to order and the public weal. 
 
 Infected with the mania of the times 
 
 The new-arrived stirr'd up the Lindsey youth, 200 
 
 And wild ideas easily infused. 
 
 In many a cottage now were murmurs heard 
 
 And covetous desires to earn more pay, 
 
 Where but a short time since contentment sat 
 
 On every face, and round their frugal board 20^ 
 
 Parents and children gratefully enjoyed 
 
 Their food with thankfulness, nor wish'd for more. 
 
 Led by the specious tales some started off 
 
 HS
 
 LLYDSEY. 
 
 To distant parts in search of wealth and work. 
 
 Enormous wages they had heard were earn'd 210 
 
 In those black regions where the chimneys tall 
 
 Belch'd forth huge volumes of begriming smoke, 
 
 Or clouds of vile effluvium, fatal blast 
 
 To verdant landscape or umbrageous green. 
 
 Amono-st such scenes Nortonio oft had lived 215 
 
 And minister'd. The nature of the work 
 
 To him was known, and so he gently tried 
 
 To show the people how unfit they were 
 
 To grapple with the labour there required. 
 
 The older listen' d, and the young some few ; 220 
 
 The others thought they would their fortunes try 
 
 And went their way ; but soon came back again 
 
 Dishearten'd, disappointed, and one died 
 
 Soon after his return, so closed th' attempt. 
 
 They found on trial that their fare at home 225 
 
 And scanty wages with fresh air combined 
 
 By far outweigh'd advantages they gain'd 
 
 In busy towns or noisome modes of trade. 
 
 But still undaunted the new comers urged 
 
 Their favourite schemes, and would not rest themselves 230 
 
 Nor wink at others in inglorious ease. 
 
 Peace and contentment they despised as sloth, 
 
 146
 
 L1NDSEY. 
 
 And onward rush'd as some high-mettled horse, 
 
 That with his rider strives for mastery 
 
 And champing throws his haughty head aloft. 235 
 
 Meantime strange things occurr'd. A blacksmith known 
 
 In narishes both near and distant round 
 
 For forging plough-shares with unequall'd skill, 
 
 Such that the farmers thought none were like his 
 
 Had found a spirit kindred to his own 240 
 
 Among the strangers, but of foreign race. 
 
 His plough-shares, highly valued, means supplied 
 
 For wild excesses. Broken through the bounds 
 
 Of decency, good, bad, alike defied, 
 
 That fierce virago join'd the man of iron 245 
 
 And reckless plunged into the dire abyss 
 
 Of drunkenness, of vice and sins unnamed. 
 
 Short their career : returning from the town, 
 
 Their brains all phrensied with the liquid fire, 
 
 Soon as, impetuous driven, they reach'd the turn 250 
 
 Where from the mainroad branch'd the village lane, 
 
 The woman madden'd in her fury lash'd 
 
 The wretched horse, that jumping o'er a heap, 
 
 Jerk'd forward the spring-cart, and headlong hurl'd 
 
 Its passengers and sundry bales of goods. 255 
 
 The man escaped with life and some rough cuts. 
 
 -47
 
 LLYDSEY. 
 
 The woman, helpless in her drunken state, 
 
 Precipitated from the foremost seat, 
 
 Fell heavy on her head and spake no more. 
 
 The wretch, the vile companion of her crimes, 260 
 
 Recovering from the shock, upraised himself 
 
 And slowly sought the body of his mate, 
 
 Convulsed and quivering in the final strife. 
 
 Vain was his aid : for life was ebbin<>- fast, 
 
 And ere the neighbours to his help could come 265 
 
 There lay the body motionless, and death 
 
 Had unmistakably his prey secured. 
 
 There stood the wretched man, a helpless sot, 
 
 Stammering and stuttering, stupid with debauch, 
 
 The man, who once in his paternal cot 270 
 
 Had happy been, ere he had known so much 
 
 Of strangers and the world's deceitful joys. 
 
 There stood he, while before him lay the corpse, 
 
 Exposed to scrutiny and stern remarks 
 
 From awe-struck villagers and neighbours round. 27^ 
 
 Too drunk to reason with, they sent him home 
 
 Placed in the charge of two strong aged swains. 
 
 The corpse they carried to a neighbouring inn 
 
 To wait the coroner, \\\\o soon arrived, 
 
 His part perform'd, and "Accidental Death *' 280 
 
 148
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 Duly recorded. To Nortonio fell 
 
 The next sad duty to inter the dead. 
 
 Then he to mind recall'd discussions past 
 
 With brethren of his church in times gone by ; 
 
 How straiten'd they should be, if call'd to read 285 
 
 The burial service o'er the grave of one 
 
 Who died e'en in the act of flagrant sin. 
 
 How could they with a conscience clear, unhurt, 
 
 Thank God for having taken to Himself 
 
 The soul of one who had deceased in sin ? 290 
 
 Thankful he felt he was not call'd to judge 
 
 However infamous the case might be ; 
 
 And so could read the service, though he grieved. 
 
 Gladly he turn'd away from this sad scene 
 
 And sought for peace in visiting the sick 295 
 
 And helpless. Lately to the place had come 
 
 A lady middle-aged, sedate, retired, 
 
 Accompnni'd by a maid, but little known, 
 
 Though well-connected, as her relatives 
 
 In Tardaton were known and honour' d too. 300 
 
 To visit her Nortonio oft had wish'd, 
 
 But found access most difficult. In vain 
 
 Time after time he tried, but some excuse 
 
 Was always made the visit to postpone. 
 
 149
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 Notes he had written, and polite replies 305 
 
 Had been received, and there the matter stayed. 
 He seized the occasion, when the village round 
 Was in a ferment from this sad affair, 
 To call once more and comfort minister. 
 Rumour described her as an invalid, 310 
 
 Who never ventured out, was rarely seen 
 By neighbours or the doctor : never spoke 
 Her wishes or her wants to visitors, 
 But through her maid communicated all. 
 About her cottage and her garden neat 3 1 5 
 
 Freely she moved, if she could move unseen. 
 The appearance of a man or even child 
 Was signal certain for a quick retreat. 
 From what he heard, Nortonio had inferr'd 
 Hers was a case of nervousness, that lid 320 
 
 Upon retirement and an idle life : 
 Happy perhaps if she had been compell'd 
 By sheer necessity to rouse herself, 
 And strangle for her bread : if" real ills 
 1 lad held the place, where fancied evils ruled. 
 A cure seem'd hopeless in her present state. 
 A rambler she had been in search of peace : 
 From town to town she moved, and sought a spot 
 
 150 
 
 IOC?
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Secluded from the world, where not the sound 
 
 Of human voice, save of her well-train'd maid, 330 
 
 Could break the silence that she loved so well. 
 
 Fenced in with jealous care the servant caught 
 
 At intervals some grains of vagrant news. 
 
 And so Nortonio hoped the dread event, 
 
 That form'd the burden of the village talk, 335 
 
 Had now been heard of even in that house ; 
 
 And that desire, nursed in a female heart, 
 
 To have the truth detail'd, would open now 
 
 The door that hitherto was always barr'd. 
 
 In haste he turn'd the intended call to make 340 
 
 And went prepared with sundry arts to try 
 
 To wean her from herself, and fix her thoughts 
 
 On higher things, but fruitless was the attempt. 
 
 She heard the cracking of the ploughboy's whip 
 
 In an adjoining field, and sudden cries 345 
 
 Call'd to her aid her servant, well prepared 
 
 For such a dire catastrophe, who thrust 
 
 A finger in each ear without delay, 
 
 And blocked each orifice against the sounds 
 
 That fell with horror on her tender nerves. 350 
 
 Slowly but surely drop the curtain clouds 
 Around the eve of life, in sombre dress 
 
 151
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 The close infolding : one by one descends, 
 Friend after friend, till one alone is left, 
 The sole survivor of a numerous band. 355 
 
 So thought Nortonio, when he stood alone 
 Amidst the lonely graves near Lindsey church, 
 And mark'd the spot where lay the mortal part 
 Of good old Snap, his faithful friend and clerk: 
 And there, thought he, should lie bis own remains, 360 
 When God had summon' d hence the immortal soul. 
 Musing he stood : the melancholy scene 
 Silent and sad accorded with bis thoughts. 
 He look'd upon the recent grave of Snap : 
 There were his bones, but where was now his soul? 365 
 Doubtless where dwelt the blessed and the saved. 
 Then, thought he, oft how had the kind old man, 
 Like an old butler, waited and supplied 
 His various needs, while they together held 
 7V friendly chat about the parish plans. 370 
 
 Not long before his death, Snap stood as clerk 
 Close on the margin of old George's grave, 
 And watch'd the coffin as it sunk below ; 
 Whilst "bending down he look'd himself mature, 
 Prepared to follow at no distant day : 375 
 
 Like fruit well ripen'd pendent from the bough, 
 
 152
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 And waiting only for a sudden gale 
 
 To separate it from the parent branch, 
 
 And add an atom to its mother earth. 
 
 Near stood the tomb by pious nephews raised 380 
 
 In neat and modest dignity, to show 
 
 Where lay the body of kind Possumus. 
 
 And sloping down beneath the yew-tree shade 
 
 Were many graves, where aged villagers 
 
 Slept their last sleep, no more to change exposed. 385 
 
 Thick interspersed were burials of the young 
 
 And middle-aged. Nortonio needed not 
 Like Gray the Poet to conjecture here, 
 What talents they possessed, what mode of life 
 Best suited them, for well he knew them all. 390 
 
 Thankful he felt that souls so dear to him 
 Rejoiced in happier days, ere modern arts 
 The world had harrass'd, and brought in their train 
 A keener knowledge both of good and ill. 
 Blest in their humble lot they lived and died : 395 
 
 And fortunate in death their bones reposed 
 Beneath the cool green turf, and decomposed 
 Mix'd with untainted earth, pure, clean and fresh ; 
 Far different from the mouldering filthy soil 
 Turn'd up in churchyards hedged in by a town, 400 
 
 *.53
 
 L/XDSEY. 
 
 With human relics black, a sickening sight, 
 Ami smelling ominous of ages past. 
 And then, thought he, what wondrous. providence 
 Was this, that he sun > many dead, 
 
 Who once look'd stronger , healthier, younger too. 405 
 It was no act of what the world calls chance 
 Eat for some end designed. There lay the bones 
 Of almost all the old : few now survived 
 Who knew the village when he first went there. 
 And when he looked abroad for many miles, 410 
 
 His brethren in the ministry were changed 
 All round the village. Two. alone survived: 
 One to his bed con lined, and one had seen 
 Full twenty more than thr e years and ten. 
 
 Since first he knew the village, Hattham saw 41 j 
 
 Three vicars in succession : three one church 
 At Guerrick, two another: two Clarebrook: 
 And two the parish in which Lindsey lay : 
 And charge of Wolverdingtre three had claimed. 
 Alone he seem'd to stand ; for all, besides 420 
 
 Some two or three companions of pasl times, 
 Had disappear' d or join'd the world no more. 
 Was it a gloom)' view ? Oh, no! 'twas not. 
 The haven was in sight, high beat his heart, 
 
 154
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 Anticipating, when the shore was gain'd, 425 
 
 The end of sorrow and the dawn of joy. 
 
 Such were his thoughts, when sudden up the hill 
 Rose a strange murmur, and the mingled noise 
 Of many voices. Looking down he spied 
 Three strangers in hot argument engaged. 430 
 
 Soon round the three a little crowd was seen : 
 New-comers and stray children form'd the mass. 
 Then ceased the three to argue : one stood forth 
 Their errand to declare and tale unfold. 
 Distorted action, gestures vehement, 435 
 
 Fierce declamation, full of empty sound, 
 Were meagre substitutes for common sense. 
 And yet they caught the minds of simple swains 
 Inured to credit all that reach'd their ears. 
 Grieved was Xortonio : at a glance he saw 440 
 
 He must pass by them on his homeward way, 
 And so be doom'd their ribaldry to face : 
 Pass them he must, and so he hasten'd on 
 And soon had hurried past the gaping crowd ; 
 But not so quickly that he did not hear 445 
 
 Fierce threats against the farmers, parsons, squires, 
 Which doubtless were thrown out his ears to catch. 
 He heard : he answer'd not : and went his way. 
 
 *55
 
 LIXDSEY 
 
 Tired with the hubbub and the prating crew, 
 Endless discussions about rights of men 450 
 
 And rights of women, and the steps required 
 To make all people equal in their means, 
 However tardy or however quick, 
 Nortonio turn'd in sorrow from the scene, 
 And with his friend Earbats, retired and old, 455 
 
 Sought conversation, medicine of the mind. 
 Some time he had abandon' d Blacon Hill 
 And fix'd his home a few miles from the spot, 
 For things were changed with him, and now no more 
 He joyed in Lindsey as in days of old. 460 
 
 He found him in his dwelling and began. 
 
 "Barbats, old friend, the world is changed all round: 
 And you and I by God's good providence 
 Are spared to see a time when principles 
 And truths our fathers shed their blood to serve 465 
 
 Are toss'd and tumbled in one chaos wild. 
 Sometimes our clergy in such gui.->e perform 
 Or celebrate the Supper of the Lord, 
 That doubt is left upon the minds of some, 
 If what has hitherto been error thought 470 
 
 In Romanists, be not the veriest truth. 
 Strange imitations of the furniture
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 And services in Romish churches found, 
 
 Are now so common in the English Church, 
 
 That e'en the staunchest of the Pope's best friends 475 
 
 Can with clear conscience in such worship join. 
 
 All discipline and order set aside, 
 
 They leave out prayers, the service mutilate, 
 
 Old forms reject, new music introduce, 
 
 And revolution e'en in things divine 48° 
 
 They hurry forward with desire as herce 
 
 As e'er bewitch'd the fieriest demagogue. 
 
 In two important points they dirfer much 
 
 From Romish ritual and its order known : 
 
 In no two churches is the form the same : 485 
 
 A Pope too they must have, but then each priest 
 
 Must be his own Pope, and not look to Rome. 
 
 Such is the state, I grieve, of our loved Church. 
 
 And looking to the laity I see 
 
 Confusion all, and nought but discontent : 490 
 
 Labour with capital in civil war 
 
 Involved : the rich suspicious looking down 
 
 On labouring millions, who to phrensy wrought 
 
 By hireling orators, conspire to earn 
 
 The highest wages with the shortest toil. 495 
 
 Thus selfishness appears to reign supreme, 
 
 L 157
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 And selfishness the narrowest of its kind. 
 
 Rut waiving these unpleasant themes, good friend, 
 
 Draw from the copious hoard, that you retain 
 
 Of rustic lore, some tale of former times, 500 
 
 Concerning Lindsey or the parts about. 
 
 Instruct, amuse, and friendly, thus disperse 
 
 The chagrin that possesses now my soul." 
 
 Barbats delayed not, for he loved to talk 
 Of former times, and call to mind old scenes, 505 
 
 And so without a pause at once began. 
 ie Changes there are, and changes there must be, 
 And we ourselves are changing while we talk : 
 Changed is the world on all sides : for the worse 
 Changed it has been of late : another swing, 510 
 
 And then we hope for better it will change. 
 The rent per acre was but three half-crowns, 
 When I a young man first began to farm. 
 For many years the rent has tripled been. 
 Fenced in is now the land, where all lay plain 515 
 
 And open to stray cattle. Corners now 
 Must be improved, and copse-wood all grubb'd up. 
 Close must the farmer reckon for his work 
 And seek economy in all his points. 
 How different must the country round have been 520
 
 LIXDSEY. 
 
 When lived those reverend and most worthy priests 
 Whom we were speaking of when last we met. 
 The vicar one of Snitterchamps well known, 
 The other Hattham's curate many years. 
 Both had a taste for learning, and bequeath'd 325 
 
 Some feeble essays for poetic fame. 
 But in their day much good they did and preach'd 
 Sound doctrine Scriptural and Protestant. 
 And would that parsons scatter'd through the width 
 Of England's parishes did now the same. 530 
 
 The priest at Snitterchamps tried hard to smooth 
 The roughness of his people ; with success 
 In some few instances, but not in all. 
 A generous neighbour close at hand had kill'd 
 A well-fed pig, and mindful of his priest, 535 
 
 Had by the hands of his beloved son 
 Sent to him a prime spare-rib sleek and fat, 
 Who in few words his errand thus declared : 
 " My father, see, this spare-rib sends to you." 
 " Oh," said the worthy priest, "you should have said 540 
 ' My father sends his compliments, and begs 
 Acceptance of this spare-rib at your hands.' 
 Now take it up and backward find your road, 
 And bring it to the front-door with those words." 
 
 *59
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 The youth obeyed and bore the joint away. 545 
 
 The parson musing sat and listen'd long 
 To hear the stripling at his front-door knock, 
 But vainly waited : up he rose and look'd, 
 And saw the youngster slowly wend his way, 
 Bearing the pork along the road direct. 550 
 
 Then halloed he: " Ho, hither bring that meat." 
 " Not so," replied the youth, " if manners you 
 Still wish to teach me, I will teach you wit." 
 Oil' went the pert young fellow, smirking, gay, 
 And laughing at the parson's loss of pork. $$$ 
 
 But nothing daunted the good humour' d priest 
 Still labour' d on to teach them courtesy : 
 And left behind him, which has now survived 
 More than one hundred years, remembrance fresh 
 Of what be did and what he wished to do. .560 
 
 Since he was vicar, steady as the march 
 Of education and improvement been. 
 The glory of old times can ne'er be reach'd, 
 For who can rival Shakespeare, who can paint 
 Like him imagination or the truth ? 5^5 
 
 But many learned, many first-rate men 
 Have shed a lustre o'er the Guerrick realms. 
 ( )ne lady in my day whose parents rose 
 
 160
 
 LFXDSEY. 
 
 By honest industry in rural toil 
 
 To wealth and competence near Snitterchamps, 570 
 
 Became the mother of two famous sons. 
 
 One stood the first in mathematic fame 
 
 Amongst the Cambridge students, wrangler first 
 
 And second wrangler was his brother too. 
 
 When I was young at Hattham lived a priest, ^75 
 
 Known for his Greek through all the world around. 
 
 A. poet too was born in Guerrick town 
 
 Who died but lately and behind him left 
 
 A name admired, but much I fear, not loved. 
 
 Were I to take you to the Midland Mart 580 
 
 Oh what a constellation I could weave 
 
 Of men of science, men of world-wide fame ! 
 
 One of their body, when he sojourn'd once 
 
 In Paris, and was shown a curious box. 
 
 Humbly permission ask'd, and guaranteed 585 
 
 The model not to injure, that he might 
 
 Lift up a certain plate, and there he showed 
 
 His own name and his partner's, that the toy 
 
 Our neighbours held as proof of Gallic skill, 
 
 Had been constructed in his own workshop. 590 
 
 Whilst in this world so many heads combine 
 
 New wonders to create, and dav and niarht 
 
 J O 
 
 161
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Some fresh design devise, there must be change. 
 
 Old-fashioned people like ourselves might wish 
 
 The world more stationary : ancient forms 595 
 
 Strictly observed. Like willows to the blast 
 
 Bend we had better, rather than like oaks 
 
 Be rooted up by storms we cannot shun. 
 
 Now, Reverend Sir, oblige me in your turn : 
 
 Your life and ministry have varied been 6co 
 
 Much have you known of town and country life, 
 
 And oft have labour' d changes to effect 
 
 Where ignorance and sin strong barriers raised 
 
 Against the Gospel you desired to preach. 
 
 Cheer up the present hour, and let us hear 605 
 
 Some details of your ministerial work 
 
 In Norfolk or in London years ago ; 
 
 Such as at Lindsey in my brother's house 
 
 You often told, when by the weather stayed 
 
 Or waiting from some cause an odd half hour 610 
 
 Fill'd up with anecdote ami sprightly talk." 
 
 Full of good humour thus kind Barbats spake 
 And with a smile his visitor replied. 
 " Varied indeed, good friend, my lot has been, 
 And varied too my ministrj : much change 615 
 
 My course attended from my earliest years. 
 
 162
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Change loved I always when sufficient cause 
 Existed for a change, the object good. 
 My residence I changed so oft that friends 
 Nicknamed me Rolling Stone ; but change that springs 620 
 From mere caprice, from ignorance or whim, 
 Or even worse, from dark corrupt desires 
 Stirr'd up by demagogues and hirelings vile, 
 Great zeal affecting for the public good, 
 Their own self-interest foremost to secure, 625 
 
 Such change as this bears fruit but little worth. 
 Change let us have from ignorance to light, 
 From sin to righteousness, and let us change 
 As fast as fierce reformer ever wished 
 The toil and object of my life has been 630 
 
 Such changes to effect, but bear in mind 
 Our master's prime injunction full and brief. 
 " Be wise as serpents, harmless e'en as doves." 
 Boldness in wisdom is a precious gift, 
 Boldness in folly ruin antedates. 635 
 
 In these our times accelerated is 
 The tide of changes with redoubled speed 5 
 From two chief causes : one, the railway schemes, 
 The other, wealth diffused through every rank. 
 A patriot or a wise man cannot stay 640 
 
 163
 
 LFXDSEY 
 
 These changes, but may guide them for the best : 
 This is what with God's blessin? we should do. 
 As for myself, the field of toil with me 
 For forty years in various spheres has been. 
 In parishes with populations small 645 
 
 And populations numerous, rough, uncouth. 
 At different times my lot has been to watch 
 From thirty thousand to three hundred souls. 
 The larger number as in London vain 
 Was every effort to inspect and know : 650 
 
 The minister with all his zeal perform'd 
 Religious rites to masses most unknown. 
 If sometimes strange events, if even fraud 
 Were practised, priest and clerk alike were foil'd. 
 Especial care the marriages required. 6^5 
 
 And after all our care, manoeuvres shrewd 
 To gull both clerk and parson were achieved, 
 And with success I doubt not much were crown'd. 
 In one place where as rector I took charge 
 The marriages so many were, that though 660 
 
 It was my luck to have a clerk, the prime 
 Of parish clerks, in conduct and in skill ; 
 Yet more than one full hour was oft required 
 The newly married names to register. 
 
 164
 
 LTNDSEY. 
 
 And often difficulties strange arose 665 
 
 About the spelling or the residence. 
 One woman I remember to a stand 
 Brought all on one occasion : she knew not 
 For certainty her real name, but thought 
 Jt Wilkinson, for short was Wilkins call'd ; 670 
 
 And Wilkins was the name in publish'd banns, 
 And so by it was duly registered. 
 Sometimes in visiting the sick a case 
 Occurr'd, that needed patience and much care. 
 A clever tradesman, young, yet fully primed 675 
 
 With skeptic arguments required my aid. 
 Ill, yet well able to dispute, he lay 
 Upon his bed, expecting every week 
 To be his last. Most gloomy were his views : 
 Little was he inclined to put much faith 680 
 
 [n promised mercies; far too good for him 
 Was such redemption as God's word unfolds. 
 He deem'd it all but priestcraft well got up 
 To cheat the people with delusive hopes. 
 With great forbearance listening to his words, 685 
 
 Though then much press'd for time, I gain'd his ear. 
 I reason'd from the scriptures; but most loath 
 Was he to listen to some arguments. 
 
 165
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 The boundless nature of Almighty love, 
 And mercy welling from the heart of God, UjO 
 
 Oft to my grief were press' d on him in vain. 
 His sins he spoke of as most grievous, dire, 
 And pardon hopeless. In reply I urged 
 Isaiah's words — " Though scarlet be your sins, 
 Yet they shall be as white as snow, though red 695 
 
 Like crimson, they shall be as wool." He said 
 " How know I that Isaiah was a true, 
 An honest prophet, for you know we read 
 Of prophets false, who wilfully deceived, 
 And by what pains can I the point attain, 700 
 
 That he in this announcement spake the truth." 
 " Prophets," I said, " must stand like other men, 
 Or fall in credit as results shall .show, 
 And we must judge them by the fruits they bear." 
 Then long was conversation to point out 705 
 
 How some were godly prophets, and how some 
 Like Balaam, were corrupt, depraved and loved 
 The wages of unrighteousness. At length 
 By God's great help, his prejudice o'ercome 
 He yielded to conviction and I left 7 to 
 
 Him still surviving, for in mercy he 
 Was spared to li\e, and, I trust, others teach. 
 
 166
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 Some time from Nonconformist's I received. 
 Judicious help, and thankful I record 
 The debt due to their love and earnestness. 715 
 
 Two brethren, who dissented from our church, 
 In Norfolk regular attendants were 
 At morning service on each sabbath day. 
 One man of energy our postman was : 
 His letters to deliver fourteen miles 720 
 
 He daily walk'd, and shoemaker by trade 
 Fill'd up his hours by labours at the last. 
 But not contented with vocations two, 
 Odd times he seized to pray and to expound 
 And stir up piety in country folk. 725 
 
 Oft was he seen with pencil in his hand 
 Most busy in the gallery, alive 
 To every sentence from the pulpit heard. 
 'Twas said, and I was told that he took down 
 Hints from my sermons and in houses near 730 
 
 Pour'd forth the same in a stentorian voice ; 
 Compelling by his vehemence and might 
 Attention from his hearers all around. 
 The other friend who was a hearer too, 
 A hatter was by trade, but often preach'd. 73^ 
 
 Both men were truly pious, both behaved 
 
 167.
 
 L1XDSEY. 
 
 Like real Christians, and their master served 
 As far as means and talent would permit. 
 The parish needed all that men could help 
 And all the grace and mercy of our God ; 740 
 
 For it was sore beset with drunkenness, 
 And other vice from local causes sprung - . 
 I and Dissenters lived so friendly there 
 That all were seen at Church, and ere I left, 
 Though numerous was the dock, the parish large 74 - 
 Not more than ten or twelve profess'd dissent : 
 And these were Hyperbaptists ; what their creed 
 And what it meant I never understood. 
 Now glad am I that to your house I came, 
 Good neighbour : somewhere Solomon well said, 750 
 " Iron sharpeneth iron ; and so the countenance 
 A man doth sharpen of his friend," and you 
 Have sharpen'd both my wit and countenance. 
 For whilst you reason'd and more fully show'd 
 What well I knew before, the need there was 7 3 5 
 
 Of changes in us all, it seera'd to me, 
 That I complain'd of what with reason too 
 Others might urge ; that my peculiar views 
 Must be abandoned for the general good. 
 And now this wisdom gain'd, this little store 760 
 
 168
 
 LINDSEY. 
 
 *S 
 
 Of selfishness stripp'd off, I go my way 
 
 More reconciled to changes, more disposed 
 
 With gratitude those blessings to enjoy 
 
 That still are ours by God's good providence. 
 
 One change awaits us all, one mighty change: 
 
 Be it our care for this to be prepared, 
 
 Strong in the faith of Christ, with armour proof 
 
 Against the world the devil and the flesh, 
 
 Assured that through our Head we shall be more 
 
 Than conquerors, and triumph at the last. 771 
 
 With such a prospect let us fear no change 
 
 That here awaits us — so, good friend, farewell. 
 
 END OF CANTO VI.
 
 THE RESURRECTION. 
 
 I. 
 
 r I MMES of triumph now are nigh; 
 
 Gain'd at length is victory ! 
 Earth convulsed hath felt the throes 
 Of a birth she must disclose. 
 Joyful at his Lord's commands 
 By the tomb the angel stands : 
 The huge stone he rolls away, 
 Rolling like a child at play, 
 Easy as an infant boy 
 Rolls across the floor his toy. 
 Then thereon he takes his seat, 
 And beholds before his feet 
 Arm'd and armour, shield and spear, 
 Prostrate thrown in panic fear. 
 Vain their efforts to retire : 
 Face like lightning, eye like fire 
 Shot a terror through each heart, 
 Terror words cannot impart — 
 They as helpless as the dead, 
 Quaking lie, before him spread. 
 Human eye must not behold, 
 Human tongue must not unfold 
 What within that tomb is done, 
 Known but to the Holy One."* 
 
 * The reunion of the .soul and body of our Saviour was a fact which probably 
 neither the eye nor the mind of man in their present state could comprehend. 
 
 171
 
 II. 
 
 Far th' infernal hosts are fled : 
 Jesus rises from the dead ! 
 Satan dares no more be seen 
 Near that grand, that glorious scene. 
 Victor o'er His hellish foes 
 From the tomb the Saviour goes : 
 That torn body ris'n and free 
 Chosen witnesses must see. 
 To the women, struck with dread, 
 " He is ris'n," the angel said, 
 " He is not here ; fear not ye, 
 "Where the Lord lay, come and see : 
 " Quickly seek His friends and say 
 "That the Lord hath ris'n this day." 
 Hence they with great joy and fear 
 Run to tell each comrade dear ; 
 But before they tell their tale, 
 Jesus meets and cries, " All hail." 
 Welcome was the well-known voice, 
 Clinging to Him they rejoice : 
 Worship Him, and hold His feet, 
 And believe with joy complete. 
 " Would," He said, " my friends see me, 
 "Let them go to Galilee." 
 
 172
 
 III. 
 
 On the road two brethren sped. 
 Musing on the loved One dead. 
 Two who trusted once that He 
 Israel from his foes would free; 
 All their expectations now 
 *Fell before that crushing blow. 
 While they then their doubts express"d. 
 Jesus join'd them and address'd. 
 Hoi den were their eyes and they 
 Did not know Him all the way : 
 But when told the cause of woe 
 Graciously He deign'd to show, 
 That the Christ foretold of yore 
 Must bear all they did deplore, 
 Ere He enter'd heaven again 
 And resumed His glorious reign. 
 Rapt and charm' d they Him detain'd 
 And to stay with them constrain'd : 
 Bread He took and bless'd and brake 
 Calling on them to partake. 
 Something in His words and mode 
 Him their much-lov'd Master show'd. 
 Recognition flash'd delight 
 Whilst He vanish' d out of sight.
 
 IV. 
 
 That same hour those two return'd ; 
 For to tell their friends they burn'd : 
 Them they quickly found, and heard 
 How to Simon He appear'd. 
 In reply the two display 
 How he argued by the way, 
 And in breaking of the bread 
 Made it known He was their Head. 
 Whilst the brethren wondering tell 
 Of events they knew so well, 
 Jesus in the midst was seen 
 Rendering more perplex' d the scene. 
 Mild Fie labours to remove 
 Doubts and fears and kindle love, 
 With a look benign He stands, 
 Showing both His feet and hands. 
 •' Handle me," He said, " and see, 
 " Flesh and bones belong to me : 
 " Spirits have not such as these : 
 "Why be troubled ? Be at ease — " 
 Then He deign'd to take some meat 
 And before them He did eat. 
 Through their minds fresh wonder ran 
 While He ate and talk'd as man. 
 
 *74
 
 V. 
 
 Fully to their minds He brought, 
 
 How when with them He had taught 
 
 That all things must be fulfill'd, 
 
 "Which concerning Him were will'd, 
 
 And by Psalms or Prophets old 
 
 Or Moses' ancient Law foretold. 
 
 Then their understanding He 
 
 Open'd and gave them to see 
 
 How to Him and none beside 
 
 Scripture words of God applied. 
 "Thus," said He, " those words declare 
 " Fully what the Christ must bear : 
 " He must die, and as He said,* 
 " Rise the third day from the dead. 
 " Then His people must make known 
 " Safety in His name alone, 
 " And to turn men from their sin 
 " At Jerusalem begin. 
 '" All these things ye know full well. 
 " To the world these tidings tell. 
 " Lo ! I send the promise too 
 " Of my Father upon you : 
 " In the city now remain 
 "Till fresh power from heaven ye gain. 
 
 • Matthew, ch. xvi, v. 21 ; and Matthew, ch. xrii. , v. 23 
 I7'S
 
 VI. 
 
 When to His disciples now 
 Jesus first Himself did show, 
 One call'd Thomas was away, 
 And saw not the Lord that clay. 
 Those who saw, with one accord 
 Told him, "We have seen the Lord." 
 " In His hands except I see 
 "And feel marks of nails," said he 
 " And His side my hand receive 
 "Thrust in, I will not believe." 
 Eight days after came the Lord, 
 And held Thomas to his word. 
 " Hither reach thy hand," He cried, 
 " Thrust it too into My side ; 
 "Be not faithless but believe." 
 Thomas did the truth perceive, 
 Instant he his faith proclaim'd 
 And, " My Lord and God," exclaim'd. 
 "Thou hast seen Me, therefore thou 
 " Hast believed," said Jesus now : 
 " Blessed are the faithful few 
 
 Who believe, but not like you 
 " Have seen — their Lord." Thus in love 
 He the doubtful did reprove. 
 
 176
 
 VII. 
 
 Cease, ye sceptics, cease your strife — 
 Hail triumphant Lord of life ! 
 With Thine own, Thy holy hand, 
 Thou hast foil'd th' infernal band, 
 And the pangs of death o'ercome 
 Ris'n victorious from the tomb ! 
 Thine the triumph, Thine the might 
 Endless bliss to bring to light. 
 Thou dost to Thy ransomed fold 
 Heaven and deathless life unfold. 
 
 Foes all cast beneath Thy feet 
 Soon Thy conquests shall complete. 
 
 Thee eternal joys await,* 
 Thee all nations celebrate,f 
 Thee in every place and clime 
 Men shall bless throughout all time, 
 And when time shall be no more 
 Magnify Thee and adore. 
 Circling round Thy throne on high 
 
 "With the angels they shall cry, 
 Cherubim and Seraphim 
 Swell the everlasting hymn : 
 Join Thy praises to proclaim 
 And exalt Thy glorious name. 
 
 • " Shall see of the travail of His soul and he satisfied."— Isaiah liii. , v. 11. 
 t Psalm cii., vs. 15 to 22, &c. ; and Romans xiv., v. 11. 
 
 177
 
 VIII. 
 
 Faithless men must still be found, 
 Faithless though the truth abound. 
 Their loved Lord the brethren see 
 As was told in Galilee : 
 And their faith still to maintain 
 Jesus re-appears again. 
 Peter and his fishing crew 
 All in vain their toil pursue, 
 Till the Lord stood on the shore 
 And ensured success once more.* 
 Fishes many, great in size, 
 Fill'd the net, a wondrous prize ! 
 Common was to all the thought, 
 This success the Lord had brought. 
 Peter plunged into the tide 
 Quickly sought his Master's side ; 
 Whilst the net his little band 
 In their vessel drew to land. 
 Soon then as they left the sea, 
 On the shore a fire they see, 
 Fish thereon and near some bread. 
 " Come and dine," then Jesus said. 
 None durst ask Him, Who art Thou ? 
 Knowing He was Jesus now. 
 
 A second time securing a large draught of fishes. Compare Luke v., 
 vs. 4 to 9, with John xxi. , vs. 3 to 7. 
 
 i/8
 
 IX. 
 
 Love divine the banquet spread ; 
 There was fish and there was bread, 
 And a feast beyond compare, 
 For the risen Lord was there! 
 There was peace and righteousness 
 Glimpse of Eden happiness : 
 Looks of kindness and of grace 
 Beaming from that heavenly face, 
 Soft descending as the dew, 
 Comforted those chosen few. 
 Gladness, gratitude and love 
 In their hearts together strove : 
 Whilst to speak the brethren long 
 Awe restrain'd each eager tongue. 
 Holy silence reign'd around ; 
 Heaven-born joys the banquet crown'd. 
 Angels in that feast of grace 
 Might have coveted a place. 
 No contention them assail' d 
 Harmony with all prevail'd. 
 Each with ardour strove to please — 
 "Dost thou love Me more than these? " 
 Jesus asked, he who denied, 
 Once his Master now replied. 
 
 179
 
 X. 
 
 " Yea, Lord, I love Thee full well ; 
 "This Thou know'st and Thou canst tell 
 " How I love Thee." Then said He, 
 " Feed my lambs, thus honour Me." 
 
 Silently in awe they heard 
 
 Him they honour'd and revered ; 
 
 Nor presumed to speak their mind : 
 
 He their secret thoughts divined. 
 
 And again to Peter cried, 
 " Dost thou love Me ? " He replied : 
 " Yea, Lord, I love Thee and trow 
 " That I love Thee, Thou dost know." 
 " Feed my sheep," then said the Lord : 
 
 All in silence heard the word. 
 
 Jesus ask'd again, " Dost thou, 
 " Son of Jonas, love Me now ? 
 
 Grieved was Peter, when said He 
 
 The third time, " Dost thou love Me ? " 
 " Lord," said he, " Thou know'st all things, 
 " Of our thoughts the secret springs, 
 "What I feel I need not show 
 "That I love Thee, Thou dost know." 
 
 This spake he with bursting heart 
 
 Of his feelings to tell part. 
 
 180
 
 XI. 
 
 Once again the Saviour said, 
 " Feed my sheep," and then He led 
 Peter's thoughts to future time, 
 When with zeal and faith sublime 
 He should gladly life resign 
 In his Master's cause divine. 
 " Verily when thou wast young 
 " Thou didst gird thyself, and strong 
 "Whither thou wouldst walk, didst go, 
 " But when age and time of woe 
 " Overtake thee, then thy hands 
 " Thou shalt stretch as far as bands 
 " May permit thee undeterr'd ; 
 " But another thee shall gird, 
 " And indeed shall carry thee 
 "Where thou wouldst not wish to be." 
 Thus the Lord in mercy spake, 
 And foretold that for His sake 
 He a painful death should die 
 And his God thus glorify. 
 From his Master as it fell 
 Every word he mark'd full well. 
 Jesus saw, then added He 
 One brief mandate, " Follow Me." 
 
 181
 
 XII. 
 
 Glory to our God rehearse, 
 Glory through the universe ! 
 All was once divinely good : 
 Man in holy beauty stood. 
 Heaven and earth in chorus rang, 
 While their Maker's praise they sang : 
 Love and joy and happiness 
 All their creatures did possess. 
 Envious soon the fiends of hell 
 Plotted, and their victim fell. 
 Now has Christ, the Lord supreme, 
 Triumph'd o'er th' infernal scheme, 
 And giv'n man in heaven a place, 
 Not by merit but by grace. 
 For this gift then from above 
 Of our heavenly Father's love, 
 And the Holy Spirit's aid, 
 By whose unction we are made 
 Children of the Lord most high, 
 Let us join in one great cry : 
 " Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 
 "Blessed God, our Strength and Boast, 
 " Holy, Holy, Holy One, 
 " Peace is ours, our vict'ry won ! 
 
 182
 
 XII — Continued. 
 
 " Thanks we give, O God of Heaven, 
 " Thanks for every mercy given. 
 '' We owe all that we possess 
 " To Thy love and faithfulness. 
 " With Thy help Thee we will serve, 
 " And from Thee will never swerve. 
 " Thine for ever may we be 
 " Thine through all eternity ! "
 
 TO MY DECEASED GOD-DAUGHTER. 
 
 *H[^ELL me, sweet spirit, shall we meet 
 
 When our great change becomes complete 
 When shaking off the pond'rous load 
 Of earth, we reach that blest abode 
 Where setting suns no more shall shine 
 Nor waning moons in night decline ? 
 Yes, stooping from yon azure cloud 
 Sweet spirit, speak, proclaim aloud 
 The glories of that wondrous clime 
 Which thou hast reach'd in youth's first prime. 
 Say, art thou occupied in praise? 
 Do harps celestial join thy lays ? 
 With other music round the throne 
 Does thy young soul pour forth its own ? 
 Or art thou, as on earth, above 
 Busied in messages of love, 
 
 185
 
 TO MY DECEASED GOD-DAUGHTER. 
 
 Concurring in the grand design 
 
 Appointed by the will divine 5 
 Oh, dost thou often watch unseen 
 Thy parents in this earthly scene, 
 Permitted to behold, and shroud 
 Thy gaze behind some lovely cloud ? 
 Though happier far than tongue can tell, 
 A welcome guest where angels dwell, 
 Say, canst thou from that radiant height 
 Watch o'er those loved ones with delight, 
 And scan the cycle that between 
 Thy change and theirs must intervene ? 
 Amid the sinless host that shine 
 Enrobed in righteousness divine, 
 Does thy young soul delight to go 
 Oblivious of this world below ? 
 Or dost thou haunt that stream whose flood 
 Makes glad the city of thy God j 
 Drinking of purer joys than we 
 Can comprehend or hear or see ? 
 Lost in the wonders of that plan 
 That vanquish'd death and rescued man, 
 What views ecstatic does thy mind 
 In heavenly contemplation find r 
 
 186
 
 TO MY DECEASED GOD-DAUGHTER. 
 
 Absorb'd in all the glorious theme, 
 Thy Lord could love, create, redeem, 
 Can aught of earth e'er have a place 
 In soul so occupied by grace ? 
 Oh ! if with thee thus raised sublime 
 We hold not converse for a time, 
 Submissive let us all fulfil 
 With patience our great Saviour's will ; 
 And joyful let us call to mind 
 Those gracious words He left behind, 
 To all who hope to meet again, 
 Wash'd in his blood from every stain — 
 To His redeemed — "Thou with me 
 This day in paradise shalt be !"
 
 THOUGHTS ON THE SEA-SHORE. 
 
 stood upon the shore, and gazed alone 
 Upon the restless wave, and heard it moan — 
 It was an emblem of this turbid life — 
 This passage to eternity through strife : 
 And much I thought upon the ceasless cares 
 That chequer life, and compass it with snares. 
 Mem'ry and fancy both were busy then, 
 And told me of the heartlessness of men : 
 How rarely love prevails — how few have trod 
 The path directed by the Son of God. 
 Nature inanimate incessant groans 
 O'er man's sad ruin — e'en the very stones 
 On this lone sea shore show tbe stamp of pain 
 And bear the mark of Sin and Satan's reign. 
 But man goes forward, nor will deign to pause, 
 Nor think one moment of himself, the cause 
 n 189
 
 THOUGHTS OX THE SEASHORE. 
 
 Of all this misery — this fallen world, 
 In one vast universal rain hurl'd. 
 Spirit ! that erst upon the deep did'st brood 
 And curb the chaos of the primal flood. 
 Shine in thy might, Thy vital beams impart, 
 And drive the gloom from man's benighted heart ! 
 O'er the sad ruin shed Thy heavenly love ; 
 Pour fire celestial from Thy throne above ; 
 Where hell once reign'd let heaven itself arise ; 
 Save the lost soul, and bid him scale the skies !
 
 TO 
 
 COLONEL ELD, 
 Of Seighford Hall, Staffordshire, 
 
 His Schoolfelloic and faithful Friend through more than 
 
 Half a Century, 
 
 Who, like the Author, is a Lover of the Canine Race, 
 
 THIS LITTLE POEM, 
 
 As a very humble mark of sincere esteem, 
 is 
 
 AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.
 
 VIVISECTION. 
 
 T N that famed town where Scotchmen love to gaze, 
 And talk of wonders wrought in ancient days, 
 Whilst newly fashion' d to their hearts' delight 
 The modern Athens rises to their sight; 
 A knot of Savants muster' d dark and shrewd ; 5 
 
 Their looks forbade all strangers to intrude. 
 Some smiled with cunning, some with strange grimace 
 Still more disfigured a most ugly face : 
 Their thoughts seem'd bent upon some deep design, 
 And men might watch them but could nought divine. 10 
 Whilst stopping oft and whispering they turn'd down 
 Some quiet streets and shunn'd the bustling town. 
 
 193 '
 
 VIVISECTION. 
 
 Close at their heels a little spanielran 
 Wagging his tail and fondled by the clan. 
 The pretty creature all along the way 15 
 
 Repaid their kindness with his love and play. 
 Nature impress' d on every limb a grace, 
 Joy in his look, affection in his iace. 
 Form'd to delight, no snappish cur was he, 
 Gentle and docile, from all vices free. 20 
 
 All seem'd to love him, and he loved them all, 
 Quick and responsive to each loving call. 
 But one he clung to as a friend well-tried, 
 And him incessant with his antics plied. 
 A curious smile, sinister, fitful, ran 25 
 
 Across the sallow visage of that man : 
 And he who loved phrenology might trace 
 The workings of the mind beneath that face : 
 For passion there had left its wrinkles deep ; 
 Fictitious looks the secret could not keep. 30 
 
 Pride, selfishness, ill-temper, envy reigned : 
 The knitting brow proclaim' d each smile was feign'd. 
 No wonder that his home was dull to him 
 Who found in pain a satisfaction grim, 
 Pain seen in others, fur himself a sight 35 
 
 Which he could muse on with a strange delight. 
 
 194
 
 VIVISECTION. 
 
 His wife fo please him long in vain had tried ; 
 
 Pale, thin, and sick, she lived on hope and sighed. 
 
 His children loved him not 5 with secret dread 
 
 Heard his arrival and his presence fled. 40 
 
 But now he left all cares of home behind ; 
 
 Far other thoughts engaged his sapient mind. 
 
 A deed congenial now he had in hand : 
 
 Ripe for fulfilment was the scheme he plann'd. 
 
 Through months it was discuss'd ; some scruples hard 45 
 
 Had often baffled and his purpose marr'd. 
 
 But other kindred spirits he had found : 
 
 Success at length his perseverance crown'd. 
 
 And so with comrades pleased the feat to see 
 
 He hurried through the streets with secret glee. 50 
 
 Ere long this doctor and his learned band, 
 Before a house, hid in a corner, stand ; 
 Then all suspicious look around, and seem 
 Like bursrlars bent on some nocturnal scheme, 
 
 Eye every passer-by and look askance 
 
 55 
 
 And e'en on children cast a prying glance. 
 
 Soon as the door was open'd in rush all : 
 
 Fond Tasso follows at his master's call. 
 
 Alas, the loving creature little thought 
 
 With what intention he was thither brought. 60 
 
 195
 
 r/r/SECTiox. 
 
 Confiding in his master's care he goes 
 And loves as friends whom soon he finds his foes. 
 And now around they press, where oft before 
 The joys of luxury they revell'd o'er ; 
 And whilst they pander' d to the appetite .65 
 
 In talk that smack'd of science took delisfht. 
 No savoury dishes now adorn the scene, 
 But sable cases on the board are seen, 
 And near them lie some instruments, that seem 
 Keen-edged, prepared for some mysterious scheme. 70 
 Not long they linger; soon the dog they seize, 
 His master foremost, whom he loved to please. 
 The unsuspecting creature turn'd his eyes 
 And fix'd them on his master with surprise, 
 Mutely appealing to that harden'd heart 75 
 
 Why in such usage he should bear a part. 
 Unwilling still his master to resist, 
 He sought the well-known hands and lick'd and kiss'd. 
 Vain was remonstrance dumb or eloquent 
 To such a wretch on horrid thoughts intent. 80 
 
 And so the hapless victim writhed and whined, 
 While every limb the tightening straps confined. 
 Upon the table helpless, bound, he lies : 
 Views his tormentors with imploring eyes; 
 
 196
 
 rinsECTiox. 
 
 Looks for a friend, but looks, alas ! in vain, 85 
 
 Whilst useless struggles still increase his pain. 
 But cruelty in various ways applied 
 Like sin and death is never satisfied : 
 And so before experiments begin 
 
 A cord is drawn around the tongue, within 90 
 
 The creature's mouth, close to the root, whilst hard 
 He struggles still their object to retard. 
 Then underneath the table round its end 
 The string is fasten'd, tight enough to rend 
 Their victim's tongue, if whilst the search they trace 95 
 He dares to struggle or to move his face. 
 And now with fiendish lust they gather round : 
 Consult and argue how and where to wound. 
 Soon it was settled by the sapient band 
 To make incisions near the ribs, right-hand; ico 
 
 And so an entrance deep, clean-cut, and wide, 
 His master open'd in the poor dog's side. 
 The blood and groans that issued at the time 
 Unheeded were by such a mind sublime : 
 Reward to him was scientific fame 105 
 
 For all this torture and this horrid game. 
 Now curiously they note the important fact 
 How on the other side the lung will act ; 
 
 197
 
 VIVISECTION. 
 
 And when lo gratify (.heir strange desire 
 
 They see enough, that he can still respire, 1 10 
 
 They turn him over and the other s : . 
 
 With equal skill and cruelty divide. 
 
 Both sides laid open, and the vital force 
 
 By cruel art arrested in its course, 
 
 Pleased with their work they look, and watch how soon 1 15 
 
 Beneath their clever hands the dog will swoon. 
 
 Sobbing and tortured now in every limb 
 
 They see him suffer and his senses swim : 
 
 No pangs of sympathy disturb meanwhile 5 
 
 'Tis his to suffer, theirs to talk and >smile. 120 
 
 Oft as he tries to move the smallest space 
 
 The cutting cord pulls down his tongue and face ; 
 
 And all the means by which he seeks relief 
 
 Add to his anguish and heart-rending grief; 
 
 But God be praised : more merciful than man 125 
 
 He put a limit to their savage plan ! 
 
 Fast fail the powers of life and consciousness, 
 
 And with them cease the outcries of distress. 
 
 Insensible to all the dog falls o'er 
 
 And feels the torments they inflict no more. 130 
 
 But anxious ere the vital spark had fled, 
 They hurry forward and release his head ; 
 
 198
 
 VIVISECTION. 
 
 Close up the open parts ; unloose the thongs, 
 And gently raise him to assist the lungs : 
 Then watch him carefully to see how soon 1 35 
 
 The dog would rally from this death-like swoon. 
 Young was the creature ; so returning life 
 Contended bravely in this deadly strife. 
 The opening nostrils and the quivering tongue 
 Show'd inhalation entering in the lung. 140 
 
 With rising sobs and desperate gasps for breath 
 He struggles, and escapes the threaten'd death. 
 Slowly his eyes their visual strength enhance 
 And on his master cast a wondering glace : 
 Whilst two young men, each with a watch in hand, 145 
 Observant of each movement, near him stand. 
 The point inquired for is, what time between 
 Revival and the swoon must intervene : 
 So notice of each second was retain'd 
 Till breath and animation were regain'd. 150 
 
 Sage observations on all nature's laws 
 Fill'd up the interval and left no pause. 
 The mutilated creature, half-alive 
 Feebly begins his sorrows to revive 
 
 And moaning piteously with gasping sighs, 155 
 
 Speaks to his murderers through his plaintive eyes. 
 
 199
 
 FIJI SECT I OX. 
 
 His groans they heed not, but with pride accurst 
 
 Harden'd for fresh experiments they thirst : 
 
 So turn him over without more delay 
 
 And lay his belly open to the day : 1 60 
 
 Then make incisions and draw back the skin 
 
 To watch the action of the parts within. 
 
 Wide open are the wounds that they may spy 
 
 How in a living brute the inwards lie. 
 
 With microscopes and various aids of art 165 
 
 They pry into the secrets of each part, 
 
 Luxuriate in the search, as if at least 
 
 Mere mutilation were to them a feast. 
 
 Much scientific jargon, many a word 
 
 Which Savants only understand, was heard. 170 
 
 But whilst they argue, whilst they thus discuss, 
 
 The God of nature closed their learned fuss. 
 
 The miserable dog, whose fate had been 
 
 The leading feature of this sickening scene, 
 
 As far as sensibility and pain 175 
 
 Were there concern'd, died once and o'er again, 
 
 But now the spirit from the carcass fled 
 
 And stretch'd before them lay the dog quite dead. 
 
 Ye hideous wretches, devils in men's shape, 
 Just retribution hope not to escape ! 180 
 
 200
 
 VIVISECTION. 
 
 Think ye th' All-seeing eye shall see in vain 
 His helpless creatures suffer useless pain ? 
 Was it for this that sovereign power was given 
 O'er brute creation by the God of heaven ? 
 Ye maudlin students of false science, say, 1 85 
 
 What knowledge gain'd ye by your bloody play ! 
 *0ne of your number well might long repine 
 And in his sufferings trace the hand Divine. 
 Whilst hope was high and whilst the wreaths of fame, 
 Busy he gather' d round his rising name, 190 
 
 The grave wide opening suddenly he saw 
 And death relentless claim'd him for his maw ! 
 But pangs unutterable without cure, 
 Horrors incessant he must first endure. 
 The dire disease soon fasten'd on the tongue, 195 
 
 That very member he had probed so long 
 In helpless brutes ; and then he call'd to mind 
 How he had lectured and had oft refined ! 
 Philosophizing, while the creature's life 
 Was wasting fast beneath the cruel knife. 200 
 
 Alas ! such penitence, remorse so vain 
 Made poor atonement for the wrongs and pain 
 Inflicted on the wretched brutes that died 
 The victims of such scientific pride. 
 
 * See Note at the End. 
 201
 
 NOTE TO LINE 187. 
 
 * I regret to say that the above account, as given in the 
 body of the Poem and as respects an eminent Physician, is 
 founded in fact. The experiments made on the miserable 
 dog were such as are there recorded. The dreadful disease, 
 cancer at the root of the tongue, carried off Dr. R t ^ , in 
 the prime of life. He bitterly reproached himself with having 
 made numerous experiments upon that very member in 
 animals still alive, and confessed that he had been led to do so 
 from a desire for scientific fame.
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 LINE 
 
 to. — Possumus (Latin), intimating power, ability, canning: 
 
 hence cyninge or cyng (old English) and king 
 
 modern English). 
 12. — Pkomnens, for prominent (Latin), projecting out, 
 
 gibbous, Sec. 
 16. — Anakson, son of Anak, whose race in the Old 
 
 Testament was famous for being tall, strong, and 
 
 brave. 
 18. — Eric (Latin, erica,) heath. 
 
 25. — Calvus (Latin), bold. Calva, feminine of Calvus. 
 31. — Amnes (Latin), brooks, rivers, &c. 
 35. — Homo (Latin), man — a general term. 
 33. — Sartor (Latin), tailor — hence the common English 
 
 name Taylor. 
 153 and 154. — Clardonis and Nortonio, derived from 
 
 the places with which they were connected. 
 255. — Barbats (Latin), from barhatus, bearded. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 LINE 
 
 170. — Clarebrook. This is used as the name of a certain 
 village in Warwickshire, of which the name, 
 according to one of our most accurate and cele- 
 brated antiquarians, is derived from two words 
 signifying clear and brook. 
 
 192. — Woven. The name of Webb is comparatively 
 common in the Midland counties. 
 
 222. — Tardaton. Pope calls a certain river Vaga — no doubt 
 from its devious course. So a certain river in War- 
 wickshire, well known for its slow current, may be 
 called Tarda, and the town on its banks, which is 
 named after that river, may here be called Tardaton. 
 
 403
 
 GLO SS J RY.— Continued. 
 
 323. — Wulftan. Jn one copy of the Saxon Chronicle the 
 name is spell Wulftan, but it is often spelt by 
 modern writers, as in Stanley's Westminster Abbey, 
 
 Wulfstan (with s). Another Saxon Prelate, who 
 was prior to the Bishop of Worcester, was called 
 Wulfstan. 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 LINE 
 
 71. — Guerrick. French, guerre — war, and English, wick, 
 a terminal meaning, a habitation, as Berwick, 
 Alnwick, &c. 
 
 i^o. — Curlieu. Name derived from the owner, who lived 
 soon after the Norman Conquest. The same may 
 be said of Lindsey. 
 
 178. — Hattham. The terminals ham, ton, (re, appear all in 
 ancient times to have meant a dwelling" or something- 
 conspicuous, as a hill — as Laleham, little town ; 
 Leamington, town on the Learn ; Coventry, or 
 more anciently Coventre, town of convents. 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 LINE 
 
 262. — Philagathus (Greek), Lover of good. 
 
 661. — Lemuel (Hebrew), One belonging to God. Prov., 
 
 ch. xxxi., v. 1. 
 666. — Naomi (Hebrew), One of a comely presence. 
 
 CANTO V. 
 
 LINE 
 
 197. — Mabel (French), My beauty. 
 
 411. — Voisn (French), Neighbour. 
 
 416. — Kuper (Icelandic), from kit, a cow. 
 
 204
 
 ERRATA FOR LINDSEY. 
 
 Page 29, Line 60, for hugh read huge. 
 
 ,, 52, Lines 140 and 14.1 should be 
 
 Fierce from her chair she sprang : grasped with both hands 
 
 The besom stale that lay beside the door, 
 
 The words both hands belong to line 140. 
 
 Page 78, for Line 177 read : What he and she had done 
 
 had given a right. 
 
 87, Line 396, for Hougomout read Hougomont. 
 
 ,, 103, ,, 14, ,, fbrlron ,, forlorn 
 
 1 09, ,, 161, leave out the word gladly in this line. 
 
 112, ,, 232, for be read he 
 
 ,, 113, ,, 238, „ rest ,, rout. 
 
 ,, 167. There should be no stop at the end of line 713.
 
 LEAMINGTON 
 
 J. GLOVER, PRINTER, CHURCH WALK.
 
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