y-*-a m THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES GILBERT, AN AMATORY RURAL POEM. IN EIGHT CANTOS. BY JAMES TEMPLEMAN, Love will still be lord of all. SCOTT. LONDON: nUNTED FOR, SHERWOOD, NEELY, AND JONES, (Successors to H. 2>. Symonds} >ro. 20, PATERNOaTER ROW. 1809. C. WliiUingliam, Printer, Goswell Street, London. GILBERT. Page Dedication . iii Introduction v To the Author of Gilbert, an Acrostic xxxiii Introductory Verses xxxiv Canto 1 1 II 13 III 24 IV 33 V 40 VI... 46 VII 54 VIII , 65 The Story of Ancient Pluto 77 Canto I ib. n 81 III 87 The God's Revenge 91 Canto I ib. II 98 Alphouso; or, The Winter Hermit 102 •rr^^ 85SS57 GILBERT, AN A MA TO R V POEM, TO THOMAS TEMPLEMAN, ESQ. THIS VOLUME OF POEMS AND TALES JS RESPECTFULLY I^ SCRIBED, BY HIS MOST OBEDIENT SERVANT, THE AUTHOR. LONDON, May 4, 1809. hp INTRODUCTION. I ij CANNOT preface this edition of Gilbert^. Detter, than by presenting my readers witli the liberal remarks of some literary Friends concerning it. They, indeed, have treated the POEM very handsomely, far beyond its real merits. To their good-nature only, I iiiiust owe the mention of beauties I am still ^t a loss to discover ; but the faults alluded ItOj, it has been my endeavour to amend. f / / I now beg leave to present my several acknowledgments to the gentlemen who [favoured me with their advice ; particularly /the immortal author of the lay of the LAST MINSTREL. His letter I hold as nn invaluable treasure ; the words of which are deeply impressed on my memory. LONDON, Feb. 15, 1809. a 2 INTRODUCTION. To :mr. C- DEAR SIR, I YCSTERDAY rcccivcd the enclosed shoots by favour of jMv. Ridgway, and snatch a moment from very close and laborious duty, to sivc you, ;is desired, my opinion of their contents. T!ie title of " Gilbkut, an amatory poem," did not prepossess me in the authors favour ; it seemed he were treating on a subject unlikely to afford much novelty, and I becan to peruse his work vnth cool indifference. I was, however, soon undeceived, aad felt tlie fullest conviction, tliat wc ouiiht not to give way, too rashly, to ill- founded prejudices ; nor condemn the merits of a book before we well understand for why. The Poem of Gilbert displays a considerable share of invention. It is a pleasing picture, that must have cost the author much time and study : the characters are well delineated, and the rural scenery admirably diversified. I am awaie, that many illiberal critics will con- sider it a fault, in this writers having chosen his personages from the lower class of mankind, thinking that the common dialect of such sort of people is, in general, too mean to be worthy of note. An unskilful poet must have sunk under such a disadvantage, unable to attach any circum- stances meet to excite our curiosity : but, in the present undertaking, the difTiculty is overcome by a forcible combination of striking images, which bear on the mind with irresistible strength ; not only to keep the attention fixed, but form, as INTRODUCTION. Vii it were, a fruitful \me, of which Gilbert is the stem. And, if the criterion of real genius is decided to consist in oi iginrility, we have it here in a most eminent degree. This author's aim is to paint Nature in her humblest capacity, and he has fairly won the laurel from all modem competition. Aristotle very rightly observes, that ability to invent, is, itself, the sonl of poetry. An in- ditferent per.^on may write smooth verses, which, by the helpful aid of classical learning, may be correct in eveiy respect ; but yet, if they are destitute of that animative zest, which alone will crown uunumbevcd faults with imuiovtality, they must sink into oblivion : it ever remains with tlie inventive powers to raise poetry into estimation ; and if an autiior is in possession of a gift so divine, it enables him to overcome every other difficulty. " * Nor the lesrn'd exercise of schools, Nor the slifif pedantry of rules, Awake in splendid fame, Tifore high than where those rules can reach, FfoiTi Nature's book, which angels leach To bards who catch the flaiue.'* Throughout Gilbert the above invaluable pro- perty shines with a lustre truly sublime. It is oc- casionally interspersed with pertinent reflections, that evince a knowledge of mankind, which cannot be acquired from books. These are scattered with judgment, and increase our interest in the work itself. I intend some remarks, by way of critique, on this novel perforejance, to explore a few of its many beauties, and dwell a little on the excellent * See p. XXXV. xlii INTRODUCTION. MORAL it lioltls out to the reader. Tiie fable is -imply as follows : Gilbert, by profession a carrier, falls in love with Jenny, living at the toll-gate, through MJiicli he goes, occasionally, with his tilted cart. i\ot bring able to break his mind properly to the maiden, coldness and reserve on her part ensues, which Gilbert misinterprets, wrongly, into slight. At length he is led to wander abroad in the open coimtrj , and strolls about unsettled in his mind, and heavily oppressed with grief. He saves the life of a worthy gentleman, at whose house he finds the object of his sincere attachment. His mistake is cleared up, and the poem thereupon concludes. From the foregoing statement, it is evident, it must have required up small share of genius to supply tlie lack of materials in so banen a subject: hut, what is still more surprising, all the materials are of the richest quality, and easily brought to spring up from tlie very subject itself. How sweetly, but yet with what force, does the poet strike upon his theme proposed ! It is a fine transition, when he touches on the clang of war, and gives the very report and echo of the ex- ploding engines : — ' While dreadful gans loud roar. Vent fire and smoke, and shake the rattling shore ;' To say immediately after, • I sing of Nature, and a Lover's pains ; Woods, rivers, rocks, and fields, excite uay humbler strains.' It is the swell of a full organ dying away to the soft and delicate tones of a melodious harp ; and, INTRODUtTIOX. i\ as it came unexpectedly, it .";ave mc the greater delight. I was no longer alive to any trivial faults, or verbal errors — J perused the whole, throughout, with the highest degree of satisfaction. The labourer, working on the highway, expresses his plaint in the bitterest style : indignant at his poverty, which he attributes to his wife and chil- (li-en, he regrets the old enjoyments of his youtJi- ful days, envying Gilbert the single life which leaves him at liberty to go where he pleases. We hardly can bestow on him any pitj , of which he seems utterly unworthy. The reply Gilbert makes discovers a happy contrast of sentiment. NelVs sad story, told by t!ic shepherd, exliibits images of another cast. 1"he moral is striking, but the tale itself has a contrary effect to what was expected. Here follows a fine display of WOOD SCENERY. The opening of the second Canto is enriched with images of a prime quality. The woodman at work in the dingle gives a nice shade to the co- lours. Gilbert felling the tree, its crash in tailing, the sa}t draining from the trunk, and the youth tying the faggots, are among the unnumbered beauties of the Poem. The woodman's cottage is a familiar picture ; it is, nevertheless, described under circumstances which render it uncommonly interesting. The CONVERSATION at supper-time, and the harmless mirth of the rustics, in which is introduced the shepherd playing the bladder and stringy are re- plete with NOVELTY AND ENTERTAINMENT. Gil- bert finds here a little relief from his sorrows. Snsaiis story, related by \\\q farmefs boy, is in X INTRODUCTION. the patlietic style. It is charmingly told, and ex- cites a (leijree of pity at her untimely fate. Gilbert in the hay-loft proves hiniself worthy of his friend's confidence ; through which, and his ability to resist temptation, he paves the way for his future hap- piness. The SCENERY of the farm-yard, the occupation of the farmer, and the solicitude ex- pressed for Gilbert by the young boy, are the best conceived things I ever met ^vith. I find a neat allegorical apostrophe to Cleanliness : I ;!hall insert it here. * Fair Cleanliness, sweet scented, lovely maid ! How blessM the cottage where thou art display'd ! Good IKalth delights to follow close thy train, And Poverty attempts to frown in vain : When thou midst want set'sl out thy charms divine, Still are we led to fancy plenty thine ; Thy magic touch gives things more value still ; And where thou dwell'st, the more content we feel.' Canto V. verse 175. Gilbert's adventure with the king of the gip- sies, and his undertaking to carry a letter for his friend Herbert, ultimately crown his felicity. His meeting with his Jenny will be read with interest ; and the good advice whicli Herbert receives on his return home, is worthy the reader's attention. I would willingly extend my remarks ; but for want of talent I must be as concise as possible. It is universally allowed, that " Nature is partial in bestowing her gifts." We behold, at times, an individual, by some dignifying inherent quality, rise above the herd of mankind ; or, to use the lan- guage of a celebrated tourist, " Great minds have assisted themselves in their emancipation from oh- INTRODUCTION. \i Scurity in a most astonishing manner ; and, to the etenial honour of that dehcious intuition, that hea- venly inspiration, that sometliing so infinitely be- yond science and the schools, whenever this nucleus has burst its confines, it has never failed to spread unusual splendour, and attract superior admiration." The truth of which is exemplified, by our looking into the laboured effusions of autliors. We per- ceive many abound with flashes of genuine wit, and others, with all the helps that learning can bestow, dull and insipid ; but we cannot apply the latter case, justly, to the Author of Gilbert. He seems well endowed Avith a lively imagination, and is at no loss to keep up the meiits of his per- sonages. His INVENTION gains in strength, the more we read ; until, at last, it forms itself, as it were, into a vast mirror, dravdng every tiling aroui.d within its own proper focus. He is no mean poet ; and it adds not a little to his merit, tliat he has chosen his heroes from among the lower orders of mankind. It is likely he will meet with some readers ever ready to find fault ; but to the admirers of real genius, and lovers of poetic hai-mony, the Poem of Gilbert will be a standing dish. It would require a Capel Lofft to discriminate, fully, its several beauties. I have pointed out a few of them, and must leave it to greater abilities than mine to finish what I have indifferently begun. At the same time, I am far from saying it has no blemishes ; but they * are chiefly of a verbal na- * Since ray writing the above I liave examined over tlie emendrttery ^ulpruvemeHts, and in «o case can apply the same xii INTRODUCTION. tare, and trivial to tliose who read more for amuse- 1110 nt than to discover errors. In the tbllov*ing Hncs I perceive a mistake in llie grammatical construction, which rather ob- 'icures the sense : « Jyoud dic.iry groans his breaking heart ixsfie.' Canto I. verse C'.'>. A2:ain, ' Say, at Jhy home, more happy still to be. Dwells ibc gootl wife, source of felicity ; With chililren yoiuig thy v^ ishes gratified, And giitcil blessings crown tby fireside?' Canto ir. vers.- 13t). In the undeiueath quotation, the word * cruel" has a vei-y bad effect ; it throws too great a stress on the first foot, or syllable. ' Alas ! what agns of madness vex my brain ! My blood no longer burns in ev'ry vein : My senses fled, an outcast lorn I die, Far from the glance of her (iisdainfnl eye : Yet, CTiiel Jane ! one Idndly tear bestow ; Drop bnt one tear in pity to iny woe.' Canto I. veise fi^l. I have taken the liberty, as it will appear, to mal^e a trifling alteration in the third verse. I think it an improvement. There are not many lines throughout the whole piece that v\ill properly ad- Remarkx to the pre ent Edition : these fauUs appear to have been carefully corrected by the Author. I conceive it will be found, ?s a poetical work, only equalled by its remarkable 'haipnesv. enabling every reader to become a piirchnser. S. P. INTRODUCTION. xiil Init of it. I believe fewer errors ever escaped any author iii a labour of such extent. As I am now touching on the more discordant Paits, I subjoin a letter*, written by a person Avho appears better able to condemn, tlian to treat with candour, the light imperfections of an author. I have little occasion to observe to the intelligent reader, that, although it seems to have been written with all tlie malevolence of a mere critic, it is, ne- vertlieless, too futile in its substance to obtain weight. " If poeti-y," says an able writer, " possesses a certain zest and vigour, it will float, one day or other, in spite of ten thousand faults ; and if it is not, as sailors term it, sea-worthy, it will sink to rights, though caulked by all the critical carpenters in Europe." But it is my opinion that Gilbert will bear a verbal compaiison with even the last * " To Mr. G E. " Dear Sir, •' At your request I have perused the sheets wbich accompany this letter, and shall give you my opiuion of their contents. There cannot be two opinions, indeed, about the matter. The Poem comes with the dignity of an Epic, and is divided, not onlj' into Cantos, but into Books too. It is the attempt, at composition in verse, of a farmer's son, who has gotten his education at a Sunday school, and read Eloomfield, and nothing else. If, however, the Author had a Capel Eoffr to revise, aud in many instances to rewrite, bis verses, and tlie project were not somewhat deficient in novelty, he might perhaps have attained as much success as the Author of tbe Farmer's Boy : but a second Eloomfield is like a second Young Roscius. As il is, his verses are the most incorrect and tasteless things that ever passed the compositor's stick ; and if ever the Author of Gilbert malces a blaze in the world, his book must be his fuel. B— — n F- b Xiv INTRODUCTION. edition of the Farmers Boy ; admitted too, that the oue was revised by a Capel Lofft, and the other tlie unlettered efFusions of a farmer's son. The critic, however, errs ; for the author is not Indeed a tanners son, but only a young merchant, well known in the commercial world ; who studies POETRY more with a view to relax the fatigues of a counting-house, than in any expectation to de- rive pecuniary emolument from it. But the cha- racter of a writer does not depend so much on what he may happen to be, as on the merits of hi« works. I now hasten to close my account, with little more than some critical remarks concerning Gilbert, written by a gentleman whose senti- ments agree more favourably with mine. They contain, besides, an explanation of the moral it is intended should be conveyed. Speaking of the Poem, he says : " I have read it over and over again ; and per- haps there are not many lines but what I have now by heart, easy to quote on occasion ; the result of wliich is, tliat no book I ever met with has af- forded me more rational pleasure, or so much amusement -, nor do I recollect any author whom I have studied more, though I read a great many. But what most excites my surprise, is the poet's ingenuity. — He has fonned a handsome stoiy in > erse, of a subject which no one else has ever at- tempted in like manner. This is not to be won- dered at. It is a scanty field, where few but the author of Gilbert would venture to glean. " The native simpHcity of Gilbert often ex- • ites my smiles, attempered vnth pitv". I can INTRODUCTION. XV hardly forbear my compassion, even when it oc- curs to mind that he is at last made happy. *' The situation of the man repairing the roads I cannot well enter into, never having myself ex- perienced domestic unhappiness. I admire the cha- racter of the Woodman. It shows that content- ment and industry are the truest sources of rural FELICITY — the surest guardians against profligacy and vice. " Nell and Susan are incidents which cannot be too widely circulated : they hold out a most doleful but tme picture of the sorrows of female seduction, and the utter ruin of those, who place their implicit confidence in the false oaths of a designing lover. " Joyce is a heedless young woman violently bent on the gratification of an illicit passion ; but young women, like Joyce, may learn from Gilbert, of there having been more than one Joseph in the world, and that no temptation whatever can bring a traly -virtuous mind to swei-ve from the paths of RECTITUDE and HONOUR. Had Gilbert complied with her evil wishes, possibly her kindness might have tempted him to remain in her father's family, and thus, not only prevent his saving the life of a fellow-creature, but deprive him of the accidentzd circumstance of finding his Jane, and the conse- quent happy issue of their meeting. " From a summary statement of tlie several characters in this interesting poem, particularly in the case of Nell, Susan, and Gilbert, we may draw this salutary and excellent moral, that sooner or later virtue will be its own reward, and VICE carry with itself its own punishment, Xvi INTRODUCTION. '' In fine, if Bloomfield has received so much applause, who had so wide a scope with his popular subject ; ' Ihc fields bis sludy, Nature was his book ;' how much more is due to the author of Gilbert, wlio has reared his own superstnicture, without any <vrount1, apparently, to build on, or any ma- te) ials to build with ! " But I should err against tmth and my own judgment, were I to say, it is entirely free from faults. I have not myself pointed out any! I read for pleasure, not to discover errors ; and where I find any in Gilbert, I willingly allow that even Milton and Shakspeare are not infallible. Southey is not always perfect, and in Bloomfield I can per- ceive faults without number, yet he had the ad- vantage of a Capel Lofft to revise his book. " F. J. p.* In course of tlie v/ork there are two or tliree lines which seem to clash with other writers. I >liall quote them here. Gray, in his Elegy, expresses, that ' i'ull many a flower is born ti. blush ut>?eea> And waste its sweetness in the desert air.' Compare these in Gilbert : ' Rank nettles, thyme, wood-betony, henbane, Here waMe their virtue and liieir strength in vain.' ^ Canto II. vcric Zb, INTRODUCTION. XVII And in Bloomfield : ' Just where (he parting boughs' liijht shadows play.' F 's Boy. * Along the grouiul the boughs' dark semblance plays.' Gilbert, Canto I. verse IH. In the latter there appears somewhat of an imita- tion ; yet, on a closer survey, one turns out to be a very imperfect, and the otlier a true delineation. The whimsical idea of ' light shadows,' reminds me of a learned Irish gentleman, who, having ar- rived from the coast of Africa, ingeniously con- fessed, he admired the young female blacks ; for, said he, they are very fair to look upon ! It is the misfortime of the Farmer's Boy, that whenever he happens on a good thought, he is almost (pertain to spoil it, either by some obscurity in his ex- pression, or by his distorting the image. The line ought to stand thus : ' Just where the boughs' light airy shadows play.' We could not, then, mistake its meaning. Again : ' Where the kite, brooding, unmolested flies.' F ^s Boy. ' Where, unmolested, brood the birds of prey.' Gilbert, Canto VIII. verse 18- I took the above for an imitation also : but was glad to discover, that the lines convey two very distinct idtas. The latter is a true picture, taken from natuie ; and the former, a mere jingle of words. It labours to tell us, that the kite, mimo- b2 X\iii INTRODUCTION. lestetl, //■« brooding : a sudden flash, that would seem a novelty in the travels of the renowned jNTuNCHAUSEN. These are the only collisions throughout the v.iiole Poem. SAMUEL PENIETIXE. Lojtrlon, hm. lOM, I8O9. To Mr. C N. SIR, Your favour, sent to me on Tliursday week, came duly to hand, along with the cele- brated poem of Gilbert ; I say, indeed, celebrated, because we have admired him, even in his worst clothes (the first edition foolscap). The improve- ments which the author has since made are very deserving of praise. It is a work likely to do him much credit. But with regard to the copy of the letter from a JiMr. B n F d, are you correct ? I have sent it back with my remarks thereon. You say he writes for the Reviews ; which, however strange it seems, is not improbable. T have frequently met with criticisms not the most correct tilings in the literaiy world. His letter shows but little of the scholar, as you will per- ceive by some verbal inaccuracies which I have taken the pains to mark out ; and, on that head, he must be ill qualified, indeed, to judge of the merits or the faults of Gilbei't. It requires little of logic to discover the weakness of ais other ar- guments, applied in the present case ; for, if an author cannot be successful because wiotlier has. INTRODUCTION. XIX there would soon be a speedy end to every effort of human genius : emulation wouki become ex- tinct ; and we should be loft to pore for ever over the same thing. His style is ridiculous — a second Bloomfield, must be still a Bloomfield, it is all one figure ; therefore, he says, a writer cannot succeed because he has succeeded — veiy sensible tnily, to come from the pen of a learned en tic. As to -wlvat Anonymous relates of this author having copied from Bloomfield, it is impossible ! No writer, especially of poetry, could, I am confident, derive any help or satisfaction in so doing : which I shall now endeavour to explain ; not only to vindicate a favourite bard, but to snatch a little of the misplaced Mreath from the brow of the F — r's Boy : a leaf or two, surely, should belong to Gilbert. It has been with me an invariable rule, never to trust the opinion of any one person concerning themcrHs of a book. I had rather think for myself; and, according to the amusement or instruction I find, I elevate the author in my own estimation. A poet who undertakes to copy nature, should first make himself well acquainted with the mean- ing and order of words ; for, without this, it is not likely he can express his ideas in that purity of style so essential to a good writer. Do we not. Justly, find fault with the false colouring of a pic- tui-e if the objects appear distorted ? And in poetry, as well as in painting, due care should be held to represent the images accurately. Were the Farmei's Boy once stripped of his gaudy trappings, (the preface, &c.) and the reader not afraid to trust to his own discernment, keeping in view as much of X\ INTRODUCTION. the author's design as he may be able to collect, lie >vill sooJi discover the most contradictory ble- mishes, ignorant mistakes, and tautologies, that ever escaped any \\Titer whatever ; saying nothing of tlie light hops and skips, like a grasshopper, over the wide field of nature. I have neither time nor inclination, at present, to enter fully into an elaborate discussion of a Mibject so tiilling. I shall be as brief as possible. The blunders of this author conunence with his i'ltlc-pagc, and end only with his hook. With respect to the title-page, I -uppose it is meant to give a summaiy statement of the work. Thomson ju- diciously divides his poem into four distinct parts ; Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter ; but why the occupation of a farmer's boy is divided into the four seasons of the year, is hard to unriddle. In speaking of Giles, the poet introduces hira as cue inured to hard labour : ' Labour his portion, llis life was, constiint, cheerful servitude :♦ Yet, in the next liue save one, it follows, ' The fields his study, nature was his book :' which conveys an idea totally irreconcileable to the fomier assertion ; since the study of nature, in her full vainety, we must all allow , is ever in, compatible with a life of actual drudgery: besides, while speakuag of the farmer, he adds : • Unceasing industry he kept in view ; And never Uck'd a job for Giles to do.' INTRODUCTION. XXi Tlie boy must, therefore, either ^vilflllly neglect his master's business, or otherwise give up his fa- vourite pursuits ; which, in the very outHne of the work, is a strange contradiction, tliat will, at one time or other, manifest itself to the meanest ca- pacity. But, at the commencement of the third book, the author himself bids farewell to his hero. He is now in a glowing heat with Thomsonic fire, and exclaims — * The years decline, The thundering chase, &c. Invite my song !' after premising, at first, only to sing of him, * Whose drudgery unheeded goes.' Not so is the portraiture of Gilbert. It is finely draAvn, and is never perceived to depart from its original simplicity. The same point holds good with all the other personages in this inestimable Poem ; but the character of Giles is expressed very differently indeed. He is represented as one industrious, idle, bold, sheepish ; a common butt for every clode-pole to crack his jokes upon ; a mere novice ; and, lastly, a great philosopher ! It is impossible to admit such idle metaphors as the following, with our ideas of the elegant and classical compositions of Theocritis, with whose works the F r's Boy is said to rank ! viz. breath it- self s^aMc?5 still; the slumbering pZowg/is, the friendly horn, the friendly shore, the friendly telescope, breathless rooms, smokes and steams *, nature's » It is considered veiy improper st\le to write ' smokes \\U INTRODUCTION. cluinns that stamps, wield thy shotless gun, &c. or what sense or meaning do we find in such lines as these — ' StlU 'midst huge clods he plunges aw forlorn, That laugh, &c.' Or ' Every molehill is a bed of thyme !' The former, who can understand it ? and, of tlie latter, it is a riddle that would utterly disgi-ace a toy-book for children. The best of his images, or those which are held out to possess the highest de- gree of excellence, aie badly finished. In many instances the sense is sacrificed to gingle the rhyme, and in otliers the rhyme is totally disregarded ; * The splendid raiment of tlie earth peeps forth.' In which tlie beauty of the image is destroyed, and the sense utterly lost, merely to chime with the ending of the word north. Again, ' Advancing Sprtng profusely spreads abroad Flowers of all hues, with sweetest fragrance stared ; Where'er she treads, Love gladdens every plain, Delij;/it, on tip-toe, bears her lucid train ; Sweet Hope with conscious brow before her flies, Anticipating wealth from summer skies ; All Nature feels her renovating sway ; The sheep fed pasture, and the meadow gay ; And trees, and shrubs, no longer budding seen, Display the new-grown branch of lighter greeu.» and steaios,' &c. we might as well say a bag of shots, a ling of sands, a load of coals, chickens, &c. which are aggregate nouns, and admit not the plural lenninalion. INTRODUCTION. XXii" Fine as this assemblage of allegorical figures is said to be, the idea of ' delight on tip-toe' com- pletely spoils it. To walk on the tip of the toe, is a movement very unlikely to give delight. And should we picture the image in the attitude of dancing, it seems still more ridiculous ; for she is described in the act of bearing another's ti-ain. But, if Delphi actually beai^s the lucid habili- ments of Spri7iff, it is no wonder tliat ' Love glad- dens every 2ilain' on beholding a naked goddess so intently employed. Far from tliere being any particular beauty or merit disceniible in these highly adulated verses, the poet evidently wishes to pass the matter quick as possible. Jdvancing Spring moves with too great a degree of haste to be otherwise than servile. She has even con- signed over her dress to accelerate her motions, and tosses the flowers abroad, and at home too, with an inconceivable rapidity. This is against all rules of sound composition, and the poetry must be bad indeed, that tlius confuses our ideas. Connoisseurs in painting examine into the merits of a piece by the appeamnce it may bear to na- ture, supposing the objects as seen through a me- niscus-glass. It would be very wrong for a painter, who meant to sketch a Venus, to represent her toothless, or her skin in wrinkles ; hence it is evi- dent, that whatever painting is to the sight, poetry should be to the mind. A word misplaced, or wrongly applied, may injure a picture formed by the imagmation, as much as the lack of an eye or a hand would spoil the symmetry of a figure painted on canvass. Had the poet left out the misnomer. XXIV INTRODUCTION. * tip-toe,' and modulated the persoiiified figure Delight, so as to have ended the verse thus, ' bears up her lucid train,' it would not only have read much better, but stood more consonantly true witli grammar and jiense. A tasteless author will sometimes stumble on a jiood though, which, if it were properly managed, might cover a hundred of liis faults ; but, unfor- tunately, he hammers it out like leaf gold, till it becomes of httle value. An example of which is seen in the former passage. The first image of ' advancing Spring,' is cairied out to its full ex- tent, by ' Delight on tip-toe :' it is disabled at the fifth line, with ' Sweet Hope anticipating wealth ;' recovers a httle in the seventh, where ' All Nature feels,' &c. and then it suddenly disappears. When an image is broken, or the idea imperfect, it should be struck otF with a dash thus — or a fuil point. It is not in the power of the comma or the semicolon, or any device whatever, to join a figiue after it is divided, as at the end of this concluding Ime; ' All Xature feels her renovating sway ;' The next verse is the head of another distinct subject : The sheep-fed pasture, and the ineadow gay.' Then follows another — ' And trees and shrubs, uo longer budding seen. Display the neitf-s,royva branch of lighter green.' Introduction. xxv 1 notice the above, because it is of infinite im- portance. The semicolon at the end of the former line, ' renovating sway ;' confines ' All Nature to the sheep-fed pasture,' &c. which seems absurd. The term itself of sheep-fed is objectionable. It conveys no portion of sense. The same remark will apply nearly to the word (if word it can be called) of new-grown. It does not only cause a labouring, but it is extremely harsh, and bitter to the understanding. I presume, however, it might be rendered admissibly into ' full-grown :' but the former I shall leave to abler commentators. However, I will befriend the poet, and, for once, re-write the foregoing, as they are set apart for some of his best verses. I expect his thanks — it may be of use to him in future. ' Returning Spring profusely scatters wide Flowers of all hues, with fragrant sweets supplied ; Where'er she treads, a beauteous scene appears, Each tree, each plant, her verdaut liv'ry wears ; Gaily Delight bears up her lucid train ; Kind thoughts inspire each rural nymph and swain. And Love keeps holiday upon the plain. Glad Hope before, on lifted pinion flies. Sanguine of blessings from the milder skies ; TJnnamher^d Joys attend, to crown her way ; All Nature feels her renovating sway. 1 disapprove very much, the volnptuous scene of the rustic's encircling the lovely maid, (book ii. V. 169) divested ef her gown, her creakuag stays, &c. It is written in a kind of loose style, that leaves the reader to put upon it the worst con- struction, and ought to have utterly excluded the Farmer's Boy from all respectable boarding c XXv'l INTRODUCTION. SCHOOLS. To render it still more pernicious, cither the poet, or liis editor, has fixed a dash at the end of tlie word stays ; as if ashamed to go on with the indelicate subject. Then follows a strant^e silence indeed ! at length some one is found asking tlie following impertinent question : Invidious barrier .' vihy art thou so high. When the sliyht covering of her ueck slips b)', There iialf revealing to the eager sight Her Hill, ripe bosoin, exquisitely white ? The numerous mistakes, &c. in the Farmer's Boy, are likely owing to his unprecedented cruelty, which led him to gulp down his poor Muse, like the avaricious man in the fable, who destroyed a fowl that laid golden eggs. He says ,; ' O come, bless'd spirit ! whatsoe'er thou art ; Thou kindling wannth,' &c. After which invitation he exclaims : ' Sweet ininate, hail !' Fully demonstrative of the action and effect. Whether or not these remarks will be looked upon as invidious, I cannot determine. To discuss the merits of an author according to the best of our capacity, is a privilege we are still allowed. We hiive it along with the pamphlet for our money. How few make use of this privilege ! They will sooner go with the stream of popular opinion ; never thinking how, or where, that opi- nion might originate. This is a truth, indeed. One will cry — ' I have seen a volume which I thiuk charming — it afforded me much amusement. INTRODUCTION. -VWU Pray how was it received by the critics?' — ' Wliy, as for that,' says another, * they bona fide cotX' demned it.' — ' Indeed !' says the first, ' then my own judgment must have erred ! I will return it immediately to the publishers.' — ' Here,' says a third, ' is a truly divine performance ! I really do not understand it myself, but am informed it has a rapid sale. It comes well recommended, wliich is enough for me.' To conclude a subject dissonant to evei'y prin- ciple of liberality, I will again aver my decided opiiiion to be, that the author of Gilbei't neither did, nor could have copied his characteristic poem liom Bloomlield's Farmei's Boy. An imitation must always fall short of the original ; and to com- pare botli these works together, we might as well contrast the feeble beams of the moon to the dazzling rays of the sun. — Gilbert is the pro- duction, apparently, of a great poet in his in- fancy, (one whom we should do well to encou- rage) ; and the F '5 B y, the clumsy la- bour of a new-grown poetaster. And thus miich for the learned Mr. F d's criticism. Since the above, I have discoursed with the author, and he gladly embraced the offer I made to revise his works ; a task which, I must confess, afforded me great pleasure. It can hardly be supposed that a person, whose time is almost wholly occupied by an extensive business, could be infallible in ' building the lofty rhyme,' or not to have passed over some little inaccuracies which n common writer might have avoided. In good XXVm INTRODUCTION. tiiith, the poem of Gilbert, in the state it first came into the world, might be compared to a rough diamond, which required only a little polish to make it appear in its full lustre. Whether or not I have succeeded in the attempt, must be left with the reader to judge, such as may happen to have in tlieir possession the foolscap and quarto editions. I will further add in defence of this li- berty, that whatever alterations I perceived neces- sary, the poet cheerfully adopted, and thereby proved himself entirely void of conceit. I never heard him express the least sentiment in favour of liis poetical abilities, yet, I believe, he possesses the powers of versification in a very eminent de- gree, as indeed will every one who impartially reads his Gilbert, and the other poems which are pre- fixed to this volume ; but I have it in view to give a further proof of what I affirm as follows : I was in company a few days ago vdth several literary friends, and, among other subjects of con- versation, the F 's B y was brought on the carpet, of which it was maintained, that its real merit, more than the novelty of the manner in which it was produced, had insured it unbounded success ; many ventiu-ed to say, it was a poem that required an uncommon degree of ingenuity ; and, on the strength of the Editor's * preface, some af- firmed, it, was the best and most perfect produc- tion of uncultured genius England had to boast ; but T declined, at the time, giving my opinion of the matter, I only desired permission to drop a • Capol Lofft. INTRODUCTION. XXIX line to a certain pcj-son, who sometimes wrote a little for his own amusement. It was to this purpose : DEAR SIR, I AM now in company with a few friends, who contend that the F 's B y is a work difficult for any writer to attempt ; but from the observations I have made on your Gilbert, I am convinced you could readily midertake a similar poem, in a better and more natural stjle, were such a thinjn; necessary. You have not been at plough, yet I conjecture you can imajjine yourself in that capacity, and compose immediately, forty or fifty extempore lines 1 need say no more at present. We are anxiously waiting the return of the bearer. M. s. In a less time than two hours I received the fol- lowing answer, together with the annexed poetry, of which hereafter, DEAR SIR, You have set me a task indeed, but I endeavour to fulfil your wishes, and all I can say in vindication of my verses will be, tliat I was to- tally unprepared for every thing of tlie kind. You may put the enclosed to what use you please, though I apprehend the fire is their most fitting place. J. T, iC INTRODUCTION. FARMER HOBSON; A RURAL POEM. I sing the toils of one unknown to fame, ^ A rural swain, John Hubson call'd by name ; NVhose daily cares revolving seas07is crown. On fallow mead, on hill, or level down, Since in the yard, the barn, or cnltur'd field. The farmer's labours ample subject yield. If but the Muse inspire each temper'd line. Befriend the lay, and evciy thought refine. Far in the north, near to a highway side. Where the swift mails before the waggons gli<le. Stands a thatch'd house with land encompass'd round, ■Ring-fenc'd with hedge-rows and a rising mound. Wide to the left the upland ground ascends, Below whose side a valley far extends. Early prepar'd the yellow grain to grow. To form the wheat-stack and the barley-mow. And here no little farmer needy stands. Obliged to sell his corn from olf his lands. But sev'ral farms that many serv'd before, Now altogether swell the rich man's store. Who with a mod'rate profit not content, Keeps lip the price, and makes poor folk lament ; Hind'ring the gifts of Heav'n to take their course, A time of uar so hard making still worse. Round Uobson'fi house an ample space appears, Where many a stack of hay its head uprears. Where stands a shed for waggon, cart, and plough, Apart the barn and pigeonhonse below. And near a sty, and hive of bees beyond. Appears the gabbling geese and ducks' dark pond. And various poultry anxious cares bestow, To lead their yoan>T, to feed them as they go. One line of conduct niark'd John Hobson's way. His character scem''d clear as summer day; At his full hoard, with wholesome food supplied. His wife and children sat at either side : INTRODUCTION. X\ Dwelt on his smiles, or if by ills sore vex'd, Siiar'd all bis griefs, — like him they felt pcrplex'd. And elill in lite, as Fate awards it so, That after joy oft tronble comes and woe, 111 such as Hobson reckons Qn each crop, ■\Vhich in their early growth a with'ring Wight may slop. Sometimes a sheep, or pig within the sty, Or suddenly a fav'ritc cow may die ; Things, which bc-frtlling, hurt the farmer's mind, Steal his delinhls, and sorrows leave behind. A hundred ewes he number'd in his turn. Ten cows with cream supplied the dashing churn. His team of valu'd horses he would boast, Were worth five limes the money they had cost ; And, 'mona; his store, he prided still to hnd Farming utensils of a better kind, And had besides, his labours to beguile. One fonr-wheei'd chaise for riding out in style. With every possible disadvantage attending ex tempore composition, the foregoing is, I presume, infinitely beyond the boasted poetry of Bloomfield. That writer says, indeed, A little farm his gen'rons master tilVd ; whicli is, however, much too brief: for a reader, who may not chance to have seen a farm ; even the ' little' we can derive, seems lost by tlie mis- nomered rhyme at the end. A schoolboy will perceive that tlie word tilled, camiot in this case be applied, it converts the fami into a piece of ground, and a sacrifice is made of all the other appendages belonging to a farm. In the verses of my friend there is a pow er of description suflScient to guide any one in sketching a picture ; no painter could mistake, and the canvass would strike with the niral delineation. The farm-yard is, in itself, XXXii INTRODUCTION. SO essentially necessaiy to a poem like that we treat of, that I must acknowledge it is with sur- prise autl pity I observe the Farmer's Boy dwell so * tittle' on it ; he passes it over as a matter of '• no consequence ; at least the image is broken in ; pieces, and scattered m fragments throughout the j work, so that we perceive it utterly impossible to j tell its real form or symmetry, an mipardonable I fault wliich merits the severest censure. { To retiun from this digi'ession. I had the plea- jj sure to perceive a visible change in the company present. I heard them approve of the composi- tion I had just read ; they all allowed that Nature being inexhaustible, and the Farmer's Boy a sub- ject that embraced a wide field, Mr. B d ap- peared, by this instance, to have made poorly out indeed, with his ' tiifting incidents.' It was re- quested I would use my influence with the writer ^ of Gilbert to prevail on him to finish what he had j so ably begun — Farmer Hobson would find many | readers, and the profit might repay the labour of p such an undertaking. I gave my word of honour 'ii I would spare no proper endeavours, but obser\'ed il that my friend would be under one disadvantage,^ serious enough, he would be under the necessity' of vie wing Nature through the' spectacles of books* ;' an idea which ' set the table in a roar.' The conversation was afterwards changed to other mat-; ters, and I retired to write down what I have here related. miles sapman. * This will act on me as a future caation never to qnot any writer whatever, who will adopt a favourite idea, ho\\ ever void of sense it may be. M. S. TO THE AUTHOR OF GILBERT. AN ACROSTIC, Written extempore, by a Friend. Ingenious bard ! permit a humble muse, Admiring Gilbert, to unfold Ids views : May he make known the pleasure which he took, Endeavouring to explore the beauties of thy book: So full ofgems, its worth will none o'erlook. Time shall increase the lustre of thy fame, Evolving ages speak thy deatliless name : Malice distort her wrinkled brow in vain, Proclaim her hatred of the rural strain : Loud eulogies attend thy peaceful way, Entwining feir the lamel and the bay. Merit like thine shall meet its due reward, And men of taste evince their just regard ; Nor shall thine enemies the rightful meed retard. INTRODUCTORY VERSES, BY THE AUTHOR. Go, honest Gilbert, pride of swains, Go, well rewarded for your pains In all you hold most dear ; Jenny your fond esteem regards ; Kind fortune showers on you reward?, Fate is no more severe. Bless'd with contentment true at home, O'er hills and dales no more you'll roam, Low bending by despair ; But everj- trouble flies at last, Gay pleasure crowns all sorrows pass'd, And banishes dull cure. Go, lowly Gilbert, tender youth, Rewaided in your love and truth, Example to set forth ; Long shall your history be read, Till lasting fame exalted spread Your honour, merit, worth. And while 'tis Nature tempts the lyre, The song of Gilbert shall aspire The rural tribe to charm ; His artless, unaffected lore, Th' unletter'd rustic will explore, And in his cause grow warm, INTRODUCTORY VERSES. XX'S What tho' the critics may despise A moral in a mean disguise, The Muse will still befriend, Still aid the rouj^h, untutor'd wight, Smooth flowing language to indite, Which Art would fain amend ! Nor the learn'd exercise of schools, Nor the stiff pedantry of rules, Awake in splendid fame, More high than where those rules can reach From Nature's book, which angels teach To bards who catch the flame : Thus silver ore is brought to glow, Till, loose from dross, it runs below, A purified, clear stream. Fair Emulation ! spread thy fires, Refine whate'er the Muse inspires. And dignify the theme* GILBERT. CANTO I. ARGUMENT. Invocation. — ^The subject proposed. — Gilbert wanders abroad in the fields; meets with a labourer at work on the highway ; enters into conversation. — The shepherd's boy, &c. — Story of proud Nelly. — Moonlight, &c. — A sudden storm. Gilbert takes shelter in a wood ; is lost. — The nightingale. — Morn- ing, &c. — Advice to Gilbert. Come, fav'ring Power ! to whom belongs the lyre, Strike softer music, and the song inspire. Immortal deeds heroic verse records, And clangous War proud Triumphs still affords ; Her hot Sea-Fights, while dreadful guns loud roar, Vent fire and smoke, and shake tlie rattling shore : I sing of Nature and a Lover's pains ; Woods, rivers, rocks, and fields, excite ray humbler strains. Say, Muse ! what cause made Gilbert sore distress'd. Or rack'd with pangs his agonfzing breast ; Constrain'd the youth o'er hills and dales to roam, Far from his friends, his kindred, and his home ? B Fair Jane the Maid reflis'd his vows to hear, ; And set at nought his love, his truth sincere. At eaily dawTi he walks the lonely fields, A little pleasure change of objects yields ; His cheerless food from hedge to hedge he seeks, His morning's fast with nuts or sloes he breaks. High on each branch the crab-tree clusters grow. He thiows a stone, the fruit rebounds below ; He quickly gathers up the scatter'd prize, And o'er a stile, between the trees, he hies. Sometimes to right, sometimes to left he goes, Bemoans his fortune, and laments his woes : Loud sighs of anguish from his heart issue. And tears, fast trickling, his pale cheeks bedew. A labouring man beheld our gentle wight. Then begs to know how came he in such plight ; Young Gilbert heai^s the query meant for kind. Returns brief answer, and unfolds his mind : Coufess'd that luckless love infix'd the dart, Which caus'd fresh pain * to fester in liis heait ! Compassion, then, the curious hind express'd, Fetch'd a deep sigh, and thus the youth address'd : ' Unliappy stranger, list to my sad tale, And let my words to sooth your giief avail : Would I were single, like as you aie now. No anxious^ cares should e'er aiFect my brow ; Gay Pleasure o'er ray joyous hours should tend, Crowning my bliss with ale, a pipe, a friend. Such bliss I knew ; but, still dissatisfied, I courted Ruth, all me ! and wedlock tiied : * IV/iich caused fresh pain, &c.] The pangs of sconud nffectioii remain Gs^t fresh iu ihe minds of sincere and ik- voted lovers, M. S. GILBERT. 3 1 Simple, indeed, to sacrifice my peace, I And for a wife exchange regretted ease ! j When crows the cock at early dawn of day, I Oh ! I must speed the summons to obey ; Compell'd, by poverty, I quit my rest, I And leave my bed with silent grief oppress'J. I The food I eat a bare existence yields ; j Fate frowns on me, care all her wants reveals : j These, these, are mine 1 vainly do lament j The hapless hour I barter'd my content. ) Near yonder oaks are stony fragments laid, j To mend the ruts by loaded waggons made ; I The splinter d lumps I in the hollows spread, ' And throw the gravel where the horses tread. Such toil is hard : — my utmost strength I prove ; Down runs my sweat, and heavily I move ; While not one drop of home-brew'd ale I taste, To cheer my sinking spirits, weakly brac'd : Ah me ! a wife and tAVO poor children small, AVhate'er I earn, they're ready for it all ! A single doit no more my wage affords, A penny spent excites provoking words ! Go now, b^hink, I envy such as you ! ,Free to act fair, and best what pleases do : Would I were single ; or might choose once more, I'd have no \vife — but vainly I deplore.' This Gilbert heard : his vailing look bespeaks A mind perplex'd, and thus he silence breaks : ' Well-taught experience makes us all grow wise ; Each for himself the doubtful matter tries. My stubborn passion I would gladly close. Set right my thoughts, and banish all my woes ; From hateful strife I'd keep my temper free, Were lovely Jemiy wedded but to me. 4 GILBERT. Were she, were Jane become my constant bride, How rich the gift ! I'd little crave beside : Able to work, industry I'd embrace, With sweet contentment smiling on my face. ' Were I a king, my power I'd soon resign, Wealth, splendour, pomp, to call dear Jenny mine Some lowland cot, enrich'd, adom'd with her, I'd to whole streets of palaces prefer ! But I was doom'd to meet with Jenny's scorn, And wander here a vagabond forlorn ; Poor, destitute, forsaken, bending still With weighty anguish and o'erpow'ring ill.' ' Youtli! you've spoke well,' the other thus 'Tis by experience we become more wise : [plies Conjectiu-mg false, a wife I did obtain. The utmost heights of happiness to gain ; But ere three weeks in tlioughtless ease had pass'd Want found my dwelling and beset me fast ; W ith her came Wrath I'd all my savings spent And every day brought strife and discontent. Truly the saying fresh occun'd to mind. When wealth is fled, love lingers not behind ! Regret and soitow by one act I date ; A foolish act, which I repent too late.' He spoke : our swain gives vent a piteous sigh, His tears, big-swelling, wet his glistening eye ; He bids the labourer a kind adieu, Far on the road his journey to pursue. Oppress'd with cares, neai'Tidesu'g/Z* town he goes;' Fam'd for its wondrous spring that ebbs and flows • Near Tideswell town, &c.] " In this neighbourhond i- a spring that ebbs and flows twice or thrice in an hour at par ticalar seasons. Tiie cause is variously explained by different authors, but not one has pretended to pass his argomentj foi truth. It is a very extraordinary phenomenon." GILBERT. 5 Wanders low drooping o'er the verdant hills, Whose tops command a prospect in the fields. Lonely and sad his sufferings he bewails, Near the wild fig-trees midst the dismal vales, J Where simdiy elms obstruct the lightning's beam, Save, oft, the wither'd branch admits a gleam ; [ Or where the mountain towers its lofty head, He walks below, hard by the colonade. I Which, strung with flow'rs in wreaths, love-knots, and darts, j Bears nigh resemblance to the sculptile arts. 1 Like one who fear'd a snake amidst tlie grass, Strives Gilbert 'ueath the fig-trees' boughs to pass ; Disturbs the blinking screech-owl loud it screams A hideous sound the vale more horrid seenvs. Thro' the entangled covert breaking way. Again our wanderer meets the sun's bright ray ; Views the rough steep, whose brow salutes the sky; And loiters where the tomb demands a sigh j Its chequer'd marble, smoothly wrought, stands fair, A work of time and persevering care ; With bleeding hearts supports the fluted urn. While little Cupid ever seems to mourn ; What meant these things young Gilbert wish'd to know. And, stooping down, intently look'd below ; He, on the pedestal, some lines survey'd, Sacred to memory of a hapless maid : And here, for meditation well design'd. Nature'* own works engross the studious mind, A solemn spot to bless an anchorite. And bear his thoughts in ecstatic delight. 6 GILBERT. But though deep solitude influence still Th' expanded soul to sooth each troubling ill. Young Gilbert ponders o'er his slighted pain, And cheerless, sighing, hastes across the plain. Along the ground the boughs dark semblance plays ; Down airy paths he tiuns his mournful gaze : A course imcertain in the fields he bends. Towards where Derwent's * darksome wave ex- tends ; Due north he travels, melancholy, slow. A shepherd's boy desires his grief to know : An answer kind lorn Gilbert ne'er denies, He tells th' inquiring rustic why he sighs : ' With bitt'rest scorn fair Jane my love requites, Witliin my breast the sharpest pangs excites : A stubborn passion brings my tears to flow, Distracts my senses, makes my spirits low. Far live my friends, I've from my kindred ran, In all respects the most ill-fated man ! The length'ning wilds with weaiy steps I tread ; My flatt'ring hopes of happiness are fled. No situation long allures my stay ; I wander, heedless where I shape my way : A change of place affords some small relief. Variety my best solace in grief.' At which the boy assmii'd a friendly look, A smile o'erhung his visage while he spoke : * Derwenfs darksome wave, &c.] " The Derwent isr duiky, o-.'iing to the soil through which it passes. It rises in tlie most northern parts of tbe county, and passes south-wesl on to Derby without receiving any considerable river, Aboul 5'.ven miles below Derby it falls into the Trent." \ GILBERT. 7 } How much I pity your untoward plight ! And if I can, I'll set the matter right. Your scornful Jane is worthy of all blame, Such once was Nell, in temper just the same ; That village-tyrant humbled, yonder lies, Nor more to wound her lovers by surprise ; '; No more tliose side-long glances cause despair, I The glowing cheek, the flaxen-colour'd hair ; Her pridefiil days are fled — for ever pass'd ; ; By her own weapons * she's o'erthrown at last ! Long time a ploughman, Edwin was his name, 1 Tried every means to gain the beauteous dame ; , His gentle arts were scorn'd by Nell the Proud, Wlio thus express'd her sentiments aloud : " Stripling ! forbear ; your courtship I deny ; Think you in time, nor place your heait too high : I'll never wed a looby, such as thee. Or join my blooming charms to poverty. Go now, accost some milk-maid, ruddy fair ; Implore the like to pity your despair : 'Tis not for Nell your troubUng prayers to heed ; Hence from my presence, and depart with speed !" This haughty strain young Edwin sigh'd to hear. In hopeless state he mourn'd her look severe ; Till, all at once, distraction seiz'd bis mind, And full three years he closely was coniin'd. ' Meanwhile did soldiers to our village come. To list the swains by sound of fife and drum ; A red-coat serjeant conquer'd Nell so vain, Destroy'd her virtue — left her to complam. * By her own tieavons, &c.] It is not eisy for the uiisii?- pecting maid to discriminate the language oi flattery ; and, it too frequently happens, that the charms an^! aiqnireinents f^f the female sex are the innocent canje of then falling into ruin. ^ M.S. 8 GILBERT. Ah me ! what strife her breaking heart betray'd ! Her ruin'd state with horror she siirvey'd : Fall'ii were her hopes, her pride all done away, Poor ill-starrd wretch of sorrow and dismay ! Th' unhappy girl a mother soon became ; By which increas'd more openly her shame : Her life was burdensome for her to bear ; And poison ended her despondent care. Near yonder bara four different roads are seen, There lies the wretch of suicide between. Long time did many intercession make, To save the body from the driving stake : A dreadful fate ! — desei-v'dly it befel The silly pride of our aspiring Nell. Her slighted lover, pitying her disgrace. Beneath the rocks a marble stone did place. ^ Now then, young man, suspend your fruitless grief; Let what I've told afford you full relief : Who knows but she who treats you thus unkmd, May fall decoy'd, and punishment soon find.' He ceas'd. Poor Gilbert to reply disdains ; Renews his journey o'er the wid'ning plains : He lov'd hisJa7ie, and found, tho' friendly spoke. The shepherd's words his anger did provoke. The sun now sunk, the ling'ring liglit fast fled Across the fields his quicker steps he sped. He feels arise new pangs to vex his soul ; Down his pale cheeks his tears incessant roll. Clear shines the moon — spread far, her lucid beam Reflects more bright the Derwenfs dusky stream : Gilbert beholds, and, guided by the ray. Now wheels to south his solitary way. He southera travels ; seems still more oppress'd ; He smites in agony his lab'ring breast j Groan follows groan, and sigh succeeds to sigh, Loud his complaints resound the cloudless sky. ' How hard I'm doom'd ! — how great the woes I feel ! Beyond the powers of language to reveal. Fair Jen7v/s slights affect my sinking heart ; Beneath the lash of studied scorn I smart, t What torpid languor steals o'er eveiy vein, ; Hope comes no more to cheer a hapless swain : 1 Sure I'm as weak as Jenny's comely fair : ! Her form, her image, haunt me every where. ' Blow, blow, ye winds ! blow yet more bleak and cold ! My cause for sorrow I would fain unfold. Oh ! for some lonely cavern midst the bourn, Where answering Echo still delights to mourn ! I'll try no more a prude's esteem to gain, Who loves to frown, and cmel e'er remain.' Thus loud complaining on his way he goes ; The wind is up, it shakes the rustling boughs ; Fast from the clouds a sudden shower descends ; Full many a shrub o'ercharg'd with water bends : Big hail comes rattling down the neighb'ring hills, Strikes the tree tops, falls into the clear rills ; Each side a bank the running stream divides. There ruffling round, beyond the quarries glides With hideous roar, till the strong current's force Impetuous, laves below the rocks its course. Gilbert to shelter hastens o'er the sands, Aside a row of rev'rend elms he stands. Whose tow'ring branches thicker darkness crown, While shiver'd leaves and sphnters fall adown. Within the wood to solitude he's come, Unmindful of the still, surrounding gloom ; 10 GILBERT. Disturbs the snake, coil'd up in various folds, Alarms the frogs, and ^vakes the blinking owls. High o'er his head the croaking crows suspend ITieir clapping wings ; they on their young attend Their nestling young beneath their care repose, Fear not the noise, or heed the wav'ring boughs. Like some struck wretch, unseen abroad at noon, Who nightly wanders muttering to the moon ; Or in wild accent dirges dire will sing, Making the woodlands and the vallies ring, Poor Gilbert walks — 'tis peace he vainly seeks ; Oft to himself most piteously he speaks ; Calls on some Power to mark how he's oppress'd, Jane scorn'd his love, and sorely him distress'd. What sense directs by troubling thoughts he foils, And hea\y grief rewards his careful toils ; Sweet hope of joy forsakes his pensive mind. No glimpse is left — he thinks his fate unkind. Again he strives to pass between the trees ; Their hollow trunks repel the whisthng breeze : A horrid gloom involves the wood profound, And night's foul bird screams frightfiilly around : Where'er he goes the track is dark o'ercast. The mom-nful youth bewilder'd stands at last ; Vexatious tears wet either swollen eye, And his warm breast heaves many a lab'ring sigh. Cold blows the blast : he mends his weary pace, Speeds down the dingle, midst the forest-place, "VVbere still are laid whole trunks of sturdy oaks, Fell'd by the woodman's closely-measur'd strokes And nigh at hand, erected on the glade, Stood a small shed, of sapless branches made. With several stakes drove hard into the gi'ound; And interwoven by the boughs around. GILBERT. 11 Gilbert beheld, desiring still to know How he should act the best, to stay or go ; Regain the fields, continue to lament, Or midst a hovel cease his bitter plaint. , Three times he view'd the still forsaken shed, I And thrice retrac'd the path which backward led, ' I Bethinking late, 'twere better to return ; [ Nor longer in the thicket stay forlorn. The moon withdrawn : another course he takes ; jlHe hears the wind — the oak's strong branch it j shakes : I He madly comes to tempt the dangerous gloom, I To close his grief, and finish his sad doom ; Soon in the windings of the rustling maze, His courage lessens : grimly death essays, In threat'ning form, to prove his final fate, t And free his mind from its affliction's weight. j What time among the bushes Gilbert 's vex'd, I Fai' more bewildei^'d, and still more perplex'd ; i The nightingale, sweet bird ! begins her strain, ; Soothing the powerfiU anguish of his pain ; I New life, new thoughts, accompany her song, And glad ideas by the theme prolong : Ah me ! 'tis ceas'd. Now a high tree he scales^ j There sits till morn illumes the bounded vales. * Sweet waibler, hail !' the list'ner station'd, cries, * Why ceas'd your strains, that chami away my sighs ? Come, welcome sleep ! I need a little rest, A little ease for my impassion'd breast ; When day-break comes, I'll tempt my fate no more. But clear the circuit which I went before.' He ceas'd. The dismal shades of night soon fled ; Aurora ting'd the sky with streaks of red ; 12 GILBERT. A thousand chirping songsters of the grove Awake the swain to feel fresh pangs of love : His Jenny's graceful figme, and her scorn, Dwell in his thoughts ; he's more and more forlorn;; He finds the busy world's a chaos wide, His vow condemn'd, and his true love denied. * Fond youth ! afflict no more your pensive mind, Nor mourn for Jane who treats you most unkind ; But set at nought the pow'r of her fine eyes, Lest your sense fall a pitied sacrifice.' Methinks I hear the lover loud exclaim, '^ Go, gentle bard ! nor seek my faults to blame ; The native charms, and bloom of youtliful grace, Fair Jenm/s beauties o'er her sex I trace ; Deplore her sUghts, that, like a dangerous sea, Wrecks eveiy hope no more to flatter me. Alas ! what signs of madness vex my brain ! No longer bums my blood in eveiy vein : IMy senses fled, an outcast, lorn I die, Far fiom the glance of her disdainful eye : But couldst thou, Jane, bestow one kindly tear ; O'er my hard fate, 'twould ease my pangs severe.' ' Unhappy Gilbert ! cease this doleful strain, Curb your wild thoughts that cause your inward pam; Love's hapless flame with troubles still dismays, And wrongly balances ere judgment weighs. Then not vain chaiTOS should your affection bind, Since these may hide the coarse, the vulgar mind j Beneath a modest guise, and plainer face, May dwell a soul bedeck'd with every grace, Meet to bestow, in exquisite degree, Domestic bliss, supreme felicity.' t3 CANTO II. ARGUMENT. Sun rises. — Gilbert hears soincbody at work in the dingle. — The Woodman ; bis kindness, &c. — The industrious hus- bandman. — riower-garden. — Corn field. — The wreath. — Gilbert's affliction at the slights of Jenuy. — He essays to help the woodni.m in felling down trees, lopping branches, and tying faggots. — ^The cottage, &c. — Supper. — Rustic mirth, — Gilbert forgets bis sorrows ; retires to rest. ^ ow darts the sun sublime his vivid rays, Now shine the leaves, and sparkle wide bis blaze ; The dew-drops hang, reflecting various dyes, Ting'd like the rainbow's colours midst the skies ; [ And now the woodman's measur'd stroke repeats, ; Spread by the busy Echo, loud it beats. ; Adown the oak lorn Gilbert fast descends, And to the spot his eager steps he bends ; Beneath the trees, o'ershading with their boughs, Through many a mazy labyrinth he goes ; * Views the green laurel rip'ning o'er his head, ! Clusters of fruit like cherries tempting red. 1 Where misletoe bears rife its pulp milk-white, I And ivy cankers to a fatal height, j Slow steps the youth ; now faster he proceeds ; ' Now through the dingle of the wood he speeds, Holds on his way 'tween many an hazel bough, I, And scatters nuts of lighter brown below. I Nimbly the squirrels from the grove rebound, i' Kustling the dry leaves falling on the ground ; :' c 14 GILBERT. The scented dormice seek the desert pass, Steal quick along, and hide within the grass : High o'er the soil, where thrive the glossy sloes. The prickly thorn-bush blacker berries grows, Rank nettles, thyme, w ood-betony, henbane. Here waste their virtue and their strength in vain. But Gilbert now comes right into the spot. Where overnight he'd seen tlie branch-form'd cot : He shouts amain : — the wondring w oodman hears. And feels confounded by unusual fears : Bcliind the wall, in thoughtful mood, he stands, Holding his axe within his trembling hands ; Finds out a (uevice, marks the vent'rous swain. Perceives his stupor and his fright are vain. The woodman cries, ' My son, what brings you here ? Tell me your name, from whence, and who you are? Sure in this w'ood there's nothing you Avill find, Fit for a youth to please his active mind : The nuts are wet by night's retumiug dew, Tire crabs unripe are sure no prize with you : Confess for why you leave your distant home, Far in the wilds, at peep of day, to roam. 'Tis seen some grief aiFects your early fire, Dulls eveiy look, bespeaks affliction dire : Witli much concern I wish it all to hear, Nor of my friendship have you cause to fear.' To whom the youth replies, as frankly free. ' Soon I'll inform you well, concerning me. My name is Gilbert, o'er the wilds I rove, A wight oppress'd by unsuccessful love. From Baictnj town with w eary steps I came. Strange to these paits, no home have I to claim : GILBERT. 15 For six long months * I've like a vagi-ant pass'd From place to place, and here I stand at last. I wrongly venturd into solitude, To mourn my foolish passion for a prude ! Cruel infatuation ! 1 adore A giddy maid, who hates me more and more ! Witli grief of soul my brain it stupifies, My panting bosom heaves incessant sighs. I've bade adieu to Jane's disdainful scorn, Leaving my fi lends, disconsolate, forlorn, Hoping I might, through change of objects, find Haply some ease for my disorder'd mind. Slow while I walk'd o'erborne with my dismay, A countiyman o'ertook me on my way, Ask'd who I was ? what ail'd nie ? whence I came ? And all he spoke did my attention claim. Then, as I wish'd, he presently agreed To hire my help — his boy I did succeed : He good instruction did on me bestow. And neither valu'd ray small help too low. ' A straw-roofd cottage on the moor he own'd, A thriving hedge extended far around ; Choice shmbs and trees, Avith various blossoms spread, O'er flowers and plants, grac'd many a cultur'd bed. Bless'd with a wife industrious and fair, A ruddy offspring claim'd his anxious care : When clos'd at eve his labours in the fields, He look'd at home iorjoys which wedlock yields : * For six long months, &c.] It appears, by the scenery, which agrees with the year's decline, that Gilbert set out ou his journey sometime in the middle of April. The Pott is, however, silent with respect to the exact time. M. S. 16 GILBERT. Fix'd by his spouse, his children on his knees, Near his fire-side — what luxuiy of ease ! On his rough stand he'd place the spaikling ale, And joke and laugh, or tell some pleasing tale. * Taught here to break the glebe, and dung to throw, I've from the heap o'erspread the ground below ; Enrich'd with nutriment a fallow-soil, That better crops might crown the plougliman's toil. When sultry heats have parch'd the crumbling earth. Dried up the wheat, and threatened certain dearth, I've borne a bucket from the nearest rill. The garden troughs and watering-pots to fill. At times have I, with artificial showers, Reviv'd the plants, the herbs, the drooping flowers; Propp'd firm the weaker stalk, pluck'd out the weed. And crush'd the vermin on the leaf that feed. From end to end the garden I have pass'd, With my whole soul most gloomily o'ercast. ' With nervous strength I've handled well the spade, ^ Cut through tlie turf, and dug the heavy glade ; Till by the dint of force I've chang'd the scene, And brought to brown what late before was green. Sometimes, alternate ridge and dale I've made, To keep in earth the rising celery's head ; Remov'd the frames, the tend'rer shrub to breathe, And others plac'd the crystal bells beneath. Pleasing employ ! but yet I felt a pain ; I sought for peace, for comfort, all in vain. GILBERT. 17 My master kindly strove to sootli my care, To close the burden of my dire despair. ' Full oft I've rose at early dawn of mora, And run around the fields of rip'ning corn ; A ragged scarecrow to erect in sight. High on the bank, the plund'ring birds to fright. The tall wild poppy of vermilion hue, And the cyamis, bright with glossy blue, I've freshly gather'd from the corn so green, And weav'd a wreath with boxen leaves between ; Ah, LUCKLESS WREATH ! neglected, witli'ring there, Never to grace proud Jenmjs auburn hair : Thou still the emblem of those hopes shalt be, For ever fall'n, — no more to flatter me. How felt my heart at even, when I've seen Young lovers loit'ring o'er the level green ? I, while they danc'd on light fantastic toe. Have had my spirits overcome with woe ! And when at night tir'd nature fain sought rest, I've kept awake, unhappily oppress'd. Soft slumber hastening from my teaiful eyes, While my warm bosom heav'd afflicting sighs. Say truly, friend, now I've these things confess'd, Has greater grief than mine thy soul distress'd ? Did e'er cross'd love thy early pleasures taint. Vex thy warm breast, and cause thee to lament ? Or, at thy home, more happy still to be. Dwells the good wife, source of felicity ; With children young thy hopes are gratified. And gifted blessings crown thy fire-side ? How gladly I from wandering would forbear. Suspend my sorrows, and dismiss my care ! More willingly a while with thee I'd stay, Give help thy labour, antl thy will obey : c 2 18 GILBERT. Denied in wliich, my weary steps I'll turn, Far in the vale, unheard, unknown, to mourn.' ' I'm much concern'd,' the woodman thus replies : * To maik your worth, and hear your plaintive sighs : Deep is the root from whence your sorrow springs, Nor more advice the balm of comfort brings : By late experience leani one truth to know. Your love's a foible, indolent and low ; Derives its growth from weakness of yoiur heart, Unnei-ves your strength, and leaves a rankling dart. Full thirty yeais ago love's power I knew : My wife Dorinda mark'd my passion tme. Yet would she try her fickle arts in vain ; But I with scorn retum'd her proud disdain, Laugh'd when she smil'd, or angry have I frown'd, Join'd in her songs, and made the place resound. One mom in Blay how chang'd indeed was she ! Her thoughts were wholly occupied by me. Then was the time I could not her ^\-ithstand ; I show'd the ring, and soon obtain'd her hand : Save wliich, the pangs of love I never knew, But day by day my labour I pursue : jNIid sturdy trees I drive the pointed wedge. Lop from the tnink the rough redundant ledge ; A tyrant in this forest I appear. Who levies desolation fai- and neai*. Were you, young man, to labour once inclin'd, No stupid thoughts could more oppress your mind : Come try the drift, a weighty axe receive. And what you earn, tlie whole to you I'll give." He spoke, and stepping to tlie welcome shed, Clean on a block his humble fare he spread ; GILBERT. 19 ; Draws his clasp-knife, divides his salted meat, ! Divides his bread, and bids poor Gilha^t eat : } A taper'd liorn with home-brew'd liquor stor'd, I Poiir'd from a keg, fix'd on the rustic board, . Twice fill'd, concludes the morning's cool repast ; j Then each to work betakes himself at last. , A pond'rous axe the youth's strong hands sustain, 1 Behind the tree he tries his strength amain, j Intently earnest, closer still he goes, ; Exerts his force, and gives repeated blows. i Struck to the root, the stubborn oak must yield, [ Lean more and more each stroke the woodmen wield ; The deep incision bears its way all round, \ Till down the branches crash along the gropnd : ' Here left awhile to drench the moss-grown plain, j The dripping sap through sundry channels drain, Falls drop by drop, and, gathering at the foot, O'ei-flows the basin of the stunted root. I The timber fell'd, the youth with ardour glows, I His powers renew'd, he lops the cumb'rous boughs : ? Soon every branch the parent tree disown, ! And rough the trunk extends its length alone ; With lesser pains tlie splinters he divides, i And heaps on heaps he into faggots ties, I A pile of fuel near the spot to raise, } To cheer the winter by a friendly blaze. j Now mid-day's come, once more the nut-brown 1 ale j Exhilaiates their spirits as they fail. Renews their strengtli — to work again they go, I Long to repeat the wide-resounding blow. i As in the climes where order'd vines extend, 1 A sov'reign pow'r the ills of life to mend, SiO GILBERT. The grape's known virtues, squeez'd into tiie bow'. Enliven better each industrious soul : But wine like this the boasted cellars lack, Where viler mixtures drug in every stack, Mere water, cider, spirits, juice of sloes ; Preferr'd to ale its excellence who knows ? Where such-like dregs the festive board disgrace, Still may the drinker show a paler face ! The heady liquor modestly refuse, Or worse expect by this destructive juice. His toils now done, the rustic leads the swain Across the forest and the distant plain : A bunch of sticks alternate each one bears ; The woodman whistles while the youth despairs, One sings with glee, the other's frequent sigh Unfolds a heart divest of every joy : By bitter anguish Gilbei't feels oppress'd. His heavy sorrow throbs his pensive breast. A cleanly cottage overtops the vale. Securely fenc'd by many a sturdy pale : The woodman's load rebounds against the gate, His children nm, and glad his smile await ; He welcomes heartily his lovelora guest. Tries all his skill in merry tale, or jest. High o'er the hearth ascends the wav'ring blaze, Illumes the room, shines Gilbert's sidelong gaze ; The oaken drawers usurp the proudest place. Fresh gather'd flowers two shming vessels grace ; I And, side to side, the chairs are fix'd around, j The six old chairs for length of yeais renown'd ; Sweetly the linnet channs the listening ear, j A few dark pictiu-es on the walls appear. GILBERT. 21 Rubb'd with nice art the cupboard shines more bright, Its vamish'd front reflects tlie wav'ring light ; A curious clock repeats the cuckoo's note, And strikes each time a silv'ry sound to float. Young Gilbert view'd the woodman's humble state, A king might envy him his happy fate j Here every face felicity express d, Here rural life its pleasing charms confess'd. With kind concern the wife her powers essays. Lifts out the board, and quick the knives she lays ; Brings four wood trenchers, long esteem'd her best. Placing them round for family and guest. Her eldest son, from tending sheep, returns, A homely blade, who to be idle scorns ; A shepherd's boy, untaught, of manners plain, Coarse his poor garb, and wild his oaten strain. He from the fire the heatful saucepan bears, Helping his mother in her anxious cares ; The lid snatch'd off, a spiral steam issues. And two haid dumplings nicely boil'd he views ; Plac'd in the midst, salt ham and greens invite. With savoury smell, each sharpen'd appetite ; The little group their different stations take. And all, save one, a hearty supper make : — In vain they press the stranger, vain entreat He'd end his grief, and strive his meal to eat ; In vain he strives — his tears he'd fain forego. And gain some respite from his inward woe. Now supper done, the frugal crmnbs are clear'd, The woodman speaking to his son is heard : ' To-morrow mom, by order, we must go To load the timber, fell'd by many a blow. 22 GILBERT. On the rough common-waste, as heretofore, | With sapless lops add to the 'squire's big store ; ' While liis due rent his tenants to him bring, And from industry all his riches spring. Just at the rising of the early dawn, Fetch up the team along the wide-fenc'd lawn ; Prepare the bolted hooks, the clanking chains, The levers, poles, and rollers, aid our pains. A jovial day in labouring hard we'll spend. With wholesome drink our utmost powers extend. Recruit our spirits while we sit or st?aid ; Our Gilbert here will lend a helping hand. ' But did your master, v.hen my wish you told, m Say he'd, for once, secure the sheep in fold ? | Gave he consent to your assisting me, ' By taking charge of all one day from thee ? Or by a mean, unfriendly, ilat excuse, Did he the office of your aid refuse ? He knows it well I never him deny, Whene'er he craves a little fuel dry.' ' With leave I came,' the woodman's son replies. ' The courteous shepherd seldom me denies ; He oft remarks my close, assiduous pains Make full amends — by kindnesses he gains : Sometimes he'll grant a boUday's advance, I, round the Maypole, join in festive dance ; Or, on the green to chase the rural maids, I'm oft the foremost of the village blades ; — In such-like sport no thought of work begins, Nor sport midst labour ever intervenes. Just at the rising of the early dawn, I'll fetch the oxen o'er the dewy la^vn ; I'll biing the bolted hooks — the clanking chains. The levers, poles, and rollers, aid our pains.' GILBERT. 23 And now the home-brevv'd ale its virtue shows : Brown shelling nuts the humble banquet close ; The wakeful children at the sight feel pleas'd, The shells are broken, and the kernels sciz'd. O'er lively tales and laughter Mirth presides, Now here, now there, her fav'rite lore divides : Tlie honest woodman and the matron sing, The shepherd plays the bladder's sounding string. Sorrow, long cherish'd, leaves the lover's breast, He cracks his nuts, and caters like the rest ; Forgets his troubles, chokes each rising sigh, Smiles at each joke, and pleases sly and diy. As Time for none will make the least delay. But seems to fly the more we wish he'd stay ; So sure the horns unheeded lightly pass'd. Then each retiring, sought sweet sleep at last. 24 CANTO III. ARGUMENT. Morning, &c.— Return to the wood.— Loading the timber. — Dinner, &c.— Piling the faggots. — Solitude. — Tea-drinking in the cottage. — Fanner's boy, Sec'. — Story of poor Susan. — Distant view of the farm. — Praise of natural endowments — applicable to a GREAT poet. How sweetly sleep, amid the night's void hours, Recruits our strength, renews our wasted powers j Affords tir'd Nature vigorous supplies, Befiiends our labours, renovates our joys ! Nor on the proud alone, nor tyrant kings, The blessing waits, — but free to all it springs ; Save, in the dungeon, where the wretch of ill Lies chaiu'd on straw — sleep may foi-sake him still. Happy the man, who, at the evening's close, With thoughts unruffled, sinks into repose ; No cares, through vice, perplex his quiet breast ; Nor frightfiil dreams break in upon his rest ; Serenely good, his conscience bears no stains ; He, undisturb'd, beloved sleep obtains. The morning breaks, Aurora bright appears ; Sol darts his rays, dries Nature's dewy tears : From slumber ris'n, the woodman w akes tlie swain j The shepherd's boy had eaily sought the plain, First drove the team to wait behind the door. Then brought the chains, and rollers us'd before. GILBERT. 25 Along the common to the woods they pass, Brushing the wat'ry margin of the gi'ass ; On every blade dependent ciystals shine, High on each branch the birds in matins join : Nor yield the hedges yet a luscious food. Nor clust'ring hips and haws enrich the wood ; But left for frost the juicy pulp to bite, When the snow, falling, clothes the tields in white. Wise Providence divinely shows his care, Provides for all on earth, in sea, in air ; His power sustains, his bounteous gifts supply, The little birds, from spray to spray that fly. Close up the hills the harmless oxen go. Wind through the dale, the woodland site below ; Where scattered lie the fallen trees around. With all their branches levell'd to the ground. And nigh tlie v^'ell-known shed the men repaii', T' unload the implements with speed and cai'e ; But ere they work, they take an home's regale, Eat what they list, and drink their share of ale. Fast to each trunk they bolt tlie rattling chain, Guide the strong poles, the rollers sweep the plain ; By one and one, they orderly proceed, Till every balk appears along the mead. I Where strength is lack'd, the lever lends its aid, I To load the wain which six finn wheels display'd ; j And while the oxen draw the wain along. The shepherd cheerly sings a rural song. • Well-pleas'd, the woodman with glad look sui-vey'd 1 The lengths of timber on the common laid : : And, as the wight, who ploughs the ocean o'er. Encounters toils while adding to his store, I The stock acquir'd reveals th' unweary'd strokes, ( Struck at the roots of fir-trees, pines, and oaks. D 26 GILBERT. Perplex'd in mind, oiir Gilbert quits the plain ; Dorinda kindly asks him in again. His two compeers to welcome stable lead Tlie useful kine, on good new hay to feed : Give rest their Umbs till noons relaxing sun, The better half of their day's toil is done j No more remains their final task to seal, Save the dried faggots m the cart to wheel. Meanwhile to dine the handy dame preparei» ; Withal will tiy to lull the stranger's cares — Distemper'd cares that bitterly assail His anxious mind, till even: succour fail. An iron pan, safe o'er the embers plac'd, Holds the fresh eggs, tlie bacon fine in taste, Cut in nice slices, streak'd with red and white, Flies crisp and brown, true reUsh to excite. They fix the chairs to front w^iere trenchers stand ; The helpful wife serves each with ready hand : By drink refresh'd they rise anew to toil, Collect the sticks, and raise the lofty pile. Within the stable go the men apai-t, They link the team fast to the lumb'ring cait ; Drive up the furrow'd path, tlie verdant plain, The common field, the wasting wood's domain. Arriv'd, at even distances they stand. Hurling the faggots o'er the stumpy land ; In crackimg heaps upheld above the glade, High on the cart the burden's closely laid. And the sti'ong team the winteiy fiiel brings ; Along the common, pile on pile upspiings : The squire's big stock the market piices bear, His rougher lops, and balks of timber square. But lovelorn Gilbei^t seeks to vent liis mind, Steals to the wood, and lingers long behind ; GILBERT. 27 Where lay the tree, felVd but the day before, He marks the drying, w ithermg boughs, once more. Unhappy youth ! How ponders he his fate ! 'Tis SOLITUDE befits his hopeless state : No jocund woodman cheers the solemn spot, Or pours libations in the branch-form'd cot ; No axe resounds where late the sticks were pil'd, To guide him wand'ring through the mazy wild ; But dull the scene — increasing gloom prevails, Till Gilbert ill his destiny bewails. Reason awakes, the suff'ring swain to aid ; Now he returns along tlie shelving glade. Pleas'd, the blithe woodman * and his son behold The pensive stranger near the neighb'ring fold ; Attune their holla his slow steps to haste, Till he rejoins them on the rugged waste. I And now the time for drinking tea arrives : i The cleanly matron seems the best of wives ; ! Slice after slice, her coarse brown bread she toasts, ! Her butter, cream, aiid treacle too, she boasts. Nor china cups the beverage contain, \ Nor pompous tea-urn fits the humble train ; Of coarser fabric stout the set is made, i And where they break, their loss is soon repaid. I 'Neath humbler roofs Simplicity is foimd j I And where she dwells contentment smiles around. I Where httle 's wanted man's the best supplied, All his desires the sooner satisfied : * Pleased the blithe uoodman, &c.]— This woodman is a very amiable character, and does the author credit. We are taken with his generosity, and feel happy at his cottage fire-side. His simple manner is only equalled by his contentment. Ancnu 28 GILBERT. But where the mind's on more than needful bent; Adieu, simplicity! adieu, content! Farewell those charms, to grace a cottage left ! He's evennore of happiness bereft. While drinking tea the rustic group are plac'd, Lora Gilbert sickens at each transient jest ; His every look his cheerless mind betrays. Clearly to all around the hearth's bright blaze. He \n\l retire ; his reasons he assigns ; To Aveep in fav'rite solitude he pines : — Starts up resolv'd — the woodman craves he'd stay ; He bids farewell, and hastens on his way. Across the common, now he saimt'ring goes, Love wrings his soul, and bears him heavy woes ; He southern travels o'er the vaiy'd fields, Till side a pond, to rest awhile he yields. Near to whose margin walking in despair, With bursting sighs he rends the evening air. A famiei-'s boy came diiving doA\Ti his team ; To let them drink the cooling limpid stream ; The lover's doleful plight attracts his eyes ; He wliistles, shouts, dismounts, and to him flies. * Tell me, young friend, what you're about to do ! Amid the grief which heavy bears on you. Along yon bank, see, nine green willows grow, Each one is cai^v'd with smidiy hearts below ; The wretched cai'ver perish'd in my view, Deep in the pond himself he headlong threw : I instant div'd, his body brought on shore — But he was drown'd — his life-blood ebb'd no more ! KnoAvn in the vale, his father's name was John ; A harmless wight ; but all liis joys are gone ! Tearing his whiten'd locks, he beats his breast ; Nor since that day has once been heard to jest : GILBERT. 39 5 'iteous Adventure ! on my mind it stamps, The marks of sorrow and my pleasures damps. Will you, poor youth ! your secret ills confess ? Explain the cause you suffer such distress ; Why come you here, your time away to pass, Where the wild weeds shoot rankly o'er the gi-ass ? 'Tis sev'ral miles to town — 'tis evenmg's close ; — And your deportment speaks your real woes.' Gilbert, half angry, answers him aright ; * Farmer, forbear ; nor mock my wayward plight : I'm one, indeed, by every ill sore vex'd. My lab'ring mind is more and more perplex'd : A maiden's scorn excites me to complain ; Tis cruel Jenny trifles with my pain ! Friend, linger not ; dismiss your groundless fear, 'Twas merely chance that brought me wandering here. Unwearied sorrow festers in my breast. No situation long affords me rest : A change of place relieves my stubborn woe, And yields the short-liv'd pleasure grief may know. I wind my course through many a vale and grove, O'er fallow-wastes, o'er stubbled fields I rove ; Thirsty with heat I seek a murm'ring rill. Meandering down a turaip-growing hill ; Or where smooth bricks are burnt, on clay-red plains. With bak'd potatoes I reward my pains ; And lie, at night, extended on the grass ; And this the life of misery I pass.' ' 'Tis misery indeed,' the boy replies ; ' The words you say awaken my surprise : Such once was Susan's melancholy state, Doom'd by the rigour of severest fate. D 2 so GILBERT. Long time our servant, she was well belov'd, Till a gay soldier cniel to her prov'd : No more the drum's and fife's enlivning somid Spread universal mirth and glee around ; But to yon village did the blades repair. To list the swains, and overcome the fair. Deserted Susan bitterly repind, Yet strove to hide the anguish of her mind : Her mind's distemper every day increas'd, Until, at length, her tears she seldom ceas'd. Desponding cares seiz'd on the lovelorn dame. Her senses fled — most wretched she became ! Nightly she wander'd in the lonely field, A piteous sight as ever you beheld : Beneath a stack she fix'd herself to lie, Vent wild her plaint, and sigh add still to sigh ; Or by the moon's pale light would rings prepare, And bracelets for her arms of plaited hair. Ill fated girl ! — but death has set her free ! Aside her grave there grows the lone yew-tree ; No sculptur'd stone to head the turf is found. But glass and nettles skirt the border round : Her fortune hard, unkind her luckless doom, Early she sunk a victim to the tomb. ' Come then, young man, and evei^ care forego Cheer up your spirits, and dismiss your woe ; Take friendly warning from a tale too tme ! And let not sorrow fatal prove to you. Turn in with me — tliy lodging 111 provide Witliin the loft, I'll give tliee food beside ; To-morrow morn, my master, TU engage, Will hire your senice, and your grief assuage.' This Gilbert hearing, he wipes diy his eyes, Cheers up his sinking spirits, and replies : GILBERT. 31 * My ever-grateful thanks to you are due ; Your fair advice I gladly will pursue. Though in the fields Id plann'd the night to spend Say where you go, I'll on your steps attend : Much good, unlook'd for, elevates my mind ; Fruits of your friendship and compassion kind.' In saying which, along the bank they haste ; Both mount the team, and ride across the waste. A fence of pales the common terminates ; The boy gets down, unbars the wooden gates : Slowly the horses pace a dirty lane, Where prouder hawthorn veils the mellow plain. Within whose distance Gilbert soon espies A new-built farm-house, barn and shed besides ; Five heapy stacks of corn and hay he views ; The pigeons flying fai* his eye pursues ; He sees the orchard where fine apples grow. On branches bending by the weight more low. Some wandering truants seeming to invite. Come taste this fruit so tempting to the sight ! Beyond the orchard a large garden bears Roots of all kinds, and crowns the wasting years, With plants in season, viarjoriim, and thyme, And parsley, growing more 'tis cut in prime ; The white-heart cabbage in the rear is seen, And the red carrot headed well with green : Nature's variety — a cultur'd hoard, Supplys abundantly the farmer's board. Such ample store young Gilbeit's tain to view. While slow the team a sluggish course pursue : Until arriv'd close to the stable-shed, The boy dismounts, and there his horses led. His usual care to feed his charge bestow'd, He and his friend repass the narrow road ; 32 GILBERT. A strong desire his anxious breast betrays, To free the suflferer, and his spirits raise. Kind, gentle youth ! with education scant, He boasts a heart to help the wretch of want ; A steady stiiphng, ever well inclin'd To follow the good dictates of his mind. Where bountifully Nature's gifts dispense, The rustic hind arrives at excellence ; Arrives at knowledge, unacquir'd from schools. And guides his actions by his self-taught rules : Then shines with force, a high enlighten'd soul, Renown extending to the utmost pole, Till all mankind behold the lasting blaze. And emulation dignifying raise. Shakspeare! to thee this striking truth applies: Wlio reads, applauds ; — thy works increase our joys : Fame shall add more to tliy immortal page, Shall add more merit each succeeding age ; Beam the strong Ught of thy celestial tire. And still enrapture by thy heaven-stnmg ly»e. 33 CANTO IV. ARGUMENT. j Night, Reflections, &c. — Gilbert takes op his lodging in a hay-loft. — He gives a fuller account of his adventures ; is I left alone.— The amorous girl disappointed.— Gilbert runii- I nates on the incident, and at length falls asleep. j As days revolve, eventful change takes place ; I Some rise in power, some sink into disgrace : ( In this vain world, strange ups and downs await, i Kings, prmces, beggars, ministers of state. li Who needs go far, one painful truth to note .'' How worth is left to wear a thread-bare coat ! While the rich fool liis paraper'd wish enjoys, And foully revels 'midst of luxuries. Merit avails but little here at best. To raise the bard by poverty depress'd ; We are not found to pass our judgment light, Since few, 'tis thought, in rags can argue right. Yet oft kind Fortune fair endeavours crowns, Bestows rewards, bids smiles succeed to frowns : Haply the poet strives no more in vain ; But from the press encores his heavenly strain : He gains applause — the Muse his lay inspires, Bids genius wake, and warms with all her fires. Now the full Moon expands, the kindly ray. Shot 'thwart, increases by departing day ; Afar and near she spreads her sacred light, And silvers o'er the heavy gloom of night. 34 GILBKKT. Where stands the five-bar hedge-gate near the ^vaste, Tlie farmer's boy and Gilbert thither haste : Each up the trap-door ladder quick ascends, The barn's safe story lodges both the friends. Diy useful fodder forms a shelving stack, Pil'd to the tiling o'er the stable-rack, Bags fiU'd with oats and beans, a goodly store, Spreads the broad surface of the rougher fioor. Gilbert bemoans, unhappily forlorn ; His friend's retir'd, but soon he'll back return : He comes with bread and cheese to show his care ; First parts the whole, then gives the youth a share. The rough wind ceas'd, the sky's serenely bright, Nor clouds eclipse pale Cynthia's welcome light, Wlio darts her beams thro' many a chinky way. Shining the atoms from the chdflf's display. And now the boy from Gilbert wish'd to know, If other pangs than love excite his woe ; He, by his friends deserted, did appear As though hard fortime dealt with him severe : ' Say, is it love affects your pensive mind ; Or have relations treated you unkind ? Once more confess what mean these fai-fetch'd sighs, These groans, these tears that wet your glist'mng eyes : No base design leads me to speak these words ; Sweet consolation friendship oft affords : Your sev'ral cares to your true friend disclose. Who may perchance find ways to end your woes.' The other cries, ' Your wish I'll not deny : Tis luckless love occasions me to sigh : Fair Jane, of Bawtry's distant town, 'tis she ! Whose wayward slights have long afflicted me 1 [ GILBERT. 35 ■A carrier once, I drove a tilted cart, Conveying goods in safety to the mart : Oft, at the turnpike, I have form'd excuse To call and loiter, telling some rare news : Her parents knew my inclination well. With pleasure mark'd whate'er I stood to tell : But scornful Jenmj ne'er a look would deign. To ease the anguish of my heartfelt pain. ^ One New-year's day I purchas'd at the fair A store of ribands, none of which she'd wear : Anotlier time I bought a new straw hat ; But she declar'd the crown was nuich too flat ! In anger she rose up, assum'd more state, Brush'd by, observing, I'd no need to wait ; Bounc'd in the garden through a broken door : Away I came, and saw her face no more. Witli slower pace the team I drove forlorn. Set out that night, nor since have ceas'd to mourn ; O'er hill and dale I shap'd my lonely w^ay. Disconsolate, and cherish'd my dismay.' His friend replied : ' How hard your Jenny prov'd ! To use you thus, sincerely as you lov'd ! For me, no more I wonder at your grief — Tis only she who can afford relief! Thanks to my stais, not so my happy fate Perplex'd me courting our good servant Kate ! A ruddy maid, religiously inclin'd, Of virtuous mould and careful turn of mind. She soon grew fond, by soft persuasion led. Agreed with me at proper time to wed ; Next with our wages some neat cot we'll rent. And buy a pig to add to our content. Awhile adieu ! I now must home return — — Gilbert, farewell ! nor longer vainly mourn. 36 GILBERT. With you ray ivory spying-glass I'll leave, To view the moon, and thus the time deceive. A Cobler, late, instructed me to spy The num'rous specks which tmnkle 'mid the sky He'd tix'd his glass in leather, so complete, That, when drawn out, it measur'd seven feet. Again adieu ! nor think on Jeiimj's scorn — I'll be the first to call you in the morn ; Here, on the hay, for once your lodging take j To-morrow night a better shift we'll make.' This saying, closely shaking hands, they part j A sincere friendship dwells in either heart ; Nor either selfish interests excite, Tlieir minds congenial sentiments unite ; Linking in other bonds than kindred chains, Or mercenaiy hopes, or look'd-for gains. Now lone and diear, young Gilbert vainly tries To cheer his spirits, and forego his sighs ; But, AH ! dire woes convulse his inmost soul. And, unrestrain'd, his tears in silence roll. With limbs relax'd, in agony he lay. Extended out upon the covering hay, Praying for slimiber to assuage his care ; But slumber flies the wretched in despair. Tlu-ee tedious hours of hopeless grief he pass'd, And from his stupor he's consti-aiud at last : A gentle tapping on the boards he hears ; His mind's assail'd by various doubts and fears : The noise continu'd, up he starts amaz'd ; He grows com-ageous, and the door was rais'd : — A damsel waiting, meets his stricken eyes. Confounds his thoughts, and fills him with surprise, THE gods' revenge. 37 As when some burning jEtna deeply groans, Venting a sulph'ry mass of flaming stones, O'er the high sunmiit denser clouds appear, And dart volcanic lightning here and there. With sudden terror Love the sight survey'd, Forsook tl e sky for Afric's lower glade ; Then vow'd revenge to the poor tribes around, And plac'd his quiver gently on the ground : Straining his nerve, his silver bow he bends. Steadies his aim, and many a shaft he sends ; The tempeiM arrows whiz along in air, Till either sex droop low beneath despair. Love's anger soon gives way to plaintive sighs, And quiet now upon the ground he lies ; Refresh'd by sleep, the culprit up arose. His bow and arrows he at distance throws ; And thus he cried : " Accursed weapons ! know, I You've been the cause of my inflicted woe ! Tho' heavenly born, I'm whelm'd ia keen distress, 'Branded with ignommy and disgrace. [Farewell, Idalia! thrice adieu, ye Powers ! Cease, memory, cease, remindful of those hours, I Supremely bearing pleasures free from grief! ! Such ne'er again my aiiguish will relieve. I Flow on, my tears, in sorrow for m,y crime, Wove dooms his offspring from his native clime ! (Yet his dire wrath ray vengeance will exceed, JAnd vex him sore — I'll make these mortals bleed : Fix'd as he is on proud Olympus' height, JHis eye shall see, and sicken at the sight, iTiil the quick nimble thunderbolt extend, (And my degraded hateful being end." He ceas'd. New whims possess his tortur'd brain : He, stooping, lifts his arrow s from the plain ; s 38 A SUBLIME CONCEIT. These in the quiver newly he arrang'd, To aid liis will till he shall be aveng'd : The thundring king his progeny beheld, And with contemptuous frown his rising fury quell'd. • A SUBLIME CONCEIT; OR, J N IMITATED IN HIS OWN STYLE A MANNER OF REASONING. My name is J n : — contra to advice, The scribblers wiite that we may criticise : Be as it may, I well know, that in prose No modern competition with me goes ; And as for verse, very few have giown Excellent in't, which in the Lives* I've shown ! Elegiac Hammond ne'er arriv'd at that ! The ancient bards are either sharp or flat ; Their ratiocination will ne'er prevail, As water 'grees not with convivial ale. Or London t smoke with suuny beams at noon, Or musical instrument gone out of tune. Good writers are scarce, good authors there none, Saving myself ;— you'll see this when I'm gone ! Save that my compositions have got the worms, Ergo, long words, in such like drailing forms ; A literary Escargatoire quite. Meriting 'plause example to bring right : • J n's Lives of the Poets. t L n, a satire. PERSIAN WORSHIP DEBASED. 39 Nor stubborn contumaciousness fear I, To thwart my well-earn'd immortality ; Nor unfeeling trunk-maker to line His works with my learn'd pamphlets, all-divine ! PERSIAN WORSHIP DEBASED. AN ALLEGORY. The Sun at early hour ascends ; Gains his meridian iieight ; His radiant heat divme he lends, And crowns the world with light. See, Persian Worship, proud, aspire ; The wide domain to soar ; Her altars blaze ^vith sacred fire ; Her god she does adore. Quick as the twinkling of an eye, She through the ether flew. And skimmVl along the azure sky, Her Sun's lov'd face to view. " Thy glorious beams, O Sol !" she cries, " Full majesty display ; " Thou art the sov'reign of the skies, " The harbinger of day. " Behold ! admiring thy bright rays, " The choir of Persia bends ; " In thy accustom'd early praise " Their gratitude extends. 40 PERSIAN WORSHIP DEBASED. " Awake afiesli the lively sense " Of gifts bestow'd arouud ; " And still thy kindly heat dispense, " And bless the fruitful ground.'' She spoke. Now Contemplation flew From Britain's fertile shore, Her adnjiration to renew, And mighty things explore. With her did Newton lift his soul, Midst Heaven's unbounded field. To where the countless planets roll, To mark what she reveal'd. " What Power divine wrought endless space ! " How exquisite ! how wise ! " Uunimiber'd systems find a place, " And gioiy beams the skies. " Beneath the Makers higii abode, " How goodly in his sight ! " Unnuinber'd worlds receive abroad " The blessings of the light. " Express their grateful souls *' To him who form'd tiie wondrous scene, " And still the whole upholds." She spoke. The Persian Worship heard, Look'd pensively around ; Ten thousand thousand suns appeared Above the eartli's low ground. PERSIAN WORSHIP DEBASED. 41 Struck witli amazement, she retires To the terrestrial shore ; Debas'd, asham'd, damps all her fires ; Her errors vex her sore. She sijsfh'd, and thus aloud begun : " What wonders I survey ! " Each fixed star presents a sun, " Lighting to w^orlds the day ! " To Him by whom all things were made, " How vast his boundless power ! *' To him my early praise be paid " For ever from this hour." SS THE FIEND OF ANARCHY. A BALLAD. Abroad there forms a lonely dell, By venomous serpents fiU'd, Where fiends of fierce contention dwell, In gloomy dens conceal'd. Amidst these dens, beneath the ground, A hideous monster scowl'd ; Writhing Lis forky tail around In many a scaly fold : The fiend of Anarchy his name : He twin'd a horrid sting ; Some ireful mischief seem'd his aim. While veering on the wing. Red clotted gore his front besmear'd, Infecting as he flew ; Over the seas his course he steer'd. And mad w ith fury grew\ On Britain's shore alighting, he Tiie favonrd ciime address'd : " Devoted island, hear by me " Your certain doom express'd ! ** Amidst your realms a civil strife " Shall every soul dismay ; " The parent take his offspring's life, " The son his father slay ! THE FIEND OF ANARCHY. ^3 " I'll change your cultivated earth " Into a dreary wild ; " intestine wars excite, and dearth, " Till you shall be despoil'd." Thus loudly vauntinj;, on he trod, And curs'd ti;e fruitful ground ; At every step upsprung a toad, Or serpent coil'd around. Towards a distant sedgy moor His glaring eyes he cast ; He views a dark distracted boor, Who'd thro' the rushes pass'd. In the appearance of a friend. Deceitfully he smil'd ; He bid the ruffian to attend, And him he soon beguild. The slave attentive, gladly heard A Vvicked offer made ; High elevated he appear'd, And to the fiend he said, — " Long time I've been with wrongs oppress'd, " My life is hateful grown ; " By poverty I'm much distress'd, " And grief I claim my own. " What you require, I'll do," he cried, " Tho' danger still attends." " 'Tis well," the tempter quick replied ; " I'll make you full amends." 44 THE FIEND OF ANARCHY. Away the crazy ruffian led, On hellish mischief bent ; The monster into covert sped, And waits for the event. Away the wretch, with weapon ami'd, Now boldly raovd along, Undaunted, nor the least alarm'd. To mingle with the throng. He stood audacious, undismay'd, Within the crowded place, A^Tiere Britain's loyalty surveyed The sov'rcign face to face. Here, all at once, his arm extends The fatal instrument ; It sudden flash'd, tlie smoke ascends, A violent death is sent. But the omniscient Power on high, Creator of all things, Summon'd an angel from the sky, To guard the best of kings ; And who that moment wav'd around His radiant sliield of fire, And warded off the mortal wound, And sav'd our gracious sire. Aside the sacred chief rebounds The heaven-averted blow ; A loyal anxious cry resounds, Each side, above, below. THE FIEND OF ANA.RCHY. 'J5 " His life is safe !" a voice proclaim'd, The house with joy did ring : Aloud they call, " Seize him who aimd " A weapon at the king!' Tlie wretch with cord they finnly bind. And thus the traitor cries ; " Good people, think me not unkind, " But hear my groans and sighs ! " Turn, turn, behold these mighty scars, " How they disfigure me, " Obtain'd by fighting in the wars '* For king and counti^ !" FnH soon did Anarchy's foul fiend Hear the event — and flies ; Straight o'er the ocean, quick as wind, To his dark cave he hies : Thence he shall dare no more to roam, While happy Britons sing ; Wliile loyal songs resound at home, " Long life to our good king !" DON JUAN, THE CRUEL SPANIARD. A BALLAD. ■ Trifles, light as air, Are to the jealous confirmations strong As proofs of holy writ. SHAKSPEARE. In yonder rhingeon Ellen dies, A vietim of keen woe ; No more will heave her bitter sighs. Nor more her tears will flow. A pale light gliram'ring in the lamp, What doleful scenes mifold ! Extended bare on straw so damp, Her limbs how stiff and cold ! Ah ! while along the slimy ground Obnoxious vermin crawl ; While toads, and rats, and mice abound, And spiders net the wall. Yon broken pitcher near her bed, Drain'd dry, no more she'll hold ; Her hands no more will reach the bread, All cover'd o'er with mould. DON JUAN. 47 Through jealous ras:e she's lost her life f Don Juan, of large estate, Did cruel treat his guiltless wife, Deserving better fate. Lately it happen'd at a ball, Where masks the party wore, Poor Ellen's visor chanc'd to fall, One did the same restore. She with a smile her mask receiv'd, A gracious smile it seem'd : The careful husband, much deceiv'd, Of dang rous rivals dream'd. Twas late at night when he essay'd To watch her motions well, He follow'd to the masquerade, Her virtue's strength to tell. Mistaken wight ! — ah me ! that smile,. So fatal to his peace. His misled judgment more did foil. And cans'd his love to cease ! " 'Tis verj- plain " — and then he sigh'd, " Some object strikes her breast ! " She is with infamy alUed ; " How can I hope for rest ? " Now keen despite my bosom tears, " Now fierce the passions strive : " Mere bread and water hence is her&, " To keep the wretch alive !" 48 DON JUAN. Unhappy, midst the splendid scene, He hasted from her sis^ht ; Tlu'ough private doors he enter'd in The hail, a moody wight. He'll back to New Castile return, And swears a secret oath. Poor Ellen suffers much concern, To quit her friends too loth. " Alas ! why go thus soon?" she cried ; " Sure pleasure bears no sway ! " Some longer time from Spain abide, " Nor hurry me away ! " Recal to memoiy, you agreed, " Ere we to Paris went, " To stay a twelvemouth — why such speed, " Expressing discontent ! " Partake with me, my liege, the things " Which stratify the sense : *' 'Tis here Refinement early brings " Her grandeur to dispense." The angiy don in rage express'd. That moment he'd away ; Some lover sure her mind possess'd. Else w^ould she care to stay ? To be revengd again he swore : His course he homeward bends, Impatient sought his native shore ; Nor long his ire suspends ; DON JUAN. 49 Nor soft'ning mercy linj^ers kiud ; But Reason swiftly flies ; Distraction seizes on liis mind, While jealous thoughts arise. He soon contrives to strike a blow, And her for life confine Amidst the castle's vaults below — A cruel, base design. One fatal day his wife he calls, To walk along the keep ; Through a loose trap-door down she fall* Into a dungeon deep. With shrieks the hollow caves resound : The villain bends his head ; He cries, " Remain beneath the ground, " No more above to tread. " I've been befool'd by thee too long, *' Ere at the masquerade, " Disguis'd, I, mingling with the throng, " Perceiv'd the arts you play'd. " For which a pardon, I presume, " You'll be dispos'd to ask ; " I'll play the lover's part — I'll come, " And pick you up your mask !" His words unhappy Ellen hears, Beholds herself betray'd, Turns round her eyes, feels greater fears, Adown she drops dismay'd ; 50 DON JUAN. Her fright is great — it makes her swoon ; Ah ! might she cease to live ! But death refuses her the boon — She must her fright survive. Gloomy and dismal is the place, She sinks upon the lloor ; Loudly she mourns al her disgrace, And counts her troubles o'er. Lo ! in the caverns shoring damp, A door burst open wide ; There she beheld a glimm'ring lamp, A heap of straw she spied. And list'uing till she heard the sound « Of gratmg hinges turn, Slow-moving footsteps shook the ground,. The light did brighter burn. To know what might the same portend, Poor Ellen vainly sought : A black domestic now did bend His way — he'd something brought. " To mercy this you owe," he cries ; " 'Tis water and dry bread : " Justice indulgence still denies, " Such guilt hangs o'er your head ! " Come, gentle lady, and declare " Your favour'd lover's name, " And be releas'd from doleful care, " Restor'd to friends and fame ; DON JUAN. 51 " Nor longer stubborn here remain, " Confess the whole to me, " Ere thou art loaded with a chain — " And who dare set thee free ?" She answers, " Slave ! inform your liege, " I'm innocent of all ! " The charge is false — oh ! I beseech *' His wrath not thus to fall ! " Else close my suif'iings at a stroke, " Nor linger out my life ; " Ah me ! with grief my heart is broke — " Oh ! what conflicting strife !' The message to Don Juan he bears ; No mercy will he show ; His cruel purpose he declares, JNIore to increase her woe. With pomp, a waxen figure's borne The church-yard glade beneath ; He writes to all her friends forlorn. How sudden came her death. To his confessor he applies. And tells his artful tale ; He of her crimes did him apprise, Lest mercy might prevail. He soon three letters, false, address'd, As by her lover sent, Gave to tlie father, and express'd How much she'd to repent. 32 DON JUAN. The rev'rend priest explores the cave, The creekjng door extends ; He down the steps to Ellen's grave, With anxious iiaste, descends. Aloud he calls, " Arise, confess " Your late unlawful deed ! " I am conunission'd thee to bless, " If herein I succeed : " But if thou stubborn will remain, " More puuisird still to be, *' With locks and heavy iron chain, " There's none will pity thee." The busy echo made the sound Repeat distinct and plain : Close to the straw his way he wound, And cali'd three times in vain. He stood alarm'd ; his lantern rais'd High o'er iiis hoary head, On murder'd Ellen long he gaz'd, Now freed from sorrow — dead! Strong fetters of a heavy size Her fauiish'd frame sustain'd. These o'er her arms did chasing rise, Fast round her waist enchain'd. The pitcher, broken, on a board, Drain'd to the bottom, stood ; A remnant of dry bread explor'd, Seem'd to have been her food. DON JUAN. 55 The priest retracted all he'd said, While he the si^ht beheld ; To Heaven he lowly bent his head, And found his anger qucUd. " It were not needful sure," he cried, " To have increas'd her grief ; " No creature ever was more tried, " 'Tis even past belief! " Oh ! that her sufF'riugs could be prov'd " Unmerited severe, " Her memory should be ever lov'd, " Her name I'd still revere." While speaking, back his way he sped ; The dungeon deep he lock'd, Retrac'd the steps, which upward led, And at the portal knock'd. Him, with a sigh, the don receives. He sheds some ready tears : Before the priest her loss he grieves ; His pardon glad he hears. A stately um, o'ertopt with flame, Upon her tomb he plac'd ; Tall iron rails surround the same ; The whole a motto grac'd. F 2 HENRY THE UNFORTUNATE. A BALI AD. Long time young Henry, gentle youth, Of timid bashfuluess, Had fix'd his mind on handsome Rutli, Nor would the same confess ; But in the lonely vallies stray'd, Resounding far his sighs : Nor knew the soul-enchanting fair This work of her fine eyes. He with his knife engrav'd her name On bark of trees below, And true-love knots, and hearts of flame, To witness Henry's woe. He once, approaching to express The nature of his grief, Came near to telling his distress, In hopes to find reUef ; For he imagin'd his lov'd fair, Rejecting still the swains, Might listen to his earnest prayer. In pity to his pains. But soon, unhappily misled By groundless doubts and fears, He sadly hung his drooping head, And dropt incessant tears. HENRY THE UNFORTUNATE. 5S Nor scoin'd the maid whom lie esteera'd The votaries of truth ; YoiiRg Henry of this class she deem'd, And much approv'd the youth. Oh ! then, if boldly he'd express'd The cause of his despair, He might have been for ever bless'd, And freed from every care ! But now her gifts dame Fortune wheel* To Ruth so poor before, liCaving her fav'rite, houses, fields, An heiress to restore. Affliction Henry's soul assail'd, He nurs'd a mortal grief; Where flatt'ring consolation fail'd, Death brought at length relief. When, lo ! a certain lord essay'd The prospect to command, Preferr'd his suit : the constant maid Did soon bestow her hand, Within a palace to reside. Now joys their steps surround ; The noble pair, to worth allied, Are fai- and near renown'd. DRUSILLA AND CVMON. A TALK. Once in the country liv'd a maid ; And !«iie to iuipvove her n^-ind essay'd, To spread her fame around ; In music, rural danct- , or song, She still surpass'd the neighbring throng, Her like could ne'er be foimd. Her beauteous locks of ar.buru hair. Bright eyes, her face (!iviuely fair, The coldest breast to fire, Cymon, a sordid wretch, survey'd, And scornd the amiable maid. Nor own'd tiie least desire. A sibyl did the youth behold. And mark'd how fond he was of gold, All things besides dcspis'd ; And to the rural nymphs expleun'd, How men of better sense disdain'd The thmgs poor Cymon priz'd. Thus matters stood, until by chance Of some unlook'd-for circumstance, The damsel rich became ; A house, a tarm-yard, and some land, Devolv'd to be at her command, And Cymon heard the same. DRUSILLA AND CYMON. 57 Full soon he play'd a subtle part. In view to gain her hand and heart ; But vainly he applied : The maid's contemptuous anger glow'd, She spoke her sentiments aloud, And fitting was her pride : " Away, poor silly swain," said she ! " This enipiy strain is lost on me ! " I see thro' your pretence ; " Say, is it love, or my estate, " V/liich bears you up with pride elate, " To prove your insolence ? " Nor yet a youth of trifling mind " E'er prov'd a lover true and kind, " His thoughts on riches bent ; " And if by Hymen T were gain'd, " And such the husband I'd obtain'd, " I should too late repent. " But know, Drusilla can despise " Mean souis, who money idolize, " Of perishable mould ; " And but to one by wisdom bless'd, " Wheneer his passion is express'd, " Her mind she will unfold." MISFORTUNE, THE FRUITS OF QUARRELLING. A TALE. The man who seeks domestic strife Before a oomfortdble life, Should ever contradict with heat, And what provokes the most repeat ; For aggravation, next to blows, Will banish quietness and repose : And form a system to pursue, Which ever bils to peace adieu ! Yet when such whin^.s weak sense command, Determin'd, keep the upper hand; A termagant no quarter give, And barely let a vixen live, Ere greater evils chauce t' ensue Some future time, to trouble you. Now for the tale : — A stately pair Went hand and glove to take the air ; A wise philosopher was he, And she as wise appear'd to be : They walking in St. James's Park, On various matters made remark ; In every thing they still agreed, Did lovingly along proceed, Till something wondeiful arose, Which both beheld, and kr.it their brows : Whate'er it was, no matter what, To high provoking words they got; The lady's fiery visage glow'd, Not unobserved by the crowd. MISFORTUNE. />9 Away she liasten'd, all inflam'd, And o'er the threshold quickly came. One solitary slave they had, A foolish idiot the lad ; She iiistantiy away him sent, Which gave her passion little vent. Straight other mischief did ensue ; Crash went the pots and glasses too, Expre.ssin<» plain what she durst do. DLk, when come home at ni^ht, survey'd Her fury — which, at last, he stay'd, With begifing she'd be pacify "d, And pardon every fault beside ; In future t?tke the leatiing way. And, right or wrong, he would obey. Matters adjusted, loud there knock'd One at ti^r gate, which he unlock'd ; Receiv'd a certain note to read, Cravir.g the bearer might succeed Tlip servant Just before dismiss'd, A simple, solitary beast ! Small waives only he'd require : Tliis set his avarice on fire. Made I'ood amends for his wife's rage, And soon he did the man engage. Now they're at rest ; but when 'twas late, Tlie stianger rose, imbarr'd the gate, Let in his gang to find their prey. And all of vah'.e take away ; 'Twas found too late, the simple boor Whom mistress did discharge before, Had told the grievous piece of work To sharpers, ever on the lurk ; 60 IIODGE'S DISASTER. His master's m ealth too was desciib'd, A booty to the thieving tribe, Who, in the manner just declar'd, Enter'd the house, and nothing spar'd. HODGE'S DISASTER. A COUNTRY farmer came to town, To buy fat Doll tlie maid a gown : Soon over Oxford Street he cross'd. Where ^oods were sold below the cost 5 Went in a shop, to tumble o'er A choice variety in store ; Until a fine gown strikes his eyes ; But Hodge considers ere he buys. Demands the selling price to hear, And hop'd it might not prove too dear. The kno\>-ing tmdesman seem'd his friend, His mind beginning to unbend ; A sweeter thing he'd never seen, 'Twas manufactur'd for the queen ; ^* Stood nearly to three pounds," he said ; And down the cash the farmer laid, He fear'd some other person might. Should he refuse, come in and buy't. Now Hodge prepares for his return, And passing by the Golden Uni, Him did a loyal clown accost, " The king ! — lets go and drink his toast." HODGE'S DISASTER. 61 " With all my hearty" he answers free, " Yon house to enter I agree ; " My dairy wine, so clear and neat, " Will be a rarish Lunnun treat." Twelve bottles of the best they crack. But stronger punch the clown did lack ; 'Twas made : Hodge drank it in a trice, Then drunken, on the bench he lies. The clown, so loyal, went away In haste, and left tlie shot to pay, Taking tlie farmer's watch — all ! worse. His hat, his pocket-book, and purse ; The charming gown, wiiich caus'd much grief To Hodge, exclaiming, " Oh ! the thief!". — His plight the landlord came to view, Seiz'd on his coat and waistcoat too ; Then turn'd him out into a lane. Midst storms of w ind and pelting rain. How he got home at last, who knows ? To faithful Doll he told his woes ; But she deriding him distress'd, Treated his sorrows as a jest. IMPERTINENCE PUNISHED. Mercury, ancient stories prove, Was on an errand sent from Jove ; And travelling Lard, he anxious grew For place of rest to hail his view. A cot, one stovy tVoni the ground, Hedg'd in by thriving trees around, Fai- distant on tiie moor he sees, And there he goes, his limbs to ease ; Kicks at the door his feather'd feet, Admittance gains, and takes a seat ; The elbow-chair his fancy hits. He near tiie glowing embers sits. His hostess prov'd a matron kind, And soon express'd her gen rous mind ; Spread a white napkin on the board, And set such fare as times afford. One end a piece of bacon grac'd, Aside a dish of cabbage plac'd ; An apple-pie one corner holds. The other bread and cheese unfolds ; Nice home-brew"d beer display'd her pride, Keen hunger her best sauce supplied. She begs her guest will fix his place, Turns up her eyes, and offers grace. Mercury, pleas'd, came nearer still. To cater, and to eat his fill ; No ceremony needs the god, He helps himself load after load. IMPERTINENCE PUNISHED, 65 Swells his big belly out before, Till lie can guttle in no more. With glee he drinks the sparkling beer, Fuller of liumour to appear. Refresh'd, he'll now pursue his way. But fust inquires what is to pay. The matron hears, and makes reply, " Good sir, no one's more poor than I ; " Yet are you kindly welcome still, " To call wliene'er you think you will ; " When this way come to take the air, " Drop in and taste my homely fare, " Which, tho' I market cheap and mean, " Is wholesome, and I cook it clean. " With milk and cream my daily's stoi-'d, " Plain food is all these limes afford ; " My beverage is of the best, " And for my pains will stand the test : " Come, sir, pour out another glass, " And Ave'U conclude by saying grace." Her guest this ready answer makes : " Know thou, a god thy fare partakes ! " Thy gen'rous mind he much regards, " And waits to heap on thee rewards : " Say, what shall Merc'ry do for thee ? " State one fan* wish, he'll grant it free : " Still let good judgment guide thy voice, " And prudence warn thee in thy choice." The matron, overjoy'd, replies, " I'm glad my lucky stars arise ! " As you're so gen'rous and polite, " I'll be a youthful beauty bright. " To court I'll hasten in the morn, " And treat ray envious sex with scorn ; b4 IMPERTINENCE PUNISHED. " The king's affection I'll command, " And reign his consort in tlie laud. " If tliis should be my happy fate, ^' Tlie world will envy me my state." " 'Tis granted tiiee," the god express'd^ " Be to thy wish with graces bless'd, " A crystal vase to thee I'll bear, " Fill'd with celestial liquor rare ; " Through which distinguish'd, fairer rise, " And strike with wonder mortal eyes : " But of the same daie not to taste ; " One drop destroy'd, tlie charm will waste, " Thy beauty in that moment turn " Beneath a very linkboy's scorn ; " Alike despis'd, thou'lt fall a prey " To late repentance and dismay." He said ; and from his side he drew The sacred elixir to view ; Presents the same ; away he steers ; — And like a Venus she appears ; Runs to her looking-gla s araaz'd. And at her lovely form she gaz'd ; Till grown familiar to the sight, Vanish'd the novelty outright ! Next en the vase she turns her eyes. And thus with admiration cries : " What wondrous power this jar contains ! " I feel new life glide through my veins. " The precious sluice I'd gladly taste, " But, ah ! one drop the charm will waste ! " Base, cruel Merc'rij, to excite " C;mosity in spite ! " But I have sense enough and wit, " To let you see for once you're bit. IMPERTINENCE PUNISHED. 65 " The pendent drop I'll e'en divide, " And steal the greater half beside ; " Sweet, bitter, sour, or salt, I'll know " The bottom ere to court I go." Tliis said, our new-form'd Venus takes A goose-quill — she the vessel shakes ; The drop she covets centers there, Which she divides with steady care; One half her longing bare supplies, The other slurs the bottle's side : And thus she gain'd her point belov'd : — But fatal still the matter prov'd ; For, lo ! the flavour, e'er the ton, Her weak senses wrought upon. " Wh5t's this," she cries, " that is so rare ? " It beats my boasted beer, I swear ; " Makes me resolve to have some more, " Nor loss of beauty I'll deplore : " 'Tis insupportable to me ; " Whate'er the consequence may be — " Tush for the consequence ! avaunt ! " I'll fill a glass depend upon't." She said : then drinks with greater heat : Her taste becomes reftn'd and sweet ; Draught after draught she gargles down ; Intoxicated, kicks the ground : Her cheeks shrink in, her teeth decay, Her beauty vanishes away : Such folly every charm destroys : — Too late resound her cheerless sighs ; Her sighs, her prayers, her tears are vain. She falls a matron old again. g3 THE TEMPLE OF THE POETS. A THIRST for fame, both fai' and near, Excites the youth to persevere ; By perseverance arts are gain'd, "Wisdom and sciences obtain'd. While some in leaniing take delight, To judge the best of wrong or right ; Others refine, in hopes of praise, Excel, to win a fadeless bays ; When, after racking their poor brains, One leaf, at most, is all their gains. But this exception is allowd : There's still a class, amidst the crowd, By no means wanting of good sense, Wlio with much studying dispense ; In the home circle of their friends, Their natural dialect expends ; A joke, a laugh, at best, their aim. How circumscrib'd is their short fame ! A man with little knowledge bless'd, Is more conceited than the rest ; If he's a critic, mark his pride, To folly moie than skill allied ; In garret high he lives at ease. His luxury to his bread is cheese ; Quaffing his evening beer, he sits, Indignant, o'er the vvorks of wits ; By chance some verbal faults he spies, He thinks he's wondrous leara'd and wise TEMPLE OF THE POETS. 67 But if an author, how he writes! Book after book he soon indites ; Superb got up, to catch the eye, And tempt the passenger to buy. Spite of the analyzer's rage, That flogs the Solomons of our age. Thus musing, sleep at length prevail'd ; When, io ! a vision I beheld : A lofty temple stood in sight, The golden gates were polisii'd bright ; Adjoining which, I read these words : — " This place for writers room affords ; " And more, the poets we admit, " As well as men of better wit ; " Fame shall her brazen trumpet sound, " And spread their well-earn'd praise around." " My son," an aged stranger cried, " The modern poets here reside : " Return, approach thou not the place, " But keep from poverty and disgrace. " Sublime the' these tall columns stand, " A temple forming outwards grand, " The few who hither speed their feet, " May starve, or coarse provision eat. " Alas ! alas ! I read thine eyes ! " A giddy stripling spurns advice, " Fiies in the hoary face of sense, " And learns by late experience." He spoke : and thro' the gates I flew ; A spacious court-yard struck my view, Displaying bards, both young and old. The learn'd were shy, th' unletter'd bold. A time I stood, surpris'd to see How pale they look'd, save two or three, 69 TEMPLE OF THE POETS. Who higher than the rest to sit, Still exercis'd their oral Avit ; And sprinkl'd ink, evincing plain, How they despis'd a vacant train, Who for their living wrote the same Ideas which they did declaim. One in the corner, half conceaVd, Invention's poverty reveal'd ; ; He turn'd his dirty pages o'er. And slily stole his rhyming lore, In hopes to gain a lasting name. And by the press resound his fame. Beneath w ere rang'd, on dusty shelves, Wiiolc volumes, puffing off themselves ; The well-wrote prefaces encore In vain the half read books once more; Less merit sure their lines disclose Than giant J )i's measiir'd prose, With royal purple spots display'd, Well known to each trunk-lining blade. When critics a smart bribe receive From scribblers who are free to give, s They're known to praise, in strains more high, I The filthy odes which none will buy : His faith the patron ill expends, Who money to a poet lends. Near to the right, a certain tribe Of authors sat, with each a scribe : No waste of sense their labours show, 'Tis hammer'd far as it w ill go ; Still the broad margin well admits The nice remarks of attic wits. From which the virulent may glean Fresh matter to indulge their spleen. TEMPLE OF THE POETS. 69 Lo ! to the left side, soon appear'd Two writers — their discourse I heard : *^ My drooping friend, so late so bold ! " Your sudden sorrow brief unfold. " To set your mind at ease, yon know, " I oft my learned pains bestow ; " My deeper knowledge I impart, " To bring to rest your lab'ring heart, " Or smoothen o'er what you indite, " Whether in verse or prose you write." " I," cried the other, " have compos'd " A poem taking off our foes ; " Describing how the fighters mg'd, '* But fled whene'er our troops engag'd : " This to a printer lately sold " For tluice ten pieces, sterling gold. *' My manuscript's no more ailmir'd, " Old T r is with anger fir'd ; " He swears the rhyming lines I wrote, " Are on a battle never fought ; " The finish'd ode, prefix'd beside, " Extols some hero never tried : " Declares the cash I must replace, " Or hide from public view my face : — " What can I do ? the money's spent, " But just sufficient for my rent ; — " I wish I'd spurn'd, ere this, the muse, " And been content to cobble shoes." His friend replied, " Dismiss your grief, " For I'll afford you Irill relief: " Once more I'll prove my better skill ; " Alter your manuscript I will, " To paint some battle of the Scot, " On which no poet yet has wrote : 70 TEMPLE OF THE POETI. " This shall express some learning too, ** And fetch the money paid to you. " Hand n^e the slieets, or leave tliera where *' I nightly quaft" the fumes of beer." They spoke, and vanish'd. I espied Another \\nter puff d with pride. By curious method to compose, The matter first he wrote in prose ; Then made each verse to chime ding-doDg, And form'd divi'^ions hi oad as long. He silent sat, but often sinild At fresh conceits, o'er which he toil'd. The crowd approv'd, bought up his store, To set " the t.ible in a roar." When now I saw a novel siqht — Two brother poets stript to fight ! Mlth heat inflam'd, they fiercely rag'd, Like tw o w ild tiger-cats, engag'd ; Confusion, uproar, din, ensu'd, Till eaci) liad drawn the other's blood From their gash'd noses, to spout round, While tlicy lay kicking on the ground. Inquir'd the cause ; some jingling rhymes But ill accorded to the times. Soon drevr the laughteis on that side ; And vex'd, tlie bard the whole defied, Making his brother's wrath ensue, To beat the poet black and blue. Near to the spot came Billy Brace, A puppy of conceited race. " I've been," he cries, " the more profuse " In complimenting my own muse, " For every sheet I hold contains " ?Jy wit in celebrating strains : THE ROGUISH JEW DETECTED. 71 ** But none will my productions praise, " Too learn'd for these degen'rate days, " While simple fashion still prefers " Sonn?ts, whicii need interpreters " The author's meaning to explain, " Poor matter of a vacant brain. " Enough — My dear, good sir, behold " These volumes, worth their weight in gold! " Accept, and kindly look them o'er ; " They'll you instruct, and many more : " Sublime fne subject, hi:;h the strain, " I'm Homer come to life again ; " No poet of this sacred place " E'er form'd his diction with such grace." So saying, in ir.y hand he thrust His sundry works, all grease an<l dust ; O'er wiiich I glanc'd a curious eye, And waking, found I'd grasp'd a fly. THE ROQUISB JEW DETECTED. A WHIMSICAL ADVENTURE. A ROGUE of a Jew I late met in tbe fields, He'd some hundreds of people just close on his heels ; In long tatters hung down llis gown, waistcoat, and shirt. And liis old grejis^y hat they iyck^dipthe dirt. 72 THE ROGUISH JEW DETECTED. When I wish'd to be told why they usd him so rough, One answer'd me, " Sir, he's not yet had enough ; " He's a rascaliy dog, yonder youth can declare, " And we'll hunt him about as the hounds the hare.' I repair'd to the youth, desiring to hear Why tiie crowd serv'd the Jew in a manner so queer : He replied, " Sir, the people with justice behave, " And the fellow you see is a scoundrel knave. " I tliis morn chanc'd to go 'side the church of St. Paul, " And passing the sharper, aloud did he bawl, * Oh ! pity my sorrow, affliction, and care, < I've lost all my cash at a neighb'ring fair ! * Oh ! alack, sir, the monish unluckily fell, * From my weak shaking hand, down an echoin;^ well, ' As I ran from a damsel, who tried her vain lore * To decoy me from virtue, long cherish'd before. * Will you buy the fine watch ? — I've got nothing to eat ; * 'Tis the best in the world, and I never will cheat ; ' See, the outside is gold, set with diamonds avou:vJ, * And some time since it cost, at least, twenty pound.' " Soon I took it in hand, to examine it straight : " I perceiv'd it to be in a villanous state ; " The works were unloosen'd, and part of thera gone, " The outside was metal, surroimded with stone. THE ROGUISH JEW DETECTED. 73 ** Not perceiving to know the tmth I had found, " I enquir'd the price ; he replying * Five pound.' " You're a rascal," I answer'd, " you know it as well, " With your purse, and your damsel, and echoinj; well !" * Say, why these liard words, my son,' he retum'd, ' Since to cheat is a principle I ever scorn'd ? ' 'Tis a bargain allow'd, and you never will see * Any more the fine watch for five ciiilling from me.' " He'd just made reply, when a porter, who heard " The whole state of the case, seiz'd him fast by his beard ; " Then a sijjjual repeats to the mob at his heels — " 'Twas to chace the bold hypocrite over the fields. " With a shout and huzza along Holbom they ran, " Thro' allies and lanes, to hunt the old man ; " The Jew puif'd and blow'd, but no quarter they gave : " And no more, sir, I know of the longi^headed knave." SONG. POOR MARGERY. To a neighbouring village, a mile beyond Kent, Her wages to spend, poor Mai'geiy went ; And passing a milliner's shop near the place. Beheld a rare bargain of Nottingham lace. How nicely embroidered it look'd to the sight ! How showy and clear ! what a marvellous white ! The price, lord, how cheap ! two shillings a yard, With allowance of measure to take the whole card. Well pleas'd this to purchase, poor Margery came, Unloosen'd her purse-strings, and paid for the same :_ In ribbons and flannels the surplus she spends. And her way to the farm-house she eagerly bends. One Saturday night, her labour all done, She tinish'd the cap she'd slily begun ; How fine was the lace, looking well to the sight ! How showy and clear ! what a marvellous white ! Next day, as to church without bonnet she went, An accident happen'd, that made her lament : "Twas the curate liimself, on his hobbling mare, While he plung'd thro' the mud, bespatter'd the fair Alas ! her neat dress, at a distance you'd think. Had surely been dipt in a vessel of ink ; Not a point had escap'd. She rueful return'd, And her dirty condition she inwardly mouru'd. POOR MARGnRY. 75 Some water she boils, some starch she prepares ; To mend the dire mischief no trouble she spares : The gown in the kitchen is hung up to dry, But the cap she throws down on the pavement to lie. See, she folds both her hands, and sadly she cries, And upwards inclines the drear whites of her eyes ! No comfort poor Margery's bosom consoles, The fine lace she bought, breaks out into holes. Next time, foolish maid ! when to market you go, Take care, nor be tempted by merely the show : Of Nottingham lace to prefer which is best. The real * patent net alone stands the test ; Which, curiously platted, and twisted, and tied, Improves in appearance the more it is tried ; While the other, so loosely work'd, 'tis agreed, Will do hurt to the seller, and buyer indeed. * The warehouse wheie this arlide may be bad genuine, is at No. 3*, Noble-stieet, Fostei lane, Cheapside, London. MORE BARGAINS. A TALE. Two silly countrjinen, without design, Struck on a tu7i of elder-berry wine, Put up by auction as the lumber lot, Next in succession to an old sheep-cot. " Brother," cried Neddy, " such a house I prize. But Dick exclaim'd, '' The tun of wine I buys:" Then to the vintner, " Pray let's taste the cheer." " No, no, niy friends, there's no time fort here ; " The hammers up." Now bid the folks around, The price advancinc; till it reach a pound ! " A shilling more ;" 'tis Dick who bids tlie best ; The hammer falls : — when, lo ! see, what a jest! The rotten, totfring, woraiy shepherd's cot Turns out at last scarce worth a suigle groat. Past art to mend ; — the elder tun so rare, Drain'd of its dregs, stinks far the ambient air j On Brixton common, 'neath two trees, they swung The nasty hoops — the boards away they flung. THE VOLCANO; OH, THE BENIGHTED COTTAGER. A TALE. THE SCENE IN ITALY. The lab'ring moon o'ercast by clouds beneath Held back her beams — and dark the lonely heath ; When a poor swain, benighted, lost his way, Then fain to wander, till the break of day. With mind oppress'd, high up a mound he goes ; And far around his weary eyes he throws — He'd find the surer path, returning home. From whence he came in evil hour to roam. Now shines the moon, — at distance he espied A cliff, whose top commands a prospect wide O'er hill and dale ; he tliither climbs amain, And tries the rugged eminence to gain, Thinking from that the ivied tower to view, Apart the village one short mile or two. High on the cliflf the rustic cotter stands, Above the meadows and the green woodlands : A noble river finds below its way. Glides by the banks and trees and vallies gay : Nature's vast scope sublimer awe inspires, ' The roaring cataract, the mountain fires : I Grandeur august claims here her solemn reign, And Solitude extends her still domain ; H 2 78 THE VOLCANO. O'er distant lands volcanoes stately rise, In augry form, to pierce the cloudy skies : But not the welcome spire, or tower between The rev'rend oaks, presents within the scene ! Beyond his bounds the hapless youth was led, To seek a fav'rite lamb that heedless stray'd j Straight to an inlet in the rock he hies; And on the sand to rest his limbs he tries, A little respite from his grief he'd find, And sleep till morning shelter'd from the wind. Here while he stays, though he's afflicted still. And heavily opprcssd witii ever>^ ill. Though fortune frowns upon a fi iendless swain, Yet come sweet sleep, dispense awhile his pain. Sweet slumber, hail ! be thou the mourner's lot ! — And hunger, tliirst, and baletid grief forgot : Solace tli« wretch of want and misery, The more he covets to be bless'd with thee! Lo ! tlie lost shepherd soon awakes distress'd, And smites in agony his pensive breast ; Revolves the past, compares his present state. And blames the rigour of his wayward fate. 'Tw as past the hour of twelve, the moon shone bright. The country cheering by her welcome light ; The restless rustic from his bed descends, And to the fields his wilder'd steps he bends : A piece of rock attracts his eager eyes ; He fancies now his fav'rite lamb he spies, Feels a fond hope inspiring every vein, Till undeceiv'd his joy gives way to pain. • *' * * * Here grapes in wild luxuriant order grow, And ripening, ftU in crushing heaps below. THE VOLCANO. 79 Though hunger tempts thn wand'riug wiglit to stay, He takes a bunch, and swiftly hastes away ; Comes near the spot, his folly to bemoan. That shap'd a lamb from a mere broken stone. Near the torn fragment of rough stone he stands, Laments his loss, and wrings his nerveless hands, Till suddenly the moon became o'ercast. Nor longer blew the cold inclement blast. A sulphur'ous heat arises far around, Loud rumbling noises pass between the ground ; Full well he knew what did the same forebode — A burning mountain vents its fiery load. Back to the cave where late he slept, he ran, And sought for shelter ere the stonu began ; Where, safely screen'd from danger, he beheld The rending motion of the heavy hill, Whose lofty brow's, immeasurable rise, Seem'd a vast pillar to support the skies : While lightning flash'd, how felt the frighted boor? Loud and more loud the peals of thunder roar : With horrid noise rush'd dow n the mountain's side, A liquid fire, consuming far and wide ; High up the angiy atmosphere ascends A blazing column, which afar extends ; Replete witli heated stones immense of size, That broke in fragments, shoot along the skies. By the same light 'twould dangerous be to tread, And all around wears livery of red j A scene of grand sublimity appears, Striking the wanderer with unusual fears. The streaming lava gatliers fresher force, Nor meets obstruction in its awftd course ; Bums as it goes ; impels destruction dire ,On every thing encountering its fire. 80 APOLOGUE EXTEMPORE. Poor shepherd boy I thy throbbing breast may swell, And o'er thy cheek the tear of sorrow steal ; Alas ! no more bemoan thy straying lamb, Lest worse betide, and give thee cause for blame. Foreboding fancy pictures sad the tale, Danger may threat thy cottage in the dale : Wh2Lt hadst thou better do ? or stay ? or fly ? Now clouds of cinders cover o'er the sky ! 'Tis thy good genius who directs to stay, And wisely thou her mandates should'st obey ; So in the morn thou may once more assume New life, to liail thy family and home. APOLOGUE EXTEMPORE OF THE CARRIER GILBERT. TO ALL RANK R- Tremendous Sirs, whose wisely guided pen Strives to set right the simpler sons of men ; Whose zeal for leaniing leads you down to look, And sound the depth of every modern book : — Yes, old books too — no lengtii of years can shield The works that moral nor instruction yield ; Music, the pulpit, sculpture, paintmg too. Flourish or fell beneath your nice review ! Wonderful architects ! whose columns rise On purpling paper lifted tow'rd the skies ; Folly within, her yawning tomb may claim, And butcher'd authors on the road to fame. } APOLOGUE EXTEMPORE. 81 Spare a rough bard who courts * the Muse of lays ;' ^ Nor yet condemu, or speak him worthy praise, v "Who httle wills by you his name to raise ! 3 Pass Gilbert 'neath your scmtinizing eye — 1 His sius are great — the youth's not fit to die — > Sirs, bear iu mind the fable of the fly ; 3 Which was perceiv'd once buzzing round a room ; Stenily some hind bespoke its instant doom ; Yet Mercy conquei-'d — Mercy instantly Open'd the window, set the captive free, The world is wide enough for thee and me ! Methinks, dread sirs ! you may more kindly ^ To give fair quarter to a hannless swain, [deign (^ Who, with his lyre untun'd, attempts tlie rural ( strain : * And, as a mouse a lion did attend. He'd prove of service, and become a friend. Rang'd on the shelves of Cloacina's place, Where tatter'd genius aids the cleanly race ; Some certain parts of your own labours stand, Obsequious, readv, ever at command— O fye, O fye, '- As yet 'tis not too late To save the volumes from their piece-meal fote j Send them to bind with golden edges bright, ^ And in the library fix them bolt in sight, > A novelty in literature quite ! 3 So shall the stricken boor, the outside view'd, Judge that the contents smely needs be good I 82 TO A FAM'D R Not all the toils which husbandmen bestow, Avail the lands where even weeds wont grow No ample crops the wintry soil will yield, It was, it is, will be a barren field. MUJNOON; ot, THE DISTRACTED LOVER. ATTEMPTED IN VERSE FROM AN ASIATIC TALE IN THE EIGHTEENTH VOLUME OF THE UNIVERSAL MAGAZINE, p. 121. " Ungen'rous Tamai! you've bound " Your garden, my flow'r to inclose ; " Rough briars and thorns twin'd around, " Keep me from my beauteous rose. " See, see, I am cover'd with gore, " Deep wounded by many a thorn ; " Yet I'll get at the rose I adore, " My bosom of love to adorn. " 'Tis mix'd with the tears from my eyes Incessant the stream still proceeds " With mourning and comfortless sighs. MUJNOON. 83 " Like the nightingale songster ot* night, " I am fond of my beauteous rose ; " Tlie sweet flow'r, in whom I deUght, " Listen'd soft while the same did disclose. " But now — oli ! the pangs that I beai- ! " The gard'ner admittance denies ; " He hath hedg'd all around the cliaste fair, " To liide her for e'er from my eyes. " Tamai our passion approved, " Till a monarch beheld my sweet rose, " And beholding, immediately lov'd " The goodliest flower that blows ; " Most enamour'd of which he appear'd : " The gard'ner he tempted with gold ; " The mercenary gard'ner heard, " And my beauteous flower hath sold. " Yet, alas ! the mean gard'ner knows, " The riches of worlds I'd resign — " But, oh ! not to purchase his rose, " To insult the dear maiden divine. " The splendour of empires ascend " Like a feather, so Hght in the scale ; " With my beautiful, charming young friend, " Oh ! their riches shall nothing avail I " Yet the nightingale I'll go and seek " In the twining and dark-lonesome grove, " And to him my sorrows I'll break, " Till I sink in affliction of love." FRAGMEKT. TO LAVINIA, WHEN HER LOVER, AFTER RETlRNINa FROM A LONG AND PERILOUS VOYAGE, FINDS HER ES- POUSED TO HIS RIVAL, THE HAPPY ALCANDER. Farewell, to joy, felicity, and peace ! • Now flatt'ring hopes to mock my wishes cease : I've lost Lavinia — oh! the wild surprise j That strikes my heart, and wakes my rending sighs ! j A tierce delirium seizes on my soul, My fruitless tears in streams incessant roll — I vainly kneel : oh ! hear my languid groans — An abject swain his destiny bemoans ! Let me behold thy lovely eyes once more, And at thy feet compassion kind implore ! Thy tender pity sooth my woe and care, And ease my mind, o'erbnrden'd by despair ! Clos'd the long day, in sleep I'd find relief; Night's dismal shades increase my stubborn grief j The time-past scenes my mem'n' brings in view, Assail my rest, and torture me anew. Ador'd Larinia ! thou, my early choice, Held'st out in vain my earthly paradise ; Thine hand bestow'd too rashly — ah ! thou'rt lost, And all our bliss imaginary's cross'd I Vet may your days pass o'er unclouded bright, And I far banish'd your angelic sight ! May bless'd Alcander, wiiile your love he's gain'd, Feel conscious of this happiness attain'd \- - TO LAV IMA. 85 I'd fain have slept — it late befriended me, But still my tliouj^its confus'dly tiirn'd on thee ; My brain, distemper'd, made thy form appear, Kind to condole, and answer tear with tear 5 I saw my charmer, while a dream deceiv'd, In deep affliction my hard fate she griev'd ; With me my sorrow, cheerless, did deplore, Hung on my neck, and bade me sigh no more. Oh I ecstasy of bliss ! — but, ah ! it fled I Long, long the tedious night dwelt o'er my head ; When dawn'd the dreary morning, I arose. And losing thee, I liid adieu repose. Alas ! the worst of misery is mine. My every claim on pleasure I resign ! I fly — oh ! pity me, celestial fair ! I fly to other climes, to sooth my doleful care. FRAGMENT. TO THE SAME. Once more, lov'd fair, presumption claims my pen, Though reason plainly tells me, 'tis in vain : Alas ! my fond imagination still Misleads to form thee pitying my despair ! Luvinia, canst thou pardon what I ask ? To thy poor slave, oh ! grant one interview, Again to hear the music of thy voice ; To mark thy gaze, thy lovely fingers trilling Graceful, easy, the harp's trembling strings ! But thou despisest me— alas ! no more 86 FRIENDSHIP. I'll listen to thy soft melodious strains, To charm my senses, set my soul on fire ! Adieu, Laiinia 1 — Oh ! Alcander's bless'd. Whom you have favouv'd with your first esteem : May he remain sincere — may happiness, IVlay all the raptures of connubial bliss, For ever, ever crown your coming days ! Farewell ! TO FRIENDSHIP. Hail, Friendship ! spark divine of heavenly fire l Early thou took'st to earth thy wavVing iiight, And kindly didst extend abroad thy power, (dementing souls in other gen'rous bonds Than ties of kin, or mercenaiy hopes. 'Tis thine to elevate a mhid depress'd ; To reassure, to comfort, or uplift The anguish'd noble, while, in solemn state, Craving advice : he, though afflicted still, Accepts from thee things wliich another might With vain condolence offer. Through thy smile*- The burden of misfortune grows more light. The rough, unlettei^d rustic, led by thee. Anxiously seeks, in dungeons damp and cold, His known acquaintance, long confin d for debt ; Or stands o'crjoy'd, as fortune may him bless With every better gift her store contains. 'Midst heavy cares, perplexing human life, Thou oft excit'st to spend a social hour O'er the convivial bowl The wretch, how vile Wlio, after grasping thy o'er-bounteous hand, Ungiateful proves, to leave thee fresh to feel Thy kindness slighted, mortifies severe ! 87 SONNET r. GRTEF. Ah me ! the secret anguish of my breast, The siD;h tliat labours, and the tear that falls, The bitter griefs which memory recals, Now rise severe to rob my nightly rest ; i By much affliction I am sorely press'd. And sorrow inexpressible I feel : I covet sleep, my weary eyes to seal. But slumber flies a wretch like me distress'd ! I I'll up and traverse some far distant shore, While rain descends, and the rough tempest blows j The dismal wilds and vallies I'll explore, And to the Echo all my cares disclose : Mournfully count my suff 'rings o'er and o'er, Confess my pains, and number all my woes ! 88 SONNET II. DESPONDENCE. The doleful chimes in yonder steeple's height, Successive striking, sound the neighb 'ring dale j The sun's departing beams no more prevail, To cheer the grove, and chase the dull twiUght. The pendent gloom and doleful chimes invite, Apart the hamlet, my slow steps to bend. While the cold dews and noxious damps ascend. And the pale moon but faintly crowns the night. Close to the stream in pensive mood I'll wait, Where weeping willows scatter leaves below ; Pine at the rigour of my wayward fate, But vent no tears to ease my stubborn woe : Since my desponding, cheerless, hopeless state, And troubled mind no such relief may know ! SONNETI, 89 SONNET III. LOPE. Lo ! what forebodes this rising anxious pain, This pensive wish in solitude to rest ; The torpid languor by which I'm opprcss'd, Essaying to benumb my every vein ? Ah me ! 'tis Love, who forms the mental chain That fetters my sad, melancholy mind ! O sacred Love ! prove not to me unkind ! Nor, heavenly Peace ! forsake a gentle swain ! I'll seek for joys to crown me while I stray Where the wild flow'ret meets the downcast eye, Where Philomel with music fills the spray. And wader prospects ope beneath the sky*: — Cease, ye fierce fires, lest I consume away. And to Amanda's charms a martyr die ! 90 THE CLOUD AND THE STREAM. FABLE I. As once a cloud receiv'd the sun's warm ray, Along the sky it proudly shap'd its way, Casting below a shadow, in disdain, On a clear stream meandering o'er the plain. And thus exclaini'd in thunder from its height : " Reflect my glory to the dazzl'd sight P"* The humble current instantly obeys ; And o'er its surface lustre widely plays : Till chang'd by storms, the cloud'i eifulgence fled, And forc'd by winds, in darkness roll'd its head. MORAL. The crafty tyrant, by successes crown'd, Looks for his deeds to spread his feme around ; Death comes at last — the dream deceives no more, The short-liv'd triumph of a day is o'er. 91 THE LION AND SNAIL. FABLE II. A HUNGRY lion, hunting for his prey, Hurt a weak snail, that on the sedges lay : He felt compassion touch his gen'rous breast. While he stood anxious, and these words express'd : " Poor writhing worm ! broke is your shell around, " And you're disabled on the verdant gromid ! " In the green meadow doom'd perchance to fall " A feast for unfledg'd sparrows on the wall." MORAL. A noble mind to pity ever deigns. And marks the anguish of another's pains. FARMER HOBSON A RURAL POEM. BOOK I. ARGUMENT. TJie siii)iect proposed. — Description of the farm yard. — ^James at plough. — Sowing seed. — The dairy, &c. — James feeding poultry. — The sheep, &c. — Ynung lambs, &c. — Observations and moral reflections. I SING the toils of one unknown to fame, A wealthy farmer, Hobson call'd by name ; Whose daily cares revolving seasons crown, On tallow mead, on hill, or level down : Since in the yard, the barn, or cultur'd field, The farmer's labours ample subject yield, If but the Muse inspire each temper d line, Befriend the lay, and every thought retine. Down in the north, near to a highway side, Where the swift mails before the waggons glide ; Stands a thatch'd house with land encompass'd round, Ring fenc'd with hedge-rows and a rising mound. FARMER HOBSON. 93 Wide to the left, the upland ground ascends, Below whose side a valley far extends, Early prepar'd the yellow grain to grow, To form the wheat-stack and the barley-mow. And here, no little farmer needy stands, Oblig'd to sell his corn from off his lands ; But several farms that many serv'd before. Now all in one, increase the rich man's store ; Who, with a moderate profit not content. Keeps up the price, and makes the poor lament, Hind'ring the gifts of Heaven to take their course, A time of war so hard, making still worse. Round Hobsoti's house an ample space appears. Where many a stack of hay its head uprears ; Wliere stands a shed for waggon, cart, and plough, Apart the barn, and pigeon-house below ; And nigh a stye, and hive of bees beyond. Appears the gabbling geese and duck's dark pond, And various poultry anxious cares bestow, To lead their young, to feed them as they go. One line of conduct mark'd old Hobson's way, His character seeni'd clear as summer day ; At his full board, with wholesome food supplied. His wife and children sat at either side, Dwelt on his smiles, or, if by ills sore vex'd, Shar'd all his griefs — like him they felt perplex'd. And still, in life, as fate awards it so, That after joy oft trouble comes and woe, Wrongly, such folks as Hobson, count the crop. Which, in its early grovvth,a with'ring blight may stop. Sometimes a sheep, or pig within the stye, Or, suddenly, a fav'rite cow may die ; Things, which befalling, hurt the farmer's mind, Steal his delights, and sorrows leave behind. 94 FARMER HOBSON. One hundred ewes he niimber'd in his turn, Tea cows -with cream supplied the dasiiing churn, His team of abie horses he would boast, Were worth live tin.es the money they had cost ; And, 'mon^ his store, he prided still to find, Farming utensils of a better kind ; And had besides, his labours to beguile, A four-wheel chaise for riding out in style. Ceas'd now th' inclement bitter biting blast, A different aspect marks the Earth at last ; 'Neath milder skies where IVinter's sway had been. The face of things assumes a smile serene ; The groimd bedeck'd with early liow'rs appears, Congenial warmth recrnited Nature cheers. Hohson's bird boy, a rustic hale and strong, Begins at morn, to drive the plough alcng ; Till the soil crumbling to his efforts yield. And one dark hue distinguish far the field. Adown a vale's declivity he bends His heavy way, or slow up liill ascends. Throng, oer the glade, alight expectant birds ; The loosen'd mould a fav'rite food affords, Earth-worms and grubs, left bare beneath the sky, Attract his wary followers while they fly. Awhile reclm'd young James his plough resumes, In whistlrag mood, or sings till evening comes ; O er his drain d keg no further time he'll loose, Homeward he's bound, but stops to scrape his shoes. He knew fan- Cleanliness the dame embraced ; How her brick floor no signs of dirt disgrac'd ; Within the dairy, wholesome, sweet, and light. Was every pail, and pan, and churn, kept bright; ' Whence her new cheese became the country's boast, And hor fresh butter mellow'd many a toast ; FARMER HOBSON. 93 And thrifty Hobson gave a helping hand, Whene'er the weather kept him from his land : No idle drone, if work was to be done, Or indolent where wealth might still be won. But when the morning first begun to peep, He'd from his rest witli resolution leap ; Setting at nought, the dame's soft, soothing strain, Tun'd to cajole, and lure him back again. In view for wealth no pains old Hobson spar'd, To have his land w ith nutriment prepar'd ; Dung, from the cow-yard, blacken'd o'er the soil, A rich manure to aid the ploughman's toil. Now by whose hands fresh parallels are made, And deep drawn furrows mark the stubborn glade ; Hobson with shallowr basket seeks the plain. Between the spaces scatters well tiie grain ; O'er many an acre, spread his rented fields, Still not to servants this nice point he fields : One crop of barley, or of oats, well sold, Will over pay him more than sevenfold. Thus when the earth with bearing seed's supplied, He makes poor James the heavy harrow guide, Bestows his help, works hard till setting suu. Then gladly views the level surface dene. But anxious still to see his barns all fill'd, Riches to bring and further gladness yield ; Full many a scheme to flight the birds he plans. Those depredators of his new-sown lands ; Nor pity linger'd in his boiling breast. When oft his hand would spoil the moss-form'd nest, Quickly destroying rook, or crow , if near ; Sure sign of indiscriminating fear. With cadence rough, his stem command resounds, " Go kill the traitors that infest mv grounds !' 96 FARMER IIOBSON. On second thoughts, James may do harm to game, By sad mischance, and marr his honest fame ! Unsettled wight ! he wavers in his mind, Shly to shp the powder horn behind. BHthe James is young — lest mischief may ensne, Away he goes with labour still in view, Just cross a string the wnnd-mov'd shreds to lay, Stuff'd i-ags and straw, to scare the birds away. Quick as he steps, disperse his feather'd foes, And terror strikes which ever way he goes ; On tree, or bush, they settle from his sight, Tlieuce, one by one, returning to alight, James sore beset, exerts his utmost powers, And full employment occupies his hours. Yet, e'en the best precaution seems to fail. And harmless weapons prove of no avail ; In secret hold, the hirehng gunner lies, And levels deatli at Hobson's enemies ! Nine several times a fatal shot he takes, And many a bird a bloody exit makes ; Which giv'n to James, in certain charge, he's bonnd. To spread them lengthwise o'er the level ground ; A fearful sight that 'larms the pilfring race, Causing tiiem straight to quit the guarded place : — " Bring out the slaughter'd birds, their wings unbend, " From point to point them on the soil extend, " Wlien the flock, flying o'er the cultui-'d plain, " Call on their lifeless mates, but call in vain." As morning dawns, and gilded are the skies, Industrious Jumes from slumber must aiise ; Wide lays his work, two fields he needs must pass j And, in the meadow, oft, the dewy grass, With sweeping show ers, increase the pebbly rills. Reflecting fair the trees and upland hills. FARMER HOBSON. 97 A thousand objects tempt his hng'ring way, While the lark's music hails the coming day. But James is not of sciences possess'd ; The Arts to him seem trivial things at best f Nature he knows no further than the name ; Humble his mind, aspiring little fame. Yet joy, oft times, this little fame attends, When lively laughter his droll jokes befriends ; 'Or, when a group, around the kitchen fire, Pleas'd at his sev'ral tales, his stock of sense admire. Near the sown land a shapeless hovel stood, Thatch'd close with straw, o'er its thick walls of mud ; Where every night the implements were laid. The hoe, the shovel, mattock, and the spade. Safe from the foxes' scent the birds he found, In heapy basket slung aloof the ground ; Soon to his early task he nnnbly springs, Them, on the field, with careful hand, he flings ,; Repeats the same, for several nights and morn, Till the seed root, and safe the risen corn. Back now he turns, his useful help bestows, Hastens with Betty to fetch up the cows, Carries the fodder dry, the clean scour'd pail, And both the stools, within a neighb'ring vale : Where, 'neath some spreading oak of rev'rend age, Betty and James to milk the kine engage ; Eases the udder of its copious stream. Supplying Hohson's dairy with choice cream. And which, at eve, the careful mistress churns ; By pounds of butter she the penny earns ; A larger portion of the milk she'll take. The richly-flavour'd Cheshire cheese to make ; Boast of the country, far and near in fame. Quickly it drops, and mellows to the flam« : — i^8 FARMER HOB50N. For neither Hohson, or his wife agrees, For sake of butter to forego their cheese ; Both are a pride, and both a profit yield, And their milch-cows enjoy the open field. Inferior cheese no si^ns of fatness crown, A toasted sHce imbibes a bitter brown ; Devoid of cream no virtue it contains, Or brhigs new vigour in th' enfeebled veins : — " Well said indeed," a wretched cynic cries ; " But for the class wliich are not over nice, " Wiiose few earn'd shiihngs,when to market brought, " Admit no boasted quahty in ought." — Away with such weak arguments as these, And for the future let's have better cheese ; The lab'ring poor deserve the best of food. To help their strength, and do their spirits gooii : The idle dro^ies put off with worser meat. Nor need be nice in what they drink or eat ; ' Tis from tiie Poor the nation's safety springs, And they of all, should fare on wholesome tlnags. Now milking done, James goes with usi-al speed, ' Old Hobsoii's poultry, and his hogs to feed ; Goes up tlie ladder, vvliere a corn-bin stood, To measure out the fowls their daily food : His ready way across tlie yard he bends, Until surrounded by the cackling hens. And gabbling geese, that presently forsake The dirty borders of their miry lake. \ Fix'd to the spot a score of hens remain, i Teaching th-^ir young to peck the scatterd grain, I While the shrill cock resounds the neighb'ring vale, J Crowing with chest erect and strutting tail. ; James, at the hog-troudi, ncNt, his station takes; ! The sv.illing wash, food for the suine, he makes ; | FARMER HOBSON. 99 Grains, which liave spent tlieir virtnes in strong beer, Or sparklins: aie, are thing? of value Ijere ; With coarser fiour tkie tubs he'll next replete, Stir up the swiil, and form an ampler meat ; Unbar the stye, tuat forth the pigs may roam. Till the replenish'd tix>Hgh alhne iheni home. Comes now the Spring fresh beauties to unfold, Assuredly welcome, both to young and old ; With Hope attendant, crowns the wasting hoars, And bears to far extent her frairraut flowers. See joy-inspiring thoughts her steps attend, A nuni'rous train, poor mortals to befriend ; Blessings in store, she opes with lib'ral hand, And Pleasure gaily animates the laml; Love, with fond rapture, views the beanteous scene; Trees, shrubs, and plants, resume their wonted green, Full-grown the houghs, cool shade )nst gives a glance, Unheeded yet, till Summer heats advance. None, at this season, is more bhthe than James, Ease in his conscience constant dwelling claims ; Of happiness a lib'ral part he shares. And iittle knows of life-perplexing cares; One tiuth is clear to this nnletter'd hind, Content depends npon a settled mind ; ' And, is a gift, inestiiaabry high, I Above vain wealth, that would its place supply ! I If here consists philosophy profound, 1 The name of James may gather fame around ; ! His master's will 'twere better to obey, I Than idiy loiter his good time away. I A charge of fav'nte little lambs he'd got, ' And now the shepherd's, seem'd his humble lot ; ' He'd, on a pipe, attenipt some rustic strain, While his flock sported o'er the verdant plain. 100 FARMER HOBSON. IJobson self-interest jever holds in view, Sheep, fleecy grown, requir'd his care, he knew ; Shorn of their wool, the whole he's fain to pass Thro' his own hands, to let them crop the grass. In pasture left, his hundred ewes abound. Their lambs for slaughter frisk along the ground ; Young things ! miconscious how the sharpen'd kiiite, Alas ! too soon, will rob them each of life. — Yet, ere the time, they quit the flow'i-y field, And, speedily, their short existence yield ; They, on the lawn, their little sports pursue, And stamp attention on tlie admiring view. See ! how tiie lambs essay their strength and speed, In airy sweep across the tufted mead ! Unlike the gen'rous courser do they bound, Or strike, with steely hoof, the trembling ground, Their lighter footsteps, leaping o'er the field, Scarcely compel the green-sod tufts to yield. Timid are they, and fiU'd with mortal fears, AVhene'er a strange-like animal appeal's ; Or, if tlie wind with sudden fury rise. And a fierce tempest howl amid the skies, Shook the wild hawthorn and the scatt'ring rose, Away tliey scamper from their fancied foes ! Surely no ill the firstling flock awaits, Strong is the fence, and well secur'd the gates. On either side the scented woodbine blows, And, 'neath the hedge, the springing nettle grows. Lo ! 'midst tlie world will many bear in mind. Troubles of the imaginaiy kind ; Exclaim aloud, discourse of suflF'ring grief, And talk of woes admitting no relief! They're like the lambs which in th' inclosure fly From the torn branch whirl'd up the wind-rough sky ; FARMER HOBSON. lOl Ready to magnify the least distress, And bring light troubles heavily to press. Sorrow and grief come natural where there's cause, And hard the task ta strive 'gainst Natui'e's laws ; Weakly unwise is he whom plenty crowns, Who meets half way Misfortune's sternei' frowns. 'Tis nobler far to draw a level line, Nor joy at trifles, nor for trifles pinej Sedate with pleasure, patient midst of woe, Acquire by stealth a happy life below. Spring hast'ning onward, high the sun ascends, His welcome heat to longer days he lends. O'er the rough common ceas'd the blowing breeze, ^nd scarce a zephyr fann'd the woodland trees j Secure from danger slept the barter'd lambs. Or, undisturb'd, play'd fearless by their dams ; They little knew what dreadful ills did wait, When a rail'd cart, aside the meadow-gate. Carried them thence, in slaughter-house to bleed. And James their shepherd mourn'dthe ruthless deed. But tyr.mt Man, insatiate, demands The earliest produce of the farmer's lands ; The house-bred pigeon, scarcely us'd to fly, The suckling pig, and tender lamb, must die ! Oft, too, a wanton cruelty's embrac'd. To fashion higher flavour to the taste. See, yon poor calf hung up — most piteous sight ! A vein is lanc'd — the quiv'ring flesh turns white ; — Slow dn^ps the blood — it dies a ling'ring death, And in pale agony resigns its breath ! — But cries the Epicure, " Tins style give o'er ; " Not sensual minds the bleeding brute deplore ; " While its white flesh a sav'ry treat affords, " When serv'd with proper sauces at our boai*ds ! K ? 102 FARMER H0B90N. '^ And for this calf some folks will pity feel, '' Yet search the shambles for the wliitest veal ; " Of skinning eels, with mark'd abhorrence, tell, " Yet thoughtless roast the oyster in its shell. " Search then the cause, the evil, how it springs, " Lo ! 'tis Refinement, that Invention brings, " Means to find out our pamper'd wish to please, " And give a zest to Luxury and Ease/' Dismiss'd the point, my ventrous Muse descries. Fresh opening beauties, and mild Summer skies. Kind hearted James employment further gains, WTiere the corn waves upon the fertile plains. FARMER HOBgON. lOS BOOK II. ARGUMENT. The fruitful year beneficial to the fanner. — Showers of rain, &c. — The corn-fieid. — Grass for mowing.— Sumnoer crops, &c. — Remarks on monopolizers. — New hive for the bees. — A storm, &c. — Conclusion of the second Book. SUMMER. Some sixty miles from London's bustling strife, Hobson the farmer leads a coimtry life ; Annexing many a cultivated field To sev'ral lands which his forefathers till'd. To him the year increasing riches brings, Yielding a store, abundant, of good things ; Turns to account what separate tythe he sows, Whence yellow wheat, in tenfold measure, grows ; Leaves many a stack of fodd'ring beans and hay, Before the old are half consum'd away ; Prospers the ground for barley, oats, and rye. To heap the bin, and every call supply. Yet, by experience, Hobson truly knows. That fairest prospects may untimely close, A summer's sun dry up the arid soil. And sultry beams augment his weary toil. Thus he, at night, liis fervent wish repeats, That rain would come, repelling droughty heats : Awake at day-break, starting from his bed, A greasy nightcap on his scalpy head ; Uncoutli his visage, thro' the lattice thrust. He views, indignant, clouds of wav'ring dust ; 104 FARMER HOBSON. Which, if, perchance, a flying shower had laid, Like a dark mantle, thinly o'er the glade. Across his brow would doubt his joy beguile, And leave the ghastly ruins of a smile ! James, at a call, his ready shovel brings, Up instantly the lifted turf he flings ; Dried at the suiface ev'ry part appears, Poor Hohson sheds some unavailing tears. Sudden the sky, tempestuous darken'd, lours,. Light rain descends in gentle welcome sliowers, Whose moisf ning virtue renovates the Earth, And dies away each painful thought of dearth. Lo, then, bcuoid, how wrongly troubles bear ! Causing the mind to b*jider on despair ; Wiiile bounteous Good from Heaven, mankind be- And Providence the best for all provides, [tides, Where fell the rain down vale and upland hill, The thriving crops \ntli milky kernels fill, With livlier green shoot up, vefresh'd and bright; ^> While many a wild flower, delicately white, ( Or colour-tinted, strikes the school-boys view, The tall red poppy, and cyanus blue. Still the. assemblage which the fields adofn. Are held as weeds when grown midst wheaten Gontf Like as a top, in human life, is seen. Of gaudy dress and self-sufficient mien, FashionVl 'mong men of sense, appears more plain^ A kind of jacU-a-dandy tbiiig, insane ! James in the corn-field now his time employs, With a wood rattle makes a ciatt'ring noise ; Some vagrant sparrows up from covert rise, Ti-ying their speed along the cloudless skies. Then on i\w nearest hedge they lighting, stand, A bold, mischievous, little, pilf'ricg band ; FARMER HOBSON. 105 Or down the leafy spray descend again, Till by the rattle scar'd across the plain. Not far the field-rose prickly stem entwines Round tlie bench-head where James his limbs re- clines ; The sun's bright ray disturbs his noon-tide rest ; And, in the shade, he scans the emmet's nest. How vain is man ! e'en James, for one short hour, Fancies himself a Bonaparte in power ! His clouted shoes, beneath his kingly tread, Wide o'er the plain could devastation spread ; In wmthfiil moment num'rous tribes confound. And lay their cities level with the ground ! His wand'ring thoughts in mercy sweet he sums, Eats his free meal, and scatters his few crumbs ; Th' assembling ants the blessing kind receives, And bravely James a nation's cares relieves. Where grows the turf with various plants emboss'd. The dock's broad leaves o'ershade a mighty host; Unnumber'd insects, scarce distinguish'd, pass. In all directions o'er the covering grass. I Some lab'ring climb the nettle's fibry stem. Others with wings a slothful pace condemn ; ^ High o'er his head extend their crowded flight, j And in a sun-beam vanish out of sight. i The caterpillar quits its humble state, [(Now golden honours on tlie class await,) I No more to crawl, but proudly wing'd, he rides, 1 Culling each fragrant honied flower besides. The paler butterflies are frequent seen, Skimming in pairs the meadow's surface green, jSome hawthorn fence, or garden wall to scale, j Where choicer sweets allure them from the vale. 106 FARMER HOBSON. James, become weaiy, on the bench prone lies, And heavy sluml>er seals his watchful ryes ; Yet wonld a dream perplex liim Avhile he lay, How farmer Hohson chanc'd to pass that way, Crying, " Awake, thou inattentive slave !" Next fancied three provokinsr blows he gave ; Bade him confess how he came idly laid, With limb? exiended. in the elni-liee shade. Unnumber'd birds, mischievous, did alight, Threat'ning new evils bad as drought or blight. vStartled from sleep, James qr/its the i>ated spot, The tuneful skylark pours a dulcet note ; Sweetlj- melodious, 'neath a clo;)d he sings ; Upwards hght bearing on his outstretchd wings, Lingers in sight — continu'd soft, his strain Causes a rapture to th' attentive swiiin. James lisfning heard, but will no more delay ; Around ti;e stantlinr; corn he bends his way ; Toils with a willing heart, a steady grace, Beats up the pilPring birds, and cives them chare. r«lEANW HiLE the meadow quits its verdant hue, Gras", fit for mowing opens fair to view ; Luxuriant gi'ass, whose sweets the cattle know, The sleeky oxen, and the fatt'niiig cow. Cut v.ith a sharpen'd scythe it falls — tunis pale. Issues a scent tliat spreads o'er hill and dale ; Dried by the sun, now on the grotmd it lies, Till the rake come, and gathering heaps arise. Old stirring Hohson to tlie field repairs. Where hay, just mown, demands his needful cares ; The peasantr}', domesticated, join In mutual labour, and obtam his coin. Broach'd the ale-barrel midst the shadow rests, "Wlicre five oak-trees surround the circling guests ; FARMER IIOBSON. 10/ Nor last of ail Junies siiaics the general toii, — His jokes excite a simpring kind of smile : Some woukl i-eriiark what gambols he'd just play'tl. How on tlis ijaycock laugh d the master's maid, When closely tripf'd, her heels hi^i tbivvard flew, And both her gartei^s met the prying view. Nor yet of harm discours'd the rural band, Friendship and miith M-ent kindly hand in hand ; Eacli keen reflection, like a flash, held round, Then dy'd away, and with a healtfi \rds drown'd. Upris'n refresh'd, with humour still in view, Dispers'd apart, they pleasing- toil pursue, Form many a shapely cone of new-mown hay, Ply the long fork, and clear the whole away. When uow Ceres smiles o'er the rnstHnj^ corn; Suaimer s fine crops the fertile tiel is adorn. Lands, sown in Sprinj?, our i^ranaries supply. With ample store of barley ,- oats, wheat, rye ; Ere Autumn come, the green-leaf scenery ciiange, And cold and storms aid Winter's w-asteful range. Hobson intends to see his weaitli increase, Bids all his household trivial matters cease, Enter the spacious xnead, in order blithe, And find employment from the sharpen'd scythe. Down i^oes the barley level w ith the ground, And heaps of oats, wind wav'rino-, lay around. Some to uustrip their cumb'rous <:^rments run, Some turn the swarth to di-y before the sun ; I Here ripen'd tye close at a sweep lies spread, And there bound wheat lifts up its mantling head ; Invites due labours of the robust swains, Grateful to snatch the blessing from the plains. Give praise to God ! — can Man due thanks oppose i How vast the source whence this abundance i!ow» 108 FARMER HORSON. A horn of plenty, pourd with lib'ral hand, Crowning with gladness Britain's happy land- Yet will monopolizing knaves accurs'd, Become of public nuisances the worst ; Will hoard tlie grain which heaven on all bestows, And prove more odious than our foreign foes ! Pity it is, now times become so hard, These sordid wretches meet not their reward, Who merit well what humbler rogues obtain, A certain height to swing above the plain. Lo ! ere the trying taxes did advance, A workman's guinea answer'd all his wants ; His weekly wages better things afford. Roast meat, or boil'd, to garnish out his board. Those were blessed days when little farmers sent Their com to sell, withal to pay their rent ; With otlier stock, each varying taste to suit, Eggs, butter, cheese, live poultrj-, and fresh fruit. Provision's lis'n alarming heights indeed, And higher still the prices may succeed ; Till common food which once was cheap to each, Usurp a price beyond our utmost reach ! Boast tlien, no more, of England's favour'd isle. Perish the Muse that seeks us to beguile ! Nor vainly speak of salutary laws. If men in power desert tlte suff'rer's dause : And that we suffer needs few words to tell. Chiefly from those who com and cattle sell ; Who, for a small advance, in tax, or rent, Raise tlje old prices nearly cent, per cent.] ; Sliip rar the staff of life to distant lands. And leave a twig to mock our weaken'd hands. These are bold truths, yet useless in the main^ For still will Hobson sell his yearly grain ; FARMER H0B50N. 109 Deaf to complaint, great wealth he thus acquires, Sells all liis stacks — obtains from able buyers, Advance of price, whicii others fain allow For sheep, and pig, and calf, or waning cow. He neither thinks, nor cares for those forlorn, Who could rejoice if cheaper was the corn. Pleas'd at their lot, o'er ev'iy comfort call, Their dinner wholesome, and the charge but small. Oft in the barn young James the flail must beat, T' obtain a sample of the farmer's wheat ; Whene'er /eigw'rf scaicity increas'd the price. And gave some colour to a ready rise. Slow footed Dun comes hobbling from the mill, With sack of flour, a heavy burden still ; Thro' a rough lane he plods with wearying stride;*, While on his back the lusty miller rides. Till at the door the solid load is laid. Thence to the loft for daily use convey'd. The farm's made rents, from thuee to five, afford, As nice a pie and pudding as my lord. With many a noggin of live sparkling ale. To roar the laughter while keen jokes prevail. In summer-time when blowing flowers abound. And fragrant odours scent the g-ardens round, Th' increasing bees another hive demand. And forth they sally in one clust'ring band ; O'er hedge and ditch innunserously they pass, Cling to a branch, a self-collected mass ; Like to a cone themselves they strongly form, Holding defiance to each pendii!g storm : James with a bell allures their shorten'd flight. With tinkling music keeps the bees in sight, Till en the branch the valu'd tribe remain, A more commodious settlement to gain. L 110 FARMER HOBSON. Safe underneath James covers o'er his face, Shakes the green bough, bringsdownthecullingrace Into a hive, which virgin honey lines, [binds. That tempts with sweetness, and tlieir wand ring i Three rows of hives old faimer Hohson owns, Abounding wax the rich department crowns ; His jars of honey ev'ry hope exceed, And from the steepen'd combs comes bottled mead. Ofttimes poor James returns a pitying sigh, When word is giv'n th' industrious bees must die ; Immediately he's told their stock to seize, Ere Autumn close, and more severe the breeze ! With heavy heart he lights a sniould'ring blaze, Blue-burning sulphur in their hive conveys ; Soon the whole swarm, — lamented sacrifice ! Fall suffocated, making piteous noise. But Luxury expects a fresh supply. Feels little grief for suff'ring tribes that die, Merciless still, delights to fill his dish, With prime of eatables, bird, beast, and fish. Had James his will he'd save the smotherini; iiiv Break close the knife that crimps the cod alive i So simply kind a tender heart boasts he, And with his neighbours lives in charity ; Pities th' absurdity which still prevails, The shameful custom docking liorse's tails. — How rose the blunder ? of mistakes the cream ; A monument of folly in extreme ; Mark of insanity — a monstrous deed, To beautify by injuring the steed ! For useful pui-pose Nature did assign The horse's ornamental tail behind ; That amply long, and his o'erflowing mane, Could urge his flight to scour the wid'ning plain. FARMER HOBSON. Ill Nor ease in pastuie, now the horse enjoys, While sorely vex'd by swarms of troubling flies, He's no defence, tho' plagues enow betide, And keenest stings at ev'ry shrinking side. Clos'd the long day, the sultry shorten'd night Comes in the volant garb of clear twilight ; Slumber would fain seal Hobson's weary eyes, While on his bed, in listless mood, he lies : But, suddenly, a furious storm began. Thunder and lightning 'larm'd the sordid man, Poor witless oaf! for reck'ning false to blame. Fears he a flash may set his stacks in flame ! Quick on the floor his trembling shell he lands, His grinders chatter, and his hair stiif stands, Lifts his red cap clean off, in feai-flil form, Aud loud he prays that Heaven will cease the storm. Lives yet a wretch of penury and care. Who midst of danger worries heaven with prayer P In times of tribulation lowly bows. Till ceas'd the tempest, and forgot his vows ! Such appears Hobson, who'd to church repair, ! Pray for his sins, and seem devoted there ; Yet when the sermon's tedious length was o'er, Till that day week he thought of God no more ! I Save, at his meals, he'd say a sort of grace, With length of chin and penitential face ; The careful dame repeat his words again, And all his children answer him amen. I 'Tis said that true Religion wears a cloak, Which oft is borrow'd by designing folk, Who thus disguis'd, their specious ends obtain, lAnd hourly cheat the unsuspecting swain, ^Oi' heaven and heavenly things the light unfold, ' (Vnd bless their little bargains bought or sold. 112 FARMER HOBSON. Did farmer Hobson this vile course pursue, His land's produce would find him much to do ; Nor art he us'd to give false matter zest, In this respect a honest man at least ! Once miss'd his price, he'd vanish from the mart, Young James send back with his unloaded cart, Regret the labour on the Friday lost, His certain profit, calculated, cross'd. Wiiere powerful Plutus o'er the senses steals, A thirst for wealth Humanity reveals ; O'er different men this acts far different ways, And to good purpose one for riches prays ; Others, from evil habits, gold require, And vilely pamper every bad desire ; Others for ease the yellow guineas crave, While some, likp misers, hoard on hoard, will save. Was Hobson then, remarkably in blame, Among the latter class to build his fame ? He kept no property in bank op stocks, Twas all i'th' chest, seciird with three strong locks ! Counting of which, he simdry joys obtain'd, Much greater far than those from interest gain'd. Summer retird, see Autumn comes to reign, ' And future harvest claims the spacious plain ; The orchard-trees with loaded branches bend. And juicy fruits, in tempting form, extend. Heav'n o'er a world, torn by war's conflicts, smiles,; And harvest home awaits tlie ploughman's toils ; Awake, my soul, a grateful anthem raise, And tune to Providence new notes of praise. Wliiltinghai.i and KowUr.d, iTinters, Coswell Stpeet, London. ALCANDER AND LAVINli\, WITH OTHER POEMS AND TALES. \ CONTENTS. Pas[e Dedication vii Preface ix Alcander and Lavinia 1 Canto I ib. II. ... 1^ III "22 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND TALES. Third Canto of the God's Revenge . S3 A Sublime Conceit 38 Persian Worship debased 39 The Fiend of Anarchy .. 42 Don Juan 46 Henry the Unfortunate , 54 Drusilla and Cymon 56 Misfortune the Fruits of Quarrelling 58 Hodge's Disaster , 60 Impertinence punished 6'i The Temple of the Poets 66 VI CONTENTS. The Roguish Jew detected 71 Poor Margery 74 More Bargains 7b The Volcano 77 Apologue Extempore of the Carrier Gilbert.. 80 To a fam'd Reviewer 82 Mnjnocn ; or, the distracted Lover ib. To Lavinia 84 To the same .' :.. 85 To Friendship 86 Sonnets. I. Grief.. 87 II. Despondence 88 III. Love 89 Fables. I. The Cloud and the Stream 90 II. The Lion and Snail 91 Farmer Hobson 92 Book I. Spring ib. II. Summer 103 TO THOMAS TEMPLEMAN, ESQ. THIS VOLUME OF POEMS AND TALES, IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, BY HIS MOST OBEDIENT SERVANT, THE AUTHOR. PREFACE. Having on a former time bestowed some few re- marks relative to tlie Gilbert of this author, I now take another opportunity to continue the same, and shall offer my humble opinion of the merits of his other Poems, submitted to me for that purpose. But as the limits prescribed v\ill not admit of my entering so largely on the subject as I could wish, I must cut yhort the copious observations I in- tended. The several Poems contained in the following pages, with the exception of Farmer Hobson, and one or two others, have been already before the Public. Of the latter mentioned, the Reader will likely remember a specimen given in the Introduc- tion to Gilbert. It was there expressed that the luthor should continue further the subject, on my jeing fully persuaded his abilities would be equal o the task. The work itself fully proves that I lid not over-rate his powers, — Farmer Hobson, as being created by a lively imagination, bears this •articular character. In every department where e is introduced, he is still the same, a thrifty, rested as even to grow neglectful of his Maker, and the moral duties which one man owes to an- other. He makes a sacrifice of all to liis exces- sive tliirst for wealtli. James, his servant, may truly be considered as the real farmer's boy, not pictured like Eloomflelirs Giles, a philosopher, or naturalist, who made the fields, «S:c. his study ; but rightly a youth of whom it is said, Kitare he knoTvs no further thau tbe uanie, iliuiib o Ilia inii:>l, ice. One from whom as only little is expected, it adds more to the merit of the work. A striking thing J in the poem will be, that, although this author is J going over the same ground, exactly, as a cotempo-I rary poet, and also, that of rural affairs admitting but small diversity, he still seems at no loss with his subject, the same powers of invention which are discovered in the perusal of Gilbert, enable iiim to treat on this subject likewise, and in another spe cit-'s of verse too. The poem ofAlcander begins the presentvolume It contains much interesting matter, and holds ou a useful lesson to mankind not to give way, to rashly, to the angry impulse of devoting passior Here is a chain of events, from AlcanJtr's settin out in search of his wife, to the happy terminatio of his sorrows, which keeps up interest still aliv< and aifords a wide scope for reflection. Amoni the lyric poems, there are soma founded ou re-i PREFACE. XI feet : the one called the * Fiend of Anarchy,' is taken, apparently, from the divine interference of Heaven in behalf of our beloved king, who, it may be well recollected, was fired at by Hatfield in a public thcaire, the ball passing very near his Ma- jesty. This poem is highly descriptive, and par- ticularly the underneath stanzas, wherein the ac- tion of the ruffian is aptly delineated. The abrupt transition to mark tiie watchful care of Providence over a virtuous Prince I really think very fine. No-.v, all at once, his arm extends The fatal iiisininient. It sii'lden flash'd — the smoke ascendj, A violent dealh i.« sent — But the omniscient Power on high, Snstainer of all things, Summon'd an Angel from the sky, To guard the best of kings. And who that moment wav'd around His radiant shield of fire, And warded off the mortal wound. And sav'd our gracious sire. The anxiety of the house on the alarming occasion, is well conceived in the latter part of the next verse, and points out the affection of a grateful people for a venerated monarch, who still reign* over the hearts of his subjects. Aside the sacred chief rebounds The heaven-averted blow ; — A loyal anxious cry resounds Each side, above, below. Xll PREFACE. ' Ilis life is safe,' a voice proclaiiu'd, The house with joj- did liiisj, Alond they call, seize him who aim'd His weapon at the king.' Had the above Piece been composed by the writti of the ' Horkey' it probably would have arrive J, deserves. MILES SAPMAN, Feb. i7, 1810. ALCANDER AND LAVINIA ; OR, THE .MYSTERIOUS SHRIEK. CANTO I. ARGUfllENT. iiitroductory remarks. — Alcander iiivilcs the pilgrim into hi? innesome cave, rtlates the unhappy occasion of his turning liermit. He makes kiiowu how Laviuia became the inao- cent viclini of liis niisguided jealuusy ; — whereupon the pil- 5'riiri mentions k circum'tance, which induces Alcander to go in qucfct of his wife, whom he now supposes ra?.y have sur- vived his cruelty. \\ iiEN fiery passion comes with rashness joiu'd, Reason forsakes t!i' infuriated mind ; Hasty Revenge the blijided senses bends, Hoidb out her sweets ; but bitter things intends. Happy are tliey who wiser steps parsue, Who keep fair Reason closely in tiieir view, Rii^htly to steer mid ruffling- cares and strife, And save themselves repentance all their life. A tlioughtiess youth, who'd all his riches spent, Th' offended priests on pilgrimage once sent, B y ALCANDER AND LAVINIA. For three whole years to wander far alone, His several faults and follies to atone. Forlorn he stands amidst a desert waste, His eveiy look w ith hoiTor overcast ; Some recent deed bears anguish in his mind, Much to deplore, and blame his fate unkind. Beneath some trees he upwards lifts his hands ; Close by a dreaiy hermit's cave he stands : The poor rechise, more wretched still, drew nigh, To hear his words, half chok'd with many a sigh. " Flow, flow my tears — my sighs encrease the Rest leave for ever my distracted mind ! [wind! Ah, woe is me .'—that fatal blow I gave, Cousign'd a stranger to tlie silent giave ! For which otfence my prayers will be in vain, And httle hopes of future peace remain ; But eveiy vestige of content recede, Till by long suffering I atone the deed. " Then w hat avails this weaiy pilgrimage r Or what these pangs of sorrow wall assuage ? The shriek — mysterious sound — will me affright ; The horrid shade continue in my sight : Hence vengeful ghost, forego the charge accurst ! — Did not the wretch attempt to strike me first ? Open, O earth! and me from hght conceal! Life more and more adds to the grief I feel." He ceas'd his plaint ; the list'ning hermit heard, Came close in view, and this address prefer'd ; " Stranger," he cries, " attend awhile on me ; I am a man unhappier far than thee ! Approach witliin my solitary cell. And hear the things I'm ready still to tell ; Things which excite the most acute distress, By mem'i-y heighten'd hard my soul to press. ' ALCANDER AND LAVINIA. 3 " Lead on the way," the pilgrim quick replied, " I'll follow thee, whate'er my steps betide: Hope me inspires ; thy soothins; words impart A charm that eases my foreboding heart. A little time to rest my limbs I need : — Great is my guilt — I mourn a murd'rous deed ! Heavy the act that on n.iy conscience lies, And v/rings these tears tiiat wet my swollen eyes.' He having spoke, within the cave they go ; A dismal place well suited 'to their woe. The hermit brings for his unhappy guest Dried frrits and herbs, and bini he thus address'd : " Where Rhelmore's towers a noble view com- Far o'er the ocean and the distant land, [mand Foster'd beneath her tender mothers care, A maiden flourisli'd, beautiiully fair. Whate'er tiie iirts of lovely charms express, The young Lavinia highly did possess ; [bright, Health blooni'd her clieek, her eyes were killing Aubinn her hair, her bosom snowy white : Yet, more than these, I vala'd her good mind, Her temper open, amiable, kind. Her virtue pure, her manner dignified, Inclining gay, and still divest of pride. Coiiid I at such perfection feel mimov'd? Ah ! never mortal more sincerely lov'd ! I to her friends soon mention'd my design, And liow I wish'd to call Lavinia mine : Large my estate, adjoining close to theirs ; My character renown'd, clear my affairs. " Thiee tedious weeks impatience I betray'd. Ere to the church I led the trembling maid ; Her hand the summit of my wishes bless'd, Above all men — I'm now the most distress'd. 4 ALCANDER AND LAVIXIA. One lovely infant shar'd our fond embrace, The motliers charms in whom I still could trace ; Crown'd with felicity I'd well attain'd, What more to wish, or more for Heaven to send ? Ah me ! 'twere bliss too mighty long to last : A strange reverse my envied state o'ercast ; INIy peace disturb'd, by jealous cares annoy'd, Joy fled away — my hopes w ere all destroy'd. " From sea returnd, a venfrous villain came INIy wife's late vows and ph^hted truth to claim. Erst was the sv^ain by ray Lavin'm lov'd, But one so poor her parents disapprovd : He cross'd the ocean, sought another clime. Vast wealth to gain, and staid abroad long time ; Of wliich no tidings ever were receiv'd ; They thought liim dead — the maid in secret griev'd. " Now richer gro^'^^l in diamonds, jewels, gold, Pandaroso, most insolent and bold ! Among Laiinias friends approach'd in view, But of her ma.viaie nothing yet he knew. Tlr unhappy tidings to the yonlh tliey told. His colour fled, he stood no longer bold : Aloud he died, ' Oh ! adverse fate, unkind ! At length my doom is certainly assign'd. Adieu, sweet peace ! for ever thou art flown ! Did I for this endure the burning zone r Or led by leve, explore the raging main, A piincely fortune so immense to gain? What boots it nowr — no more of wealth 111 boast, Curst be the riches of the Golden Coast! Lorhiia's lost ! — 1 mourn my cruel fate ; In c\'il hour my sorrow bears a date.' '' He added not, but from their sight he went, And long conc^al'd tliey kept the strange event. ALCANDER AND LAVINIA. /) For fear of causing our uneasiness, And banish from our dwelling future peace. "Now comes the deed which fix'd me here forlornj Pregnant with death arose the gloomy mom : At breakfast we, as usual, down were sat, My little daughter lisp'd her hannless chat ; Some trivial toy Lavinia kindly drew, And dropt a note ; — it fell within my view ; When she retir'd I seiz'd the guilty prize. Thrice read the same, and bade adieu my joys. Ah me ! 'twas sent by that audacious swain ; He hop'd her answer might assuage his pain, And mourn'd the rigour of his destiny. And blam'd my wife for being espous'd to me ! " Wrought up to frenzy by each length'ning line, I madly enter'd on a rash design : Close to the hall a river shap'd its course, And 'side the rocks rush'd in the sea with force ; On this rough shore the mountains lift their heads, On that a wood its gloomy foliage spreads, Tall wav'ring trees were scattei-'d up and down, And ranker grass and furze o'erran the ground ; The country else a desert wild and drear ; Still I resolv'd to send Lavinia there ! Keep her confin'd amidst a cave profound. Where Echo still return'd a mournful sound But yet the letter in my hand I held, And eVry softer sentiment I quell'd. Vindictive anger made me treat severe The wife I lov'd an hour ago so dear ! " My reason left me — to her room I ran ; Full soon my wrath to show more plain began, My soul was fir'd with fierce conflicting strife, JS'ot for ten thousand worlds I'd spare hor hf?. B '1 6 ALCANDER AND LAVINIA. " Alami'd, afraid, and wond'ring at the tone Of my changd voice, she issu'd faint a groan : ' Alas ! my dear Alcandcr /' she begun, * Teti me the tilings unhappily I've done ?' Fall'n prostrate, all in tears, she begg'd for peace, Endeavouring thus, ray violent rage to cease ! Immediately I felt fresh anger rise, JNIy rage increas'd — inoie sternly chang'd my voice : , lliou wretch ungralcuil! cherish'd on my breast, Too long I've been a silly dnpe at best ! How vam the vows which thou to me once swore, 'I'o guard thee safe from love's insidious lore : His odious letter by good chance I've seen, What he intends thou canst no longer screen : Shame of thy sex, and to thy kin disgrace, I long shall wish I'd ne'er beheld thy face. Or that the bold, insinuating swain Had found his grave beneath the stormy main ! By thy f dse carriage still I'd been deceiv'd, And still my visionary bliss believ'd.' ' Alas ! my dear Alcander!' she replied, ' My fault IS venial, nor witli guilt allied : No more let rage o'ercome your manly sense ! I call on Heaven to prove my innocence. The stripling's note, on which my fate impends. I'd burnt ere this, but sav'd it for ray friends ; To whom I gave the others he late sent, And they advis'd me in the sad event. I wrote him sharp, his troubling style to cease, Nor more attempt to inteiTupt my peace ; "Wed to another, liappy was my lot, Himself and his pretensions I'd forgot; Nor have I knov. lodge when from sea he came :— f'hen tiulv now, I cannot be to blame ' ALCANDER AND LAVINIA. 7 Cease this distraction — these hard thoughts forego, Dismiss your wralh, or stiike the fatal blow !' " This said, all trembling, she kneel'd on the groimd, Enibrac'd my knees, and wildly look'd around 5 Looking towards the door with wistful eye, As if desirous from my sight to fly. My anger'd lieart retain'd no spark of love. Her sight caus'd rancour, and did hateful prove ; With force the victim in my arms I caught. Nigh to the open window her I brought ; Poor thing ! aifrighted, to my neck she clung, I loos'd her hold — her in the waves I flung ; One dreadful shriek she gave, which yet I hear, A sound vibrating, ceaseless, on my ear. " When now, as from a vision, I arose ; Reason return'd to aggravate my woes, Retinn'd with force, my shrinking soul to lash, And I repented I had been so rash : I ran with speed, urgd on to pity late My poor Lavinia, and her dreadful fate ; Came to the river where I'd thrown her in, Th' unruffled waves held on their course serene : I upwards gaz'd to mark the window's height, Perceiv'd I stood where rushes rose in sight ; Lavinia's room o'erlook'd the other side, I thither pass'd, the waves did smoothly glide : Long time I stood revolving in my mind This sudden turn of fortune most unkind ! " In vain my rage till mid-day I deplor'd, My peace was gone, no more to be restor'd. Slow to Lavinia's chamber I return'd, I found a note, which more my guilt confirm'd ; Here it was copy'd, her own letter sent To shun the youth, and prove her innocent ! 5 ALCANDER AND LAVINIA. No doubts remain'd ; — I hurried out with speed, To hide my face, confessing first the deed ; Made known the issue of my rashness wild, Left my estates to dignify my child, To kindred care resigning her : from home 1 further than this cavern did not roam. " Three tedious raontlis in soHtude I've borne x\ liug'ring life, afflicted and forlorn ; JVIy little daughter I no longer see, Dear pledge of joys, for ever gone from me ! stranger ! this my crime, than thine far worse. What stream shall wash it, and avert the curse f"' " Thy Clime is great," the wondring pilgrim cried, *' Since through your rage the fair Lavinia died ! But of her virtue I've another proof 3 And plaiuiy now perceive it was the youth, Cause of your woe whom I in combat slew ; His murder'd form appears before my vievf ! " By priests condemn'd to leave my native home, In wretcl'.ed plight I o'er the country roam ; For three long years I wander to amend My various faults — and griefs on me attend : 1 too have journey'd o'er a trackless waste, O'er hill and dale with weariness I've pass'd ; Low bends my conscience, bordering on despair, Beneath a crime too great for me to bear. " Near a wood side I lately chanc'd to stray, And on a bank, to rest awhile, I lay ; Th' evening closing, silent came the night, The sky was clear, the waning moon shone bright ; I scarce had clos'd my eyes, before a shriek, As of distress, still silence' reign did break ; Forth from the thicket rush'd with speed a man. To me he flew, and angry thus began : ALCANDER AND LAVINIA. \} ' Wretch ! wbere's the female who demands my care ; Tell where she is — thy life I hardly spare !' ' Infamous robber !' quickly I replied, ' A wayworn pilgrim thou hast ill belied ! No ravisher is he — stand on defence ; I take the ground for suff' ring innocence. And thou vile enemy to order speak, Confess for why, and whence issued the shriek ; Unfold the secret, truly as it lies, Or meet the louring vengeance of the skies.' ' Thou trii^est with me !' did the stranger cry ; ' With me thou tritlest !' I as quick reply : Then both togpther struck at each a blow ; 3Iy staff oerwhelm'd the welt'ring villain low ! Then faint he spoke, ' At length my pams are o'er. And false Larinia troubles me no more ! But in my veins the streams of life congeal, And death's cold grasp with gloomy joy I feel. Yet tell me, pilgrim ! — oh ! the matter speak ! Tell me the meaning of that doleful shriek ! I thought I heard Lavinia's well-known voice, A sound that caus'd my vengeance to arise. " Three months ago Id just retunVd from sea ; I wrote some letters — thus she answer'd rae : * Wed to another, b.appy was her lot ! Myself and my pretensions all forgot !' Seiz'd by despair, I bade my peace adieu, And now I meet my welcome death from you ! 01), pity ! — satisfy my doubts !' he cried. ' We've both mistook each other,' I replied ; * The sir.iek, or whence it did proceed, or what Betides the same, I really know it not ! Something mysterious it howe'er forebodes, Already causing these dire mortal blows, 10 ALCANDER AND lAVINIA. Canst thou forgive thy murderer !' I said ; Then stooping bound his wounds ; — but lite was fled. Cold sweat ran down my cheeks, the mischief done, I stood dismay'd, nor knew what course to run. BIy hand unnerv'd, the hateful weapon fell ; My groans re-echo'd in the lonely dell. I tried to niasnify his insolence, Or that I slew him in niy own defence ; The blood I'd spilt lay heavy on my head, And long I mouru'd the youth untimely dead ! A duty in my power did remain : I laid the corse beneath the reeking plain, The cold sod watering with my streaming teai'j ; But yet his shade before my sight appears — O grievous crime ! — Kind hermit, now adieu! My guilty presence but pollutes thy view : Yet in that shriek some dreadful matter lies. Fatally prov"d, and cause of cheerless sighs." The pilgrim thus. Alcandcr soon replied, " Tliy strange adventure seems with mine ally'd ; Direct the way, the lonely wood I'll seek, To clear the matter of that fearful shriek ; The wretched swain conjee tin'd it to be Lavinia's voice — a wond'rous mystery ! Nor less requird than heavenly power to save The fair one, doom'd to meet a watery giave : O grant that she her forttme may survive ! I'll search the world to meet with her alive. Grant this, just Heaven, my sorrow to assuage ! Forgive my crime of jealousy and rage ! He ceas'd. The piljiim utter'd short reply : " What's in my power to aid thy search, 1 11 ti y : This sea-girt isle is desolate and drear. And winding many a valley I came here ; ALCy\NDEIl AND LAVINIA. il Thinking I heard, attemper'd by the breeze. The woodman's mallet echo 'monj;; the trees : A guide it needs, but 111 the wood explore, Retrace the weary steps I trod before : We'll in the morn set out without delay, And Providence befriend us on our way." 12 ALCANDER AKD LAVlNlA, CANTO TI. ARGUMENT. The pili^rim gives a further account of his niisfoi luiies to Af- cander. I'heir extraonliriaiy dreams. — Alcaiider finds an imtnense treasure of jewel?, &c. which he generously bestovvK on his compiuion. — The adventure of the ^ory haiidkercliief. — Alcander is seized on by four meuj who lead him away as their prisoner. This saying, late, eacli to soft slumber yields : \11 nistht they sleep. Now morn breaks o'er tbe ^ hills ; The dew-drops sparkle on the verdant ground, And thick the mist ascends in clouds around. Both now arose ; AlcaTider quickly sped Rough on the board his simple food to spread ; Refresh'd with herbs, they hasten on their way, Alike oppress'd, alike to grief a prey. As on they pass the pilgrim thus began : " I was consider'd once a happy man ! My own estate return'd whate'er I spent, Fed ev'ry wish, and crownd nic with content ; Nor wanted I a nuni'rous tribe of friends, Who daily sought to serve their selfish ends ! Fair stood my house to gain a lasting name, Princes and lords did envy me my fame. From time to time a steward, left in trust With my affairs, prov'd wickedly inijust ; Unknown to me, my land in part he sold, And lin'd liis coffers with a heap of gold. ALCANDER ANl) LAVINIA. 13 It happen'd once, for money I was press'd ; My urgent wants I to this wretch confess'd, And he advis'd, as my demand was great, To sell a portion of my good estate ; Presenting deeds, to which my hand I set^ My hand and seal, the money quick to get. Unwittingly I sign'd my own disgrace, And ruin'd fell by what he'd schem'd so base ! Still of my land there seem'd few acres sold. Bat clear 'twas prov'd I'd nothing left to hold ! Thus brouglit to suffer doleful grief and care. And by the priests constrain'd to go afar, Three tedious years' lone wandering I endure, To mend the faults which did my youth allure." Alcandcr heard : a kind reply he made ; " Alas ! thy steward ill his trust betray'd I Pity it were you could not him detect. And from his office straight the wretch eject. In this true light I things revolving view, What Fate ordains mankind must needs pursue ; See ! in the world how many counted great. For lack of prudence ruin their estate ; Wasting the wealth their fathers did obtain, Till the house fall to poverty again ; — Drink the sweet nectar of forbidden joys, Mirist pride of courts, and foppery, and noise." " Oh ! spare me this !" the pilgrim warm replies : " 'Tis 14k€ the picture, Sin correcting Vice ! We know our failings — touch the string no more : Reproach me not with folly I deplore. With eagerness our footsteps let us bend. And to the purpose better still attend. As yesterday I walk'd in yonder fields, Or winded round the border of the hills : 1.4 ALCANDER AND LAVINIA. A cloud of dust before ine did arise, Shaping an awful column in tiie skies, Of form prodii^ious ; soon a rumbling sound Mo^ 'd under me, and shook tiie quivring ground Swift to a rock the nearest way I went, Oppress'd wiUi fear : — I climbd the high ascent : There stayu in safety till the stcrra was o'er ; The whirlwind pass'd to some remoter shore. Amidst tlie rocks I suddenly espied JMy name in envious chaiacters describ'd ; Of my whole life th' events w ere clear portray 'd— I started back, became still more afraid. Till by soft sleep my eyelids fast were seal'd ; A pleasing vision i beheld reveal'd : An apparition calfd me to arise, And stand confirmed in hopes of certain joys ;. Higli honour, wealth, and fame, did me await^ And power to purchase back my rich estate : Then kindly smiling, it bade me beware, And mind in future to take better care ; Nor treat a villain as my bosom friend, For fear destruction might my choice attend. Soon I awoke : surprise my soul possess'd ; T found myself beneath a tree at rest, Th' evening near the close : — then I bethought 'Twas there an hour's refreshing sleep I sought ! The howling storm, the whirlwind truly seem Much to portend : the substance of my dream, Whate'er it augins, is to me profoimd ; But thou, perhaps, the meaning canst expound." Akander answers, " Sure this dream portends A restoration to thy home and friends ! Could I explore ray future fate as plain, Twoald ease my mind, and free me from my pain. ALCANDER AND LAVINIA. 15 Far in the fields a num'rous crowd appeard ; The sound of martial music long I l.eard ; High wav'ring standards stream'd, of colour white, And thirty gilded chariots came in sight ; Iplied, Wliile on they wheel'd strange turns niy breast sup- One while I sung, the next I laugh'd and cried ; When, lo ! the standards were all touch'd with gold, Lavinia's name and mine i did behold. Sudden there falls a mighty storm of rain, Loud rolls the thunder, lightnings flash the plain ; No more the thirty chariots cause my pride, They break in pieces, and are scattei-'d wide : — I start with fear. Canst thou, O pilgrim ! say What this forebodes ? — it strikes me with dismay." " Alas ! thy dream," the other quick returns, " Points out the crime for which Alcander mourns. Oh I may I wrong conjecture what appears So passing clear! — The chariots tell thy years ; The standards bring to mind thy happiness, Driv'n by the adverse winds, for e'er will cease." " Ah me ! thy words," Alcander sadly cries, " Like ruthless daggers in my soul arise ! No more, Lavinia, I'm tliy face to see — 'Tis death to think ! — O work of destiny ! Curst be the hour, repented now too late, ij When I consign'd thee to such dreadful fate !" I Discoursing thus, their time the travellers pass'd, ! Arriving near a grove of trees at last, ; They weary rest, the scrip's contents they try, [ Dried fruits and herbs their natural wailts supply ; I Not far to slake their parching thirst they go, Two murm'ring rills unite a stream to flow ; By which refresh'd, enliven'd, they pursue Once more their way, and hail each rising view. 16 ALCANDER AND LAVINIA. Now shines tlie sun intensely hot and bright, And they draw near a mountain's lofty height, Close to the top, the jutting rock display'd, To fancy's eye, a friglitfiil Gorgon's head : Here various plantains flourish o'er the ground, And scented flow'rs shed fragrant sweets around. 'Neath shady trees the friends in silence pass, And find a footway leading thro' the grass ; Of wliich tlie track they anxiously pursue, Till a vast cavern strikes their eager view : Its rugged sides green mosses interlin'd, While on the floor, by skilful art design'd, Engraven fair, strange characters express'd The wounded feelings of some wretch distressd. To read the same the pilgrim downward bends, Then starting back, he thus his voice extends : " Mysterious fate ! what wonders I explore ! Lo ! in my dream I've seen these words before ! Am I awake ?" — he rubs his stricken eyes. Alcander views, and soon to him rephes, " Ah ! what vile name before me stands reveal'd ? The irksome secret is at length unseal'd ; Read there, ' Lavinia's lover, hapless swain. Within this cave, ofe mourn'd his inward pain ! Stranger, proceed tiie hollow rock to wind. And near the top a cabinet thou'it find ; Wealth it contains, in getting which I lost A gem more valu'd than the Golden Coast." As by a serpent stuns, the pilgrim cries, " What nuirder tirst ! then seize the golden prize Are these the means by which my fate intends Me to restore to property and friends ? Alas ! till I meet welcome death 111 roam, Kemote, afflicted, far from ray lov'd home ; ALCANDER AND LAVIMA. 1 Nor will I near that cabinet approach, Or with poihited hand the relic touch ! Let ns depart !" — Akander soon replies, " No, III examine how the matter lies ; The treasure to a stranger is consign'd, 'Tis his by right who comes the first to find : I'll lead the way— new thoughts my bosom fill. Let us ascend the summit of the hill." He urg'd no more ; fast up the clift they sped, Their steps aside tlie frightful Gorgon's head^ Of monstrous size, by Nature scoop'd within ; And midst a niche the golden key was seen. They looking round to find the destin'd prize, The hermit soon the cabinet espies : Unlock'd to view, the diamonds meet the sight, Impel the gaze, and sparkle richly bright. But what attracts Alcanders stedfast soul, Causing his tears incessantly to roll, Proves the dear letter, in a case conceal'd, Of which the copy he'd before reveal'd. Long to his heart he held the lines well known, Wrote by his wife ; her virtue fully shone : A villain dar'd her plighted truth to claim, She hop'd no more to hear his guilty name. He turning round, once more his words renews " This gift behold, nor longer it refuse ; One half accept of treasure which I found ; Or I will leave thy share within the ground, These precious gems inclose below the plain. Which cheaply sold, would make thee rich again ; Regard the Power who kind compassion shows, Benignly kind to bear away thy woes ; Bless Providence ! — for thee he interferes. His care acknowledge, and dismiss thy fears." 18 ALCANDLR AND LAVINJA. The pilgrim then : " I'm willing to receive What thou tiiink'st proper to thy friend to give : Immense of value, these rich jewels shine. ' — " Ah !" said the other, " let the whole be thine ! This letter more than thrice the whole I prize ; May it portend the sure return of joys ! Oh ! if the suff'ring writer soon I find, I'll re-assure her sorely wounded mind." Amaz d, the pilgrim to the hermit cries, " Yes, I'll receive from tliee the offer'd prize. Abundantly extensive to redeem Th' estate I lavish'd, and fulfil my dream. When my three years of troubled penance cnd$, I shall return to honour and my friends ; Weil caution'd by misfortune, I'll take care. And future of extravagance beware." llie point thus settled, they the hill descend, Around the winding path their steps they bend ; Across the fields a tedious course they sped, Till distance claimd from sight the viewless head. When now the pilgrim, breaking silence, spoke : " I yester-raoming travell'd by yon rock, Which brings to mmd an object I beheld Amidst a bush of furze below a hill. What linen seera'd, but stain'd with human gore ; How came it there I cannot yet explore. In deep smraising lost, I stupid stood Beneath some trees aside a dasliing flood ; And fancied still the shade of him I slew, Sternly arose to torture me anew ! And, not expecting from the sight relief, Onward I walk'd, oppress'd with heavy grief; My head with agony hung bending down, ^ly ceaseless tears fell trickling to tlie ground." ALCAN^ER AND LAVINIA. VJ He spoke. Alcandcr iiim concern'd, address'd : " TUou bast, nietliinks, a mystery expvess'd, Which to clear up, and every doubt suspend, My eager way towards the hill I'll bend ; Around its heights my hasty steps II! wind, Tliat we a clue to aid our chance may find." " Quick," said the pilgrim, " Yonder lies the wood ; Nor hence a furlong where the sight I view'd ; One matter to the other may relate, Alike both pregnant with our wayward fate : Proceed in haste the meaning to e.splore, Of that same object I have seen before." Approaching now a valley drear and lone, They view the huen — cross some thorns 'twas thrown ; There left to bleach, and whiten in the wind, Needful no more the healing wound to bind. Yet whence it came, or whose the deadly pain, They long might think, and stiil 'twould be in vain. Full of conjecture poor Alcander stands ; He hfts it up, and witli his trembling hands, Smoothens the gory corners of the same, To find th' initials of the owner's name : No name or mark of any kind he sees ; Again he throws it, wav'ring, on the trees, And feels confirm'd, while fresh ideas throng'd, Tliat to Lavinia never it belong'd. Now o'er the forest tliey prepare to go, Alcandcfs groans discover signs of woe ; The hollow trees re-echo oft the sound, And spread the mournful cadence far around. Sudden there rush'd in view, led by the noise, Four men in arms ; — exulting, loud one cries ; 20 ALCANDER AND LAVIMA. " By Heav'ns, 'tis he. ! — the gods our prayers regard, And ours is now the promis'd hi^h rewai'd ! Long time we've souglit him oer the lonesome phiins, Tlie woods, the brakes, where solitude still reigns ; Sought him on rocks, in caverns round the isle — Fortune at length upon us deigns to smile I Come on, Alcander, follow us with speed ; No force we'll use, the way we'll only lead- — YonVe nuirder done ! — Lavinia's friends await, Impatiently, to bring you to your fate." He spoke. Another of the ruffians cried, " Shall we secure Alcandefs slave beside ? For such I take the man I see appear. Hard laden with the trumpery and gear : Speak, one and all !" The others answer kind, " He has our leave to go or stay behind." To whom the pilgrim : " Howe'er this will end, My choice is fix'd — my master I'll attend. Early this morn a journey we begini, Weary to travel till the setting sun, In flatt'ring hopes Lavinia might survive, And we behold the mourner yet alive ; But, ah! ill luck our devious steps attends, No power propitious our resolves befriends ; Our eager hopes you come to terminate, Marking us more the veiy sport of fate !' " How blind to sense you speak !" the other saidj " 'Tis much too true that tair Lavinia's dead ! But from the river by good fortune sav'd, . And thus Alcandcfs guilty rage outbrav'd. Prudence had shap'd her steps — assuredly, From persecution, to her friends she'd flee ? Indeed, of friends bereft, tlien might she roam, Remote, forlorn, and drear, without a home," ALCANDER AND LAVINIA. 21 The pilgrim answers, " This remark holds good, The truth is clear, when rightly understood : But, know, Alcander went his wife to seek, Induc'd by rac ; — I heard a tearful shriek ! A sound of woe, long floating on the gale, To echo every hollow in the vale. Immur'd in some rock-cavitys extent, Lavivia may her husband's lage lament ; Unsatisfied is he but that the fair May still be sufl'ring bitter grief and erne." " Yet for that matter," soon the other cries, To her not any mysteiy applies : Along the river's brink her corse was found, Wliere the green willow lifts its boughs around ; Besides, we held the melancholy bier, And saw her buried, not without a tear." " Alas ! alas!" Alcander did complain, JMy dear Lacinia ! we shall meet again ! Your friends now prove they're friends to me in= deed, And welcome is the death to which I speed. Ah ! did they know the anguish of my mind. This trouble sav'd, they ne'er had been so kiudj The hateful life they covet, they'd still spare, To be the prey of horror, woe, despair!" '22- ALCANUER AND LAVIN1\. CANTO III. ARGUMENT. Tlie friends of Lavinia resolve to punish Alcandcr for his cry- ing gnilt. — Hit expressive sorrow. — He begs (heir indulgence, ■sviih a sight of his infant daughter; which request is, how- ever, denied. — The executioner, &c. — Happy, and unexpect- ed, clearing up. — Conclusion. Sunk the bright sun, pale Cyntliia bears the sway To guide the travellers on their weaiy way : They o'er the country leave tlie circuit wide, And cut off shorter to the water-side. Here, nigh the landmark, they behold their boat, Lett on the margin of the waves to float ; Unloos'd the cords, the dashing oars they ply, And o'er the silvery river swiftly fly. Alcander first the solemn silence breaks, And to the pilgrim mournfully he speaks : " Too well thou didst my recent dream explain, And prophesied my present mortal pain ! Confirm'd am I Lavinia Uves no more : I caus'd her death, and now in vain deplore. i Soon in the presence of the judge I come, j Wiien thou wilt leave me to my dreadful doom Or, if desirous, thou may'st slay to see The issue of the fi\te awaiting me." To whom his friend : " Alcander, I will stay, To mom-n with thee thy dear Laviyiia. Such duty still befits my ardent prayers, Long as permitted by tlie rig'rous stars : ALCANDER AND LAVINIA. 23 Yet, though a cloud of heavy gloom unfolds, Enliv'niug hope a good assurance holds, I shall my rising wishes realize. And thy keen sorrows thou shalt change for joys." " Let not thy slave," the working men now cried, " Alcandefs melancholy thoughts subside : The prince has given Lavinia's friends thy lands, And sentenc'd thee to suffer by their hands." " Yet, why ?" the pilgrim to them all began ; "' 'Tis in your power to save the wretched man. Hear what 1 offer, well my words regard, *rell me the full amount of your reward ; Stand as it may, the sum I'll treble o'er, If you'll release us on the neighb'ring shore." " Slave !" cried Alcander, " mind well what yon Deceive not these, but patiently obey. [say ; 'Tis fate's decree, and still I would disdain My liberty by bribry to obtain : Justice demands my forfeit life — I go, I haste to meet the richly welcome blow ! Luvinia's dearly lov'd departed shade. Perhaps, in pity, has my tears survey'd." He ceas'd. Once more did solemn silence reign : ! The dashing oars divide the liquid plain ; The men by turns to row their boat applied. Till near a hall close by the water-side. Here, on a bank, one of the four jumps out ; To the high dome he takes his eager route, With thund'ring noise the knocker he applies, ■' The attendants run, the man exulting cries, " We've found Alcander ! — on the shore he stands j And wait we now for other fresh commands.'' ! The welcome tidings echo ^ar and near, r\nd all the mourning family appear. i 24 ALCANDER AND LAVINIA. The parents cry, " The ruffian bind with cord ; No room for pity can our breasts atFord ; Within a cell secure liini tor the night, Wretch as he is, and hateful to our sight : To fright still more, a scaffold you'll prepare, His punishment no longer to defer : Inform him this, so may his dread increase, And hopes of mercy at our hands shall cease." Instructed thus, the man returns with speed, Alcander fetter'd, in the hall to lead. The pilgrim following, pensive looks aroimd ; Oft his fall'n tears, fast trickling, wet the ground. Cold in the cell they pass the- livelong night: Tied hand and foot, to weep till morning light : Aloud the pilgrim moans his hapless lot, Left in the boat, his scrip he'd quite forgot ; His heavy loss affects beyond relief. Destroys his hopes, and wakes the bitfrest grief. Yet poor Alcander s fate he wish'd to know, Comparing that with liis inferior woe, He tinly mourns the sorrows of his friend. And Ust'ning, heard his labouring thoughts unbend " What throes of anguish rend my beating breast While mem'ry comes to make me more distress'd. Tiiis house did once my soul's delight contain, But now, alas ! it causes real pain ! Fled are the days when scenes of joy arose, Fled like a dream, and I'm alive to woes. Wlieu these high walls form'd my Laciniu's home. Where loftier trees overtop the sacred dome : 'Mong flow'rs so fresh my eager steps I've sped, To twine a rosy garland for her head ; How blithe, how airy, then she danc'd the green, To vie in grace with j.ovk's supernal queen ! ALCANDER AND LAVINIA. 85 Dear recollection ! oh ! I did adore The fair Laiinia, whom I now deplore ! Cojne, death ! unite me to hei- sainted shade, Where perfect bliss no jealous fears invade!" He said no more ; the night in groans he spends ; Be!iind the wainscot stand Lavinia's friends ; T'ley heard his words ; — soft pity warms their souls, Tear after tear compassionating rolls : Yet soon they turn to thinking on the deed, Resolve at last to punish him with speed ; His dreadful guilt with horror aggravates, Due pimishment his cruelty awaits ; They'll spread the terrace o'er, at break of day, With solemn black, their vengeance to display ; Then orders give Alcandefs fate to speed. And show their just abhorrence of the deed : With one accord they break up for the night, Retire apait, and wait returning light ; But first, a servant to the boat they sent, To bring the scrip, and thus its loss prevent. And now the dawn of welcome morn arose, On which would cease Alcander's heavy woes ; Loud toUd the bell, the drear, resonant note, Successive struck, along the gale did float ; riic terrace hung with black, in silent state 'They lead the suff'rer, chain'd, to meet his fate. JAnd near the spot, he wipes his tearful eyes, And to the kindred of Lavinia cries, " Alas ! ye well my agony befriend. And kindly haste my mortal grief to end ! The legal form of justice ye disdain. So bent on speed to set me free from pain : Still let some pity in your breasts find room, And one short moment save me from my doom ; ^6 ALCANDER AND LAVINIA. Let rue behold the child I love so dear — Deny it not — 'tis all I ask for here." " Tbink not, Alcander^" they to him reply^ " Think not we led thee hither but to die ! The legal form of justice canst thou crave — Thou, who consign'd our daughter to her grave Restore Lacinia, our decline to cheer — Alas ! alas ! can we be too severe ? No, wretched man, expect no more to see Her offspring lov'd, but die in misery ! While yet tliere's time, thy thoughts on Heaven i ,. Thy guilty soul devote to powers on high : [pk .; In prayer tiiy few remaining minutes spend, And to the priest provided thee, attend." Alcander sighing, these few words return'd : " Too rig'ious clan, how long I've vainly rnouii c My lov'd Lavinia innocent was she ! But that avail'd not with a wretch like me : Ere yet the time she guilty did appear, Her I ador'd affectionately dear ; Some green-ey'd demon, envious of my bliss, Provok'd my wratli with much too good succe^-., And in the stream I cast a virtuous Avife, An hoiu- before more valu'd than my life. Now I repent — Oh ! grant me this request. Let my weak sight be with my infant bless'<lj One moment m.ake me happy, ere the blow, I gladly covet, end my grief and woe !" He said : then anxiously he looks around ; And by the priest he kneels upon the ground ; His guilt retold, some time in prayer he spends : Apart the executioner attends ; Muffled in black, the tott'ring figure stands. Rests on his axe, and waits the dire commands ALCANDER AND LAVINIA. 27 Not him Alcandcfti tearful eye perceives, How much his sanguinary task he grieves. One of the group aloud exclaims, " Prepare ! Let the wretch have an end to all his care !" Obedient, on the block he rests his head, Expects the stroke tliat mingles with the dead ; When, lo ! the figure with the axe draws near, And cries, with w ell-known voice, " Ahander dear ! Forgive Lavinia ! — in thy punishment She took no part, nor to it did assent !" — Then throwing olf lier cumbrous sable vest. Before his wond'ring eyes she stands confess'd ; — 'Twas she herself; — it staggers his belief, — All, what transition from the depths of grief! " Lavinia f oh!" — th' as lonislfd suff'rer cries j He faints away, with rapture, joy, surprise; Falls in his fetters senseless on tlie ground, And sudden consternation spreads around ; Now swii't they run his fetters to unbind, And pity, late, assails each anxious rnind : Tlse frighted daughter round the body throws Her trembling arms, and sulfcrs bitter woes ; While the wise surgeon opes a flowing vein, And life and sense return to him again. Back to the house he's carried with all speed ; His fear disperses, and new hopes succeed : He drinks a cordial, which revives his soul, And down his cheeks a flood of tears did roll ; Nature gives vent the fierce conflicting strife, To ease the storm, endangering his life ; Compos d lie feels, essays to sit upright, And of his wife he bears the welcome sight. When now his friends, with guise no more severe. Came in the room, well nloas'd his voice to hear ; ili ALCANDER AND I.AVINIA. To whom Alcander: " Tell me, quick ! I pray, By wlmt kind chance was sav'd Lavinia — Sav'd from the fate to which I her consign'd, A horrid deed, distracting still ray raiad ? O let me hear, what thanks to Heaven I owe, Who's kindly rais'd me from the depths of woe ! So shall my future life make some amends, Restor'd to fame, my wife, my child, my friends." Th' attentive parents thus to him replied, " Let now for ever, each sad thought subside : Let what is past cause thee no further care ; But, time to come, of rashness well beware ! That gloomy day we may remember, when Lavinia here was brought by sev'ral men, Who chanc'd to walk along the water-side, And saw her struggling in the river wide : One of the four plung'd in the yielding wave, And bravely swam, our daughter's life to save. Her hair, dishevell'd, hung in piteous plight, Drowu'd she appear'd to our distracted sight ; Nor could we guess, or satisfy our doubt, Or where, or how, the accident fell out. " With speed were proper remedies applied. Her to restore, our happiness and pride ; Like Heaven it came, we heard she did survive, And view'd our darhng child once more alive ! Just then your dreadful letter was receiv'd. And, for Lavinia's sake, your state we griev'd ; Issu'd our orders, and the men soon sped, To bring you to our house ; — but you were fled ! No time was lost ; we ev'ry one agreed To find you out, and hop'd we might succeed ; ^Ise, the poor mourner, well enough we guess'd, Could ne'er her melancholy have suppress'd. ALCANDER AND LAVINIA. 29 I'uelve of our tenants, in three parties sent Far o'er the country, long a circuit w ent ; A sohtary course they did pursue, Fain to explore your residence in view : Oft, in the woods, they utter'd loud the sound Of deep distress, which echo spread around : Sometimes tlicy'd imitate a dismal sluiek, In hopes you'd hear, and the poor object seek : Yet, till last ni<ifht, your steps they could not trace. Desponding gloom o'crhung each sun-burnt face ; But kindly Heav'n now deigns to bless once more, And to our prayers fair joy and peace restore. " Tiie gentle stranger soon we uudeceiv'd : Your fate no longer, as unkind, he griev'd ; His scrip restor'd, soon set his mind at rest, And ev'ry sigh he presently suppressed ; And brief his pilgrimage he did relate, Praising his stars for this reverse of fite : Yet no persuasion could induce his stay. He guess'd your feelings, and he would away ; His presence might but interrupt our joy, And clog tlie giddy rapture, rising high ; Some other time he'd wait on your commands ; Refresh'd, he hasted to redeem his lands." To whom Alcander : " Thanks to Heaven again, Thus to reward me for my suif 'ring pain ! No more shall greG«-ey'd jealousy possess My grateful mind, now rais'd to happiness ; Reason, no more, to blinded rage shall bend, But on our steps shall ecstasy attend. All-gracious Power ! to thee new life I owe. Now rais'd to sudden bliss from depths of mortal woe r' u2 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS TALES. THE THIRD CANTO OF THE GODS' REVENGE. ARGUMENT. Cupid being compelled to quit Olympus, urges his course amidst ihe heavens. The wrecked syftem, &c. Love's soliloquy, and exteiition of his devious flight The majesty of Apollo; together with Cupid's final descent on the Bhores of Africa. Am'er^s heard : then ceas'd the gods their cry ; Confus'd he hurries headlong down the sky ; Down from Olympus rush'd upon tlie wing. Breathing dire threats 'gainst Jove, the awful king. Fir'd with revenge at his undue disgrace, He shapes a comet 'midst the realms of space, Darts far and wide his vivid angry blaze, Sparkles his train, and strikes the uplift gaze. Hut Jove commands, new fear tlie god appals, Sense liim forsakes, and presently he falls Into a rnin'd system overcast With endless night ; stay'd in its course at last. Drear, dark, and cold, the ruin'd worlds hung round, And fix'd in gloom, the sun extinguish'd frown'd ; His reign was done : — no more he lights the day To vanish'd states, and kingdoms pass'd away. 04 THE THIRD CANTO OF Yet ill the void, where time and tide had ceas cl, Echo surviv'd — with tenfold force increas'd The (leep-ton'd sigh — speech thiinder'd 'mid the air ; And in strong cadence Love vents his despair. " Lo ! what affliction rends my sinking soul ! Tears unavailing, unremitting-, roil : Oh, the inijust, deplorable event, Which hurries me to endless banishment! Come, gracious Hope ! thy ir.iiuence I need ; Ciieer a fall'n power, and bid new thoughts succeed ; jMay I behoici Oli/mpius sm.ile again, Receive new honours, and resume my reign ! Permit me, jove, one sacred trutli to tell, How fond affections my warm bosom swell ! Grant me once more, Idalid's words to liear, And move as usual in my natal sphere, Alas ! I find despairing dreams will rise. To blast my hopes, and every giinjpse of joys ! My frighted senses form the mighty ills Which Destiny uiisparinely fulnls. Jgvc stands enrag d, and, angry to excess. Dwells on the crime which sinks me in distress ; I hear his voice, the thundring king declares He'll wake afresh my stupifying cares ; Afresh in mind the bitt'rest grief excite, And to my limbs external paius unite. Unpitying sire ! tiiy boiling breast subside. Or cause thy wTath the bolted wheels to guide— O'erwhelm Idalia's wretched progeny. And cease this amplitude of misery ! When on th' empurpled glade thus crusird I lie, Then shall thy breast heave many a cheerless sigh Thy tears, thy sighs, shall vainly me deplore. Of no avail tliy offspring to restore." THE gods' revenge. S5 lie ccas'd. Resentment marks his glowins; face ; Uc waves his wings to leave tiie gloomy space, Shapes his bold daring flight along the skies. Till othci- worlds attract him as he flies. i he Georgium Sidus, rightly nam'd, wliicli rolls < itcuitous wide, to prying view nntblds iligii rooks, deep caverns, grottoes, groves,and fields, The flow'ry meadows, and the sloping hills ; The glitfring diamonds near the golden mines, Clear ciystal rivers, and the mountain pines • Where various living creatures still attend, Where altare blaze, and songs of praise ascend. Lo ! Saturn now at distance shines his ring : ] >islractevl Eros keeps on rapid wing ; A>i{i now like lightning he shoots o'er the skies. Fills countless worlds with terror and surprise : All in red heat he strikes the atmosphere ' Of that big planet, since call'd Jupiter ; W hose belted clouds move in their course around, fiigli o'er the ocean and productive ground ; \. ilh showere of rain supply the fertile shore, The bounteous good increasing still to more. , Here Love descends : no wond'rous things he spies, Beholds no lasting pyramids arise, No yellow ore to lure a tliirst for gain, Nor sparkling gems beneath a ransack'd plain : ' Plants, herbs, and flowers, if these afford delight, Luxuriant Nature here may tempt the sight. Now twangs his bow to wound a quiet race Of harmless giants, in this Itappy place : : Vv hat piercing shrieks, what horrors spread around ! , The hollow caverns in the rocks resound : The shaft unerring vexes every breast, Ohl age and young, with sudden cares oppress'd 36 THE THIRD CANTO OF His passion eas'd, oblique be swiftly Hies : His native sphere, the Earth, attracts his eyes ; A globe all shatter'd by deluging rain, One half the land, one half the wintery main. Here Love appears in likeness to a star. Or fiery comet, midst the sky afar. Th' eastern magi solemnly express, Jove sends a sign portending dire distress : Amaz'd, fierce tyrants quit their pomp and pride, Cover their faces, and flee terrify'd, The gods beseeching humbly to suspend The awful judgment, and their anger end. With grief of soul, vile Cupid casts his eye On bright Apollo, thron'd amidst the sky , Beholds his fire whence issu'd many a dart, The light and heat congenial to impart. Around his orb t)ie world revolves its way. Divides the seasons and the night from day ; Bright o'er his face th' irradiate sparkles blaze. And vivid hfe in his meridian plays. Apollo rose, and from his orb descends ; Supernal light his stately steps attends : 'Midst tlie blue sky th' abandon'd god he vievv'd, Nor longer with celestial grace endu'd ; But simply boasting equal still w as he With king Apollo, rob'd with majesty ; Once his transparent skin and white array, Eclips'd the gorgeous governor of day. The Power displeas'd to hear such words resound, Lifts from his orb sulphureous rocks around ; These burning on the disk, he makes a noise. Withholds his beams, and darkens half the skies ; Till whirl'd, the rocks, in many a-sinking gurge, Splash widely far the crackling fieiy surge : GILBERT. 3( With looks of softness glistens o'er her face, Her charms express tiie bloom of youthftil grace ; A little handsome ; not of form complete, To keep the lover kneeling at her feet : Nor long she stood, above the steps she spiings, Sits on the hay, and thus to speak begins : ' Young lad, dismiss your weak surprise and fear! The farmer's man declar'd how^ you came here. A sneaking kindness he forsooth pretends ; No more of that — let you and me be friends : At the mid hour of night, our folks asleep. From my warm bed in silence I did creep ■ All negligent myself you sec I've clad, I flew dowTi stairs to make you feel right glad. How pleas'd am I ! — disperse your needless fear! Embrace your Kate, and play no looby here : My best respects to some poor land I've shown, Can he do less than love but me alone i' In saying this, on Gilbert tixd, lier eyes Shoot wanton glances — other arti she tries : Moves nigher still, her purpose to pursue, And bares her snowy bosom full in view. What fierce temptation for a lovelorn swain ! He strives to speak — 'tis utterly in vain : His every look, with wonder strange impress'd. Displays the state of his impassion'd breast. To such discourse he'd better not attend ; 'Twere base indeed, to injure his kind fiiend : Still that same fiiend, deceiv'd by Kilty, seem'd A silly dupe, though otherwise esteenrd. Now fires his blood to burn through ev'ry vein, Now prudence cools the fiery course again ; Confus'd he stands, nor yet he silence breaks ; — Now more collected, thus he falt'ring speaks : r. 38 GILBERT, ' Cease, O fair maid ! to tempt a wretch forlonij And from the hay-loft quickly back return : For me, poor wight, miworthy I must prove ; To meet with ardour due your hapless love : — Your youthful breast a guilty passion glows, It heats your blood, and virtue overthrows ; Yet sober judgment still shall guide my way ; I sconi the crime that would ray friend betray. He late confess'd, it were by both agreed, Both you and him, to wed witli proper speed, Join botli your wages some neat cot to rent, And buy a pig to add to your content.' Tlien to himself: ^ All, Jane ! imlike to she ! Were all your fond affection fix'd on me, Nor longer like a vagrant I would roam, But stay with thee for happiness at home. Ne'er will to me such sacred joys belong ; I'm doom'd to know of ills a mighty throng : My troubled soul is heavily oppress'd, And cank'ring care conodes my beating breast.' He ceas'd ; nor dar'd to look on her again ; One fatal smile might make his purpose vain. The maid observant, thus resumes her lore, But not in mood so lively as before : * For shame, young swain, to use me so severe ! Tliink not T came to be insulted here : I view'd your case, soft pity tiU'd my breast, i\[y guilty passion finish'd all the rest : Still not my pity, not my passion told, Can warm a heart that stubborn is and cold : No more Til fondly tempt a wTetch forlorn. But from the hay-loft quickly I'll return. iMy ofFer'd kindnesses your scorn excite ; Add not exposure to your cruel slight : GILBERT. 39 Disgrace attends whene'er the thing is known, And I shall rue mj' meeting" you alone.' At which, she rising, hastily retires, Her hopes all fled, and damp'd her amorous fires ; Bark to her bed her silent way she found, Deep sunk in sleep, with dreams of bliss she's crown'd. Now Gilbert by himself is left once more. To dwell with solemn silence as before : The strange adventure stiikes with new surpri'ie. Suspends his grief, and sooths his dreary sighs : Siretch'd on tlie hay his weary limbs he rests ; Soft slumber comes, no more dull care molests,: Forgot his griefs, and Jennrfs slights and scorn. He lies asleep, nor wakes till rising morn, 40 CANTO V. ARGU3IENT. The refnrn nf <!ay. — Mistake cleared up — Character ol the farmer; his family described. — Gilbert is disappointed; proceeds on his j;>urney. — Stabbled tield, &c. — Biumug ihe brakes. — AdvautHgcs, &c. atlcudant ou cleanliness. Aurora ^vakGs the rosy dawn of day ; Our nioumfal iover quits his bed of hay, Shakes off dull sloth, and thence his steps to bend. He waits impatiently to see his friend. The trap-door soiuids, some person knock he hears ; The farmer's boy before his sight appeals, With soothing voice, inquiring kind to know How rested he amidst his care and woe ? Yoimg Gilberl, smiling, speaks as things accord, Save of sweet Kate lie mentions not a word ; He thinks sometime to let tlie matter rest, A hidden secret in his pensive breast. Not long they stand — the morn's too good to waste ; Tiiey o'er tlie threshold down the ladder haste ; To niiik the cows they've cross the fields to go ; Young Kitty loiters near the stile below. But what could equal GUberfs new surprise, When first the damsel met his wond'ring eyes ! He stood convinc'd the same she could not be, Wiio'd in the hay-loft been so kindly free. He feels new joy— it glistens o'er his face. His friend through Kitiy sulfers no disgrace ; GILBERT. 41 Vet who were slie, or whence, that courting came, He'd gladly know, but dare not ask the same. With fodder for the cows, and pails scour'd clean, Kate and her sweetheart walk across the green : Poor Gilbert too ! — how hard his sorrows press ! ' These lovers' joys awaken his distress. J Along tlie lane where clust'ring hazels grew, ; And blackthorn bushes screen the weeds belo^v, ; Smooth paving-stones, laid level, keep the feet j From plunging deep midst ruts of dirt and wet. ' Tliey singly each across the flat proceed To where the cjw-barn rising tops the mead ; Down set their pails — the doors \\ide open stand, Out come the cows, a lazy lowing band. Where rails or ropes confine the spot each side, With streams of milk the vessel's well supplied : The loaded udder yields its valu'd store ; The kine, unloosen'd, seek tlie mead once more : Not far they stray between tlie verdant hills, Where grow the larches bordering the green fields : The tender grass invites them to the plain. Till milking-time, at eve, return again. Now home the sei-vants bend their steps with care ; High on their heads a store of milk they bear : A ready hand poor wilhng Gilbert lends. But trembling fear his slower steps attends ; He sure enough has cause to feel dismay'd, A step awry may make him kick the glade, Dash down his pail to flow — (most piteous sight !) Banish his hopes, increase his wretched plight : Just through the lane the smoothest path he seeks ; Safe on the green arriv'd, he silence breaks, E 2 4'2 GILBERT. M'ishing in secret gaiise to learn her name, Who l;)te at niglit to seek a lover came : ' Id gladly have it well explain'd by yon, Wh^t land of people I'm about to view ; Instruction give where I most stand in need, And prove to me a friend sincere indeed. The tki-mer's sen's or daugiiters temper tell : A deal depends, Jd fain obey them well ; Avoiding wrong, I'd wiiat is best pursue ; Nor servile prove, but pay attention due.' His friend replies, ' Tis meet you're told the same : Our piaster's one fair daughter, Joyce by name ; A comely wench of sanguine mould is she, And, when shes pleas'd, bestoMs her favours free : Affront her once, nor more yourself deceive, 'Tis not her nature ever to forgive , Her passion rais'd, the vixen instant flies In deadly hatred — vengeance gleams her eyes. The sire, with anxious tenderness at heart, Strives for the welfare of his house apart : His duteous son becoming reverence pays, His second vnfe submissively obeys. Yet is he apt, at times, to swear them harm. He beats tlie dame, drives Hichard from the farm : His anger vented, peace he soon restores ; Bids both return ; his rage he long deplores.' This spoken, safe they measure back the giound, And in the yard the ample pails set down : Tlie milk warm-reeking mid the dairj- stor'd, Yields up rich cream, fresli butter to afford. Then on the farmer next tlie boy attends. While pensive Gilbert to the hay-loft bends : Tiiere long he waits the grand result to know. And clouded care wit A sorrow marks his brow. GILBERT. 43 Strange troubling whims his tortr.r'd soi'.l asspil, And o'er his reason t'oHy vould pvevaiJ, Vexing liis mind with many a &ad surniise, New fears to form, and various doubts likewise : The vixen Joyce may vent her bitter rage, Persuade her sire no stranticr to engage, Still to prevent her being expos'd outright, Should Kate e'er wish to bring the truth to light. But soon his thoughts from wand'ring thus he stay'd ; The gentle youth at distance he survey'd, By whose deportment easily he guess'd, Enliv'ning hope had fled his pensive breast. With falt'ring voice to speak the boy began : ' Ah me ! ill luck betides our little plan 1 IMy master frowns — he my endeavour foils, Nor M'ill admit you sharer in our toils. Just now I've been the farmer's will to hear ; His mamier seem'd unusually severe ! He sa} s no vagiants shall his grounds infest, Nor yet his peace or family's molest. Refusing which mere clearly to explain, I bolder grew, and ask'd him o'er again : Indignant then, he in a passion swore, He'd nail me up against tlie first barn-door : A broken flail in both his hands he took, And thrice my back with mighty force he struck. For fear of worse disaster swift I ran, And met my Kitty in the nan ow lane. To whom the whole mishap I soon express'd ; Kate dropp'd a tear, and well the cause confess'd : Thinking no harm, to noisy Joyce the scold, She broke the secret, and the matter told. At morn the daughter waits upon her sire, Betrays us both— inveterate 's her ire : 44 GILBERT. Her father swore, believing all she said, Swore that no stroller o'er his doors should tread 1 How things have chang'd ! what adverse thoughts succeed ! Be you refresh'd, and on your journey speed ; Here is yoiu- breakfast, good new-milk and cake, And here's some money, which I beg you'll take : My spying-glass I give to you likewise, You'll think on me whene'er it meets your eyes. RTay change of place your happiness restore, And Jmyiy's scorn create your grief no more. Farewell, dear friend !' — Young Gilbert heav'd a sigh, Wip'd the rife tear, and thus he did reply : ' Though grcteful still, your kind concern forego, Your master's wrath increases not my woe : Thinks he, perhaps, Ids pnidence hell o'errate, And leave a wandring vagrant to his fate. His daughter's words full credit must obtain. And while he's vex'd, your pity comes in vain. Strange as it is, I feel the less distress'd ; I might have prov'd a stupid thing at best, More giv'n to grieve, beneath some tree reclind, Than, as I ought, the farmer's work te mind. Alas ! farewell ! — your spying-gkss I'll take, And keep the same a token for your sake ; But not'ning more : your money I retain ; You're better worthy of the whole you earn. Farewell, for ever ! Heav'n your hopes befriend ! jMay fortune still on all your steps attend ! And, since to me so much regard you've shown, 3Iy gratitude I cannot less but o\mi.' He ceas'd ; receiv'd the otferd milk and bread ; Refresh'd by which, his way he quickly sped ; GILBERT. 45^ Far east the farm, with wand'ring steps he wounds Tiie road between the cultivated ground : The stubbled field beyond a hedge appears, 'Cross the wood-stile his lonely course he veers : Down the low slope, up the ridg'd hill he goes, Ihe stubble crackling 'neath his heavy shoes. A mound he sees, — his glass he rests — espies, O er the wide waste, thick clouds of smoke arise ; ^Vith eagerness towards the spot he turns, Beholds a heap of braking* as it biuns. Two lab'ring boys with fuel feed the fire, Clear the light ashes while the flames aspire ; Tlien water bring to knead the whiter clay, Forni'd into balls against the market-day. ^\liere cleanliness excites the matron's pride, To various uses are these balls applied ; The nice white hearth contrasts the red-brick floor, Tlie brighten'd hooks the mantel-piece explore. Fair Cleanliness, sweet-scented^ lovely maid ! How bless'd the cottage where thou art display'd ! Good Health delights to follow close thy train ! And Poverty may frown at thee in viiin : When thou midst want set'st out thy charms divin?, ! Still are we led to fancy plenty thine ; Thy magic touch gives things more value still ; And where tliou dweirst,the more content we feel. * Uf holds- a hen\t of brak'tvg, &c.] Tn pome of the wastc- i.lao'is down in the noiili, it is usual tor pooior t'olkto gathei ttie [plants called brake into ditlereut l:eaps, wliich they set fire to and burn to a calcinous state. Of the powder tLcy make a kind of round ball, which is applied to purposes of cleanliness, land for which (hey find a ready sale in the neicijibouring marLtt I towns. M.S. 4tj GILBERT. CANTO VI. ARGUMENT. Gil'Mrt proceeds on his way, and arrives at Worksop.— SolL^ turle, &c. — Vales, groves, ruins, stagnant pond, &c. — Some gipsies offer an invitation lo Gillxrt. — He partakes their re- freshment — Their king makes an harangue ; relates his ad ventures, &c. — The lover r oniesics what occaiions his sor- rows ; he is derified, aud lakes up his lodging nnder a hay. stack. 3 ow on the waste lorn Gilbert walks more fast ; A narrow plank, laid o'er a ditch, he pass'd ; At Worksop town he wheels his steps arotnid, Where the pav'd street hi> hobnaild shoes resound. He tiuns a corner to the pine-topp'd hills, Treads slow the track that leads across the fields. Behind, m sight, the ancient ruin lies, Nigh which a chinch salutes the bending skies ; Two sister towers adorn the rev'rend pile ; Cui-v'd windows, arcliing, light the long-dra^\•n aisle The yew-tiee grows, the cypress lifts its head Above the mansions of the mould' rmg dead. High up the hills the youtli his way pursues, Brings out his glass, the woodland site he views The woodland site ^^^th fatt'ning deer abounds, Plenty of game o'erstocks the neighb'ring groimcU Down lonely vales in pensive mood he strays ; Tlie temple ruins hail liis moumftil gaze ; GILBERT. 4.? Tiie crumbling domes, the colonnades, the towers, Cast deeper gloom, and dull the solemn hours. Drear o'er tliis spot our lovelorn Gilbert roves, Shaping his course amidst sequester'd groves ; The box, the larch, the laurel, fair to sight, Thrive in the shade, and gain their utmost height. I Trees of dark foliage intersect the vale. With branches proudly rustling in the gale ; And where the waves reflect the azure skies, Along the marsh the skirting rushes rise. Close to a stagnant pond he bends his way ; The mantling cresses interpose his stay ; He picks the best, the worst away he throws, Then eats his cheerless dinner ere he goes. Clear from the rocks the gurgling stream issues ; He slakes his thirst : his journey he renews : On the footpath, beyond the bar, he hastes. With quicker steps. Near the road-side he rests. Broad sturdy oaks, thick elms, and poplars high. Stand where the fir-tree apples scatter'd lie ; I Or 'neath where chesnuts ripen on each bough, The gorse, the wilding, and the broom-flow'rs grow; Sharp stinging nettles, rankly run in seed, Exalt their stems o'er many a humbler weed. More eastward now the friendless Gilbert bends. Far o'er the waste a ling'ring look he lends ; ' With stumbling pace he hies across a field. And seeks a path the jarring gate conceal'd. While slowly saunt'ring, careless where he went, Two different roads to right and left present : A posted board the travelling stranger spies ; He faster walks, till Mansfield hails his eyes. A mile from town there stood some shelt'ring trees, lieueatli sat gipsies midst their tents at ease : 48 GILBERT. Tlie loveloni youth approaching nigh in sight, They hear his groans, and view liis wayward plight Amidst the gang two ember fires appear ; O'er one, three poles the boiUng pan uprear, Whence grateful steams in spiral clouds issued, Bespoke the cooking of a mess of food. These friendly gipsies beg he'd halt awhile, Step to their tents, and ev'ry care beguile. Invited kindly, Gilbert list'ning hears, Joins with the tinong, and banishes his fears. Along the grass a whiter cloth they place, Which various remnants of provision grace ; Delicious cates, fiied fish, roast fowl, abound ; Hot savoury soup in dishes smokes around : Low on the plain the gipsies take a seat ; With one accord mvite their guest to eat : The cranng calls of nature better prove. How unsubstantial is mere food of Jove. A serving girl attends the gipsy band. And lifts the goblets on a bench to stand ; Strong heady liquor from a vase she pours. Fills each in turn : — loud mirth beguiles the hours iSlASTER quite sober midst the nightly feasts, Calls out to order, and bespeaks his guests : ' Ye friends ; svvoni brothers ! other ties than blood Hear my decrees ! let tliem be understood : "Tis by our sway your sure resources spring ; My various schemes luxuriant blessings bring ; In fortunes told I sum the best events ; ISor draw conclusions to confound the sense : I please the servants with my futile words. And, in return, get what the place affords ; Large rounds of bread, or offal, h\ oken meat. Or tasteful viands, fit for kings to eat. GILBERT. 49 Grown still more bold, I seek a richer boon, Claim my reward, a knife, or silver spoon ; Or where I find some doubtful what to do, I'm oft compcU'd the wiser girls to woo, Sj.iead out the cards, renew my empty lore, Declare how soon they may the knife restore, Till rising conscience like a vision fly, And I decamp rewarded truly high. Now, now's the time, tlie golden sun decHnes, Ihe moon, unclouded, more supremely shines ; Fi cm yonder town the taper's amber blaze Darts through the trees, ilhmies the glist'ning gaze : Up, one and all, in secret guise to go, Explore tlie rails, and watch the maids below. Where creeking sign-boards, whistling to the gale. Express what goods the tradesmen have on sale, Beg hard, or steel : infest the open square, Tempt the soft girls, and loll in plenty there ! How rich in spoil, at dawn of day all met, You'll add the value of whate'er you get ! My ample share, by right of rule, I'll claim ; 'Tis I, the king, who bears you on to fame. * Meantime obsei've, the young man I'll attend ; A stranger quite ; but I'll his case befriend : Our sundry laws I guess will set him right. Awake his courage, and his powers excite. By grand achievements in our state he'll rise, Till, like Carew, his fame resounds the skies : Another king ye will by me acquire, , Ere from the arduous office I retire. Haste, comrades ! all, to yonder town to go ! Look through the rails, entice the girls below ! Tell each her fortune, sum the best events. And draw conclusions fitting to the sense.' F 50 GILBERT. He spoke. The gang, the better to obey, Start up in haste, the eldest lead the way ; A wicked crew, let loose in every street, To beg, or steal, where'er they set their feet. Where panes of glass expose the kitchen light, They crouch to beg, or fortunes they'll recite : Tlie servant-gills new grievances unfold, Si ill plcas'd to hear theh- goodly fortunes told. But Gilbert now is by tlie king address'd : ' Pray, sti'anger, say, why throbs your lab'ring^ breast ? 'Tis time to try your confidence to gain, By telling how I came o'er these to reign. Three years, or more, I left my native home, A whimsied journey o'er the plains to roain ; I slowly saunter'd over hills and dales, Thro' shady woods, o'er common-wastes, and vales ; Amidst a quany I sat down to rest, . Feeling with hunger, thirst, and grief oppress'd. Not fiXY, a man in tatters I beheld. Coming towards me 'cross the nearest field : He said, " My «on, some perquisite bestow ! Take pity on a wretch by want brought low ! Though less yon give, with thanks I still accept — Me, but relieve !'" — he spoke, and loud he wept. I answer'd thus : " Mark now ! my words are true, I've nothing here, to give to such as you ; >\'ithout a doit I travel far and v ide, My trifling wants are easily supplied. Had I the means, your cares I'd soon o'erturn ; No more, poor soul, I'd suffer you to mourn ; But, as it is, your craving suit suspend, Go whence you came, and seek a better friend.' •' If that's the case," — 'twas so, he made reply, " Dismiss your grief, and stifle ev'ry sigh : GILBERT. 51 I'll you adopt to cheer my life's decline, My ample store of riches will be thine ! — Nay, cease to laugh ; — a beggar may have gold ; And I'm the king of beggars, be it told. Come, follow me — you're worthy of my choice ; And may your fortune cause you to rejoice !" * In saying this, witli speed he went away : I follow'd after through the new-mown hay, Recross'd tlie road, retrac'd the mellow field, Where the liigh trees a vagrant gang conceal'd. ** See, here's my son !" the kingly outlaw cries ; " He'll do whate'er my feeble strength denies ; And by his schemes I pray you all abide, More valu'd they, the oftener they're tried. Of what you get a tythe he's to receive, Worthy his counsel which he'il deign to give : His words observe, his counsel well regard, And sure success expect for your reward." The wond'ring crew to honour me agreed ; I gave advice how they had best proceed ; Met at a wake, or neighb'ring village fair, To beg reUef, or levy plunder there. With diff' rent washes, walnut shells, and paint, I At times the gang brown gipsies represent. Inflict their limbs with angiy ulcers sore, And, like maim'd sailors, beg from door to door. ' Meanwhile the king grew daily worse and worse ; Within his tent he utter'd many a curse : A hoary miscreant ! miserable thing ! Not evil deeds will kindly comfort bring. Late one dull morn the men abroad had sped, He feebly calling, I ran near his bed : '" Harry," said he, " I feel I soon shall die ; But never yet were wretch so loath as I ! — 52 GILBERT. Heard ye that voice ? — its summons I obey : My glass is out ! — now hark to what I say ! ^A'hile cold I lie, the tearful group you'll call, Divide my rags, and give a few to all : Tliis old surtout, where patch on patch appear, Keep to yourself — my riches sav'd, lie here : Three thousand pounds, in notes and gold, you'll find Securely treasur'd in the seams behind. Farewell, my son ! — ah me ! — what pangs of death ! God! forgive!" — he groan'd — resigns his breath. Compassion for the dead assails my soul ; Fast down my cheeks my tears in torrents roll. At night the gang, with heavy sobs, I call. Divide the rags, and give a few to all. The old surtout, where patch on patch appear, 1 keep myself, for, lo ! the treasure's here ! Within the seams I privately have told Three thousand pomids, bank notes, and sterling gold: A tythe I claim of all the stock bes-ide ; And still I deign each vagrant's course to guide. ' Now come, young man, your grief to me con- fess ; Explain the cause you suffer such distress : If worthy found, I'll tix you with my friends, And cheer your soul by what the king intends.' ' I crave excuse,' lorn Gilbert thus replied : ' And beg you will no more in me contide ; For in these parts, unhappily, I rove, A fated youth o'ercome by stubborn love ! Ah me ! 'tis love that causes my dismay, Bends low my head — I'm grief's unwilling prey ! The cruel maid, of whom I do complain, Inflicts new woes, and wakes, the bitt'rest pain : GILBERT. 63 Her lovely image fires my beating breast, Affects my senses, robs me of my rest : All day, all night, my torture knows no end ; No hopes are left, but death, to stand my friend ! Till then, I will my sincere passion mourn, Plac'd on fair Jane who'll make me no return : Yet may she real happiness explore. And heights of bliss, w^hen Gilbert is no more.' To whom the other this reply essay'd : ' Poor silly oaf! forget a scornful maid ! Or fresh in mind her cruel scorn retain, And let your reason meet her with disdain ! Yet, hold ! — the thing which I to you propose Too hard appears — pray nourish still your woes, Benumb your sense, your manly powers suspend, Create your goddess, and devoutly bend ! I read your thoughts — I see what hurts your mind ; There's no degree of spiiit left behind : Unnerv'd, grown useless by your foolish love 3 Unfit to live, unfit to die, you prove. Go then, soft lad ! or better will you choose To slumber here till morning dawn renew s ? 4Some disappointment in my schemes I feel ; But what I've said you'll never dare reveal.' To which the suff'rer could no more reply, His bosom heaving many a far-fetch'd sigh : Derision mark'd the king's contorted face, When Gilbert hasted from the guilty place. He on the road his course benighted steer'd. And through a hedge beheid a stack late rcar'd : Beneath its welcome shelter down he lay, :Spent with tatigue, and slept till break of day. F 2 :>4 CANTO VII. ARGUMENT. Daybuak, &.J.— Discovery of (he gipsy.— History of IlerlKit an;l M:iry-Ann. — Gilbert unricrlakts to carry a letter; he loses himself in-the fields.— the robbers, &c.— He preveiiJs tlum from mtirdering a gentleman, wliom he afterward assists in returning hume. Again 'tis morn — the sparrows on the spray. Proclaim their joy, and hail return of day : Young Gilbert stai'ts, his journey to renew. And bids liis aiiy lodging long adieu ! Soon oer the meadow he attempts to pass, V\liere ciystal dew-drops shine the wav'ring grass ; Along the neurow-skirted path he liies ; — A strolling gipsy near a bank he spies : Pensive his looks ; a loaded bdx he bears, Which resting down, his tatter'd coat he tears : A rev'rend elm the verdant bank o'ershades ; Beneath its bouglis he tlirows the ragged shreds : In the clear stream bestowing well his pains, Washes away the walnut-shell's bro^\'n stains. Till health unfold a sweet complexion fair, And good success reward his steady care. Unseen stands Gilbert, peeping 'side the trees ; His wonder rises at the sight he sees : Nor pow'r he feels, nor will from thence to go ; He, linsr'rinj GILBERT. 55 The gentle stranger brings his loaded box, And o'er the stones the same he soon unlocks; Takes out clean linen fine, a suit of clothes, A modish hat, new shoes, and silken hose. Genteely dress'd, he quits the lonely spot : Still seems to waver where to shape his lot ; Along the grass his empty box he throws : And, disencumber'd, o'er the meadow goes. Swift Gilbert ran — liim soon he overtakes. He bids good morn ; the youth kind answer makes ; His courteous answer question fresh supplied, Till pleas'd they walk, discoursing, side by side : But not on trifling subjects either dwells ; His cause for giief the lovesick carrier tells. Young Herber! .sighs ; to pity him he deigns. And soon the lover's confidence he gains. Here now in turn his stoiy he relates ; Gilbert the more impatiently awaits : Strange curiosity, nnfelt before, Excites the swain to hear th' eventful lore. * Near thirty miles, Avhence yonder windmills stand, My sire's estate extends far o'er the land, A wealthy liquor-merchant still is he. And traffics largely o'er the distant sea. Far round about resounds his upright fame. And far and near the poor revere his name : His heart is open to relieve distress ; The blind of sight, the crippled lame, to bless. ' No anxious pains, no dear expense he spar'd. To make me worthier of his best regard : He fondly lavish'd all his kindest cares. And hop'd by me to crown his latter years. With nurse's help I'd scarcely learnt to run, Ere [ gave signs of l)eing a headstrong &on ; I j6 gilbert. Gro\Mi up a dunce, good counsel did despise ; And heeded not my parents' tears and siglis. Alas ! what heights of wickedness I knew, And day by day more lost to shame I grew : I scorn'd to follow Reason's golden rules, But stood a dupe to sundrj' knaves and fools. * Twas then, by chance, I Mary- Ann beheld, Whose mental charms her outward form excell'd t Idali Vs * son, liis mighty power to prove, Let fly a sliaft — I deeply fell in love ! With passion wami'd, a suitor I became, Reformed my faults, cherish'd the gen'rous flame, Bade all my old companions adieu, And like a lamb, in gentleness, I grew. My father bless'd a change so wondrous great ; And thank'd the Power reversing thus my fate I Approving kind the merit of my choice ; And by his sanction did my heart rejoice. No cruel bar to foil my hopes I found ; My happy lot rose envy all around ; My cup with joy seem'd ready to run o'er, Delight supreme, and bliss imknowii before. But I had treasui-'d up my hopes in rain ; Misfortune frowiring, left me to complain : A dire small-pox mischievously annoy d Poor Mary- Ann ; — her charms were all destro\"([- Nor more of heaven in her eye appear'd ; Nor more her finishd excellence endear'd : T thought her robb'd of every mental grace, When I beheld destroy 'd her lovely face. See ! now, a slave of beauty all-divine, Bend with devotion at her sacred shrine, * Capid. GILBERT. 67 Weakly adoring outward charms, which fade ; Nor reck'd that Virtue best adorns each maid. I cool became — the match was set aside ; Lorn Mary-Ann took things to heart — she died ! Her double loss of beauty and my love, C'-aus'd pining giief a weight of ills to prove. Too late compassion touch'd my stubborn soul; Long for her sake my fruitless tears did roll. Oh ! had she liv'd but to have been my bride, I'd saciific'd in pity all my pride. Now, now, I mourn my cruelty unkind ; Increasing anguish settles on my mind ! Had I in time to comfort her but deign'd, I'd sav'd her life, and happiness obtain'd. Scarce spread the news ere I from home fast fled, Far o'er the wilds a trackless course I sped ; Three tedious months with gipsies I have liv'd, And day and night for Mary- Ann I've griev'd. Alas ! alas ! — sure eveiy care is mine, That wrings the sonl, and leaves us to repine ! For thee, young njan, methinks 'twere not amiss To turn thy thoughts on future scenes of bliss : Jane yet may love, joy yet thy steps await ; And peace, attendant, bless thy humble state !' Concluding thus, he wipes the starting tear : Gilbert would speak ; but Mansfield town is near: ^Vhere the green dragon shapes a striking sign, Appears the inn for porter, ale, and wine ! Pensive the friends conclude their fast to break, Nor further for a baiting place they'll seek : On nice hot roll, rich toasted cheese, fine ale, In parlour snug, like travellers, regale. With hearts refresh'd, they on their journey go, Passing the lane, the northern road below ; 58 GILBERT. Where, rais'd conspicuous by each shelving side, Deep graven stones the space in miles divide : There sev'i-al rough-wrought characters they read, Bend on their way, and try their utmost speed. Shame to the man, who injur'd, in his rage, The guiding-post, or mile-stone, near the hedge, Merely to vex the weaiy wand'ring wight. And mock the doubtfiil stranger's anxious sight 1 Fai- on the road th' ungracious wretch has been, The dints of mischief on each stone are seen j The letter'd board defac'd, no more descries The town, or points how far the distance lies. Here Herbert sigh'd — to speak he thus began : * Now, while we walk, I'll tell you what I plan : I'm tir'd with rambling, homewards I'll retura, Nor more my father for my sake shall mourn. But, once to judge how things are like to go, First what he means concerning me I'll know ; If to forgive my faults he's yet inclin'd, I'll better be, nor more afflict liis mind. ' Three miles this side of Loughbro' is seen A modern building on a rising green : Safe wall'd with brick, white rails are fix'd aroimd. The fi-agrant woodbines grace the gravell'd ground. Oblige me, Gilbert, by one favour kind ; Cari-y my letter, and the merchant find : Dwell on his action when he turrs to read ; Observe it well — tliere rests my fate indeed ; Witli kind concern to what he wills, attend ; Make known my grief — 'tis what I now unbend ; Do, Gilbert, say, how much your friend laments His num'rous faults, and heartily repents.' The other heard, then with a smile replied : ' All this I'll do, and thank you, sir, beside ; GILBERT. 51* <¥ratorully bound, by this convincing proof Of your regard for a poor hapless youth ! With woe oppress'd — o'erbearing, stubborn, woe ; "•Tis all as one whichever way I go ; From place to place unsettled still I move ; And, while I travel, mourn my slighted love. Your letter safely to your sire I'll speed, Dwell on his action when he turns to read, With due concern to what he wills attend, Make known your sorrows, and your griefs unbend: Nor doubt but he to answer kind will deign ; He'll pardon all, receive his son again. Thus I, for once, a little joy shall have, Ere my misfortunes bring me to my grave.' To whom young Herbert answei-'d in these word* * Your kind assurance better thoughts affords ; Oh ! if my father peace to me restore, Believe your friend — I'll let you mourn no more ! A thriving farm on that bless'd day I'll buy, Which you shall rent on terms not over high ; Your lovely Jane your constant spouse shall be^ And trouble cease to bear its weight on thee. ■Cheer up, dear Gilbert ! mark the words I say. Coming from friendship, which you must obey ; A mite from my inheritance I'll give, And thee and Jenmj happy may ye live.' * Thanks, gen'rous Hei'bert t Gilbert quickly said^ While every look his gratitude betray'd ; * Thanks, gen'rous Herbert ! — I the gift rel'use, Which, to accept, your friendship 'twould abuse. Had I, indeed, of wealth a kingly store, I still should think I'd reason to deplore ! Had I been born estates to call my own, Jenny had lov'd me for their sake alone ! 60 GILBERT. Here drives the tliom !— it makes me more dis- tress'd — It wounds my heart — it robs me of my rest : Were I but wealthy, Jenny kind would prove ; But humble Gilbert she disdains to love.' Discoursing thus, twelve tedious miles they pass'd, And came below t!ie hollow'd rocks at last ; Far in the distance stands a row of mills, Along the border of the forest hills ; Where tufts of gorse,with yellow blossoms crown'd, Wide variegate the upland rising ground : Full many a sluggish jack-ass steals abroad, To crop the thistle growing near the road. Slow up the path, the friends their way pursue ; The cavern'd houses strike their prying view, Till bearing down to Nottingham they come, And hear the crash of many a lumb'ring loom. The higher folk in stately halls reside ; The streets are pav'd, the market w cU supplied : Pale manufacture bears the town a name, Its patent lace and stockings speak its fame, ludustiy points the cert ;in means oi gain, While Commerce sends her labours o'er tlie main, Contiusting still, her riches' fair increase, With rags and filth, the fruits of idleness. Now walk they fast, nor make the least delay, Aside the church with speed pursue their way ; The Bridge-Foot House attracts attention best, Within they go, their weaiy limbs to rest. On boil'd plum-pudding, nice roast beef, they dine ; The landlord call'd, he brings his choicest wine : How nice the fare ! — the lover scarce can find A will to eat — affliction rends his mind. GILBERT. 6J Here Herbert writes, his sorrows lie reveals ; He folds the note, which carefully he seals : The bill discharg'd, their journey they renew, Till noble Trent extends before their view : Nor long the scenes their ling'ring steps assail. The castle rock, the lowland level vale. The far-fam'd grove of Clifton, which inspir'd Our White * to sing, with heavenly numbers firVL Across the bridge their steps they onward bend ; And though quite weaiy, strive their pace to mend? Adown the slope, or nigh the heavy rise, Full many a milestone strikes their eager eyes. Arriv'd at Bunny, Herbert thus began : * Here will I wait the issue of my plan : See where yon sign-post meets the passing sight, The village-inn I'll make my liome to-night. Four miles from hence, the left side of the road. You'll not mistake the merchant's fair abode : Hear the description which I gave before, Its front is stone ; its height, a second floor ; White rails o'ertop the walls of brick around, And tufted trees adorn the gravell'd ground. Soon to my father you'll my letter give — View well his look — oh ! may he it receive : If tilings go well, inform him where I wait. And in the mom convince me of my fate.' He ceas'd : the letter in his hand he took. Gave it to Gilbert, who, replying, spoke : * Amidst of ills some better things remain ; Friendship has power to banish far my pain, * The late Henry Kirke White, of Nottingham, antlici I't Clifton Grove and other ctiebiated potins. 62 GILBERT. Here vrill you stay the while direct I go, With heart of zeal to dissipate your woe : I'll to your father all your cares unfold, Speak your repentance, and your giief of soul. Then quick returning, whether wrong or right, I'll bring you word, your good will to requite.' So saying, they shake hands, and silent part : Fresh liopes inspire young Hubert's grateful heart ; His inn he seeks, the better cheer he tries, "VVliile lovelorn Gilbert on his joumey hies. How fast he walks ! he's on big errand sent ; Eager he feels to know the gieat event : Nor more his close attention he bestow'd On varying sights along the dusty road. Three tigiu'd milestones Gilbert quickly pass'd : Meeting a stile to crowTi his zeal at last, This way to go he thinks less time may need ; Across he steps, his errand more to speed ; Runs up the hill, tlien down the valley flies. Till night's dark shadows ovei-spread the skies. Alarm'd, he hurries o'er the dismal green ; No outlet thro' the banded hedge is seen. The treacherous path at length, by slow degrees. Leads him astray ; — another road he sees : A different cut some high rails terminate ; He's now confas'd ; he mourns his folly late — Pooi- youth ! 'twere wrong the safer track to leave, A fault which gave him other cause to grieve. The moon up risen, he perceives he's lost : He spies two paths, one o'er the other cross'd : ^VTiich he shall clioose, no fav'iing sprite reveals He's chosen wrong — it leads into the fields ! Here Gilbert stands unknowing what to do ; No wandering rustic comes within his view. GILBERT. 63 Of whom to ask, haply to find once more The certain road he quit in evil hour. Low droops his head : his spirits 'gin to fail I When, lo ! a cry for help, resounds the vale ; A dreadful ciy— louder the noise repeats ; Poor Gilbert's breast with consternation beats. Again a shriek ! — he rims with sudden speed Towards the spot from whence tlie cries proceed : Close to a wall four of the ruffian crew. Dragging some man to murder, come in view : A piteous scene ! it gives him mortal pain ! His feeble strength to master four, how vain ! Prudence his better courage will befriend ; He schemes a plan, whate'er may be the end : Without delay takes off his upper coat ; He holds it out, then runs toward the spot : Shouts, ^ Here they are ! up, friends, we have them all!' The frighten'd cowards scamper o'er the wall : Guilt strikes their conscience ; they feel sore afraid ; With speed they haste across the heavy glade, In fancy picturing, by the moon's pale light, A crowd well arm'd to intercept their flight. Meanwhile brave Gilbert hastens to the swain. Prone-lying, trembling on the skirted plain. He lifts him up, and kindly looking said, ' Take courage ! friend, the wicked rogues have fled I Accept the ready offer of my hand : I'll guide you safe where'er you give command : Happy it chanc'd, that timely here I came, To disappoint the villains in their aim.' To whom the stranger: ' Sir, my life you've sav'd, And gratitude has deeply this cngrav'd ; But stin I feel your offer'd help I need, To bear my frame, enfeebletl, o'er the mead. 64 GILBERT. 'Tis scarce one furlong from yon chalky mound, Wliere my house stands upon a rising ground ; Whence, for the future, I'll avoid with care, Coming alone to take tlie evening air.' These fevir words spoken, their return they haste Across the meadow, field, and wint'ry waste ; Nor more molested, they their course pursue, Till close at hand the king's highway they view. 65 CANTO VI 11. ARGUMENT. The stranger rescued from the robbers discovers himself to Iif. the father of Herbert.^Giibert meets with unexpected con- dolence ; his interview, &c. — Jenny confesses her allection ; she clears up to him the singularity of her former deport- ment. — His excessive joy, &c. — The gratitude of the gentle- man towards Gilbert for having saved his life. — Conclusion. I ouNG Gilbert bjess'd his well-rewarded toil, And thank'd the Power that led him o'er the stile : He'd been the means, through Providence divine. To save from mffian fury some poor hind. The road they pass'd ; our Gilbert did inquire Where stood the house of Herbert's wealthy sire ? His new companion answers, with a sigh, * 'Tis tliat we seek ; — a father once was I ! Ah ! brave young man, say why this anxious strain ? Why ask the question ? will you kind explain ? I'd once a son, by fortune led to roam — Alas ! he went, three months ago, from home ! Now stubboni grief, which still my soul assails, Leads me to walk midst solitary vales ; Or, on the rocks, to mourn my sons hard fate, Or 'side the stream, lamenting, early, late. ' Where solitude asserts her solemn sway, Where, unmolested, brood the birds * of prey, * The kites. G 2 66 GILBERT. Oft have I seen, at eve, the sun dedine, His streaks of gold, his cloud-assemblage shine. Till sudden anguish seiz'd upon my soul, And ceaseless tears in mighty torrents roll. Ah ! might I heai- where Herbert could be trac'd, Weak as I am, I'd tiy my steps to haste ; His faults, though num'rous, freely I'd forgive ; He'd comfort me what few years I've to live.' He ceas'd ; nor knew that each succeeding word, To lovelorn Gilbert did fresh joy aiford ; The whole adventure dwells upon the sense. It is the ordering of wise Providence. Just as he'd shap'd an answer in reply. The wish'd-for building strikes his eager eye ; Th' afflicted sire unlocks the garden gate, The liv'ried servants round the portal wait. Poor Gilbert meets their looks of bitter scorn ; His manner hmnble, and his garb forlorn ; But soon experienced a better fate, ^Vhen each one heard what did their lord relate : ' He's sav'd my life !' — the words like lightning fly ; Th' attendants often, to themselves, thus cry : '■ A vent'rous act indeed ! how bravely done ! The merchant will adopt him for his son 1' What scraping, cringing, what insidious lore. To catch a smile ! — his pardon they implore ; Happy they feel, who een a word obtain From the late object of their proud cUsdain. But Gilbert now young Uerberfs sire address'd, Him to console, and ease his troubled breast : ' Good news I bring ; much pleasure may it give. Know that your son, whom you lament, does hve ? I've left him, sir, at Bunny, while I came. To bring his letter.' — He presents the same. GILBERT. 67 The parent, warai with rapture, breaks the seal, And, overjoy'd, reads what the lines reveal. Gilbert he styles his guardian, best of fiiends, While for his son his carriage quick he sends ; Along the road the lash is heard to sound, The horses fly, and light the wheels rim round. Meanwhile poor Gilbert, close requested, tells His own true tale — on Jenm/s hate he dwells ; In either eye reveals the glist'ning tears. And full of trouble and concern appears. His fiiend beholds with marks of new surprise, And bids him cease his heavy groans and sighs ; Abrupt began : ' 'Twas you that sav'd my life ; And, in return, fair Jane shall be your wife ! Look not amaz'd, but hear what I express : Jevny, your fav'rite, my best servant is ; My old housekeeper for a season hir'd The maiden's service you've so long admir'd ; Herself she's well acquitted, just and true, And her affection's surely fix'd on you. A 'squire's devoirs she lately did withstand, E'en to my steward she's refus'd her hand ! Some youth she loves, yoimg Gilbert call'd by namf , And what you say evinces you're the same. I'll ring the bell fair Je)iny to accite. And may you bring the matter clearly right ! If to your hopes the lovely girl's inclin'd, Henceforth in me you both a friend shall find.' He spoke : applying to the bell his hand. Soon Jenny comes to wait on his command ; He leaves the parlour — Gilbert meets her eyes. Her cheeks turn pale, tumultuous thoughts arise : The sudden shock with joy distracts anew, Confus'd she waits ; nor wist she what to do ; 63 GILBERT. Rind on the yonth she casts a tender smile, That veil repays his sutf' ring, pain, and toil* ' Alas !' he cries, ' such bliss I ne'er shall know ! Here seems a dream to aggravate my woe. How hard my fate ! — my breast heaves many a sigh ; What hopes are left for such a wietch as I ? Ah! say you love ! — my heart with rapture beat ; Dear Jenny, make my happiness complete ! With kinder pity view my doleful state : Ah ! say you love ! or seal ray cniel fate !' The fair one hears, and, Gilbert more to bless, In softer strain her passion did confess ; Gently she blames her lover all forlorn. Whose ill-tim'd flight had caus'd her long to mourn. With smiles benign, to Gilbert thus she cries, ' Fond youth ! forbear ; no longer heave your sighs : If Jane is lov'd, mistaken cares dismiss. Hush ev'i-y grief, and bid aifliction cease ! Ah me ! what joy enraptur'd my young heart, When from the door I mark'd the tilted cart ! Pleas'd at your stay to tell my father news, I've made believe the cleanly broom to use ; My sidelong glance appear'd quite lost on you, But still I thought your passion kind and true ; And fondly hopd you'd follow through the gate. When in the garden I was led to wait. But, tlirough mischance, you left me to deplore, Upbraid my fooUsh folly o er and o'er ; Crv' at the gifts Mhich you so kindly brought, And blame myself for being so much in fault. Know too, deal- Gilbert, you're the only swain For whom my heart e'er felt a secret pain : Continue still your Jenny to adore. And she will cruel prove to you no more !' GILBERT. 69 To which her lover answers, wild with joy, ' Sure this is Jane, and not deceived am I ! What rich reward awaits my stubborn toil ! Relenting Fortmie deigns on me to smile. Adieu, ye fields ! ye mountains, vales, and groves ! Midst solitude no longer Gilbert roves ! Fate now allots to him a paradise. While hopes of bliss, to know no change, aiise, Say, will dear Jane consent to be my bride, Dwell in a cot, and share all I provide ? Will Jane agree with Gilbert poor to live. And good or ill, as Heaven may send, receive ? Oh ! then I'm bless'd, supremely bless'd indeed ! And take from hence the best, the highest meed.' To whom with smiles th' enchanting fair replies,. * Nor more will I my sentiments disguise ; But own the truth — young Gilbert I approve. Who for my sake could solitaiy rove. How much I've sutfer'd for my false disdain. Were strange to tell, — yet things come right again ; Jenny consents to be her Gilbert's bride, And share the good or ill that may betide.' ' Success attend !' the list'ning master cries ; I'd fain approach, to bid new joys arise ; The hero brave, who sav'd my life, to crown. And fix him high above tlie world's hard frown. A fann well stock'd, you, Gilbert, will receive, Likewise to Jane one thousand pounds I'll give : Accept this scroll, to which my hand I've set, And hence be your felicity complete.' So saying, from his vest tlie deeds he takes : The youth beholds, and thus rejoinder makes ; ' All, sir ! your goodness more and more I see. And thank you kind for gifts bcstow'd on me. 70 GILBERT. Fair from your hands, sweet Jane becomes my brid<? ; Can I 'with her crave wealth, or aught beside ? Yet, if you please, I heaitily assent, The well-stock'd farm on mod'rate teiins to rent ; Since you've a son who is indeed ray friend, And with your gift our friendship e'er might end — • Forgive me, sir ! — the present I refuse, Which to receive, your friendship 'twould abuse : Here nothing more I dare accept from you, To whom my gratitude's already due.' WTien now young Herbert suddenly appears ; He'd just arriv'd — our Gilbert's words he hears : Prone at his parents feet himself he throws, And gushing tears declare his inward woes. ' Look o'er my faults, dear father !' he began, And from this hour I'll ne'er offend again ! Look o'er my faults — a duteous son I'll be, And Rectitude shall henceforth dwell with me !' ' "Welcome, my hopes !' the aged parent cries ; I pardon all, and blessings grant besides ; You like the Prodigal restor'd become. Ease and contentment still to tind at home. Let no hai"sh strife your futiue peace assail, Nor passion o'er your judgment more prevail ; A settled calm on all your thoughts await. Cool to determine and deliberate. From late experience much you may have gain'd. Better to strive your conduct to amend. The plan of life nice principles requires ; Good wholesome counsel combats bad desires. But my lov'd son in Herbert I behold. And look'd-for joys before my face unfold ; Joys which no careful sorrows shall impede, Kmd as they come affliction to succeed. \ GILBERT, 71 Still to this youth how much does Herbert owe ! He shielded me, braving the mortal blow ! Lone in the fields I chanc'd at eve to stmy ; His courage made the murd'rers haste away : Sav'd from their hands, 'tis mine to heap rewai'ds ; But what I'd freely give, he disregards : Fearing the gentle Herbert 'twould offend ; Foregoes the farm, to keep him still his friend.' * Respected father !' soon the son repUes, Within my mind all troubling care subsides ; Again restor'd to your parental love, Whate'er you do I cannot but approve : Yet for the youth a friendship )iind I feel, I'd promis'd him in part what you reveal ; Since which, defending he your sacred life, His be the farm, and Jane his faithful wife.' At wliich young Gilbert his discourse renews : * The goodly gift I'll now no more refuse : I'm truly bless'd ! — dear Herbert, see the fair ! Behold sweet Jane, who caus'd my anxious care ! Oh ! by her love my rapture bears a date ! Crown'd with your friendsliip, happy is my fate ! For me there's real happiness in store, And sorrow flies my presence evermore.' Thus clouds and storms obscure the sun's warm ray, Dwell on the light, and dull the face of day ; Just for a time the gloomy shroud may last, Till the hot beam reflects a brighter cast ; Serene's the sky, all Nature shines more fair ; Th' unwelcome vapour vauisbes in air. I THE STORY OF ANCIENT PLUTO. THE GODS' REVENGE; OR, THE TRIAL OF CUPID. TO WHICH IS ADDED, THE WINTER HERMIT, A TALE. ADVERTISEMENT. The following pieces were composed by the Author of Gilbert, and discover a superior ge- nius. Sometime before offering his Works to the Public, he submitted the MS. to two or three learned acquaintance, who spoke very favourably of tlie contents. It was however observed, that the present is not the age to encourage this kind of poetry, and compositions founded on fables of tlie heathen mythology will be but of little use to any writer. In deference to their opinion, it was considered to introduce the poems to the world as translations from the ancient poets, and they quickly obtained many admirers. The Editor embraces this opportunity of de- claring the real author, and it will be remarked, that the muse of Gilbei^t is not confined to one species of verse only ; but that his poetical talents can ' soar to heights sublime,' as well as touch on the * sweetness and simplicity of the pastoral reed.' MILES SAPMAN. March 25, 1809. THE STORY OF ANCIENT PLUTO. CANTO I. ARGUMENT. Saturn haviug been dethroned, Jove and Opertus divide the world. Tartarus described, together with the descent of Pluto into the Elysian fields. Man disputes the sway of Jupiter, who thereupon visits him with dreadful plagues ; the consequence thereof. VVhen ancient Saturn from the throne was hiirl'd, His rebel sons did halve the jarring woild : Great Jove preferr'd Olympus' stately height, And Pluto Hell's low subterraneous site ; The wheels of thunder did the first demand, The other claim'd the whole of center land : Their vaiying dispositions thus confess'd, Each came to act hereafter as expresS'd. With speed Opertus to his kingdom rides — To the world's end a flying car he guides ; Erebus' distant portals strike his sight. He downward steers his coursers' rapid flight. Each side the gates stood rocks, the Styx' drear coast, Where Charon landed many a gloomy ghost ; u 2 78 THE STORY OF Three-headed Cerbei^us, barking, did extend His pond'roiis chains, the entrance to defend ; Barking in vain — stern Dis * his powers applied, And made the gates, harsh grating, open wide : Onward he pass'd ; a dragon stretch'd his stings, And sprung up fiercely on his outspread wings High in the air ; but strong with fetters bound, He fell more fast, and furious smote the ground. Now wider shores appear beneatli the sky ; The king directs his eagles as they fly, And steers the car above the dismal ridge Of burning mountains, and stupendous bridge ; One arch it forms above the foaming surge That takes its rise from Taitanis' strong gurge, Where the volcanoes vent, with hideous noise, E'erlasting flames, that fire the distant skies ; And sphnter'd rocks, replete with endless blaze, Lift high their heads, and shine ten thoasand rays : Vast fragments fall below the denser sphere. Cinders and stones are scatter'd fai* and near. In tliis ilUmi table void are cast The ririn'd systems, motionless at last ! Whose wasted orbs their places know no more, Stay'd in their course ; — the time and tide all o'er The suns extingui^hd, hide the face of day ; The rocks dissolve, the moimtains melt away ! Hell's sulphui-'ous river overflows its mound, By slow degrees regains the craggy ground ; In other parts forsakes the lonely strand, Leaving uncoverd tracts of dismal land : Confiision reigns, old Chaos ever seems To bear the heat and cold's remote extremes ; * Pluto. ANCIENT PLUTO. 79 A region drear, which shades of darkness bind, Till the pyrites leave a gleam behind. But now descended on the Elysian fields, Pluto alights, Jove's signet he reveals. Th' imperial seat with massy diamonds bound, Form'd a bright blaze that dazzled far around : Four sculp tur'd harpies held the cloth of state ; Six deathlike shapes below the footstool sat ; Nor far, the many -headed hydras play'd On flageolets, resounding o'er the glade ; Twelve demi-sprites the harp iEolian strung. And long the monarcli's mighty deeds they sung. \l(ith flatteiy vain, the king his state assumes. Ascends the throne, receives his crown and plumes ; Afai" and near his subjects homage pay, And honour give to Pluto's iron sway. Meanwhile, abroad, a daring ruffian band Denied Jove's right and power to rule the land : The thund'ring king the bolts of lightning hurl'd, And stood resolv'd to desolate the world ; He brought the guardians of the compass'd earth, To cause the plagues, war, pestilence, and dearth. Presumptuous man, inhabiting abodes Of clay, constrained the awful sire of gods To shower down judgments on his guilty head, Till mighty armies lay untimely dead. The good Junones no more their care extend, The unsuspecting female to befriend : Deluded, lost, by * flatteiy express, The virgin early falls in deep distress ; * Deluded, tost, Sec] Here is depictured the fate of the hapless maid who listens to the flattery of a base lover. She is led to forsake the paths of Hrtue at an early age, and be- 80 THE STORY OF Turn'd by mistaken parents out of doors, Their pride of blood, her crime's increase restores ; Till the poor starving wretch deserted dies, And once so lov'd, a putrid mass she lies ! Sent from their duty, FabuHnus' clan No longer watch the progeny of man ; In her own offspring the forsaken maid, To hide dishonour, drives the murd'rous blade : High Heaven the voice of crjing blood regards, And the vile mother * Justice well rewards. The newly-rising crops Voluna blights. And fears of famine, fai' and near, excites : Cei^es gives aid the teeming soil no more, But starves the lands she bless'd so late before, When the poor tillers of the arid eartli Feel all the horrors of a certain dearth : A scene of desolation spreads aroimd ; Unhappy man returns a moumftil sound, His dying groans in quick succession rise, Ascend the plain, resound the lofty skies ; Until peace-ofFerings by the priests are paid, And Jove, repenting, stores tlie fruitful glade. comes tlie prey of consequent distress. Her wretched parents, through a mistaken notion uf family pride, turn the deluded creature out of doors, and there leave her, unreclaimed, sub- ject to infamy. M. S, * And the vile mother, &c.] If the law justly condemn the unnatural mother who destroys her offspring, what punish- ment should it not inflict on the unforgiving parent, who ig actually the destroyer, not only of the life of his devoted child, but, it is to be feared, in giving her up to vice, of the soul likewise ?— Nature and Religion, both, recoil at the idea. Alas ! how many amiable daughters might have been restored, had they only obtained pardon for their first offence. M. S. ANCIENT PLUTO. 01 CANTO II. ARGUMENT. Proserpine gathering flowers, is seized by Pluto, and carried away from ber nymphs. — He pretends love, but the maid repulses his offers.— iEuenno, sent to perform a stratagem, returns crowned -with success. But soon in Pluto's ardent soul arose Tumultuous hopes of joy and sweet repose ; With some fair partner to divide his tin-one, Nor longer bear his arduous sway alone. And it fell out, when Proserpina stray 'd, Far from her nymphs, along the flow'ry glade, He met the lonely damsel on the way ; Midst Ennd!& field did she become his prey. Now to the ground her fragrant garland foils ; She calls her nymphs — but ah ! in vain she calls ! Gulph'd in the bowels of the heavy earth, Where without leave there was no coming forth. Then she : ' What direful prodigies appear, My soul convulsing with alarming fear ! Consign'd by fate to feel the worst of woe, And suffer torments in these realms below : But Jove, behold ! — oh ! save the early race Of thy Ceres, distinguish'd by her grace ! Or strengthen her, her sorrow's weight to bear, And stay the anguish of her deep despair !' To whom Opertus : ^ Proserpina, hear What I design, and cease thy empty prayer ! 8';^ THE STORY OF Pluto, who widely his domain extends, Permits thee, if thou will, to mourn thy friends, Or fill with rapture his devoted breast ; Or one or other, be thy choice confess'd. Torn from thy kindred and a parent's care, No more expect to breathe thy natal air : Ceres e'en now thy course would soon pursue, Prying with torchlight every avenue ; — Yet she'll rejoice when thy good fortune's known, Rais'd to the honours of a monarch's throne, Where rules the king with arbitrary sway, And spirits fly his mandates to obey. Suspend thy tears, nor more lament thy fate, Grief ill becomes the sov'reign of a state !' Replied the maid, ' I sconi thy offer — go. Vile as thou art, and cause of all my woe ! Had righteous Jove this act of thine decreed, Thou might'st with me, tho' insolent, succeed ; But thou art false — for thine I ne'er will be, I thee abhor, and from thy presence flee.' She said ; and sidelong cast her tearful eyes : Straight to a cavern in the rock she flies ; There cherishing her giief, full sore distress'd, To Heaven she prays, and all her fears expi-ess'd. When now to his high seat the king retires. And feels perplex'd by love's tormenting fires : His soul sustains alternate hopes and fears ; By turns he frowns and smiles at all he hears ; Now to use brutal force he seems inclin'd ; Now he resolves on other means more kind : A gentle scheme ingeniously he plann'd. To gain the virgin, and ensure her hand. The trumpet sounds, he issues his commands, His aii^ powers convenes on distant lauds ; ANCIENT PLUTO. 83 Here met in consultation on tlie coast, The monarch rises, and addiess'd his host. ' Ah ! who's not heard Opertus oft deplore His fate, tho' sov'reign of Hells boundless shore ! A thousand shadowy forms his orders wait, O'er these he reigns in solitary state : Ceres young daughter wins his pensive breast, And proves a tyrant in her turn at best : From Ennas vale the mmd but lately came, Yet scorns the proffer of our diadem ; Delights in fields, and flowers, and verdure gay, And spurns the pomp our royal realms display. Now who'll, for me, disguise himself in white. Like to a goddess of Cythei'ea's site. Approach the realms of beauty, mild, serene, And take our true credentials to the queen ? To aid my wish, if Venus kind attend, Tlie welcome balm to heal my giief she'll send ; Denied, our messenger will artful play His part, and lead her fav'rite son away.' He paus'd ; for, lo ! along the dreary shore, The waiting powers in wild commotion roar ; Applause, contempt, their van ing shouts resound ; A peel of murmurs shakes the quiv ring ground. As ruffled waters, rushing down a steep, Strike upon crags, and burst into the deep, Fall'n midst the sea, the foaming breakers glide. And ceaseless noise extends afar and vride : So seem*d the shouts to echo 'long the coast. Till Pluto calUng, silence seiz'd the host. 'Twas then a spectre of the jEgean rocks, The progeny of Erebus and Nox, Accurs'd of Jove y whose altars he'd profan'd, And sacred domes, where piety stili reign'd, 84 THE STORY OF Open'd a line, and pass'd amidst the clan ; An audience granted, he to speak began : ^ Pluto, behold, how I most hmnbly bend, In form disguis'd, Cythei^ea to ascend ! By thy commands, where Venus reigns, to go, And bring her offspring to the shades below. Love's awful queen, who bears the sway of gods, Shall mourn unceasing in the bless"d abodes, Shall mourn her son's departure from tlie isle. To cheer thy hopes, and cause the fair to smile.' Hell's sov'reign heard, then raising him, express'd, His braver courage far excell'd the rest ; From whom he turn'd disdainful, and apart With speed retir'd, exulting in his heart. His secret cave Opertus next explores, Scoop'd in the rocks, and opes two folding doors ; Out gush'd a light, from lamps e'er burning cast. To guide their steps as down tlie aisle they pass'd : Here cUamond pillars fix the wand'ring gaze, A length'ning range, reflecting vivid rays ; Vulcan^ the arcliitect, his skill essay'd, And dug these caverns, that such pomp display'd. * Now,' said tlie king, ' see yonder golden throne. High o'er the rest — 'tis meant for thee alone ! When thou retura'st 'tis thine, a regal meed Thee to rewaid, accomplishing the deed. This vial powerfiil liquor does contain. To change thy figure in the queen's domain. The same receive — I bid farewell to thee. Decoy the loves, and hasten back to me !' He said, nor waited for his slave's reply ; — They part. Muenno scales the lofty sky ; There swiftly rising in the azure round, Appears, like Iris, with bright colours crown'd ; ANCIENT PLUTO. 85 And near the streams that wash Cythereas site, His robes flow smooth, and change to lucid wliite. Midst cypress groves a tablet he unrolls, Tlie daring part he is to act unfolds ; He studies how to shape a fine address, Trying new arts, to crown him with success. First lovely Venus, by her smiles express'd How high she held her empire o'er the rest : From her fine eyes shot forth unerring darts, To keep in awe, and newly conquer hearts ; Their fatal glance no living wight withstands, But falls a slave, and waits on her commands, The conquer'd slave to dalliance she chains, And, as he suffers, glories in his pains. Muenno vex'd, his utmost power extends, Sparkles his robes, his hair in ringlets bends ; High on his head a dazzling sun he wears, And girds his loins with two full-blazing stars ; A warmer flush of crimson glows his face, He walks more nimble in the sacred place : Yet conscious fears at times the traitor show'd, And kept at distance from each prying god. Fresh fragrant gales blow o'er the verdant plain, And rich perfumes, ambrosial, scent his train. The grand assembly with a shout declare Th' immortal stranger fairest of the fair : Unknowingly a daring sprite they praise, And feel still greater pleasure as they gaze. Lightly he trips along the varied ground, And casts his eager eyes on all around ; Ensnares the gods, excepting wiser Jove, Who knew the state of grim Opertus' love : High on his throne in majesty he sits. The bold impostor to deceive permits •, I 86 THE STORY OF So will'd bis brother ever should forego His bitter grief, and misery below. But now Muenno, liis tir'd limbs to ease, Hies where the roses blush in Zephyr's breeze ; A little god, asleep on flowers, he spied, His bow and aiTows dangling at his side j Venus's belt his snowy tunic brac'd, And fresher garlands circled round his waist ; A silver crown adom'd his youthftil brow, And his light wanton linglets wav'd below. With malice stung, tlie slave a dream applies. And phantom gods convenes amidst the skies : With one accord their voices long proclaim, ' Let Eros reign, and Uve the gen'rous flame V Made vain by flatt'ry, that each god presents, Awake, the stripling shows his insolence, Resolves to nile without the least controiU, And play the tyrant o'er each captive soul. Muenno then : ^ Celestial power, give ear ! Son of Idalia, quit thy natal sphere ! The chief Opertls, and his hosts, implore Thou'lt leave Cytherea for the lower shore. Not to the cupids that on earth reside, A spurious race, are Pluto's hopes allied ; These vagrant pow'rs in baser bosoms reign, And for small pleasure leave a world of pain ; Thron'd in the royal palace slialt thou sit. To fill with rapture all that hear thy wit. Come, take Jdalia's car, her milk-white doves, And fly triumphant, as become the Loves !' He spoke. The dreamer, to extend his power, Seizes tlie chariot in a luckless hour ; Opei'tus' slave attending on the way, To gain his ends, and lead him more astiay. AJfClEKT PLUTO. '67 CANTO III. ARGUMENT. Cupid arrives atTartanis.and the reception he there meets with. — He causes great joy to Opertus, which, however, the latter dissembles. — The discourses of Pluto and Proserpine. — Cou- cliisioD. Them JEoJus view'd, while fury flash'd liis eyes, And bade the dreadful tornadoes aiise : * Haste from your Caves, ye winds, ascend on high, To hurl the car of Venus down the sky !' The blust'ring winds o'er Thessaly he steers, Confounds the trav'llers by alarms and fears ; With roaring soimd tremendous storms he brews. Waves liis broad pinions, and the god pursues. Soon many a dart from Love's bright quiver flies, High o'er the earth, upborne amidst the skies ; The black'ning tempest gathers strength around. Till Cupid plimg'd into a sea * profound. His silver shafts, in numbers widely strown, O'erspread the fields, with ev'ry virtue flown, Rais'd playful beams of lightning while they pass'd. And still at distance, sparkled on the grass. With fright o'ercome, Muenno fast descends ; To drowning Cupid he assistance lends, Till daylight clos'd, then took once more his way, To guide the car where Pluto bears the sway. * Euripus; a narrow sea between Boeotia and Eubaa, 88 THE STORY OF The king beholds the car approach his throne, His joy to hide, he speaks in threat'ning tone : ' Say, whence, or who's the slave that comes dis- ma^d, Like an espial in the act betray'd ; Perhaps desigmng to o'ertum my host, And faithful subjects, on the Styx' drear coast ; Bold to provoke grim Pluto's vengeful ire. To chain a traitor to Tartarean fire ?' The youthful stranger soon affrighted, cries, ' Know'st thou not me, descendant of the skies ? In Venus" cliariot, d^a^\^l by milk-white doves, I fly triumphant, earliest of the Loves. "VVliile mighty Pluto, rich in fame, invites, Well pleas'd I leave Cytherea's gay delights ; Here, on a throne exalted high, to sit O'er thousands, pleas'd to hear my ready wit.' Tlie sullen monarch hears, and thus replies : * Art thou young Cupid of the distant skies ? Oh ! I believe, before my troubled sight Stands a vain imp,half-drown'd,in wretched plight; Nor tliis the style of Venus' son who aims His feather'd shafts, to light love's fiercest flames : Say Where's thy arrows? — speak, I give thee leave ; Thy fate awaits shouldst thou daie me deceive !' He sternly spoke ; poor Cupid trembling bends ; ' Have I for this forsook my kindest friends ? ' Then to the king : ' While here I shap'd my flight, Into thiB sea I fell a giddy height ; My quiver by the angiy tempest toss'd, I all my aiTows in a meadow lost. Accept me, hege, while at thy feet I fail ; Let joy be thine, and love, completing all !' He ceas'd. The monarch changes his harsh tone. And softer speaks, ' Come, stiipUng, near my thionc ; ANCIENT PLtTO. 69 Approach, where splendour shines upon the ground, And mark these lower regions far around : But not our realms, nor gay Cytherean shores, Are worthy him, who nobler things explores ! Vile yonder scats, tho' bumish'd smooth, to stand On diamond mountains, toAv'ring o'er the land ; Vile yonder temples, vile those polish'd gates, Jove's golden busts, and the o'erruling fates, Fix'd on the pillars in the darker glade. Where Vulcan form'd a lofty colonade : To me, more mighty, be henceforth allied. And, as I rule, I'll keep thee on my side ; I'll raise thee high in Pluto's wide domain, High over all, excepting me, to reign.' He said no more, but speeds his way around The river Styx, o'erflowing its broad mound ; He speeds his way, well pleas'd witliin his mind, That his proud scheme succeeded as design'd. Amidst the pass he Proserpina meets ; He smiles exulting, and the damsels greets. Not so the maid ; in sullen mood she stands : But not a moment ere he seiz'd her hands ; Indignant then, the tear disdainful ran From her full eyes — she sighing thus began : ' To meet thy wish I ever will refuse ; Thy hateful presence all my woes renews. 'Twere basely done, grim monarch ! to assail Ceres' weak daughter midst of Enna's vale ; To bring her hither, in this horrid place. And further try to urge her sure disgrace ; Oh I what obnoxious fumes aspiring roll In sulph'rous clouds, to agitate my soul ; Without rehef, I suffer by despair, The worst, the deepest, more than I can bear !* I 2 90 STORY OF ANCIENT PLUTO. She ceas'd. Grim Pluto, much erirag'd, replied, * Dispraisest thou my realms, which lie so wide ? The burning lakes are far apart the land. Where golden thrones on pearly mountains stand ; The sulph'rous fumes, which roll in clouds around, Are close confin'd within a proper bound ; E'en where we stand the richest odours rise, From fruits and flowers, to scent the spacious skirs. ' But, Proserpine, know thou, I'll sigh no more ; And gentle Cupid will my peace restore : Your pleasing charms inspire a tender theme, And prove how high they're held in my esteem ; Henceforth my queen, no more may thou express Thy thoughts displeas'd, wliile dalliance both may bless. And kindly cause the raptures ever prov'd The best iu loving, and in being belov'd.' THE GODS' REVENGE; OR, THE TRIJL OF CUPID. CANTO I. ARGUMENT. Jiiplter convenes Olympus, and betakes himself to travel. — Juno instigates Cupid to wound the gods ; ihey, on the return of Jove, make a formal complaint, whereupon the culprit is brought to trial : then follows a catalogue of his crimes. — The lamentation of Venus, and the sentence passed on Cupid. In Africa the softer passions reign, Where Venus' son claims still hLs dark domain ; His colour chang'd from fair to blackest hue, Thro' deeds unsung, O goddess ! bring to view. Once on a time great Jove, on travel bent, Conven'd the gods, and thunder'd his intent ; Resign'd his throne in Juno's hands awhile, Forsook Olympus for the earth's low isle ; Cupid restrain'd his silver shafts to aim And for a time suspend the gen'rous flame. When now his queen, to jealousy inclind, Unfolds the sorrows of her laboring mind : * Why did the king Idalia's son controul ? 'Tis some base purpose of his guilty soul ! 92 THE gods' revenge ; He fears the god, his active power to try, May some vile mistress, fix'd in love, annoy, His secret amours keeping from the view, To torture me, his injnr'd queen, anew : He quits a palace for the lower lands. And leaves the crown invested in my hands ; So I will set aside his late decree — Hence he shall know what to expect from me.' She said. In augiy moment Love she speed-, To aim his shafts where'er his fancy leads : His cruelt)^, his miscliief, know no bound ; Loud sighs of anguish rend the air around ; Till Iris flew, tlie matter to mifold, And bade tlie stripling his i-ash hand to hold. Cupid assail'd, his crime too late deplores : The rainbow goddess peace to all restores ; In hopes of justice now no more they giieve : The culprit hides who did these things achieve ; He dreads the king, afresh his sorrows roll, And guilty- terrors stupify his soul. IVIeanwhile great Jove, arriving in far climes, Beheld new scenes, and mark'd the growing times, Searchd into various foibles of the mind. And sicken'd at the folly of mankind. He saw the stronger did tlie weak oppress, The rich bore down the poor in their distress ; Worth cloth'd in rags a-foot, while villains went In the gilt car, their thoughts on mischief bent : The upright sons of virtue stood debasd. And hypocrites, encourag'd, boldy pass'd. Jove, of the earth disgusted, took his flight, And swift returu'd to rule Olympus' heiglit : The queen the crown to Jupiter returns. Makes due submission, long her fault she mourns ; OR, THE TRIAL OP CUPID. 93 The wonnded gods approach before the throne, Justice demanding on the boy alone. When now the culprit leaves his rosy bower, Inipell'd to go by some superior power : Indignant Jove well each amusement view'd, Which the weak stripling,thoughtless grown,pm*su'd. Amaz'd, confounded, in the sky he flew. And every moment more affrighted grew , Strange consternation his red face display'd. Till Venus sigh'd to see her son dismay'd. Slie cries, ' My lovely offspring, how you fly ?' He, groaning, answers, ' Oh ! I'm going to die !' Distress'd, the queen aHghts before the throne. And Hermes opens judgment midst the upper zone. * See, where the culprit wing'd along the skies, A train of fire presents before your eyes ! Ye gods around, the dreadful glare behold, And give attention while Love's crimes unfold. When the high Thunderer sought foreign lands, The youth arraign'd disputed his commands, And disobeying, dar'd his shafts to aim, Spar'd none immortal by their birth or fame ; Nor thought, while twang'd his fatal bow express'd, The gen'rous flame, o'erheated, racks the breast, Bums up the soul, brings forth more violent woe, And levels gods with mortal men below ! So stands his crhne expos'd — Yet all give ear, Anotlier heinous deed of guilt to hear ; For nothing 'scapes, though done in secret guise, High Jove, the ruler of our natal skies, * Where the clear stream of prescience still flows, Wliose precious sluice the things of future shows, Cupid approach'd, defil'd the golden stream, And rais'd the phantoms of a lively dream. 94 THE gods' revenge ; Awhile did scenes before his sight arise, Of men on earth, and gods above the skies : Here lay fali'n kingdoms, there a new one rcju's, And various words, mispoken yet, he hears ; Sees evei-y action, and the cause perceives Why folly tiiumphs, and why virtue grieves. ' At length a river hails his prying view. Along whose banks two rows of poplars grew , These form'd a shade aroimd the residence Of craving want, dull care, and indigence : Yet in this lonely dwelling liv'd a swain. Whose fame was celebrated on the plain ; His noble mind, enlarg'd by deeds of arms, Preferred retirement to the world's vain charms, . Refusing long before the offer'd crown. His valour, merit, might have made his own ? ' Now, while on matted straw he lay reclin'd, Hard blew the boist'rous, cold, inclement vrind ; Young Cupid flew into his dark abode. His crimson'd cheeks mischievous ardour glow'd ; He, stamping thrice, address'd the godlike swain : " Awake, thou mortal, to thy suff' ring pain ! See, where I stand, resolv'd on deeds of ire. To burn you up by my consuming fire ! Know thou, the haughty, proud supernal gods Did me affront within the high abodes ! I'll show them all what my revenge will do, And for their faults I'll surely punish you." ' He spoke ; and vex'd, his quiver down he plac'd On the rough floor ; his shining bow he brac'd : Then to his sight he instantly applies His crystal lens, and every shaft he tries. Looking more closely one by one, to find A weapon suited to his piu-pos'd mind. OR, THE TRIAL OF CUPID. iH) Low kneeling on the dark, neglected ground, The keenly arrow terapei-'d well he found ; A f^tal arrow, whose drear barb still proves The bitter griefs of unsuccessful loves ; Impatience, pining sorrow, doleful care, That cause poor lovers living deaths to bear. Soon o'er his bow the shaft he's fain to bring, Fixing the feather'd ^oove across the string ; He harder strains, and all his strength extends, Till his bow bending, joms the taper'd ends ; With sudden twang the nimble arrow flew Right through the heart, and gushing drops issue, Distaining deep the mould'ring straw vdth gore, And rose a stream that reek'd along tlie floor. What frantic deed a peerless swain to wound, Fam'd for his virtues on terrestrial ground ! But Jove will measure back this act of spite. And punish Cupid of Olympus' height.' He ceas'd. Meanwhile the trembling boy, distress'd, Expecting judgment, smites his abject breast ; Till overpower'd amidst the crowd aroimd, He drops confounded on the verdant ground : There, uncollected, owns his secret pains. And straight is bound in adamantine chains ; A piteous sight, forsook of all the rest, The daring tyrant who'd the gods oppress'd. When now Love's queen her pensive silence broke. Her tears ran streaming, thus she mournful spoke : ^ Ah me ! I lift my feeble arms in vain Towards my son, to loose him from his chain — My fav'rite son, adorn'd with every grace. Still to endear him to my fond embrace ! Fair as the morn, young Cupid first arose, His power was courted to ensure repose ^ 96 THE gods' revenge J A lasting pleasure reign'd where'er he came, And e'en stern Pluto own'd his goodly flame * ! But now how chang'd ! alas ! the Fates o'erwhelm My early offspring of this happy realm ; — Yet know thou, Jove, if he, my Cupid^ die, I will for ever leave the hated sky !' No more she said. Idalia died away Amidst the choir concern'd at her dismay : Alarm'd, they fly the goddess to relieve, To ease her mind, and cure her heavy grief; Th' ambrosial cordials instantly they bear. The queen to succour, and forego her caie. Reviv'd she stands, the renovating bowl Restores her strength, and lifts her sinking soul. Jove's voice is heard : ' Know now my fix'd intent, I Cupid doom to endless banislunent ! He, in my absence, dar'd a swain to wound. Whose virtues fame did far and near resound : He dar'd, besides, my will to disobey, A tyrant's part in these our realms to play, Wounding the gods — a mark on him I'll fix : All which I'll do — I swear it by the Styx.' Now tearful Venus breaks the diamond chains, Which still oppress'd poor Cupid on the plains, And cried to Jove, ' Alas ! thy dread decree. How unpropitious to my son and me ! He's rig'rous doom'd to rend my anxious mind, And leave me still to justice unresign'd ; * Own'd his goodly flame, &c.] Venus, in the mention of ber son's various excellencies, alludes to the loves of Pluto and Proserpine. The fair daughter of Ceres was utterly averse to become the wife of Opertus till under the influence of Cupid. She afterwards became excessively fond of her husband, and submitted to share with him the sovereignty of Hell- OR, THE TRIAL OF CUPID. 97 But I'll upbi-aid the ordinance of Fate For all the woes which on his crime await.' She spoke. Meanwhile the gods ascend the sky, Express their triumphs while reveng'd they fly ; High o'er the mountain they their way soon bend. And in their course the noonday beams transcend • Alighting all within the fragrant bowers, With bowls of nectar they beguile the hours. 98 THE gods' revenge ; CANTO II. ARGUMENT. Hie son of Veuiis bids a sorrowful adieu to liis native clime ; after which, the malediction of Jove is completed against him. — His final disgrace, and the creation of a new god of love. — Cupid speedily retires from Mount Olympus. JVIeanwhile mischievous Cupid sorely vex'd, Flies to his grove, and feels still more perplex'd ; Loudly he groans, repentant of liis crime, Fain to disturb the joyful gods each time : And now, on flutt'ring wing, afar he flies, Rests on a bank, and thus he sighing cries : ' What have I done ? — Oh ! my afiiiction yields A tearful vent ! ' Adieu, ye verdant fields ! Ye gardens, growing aromatic flowers ! Ye grottoes, winding labyrinths, and bowers ! Ye tow"ring alcoves, form'd sublimely large. With skill divine, two duties to discharge ! Where the high wails are carv'd with nicest art, And softer couches welcome rest impart ; The sight reUev'd by marble-sculptur'd gods. Expressing pastimes of these bless'd abodes. Adieu ! ^ Ye paths, that shine so richly fair, Bestrown with pearls and sparkling ligures rare, Ye are distinguish'd as the varied ground, Form'd into angles, ovals, squaies around ; OR, THE TRIAL OF CUPID. 99 Where still th' immortal amaranths display Impressive sweets, to tempt a longer stay ; And where the plant endu'd with sense is seen, Still from the touch to shrink its tender green, Adieu ! * Nor more will gentle Flora play. Nor cull her flowers, to tempt my ling'ring way : Alas ! those scenes no more shall hail my eyes ; — I'm doom'd from hence to quit ray kindred skies ! ' Ye restless cascades, which precipitate, And shape your course aslope to teiminate. By the o'erhanging rocks, dash'd white as snow, Fall in tlie river, and run smooth below ! Ye distant hills, that rise a giddy height, O'ertopp'd ^^^th trees, branched in romantic site. Of leaf, some faded yellow, daik and lighter green, And nicely bent, to form a varying scene. Adieu! adieu! ' Olympus mount renown'd, Farewell, your woods and cypress groves around ! Nor more to me the gods their temples rear. Nor iv'ry domes with rose-strung wreaths appear ; Nor more to me will sacred altars raise The glowing flames, aspiring high to blaze ! Oh ! pardon, Jove ! cause my sad grief to end, Or, at the least, some comfort deign to send !' He ceas'd ; for, lo ! before his swollen eyes Venus appeals, and mournfiil loud she cries, ' Ill-fated Cupid, take my last embrace ! — Thou must depait for ever from this place — Alas! thouweep'st! Hear me, avenging Jore/ And spare the pleasing, youthful god of love I-— But thou disdain'st me !' — Venus this did say With falt'ring voice, and then she died away ; 100 THE gods' revenge ; While, in her sight, volcanic lightning play'd Below the mount, until, above the glade, Thick sulphur'ous clouds, uprising swift, did move, And chang'd the colour of aflfrighted Love. With piteous look, recover'd Venus gushd Her tears, as from the sable god she rush'd, Amaz'd, disgusted, while no more appear'd The charms, by which he'd till tliat time endear'd. But soon the sire, to end his daughter's sighs, With slumber seal'd Idalia's tearfiil eyes ; Then of a rose, whose dewy leaves display'd The freshest fragrance, he a cupid made ; Him well he deck'd with every graceful charm, To please the goddess, and her grief disarm ; His fine blue eyes celestial lustre sliin'd, ^d eveiy virtue seem'd to form his mind ; His snowy limbs were shap'd with godlike art ; His robe pure white, fit emblem of his heart. Taught in the rules he sang a Uvely air, Which did awake the soul-enchanting fair. Venus, vrith rapture, folded in her arms The beauteous boy, and did admire his charms ; Beheld his bow, and quiver, well supphed With feather'd arrows, dangling at his side : The playful zephyrs spread afar around Delightful scents, from Fiord's flow'17 ground. Meanwhile dread thunder gradually comes Along the sky, and over Cupid drums A fearful sound, that peal'd within his ears, Before the voice of Jupiter he hears : * How durst thou stay where endless pleasure reigns ? Go, get thee hence to Afric's distant plains ! The sable tribe befit thy destiny ; — Fly, urchin, fly ! — thy face no more I'll see !' OR, THE TRIAL OF CUPID. 101 When now, alarm'd, black Cvpid cheerless sighs, Outspreads his wings, and thus aloud he cries : ' Ah me ! compell'd to leave the realms above, Cytherea too, and Venus' fost'ring love, I wish the Thund'rer would his aim extend, And in a moment my existence end !' He said, while waving his extended wings ; Then from the ground, high up aloft, he springs. The gods beheld the sooty exile rise. And bade confusion seize him in tlie skies ; They loudly shouting in the open air. Insulted Cupid in his dire despair ; Till more dismay'd, he verg'd his downward flight, And on the burning arid shore did light. Note by the Editor. Ancient writers are silent with regard to the event on which the latter poem is founded ; and, if we can pardon the fault of thus preferring a subject unwarranted by any author, it is in the contrivance of the poet to cover the defect. He tells us, that Jupiter formed another Cupid immediately, to fill the station which the other had lost. It hereby seems very pro- bable such a thing might have been, but had escaped former observation. K 2 ALPHONSO ; OR, THE WINTER HERMIT, A TALE. Ah me ! the north wind blows — 'tis dismal night ; Fast comes the snow aslant the wmtery bourn ; Alphonso — hapless, miserable wight ! Lies at his length on wither'd leaves to mourn. In various ways, for seven long years, he tried Fair Clementinas high esteem to gain ; But, AH ! the prude to meet his hopes denied, Beheld the youth with looks of fix'd disdain. Oft would the hind his hapless flame bemoan Where wilds responsive echo'd to the note ; Where, fai- ^xom friends, a hermit now imknown, He'd foi-m'd himself a lowly mud-wall cot. In soUtude he nourishes his woes, Wanders the sloping vale below the hill. Seeks 4iie lone tree that waves its leafless bouglis -^■'^'Aside the margin of the gurgling rill. ALPHONSO. 103 Near to whose brink Alphonso oft would stand ; His tears increas'd the current in its course : On the tree's bark he grav'd, with trembUng hand, The maiden's name atFecting him with force. Now he's retir'd — the bitter cold wind blows, The gathering clouds spread o'er tlie gloomy skies ; Beyond the distant hills it faster snows : . " Oh ! come, sweet sleep !" the doleful lover cries. How pale his cheeks ! nor cease his tears to run ; He slumbering dreams he's loitering on a glade; He'^ lost in trackless wilds : — fast sinks the sun Below the level of the mountain's head. He cries, " How heavily oppress'd I move, Drooping beneath a weight of anxious care ! How vainly I my scatter'd thoughts reprove ! , My heart beats high — I'm sinking to despair ! " And farewell peace ^ — 'tis fled — unhappy wight ! Where can I hope some comfort to acquire ? No happy hamlet hails my ling'ring sight. Nor friends solacing round a cheerful fire. " Bewilder'd still, I melancholy turn ; Amidst my grief with danger I'm beset ; Cold is the blast that whistles o'er the bourn. Fierce the rough storm that scatters snow and wet." Meanwhile the day drew nearer to its close : Perplex'd in mind, Alphonso backward hies, Round various rocks a devious track he goes, Where the night echo answers to his sighs. 104 ALPHONSO. Down yonder cave's descent he bends his way, Until transfix'd by Fear's restraining dart ; When silent Horror starkly did essay To claim dominion o'er his troubled heart. Aside the nigged mouWring cliffs in view, Hobgoblin spectres twin'd their hideous stings ; Black genii, foul in shape, more frightful grew, Sprung up aloft, and wav'd their batten'd wings. Now sunk the sim : nor left one ling'ring beam, Appall'd, Alphonso late his care repents ; Some vninkled hags approach — unsightly seen, To punish him for folly he laments. He'd fain retrace the footway far around, Pent up by demons : piteously he weeps ; He vainly stoops to grope along the ground, The vaiying path with fruitless tears he steeps. Oft on tlie floor of Horror's curs'd abode. His trembhng hand remov'd the moss-grown stones, Disturb'd the loathsome bigly bloated toad, Or down morasses shook amidst of bones. Then would the hiss of serpents stun his ears, And will o" wisps to mock his hopes arise ; He upward looks, a fancied moon appears. And twinkling stars deck the imagin'd skies. Cold the damp'd air increases more severe : Alphonso now still greater terror feels ; High o'er his head Death waves an icy spear ; His heart turns chilly, and his blood congeals. ALPHONSO. 10.> He falls affrighted on th' envenom'd ground, There lies he prone, to meet his end resign'd ; The hollow rocks, extending far, resound The cheerless echo of his suff'ring mind. " Unhappily I sought the dangerous gloom, , And in tliis horrid cavern lost, I die ! But Heav'n decrees to man a certain doom, And from the sentence vain it were to fly. " I bend beneath the power of wayward fate ! My evil stars misled me from my home, To where huge spectres, rob'd in dismal state. With glaring aspect issue wide to roam. " Adieu, proud Clementina ! proud as fair ; AdieU) my griefs ! — for, lo ! the cold pervades ! I fall a sacrifice to my despair. And sink, impitied, to Oblivion's shades." He said no more : benumb'd with cold he lay : , A choir of angels in the cave appears, Diviner strains of heavenly music play ; Alpliopso list'ning, banishes his fears. Light more resplendent beam'd the stony place : Confus'd, abash'd, the genii vile did fly ; The lurid gloom forsook the shining space, Lake orbs of smoke ascending in the sky. And Death malign apart did swift retire, And noxious vermin slunk below the plain ; A brighter ray of warmth-restoring fire Spread wide, to renovate the drooping swain. 106 ALPHOKSO. Alphonso on his feet did quickly rise, To view the splendour wliich did soon unfold ; Around he cast his wonder-stricken eyes, And felt suiprised such glory to behold. And now advanc'd a chariot, burnish 'd neat ; From which the goddess Reason did descend ; And, while eflfulgence underspread her feet. She, smiling, bade the wretched liind attend ; " Alphonso, peace ! nor more thy fate upbraid, Nor longer war with Reason — end thy caie : The powers benign have sent me to thy aid. To set thee free from torments of despair. " No more repeat, fond youth, the fruitless sigh, And stay the tear that glistens o'er thy face : Lo ! the proud maid for whom thy griefs arise, Appears divest of every mental grace. " While silly nymphs are of their beauty vain, To deck their charms is all tliey seek to know ; The signs of innate worth they still disdain, And love to follow after outward show. " Know thou, the sun reflects his early beams Upon a rock where grow luxuriant vines ; Whose branches lend a shade o'er limpid streams, Meandering through fine groves of lofty pines. " Tis at that rock where Virtue still attends, To form her daughters' all-accomplish'd minds : High o'er those moimtains loud their praise ascends : The seraph-cboir in admiration joins. ALPHONSO. i()7 " Wouldst thou be happy, poor mistaken swain ! Choose thee a nymph endu'd with excellence, Extoird for one of Virtue's sacred train, Jealous of honour, high in truth and sense. " Such kindly intercourse would e'er excite Affection daily better to improve, Wliile thy young offspring cro wn'd thee with delight, Domestic bliss, endearing filial love." Thus spoke the genius ; smiles bedeck'd her face ; And to the chariot she the youth invites ; No trace of glory marks the dismal place, But to tlieir holds return the evil sprites. High o'er the level of the snow-rob'd giound, The whirling wheels roll in the darken'd sky ; The swain for joy exclaims while riding round, And sleep no longer seals his wakeful eye. Soon the clear vision of the brumal night Assures his conduct for the time to come ; Reason restores the elevated wight. Restores him safe once more to bless his home. Now young Alphonso banishes his woes. Among his friends an idle life he scorns ; Freed from his pain, no more of grief he knows, He day and night his thanks to Heaven returns. THE END. In the Press, and speedily will be published, ALCANDER, A METRICAL ROMANCE, With other Poems and Tales, by the Author of Gilbert. revised bv MILES SAPMAN, Esq. *^* A few remaining of the Quarto Edition of Gilbert, embelhshed with Copper-plates and 13 Designs in Wood, may be had of the Publishers, Price 12s. ~ C. Whittinohani, Printer, Goswell Street. §m '^. .£