iaHKH 
 
 
 
Book , \ t Z 
 
 PRESENTED BV 
 
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qgfrMtof %&tft$, 
 
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 AND OTHER / L( f ;-, " 
 
 POEMS, 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT &OUTHEY. 
 
 Kos hsec novimus esse nihil, 
 
 BOSTON : 
 
 PUBLISHED BY C. WILLIAMS, 
 
 NO. 8, STATE-STREET* 
 
 1811, 
 

 #7 
 
 J. T. BUCKINGHAM, PRINTER, 
 
 WINTER-STREET. 
 
i 
 
 I 
 
 AD VER TISEMEJY7\ 
 
 These Poems were published some 
 years ago in the Annual Anthology. 
 They have now been revised and print- 
 ted in this collected form, because they 
 have pleased those readers whom the 
 Author was most desirous of pleasing. 
 Let them be considered as the desulto- 
 ry productions of a man sedulously em- 
 ployed upon better things. 
 
METRICAL TALES. 
 
■* 
 
 
GOD's JUDGEMENT ON A BISHVP. 
 
 Here folloiveth the History of Hatto, Archbishop 
 
 of Mentz. 
 It hapned in the year 914, that there ivas an exceed- 
 ing great famine in Germany , at 'what time Otho stir- 
 named the Great ivas Emperor ', and one Hatto once Ab- 
 bot of Fulda ivas Archbishop of Mentz, of the Bishops 
 after Crescens and Crescentius the two and thirtieth, of 
 the Archbishops after St. Bonafacius the thirteenth. 
 This Hatto in the thne of this great famine afore-men- 
 tioned ', iv hen he saiv the poor people of the country ex- 
 ceedingly oppressed ivith famine, assembled a great com- 
 pany of them together into a Bar tie, and like a most ac- 
 cursed and mercilesse caitiff e burnt up those poor inno- 
 cent souls, that mere so far from doubting any such 
 ?natter, that they rather hoped to receive some comfort 
 and relief at his hands. The reason thai moved the 
 prelate to commit that execrable impiety, ivas because 
 he thought the famine ivould the sooner cease, if those* 
 unprof 'table beggars that consumed more bread than they 
 ivere ivorihy to eat, ivere dispatched out of the ivorld. 
 For he said that those poor folks ivere like to Mice, that 
 ivere good for nothing but to devour come. But God 
 Almighty the just avenger of the poor folks quarreh 
 did not long suffer this hainous Tyranny, this moit de m 
 
8 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 testable fact, unpunished. For he mustered up an 
 Army of Mice against the Archbishop, and sent them 
 to persecute him as his furious Alastors, so that they 
 afflicted him both day and night, and would not suffer 
 him to take his rest in any place, JVhereupsn the Pre 
 late thinking thai he should be secure from the inju- 
 ry of Mice if he ivere in a Certain tower, that stand* 
 sth in the Rhine near to the toiun, betook himself unto 
 the said tower as to a safe refuge and sanctuary from 
 his enemies, and locked himself in. But the innumera- 
 ble troupes of Mice chased him continually very eager' 
 ty, swumme unto him upon the top of the water to exe- 
 cute the just judgement of God, and so at last be was 
 most miserably devoured hy those gillie creatures ; who 
 pursued him with such bitter hostility, that it is record- 
 ed they scraped and gnawed out hit very name from 
 the iv alls and tapestry wherein it was written > after 
 they had so cruelly devoured his body. Wherefore the 
 tower wherein he was eaten up by the Mice is shewn 
 to this day, for a perpetual monument to all succeeding 
 ages of the barbarous and inhuman tyranny cf this im* 
 pious Prelate, being situate in a little green Island in 
 the midst of the Rhine near to the towne of Bing* 
 and is commonly called in the German Tongue, the 
 
 MOWSE-TURN 
 
 Coryat's Crud. P. 571. 572. 
 Other Authors who record this tale say that the Bisk' 
 op was eaten by Rajs. 
 * Hodie Biagen, 
 
METRICAL TALES. 5 
 
 The summer and autumn had been so wet 
 That in winter the corn was growing yet, 
 'Twas a piteous sight to see all around 
 The corn lie rotting on the ground. 
 
 Every day the starving poor 
 Crowded around Bishop Hatto's door, 
 For he had a plentiful last-years store, 
 And all the neighbourhood could tell 
 His granaries were furnished well. 
 
 At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day 
 
 To quiet the poor without delay, 
 
 He bade them to his great barn repair 
 
 And they should have food for the winter there. 
 
 Rejoiced the tidings good to hear, 
 
 The poor folk flocked from far and near ~; 
 
 The great barn was full as it could hold 
 
 Of women and children, and young and old. 
 
 Then when he saw it could hold no more, 
 Bishop Hatto he made fast the door, 
 And whilst for mercy on Christ they call, 
 He set fire to the barn and burnt them all. 
 
 I* faith, 'tis an excellent bonfire ! quoth h.e, 
 And the country is greatly obliged to me, 
 For ridding it in these times forlorn 
 Of Rats that only consume the torn, 
 
10 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 So then to his palace returned he, 
 
 And he sat down to supper merrily, 
 
 And he slept that night like an innocent man ; 
 
 Eut Bishop Hatto never slept again. 
 
 In the morning as he entered the hall 
 Where his picture hung against the wall, 
 A sweat like death all over him cane, 
 For the Rats had eaten it out of the frame. 
 
 As he looked there came a man from his farm, 
 He had a countenance white with alarm, 
 My Lord, I opened your granaries this morn 
 And the Rats had eaten all your corn. 
 
 Another came running presently, 
 And he was as pale as pale could be, 
 Fly I my Lord Bibhop, fly, quoth he, 
 Ten thousand Rats are coming this way. — 
 The Lord forgive you for yesterday ! 
 
 1*11 go to my tower in the Rhine, replied he, 
 'Tis the safest place in Germany, 
 The walls are high and the shores are steep, 
 And the tide is strong and the water deep. 
 
 Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away, 
 And he crost the Rhine without delay, 
 And reach'd his tower in the island and barr'd 
 All the gates secure and hard. 
 
METRICAL TALES. 1J 
 
 He laid him down and closed his eyes ; 
 
 But soon a scream made him arise, 
 
 He started, and saw two eyes of flame 
 
 On his pillow, from whence the screaming came. 
 
 He listen'd and look'd ;— 'twas only the cat ; 
 But the Bishop he grew more fearful for that, 
 For she sate screaming, mad with fear 
 At the Army of Rats that were drawing near. 
 
 For they have swum over the river so deep, 
 And they have climb'd the shores so steep, 
 And now by thousands up they crawl 
 To the holes and windows in the wall. 
 
 Down on his knees the Bishop fell, 
 
 And faster and faster his beads did he tell, 
 
 As louder and louder drawing near, 
 
 The saw of their teeth without he could hear. 
 
 And in at the window&and in at the door, 
 And through the walls by thousands they pour, 
 And down from the ceiling and up through the 
 
 floor, 
 From the right and the left, from behind and 
 
 before, 
 From within and without, froin above and below, 
 And all at once to the Bishop they go. 
 
12 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 They have whetted their teeth against the stones ; 
 And now they pick the Bishop's bones, 
 They gnawed the flesh from every limb, 
 For they were sent to do judgement on him ! 
 
 THE PIOUS PAINTER. 
 
 The story of the Pious Painter is related in the Pia 
 Hilaria of Gazaus, But the Catbolick Poet has omit" 
 Ud the cenclusion. This is to be found in tht Fab* 
 iiaux of Le Grand, 
 
 THE FIRST PART. 
 
 There once was a painter in catholick days, 
 
 Like Job who eschewed all evil. 
 Still on his Madonnas the curious may gaze 
 With applause and with pleasure, but chiefly his 
 praise 
 
 And delight was in painting the Devil. 
 
 They were Angels, compared to the Devils he 
 drew, 
 Who besieged poor St. Anthony's '-ell ; 
 Suxh burning hot eyes, such a damnable hue 1 
 
METRICAL TALES. 1$ 
 
 You could even smell brimstone their breath 
 was so blue, 
 He painted the Devil so well. 
 
 And now had the artist a picture begun, 
 
 'Twas over the virgin church door ; 
 She stood on the Dragon embracing her Son, 
 Many Devils already the artist had done, 
 But this must out-do all before. 
 
 The Old Dragon's imps as they fled thro* the air 
 
 At seeing it paus*d on the wing, 
 For he had the likeness so just to a hair, 
 That they came as Apollyon himself had been 
 there, 
 
 To pay their respects to their king. 
 
 Every child at beholding it shivered with dread 
 
 And scream'd as he turn'd away quick ; 
 Not an old woman saw it, but raising her head, 
 Dropt a^bead, made a cross on her wrinkles, and 
 said, 
 Lord keep me from ugly Old Nick ! 
 
 What the Painter so earnestly thought on by day 
 He sometimes would dream of by night ; 
 
 But «nce he was startled as sleeping he lay ; 
 
 *Tis no fancy, no dream, he could plainly survey 
 That the Devil himself was in sight, 
 
14" METRICAL TALES. 
 
 You rascally dauber ! old Beelzebub cries, 
 
 Take heed how you wrong me again ! 
 Tho' your caricatures for myself I despise, 
 Make me handsomer now in the multitude's eyes, 
 Or see if I threaten in vain ! 
 
 Now the Painter was bold and religious beside, 
 
 And on faith he had certain reliance. 
 So earnestly he all his countenance eyed, 
 Andthank'd him for sitting with catholickpride, 
 And sturdily bade him defiance. 
 
 Betimes in the morning the painter arose, 
 
 He's ready as soon as 'tis light. 
 Every look, every line, every feature he knows, 
 'Tis fresh in his eye, to his labour he goes, 
 
 And he has the old Wicked One quite. 
 
 Happy man ! he is sure the resemblance can't 
 fail, 
 The tip of the nose is red hot, 
 There's his grin and his fangs, his skin cover 'd 
 
 with scale, 
 And that the identical curl of his tail,— 
 Not a mark, not a claw is forgot. 
 
 He looks and retouches again with delight i 
 
 'Tis a portrait complete to his mind ! 
 He touches again, and again gluts his sight, 
 
METRICAL TATBS. 15 
 
 He looks round for applause, and he sees with 
 affright, 
 The original standing behind. 
 
 Fool ! Idiot I old Beelzebub grinn'd a3 he 
 spoke, 
 And stampt on the scaffold in ire. 
 The Painter grew pale, for he knew it no joke, 
 *Twas a terrible height, and the scaffolding 
 broke, 
 The Devil could wish it no higher. 
 
 Help — help me ! O Mary ! he cried in alarm, 
 
 As the scaffold sunk under his feet. 
 From the canvas the virgin extended her arm, 
 She caught the good Painter, she saved him 
 from harm, 
 There were hundreds who saw in the street 
 
 The Old Dragon fled when the wonder he spied, 
 
 And cursed his own fruitless endeavour. 
 While the Painter called after his rage to deride, 
 Shook his pallet and brushes in triumph, and 
 cried, 
 I'll paint thee more ugly than ever ! 
 
16 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 THE PIOUS PAINTEE. 
 
 TEE SECOND PART* 
 
 The Painter so piou6 all praise had acquired 
 
 For defying the malice of hell ; 
 The monks the unerring resemblance admired 
 N«t a lady lived near but her portrait desired 
 
 From one who succeeded so well. 
 
 One there was to be painted the number amony 
 
 Of features most fair to behold ; 
 The country around of fair Marguerite rung, 
 Marguerite she was lovely and lively and young 
 
 Her husband was ugly and old. 
 
 O Painter, avoid her ! O Painter, take care I 
 
 For Satan is watchful for you ! 
 Take heed lest you fall in the Wicked One'r 
 
 snare, 
 The net is made ready, O Painter, beware 
 
 Of Satan and Marguerite too. 
 
 She seats herself now, now she lifts up her head. 
 
 On the artist she fixes her eyes ; 
 The colours are ready, the canvas is spread, 
 He lays on the white, and he lays on the red. 
 
 And the features of beauty arise. 
 
METRICAL TALES, 17 
 
 He is come to her eyes, eyes so bright and so 
 blue ! 
 
 There's a look he cannot express ; — 
 His colours are dull to their quick-sparkling hue, 
 VTore and more on the lady he fixes his view* 
 
 On the canvas" he looks less and less. 
 
 n vain he retouches, her eyes sparkle more, 
 And that look that fair Marguerite gave !- 
 tfany Devils the artist had painted of yore, 
 Jut he never attempted an Angel before, — 
 St. Anthony help him and save ! 
 
 le yielded, alas ! for the tujth must be told, 
 
 To the woman, the Tempter, and Fate. 
 : was settled the lady so fair to behold, 
 hould elope from her husband so ugly and old 
 With the Painter so pious of late ! 
 
 Tow Satan exults in his vengeance complete, 
 To the husband he makes the scheme known 5 
 fight comes, and the lovers impatiently meet, 
 'ogether they fly, they are seiz'd in the street. 
 And in prison the Painter is thrown. 
 
 /ith repentance, his only companion, he lie?, 
 And a dismal companion is she 
 a a sudden he saw the Old Serpent arise, 
 B 
 
18 METRICAL TALES, 
 
 Now you villanous dauber ! Sir Beelzebub 
 cries, 
 You are paid for your insults to me ! 
 
 But my tender heart it is easy to move 
 
 If to what I propose you agree ; 
 That picture, — be just ! the resemblance im- 
 prove, 
 Make a handsomer portrait, your chains J'll re- 
 move, 
 And you shall this instant be free. 
 
 Overjoyed, the conditions so easy he hears, 
 1*11 make you quite handsome ! he said : 
 He said, and his chain on the Devil appears, 
 Releas'd from his prison, releas'd from his fears, 
 The Painter is snug in his bed. 
 
 At morn he arises, composes his look, 
 And proceeds to his work as before ; 
 
 The people beheld him, the culprit they took ; 
 
 They thought that the Painter his prison kad 
 broke, 
 And to prison they led him once more. 
 
 They open the dungeon ; — behold in his place 
 
 In the corner old Beelzebub lay. 
 He smirks and he smiles, and he leers with a 
 grace, 
 
METRICAL TALES. 19 
 
 That the Painter might catch all the charms of 
 his face, 
 Then vanish 'd in lightning away. 
 
 Quoth the Painter, I trust you'll suspect me no 
 more, 
 
 Since you find my assertions were true. 
 But I'll alter the pictur eabove the church door, 
 For I never saw Satan so closely before, 
 
 And I must give the Devil his due; 
 
 ST. MICHAEL'S CHAIR, 
 AND WHO SAT THERE. 
 
 Merrily, merrily rung the bells, 
 The belts of St. Michael's tower, 
 
 When Richard Penlake and Rebecca his wile 
 Arrived at the church door. 
 
 Richard Penlake was a cheerful man, 
 
 Cheerful and frank and free, 
 But he led a sad life with Rebecca his wife. 
 
 For a terrible shrew was she, 
 
20 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 Richard Penlake a scolding would take, 
 
 'Till patience availed no longer, 
 Then Richard Penlake his crab-stick would 
 take 
 
 And show her that he was the stronger. 
 
 Rebecca his wife had often wish'd 
 
 To sit in St. Michael's chair ; 
 For she should be the mistress then 
 
 If she had once sat there. 
 
 It chanced that Richard Penlake fell sick, 
 They thought he would have died ; 
 
 Rebecca his wife made a vow for his life 
 Asshekuelt by his bed-sicie. 
 
 Now hear my prayer, St. Michael 1 and spare 
 
 My husband's life quoth, she ; 
 And to thine altar we will go. 
 
 Six marks to give to thee. 
 
 Richard Penlake repeated the vow, 
 
 For woundily sick was he ; 
 Save me, St. Michael, and we will go 
 
 Six marks to give to thee. 
 
 When Richard grew well Rebecca his wife 
 Teized him by night and by day : 
 
 O mire own dear ! for you I fear, 
 If we the vow delay 
 
METRICAL TALES. 21 
 
 Merrily, merrily rung the bells, 
 
 The bells of St. Michael's tower, 
 When Richard Penlake and Rebecca his wife 
 
 Arrived at the church door. 
 
 Six marks they on the altar laid, 
 
 And Richard knelt in prayer ; 
 She left him to pray and stole away 
 
 To sit in St. Michael's chair. 
 
 Up the tower Rebecca ran, 
 
 Round and round and round ; 
 'Twas a giddy sight to stand a-top 
 
 And l©ok upon the ground. 
 
 A curse on the ringers for rocking 
 
 The tower ! Rebecca cried, 
 As over the church battlements 
 
 She strode with a long stride, 
 
 A blessing on St. Michael's chair 1 
 
 She said as she sat down : 
 Merrily, merrily rung the bells, 
 
 And out Rebecca was thrown. 
 
 Tidings to Richard Penlake were brought 
 
 That hi i good wife was dead : 
 Now shall we toll tor her poor soul 
 
 The great church-bell ? they said. 
 
22 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 Toll at her burying, quoth Richard Penlakc 
 Toll at her burying, quoth he ; 
 
 But don't disturb the ringers now * 
 In compliment to me. 
 
 a ballad; 
 
 Of a TOUNG MAN that would -read unlawful 
 
 Books, and bow he was punished, 
 
 VERY PITHY AND PROFITABLE, 
 
 Cornelius Agrippa went out one day, 
 His study he lock'd ere he went away, 
 And he gave the key of the door to his wife, 
 And charged her to keep it lock'd on her life. 
 
 And if any one a9k my study to see, 
 I charge you trust them not with the key, 
 Whoever may beg, intreat, and implore, 
 On your life let nobody enter that door. 
 
 There liv'd a young man in the house, who in 
 
 vain 
 Access to that study had sought to obtain. 
 
METRICAL TALES. 23 
 
 And he begg'd andpray'd the books to see, 
 Till the foolish woman gave him the key. 
 
 On the study-table a book there lay, 
 
 Which Agrippa himself had been reading that 
 
 day, 
 The letters were written with blood within, 
 And the leaves were made of dead men's skin, 
 
 And these horrible leaves of magick between 
 Were the ugliest pictures that ever were seen. 
 The likeness of things so foul to behold, 
 That what they were is not fit to be told. 
 
 The young man he began to read 
 He knew not what, but he would proceed, 
 When there was heard a sound at the door, 
 Which as he read on grew more and more. 
 
 And more and more the knocking grew, 
 The young man knew not what to do ; 
 But trembling in fear he sat within, 
 Till the door was broke and the Devil came is. 
 
 Two hideous horns on his head he had got, 
 Like iron heated nine times red hot ; 
 The breath of his nostrils was brimstone blue. 
 And his tail like a fiery serpent grew. 
 
24 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 What wouldst thou with me ? the Wicked One 
 
 cried, 
 But not a word the young man replied ; 
 Every hair on his head was standing upright 
 And his limbs like a palsy shook with affright. 
 
 What wouldst thou with me ? cried the author 
 
 of ill, 
 But the wretched yoUngman was silent still 
 Not a word had his lips the power to say, 
 And his marrow seemed to be melting away. 
 
 What wouldst thou with me ? the third time he 
 
 cries. 
 And a flash of lightning came from his eyes. 
 And he lifted his grifiin claw in the air. 
 And the young man had not strength for a 
 
 prayer. 
 
 His eyes red fire and fury dart 
 As out he tore the young man's heart 
 He grinn'd a horrible grin at his prey, 
 And in a clap of thunder vanish'd away. 
 
 The MORAL. 
 
 Henceforth let all young men take heed" 
 How in a conjuror's books they read. 
 
METRICAL TALES. 25 
 
 KING CHARLEMAIN. 
 
 Francois Petrar que, fort renomme entre les Poetes Ital- 
 rns, discourani en une epistre son voyage ds France et 
 fe V Allemaigne, nous raconte que passant par la ville 
 V Aix, il apprit de quelque pr est res unehistoire prodi" 
 -eusequils tenoient de main en main pour tres veritable* 
 2«i estoit que Charles le Grand, apres avoir conquests 
 lusiers pays, s'esperdit de telle faqon en V amour d\ne 
 imple femme, que mettant Uut bonneur et reputation en 
 rriere, il oublia non seulement les affaires de sin roy m 
 ume, mais anssi le soing de sa propre personne, au 
 rand desplaisir de chacun ; est ant seulement ententif a 
 mrtiser ceste dame * laqvelle par bonheur commenca a 
 ' aliter d*une grosse maladie, qui lui apporta la mort* 
 Joftt les Princes et grand Seigneurs fort resjouis, espe- 
 ant que par ceste mart, Charles reprendroit comme-de-* 
 •ant et ses esprits et les affaires du royaume en main : 
 )utesfois il si irouva tellcment infatue de ceste amour 
 u encores cherissoit-il ce cadaver, V embrassant, bats* 
 ntf aceolant de la mesmefaqon quedevant, et au lieu ds 
 rester V oreille aux legations qui lui survenoient, il V 
 ntretenoit de mille bJyes y comme sil eust este pi sin da 
 tie. Ce corps commencoit deja non seulement a mat 
 «ntir % mais aussi se tournsh en putrefaction , et neartt~ 
 C 
 
METRICAL TALES. 
 
 mains ny avoit aucun de ses favor is qui luy en osast 
 parler ; dont advint que V Arch eves que Turpin mieux 
 advise que Us autres, pourpsnsa que telle chose ne pou- 
 I'oit estre advenu'c sans quelquc sorcellerie. Au moyen 
 de quoy espiant un jour Vheure que le Roy s'estoit absent e 
 de la chambre } commen^a de fouiller le corps de toutes 
 Jparts ,fnalement trouva dans sa bouche au dessous de ea 
 langue un anneau qu'il i^y csia. Le jour mcsr/ie Chat' 
 iemaigne reioumant sw Ses premieres brisees,se trouva 
 fort estonne de voir line carcasse ainsi puante. Par- 
 quoy, comme s*il sefust resveille d*un prcf.?,-;d sommeil, 
 £ommanda que Von I ens evslist prompt ment Cequifut 
 fait ; mais en contr es change de ceste folie, il toitrna 
 torn ses pensemens vers V Jrchevesque porieur de cest 
 anneau, ne pouvant estre de ia en avant sans luy, et le 
 sstivant en tons les eniro:is. Quoy voyant ce sage Pfe- 
 jat, et craignant que cest anneau ne tembast en mains de 
 cuelque autre* le jetta dans un lac p^o chain de la ville. 
 J)ipuis l-jquel temps on dit que ce Roy se trouve si es- 
 &ris de V amour du lieu^ qui ne desempara la ville 
 iFAix, ou ilbastitun Palais, et un JMonastere, en Vun 
 des quels il parft le teste de ses jours et en V autre voulut 
 estre ens'vely, ordonnant par son tstament que tous les 
 Empereurs de Rome eussent a sefaire sacrer premiere 
 went *n ce lieu. 
 
 Les Recherches de la Prance t d? Esiknne 
 Pasquler* Paris. 1.611. 
 
METRICAL TALRS. 27 
 
 KING CHARLEMIAN. 
 
 It was strange that he lov'd her, for youth, was 
 gone by, 
 And the bloom of her beauty was fled; 
 Twas the glance of the harlot that gleam'd in 
 
 her eye, 
 And all but the monarch could plainly descry 
 From whence came her white and her red. 
 
 Yet he thought with Agathanone might compare: 
 
 That kings might be proud of her chain ; 
 The court was a desert if she were not there, 
 She only was lovely, she only was fair, 
 Such dotage possess'd Charlemain. 
 
 The soldier, the statesman, the courtier,themaid, 
 
 Alike do their rival detest ; 
 And the good old Archbishop who ceas'd to 
 
 upbraid, 
 Shook his gray head in sorrow, and silently 
 pray'd 
 To sing Jier the requiem of rest. 
 
 A joy ill-dissembled soon gladdens them al], 
 
 For Agatha sickens and dies. 
 And now they are ready with bier and with pallj 
 The tapers gleam gloomy amid the high hall, 
 
 And the bell tolls long thro' the skie*. 
 
28 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 They came, but he sent them in anger away. 
 
 For she should not be buried, he said ; 
 And despite of all, counsel, for inaay a day, 
 Array'd in her costly apparel she lay, 
 And he would go sit by the dead. 
 
 The cares of the kingdom demand him in vain, 
 
 And the army cry out for their Lord ; 
 The Lombards, the fierce misbelievers of Spain, 
 Now ravage the realms of the proud Charlemain 
 And still he unsheathes not the sword. 
 
 The soldiers they clamor, the monks bend ifl 
 prayer 
 
 In the quiet retreats of the cell ; 
 The physicians to counsel together repair, 
 They pause and they ponder, at last they declare 
 
 That his senses are bound by a spell. 
 
 With relicks protected, and confident grown 
 
 And telling devoutly his beads, 
 The archbishop prepares him, and when it was 
 
 known, 
 That the king for awhile left the body alone. 
 
 To search for the spell he proceeds. 
 
 Now careful he searches with tremulous haste 
 
 For the spell that bewitches the king ; 
 And under the tongue for security placed, 
 
METRICAL TALES. 29 
 
 Its margin with mystical characters faced, 
 At length he discovers a ring. 
 
 Rejoicing he seiz'dit and hastened away, 
 
 The monarch re-entered the room, 
 The enchantment was ended, and suddenly gay 
 He bade the attendants no longer delay 
 But bear her with speed to the tomb. 
 
 Now merriment, joyaunce and feasting again 
 
 Enlivened the palace of Aix, 
 And now by his heralds did King Charlemain 
 Invite to his palace the courtier train 
 
 To hold a high festival day. 
 
 And anxiously now for the festival day 
 
 The highly-born maidens prepare ; 
 And now all apparell'd in costly array, 
 Exulting they come to the palace of Aix, 
 Young and aged, the brave and the fair. 
 
 Oh ! happy the damsel who J mid her compeers 
 For a moment engaged the king's eye ! 
 
 Now glowing with hopes and now fever'd with 
 fears 
 
 Each maid or triumphant, or jealous, appears, 
 A« noticed by him, or past by. 
 
 And now as the evening approach'd, to the ball 
 4a anxious suspense they advance, 
 
30 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 Each hoped the king's choice on her beauties 
 
 might fail, 
 When lo ! to the utter confusion of all 
 He asked the archbishop to dance. 
 
 The damsels they laugh and the barons they 
 stare, 
 'Twas mirth and astonishment all ; 
 And the archbishop started and muttered a 
 
 prayer, 
 And, wrath at receiving such mockery there, 
 Withdrew him in haste from the hall. 
 
 The moon dimpled over the water with light 
 As he wandered along the lake side ; 
 
 When lo ! where beside him the king met his 
 sight ; 
 
 * e Oh turn thee archbishop, my joy and delight, 
 M Oh turn thee, my charmer," he cried ^ 
 
 Ct Oh come where the feast and the dance and 
 the song 
 «* Invite thee to mirth and to love ; 
 ''Or at this happy moment away from "the 
 
 throng 
 < .« To the shade of yon wood let us hasten along, 
 « The moon never pierces that grove." 
 
METRICAL TALES. 31 
 
 Amazement and anger the prelate possest, 
 
 With terror his accents he heard, 
 Then Charlemain warmly and eagerly prest 
 The archbishop's old wither 'd hand to his breast 
 
 And kiss'dhis old gray grizzle beard. 
 
 " Let us well then these fortunate moments 
 employ V* 
 Cried the monarch with passionate tone : 
 " Comeaway then, dear charmer, — my angel, — 
 
 my joy, 
 " Nay struggle not now, — 'tis invain to be coy,—- 
 " And remember that we are alone." 
 
 "Blessed Mary protect me!" the archbishop 
 cried; 
 
 " What madness is come to the King !" 
 In vain to escape from the monarch he tried, 
 When luckily he on his finger espied 
 
 The glitter of Agatha's ring. 
 
 Overjoy'd, the old prelate remembered the spell, 
 And far in the lake flung the ring; 
 
 The waters closed round it, and, wondrous to 
 tell, 
 
 Released from the cursed enchantment of hell, 
 His reason returned to the king. 
 
 But he built him a palace there close by the bay, 
 And there did he 'stahlish his reign ; 
 
bZ METRICAL TALES, 
 
 And the traveller who will, may behold at this 
 
 day 
 A monument still in the ruins of Aix 
 Of the spell that possessed Charlemain. 
 
 St. ROMUALD. 
 
 The Virtues of this Saint, as mentioned in the pet 2tf, 
 may be found particularized in his life. The honour 
 intended him by the Spaniards is meniionti by An- 
 drews, History of England \ Vol. 1. 
 
 One day, it matters not to know 
 
 How many hundred years ago, 
 A Spaniard stopt at a posadadoor; 
 
 The landlord came to welcome him, and 
 chat 
 
 Of this and that, 
 For he had seen the traveller there before. 
 
 Does holy Romuald dwell 
 Still in his cell ? 
 The traveller ask'd, or is the old man dead f 
 
METRICAL TALES. S3 
 
 He has left his loving flock, and we 
 So good a Christian never more shall see, 
 The landlord answer'd, and he shook his head 
 
 Ah Sir ! we know his worth. 
 
 If ever there did live a saint on earth ! 
 
 Why Sir, he always used to wear a shirt 
 For thirty days, all season, day and n'ght : 
 Good man, he knew it was not right 
 
 For dust and ashes to fall out with dirt 3 
 And then he only hung it out ki the rain, 
 And put it on again. 
 
 There used to be rare work 
 
 With him and the devil there in yonder 
 cell; 
 For Satan used to maul him like a Turk, 
 
 There they would sometimes fight 
 
 All through a winter's night, 
 
 From sun-set until morn, 
 
 He with across, the devil with his horii ; 
 
 The devil spitting fire with might and 
 main 
 Enough to make St Michael half afraid ^ 
 He splashing holy water till he made 
 
 His red hide hiss again, 
 And the hot vapour fill'd the little celL 
 
 This was so common that his face became 
 
$4} METRICAL TALES. 
 
 All black and yellow with the brimstone 
 flame, 
 And then he smelt : — Ob Lord ! how he did 
 
 smell ! 
 
 Then Sir ! to see how he would mortify 
 The flesh ! if any one had dainty fare, 
 Good man, he would come there, 
 And look at all the delicate things, and cry, 
 O belly, belly S 
 
 You would be gormandizing now, I know, 
 jBut it shall not be so; — 
 Home to your bread and water — home, I tell 
 ye ! 
 
 But, quoth theiraveller, wherefore did he leave 
 A flock that knew his saintly worth so well? 
 Why, said the landlord, Sir, it so befell 
 
 He heard unluckily of cur intent 
 
 To do him a great honour ; and you know 
 He was not covetous of fame below, 
 
 And so by stealth one night away he went. 
 
 What might this honour be ? the traveller cried; 
 
 Why Sir, the host replied, 
 We thought perhaps that he might one day 
 leave us ; 
 
 And then should strangers have 
 
 The good man's grave. 
 
METRICAL TALES. 35 
 
 A loss like that would naturally grieve us, 
 For he'll be made a Saint of to be sure. 
 Therefore we thought it prudent to secure 
 
 Hi* relicks while we might ; 
 
 And so we meant to strangle him one night. 
 
 THE WELL OF St. KETJHS. 
 
 I know not whe:l-;r it be worth the reporting that there 
 is in Cornwall) near the parish of St. Neots, a Well 
 arched oter 'with the robes of four kinds of trees, withy * 
 Oaky elm, and ash, dedicated to St. Ktyne. The reported 
 virtue of the water is this, that whether husband or 
 'wife camefrst to drink thereof, they get the mastery 
 thereby. ♦ Fuller. 
 
 A "Well there is in the west country, 
 And a clearer one never was seen ; 
 
 There is not a wife in the west country 
 But has heard of the Well of £t. Keyne. 
 
 An oak and an elm tree stand beside, 
 And behind does an ash tree grow, 
 
36 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 And a willow from the bank above 
 Drops to the water below. 
 
 A traveller came to the Well of St. Keyne ; 
 
 Joyfully he drew nigh, 
 For from cock-crow he had been travelling 
 
 And there was not a cloud in the sky. 
 
 He drank of the water so cool and clear, 
 
 For thirsty and hot was he, 
 And he sat down upon the bank 
 
 Under the willow tree. 
 
 There came a man from the neighbouring town 
 
 At the weli to fill his pail; 
 On the well-side he rested it 
 
 And he bade the stranger hail, 
 
 -Now art thou a bachelor, stranger ? quoth he, 
 
 For, an if thou hast a wife, 
 The happiest draught thou hast drank this day 
 
 That ever thou didst in thy life. 
 
 Or has thy good woman, if one thou hast, 
 
 Ever here in Cornwall been ? 
 For if she have, I'll venture my life 
 
 She has drank of the Well of St. Keyne. 
 
 I have left a good woman who never was here, 
 The stranger he made reply. 
 
METRICAL TALES. 37 
 
 But that my draught should be better for that 
 I pray you answer me why. 
 
 St .Keyne, quoth the countryman, many a time 
 
 Drank of this crystal well, 
 And before the angel summoned her 
 
 She laid on the water a spell. 
 
 If the husband of this gifted well 
 
 Shall drink before his wife, 
 A happy man henceforth is he 
 
 For he shall be master for life. 
 
 But if the wife should drink of it first, — 
 
 God help the husband then ! 
 The stranger stoopt to the Well of St. Keyne, 
 
 And drank of the water again. 
 
 You drank of the well I warrant betimes ? 
 
 He to the countryman said : 
 But the countryman smiFd as the 6tranger spake 
 
 And sheepishly shook his head. 
 
 I hastened as soon as the wedding was done 
 
 And left my wife in the porch. 
 But i' faith she had been wiser than me, 
 
 For she took a bottle to church, 
 
38 METRICAL TALES, 
 
 BISHOP BRUNO. 
 
 H Bruno, the Bishop cf Herbipolitanum, sailing in the 
 river of Danubius, ivith Henry the third, then Empe~ 
 tour, being not far from a place tvbicb the Germanes 
 call Ben Strudel, or the devouring gulf e, ivhich is 
 neere unto Gr'inon, a castle in Austria, a spirit iva* 
 heard clamouringaloud, " Ho, ho, Bishop Bruno, ivhether 
 art thou travelling ? but dispose of thyself e, hozu thou 
 pleasest, thou shalt be my prey and spoiled At the hearing 
 of these tvords they ivere all stupifed, and the Bishop 
 ivith the rest crost and blest themselves. The issue ivas 
 thai in a short time after t the Bishop feasted iviih the 
 Emperor in a Castle belonging to the Countesse ofEs- 
 lurch, a rafter fell from the roof of the chamber, where- 
 in they sate, and strooke him dead at the table" 
 
 Heywood's Hierarchie of the blessed Angels* 
 
 Bishop Bruno awoke in the dead midnight, 
 And he heard his heart beat loud with affright ; 
 He dreamt he had rung the palace bell, 
 And the sound it gave was his passing knell 
 
METRICAL TALES. 39 
 
 Bishop Bruno smiled at his fears so vain, 
 He turned to sleep and he dreamt it again : 
 He rung at the palace gate once more, 
 And Death was the porter that opened the door. 
 
 He started up at the fearful dream, 
 
 And he heard at his window the screech owl 
 
 scream ! 
 Bishop Bruno slept no more that night, — 
 Oh ! glad was he when he saw the day light ! 
 
 Now he goes forth in proud array, 
 For he with the emperor dines to day : 
 There was not a baron in Germany 
 That went with a nobler train than he. 
 
 Before and behind his soldiers ride, 
 The people throng'd to see their pride ; 
 They bowd the head, and the knee they bent. 
 But nobody blest him as he went, 
 
 So he went on stately and proud, 
 When he heard a voice that cried aloud, 
 Ho ! ho ! Bishop Bruno ! you travel with glee, — 
 But I would have you know, you travel to me ! 
 
 Behind and before and on either side, 
 
 He look'd but nobody he espied : 
 
 And the bishop at that grew cold with fear, 
 
 Jor he beard the words distinct and clear, 
 
40 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 And when he rung at the palace bell. 
 He almost expected to hear his knell ; 
 And when the porter turn'd the key, 
 He almost expected Death to see. 
 
 But soon the bishop recover'd his glee, 
 For the emperor welcomed him royally ; 
 And now the tables were spread, and there 
 Were choicest wines and dainty fare. 
 
 And now the bishop had blest the meat, 
 When a voice was heard as he sat in his seat, — 
 With the emperor now you are dining in glee, 
 But know, Bishop Bruno ! you sup with me ! 
 
 The bishop then grew pale with affright, 
 
 And suddenly lost his appetite ; 
 
 All the wine and dainty cheer 
 
 Could not comfort his heart so sick with fear. 
 
 But by little and little recovered he, 
 For the wine went flowing merrily, 
 And he forgot his former dread, 
 And his cheeks again grew rosy red. 
 
 When he sat down to the royal fare 
 Bishop Bruno was the saddest man there; 
 But when the masquers entered the hall, 
 He was the merriest man of all. 
 
METRICAL TALES. 41 
 
 Then from amid the masquers crowd 
 
 There went a voice hollow and loud, — 
 
 You have past the day, Bishop Br U no, with 
 
 glee ! 
 But you must pass the night with me I 
 
 His cheeks grew pale and his eye-balls glare, 
 And stiff round his tonsure bristles his hair ; 
 With that there came one from the masquers 
 
 band, 
 And took the bishop by the hand. 
 
 The bony hand suspended his breath, 
 His marrow grew cold at the touch of death ; 
 On saints in vain he attempted to call, 
 BUhop Bryno fell dead in the palate hall, 
 
42 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. 
 
 It was a summer evening, 
 
 Old Kaspar's work was done I 
 And he before his cottage door 
 
 Was sitting in the sun, 
 And by him sported on the green 
 His little grandchild Wilhelmine. 
 
 She saw her brother Peterkin 
 Roll something large and round, 
 
 Which he beside the rivulet 
 In playing there had found ; 
 
 He came to ask what he had found, 
 
 That was so large, and smooth, and round ; 
 
 Old Kaspar took it from the boy 
 
 Who stood expectant by ; 
 And then the old man shook his head, 
 
 And with a natural sigh, 
 9 Tis some poor fellow's scull, said he, 
 Who fell in the great victory. 
 
 I find them in the garden, for 
 There's many here about § 
 
METRICAL TALES. 4$ 
 
 And often when I go to plough, 
 
 The ploughshare turns them out; 
 For many thousand men, said he, 
 Were slain in the great victory. 
 
 Now tell us what 'twas all about, 
 
 Young Peterkin he cries, 
 And little Wilhelmine looks up 
 
 With wonder-waiting eyes ; 
 Now tell us all about the war, 
 And what they kill'd each other for. 
 
 It was the English, Kaspar cried, 
 
 Who put the French to rout ; 
 But what they kill'd each other for, 
 
 I could not well make out. 
 But every body said, quoth he* 
 That 'twas a famous victory ► 
 
 My father lived at Blenheim then, 
 
 Yon little stream hard by ; 
 They burnt his dwelling to the ground 
 And he was forc'd to fly ; 
 So with his wife and child he fled, 
 Nor had he where to re3t his head. 
 
 With fire and sword the country round 
 
 Was wasted far and wide, 
 And many a childing mother then, 
 And new-born infant died, 
 
44 METRICAL TALES, 
 
 But things like that, you know, must be 
 At every famous victory. 
 
 They say it was a shocking sight 
 
 After the field was won, 
 For many thousand bodies here 
 
 Lay rotting in the sun ; 
 But things like that, you know, must be 
 
 After a famous victory. 
 
 Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, 
 And our good Prince Eugene. 
 
 Why 'twas a very wicked thing ! 
 Said little Wilhelmine. 
 
 Nay— nay — my little girl, quoth he, 
 
 It was a famous victory. 
 
 And every body praised the duke 
 
 Who such a fight did win. 
 But what good came of it at last ? 
 
 Quoth little Peterkin. 
 Why that I cannot tell, said he, 
 But 'twas a famous victory* 
 
METRICAL TALES. 45 
 
 St. GUALBERTO. 
 
 Addressed to a Friend. 
 
 The work is done, the fabrick is complete ; 
 Distinct the traveller sees its distant tower, 
 Yet ere his steps attain the sacred seat, 
 Must toil for many a league and many an 
 hour. 
 Elate the abbot sees the pile and knows 
 Stateliest of convents now,hisnewMoscera rose. 
 
 Long were the tale that told MosceraV 
 pride, 
 Its columns clustered strength and lofty 
 state, 
 How many a saint bedeck 5 d its sculptured side, 
 
 What intersecting arches graced its gate; 
 Its tower how high, its massy walls how strong, 
 These fairly to describe were sureatedious song. 
 
 Yet while the fane rose slowly from the 
 ground, 
 3ut little store of chanty, I ween* 
 
46 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 The passing pilgrim at Moscera found ; 
 
 And often there the mendicant was seen 
 Hopeless to turn him from the convent door, 
 For this so costly work still kept the brethren 
 poor. 
 
 Now all is perfect, and from every side 
 They flock to view the fabrick,young and 
 old. 
 Who now can tell Rodulfo's secret pride, 
 
 When on the sabbath day his eyes behold 
 The multitudes that crowd his chapel floor, 
 Some sure to serve their God, to see Moscera 
 more. 
 
 So chanced it that Gualberto passed that way, 
 
 Since sainted for a life of holy deeds; 
 He paus'd the new-rear'd convent to survey, 
 And, whilst o'er all its bulk his eye proceeds, 
 Sorrows, as one whose holier feelings deem 
 That ill so proud a pile did humble monks 
 beseem. 
 
 Him, musing as he stood, Rodulfo saw, 
 
 Andforth he came to greet the holy guest, 
 For he was known as one who held the law 
 
 Of Benedict, and each severe behest 
 So duly kept with such religious care, 
 Tiiat Heaven had oft vouchsafed its wonders to 
 his prayer. 
 
METRICAL TALES. 47 
 
 « Good brother welcome !" thus Rodulfo 
 cries, 
 ■ In sooth it glads me to behold you here 
 " It is Gualberto ! and mine aged eyes 
 
 " Did not decieve me : yet full many a 
 year 
 " Hath slipt away,since last you bade farewell 
 " To me your host and my uncomfortable cell. 
 
 " 'Twas but a sorry welcome then you found 
 
 " And such as suited ill «, guest so dear ; 
 " The pile was ruinous old, the base unsound ; 
 " It glads me more to bid you welcome 
 here ; 
 " For you can call to mind your former 
 state ; 
 <l Come brother, pass with me the new Moscera's 
 gate. 
 
 So spake the cheerful abbot, but no smile 
 
 Of answering joy soften* JGuasberto's brow 
 He raised his head and pointed to the pile, 
 
 " Moscera better pleas'd me then,thannow ; 
 « A palace this, befitting kingly pride ! 
 * Will holiness, my friend, in palace pomp 
 abide ?" 
 
 Aye," cries Rodulfo, a 'tis a goodly place ! 
 " And pomp becomes the house of worship 
 well. 
 
48 METRICAL TA 
 
 " Nay scowl not round with so severe a face, 
 " When earthly kings in seats of grandeur 
 dwell, 
 " Where art exhausted decks the sumptuous 
 hall, 
 " Can poor and sordid huts beseem the Lord of 
 all r 
 
 " And ye have rear'd these stately towers on 
 high 
 "To serve your God ?" the monk severe 
 replied. 
 It rose from zeal and earnest piety, 
 
 " And prompted by no worldly thought* 
 beside ? 
 "Abbot, to him who prays with soul sincere 
 '* In humble hermit cell, God will incline his 
 ear. 
 
 "Rodulfo ! while this haughty building rose, 
 Still was the pilgrim welcome at your 
 door ? 
 " Did charity relieve the orphan's woes ? 
 " Clothed ye the naked ? did ye feed the 
 poor ? 
 " He who with alms most succours the 
 distrest, 
 * Proud abbot, know he serves his heavenly 
 Father best. 
 
Hi RICAL TALES. 4-9 
 
 « Did they in sumptuous palaces go dwell 
 " Who first abandoned all to serve the 
 Lord ? 
 <# Their place of worship was the desart cell; 
 " Wild fruits and berries spread their frugal 
 board ; 
 " And if a brook, like this, ran murmuring by, 
 1 They blest their gracious God, and "thought 
 it luxury." 
 
 Then anger darkened in Rodulfo's face, 
 
 " Enough of preaching," sharply he replied, 
 " Thou art grown envious ; — 'tis a common 
 case, 
 " Humility is made the cloak of pride, 
 " Proud of our home's magnificence are we, 
 But thou art far more proud in rags and 
 beggary. " 
 
 With that Gualberto cried in fervent tone, 
 " O Father, hear me ! if this splendid pile 
 ct Was for thinehonour rear'd, and thine alone 
 " Bless it, O Father, with thy fostering smile? 
 " Still may it stand, and never evil know, 
 Long as beside its walls the eternal stream shall 
 flow. 
 
50 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 * But, Lord, if vain and worldly-minded men 
 * Have wasted here the wealth which thou 
 
 hast lent, 
 " To pamper worldly pride ; frown on it then, 
 
 " Soon be thy vengeance manifestly sent : 
 Let yonder brock thai flows so calm beside, 
 " Now from its base sweep down the unholy 
 house of pride !" 
 
 He said,— and lo the brook no longer flows ! 
 
 The waters pau*e, and now they swell on 
 
 high. 
 
 High and more high the mass of water grows. 
 
 The affrighted brethren from Moscerafly, 
 
 And on their saints and on their God they call> 
 
 For now the mountain bulk o'ertops the convent 
 
 wall. 
 
 Itfalls, the mountainbulk, with thundersound: 
 Full on Mo'cera's pile the vengeance falls ! 
 Its lofty tower now rushes to the ground, 
 Prone Vie its columns now, its high arched 
 walls, 
 Earth shakes beneath the onward- rolling tide 5 
 That from it< base swept down the unholy house 
 of pride * 
 
 * Era amigo de pobreza, en tanto grado, que 
 sentia mucho, que tos Monasterios se edificass«a 
 
METRICAL TALES. 51 
 
 "Were old Gualberto's reasons built on truth, 
 Dear Geor^e,or like Moscera's base unsound r 
 This sure I know, that glad am I in sooth 
 
 He only play'd his pranks on foreign ground* 
 For had he rurn'd the stream on England too' 
 The Vandal monk had spoilt full many a goodly 
 view. 
 
 Then Malaibbury's arch had never met my 
 sight, 
 
 S'imptuosamente ; y assi visitando elde Moscera 
 y vierdo un edificio grande, y elegante, buelto a, 
 Kodulfo, que era alii Abad, con el rostro ayrado 
 le dixo: Con lo que has gastado, siguiendo tu 
 parecer, en este magnifico edificio, has quitado el 
 sustento a muchos pobres. Puso los ojos en un 
 pequeno arroyo, que corria alii cerca, y dixo, 
 l)ios Omnipotente,que sueles hacergrandescosas 
 de pequenas criaturas,yo te ruego,que vea por 
 medio de esta pequeno arroyo venganza de este 
 gi an edificio, Dixo esto, y fuese de alii como 
 abominando el lugar ; y siendo oido, el arroyuelo 
 comenzo a crecer, y fue de suerte, que recogi- 
 «ndo un monte de agua, y tomando de atras la 
 C( rrient e, vino con tan grande impetu,quellevan- 
 du piedras y arboles consigo, derribo el edificio. 
 JFlos Sanctorum^ por El Maestro Alonso de Villegas 
 
52 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 Nor Battles 's vast and venerable pile ; 
 I had not traversed then with such delight 
 
 The hallowed ruins of our Alfred's isle, 
 Where many a pilgrim's curse is well bestow'd 
 On those who rob its walls to mend the turnpike 
 road. 
 
 Wells would have fallen, dear George, our 
 country's pride ; 
 And Canaing's stately church been rear'd 
 in vain, 
 Nor had the traveller Ely's tower descried, 
 Which when thou seest far o'er the fenny 
 plain, 
 Dear George, I counsel thee to turn that way, 
 Its ancient beauties sure will well reward delay* 
 
 And we should never then have heard, 1 think, 
 At evening hour, great Tom's tremendous 
 knell ; 
 The fountain streams that now in Christ- 
 Church stink, 
 Had niagara'd o'er the quadrangle ; 
 But as 'twas beauty that deserv'd the flood, 
 I ween, dear George, our own old college might 
 have stood. 
 
 Then had not Westminster, the house of God, 
 Serv'd for a concert-room, or signal pott • 
 
METRICAL TALES. 55 
 
 Old Thames, obedient to the father's nod, 
 Had swept down Greenwich, England's 
 noblest boast ; 
 And eager to destroy the unholy walls, 
 Fleet-ditch had rolPd up hill to overwhelm St. 
 Paul's. 
 
 George, do?t thou deem the legendary deeds. 
 
 Of Romish saints a useless medley store 
 Of lies, that he filings time away who reads r 
 And wouldst thou rather bid me puzzle o'er 
 Matter and mind, and all the eternal round, 
 Plunged headlong down the dark and fathom- 
 less profound J 
 
 Now do 1 bleas the man who undertook 
 
 These monks and martyrs to bicgr-jpMze, 
 And love to ponder o'er his ponderou- be 
 
 The mingle-mangle mass of truth and lies* 
 
 Where Angels now, now Beelzebubs appear. 
 
 And blind and honest zeal and holy faith sincere. 
 
 All is not very truth, and yet 'twere hard 
 
 The fabling monks for fabling to abuse ; 
 What if a monk, from better cheme debarred, 
 Some pious subject f or a taie should chuse. 
 How some good man the flesh and fiend 
 o'ercame. 
 His taste met h inks, and not his conscience, were 
 to blame: 
 
.54? METRICAL TALES. 
 
 In after years, what he, good man ! had wrote, 
 As we write novels to instruct our youth* 
 Went travelling on, its origin forgot, 
 
 Till at the length it past for gospel-truth. 
 A fair account ! and shouldst thou like the 
 plea, 
 Thank thou thy valued friend, dear George, 
 who taught it me. 
 
 All is not false that seems at first a lie. 
 One Antolinez* once, a Spanish knight, 
 
 * Acontecio en aquella f batalla una cosa di^na 
 de memoria. Fernan Antolinez, hombre noble 
 y muy devoto, oia missa al tiempo que se dio 
 senal de acometer, costumbre ordinaria suya 
 antes de la pelea; por no dexarla comencada, se 
 quedo en el templo quando sa toco a la arma. 
 Esta piedad quan agradable fuesse a Dios, se 
 entendio por un milagro. Estavase primero en 
 la Iglesia, despues escondido en su casa, temia 
 no le afrentassen como a cobarde. En tanto, 
 otro a el sernejante, es a saber, su Angel bueno, 
 pelea entre los primeros tan valientemente, que 
 la vitoria de aquel dia se atribuyo en gran parte 
 al valor de el dicho Antolinez. Confirmaron 
 el milagro las senales de los golpes, y las man* 
 
 t Cerca de Santistevan de Gormaz, a la ribera 
 del rio Duero. A. D. 9S2. 
 
METRICAL TALES. 55 
 
 Knelt at the mass, when lo ! the troops hard 
 
 by 
 
 Before the expected hour began the fight. 
 
 Tho' courage, duty, honour, summoned there, 
 
 He chose to forfeit all, not leave the unfinished 
 
 prayer. 
 
 But whilst devoutly thus the unarmed knight 
 Waits till the holy service .should be o'er, 
 
 Even then the foremost in the rurious fight 
 Was he beheld to bathe his sword in gore, 
 
 First in the van his plumes were seen to play, 
 And Spain to him decreed the glory of the day. 
 
 The truth is told, arid all at once exclaim 
 His guardian angel heaven had deign'd to 
 send; 
 
 And thus the tale is handed down to fame. 
 Now it this Antolinez had a friend 
 
 chas de la sangre que se hailaron Irescas en sus 
 armas y cavalio. Assi publicado el caso, y sabido 
 lo que passava, quedo mas conocida la inocen- 
 cia y esfuercx) de Antolinez. Mariana, 
 
 Perhaps this miracle and its obvious interpre- 
 tation, may have suggested to Florian the cir- 
 cumstance by which his Gonsalvo is prevented 
 from combating and killing the brother of his 
 mistress. Florian was fond of Spanish literature 
 
56 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 Who in rhe he ur of danger sii v'd him well. 
 Dear George, the tale is true, and yet no mir- 
 acle. 
 
 1 am not one who scan with scornful eyes 
 The dreams which make the enthusiast's 
 best- delight ; 
 Nor thou the legendary lore despise 
 If of Gualberto yet again I write, 
 How first impelled he sought tne convent cell; 
 It is h simple *taie, an d one that piens'd me well. 
 
 * LUmose e! loadre Guaberto, y era senor de 
 Value-pesa, que esta entre Sena, y Floreacia's 
 seguia la milicia ; y como le matasden un su 
 deudo cercano injustamente, indignados, assi el 
 hijo, que era ya hombre, como el p-ndre, con 
 mucho cuydado buscavan ocasion, como vengar 
 aquella muerte. Sucedjo, que viniendo a Flo- 
 rencia el hi jo. con un criado suyo, hombre vali- 
 ente, y tos dos bien armados, a cavallo, v!6 a su 
 enemigo, y en lugar. que era impossible irseles: 
 lo qual considc-ado por el contratio y que te- 
 nia cierta su muerte, descendio de un cavallo 
 en que venia, y puesto de rodillas J e idio, jun- 
 tas, las manos, our Je^u-Christo crueificado. le 
 perdonasse la vida Encernecio^e Juan Gual- 
 berto, oyendo el nomh e de Jesu-Chnsto cru- 
 eificado; y dixole, que por amor de aquel Senor, 
 
METRICAL TALES. 57 
 
 Fortune had smiled upon Gualberto's birth, 
 The heir of Valdespesa's rich domain. 
 
 An only child, he grew in years and worth, 
 And well repaid a father's anxious pain. 
 
 que rogo en la Cruz por los que le pusieron en 
 ella, el !e perdonava. Pidiole, que se levantas- 
 se, y perdiesse el temor, que ya no por enemigo> 
 sino por amrgo le queria, y que de Dios, por 
 quien hacia esto, esperava el premio. Passo 
 adelante Gualberto ; y viendo una Iglesia en un 
 monte cerca de Florencia, llamada de San mi- 
 niato, que era de Monges negros, entro en ella 
 para dar gracias a Jesu Christo nuestro Senor 
 por la merced, que le havia hecho en favore- 
 cerle, de que perdonasse, y no tomasse vengan- 
 za de su enemigo : pusose de rodillas delante de 
 un Crucifixo, el qual, viendolo el, y otros que 
 estrivan presentes, desde la Cruz inclino la ca« 
 beza a Gualberto, como agradeciendo,y dandole 
 gracias, de que por su amor huviesse perdonado 
 la vida a su enemigo. Descubriose el caso, y 
 fue publico, y muy celebrado, y el Crucifixo fue 
 tenido en grande reverend a en aquella Iglesia 
 de S, Miniato. Quedo Juan Gualberto de este 
 acaecimiento, trocado en ?tro varon,y dti^r mi- 
 no dexar el mundo, y las cosas percedar<>* de eL 
 Flos Sansterum 
 
58 METRICAL TALES 
 
 Oft had his sire in battle forc'd success, 
 Well for hi* valour known, and known for 
 haughtiness. 
 
 It chanc'd that one in kindred near allied 
 
 Was slain by his hereditary foe ; 
 Much by his sorrow moved, and more by 
 pride, 
 The father vow'd that blood for blood 
 should flow; 
 Andfrom his youthGualbertohadbeen taught 
 That with unceasing hate should just revenge 
 be sought. 
 
 Long did they wait; at length thetidings came 
 That through a lone and unfrequented vvhv 
 Soon would Anseimo, such the murderer's 
 name, 
 Pass on his journey home, an easy prey. 
 " Go," cried the father, " meet him in the 
 wood !'' 
 And young Gualberto went, and laid in wait 
 for blood. 
 
 When now the youth was at the forest shade 
 Arriv'd, it drew toward the close of day j. 
 
 Anseimo haply might be long delay 'd, 
 And he, already wearied with his way, 
 
METRICAL TALES. 59 
 
 Beneath an ancient oak his limbs reclined, 
 And thoughts of near revenge alone possess'd 
 his mind. 
 
 Slow sunk the glorious sun, a roseate light 
 Spread o'er the forest from his lingering 
 rays ; 
 The glowing clouds upon Gualberto's sight 
 Soften'd in shade, — he could not choose but 
 gaze ; 
 And now a placid greyness clad the heaven, 
 Save where the west retain'd the last green light 
 of even. 
 
 Cool breath'd the grateful air, and fresher 
 now 
 The fragrance of the autumnal leaves 
 arose, 
 The passing gale scarce moved the o'erhang- 
 ing bough, 
 And not a sound disturb'd the deep repose, 
 Save when a falling leaf came fluttering bv, 
 Save the near brooklet's stream that murmur 'd 
 quietly. 
 
 Is there who has not felt the deep delight, 
 The hush of soul, that scenes like these 
 impari. ? 
 The heajrt they will not soften, is not right, 
 
60 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 And young Gualberto was not hard of 
 heart. 
 Yet sure he thinks revenge becomes him well, 
 When from a neighbouring church he heard 
 the vesper bell 
 
 The Catholic who hears that vesper bell, 
 Howe'er employed, must send a prayer to 
 heaven. 
 In foreign lands I liked the custom well, 
 For with the calm and sober thoughts of 
 even 
 It we'I accords ; and wert thou journeying 
 there, 
 It would not hurt thee, George, to join that 
 vesper-prayer. 
 
 Gualberto had been duly taught to hold 
 
 Each pious rite with most religious care, 
 And, — for the young man's feelings were not 
 cold, 
 He never yet had mist his vesper-prayer. 
 But strange misgivings now his heart invade, 
 And when the vesper bell had ceas'd he had 
 not pray'd. 
 
 And wherefore was it that he had not pray'd? 
 
 The sudden doubt arose within his mind, 
 And many a former precept then he weigh 'd, 
 
METRICAL TALES, 61 
 
 The words of him who died to save man- 
 kind; 
 How 'twas the meek who should inherit 
 heaven, 
 And man should man forgive, if he would be 
 forgiven. 
 
 Troubled at heart, almost he felt a hope 
 That yet some chance his victim might 
 delay. 
 So as he mus'd, adown the neighbouring slope 
 
 He saw a lonely traveller on his way ; 
 And now he knows the man so much ab- 
 horr'd, — 
 His holier thoughts are gone, he bares the mur- 
 derous sword. 
 
 " The house of Valdespesa gives the blow ! 
 " Go, and our vengeance to our kinsman 
 tell ! »* — 
 despair and terror seiz'd the unarm'd foe, 
 And prostrate at the young man's knees 
 he fell, 
 f And stopt his hand and cried, " Oh, do not 
 
 take 
 " A wretched sinner's life ! mercy for Jesus 5 
 sake!" 
 
62 METRICAL TALES. 
 
 At that most blessed name, as at a spell, 
 Conscience, the God within him, smote his 
 heart. 
 His hand, for murder rais'd, unharming fell* 
 He felt cold sweat-drops on his foiehead 
 start, 
 A moment mute in holy horror stood, 
 Then cried, " Joy, joy, my God ! I have not 
 shed his blood I' 1 
 
 He rais'd Anselmo up, and bade him live, 
 And bless, for both preserved, that holy 
 name ; 
 And pray'd the astonish'd foeman to forgive 
 The bloody purpose led by which he came. 
 Then to the neighbouring church he sped 
 away, 
 His over-burden'd soul before his God to lay. 
 
 He ran with breathless speed, — he reached 
 the door, 
 With rapid throbs his feverish pulses swell, 
 He came to crave for pardon, to adore 
 For grace vouchsafed; before the cross he 
 fell, 
 And rais'd his swimming eyes, and thought 
 that fkere 
 He saw the imaged Christ smile favouring on 
 )iis prayer. 
 
METRICAL TALES, 63 
 
 A blest illusion ! from that very night 
 
 The monk's austerest life devout he led ; 
 And still he felt the enthusiast's deep delight, 
 And seraph-visions floated round his head; 
 The joys of heaven foretasted fill'd his soul, 
 And still the good man's name adorns the saint- 
 ed roll. 
 
MONODRAMAS. 
 
 
w 
 
 XIMALPOCA. 
 
 Scene — The Temple of MexhH 
 
 Subjects! friends! children! I may call you 
 
 children 
 For I have ever borne a father's love 
 Towards you; it is thirteen years since first 
 You saw me in the robes of royalty, — 
 Since here the multitudes of Mexico 
 Hail'd me their king. I thank, you friend^ 
 
 that now, 
 In equal numbers and with equal love, 
 You come to grace my death. 
 
 For thirteen years 
 What I have been, ye know ; that with all cares 
 That with all justice and all gentleness, 
 Seeking your weal, I govern 5 d. Is there one 
 Whom 1 have injured ? one whose just redres* 
 I have denied, or baffled by delay ? 
 Let him come forth, that so no evil tongue 
 Speak shame of me hereafter O my people, 
 Not by my sins have I drawn down upon me 
 The wrath of Heaven. 
 
68 
 
 MONODRAMAS. 
 
 - The wrath is heavy on me ! 
 Heavy ! a burthen more than I can bear ! 
 I have endured contempt, insult and wrongs 
 From that Acolhuan tyrant ! should I seek 
 Revenge ? alas S my people, we are few, — 
 Feeble our growing state ! it hath not yet 
 Rooted itself to bear the hurricane ; 
 It is the lion-cub that tempts not yet 
 The tyger's full-aged fury. Mexicans, 
 He sent to bid me wear a woman's robe ; — 
 When was the day that ever I lookVi back 
 in battle ? Mexicans, the wife. I loved, 
 To taith and friendship trusted, in despite 
 Of me, of heaven, he seized, and spurned her 
 
 back 
 Polluted! — coward villain! and he lurks 
 Behind his armies and his multitudes 
 And mocks my idle wrath l — it is not fit 
 It is not possible that I should live ! 
 Live ! and deserve to be the finger-mark 
 Of slave-contempt ! his blood I cannot reach, 
 But ^n my own all stains shall bejfcflacecl, 
 It shall blot out the marks of infamy, 
 Aful when the warriors of the days to come 
 Tell of Ximalpoca, it shall be said 
 He died the brave man's death ! 
 
 Not of the God 
 Unworthv, do I seek his altar thus, 
 
MONODRAMAS. 69 
 
 A voluntary victim And perchance 
 The sacrifice of life may profit ye, 
 My people, tho' all living efforts fail'd 
 By fortune not by fault. 
 
 Cease your lament! 
 And if your ill-doomed king deserved your 
 
 love, 
 Say of him to your children, he was one 
 Who bravely bore misfortune ; who when life 
 Became dishonour, shook his body off, 
 And join'd the spirits of the heroes dead. 
 Yes ! not in Miclanteuctii's dark abode 
 With cowards shall your king receivehis doom ; 
 Not in the icy caverns of the North 
 Suffer thro' endless ages ! Ke shall join 
 The spirits of the brave, with them at raorn 
 Shall Hsus from the eastern gate of heaven, 
 And follow thro' his fields of light the sun ; 
 With them shall raise the song and weave the 
 
 dance ; 
 Sport in the stream of splendour ; company 
 Down to the western palace of his rest 
 The Prince of glory ; and with equal eye 
 Endure his centered radiance. Not of you 
 Forgetful ; O my people, even then ; 
 But often in the amber cloud of noon 
 DiffusM will I o'erspread vour summer fields. 
 
70 MONODRAMAS, 
 
 And on the freshened maize and brightenmg 
 
 meads 
 Bhower plenty. 
 
 Spirits of my vaiiaat sires, 
 I come ! Mexitli, never at thy shrine 
 Flow'd braver blood ! never a nobler heart 
 Steam'd up its life to thee ! Priest of the God > 
 Perform vour office ! 
 
MONODRAMAS. 
 
 THE WIFE OF FERGUS. 
 
 Fergusitis 3. periit veneno ab uxors dato. Alii scri- 
 buns cum uxor s<spe exprobrasset ei matrimonii contemp- 
 tum et pellicum greges, neque quicquam profecisset, tan* 
 dem noctu dormientem ab ea strangulatum. Qu&stione 
 de morte ejus habita cum amicorum plurimi insimular- 
 entur, nee quisquam ne in gravissimis quidem tormeniis 
 quicquam fatzretur , mulier, alioqui ferox^ totinnoxiorum 
 capitum miserta, in medium processit, ac e superiors 
 loco cadem a te factum confessa y ne ad ludibrium super' 
 zsset, pectus cultro transf edit : quod ejus factum varie 
 pro cuj usque ingenio est accept urn, ac perinde sermonihus 
 
 celebratum. 
 
 Buchanan, 
 
 Scene— The Palace Court. The Queen speaking 
 from the Battlements* 
 
 Cease — cease your torments ! spare the suf- 
 ferers ! 
 
 Scotchmen, not theirs the deed ;— the crime 
 was mine, 
 
 Mine is the glory* 
 
72 MONODRAMAS. 
 
 Idle threats ! I stand 
 Secure. All access to these battlements 
 Is barr'd 6eyond your sudden strength to force. 
 And lo ! the dagger by which Fergus died ! 
 Shane on ye Scotchmen, that a woman's hand 
 Was left to do this deed ! Shame on ye Thanes, 
 Who with slave-patience have so long endured 
 The wrongs and insolence of tyranny ! 
 Ye coward race ! — that not a husband's sword 
 Smote that adulterous King ! that not a wife 
 Revenged her own pollution ; in bis blood 
 Wash'd her soul pure, and for the sin compell'd 
 Aton'd by virtuous murder ! O my God ! 
 Of what beast matter hast thou .uoulded them 
 To bear with wrongs like these ? There was a 
 
 time 
 When if the Bard had feign'd you such a tale 
 Your eyes had throbb'd with anger, and your 
 
 hands 
 In honest instinct would have graspt the sword. 
 O miserable men, who have disgraced 
 Your father's, whom your son's must blush to 
 
 name ! 
 
 Aye, — ye can threaten me ! ye can be brave 
 In anger to a woman ! one whose virtue 
 Upbraidsyourcowardvice; whose name willlive 
 Honoured and prais'd in song, when not a hand 
 Shall root from your forgotten monuments 
 
MONODRAMAS. ?3 
 
 The cankering moss. Fools ! fools ! to think 
 
 that death 
 I* not a thing familiar to my mind ! 
 As if I knew not what must consummate 
 My glory ! as if ought that earth can give 
 Could.tempt me to endure the load of life ! — 
 Scotchmen ! ye saw when Fergus to the altar 
 Led rae, his maiden queen. Ye blest methen,— 
 F heard you bless me, — and I thought that 
 
 Heaven 
 Had heard you also and that I was blest,. 
 For I loved Fergus. Bear me witness, God ! 
 With what a sacred heart-sincerity 
 My lips pronounced the unrecallable vow 
 That made me his^ him mine ; bear witness 
 
 Thou ! 
 Before whose throne I this day must appear 
 Stain'd with his blood and mine ! my heart was 
 
 his, — 
 His in the strength of all its first affections. 
 In all obedience, in all love, I kept 
 Holy my marriage vow. Behold me, Thanes ! 
 Time hath not changed the face on which his 
 
 eye 
 So often dwelt, when with assiduous care 
 He sought my love ; with seeming truth, fox* 
 
 one, 
 Sincere herself , impossible to doubt;. 
 
 a 
 
7 4 MONODRAMAS. 
 
 Time hath not changed that face 5 —I speak 
 
 not now 
 With pride of beauties that will feed the worm 
 Tomorrow ! but with joyful pride I say 
 That if the truest and most perfect love 
 Deserved requital, such was ever mine. 
 How often reeking from the adulterous bed 
 Have I reeeived him ! and with 110 complaint. 
 Neglect and insult, cruelty and scorn 
 Long-, long did I endure, and long curb down 
 The indignant nature. 
 
 Tell your countrymen, 
 Scotchmen, what I have spoken ! say ro them 
 Ye saw the queen of Scotland lift the dagger 
 Red from her husband's heart ; that in her own 
 She plunged it. Stabs herself. 
 
 Tell them also, that she felt 
 No guilty fear in death. 
 
 LUCRETIA. 
 Scene, the house of COLLATING. 
 
 Welcome, my father ! good Valerius, 
 Welcome S and thou too, Brutus ! ye were both 
 My wedding guests, and fitly ye are come. 
 My husband— Coilatine — alas ! no more 
 
MONODRAMAS. 75 
 
 Lucretia's husband, for thou shah not clasp 
 Pollution to thy bosom, — hear me on ! 
 For I will tell thee all. 
 
 I sate at eve 
 Spinning amid my maidens as I wont, 
 When from the camp at Ardea Sextus came. 
 Curb down thy swelling feelings, Collatine ! 
 I little liked the man ! yet, for he came 
 From Ardea, for he brought me news of thee. 
 I gladly gave him welcome, gladly Hsten'd, — 
 Thou canst not tell how gladly ! to his tales 
 Of battles, and the long and perilous siege ; 
 And when I laid me down at night to sleep, 
 'Twas with a lighten 'd heart, — 1 knew thee safe^ 
 My visions were of thee. 
 
 Nay hear me out ! 
 And be thou wise in vengeance, so thy wife 
 Not vainly shall have suffered, f have wrought 
 My soul up to the business of this hour 
 That it may stir your noble spirits, prompt 
 Such glorious deeds that ages yet unborn 
 Shall bless my fate. At midnight 1 awoke, — 
 The Tarquin was beside me ! O my husband ! 
 Where, wert thou then ! gone was my rebel 
 
 strength, — 
 All power of utterance gone! astonish'd,stunn'd, 
 I saw the coward ruffian, heard him urge 
 His damned suit, and bid me tamely yield, — 
 Yield to dishonour. When he preffer'd death,— 
 
76 MONODRAMAS. 
 
 Oh I had leapt to meet the merciful sword ! 
 But that with most accursed vows he vow'd 
 That he would lay a dead slave by my side, 
 Murdering my spotless honour. — Collatine ! 
 From what an anguish have I rescued thee ! 
 And thou my father, wretched as thou art, 
 Thou miserable, childless, poor old man, — 
 Think, father, what that agony had been ! 
 New thou mayst sorrow for me, thou mayst 
 
 bless 
 The memory of thy poor, polluted child. 
 Look, if it have Hot kindled Brutus' eye ! 
 Mysterious man ! at last 1 know thee now, 
 I see thy dawning glories ! — to the grave 
 Not unrevenged Lucretia shall descend ; 
 Not always shall her wretched country wear 
 The Tarquins yoke ! ye will deliver Rome, 
 And I have comfort in this dreadful hour. 
 Think'st thou my husband, that 1 dreaded death 
 O Collatine ! the weapon that had gored 
 My bosom had been ease, been happiness, — 
 Elysium, to the hell of his hot grasp. 
 Judge if Lucretia could have fear'd to die [ 
 
 Stabs herself. 
 
SONGS 
 
 AMERICAN INDIANS. 
 
79 
 
 THE HURON'S ADDRESS TO THE DEAD, 
 
 Brother, thou wert strong in youth ! 
 Brother, thou wert brave in war ! 
 Unhappy man was he 
 For whom thou hadst sharpened the tomahawk's 
 edge ; 
 Unhappy man was he 
 On whom thine angry eye was fix'd in fight 
 And he who from thy hand 
 Received the calumet, 
 Blest Heaven, and slept in peace. 
 When the Evil Spirits seized thee, 
 Brother, we were sad at heart : 
 We bade the Jongler come 
 And bring his magick aid ; 
 We circled thee in mystick dance, 
 With songs and shouts and cries. 
 To free thee from their power. 
 Brother, but in vain we strove, 
 The number of thy days was full. 
 Thou sittest amongst us on thy mat, 
 The bear- skin from thy shoulder hangs, 
 Thy feet are sandal'd, ready for the way* 
 Those are the unfatiguable feet 
 
BO St)NGS 07 THE 
 
 That traversed the forest track ; 
 Those are the lips that late 
 Thundered the yell of war ; 
 And that is the strong right arm 
 That never was lifted in vain. 
 Those lips are silent now, 
 The limbs that were active are stiff, 
 
 Loose hangs the strong right arm : 
 And where is that which in thy voice 
 The language of friendship spake r 
 That gave the strength of thine arm 
 That nii'd thy limbs with life ? 
 It was not thou^-for thou art here, 
 
 Thou art amongst us still, 
 But the life and the feeling are gone. 
 The Iroquois will learn 
 That thou hast ceas'd from war ; 
 'Twill be joy like victory, 
 For thou wert the scourge of their race. 
 JBrother, we sing thee the song of -death : 
 In thy coffin of baric we lay thee to rest ; 
 The bow shall be placed by thy side, 
 And the shafts that are pointed and feather'd 
 for flight. 
 To the country of the dead 
 Long and painful is thy way ! 
 Over rivers wide and deep 
 3,ies the road that must be past, 
 
AMERICAN INDIANS, 81 
 
 By bridges n arrow- wal I'd 
 Where scarce the soul can force its way, 
 While the loose fabrick totters under it. 
 
 Safely may our brother pass J 
 Safely may he reach the fields, 
 Where the sound of the drum and the shell 
 Shall be heard from the country of souls ' 
 The spirits of thy sires 
 Shall come to welcome thee ; 
 The god of the dead in his bower 
 Shall receive thee and bid thee join 
 The dance of eternal joy. 
 
 Brother, we pay thee the rites of death, 
 Rest in the bower of delight ! 
 
 THE PERUVIAN'S DIRGE OVER THE 
 BOLT OF HIS FATHER. 
 
 Rest in peace, my father, rest, 
 With danger and toil have 1 borne thy corpse 
 From the stranger's field of death. 
 I bless thee, O wife of the sun, 
 For veiling thy beams with a' cloud. 
 While at the pious task 
 
82 SONGS OF THE 
 
 Thy votary toil'd in fear. 
 Thou badest the clouds of night 
 Enwrap thee, and hide thee from man ; 
 But didst thou not see my toil, 
 And put on the darkness to aid, 
 O wife of the visible god ? 
 
 Wretched, my father, thy life ! 
 Wretched the life of a slave ! 
 All day for another he toils, 
 Overwearied at night he lies down, 
 And dreams of the freedom that he once en- 
 joy'd. 
 Thou wert blest in the days of thy youthr, 
 My father ! for then thou wert free. 
 In the fields of the nation thy hand 
 Bore its part of the general task ; 
 And when, with the song and the dance, 
 Ye brought the harvest home, 
 As all in the labour had shar'd, 
 So justly they shar'd in the fruits. 
 
 Thou visible lord of the earth, 
 
 Thou god of my fathers, thou god of my heart.. 
 
 O giver of light and of life ! 
 
 When the strangers came to our shores, 
 
 Why didst thou not put forth thy powers ? 
 
 Thy thunders should then have been hurl'd. 
 
 Thy fires should in lightnings have flash'd ! — 
 
AMERICAN INDIANS. 83 
 
 Visible god of the earth, 
 The strangers mock at thy might ! 
 To figures and beams of wood 
 They force us fro bow the knee ; 
 They plunge us in caverns and dens, 
 Where never thy blessed light 
 Shines on our poisonous toil ! 
 But not in the caverns and dens, 
 O sun, are we mindless of thee ! 
 We pine for the want of thy beams, 
 We adore thee with anguish and groans. 
 
 My father, rest in peace ! 
 
 Rest with the dust of thy sires' 
 They plac'd their cross in thy dying grasp, — 
 
 They bore thee to their burial place, 
 
 And over thy breathless frame 
 
 Their bloody and merciless priest, 
 
 Mumbled his mystery words. 
 
 Oh ! could thy bones be at peace 
 
 In the fields where the strangers are laid ? — 
 
 Alone, in danger and in pain, 
 
 My father, I bring thee here; 
 
 So may our God, in reward, 
 
 Allow me one faithful friend 
 To lay me beside thee when I am released ! 
 
 Bo may he release me soon, 
 
 That my spirit may join thee there, 
 
 Where the strangers never shall corn? * 
 
84 SONGS OF THE 
 
 SONG OF THE ARAUCANS DURING A 
 THUNDER STORM, 
 
 The storm cloud grows deeper above ; 
 Araucans ! the tempest is ripe in the sky ; 
 Our forefathers come from their islands of bliss, 
 
 They come to the war of the winds. 
 
 The souls of the strangers are there, 
 In their garments of darkness they ride thro* 
 
 the heaven ; 
 The cloud that so lurid rolls over the hill 
 
 Is red with their weapons of fire. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! in the howl of the wind 
 The shout of the battle, the clang of their 
 
 drums, 
 The horsemen are met, and the shock of the 
 fight 
 Is the blast, that disbranches the wood. 
 
 Behold from the clouds of their power 
 The lightning, the lightning is lanced at our 
 
 sires ! 
 And the thunder that shakes the broad pave- 
 ment of heaven 
 And the darkness that quenches the day, 
 
AMERICAN INDIANS. 85 
 
 Ye souls of our fathers be brave ! 
 Ye shrunk not before the invaders on earth, 
 Ye trembled not then at their weapons of fire 
 
 Brave spirits, ye tremble not now ! 
 
 We gaze on your warfare in hope, 
 We send up our shouts to encourage your arms' 
 Lift the lance of your vengeance O fathers 
 with force. 
 
 For the wrongsof your country strike home! 
 
 Remember the land was your own 
 When the sons of destruction came over the 
 
 seas ; 
 That the old fell asleep in the fullness of days 
 
 And their children wept over their graves. 
 
 Till the strangers came into the land 
 With tongues of deceit and with weapons of 
 
 fire, 
 Then the strength of the people in youth was 
 cut off, 
 And the father wept over his son. 
 
 It thickens — the tumult of fight, - 
 Louder and louder the blast of the battle is 
 heard, — 
 
86 SONGS OF THE 
 
 i 
 
 Remember the wrongs that your country en- 
 dures S 
 Remember the fields of your fame ! 
 
 Joy I joy ! for the strangers recoil, — 
 They give way, — they retreat to the land of 
 
 their life ! 
 Pursue them ! pursue them ! remember your 
 
 wrongs ! 
 ■ Let your lances be drunk with their 
 
 wounds. 
 
 The souls of your wives shall rejoice 
 As they welcome you back to your islands of 
 
 bliss ; 
 And the breeze that refreshes the toil-throbbing 
 brow 
 Waft hither the song of your praise. 
 
 SONG OF THE CHIKKdSAH WIDOW. 
 
 »Twas the voice of my husband that came on 
 
 the gale, 
 The unappeas'd spirit in anger complains 
 
 Rest, rest, 011anahta,be still ! 
 
 The day of revenge is at hands 
 
AMERICAN INDIANS. 87 
 
 The stake is made ready, the captives shall die ; 
 
 To-morrow the song of their death shalt thou 
 hear, 
 To-morrow thy widow shall wield 
 The knife and the fire; — be at rest I 
 
 The vengeance of anguish shall soon have its 
 course, — 
 
 The fountains of grief and of fury shall flow,— 
 I will think Ollanahta! of thee, 
 Will remember the days of our love. 
 
 Olianahta, all day by thy war-pole I sat 
 Where idly thy hatchet of battle is hung ; 
 I gazed on the bow of thy strength 
 As it waved on the stream of the wind. 
 
 The scalps that we numbered in triumph were 
 
 there, 
 And the musket that never was levell'd in 
 vain,— 
 What a leap has it given to my heart 
 To see thee suspend it in peace. 
 
 When the black and blood-banner was spread to 
 
 the gale, 
 When thrice the deep voice of the war-drum 
 was heard, 
 I remember thy terrible eyes 
 How they flash'dthe dark glance of thy joy. 
 
88 SONGS OF THE 
 
 I remember the hope that shone over thy chee 
 As thy hand from the pole reach'd its doers c 
 death ; 
 Like the ominous gleam of the cloud 
 Ere the thunder and lightning are born. 
 
 He went and ye came not to warn him u 
 dreams, 
 
 Kindred spirits of him who is holy and great I 
 And where was thy warning, O Bird, 
 The untimely announcer of ill. 
 
 Alas ! when thy brethren in conquest return'd : 
 "When I saw the white plumes bending over 
 their heads 
 And the pine-boughs of triumph before 
 Where the scalps of their victory swung,— 
 
 The war-hymn they pour'd, and thy voice was 
 
 not there. 
 I call'd thee,- — alas, the white deer-skin was- 
 brought, 
 And thy grave was prepar'd in the tent 
 Which I had made ready for joy ! 
 
 Ollanahta, all day by thy war-pole I sit, — 
 
 Ollanahta, all night I weep over thy grave ? 
 
 To morrow the victims shall die, 
 
 And I shall have joy in revenge, 
 
AMERICAN INDIANS. 89 
 
 THE OLD CHIKKASAH TO HIS GRAND- 
 SON. 
 
 Now go to the battle my boy I 
 
 Dear child of my son 
 There is strength in thine arm, 
 
 There is hope in thy heart, 
 Thou art ripe for the labours of war. 
 Thy sire was a stripling like thee 
 When he went to the first of his fields, 
 'ie return'd, in the glory of conquest return'd, 
 
 Before him his trophies were borne, 
 "hese scalps that have hung till the sun and 
 the rain 
 Have rusted their raven locks, 
 lere he stood when the morn of rejoicing 
 arriv'd, 
 The day of the warrior's reward ; 
 When the banners sun-beaming were 
 
 spread, 
 And all hearts were dancing in joy 
 To the sound of the victory drum, 
 "he heroes were met to receive their reward ; 
 lut distinguished among the young heroes that 
 day, 
 H 
 
90 SONGS OF THE, &C, 
 
 The pride of his nation, thy father was seen 
 The swan-feathers hung from his neck, 
 His face like the rainbow was tinged, 
 Aod his eye, — how it sparkled in pride ! 
 
 The elders approach'd, and they placed on his 
 
 brow 
 
 The crown that his valour had won, 
 
 And they gave him the old honour'd name, 
 
 They reported the deeds he had done in the war. 
 And the youth of the nation were told 
 To respect him, and tread in his path. 
 
 My boy ! I have seen, and with hope, 
 
 The courage that rose in thine eye 
 
 When I told thee the tale of his death. 
 
 His war-pole now is grey wiih moss, 
 
 His tomahawk red with rust, 
 
 His bow-string whose twang was death 
 
 Now sings as it cuts the wind, 
 
 But his memory is fresh in the land 
 
 And his name with the names that we 
 
 iove. 
 Go now and revenge him my boy ! 
 
 That his spirit no longer may hover by day 
 O'er the hut where his bones are at rest, 
 Nor trouble our dreams in the night. 
 
 My boy I shall watch for the warrior's return 
 And my soul wili be sad 
 Till the steps of thy coming I see. 
 
THE LOVE ELEGIES 
 
 OF 
 
 ABEL SHUFFLEBOTTOM. 
 
93 
 
 ELEGT I. 
 
 The Poet relates bow be obtained Delia's pocket-hand- 
 kerchief. 
 
 5 Tis mine ! what accents can my joy declare-? 
 
 Blest be the pressure of the thronging rout ! 
 Blest be the hand so hasty of my fair, . * 
 
 That left the tempting corner hanging out I 
 
 1 envy not the joy the pilgrim feels, 
 
 After long travel to some distant shrine, 
 
 When at the relick of his saint he kneels, 
 
 For Delia's pocket-handkerchief is mine. 
 
 When first with Jilching fingers I drew near, 
 Keen hope shot tremulous thro' every vein, 
 
 And when the finished deed removed my fear, 
 Scarce could my bounding heart its joy 
 contain , 
 
 What tho' the eighth commandment rose to 
 mind, 
 It only served a moment's qualm to move, 
 For thefts like this it could not be design'd, 
 The eighth commandment WAS NOT MADE FOR 
 LOVE, ! 
 
94? LOVE ELEGIES. 
 
 Here when she took the macaroons from me, 
 She wiped her mouth to clean the crumbs so 
 sweet ; 
 
 Dear napkin ! yes she wiped her lips in thee ! 
 Lips siveeUr than the macaroons she eat. 
 
 And when she took that pinch of Macabaw 
 That made my love so delicately sneeze, 
 
 Thee to her Roman nose applied I saw, 
 
 And thou art doubly dear for things like 
 these. 
 
 No washerwoman's filthy hand shall e'er, 
 Sweet pocket-handkerchief, thy worth 
 profane ; 
 
 For thou hast touched the rubies of my fair, 
 And I will kiss thee o'er and o'er again. 
 
 ELEGY II. 
 
 The Poet invokes the Spirits of the Elements to 
 approach Delia. He describes her singing. 
 
 Ye Stlphs who banquet on my Delia'? biush, 
 Who on her locks of floating gold repose, 
 
LOVE ELEGIES. 95 
 
 Dip in her cheek your gossamery BRUSH, 
 
 And with its bloom of beauty tinge the r©se« 
 
 Hover around her lips on rainboiv iving, 
 
 Load from her honeyed breath your viewless 
 feet, 
 
 Bear thence a richer fragrance for the spring, 
 And make the lily and the violet sweet. 
 
 Ye Gnomes, whose toil thro ! many a dateless 
 year 
 
 Its nurture to the infant gem supplies, 
 From central caverns bring your diamonds here, 
 
 To ripen in the sun of Delia's eyes. 
 
 And ye who bathe in Etna's lava springs, 
 Spirits of fire ! to see my love advance ; 
 
 Fly, Salamanders, on Asbestos wings, 
 To wanton in my Delia's jiery glance. 
 
 She weeps, she weeps I her eye with anguish 
 
 swells, 
 
 Some tale of sorrow melts my feeling glrl ? 
 
 Nymphs ! catch ihe tears, and in your lucid 
 
 shells 
 
 Enclose them, embryos of the orient 
 
 PEARL. 
 
 She sings ! the nightingale with envy hears, 
 The cherubim bends from his starry throne' 
 
$6 LOVE ELEGIES. 
 
 And motionless are stopt the attentive spheres, 
 To hear more heavenly musick than their 
 own. 
 
 Cease, Delia, cease ! for all the angel throng, 
 Listening to thee, let sleep their golden 
 wires ! 
 Cease, Delia, cease that too surpassing song, 
 Lest, stung to envy 5 they should break their 
 lyres. 
 
 Cease, ere my senses are to madness driven 
 By the strong joy ! cease, Delia, lest my soul 
 
 Enwrapt, already think itself in heaven, 
 And burst my feeble body's frail control. 
 
 ELEGY JIT. 
 
 The Poet expatiates on the beauty of Delia s hair. 
 
 The comb between whose ivory teeth she strains 
 The straightening curls of gold so beamy bright 
 
 Not spotless merely from the touch remains, 
 But issues forth more pure, more milky white* 
 
LOVE ELEGIES. §7 
 
 The rgse-pomatum that the friseur spreads 
 Sometimes with honour'd fingers for my fair. 
 
 No added perfume on her tresses sheds, 
 But Sorrows sweetness from her siveeter hair, 
 
 Happy the friseur who in Delia's hair 
 
 With licensed fingers uncontrol'd may rove, 
 
 And happy in his death the dancing bear, 
 Who died to make pomatum for my love* 
 
 Oh could I hope that e'er my favoured lays 
 Might curl those lovely locks with conscious 
 pride, 
 Nor Hammond, nor the Mantuan Shepherd's 
 praise 
 I'd envy then, nor wish reward beside, 
 
 Cupid has strung for you, O tresses fine, 
 
 The bow that in my breast impell'd his dart ; 
 
 From you, sweet locks ! he wove the subtle line 
 Wherewith the urchin angled for my heart* 
 
 Fine are my Delia's tresses as the threads 
 That from the silk-worm, self interred, pro- 
 ceed ; 
 
 Fine as the gleam y g6ssamer, that spreads 
 Its filmy web-work o'er the tangled mead. 
 
 Yet with these tresses Cupid's power elate 
 My captive heart has handcuffed in a chain. 
 
98 LOVE ELEGIES. 
 
 Strong as the cables of some huge first-rate, 
 That beaks Britannia's thunders o'er 
 
 THE MAIN. 
 
 The sylphs that round her radiant locks repair, 
 Iwjlo^ving lustre bathe their brightening wings; 
 
 And elfin minstrels with assiduous care 
 The ringlets rob for yavky jiddle-rfrings. 
 
 ELEGT IV. 
 
 Tie Pcet relates hoiv he stole a Lock of Delia's 
 Hair y and her anger. 
 
 flh \ Ite me day accurst that gave me birth j 
 Ye seas, to swallow me in kindness rise ! 
 
 Fall on me, mountains ! and thou merciful earth. 
 Open, and hide me from my Delia's eyes ! 
 
 Let universal Chaos now return, 
 
 Now let the central fires their prison burst, 
 And Earth and Heaven and Air and Ocean 
 burn — 
 For Delia frowns—she frowns, and I ion 
 curst ? 
 
LOVE ELEGIES. 99 
 
 Oh ! I could dare the fury of the fight, 
 
 Wfeere hostile millions sought my single life ; 
 
 Would storm volcano batteries with delight, 
 And grapple with grim Death in glorious 
 strife. 
 
 Oh f I could brave the bolts of angry Jove, 
 When ceaseless lightnings fire the midnight 
 skies ! 
 
 *What is his wrath to that of her I love ? 
 
 What is his lightning to my Delia's eyes I 
 
 Go, fatal lock ! I cast thee to the wind ; 
 
 Ye serpent CURLS, ye poison-tendrils go, 
 Would^I could tear thy memory from my mind 
 
 Accursed lock,— thou cause of all my woe ! 
 
 Seize the curst curls, ye Furies, as they fry ! 
 
 Daemons of darkness, girard the infernal roll, 
 That thence your cruel vengeance when I die 
 
 May knit the knots of torture for my souL 
 
 Last night, — Oh hear me, heaven, and grant my 
 prayer ! 
 
 The Book of Fate before thy suppliant lay* 
 And let me from its ample records tear 
 
 Only the single PAGE OF YESTERDAY ; 
 
 Or let me meet oid Time upon his flight, 
 And 1 will stop him on his restless way * 
 
100 LOVE ELEGIES. 
 
 Omnipotent in Love's resistless might, 
 I'll force bimhach the road of y&sterday. 
 
 Last night, as o'er the page of Love's despair, 
 My Delia bent deliriously to grieve ; ♦ 
 
 I stood a treacherous loiterer by her chair, 
 And drew the fatal scissars from my 
 
 sleeve : 
 
 And would that at that instant o'er my thread 
 The shears of Atropos had open'd then ; 
 
 And when I reft the lock from Delia's head, 
 Had cut me sudden from the sons of men ! 
 
 She heard the scissars that fair lock divide, 
 And whilst my heart with transport panted 
 big. 
 She cast a fury frown on me, and cried, 
 
 " You stupid puppy r-you have spoil'd my 
 wig!" 
 
 r 
 
SOAWETS. 
 
103 
 
 SONNET J. 
 
 O thou sweet Lark, that in the heaven so high 
 Twinklest thy wings and singest merrily, 
 
 I watch thee soaring with no mean delight, 
 And when at last I turn mine aching eye 
 
 That lags, how far below thy lofty flight, 
 Still silently receive thy melody. 
 O thou sweet Lark, that I had wings like thee ! 
 
 Not for the joy it were in yon blue light 
 
 Upward to plunge, and from thy heavenly 
 height 
 Gaze on the creeping multitude below, 
 
 But that I soon would wing my eager flight 
 To that loved place where Fancy even now 
 
 Has fled, and Hope looks onward thro' a 
 tear, 
 
 Counting the weary hours that keep her here; 
 
 SONNET II, 
 
 Thou lingerest, Spring ! still wintry is the 
 scene, 
 
 The fields their dead and sapless russet wear ; 
 
 Scarce does the glossy pile-wort yet appear 
 Starring the sunny bank, or early green 
 
104 SONNETS. 
 
 The elder yet its circling tufts put forth. 
 The sparrow tenants still the eaves-built nest 
 Where we should see our martins' snowy 
 
 breast 
 Oft darting out. The blasts from the bleak 
 
 north 
 
 And from the keener east still frequent blow. 
 
 Sweet Spring, thou Hngerest ! and it should be 
 
 so, — 
 
 Late let the fields and gardens blossom out ! 
 
 Like man when most with smiles thy face is 
 
 drest, 
 'Tis to deceive, and he who knows ye best, 
 When most ye promise, ever most must 
 doubt. 
 
 SONN£T III. 
 
 Beware a speedy friend, the Arabian said, 
 And wisely was it he advised distrust. 
 The flower that blossom? earliest fades the 
 first. 
 T^ook at yon oak that lifts its stately head 
 And dallies with the autumnal storm, whose 
 rage 
 Tempests the ocean waves ; slowly it rose, 
 Slowly its strength iscreas'd thro 5 many an age, 
 
SONNETS* 105 
 
 And timidly did its light leaves unclose 
 As doubtful of the spring, their palest green. 
 They to the summer cautiously expand, 
 And by the warmer sun and season bland 
 Matured, their foilage in the grove is seen, 
 When the bare forest by the wintry blast 
 Is swept, till lingering on the boughs the last. 
 
 SONNET jr. 
 
 TO A GOOSE. 
 
 ]f thou didst feed on western plains of yore ; 
 
 Or waddle wide with flat and flabby feet 
 Over some Cambrian mountain's plashy n\oor ; 
 Or find in farmer's yard a safe retreat 
 From gipsey thieves, and foxes sly and fleet ! 
 If thy grey quills by- lawyer guided, trace, 
 Deeds big with ruin to some wretched race, 
 Or love-sick poet's sonnet, sad and sweet, 
 Wailing the rigour of some lady fair ; 
 Or of the drudge of housemaid's daily toil, 
 Cobwebs and dust thy pinions white besoil, 
 
 Departed Goose ! I neither know nor care . 
 But this I know, that thou wert very fine, 
 §eason'd with sage, and onions, and port wine. 
 
106 SONNETS, 
 
 SONNET V. 
 
 1 marvel not, O Sun ! that unto thee 
 In adoration man should bow the knee, 
 
 And pour the prayer of mingled awe and love 
 For like a God thou art, and on thy way 
 Of glory sheddest with benignant ray, 
 
 Beauty, and life, and joyance from above. 
 
 No longer let these mists thy radiance shroud* 
 These cold raw mists that chill the comfortless 
 
 day ; 
 But shed thy splendour thro' the opening cloud, 
 
 And cheer the earth once more. The languid 
 flowers 
 Lie odourless, beat down with heavy rain, 
 
 Earth asks thy presence, saturate with 
 showers ; 
 O Lord of Light ! put forth thy beams again, 
 
 For damp and cheerless are the gloomy hours. 
 
 SONNET VI. 
 
 Fair be thy fortunes in the distant land, 
 Companion of my earlier years and friend ! 
 
 Go to the Eastern world and may the hand 
 Of Heaven its blessing on thy labour send. 
 
SONNETS. 107 
 
 And may T, if we ever more should meet, 
 
 See thee with affluence to thy native shore 
 Return 'd ; — I need not pray that I may greet 
 
 The same untainted goodness as before. 
 Long years must intervene before that day, 
 
 And what the changes Heaven to each may 
 send, 
 
 It boots not now to bode. Oh early friend 
 Assur'd, no distance e'er can wear away 
 Esteem 16ng rooted, and no change remove 
 The dear remembrance of the friend we love, 
 
 SONNET VII. 
 Farewell, my home, my home no longer now, 
 
 Witness of many a calm and happy day ; 
 And thou fair eminence, upon whose hrow 
 
 Dwells the last sunshine of the evening ray. 
 Farewell ! Mine eyes no longer shall pursue 
 
 The westering sun beyond the utmost height. 
 
 When slowly he forsakes the fields of light, 
 No more the freshness of the falling dew, 
 Cool and delightful here shall bathe my head, 
 
 As from this western window dear, I lean, 
 
 Listening the while I watch the placid scene, 
 The martins twittering underneath the shed. 
 Farewell my home S where many a day has past 
 In joys whose loved remembrance long shall last. 
 
108 SONNETS. 
 
 SONNET VI1L 
 
 Porlock, thy verdant vale so fair to sight, 
 Thy lofty hills with fern and furze so brown ; 
 The waters that so musical roll down 
 
 Thy woody glens, the traveller with delight 
 Recalls to memory, and the channel grey 
 Circling its surges in thy level bay. 
 
 Porlock, I also shall forget thee not, 
 
 Here by the unwelcome summer rain con- 
 fined ; 
 And often shall hereafter call to mind 
 
 How here a patient prisoner, 'twas my lot 
 
 To wear the lonely, lingering close of day, 
 Making my Sonnet by the alehouse fire, 
 Whilst Idleness and Solitude inspire 
 
 Dull rhymes to pass the duller hours away, 
 August 9, 1799- 
 
 SONNET IX. 
 
 Stately yon vessel sails adown the tide 
 
 To some far-distant land adventurous bound; 
 
 The sailors' busy cries from side to side 
 
 Pealing among the echoing rocks resound : 
 
 A patient, thoughtless, much-enduring band, 
 
SONNETS, 109 
 
 Joyful they enter on their ocean way, 
 With shouts exulting leave their native land, 
 
 And know no care beyond the present day. 
 But is there no poor mourner left behind, 
 
 Who sorrows for a child or husband there ? 
 Who at the howling of the midnight wind 
 
 Will wake and tremble in her boding prayer ? 
 So may her voice be heard, and Heaven be 
 kind !— 
 
 Go, gallant ship, and be thy fortune fair ! 
 
 SONNET X. 
 
 O God ! have mercy in this dreadful hour 
 On the poor mariner! in comfort here 
 Safe sheltered a3 t am, I almost fear 
 
 The blast that rages with resistless power. 
 What were it now to toss upon the waves,—- 
 
 The maddened waves and know no succour near; 
 
 The howling of the storm alone to hear 
 
 And the wild sea that to the tempest raves ; 
 
 To gaze amid the horrours of the night • 
 
 And only see the billow's gleaming light ; 
 Amid the dread of death to think of her 
 
 Who as she listens sleepless to the gale 
 
 Puts up a silent prayer and waxes pale ? 
 O God have mercy on the mariner I 
 
110 SONNETS. 
 
 SOXNET XL 
 
 She comes majestick with her swelling sails 
 The gallant bark ; along her watery way 
 
 Homeward she drives before the favouring 
 gales ; 
 Now flirting- at theirlength the streamers play 
 
 And now they ripple with the ruffling breeze. 
 Kark to the sailors' shouts! therocks rebound 
 Thundering in echoes to the jo) ful sound. 
 
 Long have they voyaged o'er the distant seas, 
 And what a heart-delight they feel at last, 
 So many toils, so many dangers past, 
 
 To view the port desir'd, he only knows 
 Who on the stormy deep for many a day 
 Hath tost, aweary of his ocean way, 
 
 And watch'd all anxious every wind that blows. 
 
 SONNET XII 
 
 A wrinkled, crabbed man they picture threfc, 
 Old Winter, with a rugged beard as grey- 
 As the long moss upon the apple-tree ; 
 Blue lipt, an ice drop at thy sharp blue nose, 
 
 Close muffted up, and on thy dreary way, 
 Plodding aione thro* sleet and drifting snows. 
 
SONNETS. Ill 
 
 They should have drawn thee by the high-heapt 
 hearth , 
 
 Old Winter! seated in thy great arm'd chair, 
 Watching the children at their Christmas mirth, 
 
 Or circled by them as thy lips declare 
 Some merry jest or tale of murder dire, 
 
 Or troubled spirit that disturbs the night, 
 Pausing at times to move the languid n^e, 
 
 Or taste the old October brown and bright. 
 
ANOMALIES. 
 
115 
 
 SNUFF. 
 
 A delicate pinch 1 oh how it tingles up 
 The titillated nose ; and fills the eyes 
 And breast, till in one comfortable sneeze 
 The full collected pleasure bursts at last ! 
 Most rare Columbus ! thou shalt be for this 
 The only Christopher in my kalendar. 
 Why but for thee the uses of the nose 
 Were half unknown, and its capacity 
 Of joy. The summer gale that from the heath, 
 At midnoon glittering, with the golden furze, 
 Bears its balsamick odour, but provokes 
 Not satisfies the sense ; and all the flowers, 
 That with their unsubstantial fragrance tempt 
 And disappoint, bloom for so short a space, 
 That half the year the nostrils would keep lent, 
 But that the kind tobacconist admits 
 No winter in his work ; when nature sleeps 
 His wheels roll on, and still administer 
 A plenitude of joy, a tangible smell. 
 
 What is Peru and those Golcondan mines 
 To thee, Virginia ? miserable realms ! 
 They furnish gold for knaves and gems for fools - 
 But thine are common comforts ! to omit 
 
116 ANOMALIES. 
 
 Pipe*panegyric and tobacco praise, 
 
 Think what the general joy the snuff-box gives, 
 
 Europe, and far above Pizarro's name 
 
 Write Raleigh in thy records of renown ! 
 
 Him let the school-boy bless if he behold 
 
 His master's box produced, for when he sees 
 
 The thumb and finger of authority 
 
 Stuft up the nostrils ; when hat, head, and wig 
 
 Shake all ; when on the waistcoat black the dust 
 
 Or drop falls brown ; soon shall the brow severe 
 
 Relax, and from vituperative lips 
 
 Words that of birch remind not : soundsof praise, 
 
 And jokes that must be laugh'd at shall proceed. 
 
 COOL REFLECTIONS DURING A MID- 
 SUMMER WALK. 
 
 O spare me- — spare me, Phoebus ! if indeed 
 Thou hast not let another Phaeton 
 Drive earthward thy fierce steeds and fiery car; 
 Mercy ! I melt ! I melt ! no tree, no bush, 
 No shelter ! not a breath of stirring air 
 East, West, or North, or South! dear god of day, 
 Put on thy night-cap ! crop thy locks of light j 
 And be iathe fashion ! turn thy back upon us, 
 
ANOMALIES. 1 17 
 
 And let thy beams flow upward ! make it night 
 Instead of noon ! one little miracle, 
 In pity, gentle Phoebus ! 
 
 What a joy, 
 Oh what a joy to be a seal and flounder 
 On an ice-island ! or to have a den 
 With the white bear, cavern'd in polar snow ! 
 It were a comfort to shake hands with death,— 
 He has a rare cold hand ! to wrap one's self 
 In the gift shirt Deianeira sent, 
 Dipt in the blood of Nessus, just to keep 
 The sun off; or toast cheese for Beelzebub, 
 That were a cool employment to this journey 
 Along a road whose white intensity 
 Would now make platina uncon gel able 
 Like quicksilver. 
 
 Were it midnight, I should walk 
 Self-lanthorn'd, saturate with sun-beams. Jove ! 
 O gentle Jove ! have mercy, and onee more 
 Kick that obdurate Phoebus out of heaven ! 
 Give Boreas the wind-cholick, till he roars 
 For Cardamum, and drinks down peppermint, 
 Making what's left as precious as Tokay. 
 Send Mercury to salivate the sky 
 Till it dissolves in rain. O gentle Jove ! 
 But some such little kindness to a wretch 
 Who feels his marrow spoiling his best coat,— 
 Who swells with calorique as if a Prester 
 Had leavened every limb with poison-yeast ; — 
 
118 ANOMALIES. 
 
 Lend me thine eagle just to flap his wings, 
 And fan me, and I will build temples to thee, 
 And turn true Pagan. 
 
 Not a cloud nor breeze, — 
 i you most heathen deities ! if ever 
 My bones reach home (for, for the flesh upon 
 
 them, 
 That hath resolved itself into a dew,) 
 1 shall have learnt owl-wisdom. Thou vile 
 
 Phoebus, 
 Set me a Persian sun-idolater 
 Upon this turnpike road, and I'll convert him 
 With no inquisitorial argument 
 But thy own fires. Now woe be to me wretch 
 That I was in a heretick country born ! 
 Else might some mass for the poor souls that 
 
 bleach, 
 And burn away the calx of their offences 
 In that great purgatory crucible, 
 Help me. O Jupiter ! my poor complexion ! 
 I am made a copper-Indian of already, 
 And if no kindly cloud will parasol me, 
 My very cellular membrane will be changed, — 
 I shall be negrofied. 
 
 A brook ! a brook ! 
 Oh what a sweet cool sound ! 
 
 'Tis very nectar ! 
 It runs like life thro' every strengthen'd limb ! 
 Nymph of the stream, now take a grateful 
 
 prayer. 
 
ANOMALIES. 119 
 
 THE PIG. 
 
 A COLLOQUIAL POEM, 
 
 Jacob ! I do not love to see thy nose 
 Turned up in scornful curve at yonder Pig. 
 It would be well, my friend, if we, like him 
 Were perfect in our nature ! why dislike 
 The sow-born grunter ? — He is obstinate, 
 Thou answerest ; ugly, and the filthiest beast 
 That banquets upon offal. Now I pray you 
 Hear the pig's counsel. 
 
 Is he obstinate ? 
 We must not, Jacob, be deceived by words, 
 By sophist sounds. A democratick beast 
 He knows that his unmerciful drivers seek 
 Their profit and not his. He hath not learnt 
 That pigs were made for man, born to be 
 
 brawnM 
 And baconized ; that he must please to give 
 Just what his gracious masters please to take ; 
 Perhaps his tusks, the weapons nature gave 
 For self-defence, the general privilege ; 
 Perhaps, hark Jacob! dost thou hear that horn ? 
 Woe to the young posterity of pork 7 
 Their enemy is at hand. 
 
120 ANOMALIES. 
 
 Again. Thou say'st 
 The pig is ugly. Jacob, look at him ! 
 Those eyes have taught the lover flattery. 
 His face, — nay Jacob, Jacob ! were it fair 
 To judge a lady in her dishabille ? 
 Fancy it drest, and with salt-petre rouged. 
 Behold his tail, my friend ; with curis like that 
 The wanton hop marries her stately spouse ; 
 So crisp in beauty Amoretta's hair 
 Rings round her lover's soul the chains of love* 
 And what is beauty, but the aptitude 
 Of parts harmonious ? give thy fancy scope 
 And thou wilt find that no imagined change 
 Can beautify this beast. Place at his end 
 The starry glories of the peacock's pride ; 
 Give him the swan's white breast; for his horn- 
 hoofs 
 Shape such a foot and ankle as the waves 
 Crowded in eager rivalry to kiss, 
 When Venus from the enamour 'd sea arose ; — 
 Jacob, thou can'st but make a monster of him, 
 All alteration man could think, would mar 
 His pig-perfection. 
 
 The last charge,— he lives 
 A dirty life. Here 1 could shelter him 
 With noble and right-reverend precedents, 
 And show by sanction of authority 
 That 'tis a very honourable thing 
 To thrive by dirty ways. But Jet me rest 
 
ANOMALIES. 121 
 
 On better ground the unanswerable defence. 
 
 The pig is a philosopher, who knows 
 
 No prejudice. Dirt ? Jacob, what is dirt ? 
 
 [f matter, why the delicate dish that tempts 
 
 An o'ergorged epicure to the last morsel 
 
 That stuffs him to the throat-gates is no more* 
 
 [f matter be not, but as sages say, 
 
 Jpirit is all, and all things visible 
 
 \re one, the infinitely modified, 
 
 Think, Jacob, what that pig is, and the mire 
 
 therein he stands knee-deep ? 
 
 And there ! that breeze 
 Pleads with me, and has won thee to the smile 
 That speaks conviction. O'er yon blossom'd 
 
 field 
 )f beans it came, and thoughts of bacon rise. 
 
 THE DANCING BEAR. 
 Recommended to the Advocates for the Slave-Trade* 
 
 lare musick! I would rather hear cat-courtship 
 Jnder my bed-room window in the night, 
 "han this scraped cat-gut's screak. Rare danc- 
 ing too ! 
 k.las poor Bruin ! How he foots the pole, 
 
 L 
 
122 _ ANOMALIES* 
 
 And waddles round it with unwieldy steps 
 Swaying from side to side! — The dancing master 
 Hath had as profitless a pupil in him 
 As when he would have tortured my poor toes 
 To minuet grace, and made them move like 
 
 clock-work. 
 In musical obedience. Bruin ! Bruin ! 
 Thou art but a clumsy biped ! — and the mob 
 With noisy merriment mock his heavy pace, 
 And laugh to see him led by the nose ;-~-them- 
 
 selves 
 Led by the nose, embruted, and in the eye 
 Of reason from their nature's purposes 
 As miserably perverted. 
 
 Bruin-Bear. 
 Now could 1 sonnetize thy piteous plight, 
 And prove how much my sympathetick heart- 
 Even for the miseries of a beast can feel, 
 In fourteen lines of sensibility. 
 But we are told all things were made for man; 
 And I'll be sworn there's not a fellow here 
 "Who would not swear 'twere hanging blasphemy 
 To doubt that truth. Therefore as thou wert 
 
 born, 
 Bruin ! for man, and man makes nothing of thee 
 In any other way,— most logically 
 It follows, that thou must be born to dance ; 
 That that great snout of thine was fornt'd oft 
 purpose 
 
ANOMALIES. 123 
 
 To hold a ring ; and that thy fat was given thee 
 Only to make pomatum ! 
 
 To demur 
 Were heresy. And politicians say, 
 (Wise men who in the scale of reason give 
 No foolish feelings weight,) that thou art here 
 Far happier than thy brother bears who roam 
 O'er trackless snow for food ; that being born 
 Inferiour to thy leader, unto him 
 Rightly belongs dominion ; that the compact 
 Was made between ye, when thy clumsy feet 
 First fell into the snare, and he gave up 
 His right to kill, conditioning thy life 
 Should thenceforth be his property : — besides, 
 *Tis wholesome for thy morals to be brought 
 From savage climes into a civilized state, 
 Into the decencies of Christendom — 
 Bear ! Bear ! it passes in the parliament 
 For excellent logick this ! what if we say 
 How barbarously man abuses power, 
 Talk of thy baiting, it will be replied, 
 Thy welfare is thy owner's interest, 
 But wert thou baited it would injure thee, 
 Therefore thou art not baited For seven years> 
 Hear it, O heaven, and give ear O earth ! 
 For seven long years this precious syllogism 
 Hath baffled justice and humanity \ 
 
124 ANOMALIES. 
 
 THE FILBERT. 
 
 Nay, gather not that filbert, Nicholas, 
 There is a maggot there, — it is his house,—- 
 His castle, — oh commit not burglary ! 
 Strip him not naked, 'tis his cloaths, his shell, 
 His bones, the case and armour of his life, 
 And thou shalt do no murder, Nicholas ! 
 It were an easy thing to crack that nut 
 Or with thy crackers or thy double teeth, 
 So easily may all things be destroyed ! 
 But 'tis not in the power of mortal man 
 To mend the fracture of a filbert shell. 
 There were two great men once amused them- 
 selves 
 Watching two maggots run their wriggling race 
 And wagering on their speed ; but Nic, to us 
 It were no sport to see the pampered worm 
 Roll out and then draw in his folds of fat, 
 Like to some barber's leathern powder bag 
 Wherewith he feathers, frosts, or cauliflower* 
 Spruce beau, or lady fair, or doctor grave. 
 Enough of dangers and of enemies 
 Hath nature's wisdom for the worm ordained, 
 Increase not thou the number f him the mouse 
 
ANOMALIES. 125 
 
 Gnawing with nibbling tooth the shell's defence, 
 
 May from his native tenement eject ; 
 
 Him may the nut-hatch, piercing with strong 
 
 bill, 
 Unwittingly destroy ; or to his hoard 
 The squirrei bear, at leisure to be crack'd. 
 Man also hath his dangers and his foes 
 As this poor maggot hath, and when I muse 
 Upon the aches, anxieties and fears, 
 The maggot knows not, Nicholas, methinks 
 It were a happy metamorphosis 
 To be enkernelled thus : never to hear 
 Of wars, and of invasions, and of plots, 
 Kings, jacobins, and tax-commissioners ; 
 To feel no motion but the wind that shook 
 The filbert tree, and rock'd me to my rest ; 
 And in the middle of such exquisite food 
 To live luxurious ! the perfection this 
 Of snugness ; it were to unite at once 
 Hermit retirement, aldermanick bliss, 
 And stoick independence of mankind. 
 
 
MISCELLANIES. 
 
129 
 
 GOOSEBERRY PIE. 
 
 A P1NDARICK ODE. 
 
 Gooseberry pie is best. 
 
 Full of the theme, O muse, begin the song ! 
 What tho' the sunbeams of the west 
 Mature within the turtle's breast 
 
 Blood glutinous and fat of verdant hue ? 
 
 What tho' the deer bound sportively along 
 O'er springy turf, the park's elastick vest ? 
 
 Give them their honours due,— 
 But Gooseberry pie is best. 
 
 Behind his oxen slow 
 
 The patient ploughman plods. 
 
 And as the sower followed by the clods 
 Earth's genial womb received the swelling seed. 
 The rains descend, the grains they grow ; 
 
 Saw ye the vegetable ocean 
 
 Roil its green billows to the April gale ? 
 The ripening gold with multitudinous motion 
 
 jSway o'er the summer vale ? 
 
 H flows thro' alder banks along 
 
 Beneath the copse that hides the hill ; 
 The gentle stream you cannot see* 
 
130 MISCELLANIES. 
 
 You only hear its melody, 
 
 The stream that turns the mill. 
 Piss on, a little way pass on, 
 And you shall catch its gleam anon ; 
 And hark! the loud and agonizing groan 
 That makes its anguish known, 
 Where tortur'd by the tyrant lord of meal 
 The brook is broken on the wheel 1 
 
 Blow fair, blow fair, thou orient gale 1 
 On the white bosom of the sail 
 
 Ye winds enamour'd, lingering lie 1 
 Ye waves of ocean, spare the bark ! 
 
 Ye tempests of the sky ! 
 From distant realms she comes to bring 
 
 The sugar for my pie. 
 For this on Gambia's arid side 
 
 The vulture's feet are scaled with blood, 
 And Beelzebub beholds with pride, 
 
 His darling planter brood. 
 
 First in the spring thy leaves were seen, 
 Thou beauteous bush, so early green ! 
 Soon ceas'd thy blossom's little life of love. 
 O safer than the Alcides-conquer'd tree 
 That grew the pride of that Hesperian grove, 
 
 No dragon does there need for thee 
 With quintessential sting to work alarms, 
 
 And guard thy fruit so fine, 
 
MISCELLANIES. 131 
 
 Thou vegetable porcupine ! 
 And didst thou scratch thy tender arms, 
 O Jane! that I should dine ! 
 
 The flour, the sugar, and the fruit, 
 Commingled well, how well they suit, 
 
 And they were well bestow'd. 
 O Jane, with truth I praise your pie., 
 And will not you in just reply 
 Praise my Pindarick Ode ? 
 
 THE BATTLE OF PULTQWA. 
 
 On Vorska's glittering waves 
 The morning sun-beams play ; 
 Pultowa's walls are throng'd 
 With eager multitudes ; 
 Athwart the dusty vale 
 They strain their aching eyes, 
 Where to the fight moves on 
 The conqueror Charles, the iron-hearted Swede. 
 
 Him famine hath not tamed 
 The tamer of the brave ; 
 Him winter hath not quell'd^ 
 When man by man hit veteran troops sunk down ; 
 
132 MISCELLANIES, 
 
 Frozen to their endless sleep, 
 He held undaunred on ; 
 Him pain hath not subdued. 
 What tho' he mounts not now 
 The fiery steed of war, 
 Borne on a litter to the fight he goes. 
 
 Go, iron-hearted king ! 
 
 Full of thy former fame. 
 
 Think how the humbled Dane 
 
 Crouch'd to thy victor sword ; 
 
 Think how the wretched Pole 
 
 Resign'd his conquer'd crown ; 
 
 Go, iron hearted king ! 
 Let Narva's glory swell thy haughty breast,— 
 The death day of thy glory, Charles, hath 
 dawn'd ; 
 
 Proud Swede, the sun hath risen 
 
 That on thy shame shall set ! 
 
 Now bend thine head from heaven, 
 Now, Patkul, be revenged ! 
 For o'er that bloody Swede 
 Ruin hath rais'd his arm ; 
 For ere the night descends, 
 His veteran host subdued, 
 His laurels blasted to revive no more, 
 He flies before the foe I 
 
MISCELLANIES. 133 
 
 Long years of hope deceived 
 That conquered Swede must prove ; 
 Patkul, thou art, avenged ! 
 Long years of idleness 
 That restless soul must bear ; 
 Patkul, thou art avenged ! 
 The despot's savage anger took thy life, 
 Thy death has stabb'd his fame. 
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLACE. 
 
 Joy, joy in London now ! 
 He goes, the rebel Wallace goes to death, 
 At length the traitor meets the traitor's doom, 
 
 Joy, joy in London now ! 
 
 He on a sledge is drawn, 
 His strong right arm unweapon'd and in chains, 
 And garlanded around his helmless head 
 
 The laurel wreath of scorn. 
 
 They throng to view him now 
 Who in the field had fled before his sword, 
 Who at the name of Wallace once grew pale 
 
 And faltered out a prayer. 
 
2S4 MISCELLANIES, 
 
 Yes, they can meet his eye, 
 That only beams with patient courage now 
 Yes, they can gdze upon those manly limbs. 
 
 Defenceless now and bound. 
 
 And that eye did not shrink 
 As he beheld the pomp of infamy ; 
 Nor did one rebel feeling shake those limbs 
 
 When the last moment came. 
 
 What tho' suspended sense 
 Was by their damned cruelty revived, 
 What tho* ingenious vengeance lengthened life 
 
 To feel protracted death ; 
 
 What tho* the hangman's hand 
 Graspt in his living breast the heaving heart, — 
 In the last agony, the last sick pang, 
 
 Wallace had comfort stilL 
 
 He called to mind his deeds 
 Done for his country in the embattled field ; 
 He thought of that good cause for which he died 
 
 And that was joy in death ! 
 
 Go, Edward, triumph now ! 
 Cambria is fallen, and Scotland's strength is 
 
 crush'd ; 
 On Wallace, on Llewellyn's mangled limbs 
 
 The fowls of heaven have fed. 
 
MISCELLANIES. 135 
 
 Unrivalled, unopposed, 
 Go, Edward, full jof glory to thy grave ! 
 The weight of patriot blood upon thy soul 
 
 Go, Edward, to thy God ! 
 
 TO A FRIEND, 
 
 JfLnquiring if I ivould live over my yeuth again. 
 
 Do I regret the past ? 
 
 Wouid I again live o'er 
 
 The morning hours of life ? 
 
 Nay, William ! nay, not so ! 
 In the warm joyance of the summer sun 
 
 I do not wish again 
 
 The changeful April day. 
 
 Nay, William ! nay, nor so ! 
 
 Safe haven'd from the sea 
 
 I would not tempt again 
 
 The uncertain ocean's wrath. 
 Praise be to him who made me what I am, 
 
 Other I would not be. 
 
 Why is it pleasant then to sit and talk 
 Of days that are no more ? 
 When in kis own dear home 
 
186 MISCELLANIES. 
 
 The traveller rests at last, 
 And tells how often in his wanderings 
 
 The thought of those far off 
 
 Hath made his eyes o'erflow 
 
 With no unmanly tears ; 
 
 Delighted he recalls 
 Thro' what fair scenes his charmed feet have 
 
 trod. 
 But ever when he tells of perils past, 
 
 And troubles now no more, 
 His eyes most sparkle, and a readier joy 
 
 Flows rapid to his heart. 
 
 No, William ! no, I would not live again 
 
 The morning-hours of life, 
 
 I would not be again 
 
 The slave of hope and fear, 
 
 I would not learn again 
 The wisdom by experience hardly taught. 
 
 To me the past presents 
 
 No object for regret ; 
 
 To me the present gives 
 
 All cause for full content; 
 The future, — it is now the cheerful noon, 
 And on the sunny-smiling fields I gaze 
 
 With eyes alive to joy ; 
 
 When the dark night descends, 
 I willingly shall close my weary lids 
 
 Secure to wake again. 
 
MISCELLANIES. 137 
 
 THE DEAD FRIEND. 
 
 Not to the grave, not to the grave, my sou1 5 
 
 Descend to contemplate 
 
 The form that once was dear ! 
 Feed not on thoughts so loathly horrible! 
 
 The spirit is not there 
 
 That kindled that dead eye, 
 
 That throbb'd in that cold heart ? 
 
 That in that motionless hand 
 
 Has met thy friendly grasp. 
 
 The spirit is not there ! 
 It is but lifeless, perishable, flesh 
 
 That moulders in the grave, 
 Earth, air and waters ministering particles 
 
 Now to the elements 
 
 Resolv'd, their u*es done. 
 Not to the grave, not to the grave, my soul, 
 
 Follow thy friend beloved, 
 
 The spirit is not there ! 
 
 Often together have we talk'd of death ; 
 How sweet it were to see 
 All doubtful things made clear; 
 How sweet it were with powers 4 
 Such as the cherubim, 
 M 
 
138 MISCELLANIES. 
 
 To view the depth of heaven ! 
 
 Edmund ! thou hast first 
 Begun the travel of eternity ! 
 
 1 gaze amid the stars, 
 
 And think that thou art there, 
 Unfettered as the thought that follows thee. 
 
 And we have often said how sweet it were 
 With unseen mini-try of angel power 
 
 To watch the friends we loved. 
 
 Edmund ! we did not err ! 
 Sure I have felt thy presence ! thou hast given 
 
 A birth to holy thought, 
 Hast kept me from the world unstain'd and pure. 
 
 Edmund ! we did not err ! 
 
 Our best affections here 
 They are not like the toys of infancy; 
 
 The soul outgrows them not, 
 
 We do not cast them off; 
 
 Oh if it could be so 
 
 It were indeed a dreadful thing to die ! 
 
 Not to the grave, not to the grave, my soul. 
 
 Follow thy friend beloved f 
 
 Bat in the lonely hour, 
 
 But in the evening walk, 
 Think that he companies thy solitude; 
 
MISCELLANIES. 139 
 
 Think that he holds with thee 
 Mysterious intercourse; 
 And tho' remembrance wake a tear 
 There will be joy in grief. 
 
 HISTORY. 
 
 Thou chronicle of crimes ! I read no more ' r 
 For I am one who willingly would love 
 His fellow kind. O gentle poesy, 
 Receive me from the court's polluted scenes, 
 From dungeon horrours, from the fields of war, 
 Receive me to your haunts, — that I may nurse 
 My nature's better feelings, for my soul 
 Sickens at man's misdeeds ! , 
 
 I spake, when lo ! 
 There stood before me in her majesty, 
 Clio, the strong-eyed muse. Upon her brow 
 Sate a calm anger. Go, young man, she cried, 
 Sigh among myrtle bowers, and let thy soul 
 KlTuse itself in strains so sorrowful sweet, 
 That love sick maids may weep upon thy page 
 In most delicious sorrow. Oh shame ! shame ! 
 Was it for this 1 waken'd thy young mind ? 
 Was it for this I made thy swelling heart 
 
140 MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Throb at the deeds of Greece, and thy boy's eye 
 So kindle when that glorious Spartan died ? 
 Boy ! boy ! deceive me not ! what if the tale 
 Of murder'd millions strike a chilling pang. 
 What if Tiberius in his island stews, 
 And Philip at his beads, alike inspire 
 Strong anger and contempt ; hast thou not risen 
 With nobler feelings ? with a deeper love 
 For freedom ? Yes, most righteously thy soul 
 Loathes the black history of human crimes 
 And human misery ! let that spirit fill 
 Thy song, and it shall teach thee boy ! to raise 
 Strains such as Cato might have deign'd to hear, 
 As Sidney in his hall of bliss may love. 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S FUNERAL. 
 
 It is the funeral march. I did not think 
 That there had beeusuch magickin sweet sounds! 
 Hark! from the blacken'd cymbal that dead 
 
 tone, — 
 It awes the very rabble multitude, 
 They follow silently, their earnest brows 
 Lifted in solemn thought. 'Tis not the pomp 
 And pageantry of death that with such force 
 
MISCELLANIES, 141 
 
 Arrests the sense ; — the mute and mourning 
 
 train, 
 The white plume nodding o'er the sable hearse, 
 Had past unheeded, or perchance awoke 
 A serious smile upon the poor man's cheek 
 At pride's last triumph. Now these measur'd 
 
 sounds 
 This universal language, to the heart 
 Speak instant, and on ail these various minds 
 Compel one feeling. 
 
 But such better thoughts 
 Will pass away, how soon ! and these who here 
 Are following their dead comrade to the grave, 
 Ere the night fall, will in their revelry- 
 Quench all remembrance. From the ties of life 
 Unnaturally rent, a man who knew 
 No resting place, no dear delights of home, 
 Belike who never saw his children's face, 
 Whose children knew no father; he is gone, 
 Dropt from existence, like the withered leaf 
 That from the summer tree is swept away, 
 Its loss unseen. She hears not of his death 
 Who bore him, and already for her son 
 Her tears of bitterness are shed .♦ when first 
 He had put on the livery of blood, 
 She wept him dead to her. 
 
 We are indeed 
 Clay in the potter's hand ! one favour'd mind 
 
14-2 MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Scarce lower than the Angels, shall explore 
 The ways of Nature, whilst his fellow-man 
 Fram'd with like miracle the work of God, 
 Must as the unreasonable beast drag on 
 A life of labour ; like this soldier here, 
 His wondrous faculties bestow'd in vain, 
 Be moulded by his fate till he becomes 
 A mere machine of murder. 
 
 And there are 
 Who say that this is wclH as God has made 
 All tilings for man's good pleasure, so cf iv.cn 
 The many for the few ; court-moralists, 
 Reverend iip-comforteis that once a week 
 Proclaim how blessed are the poor, for they 
 Shall have their wealth hereafter, and tho' now 
 Toiling and troubled, tho' they pick the crumbs 
 That from the rich man's table fail, at length 
 In Abraham's bosom rest with Lazarus. 
 Themselves meantime secure their good things 
 
 here 
 And feast with Dives. These are they, O Lord, 
 Who in thy plain and simple gospel see 
 All mysteries, but who find no peace enjoined. 
 No brotherhood, no wrath denounced on them 
 Who shed their brethren's blood, blind at noon 
 
 day 
 As owls, lynx-eyed in darkness ! 
 
 O my God ! 
 i thank thee, with no pharisaick pride 
 
MISCELLANIES. 143 
 
 ! thank thee that 1 am not such as these, 
 I thank thee for the eye that sees, the heart 
 That feels, the voice that in these evil day* 
 Amid these evil tongnes, exalts itself 
 And cries aloud against iniquity. 
 
 TO A SPIDER. 
 
 Spider ! thou need'st not run in fear about 
 
 To shun my curious eyes ; 
 I won't humanely crush thy bowels out 
 
 Lest thou should'st eat the flies ; 
 Nor will I roast thee with a damn'd delight 
 Thy strajpge instinctive fortitude to see, 
 For there is one who might 
 One day roast me. 
 
 Thou art welcome to a rhymer sore-perplext, 
 
 The subject of his verse : 
 There's many a one who on a better text 
 
 Perhaps might comment worse. 
 Then shrink not, old free-mason, from my view, 
 But quietly like me spin out the line ; 
 Do thou thy work pursue 
 As I will mine, 
 
144- MISCELLANIES* 
 
 Weaver of snares, thou emblemest the ways 
 
 Of S.ttan, sire of lies ; 
 Hell's huge black Spider, for mankind he lays 
 
 His toils, as thou for flies. 
 When Betty's busy eye runs round the room 
 Woe to that nice geometry, if seen ! 
 But where is he whose broom 
 The earth shall clean ? 
 
 Spider ! of old thy flimsy webs were though 
 
 And 'twas a likeness true, 
 To emblem laws in which the weak are caugh 
 
 But which the strong break through. 
 And if a victim in thy toils is ta'en, 
 
 Like some poor client is that wretched fly 
 I'll warrant thee thou'lt drain 
 His life-blood dry. 
 
 And is not thy weak work like human schem 
 
 And care on earth employ'd ? 
 Such are young hopes, and Love's delightf 
 dreams 
 So easily destroyed ! 
 So does the statesman, whilst the avengersslee 
 Self-deem'd secure, his wiles in secret lay, 
 Soon shall destruction sweep 
 His work away. 
 Thou busy labourer ! one resemblance more 
 
 Shall yet the verse prolong, 
 for Spider, thoaart like the poet poor>. 
 
MISCELLANIES, 145 
 
 Whom thou hast help'd in song. 
 Both busily our needful food to win, 
 We work as nature taught, with ceaseless 
 pains, 
 Thy bowels thou dost spin, 
 I spin my brains. 
 
 
 THE OAK OF OUR FATHERS. 
 
 Alas for the Oak of our Fathers that stood 
 In its beauty ; the glory and pride of the wood! 
 
 It grew and it flourish'd for many an age, 
 And many a tempest wreak'd on it its rage, 
 But when its strong branches were bent with 
 
 the blast, 
 It struck its roots deeper, and flourish'd more 
 
 fast. 
 
 Its head tower'd high, and its branches spread 
 
 round, 
 For its roots were struck deep, and its heart was 
 
 sound ; 
 The bees o'er its honey-dew'd foliage play'd, 
 And the beasts of the forest fed under its shade 
 
146 MISCELLANIES. 
 
 The Oak of our Fathers to Freedom was dear, 
 Its leaves were her crown, and its wood was her 
 
 spear. 
 Alas for the Oak of our Fathers that stood 
 In its beauty, the glory and pride of the wood f 
 
 There crept up an ivy and clung round the 
 
 trunk, 
 It struck in its mouths and its juices it drunk 
 The branches grew sickly deprived of their 
 
 food, 
 And the Oak was no longer the pride of the 
 
 wood. 
 
 The foresters saw and they gather'd around 
 Its roots still were fast, and its heart still was 
 
 sound ; 
 They iopt off the boughs that so beautiful 
 
 spread, 
 But the ivy they spared on its vitals that fed. 
 
 No longer the bees o'er its honey dews play'd, 
 Nor the beasts of the forests fed under its shade; 
 Lopt and mangled the trunk in its ruin is seen, 
 A monument now what its beauty has been. 
 
 The Oak has received its incurable Wound, 
 They have loosened the roots, tho' the heart 
 may be sound ; 
 
MISCELLANIES. 147 
 
 What the travellers at distance green-fLQurishing 
 
 see, 
 Are the leaves of the ivy that poisoned the tree . 
 
 Alas for the Oak of our Fathers that stood 
 In its beauty, the glory and pride of the wood ! 
 
 THjE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS, 
 And how he gained them. 
 
 You are old, Father William, the young man 
 cried, 
 
 The few locks which are left you are grey; 
 You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man, 
 
 Now tell me the reason, I pray. 
 
 In the days of my youth, Father William re- 
 plied, 
 I remember'd that youth would fly fast, 
 And abused not my health and my vigour at 
 first 
 That I never might need them at last. 
 
 You are old, Father William, the young man 
 cried, 
 
 And pleasures with youth pass away, 
 And yet you lament not the days that are gone, 
 
 Now tell me the reason, I pray. 
 
IIS MISCELLANIES. 
 
 In the days of my youth, Father William replied 
 I remember'd that youth could not last ; 
 
 I thought of the future whatever I did, 
 That I never might grieve for the past. 
 
 You are old, Father William, the young man 
 ci led, 
 And lift must be hastening away ; 
 
 You are cheerful, and love to converse upon 
 death ! 
 Now tell me the reason, I pray. 
 
 I am cheerful, ycung man. Father William re- 
 plied, 
 
 Let the cause thy attention engage ; 
 In the days of my youth I remember'd my God ! 
 
 And Ke hath not forgotten my age. 
 
 THE EBB TIlJE. 
 
 Slowly thy flowing tide 
 Came in, old Avon ! scarcely did mine eye§ 3 
 As watchfully I roam'd thy green-wood side, 
 
 Behold the gentle rise. 
 
MISCELLANIES. 149 
 
 With many a stroke and strong 
 The labouring boatman upward plied their 
 
 oars, 
 And yet the eye beheld them labouring long 
 
 Between thy winding shores. 
 
 Now down thine ebbing tide 
 The unlaboured boat falls rapidly along ; 
 The solitary helms-man sits to guide 
 
 And sings an idle song. 
 
 Now o'er the rocks that lay 
 So silent late, the shallow current roars ; 
 Fast flow thy waters on their sea-ward way 
 
 Thro' wider-spreading shores. 
 
 Avon ! I gaze and know 
 The wisdom emblemed in thy varying way ; 
 It speaks of human joys that rise so slow, 
 
 So rapidly decay. 
 
 Kingdoms that long have stood, 
 And slow to strengh and power attain'd at last, 
 Thus from the summit of high fortune's flood 
 
 Ebb to their ruin fast, 
 
 So tardily appears 
 The course of time to manhood's envied stage ; 
 Alas! how hurryingly the ebbing years 
 
 Then hasten to old age 1 
 
150 MISCELLANIES. 
 
 THE HOLLT TREE, 
 
 G Reader ! hast thou ever stood to see 
 
 The Holly Tree ? 
 The eye that contemplates it well perceives 
 
 Its glossy leaves 
 Ordered by an intelligence so wise, 
 As might confound the Atheist's sophistries. 
 
 Below^ a circling fence, its leaves are seen 
 Wrinkled and keen ; 
 
 No grazing cattle thro' their prickly round 
 Can reach to wound ; 
 
 But as they grow where nothing is to fear, 
 
 Smooth and unarm 'd the pointless leaves ap- 
 pear. 
 
 I love to view these things with curious eyes 
 
 And moralize ! 
 And in the wisdom of the Holly Tree 
 
 Can emblems see 
 Wherewith perchance to make a pleasant 
 
 rhyme, 
 -Such as may profit in the after-time. 
 
 So, tho' abroad perchance I might appear 
 
MISCELLANIES. 151 
 
 Harsh and austere, 
 To those who on mv leisure would intrude 
 
 Reserved and rude, 
 Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be, 
 Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree. 
 
 And shouldjmy youth, as youth is apt, I know, 
 
 Some harshness show, 
 All vain asperities I, day by day, 
 
 Would wear away, 
 Till the smooth temper of my age should be 
 Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree. 
 
 And as when all the summer trees are seen 
 So bright and green, 
 
 The Holly leaves their fadeless hues display- 
 Less bright than they, 
 
 But when the bare and wintry woods we see, 
 
 What then so cheerful as the Holly Tree ? 
 
 So serious should my youth appear among 
 
 The thoughtless throng, 
 So would I seem amid the young and gay 
 
 More grave than they, 
 That in my age as cheerful I might be 
 As the green winter of the Holly Tiee. 
 
ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 
 
155 
 
 THE LAST OF THE FAMILY. 
 
 JAMES. 
 
 What Gregory ! you are come I see to join us 
 On this sad business. 
 
 GREGORY. 
 
 Aye, James, 1 am come, 
 But with a heavy heart, God knows it, man I 
 "Where shall we meet the corpse ? 
 
 JAMES. 
 
 Some hour from hence ; 
 By noon, and near about the elms, I take it. 
 This is not as it should be, Gregory, 
 Old men to follow young ones to the grave ! 
 This morning when I heard the bell strike out, 
 1 thought that I had never heard it toll 
 So dismally before. 
 
 GREGORY. 
 
 Well, well ! my friend. 
 'Tis what we all must come to, soon or late. 
 But when a young man dies, in the prime of 
 
 life, 
 One born so well, who might have blest us all 
 Many long years i — 
 
 JAMES. 
 
 And then the family 
 
156 ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 
 
 Extinguished in him, and the good old name 
 Only to be remembered on a tomb-stone ! 
 A name that has gone down from sire to son 
 So many generations ! — many a time 
 Poor master Edward who is now a corpse, 
 When but a child, would come to me and lead 
 
 me 
 To the great family tree, and beg of me 
 To tell him stories of his ancestors, 
 Of Eustace, he that went to the Holy Land 
 With Richard Lion heart, and that Sir Henry 
 Who fought at Crecy in King Edward's wars ; 
 And then his little eyes would kindle so 
 To hear of their brave deeds ! I used to think 
 The bravest of them all would not out-do 
 My darling boy. 
 
 GREGORY. 
 
 This comes of your great schools 
 And college breeding. Plague upon his guar- 
 dians 
 That would have made him wiser than his fa- 
 thers ! 
 
 JAMES. 
 
 If his poor father, Gregory ! had but lived, 
 Things would not have been so. He, poor 
 
 good man, 
 
 Had little of book learning, but there lived not 
 A kinder, nob'er-hearted gentleman, 
 One better to his tenants. When he died 
 
EXGLIST ECLOGUES. 157 
 
 'here wa? not a dry eye for miles around 
 Gregory, I thought that 1 could never know 
 V. sadder day than that; but what was that 
 Compared with this dav's sorrow ? 
 
 GREGORY. 
 
 I remember 
 light months ago when the young Squire be- 
 
 g<m 
 To alter the old mansion, they destroyed 
 The martin's nests, that had stood undisturbed 
 Under that roof, — aye ! long before my memo- 
 ry, 
 [ shook my head at seeing it, and thought 
 No good could follow. 
 
 JAMES. 
 
 Poor young man ! I loved him, 
 Like my own child. I loved the family ! 
 Come Candlemas, and I have been their servant 
 For five and forty years. I lived with them 
 When his good father brought my Lady home. 
 And when the young Squire was born, it did 
 
 me good 
 To hear the bells so merrily announce 
 An heir. This is indeed a heavy blow— 
 I feel it, Gregory, heavier than the weight 
 Of threescore years. He was a noble lad, 
 I loved him dearly. 
 
 GREGORY. 
 
 Every body loved him, 
 
158 ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 
 
 Such a fine, generous, open-hearted youth ! 
 When he came home from school at holydays, 
 How I rejoiced to see him ! he was sure 
 To come and ask of me what birds there were 
 About my fields; and when I found a covey, 
 There's not a testy Squire preserves his game 
 More charily, than I have kept them safe 
 For Master Edward. And he look'd so well 
 Upon a fine sharp morning after them, 
 His brown hair frosted, and his cheek so flush'd 
 With such a wholesome ruddiness, — ah James, 
 But he was sadly changed when he came down 
 To keep his birth-day. 
 
 JAMES. 
 
 Chang'd! why Gregory, 
 'Twas like a palsy to me, when he stepp'd 
 Out of the carriage. He was grown so thin, 
 His cheeks so delicate sallow, and his eyes 
 Had such a dim and rakish hollowness ; 
 And when he came to shake me by the hand 
 And spoke as kindly to me as he used, 
 1 hardly knew the voice. 
 
 GREGORY. 
 
 It struck a damp 
 On all our merriment. 'Twas a noble ox 
 That smok'd before us, and the old October 
 Went merrily in overflowing cans ; 
 But 'twas a skin-deep merriment. My heart 
 Seem'd as it took no share. And when we drank 
 
ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 159 
 
 His health, the thought came over me what 
 
 cause 
 We had for wishing that, and spoilt the draught. 
 Poor Gentleman ! to think ten months ago 
 He came of age, and now ! 
 
 JAMES, 
 
 I fear'd it then, 
 He look'd to me as one that was not long 
 For this world's business. 
 
 GREGORY. 
 
 When the doctor sent him 
 Abroad to try the air, it made me certain 
 That all was over. There's but little hope 
 Methinks that foreign parts can help a man, 
 When his own mother-country will not do. 
 The last time he came down, these bells rung so 
 I thought they would have rock'd the old steeple 
 
 down ; 
 And now that dismal toll ! I would have staid 
 Beyond its reach, but this was a last duty, 
 I am an old tenant of the family, 
 Born on the estate, and now that I have out- 
 lived it, — 
 Why 'tis but right to see it to the grave. 
 Have you heard aught of the new Squire ? 
 
 JAMES. 
 
 But little, 
 And that not well. Bat be he what he may 
 Matters not much to me. The love I bore 
 
160 ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 
 
 To the good family will not easily fix 
 
 Upon a stranger. What's on the opposite hill ? 
 
 Is it not the funeral ? 
 
 GREGORY, 
 
 'Tis I think some horsemen. 
 Aye ! there are the black cloaks ; and now I see 
 The white plumes on the hearse. 
 
 JAMES. 
 
 Between the trees ; — 
 *Tis hid behind them now. 
 
 GREGORY. 
 
 Aye ! now we see it, 
 And there's the coaches following, we shall 
 
 meet 
 About the bridge. Would that this day were 
 
 over ! 
 I wonder whose turn's next ! 
 
 JAMES. 
 
 God above knows ! 
 When youth is summoned what must age ex- 
 pect ! 
 God make us ready, Gregory ! when it comes, 
 
ENGLISH ECLOGUES 161 
 
 THE WEDDING. 
 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 I pray, you wherefore are the village bells 
 Ringing so merrily ? 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 A wedding, Sir. 
 Two of the village folk. And they are right 
 To make a merry time on't while they may, 
 Gome twelve-months hence, I warrant them. 
 
 they'd go 
 To church again more willingly than now 
 So all might be undone. 
 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 An ill-match'd pair, 
 So I conceive you. Youth perhaps and age 
 
 woman. 
 Ne, — both are young enough. 
 
 TRAVELLER.. 
 
 Perhaps the man then 3 
 A lazy idler, one who better likes 
 The alehouse than his work ? 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Why Sir, for that 
 He always was a well-conditioned lad, 
 o 
 
162 ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 
 
 t)ne who'd work hard and well; and as for 
 
 drink, 
 Save now and then mayhap at Christmas time, 
 Sober as wife cuuld wish. 
 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 Then is the girl 
 A shrew, or else untidy. One who'd welcome 
 Her husband with a rude unruly tongue, 
 Or drive him from a foul and wretched home 
 To look elsewhere for comfort, hit so ? 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 She's notable enough, and as for temper 
 
 The best good-humour'd girl ! dYe see thdt 
 
 house ? 
 There by the aspin tree whose grey leave? 
 
 shine 
 In the wind ? she lived a servant at the farm, 
 And often as I came to weeding here, 
 I've heard her sinking as she milk'd her cows 
 So cheerfullv, — I did not like to hear h 
 Because it made me think upon the dp.ys 
 When I had got a little, on my mind, 
 And was as cheerfal too. But she woald marry, 
 And folks must reap as they have sown. God 
 
 help her ! 
 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 Why Mistress, if they both are well inclined, 
 Why should not both be happy ? 
 
ENGLISH ECLOGUES, 163 
 
 WOMAN, 
 
 They've no money. 
 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 But both can work ; and sure as cheerfully 
 She'd labour for herself as at the farm. 
 And he wo'nt work the worse because he knows 
 That she will make his fire-side ready for him 
 And watch for his return. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 All very well, 
 A little while. 
 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 And what if they are pocr ? 
 Riches ca'nt always purchase happiness, 
 And much we know will be expected there 
 Where much was given. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 All this I have heard at church ! 
 And when I walk in the church-yard or have 
 
 been 
 By a death bed, 'tis mighty comforting ; 
 But when 1 hear my children cry for hunger 
 And see them shiver in their rags, — God help 
 
 me ! 
 I pity those for whom these bells ring up 
 So merrily upon their wedding day, 
 Because 1 think of mine. 
 
 TRAVELLER, 
 
 You have known trouble, 
 
164- ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 
 
 These haply may be happier. 
 woman. 
 
 Why for that 
 I've had my share ; some sickness and some 
 
 sorrow ; 
 Well will it be for them to know no worse. 
 Yet had I rather hear a daughters knell 
 Than her wedding peal, Sir, if I thought her 
 
 fate 
 Promised no better things. 
 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 Sure, sure, good woman, 
 You look upon the world with jaundiced eyes ! 
 All have their cares ; those who are poor want 
 
 wealth, 
 Those who have wealth want more, so are we all 
 Dissatisfied, yet all live on, and each 
 Kas his own comforts. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Sir ! d'ye see that horse 
 Turn'd out to common here by the way side ? 
 He's high in bone, you may tell every lib 
 Even at this distance. Mind him ! how he 
 
 turns 
 His head to drive away the flies that feed 
 On his gall'd sh^-ild*- ! there's just grass 
 
 enough 
 To disappoint his \ ed appetite. 
 You see his tvmfotU^ Sir ! 
 
ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 165 
 
 TRAVELLER, 
 
 A wretched beast ! 
 Hard labour and worse usage he endures 
 From some bad master. Bat the lot of the 
 
 poor 
 Is not like his. 
 
 WOMAN, 
 
 In truth it is not, Sir; 
 For when the horse lies down at night, no cares 
 About to-morrow vex him in his dreams ; 
 He knows no quarter-day, and when he gets 
 Some musty hay @r patch of hedge-row grass 
 He has no hungry children to claim part 
 Of his half meal ! 
 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 'Tis idleness makes want, 
 And idle habits. If the man will go 
 And spend his evenings by the ale-house fire, 
 Whom can he blame if there is want at home ? 
 
 woman. 
 Aye ! idleness ! the rich folks never fail 
 To find some reason why the poor deserve 
 Their miseries ! is it idleness-, I pray you, 
 That brings the fever or the ague fit I 
 That makes the sick one's sickly appetite 
 Turn at the dry bread i>l d )tatoe meal ? 
 Is it idleness that makes i. wages fail 
 For growing want*? i /ears agone, these 
 bells 
 
166 ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 
 
 Rung on my wedding day, and I was told 
 What I might look for, — but I did not heed 
 Good counsel. I had lived in service, Sir, 
 Knew never what it was to want a meal ; 
 Laid down without one thought to keep me 
 
 sleepless 
 Or trouble me in sleep ; had for a Sunday 
 My linen gown, and when the pedlar came 
 Could buy me a new ribbon : — and my hus- 
 band,— 
 A toward !y young man and well to do, 
 He had his silver buckles and his watch, 
 There was not in the village one who look'd 
 Sprucer on holydays. We married, Sir, 
 And we had children, but as wants increas'd 
 Wages did not. The silver buckles went, 
 So went the watch, and when the holyday coat 
 Was worn to work, no new* one in its place. 
 For me — you see my rags ! but 1 deserve them, 
 
 * A farmer once told the Author of Malvern 
 Hills, " that he almost constantly remarked a 
 gradation of changes in those men he had been 
 in the habit of employing. Young men, he said, 
 were generally neat in their appearance, active 
 and cheerful, till they became married and had 
 a family when he had observed that their silver 
 buttons, buckles and watches gradually disap- 
 peared, and their Sunday's clothes became com- 
 
 
ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 167 
 
 For wilfully like this new-marriecj pair 
 I went to my undoing. 
 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 But the parish — 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Aye, it falls heavy there, and yet their pittance 
 Just serves to keep life irr. A blessed prospect, 
 To slave while there is strength, in age the work 
 
 house, 
 A parish shell at last, and the little bell 
 Toll'd hastily for pauper's funeral ! 
 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 Is this your child ? 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Ave Sir, and were Ik 
 And clean, he'd he as fine a boy to look on 
 As the Squire's young master. These thin 
 
 rags of his 
 Let comfortably in the summer wind , 
 c ut when the winter comes, it pinches me 
 'o see the little wretch ! I've three besides, 
 tnd, — God forgive me ! but I often wish 
 
 ion without any other to supply their place, — 
 utj said he, some good comes from this, for they mil 
 \sn work for whatever they can g?t." 
 
 Note to Cottle's Malvern Hills, 
 
168 ENGLISH ECLOGUES. 
 
 To see them in their coffins — God reward you! 
 God bless you for your charity ! 
 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 You have taught me 
 To give sad meaning to the village bells ! 
 
INSCRIPTIONS. 
 
17i 
 
 i. 
 
 For a Monument at Oxford. 
 
 Here Latimer and Ridley in the flames 
 
 Bore witness to the truth. If thou hast walk'd 
 
 Uprightly thro* the world, proud thoughts of 
 
 joy 
 Will fill thy breast in contemplating here 
 Congenial virtue. But if thou hast swerved 
 From the right path, if thou hast sold thy soul, 
 And served, a hireling, with apostate zeal, 
 The cause thy heart disowns, — oh ! cherish 
 
 well 
 The honourable shame that sure this place 
 Will wake within thee, timely penitent 3 
 And let the future expiate the past. 
 
172 INSCRIPTIONS. 
 
 n. 
 
 For a monument in the Vale ofEwiAS. 
 
 Here was it stranger, that the patron Saint 
 
 Of Cambria past his age of penitence, 
 
 A solitary man ; and here he made 
 
 His hermitage, the roots his food, his drink 
 
 Of Hodney's mountain stream. Perchance thy 
 
 youth 
 Has read with eager wonder how the Knight 
 Of Wales in Crmandine's enchanted bower, 
 Slept the long sleep : and if that in thy veins 
 Flow the pure blood of Britain* sure that blood 
 Hath flow'd with quicker impulse at the tale 
 Of David's deeds, when thro' the press of war 
 His gallant comrades followed his green crest 
 To conquest. Stranger ! Hatterili's mountain 
 
 heights 
 And this fair vale of Ewias, and the stream 
 Of Hodney, to thine after-thoughts will rise 
 More grateful, thus associate with the name 
 Of David and the deeds of other days, 
 
INSCRIPTIONS. 173 
 
 III. 
 
 EPITAPH on ALGERNON SIQNET. 
 
 Here Sidney lies, he whom perverted law, 
 The pliant jury, and the bloody judge 
 Doom'd to the traitor's death. A tyrant King 
 Required, an abject country saw and shar'd 
 The crime. The noble cause of liberty 
 He loved in life, and to that noble cause 
 In death bore witness. But his country rose 
 Like Sampson from her sleep and broke her 
 
 chains, 
 And proudly with her worthies she enrolled 
 Her murdered Sidney's name. The voice of 
 
 man 
 Gives honour or destroys ; but earthly power 
 Gives not, nor takes away, the self applause 
 Which on the scaffold suffering virtue feels, 
 Jsfor that which God appointed its reward* 
 
174- INSCRIPTIONS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 EPITAPH ON KING JOHN. 
 
 John rests below. A man more Infamous 
 Never hath held the sceptre of these realms, 
 And bruised beneath the iron rod of power, 
 The oppressed men of England. Englishman ! 
 Curse not his memory. Murderer as he was, 
 Coward and slave, yet he it was who sign'd 
 That charter which should make thee morn 
 
 and night 
 Be thankful for thy birth-place— ^Englishman ! 
 That holy charter, which, should'st thou per- 
 mit 
 Force to destroy, or fraud to undermine, 
 Thy children's groans will persecute thy sou!, 
 For they must bear the burthen of thy crims. 
 
INSCRIPTIONS* 175 
 
 V. 
 
 IN A FOREST. 
 
 Stranger ! whose steps have reach'd this solitude. 
 Know that this lonely spot was dear to one 
 Devoted with no unrequited zeal 
 To nature. Here, delighted he has heard 
 The rustling of these woods, that now perchance 
 Melodious to the gAe of summer move ; 
 And underneath their shade on yon smooth 
 
 rock, 
 With grey and yellow lichens overgrown, 
 Often reclined ; watching the silent flow 
 Of this perspicuous rivulet, that steals 
 Along its verdant course, — till all around 
 Had fill'dhis senses with tranquillity, 
 And ever sooth'd in spirit hereturn'd 
 A happier, better man. Stranger, perchance, 
 Therefore the stream more lovely to thine eye 
 Will glide along, and to the summer gale 
 The woods wave more melodious. Cleanse 
 
 thou then, 
 The weeds and mosses frctn this lettei'd stcr.ei 
 
176 INSCRIPTIONS. 
 
 vr, 
 
 jfiv a MONUMENT at TAUNTON 
 
 They perish'd here whom Jefferies doomed t© 
 
 death 
 In mockery of all justice, when he came 
 The bloody Judge, the minion of his King, 
 Commissioned to destroy. They p-erish'd here 
 The victims of that Judge, and of that King, 
 In mockery of all justice perish'd here 
 Unheard ! but not unpitied, nor of God 
 Unseen, the innocent suffered ! not in vain 
 The innocent blood cried vengeance ! for they 
 
 rose, 
 At length the People in their power arose, 
 Resistless. Then that bloody Judge took flight, 
 Disguis'd in vain :— not always is the Lord 
 Slow to revenge ! a miserable man 
 He fell beneath the people's rage, and still 
 The children curse his memory. From hk 
 
 throne 
 The sullen bigot who commi&sion'd hfrn, 
 
INSCRIPTIONS. 177 
 
 Tyrannick James was driven. He lived to drag 
 Long years of frustrate hope, he lived to load 
 More blood upon his soul. Let tell the Boyne* 
 Let Londonderry tell his guilt and shame, 
 And that immortal day when oa thy shores 
 La Hogue, the purple ocean dash'd the dead, \ 
 
178 INSCRIPTIONS. 
 
 VII. 
 
 For a TABLET at PENSHURST. 
 
 Arc days of old familiar to thy mind 
 O Reader ? hast thou let the midnight hour 
 Pass unperceived, whilst thy young fancy lived 
 With high-born beauties and enamcur'd chiefs. 
 Shar'd all their hopes, and with a breathless joy 
 Whose eager expectation almost pain'd 
 Followed their dangerous fortunes { if such 
 
 lore 
 Hath ever thrili'd thy bosom, thou wilt tread, 
 As with a pilgrim's reverential thoughts, 
 The groves of Penshurst. Siduey here was 
 
 born, 
 
 Sidney, than whom no gentler, braver man 
 
 His own delightful genius ever feign 'd, 
 
 Illustrating the vales of Arcady 
 
 With courteous courage and with loyai loves* 
 
 Upon his natal day the acorn here 
 
 Was planted. It grew up a stately oak, 
 
INSCRIPTIONS. 179 
 
 And in the beauty of its strength it stood 
 And flourish'd, when his perishable part 
 Had moulder'd dust to dust. That stately oak 
 Itself hath moulder'd now, but Sidney's fame 
 Lives and shall live, immortalized in song. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Metrical Tales. 
 God's Judgment on a Bishop - - • - 7 
 
 The Pious Painter 12 
 
 St. Michael's Chair and who sat there - - 19 
 A Ballad of a young man that would read 
 
 unlawful books and how he was punished ; 
 
 very pithy and profitable - - - - 22 
 King CharJemain --------25 
 
 St. Romuald 32 
 
 The Well of St. Keyne - - - - * - 35 
 Bishop Bruno --------- 38 
 
 The Battle of Blenheim 42 
 
 St. Gualberto - 45 
 
 MoNODRAMAS. 
 
 Ximalpoca ----------6*7 
 
 The Wife of Fergus 71 
 
 Lucretia -----------74 
 
 Songs of the American Indians. 
 The Huron's Address to the dead - - - 79 
 The Peruvian's Dirge over the body of his 
 Father 81 
 
 Song of the Araucans during a thunder storm 84 
 Song of the Chikkasah Widow - - - €6 
 The Old £hijikasah to his grandson - - 89 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Love Elegies of Abel Shufflebottom, 
 
 Elegy 1-.- 93 
 
 2 94 
 
 3 96 
 
 4 98 
 
 Sonnets. 
 
 Sonnet 1 -.-. ioo 
 
 2 103 
 
 3 104 
 
 4 105 
 
 5 106 
 
 6 i...-- 106 
 
 7 - - - 107 
 
 8 108 
 
 9 108 
 
 10 109 
 
 11 110 
 
 12 110 
 
 Anomalies. 
 
 SnufF 115 
 
 Cool Reflections during a Midsummer walk 116 
 
 The Pig 119 
 
 The Dancing Bear 121 
 
 The Filbert 124 
 
 Miscellanies. 
 
 Gooseberry Pie. A Pindaric Ode - .- 129 
 
 The Battle of Pultowa *.---"- 131 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 The Death of Wallace - - - - - - 133 
 
 To a Friend, enquiring &c. - - - - 135 
 
 The Dead Friend 137 
 
 History 139 
 
 The Soldier's Funeral 140 
 
 To a Spider 143 
 
 The Oak of our Fathers 145 
 
 The Old Man's Comforts ... - 147 
 
 The Ebb Tide -------- 148 
 
 The Holly Tree 150 
 
 English Eclogues. 
 
 The Last of the Family ----- 155 
 
 The Wedding 161 
 
 Inscriptions. 
 Inscription 1 --------171 
 
 2 172 
 
 3 173 
 
 4 174 
 
 5 --- 175 
 
 6 176 
 
 7 -------- 178 
 
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