I Glass. Book. THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. H 2-^6 1f THE SHEPHERDS GARLAND, COMPOSED OF GATHERINGS, DURING LEISURE HOURS, FROM WAYS OF PLEASANTNESS PATHS OF PEACE, s By FRANCIS SKURRAY, B.D., RECTOR OF WINTERBOURNE STEEPLETON, DORSET, AND PERPETUAL CURATE OF HOP. N INGSH A M , WILTS. Apricos necte flores Necte, meo Lamioe, Coronani. Hor. LONDON : PRINTED FOR SIMPKIN AND MARSHALL, AND R1VINGTONS. 3k HILLIAR, PRINTER, WARMINSTER. TO THE Rev. HENRY HETLEY, B.D. Rector of Wilton, and Prebendary of Horningsham, in the Collegiate Church of Heytesbury, Wilts. My dear Sir, Thirty-fife years have elapsed since the period of my Ordination, and the interval, with the excep- tion of the first six months, has been devoted to the duties of our delightful Village. Though the studies and services of Religion have ministered more satisfaction and delight, than even my juvenile hopes had anticipated, still they were found to require occasional intermissions. They, who duly consider, that man is a compound of Body and Soul, know, that like the string and the how, they would lose their elasticity and force, without occasional relaxation. Is it any wonder then, if among the enchanting scenery of this place and neigh- bourhood, I insensibly wandered into the regions of Taste, and amused myself with the delectations of Poesy ? The publication of one Volume, connected with these subjects, and the appearance of another of a similar cha- racter, furnish grounds for suspicion, that pursuits, which were resorted to as pleasing avocations, have been converted into predominant employments. You, however, my dear Sir, can attest, that more important business has not been forgotten, and you will perceive, in many of the pieces which constitute this Book, no infrequent sprinklings of serious sentiment and Religious reflection. VI DEDICATION. Memory oftentimes recurs to the period, when I have communed with yourself, or with other Friends, on the tendency of professional Truths, to throw sunshine on the pathway of life, and qualify for final and purchased beatitude. Christianity should not be estimated by the misrepre- sentations of its adversaries, nor by the distortions of its Friends. It appears in its 'proper character, when developed as " a reasonable service/' illustrated as a consolatory dis- pensation, and interpreted as not unfriendly to seasonable recreations. " Pure and undefiled Religion" is enhanced in beauty, estimation and usefulness, when contrasted with the effron- tery of unbelief, the hideousness of vice, the excrescences of superstition, and the false glare of fanaticism. Be pleased to excuse the liberty which is assumed of memorializing the harmony and confidence of our long connection, and permit me to hope, that you will not estimate the value of the offering by its merits, but by the sjririt which accompanies it. I derive honour from subscribing myself, Your faithful Servant, and affectionate Friend, FRANCIS SKURRAY. Horningsham, Wilts ; March 7th, 1832. INTRODUCTION Some of the following* productions were ap- pended to the First Edition of Bidcombe Hill, (a rural and descriptive Poem which was pub- lished in 1808), but were omitted in the Edition of 1824, by the substitution of an Essay on Local Poetry. Amongst the multifarious contents of this Volume, the Sonnets are the most conspicuous, both for their number and variety. They have no other title to their denomination, than as containing fourteen lines, which is a very slen- der pretension. Some of them derive their origin from visiting particular localities, in my own country, or neighbourhood, and will be found wandering " From grave to gay, from lively to severe." Pope. Vlll INTRODUCTION. The greater part of them attempt a description of scenes in countries which have never been traversed by my footsteps, and the chief mate- rials for their versification were furnished by spirited descriptions, aided by my own fancy, sentiment, and reflections. Nullius addictus jurare in verba magistri, Quo me cunque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes. Hor. The remarks, which were addressed to the public, by an apologist of Gascoigne, (a Poet who flourished in the sixteenth century), may be predicated of myself, with regard to the Sonnets. " he freely hath bestowde On thee this heape of flowers, the fruites of all his toyle, Whereof, if some but simple seem, consider well the soyle ; They grew not all at home, but came from foreyne fieldes, The which (percase) set here again, no pleasant savour yieldes." It becomes me to repeat my apologies, for obtruding on public notice, an enlarged Edi- tion of " Reflections in a Country Churchyard," as their perusal will disadvantageously revive the remembrance of their unrivalled and inac- cessible prototype. But it will be conceded, that Funereal sights and reminiscences fre- quently come under the sensibility of the sss INTRODUCTION. IX Village Pastor, which may have escaped the cognizance of the Philosophical Bard, and the attempt may be forgiven, for embody- ing Parochial observations, in a measure, made practicable by his success. With respect to a new metrical version of a portion of the Psalms, and the few Hymns that are subjoined, they are hazarded only as Essays, in that species of versification. Our Critics have argued the extreme difficulty of composing Sacred Songs, from a continuity of unsuccessful attempts. Much occasion how- ever of failure would be obviated with regard to Hymns, by concentration, and in any new metrical adventures on the Psalms, singularly sublime and devotional parts may be selected, and comprised in Stanzas of sufficient length for Congregational Canticles. The designation of Garland may not be an inapplicable title to a Volume of this diver- sified character. The celebration of flowers, which perhaps constitutes the fairest portion of the Volume, assists in sanctioning the denomi- nation. And as all the pieces originated as recreations from Pastoral engagements, they may not be unaptly discriminated, " The Shepherd's Garland." X INTRODUCTION, The benevolence of the Deity, in the creation of the world, provides for our delight, as well as for our sustenance. Plants, herbs, and grass, invest the earth with verdure? which has been aptly characterized by Thomson, as "united light and shade," constituting a medium between the glare of brilliancy and the shadows of darkness, in attempered accommo- dation to the organ of vision. The earth too is dressed with flowers, as the heavens are gemmed with stars, in every diversity of tint and every gradation of form. Their tendence and culture serve for occupa- tion to the hands, produce ornaments for the hair, and furnish nosegays for the bosom, of female loveliness. But the most interesting adaptation of flowers was the composition of Garlands. " The May-pole is up, Now give me the cup, To drink to the Garlands around it ; But first unto those, Whose hands did compose The glory of flowers that crown'd it." Garlands were in requisition, on particu- lar Festivals, such as the Vigil of John the Baptist (Midsummer-eve) and on the anniver- saries of St. Peter and Paul, INTRODUCTION. When young men round about with ma'ides, Doe daunce in every streete, "With Garlands Avrought of Mother- wort, Or else with Vervaine sweete, And many other flowers faire." — To supply the loss of the productions of the fields and gardens, by the rigours of winter, Garlands were composed of gilt and silver streamers, and set off with spangles and gems, feathers and dyed linen, to imitate natural objects and floral colourings. The Greeks mingled with these artificial emblems, Flowers, which were preserved in their natural appear- ance, and to which they gave the title of Ama- ranths, as they never fade. Evergreens were sometimes put in re- quisition : " arbusia juivant humilesque myricoe." VlRG. The victors at the Grecian Gaines were crowned with Laurel, and Bay-leaves formed an honorary wreath for the brow of the Bard. Chaplets were formed also of evergreens, in our own country, at Funerals, as is evident from subsisting usages in secluded and half-monas- tical districts, and from a beautiful Ballad in Xll INTRODUCTION. "'The Maid's Tragedy," by Beaumont and Fletcher. " Lay a Garland on my hearse, Of the dismal yew ; Maidens! willow-branches bear j Say, I died true. My love was false, but I was true From my hour of birth ; Upon my buried body lie Lightly, gentle Earth. Our ancestors, by the use of these funereal emblems, made an appeal to the heart, more persuasive and touching, than the most impas- sioned oratory. Allusions to them were seized by the Poet, and transferred to the province of the Muses, from whence he apostrophized to the living, whilst he memorialized the dead. " The Garlands wither on your brow ; Then boast no more your mighty deeds j Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor-victim bleeds : All heads must come To the cold tomb : Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust." Our men of genius never so much interest, as when they call for the adoption of usages , which belonged to a former generation. INTRODUCTION. Xlll O Lady ! twine no wreath for me, Or twine it of the Cypress-tree. Too lively glow the lilies light ; The varnish'd holly's all too bright ; The May-flower and the Eglantine May shade a brow less sad than mine ; But, Lady 1 weave no wreath for me, Or weave it of the Cypress-tree. ' Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine, With tendrils «f the laughing vine ; The manly oak, the pensive yew To patriot and to sage be due ; The myrtle bough bids lovers live, But that Matilda will not give ; Then, Lady ! twine no wreath for me, Or twine it of the Cypress-tree. Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare The ivy meet for minstrel's hair ; And, while his crown of laurel-leaves With bloody hand the victor weaves, Let the loud trump his triumph tell ; But when ye hear the passing bell, Then, Lady ! twine a wreath for me, And twine it of the Cypress-tree. * Yes ! twine for me the Cypress bough ; But, O Matilda, twine not now ! Stay, till a few brief months are past, And I have look'd and lov'd ray last. — When Villagers my shroud bestrew With pansies, rosemary, and rue, Then, Lady ! weave a wreath for me, And weave it of the Cypress-tree." Shakespeare speaks of Garlands, and describes the flowers of which thev were to be XIV INTRODUCTION. composed, to suit three periods of human life — Youth, Manhood, and Age. Thus a Garland for Youth was to be composed of "flowers of the Spring that might Become your time of day, daffodils That come before the swallows dare, and take The winds of March with beauty : violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eye, Or Cytherea's breath: pale primroses That die unmarried, 'ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength ; bold oxlips and The Crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one ! o' these I lack To make you Garlands of, and my sweet friend, To strew them o'er and o'er." To form Garlands for persons of middle age. " here's flowers for you : Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjorum ; The marigold that goes to bed with the sun, And with him rises weeping : these are flowers Of middle Summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age." A Garland for old men. " Reverend Sirs, For you there's rosemary and rue : these keep Seeming and savour, all the winter long." — Mediocrity, by a long-recognized canon of criticism, is excluded from association with the Muses, but " As hearbes, in gardens, grow of sundry graces, Some good, some bad, some amiable faces ;" INTRODUCTION. XV so there may be Poetical herbs and flowers, of an useful character and moderate pretensions, individually, which, in combination with blos- soms of richer hue, more towering height, and broader expansion, may be so grouped, as to produce the agreeable effect which usually results from variety. The Shepherd's Garland is now con- signed to Public Courtesy, composed of floral gatherings from the Garden and from the Wilderness, from Mountains and Vallies, from the Hill of Si on, and the Plain of Shinar, which have been arranged and compacted into form, with my best taste and skilfulness. I take leave 1 of the Reader in the language of Gascoigne, who, exercised his fancy upon the subject of Flowers, more than any other Bard, that preceded or followed him ; " I will spend no more words in this preface, but I praie thee to smell to these posies, as flowres to comfort, hearbes to cure ; so have I meant them, and so do I beseech thee to accept them. Farewell." F. S. CONTENTS. PAGE Thoughts on Friendship ... ...... 1 Lines addressed to the Rev. W. L. Bowles, at Bremhill ib The Virgin's Grave 2 Human Nature ...... ib The domestic Couch . . ...... 3 Lines on a Torrent ...... ib Lines on the Melody of Birds 4 The Soldier's Adieu . . 5 Petrarch 6 The expostulation 7 Verses on the Pairing of Birds 8 The Maniac ... 9 The Sky Lark 10 Day Scenes .. 11 Evelina .....*. 13 Lines composed at Bemerton Parsonage 14 The Hindu Widow 16 The Woodlark's Grave .. 17 Night Scenes . . 19 Lines on visiting the Chamber at Stratford-on-Avon where Shakespeare was born 21 The Hermitage at Dronningaard 23 Ode to the River Isis 25 A Pastoral Ballad in four parts. b 30 XV111 CONTENTS. PAGl Sonnet on the rising Sun ... 36 to the risen Sun ... ib ■ on Sunset .... ...... 37 on rural Enthusiasm , ib — to the evening Star 38 on a fine Sunday Morning 39 on rural Music ib on the Church Bells 40 on Happiness ..... ib — on a Funeral 41 to my Cottage ... ib on Death 42 descriptive of Evening ib descriptive of evening Sounds, near a Nunnery 43 on Cathedral Music ib — on the Nightingale 44 — to an Aged Oak in Longleat Park ib to a Friend 45 ■ — : — - on Virgil's Grove at the Leasowes ib to the Woodlark ... 46 to the Redbreast ... ib to a transplanted Tree 47 ' on revisiting Bath Grammar School ib on revisiting the Village of Charlcomb, near Bath 48 on revisiting the Village of Swainswick, near Bath ib written on revisiting Oxford ... 49 occasioned by a visit to Corfe Castle during a Hurricane ib » occasioned by visiting the Spot on the Caernar- vonshire Coast, from whence the Romans, as described by Tacitus, Invaded the Island ofAnglesea .. .... 50 CONTENTS. XIX Sonnet on St. Gowen's Chapel, in the County of Pembroke to the Moon . .... descriptive of Evening, at Pertwood, Wilts to an Old Elm Tree — — on a Brook .... .... on revisiting the Brook .... on visiting Sharpham Park, in the Autumn of 1826 on revisiting Sharpham Park to the Raven that builds its nest in the Grov in Longleat Park occasioned by attendance on the Welsh Service, Sunday, August 1st, 1824 on the Sea-Coast on the Beach .... on an Embarkation on Setting Sail .... descriptive of Ruins near the Coast . on an incipient Voyage on Sunset, at Sea . . on Sunrise, at Sea on a Calm .... descriptive of a Hurricane on a Storm .... on a Storm .... on a Midnight Storm on a Tempest .... on a Shipwreck descriptive of foreign Scenery to a foreign Cottage on a dilapidated Castle- descriptive of a Lake descriptive of Evening and Manner* 50 51 ib 52 ib 53 ib 54 ib 55 ib 56 ib 57 ib 58 ib 59 ib 60 ib 61 ib 62 ib 63 ib 64 ib 65 XX CONTENTS. Sonnet on Music .... — descriptive of a Festival on Climbing a rocky Eminence on the Profession of a Nun to Adeline on Adeline's Urn . . on the Hope of Immortality descriptive of Approach to the on the Alpine Eagle ■ descriptive of Alpine Scenery — on the Alpine Eagle descriptive of Alpine Scenery on the Alpine Eagle descriptive of Alpine Scenery descriptive of Alpine Scenery descriptive of Alpine Scenery on the Old Eagle descriptive of Alpine Scenery — descriptive of Alpine Scenery descriptive of Alpine Scenery descriptive of Alpine Scenery on descent from the Alps ?— on approaching the Apennines descriptive of Scenes at the Apennines — — descriptive of the Apennines — — on ascending the Apennines descriptive of the Apennines descriptive of the Apennines descriptive of the Apennines descriptive of the Apennines descriptive of the Apennines descriptive of the Apennines descriptive of the Apennines Alps Foot of the CONTENTS. XXI PAGE Sonnet descriptive of the Apennines 82 descriptive of the Apennines 83 descriptive of the Apennines ib descriptive of the Apennines 84 descriptive of the Apennines ib descriptive of the Pyrenees 85 ib descriptive of the Pyrenees 86 descriptive of the Pyrenees ib descriptive of the Pyrenees .... 87 ib descriptive of the Pyrenees 88 descriptive of the Pyrenees ib descriptive of the Pyrenees 89 .... ib descriptive of the Pyrenees 90 descriptive of the Pyrenees ib descriptive of the Pyrenees .... 91 descriptive of the Pyrenees .... ib descriptive of the Pyrenees 92 descriptive of the Pyrenees .... ib descriptive of the Pyrenees 93 descriptive of the Pyrenees .... ib descriptive of the Pyrenees 94 descriptive of the Pyrenees .... ib 95 *■ descriptive of the Pyrenees ib 96 iples ib descriptive of the Environs of Fl< jrencc 97 descriptive of Scenery, near Athe ns . . . . ib descriptive of Venice 98 on a Gondola .... ib "- on Tyre .... 99 XX11 CONTENTS. Sonnet descriptive of the Dead Sea and its Neigh- bourhood .... .... . . . . bourhood xvi.uu.iii jTiLciiui cum ita I'M tig 11- 100 The Rose . . .... .... ib The Star of Bethlehem .... 101 The Lily .... 104 The Daisy .... 106 The Sunflower 108 The Columbine .... ..... Ill The Passion-Tree .... .... 115 The Waters . . .... 119 Elegiac Reflections, in a Country Churchyard, on the Evening of a Funeral . .... 127 Psalm 1 .... .... .... 165 II .... .... .... 166 Ill .... .... 167 IV .... .... .... 168 V .... .... .... 169 VI .... .... .... .... 170 VII .... .... .... .... 171 VIII .. .... .... .... 173 XI ... .... .... .... 174 XII ... . .... .... .... 175 XIII .. .... .... 176 XIV ... ib XV .... .... .... .... 178 XVIII . . .... .... .... ib XVIII... .... .... 180 XIX .. . . . .... .... 181 XX .... .... .... .... 182 XXI .. . . . .... 183 XXIII.. .... .... .... 184 XXIV . . . . .... .... ib CONTENTS. XX111 Psalm XXVII - — XXIX XXX XXXV XXXIX XLI .. LV LVII .. LXI .. LXXIX LXXX LXXX VIII LXXXIX - xc .. XCIII .. CVII .. CVII ... CVII .. CXXI CXXX CXXXII CXXXVII CXXXIX CXXXIX Hymn for the Sacrament Funeral Hymn Hymn for the Children of The Redeemed The Judgment-Day Notes of the Lord's Supper National or Sunday- PAGE . . 185 . . 187 ... ib ... 189 .. 192 .. 193 .. 194 .. 195 .. 196 .. 197 .. 199 .. ib .. 201 ... 202 .. 204 ,. 205 ... 206 .. 207 .. 208 .. 209 .. 210 .. 212 .. 213 .. 214 .. 215 .. 216 ■Schools 217 .. ib .. 219 .. 221 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. THOUGHTS ON FRIENDSHIP. False Friends, like insects in a Summer's day, Bask in the sunshine, but avoid the shower ; Uncertain visitants, they flee away, E'en when misfortune's cloud begins to lower. Into Life's bitter cup, true Friendship drops Balsamic sweets, to overpower the gall : True Friends, like Ivy, and the wall it props, Both stand together, or together fall. LINES ADDRESSED TO THE REV. W. L. BOWLES, AT BREMHILL. Sweet Bard ! from whose fertility of thought And noble daring kindred souls have sought, And found their way to fame ; I hear no modulations from thy lyre, As I approach thy dwelling, and admire The spot, made sacred by thy name. Fain would I hear thy new-strung harp, again, Sound midst these haunts, and echo o'er the plain, Now acrimonious Critics cease Their rage. Resume thy interrupted lays ; Sing of the wisdom from above, whose ways Are pleasant, and whose paths are Peace. THE SHEPHERDS GARLAND. THE VIRGIN'S GRAVE. I raise no head-stone to her name, Nor well-known griefs repeat ; She died at Spring-tide, and I deck'd With flowers, her winding sheet. Oft as I seek the house of prayer Upon the Sabbath day, On her green hillock, I will kneel ; Upon that altar, pray. There muse upon her, 'till we meet In yon congenial sky, And dream of Heaven, upon the sod, Where her dear relics lie. HUMAN NATURE. From his nativity to death Man is to sorrow prone ; Cries usher him into the world ; He quits it with a groan. In Infancy, in youth, and age, His sole support is God : Thro' life He guards him, and in death Supports him with His rod. So the young vine, a tender plant, When first it strikes its root, Incurs the chance of injury From every Pilgrim's foot, THE SHEPHERD S GARLAND. But round the Elm, its tendrils twine ; Its spiral branches rise ; Thro' life the Tree supports the vine, Nor quits it when it dies. THE DOMESTIC COUCH. How sweet to view the household door Returning from the troubled main, And taste domestic joys once more, And press the well-known couch again ! Pleasant it is, while Tempests last, And Hurricanes the Grove deform, And Windows rattle in the blast, To feel secure amidst the storm. Grateful it is, to win repose, When pain is foird, or sorrow ends ; Or in the dream, when eyelids close, To meet our lost, or absent friends. Oblivious sleep ! thy opiate give, Whene'er upon my couch I lie ; Thus, without life, how sweet to live ! Thus, without death,' how sweet, to die ! LINES ON A TORRENT. Behold the waters, with impetuous force, Rush midst the rocks, which interrupt their course ; Tho' only by a brief confinement pent, Hark ! how they brawl, and roar in discontent. 4 THE SHEPHERDS GARLAND. Impatient murmurers ! your rage forego ; Soon will ye break your bondage, and will flow, In unobstructed current o'er the plain, And with accumulation seek the main, Nor quit the deep, until again ye rise, ExhaFd by heat, to hover in the skies. So the tumultuous passions of the soul Chafe against obstacles, and spurn controul, But quickly find their rest, amidst the bourne That stays their flight, and intercepts return, Until the Sun of Righteousness shall shine, And change the Human Nature to Divine ; And then the Spirit, from incumbrance, free, Shall mount the sky with native buoyancy. LINES ON THE MELODY OF BIRDS. When Lev'rets to their seats repair, And nightly shadows fly, The Larks begin to soar in air, Musicians of the sky. They quit the glebe, and take their flight, By sacred impulse driven : They mount, 'till they elude our sight, To join the choir of Heaven. The Thrush and Blackbird, on the pine, Alternate strains prolong ; At length their melodies combine, To form their choral song. THE SHEPHERD S GARLAND. The Blackbird first distends his throat, With voice, both loud, and clear ; The Thrush concludes with softer note, That melts upon the ear. Prolong, till evening shades descend, Sweet vocalists your lays, Then Philomel his voice will lend, To chant our Maker's praise THE SOLDIER'S ADIEU. I go, sweet maid, in England's cause, To be within the ship confin'd, And as I pace the deck, I pause To think of thee, I leave behind. When landed on a foreign shore, Safe from the perils of the storm, Should I, amidst the cannon's roar, Heroic feats of war perform, To thee, returning, I will fly, And all the battle's rage repeat ; While the tear glitters in thine eye, My laurels shall adorn thy feet. But if the sea should roar and swell, So that no skill the bark can save ; If those, who scape the wreck, shall tell They saw me struggle with the wave ; THE SHEPHERDS GARLAND. Or if pierc'd thro' with foreign swords, To fall be my unhappy lot, I pray in thine own parting words, " Forget me not," u forget me not/' PETRARCH. Stream ever limpid, fresh and clear, Where Laura's charms renewed are seen ; Ye Flowers, which kiss her heaving breast ; Ye Trees, 'gainst which her shoulders lean ; Ye Scenes, embellish'd by her steps : May some kind Friend when I am dead, (For grief will close these aching eyes) Place near this rural spot my head, And scatter holy dust around And lightly spread it o'er my Tomb ; It will illumine my abode, Or make me fearless of its gloom. Whene'er the fair, majestic Nymph Shall to the hallowed spot be brought ; When she shall view my mouldering dust, And mark the change that Love has wrought, She then may pour repentant sighs ; She then may drop some pitying tears, And, like an Infant at the breast, Who cannot speak his hopes and fears, So Laura's heart shall never find relief, Because she grieves, and cannot tell her grief. THE SHEPHERDS GARLAND. THE EXPOSTULATION. (a fragment.) And is it true, my Friend, thou hast forgot The village gambols, and thy rural Cot ? And canst thou still sustain the lingering hours In the dull shade of academic bowers, Where novel sports no longer intervene, As when our loved associates grac'd the scene. A Fellow, thou, of Nature's ampler school, Spurn the dull terror of Collegiate rule. Again with me, when wakes the purple morn, Behold the dew-drops chrystalize the thorn. Or see the Thrush distend his swelling throat On the high pine, or catch the wood-lark's note And oh ! if Love still interest thy breast, Make Emma thine ; in blessing her, be blest. The fickle Swallow quits our changeful skies, When Summer wanes and Autumn winds arise ; On boldest wings, he foreign coasts explores, Nor checks his flight, 'till reaching Lybia's shores. Wearied at length, for pleasures past he mourns, Crosses the deep and to our Land returns ; Charm'd with his native clime, he skims the plain. Seeks his lost friends and finds his home again ; Twitters his prattle to the rising Sun, Chooses a mate, and rears his nest of young. 8 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. VERSES ON THE PAIRING OF BIRDS. Festa Valentino rediit lux. — Quisque sibi sociam jam legit ales avem. Buchanan. At stated season birds from trees and air To secret haunts, for choice of mates, repair. The genial season and the teeming grove Prompt their warm hearts to intermingle love. No more the feather'd race gregarious stray : In single pairs they amorously play ; Then take short nights, and roam, at leisure hours, Thro' tangled valley and thro' upland bowers. Sometimes they recognize, in pensive mood, The branch laid bare, where last year's fabric stood. In nook selected they construct their nests, Which grass involves, or budding spray invests. . Should rash presumption venture to invade, Mysterious love, protected by the shade, The brooding priestess cowers, then mounts on high, Perils to shun, or hazards to descry. But when she sees intruding feet depart, Fear quits her ruffled plumes and beating heart ; She drops to earth in sunny ray to bask ; Quick she resumes her intermitted task, Whilst her spouse chants, in audience of the nest, Unaw'd by frights, that scar'd her from her rest. — Dear Marianne, oh ! let the birds impart One genial truth, to thy unmated heart. No more, from morn to night, from night to day. Throw thy dear life gregariously away. THE SHEPHERD S GARLAND. Let some swain lead thee, in propitious hour, To rural solitudes and nuptial bower : Should thy heart droop with grief, or pant with fear, His voice would charm thee, and his love endear. THE MANIAC. (a fragment.) When the blast whistles in the sky With shrill and hollow sound ; When darkening clouds with tempest lower, And all is gloom around. From her straw couch the Maniac goes And wanders in the mead, To pluck from off the willow-tree, A branch to deck her head. She twines a wreath, of laurel green, 'Midst sprigs of willow tree, To shew, that her true Lover fell 'Midst feats of Victory. And art thou dead sweet youth (she cries) And art thou dead and gone, And must I wander thro' the world, Deserted and alone ? Will Edwin never, never come, To bless a maid forlorn ? Ah ! no ; by comrades, to his grave. His bleeding corse was borne. 10 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. Curs'd be the wretch, whose perjury My simple heart betray'd ; And did not Edwin, e'en in death, Forget his cruel maid ? Yes, yes, he curs'd the jealous scorn, Which drove him o'er the sea : Oh ! no ; his latest breath was pour'd In kindest prayers for me. Blow on, ye winds ! no pitying powers Yon elements controul ; Your blackest tempests ne'er surpass'd The storm, that rends my soul. A foreign grave received his corse ; Oh ! he is dead and gone ; And I must wander, thro' the world, Deserted, and alone. THE SKY-LARK. The minstrel wakes at early dawn, Peeps, from his couch, upon the lawn, And rears his taper neck, and flings The quivering dew-drops from his wings. Now he forsakes his tufted bed ; Erects his plumes, and lifts his head, And leaves terrestial cares behind, And serenades the sleeping wind. But soon his treasures on the earth, (His young ones lately brought to birth) Arrest his flight — his head he bends, And quick, as thunderbolt, descends. THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 11 His mate seems happier, by his side, Than when she kenn'd his towering pride, And heard him sing, the clouds among, His nuptial, or parental song. He roams the Glebe, in quest of food, Most proper for his callow brood, And then, thro' air, is seen to rise, To chant an anthem thro* the skies ; And as he sings, still mounting higher, His strain is soft, as Seraph's lyre, And like a Seraph's lyre, does move The human soul, to heavenly love. Should Thunders roll, and Lightnings dart, Fear is a stranger to his heart. Tho' hid sulphureous clouds among, He does not intermit his song. Tho' wet his plumes, and tempest-driven, He still maintains ascent to Heaven. The Christian, in his Pilgrimage, Encounters sin and Satan's rage ; Shares labour, sorrow, envy, strife, And other storms, that darken life ; Still he, his onward path, pursues, 'Till by the eye of Faith, he views The opening gates of Paradise, Which fill his soul with ecstacies. DAY-SCENES. The morning breaks ; 'midst falling showers, And, o'er the sky, a tempest lowers, And frequent thunders roll ; but soon The storm disperses, and at noon 12 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. The Heavens,serene, and calm, appear, And the sunheam is bright and dear ; And tho' some rising vapours spread Their shadowy tints, above the head, Yet towards the evening we descry A burnish'd trackway, thro' the sky , Whence radiance dances thro' the trees That quiver to the freshened breeze, Which agitates, on branch and stem, The pearly drop and chrystal gem ; These, trickling down, in currents run. And glisten, to the setting sun. Our eyes pursue the sinking beam, 'Till it is vanished, like a dream. Tho' viewless, still the orb of day Illumes the ether with its ray, And stationary clouds unfold Their purple mantles trimm'd with gold. But soon the glimmering spark of light Flies from the sky and quits our sight. The mind is soften'd to repose, As shades advance, and sunbeams close, And eve, with its congenial gloom, Recalls the silence of the tomb. — Cries usher in the infant's birth ; Storms cloud man's pilgrimage on earth, But frequently some rays divine Dart thro' the mist, and round him shine. At length the fast-receding world Appears, in rude confusion hurl'd, Until, by weariness opprest, He sinks insensiblv to rest ; THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 13 Nor doubts he, but as from the main The sun will spring to light again, So from his death-bed he will rise, And shine in glory thro' the skies. EVELINA. Near the wide-spreading beech on the brow of the hill, I waited the dawning of day ; The morn kiss'd the rose, as with blushes, it sniil'd, To welcome the season of May. Dear joy of my heart, Evelina, arise, More fair than the bright-beaming morn ; More chaste, than the rosebud, when weeping with dew, More fragrant, than blossoming thorn. Thy looks are serene, as by sunbeams refin'd, Appears the blue face of the skies : The sweets of wild honeycomb dwell on thy lips ; Thy breath, with the apple-bloom, vies. Thy hair, like the plumage of Raven, is black, But flowing, elastic, and bright ; Thy neck is as fair as the down of the Swan ; Thy breast seems to heave with delight. Evelina arise. The Sun's early beam Thy presence descends to salute ; The heath, on the mountain, its blossoms reserves ; The vallies present their ripe fruit. Thy lover, tho' timid, will snatch from the crag, The berries, which creep, on its side, And pluck, from the hazel, the clustering nut, When shining in autumn's brown pride. 14 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. As red as thy lips, the berries shall prove ; The nuts shall be ripe, like thy bosom of love. My Queen sweetly smiling, oh! when shall we meet On the verge of the murmuring flood? Or sit, in the cave, that is covered with moss ? Or prattle of love, in the wood ? How long wilt thou leave me, sweet damsel, declare, Thine absence so cruel to mourn ? I will sit on the prominent crag of the rock, Unhappy 'till thou dost return. My sighs will I waft to the fluttering gale, And mutter my grief to the flint of the vale. Whenever thou comest, thou welcome wilt come, As summer preceded by frost ; Evelina's return will gladden my sight, As sunbeams the traveller lost. LINES COMPOSED AT BEMERTON PARSONAGE, AND ADDRESSED TO MRS. COXE. I seek the solitary shade, By curious workmanship inlaid, From whence, to mark each varied scene ; Whatever is, whate'er has been. There sainted Herbert preached and pray'd; In yonder room, his limbs he laid In balmy, and recruiting rest. ^ Yonder, he succour'd the distrest ; > And there, his mem'ry still is blest. j THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 15 Amid' these bowers, he often sate ; Oft sought the fields, to meditate. When he saw downs, or downs arise, ^ First mingle with, then lose the skies, > How aptly would he moralize, j That as life's journey we pursue, Phantoms arise to mock the view. When he beheld the solar ray Dispel night's gloom, and welcome day, He deeni'd each blessing, that we prize, An emanation from the skies. And when he view'd the sunshine gleam, Thro' showers, on Nadder's rapid stream, Then would arise his hopes and fears, For Life consists of smiles and tears. The River hastening to the sea Shew'd Time and Immortality. Here Norris, philosophic sage, Glow'd with the fire of Plato's page. Nadder did his Cephisus prove ; Those elms his Academic Grove, Where he escap'd the world's excess, And mus'd on " Truth," and " Happiness." In prime of Manhood Norris died ; Herbert aud he lie side by side, Waiting the inspiring call, " well done ;" " Come wear the Crowns, your virtues won." Oh ! distant may the period prove, That robs thee of a Husband's love. 10 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. Long may thy bland attentions shed A sacred halo round his head ; Long may he to thy prayers be given, And then with Herbert enter Heaven. THE HINDU WIDOW. Who sits at yon door-way in frantic despair, Her forehead all brmVd and dishevelled her hair ; Her eyes from their sockets just ready to start, While her lips speak of sorrows, that burden her heart? A mother bereft, and refusing relief. — Unwilling to enter her cottage of grief, She sits at the threshold, decrepid and faint, To mourn her lost son, and repeat her complaint. My first-born Hureedas, oh ! where dost thou stray ? My image of gold, who hath snatched thee away ? Ah ! who hath deprived of his mother, the son ? I nourished and rear'd him, oh ! where is he gone ? Hureedas ! Hureedas ! oh ! take me away To the house of the dead, to the mansion of clay. Thou didst play round my knees, and frisk o'er the floor ; Mine eyes will behold thy dear image no more. My Neighbours, my Neighbours, forbear to condole, Mine eyelids spurn solace, as well as my soul. My heart, it will break at the loss of my son ; Hureedas ! Hureedas ! oh ! where art thou gone ? THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 17 O Neighbours, O Neighbours, your words may impart Advice to the head, which rebounds from the heart. My heart, to advice, is impervious as stone ; Hureedas ! Hureedas ! oh ! where art thou gone ? My grief shall resound near my desolate cot, 'Till I go to the Grave, where friends are forgot. He seem'd, by his air, to be born for a throne. Hureedas ! Hureedas ! oh ! where art thou gone ? Shall I weep on the bank, where the willow-trees grow, And mingle their boughs with the waves as they flow ? No. My sorrows shall sprinkle the funeral stone. Hureedas ! Hureedas ! oh ! where art thou gone ? Shall I climb to the mountain that frowns o'er the dell, To be nearer the spot where Hureedas may dwell ? I will kiss, in the vale, the turf of the dead, And howl, 'till I learn, where Ms Spirit is fled. The Grove will I seek, where the aspen tree waves Its murmuring leaves, o'er his Forefathers' graves ; And there, will I grieve for the loss of my son, And ask of their Ghosts, where Hureedas is gone. Oh ! should my son's spirit revisit the earth, To inspire a body just dropp'd from his birth, May the mother discern the soul of her son. Hureedas ! Hureedas ! oh ! where art thou gone ? THE WOODLARK'S GRAVE. Companion of my lonely hour, When winds did blow, and tempests low'r, c 18 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. Sweet warbler, thou art ever flown, And I must grieve, and sing alone. When Disappointment wrung my mind, And friends appeared to me unkind, What solace did I find in thee ! Oh ! thou didst prove a friend to me. When in my cot I sat alone, And heard thee sing, or saw thee moan, To either lot would I resign, And blend my joy, or grief, with thine. Thus I did sympathize with thee, And thou didst seem to feel for me. Alas ! thou art for ever flown, And I must grieve, or sing, alone. Altho' to birds it be not given, To share with man the joys of Heaven, Yet in the poplar-shaded dell, I forin'd for thee the burial cell, And rais'd the little tufted mound, Resembling graves, in holy ground. Oft' as thy Master passes by, He marks the spot, and wipes his eye : In fond remembrance thou shalt live : He has no other Heaven to give. When I shall yield my lingering breath, And prove my constancy by death, May some kind friend my corse inter, Close by thy little sepulchre, Where thou, dear bird, dost now forget, A fellow lur'd thee to the net ; Where I, when to the dust consigned, Shall cease to think some friends, unkind. THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 19 Iii Summer when the aspen trees Shall rustle in the evening breeze, Thither the love-lorn swain shall go, And secretly indulge in woe. The sigh, which his heart's blood had cost, Shall, in the balmy breeze, be lost ; The tears, that from his eyelids flow, Shall mingle, with the stream below, And kindred sympathy impart Congenial solace, to his heart. NIGHT SCENES. The sun, that had prolonged the day, Reposes in the western bay, And evening has her curtain spread, To shroud him in his watery bed. He casts the mantle, of his light, Over the waking queen of night. And as her destined course is run, She owes her splendor to the sun. The Winds are hush/d — the Heavens are fair, And Meteors die away in air, Whilst Stars, upon the Moon, attend, And all their radiations lend, Both to precede, and close her train, While she enlivens land and main ; And as she decks the azure space, We gaze upon her dimpled face ; And the awaken'd fancy hears The music of the rolling spheres, Which cheers her course and speeds her flight, During her progress thro' the night. 20 THE SHEPHERD'S GaRLAND. The Vapours now thro' ether dance, Sometimes retreat, sometimes advance, To hide the sparkling orbs of light, But cannot screen them from our sight ; For thro' the mist they force their way, 'Till greeted by the lord of day ; And then the Moon suspends her force, And stays her chariot in its course. She then throws off her borrowed vest, And, with the stars, retires to rest. Religion and her train appear, As radiant, in their hemisphere, As do the brilliant orbs of night, When they send forth unsullied light. Too soon, the cloud of error spreads Its thickening vapours, round their heads ; But soon celestial fervors glow, And pierce the mists, that float below. The beam, that penetrates distress, Springs from the Sun of Righteousness ; And Faith and Hope, which gleam from far, Like morning, and as evening star, Their frequent coruscations dart, To charm the mind, and cheer the heart, And shine, on life's benighted way, Till lost, in empyrean day ; While Psalms and Hymns the pains assuage, Of Man's terrestial pilgrimage, And Angels' harps are heard, on high, To cheer his course with minstrelsy ; And as he sinks, with toil opprest, They serenade him to his rest. The Sun and Moon will never rise To spread their lights in other skies ; THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 21 They will fall down, or turn to blood : And e'en the spot, on which we stood, Shall moulder into dust, like clay, And, burnt with fire, consume away. But this combustion will give birth To an illuminated earth, To which the power will be given, To wear the face, and smiles of Heaven. LINES ON VISITING THE CHAMBER AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON, WHERE SHAKESPEARE WAS BORN. Whilst high and lofty Domes are shown, "Where men were born, who fill'd a Throne, This humble chamber boasts a birth, Which all the Palaces, on Earth, Would be too proud to call their own, And men would claim, who wear a Crown. I pace aTound the humble spot ; All other subjects are forgot, Or deem'd unsuitable for fame, But Shakespeare's birth, and Shakespeare's name. For in this room, so dark and worn, Our great Dramatic Bard was born ; And here was heard the Father's joy, That his first Infant prov'd a boy ; And here the new-made Mother smil'd, As she surveyed her only child, And deem'd her lingering pains, surpast, By such a progeny, at last. Here Light first flashed on Shakespeare's eyes : Here startled, by her infants' cries, 22 the shepherd's garland The Mother clasp'd him to her breast, And husb/d his pain, by food and rest. Here too, the Child was taught to pray ; And here, he first was heard to say The filial prayer, and sacred verse Which Children, day by day, rehearse. Grown up to Youth, he us'd to rove Amidst the shade of Welcome Grove ; He gloried in the Avon's tide, As he pac'd musing, on its side, Or mark'd the Swan erect his crest, To scare intruders from his nest. He viewM the flocks, and heard the Steed Neigh to his fellows, in the Mead. He saw the Larks arise, to sing, Whilst Cuckows, heralds of the Spring, From thorny bush and wither'd Tree. Monotoniz'd on Jealousy. When Aspen boughs began to play A requiem to departing Day, He would return, and then retire, To tune his harp, or string his lyre ; And his own birth-place he would chuse To breathe the whisperings of his Muse, And shape the melodies to rule, Which he had learnt in Natures' school. Stay Passenger, and look around ; This chamber is the Muses' ground ; And it is crumbling to its fall, With all the Names, that grace the wall ; THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 23 But Shakespeare's character will staud, The pride and glory of the Land, Till Mountains sink, and rocks decay, And Nature's self shall melt away. THE HERMITAGE AT DRONNINGAARD. What is that Pile, in yonder bower, Whose roof is pervious to the shower, And round whose walls the Ivy clings, And where the solitary blackbird sings ? — The little Brook that murmur'd nigh, Check'd is its course, its channel dry. The Grave, with pansies neatly drest, Affords some wearied Pilgrim rest. The sculptur'd Column will proclaim The Pilgrim's age, the Pilgrim's name. Full twenty years ago, or more, A Stranger, from a foreign shore, Requested leave to build a cell, Where he, in privacy, might dwell. The spot he view'd, with most regard, Was in the vale of Dronningaard. Within a solitary wood, The little straw-roof'd Cottage stood ; With moss, the Hermitage he lin'd, And bark defended it, from wind. Thro' the rude rock the waters play'd, And o'er a bed of pebbles stray'd. The Willow, o'er the streamlet, spread Its pensile boughs, and dipp'd its head. Suspended, by the Willow's side, Fell the Laburnum's golden pride. 24 the shepherd's garland. The Jessamine still yearly blows And mingles fragrance with the Rose, And the sweet Lily of the vale Impregnates still the vernal gale. Remote from scenes of war and strife, The Courtier liv'd a Hermit's life. He fed on herbs and coarsest fare, His beard was long, and rough his hair. His face assum'd a serious mood ; The hour-glass in his Window stood ; Or he would hold it in his hand, And watch each falling grain of sand. But tho' to Solitude inclin'd, He oft would recreate his mind, Amid' the Labours of the fields, Or with the joys, that Converse yields, With what rapture in the Spring, Would he hear the wood-lark sing ! In Summer he would bend his way, Where Village Maids were making hay. In Autumn, at the early Morn, He helped the Gleaner's gather corn. Then to the Forest he would stray, And cut th' obtruding branch away, And cast it in the wood-girl's way. Returning home to dress her food, She form'd a fagot of the wood, And as she rested from her toil, And as the Evening pot did boil,'< Around the hearth the converse ran, To bless the charitable Man. THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 25 In Winter all the neighbouring poor Would crowd within the Hermit's door; And as the experienc'd Sage would tell The fortune that his youth befel, Down every cheek the tears would run, Ere half the varied tale was done. Near to his solitary shed, He chose a spot to lay his head. He dug, on each succeeding day, A portion of his bed of clay, And when his pious work was done, He then inscrib'd his funeral Stone. EPITAPH. Reader ! the man that lies beneath this sod, Conversed with Nature and with Nature's God ; Morning and eve, his orisons he paid, And join'd the chorus in the woodland shade. Go, Pilgrim, hence, for other Worlds prepare ; Go, seek the blessings, that await thee there. From Earth, thy heaven-directed thoughts remove, And antedate, below, the joys above. ODE TO THE RIVER ISIS, ADDRESSED TO THE REV. WILLIAM BROOKLAND, A. M. VICAR OF NETHERBURY, DORSET. Embower'd amid thy willow trees, Hail ! sacred Isis, hail ! Oft on thy stream, I caught the breeze, And trimm'd the swelling sail. 26 THE SHEPHERD S GARLAND. And as my little bark would ride, Rock'd by the billows of thy tide, Perchance wild schemes engag'd my mind. Sometimes I view'd yon ample Dome ; Sometimes I thought upon my home, And Friends, I left behind. Oft at the peeping of the dawn, I swept away the dews, While, on the margin of thy lawn, I woo'd the timid Muse ; Thy Form, majestic, rose to view, And seem'd my footsteps to pursue, And as I pac'd thy banks along, And as I kenn'd thy gliding stream, Imagination's brooding dream Inspir'd an artless song. Memory, e'en now, delights to trace Fancy's first rugged line, And mark the progress af its pace, Since first it woo'd the nine. So the fledg'd Larks, unus'd to fly, At first, but short excursions try ; For stronger flights they soon prepare ; Embolden'd by their Parent's skill, They learn to flutter o'er the hill ; Then warble high in air. When Sirius melted every breeze, And languid Nature sought to lave, O'ercanopied by willow-trees, I plung'd beneath thy freshening wave. THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 27 My Spaniel oft would chase the coot From marsh, or sedge, or tangled root, To brake near Ifpley tower : Our scatter'd Friends at Sandford met ; By turns, we either threw the net, Or sail'd for Nuneham's bower. Sometimes I row'd against the tide, To Wytham village bound, Where the proud Pile, on every side, "Was fenc'd with moated ground. And soon to Godstow's hallow'd seat, I turn'd my unreluctant feet, And pass'd the Convent gate ; Then would I saunter near the pond, Where bath'd the beauteous Rosamond, And ponder o'er her fate. The Sculptor lavish'd all his art, Upon the frail one's Tomb, Which occupied the choicest part, Within the cloister'd gloom. It stood on consecrated ground, And lamps illumin'd it around, And Priests their censers swung : Whence, through the Dome, the incense spread ; Masses were offered for the dead, And Nuns a requiem sung. But oh ! full soon those honours fled Which gratitude had paid : Such rites await the virtuous dead, Not a dishonored maid. 28 the shepherd's garland. The Prelate order'd, out of door, The Corpse beneath the Chapel floor, To fill unhallow'd ground. The Tomb and ornaments were raz'd ; The Fane was dim, where torches blaz'd ; Unheard the Requiem's sound. 1 quit the venerable Pile Where musing I had stood, And with new thoughts, or song, beguile, My passage down the flood. Quickly I hoist the shatter'd sail, Expanding to the passing gale Which threats an instant shower. I quickly land on Christchurch Mead, And seek my sheltering home with speed, In Merton's ancient bower. — With partial fondness we retain The sense of pleasures past, Mingled however with some pain, To think how short they last. Vain is the task for man to mourn Pastimes, that never can return ; Yet all mankind past pleasures prize : The Mother, placing all her joy, Upon her dead, and darling boy, Would pluck him, from the skies. But ah ! my Friend, why should we mourn. That pleasures fly so fast ? Why sigh for days that ne'er return, Or sorrow for the past ? THE SHEPHERDS GARLAND. 29 Youth's dangerous stage of life is run, In which so many are undone. We should rejoice that, in our youth, We never wantonly did stray, Far from the paths of Wisdom's way, Nor from the line of Truth. If airy projects now be fled, Which once inflam'd the breast ; If ardent impulses be dead, Or calin'd to holy rest : The high pursuits of solid Truth Transcend the short-liv'd joys of youth, And thus we spend our day ; To us the godlike task is given To point the sacred road to Heaven, And lead ourselves the way. 30 THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. A PASTORAL BALLAD IN FOUR PARTS, AFTER THE MANNER OF SHENSTONE. Non ita certandi cupidus, quam propter amorem Quod te imitari aveo. Lucret. LOVE. THE RECONCILIATION. THE REFUSAL. WEDLOCK. In amore hoec omnia insuiit vitia, Suspiciones, inimicitice, inducice, injurice, Bellum, Pax rursura. Ter. I. LOVE. Res est soliciti plena timoris amor. Ovid. The Sun sheds its heams from the skies ; The Woodlands with melody ring ; To greet the new day I arise, And hail the enchantments of Spring. The fields seem with gladness to smile, As o'er their green surface 1 rove ; The wearisome day I beguile, Amidst meditations on Love. I muse on the Maid of my heart, Who wounded my peace when a boy. What pain does her image impart ! What pleasing sensations of joy ! I knew she was modest, and young ; I fancied her loving, and kind, For Harmony dwelt on her tongue, And Wisdom embellished her mind. THE SHEPHERD'S GARLAND. 31 How long have I stay'd on the green, To watch if my charmer would come ; I fear, if the Maid be not seen, Some Rival detains her at home. From my bosom vain scruples depart ! Away apprehensions of fear ! It never shall enter my heart, That Phillis can prove insincere. When Sunbeams enpurple the West, I home to my Cottage repair ; I sink on my pillow to rest, A stranger to doubt and despair. But Hope proves delusive and vain ; How few are the mortals, who know, That bliss is succeeded by pain ; That joy is the prelude to woe. — II. THE REFUSAL. Xahewbv to jx)) (plXTjaal XaXt'&oi' 8e Kal (f>i\ri