m ■'.'/'•'y't iff,' THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES POEMS, LYRIC, MORAL, AND HUMOROUS. BY THOMAS CROSSLEY. " The hour so s)>eiit shall live, Not unapplauded, in the book of Heav'n. .^For dear and precious as the moments are Permitted man, they are not all for deeds ' Of active virtue. Give we none to vice, And Heaven will not strict reparation ask For many a summer's day and winter's eve So spent as best amuses us." HURDIS. L0ND(3N : HURST, CHANCE, AND CO. ST. PAUL'S CHURCH YARD. N. WHITLKY, PRINTER, HALIFAX. h PREFACE. In the Author's opinion, the less said in a preface to trifles such as the following, the better : if they contain any thing worthy of notice they need no apology ; if not, all that can be ..ro-ed in their favor will not save them from a merited fate. It will be obvious to any reader, that the pieces which com- pose this little volume are not the produce of formal and studious application ; they are, for the most part, hasty and juvenile compositions, written to enliven a solitary hour, or the results of jacidental impression. If the reader can while away a leisure hour on these trifles with any degree of amusement, the Author will be amply recompensed i and beyond this neither his ambition nor expectation extends. T. C. Near Halifax, December 2nd, 182ii. 775479 CONTENTS. Page. A Winter's Night 1 To the Evening Star 11 To the Cuckoo 12 Stanzas written after recovery from Sickness 15 The Sailor Boy's Dream 18 Stanzas on Friendship 20 Dobson's Ghost, a Tale 22 The Redbreast 31 Stanzas on a Comet 33 Lines to the Memory of Robert Bloomfield, the Suffolk Poet 37 Lines written in a beautiful valley on the banks of Calder 41 The Wither'd Leaf 43 The Midnight Winds ^ 46 U. CONTENTS. Page The Two Pots, a Fable 47 The Sceptic, a Tale 49 To the Planet Venus 55 The Lady and the Rainbow, a Fable 56 The Schoolboy, the Butterfly, and the Bee, a Fable . . 60 The Captive Linnet G4 Stanzas G6 Lines to an Infant 68 On Beauty 70 The Bee 71 Spring 73 Summer 76 A Ballad 81 The Dreaming Cobler, a Burlesque Story S3 The Mistake .* 92 Lnprouiptu 93 1 he Shipwreck 94 An Enigma 96 An Enigma 99 An Enigma 101 Cupid and Death, an ^sopian Fable 104 The Fountain, a Comparison 106 CONTKNTS. 111. SONNETS. Page. The Midnight Storm Ill The Blighted Lily 112 To the Rising Moon 113 Kirkstall Abbey 114 On Life 115 Disappointed Love i 116 The Infant's Funeral 117 To Maria 118 To a Primrose 119 An Evening Prospect 120 To a Favorite Tree 121 Autumn 122 Winter 123 Morning 124 Evening 1 25 Distress 126 Harvest Home 127 Summer Evening 128 On hearing an iEolian Harp, at Midnight 129 The Comet 130 IV. CONTKNTS. Page. To Midnight 131 A Reflection 132 To the Muse 133 Written at the Grave of Roljin Hood 134 To the Moon , 13G Autumnal Scenes 137 To a Wild Rose 138 ^ WINTER'S NIGHT. " Say, Muse, how pass The frozen hours of Winter, the long eve." HURDIS. -0 LO ! once again the storms of Winter come. And howl tremendous on yon hoary hills ; While every Avarbler of the grove is dumb, — Hush'd are the pleasing murmurs of the rills ; The buzz of insects, and the wild bee's hum. No more with secret joy the bosom fills : And not one flower to cheer the barren plain. Such is, oh Winter, thy despotic reign. A WINTKK S NIGHT. II. Beneath thy blasts pale Flora sickens, and Her blooming garlands wither in thy showers ; Hard were her struggles to maintain her stand, But, ah ! thy freezing influence overpowers ; She quits her hold ; leaving our native land. In other climes she binds her wreath of flowers ; Whilst thou, dark despot, rul'st without control, And bring'st thy horrors from the frigid pole. III. 'Tis night ; but ah, no moon is seen, to cheer The weary traveller thro' the gloomy vale ; No, not one star in all yon vaulted sphere Can thro' the murky atmosphere prevail. But snows, and whirlwinds, are contending there. And with their rage his trembling steps assail : Death may attend an inadvertent tread, — No cottage near — alas, his hopes are fled ! A WINTER S NIGHT. IV. This is a time when the full heart can bless The Providence, who bounteously has given A peaceful home — domestic happiness. The choicest blessings of all-bounteous heaven ; While some are struggling with the fiend — Distress, No roof to shield them when the snows are driven. In drifted barriers by the furious blast, Which, howling, sweeps across the barren waste. V. See how the blazing hearth its warmth extends ! The crackling faggot gleams in every eye. And to each heart its cheering inliuence lends. And all is jollity, and all is joy ! While I, surrounded by my dearest friends, List to the fearful storm which hurries by : Shaking the tottering casement in its frame. And wafting to and fro the bright'ning flame. B 2 A WINTER S NIGHT. VI. Then since tumultuous Boreas has unfurl'd His blustering pinions o'er our little isle. The News is read — how fares the southern world, In trade and commerce — peace and war, — meanwhile The BKER goes round, the fragrant smoke upcurl'd Involves each face, yet each face wears a smile Of sweet content, and many a joke is pass'd. And the loud laugh is chorus to the wintry blast I VII. Full many a tale is told, of local birth, And many a poet's theme becomes our own ; — Dear luckless wights ! when genius, wit, and worth. Can barely shield you from the critic's frown. And Poverty has claim'd you from your birth ; — A future age your urns shall nobly crown With the sweet Apollonian wreath, and you Shall brighter shine as yearn their course renew. A WINTER S NIGHT. VIII. But to my song, — ' ii Winter's Night ' I call't. And all the charms that season can inspire ; When flowery Nature's magic scenes revolt. And friends meet friends around an evening fire ; When winds and snows our cottage fronts assault, How sweet to listen to the poet's lyre ! Or, to a friend's satiric recitations From Bickerstaff's, or Knox's lucubrations. — IX. Instructive recreations Ave can find. Besides the poets, and the themes of Knox ; — * Debating on the swiftness of the wind. Or where, m Autumn, swallows go in flocks ! Then, BufFon search, to clear each dubious mind, — Or give each other strong electric shocks ! And thus, with many a sport and converse gay. We pass the tardy Avintrv nights away. * Knox's Winter Evenings. 6 A winter's night. X. Sometimes in geographic lore we choose To try our skill, and stretch the ample map ; Or turn the globe, to show where brave Perouse Found out an entrance in the polar gap ! * Or turn'd the south-sea islanders' canoes Keel up, — because they gladly would entrap The splendid bark which anchor'd on their coast. And of the seamen make a dainty koast ! XI. Methinks I hear the war-song, and the whoop Of these marauders of that distant land ; — The hideous bowlings of the motley group. The weighty missile slung with skilful hand. And, whistling round the tall majestic sloop ; — IMeantime, the guns are loaded at command: — Which strike each savage breast with fear and wonder Of those who deal in light'ning, lire and thunder ! * I have seen it remarked, (as Nature has made nothing in vain) that the earth on which we live is a sort of shell, and that the concavity in the interior, is inhabited ; the entrances to this subterranean abode being at the Poles ! Hence, it has been asserted, that the unfortunate, (or rather fortunate) cir- A WINTKR S NIGHT. XII. Now look without, the storm is almost past ; The heap'd-up snow involves the traveller's road ; The skies are now no longer overcast. Save by thin- fleecy clouds, which faintly shroud Pale Cynthia's lovely face — and scudding fast — And thus, by fits, she pours her light abroad. While round her orb the twinkling stars are seen. Thro' the deep blue, to pour their rays between. XIII. Anon, Ave point the optic glass, to where Thro' quick traversing clouds, the errant moon Peeps out, and shows her face so lovely clear — So clear, it might be now the month of June ; — Then we debate about her atmosphere ; And how, sometimes, she darkeneth the Sun : And how thro' Terra's gloomy shade she glides ; Clears the dank air — and heaves the swelling tides. cumnavigator, La Perouse, having discovered this long-sought-after mystery, may now be living in the very bowels of the earth ! It has, however, lately been discovered, that the vessel in which Perouse sailed, was wrecked near the South Cape of New Zealand ; and in all proba- bility, he, and nil the crew perished. A WlNTEll S NIGHT. XIV. Next on the planetS;, imd the stars so bright. We argue ; — these have lustre of their own ; While planets from the Sun receive their light — It has by deep astronomers been shown, — And, if what Herschel has advanc'd, is right, They on their axes turn — the time unknown ; He also has advanc'd — (it may be true,) That he has seen one single star, form two ! * XV. The Comets, next, engross our deep attention. And how they wander into endless space ; — It would be ludicrous indeed, to mention The different sentiments there are of these, And how prolific some are at — invention, — I'll state a few opinions if you please ; For Newton, Hutton, Whiston, Herschel, Halley, Have given descriptions which by no means tally! * Sec llcrbchcl on the double stars. A WINTERS NIGHT. XVI. Some have advanc'd that they are globes of fire, To light up worlds, (the beacon must be grand !) While some have said that they are omens dire Of war and famine on our native land ; Some, they are opaque bodies — some go higher. Asserting they are globes of water — and After all that, which has been said and sung, Perhaps these deep philosophers are wrong ! * XVII. 'Tis thus we pass the wintry nights away. In social converse, and in harmless glee ; Free from the vices of the great and gay, — From apathy, and irreligion free. — Ah, may they never stain the poet's lay, — For every season has its charms for me ; I sigh not for bright Summer's lengthen'd show. Nor do I wish for Winter's exit now. 10 A U'lNTKIl's NIGHT. XVIII. For, could we have one everlasting Spring, Soon would its beauties on our senses pall ; Could one eternal Summer round us fling Its store of beauties, and encircle all ; — Should Autumn cease not each rich offering. Yet should we wish for some short interval To taste the joys of Spring, or Summer's charms, Brown Autumn's treasures, or bleak Winter's storms. XIX. Then, tho' the wintry snows are falling fost. And woods, and verdant fields can charm no more ;- Tho' all their beauties wither at the blast — The chilling blast from Norway's icy shore, Tho' feather'd warblers now are dumb — yet hast Thou charms for me, I hail the woodland roar : And when these dreary scenes are past, 'twill bring A double zest for sv/eet returning Spring. ( 11 ) TO THE EVENING STAR. Fair star of Heaven ! when day declines Far, far below the western wave. Thy dewy eye then brighter shines, And breaks the misty shades of eve. So when the Christian's race is o'er. That Star of Hope which did illume His weary path, then shines the more. And points to realms beyond the tomb ! ( 12 ) TO THE CUCKOO. Bird of the green and lonely vale. Thou greet'st once more our sea-girt isle : Spring wafts along the balmy gale. And Nature wears a placid smile — Thou seek'st each grove, with flickering wing, And with thy shout the woodlands ring. On April's blue-ey'd morn, I heard Vv^ith rapturous joy, thy cheering voice ; I hail'd the strange, mysterious bird. Which bids the Avoods and groves rejoice ; — Clear and monotonous, her tale She sung v/ithin my native vale. TO THE CUCKOO. 1 3 Lone songstress, how cam'st thou to know That Spring had deck'd our isle with flowers ? How knew'st thou, that each woodland bough Receiv'd the gentle vernal showers ; And that each green, expanding bud, 3Iild open'd in the lonely wood ? Eccentric bird ! why is thy stay Within our native isle so short ? — Long ere autumnal breezes play. Dost thqj^ to some warm clime resort ? Or sleep'st the hollow woods among. Till flowery Spring demands thy song ? Thou shun'st each keen observing eye. When thou desert'st our native isle ; — Or who has seen thee dormant lie When snows o'erspread the dreary soil ? Be as it may, thy song v/ill cheer The short-liv'd Spring, each rolling year. 14. TO THK CUCKOO. Thy exit, yet, is only known To Him ^vho bids the seasons roll ; Thy ways are plain to Him alone. Who rules the world from pole to pole ;- Then sing, sweet bird, thy transient lay. And steal, unseen, unheard, away- ( l-'^ ) STANZAS WRITTEN AFTER RECOVERY FROM SICKNESS. Once more within the vernal mead, While light-wing'd zephyrs fan the flowers, A convalescent invalid Devotes his hours. Oh^ now 'tis doubly sweet to rove Beneath the cloudless atmosphere ; To mark the skylark far above — S^veet warbling there*. 1() STANZAS WRITTEN AKTRK Tlie blackbird's song — the wild-bee's hum The rude monotony renews. While gathering from the golden broom The fragrant dews. Sweet is the balmy breeze of Spring, As softly «'er my cheek it plays ; Hope's sweetly renovating wing My prospects raise. How long it seems since I have had Such joys, devoid of sickness' blast ! — Since Nature Avas so lovely clad What days have past ! Yes, days of pain, since last I trod The silken grass — the vi'lets blue ; And dashed from the verdant sod The spangled dew. RECOVERY PROM SICKNESS. 17 The heath-clad waste, how dear to me ! The haz'ly glens, the woodlands green, — When Sickness leaves her victim free T' enjoy the scene. O Health ! thou richest boon of Heaven, Again I feel thy gladdening power ; In vain were Nature's beauties given If Sickness lower. Thus, while I quaff the healthful gale. Thus, ^i^iile I range the verdant wood ; Oh may they lead my thoughts to dwell On Nature's God ! ( I « ) THE SAILOR BOY'S DREAM. 'TwAS midnight. I laid myself down to repose. For the tempest was hush'd, and the storm was gone by; And the moon from the far eastern billow arose, And threw her pale light on our pennant on high. I slept. But a vision arose to my view, 'Twas not of the dangers I lately had seen ; Ah no ! 'twas of pleasures my infancy knew. When I rambled so gay on the flower-cover'd green. Where oft in my childhood I bounded along On the heath-mantled wild, or the wood-cover'd plain ; And listen'd, alive to the nightingale's song, — In fancy I sipp'd these pure pleasures again! THE SAILOR BOY's DREAM. 19 How dear was our cottage — yet dearer to me Were my brothers, my sisters, my comrades-how dear! And gladly they hail'd my return from the sea. While my parents shed over me many a fond tear. I woke from their fond demonstrations of love. But what could I hear but the billows' loud roar ? — The boatswain's shrill whistle was heard from above. And I sprang from my bed to my duty once more 1 ■c 2 ( 20 ) STANZAS ON FRIENDSHIP. A FRIEND is often but a name, A title often marr'd ; Perhaps some mercenary view May make him feign a friendship true, And plead a firm regard. Where is the friend who still is true When summer days have flown ; When chill adversity appears. And she her ruthless crest uprears, And all your hopes bows down. STANZAS ON FUIENDSHIP. 21 Where is the man who then will come And shake thee by the hand. Still show his firm regard for thee, — 'Tis he deserves, and only he To bear the name of — friknd. But should he then his aid withhold, And all his love be wean'd ; From that dear name strike out the R, And let him ever after bear The cursed name of — fiend ! ( 22 ) DOBSON'S GHOST. (founded on fact.) 'TwAs Avhen November's rushing floods Roar in the naked, leafless woods, When nights are long, and whirlwinds blow. Driving rude showers of rain and snow. — 'Twas at this dreary season, when O'er many a dark and lonely glen. Old Dobson, with a beating heart. Was trudging from a neighbouring mart. dobson's ghost. 23 A basket, with a well-lin'd store, On his left arm he trembling bore. He swung a sapling at his right. And dar'd each demon to the fio;ht ! a' The sun had long withdrawn his ray, No cheering moon illum'd his way ; No star was seen, but o'er the heaven, The clouds, with furious sweep were driven. He gain'd the dark wood's solemn gloom, And yet two tedious miles from home ; Down craggy steeps, and caverns drear. The torrent rush'd in wild career. The trees, with wither'd foliage hung. Met by the winds, responsive rung ; — The very rocks were bellowing round him. And with their dismal howls confound him, Such was the scene. No human voice Bid Dobson's beating heart rejoice. With hurried steps he trudg'd along The rustling leaves and boughs among, 24 douson's GHOST. Deep musing on the tales of old. Which oft by his fireside were told, Of fiends, and hags, which had pursued Benighted travellers thro' this wood ; And neighbouring peasants tell with fear They hold their nightly revels here. Poor Dobson many a short prayer utter'd. Then forth this self-reproach he mutter'd. " Why did I at the market stay When twilight to the dark gave way .'* Did not I know no moon this night Woidd guide my wandering steps aright ? Did not I see the heavens frown. Long, long before the sun went down ; Did not I hear the whirlwinds blow. And see the driving showers of snow .'' — Why did I chat with yon old fool (The greatest imp of ridicule !) And grin, and laugh at all his tricks. And hear his train of Politics ! — DOBSON S GHOST. iia Guide me, ye powers, thro' this dread night. And guard me from each hellish sprite ! " Thus, as he up the hill was rising. Deep musing, and soliloquising. He heard a rustling sound behind. Come floating on the buoyant wind ; He listen'd for the same once more — He heard it plainer than before ! Quicker he walk'd — the sound fell quicker. Old Dobson's steps grew swift and thicker! At length, his hat began to grow Too small to fit his swelling brow, And from its owner's bristly head, The broad-brim'd, ancient covering fled ! The FIEND now rais'd a dismal nowl, Which shook poor Dobson's inmost soul ! His loaded basket down he threw. And thro' the lonely wood he flew ; Where screaming owlets, loud and shrill, Render'd his fright more frightful still. 26 uobson's ghost. The fiend still follow'd close behind. Its footsteps rustling on the wind ; Poor Dobson's feet, flew, wing'd with fear, To leave the demon in the rear : 'Twas all in A^ain ! — for soon he found The furious foe was ganxing ground. Startled at the unusual rush. Thro' every copse, and fen, and bush, — A solitary ass had stray'd Within the wood, and loudly bray'd ! Our hero rais'd a dismal hue. And swift as lightning forward flew. At length he gain'd the homeward stile — From home he Avas but half a mile ; Five minutes more — and if not taken, O Dobson, thou may'st save thy bacon ! Remember all their charms and tortures, — Perhaps thou may'st be cut in quarters ! Ah never, never stay in town Again, till the bright sun goes down. uobsOn s ghost. The cause of all our hero's pain, My simple story shall explain ; A neighbour to this hapless wight, O'ertaken in the stormy night. And not o'erfond of solitude, Wish'd for a comrade thro' the wood : To chat along the dreary road. Till each might gain his own abode : When to his joy, he heard a sound Before him, on the woody ground. And quicken'd up his steps to see "J Whoe'er the wight should chance to be, — V And gain his welcome company. j The figure, now, to his surprise. Evaded both his ears and eyes ; Then to o'ertake it forward ran, — When suddenly the chase began ! Thro' brake and briar, the game he follow'd, — In vain — a friend ! — a friend ! he hallow'd ; O'er walls, and drifted snows he pass'd. And gain'd his humble cot at last. 28 dobson's ghost. His neighbour now had reach'd the place Where lay the object of his chase ; And thro' the tatter'd curtain, lo ! Poor Dobson's deathlike form he saw ; He lay, and seem'd depriv'd of life — ]Meantime, his kind officious wife In fearful terror o'er him stood. And, trembling, clear'd the briny flood. Which flow'd, (poor fellow) with his chase. In torrents down his pallid face. Now venturing in with solemn air. He did such deep concern declare. That thus, by the decree of Fate, He found his friend in such a state. And as, so late, he'd seen him well. He begg'd he would his sufferings tell. Now Dobson rais'd his sickly head. And thus in broken accents said. " Ah, neighbour ! I am very bad, — Such, such a near escape I've had ; — dobson's ghost. 29 While passing thro' yon homeward wood. By hell-hounds I was close pursued ; Had not I sav'd myself by flight I'd not convers'd with you to-night !" He told how they had yell'd — and how They'd struck him many a furious blow ; Before him, now, like fire they seem'd. And in his very eyeballs gleam'd ! — " My very hair is burnt and sing'd — And every limb has been unhing'd ! But I am thankful, now 'tis o'er. And I will pass that wood no more, — No, not for all the land, that I With India's boasted wealth could buy !" His friend no longer could contain — Nor from a fit of mirth refrain ; Then told his case with heartfelt glee. And clear'd the hidden mystery ! While, in disgrace, th' half-murder'd man. In faltering accents thus began. so dobson's ghost. " Well, well, the best may be deceiv'd — In fact, I feel both pleas'd and griev'd ; And as your statement may be true, I earnestly desire of you, (For neighbours oft are apt to rail) Not to divulge the curious tale ; And I will ne'er, in wood or lane. Be frighten'd with such ghosts again !" The secret, lo ! he could not hold, But all his tittering neighbours told ; And, from that day, his peace he lost, For he is nam'd — " Oi-» Dobson's Ghost !" ( -i ) THE REDBREAST. O COME, my little winter friend, — Now keenly blows the northern gale ; The snows in whirling wreaths descend. And top each hiU and winding vale. Thou know'st full well the lattic'd door. Where wild the wreathing woodbines twine ; — Last Spring, when pale-streak'd flowers they bore. Their green sequester'd haunts were thine. There, undisturb'd, I've often seen Thee bear the fibrous root along ; Or, watch'd thee skim the vernal green. Or, trembling, feed thy helpless young. 32 THE REDBREAST. I've often heard thee pipe aloud, Ere the bright sun had grac'd the east ; And when he'd gain'd the western cloud Thy sweet-ton'd vigils had not ceas'd. And shall I, then, deny the boon Which now thou seem'st to ask from me ; — For thy sAveet lays in flowery June, — For all thy summer minstrelsy ? This sheltering roof shall be thy home TiU vernal scenes again appear ; — No keen-ey'd school-boy here can come, — No murdering tube awaits thee here. And, when sweet Spring has spread her flowers On rising hill, and verdant plain ; Then thou may'st leave my humble bowers. And seek thy favourite groves again. ( 33 ) STANZAS ON A COMET. " Alas ! how little can be known. Her sacred veil where Nature draws ; J^'ha.ffied science humbly own. Her mysteries understood alone, By Him who gives her laws." Mrs. Charlottf. Smith. Late o'er the silent veil of night, (Far in the realms of space unknown,) A splendid Comet took its flight. And glaring with mysterious light, Illum'd the heavenly zone. D 34 STAN2AS ON A COMET. Some, trembling, view'd him from afar. And in his fiery visage saw Death, famine, pestilence, and war. Shook from this dire malignant star. On mortals here below. Some haU'd his light \\dthout a fear. With level'd tube, and curious eye. They raptur'd view'd his flaming rear. And measur'd out his wide career. Along the boundless sky. Anon, he revels in the beams Of Sol's all radiant light, and then He swift as fancy's fleeting dreams. Beyond the solar boundary gleams. Far, far from human ken. STANZAS ON A COMET. 35 There dark chaotic scenes among. He still keeps on his destin'd way. Thro' dreary -wilds he winds along For ages^ ere with impulse strong He seeks the solar ray. But who can tell the deep design Of Him, who launch'd the stranger forth : Say, does he bring us peace benign. Or is't a mark of wrath Divine Upon this wicked earth ? Or does his flaming rear, unfurl'd. Diffuse its genial matter round. And thus revive each drooping world, (By which th' eccentric orb is hurl'd,) In frigid regions crown'd ? I) 2 36 STANZAS ON A COMET. Or does he friendly meet the sight Of worlds beyond, where Herschel gleams, Thus kindling up their gloomy night. Infusing heat, and life, and light, Sipp'd from the solar beams ? " Alas ! how little can be known, Her sacred veil where Nature draws ; Let baffled science humbly own. Her mysteries understood alone. By Him who gives her laws." ( 37 ) LINES MEMORY OF ROBERT BLOOMFIELD, srfjc Suffolk ^3cet. " Yet once again, dear 'parted shade. Meek Nature's child, again adieu !" COLLINS. Fain would the Muse the trembling lyre resume. And o'er the rural minstrel's lowly tomb. Would sweetly strike each melancholy string, — To thee, dear Giles, the last sad tribute bring : Tell how thou sweetly swept the woodland lyre. And from it drew such pure ecstatic fire ; — Tell what philanthropy possest thy mind. What tender love thou hudst for all mankind ; 38 LINES TO THE MEMORY OF How thou rejoic'd the widow's heart, and how Thou sooth'd the helpless orphan's anguish'd brow ; — A thousand virtues might the IMuse unfold, A thousand virtues would remain untold ! Thy ample pages show — from vice refin'd, A heart unsullied, and a spotless mind. Thou wast the pride of all our rustic swains, Who, far from cities, tread the verdant plains ; They read, they study, wonder and admire. Thy rural musings set their souls on fire. Oft, while the ploughshare cleaves the stubborn soil. Thy simple tales will cheer their useful toil ; And when the " Horkey's" cup performs its round. And merry groups bestrew the moon-lit ground. The sports and pastimes, which thy JMuse hath shown, And thy sweet themes will oft become their own. Nor they alone, thy rural musings prize. Thy page still charms the learned and the wise. ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. 39 They still bestow the meed of praise, and thus Still own thee England's sweet Theocritus ! Who can peruse without unsullied joy Thy much-fam'd Pastoral, " The Farmer's Boy ?" Pictur'd by thee, the landscape never cloys. But yields us unsophisticated joys ; — Thy work will rank with Thomson's noble page. Transmitted down to the remotest age ! Th* intrinsic merit of thy " Rural Tales," The bosom softens, and the heart regales ; In rustic cots, devoid of taste and art. Love hast thou pictur'd with a feeling heart. " Wild Flowers," which thou hast cuU'd, are truly sweet. With richest hues, and balmy scents replete ; Yes, they are flowers whose blossoms ne'er will fade, Tho' wintry winds may blow, and storms invade ! 40 LINES, &C. With thee, dear bard, e'en now in fancy's eye. We trace the wild meanderings of the Wye ! Leave, for a time, the dear delights of home. O'er Radnor's hills, and Cambrian wilds to roam. The Muses smile with an auspicious ray Upon thy village bards of sweet " May Day." Where "good Sir Ambrose" each poetic soul Cheer'd 'neath " the towering shades of Oakley Hall !" But now, dear bard, thy short career is o'er. Thy tuneful voice will charm our hearts no more ; What thou hast left behind, will charm the soul. Long as succeeding generations roll ; Ye Muses, hang Avith cypress wreaths your bowers, Weep o'er his urn, and strew his grave with flowers ! Aufjust, 1823. ( 4.1 ) LINES WRITTEN IN A BEAUTIPUI. VALLEY ON THE BANKS OF CALDER. Beauteous are these rising hills. And the gently murmuring rills. Flowing thro' the meads so green, ' Oh, how charming is the scene ! Let me have a cot beside Calder's gently-flowing tide ; Where, along its sinuous way. Oft at evening would I stray. While the trembling moon-beams pale Quiver'd o'er each hill and dale ; This sweet season I would choose. And I'd court the pensive muse ; 42 LINES WRITTEN IN A BEAUTIFUL, VALLEY. But when winter's surly blast O'er each hill and dale is cast. To my cot I'd then retire. By the cheering evening fire. There with Milton I'd converse. Or sweet Thomson's muse rehearse ; Or the tedious hours employ On gentle Bloomfield's "Farmer's Boy." But if nobler themes invite. When come on the shades of night. Then with Herschel I can stray O'er the ample milky- way ; View each planet in its sphere. Rolling thro' the tardy year. Thus amusement I shall find ; These will please my pensive mind ; These will point the certain road To the throne of nature's God. ( 43 ) THE WITHER'D LEAF. Autumn had dropt the curtain, when I wan'&er'd thro' a lonely glen ; The fitful breeze which sprung, Moan'd thro' the hoary trees, with ^vither'd foliage hung. The mourning woods, on either side. Reluctant dropt their leafy pride ; Pensive and sad, I view'd the scene. And mus'd on what they late had been ; When with a heart so gay, I 'neath their waving honours took my devious way. 'W THE VVITHER'd LEAF. To where the leaves in heaps were strown, Another, ('twas the last,) fell down ; It was the last that tree could boast — Shrivell'd by Time, and tempest-tost. It bade its parent-branch adieu — Close to my vagrant feet it flew ; To snatch the prize, I bent. And as I mus'd upon't, thus gave my feelings vent. What is the life of feeble Man ? A leaf ! which in the spring appears So beauteous and so promising, Tho' oft sufl^us'd in tears. And next he flaunts in summer pride. And braves the elemental strife ; And yet, the storm may soon divide The brittle thread of life. But should it not, th' autumnal stage Will furrow o'er his cheek with age. And winter's blasts arise ; Tlien, like this quivering leaf, he shivers— falls—and dies ! THE wither'd leaf. 45 Yet thou, frail leaf, must heedless rot, Unkno^vn, unpitied, and forgot ; While Man shall, renovated, bloom. And burst the barriers of the tomb ! — How "tvide the contrast here ! But 'twixt thy life and his — how like in their career ! ( 4(i ) THE MIDNIGHT WINDS. In Somnus' mantle wrapt, the world is lost. And, lo ! a dark and moonless niglit, now spreads Its sable pinions o'er the vast expanse Of earth and sky. And hark ! the yelling Spirit of the storm Shrieks on yon hills — now thro' the hoUow vale Leads the fell throng, which rocks the stately oak- The Abbey's ruin'd walls. The winds are hush'd, — or in ^Eolian strains. Soft and melodious breathe ; — then piping loud. Rush do^\^n the winding vales, or sweep the heath. By grizzly night-hags haunted ! This is a time the poet dearly loves ; For while he lists to the " careering Avinds," His wild-wing'd fancy on their pinions floats, And soars to heaven ! ( -^7 ) THE TWO POTS. A FABLE. An earthen pot, and one of brass, (So ;Esop tells us in a moral fable,) Upon a river's brink lay side by side ; When, by the sudden swelling of the tide. They both were carried down the stream — alas ! And to resist its fury quite unable. Dash'd to and fro, the earthen pot exprest Some fear that it could not withstand the shock ; — Oh, cries the other, you may rest Content, I'll keep you from each dangerous rock. Rely on me — come closer ! — why my friend. You seem to shun me when I service lend ! 48 THE TWO POTS. 'Tis you I dread, our earthen hero cries, Therefore to take your sage advice I'll not agree. — I pray that you'll with-hold your kind assistance ; For should you dash on me, or me on you, Inevitable ruin must ensue To me, — Therefore I beg you'll keep a proper distance. ( -H) ) THE SCEPTIC. A TALE. " Shall frail man Heaven's dread decree gainsay." BEATTIE. To shai* the morning's early beams, Eugenio trac'd the limpid streams ; Now pac'd along the woodland glade. And now emerging from the shade. Rambled along the upland farm, Admiring Nature's every charm. The landscape's wide extended scene. With rivers, rocks, and woods between ; The waving corn-fields, far and near. The rural sounds which met his ear, — K 50 THK SCEPTIC. Nay, where he turn'd his ravish'd sight, It fill'd his bosom with delight. Full oft he stopt to gaze around. And mus'd in ecstacy profound ; And gave, while rapture fill'd his soul. The praise to Him who plann'd the whole. At length he met a certain wight. Whose soul was dull — as his was bright — Nay, hear each varied speech, and you Will own what I've advanc'd is true. " 'Tis a delightful morning, this," Eugenio said. — Why, yes sir, yes. Was the ambiguous reply ; Tho', (he continued) bye and bye I think, sir, it will turn to rain. Which will, you know, quite spoil the grain. E'en now, the fickle mercury's range Prognosticates a speedy change. Cut down your corn — it blights your aim, Why let it stand — it spoils, the same ; THE SCEPTIC. 51 My corn has ripe for three weeks been, I dare not put a sickle in ; For watch your glass, or watch your vane. You're certain to be caught in rain ; 'Twould be much better if we could Have rain, or not, just as Ave would ! This, tho' with emphasis exprest. At first, Eugenio thought a jest ; But when he found the man sincere. He thus assail'd th' assertor's ear. Well, on this principle, we'll say. When man commands — the skies obey ; Are clear, or frown, or showers shall fall. Obedient to his earnest call ; Your neighbour might a clear day want, "While you for showers of rain might pant ; While some might call for snow and frost, — Thus all would have their prospects crost. — All would be blighted expectation, — All would be trouble and vexation. K 2 52 THE SCEPTIC. And Providence's omniscient plan Is for the good of thankless man : And He who form'd this mighty frame. Can surely over-rule the same ! Then why should we (poor silly elves) Desire to rule the skies ourselves ? SCEPTIC. In spite of all you say, I still Maintain the self-same principle ; Forsooth, I doubt what you advance — EUGENIO. What ! doubt a ruling Providence ? SCEPTIC. I'm not asham'd to own't — I do. Nor can you prove my creed untrue. THE SCEPTIC. 53 KUGENIO. You know, my friend, in Nature's laws. For an effect there is a cause : The Cause of Causes then must be A kind, eternal Deity ! . SCEPTIC. Sir, I declare it, frank and free. No man can ever bias me ; Nor will I ever condescend To own what I can't comprehend. EUGENIO. Then mark, within the meads helow, The harmless sheep — the useful cow ; I merely wish you to declare Why one grows wool — the other hair ? — 54 THE SCEPTIC. Your firm opinion, now defend it, You'll ofvn, but can you comprehend it ? The sceptic now, without delay, Turn'd on his heel and sneak'd away ! ( r.^ ) TO THE PLANET VENUS. 'Tis evening, — Venus sheds her softest beams Upon the earth, — and leads the heavens along ; Superior to the rest she seems. Of all the twinkling points and orbs that throng The ethereal vault. — Oh ! listen to my song ; Tell me, oh tell me, what is thy design ? Wert thou form'd merely on this world to shine ? Or art thou peopled like this globe of ours. Thy mountains green, thy vallies deck'd with flowers ? Or the abode of the departed blest. Where kindred friends and weary pilgrims rest ? These, these are wonders, mysteries, now conceal'd. And in this world to man must never be reveal'd ! ( ■'<) ) THE LADY AND THE RAINBOW. A FABLE. Spring had expanded every flower Beneath her mild enlivening shower. Softly the vernal zephyrs play'd Along the meads and woodland glade. The feather'd warblers carol'd wild. In vesture gay the garden smil'd. When forth a lady hied to share The rural scenes — the vernal air ; A virtuoso at the shrine. Where Flora's tinted garlands shine. She view'd her favorite rose expand Beneath Spring's irrigating hand ; THE LADY AND THE RAINBOW. 57 The pale-ey'd daisy — vi'lets blue, The pendent lilac's modest hue, The tulip streak'd with various shade, Its gaudy petals there display 'd. Delighted with their various hues. Each blossom'd plant she raptur'd views. But now the hovering clouds portend, A heavy shower will soon descend ; The nymph within her favorite boAver, Sought shelter from the transient shower. There, ap she sat, a splendid bow. In grandeur from th' horizon's brow, Spann'd the dark hills, and grac'd the skies. Richly adorn'd with matchless dyes. Hail, sacred bow of promise, she Exclaim'd in purest ecstacy ; How much, thou stately arch ! I love To see thee glittering from above. The lovely colours which adorn Thy graceful form, but newly born. 58 THE LADY AND THE RAINBOAV. And all the changeful hues in which Thou'rt clad, no human art can reach. Proud crescent ! stiU how short thy stay, How soon thy beauty fades away ; Like whispers from th' ^Eolian lyre. How soon thy magic hues expire ! E'en now thy sickening dyes declare. Thou soon wilt vanish into air ! Ah, yes, and like thy fleeting form Beneath the ruthless, wintry storm. These beauteous flowers will droop and die. Nor bloom beneath December's sky : Each grove will then denuded be. In wild chaotic scenery ! I've look'd for Spring with anxious pain. But wintry storms will howl again. A voice was heard, soft, sweet, and low ; " Yes, lady fair, 'tis even so, As that aerial vision flies, THE LAUy AND THE RAINBOW. 59 Each sublunary object dies ; 'Tis true, thy plants and flowers will fade. When winter's bellowing storms invade ; Yet know'st thou not, that frail as they Time steals the lovely rose aAvay From beauty's cheek ? then, lady, see How closely they resemble thee. And like that evanescent bow. Is beauty's mild enchanting glow ; Like that, it vanishes away, Like that, it hastens to decay. But still, as glittering in the showers. It points to more congenial hours. Emblem of Hope ! then let it cheer And soothe thy mind thro' life's career ; Nor let a murmuring thought invade. That earthly scenes so quickly fade. But let it point to realms divine. Where lasting pleasures ever shine." ( <>0 ) THE SCHOOL-BOY, THE BUTTERFLY, AND THE BEE. A FABLE. 'TwAs in the cheering month of May, — Warm'd by the fervid solar ray, A butterfly, with gilded wing. Hied forth to taste the sweets of Spring. O'er purple heaths she took her way, O'er meads where Flora held her sway ; Now sipp'd the daisy's latent dews. Now thro' the grove her way pursues ; With flickering ■vving, from flower to flower, She revel'd in the sunnv hour. SCHOOLBOY, BUTTERFLY, AND BKK. () I An idle school-boy, who had seen This gay coquette — this painted queen. To mischief prone — in manners rude, From mead to mead the toy pursued ; Tyro oft view'd her wings out-spread — Oft he advanc'd with cautious tread. Or forward sprung — 'twas all in vain. She rose into the air again ! At length she spied a rose-bush gay. Which wildly bloom'd beside the way. Whose tempting flow'rets seem'd to cast A most delectable repast ; And so, within an honied cup. Behold the gaudy insect drop ! With cautious steps the youth drew nigh, — Desir'd success beam'd in his eye ; — Then rush'd precipitate to stay With eager handy the worthless prey, Instead of that, he instant found A most excruciating wound ; ()^ SCHOOLBOY, BUTTERFLY, AND BKK. For she, beneath her golden wing. Conceal' (1 the rose's latent sting. Thus Tyro, of his vain pursuit. Full soon had reap'd the bitter fruit. A Bee, that chanc'd to pass that way, Observ'd the bleeding victim lay. To whom he told in plaintive strain, His disappointment, grief, and pain. " Would you," replied th' industrious Bee, " Just take a friendly hint from me. It might, in after life, prevent A more afflictive punishment. That vain coquette, which led you on Thro' flowery scenes which now are gone. Is just an emblematic view Of Pleasure's vain deluded crew ; She leads her clan thro' fragrant bowers. And promises unclouded hours ; They revel, with her sweet entice. Thro' all the motlev scenes of vice. SCHOOLBOY, BUTTKRFLY, AND BEE. 63 Then Ruin, with extended arms, Tho' clad in fascinating charms. Smiling, invites to her embrace. The poor infatuated race. They grasp the tempting joys, but find The keenly pointed thorns behind ; 'Tis then the goddess. Pleasure, flies. And the deluded victim dies." " Boy ! — let this morning's vain career, Thro' life's rude pilgrimage appear. To light thy vs^ay to manhood's prime. And smoothly pass the stream of time. When Pleasure spreads her visions gay. To tempt thy youthful heart astray. And from fair virtue's path to turn, — Then the delusive phantom spurn ! So thou shalt never feel the smart Of Pleasure's deep envenom'd dart ; And ere thou'st past life's journey thro', Thou'lt find my maxims to be true." ( 64 ) THE CAPTIVE LINNET. For me no more the Spring shall crown Each towering tree, each hill and dale ; But pensively, I here, alone Must languish in this wiry cell. ]\Iust I, to please a tyrant's ear — (A seeming friend, — a deadly foe !) Chaunt forth my mournful ditties here, And freedom's sweets at once forego ? O, let me range the flowery field. Or yonder green umbrageous grove ; There shall my voice sweet music yield. Again I'll pour my notes of love. THE CAPTIVE LINNET. 6.5 Ye took me from my native wood. Vain were my feeble fluttering then ; — In vain our young may chirp for food, — My mate I ne'er shall see again. Tho' dainty food ye give to me, — Drink, purer than the mountain dews ; Ah ! what are these, when liberty To me, poor captive, ye refuse ? In vain the hawthorn blooms anew ; And from this wiry dome I see The' woods, and groves their sweets renew. But ah, they bloom no more for me ! To fancy's ear, the captive bird To touch the tyrant's bosom tried ; — Then dim his haz'ly eye appear'd ; — He stretch'd his feeble wings — and died ! ( 6G ) STANZAS. " Who can sec the current run, And snatch no feast of mental food ?" BLOOMFIELD. The morn was bright, the dews were clear 'd. And Sol shed down his burning ray ; Where many a rustic swain appear'd. To toss about the fragrant hay- Still up the sapphire skies so blue. He rode in full meridian blaze ; And seem'd to say — " your toil pursue. And look not yet for cloudy days." STANZAS. 67 But soon dark clouds began to lower. Full soon the rumbling thunders came; The torrents now began to pour ; — And fierce the forked lightnino-s flame ! - t* The sun broke forth, and shone serene. The clouds dispers'd, — and all was still ;- Sure, such an evening ne'er was seen As when he set behind the hill ! How like th' unstable life of Man, The changeful scene to me appears ; He follows Pleasure's glittering clan. But ends the vain pursuit in tears ! Thunders may roll, and tempests lower. But keep thy soul from worldly strife ; Then shalt thou brave the stormy hour, And bright Avill be the eve of life. V 2 ( <>^ ) LINES TO AN INFANT. Fairest — loveliest little child ! With thy aspect sweet and mild, Thy mother's features I can trace In thy little chubby face. Who can view without delight Such a lovely, charming sight : See her little forehead rise ! See her blue and sparkling eyes ! Mark her little ruby lip, (From which nectar you may sip,) Just observe her aspect meek. And the dimple on her cheek, — LINES TO AN INFANT. 69 Far as mortal eyes can see. Angels must resemble thee ! May I live to see thee rise Like the Spring's untainted dyes ; Virtuous, dutiful, and pure. From the snares of vice secure. With every other female charm Which the human breast can warm. May'st thou possess the kindred worth Of her, (sweet babe,) who gave thee birth, JNIay'st thou possess her generous heart. Nor from foir Virtue's path depart. So shalt thou brave life's rugged ways. And smooth will pass thy tranquil days ; And, when the scenes of life shall end, E'en Virtue's self will humbly bend With weeping eyes o'er thy cold bier. And shed her tenderest tear-drops there ! ( 70 ) ON BEAUTY. On IMay's sweet morn I've often view'd The misty vapors floating wide ; But, wlien the Sun his broad orb show'd. Away these mists would quickly glide. At morn I've seen, in all their pride. The short-liv'd flowers of sultry June ; At eve their blooming petals died, They droop' d — they wither'd — ah, how soon ! E'en such is Beauty, 'twill decay. Like flowers in June, or mists in May ! ( 71 ) THE BEE. Pretty insect of the Spring, Busy all the shining day ; Thou art ever on the wing — Every floweret is thy prey. When bright April's falling showers Clothe the fields in yellow flowers. Thou improv'st the dewy hours — O'er each mead thou wing'st thy way. Pretty insect of the Spring, Heedless of the sultry heat. If thou can'st but homeAvard bring Nectar to thy snug retreat : Ranging by the silvery flood. Or the margin of the wood, ' Or the heath's sweet solitude, — By the shepherd's grassy seat. 72 THK J3EE. Pretty insect of the Spring, Thou a lesson giv'st to IMan,- Time is ever on the wing, — Human life is but a span ; Emblem thou of industry, — Let him then resemble thee, Truth will croAvn the simile, Efe the sand of life has ran ! ( 7.3 ) SPRING. " Come gentle Spring, ethereal Mildness come." THOMSON. Lovely Spring once more returns. And Sol in wonted lustre burns ; In bright Aries see him shine, For he now has cross'd the line, Equaliz'd our nights and days. And sheds around his glorious rays. Sweet and pleasant is the scene. Yonder mountain's side how green ! See yon verdant waving wood, Mark below yon crystal flood Winding slowly thro' the meads, Or dashing down its rocky beds. 7i SPRING. Come ye gentle falling showers. And bestrew our way with flowers ; Gently blow, ye balmy breezes, — Winter's raging tempest ceases, — On your gently waving wing Bear the treasures of the Spring, See the little vi'let blue, With its flower of various hue, And the half-expanded rose Round the air its fragrance throws. While in its drooping cup it bears A gentle shower of dewy tears. Now the bee is all alive. And forsakes the busy hive ; She beneath the dewy shower Sips honey from each new-born flower. Earliest harbinger of Spring, Hark ! the blackbird's notes begin. spraNG. 75 He bids the feather'd tribe prepare For the glad season now so near. Now the lark forsakes her nest. And, with swelling trembling breast. See her mounted, towering high. Exulting in the ambient sky. Mark the congregated crows. With reiterated caws. Floating round the budding trees. Wafted by the southern breeze. With what rapture do my eyes View these blushing beauties rise ; Each verdant field, each opening grove. Invites my soul to praise and love ; Power divine ! thy hand we see, Let us give the praise to thee ! ( 7f)- ) SUMMER. Now climbing high, the burning sun His utmost altitude has run, From Cancer darts his piercing rays. And lengthens out the sultry days. Now every flower is in full bloom — The woods a darker hue assume, No more the babbling brook runs by, BTit to its very source is dry : The lowing cattle in the meads Seek the oaks' umbrageous shades. Or, their burning blood to cool, Mark them in the stagnant pool. SUMMER. 77 Lo ! the blazing orb of day Darts his fierce meridian ray. Pleasing now to see his beams, Sparkle on the limpid streams, While beneath this shady tree. From his power I am free. Now the warblers of the glade Seek the forest's thickest shade ; There in silence they retreat From t^ sultry noontide heat. But black'ning clouds are gathering wide. Along th' horizon's western side, — Anon they spread o'er heaven's blue dome. And veil the skies in murky gloom. Hark ! the distant thunders roar, — Sheets of lightning rend the skies, — Soon the burden'd clouds will pour O'er the earth the welcome prize. 78 SUMMEU. I 'Tis done ! — and thro' the parting cloud Bright Sol peeps from his Avatery shroud. And o'er yon hill the painted bow Is glittering in the sunbeams now ! On every bush the feather'd throng Resume the loud and sprightly song. Now let me rove where fancy leads. Where the green hedgerows fence the meads, There the frail woodbine's lovely bloom Diffuses round its rich perfume. Where many a new-fledg'd nestling tries Into its native air to rise, And from the wild-brier's weeping flower Oft dashes down the dewy shower. This is the hour for all who prize A charming, healthful exercise ; Upon the river's lonely side. Where jjently flows the crystal tide. SUMMER. 79 The village boys are met, to lave Their limbs upon the buoyant wave ; From 'neath yon oak's o'erarching boughs, Which in the limpid water throAvs Its rude inverted form, they sweep Into the bosom of the deep ; While round the half-emerging head. What wide-expanding circles spread ! Now radiant Sol has lost his power, As calmlv comes the evening hour : And hovering o'er the crimson'd Avest, Illumes the mountain's distant crest. Then makes his brilliant exit here. To light the western hemisphere ! Now mark the red round moon emerge From the horizon's eastern verge, And, sailing up the clear blue sky. Delight the gazer's raptur'd eye ; 80 SUMMER. Wide spreading round, her fairy beams Dance in the clear meandering streams. While rising vapors smoothly ride Along the pensile woodland's side. Thus come the hours of sweet repose. Thus Cynthia o'er the landscape throws Her silvery mantle — calm — serene. And peace and silence close the scene. ( f^l ) A BALLAD. Be still, ye howling winds be still, My love is on the raging sea ; Thou stately vessel glide away, And^bear him safely home to me. Long have I watch'd the foaming waves Roar loudly on the rocky beach. And gaz'd across the yawning deep. Far as my aching eyes could reach. Say, does he live ? — if so, ye storms Rest till he sets his foot on shore ; — Alas ! they mock my soul's alarms, — They're roaring louder than before ! G S2 A BALLAD. Yet, Hope, — enchanting nymph ! thou still Shed'st o'er my soul thy genial power ; — Thou Ciin'st the drooping spirits raise. When tempests ho^vl, and billows roar. Ye tempests cease — ye Avinds be still, ]\Iy love is on the raging sea ; — Thou stately vessel glide away, And bear him safely home to me; ( 8.'J ) THE DREAMING COBLE R. A BURLESQUE STORY. "He dreams of riches, grandeur and a crown, He wakes, and finds himself a simple clown." How many on the world's wide stage Therg are, who in rude discord " wage With Fortune an eternal fray" And pass their restless lives away, In idle dreams, and useless wishes, To gain the envied loaves and fishes I Our ancient foes — the French, oft deem The luxury of a pleasant dream An added bliss to life's short hour, — Seek it, say they, with all your power. G 2 84- THE DREAWING COBLKR. But here our story plainly shows, Dreams have their sad attendant woes. Now while this fiible you peruse, (The feeble offspring of the ]\Iuse) A smile may o'er your features rush, — There's nought, I hope, "vvill cause a blush. Unless, perchance, from him who drew The scene ; — and plac'd it in your view. But still, my friends, I freely OAvn, There's much to cause a critic'^ frown ; Yet in the present times, I say, 'Tis hard to please both grave and gay. Yet after all, you cannot fail To slean a moral from our tale. An idle cobler, be it told. Had panted long for heaps of gold, — Wealth was his daily — nightly dream, His favorite topic — constant theme : THK J)UEAWING COBLKR. 83 And how his object to obtain, Had puzzled long his pregnant brain. Full many a scheme he had in view — Like other schemes — they would not do ; But when they fail'd, without much trouble He'd quickly form another bubble ; — No sooner blown — than like the first, Within his eagtr grasp 'twould burst. He li^d a wife — and cliildren seven — 'T\yas likely, they might have eleven. His wife, as all the country knew. Was an accomplish'd — perfect shreA^'. Poor Crispin, of his failures sick. Oft felt her powerful rhetoric. And, (heaven preserve us from such wives.) She often play'd the game of Fives ! One evening, when the pealing rain Beat heavy on each crazy pane, 86 THE DREAiMING COBLER. His wife had to a neighbour's sped, — The children all asleep in bed ; The glimpses from his half-lill'd lamp Serv'd but his towering soul to damp ; Whilst an half-finish'd shoe he sees With deep disgust strapt to his knees ! His wife away — of nought afraid. His hammer on the stall he laid. Then search'd his pockets thro' Avith care,— Alas ! but not one doit was there ; No — not one drop, exclaim'd the wight. Must pass this thirsty throat to-night ; — And then, with meditation deep. Poor Crispin felt inclin'd to sleep. When sleep had seiz'd his upper story, Morpheus appear'd in all his glory. A noble female near him stood. And thus she spake in smiling mood. Crispin — your heart's desire I know. You sigh for wealth — is it not so ? THE DREAMING COBLEK. 8? Most noble lady ! — Crispin cried. For wealth, indeed, I long have sigh'd, Besides, my wife, (good heaven reform her,) Is such a termagant and stormer, — If some good wight would riches send. All matrimonial strife would end ; — But that can never, never be. My lot on earth is — poverty ! Cease, cried the goddess, cease your prate, I'll make you noble — wealthy — great. He ceas'd — and from her side she took An ebon wand, and o'er him shook The mystic charm, and in a word. Old Crispin felt himself a lord ! His greasy jerkin, rough and old, Was now a coat all trimm'd with gold. His leathern cap — with jewels set. Was turn'd into a coronet. His children, too, were richly drest, And madam far exceeds the rest. 88 THE DREAMING COBLEn. But still, she felt inclin'd to keep Her master, or her mistress-ship ! And lo ! he saw his litter'd stall Transform'd into a spacious hall. The bowl, which long his wax did hold. Was now a vase of massy gold ; The stagnant water which it held. Was turn'd to punch — how rich it smell'd I The balls of sable wax, were then Transform'd to lemons, cut in twain ; And, to complete this curious schedule. His hammer now became a ladle ! The frame where rows of lasts were rang'd. Was to a noble side-board chang'd, — These were to savoury hams restor'd. Which sweetly smok'd upon the board ; Pies, fowls, and rumps of beef were there. And vassals cring'd behind his chair. He'd horses, fitted for the race, And noble hunters for the chase ; THE UREABIING COBLER. Sf) His lands were fertile — rich, and spacious, His friends were many — free and gracious ; But let a man be mean and poor. There's scarce a friend comes near his door ; Then let him rise to fame or wealth. They'll swarm around, and drink his health ; Thus friends — so call'd, round Crispin throng. As flies, around a heap of dung ! In short, our hero's bliss complete, He'd nought to do but sleep and eat. Meanwhile, his partner having sat Full three good hours, in idle chat, At neighbour Johnson's, near the court. Where other lazy dames resort ; Sought, once again, her lonely house. To see, once more, her loving spouse. As she approach'd the outer gate. She heard no laboring hammer beat ; No song, as bending o'er his stitches, " Ye gods, oh send inc dcalli or riches," — '&> 90 THE DREAMING COBLEIl. Which was, as you may be supposing Of honest Crispin's own composing. His wife, now thro' the curtain thin. Beheld her snoring spouse within ; And, slowly creeping in by stealth. To spoil his blissful dreams of wealth ; Altho' at heart not overcool, — And plumply knock'd him off the stool ! Poor Crispin wak'd, but 'stead of gold. And all the willing IMuse hath told. Beheld his ^vife, like stormy weather. Kicking about his scraps of leather ; You dog ! she cried, you lazy loon, Behold our neighbour Johnson's shoon ! Which should, you sot, as well you know. Have gone home full three weeks ago. While you sit snoring at your ease, I worlc and loll like Hercules ! THE DREAMING COBLER. 91 A man of wax — you stupid Jew, Would be a prince, compar'd to you. What mean you — eh ! you lazy elf? — To poison — hang — or drown myself: Then to iillay the furious brawl, Resum'd his hammer and his awl. ( f)2 ) THE MISTAKE. A LADY, who fond of Sir Walter Scott's novels. His brave Scottish heroes — his old highland hovels, — Having glow'd over Waver lei/ — (that dreadful faction,) Thro' all the three volumes, with great satisfaction. Then to her maid-servant, thus spoke the fair madam, Take these volumes back, to the place whence I had 'em; — Isuppose you're at liberty ? — yesma'am, — whygo-ye-then And bring with you back, " The Heart of Mid Lothian." With cheeks likethe roses — and eyes brightly beaming, She sallied — but sure of no sweetheart was dreaming ; — However, it happen'd, by some means or other. She simpering enquir'd for — the heart of a clothier ! The bookseller, smiling, suppos'd her in love. And directed her straight to the Cloth Hall, above ! ( p.'> ) LAIPROIMPTU. When o'er the seas young Harry went, — Opprest with grief, and discontent, E'en tears would not relieve him, Till from his charming Sally S 1, A faithful promise he had got, <«* That she would not deceive him. May she prove true ! and be thy bride. But when the nuptial knot is tied. Pray Harry give me leave' To speak my mind, quite frank and plain,- If she does not deceive thee then — Then she will me deceive ! ( 94 ) THE SrnPWRECK. 'TwAS midnight, when we saw the flash Far on the deep — far on the deep ; We heard the roaring billows dash, In fancy saw each female weep — While on the billows roU'd the ship, Now buried low — now high in air — They cannot sleep — they cannot sleep. Ah no, A^-hat soul can slumber there ? Now stronger blows the furious wind, With driving rain — with driving rain ; Near a lee-shore of rocks and sand — With fragile cable snapt in twain, — Now see the cannon flash again ! And now we hear its pealing roar, — Ye powers ! oh calm the boisterous main, And land them safely <>" the shore. THE SHIPWRECK. 9^ Now hear her dashing on the rocks, No hand to save — no hand to save ; A scene which human nature shocks, — They sink within a watery grave ; — Each tender female — sailors brave. All take of life a sad farewell ; While mourns the loud triumphant wave. The roaring wind their passing bell ! ( 9G ) AN ENIGMA. In mystic verse, I now presume To try your wit — I pray make room. And listen to my theme : For lack of thought, some court my aid. For so a certain bard has said, Whose genius was supreme. In stature, I am rather low, — A mouth — a throat, and nose I show, — Or rather I've a beak ; And I am such a sprightly elf. No doubt I shall betray myself, If once you hear me speak. AN KNIGMA. ()7 I'm heard among the woodland bowers, When Spring profusely strews her flowers, And Nature wears a smile ; Now with the ploughman I am found, When plodding o'er the fallow ground ; — Companion of his toil. The rustic lass knows well my voice. And, when she hears me, will rejoice. And hasten to my call ; The spfttsman, too, I often aid, Wb6n from the brown autumnal glade. The fluttering victims fall. Anon, the theatre I attend, But there I seldom prove a friend. For tho' I'm on the stage, I sometimes mingle with the croAvd, And there I often curse aloud The dulness of the age. II ()S AN KNIGMA. Tho' many a play I have cut down, Yet to the very dogs I'm thrown, Which you may think severe ; And tho' I'm fleeting as the wind. And valueless — you'll often iind I'm piirchas'd far too dear. ( 99 ) AN KNIGIMA. The theme which gives this brief enifima birth, Is, I believe, coeval with the earth ; Tho' some wise authors confidently tell, We had not birth till father Adam fell. Others assert, (if rightly understood,) That we no being had before the Flood. However that may be, we're now Avell known From polar regions to the burning zone. Much good is done by us, and yet 'tis true. That we, ere now, have wrought much ruin too. Like wandering Arabs, we in hordes advance. Heedless of danger or the pointed lance : The bended bow we're sometimes known to bear, And blood-red banners 'midst our troops appear. H 2 100 AN ENfGMA. And sometimes o'er the heath or cultur'd land. As in debate, all motionless we stand . Anon, like Mohocks bent on bloody deeds, A sullen murmuring thro' our ranks proceeds : Then see ! the dreadful conflict is begun, Dire desolation marks the course we run ; We rush up to the combat — heaps on heaps. While at such deeds surrounding Nature weeps ; And where our fiery messengers are sent. All is laid low — the noblest structure rent. And, in conclusion, take this brief remark. One of our trilje can keep you in the dark. ( 101 ) AN ENIGMA. When Winter clothes the rising hills in snow. And ifoods roll swiftly thro' the vales below ; When murky clouds the mountains' tops invest. Behold ! I come, tho' an unwelcome guest. Oft, at your bolted doors I trembling stand, When hideous darkness triumphs o'er the land. And tho' you hear my voice — ye vain and proud. Yet, no admittance is to me allow'd. Where shall I turn ? — for e'en the needy poor Against my cries relentless close their door, Alas ! o'er barren fields compell'd to roam. No place of rest — no spot to cull my home ; 102 AN ENIGBIA. To pathless Avoods, or dreary moors I haste, " And sing my wild notes to the listening waste." When fierce Belloua bids her sons prepare To Avield the dreadful implements of war ; And, while her crimson banners idly wave. And round her throng the valiant and the brave. There I am heard, and be it understood, I ur