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 HAVERHILL, 
 
 THE MARKET TOWN, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY THE LATE 
 
 JOHN WEBB. 
 
 " Yes, native village ; yes, attachment strong 
 Springs from delight bestowed : to Me delight 
 Long hast thou given, and I have sung thy praise." 
 
 Scoii. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY JUDD & GLASS, NEW BRIDGE STREET, 
 
 AND gray's inn ROAD. 
 
 1859.
 
 5766 
 
 W375A 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 It is necessary to state, that the former of these 
 poems was published in the year 1810. The latter 
 was written in 1821, and is now printed for private 
 circulation. They are the productions of an intense 
 lover of nature, and one who possessed no mean 
 poetic talents. They owe their present form to the 
 dutiful homage which filial love delights to pay to 
 genius and affection. 
 
 H. G. 
 
 Haverhill. 
 
 ■4 Of
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 BOOK I.
 
 AEGUMENT. 
 
 Address to Haverhill — Invocation to Goldsmith — Infantile 
 Amusements — Robin — Early Walking — Wedlock — Prat- 
 tlers — Paternal Cot — Chambers — Haverhill Place — Ruins 
 of a Church — Ward — Hephzibah — Castle — Rookery — 
 Manor-house — Coldham — Meeting-house — Coins — Chapel 
 — A Tale — Ghost — Conclusion.
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 A DESCRIPTIVE POEM. 
 
 Hail ! Haverhill, hail ! a Muse who knows no rules, 
 
 Unskilled in language, and untauglit in schools ; 
 
 To whom proud Science never lent a ray 
 
 Of classic light to gild her artless lay ; 
 
 Would in her rustic song thy history trace, 
 
 And from oblivion snatch thy lowly race. 
 
 Hail ! Haverhill, hail ! What though thy humble 
 
 name 
 Ne'er graced the annals of historic fame : 
 What though thy shallow streams, that creep along, 
 Have never murmured in the poet's song; 
 ]S'or ever bard has waked his tuneful powers. 
 To paint thy meadows with poetic flowers; 
 Yet shall thy streams and meads my Muse inspire 
 With simple hand to strike her self-taught lyre.
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 for tliy genius, Goldsmith ! to impart 
 Such happy numbers as delight the heart ; 
 
 Then should the Muse, loved vale! thy charms 
 
 rehearse. 
 And Haverhill, like " sweet Auburn," live in verse. 
 Te rural scenes, by memory long revered, 
 By many a tender sympathy endeared; 
 Your grassy lanes, gay pathways, towering trees, 
 Still do they boast a charm — the power to please. 
 Yes, native bowers, your sylvan haunts among 
 
 1 first invoked the fabled ISTymphs of song ; 
 Strung my rude harp, when but a simple child. 
 And fondly warbled forth my " wood-notes wild." 
 
 Childhood! calm season! free from storms of 
 care. 
 Bright are thy suns, thy skies are ever fair; 
 Peace sheds her downy influence on thy breast. 
 Soft as the breeze that fans the Halcyon's nest, 
 Oft fond remembraiice prompts me to review 
 The harmless, mild delights when life was new ; 
 Wlien, light of heart, in boyhood's sportive hours, 
 I chased gay butterflies, and culled sweet flowers; 
 Oft as I saw, in Summer's sunny reign. 
 The gilded trifler skim the flowery plain, 
 I marked its course, pursued its devious way, 
 Till at my feet the beauteous victim lay.
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 With truant foot I trod the painted vale, 
 And plucked the cuckoo-flower, and primrose pale ; 
 Lured by its glossy tints and fragrant smell, 
 I tore the violet from the thorny dell. 
 Joy flushed my cheek, when, in the prickly hush, 
 I saw the clay-built mansion of the thrush. 
 Plumed architects ! your songs of mirth suspend ; 
 Your joys are o'er, your mutual comforts end. 
 Forbear those plaintive notes, ye feathered pair ! 
 Useless your grief, and vain your anxious care : 
 An urchin boy invades your blest retreat. 
 And rifles with rude hand fair Hymen's seat. 
 Beneath an elm, a bird of rosy breast, 
 And social habits, built his annual nest; 
 Who o'er the snug abode with transport sung, 
 While his loved consort hatched their tender young ; 
 Who, but for me, had plied the infant wing, 
 And' roved through all the scenery of Spring. 
 When frigid Winter ruled the sullen day. 
 And feathery rime adorned each leafless spray, 
 To my straw cottage would the warbler come, 
 Pace the brick floor, and pick the scattered crumb ; 
 Till, cheered by food and warmth, his little throat 
 Would swell, and strive to pour the vernal note : 
 Devoid of fear would perch upon my chair, 
 Nor wished to join his brothers of the air.
 
 HAVERHILL, 
 
 But when moist April, with her genial showers, 
 Oped Spring's young buds, and reared her early 
 
 flowers, 
 By nature with instinctive knowledge taught, 
 A plumy mate my friendly redbreast sought. 
 Sweet bliss was theirs, till I, a froward boy, 
 Purloined their young, and marred their nuptial 
 
 And viewed the treasure with exulting mind, 
 'Not felt compunction for the deed unkind. 
 Oft, too, when smiling youth, life's jocund spring. 
 Gilt with bright bliss each moment's agile wing, 
 I left my humble couch, at early dawn. 
 To range with deivy tread the velvet lawn; 
 And viewed enraptured, from the dappled east. 
 Day's brilliant orb emerge, in glory drest; 
 While, cheered by his exhiliratiiig ray, 
 Nature's plumed heralds hailed the infant day. 
 I saw, with transport saw, the lark arise, 
 Leave his low nest, and mingle with the skies. 
 Till his aerial matin, soft and clear, 
 Tell in faint warblings on my listening ear. 
 Ye groves of Lady-gates, beneath your shade 
 Full many an hour in studious ease I 've strayed ; 
 Attentive listened, while on hazel spray 
 The nightingale has thrilled her evening lay.
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Melodious poet of the umbrageous grove, 
 
 Soft Philomel ! thy mellow plaints I love ! 
 
 How sweet to rove the lily-scented vale, 
 
 To hear thy soothing, fond, love-laboured tale ! 
 
 Oft on a flowery bank where wild thyme grew, 
 
 And on the passiag breeze its fragrance threw, 
 
 I 've sat, with mind transported, to peruse 
 
 The chaste effusions of a Cowper's muse ; 
 
 Hung o'er the lays descriptive Thomson siing, 
 
 And mused on serious themes with solemn Young. 
 
 Improving recreations ! pastimes fair ! 
 
 Such studious scenes will keen reflection bear. 
 
 These calm, instructive intervals I sing. 
 
 Imprinted no foul stain on Time's broad wing. 
 
 Tliese are amusements which improve the mind, 
 
 These are the joys which leave no sting behind. 
 
 Licentious youths, in mad intemperance roll ! 
 
 Ye sons of Bacchus, boast your rosy bowl ! 
 
 Unenvied, long enjoy your sensual feast. 
 
 While I the sweets of mom and temperance taste. 
 
 Now buxom Youth, proud season of delight, 
 
 Big with the fairest hopes, has winged its flight ; 
 
 Increasing days increasing cares have brought, 
 
 And mirth's gay sallies yield to serious thought. 
 
 In riper age, though troubles intervene, 
 
 Though cares unnumbered crowd the nuptial scene,
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Though oft on wedded love misfortune lours, 
 
 Yet Hymen's votaries have their happy hours : 
 
 His checkered bonds can silken fetters prove, 
 
 When souls congenial think and act by love. 
 
 Twelve years have flown, since, to the sacred shrine, 
 
 I led the maid I chose, and sealed her mine. 
 
 Eight rosy prattlers grace my humble cot; 
 
 Charmed by their smiles, I bless my happy lot ; 
 
 Aifection loves their gambols to survey, 
 
 Nor scorns to mingle with their childish play : 
 
 Their artless sports a heartfelt bliss bestow, 
 
 A bosom joy, which none but parents know. 
 
 Immersed in duties of parental care, 
 
 Few are the hours domestic scenes can spare ; 
 
 For still some nurseling of my little race 
 
 Clings round my knees, and claims the fond embrace. 
 
 Full oft (though not by inclination led) 
 
 I quit my pen, to rock the wicker bed : 
 
 And oft (to hush the noisy urchin's cries) 
 
 Leave Milton's strains, to sing soft lullabies. — 
 
 Eut haste, fond Muse, some vacant moment seize. 
 
 Short periods, fraught with calm " poetic ease;" 
 
 Eise, and with me my native vales survey, 
 
 And in descriptive numbers tune thy lay. 
 
 Hail, long known spot ! paternal dwelling, hail ! 
 The neatest cot in Burton's rural vale.
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Though fairer mansions, prouder domes, I see, 
 Still my fond heart with rapture turns to thee. 
 Thy white- washed front, and little gay parterre 
 (Which owes its blossoms to a mother's care) ; 
 Those box triangles, and those box-edged beds, 
 Where Flora's blusliing oftspring lift their heads 1 
 Those lilacs tall, and fruitful cherry-tree ; 
 Though simple objects, still have charms for me. 
 Nor let the Muse forget thy woodbine bower. 
 Where pleasing studies winged the leisure hour ; 
 Beneath whose canopy, with blooming maid, 
 I 've sat, till Vesper pierced the leafy shade 
 With his bright ray ; and passed, in converse sweet, 
 Fair hours of bliss within thy green retreat. 
 
 Near yonder bridge, that strides the rippling 
 
 brook, 
 A hut once stood, in small sequestered nook. 
 Where Chambers^ lodged. Though not of Gipsy 
 
 race. 
 Yet, like that tribe, he often changed his place. 
 A lonely wanderer he, whose squalid form 
 Bore the rude peltings of the wintry storm : 
 An hapless outcast, on whose natal day 
 No star propitious beamed a kindly ray ; 
 By some malignant influence doomed to roam 
 The world's wide dreary waste, and know no home.
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Yet Heaven, to cheer him as he passed along, 
 Infused in life's sour cup the sweets of song. 
 Upon his couch of straw, or bed of hay, 
 This poetaster tuned th' acrostic lay ; 
 On him an humble Muse her favours shed. 
 And nightly musings earned his daUy bread. 
 Meek, unassuming, modest shade ! forgive 
 This frail attempt to make thy memory live ; 
 To me more grateful thus thy deeds to tell, 
 Than the proud task to sing how heroes fell. 
 Minstrel, adieu ! to me thy fate 's unknown ; 
 Since last I saw thee many a year has flown : 
 Full oft has Summer poured her fervid beams. 
 And Winter's icy breath congealed the streams. 
 Perhaps, lorn wretch ! unfriended and alone, 
 In hovel vile thou gaVst thy final groan ; 
 Closed the blear eye, ordained no more to weep, 
 And sunk, unheeded sunk, in Death's long sleep ! 
 O how unlike the bard of higher sphere, 
 Whose happier niunbers charm the polished ear ; 
 Wliose Muse in academic bowers reclines, 
 And, cheered by affluence, pours her classic lines ; 
 Whose sapient brow, though angry critics frown. 
 Boasts the green chaplet, and the laurel crown ! 
 iSTot distant far, where yonder streamlet glides, 
 'Mid varied flowers which deck its shelvy sides, 
 
 10
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 There stands a modest structure,^ neatly fair, 
 Whose front displays no ostentatious glare. 
 For use, not splendour, was the dome designed, 
 And formed to please the unambitious mind. 
 Yon lovely spot, where once rude nettles grew, 
 Presents a little Eden to the view. 
 Touched by the hand of art, gay tribes arise. 
 And Flora boasts her many-coloured dyes. 
 The white-thorn hedge, with shades of evergreen. 
 Surrounds and decks the cultivated scene. 
 If e'er I sigh for sublunary bliss. 
 That sigh shall heave for such a home as this ; 
 If e'er a wish within my bosom rise. 
 That wish shaU be for this small paradise. 
 How vain the ardent wish, the envious sigh, 
 For aught or bright or fair beneath the sky : 
 Death at a distance marks our anxious toils. 
 And at our schemes of future comfort smiles ; 
 And when we hope the cup of joy to sip, 
 He strikes the chalice from the unmoistened lip. 
 Deal I in fiction ? No ! the truths I sing 
 Were verified in thee, lamented King ! ^ 
 Far from thy home, from social friends apart, 
 And all the soft delights that charm the heart. 
 The fatal simimons found thee — stroke severe ! 
 That closed thy useful, active, fair career ! 
 
 11
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 'No more thy garden, or thy ha"\rthorn bower, 
 Yield their sweet solace in Retirement's hour ; 
 No more can business rouse, nor pleasure charm, 
 Nov gentle friendsliip thy cold bosom warm : 
 For Death (when just matured each well-formed 
 
 scheme ; 
 When flattering Hope indulged her golden dream ; 
 When life's bright sun had gained meridian prime) 
 Consigned thee to the grave's unsocial clime : 
 Afflicted Friendship sorrowed o'er thy bier. 
 And fond Affection still imparts her tear. 
 
 Beneath yon hedge some vestiges remain, 
 Which mark the spot where stood an hallowed 
 
 fane. 
 But ah, how fallen ! Against Time's potent hand, 
 Noi storm-proof tower, nor sacred dome can stand: 
 The proudest palace, at the appointed hour, 
 Must prostrate fall, and OAvn the tyrant's power. 
 N'ow on this consecrated, still domain, 
 Glad Ceres, smiling, views her yellow grain : 
 Here oft the ploughshare, and the peasant's spade, 
 The silent sabbath of the tomb invade ; 
 Draw the dread curtain of the grave away, 
 And rouse the drowsy tenants into day 
 that some spirit of this ancient race 
 Would rise and tell the history of the place ; 
 
 12
 
 HAVERHILL, 
 
 And to my mind, my curious mind ! imfold 
 Some brief memorial of the days of old ; 
 Tell why its guardian genius could not keep 
 The holy pile from Euin's rutliless sweep ! 
 But ah ! no generous shade appears to tell 
 When, shook by Fate, the massy fabric fell ; 
 No kind, no courteous spirit deigns to rise, 
 With Truth's fair tale to banish dark surmise: 
 In vain the anxious Muse attunes her lay, 
 To lure some airy form to scenes of day. 
 Ye ghosts ! — no more invoked — your secrets keep ; 
 Still, undisturbed, enjoy your iron sleep ! — 
 
 Yon verdant field, which claims my next regard. 
 Still bears the homely name of " Parson's Yard: " 
 There, free fi'om storms that loftier roofs invest. 
 The parsonage stood, where dwelt the village priest : 
 But what his character, or what his name, 
 Or whence he sprung, is now unknown to fame. 
 Methinks the pious, venerable man 
 To duty consecrated life's brief span ; 
 To feed his little flock — that sacred charge ! — 
 And guard it from the wolf that prowls at large, 
 If such — though raven-plumed Oblivion shed 
 Impenetrable vapours round his head — 
 Yet when the last, stu[)endous morning springs, 
 Big with the fate of all terrestrial things, 
 
 13
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Then holy, happy shepherd ! thou shalt stand, 
 Amongst thy ransomed sheep, at Christ's right 
 
 hand ; 
 Eeceive thy just reward, in glory rise. 
 And like a star illume the upper skies ! 
 
 Behold yon mean, though picturesque abode, 
 By brooklet parted from the pubKc road; 
 Whose narrow bridge, composed of pole and plank, 
 Supplies the means to reach the farther bank : 
 Though unattractive to the vulgar view, 
 This cot a titled artist's pencil drew. 
 Hail, shade obscure ! the poor man's calm retreat. 
 Where labour makes the coarsest viands sweet ; 
 Where mild Content, with sacred Virtue joined, 
 Shed their soft sunshine on the humble mind. 
 When through this vale I strayed, in life's young 
 
 morn, 
 To gather flowers, and strip the berried thorn, 
 Here dwelt a tall, pale man"* : a sapient grace 
 Beamed on his brow, and dignified his face : 
 Though poor, he could an ancient lineage boast, 
 Sprung from a chief in Cromwell's martial host. 
 But ah ! he proved (how useless pedigree !) 
 A worthless scion from a noble tree ! 
 He was of subtle, mean, litigious mind ; 
 A man unfriendly, whom no tie could bind : 
 
 14
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 A tyrant stern; to warm Affection dead, 
 
 He wronged, and starved, the partner of his bed, 
 
 Till Heaven, in mercy calmed her rufi&ed breast, 
 
 And laid her " where the weary are at rest." 
 
 He was a chemist keen, whose fertUe brain 
 
 Was teeming still some selfish ends to gain. 
 
 All thy sly arts. Dissimulation ! hung 
 
 Upon his voluble, persuasive tongue ; 
 
 But ah ! how vain, how futile, arts like these ! 
 
 Age found him poor, the prey of dread disease ; 
 
 Parochial charity supplied him bread. 
 
 And sheltered 'neath her roof his hoary head : 
 
 There sharp Reflection multiplied liis woes. 
 
 And Conscience, roused, embittered life's sad close ! 
 
 No tender, sympathizing friend was near 
 
 The darkling vale of dolesome age to cheer ; 
 
 No spouse attentive hovered round liis bed, 
 
 Wiped the cold dew, or stayed the drooping head ; 
 
 No children came, with duteous love imprest. 
 
 To crave his blessing ere he sank to rest : 
 
 Alone, unwept, his final breath he drew, 
 
 And hopeless bade to this vain world adieu ! 
 
 Here, too, the Muse, still wandering, shall relate. 
 Poor Hephzibah ! thy sad, disastrous fate ! — 
 Poor cottage girl ! Upon one fatal morn 
 She left her home, as playful as the fawn ; 
 
 15
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Pursued her walk to gain yon upland farm, 
 Thoughtless and gay, nor feared impending harm ; 
 Till, by an awful, instantaneous stroke. 
 Her frame was crushed, and all life's springs were 
 
 broke ! 
 Thus have I seen, in spring, the cowslip tall. 
 Pressed by the steer's rude tread, untimely fall ; 
 Prostrate on earth the withering floweret lies, 
 Wliile all its fragrance, all its beauty, dies. 
 Frail human creature ! being of a day ! 
 To every blast Misfortune blows, a prey : 
 Diseases dire, and lurking dangers, wait 
 To mix for suffering man the cup of fate ; 
 Nor worth, nor wealth, nor the strong arm of power, 
 Prom casual ills can shield his breast one hour. 
 Ah ! who can ward the stroke or stay the 
 
 breath ? 
 Alas ! " in midst of life, we are in death ! " 
 Proceed, my Muse, and quit this fatal dale 
 To mount yon hill, and breathe a keener gale. 
 There once a castle reared its haughty brow, 
 And frowned defiance on the vale below : 
 But built by whom, by Saxons or by Danes, 
 By whom destroyed, no record now remains. 
 Swept by tiiy powerful Aving, imperious Time ! 
 Aloft in air no ruin nods sublime : 
 
 16
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 No fractured pediment, nor shattered wall, 
 
 In snUen silence waits its destined fall : 
 
 No triflers here, of antiquarian breed, 
 
 On Avild Conjecture's airy morsels feed : 
 
 O'er this lone site no virtuoso pores. 
 
 To add some rusty bauble to his stores. 
 
 Haply this fortress, in its proudest hour. 
 
 Could laugh a siege to scorn, like Macbeth's tower; 
 
 But now, of former strength, no trace is found, 
 
 Save an old weedy moat and earthy mound. 
 
 Those meadows, clad in sight-refreshing green, 
 Were erst of war the sanguinary scene, 
 "When Canute sought our sea-encircled land, 
 And fought, brave Ironsides ! thy martial band : 
 On Ashdon's plains they met, in fierce array, 
 Till Edric's treason closed the fateful day ; 
 The stern invader crushed his English foes, 
 And Bartlow HiUs^ a proud memorial rose. 
 
 But hark ! the noise which issues from on high. 
 With din incessant, speaks " the rookery " nigh : 
 Here may I lie, on mossy bank reclined. 
 And mark the manners of the sable kind. 
 Lo ! on the summit of yon towering trees. 
 The twig-formed cradle rocked by every breeze ; 
 Where the imprisoned young, absorpt in night. 
 Burst from their shells, and hail the welcome light. 
 
 17
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 What fond anxiety, what tender care, 
 
 Eeigns in the bosom, of the plumy pair ! 
 
 Sec them exj^lore surrounding plains for food, 
 
 And bear the morsel to their craving brood. 
 
 Ye social-minded tribes ! may no rude wight 
 
 Scale your aerial citadels by night, 
 
 And rob you of your young ! may no rude blast. 
 
 Prone from your nests, your unfledged offspring cast ! 
 
 But may they, clad in ebon plumes, repair 
 
 To wing with you the regions of the air ! 
 
 And ye, unfeeling sires ! (for such there be) 
 
 "Who slight a rosy infant progeny ; 
 
 Who, to Affection's sweet sensations dead, 
 
 Can hear, unmoved, their children cry for bread ! 
 
 Go, study ligature's ever-open book. 
 
 And learn parental duty from the rook. 
 
 From this amusive scene I bend my feet, 
 To view yon pleasure-ground and ancient seat^ : 
 Enchanting spot ! inviting, sweet recess ! 
 Thy shades are formed the studious mind to bless : 
 Here may the son of Song his raptures breathe, 
 Woo the coy Muse, and win the unfading wreath. 
 Tlie pastor here, by worldly care unvexed, 
 May weU enjoy this life, nor slight the next ; 
 May from his polished circle oft retire. 
 To search his heart, and fan Devotion's fire, 
 
 18
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 And soar in thought to scenes beyond the tomb, 
 Where Sharon's never-fading roses bloom. 
 Here generous Coldham lived — the children's friend, 
 Who saw a sportive traia his steps attend ; 
 Around their patron thronged the rosy race, 
 While expectation beamed in every face : 
 With wistful glance they eyed the usual share. 
 The ruddy apple and the juicy pear : 
 He doled to every hand the welcome fee, 
 And bursts of noisy transport spoke their glee. 
 Let other bards, estranged to pity, tell 
 SuwarroVs triumph when proud Ismael fell ! 
 Sing how the monster urged his fierce career, 
 When Praga's infants writhed upon the spear ! 
 Miue be the task, mild shade ! in artless lays, 
 To give such worth as thine its well-earned praise ; 
 To make in simple song thy memory bloom. 
 And hang a wreath of wild-flowers o'er thy tomb. 
 
 While thus I stray, and scenes successive rise 
 To gratify my miud, and charm mine eyes, 
 Lo ! in yon mead, I mark a " house of prayer,"*^ 
 Where crowds to serve their Maker oft repair — 
 Serve ! did I say ? Alas ! too many go 
 To gaze, to sleep, and Fashion's plumes to show ! 
 Yc triflers ! why pollute the hallowed dome ? 
 Be more discreet, and " play the fool " at home : 
 
 10
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Your looks irreverent, gestures vain, declare 
 
 Ye ne'er reflect that God is present there. 
 
 While thus ye act beneath the sacred roof, 
 
 Expect, ye thoughtless tribe, a stern reproof ! 
 
 And may rebuke " prevail with double sway, 
 
 And ye who go to trifle, learn to pray."^ 
 
 For there the humble soul that seeks, may find 
 
 Plain Gospel-truths to edify his mind : 
 
 There may the doubting heart be taught to place 
 
 Implicit confidence in Sovereign Grace : 
 
 The contrite breast may join in social prayer. 
 
 And waft the sigh that is not lost in air. 
 
 Draw near those hallowed walls, my feet ! and tread, 
 
 With silent awe, these mansions of the dead. 
 
 And let Affection's dew-drops glitter here — 
 
 A sister's^ reKcs claim a brother's tear : 
 
 Here may the soft sxiffusion freely flow; 
 
 Here taste, my heart, the luxury of woe ; 
 
 Yet, soothing Muse, these starting tear-drops dry, 
 
 Nor let unseemly grief becloud mine eye : 
 
 Turn from her grave, to where yon tomb beneath. 
 
 Locked in the icy arms of ghastly Death, 
 
 Sarissa sleeps ; who, in youth's bloomy prime. 
 
 Was summon'd from the anxious scenes of Time: 
 
 Buoyed up by Hope, she crossed the gloomy wave. 
 
 And landed on fair shores beyond the grave ! 
 
 20
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Adieu ! thou sadly-pleasing spot, adieu ! 
 I go wliere fruitful ISTature meets my view ; 
 To grass-clad meads, and fields arrayed in corn, 
 Where buxom Plenty waves her well-fiLlled horn. 
 Fanned by the breeze, yon field of waving ears 
 At distance like a floating lake appears ; 
 There, wrapt in mould of stiff, adliesive clay, 
 A long-forgotten, rich deposit lay. 
 Till, not five lustres siace, some peasants found 
 The golden treasure.^" Hid within the ground 
 What time proud Eome her conquering eagles 
 
 bore, 
 Through vanquished Gaul, to Albion's fertile shore ; 
 And famed Iceni's queen, on scythed car, 
 Spread fierce destruction through the ranks of war. 
 Fvdl many a circlhig age the humble swain 
 Ploughed the rough glebe, and reaped the ripened 
 
 grain. 
 Unconscious that, beneath the trodden soil, 
 Slept the bright metal that could cheer his toil ; 
 Whose radiant influence could improve his lot. 
 And banish hunger from his sordid cot. — 
 Gold ! glittering mischief ! banc and blessing, too, 
 Adored by Christian, Infidel, and Jew ! 
 For thee, the toU-worn peasant hourly sighs, 
 And views his master's stores with envious eyes ! 
 
 21
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 For thee, the lover qiiits his Delia's arms, 
 And pays his court to thy superior charms ! 
 For thee, the needy bard invokes the Nine, 
 Trims the new thought, and smoothes th' unpolished 
 
 line! 
 For thee, the merchant quits his splendid ease, 
 Seeks burning climes, and steers through frozen 
 
 seas ! 
 The chief of martial mien, the warrior bold. 
 Fights less for Glory's wreath than love of gold ! 
 The venal statesman takes the tempting fee. 
 And barters conscience ! country ! all, for thee ! 
 
 Yon farm (the chapel) on its walls displays 
 Some few momentos of monastic days : 
 There, as tradition tells, in times of yore. 
 Fat monks, recluse in superstitious lore. 
 Consumed their vital lamp : remote from strife. 
 They never bustled through the storms of life. 
 On thy soft couch. Indulgence ! long they lay, 
 And passed in mental sleep their golden day : 
 Wrapt in cahn Indolence and bloated Ease, 
 Like drones they wronged the more industrious 
 
 bees. 
 Yet e'en these sons of Sloth, at matin beU, 
 Their morning prayers would chant, their beads 
 
 would teU. 
 
 22
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Or if the grand intruder's pointed dart 
 
 Had pierced a ghostly brother's pampered heart, 
 
 The brethren meet, in sacred vest arrayed. 
 
 To soothe, with solemn rites, his hovering shade ; 
 
 And when fair Day's proud star illumed the West, 
 
 Again they prayed, told beads, and sank to rest. 
 
 With wiser views, for nobler ends designed, 
 The great Creator formed the active mind ; 
 Gave the fine nerve to feel for others' woe, 
 And taste that godlike pleasure to bestow ; 
 Gave the soft art to soothe Affliction's chUd, 
 And cheer his pathway through this dreary wild ; 
 Gave to the human heart that social glow 
 Which, leagued with Virtue, forms a heaven below. 
 While others joy in dull seclusion find. 
 Mine bo the pleasures of a social mind ; 
 Mine the soft bliss that waits the nuptial tie, 
 And mine the charms of sweet society ; 
 Mine be the philanthropic wish t' embrace 
 In one warm ample fold the human race. 
 
 Sure some fond poet feigned the pleasing tale " 
 Of love and innocence in cottaged vale, 
 Else had this rural hamlet been unstained. 
 Nor on its annals this foul blot remained — 
 Here lived fair Alice ! Not the valley flower 
 That opes its snowy breast in Spring's green hour 
 
 23
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 E'er bloomed more sweet, more fair ! An untaught 
 
 grace 
 
 Played in her air, and wantoned in her face. 
 
 Hers was the nameless charm, devoid of art, 
 
 To weave Aifection's net-work round the heart ; 
 
 O'er youthful minds to bid soft transports rove, 
 
 And light in gentle breasts the lamp of love. 
 
 Long nurtiired by a mother's tender care, 
 
 She shone the fairest of the village fair. 
 
 Till a false stripling wooed the cottage maid, 
 
 Won her fond heart, and Alice was betrayed ! — 
 
 Adieu, soft seasons ! big with calm delight, 
 
 The day that knew no cloud, the tranquil night ! 
 
 On tardy pinions the dull moments move, 
 
 When lawless Passion glooms the bower of Love ! 
 
 Wloen Eeputation bleeds, and dire Disgrace 
 
 Tinctui-es with Shame's deep blush the conscious 
 
 face. 
 Poor, hapless nymph ! thy once unspotted name 
 Is sullied by the breath of common fame ; 
 Thy venial fault assembled gossips spread, 
 And Slander pours her vials on thy head ! 
 Whilst he, the cruel author of thy grief. 
 Basely denies thy throbbing breast relief! 
 Leaves thee to heave unseen the useless sigh. 
 And mourn thy fatal, fond credulity ! 
 
 24
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Ah, unavailing grief ! Ah, slighted charms ! 
 The vile deceiver flies thy faithful arms ! 
 To shun reproach, he seeks the rolling sea. 
 And "wrongs and woes" are all he leaves with 
 
 thee !— 
 How shall a Muse, with genuine fire unblest. 
 Paint the strong movements of her frenzied breast ? 
 When, reft of peace, abandoned to rude scorn, 
 She left her home, dejected and forlorn ! 
 Sought her once favourite haunt, the oak-tree's shade. 
 Then ranged with hurried step the pathless glade ! 
 Sat on the rushy bank (her future grave). 
 And eyed, Avitli vacant stare, the passing wave ! 
 TiU black Despair eclipsing Hope's bright beam, 
 She timeless rushed in Stour's o'erwhelming stream ! 
 There oft, as village tales report, at night 
 Poor Alice glides, a discontented sprite ; 
 Haunts the drear margin, where she sealed her 
 
 doom, 
 Or broods o'er her unconsecrated tomb ! 
 Oft the benighted schoolboy, passing near. 
 Chants the blithe carol to suppress his fear ; 
 His bosom flutters, lest some troubled shade 
 Should cross his path in winding-sheet arrayed ! 
 Creative Fancy's wild illusions rise ; 
 Ideal phantoms dance before his eyes : 
 
 25
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 He hears strange sounds in every breeze of wind, 
 
 Flies with full speed, and "dares not look behind!"" 
 
 When in my rural walks thy grave I see, 
 
 My serious thoughts, poor Alice ! turn on thee : 
 
 I fain would hope, from sublunary woes 
 
 Eeleased, thy hapless mind enjoyed repose ! 
 
 Yes, I would hope that, with the ransomed blest, 
 
 It gained an humble seat in realms of rest. 
 
 Yet Eeason, Scripture, and Religion joined, 
 
 Impriat a dread reverse upon my mind. — 
 
 But pause, rash Muse ! nor pierce th' incumbent 
 
 gloom 
 That wraps, in tenfold night, the secrets of the 
 
 tomb ! 
 
 26
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 Invocation to the Muse — Description of a Village Funeral — 
 Walk in Churchyard — The Evening described — Clarissa — 
 AUeine — Porafrett — Granger — Murdered Youth — Old 
 Soldier — Female Fiddler — Amhrose Curteen — Suicide — 
 William— Charles — Stella and her Lover — Dutch Soldier 
 — Conclusion. 
 
 ■28
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 Come, solitary Muse ! who whilom strung 
 The lyre of woe for melancholy Young ; 
 "Who, when Philander died, thy solace gave, 
 And soothed him while he dug N"arcissa's grave ! 
 "Who dropped with him the sympathetic tear, 
 When called by Fate to weep o'er Lucia's bier. 
 ISTymph of the musing mood, I crave thine aid ! 
 Come range with me the churchyard's gloomy 
 shade ! 
 Hark ! those dull sounds that murmur through 
 the air 
 A funeral solemnity declare ; 
 Led by the bell of Death, repair, my feet. 
 To mark a fellow mortal's last retreat ; 
 To view the mourners wrung with anguish deep. 
 Join the mute crowd, and " weep with those that 
 
 weep ! " 
 Behold the village priest, in vestments white, 
 Eeads o'er the dead the sacred, solemn rite ! 
 
 29
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Ill humbler guise the clerk aj^pears behind, 
 "Whose countenance betrays few "marks of mind ;" 
 Adown whose "hard, umneaning face" one tear 
 "Was never seen to urge its moist career ; 
 Within the confines of whose callous breast. 
 The dove of Pity never built her nest ; 
 "Whose heart, by custom hardened into stone, 
 Heeds not the woe-fraught sigh, or plaintful moan : 
 He views the gazing throng with vacant ken, 
 And gives, as office bids, the loud Amen ! 
 In sables clad, see yon lorn widow moves. 
 To take a final leave of him she loves ; 
 On either side appears a cherub boy, 
 Two blooming pledges of departed joy. 
 Decrepid Age, with weak and faltering breath, 
 "Whispers the well-known prayer, and thinks on 
 
 Death. 
 Gay Youtli, with joy-bright eye, grows serious here. 
 And drops, at Katui-e's call, the ready tear : , 
 
 For once, regardless ^of soft Pleasure's call, 
 The stripHng quits his bat and bounding ball ; 
 Leaves his blithe mates, and seeks this solemn 
 
 place 
 "With stealing step and reverential face : 
 His hat he doffs, and, with incessant gaze, 
 Attentively the awful scene siu^veys; 
 
 30
 
 HAVEBHILL. 
 
 Till tlie dear infants, with their plaintive cries, 
 Draw the soft stream of sorrow from his eyes. 
 
 Sure this sad scene will deeply be imprest, 
 In lasting characters, on every breast ! 
 All, no ! how soon the serious fit is o'er ! 
 Bright Youth and hoary Age look sad no more ! 
 Where the concern they had, or seemed to have 1 — 
 A quick dispatch ! — they left it in the grave. 
 The stripling boy to sorrow bids farewell, 
 And lends a hand to fill the gloomy cell. 
 Some to a neighbouring tavern bend their way, 
 To chant, with gay compeers, the jovial lay; 
 To tell with glee the laugh-creating tale, 
 And drown reflection in a flood of ale. 
 Perchance the converse takes a graver turn — 
 To the rare merits of the friends they mourn : 
 How he at quoits or bowls could all excel, 
 And e'en, when " put upon," coidd box right well : 
 For joke and carol few could him surpass — 
 Wlio quafi'ed with higher glee the mantling glass 1 
 A jolly soul, who freely paid his score, 
 And ne'er — save when provoked to passion — swore ! 
 His character thus scanned, they hope the best, 
 And piously conclude he 's gone to rest. 
 
 Yet why thus censure others 1 Has thy breast 
 Received improvement 1 Can it bear the test 
 
 31
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Of fair, impartial scrutiny ? 0, say, 
 
 What moral lesson is acquii-ed to-day ? 
 
 Hast thou, in spite of Passion's mad control, 
 
 Cui-bed the impetuous sallies of the soul 1 
 
 Or, when Temptation strong thy mind assailed, 
 
 Say, hast thou nobly o'er the foe prevailed 1 
 
 Hast thou with pity heard pale Misery sigh. 
 
 Or wiped the tear-drop from Misfortune's eye 1 — 
 
 O may I never wear the censor's frown. 
 
 And, scanning others' faults, forget mine O'wn ! 
 
 But see — mild Evening dons her robe of grey ; 
 This is the funeral of departed Day : 
 My heart, be thou the mourner ! may thy powers, 
 Absorbed in sorrow, mourn thy mis-spent hours ! 
 
 Here pause : — for, lo! Nighf s silver-vested queen. 
 In lustrous glory rides the blue serene; 
 Hangs her refulgent lamp o'er land and sea, 
 Yet condescends to beam her ray on me. 
 Lit by her beams, may I these tombs survey. 
 And, musing pensive, time the serious lay ! 
 O'er the drear mansions may I boldly tread, 
 Nor fear to break the slumbers of the dead ! 
 They ne'er shall wake, till the last tnmipet's 
 
 sound 
 Eouse from their long, long sleep the tenants of 
 the ground ! 
 
 32
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 This is the place where superstitious fear 
 Believes that sheeted spectres oft appear; 
 That injured ghosts arise, and grimly glide 
 To haunt the cot where perjured swains reside ; 
 To fill the guilty mind with awful dread, 
 And shake the curtains of the murderer's bed. 
 Weak Superstition's dream ! whilst here I walk, 
 !N"o disembodied shades before me stalk ! 
 Chased by bright Reason's clear, refulgent ray, 
 These vain, fantastic beings fade away ! 
 
 The clock strikes twelve ! — it tells unthinking man 
 Another day is flown of Life's short span ; 
 It bids the trifler mourn his follies past, 
 And think the present hour may prove his last. 
 Mute Silence rules — no sounds the ear invade — 
 The clattering loom, and every wheel of trade, 
 Suspend their various movements : all is still — 
 The echoing anvU, and the whizzing mill : 
 The wakeful dog has bayed himself to rest. 
 And Pliilomela seeks her downy nest ; 
 And leans, as poets sing, upon her thorn, 
 Till roused by its sharp point to haU the morn. 
 At this lone hour may no rude foot intrude, 
 To mar this consecrated solitude ! — 
 But why indulge a momentary feai- 1 
 Why doubt to find the rash intruder here 1
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 The juvenile, the volatile, and gay. 
 
 Would rather seek the inn, the ball, or play ! 
 
 The proud one will not quit his gilt alcove, 
 
 Amid these dreary sepulchres to rove ! 
 
 JSTor will the drunkard leave his " mantling bliss," 
 
 To pay his visit to a scene like this ! 
 
 Here reigns mild Peace upon her throne of rest ; 
 A settled calm pervades each subject's breast ! 
 Here Pleasure's silk-clad votaries cease to shine, 
 'Not longer sigh for splendour, love, and wine ! 
 Here Mammon's sordid sons forbear to trust, 
 Por bliss supreme, in bags of glittering dust 1 
 Ambition's air-formed projects all are o'er, 
 And Beauty's full-blown roses charm no more ! 
 
 Perhaps beneath this turf, unconscious prest. 
 Sleeps many a swain whom heaven with genius blest ; 
 Who, had some patron fanned the dormant fire. 
 Like Milton might have swept a seraph's lyre ! 
 Like star-exploring ]S"ewton soared on high. 
 And scanned the golden wonders of the sky ! 
 Like Nelson made Britannia's thunders roar. 
 Prom northern Thule to green Egypt's shore ! 
 What countless numbers crowd this hallowed spot — 
 Their usefid lives, their himible names forgot ! 
 Assist me, Eecollection, to review 
 The lowly deeds of those whom once I knew. — 
 
 u
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 In that short tomh is my Clarissa laid ! 
 A tender flower that blossomed but to fade : 
 Too delicate a texture to sustain 
 The fierce assaults of agonizing Pain. 
 0, favoured babe ! a sweet release to find, 
 Ere Sin could taint, or Sorrow cloud thy mind ! 
 Dismissed, in Life's first dawn, from scenes of care, 
 Ascend the skies, and shine a cherub fair ! 
 Millions, when Day's bright lamp shall cease to burn. 
 Will wish, like thee, they 'd found an early urn ! 
 Then kings, divested of their regal state, 
 Would give their years of fame for thy short date ! 
 Heroes would with their boasted laurels part, 
 To gain, sweet Innocence ! thy guileless heart ! 
 And thy proud, impious infidel,'^ France ! 
 Will view, with envious eyes, thy happy ignorance ! 
 . Once more I pause, and heave the heartfelt sigh 
 O'er the grass sod where Alleine's ashes lie. 
 Friend of Life's morning hours ! companion dear, 
 Thy early loss still asks my friendly tear. 
 With thee, when May awoke the vernal hours, 
 I roved green meads bedropt with yellow flowers ; 
 Climbed the tall elm, and pierced the briery wood. 
 To rob the raven of his croaking brood ! 
 Oft, too, when Youth attained its flowery prime, 
 And Hope's gay visions gilt the wings of Time, 
 
 35
 
 HAVKRHILL. 
 
 We walked conversing, till Day's car was driven, 
 By flaming coursers do-\vn the steep of heaven ; 
 Till Eve's bright star unveiled her diamond eye, 
 And Night's jDale planet climbed the azure sky. 
 What social bliss ! when mutual friends impart 
 The joy or grief that charms or pains the heart ! 
 Cease, Memory ! cease, thy magic wand to wave, 
 Nor call departed pleasures from the grave ; 
 To shades oblivious may they be consigned, 
 Since retrospection wounds the feeling mind. 
 But yet, lost friend ! the Muse, to friendship true, 
 Clings to thy tomb, and breathes a fond adieu ? 
 Still o'er thy mouldering corse she ponders long. 
 Heedless that other subjects claim her song ! 
 
 From blooming Youth I turn to hoary Age, 
 And go where rests a venerable sage,'^ 
 Who through life's checkered vale serenely moved. 
 By earth respected, and by heaven approved ; 
 Eeligion's radiant path he wisely trod. 
 And studied with delight the book of God : 
 From that blest source the best of knowledge drew. 
 And (pleasing thought !) he practised what he knew. 
 His generous heart with friendly feelings glowed, 
 And from his lips persuasive wisdom flowed ; 
 Full oft he warned me of the snares of youth. 
 And showed my erring feet the way of truth I 
 
 3(>
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Calm was his mind : whene'er, in private life, 
 Contentious breasts "let slip the clogs" of Strife, 
 Then, friend of Peace ! it was thy liberal aim 
 To hush the storm, and quench the kindling flame ; 
 To bid tumultuous gusts of passion cease, 
 And soothe discordant tempers into peace ! 
 Unlike the chief who pants for martial fame, 
 And flies to arms to gain a hero's name; 
 Who, goaded by Ambition's mad desire. 
 To win renown, would set the globe on fire ! 
 Would wade through seas of blood his wish to gain, 
 And climb to empire over hills of slain ! 
 Edmund, farewell ! thy philanthropic mind 
 No longer seeks the good of human kind ; 
 1^0 more thy kind, thy social, happy breast 
 Dilates with joy to see thy neighbour blest ; 
 Thy gentle spirit, freed from cumbrous clay. 
 Soared to the j)eaceful cHmes of cloudless day. 
 To bow before the dazzling throne of bliss. 
 And hymn the praises of "the Prince of Peace!" 
 
 I leave my aged friend, and haste to find 
 Where Granger rests on bed of dust reclined ; 
 Not e'en an osiered hillock heaves to show 
 Here the poor idiot, Samuel, sleeps below. 
 Hard was thy lot, poor lad ! that dreary dome, 
 A parish workhouse, was thy gloomy home ; 
 
 37
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Where sireless Youth and childless Age repaii", 
 Forced by hard Fate to seek parochial care ! 
 Ah, friendless youth ! to certain misery born, 
 No cheerful cloud illumed Life's opening morn ; 
 !N"o rustic beauty caused thy heart to prove 
 The soft, enchanting witcheries of love ! 
 No wife, affectionate, on her kind breast 
 Lulled thy disordered faculties to rest; 
 No rosy offspring charmed thy raptured sight. 
 Nor made thy bosom vibrate with delight ! 
 Bereft of social bHss, by heaven's decree, 
 The flower of Pleasure never bloomed for thee ! 
 Eough was thy pathway through this sterile Avild ; 
 No roses blossomed, and no prospects smiled. 
 Debarred, by want of mind, from Life's best joys, 
 Thou liVdst the jest of men, the sport of boys ! 
 Unwept the stroke the grizzly tyrant gave — 
 Soft Pity's offering ne'er bedewed thy grave ! 
 Yet, when the awful mandate claimed thy breath, 
 And parish bounty delved thy house of death, 
 Thy humble, happy sphit winged its flight 
 From this gross orb to spheres of perfect light ! 
 There (from thy native dross by Grace refined) 
 To taste the bliss that charms the infant mind ! 
 Frown not, proud bigot ! on my liberal song. 
 Nor deem my mild, my generous system wrong. 
 
 38
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Nor think that power — the Great, the Jiist, theWise ! 
 Expects the end while He the means denies. 
 At thy dread bar, Omnipotence ! where all 
 Must stand the test of Justice — rise or fall ! — 
 [Ne'er will this poor forlorn one be arraigned 
 For genius prostituted, faith profaned ! 
 For conscience unregarded, wealth misused ; 
 For duty slighted, or for time abused ! 
 He had no talent given him to improve : — 
 I leave him to his Judge — a God of love ! 
 And ye, vain sophists of the present day ! 
 Ye sceptics vile ! who lead the weak astray : 
 Ye stars of Science ! foes to Holy Writ, 
 Who on the sacred page exhaust your wit — 
 Here view and envy this mean idiot's state ; 
 And tremble, tremble for your future fate ! 
 
 From hapless, weak insanity I turn 
 To him'* who lies forgotten in that urn. 
 Forgotten 1 I the faulty term recall ! 
 Can I forget him ? No ! I saw liim fall ! 
 I saw him, flushed with health, in manhood's bloom. 
 Spurred by resentment, rush to meet his doom ! 
 I saw him in the dire affray engage, 
 And fall a victim to a villain's rage ! — 
 But hark ! some false illusion mocks mine ear, 
 Or fi'om the tomb these solemn words I hear : — 
 
 :59
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 " Attend, bold youth ! who com'st, devoid of dread, 
 
 To meditate among the village dead : 
 
 Hear this admonitory, brief address, 
 
 And profit by my tale of wretchedness. 
 
 Like yours, my cheek was tinged with Health's red 
 
 dyes ! 
 Hope's promised pleasures glittered in mine eyes ! 
 And, charmed by Fancy's gaily-painted dream, 
 Heedless I sailed down Joy's enchanted stream : 
 Until, alas ! a Providence severe 
 Marred each bright thought, and closed my gay 
 
 career ! 
 Mine was an awful doom ! no warning given, 
 No space to reconcile offended Heaven! 
 Untimely summoned yon dread court to tread, 
 ' With all my imperfections on my head ! ' 
 Taught by my fate, by my experience wise, 
 Shun the mad haunts where storms of discord rise ; 
 Whose gales may Life's frail bark asunder tear. 
 And whelm it in the whirlpool of Despair ! " 
 
 Beneath that sod, in Spring's bright verdure drest, 
 A valiant soldier" finds a couch of rest : 
 If sprung from gentle race, his honoured name 
 Had lived in song, and swelled the trump of Fame : 
 Nay, royal favour might have shed its rays, 
 And placed upon his breast a star to blaze. — 
 
 40.
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 In early life, seduced by Glory's charms, 
 
 He left his plough to learn the trade of arms ; 
 
 Left the calm scenes of rustic solitude. 
 
 To traverse plains with human blood imbrued : 
 
 Where thousands in the bloom of health arrayed, 
 
 Led by bold chiefs, were swept to Death's dark 
 
 shade ! 
 In that dread year, when from the scowling north 
 Eebellious Scotia poured her miscreants forth, 
 With loyal zeal he joined the martial band. 
 Which drove the rebels to their native land ; 
 There royal William, at one signal blow, 
 Laid all the hopes of proud Rebellion low ! 
 But say, what bright reward, what brilliant meed, 
 Awaits the private hero's gallant deed 1 
 That grateful realm, for which he fought and bled. 
 Will shield from Want's rude storm his hoary 
 
 head. 
 Ah, no ! when he can fight and toil no more. 
 He seeks a refuge with the parish poor ! 
 In workhouse dreav he " draws his latest breath. 
 Where all that's dreadful paves the way to Death." '^ 
 Though Britain to thy worth no tribute pay, 
 Accept, heroic shade ! this simple lay : 
 Fain would the Muse, to humble virtue just, 
 Plant a poetic tribute o'er thy dust : 
 
 41
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 And tell to future times, in artless strain, 
 Thy valiant deeds on Dettingen's famed plain. 
 But, all ! tlie song that longs thy fame to save, 
 Must soon descend to dark Oblivion's cave ! 
 
 See, where those flowers their yellow breasts 
 display, 
 And drink, in cups of gold, the tears of May ; 
 Freed from the ills that feeble age assail, 
 Sleeps active Nan — the minstrel of the vale ; 
 Whose withered arm, at Pleasure's jocund call, 
 Struck the blithe notes of joy at village ball. 
 Though little skilled to please the cultured ear, 
 Though no fair cherub "leaned from heaven to hear," 
 Yet would the clown with awkward stride advance. 
 Charmed by her art, to weave the mazy dance ; 
 While Joy's bright glow illumed each maiden's 
 
 breast. 
 And gave to mii'tli like theirs a grateful zest. 
 But Death — whose stroke the jDile of Hope destroys — 
 Who steals from social life its fairest joys — 
 Wlio spreads through festive scenes a general gloom — 
 Unstrung her lyre, and called her to the tomb. 
 
 Nymjihs of the vale ! ye giddy -minded throng, 
 Who seek no higher bliss than dance and song; 
 "Wlio oft, responsive to her didcet strain. 
 Tuned the soft lay, or beat the velvet plain; 
 
 42
 
 HAVERHILL, 
 
 Pause o'er this cold, obscure abode awhile, 
 And weep for her who oft has made you smile ! 
 Here may you learn superior bliss to prize : 
 On nobler objects fix your wandering eyes ! 
 Let thought ascend, where seraphs, robed in white, 
 Strike their soft lutes, and sing the songs of light ! 
 Where Joy's fair flower perfumes the ambient air, 
 And through eternal ages blossoms fair ! 
 
 Near where the Parsonage stood (ere that dread 
 day 
 When Haverhill'^ sunk to raging flames a prey !) 
 'Midst undistinguished graves, the Muse shall find 
 Where rests a man'* who served, yet shunned man- 
 kind. 
 Alas ! no marble tablet here displayed. 
 Protects his relics from the sexton's spade ! 
 For years secluded from the public eye. 
 He long indidged his singularity. 
 Nor interest, love, nor friendsliip could persuade 
 This dull recluse to quit the studious shade. 
 O'er sciences abstruse he loved to pore. 
 And scan the depths of mathematic lore. 
 Though oft his views were fanciful and wild. 
 Though at his air-built schemes the vulgar smiled, 
 Yet he was skilful ia the healing art; 
 To pain-worn frames could welcome ease impart; 
 
 43
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 With lenient hand he soothed the sufferer's pain; 
 Though strange his life, he did not live in vain. 
 
 Eccentric sage ! why waste life's blooming hour 
 Unseen, unnoticed, like the desert flower ? 
 "Why didst thou hide thy talent 1 Why imbibe 
 The unsocial tenets of the hermit tribe ? 
 How sunilar to thine his selfish plan, 
 Who shuns all intercourse with brother man ; 
 Slights the endearing charities of life — 
 Friends, brothers, sisters, parents, children, wife ! 
 Seeks some lone hermitage, and hopes to find 
 A sullen bliss in hating all mankind. 
 Vain man ! thy proper course of duty see, 
 Perform the part which Heaven allots to thee. 
 Go, seek Distress ! explore the haunts of Woe ! 
 Bid the wan cheek in rosy tints to glow ! 
 Smooth with soft touch Affliction's rugged road ! 
 Clothe shivering Want, and fill her mouth with 
 
 food! 
 Where Chiistians in sublime communion join, 
 Du'ect thy steps, partake their joys divine ! 
 Wlien freed by Death, yon "star-paved" heights 
 
 ascend. 
 Where active virtue finds a heavenly Friend ! 
 
 Here lift the monumental beacon high, 
 Ye architects ! to warn the passer-by : 
 
 44
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 And be the stone with this address supplied — 
 " Panse ! reader, pause ! Here lies a suicide ! 
 Who, ¥oid of I^ature's salutary dread, 
 Entered, uncalled, the precincts of the dead : 
 Eushed with a frantic haste to worlds unknown, 
 And read his sentence in his Maker's frown. 
 Here, mortal ! learn with patience to sustain 
 The load of life, though life be nought but pain : 
 Cherish existence : 't is a blessing given ; 
 And nobly 'fill the circle marked by Heaven.' 
 What though the friend thou lov'dst should prove 
 
 unkind ; 
 Though Conscience with her scorpions sting thy 
 
 mind ; 
 Though Fortune frown, and Pain thy vitals tear ; 
 To touch the sacred springs of life, forbear ! 
 If bosom confidants perfidious prove, 
 Live — and secure a Friend that dwells above ! 
 If Conscience wound thee for thy mis-spent days, 
 live ! repent ! the future spend in praise ! 
 If Fortune, changeful goddess ! from thee fly, 
 Live — and expect a portion in the sky ! 
 If past and present prove one scene of care. 
 Still live — and hope to-morrow may be fair ! 
 Short, at its utmost length, life's little span 
 Then why curtail that period, thoughtless man!
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 WTiy with bold arm Almighty vengeance dare? 
 Why phinge thy soiil in fathomless despair 1 
 Taught by celestial wisdom, may no shock 
 Drive thy light bark upon this fatal rock ! 
 Safe may it ride before a prosperous gale, 
 And weather every storm, should storms prevail ! 
 Secure, though oft by adverse tempests driven, 
 To cast its anchor in the bay of heaven!" 
 
 William,"" though no recording marble rise 
 To point thy lowly bed to curious eyes ; 
 Though no unlettered Muse, with uncouth lay, 
 Here to thy worth a simple offering pay; 
 Yet delegated angels watch thy dust, 
 Till the last trimip awake the sleeping just. 
 
 A pale consumption, in youth's cheerful bloom, 
 Urged its du-e course, and marked him for the tomb. 
 Certain, though slow, stern Death his frame invades. 
 Anxious to people his unsocial shades. 
 The vital lamp, grown weak, but dimly burns; 
 Life's lazy, loitering wheel, which slowly turns. 
 At length stands still. No more the pulse can bound, 
 Disease assault, nor Pain inflict a wound. 
 While the glad soul exults at its release, 
 Attendant seraphs chant soft hymns of peace; 
 Bear on swift wing their happy charge away, 
 Through the fair portals, to bright worlds of day ! 
 
 46
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Though placed by Heaven in humble station here, 
 A mind like his had graced a nobler sphere : 
 His genius — had some patron's fostering hand 
 Screened from cold want, and bade its buds 
 
 expand — 
 Like some fair flower in spring had blossomed 
 
 bright, 
 Sweet to the sense, and lovely to the sight : 
 So humble virtue lives unknown below, 
 And plants of genius unregarded blow ; 
 Like lilies of the vale they flourish fair, 
 "And waste their sweetness on the desert ah'!" 
 Translated from th' ungenial soil of Time, 
 His Muse is ripening in a milder clime ; 
 There the blest spuit joins the blissful throng. 
 And with angelic poets tunes its song ; 
 While each bright mansion, and celestial grove, 
 Eesounds and echoes with Almighty love ! 
 
 ']S"eath that grass plot, where many a daisy 
 
 grows 
 Some harmless, useful characters repose ; 
 Who, with an honest heart, and humble aim, 
 Stole through the world, nor craved the aid of 
 
 Fame. 
 Him will I sing, who lost, in youth's career, 
 Tiie sweet, delightful sense — the power to hear.
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Poor, hapless Charles ! who, through life's lengthened 
 
 day, 
 Trod the lone vale, a long and dreary way ! 
 To cheer his path, no Muse was heard to say, 
 " Come, take my lyre, and sing thy cares away : 
 Soar to the fairy realms where Fancy reigns, 
 And lose, in joys fictitious, real pains." 
 To him soft Music's thrills, which glad the heart, 
 No soothing, sweet sensations could impart : 
 The charms of social converse ne'er were his; 
 'Nov did he know thy joys. Connubial Bliss! 
 Yet think not this obscure, " mean man" was found 
 An idle, useless cumberer of the ground : 
 For he was skilful in mechanic art; 
 On life's low stage he played a usefid part ; 
 Till, touched by Death, each fine pulsation stopt, 
 And o'er hie mortal scene the curtain dropt : 
 Then his mild spirit sought that placid shore. 
 Where deafness grieves and pain molests no 
 more ! 
 Thou unlamented shade ! I leave thy cell, 
 Muse on thy life, and sigh, " Lorn man, farewell ! 
 Here ma/st thou rest, on pallet of rude clay. 
 Till clarion loud proclaims a judgment-day : 
 Then mount the skies (through Mercy), and obtain 
 A happy station with the ransomed train ; 
 
 48
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 And gain in courts of light an humble seat, 
 
 "Where bliss inferior still is bliss complete!" 
 
 In youth's bright morn, or manhood's brighter day. 
 
 If e'er I bowed to Love's imperial sway; 
 
 If e'er thy woes, Affection! dimmed mine eye; 
 
 Here may I pause, and heave th' impassioned sigh ! 
 
 Fresh as the rose that paints the vernal year, 
 
 Bloomed the unhappy maid who moulders here : 
 
 In Beauty^s radiant mould the fair was cast, 
 
 A lovely form I too lovely long to last. 
 
 Beauty ! thou bright possession ! frail as fair, 
 
 Full oft the proud possessor's fatal snare ! 
 
 Full oft the vermeil cheek, and sparkling eye, 
 
 Have caused the heart that prized them many a sigh ! 
 
 Full oft the fair, by sad experience, know 
 
 That Beauty's brilliant planet sets in woe. 
 
 A youth, of manners sprightly, temper bland, 
 
 To beauteous Stella proffered heart and hand ; 
 
 The lovely nymph his tender suit approved. 
 
 Thro' Courtship's gay, enchanting scenes they roved ; 
 
 Light Fancy pictured bliss without alloy. 
 
 And Hope anticipated future joy. 
 
 But rUls of pleasure ne'er unsullied flow, 
 
 'Nov pointless thorns in Love's sweet Eden grow. 
 
 Alas ! Hope's rainbow visions, how they fade ! 
 
 How Fancy's sun-bright landscapes sink in shade ! 
 
 49
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 His rigid sire, with avaricious aim, 
 Frowned disappointment on their mutual flame. 
 Fatal event ! they leave Discretion's way, 
 And in the flowery paths of Error stray ; 
 Till, reft of innocence and virtuous fame, 
 Eeproachful Scandal spread her "growing shame;" 
 Not long she felt Detraction's scorpion power, 
 She met her fate in childbirth's dangerous hour ! 
 Where shall the Muse find words to paint, with truth, 
 The keen distraction of the wretched youth : 
 Five tedious moons he wept her hapless doom, 
 Then sunk, heart-broken, to the silent tomb ! 
 So mourns the constant turtle for his love, 
 Till his loud plaints resound tlixough all the grove ; 
 Each leafy copse has lost its wonted charms, 
 And love's soft victim sinks in Death's cold arms ! 
 
 Near yon neglected spot, where no gay flower 
 Exhales its sweets in Evening's balmy hour; 
 But where vile tufts of peevish nettles stand. 
 To dart their venom on each hostile hand; 
 There rests a member' of a warlike host, 
 Who came, at Danger's call, to Albion's coast : 
 What time Eebellion her black flag displayed, 
 And Britain, trembling, sought for foreign aid. 
 
 But, all ! no tempered steel, no moulded ball, 
 Big with destructive influence, caused his fall !
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 For fell Disease assumed its fatal reign, 
 And Death, grim victor ! closed his short campaign. 
 His sorrowing comrades laid his body here, 
 And paid that tribute rare — a soldier's tear ! 
 
 Poor youth ! though Fate assailed thee far apart 
 From the loved maid who won thy gallant heart ; 
 Though far from native cot, and fav'rite grove, 
 A father's kindness, or a mother's love; 
 Yet, blest exchange ! if, from a world like this. 
 Thy spirit soared to reabns of endless bliss ! 
 But soft ! no more : the empress of the night 
 Gilds the dark shades with streams of silvery light : 
 Here my instructive, solemn walk shall close ; 
 For Nature, wearied, claims her due repose. 
 
 51
 
 AEGUMENT. 
 
 To the Muse — Invasion — The Sweets of Home — Soldier — 
 Sailor — The Gamester — The Village Drmikard : his miser- 
 able Cot— Shakspeare — Bacon — Ward — Cobb — Scandcrett 
 — Fairclough — Adieu to Haverhill — Conclusion. 
 
 54
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 Once more — (and then, my faVrite theme, farewell !) 
 Arise, loved Muse ! attune thy vocal shell, 
 Sweep with bold touch the fascinating wire ; 
 This task performed, then sleep my seK-taught lyre : 
 Till, waked by Victory's anunating call, 
 Each string proclaims a haughty tyrant' s^^ fall. 
 
 Indignant at Invasion's dread alarms, 
 Lo! Britain's warlike genius roused to arms! 
 See ! every hamlet pours a youthful train. 
 To practise arms upon its velvet plain ; 
 And martial music, as it rolls along, 
 Drowns the faint warblings of the poet's song. 
 So when rough tempests shake th' autumnal sky. 
 And warring winds from northern caverns fly, 
 Amid the ceaseless, elemental fray. 
 We scarce can hear the robin's feeble lay. 
 
 As yet, the Gallic storm at distance roars : 
 But should it reach our sea-encircled shores. 
 
 55
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Then bards like mc must quit their hill of rhyme, 
 To mount the breach, the battlement to climb — 
 Quit their bright wliimsies, Heliconian dreams, 
 To wade, 'mid showers of lead, through real streams. 
 Yes ! they, when Britain calls, must drop their pen, 
 Shoulder the deathful piece, and act like men ! 
 
 may th' Omnipotent display his power, 
 And succour Albion in the trying hour ! 
 May his dread arm avert th' impending stroke, 
 And shield our free-born necks from Gallia's yoke ! 
 May no fierce chieftain these loved scenes assail, 
 And proudly lord it o'er my native vale ; 
 Nor plundering hordes my favourite haunts explore, 
 And dye my flower-fringed walks with human gore ! 
 Ne'er may these daisied meads, and corn-clad plains, 
 Drink the warm life-stream from a soldier's veins ! 
 Ne'er may the trumpet's clang, the drum's loud beat, 
 Affrighten Echo from her cool retreat : 
 Nor may the cannon's thunder shake those groves. 
 And chase the Dryad from the haunt she loves ! 
 
 Scenes which I love ! though War, fierce Civil 
 War! 
 " Yoked her red dragons to her iron car!" 
 Though stern-browed Cromwell, with his conquering 
 
 band. 
 Spread death and desolation through the land ! 
 
 96
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Still were ye safe, although Colonia's'-^ tower 
 Felt the red marks of his gigantic power. — 
 Scenes which I love ! when called to quit your 
 
 bowers — 
 To visit where proud London rears her towers — 
 Though siren Pleasure all her charms displayed, 
 I sighed for home, and for thy rural shade. 
 Dear home ! engaging name ! thou canst impart 
 A cheap-bought bliss, a charm for every heart ! 
 There dwell the infant train, the tender wife ; 
 There grows the balm that sweetens social life. 
 Lost to all sensibility the mind 
 That leaves without a sigh such bliss behind ; 
 Who from delights like these can calmly rove, 
 Nor breathe a wish for home — fond seat of love ! 
 If such a cold, insensate wretch there be, 
 "Thanks to this feeling heart — I am not he!" 
 
 The soldier, doomed through fields of blood to rove. 
 Doomed every ill that waits on war to prove, 
 Should the keen bayonet, or deathful ball. 
 With Heaven-commissioned errand, work his fall — 
 Whilst low he lies amid the mangled scene. 
 What heart-affecting thoughts will intervene ; 
 His long-loved home — each scene that charmed his 
 
 youth — 
 And she to whom he vowed eternal truth — 
 
 •57
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Before his mind in quick succession rise, 
 Till Death's broad shadows settle on his eyes. 
 
 The hardy tar, who every danger braves, 
 And sings whilst riding on the howling waves — 
 Who hears, unmoved, loud storms and tempests roar, 
 Heaves the deep sigh for friends he left on shore — 
 Thoughts of his cot, his wife, and children dear, 
 Bedew his rugged front with !N'ature's tear: 
 His heart, though destined round the globe to roam, 
 Like the magnetic needle — points at home ! 
 
 Yet some there are, with star-emblazoned breast, 
 "VVlio live unloved, unsatisfied, unblest! 
 Who leave a sprightly group of girls and boys, 
 To taste the profligate's forbidden joys ; 
 Leave domes magnificent, pavilions gay, 
 For haunts obscure — to be the gamester's prey ! 
 Lose, at each throw, some farm or stately pile. 
 While Ruin, hovering, " grins a ghastly smile ! " 
 
 But shall I stigmatize alone the great 1 
 Are no offenders in a low estate 1 
 Yes ! yes ! there are — the housewife's plaintive tale, 
 Of drunken spouse, is heard in every vale ! 
 
 Behold that cot, whose miserable form 
 Shakes at the pressure of the wintry storm ; 
 Whose mossy roof, chinked wall, and broken pane. 
 Admit the feathery snow and driving rain. 
 
 58
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Enter the ruinous abode, and see, 
 In living traits, domestic misery ! 
 Crouched o'er the embers, view the squalid race, 
 Eags on each back, and famine in each face ; 
 While cries for bread assail their mother's ears; — 
 She gives but one expressive answer — tears ! 
 See at her breast a famished nurseling lies. 
 The milky fount can furnish no supplies ; 
 Want has dried up the source which could impart 
 Nutricious streams to warm its tender heart. 
 Is this the fair, who, erst of beauty vain, 
 Smiled with contempt on every rustic swain ? 
 Is this the nymph, who, drest so passing well. 
 Who eyed with Scorn's keen glance each village 
 
 belle ? 
 Is this — ^but soft, my IVIuse ! that pallid brow, 
 And tattered garb, declare — " How altered now!" 
 Where is the friend who should her cares beguile, 
 And make her hapless fortune wear a smile 1 
 He 's gone to meet the ale-house-goiiig throng, 
 And join the chorus of the drunl^ard's song: 
 Tlioughtless of home, he driaks, and smokes, and 
 
 swears ; 
 Laughs loud, and to the winds consigns his cares. 
 Thou cruel spoiler of connubial bliss ! 
 " for a law to noose thy neck" for this ! 
 
 59
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 for a law — but here my song shall pause, 
 And leave just Heaven t' avenge its broken laws ! 
 Though man forbear, yet Providence will shed, 
 Or soon or late, dread vengeance on thy head ! 
 Once more my Muse shall HaverhiUhail; though 
 
 here 
 'No star e'er rose to gild proud Learning's sphere; 
 No bard, like Shakspeare, who possessed the art 
 To touch each spring that agitates the heart ; 
 To make the frame with Joy's warm fervours glow, 
 Or drown the spirits in a flood of woe ! 
 No Bacon, who, with philosophic eye. 
 Could into Nature's latent secrets pry ; 
 Who up thy momit, fair Knowledge ! boldly soared, 
 And every scientific mine explored ! 
 Yet let not Science view this spot with scorn, 
 For here the learn' d, th' accomplished Ward-^ was 
 
 born! 
 A zealous minister ; a pious man ; 
 An humble, persecuted Puritan; 
 Who the mild fascmating art possessed, 
 To soften and subdue the hardened breast. 
 Though vain Philosophy such worth despise. 
 Yet he who "winneth souls" is truly wise! — 
 With rigour scourged by Persecution's rod. 
 Here fervent Scanderett^ preached the Word of God : 
 
 60
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 By laws severe, though form his pulpit driven, 
 Undaunted still he served the cause of Heaven; 
 Endured the rage of man with mind serene, 
 And, filled with better hopes, he left this earthly 
 
 scene ! 
 Here, too, lived Cobb," in Mary's blood-stained days, 
 Whose pious worth transcends my feeble praise ; 
 Wlio the fierce threats of popish priests withstood. 
 Avowed the truth, and sealed it with his blood : 
 Th' unconquered spirit smiled at Death's grim frown, 
 Soared to the skies, and gained a martyr's crown ! 
 
 Last, but not least, upon this roll of Fame, 
 Gladly my Muse inscribes a Fairclough's^ name ; 
 Of all thy worthies, Haverhill ! who could feel. 
 For sacred truth, more animated zeal? 
 Assiduous in his gracious Master's cause. 
 He preached till silenced by coercive laws : 
 Zealous, where duty led, his course to steer; 
 Left all to serve his God, and keep his conscience 
 clear ! 
 
 Haverhill, adieu ! adieu my favourite theme ! 
 Ye syli)hs, who prompt the poet's fairy dream. 
 Farewell ! this rustic lyre, my youthful pride, 
 Thus, with reluctant hand, I cast aside ! 
 Yes ! I must Nature's potent call obey, 
 Unstring my harp, and fling my pen away ! 
 
 61
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 For lo ! a prattling band, a blooming brood 
 Of rosy infants, claim their daily food. 
 These happy triflers sport away their time, 
 Nor heed the cold neglect that waits on rhyme : 
 They neither know — nor wish to know — the train 
 Of glittering forms that haunt the poet's brain : 
 They would famed Pegasus, and all the Nine, 
 For painted horse, or gilded book resign ; 
 A dish of metaphors, though drest with care, 
 Would to my prattlers prove but empty fare : 
 A glass of nut-brown ale they 'd rather choose, 
 Than goblets filled with Heliconian dews ; 
 And a piled hearth, bright blazing, more admire, 
 Than all the flashes of poetic fire. — 
 
 0, when that fateful stroke, that general doom. 
 Shall stop my shuttle, tear me from my loom. 
 Dear, native vale ! thy flowery turf beneath. 
 May he, who sang thy praise, repose in death ! 
 I ask no sculptured stone, no verse sublime, 
 To shield my memory from the blast of time ; 
 But may that friend, whom most my heart holds 
 
 dear, 
 Eedcw my grassy hillock with a tear ! 
 
 62
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 a ScscrijJttbe ^ocm. 
 
 "I have often thonglit that ahnost every spot and place in our 
 villages and hamlets would afford instruction and interest to the 
 reflecting traveller, were he enabled or inclined to gather up the 
 mere outline of tlieir past and present histoiy." 
 
 The Village Observer. 
 
 63
 
 AEGUMENT. 
 
 Invocation — Rural Scenery — Old May -Day — Country Fair — 
 Recruiting Serjeant — Modern Farmer — Ancient Farmer — 
 Effects of Modern Refinement — Hope — ToU- Bar— Robert 
 — Mudwalled Cot — The Family — Parish House — Pauper 
 and Milk-white Spaniel — Hamlet Alehouse— Landlord, &c. 
 
 64
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 "Dear native bowers of innocence and ease. 
 Seats of my youth, when every sport could please. 
 How often have I loitered o'er thy green, 
 Where humble happiness endeared each scene ! " 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 Genius of Goldsmith ! Thou who erst didst string 
 The sweet-toned harp thy Auburn's wrongs to sing, 
 Who cast on Crabbe thy mantle, bid his pen, 
 Like thine, portray the lowly walks of men, 
 Oh ! grant a portion of that genuine fire, 
 That " waked to ecstasy " thy charming lyre, 
 Which haply may the Muse's labours bless, 
 And crown her feeble efforts with success. 
 Lyre of my happier days ! whose artless song 
 Was wont to please — thou hast been silent long, 
 Upon my fav'rite beech tree thou hast hung, 
 Till the wild gales have every cord unstrung.
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 For once — now Fancy wills — I'll take thee down, 
 Adjust tliy strings, and sing The Market Town. 
 
 Afar from London's proud imperial towers, 
 Wliere Pleasure's votaries speed the laughing hours, 
 And gay Amusement spreads her painted wings, 
 To feast the eyes of subjects and of kings : 
 Yes, far removed — embosomed in a vale, 
 Where health's fair blessings load each whispering 
 
 gale. 
 And Peace — mild tiu'tle — with her downy wing 
 Broods o'er the scene — appears the spot I sing. 
 Hail, long loved vale ! through thee in Kfe's first 
 
 hours 
 I gaily ranged to cull thy early flowers, 
 How dear to riper years thy flowery glades. 
 Thy furrowed fields, green lanes, and sylvan shades : 
 I love thy lowland walks at Eve's brown hour. 
 When the last sun-gleam gilds the time-worn tower. 
 And the grey linnet, as I muse along. 
 Tunes to departing day a farewell song. 
 How sweet to hear, as nature sinks to rest, 
 The blackbird warbling o'er his clay -built nest. 
 And Philomel — loved chantress of the shade, 
 H}Tnns to the evening star her serenade. 
 
 Hail, long loved vale ! to retrospection dear. 
 What sweet associations mingle here. 
 
 (ifi
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 'Mid thy green iDowers the muse did first essay, 
 To tune with woodland pipe her humble lay ; 
 To tell in artless verse the simple tale, 
 And sing the history of her native vale. 
 StUl the loved muse her inspiration breathes, 
 And still I love to twine her fairy wreaths ; 
 Her witching spell with strong enchantment binds. 
 Sweet bondage ! seldom felt by vulgar minds. 
 Yes ! fair enchantress ! thine the magic power 
 To spot the barren dale with many a flower, 
 To cheer life's pilgrim as he plods along, 
 Till vanquished grief confess the charm of song, 
 
 Dear scenes ! full oft, when Youth's auspicious prime. 
 Strewed roses o'er my pathway, and blithe Time 
 Shook balmy blessings from his noiseless wing, 
 I climbed yon hill, to view those shades I sing. 
 Green native shades ! through you I fondly strayed, 
 "With early friend, or sweetly blushing maid. 
 Or passed in dreams poetic morn's fair hour 
 Along thy rushy banks, meandering Stour. 
 
 What though no splendid routes attract the gay, 
 Nor lure the man of pleasure here to stay, 
 "What though from scenic arts no transport springs, 
 1^0 Kean performs, or Catalan! sings. 
 Yet here, e'en here, to turn adrift old Care, 
 This lowly scene can boast an annual fair ; 
 
 67
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 When, for the day, the peasant of the vale 
 Throws every sorrow to the passing gale, 
 Imparts to each worn feature the glad smile, 
 'Nov heeds to-morrow or its scene of toil. 
 
 Full oft when life was new and spirits gay, 
 I hail'd the blest retui'n of Old May Day. 
 Sweet period ! when each copse and budding grove 
 Is vocal with the songs of feathered love. 
 And genial Spring, who leads the vernal hours. 
 Spreads her green carpet, gemmed with golden flowers. 
 
 Yes, when this scene of rustic joy drew nigh, 
 I marked its progress with attentive eye, 
 The " note of preparation " loved to hear, 
 And lent my ready hand the booths to rear. 
 All was domestic hurry to prepare 
 For kindred guests clean floors and dainty fare. 
 The poor mechanic stole an hour from trade. 
 And his clay cot a white- washed front displayed ; 
 The humming wheel was banished from the room. 
 And the brisk matron plied her mop and broom, 
 Sweet relaxation soothed the weaver's breast, 
 And every shuttle found a day of rest. 
 
 The jocund period comes ; in saffron robe, 
 Day's monarch mounts his throne, to rule the globe. 
 The lark, mom's speckled herald, wings his flight 
 To hail with song the source of heat and light. 
 
 68
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Loud ring the merry bells, whose cheerful somid 
 Proclaims the festival the coimtry round. 
 Borne on the wings of zephyrs soft and clear, 
 The grateful cadence greets the ploughboy^s ear, 
 Who heeds not now the warblings of the thrush, 
 Nor odours wafted from the May-thorn bush. 
 But wrapt in hope's fair day-dream onward moves. 
 Winds the deej) furrow, chants the song he loves, 
 Till all the servile toil a master needs 
 Is o'er, and from his plough the swain proceeds 
 To don his Sunday doublet, and repair. 
 Flushed with anticipation, to the fair. 
 
 The woody hamlet and the wide-stretched plain 
 Pour from their cots obscure a happy train, 
 O'er each glad visage health has spread her dye, 
 Whilst joy's bright beam illumes each laughing eye; 
 And minds which no foreboding thoughts annoy, 
 The jovial group the present hour enjoy. 
 
 See to yon bowers the joyous lovers haste, 
 In dalliance fond the white-robed hours to waste : 
 What bliss reciprocal ! The speaking eye, 
 Tlie palpitating breast, the tell-tale sigh, 
 " Affection's dialect," full oft declare 
 That Love has fixed liis soft dominion there. 
 
 Thrice happy bustling scene of jocund noise. 
 To please the simple mind, what simple joys ! 
 
 69
 
 THE MAEKET TOWN. 
 
 All that can charm the biixom damsers eyes 
 The pedler's " silken treasury " snppUes. 
 A\Tiatever glads the infant and the boy 
 Is there — the bat, the baU, the whip, the toy. 
 But hark ! the bugle sounds — to yonder stage 
 Haste giddy youth, and hobble feeble age, 
 And mount the steps, and pay the copper mite, 
 The king of conjurers soon vnR meet your sight : 
 There you may sit entranced in deep amaze. 
 And with each hair on end astonished gaze. 
 See the learned hobby too, as some relate, 
 That opes to curious minds the book of fate. 
 Points out the nymph by faithless man betrayed, 
 Or her whom angry stars have doomed to die a maid. 
 Make way, ye smiling crowds, those fifes and drums 
 Proclaim the gay Eecruiting Sergeant comes, 
 With measured step he boldly strides along, 
 The gaze and wonder of the village throng. 
 While brandishing the burnished blade on high. 
 He views the crowd with supercilious eye ; 
 No chief returned from glory's tented plain. 
 Though honour rank him with her titled train. 
 Though glory for his brow her wreaths prepare, 
 Assumes such state or moves with such an air. 
 But mark ! when lucre prompts, he can unbend, 
 And treat each humble stranger as a friend ; 
 
 70
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 With graceful ease can happy freedoms take, 
 Give each rough hand the frank and hearty shake 
 Troll the light catch, and tell the frolic tale, 
 And freely push about the mantling ale. 
 Won by his lures, some youth devoid of art, 
 Unmindful of a maiden's aching heart, 
 Eegardless of a father's manly sigh, 
 Or the big drops that drown a mother's eye. 
 Accepts the boon, and spends the golden fee 
 In the mad scenes of midnight revelry, 
 Tni from the friends that loved him called afar. 
 To learn on distant plains the trade of war. 
 
 Thus passes the gay fair — the sullen boy 
 In abject mood regrets the vanished joy ; 
 The thought of school and pedagogue severe. 
 Draws from its liquid source the troubled tear, 
 Till Hope, blest cheerer ! darts her vivid ray. 
 And paints in fairy tints some future holiday. 
 
 Yet once a week this tranquil vale displays 
 A transient bustle 't is our Market Days ; 
 When from some village hall, in trim attire. 
 With mien as stately as a country squire, 
 The Modern Farmer meets the public view ; 
 Come ! doff your hats, and pay the homage due. 
 
 At inn arrived, the ready hostler stands, 
 And bows obsequious to his loud commands ; 
 
 71
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 With spring elastic soon he gains his feet, 
 And seeks the room where boon companions meet. 
 Ah, lucky hour ! see all prepared to dine ; 
 How smoke the tempting haunch and famed sirloin. 
 See all alert th' observant waiters ply, 
 Mark every nod and watch the asking eye. 
 The cloth removed — begins the festive time, 
 But little known to those who deal in rhyme. 
 Some drain the bowl, some con the daily news, 
 "While jest, and catch, and jocund curse amuse. 
 The grateful pipe imparts its soothing power, 
 And plumes, with silken wing, the passing hour. 
 Each gives his favourite toast, while all combine 
 To drown the wizard Care in floods of wine. 
 NoAv all is boisterous joy and wild uproar. 
 And broken pipes and glasses strew the floor. 
 '\\Tiiile sleep's soft pressui-e seals his maudlin eyes, 
 'Mid the mad scene some witless stripling lies. 
 Till some assail his feet and some his head. 
 And, smiling, bear the hopeful youth to bed. 
 
 Survey, my muse, the modern farmer's home. 
 How changed by fashion the once rustic dome. 
 
 The parlour enter — see the new-laid floor, 
 With gay-wrought Turkey carpet covered o'er ! 
 The elbow-chair, by rustic artist made, 
 What time blithe Charles the British sceptre swayed,
 
 THE MAEKET TOWN. 
 
 Famed for rude carvings, has been long displaced 
 And banished from the realnLs of modern taste. 
 Lo ! now the costly sofa decks the scene, 
 Pianoforte — card-table — Indian screen, 
 All that inflates th' aspiring mind is found. 
 And pride has not one lofty wish uncro^^Tied. 
 
 Ere by Refinement's influence swept away, 
 Upon the parlour shelf the Bible lay, 
 A favourite book, on whose blank leaf appeared 
 Full many a name by kindred ties endeared ; 
 That favourite book, in seasons dark and drear 
 Which bla-sted every hope, had power to cheer ; 
 Or if grim Want approached, it could display 
 A treasure time nor chance could snatch away. 
 Instead of which the play-book and romance 
 Are seen, yriih. novels from licentious France. 
 The Stripling gay, and '^Uss of tender age, 
 Delighted, pore upon the noxious page. 
 'T is nothing strange, if, from a source Uke this, 
 A stream should flow to taint domestic bhss — 
 If driven at length from fair Discretion's shore, 
 Poor shipwrecked Virtue sinks to rise no more. 
 
 But where 's the mastiff" that was wont to guard. 
 With more than human vigilance, the yard. 
 Whose growl terrific could the thief affright, 
 That wol^ which prowls the .spectred scene of night ? 
 
 73
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Poor Keeper 's hung ! some brute of nobler race, 
 And rarer pedigree now fills his place. 
 See the trained pointer and the greyhound fleet 
 With sportive circles the young farmer greet, 
 When, armed, with gun a-field he bends his way. 
 Where pheasant, hare, and partridge drop his prey. 
 
 In days of yore, in garb of russet brown, 
 The Ancient Farmer sought the market town. 
 In those old times 't were deemed superfluous pride. 
 To take e'en Dobbin from the plough to ride. 
 Patient, he trudged on foot full many a mile, 
 Peace in his breast, and on his face a smile : 
 The tap-room gained, he oped his homely cheer. 
 Ate his hard cake, and drank his horn of beer. 
 Business dispatched, he homeward sped to sup. 
 And morning saw him ere the lark was up. 
 
 But now, wliile Fashion sports her gilded train, 
 And modish taste and modern manners reign, 
 The peasant looks around and heaves a sigh. 
 And from refinement turns his aching eye. 
 'No more when Winter frowns may he retire 
 To eat Ms crust beside the kitchen fire ; 
 Ko more the good old dame, " who nothing loth," 
 Warms his cold stomach with her savoury broth. 
 Nor the kind master, with benignant smile. 
 Cheers with brown ale the drooping sons of toil. 
 
 74
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Alas ! he 's gone — another him succeeds, 
 Who bears his name — a stranger to his deeds. 
 The sons of toil the hateful change review, 
 Extol old times and execrate the new. 
 
 Yes, times are changed since Plenty, buxom queen, 
 Presided o'er the poor man's humble scene ; 
 Her grateful influence nerved the hind's strong arm. 
 And gave to Labour's cheek a rosy charm. 
 Oft as declining Sol his chariot rolled 
 Down the far west o'er bright ethereal gold, 
 And thought- engend' ring Eve, in mantle grey, 
 Dropped her dark cm'tain o'er the scenes of day, 
 The wearied labourer left his flail or spade, 
 And hummed his carol as he crossed the glade, 
 To gain his home, — sweet solace of his toil ! 
 Where fond affection beamed her loveliest smile. 
 There — ^waiting his approach — his babes would run. 
 Grasp his hard hand, and hail his wished return. 
 Dance round their wearied sire with antics gay, 
 And tell the little history of the day. 
 
 Meanwhile, the sharer of his joys and cares 
 With anxious love the frugal meal prepares — 
 That frugal meal a relish does bestow. 
 Which pampered appetites can never know. 
 And sounder slumbers his hard pallet crown, 
 Than Grandeur's minions find on beds of down.
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Yes ! sweet his hour of rest — what happy dreams 
 Of walks tlirougli painted meads, by purling streams ; 
 ¥e^7 cares could then through Fancy's regions creep, 
 And with ungrateful visions " murder sleep." 
 Roused by the cock what time the hand of morn, 
 Hung with pellucid pearls the bending thorn, 
 He left his humble couch and lowly shed, 
 Blithe as the lark that caroled o'er his head. 
 
 Fair scenes of rustic comfort, vanished long. 
 Appear once more — retui'n and prompt my song ! 
 0, would your smile the rural muse inspire, 
 With notes of gladness should resound my lyre ! 
 Vain, fruitless "wish ; behold the peasant now. 
 Sour discontent sits louring on his brow ; 
 By constant labour worn, his pallid face 
 Has lost the florid tint, the healthful grace ; 
 Content from his dull drear abode long flowoi. 
 He steals through life unpitied and unknown ; 
 Till Fate's stern mandate claims his feeble breath. 
 And shrowds its victim in the dust of death. 
 
 But some there are, though abject and forlorn. 
 Who tread life's vale the objects of proud scorn. 
 The son of fashion, as he flutters by. 
 Regards them with a supercilious eye, 
 Yet to these humble slighted ones 't is given 
 T' enjoy the smiles of an approving Heaven. 
 
 76
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Though -want afflicts, and sorrow glooms the scene, 
 Mild Hope, sweet cherub, sheds a soft serene ; 
 Fair peace is theirs while doomed to sojourn here, 
 And bliss perpetual in a brighter sj)here. 
 Arise, my Muse, on active pinions soar, 
 Thy long-known haunts and wood-paths wild explore ; 
 Paint the low cot that spots the village green, 
 And sketch the actors of the humble scene. 
 As the blithe artist of the " waxen tower " 
 PHes the light wing in Summer's golden hour. 
 So mayst thou, like that thrifty vagrant, roam. 
 And bring, like her, some useful treasure home. 
 
 'Near where yon Toll-Ear strides the public way. 
 And stops the unwilling passenger to pay, 
 Who draws with tardy hand the canvas purse, 
 And pays the fee with many a useless curse, — 
 A cot appears, on which, from age to age, 
 Loud wintry hurricanes have poured their rage ; 
 Upon whose front, in Spring's prolific hours, 
 The woodbine hangs her odoriferous flowers, 
 Loads with its honied balm the passing gale, 
 And scents with luscious sweets the neighbouring vale. 
 Alas ! the hands that reared the plant are cold, 
 And lie inactive in yon hallowed mould. 
 Long has that bosom lost its vital heat, 
 And palpitating heart forgot to beat ; 
 
 77
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 That heart, no more by tyrant love oppressed, 
 Kests where Affection's martyrs are at rest. 
 Yes ! where yon lofty fane, with stately mien 
 And solemn port, o'er looks the sacred scene, 
 Eeneath a mound, o'er which no cherub weeps, 
 Adorned with daisy blossoms, Eobert sleeps ; 
 Freed from the dire effects of female scorn. 
 He waits the audit of a judgment morn. 
 
 "Votaries of Joy ! if near his tomb ye stray, 
 With vacant minds, to trifle time away, 
 think ! though Love's trim vessel rides the gale. 
 And laughing Cupids fan each quivering sail. 
 Though halcyons hovering near their pinions lave. 
 Or rest on the soft bosom of the wave, — 
 Ere long, with horror winged, a storm may blow. 
 And whelm it in the fatal gulf below. 
 
 Votaries of Joy ! suspend your gay career, 
 Indulge a pause, and gather wisdom here ; 
 That sacred plant, by Folly's sons despised. 
 Loved by the meekly good and humbly wise, 
 la Sorrow's sombre vale delights to bloom. 
 But most affects the precincts of the tomb. 
 O pause ! and should some trifler claim thy smile, 
 Eesist the charm, and tarry here awhile ! 
 Ah, bid Indulgence her soft hour forego. 
 And wisely profit by a brother's woe. 
 
 78
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 And may a happier influence from above 
 Preserve you from the ills of slighted love ! 
 
 Eobert, farewell ! The Muse that sings thy fate 
 Heard thy pale lips the wrongs of love relate ; 
 Beheld thy face grow wan, thy health decay, 
 Saw thy poor wasted form entombed in clay, 
 And dropped the tear that feeling loves to shed 
 When Youth — sweet Spring flower ! — withers with 
 
 the dead. 
 She bids adieu, and hastens to explore 
 Those haunts recluse which hide the unnoticed 
 poor. 
 
 Up yon green lane, where hips of scarlet dye 
 And bramble-berries lure the school-boy's eye, 
 And prompt his truant steps, a cottage stands, 
 Eeared by a needy peasant's active hands. 
 Through papered panes the golden eye of day 
 Darts o'er the Mud- walled Hut a feeble ray ; 
 Gilds with faint beam the rafters smoke-embrowned, 
 And cobwebs vile which cling adhesive round. 
 Draw the rude pin that bolts the crazy gate. 
 Survey the scene, and mark the peasant's fate ! 
 Enter in Winter's dread tempestuous hour, 
 When the cleft walls admit the feathery shower. 
 And savage Boreas, with obstreperous roar, 
 Eocks the low roof, and thmiders at the door. 
 
 79
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Enter, and if mild Pit/s gentle tear 
 
 Adown thy cheek pursue its moist career, 
 
 WijDe from thine eye the pearly drop, and see, 
 
 In living traits, domestic misery ! 
 
 View on the hearth the remnants of a fire, 
 
 Sprays of green sloe-thorn, and the prickly brier, 
 
 Eound the faint blaze reclines a squalid race. 
 
 Thy signet, Want, impressed on every face. 
 
 Fled is each rosy charm ; no transports rise 
 
 To paint their cheeks, or light their languid eyes ; 
 
 And hushed the carol that was wont to cheer 
 
 Thei]' infant minds in seasons less severe. 
 
 They cannot now, as erst, when Spring's soft gale 
 
 Waved its mild pinion o'er yon primrose vale, 
 
 In gleeful spirits, leave their dreary home 
 
 Through Nature's green magniiicence to roam. 
 
 'No violet-bank, nor blackbird's snug retreat. 
 
 Attracts their eyes, or tempts their active feet ; 
 
 Those feet, by chilblains swollen, and many a bruise, 
 
 Alas ! scarce know the luxury of shoes. 
 
 Yet here, even here, the Eobin loves to come, 
 And, boldly social, pecks the fallen crumb ; 
 Till, cheered by genial warmth, the welcome guest 
 Tunes his faint lay, and plumes his rosy breast. 
 Tlie ragged clan caress their featherd friend, 
 Supply with food, from enemies defend ; 
 
 80
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Nay, should vile puss but mark him for her prey, 
 Swift fate awaits — her forfeit head must pay. 
 
 The wretched master of this cheerless cell, 
 In quest of fuel, seeks tjie woody dell ; 
 Eeckless, through snow-storm rough, behold him rush 
 To lop some pollard, or despoil some bush ! 
 His is no common fate ; here scarce a ray 
 From sunny Hope e'er shoots across his way. 
 Where can her bright illusions entrance find 
 To cheer the dull, cold winter of his mind 1 
 O that with him the Muse would deign to dAvell, 
 And teach his hand to sweep an humble shell ; 
 To sacred measures bid its numbers flow. 
 And soothe with heavenly charm the sense of woe ! 
 See the lorn partner of this cottage man 
 Hung round with rags, disconsolate and wan. 
 O'er her sunk visage mark the kindling flame, 
 'T is not the blush of guilt, nor glow of shame. 
 But such as tinge the cheek of deep distress. 
 When strangers come to view its wretchedness ! 
 
 This is no scene, by Fiction's art displayed. 
 While Fancy lent her prompt creative aid. 
 Though rude the outlines, faint the tints appear, 
 Too accurate the sketch presented here ! 
 
 Is there no Parish House, whose ample door. 
 On sullen hinge, invites the stai-ving poor 1 
 
 81
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Yes, there 's a " pauper palace " spacious dome ! 
 AVTiere pining wretclies find a dreary home. 
 Tired of the world's proud frown, and stern reproof, 
 Life's weary pilgrim seeks its sheltering roof ; 
 Endures a few short moons the scene of gloom, 
 Then steals unwept, unfriended, to the tomb ! 
 
 'T is there alone pale Want her head can hide. 
 What keeps the poor man back 1 An honest pride 1 
 Yes, he is proud of freedom, scorns control ! 
 No parish minion awes his free-born souL 
 How could he love the man ordained to deal 
 With parsimonious hand his stinted meal? 
 Or tolerate the loon who would chastise. 
 For venial faidts, his babes before his eyes ; 
 And, should paternal anguish swell to rage. 
 Would cool its fervour in the village cage 1 
 
 Pale son of Want ! dejected as thou art, 
 A principle I love inspires thy heart ; 
 'T is that which fills stern tyrants with alarm, 
 And nerves with tenfold strength the patriot's arm ! 
 'T is that which, under Heaven, protects our land 
 Safe from some foreign spoiler's felon hand ! 
 
 Pale son of Want ! though ne'er, with ray benign, 
 The star of Plenty o'er thy pathway shine ; 
 Though Poverty, that meagre phantom, now 
 Pours its full vial on thy haggard brow. 
 
 82
 
 THE MARKET TOWN, 
 
 Yet woiild thy hopeless mind its pinions spread, 
 And soar to Heaven, and ask for living bread. 
 Ask fi'om the Fount, whence sacred waters roll, 
 The vital stream to slake thy thirsty soid. 
 Then would the wilderness fair views disclose, 
 And every valley blossom as the rose ; 
 Then joys would bud, and springs of comfort rise. 
 And this drear waste appear as Paradise ! 
 
 Within these frowning walls a pauper dwelt. 
 Who many a year each sad privation felt 
 That waits on such a scene ; each Sununer friend 
 Forsook him when he saw the storm descend 
 On his lorn head, and " kingly overseer " 
 Sent him to seek a sorry pittance here. 
 Yet here, e'en here, where Hope scarce shows her face, 
 He found a friend, but not of human race — 
 A milk-white spaniel, whose attention kind, 
 Consoled his solitary, wounded mind. 
 Joyless and slow the various seasons passed, 
 TUl weary, lingeriag life ebbed out at last. 
 No tear was shed ; the sexton tolled his knell, 
 And the glad parish delved his eartlily cell. 
 Yet there was one who knew not how to part, 
 That mourned his master's death with feeling heart ; 
 For oft, as Morning oped her dewy eye. 
 The ploughboy saw him, as he whistled by 
 
 83
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Yon solemn graveyard scene, surprised to find 
 A milk-white spaniel on a grave reclined. 
 Yes, many a night Affection's faithful slave 
 Held watcliful vigils o'er a master's grave ! 
 
 "Would man, proud son of reason, condescend 
 To take a lesson from this poor man's friend. 
 Here might his mental eye exult to see 
 A noble pattern of fidelity ! 
 And here — but soft, why moralize so long, 
 "VVlailst other subjects claim descriptive song ? 
 
 Where yonder orchard, filled with fruitful trees. 
 Spreads its green bosom to the southern breeze, 
 Once stood the Hamlet Alehouse — social spot ! 
 Where Labour's wearied sons their toil forgot, 
 And where Old Crispin's votaries, day by day. 
 Would tallf, and drink, and game their hours away ; 
 Heedless of wife's reproach, or child's fond plaint, 
 They poured libations to their favourite saint. 
 Thought, boding thought, that haunts the breast of care. 
 Shook to the winds, could find no shelter there. 
 
 With business satiate, tired of nuptial strife, 
 And all the dull anxieties of life, — 
 Hither the tradesman hied what time mild EVn 
 Hung her brown drapery round the vault of heaven : 
 There he was wont his jaded mind t' amuse 
 With private scandal, or with public news ; 
 
 84
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 'Mid clouds of smoke would join in fierce debate, 
 
 To praise or blame the rulers of the State. 
 
 Blest pipe ! thou canst impart a sapient grace, 
 
 And give importance to the vacant face ; 
 
 Canst soothe, with opiate balm, the wounded breast, 
 
 And lull the troubled surge of thought to rest ! 
 
 Here lively Abraham lived — a jollier soul 
 ^e'er quaifed a glass, or drained a rosy bowl. 
 Whose portly form, inclined to corpulence, 
 Spoke his attachment to the joys of sense. 
 His eyes dark grey ; and nose, of Eoman shape, 
 Could boast a dye more deep than purple grape; 
 And his glib tongue could tell the merry tale, 
 Crack the blithe joke, and sing the joys of ale. 
 Whate'er the subject, he was seldom mute; 
 On points of faith could fluently dispute ; 
 And, with stanch Methodists, in solemn stave. 
 Would sing of bKss in worlds beyond the grave ! 
 
 His, too, the soft insinuating art 
 To stay his guests preparing to depart ; 
 With smile benign would hint he had forgot 
 To be — what custom sanctions — his full pot. 
 With winning air, he bade them keep their seat, 
 Truumed the low fire, and broiled the savoury treat : 
 The generous deed is praised, the mantling glass 
 From lip to lip in quick succession pass. 
 
 85
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Till every heart beats high, with festive glee, 
 And all is jest, and song, and revelry : 
 Unheeded then, amid the social fun. 
 The thrifty host woidd score up two for one ! 
 
 Fled are those scenes ; life's checkered term is past, 
 And subtle Abraham long has scored Ms last; 
 Long has the house, so famed for home-brewed ale. 
 Been swept away by Time's destructive gale ; 
 The well-known sign, whicli creakhig hung on high 
 To catch the thirsty traveller's anxious eye, 
 Hath long been down, and jocund Boniface 
 Sleeps with his gay compeers in yonder resting-place ! 
 
 How changed the scene ! loud bursts of drunken joy 
 No more the sober passengers annoy. 
 Hushed is the long, loud laugh ; the midnight song 
 Echoes no more these dreary shades among ; 
 And those who revel o'er their darling ale 
 Must seek their ruin in some merrier vale. 
 Mark the lorn garden, and its ruined bower, 
 Where friendly converse winged the summer hour, 
 And Strephon, seated by his Eosalind, 
 Poured, m soft phrase, the raptures of his mind. 
 No more, as erst, the lover and his fair, 
 On Sunday eve, to this green haunt repair. 
 The sprightly Sabbath-breaking group to join, 
 To drink cool syllabub, or costlier wine. 
 
 86
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 The painted seats are gone ; no cultor's hand 
 Bids the wild tendril twine, the bud expand ; 
 Untrimmed the wanton woodbine flaunts around, 
 And the sweet jasmine creeps along the ground. 
 
 O'er this drear spot, as strays the village sage, 
 Versed in the manners of a former age, 
 Methinks I hear the moralist exclaim, 
 " Tliis was the site of many a riu-al game, 
 Here was the noisy skittle ground, and there 
 The quoit was thrown along the ambient air. 
 Within a close-wedged ring, on that grass-plat, 
 The victor wrestler mounted up his hat ; 
 And the rough boxer stood elate with pride, 
 And every hero of the vale defied. 
 
 Yon sapless trunk, of fruit and foliage bare, 
 Each bounteous Autumn bore the luscious pear; 
 Not fair Pomona, nymph of sylvan line, 
 Though Queen of Orchards, boasts of aught more fine. 
 One Autumn eve — sad memory paints the time, 
 'Twas in wild boyhood's mischief -loving prime — 
 Here, as I ranged alone, my roving eye 
 Beheld the brown temptation nod on high ; 
 To evil swift, I climbed the tree in haste. 
 And with its fruitage gratified my taste. 
 But short 's the joy that springs from wicked act ! 
 The landlord came, and cauglit me in the fact : 
 
 87
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 He asked not Justice for her slow process, 
 But with a horse-whip sought a quick redress. 
 I writhed with anguish on that daisied spot, 
 And learned a lesson which I ne'er forgot. 
 My back, with glowing characters impressed. 
 Produced conviction in my wayward breast ; 
 Aiid from that dread, that long-remembered night, 
 I 've never trespassed on my neighbour's right. 
 Oft, too, when Winter gloomed the rural scene, 
 Vast crowds assembled on yon verdant green ; 
 Tall lusty swains, with youthful vigour full, 
 Came, with their dogs, to bait the lordly bull. 
 I was an actor there — with accent loud, 
 My voice resounded through the savage crowd ; 
 With brutal joy I heard the sufferer roar, 
 And saw, exulting saw, the streaming gore. 
 At length, Eeflection came, with frowning port, 
 And warned me to forsake the cruel sport. 
 Pastimes like these, by human laws passed by, 
 As Cowper sings, are 'registered on high' 
 At Heaven's dread bar, where all, or soon or late. 
 Must stand submissive, and await their fate. 
 Such vicious deeds, uncivilized and rude, 
 So tinged with guilt, so big with turpitude. 
 But for the aid of penitence and prayer, 
 Would sink each perpetrator to despair ! " 
 
 8S
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 89
 
 AEGUMENT. 
 
 Greatness — Pugh — Havers — Colodio — Pettio — Address to 
 Temperance — Humphrys — Clodio — Chatterton — Bums — 
 Village School — Schoolmaster — Thomas — Persecution — 
 Murdered Quaker — Religious Liberty. 
 
 90
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 ' How few the simple path of duty tread, 
 And steadfast keep the Heaven-directed way." 
 
 Mes. Caktek. 
 
 When titled Greatness ends its bright career, 
 
 It claims the tribute of a nation's tear; 
 
 The mausoleum rises, and tall bust 
 
 Points where is laid " right honourable " dust ; 
 
 And bards — the favomites of poetic fame — 
 
 Attempt f immortalize a mortal name. 
 
 And shall the cottage-man, of lowly birth, 
 Pass, like a summer cloud, to silent earth ? 
 Shall the cold grave his humble bones inhearse 
 Without the meed of one recording verse 1 
 The task be mine, to pluck from the dark tomb 
 The virtuous character, and bid it bloom : 
 Here let it bud, expand, and blossom fair. 
 And shower its fragrance on my native air. 
 
 91
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Yet the loved Muse, amid her studious hours, 
 Perchance may cull some weeds as well as flowers, 
 Should she essay, with feeble art, to scan 
 The various follies of the bold bad man. 
 May the memento, like a beacon light. 
 Conduct, through error's gloom, the wanderer right. 
 
 When of departed days I take review, 
 Fond recollection sometimes points at Pugh — 
 A man whose specious arts were wont to draw 
 The unsuspecting in the toils of law ; 
 Whose talents might have earned an honest fame, 
 And left beliind an honourable name. 
 
 While through this vale he urged his fell career, 
 The dove of concord coiild not nestle here. 
 He filled the rustic neighbourhood with strife, 
 And reigned a tjTant in domestic life : 
 The faithful partner of his bed, whom Heaven, 
 To smoothe the rugged scene of care, had given, 
 With trembling awe obeyed his stern commands, 
 And felt the vengeance of his ruffian hands. 
 
 Tired of the rigid discipline of home, 
 His son — his only son — was wont to roam; 
 Oft bid a mother's tender care adieu, 
 And roved a vagrant with the gipsy crew ; 
 Or from thy stripes, parental bondage, free, 
 Ate the brown crust of peasant charity. 
 
 92
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Long has this village scourge and legal pest, 
 With those he troubled, known the grave's dull rest : 
 In Death's dark hall forensic warrings cease, 
 And plaintiff and defendant are at peace. 
 Yes : he is dead ! and scarcely left a trace 
 That here he ran his ignominious race : 
 The hapless victims of his rutliless hate 
 Long ere I write have bowed to sovereign fate ; 
 And no historic pen records the tale 
 That once he reigned the Troubler of the vale. 
 
 Yes, he is dead ! the Muse, indignant, cries. 
 And passed the solemn audit of the skies — 
 Stood where no subterfuge can e'er avail, 
 And all chicanery must surely fail : 
 How vain his specious pleas — but soft, forbear ! 
 'T is not for thee to take the Censor's chair, 
 And judgment deal. Perchance Abnighty power 
 Might tender mercy at his final hour. 
 
 I bid this graceless character adieu. 
 And turn where Havers' meets my gladdened view — 
 Wliose portrait hangs before me. What mild grace 
 Sheds a soft radiance o'er his angel face ! 
 That angel face — true index of a mind 
 Which breathed a pure goodwill to all mankind. 
 
 He lived in troublous times, when pious worth 
 Was deemed the nuisance and the curse of earth : 
 
 93
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Oft Persecution and her liarpy train 
 Sought to ensnare him — but they sought in vain. 
 How futile all their arts ! no gaoler grim 
 Oped the huge door to find a cell for him. 
 Blest lot ! th' indulgent care of Heaven to prove, 
 Wrapt in a mantle of Almighty love. 
 
 With fervent zeal he preached the sacred word, 
 Bore with clean hands " the vessels of the Lord ; " 
 Though from his pulpit driven by laws severe, 
 He served the altar till his eightieth year ; 
 So pure his conduct, that the eagle eye 
 Of Malice could not one faint blot espy. 
 Though Death, stern fiend ! commissioned from on high, 
 Bid the fair spirit seek its native sky; 
 Though this dread spoiler crush his sacred clay, 
 And the obHvious grave conceal its prey ; 
 Still, on the tablet of religious fame, 
 Encircled by a glory, stands his name ! 
 Sad thought ! while thus his deeds in memory shine, 
 ISTo virtuous honours have adorned his line ! 
 How poor in mental wealth, in worth how bare, 
 The Muse shall by our character declare. 
 
 I knew Colodio well ; from year to year 
 I marked the progress of his vain career, 
 Saw with regret the miry road he trod — 
 A weak, glad votary of the rosy god ! 
 
 94
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Though young, I ken'd this errant trifler well, 
 
 Heard him his incoherent stories tell; 
 
 Filthy and frothy, all evinced a mind 
 
 Not far superior to the brutal kind. 
 
 The chase he loved, and proved a sportsman keen, 
 
 The only ]S"imrod of our rustic scene ; 
 
 Intent on this pursuit, he 'd leave his bed 
 
 Ere Morn's bright star had veiled her brilliant 
 
 head, 
 Brush the clear drop that gemmed the mountain 
 
 thorn, 
 And hail with joyous whoop th' empurpling dawn : 
 If not the fleetest of the joyous rou.te, 
 None felt more glee, or gave a heartier shout. 
 When day declined, Colodio would retire, 
 With merry topers, to a pot-house fire ; 
 And there would, in a phrase peculiar, tell 
 Wlio nobly cleared the ditch, Avho leapt and fell. 
 How subtle Eeynard, with each artful wile, 
 Did of their scent the wandering pack beguile ; 
 And how the felon, every doubling past, 
 Was by his savage foes destroyed at last. 
 Cheered by the glass, each memory could supjily 
 Some sporting anecdote of days gone by ; 
 Pleased with the grateful subject, ere they go 
 They give one loud, one jovial " Tally-ho ! " 
 
 95
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Thus many a night was spent, and many a clay ; 
 'T was thus he trifled life's long term away. 
 At length, one eve, when jolly friends were come 
 To join the festal rites of Harvest Home, 
 He freely quaffed the inebriating store, 
 Was carried to his bed — and rose no more ! 
 
 If this example, in poetic dress, 
 Should fail to paint the evils of excess. 
 The Muse might here another tale relate — 
 How sprightly Pettio^ met a hapless fate. 
 Gay, thoughtless Pettio, in life's florid bloom, 
 Dropped by intemperance to a timeless tomb ! 
 
 One eve a gay convivial party met. 
 Replete with glee to have "a jovial wet;" 
 Mirth gave her smile, and wine's electric power 
 Shed a bright ray on midnight's sable hour ; 
 Wit sparkled high, the goblet circled round 
 Till reason and reflection both lay drowned ; 
 And on the floor th' accomplished Pettio lay, 
 A humbled lump of animated clay ! 
 Then boon companions urged another sip, 
 Applied another bumper to his lip, 
 Ah, fatal application ! Revellers, hear ! 
 Ere Morn's proud orb illumed this nether sphere 
 His immaterial principle had flown. 
 And gained a station in a world imknown. 
 
 96
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Temperance, nymph benign ! wliose placid mien 
 Sheds a soft smile o'er every happy scene, 
 Queen of serene delights ! a fairy train 
 Of rosy pleasures hails thy gentle reign, 
 Health owes to thee her cheek of crimson dye. 
 And Peace the beam that lights her turtle eye. 
 Eest friend of genius ! how thy influence breathes 
 A greener verdure o'er the poet's wreaths ! 
 While Wealth's proud son, and him of low degree. 
 Draw their fair list of comforts all from thee. 
 Five lustres since there lived these shades among. 
 A Man whose worth transcends the praise of song ; 
 To whom thy blessings, Temperance ! all were given. 
 And every other " virtue under heaven." 
 
 Blush, muses, blush ! not one of all your train. 
 When Humphries* died attuned the plaintive strain, 
 Though ne'er a fairer spirit soared above. 
 To give new raptures to the realms of love, 
 Wlien worth angelic leaves this lower scene, 
 And mounting heavenward pass yon blue serene. 
 Earth mourns its loss, while heaven, with loud acclaim, 
 Hails the blest transfer and inscribes the name 
 On its bright roll, and bids the cherub throng 
 Lift with bold swell the gratulating song. 
 
 From those blest heights where happy spirits breathe 
 Ambrosial air, and scorn the goodliest wreath 
 
 97
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 That liimiaii hands can weave — O smile benign, 
 Thou blest immortal ! e'en on verse like mine, 
 Which strives, with puny etfort, to supply 
 The meed of fame : — Thy mem'ry ne'er can die, 
 Thy name shall live when yon bright worlds of fire 
 Fall from their orbs on nature's funeral pyre. 
 
 Could soft Benevolence, whose lambent ray 
 Sheds mild effulgence o'er thy useful day, 
 Cou.ld every grace that dignifies a mind 
 Formed to instruct, delight, and bless mankind, 
 To lure the the wanderer to a path more fair, 
 And snatch the deathless soul from black despair, — 
 Could these have lengthened life's protracted date, 
 Or charmed the ruthless minister of fate, 
 Humphries had lived, the drooping heart to cheer. 
 To wipe from Misery's eye the bitter tear. 
 O'er life's drear path to spread a brightening charm. 
 And pour in wounded minds famed Gilead's balm. 
 Blest sainted shade ! the Muse delights to dwell 
 On all thy deeds of love, and sighs "Farewell !" 
 Fain would she still the grateful theme prolong, 
 But other characters demand her song. 
 
 Up yonder nook a cottage roofed with thatch. 
 Whose danglmg thong that lifts the wooden latch, 
 And fractured door, and battered pane declare 
 That Poverty has sought a refuge there ; 
 
 98
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 'T was in that Init from nuptial joy apart, 
 
 And the sweet bliss that glads the social heart, 
 
 Estranged to love's soft spell or friendship's power, 
 
 Eccentric Clodio,'' passed life's last sad hour. 
 
 Genius was his, a cultivated taste, 
 
 By every brilliant gem of science graced : 
 
 His was the art medicinal, to place 
 
 The rose of health on Beauty's faded face. 
 
 O'er palid forms a crimson flush to spread. 
 
 And bid Disease, pale fury ! hide her head. 
 
 From Death's cold gi-asp the drooping youth to save, 
 
 And of its tenant rob th' expecting grave. 
 
 But ah ! Intemperance showed her baleful charms 
 
 And lured this son of Galen to her arms, 
 
 Invited him to quaff the grape's rich blood, 
 
 And drown his talents in a rosy flood. 
 
 Reckless at length of fortune or of fame, 
 
 Or the fair blessings of a spotless name. 
 
 In Mirth's mad orgies Youth's sweet prime was past, 
 
 Till Want, gaunt phantom ! griped his victim fast ; 
 
 Sunk in his own and in the world's esteem, 
 
 'Mid rags and filth he closed life's " fev'rish dream." 
 
 Was it for this a parent's tender care 
 
 Nurtured with anxious love the hopeful heir 1 
 
 Was it for this he sent his joy and pride, 
 
 Where sedgy Camus rolls his classic tide, 
 
 99
 
 THE MARKET TOWN, 
 
 Amid those hallowed groves, by Science led, 
 
 To drink long draughts from Learning's fountain-head 1 
 
 Parental hopes — bright visions — painted fair. 
 
 How soon your rainbow tints dissolve in air ! 
 
 O'er the gay scene stern disappointment lours, 
 
 And blasted prospects gloom domestic hours, 
 
 Alas ! how oft has talent, " angel bright," 
 By mad excess been quenched in rayless night 1 
 Though its fair beam may sparkle from afar, 
 'T is transient oft as Autumn's meteor star. 
 Ne'er will the muse of Pity cease to sigh, 
 Where the pale wrecks of luckless genius lie : 
 Full oft, in tearful mood, the pensive maid 
 Has laved the turf where hapless Burns is laid ; 
 And pierced at midnight hour the cypress gloom 
 That shades, neglected Chatterton, thy tomb. 
 
 Ill-fated youth ! to thee was largely given 
 That diamond spark! that genuine fire from Heaven ; 
 Thy muse on eagle pinion soared sublime, 
 And gained a wreath that mocks the blast of time. 
 
 Ill-fated youth ! had thy haughty mind, 
 Which scorned to court the favour of mankind, 
 Possessed the fortitude life's storm to brave, 
 Thou hadst not rashly sought a timeless grave. 
 
 How useless all the learning of the schools, 
 Genius how vain, unless Discretion rules ! 
 
 100
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Unless Resolve, with firm and steadfast eye, 
 Can every gilded bait of sense defy. 
 That can of rebel passions brave the shock, 
 Or chain them, like Prometheus, to a rock ! 
 Alas ! how few th' observant glance can find. 
 Whose province 't is to mould the youthful mind, 
 Who, firm of purpose, when gay Pleasure smiles 
 With siren art, are proof against her wiles ! 
 How few, when Circe waves her magic wand, 
 Her fascinating Avitcheries withstand ! 
 
 There stands the Village School — I went not there ; 
 My early mind confessed no tutor s care; 
 iS"o kind, assiduous pedant's fostering hand 
 E'er taught my "young idea" to expand, 
 Or lured my infant genius to explore. 
 With ardent ken, the mines of classic lore. 
 
 Full well I knew its Master, and defined, 
 Young as I was, the active trifler's mind ; 
 I marked the air-formed scheme, the baseless plan. 
 And specious whim of this eccentric man : 
 Surprised I saw this pedagogue depart 
 From useful toils to tempt the walks of art. 
 To range — ah, hopeless, witless choice — with me 
 The cold, the barren scenes of Poetry. 
 Yes, he addressed the Muse, and soared sublime 
 Upon thy feeble wing, prosaic Rhyme ! 
 
 101
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 AVTiere shone bold tropes and flowers of verse full blown, 
 
 Such as old Sternhold would have blushed to own. 
 
 Ambitious to attain the sister art, 
 
 He painted — but performed a humble part ; 
 
 No strong expression, no attractive grace, 
 
 Nor bright intelligence informed the face. 
 
 His pencil sketched — he ne'er, with studious aim. 
 
 Improvement sought — content with village fame. 
 
 Such fame was his — to please the cottage maid ; 
 
 On Valentines fond lovers were portrayed, 
 
 Blithe cupids -with their bows and fatal darts 
 
 Were seen, — with turtle doves, and bleeding hearts ; 
 
 He drew the feathered tribe and race canine, 
 
 And gave new lustre to a pot-house sign. 
 
 Retouched by him our gracious Queen* behold ! 
 
 Arrayed in crimson robes embossed with gold. 
 
 Balloons he also made — they mount — vast crowds 
 
 " Pursue the floating wonders to the clouds." 
 
 The silken globes majestically rise. 
 
 Mock the keen gaze, and mingle with the skies. 
 
 While arts like these amused his thriftless mind. 
 
 His pupils left hun, and his school declined : 
 
 He saw approaching ruin undismayed. 
 
 For Bacchus lent his fear-dispelling aid, 
 
 Whose soothing potions lulled his cares awhile. 
 
 Till dragged by Law's stern sons to " durance vile." 
 
 102
 
 THE MARKET TOWN, 
 
 Hard by the school a cot, whose crannied wall, 
 And broken roof presage a speedy fall, 
 X Once knew a better tenant — one who moved 
 
 With noiseless steps, by earth, by Heaven approved ; 
 A strong original, whose vigorous mind. 
 And form robust, were both of giant kind : 
 What though his phrase uncouth, and antique style, 
 Perchance might kindle up the transient smile, 
 Yet all his nervous sense were proud to hear, 
 And gladly listen with unwearied ear. 
 
 To scenes of affluence Thomas would repair, 
 And found at every call a " ready chair." 
 The long, long tale of other times he told. 
 Fraught with the customs of the days of old. 
 And many a character by him portrayed, 
 Found a short respite from oblivion's shade ; 
 He was — so strong his memory to the last — 
 The chronicle of near a century past. 
 
 No " loads of learned lumber " tilled his head ; 
 He read, but well digested what he read. 
 Averse to clamour and domestic strife. 
 He loved the harmless gaieties of life ; 
 Enjoyed the sport when on the daisied green, 
 For white chemise contending nymphs were seen ; 
 In all their rustic glee he freely shared. 
 And smiled to see the blooming victor chaired. 
 

 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 In youth's sweet prime, when Hope, that fairy power, 
 
 Paints in imposmg tints the coming hour, 
 
 O'er each green prospect sheds her sunny beam, 
 
 And bids gay Fancy prompt her golden dream, 
 
 In that bright period 't was his fate to prove, 
 
 The pangs which wait on disappointed love. 
 
 A cottage lass, capricious, fair, and vain, 
 
 Eepaid his fond attentions with disdain : 
 
 At length, when six dull moons in grief were past, 
 
 Love's dream dissolved, "his spirit woke at last." 
 
 Too proud to brood o'er soft affection's woes 
 
 Above his wrongs his mind superior rose; 
 
 K"o more could female arts his bosom vex. 
 
 And through false Mary he renounced the sex. 
 
 Safe in the vale, he never wished to climb. 
 Nor coveted the bright rewards of time ; 
 Wealth was not his, he scorned her gilded toys. 
 Heaven gave a relish for sublimer joys ; 
 And Health, through life's protracted journey, shed 
 Her rosy honours on his favoured head. 
 Full oft that sylphid flies the courtly dome, 
 And seeks the lonely cotter's straw-bound home ; 
 Gives a fine zest to all his toilsome hours, 
 And o'er his rural pathway strews her flowers. 
 
 Eevered Sage !® 't was thine from early youth. 
 To tread the narrow way of sacred truth ; 
 
 104
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Thy moral worth and pious virtue joined, 
 
 To leave a fair example to mankind. 
 
 When summoned hence by mandate from on high, 
 
 What views ecstatic charmed thy mental eye ! 
 
 Without one fear thou didst resign thy breath, 
 
 And, ripe for future glory, smiled in death. 
 
 O when the grizzly king's unerring dart 
 Assails, with fateful aim, this throbbing heart, 
 When this poor fabric lies convulsed with pain, 
 And life's red current stagnates in each vein; 
 When gathering films obstruct my fading view. 
 And nature, sinking, sighs a long adieu ; 
 Like him would I enjoy unruffled peace. 
 And may my latter end be crowned like his ! 
 
 On worth so rare the Muse would still delight 
 To dwell from gairish morn till dewy night ; 
 But duty calls, the loiterer must away, 
 More scenes to sketch and portraits to portray. 
 
 In olden times, within this scene of rest, 
 Fell Persecution reared his scorpion crest. 
 Stalked round and lifted high his iron mace 
 To crush and extirpate the Quaker race, 
 A harmless sect that meet to third?: and pray, 
 To serve their God as conscience led the way ; 
 In those illiberal days (too true the tale !), 
 Two humble Quakers, journeying through the vale, 
 
 105
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Were by a mad infuriate mob pursued, 
 "Who with the travellers' blood their hands imbrued ; 
 Maltreated, stoned, one patient sufferer fell. 
 Whose blood was on thy head, Haverliill ! "^ 
 
 Wliat though no lightning flashed, no thundering 
 sound 
 Yon concave shook, nor earthquake cleaved the 
 
 ground ; 
 Heaven was not silent long, for justice woke, 
 And by an awful dispensation spoke. 
 Dawkins, the chieftain of this barbarous brood. 
 Who shed, remorseless shed, a stranger's blood, 
 Met in life's mid career an awful doom, 
 And sunlc unpitied to a tuneless tomb. 
 
 A happier era this ! Lo ! Truth's bright ray 
 Has driven the fogs of Ignorance away ; 
 Blind bigot Zeal, that tool of lawless power. 
 And fierce Intolerance have had their hour. 
 
 Sectarians now, a kindly law decrees. 
 May serve their Maker when and where they please, 
 Can to their hmnble meeting-house repair, 
 Nor fear to meet the bold disturber there ; 
 For lo ! a guardian genius hovers nigh, 
 With sheltering wing, Eeligious Liberty. 
 Long may the goddess at her post remain, 
 And add fresh lustre to a Brunswick's reign. 
 
 106
 
 107
 
 AEGUMENT. 
 
 The Muse — Deranged Clergyman — Eccentric Will — Reflec- 
 tions on suffering Humanity — Beggar — Cruel Farmer — 
 Murdered Boy — Ghost — Effects of Superstitious Fear — 
 Against indulging Passion — Henry and Clarissa — A Tale 
 — Epitaph. 
 
 108
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 " Man is a child of sorrow ; and this world 
 In which we breathe hath cares enough to plague us ; 
 But he who meditates on others' woes 
 Shall, in the meditation, lose his own. 
 Doth your mind struggle with distracting thoughts ? 
 Do your wits wander ? Are you mad ? Alas ! 
 So was Alcmeon ; whilst the world adored 
 His father as their god. Your eyes are dim : 
 What then ? the eyes of (Edipus were dark — 
 Totally dark. You mourn a son, — he 'a dead ! 
 Turn to the tale of Niobe for comfort. 
 And match your loss with hers : 
 Sum up their miseries, number up their sighs, 
 And make no more complaint." 
 From the Greek. CUMBEBLAND. 
 
 Another song ! and then a long farewell 
 To all that once informed this rustic shell. 
 Another song ! and then the harp I love 
 Must sleep suspended in my filbert grove ; 
 And the tired Muse, forbid to wake it more, 
 May sigh aloud, " My occupation 's o'er." 
 
 109
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Sure it were vain if genius such as mine, 
 Amid these poUshecl days, should hope to shine ; 
 Or with attempt ambitious strive to climb 
 Up the proud smmnit of the mount of Ehyme. 
 
 I know 't is vain to waste these useful hours, 
 E'en round its foot to cull poetic flowers. 
 Oft have I twined a wild-flower wi-eath with care, 
 And cast it on the world to wither there. 
 But, ere I bid my much-prized lyre " Be still," 
 Obsequious Muse ! thy wonted task fulfil, 
 Till the dire conflicts of thy fellow kind, 
 Who feel the havoc of a " moon-struck " mind, 
 Eecord of ill-starred love a plaintive tale, 
 And paint the suffering tenants of the vale. 
 
 There lived — beyond those proud majestic groves, 
 Whose green retreats sweet Philomela loves — 
 A tall dejected man,"*whose gait forlorn 
 Bespoke a victim to misfortune born. 
 His downcast eyes, which rolled with vacant stare. 
 Gave the black glance that waits on grim despair ; 
 His speech, his dress, his gesture all betrayed 
 The affecting symptoms of a mind decayed. 
 
 With him life's morning rose serenely fair, 
 Bright shone the sun through all the fields of air ; 
 Joy shed around his path her gladsome beam, 
 And Hope dispensed her soft illusive di-eam ; 
 
 110
 
 THE MAEKET TOWN. 
 
 Health on his form bestowed her rosy shower, 
 
 Wliile Science led him through each classic bower. 
 
 Time flew : at length his studious term expired, 
 
 Young Clerio to a village cure retired, 
 
 And lived, by all who knew his worth, approved, 
 
 A faitliful pastor, by his flock beloved ; 
 
 Till Love, whose nod imperial all obey. 
 
 Or formed of noble mould, or meaner clay. 
 
 Who, 'midst the cotted vales, or courts of kings, 
 
 Throws her light dart, and waves her purple wings,— 
 
 Till Love, a soft infatuating guest. 
 
 Banished mild Peace — white fairy — from his breast. 
 
 Alas ! the sacred function could not prove 
 
 A shield to fence against the shafts of Love 1 
 
 For, lo ! a fair, in pride of youthful charms, 
 Filled his young fluttering breast with soft alarms. 
 Her dear miage ruled without control. 
 And Beauty s magic spell enchained his soul : 
 Yet all his fond attentions failed to move 
 A proud, unfeeling heart that would not love. 
 A rival youth was viewed with partial eyes. 
 And the more favoured stripling gained the prize. 
 'T was Clerio's wayward fate to join their hands — 
 Trembling the while — in Hymen's silken bands ; 
 He gave his sanction to their nuptial bliss. 
 And bade a long adieu to hope and peace. 
 
 ni
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Severely struck, he felt the coming storm ; 
 Conscious he could not long its rites perform, 
 He left the Church, and sought a distant glen, 
 And lived unseen, unridiculed by men. 
 
 Frenzy like his required no keeper's force, 
 No galling fetter e'er restrained his course ; 
 Though clouds of frantic sorrow gloomed his mind, 
 To bird, to beast, to insect he was kind ; 
 For hungry robins strewed the wheatened crumb, 
 And shuddered e'en to crush " the trodden worm." 
 Nor was he cold to man : though crazed with care. 
 His heart for him the generous wish could spare ; 
 But of the tender sex was wont to say, 
 " They are strange things ; alas ! they '11 have their 
 
 way." 
 Oft, when young Spring, sweet period of delight, 
 Charmed with her blossomed scenes the wanderer's 
 
 sight. 
 He ranged the dales, with flowery millions gay, 
 To breathe the aromatic sweets of May ; 
 Or lay reclined some spreading oak beneath, 
 And wove for his lorn brow a willow wreath. 
 Such as, so Shakspeare sings, in days of yore, 
 Discarded, lass-lorn, slighted lovers wore. 
 
 Oft, too, whUe Midnight swayed tliis nether globe. 
 And round green Nature wrapt her ebon robe. 
 
 112
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 He sought the copse and brier-enwoven dell, 
 And told his soft complaint to Philomel. 
 She, charming songstress, musically kind. 
 Soothed with mellifluous airs his wounded mind, 
 Till echo, wakened by the melting strain, 
 Wafted the tuneful woe to many a distant plain. 
 
 And when rough Winter, in terrific form. 
 Loosed from her caves the demons of the storm, 
 Co mm issioned o'er the pathless glades to sweep, 
 Or with wild wing to vex the surgy deep, — 
 Then would he to his woodland haunts repair. 
 And talk as to some spirit of the air ; 
 Serenely heard loud thunders shake the sky, 
 And saw unmoved the volleyed lightnings fly : 
 The vivid flash and elemental roll, 
 Congenial horrors ! cheered his gloomy soul. 
 
 Eevolving seasons found him still the same, 
 Poor hapless victim of a hopeless flame, 
 Till Death's kind angel signed a sweet release. 
 And bade his troubled spirit rest in peace ! 
 
 Here, too, full oft another madman^ came, 
 Eccentric Will, who lives in village fame. 
 I saw the frenzied vagrant hurry by. 
 Marked the fierce glance that fired liis rolling eye. 
 I viewed fair Eeason's beam to gloom consigned. 
 And felt the blessing of a healthful mind. 
 
 113
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 A hopeless wanderer lie, for fifty years, 
 Through this lone wilderness of sighs and tears, 
 "Where on the pilgrim's head rough tempests beat, 
 And thorns unnumbered wound his wayworn feet ! 
 
 Estranged to mii*th, this maniac danced and sung, 
 And wit's keen flashes issued from his tongue ; 
 Strong ale and snuff to him were life's best joys — 
 His favourite friends a train of shouting boys. 
 Alas, poor Will ! 't was not for thee to know 
 Friendship's sweet charm, or Love's ethereal glow ; 
 'T was not for thee with gentle maid to rove 
 Through the green maze of Hymen's happy grove ; 
 Nor were those transports thine, when cherubs dear, 
 With their fond prattle, feast a father's ear! 
 
 Oft, when the vernal rosy-footed hours. 
 Led by fair May, bedropped the vale with flowers. 
 He 'd cull a nosegay, and was wont to take 
 The many -blossomed bunch to village wake. 
 Gay crowds with smiles received him, jocund trains 
 Of rosy milkmaids and of sunburnt swains. 
 With pleased attention marked his sportive glee. 
 And wondered at his quick, smart repartee. 
 His tricks and antic gestures could impart 
 A glad emotion to the simple heart ; 
 But to the man of sympathy and sense. 
 The sight a different feeling would dispense ; 
 
 I!4
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Grieved, he beheld a mind in ruins thrown, 
 
 And wept the lot Avliich Heaven might make his own ! 
 
 Ah ! should it please the great all-gracious Power 
 To take each friend that glads my social hour ; 
 Should the grim phantom, Want, my cot assail, 
 And turn the ruddy cheek of Plenty pale ; 
 Commissioned from on high, should fell Disease, 
 Remorseless, on my dearest comforts seize ; 
 Should Death's black ensign, big with funeral gloom, 
 Wave here, and call my Kitty to the tomb, — 
 Thus tried, thus stript, may I be resigned — 
 But spare, thou dread Supreme ! spare my mind ! 
 
 What various sufferers crowd the human stage ! 
 Here pale consumptive youth, there feeble age ; 
 Fond parents sorrowing for their offspring dear, 
 Pteft of each branch, lilce withered trunks appear ; 
 Lorn widows, clad in sable vestments, mourn. 
 And orphans dew with tears a father's urn. 
 Victims of dire mishap, or mad excess. 
 Glad in the tattered livery of distress. 
 Pour in each passing ear their plaintive tale, 
 And with their presence sadden every vale ! 
 
 Behold yon Mendicant, whose haggard form 
 Shrinks from the peltings of misfortune's storm, 
 Whose visage pale, sunk cheek, and anxious eye. 
 Tell a sad tale of want and misery. 
 
 115
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Such speaking traits proclaim the child of need, 
 And pleads beyond what eloquence covQd plead ! 
 
 See on his withered arm a basket 's hung, 
 "With sordid fragments filled, while on his tongue 
 The wail of sorrow lingers ; Pity here 
 IVIight pause, and shed her ever-ready tear, 
 And that kind matron, Charity, expand 
 Her feeling heart, and ope her liberal hand. 
 
 I knew his better day and happier lot, 
 When comfort beamed around his rural cot — 
 A little farm — within a primrose glade. 
 Calm spot ! for rustic life and manners made. 
 Ah ! that a vale so green, a site so fair, 
 Should harbour for one hour the felon Care ; 
 Or that IVIisfortune, with her Gorgon mien, 
 Should blast the beauties of so sweet a scene ! 
 
 Here this industrious farmer tilled the soil, 
 And Providence bestowed a bounteous smile : 
 Each Autumn saw his barns with plenty stored, 
 And found another prattler at his board. 
 The hour of trial came — the Muse might tell 
 What dire mishaps this fateful man befell ; 
 What cattle died by accident severe. 
 How mildews blackened o'er the ripening ear; 
 Or how his landlord, stern, unpitying saw 
 His loss, and sent the harpies of the law. 
 
 116
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Who swept the scene, and this poor cripple hurled 
 
 Upon a churlish, cold, inclement world ! 
 
 Well sung the bard whose solemn strains disclose 
 
 The maxim, " Rare are solitary woes ! " 
 
 And this lorn rustic felt, and stdl can feel, 
 
 "They love a train, they tread each other's heel." 
 
 Thou abject son of sorrow ! fare thee well ! 
 That man was made to mourn, thy fate can tell. 
 Full oft he roves through Error's devious maze, 
 Till want becloud, or anguish gloom his days ; 
 Lo ! grim Oppression strikes with iron fist. 
 And adds another wretch to Woe's long list; 
 Wilde palsied Age, enrapt in N'ature's gloom. 
 Bears its grey hairs with sorrow to the tomb. 
 From objects such as these I turn to sketch 
 The history of a sanguinary wretch. 
 
 There lived, two centuries since, hard by yon dell, 
 As old traditionary stories tell, 
 A man of stern deportment, brow austere, 
 Unfriendly temper, rigidly severe ; 
 Scarce o'er his face one smile, with sunny ray, 
 Brightening each feature, e'er was seen to play; 
 Or if perchance a gleam dlmned his form, 
 'Twas like the flash that gilds the midnight storm. 
 His callous breast no soft emotions felt, 
 For there the gentle virtues never dwelt ; 
 
 117
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 But furious passions, which engender strife, 
 Banished the turtle Peace, and shipwrecked life ! 
 
 The mind humane would fain the task forego, 
 And shudders at a horrid theme of woe. 
 Far more congenial to the muse I love, 
 To paint gay field, clear spring, and shady grove ; 
 But truth commands ; I must record a tale, 
 Which oft has made my infant cheek turn pale, 
 What time the Christmas circle, fair and gay, 
 With goblin story sped the Winter eve away. 
 
 This rough, ferocious man, so void of grace, 
 Lived in a spacious farm long called " The Place." 
 A menial train obeyed liis harsh commands. 
 Or felt the rude correction of his hands ; 
 Among the group an orphan youth was found, 
 A parish lad, who trembled whilst he frowned. 
 Well might he tremble — on one fatal day, 
 Wlien frenzied passion bore despotic sway, 
 His cruel master gave the direful blow 
 Which broke life's string, and laid the stripling low. 
 'T was thus he perpetrated the vile deed, 
 Then dragged the body to a harmless steed. 
 And laid it at its heels, and by this plan, 
 The savage ruffian 'scaped the laws of man." 
 
 The Coroner appeared : with formal grace. 
 He put some questions suited to the case ; 
 
 118
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 The jury viewed the form bereaved of breath, 
 And gave their verdict, " Accidental death." 
 Then spoke the pausing knell, the sexton's spade 
 Delved a dank bed, beneath a yew-tree's shade ; 
 And relatives assembled o'er his bier, 
 Dropped at his early fate no common teai! 
 
 But though his corse by priestly rites was blessed, 
 StiU his perturbed spirit found no rest ; 
 At Night's dark hour was seen to sweep along, 
 Then stop, as listening to the grey owl's song. 
 Beside the hawthorn dell would slowly move 
 Towards the green covert of a favourite grove : 
 StiU to loved haunts the disembodied mind 
 Clings fast, and casts a " lingering look behind ;" 
 Upon a bridge which erst yon streamlet spanned. 
 The gloomy shade was wont to take its stand, 
 What time the star that gilds the evening sky 
 Oped on the raptured gaze her diamond eye. 
 The restless sprite, amid the blaze of day, 
 Would dart athwart the blood-stained miscreant's way ; 
 At home, abroad, whatever course he bent, 
 Appeared at every turn the gastly visitant. 
 When Somnus waved his hand, and wakeful grief 
 In gentle slumbers found a short relief, 
 He seldom slept, for groanings loud and deep 
 Would frighten from his couch "the curtained sleep." 
 
 Tl!»
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Duly at night, what time the sable power 
 Of wizard darkness held his witching hour, 
 The spectre came, in winding-sheet arrayed, 
 And, with pale hand, its gory locks displayed ; 
 Eays of blue light illumed the midnight gloom, 
 Red coruscations danced around the room; 
 Terrific pacings shook the oaken floor. 
 Jarred every chair, and oped the bolted door, 
 Till, warned by early cock, or morning beU, 
 With one loud rap the spirit bade farewell. 
 
 Fear blanched each cheek throughout the rural vale, 
 When busy rumour spread the goblin tale ; 
 No more at day's mild close, sweet hour of rest ! 
 Thrice happy hour, by Love's fond votaries blessed, 
 The faithful stripling and his favourite maid 
 Met by appointment in yon haunted shade. 
 Thither the school-boy durst not rove in quest 
 Of early cowslip, or the throstle's nest ; 
 The hedger, passing near the spectred wood, 
 Shunned the dread stile where oft the phantom stood ; 
 And the rough shepherd, when he penned his fold. 
 Felt his hair bristle, and his blood run cold ; 
 Till doctors sage — as village dames attest — 
 Read the strong charm, and laid the troublous guest. 
 
 ye, who the dread checks of Conscience fear, 
 Humanity's benignant laws revere ! 
 
 120
 
 THE MARKET TOWN, 
 
 If you would shun Eemorse, and her dire train, 
 Of hydra-forms, wild passion's rage restrain. 
 Lest your light skiffs by furious gusts he driven 
 Far from the happy points of Hope and Heaven, 
 To founder in the whirlpool of Despair ! 
 Alas ! what countless thousands perish there ! 
 Yet there are some who sink Misfortune's prey. 
 Who fall beneath a milder passion's sway — 
 There are whom Love's soft rapturous influence binds, 
 And holds supreme dominion o'er their min ds ; 
 Of such the Muse shall one sad tale relate, 
 Whose constancy deserved a kindlier fate. 
 
 Where Stour meandering winds liis silver way 
 Through woody glens and vales, with wild flowers gay, 
 A dwelling peers amid the flowery waste — 
 A rustic fabric much by Time defaced. 
 Along whose storm-proof front luxurious twine 
 The curling tendrils of a mantling vine ; 
 Whose luscious grapes, embrowned by solar rays. 
 Attract the cottage youngster's wishful gaze. 
 There dwelt Evander, affable and kind, 
 Not Albion's isle could boast a gentler mind ; 
 He ploughed paternal fields with sinewy arm, 
 And reaped the harvest of his little farm. 
 Fond of his lot, he never wished to roam. 
 Enjoyed his toils, and prized his happy home. 
 
 ^ 121 . . K 
 
 2^ e/fp^-^^^^^. ^
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 To charm each sullen care that waits on life, 
 Heaven gave a social blessing in a wife, 
 And a fair daughter's duteous, graceful mien 
 Gave a sweet interest to the nuptial scene. 
 
 Henry, a youth who moved in higher sj)here, 
 For fair Clarissa felt a flame sincere ; 
 A new sensation thrilled through every vein, 
 A painful pleasure — no unpleasing pain. 
 Ye who have known, in youth's impassioned hour. 
 The sweet enchantment, the strong magic power 
 Which binds the heart that loves, — can weU attest 
 What soft confusion reigned iu Henry's breast ! 
 
 He urged his suit — in loved Clarissa's ear 
 Was poured the artless tale of love sincere : 
 With fluttering bosom and averted eye. 
 She heard the plaint, but knew not to reply. 
 O'er her fair cheeks consenting blushes rise. 
 As deep as those wliich paint the morning skies. 
 Sweet hours ! when gentle Love illumes the scene. 
 Each breeze blows fragrance, and each sky 's serene ; 
 Then milder graces Eve's brown front adorn, 
 And brighter glories gild the brow of Morn ; 
 The brook runs clearer, prouder nods the grove. 
 Viewed by the enchanted eye of faithful Love ! 
 
 Full oft, when Evening, clad in mantle grey. 
 Let fall her curtain o'er the glare of day, 
 
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 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Forth walked the lovers to the embowering shade, 
 Field-flower-enamelled, hawthorn-blossomed glade 
 Heard the soft wood-dove's coo the groves among, 
 The blackbird's carol, and the linnet's song. 
 Moments of heart-felt bliss ! as swift as fair, 
 Swift as a meteor shoots through fields of air — 
 As transient as the drop that dews the rose, 
 When orient skies their brilliant beams disclose ! 
 
 One luckless eve, as hastening to the grove, 
 In evil hour they met that foe to love — 
 His antique n iaide n aunt — officious sprite ! 
 To mar fond lovers' hoj^es her sole delight. 
 From youth's gay prime by disappointment soured, 
 Scorned by proud man, and by the spleen devoured, 
 Nor pungent snuff, nor lap-dog, though caressed, 
 Could fill the aching void that pained her breast. 
 Her whispered hint and mischief-making tale 
 Spread fierce detraction through the tranquil vale ; 
 Full oft defamed the bliss she could not prove. 
 And drugged with poisonous gall the bowl of love. 
 At her approach the lover stood aghast, 
 Conscious that each bright hour of joy was past : 
 Too well he knew a father's listening ear 
 Would drink the tale his pride abhorred to hear ; 
 For birth and fortime long, without control, 
 Had reigned the master passions of his soul. 
 
 
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 y-K
 
 THE MAHKET TOWN. 
 
 Prophetic fancy pictured future woe, 
 And from each eye the tears began to flow. 
 
 All ! time presage ! his avaricious sire 
 Exclaimed, " Unthrifty youth ! thou shalt retire 
 From the fond idol of thy thoughtless heart, 
 And cross the ocean to yon Indian mart. 
 Where dwells thy father's friend, whose prudent care 
 Will guard thy youth fi'om Woman's wily snare: 
 He '11 poiut the path to affluence, and explain 
 To thy untutored mind the arts of gain; 
 Will show the way that Eimihold found to thiive. 
 And teach thee how to emulate e'en Clive. 
 How will it gratify thy honest pride. 
 When Commerce rolls to thee her golden tide. 
 When Indian chieftains shall thy presence greet. 
 And captive beauties languish at thy feet ! 
 Then, foolish, amorous boy ! thou wilt esteem 
 The past no better than a golden dream ; 
 Then thou Avilt bless that head which could impart 
 A plan to cure the follies of thy heart." 
 
 He spoke : nor wished, nor waited a reply, 
 iNor marked the trembling tear, the stifled sigh ; 
 Prompt were his movements, fixed his stem decree, 
 Unmoved he heard a mother's tender plea, 
 Her every soft petition scorned to grant — 
 Ah ! what can melt a heart of adamant ! 
 
 
 '^^^
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Tlie tower impregnable, wlien storms invest, 
 Sliook to its base, must humble its proud crest ; 
 The stable pyramid that laughs at time, 
 By earthquakes rent, must bow its head sublime ; 
 Convulsive shocks the solid rock can part. 
 But what can soften man's obdurate heart 1 
 
 Brief let me be : expostulation vain — 
 The pensive Henry sought the briny plain ; 
 The ship immoored, a fair propitious gale 
 With soft vibration filled each quivering sail : 
 Fast as the bark, receding, leaves the shore. 
 The seamen mount the deck, to view once more 
 The country which they love — amid the group 
 Poor Henry stood with mind estranged to hope : 
 For Hope — enlivening sylph that charms despair, 
 And lights with smiles the sullen brow of care ; 
 Wlio on the future turns the sufferer's eyes, 
 And paints to-morrow in resplendent dyes, — 
 Yes, this blest fairy, whose illusions kind 
 Shed a bright beam across the saddened mind, 
 Forsook the youth ; and, as she bade farewell. 
 Winged her swift flight in happier minds to dwell. 
 
 Henry, the saddest of the drooping train. 
 Surveyed the fir-topt hill, the spire-crowned fane, 
 And, as each sea-mark faded on the view. 
 He sighed with breaking heart a long adieu. 
 
 
 e-c^i.
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 'T was Eve — the King of Day began to lave 
 His golden tresses in tlie ocean wave, 
 O'er the broad deep the streaming radiance rolled, 
 To fancy's eye, a mass of floating gold. 
 But ah ! this novel sight no spell possessed 
 To soothe the grief that rankled in his breast ; 
 For black Despondency, dread demon, shed 
 His Stygian influence on his fated head, 
 Bade his attendant ministers impart 
 The fatal purpose to his wounded heart. 
 Despairing thought, by fatal impulse swayed, 
 Pointed the way to Death's obKvious shade ; 
 With frenzied eye he kenn'd the inviting wave. 
 Leapt from the the deck, and found a spacious grave ! 
 
 Ye feeling bards, whose sympathetic lyres 
 Breathe the mild strains of pity ! whose soft wires 
 Eespond to !N'ature's touch, whose numbers flow 
 In tuneful sorrow and melodious woe — 
 Yes^ you alone, who boast the pleasing art 
 To paint the warm emotions of the heart, 
 Can tell what anguish seized the wretched maid, 
 When to her ear the tidings were conveyed. 
 
 Hers was the pang unknown to common grief, 
 No trickling current brought a prompt relief, 
 Nor sigh escaped her breast, nor plaintive moan — 
 She seemed like Niobe transformed to stone. 
 
 126
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 Convulsions strong her tender frame assailed, 
 And medicine with its healing potions failed ; 
 Fate's rigid mandate claimed her feeble hreath, 
 And every fine pulsation ceased in death. 
 
 Near yonder village church, a spreading yew 
 Sheds o'er Clarissa's grave its bitter dew ; 
 FuU oft the turf that clothes her bed of rest 
 Is by her sorrowing parents' footsteps prest. 
 Their sighs increase the breeze at Eve's lone hour, 
 And tear-drops warm bedew the closing flower ; 
 And, lest the sexton's spade the mound assail, 
 A stone is placed, which thus records the tale : — 
 
 " Here rests in peace within this bed of earth, 
 
 A lovely maid, at mask or ball unknown ; 
 Contentment smiled uj)on her himible birth. 
 
 And every rustic virtue was her own. 
 Fixed was her heart upon a youth sincere. 
 
 And mutual love vouchsafed its influence blest, 
 Till Disappointment came, with brow austere. 
 
 And laid her form beneath this shade to rest. 
 Seek not, ye fair, her frailties to disclose. 
 
 But may her virtues long survive the tomb ; 
 Here may the hapless maid find sweet repose. 
 
 Till Heaven's dread fiat seal her righteous doom." 
 
 127
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 129
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 INVOCATION TO HEALTH. 
 
 WRITTEN DURING AN INDISPOSITION. 
 
 LOVELY Health ! I supplicate thine aid ! 
 Come to mine arms, thou ever-blooming maid ! 
 
 1 hourly sigh to view thy lovely face, 
 And long to clasp thee in a fond embrace ! 
 
 Dost thou, fair nymph, reside in jasmine bowers, 
 Eeclined upon a couch of fragrant flowers ? 
 Or dost thou wander near yon thorny dell. 
 Charmed with the plaints of mournful Philomel 1 
 
 I 'U search thy favourite walk, the verdant lawn, 
 Ere the blithe skylark wakes the ruddy morn ; 
 Hope will assist to bring thy form to view. 
 Fair as young roses washed in silver dew. 
 
 131
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 But, all ! thou 'rt fled from thence ! the icy gale 
 Has robbed of rural beauty hill and vale ; 
 And dark December, moist with drenching rains, 
 In sullen grandeur stalks the dreary plains. 
 
 But Winter will retire, and jocund Spring 
 Can bring thee, goddess ! on her flowery wing. 
 come, fair sylph ! my drooping spirits raise, 
 And tune my artless lyre to sing thy praise ! 
 
 J 32
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 ADDEESS TO A BUTTERFLY. 
 
 WRITTEN WHILE UNDER A DEPRESSION OF SPIRITS. 
 
 Gaily-painted Butterfly, 
 Thou art happier far than I ! 
 During Summer's golden reign. 
 Thou canst rove the flowery plain ; 
 Thou canst pass the sunny hour, 
 Sipping sweets from every flower. 
 
 Nothing can thy bliss destroy, 
 Save the cruel -minded boy. 
 Who, a fond desire to please, 
 Longs thy gilded wings to seize : 
 Quick thy painted wings expand, 
 And 'scape the little tyrant's hand. 
 
 Eich enamelled Butterfly, 
 Thou art happier far than I ! 
 No remorse, for deeds amiss. 
 Clouds the sunshine of thy bliss ; 
 Conscience never breaks thy rest. 
 Nor evil thoughts disturb thy breast. 
 
 133
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 No hereafter (when thou 'rt dead) 
 Fills the present^hour with dread :' 
 When thy transient life is o'er, 
 Thou shalt sleej) to wake no more ; 
 Gentle slumbers wilt thou have, 
 In Oblivion's dusky cave. 
 
 Yet when this poor vital flame 
 Leaves this low, dejected frame ; 
 Then the disembodied mind, 
 By no earthly clog confined, 
 Mounts to scenes of joy or woe — 
 Soars on high, or sinks below ! 
 
 Since this body soon must die — 
 Since this spirit soon must fly — 
 May I make the happy choice. 
 And attend to Wisdom's" voice ! 
 Then, gay Fly ! my song shall be, 
 " I am happier far than thee ! " 
 
 134
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 
 
 THE HAPPY BPJDE. 
 
 Ye new -married couples attend to my song, 
 
 And hear the soft tale I relate ; 
 Ye gentle young villagers listen awhile, 
 
 And mark the sweet bliss of my fate : 
 
 Twelve months have flown o'er me on pinions of 
 down, 
 
 Since Corydon made me his wife ; 
 Since Corydon led me to yonder tall spire. 
 
 And blessed my fond bosom for life. 
 
 • 
 
 To me his deportment is gentle and kind. 
 His language breathes nothing but love ; 
 
 O did you l^ut hear the soft sentiments flow. 
 You Avould think him more kind than the 
 dove ! 
 
 We rise with the skylark, and hail the new morn, 
 Swift glide the white moments along ; 
 
 In the eVning we walk, by the light of the moon. 
 To hear the sweet nightingale's song. 
 
 135
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 How pleasing to ramble, at close of the day, 
 Wliere Nature displays each mild charm ; 
 But, ah! these delights their attractions would 
 lose. 
 If Corydon had not mine arm. 
 
 Though small be our cottage, though covered with 
 straw, 
 
 Though frugal and plain be our fare ; 
 Yet sweet is the relish that croAvns the repast. 
 
 For Love and Contentment dwell there. 
 
 To courts and to cities ye great ones repair, 
 
 In search of true happiness rove ; 
 We have found the rich treasure you never can 
 find, — 
 
 It dwells with Contentment and Love. 
 
 136
 
 MISCELLAXEOUS POEMS. 
 
 ADDRESS TO A SXOW-DROP. 
 
 Why dost thou, silver-vested flower, 
 ^Vhile tempests howl and snow-stomis lo ur, 
 Thus, boldly brave stem "Winter's power. 
 
 And rear thy head ? 
 Why so impatient ? Why not stay 
 Till zephyrs drive rude blasts sway, 
 And day's bright orb, with cheering ray, 
 Warm thy cold bed ? 
 
 Why stay not till the primrose pale, 
 With simple beauty spots the vale ; 
 Till violets load the passing gale 
 With luscious balm ? 
 Till moist-eyed April's genial showers 
 Rouse Floi-a's train of painted flowers. 
 And songsters fill the leafy bowers 
 With music's charm ? 
 
 137
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Fair flower ! tliy hardy front defies 
 The rigour of inclement skies : 
 The blast of Winter o'er thee flies, 
 
 ^Nor chills thy form : — 
 Thus Virtue stands, with placid mien, 
 "Whilst Avhirlwinds desolate the scene ; 
 And, cheered by Hope, with mind serene 
 
 Smiles at the storm ! 
 
 138
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 LINES 
 
 Occasioned by the providential Escape of a lovely Infant from 
 imminent danger of being drowned. 
 
 WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF HIS PARENTS. 
 
 Oft has my Muse in plaintive numbers sung, 
 When Death's keen arrow pierced the fair and young; 
 Touched the soft lyre, when my Clarissa's heart 
 Eeceived th' unerring Archers pointed dart ; 
 Or tuned the joy I felt, and still can feel. 
 When sportive Conrade 'scaped the threatening 
 wheel. 
 
 What poignant grief impels the parent's tear, 
 Eobbed of his babe by accident severe : 
 But, O what bliss, when his fond arm can save 
 A blooming prattler from an early grave ! 
 Such joy, ye parents kind ! ye knew of late, 
 Wlien your dear boy was snatched from sudden fate ! 
 When your fond hope, in childhood's rosy bloom, 
 By Providence was rescued from the tomb •! 
 
 139
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Excursive Fancy mount, and paint the scene 
 
 Where the sweet infant roved the daisied green ; 
 
 Thoughtless how soon the dii-e impending storm 
 
 Would mar his sports, and whelm his cherub form ! 
 
 Methinks I see the little trifler stray. 
 
 And to the fatal stream direct his way. 
 
 Angels of pity ! your soft pinions spread. 
 
 And from the incumbent danger shield his head ! 
 
 Cannot your watchful care prolong his breath 1 
 
 Alas ! he sinks to find a watery death ! 
 
 Haste ! haste ! ye light invisibles of air, 
 
 Go and arouse a mother's anxious care ! 
 
 Infuse into her ear the dire alarm, 
 
 And claim th' assistance of a father's arm ! — 
 
 'T is done ! parental fondness seeks the place, 
 
 And tears its darling from Death's cold embrace ; 
 
 Bears the pale, lifeless treasure to his door, 
 
 Suspended animation to restore. 
 
 At length the pulse begins to beat again, 
 
 And the warm current bounds through every vein : 
 
 The crimson stream to life's red fountain flows, 
 
 And the wan cheek with rosy blushes glows ! — 
 
 How weak the Muse's art, to paint the bliss, 
 
 The grateful rapture of a scene like this ! 
 
 Once more his dear engaging voice to hear — 
 
 8weet prattle, pleasing to a parent's ear ! 
 
 140
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Once more to see hiin climb, witli heartfelt glee, 
 That unambitious tlu'one — a father's knee ! 
 
 Ye tender relatives, for blessings given, 
 Let your warm gratitude ascend to Heaven ! 
 While many a blossom feels Death's blasting power. 
 In blushing radiance blooms your favoured flower ! 
 Let what Almighty goodness deigns to spare, 
 Be kindly nurtured with assiduous care ; 
 Tor Providence, by its forbearance, cries, 
 " Still keep thy child, and train him for the skies ! " 
 
 And thou, my blooming, sprightly, unknown 
 friend ! 
 Accept these wishes by a stranger penned. 
 They come from one who boasts an infant train, 
 And knows a parent's joy, a parent's pain. 
 May Heaven on thee its choicest comforts shower. 
 And gild with bliss the wings of every hour ! 
 May buxom Health illume thy every day, 
 And strew with roseate blooms thy future way ! 
 O mayst thou to thy friends a blessing prove, 
 And soothe declining years with filial love ! 
 And when thy feet life's destined. round have trod, 
 O may thy spirit mount, to dwell with God ! 
 
 1 ti
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 TO BROWNE WEBB. 
 
 AGED ONE YEAR. 
 
 Smiling infant ! blooming boy ! 
 
 Object of paternal joy ! — 
 
 Lovely babe ! thy natal day 
 
 Prompts my Muse to tune the lay. 
 
 Twelve fleet months have winged their flight, 
 
 Since thou first beheld the light ; 
 
 Since my tongue, with joy smcere, 
 
 Hailed thee to my humble sphere ; 
 
 And invoked kind Heaven to shed 
 
 Blessings on thy tender head. 
 
 Bounteous Heaven has heard my prayer — 
 
 Thou hast flourished, blossom fair ! 
 
 Health, that gives the rosy grace, 
 
 Paints with rosy tints thy face : 
 
 142
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Pleasure to tliy ruby lip 
 Holds her cup for thee to sip ; 
 And, thy bosom to adorn, 
 Plucks her rose that knows no thorn. 
 Soon, fair babe ! my partial eyes 
 Shall survey new charms arise ; 
 Soon thy tongue, with prattle sweet. 
 Shall a father's name repeat ; 
 Seated on his humble knee, 
 Soon thou 'It lisp the " Busy Bee* ;" 
 And each eve, with serious air. 
 Con thy Saviour's pious prayer. 
 Long may gracious Providence 
 Spare thy life, sweet innocence ! 
 May a father's fostering arm 
 Shield thy lovely form from harm ; 
 Till, Death ! thy fateful blow. 
 Lay me in the shades below : 
 Then, with deep regret, thou 'It see 
 Closed those eyes wliich wept for thee 
 Cold that palpitating breast 
 Which composed thy cares to rest ; 
 Mute that tongue, which could impart 
 Wholesome counsel to thy heart. 
 
 * One of Watts's hymns for children. 
 
 143
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 O'er my tomb may Friendship stray, 
 Tributary rites to pay ! 
 There may fond Aifection's sigh 
 Load the breeze that whispers by ! 
 There, my boy, with grief sincere, 
 Drop the tender, filial tear ! 
 
 144
 
 "NOTES ON HAVERHILL." 
 
 Note 1. Page 9, line 17. 
 " Where Chambers lodged. Though not of Gipsy race." 
 
 James Chambers, an itinerant poet, who traveled the country, 
 selling books, and occasionally some of his own printed composi- 
 tions. Sometimes he descended so low as to he a seller of matches. 
 He could read well, and had read much ; but could not write. 
 He gained some degree of celebrity by composing acrostics, during 
 the night, as he lay in a barn, hay -loft, or shed; and would pro- 
 cure some kind friend to be his amanuensis the next day. For 
 his performances he sometimes received a crown, half-crown, 
 or sixpence; and frequently, in lieu of money, a meal. He was 
 a person of mild, inoffensive manners, and possessed a mind 
 strongly tinctured with a sense of religion. He left Haverhill 
 about twenty years since, and never returned afterwards. 
 
 Note 2. Page 11, line 1. 
 " There stands a modest structure, neatly fair." 
 Haverhill Place. 
 
 145
 
 NOTES ON 
 
 Note 3. Page 11, line 22. 
 "Were verified in thee, lamented King! " 
 
 Mr. King died while on a visit to London, Nov. 30, 1798, 
 aged 46 years. 
 
 Note 4. Page 14, line 17. 
 " Here dwelt a tall, pale man : a sapient grace." 
 William, better known by the name of Captain, Ward. 
 
 Note 5. Page 17, line 18. 
 "And Bartlow Hills a proud memorial rose." 
 
 Between Bartlow and Ashdon, about six miles from Haverhill, 
 a signal victory was obtained in 1016, by Canute the Great, over 
 Edmund Ironsides, owing to the perfidious conduct of his brother- 
 in-law Edric ; who, when fortune was on the point of declaring 
 for the English king, traitorously forsook his master, and went 
 over, with the body of troops he commanded, to the Danes, and 
 caused a total defeat. — Canute, in memory of this victory, caused 
 four pyramidal hills to be thrown up, and made them monuments 
 of such as were slain in the battle. The correctness of this 
 statement seems e\^dent from this proof : viz., when two of them 
 were dug up and searched into, there were found three stone 
 coffins with abundance of pieces of bone in them ; and many 
 chains of iron, like those on horses' bits, &c. — See Molant's 
 History of Essex. 
 
 Note 6. Page 18, line 18. 
 "To view yon ploasiiro-gmund and ancient seat." 
 The Manor-House. 
 
 146
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Note 7. Page 19, line 21. 
 "Lo! in yon mead, I mtirk a 'house of iirayer.' 
 The Meetincr-House. 
 
 Note 8. Page 20, lints 5, 6. 
 
 "And may rebuke 'prevail with double sway. 
 And ye who go to trifle, learn to pray.' " 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 Note 9. Page 20, line 16. 
 "A sister's relics claims a brother's tear." 
 Mrs. Nott, who died Jan. 31, 1799, aged 36 years 
 
 Note 10. Page 21, line 10. 
 "The golden treasure. Hid withiu the ground." 
 
 In 1787, about fifty gold coins were found by some labourers, 
 apparently in a mould of blue clay. They are by antiquarians 
 attributed to Boadicea, queen of Prasagatus, king of tlie Iceni; — 
 a people inhabiting Suffolk, Essex, Cambridgeshire, and the Isle of 
 Ely. — In the new edition of Camden's " Britannia," and in Speed's 
 "History of Britain," there are several di-awings of coins similar to 
 those found. They are considered very valuable, and cannot be 
 less than ] 700 years old : one of them is now in the possession 
 of a lady of Haverhill. 
 
 Note 11. Page 23, line 21. 
 " Sure some fond poet feigned the pleasing tale." 
 The author feels it incumbent upon him to state that he is 
 
 147
 
 NOTES ON 
 
 indebted for some poetical ideas iu this and the six following Imes 
 to a beautiful tale, of the same description, in Crowe's " Lewesdon 
 Hill." 
 
 Note 12. Page 26, line 2. 
 " Flies with full speed, and ' dares not look behind.' " 
 See Blair's " Grave." 
 
 Note 13. Page 35, line 13, 
 " And thy proud, impious infidel, O France ! " 
 Voltaire. 
 
 Note 14. Page 36, line 16. 
 
 " And go where rests a venerable sage." 
 
 Mr. Edmund Pomfrett, who died March 1, 1791, aged 68 
 years. 
 
 Note 15. Page 39, line 18, 
 
 " To him who lies forgotten in that urn." 
 
 Abraham Goodlad, who was stabbed iu an unhappy affray 
 between some persons who had been playing at cricket, and died 
 thirty-two hours after (Aug. 4, 1786). He was a fine blooming 
 young man, aged 23 years. 
 
 Note 16. Page 40, line 20. 
 " A valiant soldier finds a couch of rest." 
 John Siggs. 
 
 14S
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Note 17. Page 41, lines 19, 20, 
 
 ' In wc 
 Wher 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 " In workhouse drear he ' draws his latest breath, 
 Where all that 's dreadful paves the way to Death.' " 
 
 Note 18. Page 43, line 10. 
 
 " When Haverhill simk to raging flames a prey.'' 
 
 About 1665 a dreadful fire broke out at Haverhill, which 
 reduced the Parsonage House, and the major part of the town, to 
 ashes. The fire was communicated to some bush-fiigots, which stood 
 at the chancel end of the church ; and the heat melting the lead of 
 the window, and the glass dropping out, the flames got an en- 
 trance into the church, and consumed all the wood-work — the 
 steeple door excepted, which, standing open, escaped their fury ; 
 but the beams of wood on which the bells were hung being 
 burnt, they fell with a tremendous crash. — Lord Allington, of 
 Horseheath Hall, sent for Mr. Lathum, the vicar of Haverhill 
 (while the church was in ruins), to preach before him at Horse- 
 heath church. He went, and delivered an extempore sermon 
 from Prov. xi. 25 — " The liberal soul shall be made fat ; " which 
 so pleased his lordship, that he gave timber enougli to repair 
 Haverhill church. 
 
 Note 19. Page 43, line 12. 
 "Where rests a man who served, yet shunned mankind." 
 
 Ambrose Curteen, who died in 1778- 
 
 Note 20. Page 46, line 9. 
 " William, though no recording marble rise." 
 
 William Bigmore, who died Jan. 4, 1784, aged 27 years. 
 
 149
 
 NOTES ON 
 
 Note 21. Page 50, line 21. 
 
 " There rests a member of a warlike host. " 
 
 A Dutch soldier, who came to England, in 17i5, with six 
 thousand of his countrymen, to assist in crushing the rehellion in 
 Scotland : heing quartered at Haverhill, he sickened and died 
 there. 
 
 Note 22. Page 55, line 6. 
 
 " Each string proclaims a haughty tyrant's fall." 
 
 This part of the poem was written during the alarm of a 
 French invasion. 
 
 Note 23. Page 57, line 1. 
 
 " Still were ye safe, although Colouia's tower." 
 
 The ancient name of Colchester. It was besieged, in 1648, 
 by the Parliamentary army, and surrendered after holding out two 
 months. 
 
 Note 24. Fage 60, line 16. 
 
 " For here the leani'd, th' accomplished Ward was born ! " 
 
 William Ward. He was born at Haverhill, and preached at 
 Ipswich. Two of his brothers were zealous labourers, ministers 
 of the Gospel. — There is an ancient monument to some of this 
 fiimily in the chancel of Haverhill church. 
 
 Note 25. Page 60, last line. 
 " Here fervent Scanderett preached tlie Word of God." 
 
 Stephen Scanderett, M.A. of both Universities, and Conduct 
 of Trinity College, Cambridge. He was ejected from Haverhill, 
 
 1.50.
 
 HAVERHILL. 
 
 Ly the Act of Uniformity, in 1662 ; and died Dec. 8, 1706, aged 
 75 years. — He was a man of eminent learning, and pviblished 
 " An Antidote against Quakerism;" and " Doctrine and Instruc- 
 tions," a catechism on many weighty points of divinity. — He 
 had, likewise, two disputations with George Whitehead, and other 
 Quakers. 
 
 Note 26. Page 61, line 5. 
 "Here, too, liverl Cobb, in Marj-'s Mood-stained days." 
 
 Thomas Cobb was by trade a butcher, and lived at Haverhill. 
 Being a Protestant, he was condemned for his faith, and suffered 
 martyrdom at Thetford, Norfolk, Sept. 1555. 
 
 Note 27. Page 61, line 12. 
 " Gladly my Muse inscribes a Fairclough's name." 
 
 Samuel Fairclough, M.A. of Queen's College, Cambridge, was 
 born at Haverhill, April 29, 1594. He was presented to the 
 living of Kedington, Suffolk, by Sir Nathaniel Barnardiston, and 
 was ejected from thence, by the Bartholomew Act, in 1662 ; and 
 was succeeded by Dr. Tillotson, afterwards Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury, After his ejection he retired to the habitation of his 
 daughter, and spent the residue of his life in sacred exercises. 
 He died Dec. 14, 1677, aged 84 years. 
 
 151
 
 NOTES ON "THE MARKET TOWN." 
 
 Note 1. Page 93, line 20. 
 " And turn where Havers meets my gladdened view." 
 
 Henry Havers was Rector of Stambourne, Essex, and chaplain 
 to the Earl of Warwick. He was bom in the county of Essex, 
 of a very ancient family, which had continued there for several 
 centuries. In 1662 he was ejected from his living for noncon- 
 formity. After his ejection he was diligent and courageous in 
 the work of the ministry, and was wonderfully preserved in the 
 most troublesome times. Once during the time of persecution, 
 he hid himself in an old cupboard, before the entrance to which 
 a spider wove his web ; his enemies coming to that particular 
 place, and seeing the web, readily concluded that he was not 
 there, and through this circumstance he escaped apprehension, 
 and was afterwards called " The Cobweb Parson." He did 
 not quit the village where he was silenced, nor ever removed his 
 habitation, but continued preaching twice on the Sabbath-day, 
 tiU he was eighty years of age, and for some time afterwards 
 preached once. He was a substantial divine, of great holiness, 
 and of a most amiable temper, and on whom malice could never 
 fasten a blot. — See Nonconformist Memorial. 
 
 153
 
 NOTES ON 
 
 Note 2. Page 96, line 1 0. 
 "How sprightly Ppttio, in life's florid bloom." 
 
 — Pett, Esq., was an eminent attorney : it was at the house 
 of — Coldham Esq., that the melancholy occurrence took place. 
 
 Note 3. Pa^^e 97, Imp 16. 
 " Wlipn Humphries died attmipd the plaintive strain." 
 
 The Rev. Wm. Humphries was educated at a school at 
 Brompton, and entered himself a student at the Academy of 
 Homerton, in 1778. On leaving this place, he was invited to 
 preach to a small and decayed congregation at Haverhill, where 
 he was ordained, Dec. 10, 1788. Here he was the devoted and 
 exemplary pastor of an increasing congregation. 
 
 His pulpit labours were esteemed, and his attention to the 
 families and individuals of his flock was unremitting. But in 
 1791 he was compelled, through ill-health, to resign his charge, 
 and return to London. In 1792, his health being imj)roved, he 
 accepted the office of the pastor of a congregation at Hammer- 
 smith, which he retained, with the greatest credit to himself and 
 advantage to his flock, till July 10, 1808, when, by the rupture, 
 of a blood-vessel, he was compelled for ever to resign his ministry, 
 and resigned his breath September 28, 1808, in the 46th year of 
 his age. He was interred in Bunhill Fields burial ground, when 
 an excellent address was delivered at the grave, by his friend, 
 the Rev. Wm. Jay, of Bath ; what follows is an extract from his 
 address : — " We are all left to bewail our loss. We have lost a 
 protector, a benefactor, an intercessor, an example; the world 
 sustains a loss, religion a loss, and comes in and weeps. I could 
 
 154
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 much easier weep with you, than address you. I have lost a friend 
 with whom 1 took sweet counsel, whose advice guided me, whose 
 approbation animated me, with whom I found a oneness of soul. 
 
 "Not long since at the grave of a parent by adoption, I cried, 
 ' My father, my father ! ' I am now led to exclaim, ' My brother, 
 my brother! ' ' I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan . 
 very pleasant hast thou b e en unto me!' Oh how our world 
 becomes impoverished ! Oh, how our heaven becomes desirable 
 from such hopes as these ! 
 
 " 'T is needless to enlarge, but my conviction and feelings 
 equally prompt me to remark, that I lay my hand on the mortal 
 remains of one of the most amiable of men, one of the most con- 
 sistent holy ministers of religion, and no inconsiderable character 
 as to his qualifications or success. — I see you weep — your grief 
 becomes you: your tears are just; and now, go, ' Mark the per- 
 fect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that man is 
 peace.' " 
 
 His fmieral sermon was preached by the Rev. Robert Wintee, 
 at Hammersmith, to a crowded and aftected audience, and after- 
 wards printed.— See the Sermon, &c., and " Suffolk Garland." 
 
 Note 4. Page 99, line 4. 
 
 " Eccentric Clodio passed Ufe's saddest hour." 
 
 Samuel Curteen, M.B., who is designated under the appellation 
 of Clodio, was a native of Haverhill, and the eldest son of a 
 gentleman eminent for his proficiency in the medical profession. 
 He was educated at St. I'eter's College, Cambridge, where he pro- 
 ceeded to the degree of M.B., in 1723. He practised with con- 
 siderable success at Haverhill for some years ; but a fondness for 
 company, an eccentricity of character, and an unfortunate pro- 
 
 V,r>
 
 NOTES ON 
 
 pensity to drinking, by degrees diminished his practice and 
 reduced him to the most abject poverty. After many reverses 
 of fortune, brought upon him by his own imprudence, he sought 
 a refuge in a sordid and miserable shed, " where," as the poet 
 says — ■ - 
 
 "All that 's dreadful paved the way to death." 
 
 While on his death-bed, a screech-owl chose for his nightly 
 perch the chimney of the cottage, and hooted his nocturnal lay. 
 Some persons attempting to di-ive away the dreary visitant, he 
 said, " Let it alone, 't is company for me." What must be the 
 situation of such a man who could solicit the society of the death- 
 presaging Bird of Night! ! ! He died, February 28th, 1767.— 
 See " SuflFolk Garland," p. 284. 
 
 Note 5. Page 17, line 18. 
 " Retouched by him, our gracious Queen behold ! " 
 Queen Charlotte. 
 
 Note 6. Page 18, I'me 18. 
 " Revfered Sage ! 't was thine from early youth." 
 The author's great uncle. 
 
 Note 7. Page 106, line 4. 
 " Whose blood was on thy head, O Haverhill! " 
 
 " Sufferings in Haverhill in the tear 1656. — Upon 
 y* 4th day of y« month there cam to y^ house of Anthony 
 Appleby two strangers, who by him were entertained, being not 
 unmindfull of that command, Hebrews y« 13. These men are 
 
 156
 
 THE MARKET TOWN. 
 
 called Quakers, but cam solemnly along y^ town, talking to none 
 further than to ask where AjSTTHoire Appleby dwelt. And after 
 they cam into his house, cam many lewed fellows of the baser 
 sort in great rage, cursing and swearing with many threatening 
 words. After which fell to rattling of stones at the door of his 
 house, and so fast cam y« stones, that those who were in his 
 house could not go forth, and so they continued till near mid- 
 night ; and y« next morning they renewed their rage with great 
 increase of men, swearing that they would have y* two strangers 
 out of his house, or pull it down, notwithstanding Anthony 
 Appleby told them if any had aught to say to them in moderation 
 his house was free for them ; but they urged they had orders to 
 have these men forth from his house, which orders Anthony 
 Appleby refused; but nothing could be gotten but many dis- 
 orderly words ; so seeing their rage increasing, being bent to 
 mischief, if not to murther, and seeuig his house was compassed 
 about, durst not go out, but sent to the constables to desire them 
 to do according to their office. So their rage being riz, they ran 
 at his gatt, and break it to pieces, and cam violently into his 
 house, and dragged these two strangers out of his house into the 
 street, and most dreadfully did beat them to the ground, kicking 
 them in a sad manner, dragging them along y« town, hollowing 
 and stoning them all along to ye end of ye town, and this did 
 not the y* townsmen join to prevent, but did set others on, as 
 hath been largely confessed to. So seeing it was thus, I made 
 my way to one Charles Barnardiston, a justice, who told me be- 
 cause I would not honour him with pulling ofi' my hat, he would 
 do me no justice ; but one of these two men being much beaten, 
 in a short time died, whose blood will be charged upon thee, O 
 Haverhill ! " — Extract from the Record Book of the Society of 
 Friends. 
 
 167
 
 NOTES ON 
 
 Note 7*. Page 110, line 17. 
 " A tall dejected man, whose gait forlorn." 
 
 The Rev. John Whitmoee was for many years a resident at 
 Helions Bumpstead, a village about a mile and a half distant 
 from Haverhill. He was born at Wiston, in Suffolk, where his 
 father was a miller — admitted of Caius' College, Cambridge, in 
 1741, and proceeded to the degree of B.A. in 1744. After his 
 unfortunate derangement, he lived secluded in the house of an 
 elderly widow, who took care of him. He usually walked once 
 a week to Haverhill, to have his head and face shaved, always 
 bathing the former with some gin after the operation. He never 
 went into company, was very singular in his opinions and con- 
 duct, although perfectly harmless and inoffensive. 
 
 He did no duty in the neighbourhood, except occasionally bury- 
 ing a corpse. Being once asked by a neighbouring clergjTnan to 
 marry a couple for him, he positively declined performing the 
 ceremony, alleging, as his reason, that he did not choose to en- 
 cumber himself with other people's curses. His time was mostly 
 spent in rambling through the rural scenes which surrovmded his 
 cottage retreat, or, when at home, in reading or preaching ser- 
 mons — no one being present. His understanding had been long 
 impaired, and latterly became deranged ; but this derangement 
 appeared to have been augmented by an unfortunate habit of 
 drinking, which increased upon him towards the end of life. 
 
 In person, he was tall and comely, wore a large wig, and a very 
 long blue great coat, and generally walked with a large staff, 
 headed by an enormous knot. He was commonly known by the 
 vulgar appellation of the " Draggled-tail Parson." He died 
 December 4th, 1790, and was buried there in a genteel manner, 
 but no monument has been erected to his memory. — See the 
 '' Suffolk Garland," p. 303. 
 
 158
 
 THE MARKET TOWX. 
 
 Note 8. Page 113, line 21. 
 " Here, too, full oft another madman came." 
 William Pask. 
 
 Note 9. Page 118, line 24. 
 " The savage ruffian 'scaped the laws of man." 
 
 The farmer's name was Killingback, the boy's name, Dilly, 
 
 THE END. 
 
 
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