%$0*^A 
 
 
 '' '^irtj 
 
 
 kfejifi.*. 
 
 ft&W#fi$ 
 
 WymFmMlXt 

 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 >:> > 
 
 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 

 
 
 w~ ^jB* 
 
 
 
 : 
 
 >: 
 
 > 
 
 > 
 
 
 l^P 3 
 
 >>. 
 
 
 >^e>_ 
 
 
 3 xC 
 
 
 
 a j: 
 
 
 ^? T 
 
 
 s '> j| 
 
 
 
 
 
 >5 >:> '.i> 
 
 
 
 
 JP >~^^B > >j)J^^ 
 
 
 : 
 > 
 
 
 
 3CJ2> 
 
 :* 2 
 
 JBV > >.',> ~]]^ 
 
 l#f? 
 
 >^ 
 
 s >>>^S 
 
 
 
 . ?-^5 
 
 
 
 
 ]jjjj> > i ' ~jiV 
 
 o5J 
 
 
 xa 1 
 
 S > '-J 
 
 
 >_2> 
 
 >*:>: 
 
 3 
 
 o> i. 
 
 3Mft > J '*3W 
 
 *>1>:S 
 
 
 
 > t 
 
 8^ * ^ ^Ji 
 
 >;>J 
 
 > 
 
 S ^ 
 
 2p^/ 3^ >J M 
 
 >c:55 
 
 
 Q ' J 
 
 ^^ ) ' 3JI 
 
 1 >^> j 
 
 i 
 
 
 B^ j > Jl 
 
 >>:>^g 
 
 3 
 
 '*? -^3 
 
 ^^ v. 1 ^B 
 
 J* 3* 
 
 
 i>-' U 
 
 ' ^> '>->^^ 
 
 ->0JJ> 
 
 
 9 J 
 
 ) ) Ji 
 
 
 l 
 ft. 
 
 S3 
 
 > N > j3| 
 
 to > 0) la 
 
 
 
 
 5 J 
 
 B > xoH 
 
 > m53 
 
 
 I 
 
 & 5MU 
 
 jpi^ 1 j* 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 1 ' ^^^* 
 
 
 ' M Hi 
 
 _J&~jfr " 
 
 
 
 JI9 i>J> i? s 31 
 
 Z5S ^9 
 
 
 
 ?? MMM 
 
 M* 
 
 J 
 
 
 K-3K ^ 
 
 
 
 a 31 
 
 
 
 >J t> > 'J* J 
 
 V 3 ^-^! 
 
 ft i 
 
 
 >^V"5 
 
 > a 
 
 D^Xi^^K. 
 
 >^Tto 3 
 
 lft> 1 
 
 x>>x> ^> ^R. 
 
 
 
 3>^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^5!v>5> \ 
 
 rs"^v?
 
 iccjt*- 
 
 ^^ 
 
 ; , * w|^ 
 
 *4/
 
 jftt?-<itoartne, 
 
 A BALLAD OF THE WELSH BORDER; 
 IN THREE CANTOS. 
 
 WITH OTHER 
 
 Legendary, Incidental, and Humorous. 
 
 By JOHN F. M. DOVASTON, A. M. 
 
 " The Earth has Bubbles, as the Water hath, 
 " And these are of them." 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Printed and Published by and for W. Morris, Shrewbury t 
 December, 1813.
 
 44,13 
 
 3>44. 
 
 DOVASTON S 
 
 H&pmes, 
 
 Legendary, Incidental, and Humorous. 
 
 -# 
 
 LOIN DON: 
 
 >Of.D BY LONGMAN, HLRST, REES, ORME AMD CO. 
 1 )H W>I. .MORRIS, PRINTER, SHIU'WSBl'aV. 
 
 ENTERED AT STATIONER'S HAU 
 
 86*768
 
 * 
 
 
 
 - 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Fitz-Gwarine, Canto 1. ; 1. 
 
 Canto 2 .... 35. 
 
 Canto 3 69. 
 
 PART I. 
 LEGENDARY. 
 
 The Grey Baron.... u\i 101. 
 
 Pen-yr-Voel.. 109. 
 
 Kynaston's Cave... 118. 
 
 Llunck-Llys...........-.v....... ..<... 127. 
 
 PART II. 3 
 
 ....... 
 
 INCIDENTAL. 
 
 Ode for Shakspeare's Birth-day 143. 
 
 Dirge, for the same occasion.... .151.- 
 
 To Thomas Spring... -......<..<...... . 154. 
 
 A. R. Gilchrist 159. 
 
 The Ring........... 163. 
 
 The Brooch.... 165.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Pastoral Epistle 167. 
 
 The Bee 173. 
 
 The Barometer; or fair and changeable 175. 
 
 To Thomas Yates, with a Shakspeare 178. 
 
 My Boxen Bower 181. 
 
 The Blackcap.................................... 183. 
 
 To Thomas Yates...........:.;......: 185. 
 
 Melancholie 189. 
 
 Verses in Mr. Parkes's Cell, Shrewsbury 190. 
 
 Shenstone's Yew... 191. 
 
 Song : (air " Pinkey hoose." )....... 193, 
 
 Song : (air " Peggy Bawn.") 194. 
 
 The Missletoe , 196. 
 
 Monody: Oswestry School 198. 
 
 On the night of my Birth-day 207. 
 
 "O Nancy wilt thou gang wi* me," Latine redditum. 210 
 
 Responsio per amicum 212. 
 
 Somnium amantis. ......, * 214. 
 
 Inscription for Linnaeus* Urn. 216. 
 
 Iascriptiou uwler a, purple Beech 217.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 PART III. 
 
 HUMOROUS. 
 
 PAGR. 
 
 The Lawyer seeking a Saint; a Tale 221. 
 
 Prometheus, done into doggrel } a Tale... . . . . . 237. 
 
 The Wedding-Shoes ; a Tale 252. 
 
 Old Nick... 259. 
 
 Prologue for a Farce 266. 
 
 Epilogue for Prado Theatricals 268. 
 
 To Mrs. Reynolds, with a goose 270. 
 
 Ode of Horace, Burlesqued. , . . 273 
 
 Myself and Echo : a dialogue 276. 
 
 
 
 Farewell to the Muse 283.
 
 TO MT FRIEND DOVASTON 
 
 On his Metrical Romance of Fitz-Gwarin*. 
 
 Cambria, thy harp too long untouch'd hath been, 
 
 Save by the mountain-wind's far-roving wing 
 That waves the fern on Bkxidden, light and green, 
 It's sweet notes swelling On each trembling string. 
 But Dovaston has borne it from the wild, 
 To ring in halls where G war ink's sons abide, 
 Their daughters smiled to hear his prelude* tried, 
 And hail'd him early Fancy's wayward child. 
 A bolder note he strikes; the Cmsi attends, 
 
 Uprise the tow'rs of Whittingtoji spell-wrought, 
 While o'er his harp the lovely Clarice bends, 
 
 And tempers mildly sweet each glowing thought. 
 Listen his lays, for, while they vibrate clear, 
 Past age's clouds roll off, and distant times appear. 
 
 JR. Rviakcs. 
 London,' Nov. 18 is.
 
 TO 
 THE REVEREND 
 
 CHARLES ARTHUR ALBANY LLOYD, A. M. 
 
 RECTOR OF WHITTINGTON, 
 
 SALOP, 
 
 THE BALLAD OF 
 
 IS INSCRIBED, 
 
 BY HIS FRIEND, 
 
 JOHN F. M. DOVASTON. 
 
 Nursery, Westfelton, Salop, 
 May, 1811.
 
 

 
 . 
 
 
 jftt?-<toartne, 
 
 A BALLAD OF THE WELSH BORDER, 
 IN THREE CANTOS. 
 
 CANTO I.
 
 PERSONS. 
 
 Fitz-Gwarine Lord of the Castle. 
 
 Sie Albany a captive knight. 
 
 Sir Wrbnoc de Las-ra knight of the English court. 
 
 John of Raumpayne a soothsayer. 
 
 Clarice daughter of Fitz-Gwarine. 
 Marion daughter of Sir Joos of Normandy. 
 
 The Scene is entirely in and near Whittington 
 castle; and the Time a day and night in Summer.
 
 jptt?-<toarme* 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 Blithe in a British-border Hall 
 (Near Whittington's old castle wall 
 
 With weeds and wild-flow'rs hung) 
 When feasted had each gallant guest, 
 This Legend at his Lord's request, 
 
 A youthful minstrel sung. 
 Much doubting how his rustic lays 
 Could hope such curious ears to please, 
 Tho* many a list'ning lady nigh 
 With rapture fir'd his truant eye.
 
 ( 2 ) 
 
 Why (as Village tales recite) 
 i Yon castle's gloomy tow'r beside, 
 Is dimly seen at fall of night 
 A Phantom vested all in white 
 
 Along the lake to glide, 
 Where yon old window's ruins rude, 
 Appear inverted in the flood; 
 And then, as fades the twilight grey, 
 Glides with the curling mist away? 
 
 In ancient days of high renown 
 Not always did yon castle frown 
 
 With ivy-crested brow; 
 Nor were its' walls with moss embrown'd, 
 Nor hung the lanky weeds around 
 
 That fringe its' ruins now. 
 Other hangings deck'd the wall 
 Where now the nodding foxgloves tall 
 
 Their spotty hoods unfold; 
 Harebells there with bugloss vie, 
 And gilliflowers of yellow dye, 
 Seem now, to musing Fancy's eye, 
 To mock the mimic tapestry 
 
 That flaunted there of old.
 
 ( 3 ) 
 Other guests than yon lone bird, 
 And other music here was heard 
 
 In times of better days; 
 Festive revelry went round 
 The board with blushing goblets crown* dj 
 And costly carpets clad the ground 
 
 Where now yon cattle graze. 
 Days were those of splendour high, 
 Days of hospitality, 
 
 When to his rich domain 
 Welcom'd many a crested knight, 
 Welcom'd many a lady bright, 
 
 Fitz-Gwarine of Loraine. 
 
 Sires were his from days of yore 
 That all the same distinction bore 
 
 Of title and of name; 
 A name that Valour's blazon'd blade 
 In feats of chivalry had made 
 
 The favourite of Fame. 
 He oft in border-battle sped, 
 And many a noble captive led
 
 ( 4 ) 
 
 Back to the walls of Whittington, 
 And soon each foeman's friendship won: 
 For Kindness soon can reconcile 
 Adversity herself to smile, 
 Can soften Disappointments' frown, 
 And line the captive's chain with down. 
 This knew full many a captive lord 
 At fam'd Fitz-Gwarine's friendly board; 
 This knew each captive stranger nigh 
 Except the knight Sir Albany. 
 
 " Sir Albany," Fitz-Gwarine said, 
 
 " Crown high thy cup with sparkling red, 
 
 And cheer thy drooping soul; 
 Thy bravery Fame trumpets loud, 
 And makes thy host, Fitz-Gwarine, proud 
 
 To pledge thee with his bowl: 
 What if for once Fame tells the fate 
 That waited on thy courage late 
 
 By Vyrnwy's river shewn? 
 She'll also tell in praises high, 
 How rushing on too daringly 
 To save thy comrades' liberty, 
 
 Thou'st sacrific'd thy own.
 
 ( 5 ) 
 
 " Too soon for me thy friends will bring 
 
 " A noble ransom from thy king : 
 
 " I marvel'd much they were so slow 
 
 " As not to send two moons ago, 
 
 " When home thy friends were ransom'd hence, 
 
 " That thou no message had'st from thence. 
 
 " I bade thee, knowing well thy heart, 
 
 *' Upon thy honour to depart; 
 
 " Yet do'st thou on thy honour stay 
 
 " Till ransom'd by thy friends away. 
 
 " Fill with sparkling wine thy bowl, 
 
 " Fill with hope thy ebbing soul; 
 
 " And tell us why amid our cheer 
 
 " Thou alone art joyless here, 
 
 " Why each night, at Sorrow's call, 
 
 " Thou leav'st our gayly-taper'd hall, 
 
 " To mark the pale moon's liquid beam 
 
 " Play on yon poplar-bordered stream? 
 
 " Pity 'tis the manly heart 
 " Should e'er affliction find, 
 
 " Pity 'tis Reflection's dart 
 
 " Should hurt the upright mind;
 
 ( 6 ) 
 " Yet minds unconscious of alloy 
 
 "Sometimes affliction loads; 
 " Or with some dear departed joy 
 " Too busy memory goads; 
 "Or why should silent grief entwine 
 " A heart, Sir Albany, like thine ? " 
 
 " Hours there are," the knight replied, 
 " Tho' unto sorrow near allied, 
 
 " Yet such to me their worth, 
 " While pensive o'er the past I range 
 " That hour, tho* sad, I would not change 
 
 " For many a day of mirth. 
 " Through the Summer's evening long, 
 " Listening to the small birds' song, 
 " I love to wander all alone, 
 " Brooding on joys that long are gone; 
 " Or sit beside a green-hedge bank 
 " Where the fern grows long and rank, 
 " With many a peeping flow'ret bright 
 " Of red or yellow, blue or white; 
 " then, of melancholy full, 
 " My throbbing soul I love to lull, 
 ''Mid clouded Hope, and Memory dull;
 
 ( 7 ) 
 
 ' Yet beams from both I borrow 
 " That do my heart with rapture fill, - 
 " (Like sunbeams on a distant hill) 
 
 " And gild the gloom of sorrow. 
 
 " Long were my tale, and tedious too, 
 " (Ah! pleasing here, I fear, to few,) 
 " Should I my present grief renew 
 
 " By naming pleasures gone; 
 " But, if my noble host's inclined, 
 " The tale of woe that haunts my mind, 
 " I'll briefly tell when him I find 
 
 " At leisure, and alone. 
 " Yet think not I was always sad; 
 " The time has been no heart so glad 
 
 " To join the festive ring; 
 " Nor then was there a guest more gay 
 " To chaunt the merry roundelay, 
 " Or to the harp's responsive key 
 
 " The ballad blithe to sing. 
 " But joys, like flow'rs, too soon decay, 
 
 " Too soon give place to sorrow ; 
 " For where a rose has blown to-day, 
 " You'll find a thorn to-morrow."
 
 ( 8 ) 
 
 Paus'd here the knight; for none of all 
 
 The guests throughout the festive hall 
 
 Seem'd of his speech to mark a word, 
 
 But careless sat around the board. 
 
 One, leaning on his neighbour's chair, 
 
 Told him how Ringwood chas'd the deer; 
 
 Describ'd each thicket, wood, and glade, 
 
 Each close pursuit, each doubling made, 
 
 How they through birchy Blodwell came, 
 
 And forded Morda's brawling stream. 
 
 Another prais'd his fav'rite steed, 
 
 Unmatch'd in beauty, strength, or speed. 
 
 While this, upon his elbow laid, 
 
 Sat mute, and with his goblet play'd. 
 
 And that, in the mix'd converse blending, 
 
 Was speaking now, and now attending, 
 
 Half-list'ning to his neighbour's talk, 
 
 Twirling a cherry by the stalk, 
 
 And oft, amid the merry tattle, 
 
 The toastman's empty cup would rattle, 
 
 Beating the board as he address'd 
 
 The next to name her he lov'd best. 
 With various voice the table rung, 
 
 And half a line was sometimes sung,
 
 ( 9 ) 
 And sometimes at a story's pause 
 Burst the loud laugh's sincere applause. 
 
 Yet think not 'mid this merry cheer 
 That all were inattentive here 
 
 In festive laughter lost; 
 I only said the guests were so, 
 While spoke the stranger-knight of woe, 
 
 For ah! not so the host: 
 He mark'd the stranger's altering brow, 
 Now bright with joy, and darkening now, 
 
 As beam'd or gloom'd his mind; 
 His features seem'd for smiling made, 
 Where joy unwilling seem'd to fade, 
 Just like a landscape in the shade 
 
 Where sun-beams just have shin'd. 
 But well the kind Fitz-Gwarine knew, 
 Where silent grief of mind is true, 
 
 And time must heal the heart, 
 How vain the kindest comfort's found, 
 J Tis but to fret a closing wound, 
 
 And so encrease the smart. 
 Then to the knight he smiling said 
 (As gently on his arm he laid
 
 ( io ) 
 
 His friendly hand) " Sir knight, I pray 
 " Tell me thy tale some other day; 
 " And now, the pastime to prolong, 
 " Afford my gallant friends a song. 
 " Thou hast a fav'rite plaintive air 
 " That from thy flute I sometimes hear, 
 " What time thy walk thou dost pursue 
 " As gently falls the ev'ning dew. 
 " The notes, so delicate and coy, 
 " Are touch'd to tell of grief and joy ; 
 " The very verses seem to float 
 " And love to linger on the note : 
 " Then sing, Sir Albany, the song 
 " That sure must to that lay belong." 
 
 The knight complied, a harp he strung, 
 And thus to " The ashen grove" he sung. 
 
 (Welsh Air. Llwyn-on.) 
 Thro' the tints of the rainbow the tree that we' re viewing 
 
 Soft-colour' d and lovely at distance appears; 
 But on to the grove the delusion pursuing 
 
 We find the wet foliage all dripping with tears;
 
 ( 11 ) 
 
 So the soft beams of Hope to the heart of the lover 
 Illumine with rapture some lingering day; 
 
 But Time, gliding on, leads him there to discover 
 His joys, like the rainbow, all faded away. 
 
 From the gloom of the show'r to the past valley turning, 
 
 It smiles yet behind in the beams of the sun; 
 The lover alike, disappointed and mourning, 
 
 Remembers in sorrow the joys that are gone. 
 But transient alike are the ray and the shower, 
 
 The show'r that shall freshen the fields to the ray ; 
 And Adversity's clouds o'er the lover that lower 
 
 Shall brighten his joy when they're faded away. 
 
 The notes along the castle swell 
 And search responsive Echo's cell, 
 Who, from the vaulted roof on high, 
 Gave the last note in symphony. 
 
 The hall's great western window gleams 
 To the sun's descending beams 
 That 'twixt the fretted munitions fall 
 And mark them slanting on the wall, 
 While over head the rays decline 
 In many a level lengthen'd line.
 
 ( 12 ) 
 Now walk the guests as lists them forth, 
 And leave in groups the hall of mirth: 
 Some within the castle court 
 To manly exercise resort; 
 Or else in playful pastime rove 
 Beyond the moat in the ashen grove: 
 While others gallantly repair 
 To dally with the ladies fair, 
 (And many a lovely maid was there) 
 For cheerless is the place, I ween, 
 Where soothing woman is not seen, 
 And rugged sure is that abode 
 Where female foot has never trode. 
 
 But Albany, no care had he 
 
 To join the company so gay, 
 
 But forth he walk'd alone; 
 
 And did his heedless foetsteps urge 
 
 Beyond the oak-Wood's farthest verge, 
 While the last sunbeams shone. 
 
 They shone o'er Berwin's mountains high, 
 
 And gilt the tow'rs of Oswestry, 
 
 With the rich vale below;
 
 ( 13 ) 
 Aud did their latest lustre shed 
 To grace old Breidden's lofty head 
 With crown of golden glow. 
 And earliest and latest still 
 They love to kiss that hoiiour'd hill. 
 
 Against an oak's grey-lichen'd side, 
 Whose crooked roots a seat supplied, 
 
 Awhile the knight reclin'd; 
 And much it sooth'd him to survey 
 The western sky in rieh array, 
 Where dallying with departing day 
 
 The coming night combin'd. 
 The curly clouds of purple hue 
 Were broke by glassy fields of blue, 
 That seem'd as lakes and rivers clear 
 Winding through woody rocks afar, 
 IsI'd with many a yellow mead 
 That only fairy footsteps tread, 
 Tread on bloomy flow'rs unpress'd, 
 In fields of joy, and realms of rest. 
 
 While wander'd thus the pensive knight, 
 There did at Whittington alight
 
 ( 14 ) 
 
 A warrior from his steed; 
 With strength of stride and manly port 
 He walk'd across the castle court, 
 
 And pass'd the porch with speed. 
 Nor heeded he or knight or dame, 
 But to Fitz-Gwarine's chamber came, 
 And, doffing there his lillied crest, 
 The noble chief he thus address'd. 
 " My lord, to Albany I come, 
 " And leave for him my distant home, 
 
 " Tho' nought he knows of me; 
 " Deputed by his friends afar, 
 " His ample ransom here I bear, 
 
 " My name Wrenoc de Lis. 
 
 " But first, my lord, I must entreat 
 " Your favour to a frolic feat, 
 
 " A lady's love to aid ;" 
 Then, stepping lightly o'er the floor, 
 He clos'd with care the chamber door, 
 
 And thus enquiring, said, 
 " You might not know, my noble Chief, 
 " A lady long has liv'd in grief
 
 ( 15 ) 
 
 " For love of Albany? 
 " Wot ye, my lord, his secret flame ? 
 " Perchance ye know the lady's name?" 
 The chief replied, " Since here he came 
 
 " Of neither told am I. 
 " Tho' I had somewhere heard it said 
 " He sorrow'd for an absent maid 
 
 " He'd seen in Normandy; 
 " (The place I left but yester-year) 
 " But gently when I did him jeer, 
 '* He said he lov'd no lady there, 
 
 " Then sigh'd, and turn'd away." 
 Said Wrenoc," 'twas a lady there 
 " He lov'd; and now that lady's here, 
 
 "To-day with me she came; 
 " But ere to him she will appear 
 "She means to prove his love sincere; 
 " She waits within the village near, 
 
 " And Marion is her name. 
 " Thou kuow'st her noble father well, 
 " He does in fair-wall'd Ludlow dwell, 
 " Thy neighbour's name scarce need I tell,
 
 ( 16 ) 
 
 " Sir Joos of Normandy; 
 " Yet here she comes in low attire, 
 " "Sighing to think how oft her sire 
 
 " Has fought with Albany, 
 
 " Have ye not mark'd a chilly breeze, 
 " Too feehle far to stir the trees, 
 
 " Just fret the leaveB and flow'rs? 
 "So little hopes and fears impart 
 " A flutter to the female heart, 
 
 " That fall unfelt on ours. 
 " Women have whims and small requests 
 " That agitate therr tender breasts, 
 
 " Tho' we as trifles eye them; 
 " Rut when their feelings they divulge, 
 "With looks that ask us to indulge, 
 
 Can any man deny them? 
 
 " Now Marion fain would have you press 
 " Sir Albany, with close address, - 
 
 "To tell his tender tale; 
 
 And, thus to prove his faith, while I 
 
 Behind the tapestry hard by 
 
 " The list'ning maid conceal.
 
 ( I? ) 
 " The tale you'll easily obtain, 
 " As lovers like to tell their pain, 
 
 " When friends the story claim; 
 "But Marion most of all entreats 
 " That you'll avoid, while he relates, 
 
 '* To tell or ask her name. 
 " A lover's tale with ardour glows 
 " While some warm friend attention shews ; 
 " But if some harmless hint he throws, 
 
 " The lover's heart is such, 
 " It proudly shrinks from what it scorns; 
 " Like that shy plant, beset with thorns, 
 
 " That shrivels at a touch." 
 
 " Enough," the gallant Chief replied, 
 " Your plan I clearly have descried, 
 " And pity 'twere I should prevent 
 " A feat so arch and innocent. 
 " I'll have preparM within an hour 
 "A. chamber in yon eastern tow'r, 
 " Where Marion safely may remain 
 " Unseen of all the festive train; 
 " But you that are not known at all 
 " May join us in the concert-hall,
 
 ( 18 ) 
 "And after that may safely come! 
 " To supper in the banquet raom> 
 " Where oft we sit an hour or so 
 " To talk of tales of wit or woe.: 
 
 "And when the revellers retire 
 *' Loud summon'd by the sounding quire, 
 " While you unto the hall advance 
 " To mingle in the merry dance, 
 " I'll pace with pensive Albany 
 " The gallery of tapestry, 
 " And hear his tender tale reveal'd, 
 " While list'ning Marion stands conceal'd. 
 
 " The gallery nbw pass you through, 
 " And back unto the village go : 
 " My trusty servant at the gate, 
 Instructed well, shall for you wait, 
 " And when the shades of ev'ning lour, 
 " Lead Marion to the eastern tow'r, 
 " Refreshment and repose to take; 
 " (The window, see, looks o'er the lake) 
 " When all is safe you then may come 
 " And join us in the concert-r.oom."
 
 ( 19 ) 
 The distant moon now raised her head; ;o.l 
 O'er massy clouds highnturreted, i 
 
 As hack did Wrenoc pass; 
 The eastern tow'r reeeiy'd her beam 
 That shew'd the window's fluted frame, 
 And glinted on the glass. 
 
 (But ivy now at ; eve receives 
 
 The moonbeam ;on its' glossy leaves.) 
 
 ' i 
 
 : 
 
 And Albany beheld it clear, \ ; 
 Returning now the castle near, 
 And as it rose the tow'rs between, 
 He gaz'd delighted on the . scene.: 
 He heard the distant swell and fall 
 Of music from the concert-hall, 
 Whence, thro' the branched windows high, 
 The glimmering tapers met his eye. 
 A soul had he that joy'd to flow 
 To music with enraptur'd glow, 
 Whether in bursts and lively strains 
 Of crowded harmony she reigns, 
 Or plaintive melody she sings 
 While notes of sorrow load her wings,
 
 ( 20 ) 
 Load her wings with tears she stole 
 While comforting some sorrow'd soul. 
 So, musing, mingles he among 
 Of knights and nymphs the brilliant throng. 
 
 The seats are set, 
 
 The hall is met 
 With barons bold and ladies fair; 
 
 With dazzling rays 
 
 The tapers blaze; 
 The minstrels and the bards are there. 
 In splendid rows around the hall 
 The guests are seated near the wall; 
 Exalted high the choral throng, 
 To strike the string, and send the song. 
 And ever anon resounds 
 
 A 
 
 The tuner's dissonance of soundsj 
 Writhing and twanging as they stretch 
 The shrilly note of pitch to reach; 
 And now and then some favorite bar 
 Is slightly touch'd with careless air; 
 Or, dimly heard, some running trill, 
 To trj'the harp or shew the skill
 
 ( 21 ) 
 
 The strings are swept with hasty throw, 
 Half lost in busy buzz below. 
 
 Silent at length the chorus sate, 
 And for Fitz-Gwarine's coming wait; 
 Who entering now the gladden' d hall 
 Full burst the voices harps and all 
 In chorus, from (he lofty arch, 
 Thus, to " The Men of Harlech's March." 
 
 0e to anuonp. 
 
 .'..',. . ...... >. \ I 
 
 (Welsh Air harmonized. - Gorhoffedd Gioyr Harlech.) 
 
 i t \vm-/. O 
 Harmony , from Heav'n decendedfb . .'v 
 Soaring first when Chaos ended-, < j. "> 
 And through Time and Space extended, 
 Heaven's first decree; 
 Pleasure's exultation, 
 . Sorrow's consolation, 
 Thou'rt the gloiv 
 That Poets know 
 
 r I 
 
 From rich imagination,
 
 ( 22 ) 
 
 The very soul itself refining, 
 All that's great and good combining, 
 God, and man, and angels, joining 
 Hail thee, Harmony. 
 
 Music breathes the lover's story, 
 Wakes in war the soldier's glory, 
 Leads in peace the dance before ye, 
 Merry maidens gay; 
 Social friends endearing, 
 Lonely hermits cheering, 
 Winter's gloom, 
 And Summer's bloom 
 With richest rapture peering; 
 O Spirit, thou to man befriending, 
 Past the poic'r of thought extending, 
 Countless worlds in order blending, 
 Heav'nly Harmony. 
 
 Ceas'd the song, the harps are hush'd 
 Save where the tight'uing screws adjust 
 Some vagrant string the raptur'd bard 
 In extacy had struck too hard.
 
 ( 23 ) 
 
 With many an air, and many a song 
 Delighted sat the listening throng; 
 Pleas'd the merry notes to mark 
 That mock'd " the rising of the Lark,'* 
 As tho' untimely he'd hegun 
 To meet ere morn ** the rising Sun." 
 Nor pleas'd them less the plaintive strain 
 " The Dying Bard of Garreg-wen;" 
 And that, the melancholy lay 
 Of Morva Rhuddlan's" fatal day. 
 
 Tho' some (I ween of cour se r - soul) 
 Untouched by Music's fine controul, 
 Or dully dos'd or senselss sat 
 Goading the next with idle chat. 
 
 Not such was Albany, whose nature 
 Now beam'd confess'd in ev'ry feature, 
 As oft, in sweet delight entranc'd, 
 Around his greedy eyes he glanc'd 
 Eager amid the virgin train, 
 Looking some kindred glance to gain, 
 Nor look'd he long nor look'd in vain 
 For round the brilliant-taper'd room 
 The snowy- vested virgins bloom, 
 
 }
 
 ( 24 ) 
 
 Soft, to the song, their bosoms swell, < 
 And, breathing, ev'ry cadence tell. 
 
 The stranger Wrenoc too was there, 
 Of lofty port and brow severe, 
 Tho' sooth, a wand'ring warrior he 
 That little car'd for minstrelsey. 
 
 But who the maid of sable eye 
 That blooms yon crimson curtain nigh? 
 Is it the curtain's crimson flush 
 That lends her cheek that lovely blush ? 
 Is it the waxen taper's light 
 That lustres in her eye so bright? 
 Blushes her bosom's kerchief fair 
 To see itself outwhiten'd there? 
 And has some Fairy's magic pow'r 
 Her shape with beauties angel'd o'er? 
 
 No there no borrow'd charms are shewn, 
 Thy beauties, Clarice, are thy own. 
 
 Clarice now commands my song, 
 Clarice, she unnam'd so long,
 
 ( 25 ) 
 
 The nymph so May and mild, 
 Majestic, gen'rous; free adress, 
 But female'd all with loveliness, 
 Bespeaks the noble maid no less 
 
 Than great Fitz-Gwarine's child. 
 
 The painter that with mimic power 
 Affects to ape the op'ning flower 
 
 Or limn the luscious fruit, 
 When touch'd with all his curious care. 
 With nature's self the piece compare, 
 
 Alas! how poor they suit. 
 Yet poorer suit my lifeless lays 
 To tell of lovely Clarice praise; 
 
 So elegant her form, 
 As if Prometheus, old and sly, 
 Had touch'd with taper from the sky 
 The marble maid of Medici, 
 
 And made it flush and warm. 
 
 But what avail the vermil cheek, 
 Or brows that ringlets wreathe; 
 
 Or what the braided tresses sleek, 
 And breasts that balmly breathe,
 
 ( 26 ) 
 
 Did not each Virtue, mansion'd there, 
 Enkindle bright the whole, 
 
 And fling on ev'ry feature fair 
 The sunbeams of the soul ! 
 And, Clarice, such a heart was thine 
 That brightly bade each virtue shine 
 When following far thy noble sire, 
 Who fled a haughty monarch's ire, 
 (And, tho' unblemished with blame, 
 Was forc'd to bear a borrowed name) 
 To cheer him with thy filial smile 
 O'er Ocean, Continent, and Isle, 
 While won and lost, and lost and won 
 Was his domain at Whittington. 
 And now but doubtfully restor'd 
 He seeks again his household board. 
 Still duteous in his train art thou 
 Smiling to smoothe his harrass'd brow. 
 
 Still symphonied was many a song 
 
 With native music rich and strong, 
 
 > 
 Whose melodies so sweet and clear 
 
 We still delighted love to hearj
 
 ( 27 ) 
 For judgment chaste must ever own 
 Thy pow'r, Simplicity alone, 
 Untrick'd with all the flimsy chime, 
 The dearthy din of modern time. 
 (Tho' HEf indeed wrought wonders high 
 Whose full melodious harmony 
 Thro' all the diapson driven 
 Seraph'd the Songs of Earth to Heaven.) 
 
 Fitz-Gwarine spirited with praise 
 The vocal and the lyric lays; 
 When thus, while each the praises shar'd, 
 Prophetic spoke a British bard. 
 
 " The nation ours, and ours the fire 
 " To sweep the poet's lofty lyre, 
 
 " And sway the pow'r of song; 
 " In after-times shall England shine 
 " With bards to build the living line, 
 
 " Tho' Science yet is young. 
 " But one* above the rest shall rise 
 " Whose magic shall the world surprize, 
 " Shall raise Imagination's strain, 
 " And memorise a Virgin's reign. 
 
 + Handel. Shakspeare.
 
 ( 28 ) 
 " He shall with strange uncopied art 
 " Call up the phantoms of the heart, 
 " And rule them with his sole behest 
 " In fire to glow, or glide to rest. 
 " Nor shall he urge his modest aim 
 " To whiffle on the vane of Fame, 
 " But, dying, she his name shall place 
 ' Her temple's noblest niche to grace. 
 " No bays from Rome or Athens torn 
 " His gentle brow shall half-adorn, 
 " But British ivy shall entwine 
 " Around his ever-hallow'd shrine. 
 
 " And bards, of no ignoble strain, 
 " Shall after him in laurel'd train 
 " Grace thee in metre's ev'ry stile, 
 " Thee, Britain, Ocean's monarch-isle, 
 " Thee, Amphitrite's brightest gem, 
 ' 'Twill honour thee to honour them." 
 
 The prophet's rapture fir'd the throng, 
 And plaudits rung the room along. 
 Meanwhile a signal was declar'd 
 Of viands daintily prepar'd;
 
 { 29 ) 
 
 And summon'd were the moving train 
 To join the festive board again. 
 Fitz-Gwarine led the courtly crowd, 
 While bards and minstrels choruss'd loud 
 To all and each the sweet delight 
 Of mirth and peace " the live-long night." 
 And pity 'twere so fair a tbrong 
 Had left unprais'd the sons of song, 
 Oh! pity had they not decreed 
 The real poet's humble meed 
 
 O ye, who kindly have so long 
 Indulging mark'd my early song, 
 Oh! had I, what I cannot claim, 
 One particle of poet's flame, 
 With that, thro' life whate'er my fare, 
 I'd warm the chilly heart of care ; 
 For neither gold nor pow'r I'd pray, 
 Tho' poor my purse, tho' small my sway; 
 Whate'er my toil, whate'er my task, 
 One ivy-bud is all I'd ask, 
 Where I, poor May-fly, couch'd may hide 
 From spiteful spiders, many-eyed;
 
 ( 30 ) 
 
 And that one leaf might spread at last 
 To screen me from the biting blast, 
 
 With chearful hum I yet would sing, 
 And sun it with my summer wing. 
 
 The youthful minstrel paus'd; for here * 
 A harp symphonious met his ear; 
 Unpeer'd Louisa's graceful hand 
 Ran o'er the strings with soft command; 
 Her lovely fingers smoothly rais'd 
 The native notes he just had prais'd. 
 The guests admire the silver sound, 
 While fruits and wines are handed round. 
 
 Then as they walk 
 
 Of tales they talk 
 With something of a poet's pleasure; 
 
 Some reprehend, 
 
 And some commend 
 The various-metred measure.
 
 ( 31 ) 
 Some prais'd the Genius of their age 
 In Him who sung the Goblin-Page; 
 And her of Branksome, fair and sage. 
 
 And some with pleasure spake 
 Of him, who, Palmer-like array'd, 
 The tyrant scar'd who mured the maid. 
 Tho' some the meed of merit paid 
 
 To Ellen of the Lake. 
 Some prais'd the master's hand, who fram'd 
 The wondrous rhymeless measure, nam'd 
 
 Of Thalaba the lay. 
 While others nam'd with more delight . 
 The maid who metred Falkirk fight, 
 
 And barded Her with bay. 
 
 But now Louisa's lyre again. 
 
 For silence calls in lofty strain,. 
 
 The guests take off the goblets' blush; 
 
 And once again the hall is hush. 
 
 When no mean bard (whom now to name 
 
 Might bring on fav'ring friendship blame) 
 
 Kindled the youthful minstrel's zeal, 
 
 And bade him now resume his tale.
 
 ( 32 ) 
 
 Refresh'd, his harp the stripling strung, 
 Encouraged, thus again he sung, 
 But first a fitful flourish flung.
 
 jftt?-<&toarme, 
 
 A BALLAD OF THE WELSH BORDER, 
 
 IN THREE CANTOS. 
 
 CANTO Iff.
 
 jftt^<&toatme. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 Oh, Whittington, among thy tow'rs 
 
 Pleas'd did my early childhood stray, 
 Bask'd on thy walls in sunny hours, 
 And pull'd thy moss, and pluck'd thy flow'rs, 
 
 Full many a truant day. 
 And 'mid thy weed-bewilder'd ways 
 I've thought on Giants, Hags, and Fays, 
 Or ought that in those elfish days
 
 ( 36 ) 
 
 My eager eye had read; 
 And hying home at ev'ning tide, 
 Scar'd if the circling bat I spied, 
 I've pass'd in haste thy portals wide 
 
 With no unpleasing dread. 
 And oft I've stood in mute amaze, 
 With fearful inquest fond to gaze, 
 When lab'rours 'mid the stones 
 Deep in the mortar-mingled ground 
 Huge gyves, and iron fetters found, 
 
 And canker-crusted bones. 
 Tho' oft were found, of antique mold 
 Quaint bottles, burnish'd as with gold; 
 
 Branch'd antlers of the deer; 
 And fragments boss'd that bowls had been; 
 With reliques more, yet shewn, I ween, 
 
 Within the mansion here. 
 And much I've mus'd with strange delight 
 On him, the faintly-figur'd knight 
 On fiery steed, Fitz-Gwarine bight,. 
 
 Berhym'd with rustic verse; 
 But never did I dare to dream, 
 Tho' mad to sip the Avonian stream,
 
 ( 37 ) 
 That I this lawless lay should frame, 
 
 His prowess to rehearse : 
 And fault'ring fear would still prevail 
 Half-told to leave my tedious tale, 
 Did not your partial praise inspire 
 And rouse again my ling'ring lyre. 
 
 The wassailers awhile ago 
 Broke up the pasty of the doe; 
 And now with revel rung the board, 
 With luscious wines and fruitage stor'd; 
 The supper's gone, the goblets crewn'd 
 And jest and jollity go round. 
 While each to each his talk addressing 
 With finger and with look expressing, 
 The converse of convivial crowd 
 Chaos'd in voices low and loud. 
 
 Yet ceas'd awhile the noisy cheer 
 A youthful sailor's song to hear. 

 
 ( 38 ) 
 
 (Welsh- Air. Merch Megan.) 
 
 The daughter of Megan so lovely and blooming 
 
 I met in Glanavon's gay glittering hall, 
 And high rose my heart, ambition assuming 
 
 To dance with the damsel, the bloom of the hall. 
 O daughter of Megan, look not so alluring 
 
 On a youth that his hope with thy hand must resign, 
 That now the sad pang of Despair is enduring, 
 
 For the splendour thou lov'st can never be mine. 
 
 Go, daughter Megan, to circles of splendour, 
 
 Each eye that beholds thee thy presence shall bless, 
 And the delicate mind feci a passion more tender 
 
 On thy beauties to gaze than another's possess. 
 But, daughter of Megan, to-morrow I'm going 
 
 On ocean to sail where the rude billows roar, 
 And I feel my full heart with ajffiiction o'erfloicing, 
 
 For perhaps I may gaze on thy beauties no more.
 
 ( 39 ) 
 The chair supreme Fitz-Gwarine grac'd, 
 The stranger Wrenoc near him plac'd, 
 With whom he join'd in converse, long 
 Unmark'd of all the noisy throng. 
 " But how," said he, (and turn'd his breast, 
 Leaning toward the stranger-guest) 
 " But how could he his royal boon 
 " His plighted faith forget so soon"? 
 Quoth Wrenoc, " nought can I reply, 
 " A stranger in his court am I; 
 " But would you ought in brief recite, 
 " Attention shall your task requite." 
 Proceeded then Fitz-Gwarine's tale, 
 Tho' high the hubbub's voicy gale, 
 But when attention once begun 
 They hush'd to hear him one by one. 
 
 " I need not tell the man who's trode 
 " Of courts the smooth and icy road, 
 " That falsehood makes her chief abode 
 
 " With those mis-call'd the great; 
 " But little thinks the untuior'd youth, 
 " Taught by the cottage-tale of truth,
 
 ( 40 ) 
 " Their titles, honours, pomp forsooth, 
 
 " All, all a glist'ning cheat. 
 " The titled virtues they assume, 
 " Like flowery trophies on a tomb, 
 " Unless the real virtues live, 
 " Do but a sad memento give, 
 " That he who got them, good or brave, 
 " Bore them to blossom on his grave, 
 " While feeble upstarts catch the name, 
 " And glimmer with the fatuous flame. 
 
 " Your king e'er look'd with jealous eye 
 
 " On me, the court of Wale3 so nigh, 
 
 " Our families by ring allied, 
 
 " He fears me on this border side; 
 
 " Nor is he also unadvis'd 
 
 " How much my friendship should be priz'd. 
 
 " Our treaty's therefore like the time 
 
 " Of March's age and April's prime, 
 
 " Each to the other lending 
 " A sunny smile, not over warm, 
 ' A gust, the whisper of a storm, 
 
 " Each with the other blending.
 
 ( 41 ) 
 " Enough to name our last affray. 
 " The prince, his temper lost at play, 
 " The ches- board swung with coward sway, 
 
 " And httrl'd my head upon: 
 " 111 could the wrong my bosom brook; 
 " I sent him first a furious look, 
 " Then firm with knuckles clench' d, I strook 
 
 " The pate of royal John. 
 
 " Tbe gathering storm soon did I see, 
 " England was then no place for me, 
 " Outlaw'd myself, my castle seiz'd, 
 " Gold my rebellious head-price blaz'd, 
 " Yet did no British bosom know 
 " Where I retired, or friend or foe. 
 " Poor Clarice on that troublous night 
 '* Was sole partaker of my flight; 
 " Bellow'd the blast, the surges roar'd, 
 " As tho' a murd'rer were on board. 
 
 " In Normandy I did commend 
 " My daughter to an abbess-friend, 
 " With whom in convent to remain 
 " 'Till I my castle might regain.
 
 ( 42 ) 
 * To Lewis' court, a wandering knight 
 " Disguis'd I went, Sir Amice hight. 
 " Nor lack'd the lists wherewith to own 
 " My title to a knight's renown. 
 " The courtly king my prowess prais'd, 
 " And high to honours would have rais'd; 
 " A Barony I did reject, 
 " Yet grateful bow'd with deep respect; 
 " And well I did, for soon by name 
 " Did England's king his rebel claim; 
 " With me description did accord, 
 " Sir Amice prov'd the rebel lord. 
 " Me Lewis offering to protect, 
 " I did his tender'd love reject; 
 " For well I wot how small a seed 
 " 'Twixt king and king will burst and breed, 
 " And through each nation's fields afar 
 " Enroot the lurid weed of war. 
 
 " Then long I trode the trackless woods, 
 " I drank of Don and Danube's floods, 
 
 " At tilts my prowess proving;. 
 ** I pac'd with hoof and plow'd with helm 
 " The sandy and the salty realm,
 
 ( 43 ) 
 
 " Pursuance kept me moving. 
 " But as the binnacle's bright bar 
 " When driven from it's home afar 
 
 " Will agitated veer, 
 " Still trembling as it wavers round, 
 " True to it's native north 'tis found, 
 
 " And always settles there. 
 " So homeward still my bosom turn'd, 
 " The foreign feats of strangers earn'd, 
 
 " I held of small account; 
 " A British friend fell in my way, 
 " A jolly captain he by sea, 
 
 " Hight Madour of the Mount. 
 " One morn as we in channel lay, 
 *' Loit'ring 1 mark'd the playful spray 
 
 " Back on the big wave washing, 
 " And list'ning to the trickling tide 
 " That rippled on the vessel's side 
 
 " Green with the billows dashing, 
 " I kent among the sailor crew 
 " A knight disguis'd that well I knew, 
 
 " And well his purpose guess' d:
 
 ( 44 ) 
 
 " With sinewy oar, fatigued and wet, 
 " On board I saw that ev'ning set 
 " Far in the wavy west. 
 
 " Yet do not deem thro' fear I fled, 
 " I might have laid the lurcher dead, 
 
 " But proudly did disdain, 
 " His king less fearing to offend 
 " Than stain the vessel of my friend, 
 
 " And so my honour stain. 
 " The sail that now I gain'd, erewhile 
 " Gave up her gale to Orkney's isle; 
 " Where learning that a prison'd maid 
 " Needed a knight her cause to aid, 
 " I deeds of arms again begun, 
 " And many a warrior's trophy won, 
 " There won 'mid armour's clanking peal 
 " My famous hauberk of hard steel. 
 
 " I did the damsel now release, 
 
 " Judge of her joy, my wonder wild; 
 
 " She felt a father's fond embrace, 
 " Oh it was Clarice, 'twas my child!
 
 ( 45 ) 
 " Borne from the Norman convent's bowers 
 " She captive came to Orkney's towers. * 
 " A knight (she said) of honour high 
 " Look'd for her love with am'rous eye. 
 " And oft with fault'ring tongue had tried 
 " To ask her for his honour 'd bride; 
 " But secret sigh'd the silent maid, 
 " To tell her father's fate afraid, 
 " Yet willing (did ray stars relent) 
 " To grace her own with my consent. 
 " They walk'd each eve the convent grove 
 " Scarce conscious of encreasing love. 
 " One day before her knight arriv'd 
 " The British Monarch's spies contriv'd 
 " Poor Clarice from the grove to tear 
 " And captive off to Orkney bear. 
 
 ** By tempests toss'd the seas we cross'd, 
 " Thro' Calpe's straits to Carthage coast, 
 
 " And bore the brunt of war and weather; 
 " Yet did we find that fate grew kind 
 
 " For oh we were together. 
 " Thro' northern cold and southern heat 
 " She taught my heart to smile on fate.
 
 ( 46 ) 
 Landing at length on Albion's isle, 
 " But secret and disguis'd the while, 
 " Of changeless friends a firm defile 
 
 " That all to aid us chose, 
 " Met us that mighty White Cliff nigh, 
 " That raising abrupt it's head on high, 
 " Seems bidding, as it seeks the sky, 
 
 " Defiance to it's foes. 
 
 ** For woodman's garb I chang'd my cloak, 
 " In Windsor's woods of ancient oak 
 
 " We found a safe retreat ; 
 " The king I knew there chae'd the deer, 
 " And with my faithful comrades there 
 
 " I conn'd a cunning feat. 
 " One day the king alone appear'd, 
 " When scarce the distant horn was heard 
 
 " Our hiding place hard by; 
 " And as across my way he came, 
 " Know'st thou (quoth he) of any game ? 
 
 " Aye game enough (quoth I) 
 " Ride to yon briery dingle rough 
 " Trust me, I'll rouse ye game enough,
 
 ( 47 ) 
 
 <f My bugle then I sounded; 
 " My comrades heard the blast I blew, 
 " Obey'd the signal that they knew, 
 
 ** And soon the king surrounded. 
 
 ** Cow'd was the king with speechless fear, 
 
 *' Yet stammer'd out, who have we here? 
 
 " I flung the bonnet from my brow, 
 
 " Know'st thou, (quoth I,) Fitz-Gwarine now? 
 
 " I took a sword and o'er him swung it, 
 
 '' Then at his feet contemptuous flung it, 
 
 *' And turning to my comrade class, 
 
 * Open, (I cried,) and let him pass. 
 
 *' Now go, Sir King, in freedom go 
 
 * And copy courage from a foe. 
 
 " I'll grant (he cried) a pardon free, 
 " Fitz-Gwarine, unto thine and thee, 
 *' And I'll restore to thee anon 
 " Thy franchise fair of Whittington, 
 " Wilt thou again in homage bend, 
 w And be my subject and my friend;
 
 ( 48 ) 
 
 w And here I plight my royal faith 
 " Thy forfeiture free pardon hath. 
 
 " Then, taught by me, the rebel ring 
 " Bow'd, and we own'd him for our king. 
 
 " But homeward ere we scarce had gone, 
 ** Scarce merry made at Whittington, 
 
 " Surpriz'd we heard it said 
 " That thrice five knights the king had sent 
 " Who soon to make me captive meant, 
 
 *' And Albany their head. 
 " The noblest foe I ever fought 
 " Is Albany; and him we sought 
 
 " As he came from Ludlow's tow'rs; 
 u And where in Vyrnwy's yellow vale 
 " Whitens the willow to the gale 
 
 " When the south chill blackening lours 
 " We met; and our coursers with galloping tread 
 
 " Crushed the tali buttercups down, 
 " And the blood that we shed streaked the orchis red 
 
 " With a ruddier dye than its own. 
 
 " But Albany, my foe profess'd, 
 " Did fearless far before the rest
 
 ( 49 ) 
 
 " The depth of danger' stem; 
 ** But, thank my friends, I brought him here 
 " To taste my castle's choicest cheer, 
 
 " And make him one of them. 
 " Since when the faithless monarch shews 
 " An outward offer of repose, 
 
 " Yet still I stand prepar'd; 
 " For when my foes their whirlwinds cast, 
 " I disregard the blust'ring blast, 
 
 " But when they're calm I guard. 
 " The silent water-drops alone 
 " Deeper decay yon turret stone, 
 
 " Than delug'd storms that dash, 
 '* Harmless the thunder's- thumping jarr 
 " That rocks the earth and rends the air, 
 
 " But fatal is the flash. 
 
 " Me Raumpayne John too, bids beware; 
 " A Minstrel he, and Soothsayer, 
 " To him I did a dream declare; 
 " I shudder now to know it.
 
 ( 50 ) 
 " Methought I view'd with fond delight, 
 u Winter's chaste flow'r of green and white, 
 " When 'twixt the leaves just met my sight 
 
 " A turgid toad below it; 
 " Sharply methought I then could see 
 " It's jewel'd eye-ball dart on me; 
 u That moment pass'd a honied bee, 
 
 " That to the snowdrop came ; 
 " The biggening reptile rued bis stroke, 
 " And bloating burst with hideous croak; 
 rt I started shock'd, and shivering 'woke, 
 
 " 'Twas morning's earliest beam. 
 
 " Then tell your king, in me he'll know 
 
 " The firmest friend, or fiercest foe. 
 
 " The dastard ! when our rebel crowd 
 
 " In Windsor's wood his subjects bowM, 
 
 " We meant, 'fore Heav'n! (so did not he) 
 
 " Honour and true fidelity. 
 
 " But he beware! his realm around 
 " We Barons yet are brothers bound, 
 
 " Since that Great Deed, for which with fame 
 
 " Posterity shall bless our name.
 
 ( 51 ) 
 " And still each other's cause we'll aid. 
 
 " Has he forgotten Runnemede? 
 
 " My temper's hot, my anger loud, 
 " Like rolling rack of stormy cloud, 
 " In souls, that should be great, to scan 
 " Meanness, that misbecomes a mail. 
 " But where I find true Honour sway, 
 " Not milder is the breath of May." 
 
 Here ceas'd the Chief. TV admiring crowd 
 Applauded 'till the board rang loud, 
 While Great Fitz-Gwariae graceful bow'd 
 
 rowd "\ 
 L 3 
 
 " Dwell ye on dreams," Wrenoc replied 
 " Old women's idlings I deride, 
 " Or much indeed I might be mov'd 
 " By one that yesternight I prov'd. 
 " I'll tell ye all I wot, nor care 
 " For Raumpayne John, your jocular, 
 " What it may bode I nothing heed 
 " Wist ye I reck such idle rede ? 
 " Tho', by St. Ceorge, as I'm a knight, 
 " Waking, it chill'd me with affright,
 
 C 52 ) 
 " But with the morning's rising ray 
 " The swallows twitter'd it away. 
 
 mxtwts Dream. 
 
 J was laid at the feet of a Virgin in white. 
 
 And methought all of heavenly hue, 
 For I saw by the soles of her sandals so light, 
 That were lae'd round her ancles so taper and tight, 
 That she trode not the dust or the dew. 
 
 Regard me, Sir Wrenoc, regard me (she said) 
 
 And regard the white rose that I bear, 
 For a talisman's virtue around it is shed 
 To bless with delight both the board and the bed 
 Of him that regards it ivith care. 
 
 But a sable magician, before it is thine, 
 
 Must a mystical office perform, 
 Must a magical circle around it entwine, 
 Must adjure thee to swear by his Spirit and mine, 
 
 To preserve it in sunshine and storm.
 
 ( 53 ) 
 
 The rose it blush' d lovely as greedy I gaz'd, 
 
 And I snatch'd it with eager delight, 
 But I found 'twas a blossomless briar I seiz'd, 
 And, as vanish'd the Virgin, I shudder'd amaz'd 
 At a hellishly horrible Sprite. 
 
 Entangled in terrors, I labour' d to fly, 
 But my path was all dizzy and dim; 
 And glancing aside ever glar'd to my eye 
 The gaunt apparition ivith chattering cry 
 Of jaws that were lipless and grim. 
 
 On, on, Thou Deceiver, on, on, be thou born* 
 
 The rack of Repentance upon, 
 By phantoms and furies thy brain shall be torn, 
 Mine, mine is the blossom, but thine is the thorn, 
 
 On, on, thou Deceiver! on, on! 
 
 Then swept the grey spirits around me in crowds, 
 
 And the dismal ivind whistled forlorn; 
 At midnight we sail'd on the dark heavy clouds, 
 The spectres still mutt' ring , as flutter' d their shrouds, 
 Deceiver! on, on with thy thorn!
 
 ( 54 ) 
 
 The rugged clouds parting uncurtain' d the night, 
 
 And the moon for a moment was seen ; 
 On a white rock that pass'd us just glinted her light, 
 Where my own shadow scem'd like a skeleton sprite, 
 And my ribs shew'd the moonshine between. 
 
 We pass'd o'er a river, dull, sluggish, and drear; 
 
 I look'd down it's smooth surface upon, 
 But oh! the refection that star'd at me there! 
 A frightful grey skeleton's chattering sneer 
 
 Seem'd to say, 1 thou Deceiver! on, on! 
 
 Then down the dark eddy a blossom was borne, 
 
 And a ichitc hand cmerg'd from the wave; 
 As they sunk, I could hear from the waters forlorn, 
 Mine, mine is the blossom, but thine is the thorn, 
 Deceiver! on, on, to the grave! 
 
 Then, on, on, thou Deceiver! on, on, teas the howl, 
 As they shew'd me, with muttering tone, 
 
 A corpse all uncoffin'd, all bloody and foul; 
 
 I shiver'd, for oh, as it grinn'd with a scowl, 
 I fancied the face was my own.
 
 ( 55 ) 
 O then did a scream that loud yell'd in mine ear 
 
 With a groan full of horror combine 
 To awake me all chilly, and palsied with fear; 
 But the scream was the cry of the shrill chanticleer^ 
 
 And the groan was the low of the kine. 
 
 Yet ev'n ivhen awake, and beholding the day, 
 
 'Twas long ere my terror was gone; 
 For I fancied the geese, in the cot where I lay, 
 With their cackling and hissing ev'n still seem' d to say 
 Qn f on, thou Deceiver! on, on. 
 
 When Wrenoc ceas'd 'twas silence all, 
 They heard the taper's icle fall; 
 Nor car'd the guests remarks to make, 
 But rising as their wine they take, 
 Half lost half heard their voices ran 
 As they to leave the hall began; 
 To join the dance they soon were gone, 
 In parties some, and some alone. 
 
 Yet one, of more attentive mien, 
 Low at the board was seen to lean;
 
 ( 5(5 ) 
 While Wrenoc .spoke, he glanc'd awry, 
 And seldom twink'd his listening eye, 
 But raark'd the dream with thoughtful look; 
 Then off his cup's deep remnant took, 
 And rose, when Wrenoc's dream was done, 
 To leave the room. 'Twas Raumpayne John. 
 
 And as he op'd the door, the air 
 
 Just made the tapers near it flare. 
 
 And just was heard, in distance drownM, 
 
 The fitful harp's uncertain sound. 
 
 A moment heard, and heard no more, 
 
 For all was still when clos'd the door. 
 
 A vacant silence now ensued, 
 And both awhile unheeding view'd 
 The lights that shot with length'ning flame, 
 Or melting dropp'd in trickling stream. 
 Around the table many a chair 
 Left carelessly stood here and there; 
 The goblets, in uneven line, 
 Left empty some, and some with wine; 
 Wet circles glisten'd round the board, 
 Or streaks of wine some guest had scor'd,
 
 ( 57 ) 
 
 Perchance as some design he wrought, 
 Or eke perchance for want of thought. 
 
 " Come, take thy wine" (Fitz-Gwarine said, 
 As he to Wrenoc turn'd his head) 
 " Strange fears across my fancy came 
 " Hearing thy wild bewilder'd dream; 
 * Come, drink, we'll join the dance anon; 
 " I did not see my guests were gone." 
 
 " Strange fears?" (then Wrenoc starting said) 
 " What fears can bold Fitz-Gwarine dread? 
 * What fears across thy fancy came? 
 " Did did 1 tell thee all my dream ?" 
 
 " Or all," (Fitz-Gwarine cried) f or none, 
 " I saw 'twas mark'd by Raumpayne John. 
 " For as liis ear thy accents caught 
 " His looks embodied all his thought. 
 " And in thy dream he seem'd to see 
 " Some warning that awaited thee; 
 " For thee, my guest, the fears I felf, 
 " Lest o'er thy head some danger dwelt. 
 " And as I mark'd his long-lash'd eye 
 " My bosom beat, I knew not why."
 
 ( 58 ) 
 (Quoth Wrenoc) " troth, this searching wine 
 " Has warm'd thy head as well as mine; 
 " I do forget what I have said, 
 u Bewilder'd wand'rings fill'd my head; 
 " Cans't thou regard such idle toys? 
 " Bugbears to frighten girls and boys! 
 
 " But come, we'll to the busy dance, 
 " And mark each maiden's ogling glanee, 
 *' As lightly by they foot it fair, 
 " And waft around the od'rous air. 
 " But oh, Sir Chief, could I advance 
 " The lovely Marion to the dance! 
 u The blossom she of hall or bower, 
 ** Now clos'd in yonder eastern tower; 
 " While sighs her absent Albany 
 
 " For her he deems in Normandy. 
 
 " Absence to love is like the shower, 
 
 " That dims the sun, and dews the flower. 
 " Then oh, Sir Chief, could'st thou prevail 
 
 " On him to-night to tell his tale, 
 
 " I have the gentle Marion bid 
 
 " To stand behind the arras hid,
 
 ( 59 ) 
 
 " 'Twill soon be o'er if once begun. 
 
 " 1 would the stratagem were done." 
 
 Smiling, Fitz-Gwarine answer'd quick 
 
 " I had forgot fair Marion's trick. 
 
 " I like for her thy service shewn 
 
 " Anxious, as if it were thy own. 
 
 " I'll seek Sir Albany; go thou 
 
 " And join the merry-makers now. 
 
 " I'll catch this heart-shot warrior soon> 
 
 " Hiding his shadow from the moon.'* 
 (Quoth Wrenoc) " in the tender theme 
 " Take care you ask not Marion's name, 
 " And as ye talk, your steps incline 
 " Near where the parted hangings join, 
 " Where Oak and Roses are combin'd, 
 '' 'Tis there that Marion stands behind. 
 
 " Now part we, thou the knight to bring, 
 " And I to join the revel ring, 
 " Where I shall look for you anon, 
 " With Albany and Marion." 
 
 The lessen'd moon was mounted high, 
 And seem'd to hurry o'er the sky,
 
 ( 60 ) 
 As fleecy clouds were passing by, 
 
 Light scudding on the blast; 
 The little stars were gone and seen, 
 Peeping the parted clouds between, 
 And many a moonbeam o'er the scene 
 
 A fitful lustre cast; 
 But in the distant woods afar 
 Was heard the long and lasting jarr 
 That told the wind was rising there. 
 
 With sounding step of eager haste 
 Fitz-Gwarine o'er each draw-bridge pass'd 
 
 Across the ditches deep; 
 Dimly the ramparts round he eyed^ 
 And soon Sir Albany espied, 
 With Raumpayne John close at his side, 
 
 Descending from the Keep. 
 
 Ye know the Keep, my hearers fair, 
 The grainger's garden now is there, 
 And plaister'd beehives, thatch'd with care*
 
 ( ei ) 
 
 Where pinks and pansies grow; 
 Yet still beneath the garden ground, 
 The pavement to the spade will sound, 
 
 That penetrates too low. 
 And now where oft was seen on high .. 
 The banner, streaming to the sky, 
 
 Or blaz'd the beacon bright, 
 The woodbine in a crevice clings, 
 And low it's dangling tracery flings 
 
 In tresses long and light, 
 As tho' to kiss the sister-wreath 
 Reflected in the lake beneath. 
 
 So frowns upon the buskin' d stage 
 Awhile, the ruthless Richard's rage, 
 And clanks the sword and shield; 
 Then skip the light-sock' d lasses gay, 
 In flowery bloom all fresh as May, 
 And frisk on Bosworth field. 
 
 But back, my Muse, back to thy song. 
 Thou art too frolic: but thou'rt young.
 
 ( 62 ) 
 Fitz-Gwarine saw them both descend, . 
 Conversing close as friend with friend; 
 But as he bent to hear their tale 
 The distant harps swell'd on the gale,- 
 And from the hall by fits were sent 
 The sounds of dance and merriment. 
 Yet nearer as they darkling came 
 He thought they mention'd Wrenoc's name; 
 But as he caught the doubtful word 
 A gust the rustling poplars stirr'd, 
 And as it died upon the spray 
 They parted each a several way; 
 The circle gay sought Raumpayne John, 
 But Albany came forward on, 
 Where with his host Fitz-Gwarine meeting, 
 He spoke him thus with friendly greeting. 
 
 " Sir Chief, O coUMeous thou, and kind, 
 " Struggles thy heart with ravel'd care? 
 
 " Or why's yon brilliant room resigu'd 
 " For moonlight pale and humid air?"
 
 ( 63 ) 
 
 (Fitz-Gwarine then) " Sir knight, I com* 
 
 ** Thy steps to seek, thy cares to end; 
 *' Can I enjoy yon brilliant room 
 
 " While sorrows thus my noble friend? 
 " Much have I mourn'd to see thee stray, 
 
 " Leaving my guests and festive cheer; 
 " But soon will shine thy happier day, 
 
 " Ev'n now tby dawn of joy is near. 
 " But see, the moon looks watery dim, 
 
 " And drizzly dews begin to fall; 
 " Let's walk my gallery dry and trim, 
 
 " I'll hear thy tale and tell thee all. 
 " Thy promis'd tale there let me know, 
 
 " I'm now at leisure and alone; 
 " Then the bright ray that ends thy woe 
 
 " That I've discover'd shall be shewn." 
 
 With fault'ring step, and sudden start, 
 As loud he heard his beating heart, 
 " Discover'd!" thought Sir Albany, 
 " Discover'd ! no it cannot be." 
 Then damp his chilly forehead knew 
 Damp other than the falling dew;
 
 ( 64 ) 
 Nor was that long and inward sigh 
 The passing gust that eddied by. 
 Then said he, as with blushing thought 
 Fitz-Gwarine's friendly hand he caught, 
 f* Sir Chief, I know thy noble heart, 
 " And will my bosom's wound impart, 
 " Altho' too certain do I see 
 " I cannot hope for cure from theej 
 " But gladly in obedience due 
 " I'll tell thee much and tell thee true; 
 " But do not, do not probe too deep, 
 " Her name at least, oh! let me keep; 
 " For well thou know'st her noble sire 
 " 'Gainst whom I've rais'd my sword in ire, 
 " Nay ev'n his very life have sought, 
 " But 'twas to serve my king I fought. 
 " Then spare the heart a word may wound, 
 ** Stir not the thorns that twine it round." 
 
 Gloomy the gallery appear'd 
 As high it's branchy arches rear'd, 
 And dull the moon, as tho' she feat'd 
 Within to trust her light j
 
 ( 65 ) 
 And triple-chain' d a cresset swung, 
 That scarce it's lonesome lustre flung 
 To where the figur'd arras hung, 
 
 Tho' triple-trimm'd and bright. 
 Fitz-Gwarine gaz'd around, to find 
 The Roses with the Oak comhin'd, 
 Where close the parted hangings join'd 
 
 Nor gaz'd he long in vain; 
 Then arm in arm they silent pass'd, 
 While rose at times the whistling blast 
 That rough against the windows dash'd 
 
 The sharp and pattering rain. 
 
 But, gentle hearers, oh, too long 
 
 I fear you deem my lengthen'd song; 
 
 And here I fain meet pause would ask 
 
 To renovate my tedious task; 
 
 My harp ('till now but us'd to play 
 
 The little song, the merry lay) 
 
 Can ill the lofty tone retain 
 
 Demanded in the border strain, 
 
 For as my hand the flourish flings 
 
 Feeble, I feel the slacken'd strings.
 
 ( 66 ) 
 Unlike the harps you've heard of late 
 Whose fire and tension ne'er abate, 
 But waft the song in rapture thrown 
 With rich and undulating tone, 
 While Fancy feels her bosom bound, 
 And Genius rides upon the sound. 
 
 Again (the tighten'd tone supplied) 
 His harp the youthful minstrel tried, 
 And swept shortwhile the strings along 
 Preparing for th' approaching song, 
 But, ere he did his tale renew. 
 He thus a little prelude threw.
 
 jfttHltoarme, 
 
 A BALLAD OF THE WELSH BORDER, 
 
 IN THREE CANTOS. 
 
 CANTO HI.
 
 Jftt?-<toarme, 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 Spirit of Song, oh ! at thy feet 
 
 ImparadisM the poet lies 
 To court thy countless beauties sweet, 
 
 And watch the wildfire of thine eyes. 
 How mean to him the gilded toys, 
 
 The baubles that Ambition brings; 
 He'd closer hug thy bosom joys 
 
 Tho' call'd to grace the courts of kings. 
 The spoils that Wealth assiduous yields, 
 
 The rustling robe, the titled gear, 
 He leaves, to reap thy richer fields, 
 
 And drink thy sweets with eager ear. 
 And as he marks each glowing glance 
 
 That from thy radiant eyes are thrown, 
 Bounds his big heart in trembling trance, 
 
 And lights the lustre in jhis own.
 
 ( 70 ) 
 Ev'n I (alas, no gifted bard) 
 
 With flowing heart thy haunts approach; 
 And if at times my hand has dar'd 
 
 To wake thy harp with timid touch, 
 In sooth forgive the sounds so dull, 
 
 The infant hand in sooth forgive, 
 The very flow'rs it loves to cull 
 
 Their memory shall long outlive* 
 
 Not wavers more the trembling shade 
 
 That by the silken beech is made 
 
 As May's delightful zephyr waves 
 
 In playful sport its lucid leaves; 
 
 Than every thought the lover knows 
 
 When Memory the embers blows, 
 
 And bids the glowing warmth arise 
 
 That buried in his bosom lies, 
 
 Awhile to sparkle in his eyes ; 
 
 And quick thro* gleam and gloom to run, 
 
 Like chequer'd leaves in shade and sun. 
 
 Such feeling Albany confess'd 
 As thus Fitz-Gwarine he address'd.
 
 ( 71 ) 
 
 ** No titled ancestry I boast, 
 '" All in Time's upper current lost; 
 " Hard-handed men ray fathers were 
 * Inur'd to guide the brighten' d share. 
 " Tliey ran their course in lowly lot, 
 " Just streak' d the stream, and were forgot. * 
 
 " Yet had their shields in 'scutcheou'd pride 
 " Each rich heraldric blazon dyed, 
 " On me less vautage had they shed 
 " Than did my father's honour'd head. 
 
 "My hoary sire me early taught 
 " What substance was, and shadow what; 
 " That honour flows from noble race 
 " No more than shame from sire's disgrace; 
 " That oaks may rise erect and free 
 " From acorns of an humble tree; 
 " That honour he alone acquires 
 " Who after i* himself aspires ; 
 *' That the best gift from sire to son 
 " Is heav'uly Education, 
 " She, the chaste nymph, so free and fair, 
 " Will prompt to deeds, that, rich and rare, 
 " Shall with more glory grace his grave, 
 " Than paltry 'scutcheons eve/ gave,
 
 ( 72 ) 
 
 " And bear his honours to that shore 
 *' Where toys and titles are no more. 
 
 " This sword, Sir Chief, that now I bear, 
 
 " But ill becomes my peaceful thigh; 
 " For, tho* this tassel'd garb I wear, 
 
 " No plume-proud warrior am I. 
 " Year after year 1 peaceful stray'd, 
 
 " To Art betroth'd, to Nature more, 
 " Where y faithful to her Alfred's shade, 
 
 " Fair Isis sweeps the classic shore. 
 *' And only once has Autumn strew'd 
 
 " With drifted leaves her lofty bowers, 
 " And once has Spring those leaves renew'd 
 
 " Since last I left her sacred towers. 
 ** Her tow'rs I left with silent sigh, 
 
 " As parting from a parent's arms; 
 ** For ah, no parents then had I 
 
 " Save Heav'n, and Oxford's heav'nly charms. 
 " But her, I say, I then forsook 
 
 " To ramble Gallia's bosky bourne ; 
 " Of Nature's wide un-errour'd book 
 
 " Eager each living leaf to turn.
 
 ( 73 ) 
 
 "** Travel in early youth I sought, 
 
 " Long ere my noon of life was come; 
 
 "" That noon and eve with joy, I thought, 
 " Might gild my little native home. 
 
 " For he (unless in early time) 
 
 " That rambling leaves his native clime, 
 
 " Is not unlike the sapling tree 
 
 "*' Rooting, where Nature drop'd it, free, 
 
 " Transplanted from it's native place 
 
 "** Some dry and barren spot to grace, 
 
 " Stinted it bears nor flow'r nor fruit, 
 
 ** In spite of fondly-water'd root, 
 
 *' But pines, with toughen'd bark tight bound, 
 
 ** And scurfy lichens moss it round. 
 
 " So he that leaves his long-lov'd home, 
 " Too soon, too late, may find 
 
 * Go where he will, that cares will come, 
 " The lichens of the mind. 
 
 *' As for court-favours, thought have I 
 *" When in the woods reclin'd, my eye
 
 ( 74 ) 
 " Watch' d the wan leaf the zephyr whirls 
 " That, cobweb-caught, light spinning twirls, 
 " Court-favours! hang they not, I wis, 
 " Ev'n on a brittler thread than this ! 
 
 " But oh, in some sweet vale unknown 
 *' A cot that I might call my own 
 
 " Was all my heart's desire; 
 " A stock select of letter' d lore, 
 " An eye to glance all Nature o'er, 
 
 " And leisure for the lyre. 
 " And as for Love, I deem'd his dart 
 " Just temper'd by the poet's art, 
 
 " Could there alone prevail : 
 " But (O, forgive a soldier's sigh) 
 " Too soon a black and brilliant eye 
 
 " Taught me another tale. 
 " It taught me that the poet's eye 
 " But only tinged with prismy dye 
 
 " The woof that Nature wove; 
 " Taught me how hard it was to tear, 
 " Tho' fine as filmy gossamer, 
 
 " The woven web of Love.
 
 ( 75. ) 
 
 ** It taught me why in vale unknown 
 ' A cot that I might call my own 
 
 " Was all my heart's desire, 
 " With stock select of letter' d lore, 
 " And eye to glance all Nature o'er, 
 
 " With leisure for the lyre. 
 
 " O Woman ! not confin'd thy pow'r 
 " To sweeten life's embitter'd hour, 
 " But needed, O enchantress sweet, 
 " To make it's very joys complete ! 
 " Who feels not when a woman's dy 
 " That approbation of her eye 
 " Gives added azure to the sky ; 
 
 " Warmth to the poet's fire; 
 u Beauty to each little flow'r; 
 " Richness to the letter'd hour; 
 
 " And sweetness to the lyre ! 
 " Who feel not this, tho' high their lot, 
 " Their pow'r, their wealth, I envy not; 
 " Who feel not this, may pleasure prove, 
 " But cannot, dare not, say they love.
 
 ( 76 ) 
 
 * Pardon a lover's rambling vein, 
 " I'll try to check my busy brain; 
 " Enough to say I met the maid, 
 " And oft we sought the moonlight glade ; 
 " But the succeeding moon that shone 
 " My wand'ring shadow shew'd alone. 
 
 " Of her, of heart, of hope bereft, 
 " Not ev'n her very name was left, 
 ** For always, obstinately shy, 
 " She did her name and house deny. 
 
 " Then sad and heart-sick home I hied, 
 *' And to ray former haunts applied; 
 " But there no object could I find 
 " But brought the lovely maid to mind. 
 " In Music's note her voice I heard, 
 " Her blush in the wild-rose appear'd, 
 " The balmy breeze, the od'rous air, 
 u The hall, the bow'r was full of her; 
 " My lyre, like his the Teian bard, 
 ft Did ev'ry theme but love discard. 
 * And, to encrease my fever's rage^ 
 " 1 drank at Ovid's amorous page.
 
 ( 77 ) 
 
 " Thus ever haunted by the mkd, 
 
 " I flung me from the thoughtful shade, 
 
 " Sought the gay scene, the bright resort 
 
 " Of city crowd, and royal court. 
 
 " Where learning that the king had need 
 
 " Of knights at arms for hostile deed, 
 
 " I threw aside the classic gown, 
 
 " In chivalry to gain renown, 
 
 " And prove that sons of British lin 
 
 " In arms, as well as arts may shine. 
 
 " Hoping the deeds of arras I prov'd 
 
 " Might reach the ear of her I lov'd, 
 
 " And soon they did, for oh! unknown 
 
 " Against her sire those deeds were shewn. 
 
 " 'Twas then with fatal fear and shame 
 
 " I learn'd her honour'd house and name; 
 
 " A British Baron's daughter she, 
 
 " And oh, her sire well known to thee. 
 
 " This late I learn'd (no matter how) 
 
 " But cannot, dare not, tell it now, 
 
 For. 1 
 
 what was that? hush 
 
 blood and death! 
 
 " Did you not hear some one's breath?"
 
 (. 78 ) 
 Fitz-Gwarine thought he heard a sigh 
 As close they pass'd the arras nigh; 
 But louder treading, quick replied 
 Breath ! no, it was myself that sigh'd, 
 Sigh'd, anxious for your laden breast; 
 But come, my friend, come tell the rest, 
 ' For, if I am her father's friend, 
 " Your enmity I soon may end." 
 
 Quoth Albany," Chief belov'd, 
 < My arm against his life hath mov'd, 
 " Which makes us smother- close our fire, 
 In fear of her offended sire. 
 " But would he on our union smite, 
 ** The king and him I'd reconcile. 
 Think ye he'd grant my urgent suit? 
 Think ye, Sir Chief, that you could do't?" 
 Aye, troth," (he cried) " Sir Albany, 
 " To such a noble foe as thee." 
 " Then" (cried Sir Albany) " I'd fain 
 
 u Request 
 
 death! there's the breath again
 
 C 79 ) 
 " It was not you, I can't mistake, 
 
 " Look there 1 saw the arras shake.'*" 
 
 '" Come, timid lover, calm thy mind/' 
 (Fitz-Gwarine said) " it was the wind. 
 ' c Go on :" (and then his arm he took) 
 " Why do'st thou so attentive look ?" 
 
 The knight here stop'd, and fix'd his eye 
 Fast on the figur'd tapestry, 
 And long with eager gaze he strode. 
 Expecting soon to see it move ; 
 Then cried, " O, if for me, Sir Chief, 
 " Thou can'st obtain the lovely thief 
 " That stole my heart's-ease, in that cell 
 " Sole tenant she shall ever dwell, 
 " Her guardian I, divinely blest 
 " To guard and tend so sweet a guest. 
 
 ** For thee, Sir Chief, I have in view 
 " Some services that I may do. 
 " By this good sword, that now I draw, 
 " I'll swear to keep thy foes in awe; 
 " Nay more, those foes thy friends I'll bring, 
 " And ev'n for thee will speak the king.
 
 ( 80 ) 
 
 " With thee as friend will ever go, 
 " And should I find some lurking foe, 
 " With this good sword (that only fail'd 
 " When it thy mighty hand assail'd) 
 " I'll pierce him 'till his life-blood flows, 
 n As now I pierce this figur'd Rose." 
 Then fiercely, as the word he spoke, 
 He stabb'd the arrass'd Rose and Oakj 
 And instant heard, in dying tone, 
 A shrieking scream and hollow groan. 
 
 O, fancy, as some ploughboy rude 
 Deprives her of her downy brood, 
 
 How feels the cushat dove ! 
 Her anxious hope defeated now, 
 She trembles on a bending bough, 
 
 With looks of murder'd love. 
 So felt Fitz-Gwarine as he rais'd 
 His arm, and Albany's he seiz'd, 
 
 But ah, he seiz'd too late, 
 As, " hold, thou heedless youth," he said, 
 ' It is thy love> thy own true maid}'*
 
 ( 81 . 7 
 
 Bat oh, the wound was fate. 
 Judge ye the wild and fix'd surprise* 
 The looks of his astonish' d eyes 
 
 O how shall language tell ? 
 When from the parting tapestry, 
 With gory gash and languid eye* 
 
 The dying Wrenoc fell t 
 
 " Forgive," (he fault'ring thus began) 
 
 " Forgive a wretched dying man, 
 
 " Alas, for death how unprepar'd ! 
 
 " For lured with hope of large reward^ 
 
 " Encourag'd by a dastard king, 
 
 " I here this cursed dagger bring; 
 
 " This dagger, O Fitz-Gwarine good, 
 
 " Design'd to-night to drink thy blood/* 
 
 Fitz-Gwarine loud to call begaa 
 " Support, assist the dying man." 
 Repentant Wrenoc cried again 
 " Suppoit, alas, is all in vain,. 
 " For Albany by liand divine 
 " To save thy life has finish'd mine-; 
 '* But let me all my crimes confess,
 
 ( 82 ) 
 " My panting heart heaves less and less; 
 " I feel the film enfold my eyes, 
 " And fast my recollection flies." 
 Then heaving on his elbow high 
 He fetch'd a deep and long-drawn sigh. 
 
 Alter short pause, with quivering lip, 
 
 His hand hard pressing on his hip, 
 
 He cried " at Ludlow from a friend, 
 
 " I learn* d that Albany 
 
 Oh lend 
 
 " Thy hand, undo my breast, 
 
 " For by the belt 'tis sore opprest 
 
 " I did a crafty falshood frame, 
 
 " O false, all false except the dream." 
 
 Then fearfully with hurried eye 
 
 He said, with agitated sigh, 
 
 " Oh, drive those shadows from the wall, 
 
 " Look there there where the moonbeams fall j 
 
 " Ye frightful fiends 
 
 I'll come anon 
 
 " Hark! don't ye hear them 
 
 on, on, on !
 
 ( 83 ) 
 " O maddens fast my burning brain; 
 " But here this letter will explain 
 " This letter to the king I wrote 
 " 'Tis lost alas, I have it not." 
 
 Quoth Albany, " just now 'twas found 
 " I'th' banquet-room upon the ground, 
 " And brought to me by Raumpayne John 
 " It urg'd me to the deed I've done. 
 " Here, as we paced it to and fro, 
 " Villain, I saw thy foot below; 
 " Hints then I threw here in thy way 
 ** To rouse thee unto equal fray. 
 " I not so soon to slay thee meant ; 
 " To rouse thee was my blow's intent/' 
 
 You've seen in March's chilly morn 
 A heavy raindrop on a thorn 
 
 A moment bright and glaring; 
 Then for a moment dim and dead; 
 Then burnish'd bright all fiery red, 
 With dazzling flashes flaring ; 
 
 And, as the sighing gust came o'er, 
 Fall damp and dead to shine no more.
 
 ( U ) 
 
 So Wrenoc's wan and heavy eye 
 The quivering lids of pallid dye 
 
 At times but barely parted; 
 Then sudden o'er his features came 
 A fearful, wild, and vivid gleam 
 That looks of horror darted ; 
 
 And then again they seem'd to close, 
 And sink a moment in repose. 
 
 ^hort while they paus'd, as wild and wan 
 Theymark'd and sooth'd the dying man. 
 They heard the wind with rushing sound 
 That eddied shrill the castle round, 
 The trees howPd hollow to the blast, 
 The moon her flickering lustre cast 
 Among the rocking branches tall, 
 And mark'd them waving on the wall. 
 
 With languid eye and lessening pain, 
 Wrenoc essay'd to speak again: 
 
 " Hear me forgive before I go, 
 *' Sir Knight, thy well-directed blow; 
 ** Can ye forgive the crimes so foul 
 ** That torture now my struggling soul?" 

 
 ( 85 ) 
 
 Fitz-Gwarine then " as I live 
 
 *' Most freely I thy crimes forgive, 
 
 *' For who can dare to pray to Heaven 
 
 * That bids his foe die unforgiven ?" 
 
 Quoth Albany, " that text is true, 
 
 " And Oh, may Heav'n forgive thee too. 5 ' 
 
 Wrenoc rejoin' d, with heaving heart, 
 ** I've but confessed a little part 
 " The maid deceived oh burst, my breast, 
 " Let injur'd virtue tell the rest. 
 " See, sqg again upon the wall 
 *' And, hark! I dimly hear them call. 
 "" Torture no more my rustling ears 
 *' Shrowd not my dying soul with fears 
 " Go, fiends, I'll follow aye begone 
 " Oh! how they tear me 
 
 on, on, on!" 
 
 Then with a long, and lengthen'd sigh, 
 He rais'd his dimly-glistening eye, 
 One look upon Fitz-Gwarine cast, 
 And deeply groaning, breath'd his last 
 
 I
 
 ( 86 ) 
 Heaving convuls'd; then on the floor 
 Dropp'd all at once, and mov'd no more. 
 Fell the curs'd dagger from his hold; 
 And soon his face look'd deathly cold, 
 Fix'd with a hard and slony glare 
 That Horror strong had sculptur'd there. 
 
 Hold out, my harp, nor let a string 
 
 Relax, the deeds of death to tell; 
 Of weal and woe we yet must sing, 
 
 That soon this castle fair hefell. 
 Proceed we now o'er many a stair 
 
 As great Fitz-Gwarine led his guest, 
 To feast his eyes with lady fair, 
 
 All in her chamber in the east. 
 And as they pass'd along, he said, 
 
 " Before to-morrow's ev'ning come, 
 w Shall Wrenoc's mis-directed head 
 
 " Be laid below the silent tomb. 
 " Clerks shall attend in sable stole, 
 
 " And holy masses shall be said; 
 " I'll pray for his eternal soul ; 
 " Fitz-Gwarine wars not with the dead.
 
 ( 97 ) 
 
 ** But come, Sir Knight, to whom I owe 
 
 " My life for what thy hand has done; 
 " I'll give thee life, for now I'll shew 
 
 " Thy own true love, thy Marion." 
 Fitz-Gwarine wonder' d much in mind 
 
 The knight was rous'd not at her name ' r 
 He follow'd pondering slow behind, 
 
 When to the eastern tow'r they came. 
 
 The tow'r then all in rich array'4^ 
 With ewers, couch, and settles gay, 
 With golden toys and cresset bright, 
 For lady fair, or carpet-knight. 
 
 But now, around, and down below 
 The nightshade and the nettle grow, 
 And early pileworts there unfold 
 Their little stars of burnish'd gold; 
 And close beneath the weedy walls 
 The spotty-bellied lizard crawls; 
 Or (turn a stone) the mailed worm 
 Enrings itself in spiral form; 
 And winds away on gliding tread 
 The fiber-footed millepede.
 
 ( 83 ) 
 Such squallid habitants are plac'd 
 Iu halls that Beauty once has grac'd. 
 
 Fitz-Gwarine rous'd the musing knight, 
 And bade him now prepare his sight, 
 " Come, laggard, enter thou before, 
 ". Come, courage, friend, this is the door.' ; 
 
 He op'd the door, and there was seen 
 A maiden of dejected mien, 
 
 That sat the table nigh; 
 Her head upon her hand reclin'd, 
 She wistful seem'd, but yet resign'd, 
 
 And laden was her eye. 
 Again Fitz-Gwarine's wonder grew, 
 They not unto each other flew, 
 
 As thus he smiling said; 
 ' In truth she'll make a bonny bride :" 
 And Albany all cool replied 
 
 " In truth, a goodly maid." 
 All three awhile in wonder gaz'd, 
 Each with the other's look amaz'd, 
 
 For Marion neither knew; 
 But when they told of Wrenoc's fate. 
 She did her simple tale relate,
 
 ( 89 ) 
 Too sad, and oh ! too true : 
 With wringing hands and tears and waii 
 It was she told her simple tale ; 
 But first she heav'd a silent sigh, 
 
 And ev'ry feature seem'd to speak j 
 The big drop glisten'd in her eye, 
 
 Then trickled down her cheek. 
 
 '* Slain is my love, my hopes are gone, 
 " And friends now have I never a one; 
 " Wrenoc, tho' false and recreant prov'd, 
 " L lov'd, alas, too dearly lov'd. 
 " When captive him in dungeon deep 
 * Thy, valiant neighbour Joos did keep, 
 ** I freed; him, but with quenchless flame, 
 u I in my turn his captive came. 
 u By day Sir Joos he fear'd to see, 
 " But nightly paid his court to me : 
 " Ladders of love I knotted tight, 
 " And in my chamber plae'd a light ; 
 " But oh, the pangs I've since endur'd, 
 * Shew me that 'twas, myself I lur'd. 
 ** Spite of his oaths and heedless vows, 
 " He never meant to be my spouse..
 
 ( 90 ) 
 
 " On hearts like his the vows they make 
 '* No longer-lasting; traces leave 
 
 " Than sportive flies that circling streak 
 '* The glassy pool on summer's eve. 
 
 "He left me for the monarch's court, 
 " Of lighter hearts the gay resort, 
 ** Yet still to lure him back I strove, 
 " And penn'd the breathing page of love. 
 
 " At length he came ; but then he said 
 w To Whittington in luuste he sped; 
 " A mandate from the royal hand 
 " Secret he carried by command; 
 " And if, disguis'd and private, I 
 " Would thither him acqompany, 
 " His message o'er, perform'd his 'hest, 
 " Our hands should by the clerk be blest. 
 
 " All day we rode yon hills across, 
 " Nor stopp'd by forest, moor, or moss ; 
 " Bright was the day, and fair the scene, 
 " Yet Wrenoc rode with gloomy mien, 
 " At length (what time the insects gay 
 " Disported in the evening ray)
 
 ,( 9.1 ) 
 " He left me in yon bushy ground . 
 " With blossom'd furze all yellow'd round ; 
 " To fetch me, soon return'd again, 
 " And bade me, in this room remain, 
 " 'Till he had done his king's behest, 
 " Alas, I see ye know the rest." , 
 She sobbing, with her lilly hand 
 
 Kerchief d her lovely face; 
 111 could their manly hearts withstand 
 Such bosom-breaking grace. 
 
 Like flakes left by a snowy shower 
 On Winter's meek and modest flower, 
 
 Its beuding head enveiling, 
 While o'er the flowery folds so white 
 Trickles the chrystal tear-drop bright 
 
 All slow and silent stealing. 
 
 " Misfortun'd Marion" (said the chief) 
 " A social friend's unforc'd relief 
 
 "My daughter shall apply j 
 " In sleep forget awhile thy woes, 
 " Peace to thee, child, and sweet repose. 
 
 " Come, noble Albany."
 
 ( 92 ) 
 As they descend the winding stair, 
 At times they stop, and thoughts compare. 
 
 Where hang the cressets high: 
 Fitz-Gwarine wish'd his doubts remov'd; 
 The maid his brave deliverer lov'd 
 
 He sought with asking eye. 
 Ye hearers kind, that list my lay, 
 I wot your looks all seem to say 
 
 The maid ye long have guess'd ; 
 Attend, for shortens now my strain, 
 As he with quickly-pulsing vein, 
 
 The secret name confess'd. 
 
 " Chief, thy captive guest forgive, 
 " Nor wonder here he chose to live, 
 " When here abode his secret love, 
 " Tho' small of converse could we prove. 
 " Need I declare, Sir Chief, that I 
 " Am that same knight of Normandy? 
 " Need I recount the sharp assail 
 " I gave thy hand in Vyrnwy's vale ? 
 " Then captive brought to Whittingtou, 
 " Bound to the rock I split upon,
 
 ( 93 ) 
 
 " I saw, and sorrowing learn'd her name, 
 " Yet we contriv'd to hide our flame, 
 " 'Till I no more might dread the ire 
 " Of thee my foe, of thee her sire, 
 " O needs it then, Sir Chief, he said 
 " Thy Clarice is my faithful maid?" 
 
 I wot it hoots not here to tell 
 What soon this happy pair befell, 
 The merry jest, the revel gay 
 That circled on a distant day, 
 Fair maids, I wot ye guess it well; 
 Befits my lay alone to tell 
 That tho' Fitz-Gwarine's noble name 
 Now habits but the house of Fame, 
 His virtues live, his honours shine 
 Thro* Albany's yet living line: 
 Grace may they e'er from son to son 
 This fair domain of Whittington, 
 Espousing, as of late they have, 
 The daughters of the truly brave; 
 And shine may each succeeding pair 
 Brave as our knight, as Clarice fair.
 
 ( 94 ) 
 
 Yet leave we not untold, I trow*. 
 The fate of Marion, maid of woe. 
 But shew before the story die, 
 On what we hang our drapery ; 
 And soou, I ween, will all be done, 
 Closing with what we first begun. 
 Then, O my harp, for thee and me: 
 Silence is best apology. 
 
 Damp, dull, and cloudy look'd the day 
 As morn arose in shrowd of grey; 
 Stiir'd not the wind the sighing oak, 
 Yet downwards dash'd the spreading smoke: 
 A fringey cloud, dark, heavy, still, 
 Curtain' d thy brow, Selattyn hill. 
 The fog was slowly seen to glide 
 Adown old Breidden's craggy side, 
 That scarce his head abrupt could shew. 
 Thro* heavy clouds that hung below; 
 Sign certain to the knowing swain 
 Portentive of impending rain. 
 
 And now, with more than sister's care> 
 Sweet Clarice sought for Marion fair.
 
 ( 95 ) 
 With hopes to heal her woe; 
 Jn vain, alas, she look'd around, 
 For ah ! poor Marion's corse was found 
 Deep in the lake below! 
 
 Since when, as villagers believe, 
 
 Her spirit haunts the lake at eve. 
 
 But soon the fog of error flies, 
 
 As bright the rays of knowledge rise, 
 
 With light, and warmth, and comfort kind 
 
 Glancing within the gloomy mind. 
 
 And soon the rays of knowledge here 
 The rising villagers shall cheer; 
 For fast beside the castle pool 
 A Christian true has rais'd a school, 
 (Of Albany descended He 
 The friend belov'd of Man and roe) 
 Where bright her beams Religion flings, 
 And Science plumes her infant wings, 
 And little eyes with tear-drops dim 
 Smile gratitude to God and him. 
 
 And as my harp's now ceasing lay 
 Upon the distance dies away,
 
 ( 96 } 
 Whose witching notes of comfort kind 
 Dispel the gloom of my poor mind; 
 So Science soon shall Reason bid 
 To exorcise the spirit-rid, 
 And Superstition drive ere long 
 To live but in the poet's song. 
 
 Now, harp, farewell ; no more we'll hold 
 The tir'd attention ; f or 'tis told 
 Why (as village tales recite) 
 
 Yon castle's gloomy tow'r beside, 
 Is dimly seen at fall of night, 
 A Phantom vested all in white, 
 
 Along the lake to glide, 
 Where yon old window's ruins rude 
 Appear inverted in the flood; 
 And then, as fades the twilight grey. 
 Glides with the curling mist away.
 
 Th Author, unwilling to burden his little -book wits 
 notes, refers those readers who may wish to peruse some 
 historical account of the Fitz-Gwarine, to Leland's Collectanea ; 
 Philips's Shrewsbury; and Penant's Tour in- North Wales; as 
 being the books of readiest access. The ancient Welsh Melodies 
 alluded to, may be found in Jones's Religmes of the Bards , 
 and the collection of Parry.
 
 Mtyyme. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 Eegettoarp, 
 
 " it is old and plain, 
 
 The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, 
 
 And the free maids that weave their threads with bones 
 
 Do use to chaunt it ; it is silly sooth." 
 
 TWILFTH M1CHT.
 
 Cfje vtpt Baron; 
 
 A BALLAD, 
 
 IN IMITATION OF " THE RED-CROSSE KNYGHTE. 
 
 PARTE THE FIRSTE. 
 
 " Whither so fastc, Ihou ladye faire, 
 
 " Ah stoppe thy steede so whyte, 
 " The suime is hyghe in the westenie skye, 
 
 " And distante is the nyghte: 
 " Ah stoppe and soothe the sorrowes sadde 
 
 " That in ray castle preye, 
 " Where no songe can sounde, nor dance got rouude, 
 
 " Nor musicke merrilie playe."
 
 ( 102 ) 
 
 " Ah why me staye, thou Baron greyS? 
 
 ** Ah why delaye my flyghte ? 
 " The sunne is hyghe, but I must flye 
 
 " To distant realmes to-nyghte : 
 " I hasten o'er the mossie moore, 
 
 " To wedde my lover gaye. 
 "Where the songe shall sounde and the dance goe rounde 
 
 " And the musicke raerrilie playe." 
 
 " Yet deigne to taste the lordlie feaste 
 
 " That I this nyghte prepare, 
 " For what's a feast unless it's grac'd 
 
 " With store of ladyes faire ? 
 " The tender mynde no joye can fynde 
 
 " Where ladyes are awaye, 
 " Tho' the songe may sounde and the dance goe rounde, 
 
 " And the musicke merrilie playe." 
 
 " 1 rannot staye, thou Baron greye, 
 
 " Thro' woodie wildes I rove ; 
 " And whore's the thing can staye the winge, 
 
 " Th' unwearied wine of love?
 
 C 103 ) 
 
 " Yet to soothe Ihy care and sadde despair* 
 
 " An houre or two Til staye, 
 " Tho' no songe shall sounde nor dance goe rounde, 
 
 " Nor musicke merrilie playe 
 
 " The rollinge sunne his race hath runne, 
 
 " The twylyghte's glimmerings fade; 
 " The moon is bryghte and the starres are lyghte 
 
 " Six tedious houres I've stay'd. 
 " Far hence I rove to meet my love, 
 
 " (This is my wedding daye) 
 "Where the songe shall sounde and the dance goe rounds 
 
 " And the musicke merrilie playe. 
 
 " Yet ladye, staye, once more I praye, 
 
 " Another boone I crave; 
 " My onlie sonne is deade and gone, 
 
 " This nyghte he seekes the grave; 
 " Sixe virgins faire his palle will beare, 
 
 " And see him laide in claye, 
 " And the belle shall sounde and the chaunte goe rounde 
 
 " And the slowe dirge heavilie playe.
 
 ( 104 ) 
 
 " Then heare my prayer, thou ladye faire, 
 
 " Nor o'er the mountains rove; 
 " Remaine with me a youthe to see 
 
 " That dy'd for ladye's love. 
 "Prepare the torabe, the houre is come, 
 
 " Goe beare my sonne awaye ; 
 "Let the death-belle sound and the chaunte goe rouude, 
 
 " And the slowe dirge heavilie playe. 
 
 " Goe on, goe on, ye sable thronge, 
 
 " In solemn silence move j 
 " A youthe ye beare, ye virgins faire, 
 
 " That dy'd for ladye's love. 
 " Acrosse the nyghte let tapers bryghU 
 
 " Shoote forthe a lengthen'd raye, 
 Let the dcathe-belle sounde and the chaunte goerounde 
 
 " And the slowe dirge heavilie playe." 
 
 Then sadde and slowe the virgins goe, 
 
 The ladye follow'd too, 
 When lookinge dowue the coffin on 
 
 Her lover's name she knewe?
 
 ( 105 ) 
 
 Her limbes so faire no more could beare, 
 
 But on a tombe she laide, 
 "While the belle did sounde and the chaunte wenterounde 
 
 And the slowe dirge heavilie play'd. 

 
 %f)t <&xtpt Baron. 
 
 PARTE THE SECONDE. 
 
 " Yet wipe thy teare, thou ladye faire, 
 
 " Thou yet may'st happie bee ; 
 '* But since my sonne is deade and gone, 
 
 " No joye remains for mee: 
 " A lover kinde thou soon may'st finde 
 
 " 'Mid scenes of pleasure gaye, 
 "Where the songe shall souude and the dance goe rounde 
 
 " And the musicke merrilie playe. 
 
 " Yet, ladye, praye, when far awaye 
 
 " To happie mansions gone, 
 *' Ah thinke, I praye, on the Baron greye, 
 
 " And of his hapless sonne.
 
 ( 107 ) 
 f * Then fare thee welle, and may'st thou dwelle 
 
 " 'Mid scenes of pleasure gaye, 
 " Where no chaunte goes jounde nordeathe-bellesspunde 
 
 " But rausicke merrilie playe." 
 
 " Ah cease, I praye, thou Baron greye, 
 
 " Thy comforte is in vaine; 
 " The hearte for aye that's given awaye 
 
 " Can ne'er he given againe. 
 " I'll put me on thy mouniinge gowne, 
 
 " And at breake and close of daye, 
 " The belle shall sounde and the chaunte goe rounde, 
 
 " And requiems heavilie playe. 
 
 " Yet ah, throw backe thy weedes of blacke, 
 
 " Since now the dirge is done, 
 ** For in thy face I faintlie trace 
 
 " Some features of thy sonne : 
 To soothe thy paine I'll here remaine, 
 
 " 'Till thy laste yeares decaye ; 
 " 'Till thy belle shall sounde and thy chaunte goerounde 
 
 " And thy slowe dirge heavilie playe."
 
 ( 108 ) 
 
 He then laide downe his sable gowne, 
 
 And his horie lockes and bearde ! 
 And to her eyes withouten guise 
 
 Her lover true appea?M. 
 " Drie up thy teare, thou ladye faire, 
 
 " I've prov'd thy faithe to-daye; 
 * Nowe the songe shall sounde and the dance goe rounde, 
 
 ' And the musicke merrilie playe. ,> 
 
 " Our kindrede all within the halie 
 
 " The weddinge feaste array ej 
 " Where the songe shall sounde and the dance goe rounde 
 
 " And the musicke merrilie playe." 
 They found them all within the halle 
 
 And the "weddinge feaste arrayde, 
 And the songe did sounde, and the dance wente rounde, 
 
 And the musicke merrilie playde.
 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 Up Pen-yr-Voel in Summer days 
 We youths and damsels climb; 
 
 And listless press, reclin'd at east, 
 The freckled mountain thyme. 
 
 The bev'rage of the China weei 
 
 Sipping so cherrily, 
 Some sad or simple tale we read, 
 
 Or sing right merrily. 
 
 *Tis sooth to see the sunny gleam 
 Where Vyrnwy's waters glide; 
 
 And sooth to hearj the mournful stream 
 Of Tanat's murm'rinqr tido
 
 ( no ) 
 
 iBut soother far the maiden's eyes, 
 More bright the drops they hold. 
 
 And far more sorrowful her sighs 
 When some lorn tale is told. 
 
 How happy must that minstrel be 
 That moves the maiden's tear! 
 
 The bard obtains his proudest fee 
 When ladies lend an ear. 
 
 But ah! the feeblest of the train, 
 
 No magic glass I hold 
 The web from Fancy's loom to stain, 
 
 You bid me now unfold. 
 
 But what of that? these mountain flowers 
 
 As aptly suit their place, 
 As those that flaunt on braided bowers, 
 
 Or tricksy gardens grace. 
 
 The maid commands: my lyre, obey, 
 
 Tho' poor thy tuneful toil, 
 To fling a legendary lay 
 
 On fameless Pen-yr-Voel.
 
 ( 111 ) 
 
 Whereon, since first yon camp was pil'd, 
 Full many a blast has blown ; 
 
 And many a Summer's evening mild 
 In peaceful beam has shone. 
 
 Alike the warrior's blast or beam, 
 
 To fall or fade resign'd, 
 If reckless of the poet's flame, 
 
 " Leaves not a rack behind." 
 
 Strange misteries fill yon neighb'ring hill, 
 Bones, caverns, camps, and graves, 
 
 And all the antiquarian's skill 
 To wild conjecture leaves. 
 
 But had some bard in days of old 
 
 But left one living line, 
 His page with joy would be unroll'd, 
 
 Tho' were it weak as mine. 
 
 Yet hoar Tradition loves to tell 
 
 This tale of Voel's toil; 
 How here that hapless warrior fell, 
 
 And calls it Pen-vr-Yoel.
 
 ( 112 ) 
 Voel, a youthful warrior he. 
 
 For so the legend goes, 
 March'd in the British forces free} 
 
 To fight their Saxon foes. 
 
 f* With courage, guards, your watches keep, 
 
 " The Saxon foe is nigh; 
 " Beware the drowsy dew of sleep, 
 
 " For he that sleeps shall die." 
 
 Commands like these from Voel flew 
 
 Unto the guards of night, 
 Who to his tented turf withdrew, 
 
 Foreboding on the fight. 
 
 " Ah, soon wilt thou thy love forget, 
 
 " Gwendolen dear," he cries, 
 "For ere to-morrow's sun be set, 
 
 " Perhaps thy Voel dies. 
 
 " But I am arm'd with right of heart, 
 
 " For death I look to find; 
 < Yet still with life am loth to part, 
 
 " For thee I leave behind.
 
 ( 113 ) 
 
 " But should our arms in triumph sliine, 
 
 " (Ye Powers grant it so) 
 " For ever then is Voel thine, 
 
 " And thou art VoeFs too. 
 
 * But while the battle round me roars, 
 
 " And arms and arrows ring, 
 " A thought on her my heart adores 
 
 " Will strength and courage bring. 
 
 " Enough if hope deserts my heart, 
 " This thought my bosom chears, 
 
 " How she when Voel did depart, 
 " Stood gazing thro' her tears." 
 
 He paus'd and list'ned to the blast 
 That blew with beating rain, 
 
 In clouds the sky was overcast, 
 And not a star was seen. 
 
 'Twas such a night when shrill and keen 
 
 The spitting scud is driven, 
 And troubled tree-tops, dimly seen, 
 
 Just fret the edge of heaven.
 
 ( 114 ) 
 When o'er yon rushy marshes damp 
 
 A youthful soldier mov'd, 
 Who sought to join hrave Voel's camp, 
 
 For Voel was belov'd. 
 
 " Direct me, guard, and O advise. 
 
 " How I may come unto 
 " The tented turf where Voel lies, 
 
 " For I'm his soldier true. 
 
 *' O'er marsh and mountain far I come 
 '* Strauge tidings here to bring 
 
 " From fair Gwendolen's distant home, 
 " Behold her signet ring. 
 
 " But, guard, I deem it is denied 
 " For aught to enter here ; 
 
 " Do thou, then, while I here abide, 
 " This ring to Voel bear. 
 
 " Upon your post I'll firmly stand, 
 " And will your office learn; 
 
 " And with your halberd in my hand, 
 " I'll wait 'till you return."
 
 ( 115 ) 
 
 The guard complies; deserts his keep 3 
 
 And hies to Voe?s tent; 
 But soon the soldier sunk to sleep. 
 With toil fatigu'd and spent. 
 
 Na sweet repose brave Voel felt, 
 
 Upon his turf reclin'd; 
 His thoughts upon Gwendolen dwelt, 
 
 Gwendolen filFd his mind. 
 
 And oft he pac'd the camp around, 
 The wakeful guards to view; 
 
 The wakeful guards he constant found 
 Upon their stations true. 
 
 Brave Voel then was pleasM to sefc 
 The guards their watches keep; 
 
 But passing by the outer way, 
 He found the guard asleep. 
 
 Unguarded when the place he found 
 That stood in greatest need, 
 
 With hasty hand he gave a wound 
 That made the soldier bleed.
 
 ( 116 ) 
 But quick a voice assail' d his ear; 
 
 " What hest does Voel send? 
 ** But, guard, why strike my bosom here, 
 
 " Hast thou forgot thy friend ? 
 
 " But haste, my words to Voel bear, 
 
 " My words can be but few; 
 ** I would a moment he were here, 
 
 " Or he my tidings knew. 
 
 * Tell him," the bleeding soldier cried, 
 " To join his ranks I thought, 
 
 ' And by the valiant Voel's side, 
 " Most brave would I have fought. 
 
 " Go bid him here, for death is nigh, 
 
 " His dying friend to view ; 
 " And say, that he may speedier fly, 
 
 " I lov'd Gwendolen too." 
 
 Then Voel thought the voice he knew, 
 Aught else the night conceal'd, 
 
 " And who," he fault'ring cried, "art thou, 
 " That ha'st this tale revealM?"
 
 ( 117 ) 
 
 The dying soldier fainting lay, 
 Whom loss of blood o'ercaine, 
 
 And scarce had breath enough to say 
 " Gwendolen is my name I " 
 
 Nor tree nor tombstone now exit* 
 
 To mark their resting spot, 
 Or there some village moralist 
 
 Might well this rhyme have wrote j 
 
 Beware, ye maids, tho' fair and chaste. 
 That leave your proper sphere; 
 
 And, youths, that yield to heedless haste, 
 Tho' valiant and sincere.
 
 W^nuston's Cabe 
 
 Is high in the Wen Point of the rock at Nesscliff, and seea 
 ver the wood from the great road ; it is much visited by passing 
 strangers, to whom the following Ballad (containing most of the 
 authentic particulars known of him) is told, and given for a 
 small perquisite, by the old woman who inhabits it. 
 
 Come sit ye down, fair gentlefolks, 
 
 Sit around my sunny cell; 
 For fresh and gay is the summer's day, 
 
 And I'll of wild Humphrey tell. 
 
 Oh have ye not heard of the Wild Humphrey, 
 
 Surnam'd of Kynaston ? 
 His father was dead, and he in his stead 
 
 As governor liv'd alone.
 
 C 119 ) 
 
 The castle of Middle, then high in pride, 
 
 Obey'd young Humphrey's law: 
 But his state-room now is a stall for the cow, 
 
 Where the cottager keeps his straw. 
 
 'Twas merry in the hall of the young Humphrey, 
 
 And the gay mirth sounded high; 
 "When home ta his bed young Humphrey led 
 
 Isabelle of Oswestry. 
 
 Now she was a maiden of low degree^ 
 
 He in pow'r and parents great: 
 Oh had they but thought on their different Iot> 
 
 Far better had been their fate. 
 
 But Wiliiam-coch her father fond 
 
 Sought a match for his daughter high; 
 
 And it pleas'd him well when young Humphrey fell 
 In love with her coal-black eye. 
 
 And, in sooth to tell, it might have been well. 
 And bliss have bless' d their board, 
 
 Had he but thought on his wife's poor lot, 
 And hearken'd to Prudence* word.
 
 ( 120 ) 
 
 But thoughtless and wild with his gay gallants, 
 The Twelve good rules he broke; 
 
 So many a good house by a thoughtless spouse 
 Is man'd by modem folk. 
 
 High breach of trust at length he made, 
 
 And was by the king outlaw'd; 
 Then his wild career began to appear, 
 
 And a bold freebooter he rode. 
 
 This cavern (then the poor quarriers' cell) 
 He biggen'd and took for his own; 
 
 And those hooks then bore an iron door. 
 In Severn's town yet shewn. 
 
 His name and the date ye see cut on the cave, 
 Tho' Time has the traces worn; 
 
 And the gentlefolks here say 'tis the same year 
 When Nature's great Poet was born. 
 
 He call'd Spirits from hell, as the old folks tell, 
 And they say that he dealt with the Devil: 
 
 If so learned he was, it were pity, alas, 
 To turn that blessing to evil.
 
 ( 121 ) 
 
 The horse that he rode was a spirit, they say; 
 
 That came at his whistle, and turn'd; 
 But show-horses I've seen that convince me, I ween, 
 
 That his horse, and not he, was so learnt 
 
 To poor Isabelle he bade no farewell, 
 But bade her go home to her kin : 
 
 Now an't it a shame that great gentlefolk* 
 That ought to know better should sin ? 
 
 His whistle so shrill arous'd from the hill, 
 The daws in the cliffs that build: 
 
 Then 'twas up and away with the dawn of day 
 To try what the road would yield. 
 
 Old Montford bridge the sheriff took down, 
 
 And to take him in ambush lay; 
 But the horse at a reach sprung over the breach, 
 
 And to Nesscliff safe bore him away. 
 
 The leap was since measur'd on Dovaston-heath, 
 And bequeath'd was a tester a-year, 
 
 While the sun-beams shone, or the rain-drops run, 
 To keep the great letters clear. 
 
 M
 
 ( 122 ) 
 The letters and leap were a spade-graff deep, 
 
 For 'twas tipp'd with an H and a K; 
 And (unless I'm bely'd) it was forty-foot wide, 
 
 And the Horse-leap 'tis cali'd to this day. 
 
 Then the Horse-leap butt, where the letters were cut, 
 With the heath-ling blossom was red : 
 
 But the sun and the rain now on Dovaston-plain, 
 Fill the wheat and the barley's head. 
 
 'Twould be breathless to tell of all that befell 
 Wild Humphrey so lawless and bold; 
 
 Tho' much there is wrote, and more too, I wot, 
 By the marvelling villagers told. 
 
 As how from the rich he their purses took 
 To fill up the wants of the poor : 
 
 And how victuals and corn he found each mom 
 Left close at his cavern door. 
 
 How his horse up these steps, now half cut away, 
 From the fields at a whistle would come: 
 
 See there was his stall, with a bolt in the wall, 
 'Tis now my snug sleeping room.
 
 ( 123 ) 
 
 And I oft ask myself as to Heaven I pray, 
 
 When I in that chamber recline, 
 Tho' grandeur is great with its riches and state, 
 
 Is its bed so peaceful as mine? 
 
 And I wonder to think on you fine gentlefolks, 
 
 (While over my Bible I'm bent) 
 Of the power possess'd to bless and be bless'd, 
 
 Ye are not with all content. 
 
 But, alack, I am rambling; I'm foolish and old, 
 Or needs must have judg'd it uncommon, 
 
 That folks who such texts from the parson neglect, 
 Should attend to a preaching old woman. 
 
 Well, as 1 was a-telling, Wild Humphrey he led 
 
 This wayward life many a yearj 
 But he found he grew old, and time as it roll'd 
 
 To the end of his stage drew near. 
 
 When life starting young is both healthy and strong, 
 
 Unbridled it gallops with haste ; 
 But when it no more likes the prospect before, 
 
 It turns to look back on the past.
 
 ( 124 ) 
 So Humphrey the Wild look'd back on the past. 
 
 But all look'd foggy and foul; 
 And as Death drew near, Hope labour'd with Fear 
 
 To glint on his gloomy soul. 
 
 All one as the clouds of a winter's eve 
 
 O'er yonder rocks are seen, 
 When dimly the gleam of a faint sun-beam 
 
 Endeavours to break between. 
 
 Now a woman did dwell at Westfelton's fam'd well, 
 That in simples and herbs was skill'd; 
 
 And well she knew for what purpose the dew j 
 Their flowers and leafage fill'd. 
 
 And 'twas said by her care but more by her pray'r 
 The sick and the simple they sped; 
 
 And the old folks tell that now live at the well 
 What a goodly life she led. 
 
 Now this good woman came to the Wild Humphrey, 
 
 But found when she came there, 
 To avert Death's hour was past her pow'r, 
 
 But he hop'd for her help in pray'r.
 
 ( 125 ) 
 Oh dim and dull was his dwindling eye, 
 
 When thus did the good dame say, 
 What most should I, thou poor Humphrey, 
 
 Unite with thee to pray ? 
 
 Wild Humphrey then, with faultering word, 
 
 For myself I repent to Heaven; 
 But if in life yet breathes my wife 
 
 I would be by her forgiven. 
 
 Then as he died the lady cried 
 
 At my last hour of life 
 God pardon mc as I do thee 
 
 Now, she was Humphrey's wife. 
 
 Then for his soul she knelt and pray'd, 
 
 To reach that happy shore 
 Where for ever blest the weary rest, 
 
 And the wicked sin no more. 
 
 So, fair gentlefolks, of the Wild Humphrey 
 
 I've told you in hobbling stave, 
 That I something may earn, and you something *nay 
 learn 
 
 By visiting this his cave.
 
 ( 126 ) 
 
 One ev'uing a youth, a friend to truth, 
 For me made this homely strain; 
 
 And should it procure but a mite for the poor, 
 He has not made it in vain.
 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 Llunck-Llys Pool is a small but beautiful lake, of ex- 
 traordinary depth, on the Welsh Border near Oswestry. The 
 name in the Welsh signifies Sunk-Palace, and the vulgar have 
 a firmly-believed superstition (in which this neighbourhood 
 abounds) corresponding with the catastrophe of this ballad : 
 nay, some even at this day go so far as to affirm, that when 
 the water is clear and the surface smooth, towers and chim- 
 neys may be- seen in it at a great depth ! In the summer 
 months fishing parties of ladies and gentlemen frequently 
 spend the day on it in a boat with music and refreshments: 
 for one of such occasions this ballad was hastily written, when 
 my ingenious friend Mr. T. Yates, (though as little skilled 
 as myself in the Welsh) suggested a more fanciful and per- 
 haps more accurate derivation of the name Llyn-glas. the 
 Blue Lake 
 
 The story of the vulgar is here enlarged by a very slight 
 hint taken from Burton's " Anatomy of Melancholy," where 
 he treats of Incuii and Succubi, page 405. fol. edit. Oxford. 1 6a 8.
 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 Clerk Willin he sat at king Alaric's board, 
 
 And a cunning clerk was he, 
 For he'd liv'd in the land of Oxenford 
 
 With the sons of gramarie. 
 
 And they listen' d to the harps of the merry minstrels, 
 And they look'd on the banquet bright; 
 
 But of all that was there the young queen so fair 
 Shone brightest of all that night. 
 
 High glitter'd the crown on her graceful brow, 
 'Twas with beryl and sapphire pearPd; 
 
 And roses enwreath'd the rim beneath, 
 Where the raven ringlets curl'd.
 
 ( 129 ) 
 And they quaff d the red tide to the hlooming bride, 
 
 And their goblets heav'd on high; 
 But clerk Willin took up no brimming cup, 
 
 Nor join'd in the jovial cry. 
 
 " Now Christ thee save, thou clerk Willin, 
 
 " Why sits't thou sad and low? 
 " And why do'st thou pry with attentive eye 
 
 " So long on the west window ?" 
 
 "I am watching the star that shines afar 
 " O'er the rocks of the Giant's grave, 
 
 " That sinking soon with the sharp-horn'd moon, 
 " Will set in the western wave." 
 
 Then oh paler than the pale primrose 
 Wax'd the cheeks of the fair ladye, 
 
 And, as she withdrew, on the clerk she threw 
 A glance of h^r anger'd eye. 
 
 " Now Christ thee save, thou king Alaric, 
 
 '* Why gloomly bends thy brow ? 
 " And why athwart thy heavy eyelids 
 
 " Hang's silent sorrow now ?"
 
 ( 130 ) 
 " Oh sad and dark, thou learned clerk, 
 
 " Is my life, with sorrow riven; 
 " And thus am I doom'd with grief to be gloom'd 
 
 " One night in every seven. 
 
 " Then what though my splendid banquet board 
 
 " With golden beakers shines, 
 " And friends fill up each costly cup 
 
 " With the mead and the racy wines! 
 
 " One night in each week does my blooming bride 
 
 " In grief from my palace go ; 
 " But what she does, or where she goes, 
 
 " I dare not seek to know. 
 
 " One night in seven she leaves my bed, 
 " When the owls and the crickets cry; 
 
 " And cold as a stone then I lie all alone, 
 " 'Till the day-star burns in the sky. 
 
 " Then a thick slumber falls on my heavy eye-balls; 
 
 " And I start from a feverish sleep, 
 " And my blooming bride I find at my side, 
 
 " When the red sun 'gins to peep.
 
 ( 131 ) 
 n And tho' she has been all the night abroad 
 
 " In a thin loose night-robe dress'd, 
 " Oh strange to be told, she is nothing cold, 
 
 " But glows with a warmth encreas'd. 
 
 * Nine summers nigh are now gone by, 
 " And I thought it a blessed day 
 
 " When my aged bride I put aside, 
 " And took this lady gay. 
 
 "As a hunting I rode in the green forest 
 u Fair Blodwell's rocks among, 
 
 " By my side each day rode this lady gay, 
 " And sweetly thus she sung 
 
 ' Oh, take me to thy fair palace, 
 ' Oh, take me for thy queen, 
 ' And racy wines shall then be thine, 
 ' As never a man has seen. 
 
 * And never shall fail thy rich banquet, 
 
 * And my beauty no change shall know, 
 ' 'Till within thy hall the flag-reeds tall, 
 
 * And the long green rushes grow.
 
 ( 132 ) 
 ' 'Till instead of the cloth now spread on thy hoard, 
 
 ' And the goblets lin'd with gold, 
 ' The lillies of the pool spread their broad leaves cool, 
 
 ' And their chalice'd flow'rs unfold. 
 
 * But ere I become thy wedded wife, 
 
 ' Thou a solemn oath must make, 
 ' And let hap whate'er thou must not dare 
 
 ' That solemn oath to break : 
 
 ' That to leave thy bed unfollowed 
 
 ' To me 'tis freely given, 
 ' And that none shall enquire where I retire, 
 
 * One night in every seven.' 
 
 " Then I vow'd I would put my old wife away, 
 
 " As firm to the oath I swore ; 
 ** But mayhap she had hent of my cruel intent, 
 
 " For I never beheld her more. 
 
 '* Yet no peace I find in the rich banquet, 
 *' And with peace is my bed unblest, 
 
 " Tho' lies at my side no wrinkled bride, 
 But the maid of the greeu forest."
 
 ( 133 ) 
 
 Then clerk Willin he cried to the troubled kilij, 
 
 " Thy peace can I repair, 
 x * If each year from yon field tea beeves thou'lt yield 
 
 To the monks of the White-Minster.* 
 
 " And peace shall preside in this fair palace, 
 "And thy bed with peace be blest, 
 
 " If to me thou'lt resign, with her racy wirie, 
 ** The maid of the green forest. 
 
 " For I can by a spell, that I dare not tell, 
 
 " Relieve thy fetter' d fate; 
 " And I shew'd the young queen my power, I weet, 
 
 " By a sign that I dare not repeat." 
 
 Then the king he complied to resign his bride. 
 And each year on the monks bestow 
 
 The tenth of what fed in his palace green mead. 
 And of what in. his vaults did flow. 
 
 * Blanchmmstar, afterwards Maserfield, now Oswestry.
 
 ( 134 ) 
 
 Then clerk Willin he took his clasped book, 
 
 And did the fair palace leave ; 
 And arrived soon, ere set the moon, 
 
 On the rocks of the Giant's grave. 
 
 By the mouth of a cavern a bowshot beyond 
 
 Clerk Willin he took his staud ; 
 Which ev'n at this day, as the villagers say, 
 
 Leads down to the Fairy-land. 
 
 Tho' none now dare to adventure so far, 
 
 Yet many this day have aver'd 
 They its windings did thread 'till over their head, 
 
 The far Vyrnwy's stream they have heard. 
 
 Now soon did appear and enter there 
 
 A maid right royally drest, 
 Whose glittering crown in the moon-beam sllone, 
 
 'Twas the maid of the green forest. 
 
 And while she was in did the clerk begin 
 
 His spells of potent skill ; 
 While the rising blast sigh'd low as it passM 
 
 Thro* the stuuted bush ou the hill.
 
 ( 135 ) 
 
 Then he made that revokeless should be his word, 
 
 As thus to his spirits he said, 
 * Let peace he restor'd to king AlariG's board, 
 
 " And peace be on his bed. 
 
 " And may I and the monks of the White-Minster 
 
 " No other fare e'er know, 
 " Than what shall be fed in his palace green mead, 
 
 " And what from his vaults shall flow. 
 
 " And his queen so fine be for ever mine, 
 " And no change let her form betide, 
 
 " But thro' all her years be as now it appears,. 
 " And ne'er let her leave my side. 
 
 ** At the cross near the town of the White-Minster, 
 
 " To make her my own I swear, 
 " There let her be borne ere glimpse of morn, 
 
 " And I'll meet her and wed her there." 
 
 And then as he swore, his book he tore, 
 And hasten'd away from the cave. 
 
 It was dark; for the moon it had long gone down, 
 And set in the western wave,
 
 ( 136 ) 
 
 It was dark as he pass'd the palace so fair, 
 
 Nor aught did his sight engross 
 'Till he came to the cross near the White-Minster 
 
 Yet calPd clerk Williu's cross. 
 
 Then he saw hy the light of the torches bright 
 That strange Spirits there did hold, 
 
 An old Ogress grim that sinil'd on him, 
 And her rheumy eye halls roll'd. 
 
 On her wrinkled chin stood the grey hairs thin, 
 And she close did her skin lips squeeze, 
 
 And thick on her brow did the grey hairs grow,. 
 Like the moss of old orchard-trees. 
 
 And she reach'd to the clerk her bony finger, 
 
 On which was brightly seen, 
 And well was it known by its sparkling stone, 
 
 The ring of king Alaric's queen. 
 
 ' Oh take me to thy cloister'd bed, 
 
 " To be thy bosom guest, 
 " For 1 am the wife thou art sworn to wed, 
 
 " The maid of the green forest.
 
 ( 137 ) 
 
 '* An ugly Ogress now am I, 
 
 " Though thrice ten years agone, 
 
 " In youthful pride the hlooming bride 
 " Of king Alaric I shone. 
 
 " But I found as I my beauties lost, 
 
 " I lost his love as well, 
 " 'Till nine years since I charm'd that prince 
 
 " With this a Spirit's spell: 
 
 " That his eyes should delight in my beauty bright, 
 " Which never should lose it's hue, 
 
 f< 'Till within his hall the flag-reeds tall, 
 " And the long green rushes grew 
 
 " And this spell was given if one night in seven 
 " Ere the pale moon set in the wave, 
 
 " I alone did go to the grim Ogo, 
 " And an Ogress form receive. 
 
 " This night I sat late at the gay banquet, 
 " And just ere my task was done, 
 
 " Thy spells were said, a;id the pale moon's head 
 " Was down to the west wave gone.
 
 ( 138 ) 
 " Our power is pass'd, oar spells hare clash'd, 
 
 * No charm can our fate redress; 
 ' And a penitent now for life art thou, 
 
 " And I a grim Ogress. 
 
 " Thy spells were sure, for now peace secure 
 
 " Doth bless king Alaric's bed, 
 " And peace is restor'd at his banquet board, 
 
 " But it is the peace of the dead. 
 
 " For down went the king, and his palace, and all, 
 " And the waters now o'er it flow, 
 
 " And already in his hall do the flag-reeds tall, 
 " And the long green rushes grow. 
 
 " Then take thy bride to thy cloister'd bed, 
 " As by oath and by spell decreed, 
 
 " And nought be thy fare but the pike and the dare, 
 ' And the water in which they feed." 
 
 Still the villagers near, when the lake is clear, 
 Shew the tow'rs of the palace below, 
 
 And of Croes-Willin there will the traveller hear, 
 And the cave call'd the grim Ogo.
 
 ( 139 ) 
 
 And oft from our boat en a Summer's eve 
 
 Sweet music is heard to flow, 
 As we push from the side of the Blue-Lake's tide, 
 
 Where the long green rushes grow. 
 
 And our banquet is spread on the boat's fiat head, 
 And our cool wine drawn from the hold, 
 
 Where the lillies of the pool spread their broad 
 leaves cool. 
 And their chalic'd flowers unfold. 
 
 And we make good fare of the pike and the dare, 
 
 And merrily laugh at the jest, 
 How clerk Willin was caught in his own dark plo^ 
 
 With the maid of the green forest. 
 
 And quaffing the glass we pray that each lass 
 
 May each constant lover bless; 
 And may guests that would cheat a kind host of 
 his mate. 
 
 Be match' d with a grim Ogress.
 
 &teme0< 
 
 PART II. 
 
 3facfoental. 
 
 I am nae poet, in a sense, 
 5ut just a rhymer, like, by chance. 
 
 Burns.
 
 Bfrregular be 
 
 TO 
 
 ^afcspeate's Btrtffoap. 
 
 Written and recited on occasion of a few literary friends 
 planting a Walnut-tree (having a wine-bottle buried under 
 the root, with an appropriate inscription cut thereon, with 
 a diamond) in the: author's ground, on that day in 1810, and 
 intending to celebrate it annually.
 
 t}t 
 
 TO 
 
 ^afa&peare'a Mvtfjtusip, 
 
 INSCRIBED TO 
 
 JOHN CLAVEBING WOOD, esc*. 
 
 Natuke, now thy beauties briiig", 
 
 Bid Genius now it's tribute pay; 
 Haste the many-blossom'd spring;, 
 'Tis thy Darling's natu.1 day: 
 Borne on Zephyr's breezy wings 
 Her varied vesture Fancy flings; 
 Methinks I see her rainbow-colour'd car 
 Gliding on curl'd clouds thro' blue fields of air. 
 To Avon's meadows cowslip-clad 
 
 She wheels her mazy way; 
 Well pleas'd to see all nature glad, 
 And Spring her flaunting flow'rets add, 
 x To hail the greatly-gifted lad 
 Upon his natal day.
 
 ( 146 ) 
 
 In showery April's sunshine bright, 
 (Who call'd that day 
 Her sister May 
 To hasten with her hawthorns white) 
 In Avon's mead 
 The lad was laid 
 When first he saw the light; 
 Primroses peeping from their buds of gold 
 Seem'd eagerly their eye-lids to unfold, 
 As though they smil'd 
 To see the child 
 Who in his turn their charms enraptur'd should behold. 
 The lingering flow'rs push'd forth their heads 
 And burst their downy-cradled beds; 
 The ladysmock with silver-tipp'd, 
 The opening daisy crimson-lipp'd, 
 And all with April's dew impearl'd, 
 Their finely-tinted folds unfurl'd, 
 As tho' they wish'd by him to have their praises told. 
 
 Hush'd is the breeze, 'tis silence drear, 
 The sun enclouds his watery beams; 
 
 The skies a thickening aspect wear, 
 And Nature's self in sadness seems;
 
 ( 147 ) 
 A chilly fearful murmur stirs 
 The hollow-hissing grove of firs, 
 And far the dark horizon o'er 
 The dim-distinguish' d thunders roar. 
 'Tis Fancy hangs o'er Nature's brow 
 
 This gloom so sad and wild, 
 Lest scenes to be unfolded now 
 Should fright her fav'rite child; 
 For now athwart the troubled sky 
 The hellish Passions hurry by; 
 And each with hasty louring flight, 
 Glaring by fits before his sight, 
 Like phantoms of a horrid night 
 
 Their grisly features roll ; 
 But Nature fir'd her infants' eye, 
 That, glancing as they glided by, 
 Prov'd all their various pow'rs to lie 
 Beneath his vast controul. 
 
 He bow'd his head, 
 The phantoms fled, 
 
 The gloom forsook the plain; 
 
 The fearless child 
 
 Look'd round and smil'd, 
 
 And Nature, brightening, seem'd to smile again.
 
 ( 148 ) 
 Fresh'd is the flow'ry scene, 
 The blackbird swells his mellow throat; 
 
 And thro' the blue serene 
 Light fleecy clouds beyond the mountains float: 
 On Avon's softly-flowing stream 
 Kow brightly-burnish'd, sunbeams gleam 
 
 Among tide-kissing trees; 
 Their lustres on the wet leaves glance v 
 A they lightly-trembling danet 
 
 To the balmy breeze. 
 The heavenly Passions now decend 
 To hail this gentle child their friend; 
 Virgin-vested maidens fair 
 Whose slender waists some ribband r&r 
 Engirdled, by whose varied hue 
 The little bard each Passion knew: 
 Their cover'd bosoms' lovely glow 
 Ting'd their gauzy robes of snow 
 As if carnations blush'd below. 
 
 Fairies left their lurking-cells 
 " Where the bee sucks" in blossom bells, 
 Whom the blue-fly and humble bee 
 Curol'd with their minstrelsey.
 
 ( 149 ) 
 
 The heart-enrapturM poet saw 
 The Passions all with fearless awe, 
 
 And look'd with steady view; 
 Until the flighty foot of Fame 
 On tiptoe step among them came, 
 
 And to the poet flew: 
 The little urchin ran around, 
 And flung his flow'rets o'er the ground, 
 
 While Fame still follow'd hard; 
 Each scatter'd flow'r she cull'd with care 
 To wreathe a chaplet for his hair, 
 
 But could not catch the bard. 
 Being cheated, as away she flew 
 
 She cried, " in fifty years and two 
 
 Upon this very morn 
 He shall be mine, for ever sure 
 While Time, and Taste, and 1 endure, 
 My Temple to adorn : 
 Let Nature now the prince of Passions call 
 To crown him ruler of them all." 
 The waggish archer then attended, 
 
 The maids and fairies form'd a ring, 
 While each the infant bard befriended, 
 And of the Passions crown'd him king.
 
 ( 150 ) 
 Now the taper-ankled maids 
 
 Lightly dance the hard around ; 
 Modest cowslips bow'd their heads, 
 
 And seem'd to kiss the hallow'd ground 
 And as they danc'd 
 He on them glanc'd, 
 And at them scatter'd flow'rets fair; 
 Each Passion took 
 The flow'rs he shook, 
 And stuck them in her braided hair; 
 Conscious how much beauty -hung 
 On ev'ry little flow'r He flung. 
 
 Ev'n yet on Stratford's elmy lawn 
 In cowslip-days at early dawn 
 
 Where he was crown'd, I ween, 
 Unnibbled, and of deeper dye, 
 By soul-delighted poet's eye s 
 
 The ring may still be see*.
 
 Btrge 
 
 FOR THE SAME OCCASION, 23d. APRIL, 1811. 
 
 ** Sweets to the sweet : farewell. " 
 
 His fate fulfill'd, his duty done, 
 Nature now calls her favour'd son, 
 
 And smiles with proud tho' sweet defiance, 
 Pleas'd to the- world that she has shewn 
 How He, ordainM by her alone, 
 
 Out-magic'd all the spells of Science. 
 
 Tutor'd by Nature, not the Nine, 
 More than the Muses pow'rs combine 
 
 Triumphantly o'er death to raise himj 
 Isi.s, with Attic-laurei'd brow, 
 Bends to the Bard of Avon now, 
 
 And all her sons are proud to praise him.
 
 ( 152 ) 
 
 Ye Spirits, bend around his bier, 
 Ye Fays, in filmy palls appear, 
 
 Cold is the hand that once attir'd you; 
 There chaunt, ye flies of burnish'd blue, 
 And, cowslips, drop your teary dew, 
 
 Clos'd are the eyes that once admir'd yoa. 
 
 Enshrowded in that curtain now 
 
 He archly drew from Nature's brow 
 
 When first enraptur'd he surveyM her ; 
 But, ere he left her fostering arms. 
 Fresh he enrob'd her doubled charms, 
 
 And to the astonish'd world display'd her. 
 
 O Time, I ask thee not to spare 
 My rhymes, unworthy of thy care, 
 
 Yet for this day, Q let me strow them 
 Like wild-flow'rs on a village grave 
 That fondness flings (but cannot save) 
 
 For love of him that lies below them.
 
 ( 153 ) 
 
 But HE, the bright star we hail to-day, 
 O Time, shall never own thy sway, 
 
 But plume thy wing with angel-feather) 
 His light shall lustre on thy glass 
 Gilding the sand-grains as they pass, 
 
 Ad both oh both shall fall together.
 
 TO 
 
 ( SCOTTISH DIALECT. ) 
 
 I've sent thee, Tarn, a wee-bit present, 
 An' tho* it binna cock or pheasant 
 I trust it wonna prove unpleasant, 
 
 Tho' fain I'd mend it; 
 But, that thou may'st na think the less on't, 
 
 Thy frien' doth send it. 
 
 Gin I were but a guid hale laird, 
 An* could or wealth or pow'r afford, 
 Ev'n tho' by swirlie Fortune gor'd, 
 
 Thou should'st na stumble: 
 But sin' nae wealth on me is pour'd, 
 
 I maunna grumble.
 
 ( 155 ) 
 
 Jem wishes a* mankind like you, 
 But, 'faith, I maunna wish sae too, 
 'Twould ruin a* the cantie crew 
 
 O' ray profession ; 
 Poor lawyers would hae nought to do 
 
 At 'ssize or Session. 
 
 I love the life that fools despise, 
 The breezy brae, where lav'rocks vise, 
 Aneath the shade to close my eyes, 
 
 Content and nappy \ 
 An' tho' I binna unco wise, 
 
 I'm unco happy. 
 
 Fou' fa' the fool that did create 
 The fikie fashions o' the great, 
 Their limber-lingo'd primsie prate, 
 
 An' a' the rest on't: 
 Ae wee- bit welcome tete a tete 
 
 's aboon the best on't.
 
 ( 156 ) 
 I'll tell thee what, my honest Tarn, 
 The faithless warl my ears may cram 
 Wi' honied words, an* friendly flam, 
 
 False a' thegither! 
 
 But, lad, I dinua care a damn 
 
 For a' their blether. 
 
 A set o' proud conceited fools, 
 
 That turn an' stand, like glowr'ing mules, 
 
 An' worship God by stated rules, 
 
 An* never mind him: 
 'mang a' their logic, books, an' schools, 
 
 They canna find him. 
 
 Gae, fools, an' lay your logic by, 
 
 Gae, fools, an' leave the wrangling stye, 
 
 An' look for God wi' Tarn an' I 
 
 Thro' Nature ;lear; 
 We peep into a cowslip's eye 
 
 An' ken him there.
 
 ( 157 ) 
 
 My learned brothers, whose deceit 
 Tangles what God hiinsel' makes straight 
 Tho' wi' fou' words o' logic's heat . . 
 
 I seldom strike ye, 
 Indeed, for a' your robes o' state, 
 
 I dinua like ye. 
 
 Come, Tarn, and taste my muslin kale, 
 I'll stoup for thee the laughin ale, 
 An* gar thee smile wi* mony a tale 
 
 I'th' lum thigither; 
 An' gin to please ane sang should fail, 
 
 I'll try anither. 
 
 Wi' music then we'll cheer oursel/ 
 Nor rob the rich o' scandal fell, 
 Hypocrisy we'll send to Hell, 
 
 For thence her trade is; 
 Tho' aft on Earth she deigns to dwell 
 
 Wi' lairds and ladies.
 
 ( 158 ) 
 But, honest Tarn, could I but see 
 My ither friends as firm as thee, 
 An* ken their hearts wi' tentie ee, 
 
 A* blithe an 1 bonnie, 
 The king himsei' might wish to be 
 
 Thy poor friend 
 
 Johnnie.
 
 Snselmo Eobtmam GllfytM, esq, E, SL 
 
 DIED AT CAMBRIDGE, 24th MAY, 1803, 
 IN HIS 28th YEAR. 
 
 " nam me ditcedere flevit, 
 * Et, longum, dilute, vale, vale, inquit, Iola." 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 Mourn, Friendship, mourn Anselmo dead, 
 
 Who most rever'd thy sacred name ; 
 And, Sympathy, thy pity shed, 
 
 And, Music, waft the woeful theme: 
 Ye -purest Passions, him deplore, 
 Your faithful vot'ry is no more.
 
 ( 160 ) 
 Who now with us adown the dale 
 
 At eve serene our walk shall cheer? 
 Who read the poet's tender tale, 
 And drop the sympathetic tear? 
 Ah social joys ! for ever fled, 
 Since lie, the best of friends, is deaL 
 
 Still may the voice of music sound, 
 The social ev'nings still return; 
 Still may the friendly glass go round, . 
 And bright the blazing fire may burn. 
 But little now these sweets bested, 
 For he that made them sweet is dead. 
 
 Now oft I leave the crowd behind 
 
 To wander where he once has beeij; 
 And call each incident to mind 
 
 That happy oft with him I've seen : 
 Sad Memory ! ah why so just 
 When those we lov'd are laid in dust !
 
 ( 161 ) 
 
 Come mourn with me, Companions, come. 
 
 We'll sing the dirge he us*d to sing, 
 To poor Anselmo's " grassy tomb" 
 Each youth a tender tear shall bring; 
 And Friendship shall his loss bemoan, 
 For he, the best of friends, is gone : 
 
 And Love but hold no more I'll sing, 
 
 No more I'll add to Sorrow's smart; 
 I fear I've touch'd a tender string 
 
 That thrills a mourning maiden's heart: 
 Sweet maid, like him, to Heav'n resign, 
 And he and Heav'u shall then be thine. 
 
 Had we, dear youth, thy poet's pow'rs, 
 
 For thee we'd lift the lofty line; 
 No praises then should equal ours, 
 For no deserts e'er equal' d thine: 
 May all like thee alike be bless'd, 
 To live belov'd and die caress'd.
 
 ( 162 ) 
 
 But come, the poet's task forbear, 
 Affliction makes our efforts faint; 
 Let's imitate his virtues fair, 
 
 And practice what we cannot paint; 
 Let's tread the noble path he trod- 
 It leads to happiness and God.
 
 : .: 
 
 .,: .*,: in,,: j 
 
 ; - 'I 
 
 THE 
 
 il 
 
 &tng. 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 . - 
 
 Thou hast sent me a circle of gold 
 
 Undecked with the diamond's shine; 
 But a lovelier sight I behold 
 
 Thy initial united with mine! 
 And e'er to the "eye of my mind" 
 
 Thy picture it seems to unfold, 
 For when beauty and goodness are join'd 
 
 They seem as a circle, of gold.
 
 ( 164 ) 
 Let the life of profusion and pride 
 
 To shine like a jewel be seen; 
 'Twill be found like a jewel beside 
 
 As cold and as callous within. 
 But the beauties of wisdom and worth 
 
 Are in modest apparel enroll 'd; 
 Yet when Tenderness summons them forth 
 
 They shine like a circle of gold. 
 
 May the hop'd day of happiness haste 
 
 When our joys like the circle shall be, 
 When the future shall vie with the past, 
 
 And thou take a circle from me: 
 Content in our cot shall be found, 
 
 Our life Love and Friendship enfold, 
 And each year, as it dances around, 
 
 Shall to us be a circle of gold.
 
 . 
 
 THE 
 
 Jfroocf). 
 
 TO THE SAME. > 
 
 Each youth before he leaves his friends 
 
 The battle's bray to prove, 
 Some tributary token sends 
 
 Of friendship or of love. ' 
 
 A brooch the faulchion's form that bears 
 
 The love-sick soldier leaves ; 
 The sailor's lass an anchor wears, 
 
 While he the battle biaves.
 
 ( Ififf ) 
 
 But I no martial symbol send 
 
 To wake the woeful sigh : 
 The gifts of Love should never lend 
 
 A pang to Memory. 
 
 Then on thy beauteous bosom bear 
 
 This little lyre from me; 
 And let no sad suggestions tear 
 
 That seat of harmony. 
 
 For I, where'er I chance to roam, 
 
 Shall ever fearless fight;. 
 The thought that thou art safe at horn* 
 
 Puts ev'ry fear to flight. 
 
 Let Memory from this lyre I send 
 
 A cheering flame derive; 
 And Hope (the lover's constant friend) 
 
 Preserve that flame alive. 
 
 Yet grieve not should I fall, my love. 
 
 Nor feel a moment's pain. 
 For, trust me, there's a hand above 
 
 Shall string my lyre again-
 
 
 pastoral pfetle. 
 
 My dearest Ella, sweetest maid, 
 
 To me the sweetest far, 
 In poor and humble verse array'd, 
 
 Receive thy Coriu's pray'r. 
 
 Ah leave, ah leave that busy scene 
 Where cares and cankers dwell; 
 
 A noble mind can ne'er disdain 
 To view a village cell. 
 
 'Mid flow'ry vales with herbage green, 
 And hills with verdure crown' d, 
 
 My little lovely cot is seen, 
 By woods encircled round.
 
 ( 168 ) 
 My cot is " elegantly neat/' 
 
 Nor pomp nor poverty; 
 But peace and happiness await, 
 
 Reserv'd for Love and thee. 
 
 Then leave, ah leave the guilty town. 
 And still more guilty crew; 
 
 And come and wear the rustic gown, 
 And hat of harvest hue. 
 
 Let wealthy lords in grandeur great 
 In robes and rubies shine; 
 
 In simple humble habit neat 
 Be love and Ella mine. 
 
 I'd rather live in humble state, 
 And call that state my own, 
 
 Than be dependant on the great, 
 And subject to their frown. 
 
 Then come, my love, with Corin live 
 In sweets that never cloy: 
 
 What would a mighty monarch give 
 To join the rural joy !
 
 ( 169 ) 
 Each morn when on the blushing sky 
 
 The sun begins to peer, 
 The lark, that quiv'ring carols high, 
 
 Shall break upon thine ear. 
 
 Together then we'll stray alonSr 
 Thro' brakes of woodbine sweet, 
 
 Where many a bird with many a song 
 Thee and the morning greet. 
 
 I'll lead thee thro' a flowery vale, 
 . Where purple violets grow ; 
 And tell thee many a pleasing tale, 
 And many a landscape shew. 
 
 With rustic reed I'll pipe a strain. 
 And strive to please thee well; 
 
 For I'm allow'd by ev'ry swain 
 In piping to excel. 
 
 At noon, when glist'ning gbs'mers lie, 
 
 And sultry gleams invade, 
 We'll hear the busy bustling fly 
 
 That hums beneath the shade-
 
 t 170 ) 
 
 At eve we'll court the bosky bourne, 
 Where cooling breezes breathe, 
 
 And see the shepherd's lad return 
 Shrill whist'ling o'er the heath. 
 
 At night (when lore of legends tire) 
 The minstrel's task be mine; 
 
 My skill to touch the trembling wire 
 Shall vie with all but thine. 
 
 Thus morning, ev'uing, noon, and night, 
 
 Shall please alike the mind; 
 For they that study Nature right 
 
 Will endless pleasure find. 
 
 The mightiest work Creation shews 
 
 Is dull to Folly's sight: 
 But he that God and Nature knows 
 
 Finds wonders in a mite. 
 
 Then hither, dearest love, repair. 
 
 Nor Corin's vote decline, 
 For night and morn still is his pray'r 
 
 Be love and Ella mine.
 
 ( 171 ) 
 
 What if my humble village bed 
 
 No costly silk affords; 
 Far sweeter rest awaits my head 
 
 Than many a mighty lord's. 
 
 Believe me, love, I'd rather hold 
 
 An humble honest heart, 
 Than strut in gems and guilty gold 
 
 To act a faithless part. 
 
 I've walk'd each gay assembly round, 
 
 In courtly vesture drest; 
 But rural life I've ever found 
 
 The sweetest and the best. 
 
 In outward grace and manners rude, 
 No boasted charms are mine; 
 
 But trust me, love, my heart is good, 
 Because that heart is thine. 
 
 Beneath the walnut's shabby shell 
 
 A luscious kernel lies ; 
 But mark what pois'nous juices swell 
 
 The poppy's painted dyes !
 
 ( 172 ) 
 Then let this truth thy hosom fill, 
 
 With which I now conclude; 
 That all that's ugly is not ill, 
 
 Nor all that's gaudy good.
 
 1 x 
 
 
 : 
 
 THE 
 
 38ee- 
 
 IMITATED FROM THE GREEK OF THEOCRITUS. 
 Toy KXs7rrav tfor' ewra &C. Idyl. 19. 
 
 4 
 
 Clara, beautiful and young, 
 
 Straying once the woods among, 
 
 By a little bee was stung. 
 
 She cried, and danc'd, and beat the ground, 
 
 And press'd and suck'd the smarting wound. 
 
 The nymph at length her lover spies, 
 
 And, sobbing, thus in anguish cries: 
 
 "Is it not strange that little bees 
 " Should make such mighty wounds as these !'* 
 
 The lover smil'd with downcast eyes, 
 And, sweetly whisp'ring, thus replies:
 
 ( 174 ) 
 
 " Thou, my love, art like the bee, 
 " Sweets and stings unite in thee; 
 " Thou art small, but well I know 
 " Thy wonnds, sweet nymph, are seldom so.'
 
 THE 
 
 Barometer : 
 
 o* 
 FAIR AND CHANGEABLE. 
 
 Tis hard, (the fair Amelia cried) 
 The weather ne'er will please us; 
 
 I fear to-day we cannot ride 
 To Hagley or The Leasowes: 
 
 1 look'd at the Barometer, 
 
 And sorry am to say 
 That, tho' 'twas yesterday at fair, 
 
 'Tis changeable to-day. 
 
 Ne'er mind it, love, (I then replied) 
 Nor grieve at what is common, 
 
 Alike is all that's fair beside, 
 Nay not exempting woman.
 
 ( 176 ) 
 Then wonder not, nor think it rare, 
 
 (I've found it to my sorrow) 
 That what to-day has promis'd fair, 
 
 Has changed before to-morrow. 
 
 Ah me! (yet surely such things are 
 
 Not only as .to weather) 
 'Tis pity changeable and fair 
 
 Are plac'd so near together! 
 
 You men (she cried) e'er do us wrong, 
 
 Yet think not now to cheat me, 
 For trust me' friend, while I've a tongue 
 
 No Barrister shall beat me.. 
 
 Then calling all her conq'rours forth, 
 
 As little nymphs know how, 
 And looking such an angry oath, 
 
 Exclaim' d I have you now; 
 
 While men, as women's atmosphere, 
 
 Are fickle as a feather, 
 Sure we, as their Barometer, 
 
 May vary with the weather.
 
 ( 177 ) 
 
 But ah ! would'st thou but cease to range. 
 
 And take me to thy care, 
 My heart from thee should never change, 
 
 But prove for ever /air. 
 
 She smil'd and look'd for my reply, 
 She knew I car'd for no man; 
 
 Alack ! how hard it is ( thought I } 
 To argue with a woman ! 
 

 
 - 
 
 TO THOMAS YATES, 
 
 VflTH A 
 IN ONE VOLUME. 
 
 The farther, Yates, from thee I go, 
 My friendship warms with stronger glow; 
 Like that lone star that evening graces 
 Shines hrighter as the dark encreases. 
 
 As late I join'd the husy press 
 Of London's weedy wilderness, 
 I ponder'd doubting what to send 
 By way of trifle to my friend; 
 Not to repay him half his due, 
 For that a trifle cannot do ;
 
 ( 179 ) 
 
 But just to give a friendly item 
 
 That, if I could, 1 would requite him. 
 
 The fittest present I could find 
 
 Was Shakspeare mirror for the mind. 
 
 Then take this mental mirror true, 
 
 'Tis what you need not blush to view. 
 
 Within this little compass lies 
 All that's happy, good, and wise, 
 Where souls, attun'd to feeling, borrow 
 Smiles of Mirth, and tears of Sorrow. 
 Here thou may'st thy fancy fit 
 With tearful tales, or waggish wit; 
 Or mark in his exalted lay 
 How earthly grandeur melts away. 
 
 Mighty master of the heart, 
 
 What wonders does thy page impart! 
 
 Persuades the breast, instructs the mind, 
 At once to know and love mankind;
 
 ( iso ) 
 
 Thy strains, of noble souls the food, 
 Can make us happy, wise, and good; 
 For lessons in thy numbers lie 
 How to live, and how to die.
 
 fflp Bojcen lotoet. 
 
 I love my little boxen bower 
 Fringed with April's early flower; 
 On it's leaves of glossy green 
 The climbing sunbeams shed their sheen; 
 Cool it's shade, it's shelter warm, 
 In summer's heat, or winter's storm; 
 The social and the lonely hour 
 Endear my little boxen bow'r. 
 
 Within my little boxen bow'r 
 With friends I fill the social hour; 
 Or, wanting them, the feats unfold 
 That bards of Greece and Rome have told; 
 Or prove no meaner magic reigns 
 In Britain's more endearing strains :
 
 ( 182 ) 
 
 Contentment sheds her sonny shower 
 Around my little boxen bower. 
 
 Should I leave my boxen bower 
 Panting up the paths of Power, 
 PufPd with empty pomp of Pride, 
 Blind Ambition for my guide, 
 Ev'n in Splendour's gaudy glare, 
 Cushion'd on the couch of Care, 
 Might I not bewail the hour 
 I left my little boxen bow'r?
 
 THE 
 
 Biatftcap* 
 
 Woodland warbler, clear and strong, 
 1 joy to hear thy early song, 
 Descending large thy little throat 
 To swell thy loud melodious note; 
 Leaving, O desultory guest, 
 On some low briar thy flimsy nest, 
 To carol the green woods among, 
 In bappy extacy of song ; 
 How is it that I never see 
 The poet's praise bestow'd on thee? 
 
 O emblem thou of poet true ! 
 He ought to give thee honour due, 
 Because, like him, in forest green 
 Retir'd, thou lov'st to sing unseen;
 
 ( I$4 ) 
 
 By nature delicate and shy, 
 Avoiding Folly's vacant eye: 
 And there thy note, neglected bird> 
 Is lost, unnotic'd or unheard, 
 Though the pert finch of golden plume 
 May twitter in each lady's room; 
 Thy body brown, and pole so black, 
 Grace both in form and feathers lack; 
 Like bis, thy song's unheeded past, 
 "When 0\ that song is all thou hast.
 
 TO 
 
 CJjomas Pate*. 
 
 You told me, Tom, in sportive spite, 
 Tho' of the world I speak and writ* 
 
 1 do but little know it:. 
 And when for my advice you sue'd, 
 Altho* 1 gave the best I could, 
 
 You sneer'd, and calPd me Pott ! 
 
 Then since, my friend, you hold so light 
 Both what 1 think, and what I write, 
 
 From me no more you scan shall; 
 I'll drop my reason and my rhyme, 
 And try to make my friendship chime 
 
 With something more substantial.
 
 ( 186 ) 
 But ere my Pegasus I quit, 
 This last offence you must permit, 
 
 Tho' muddy rhymes I spatter; 
 And tho' I give advice and verse, 
 Believe me, neither I rehearse 
 
 To spite you or to flatter. 
 
 The wide world educated yon, 
 
 And plac'd before you what men do; 
 
 Thence shines your real knowledge: 
 But mine is mere reflected light, 
 Obtain'd by readiug what men write, 
 
 And that within a College. 
 
 Then by that sense you ever shew, 
 (Sense, to your arrow'd wit the bow) 
 
 You ought to be apprized 
 That tapers howsoever small 
 Giving of light their little all 
 
 Should not be quite despised.
 
 ( 187 ) 
 The Poets too (and oh ! for shame I 
 My humble with their honour'd nam* 
 
 Your wicked wit combines) 
 They're not the only folks by far 
 Who teach to plow and sow the air,. 
 
 And bore the sell for mines.. 
 
 Of Theory the beaten road 
 
 By you, and me, and all is trode; 
 
 Nor ruts nor hillocks dreading; 
 But Practice-path, tho' plainly seen, 
 Like garden-walks all smooth and green, 
 
 Is little marked by treading. 
 
 Oh ! may I take advice myself ! 
 
 May worms eat Shakspeare on my shelf! 
 
 If e'er again I offer 
 To give you verses or advice, 
 But pay my little sacrifice 
 
 From more substantial coffer.
 
 ( 188 ) 
 
 There's many a friend, whose tender part 
 Thus wounded with a wit-shot dart, 
 
 Would turn their backs upon ye; 
 But trust me, Tom, such friends as those 
 More dang'rous are than honest foes, 
 
 And no such friend is 
 
 Johnny.
 
 MtUntbolit* 
 
 Inscribed in Old English characters, on a root-seat at 
 NURSERY, WESTFELTON. 
 
 O come not to these peacefulle bowres 
 
 Chagrin* d at humane fol lie; 
 Nor censure here my harmlesse home*. 
 
 Of blisefulle melancholie* 
 
 For if ye spurne the ioyes serene? 
 
 From solitude accruing, 
 Mixe with the busie world againe> 
 
 Or wealthe or fame pursuinge. 
 
 But quarrtlle not with, humane-kiude. 
 
 For little faultes offendinge; 
 Better to beare with what ye finde,. 
 
 Than marre it in the mendinge, 
 
 Soe. shall ye walke eche crowded courts- 
 
 And smile at humane follie; 
 Or pleas'd, like mee, to bowres resort?.- 
 
 And feasle on melancholie..
 
 INSCRIBED IN A 
 
 Ceil, 
 
 Discovered in the Town-walls of Shrewsbury, 
 
 IN THE GARDEN OF MR. PARKE8. 
 
 G tccbe mee to foregoe this worldis care, 
 The vauntinge vanities of humane-kinde ; 
 
 Yet teche mee to forgive eche errour there, 
 
 That mine elsewhere may like forgivenesse finde. 
 
 This mossie cell, for toile and" tumult mayde, 
 When hostile arms oppos'd Salopia's towres, 
 
 Is nowe to mee the sweete and sacred shade 
 Of peacefulle thoughtes in solitarie hpures. 
 
 May thus my hearte, disturb'd by manie a storme, 
 Eche foe to Love-of-humane-kinde repelle;. 
 
 Soe shall Contente life's latest ev'ning warme, 
 Like settinge sun-beams warme this westerne celle. 
 
 And may I, 'when life lingers in the weste, 
 Looke backe serenelie on this sun-gilt shore ; 
 
 Then stretche my saile to where the wearie reste, 
 Where toile and tumult vexe the minde no more.
 
 tinstone's Heto, 
 
 Brought a seedling from the Leasowes, August, 1806. 
 
 Young offspring of an aged tree 
 
 That erst o'er Shentone rear'd it's head, 
 That wav'd in wild luxuriance free, 
 
 And deck'd it's boughs with berries red, 
 O grace my little grove retir'd, 
 
 As he of Friendship grac'd the sphere ; 
 So shalt thou be of Taste admir'd, 
 
 So shalt thou stand to Mem'ry dear. 
 
 Hereafter 'neath thy sable shade 
 
 To him the votive urn I'll raise ; 
 Nor shall trim Folly's ruthless blade 
 
 E'er dare to clip thy graceful sprays. 
 And here shall bards unborn recline 
 
 To pay to him the tribute due; 
 And genius shall be proud to shine 
 
 Beneath the shade of Shenstone's yew.
 
 ( 192 ) 
 
 But, yew-tree, if at eve or dawn 
 
 Hither some nymph should haply turn, 
 And wail of Love to Heav'n withdrawn, 
 
 Or for unvalued Friendship mourn; 
 Bid her to yonder cot repair 
 
 Where willows weep and flow'rets twine; 
 With mine her tale of woe compare, 
 
 And mix her melting tears with mine. 
 
 There music soft to Shenstone's strain 
 
 Shall join for us her soothing pow'rs; 
 Nor shall his woes be sung in vain 
 
 If they but steal a pang from ours. 
 Departed bard ! A friendly part 
 
 Has he in plaintive numbers shewn, 
 To ease another's aching heart 
 
 He sung the sorrows of his own.
 
 g>Ottfi. 
 
 ( Scotch Air. Pinkey hoose. ) 
 
 Near Pinkey hoose abooti the brae 
 
 'Mang birks and osiers slender, 
 In hawthorn-days I love to stray, 
 
 And pipe my wild notes tender; 
 But little boots the gowan'd plain 
 
 Unless my lassie's near me; 
 And sadly flows my sweetest strain 
 
 Unless she's there to hear me. 
 
 O Nature, keep thy nectar'd cup 
 
 Gin I alane maun take it, 
 For sweeter far's a cozie drop 
 
 When those we love partake it. 
 Then, lassie, seek yon hawthorns gay, 
 
 And hear my wild notes tender, 
 Near Pinkey hoose aboon the brae, 
 
 'Mang birks and osiers slender.
 
 ong. 
 
 (Air. Peggy Bawn.) 
 
 Why should I sigh ? The maid I love 
 
 Declares she loves me true; 
 In constancy she peers the dove, 
 
 And oh ! in beauty too : 
 On me her eyes enamour'd roll, 
 
 Her lips in dimples play; 
 Yet sad am I, and sick at soul, 
 
 For oh, she's far away. 
 
 Why should I sigh? The maiden mine 
 
 Nor scornful is, nor oy ; 
 Each morrow brings her loving line 
 
 To make my bosom joy ; 
 The maiden mine, she loves me well. 
 
 And bids my heart be gay; 
 Yet sighs my pensive bosom swell, 
 
 Because she's far away.
 
 ( 195 ) 
 
 Why should I sigh? Sweet Spring is here, 
 
 And blithe each bird and flow'r 
 And pleas'd I sit, my soul to cheer, 
 
 Within her fav'rite bow'r; 
 Her lyre I take, and fain rehearse 
 
 The song she lovM to play; 
 But still the burden of each verse 
 
 Is, oh she's far away.
 
 THE 
 
 Thou yellow bunch with berries white, 
 
 By juice of neighbour nourish' d, 
 'Tis said in Druid's holy rite 
 
 Thy brittle branches flourished, 
 Found on the mossy arms of oak 
 
 With golden blade they cut thee; 
 And, as the mystic words they spoke, 
 
 On sacred pile they put thee. 
 
 But Druid rites are over now, 
 
 Yet never be thou missing ; 
 I'll sacred hold thy hallow'd bough, 
 
 Because it sanction's kissing: 
 Thy branches o'er my couch I'll twine, 
 
 And round my brows I'll wreathe them, 
 And rites, than Druid's more divine, 
 
 I'll celebrate beneath thein.
 
 ( 197 ) 
 
 Ah ! what's the luscious lip to me, 
 
 Tho' dews of nectar tip it? 
 Unless I'm privilegeM by thee, 
 
 Alas ! I dare not sip it. 
 Then while the Gorse, with golden blow, 
 
 Shall kissing keep in fashion, 
 Be thou at hand, O Missletoe, 
 
 And help the harmless passion. 
 
 But so it haps, if one is near, 
 
 The other's out of season ; 
 Or if the other should be there, 
 
 To touch it would be treason. 
 Ye pretty plants! admir'd of me; 
 
 Oh, by ye both I swear it, 
 Whene'er the one of ye I see, 
 
 I wish the other near it!
 
 OSWESTRY SCHOOL. 
 
 Alone I love to haunt, fair Oswestry, 
 
 The woods and hills that bosom thee around, 
 Sprinkling my lyre of guideless minstrelsey 
 
 With notes that, like thy rills, unheeded sound, 
 Trickling at times all wild along, 
 Lush herbs and mossy stones among. 
 Then smoothly gliding o'er the meadow ground, 
 'Till in some roaring torrent toss'd, 
 Their little melody is lost ; 
 Or borne to some deep river's muddy shore, 
 
 Is heard no more. 
 
 Yet can I not restrain the lay, 
 
 For ah, this lonely scene 
 Minds me of many a distant day, 
 
 And many a time between,
 
 ( 199 ) 
 Since here I first at early age 
 Began to con the column' d page. 
 A little waddling trowser'd lad 
 
 1 came, and tedious toil'd 
 O'er leaves in yellow canvass clad, 
 
 Leaves corner- curl'd and soil'd : 
 And hid the bitten apple, half-afraid, 
 Flush'd at the noise the munching made. 
 
 I say I love to stray alone, 
 
 For school-companions all are gone; 
 
 Far countries some to see ; 
 In Fortune's dome some refuge find; 
 Wealth's dusty ways while others wind; 
 And some in Fame's bright noon reclin'd, 
 
 Care little now for me. 
 And how to strangers can I tell 
 The joys that now my bosom swell 
 
 To trace my tree-cut name? 
 To them, alas, 'twill only shew 
 That I was twice ten years ago 
 
 A candidate for fame; 
 
 And warn me would the waggish throng 
 To trust to trees, and not to song.
 
 ( 200 ) 
 
 And many a flow'r of purest dye 
 
 That open'd in that garden then, 
 Long since has closM it's little eye, 
 
 Unplanted in the fields of men. 
 Fair snowdrops they, that early fall 
 
 In the young lap of April gay, 
 Nor live to see the glories tall 
 
 That flourish in the train of May. 
 
 Wotless how many a blooming head 
 
 May grace the ground when they are dead. 
 
 And He* that train'd our tender stem 
 Now sleeps, good man, the long long sleep with them. 
 
 I then 'mid proud Salopia's towers 
 
 Lightly my little pinnace plied 
 O'er Ovid's river, bank'd with bowers, 
 Or push'd it's more invigour'd powers 
 
 Through Virgil's graceful tide; 
 'Till Fancy loos' d the cables of controul, 
 And, launch'd at large, I felt th' astonish'd soul 
 High on the roaring surge of Homer's ocean roll. 
 
 * Rcvd. Eusebius Edwardi.
 
 ( 201 ) 
 Some, fir'd with hot mis-guiding light, 
 Like northern flakes that fret the night, 
 
 False-glory's meteor glare, 
 Hurried afar to human fight, 
 In fields that blasts of evil blight, 
 To do the work of hell, the butcher- work of war. 
 Such have afflicted fathers mourn'd, 
 
 Such have applauding senates prais'd, 
 Their bones in holy house inurn'd, 
 
 And high the stately stone have rais'd. 
 
 O give me but to trace my name 
 
 The lowest on Parnassus' base, 
 With pencil dipp'd in Avon's stream, 
 
 Though faint and feeble be the trace, 
 At, death I'll deem it higher grace 
 
 Than tomb with trophied honours clad, 
 Though aisl'd in Abbey's hallow'd place, 
 
 With all that Sculpture's art can add. 
 
 So pray'd my young heart, then all akin 
 
 To the numbers wild and free 
 That here did my boyish bosom win, 
 As I read of the feuts of the bold Robin, 
 
 All under the green-wood tree.
 
 ( 202 ) 
 
 Nor lov'd I less in simple dress 
 
 The tender verse that ran 
 Of her that won an earlis son, 
 And him the banish'd man. 
 With fev'rish thirst of rhyme inflam'd 
 I oft the quaint acrostic fram'd; 
 Or spread the jingling riddle's maze 
 To catch a comrade's partial praise. 
 
 Nor did my stolen leisure lose 
 On him the Mariner to muse, 
 Who, far from home's endearing smile, 
 Dwelt on the solitary isle. 
 
 And oft I own'd the despot reign 
 Of high Romance's giant strain, 
 Bewitch'd by all the spells that lie 
 In storied nights of Araby. 
 
 No wonder that to minds like mine 
 Such fancies then seem'd wond'rous fine : 
 For he, the rude untravel'd wight, 
 That stares at Breidden's craggy height, 
 Weets not to what superior skies 
 The mightier Alps or Andes rise :
 
 ( 203 ) 
 
 Nor dream'd I in those early days 
 
 Of Hamlets or of Odysseys. 
 f 
 
 Siuce then how varied scenes I've seen ! 
 
 And dearer learning bought; 
 Sipp'd at the mingled cups of men, 
 Ah cups, not always found, I ween, 
 
 So pure as then I thought. 
 Yet not so muddy is the draught 
 
 But it may be refin'd, 
 And ev'n Life's bitterest cup be quafPd 
 
 A rned'cine for the mind. 
 And that dull canting fool, I wis, 
 That finds on earth no real bliss, 
 Rails at the cup himself hath mix'd amiss. 
 Nature for him no blessings show'rs, 
 With spUen his very soul he sours. 
 He needs not seek a scene like this. 
 
 Ye flowery vales, ye woody hills, 
 Thou lengthening prospect wide ! 
 With Gratitude my bosom fills; 
 And Joy's o'erflowing tide,
 
 ( 204 ) 
 
 To think that, insect though I be, 
 
 Yet ev'n to me is given 
 To con this fair creation free 
 From insects of a less degree 
 To orbs that roll in heaven; 
 Yea, to the fixed fires the mind may soar 
 That freck night's azure arch and look on millions more. 
 
 Yet here on this terrestrial spot 
 
 Enough of good is given 
 To bid us bless our humble lot, 
 
 And plume our souls for Heaven. 
 If aught Devotion can bestow, 
 And Love-of-man and all below. 
 'Twas this that led a Newton's soul 
 Beyond the starry way to roll, 
 And that, of Heav'n's own fire a part, 
 Enshrin'd itself in Howard's heart, 
 And fell, when he to God was gone, 
 On him, the Man of Whittington. 
 
 Thou, sainted Memory, art mine, 
 And smiling Hope, of birth divine,
 
 ( 205 ) 
 
 Ev'n now I feel your mingled pow'r, 
 Ev'n in this solitary hour. 
 
 Yon church that lofty limes half hide, 
 High pinnacled in Gothic pride, 
 The chime the quarter'd hour that tells 
 Light touch'd on three discordant bells, 
 Nay all I hear, and all I see, 
 And all I think has charms for me. 
 
 I mark the tow'r's ill-measur'd chimes, 
 And think on childhood's truant times, 
 For still the self-same tune is troll'd, 
 * My lodging's on Ihe ground so cold." 
 Then squalling rapid pass the pile 
 A flight of wheeling swifts the while, 
 Or crevic'd in some cornice rough 
 Chaffers the pert and prattling chough. 
 And sooth, these sounds, tho' harsh to hear, 
 At times are music to my ear. 
 
 They tell of times that long are gone, 
 They speak of deeds that long are done, 
 And musing Memory loves to dwell 
 On every trifle that they tell.
 
 ( 206 ) 
 
 For taintless times and fraudless deeds 
 Are of Life's loveliest tree ihe seeds, 
 Of which on every branch it rears 
 Fond Memory, pours her pleasing tears, 
 And if 'tis lopp'd by Fortune's shafts 
 Sweet Hope her cyons there engrafts, 
 While on the Heav'n-aspiring shoot 
 Ripens the everlasting fruit.
 
 WRITTEN ON THE NIGHT OF MY 
 
 What have I been doing 7 
 
 Blithe was the board, and festive were the hours 
 
 When many a friend regal'd my natal day; 
 And Mirth and Music joinM their witching powers 
 
 To make the very gloom of Winter gay: 
 When I by chance beneath the nipping ray 
 
 Of the cold moon, that glisten'd keen and clear, 
 Indulg'd at eve a momentary stray, 
 
 The Spirit of my birth, with voice severe, 
 Yet looks serenely sweet address 'd my list'niug ear :
 
 ( 208 ) 
 
 Hold, Youth, a moment hold, nor yet return 
 
 Where sweet For^etfolness thy mind decoys, 
 
 From rathe Rememb'rance one true maxim learn, 
 
 One thoughtless step Life's journey oft alloys; 
 Put off from hence the soft indulgent joys, 
 
 The dream of youth that leads to waking woe, 
 Fond scenes of love, and rhymes, and idle toys, 
 
 And all that youth and playful fancies shew. 
 Poor is the rose's fruit tho' sweet it's blossoms blow. 
 
 Since first thy little infant steps I view'd 
 
 Full twice ten times the verdure's come and flown; 
 
 Yet not in vain these trees their bloom renew'd, 
 
 Full twice ten times the useful fruits have grown < 
 
 i 
 Then what hast thou in all these seasons done ? 
 
 Does Truth expand while Science cloathes thy mindf 
 
 Bring'st thou from Oxford's pageant porch, alone 
 
 A tufted cap, and hood " that droops behind !" 
 
 With sleeves of fluttering silk replete with empty wind?
 
 ( 209 ) 
 
 Was it for this by Severn's circling stream 
 
 I taught thy youth to cull the fairest flow'rs ? 
 Was it for this I oft to Isis came 
 
 And cheer'd thy wand'ring solitary hours? 
 But now my wing with sad reluctance cours 
 
 To see thy youth in soft enjoyment flown ; 
 To see neglected all thy native pow'rs, 
 
 And twice ten years of youthful vigour gone. 
 Say, in these years of prime ichat hast thou done? 
 
 Hast thou aright the league of God explor'd 
 That Nature's comments on her Author shew ? 
 
 Hast thou in op'ning herbs and minerals por'd 
 Where soothings soft for man's afflictions grow ? 
 
 Do'st thou of Laws the nice distinction know, 
 To hold 'twixt man and man the scales of right? 
 
 Can'st thou give Truth in Eloquence to flow, 
 And wrest oppression from tyrannic might? 
 I sigh'd. The Spirit frown'd and sighing 
 took her flight.
 
 CANTICVM 
 
 cui Anglice ingressus 
 " O Nancy wilt thou gang wi' me " 
 
 Latinc redditum. 
 
 Anna, ! nonne tremes mecum procul ire per agros, 
 
 Deliciasque urbis linquere, nonne tremes? 
 Parva domusne tibi viritli sub rupe placebit? 
 
 Te ueque lassabit rustica vita rudis? 
 Quo ueque Golcoudae spoliis gemraata nitebis, 
 
 Quo neque vestis erit murice tiucta tibi? 
 Liuqucre nonne gemes, virgo charissima, sedes 
 
 Quo pulcbras inter pulchrior ipsa fores? 
 
 Cum procul a cboreis, laeta procul urbe relict^, 
 Festum non cupies turn revocare diem ? 
 
 Tune potes solis fervorem ferre furentis, 
 Tune potes rigidse frigora sceva nivis P
 
 ( 211 ) 
 Quam qneat (heu! dictu miserum) tua blaHdula forma, 
 
 Quam pectus tenerura tanta perida pati ? 
 Ah ! cupiesue redire domosque revisere dulces 
 
 Quo pulchras inter pulchrior ipsa fores? 
 
 Estne fidelis amor tibi tautus, amabilis Anna, 
 
 Extremas mecum sortis adire vices? 
 Sique onerosa mat clades, mea fida puella, 
 
 Nonne dolebis onus triste levare meum ? 
 Die, veniente gravi cruciata per ossa dolore, 
 
 Tune fovebis, amans, membra calore mihi? 
 Pectore nee memori lugebis festa relicta, 
 
 Quo pulchras inter pulchrior ipsa fores ? 
 
 Cum moribundns ero, amplexus properatque supreraus, 
 
 Tune dabis lacrymans basia chara mihi? 
 Atque oculos dextra tremulos mulcebis ainata, 
 
 Dulceque sedabis tristia tela necis ? 
 Et super exanimum lacrymas spargesne cadaver, 
 
 Singultansque feres serta caduca manu ? 
 Turn neque praeteritos lugebis in urbe lepores, 
 
 Quo pulchras inter pulchrior ipsa fores ?
 
 RESPONSIO, 
 
 per amicura. 
 
 Ljeta tibi, Gulielrae, comes nihil ire recusam, 
 
 Qua fera fata trahant, te duce, lata sequar: 
 Tecta casae desert;* colam modo compos ainautis, 
 
 Mul a mihi tecum gaudia sylva feret. 
 Rustica si vestis Gulielmo pluris habetur, 
 
 Anna cupit serum vellera nulla sibi. 
 Te sine magnificaeque urbis mihi munera sordent, 
 
 Et prae te sordent regia dona mihi. 
 
 Lata sequar, dilecte virum, qua previus ibis, 
 
 Taedia ncc capient me memiuisse domum : 
 Seu propriore rota me Sirius urget iniquus, 
 
 She t"u rit Boreas, ingeminatque miuas. 
 Tu modo sis semper praesens mihi, nulla timebo 
 
 Quid mihi ferre potest s*vior ira Dei; 
 Temnere vcl summos potero secura dolores, 
 
 Turn tua per terras, te duce, fata sequar.
 
 ( 213 ) 
 
 Finge, age, te gravibus, dirum prccor omen abesto ! 
 
 Irnplicitum vitae grande dolere malis; 
 Suppositus capiti prohibet languere lacertus, 
 
 Cantatas curas sopit et Anna tibi. 
 Qua? tibi sollicito suspensa assidat amore, 
 
 Haud mibi, si qua fides, semula martis erit: 
 Nee prius abscedam, victrix quam muneris almi, 
 
 Nil nobis, quod te pluris haberaus, adest. 
 
 Si tibi fata manns, quod Dii prohibete, nocentes 
 
 Admoveant, miserum ! quid mibi mentis erit? 
 Namque pii miitime poterunt depingere fletus, 
 
 Sollicitatn qui me perget habere dolor. 
 Mors autem Stygias cum te vocet atra sub umbras, 
 
 Me morti tradam promptior ipsa sequi : 
 Et moribunda precar, quo sint sua gaudia morti, 
 
 Contiguam poui me, Gulielme, tibi.
 
 SOMNIVM AMANTIS. 
 
 M Tcr conatus ibi collo dare brachta circum, 
 ' Ter frustra comprensa manus effugit imago, 
 " Pat levibut ventis, volucrique simillima somno." 
 
 Virgil. 
 
 Chara mihi apparuit per noctem forma Mariae, 
 
 Fronte decor micnit, risus in ore fuit: 
 Dulce lyram digitis niveis percussit eburnam, 
 
 Dulcior at cecinit vocibus ipsa simul. 
 Alba fuit vestis (pectus longe albius) illi, 
 
 Luxemut gemmae J frontis at astra magis. 
 Vidi dura speciem tarn divam tamque venustam, 
 
 Flagranti tumuit pectus amore mihi, 
 Rideutes toties in me direxit ocellos, 
 
 Ah ! quoties haesit cordc sagitta meo. 
 Forraara dum miror, miror dum rausica verba, 
 
 Parvus perrurapit sorania grata culex : 
 O inimice culex! cithara?que melosque silescunt, 
 
 Occurritque oculis nulla Maria meis.
 
 ( 215 ) 
 
 Quantum me praesens tam diva beavit imago. 
 
 Tantum nunc absens saucia corda secat. 
 Ah ! mod6 laetus eram, Divum felicior ullo, 
 
 At nunc me miserum pessimus angor habet. 
 Jam scio quam paulum distant dolor atque voluptas, 
 
 Quodque hc hora levat proxima forte premat.
 
 INSCRIPTION 
 
 For an Urn to Linnaeus, under a Lime-tree, in the 
 
 grounds of John Clavering Wood, Esq. 
 
 of Marsh Hall, Salop. 
 
 UNNJEVS 
 
 DE RE SCRIBIT QVAQVE 
 
 BREVITER COPIOSE. 
 
 NATVR.E 
 
 SPISSVS FIDVS CLARVS 
 
 INTERPRES. 
 
 NOT A VERVS, 
 
 AVDITA CAVTVS, 
 
 COGITATA MODESTVS. 
 
 VTILE M1NIME IGNORAVIT, 
 
 NECNON DVLCI M1SCVIT. 
 
 ATT1CE SPARTAN VS. 
 
 EST LINN.CVS. 
 
 TALI ET TANTO CORDI 
 MORTVI VRNAM, 
 
 VIVENTI SE 
 
 LVBENS VOVEAT 
 
 I. C. W.
 
 INSCRIPTION 
 
 On a root-seat, un^er a large Purple-Beech, 
 ledicated to Thomas Yates, at Nursery, Westfelton. 
 
 AMICITIE ET T. Y. 
 
 SELLVLAM HANC, 
 
 ET 
 
 QVA TEGERIS ARBOREM, 
 
 SACRAS ESSE 
 
 VOLUIT 
 
 J. F. M. D.
 
 M)pm& 
 
 PART III. 
 
 tumorous 
 
 Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash ; 
 
 Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' cash; 
 
 Some rhyme to couit the countra clash, 
 
 An' raise a din : 
 For me, an aim I never fash ; 
 
 J rhyme for fun. 
 
 BU3NS.
 
 THE 
 
 atopet 
 
 SEEKING A 
 
 >amt 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 Before I enter on my s'ory, 
 Good Readers, I must first implore ye 
 T' observe I serve this saucy dish up 
 To neither deacon, priest, nor bishop. 
 To ev'ry mind it must be plain 
 That 'tis the old popish priests I mean. 
 Let not my story be mistaken 
 By English bishop, priest, or deacon, 
 For they who wince when nothing hits 'em 
 Appear to " take the cap that fits 'eta. 3 '
 
 ( 222 ) 
 
 A Lawyer once, as legcncfe tell us, 
 For his profession warmly jealous 
 That they no sainted patron hoasted 
 Of whores enshrin'd, or martyrs roasted, 
 Of all the black and bloody number 
 Whose names our calendars encumber, 
 Resolv'd uuto the Pope t' apply, 
 
 A palron there to beg or buy: 
 
 He put his gown, and ruffles fair on, 
 His band, and better head of hair on; 
 But, lest, his eloquence should flag, 
 He stor'd within a yellow bag 
 Round arguments, that well he knew 
 Would more than Law or Language do; 
 And such as always should be pleaded 
 When parsons are to be persuaded. 
 
 And now, where Poverty's petition 
 Pleads long in vain to get admission, 
 Our lawyer took a method shorter, 
 For trying on tlte honest porter 
 One of his arguments, it straight 
 Unbarr'd to him the sacred gate.
 
 ( 223 ) 
 
 So (as I've somewhere heai'd or read) 
 A certain Trojan took itt's head 
 To see the Devil's parliament, 
 And to the gates of Hell he went, 
 Where 'till this time he might have tarried 
 Had not the witch before him carrie4 
 A golden bough: perltaps this fact is 
 The precedent of modern practice, 
 For gold is still the ticket to 
 The courts above and courts below : 
 Nay, some maintain that this same bough 
 To maces is converted now, 
 And borne in church and state, to shew 
 Where those who follow it are to go. 
 
 Before his Holiness arriving 
 Our lawyer's now his speech contriving, 
 Pulls up his gowu, puts straight bis tails, 
 Twisting a red-tape round bis nails, 
 His fingers tabbering, smooths his band, 
 His long sleeve fumbling in his hand; 
 Then hemming simpering bowing rises ; 
 Like other counsel do at 'ssizes.
 
 ( 224 ) 
 
 For he the reason had discerned 
 Why councellors are call'd " the learned ;" 
 And 'tis because our pleading men are all 
 Like that old Greek attorney-general, 
 Who (mumbling in his mouth a jackstone)} 
 Maintain'd that Eloquence's knack shone / 
 In nought but " action, action, action." J 
 
 Methinks our modern men of fees 
 Have heard of this Demosthenes. 
 
 Our lawyer bended to the Pope, and 
 Thus his urgent case he open'd : 
 
 " O thou that art St. Peter's curate, 
 " Let not thy bosom prove obdurate, 
 " But grant my suit, that neither wishes 
 " The scrapings of your loaves or fishes, 
 " Nor do I beg, however humble, 
 " The crumbs that from your table tumble;. 
 " The boon I ask to glad my heart with 
 " Is what the veriest priest may part with, 
 " For such a trifling blessing is it 
 *' That when 'tis giv'n you will not miss it,
 
 ( 225 ) 
 
 " For all the object of my plaint 
 " Is, to obtain a patron saint. 
 
 " I see not why our honest labours 
 u Should not be notic'd like our neighbour?. 
 
 " Tn case of need there's no physician 
 " But good St. Luke grants his petition. 
 " Death- warrants pshaw I mean prescriptions 
 '* Are sign'd beneath his benedictions. 
 
 " Divines have Peter, Paul, and John, 
 '-' And all the rest to call apon. 
 
 <* The cobler drives nor peg nor his pia 
 " Without a pray'r to good St. Crispin. 
 
 " I can make good by cases cited 
 " How poor we lawyers .are requited; 
 " We have no saint in heav'n to shew 
 " The good deeds that on earth - we do ; 
 " (Tho some folks think 'twere need we had one 
 " To intercede for many a had one.) 
 " We care not what his rank or name is, 
 '* A lawyer never should be squemish, 
 " Tho' if to chuse I am permitted, 
 " I'll name one to our calling fitted,
 
 ( 226 ) 
 
 " The great St. Michael, saint reuown'd, 
 
 " Who pinn'd the Devil iii the pound, 
 
 " From whence (O think it not uncommon) 
 
 " He was replevied by a woman. 
 
 " This saint then let the. lawyers greet, 
 
 " Who beat down Satan at his feet. 
 
 ** So may your holy order be 
 " As leeches to the laity, 
 " Ye know th' effects of too much blood, 
 " And kindly suck it for our good. 
 " So may your holy order stand 
 " The glow-worms of each gloomy land ; 
 " So may your lights lost sheep allure, 
 " Like lanthorns of the marshy moor ; 
 " So may ye feast on all thats nice, 
 "And pardons fetch their highest price; 
 " So may ye after death inherit 
 " The meed that most becomes your merit." 
 
 Thus spoke the Lawyer, bending low : 
 The oily Pope began to blow, 
 For he in size might safely mock 
 The knight who fought by Shrewsbury clock;
 
 ( 227 ) 
 
 On couch his listless body lolling, 
 " His eyes in a fine frenzy rolling" 
 Glanc'd, from within their fiery sockets, 
 From lawyer's wig to lawyer's pockets; 
 And, judging only by his cloathes, 
 (Like them whose all depends on those) 
 Concluded from his plain apparel 
 He was a worthless empty barrel, 
 And, pennyless because he guess'd him, 
 With haughty look he thus address'd him: 
 
 " Thou little limb of litigation, 
 " Thou art the Devil's near relation, 
 " Such impudence I never saw here, 
 v But impudence becomes a lawyer; 
 " A lawyer too a saint requiring, 
 <( But weeds will ever be aspiring, 
 " Return, man, to thy long-rob'd brothers, 
 o Our saints are all engag'd to others." 
 
 While yet he spoke with many a frown, 
 The lawyer's hand, beneath his gown, 
 His yellow bag from pocket took. 
 And loud the jingling shiners shook.
 
 ( 228 ) 
 
 O golden tones! how great your force is. 
 How passion-soothing your discourse is ! 
 Were not the wond'rous lyres of old 
 That charm' d the beasts all strung with goldf 
 Could he, as I've heard scholars tell, 
 That fool who fetch'd his wife from hell, 
 Coyld he (I say) have done such things 
 By twanging calgut fiddlestiings ! 
 
 Oh no it was with golden tones 
 
 He mov'd the beasts, the stocks, and stones* 
 
 It must be true for at this hour 
 
 The lawyer has reviv'd tbeir pow'r, 
 Nor do they leave him in the lurch, 
 
 But move a pillar of the church: 
 
 For as the lawyer's music jingled, 
 
 The Pope's soft heart with pleasure tingled. 
 
 This very fact explains the riddle 
 Why after-poets prais'd the fiddle, 
 (The fiddle here, observe, I go to 
 
 Like Rhetoricians, pars pro toto.) 
 
 And why the fiddle they confess'd 
 
 Had " charms to soothe a savage breast."
 
 ( 229 ) 
 
 What miracles may we not liope 
 
 Since music " beads a knotty" Pope ? 
 
 And by its magic pow'r we find 
 The true "affections of his mind," 
 His mind, made up of proper soils 
 " For treasons, stratagems, and spoils." 
 
 Now as the bag came forth to view, 
 Quite mild and affable he grew, 
 But when 'twas on the table emptied 
 His holy heart was almost tempted 
 To own his insult he regretted, 
 But that's what parson never yet did. 
 
 The honest lawyer saw his doubt, 
 .And thus replying, helpd him out. 
 
 * If then your Holiness won't bestow me 
 w A patron saint, do but allow me 
 ** To leave this little mite of mine 
 " Intended for my patron's shrine;
 
 ( 230 ) 
 
 ** Tho' I had hopes for to appear 
 
 " Before his shrine from year to year, 
 
 " And to have borne in your procession 
 
 " The tributes of owr poor profession. 
 
 " But since, alas! us you imply, 
 
 " Your saints " have other fish to fry," 
 
 " I'll go, and think no more about 'em, 
 
 " An honest man may do without 'em, 
 
 " We'll try to find another road, 
 
 " And get to heav'n by doing good/' 
 
 The crafty priest began to stare, 
 He found he'd carried things too far; 
 For then he first reflected on 
 The lawyer's conduct and his own, 
 'Twas then he saw the close attendance 
 Of Spirit upon Independence; 
 'Twas then he saw 'twas Pride, not Sense, 
 That gives a priest impertinence. 
 
 Then O ! be they for blockheads book'd 
 Who play with fish before they're hook'd. 
 
 And now the lawyer's money fingering, 
 (The counsel bowing, leaving, lingering)
 
 ( 231 ) 
 
 The Pope to stay a moment press'd hirai 
 And rising, gracious thus address'd him: 
 
 '* learned brother of the Law, 
 " Do not unsatisfied withdraw, 
 " It is the duty of our place 
 ** To graut petitioners our grace, 
 " And with indulgent search to aim it 
 " On sinners that with reason claim it, 
 " Now it appears that your profession 
 " Stands much in need of intercession, 
 " And tho' our saints have each their client 
 " (The fuel is true, you may rely on't) 
 " Yet I've a stratagem inveuted 
 " That your profession may be sainted; 
 " A priest may quibble if there's cause, 
 " And set it down a pia fraus. 
 " Then if I grant you this petition, 
 " It must be done on this condition : 
 
 " You church you see, with painted panes, 
 " The statue of each saint contains, 
 " In sculptur'd niche each stands alone, 
 " Display'd by carver's skill in stone;
 
 ( 232 ) 
 
 " These aisles you'll niue times walk around, 
 " Your eyes with ninefold bandage bound, 
 " And, while you wear the blinding bands on, 
 J' The figure first you lay your hands on, 
 " Be it on sinner, saint, or matron, 
 " Shall hence be call'd the Lawyer's patron : 
 " To him your humble pray'rs be made, 
 " To him your tribute shall be paid, 
 " Your earnest hopes on him rely 
 " That he'll promote ye when ye die." 
 
 These terms declar'd they both consent, 
 And to the sainted walls they went. 
 
 And now the cautious parson ties 
 A bandage o'er the lawyer's eyes ; 
 Like cows are hood-wink'd by their master 
 That pilfer in another's pasture. 
 
 Now, forwards bent, the long-rob'd man 
 With out-stretch - ' d arms his course began : 
 Just like a blind old bony horse 
 Around a crab-mill gropes his course. 
 Each sliding foot the pavement tries, 
 Lest steps should trip him by surprise;
 
 ( 233 ) 
 
 Nine times the aisles he hobbled round, 
 Nine times the starting-pillar found, 
 Nine times each sainted shrine he pass'd, 
 And with bewilder'd step at last 
 The tenth time stood upon the stone 
 Where first his Circuit was begun. 
 " All's fair," exclaini'd the Pope, "proceed to 
 " Elect the saint that chance may load to." 
 
 Again the hood-wink'd gownsman gropes, 
 And for a princely patron hopes, 
 Slow thro' the dull and damp aisles gropi:ig, 
 Moving sometimes, and sometimes stopping; 
 At length a sudden stand he made, 
 And thoughtful seem'd, as tho' he pray'd. 
 
 The Pope (for narrow minds the soonest 
 Imagine otiier men's dishonest) 
 His eyes upon the lawyer keeping, 
 Strongly suspected him of peeping; 
 For lie by chance had ta'en his station, 
 And seem'd in earnest contemplation, 
 Just where ou high St. Michael stood, 
 With Satan at his feet subdu'd.
 
 ( 234 ) 
 
 " Let's see before you lay your hands on," 
 
 Exclaim'd the Pope, "if safe the band's on.'* 
 
 He found it safe, his doubts were eas'd, 
 I 
 1 He bade him touch whene'er he pleas'd. 
 
 But first he whisper'd in his ear 
 What now must in my tale appear; 
 For 'tis the duty of my story 
 A popish trick to lay before ye, 
 Altho' it is as idle stuff cast 
 From th' ancient tale that now I roughcast ; 
 Which reason to conclude may urge ye 
 'T has been corrected by the clergy; 
 For th' oldest books are most suspected 
 T' have been by popish priests corrected. 
 
 The trick was this the Pope observing 1 
 
 (A lucky thought his purpose serving) 
 The lawyer being in stature low 
 Could hardly reach St. Michael's toe, 
 And that he needs must lay his hands on 
 The figure that St. Michael stands on; 
 Approach'd the doubting lawyer near, 
 And, nudging, whisper'd in his ear
 
 ( 235 ) 
 
 ** We clergy ever are inclined 
 
 " To help the ignorant and blind, 
 
 " Therefore, my friend, if you should bait here, 
 
 " You're sure to touch St. Michael's altar." 
 
 This hint the lawyer much delighted, 
 Who 1hus his vows in raptures plighted, 
 Exclaiming " by the Virgin matron, 
 " Be this our saint, be this our patron, 
 " To this saint (be it who it may) 
 " Henceforth let ev'ry lawyer pray ; 
 " I' th' name of all our tribe I take him,^ 
 " never may our tribe forsake him, 
 " To him each lawyer's vows be made, 
 "" To him each lawyer's tribute paid, 
 " Our earnest hopes on him rely 
 *' That he'll promote us when we die." 
 
 With that (misled by counsel evil) 
 
 One hand he reach'd, and grasp'd the Devil ! 
 
 And (as by sympathy) he puts 
 The other on the parson's guts.
 
 ( 236 ) 
 
 And now the Pope (0 cunning elf! 
 Thinking to be the saint himself) 
 TluJVdisappointed lawyer press'd 
 As saint to chuse which he thought best 
 Either the Devil or the Priest. 
 
 } 
 
 Quoth he, " our tribe 1 bring this farce on 
 " By taking counsel of a parson ; 
 " So therefore I reject the priest, 
 " And of two evils chuse the least !" .
 
 THE STORY OF 
 
 done into doggrel. 
 
 We read in Greek Romances old 
 That one Prometheus was so bold 
 Smoaking with friends and ale jocosely 
 At heaven's lamp to lights his Broseley. 
 But how he got the etherial prize, 
 By convex glass, or lady's eyes, 
 Is not by th' old recorders cited, 
 But certain 'tis his pipe was lighted; 
 For, as I know the story ran, 
 With that same pipe he made a man; 
 He mix'd his clay and alabaster, 
 And cast in earthen mold his planter*
 
 ( 238 ) 
 
 And wond'rous ! when the mold was fraclur'd, 
 A living man was raannfactur'd. 
 
 Now Jove, a Justice of the Peace, 
 Hearing the said Prometheus' case, 
 Cried, " Zounds ! from us our trade he's taking, 
 " We have a patent for man-making. 
 " Go order Vulcan and his lads 
 " To bring their hammers and some gads, 
 " To bear him hence, and fast nail him on 
 " The snowy summit of Pliulimmon. 
 " And let him hang for ages thereon 
 " To feed the kites and crows with carrion." 
 
 Up there for thrice ten years he stuck, 
 While vulture's gnaw'd his growing pluck. 
 From whence at length he got release 
 By giant-killer Hercules. 
 
 Yet Jove, of heav'n the Lord Chief Baron, 
 Sitting one day his elbow chair on, 
 Could not forget his ancient huff, 
 And thought his sufferings not enough. 
 
 i
 
 ( 239 ) 
 
 Then much he por'd with dire intent 
 To find a greater punishment; 
 He thought of scourges, racks, and chains, 
 Of living deaths, and lingering pains, 
 Of burning, freezing, frying, toasting, 
 Piercing, cutting, starving, roasting; 
 And one by one his fancy fell 
 On all the punishments of hell. 
 
 Nay, once it came his cruel head in 
 To make him study special-pleading. 
 Or feel, like me, how keen the curse is 
 To want a rhyme when writing verses. 
 Or, what is worse, like you're now plighted, 
 To hear a tedious tale recited. 
 
 But while each torture thus he singled, 
 He was resolv'd to have them mingled ; 
 And that Prometheus should be fix'd 
 Where all these miseries are mix'd; 
 And so in doubt no longer tarried, 
 But straight resolv'd to have him- married!
 
 ( 240 ) 
 
 Quoth he, " in Hymen's stocks I'll place hiut, 
 " Where ev'n Repentance can't release him: 
 " And there, if I am not mistaken, 
 He'll get his belly-full of bacon. 
 *' With his own blow-pipe there I'll bend him, 
 " And an extinguisher will send him, 
 " Which, if he once begins to handle, 
 " "Will soon put out his farthing candle, 
 " And soon will he, I warrant, then 
 " Be surfeited of making men. 
 
 " But then (thought he) 'twill all depend 
 " Upon what sort of wife I send : 
 u Women, like cards, before they're tried, 
 " Display to view the fairer side; 
 " But, taken up, make many start 
 " To find a club who sought a heart, 
 " A partner that, with alter'd face, 
 ** Will play the deuce and los'e the ace. 
 " Then should I such a trump bestow 
 " As I have dealt to (one you know) 
 " A greater blessing can't be given 
 " Not ev'n by me, tho' king of heaven.
 
 ( 241 ) 
 
 " But if it is ray luck to pitch 
 " Ou such a self-conceited bitch 
 *' As "once the Devil dropp'd (I fear 
 The reader will too soon guess where) 
 " More curses will his couch encumber 
 " Than all the devils in hell can number. 
 " To find a wife of such a grain 
 '* In heaven, the closest search is vain; 
 " In heaven I'm sure no lady's maid is, 
 " Nor are there boarding-schools for ladies, 
 " This bus'uess I'll no longer sulk, on, 
 " But find my old fac-totum Vulcan." 
 
 This Vulcan was a man of mettle, 
 Could clean a jack, or mend a kettle, 
 "With all the gods he'd crack his joke, 
 And had of work a decent stroke; 
 Old Neptune's fish-fork he'd repair. 
 Or clap a shoe on Juno's mare. 
 Nay once (as I have somewhere read it) 
 He made a shield that did him credit. 
 He shone alike in great and small trades, 
 In short, he was a Jack of all trades.
 
 ( 242 ) 
 
 Now Jove went out with anger itching, 
 And found this Vulcan in the kitchen; 
 He'd brought a poker for the maid, 
 And o'er a mug of beer he stay'd. 
 " Vulcan, (quoth he) my crafty cobb, 
 " I'll help thee to a titish jobb; 
 " Which, if well done, shall make thee prouder,' 
 " Shall wider spread thy fame and louder, 
 " Than all my casks of thunder-powder. 
 " For, when complete, I have a notion 
 " 'Twill represent perpetual motion. 
 " Yet, tho' I sketch thee here an outline, 
 " Without rule do it, and without line. 
 
 " This instrument, when first 'tis found, 
 " Has sweetest melody of sound, 
 " But seldom, like the flute, appears 
 * To sweeten as it grows in years. 
 " Nay oftentimes its sweetest tones 
 " Will turn to discords all at once, 
 " And so astonish those that play it 
 " That all their power cannot lay it.
 
 ( 243 ) 
 
 " Yet many a man that once has seen it 
 " Would give the world could he obtain it; 
 " But haviug it, he'd grieve and flout it, 
 " And give the world to be without it; 
 " Just like the magnet is its action, 
 " Possessing wonderful attraction, 
 " And like the inverted magnet too 
 " It often drives what once it drew. 
 " And though this little neat machine 
 " Is weak and tender to be seen, 
 " And knows submission is its station, 
 " It rules the lords of the creation." 
 
 " Quoth Vulcan (slyly tossing up 
 The drippings of his empty cup) 
 " The thing you want is not uncommon, 
 " Your riddle means, a sort of woman 
 " By nature made to fit her station, 
 " But warp'd by modern education ; 
 *' And, by my faith, friend Jove, between us 
 " You call'd to mind our Missus Venus; 
 " The veriest devil in the skies, 
 " But, hang her she's got pretty eyes.
 
 ( 244 ) 
 
 <* Your wish, friend Jove, fulfilled you'll find, 
 " I'll rig a vessel to your mind." 
 
 He molds a maid in form so fair 
 That ev'n with Venus might compare, 
 In graceful attitude might ape her, 
 The foot so neat, the leg so taper, 
 Peeping beneath her snowy cloathes 
 That careless o'er her limbs he throws; 
 Her graceful hair in fillet furls, 
 Her forehead half-conceals in curls; 
 Her eyes with lengthen'd lashes tips, 
 And parts with pearls her luscious lips! 
 Bat ah ! no spark of mind or soul 
 Was there to brighten up the whole. 
 He gave her life, and that was all, 
 And made her just about as tall 
 As girls when first they go a madding, 
 And sent her 'mong the gods a gadding; 
 Like girls go gadding lure in London, 
 To have their brains and tuckers undone, 
 And spend a world of pence and pains 
 To spoil their tuckers and their brains.
 
 ( 245 ) 
 
 She'll something learn, and yet 'tis odds, 
 
 I'th higher circles 'mong the gods. 
 
 She first to Juno pays devotions 
 
 And learns of her to have high notions ; 
 
 Thinking her haughtiness to hide 
 
 Because she calls it " proper pride." 
 
 Venus soon learns her tittle-tattle, 
 And Mars the captain brags of battle; 
 And Monsieur Mercury, d'ye see, 
 Shews rigadoon and balance'. 
 But, oh Apollo ! 'twould make you sick 
 To hear her strum, and call it music. 
 
 In short, she visited their hails, 
 Their dinner-parties, routs, and bulls, 
 And took, in this exalted station, 
 
 What Fashion calls her Education ; 
 
 But, as 'tis cail'd by -men of letters, 
 
 To ape the vices of her betters. 
 
 And 'cause she something -learn'd from all, 
 
 They did her name Pandora call. 
 
 Now having taken her degrees, 
 Mistress of Arts, sucli arts as these,
 
 ( 246 ) 
 Straight unto Jove old Vulcan brought heO 
 And shew'd how stylishly he'd fraught her, > 
 Equal to any modern daughter. 
 
 Well pleas'd was then old Jove to find 
 A vixen suited to his mind; 
 A face so fair, a head so evil, 
 'Twould catch a saint, and plague a devil. 
 Then in her hand a box he put, 
 And charg'd her close to keep it shut, 
 And give it to the man she led 
 To be the pirt'ner of her bed; 
 And while the box was in their keeping 
 She never once should dare to peep in. s 
 He orderM Vulcan then to carry her, 
 And ask Prometheus if he'd marry her. 
 
 Prometheus, cunning as old Tsick, 
 Knew Jove intended him some trick, 
 And rightly all her trappings took 
 For feathers that couceal'd a hook, 
 " No, no, (quoth he) friend Vulcan, here 
 " You bring the wrong sovo by the car ;
 
 ( 247 ) 
 
 " And so my door I beg you'll step by, 
 " And take her to my brother Epi." 
 
 Now .Epimetheus was more slow 
 
 In judgment, than his brother Pro. 
 
 A plain good-natur'd sort of chap, 
 
 Quite unsuspicious of mishap ; 
 
 His judgment always, by the bye, 
 
 Was dazzled with a woman's eye ; 
 
 And when a lovely nymph he saw 
 
 He never thought of Dlot or flaw ; 
 
 Or seeing them would be their bail, 
 
 Like him who tells this silly tale. 
 
 i 
 
 Nor wonder that his brother Pro 
 This act unbrotherly should do, 
 For now-a-days full many a brother 
 Is often catch'd in such another. 
 
 Poor Epimetheus soon consented, 
 And Vulcan soon the knot cemented, 
 Ere scarce the parties had agreed. 
 Like that old chap beyond the Tweed.
 
 ( 248 ) 
 
 And now for almost half a year 
 Quite happy liv'd the wedded pair; 
 Not but sometimes the wife was pleading 
 Her claims to quality and breeding ; 
 And honest Epi now and then 
 Would wish the noose untied again. 
 But these had been small stumbling-blocks; 
 Had she not op'd her fatal box. 
 
 Upon the lock, which open'd easy, 
 Was seen the name of " Delicacy; " 
 The key presented to appearance 
 These words " I'm mutual Forbearance." 
 
 She burst the bolt, and out a crew 
 Of hideous winged harpies flew; 
 Of various vice a combination 
 The fruits of female education. 
 Ami, as the hellish army fled, 
 Was seen Repentance at their head. 
 They grinn'd and pass'd like those grim sprites 
 That lengthening load a sick man's nights,
 
 ( 249 ) 
 
 And ever after, each by fits 
 
 'Twixt Epi and Pandora sits. 
 
 In bed among the curtains creep ; 
 
 At board betwixt the dishes peep ; 
 
 Clung- to his thoughts with griping pow'rj 
 
 Hung on her looks to make them lour; 
 
 Nay, ev'n their very words bestrode, 
 And spurr'd them sharply as they rode j 
 Lnrk'd in each dimple's downy hole. 
 And made it seem a hairy mole ; 
 Bestrode the optics of their eyes, 
 And gave all colours different dyes ; 
 Made every-tbing appear improper, 
 Like objects thro' a bottle stopper. 
 
 Within the broken box they find 
 That Hope alone was left behind. 
 
 O think not by my silly song, 
 Ye lovely sex, I do ye wrong ; 
 I sorrow that your angel forms 
 Should bq the beds of canker-worms,
 
 ( 250 ) 
 
 Most hateful in that lovely tree 
 
 Where luscious fruits and flow'rs should he ; 
 
 As weeds appear more odious far 
 
 In gardens sure than any where. 
 
 O maidens, would it but content ye 
 To be hut arm'd, as Nature meant ye, 
 With real Beauty, Sense, and Virtue, 
 No silly song couid ever hurt you. 
 No sly Prometheus in each lass 
 Need then beware the snake i' th' grass ; 
 Nor would poor Epi meet our mind 
 In many a modern husband kind, 
 Whose leaky box of harpies more has 
 Than ever issued from Pandora's. 
 
 But as things stand, 'tis fit we see 
 Into what hole we thrust our key; 
 For Jove himself could not invent 
 For man a greater punishment 
 Than to condemn him to be mated 
 With woman falsely educated.
 
 ( 251 ) 
 
 Unmarried friends, the proverb keep, 
 And mind to " look before ye leap." 
 Beware the witching spell that lies 
 In sugar lips and shining eyes. 
 And when ye are on woman studying, 
 Think on a nicely-sugar'd pudding, 
 Having, for all it looks so nice, 
 Too little taste, or too much spice ; 
 Beware all outside sham and cheating, 
 *' The proof (ye know) is in the eating.'
 
 THE 
 A TALE. 
 
 * Ecce iterura Crispinus!" 
 
 Juvenal. 
 
 Come titter at my tale of ticklish times, 
 
 Come don't ye know me ? 
 
 I am the wag who sung in rugged rhymes 
 The Lawyer and his chosen Saint; 
 Yes, I am he; now if I ben't 
 The Devil blow me. 
 And I too into doggrel did Prometheus, 
 
 I vote that fun may never fail ; 
 Of sullen sulkiness I cannot see the use, 
 
 If things go wrong it won't avail. 
 Then titter at my tale; for ye shall hear 
 
 All that I have written there. 
 
 Come titter at my tale.* 
 
 * Come listen to a tale of times of old ! 
 Come, for ye know me : I am he who sung 
 The maid of Arc : and I am he who framed 
 Of Thalaba the wild and wonderous song. 
 Come listen to my lay, and ye shall hear 
 How Madoc from the shores of Britain spread 
 
 The adventurous sail Come listen to my lay. 
 
 Introduction to Southey's " Madoc."
 
 ( 253 ) 
 
 Wives and their wedding -shoes I sing, 
 
 Fail may the proverb never 
 That bids as wives in due subjection brings 
 In their wedding-shoes, 
 Or else we lose 
 The victory for ever. 
 
 The blooming maid, I own, may scold 
 
 That with some fribbling monkey matches, 
 
 A little month or ere those shoes are old 
 
 In which she follow'd him, for lace and gold, 
 
 Like Harlequin all patches. 
 For not the true elastic sword 
 
 Is his, with Cupid's magic stor'd, 
 
 But 'twill her expectations bilk, 
 
 And prove " a chip in milk." 
 
 But he my hero was a blade 
 
 A blithe young barrister, and no such prig; 
 Law's knotty cues (the essence of his trade) 
 SeemM on his head entail'd, for it display'd 
 
 A wig.
 
 ( 254 ) 
 
 Logic he lov'd, and thus he logic'd love: 
 
 Women, I grant, have that which must endear them ; 
 But that they have a tongue I nee4 not prove, 
 
 Argal I fear them. 
 For such he knew there were (I mercy cry them) 
 That seem incarnate angels 'till you try them. 
 Deceitful thus did heauty dwell 
 In Milton's angels 'till they fell. 
 
 Yet for myself in honest truth I'll add, 
 
 As I'm a sinner, 
 I could not bear a wife unless she had 
 
 Some devil in her. 
 Not that I'm greedy for a deal, 
 But just enough to turn the scale ; 
 About as much as she but stay, 
 Here comes the heroine of my play. 
 
 High on a green-baiz'd bench in court that far 
 O'erlook'd the judge, the jury, and the bar, 
 The maid exalted sat, by cushions rais'd. 
 
 That ladies e'er should there resort, 
 Squeez'd in a steamy crowded court, 
 I'm quite aniaz'd !
 
 ( 255 ) 
 
 Are they with pleading, fraud, crim:con: and scandal, 
 
 And all the long stiff" points that lawyers handle, 
 
 So highly pleased? 
 Nay, I declare, 
 
 (Though I'm aware 
 They'll wish my pate a hearty banging) 
 
 Far more resort 
 
 To the other court, 
 As though they lov'd to hear of hanging. 
 
 It must be so : or have 1 reason'd bad ? 
 
 No matter. 
 
 My heroine was there, neat, trimly clad ; 
 She set the barristers a boggling, 
 They could not read their briefs for ogling, 
 
 And ev'n the Old-one squinted at her. 
 If I a metaphor must give her, 
 
 I'll call her Cupid's favourite quiver. 
 
 And now just comes into my head 
 
 A simile I've somewhere read ; 
 
 From head to foot her form divine 
 
 Was like just like a porcupine ! 
 
 Because her shape from all ils parts 
 
 Possess'd the pow'r of shooting darts.
 
 ( 256 ) 
 
 Of course, 1 wot, 
 
 Our Lawyer's caught, 
 And got into her trap he has ; 
 
 For, as he gaz'd with silent sighs, 
 
 Cupid's hum-bailiffs issued from her eyes, 
 .And serv'd him with a capias, 
 
 (They're body-writs, and those who send 'em 
 Want it ad satisfaciendum ) 
 
 Oh for the gods old Homer got 
 "When scenes or actors wanted shifting! 
 
 For in my plot 
 
 Occurs a knot 
 Worthy a god to give a lift in* 
 
 Lift me the lady out of court; 
 
 Come, do be civil; 
 Jump at the jobb, ye gods, and thank me for't; 
 
 Or I'll invoke the Devil. 
 
 'Tis done. Th' infernal spells prevail ; 
 
 Court, crowd, counsel, disappear ; 
 All, but the lovers of my tale, 
 
 Are gone the lord knows where.
 
 ( 257 ) 
 
 Now speed, my Muse, in roving rhyme. 
 Break thro* the unities of Place and Time; 
 And for their mutual satisfaction, 
 Proceed we now to try the Action. 
 For be it known, between them both 
 
 It stands thus stipulated, 
 That sire, the wife, tho' something loth, 
 Yields to this point her lover stated; 
 That all her whims shall but be borne 
 'Till fairly out her shoes are worn 
 
 In which the wedding's consummated. 
 And that, to have her Will the longer, 
 She might procure those shoes the stronger 
 Nay more, she ev'n so far prevail'd 
 That, if she chose they might be nail'd. 
 
 But when the wedding morn appear'd, 
 The timid lover almost fear'd 
 
 To look upon her feet ; 
 For, pondering on approaching fate, 
 He'd dreain'd of cloven ones of late. 
 And thought to see two wooden logs 
 Well fitted in the form of clogs, 
 
 Firm stitch'd and nail'd complete.
 
 ( 258 ) 
 
 When peep'd her slender foot half-hid, 
 Enslipper'd neat in thin new kid. 
 
 The wondering youth was overjoy'd; 
 
 Took courage" and pull'd up his breeches ; 
 Odd's flesh! there's comfort yet (he cried) 
 This flimsy leather 
 Can't last for ever, 
 Though tough, and tight the stitches. 
 
 Now the next morning early, 
 As the young bride 
 Lay by his side 
 She thus bespoke him fairly : 
 My love, explain 
 What lawyers mean 
 By consummation of a wedding? 
 Doubtless, (he cried) 
 My dearest bride, 
 
 The bedding. 
 
 Why then (said she) my Will I've won, 
 For shoes of living skin I've on; 
 And, if my dearest thinks I've fail'd, 
 I'll prove my wedding-shoes are nail'd!
 
 #to Jltcfc ;. 
 
 OR, TRE BIRTH OF BREIDDEN ; 
 
 Being a Pindaric Grin for the Convivial* 
 of Breidden-hill, 1811. 
 
 BY THEIR POET-FERNEAT. 
 
 Friends, Britons, Breiddenites, lend me your ears, 
 
 I come to lay the Devil, not to praise him ; 
 Tho' if you'll keep my courage up with cheers, 
 
 Pll raise him. 
 For I've a whim 
 To make a bit of fun of him. 
 We need not fear his arts or arms, 
 Encircled as we are- with charms,
 
 ( 260 > 
 
 Tho', by the bye, he wo'nt appear 
 In Shropshire or Montgomeryshire ; 
 
 So well they wish him 
 For the old grudge he meant them here, 
 They'll send him home with a flea in his ear, 
 
 They'll dish him. 
 'Tis an old granny's story 'tis a queer one; 
 Come, pass the cup, 
 For now I'm up 
 I'll tell it for you perhaps may like to hear one. 
 
 Thus I, your Fern eat, may shew 
 You've not misplac'd the wreath my head that graces, 
 For fern is natural quite at home, you know, 
 In barren places. 
 
 When the Devil in old times got a jobb of work 
 In his own proper person he'd pursue it ; 
 And not, I trow, 
 As he does now, 
 In other folks's persons lurk 
 
 And make them do it. 
 But even now he's quickly known 
 Whether in Lawyer's or in Parson's gown
 
 ( 361 ) 
 
 He dares to shew him ; 
 
 Look to his deeds, 
 And spite of his ' silken or his sable weeds 
 
 You'll know him. 
 . But to my story. It befel 
 Once on an embassy from Hell, 
 He sought thro' stout Montgomery and honest Salop, 
 
 Some caitiff heart wherein to hide him; 
 But there he found his curs'd design was all up, 
 
 They couldn't abide him. 
 Quoth he then, mutt'ring, since no friend I've found, 
 'Twixt both these counties HI the Severn pound 
 
 By droppiug a huge mountain in that river; 
 So will the one be dried, the other drown'd; 
 
 If I don't do it damn my liver ! 
 
 Now in those days (as Poets tell) 
 There was in Hell 
 A hill up which with many a groan 
 A fellow heav'd a hHge round stone, 
 Which, when he'd got it almost to the top, 
 Would obstinately trundle down 
 (Before he could say Jack Robinson,) 
 And, bouncing, plump agaiust another stone 
 
 Wop.
 
 ( 262 ) 
 
 And so his work was never done, 
 Which to the Devil was rare fun; 
 And 'cause the chap had longing *een 
 Some damsel's downy-dimpled chin, 
 
 Thus did Old Nick his longings cross; 
 For well 'tis known 
 To roll a stone 
 Is not to gather moss. 
 
 The Devil in haste 
 Around his waist 
 
 An apron-string of tape run, 
 Pick'd up this hill and stone at a souse, 
 As easily as crack a louse, 
 
 And clapp'd them in his apron. 
 Then came he waddling on his way, 
 
 And puffingly he bore him ; 
 Like a fat Alderman on a lord-mayor's day, 
 
 That straddling struts 
 
 After his guts, 
 For fear they should break loose and get there beforehim.
 
 ( 263 - ) 
 
 Now whether we're like Old Nick or he like us 
 
 I'll not make a fuss, 
 Odious comparisons I mustn't haul here; 
 Tho' in some things it does me strike, 
 That we and he are like to like, 
 
 As he said when he kiss'd the collier. 
 But certain 'tis, the more we hurry us 
 
 When on the Devil's hus'ness bent, 
 'Twill often make us frustrate our intent, 
 'Twill flurry us. 
 So did it him : for when he came 
 Within a stone's-throw of the stream, 
 
 Grunting and writhing, 
 A rough edge of this rugged rock 
 Nick'd the tape apron-string, which broke, 
 
 And down dropp'd Breidden ! 
 He, cursing, left it where it fell, 
 And in a huff* shot back to hell ! 
 But first the rolling stone he swung, 
 And farther tow'rd the Severn flung; 
 Where to this day it still is shewn, 
 And still is call'd The Kissing Stone.
 
 ( 264 ) 
 Now ever since, when the Devil lend* 
 His apron to his friends 
 To do some dirty jobb in, 
 He bids them thus beware the worst, 
 " Beware th' old nick that Breidden burst, 
 " Beware th' old nick V th' bobbin, 
 " Lest you, unapron'd, feel like me the shame of 
 
 " A scurvy trick." 
 And hence, no doubt, the Devil got the name of 
 
 Old Nick. 
 
 Now if in your way the Devil sends 
 
 His friends; 
 In whatsoever robes array'd, 
 
 As aforesaid, 
 Look to their deeds, I say, you can't mistake 'era; 
 And if folks will tie up vile things, 
 Under their apron-strings, 
 Oh ! may the Old Nick break 'em.
 
 ( 2V> ) 
 
 But ere Life's cup of care we fill 
 
 Let us distil 
 Good thoughts from evil ; 
 With Mirth's essential spirit let's anoint 
 
 Life's creaking joint 
 And when old Time our apron-string unties, 
 Mount may we, like old Breidden, to the skies. 
 And, like old Breidden, disappoint the Devil. 
 
 " OLD NICK" is nothing more than the popular story 
 of the peasantry around the Breidden mountains, carelessly 
 thrown into measure for the entertainment of the convivial 
 party of Ladies and Gentlemen, who (in commemoration- of 
 nothing more than their former meetings of mirth and 
 amusement) spend a summer's day there, under the conduct 
 of an annual President, Recorder, and Poet-Ferneat ; which 
 latter office the Author had the honour of holding in 1811, 
 being their 22nd anniversary. See "Beauties of England 
 and Wales," Vol. 13. p. 289. Shropshire. 
 
 A a
 
 PROLOGUE FOR A 
 
 Jfarce. 
 
 Written and sent to London at the request of some juvenile 
 actors there. 
 
 Enter Manager. 
 Ladies and Gentlemen, 
 
 Let me read you a letter, that patly wow pops here 
 In the place of a prologue. 'Tis dated from Shropshire. 
 
 Dear Jack, 
 
 1 have spurred my dull Muse to make one try 
 
 To tell how we actors get praise in the country, 
 Where our audience ne'er yawn at the squallings 
 
 of Naldi, 
 Never weep at your Kemble, nor grin at Grimaldi.
 
 ( 267 ) 
 
 But they fix on a farce (for too just are our fears 
 Since they sleep at our hamlets they'd snore at our 
 Lears.) 
 
 Our bedquilt is hung on whose patchwork so gay 
 Trees, trophies, and temples, at once we display ; 
 Our parts are rehears'd, and our playbills indited ; 
 And all good-natur'd friends (but none else) are invited; 
 To whom, while our actors are putting their dress on, 
 Little Miss thumbs and elbows her only Hook's lesson; 
 While each actor by turns thro* a slit in the quilt 
 His well-raddled nose pushes up to the hilt; 
 Or peeps with importance behind the proscenium; 
 ( That's a name that we give to two pots of geranium) 
 
 But hark ! 'twas the sheep-bell ! a sure signal 
 
 that is 
 That summons to fame our personce dramatis. . * 
 
 See ! the coverlet moves ! like the forest of Birnam! 
 (Curse the pullies and cords how they creak as we 
 
 turn 'em) 
 The wit it then wags,, and the fun it goes featly 
 And 'twixt prompter and actor 'tis done most com- 
 pletely. 
 Then how from our audience can plaudits be scarce, 
 When our acting is all (what they fix'dou) a farce?
 
 ptlosue 
 
 For the Theatricals at Prado, the seat of the 
 Honourable Thomas Kenyon. 
 
 (In the character of a Barrister.) 
 
 May it please ye, my lords, and you jury of ladies, 
 Ye well know neither speaking nor acting our trade is J 
 But in hopes to amuse our poor efforts we strain, 
 We* blacken our whiskers and spangle our train ; 
 And your ridicule* risk while we strive to resemble 
 The voice of a Siddons, and strut of a Kemble 
 But "the deed is now done," all our faults are committed 
 And your verdict we wait to be quash'd or acquitted. 
 
 Tho' with brief in my hand here their counsel you see 
 -"Tis their fault if I fail for they've giv'n me no fee. 
 Yet to shew the warm wish of my clients' intention, 
 One case that's in point from my brief will I mention.
 
 ( 269 ) 
 
 You all may remember the Midsummer sports 
 
 (The Case is reported in Shakspeare's Reports) 
 
 Of Snout, Quince, and Snug bright Athenian fellows; 
 
 Poor Starveling the stitch-louse, and a mender of bellows; 
 
 How their play was prefer'd, and their parts how they 
 
 got 'em, * 
 
 All conducted in style under manager Bottom. 
 
 Poor Py ramus, plum'd with a turkey-cock's feather, 
 
 And Thisbe, sweet maid, in a* apron of leather, 
 
 And her majesty's tinker, stout, clever, and tall, 
 
 Daub'd over with mortar " presented a wall." 
 
 That king Theseus was wise, we hardly may 
 doubt him, 
 
 For he took care to have honest players about him, 
 
 In perfection he look'd not for such to succeed, 
 
 But kindly accepted the will for the deed. 
 
 If at Athens, for wisdom and justice renown'd, 
 And in goodness of heart kind indulgence is found, 
 Sure we (tho r of acting we shew but the shadow, 
 May with confidence look for indulgence at Prado. 
 
 Yet another word more. Should we meet your denial, 
 We'll move to amend, and obtain a new trial ; 
 Then, whate'er the decree, we shall feel satisfaction 
 If the friends of a Ken yon shall judge of our action.
 
 TO MRS. REYNOLDS, OF LAMBETH, 
 with a 
 
 As I oft have been told 
 
 By the poets of old 
 Of the swans at their death singing once, 
 
 I ask'd of my Muse 
 
 A few rhymes for my goose, 
 For she knew that "my geese were all swans.' 
 
 But ou learning to whom 
 
 r My poor rhymes were to come 
 
 She told me your happier Muse 
 
 Would declare with shrewd wit 
 That my note was scarce fit 
 
 To accompany that of my goose-
 
 ( 271 ) 
 
 But i' faith (replied I) 
 
 My poor efforts I'll try, 
 And if they should fail to amuse. 
 
 Give my paper the fire 
 
 That my verses require> 
 Aud they'll shiae when they're singling the goose. 
 
 Old historians describe 
 
 How this cackling tribe 
 One night sav'd a city from plunder; 
 
 But more laurels shall shine 
 
 Over this goose of mine 
 That one day saves a lady from hunger. 
 
 " Mother Goose" and her eggs, 
 
 And Grimaldi's loose legs 
 Suit a cockney's theatrical rage ; 
 
 But such jokes who'd not quit 
 
 To partake of your wit, 
 And my goose stuft'd with onions and sage?
 
 ( 272 ) 
 
 Was my goose but a speaker 
 (As good interest might make her) 
 
 To your social table when carried 
 
 She'd exclaim " 'tis now clear 
 ** Why my master comes here, 
 
 " 'Tis to learn to live happy when married. 
 
 *' May each unmarried pair 
 
 " See how happy ye are, . 
 " Admire the sweet lesson, and learn itj 
 
 " For without it 'tis plain 
 
 " Life's a straw without grain, 
 *' The veriest gander would spurn it. 
 
 " Then O long may ye live 
 
 " The example to give, 
 ' And its influence widely diffuse ; 
 
 " And may all who despise 
 
 " Be refer'd for advice 
 " To the last dying speech of a goose'
 
 THE 
 
 <Bxonimttf 
 
 BURLESQUE TBANSLATION 
 
 Of the first Ode of Horace. 
 
 " Maecenas, atavis edite regibus." &c. 
 
 Some youths (ye Presidents and Wardens) 
 That reign in college courts, and gardens) 
 Delight in dashing gigs to raise 
 Oxonian dust in summer days, 
 And with hot wheels to hurry home 
 Pth 'nick of time for tolling Tom; ; 
 To gain your grace and commendation, 
 And save their blockheads from translation. 
 
 This youth, for rows to honour rais'd, 
 Is by the noisy gownsmen praisM j
 
 ( 274" ) 
 
 Nor can the present, past, or future, 
 Oblige him to attend his tutor; 
 Contented if he only gains 
 An imposition for his pains. 
 
 Another (to be reckon'd great) 
 Squanders health, money, and estate; 
 Nor can the Muses or Apollo 
 Persuade him good advice to follow. 
 
 The student in some college moping 
 On Rhetoric, or Logic chopping, 
 Whose brains a syllogism teases. 
 And idle life of pleasure praises, 
 And in "plain terms" begins to curse all 
 Particulars and Universal; 
 But soon he finds his fallacy, 
 And takes his Aldrich up with joy. 
 
 Here Euclid's poring sophist wrangles 
 To prove that squares are not triangles; 
 And draws great learning from his pate 
 To shew that crooked is not straight; 
 And proves by argument (d'ye see) 
 'Tis clear as mad that A's not B. 
 Or stuffs with algebra his head 
 From a b c to x y z.
 
 ( 275 ) 
 
 Another, whom no problems puzzle, 
 The purple poison loves to guzzle j 
 And, happy with his drunken rabble. 
 Reclines at ease beneath the table. 
 
 Others in streets with clubs rejoice. 
 Regardless, of the proctor's voice; 
 And heed them not, but ev'n deride 'em 
 When they exclaim "siste per fidem." 
 This loves his teasing duns* to bully, 
 And break their heads with Locke ox Tully 
 And that all gentler joys despises 
 To steer a girl upon the Isis. 
 While 'tis another's summum bonum 
 To cheat the manciple and Hownam.* 
 
 Be mine the curly wig of state 
 That decks the lawyer's empty pate; 
 In ragged gown to thump and stare 
 'Mid bums and bullies at the bar. 
 O teach me, Lyttleton and Coke, 
 To bother from the bench of oak. 
 But graft me 'mid the twelve a member, 
 I'll lift me to the " starred-chamber ;" 
 Then shall my name be known afar 
 From Charing Cross to Temple Bar ! 
 
 The late butler of Christ Chinch, Oxtord.
 
 I 
 
 
 
 fflp&ttf and $0, 
 
 . A DIALOGUE. 
 
 Potesne mihi dicere verum, Echo? 
 
 EUASMU*. 
 
 Sweet Echo, if thoul't to my plaint reply, 
 And counsel me, to learn of thee I'll try? 
 
 I'll try. 
 
 First tell me how to pay my court to thee 
 That thy replies and counsel may be free? 
 
 Be free. 
 
 Then tell me of my faults, but not too loud 
 Lest of thy privilege I think tliee proud. 
 
 I think thee proud.
 
 ( 277 ) 
 
 And what do'st thou expect that dar'st adventure 
 Thus bold to brand thy votaries with* censure ? 
 
 Censure. 
 
 What makes me proud ? come, Echo, spare me never, 
 I see, pert nymph, you fancy yourself clever. 
 
 You fancy yourself clever. 
 
 Why people tell me so, I know not why, 
 Good-natur'd souls, then should I think they lie ? 
 
 I think they lie. 
 
 What do they think me then, come tell me cool, 
 To see me feed on flattery from- a fool? 
 
 A fool. 
 
 Then what is he that says my verse has fire, 
 And swears that mine's a simple and sweet lyre ? 
 
 A simple and sweet liar. 
 
 Then what are all the hopes I entertain 
 
 To pierce at last the rich poetic vein ? 
 
 Vain. 
 
 B b
 
 ( 278 ) 
 
 Then in the lyre no longer I'll delight, 
 Nor court the Muse, nor jingling verses write. 
 
 Right. 
 
 What think'st thou of my promise to apply 
 And make the Bar my firm and fond ally ? 
 
 A lie. 
 
 In fair Westfelton's groves, of me admir'd, 
 How shall I feel to live alone, retir'd? 
 
 Tir'd. 
 
 Why then to music, books, and friends I'll fly, 
 And for a wife I'll wed Philosophy. 
 
 O fie! 
 
 What then, sly nymph, thou fair would'st have me marry 
 Like heedless boys, all rash and momentary ? 
 
 Tarry. 
 
 Am I then such a simple fool, whose heart 
 Listens to babbling gossips like thou art ? 
 
 Thou art.
 
 ( 279 ) 
 
 What should I think each flaunting girl whose pride all 
 Breaks out in dress, whom foplets call an idol ? 
 
 An eye-doll. 
 
 Can they be good, whose pride and wealth immense % 
 Stalks o'er the simple fields of innocence ? 
 
 In no sens*. 
 
 How shall I give their minds a spark of freedom ? 
 Tho' bards like angels wrote, they'd never read 'em. 
 
 Never heed 'em. 
 
 Oh ! shall I ever on this side the grave, 
 Find a good wife, as I've seen others have? 
 
 Others have. 
 
 And finding such, I then should mar the matter. 
 How should I know her mind ? I'm no Lavater. 
 
 Have at her. 
 
 But how, if she in Love's coy smiles enmask her, 
 Will she be led in Hymen's ray to bask her ? 
 * Ask her.
 
 ( 280 ) 
 
 But wo'nt a woman's word, tho' firm she boast it, 
 Deceive the truest youth ? Ah ! nymph, thou know'st it. 
 
 Thou know'st it. 
 
 But if she swear it, and the ring he shews her, 
 And all seems fix'd, is he then sure he knows her ? 
 
 No, Sir. 
 
 Some few I've seen so sweet, that, (on my conscience,) 
 For their dear sakes I can think ill of none since. 
 
 Noniense ! 
 
 Of woman more I'd learn, but not fatigue thee 
 Sweet nymph, with questions, for I fear they'll 
 
 plague thee. 
 
 They'll plague thee. 
 
 When can I best my own opinion shew 
 Aply as thou do'st, nymph, when spoken to ? 
 
 When spoken to. 
 
 What, d I then (to sense and manners lost) 
 Babble the stuff of others, as thou do'st ? 
 
 Thou do'st.
 
 ( 281 ) 
 
 Thou'lt tell me then, pert nymph, by the same rule, 
 For very talking's sake I talk to a fool. 
 
 I talk to a fool. 
 
 Nay, Echo, nay, give me a fair reply, 
 For, gentle nymph, in a mistake you lie. 
 
 You lie. 
 
 Uncourteous maid ! affronting a young man 
 To court your smiles and favours who began. 
 
 Who began ? 
 
 Baggage, I know thy prattling sex too well ; 
 Fool me no more; I'm tir'd, so fare thee well. 
 I'm tir'd, so fare thee well.
 
 FAREWELL TO THE 
 
 Must. 
 
 I fear me, Muse, that fond and young 
 
 My heart inebriate misgave me, 
 When first I sipp'd thy winning song, 
 
 And lov'd thy looks, that do deceive me; 
 Had I but reach'd a riper age, 
 
 And Reason to her main-mast bound me, 
 I then, like him the wandering Sage, 
 
 Had stopp'd my ears ere thou had'st found me, 
 
 Thou Syren.
 
 ( 284 ) 
 la fair Westfelton's groves of rest 
 
 Thou cam'st with halcyon draughts of others, 
 And, as their nectar fir'd my breast, 
 
 Sorc'ress ! thou bad'st me think them brothers; 
 Bright evergreens, that lustering shine, 
 
 Their brows embower d and hoaour'd made them ; 
 While thou poor wild-flow'rs thrust on mine, 
 
 Nor told of frost that soon would fade them, 
 
 Thou Syren. 
 
 Yet has thy little lyre the pow'r, 
 
 Though deem'd by defter bards a bad one, 
 For me to gild a gloomy hour, 
 
 And wake a warmth to greet a glad one: 
 Then should I lay thy lyre aside, 
 
 And, Muse, a parting farewell wish thee, 
 Though launched on Lucre's yellow tide, 
 
 I marvel not but I should miss thee, 
 
 Thou Syren.
 
 ( 285 ) 
 But ah ! thou laughter-loving jade, 
 
 Ou many a rhyme-sniit youth thou leerest, 
 Whom, hy thy smile to song betray'd, 
 
 Soon 'mid the witless world thou jeerest : 
 Say, Muse, am I not one of those? 
 
 For oft (our lot, alack, how common!) 
 Thy favour, wheedling to expose, 
 
 *' Can smile and smile" just like a woman, 
 
 Thou Syren. 
 
 Yet where's the youth that ever felt 
 
 But one look of a lady's favour. 
 
 Though in her smile delusion dwelt, 
 
 Could bid his bosom turn and leave her ? 
 
 Therefore the Sire of Song design'd 
 (In extacy his fancy swimming) 
 
 His race recoverless to bind, 
 
 And made the Musts all of women, 
 
 The Syrens!
 
 ( 286 ) 
 Then since I'm fetter' d to my fate, 
 
 (Thy apron-string " nine times around" me ! ) 
 And thou, ray Muse, at early date, 
 
 With wreath of short-liv'd flow'rs ha'st crown'd me, 
 
 Of Truth the lessons let me learn, 
 By thee and all thy favourites aided, 
 
 And if I teach but one,, 'twill earn 
 
 A better crown when thine is faded. 
 
 Thou Syren.
 
 ERROURS, 
 
 WHICH THE READER IS REQUESTED TO CORRECT. 
 
 after ever insert and. 
 for diapson read diapason. 
 
 after daughter insert of 
 for miad read maid. 
 for The read They. 
 for array'd read array. 
 for exits read exist. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 VERSE, 
 
 20. 
 
 15. 
 
 27. 
 
 7, 
 
 38. 
 
 9. 
 
 77. 
 
 1. 
 
 84. 
 
 10. 
 
 87. 
 
 9. 
 
 117. 
 
 5. 
 
 Printed <Jf Published by fyfor W. Morris, Shrewsbury.
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below. 
 
 <CC 
 
 juffl 1335 
 
 i 
 
 - % 
 
 i m 
 
 t- c v 
 
 L 
 
 *- ^ 
 
 
 ^R_ v 
 
 v.. 
 
 ^% 
 
 <l 
 
 R REMINGTON RAND INC. 20 
 
 213 (533) 
 
 c c 
 
 c< <~ 
 
 <<cc 
 
 < 
 
 rift < 
 
 
 C' ^H 
 
 t 
 
 >~>M 
 
 c 41 
 
 E4 
 
 RJ 
 
 c< 4| 
 
 r * 
 
 * ( / 
 
 
 ^ , 
 
 (< 
 
 ^ ^9 
 
 
 ^c 
 
 (( 4H 
 
 , 
 
 9 
 
 cc ^fl 
 
 ,5 
 
 '((U 
 
 cc ^B 
 
 , c 
 
 __ <((' 
 
 41 
 
 [ m 
 
 
 cc 41 
 
 r * 
 
 c < 
 
 cc 4 
 
 BL 4 
 
 C' 
 
 cc < 
 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 < 
 
 <: 
 
 <X 
 
 
 
 
 cc < 
 
 
 
 cc 
 
 
 
 cc 
 < 
 
 p 
 
 it 
 
 >cc. 
 
 CCC 
 
 < c<^. 
 
 cc*J 
 
 c*fc 
 
 no 
 
 ace 
 <<cj 
 
 gj> 
 
 cL4 
 
 r tc"* 
 
 C CL * 
 
 < cc 
 
 c: 
 
 < 1 
 
 
 GC.I
 
 . At2. 
 
 
 
 
 iMmflZZ 
 
 
 -*rT^ 
 
 Lf 
 
 A^^i-i^A* 
 
 
 ^fi/V^*.