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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ballads, by William Hayley
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Ballads
+       Founded On Anecdotes Relating To Animals
+
+Author: William Hayley
+
+
+Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9048]
+This file was first posted on September 1, 2003
+Last updated: April 30, 2013
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BALLADS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Robert Prince and Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BALLADS,
+
+By William Hayley, Esq.
+
+Founded On Anecdotes Relating To Animals,
+
+With Prints, Designed And Engraved By William Blake.
+
+
+1805.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+Three words of Horace may form an introduction to the following pages,
+the very words, which that amiable physician and poet, the late
+Dr. Cotton of St. Alban's, prefixed as a motto to his elegant and
+moral little volume of Visions in Verse:
+
+   "VIRGINIBUS PUERISQUE CANTO."
+
+Or in plainer English prose:--The book is intended for young Readers.
+
+
+
+
+BALLADS.
+
+
+
+
+THE DOG.
+
+
+BALLAD THE FIRST.
+
+  Of all the speechless friends of man
+    The faithful dog I deem
+  Deserving from the human clan
+    The tenderest esteem:
+
+  This feeling creature form'd to love,
+    To watch, and to defend,
+  Was given to man by powers above,
+    A guardian, and a friend!
+
+  I sing, of all e'er known to live
+    The truest friend canine;
+  And glory if my verse may give,
+    Brave Fido! it is thine.
+
+  A dog of many a sportive trick,
+    Tho' rough and large of limb.
+  Fido would chase the floating stick
+    When Lucy cried, "go swim."
+
+  And what command could Lucy give,
+    Her dog would not obey?
+  For her it seemed his pride to live,
+    Blest in her gentle sway!
+
+  For conscious of her every care
+    He strain'd each feeling nerve,
+  To please that friend, his lady fair
+    Commanded him to serve.
+
+  Of many friends to Lucy dear,
+    One rose above the rest;
+  Proclaim'd, in glory's bright career.
+    The monarch of her breast.
+
+  Tender and brave, her Edward came
+    To bid his fair adieu;
+  To India call'd, in honour's name,
+    To honour he was true.
+
+  The farewell rack'd poor Lucy's heart,
+    Nor pain'd her lover less;
+  And Fido, when he saw them part,
+    Seem'd full of their distress.
+
+  Lucy, who thro' her tears descried
+    His sympathetic air,
+  "Go! with him, Fido!" fondly cried,
+    "And make his life thy care!"
+
+  The dog her order understood,
+    Or seem'd to understand,
+  It was his glory to make good
+    Affection's kind command.
+
+  How he obeyed;--the price how great
+    His brave obedience cost,
+  Fancy would faulter to relate,
+    In wild conjecture lost.
+
+  But Truth and Love, the upright pair,
+    Who witnessed Fido's worth,
+  His wond'rous virtue shall declare,
+    A lesson to the earth!
+
+  Not in the battle's gory tide,
+    Nor in the stormy seas,
+  No! Fido's noble faith was tried
+    In scenes of sportive ease.
+
+  Often in India's sultry soil
+    To brace the languid limb,
+  'Twas Edward's pleasure, after toil,
+    To take a fearless swim.
+
+  Bold in a flood he lov'd to leap.
+    When full the current flow'd;
+  Nor dreamt the water, dark, and deep.
+    The crocodile's abode.
+
+  And fearless he and Fido oft,
+    Along the stream would glide;
+  Their custom from the bank aloft
+    To vault into the tide!
+
+  But once, when Edward had begun
+    To cast his clothes aside,
+  Round him his dog would anxious run,
+    And much to check him tried.
+
+  So much, that had dumb Fido said
+    "Avoid the stream to day!"
+  Those words could scarce have plainer made
+    What duty wish'd to say.
+
+  Edward, too eager to enjoy
+    The sport, where danger lay,
+  Scolds him for gestures, that annoy,
+    And beats his guard away:
+
+  And naked now, and dreaming not
+    How cruel was that blow,
+  He hurries to the lofty spot,
+    In haste to plunge below,
+
+  His faithful friend, with quicker pace,
+    And now with silent tongue,
+  Out-stript his master in the race,
+    And swift before him sprung.
+
+  Heaven! how the heart of Edward swell'd
+    Upon the river's brink,
+  When his brave guardian he beheld
+    A glorious victim sink!
+
+  Sink in a watery monster's jaw,
+    That near the river's side
+  Too late th' astonish'd Edward saw,
+    And shriek'd, as Fido died.
+
+  In vain he shriek'd; and soon his tears
+    His heart-felt loss deplore;
+  "Lucy!" he cries, as if she hears,
+    "Thy Fido is no more!"
+
+  "Calamitously lost, his form,
+    So often thy delight!
+  No artist's hand, with genius warm,
+    Can rescue for thy sight;"
+
+  "But if 'tis sung by friendly bard
+    How he resign'd his breath;
+  Thy dog must win the world's regard,
+    Immortal in his death!"
+
+  'Twas thus the feeling Edward griev'd,
+    Nor could his grief divine,
+  What honours, by pure love conceived,
+    Brave Fido, would be thine!
+
+  When Lucy heard of Fido's fate,
+    What showers of tears she shed!
+  No cost would she have thought too great
+    To celebrate the dead.
+
+  But gold had not the power to raise
+    A semblance of her friend;
+  Yet kind compassion, who surveys,
+    Soon bids her sorrow end.
+
+  A sculptor, pity's genuine son!
+    Knew her well-founded grief;
+  And quickly, tho' he promised none,
+    Gave her the best relief;
+
+  He, rich in Lucy's sister's heart,
+    By love and friendship's aid,
+  Of Fido, with the happiest art,
+    A secret statue made.
+
+  By stealth in Lucy's chamber plac'd,
+    It charm'd the mourner there,
+  Till Edward, with new glory grac'd,
+    Rejoin'd his faithful fair.
+
+  The marble Fido in their sight,
+    Enhanc'd their nuptial bliss;
+  And Lucy every morn, and night,
+    Gave him a grateful kiss.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE ELEPHANT.
+
+
+BALLAD THE SECOND.
+
+  Say, nature, on whose wond'rous reign
+    Delighted fancy dwells,
+  Of all thy numerous brutal train
+    What animal excells?
+
+  What quadruped most nobly vies
+    In virtue with mankind,
+  Like man deliberately wise,
+    And resolutely kind?
+
+  Beneath a form vast and uncouth
+    Such excellence is found:
+  Sagacious Elephant! thy truth,
+    Thy kindness is renown'd.
+
+  More mild than sanguinary man,
+    Whose servant thou hast prov'd,
+  Oft in his frantic battle's van
+    Thy bulk has stood unmoved:
+
+  There oft thy spirit griev'd, to see
+    His murd'rous rage encrease,
+  'Till mad himself, he madden'd thee.
+    Thou nobler friend to peace!
+
+  Acts of thy courage might occur
+    To grace heroic song;
+  But I thy gentle deeds prefer,
+    Thou strongest of the strong!
+
+  Where India serves the British throne,
+    In scenes no longer wild,
+  A menial Elephant was known,
+    Most singularly mild!
+
+  It was his custom, fresh and gay
+    By his attendant led,
+  Walking to water, every day,
+    To pass a gard'ner's shed,
+
+  This gard'ner, of good natured fame,
+    Admir'd the noble beast;
+  And gave him, whensoe'er he came,
+    A vegetable feast.
+
+  Some dainty, from his stall bestow'd,
+    So made the beast his friend;
+  'Twas joy to see, at this abode,
+    His blythe proboscis bend.
+
+  Not coarsely eager for his food,
+    He seem'd his love to court,
+  And oft delighted, as he stood.
+    To yield his children sport.
+
+  As if to thank them for each gift,
+    With tender, touching care,
+  The boys he to his back would lift,
+    And still caress them there.
+
+  In short his placid gambols seem'd
+    Affection so profound,
+  His friendship for this man was deem'd
+    A wonder all around.
+
+  But O! can humour's giddy range
+    Mislead the brutal mind?
+  Can elephants their friendship change,
+    As fickle as mankind?
+
+  See now the hero of my song,
+    That theme of every tongue!
+  Alone, and fierce, he stalks along,
+    As if with frenzy stung:
+
+  See! to the gard'ner's well-known shed
+    Impetuous he flies;
+  Seizes his friend in silent dread,
+    And lifts him to the skies.
+
+  High as his trunk the man can bear,
+    Th' astonish'd man he bore,
+  Who vainly struggled in the air,
+    And trembled more and more.
+
+  So wild, so swift, the monster past,
+    All deem'd him mad and fled.--
+  Thro' a high window gently cast,
+    With terror almost dead,
+
+  The astounded gard'ner view'd with awe
+    The savage speed away;
+  But soon with gratitude he saw
+    The source of his dismay:
+
+  Unthought of source! for now inflam'd
+    A ravenous tyger sprung,
+  And at the window vainly aim'd
+    To which he trembling clung.
+
+  And now with joy his heart strings swell,
+    And blest he deems his lot;
+  For the foil'd tyger as he fell,
+    A latent marksman shot.
+
+  The Elephant returns:--O Heaven!
+    How tender was his air,
+  Seeing the friend, whose life was given
+    To his preserving care!
+
+  For, conscious of the danger, he,
+    Most providently kind,
+  From unseen ill to set him free,
+    Such rescue had designed.
+
+  Ye, whom a friend's dark perils pain,
+    When terrors most unnerve him,
+  Learn from this Elephant to strain
+    Your sinews to preserve him.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE EAGLE.
+
+
+BALLAD THE THIRD.
+
+  Nature, what heart may here by thee,
+    Most truly brave be styled?
+  The tender mother's it must be,
+    When struggling for her child!
+
+  A Scottish tale, of serious truth,
+    Will make the maxim clear,
+  I heard it from a shepherd youth,
+    As nature's self sincere.
+
+  On Scotland's wildest, loneliest ground,
+    The subject of my tale
+  Liv'd, where incumbent mountains frown'd
+    High o'er her peaceful vale.
+
+  The heroine of nature, she
+    No vain ambition knew,
+  Her bairns and goats she nurs'd with glee,
+    To love and labour true.
+
+  Her hut within the valley stood,
+    Where thin grass grew alone,
+  No shade had she from lofty wood.
+    But much from towering stone.
+
+  For o'er her vale a mountain's crown,
+    In loftiest horror, hung,
+  A ravenous Eagle half way down,
+    Nurs'd her imperial young.
+
+  Jessy herself, so was she call'd,
+    Possess'd an eagle's eye,
+  And her quick vision unappall'd
+    Had mark'd the nest on high.
+
+  But of a fearless heart, she deem'd
+    The royal bird her friend,
+  Nor thought its rage, tho' fierce it scream'd,
+    Would to her vale descend.
+
+  With plunder borne thro' distant air,
+    She saw it stain the rock,
+  Yet trusted it would nobly spare
+    Her little neighbouring flock.
+
+  Ah Jessy, oft the fancied friend,
+    Commits a cruel wrong;
+  Weak neighbours seldom should depend
+    On kindness from the strong.
+
+  No manly guard hast thou with thee
+    A savage foe to scare,
+  For thy good man far off to sea
+    The distant billows bear.
+
+  That best of guards thou oft has known,
+    But of his aid bereft,
+  Two little boys with thee alone
+    Are all thy treasures left.
+
+  The eldest grew with manly grace,
+    His years yet barely seven,
+  A stripling of a sweeter face,
+    Has never gaz'd on Heaven.
+
+  He was indeed a friend most rare,
+    To chear his lonely mother,
+  And aid her in her constant care
+    His little baby-brother.
+
+  With these to Jessy much endear'd,
+    Whom from the world she hid,
+  Three nurslings more she fondly rear'd,
+    Two lambkins and a kid.
+
+  Most tender playmates all the five,
+    None stray'd the vale beyond,
+  They were the happiest imps alive,
+    All of each other fond.
+
+  And Jessy all with joy survey'd,
+    With joy her heart ran o'er,
+  When they their little gambols play'd,
+    She spinning at her door.
+
+  But how mischance will intervene:
+    This spot of sweet delight,
+  One eventide, became a scene
+    Of anguish and affright.
+
+  The elder boy, gay Donald, chanc'd,
+    Far from the door to play,
+  Lest, now within the vale advanc'd,
+    His kid might roam away.
+
+  The mother sat to watch the vale,
+    Nor yet his sport forbid;
+  But starts to see the Eagle sail
+    Above the trembling kid.
+
+  The kid began to quake and cry;
+    Not so the braver boy,
+  The full-winged savage to defy
+    Was his heroic joy.
+
+  Still nearer sail'd the undaunted bird,
+    Its destin'd deed undone,
+  And when its ravenous scream she heard
+    The mother join'd her son.
+
+  Their shouts united, and each arm
+    In bold protection spread,
+  Secur'd the kid from real harm,
+    Tho' now with fear half dead,
+
+  Some furlongs from their cottage sill,
+    Now pass'd this anxious scene;
+  There they had left, as safe from ill,
+    The sleeping babe serene.
+
+  The savage bird the kid renounc'd,
+    But round the cottage oft
+  Rapid he wheel'd, and there he pounc'd,
+    And bore the babe aloft.
+
+  Ah!--who can now that impulse paint,
+    Which fires the mother's breast?
+  Nor toil, nor danger, makes her faint;
+    She seeks this Eagle's nest.
+
+  But first with courage clear, tho' warm,
+    As guides the martial shock,
+  When British tars prepare to storm
+    A fortress on a rock.
+
+  She bids, to mark the Eagle's flight,
+    Young Donald watch below,
+  While she will mount the craggy height,
+    And to his aerie go.
+
+  With filial hope her son, who knew
+    Her courage and her skill,
+  Watch'd to parental orders true,
+    Magnanimously still.
+
+  And now, his mother out of sight,
+    He fixt his piercing eye
+  On crags, that blaz'd in solar light,
+    Whence eagles us'd to fly.
+
+  He saw, as far as eye may ken,
+    A crag with blood defil'd,
+  And entering this aerial den
+    The Eagle and the child.
+
+  The boy, tho' trusting much in God,
+    With generous fear was fill'd;
+  Aware, that, if those crags she trod,
+    His mother might be kill'd.
+
+  His youthful mind was not aware
+    How nature may sustain
+  Life, guarded by maternal care
+    From peril, and from pain.
+
+  And now he sees, or thinks he sees
+    (His heart begins to pant)
+  A woman crawling on her knees,
+    Close to the Eagle's haunt.
+
+  It is thy mother, gallant boy,
+    Lo! up her figure springs:
+  She darts, unheard, with speechless joy
+    Between the Eagle's wings.
+
+  Behold! her arms its neck enchain,
+    And clasp her babe below:
+  Th' entangled bird attempts in vain
+    Its burthen to o'erthrow.
+
+  Now Heaven defend thee, mother bold,
+    Thy peril is extreme:
+  Thou'rt dead, if thou let go thy hold,
+    Scar'd by that savage scream;
+
+  And bravely if thou keep it fast,
+    What yet may be thy doom!
+  This very hour may be thy last,
+    That aerie prove thy tomb.
+
+  No! No! thank Heaven! O nobly done!
+    O marvellous attack!
+  I see thee riding in the sun,
+    Upon the Eagle's back.
+
+  In vain it buffets with its wings,
+    In vain it wheels around;
+  Still screaming, in its airy rings,
+    It sinks towards the ground.
+
+  Run, Donald, run! she has not stirr'd,
+    And she is deadly pale:
+  She's dead; and with the dying bird
+    Descending to the vale.
+
+  Lo! Donald flies.--She touches earth:
+    O form'd on earth to shine!
+  O mother of unrivall'd worth,
+    And sav'd by aid divine!
+
+  She lives unhurt--unhurt too lies
+    The baby in her clasp;
+  And her aerial tyrant dies
+    Just strangled in her grasp.
+
+  What triumph swelled in Donald's breast,
+    And o'er his features spread.
+  When he his living mother prest,
+    And held the Eagle dead!
+
+  Angels, who left your realms of bliss.
+    And on this parent smil'd,
+  Guard every mother brave as this,
+    In rescuing her child!
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE STAG.
+
+
+BALLAD THE FOURTH.
+
+  Blest be the boy, by virtue nurst,
+    Who knows not aught of fear's controul,
+  And keeps, in peril's sudden burst,
+    The freedom of an active soul.
+
+  Such was a lively Tuscan boy,
+    Who lived the youthful Tasso's friend,
+  Friendship and verse his early joy,
+    And music, form'd with love to blend.
+
+  Love had inspir'd his tender frame,
+    His years but two above eleven,
+  The sister of his friend his flame!
+    A lovely little light of Heaven!
+
+  Born in the same propitious year,
+    Together nurst, together taught;
+  Each learn'd to hold the other dear,
+    In perfect unison of thought.
+
+  Their forms, their talents, and their talk,
+    Seem'd match'd by some angelic powers,
+  Ne'er grew upon a rose's stalk
+    A sweeter pair of social flowers.
+
+  Fortunio was the stripling's name,
+    Cornelia his affection's queen,
+  Both to all eyes, where'er they came,
+    Endear'd by their attractive mien.
+
+  For like a pair of fairy sprites,
+    Endued with soft ætherial grace,
+  Enrapt in musical delights
+    They hardly seem'd of mortal race!
+
+  Often the youth, in early morn,
+    Awak'd a social sylvan flute.
+  To notes as gay, as Dian's horn,
+    Or tender, as Apollo's lute.
+
+  Then, at his side, his sovereign fair
+    Appear'd the rising day to greet,
+  Uniting to his dulcet air
+    Devotion's song divinely sweet.
+
+  A fund of joys, that never waste,
+    Nature to this sweet pair had given;
+  Invention, harmony, and taste,
+    And fancy, brightest gift of Heaven!
+
+  In quest of many a new device,
+    Thro' pathless scenes they joy'd to roam,
+  Composing songs most wildly sweet,
+    Heard, with parental pride, at home.
+
+  Delighted in a wood to rove,
+    That near their native city spread;
+  There of its gayest flowers they wove,
+    A garland for each other's head.
+
+  One morn when this dear task was done,
+    And just as each the other crown'd,
+  Seeking deep, shade to 'scape the sun,
+    A piteous spectacle they found.
+
+  It was a dead disfigur'd fawn,
+    Its milk white haunch some monster tore;
+  It perish'd in that morning's dawn,
+    Nor had the sun yet dried its gore!
+
+  Cornelia, nature's genuine child,
+    Caress'd the dead, with pity pale;
+  It's mangled limb, with gesture mild,
+    She shrouded in her sea-green veil.
+
+  The sympathetic pair agreed,
+    To form a grave without a spade;
+  Bury their fawn beneath a tree,
+    And chaunt a requiem to his shade.
+
+  Fortunio had a rustic knife,
+    With this their feeling task they plann'd,
+  And often in a friendly strife,
+    They claim'd it from each other's hand.
+
+  But ere their tedious toil advanc'd,
+    Towards its kind and tender end,
+  Cornelia, as her quick eye glanc'd,
+    Saw, what escap'd her toiling friend.
+
+  It was a sight that well might shake,
+    A little heart of stouter mould;
+  A sight, that made Cornelia quake,
+    And all her quivering fibres cold!
+
+  A furious Stag advancing sprung,
+    Eager along the echoing wood,
+  As if vindictive for his young,
+    To reach the spot, where now they stood.
+
+  Cornelia scarce could stand, for she
+    Began her guardian to entreat;
+  Seizing his busy arm, to flee
+    Far from the fawn before her feet.
+
+  The youth her painful terror saw,
+    And with a manly sterness said,
+  In a firm voice, inspiring awe,
+    "Cornelia I must be obeyed."
+
+  "True love is brave, whate'er may chance--
+    Behind this tree's protecting bole
+  Stand thou--nor fear the Stag's advance,
+    But trust to thy Fortunio's soul!"
+
+  The faithful maid, in double dread,
+    Fear'd to offend him more than death;
+  And now, as near the fierce foe sped,
+    Behind the tree, she pants for breath.
+
+  Yet peeping thence in fond alarm,
+    Most trembling for her guardian's life,
+  She looks, expecting that his arm
+    Would brandish his defensive knife.
+
+  Amazement kept the trembler mute,
+    To see him hurl it far away,
+  And from his bosom pluck his flute,
+    And fearlessly begin to play.
+
+  The furious parent of the dead,
+    Marking him near his blood-stain'd young,
+  Aim'd at his breast with hostile head,
+    As near the dauntless boy he sprung.
+
+  But ere the branching horns could reach,
+    That object of ill-founded ire,
+  Sounds of resistless magic teach
+    Submission to the savage sire.
+
+  The young musician richly pour'd
+    Notes from his pipe, so wond'rous sweet,
+  A rav'nous pard must have ador'd,
+    And melted at the minstrel's feet.
+
+  So softly plaintive was the strain,
+    No living thing unmov'd could hear,
+  What took from terror all its pain,
+    And mixt delight with sorrow's tear.
+
+  The Stag with a pathetic grace
+    Look'd up, most eloquently mute;
+  And sighing in Fortunio's face,
+    Now lick'd the hand, that held his flute.
+
+  Cornelia saw, with blest relief,
+    The scene that every fear dismist;
+  And sharing all his love and grief,
+    Her foe, so humaniz'd, she kist.
+
+  Then by her brave musician's side,
+    She fondly claspt his honour'd hand.
+  "And give me credit now," she cried,
+    "For staying at thy stern command."
+
+  "Henceforth, tho' plung'd in perils new,
+    I shrink from none, if thou art near,
+  But feel our sacred maxim true,
+    That perfect love will cast out fear!"
+
+  "This Stag to thee will ever shew
+    The gratitude, thy strains inspire!
+  And those, who soothe a parent's woe,
+    Are dear to Heaven's all-soothing sire."
+
+  "Our duty to this hapless fawn
+    We will perform, and often fly
+  To hail his grave at early dawn;
+    Youth and misfortune claim a sigh!"
+
+  The lovely nymph prophetic spoke;
+    The Stag, as taught by powers above,
+  Oft met them at their fav'rite oak,
+    And seem'd to bless their tender love.
+
+  Here oft the little fair retir'd;
+    Here lov'd from gayer scenes withdrawn,
+  To breathe, what harmony inspir'd--
+    A dirge to memorize the fawn!
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE STORK.
+
+
+BALLAD THE FIFTH.
+
+  Who can forget fair freedom's bird,
+  That has her genuine praises heard,
+    Confirm'd by frequent proof?
+  The patriot stork is sure to share
+  The brave Batavian's generous care,
+    While breeding on his roof,
+
+  In all her early, brightest, days,
+  When Holland won immortal praise
+    Her Spanish tyrant's dread!
+  She play'd not her heroic part
+  With spirit, nobler than the heart,
+    Of one mild bird she bred.
+
+  It was a female Stork, whose mind
+  Shew'd all the mother, bravely kind,
+    In trial's fiercest hour;
+  This bird had blest her happy lot,
+  High-nested on a fisher's cot,
+    As stedfast as a tower.
+
+  Her host, a man benignly mild,
+  Was happy in a darling child
+    Who now had woman's air;
+  Her face intelligent and sweet,
+  And her soft bosom was the seat
+    Of kind courageous care.
+
+  The lovely girl was call'd Catau,
+  She joy'd to make her neat hearth glow,
+    For her returning sire;
+  When from his distant toil he hied,
+  To banquet by his daughter's side,
+    Before his evening fire.
+
+  The child and parent liv'd alone:
+  Each to the other long had shewn
+    Such pure and perfect love,
+  Comrades they wanted none beside,
+  Both cherishing, with tender pride,
+    Their Stork, who built above.
+
+  To their high chimney's top she sprung,
+  Protecting there three callow young,
+    Too feeble to descend:
+  But oft she visited the ground,
+  And in her youthful hostess found
+    A playmate, and a friend.
+
+  In scenes of social care endear'd,
+  As sure as supper time appear'd,
+    The Stork a ready guest,
+  Was constant at the damsel's side,
+  And she with dainties was supplied,
+    To carry to her nest.
+
+  But how among the dearest brood
+  Calamity will oft intrude,
+    And fairest hopes prevent;
+  How quick can desolation's storm
+  With horrid agonies deform,
+    The scene of sweet content!
+
+  As early one autumnal eve,
+  Catau was eager to receive
+    Her father to his feast;
+  She look'd without her door, and saw
+  Aloft a little blaze of straw,
+    That in the wind encreas'd.
+
+  Alas! from her high chimney's top
+  A dangerous spark had chanc'd to drop,
+    And fir'd the fav'rite nest!
+  She sees the affrighted parent fly,
+  Around her young, and seem to cry
+    "Oh succour the distrest!"
+
+  Catau was an heroic maid,
+  Most apt to lend a sufferer aid;
+    With quick-ey'd zeal she found
+  A ladder, and a triple fork,
+  On which to lift each callow Stork,
+    And guide them to the ground.
+
+  With pity's just, and dauntless, haste,
+  She mounts the ladder rightly plac'd,
+    She rears the guardian fork;
+  Her heart expands, with hope elate,
+  That she shall kindly snatch from fate
+    Each tender little Stork.
+
+  Dear virtuous damsel, vainly brave,
+  Thou must resign thy hopes to save
+    These innocents from death!
+  The faithless ladder breaks--the maid
+  Escaping by angelic aid,
+    Now scarce retains her breath.
+
+  Forgetting selfish fear, her eye
+  Is fixt upon the scene on high,
+    With anguish and despair;
+  The dauntless bird, with wond'rous skill,
+  A parent's duty to fulfil,
+    Toils in the troubled air.
+
+  Two of the callow young she lays,
+  Beyond the peril of the blaze;
+    But while the last she rears,
+  The other little ones distrest
+  Crawl back within the burning nest,
+    And aggravate her fears.
+
+  Now in the vex'd and heated air,
+  She draws fresh courage from despair;
+    She sees them gasp for breath;
+  Tho' fiercer flames around her sprung,
+  She settles on her dying young,
+    And welcomes social death!
+
+  "My glorious bird," exclaims the maid,
+  Who her brave fav'rite survey'd,
+    While she expir'd above:
+  "I will not at thy lot repine,
+  But rather pray it may be mine,
+    To die with those I love!"
+
+
+
+
+
+THE PANTHER.
+
+
+BALLAD THE SIXTH.
+
+
+  Maternal love! thou wond'rous power,
+    By no base fears controul'd,
+  Tis truly thine, in danger's hour,
+    To make the tender bold!
+
+  And yet, more marvellous! thy sway,
+    Amid the pathless wild,
+  Can humanize the beast of prey!
+    And make the savage mild!
+
+  A traveller, on Afric's shore.
+    Near to a forest's side,
+  That shook with many a monster's roar,
+    With hasty caution hied.
+
+  But suddenly, full in his way,
+    A Panther he descries;
+  Athwart his very road she lay,
+    And fixt his fearful eyes.
+
+  With backward step, and watchful stare
+    If refuge there may be;
+  He hopes to gain, with trembling care,
+    The refuge of a tree.
+
+  A fruitless hope--the Panther moves,
+    Perceiving his intent,
+  And vain his utmost caution proves
+    Her purpose to prevent.
+
+  But no fierce purpose to destroy
+    The dreadful beast impells;
+  Her gesture, blending grief and joy,
+    Far other motive tells.
+
+  Round him she fawns, with gentle pace;
+    Her actions all entreat:
+  She looks imploring in his face,
+    And licks his hands and feet!
+
+  The traveller, a Roman born,
+    Was of a generous mind;
+  He never view'd distress with scorn,
+    To all that breath'd most kind.
+
+  And soon all selfish fear apart,
+    His native spirit rose,
+  The suffering Panther won his heart,
+    He only felt her woes.
+
+  "Jove help thee gracious beast," he cried,
+    "Some evil wounds thee sore,
+  And it shall be my joy and pride,
+    Thy sorrows to explore!"
+
+  The beast his kindness understood,
+    Fix'd on his robe a claw,
+  And gently to the neighb'ring wood,
+    Appear'd her friend to draw.
+
+  How little is the want of speech,
+    When kindness rules the heart;
+  Gesture will then all lessons teach,
+    That language can impart!
+
+  The Roman, Caelius, was his name,
+    By brave compassion sway'd,
+  Conjectur'd all the Panther's aim,
+    And gave her willing aid.
+
+  For in the forest with his guide,
+    He hears her wailing young,
+  To whom the tender beast replied.
+    With a maternal tongue.
+
+  He sees them only in his thought,
+    For in a curious snare,
+  The hapless little creatures caught,
+    Could only murmur there.
+
+  Deep in an earthy trap they lay,
+    An iron grate above,
+  Precluded them from chearful day,
+    And from a mother's love!
+
+  But quicken'd by the touching sound,
+    The little captives made,
+  The generous Cælius clear'd the ground.
+    And all the snare display'd.
+
+  Two vigorous cubs spring up to light,
+    And to their parent haste;
+  Cælius a third, in tenderer plight,
+    Within the pit embrac'd!
+
+  For in he leap'd, to save the young,
+    That seem'd to suffer harm;
+  And swiftly from the pit he sprung,
+    The cub beneath his arm.
+
+  The conscious nursling lick'd his cheek,
+    With young endearment sweet,
+  He kiss'd, and laid it safe, tho' weak,
+  Before its parent's feet.
+
+  Too faint is language to describe,
+    The Panther's grateful glee,
+  Contemplating her little tribe,
+    From deadly bondage free.
+
+  By gesture, that with meaning glows,
+    All eloquence above,
+  She largely, on her friend, bestows,
+    Protection, thanks, and love!
+
+  Seeing him start, to hear a roar,
+    That spoke the lion near,
+  She guides him thro' her wood once more,
+    And banishes his fear.
+
+  Here (when she brought him to his road)
+    Her gesture said, "we part!"
+  With friendship all her features glow'd,
+    Each movement spoke her heart.
+
+  He shar'd her feelings. "Bless your den,"
+    He said, as he withdrew,
+  "For gratitude has fled from men,
+    And seems to live with you!"
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE GRATEFUL SNAKE.
+
+
+BALLAD THE SEVENTH.
+
+  Ingratitude! of earth the shame!
+  Thou monster, at whose hated name,
+    The nerves of kindness ake;
+  Would I could drive thee from mankind,
+  By telling how a grateful mind,
+    Once dignified a snake.
+
+  The tale is antient, and is sweet,
+  To mortals, who with joy repeat,
+    What soothes the feeling heart;
+  The first of virtues, that may boast
+  The power to soothe, and please it most,
+    Sweet gratitude, thou art.
+
+  The reptile, whom thy beauties raise,
+  Has an unquestion'd claim to praise,
+    That justice will confirm!
+  The Muses, with a graceful pride,
+  May turn from thankless man aside,
+    To celebrate a worm!
+
+  In Arcady, grave authors write,
+  There liv'd a Serpent, the delight,
+    Of an ingenuous child;
+  Proud of his kindness, the brave boy.
+  Fed and caress'd it with a joy,
+    Heroically mild.
+
+  Pleased all his gambols to attend,
+  The snake, his playfellow, and friend,
+    Still in his sight he kept;
+  The reptile, ever at his side,
+  Obeys him waking, and with pride,
+    Would watch him, while he slept!
+
+  Once ere her darling was awake,
+  The anxious mother saw the snake,
+    So twin'd around his arm,
+  She begged her husband to convey
+  The fondling serpent far away,
+    For fear of casual harm.
+
+  The happy father of the child,
+  Himself a being bravely mild,
+    To her request attends;
+  Conscious such comrades could not part
+  Without great anguish of the heart,
+    He fear'd to wound the friends.
+
+  They both were young, and both had shewn
+  Affection into habit grown,
+    With feelings most acute;
+  Yet to a parent's duty just,
+  Tho' griev'd to part them, part he must,
+    The point bears no dispute.
+
+  But with a tenderness of mind
+  That prov'd him truly not inclined,
+    Their friendship to destroy;
+  He form'd a plan, and held it good;
+  To hurt as little as he could,
+    The Serpent, or the boy.
+
+  To sleep he both with opiates lur'd,
+  Then, in their slumber's bond secur'd,
+    See in his arms they go!
+  To woody scenes, where for the snake,
+  (There left entranc'd) when he shall wake,
+    Both food and shelter grow.
+
+  The slumbering boy awak'd at home,
+  And miss'd his friend, and wish'd to roam,
+    And seek the friend he miss'd:
+  But hearing all his sire had done,
+  Soon pacified, the grateful son,
+    Could not such love resist.
+
+  He promis'd, for his mother's sake,
+  Not to recall his exil'd snake,
+    Nor wander to his wood;
+  He was a boy of manly soul,
+  And true to honour's just controul,
+    He made his promise good.
+
+  Nature, to these divided friends
+  Now in their separate lot attends;
+    Time decks them as he flies;
+  The child, a graceful stripling grows,
+  And freedom on the snake bestows,
+    A formidable size.
+
+  And now it chanc'd the Arcadian youth,
+  Renown'd for courage, love and truth!
+    Had sought a favourite maid;
+  Led by her tender charms to roam,
+  Forgetting distance from his home,
+    Abroad too late he stay'd.
+
+  Sooner indeed he meant to start,
+  To save a watchful parent's heart,
+    And not one fear excite:
+  But oft, as nature's records tell,
+  Ere love can utter his farewell,
+    Day melts into the night.
+
+  Eager to take the shortest road,
+  That led to his remote abode,
+    He thro' a forest sped;
+  There, by the moon's slow rising beam,
+  He saw a robber's faulchion gleam,
+    High brandish'd o'er his head.
+
+  A hunter's javelin in his hand,
+  He scorn'd the ruffian's base demand,
+    And made the wretch recoil;
+  But numbers from a thicket spring,
+  The youth they hem within a ring,
+    And threaten to despoil.
+
+  He, then alarm'd, calls loud for aid,
+  And sudden from the rustling shade,
+    A wond'rous sound they hear.
+  The startled ruffians turned in dread;
+  Some shriek'd, some shouted, and some fled,
+    Their foe approaches near.
+
+  Against one wretch, of form uncouth,
+  Who basely struck the encircled youth,
+    And gave his foot a wound;
+  This shadowy foe, of silent tongue,
+  Had from his secret ambush sprung,
+    And beat him to the ground,
+
+  Another, as he fled in haste,
+  The youth's defender then embrac'd
+    With such a deadly clasp;
+  The villain fell, and in the strife
+  Groan'd out his miserable life,
+    In horror's speechless gasp.
+
+  Who can describe the youth's surprise,
+  When by the moon-beam he descries
+    The source of his escape!
+  That aid, who crush'd his murd'rous foes,
+  To meet his gratitude now rose.
+    And in a serpent's shape.
+
+  "My Zoe!" (hear him now exclaim)
+  The child had by that fondling name,
+    Been used his snake to call:
+  The reptile heard, and at the sound
+  Began, with pitying care, around
+    His wounded foot to crawl.
+
+  The blood she staunch'd, with tender tongue,
+  Then higher to his hand she sprung,
+    And lick'd with fond caress!
+  Her gestures all this truth declare,
+  "Thy Zoe makes thy life her care,
+    And joys in her success!"
+
+  The wasting night now wears away;
+  The youth's fond mother at his stay,
+    To fear maternal yields;
+  And doubting of some dire mischance,
+  She hurries, ere the morn's advance,
+    To seek him in the fields.
+
+  With what delight, with what amaze,
+  Her eye her smiling son surveys,
+    And rolling by his side,
+  A serpent of triumphant air,
+  Who seems his fond regard to share,
+    And serve him as a guide!
+
+  For faithful Zoe would attend
+  The footsteps of her wounded friend,
+    'Till he at home may rest;
+  His mother learnt her wond'rous truth,
+  And clasping the dear rescued youth,
+    His brave confederate blest!
+
+  Zoe no more condemn'd to roam,
+  Now grew an inmate of their home:
+    The snake at Athens rear'd,
+  The symbol of Minerva's power,
+  Lodg'd as her servant in her tower,
+    Was never more rever'd.
+
+  Zoe was the delight of all,
+  Obedient to each friendly call,
+    From all she honour won;
+  But her the mother most caresst,
+  And fondly shew'd to every guest,
+    The guardian of her son!
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE FATAL HORSE.
+
+
+BALLAD THE EIGHTH.
+
+  Of creatures that to man attend,
+    His pastime, or his wealth;
+  The Horse we cherish as a friend,
+    To sickness and to health.
+
+  Bless them, who shield a steed from woe.
+    By age from toil releas'd!
+  And hated be the proud, who shew
+    No mercy to their beast!
+
+  A wretch once doom'd, tho' rich and strong,
+    His faithful horse to bleed,
+  But tell his fate, my moral song,
+    For that atrocious deed!
+
+  An antient knight, of Kentish race;
+    Of his athletic frame
+  Prone to indulge the passions base,
+    Sir Geoffrin his name,
+
+  Against a priest indulg'd his rage,
+    Who charitably good,
+  To shield a widow's helpless age,
+    His avarice withstood.
+
+  With abject choler fierce and hot,
+    The knight perforce would gain,
+  And blend her little garden plot,
+    With his superb domain.
+
+  The priest, who, on that very ground,
+    To soothe his wrath would strive,
+  In frantic passion's fit he bound,
+    And buried him alive!
+
+  The wretch was seiz'd with shame and fear,
+    Tho' he his crime would boast:
+  When suddenly he chanc'd to hear,
+    His king lay off the coast!
+
+  'Twas gallant Harold, in that day,
+    Elate with regal power;
+  Becalm'd his stately vessel lay,
+    Near Geoffrin's high tower.
+
+  The royal mercy to surprize,
+    He now resolves with speed;
+  "Haste, hither bring," he wildly cries,
+    "My strongest favourite steed."
+
+  It was a steed of noblest kind,
+    In spirit and in limb,
+  On which the desp'rate knight design'd
+    To the king's ship to swim!
+
+  Now by the swelling ocean's side,
+    He mounts his courser brave!
+  Spurs him with domineering pride,
+    And plunges in the wave!
+
+  Us'd to his bold caprices oft,
+    And equal to his weight,
+  The courser toss'd his mane aloft,
+    And swam with breast elate.
+
+  The knight now flourishes his sword,
+    As near the ship he draws;
+  The wond'rous sight strikes all on board,
+    Who throng to find the cause:
+
+  The sailors round their sov'reign croud,
+    Who on the vessels stern,
+  Now hails the knight's approach aloud,
+    Eager, his aim to learn.
+
+  "Provok'd by villains, one I slew,
+    And own him rashly slain;
+  Hence to thy clemency I flew,
+    My pardon to obtain!"
+
+  "Now by St. George, thou vent'rous knight,
+    Thy steed has nobly done;
+  Swim back, and pardon make thee light,
+    Thy pardon he has won!"
+
+  The knight now with a joyous spring
+    His horse's neck embrac'd;
+  Then blessing thrice his gracious king,
+    He steer'd him back in haste.
+
+  Now, as he touch'd his native sand,
+    And near his castle gate,
+  He saw the weeping widow stand,
+    And mock'd her mournful state.
+
+  "Woman, thy threats touch me no more,
+    I ride on safety's wing;
+  My brave horse brings me safe to shore,
+    With pardon from my king!"
+
+  "Kings seem to grant what God denies,
+    Trust my prophetic breath,"
+  (So the indignant dame replies)
+    "That horse shall prove thy death!"
+
+  She spoke, and with a voice so keen,
+    It search'd his inmost soul,
+  And caus'd a storm of fearful spleen,
+    Thro' his dark brain to roll
+
+  Half credulous, half wildly brave,
+    Now doubt, now rage prevails:
+  He stood like a black suspended wave,
+    Struck by two adverse gales.
+
+  A doubt by superstition nurst,
+    Made all just thoughts recede;
+  Frantic he wav'd his sword, and pierc'd
+    His life-preserving steed!
+
+  "Thy prophecies I thus destroy,"
+    He cried, "thou wretched crone;
+  Threats on my days no more employ,
+    But tremble for thy own."
+
+  Striding away, his steed he left
+    In his pure blood to roll,
+  He quickly, of all aid bereft,
+    Breath'd out his nobler soul.
+
+  The boastful knight, now gay with pride
+    By his successful crimes,
+  Floating on folly's golden tide,
+    Prosper'd in stormy times.
+
+  Ungrateful both to man and beast
+    His sovereign he betray'd,
+  And lent, ere Harold's empire ceas'd,
+    The Norman treacherous aid.
+
+  The Norman tyrant much carest
+    This proud and abject slave,
+  And lands, by worthier lords possest,
+    For his base succour gave.
+
+  Now years, since that eventful hour,
+    In which his courser bled,
+  Had pour'd increase of wealth, and pow'r
+    On his aspiring head.
+
+  As near, with much enlarged estate,
+    To his domain he drew;
+  He chanc'd, before his castle gate,
+    A signal scene to view.
+
+  The scene his war-steel'd nerves could shock,
+    Seated on mossy stones
+  The widow, leaning 'gainst a rock,
+    Wept o'er his horse's bones.
+
+  Enrag'd from his new steed he vaults,
+    Quick with his foot to spurn
+  These bones, that bid his bloody faults
+    To his base mind return.
+
+  The head, now bleach'd, his proud foot strikes
+    With such indignant speed,
+  The bone its fierce aggressor spikes;
+    It is his turn to bleed.
+
+  The trivial wound the wrathful knight
+    Disdains to search with care.
+  But soon he finds, the wound tho' slight,
+    Death lurks in ambush there.
+
+  Now to his bed of sorrow bound,
+    By penitential pain,
+  He seems, by this heart-reaching wound,
+    A purer mind to gain.
+
+  Near to his couch he bids, with care,
+    The widow to be brought,
+  And speaks to her, with soften'd air,
+    His self-correcting thought.
+
+  "True prophetess! I feel thee now;
+    So God my crimes forgive,
+  As I with thee true concord vow:
+    In comfort may'st thou live."
+
+  "Behold upon this charter'd scroll,
+    A pictur'd cottage stand,
+  I give it thee, with all my soul,
+    And its adjacent land."
+
+  "The only rent I will assume,
+    Be this. At close of day,
+  Sit thou, with pity, on my tomb,
+    And for my spirit pray!"
+
+  "That tomb be rais'd by sculpture's aid,
+    To warn men from my guilt;
+  My horse's head beside me laid,
+    Whose blood I basely spilt!"
+
+  He spoke, he died, the tomb was made,
+    His statue look'd to Heaven!
+  And daily then the widow pray'd,
+    His crimes might be forgiven!
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE LION.
+
+
+BALLAD THE NINTH.
+
+  Lovely woman! how brave is thy soul,
+    When duty and love are combin'd!
+  Then danger in vain would controul
+    Thy tender, yet resolute mind.
+
+  Boulla thus in an African glade,
+    In her season of beauty and youth,
+  In the deadliest danger display'd
+    All the quick-sighted courage of truth.
+
+  Tho' the wife of a peasant, yet none
+    Her grandeur of heart rose above;
+  And her husband was nature's true son
+    In simplicity, labour, and love.
+
+  'Twas his task, and he manag'd it well,
+    The herd of his master to guide,
+  Where a marshy and desolate dell
+    Daily drink to the cattle supplied.
+
+  In this toil a dear playfellow shar'd,
+    A little, brave, sensible boy!
+  Who nobly for manhood prepar'd,
+    Made every kind office his joy.
+
+  One day as the dell they drew near,
+    They perceiv'd all the cattle around
+  Starting wild, in tumultuous fear,
+    As if thunder had shaken the ground.
+
+  The peasant, in wonder and awe,
+    Keenly search'd for the cause of their fright;
+  Very soon it's just motive he saw,
+    And he shudder'd himself at the sight;
+
+  For couch'd in the midst of the glade
+    An enormous fierce Lion he view'd;
+  His eye-balls shot flame thro' the shade,
+    And with gore his vast jaw was imbru'd.
+
+  "Fly boy to thy mother, be sure!
+    Dear child do not tremble for me!
+  I fear not if thou art secure;
+    I shall 'scape in the limbs of a tree."
+
+  He spoke, flying light as the breeze,
+    His cattle were scatter'd before,
+  Them he thought that the Lion would seize,
+    And for human food hunger no more.
+
+  But athirst for the blood of a man,
+    All the herd he in fury disdain'd;
+  And leapt at the bough, as he ran,
+    Which the peasant had rapidly gain'd.
+
+  He leapt, but he fail'd of his prey;
+    For the peasant was happily higher:
+  Beneath him, indignant, he lay,
+    And watch'd him with vigilant ire.
+
+  The boy had his father obey'd,
+    And ran for his rustic abode;
+  And oft turning, that father survey'd,
+    And hardly remember'd his road.
+
+  But when, with a burst of delight.
+    His father he saw in a tree,
+  He lost all his sense of affright,
+    And his terror was turn'd into glee.
+
+  Then quick to his mother he sped,
+    And quickly his story he told:
+  As she heard it, she shudder'd with dread;
+    But love made her suddenly bold.
+
+  She remember'd, that oft to her boy
+    She a lesson of archery gave:
+  Then the bow she resolv'd to employ,
+    And by courage his father to save.
+
+  Soon forth from a curious old chest
+    A bundle of arrows she drew;
+  The gift of a warrior, their guest,
+    And ting'd with a poisonous glue!
+
+  With a bow, that the chief us'd alone,
+    Which her arm could not easily draw:
+  This bow she preferr'd to her own,
+    In these moments of hope and of awe.
+
+  And now they both haste from their cot,
+    The stripling his mother before,
+  And keenly he shew'd her the spot,
+    As the bow he exultingly bore.
+
+  More cautious as now they advance,
+    The boy, to his eager desire,
+  Espied, with a love-guided glance,
+    The half-shrouded head of his sire.
+
+  He leapt, with a rapturous joy;
+    But, marking the Lion below,
+  In silence the spirited boy
+    Made ready the powerful bow.
+
+  From his mother an arrow he caught,
+    In hope's youthful extacy hot;
+  And softly said, quick as his thought,
+    "O grant to my hand the first shot."
+
+  His entreaty she could not refuse,
+    Yet hardly had time to consent;
+  Impatient his aim not to lose,
+    The stripling the bow would have bent.
+
+  He labour'd to bend it in vain;
+    It surpass'd all the strength of his years:
+  The brave boy full of anguish and pain,
+    Let it fall to the ground with his tears.
+
+  His father beheld him with grief,
+    Seeing both, he yet more and more grieves,
+  While his eyes, as in search of relief,
+    Look forth from his refuge of leaves.
+
+  But Boulla, who caught his keen eye,
+    Now grasp'd her adventurous bow,
+  And, with prayers addrest to the sky,
+    She aim'd at the Lion below.
+
+  Good angels! her arrow direct!
+    On its flight these dear beings depend,
+  Whose kindness, by danger uncheck'd,
+    Has deserv'd to find Heaven their friend.
+
+  See the beast! Lo! his eye-balls yet burn,
+    On his prey he still gloats, with a yawn,
+  Yet the woman he does not discern;
+    And her bow is undauntedly drawn.
+
+  O love! it is thine to impart
+    Such force, as none else can bestow--
+  She has shot with the strength of her heart,
+    She has pierced her infuriate foe.
+
+  While his jaws were enormously spread,
+    (The truth of her archery see!)
+  Thro' his cheek her sure arrow has sped;
+    It fastens his flesh to the tree.
+
+  Too soon of her conquest secure,
+    She runs within reach of his claw,
+  But in tortures he cannot endure,
+    He has struck her to earth with his paw.
+
+  Lo! anxious the peasant descends:
+    Good peasant no more be afraid!
+  Heaven sent her the bravest of friends,
+    In the boy who has rush'd to her aid.
+
+  Before thou couldst spring to the ground,
+    Her boy made her triumph complete;
+  And contriving a marvellous wound,
+    He has stretch'd her foe dead at her feet.
+
+  From the tree by his struggles releas'd,
+    While he roll'd in his own blood afloat
+  Brave Demba ran up to the beast,
+    And darted ten shafts in his throat.
+
+  Their poisons collected afford
+    Lethargic relief to his pangs;
+  And Death! of all nature the lord!
+    Thy shadows now rest on his fangs.
+
+  Now love! thy own fancy employ!
+    For words are too feeble to trace
+  The father, the mother, the boy,
+    In triumph's extatic embrace.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE SWAN.
+
+
+BALLAD THE TENTH.
+
+  Kind Heaven will oft a lesson give
+    If mortals are inclined to learn;
+  To shew how simplest things that live,
+    To kindness make a rich return.
+
+  Tho' fiction speaks of dying notes,
+    Sung by the swan in death resign'd;
+  Is there a tribe, that flies or floats,
+    Of sense, or feeling, less refin'd?
+
+  Yet simple as this bird we deem,
+    My faithful ballad shall attest,
+  One Swan displayed on Thames's stream,
+    A feeling and a friendly breast
+
+  Cecilia liv'd on Thames's bank,
+    A young and lovely married fair;
+  To creatures kind of every rank,
+    A favourite Swan had own'd her care.
+
+  Her lord, a merchant, frank and young,
+    By probity was known to thrive;
+  Their bliss enliven'd every tongue,
+    They were the happiest pair alive;
+
+  For to increase their nuptial joy
+    And their domestic scene adorn;
+  Heaven crown'd their blessings with a boy,
+    A finer boy was never born.
+
+  His sportive life had only run
+    To six short months, how brief a date!
+  When gay Cecilia's darling son,
+    Was threaten'd with a deadly fate!
+
+  Her garden had a terrace fair,
+    Beneath it, full the river flow'd,
+  There she enjoyed the evening air,
+    Her favourite Swan there proudly row'd.
+
+  The mother in her active arms,
+    To make her boy benignly mild;
+  And nobly proof 'gainst all alarms,
+    There oft would exercise her child.
+
+  A boat-house by the terrace side,
+    Shelter'd a small and simple boat:
+  And sometimes half way o'er the tide
+    Chain'd to its home, it us'd to float.
+
+  Here she, her infant, and her maid,
+    Sport with the Swan, and give it bread;
+  While her gay boy, of nought afraid,
+    With lively transport sees it fed.
+
+  'Tis June--a sultry tempest wild
+    Impends, Cecilia would retire,
+  But checks herself to teach her child,
+    The vivid light'ning to admire.
+
+  Her noble mind delights to rear
+    In early fortitude, her boy;
+  That he the voice of God may hear,
+    With admiration's awful joy!
+
+  While to regain the vessel's shed,
+    Her maid an active pilot stands;
+  She to the music o'er her head,
+    Dances the child with dauntless hands.
+
+  But whirlwinds rise: the vessel reel'd,
+    Heaven! the sweet parent is o'erthrown:
+  Her falling head she fails to shield,
+    Attentive to her child alone.
+
+  Tis the tornado's ruthless blast;
+    The mother stunn'd, the babe it bears
+  Far from her senseless frame! aghast
+    The maid, in speechless horror glares!
+
+  Yet swiftly to its proper shore,
+    The whirlwind now the vessel drives,
+  Where by the elemental roar
+    Alarm'd, Cecilia's lord arrives.
+
+  Into the boat behold him bound,
+    He lifts his lifeless wife upright:
+  She wakens to the thunder's sound;
+    Her opening eyes regain the light.
+
+  "Where is my child?" she faintly cries;
+    "Where is the child?" her lord rejoin'd:
+  Poor heart-struck Susan nought replies,
+    The child had vanished from her mind.
+
+  "My child! my child!" with terror's start
+    She shrieks, in accents wild and shrill;
+  And at her agony of heart,
+    The very tempest's self grew still!
+
+  "Say if you saw him sink!" she cried,
+    Wildly to Susan pale and wan:
+  When quick her roving eye descried,
+    The tall neck of her favourite Swan.
+
+  "My God! my God! 'tis thee I thank!"
+    Exclaim'd the now exulting fair;
+  "I see him wafted to the bank,
+    His cradle form'd by heavenly care!"
+
+  She spoke, and all who heard her cry,
+    Now saw the babe divinely nurst;
+  The extatic sight from every eye,
+    Made tears of grateful transport burst.
+
+  Between her silvery arching wings,
+    The guardian bird had lodg'd the child;
+  And forward as her broad foot springs,
+    At every stroke the infant smil'd.
+
+  And with a heaven-implanted pride,
+    Superbly rowing now to land;
+  The brave bird has her charge denied
+    To all, but to the mother's hand.
+
+  Cecilia feeling now no pains,
+    Leans o'er the boat's advancing end;
+  And aided by her lord reclaims,
+    The present of her feather'd friend.
+
+  Now with delight the rescued boy,
+    To her maternal bosom springs:
+  The conscious Swan partakes their joy,
+    And claps her proud triumphant wings.
+
+  Cecilia beads to weep and pray,
+    She weeps with joy, no longer wan;
+  And still on this returning day,
+    Blesses the heaven-directed Swan!
+
+
+
+
+
+THE HERMIT'S DOG.
+
+
+BALLAD THE ELEVENTH.
+
+  Of dogs who sav'd a living friend,
+    Most nobly, ye have read:
+  Now to a nobler still attend,
+    A guardian of the dead.
+
+  As o'er wild Alpine scenes I stray'd,
+    Not far from that retreat,
+  Where Bruno, with celestial aid,
+    First plann'd his sacred seat.
+
+  An anchorite of noble mien,
+    Attracted my regard;
+  Majestic as that savage scene,
+    Or as a Cambrian bard.
+
+  He to no silent dome belongs,
+    The rock is his domain;
+  It echoes to his nightly songs
+    Devotion's lonely strain.
+
+  His mansion is a tranquil grot,
+    Form'd in the living stone:
+  My view of the sequester'd spot,
+    I owe to chance alone.
+
+  For happening near his cell to rove,
+    Enamour'd of the wild;
+  I heard within a piny grove
+    What seem'd a plaintive child.
+
+  The distant cry so struck my ear,
+    I hasten'd to the ground,
+  But saw surpris'd, as I drew near,
+    The author of the sound.
+
+  No human form, yet one I thought,
+    With human feelings fill'd,
+  And from his tongue, by nature taught,
+    Strange notes of sorrow thrill'd.
+
+  Unseen myself, I clearly saw
+    A dog that couchant moan'd;
+  He struck the hard earth with his paw,
+    Then look'd at Heaven, and groan'd!
+
+  With silent caution I drew near,
+    To mark this friend of man,
+  Expressing grief in sobs so clear,
+    It through my bosom ran!
+
+  The noble beast was black as jet,
+    And as a lion large;
+  He look'd as on a tombstone set,
+    To hold the dead in charge.
+
+  Grand was his visage, round his neck
+    Broad silver rings he wore;
+  These rings, that his dark body deck,
+    The cross of Malta bore.
+
+  I gaz'd, but soon my steps, tho' soft,
+    Announced a stranger near;
+  The brave beast bounded up aloft,
+    Nor was I free from fear.
+
+  But soon his master's voice represt
+    And call'd him to his side:
+  And soon I was the hermit's guest,
+    He was my guard and guide.
+
+  My own intrusion to excuse,
+    The wond'rous dog I prais'd,
+  Whose milder mien my eye reviews,
+    Delighted and amaz'd!
+
+  "If I disturb thy calm retreat,
+    Divinely calm indeed,
+  The noble servant at thy feet,
+    May for my pardon plead."
+
+  "That noble servant in my sight
+    Whom strength and grace adorn,
+  Announces, if I read aright,
+    A master nobly born."
+
+  The sire replied, with graceful bend,
+    "No not my servant, he!
+  A noble independent friend,
+    He deigns to live with me!"
+
+  "But, stranger, if you kindly rest,
+    His story you shall hear,
+  And all that makes my sable guest,
+    Most singularly dear."
+
+  "Here it has been my chosen lot,
+    Some awful years to spend!
+  Few months have pass'd, since near this spot
+    I gain'd this signal friend."
+
+  "This friend, with whom to live and die,
+    Is now my dearest aim;
+  He likes the world no more than I,
+    And Hero is his name."
+
+  "Some two miles off, as near a wood,
+    Of deepest gloom I stray'd;
+  Struck by strange sounds, I wond'ring stood,
+    They echoed from the shade."
+
+  "First like a noise in troubled dreams,
+    But soon distinct I heard,
+  A dog's triumphant bark, and screams,
+    That spoke a dying bird."
+
+  "A bird of loud portentous note,
+    One of the vulture race,
+  Which shepherds will to death devote,
+    In sanguinary chace."
+
+  "I thought some shepherd's joy to share,
+    And hurried to the sound:
+  To what I had expected there
+    Far different scene I found."
+
+  "A man, of blood-bespotted vest,
+    I saw upon the earth;
+  And Malta's cross upon his breast,
+    Spoke him of noble birth."
+
+  "Misfortune long had press'd him sore;
+    I know not how he died;
+  He had been dead two days or more,
+    When I his corse descried."
+
+  "Him, as their prey, two vultures seek,
+    With ravenous rage abhorr'd;
+  But Hero guarded from their beak,
+    The visage of his lord!"
+
+  "When first my eyes on Hero glanc'd,
+    One vulture he had slain:
+  The second scar'd as I advanced,
+    Flew off in fearful pain."
+
+  "Enchanted with a guard so brave,
+    So faithful to the dead:
+  The wounded dog to soothe and save,
+    With beating heart I sped."
+
+  "He lick'd my hand, by me carest,
+    But him with grief I saw
+  Half famish'd, and his gallant breast
+    Gor'd by the vulture's claw!"
+
+  "Tho' anxious o'er his wounds I bend;
+    By kindness or by force,
+  I could not tempt this generous friend.
+    To quit the pallid corse!"
+
+  "The body to my cell I bear;
+    This mourner with it moved;
+  Then he submitted to my care,
+    And all my aid approv'd."
+
+  "In the soft stone, that's near my cell,
+    I soon entomb'd the dead;
+  With stone above I shield him well,
+    And laurels round I spread."
+
+  "Oft to the spot with mournful praise,
+    The mindful Hero springs,
+  And in such notes, as he can raise,
+    A requiem he sings."
+
+  "Dear faithful dog! if man to me
+    Had half thy virtue shewn,
+  From social life I should not flee,
+    To roam the wild alone!"
+
+  "No! not alone, nor yet in woe,
+    While here thy virtues shine,
+  For I defy the world to shew
+    Associate like to mine!"
+
+  The dog, he now press'd to his heart,
+    Then utter'd this desire;
+  "Stranger if thine a poet's art,
+    Let Hero wake thy lyre!"
+
+  His wish was kind--may love so true.
+    Ne'er want its wishes long:
+  Thus from his fond suggestion grew,
+    This tributary song.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE HALCYON.
+
+
+BALLAD THE TWELFTH.
+
+  Not only men of stormy minds,
+    The storms of trouble know,
+  All creatures of this earth must find
+    A share of earthly woe!
+
+  Ye whose pure hearts with pity swell,
+    For pain by all incurr'd;
+  Hear how affliction once befell,
+    Serenity's sweet bird.
+
+  Ye fair, who in your carols praise
+    The Halcyon's happy state;
+  Hear in compassionate amaze,
+    One Halcyon's hapless fate.
+
+  A nymph, Selina is her name,
+    Lovely in mind and mien,
+  When spring, however early, came,
+    Was fond of walks marine.
+
+  Between a woman and a child,
+    In tender charms she grew,
+  And lov'd with fancy sweetly wild,
+    The lonely shore to view.
+
+  Nature she studied, every spring,
+    To all her offspring kind,
+  And taught the birds of wildest wing,
+    To trust her gentle mind.
+
+  Now brilliant in her youthful eye,
+    The Halcyon's feathers flame;
+  She wish'd a pair of these, tho' shy,
+    Affectionately tame.
+
+  Nor wish'd she long, for such her care;
+    Such her attractive skill;
+  She makes e'en rovers of the air,
+    Attentive to her will.
+
+  When stormy March had ceas'd to roar,
+    Selina joy'd to rove;
+  And watch a Halcyon on the shore,
+    Within a little cove.
+
+  Familiariz'd by slow degrees,
+    They met in friendly mood;
+  'Till her bright favourite on her knees,
+    Would perch for offer'd food.
+
+  How joyous was Selina's breast,
+    When thus she had prevail'd;
+  Each coming of her radiant guest,
+    How tenderly she hail'd.
+
+  It seem'd her guest, so frequent here,
+    The damsel us'd to roam;
+  And deem'd this little cove so dear,
+    Her palace and her home.
+
+  When April's sun the coast had warm'd,
+    New joy the nymph possest:
+  She saw her favourite bird had form'd,
+    A curious downy nest.
+
+  How did her tender heart rejoice,
+    What prayers she then preferred,
+  That she might with her tuneful voice,
+    Delight the brooding bird.
+
+  Gay nature smil'd, the prayer she blest,
+    Selina softly sung;
+  And felt delight of higher zest;
+    She nurst the callow young.
+
+  But Oh! when human pleasures rise,
+    To enviable height;
+  How subtly dark misfortune flies,
+    To crush them in her flight.
+
+  One morn, as nigh the cove so dear,
+    The quick Selina came:
+  A sight, which caus'd her grievous fear,
+    Convuls'd her tender frame!
+
+  Near it she draws, but entrance there
+    A swelling sea denies;
+  For hostile to her callow care,
+    The cruel waters rise.
+
+  Close to this cove's contracted side,
+    Three massive stones were laid;
+  Oft in bare sand, now scarce descried,
+    Fresh surges round them play'd.
+
+  To one, the nearest to the cell,
+    Alarm'd, Selina wades;
+  To mark how far the wild wave's swell,
+    Her darling cove invades.
+
+  Behold she kneels! with folded hands,
+    Kneels on the rugged stone:
+  Whence now her anxious eye commands,
+    The cell once deem'd her own!
+
+  How keen her anguish to survey,
+    The tide fill half the cove;
+  Forth from its seat, with savage sway,
+    Her Halcyon's nest it drove.
+
+  The nest now floats, and from the shore,
+    The tortur'd parent sprung,
+  With wildest terror hovers o'er,
+    And shrieks around her young!
+
+  Selina marks the barbarous sea,
+    The leaky nest divide;
+  And bold her little friends to free,
+    She plunges in the tide!
+
+  The tender sinking tribe she caught,
+    But ah! she caught too late!
+  More rapid, than her generous thought,
+    Was unrelenting fate.
+
+  In vain, with tender pity's clasp,
+    To her warm breast she holds
+  The young, whom death's remorseless grasp
+    In his dark shade infolds.
+
+  Off flew the parent in despair,
+    Her heart appears to burn;
+  Nor can the sympathetic fair
+    Persuade her to return.
+
+  She, bearing in her robe the dead,
+    The parent calls anew;
+  'Till rising rocks, that near them spread,
+    Conceals her from the view.
+
+  Here she despairing now to heal
+    The wretched parent's pain,
+  Sat on a rock, in sorrowing zeal,
+    And kiss'd the dead again!
+
+  Her tender nerves confess'd a shock,
+    To hear a sudden gun!
+  A smuggler's vessel from the rock,
+    She now perceives to run.
+
+  But with what grief the sound she heard;
+    How pants her heart with dread,
+  As she beholds her favourite bird
+    Now fluttering o'er her head.
+
+  That flutter is the gasp of death!
+    As conscious of it's nest,
+  It breathes to her its parting breath,
+    And falls upon her breast!
+
+  Weep not sweet nymph, with vain regret,
+    Your favourite's lifeless state;
+  But rather think that it has met
+    An enviable fate.
+
+  Yes! to this gentle bird indeed,
+    It's mercy Heaven has shewn;
+  And in it's end you now may read
+    An emblem of your own.
+
+  When you, dear nymph, have suffer'd all
+    Your share of earthly woe;
+  O may that portion be as small
+    As mortal e'er may know!
+
+  Close in a death, like infant's rest,
+    Those heaven-reflecting eyes;
+  And dropping on an angel's breast,
+    Be wafted to the skies!
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE SERPENTS.
+
+
+BALLAD THE THIRTEENTH.
+
+  Now blest be Providence divine,
+    Surpassing human skill!
+  That often takes from things malign,
+    The privilege of ill.
+
+  Good folks! who love a simple strain.
+    That seems like fancy's sound;
+  Rejoicing, when in nature's reign,
+    The marvellous is found,
+
+  As strange a tale, as history knows,
+    Accept in artless rhyme:
+  An honest Greek relates in prose,
+    This wonder of old time.
+
+  The antients gloried to describe,
+    And held such wonders dear;
+  For of the Psylli's signal tribe,
+    'Twas their delight to hear.
+
+  The Psylli were an Afric clan,
+    Of wond'rous power possest;
+  Fierce snakes, of enmity to man,
+    They could with ease divest.
+
+  This gift they boasted with delight,
+    A gift to them confin'd;
+  Exemption from the viper's bite,
+    Of most malignant kind.
+
+  This native gift they deem'd a test,
+    To prove their genuine race;
+  By every _true-born_ child possest,
+    Not granted to the _base_!
+
+  In brains that burn from Afric suns,
+    Mad jealousy will rise,
+  Till thro' the heart the frenzy runs,
+    And bursts all tender ties.
+
+  A Lybian of this far fam'd clan,
+    Had dream'd his wife untrue,
+  And soon the madd'ning wretch began
+    His child with hate to view.
+
+  That child, which till his fatal dream
+    Was from base slander bred;
+  The happy sire, with joy extreme,
+    Had fondled, blest, and fed.
+
+  And never infant more deserv'd
+    To prove his father's joy:
+  Of two years old, and nobly nerv'd,
+    A brave Herculean boy.
+
+  Nature, with passion, long at strife,
+    Contended in his breast;
+  Till to expose his infant's life,
+    He form'd a deadly test!
+
+  No common trial would suffice,
+    For his suspicious mind;
+  His rage a trial would devise,
+    Of most tremendous kind.
+
+  Sansado, so the wretch was nam'd,
+    A cruel brother taught:
+  With equal jealousy inflam'd,
+    To aid his barb'rous thought.
+
+  Him, many a deadly snake to feed,
+    Sansado would engage;
+  And more, by many a noxious weed,
+    Exasperate their rage.
+
+  And now the settled day arrives,
+    Fixt for their savage joy;
+  To risk two unprotected lives,
+    Poor Neela and her boy.
+
+  For if, so jealous rage decreed,
+    One reptile wounds the child;
+  Neela upon that couch must bleed,
+    They think she has defil'd.
+
+  God save thee Neela in a strife,
+    By nature's heart abhorr'd:
+  And God defend each hapless wife,
+    Who has a jealous lord!
+
+  But see the brothers, bent on ill!
+    Neela yet kind and calm,
+  Beholds a knot of Snakes, that fill
+    A basket made of palm!
+
+  No fear her blameless mind alarms:
+    But quick with scornful joy,
+  One basely holds her by the arms;
+    One grasps her fondling boy.
+
+  The sire himself, with gesture wild,
+    His thoughtless offspring takes;
+  And seats his unoffending child
+    Amidst these angry Snakes!
+
+  Angry at first, they foam'd around
+    The boy, who on them prest;
+  He unappall'd sat gayly crown'd,
+    With many a shining crest!
+
+  Stretching his little hands he play'd,
+    Unconscious of a fear,
+  With all the monsters he survey'd,
+    And smil'd at every spear.
+
+  Now free, but with a fixt disdain,
+    Behold the mother stand!
+  She frowns upon the brothers twain,
+    Nor takes the proffer'd hand.
+
+  "Do not, dear wife, my kindness shun,
+    Henceforth my comfort be;
+  And let us jointly bless my son,
+    Who witnesses for thee;"
+
+  So with quick speed Sansado cried,
+    With mingled joy and shame:
+  The noble Neela, thus replied,
+    With eyes of temperate flame.
+
+  "No, I renounce thee, and thy roof:
+    For Heaven who shields my young,
+  Bids me abjure thy love, not proof
+    'Gainst slander's vip'rous tongue."
+
+  "It is my duty to desert
+    A guard I must despise:
+  Farewell weak man, my child unhurt
+    On Providence relies."
+
+  "Now brave; a coward he might turn
+    Beneath thy base controul;
+  But from his mother he shall learn,
+    The empire of the soul."
+
+  She spoke, she kept, with truth most rare,
+    Her purpose nobly wild,
+  And made, by her maternal care,
+    A hero of her child.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE GOAT.
+
+
+BALLAD THE FOURTEENTH.
+
+  "Can mothers of our English isle,
+    The pride of all the earth,
+  From any tribe of tender brutes,
+    A mother's duly learn?"
+  So to a shepherd of the Alps,
+    A guest of noble birth,
+  A traveller of English race
+    Said on the swain's return;
+
+  When bringing to his simple cot
+    A Goat of signal grace,
+  He, to his foreign guest, display'd
+    The ornament she wore;
+  It was a splendid silver toy,
+    It's folds her neck embrace,
+  And it's rich centre, highly wrought,
+    This grateful motto bore:
+
+    _Dear animal! This trinket wear,
+      Mark of thy mental beauty!
+    For teaching to an English fair,
+      A mother's highest duty_!
+
+  "Good shepherd thou hast much to tell,
+    Some curious tender tale,
+  Thy kindness I with joy accept,
+    To rest beneath thy roof;
+  For now I see an evening storm
+    Is sweeping o'er the vale,
+  And here in this thy airy nest
+    I well can sleep aloof."
+
+  "But tell me, who has so adorn'd
+    Thy tame and pretty Goat?"--
+  "Ah! sir", (the white-hair'd shepherd said,)
+    "It was a lovely fair;
+  A lady of the sweetest face
+    That ever eyes could note,
+  But she was plung'd in darkest depths
+    Of cruel craz'd despair."
+
+  "My Goat her guardian angel prov'd,
+    As she herself allow'd,
+  And hence her little neck appears
+    So brilliant and so brave;
+  No longer mine, she has a queen,
+    Of whom she may be proud,
+  And sure an angel might be proud
+    So sweet a soul to save."
+
+  "But rest, sir, on my humble bench,
+    And take my simple cheer,
+  And I will tell you, all you ask,
+    With hearty frank good will:
+  A story of no trifling sort,
+    In truth, you have to hear,
+  Yet, like the most of mortal scenes,
+    A mass of good and ill."
+
+  "But say, my pleasant, honest friend,"
+    (The traveller replied,)
+  "Where is the lovely English fair,
+    That you so much admire?"--
+  "Before you hear where now she goes,
+    (And God be still her guide!)
+  Her sufferings here let me relate,"
+    (Rejoin'd the sighing sire.)
+
+  "Of all the sufferers I have seen,
+    She was indeed the prime,
+  That of a deeply wounded heart,
+    Most keenly felt the throes:
+  'Twas agony to see her grief;
+    And even at this time,
+  My foolish eyes grow full of tears
+    In thinking of her woes!"
+
+  "No! ne'er shall I forget that eve,
+    When I beheld her first,
+  Ah! little thought my dame and I
+    Such guest with us would dwell;
+  With pity my old woman's heart
+    Was even like to burst,
+  When this sweet lady first implor'd,
+    A refuge in our cell."
+
+  "'I do not ask to live with you,
+    I am not fit to live!'
+  (The beauteous mourner meekly cried
+    Approaching to our cot:)
+  'Your pity, to my babe and me,
+    Good aged friends! may give
+  All that we ask; to die with you,
+    To die, and be forgot!'"
+
+  "'Twas so the piteous pilgrim spake,
+    With eyes that glisten'd wild;
+  For privilege to die with you,
+    We give you all our gold;
+  For bitterer want, than want of wealth,
+    For want of love my child,
+  My child, must, like his mother, waste,
+    And both will soon be cold!"
+
+  "So speaking, to my dame she held
+    A lovely little boy,
+  Who speechless, yet seem'd sorely griev'd
+    To see his mother weep;
+  My good old dame is soft of heart.
+    And children are her joy;
+  So she, who cherished both her guests.
+  Soon lull'd the babe to sleep."
+
+  "But sleep to that sweet lady's eyes
+    Had seem'd to bid farewell,
+  And sometimes she would wildly say,
+    There's but one sleep for me!
+  So deep her woe sunk in her heart:
+    Tho' she was loath to tell,
+  My tender dame, discreetly guess'd,
+    What that deep woe must be."
+
+  "By cruel man, of cruel things,
+    Most cruel in his love!
+  This suffering innocent had been
+    To darkest frenzy driven;
+  Tho' in it's nature her soft heart
+    Is gentle as a dove,
+  And, save one frantic thought, ne'er had
+    A fault to be forgiven!"
+
+  "That frantic thought was a desire,
+    To end her wretched life;
+  But you shall hear how nature strove
+    To soothe her stormy breast:
+  For all her struggles, one and all,
+    She told my good old wife,
+  And how this little darling Goat,
+    She as her guardian-blest."
+
+  "To heal her grief we both had tried,
+    But both had tried in vain.
+  When this dear sufferer in our shed
+    Three mournful weeks had spent:
+  While sleep press'd on our aged eyes,
+    One morn in heart-felt pain
+  Bearing her baby in her arms,
+    To yon high cliff she went."
+
+  "Her purpose was, as since she said,
+    From base mankind to fly,
+  And with her nursling on her breast
+    To take a fatal leap;
+  But when she scal'd the topmost crag,
+    That seems to touch the sky,
+  Her little infant shriek'd to view
+    A precipice so deep!"
+
+  "His voice wak'd nature in her heart,
+    She wish'd to die alone,
+  And in a safe, and hollow rock,
+    Her lovely babe she plac'd;
+  Then thinking his pure life preserv'd,
+    Yet bent to end her own;
+  She to the summit mounts again,
+    In wild and breathless haste!"
+
+  "The horrid precipice below
+    She deems the vale of peace,
+  And having in a parting prayer
+    Pray'd fondly for her child,
+  She feels a wish to look yet once
+    Before her sufferings cease,
+  If calm her heaven-commended babe
+    In solitude has smil'd."
+
+  "With this desire she gently creeps
+    With anxious love to view
+  The mossy cove of hollow stone,
+    Where he is softly laid;
+  Now near that most attractive spot,
+    By slow degrees, she drew,
+  And there an unexpected sight
+    She suddenly survey'd."
+
+  "It was my little darling Goat
+    Who cherishing the boy,
+  With copious draughts of morning milk
+    His grateful lips supplied;
+  Her tears burst forth: she kneel'd, she pray'd,
+    But now she pray'd in joy,
+  For Heaven had kindled in her breast
+    A mother's vital pride."
+
+  "O how angelic was the light
+    That on her visage shone!
+  When now returning to our cot
+    Her old friends she carest:
+  And, all her wild delirium past,
+    With self-reproof made known,
+  The gracious wonders God had wrought,
+    In her enlighten'd breast!"
+
+  "Your blessed Goat, my friends", she said,
+    "With your indulgent leave,
+  My comrade, thro' my future life
+    My monitor shall be;
+  For now with heart-reform'd, I hope,
+    I, not too late, perceive,
+  How Heaven this tender creature sent,
+    Tho' dumb, to lecture me."
+
+  "I wish that all the earth might know,
+    For suffering pride's relief,
+  How this heaven-guided animal
+    In scenes so roughly wild;
+  A wicked mother has reclaim'd
+    Who lost in selfish grief,
+  Neglected nature's highest charge,
+    The nursing of her child!"
+
+  "'Twas wounded pride, my good old friends,
+    My heart you will not blame,
+  That rack'd my agonizing breast,
+    And set my brain on fire;
+  The thought to fall from honour's sphere
+    In undeserved shame,
+  And see my baby, and myself;
+    The torment of his sire!"
+
+  "No! No! his torment tho' preserv'd,
+    Our lives shall never prove,
+  His hard desertion we forgive!
+    Desertion by constraint:
+  From every angry passion free
+    My lips shall only move,
+  To utter blessings on his head,
+    And never breathe complaint."
+
+  "Tho' of our marriage every proof
+    Has basely been suppresst,
+  By his proud father's cruel guile
+    To wrong my babe and me:"--
+  "My God!" (the traveller exclaims)
+    By hope and doubt distrest,
+  "Shepherd, if you would save my life,
+    That lady let me see!"
+
+  "You must be patient noble sir,"
+    The gentle swain rejoins,
+  "For she beneath her brother's care,
+    With my good dame her guide,
+  This morning to our city went
+    That in the valley shines,
+  Upon a safe and easy mule,
+    By turns to walk and ride."
+
+  "Beneath her brother's care--you say,
+    Then all my hope is fled,
+  Yet no--perchance from India come,
+    Heard you that brother's name?"
+  "O yes! from India come, like one
+    Returning from the dead;
+  My blest Horatio, oft to him
+    His sister would exclaim!"--
+
+  "Enough, good Heaven!" in transport now,
+    In transport fondly wild,
+  The stranger clasp'd the good old swain
+    With tears of tender glee;
+  "My father! yes!" he cried, "thy care
+    Has sav'd my wife and child!
+  And as a father to my heart
+    Henceforward thou shalt be."
+
+  "Their sufferings rose not from my fault,
+    But from the fault of one,
+  Whom Heaven has call'd to his account,
+    Whose faults I wish to hide;
+  But vanish all ye sorrows past
+    In joy's effulgent sun,
+  And that sweet sufferer quick to cheer,
+  Good father be my guide!"
+
+  "Ah noble sir! if you bestow
+    So dear a name on me,
+  Allow me, with a father's fears,
+    To check your hasty joy;
+  If you surprise her heart with bliss
+    So wond'rous in degree,
+  That tender frame, you wish to save,
+    You surely will destroy."
+
+  "Be patient here, good sir, to night,
+    As was your first intent,
+  And by to-morrow's noon your eyes
+    Shall look on their delight;
+  For hither they will all return,
+    As kindly as they went,
+  And truly when you see them all,
+    You'll see a goodly sight."
+
+  "But you must let my careful age
+    Your eager love restrain,
+  And suffer me in my odd guise.
+    Your lady to prepare;
+  To meet a burst of mortal bliss
+    That might o'erset the brain
+  Of such a tender feeling soul,
+    Most delicately fair."
+
+  "Ah sir! old shepherd as I seem,
+    I know the sex full well,
+  In truth I studied nought beside,
+    In all my early life;
+  And underneath the cope of Heaven,
+    No lady can there dwell,
+  More worthy of the fondest care,
+    Than your angelic wife."
+
+  The good old man so charm'd his guest,
+    As they familiar grew,
+  The stranger to his guidance bent,
+    Tho' born of spirit high:
+  At last the long'd-for hour was come,
+    On what slow wings it flew!
+  But now the dear returning group,
+    They from the hill descry.
+
+  When he his distant friends espied,
+    The fondly anxious swain,
+  Station'd his guest, with beating heart,
+    Behind his cottage door;
+  And, in concealment, made him vow,
+    That he would fixt remain,
+  While cautious age pursued its plan,
+    Within the porch before.
+
+  For these a spacious shady porch,
+    Rais'd by the shepherd's skill,
+  With creeping foliage sweetly grac'd,
+    Presents a pleasant seat;
+  Most grateful to the pilgrim's sight
+    Just mounted up the hill,
+  And there the shepherd and the Goat,
+    Now wait their friends to greet.
+
+  And soon his favourite dog announced
+    His near approaching dame,
+  Who mounted on her mule arrived,
+    Before her youngest guest;
+  Supported by her brother's arm
+    The sweet Amelia came,
+  And bearing; with maternal pride,
+    Her baby on her breast.
+
+  Seeing the Goat, the lively babe
+    Put forth his hands and smil'd;
+  The mother blest the grateful act
+    With smiles of sweeter grace,
+  And held him to his guardian nurse,
+    While the delighted child
+  Suffer'd the Goat's soft shaggy lips
+    To fondle o'er his face!
+
+  "My Goat and I are prophets both!"
+    The eager shepherd cried,
+  "We both discover wond'rous good,
+    And time will make it clear:
+  Good for this heaven-protected babe,
+    Our nursling and our pride,
+  We of Amelia's lord have heard,
+    What she will joy to hear."
+
+  "Yes, tho' he must not live for me,
+    I in his life rejoice!"
+  With eyes where sudden joy and pain,
+    With mingled flashes shone,
+  The fond Amelia faintly, said,
+    And in a troubled voice:
+  "He for his dear Amelia lives,
+    And lives for her alone!"
+
+  So cried her latent lord, who now
+    Rush'd from the cottage sill,
+  And all the extacy indulged
+    He could no more contain;
+  It was a scene of speechless joy,
+    That words would paint but ill,
+  A moment of such joy o'erpays
+    A century of pain.
+
+  Supremely happy, one and all,
+    All blest their present lot,
+  And all for England soon exchanged,
+    That scene so sweetly wild:
+  And well ye judge, by all these friends
+    The Goat was ne'er forgot,
+  No, she and every kid she bore
+    Was cherish'd as a child.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE BAYA: OR THE INDIAN BIRD.
+
+
+BALLAD THE FIFTEENTH.
+
+  Let the Nightingale still be renown'd for her song,
+    The Eagle for strength, and for softness the Dove,
+  Higher praise to the Baya of India belongs,
+    For gentle docility, duty and love.
+
+  The Baya, dear nymphs, is a delicate bird,
+    Of intelligent zeal, in our climate unknown;
+  A bird, in the service of lovers preferr'd
+    To the turtle, that Venus regards as her own.
+
+  The Baya not only will bear in his beak
+    The letter a youth to his nymph would convey;
+  But if from her person some jewel he seek,
+    This bird, at his nod, gently plucks it away.
+
+  It chanc'd in Circassia a lovely young maid,
+    On her beautiful neck wore a crescent of gold,
+  Hermossan, her lover, the trinket survey'd,
+    And wish'd in his bosom the gem to infold.
+
+  A Baya he cherished, the first of its kind,
+    At a call to accomplish his master's behest;
+  This bird, who display'd both a heart, and a mind,
+    He commission'd to rifle fair Azima's breast.
+
+  The bird's gentle manners she often had prais'd,
+    And begg'd from her lover a vassal so sweet;
+  "To the honour of serving you he shall be rais'd,"
+    Said her lover, "whenever his skill is complete."
+
+  The extent of his talents the youth wish'd to find,
+    As the bird with new lessons be daily carest;
+  To his skill and obedience this charge he assigned,
+    To bring him the crescent from Azima's breast.
+
+  The bird who himself lov'd the damsel to court,
+    On her shoulder first perch'd with endearment and joy;
+  With his beak he then snapt it's strong silken support,
+    And bore from her bosom the glittering toy.
+
+  The nymph half in anger the plunderer chac'd,
+    But she fail'd to regain or the gem, or the cord;
+  For gayly he flew; and with rapturous haste,
+    His plunder consigned to the hand of his lord.
+
+  Her woman was charm'd, when the bird he perceiv'd,
+    And more was he charm'd when the damsel advanc'd,
+  For the nymph too in haste, half delighted, half griev'd,
+    Demanded the crescent, on which her eye glanc'd.
+
+  'Twas a charm Turkish hands had once fixt on her neck
+    But a charm that her lover refus'd to replace;
+  "Thy hand my dear girl, with a gem let me deck,
+    Of more magical force, of more luminous grace!"
+
+  "My bird and my ring, both of wonderous power!
+    Dear Azima! now as thy treasures receive;
+  For they both shall be thine, they are virtue's just dower
+    And thro' life may they never my Azima leave."
+
+  "For O! if they leave thee, or lost, or destroy'd,
+    That bliss, which our union I trust will ensure,
+  Must vanish, and leave in each heart such a void,
+    That our permanent anguish no magic can cure."
+
+  He spoke, and the bird on her shoulder he plac'd,
+    Then pressing the hand of his delicate fair;
+  That hand with a ring of one ruby he grac'd,
+    With a motto in Arabic, "never despair!"
+
+  "Let these words my sweet love be a shield to thy heart,
+    While I from thy sight am by fortune debarr'd;
+  For a journey of months I to-morrow depart,
+    But love will restore me, thy husband! thy guard!"
+
+  They kiss'd, and they parted: 'twas fortune's behest,
+    Who rules over love with a tyrannous sway;
+  But the nymph kiss'd her ring, and her bird she carest,
+    When her eye could no longer Hermossan survey.
+
+  She said, as she play'd with her vigilant bird,
+    "Thy name be Anglama, then best of thy kind:"
+  Anglama to her a significant word,
+    Express'd all the light of a luminous mind.
+
+  The bird seem'd with joy his new title to feel,
+    At the sound of Anglama his eye was a flame,
+  That flashed with intelligence, duty, and zeal,
+    Her behests he obeyed at the sound of his name.
+
+  To prove and reward him, was Azima's pride.
+    As round her he flew, upon liberty's wing;
+  In her chamber she oft her lov'd ruby would hide.
+    And exclaim, my Anglama, "go seek for my ring!"
+
+  However concealed the quick bird was so keen,
+    He never once failed to bring back the lost gem;
+  To his mistress he gave it with gesture serene,
+    Her sweet-meats repaid him; he lived upon them.
+
+  How often the sport of an innocent breast,
+    Is by Providence favour'd for some gracious end,
+  And gentle dumb creatures, with kindness carest,
+    That kindness repay in the shape of a friend!
+
+  But little sweet Azima dreamt, as she taught,
+    Her bird thus to play with a jewel so dear;
+  That the lesson his love with alacrity caught,
+    Might soothe her with hope, in a season of fear.
+
+  That season approaches, gay Azima grew
+    Of an old helpless father, the pride and the heir;
+  Her treasures were coveted not by a few,
+    And by one, of a heart not inclined to despair.
+
+  Hermossan's chief rival, an arrogant youth,
+    An Armenian his father! his mother a Turk!
+  That mother, more noted for cunning, than truth,
+    On Azima's fancy had studied to work.
+
+  The crescent, to give her young bosom alarm,
+    On the child she had fix'd with a soft silken cord;
+  To persuade the gay nymph, by this magical charm,
+    That none but a Mussulman must be her lord.
+
+  Hermossan a Persian, more noble and true.
+    As to woman she rose, put those fancies to flight;
+  But Ayesha, who watch'd with a mischievous view,
+    Soon the ruby surveyed, and survey'd it with spite.
+
+  She saw, 'twas a talisman fashioned by love,
+    Which she hoped to destroy by a daring device;
+  And, purloining the ring, as it lay in a glove,
+    With a diamond replaced it, far richer in price.
+
+  With her prize she escaped, from her visit uncheck'd;
+    Soon a change so unwish'd, was to Azima known,
+  She detested the diamond, with which she was deckt,
+    Sent back the new gem, and demanded her own.
+
+  See Ayesha's bold son now with arrogance plead,
+    To obtain for his parent the pardon of love!
+  The damsel, indignant, abhors the base deed,
+    Still demanding her ruby, all diamonds above.
+
+  The crafty Ayesha her son would persuade,
+    That Azima's anger in time must decay;
+  She knew not the truth of that resolute maid,
+    And she vainly hoped much from an artful delay.
+
+  Yet her credulous spirit the talisman pains,
+    Which she anxiously hides, with intent to destroy;
+  While she to prepare a rich recompence feigns,
+    For those, who may find this unfortunate toy.
+
+  Fair Azima suffers from sorrow and rage,
+    But what can her rage or her sorrow achieve;
+  Hermossan is absent: her father's weak age
+    Only leaves her in fruitless affliction to grieve.
+
+  Her bird in sweet sympathy seems to lament,
+    And to cheer her, in vain, his kind frolics he tries,
+  When she says, "O my ring!" on her wishes intent,
+    To seek it far off, from her window he flies.
+
+  In each flight, with new hope, she perceives her heart burn
+    'Till that hope she so often has cherished in vain,
+  That she welcomes with tears his unjoyous return,
+    And her health wastes away with vexation and pain.
+
+  All her pain was encreased, when this billet she read,
+    "Thy Hermossan, my love, will be with thee at noon,
+  When thy faith shall dispell all his amorous dread,
+    And thy ruby's true radiance eclipse the false moon!"
+
+  In the morn's early season this billet she caught,
+    In her bosom new hopes and new tenors now spring;
+  At her window she stood, and in turbulent thought,
+    "Once more my Anglama (she said) seek my ring!"
+
+  See, in tender obedience, Anglama depart
+    And soon his swift pinions are out of her sight;
+  But terror and hope are still felt in her heart,
+    While her fancy pursues so momentous a flight.
+
+  Was it chance, or some angel, directed his sense,
+    On a tree of Ayesha's fair garden to perch?
+  No, with langour opprest, and in heat most intense,
+    A delicate water allur'd his research.
+
+  At a wonderful depth this cool water reposed,
+    In a well through a rock, in past centuries sunk;
+  Ayesha's proud garden this wonder enclos'd,
+    Whence often the gentle Anglama had drunk.
+
+  A stranger to fear, down the circular cave
+    For soothing refreshment he often had flown;
+  Now beside it he perched, and in silence, tho' brave,
+    For a matron he sees, who draws near to the stone.
+
+  'Tis Ayesha herself, who induced by a dream,
+    Came to bury the talisman deep in this well:
+  Down she cast the lov'd ring: by the morning's bright beam
+    In the eyes of Anglama it flash'd as it fell.
+
+  Alert as affection, more rapid than speech,
+    He darts unperceived, the dear treasure to seek;
+  Ere the stone in it's fall the deep water can reach,
+    He o'ertakes; he has caught the lost gem in his beak!
+
+  Beware O Anglama! thy foes are abroad,
+    Thou yet may'st be cross'd in thy faithful intent;
+  If once thou art spied by the sharp eyes of fraud,
+    Both her jewel, and thee, thy fair queen must lament.
+
+  As conscious of peril the provident bird
+    Takes refuge unseen in a cleft of the well;
+  Deposits his prize, and perceiving he's heard,
+  Flies back in the shelter of silence to dwell.
+
+  There repose, thou best vassal to beauty endear'd!
+    While my song to thy mistress most anxiously turns,
+  To recount in thy absence what perils she fear'd;
+    Now she freezes in dread, now her terror she spurns.
+
+  By her own noble soul she resolves to subdue
+    The worst of all fears, that her fancy had crost;
+  The life of Hermossan in danger she knew,
+    Supposing she told how his ruby was lost.
+
+  She knew with Ayesha's fierce son he would fight,
+    Were the story reveal'd of the ring and the glove,
+  And she firmly exclaim'd, with heroic delight,
+    "No, his life I will save, if I forfeit his love."
+
+  But O while new dangers Anglama detain,
+    How eager she pants for a sight of his plume;
+  At each sound she believes him returning again,
+    But he's destined to lurk in the cavern's deep gloom.
+
+  The morning elapses, and noon now is near,
+    But time can't out-travel the lover's quick pace;
+  See Hermossan most true to his promise appear!
+    With transport he flies to his fair one's embrace.
+
+  But O how his heart at her aspect recoils
+    When he sees how the rose has decay'd on her cheek!
+  "O God! is it thus I'm repaid for my toils,"
+    Was all, that affection had accents to speak.
+
+  Fond Azima trembling, yet brave in her heart,
+    Now exclaims, "swear to grant me one eager desire,
+  You must, or I die--nay my love! do not start,
+    But swear by the sun's incorruptible fire!"
+
+  "Our ruby is gone, and my life too must go,
+    Unless to relieve me you instantly swear;
+  Not to meditate vengeance, whatever you know,
+    On the persons who thus have occasion'd my care"
+
+  Hermossan confused, with quick pity replied,
+    (Though Jealousy gave him her tremulous tones)
+  "Yes, I swear, if you say, but to soothe my fond pride,
+    That no rival of mine my lost talisman owns."
+
+  The maiden, whose soul was the spirit of truth,
+    Scarcely knew how herself to absolve or condemn;
+  Since she really surmiz'd a proud amorous youth
+    Had obtain'd by his mother the magical gem.
+
+  The conflict distended her innocent breast,
+    Half lifeless she sinks on Hermossan's strong arm;
+  To his heart he in wonder her innocence prest,
+    Not free, jealous honor! from thy rash alarm.
+
+  In a soft rising-breeze, yet she hardly has stirr'd,
+    But her faint eyes unclose to admit the fresh air,
+  And they now flash with joy in perceiving her bird;
+    Who drops on her bosom, with "Never Despair."
+
+
+  Thrice blessed Anglama! what language can speak
+    The joy not confined to thy patrons alone,
+  While thy queen thus receives from thy dutiful beak
+    The lesson engrav'd on the magical stone?
+
+  All terror, all sickness, all doubt, all distrust,
+    Fly away from thy friends in this rapturous hour,
+  And thee they esteem, to thy services just,
+    A Phenix inshrin'd in Felicity's bower.
+
+  Fair reader! if wishing to fix on thy breast
+    The magic most sure every grace to endear,
+  As a gem on thy bosom let innocence rest,
+    Embellishing beauty, and banishing fear!
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE HORSE.
+
+
+BALLAD THE SIXTEENTH.
+
+  Virtue! thou hast spells divine,
+    Spells, that savage force controul!
+  What's the strongest charm of thine?
+    Courage in a mother's soul.
+
+  Haste my song, the scene proclaim,
+    That may prove the maxim true!
+  Fair ones of maternal fame,
+    Hark! for honour speaks to you.
+
+  Noblest of your noble band,
+    Brave Marcella chanc'd to rove,
+  Leading childhood in her hand,
+    Thro' a deep and lonely grove:
+
+  See her child! how gay! how light!
+    Twice two years her life has run,
+  Like a young Aurora bright,
+    Sporting near the rising sun.
+
+  Thro' a pass of sandy stone,
+    Where autumnal foliage glow'd,
+  While the quivering sun-beams shone,
+    Lay their deep, and narrow road:
+
+  Now, as thro' the dale they pac'd,
+    Pleas'd with its umbrageous charm,
+  Lo! a fiery steed, in haste,
+    Prancing, spreads a quick alarm,
+
+  Fiercest of Arabia's race,
+    Force and beauty form'd his pride;
+  Vainly tutor'd for the chace,
+    Care he scorn'd, and rule defied.
+
+  Soon his rider had been flung,
+    Tho' like Perseus, he adroit,
+  Oft to flying coursers clung,
+    Proud of every bold exploit!
+
+  Now, on foot, he tried in vain,
+    Or to soften, or subdue
+  This wild steed, whose leading rein,
+    Short and tight he firmly drew:
+
+  But the more the horseman strove
+    To restrain his fiery force,
+  More he made the solemn grove
+    Echo to his frantic course.
+
+  Snorting loud, with savage leer,
+    All controuling powers to foil,
+  See him plunge! and see him rear!
+    Mocking all his leader's toil!
+
+  Fearless for himself alone,
+    He, of courage bravely mild,
+  Manly fear was frank to own
+    For the mother, and her child:
+
+  For the beast, in barb'rous ire,
+    To the child and mother rush'd;
+  Both he deem'd must now expire,
+    By the vicious monster crush'd:
+
+  For his rage, with forceful art,
+    Still he fail'd to turn, or tame:
+  Fear and pity fill'd his heart,
+    And convuls'd his manly frame,
+
+  "Fly!" he cried, in accents weak,
+    As the rampant courser sped;
+  "Fly!" was all, that he could speak,
+    Toss'd beneath the monster's head.
+
+  But without her child to fly,
+    Brave Marcella now disdained:
+  As her darling's guard to die,
+    This her only hope remained.
+
+  On the bank, where pine-trees mixt,
+    Thick to form an arching wood,
+  At her back her child she fixt,
+    And before it bravely stood:
+
+  Firm in voice, in soul elate,
+    Then in solemn tone she cried,
+  "With her features fixt as fate--
+    Tell your father how I died."
+
+  Noble parent! nature saw,
+    Virtue shining in thy soul,
+  And with sudden, wond'rous awe
+    Struck the beast, that spurn'd controul;
+
+  For, as if thy fixed eyes
+    Darted fascinating flame,
+  He, to thy devout surprise,
+    Stood before thee fondly tame:
+
+  He, as touched by powers above,
+    That can demons dispossess,
+  View'd thee, with submissive love,
+    Like a spaniel's meek caress.
+
+  Free from all maternal dread,
+    Now 'twas thine to raise and chear
+  Him, from whom the courser fled,
+    Trembling yet with generous fear!
+
+  Fear soon turned to strong delight,
+    When he saw the savage tam'd;
+  And enchanted by the sight,
+    Quick the horseman thus exclaim'd:
+
+  "God! I thank thee, I behold
+    Wonders far surpassing thought
+  More than fiction ever told,
+    By maternal virtue wrought!"
+
+  "Virtue, in thy praises warm,
+    I may speak how fair thou art:
+  I have seen thy fairest form--
+    Courage in a mother's heart."
+
+
+
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+INDEX.
+
+
+  The Dog
+  The Eagle
+  The Elephant
+  The Stag
+  The Stork
+  The Panther
+  The Grateful Snake
+  The Fatal Horse
+  The Lion
+  The Swan
+  The Hermit's Dog
+  The Halcyon
+  The Serpents
+  The Goat
+  The Baya
+  The Horse
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ballads, by William Hayley
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