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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/9094-8.txt b/9094-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..73a63b5 --- /dev/null +++ b/9094-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2680 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Wild Flowers, by Robert Bloomfield + +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: Wild Flowers + Or, Pastoral and Local Poetry + +Author: Robert Bloomfield + +Posting Date: October 15, 2012 [EBook #9094] +Release Date: October, 2005 +First Posted: September 4, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILD FLOWERS *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Charles Bidwell and Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + +WILD FLOWERS + +OR, + +PASTORAL AND LOCAL POETRY. + +By ROBERT BLOOMFIELD +Author of "The Farmer's Boy" and "Rural Tales". + +LONDON: +Printed for Vernor, Hood, and Sharpe, Poultry; +and Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, Paternoster-Row. + +1806. + +WRIGHT, Printer, No. 32, St. John's Square, Clerkenwall. + + + + +PREFACE + +A man of the first eminence, in whose day (fortunately perhaps for me) I +was not destined to appear before the public, or to abide the Herculean +crab-tree of his criticism, Dr. Johnson, has said, in his preface to +Shakspeare, that--"Nothing can please many, and please long, but just +representations of general nature." My representations of nature, whatever +may be said of their _justness_, are not _general_, unless we admit, what +I suspect to be the case, that nature in a village is very much like +nature every where else. It will be observed that all my pictures are from +humble life, and most of my heroines servant maids. Such I would have +them: being fully persuaded that, in no other way would my endeavours, +either to please or to instruct, have an equal chance of success. + +The path I have thus taken, from necessity, as well as from choice, is +well understood and approved by hundreds, who are capable of ranging in +the higher walks of literature.--But with due deference to their superior +claim, I confess, that no recompense has been half so grateful or half so +agreeable to me as female approbation. To be readily and generally +understood, to have my simple Tales almost instinctively relished by those +who have so decided an influence over the lives, hearts, and manners of us +all, is the utmost stretch of my ambition. + +I here venture, before the public eye, a selection from the various pieces +which have been the source of much pleasure, and the solace of my leisure +hours during the last four years, and since the publication of the "Rural +Tales." Perhaps, in some of them, more of mirth is intermingled than many +who know me would expect, or than the severe will be inclined to approve. +But surely what I can say, or can be expected to say, on subjects of +country life, would gain little by the seriousness of a preacher, or by +exhibiting fallacious representations of what has long been termed _Rural +Innocence_. + +The Poem of "Good Tidings" is partially known to the world, but, as it +was originally intended to assume its present appearance and size, I have +gladly availed myself of an endeavour to improve it; and, from its present +extended circulation, I trust it will be new to thousands. + +I anticipate some approbation from such readers as have been pleased with +the "Rural Tales;" yet, though I will not falsify my own feelings by +assuming a diffidence which I do not conceive to be either manly or +becoming, the conviction that some reputation is hazarded in "a third +attempt," is impressed deeply on my mind. + +With such sentiments, and with a lively sense of the high honour, and a +hope of the bright recompence, of applause from the good, when heightened +by the self-approving voice of my own conscience, I commit the book to its +fate. + +ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. + + + + DEDICATION. + + TO MY ONLY SON. + +MY DEAR BOY, + +In thus addressing myself to you, and in expressing my regard for your +person, my anxiety for your health, and my devotion to your welfare, I +enjoy an advantage over those dedicators who indulge in adulation;--I +shall at least be believed. + +Should you arrive at that period when reason shall be mature, and +affection or curiosity induce you to look back on your father's +poetical progress through life, you may conclude that he had many to boast +as friends, whose names, in a dedication, would have honoured both him and +his children; but you must also reflect, that to particularize such +friends was a point of peculiar delicacy. The earliest patron of my +unprotected strains has the warm thanks which are his due, for the +introduction of blessings which have been diffused through our whole +family, and nothing will ever change this sentiment. But amidst a general +feeling of gratitude, which those who know me will never dispute, I feel +for you, Charles, what none but parents can conceive; and on your account, +my dear boy, there can be no harm in telling the world that I hope these +"Wild Flowers" will be productive of sweets of the worldly kind; for your +unfortunate lameness (should it never be removed) may preclude you from +the means of procuring comforts and advantages which might otherwise have +fallen to your share. + +What a lasting, what an unspeakable satisfaction would it be to know that +the Ballads, the Plowman Stories, and the "Broken Crutch" of your father +would eventually contribute to lighten your steps to manhood, and make +your own crutch, through life, rather a memorial of affection than an +object of sorrow. + +With a parent's feelings, and a parent's cares and hopes, + +I am, Charles, yours, + +R. B. + + + + + CONTENTS + +Abner and the Widow Jones, a Familiar Ballad +To My Old Oak Table +The Horkey, a Provincial Ballad +The Broken Crutch, a Tale +Shooter's Hill +A Visit to Ranelagh +Love of the Country +The Woodland Halló +Barnham Water +Mary's Evening Sigh +Good Tidings; or, News from the Farm + + + + ABNER AND THE WIDOW JONES, + + A Familiar Ballad. + + +Well! I'm determin'd; that's enough:-- + Gee, Bayard! move your poor old bones, +I'll take to-morrow, smooth or rough, + To go and court the Widow Jones. + +Our master talks of stable-room, + And younger horses on his grounds; +'Tis easy to foresee thy doom, + Bayard, thou'lt go to feed the hounds. + +The first Determination. + +But could I win the widow's hand, + I'd make a truce 'twixt death and thee; +For thou upon the best of land + Should'st feed, and live, and die with me. + +And must the pole-axe lay thee low? + And will they pick thy poor old bones? +No--hang me if it shall be so,-- + If I can win the Widow Jones. + +Twirl went his stick; his curly pate + A bran-new hat uplifted bore; +And Abner, as he leapt the gate, + Had never look'd so gay before. + +Old Love revived. + +And every spark of love reviv'd + That had perplex'd him long ago, +When busy folks and fools contriv'd + To make his Mary answer--_no_. + +But whether, freed from recent vows, + _Her_ heart had back to Abner flown, +And mark'd him for a second spouse, + In truth is not exactly known. + +Howbeit, as he came in sight, + She turn'd her from the garden stile, +And downward look'd with pure delight, + With half a sigh and half a smile. + +Rustic Salutation. + +She heard his sounding step behind, + The blush of joy crept up her cheek, +As cheerly floated on the wind, + "Hoi! Mary Jones--what wont you speak?" + +Then, with a look that ne'er deceives, + She turn'd, but found her courage fled; +And scolding sparrows from the eaves + Peep'd forth upon the stranger's head. + +Down Abner sat, with glowing heart, + Resolv'd, whatever might betide, +To speak his mind, no other art + He ever knew, or ever tried. + +[Illustration: a couple.] + +A clear Question. + +And gently twitching Mary's hand, + The bench had ample room for two, +His first word made her understand + The plowman's errand was to woo. + +"My Mary--may I call thee so? + For many a happy day we've seen, +And if not mine, aye, years ago, + Whose was the fault? you might have been! + +"All that's gone by: but I've been musing, + And vow'd, and hope to keep it true, +That she shall be my own heart's choosing + Whom I call wife.--Hey, what say you? + +Past Thoughts stated. + +"And as I drove my plough along, + And felt the strength that's in my arm, +Ten years, thought I, amidst my song, + I've been head-man at Harewood farm. + +"And now, my own dear Mary's free, + Whom I have lov'd this many a day, +Who knows but she may think on _me?_ + I'll go hear what she has to say. + +"Perhaps that little stock of land + She holds, but knows not how to till, +Will suffer in the widow's hand, + And make poor Mary poorer still + +The Avowal. + +"That scrap of land, with one like her, + How we might live! and be so blest! +And who should Mary Jones prefer? + Why, surely, him who loves her best! + +"Therefore I'm come to-night, sweet wench, + I would not idly thus intrude,"-- +Mary look'd downward on the bench, + O'erpower'd by love and gratitude. + +And lean'd her head against the vine, + With quick'ning sobs of silent bliss, +Till Abner cried, "You must be mine, + You must,"--and seal'd it with a kiss. + +The Interest of an old Horse asserted. + +She talk'd of shame, and wip'd her check, + But what had shame with them to do, +Who nothing meant but truth to speak, + And downright honour to pursue? + +His eloquence improv'd apace, + As manly pity fill'd his mind; +"You know poor Bayard; here's the case,-- + He's past his labour, old, and blind: + +"If you and I should but agree + To settle here for good and all, +Could you give all your heart to me, + And grudge that poor old rogue a stall? + +His Character. + +"I'll buy him, for the dogs shall never + Set tooth upon a friend so true; +He'll not live long, but I for ever + Shall know I gave the beast his due. + +"'Mongst all I've known of plows and carts, + And ever since I learn'd to drive, +He was not match'd in all these parts; + There was not such a horse alive! + +"Ready, as birds to meet the morn, + Were all his efforts at the plough; +Then, the mill-brook with hay or corn, + Good creature! how he'd spatter through! + +Character continued. + +"He was a horse of mighty pow'r, + Compact in frame, and strong of limb; +Went with a chirp from hour to hour; + Whip-cord! 'twas never made for him. + +"I left him in the shafts behind, + His fellows all unhook'd and gone, +He neigh'd, and deem'd the thing unkind. + Then, starting, drew the load alone! + +"But I might talk till pitch-dark night, + And then have something left to say; +But, Mary, am I wrong or right, + Or, do I throw my words away? + +Something like Consent. + +"Leave me, or take me and my horse; + I've told thee truth, and all I know: +Truth _should_ breed truth; that comes of course; + If I sow wheat, why wheat will grow." + +"Yes, Abner, but thus soon to yield, + Neighbours would fleer, and look behind 'em; +Though, with a husband in the field, + Perhaps, indeed, I should not mind 'em. + +"I've known your generous nature well, + My first denial cost me dear; +How this may end we cannot tell, + But, as for Bayard, bring him here." + +Parting of the Lovers.--Sad News. + +"Bless thee for that," the plowman cried, + At once both starting from the seat, +He stood a guardian by her side, + But talk'd of home,--'twas growing late. + +Then step for step within his arm, + She cheer'd him down the dewy way; +And no two birds upon the farm + E'er prated with more joy than they. + +What news at home? The smile he wore + One little sentence turn'd to sorrow; +An order met him at the door. + "Take Bayard to the dogs to-morrow." + +The Journey renewed. + +Yes, yes, thought he; and heav'd a sigh, + Die when he will he's not your debtor: +I must obey, and he must die,-- + That's if I can't contrive it better. + +He left his Mary late at night, + And had succeeded in the main, +No sooner peep'd the morning light + But he was on the road again! + +Suppose she should refuse her hand? + Such thoughts will come, I know not why; +Shall I, without a wife or land, + Want an old horse? then wherefore buy? + +Perplexity + +From bush to bush, from stile to stile, + Perplex'd he trod the fallow ground, +And told his money all the while + And weigh'd the matter round and round. + +"I'll borrow," that's the best thought yet; + Mary shall save the horse's life.-- +Kind-hearted wench! what, run in debt + Before I know she'll be my wife? + +These women wo'nt speak plain and free.-- + Well, well, I'll keep my service still; +She has not _said_ she'd marry me, + But yet I dare to say she will. + +A fresh Thought--Turns back. + +But while I take this shay brain'd course, + And like a fool run to and fro, +Master, perhaps, may sell the horse! + Therefore this instant home I'll go. + +The nightly rains had drench'd the grove, + He plung'd right on with headlong pace; +A man but half as much in love + Perhaps had found a cleaner place. + +The day rose fair; with team a-field, + He watch'd the farmer's cheerful brow; +And in a lucky hour reveal'd + His secret at his post, the plough. + +Coming to the Point--Generosity + +And there without a whine began, + "Master, you'll give me your advice; +I'm going to marry--if I can-- + And want old Bayard; what's his price! + +"For Mary Jones last night agreed, + Or near upon't, to be my wife: +The horse's value I don't heed, + I only want to save his life." + +"Buy him, hey! Abner! trust me I + Have not the thought of gain in view; +Bayard's best days we've seen go by; + He shall be cheap enough to you." + +Symptoms of good Feelings. + +The wages paid, the horse brought out, + The hour of separation come; +The farmer turn'd his chair about, + "Good fellow, take him, take him home. + +"You're welcome, Abner, to the beast, + For you're a faithful servant been; +They'll thrive I doubt not in the least, + Who know what work and service mean." + +The maids at parting, one and all, + From different windows different tones; +Bade him farewel with many a bawl, + And sent their love to Mary Jones. + +Victory! + +He wav'd his hat, and turn'd away, + When loud the cry of children rose; +"Abner, good bye!" they stopt their play; + "There goes poor Bayard! there he goes!" + +Half choak'd with joy, with love, and pride, + He now with dainty clover fed him, +Now took a short triumphant ride, + And then again got down and led him. + +And hobbling onward up the hill, + The widow's house was full in sight, +He pull'd the bridle harder still, + "Come on, we shan't be there to-night." + +Victory! + +She met them with a smile so sweet, + The stable-door was open thrown; +The blind horse lifted high his feet, + And loudly snorting, laid him down. + +O Victory! from that stock of laurels + You keep so snug for camps and thrones, +Spare us _one twig_ from all their quarrels + For Abner and the Widow Jones. + +[Illustration: a table.] + + + + TO MY OLD OAK TABLE. + +Friend of my peaceful days! substantial friend, +Whom wealth can never change, nor int'rest bend, +I love thee like a child. Thou wert to me +The dumb companion of my misery, +And oftner of my joys;--then as I spoke, +I shar'd thy sympathy, Old Heart of Oak! +For surely when my labour ceas'd at night, +With trembling, feverish hands, and aching sight, +The draught that cheer'd me and subdu'd my care, +On thy broad shoulders thou wert proud to bear +O'er thee, with expectation's fire elate, +I've sat and ponder'd on my future fate: +On thee, with winter muffins for thy store, +I've lean'd, and quite forgot that I was poor. + +Where dropp'd the acorn that gave birth to thee? +Can'st thou trace back thy line of ancestry? +We're match'd, old friend, and let us not repine, +Darkness o'erhangs thy origin and mine; +Both may be truly honourable: yet, +We'll date our honours from the day we met; +When, of my worldly wealth the parent stock, +Right welcome up the Thames from Woolwich Dock +Thou cam'st, when hopes ran high and love was young; +But soon our olive-branches round thee sprung; +Soon came the days that tried a faithful wife, +The noise of children, and the cares of life. +Then, midst the threat'nings of a wintry sky, +_That cough_ which blights the bud of infancy, +The dread of parents, Rest's inveterate foe, +Came like a plague, and turn'd my songs to woe. + +Rest! without thee what strength can long survive, +What spirit keep the flame of Hope alive? +The midnight murmur of the cradle gave +Sounds of despair; and chilly as the grave. +We felt its undulating blast arise, +Midst whisper'd sorrows and ten thousand sighs. +Expiring embers warn'd us each to sleep, +By turns to watch alone, by turns to weep, +By turns to hear, and keep from starting wild, +The sad, faint wailings of a dying child. +But Death, obedient to Heav'n's high command, +Withdrew his jav'lin, and unclench'd his hand; +The little sufferers triumph'd over pain, +Their mother smil'd, and bade me hope again. +Yet Care gain'd ground, Exertion triumph'd less, +Thick fell the gathering terrors of Distress; +Anxiety, and Griefs without a name, +Had made their dreadful inroads on my frame; +The creeping Dropsy, cold as cold could be, +Unnerv'd my arm, and bow'd my head to thee. +Thou to thy trust, old friend, hast not been true; +These eyes the bitterest tears they ever knew +Let fall upon thee; now all wip'd away; +But what from memory shall wipe out that day? +The great, the wealthy of my native land, +To whom a guinea is a grain of sand, +I thought upon them, for my _thoughts_ were free, +But all unknown were then my woes and me. + +Still, Resignation was my dearest friend, +And Reason pointed to a glorious end; +With anxious sighs, a parent's hopes and pride, +I wish'd to live--I trust I could have died! +But winter's clouds pursu'd their stormy way, +And March brought sunshine with the length'ning day, +And bade my heart arise, that morn and night +Now throbb'd with irresistible delight. +Delightful 'twas to leave disease behind, +And feel the renovation of the mind! +To lead abroad upborne on Pleasure's wing, +Our children, midst the glories of the spring; +Our fellow sufferers, our only wealth, +To gather daisies in the breeze of health! + +'Twas then, too, when our prospects grew so fair, +And Sabbath bells announc'd the morning pray'r; +Beneath that vast gigantic dome we bow'd, +That lifts its flaming cross above the cloud; +Had gain'd the centre of the checquer'd floor;-- +That instant, with reverberating roar +Burst forth the pealing organ----mute we stood;-- +The strong sensation boiling through my blood, +Rose in a storm of joy, allied to pain, +I wept, and worshipp'd GOD, and wept again; +And felt, amidst the fervor of my praise, +The sweet assurances of better days. + +In that gay season, honest friend of mine, +I mark'd the brilliant sun upon thee shine; +Imagination took her flights so free, +_Home_ was delicious with my book and thee, +The purchas'd nosegay, or brown ears of corn, +Were thy gay plumes upon a summer's morn, +Awakening memory, that disdains control, +They spoke the darling language of my soul: +They whisper'd tales of joy, of peace, of truth, +And conjur'd back the sunshine of my youth: +Fancy presided at the joyful birth, +I pour'd the torrent of my feelings forth; +Conscious of _truth_ in Nature's humble track, +And wrote "The Farmer's Boy" upon thy back! +Enough, old friend:--thou'rt mine; and shalt partake, +While I have pen to write, or tongue to speak, +Whatever fortune deals me.--Part with thee! +No, not till death shall set my spirit free; +For know, should plenty crown my life's decline, +A most important duty may be thine: +Then, guard me from Temptation's base control, +From apathy and littleness of soul +The sight of thy old frame, so rough, so rode, +Shall twitch the sleeve of nodding Gratitude; +Shall teach me but to venerate the more +Honest Oak Tables and their guests--the poor: +Teach me unjust distinctions to deride, +And falsehoods gender'd in the brain of Pride; +Shall give to Fancy still the cheerful hour, +To Intellect, its freedom and its power; +To Hospitality's enchanting ring +A charm, which nothing but thyself can bring. +The man who would not look with honest pride +On the tight bark that stemm'd the roaring tide, +And bore him, when he bow'd the trembling knee, +Home, through the mighty perils of the sea, +I love him not.--He ne'er shall be my guest; +Nor sip my cup, nor witness how I'm blest; +Nor lean, to bring my honest friend to shame, +A sacrilegious elbow on thy frame; +But thou through life a monitor shalt prove, +Sacred to Truth, to Poetry, and Love. + +Dec. 1803. + + + + THE HORKEY. A Provincial Ballad. + + ADVERTISEMENT. + +In the descriptive ballad which follows, it will be evident that I have +endeavoured to preserve the style of a gossip, and to transmit the +memorial of a custom, the extent or antiquity of which I am not acquainted +with, and pretend not to enquire. + +In Suffolk husbandry the man who, (whether by merit or by sufferance I +know not) goes foremost through the harvest with the scythe or the sickle, +is honoured with the title of "_Lord_," and at the Horkey, or harvest-home +feast, collects what he can, for himself and brethren, from the farmers +and visitors, to make a "frolick" afterwards, called "the largess +spending." By way of returning thanks, though perhaps formerly of much +more, or of different signification, they immediately leave the seat of +festivity, and with a very long and repeated shout of "a largess," the +number of shouts being regulated by the sums given, seem to wish to make +themselves heard by the people of the surrounding farms. And before they +rejoin the company within, the pranks and the jollity I have endeavoured +to describe, usually take place. These customs, I believe, are going fast +out of use; which is one great reason for my trying to tell the rising +race of mankind that such were the customs when I was a boy. + +I have annexed a glossary of such words as may be found by general readers +to require explanation. And will add a short extract from Sir Thomas +Brown, of Norwich, M. D. who was born three years before Milton, and +outlived him eight years. + +"It were not impossible to make an original reduction of many words of no +general reception in _England_, but of common use in _Norfolk_, or +peculiar to the _East-Angle_ counties; as, Bawnd, Bunny, Thurck, Enemis, +Matchly, Sainmodithee, Mawther, Kedge, Seele, Straft, Clever, Dere, +Nicked, Stingy, Noneare, Fett, Thepes, Gosgood, Kamp, Sibrit, Fangast, +Sap, Cothish, Thokish, Bide-owe, Paxwax. Of these, and some others, of no +easy originals, when time will permit, the resolution shall be attempted; +which to effect, the Danish language, new, and more ancient, may prove of +good advantage: which nation remained here fifty years upon agreement, and +have left many families in it, and the language of these parts had surely +been more commixed and perplex, if the fleet of _Hugo de Bones_ had not +been cast away, wherein three-score thousand souldiers, out of Britany and +Flanders, were to be wafted over, and were, by King _John's_ appointment, +to have a settled habitation in the counties of _Norfolk_ and _Suffolk_." +Tract the viii. on Languages, particularly the Saxon. Folio, 1686, page +48. + + + + THE HORKEY. + + A Provincial Ballad. + + +What gossips prattled in the sun, + Who talk'd him fairly down, +Up, memory! tell; 'tis Suffolk fun, + And lingo of their own. + +Ah! _Judie Twitchet!_[A] though thou'rt dead, + With thee the tale begins; +For still seems thrumming in my head + The rattling of thy pins. + +[Footnote A: Judie Twitchet was a real person, who lived many years with +my mother's cousin Bannock, at Honnington.] + +Thou Queen of knitters! for a ball + Of worsted was thy pride; +With dangling stockings great and small, + And world of clack beside! + +"We did so laugh; the moon shone bright; + "More fun you never knew; +"'Twas Farmer Cheerum's _Horkey night_, + "And I, and Grace, and Sue---- + +"But bring a stool, sit round about, + "And boys, be quiet, pray; +"And let me tell my story out; + "'Twas _sitch_ a merry day! + +"The butcher whistled at the door, + "And brought a load of meat; +"Boys rubb'd their hands, and cried, 'there's more,' + "Dogs wagg'd their tails to see't. + +"On went the boilers till the _hake_[Footnote: A sliding pot-hook] + "Had much ado to bear 'em; +"The magpie talk'd for talking sake, + "Birds sung;--but who could hear 'em? + +"Creak went the jack; the cats were _scar'd_, + "We had not time to heed 'em, +"The _owd hins_ cackled in the yard, + "For we forgot to feed 'em! + +"Yet 'twas not I, as I may say, + "Because as how, d'ye see; +"I only help'd there for the day; + "They cou'dn't lay't to me. + +"Now Mrs. Cheerum's best lace cap + "Was mounted on her head; +"Guests at the door began to rap, + "And now the cloth was spread. + +"Then clatter went the earthen plates-- + "'Mind Judie,' was the cry; +"I could have _cop't_[Footnote: Thrown] them at their pates; + "'Trenchers for me,' said I. + +"'That look so clean upon the ledge, + "'And never mind a fall; +"'Nor never turn a sharp knife's edge;-- + "'But fashion rules us all.' + +"Home came the jovial _Horkey load_, + "Last of the whole year's crop; +"And Grace amongst the green boughs rode + "Right plump upon the top. + +"This way and that the waggon reel'd, + "And never queen rode higher; +"_Her_ cheeks were colour'd in the field, + "And ours before the fire. + +"The laughing harvest-folks, and John, + "Came in and look'd askew; +"'Twas my red face that set them on, + "And then they leer'd at Sue. + +"And Farmer Cheerum went, good man, + "And broach'd the _Horkey beer_; +"And _sitch a mort_[Footnote: Such a number.] of folks began + "To eat up our good cheer. + +"Says he, 'Thank God for what's before us; + "'That thus we meet agen,' +"The mingling voices, like a chorus, + "Join'd cheerfully, 'Amen.'-- + +"Welcome and plenty, there they found 'em, + "The ribs of beef grew light; +"And puddings--till the boys got round 'em, + "And then they vanish'd quite! + +"Now all the guests, with Farmer Crouder, + "Began to prate of corn; +"And we found out they talk'd the louder, + "The oftner pass'd the Horn. + +"Out came the nuts; we set a cracking; + "The ale came round our way; +"_By gom_ we women fell a clacking + "As loud again as they. + +"John sung 'Old Benbow' loud and strong, + "And I, 'The Constant Swain,' +"'Cheer up my Lads,' was Simon's song, + "'We'll conquer them again.' + +"Now twelve o'clock was drawing nigh, + "And all in merry cue; +"I knock'd the cask, 'O, ho!' said I, + "'We've almost conquer'd you.' + +"_My Lord_[Footnote: The leader of the reapers.] begg'd round, and held +his hat, + "Says Farmer Gruff, says he, +"There's many a Lord, Sam, I know that, + "Has begg'd as well as thee.' + +"Bump in his hat the shillings tumbl'd + "All round among the folks; +"'Laugh if you wool,' said Sam, and mumbl'd, + "'You pay for all your jokes.' + +"Joint stock you know among the men, + "To drink at their own charges; +"So up they got full drive, and then + "Went out to _halloo largess_.[Footnote: See advertisement.] + +"And sure enough the noise they made!!-- + --"But let me mind my tale; +"We follow'd them, we wor'nt afraid, + "We'ad all been drinking ale. + +"As they stood hallooing back to back, + "We, lightly as a feather, +"Went sideling round, and in a crack + "Had pinn'd their coats together. + +"'Twas near upon't as light as noon; + "'_A largess_,' on the hill, +"They shouted to the full round moon, + "I think I hear 'em still! + +"But when they found the trick, my stars! + "They well knew who to blame, +"Our giggles turn'd to ha, ha, ha's, + "And _arter_ us they came. + +"Grace by the tumbril made a squat, + "Then ran as Sam came by, +"They said she could not run for fat; + "_I know_ she did not try. + +"Sue round the _neathouse_[Footnote: Cow-house.] squalling ran, + "Where Simon scarcely dare; +"He stopt,--for he's a fearful man-- + "'_By gom_ there's _suffen_[Footnote: Something.] there!' + +"And off set John, with all his might, + "To chase me down the yard, +"Till I was nearly _gran'd_[Footnote: Strangled.] outright; + "He hugg'd so woundly hard. + +"Still they kept up the race and laugh, + "And round the house we flew; +"But hark ye! the best fun by half + "Was Simon _arter_ Sue. + +"She car'd not, dark nor light, not she, + "So, near the dairy door +"She pass'd a clean white hog, you see, + "They'd _kilt_ the day before. + +"High on the spirket [Footnote: An iron hook.] there it hung,-- + "'Now Susie--what can save ye?' +"Round the cold pig his arms he flung, + "And cried, 'Ah! here I have ye!' + +"The farmers heard what Simon said, + "And what a noise! good lack! +"Some almost laugh'd themselves _to dead_, + "And others clapt his back. + +"We all at once began to tell + "What fun we had abroad; +"But Simon stood our jeers right well; + --"He fell asleep and snor'd. + +"Then in his button-hole upright, + "Did Farmer Crouder put, +"A slip of paper twisted tight, + "And held the candle _to't_. + +"It smok'd, and smok'd, beneath his nose, + "The harmless blaze crept higher; +"Till with a vengeance up he rose, + "Grace, Judie, Sue! fire, fire! + +"The clock struck one--some talk'd of parting, + "Some said it was a sin, +"And _kilch'd_ their chairs;--but those for starting + "Now let the moonlight in. + +"_Owd_ women, loitering _for the nonce_,[Footnote: For the purpose.] + "Stood praising the fine weather; +"The menfolks took the hint at once + "To kiss them altogether. + +"And out ran every soul beside, + "A _shanny-pated_[Footnote: Giddy, thoughtless.] crew; +"_Owd_ folks could neither run nor hide, + "So some _ketch'd_ one, some _tew_. + +"They _skriggl'd_[Footnote: To struggle quick.] and began to scold. + "But laughing got the master; +"Some _quack'ling_[Footnote: Choaking.] cried, 'let go your hold;' + "The farmers held the faster. + +"All innocent, that I'll be sworn, + "There wor'nt a bit of sorrow, +"And women, if their gowns _are_ torn, + "Can mend them on the morrow. + +"Our shadows helter skelter danc'd + "About the moonlight ground; +"The wondering sheep, as on we pranc'd, + "Got up and gaz'd around, + +"And well they might--till Farmer Chcerum, + "Now with a hearty glee, +"Bade all good morn as he came near 'em, + "And then to bed went he. + +"Then off we stroll'd this way and that, + "With merry voices ringing; +"And Echo answered us right pat, + "As home we rambl'd singing. + +"For, when we laugh'd, it laugh'd again, + "And to our own doors follow'd! +"'Yo, ho!' we cried; 'Yo, ho!' so plain + "The misty meadow halloo'd. + +"That's all my tale, and all the fun, + "Come, turn your wheels about; +"My worsted, see!--that's nicely done, + "Just held my story out!!" + +Poor Judie!--Thus Time knits or spins + The worsted from Life's ball! +Death stopt thy tales, and stopt thy pins, + --And so he'll serve us all. + + + + + THE BROKEN CRUTCH. + + A Tale. + +"I tell you, Peggy," said a voice behind +A hawthorn hedge, with wild briars thick entwin'd, +Where unseen trav'llers down a shady way +Journey'd beside the swaths of new-mown hay, +"I tell you, Peggy, 'tis a time to prove +Your fortitude, your virtue, and your love. +From honest poverty our lineage sprung, +Your mother was a servant quite as young;-- +You weep; perhaps _she_ wept at leaving home, +Courage, my girl, nor fear the days to come. +Go still to church, my Peggy, plainly drest, +And keep a living conscience in your breast; +Look to yourself, my lass, the maid's best fame, +Beware, nor bring the Meldrums into shame: +Be modest, to the voice of age attend, +Be honest, and you'll always find a friend: +Your uncle Gilbert, stronger far than I, +Will see you safe; on him you must rely; +I've walk'd too far; this lameness, oh! the pain; +Heav'n bless thee, child! I'll halt me back again; +But when your first fair holiday may be, +Rise with the lark, and spend your hours with me." + +Young Herbert Brooks, in strength and manhood bold, +Who, round the meads, his own possessions, stroll'd, +O'erheard the charge, and with a heart so gay, +Whistled his spaniel and pursu'd his way. + +A Hint for a Libertine. + +Soon cross'd his path, and short obeisance paid, +Stout Gilbert Meldrum and a country maid; +A box upon his shoulder held full well +Her worldly riches, but the truth to tell +She bore the chief herself; that nobler part. +That beauteous gem, an uncorrupted heart. +And then that native loveliness! that cheek! +It bore the very tints her betters seek; +At such a sight the libertine would glow, +With all the warmth that _he_ can ever know; +Would send his thoughts abroad without control, +The glimmering moon-shine of his little soul. +"Above the reach of justice I shall soar, +Her friends may weep, not punish; they're too poor: +That very thought the rapture will enhance, +Poor, young, and friendless; what a glorious chance! + +Herbert's Character. + +A few spare guineas may the conquest make,-- +I love the treachery for treachery's sake,-- +And when her wounded honour jealous grows, +I'll cut away ten thousand oaths and vows, +And tell my comrades, with a manly stride, +How I, _a girl out-witten and out-lied_." +Such was not Herbert--he had never known +Love's genuine smiles, nor suffer'd from his frown; +And as to that most honourable part +Of planting daggers in a parent's heart, +A novice quite:--he past his hours away, +Free as a bird and buxom as the day; +Yet, should a lovely girl by chance arise, +Think not that Herbert Brooks would shut his eyes. + +On thy calm joys with what delight I dream, +Thou dear green valley of my native stream! + +Regret for Devastation by Enclosures. + +Fancy o'er thee still waves th' enchanting wand, +And every nook of thine is fairy land, +And ever will be, though the axe should smite +In Gain's rude service, and in Pity's spite, +Thy clustering alders, and at length invade +The last, last poplars, that compose thy shade: +Thy stream shall then in native freedom stray, +And undermine the willows in its way, +These, nearly worthless, may survive this storm, +This scythe of desolation call'd "Reform." +No army past that way! yet are they fled, +The boughs that, when a school-boy, screen'd my head: +I hate the murderous axe; estranging more +The winding vale from what it was of yore, +Than e'en mortality in all its rage, +And all the change of faces in an age. + +The Tale pursued. + +"Warmth," will they term it, that I speak so free? +They strip thy shades,--thy shades so dear to me! +In Herbert's days woods cloth'd both hill and dale; +But peace, Remembrance! let us tell the tale. + +His home was in the valley, elms grew round +His moated mansion, and the pleasant sound +Of woodland birds that loud at day-break sing, +With the first cuckoos that proclaim the spring, +Flock'd round his dwelling; and his kitchen smoke, +That from the towering rookery upward broke, +Of joyful import to the poor hard by, +Stream'd a glad sign of hospitality; +So fancy pictures; but its day is o'er; +The moat remains, the dwelling is no more! +Its name denotes its melancholy fall, +For village children call the spot "Burnt-Hall." + +[Illustration: a woman kneeling.] + +The Church. + +But where's the maid, who in the meadow-way +Met Herbert Brooks amongst the new-mown hay? + +Th' adventure charm'd him, and next morning rose +The Sabbath, with its silence and repose, +The bells ceas'd chiming, and the broad blue sky +Smil'd on his peace, and met his tranquil eye +Inverted, from the foot-bridge on his way +To that still house where all his fathers lay; +There in his seat, each neighbour's face he knew-- +The stranger girl was just before his pew! +He saw her kneel, with meek, but cheerful air, +And whisper the response to every prayer; +And, when the humble roof with praises rung, +He caught the Hallelujah from her tongue, +Rememb'ring with delight the tears that fell +When the poor father bade his child farewell; + +Love strengthened by Reflection. + +And now, by kindling tenderness beguil'd, +He blest the prompt obedience of that child, +And link'd his fate with hers:--for, from that day, +Whether the weeks past cheerily away, +Or deep revolving doubts procur'd him pain, +The same bells chim'd--and there she was again! +What could be done? they came not there to woo, +On holy ground,--though love is holy too. + +They met upon the foot-bridge one clear morn, +She in the garb by village lasses worn; +He, with unbutton'd frock that careless flew, +And buskin'd to resist the morning dew; +With downcast look she courtsied to the ground, +Just in his path--no room to sidle round. + +An Interview. + +"Well, pretty girl, this early rising yields +The best enjoyment of the groves and fields, +And makes the heart susceptible and meek, +And keeps alive that rose upon your cheek. +I long'd to meet you, Peggy, though so shy, +I've watch'd your steps and learn'd your history; +You love your poor lame father, let that be +A happy presage of your love for me. +Come then, I'll stroll these meadows by your side, +I've seen enough to wish you for my bride, +And plainly tell you so.--Nay, let me hold +This guiltless hand, I prize it more than gold; +Of that I have my share, but now pursue +Such lasting wealth as I behold in you. +My lands are fruitful and my gardens gay, +My houshold cheerful as the summer's day; +One blessing more will crown my happy life, +Like Adam, pretty girl, I want a wife." + +Frequent Meetings.--Family Pride. + +Need it be told his suit was not denied, +With youth, and wealth, and candour on his side +Honour took charge of love so well began, +And accidental meetings, one by one, +Increas'd so fast midst time's unheeded flight, +That village rumour married them outright; +Though wiser matrons, doubtful in debate, +Pitied deluded Peggy's hapless fate. +Friends took th' alarm, "And will he then disgrace +"The name of Brooks with this plebeian race?" +Others, more lax in virtue, not in pride, +Sported the wink of cunning on one side; +"He'll buy, no doubt, what Peggy has to sell, +A little gallantry becomes him well." +Meanwhile the youth with self-determin'd aim, +Disdaining fraud, and pride's unfeeling claim, + +Marriage proposed + +Above control pursued his generous way, +And talk'd to Peggy of the marriage day. +Poor girl! she heard, with anguish and with doubt, +What her too knowing neighbours preach'd about, +That Herbert would some nobler match prefer, +And surely never, never marry her; +Yet, with what trembling and delight she bore +The kiss, and heard the vow, "I'll doubt no more;" +"Protect me Herbert, for your honour's sake +You will," she cried, "nor leave my heart to break." +Then wrote to uncle Gilbert, joys, and fears, +And hope, and trust, and sprinkled all with tears. + +Rous'd was the dormant spirit of the brave, +E'en lameness rose to succour and to save; +For, though they both rever'd young Herbert's name, +And knew his unexceptionable fame; + +Doubts.--Parental Feelings. + +And though the girl had honestly declar'd +Love's first approaches, and their counsel shar'd, +Yet, that he truly meant to take for life +The poor and lowly Peggy for a wife; +Or, that she was not doom'd to be deceiv'd, +Was out of bounds:--it _could not_ be believ'd. +"Go, Gilbert; save her; I, you know, am lame; +Go, brother, go; and save my child from shame. +Haste, and I'll pray for your success the while, +Go, go;"--then bang'd his crutch upon the stile:-- +It snapt.--E'en Gilbert trembled while he smote, +Then whipt the broken end beneath his coat; +"Aye, aye, I'll settle them; I'll let them see +Who's to be conqu'ror this time, I or he!" + +[Illustration: two men at a stile.] + +Gilbert on the Road!--An Adventure. + +Then off he set, and with enormous strides, +Rebellious mutterings and oaths besides, +O'er clover-field and fallow, bank and brier, +Pursu'd the nearest cut, and fann'd the fire +That burnt within him.--Soon the Hall he spied, +And the grey willows by the water side; +Nature cried "halt!" nor could he well refuse; +Stop, Gilbert, breathe awhile, and ask _the news_. +"News?" cried a stooping grandame of the vale, +Aye, rare news too; I'll tell you such a tale; +But let me rest; this bank is dry and warm; +Do you know Peggy Meldrum at the farm? +Young Herbert's girl? He'as cloath'd her all in white. +You never saw so beautiful a sight! +Ah! he's a fine young man, and such a face! +I knew his grandfather and all his race; +He rode a tall white horse, and look'd so big, +But how shall I describe his hat and wig?" + +A promising Story cut short. + +"Plague take his wig," cried Gilbert, "and his hat, +Where's Peggy Meldrum? can you tell me _that_?" +"Aye; but have patience man, you'll hear anon, +For I shall come to her as I go on, +So hark 'ye friend; his grandfather I say,"-- +"Poh, poh,"--cried Gilbert, as he turn'd away. +Her eyes were fix'd, her story at a stand, +The snuff-box lay half open'd in her hand; +"You great ill-manner'd clown! but I must bear it; +You oaf; to ask the news, and then won't hear it!" +But Gilbert had gain'd forty paces clear, +When the reproof came murmuring on his ear. + +Again he ask'd the first that past him by; +A cow-boy stopt his whistle to reply. +"Why, I've a mistress coming home, that's all, +They're playing Meg's diversion at the Hall; + +A Cow-Boy's Bravery + +"For master's gone, with Peggy, and his cousin, +And all the lady folks, about a dozen, +To church, down there; he'll marry one no doubt, +For that it seems is what they're gone about; +I know it by their laughing and their jokes, +Tho' they _wor'nt_ ask'd at church like other folks." + +Gilbert kept on, and at the Hall-door found +The winking servants, where the jest went round: +All expectation; aye, and so was he, +But not with heart so merry and so free. +The kitchen table, never clear from beef, +Where hunger found its solace and relief, +Free to all strangers, had no charms for him, +For agitation worried every limb; +Ale he partook, but appetite had none, +And grey-hounds watch'd in vain to catch the bone. + +Sitting upon Thorns. + +All sounds alarm'd him, and all thoughts perplex'd, +With dogs, and beef, himself, and all things vex'd, +Till with one mingled caw above his head, +Their gliding shadows o'er the court-yard spread, +The rooks by thousands rose: the bells struck up; +He guess'd the cause, and down he set the cup, +And listening, heard, amidst the general hum, +A joyful exclamation, "Here they come!"-- +Soon Herbert's cheerful voice was heard above, +Amidst the rustling hand-maids of his love, +And Gilbert follow'd without thought or dread, +The broad oak stair-case thundr'd with his tread; +Light tript the party, gay as gay could be, +Amidst their bridal dresses--there came he! +And with a look that guilt could ne'er withstand, +Approach'd his niece and caught her by the hand, + +Anger disarmed. + +"Now are you married, Peggy, yes or no? +Tell me at once, before I let you go!" +Abrupt he spoke, and gave her arm a swing, +But the same moment felt the wedding ring, +And stood confus'd.--She wip'd th' empassion'd tear, +"I am, I am; but is my father here?" +Herbert stood by, and sharing with his bride, +That perturbation which she strove to hide; +"Come, honest Gilbert, you're too rough this time, +Indeed here's not the shadow of a crime; +But where's your brother? When did you arrive? +We waited long, for Nathan went at five!" + +All this was Greek to Gilbert, downright Greek: +He knew not what to think, nor how to speak. +The case was this; that Nathan with a cart +To fetch them both at day-break was to start, + +An Explanation. + +And so he did--but ere he could proceed, +He suck'd a charming portion with a reed, +Of that same wedding-ale, which was that day +To make the hearts of all the village gay; +Brim full of glee he trundled from the Hall, +And as for sky-larks, he out-sung them all; +Till growing giddy with his morning cup. +He, stretch'd beneath a hedge, the reins gave up; +The horse graz'd soberly without mishap, +And Nathan had a most delightful nap +For three good hours--Then, doubting, when he woke, +Whether his conduct would be deem'd a joke, +With double haste perform'd just half his part, +And brought the lame John Meldrum in his cart: +And at the moment Gilbert's wrath was high, +And while young Herbert waited his reply, + +A general Meeting. + +The sound of rattling wheels was at the door; +"There's my dear father now,"--they heard no more, +The bridegroom glided like an arrow down, +And Gilbert ran, though something of a clown, +With his best step; and cheer'd with smiles and pray'rs +They bore old John in triumph up the stairs: +Poor Peggy, who her joy no more could check, +Clung like a dewy woodbine round his neck, +And all stood silent--Gilbert, off his guard, +And marvelling at virtue's rich reward, +Loos'd the one loop that held his coat before, +Down thumpt the broken crutch upon the floor! +They started, half alarm'd, scarce knowing why, +But through the glist'ning rapture of his eye +The bridegroom smil'd, then chid their simple fears, +And rous'd the blushing Peggy from her tears; + +Gilbert put upon his Defense. + +Around the uncle in a ring they came, +And mark'd his look of mingled pride and shame. +"Now honestly, good Gilbert, tell us true +What meant this cudgel? What was it to do? +I know your heart suspected me of wrong, +And that most true affection urg'd along +Your feelings and your wrath; you were beside +Till now the rightful guardian of the bride. +But why this cudgel?"--"Guardian! that's the case, +Or else to day you had not seen my face, +But John about the girl was so perplex'd, +And I, to tell the truth, so mortal vex'd, +That when he broke _this crutch_, and stampt and cried, +For John and Peggy, Sir, I could have died, +I know I could; for she was such a child, +So tractable, so sensible, and mild, + +The plain Truth. + +That if between you roguery had grown, +(Begging your pardon,) 'twould have been your own; +She would not hurt a fly.--So off I came +And had you only sought to blast her fame, +Been base enough to act as hundreds would, +And ruin a poor maid--because you _could_, +With this same cudgel, (you may smile or frown) +An' please you, Sir, I meant to knock you down." + +A burst of laughter rang throughout the hall, +And Peggy's tongue, though overborne by all, +Pour'd its warm blessings, for, without control +The sweet unbridled transport of her soul +Was obviously seen, till Herbert's kiss +Stole, as it were, the eloquence of bliss. + +Mirth and Reconciliation. + +"Welcome, my friends; good Gilbert, here's my hand; +Eat, drink, or rest, they're all at your command: +And whatsoever pranks the rest may play, +Still you shall be the hero of to-day, +Doubts might torment, and blunders may have teaz'd, +But ale can cure them; let us all be pleas'd. +Thou, venerable man, let me defend +The father of my new dear bosom friend; +You broke your crutch, well, well, worse luck might be, +I'll be your crutch, John Meldrum, lean on me, +And when your lovely daughter shall complain, +Send Gilbert's wooden argument again. +If still you wonder that I take a wife +From the unpolish'd walks of humble life, +I'll tell you on what ground my love began, +And let the wise confute it if they can. +I saw a girl, with nature's untaught grace, +Turn from my gaze a most engaging face; + +Herbert's Apology. + +I saw her drop the tear, I knew full well +She felt for _you_ much more than she could tell. +I found her understanding, bright as day, +Through all impediments still forc'd its way; +On that foundation shall my soul rely, +The rock of genuine humility. +Call'd as she is to act a nobler part, +To rule my houshold, and to share my heart, +I trust her prudence, confident to prove +Days of delight, and still unfading love; +For, while her inborn tenderness survives, +That heav'nly charm of mothers and of wives, +I'll look for joy:--Here come the neighbours all; +Broach the old barrel, feast them great and small, +For I'm determin'd while the sun's so bright, +That this shall be a wedding-day outright: + +John Meldrum's wish.--Conclusion. + +How cheerly sound the bells! my charmer, come, +Expand your heart, and know yourself at home. +Sit down, good John;"--"I will," the old man cried, +"And let me drink to you, Sir, and the bride; +My blessing on you: I am lame and old, +I can't make speeches, and I wo'nt be bold; +But from my soul I wish, and wish with pain, +_That brave good gentlemen would not disdain_ +_The poor, because they're poor_: for, if they live +Midst crimes that parents _never can_ forgive, +If, like the forest beast they wander wild, +To rob a father, or to crush a child, +Nature _will_ speak, aye, just as Nature feels, +And wish--a Gilbert Meldrum at their heels." + + + + + SHOOTER'S HILL. +[Footnote: Sickness may be often an incentive to poetical composition; +I found it so; and I esteem the following lines only because they remind +me of past feelings which I would not willingly forget.] + + +Health! I seek thee;--dost thou love + The mountain top or quiet vale, +Or deign o'er humbler hills to rove + On showery June's dark south-west gale? +If so, I'll meet all blasts that blow, + With silent step, but not forlorn; +Though, goddess, at thy shrine I bow, + And woo thee each returning morn. + +I seek thee where, with all his might, + The joyous bird his rapture tells, +Amidst the half-excluded light, + That gilds the fox-glove's pendant bells; +Where, cheerly up this bold hill's side + The deep'ning groves triumphant climb; +In groves Delight and Peace abide, + And Wisdom marks the lapse of time. + +To hide me from the public eye, + To keep the throne of Reason clear, +Amidst fresh air to breathe or die, + I took my staff and wander'd here. +Suppressing every sigh that heaves, + And coveting no wealth but thee, +I nestle in the honied leaves, + And hug my stolen liberty. + +O'er eastward uplands, gay or rude, + Along to Erith's ivied spire, +I start, with strength and hope renew'd, + And cherish life's rekindling fire. +Now measure vales with straining eyes, + Now trace the church-yard's humble names: +Or, climb brown heaths, abrupt that rise, + And overlook the winding Thames. + +I love to mark the flow'ret's eye, + To rest where pebbles form my bed, +Where shapes and colours scatter'd lie + In varying millions round my head. +The soul rejoices when alone, + And feels her glorious empire free; +Sees GOD in every shining stone, + And revels in variety. + +Ah me! perhaps within my sight, + Deep in the smiling dales below, +Gigantic talents, Heav'n's pure light, + And all the rays of genius glow +In some lone soul, whom no one sees + With _power_ and _will_ to say "Arise," +Or chase away the slow disease, +And Want's foul picture from his eyes. + +A worthier man by far than I, + With more of industry and fire, +Shall see fair Virtue's meed pass by, + Without one spark of fame expire! +Bleed not my heart, it will be so. + The throb of care was thine full long; +Rise, like the Psalmist from his woe, + And pour abroad the joyful song. + +Sweet Health, I seek thee! hither bring + Thy balm that softens human ills; +Come, on the long drawn clouds that fling + Their shadows o'er the Surry-Hills. +Yon green-topt hills, and far away + Where late as now I freedom stole, +And spent one dear delicious day + On thy wild banks, romantic _Mole_. + + +Aye, there's the scene![1] beyond the sweep + Of London's congregated cloud, +The dark-brow'd wood, the headlong steep, + And valley-paths without a crowd! +Here, Thames, I watch thy flowing tides, + Thy thousand sails am proud to see; +But where the _Mole_ all silent glides + Dwells Peace--and Peace is wealth to me. + +[Footnote 1: Box-Hill, and the beautiful neighbourhood of Dorking, in +Surry.] + +Of Cambrian mountains still I dream, + And mouldering vestiges of war; +By time-worn cliff or classic stream + Would rove,--but prudence holds a bar. +Conic then, O Health, I'll strive to bound + My wishes to this airy stand; +'Tis not for _me_ to trace around + The wonders of my native land. + +Yet, the loud torrent's dark retreat, + Yet Grampian hills shall Fancy give, +And, towering in her giddy scat, + Amidst her own creation live, +Live, if thou'lt urge my climbing feet, + Give strength of nerve and vigorous breath, +If not, with dauntless soul I meet + The deep solemnity of death. + +This far-seen monumental tower + Records th' achievements of the brave, +And Angria's subjugated power, + Who plunder'd on the eastern wave. +I would not that such turrets rise + To point out where my bones arc laid; +Save that some wandering bard might prize + The comforts of its broad cool shade. + +O Vanity! since thou'rt decreed + Companion of our lives to be, +I'll seek the moral songster's meed, + An earthly immortality; +Most vain!--O let me, from the past + Remembering what to man is given, +Lay Virtue's broad foundations fast, + Whose glorious turrets reach to Heav'n: + + + + A VISIT TO RENELAGH + +To Ranelagh, once in my life, + By good-natur'd force I was driv'n; +The nations had ceas'd their long strife, + And PEACE[1] beam'd her radiance from Heav'n. +What wonders-were there to be found + That a clown might enjoy or disdain? +First we trac'd the gay ring all around, + Aye--and then we went round it again. + +[Footnote 1: A grand Fete, in honour of the peace of 1802.] + +A thousand feet rustled on mats, + A carpet that once had been green; +Men bow'd with their outlandish hats, + With corners so fearfully keen! +Fair maids, who at home in their haste + Had left all clothing else but a train, +Swept the floor clean, as slowly they pac'd, + And then--walk'd round and swept it again. + +The music was truly enchanting! + Right glad was I when I came near it; +But in fashion I found I was wanting:-- + 'Twas the fashion to walk and not hear it! +A fine youth, as beauty beset him, + Look'd smilingly round on the train; +"The king's nephew," they cried, as they met him; + Then--we went round and met him again. + +Huge paintings of Heroes and Peace + Seem'd to smile at the sound of the fiddle, +Proud to fill up each tall shining space + Round the lanthorn[1] that stood in the middle. +And GEORGE'S head too; Heav'n screen him! + May he finish in peace his long reign! +And what did we when we had seen him? + Why--went round and saw him again. + +[Footnote 1: The intervals between the pillars in the centre of the +Rotunda were filled up by transparent paintings] + +A bell rang, announcing new pleasures, + A crowd in an instant prest hard, +Feathers nodded, perfumes shed their treasures. + Round a door that led into the yard. +'Twas peopled all o'er in a minute, + As a white flock would cover a plain! +We had seen every soul that was in it, + Then we went round and saw them again. + +But now came a scene worth the showing, + The fireworks! midst langhs and huzzas, +With explosions the sky was all glowing, + Then down stream'd a million of stars; +With a rush the bright rockets ascended, + Wheels spurted blue fires like a rain; +We turn'd with regret when 'twas ended, + Then--star'd at each other again. + +There thousands of gay lamps aspir'd + To the tops of the trees and beyond; +And, what was most hugely admir'd, + They look'd all up-side-down in a pond! +The blaze scarce an eagle could bear; + And an owl had most surely been slain; +We return'd to the circle, and there-- + And there we went round it again. + +'Tis not wisdom to love without reason, + Or to censure without knowing why: +I had witness'd no crime, nor no treason, + "O Life, 'tis thy picture," said I. +'Tis just thus we saunter along, + Months and years bring their pleasures or pain; +We sigh midst the _right_ and the _wrong_; +--And then _we go round them again_! + + + + + LOVE OF THE COUNTRY. + + Written At Clare-Hall, Herts. June 1804. + +Welcome silence! welcome peace! + O most welcome, holy shade! +Thus I prove as years increase, + My heart and soul for quiet made. +Thus I fix my firm belief + While rapture's gushing tears descend; +That every flower and every leaf + Is moral Truth's unerring friend. + +I would not for a world of gold + That Nature's lovely face should tire; +Fountain of blessings yet untold; + Pure source of intellectual fire! +Fancy's fair buds, the germs of song, + Unquicken'd midst the world's rude strife, +Shall sweet retirement render strong, + And morning silence bring to life. + +Then tell me not that I shall grow + Forlorn, that fields and woods will cloy; +From Nature and her changes flow + An everlasting tide of joy. +I grant that summer heats will burn, + That keen will come the frosty night; +But both shall please: and each in turn + Yield Reason's most supreme delight. + +Build me a shrine, and I could kneel + To Rural Gods, or prostrate fall; +Did I not see, did I not feel, + That one GREAT SPIRIT governs all. +O heav'n permit that I may lie + Where o'er my corse green branches ware; +And those who from life's tumult fly + With kindred feelings press my grave. + + + + +THE WOODLAND HALLÓ. + +_(Perhaps) adapted for Music._ + +In our cottage, that peeps from the skirts of the wood, + I am mistress, no mother have I; +Yet blithe are my days, for my father is good, + And kind is my lover hard by; +They both work together beneath the green shade, + Both woodmen, my father and Joe. +Where I've listen'd whole hours to the echo that made + So much of a laugh or--_Halló_. + +From my basket at noon they expect their supply, + And with joy from my threshold I spring; +For the woodlands I love, and the oaks waring high, + And Echo that sings as I sing. +Though deep shades delight me, yet love is my food, + As I call the dear name of my Joe; +His musical shout is the pride of the wood, + And my heart leaps to hear the--Halló. + +Simple flowers of the grove, little birds live at ease, + I wish not to wander from you; +I'll still dwell beneath the deep roar of your trees, + For I know that my Joe will be true. +The trill of the robin, the coo of the dove, + Are charms that I'll never forego; +But resting through life on the bosom of love, + Will remember the Woodland Halló. + + [Illustration: a woman with a basket walking past a cottage] + + + + + BARNHAM WATER + +Fresh from the Hall of Bounty sprung,[1] + With glowing heart and ardent eye, +With song and rhyme upon my tongue, + And fairy visions dancing by, +The mid-day sun in all his pow'r + The backward valley painted gay; +Mine was a road without a flower, + Where one small streamlet cross'd the way. + +[Footnote 1: On a sultry afternoon, late in the summer of 1802, +Euston-Hall lay in my way to Thetford, which place I did not reach until +the evening, on a visit to my sister: the lines lose much of their +interest except they could be read on the spot, or at least at a +coresponding season of the year.] + +What was it rous'd my soul to love? + What made the simple brook so dear? +It glided like the weary dove, + And never brook seem'd half so clear. +Cool pass'd the current o'er my feet, + Its shelving brink for rest was made, +But every charm was incomplete, + For Barnham Water wants a shade. + +There, faint beneath the fervid sun, + I gaz'd in ruminating mood; +For who can see the current run + And snatch no feast of mental food? +"Keep pure thy soul," it seem'd to say, + "Keep that fair path by wisdom trod, +"That thou may'st hope to wind thy way + "To fame worth boasting, and to God." + +Long and delightful was the dream, + A waking dream that Fancy yields, +Till with regret I left the stream + And plung'd across the barren fields; +To where of old rich abbeys smil'd + In all the pomp of gothic taste, +By fond tradition proudly styl'd, + The mighty "City in the East." + +Near, on a slope of burning sand, + The shepherd boys had met to play, +To hold the plains at their command, + And mark the trav'ller's leatless way. +The trav'ller with a cheerful look + Would every pining thought forbear, +If boughs but shelter'd Barnham brook + He'd stop and leave his blessing there. + +The Danish mounds of partial green, + Still, as each mouldering tower decays, +Far o'er the bleak unwooded scene + Proclaim their wond'rous length of days. +My burning feet, my aching sight, + Demanded rest,--why did I weep? +The moon arose, and such a night! + Good Heav'n! it was a sin to sleep. + +All rushing came thy hallow'd sighs, + Sweet Melancholy, from my breast; +"'Tis here that eastern greatness lies, + "That Might, Renown, and Wisdom rest! +"Here funeral rites the priesthood gave + "To chiefs who sway'd prodigious powers, +"The Bigods and the Mowbrays brave, + "From Framlingham's imperial towers. + +Full of the mighty deeds of yore, + I bade good night the trembling beam; +Fancy e'en heard the battle's roar, + Of what but slaughter could I dream? +Bless'd be that night, that trembling beam, + Peaceful excursions Fancy made; +All night I heard the bubbling stream, + Yet, Barnham Water wants a shade. + +Whatever hurts my country's fame, + When wits and mountaineers deride, +To me grows serious, for I name + My native plains and streams with pride. +No mountain charms have I to sing, + No loftier minstrel's rights invade; +From trifles oft _my_ raptures spring; + --Sweet Barnham Water wants a shade + + + + + MARY'S EVENING SIGH + +How bright with pearl the western sky! + How glorious far and wide, +Yon lines of golden clouds that lie + So peaceful side by side! +Their deep'ning tints, the arch of light, + All eyes with rapture see; +E'en while I sigh I bless the sight + That lures my love from me. + +Green hill, that shad'st the valley here, + Thou bear'st upon thy brow +The only wealth to Mary dear, + And all she'll ever know. +There, in the crimson light I see, + Above thy summit rise, +My Edward's form, he looks to me + A statue in the skies. + +Descend my love, the hour is come, + Why linger on the hill? +The sun hath left my quiet home, + But thou canst see him still; +Yet why a lonely wanderer stray, + Alone the joy pursue? +The glories of the closing day + Can charm thy Mary too. + +Dear Edward, when we stroll'd along + Beneath the waving corn, +And both confess'd the power of song, + And bless'd the dewy morn; +Your eye o'erflow'd, "How sweet," you cried. + (My presence then could move) +"How sweet, with Mary by my side, + "To gaze and talk of love" + +Thou art not false! that cannot be; + Yet I my rivals deem +Each woodland charm, the moss, the tree, + The silence, and the stream; +Whate'er my love, detains thee now, + I'll yet forgive thy stay; +But with to-morrow's dawn come thou, + We'll brush the dews away. + + + + + GOOD TIDINGS OR, _NEWS FROM THE FARM_. + +How vain this tribute; vain, this lowly lay; +Yet nought is vain which gratitude inspires! +The Muse, besides, her duty thus approves +To virtue, to her country, to mankind! +_Thomson._ + + +ADVERTISEMENT + +To the few who know that I have employed my thoughts on the importance of +Dr. Jenners's discovery, it has generally and almost unexceptionably +appeared a subject of little promise; peculiarly unfit indeed for poetry. +My method of treating it has endeared it to myself, for it indulges in +domestic anecdote. The account given of my infancy and of my father's +burial, is not only poetically, but strictly true, and with me it has its +weight accordingly. I have witnessed the destruction described in my +brother's family: and I have, in my own, insured the lives of four +children by Vaccine Inoculation, who, I trust, are destined to look back +upon the Small-pox of the scourge of days gone by.--My hopes are high, and +my prayers sincere, for its universal adoption. + +The few notes subjoined are chiefly from "Woodville on Inoculation;" and +if I may escape the appearance of affectation of research, or a scientific +treatment of the subject, I think the egotism, so conspicuous in the poem, +(as facts give force to argument,) ought to be forgiven. + + + + GOOD TIDINGS; + + OR, + + _NEWS FROM THE FARM_. + +Where's the Blind Child, so admirably fair, +With guileless dimples, and with flaxen hair +That waves in ev'ry breeze? he's often seen +Beside yon cottage wall, or on the green, +With others match'd in spirit and in size, +Health on their cheeks and rapture in their eyes; +That full expanse of voice, to childhood dear, +Soul of their sports, is duly cherish'd here: +And, hark! that laugh is his, that jovial cry; +He hears the ball and trundling hoop brush by, +And runs the giddy course with all his might, +A very child in every thing but sight; +With circumscrib'd but not abated pow'rs,-- +Play! the great object of his infant hours;-- +In many a game he takes a noisy part, +And shows the native gladness of his heart; +But soon he hears, on pleasure all intent, +The new suggestion and the quick assent; +The grove invites, delight thrills every breast-- +To leap the ditch and seek the downy nest +Away they start, leave balls and hoops behind, +And one companion leave----the boy is blind! + +[Illustration: a child beneath a tree.] + +His fancy paints their distant paths so gay, +That childish fortitude awhile gives way, +He feels his dreadful loss--yet short the pain, +Soon he resumes his cheerfulness again; +Pond'ring how best his moments to employ, +He sings his little songs of nameless joy, +Creeps on the warm green turf for many an hour, +And plucks by chance the white and yellow flow'r; +Smoothing their stems, while resting on his knees, +He binds a nosegay which he never sees; +Along the homeward path then feels his way, +Lifting his brow against the shining day, +And, with a playful rapture round his eyes, +Presents a sighing parent with the prize. + +She blest _that_ day, which he remembers too, +When he could gaze on heav'n's ethereal blue, +See the green Spring, and Summer's countless dies, +And all the colours of the morning rise.-- +'When was this work of bitterness begun? +How came the blindness of your only son?' +Thus pity prompts full many a tongue to say, +But never, till she slowly wipes away +Th' obtruding tear that trembles in her eye. +This dagger of a question meets reply:-- +"My boy was healthy, and my rest was sound, +When last year's corn was green upon the ground +From yonder town infection found its way; +Around me putrid dead and dying lay, +I trembled for his fate: but all my care +Avail'd not, for he breath'd the tainted air; +Sickness ensu'd--in terror and dismay +I nurs'd him in my arms both night and day, +When his soft skin from head to foot became +One swelling purple sore, unfit to name: +Hour after hour, when all was still beside, +When the pale night-light in its socket died, +Alone I sat; the thought still sooths my heart, +That surely I perform'd a mother's part, +Watching with such anxiety and pain +Till he might smile and look on me again; +But that was not to be--ask me no more: +GOD keep small-pox and blindness from your door!" + +Now, ye who think, whose souls abroad take wing, +And trace out human troubles to their spring, +Say, should Heav'n grant us, in some hallow'd hour, +Means to divest this demon of his power, +To loose his horrid grasp from early worth, +To spread a saving conquest round the earth, +Till ev'ry land shall bow the grateful knee, +Would it not be a glorious day to see?-- +That day is come! my soul, in strength arise, +Invoke no muse, no power below the skies; +To Heav'n the energies of verse belong, +Truth is the theme, and truth shall be the song; +Arm with conviction ev'ry joyful line, +Source of all mercies, for the praise is thine! +Sweet beam'd the star of peace upon those days +When Virtue watch'd my childhood's quiet ways, +Whence a warm spark of Nature's holy flame +Gave the farm-yard an honourable name, +But left one theme unsung: then, who had seen +In herds that feast upon the vernal green, +Or dreamt that in the blood of kine there ran +Blessings beyond the sustenance of man? +We tread the meadow, and we scent the thorn, +We hail the day-spring of a summer's morn +Nor mead at dawning day, nor thymy heath, +Transcends the fragrance of the heifer's breath: +May that dear fragrance, as it floats along +O'er ev'ry flow'r that lives in rustic song; +May all the sweets of meadows and of kine +Embalm, O Health! this offering at thy shrine. + +Dear must that moment be when first the mind, +Ranging the paths of science unconfin'd, +Strikes a new light; when, obvious to the sense, +Springs the fresh spark of bright intelligence. +So felt the towering soul of MONTAGU, +Her sex's glory, and her country's too; +Who gave the spotted plague one deadly blow, +And bade its mitigated poison flow +With half its terrors; yet, with loathing still, +We hous'd a visitant with pow'r to kill. +Then when the healthful blood, though often tried, +Foil'd the keen lancet by the Severn side, +Resisting, uncontaminated still, +The purple pest and unremitting skill; +When the plain truth tradition seem'd to know, +By simply pointing to the harmless Cow, +Though wise distrust to reason might appeal; +What, when hope triumph'd, what did JENNER feel! +Where even hope itself could scarcely rise +To scan the vast, inestimable prize? +Perhaps supreme, alone, triumphant stood +The great, the conscious power of doing good, +The power to will, and wishes to embrace +Th' emancipation of the human race; +A joy that must all mortal praise outlive, +A wealth that grateful nations cannot give. +Forth sped the truth immediate from his hand, +And confirmations sprung in ev'ry land; +In ev'ry land, on beauty's lily arm, +On infant softness, like a magic charm, +Appear'd the gift that conquers as it goes; +The dairy's boast, the simple, saving Rose! +Momentous triumph--fiend! thy reign is o'er; +Thou, whose blind rage hath ravag'd ev'ry shore, +Whose name denotes destruction, whose foul breath +For ever hov'ring round the dart of death, +Fells, mercilessly fells, the brave and base, +Through all the kindreds of the human race. + +Who has not heard, in warm, poetic tales, +Of eastern fragrance and Arabian gales? +Bowers of delight, of languor, and repose, +Where beauty triumph'd as the song arose? +Fancy may revel, fiction boldly dare, +But truth shall not forget that _thou_ wert there, +Scourge of the world! who, borne on ev'ry wind, +From bow'rs of roses [1] sprang to curse mankind. +[Footnote 1: The first medical account of the small-pox is given by the +Arabian physicians, and is traced no farther back than the siege of +Alexandria, about the year of Christ, 640.--Woodville.] + + +The Indian palm thy devastation knows: +Thou sweep'st the regions of eternal snows [2]: +[Footnote 2: First introduced into Greenland in 1733, and almost +depopulated the country.--Ibid.] + +Climbing the mighty period of his years, +The British oak his giant bulk uprears; +He, in his strength, while toll'd the passing bell, +Rejoic'd whole centuries as thy victims fell: +Armies have bled, and shouts of vict'ry rung, +Fame crown'd _their_ deaths, _thy_ deaths are all unsung: +'Twas thine, while victories claim'd th' immortal lay, +Through private life to cut thy desperate way; +And when full power the wondrous magnet gave +Ambition's sons to dare the ocean wave, +Thee, in their train of horrid ills, they drew +Beneath the blessed sunshine of Peru [3]. +[Footnote 3: In 1520, says Mr. Woodville, when the small-pox visited New +Spain, it proved fatal to one half of the people in the provinces to which +the infection extended; being carried thither by a negro slave, who +attended Narvaez in his expedition against Cortes. He adds, about fifty +years after the discovery of Peru, The small-pox was carried over from +Europe to America by way of Carthagena, when it overran the Continent of +the New World, and destroyed upwards of 100,000 Indians in the single +province of Quito.--_Hist. of Inoculation._] + +But why unskill'd th' historic page explore? +Why thus pursue thee to a foreign shore? +A homely narrative of days gone by, +Familiar griefs, and kindred's tender sigh +Shall still survive; for thou on ev'ry mind +Hast left some traces of thy wrath behind. +There dwelt, beside a brook that creeps along +Midst infant hills and meads unknown to song, +One to whom poverty and faith were giv'n, +Calm village silence, and the hope of heav'n: +Alone she dwelt; and while each morn brought peace +And health was smiling on her years' increase, +Sudden and fearful, rushing through her frame, +Unusual pains and feverish symptoms came. +Then, when debilitated, faint, and poor, +How sweet to hear a footstep at her door! +To see a neighbour watch life's silent sand, +To hear the sigh, and feel the helping hand! +Soon woe o'erspread the interdicted ground, +And consternation seiz'd the hamlets round: +Uprose the pest--its widow'd victim died; +And foul contagion spread on ev'ryside; +The helping neighbour for her kind regard, +Bore home _that_ dreadful tribute of reward, +_Home_, where six children, yielding to its pow'r, +Gave hope and patience a most trying hour; +One at her breast still drew the living stream, +And, sense of danger never marr'd his dream; +Yet all exclaim'd, and with a pitying eye, +"Whoe'er survives the shock, _that child will die!_" +But vain the fiat,--Heav'n restor'd them all, +And destin'd one of riper years to fall. +Midnight beheld the close of all his pain, +His grave was clos'd when midnight came again; +No bell was heard to toll, no funeral pray'r, +No kindred bow'd, no wife, no children there; +Its horrid nature could inspire a dread +That cut the bonds of custom like a thread +The humble church-tow'r higher seem'd to shew, +Illumin'd by their trembling light below; +The solemn night-breeze struck each shiv'ring check; +Religious reverence forbade to speak: +The starting Sexton his short sorrow chid +When the earth murmur'd on the coffin lid, +And falling bones and sighs of holy dread +Sounded a requiem to the silent dead! + +'Why tell us tales of woe, thou who didst give +Thy soul to rural themes, and bade them live? +What means this zeal of thine, this kindling fire? +The rescu'd infant and the dying sire.' +Kind heart, who o'er the pictur'd Seasons glow'd, +When smiles approv'd the verse, or tears have flow'd, +Was then the lowly minstrel dear to thee? +Himself appeals--What, if _that child_ were HE! + +[Illustration: men digging a grave?] + +What, if those midnight sighs a farewel gave, +While hands, all trembling, clos'd his father's grave! +Though love enjoin'd not infant eyes to weep, +In manhood's zenith shall his feelings sleep? +Sleep not my soul! indulge a nobler flame; +_Still_ the destroyer persecutes thy name. + Seven winter's cannot pluck from memory's store +That mark'd affliction which a brother bore; +That storm of trouble bursting on his head, +When the fiend came, and left _two children_ dead! +Yet, still superior to domestic woes, +The native vigour of his mind arose, +And, as new summers teem'd with brighter views, +He trac'd the wand'rings of his darling Muse, +And all was joy--this instant all is pain, +The foe implacable returns again, +And claims a sacrifice; the deed is done-- +_Another child_ has fall'n, another son [4]! +[Footnote 4: I had proceeded thus far with the Poem, when the above fact +became a powerfull stimulus to my feelings, and to the earnestness of my +exhortations.] + +His young cheek even now is scarcely cold, +And shall his early doom remain untold? +No! let the tide of passion roll along, +Truth _will_ be heard, and GOD will bless the song +Indignant Reason, Pity, Joy, arise, +And speak in thunder to the heart that sighs: +Speak loud to parents;--knew ye not the time +When age itself, and manhood's hardy prime, +With horror saw their short-liv'd friendships end. +Yet dar'd not visit e'en the dying friend? +Contagion, a foul serpent lurking near, +Mock'd Nature's sigh and Friendship's holy tear. +Love ye your children?--let that love arise, +Pronounce the sentence, and the serpent dies; +Bid welcome a mild stranger at your door, +Distress shall cease, those terrors reign no more. +Love ye your neighbours?--let that love be shown; +Risk not _their_ children while you guard your own; +Give not a foe dominion o'er your blood, +Plant not a poison, e'en to bring forth good; +For, woo the pest discreetly as you will, +Deadly infection must attend him still. +Then, let the serpent die! this glorious prize +Sets more than life and health before our eyes, +For beauty triumphs too! Beauty! sweet name, +The mother's feelings kindling into flame! +For, where dwells she, who, while the virtues grow. +With cold indifference marks the arching brow? +Or, with a lifeless heart and recreant blood, +Sighs not for daughters fair as well as good? +That sigh is nature, and cannot decay, +'Tis universal as the beams of day; +Man knows and feels its truth; for, Beauty's call +Rouses the coldest mortal of us all; +A glance warms age itself, and gives the boy +The pulse of rapture and the sigh of joy. +And is it then no conquest to insure +Our lilies spotless and our roses pure? +Is it no triumph that the lovely face +Inherits every line of Nature's grace? +That the sweet precincts of the laughing eye +Dread no rude scars, no foul deformity? +Our boast, old Time himself shall not impair. +Of British maids pre-eminently fair; +But, as he rolls his years on years along, +Shall keep the record of immortal song; +For song shall rise with ampler power to speak +The new-born influence of Beauty's cheek, +Shall catch new fires in every sacred grove, +Fresh inspiration from the lips of Love, +And write for ever on the rising mind-- +DEAD IS ONE MORTAL FOE OF HUMAN KIND! + +Yes, we have conquer'd! and the thought should raise +A spirit in our prayers as well as praise, +For who will say, in Nature's wide domain +There lurk not remedies for every pain? +Who will assert, where Turkish banners fly, +Woe still shall reign--the plague shall never die? +Or who predict, with bosom all unblest, +An everlasting fever in the West? +Forbid it Heav'n!--Hope cheers us with a smile, +The sun of Mercy's risen on our isle: +Its beams already, o'er th' Atlantic wave, +Pierce the dark forests of the suffering brave: +There, e'en th' abandon'd sick imbib'd a glow, +When warrior nations, resting on the bow, +Astonish'd heard the joyful rumour rise, +And call'd the council of their great and wise: +The truth by female pray'rs was urg'd along, +Youth ceas'd the chorus of the warrior song, +And present ills bade present feelings press +With all the eloquence of deep distress; +Till forth their chiefs [A] o'er dying thousands trod +To seek the white man and his bounteous God: +[Footnote A: The chiefs of the Cherokee Indians, in North America, have +applied to the government of the United States for information on the +subject of Vaccine Inoculation, and have spread the practice in the +Woods.] + +Well sped their errand; with a patriot zeal +They spread the blessing for their country's weal. + +Where India's swarthy millions crowd the strand, +And round that isle, which crowns their pointed land, +Speeds the good angel with the balmy breath, +And checks the dreadful tyranny of death: +Whate'er we hear to hurt the peace of life, +Of Candian treachery and British strife, +The sword of commerce, nations bought and sold, +They owe to England more than mines of gold; +England has sent a balm for private woe; +England strikes down the nations' bitterest foe. + +Europe, amidst the clangor of her arms, +While life was threaten'd with a thousand harms, +And Charity was freezing to its source, +Still saw fair Science keep her steady course; +And, while whole legions fell, by friends deplor'd, +New germs of life sprung up beneath the sword, +And spread amain.--Then, in our bosoms, why +Must exultation mingle with a sigh? + +Thought takes the retrospect of years just fled, +And, conjuring up the spirits of the dead, +Whispers each dear and venerated name +Of the last victims ere the blessing came, +Worthies, who through the lands that gave them birth +Breath'd the strong evidence of growing worth; +Parents, cut down in life's meridian day, +And childhood's thousand thousand swept away; +Life's luckless mariners! ye, we deplore +Who sunk within a boat's length of the shore [A]. +[Footnote A: So lately as the year 1793, the small-pox was carried to the +Isle of France by a Dutch ship, and there destroyed five thousand four +hundred persons in six weeks.--Woodville.] + +A stranger youth, from his meridian sky, +Buoyant with hopes, came here but came to _die_! +O'er his sad fate I've ponder'd hours away, +It suits the languor of a gloomy day: +He left his bamboo groves, his pleasant shore, +He left his friends to hear new oceans roar, +All confident, ingenuous, and bold, +He heard the wonders by the white men told; +With firm assurance trod the rolling deck, +And saw his isle diminish to a speck, +Plough'd the rough waves, and gain'd our northern clime, +In manhood's ripening sense and nature's prime. +Oh! had the fiend been vanquished ere he came, +The gen'rous youth had spread my country's fame. +Had known that honour dwells among the brave, +And England had not prov'd the stranger's grave: +Then, ere his waning sand of life had run, +Poor ABBA THULE might hare seen his son! [A] +[Footnote A: Lee Boo, second son of the King of the Pelew Islands, was +brought to England by Capt. Wilson, and died of the Small-pox at +Rotherhithe, in 1784.] + +Rise, exultation! spirit, louder speak! +Pity, dislodge thy dewdrops from my cheek: +Sleep sound, forefathers; sleep, brave stranger boy, +While truth impels the current of my joy: +To all mankind, to all the earth 'tis giv'n, +Conviction travels like the light of heav'n: +Go, blessing, from thy birth-place still expand, +For that dear birth-place is my native land! +A nation consecrates th' auspicious day, +And wealth, and rank, and talents lead the way! +Time, with triumphant hand, shall truth diffuse, +Nor ask the unbought efforts of the Muse. +Mothers! the pledges of your loves caress, +And heave no sighs but sighs of tenderness. +Fathers, be firm! keep down the fallen foe, +And on the memory of domestic woe +Build resolution,--Victory shall increase +Th' incalculable wealth of private peace; +And such a victory, unstain'd with gore, +That strews its laurels at the cottage door, +Sprung from the farm, and from the yellow mead, +Should be the glory of the pastoral reed. +In village paths, hence, may we never find +Their youth on crutches, and their children blind; +Nor, when the milk-maid, early from her bed, +Beneath the may bush that embow'rs her head, +Sings like a bird, e'er grieve to meet again +The fair cheek injur'd by the scars of pain; +Pure, in her morning path, where'er she treads, +Like April sunshine and the flow'rs it feeds, +She'll boast new conquests; Love, new shafts to fling; +And Life, an uncontaminated spring. +In pure delight didst thou, my soul, pursue +A task to conscience and to kindred due, +And, true to feeling and to Nature, deem +The dairy's boast thy own appropriate theme; +Hail now the meed of pleasurable hours, +And, at the foot of Science, strew thy flow'rs! + + +THE END + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Wild Flowers, by Robert Bloomfield + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILD FLOWERS *** + +***** This file should be named 9094-8.txt or 9094-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/0/9/9094/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Charles Bidwell and Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/9094-8.zip b/9094-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a6faeae --- /dev/null +++ b/9094-8.zip diff --git a/9094.txt b/9094.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1d18e13 --- /dev/null +++ b/9094.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2680 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Wild Flowers, by Robert Bloomfield + +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: Wild Flowers + Or, Pastoral and Local Poetry + +Author: Robert Bloomfield + +Posting Date: October 15, 2012 [EBook #9094] +Release Date: October, 2005 +First Posted: September 4, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILD FLOWERS *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Charles Bidwell and Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + +WILD FLOWERS + +OR, + +PASTORAL AND LOCAL POETRY. + +By ROBERT BLOOMFIELD +Author of "The Farmer's Boy" and "Rural Tales". + +LONDON: +Printed for Vernor, Hood, and Sharpe, Poultry; +and Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, Paternoster-Row. + +1806. + +WRIGHT, Printer, No. 32, St. John's Square, Clerkenwall. + + + + +PREFACE + +A man of the first eminence, in whose day (fortunately perhaps for me) I +was not destined to appear before the public, or to abide the Herculean +crab-tree of his criticism, Dr. Johnson, has said, in his preface to +Shakspeare, that--"Nothing can please many, and please long, but just +representations of general nature." My representations of nature, whatever +may be said of their _justness_, are not _general_, unless we admit, what +I suspect to be the case, that nature in a village is very much like +nature every where else. It will be observed that all my pictures are from +humble life, and most of my heroines servant maids. Such I would have +them: being fully persuaded that, in no other way would my endeavours, +either to please or to instruct, have an equal chance of success. + +The path I have thus taken, from necessity, as well as from choice, is +well understood and approved by hundreds, who are capable of ranging in +the higher walks of literature.--But with due deference to their superior +claim, I confess, that no recompense has been half so grateful or half so +agreeable to me as female approbation. To be readily and generally +understood, to have my simple Tales almost instinctively relished by those +who have so decided an influence over the lives, hearts, and manners of us +all, is the utmost stretch of my ambition. + +I here venture, before the public eye, a selection from the various pieces +which have been the source of much pleasure, and the solace of my leisure +hours during the last four years, and since the publication of the "Rural +Tales." Perhaps, in some of them, more of mirth is intermingled than many +who know me would expect, or than the severe will be inclined to approve. +But surely what I can say, or can be expected to say, on subjects of +country life, would gain little by the seriousness of a preacher, or by +exhibiting fallacious representations of what has long been termed _Rural +Innocence_. + +The Poem of "Good Tidings" is partially known to the world, but, as it +was originally intended to assume its present appearance and size, I have +gladly availed myself of an endeavour to improve it; and, from its present +extended circulation, I trust it will be new to thousands. + +I anticipate some approbation from such readers as have been pleased with +the "Rural Tales;" yet, though I will not falsify my own feelings by +assuming a diffidence which I do not conceive to be either manly or +becoming, the conviction that some reputation is hazarded in "a third +attempt," is impressed deeply on my mind. + +With such sentiments, and with a lively sense of the high honour, and a +hope of the bright recompence, of applause from the good, when heightened +by the self-approving voice of my own conscience, I commit the book to its +fate. + +ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. + + + + DEDICATION. + + TO MY ONLY SON. + +MY DEAR BOY, + +In thus addressing myself to you, and in expressing my regard for your +person, my anxiety for your health, and my devotion to your welfare, I +enjoy an advantage over those dedicators who indulge in adulation;--I +shall at least be believed. + +Should you arrive at that period when reason shall be mature, and +affection or curiosity induce you to look back on your father's +poetical progress through life, you may conclude that he had many to boast +as friends, whose names, in a dedication, would have honoured both him and +his children; but you must also reflect, that to particularize such +friends was a point of peculiar delicacy. The earliest patron of my +unprotected strains has the warm thanks which are his due, for the +introduction of blessings which have been diffused through our whole +family, and nothing will ever change this sentiment. But amidst a general +feeling of gratitude, which those who know me will never dispute, I feel +for you, Charles, what none but parents can conceive; and on your account, +my dear boy, there can be no harm in telling the world that I hope these +"Wild Flowers" will be productive of sweets of the worldly kind; for your +unfortunate lameness (should it never be removed) may preclude you from +the means of procuring comforts and advantages which might otherwise have +fallen to your share. + +What a lasting, what an unspeakable satisfaction would it be to know that +the Ballads, the Plowman Stories, and the "Broken Crutch" of your father +would eventually contribute to lighten your steps to manhood, and make +your own crutch, through life, rather a memorial of affection than an +object of sorrow. + +With a parent's feelings, and a parent's cares and hopes, + +I am, Charles, yours, + +R. B. + + + + + CONTENTS + +Abner and the Widow Jones, a Familiar Ballad +To My Old Oak Table +The Horkey, a Provincial Ballad +The Broken Crutch, a Tale +Shooter's Hill +A Visit to Ranelagh +Love of the Country +The Woodland Hallo +Barnham Water +Mary's Evening Sigh +Good Tidings; or, News from the Farm + + + + ABNER AND THE WIDOW JONES, + + A Familiar Ballad. + + +Well! I'm determin'd; that's enough:-- + Gee, Bayard! move your poor old bones, +I'll take to-morrow, smooth or rough, + To go and court the Widow Jones. + +Our master talks of stable-room, + And younger horses on his grounds; +'Tis easy to foresee thy doom, + Bayard, thou'lt go to feed the hounds. + +The first Determination. + +But could I win the widow's hand, + I'd make a truce 'twixt death and thee; +For thou upon the best of land + Should'st feed, and live, and die with me. + +And must the pole-axe lay thee low? + And will they pick thy poor old bones? +No--hang me if it shall be so,-- + If I can win the Widow Jones. + +Twirl went his stick; his curly pate + A bran-new hat uplifted bore; +And Abner, as he leapt the gate, + Had never look'd so gay before. + +Old Love revived. + +And every spark of love reviv'd + That had perplex'd him long ago, +When busy folks and fools contriv'd + To make his Mary answer--_no_. + +But whether, freed from recent vows, + _Her_ heart had back to Abner flown, +And mark'd him for a second spouse, + In truth is not exactly known. + +Howbeit, as he came in sight, + She turn'd her from the garden stile, +And downward look'd with pure delight, + With half a sigh and half a smile. + +Rustic Salutation. + +She heard his sounding step behind, + The blush of joy crept up her cheek, +As cheerly floated on the wind, + "Hoi! Mary Jones--what wont you speak?" + +Then, with a look that ne'er deceives, + She turn'd, but found her courage fled; +And scolding sparrows from the eaves + Peep'd forth upon the stranger's head. + +Down Abner sat, with glowing heart, + Resolv'd, whatever might betide, +To speak his mind, no other art + He ever knew, or ever tried. + +[Illustration: a couple.] + +A clear Question. + +And gently twitching Mary's hand, + The bench had ample room for two, +His first word made her understand + The plowman's errand was to woo. + +"My Mary--may I call thee so? + For many a happy day we've seen, +And if not mine, aye, years ago, + Whose was the fault? you might have been! + +"All that's gone by: but I've been musing, + And vow'd, and hope to keep it true, +That she shall be my own heart's choosing + Whom I call wife.--Hey, what say you? + +Past Thoughts stated. + +"And as I drove my plough along, + And felt the strength that's in my arm, +Ten years, thought I, amidst my song, + I've been head-man at Harewood farm. + +"And now, my own dear Mary's free, + Whom I have lov'd this many a day, +Who knows but she may think on _me?_ + I'll go hear what she has to say. + +"Perhaps that little stock of land + She holds, but knows not how to till, +Will suffer in the widow's hand, + And make poor Mary poorer still + +The Avowal. + +"That scrap of land, with one like her, + How we might live! and be so blest! +And who should Mary Jones prefer? + Why, surely, him who loves her best! + +"Therefore I'm come to-night, sweet wench, + I would not idly thus intrude,"-- +Mary look'd downward on the bench, + O'erpower'd by love and gratitude. + +And lean'd her head against the vine, + With quick'ning sobs of silent bliss, +Till Abner cried, "You must be mine, + You must,"--and seal'd it with a kiss. + +The Interest of an old Horse asserted. + +She talk'd of shame, and wip'd her check, + But what had shame with them to do, +Who nothing meant but truth to speak, + And downright honour to pursue? + +His eloquence improv'd apace, + As manly pity fill'd his mind; +"You know poor Bayard; here's the case,-- + He's past his labour, old, and blind: + +"If you and I should but agree + To settle here for good and all, +Could you give all your heart to me, + And grudge that poor old rogue a stall? + +His Character. + +"I'll buy him, for the dogs shall never + Set tooth upon a friend so true; +He'll not live long, but I for ever + Shall know I gave the beast his due. + +"'Mongst all I've known of plows and carts, + And ever since I learn'd to drive, +He was not match'd in all these parts; + There was not such a horse alive! + +"Ready, as birds to meet the morn, + Were all his efforts at the plough; +Then, the mill-brook with hay or corn, + Good creature! how he'd spatter through! + +Character continued. + +"He was a horse of mighty pow'r, + Compact in frame, and strong of limb; +Went with a chirp from hour to hour; + Whip-cord! 'twas never made for him. + +"I left him in the shafts behind, + His fellows all unhook'd and gone, +He neigh'd, and deem'd the thing unkind. + Then, starting, drew the load alone! + +"But I might talk till pitch-dark night, + And then have something left to say; +But, Mary, am I wrong or right, + Or, do I throw my words away? + +Something like Consent. + +"Leave me, or take me and my horse; + I've told thee truth, and all I know: +Truth _should_ breed truth; that comes of course; + If I sow wheat, why wheat will grow." + +"Yes, Abner, but thus soon to yield, + Neighbours would fleer, and look behind 'em; +Though, with a husband in the field, + Perhaps, indeed, I should not mind 'em. + +"I've known your generous nature well, + My first denial cost me dear; +How this may end we cannot tell, + But, as for Bayard, bring him here." + +Parting of the Lovers.--Sad News. + +"Bless thee for that," the plowman cried, + At once both starting from the seat, +He stood a guardian by her side, + But talk'd of home,--'twas growing late. + +Then step for step within his arm, + She cheer'd him down the dewy way; +And no two birds upon the farm + E'er prated with more joy than they. + +What news at home? The smile he wore + One little sentence turn'd to sorrow; +An order met him at the door. + "Take Bayard to the dogs to-morrow." + +The Journey renewed. + +Yes, yes, thought he; and heav'd a sigh, + Die when he will he's not your debtor: +I must obey, and he must die,-- + That's if I can't contrive it better. + +He left his Mary late at night, + And had succeeded in the main, +No sooner peep'd the morning light + But he was on the road again! + +Suppose she should refuse her hand? + Such thoughts will come, I know not why; +Shall I, without a wife or land, + Want an old horse? then wherefore buy? + +Perplexity + +From bush to bush, from stile to stile, + Perplex'd he trod the fallow ground, +And told his money all the while + And weigh'd the matter round and round. + +"I'll borrow," that's the best thought yet; + Mary shall save the horse's life.-- +Kind-hearted wench! what, run in debt + Before I know she'll be my wife? + +These women wo'nt speak plain and free.-- + Well, well, I'll keep my service still; +She has not _said_ she'd marry me, + But yet I dare to say she will. + +A fresh Thought--Turns back. + +But while I take this shay brain'd course, + And like a fool run to and fro, +Master, perhaps, may sell the horse! + Therefore this instant home I'll go. + +The nightly rains had drench'd the grove, + He plung'd right on with headlong pace; +A man but half as much in love + Perhaps had found a cleaner place. + +The day rose fair; with team a-field, + He watch'd the farmer's cheerful brow; +And in a lucky hour reveal'd + His secret at his post, the plough. + +Coming to the Point--Generosity + +And there without a whine began, + "Master, you'll give me your advice; +I'm going to marry--if I can-- + And want old Bayard; what's his price! + +"For Mary Jones last night agreed, + Or near upon't, to be my wife: +The horse's value I don't heed, + I only want to save his life." + +"Buy him, hey! Abner! trust me I + Have not the thought of gain in view; +Bayard's best days we've seen go by; + He shall be cheap enough to you." + +Symptoms of good Feelings. + +The wages paid, the horse brought out, + The hour of separation come; +The farmer turn'd his chair about, + "Good fellow, take him, take him home. + +"You're welcome, Abner, to the beast, + For you're a faithful servant been; +They'll thrive I doubt not in the least, + Who know what work and service mean." + +The maids at parting, one and all, + From different windows different tones; +Bade him farewel with many a bawl, + And sent their love to Mary Jones. + +Victory! + +He wav'd his hat, and turn'd away, + When loud the cry of children rose; +"Abner, good bye!" they stopt their play; + "There goes poor Bayard! there he goes!" + +Half choak'd with joy, with love, and pride, + He now with dainty clover fed him, +Now took a short triumphant ride, + And then again got down and led him. + +And hobbling onward up the hill, + The widow's house was full in sight, +He pull'd the bridle harder still, + "Come on, we shan't be there to-night." + +Victory! + +She met them with a smile so sweet, + The stable-door was open thrown; +The blind horse lifted high his feet, + And loudly snorting, laid him down. + +O Victory! from that stock of laurels + You keep so snug for camps and thrones, +Spare us _one twig_ from all their quarrels + For Abner and the Widow Jones. + +[Illustration: a table.] + + + + TO MY OLD OAK TABLE. + +Friend of my peaceful days! substantial friend, +Whom wealth can never change, nor int'rest bend, +I love thee like a child. Thou wert to me +The dumb companion of my misery, +And oftner of my joys;--then as I spoke, +I shar'd thy sympathy, Old Heart of Oak! +For surely when my labour ceas'd at night, +With trembling, feverish hands, and aching sight, +The draught that cheer'd me and subdu'd my care, +On thy broad shoulders thou wert proud to bear +O'er thee, with expectation's fire elate, +I've sat and ponder'd on my future fate: +On thee, with winter muffins for thy store, +I've lean'd, and quite forgot that I was poor. + +Where dropp'd the acorn that gave birth to thee? +Can'st thou trace back thy line of ancestry? +We're match'd, old friend, and let us not repine, +Darkness o'erhangs thy origin and mine; +Both may be truly honourable: yet, +We'll date our honours from the day we met; +When, of my worldly wealth the parent stock, +Right welcome up the Thames from Woolwich Dock +Thou cam'st, when hopes ran high and love was young; +But soon our olive-branches round thee sprung; +Soon came the days that tried a faithful wife, +The noise of children, and the cares of life. +Then, midst the threat'nings of a wintry sky, +_That cough_ which blights the bud of infancy, +The dread of parents, Rest's inveterate foe, +Came like a plague, and turn'd my songs to woe. + +Rest! without thee what strength can long survive, +What spirit keep the flame of Hope alive? +The midnight murmur of the cradle gave +Sounds of despair; and chilly as the grave. +We felt its undulating blast arise, +Midst whisper'd sorrows and ten thousand sighs. +Expiring embers warn'd us each to sleep, +By turns to watch alone, by turns to weep, +By turns to hear, and keep from starting wild, +The sad, faint wailings of a dying child. +But Death, obedient to Heav'n's high command, +Withdrew his jav'lin, and unclench'd his hand; +The little sufferers triumph'd over pain, +Their mother smil'd, and bade me hope again. +Yet Care gain'd ground, Exertion triumph'd less, +Thick fell the gathering terrors of Distress; +Anxiety, and Griefs without a name, +Had made their dreadful inroads on my frame; +The creeping Dropsy, cold as cold could be, +Unnerv'd my arm, and bow'd my head to thee. +Thou to thy trust, old friend, hast not been true; +These eyes the bitterest tears they ever knew +Let fall upon thee; now all wip'd away; +But what from memory shall wipe out that day? +The great, the wealthy of my native land, +To whom a guinea is a grain of sand, +I thought upon them, for my _thoughts_ were free, +But all unknown were then my woes and me. + +Still, Resignation was my dearest friend, +And Reason pointed to a glorious end; +With anxious sighs, a parent's hopes and pride, +I wish'd to live--I trust I could have died! +But winter's clouds pursu'd their stormy way, +And March brought sunshine with the length'ning day, +And bade my heart arise, that morn and night +Now throbb'd with irresistible delight. +Delightful 'twas to leave disease behind, +And feel the renovation of the mind! +To lead abroad upborne on Pleasure's wing, +Our children, midst the glories of the spring; +Our fellow sufferers, our only wealth, +To gather daisies in the breeze of health! + +'Twas then, too, when our prospects grew so fair, +And Sabbath bells announc'd the morning pray'r; +Beneath that vast gigantic dome we bow'd, +That lifts its flaming cross above the cloud; +Had gain'd the centre of the checquer'd floor;-- +That instant, with reverberating roar +Burst forth the pealing organ----mute we stood;-- +The strong sensation boiling through my blood, +Rose in a storm of joy, allied to pain, +I wept, and worshipp'd GOD, and wept again; +And felt, amidst the fervor of my praise, +The sweet assurances of better days. + +In that gay season, honest friend of mine, +I mark'd the brilliant sun upon thee shine; +Imagination took her flights so free, +_Home_ was delicious with my book and thee, +The purchas'd nosegay, or brown ears of corn, +Were thy gay plumes upon a summer's morn, +Awakening memory, that disdains control, +They spoke the darling language of my soul: +They whisper'd tales of joy, of peace, of truth, +And conjur'd back the sunshine of my youth: +Fancy presided at the joyful birth, +I pour'd the torrent of my feelings forth; +Conscious of _truth_ in Nature's humble track, +And wrote "The Farmer's Boy" upon thy back! +Enough, old friend:--thou'rt mine; and shalt partake, +While I have pen to write, or tongue to speak, +Whatever fortune deals me.--Part with thee! +No, not till death shall set my spirit free; +For know, should plenty crown my life's decline, +A most important duty may be thine: +Then, guard me from Temptation's base control, +From apathy and littleness of soul +The sight of thy old frame, so rough, so rode, +Shall twitch the sleeve of nodding Gratitude; +Shall teach me but to venerate the more +Honest Oak Tables and their guests--the poor: +Teach me unjust distinctions to deride, +And falsehoods gender'd in the brain of Pride; +Shall give to Fancy still the cheerful hour, +To Intellect, its freedom and its power; +To Hospitality's enchanting ring +A charm, which nothing but thyself can bring. +The man who would not look with honest pride +On the tight bark that stemm'd the roaring tide, +And bore him, when he bow'd the trembling knee, +Home, through the mighty perils of the sea, +I love him not.--He ne'er shall be my guest; +Nor sip my cup, nor witness how I'm blest; +Nor lean, to bring my honest friend to shame, +A sacrilegious elbow on thy frame; +But thou through life a monitor shalt prove, +Sacred to Truth, to Poetry, and Love. + +Dec. 1803. + + + + THE HORKEY. A Provincial Ballad. + + ADVERTISEMENT. + +In the descriptive ballad which follows, it will be evident that I have +endeavoured to preserve the style of a gossip, and to transmit the +memorial of a custom, the extent or antiquity of which I am not acquainted +with, and pretend not to enquire. + +In Suffolk husbandry the man who, (whether by merit or by sufferance I +know not) goes foremost through the harvest with the scythe or the sickle, +is honoured with the title of "_Lord_," and at the Horkey, or harvest-home +feast, collects what he can, for himself and brethren, from the farmers +and visitors, to make a "frolick" afterwards, called "the largess +spending." By way of returning thanks, though perhaps formerly of much +more, or of different signification, they immediately leave the seat of +festivity, and with a very long and repeated shout of "a largess," the +number of shouts being regulated by the sums given, seem to wish to make +themselves heard by the people of the surrounding farms. And before they +rejoin the company within, the pranks and the jollity I have endeavoured +to describe, usually take place. These customs, I believe, are going fast +out of use; which is one great reason for my trying to tell the rising +race of mankind that such were the customs when I was a boy. + +I have annexed a glossary of such words as may be found by general readers +to require explanation. And will add a short extract from Sir Thomas +Brown, of Norwich, M. D. who was born three years before Milton, and +outlived him eight years. + +"It were not impossible to make an original reduction of many words of no +general reception in _England_, but of common use in _Norfolk_, or +peculiar to the _East-Angle_ counties; as, Bawnd, Bunny, Thurck, Enemis, +Matchly, Sainmodithee, Mawther, Kedge, Seele, Straft, Clever, Dere, +Nicked, Stingy, Noneare, Fett, Thepes, Gosgood, Kamp, Sibrit, Fangast, +Sap, Cothish, Thokish, Bide-owe, Paxwax. Of these, and some others, of no +easy originals, when time will permit, the resolution shall be attempted; +which to effect, the Danish language, new, and more ancient, may prove of +good advantage: which nation remained here fifty years upon agreement, and +have left many families in it, and the language of these parts had surely +been more commixed and perplex, if the fleet of _Hugo de Bones_ had not +been cast away, wherein three-score thousand souldiers, out of Britany and +Flanders, were to be wafted over, and were, by King _John's_ appointment, +to have a settled habitation in the counties of _Norfolk_ and _Suffolk_." +Tract the viii. on Languages, particularly the Saxon. Folio, 1686, page +48. + + + + THE HORKEY. + + A Provincial Ballad. + + +What gossips prattled in the sun, + Who talk'd him fairly down, +Up, memory! tell; 'tis Suffolk fun, + And lingo of their own. + +Ah! _Judie Twitchet!_[A] though thou'rt dead, + With thee the tale begins; +For still seems thrumming in my head + The rattling of thy pins. + +[Footnote A: Judie Twitchet was a real person, who lived many years with +my mother's cousin Bannock, at Honnington.] + +Thou Queen of knitters! for a ball + Of worsted was thy pride; +With dangling stockings great and small, + And world of clack beside! + +"We did so laugh; the moon shone bright; + "More fun you never knew; +"'Twas Farmer Cheerum's _Horkey night_, + "And I, and Grace, and Sue---- + +"But bring a stool, sit round about, + "And boys, be quiet, pray; +"And let me tell my story out; + "'Twas _sitch_ a merry day! + +"The butcher whistled at the door, + "And brought a load of meat; +"Boys rubb'd their hands, and cried, 'there's more,' + "Dogs wagg'd their tails to see't. + +"On went the boilers till the _hake_[Footnote: A sliding pot-hook] + "Had much ado to bear 'em; +"The magpie talk'd for talking sake, + "Birds sung;--but who could hear 'em? + +"Creak went the jack; the cats were _scar'd_, + "We had not time to heed 'em, +"The _owd hins_ cackled in the yard, + "For we forgot to feed 'em! + +"Yet 'twas not I, as I may say, + "Because as how, d'ye see; +"I only help'd there for the day; + "They cou'dn't lay't to me. + +"Now Mrs. Cheerum's best lace cap + "Was mounted on her head; +"Guests at the door began to rap, + "And now the cloth was spread. + +"Then clatter went the earthen plates-- + "'Mind Judie,' was the cry; +"I could have _cop't_[Footnote: Thrown] them at their pates; + "'Trenchers for me,' said I. + +"'That look so clean upon the ledge, + "'And never mind a fall; +"'Nor never turn a sharp knife's edge;-- + "'But fashion rules us all.' + +"Home came the jovial _Horkey load_, + "Last of the whole year's crop; +"And Grace amongst the green boughs rode + "Right plump upon the top. + +"This way and that the waggon reel'd, + "And never queen rode higher; +"_Her_ cheeks were colour'd in the field, + "And ours before the fire. + +"The laughing harvest-folks, and John, + "Came in and look'd askew; +"'Twas my red face that set them on, + "And then they leer'd at Sue. + +"And Farmer Cheerum went, good man, + "And broach'd the _Horkey beer_; +"And _sitch a mort_[Footnote: Such a number.] of folks began + "To eat up our good cheer. + +"Says he, 'Thank God for what's before us; + "'That thus we meet agen,' +"The mingling voices, like a chorus, + "Join'd cheerfully, 'Amen.'-- + +"Welcome and plenty, there they found 'em, + "The ribs of beef grew light; +"And puddings--till the boys got round 'em, + "And then they vanish'd quite! + +"Now all the guests, with Farmer Crouder, + "Began to prate of corn; +"And we found out they talk'd the louder, + "The oftner pass'd the Horn. + +"Out came the nuts; we set a cracking; + "The ale came round our way; +"_By gom_ we women fell a clacking + "As loud again as they. + +"John sung 'Old Benbow' loud and strong, + "And I, 'The Constant Swain,' +"'Cheer up my Lads,' was Simon's song, + "'We'll conquer them again.' + +"Now twelve o'clock was drawing nigh, + "And all in merry cue; +"I knock'd the cask, 'O, ho!' said I, + "'We've almost conquer'd you.' + +"_My Lord_[Footnote: The leader of the reapers.] begg'd round, and held +his hat, + "Says Farmer Gruff, says he, +"There's many a Lord, Sam, I know that, + "Has begg'd as well as thee.' + +"Bump in his hat the shillings tumbl'd + "All round among the folks; +"'Laugh if you wool,' said Sam, and mumbl'd, + "'You pay for all your jokes.' + +"Joint stock you know among the men, + "To drink at their own charges; +"So up they got full drive, and then + "Went out to _halloo largess_.[Footnote: See advertisement.] + +"And sure enough the noise they made!!-- + --"But let me mind my tale; +"We follow'd them, we wor'nt afraid, + "We'ad all been drinking ale. + +"As they stood hallooing back to back, + "We, lightly as a feather, +"Went sideling round, and in a crack + "Had pinn'd their coats together. + +"'Twas near upon't as light as noon; + "'_A largess_,' on the hill, +"They shouted to the full round moon, + "I think I hear 'em still! + +"But when they found the trick, my stars! + "They well knew who to blame, +"Our giggles turn'd to ha, ha, ha's, + "And _arter_ us they came. + +"Grace by the tumbril made a squat, + "Then ran as Sam came by, +"They said she could not run for fat; + "_I know_ she did not try. + +"Sue round the _neathouse_[Footnote: Cow-house.] squalling ran, + "Where Simon scarcely dare; +"He stopt,--for he's a fearful man-- + "'_By gom_ there's _suffen_[Footnote: Something.] there!' + +"And off set John, with all his might, + "To chase me down the yard, +"Till I was nearly _gran'd_[Footnote: Strangled.] outright; + "He hugg'd so woundly hard. + +"Still they kept up the race and laugh, + "And round the house we flew; +"But hark ye! the best fun by half + "Was Simon _arter_ Sue. + +"She car'd not, dark nor light, not she, + "So, near the dairy door +"She pass'd a clean white hog, you see, + "They'd _kilt_ the day before. + +"High on the spirket [Footnote: An iron hook.] there it hung,-- + "'Now Susie--what can save ye?' +"Round the cold pig his arms he flung, + "And cried, 'Ah! here I have ye!' + +"The farmers heard what Simon said, + "And what a noise! good lack! +"Some almost laugh'd themselves _to dead_, + "And others clapt his back. + +"We all at once began to tell + "What fun we had abroad; +"But Simon stood our jeers right well; + --"He fell asleep and snor'd. + +"Then in his button-hole upright, + "Did Farmer Crouder put, +"A slip of paper twisted tight, + "And held the candle _to't_. + +"It smok'd, and smok'd, beneath his nose, + "The harmless blaze crept higher; +"Till with a vengeance up he rose, + "Grace, Judie, Sue! fire, fire! + +"The clock struck one--some talk'd of parting, + "Some said it was a sin, +"And _kilch'd_ their chairs;--but those for starting + "Now let the moonlight in. + +"_Owd_ women, loitering _for the nonce_,[Footnote: For the purpose.] + "Stood praising the fine weather; +"The menfolks took the hint at once + "To kiss them altogether. + +"And out ran every soul beside, + "A _shanny-pated_[Footnote: Giddy, thoughtless.] crew; +"_Owd_ folks could neither run nor hide, + "So some _ketch'd_ one, some _tew_. + +"They _skriggl'd_[Footnote: To struggle quick.] and began to scold. + "But laughing got the master; +"Some _quack'ling_[Footnote: Choaking.] cried, 'let go your hold;' + "The farmers held the faster. + +"All innocent, that I'll be sworn, + "There wor'nt a bit of sorrow, +"And women, if their gowns _are_ torn, + "Can mend them on the morrow. + +"Our shadows helter skelter danc'd + "About the moonlight ground; +"The wondering sheep, as on we pranc'd, + "Got up and gaz'd around, + +"And well they might--till Farmer Chcerum, + "Now with a hearty glee, +"Bade all good morn as he came near 'em, + "And then to bed went he. + +"Then off we stroll'd this way and that, + "With merry voices ringing; +"And Echo answered us right pat, + "As home we rambl'd singing. + +"For, when we laugh'd, it laugh'd again, + "And to our own doors follow'd! +"'Yo, ho!' we cried; 'Yo, ho!' so plain + "The misty meadow halloo'd. + +"That's all my tale, and all the fun, + "Come, turn your wheels about; +"My worsted, see!--that's nicely done, + "Just held my story out!!" + +Poor Judie!--Thus Time knits or spins + The worsted from Life's ball! +Death stopt thy tales, and stopt thy pins, + --And so he'll serve us all. + + + + + THE BROKEN CRUTCH. + + A Tale. + +"I tell you, Peggy," said a voice behind +A hawthorn hedge, with wild briars thick entwin'd, +Where unseen trav'llers down a shady way +Journey'd beside the swaths of new-mown hay, +"I tell you, Peggy, 'tis a time to prove +Your fortitude, your virtue, and your love. +From honest poverty our lineage sprung, +Your mother was a servant quite as young;-- +You weep; perhaps _she_ wept at leaving home, +Courage, my girl, nor fear the days to come. +Go still to church, my Peggy, plainly drest, +And keep a living conscience in your breast; +Look to yourself, my lass, the maid's best fame, +Beware, nor bring the Meldrums into shame: +Be modest, to the voice of age attend, +Be honest, and you'll always find a friend: +Your uncle Gilbert, stronger far than I, +Will see you safe; on him you must rely; +I've walk'd too far; this lameness, oh! the pain; +Heav'n bless thee, child! I'll halt me back again; +But when your first fair holiday may be, +Rise with the lark, and spend your hours with me." + +Young Herbert Brooks, in strength and manhood bold, +Who, round the meads, his own possessions, stroll'd, +O'erheard the charge, and with a heart so gay, +Whistled his spaniel and pursu'd his way. + +A Hint for a Libertine. + +Soon cross'd his path, and short obeisance paid, +Stout Gilbert Meldrum and a country maid; +A box upon his shoulder held full well +Her worldly riches, but the truth to tell +She bore the chief herself; that nobler part. +That beauteous gem, an uncorrupted heart. +And then that native loveliness! that cheek! +It bore the very tints her betters seek; +At such a sight the libertine would glow, +With all the warmth that _he_ can ever know; +Would send his thoughts abroad without control, +The glimmering moon-shine of his little soul. +"Above the reach of justice I shall soar, +Her friends may weep, not punish; they're too poor: +That very thought the rapture will enhance, +Poor, young, and friendless; what a glorious chance! + +Herbert's Character. + +A few spare guineas may the conquest make,-- +I love the treachery for treachery's sake,-- +And when her wounded honour jealous grows, +I'll cut away ten thousand oaths and vows, +And tell my comrades, with a manly stride, +How I, _a girl out-witten and out-lied_." +Such was not Herbert--he had never known +Love's genuine smiles, nor suffer'd from his frown; +And as to that most honourable part +Of planting daggers in a parent's heart, +A novice quite:--he past his hours away, +Free as a bird and buxom as the day; +Yet, should a lovely girl by chance arise, +Think not that Herbert Brooks would shut his eyes. + +On thy calm joys with what delight I dream, +Thou dear green valley of my native stream! + +Regret for Devastation by Enclosures. + +Fancy o'er thee still waves th' enchanting wand, +And every nook of thine is fairy land, +And ever will be, though the axe should smite +In Gain's rude service, and in Pity's spite, +Thy clustering alders, and at length invade +The last, last poplars, that compose thy shade: +Thy stream shall then in native freedom stray, +And undermine the willows in its way, +These, nearly worthless, may survive this storm, +This scythe of desolation call'd "Reform." +No army past that way! yet are they fled, +The boughs that, when a school-boy, screen'd my head: +I hate the murderous axe; estranging more +The winding vale from what it was of yore, +Than e'en mortality in all its rage, +And all the change of faces in an age. + +The Tale pursued. + +"Warmth," will they term it, that I speak so free? +They strip thy shades,--thy shades so dear to me! +In Herbert's days woods cloth'd both hill and dale; +But peace, Remembrance! let us tell the tale. + +His home was in the valley, elms grew round +His moated mansion, and the pleasant sound +Of woodland birds that loud at day-break sing, +With the first cuckoos that proclaim the spring, +Flock'd round his dwelling; and his kitchen smoke, +That from the towering rookery upward broke, +Of joyful import to the poor hard by, +Stream'd a glad sign of hospitality; +So fancy pictures; but its day is o'er; +The moat remains, the dwelling is no more! +Its name denotes its melancholy fall, +For village children call the spot "Burnt-Hall." + +[Illustration: a woman kneeling.] + +The Church. + +But where's the maid, who in the meadow-way +Met Herbert Brooks amongst the new-mown hay? + +Th' adventure charm'd him, and next morning rose +The Sabbath, with its silence and repose, +The bells ceas'd chiming, and the broad blue sky +Smil'd on his peace, and met his tranquil eye +Inverted, from the foot-bridge on his way +To that still house where all his fathers lay; +There in his seat, each neighbour's face he knew-- +The stranger girl was just before his pew! +He saw her kneel, with meek, but cheerful air, +And whisper the response to every prayer; +And, when the humble roof with praises rung, +He caught the Hallelujah from her tongue, +Rememb'ring with delight the tears that fell +When the poor father bade his child farewell; + +Love strengthened by Reflection. + +And now, by kindling tenderness beguil'd, +He blest the prompt obedience of that child, +And link'd his fate with hers:--for, from that day, +Whether the weeks past cheerily away, +Or deep revolving doubts procur'd him pain, +The same bells chim'd--and there she was again! +What could be done? they came not there to woo, +On holy ground,--though love is holy too. + +They met upon the foot-bridge one clear morn, +She in the garb by village lasses worn; +He, with unbutton'd frock that careless flew, +And buskin'd to resist the morning dew; +With downcast look she courtsied to the ground, +Just in his path--no room to sidle round. + +An Interview. + +"Well, pretty girl, this early rising yields +The best enjoyment of the groves and fields, +And makes the heart susceptible and meek, +And keeps alive that rose upon your cheek. +I long'd to meet you, Peggy, though so shy, +I've watch'd your steps and learn'd your history; +You love your poor lame father, let that be +A happy presage of your love for me. +Come then, I'll stroll these meadows by your side, +I've seen enough to wish you for my bride, +And plainly tell you so.--Nay, let me hold +This guiltless hand, I prize it more than gold; +Of that I have my share, but now pursue +Such lasting wealth as I behold in you. +My lands are fruitful and my gardens gay, +My houshold cheerful as the summer's day; +One blessing more will crown my happy life, +Like Adam, pretty girl, I want a wife." + +Frequent Meetings.--Family Pride. + +Need it be told his suit was not denied, +With youth, and wealth, and candour on his side +Honour took charge of love so well began, +And accidental meetings, one by one, +Increas'd so fast midst time's unheeded flight, +That village rumour married them outright; +Though wiser matrons, doubtful in debate, +Pitied deluded Peggy's hapless fate. +Friends took th' alarm, "And will he then disgrace +"The name of Brooks with this plebeian race?" +Others, more lax in virtue, not in pride, +Sported the wink of cunning on one side; +"He'll buy, no doubt, what Peggy has to sell, +A little gallantry becomes him well." +Meanwhile the youth with self-determin'd aim, +Disdaining fraud, and pride's unfeeling claim, + +Marriage proposed + +Above control pursued his generous way, +And talk'd to Peggy of the marriage day. +Poor girl! she heard, with anguish and with doubt, +What her too knowing neighbours preach'd about, +That Herbert would some nobler match prefer, +And surely never, never marry her; +Yet, with what trembling and delight she bore +The kiss, and heard the vow, "I'll doubt no more;" +"Protect me Herbert, for your honour's sake +You will," she cried, "nor leave my heart to break." +Then wrote to uncle Gilbert, joys, and fears, +And hope, and trust, and sprinkled all with tears. + +Rous'd was the dormant spirit of the brave, +E'en lameness rose to succour and to save; +For, though they both rever'd young Herbert's name, +And knew his unexceptionable fame; + +Doubts.--Parental Feelings. + +And though the girl had honestly declar'd +Love's first approaches, and their counsel shar'd, +Yet, that he truly meant to take for life +The poor and lowly Peggy for a wife; +Or, that she was not doom'd to be deceiv'd, +Was out of bounds:--it _could not_ be believ'd. +"Go, Gilbert; save her; I, you know, am lame; +Go, brother, go; and save my child from shame. +Haste, and I'll pray for your success the while, +Go, go;"--then bang'd his crutch upon the stile:-- +It snapt.--E'en Gilbert trembled while he smote, +Then whipt the broken end beneath his coat; +"Aye, aye, I'll settle them; I'll let them see +Who's to be conqu'ror this time, I or he!" + +[Illustration: two men at a stile.] + +Gilbert on the Road!--An Adventure. + +Then off he set, and with enormous strides, +Rebellious mutterings and oaths besides, +O'er clover-field and fallow, bank and brier, +Pursu'd the nearest cut, and fann'd the fire +That burnt within him.--Soon the Hall he spied, +And the grey willows by the water side; +Nature cried "halt!" nor could he well refuse; +Stop, Gilbert, breathe awhile, and ask _the news_. +"News?" cried a stooping grandame of the vale, +Aye, rare news too; I'll tell you such a tale; +But let me rest; this bank is dry and warm; +Do you know Peggy Meldrum at the farm? +Young Herbert's girl? He'as cloath'd her all in white. +You never saw so beautiful a sight! +Ah! he's a fine young man, and such a face! +I knew his grandfather and all his race; +He rode a tall white horse, and look'd so big, +But how shall I describe his hat and wig?" + +A promising Story cut short. + +"Plague take his wig," cried Gilbert, "and his hat, +Where's Peggy Meldrum? can you tell me _that_?" +"Aye; but have patience man, you'll hear anon, +For I shall come to her as I go on, +So hark 'ye friend; his grandfather I say,"-- +"Poh, poh,"--cried Gilbert, as he turn'd away. +Her eyes were fix'd, her story at a stand, +The snuff-box lay half open'd in her hand; +"You great ill-manner'd clown! but I must bear it; +You oaf; to ask the news, and then won't hear it!" +But Gilbert had gain'd forty paces clear, +When the reproof came murmuring on his ear. + +Again he ask'd the first that past him by; +A cow-boy stopt his whistle to reply. +"Why, I've a mistress coming home, that's all, +They're playing Meg's diversion at the Hall; + +A Cow-Boy's Bravery + +"For master's gone, with Peggy, and his cousin, +And all the lady folks, about a dozen, +To church, down there; he'll marry one no doubt, +For that it seems is what they're gone about; +I know it by their laughing and their jokes, +Tho' they _wor'nt_ ask'd at church like other folks." + +Gilbert kept on, and at the Hall-door found +The winking servants, where the jest went round: +All expectation; aye, and so was he, +But not with heart so merry and so free. +The kitchen table, never clear from beef, +Where hunger found its solace and relief, +Free to all strangers, had no charms for him, +For agitation worried every limb; +Ale he partook, but appetite had none, +And grey-hounds watch'd in vain to catch the bone. + +Sitting upon Thorns. + +All sounds alarm'd him, and all thoughts perplex'd, +With dogs, and beef, himself, and all things vex'd, +Till with one mingled caw above his head, +Their gliding shadows o'er the court-yard spread, +The rooks by thousands rose: the bells struck up; +He guess'd the cause, and down he set the cup, +And listening, heard, amidst the general hum, +A joyful exclamation, "Here they come!"-- +Soon Herbert's cheerful voice was heard above, +Amidst the rustling hand-maids of his love, +And Gilbert follow'd without thought or dread, +The broad oak stair-case thundr'd with his tread; +Light tript the party, gay as gay could be, +Amidst their bridal dresses--there came he! +And with a look that guilt could ne'er withstand, +Approach'd his niece and caught her by the hand, + +Anger disarmed. + +"Now are you married, Peggy, yes or no? +Tell me at once, before I let you go!" +Abrupt he spoke, and gave her arm a swing, +But the same moment felt the wedding ring, +And stood confus'd.--She wip'd th' empassion'd tear, +"I am, I am; but is my father here?" +Herbert stood by, and sharing with his bride, +That perturbation which she strove to hide; +"Come, honest Gilbert, you're too rough this time, +Indeed here's not the shadow of a crime; +But where's your brother? When did you arrive? +We waited long, for Nathan went at five!" + +All this was Greek to Gilbert, downright Greek: +He knew not what to think, nor how to speak. +The case was this; that Nathan with a cart +To fetch them both at day-break was to start, + +An Explanation. + +And so he did--but ere he could proceed, +He suck'd a charming portion with a reed, +Of that same wedding-ale, which was that day +To make the hearts of all the village gay; +Brim full of glee he trundled from the Hall, +And as for sky-larks, he out-sung them all; +Till growing giddy with his morning cup. +He, stretch'd beneath a hedge, the reins gave up; +The horse graz'd soberly without mishap, +And Nathan had a most delightful nap +For three good hours--Then, doubting, when he woke, +Whether his conduct would be deem'd a joke, +With double haste perform'd just half his part, +And brought the lame John Meldrum in his cart: +And at the moment Gilbert's wrath was high, +And while young Herbert waited his reply, + +A general Meeting. + +The sound of rattling wheels was at the door; +"There's my dear father now,"--they heard no more, +The bridegroom glided like an arrow down, +And Gilbert ran, though something of a clown, +With his best step; and cheer'd with smiles and pray'rs +They bore old John in triumph up the stairs: +Poor Peggy, who her joy no more could check, +Clung like a dewy woodbine round his neck, +And all stood silent--Gilbert, off his guard, +And marvelling at virtue's rich reward, +Loos'd the one loop that held his coat before, +Down thumpt the broken crutch upon the floor! +They started, half alarm'd, scarce knowing why, +But through the glist'ning rapture of his eye +The bridegroom smil'd, then chid their simple fears, +And rous'd the blushing Peggy from her tears; + +Gilbert put upon his Defense. + +Around the uncle in a ring they came, +And mark'd his look of mingled pride and shame. +"Now honestly, good Gilbert, tell us true +What meant this cudgel? What was it to do? +I know your heart suspected me of wrong, +And that most true affection urg'd along +Your feelings and your wrath; you were beside +Till now the rightful guardian of the bride. +But why this cudgel?"--"Guardian! that's the case, +Or else to day you had not seen my face, +But John about the girl was so perplex'd, +And I, to tell the truth, so mortal vex'd, +That when he broke _this crutch_, and stampt and cried, +For John and Peggy, Sir, I could have died, +I know I could; for she was such a child, +So tractable, so sensible, and mild, + +The plain Truth. + +That if between you roguery had grown, +(Begging your pardon,) 'twould have been your own; +She would not hurt a fly.--So off I came +And had you only sought to blast her fame, +Been base enough to act as hundreds would, +And ruin a poor maid--because you _could_, +With this same cudgel, (you may smile or frown) +An' please you, Sir, I meant to knock you down." + +A burst of laughter rang throughout the hall, +And Peggy's tongue, though overborne by all, +Pour'd its warm blessings, for, without control +The sweet unbridled transport of her soul +Was obviously seen, till Herbert's kiss +Stole, as it were, the eloquence of bliss. + +Mirth and Reconciliation. + +"Welcome, my friends; good Gilbert, here's my hand; +Eat, drink, or rest, they're all at your command: +And whatsoever pranks the rest may play, +Still you shall be the hero of to-day, +Doubts might torment, and blunders may have teaz'd, +But ale can cure them; let us all be pleas'd. +Thou, venerable man, let me defend +The father of my new dear bosom friend; +You broke your crutch, well, well, worse luck might be, +I'll be your crutch, John Meldrum, lean on me, +And when your lovely daughter shall complain, +Send Gilbert's wooden argument again. +If still you wonder that I take a wife +From the unpolish'd walks of humble life, +I'll tell you on what ground my love began, +And let the wise confute it if they can. +I saw a girl, with nature's untaught grace, +Turn from my gaze a most engaging face; + +Herbert's Apology. + +I saw her drop the tear, I knew full well +She felt for _you_ much more than she could tell. +I found her understanding, bright as day, +Through all impediments still forc'd its way; +On that foundation shall my soul rely, +The rock of genuine humility. +Call'd as she is to act a nobler part, +To rule my houshold, and to share my heart, +I trust her prudence, confident to prove +Days of delight, and still unfading love; +For, while her inborn tenderness survives, +That heav'nly charm of mothers and of wives, +I'll look for joy:--Here come the neighbours all; +Broach the old barrel, feast them great and small, +For I'm determin'd while the sun's so bright, +That this shall be a wedding-day outright: + +John Meldrum's wish.--Conclusion. + +How cheerly sound the bells! my charmer, come, +Expand your heart, and know yourself at home. +Sit down, good John;"--"I will," the old man cried, +"And let me drink to you, Sir, and the bride; +My blessing on you: I am lame and old, +I can't make speeches, and I wo'nt be bold; +But from my soul I wish, and wish with pain, +_That brave good gentlemen would not disdain_ +_The poor, because they're poor_: for, if they live +Midst crimes that parents _never can_ forgive, +If, like the forest beast they wander wild, +To rob a father, or to crush a child, +Nature _will_ speak, aye, just as Nature feels, +And wish--a Gilbert Meldrum at their heels." + + + + + SHOOTER'S HILL. +[Footnote: Sickness may be often an incentive to poetical composition; +I found it so; and I esteem the following lines only because they remind +me of past feelings which I would not willingly forget.] + + +Health! I seek thee;--dost thou love + The mountain top or quiet vale, +Or deign o'er humbler hills to rove + On showery June's dark south-west gale? +If so, I'll meet all blasts that blow, + With silent step, but not forlorn; +Though, goddess, at thy shrine I bow, + And woo thee each returning morn. + +I seek thee where, with all his might, + The joyous bird his rapture tells, +Amidst the half-excluded light, + That gilds the fox-glove's pendant bells; +Where, cheerly up this bold hill's side + The deep'ning groves triumphant climb; +In groves Delight and Peace abide, + And Wisdom marks the lapse of time. + +To hide me from the public eye, + To keep the throne of Reason clear, +Amidst fresh air to breathe or die, + I took my staff and wander'd here. +Suppressing every sigh that heaves, + And coveting no wealth but thee, +I nestle in the honied leaves, + And hug my stolen liberty. + +O'er eastward uplands, gay or rude, + Along to Erith's ivied spire, +I start, with strength and hope renew'd, + And cherish life's rekindling fire. +Now measure vales with straining eyes, + Now trace the church-yard's humble names: +Or, climb brown heaths, abrupt that rise, + And overlook the winding Thames. + +I love to mark the flow'ret's eye, + To rest where pebbles form my bed, +Where shapes and colours scatter'd lie + In varying millions round my head. +The soul rejoices when alone, + And feels her glorious empire free; +Sees GOD in every shining stone, + And revels in variety. + +Ah me! perhaps within my sight, + Deep in the smiling dales below, +Gigantic talents, Heav'n's pure light, + And all the rays of genius glow +In some lone soul, whom no one sees + With _power_ and _will_ to say "Arise," +Or chase away the slow disease, +And Want's foul picture from his eyes. + +A worthier man by far than I, + With more of industry and fire, +Shall see fair Virtue's meed pass by, + Without one spark of fame expire! +Bleed not my heart, it will be so. + The throb of care was thine full long; +Rise, like the Psalmist from his woe, + And pour abroad the joyful song. + +Sweet Health, I seek thee! hither bring + Thy balm that softens human ills; +Come, on the long drawn clouds that fling + Their shadows o'er the Surry-Hills. +Yon green-topt hills, and far away + Where late as now I freedom stole, +And spent one dear delicious day + On thy wild banks, romantic _Mole_. + + +Aye, there's the scene![1] beyond the sweep + Of London's congregated cloud, +The dark-brow'd wood, the headlong steep, + And valley-paths without a crowd! +Here, Thames, I watch thy flowing tides, + Thy thousand sails am proud to see; +But where the _Mole_ all silent glides + Dwells Peace--and Peace is wealth to me. + +[Footnote 1: Box-Hill, and the beautiful neighbourhood of Dorking, in +Surry.] + +Of Cambrian mountains still I dream, + And mouldering vestiges of war; +By time-worn cliff or classic stream + Would rove,--but prudence holds a bar. +Conic then, O Health, I'll strive to bound + My wishes to this airy stand; +'Tis not for _me_ to trace around + The wonders of my native land. + +Yet, the loud torrent's dark retreat, + Yet Grampian hills shall Fancy give, +And, towering in her giddy scat, + Amidst her own creation live, +Live, if thou'lt urge my climbing feet, + Give strength of nerve and vigorous breath, +If not, with dauntless soul I meet + The deep solemnity of death. + +This far-seen monumental tower + Records th' achievements of the brave, +And Angria's subjugated power, + Who plunder'd on the eastern wave. +I would not that such turrets rise + To point out where my bones arc laid; +Save that some wandering bard might prize + The comforts of its broad cool shade. + +O Vanity! since thou'rt decreed + Companion of our lives to be, +I'll seek the moral songster's meed, + An earthly immortality; +Most vain!--O let me, from the past + Remembering what to man is given, +Lay Virtue's broad foundations fast, + Whose glorious turrets reach to Heav'n: + + + + A VISIT TO RENELAGH + +To Ranelagh, once in my life, + By good-natur'd force I was driv'n; +The nations had ceas'd their long strife, + And PEACE[1] beam'd her radiance from Heav'n. +What wonders-were there to be found + That a clown might enjoy or disdain? +First we trac'd the gay ring all around, + Aye--and then we went round it again. + +[Footnote 1: A grand Fete, in honour of the peace of 1802.] + +A thousand feet rustled on mats, + A carpet that once had been green; +Men bow'd with their outlandish hats, + With corners so fearfully keen! +Fair maids, who at home in their haste + Had left all clothing else but a train, +Swept the floor clean, as slowly they pac'd, + And then--walk'd round and swept it again. + +The music was truly enchanting! + Right glad was I when I came near it; +But in fashion I found I was wanting:-- + 'Twas the fashion to walk and not hear it! +A fine youth, as beauty beset him, + Look'd smilingly round on the train; +"The king's nephew," they cried, as they met him; + Then--we went round and met him again. + +Huge paintings of Heroes and Peace + Seem'd to smile at the sound of the fiddle, +Proud to fill up each tall shining space + Round the lanthorn[1] that stood in the middle. +And GEORGE'S head too; Heav'n screen him! + May he finish in peace his long reign! +And what did we when we had seen him? + Why--went round and saw him again. + +[Footnote 1: The intervals between the pillars in the centre of the +Rotunda were filled up by transparent paintings] + +A bell rang, announcing new pleasures, + A crowd in an instant prest hard, +Feathers nodded, perfumes shed their treasures. + Round a door that led into the yard. +'Twas peopled all o'er in a minute, + As a white flock would cover a plain! +We had seen every soul that was in it, + Then we went round and saw them again. + +But now came a scene worth the showing, + The fireworks! midst langhs and huzzas, +With explosions the sky was all glowing, + Then down stream'd a million of stars; +With a rush the bright rockets ascended, + Wheels spurted blue fires like a rain; +We turn'd with regret when 'twas ended, + Then--star'd at each other again. + +There thousands of gay lamps aspir'd + To the tops of the trees and beyond; +And, what was most hugely admir'd, + They look'd all up-side-down in a pond! +The blaze scarce an eagle could bear; + And an owl had most surely been slain; +We return'd to the circle, and there-- + And there we went round it again. + +'Tis not wisdom to love without reason, + Or to censure without knowing why: +I had witness'd no crime, nor no treason, + "O Life, 'tis thy picture," said I. +'Tis just thus we saunter along, + Months and years bring their pleasures or pain; +We sigh midst the _right_ and the _wrong_; +--And then _we go round them again_! + + + + + LOVE OF THE COUNTRY. + + Written At Clare-Hall, Herts. June 1804. + +Welcome silence! welcome peace! + O most welcome, holy shade! +Thus I prove as years increase, + My heart and soul for quiet made. +Thus I fix my firm belief + While rapture's gushing tears descend; +That every flower and every leaf + Is moral Truth's unerring friend. + +I would not for a world of gold + That Nature's lovely face should tire; +Fountain of blessings yet untold; + Pure source of intellectual fire! +Fancy's fair buds, the germs of song, + Unquicken'd midst the world's rude strife, +Shall sweet retirement render strong, + And morning silence bring to life. + +Then tell me not that I shall grow + Forlorn, that fields and woods will cloy; +From Nature and her changes flow + An everlasting tide of joy. +I grant that summer heats will burn, + That keen will come the frosty night; +But both shall please: and each in turn + Yield Reason's most supreme delight. + +Build me a shrine, and I could kneel + To Rural Gods, or prostrate fall; +Did I not see, did I not feel, + That one GREAT SPIRIT governs all. +O heav'n permit that I may lie + Where o'er my corse green branches ware; +And those who from life's tumult fly + With kindred feelings press my grave. + + + + +THE WOODLAND HALLO. + +_(Perhaps) adapted for Music._ + +In our cottage, that peeps from the skirts of the wood, + I am mistress, no mother have I; +Yet blithe are my days, for my father is good, + And kind is my lover hard by; +They both work together beneath the green shade, + Both woodmen, my father and Joe. +Where I've listen'd whole hours to the echo that made + So much of a laugh or--_Hallo_. + +From my basket at noon they expect their supply, + And with joy from my threshold I spring; +For the woodlands I love, and the oaks waring high, + And Echo that sings as I sing. +Though deep shades delight me, yet love is my food, + As I call the dear name of my Joe; +His musical shout is the pride of the wood, + And my heart leaps to hear the--Hallo. + +Simple flowers of the grove, little birds live at ease, + I wish not to wander from you; +I'll still dwell beneath the deep roar of your trees, + For I know that my Joe will be true. +The trill of the robin, the coo of the dove, + Are charms that I'll never forego; +But resting through life on the bosom of love, + Will remember the Woodland Hallo. + + [Illustration: a woman with a basket walking past a cottage] + + + + + BARNHAM WATER + +Fresh from the Hall of Bounty sprung,[1] + With glowing heart and ardent eye, +With song and rhyme upon my tongue, + And fairy visions dancing by, +The mid-day sun in all his pow'r + The backward valley painted gay; +Mine was a road without a flower, + Where one small streamlet cross'd the way. + +[Footnote 1: On a sultry afternoon, late in the summer of 1802, +Euston-Hall lay in my way to Thetford, which place I did not reach until +the evening, on a visit to my sister: the lines lose much of their +interest except they could be read on the spot, or at least at a +coresponding season of the year.] + +What was it rous'd my soul to love? + What made the simple brook so dear? +It glided like the weary dove, + And never brook seem'd half so clear. +Cool pass'd the current o'er my feet, + Its shelving brink for rest was made, +But every charm was incomplete, + For Barnham Water wants a shade. + +There, faint beneath the fervid sun, + I gaz'd in ruminating mood; +For who can see the current run + And snatch no feast of mental food? +"Keep pure thy soul," it seem'd to say, + "Keep that fair path by wisdom trod, +"That thou may'st hope to wind thy way + "To fame worth boasting, and to God." + +Long and delightful was the dream, + A waking dream that Fancy yields, +Till with regret I left the stream + And plung'd across the barren fields; +To where of old rich abbeys smil'd + In all the pomp of gothic taste, +By fond tradition proudly styl'd, + The mighty "City in the East." + +Near, on a slope of burning sand, + The shepherd boys had met to play, +To hold the plains at their command, + And mark the trav'ller's leatless way. +The trav'ller with a cheerful look + Would every pining thought forbear, +If boughs but shelter'd Barnham brook + He'd stop and leave his blessing there. + +The Danish mounds of partial green, + Still, as each mouldering tower decays, +Far o'er the bleak unwooded scene + Proclaim their wond'rous length of days. +My burning feet, my aching sight, + Demanded rest,--why did I weep? +The moon arose, and such a night! + Good Heav'n! it was a sin to sleep. + +All rushing came thy hallow'd sighs, + Sweet Melancholy, from my breast; +"'Tis here that eastern greatness lies, + "That Might, Renown, and Wisdom rest! +"Here funeral rites the priesthood gave + "To chiefs who sway'd prodigious powers, +"The Bigods and the Mowbrays brave, + "From Framlingham's imperial towers. + +Full of the mighty deeds of yore, + I bade good night the trembling beam; +Fancy e'en heard the battle's roar, + Of what but slaughter could I dream? +Bless'd be that night, that trembling beam, + Peaceful excursions Fancy made; +All night I heard the bubbling stream, + Yet, Barnham Water wants a shade. + +Whatever hurts my country's fame, + When wits and mountaineers deride, +To me grows serious, for I name + My native plains and streams with pride. +No mountain charms have I to sing, + No loftier minstrel's rights invade; +From trifles oft _my_ raptures spring; + --Sweet Barnham Water wants a shade + + + + + MARY'S EVENING SIGH + +How bright with pearl the western sky! + How glorious far and wide, +Yon lines of golden clouds that lie + So peaceful side by side! +Their deep'ning tints, the arch of light, + All eyes with rapture see; +E'en while I sigh I bless the sight + That lures my love from me. + +Green hill, that shad'st the valley here, + Thou bear'st upon thy brow +The only wealth to Mary dear, + And all she'll ever know. +There, in the crimson light I see, + Above thy summit rise, +My Edward's form, he looks to me + A statue in the skies. + +Descend my love, the hour is come, + Why linger on the hill? +The sun hath left my quiet home, + But thou canst see him still; +Yet why a lonely wanderer stray, + Alone the joy pursue? +The glories of the closing day + Can charm thy Mary too. + +Dear Edward, when we stroll'd along + Beneath the waving corn, +And both confess'd the power of song, + And bless'd the dewy morn; +Your eye o'erflow'd, "How sweet," you cried. + (My presence then could move) +"How sweet, with Mary by my side, + "To gaze and talk of love" + +Thou art not false! that cannot be; + Yet I my rivals deem +Each woodland charm, the moss, the tree, + The silence, and the stream; +Whate'er my love, detains thee now, + I'll yet forgive thy stay; +But with to-morrow's dawn come thou, + We'll brush the dews away. + + + + + GOOD TIDINGS OR, _NEWS FROM THE FARM_. + +How vain this tribute; vain, this lowly lay; +Yet nought is vain which gratitude inspires! +The Muse, besides, her duty thus approves +To virtue, to her country, to mankind! +_Thomson._ + + +ADVERTISEMENT + +To the few who know that I have employed my thoughts on the importance of +Dr. Jenners's discovery, it has generally and almost unexceptionably +appeared a subject of little promise; peculiarly unfit indeed for poetry. +My method of treating it has endeared it to myself, for it indulges in +domestic anecdote. The account given of my infancy and of my father's +burial, is not only poetically, but strictly true, and with me it has its +weight accordingly. I have witnessed the destruction described in my +brother's family: and I have, in my own, insured the lives of four +children by Vaccine Inoculation, who, I trust, are destined to look back +upon the Small-pox of the scourge of days gone by.--My hopes are high, and +my prayers sincere, for its universal adoption. + +The few notes subjoined are chiefly from "Woodville on Inoculation;" and +if I may escape the appearance of affectation of research, or a scientific +treatment of the subject, I think the egotism, so conspicuous in the poem, +(as facts give force to argument,) ought to be forgiven. + + + + GOOD TIDINGS; + + OR, + + _NEWS FROM THE FARM_. + +Where's the Blind Child, so admirably fair, +With guileless dimples, and with flaxen hair +That waves in ev'ry breeze? he's often seen +Beside yon cottage wall, or on the green, +With others match'd in spirit and in size, +Health on their cheeks and rapture in their eyes; +That full expanse of voice, to childhood dear, +Soul of their sports, is duly cherish'd here: +And, hark! that laugh is his, that jovial cry; +He hears the ball and trundling hoop brush by, +And runs the giddy course with all his might, +A very child in every thing but sight; +With circumscrib'd but not abated pow'rs,-- +Play! the great object of his infant hours;-- +In many a game he takes a noisy part, +And shows the native gladness of his heart; +But soon he hears, on pleasure all intent, +The new suggestion and the quick assent; +The grove invites, delight thrills every breast-- +To leap the ditch and seek the downy nest +Away they start, leave balls and hoops behind, +And one companion leave----the boy is blind! + +[Illustration: a child beneath a tree.] + +His fancy paints their distant paths so gay, +That childish fortitude awhile gives way, +He feels his dreadful loss--yet short the pain, +Soon he resumes his cheerfulness again; +Pond'ring how best his moments to employ, +He sings his little songs of nameless joy, +Creeps on the warm green turf for many an hour, +And plucks by chance the white and yellow flow'r; +Smoothing their stems, while resting on his knees, +He binds a nosegay which he never sees; +Along the homeward path then feels his way, +Lifting his brow against the shining day, +And, with a playful rapture round his eyes, +Presents a sighing parent with the prize. + +She blest _that_ day, which he remembers too, +When he could gaze on heav'n's ethereal blue, +See the green Spring, and Summer's countless dies, +And all the colours of the morning rise.-- +'When was this work of bitterness begun? +How came the blindness of your only son?' +Thus pity prompts full many a tongue to say, +But never, till she slowly wipes away +Th' obtruding tear that trembles in her eye. +This dagger of a question meets reply:-- +"My boy was healthy, and my rest was sound, +When last year's corn was green upon the ground +From yonder town infection found its way; +Around me putrid dead and dying lay, +I trembled for his fate: but all my care +Avail'd not, for he breath'd the tainted air; +Sickness ensu'd--in terror and dismay +I nurs'd him in my arms both night and day, +When his soft skin from head to foot became +One swelling purple sore, unfit to name: +Hour after hour, when all was still beside, +When the pale night-light in its socket died, +Alone I sat; the thought still sooths my heart, +That surely I perform'd a mother's part, +Watching with such anxiety and pain +Till he might smile and look on me again; +But that was not to be--ask me no more: +GOD keep small-pox and blindness from your door!" + +Now, ye who think, whose souls abroad take wing, +And trace out human troubles to their spring, +Say, should Heav'n grant us, in some hallow'd hour, +Means to divest this demon of his power, +To loose his horrid grasp from early worth, +To spread a saving conquest round the earth, +Till ev'ry land shall bow the grateful knee, +Would it not be a glorious day to see?-- +That day is come! my soul, in strength arise, +Invoke no muse, no power below the skies; +To Heav'n the energies of verse belong, +Truth is the theme, and truth shall be the song; +Arm with conviction ev'ry joyful line, +Source of all mercies, for the praise is thine! +Sweet beam'd the star of peace upon those days +When Virtue watch'd my childhood's quiet ways, +Whence a warm spark of Nature's holy flame +Gave the farm-yard an honourable name, +But left one theme unsung: then, who had seen +In herds that feast upon the vernal green, +Or dreamt that in the blood of kine there ran +Blessings beyond the sustenance of man? +We tread the meadow, and we scent the thorn, +We hail the day-spring of a summer's morn +Nor mead at dawning day, nor thymy heath, +Transcends the fragrance of the heifer's breath: +May that dear fragrance, as it floats along +O'er ev'ry flow'r that lives in rustic song; +May all the sweets of meadows and of kine +Embalm, O Health! this offering at thy shrine. + +Dear must that moment be when first the mind, +Ranging the paths of science unconfin'd, +Strikes a new light; when, obvious to the sense, +Springs the fresh spark of bright intelligence. +So felt the towering soul of MONTAGU, +Her sex's glory, and her country's too; +Who gave the spotted plague one deadly blow, +And bade its mitigated poison flow +With half its terrors; yet, with loathing still, +We hous'd a visitant with pow'r to kill. +Then when the healthful blood, though often tried, +Foil'd the keen lancet by the Severn side, +Resisting, uncontaminated still, +The purple pest and unremitting skill; +When the plain truth tradition seem'd to know, +By simply pointing to the harmless Cow, +Though wise distrust to reason might appeal; +What, when hope triumph'd, what did JENNER feel! +Where even hope itself could scarcely rise +To scan the vast, inestimable prize? +Perhaps supreme, alone, triumphant stood +The great, the conscious power of doing good, +The power to will, and wishes to embrace +Th' emancipation of the human race; +A joy that must all mortal praise outlive, +A wealth that grateful nations cannot give. +Forth sped the truth immediate from his hand, +And confirmations sprung in ev'ry land; +In ev'ry land, on beauty's lily arm, +On infant softness, like a magic charm, +Appear'd the gift that conquers as it goes; +The dairy's boast, the simple, saving Rose! +Momentous triumph--fiend! thy reign is o'er; +Thou, whose blind rage hath ravag'd ev'ry shore, +Whose name denotes destruction, whose foul breath +For ever hov'ring round the dart of death, +Fells, mercilessly fells, the brave and base, +Through all the kindreds of the human race. + +Who has not heard, in warm, poetic tales, +Of eastern fragrance and Arabian gales? +Bowers of delight, of languor, and repose, +Where beauty triumph'd as the song arose? +Fancy may revel, fiction boldly dare, +But truth shall not forget that _thou_ wert there, +Scourge of the world! who, borne on ev'ry wind, +From bow'rs of roses [1] sprang to curse mankind. +[Footnote 1: The first medical account of the small-pox is given by the +Arabian physicians, and is traced no farther back than the siege of +Alexandria, about the year of Christ, 640.--Woodville.] + + +The Indian palm thy devastation knows: +Thou sweep'st the regions of eternal snows [2]: +[Footnote 2: First introduced into Greenland in 1733, and almost +depopulated the country.--Ibid.] + +Climbing the mighty period of his years, +The British oak his giant bulk uprears; +He, in his strength, while toll'd the passing bell, +Rejoic'd whole centuries as thy victims fell: +Armies have bled, and shouts of vict'ry rung, +Fame crown'd _their_ deaths, _thy_ deaths are all unsung: +'Twas thine, while victories claim'd th' immortal lay, +Through private life to cut thy desperate way; +And when full power the wondrous magnet gave +Ambition's sons to dare the ocean wave, +Thee, in their train of horrid ills, they drew +Beneath the blessed sunshine of Peru [3]. +[Footnote 3: In 1520, says Mr. Woodville, when the small-pox visited New +Spain, it proved fatal to one half of the people in the provinces to which +the infection extended; being carried thither by a negro slave, who +attended Narvaez in his expedition against Cortes. He adds, about fifty +years after the discovery of Peru, The small-pox was carried over from +Europe to America by way of Carthagena, when it overran the Continent of +the New World, and destroyed upwards of 100,000 Indians in the single +province of Quito.--_Hist. of Inoculation._] + +But why unskill'd th' historic page explore? +Why thus pursue thee to a foreign shore? +A homely narrative of days gone by, +Familiar griefs, and kindred's tender sigh +Shall still survive; for thou on ev'ry mind +Hast left some traces of thy wrath behind. +There dwelt, beside a brook that creeps along +Midst infant hills and meads unknown to song, +One to whom poverty and faith were giv'n, +Calm village silence, and the hope of heav'n: +Alone she dwelt; and while each morn brought peace +And health was smiling on her years' increase, +Sudden and fearful, rushing through her frame, +Unusual pains and feverish symptoms came. +Then, when debilitated, faint, and poor, +How sweet to hear a footstep at her door! +To see a neighbour watch life's silent sand, +To hear the sigh, and feel the helping hand! +Soon woe o'erspread the interdicted ground, +And consternation seiz'd the hamlets round: +Uprose the pest--its widow'd victim died; +And foul contagion spread on ev'ryside; +The helping neighbour for her kind regard, +Bore home _that_ dreadful tribute of reward, +_Home_, where six children, yielding to its pow'r, +Gave hope and patience a most trying hour; +One at her breast still drew the living stream, +And, sense of danger never marr'd his dream; +Yet all exclaim'd, and with a pitying eye, +"Whoe'er survives the shock, _that child will die!_" +But vain the fiat,--Heav'n restor'd them all, +And destin'd one of riper years to fall. +Midnight beheld the close of all his pain, +His grave was clos'd when midnight came again; +No bell was heard to toll, no funeral pray'r, +No kindred bow'd, no wife, no children there; +Its horrid nature could inspire a dread +That cut the bonds of custom like a thread +The humble church-tow'r higher seem'd to shew, +Illumin'd by their trembling light below; +The solemn night-breeze struck each shiv'ring check; +Religious reverence forbade to speak: +The starting Sexton his short sorrow chid +When the earth murmur'd on the coffin lid, +And falling bones and sighs of holy dread +Sounded a requiem to the silent dead! + +'Why tell us tales of woe, thou who didst give +Thy soul to rural themes, and bade them live? +What means this zeal of thine, this kindling fire? +The rescu'd infant and the dying sire.' +Kind heart, who o'er the pictur'd Seasons glow'd, +When smiles approv'd the verse, or tears have flow'd, +Was then the lowly minstrel dear to thee? +Himself appeals--What, if _that child_ were HE! + +[Illustration: men digging a grave?] + +What, if those midnight sighs a farewel gave, +While hands, all trembling, clos'd his father's grave! +Though love enjoin'd not infant eyes to weep, +In manhood's zenith shall his feelings sleep? +Sleep not my soul! indulge a nobler flame; +_Still_ the destroyer persecutes thy name. + Seven winter's cannot pluck from memory's store +That mark'd affliction which a brother bore; +That storm of trouble bursting on his head, +When the fiend came, and left _two children_ dead! +Yet, still superior to domestic woes, +The native vigour of his mind arose, +And, as new summers teem'd with brighter views, +He trac'd the wand'rings of his darling Muse, +And all was joy--this instant all is pain, +The foe implacable returns again, +And claims a sacrifice; the deed is done-- +_Another child_ has fall'n, another son [4]! +[Footnote 4: I had proceeded thus far with the Poem, when the above fact +became a powerfull stimulus to my feelings, and to the earnestness of my +exhortations.] + +His young cheek even now is scarcely cold, +And shall his early doom remain untold? +No! let the tide of passion roll along, +Truth _will_ be heard, and GOD will bless the song +Indignant Reason, Pity, Joy, arise, +And speak in thunder to the heart that sighs: +Speak loud to parents;--knew ye not the time +When age itself, and manhood's hardy prime, +With horror saw their short-liv'd friendships end. +Yet dar'd not visit e'en the dying friend? +Contagion, a foul serpent lurking near, +Mock'd Nature's sigh and Friendship's holy tear. +Love ye your children?--let that love arise, +Pronounce the sentence, and the serpent dies; +Bid welcome a mild stranger at your door, +Distress shall cease, those terrors reign no more. +Love ye your neighbours?--let that love be shown; +Risk not _their_ children while you guard your own; +Give not a foe dominion o'er your blood, +Plant not a poison, e'en to bring forth good; +For, woo the pest discreetly as you will, +Deadly infection must attend him still. +Then, let the serpent die! this glorious prize +Sets more than life and health before our eyes, +For beauty triumphs too! Beauty! sweet name, +The mother's feelings kindling into flame! +For, where dwells she, who, while the virtues grow. +With cold indifference marks the arching brow? +Or, with a lifeless heart and recreant blood, +Sighs not for daughters fair as well as good? +That sigh is nature, and cannot decay, +'Tis universal as the beams of day; +Man knows and feels its truth; for, Beauty's call +Rouses the coldest mortal of us all; +A glance warms age itself, and gives the boy +The pulse of rapture and the sigh of joy. +And is it then no conquest to insure +Our lilies spotless and our roses pure? +Is it no triumph that the lovely face +Inherits every line of Nature's grace? +That the sweet precincts of the laughing eye +Dread no rude scars, no foul deformity? +Our boast, old Time himself shall not impair. +Of British maids pre-eminently fair; +But, as he rolls his years on years along, +Shall keep the record of immortal song; +For song shall rise with ampler power to speak +The new-born influence of Beauty's cheek, +Shall catch new fires in every sacred grove, +Fresh inspiration from the lips of Love, +And write for ever on the rising mind-- +DEAD IS ONE MORTAL FOE OF HUMAN KIND! + +Yes, we have conquer'd! and the thought should raise +A spirit in our prayers as well as praise, +For who will say, in Nature's wide domain +There lurk not remedies for every pain? +Who will assert, where Turkish banners fly, +Woe still shall reign--the plague shall never die? +Or who predict, with bosom all unblest, +An everlasting fever in the West? +Forbid it Heav'n!--Hope cheers us with a smile, +The sun of Mercy's risen on our isle: +Its beams already, o'er th' Atlantic wave, +Pierce the dark forests of the suffering brave: +There, e'en th' abandon'd sick imbib'd a glow, +When warrior nations, resting on the bow, +Astonish'd heard the joyful rumour rise, +And call'd the council of their great and wise: +The truth by female pray'rs was urg'd along, +Youth ceas'd the chorus of the warrior song, +And present ills bade present feelings press +With all the eloquence of deep distress; +Till forth their chiefs [A] o'er dying thousands trod +To seek the white man and his bounteous God: +[Footnote A: The chiefs of the Cherokee Indians, in North America, have +applied to the government of the United States for information on the +subject of Vaccine Inoculation, and have spread the practice in the +Woods.] + +Well sped their errand; with a patriot zeal +They spread the blessing for their country's weal. + +Where India's swarthy millions crowd the strand, +And round that isle, which crowns their pointed land, +Speeds the good angel with the balmy breath, +And checks the dreadful tyranny of death: +Whate'er we hear to hurt the peace of life, +Of Candian treachery and British strife, +The sword of commerce, nations bought and sold, +They owe to England more than mines of gold; +England has sent a balm for private woe; +England strikes down the nations' bitterest foe. + +Europe, amidst the clangor of her arms, +While life was threaten'd with a thousand harms, +And Charity was freezing to its source, +Still saw fair Science keep her steady course; +And, while whole legions fell, by friends deplor'd, +New germs of life sprung up beneath the sword, +And spread amain.--Then, in our bosoms, why +Must exultation mingle with a sigh? + +Thought takes the retrospect of years just fled, +And, conjuring up the spirits of the dead, +Whispers each dear and venerated name +Of the last victims ere the blessing came, +Worthies, who through the lands that gave them birth +Breath'd the strong evidence of growing worth; +Parents, cut down in life's meridian day, +And childhood's thousand thousand swept away; +Life's luckless mariners! ye, we deplore +Who sunk within a boat's length of the shore [A]. +[Footnote A: So lately as the year 1793, the small-pox was carried to the +Isle of France by a Dutch ship, and there destroyed five thousand four +hundred persons in six weeks.--Woodville.] + +A stranger youth, from his meridian sky, +Buoyant with hopes, came here but came to _die_! +O'er his sad fate I've ponder'd hours away, +It suits the languor of a gloomy day: +He left his bamboo groves, his pleasant shore, +He left his friends to hear new oceans roar, +All confident, ingenuous, and bold, +He heard the wonders by the white men told; +With firm assurance trod the rolling deck, +And saw his isle diminish to a speck, +Plough'd the rough waves, and gain'd our northern clime, +In manhood's ripening sense and nature's prime. +Oh! had the fiend been vanquished ere he came, +The gen'rous youth had spread my country's fame. +Had known that honour dwells among the brave, +And England had not prov'd the stranger's grave: +Then, ere his waning sand of life had run, +Poor ABBA THULE might hare seen his son! [A] +[Footnote A: Lee Boo, second son of the King of the Pelew Islands, was +brought to England by Capt. Wilson, and died of the Small-pox at +Rotherhithe, in 1784.] + +Rise, exultation! spirit, louder speak! +Pity, dislodge thy dewdrops from my cheek: +Sleep sound, forefathers; sleep, brave stranger boy, +While truth impels the current of my joy: +To all mankind, to all the earth 'tis giv'n, +Conviction travels like the light of heav'n: +Go, blessing, from thy birth-place still expand, +For that dear birth-place is my native land! +A nation consecrates th' auspicious day, +And wealth, and rank, and talents lead the way! +Time, with triumphant hand, shall truth diffuse, +Nor ask the unbought efforts of the Muse. +Mothers! the pledges of your loves caress, +And heave no sighs but sighs of tenderness. +Fathers, be firm! keep down the fallen foe, +And on the memory of domestic woe +Build resolution,--Victory shall increase +Th' incalculable wealth of private peace; +And such a victory, unstain'd with gore, +That strews its laurels at the cottage door, +Sprung from the farm, and from the yellow mead, +Should be the glory of the pastoral reed. +In village paths, hence, may we never find +Their youth on crutches, and their children blind; +Nor, when the milk-maid, early from her bed, +Beneath the may bush that embow'rs her head, +Sings like a bird, e'er grieve to meet again +The fair cheek injur'd by the scars of pain; +Pure, in her morning path, where'er she treads, +Like April sunshine and the flow'rs it feeds, +She'll boast new conquests; Love, new shafts to fling; +And Life, an uncontaminated spring. +In pure delight didst thou, my soul, pursue +A task to conscience and to kindred due, +And, true to feeling and to Nature, deem +The dairy's boast thy own appropriate theme; +Hail now the meed of pleasurable hours, +And, at the foot of Science, strew thy flow'rs! + + +THE END + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Wild Flowers, by Robert Bloomfield + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILD FLOWERS *** + +***** This file should be named 9094.txt or 9094.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/0/9/9094/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Charles Bidwell and Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Wild Flowers + Or, Pastoral and Local Poetry + +Author: Robert Bloomfield + +Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9094] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on September 4, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILD FLOWERS *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Charles Bidwell and Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +[Illustration] + +WILD FLOWERS + +OR, + +PASTORAL AND LOCAL POETRY. + +By ROBERT BLOOMFIELD +Author of "The Farmer's Boy" and "Rural Tales". + +LONDON: +Printed for Vernor, Hood, and Sharpe, Poultry; +and Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, Paternoster-Row. + +1806. + +WRIGHT, Printer, No. 32, St. John's Square, Clerkenwall. + + + + +PREFACE + +A man of the first eminence, in whose day (fortunately perhaps for me) I +was not destined to appear before the public, or to abide the Herculean +crab-tree of his criticism, Dr. Johnson, has said, in his preface to +Shakspeare, that--"Nothing can please many, and please long, but just +representations of general nature." My representations of nature, whatever +may be said of their _justness_, are not _general_, unless we admit, what +I suspect to be the case, that nature in a village is very much like +nature every where else. It will be observed that all my pictures are from +humble life, and most of my heroines servant maids. Such I would have +them: being fully persuaded that, in no other way would my endeavours, +either to please or to instruct, have an equal chance of success. + +The path I have thus taken, from necessity, as well as from choice, is +well understood and approved by hundreds, who are capable of ranging in +the higher walks of literature.--But with due deference to their superior +claim, I confess, that no recompense has been half so grateful or half so +agreeable to me as female approbation. To be readily and generally +understood, to have my simple Tales almost instinctively relished by those +who have so decided an influence over the lives, hearts, and manners of us +all, is the utmost stretch of my ambition. + +I here venture, before the public eye, a selection from the various pieces +which have been the source of much pleasure, and the solace of my leisure +hours during the last four years, and since the publication of the "Rural +Tales." Perhaps, in some of them, more of mirth is intermingled than many +who know me would expect, or than the severe will be inclined to approve. +But surely what I can say, or can be expected to say, on subjects of +country life, would gain little by the seriousness of a preacher, or by +exhibiting fallacious representations of what has long been termed _Rural +Innocence_. + +The Poem of "Good Tidings" is partially known to the world, but, as it +was originally intended to assume its present appearance and size, I have +gladly availed myself of an endeavour to improve it; and, from its present +extended circulation, I trust it will be new to thousands. + +I anticipate some approbation from such readers as have been pleased with +the "Rural Tales;" yet, though I will not falsify my own feelings by +assuming a diffidence which I do not conceive to be either manly or +becoming, the conviction that some reputation is hazarded in "a third +attempt," is impressed deeply on my mind. + +With such sentiments, and with a lively sense of the high honour, and a +hope of the bright recompence, of applause from the good, when heightened +by the self-approving voice of my own conscience, I commit the book to its +fate. + +ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. + + + + DEDICATION. + + TO MY ONLY SON. + +MY DEAR BOY, + +In thus addressing myself to you, and in expressing my regard for your +person, my anxiety for your health, and my devotion to your welfare, I +enjoy an advantage over those dedicators who indulge in adulation;--I +shall at least be believed. + +Should you arrive at that period when reason shall be mature, and +affection or curiosity induce you to look back on your father's +poetical progress through life, you may conclude that he had many to boast +as friends, whose names, in a dedication, would have honoured both him and +his children; but you must also reflect, that to particularize such +friends was a point of peculiar delicacy. The earliest patron of my +unprotected strains has the warm thanks which are his due, for the +introduction of blessings which have been diffused through our whole +family, and nothing will ever change this sentiment. But amidst a general +feeling of gratitude, which those who know me will never dispute, I feel +for you, Charles, what none but parents can conceive; and on your account, +my dear boy, there can be no harm in telling the world that I hope these +"Wild Flowers" will be productive of sweets of the worldly kind; for your +unfortunate lameness (should it never be removed) may preclude you from +the means of procuring comforts and advantages which might otherwise have +fallen to your share. + +What a lasting, what an unspeakable satisfaction would it be to know that +the Ballads, the Plowman Stories, and the "Broken Crutch" of your father +would eventually contribute to lighten your steps to manhood, and make +your own crutch, through life, rather a memorial of affection than an +object of sorrow. + +With a parent's feelings, and a parent's cares and hopes, + +I am, Charles, yours, + +R. B. + + + + + CONTENTS + +Abner and the Widow Jones, a Familiar Ballad +To My Old Oak Table +The Horkey, a Provincial Ballad +The Broken Crutch, a Tale +Shooter's Hill +A Visit to Ranelagh +Love of the Country +The Woodland Hallo +Barnham Water +Mary's Evening Sigh +Good Tidings; or, News from the Farm + + + + ABNER AND THE WIDOW JONES, + + A Familiar Ballad. + + +Well! I'm determin'd; that's enough:-- + Gee, Bayard! move your poor old bones, +I'll take to-morrow, smooth or rough, + To go and court the Widow Jones. + +Our master talks of stable-room, + And younger horses on his grounds; +'Tis easy to foresee thy doom, + Bayard, thou'lt go to feed the hounds. + +The first Determination. + +But could I win the widow's hand, + I'd make a truce 'twixt death and thee; +For thou upon the best of land + Should'st feed, and live, and die with me. + +And must the pole-axe lay thee low? + And will they pick thy poor old bones? +No--hang me if it shall be so,-- + If I can win the Widow Jones. + +Twirl went his stick; his curly pate + A bran-new hat uplifted bore; +And Abner, as he leapt the gate, + Had never look'd so gay before. + +Old Love revived. + +And every spark of love reviv'd + That had perplex'd him long ago, +When busy folks and fools contriv'd + To make his Mary answer--_no_. + +But whether, freed from recent vows, + _Her_ heart had back to Abner flown, +And mark'd him for a second spouse, + In truth is not exactly known. + +Howbeit, as he came in sight, + She turn'd her from the garden stile, +And downward look'd with pure delight, + With half a sigh and half a smile. + +Rustic Salutation. + +She heard his sounding step behind, + The blush of joy crept up her cheek, +As cheerly floated on the wind, + "Hoi! Mary Jones--what wont you speak?" + +Then, with a look that ne'er deceives, + She turn'd, but found her courage fled; +And scolding sparrows from the eaves + Peep'd forth upon the stranger's head. + +Down Abner sat, with glowing heart, + Resolv'd, whatever might betide, +To speak his mind, no other art + He ever knew, or ever tried. + +[Illustration: a couple.] + +A clear Question. + +And gently twitching Mary's hand, + The bench had ample room for two, +His first word made her understand + The plowman's errand was to woo. + +"My Mary--may I call thee so? + For many a happy day we've seen, +And if not mine, aye, years ago, + Whose was the fault? you might have been! + +"All that's gone by: but I've been musing, + And vow'd, and hope to keep it true, +That she shall be my own heart's choosing + Whom I call wife.--Hey, what say you? + +Past Thoughts stated. + +"And as I drove my plough along, + And felt the strength that's in my arm, +Ten years, thought I, amidst my song, + I've been head-man at Harewood farm. + +"And now, my own dear Mary's free, + Whom I have lov'd this many a day, +Who knows but she may think on _me?_ + I'll go hear what she has to say. + +"Perhaps that little stock of land + She holds, but knows not how to till, +Will suffer in the widow's hand, + And make poor Mary poorer still + +The Avowal. + +"That scrap of land, with one like her, + How we might live! and be so blest! +And who should Mary Jones prefer? + Why, surely, him who loves her best! + +"Therefore I'm come to-night, sweet wench, + I would not idly thus intrude,"-- +Mary look'd downward on the bench, + O'erpower'd by love and gratitude. + +And lean'd her head against the vine, + With quick'ning sobs of silent bliss, +Till Abner cried, "You must be mine, + You must,"--and seal'd it with a kiss. + +The Interest of an old Horse asserted. + +She talk'd of shame, and wip'd her check, + But what had shame with them to do, +Who nothing meant but truth to speak, + And downright honour to pursue? + +His eloquence improv'd apace, + As manly pity fill'd his mind; +"You know poor Bayard; here's the case,-- + He's past his labour, old, and blind: + +"If you and I should but agree + To settle here for good and all, +Could you give all your heart to me, + And grudge that poor old rogue a stall? + +His Character. + +"I'll buy him, for the dogs shall never + Set tooth upon a friend so true; +He'll not live long, but I for ever + Shall know I gave the beast his due. + +"'Mongst all I've known of plows and carts, + And ever since I learn'd to drive, +He was not match'd in all these parts; + There was not such a horse alive! + +"Ready, as birds to meet the morn, + Were all his efforts at the plough; +Then, the mill-brook with hay or corn, + Good creature! how he'd spatter through! + +Character continued. + +"He was a horse of mighty pow'r, + Compact in frame, and strong of limb; +Went with a chirp from hour to hour; + Whip-cord! 'twas never made for him. + +"I left him in the shafts behind, + His fellows all unhook'd and gone, +He neigh'd, and deem'd the thing unkind. + Then, starting, drew the load alone! + +"But I might talk till pitch-dark night, + And then have something left to say; +But, Mary, am I wrong or right, + Or, do I throw my words away? + +Something like Consent. + +"Leave me, or take me and my horse; + I've told thee truth, and all I know: +Truth _should_ breed truth; that comes of course; + If I sow wheat, why wheat will grow." + +"Yes, Abner, but thus soon to yield, + Neighbours would fleer, and look behind 'em; +Though, with a husband in the field, + Perhaps, indeed, I should not mind 'em. + +"I've known your generous nature well, + My first denial cost me dear; +How this may end we cannot tell, + But, as for Bayard, bring him here." + +Parting of the Lovers.--Sad News. + +"Bless thee for that," the plowman cried, + At once both starting from the seat, +He stood a guardian by her side, + But talk'd of home,--'twas growing late. + +Then step for step within his arm, + She cheer'd him down the dewy way; +And no two birds upon the farm + E'er prated with more joy than they. + +What news at home? The smile he wore + One little sentence turn'd to sorrow; +An order met him at the door. + "Take Bayard to the dogs to-morrow." + +The Journey renewed. + +Yes, yes, thought he; and heav'd a sigh, + Die when he will he's not your debtor: +I must obey, and he must die,-- + That's if I can't contrive it better. + +He left his Mary late at night, + And had succeeded in the main, +No sooner peep'd the morning light + But he was on the road again! + +Suppose she should refuse her hand? + Such thoughts will come, I know not why; +Shall I, without a wife or land, + Want an old horse? then wherefore buy? + +Perplexity + +From bush to bush, from stile to stile, + Perplex'd he trod the fallow ground, +And told his money all the while + And weigh'd the matter round and round. + +"I'll borrow," that's the best thought yet; + Mary shall save the horse's life.-- +Kind-hearted wench! what, run in debt + Before I know she'll be my wife? + +These women wo'nt speak plain and free.-- + Well, well, I'll keep my service still; +She has not _said_ she'd marry me, + But yet I dare to say she will. + +A fresh Thought--Turns back. + +But while I take this shay brain'd course, + And like a fool run to and fro, +Master, perhaps, may sell the horse! + Therefore this instant home I'll go. + +The nightly rains had drench'd the grove, + He plung'd right on with headlong pace; +A man but half as much in love + Perhaps had found a cleaner place. + +The day rose fair; with team a-field, + He watch'd the farmer's cheerful brow; +And in a lucky hour reveal'd + His secret at his post, the plough. + +Coming to the Point--Generosity + +And there without a whine began, + "Master, you'll give me your advice; +I'm going to marry--if I can-- + And want old Bayard; what's his price! + +"For Mary Jones last night agreed, + Or near upon't, to be my wife: +The horse's value I don't heed, + I only want to save his life." + +"Buy him, hey! Abner! trust me I + Have not the thought of gain in view; +Bayard's best days we've seen go by; + He shall be cheap enough to you." + +Symptoms of good Feelings. + +The wages paid, the horse brought out, + The hour of separation come; +The farmer turn'd his chair about, + "Good fellow, take him, take him home. + +"You're welcome, Abner, to the beast, + For you're a faithful servant been; +They'll thrive I doubt not in the least, + Who know what work and service mean." + +The maids at parting, one and all, + From different windows different tones; +Bade him farewel with many a bawl, + And sent their love to Mary Jones. + +Victory! + +He wav'd his hat, and turn'd away, + When loud the cry of children rose; +"Abner, good bye!" they stopt their play; + "There goes poor Bayard! there he goes!" + +Half choak'd with joy, with love, and pride, + He now with dainty clover fed him, +Now took a short triumphant ride, + And then again got down and led him. + +And hobbling onward up the hill, + The widow's house was full in sight, +He pull'd the bridle harder still, + "Come on, we shan't be there to-night." + +Victory! + +She met them with a smile so sweet, + The stable-door was open thrown; +The blind horse lifted high his feet, + And loudly snorting, laid him down. + +O Victory! from that stock of laurels + You keep so snug for camps and thrones, +Spare us _one twig_ from all their quarrels + For Abner and the Widow Jones. + +[Illustration: a table.] + + + + TO MY OLD OAK TABLE. + +Friend of my peaceful days! substantial friend, +Whom wealth can never change, nor int'rest bend, +I love thee like a child. Thou wert to me +The dumb companion of my misery, +And oftner of my joys;--then as I spoke, +I shar'd thy sympathy, Old Heart of Oak! +For surely when my labour ceas'd at night, +With trembling, feverish hands, and aching sight, +The draught that cheer'd me and subdu'd my care, +On thy broad shoulders thou wert proud to bear +O'er thee, with expectation's fire elate, +I've sat and ponder'd on my future fate: +On thee, with winter muffins for thy store, +I've lean'd, and quite forgot that I was poor. + +Where dropp'd the acorn that gave birth to thee? +Can'st thou trace back thy line of ancestry? +We're match'd, old friend, and let us not repine, +Darkness o'erhangs thy origin and mine; +Both may be truly honourable: yet, +We'll date our honours from the day we met; +When, of my worldly wealth the parent stock, +Right welcome up the Thames from Woolwich Dock +Thou cam'st, when hopes ran high and love was young; +But soon our olive-branches round thee sprung; +Soon came the days that tried a faithful wife, +The noise of children, and the cares of life. +Then, midst the threat'nings of a wintry sky, +_That cough_ which blights the bud of infancy, +The dread of parents, Rest's inveterate foe, +Came like a plague, and turn'd my songs to woe. + +Rest! without thee what strength can long survive, +What spirit keep the flame of Hope alive? +The midnight murmur of the cradle gave +Sounds of despair; and chilly as the grave. +We felt its undulating blast arise, +Midst whisper'd sorrows and ten thousand sighs. +Expiring embers warn'd us each to sleep, +By turns to watch alone, by turns to weep, +By turns to hear, and keep from starting wild, +The sad, faint wailings of a dying child. +But Death, obedient to Heav'n's high command, +Withdrew his jav'lin, and unclench'd his hand; +The little sufferers triumph'd over pain, +Their mother smil'd, and bade me hope again. +Yet Care gain'd ground, Exertion triumph'd less, +Thick fell the gathering terrors of Distress; +Anxiety, and Griefs without a name, +Had made their dreadful inroads on my frame; +The creeping Dropsy, cold as cold could be, +Unnerv'd my arm, and bow'd my head to thee. +Thou to thy trust, old friend, hast not been true; +These eyes the bitterest tears they ever knew +Let fall upon thee; now all wip'd away; +But what from memory shall wipe out that day? +The great, the wealthy of my native land, +To whom a guinea is a grain of sand, +I thought upon them, for my _thoughts_ were free, +But all unknown were then my woes and me. + +Still, Resignation was my dearest friend, +And Reason pointed to a glorious end; +With anxious sighs, a parent's hopes and pride, +I wish'd to live--I trust I could have died! +But winter's clouds pursu'd their stormy way, +And March brought sunshine with the length'ning day, +And bade my heart arise, that morn and night +Now throbb'd with irresistible delight. +Delightful 'twas to leave disease behind, +And feel the renovation of the mind! +To lead abroad upborne on Pleasure's wing, +Our children, midst the glories of the spring; +Our fellow sufferers, our only wealth, +To gather daisies in the breeze of health! + +'Twas then, too, when our prospects grew so fair, +And Sabbath bells announc'd the morning pray'r; +Beneath that vast gigantic dome we bow'd, +That lifts its flaming cross above the cloud; +Had gain'd the centre of the checquer'd floor;-- +That instant, with reverberating roar +Burst forth the pealing organ----mute we stood;-- +The strong sensation boiling through my blood, +Rose in a storm of joy, allied to pain, +I wept, and worshipp'd GOD, and wept again; +And felt, amidst the fervor of my praise, +The sweet assurances of better days. + +In that gay season, honest friend of mine, +I mark'd the brilliant sun upon thee shine; +Imagination took her flights so free, +_Home_ was delicious with my book and thee, +The purchas'd nosegay, or brown ears of corn, +Were thy gay plumes upon a summer's morn, +Awakening memory, that disdains control, +They spoke the darling language of my soul: +They whisper'd tales of joy, of peace, of truth, +And conjur'd back the sunshine of my youth: +Fancy presided at the joyful birth, +I pour'd the torrent of my feelings forth; +Conscious of _truth_ in Nature's humble track, +And wrote "The Farmer's Boy" upon thy back! +Enough, old friend:--thou'rt mine; and shalt partake, +While I have pen to write, or tongue to speak, +Whatever fortune deals me.--Part with thee! +No, not till death shall set my spirit free; +For know, should plenty crown my life's decline, +A most important duty may be thine: +Then, guard me from Temptation's base control, +From apathy and littleness of soul +The sight of thy old frame, so rough, so rode, +Shall twitch the sleeve of nodding Gratitude; +Shall teach me but to venerate the more +Honest Oak Tables and their guests--the poor: +Teach me unjust distinctions to deride, +And falsehoods gender'd in the brain of Pride; +Shall give to Fancy still the cheerful hour, +To Intellect, its freedom and its power; +To Hospitality's enchanting ring +A charm, which nothing but thyself can bring. +The man who would not look with honest pride +On the tight bark that stemm'd the roaring tide, +And bore him, when he bow'd the trembling knee, +Home, through the mighty perils of the sea, +I love him not.--He ne'er shall be my guest; +Nor sip my cup, nor witness how I'm blest; +Nor lean, to bring my honest friend to shame, +A sacrilegious elbow on thy frame; +But thou through life a monitor shalt prove, +Sacred to Truth, to Poetry, and Love. + +Dec. 1803. + + + + THE HORKEY. A Provincial Ballad. + + ADVERTISEMENT. + +In the descriptive ballad which follows, it will be evident that I have +endeavoured to preserve the style of a gossip, and to transmit the +memorial of a custom, the extent or antiquity of which I am not acquainted +with, and pretend not to enquire. + +In Suffolk husbandry the man who, (whether by merit or by sufferance I +know not) goes foremost through the harvest with the scythe or the sickle, +is honoured with the title of "_Lord_," and at the Horkey, or harvest-home +feast, collects what he can, for himself and brethren, from the farmers +and visitors, to make a "frolick" afterwards, called "the largess +spending." By way of returning thanks, though perhaps formerly of much +more, or of different signification, they immediately leave the seat of +festivity, and with a very long and repeated shout of "a largess," the +number of shouts being regulated by the sums given, seem to wish to make +themselves heard by the people of the surrounding farms. And before they +rejoin the company within, the pranks and the jollity I have endeavoured +to describe, usually take place. These customs, I believe, are going fast +out of use; which is one great reason for my trying to tell the rising +race of mankind that such were the customs when I was a boy. + +I have annexed a glossary of such words as may be found by general readers +to require explanation. And will add a short extract from Sir Thomas +Brown, of Norwich, M. D. who was born three years before Milton, and +outlived him eight years. + +"It were not impossible to make an original reduction of many words of no +general reception in _England_, but of common use in _Norfolk_, or +peculiar to the _East-Angle_ counties; as, Bawnd, Bunny, Thurck, Enemis, +Matchly, Sainmodithee, Mawther, Kedge, Seele, Straft, Clever, Dere, +Nicked, Stingy, Noneare, Fett, Thepes, Gosgood, Kamp, Sibrit, Fangast, +Sap, Cothish, Thokish, Bide-owe, Paxwax. Of these, and some others, of no +easy originals, when time will permit, the resolution shall be attempted; +which to effect, the Danish language, new, and more ancient, may prove of +good advantage: which nation remained here fifty years upon agreement, and +have left many families in it, and the language of these parts had surely +been more commixed and perplex, if the fleet of _Hugo de Bones_ had not +been cast away, wherein three-score thousand souldiers, out of Britany and +Flanders, were to be wafted over, and were, by King _John's_ appointment, +to have a settled habitation in the counties of _Norfolk_ and _Suffolk_." +Tract the viii. on Languages, particularly the Saxon. Folio, 1686, page +48. + + + + THE HORKEY. + + A Provincial Ballad. + + +What gossips prattled in the sun, + Who talk'd him fairly down, +Up, memory! tell; 'tis Suffolk fun, + And lingo of their own. + +Ah! _Judie Twitchet!_[A] though thou'rt dead, + With thee the tale begins; +For still seems thrumming in my head + The rattling of thy pins. + +[Footnote A: Judie Twitchet was a real person, who lived many years with +my mother's cousin Bannock, at Honnington.] + +Thou Queen of knitters! for a ball + Of worsted was thy pride; +With dangling stockings great and small, + And world of clack beside! + +"We did so laugh; the moon shone bright; + "More fun you never knew; +"'Twas Farmer Cheerum's _Horkey night_, + "And I, and Grace, and Sue---- + +"But bring a stool, sit round about, + "And boys, be quiet, pray; +"And let me tell my story out; + "'Twas _sitch_ a merry day! + +"The butcher whistled at the door, + "And brought a load of meat; +"Boys rubb'd their hands, and cried, 'there's more,' + "Dogs wagg'd their tails to see't. + +"On went the boilers till the _hake_[Footnote: A sliding pot-hook] + "Had much ado to bear 'em; +"The magpie talk'd for talking sake, + "Birds sung;--but who could hear 'em? + +"Creak went the jack; the cats were _scar'd_, + "We had not time to heed 'em, +"The _owd hins_ cackled in the yard, + "For we forgot to feed 'em! + +"Yet 'twas not I, as I may say, + "Because as how, d'ye see; +"I only help'd there for the day; + "They cou'dn't lay't to me. + +"Now Mrs. Cheerum's best lace cap + "Was mounted on her head; +"Guests at the door began to rap, + "And now the cloth was spread. + +"Then clatter went the earthen plates-- + "'Mind Judie,' was the cry; +"I could have _cop't_[Footnote: Thrown] them at their pates; + "'Trenchers for me,' said I. + +"'That look so clean upon the ledge, + "'And never mind a fall; +"'Nor never turn a sharp knife's edge;-- + "'But fashion rules us all.' + +"Home came the jovial _Horkey load_, + "Last of the whole year's crop; +"And Grace amongst the green boughs rode + "Right plump upon the top. + +"This way and that the waggon reel'd, + "And never queen rode higher; +"_Her_ cheeks were colour'd in the field, + "And ours before the fire. + +"The laughing harvest-folks, and John, + "Came in and look'd askew; +"'Twas my red face that set them on, + "And then they leer'd at Sue. + +"And Farmer Cheerum went, good man, + "And broach'd the _Horkey beer_; +"And _sitch a mort_[Footnote: Such a number.] of folks began + "To eat up our good cheer. + +"Says he, 'Thank God for what's before us; + "'That thus we meet agen,' +"The mingling voices, like a chorus, + "Join'd cheerfully, 'Amen.'-- + +"Welcome and plenty, there they found 'em, + "The ribs of beef grew light; +"And puddings--till the boys got round 'em, + "And then they vanish'd quite! + +"Now all the guests, with Farmer Crouder, + "Began to prate of corn; +"And we found out they talk'd the louder, + "The oftner pass'd the Horn. + +"Out came the nuts; we set a cracking; + "The ale came round our way; +"_By gom_ we women fell a clacking + "As loud again as they. + +"John sung 'Old Benbow' loud and strong, + "And I, 'The Constant Swain,' +"'Cheer up my Lads,' was Simon's song, + "'We'll conquer them again.' + +"Now twelve o'clock was drawing nigh, + "And all in merry cue; +"I knock'd the cask, 'O, ho!' said I, + "'We've almost conquer'd you.' + +"_My Lord_[Footnote: The leader of the reapers.] begg'd round, and held +his hat, + "Says Farmer Gruff, says he, +"There's many a Lord, Sam, I know that, + "Has begg'd as well as thee.' + +"Bump in his hat the shillings tumbl'd + "All round among the folks; +"'Laugh if you wool,' said Sam, and mumbl'd, + "'You pay for all your jokes.' + +"Joint stock you know among the men, + "To drink at their own charges; +"So up they got full drive, and then + "Went out to _halloo largess_.[Footnote: See advertisement.] + +"And sure enough the noise they made!!-- + --"But let me mind my tale; +"We follow'd them, we wor'nt afraid, + "We'ad all been drinking ale. + +"As they stood hallooing back to back, + "We, lightly as a feather, +"Went sideling round, and in a crack + "Had pinn'd their coats together. + +"'Twas near upon't as light as noon; + "'_A largess_,' on the hill, +"They shouted to the full round moon, + "I think I hear 'em still! + +"But when they found the trick, my stars! + "They well knew who to blame, +"Our giggles turn'd to ha, ha, ha's, + "And _arter_ us they came. + +"Grace by the tumbril made a squat, + "Then ran as Sam came by, +"They said she could not run for fat; + "_I know_ she did not try. + +"Sue round the _neathouse_[Footnote: Cow-house.] squalling ran, + "Where Simon scarcely dare; +"He stopt,--for he's a fearful man-- + "'_By gom_ there's _suffen_[Footnote: Something.] there!' + +"And off set John, with all his might, + "To chase me down the yard, +"Till I was nearly _gran'd_[Footnote: Strangled.] outright; + "He hugg'd so woundly hard. + +"Still they kept up the race and laugh, + "And round the house we flew; +"But hark ye! the best fun by half + "Was Simon _arter_ Sue. + +"She car'd not, dark nor light, not she, + "So, near the dairy door +"She pass'd a clean white hog, you see, + "They'd _kilt_ the day before. + +"High on the spirket [Footnote: An iron hook.] there it hung,-- + "'Now Susie--what can save ye?' +"Round the cold pig his arms he flung, + "And cried, 'Ah! here I have ye!' + +"The farmers heard what Simon said, + "And what a noise! good lack! +"Some almost laugh'd themselves _to dead_, + "And others clapt his back. + +"We all at once began to tell + "What fun we had abroad; +"But Simon stood our jeers right well; + --"He fell asleep and snor'd. + +"Then in his button-hole upright, + "Did Farmer Crouder put, +"A slip of paper twisted tight, + "And held the candle _to't_. + +"It smok'd, and smok'd, beneath his nose, + "The harmless blaze crept higher; +"Till with a vengeance up he rose, + "Grace, Judie, Sue! fire, fire! + +"The clock struck one--some talk'd of parting, + "Some said it was a sin, +"And _kilch'd_ their chairs;--but those for starting + "Now let the moonlight in. + +"_Owd_ women, loitering _for the nonce_,[Footnote: For the purpose.] + "Stood praising the fine weather; +"The menfolks took the hint at once + "To kiss them altogether. + +"And out ran every soul beside, + "A _shanny-pated_[Footnote: Giddy, thoughtless.] crew; +"_Owd_ folks could neither run nor hide, + "So some _ketch'd_ one, some _tew_. + +"They _skriggl'd_[Footnote: To struggle quick.] and began to scold. + "But laughing got the master; +"Some _quack'ling_[Footnote: Choaking.] cried, 'let go your hold;' + "The farmers held the faster. + +"All innocent, that I'll be sworn, + "There wor'nt a bit of sorrow, +"And women, if their gowns _are_ torn, + "Can mend them on the morrow. + +"Our shadows helter skelter danc'd + "About the moonlight ground; +"The wondering sheep, as on we pranc'd, + "Got up and gaz'd around, + +"And well they might--till Farmer Chcerum, + "Now with a hearty glee, +"Bade all good morn as he came near 'em, + "And then to bed went he. + +"Then off we stroll'd this way and that, + "With merry voices ringing; +"And Echo answered us right pat, + "As home we rambl'd singing. + +"For, when we laugh'd, it laugh'd again, + "And to our own doors follow'd! +"'Yo, ho!' we cried; 'Yo, ho!' so plain + "The misty meadow halloo'd. + +"That's all my tale, and all the fun, + "Come, turn your wheels about; +"My worsted, see!--that's nicely done, + "Just held my story out!!" + +Poor Judie!--Thus Time knits or spins + The worsted from Life's ball! +Death stopt thy tales, and stopt thy pins, + --And so he'll serve us all. + + + + + THE BROKEN CRUTCH. + + A Tale. + +"I tell you, Peggy," said a voice behind +A hawthorn hedge, with wild briars thick entwin'd, +Where unseen trav'llers down a shady way +Journey'd beside the swaths of new-mown hay, +"I tell you, Peggy, 'tis a time to prove +Your fortitude, your virtue, and your love. +From honest poverty our lineage sprung, +Your mother was a servant quite as young;-- +You weep; perhaps _she_ wept at leaving home, +Courage, my girl, nor fear the days to come. +Go still to church, my Peggy, plainly drest, +And keep a living conscience in your breast; +Look to yourself, my lass, the maid's best fame, +Beware, nor bring the Meldrums into shame: +Be modest, to the voice of age attend, +Be honest, and you'll always find a friend: +Your uncle Gilbert, stronger far than I, +Will see you safe; on him you must rely; +I've walk'd too far; this lameness, oh! the pain; +Heav'n bless thee, child! I'll halt me back again; +But when your first fair holiday may be, +Rise with the lark, and spend your hours with me." + +Young Herbert Brooks, in strength and manhood bold, +Who, round the meads, his own possessions, stroll'd, +O'erheard the charge, and with a heart so gay, +Whistled his spaniel and pursu'd his way. + +A Hint for a Libertine. + +Soon cross'd his path, and short obeisance paid, +Stout Gilbert Meldrum and a country maid; +A box upon his shoulder held full well +Her worldly riches, but the truth to tell +She bore the chief herself; that nobler part. +That beauteous gem, an uncorrupted heart. +And then that native loveliness! that cheek! +It bore the very tints her betters seek; +At such a sight the libertine would glow, +With all the warmth that _he_ can ever know; +Would send his thoughts abroad without control, +The glimmering moon-shine of his little soul. +"Above the reach of justice I shall soar, +Her friends may weep, not punish; they're too poor: +That very thought the rapture will enhance, +Poor, young, and friendless; what a glorious chance! + +Herbert's Character. + +A few spare guineas may the conquest make,-- +I love the treachery for treachery's sake,-- +And when her wounded honour jealous grows, +I'll cut away ten thousand oaths and vows, +And tell my comrades, with a manly stride, +How I, _a girl out-witten and out-lied_." +Such was not Herbert--he had never known +Love's genuine smiles, nor suffer'd from his frown; +And as to that most honourable part +Of planting daggers in a parent's heart, +A novice quite:--he past his hours away, +Free as a bird and buxom as the day; +Yet, should a lovely girl by chance arise, +Think not that Herbert Brooks would shut his eyes. + +On thy calm joys with what delight I dream, +Thou dear green valley of my native stream! + +Regret for Devastation by Enclosures. + +Fancy o'er thee still waves th' enchanting wand, +And every nook of thine is fairy land, +And ever will be, though the axe should smite +In Gain's rude service, and in Pity's spite, +Thy clustering alders, and at length invade +The last, last poplars, that compose thy shade: +Thy stream shall then in native freedom stray, +And undermine the willows in its way, +These, nearly worthless, may survive this storm, +This scythe of desolation call'd "Reform." +No army past that way! yet are they fled, +The boughs that, when a school-boy, screen'd my head: +I hate the murderous axe; estranging more +The winding vale from what it was of yore, +Than e'en mortality in all its rage, +And all the change of faces in an age. + +The Tale pursued. + +"Warmth," will they term it, that I speak so free? +They strip thy shades,--thy shades so dear to me! +In Herbert's days woods cloth'd both hill and dale; +But peace, Remembrance! let us tell the tale. + +His home was in the valley, elms grew round +His moated mansion, and the pleasant sound +Of woodland birds that loud at day-break sing, +With the first cuckoos that proclaim the spring, +Flock'd round his dwelling; and his kitchen smoke, +That from the towering rookery upward broke, +Of joyful import to the poor hard by, +Stream'd a glad sign of hospitality; +So fancy pictures; but its day is o'er; +The moat remains, the dwelling is no more! +Its name denotes its melancholy fall, +For village children call the spot "Burnt-Hall." + +[Illustration: a woman kneeling.] + +The Church. + +But where's the maid, who in the meadow-way +Met Herbert Brooks amongst the new-mown hay? + +Th' adventure charm'd him, and next morning rose +The Sabbath, with its silence and repose, +The bells ceas'd chiming, and the broad blue sky +Smil'd on his peace, and met his tranquil eye +Inverted, from the foot-bridge on his way +To that still house where all his fathers lay; +There in his seat, each neighbour's face he knew-- +The stranger girl was just before his pew! +He saw her kneel, with meek, but cheerful air, +And whisper the response to every prayer; +And, when the humble roof with praises rung, +He caught the Hallelujah from her tongue, +Rememb'ring with delight the tears that fell +When the poor father bade his child farewell; + +Love strengthened by Reflection. + +And now, by kindling tenderness beguil'd, +He blest the prompt obedience of that child, +And link'd his fate with hers:--for, from that day, +Whether the weeks past cheerily away, +Or deep revolving doubts procur'd him pain, +The same bells chim'd--and there she was again! +What could be done? they came not there to woo, +On holy ground,--though love is holy too. + +They met upon the foot-bridge one clear morn, +She in the garb by village lasses worn; +He, with unbutton'd frock that careless flew, +And buskin'd to resist the morning dew; +With downcast look she courtsied to the ground, +Just in his path--no room to sidle round. + +An Interview. + +"Well, pretty girl, this early rising yields +The best enjoyment of the groves and fields, +And makes the heart susceptible and meek, +And keeps alive that rose upon your cheek. +I long'd to meet you, Peggy, though so shy, +I've watch'd your steps and learn'd your history; +You love your poor lame father, let that be +A happy presage of your love for me. +Come then, I'll stroll these meadows by your side, +I've seen enough to wish you for my bride, +And plainly tell you so.--Nay, let me hold +This guiltless hand, I prize it more than gold; +Of that I have my share, but now pursue +Such lasting wealth as I behold in you. +My lands are fruitful and my gardens gay, +My houshold cheerful as the summer's day; +One blessing more will crown my happy life, +Like Adam, pretty girl, I want a wife." + +Frequent Meetings.--Family Pride. + +Need it be told his suit was not denied, +With youth, and wealth, and candour on his side +Honour took charge of love so well began, +And accidental meetings, one by one, +Increas'd so fast midst time's unheeded flight, +That village rumour married them outright; +Though wiser matrons, doubtful in debate, +Pitied deluded Peggy's hapless fate. +Friends took th' alarm, "And will he then disgrace +"The name of Brooks with this plebeian race?" +Others, more lax in virtue, not in pride, +Sported the wink of cunning on one side; +"He'll buy, no doubt, what Peggy has to sell, +A little gallantry becomes him well." +Meanwhile the youth with self-determin'd aim, +Disdaining fraud, and pride's unfeeling claim, + +Marriage proposed + +Above control pursued his generous way, +And talk'd to Peggy of the marriage day. +Poor girl! she heard, with anguish and with doubt, +What her too knowing neighbours preach'd about, +That Herbert would some nobler match prefer, +And surely never, never marry her; +Yet, with what trembling and delight she bore +The kiss, and heard the vow, "I'll doubt no more;" +"Protect me Herbert, for your honour's sake +You will," she cried, "nor leave my heart to break." +Then wrote to uncle Gilbert, joys, and fears, +And hope, and trust, and sprinkled all with tears. + +Rous'd was the dormant spirit of the brave, +E'en lameness rose to succour and to save; +For, though they both rever'd young Herbert's name, +And knew his unexceptionable fame; + +Doubts.--Parental Feelings. + +And though the girl had honestly declar'd +Love's first approaches, and their counsel shar'd, +Yet, that he truly meant to take for life +The poor and lowly Peggy for a wife; +Or, that she was not doom'd to be deceiv'd, +Was out of bounds:--it _could not_ be believ'd. +"Go, Gilbert; save her; I, you know, am lame; +Go, brother, go; and save my child from shame. +Haste, and I'll pray for your success the while, +Go, go;"--then bang'd his crutch upon the stile:-- +It snapt.--E'en Gilbert trembled while he smote, +Then whipt the broken end beneath his coat; +"Aye, aye, I'll settle them; I'll let them see +Who's to be conqu'ror this time, I or he!" + +[Illustration: two men at a stile.] + +Gilbert on the Road!--An Adventure. + +Then off he set, and with enormous strides, +Rebellious mutterings and oaths besides, +O'er clover-field and fallow, bank and brier, +Pursu'd the nearest cut, and fann'd the fire +That burnt within him.--Soon the Hall he spied, +And the grey willows by the water side; +Nature cried "halt!" nor could he well refuse; +Stop, Gilbert, breathe awhile, and ask _the news_. +"News?" cried a stooping grandame of the vale, +Aye, rare news too; I'll tell you such a tale; +But let me rest; this bank is dry and warm; +Do you know Peggy Meldrum at the farm? +Young Herbert's girl? He'as cloath'd her all in white. +You never saw so beautiful a sight! +Ah! he's a fine young man, and such a face! +I knew his grandfather and all his race; +He rode a tall white horse, and look'd so big, +But how shall I describe his hat and wig?" + +A promising Story cut short. + +"Plague take his wig," cried Gilbert, "and his hat, +Where's Peggy Meldrum? can you tell me _that_?" +"Aye; but have patience man, you'll hear anon, +For I shall come to her as I go on, +So hark 'ye friend; his grandfather I say,"-- +"Poh, poh,"--cried Gilbert, as he turn'd away. +Her eyes were fix'd, her story at a stand, +The snuff-box lay half open'd in her hand; +"You great ill-manner'd clown! but I must bear it; +You oaf; to ask the news, and then won't hear it!" +But Gilbert had gain'd forty paces clear, +When the reproof came murmuring on his ear. + +Again he ask'd the first that past him by; +A cow-boy stopt his whistle to reply. +"Why, I've a mistress coming home, that's all, +They're playing Meg's diversion at the Hall; + +A Cow-Boy's Bravery + +"For master's gone, with Peggy, and his cousin, +And all the lady folks, about a dozen, +To church, down there; he'll marry one no doubt, +For that it seems is what they're gone about; +I know it by their laughing and their jokes, +Tho' they _wor'nt_ ask'd at church like other folks." + +Gilbert kept on, and at the Hall-door found +The winking servants, where the jest went round: +All expectation; aye, and so was he, +But not with heart so merry and so free. +The kitchen table, never clear from beef, +Where hunger found its solace and relief, +Free to all strangers, had no charms for him, +For agitation worried every limb; +Ale he partook, but appetite had none, +And grey-hounds watch'd in vain to catch the bone. + +Sitting upon Thorns. + +All sounds alarm'd him, and all thoughts perplex'd, +With dogs, and beef, himself, and all things vex'd, +Till with one mingled caw above his head, +Their gliding shadows o'er the court-yard spread, +The rooks by thousands rose: the bells struck up; +He guess'd the cause, and down he set the cup, +And listening, heard, amidst the general hum, +A joyful exclamation, "Here they come!"-- +Soon Herbert's cheerful voice was heard above, +Amidst the rustling hand-maids of his love, +And Gilbert follow'd without thought or dread, +The broad oak stair-case thundr'd with his tread; +Light tript the party, gay as gay could be, +Amidst their bridal dresses--there came he! +And with a look that guilt could ne'er withstand, +Approach'd his niece and caught her by the hand, + +Anger disarmed. + +"Now are you married, Peggy, yes or no? +Tell me at once, before I let you go!" +Abrupt he spoke, and gave her arm a swing, +But the same moment felt the wedding ring, +And stood confus'd.--She wip'd th' empassion'd tear, +"I am, I am; but is my father here?" +Herbert stood by, and sharing with his bride, +That perturbation which she strove to hide; +"Come, honest Gilbert, you're too rough this time, +Indeed here's not the shadow of a crime; +But where's your brother? When did you arrive? +We waited long, for Nathan went at five!" + +All this was Greek to Gilbert, downright Greek: +He knew not what to think, nor how to speak. +The case was this; that Nathan with a cart +To fetch them both at day-break was to start, + +An Explanation. + +And so he did--but ere he could proceed, +He suck'd a charming portion with a reed, +Of that same wedding-ale, which was that day +To make the hearts of all the village gay; +Brim full of glee he trundled from the Hall, +And as for sky-larks, he out-sung them all; +Till growing giddy with his morning cup. +He, stretch'd beneath a hedge, the reins gave up; +The horse graz'd soberly without mishap, +And Nathan had a most delightful nap +For three good hours--Then, doubting, when he woke, +Whether his conduct would be deem'd a joke, +With double haste perform'd just half his part, +And brought the lame John Meldrum in his cart: +And at the moment Gilbert's wrath was high, +And while young Herbert waited his reply, + +A general Meeting. + +The sound of rattling wheels was at the door; +"There's my dear father now,"--they heard no more, +The bridegroom glided like an arrow down, +And Gilbert ran, though something of a clown, +With his best step; and cheer'd with smiles and pray'rs +They bore old John in triumph up the stairs: +Poor Peggy, who her joy no more could check, +Clung like a dewy woodbine round his neck, +And all stood silent--Gilbert, off his guard, +And marvelling at virtue's rich reward, +Loos'd the one loop that held his coat before, +Down thumpt the broken crutch upon the floor! +They started, half alarm'd, scarce knowing why, +But through the glist'ning rapture of his eye +The bridegroom smil'd, then chid their simple fears, +And rous'd the blushing Peggy from her tears; + +Gilbert put upon his Defense. + +Around the uncle in a ring they came, +And mark'd his look of mingled pride and shame. +"Now honestly, good Gilbert, tell us true +What meant this cudgel? What was it to do? +I know your heart suspected me of wrong, +And that most true affection urg'd along +Your feelings and your wrath; you were beside +Till now the rightful guardian of the bride. +But why this cudgel?"--"Guardian! that's the case, +Or else to day you had not seen my face, +But John about the girl was so perplex'd, +And I, to tell the truth, so mortal vex'd, +That when he broke _this crutch_, and stampt and cried, +For John and Peggy, Sir, I could have died, +I know I could; for she was such a child, +So tractable, so sensible, and mild, + +The plain Truth. + +That if between you roguery had grown, +(Begging your pardon,) 'twould have been your own; +She would not hurt a fly.--So off I came +And had you only sought to blast her fame, +Been base enough to act as hundreds would, +And ruin a poor maid--because you _could_, +With this same cudgel, (you may smile or frown) +An' please you, Sir, I meant to knock you down." + +A burst of laughter rang throughout the hall, +And Peggy's tongue, though overborne by all, +Pour'd its warm blessings, for, without control +The sweet unbridled transport of her soul +Was obviously seen, till Herbert's kiss +Stole, as it were, the eloquence of bliss. + +Mirth and Reconciliation. + +"Welcome, my friends; good Gilbert, here's my hand; +Eat, drink, or rest, they're all at your command: +And whatsoever pranks the rest may play, +Still you shall be the hero of to-day, +Doubts might torment, and blunders may have teaz'd, +But ale can cure them; let us all be pleas'd. +Thou, venerable man, let me defend +The father of my new dear bosom friend; +You broke your crutch, well, well, worse luck might be, +I'll be your crutch, John Meldrum, lean on me, +And when your lovely daughter shall complain, +Send Gilbert's wooden argument again. +If still you wonder that I take a wife +From the unpolish'd walks of humble life, +I'll tell you on what ground my love began, +And let the wise confute it if they can. +I saw a girl, with nature's untaught grace, +Turn from my gaze a most engaging face; + +Herbert's Apology. + +I saw her drop the tear, I knew full well +She felt for _you_ much more than she could tell. +I found her understanding, bright as day, +Through all impediments still forc'd its way; +On that foundation shall my soul rely, +The rock of genuine humility. +Call'd as she is to act a nobler part, +To rule my houshold, and to share my heart, +I trust her prudence, confident to prove +Days of delight, and still unfading love; +For, while her inborn tenderness survives, +That heav'nly charm of mothers and of wives, +I'll look for joy:--Here come the neighbours all; +Broach the old barrel, feast them great and small, +For I'm determin'd while the sun's so bright, +That this shall be a wedding-day outright: + +John Meldrum's wish.--Conclusion. + +How cheerly sound the bells! my charmer, come, +Expand your heart, and know yourself at home. +Sit down, good John;"--"I will," the old man cried, +"And let me drink to you, Sir, and the bride; +My blessing on you: I am lame and old, +I can't make speeches, and I wo'nt be bold; +But from my soul I wish, and wish with pain, +_That brave good gentlemen would not disdain_ +_The poor, because they're poor_: for, if they live +Midst crimes that parents _never can_ forgive, +If, like the forest beast they wander wild, +To rob a father, or to crush a child, +Nature _will_ speak, aye, just as Nature feels, +And wish--a Gilbert Meldrum at their heels." + + + + + SHOOTER'S HILL. +[Footnote: Sickness may be often an incentive to poetical composition; +I found it so; and I esteem the following lines only because they remind +me of past feelings which I would not willingly forget.] + + +Health! I seek thee;--dost thou love + The mountain top or quiet vale, +Or deign o'er humbler hills to rove + On showery June's dark south-west gale? +If so, I'll meet all blasts that blow, + With silent step, but not forlorn; +Though, goddess, at thy shrine I bow, + And woo thee each returning morn. + +I seek thee where, with all his might, + The joyous bird his rapture tells, +Amidst the half-excluded light, + That gilds the fox-glove's pendant bells; +Where, cheerly up this bold hill's side + The deep'ning groves triumphant climb; +In groves Delight and Peace abide, + And Wisdom marks the lapse of time. + +To hide me from the public eye, + To keep the throne of Reason clear, +Amidst fresh air to breathe or die, + I took my staff and wander'd here. +Suppressing every sigh that heaves, + And coveting no wealth but thee, +I nestle in the honied leaves, + And hug my stolen liberty. + +O'er eastward uplands, gay or rude, + Along to Erith's ivied spire, +I start, with strength and hope renew'd, + And cherish life's rekindling fire. +Now measure vales with straining eyes, + Now trace the church-yard's humble names: +Or, climb brown heaths, abrupt that rise, + And overlook the winding Thames. + +I love to mark the flow'ret's eye, + To rest where pebbles form my bed, +Where shapes and colours scatter'd lie + In varying millions round my head. +The soul rejoices when alone, + And feels her glorious empire free; +Sees GOD in every shining stone, + And revels in variety. + +Ah me! perhaps within my sight, + Deep in the smiling dales below, +Gigantic talents, Heav'n's pure light, + And all the rays of genius glow +In some lone soul, whom no one sees + With _power_ and _will_ to say "Arise," +Or chase away the slow disease, +And Want's foul picture from his eyes. + +A worthier man by far than I, + With more of industry and fire, +Shall see fair Virtue's meed pass by, + Without one spark of fame expire! +Bleed not my heart, it will be so. + The throb of care was thine full long; +Rise, like the Psalmist from his woe, + And pour abroad the joyful song. + +Sweet Health, I seek thee! hither bring + Thy balm that softens human ills; +Come, on the long drawn clouds that fling + Their shadows o'er the Surry-Hills. +Yon green-topt hills, and far away + Where late as now I freedom stole, +And spent one dear delicious day + On thy wild banks, romantic _Mole_. + + +Aye, there's the scene![1] beyond the sweep + Of London's congregated cloud, +The dark-brow'd wood, the headlong steep, + And valley-paths without a crowd! +Here, Thames, I watch thy flowing tides, + Thy thousand sails am proud to see; +But where the _Mole_ all silent glides + Dwells Peace--and Peace is wealth to me. + +[Footnote 1: Box-Hill, and the beautiful neighbourhood of Dorking, in +Surry.] + +Of Cambrian mountains still I dream, + And mouldering vestiges of war; +By time-worn cliff or classic stream + Would rove,--but prudence holds a bar. +Conic then, O Health, I'll strive to bound + My wishes to this airy stand; +'Tis not for _me_ to trace around + The wonders of my native land. + +Yet, the loud torrent's dark retreat, + Yet Grampian hills shall Fancy give, +And, towering in her giddy scat, + Amidst her own creation live, +Live, if thou'lt urge my climbing feet, + Give strength of nerve and vigorous breath, +If not, with dauntless soul I meet + The deep solemnity of death. + +This far-seen monumental tower + Records th' achievements of the brave, +And Angria's subjugated power, + Who plunder'd on the eastern wave. +I would not that such turrets rise + To point out where my bones arc laid; +Save that some wandering bard might prize + The comforts of its broad cool shade. + +O Vanity! since thou'rt decreed + Companion of our lives to be, +I'll seek the moral songster's meed, + An earthly immortality; +Most vain!--O let me, from the past + Remembering what to man is given, +Lay Virtue's broad foundations fast, + Whose glorious turrets reach to Heav'n: + + + + A VISIT TO RENELAGH + +To Ranelagh, once in my life, + By good-natur'd force I was driv'n; +The nations had ceas'd their long strife, + And PEACE[1] beam'd her radiance from Heav'n. +What wonders-were there to be found + That a clown might enjoy or disdain? +First we trac'd the gay ring all around, + Aye--and then we went round it again. + +[Footnote 1: A grand Fete, in honour of the peace of 1802.] + +A thousand feet rustled on mats, + A carpet that once had been green; +Men bow'd with their outlandish hats, + With corners so fearfully keen! +Fair maids, who at home in their haste + Had left all clothing else but a train, +Swept the floor clean, as slowly they pac'd, + And then--walk'd round and swept it again. + +The music was truly enchanting! + Right glad was I when I came near it; +But in fashion I found I was wanting:-- + 'Twas the fashion to walk and not hear it! +A fine youth, as beauty beset him, + Look'd smilingly round on the train; +"The king's nephew," they cried, as they met him; + Then--we went round and met him again. + +Huge paintings of Heroes and Peace + Seem'd to smile at the sound of the fiddle, +Proud to fill up each tall shining space + Round the lanthorn[1] that stood in the middle. +And GEORGE'S head too; Heav'n screen him! + May he finish in peace his long reign! +And what did we when we had seen him? + Why--went round and saw him again. + +[Footnote 1: The intervals between the pillars in the centre of the +Rotunda were filled up by transparent paintings] + +A bell rang, announcing new pleasures, + A crowd in an instant prest hard, +Feathers nodded, perfumes shed their treasures. + Round a door that led into the yard. +'Twas peopled all o'er in a minute, + As a white flock would cover a plain! +We had seen every soul that was in it, + Then we went round and saw them again. + +But now came a scene worth the showing, + The fireworks! midst langhs and huzzas, +With explosions the sky was all glowing, + Then down stream'd a million of stars; +With a rush the bright rockets ascended, + Wheels spurted blue fires like a rain; +We turn'd with regret when 'twas ended, + Then--star'd at each other again. + +There thousands of gay lamps aspir'd + To the tops of the trees and beyond; +And, what was most hugely admir'd, + They look'd all up-side-down in a pond! +The blaze scarce an eagle could bear; + And an owl had most surely been slain; +We return'd to the circle, and there-- + And there we went round it again. + +'Tis not wisdom to love without reason, + Or to censure without knowing why: +I had witness'd no crime, nor no treason, + "O Life, 'tis thy picture," said I. +'Tis just thus we saunter along, + Months and years bring their pleasures or pain; +We sigh midst the _right_ and the _wrong_; +--And then _we go round them again_! + + + + + LOVE OF THE COUNTRY. + + Written At Clare-Hall, Herts. June 1804. + +Welcome silence! welcome peace! + O most welcome, holy shade! +Thus I prove as years increase, + My heart and soul for quiet made. +Thus I fix my firm belief + While rapture's gushing tears descend; +That every flower and every leaf + Is moral Truth's unerring friend. + +I would not for a world of gold + That Nature's lovely face should tire; +Fountain of blessings yet untold; + Pure source of intellectual fire! +Fancy's fair buds, the germs of song, + Unquicken'd midst the world's rude strife, +Shall sweet retirement render strong, + And morning silence bring to life. + +Then tell me not that I shall grow + Forlorn, that fields and woods will cloy; +From Nature and her changes flow + An everlasting tide of joy. +I grant that summer heats will burn, + That keen will come the frosty night; +But both shall please: and each in turn + Yield Reason's most supreme delight. + +Build me a shrine, and I could kneel + To Rural Gods, or prostrate fall; +Did I not see, did I not feel, + That one GREAT SPIRIT governs all. +O heav'n permit that I may lie + Where o'er my corse green branches ware; +And those who from life's tumult fly + With kindred feelings press my grave. + + + + +THE WOODLAND HALLO. + +_(Perhaps) adapted for Music._ + +In our cottage, that peeps from the skirts of the wood, + I am mistress, no mother have I; +Yet blithe are my days, for my father is good, + And kind is my lover hard by; +They both work together beneath the green shade, + Both woodmen, my father and Joe. +Where I've listen'd whole hours to the echo that made + So much of a laugh or--_Hallo_. + +From my basket at noon they expect their supply, + And with joy from my threshold I spring; +For the woodlands I love, and the oaks waring high, + And Echo that sings as I sing. +Though deep shades delight me, yet love is my food, + As I call the dear name of my Joe; +His musical shout is the pride of the wood, + And my heart leaps to hear the--Hallo. + +Simple flowers of the grove, little birds live at ease, + I wish not to wander from you; +I'll still dwell beneath the deep roar of your trees, + For I know that my Joe will be true. +The trill of the robin, the coo of the dove, + Are charms that I'll never forego; +But resting through life on the bosom of love, + Will remember the Woodland Hallo. + + [Illustration: a woman with a basket walking past a cottage] + + + + + BARNHAM WATER + +Fresh from the Hall of Bounty sprung,[1] + With glowing heart and ardent eye, +With song and rhyme upon my tongue, + And fairy visions dancing by, +The mid-day sun in all his pow'r + The backward valley painted gay; +Mine was a road without a flower, + Where one small streamlet cross'd the way. + +[Footnote 1: On a sultry afternoon, late in the summer of 1802, +Euston-Hall lay in my way to Thetford, which place I did not reach until +the evening, on a visit to my sister: the lines lose much of their +interest except they could be read on the spot, or at least at a +coresponding season of the year.] + +What was it rous'd my soul to love? + What made the simple brook so dear? +It glided like the weary dove, + And never brook seem'd half so clear. +Cool pass'd the current o'er my feet, + Its shelving brink for rest was made, +But every charm was incomplete, + For Barnham Water wants a shade. + +There, faint beneath the fervid sun, + I gaz'd in ruminating mood; +For who can see the current run + And snatch no feast of mental food? +"Keep pure thy soul," it seem'd to say, + "Keep that fair path by wisdom trod, +"That thou may'st hope to wind thy way + "To fame worth boasting, and to God." + +Long and delightful was the dream, + A waking dream that Fancy yields, +Till with regret I left the stream + And plung'd across the barren fields; +To where of old rich abbeys smil'd + In all the pomp of gothic taste, +By fond tradition proudly styl'd, + The mighty "City in the East." + +Near, on a slope of burning sand, + The shepherd boys had met to play, +To hold the plains at their command, + And mark the trav'ller's leatless way. +The trav'ller with a cheerful look + Would every pining thought forbear, +If boughs but shelter'd Barnham brook + He'd stop and leave his blessing there. + +The Danish mounds of partial green, + Still, as each mouldering tower decays, +Far o'er the bleak unwooded scene + Proclaim their wond'rous length of days. +My burning feet, my aching sight, + Demanded rest,--why did I weep? +The moon arose, and such a night! + Good Heav'n! it was a sin to sleep. + +All rushing came thy hallow'd sighs, + Sweet Melancholy, from my breast; +"'Tis here that eastern greatness lies, + "That Might, Renown, and Wisdom rest! +"Here funeral rites the priesthood gave + "To chiefs who sway'd prodigious powers, +"The Bigods and the Mowbrays brave, + "From Framlingham's imperial towers. + +Full of the mighty deeds of yore, + I bade good night the trembling beam; +Fancy e'en heard the battle's roar, + Of what but slaughter could I dream? +Bless'd be that night, that trembling beam, + Peaceful excursions Fancy made; +All night I heard the bubbling stream, + Yet, Barnham Water wants a shade. + +Whatever hurts my country's fame, + When wits and mountaineers deride, +To me grows serious, for I name + My native plains and streams with pride. +No mountain charms have I to sing, + No loftier minstrel's rights invade; +From trifles oft _my_ raptures spring; + --Sweet Barnham Water wants a shade + + + + + MARY'S EVENING SIGH + +How bright with pearl the western sky! + How glorious far and wide, +Yon lines of golden clouds that lie + So peaceful side by side! +Their deep'ning tints, the arch of light, + All eyes with rapture see; +E'en while I sigh I bless the sight + That lures my love from me. + +Green hill, that shad'st the valley here, + Thou bear'st upon thy brow +The only wealth to Mary dear, + And all she'll ever know. +There, in the crimson light I see, + Above thy summit rise, +My Edward's form, he looks to me + A statue in the skies. + +Descend my love, the hour is come, + Why linger on the hill? +The sun hath left my quiet home, + But thou canst see him still; +Yet why a lonely wanderer stray, + Alone the joy pursue? +The glories of the closing day + Can charm thy Mary too. + +Dear Edward, when we stroll'd along + Beneath the waving corn, +And both confess'd the power of song, + And bless'd the dewy morn; +Your eye o'erflow'd, "How sweet," you cried. + (My presence then could move) +"How sweet, with Mary by my side, + "To gaze and talk of love" + +Thou art not false! that cannot be; + Yet I my rivals deem +Each woodland charm, the moss, the tree, + The silence, and the stream; +Whate'er my love, detains thee now, + I'll yet forgive thy stay; +But with to-morrow's dawn come thou, + We'll brush the dews away. + + + + + GOOD TIDINGS OR, _NEWS FROM THE FARM_. + +How vain this tribute; vain, this lowly lay; +Yet nought is vain which gratitude inspires! +The Muse, besides, her duty thus approves +To virtue, to her country, to mankind! +_Thomson._ + + +ADVERTISEMENT + +To the few who know that I have employed my thoughts on the importance of +Dr. Jenners's discovery, it has generally and almost unexceptionably +appeared a subject of little promise; peculiarly unfit indeed for poetry. +My method of treating it has endeared it to myself, for it indulges in +domestic anecdote. The account given of my infancy and of my father's +burial, is not only poetically, but strictly true, and with me it has its +weight accordingly. I have witnessed the destruction described in my +brother's family: and I have, in my own, insured the lives of four +children by Vaccine Inoculation, who, I trust, are destined to look back +upon the Small-pox of the scourge of days gone by.--My hopes are high, and +my prayers sincere, for its universal adoption. + +The few notes subjoined are chiefly from "Woodville on Inoculation;" and +if I may escape the appearance of affectation of research, or a scientific +treatment of the subject, I think the egotism, so conspicuous in the poem, +(as facts give force to argument,) ought to be forgiven. + + + + GOOD TIDINGS; + + OR, + + _NEWS FROM THE FARM_. + +Where's the Blind Child, so admirably fair, +With guileless dimples, and with flaxen hair +That waves in ev'ry breeze? he's often seen +Beside yon cottage wall, or on the green, +With others match'd in spirit and in size, +Health on their cheeks and rapture in their eyes; +That full expanse of voice, to childhood dear, +Soul of their sports, is duly cherish'd here: +And, hark! that laugh is his, that jovial cry; +He hears the ball and trundling hoop brush by, +And runs the giddy course with all his might, +A very child in every thing but sight; +With circumscrib'd but not abated pow'rs,-- +Play! the great object of his infant hours;-- +In many a game he takes a noisy part, +And shows the native gladness of his heart; +But soon he hears, on pleasure all intent, +The new suggestion and the quick assent; +The grove invites, delight thrills every breast-- +To leap the ditch and seek the downy nest +Away they start, leave balls and hoops behind, +And one companion leave----the boy is blind! + +[Illustration: a child beneath a tree.] + +His fancy paints their distant paths so gay, +That childish fortitude awhile gives way, +He feels his dreadful loss--yet short the pain, +Soon he resumes his cheerfulness again; +Pond'ring how best his moments to employ, +He sings his little songs of nameless joy, +Creeps on the warm green turf for many an hour, +And plucks by chance the white and yellow flow'r; +Smoothing their stems, while resting on his knees, +He binds a nosegay which he never sees; +Along the homeward path then feels his way, +Lifting his brow against the shining day, +And, with a playful rapture round his eyes, +Presents a sighing parent with the prize. + +She blest _that_ day, which he remembers too, +When he could gaze on heav'n's ethereal blue, +See the green Spring, and Summer's countless dies, +And all the colours of the morning rise.-- +'When was this work of bitterness begun? +How came the blindness of your only son?' +Thus pity prompts full many a tongue to say, +But never, till she slowly wipes away +Th' obtruding tear that trembles in her eye. +This dagger of a question meets reply:-- +"My boy was healthy, and my rest was sound, +When last year's corn was green upon the ground +From yonder town infection found its way; +Around me putrid dead and dying lay, +I trembled for his fate: but all my care +Avail'd not, for he breath'd the tainted air; +Sickness ensu'd--in terror and dismay +I nurs'd him in my arms both night and day, +When his soft skin from head to foot became +One swelling purple sore, unfit to name: +Hour after hour, when all was still beside, +When the pale night-light in its socket died, +Alone I sat; the thought still sooths my heart, +That surely I perform'd a mother's part, +Watching with such anxiety and pain +Till he might smile and look on me again; +But that was not to be--ask me no more: +GOD keep small-pox and blindness from your door!" + +Now, ye who think, whose souls abroad take wing, +And trace out human troubles to their spring, +Say, should Heav'n grant us, in some hallow'd hour, +Means to divest this demon of his power, +To loose his horrid grasp from early worth, +To spread a saving conquest round the earth, +Till ev'ry land shall bow the grateful knee, +Would it not be a glorious day to see?-- +That day is come! my soul, in strength arise, +Invoke no muse, no power below the skies; +To Heav'n the energies of verse belong, +Truth is the theme, and truth shall be the song; +Arm with conviction ev'ry joyful line, +Source of all mercies, for the praise is thine! +Sweet beam'd the star of peace upon those days +When Virtue watch'd my childhood's quiet ways, +Whence a warm spark of Nature's holy flame +Gave the farm-yard an honourable name, +But left one theme unsung: then, who had seen +In herds that feast upon the vernal green, +Or dreamt that in the blood of kine there ran +Blessings beyond the sustenance of man? +We tread the meadow, and we scent the thorn, +We hail the day-spring of a summer's morn +Nor mead at dawning day, nor thymy heath, +Transcends the fragrance of the heifer's breath: +May that dear fragrance, as it floats along +O'er ev'ry flow'r that lives in rustic song; +May all the sweets of meadows and of kine +Embalm, O Health! this offering at thy shrine. + +Dear must that moment be when first the mind, +Ranging the paths of science unconfin'd, +Strikes a new light; when, obvious to the sense, +Springs the fresh spark of bright intelligence. +So felt the towering soul of MONTAGU, +Her sex's glory, and her country's too; +Who gave the spotted plague one deadly blow, +And bade its mitigated poison flow +With half its terrors; yet, with loathing still, +We hous'd a visitant with pow'r to kill. +Then when the healthful blood, though often tried, +Foil'd the keen lancet by the Severn side, +Resisting, uncontaminated still, +The purple pest and unremitting skill; +When the plain truth tradition seem'd to know, +By simply pointing to the harmless Cow, +Though wise distrust to reason might appeal; +What, when hope triumph'd, what did JENNER feel! +Where even hope itself could scarcely rise +To scan the vast, inestimable prize? +Perhaps supreme, alone, triumphant stood +The great, the conscious power of doing good, +The power to will, and wishes to embrace +Th' emancipation of the human race; +A joy that must all mortal praise outlive, +A wealth that grateful nations cannot give. +Forth sped the truth immediate from his hand, +And confirmations sprung in ev'ry land; +In ev'ry land, on beauty's lily arm, +On infant softness, like a magic charm, +Appear'd the gift that conquers as it goes; +The dairy's boast, the simple, saving Rose! +Momentous triumph--fiend! thy reign is o'er; +Thou, whose blind rage hath ravag'd ev'ry shore, +Whose name denotes destruction, whose foul breath +For ever hov'ring round the dart of death, +Fells, mercilessly fells, the brave and base, +Through all the kindreds of the human race. + +Who has not heard, in warm, poetic tales, +Of eastern fragrance and Arabian gales? +Bowers of delight, of languor, and repose, +Where beauty triumph'd as the song arose? +Fancy may revel, fiction boldly dare, +But truth shall not forget that _thou_ wert there, +Scourge of the world! who, borne on ev'ry wind, +From bow'rs of roses [1] sprang to curse mankind. +[Footnote 1: The first medical account of the small-pox is given by the +Arabian physicians, and is traced no farther back than the siege of +Alexandria, about the year of Christ, 640.--Woodville.] + + +The Indian palm thy devastation knows: +Thou sweep'st the regions of eternal snows [2]: +[Footnote 2: First introduced into Greenland in 1733, and almost +depopulated the country.--Ibid.] + +Climbing the mighty period of his years, +The British oak his giant bulk uprears; +He, in his strength, while toll'd the passing bell, +Rejoic'd whole centuries as thy victims fell: +Armies have bled, and shouts of vict'ry rung, +Fame crown'd _their_ deaths, _thy_ deaths are all unsung: +'Twas thine, while victories claim'd th' immortal lay, +Through private life to cut thy desperate way; +And when full power the wondrous magnet gave +Ambition's sons to dare the ocean wave, +Thee, in their train of horrid ills, they drew +Beneath the blessed sunshine of Peru [3]. +[Footnote 3: In 1520, says Mr. Woodville, when the small-pox visited New +Spain, it proved fatal to one half of the people in the provinces to which +the infection extended; being carried thither by a negro slave, who +attended Narvaez in his expedition against Cortes. He adds, about fifty +years after the discovery of Peru, The small-pox was carried over from +Europe to America by way of Carthagena, when it overran the Continent of +the New World, and destroyed upwards of 100,000 Indians in the single +province of Quito.--_Hist. of Inoculation._] + +But why unskill'd th' historic page explore? +Why thus pursue thee to a foreign shore? +A homely narrative of days gone by, +Familiar griefs, and kindred's tender sigh +Shall still survive; for thou on ev'ry mind +Hast left some traces of thy wrath behind. +There dwelt, beside a brook that creeps along +Midst infant hills and meads unknown to song, +One to whom poverty and faith were giv'n, +Calm village silence, and the hope of heav'n: +Alone she dwelt; and while each morn brought peace +And health was smiling on her years' increase, +Sudden and fearful, rushing through her frame, +Unusual pains and feverish symptoms came. +Then, when debilitated, faint, and poor, +How sweet to hear a footstep at her door! +To see a neighbour watch life's silent sand, +To hear the sigh, and feel the helping hand! +Soon woe o'erspread the interdicted ground, +And consternation seiz'd the hamlets round: +Uprose the pest--its widow'd victim died; +And foul contagion spread on ev'ryside; +The helping neighbour for her kind regard, +Bore home _that_ dreadful tribute of reward, +_Home_, where six children, yielding to its pow'r, +Gave hope and patience a most trying hour; +One at her breast still drew the living stream, +And, sense of danger never marr'd his dream; +Yet all exclaim'd, and with a pitying eye, +"Whoe'er survives the shock, _that child will die!_" +But vain the fiat,--Heav'n restor'd them all, +And destin'd one of riper years to fall. +Midnight beheld the close of all his pain, +His grave was clos'd when midnight came again; +No bell was heard to toll, no funeral pray'r, +No kindred bow'd, no wife, no children there; +Its horrid nature could inspire a dread +That cut the bonds of custom like a thread +The humble church-tow'r higher seem'd to shew, +Illumin'd by their trembling light below; +The solemn night-breeze struck each shiv'ring check; +Religious reverence forbade to speak: +The starting Sexton his short sorrow chid +When the earth murmur'd on the coffin lid, +And falling bones and sighs of holy dread +Sounded a requiem to the silent dead! + +'Why tell us tales of woe, thou who didst give +Thy soul to rural themes, and bade them live? +What means this zeal of thine, this kindling fire? +The rescu'd infant and the dying sire.' +Kind heart, who o'er the pictur'd Seasons glow'd, +When smiles approv'd the verse, or tears have flow'd, +Was then the lowly minstrel dear to thee? +Himself appeals--What, if _that child_ were HE! + +[Illustration: men digging a grave?] + +What, if those midnight sighs a farewel gave, +While hands, all trembling, clos'd his father's grave! +Though love enjoin'd not infant eyes to weep, +In manhood's zenith shall his feelings sleep? +Sleep not my soul! indulge a nobler flame; +_Still_ the destroyer persecutes thy name. + Seven winter's cannot pluck from memory's store +That mark'd affliction which a brother bore; +That storm of trouble bursting on his head, +When the fiend came, and left _two children_ dead! +Yet, still superior to domestic woes, +The native vigour of his mind arose, +And, as new summers teem'd with brighter views, +He trac'd the wand'rings of his darling Muse, +And all was joy--this instant all is pain, +The foe implacable returns again, +And claims a sacrifice; the deed is done-- +_Another child_ has fall'n, another son [4]! +[Footnote 4: I had proceeded thus far with the Poem, when the above fact +became a powerfull stimulus to my feelings, and to the earnestness of my +exhortations.] + +His young cheek even now is scarcely cold, +And shall his early doom remain untold? +No! let the tide of passion roll along, +Truth _will_ be heard, and GOD will bless the song +Indignant Reason, Pity, Joy, arise, +And speak in thunder to the heart that sighs: +Speak loud to parents;--knew ye not the time +When age itself, and manhood's hardy prime, +With horror saw their short-liv'd friendships end. +Yet dar'd not visit e'en the dying friend? +Contagion, a foul serpent lurking near, +Mock'd Nature's sigh and Friendship's holy tear. +Love ye your children?--let that love arise, +Pronounce the sentence, and the serpent dies; +Bid welcome a mild stranger at your door, +Distress shall cease, those terrors reign no more. +Love ye your neighbours?--let that love be shown; +Risk not _their_ children while you guard your own; +Give not a foe dominion o'er your blood, +Plant not a poison, e'en to bring forth good; +For, woo the pest discreetly as you will, +Deadly infection must attend him still. +Then, let the serpent die! this glorious prize +Sets more than life and health before our eyes, +For beauty triumphs too! Beauty! sweet name, +The mother's feelings kindling into flame! +For, where dwells she, who, while the virtues grow. +With cold indifference marks the arching brow? +Or, with a lifeless heart and recreant blood, +Sighs not for daughters fair as well as good? +That sigh is nature, and cannot decay, +'Tis universal as the beams of day; +Man knows and feels its truth; for, Beauty's call +Rouses the coldest mortal of us all; +A glance warms age itself, and gives the boy +The pulse of rapture and the sigh of joy. +And is it then no conquest to insure +Our lilies spotless and our roses pure? +Is it no triumph that the lovely face +Inherits every line of Nature's grace? +That the sweet precincts of the laughing eye +Dread no rude scars, no foul deformity? +Our boast, old Time himself shall not impair. +Of British maids pre-eminently fair; +But, as he rolls his years on years along, +Shall keep the record of immortal song; +For song shall rise with ampler power to speak +The new-born influence of Beauty's cheek, +Shall catch new fires in every sacred grove, +Fresh inspiration from the lips of Love, +And write for ever on the rising mind-- +DEAD IS ONE MORTAL FOE OF HUMAN KIND! + +Yes, we have conquer'd! and the thought should raise +A spirit in our prayers as well as praise, +For who will say, in Nature's wide domain +There lurk not remedies for every pain? +Who will assert, where Turkish banners fly, +Woe still shall reign--the plague shall never die? +Or who predict, with bosom all unblest, +An everlasting fever in the West? +Forbid it Heav'n!--Hope cheers us with a smile, +The sun of Mercy's risen on our isle: +Its beams already, o'er th' Atlantic wave, +Pierce the dark forests of the suffering brave: +There, e'en th' abandon'd sick imbib'd a glow, +When warrior nations, resting on the bow, +Astonish'd heard the joyful rumour rise, +And call'd the council of their great and wise: +The truth by female pray'rs was urg'd along, +Youth ceas'd the chorus of the warrior song, +And present ills bade present feelings press +With all the eloquence of deep distress; +Till forth their chiefs [A] o'er dying thousands trod +To seek the white man and his bounteous God: +[Footnote A: The chiefs of the Cherokee Indians, in North America, have +applied to the government of the United States for information on the +subject of Vaccine Inoculation, and have spread the practice in the +Woods.] + +Well sped their errand; with a patriot zeal +They spread the blessing for their country's weal. + +Where India's swarthy millions crowd the strand, +And round that isle, which crowns their pointed land, +Speeds the good angel with the balmy breath, +And checks the dreadful tyranny of death: +Whate'er we hear to hurt the peace of life, +Of Candian treachery and British strife, +The sword of commerce, nations bought and sold, +They owe to England more than mines of gold; +England has sent a balm for private woe; +England strikes down the nations' bitterest foe. + +Europe, amidst the clangor of her arms, +While life was threaten'd with a thousand harms, +And Charity was freezing to its source, +Still saw fair Science keep her steady course; +And, while whole legions fell, by friends deplor'd, +New germs of life sprung up beneath the sword, +And spread amain.--Then, in our bosoms, why +Must exultation mingle with a sigh? + +Thought takes the retrospect of years just fled, +And, conjuring up the spirits of the dead, +Whispers each dear and venerated name +Of the last victims ere the blessing came, +Worthies, who through the lands that gave them birth +Breath'd the strong evidence of growing worth; +Parents, cut down in life's meridian day, +And childhood's thousand thousand swept away; +Life's luckless mariners! ye, we deplore +Who sunk within a boat's length of the shore [A]. +[Footnote A: So lately as the year 1793, the small-pox was carried to the +Isle of France by a Dutch ship, and there destroyed five thousand four +hundred persons in six weeks.--Woodville.] + +A stranger youth, from his meridian sky, +Buoyant with hopes, came here but came to _die_! +O'er his sad fate I've ponder'd hours away, +It suits the languor of a gloomy day: +He left his bamboo groves, his pleasant shore, +He left his friends to hear new oceans roar, +All confident, ingenuous, and bold, +He heard the wonders by the white men told; +With firm assurance trod the rolling deck, +And saw his isle diminish to a speck, +Plough'd the rough waves, and gain'd our northern clime, +In manhood's ripening sense and nature's prime. +Oh! had the fiend been vanquished ere he came, +The gen'rous youth had spread my country's fame. +Had known that honour dwells among the brave, +And England had not prov'd the stranger's grave: +Then, ere his waning sand of life had run, +Poor ABBA THULE might hare seen his son! [A] +[Footnote A: Lee Boo, second son of the King of the Pelew Islands, was +brought to England by Capt. Wilson, and died of the Small-pox at +Rotherhithe, in 1784.] + +Rise, exultation! spirit, louder speak! +Pity, dislodge thy dewdrops from my cheek: +Sleep sound, forefathers; sleep, brave stranger boy, +While truth impels the current of my joy: +To all mankind, to all the earth 'tis giv'n, +Conviction travels like the light of heav'n: +Go, blessing, from thy birth-place still expand, +For that dear birth-place is my native land! +A nation consecrates th' auspicious day, +And wealth, and rank, and talents lead the way! +Time, with triumphant hand, shall truth diffuse, +Nor ask the unbought efforts of the Muse. +Mothers! the pledges of your loves caress, +And heave no sighs but sighs of tenderness. +Fathers, be firm! keep down the fallen foe, +And on the memory of domestic woe +Build resolution,--Victory shall increase +Th' incalculable wealth of private peace; +And such a victory, unstain'd with gore, +That strews its laurels at the cottage door, +Sprung from the farm, and from the yellow mead, +Should be the glory of the pastoral reed. +In village paths, hence, may we never find +Their youth on crutches, and their children blind; +Nor, when the milk-maid, early from her bed, +Beneath the may bush that embow'rs her head, +Sings like a bird, e'er grieve to meet again +The fair cheek injur'd by the scars of pain; +Pure, in her morning path, where'er she treads, +Like April sunshine and the flow'rs it feeds, +She'll boast new conquests; Love, new shafts to fling; +And Life, an uncontaminated spring. +In pure delight didst thou, my soul, pursue +A task to conscience and to kindred due, +And, true to feeling and to Nature, deem +The dairy's boast thy own appropriate theme; +Hail now the meed of pleasurable hours, +And, at the foot of Science, strew thy flow'rs! + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Wild Flowers, by Robert Bloomfield + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILD FLOWERS *** + +This file should be named 7wflr10.txt or 7wflr10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 7wflr11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 7wflr10a.txt + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Charles Bidwell and Distributed Proofreaders + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Wild Flowers + Or, Pastoral and Local Poetry + +Author: Robert Bloomfield + +Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9094] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on September 4, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILD FLOWERS *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Charles Bidwell and Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +[Illustration] + +WILD FLOWERS + +OR, + +PASTORAL AND LOCAL POETRY. + +By ROBERT BLOOMFIELD +Author of "The Farmer's Boy" and "Rural Tales". + +LONDON: +Printed for Vernor, Hood, and Sharpe, Poultry; +and Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, Paternoster-Row. + +1806. + +WRIGHT, Printer, No. 32, St. John's Square, Clerkenwall. + + + + +PREFACE + +A man of the first eminence, in whose day (fortunately perhaps for me) I +was not destined to appear before the public, or to abide the Herculean +crab-tree of his criticism, Dr. Johnson, has said, in his preface to +Shakspeare, that--"Nothing can please many, and please long, but just +representations of general nature." My representations of nature, whatever +may be said of their _justness_, are not _general_, unless we admit, what +I suspect to be the case, that nature in a village is very much like +nature every where else. It will be observed that all my pictures are from +humble life, and most of my heroines servant maids. Such I would have +them: being fully persuaded that, in no other way would my endeavours, +either to please or to instruct, have an equal chance of success. + +The path I have thus taken, from necessity, as well as from choice, is +well understood and approved by hundreds, who are capable of ranging in +the higher walks of literature.--But with due deference to their superior +claim, I confess, that no recompense has been half so grateful or half so +agreeable to me as female approbation. To be readily and generally +understood, to have my simple Tales almost instinctively relished by those +who have so decided an influence over the lives, hearts, and manners of us +all, is the utmost stretch of my ambition. + +I here venture, before the public eye, a selection from the various pieces +which have been the source of much pleasure, and the solace of my leisure +hours during the last four years, and since the publication of the "Rural +Tales." Perhaps, in some of them, more of mirth is intermingled than many +who know me would expect, or than the severe will be inclined to approve. +But surely what I can say, or can be expected to say, on subjects of +country life, would gain little by the seriousness of a preacher, or by +exhibiting fallacious representations of what has long been termed _Rural +Innocence_. + +The Poem of "Good Tidings" is partially known to the world, but, as it +was originally intended to assume its present appearance and size, I have +gladly availed myself of an endeavour to improve it; and, from its present +extended circulation, I trust it will be new to thousands. + +I anticipate some approbation from such readers as have been pleased with +the "Rural Tales;" yet, though I will not falsify my own feelings by +assuming a diffidence which I do not conceive to be either manly or +becoming, the conviction that some reputation is hazarded in "a third +attempt," is impressed deeply on my mind. + +With such sentiments, and with a lively sense of the high honour, and a +hope of the bright recompence, of applause from the good, when heightened +by the self-approving voice of my own conscience, I commit the book to its +fate. + +ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. + + + + DEDICATION. + + TO MY ONLY SON. + +MY DEAR BOY, + +In thus addressing myself to you, and in expressing my regard for your +person, my anxiety for your health, and my devotion to your welfare, I +enjoy an advantage over those dedicators who indulge in adulation;--I +shall at least be believed. + +Should you arrive at that period when reason shall be mature, and +affection or curiosity induce you to look back on your father's +poetical progress through life, you may conclude that he had many to boast +as friends, whose names, in a dedication, would have honoured both him and +his children; but you must also reflect, that to particularize such +friends was a point of peculiar delicacy. The earliest patron of my +unprotected strains has the warm thanks which are his due, for the +introduction of blessings which have been diffused through our whole +family, and nothing will ever change this sentiment. But amidst a general +feeling of gratitude, which those who know me will never dispute, I feel +for you, Charles, what none but parents can conceive; and on your account, +my dear boy, there can be no harm in telling the world that I hope these +"Wild Flowers" will be productive of sweets of the worldly kind; for your +unfortunate lameness (should it never be removed) may preclude you from +the means of procuring comforts and advantages which might otherwise have +fallen to your share. + +What a lasting, what an unspeakable satisfaction would it be to know that +the Ballads, the Plowman Stories, and the "Broken Crutch" of your father +would eventually contribute to lighten your steps to manhood, and make +your own crutch, through life, rather a memorial of affection than an +object of sorrow. + +With a parent's feelings, and a parent's cares and hopes, + +I am, Charles, yours, + +R. B. + + + + + CONTENTS + +Abner and the Widow Jones, a Familiar Ballad +To My Old Oak Table +The Horkey, a Provincial Ballad +The Broken Crutch, a Tale +Shooter's Hill +A Visit to Ranelagh +Love of the Country +The Woodland Halló +Barnham Water +Mary's Evening Sigh +Good Tidings; or, News from the Farm + + + + ABNER AND THE WIDOW JONES, + + A Familiar Ballad. + + +Well! I'm determin'd; that's enough:-- + Gee, Bayard! move your poor old bones, +I'll take to-morrow, smooth or rough, + To go and court the Widow Jones. + +Our master talks of stable-room, + And younger horses on his grounds; +'Tis easy to foresee thy doom, + Bayard, thou'lt go to feed the hounds. + +The first Determination. + +But could I win the widow's hand, + I'd make a truce 'twixt death and thee; +For thou upon the best of land + Should'st feed, and live, and die with me. + +And must the pole-axe lay thee low? + And will they pick thy poor old bones? +No--hang me if it shall be so,-- + If I can win the Widow Jones. + +Twirl went his stick; his curly pate + A bran-new hat uplifted bore; +And Abner, as he leapt the gate, + Had never look'd so gay before. + +Old Love revived. + +And every spark of love reviv'd + That had perplex'd him long ago, +When busy folks and fools contriv'd + To make his Mary answer--_no_. + +But whether, freed from recent vows, + _Her_ heart had back to Abner flown, +And mark'd him for a second spouse, + In truth is not exactly known. + +Howbeit, as he came in sight, + She turn'd her from the garden stile, +And downward look'd with pure delight, + With half a sigh and half a smile. + +Rustic Salutation. + +She heard his sounding step behind, + The blush of joy crept up her cheek, +As cheerly floated on the wind, + "Hoi! Mary Jones--what wont you speak?" + +Then, with a look that ne'er deceives, + She turn'd, but found her courage fled; +And scolding sparrows from the eaves + Peep'd forth upon the stranger's head. + +Down Abner sat, with glowing heart, + Resolv'd, whatever might betide, +To speak his mind, no other art + He ever knew, or ever tried. + +[Illustration: a couple.] + +A clear Question. + +And gently twitching Mary's hand, + The bench had ample room for two, +His first word made her understand + The plowman's errand was to woo. + +"My Mary--may I call thee so? + For many a happy day we've seen, +And if not mine, aye, years ago, + Whose was the fault? you might have been! + +"All that's gone by: but I've been musing, + And vow'd, and hope to keep it true, +That she shall be my own heart's choosing + Whom I call wife.--Hey, what say you? + +Past Thoughts stated. + +"And as I drove my plough along, + And felt the strength that's in my arm, +Ten years, thought I, amidst my song, + I've been head-man at Harewood farm. + +"And now, my own dear Mary's free, + Whom I have lov'd this many a day, +Who knows but she may think on _me?_ + I'll go hear what she has to say. + +"Perhaps that little stock of land + She holds, but knows not how to till, +Will suffer in the widow's hand, + And make poor Mary poorer still + +The Avowal. + +"That scrap of land, with one like her, + How we might live! and be so blest! +And who should Mary Jones prefer? + Why, surely, him who loves her best! + +"Therefore I'm come to-night, sweet wench, + I would not idly thus intrude,"-- +Mary look'd downward on the bench, + O'erpower'd by love and gratitude. + +And lean'd her head against the vine, + With quick'ning sobs of silent bliss, +Till Abner cried, "You must be mine, + You must,"--and seal'd it with a kiss. + +The Interest of an old Horse asserted. + +She talk'd of shame, and wip'd her check, + But what had shame with them to do, +Who nothing meant but truth to speak, + And downright honour to pursue? + +His eloquence improv'd apace, + As manly pity fill'd his mind; +"You know poor Bayard; here's the case,-- + He's past his labour, old, and blind: + +"If you and I should but agree + To settle here for good and all, +Could you give all your heart to me, + And grudge that poor old rogue a stall? + +His Character. + +"I'll buy him, for the dogs shall never + Set tooth upon a friend so true; +He'll not live long, but I for ever + Shall know I gave the beast his due. + +"'Mongst all I've known of plows and carts, + And ever since I learn'd to drive, +He was not match'd in all these parts; + There was not such a horse alive! + +"Ready, as birds to meet the morn, + Were all his efforts at the plough; +Then, the mill-brook with hay or corn, + Good creature! how he'd spatter through! + +Character continued. + +"He was a horse of mighty pow'r, + Compact in frame, and strong of limb; +Went with a chirp from hour to hour; + Whip-cord! 'twas never made for him. + +"I left him in the shafts behind, + His fellows all unhook'd and gone, +He neigh'd, and deem'd the thing unkind. + Then, starting, drew the load alone! + +"But I might talk till pitch-dark night, + And then have something left to say; +But, Mary, am I wrong or right, + Or, do I throw my words away? + +Something like Consent. + +"Leave me, or take me and my horse; + I've told thee truth, and all I know: +Truth _should_ breed truth; that comes of course; + If I sow wheat, why wheat will grow." + +"Yes, Abner, but thus soon to yield, + Neighbours would fleer, and look behind 'em; +Though, with a husband in the field, + Perhaps, indeed, I should not mind 'em. + +"I've known your generous nature well, + My first denial cost me dear; +How this may end we cannot tell, + But, as for Bayard, bring him here." + +Parting of the Lovers.--Sad News. + +"Bless thee for that," the plowman cried, + At once both starting from the seat, +He stood a guardian by her side, + But talk'd of home,--'twas growing late. + +Then step for step within his arm, + She cheer'd him down the dewy way; +And no two birds upon the farm + E'er prated with more joy than they. + +What news at home? The smile he wore + One little sentence turn'd to sorrow; +An order met him at the door. + "Take Bayard to the dogs to-morrow." + +The Journey renewed. + +Yes, yes, thought he; and heav'd a sigh, + Die when he will he's not your debtor: +I must obey, and he must die,-- + That's if I can't contrive it better. + +He left his Mary late at night, + And had succeeded in the main, +No sooner peep'd the morning light + But he was on the road again! + +Suppose she should refuse her hand? + Such thoughts will come, I know not why; +Shall I, without a wife or land, + Want an old horse? then wherefore buy? + +Perplexity + +From bush to bush, from stile to stile, + Perplex'd he trod the fallow ground, +And told his money all the while + And weigh'd the matter round and round. + +"I'll borrow," that's the best thought yet; + Mary shall save the horse's life.-- +Kind-hearted wench! what, run in debt + Before I know she'll be my wife? + +These women wo'nt speak plain and free.-- + Well, well, I'll keep my service still; +She has not _said_ she'd marry me, + But yet I dare to say she will. + +A fresh Thought--Turns back. + +But while I take this shay brain'd course, + And like a fool run to and fro, +Master, perhaps, may sell the horse! + Therefore this instant home I'll go. + +The nightly rains had drench'd the grove, + He plung'd right on with headlong pace; +A man but half as much in love + Perhaps had found a cleaner place. + +The day rose fair; with team a-field, + He watch'd the farmer's cheerful brow; +And in a lucky hour reveal'd + His secret at his post, the plough. + +Coming to the Point--Generosity + +And there without a whine began, + "Master, you'll give me your advice; +I'm going to marry--if I can-- + And want old Bayard; what's his price! + +"For Mary Jones last night agreed, + Or near upon't, to be my wife: +The horse's value I don't heed, + I only want to save his life." + +"Buy him, hey! Abner! trust me I + Have not the thought of gain in view; +Bayard's best days we've seen go by; + He shall be cheap enough to you." + +Symptoms of good Feelings. + +The wages paid, the horse brought out, + The hour of separation come; +The farmer turn'd his chair about, + "Good fellow, take him, take him home. + +"You're welcome, Abner, to the beast, + For you're a faithful servant been; +They'll thrive I doubt not in the least, + Who know what work and service mean." + +The maids at parting, one and all, + From different windows different tones; +Bade him farewel with many a bawl, + And sent their love to Mary Jones. + +Victory! + +He wav'd his hat, and turn'd away, + When loud the cry of children rose; +"Abner, good bye!" they stopt their play; + "There goes poor Bayard! there he goes!" + +Half choak'd with joy, with love, and pride, + He now with dainty clover fed him, +Now took a short triumphant ride, + And then again got down and led him. + +And hobbling onward up the hill, + The widow's house was full in sight, +He pull'd the bridle harder still, + "Come on, we shan't be there to-night." + +Victory! + +She met them with a smile so sweet, + The stable-door was open thrown; +The blind horse lifted high his feet, + And loudly snorting, laid him down. + +O Victory! from that stock of laurels + You keep so snug for camps and thrones, +Spare us _one twig_ from all their quarrels + For Abner and the Widow Jones. + +[Illustration: a table.] + + + + TO MY OLD OAK TABLE. + +Friend of my peaceful days! substantial friend, +Whom wealth can never change, nor int'rest bend, +I love thee like a child. Thou wert to me +The dumb companion of my misery, +And oftner of my joys;--then as I spoke, +I shar'd thy sympathy, Old Heart of Oak! +For surely when my labour ceas'd at night, +With trembling, feverish hands, and aching sight, +The draught that cheer'd me and subdu'd my care, +On thy broad shoulders thou wert proud to bear +O'er thee, with expectation's fire elate, +I've sat and ponder'd on my future fate: +On thee, with winter muffins for thy store, +I've lean'd, and quite forgot that I was poor. + +Where dropp'd the acorn that gave birth to thee? +Can'st thou trace back thy line of ancestry? +We're match'd, old friend, and let us not repine, +Darkness o'erhangs thy origin and mine; +Both may be truly honourable: yet, +We'll date our honours from the day we met; +When, of my worldly wealth the parent stock, +Right welcome up the Thames from Woolwich Dock +Thou cam'st, when hopes ran high and love was young; +But soon our olive-branches round thee sprung; +Soon came the days that tried a faithful wife, +The noise of children, and the cares of life. +Then, midst the threat'nings of a wintry sky, +_That cough_ which blights the bud of infancy, +The dread of parents, Rest's inveterate foe, +Came like a plague, and turn'd my songs to woe. + +Rest! without thee what strength can long survive, +What spirit keep the flame of Hope alive? +The midnight murmur of the cradle gave +Sounds of despair; and chilly as the grave. +We felt its undulating blast arise, +Midst whisper'd sorrows and ten thousand sighs. +Expiring embers warn'd us each to sleep, +By turns to watch alone, by turns to weep, +By turns to hear, and keep from starting wild, +The sad, faint wailings of a dying child. +But Death, obedient to Heav'n's high command, +Withdrew his jav'lin, and unclench'd his hand; +The little sufferers triumph'd over pain, +Their mother smil'd, and bade me hope again. +Yet Care gain'd ground, Exertion triumph'd less, +Thick fell the gathering terrors of Distress; +Anxiety, and Griefs without a name, +Had made their dreadful inroads on my frame; +The creeping Dropsy, cold as cold could be, +Unnerv'd my arm, and bow'd my head to thee. +Thou to thy trust, old friend, hast not been true; +These eyes the bitterest tears they ever knew +Let fall upon thee; now all wip'd away; +But what from memory shall wipe out that day? +The great, the wealthy of my native land, +To whom a guinea is a grain of sand, +I thought upon them, for my _thoughts_ were free, +But all unknown were then my woes and me. + +Still, Resignation was my dearest friend, +And Reason pointed to a glorious end; +With anxious sighs, a parent's hopes and pride, +I wish'd to live--I trust I could have died! +But winter's clouds pursu'd their stormy way, +And March brought sunshine with the length'ning day, +And bade my heart arise, that morn and night +Now throbb'd with irresistible delight. +Delightful 'twas to leave disease behind, +And feel the renovation of the mind! +To lead abroad upborne on Pleasure's wing, +Our children, midst the glories of the spring; +Our fellow sufferers, our only wealth, +To gather daisies in the breeze of health! + +'Twas then, too, when our prospects grew so fair, +And Sabbath bells announc'd the morning pray'r; +Beneath that vast gigantic dome we bow'd, +That lifts its flaming cross above the cloud; +Had gain'd the centre of the checquer'd floor;-- +That instant, with reverberating roar +Burst forth the pealing organ----mute we stood;-- +The strong sensation boiling through my blood, +Rose in a storm of joy, allied to pain, +I wept, and worshipp'd GOD, and wept again; +And felt, amidst the fervor of my praise, +The sweet assurances of better days. + +In that gay season, honest friend of mine, +I mark'd the brilliant sun upon thee shine; +Imagination took her flights so free, +_Home_ was delicious with my book and thee, +The purchas'd nosegay, or brown ears of corn, +Were thy gay plumes upon a summer's morn, +Awakening memory, that disdains control, +They spoke the darling language of my soul: +They whisper'd tales of joy, of peace, of truth, +And conjur'd back the sunshine of my youth: +Fancy presided at the joyful birth, +I pour'd the torrent of my feelings forth; +Conscious of _truth_ in Nature's humble track, +And wrote "The Farmer's Boy" upon thy back! +Enough, old friend:--thou'rt mine; and shalt partake, +While I have pen to write, or tongue to speak, +Whatever fortune deals me.--Part with thee! +No, not till death shall set my spirit free; +For know, should plenty crown my life's decline, +A most important duty may be thine: +Then, guard me from Temptation's base control, +From apathy and littleness of soul +The sight of thy old frame, so rough, so rode, +Shall twitch the sleeve of nodding Gratitude; +Shall teach me but to venerate the more +Honest Oak Tables and their guests--the poor: +Teach me unjust distinctions to deride, +And falsehoods gender'd in the brain of Pride; +Shall give to Fancy still the cheerful hour, +To Intellect, its freedom and its power; +To Hospitality's enchanting ring +A charm, which nothing but thyself can bring. +The man who would not look with honest pride +On the tight bark that stemm'd the roaring tide, +And bore him, when he bow'd the trembling knee, +Home, through the mighty perils of the sea, +I love him not.--He ne'er shall be my guest; +Nor sip my cup, nor witness how I'm blest; +Nor lean, to bring my honest friend to shame, +A sacrilegious elbow on thy frame; +But thou through life a monitor shalt prove, +Sacred to Truth, to Poetry, and Love. + +Dec. 1803. + + + + THE HORKEY. A Provincial Ballad. + + ADVERTISEMENT. + +In the descriptive ballad which follows, it will be evident that I have +endeavoured to preserve the style of a gossip, and to transmit the +memorial of a custom, the extent or antiquity of which I am not acquainted +with, and pretend not to enquire. + +In Suffolk husbandry the man who, (whether by merit or by sufferance I +know not) goes foremost through the harvest with the scythe or the sickle, +is honoured with the title of "_Lord_," and at the Horkey, or harvest-home +feast, collects what he can, for himself and brethren, from the farmers +and visitors, to make a "frolick" afterwards, called "the largess +spending." By way of returning thanks, though perhaps formerly of much +more, or of different signification, they immediately leave the seat of +festivity, and with a very long and repeated shout of "a largess," the +number of shouts being regulated by the sums given, seem to wish to make +themselves heard by the people of the surrounding farms. And before they +rejoin the company within, the pranks and the jollity I have endeavoured +to describe, usually take place. These customs, I believe, are going fast +out of use; which is one great reason for my trying to tell the rising +race of mankind that such were the customs when I was a boy. + +I have annexed a glossary of such words as may be found by general readers +to require explanation. And will add a short extract from Sir Thomas +Brown, of Norwich, M. D. who was born three years before Milton, and +outlived him eight years. + +"It were not impossible to make an original reduction of many words of no +general reception in _England_, but of common use in _Norfolk_, or +peculiar to the _East-Angle_ counties; as, Bawnd, Bunny, Thurck, Enemis, +Matchly, Sainmodithee, Mawther, Kedge, Seele, Straft, Clever, Dere, +Nicked, Stingy, Noneare, Fett, Thepes, Gosgood, Kamp, Sibrit, Fangast, +Sap, Cothish, Thokish, Bide-owe, Paxwax. Of these, and some others, of no +easy originals, when time will permit, the resolution shall be attempted; +which to effect, the Danish language, new, and more ancient, may prove of +good advantage: which nation remained here fifty years upon agreement, and +have left many families in it, and the language of these parts had surely +been more commixed and perplex, if the fleet of _Hugo de Bones_ had not +been cast away, wherein three-score thousand souldiers, out of Britany and +Flanders, were to be wafted over, and were, by King _John's_ appointment, +to have a settled habitation in the counties of _Norfolk_ and _Suffolk_." +Tract the viii. on Languages, particularly the Saxon. Folio, 1686, page +48. + + + + THE HORKEY. + + A Provincial Ballad. + + +What gossips prattled in the sun, + Who talk'd him fairly down, +Up, memory! tell; 'tis Suffolk fun, + And lingo of their own. + +Ah! _Judie Twitchet!_[A] though thou'rt dead, + With thee the tale begins; +For still seems thrumming in my head + The rattling of thy pins. + +[Footnote A: Judie Twitchet was a real person, who lived many years with +my mother's cousin Bannock, at Honnington.] + +Thou Queen of knitters! for a ball + Of worsted was thy pride; +With dangling stockings great and small, + And world of clack beside! + +"We did so laugh; the moon shone bright; + "More fun you never knew; +"'Twas Farmer Cheerum's _Horkey night_, + "And I, and Grace, and Sue---- + +"But bring a stool, sit round about, + "And boys, be quiet, pray; +"And let me tell my story out; + "'Twas _sitch_ a merry day! + +"The butcher whistled at the door, + "And brought a load of meat; +"Boys rubb'd their hands, and cried, 'there's more,' + "Dogs wagg'd their tails to see't. + +"On went the boilers till the _hake_[Footnote: A sliding pot-hook] + "Had much ado to bear 'em; +"The magpie talk'd for talking sake, + "Birds sung;--but who could hear 'em? + +"Creak went the jack; the cats were _scar'd_, + "We had not time to heed 'em, +"The _owd hins_ cackled in the yard, + "For we forgot to feed 'em! + +"Yet 'twas not I, as I may say, + "Because as how, d'ye see; +"I only help'd there for the day; + "They cou'dn't lay't to me. + +"Now Mrs. Cheerum's best lace cap + "Was mounted on her head; +"Guests at the door began to rap, + "And now the cloth was spread. + +"Then clatter went the earthen plates-- + "'Mind Judie,' was the cry; +"I could have _cop't_[Footnote: Thrown] them at their pates; + "'Trenchers for me,' said I. + +"'That look so clean upon the ledge, + "'And never mind a fall; +"'Nor never turn a sharp knife's edge;-- + "'But fashion rules us all.' + +"Home came the jovial _Horkey load_, + "Last of the whole year's crop; +"And Grace amongst the green boughs rode + "Right plump upon the top. + +"This way and that the waggon reel'd, + "And never queen rode higher; +"_Her_ cheeks were colour'd in the field, + "And ours before the fire. + +"The laughing harvest-folks, and John, + "Came in and look'd askew; +"'Twas my red face that set them on, + "And then they leer'd at Sue. + +"And Farmer Cheerum went, good man, + "And broach'd the _Horkey beer_; +"And _sitch a mort_[Footnote: Such a number.] of folks began + "To eat up our good cheer. + +"Says he, 'Thank God for what's before us; + "'That thus we meet agen,' +"The mingling voices, like a chorus, + "Join'd cheerfully, 'Amen.'-- + +"Welcome and plenty, there they found 'em, + "The ribs of beef grew light; +"And puddings--till the boys got round 'em, + "And then they vanish'd quite! + +"Now all the guests, with Farmer Crouder, + "Began to prate of corn; +"And we found out they talk'd the louder, + "The oftner pass'd the Horn. + +"Out came the nuts; we set a cracking; + "The ale came round our way; +"_By gom_ we women fell a clacking + "As loud again as they. + +"John sung 'Old Benbow' loud and strong, + "And I, 'The Constant Swain,' +"'Cheer up my Lads,' was Simon's song, + "'We'll conquer them again.' + +"Now twelve o'clock was drawing nigh, + "And all in merry cue; +"I knock'd the cask, 'O, ho!' said I, + "'We've almost conquer'd you.' + +"_My Lord_[Footnote: The leader of the reapers.] begg'd round, and held +his hat, + "Says Farmer Gruff, says he, +"There's many a Lord, Sam, I know that, + "Has begg'd as well as thee.' + +"Bump in his hat the shillings tumbl'd + "All round among the folks; +"'Laugh if you wool,' said Sam, and mumbl'd, + "'You pay for all your jokes.' + +"Joint stock you know among the men, + "To drink at their own charges; +"So up they got full drive, and then + "Went out to _halloo largess_.[Footnote: See advertisement.] + +"And sure enough the noise they made!!-- + --"But let me mind my tale; +"We follow'd them, we wor'nt afraid, + "We'ad all been drinking ale. + +"As they stood hallooing back to back, + "We, lightly as a feather, +"Went sideling round, and in a crack + "Had pinn'd their coats together. + +"'Twas near upon't as light as noon; + "'_A largess_,' on the hill, +"They shouted to the full round moon, + "I think I hear 'em still! + +"But when they found the trick, my stars! + "They well knew who to blame, +"Our giggles turn'd to ha, ha, ha's, + "And _arter_ us they came. + +"Grace by the tumbril made a squat, + "Then ran as Sam came by, +"They said she could not run for fat; + "_I know_ she did not try. + +"Sue round the _neathouse_[Footnote: Cow-house.] squalling ran, + "Where Simon scarcely dare; +"He stopt,--for he's a fearful man-- + "'_By gom_ there's _suffen_[Footnote: Something.] there!' + +"And off set John, with all his might, + "To chase me down the yard, +"Till I was nearly _gran'd_[Footnote: Strangled.] outright; + "He hugg'd so woundly hard. + +"Still they kept up the race and laugh, + "And round the house we flew; +"But hark ye! the best fun by half + "Was Simon _arter_ Sue. + +"She car'd not, dark nor light, not she, + "So, near the dairy door +"She pass'd a clean white hog, you see, + "They'd _kilt_ the day before. + +"High on the spirket [Footnote: An iron hook.] there it hung,-- + "'Now Susie--what can save ye?' +"Round the cold pig his arms he flung, + "And cried, 'Ah! here I have ye!' + +"The farmers heard what Simon said, + "And what a noise! good lack! +"Some almost laugh'd themselves _to dead_, + "And others clapt his back. + +"We all at once began to tell + "What fun we had abroad; +"But Simon stood our jeers right well; + --"He fell asleep and snor'd. + +"Then in his button-hole upright, + "Did Farmer Crouder put, +"A slip of paper twisted tight, + "And held the candle _to't_. + +"It smok'd, and smok'd, beneath his nose, + "The harmless blaze crept higher; +"Till with a vengeance up he rose, + "Grace, Judie, Sue! fire, fire! + +"The clock struck one--some talk'd of parting, + "Some said it was a sin, +"And _kilch'd_ their chairs;--but those for starting + "Now let the moonlight in. + +"_Owd_ women, loitering _for the nonce_,[Footnote: For the purpose.] + "Stood praising the fine weather; +"The menfolks took the hint at once + "To kiss them altogether. + +"And out ran every soul beside, + "A _shanny-pated_[Footnote: Giddy, thoughtless.] crew; +"_Owd_ folks could neither run nor hide, + "So some _ketch'd_ one, some _tew_. + +"They _skriggl'd_[Footnote: To struggle quick.] and began to scold. + "But laughing got the master; +"Some _quack'ling_[Footnote: Choaking.] cried, 'let go your hold;' + "The farmers held the faster. + +"All innocent, that I'll be sworn, + "There wor'nt a bit of sorrow, +"And women, if their gowns _are_ torn, + "Can mend them on the morrow. + +"Our shadows helter skelter danc'd + "About the moonlight ground; +"The wondering sheep, as on we pranc'd, + "Got up and gaz'd around, + +"And well they might--till Farmer Chcerum, + "Now with a hearty glee, +"Bade all good morn as he came near 'em, + "And then to bed went he. + +"Then off we stroll'd this way and that, + "With merry voices ringing; +"And Echo answered us right pat, + "As home we rambl'd singing. + +"For, when we laugh'd, it laugh'd again, + "And to our own doors follow'd! +"'Yo, ho!' we cried; 'Yo, ho!' so plain + "The misty meadow halloo'd. + +"That's all my tale, and all the fun, + "Come, turn your wheels about; +"My worsted, see!--that's nicely done, + "Just held my story out!!" + +Poor Judie!--Thus Time knits or spins + The worsted from Life's ball! +Death stopt thy tales, and stopt thy pins, + --And so he'll serve us all. + + + + + THE BROKEN CRUTCH. + + A Tale. + +"I tell you, Peggy," said a voice behind +A hawthorn hedge, with wild briars thick entwin'd, +Where unseen trav'llers down a shady way +Journey'd beside the swaths of new-mown hay, +"I tell you, Peggy, 'tis a time to prove +Your fortitude, your virtue, and your love. +From honest poverty our lineage sprung, +Your mother was a servant quite as young;-- +You weep; perhaps _she_ wept at leaving home, +Courage, my girl, nor fear the days to come. +Go still to church, my Peggy, plainly drest, +And keep a living conscience in your breast; +Look to yourself, my lass, the maid's best fame, +Beware, nor bring the Meldrums into shame: +Be modest, to the voice of age attend, +Be honest, and you'll always find a friend: +Your uncle Gilbert, stronger far than I, +Will see you safe; on him you must rely; +I've walk'd too far; this lameness, oh! the pain; +Heav'n bless thee, child! I'll halt me back again; +But when your first fair holiday may be, +Rise with the lark, and spend your hours with me." + +Young Herbert Brooks, in strength and manhood bold, +Who, round the meads, his own possessions, stroll'd, +O'erheard the charge, and with a heart so gay, +Whistled his spaniel and pursu'd his way. + +A Hint for a Libertine. + +Soon cross'd his path, and short obeisance paid, +Stout Gilbert Meldrum and a country maid; +A box upon his shoulder held full well +Her worldly riches, but the truth to tell +She bore the chief herself; that nobler part. +That beauteous gem, an uncorrupted heart. +And then that native loveliness! that cheek! +It bore the very tints her betters seek; +At such a sight the libertine would glow, +With all the warmth that _he_ can ever know; +Would send his thoughts abroad without control, +The glimmering moon-shine of his little soul. +"Above the reach of justice I shall soar, +Her friends may weep, not punish; they're too poor: +That very thought the rapture will enhance, +Poor, young, and friendless; what a glorious chance! + +Herbert's Character. + +A few spare guineas may the conquest make,-- +I love the treachery for treachery's sake,-- +And when her wounded honour jealous grows, +I'll cut away ten thousand oaths and vows, +And tell my comrades, with a manly stride, +How I, _a girl out-witten and out-lied_." +Such was not Herbert--he had never known +Love's genuine smiles, nor suffer'd from his frown; +And as to that most honourable part +Of planting daggers in a parent's heart, +A novice quite:--he past his hours away, +Free as a bird and buxom as the day; +Yet, should a lovely girl by chance arise, +Think not that Herbert Brooks would shut his eyes. + +On thy calm joys with what delight I dream, +Thou dear green valley of my native stream! + +Regret for Devastation by Enclosures. + +Fancy o'er thee still waves th' enchanting wand, +And every nook of thine is fairy land, +And ever will be, though the axe should smite +In Gain's rude service, and in Pity's spite, +Thy clustering alders, and at length invade +The last, last poplars, that compose thy shade: +Thy stream shall then in native freedom stray, +And undermine the willows in its way, +These, nearly worthless, may survive this storm, +This scythe of desolation call'd "Reform." +No army past that way! yet are they fled, +The boughs that, when a school-boy, screen'd my head: +I hate the murderous axe; estranging more +The winding vale from what it was of yore, +Than e'en mortality in all its rage, +And all the change of faces in an age. + +The Tale pursued. + +"Warmth," will they term it, that I speak so free? +They strip thy shades,--thy shades so dear to me! +In Herbert's days woods cloth'd both hill and dale; +But peace, Remembrance! let us tell the tale. + +His home was in the valley, elms grew round +His moated mansion, and the pleasant sound +Of woodland birds that loud at day-break sing, +With the first cuckoos that proclaim the spring, +Flock'd round his dwelling; and his kitchen smoke, +That from the towering rookery upward broke, +Of joyful import to the poor hard by, +Stream'd a glad sign of hospitality; +So fancy pictures; but its day is o'er; +The moat remains, the dwelling is no more! +Its name denotes its melancholy fall, +For village children call the spot "Burnt-Hall." + +[Illustration: a woman kneeling.] + +The Church. + +But where's the maid, who in the meadow-way +Met Herbert Brooks amongst the new-mown hay? + +Th' adventure charm'd him, and next morning rose +The Sabbath, with its silence and repose, +The bells ceas'd chiming, and the broad blue sky +Smil'd on his peace, and met his tranquil eye +Inverted, from the foot-bridge on his way +To that still house where all his fathers lay; +There in his seat, each neighbour's face he knew-- +The stranger girl was just before his pew! +He saw her kneel, with meek, but cheerful air, +And whisper the response to every prayer; +And, when the humble roof with praises rung, +He caught the Hallelujah from her tongue, +Rememb'ring with delight the tears that fell +When the poor father bade his child farewell; + +Love strengthened by Reflection. + +And now, by kindling tenderness beguil'd, +He blest the prompt obedience of that child, +And link'd his fate with hers:--for, from that day, +Whether the weeks past cheerily away, +Or deep revolving doubts procur'd him pain, +The same bells chim'd--and there she was again! +What could be done? they came not there to woo, +On holy ground,--though love is holy too. + +They met upon the foot-bridge one clear morn, +She in the garb by village lasses worn; +He, with unbutton'd frock that careless flew, +And buskin'd to resist the morning dew; +With downcast look she courtsied to the ground, +Just in his path--no room to sidle round. + +An Interview. + +"Well, pretty girl, this early rising yields +The best enjoyment of the groves and fields, +And makes the heart susceptible and meek, +And keeps alive that rose upon your cheek. +I long'd to meet you, Peggy, though so shy, +I've watch'd your steps and learn'd your history; +You love your poor lame father, let that be +A happy presage of your love for me. +Come then, I'll stroll these meadows by your side, +I've seen enough to wish you for my bride, +And plainly tell you so.--Nay, let me hold +This guiltless hand, I prize it more than gold; +Of that I have my share, but now pursue +Such lasting wealth as I behold in you. +My lands are fruitful and my gardens gay, +My houshold cheerful as the summer's day; +One blessing more will crown my happy life, +Like Adam, pretty girl, I want a wife." + +Frequent Meetings.--Family Pride. + +Need it be told his suit was not denied, +With youth, and wealth, and candour on his side +Honour took charge of love so well began, +And accidental meetings, one by one, +Increas'd so fast midst time's unheeded flight, +That village rumour married them outright; +Though wiser matrons, doubtful in debate, +Pitied deluded Peggy's hapless fate. +Friends took th' alarm, "And will he then disgrace +"The name of Brooks with this plebeian race?" +Others, more lax in virtue, not in pride, +Sported the wink of cunning on one side; +"He'll buy, no doubt, what Peggy has to sell, +A little gallantry becomes him well." +Meanwhile the youth with self-determin'd aim, +Disdaining fraud, and pride's unfeeling claim, + +Marriage proposed + +Above control pursued his generous way, +And talk'd to Peggy of the marriage day. +Poor girl! she heard, with anguish and with doubt, +What her too knowing neighbours preach'd about, +That Herbert would some nobler match prefer, +And surely never, never marry her; +Yet, with what trembling and delight she bore +The kiss, and heard the vow, "I'll doubt no more;" +"Protect me Herbert, for your honour's sake +You will," she cried, "nor leave my heart to break." +Then wrote to uncle Gilbert, joys, and fears, +And hope, and trust, and sprinkled all with tears. + +Rous'd was the dormant spirit of the brave, +E'en lameness rose to succour and to save; +For, though they both rever'd young Herbert's name, +And knew his unexceptionable fame; + +Doubts.--Parental Feelings. + +And though the girl had honestly declar'd +Love's first approaches, and their counsel shar'd, +Yet, that he truly meant to take for life +The poor and lowly Peggy for a wife; +Or, that she was not doom'd to be deceiv'd, +Was out of bounds:--it _could not_ be believ'd. +"Go, Gilbert; save her; I, you know, am lame; +Go, brother, go; and save my child from shame. +Haste, and I'll pray for your success the while, +Go, go;"--then bang'd his crutch upon the stile:-- +It snapt.--E'en Gilbert trembled while he smote, +Then whipt the broken end beneath his coat; +"Aye, aye, I'll settle them; I'll let them see +Who's to be conqu'ror this time, I or he!" + +[Illustration: two men at a stile.] + +Gilbert on the Road!--An Adventure. + +Then off he set, and with enormous strides, +Rebellious mutterings and oaths besides, +O'er clover-field and fallow, bank and brier, +Pursu'd the nearest cut, and fann'd the fire +That burnt within him.--Soon the Hall he spied, +And the grey willows by the water side; +Nature cried "halt!" nor could he well refuse; +Stop, Gilbert, breathe awhile, and ask _the news_. +"News?" cried a stooping grandame of the vale, +Aye, rare news too; I'll tell you such a tale; +But let me rest; this bank is dry and warm; +Do you know Peggy Meldrum at the farm? +Young Herbert's girl? He'as cloath'd her all in white. +You never saw so beautiful a sight! +Ah! he's a fine young man, and such a face! +I knew his grandfather and all his race; +He rode a tall white horse, and look'd so big, +But how shall I describe his hat and wig?" + +A promising Story cut short. + +"Plague take his wig," cried Gilbert, "and his hat, +Where's Peggy Meldrum? can you tell me _that_?" +"Aye; but have patience man, you'll hear anon, +For I shall come to her as I go on, +So hark 'ye friend; his grandfather I say,"-- +"Poh, poh,"--cried Gilbert, as he turn'd away. +Her eyes were fix'd, her story at a stand, +The snuff-box lay half open'd in her hand; +"You great ill-manner'd clown! but I must bear it; +You oaf; to ask the news, and then won't hear it!" +But Gilbert had gain'd forty paces clear, +When the reproof came murmuring on his ear. + +Again he ask'd the first that past him by; +A cow-boy stopt his whistle to reply. +"Why, I've a mistress coming home, that's all, +They're playing Meg's diversion at the Hall; + +A Cow-Boy's Bravery + +"For master's gone, with Peggy, and his cousin, +And all the lady folks, about a dozen, +To church, down there; he'll marry one no doubt, +For that it seems is what they're gone about; +I know it by their laughing and their jokes, +Tho' they _wor'nt_ ask'd at church like other folks." + +Gilbert kept on, and at the Hall-door found +The winking servants, where the jest went round: +All expectation; aye, and so was he, +But not with heart so merry and so free. +The kitchen table, never clear from beef, +Where hunger found its solace and relief, +Free to all strangers, had no charms for him, +For agitation worried every limb; +Ale he partook, but appetite had none, +And grey-hounds watch'd in vain to catch the bone. + +Sitting upon Thorns. + +All sounds alarm'd him, and all thoughts perplex'd, +With dogs, and beef, himself, and all things vex'd, +Till with one mingled caw above his head, +Their gliding shadows o'er the court-yard spread, +The rooks by thousands rose: the bells struck up; +He guess'd the cause, and down he set the cup, +And listening, heard, amidst the general hum, +A joyful exclamation, "Here they come!"-- +Soon Herbert's cheerful voice was heard above, +Amidst the rustling hand-maids of his love, +And Gilbert follow'd without thought or dread, +The broad oak stair-case thundr'd with his tread; +Light tript the party, gay as gay could be, +Amidst their bridal dresses--there came he! +And with a look that guilt could ne'er withstand, +Approach'd his niece and caught her by the hand, + +Anger disarmed. + +"Now are you married, Peggy, yes or no? +Tell me at once, before I let you go!" +Abrupt he spoke, and gave her arm a swing, +But the same moment felt the wedding ring, +And stood confus'd.--She wip'd th' empassion'd tear, +"I am, I am; but is my father here?" +Herbert stood by, and sharing with his bride, +That perturbation which she strove to hide; +"Come, honest Gilbert, you're too rough this time, +Indeed here's not the shadow of a crime; +But where's your brother? When did you arrive? +We waited long, for Nathan went at five!" + +All this was Greek to Gilbert, downright Greek: +He knew not what to think, nor how to speak. +The case was this; that Nathan with a cart +To fetch them both at day-break was to start, + +An Explanation. + +And so he did--but ere he could proceed, +He suck'd a charming portion with a reed, +Of that same wedding-ale, which was that day +To make the hearts of all the village gay; +Brim full of glee he trundled from the Hall, +And as for sky-larks, he out-sung them all; +Till growing giddy with his morning cup. +He, stretch'd beneath a hedge, the reins gave up; +The horse graz'd soberly without mishap, +And Nathan had a most delightful nap +For three good hours--Then, doubting, when he woke, +Whether his conduct would be deem'd a joke, +With double haste perform'd just half his part, +And brought the lame John Meldrum in his cart: +And at the moment Gilbert's wrath was high, +And while young Herbert waited his reply, + +A general Meeting. + +The sound of rattling wheels was at the door; +"There's my dear father now,"--they heard no more, +The bridegroom glided like an arrow down, +And Gilbert ran, though something of a clown, +With his best step; and cheer'd with smiles and pray'rs +They bore old John in triumph up the stairs: +Poor Peggy, who her joy no more could check, +Clung like a dewy woodbine round his neck, +And all stood silent--Gilbert, off his guard, +And marvelling at virtue's rich reward, +Loos'd the one loop that held his coat before, +Down thumpt the broken crutch upon the floor! +They started, half alarm'd, scarce knowing why, +But through the glist'ning rapture of his eye +The bridegroom smil'd, then chid their simple fears, +And rous'd the blushing Peggy from her tears; + +Gilbert put upon his Defense. + +Around the uncle in a ring they came, +And mark'd his look of mingled pride and shame. +"Now honestly, good Gilbert, tell us true +What meant this cudgel? What was it to do? +I know your heart suspected me of wrong, +And that most true affection urg'd along +Your feelings and your wrath; you were beside +Till now the rightful guardian of the bride. +But why this cudgel?"--"Guardian! that's the case, +Or else to day you had not seen my face, +But John about the girl was so perplex'd, +And I, to tell the truth, so mortal vex'd, +That when he broke _this crutch_, and stampt and cried, +For John and Peggy, Sir, I could have died, +I know I could; for she was such a child, +So tractable, so sensible, and mild, + +The plain Truth. + +That if between you roguery had grown, +(Begging your pardon,) 'twould have been your own; +She would not hurt a fly.--So off I came +And had you only sought to blast her fame, +Been base enough to act as hundreds would, +And ruin a poor maid--because you _could_, +With this same cudgel, (you may smile or frown) +An' please you, Sir, I meant to knock you down." + +A burst of laughter rang throughout the hall, +And Peggy's tongue, though overborne by all, +Pour'd its warm blessings, for, without control +The sweet unbridled transport of her soul +Was obviously seen, till Herbert's kiss +Stole, as it were, the eloquence of bliss. + +Mirth and Reconciliation. + +"Welcome, my friends; good Gilbert, here's my hand; +Eat, drink, or rest, they're all at your command: +And whatsoever pranks the rest may play, +Still you shall be the hero of to-day, +Doubts might torment, and blunders may have teaz'd, +But ale can cure them; let us all be pleas'd. +Thou, venerable man, let me defend +The father of my new dear bosom friend; +You broke your crutch, well, well, worse luck might be, +I'll be your crutch, John Meldrum, lean on me, +And when your lovely daughter shall complain, +Send Gilbert's wooden argument again. +If still you wonder that I take a wife +From the unpolish'd walks of humble life, +I'll tell you on what ground my love began, +And let the wise confute it if they can. +I saw a girl, with nature's untaught grace, +Turn from my gaze a most engaging face; + +Herbert's Apology. + +I saw her drop the tear, I knew full well +She felt for _you_ much more than she could tell. +I found her understanding, bright as day, +Through all impediments still forc'd its way; +On that foundation shall my soul rely, +The rock of genuine humility. +Call'd as she is to act a nobler part, +To rule my houshold, and to share my heart, +I trust her prudence, confident to prove +Days of delight, and still unfading love; +For, while her inborn tenderness survives, +That heav'nly charm of mothers and of wives, +I'll look for joy:--Here come the neighbours all; +Broach the old barrel, feast them great and small, +For I'm determin'd while the sun's so bright, +That this shall be a wedding-day outright: + +John Meldrum's wish.--Conclusion. + +How cheerly sound the bells! my charmer, come, +Expand your heart, and know yourself at home. +Sit down, good John;"--"I will," the old man cried, +"And let me drink to you, Sir, and the bride; +My blessing on you: I am lame and old, +I can't make speeches, and I wo'nt be bold; +But from my soul I wish, and wish with pain, +_That brave good gentlemen would not disdain_ +_The poor, because they're poor_: for, if they live +Midst crimes that parents _never can_ forgive, +If, like the forest beast they wander wild, +To rob a father, or to crush a child, +Nature _will_ speak, aye, just as Nature feels, +And wish--a Gilbert Meldrum at their heels." + + + + + SHOOTER'S HILL. +[Footnote: Sickness may be often an incentive to poetical composition; +I found it so; and I esteem the following lines only because they remind +me of past feelings which I would not willingly forget.] + + +Health! I seek thee;--dost thou love + The mountain top or quiet vale, +Or deign o'er humbler hills to rove + On showery June's dark south-west gale? +If so, I'll meet all blasts that blow, + With silent step, but not forlorn; +Though, goddess, at thy shrine I bow, + And woo thee each returning morn. + +I seek thee where, with all his might, + The joyous bird his rapture tells, +Amidst the half-excluded light, + That gilds the fox-glove's pendant bells; +Where, cheerly up this bold hill's side + The deep'ning groves triumphant climb; +In groves Delight and Peace abide, + And Wisdom marks the lapse of time. + +To hide me from the public eye, + To keep the throne of Reason clear, +Amidst fresh air to breathe or die, + I took my staff and wander'd here. +Suppressing every sigh that heaves, + And coveting no wealth but thee, +I nestle in the honied leaves, + And hug my stolen liberty. + +O'er eastward uplands, gay or rude, + Along to Erith's ivied spire, +I start, with strength and hope renew'd, + And cherish life's rekindling fire. +Now measure vales with straining eyes, + Now trace the church-yard's humble names: +Or, climb brown heaths, abrupt that rise, + And overlook the winding Thames. + +I love to mark the flow'ret's eye, + To rest where pebbles form my bed, +Where shapes and colours scatter'd lie + In varying millions round my head. +The soul rejoices when alone, + And feels her glorious empire free; +Sees GOD in every shining stone, + And revels in variety. + +Ah me! perhaps within my sight, + Deep in the smiling dales below, +Gigantic talents, Heav'n's pure light, + And all the rays of genius glow +In some lone soul, whom no one sees + With _power_ and _will_ to say "Arise," +Or chase away the slow disease, +And Want's foul picture from his eyes. + +A worthier man by far than I, + With more of industry and fire, +Shall see fair Virtue's meed pass by, + Without one spark of fame expire! +Bleed not my heart, it will be so. + The throb of care was thine full long; +Rise, like the Psalmist from his woe, + And pour abroad the joyful song. + +Sweet Health, I seek thee! hither bring + Thy balm that softens human ills; +Come, on the long drawn clouds that fling + Their shadows o'er the Surry-Hills. +Yon green-topt hills, and far away + Where late as now I freedom stole, +And spent one dear delicious day + On thy wild banks, romantic _Mole_. + + +Aye, there's the scene![1] beyond the sweep + Of London's congregated cloud, +The dark-brow'd wood, the headlong steep, + And valley-paths without a crowd! +Here, Thames, I watch thy flowing tides, + Thy thousand sails am proud to see; +But where the _Mole_ all silent glides + Dwells Peace--and Peace is wealth to me. + +[Footnote 1: Box-Hill, and the beautiful neighbourhood of Dorking, in +Surry.] + +Of Cambrian mountains still I dream, + And mouldering vestiges of war; +By time-worn cliff or classic stream + Would rove,--but prudence holds a bar. +Conic then, O Health, I'll strive to bound + My wishes to this airy stand; +'Tis not for _me_ to trace around + The wonders of my native land. + +Yet, the loud torrent's dark retreat, + Yet Grampian hills shall Fancy give, +And, towering in her giddy scat, + Amidst her own creation live, +Live, if thou'lt urge my climbing feet, + Give strength of nerve and vigorous breath, +If not, with dauntless soul I meet + The deep solemnity of death. + +This far-seen monumental tower + Records th' achievements of the brave, +And Angria's subjugated power, + Who plunder'd on the eastern wave. +I would not that such turrets rise + To point out where my bones arc laid; +Save that some wandering bard might prize + The comforts of its broad cool shade. + +O Vanity! since thou'rt decreed + Companion of our lives to be, +I'll seek the moral songster's meed, + An earthly immortality; +Most vain!--O let me, from the past + Remembering what to man is given, +Lay Virtue's broad foundations fast, + Whose glorious turrets reach to Heav'n: + + + + A VISIT TO RENELAGH + +To Ranelagh, once in my life, + By good-natur'd force I was driv'n; +The nations had ceas'd their long strife, + And PEACE[1] beam'd her radiance from Heav'n. +What wonders-were there to be found + That a clown might enjoy or disdain? +First we trac'd the gay ring all around, + Aye--and then we went round it again. + +[Footnote 1: A grand Fete, in honour of the peace of 1802.] + +A thousand feet rustled on mats, + A carpet that once had been green; +Men bow'd with their outlandish hats, + With corners so fearfully keen! +Fair maids, who at home in their haste + Had left all clothing else but a train, +Swept the floor clean, as slowly they pac'd, + And then--walk'd round and swept it again. + +The music was truly enchanting! + Right glad was I when I came near it; +But in fashion I found I was wanting:-- + 'Twas the fashion to walk and not hear it! +A fine youth, as beauty beset him, + Look'd smilingly round on the train; +"The king's nephew," they cried, as they met him; + Then--we went round and met him again. + +Huge paintings of Heroes and Peace + Seem'd to smile at the sound of the fiddle, +Proud to fill up each tall shining space + Round the lanthorn[1] that stood in the middle. +And GEORGE'S head too; Heav'n screen him! + May he finish in peace his long reign! +And what did we when we had seen him? + Why--went round and saw him again. + +[Footnote 1: The intervals between the pillars in the centre of the +Rotunda were filled up by transparent paintings] + +A bell rang, announcing new pleasures, + A crowd in an instant prest hard, +Feathers nodded, perfumes shed their treasures. + Round a door that led into the yard. +'Twas peopled all o'er in a minute, + As a white flock would cover a plain! +We had seen every soul that was in it, + Then we went round and saw them again. + +But now came a scene worth the showing, + The fireworks! midst langhs and huzzas, +With explosions the sky was all glowing, + Then down stream'd a million of stars; +With a rush the bright rockets ascended, + Wheels spurted blue fires like a rain; +We turn'd with regret when 'twas ended, + Then--star'd at each other again. + +There thousands of gay lamps aspir'd + To the tops of the trees and beyond; +And, what was most hugely admir'd, + They look'd all up-side-down in a pond! +The blaze scarce an eagle could bear; + And an owl had most surely been slain; +We return'd to the circle, and there-- + And there we went round it again. + +'Tis not wisdom to love without reason, + Or to censure without knowing why: +I had witness'd no crime, nor no treason, + "O Life, 'tis thy picture," said I. +'Tis just thus we saunter along, + Months and years bring their pleasures or pain; +We sigh midst the _right_ and the _wrong_; +--And then _we go round them again_! + + + + + LOVE OF THE COUNTRY. + + Written At Clare-Hall, Herts. June 1804. + +Welcome silence! welcome peace! + O most welcome, holy shade! +Thus I prove as years increase, + My heart and soul for quiet made. +Thus I fix my firm belief + While rapture's gushing tears descend; +That every flower and every leaf + Is moral Truth's unerring friend. + +I would not for a world of gold + That Nature's lovely face should tire; +Fountain of blessings yet untold; + Pure source of intellectual fire! +Fancy's fair buds, the germs of song, + Unquicken'd midst the world's rude strife, +Shall sweet retirement render strong, + And morning silence bring to life. + +Then tell me not that I shall grow + Forlorn, that fields and woods will cloy; +From Nature and her changes flow + An everlasting tide of joy. +I grant that summer heats will burn, + That keen will come the frosty night; +But both shall please: and each in turn + Yield Reason's most supreme delight. + +Build me a shrine, and I could kneel + To Rural Gods, or prostrate fall; +Did I not see, did I not feel, + That one GREAT SPIRIT governs all. +O heav'n permit that I may lie + Where o'er my corse green branches ware; +And those who from life's tumult fly + With kindred feelings press my grave. + + + + +THE WOODLAND HALLÓ. + +_(Perhaps) adapted for Music._ + +In our cottage, that peeps from the skirts of the wood, + I am mistress, no mother have I; +Yet blithe are my days, for my father is good, + And kind is my lover hard by; +They both work together beneath the green shade, + Both woodmen, my father and Joe. +Where I've listen'd whole hours to the echo that made + So much of a laugh or--_Halló_. + +From my basket at noon they expect their supply, + And with joy from my threshold I spring; +For the woodlands I love, and the oaks waring high, + And Echo that sings as I sing. +Though deep shades delight me, yet love is my food, + As I call the dear name of my Joe; +His musical shout is the pride of the wood, + And my heart leaps to hear the--Halló. + +Simple flowers of the grove, little birds live at ease, + I wish not to wander from you; +I'll still dwell beneath the deep roar of your trees, + For I know that my Joe will be true. +The trill of the robin, the coo of the dove, + Are charms that I'll never forego; +But resting through life on the bosom of love, + Will remember the Woodland Halló. + + [Illustration: a woman with a basket walking past a cottage] + + + + + BARNHAM WATER + +Fresh from the Hall of Bounty sprung,[1] + With glowing heart and ardent eye, +With song and rhyme upon my tongue, + And fairy visions dancing by, +The mid-day sun in all his pow'r + The backward valley painted gay; +Mine was a road without a flower, + Where one small streamlet cross'd the way. + +[Footnote 1: On a sultry afternoon, late in the summer of 1802, +Euston-Hall lay in my way to Thetford, which place I did not reach until +the evening, on a visit to my sister: the lines lose much of their +interest except they could be read on the spot, or at least at a +coresponding season of the year.] + +What was it rous'd my soul to love? + What made the simple brook so dear? +It glided like the weary dove, + And never brook seem'd half so clear. +Cool pass'd the current o'er my feet, + Its shelving brink for rest was made, +But every charm was incomplete, + For Barnham Water wants a shade. + +There, faint beneath the fervid sun, + I gaz'd in ruminating mood; +For who can see the current run + And snatch no feast of mental food? +"Keep pure thy soul," it seem'd to say, + "Keep that fair path by wisdom trod, +"That thou may'st hope to wind thy way + "To fame worth boasting, and to God." + +Long and delightful was the dream, + A waking dream that Fancy yields, +Till with regret I left the stream + And plung'd across the barren fields; +To where of old rich abbeys smil'd + In all the pomp of gothic taste, +By fond tradition proudly styl'd, + The mighty "City in the East." + +Near, on a slope of burning sand, + The shepherd boys had met to play, +To hold the plains at their command, + And mark the trav'ller's leatless way. +The trav'ller with a cheerful look + Would every pining thought forbear, +If boughs but shelter'd Barnham brook + He'd stop and leave his blessing there. + +The Danish mounds of partial green, + Still, as each mouldering tower decays, +Far o'er the bleak unwooded scene + Proclaim their wond'rous length of days. +My burning feet, my aching sight, + Demanded rest,--why did I weep? +The moon arose, and such a night! + Good Heav'n! it was a sin to sleep. + +All rushing came thy hallow'd sighs, + Sweet Melancholy, from my breast; +"'Tis here that eastern greatness lies, + "That Might, Renown, and Wisdom rest! +"Here funeral rites the priesthood gave + "To chiefs who sway'd prodigious powers, +"The Bigods and the Mowbrays brave, + "From Framlingham's imperial towers. + +Full of the mighty deeds of yore, + I bade good night the trembling beam; +Fancy e'en heard the battle's roar, + Of what but slaughter could I dream? +Bless'd be that night, that trembling beam, + Peaceful excursions Fancy made; +All night I heard the bubbling stream, + Yet, Barnham Water wants a shade. + +Whatever hurts my country's fame, + When wits and mountaineers deride, +To me grows serious, for I name + My native plains and streams with pride. +No mountain charms have I to sing, + No loftier minstrel's rights invade; +From trifles oft _my_ raptures spring; + --Sweet Barnham Water wants a shade + + + + + MARY'S EVENING SIGH + +How bright with pearl the western sky! + How glorious far and wide, +Yon lines of golden clouds that lie + So peaceful side by side! +Their deep'ning tints, the arch of light, + All eyes with rapture see; +E'en while I sigh I bless the sight + That lures my love from me. + +Green hill, that shad'st the valley here, + Thou bear'st upon thy brow +The only wealth to Mary dear, + And all she'll ever know. +There, in the crimson light I see, + Above thy summit rise, +My Edward's form, he looks to me + A statue in the skies. + +Descend my love, the hour is come, + Why linger on the hill? +The sun hath left my quiet home, + But thou canst see him still; +Yet why a lonely wanderer stray, + Alone the joy pursue? +The glories of the closing day + Can charm thy Mary too. + +Dear Edward, when we stroll'd along + Beneath the waving corn, +And both confess'd the power of song, + And bless'd the dewy morn; +Your eye o'erflow'd, "How sweet," you cried. + (My presence then could move) +"How sweet, with Mary by my side, + "To gaze and talk of love" + +Thou art not false! that cannot be; + Yet I my rivals deem +Each woodland charm, the moss, the tree, + The silence, and the stream; +Whate'er my love, detains thee now, + I'll yet forgive thy stay; +But with to-morrow's dawn come thou, + We'll brush the dews away. + + + + + GOOD TIDINGS OR, _NEWS FROM THE FARM_. + +How vain this tribute; vain, this lowly lay; +Yet nought is vain which gratitude inspires! +The Muse, besides, her duty thus approves +To virtue, to her country, to mankind! +_Thomson._ + + +ADVERTISEMENT + +To the few who know that I have employed my thoughts on the importance of +Dr. Jenners's discovery, it has generally and almost unexceptionably +appeared a subject of little promise; peculiarly unfit indeed for poetry. +My method of treating it has endeared it to myself, for it indulges in +domestic anecdote. The account given of my infancy and of my father's +burial, is not only poetically, but strictly true, and with me it has its +weight accordingly. I have witnessed the destruction described in my +brother's family: and I have, in my own, insured the lives of four +children by Vaccine Inoculation, who, I trust, are destined to look back +upon the Small-pox of the scourge of days gone by.--My hopes are high, and +my prayers sincere, for its universal adoption. + +The few notes subjoined are chiefly from "Woodville on Inoculation;" and +if I may escape the appearance of affectation of research, or a scientific +treatment of the subject, I think the egotism, so conspicuous in the poem, +(as facts give force to argument,) ought to be forgiven. + + + + GOOD TIDINGS; + + OR, + + _NEWS FROM THE FARM_. + +Where's the Blind Child, so admirably fair, +With guileless dimples, and with flaxen hair +That waves in ev'ry breeze? he's often seen +Beside yon cottage wall, or on the green, +With others match'd in spirit and in size, +Health on their cheeks and rapture in their eyes; +That full expanse of voice, to childhood dear, +Soul of their sports, is duly cherish'd here: +And, hark! that laugh is his, that jovial cry; +He hears the ball and trundling hoop brush by, +And runs the giddy course with all his might, +A very child in every thing but sight; +With circumscrib'd but not abated pow'rs,-- +Play! the great object of his infant hours;-- +In many a game he takes a noisy part, +And shows the native gladness of his heart; +But soon he hears, on pleasure all intent, +The new suggestion and the quick assent; +The grove invites, delight thrills every breast-- +To leap the ditch and seek the downy nest +Away they start, leave balls and hoops behind, +And one companion leave----the boy is blind! + +[Illustration: a child beneath a tree.] + +His fancy paints their distant paths so gay, +That childish fortitude awhile gives way, +He feels his dreadful loss--yet short the pain, +Soon he resumes his cheerfulness again; +Pond'ring how best his moments to employ, +He sings his little songs of nameless joy, +Creeps on the warm green turf for many an hour, +And plucks by chance the white and yellow flow'r; +Smoothing their stems, while resting on his knees, +He binds a nosegay which he never sees; +Along the homeward path then feels his way, +Lifting his brow against the shining day, +And, with a playful rapture round his eyes, +Presents a sighing parent with the prize. + +She blest _that_ day, which he remembers too, +When he could gaze on heav'n's ethereal blue, +See the green Spring, and Summer's countless dies, +And all the colours of the morning rise.-- +'When was this work of bitterness begun? +How came the blindness of your only son?' +Thus pity prompts full many a tongue to say, +But never, till she slowly wipes away +Th' obtruding tear that trembles in her eye. +This dagger of a question meets reply:-- +"My boy was healthy, and my rest was sound, +When last year's corn was green upon the ground +From yonder town infection found its way; +Around me putrid dead and dying lay, +I trembled for his fate: but all my care +Avail'd not, for he breath'd the tainted air; +Sickness ensu'd--in terror and dismay +I nurs'd him in my arms both night and day, +When his soft skin from head to foot became +One swelling purple sore, unfit to name: +Hour after hour, when all was still beside, +When the pale night-light in its socket died, +Alone I sat; the thought still sooths my heart, +That surely I perform'd a mother's part, +Watching with such anxiety and pain +Till he might smile and look on me again; +But that was not to be--ask me no more: +GOD keep small-pox and blindness from your door!" + +Now, ye who think, whose souls abroad take wing, +And trace out human troubles to their spring, +Say, should Heav'n grant us, in some hallow'd hour, +Means to divest this demon of his power, +To loose his horrid grasp from early worth, +To spread a saving conquest round the earth, +Till ev'ry land shall bow the grateful knee, +Would it not be a glorious day to see?-- +That day is come! my soul, in strength arise, +Invoke no muse, no power below the skies; +To Heav'n the energies of verse belong, +Truth is the theme, and truth shall be the song; +Arm with conviction ev'ry joyful line, +Source of all mercies, for the praise is thine! +Sweet beam'd the star of peace upon those days +When Virtue watch'd my childhood's quiet ways, +Whence a warm spark of Nature's holy flame +Gave the farm-yard an honourable name, +But left one theme unsung: then, who had seen +In herds that feast upon the vernal green, +Or dreamt that in the blood of kine there ran +Blessings beyond the sustenance of man? +We tread the meadow, and we scent the thorn, +We hail the day-spring of a summer's morn +Nor mead at dawning day, nor thymy heath, +Transcends the fragrance of the heifer's breath: +May that dear fragrance, as it floats along +O'er ev'ry flow'r that lives in rustic song; +May all the sweets of meadows and of kine +Embalm, O Health! this offering at thy shrine. + +Dear must that moment be when first the mind, +Ranging the paths of science unconfin'd, +Strikes a new light; when, obvious to the sense, +Springs the fresh spark of bright intelligence. +So felt the towering soul of MONTAGU, +Her sex's glory, and her country's too; +Who gave the spotted plague one deadly blow, +And bade its mitigated poison flow +With half its terrors; yet, with loathing still, +We hous'd a visitant with pow'r to kill. +Then when the healthful blood, though often tried, +Foil'd the keen lancet by the Severn side, +Resisting, uncontaminated still, +The purple pest and unremitting skill; +When the plain truth tradition seem'd to know, +By simply pointing to the harmless Cow, +Though wise distrust to reason might appeal; +What, when hope triumph'd, what did JENNER feel! +Where even hope itself could scarcely rise +To scan the vast, inestimable prize? +Perhaps supreme, alone, triumphant stood +The great, the conscious power of doing good, +The power to will, and wishes to embrace +Th' emancipation of the human race; +A joy that must all mortal praise outlive, +A wealth that grateful nations cannot give. +Forth sped the truth immediate from his hand, +And confirmations sprung in ev'ry land; +In ev'ry land, on beauty's lily arm, +On infant softness, like a magic charm, +Appear'd the gift that conquers as it goes; +The dairy's boast, the simple, saving Rose! +Momentous triumph--fiend! thy reign is o'er; +Thou, whose blind rage hath ravag'd ev'ry shore, +Whose name denotes destruction, whose foul breath +For ever hov'ring round the dart of death, +Fells, mercilessly fells, the brave and base, +Through all the kindreds of the human race. + +Who has not heard, in warm, poetic tales, +Of eastern fragrance and Arabian gales? +Bowers of delight, of languor, and repose, +Where beauty triumph'd as the song arose? +Fancy may revel, fiction boldly dare, +But truth shall not forget that _thou_ wert there, +Scourge of the world! who, borne on ev'ry wind, +From bow'rs of roses [1] sprang to curse mankind. +[Footnote 1: The first medical account of the small-pox is given by the +Arabian physicians, and is traced no farther back than the siege of +Alexandria, about the year of Christ, 640.--Woodville.] + + +The Indian palm thy devastation knows: +Thou sweep'st the regions of eternal snows [2]: +[Footnote 2: First introduced into Greenland in 1733, and almost +depopulated the country.--Ibid.] + +Climbing the mighty period of his years, +The British oak his giant bulk uprears; +He, in his strength, while toll'd the passing bell, +Rejoic'd whole centuries as thy victims fell: +Armies have bled, and shouts of vict'ry rung, +Fame crown'd _their_ deaths, _thy_ deaths are all unsung: +'Twas thine, while victories claim'd th' immortal lay, +Through private life to cut thy desperate way; +And when full power the wondrous magnet gave +Ambition's sons to dare the ocean wave, +Thee, in their train of horrid ills, they drew +Beneath the blessed sunshine of Peru [3]. +[Footnote 3: In 1520, says Mr. Woodville, when the small-pox visited New +Spain, it proved fatal to one half of the people in the provinces to which +the infection extended; being carried thither by a negro slave, who +attended Narvaez in his expedition against Cortes. He adds, about fifty +years after the discovery of Peru, The small-pox was carried over from +Europe to America by way of Carthagena, when it overran the Continent of +the New World, and destroyed upwards of 100,000 Indians in the single +province of Quito.--_Hist. of Inoculation._] + +But why unskill'd th' historic page explore? +Why thus pursue thee to a foreign shore? +A homely narrative of days gone by, +Familiar griefs, and kindred's tender sigh +Shall still survive; for thou on ev'ry mind +Hast left some traces of thy wrath behind. +There dwelt, beside a brook that creeps along +Midst infant hills and meads unknown to song, +One to whom poverty and faith were giv'n, +Calm village silence, and the hope of heav'n: +Alone she dwelt; and while each morn brought peace +And health was smiling on her years' increase, +Sudden and fearful, rushing through her frame, +Unusual pains and feverish symptoms came. +Then, when debilitated, faint, and poor, +How sweet to hear a footstep at her door! +To see a neighbour watch life's silent sand, +To hear the sigh, and feel the helping hand! +Soon woe o'erspread the interdicted ground, +And consternation seiz'd the hamlets round: +Uprose the pest--its widow'd victim died; +And foul contagion spread on ev'ryside; +The helping neighbour for her kind regard, +Bore home _that_ dreadful tribute of reward, +_Home_, where six children, yielding to its pow'r, +Gave hope and patience a most trying hour; +One at her breast still drew the living stream, +And, sense of danger never marr'd his dream; +Yet all exclaim'd, and with a pitying eye, +"Whoe'er survives the shock, _that child will die!_" +But vain the fiat,--Heav'n restor'd them all, +And destin'd one of riper years to fall. +Midnight beheld the close of all his pain, +His grave was clos'd when midnight came again; +No bell was heard to toll, no funeral pray'r, +No kindred bow'd, no wife, no children there; +Its horrid nature could inspire a dread +That cut the bonds of custom like a thread +The humble church-tow'r higher seem'd to shew, +Illumin'd by their trembling light below; +The solemn night-breeze struck each shiv'ring check; +Religious reverence forbade to speak: +The starting Sexton his short sorrow chid +When the earth murmur'd on the coffin lid, +And falling bones and sighs of holy dread +Sounded a requiem to the silent dead! + +'Why tell us tales of woe, thou who didst give +Thy soul to rural themes, and bade them live? +What means this zeal of thine, this kindling fire? +The rescu'd infant and the dying sire.' +Kind heart, who o'er the pictur'd Seasons glow'd, +When smiles approv'd the verse, or tears have flow'd, +Was then the lowly minstrel dear to thee? +Himself appeals--What, if _that child_ were HE! + +[Illustration: men digging a grave?] + +What, if those midnight sighs a farewel gave, +While hands, all trembling, clos'd his father's grave! +Though love enjoin'd not infant eyes to weep, +In manhood's zenith shall his feelings sleep? +Sleep not my soul! indulge a nobler flame; +_Still_ the destroyer persecutes thy name. + Seven winter's cannot pluck from memory's store +That mark'd affliction which a brother bore; +That storm of trouble bursting on his head, +When the fiend came, and left _two children_ dead! +Yet, still superior to domestic woes, +The native vigour of his mind arose, +And, as new summers teem'd with brighter views, +He trac'd the wand'rings of his darling Muse, +And all was joy--this instant all is pain, +The foe implacable returns again, +And claims a sacrifice; the deed is done-- +_Another child_ has fall'n, another son [4]! +[Footnote 4: I had proceeded thus far with the Poem, when the above fact +became a powerfull stimulus to my feelings, and to the earnestness of my +exhortations.] + +His young cheek even now is scarcely cold, +And shall his early doom remain untold? +No! let the tide of passion roll along, +Truth _will_ be heard, and GOD will bless the song +Indignant Reason, Pity, Joy, arise, +And speak in thunder to the heart that sighs: +Speak loud to parents;--knew ye not the time +When age itself, and manhood's hardy prime, +With horror saw their short-liv'd friendships end. +Yet dar'd not visit e'en the dying friend? +Contagion, a foul serpent lurking near, +Mock'd Nature's sigh and Friendship's holy tear. +Love ye your children?--let that love arise, +Pronounce the sentence, and the serpent dies; +Bid welcome a mild stranger at your door, +Distress shall cease, those terrors reign no more. +Love ye your neighbours?--let that love be shown; +Risk not _their_ children while you guard your own; +Give not a foe dominion o'er your blood, +Plant not a poison, e'en to bring forth good; +For, woo the pest discreetly as you will, +Deadly infection must attend him still. +Then, let the serpent die! this glorious prize +Sets more than life and health before our eyes, +For beauty triumphs too! Beauty! sweet name, +The mother's feelings kindling into flame! +For, where dwells she, who, while the virtues grow. +With cold indifference marks the arching brow? +Or, with a lifeless heart and recreant blood, +Sighs not for daughters fair as well as good? +That sigh is nature, and cannot decay, +'Tis universal as the beams of day; +Man knows and feels its truth; for, Beauty's call +Rouses the coldest mortal of us all; +A glance warms age itself, and gives the boy +The pulse of rapture and the sigh of joy. +And is it then no conquest to insure +Our lilies spotless and our roses pure? +Is it no triumph that the lovely face +Inherits every line of Nature's grace? +That the sweet precincts of the laughing eye +Dread no rude scars, no foul deformity? +Our boast, old Time himself shall not impair. +Of British maids pre-eminently fair; +But, as he rolls his years on years along, +Shall keep the record of immortal song; +For song shall rise with ampler power to speak +The new-born influence of Beauty's cheek, +Shall catch new fires in every sacred grove, +Fresh inspiration from the lips of Love, +And write for ever on the rising mind-- +DEAD IS ONE MORTAL FOE OF HUMAN KIND! + +Yes, we have conquer'd! and the thought should raise +A spirit in our prayers as well as praise, +For who will say, in Nature's wide domain +There lurk not remedies for every pain? +Who will assert, where Turkish banners fly, +Woe still shall reign--the plague shall never die? +Or who predict, with bosom all unblest, +An everlasting fever in the West? +Forbid it Heav'n!--Hope cheers us with a smile, +The sun of Mercy's risen on our isle: +Its beams already, o'er th' Atlantic wave, +Pierce the dark forests of the suffering brave: +There, e'en th' abandon'd sick imbib'd a glow, +When warrior nations, resting on the bow, +Astonish'd heard the joyful rumour rise, +And call'd the council of their great and wise: +The truth by female pray'rs was urg'd along, +Youth ceas'd the chorus of the warrior song, +And present ills bade present feelings press +With all the eloquence of deep distress; +Till forth their chiefs [A] o'er dying thousands trod +To seek the white man and his bounteous God: +[Footnote A: The chiefs of the Cherokee Indians, in North America, have +applied to the government of the United States for information on the +subject of Vaccine Inoculation, and have spread the practice in the +Woods.] + +Well sped their errand; with a patriot zeal +They spread the blessing for their country's weal. + +Where India's swarthy millions crowd the strand, +And round that isle, which crowns their pointed land, +Speeds the good angel with the balmy breath, +And checks the dreadful tyranny of death: +Whate'er we hear to hurt the peace of life, +Of Candian treachery and British strife, +The sword of commerce, nations bought and sold, +They owe to England more than mines of gold; +England has sent a balm for private woe; +England strikes down the nations' bitterest foe. + +Europe, amidst the clangor of her arms, +While life was threaten'd with a thousand harms, +And Charity was freezing to its source, +Still saw fair Science keep her steady course; +And, while whole legions fell, by friends deplor'd, +New germs of life sprung up beneath the sword, +And spread amain.--Then, in our bosoms, why +Must exultation mingle with a sigh? + +Thought takes the retrospect of years just fled, +And, conjuring up the spirits of the dead, +Whispers each dear and venerated name +Of the last victims ere the blessing came, +Worthies, who through the lands that gave them birth +Breath'd the strong evidence of growing worth; +Parents, cut down in life's meridian day, +And childhood's thousand thousand swept away; +Life's luckless mariners! ye, we deplore +Who sunk within a boat's length of the shore [A]. +[Footnote A: So lately as the year 1793, the small-pox was carried to the +Isle of France by a Dutch ship, and there destroyed five thousand four +hundred persons in six weeks.--Woodville.] + +A stranger youth, from his meridian sky, +Buoyant with hopes, came here but came to _die_! +O'er his sad fate I've ponder'd hours away, +It suits the languor of a gloomy day: +He left his bamboo groves, his pleasant shore, +He left his friends to hear new oceans roar, +All confident, ingenuous, and bold, +He heard the wonders by the white men told; +With firm assurance trod the rolling deck, +And saw his isle diminish to a speck, +Plough'd the rough waves, and gain'd our northern clime, +In manhood's ripening sense and nature's prime. +Oh! had the fiend been vanquished ere he came, +The gen'rous youth had spread my country's fame. +Had known that honour dwells among the brave, +And England had not prov'd the stranger's grave: +Then, ere his waning sand of life had run, +Poor ABBA THULE might hare seen his son! [A] +[Footnote A: Lee Boo, second son of the King of the Pelew Islands, was +brought to England by Capt. Wilson, and died of the Small-pox at +Rotherhithe, in 1784.] + +Rise, exultation! spirit, louder speak! +Pity, dislodge thy dewdrops from my cheek: +Sleep sound, forefathers; sleep, brave stranger boy, +While truth impels the current of my joy: +To all mankind, to all the earth 'tis giv'n, +Conviction travels like the light of heav'n: +Go, blessing, from thy birth-place still expand, +For that dear birth-place is my native land! +A nation consecrates th' auspicious day, +And wealth, and rank, and talents lead the way! +Time, with triumphant hand, shall truth diffuse, +Nor ask the unbought efforts of the Muse. +Mothers! the pledges of your loves caress, +And heave no sighs but sighs of tenderness. +Fathers, be firm! keep down the fallen foe, +And on the memory of domestic woe +Build resolution,--Victory shall increase +Th' incalculable wealth of private peace; +And such a victory, unstain'd with gore, +That strews its laurels at the cottage door, +Sprung from the farm, and from the yellow mead, +Should be the glory of the pastoral reed. +In village paths, hence, may we never find +Their youth on crutches, and their children blind; +Nor, when the milk-maid, early from her bed, +Beneath the may bush that embow'rs her head, +Sings like a bird, e'er grieve to meet again +The fair cheek injur'd by the scars of pain; +Pure, in her morning path, where'er she treads, +Like April sunshine and the flow'rs it feeds, +She'll boast new conquests; Love, new shafts to fling; +And Life, an uncontaminated spring. +In pure delight didst thou, my soul, pursue +A task to conscience and to kindred due, +And, true to feeling and to Nature, deem +The dairy's boast thy own appropriate theme; +Hail now the meed of pleasurable hours, +And, at the foot of Science, strew thy flow'rs! + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Wild Flowers, by Robert Bloomfield + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILD FLOWERS *** + +This file should be named 8wflr10.txt or 8wflr10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8wflr11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8wflr10a.txt + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Charles Bidwell and Distributed Proofreaders + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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