NEEDWOOD FOREST.

Needwood!if e’er my early voiceHath taught thy echoes to rejoice;If e’er my hounds in opening cryHave fill’d thy banks with ecstacy;If e’er array’d in cheerful greenOur train hath deck’d thy wintry scene;Ere yet thy wood-wild walks I leave,My tributary verse receive:With thy own wreath my brows adorn,And to thy praises tune my horn!What green-rob’d Nymph, all loose her hair,With buskin’d leg, and bosom bare,Steps lightly down the turfy glades,And beckons tow’rd yon opening shades?—No harlot-form, dissembling guileWith wanton air and painted smile,Lures to enchanted halls or bowers,Where festive Vice consumes his hours.Her mild and modest looks dispenseThe simple charm of innocence:And a sweet wildness in her eyeSparkles with young sincerity.—Lead on, fair guide, ere wakes the dawn,With thee I’ll climb the steepy lawn,With thee the leafy labyrinths trace,Where dwells the Genius of the place.—His large limbs press a prim-rose bed,A moss-grown root sustains his head,And, list’ning to a Druid’s rhimes,He bends his eye on distant times:While troops of sylvan Vassals meetTo cast their garlands at his feet,And pipe and frisk in rings about,Or parly with the Hunter’s shout.And now a fragrant show’r he throwsOf blossoms from his curled brows,And rising waves his oaken wand,And bids yon magic scenes expand!—First blush the hills with orient light,And pierce the sable veil of night,Green bends the waving shade above,And glist’ring dew-drops gem the grove:Next shine the shelving lawns around,Bright threads of silver net the ground;And down, the entangled brakes among,The white rill sparkling winds along:Then, as the pausing zephyrs breathe,The billowy mist recedes beneath;Slow, as it rolls away, unfoldThe vale’s fresh glories green and gold;Dove[1]laughs, and shakes his tresses bright,And trails afar a line of light.Now glows the illumin’d landscape round!Ye Vulgar hence!—’tis sacred ground!Hence to the flimsy walks of art,That lull, but not transport the heart.Nature, O Muse, here sits alone,And marks these regions for thy own;Here her variety of joysNor season bounds, nor change destroys:Be mine the pride, tho’ weak my strains,That first I woo’d thee to these plains;Where Spring, in all her beauty drest,But promises a brighter guest:Where Summer yields her greens and flowersTo Autumn’s variegated bowers:Smiles Winter, as their honours fall,And bids his hollies shame them all.[2]Ye sage Professors of design,Whom system’s stubborn rules confine,Can science here one blemish show?Or one deficient grace bestow?Emes,[3]who yon desart wild explor’d,And to it’s name the scene restor’d;Whose art is nature’s law maintain’d,Whose order negligence restrain’d,Here, fir’d by native beauty, trac’dThe foot-steps of the Goddess, Taste:Won from her coy retreats she came,And led him up these paths to fame.Here ev’ry flower improves the galeFrom the meek violet of the valeTo her, who flaunts in air sublime,The woodbine, queen of summer’s prime:While each delicious shade may vieWith those of boasted Arcady.There sweet varieties appearOf thickets, shap’d by nibbling Deer,Of hills, that swell with gradual ease,Wood-skirted lawns, and scatter’d trees;Of vallies seen down distant glades,That break the mass of mingling shades;While nature’s attribute, extent,Crowns each inferior ornament!—On this green unambitious brow,Fair Mistress of the vale below,With sloping hills enclos’d around,Their heads with oaks and hollies crown’d,With lucky choice, by happy hands,Plac’d in good hour, my dwelling stands;And draws the distant trav’ler’s eye,Enamour’d of it’s scenery;Where all things give, what all express,Content and rural happiness.Where far retir’d from life’s dull formComes no intruder but the storm;The storm, that with contrasted low’rEndears the fair the silent hour.Thus their wise days our fathers led,Fleet ran their hounds, their arrows sped,And jocund Health with rosy smileLook’d on, companion of their toil:Till tyrant Law usurp’d the land,Stretch’d o’er the woods his iron hand,Forbad the echoing horn to blow,Maim’d the staunch hound, and snapp’d the bow.[4]Here with fair peace and modest fame[5]They dwelt, who boasted Bagot’s name,—Go,Bagot, plead your country’s cause,While senates listen with applause,With fearless truth and manly senseDetecting specious eloquence:Great talents to the world are due,Retirement were a crime in you.Go, and receive your oaken crown!Here, with no title to renown,Leave me to loiter at my doorBeneath the spreading sycamore,That canopies the sloping lawn;And view the deer at early dawnIn troops come winding down the hillTo taste fresh herbage near the rill;Or count at noon their slumb’ring heaps;At evening watch their playful leaps;Or hear the quiring of the groveGive breath to harmony and love;Or listen to the hum profound,In the still air that floats around;Or mark yon hills extended side,Where turf and shade the space divide;—Here the wood straggles tow’rd the plain,The pasture there prevails again;The heifer grazes on it’s brow,Clamours the rook on trees below;Gay golden furze and purple lingAround their mixt embroidery fling,O’er all, irregularly join’d,Th’ according outline waves behind.No dusky Cares o’er-hang the bower,No Passions wreck the halcyon hour;Nurs’d in the shade Reflection springs,Smooths her white plumes, and tries her wings.No leaf of autumn falls in vain;No flower-bell droops beneath the rain,No bubble down the current flows,But life’s uncertain tenure shows.Those thorns protect the forest’s hopes;That tree the slender ivy props:Thus rise the mighty on the mean!Thus on the strong the feeble lean!In yonder holly—blush mankind!—A rare fidelity I find;Like yours tho’ summer’s flatteries end,My winter here hath found a friend.—Hail faithful fav’rite tree! to youThe Muse shall pay observance due:Whether in horrent files you standRound sapling oaks a guardian band;Or form aloft a shelt’ring bowerImpervious to the sun or shower;Whether to yon hill-side you throngRanging in various groups along;Or on the plain, maturely grown,You boldly brave the storm alone,Or tapering high, with woodbines hid,Rise in a fragrant pyramid;Your vigorous youth with upright shoots,Your verdant age, your glowing fruits,Your glossy leaves, and columns grayShall live the favorites of my lay!Alas! in vain with warmth and foodYou cheer the songsters of the wood,The barbarous boy from you preparesOn treacherous twigs his viscous snares.Yes, the poor bird, you nurs’d, shall findDestruction in your rifled rind.Thus good and ill too often meet,And bitter mingles with the sweet!—Ye pedagogues! let truant youthImbibe from you this gen’rous truth;That one humane, one tender thoughtIs worth the whole, that schools have taught.

Needwood!if e’er my early voice

Hath taught thy echoes to rejoice;

If e’er my hounds in opening cry

Have fill’d thy banks with ecstacy;

If e’er array’d in cheerful green

Our train hath deck’d thy wintry scene;

Ere yet thy wood-wild walks I leave,

My tributary verse receive:

With thy own wreath my brows adorn,

And to thy praises tune my horn!

What green-rob’d Nymph, all loose her hair,With buskin’d leg, and bosom bare,Steps lightly down the turfy glades,And beckons tow’rd yon opening shades?—No harlot-form, dissembling guileWith wanton air and painted smile,Lures to enchanted halls or bowers,Where festive Vice consumes his hours.Her mild and modest looks dispenseThe simple charm of innocence:And a sweet wildness in her eyeSparkles with young sincerity.—Lead on, fair guide, ere wakes the dawn,With thee I’ll climb the steepy lawn,With thee the leafy labyrinths trace,Where dwells the Genius of the place.—His large limbs press a prim-rose bed,A moss-grown root sustains his head,And, list’ning to a Druid’s rhimes,He bends his eye on distant times:While troops of sylvan Vassals meetTo cast their garlands at his feet,And pipe and frisk in rings about,Or parly with the Hunter’s shout.And now a fragrant show’r he throwsOf blossoms from his curled brows,And rising waves his oaken wand,And bids yon magic scenes expand!—

What green-rob’d Nymph, all loose her hair,

With buskin’d leg, and bosom bare,

Steps lightly down the turfy glades,

And beckons tow’rd yon opening shades?—

No harlot-form, dissembling guile

With wanton air and painted smile,

Lures to enchanted halls or bowers,

Where festive Vice consumes his hours.

Her mild and modest looks dispense

The simple charm of innocence:

And a sweet wildness in her eye

Sparkles with young sincerity.—

Lead on, fair guide, ere wakes the dawn,

With thee I’ll climb the steepy lawn,

With thee the leafy labyrinths trace,

Where dwells the Genius of the place.—

His large limbs press a prim-rose bed,

A moss-grown root sustains his head,

And, list’ning to a Druid’s rhimes,

He bends his eye on distant times:

While troops of sylvan Vassals meet

To cast their garlands at his feet,

And pipe and frisk in rings about,

Or parly with the Hunter’s shout.

And now a fragrant show’r he throws

Of blossoms from his curled brows,

And rising waves his oaken wand,

And bids yon magic scenes expand!—

First blush the hills with orient light,And pierce the sable veil of night,Green bends the waving shade above,And glist’ring dew-drops gem the grove:Next shine the shelving lawns around,Bright threads of silver net the ground;And down, the entangled brakes among,The white rill sparkling winds along:Then, as the pausing zephyrs breathe,The billowy mist recedes beneath;Slow, as it rolls away, unfoldThe vale’s fresh glories green and gold;Dove[1]laughs, and shakes his tresses bright,And trails afar a line of light.

First blush the hills with orient light,

And pierce the sable veil of night,

Green bends the waving shade above,

And glist’ring dew-drops gem the grove:

Next shine the shelving lawns around,

Bright threads of silver net the ground;

And down, the entangled brakes among,

The white rill sparkling winds along:

Then, as the pausing zephyrs breathe,

The billowy mist recedes beneath;

Slow, as it rolls away, unfold

The vale’s fresh glories green and gold;

Dove[1]laughs, and shakes his tresses bright,

And trails afar a line of light.

Now glows the illumin’d landscape round!Ye Vulgar hence!—’tis sacred ground!Hence to the flimsy walks of art,That lull, but not transport the heart.Nature, O Muse, here sits alone,And marks these regions for thy own;Here her variety of joysNor season bounds, nor change destroys:Be mine the pride, tho’ weak my strains,That first I woo’d thee to these plains;Where Spring, in all her beauty drest,But promises a brighter guest:Where Summer yields her greens and flowersTo Autumn’s variegated bowers:Smiles Winter, as their honours fall,And bids his hollies shame them all.[2]

Now glows the illumin’d landscape round!

Ye Vulgar hence!—’tis sacred ground!

Hence to the flimsy walks of art,

That lull, but not transport the heart.

Nature, O Muse, here sits alone,

And marks these regions for thy own;

Here her variety of joys

Nor season bounds, nor change destroys:

Be mine the pride, tho’ weak my strains,

That first I woo’d thee to these plains;

Where Spring, in all her beauty drest,

But promises a brighter guest:

Where Summer yields her greens and flowers

To Autumn’s variegated bowers:

Smiles Winter, as their honours fall,

And bids his hollies shame them all.[2]

Ye sage Professors of design,Whom system’s stubborn rules confine,Can science here one blemish show?Or one deficient grace bestow?Emes,[3]who yon desart wild explor’d,And to it’s name the scene restor’d;Whose art is nature’s law maintain’d,Whose order negligence restrain’d,Here, fir’d by native beauty, trac’dThe foot-steps of the Goddess, Taste:Won from her coy retreats she came,And led him up these paths to fame.

Ye sage Professors of design,

Whom system’s stubborn rules confine,

Can science here one blemish show?

Or one deficient grace bestow?

Emes,[3]who yon desart wild explor’d,

And to it’s name the scene restor’d;

Whose art is nature’s law maintain’d,

Whose order negligence restrain’d,

Here, fir’d by native beauty, trac’d

The foot-steps of the Goddess, Taste:

Won from her coy retreats she came,

And led him up these paths to fame.

Here ev’ry flower improves the galeFrom the meek violet of the valeTo her, who flaunts in air sublime,The woodbine, queen of summer’s prime:While each delicious shade may vieWith those of boasted Arcady.There sweet varieties appearOf thickets, shap’d by nibbling Deer,Of hills, that swell with gradual ease,Wood-skirted lawns, and scatter’d trees;Of vallies seen down distant glades,That break the mass of mingling shades;While nature’s attribute, extent,Crowns each inferior ornament!—

Here ev’ry flower improves the gale

From the meek violet of the vale

To her, who flaunts in air sublime,

The woodbine, queen of summer’s prime:

While each delicious shade may vie

With those of boasted Arcady.

There sweet varieties appear

Of thickets, shap’d by nibbling Deer,

Of hills, that swell with gradual ease,

Wood-skirted lawns, and scatter’d trees;

Of vallies seen down distant glades,

That break the mass of mingling shades;

While nature’s attribute, extent,

Crowns each inferior ornament!—

On this green unambitious brow,Fair Mistress of the vale below,With sloping hills enclos’d around,Their heads with oaks and hollies crown’d,With lucky choice, by happy hands,Plac’d in good hour, my dwelling stands;And draws the distant trav’ler’s eye,Enamour’d of it’s scenery;Where all things give, what all express,Content and rural happiness.Where far retir’d from life’s dull formComes no intruder but the storm;The storm, that with contrasted low’rEndears the fair the silent hour.

On this green unambitious brow,

Fair Mistress of the vale below,

With sloping hills enclos’d around,

Their heads with oaks and hollies crown’d,

With lucky choice, by happy hands,

Plac’d in good hour, my dwelling stands;

And draws the distant trav’ler’s eye,

Enamour’d of it’s scenery;

Where all things give, what all express,

Content and rural happiness.

Where far retir’d from life’s dull form

Comes no intruder but the storm;

The storm, that with contrasted low’r

Endears the fair the silent hour.

Thus their wise days our fathers led,Fleet ran their hounds, their arrows sped,And jocund Health with rosy smileLook’d on, companion of their toil:Till tyrant Law usurp’d the land,Stretch’d o’er the woods his iron hand,Forbad the echoing horn to blow,Maim’d the staunch hound, and snapp’d the bow.[4]

Thus their wise days our fathers led,

Fleet ran their hounds, their arrows sped,

And jocund Health with rosy smile

Look’d on, companion of their toil:

Till tyrant Law usurp’d the land,

Stretch’d o’er the woods his iron hand,

Forbad the echoing horn to blow,

Maim’d the staunch hound, and snapp’d the bow.[4]

Here with fair peace and modest fame[5]They dwelt, who boasted Bagot’s name,—Go,Bagot, plead your country’s cause,While senates listen with applause,With fearless truth and manly senseDetecting specious eloquence:Great talents to the world are due,Retirement were a crime in you.Go, and receive your oaken crown!Here, with no title to renown,Leave me to loiter at my doorBeneath the spreading sycamore,That canopies the sloping lawn;And view the deer at early dawnIn troops come winding down the hillTo taste fresh herbage near the rill;Or count at noon their slumb’ring heaps;At evening watch their playful leaps;Or hear the quiring of the groveGive breath to harmony and love;Or listen to the hum profound,In the still air that floats around;Or mark yon hills extended side,Where turf and shade the space divide;—Here the wood straggles tow’rd the plain,The pasture there prevails again;The heifer grazes on it’s brow,Clamours the rook on trees below;Gay golden furze and purple lingAround their mixt embroidery fling,O’er all, irregularly join’d,Th’ according outline waves behind.

Here with fair peace and modest fame[5]

They dwelt, who boasted Bagot’s name,—

Go,Bagot, plead your country’s cause,

While senates listen with applause,

With fearless truth and manly sense

Detecting specious eloquence:

Great talents to the world are due,

Retirement were a crime in you.

Go, and receive your oaken crown!

Here, with no title to renown,

Leave me to loiter at my door

Beneath the spreading sycamore,

That canopies the sloping lawn;

And view the deer at early dawn

In troops come winding down the hill

To taste fresh herbage near the rill;

Or count at noon their slumb’ring heaps;

At evening watch their playful leaps;

Or hear the quiring of the grove

Give breath to harmony and love;

Or listen to the hum profound,

In the still air that floats around;

Or mark yon hills extended side,

Where turf and shade the space divide;—

Here the wood straggles tow’rd the plain,

The pasture there prevails again;

The heifer grazes on it’s brow,

Clamours the rook on trees below;

Gay golden furze and purple ling

Around their mixt embroidery fling,

O’er all, irregularly join’d,

Th’ according outline waves behind.

No dusky Cares o’er-hang the bower,No Passions wreck the halcyon hour;Nurs’d in the shade Reflection springs,Smooths her white plumes, and tries her wings.No leaf of autumn falls in vain;No flower-bell droops beneath the rain,No bubble down the current flows,But life’s uncertain tenure shows.Those thorns protect the forest’s hopes;That tree the slender ivy props:Thus rise the mighty on the mean!Thus on the strong the feeble lean!In yonder holly—blush mankind!—A rare fidelity I find;Like yours tho’ summer’s flatteries end,My winter here hath found a friend.—Hail faithful fav’rite tree! to youThe Muse shall pay observance due:Whether in horrent files you standRound sapling oaks a guardian band;Or form aloft a shelt’ring bowerImpervious to the sun or shower;Whether to yon hill-side you throngRanging in various groups along;Or on the plain, maturely grown,You boldly brave the storm alone,Or tapering high, with woodbines hid,Rise in a fragrant pyramid;Your vigorous youth with upright shoots,Your verdant age, your glowing fruits,Your glossy leaves, and columns grayShall live the favorites of my lay!

No dusky Cares o’er-hang the bower,

No Passions wreck the halcyon hour;

Nurs’d in the shade Reflection springs,

Smooths her white plumes, and tries her wings.

No leaf of autumn falls in vain;

No flower-bell droops beneath the rain,

No bubble down the current flows,

But life’s uncertain tenure shows.

Those thorns protect the forest’s hopes;

That tree the slender ivy props:

Thus rise the mighty on the mean!

Thus on the strong the feeble lean!

In yonder holly—blush mankind!—

A rare fidelity I find;

Like yours tho’ summer’s flatteries end,

My winter here hath found a friend.—

Hail faithful fav’rite tree! to you

The Muse shall pay observance due:

Whether in horrent files you stand

Round sapling oaks a guardian band;

Or form aloft a shelt’ring bower

Impervious to the sun or shower;

Whether to yon hill-side you throng

Ranging in various groups along;

Or on the plain, maturely grown,

You boldly brave the storm alone,

Or tapering high, with woodbines hid,

Rise in a fragrant pyramid;

Your vigorous youth with upright shoots,

Your verdant age, your glowing fruits,

Your glossy leaves, and columns gray

Shall live the favorites of my lay!

Alas! in vain with warmth and foodYou cheer the songsters of the wood,The barbarous boy from you preparesOn treacherous twigs his viscous snares.Yes, the poor bird, you nurs’d, shall findDestruction in your rifled rind.Thus good and ill too often meet,And bitter mingles with the sweet!—Ye pedagogues! let truant youthImbibe from you this gen’rous truth;That one humane, one tender thoughtIs worth the whole, that schools have taught.

Alas! in vain with warmth and food

You cheer the songsters of the wood,

The barbarous boy from you prepares

On treacherous twigs his viscous snares.

Yes, the poor bird, you nurs’d, shall find

Destruction in your rifled rind.

Thus good and ill too often meet,

And bitter mingles with the sweet!

—Ye pedagogues! let truant youth

Imbibe from you this gen’rous truth;

That one humane, one tender thought

Is worth the whole, that schools have taught.

PART, II.

With what fond gaze my eye pursues,NEEDWOOD, thy sweetly-varying views!Satyr, or Nymph, or sylvan GodA fairer circuit never trod!Charm’d, as I turn, thy pictures seemThe golden fabricks of a dream.Where Fiction stands with prism bright,Rays forth her many-colour’d light,Dyes the green herb, and purple flower,Gives glittering lustres to the shower;Then gilds with livelier tints the sky,Or bends her radiant bow on high.To scenes so elegantly wildFancy, of old, her darling childFromAvon’sflowery margin brought,AndArdenboasts whatNeedwoodtaught.[6]Such shades by mazy paths perplex’d,Where strays the traveller inly vex’d,Inspir’d the Muse ofSpencer’spen;Thewandering wood, andErrors den,[7]Dwarfs, Palfreys, Dames, and Giants riseFull on Imaginations eyes!See, See the Sarazin advance!The red-cross Knight hath couch’d his lance!They meet, the Christian wins the field,And bears away thefaithlessshield![8]With such companions fond to rove,I venerate each hill and grove,To Phœbus as to Dian dear,And find a new Parnassus here.Here might the sacred sisters dwellBy pebbly brook, or gushing well:O let me listen, as they sing,In some close vale beside a spring,Whose stream the intruding alder chides,Where the wild-bee her treasure hides!—Or sit in high imbowering shadeWith Contemplation, heav’n-ey’d maid,Where the scant sun through branches thinChequers the dark green floor within;Where ev’ry leaf is wisdom’s page,And each gray trunk a hoary sage.Nor motion, human form, or noiseThis solemn pause of life destroys;Save where the playful squirrel bounds,Or ring-dove pours her plaintive sounds,Or lurking peasant lops an oakRestraining half his pilfering stroke,Or with his faggot stoops to restBoth by his years and burthen prest.Here, seen of old, the elfin raceWith sprightly vigils mark’d the place;Their gay processions charm’d the sight,Gilding the lucid noon of night;Or, when obscure the midnight hour,With glow-worm lantherns hung the bower.—Hark!—the soft lute! along the greenMoves with majestic step the queen!Attendant Fays around her throng,And trace the dance or raise the song;Or touch the shrill reed, as they trip,With finger light and ruby lip.High, on her brow sublime, is bornOne scarlet wood-bine’s tremulous horn;A gaudy bee-bird’s triple plume[9]Sheds on her neck its waving gloom;With silvery gossamer entwin’dStream the luxuriant locks behind.Thin folds of tangled network breakIn airy waves adown her neck:Warp’d in his loom, the spider spreadThe far-diverging rays of thread,Then round and round with shuttle fineInwrought the undulating line.One rose-leaf forms her crimson vest,The loose edge crosses o’er her breast.And one translucent fold, which fellFrom the tall lily’s ample bell,Forms with sweet grace her snowy train,Flows, as she steps, and sweeps the plain.Silence and Night inchanted gaze,And Hesper hides his vanquish’d rays!—Now the wak’d reed-birds swell their throats,And night-larks trill their mingled notes:Yet hush’d in moss with writhed neckThe black-bird hides his golden beak;Charm’d from his dream of love, he wakes,Opes his gay eye, his plumage shakes,And stretching wide each ebon wing,First in low whispers tries to sing;Then sounds his clarion loud, and thrillsThe moon-bright lawns, and shadowy hills.Silent the choral Fays attend,And then their silver voices blend,Each shining thread of sound prolong,And weave the magic woof of song.Pleas’d Philomela takes her standOn high, and leads the fairy band,Pours sweet at intervals her strain,And guides with beating wing the train.Whilst interrupted zephyrs bearHoarse murmurs from the distant wear;And at each pause is heard the swellOf Echo’s soft symphonius shell.Nor the dread night my mind alarms,—Night, and her horrors have their charms.O’er the wide forest oft I roam,What time the trav’ler, far from home,Bewilder’d in the pathless brakes,There his cold bed despairing makes;And hear the fox with savage barkPay distant courtship through the dark;The owl with fault’ring voice unfoldHer tale, like one who shakes with cold:And then the alarmed woods resoundTh’ upbraidings of the well-train’d hound,Who with tremendous tongue arraignsAnd haunts the plunderer of his plains.So cries from earth the life-blood spilt,So waking furies harrass guilt!Oft have I through this solemn gladeOf old dismember’d hollies stray’d,Whose bold bare rugged brows are seenThrust through the mantling ever-green;Tall clustring columns here ascend,And there in gothic arches bend;[10]Whilst, as the silver moon-beams rise,Imagin’d temples strike my eyes,With tottering spire, and mouldering wall,And high roof nodding to its fall.—His lantern gleaming down the glade,One, like a sexton with his spade,[11]Comes from their caverns to excludeThe mid-night prowlers of the wood.—Through fields of air while pausing slow,Yon death-bell tells the village woe!Born on her clouds when Darkness flingsO’er the still air her raven wings,Ere yet the watery freight descends,While Heaven it’s purposes suspends,Night, let me stand in silent trance,And watch the lightning’s kindling glance:While, stiff’ning at the imagin’d stroke,Appears behind a brighten’d oak,From justice fled to this wild place,A conscious robber’s gastly face!—Or fancy views with fear-fix’d eyeA mangled spectre gliding by,Quick with the flash who seems to waveHis pale hand, beck’ning to a grave!—And, as the fleeting vision dies,Loud thunders shake the closing skies.Night, when rude blasts thy scenes deform,O place me in the perilous storm!While the moon labouring thro’ the cloudsBy turns her light reveals and shrouds;Torn from it’s trunk, when whirlwinds bearThe twisted ash aloft in air:And some vast elm’s uprooted spoilPloughs in its headlong fall the soil.While, as he stalks thro’ groaning oaks,At intervals the old deer croaks:And the lean sow with paps drawn dryO’er rustling leaves trots whining by.—Then posts across the blasted plain,Born on the wild storm, Witchcraft’s train,Aghast with guilt, and shrunk with age,And yelling with demoniack rage!—With eyes turn’d back malign and wideSee blood-stain’d Murder silent stride,A moon-beam’s sudden light expands,He starts, and hides his crimson hands!—And now the cauldron gleams afar,Fir’d by a baneful meteor’s glare,Around they dance, they pause, and pourThe mischiefs of the midnight hour;While trembling fiends with wonder gaze,Stretch their black wings, and fan the blaze!

With what fond gaze my eye pursues,

NEEDWOOD, thy sweetly-varying views!

Satyr, or Nymph, or sylvan God

A fairer circuit never trod!

Charm’d, as I turn, thy pictures seem

The golden fabricks of a dream.

Where Fiction stands with prism bright,

Rays forth her many-colour’d light,

Dyes the green herb, and purple flower,

Gives glittering lustres to the shower;

Then gilds with livelier tints the sky,

Or bends her radiant bow on high.

To scenes so elegantly wildFancy, of old, her darling childFromAvon’sflowery margin brought,AndArdenboasts whatNeedwoodtaught.[6]

To scenes so elegantly wild

Fancy, of old, her darling child

FromAvon’sflowery margin brought,

AndArdenboasts whatNeedwoodtaught.[6]

Such shades by mazy paths perplex’d,Where strays the traveller inly vex’d,Inspir’d the Muse ofSpencer’spen;Thewandering wood, andErrors den,[7]Dwarfs, Palfreys, Dames, and Giants riseFull on Imaginations eyes!See, See the Sarazin advance!The red-cross Knight hath couch’d his lance!They meet, the Christian wins the field,And bears away thefaithlessshield![8]

Such shades by mazy paths perplex’d,

Where strays the traveller inly vex’d,

Inspir’d the Muse ofSpencer’spen;

Thewandering wood, andErrors den,[7]

Dwarfs, Palfreys, Dames, and Giants rise

Full on Imaginations eyes!

See, See the Sarazin advance!

The red-cross Knight hath couch’d his lance!

They meet, the Christian wins the field,

And bears away thefaithlessshield![8]

With such companions fond to rove,I venerate each hill and grove,To Phœbus as to Dian dear,And find a new Parnassus here.Here might the sacred sisters dwellBy pebbly brook, or gushing well:O let me listen, as they sing,In some close vale beside a spring,Whose stream the intruding alder chides,Where the wild-bee her treasure hides!—Or sit in high imbowering shadeWith Contemplation, heav’n-ey’d maid,Where the scant sun through branches thinChequers the dark green floor within;Where ev’ry leaf is wisdom’s page,And each gray trunk a hoary sage.Nor motion, human form, or noiseThis solemn pause of life destroys;Save where the playful squirrel bounds,Or ring-dove pours her plaintive sounds,Or lurking peasant lops an oakRestraining half his pilfering stroke,Or with his faggot stoops to restBoth by his years and burthen prest.

With such companions fond to rove,

I venerate each hill and grove,

To Phœbus as to Dian dear,

And find a new Parnassus here.

Here might the sacred sisters dwell

By pebbly brook, or gushing well:

O let me listen, as they sing,

In some close vale beside a spring,

Whose stream the intruding alder chides,

Where the wild-bee her treasure hides!—

Or sit in high imbowering shade

With Contemplation, heav’n-ey’d maid,

Where the scant sun through branches thin

Chequers the dark green floor within;

Where ev’ry leaf is wisdom’s page,

And each gray trunk a hoary sage.

Nor motion, human form, or noise

This solemn pause of life destroys;

Save where the playful squirrel bounds,

Or ring-dove pours her plaintive sounds,

Or lurking peasant lops an oak

Restraining half his pilfering stroke,

Or with his faggot stoops to rest

Both by his years and burthen prest.

Here, seen of old, the elfin raceWith sprightly vigils mark’d the place;Their gay processions charm’d the sight,Gilding the lucid noon of night;Or, when obscure the midnight hour,With glow-worm lantherns hung the bower.—Hark!—the soft lute! along the greenMoves with majestic step the queen!Attendant Fays around her throng,And trace the dance or raise the song;Or touch the shrill reed, as they trip,With finger light and ruby lip.

Here, seen of old, the elfin race

With sprightly vigils mark’d the place;

Their gay processions charm’d the sight,

Gilding the lucid noon of night;

Or, when obscure the midnight hour,

With glow-worm lantherns hung the bower.

—Hark!—the soft lute! along the green

Moves with majestic step the queen!

Attendant Fays around her throng,

And trace the dance or raise the song;

Or touch the shrill reed, as they trip,

With finger light and ruby lip.

High, on her brow sublime, is bornOne scarlet wood-bine’s tremulous horn;A gaudy bee-bird’s triple plume[9]Sheds on her neck its waving gloom;With silvery gossamer entwin’dStream the luxuriant locks behind.Thin folds of tangled network breakIn airy waves adown her neck:Warp’d in his loom, the spider spreadThe far-diverging rays of thread,Then round and round with shuttle fineInwrought the undulating line.One rose-leaf forms her crimson vest,The loose edge crosses o’er her breast.And one translucent fold, which fellFrom the tall lily’s ample bell,Forms with sweet grace her snowy train,Flows, as she steps, and sweeps the plain.Silence and Night inchanted gaze,And Hesper hides his vanquish’d rays!—

High, on her brow sublime, is born

One scarlet wood-bine’s tremulous horn;

A gaudy bee-bird’s triple plume[9]

Sheds on her neck its waving gloom;

With silvery gossamer entwin’d

Stream the luxuriant locks behind.

Thin folds of tangled network break

In airy waves adown her neck:

Warp’d in his loom, the spider spread

The far-diverging rays of thread,

Then round and round with shuttle fine

Inwrought the undulating line.

One rose-leaf forms her crimson vest,

The loose edge crosses o’er her breast.

And one translucent fold, which fell

From the tall lily’s ample bell,

Forms with sweet grace her snowy train,

Flows, as she steps, and sweeps the plain.

Silence and Night inchanted gaze,

And Hesper hides his vanquish’d rays!—

Now the wak’d reed-birds swell their throats,And night-larks trill their mingled notes:Yet hush’d in moss with writhed neckThe black-bird hides his golden beak;Charm’d from his dream of love, he wakes,Opes his gay eye, his plumage shakes,And stretching wide each ebon wing,First in low whispers tries to sing;Then sounds his clarion loud, and thrillsThe moon-bright lawns, and shadowy hills.Silent the choral Fays attend,And then their silver voices blend,Each shining thread of sound prolong,And weave the magic woof of song.Pleas’d Philomela takes her standOn high, and leads the fairy band,Pours sweet at intervals her strain,And guides with beating wing the train.Whilst interrupted zephyrs bearHoarse murmurs from the distant wear;And at each pause is heard the swellOf Echo’s soft symphonius shell.

Now the wak’d reed-birds swell their throats,

And night-larks trill their mingled notes:

Yet hush’d in moss with writhed neck

The black-bird hides his golden beak;

Charm’d from his dream of love, he wakes,

Opes his gay eye, his plumage shakes,

And stretching wide each ebon wing,

First in low whispers tries to sing;

Then sounds his clarion loud, and thrills

The moon-bright lawns, and shadowy hills.

Silent the choral Fays attend,

And then their silver voices blend,

Each shining thread of sound prolong,

And weave the magic woof of song.

Pleas’d Philomela takes her stand

On high, and leads the fairy band,

Pours sweet at intervals her strain,

And guides with beating wing the train.

Whilst interrupted zephyrs bear

Hoarse murmurs from the distant wear;

And at each pause is heard the swell

Of Echo’s soft symphonius shell.

Nor the dread night my mind alarms,—Night, and her horrors have their charms.O’er the wide forest oft I roam,What time the trav’ler, far from home,Bewilder’d in the pathless brakes,There his cold bed despairing makes;And hear the fox with savage barkPay distant courtship through the dark;The owl with fault’ring voice unfoldHer tale, like one who shakes with cold:And then the alarmed woods resoundTh’ upbraidings of the well-train’d hound,Who with tremendous tongue arraignsAnd haunts the plunderer of his plains.So cries from earth the life-blood spilt,So waking furies harrass guilt!

Nor the dread night my mind alarms,—

Night, and her horrors have their charms.

O’er the wide forest oft I roam,

What time the trav’ler, far from home,

Bewilder’d in the pathless brakes,

There his cold bed despairing makes;

And hear the fox with savage bark

Pay distant courtship through the dark;

The owl with fault’ring voice unfold

Her tale, like one who shakes with cold:

And then the alarmed woods resound

Th’ upbraidings of the well-train’d hound,

Who with tremendous tongue arraigns

And haunts the plunderer of his plains.

So cries from earth the life-blood spilt,

So waking furies harrass guilt!

Oft have I through this solemn gladeOf old dismember’d hollies stray’d,Whose bold bare rugged brows are seenThrust through the mantling ever-green;Tall clustring columns here ascend,And there in gothic arches bend;[10]Whilst, as the silver moon-beams rise,Imagin’d temples strike my eyes,With tottering spire, and mouldering wall,And high roof nodding to its fall.—His lantern gleaming down the glade,One, like a sexton with his spade,[11]Comes from their caverns to excludeThe mid-night prowlers of the wood.—Through fields of air while pausing slow,Yon death-bell tells the village woe!

Oft have I through this solemn glade

Of old dismember’d hollies stray’d,

Whose bold bare rugged brows are seen

Thrust through the mantling ever-green;

Tall clustring columns here ascend,

And there in gothic arches bend;[10]

Whilst, as the silver moon-beams rise,

Imagin’d temples strike my eyes,

With tottering spire, and mouldering wall,

And high roof nodding to its fall.—

His lantern gleaming down the glade,

One, like a sexton with his spade,[11]

Comes from their caverns to exclude

The mid-night prowlers of the wood.—

Through fields of air while pausing slow,

Yon death-bell tells the village woe!

Born on her clouds when Darkness flingsO’er the still air her raven wings,Ere yet the watery freight descends,While Heaven it’s purposes suspends,Night, let me stand in silent trance,And watch the lightning’s kindling glance:While, stiff’ning at the imagin’d stroke,Appears behind a brighten’d oak,From justice fled to this wild place,A conscious robber’s gastly face!—Or fancy views with fear-fix’d eyeA mangled spectre gliding by,Quick with the flash who seems to waveHis pale hand, beck’ning to a grave!—And, as the fleeting vision dies,Loud thunders shake the closing skies.

Born on her clouds when Darkness flings

O’er the still air her raven wings,

Ere yet the watery freight descends,

While Heaven it’s purposes suspends,

Night, let me stand in silent trance,

And watch the lightning’s kindling glance:

While, stiff’ning at the imagin’d stroke,

Appears behind a brighten’d oak,

From justice fled to this wild place,

A conscious robber’s gastly face!—

Or fancy views with fear-fix’d eye

A mangled spectre gliding by,

Quick with the flash who seems to wave

His pale hand, beck’ning to a grave!—

And, as the fleeting vision dies,

Loud thunders shake the closing skies.

Night, when rude blasts thy scenes deform,O place me in the perilous storm!While the moon labouring thro’ the cloudsBy turns her light reveals and shrouds;Torn from it’s trunk, when whirlwinds bearThe twisted ash aloft in air:And some vast elm’s uprooted spoilPloughs in its headlong fall the soil.While, as he stalks thro’ groaning oaks,At intervals the old deer croaks:And the lean sow with paps drawn dryO’er rustling leaves trots whining by.—

Night, when rude blasts thy scenes deform,

O place me in the perilous storm!

While the moon labouring thro’ the clouds

By turns her light reveals and shrouds;

Torn from it’s trunk, when whirlwinds bear

The twisted ash aloft in air:

And some vast elm’s uprooted spoil

Ploughs in its headlong fall the soil.

While, as he stalks thro’ groaning oaks,

At intervals the old deer croaks:

And the lean sow with paps drawn dry

O’er rustling leaves trots whining by.—

Then posts across the blasted plain,Born on the wild storm, Witchcraft’s train,Aghast with guilt, and shrunk with age,And yelling with demoniack rage!—With eyes turn’d back malign and wideSee blood-stain’d Murder silent stride,A moon-beam’s sudden light expands,He starts, and hides his crimson hands!—And now the cauldron gleams afar,Fir’d by a baneful meteor’s glare,Around they dance, they pause, and pourThe mischiefs of the midnight hour;While trembling fiends with wonder gaze,Stretch their black wings, and fan the blaze!

Then posts across the blasted plain,

Born on the wild storm, Witchcraft’s train,

Aghast with guilt, and shrunk with age,

And yelling with demoniack rage!—

With eyes turn’d back malign and wide

See blood-stain’d Murder silent stride,

A moon-beam’s sudden light expands,

He starts, and hides his crimson hands!—

And now the cauldron gleams afar,

Fir’d by a baneful meteor’s glare,

Around they dance, they pause, and pour

The mischiefs of the midnight hour;

While trembling fiends with wonder gaze,

Stretch their black wings, and fan the blaze!

PART, III.

Ere Night withdraws her starry train,I print long traces o’er the plain,And bend my eyes to yon bright eastTo meet the Morning’s radiant guest,As o’er the hill his golden raysBurst thro’ the thicket in a blaze.Now from my foot the startled fawnBounds to its parent on the lawn;And the wak’d lark exulting springs,Hangs high in air on quivering wings,Chaunts his loud transports o’er the heath,And eyes his list’ning loves beneath.Oft shall myTalbothither stray,And friendship give new joys to day;On him his blooming bride attend,Hither her graceful footsteps bend,Fresh life her brighter beauties flingO’er the young dawn, and blossom’d spring.They come! their eddying wheels resound,The harness’d coursers proudly bound,The light-hung chariot floats in air,And laughing Hymen wreaths the pair!As o’er the daisy’d lawns they moveBy glittering rill or dusky grove,OldNeedwoodcalls his softest gale,Bids all his fragrant buds exhale:His gazing herds around them throng,His plighted birds suspend their song,Each on her urn his Naiads lean,And Wood-nymphs peep from allies green.Where this gay mount o’er-looks the wood,[12]Charm’d with the scene a monarch stood,Call’d these fair plains the richest gem,That deck’d his triple diadem,Awhile the cares of state forgot,And with it’s name adorn’d the spot.Down yon meridian fields afarWhen Mercia led her chiefs to war,Fell in one hour three monarchs brave,AndLichfield’sbower protects their grave.[13]Her stately spires amidst the skiesTing’d by the orient sun arise,With golden vanes invite the gale.—Triumphant ladies of the vale!Down yon mid-vale the british Nile,[14]FairDove, comes winding many a mile;And from his copious urn distilsThe fatness of a thousand hills.Swell, generous river, leave thy banks,The thirsty soil shall give thee thanks!—The generous river swells, and leadsHis waters o’er impoverish’d meads,And lays his ample treasure down,Rich emblem of thy bounty,Brown![15]Pleas’d on yon high abode I gaze,WhenceC’andishfoaming Dove surveys:[16]And where those humbler vales extendOf thine,Fitzherbert, chearful friend.[17]Or mark upon yon round ascentThe social flag and open tent,[18]Where life’s smooth paths with sweets are strown,And mirth makes every hour it’s own.Where spreads this grove it’s umbrage wideLate the bold Outlaw fought and died.[19]Oft in it’s dark recess the oakHad fall’n beneath his secret stroke,Full many a deer the night’s dim rayBeheld his silent arrow slay,Deep furze conceal’d the fawns in vain,And lust of lucre thinn’d the plain.Here, by no power before controll’d,He met a forester as bold;O’er the fierce conflict frown’d the wood,And drank with thirsty roots his blood.Yon bank demands a pitying look,Where life a gentler breast forsook;[20]Sole comfort of an aged pair!The true-love of a damsel fair!—At prime of dawn he stepp’d away;Long was the journey, short the day;The wint’ry blast blew loud and chill;Night caught him on the unshelter’d hill;Fatigu’d he fell; no help came nigh;His faithful dog alone was by;Who, as he fondly lick’d his cheek,Heard his expiring master speak.“Heap not for me thy cottage-fire;“Cold grows my heart, unhappy sire!“But turn to my unfinish’d loom,“And weave the web, and bear it home!“Prepare not, dame, my evening meal;“But bid them ring my passing peal!“Deck not thyself, dear maid, to meet“Thy love; but bring his winding sheet!“I come not to your festive cheer;“Ye comrades, place me on my bier!—”—The morrow found him stiff and pale:Mournful the Muse recounts his tale.Her stately tower thereHanburyrears,Which proudly looks o’er distant shires;Down the chill slope and darken’d gladeProjects afar it’s length of shade;Assails the skies with giant force,And checks the whirlwind in it’s course;Or, when black clouds involve the pole,Disarms the thunders, as they roll!—Beneath how Nature throws aroundGrand inequalities of ground,While down the dells and o’er the steepsThe wavy line of Paphos creeps!—With awful sorrow I beholdYon cliff, that frowns with ruins old;[21]StoutFerrersthere kept faithless ward,[22]AndGauntperform’d his Castle-guard.[23]There captiveMarylook’d in vain[24]ForNorfolk, and her nuptial train;Enrich’d with royal tears the Dove,But sigh’d for freedom, not from love.’Twas once the seat of festive state,Where high born dames and nobles sat;While minstrels, each in order heard,[25]Their venerable songs preferr’d.False memory of it’s state remainsIn the rude sport of brutal swains.[26]Now serpents hiss, and foxes dwellAmidst the mould’ring citadel;And time but spares those broken towersIn mockery of human powers.Yon hill, that glows with southern rays,[27]All-conscious of superior praise,Swells her smooth top and pastures green,And of her sisters seems the queen;Proud from her ancient seats to traceThe lineage of a generous race.“That generous race,” fairSudburycries,“Is mine,” and bids her turrets rise,Lifts from the lap of peace her dome,Where finds Munificence a home;Then wide her shining lake she leadsThrough blossom’d groves and emerald meads,Cloaths with dark woods the distant scene,And pours her dappled herds between.—Ah me! what sudden sadness lowersO’er her fair front and vernal bowers!There sinks to her untimely tombA virgin flower in beauty’s bloom!O thou wast all that youth admires,A parent loves, or friend desires!I knew thee well! my sorrowing heartBears in thy loss a bitter part!—Whilst the sad Muse in plaintive verseStrews all her flowers around thy hearse,Let Pity quit thy grave, and goA mourner to yon house of woe.There from thy father’s bosom breakSighs, which too eloquently speak:Thy mother weeps, but weeps resign’d,In all things noble, most in mind:Pale griefs thy sisters’ cheeks invade;And one, alas, too tender maid!Holds a long melancholy strifeBetwixt her sorrows and her life:Thy manly brothers strive to cureIn vain, the pangs themselves endure.Fair Saint! a happier lot is thineRepos’d beneath the silent shrine!Now let me seek in pensive moodThe rude recesses of the wood;And, where congenial gloom extends,Think of lost hopes and distant friends;Of scenes, whose pleasures fled too fast,And hours most valued now they’re past!Beside me lies a dingle deep,[28]With shaggy banks abrupt and steep;Through vistas wild my course I bend,Till day-light opens at the end:Where from intoxicating heightBursts the wide prospect on my sight.The terrace bold, on which I stand,Steps broad and forward on the land;Rude hills compose the side-long scene,With crofts and cottages between:The various landscape onward spreadsO’er cultur’d plains and verdant meads;And seats, and towns, and hamlets rise,Where yon smoke curls into the skies,And spires, that pierce thro’ tufted trees;Till, faintly fading by degrees,Beyond, in wild confusion tost,The hills blue tops in clouds are lost.Yes,Eaton-Banks, in vain I strive[29]To hide the grief your oaks revive.—Bow thy tall branches, grateful wood!Afford me blossom, leaf, and bud!He, for whose memory these I blend,Thy late-lost master, was my friend!—Fall, gentle dews! fresh zephyrs, breathe!Spread, cooling shades! preserve my wreath!—Alas, it withers ere its time!—So faded he in manly prime!—But Virtue, scorning friendship’s aid,Rears her own palms, which never fade!

Ere Night withdraws her starry train,

I print long traces o’er the plain,

And bend my eyes to yon bright east

To meet the Morning’s radiant guest,

As o’er the hill his golden rays

Burst thro’ the thicket in a blaze.

Now from my foot the startled fawn

Bounds to its parent on the lawn;

And the wak’d lark exulting springs,

Hangs high in air on quivering wings,

Chaunts his loud transports o’er the heath,

And eyes his list’ning loves beneath.

Oft shall myTalbothither stray,And friendship give new joys to day;On him his blooming bride attend,Hither her graceful footsteps bend,Fresh life her brighter beauties flingO’er the young dawn, and blossom’d spring.

Oft shall myTalbothither stray,

And friendship give new joys to day;

On him his blooming bride attend,

Hither her graceful footsteps bend,

Fresh life her brighter beauties fling

O’er the young dawn, and blossom’d spring.

They come! their eddying wheels resound,The harness’d coursers proudly bound,The light-hung chariot floats in air,And laughing Hymen wreaths the pair!As o’er the daisy’d lawns they moveBy glittering rill or dusky grove,OldNeedwoodcalls his softest gale,Bids all his fragrant buds exhale:His gazing herds around them throng,His plighted birds suspend their song,Each on her urn his Naiads lean,And Wood-nymphs peep from allies green.

They come! their eddying wheels resound,

The harness’d coursers proudly bound,

The light-hung chariot floats in air,

And laughing Hymen wreaths the pair!

As o’er the daisy’d lawns they move

By glittering rill or dusky grove,

OldNeedwoodcalls his softest gale,

Bids all his fragrant buds exhale:

His gazing herds around them throng,

His plighted birds suspend their song,

Each on her urn his Naiads lean,

And Wood-nymphs peep from allies green.

Where this gay mount o’er-looks the wood,[12]Charm’d with the scene a monarch stood,Call’d these fair plains the richest gem,That deck’d his triple diadem,Awhile the cares of state forgot,And with it’s name adorn’d the spot.

Where this gay mount o’er-looks the wood,[12]

Charm’d with the scene a monarch stood,

Call’d these fair plains the richest gem,

That deck’d his triple diadem,

Awhile the cares of state forgot,

And with it’s name adorn’d the spot.

Down yon meridian fields afarWhen Mercia led her chiefs to war,Fell in one hour three monarchs brave,AndLichfield’sbower protects their grave.[13]Her stately spires amidst the skiesTing’d by the orient sun arise,With golden vanes invite the gale.—Triumphant ladies of the vale!

Down yon meridian fields afar

When Mercia led her chiefs to war,

Fell in one hour three monarchs brave,

AndLichfield’sbower protects their grave.[13]

Her stately spires amidst the skies

Ting’d by the orient sun arise,

With golden vanes invite the gale.—

Triumphant ladies of the vale!

Down yon mid-vale the british Nile,[14]FairDove, comes winding many a mile;And from his copious urn distilsThe fatness of a thousand hills.Swell, generous river, leave thy banks,The thirsty soil shall give thee thanks!—The generous river swells, and leadsHis waters o’er impoverish’d meads,And lays his ample treasure down,Rich emblem of thy bounty,Brown![15]

Down yon mid-vale the british Nile,[14]

FairDove, comes winding many a mile;

And from his copious urn distils

The fatness of a thousand hills.

Swell, generous river, leave thy banks,

The thirsty soil shall give thee thanks!—

The generous river swells, and leads

His waters o’er impoverish’d meads,

And lays his ample treasure down,

Rich emblem of thy bounty,Brown![15]

Pleas’d on yon high abode I gaze,WhenceC’andishfoaming Dove surveys:[16]And where those humbler vales extendOf thine,Fitzherbert, chearful friend.[17]Or mark upon yon round ascentThe social flag and open tent,[18]Where life’s smooth paths with sweets are strown,And mirth makes every hour it’s own.

Pleas’d on yon high abode I gaze,

WhenceC’andishfoaming Dove surveys:[16]

And where those humbler vales extend

Of thine,Fitzherbert, chearful friend.[17]

Or mark upon yon round ascent

The social flag and open tent,[18]

Where life’s smooth paths with sweets are strown,

And mirth makes every hour it’s own.

Where spreads this grove it’s umbrage wideLate the bold Outlaw fought and died.[19]Oft in it’s dark recess the oakHad fall’n beneath his secret stroke,Full many a deer the night’s dim rayBeheld his silent arrow slay,Deep furze conceal’d the fawns in vain,And lust of lucre thinn’d the plain.Here, by no power before controll’d,He met a forester as bold;O’er the fierce conflict frown’d the wood,And drank with thirsty roots his blood.

Where spreads this grove it’s umbrage wide

Late the bold Outlaw fought and died.[19]

Oft in it’s dark recess the oak

Had fall’n beneath his secret stroke,

Full many a deer the night’s dim ray

Beheld his silent arrow slay,

Deep furze conceal’d the fawns in vain,

And lust of lucre thinn’d the plain.

Here, by no power before controll’d,

He met a forester as bold;

O’er the fierce conflict frown’d the wood,

And drank with thirsty roots his blood.

Yon bank demands a pitying look,Where life a gentler breast forsook;[20]Sole comfort of an aged pair!The true-love of a damsel fair!—At prime of dawn he stepp’d away;Long was the journey, short the day;The wint’ry blast blew loud and chill;Night caught him on the unshelter’d hill;Fatigu’d he fell; no help came nigh;His faithful dog alone was by;Who, as he fondly lick’d his cheek,Heard his expiring master speak.“Heap not for me thy cottage-fire;“Cold grows my heart, unhappy sire!“But turn to my unfinish’d loom,“And weave the web, and bear it home!“Prepare not, dame, my evening meal;“But bid them ring my passing peal!“Deck not thyself, dear maid, to meet“Thy love; but bring his winding sheet!“I come not to your festive cheer;“Ye comrades, place me on my bier!—”—The morrow found him stiff and pale:Mournful the Muse recounts his tale.

Yon bank demands a pitying look,

Where life a gentler breast forsook;[20]

Sole comfort of an aged pair!

The true-love of a damsel fair!—

At prime of dawn he stepp’d away;

Long was the journey, short the day;

The wint’ry blast blew loud and chill;

Night caught him on the unshelter’d hill;

Fatigu’d he fell; no help came nigh;

His faithful dog alone was by;

Who, as he fondly lick’d his cheek,

Heard his expiring master speak.

“Heap not for me thy cottage-fire;

“Cold grows my heart, unhappy sire!

“But turn to my unfinish’d loom,

“And weave the web, and bear it home!

“Prepare not, dame, my evening meal;

“But bid them ring my passing peal!

“Deck not thyself, dear maid, to meet

“Thy love; but bring his winding sheet!

“I come not to your festive cheer;

“Ye comrades, place me on my bier!—”

—The morrow found him stiff and pale:

Mournful the Muse recounts his tale.

Her stately tower thereHanburyrears,Which proudly looks o’er distant shires;Down the chill slope and darken’d gladeProjects afar it’s length of shade;Assails the skies with giant force,And checks the whirlwind in it’s course;Or, when black clouds involve the pole,Disarms the thunders, as they roll!—Beneath how Nature throws aroundGrand inequalities of ground,While down the dells and o’er the steepsThe wavy line of Paphos creeps!—

Her stately tower thereHanburyrears,

Which proudly looks o’er distant shires;

Down the chill slope and darken’d glade

Projects afar it’s length of shade;

Assails the skies with giant force,

And checks the whirlwind in it’s course;

Or, when black clouds involve the pole,

Disarms the thunders, as they roll!—

Beneath how Nature throws around

Grand inequalities of ground,

While down the dells and o’er the steeps

The wavy line of Paphos creeps!—

With awful sorrow I beholdYon cliff, that frowns with ruins old;[21]StoutFerrersthere kept faithless ward,[22]AndGauntperform’d his Castle-guard.[23]There captiveMarylook’d in vain[24]ForNorfolk, and her nuptial train;Enrich’d with royal tears the Dove,But sigh’d for freedom, not from love.’Twas once the seat of festive state,Where high born dames and nobles sat;While minstrels, each in order heard,[25]Their venerable songs preferr’d.False memory of it’s state remainsIn the rude sport of brutal swains.[26]Now serpents hiss, and foxes dwellAmidst the mould’ring citadel;And time but spares those broken towersIn mockery of human powers.

With awful sorrow I behold

Yon cliff, that frowns with ruins old;[21]

StoutFerrersthere kept faithless ward,[22]

AndGauntperform’d his Castle-guard.[23]

There captiveMarylook’d in vain[24]

ForNorfolk, and her nuptial train;

Enrich’d with royal tears the Dove,

But sigh’d for freedom, not from love.

’Twas once the seat of festive state,

Where high born dames and nobles sat;

While minstrels, each in order heard,[25]

Their venerable songs preferr’d.

False memory of it’s state remains

In the rude sport of brutal swains.[26]

Now serpents hiss, and foxes dwell

Amidst the mould’ring citadel;

And time but spares those broken towers

In mockery of human powers.

Yon hill, that glows with southern rays,[27]All-conscious of superior praise,Swells her smooth top and pastures green,And of her sisters seems the queen;Proud from her ancient seats to traceThe lineage of a generous race.“That generous race,” fairSudburycries,“Is mine,” and bids her turrets rise,Lifts from the lap of peace her dome,Where finds Munificence a home;Then wide her shining lake she leadsThrough blossom’d groves and emerald meads,Cloaths with dark woods the distant scene,And pours her dappled herds between.—Ah me! what sudden sadness lowersO’er her fair front and vernal bowers!There sinks to her untimely tombA virgin flower in beauty’s bloom!O thou wast all that youth admires,A parent loves, or friend desires!I knew thee well! my sorrowing heartBears in thy loss a bitter part!—Whilst the sad Muse in plaintive verseStrews all her flowers around thy hearse,Let Pity quit thy grave, and goA mourner to yon house of woe.There from thy father’s bosom breakSighs, which too eloquently speak:Thy mother weeps, but weeps resign’d,In all things noble, most in mind:Pale griefs thy sisters’ cheeks invade;And one, alas, too tender maid!Holds a long melancholy strifeBetwixt her sorrows and her life:Thy manly brothers strive to cureIn vain, the pangs themselves endure.Fair Saint! a happier lot is thineRepos’d beneath the silent shrine!

Yon hill, that glows with southern rays,[27]

All-conscious of superior praise,

Swells her smooth top and pastures green,

And of her sisters seems the queen;

Proud from her ancient seats to trace

The lineage of a generous race.

“That generous race,” fairSudburycries,

“Is mine,” and bids her turrets rise,

Lifts from the lap of peace her dome,

Where finds Munificence a home;

Then wide her shining lake she leads

Through blossom’d groves and emerald meads,

Cloaths with dark woods the distant scene,

And pours her dappled herds between.

—Ah me! what sudden sadness lowers

O’er her fair front and vernal bowers!

There sinks to her untimely tomb

A virgin flower in beauty’s bloom!

O thou wast all that youth admires,

A parent loves, or friend desires!

I knew thee well! my sorrowing heart

Bears in thy loss a bitter part!—

Whilst the sad Muse in plaintive verse

Strews all her flowers around thy hearse,

Let Pity quit thy grave, and go

A mourner to yon house of woe.

There from thy father’s bosom break

Sighs, which too eloquently speak:

Thy mother weeps, but weeps resign’d,

In all things noble, most in mind:

Pale griefs thy sisters’ cheeks invade;

And one, alas, too tender maid!

Holds a long melancholy strife

Betwixt her sorrows and her life:

Thy manly brothers strive to cure

In vain, the pangs themselves endure.

Fair Saint! a happier lot is thine

Repos’d beneath the silent shrine!

Now let me seek in pensive moodThe rude recesses of the wood;And, where congenial gloom extends,Think of lost hopes and distant friends;Of scenes, whose pleasures fled too fast,And hours most valued now they’re past!

Now let me seek in pensive mood

The rude recesses of the wood;

And, where congenial gloom extends,

Think of lost hopes and distant friends;

Of scenes, whose pleasures fled too fast,

And hours most valued now they’re past!

Beside me lies a dingle deep,[28]With shaggy banks abrupt and steep;Through vistas wild my course I bend,Till day-light opens at the end:Where from intoxicating heightBursts the wide prospect on my sight.The terrace bold, on which I stand,Steps broad and forward on the land;Rude hills compose the side-long scene,With crofts and cottages between:The various landscape onward spreadsO’er cultur’d plains and verdant meads;And seats, and towns, and hamlets rise,Where yon smoke curls into the skies,And spires, that pierce thro’ tufted trees;Till, faintly fading by degrees,Beyond, in wild confusion tost,The hills blue tops in clouds are lost.

Beside me lies a dingle deep,[28]

With shaggy banks abrupt and steep;

Through vistas wild my course I bend,

Till day-light opens at the end:

Where from intoxicating height

Bursts the wide prospect on my sight.

The terrace bold, on which I stand,

Steps broad and forward on the land;

Rude hills compose the side-long scene,

With crofts and cottages between:

The various landscape onward spreads

O’er cultur’d plains and verdant meads;

And seats, and towns, and hamlets rise,

Where yon smoke curls into the skies,

And spires, that pierce thro’ tufted trees;

Till, faintly fading by degrees,

Beyond, in wild confusion tost,

The hills blue tops in clouds are lost.

Yes,Eaton-Banks, in vain I strive[29]To hide the grief your oaks revive.—Bow thy tall branches, grateful wood!Afford me blossom, leaf, and bud!He, for whose memory these I blend,Thy late-lost master, was my friend!—Fall, gentle dews! fresh zephyrs, breathe!Spread, cooling shades! preserve my wreath!—Alas, it withers ere its time!—So faded he in manly prime!—But Virtue, scorning friendship’s aid,Rears her own palms, which never fade!

Yes,Eaton-Banks, in vain I strive[29]

To hide the grief your oaks revive.—

Bow thy tall branches, grateful wood!

Afford me blossom, leaf, and bud!

He, for whose memory these I blend,

Thy late-lost master, was my friend!—

Fall, gentle dews! fresh zephyrs, breathe!

Spread, cooling shades! preserve my wreath!—

Alas, it withers ere its time!—

So faded he in manly prime!—

But Virtue, scorning friendship’s aid,

Rears her own palms, which never fade!

PART, IV.

Henry, O leave, whilst youth is ours,[30]And health leads on the fleeting hours,O leave awhile the court you grace,And urge with me the sylvan chase!Oft, as I bathe in morning’s breath,Ere wakes the plover on the heath,Ere the sun robs the woodbine’s smell,Or dries the fox-glove’s purple bell,I hear the deep-mouth’d thunder rise;The monarch of the woodland flies,Whilst the loud triumphs of the hornOn breezy wings are backward born.[31]His subject mates no succour lend;What tyrant ever found a friend?He dies!—the satiate echoes cease;The forest reassumes its peace.Now sun-burnt Autumn with his spoilsDiana’s bleeding altar piles:Again the slaughtering gun is heard,And wildly screams the parent bird;All night she mourns her lessen’d brood,Still views them fluttering in their blood,With timorous call the rest collects,And with quick wing their flight directs.Now the strong buck his rival drives,And awes with jealous threats his wives:Slow move the kine to fresher fields;The hawthorn to the holly yields:No twittering swallow skims the plain,No shrite-cock tunes his echoing strain:[32]Dumb are the full-plum’d songsters all,Save the lone red-breast on my wall;Thy tender lay, sweet bird, prolong,And sooth old Winter with thy song!When wintry mists obscure the skies,His busy nose the spaniel plies,Where mossy glades and thickets brownTempt the far-wandering wood-cock down:Stretch thy strong wing, thy flight retake,Nor trust the inhospitable brake!—Ah, forc’d from the luxuriant ground,He mounts, and feels the sudden wound.So transmeridian Zealand viewsAdventurous Europe’s wandering crews:Fierce hunger eyes the stranger-guest,And fraud secures the barbarous feast;Stain’d are the rocks with human gore,And white with scatter’d bones the shore.The leveret—but I spare the rest,I see compassion touch thy breast—Come then, and whilst the murderous crewIn harmless blood their hands imbrue,Rous’d to revenge by ravag’d flocks,Haste we to find the kennell’d fox.Hark! those preluding cries he hears;Thick beats his heart with conscious fears.Some tyrant thus, in luckless hourWhom fraud or force has rais’d to pow’r,With throbbing heart and pale eye stands,And spreads to heaven his harpy hands,When Freedom’s voice alarms the morn,And Vengeance winds her echoing horn.See, with the wind he scours awaySleek, and in crimes grown old and gray!Oft has he foil’d our angry pack,I know his customary track.Talk not of pity to such foes!Stern justice claims the life he owes.No storms arise to screen his flight;’Tis long till interrupting night;The breathing South his sentence gives,And not an hour the caitiff lives!Through woods, and hills, and vales, and brakes,Needwoodwith general transport shakes.Mark how the pack diffusely spread,And shew me, if you can, their head!’Tis here—’tis there—now onward farStreams down the vales irregular.As through the furzy brakes they driveThe trembling coverts seem alive.Thus by the winds o’er bending cornLoose waves of light and shade are born.Now winding up yon steep they strain;Now wheel in silence on the plain:Again they catch the tainted wind;No hound disgraceful lurks behind:All striving with confederate aim,Their size, their power, their speed the same,With eager eye and clamorous tongueIn broad career they press along,Fierce on their victim gathering round——He suffers by no single wound!Thus o’er the azure fields of nightShoot the quick rays of northern light,To one bright point converg’d they flow,And round the silver zenith glow.So, when a lake surcharg’d by rainBursts, and o’erwhelms the sloping plain,The wond’ring rustic flies, nor knowsWhich of its currents fastest flows;Now here the rattling eddies lead,Now there they foam along the mead,Till in a silent pool they stand,Collected on the hollow land.Go languid fops, go pedants, wasteYour sneers on joys you cannot taste;And cloak with many a vain pretenceCold-blooded fear and indolence!Warm to each elegant delight,Ingenious, sensible, polite,Known to the world you know so well,Lov’d e’en by those whom you excel,Meynell, my leader and my friend,Stand forth! the manly chase defend!O raise your animating voice,And cheer the Dian of your choice!Not her, whose foul Circean draft’Squires of preceding ages quaff’d,Unletter’d reveller, whose joysWere rudeness, turbulence, and noise,But her, no less of British kind,Well-bred, intelligent, refin’d,Of younger years and purer mold,Chaste as the Huntress Queen of old.Yes, I am thine, enchanting maid!Come, in thy decent robes array’d!O bring thy blithe companion, Health,Who smiles, and mocks the sluggard Wealth;And Hope, who spleen and care destroys;And Rapture scorning tamer joys;Young Eagerness with kindling eyes;And Triumph mingling jocund cries!Come, as thy cheerful train is seen,WhereForemarkewaves his woodlands green;When hears his vale thy matin song,AndTrentexulting shouts along:While wait, thy gay return to greet,Convivial Mirth and Welcome sweet.—On me, thy humbler votary, showerThe balmy dews of every flower,Which oft thy curious hand has twin’dThyBurdett’sfavour’d brows to bind!

Henry, O leave, whilst youth is ours,[30]And health leads on the fleeting hours,O leave awhile the court you grace,And urge with me the sylvan chase!

Henry, O leave, whilst youth is ours,[30]

And health leads on the fleeting hours,

O leave awhile the court you grace,

And urge with me the sylvan chase!

Oft, as I bathe in morning’s breath,Ere wakes the plover on the heath,Ere the sun robs the woodbine’s smell,Or dries the fox-glove’s purple bell,I hear the deep-mouth’d thunder rise;The monarch of the woodland flies,Whilst the loud triumphs of the hornOn breezy wings are backward born.[31]His subject mates no succour lend;What tyrant ever found a friend?He dies!—the satiate echoes cease;The forest reassumes its peace.

Oft, as I bathe in morning’s breath,

Ere wakes the plover on the heath,

Ere the sun robs the woodbine’s smell,

Or dries the fox-glove’s purple bell,

I hear the deep-mouth’d thunder rise;

The monarch of the woodland flies,

Whilst the loud triumphs of the horn

On breezy wings are backward born.[31]

His subject mates no succour lend;

What tyrant ever found a friend?

He dies!—the satiate echoes cease;

The forest reassumes its peace.

Now sun-burnt Autumn with his spoilsDiana’s bleeding altar piles:Again the slaughtering gun is heard,And wildly screams the parent bird;All night she mourns her lessen’d brood,Still views them fluttering in their blood,With timorous call the rest collects,And with quick wing their flight directs.Now the strong buck his rival drives,And awes with jealous threats his wives:Slow move the kine to fresher fields;The hawthorn to the holly yields:No twittering swallow skims the plain,No shrite-cock tunes his echoing strain:[32]Dumb are the full-plum’d songsters all,Save the lone red-breast on my wall;Thy tender lay, sweet bird, prolong,And sooth old Winter with thy song!

Now sun-burnt Autumn with his spoils

Diana’s bleeding altar piles:

Again the slaughtering gun is heard,

And wildly screams the parent bird;

All night she mourns her lessen’d brood,

Still views them fluttering in their blood,

With timorous call the rest collects,

And with quick wing their flight directs.

Now the strong buck his rival drives,

And awes with jealous threats his wives:

Slow move the kine to fresher fields;

The hawthorn to the holly yields:

No twittering swallow skims the plain,

No shrite-cock tunes his echoing strain:[32]

Dumb are the full-plum’d songsters all,

Save the lone red-breast on my wall;

Thy tender lay, sweet bird, prolong,

And sooth old Winter with thy song!

When wintry mists obscure the skies,His busy nose the spaniel plies,Where mossy glades and thickets brownTempt the far-wandering wood-cock down:Stretch thy strong wing, thy flight retake,Nor trust the inhospitable brake!—Ah, forc’d from the luxuriant ground,He mounts, and feels the sudden wound.So transmeridian Zealand viewsAdventurous Europe’s wandering crews:Fierce hunger eyes the stranger-guest,And fraud secures the barbarous feast;Stain’d are the rocks with human gore,And white with scatter’d bones the shore.

When wintry mists obscure the skies,

His busy nose the spaniel plies,

Where mossy glades and thickets brown

Tempt the far-wandering wood-cock down:

Stretch thy strong wing, thy flight retake,

Nor trust the inhospitable brake!—

Ah, forc’d from the luxuriant ground,

He mounts, and feels the sudden wound.

So transmeridian Zealand views

Adventurous Europe’s wandering crews:

Fierce hunger eyes the stranger-guest,

And fraud secures the barbarous feast;

Stain’d are the rocks with human gore,

And white with scatter’d bones the shore.

The leveret—but I spare the rest,I see compassion touch thy breast—Come then, and whilst the murderous crewIn harmless blood their hands imbrue,Rous’d to revenge by ravag’d flocks,Haste we to find the kennell’d fox.Hark! those preluding cries he hears;Thick beats his heart with conscious fears.Some tyrant thus, in luckless hourWhom fraud or force has rais’d to pow’r,With throbbing heart and pale eye stands,And spreads to heaven his harpy hands,When Freedom’s voice alarms the morn,And Vengeance winds her echoing horn.See, with the wind he scours awaySleek, and in crimes grown old and gray!Oft has he foil’d our angry pack,I know his customary track.Talk not of pity to such foes!Stern justice claims the life he owes.No storms arise to screen his flight;’Tis long till interrupting night;The breathing South his sentence gives,And not an hour the caitiff lives!Through woods, and hills, and vales, and brakes,Needwoodwith general transport shakes.Mark how the pack diffusely spread,And shew me, if you can, their head!’Tis here—’tis there—now onward farStreams down the vales irregular.As through the furzy brakes they driveThe trembling coverts seem alive.Thus by the winds o’er bending cornLoose waves of light and shade are born.Now winding up yon steep they strain;Now wheel in silence on the plain:Again they catch the tainted wind;No hound disgraceful lurks behind:All striving with confederate aim,Their size, their power, their speed the same,With eager eye and clamorous tongueIn broad career they press along,Fierce on their victim gathering round——He suffers by no single wound!Thus o’er the azure fields of nightShoot the quick rays of northern light,To one bright point converg’d they flow,And round the silver zenith glow.So, when a lake surcharg’d by rainBursts, and o’erwhelms the sloping plain,The wond’ring rustic flies, nor knowsWhich of its currents fastest flows;Now here the rattling eddies lead,Now there they foam along the mead,Till in a silent pool they stand,Collected on the hollow land.

The leveret—but I spare the rest,

I see compassion touch thy breast—

Come then, and whilst the murderous crew

In harmless blood their hands imbrue,

Rous’d to revenge by ravag’d flocks,

Haste we to find the kennell’d fox.

Hark! those preluding cries he hears;

Thick beats his heart with conscious fears.

Some tyrant thus, in luckless hour

Whom fraud or force has rais’d to pow’r,

With throbbing heart and pale eye stands,

And spreads to heaven his harpy hands,

When Freedom’s voice alarms the morn,

And Vengeance winds her echoing horn.

See, with the wind he scours away

Sleek, and in crimes grown old and gray!

Oft has he foil’d our angry pack,

I know his customary track.

Talk not of pity to such foes!

Stern justice claims the life he owes.

No storms arise to screen his flight;

’Tis long till interrupting night;

The breathing South his sentence gives,

And not an hour the caitiff lives!

Through woods, and hills, and vales, and brakes,

Needwoodwith general transport shakes.

Mark how the pack diffusely spread,

And shew me, if you can, their head!

’Tis here—’tis there—now onward far

Streams down the vales irregular.

As through the furzy brakes they drive

The trembling coverts seem alive.

Thus by the winds o’er bending corn

Loose waves of light and shade are born.

Now winding up yon steep they strain;

Now wheel in silence on the plain:

Again they catch the tainted wind;

No hound disgraceful lurks behind:

All striving with confederate aim,

Their size, their power, their speed the same,

With eager eye and clamorous tongue

In broad career they press along,

Fierce on their victim gathering round—

—He suffers by no single wound!

Thus o’er the azure fields of night

Shoot the quick rays of northern light,

To one bright point converg’d they flow,

And round the silver zenith glow.

So, when a lake surcharg’d by rain

Bursts, and o’erwhelms the sloping plain,

The wond’ring rustic flies, nor knows

Which of its currents fastest flows;

Now here the rattling eddies lead,

Now there they foam along the mead,

Till in a silent pool they stand,

Collected on the hollow land.

Go languid fops, go pedants, wasteYour sneers on joys you cannot taste;And cloak with many a vain pretenceCold-blooded fear and indolence!

Go languid fops, go pedants, waste

Your sneers on joys you cannot taste;

And cloak with many a vain pretence

Cold-blooded fear and indolence!

Warm to each elegant delight,Ingenious, sensible, polite,Known to the world you know so well,Lov’d e’en by those whom you excel,Meynell, my leader and my friend,Stand forth! the manly chase defend!O raise your animating voice,And cheer the Dian of your choice!Not her, whose foul Circean draft’Squires of preceding ages quaff’d,Unletter’d reveller, whose joysWere rudeness, turbulence, and noise,But her, no less of British kind,Well-bred, intelligent, refin’d,Of younger years and purer mold,Chaste as the Huntress Queen of old.

Warm to each elegant delight,

Ingenious, sensible, polite,

Known to the world you know so well,

Lov’d e’en by those whom you excel,

Meynell, my leader and my friend,

Stand forth! the manly chase defend!

O raise your animating voice,

And cheer the Dian of your choice!

Not her, whose foul Circean draft

’Squires of preceding ages quaff’d,

Unletter’d reveller, whose joys

Were rudeness, turbulence, and noise,

But her, no less of British kind,

Well-bred, intelligent, refin’d,

Of younger years and purer mold,

Chaste as the Huntress Queen of old.

Yes, I am thine, enchanting maid!Come, in thy decent robes array’d!O bring thy blithe companion, Health,Who smiles, and mocks the sluggard Wealth;And Hope, who spleen and care destroys;And Rapture scorning tamer joys;Young Eagerness with kindling eyes;And Triumph mingling jocund cries!

Yes, I am thine, enchanting maid!

Come, in thy decent robes array’d!

O bring thy blithe companion, Health,

Who smiles, and mocks the sluggard Wealth;

And Hope, who spleen and care destroys;

And Rapture scorning tamer joys;

Young Eagerness with kindling eyes;

And Triumph mingling jocund cries!

Come, as thy cheerful train is seen,WhereForemarkewaves his woodlands green;When hears his vale thy matin song,AndTrentexulting shouts along:While wait, thy gay return to greet,Convivial Mirth and Welcome sweet.—On me, thy humbler votary, showerThe balmy dews of every flower,Which oft thy curious hand has twin’dThyBurdett’sfavour’d brows to bind!

Come, as thy cheerful train is seen,

WhereForemarkewaves his woodlands green;

When hears his vale thy matin song,

AndTrentexulting shouts along:

While wait, thy gay return to greet,

Convivial Mirth and Welcome sweet.—

On me, thy humbler votary, shower

The balmy dews of every flower,

Which oft thy curious hand has twin’d

ThyBurdett’sfavour’d brows to bind!

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