THE GOBLIN GROOM.

CANTO SECOND.

The Fox-Chace..

Nowcrows the cock in Dunse’s streets;The twittering sparrow morning greets;The braying ass his trumpet blew,For well the morning air he knew;And hies the hostler to his care,With bosom light as morning air.The ruddy streaks of infant dayOn Lammer’s hills and Chiviot’s play;And freshly blows the morning breeze,From Firth of Forth to German seas.

The kennelled pack, with conscious ear,Well know the huntsman to be near;Their deep-toned notes, in concert rise,As to the door each staunch hound flies;And merry were the huntsman’s cries:Full well he knew to cheer each hound,Or quell his riot, by the soundOf angry word, or cracking thong.But now the pack as round they crowd,In notes melodious, and loud,Pour forth their morning song.And, on my soul, the sound was dear,And transport to the huntsman’s ear.Out dashed the pack, a stauncher crewNe’er snuffed the pearly morning-dew:And soon the huntsman’s sounding thongHas checked the ardour of the throng:In meet procession, quiet, slow,Behind their master’s horse they go:His two assistants after ride,To bring them all to cover side.

Meanwhile the hostled sportsmen rise,With bosoms light, but heavy eyes;For last night’s liquor still remained,And some would liked to’ve lain in bed,To ease a fevered, aching head;But manly pride such ease disdained.So all have risen, and all have dressed,In jockey cap, and scarlet vest;And now they’re met, and seated allAt breakfast, in the festal hall:And question after question passed,Who saw the goblin jockey last?Disputes arise, but all agreeThat mortal man he could not be;And cried they, with a jovial air,Faith, but he drank his liquor fair!The hostess enters in to say,The Goblin Groom had gone away,And who his share of drink should pay.And all agree ’twas passing fair,As he had filled great D— —h’s chair,That his account for jovial cheer,Should be discharged by D— —h’s peer.

The hacks are pacing now beforeThe Hostel’s arch projecting door;Full twelve miles off the cover lay;The hunters went at peep of day:And some, I’m told, went over night,To be in better hunting plight.Each sportsman mounts his cover steed,And through the town with fiery speed,Spurs on his ready hack:One thinks a canter gives him grace,Another thinks a trot the pace,And knowingly looks back;And pleased he looks, in sooth to findHis cantering comrade left behind.Now one, now t’other takes the lead,As jockey whim directs the speed.

At Ladykirk the cover lay,Where, steep and high, a birken braeHangs o’er the river Tweed:Hence many a fox the hounds have driven,Whose dirtied brush has oft been given,The foremost horseman’s meed.This bank, in former days, has beenSad witness of a different scene;When Norham’s border castle rangWith England’s war foreboding clang;When threatened feud was heard to soundDefiance to the Scottish ground;When cannon roared from Norham’s wall,The English border clans to call:Then flew the fox this brae of birk,And far from Scottish Ladykirk;And sought he, much against his will,The safe retreat of Chiviot hill.

Hither the hounds have bent their way,And hither come the sportsmen gay:Sure such a sight was never seen,At tournament, or listed green.The neighing steeds were seen to prance,As through the copse-wood green they came:The sounding whip displaced the lance,And sport has banished feudal flame.In every face a smile of joy,From titled peer, to huntsman-boy;In every eye a flash of fire;A flash of hope, but not of ire:In every heart joy’s transport bounds,As into cover dash the hounds:And in they dash with such a clang,That Norham’s empty castle rang:And every bush in tremor shook,And every sapling waved on high;Each horseman gazed with eager look,Or listened for the joyous cry:And sideways on their steeds they sat,With side-placed cap, or side-placed hat.

But when they hear the well known houndProclaim the rascal to be found,High beats each gallant sportsman’s heartTo take the lead, or have the start.And now the banks of LadykirkRing with the pack’s melodious cry;And waves its head, each verdant birk,To merry notes of extacy.O! how the hounds together dash,And make the greenwood cover crash.Poor Reynard! all your hopes are vain;In vain you strive to tarry here;Go seek the fields, or plains so drear;At Ladykirk you can’t remain;To Tweed’s green banks now bid adieu,They ne’er again shall greet your view;No more her murm’ring streams shall cheer,With soothing notes, your listening ear.

Now peeping from the copse so green,The Fox’s cunning head is seen,His ready ears turned back:His open mouth his terror shows;For time put off, full well he knows,Will bring the eager pack.So down towards the Tweed he steels,With outstretched brush, and nimble heels;When, hark! a horseman from belowHas given the welcome Tallyho!Amazement filled the listening crew;The note was strange, the voice was new:Wondered they much who it could beThat shouted with such melody;For such a voice, or such a sound,Ne’er till this moment cheered a hound.

And round they gazing looked, when, lo!The Goblin Groom is seen below,Dressed as he was last night;Save that a cap, place hat, he wore,And neater looked he than before,His leathers were more tight.He strode a poney, lank and lean,That looked as if astray ’t had been:Dun was its hue, with flowing mane;The tail was black, and like a trainSwept far behind the scented plain,Save, when at speed, he whisking spreadIt round the Goblin’s fated head;Or to the spur, the sure replyWas lashed across the Goblin’s thigh:On every side, above, below,The whisking tail was seen to flow.

Said I the Fox towards the TweedHad urged with fear his utmost speed;And that the hounds approaching nighHad bid the cowering ruffian fly;And that the Goblin Groom had seenHim leave his haunts of copse-wood green;Had seen him leave the bank so steep,And stem the tide so broad and deep;And that he ready staid belowTo give the welcome Tallyho!

No sooner had the shout been given,Than to the hilt the spurs were driven:The lank-lean poney knew full wellThe signal for the chace;And only those who’ve seen may tellThe issue of the race.But Norham’s castle saw the start,And knows the Goblin did his part;At least she knows, if it may beThat Castles are allowed to see,That first the Goblin saw the find,And left the boldest far behind.

Into the river, broad and deep,Beneath old Norham’s ruined keep,Where the descent appears most steep,The gallant pack have dashed:In likewise dashed the Elf and horse,Quite heedless of the torrent’s force;And as they stemmed the river’s courseHis tail the poney lashed.The Goblin Groom now screamed a scream;For Goblins hate a running stream;And, if the truth my records say,The Elfin Poney neighed a neigh.

O! ’twas a gallant sight, and brave,To see them stem the chrystal wave:But now the tide and stream have boreThe Groom and pack to England’s shore:The other sportsmen, round about,With hurried speed, have ta’en their route;For well they knew th’ attempt were vainHere the English side of Tweed to gain;And so they’ve gone a mile below,Where gurgling Tweed runs on more slow;And much they marvel, all the way,How crossed that gallant daring fay.

Meanwhile the hounds round Norham’s baseHave ta’en their way with eager pace;Have hurried on with ready willTo where the Tweed receives the Till:Through Tillmouth’s wooded banks they fly,Whilst Echo answers to the cry;[9]And then they seek the higher lands,Where Twizel’s lordly castle stands:High on her wood surrounded mead,She views at once both Till and Tweed:Two fairer streams ne’er met, I ween,In such a grand and lovely scene;Where braes and banks, and woods combine,And swiftly gliding waters shine;Where distant hills and mountains rise,And fade beneath th’ expansive skies.

The Goblin Groom has led the vanO’er hill and dale, through grove and glen;And as the breast-high scent they ran,Nor yawning ditch nor boggy fen,Nor thickset-hedge, nor strong built wall,Could stop his bold career;His Elfin Steed disdained to fall,And dashed impetuous at them all,Determined each to clear.And thus he hilter skilter flew,And distanced all the huntsmen-crew;Whilst much they wondered such a steedSo well could leap and take the lead.

From lordly Twizel’s wide domain,An opener country now they gain;No longer dells obstruct the sight:The fields were large, the soil was light;The eager hounds increase their pace;The gallop now becomes a race:But vain it were for horse to tryTo race with one that seemed to fly:And oft the Goblin looked in rearAs if he sought great D— —h’s Peer:For be it known, and it is true,The Goblin honoured bold B— —h;And had he come t’enjoy the chace,The Goblin sure had slacked his pace;For, Goblin as he was, he knewRespect to rank is always due.

Past Duddo’s black and ruined towerThe hard pressed Fox has bent his way;Past Etal’s town and Etal’s bower,Which in the neighb’ring valley lay:Climbed they the hills so steep and fair,Which over Ford’s proud castle stare;And pleased was every eye, I ween,Whilst glanced along the princely scene.The castle first attracts the eye,In all her ancient majesty:Meandering Till’s impetuous flow,Runs wildly in the vale below;And mountains bleak, and hills of green,Diversify the giant scene.Such is the wide domain and hallOf John the Peer of Delaval.

And now the country bleaker grew,As to the upland grounds they drew;A barren waste, so bleak and drear,Is seen on every side:No objects to the sight appearThe eye to glad, or heart to cheer,In all the desert wide.The ocean blue, with clustered isles,[10]The only feature here that smiles;Here glouring[11]o’er the German flood,Bare Barmoor’s baby castle stood,With pallid face of new built woe,Sad contrast to the moor below.The owner saw the hounds run by,And, from a tower, joined in the cry;Wondered he much who it could beThat led the joyous revelry:To right, or left, the leading hound,The Goblin Groom was always found.“Oh!” cried the squire of Barmoor bare,“Oh! like yon Elf, that I were there!”Amazement seized his soul to findThe others were a mile behind.

From Barmoor’s bare and shrubless hill,The hounds have doubled back to Till,And seem to make for Chiviot hill.Ah! hapless Fox, and dost thou know,That fated Flodden lies below;And does not dark foreboding fearWarn thee that fated Flodden’s near;And art thou doomed so soon to yieldThy life on Flodden’s fated field.

And now old Milfield’s town they gain,And reach dark Flodden’s dreary plain,Where, in full cry, and all abreast,The hounds the wily villain pressed:The Goblin Groom still keeps his place,And glories in the varying chace;No demi volte, nor demi air;No high curvett, nor terre-a-terre;No hand to guide the gay croupade,Nor heel to aid the balotade;No capriole his skill to shew;He these disdained, with pas et saut.[12]Stiff on his stirrups, standing now,He scorns to touch the saddle bow;His elbows squared, and head awry,As if he rode a race;But none might know, for none might spy,The Goblin’s spell-bound face:For were he sprite, or were he fay,He only shewed his back that day.

And now the Fox is losing ground;Now strains his speed each eager hound;Now at his brush the foremost prest;Now at his side, now at his breast;And now despair o’ercoming fright,The crafty Fox turns round to fight;But soon by numbers overthrown,He yields his life without a groan.Thus fell the Fox, and, hate aside,We’ll say, at least, he nobly died.

Down from his Poney jumped the Elf,When, lo! the Poney disappeared;And now the Goblin Groom himselfHas ta’en the brush, the hounds has cheered;Has bowed his head to Chiviot gray,And vanished from the light of day:And when the distanced horsemen nearedThe bloody scene on Flodden’s plain,No vestige of the Elf appeared;The Poney too, was sought in vain.Loud howled each hound; I will presumeThey howled at loss of Goblin Groom;And well they might, for such a fayNe’er rode before on hunting day;And hounds, like ladies fair, I’m told,Dote on the daring and the bold;And than the Goblin, we’ll agree,A bolder there could never be.

On Flodden’s field there stands a bush,A willow bush where sedges grow,The fav’rite haunt of Friar Rush:[13]This bush the neighb’ring shepherds know:’Twas here the hounds had killed their prey,And vanished here the Goblin fay;And, even to this very day,The passing shepherd calls the bush,The Winning-Post of Friar Rush;And, therefore, I may well presume,That Friar Rush was Goblin Groom.

I do not rhyme to that dull clownThat has no fancy of his own;Who thinks on Flodden’s dreary plainThe wearied hunters still remain,Because not mentioned in my strain;Who cannot figure in his mind,That they returned to Dunse and dined;That flowing bumpers then went roundTo every horse, to every hound;That e’en midst jokes, and converse hot.The Goblin Groom was not forgot;And that they sat ’twixt hope and fear,To see his Elfin form appear;And that they drank, with honours due,In three times three, the bold B— —h;And midst the wassel-wine and cheer,They thought on D— —h’s noble Peer;And crowned in bowls of rosy wine,The whole of that illustrious line.

TO THE READER.

Now let the Minstrel bid adieu,With votive lays, my friends to you:To you, my friends, he’ll now impartThe wishes of a Minstrel’s heart;If my poor rede be dull and flat,Pray blame my head alone for that;But when I act a friendly partYou must not, cannot, blame my heart.To every Peer, if Peer there be,To read my idle minstrelsy,Unspotted fame, and courage true,And boundless wealth, like bold B— —h:To every Bard that serves his Grace,A goodly pension or a place;To every Gardener may there beA Bard to sing his praise, like me;And may the bard be favoured too,With Gardener-friend, dear Wat, like you:Strong head, strong liquor, and good cheer,To every Butler, far and near,That serves a worthy, gallant, Peer:Long life to all; my friends adieu,And pray with me for bold B— —h.

THE END OF THE GOBLIN GROOM.

Where garden is, was place of tiltOr tournament, where blood was spilt;Where stain’d was many a foeman’s hiltWith blood of knight laid low.

The martial exercise of Tilting is said to have been introduced some time between the years 920 and 937, by Henry I of Germany, styled Anceps, or Falconer, but better known by the appellation of the Fowler: his motto was, “Tardus ad vindictam, ad beneficentiam velox.”[14]He is likewise said to have purchased the lance which pierced our Saviour’s side, and, with it, some of the nailsof the holy cross; giving in exchange a great portion of Suabia, and other valuable gifts.

In the centre, soup was seenSmoking, from a vase of snow.

That learned philosopher and prince of culinary perfection, Count Rumford, has taught the world the mode of preparing ice-cream in a hot oven, and of sending it freezing to table in a light crust of smoking pastry. The epicurean reader will be much disappointed if he expects to find that the above lines allude to some recent improvement in the science of chemistry, establishing the converse of this discovery; and that the soup at Dunse was actually served steaming to the company in an excavated snow-ball. It is hoped, that “a vase of snow” will be allowed as an appropriate figure for a clean white crockery tureen.

The chair is filled! a stranger satUpon the honoured seat;Nor deigned he to doff his hat,Though more than one had hinted thatRespect was always meet.But he was heedless of them all,And thrice he gazed round the hall,But ne’er a word did he let fall:Whilst thus he sat, whilst thus he gazed,The goodly throng were all amazed.—

The subject of superstition, as connected with the history of man, whether it be considered as influencing his character, or as affecting his conduct in society, seems sufficiently important to occupy the serious attention of the most learned investigator. It has been treated, however, with so much ability by an elegant author of ourown times,[15]that, if not altogether exhausted, little more seems left to the ingenuity of any succeeding writer, than to avail himself, as his occasions may require, of the store of information thus amply afforded him. No maxim being more certainly founded on truth, than that early impressions are generally the most lasting. Would it not be highly meritorious in any one equal to the task, to favour the public with new editions of these invaluable productions, Satan’s Invisible World, and Glanvil’s History of Witchcraft, rendered, on the modern and improved plan of juvenile education, into easy ditties, to be sung or said by nurse or child? Might we not then expect to see the pure principles of poetic taste reared on the solid basis of useful knowledge?

The following marvellous occurrence, recorded in the letter of a noble peer, and said to be founded in fact, may appear to the reader of prosaic fancy, as extremely dull and uninteresting; but as it has been the ground-work of thepresent poem, the author cannot think of refusing it insertion. It will likewise help to increase the volume to that respectable size which may entitle it to the honours of Russia or Morocco, and to a distinguished situation on the well arranged shelves of a modern library.

“MY DEAR SIR,“I obey your commands with some reluctance, in relating the story of which you have heard so much, and to which your curiosity appears to be so broad awake. I do it unwillingly, because such histories depend so much upon the manner in which they are related; and this, which I have told with such success, and to the midnight terrors of so many simple souls, will make but a sorry figure in a written narration.—However, you shall have it.

“MY DEAR SIR,

“I obey your commands with some reluctance, in relating the story of which you have heard so much, and to which your curiosity appears to be so broad awake. I do it unwillingly, because such histories depend so much upon the manner in which they are related; and this, which I have told with such success, and to the midnight terrors of so many simple souls, will make but a sorry figure in a written narration.—However, you shall have it.

“It was in the early part of— — —’s life, that he attended an hunting club at their sport, when a stranger, of a genteel appearance, and well mounted, joined thechace, and was observed to ride with a degree of courage and address that called forth the utmost astonishment of every one present. The beast he rode was of amazing powers; nothing stopped them; the hounds could never escape them; and the huntsman, who was left far behind, swore that the man and his horse were devils from hell. When the sport was over, the company invited this extraordinary person to dinner; he accepted the invitation, and astonished the company as much by the powers of his conversation, and the elegance of his manners, as by his equestrian prowess. He was an orator, a poet, a painter, a musician, a lawyer, a divine; in short, he was every thing, and the magic of his discourse kept the drowsy sportsmen awake long after their usual hour. At length, however, wearied nature could be charmed no more, and the company began to steal away by degrees to their repose. On his observing the society diminish, he discovered manifest signs of uneasiness: he therefore gave new force to his spirits, and new charms to his conversation, in order to detain the remaining few some time longer.This had some little effect; but the period could not be long delayed when he was to be conducted to his chamber. The remains of the company retired also; but they had scarce closed their eyes, when the house was alarmed by the most terrible shrieks that were ever heard: several persons were awakened by the noise; but, its continuance being short, they concluded it to proceed from a dog who might be accidentally confined in some part of the house: they very soon, therefore, composed themselves to sleep, and were very soon awakened by shrieks and cries of still greater terror than the former. Alarmed at what they heard, several of them rung their bells, and, when the servants came, they declared that the horrid sounds proceeded from the stranger’s chamber. Some of the gentlemen immediately arose, to inquire into this extraordinary disturbance; and, while they were dressing themselves for that purpose, deeper groans of despair, and shriller shrieks of agony, again astonished and terrified them. After knocking sometime at the stranger’s chamber-door, he answered them as one awakened from sleep, declared he had heard no noise, and, rather in an angry tone, desired he might not be again disturbed. Upon this they returned to one of their chambers, and had scarce begun to communicate their sentiments to each other, when their conversation was interrupted by a renewal of yells, screams, and shrieks, which, from the horror of them, seemed to issue from the throats of damned and tortured spirits. They immediately followed the sounds, and traced them to the stranger’s chamber, the door of which they instantly burst open, and found him upon his knees in bed, in the act of scourging himself with the most unrelenting severity, his body streaming with blood. On their seizing his hand to stop the strokes, he begged them, in the most wringing tone of voice, as an act of mercy, that they would retire, assuring them that the cause of their disturbance was over, and that in the morning he would acquaint them with the reasons of the terrible cries they had heard, and the melancholy sight they saw. After a repetition of his entreaties, they retired; and in the morning some of them went to his chamber, but he was not there; and, on examining the bed, they found it to be one gore of blood. Upon further inquiry, the groom said, that, as soon as it was light, the gentleman came to the stable booted and spurred, desired his horse might be immediately saddled, and appeared to be extremely impatient till it was done, when he vaulted instantly into his saddle, and rode out of the yard on full speed.—Servants were immediately dispatched into every part of the surrounding country, but not a single trace of him could be found; such a person had not been seen by any one, nor has he been since heard of.

“The circumstances of this strange story were immediately committed to writing, and signed by every one who were witnesses to them, that the future credibility of any one, who should think proper to relate them, might be duly supported. Among the subscribers to the truth of this history are some of the first names of this century.—It would now, I believe, be impertinent to add any thing more, than that I am, yours, &c.”

If farther proof were necessary to shew, that the dominion of superstition is not altogether confined, as has been erroneously supposed, to the heroes of romance, it might be found in the learned support afforded, but a few years ago, to the predictions of the unfortunate Prophet Brothers: And although the sublime and simple truths of the Christian faith have given a fatal blow to the superstitious absurdities of more early creeds, our propensity to the marvellous, has still retained sufficient influence, to screen from detection the grossest impositions of the Roman Church. Among the numberless deceptions, which Popish craft has successfully practised upon the credulity of its votaries, one has been handed down by a venerable historian, the insertion of which cannot fail to gratify the enlightened commentators and note-compilers of the present age.—

“Qui, cum die quadam tale aliquid foris ageret, digressis ad ecclesiam sociis, ut dicere cœperam, et episcopus solus in oratorio loci, lectioni vel orationi operam daret;audivit repente, ut postea referebat, vocem suavissimam cantantium atque lætantium de cœlo ad terras usque descendere: quam videlicet vocem ab Euro austro, id est, ab alto brumalis, exortam, primo se audisse dicebat, ac deinde paulatim eam sibi appropiare, donec ad tectum usque oratorii, in quo erat Episcopus, perveniret; quod ingressa totum implevit, atque in gyro circundedit. At ille, dum solicitus in ea quæ audiebat, animum intenderet, audivit denuo transacto quasi dimidiæ horæ spatio, ascendere de tecto ejusdem oratorii idem lætitiæ canticum; et ipsa qua venerat via, ad cœlos usque cum ineffabili dulcedine, reverti. Qui cum aliquantulum horæ quasi attonitus maneret, et quid hæc essent solerti animo scrutaretur, aperuit Episcopus fenestram oratorii, et sonitum manu faciens, ut sæpius consuevit, siquis foris esset, ad se intrare præcepit. Introivit ille concitus; cui dixit antistes: vade cito ad ecclesiam, et hos septem fratres huc venire facito; tu quoque simul adesto. Qui cum venissent, primo admonuit eos, ut virtutem dilectionis et pacis, ad invicem et ad omnes fideles servarent. Instituta quoque disciplinæregularis, quæ vel ab ipso didicissent, vel in ipso vidissent, vel in patrum præcedentium factis sive dictis invenissent, indefessa instantia sequerentur. Deinde subjunxit, diem sui obitus jam proxime instare. Namque hospes, inquit, ille amabilis, qui fratres nostros visitare solebat, ad me quoque hodie venire, meque de seculo evocare dignatus est. Propter quod revertentes ad ecclesiam, dicite fratribus, ut et meum exitum Domino precibus commendent, et suum quoque exitum, (cujus hora incerta est), vigiliis, orationibus, bonis operibus, prævenire meminerint. Cumque hæc et hujusmodi plura loqueretur, atque illi, percepta ejus benedictione, jam multum tristes exiissent, rediit ipse solus, qui carmen cœleste audierat, et prosternens se in terram, Obsecro, inquit pater, licetne aliquid interrogare? Interroga, inquit, quod vis. At ille, Obsecro, inquit, ut dicas, quod erat canticum illud lætantium, quod audivi, venientium de cœlis super oratorium hoc, et post tempus redeuntium ad cœlos. Respondit ille; Si vocem carminis audivisti, et cœlestes supervenire cœtus cognovisti, præcipio tibi in nomine Domini, ne hoc cuiquam, antemeum obitum, dicas. Revera autem Angelorum fuere spiritus, qui me ad cœlestia, quæ semper amabam ac desiderabam, præmia vocare venerunt; et post dies septem se redituros, ac me secum adducturos esse promiserunt. Quod quidem ita ut dictum ei erat opere completum est. Nam confestim languore corporis tactus est, et hoc per dies ingravescente, septimo (ut promissum ei fuerat) die, postquam obitum suum dominici corporis, et sanguinis perceptione munivit, soluta ab ergastulo corporis anima sancta, ducentibus (ut credi fas est), angelis comitibus, æterna gaudia petivit.”E HIST. ECCLES. VENER. BED.

E HIST. ECCLES. VENER. BED.

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