Then, screaming, all at once they fly, Poor Edwin falls to floor: Through all the land before! He feels his back the less; Which made him want success: The story told, Sir Topaz mov'd, At close of eve he leaves his home, As there he bides, it so befell, But, certes, sorely sunk with woe, His spirits in him die; Hangs flagging in the sky." Entreats them pity graunt; For als he been a mister wight Betray'd by wand'ring in the night To tread the circling haunt. Ah, losel vile!" at once they roar, "And little skill'd of fairie lore, Thy cause to come we know: Now has thy kestrell courage fell; And fairies, since a lye you tell, Are free to work thee woe.' Then Will, who bears the wispy fire To trail the swains among the mire, The captive upward flung; There, like a tortoise in a shop, He dangled from the chamber-top, Where, whilom, Edwin hung. The revel now proceeds apace, Deftly they frisk it o'er the place, They sit, they drink, and eat; The time with frolic mirth beguile, And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while, Till all the rout retreat. By this the stars began to wink; Chill, dark, alone, adreed he lay, Then deem'd the dole was o'er: This tale a Sybil nurse ared; And some are born with none. § 116. Edwin and Emma. MALLET. FAR in the windings of a vale, Fast by a sheltering wood, There beauteous Emma flourish'd fair, Whose only wish on earth was now Nor let the pride of great ones scorn That sun, who bids their diamonds blaze, Long had she fill'd each youth with love, Each maiden with despair; And, though by all a wonder own'd. Yet knew not she was fair. Till Edwin came, the pride of swains, And from whose eye, serenely mild, A mutual flame was quickly caught, His sister, who, like Envy form'd, The father too, a sordid man, The spreading hawthorn crept, The midnight mourner stray'd. His cheek, where health with beauty glow'd, A deadly pale o'ercast : So fades the fresh rose in its prime, Before the northern blast. The parents now, with late remorse, And weary'd Heaven with fruitless vows, ""Tis past! he cry'd—but if your souls Sweet mercy yet can move, But, oh! his sister's jealous care A cruel sister she!- Now homeward as she hopeless wept, The blast blew cold, the dark owl scream'd Amid the falling gloom of night, Her startling fancy found In every bush his hovering shade, groan Alone, appall'd, thus had she pass'd When, lo! the death-bell smote her ear, Just then she reach'd, with trembling step, "He's gone!" she cry'd ;" and I shall see That angel-face no more. "I feel, I feel this breaking heart Beat high against my side" From her white arm down sunk her head; She shiver'd, sigh'd, and dy'd. § 117. William and Margaret. Maffit. WHEN all was wrapt in dark midnight, And all were fast asleep, Her face was like the April morn So shall the fairest face appear When youth and years are flown; But love had, like the canker-worm, The rose grew pale, and left her cheek; "Awake!" she cried, "thy true-love calls, Thy love refus'd to save: "This is the dark and fearful hour When injur'd ghosts complain: "How could you promise love to me, "How could you say my lip was sweet, And made the scarlet pale ? "That face, alas! no more is fair, That lip no longer red; Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death, "The hungry worm my sister is, This winding-sheet I wear; Till that last morn appear. "But hark! the cock has warn'd me hence. A long, and last adieu! Come see, false man! how low she lies, That died for love of you." Now birds did sing, and Morning smil'd, Pale William shook in every limb, He hied him to the fatal place Where Marg'ret's body lay, And thrice he call'd on Marg'ret's name, 118. Lucy and Colin, TICKELL. Till luckless love, and pining care, Her coral lips and damask cheeks, O, have you seen a lily pale, When beating rains descend? So droop'd the slow-consuming maid, By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains Three times, all in the dead of night, I see a hand you cannot see, Which beckons me away. Am I to blame because his bride Is thrice as rich as I? "Ah, Colin! give not her thy vows, Vows due to me alone; Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, Impatient both prepare; But know, fond maid, and know, false man, That Lucy will be there! "There bear my corpse, ye comrades, bear, The bridegroom blithe to meet; He in his wedding-trim so gay, I in my winding-sheet." She spoke, she died! her corse was borne, Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts? The bridemen flock'd round Lucy, dead, At once his bosom swell; The damps of death bedew'd his brows, From the vain bride, (ah, bride no more!) Oft at this grave the constant hind, But, swain forsworn! whoe'er thou art, And fear to meet him there. Not aware of the danger, I instant comply'd, When he drew from his quiver a dart, And cry'd, "My power you shall know!" Then he levell'd his bow, And wounded me right in the heart. 120. The Race-Horse. DIBdin. SEE the course throng'd with gazers, the sports are begun, ["Done!" The confusion but hear!-"I'll bet you, sir"Ten thousand strange murmurs resound far and near, Lords, hawkers, and jockeys assail the tir'd ear: While, with neck like a rainbow, erecting his crest, Pamper'd, prancing, and pleas'd, his head touching his breast, Scarcely snuffing the air, he's so proud and elate, The high-mettled racer first starts for the plate. Now Reynard's turn'd out, and o'er hedge and ditch rush [brush; Hounds, horses, and huntsmen, all hard at his They run him at length, and they have him at bay, [dious way: And by scent, and by view, cheat a long, teWhile, alike born for sports of the field and the course, [fleet horse; Always sure to come through a stanch and When, fairly run down, the fox yields up his breath, The high-mettled racer is in at the death. Grown aged, us'd up, and turn'd out of the stud, Lame, spavin'd, and wind-gall'd, but yet with some blood; While knowing postilions his pedigree trace, While the harness sore galls, and the spurs his sides goad, The high-mettled racer's a hack on the road. Till, at last, having labor'd, drudg'd early and late, Bow'd down by degrees, he bends to his fate; Blind, old, lean, and feeble, he tugs round a mill, Or draws sand, till the sand of his hour-glass And now, cold and lifeless, expos'd to the view § 121. Poor Jack. DIBDIN. Go patter to lubbers and swabs, d'ye see, Though the tempest top-gallant masts smack J And shiver each splinter of wood; Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bouse every thing tight, And under reef'd foresail we'll scud. For they says there's a Providence sits up aloft Why, 'twas just all as one as High Dutch. But he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye see, Without orders that come down below, Both for seamen and lubbers ashore? Perhaps I may laughing come back; "D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch All as one as a piece of the ship, And with her brave the world without offering to flinch, From the moment the anchor's a-trip. As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides and ends, Nought's a trouble from duty that springs; For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's my friend's, And as for my life, 'tis the king's. ' Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft As for grief to be taken aback; That same little cherub that sits up aloft $122. The Soldier's Grave. DIBDIN. Or all sensations pity brings To proudly swell the ample heart, The manly dignity of grief, And gives the anxious mind relief: "Tis the tear that bedews a soldier's grave. For hard and painful his lot; Let dangers come, he braves them all; Or, undistinguish'd, doom'd to fall. He views from a retreat obscure, And quits it with a willing smile. "Twere graceful pity, nobly brave; We near one pretty brook, Him see big world, fine warrior men, Fine stone be found in mine: Make warm where'er him shine. So all the world should call; If cruel man, like tiger grim, Come bold in thirst of blood, 124. Yanko. DIBDIN. DEAR Yanko say, and true he say, Through all the world be broder. De virtue in de bosom. What harm dere in a shape or make? What harm in ugly feature? Whatever color, form, he take, The heart make human creature. Then black and copper both be friend, No color he bring beauty; For beauty, Yanko say, attend Dear Yanko say, &c. § 125. Let us all be unhappy together. DIBDIN. Is a friend, for true friendship's a treasure; It appears from these premises plain, 126. Poor Peggy. DIBDIN. POOR Peggy lov'd a soldier lad More, far more, than tongue can tell ye; Yet was her tender bosom sad Whene'er she heard the loud reveille. The fifes were screech-owls to her ears, The drums like thunder seem'd to rattle; Ah! too prophetic were her fears, They call'd him from her arms to battle There wonders he against the foe Perform'd, and was with laurels crown'd; Vain pomp! for soon death laid him low On the cold ground. Her heart all love, her soul all truth, That none her fears or flight discover, Poor Peg, in guise a comely youth, Follow'd to the field her lover. Directed by the fife and drum To where the work of death was doing; Where of brave hearts the time was come, Who, seeking honor, grasp at ruin; Her very soul was chill'd with woe, New horror came in every sound, And whisper'd, death had laid him low On the cold ground. With mute affliction as she stood, A mourning train came thronging round her. His name she heard, and cried, "I come, Where death had laid her lover low On the cold ground! |