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So, “Fair and softly,” John he cried,
But John he cried in vain; That trot became a gallop soon,
In spite of curb and rein.
So stooping down, as needs he must
Who cannot sit upright, He grasp'd the mane with both his hands,
And eke with all his might.
His horse, who never in that sort
Had handled been before, What thing upon his back had got
Did wonder more and more.
John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife;
O'erjoy'd was he to find,
She had a frugal mind.
But yet was not allow'd
Should say that she was proud.
Where they did all get in;
To dash through thick and thin.
Were never folk so glad,
As if Cheapside were mad.
Seiz'd fast the flowing mane,
But soon came down again;
His journey to begin,
Three customers come in.
Away went Gilpin, neck or nought;
Away went hat and wig ;
Of running such a rig.
The wind did blow, the cloak did fly,
Like streamer long and gay, Till, loop and button failing both,
At last it flew away.
Then might all people well discem
The bottles he had slung;
As hath been said or sung.
And thus unto the youth she said,
That drove them to the Bell, “This shall be yours, when you bring back
My husband safe and well."
The youth did ride, and soon did meet
John coming back amain; Whom in a trice he tried to stop,
By catching at his rein;
But not performing what he meant,
And gladly would have done,
And made him faster run.
Away went Gilpin, and away
Went postboy at his heels,
The lumb'ring of the wheels.
Six gentlemen upon the road,
Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
They rais'u the hue and cry
“Stop thief! stop thief!-a highwayman!"
Not one of them was mute;
Did join in the pursuit.
Dreading a negative, and overawid
Lest he should trespass, begg'd to go abroad.
Nay. Stay at home-you ’re always going out."
A friend !" Horatio cried, and seem'd to start-
I knew the man, and knew his nature mild,
Else he was seldom bitter or morose.
But not to moralize too much, and strain,
O happy Britain! we have not to fear
And now the turnpike gates again
Flew open in short space; The toll-men thinking, as before,
That Gilpin rode a race.
And so he did, and won it too,
For he got first to town;
He did again get down.
Now let us sing, Long live the King,
And Gilpin long live he ;
May I be there to see!
JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.
SURVIVOR sole, and hardly such, of all
That once liv'd here, thy brethren, at my birth, Dear JOSEPH-five-and-twenty years ago (Since which I number threescore winters past, Alas, how time escapes !-'tis even so
A shatter'd vet'ran, hollow-trunk'd perhaps,
With truth from Heaven, created thing adore,
When our forefather Druids in their oaks
Whence comes it then, that in the wane of life, or thickest shades, like Adam after taste
Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe, The auburn nut that held thee, swallowing down Swinging the parlor-door upon its hinge,
| Thy yet close-folded latitude of boughs
And all thine embryo vastness at a gulp.
Delight in agitation, yet sustain
But, worn by frequent impulse, to the cause
of their best tone their dissolution owe. With pointed hoof dibbling the glebe, prepar'd The soft receptacle, in which, secure,
Thought cannot spend itself, comparing still Thy rudiments should sleep the winter through. The great and little of thy lot, thy growth
From almost nullity into a state So Fancy dreams. Disprove it, if ye can, Of matchless grandeur, and declension thence, Ye reas'ners broad awake, whose busy search Slow, into such magnificent decay. Of argument, employ'd too oft amiss,
Time was, when, setiling on thy leaf, a fly Sifts half the pleasures of short life away!
Could shake thee to the root-and time has been
When tempests could not. At thy firmest age Thou fellist mature; and in the loamy clod Thou hadst within thy bole solid contents, Swelling with vegetative force instinct
That might have ribb’d the sides and plank'd the deck Didst burst thine egg, as theirs the fabled Twins, Of some flagg'd admiral; and tortuous arms, Now stars ; two lobes, protruding, pair'd exact; The shipwright's darling treasure, didst present A leaf succeeded, and another leaf,
To the four-quarter'd winds, robust and bold, And, all the elements thy puny growth
Warp'd into tough knee-timber,* many a load! Fost'ring propitious, thou becam'st a twig.
But the ax spar'd thee. In those thriftier days,
Oaks fell not, hewn by thousands, to supply Who livd, when thou wast such ? O couldst thou The bottomless demands of contest, wag'd speak,
For senatorial honors. Thus to Time As in Dodona once thy kindred trees
The task was left to whittle thee away Oracular, I would not curious ask
With his sly scythe, whose ever-nibbling edge, The future, best unknown, but at thy mouth Noiseless, an atom, and an atom more, Inquisitive, the less ambiguous past.
Disjoining from the rest, has, unobserv'd,
Achiev'd a labor, which had far and wide,
By man perform d, made all the forest ring.
Embowel'd now, and of thy ancient self
Possessing nought, but the scoop'd rind, that seems Desp’rate attempt, till trees shall speak again! An huge throat, calling to the clouds for drink,
Which it would give in rivulets to thy root, Time made thee what thou wast, king of the Thou temptest none, but rather much forbidd'st
The feller's toil, which thou couldst ill requite. And Time hath made thee what thou art-a cave Yet is thy root sincere, sound as the rock, For owls to roost in. Once thy spreading boughs A quarry of stout spurs, and knotted fangs, O'erhung the champaign; and the num'rous flocks, Which, crook'd into a thousand whimsies, clasp That graz'd it, stood beneath that ample cope The stubborn soil, and hold thee still erect. Uncrowded, yet safe-shelter'd from the storm. No flock frequents thee now. Thou hast outliy'd So stands a kingdom, whose foundation yet Thy popularity, and art become
Fails not, in virtue and in wisdom laid, (Unless verse rescue thee awhile) a thing Though all the superstructure, by the tooth Forgotten, as the foliage of thy youth.
Pulveriz'd of venality, a shell
Stands now, and semblance only of itself!
Thine arms have left thee. Winds have rent Then twig; then sapling; and, as cent'ry rollid
them off Slow after century, a giant-bulk
Long since, and rovers of the forest wild, Of girth enormous, with moss-cushion'd root With bow and shaft, have burnt them. Some have left Upheav'd above the soil, and sides emboss'd A splinter'd stump, bleach'd to a snowy white; With prominent wens globosetill at the last And some, memorial none, where once they grew. The rottenness, which time is charged to inflict Yet life still lingers in thee, and puts forth On other mighty ones, found also thee.
Proof not contemptible of what she can,
Even where death predominates. The spring What exhibitions various hath the world
Finds thee not less alive to her sweet force, Witness'd of mutability, all
Than yonder upstarts of the neighb'ring wood, That we account most durable below!
So much thy juniors, who their birth receiv'd
Half a millennium since the date of thine.
* Knee-timber is found in the crooked arms of oak, In all that live, plant, animal, and man,
which, by reason of their distortion, are easily adjusted And in conclusion mar them. Nature's threads, to the angle formed where the deck and the ship's sides Fine passing thought, e'en in her coarsest works,
They left their outcast mate behind, And scudded still before the wind.
Some succor yet they could afford;
And, such as storms allow,
Delay'd not to bestow.
On thy distorted root, with hearers none,
One man alone, the father of us all,
Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he
Their haste himself condemn, Aware that flight, in such a sea,
Alone could rescue them; Yet bitter felt it still to die Deserted, and his friends so nigh.
He long survives, who lives an hour
In ocean, self-upheld : And so long he, with unspent pow'r,
His destiny repell’d: And ever as the minutes flew, Entreated help, or cried—“Adieu!"
At length, his transient respite past,
His comrades, who before
Could catch the sound no more. For then, by toil subdued, he drank The stifling wave, and then he sank.
No poet wept him; but the page
of narrative sincere, That tells his name, his worth, his age,
Is wet with Anson's tear.
THE CAST-AWAY. OBSCUREST night involv'd the sky;
Th' Atlantic billows roar'd,
Wash'd headlong from on board,
Than he, with whom he went,
With warmer wishes sent. He lov'd them both, but both in vain, Nor him beheld, nor her again. Not long beneath the whelming brine,
Expert to swim, he lay: Nor soon he felt his strength decline,
Or courage die away; But wag'd with death a lasting strife, Supported by despair of life. He shouted ; nor his friends had fail'd
To check the vessel's course, But so the furious blast prevail'd,
That, pitiless, perforce,
I therefore purpose not, or dream,
Descanting on his fate,
A more enduring date.
No voice divine the storm allay'd,
No light propitious shone ; When, snatch'd from all effectual aid,
We perish'd, each alone: But I beneath a rougher sea, And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he.