Of nature's laws his carols first begun, Why the grave owl can never face the sun. For owls, as swains observe, detest the light, And only sing and seek their prey by night. How turnips hide their swelling heads below; And how the closing coleworts upwards grow; How will-a-wisp misleads night-faring clowns O'er hills, and sinking bogs, and pathless downs. Of stars he told, that shoot with shining trail, And of the glow-worm's light that gilds his tail. He sung where woodcocks in the summer feed, And in what climates they renew their breed. (Some think to northern coasts their flight they tend, Or to the moon in midnight hours ascend); Where swallows in the winter's season keep, And how the drowsy bat and dormouse sleep; How nature does the puppy's eyelid close, Till the bright sun has nine times set and rose; (For huntsmen by their long experience find, That puppies still nine rolling suns are blind). Now he goes on, and sings of fairs and shows, For still new fairs before his eyes arose. How pedlars' stalls with glittering toys are laid, The various fairings of the country-maid. Long silken laces hang upon the twine, And rows of pins and amber bracelets shine; How the tight lass, knives, combs, and scissars spies, And looks on thimbles with desiring eyes. Of lotteries next with tuneful note he told, Where silver spoons are won, and rings of gold. The lads and lasses trudge the street along, The mountebank now treads the stage, and sells Then sad he sung, "the Children in the Wood :" (Ah, barbarous uncle, stain'd with infant blood!) How blackberries they pluck'd in desarts wild, And fearless at the glittering faulchion smil'd; Their little corpse the robin red-breasts found, And strew'd with pious bill the leaves around. (Ah, gentle birds! if this verse lasts so long, Your names shall live for ever in my song.) For "Buxom Joan" he sung the doubtful strife, How the sly tailor made the maid a wife. To louder strains he rais'd his voice, to tell What woeful wars in "Chevy-chace" befel, When "Percy drove the deer with hound and horn, Wars to be wept by children yet unborn!" Ah, Witherington, more years thy life had crown'd, If thou hadst never heard the horn or hound! Yet shall the squire, who fought on bloody stumps, By future bards be wail'd in doleful dumps. "All in the land of Essex" next he chants, How to sleek mares starch quakers turn gallants: How the grave brother stood on bank so greenHappy for him if mares had never been! Then he was seiz'd with a religious qualm, And on a sudden sung the hundredth psalm. He sung of" Taffey Welsh," and "Sawney Scot," "Lilly-bullero" and the "Irish Trot." Why should I tell of " Bateman," or of " Shore," Or "Wantley's Dragon" slain by valiant Moore; "The Bower of Rosamond," or "Robin Hood," And how the " grass now grows where Troy town stood?" His carols ceas'd: the listening maids and swains Seem still to hear some soft imperfect strains. Sudden he rose; and, as he reels along, Swears kisses sweet should well reward his song. The power that guards the drunk his sleep attends, THE BIRTH OF THE SQUIRE. IN IMITATION OF THE POLLIO OF VIRGIL. YE sylvan Muses, loftier strains recite: What sudden news alarms the waking morn? Beagles and spaniels round his cradle stand, The bee shall sip the fragrant dew from flowers, His sire's exploits he now with wonder hears, He rode the mighty Nimrod of the plains. He leads the staring infant through the hall, Tells how this stag through three whole counties fled, What rivers swam, where bay'd, and where he bled. Now he the wonders of the fox repeats, Describes the desperate chase, and all his cheats; How in one day, beneath his furious speed, No, let him never feel that smart disgrace: The milk-maid (thoughtless of her future shame) But think, Priscilla, on that dreadful time, When pangs and watery qualms shall own thy crime. How wilt thou tremble when thy nipple's prest, hand With levell'd harvests has bestrown the land; |