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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 chaunts,
How to sleek mares starch quakers turn gallants:
How the grave brother stood on bank so green;
Happy 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 Welch, and Sawney Scot,
Lille-bullero, and the Irish Trot.
Why should I tell of Bateman or of Shore,
Or Wantley's Dragon slain by valiant More;
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 damsels laughing fly; the giddy clown
Again upon a wheat-sheaf drops adown;
The Pow'r that guards the drunk his sleep attends, Till ruddy like his face the sun descends.
Sweet William's Farewell to Black-ey'd Susan.
LL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-ey'd Susan came aboard :—
'Oh! where shall I my true love find!
Tell me, ye jovial sailors! tell me true,
If my sweet William sails among the crew.'
William, who high upon the yard
Rock'd with the billow to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,
He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below:
The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, And (quick as lightning) on the deck he stands. So the sweet lark, high-pois'd in air,
Shuts close his pinions to his breast, (If chance his mate's shrill call he hear) And drops at once into her nest. The noblest captain in the British fleet, Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet. 'O Susan! Susan! lovely dear,
My vows shall ever true remain; Let me kiss off that falling tear;
We only part to meet again.
Change as ye list, ye winds! my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.
'Believe not what the landmen say,
Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind;
They'll tell thee sailors, when away,
In every port a mistress find:
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
'If to far India's coast we sail,
Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright,
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,
Thy skin is ivory, so white:
Thus every beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.
'Though battle call me from thy arms,
Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms,
William shall to his dear return:
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.'
The boatswain gave the dreadful word;
The sails their swelling bosom spread;
No longer must she stay aboard:
They kiss'd; she sigh'd; he hung his head:
Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land:
'Adieu!' she cries, and wav'd her lily hand.
"TWAS when the seas were roaring
With hollow blasts of wind,
A damsel lay deploring,
All on a rock reclin'd:
Wide o'er the foaming billows
She cast a wishful look,
Her head was crown'd with willows,
That trembled o'er the brook.
Twelve months are gone and over,
And nine long tedious days;
Why didst thou, vent'rous lover,
Why didst thou trust the seas?
Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean,
And let a lover rest;
Ah! what's thy troubled motion
To that within my breast?
"The merchant, robb'd of treasure,
Views tempests in despair;
But what's the loss of treasure
To losing of my dear?
Should you some coast be laid on
Where gold and diamonds grow,
You'll find a richer maiden,
But none that loves you so.
How can they say that nature
Has nothing made in vain ;
Why then beneath the water
Do hideous rocks remain?
No eyes those rocks discover,
That lurk beneath the deep,
To wreck the wandering lover,
And leave the maid to weep.'
All melancholy lying,
Thus wail'd she for her dear,
Repaid each blast with sighing,
Each billow with a tear;
When o'er the white waves stooping,
His floating corpse she spied;
Then, like a lily drooping,
She bow'd her head, and died.
A CONTEMPLATION ON NIGHT.
WHETHER amid the gloom of night I stray,
Or my glad eyes enjoy revolving day,
Still nature's various face informs my sense,
Of an all-wise, all-powerful Providence.
When the gay sun first breaks the shades of night,
And strikes the distant eastern hills with light,
Colour returns, the plains their livery wear,
And a bright verdure clothes the smiling year;
The blooming flowers with opening beauties glow,
And grazing flocks their milky fleeces show;
The barren cliffs with chalky fronts arise,
And a pure azure arches o'er the skies.
But when the gloomy reign of Night returns,
Stript of her fading pride, all Nature mourns:
The trees no more their wonted verdure boast,
But weep in dewy tears their beauty lost:
No distant landscapes draw our curious eyes,
Wrapt in Night's robe the whole creation lies:
Yet still, ev'n now, while darkness clothes the land,
We view the traces of the' Almighty hand;
Millions of stars in Heaven's wide vault appear,
And with new glories hang the boundless sphere:
The silver moon her western couch forsakes,
And o'er the skies her nightly circle makes;
Her solid globe beats back the sunny rays,
And to the world her borrow'd light repays.
Whether those stars that twinkling lustre send
Are suns, and rolling worlds those suns attend,
Man may conjecture, and new schemes declare,
Yet all his systems but conjectures are;
But this we know, that Heaven's eternal King,
Who bade this universe from nothing spring,
Can at his word bid numerous worlds appear,
And rising worlds the' all-powerful word shall hear.
When to the western main the sun descends,
To other lands a rising day he lends:
The spreading dawn another shepherd spies,
The wakeful flocks from their warm folds arise;
Refresh'd, the peasant seeks his early toil,
And bids the plough correct the fallow soil.
While we in Sleep's embraces waste the night,
The climes oppos'd enjoy meridian light;
And when those lands the busy sun forsakes,
With us again the rosy Morning wakes:
In lazy sleep the night rolls swift away,
And neither clime laments his absent ray.
When the pure soul is from the body flown,
No more shall Night's alternate reign be known;
The sun no more shall rolling light bestow,
But from the Almighty streams of glory flow.
Oh! may some nobler thought my soul employ,
Than empty, transient, sublunary joy:
The stars shall drop, the sun shall lose his flame,
But thou, O God! for ever shine the same.