And foresters have busy been, Waken, lords and ladies gay, Louder, louder chant the lay, THE RESOLVE. (1808.) Each ambush'd Cupid I'll defy, In cheek, or chin, or brow, I'll steel my breast to beauty's art, The flaunting torch soon blazes out, Such gem I fondly deem'd was mine, No waking dream shall tinge my thought With dyes so bright and vain, No more I'll pay so dear for wit, Nor shall wild passion trouble it, I'll rather dwell alone. And thus I'll hush my heart to rest'Thy loving labour's lost; (In imitation of an Old English Poem.) Thou shalt no more be wildly blest, My wayward fate I needs must 'plain, Though bootless be the theme; Yet all was but a dream: So it was quickly gone; No more I'll bask in flame so hot, Not maid more bright than maid was e'er My fancy shall beguile, No more I'll call the shaft fair shot, To be so strangely crost; The widow'd turtles mateless die, The phoenix is but one; They seek no loves, no more will II'll rather dwell alone.' EPITAPH For a monument in Lichfield Cathedral, at the burial-place of the family of Miss Seward. (1808.) AMID these aisles, where once his precepts show'd The Heavenward pathway which in life he trod, For him, for them, a Daughter bade Whether on India's burning coasts it rise, Memorial of domestic charities. Still wouldst thou know why o'er the marble spread, he toil, Or till Acadia's winter-fetter'd soil, He hears with throbbing heart and moisten'd eyes, In female grace the willow droops And, as he hears, what dear illusions Why on her branches, silent and It opens on his soul his native The minstrel harp is emblematic hung; The woods wild waving, and the What poet's voice is smother'd here water's swell; Tradition's theme, the tower that threats the plain, The mossy cairn that hides the hero slain ; The cot, beneath whose simple porch were told, By grey-hair'd patriarch, the tales of old, The infant group, that hush'd their sports the while, And the dear maid who listen'd with a smile. The wanderer, while the vision warms his brain, Is denizen of Scotland once again. Are such keen feelings to the crowd confined, And sleep they in the poet's gifted mind? Oh no! For she, within whose mighty page Each tyrant Passion shows his woe and rage, Has felt the wizard influence they inspire, But far more sadly sweet, on foreign And to your own traditions tuned strand, We list the legends of our native land, Link'd as they come with every tender tie, Memorials dear of youth and infancy. ¡ her lyre. Yourselves shall judge: whoe'er has raised the sail By Mull's dark coast, has heard this evening's tale. Thine ear has heard, with scorn instead of awe, The plaided boatman, resting on his oar, Of whitening waves, and tells whate'er Our buckskinn'd justices expound the Our humble stage shall offer to your Wire-draw the acts that fix for wires the pain, sight; Proudly preferr'd that first our efforts And for the netted partridge noose give Scenes glowing from her pen to breathe and live; More proudly yet, should Caledon approve The filial token of a Daughter's love. THE POACHER. (1809.) (In imitation of Crabbe.) WELCOME, grave stranger, to our green retreats, the swain ; And thy vindictive arm would fain have broke The last light fetter of the feudal yoke, To give the denizens of wood and wild, Nature's free race, to each her freeborn child. Hence hast thou mark'd, with grief, Mock'd with the boon of one poor And long'd to send them forth as free Pour'do'er Chantilly the Parisian train, When musket, pistol, blunderbuss, combined, Where health with exercise and And scarce the field-pieces were left Thrice welcome, Sage, whose philo- A squadron's charge each leveret's sophic plan heart dismay'd, By nature's limits metes the rights of On every covey fired a bold brigade; La Douce Humanité approved the man; O'er court, o'er customhouse, his shoe And Seine re-echo'd Vive la Liberté! Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak o'ertops Sunk 'mid yon sordid blankets, till the sun Wide-waving seas of birch and hazel Stoop to the west, the plunderer's copse, Leaving between deserted isles ofland, ruddy sand; And lonely on the waste the yew is seen, toils are done. Loaded and primed, and prompt for desperate hand, Rifle and fowling-piece beside him stand; While round the hut are in disorderlaid Or straggling hollies spread a brighter The tools and booty of his lawless trade; green. Forforce or fraud, resistance or escape, Here, little worn, and winding dark The crow, the saw, the bludgeon, and Our scarce mark'd path descends yon His pilfer'd powder in yon nook he hoards, dingle deep: Follow- but heedful, cautious of atrip; And the filch'd lead the church's roof In earthly mire philosophy may slip. Step slow and wary o'er that swampy stream, affords (Hence shall the rector's congregation fret, Till, guided by the charcoal's smother- That while his sermon's dry his walls are wet. ing steam, We reach the frail yet barricaded door The fish-spear barb'd, the sweeping Rise in the progress of one night and Yon cask holds moonlight, run when moon was none; day, (Though placed where still the Con- And late-snatch'd spoils lie stow'd in queror's hests o'erawe, hutch apart, And his son's stirrup shines the badge To wait the associate higgler's evening of law,) Thebuilder claims the unenviable boon, To tenant dwelling, framed as slight and soon cart. As wigwam wild, that shrouds the What scenes perturb'd are acting in On the bleak coast of frost-barr'd His sable brow is wet and wrung Labrador. Approach, and through the unlatticed window peep with pain, And his dilated nostril toils in vain ; For short and scant the breath each effort draws, Nay, shrink not back, the inmate is And 'twixt each effort Nature claims asleep; a pause. лаз Beyond the loose and sable neckcloth And liveliest on the chords the bow stretch'd, His sinewy throat seems by convulsion twitch'd, did glance When Edward named the tune and led the dance. While the tongue falters, as to utter- Kind was his heart, his passions quick Though, stupified by toil, and drugg'd | And if he loved a gun, his father swore, with gin, The body sleep, the restless guest within Now plies on wood and wold his lawless trade, Now in the fangs of justice wakes dismay'd. 'Was that wild start of terror and despair, "Twas but a trick of youth would soon be o'er, Himself had done the same some thirty years before.' But he whose humours spurn law's awful yoke Must herd with those by whom law's bonds are broke: The common dread of justice soon allies Those bursting eyeballs, and that The clown, who robs the warren, or wilder'd air, excise, Signs of compunction for a murder'd With sterner felons train'd to act more dread, hare? Do the locks bristle and the eyebrows Even with the wretch by whom his arch fellow bled. For grouse or partridge massacred in Then, as in plagues the foul conta March?" No, scoffer, no! Attend, and mark with awe, There is no wicket in the gate of law! He that would e'er so lightly set ajar That awful portal, must undo each bar: Tempting occasion, habit, passion, pride, Will join to storm the breach, and force the barrier wide. That ruffian, whom true men avoid and dread, Whom bruisers, poachers, smugglers, I call Black Ned, gions pass, Leavening and festering the corrupted mass, Guilt leagues with guilt, while mutual motives draw, Their hope impunity, their fear the law; Their foes, their friends, their rendezvous the same, Till the revenue baulk'd, or pilfer'd game, Flesh the young culprit, and example leads To darker villany, and direr deeds. Wild howl'd the wind the forest glades along, Was Edward Mansell once, the light- And oft the owl renew'd her dismal |