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qf English tit Carleton College 



('OFTKIGHI 1016 


Who hat shared tlic pleasure and the laltar 

(J' prcpartng this 


The purpose of this volume is to supply in convenient form a body of reading 
material suitable for use in a eourse of study dealing with the Romantic Move- 
ment in English literature The selections included have been chosen with a 
two-fold intention : first, to provide in one book all the material, with the single 
exception of the novel, necessary to acquaint the student with the best and most 
characteristic work of the men who made the years 1798 to 1832 one of the notable 
epochs of English literature , secondly, to add to this body of prose and verse 
on \\hich critical appreciation has set the seal of final approval, and which not 
to know is to argue oneself unknown, enough of what preceded and accompanied 
the triumph of the Romantic temper to show the inception of the Movement, its 
growth, its contrasts, its failings. Selections from Percy's R cliques of Ancient 
English Poetry and from Scott's The Mnitticlsy of the Scottish Border are 
included because of the recognized influence of both of these collections upon the 
Romantic Movement , Percy and Scott were the most conspicuous of the group of 
antiquarians who were consciously concerned with the revival of interest in 
inedie\al ballads and romances Tt seemed advisable also that the Gothic revival, 
another important phase of Romanticism, should be given representation, and 
therefore selections have been included from Walpole's The Castle of Otranto 
and from Beckford's The Hittoiy of the Caliph Vathck. With these exceptions, 
the novelists have been excluded, inasmuch as a novel does not readily lend itself 
to selection, and had best be studied in its entirety 

It has been the aim to include, whenever possible, literary wholes, but in 
some eases the desne adequately to illustrate all the Romantic interests of a 
given \\riter has made it necessary to melude only extracts from the longer 
uorks. But as a rule these extracts are distinctly characteristic in themselves as 
well as self-explanatory , where needed, summaries of omitted portions have been 
supplied in the notes Tn the ease of such works as Don Juan and The Prelude, 
enough is given to make the use of other books practically unnecessary. As it 
was impossible to give space to all of any one of Scott 's longer poems, two cantos 
of The Lady of the Lale have been included as representative of this side of 
Scott's work The complete poem, as well as Marmion, which is represented in 
the text only by songs, may easily be procured in cheap editions, if it is so desired. 

The selections under each author are arranged in the order of writing, so 
far as this eould be determined, except that in the case of writers from whom 
both poetry and prose are included, the /selections of poetry are placed first 
Dates of writing and publication, when known, are given at the beginning of 



each selection; dates of writing are printed in italics. Lines of verse are num- 
bered as in the complete poems; dots are used to indicate editor's omissions; 
asterisks are used as the authors used them and usually denote that the selection 
in which they occur was left incomplete. Unless the original spelling is dis- 
tinctly important, as it is in the case of Chatterton's poems, modern spelling is 
employed. In the references to pages in this volume, the letter a is used to 
indicate the first column on the page ; the letter ft, to indicate the second column. 
Brief glossarial notes are given at the foot of the page , additional notes, both 
explanatory and critical in character, are given in the Appendix, where are also 
to be found bibliographies and reference lists, selections from the writings of 
Pope, Johnson, and Burke, a table of important historical events and a list of 
English, German, and French writers of the period, a glossary of proper nainea 
occurring in the text, and an index of authors, titles, first lines of poems, and 
first lines of lyries found in the dramas and other long works printed in this 

I wish to express my thanks to the Houghton Mifflin Company, to Qinn and 
Company, to the Macmillan Company, to the John Lane Company, and to E P. 
Dutton and Company for the privilege of quoting extracts from their publica- 
tions; to the Librarian of the Harvard University Library for the use of a 
number of books which otherwise would have been inaeeessible to me , to Pro- 
fessor Arthur W Graver, of Miami University, and to Professor George Benedict, 
of Brown University, for suggestions regarding individual writers and selections ; 
to Miss Iva Firkins, of the Library of the University of Minnesota, and to Mr. 
B. L Walkley, of the Minneapolis Public Library, for help in preparing the 
bibliographies , to several of my colleagues and students who have been generous 
of their time in supplying necessary information or other help , and especially to 
Professor Lindsay Todd Damon, of Brown Universit} r , whose careful supervision 
and keen critical judgment have made for countless improvements throughout 
the book. 

In a book of this size and nature, it is extremely difficult to preserve com- 
plete consistency of treatment, and no doubt inaccuracies have resulted I 
shall appreciate notification of any corrections which may occur to students or 
instructors using the volume G. B W. 

Carleton College, 

September 1, 1916. 




Countess of Wlnchllsea (1661 


The Tree 1 

From The Volition for nn Absolute Ke- 

treat 1 

To The Nightingale 2 

A Nocturnal Reverie 2 

Thomas Parnell (1679 1718) 
A Fanv Tale 
A Night-Piec-e on h 
A Hymn to Contentment 

Allan Ramsay (1686 1758) 
The Highland Lnddie 
My IVggv 

8*eet William's Ghost 
Through the Wood, Laddie 
An Thou Weie My Am Thing 
From The Gentle Shepherd 

Patie and I'eggy 
Piefaee to The Kvei green 

William Hamilton of Bangour (1704 

The Braes of Yarrow 

David Mallet (1705-1765) 
William and Margaret 
Tho Birks of Endeimaj 

John Dyer (1700-1758) 
Gi ongar Hill 

The Fleece --- 

From Book I 

James Thomson (1700-1748) 
The Seasons 

Ffom Winter 

From Summer . 

From Autumn 
A Hymn on Tho Seasons 
The Castle of Indolence 

From Canto I 

Tell Me, Thou Soul of Her I Lo\e 
To Amanda 
Preface to Winter ........ 


Edward Young (1681-1765) 
Night Thoughts 

AVom Night I 33 
From Night III 34 
From Night V 35 
From Night VI 35 
From Night IX 35 
From Conjectures on Original Compo- 
sition ... 86 

Bobert Blair (1699-1746) 
From The Grave 








William Shenstone (1714-1763) 
From The 8t hoolrmst rebs 

Mark Akenslde (1721-1770) 

The Pleasures of the Imagination 

From Part I 
For a Grotto , 
Ode to the Evening Star 

... 87 



William Collins (1721 1759) 

A Song from Shakes pear 'B Cymbelyne 48 

Ode to 8implicit\ 48 

Ode on the Poetical Character 49 
Ode Wntten in the Beginning of the 

Year 1746 50 

Ode to Evening 50 

The PaRsionH 51 

Ode on the Death of Mr Thomson 52 
An Ode on the Popular Superstitions of 

the Highlands oi Scotland . 53 

Thomas Gray (1716 1771) C, 

Ode on the Spung 57 
Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton Col- 
lege a 57 
II\mn to Adversity 58 
Elegy Wntten in a Country Churchward 59 
The Progress of Poesy 61 
The Bard 63 
Ode on the Pleasure Arising from Vicis- 
situde 65 
Song (Thyisis, when we parted, swore) 66 
The Fatal Sisters 66 
The Descent of Odin . 67 
The Triumphs of Owen . 68 
The Death of Iloel 68 
Caradoc . 68 
Conan 66 



Thomas Ofay (Continued) 
From Journal in France . 

From Gray ' s Letters 

To Mrs Dorothy Gray 

To Bichard West 

To Horace Walpole 

To Bichard Stonehewer 

To Thomas Wharton 

To the Reverend William Mnnou 

To the Reverend William Mason 

To Thomas Wharton 

To Horace Walpole 

To Richard Kurd 

To Horace Walpolc 
From Journal in the Lakes 

Thomas Warton (1728-1790) 
From The Pleasures of Melancholy 
From Ode on the Approach of Summer 
The Crusade . . . 
Written in a Blank Leaf of Dugdale's 

Monasticon 77 

Written at Stonehenge 78 

While Summer Suns o 'er the Gay Pios- 

pect Play'd 78 

On King Arthur's Bound Table at 

Winchester 78 

From Observations on the Fairy Queen 

of Spenser 79 

Joseph Warton (1722-1800) 

The Enthusiast or The Lover of Nature 80 

I Ode to Fancy 84: 
From Essay on the Genius and Wiitings 

of Pope . 85 


Thomas Ohatterton (1752-1770) 
69 Bristowe Tragedie, 01, The Dethe of Syr 

Chailes Bavidin 125 

69 The Accounte of W Canynges Feast . . 130 
From JElla. A Eutcrlude 
Mynstrelles Song (The boddynge flour- 

ettes bloshes atte the Ivghte) 130 

Mynstrelles Song (O f synge untoc mic 

roundelaie) 131 

An Excelpnte Balade of Cliantip 132 

Epitaph on Robeit Canynge .. 134 

William Beckford (1759-1844) 

Ftom The History of the Caliph Vathek 134 

William Oowper (1731-1800) 
From Olney Hymns 
Lovcst Thou Me? 





Light Shining Out of Darkness 


The Sofa 

The Time Piece 

The Winter Walk at 

James Macphorson (1738-1796) 
Caithon A Poem 86 

Oina-Morul A Poem 91 

From Fingal An Ancient Epic Poem 
Book I . . .92 

Bichard Hard (1720-1808) 

Ftom Letters on Chivalry and Romance 
Letter T 97 

Letter VI 98 

Horace Walpole (1717-1797) 

From The Castle of Otranto 
(Trapter I 100 


From Book I 
From Book II 
Ftom Book VI 

The Poplar-Field 

The Negio's Complaint 

On the Receipt of M> Mothpr's Picture 
out of Norfolk 

Yardlcv Oak 

To M,irv 

The Casta\\nv 

From Oowppr's Letteis 

To William TTmun 1202 

To William ITmun 1247 

To Mrs rowi>er 12*7 

To Mr .TohnHon 124S 

To William Unwin 1248 




From Preface to The Castle of Otranto 1350 

Thomas Percy (1729-1811) 
From Reliques of Ancient English Poetry 

Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne 110 

The Ancient Ballad of Chevy-Chase 112 

Sir Patrick Bpence . 116 

Edom o' Gordon 117 

Lord Thomas and Fair Elhnor . . 118 

James Seattle (17354803) 
Retirement . 119 

The Minstrel , or, The Progress of Genius 
from Book I ..................... 120 

George Orabbe (1754-1832) i,/ 

From The Village 

Book I 134 

From The Borough 

Letter I General Desciiption IftO 

From Pieface to The Borough 1251 

William Lisle Bowles (1762-1850) 
At Tynemonth Puory . 164 

The Bells, Ostend 164 

Bereavement 164 

Bamborough Castle 164 

Hope 165 

Influence of Time on Giief 165 

Approach of Summer 165 

Absence 165 

William Blake (1757-1827) V 

To Spring 166 

How Sweet I Roamed 169 

My Silks and Fine Army 166 

To the Muses 166 
Introduction to Songs of Innocence 166 

The Shepherd 167 

The Little Black Bov 167 

Laughing Song . 167 

The Divine Image 167 
A Dream ............ . 168 


William Blake (Continued) 

The Book of Thel . 168 

The Clod and the Pebble 170 

Holy Thursday . . 170 

The Chimney-Sweeper 171 

Nurse's Song . .. 171 

The Tiger . . 171 

Ah, Sunflower 171 

The Garden of Love . 171 

A Poison Tree 171 

A Cradle Song 172 

Auguries of Innocence 172 

The Mental Traveller 173 
Couplet (Great things are done when men 

and mountains meet) 174 

From Milton 174 
To the Queen ... 174 

Robert Bums (1759-1796) ^ * 

0, Once I Lov 'd a Bonie Lass 175 
A Pr.nei in the Prospect of Death 175 
Marv Monson 175 
My frame, O 175 
Poor Mm lie 'a Elegy 176 
Green Grow the Rashes, O 176 
To Daw 177 
Epistle to J Lapraik 177 
Epistle to the Re\ John M 'Math 179 
The Jolly Beggais 180 
The Holy Fair 185 
The Cotter's Saturday Night 188 
To a Mouse 190 
Address to the Deil 191 
A Bard's Epitaph 193 
Address to the Unco Guid, or, The Rig- 
idly Righteous 193 
To a Mountain Daisv 194 
To a Louse 194 
The Silver Tassie 195 
Of A' the Airts 195 
Auld Lang Sjne 195 
Whistle O'er the Lave O't 1P6 
My Heart's in the Highlands 106 
John Anderson Mv Jo 196 
Sweet Afton 196 
Willie Brew 'd a Peck oi Maut 197 
Tarn Glen 197 
Thou Ling 'ring Star . 198 
Tarn o' Shanter 198 
Ye Flowery Banks 201 
Ae Fond Kiss . 201 
The Deil's Awa \\T th' Exciseman 201 
Saw Ye Bonie Lesley '202 
Highland Mary 202 
Last May a Braw Wooer 202 
Scots, Wha Hae / 203 
A Red. Red Rose . 203 
My Name's Awa . 203 
Contented wi' Little .. 204 
Lassie wi' the Lint-White Locks 204 
Is There for Honest Poverty 204 
O, Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast 205 
O, Lay Thy Loof in Mine, Lass 205 
Preface to the First, or Kilmarnock Edi- 
tion of Burns 's Poems 205 


Bobert Burn* (Continued) 

Dedication to the Second, or Edinburgh 
Edition of Burns 's Poems 200 

Holy Willie's Prayer 1212 

Letter to Thomson . 1217 

Letter to Alison 1280 


Samuel Rogers (1763-1855) 
The Pleasures of Memory 

From Fart I . . . . 207 

An Italian Song 269 

Written at Midnight 209 
Written in the Highlands of Scotland 209 

An Inscription in the Crimea 209 

The Boy of Egremond 210 
From Italy 

The Lake of Geneva 210 

The Gondola 211 

The Fountain . 212 

William Godwin (1756-1836) 

Enquiry Concerning Political Justice 
From Book I Of the Powers of Man 

Considered m His Social Capacity 213 
From Book V Of the Legislative and 
Executive Power 219 

William Wordsworth (1770-1850) 
Extract from the Conclusion of a Poem, 
Composed in Anticipation of Leav- 
ing School % . 223 
Written in Very Early Youth 223 
From An Evening Walk 223 
Lines Left Upon a Seat in a Yew-Tree 223 
The Revene of Poor Susan 224 
We Are Seven 225 
The Thorn 225 
Goody Blake and Harry Gill 228 
Her Eyes Are Wild 229 
Simon Lee 230 
Lines Written in Early Spring . 231 
To My Sister . 231 
A Whirl-Blast from behind the Hill 2,12 
Expostulation and Reply . 232 
The Tables Turned . 232 
Lines Composed a Pew Miles above Tin- 
tern Abbey 233 
The Old Cumberland Beggar . 234 
Nutting . .... 237 
Strange Fits of Passion Have I Known 238 
She Dwelt among the Untrodden Wavs. 238 
I Travelled among Unknown Men 238 
Three Years She Grew in Bun and Shower 238 
A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal 239 
A Poet's Epitaph 239 

Matthew . 239 

The T\\o April Mornings. . 240 

The Fountain . . 240 

Lucy Gray 241 

The Prelude 
From Book I Introduction Childhood 

and School-Time ... 242 

From Book II. School-Time 245 


William Wordflwortli (Continued) 

From Book HI. Residence at Cam- 

From Book IV Bummer Vacation . 

From Book V. Books 

From Book VI. Cambridge and the 

Book VIII Betrospect Love of Na- 
ture Leading to Love of Man 

From Book XI France 

From Book XII Imagination and 
Taste, How Impaired and Restored 

Book XIII Imagination and* Taste, 
How Impaired and Restored (con- 
cluded) . 


It Was an April Morning 

'Tis Said That Borne Have Died for Love 

The Excursion 

From Book I The Wanderer 
Pehon and Ossa 
The Sparrow's Nest 
To a Butterfly 
My Heart Leaps Up 
Written in March 
To a Butterfly 
To the Small Celandine 
To the Same Flower 
Resolution and Independence 
I Grieved for Buonaparte 
Composed upon Westminster Bridge, 

September 3, 1802 
Composed by the Sea-bide, near Calais, 

August, 1802 

It Is a Beauteous Evening, Calm and 
Free . ... 

On the Extinction of the Venetian Re- 

To Toussaint L'Ouverture . . . 
Composed in the Valley near Dover, on 

the Day of Landing 

Near Dover, September, 1802 

Written in London, September, 1802 

London, 1802 

Great Men Have Been among Us 

It Is not to Be Thought of That the 


When I Have Borne in Memory 
To H C 

To the Daisy . ... 

To the Same Flower . 

To the Daisy 

The Green Linnet . 


At the Grave of Burns 

To a Highland Girl 

Stepping Westward . 

The Solitary Reaper 

Yarrow Unvisited. . . 

October, 1803 .. 

To the Men of Kent . . . 

Anticipation, October, 1803 

To the Cuckoo. ... . 

She Was a Phantom of Delight 

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud 


William Wordsworth (Continued) 

The Affliction of Margaret 295 

247 Ode to Duty . ... 296 

247 To a Skylark 297 

248 Elegiac Stanzas .. 297 
To a Young Lady . . .. 298 

249 Character of the Happy Warrior 298 
Power of Music 299 

250 Yes, It Was the Mountain Echo . 300 
259 Nuns Fret Not at Then Convent's Nar- 
row Room . 300 

261 Personal Talk . 300 
Admonition . 301 
How Sweet It 1% When Mother Fancy 

262 Rocks 301 
266 Composed bv the Side of Grasmere Lake 302 
273 The World Is too Much with Us, Late 

273 and Soon 302 
To Sleep 302 

274 November, 1806 .. 302 
281 Ode Intimations of Immortality 303 
281 Thought of a Briton on the Subjugation 

281 of Switzerland 305 

282 Characteristics of a Child Three Years 
282 Old 305 
282 Here Pause the Poet Claims at I^east 
2S2 This Praise 306 
281 Laodamia . 306 
281 Yarrow Visited 308 
285 Hast Thou Been, with Flash Incessant 309 

Composed upon an foemng of Extraor- 

285 dinary Splendor and Beautv 309 
To a Snowdrop 310 

286 There Is a Little Unpretending Rill 310 
Between Namur and Liege 310 

286 Composed in One of the Catholic Cantons 311 

Fiom The Rner Duddon 
286 Sole Listener, Duddon 311 

286 After-Thoutfit 311 

From EccleHiastiral Sonnets 

287 Mutability 311 
287 Inside of King's College Chapel, Cam- 
287 bridge 312 
287 To a Sk\lark 312 

287 Scorn Not the Sonnet . 312 
To the Cuckoo . 312 

28S Yarrow Revisited 312 

288 On the Departure of Sir Walter Scott 
288 from Abbotsford, for Naples 314 

288 The Trosachs . . 314 

289 If Thou Indeed Derive Thy Light from 

290 Heaven . 314 
290 If This Great World of .Jov and Pain . 314 

290 " There ?" Said a Stripling, Pointing 

291 with Meet Pride 314 

292 Most Sweet It Is with Unuphfted Eyes 315 

292 To a Child . . 315 

293 Extempore Effusion upon the Death of 

293 James Hogg . 315 

294 Hark! 'Tis the Thrush .. ..316 
294 A Poet! He Hath Put His Heart to 
294 School ... . .316 

294 So Fair, So Sweet, Withal So Sensitive 316 

295 The Unremitting Voice of Nightly 
295 Streams 316 




William Wordsworth (Continued) 

Bobert Southey (1774-1843) 

Preface to the Second Edition of Several 
of the Foregoing Poems (Lyrical 
Ballads) 317 

From The Idiot Boy 1243 

To the Poet, John Dyer 1260 

From Written After the Death of Charles 

Lamb 1296 

Preface to The Thoin 1357 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834) 



To a Young Ass 

La Fayette 


To the Reverend W L Bowles 

The Eolian Harp 

Reflections on Having Left n Place of 

Sonnet to a Friend Who Asked Ho* I 

Felt When the Nurse First Pre- 

sented Mv Infant to Me 
Ode on the Departing Year 
This Lime-Tree Bower My Piison 
The Dungeon 
The Rime of the Ancient Manner 

Frost at Midnight 

Fiance An Ode 

Le\nti 01, The fnuisMan Lo\e Chant 

Fears in Solitude 

The Nightingale 

The Bullnd of the Daik Ludie 

Kubla Khan 

Lines Written in the Album at Elbnige 


Dejection An Ode 
Hjnin before Sunnse, in the Vale of 


Inscription for a Fountain on a Heath 
Answer to a Child's Question 
The Pains of Sleep 
To a Gentleman 

Time Real and Imaginar} . 

From Remorse 

Hear, Sweet Spirit, Hear the Spell 
Ftom Zapolya 

A Sunny Shaft Did I Behold 
The Knight's Tomb 
To Natlire 
Youth and Age . 
Work *ithoi\t Hope . .. 
The Garden of Boccaccio 
Phantom or Fact 

The Wanderings of Gam 
From Biographia Literana 

Chapter XTV 

Chapter XVII 

From Chapter XVIII 

Chapter XXII 
Characteristics of Shakspeare's Dramas 



3 "15 






Sonnet Concerning the Slave Trade 400 

The Battle of Blenheim 400 

The Holly Tree . . . . 401 

The Old Man's Comforts 401 
God's Judgment on a Wicked Bishop 401 
From the Curse of Kehama 

The Funeral 403 
The Match to Moscow 405 
Ode (Who counsels peace at this mo- 
mentous hour) 406 
My Days among the Dead Are Past 408 
From A Vision of Judgment 

The Beatification 409 

The Cataract of Lodore 410 
From The Life of Nelson 

The Battle of Trafalgar ... 411 

Thomas Campbell (1777-1844) 
The Pleasures of Hope 

Ftom Part I 417 

Ye Manners of England 419 

Hohenhnden 420 

LochiePs Warning 420 

Lord UJlm >s Daughter 421 

Battle of the Baltic 422 

The Last Man 423 
The Death-Boat of Heligoland . 424 

Thomas Moore (1779-1852) 
The Lake of the Diurnal Swamp 
A Canadian Boat Song 
From Irish Melodies 

Oh, Breathe Not His Name 

When He Who Adores Thee 

The Harp That Once Thiough Tara's 

Ohf Blame Not the Bard 

Lesbia Hath a Beaming Eye 

The Young May Moon 

The Minstrel Bov 

Farewell* Bnt Whene\er You Wel- 
come the Hour 

The Time I 've Lost in Wooing 

Dear Harp of My Country 

She Is Far from the Land 
From National Airs 

Oh, Come to Me When Davlight Sets 

Oft, in the Stilly Night 
Lalla Rookh 

From The Light of the Haram 
From Fables for the Holy Alliance 

The Dissolution of the Holy Alliance 








Charles Wolfe (1791-1823) 
The Burial of Sir John Moore at Coninna 432 
Sonnet (My Spirit's on the mountains, 

where the birds) 432 

Oh Say Not That My Heart Is Cold 432 

fllr Walter Scott (1771-1832) 

William and Helen 433 

The Violet . . 436 

To a Lady . 436 

Glenfinlas , or Lord Ronald 's Coronach 436 

Cadyow Castle . . 439 




Sir Walter Scott (Continued) 

From The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Bor- 

Kinmont Willie 441 

Lord Randal . . 444 

The Lay of the Last Minstrel 
From Canto VI 444 

Harold (The Lay of Rosabelle) 445 

The Maid of Neidpatii 446 

Hunting Song . . 446 

From Marmion 

' Where Shall the Lover Rest 446 

Lochinvar . 447 

From The Lady of the Lake 
Canto I The Chase 448 

From Canto II Boat Song 455 

From Canto III. Coronach 456 

Canto VI The Guaid-Room 456 

From Rokeby 

Brignall Banks 464 

Allen-a-Dale ... . 465 

From Waverley 
Hie Away, Hie Away 465 

From Guy Mannering 

Twist Ye, T*me Ye 465 

Wasted, Wearv, Wherefore Stav 466 

Lines on the Lifting of the Banner of the 

House of Buccleuch 466 

Jock of Hazeldean 467 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu 467 

From The Antiquary 
Why Sitt 'st Thou by That Ruin M Hal! t 467 

From Old Mortality 
And What Though Winter Will Pinch 

Severe . 468 

Clarion 468 

The Dreary Change 468 

From Rob Roy 
Farewell to the Land 468 

From The Heart of Midlothian 
Proud Maisie 468 

From Ivanhoe 

The Barefooted Pnar 468 

Rebecca's Hymn 469 

From The Monastery 

Bolder March 469 

From The Pirate 
The Song of the Reim-Kennar 470 

Farewell to the Muse 471 

From Quentm Durward 
County Guy 471 

From The Talisman 
What Brave Chief 471 

From The Doom of Devergoil 
Robin Hood 471 

Bonny Dundee 471 

When Friends Are Met 473 

From Woodstock 
Glee for King Charles i 473 

The Foray . .... 473 

Joanna Bafflie (1762-1851) 
From The Beacon 

fisherman's Song 474 

Woo 'd and Married\nd A ' 474 

A Scotch Song 474 


Allan Cunningham (1784-1842) 

The Lovely Lass of Preston Mill 475 

Gane Were But the Winter Cauld 476 

A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea 476 

Jamas Hogg (1772 1835) 

When the Kyo Comes Hame 476 

The Skylark 477 

When Maggy Gangs Away 477 
From The Queen 's Wake 

Kilmeny 477 

The Witch o' Fife 481 

A Boy's Song 482 

M'Kimman . 482 

Lock the Door, Laiiston 483 

The Maid of the Sea 481 

Isabelle 12J8 

George Noel Gordon, Lord Byron (1788- 


Lachin y Gair 484 

Farewell' If Ever Fondest Pra>er 481 

Bright Be the Place of Th> Soul! 485 
When We Two Parted ' 485 
From English Baids and Scotch Rc\ieu 

ers 485 

Maid of Athene K?e We Pait 41)6 

The Bride of Abydos 496 

Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte 510 

She Walks in Beaut* 511 
Oh* Snatch 'd Away in Beauts 'H Bloom r >12 

My Soul Is Daik 512 
Song of Saul before His Lant Battle 512 

Herod's Lament for Manamnc 512 

The Destination of Sennacherib 5X3 
Stanzas for Music (Theie's not a ]oy 

the *orld can gi\e) 513 

Fare Thee Well 513 
Stanzas tor Music (There lie none of 

Beauty's daughters) 514 

Sonnet on Chillon 514 

The Prisoner of Chi I Ion 515 

Stanzas to Augusta 518 

Epistle to Augusta 519 

Darkness 521 

Prometheus 522 

Sonnet to Lake Leman 522 
Stanzas for Music (They sa> that Hope 

is happiness) 523 
From Childe Hai old's Pilgrimage 

Canto III 523 

From Canto IV 541 

Manfred 549 

So, We'll Go no More A Roving 568 

My Boat Is on the Shore 568 
Strahan, Tonson, Lintot of the Times 568 

Mazeppa . 569 
From Don Juan 

Dedication 577 

From Canto I 579 

From Canto II 587 

From Canto III 595 

The Isles of Greece 596 
From Canto IV . 601 

From Canto XI 609 




George Noel Gordon (Continued) 
When a Man Hath No Freedom to Fight 

For at Home . . 613 

The World Is a Bundle of Hay 61 J 

Who Kill'd John Keatbf 613 

For Orford and for Waldegrave 613 

The Vision of Judgment 613 

Stanzas Written on the Road between 

Florence and Pisa 626 

On This Day I Complete My Thirty-sixth 

Year . . . . 626 

Letter to Murray . 1224 

Letter to Murray 1225 

Preface to The Vision of Judgment 1227 

Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) 
Queen Mab 

From Section II 
Section VIII 
Mutability (We are as clouds that veil 

the midnight moon) 
To (Oh! there are spirits of the 


To Wordsworth 
Feelings of a Republican on the Fall of 


Alastor, or The Spirit of Solitude 
Hymn to Intellectual Beauty 
Mont Blanc 

Linos (The cold earth slept belo\\) 
To Marv 





Death (They die the dead return not) 

Lines to a Critic 


The Past 

On a Faded Violet 

Lines Written Among the Euganean Hills 651 

Stanzas (The sun is warm, the skv w 

clear) 654 
Lines Written during the Castlereagh Ad 

ministration 655 

The Mask of Anarchy 655 

Song to the Men of England 650 

England in 1819 659 

Ode to the West Wind 660 

The Indian Serenade 661 

Love's Philosophy 661 

The Poet's Lover 661 

Prometheus Unbound 662 

The Sensitive Plant 699 

The Cloud 703 

To a Skylark 704 

To (I fear thy kisses, gentle 

maiden) 706 

Arethusa 706 

Hymn of Apollo 707 

Hymn of Pan 707 

The Question. 707 

The Two Spirits- An Allegory 708 

Autumn- A Dirge 709 

The Waning Moon . 709 

To the Moon . 709 


. 710 
. 728 
. 729 

(Music, when soft voices die) 729 
(When passion's trance is 


Percy Bysflhe Shelley (Continued) 
An Allegory . 
The Witch of Atlas 

Song (Barely, rarely comest thou) 
To Night .... 


To Emilia Viviani . . . . 




Mutability (The flower that smiles to- 
day) 729 
A Lament 729 
Sonnet* Political Greatness 729 
Adonais . 730 
From Hellas 

Life May Change, but It May Fly Not 737 
Worlds on Worlds Are Boiling Ever 738 
Darkness Has Dawned in the East 738 
The World's Great Age Begins Anew 739 
Evening 739 

To (One word is too often pro- 
faned) 739 
On Keats . . 740 
Tomorrow . 740 
Remembrance 740 
To Edward Williams 740 
Music 741 
Lines (When the lamp as shattered) 741 
With A Guitar To Jane 742 
To Jane 742 
From Charles The Fit st 

A Widow Bird Sate Mourning for Her 

Love 743 

A Dirge 743 

Lines (We meet not as we parted) 743 

The Isle . 743 

From A Defense of Poetry 743 

To the Nile 1278 

Preface to Prometheus Unbound 1333 

On Love 1339 

Preface to Adonais 1340 

Fragment of an Elegy on the Death of 

Adonis 1341 

Fragment of an Elegy on the Death of 

Bion . 1341 

To Stella . 1341 

John Keats (1795-1821) 

Imitation of Spenser . . . 751 

To Byron . ... 752 

To Chatterton 752 

Woman! When I Behold Thee Flippant, 

Vain . . 752 

Written on the Day That Mr Leigh Hunt 

Left Prison 753 

To a Young Lady Who Sent Me a Laurel 

Grown ... . 753 

How Many Bards Gild the Lapses of 

Time . ... ... . . 753 

Keen, Fitful Gusto Are Whispering Here 

and There 758 

On First Looking into Chapman's Homer 753 






John KeatB (Continued) 

As from the Darkening Gloom a Silver 

Dove .... ' ' ' l2l 

Sonnet to Solitude 754 

To One Who Has Been Long in City Pent 754 
Oh! How I Love on a Pair Summer's Eve 754 
I Stood Tiptoe upon a Little Hill 754 

Sleep and Poetry . 758 

Addressed to Benjamin Robert Haydon 763 
To G. A. W . - 

Stanzas (In a drear-mghted December) 
Happy la England 
On the Grasshopper and Cricket 
After Dark Vapors Have Oppress 'd Our 

Plains .... 

Written on the Blank Space at the End 

of Chaucer's Tale of "The Floure 

and the Lefe" 
On a Picture of Leander 
To Leigh Hunt, Esq . . . 
On Seeing the Elgin Marbles 
On the Sea 

Lines (Unfelt, unheard, unseen) 
On Leigh Hunt's Poem "The Story of 

When I Have Fears That I May Cease to 

On Sitting Down to Bead "King Lear" 

Once Again 

Lines on the Mermaid Tavern 
Robin Hood 
To the Nile 
To Spenser . . 
The Human Seasons 

Isabella, or The Pot of Basil 
To Homer 

Fragment of an Ode to Maia 
To Ailsa Rock 
Fancy . . 

Ode (Bards of Passion and of Mirth) 
Ode on Melancholy 
Ode on a Grecian Uin. . . 
Ode on Indolence 
La Belle Dame Sans Merci 

On Fame 

Another on Fame 

Ode to Psyche 

Ode to a Nightingale 

Lamia ... 

The Eve of St Agnes 

The Eve of St. Mark 

Hyperion . * 

To Autumn 

To Fannie 

Bright Star, Would I Were Steadfast As 

Thou Art 
From Keats 's Letters 

To Benjamin Bailey 

To John Hamilton Reynolds, 

To John Taylor 

To James Augustus Hessey 

To George and Georgiana Keats 

To John Hamilton Reynolds 

































John Keats (Continued) 

To Percy Bysshe Shelley 865 

To George and Georgiana Keats . 1226 

To Benjamin Bailey 1287 

To John Hamilton Reynolds 1289 

To George Keats 1290 

To George and Georgiana Keats 1290 
To Benjamin Bailey 1291 

Preface to JEndymion 1288 

Junes Henry Leigh Hunt (1784-1859) 

The Story of Rimini 

From Canto 111 .... 866 

To Hampstead . 867 

To the Grasshopper and the. Cricket 868 

The Nile .... 868 

Mahmoml . 868 

Song of Fairies Robbing Orchaid 869 

Abou Ben Adhem and the Augel 869 

The Glove and the Lions 870 

Rondeau 870 

The Fish, the Man, and the Spn it 870 

Hearing Music 871 

The Old Lady 871 

Getting Up on Cold Moming* . 87.1 

Fwm On the Realities of Imagination 874 

A " No*, " Descriptive of a Hot D) 877 

Shaking Hands 878 
Fiom Dreams 011 the Borders of the Land 
of Poetry 

I The Demands of Poetiv 879 

. II My Bower 880 

III On a Bust of Bacchus . 880 
Of the Sight of Shops 

From Part II . 880 

Proem to Selection from Kents's I*octr> 8812 

Fiom Preface to The Stoiy of Rimmi 1276 

Francis Jeffrey (1773-1850) 

From Crabbc 's Poems 884 

Fiom Alison's Essays on the Nature and 

Principles of Ta<*te 887 

From Wordsworth's The Excursion 892 
From Wordsworth's The White Doe of 

Rylstone 902 

From Ghilde Harold 's Pilgrimage, Canto 

the Third 904 

John Wilson Oroker (1780-1857) 

Endvmion A Poetical Romance by John 
Keats 91<< 

Charles Lamb (1775 1834) 
The Midnight Wind . . 915 

Was It Some Sweet Device of Faery 915 
If from My Lips Some Angry Accents 

Fell & 16 

Childhood .... .916 

The Old Familiar Faces 916 

Hester *7 

The Three Graves 917 

The Gipsy's Malison. 17 

On an Infant Dying As Soon As Born 917 



Oharta Lamb (Continued) 

Walter Savage Landor (Continued) 

She Is Going .... 918 

Letter to Wordsworth 918 

From Characters of Dramatic Writers 

Contemporary with Bhakspeare 920 
Thomas Heywood 921 

John Webstei 921 

John Ford 921 

George Chapman 922 

Francis Beaumont John Fletcher 922 
From On the Tragedies of Shakspeaie, 

Considered vuth Reference to Their 

Fitness for Stage Representation Q23 
The South-Sea House 927 

Chiist's Hospital Five and Thirty Years 

Ago . 931 

The Two Races of Men 937 

Mrs Battle's Opinions on Whist 940 

Mackery End, in Hertfordshire 944 

Dream-Children 946 

A Dissertation upon Roast Pig 948 

Old China 951 

Poor Relations 954 

Sanity of True Genius 957 

The Death of Coleridge 959 

Letter to Wordsworth 1299 

Walter Savage Landor (1775-1864) 

From Gebir 

Book I 459 

Rose Aylnier 963 

Child of a I>a\, Thou Knowest Not 963 
For an Epitaph at Fiesole 963 

Lyrics to I ant he 

Homage 963 

On the Smooth Brow and Clustering 

Hair 963 

Heart 's-Easc 963 

It Often Comes into My Head 963 

All Tender Thoughts That E'er Pos- 
sess M 963 
Thou Hast Not Raised, lantlie, Such 

Dcsiie 963 

Pleasure' Why Thus Desert the Heart 96.1 
Renunciation 964 

You Smiled, You Spoke, and I Be- 
lieved 964 
So Late Romo\ed from Him She Snore 964 
I Held Her Hand, the Pledge of Bliss 964 
Absence 964 
Flow, Precious Tears' Thus Shall My 

Rival Know 964 

Mild Is tho Parting Year, and Sweet 964 
Past Rmn'd Hion Helen Lhes 964 

Here Ever Since You Went Abroad 964 
Years After . 965 

She I Love (Alas in Vain') 965 

No, My Own Love of Other Years 965 
I Wonder Now That Youth Remains 965 
Your Pleasures Spring like Daisies in 

the Grass 965 

Years, Many Parti-Colored Years , 965 

Well I Remember How You Smiled 965 

A Fiesolan Idyl ... ... 965 

From The Citation and Examination of 

William Shakspeare 

The Maid's Lament 966 

Upon a Sweet-Briar . 966 

From Pericles and Aspasia 
Comma to Tanagra, from Athens 967 
I Will Not Love 987 

The Death of Artemidora 967 

Life Passes Not as Some Men Say 968 
Little Aglae to Her Father on Her 

Statue Being Called like Her 968 

We Mind Not How the Sun in the Mid- 
Sky 968 
Sappho to Hesperus . 968 
Dirce . 968 
On Seeing a Hair of Lucretia Borgia . 968 
To Wordsworth 968 
To Joseph Ablett . 969 
To the Sister of Eha 970 
On His Own Agamemnon and Iphigeneia 971 
I Cannot Tell, Not T, Why She 971 
You Tell Me I Must Come Again . 971 
Remain, Ah Not in Youth Alone 971 
"You Must Give Back," Her Mother 

Said . 971 

The Maid I Love Ne'er Thought of Me 971 
Very True, the Linnets Sing 971 

To a Painter 972 

Dull Is My Verse Not Even Thou 972 

Sweet Was the Song That Youth Sang 

Once 972 

To Sleep 972 

Why, Whv Repine , 972 

Mother. 1 Cannot Mind My Wheel 972 

To a Bride, Feb 17, 1846 972 

One Year Ago My Path Was Green 973 

Yes, I Write Verses Now amKThen 973 
The Leaves Are Falling, So Am I . 973 

The Place Where Soon I Think to Lie 973 
Give Me the Eyes That Look on Mine 973 
Twenty Years Hence My Eyes May Grow 974 
Proud Word You Never Spoke 974 

Alas, How Soon the Hours Are Over 974 
My Hopes Retire , My Wishes As Before 974 
Various the Roads of Life; in One 974 

Is It Not Better at an Early Hour 974 

Pursuits! Alas, I Now Have None 974 

With an Album 974 

The Day Returns, My Natal Day 974 

How Many Voices Gaily Sing 975 

To Robert Browning 975 

From The Hellenics 

On The Hellenics 975 

Thrasymedes and Eunoe 975 

Iphigeneia and Agairetnnon 976 

The Hamadryad 977 

Shakespeare and Milton 981 

To Youth . 981 

To Age 981 

The Chrysolites and Rubies Bacchus 

Brings 982 

So Then, I Feel Not Deeply 982 

On Music (Many love music but for 
music's sake) . 982 




Walter Savage Landor (Continued) 

Death Stands above Me 982 

On His Seventy-fifth Birthday 982 

I Entreat You, Alfred Tennyson 982 

ToE Arundell ' 982 

Age . 982 

To His Young Rose an Old Man Said 983 

^ay y Thank Me Not Again for Those 983 

One Lovely Name Adorns My Song 983 

Separation . 983 

All Is Not Over While the Shade 983 
God Scatters Beauty as He Scatters 

Flowers 983 

Thou Needst Not Pitch Upon My Hat 983 

To a Cyclamen . . 983 

On Southey 's Death 983 

The Three Roses 983 
Lately Our Songsters Loiter 'd in Green 

Lanes .. . 984 
From Heroic Idyls 

Theseus and Hippolyta 984 
They Are Sweet Flowers That Only Blow 

by Night 985 

Memory 985 

An Aged Man Who Loved to Doze An ay 985 

To My Ninth Decade 985 
From Imaginary Conversations 

Tiberius and Vipsania 985 

Marcellus and Hannibal 987 

Metellus and Manus. . 989 

Leofric and Godiva 991 
From Pericles and Aspabia 

Pericles to Abpasia 993 

Pericles to Aspasia 993 

Aspasia to Pericles 993 

Pericles to Aspasia 993 

Aspasia to Pericles 993 

Aspasia to Pericles . 994 

Aspasia to Pericles 994 

Aspasia to Pericles 994 

Aspasia to Cleone 994 

Aspasia to Pericles 994 

Pericles to Aspasia 995 

Pericles to Aspasia 995 
The Pentameron 
From Fifth Day's Interview 

The Dream of Boccaccio 996 
From On the Statue of Ebenezer 

Elliott .. 1260 

lanes on the Death of Charles Lamb 1296 

Thomas Lore Peacock (1785-1866) 

Beneath the Cypress Shade 998 
From Headlong Hall 

Hail to the Headlong . 998 
From Nightmare Abbey 

Seamen Three What Men Be Yet 998 
From Maid Manan 

For the Slender Beech and the Sapling 

Oak 998 

Though I Be Now a Gray, Gray Friar 999 

Oh! Bold Robin Hood Is a Forester 

Good 099 

Ye Woods, that Oft at Sultry Noon. . 999 

Margaret Love Peacock . . 1000 





Thomas Love Peacock (Continued) 
From The Misfortunes of Elphin 

The Circling of the Mead Horns 

The War Song of Dinas Vawr 
From Crochet Castle 

In the Days of Old 
From Gryll Grange 

Love and Age 
From Paper Money Lyrics 

Chorus of Northumbrians 

William Oobbett (1763-1835) 
From Rural Bides 

William Hailltt (1778-1830) 

From Characters of Shakespcar's Plays 

Hamlet . 1007 

On Familiar Style 1011 

The Fight . 1014 

On Going a Journey 1022 

My First Acquaintance uith Poets 102S 

On the Feeling ol Immortality in Youth 1037 

Thomas De Qulncey (1785-1859) 

Confessions of an English Opium Eater 
From Preliminary Confessions 104.1 

The Pleasures of Opium 1060 

From Introduction to the Pains of 

Opium 1067 

The Pains of Opium 1070 

On the Knocking at the (I a to in Ma< both 10SO 

From Recollections of Charles Lamb 1082 

From Part 1 1087 

From Autobiographic Sketches 

The Affliction of Childhood 1080 

From Suspiria de Profundui 

Levana and Our Ladies ol Son cm 10<)7 
Savannah-la-Mar 11 00 

Fiom The Poetry of Pope 

Literature of Knowledge and Litera- 
ture of Power 1101 

The English Mail Coach 

Section 1 The Glory of Motion 1104 

Section II The Vision ol Sudden 

Death 1117 

Section III Dream-Fugue H2, r > 

Postscript to The English Mail-Coach 1259 

Thomas Lmll Beddoes (1803 1849) 

Lines (Write it in gold A spirit of the 

From Tlie Bride's Tragedy 

Poor Old Pilgrim Misery 112Q 

A Ho! AHo ....... ll.*0 

From The Second Brother 

Rtrew Not Earth with Empty Stars 11^0 

From Torriamond 

How Many Times Do I Love Thee, 
Dearf . . 1130 

From Death's Jest Book 
To Sea, To Sea! ..... 1130 

The Swallow Leaves Her Nest 1110 

If Thou Wilt Ease Thine Heart 1131 




Thomas LoveU BeOdoes (Continued) 

Bobert Stephen Hawker (Continued) 

Lady, Was It Fair of Thee 1131 Are They Not All Ministering Spirits? 

A Qjrpress-Bough. and a Bose- Wreath 

Old Adam, the Carrion Crow 
We Do Lie beneath the Grass 

The Boding Dreams 


Let the Dew the Flowers Fill 

John Eeble (1792-1866) 

From The Christian Year 
First Sunday After Trinity 
Twentieth Sunday after Tinnt\ 

United States 

Thomas Hood (1799 1845) 


Faithless Nell\ Gray 

Fair Ines 


I Remember, I Remember 

The Stars Are with the Voyagei 


False Poets and True 

Song (There is dew for tlie flon f iet) 



Autumn 1137 

Ballad (It *as not in the nintei) 1138 

The Dream of Eugene Aram, the Mur- 

The Dentli-Bed 
Sally Simpkin's Lament 
The Song of fhe Shirt 
The Bridge of Sighs 
The Lav of the Laborer 
Stanzas (Fare* ell, life! 
Queen Mab 


senses sT\im)1144 

Wlnthrop Mackworth Fraed (1802-1839) 

From The Troubadour 

Spirits, that Walk and Wail Tonight 1145 

Oh Flv with Me 'Tm Passion's Hour 1145 

Time'H Song 1145 

Ftom Letters from Teigiimouth 

I Our Ball 1146 
From Ever} -Day Characters 

The Belle of the Ball-Room 1147 

Tell Him I Ixwe Him Yet 1148 

Fairy Song 1148 

Stanzas (O'er yon churchyard the storm 

may lower) ..... 1148 

The Talented Man ....... 1149 

Stanzas on Seeing the Speaker Asleep 1149 

Bobert Stephen Hawker (1804-1873) 

The Song of the Western Men 1150 

Glovelly 1150 

The First Father 1151 

Mawgan of Melhuach . 1151 

Featheratone's Doom 1151 

The Silent Tower of Bottreauz 1152 

"Pater Tester Pascit Ilia" . 1152 

Death Song .. 1152 

Queen Guennivar's Round 
To Alfred Tennyson 

John Wilson ("Christopher 

From Noctes Ambrosiann 





Felicia Dorothea Hemang 
A Dirge 




England's Dead 1160 

The Graves of a Household 1160 

The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in 

New England 1161 

The Homes of England 1161 

William MotherweU (1797-1835) 

The Suord Chant of Thorstein Raudi 1162 

Jeaxne Morrison 1163 

My Heid Is Like to Rend, Wilhe 1164 

The Forester's Carol 1164 

Song (If to thy heart I were as near) 1165 

Ebenezer Elliott (1781-1849) 

Song (Child, is thy father dead*) .1165 

Battle Song . .1165 

The Press 1166 

Preston Mills 1166 

8])enserian 1167 

A Poet's Epitaph 1167 

Sabbath Morning 1167 

The Way Broad-Leaf 1167 

Religion . 1168 

Plaint 1168 

From Elegy ou William Cobbett 1231 

Bryan Waller Procter ("Barry Corn- 
wall") (1787-1874) 

The Sea 1168 

The Stormy Petrel 1169 

The Hunter's Song 1169 

Life 1169 

Peace! What Do Tears Avail 1170 

A Poet's Thought 1170 

The Poet's Song to His Wife .1170 

Inscription for a Fountain 1170 

A Petition to Time 1170 

Hartley Coleridge (1796-1849) 

Song (She is not fair to outward view) 1171 
An Old Man's Wish 1171 

Whither Is Gone the Wisdom and the 
Power 1171 

November 1171 

Night ... . . 1171 

To Shakspeare . 1172 

May, 1840 1172 

"Multum Diteit" .1172 

Homer . 1172 

Prayer 1172 



APPBNPg Edmund Bute (1729-1707) 

PAOK .From Reflections on the Revolution in 

Alexander Pope (1688-1744) France 1186 

From Windsor Forest . .. 1175 Bibliographies and Note* . . 1199 
From An Essay on Criticism 

Part I . . 1176 Glossary of Proper Name* 1377 

From An Essay on Man 

Epistle I . . 1178 Ctoief English, German, and French 

p Writers (1720-1840) . . 1411 

Samuel Johnson (1709-1784) important Historical Events (1730- 

Fran Preface to Shakspeare 1180 1350) 1412 
The Lives of the English Poets 

From Pope 1185 Index of Authors, Titles, and First 

Letter to Macpherson . 1305 Lines . . 1413 



CHILSEA (1661-1720) 


Fair tree, for thy delightful shade 
'T is just that some return be made; 
Sure some return is due from me 
To thy cool shadows and to thee. 
6 When thou to birds dost shelter give 
Thou music dost from them reeene; 
If travellers beneath thee stay 
Till storms have worn themselves away, 
That time in praising thee they spend, 

10 And thy protecting pow'r commend; 
The shepherd here, from scorching freed, 
Tunes to thy dancing leaves his reed, 
Whilst his lov'd lymph in thanks 

Her flow'ry chaplets on thy boughs. 

15 Shall I then only silent be, 
And no return be made by me? 
No! let this wish upon thee wait, 
And still to flourish be thy fate ; 
To future ages mayst thou stand 

20 Untouch'd by the rash workman's hand, 
Till that large stock of sap is spent 
Which gives thy summer's ornament; 
Till the fierce winds, that vainly strive 
To shock thy greatness whilst alive, 

26 Shall on thy lifeless hour attend, 
Prevent 1 the axe, and grace thy end, 
Their scatter 'd strength together call 
And to the clouds proclaim thy fall ; 
Who then their ev'nmg dews may spare, 

30 When thou no longer art their care, 
But shalt, like ancient heroes, burn, 
And some bright hearth be made thy urn. 




Give me, indulgent Fate! 
Give me yet, before I die, 
A sweet, but absolute retreat, 
'Mongst paths so lost, and trees so high, 

* come before ; anticipate 

6 That the world may ne'er invade, 
Through such windings and such shade, 
My unshaken liberty. 

No intruders thither come, 
Who visit, but to be from home; 

10 None who their vain moments pass, 
Only studious of their glass. 
News, that charm to list'ning ears, 
That false alarm to hopes and fears, 
That common theme for every fop, 

15 From the statesman to the shop, 
In those coverts ne'er be spread. 
Of who's.deceas'd, or who's to wed, 
Be no tidings thither brought, 
But silent, as a midnight thought, 

20 Where the world may ne'er invade, 
Be those windings, and that shade! 

Courteous Fate! afford me there 
A table spread without my care 
With what the neighboring fields impart, 

25 Whose cleanliness be all its art. 
When of old the calf was drest 
Tho' to make an angel's feast 
In the plain, unstudied sauce 
Nor truffle, 1 nor morillia 1 was; 

30 Nor could the mighty patriarch's board 
One far-fetch'd ortolane 2 afford. 
Courteous Fate, then give me there 
Only plain and wholesome fare 
Fruits indeed, would Heaven bestow, 

36 All, that did in Eden grow, 
All, but the forbidden tree, 
Would be coveted by me: 
Grapes, with juice so crowded up 
As breaking 3 thro 9 the native cup; 

40 Figs, yet growing, candied o'er 
By the sun's attracting power; 
Cherries, with the downy peach, 
All within my easy reach; 
Whilst, creeping near the humble ground, 

45 Should the strawberry be found, 
Springing wheresoe'er I strayed, 
Thro' those windings and that shade. 

*A kind of edible 

A small bird, tbe com- 
mon European bant- 

ing, often served as 
a delicacy. 
as if about to break 



For my garments, let them be 
What may with the tune agree; 

80 Warm, when Phoebus does retire, 
And is ill-supplied by fire; 
But when he renews the year 
And verdant all the fields appear, 
Beauty every thing resumes, 

55 Birds have dropt their winter-plumes; 
When the lily full display 'd 
Stands in purer white array 'd 
Than that vest which heretofore 
The luxurious monarch 1 wore 

60 When from Salem 's gates he drove 
To the soft retreat of love, 
Lebanon's all burnish 'd house. 
And the dear Egyptian spouse,- 
Clothe me, Fate, tho' not so gay, 

w Clothe me light, and fresh as Ma>. 
In the fountains let me view 
All my habit cheap and new, 
Such as, when sweet zephyrs fly, 
With their motions may comply, 

70 Gently waving, to express 
Unaffected carelessness. 
No perfumes have there a part, 
Borrow 'd from the chemist's art; 
But such as rise from flow'ry beds, 

TO Or the falling jasmine sheds! 
Twas the odor of the field 
Esau's rural coat did yield 
That inspir'd his father's prayer 
For blessings of the earth and air 

80 Of gums or powders had it smelt, 
The supplanter, then unfelt, 
Easily had been descry 'd 
For one that did in tents abide, 
For some beauteous handmaid f s jov 

85 And his mother's darling boy. 1 
Let me then no fragrance wear 
But what the winds from gardens bear 
In such kind, surprising gales 
As gather f d from Fidentia's vales 

90 All the flowers that in them grew; 
Which intermixing, as they flew, 
In wreathen garlands dropt again 
On Lucullns, and his men, 
Who, cheer M by the victorious sight 

96 TrebPd numbers put to flight. 
Let me, when I must be fine, 
In such natural colors shine; 
Wove, and painted by the sun, 
Whose resplendent rays to shun, 
too When they do too fiercely beat, 
Let 8*6 find 8ome c ^ O8e retreat 
Where they have no passage made 
Thro 9 those windings, and that shade 

i Solomon T Kinff*, 7 M2 


Exert thy voiee, sweet harbinger of 


This moment is thy time to sing, 
This moment I attend to praise, 
And set my numbers to thy lays. 
6 Free as thine shall be my song; 

As thy music, short, or long 
Poets, wild as thee, were born, 
Pleasing best when unconfin'd, 
When to please is least design 'd, 
10 Soothing but their cares to rest ; 

Cares do still their thoughts molest, 

And still th' unhappy poet's breast, 

Lake thine, when best he sings, is plac'd 

against a thorn * 
She begins; let all be still! 
16 Muse, thy promise now fulfil' 
Sweet, oh ! sweet, still sweeter yet ! 
Can thy words such accents fit! 
Canst thou syllables refine, 
Melt a sense that shall retain 
20 Still some spirit of the brain, 
Till with sounds like these it join f 

'Twill not be f then change th v note ; 
Let division 2 shake thy throat. 
Hark* division now she tries, 
25 Yet as far the muse outflies 

Cease then, prithee, cease thy tune; 
Tnfler, wilt thou sing till June? 
Till thy bus 'ness all lies waste, 
And the time of building's past! 
30 Thus we poets that have speech, 
Unlike what thy forests teach, 
If a fluent \em be shewn 
That's transcendent to 0111 oun, 
Criticise, leform, or preach, 
35 Or cenmire what we cannot reach 


In such a night, when every louder wind 
Is to its distant cavern safe confin'd, 
And only gentle zephyr fans his wings, 
And lonely Philomel, btill waking, sings , 
5 Or from some tree, fam'd for the owl's 

She, hollowing clear, directs the wand 're r 

In -such a night, when passing clouds 

give place, 
Or thinly veil the Heav'ns mysterious 

When in some river, overhung with green, 

1 A popular mwratltion See Young*! Wglit 

Thought*. 1, 439 ff 
9 \ wrles of notoR to be rang In one breath to 

ouch syllable 



10 The waving moon and trembling leaves 

are seen; 
When freshen 'd grass now bears itself 

And makes cool banks to pleasing rest 

When spring the woodbine and the 

And where the sleepy cowslip shelter 'd 

35 Whilst now a paler hue the foxglove 

Yet chequers still with red the dusky 

brakes , 
When scatter 'd gkro-uoims, hut m twi- 

light fine, 
Show trivial beauties watch their hour 

to shine, 
Whilst Salisbury stands the test of e\erv 

20 In perfect charms and perfect \irtne 

bright , 
When odois which deohn'd impelling 


Thro* terap'rate air uiiinteriupted j*tra> , 
When darken 'd gro\es then softest 

shadows wear, 

And falling waters \u dKtmcth heai ; 
25 When thro' the crlooin more \enerable 


Some ancient fabric, auful in repose, 
While sunburnt lulls their swarthv looks 

And swelling haycocks thicken up the 

When the loosM horse nou, ns Ins pas- 

ture leads, 
30 Coiner slowl\ praxins? thro' th* ad]oimn 

Whose stealing 1 pace, and lenjrthen'd 

shade we fear, 

Till torn up forage in his teeth *e hear, 
When nibbling sheep at large pursue 

their food, 

And unmolested kine re-chew the cud , 
35 When curlews crv beneath the \illaQe- 

And to her straggling brood the pnrt- 

ridge calls, 
Their shorthv 'd jubilee the creatures 

Which but endures whilst tyrant-man 

does sleep; 

When a sedate content the spirit feels. 
40 And no fierce light disturb, whilst it 


But silent musings urge the mind to seek 
Something too hierh for Rvllables to 


Till the free son! to a compos 'dness 

charm M, 

Finding the elements of rage disarm 'd, 
45 O'er all below a solemn quiet grown, 
Joys in th 9 inferior world and thinks it 

like her own: 

In such a night let me abroad remain 
Till morning breaks and all's confus'd 

Our cares, our toils, our clamors are 

renew 'd, 
60 Or pleasures, seldom reach M, again pur- 


THOMAS PARNBLL (1679-1718) 


In Britain's isle and Arthur's days, 
When midnight faeries daunc'd the 


Liv'd Edwin of the green; 
Edwin, I wis, 1 a gentle youth, 
r > Kndow'd with courage, sense, and truth 
Though badly shap'd he been 

His mountain back mote well be said 
To measure beighth against his head, 
* And lift itself above: 
10 Yet spite of all that nature did 
To make his uncouth form forbid, 
This creature dar'd to love. 

He felt the charms of Edith's eyes, 
Nor wanted hope to gain the prize, 
15 Could ladies look within; 
But one Sir Topaz dress 'd with art, 
And, if a shape could win a heart, 
He had a shape to win 

Edwin, if right I read my song, 
20 With slighted passion pac'd along 

All in the moony light: 
'Twas near an old enchannted court, 
Where sportive faeries made resort 
To revel out the night 

25 His heart was drear, his hope was 

cross 'd, 
'Twas late, 'twas fair, the path was lost 

That reach 'd the neighbor-town; 
With weary steps he quits the shades, 
Resolv'd, the darkling dome he treads, 
80 And drops his limbs adown. 

But scant he lays him on the floor, 
When hollow winds remove the door, 



A trembling rooks the ground. 
And well I ween 1 to count aright, 
86 At once an hundred tapers light 
On all the walls around. 

Now sounding tongues assail his ear. 
Now sounding feet approachen near, 

And now the sounds encrease, 
40 And from the corner where he la> 
He sees a tram profusely gay 

Come pranckhng o'er the place. 

* s r 

But, trust me, gentles, never yet 

Withouten hands the dishes fly, 
The glasses with a wish come mj; h. 
And with a wish retire. 

85 But now to please the faerie king, 
Full every deal 1 they laugh and sing, 

And antick feats devise; 
Some wind and tumble like an ape, 
And other-some transmute their shape 

90 In Edwin's wondering eyes. 

_... , , , ., , n . . ,. , , , 
Till one at last that Robin hight, 2 

Rcnown'd for pinching maids by night, 


The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes, 
The town its silken store. 

Now whilst he gaz'd, a gallant drest 
60 In flaunting robes above the rest, 

With awfull accent cried, 
What mortal of a wretched mind. 
Whow sighs infect the balmy wind, 

Has here presumed to hide 7 

ere by the back the >outh he hung 

To 8 P rftul neath the roof. 
From thence, "Reverse my charm," he 

And let lt airly nou sufficfi 

Th6 ^^ has been ghown 
100 B ut Oberon answers with a Muile, 

Content thee, Edwin, for a while, 
The , ant 1& thine 

55 At this the swain, whose venturous soul 
No fears of magic art controul, 106 

Here ended all the pliantome play; 
They smelt the fresh approach of day, 
And heard a cock to crow; 

Advanc'd in open sight, 
"Nor have I cause of dreed," he sai<l r 
"Who view, by no presumption led, 
60 Your revels of the night 

Then screaming all at once they fly 
" 'Twas grief for scorn of faithful lo\e, no And all at once the tapeis die; 

The whirling wind that bore the crowd 
Has clapp'd the dooi, and whistled loud, 
To warn them all to go. 

Poor Edwin tails to floor; 
Forlorn his state, and dark the place, 
Was ne\er wight in sike 4 a case 

Through all the land before. 

Which made my steps unweeting 8 love 

Amid the nightly dew." 
'Tis well, the gallant cries again, 
65 We faeries never injure men 

Who dare to tell us true. lr _ . 

115 But soon as Dan 5 Apollo lose, 

Full jolly creature home he 

? c fe ? } * hl8 back , th f e . 

gis honest tongue and btead> mind 

70 Now take the pleasure of thy chaunce, 1M rid him of the lump behind 
Whilst I with Mab my partner daunce, 12 
Be little Mable thine 

Exalt thy love-dejected heart, 
Be mine the task, or ere we part, 
To make thee grief resign; 

***** success. 

__ . ... jj xi 
He spoke, and all a sudden there 

7s ^ h * mUBlck wanton air ' 


With Edwin of the green. 

The dauncing past, the board was laid, 
W An dkermchafeartw. 8 , 
As heart and lip desire; 

with lugty , ivelyhed he talks 

He seems a dauncing as he walks; 
gt &oon ^ ook -, 

And beauteous Edith sees the youth, 
12B Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth, 

Without a buncir behind - 

The story told, Sir Topaz mov f d, 
The youth of Edith erst approved, 1 

1 fbtok 

. ^ _, 




was called 


Mho yonth formerly 
approved by Edith 


To see the revel scene: 
180 At close of eve he leaves his home, 
And wends to find the ruin'd dome 
All on the gloomy plain. 

As there he bides, it so befell, 
The wind came rustling down a dell, 
"5 A shaking seiz'd the wall: 
Up spnng the tapers as before, 
The faeries bragly 1 foot the floor, 
And mu&ick fills the hall. " 

But certes 3 sorely sunk with woe 
140 gi r Topaz sees the elfin show, 

His spirits in him die* 
When Obcron cries, ''A man is near, 
A mortall passion, cleepcd* fear, 

Hangs flagging in the sky ' ' N 

"5 With that Sir Topaz, hapless youth! 
In accents faultenng ay for ruth 

Intreats them pity graunt, 
For als he been a mister wight 4 
Betray 'd by wandering in the night 

150 TO tread the circled haunt 

"Ah loselP Mle'" at once they roar, 
"And little skill M of faerie lore. 

Thy cause to come we know , 
Now has thy kestrell 8 coinage fell, 
155 And faeries, since a he you tell. 

Are free to \\ork thee \\oo " 

Then Will, 7 who'beais the wispy fire 
To trail the swains among the mire, 

The caitive upward flung, 
160 There like a tortoise in a shop 
He dangled from the chamber-top, 

Where whilome Edwin hung 

The revel now proceeds apace, 
Deffly 8 they fnsk it o'er the place, 
165 They hit, they drink, and eat; 
The time with frolick mirth beguile. 
And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while 
Till all the rout retreat 

By tliis the stairs besran to wink. 
170 They shriek, they flv, the tapers sink. 

And down ydrops the knight* 
For never spell bv faerie laid 
With strong: enchantment bound a glade 

Beyond the length of nififht 

1 prondlT; 
became he U a poor 

* worthier ponton 

A term often used in 

contempt, an of a 
mean kind of hawk 
\ kestrel I* a com- 
mon European fal- 

"* Chill, dark, alone, adreed, 1 he lay, 
Till up the welkin* rose the day, 

Then deem'd the dole was o'er: 
But wot ye well his harder lott 
His seely* back the bunch has got 

180 Whieh Edwin lost afore. 

This tale a Sibyl-nurse 4 ared;* 

She softly strok'd my youngling head, 

And when the tale was done, 
"Thus some are born, my son,' 9 she 


186 "With base impediments to nse, 
And some are born with none. 

But virtue can itself advance 

To what the favorite fools of chance 

By fQrtune seem'd design 'd; 
190 Viitue can gam the odds of fate. 

And from itself shake off the weight 

Upon th' unworthy mind." 


By the blue taper's trembling light, 
No more I waste the wakeful night, 
Intent with endless view to pore 
The schoolmen and the sages o'er. 
5 Their books from wisdom widely stray, 
Or point at best the longest way. 
I'll seek a readier path, and go 
Where wisdom's surely taught below. 

Hou deep von azure dyes the sky, 

10 Where orbs of gold unnumbered lie, 
While through their ranks in silver pride 
The nether crescent seems to glide! 
The slumbering breeze forgets to breathe, 
The lake is smooth and clear beneath, 

15 Where once again the spangled show 
Descends to meet our eyes below. 
The grounds which on the right aspire, 
In dimness from the view retire: 
The left presents a place of graves, 

20 Whose wall the silent water laves. 
That steeple guides thy doubtful sight 
Among the livid gleams of night. 
Theie pass, with melancholy state, 
By all the solemn heaps of fate, 

26 And think, as softly-sad you tread 
Above the venerable dead, 
"Time was, like thee they life possest, 
And time shall be that thou shalt rest" 

1 afraid 

jld woman pro- 

feaaing to haye the 

Klft Of 

like that L__ 
the indent 


Those graves, ipith bending osier 1 bound, 
That nameless heave the crumbled 


to the glancing thought disclose, 
toil and poverty repose. 

The flat smooth stones that bear a name, 
The chisel's slender help to fame, 
35 (Which ere our set of friends deca> 
Their frequent steps may wear awa>,) 
A middle race of mortals own, 
Men, half ambitious, all unknown 

The marble tombs that rise on high, 
40 Whose dead in vaulted arches lie, 
Whose pillars swell with sculptured 


Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones, 
These, all the poor remains of state, 
Adorn the nch, or praise the great, 
45 Who while on earth in fame they In e, 
Are senseless of the fame they give. 

Hah! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades. 
The bursting earth unveils the shades 1 
All slow, and wan, and wrapp'd with 


50 They rise in visionary crowds, 
And all with sober accent cry, 
"Think, mortal, what it is to die " 

Now from yon black and funeral yew, 3 
That bathes the charnel-house with dev , 

w Methinks I hear a voice begin , 
(Ye ravens, cease your croaking dm, 
Ye tolling clocks, no time resound 
O'er the long lake and midnight ground f ) 
It sends a peal of hollow groans. 

60 Thus speaking from among the bones 

"When men my scythe and darts supph, 

How great a king of fears am II 

They view me like the last of things. 

They make, and then they dread, rm 

65 Fools! if you less provok'd your fears. 

No more my spectie-form appears. 

Death's but a path that must be trod. 

If man would ever pass to God; 

A port of calms, a state of ease 
70 From the rougrh rape of spelling seas 

"Why then thy flowing sable stoles. 
Deep pendant cypress, 8 mourning poles, 4 
Loose scarfs to fall athwart thy weeds, 

I willow 

The yew is a common tree in graveyards 

A kind of thin cloth, often used for mourning 

A pole (pile) Is a fabric with n heavy nnp 

Long palls, drawn hearses, covered 


76 And plumes of black, that, as they tread, 
Nod o'er the scutcheons of the deadf 

"Nor can the parted body know, 

Nor wants the soul, these forms of woe, 

As men who long in piison dwell, 

80 With lamps that glimmer round the cell, 
Whene'er their guttering years are run, 
Spring forth to greet the glittering sun 
Such joy, though far transcending sense, 
Have pious souls at parting hence 

85 On earth, and in the body plac'd, 
A few, and evil years they waste; ' 
But. when their chains are cast aside. 
See the glad scene unfolding wide, 
Clap the glad wing, and tower a\ia>, 

And mingle with the blaze of day." 


Lovely, lasting peace of mind! 

Sueet delight of human-kind! 

Heavenly-born, and bied on high. 

To cro\\n the fa\ontes of the bky 
5 With more of happiness below, 

Than A ictors in a triumph kno\v ! 

Whither, O whither nit thou fled, 

To lay thy meek, contented head? 

What hnppv resnon dost thou please 
18 To make the seat of calms and ease? 

Ambition searches all its sphere 
Of pomp and state*, to meet thee there 
Encreasing avarice Mould find 
Thy presence in its gold eushrinM 

15 The bold aclxenturer ploughs his \\u\ 
Through rooks ninidst the foam in? sea, 
To spun thy lo\e, and then perceixes 
Thou wert not in the rocks and \\im^ 
The Bilent heart, which grief assails, 

20 Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales 
Sees daisies open, rivers run, 
And seeks, as I have vamlv done, 
AmuRinsr thought, but lea ins to know 
That solitude's the nurse of uo< 

2 " No real happiness i found 

Tn trailincr purple o'er the ground; 1 
Or in a soul exalted hijrh. 
To range the circuit of the *k\. 
Converse \iith stars above, and know 

30 All Nature in its forms below; 
The rest it seeks, in seeking dies, 
And doubts at last, for knowledge, rise 

Lovely, lasting 1 peace, appear! 
Tins world itself, if tbou art here, 

1 1n 

the purple robot of royalty 


35 IB once again with Eden blest, 
And man contains it in his breast 

Twas thus, as under shade I stood, 

I sung my wishes to the wood, 

And, lost in thought, no more perceiv'd 

40 The branches whisper as they wav'd; 
It seem'd as all the quiet place 
Con f ess 'd the presence of the Grace. 
When thus she spoke: "Go rule thy will; 
Bid thy wild passions all be still, 

46 Know God, and bring thy heart to know 
The joys which from religion flow 
Then every Grace shall prove its guest, 
And I'll be there to crown the rest." 

Oh! by yonder mossy seat, 
60 In my hours of sweet retreat, 
Might I thus my soul employ 
With sense of gratitude and joy! 
Rais'd as ancient prophets were, 
In heavenly vision, praise, and prayer, 
66 Pleasing all men, hurting none, 
Pleas 'd and bless 'd with God alone: 
Then while the gardens take 1 my sight, 
With all the colors of delight, 
While silver waters glide along, 
60 To please my ear, and court my song, 
111 lift my voice, and tune my string, 
And Thee, great Source of Nature, sing 

The sun, that walks his airy way, 
To light the world, and give the day , 

66 The moon, that shines with borrow *d 


The stars, that gild the gloomy night; 
The seas, that roll unnumber'd waves, 
The wood, that spreads its shady leaves, 
The field, whose ears conceal the grain. 

70 The yellow treasure of the plain; 
All of these, and all I see, 
Should be sung, and sung by me: 
They speak their Maker as they can, 
Flit* want and ask the tongue of man. 

75 Go search among your idle dreams, 
Your busy or your vain extremes. 
And find a life of equal bliss, 
Or own the next begun in this. 

ALLAN RAMSAY (1686-1758) 


The Lawland lads think they are fine, 
But they're vain and idly gaudy; 

How much unlike that gracefu' mien 
And manly looks of my Highland 

_%. _^ V i it*^i 

1 mam ; ocwitcD 


* my bonny, bonny Highland laddie! 
My handsome, charming Highland lad- 


May Heaven still guard and love reward 
Our Lawland lass and her Highland 

If I were free at will to chuse 
10 To be the wealthiest Lawland lady, 
I'd take young Donald without trews, 1 
With bonnet blew and belted plaidy. 

The brawest 1 beau in borrows town, 8 

In a 9 his airs, with art made ready, 
16 Compared to him, he 's but a clown ; 
He's finer far in 9 s tartan 4 plaidy. 

O'er benty* hill with him I'll run, 

And leave my Lawland km and dady; 
Frae winter's cauld and summer's sun 
20 Hell screen me with his Highland 

A painted room and silken bed 
May please a Lawland laird and lady, 

But I can kiss and be as glad 
Behind a bush in 's Highland plaidy. 

86 Few compliments between us pass* 

I ca' him my dear Highland laddie; 
And he ca's me his Lawland lass, 
Syne rows 6 me in his Highland plaidy. 

Nae greater joy I'll e'er pretend 
10 Than that his love prove true and 


Like mine to him, which ne'er shall end 
While Heaven preserve my Highland 


My Peggy w * young thing 
Just enter 'd in her teens, 
Fair as the day, and sweet as May, 
Fair as the day, and always gay. 
5 My Peggy is a young thing, 

And I'm na very auld, 
Yet weel I like to meet her at 
The wanking o' the fauld. T 


My Peggy speaks sae sweetly, 
Whene'er we meet alane, 

* trousers ' covered with coarse 

finest trass 
royal borough 'then rolls 
woolen cloth check- 'watching of the 

ered with narrow *hcep-fold 

hands of various 




I wish nae mair to lay my care, - 
I wish nae mair o 9 a' that's rare, 
My Peggy speaks sae sweetly, 

To a 9 the lave 1 I'm cauld, 
16 But she gars 1 a' my spirits glow 
At wauking o' the fauld. 

My Peggy smiles sae kindly 
Whene'er I whisper love, 
That I look doun on a' the toun, 
20 That I look dpun upon a croun. 
My Peggy smiles sae kindly, 

It maks me blythe an' bauld, 
An 9 naething gies me sic 8 delight 
As wauking o' the fauld 

26 My Peggy sings sae saftly 

When on my pipe I pla}, 
By a 9 the rest it is confest, 
By a 9 the rest that she sings best 

My Peggy sings sae saftly, 
80 And in her sangs are tauld 
Wi 9 innocence, the wale o' sense, 4 
At wauking o' the fauld 


There came a ghost to Margret 's door, 
With many a grievous grone, 

And ay he tirled at the pin, 8 
But answer made she none. 

6 Is this my father Philip f 

Or is't mv brother John? 
Or is't my true love Willie, 
From Scotland new come home? 

'Tis not thy father Philip, 
10 N or y e t thy brother John. 
But 'tis thy true love Willie 
From Scotland new come home 

O sweet Margret! dear Margret f 

I pray thee speak to mee: 
15 Give me my faith and troth, Margret, 
As I gave it to thee. 

Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get, 

Of me shalt nevir win, 
Till that thou come within my bower, 

And kiss my cheek and chin. 




ifoul of sense 

A tirllnr wan former- 
ly used Instead of a 
knocker, it consist- 

If I should come within thy bower, 

I am no earthly man: 
And should I kiss thy rosy kpp, 

Thy days will not be lang. 

26 sweet Margret! dear Margret! 

I pray thee speak to mee- 
Give me my faith and troth, Margret, 
As I gave it to thee. 

Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get, 
* Of me shalt nevir win, 

Till thou take me to yon kirk yard, 
And wed me with a ring 

My bones are buried in a kirk yard 

Afar beyond the sea, 
36 And it is but my sprite, Margret, 
That's speaking now to thee 

She stretched out her lily-white hand, 

As for to do her best* 
Hae there your faith and troth, Willie, 

God send your soul good rest 


ed of n notched 
motal bar (the pin) 
with a loom* nii'tnl 
ring, which was 
drawn o\or It to 
make a sound 

Now she has kilted 1 her robes of green, 

A piece below her knee 
And a' the live-lang winter night 

The dead corps followed shee 

45 Is there an> room at your head, Willie? 

Or any room at >our feetf 
Or any room at your side, Willie t 
Wherein that I may creep? 

There's nae room at my head, Margret, 
50 There's nae room at my feet, 

There's nae room at my side, Margret, 
My coffin is made so meet 2 

Then up and crew the red red cock, 

And up then crew the gray: 
55 'Tis time, 'tis time, my dear Margret, 
That I were gane away. 

No more the ghost to Margret said, 

But, with a grievous prone, 
Evanish 'd in a cloud of mist, 
60 And left her all alone 

stay, my only true love, stay, 
The constant Margret cried 

Wan grew her cheeks, she clos'd her een, 
Stretch 'd her saft limbs, and died 

1 tucked up 

cloic fitting 




Sandy, why leaves thou thy Nelly to 

mourn f 

Thy presence would ease me 
When naethmg could please me, 
Now dowie 1 I sigh on the bank of the 

burn, 2 

6 Ere through the wood, laddie, until thou 

Though woods now are bonny, and morn- 
ings are clear, 
While lavrooks* are singing 
And primroses springing, 
Yet nane of them pleases my eye or my 


10 When through the wood, laddie, ye dinna 

That I am foisaken some spare no to tell , 
I'm fashed 4 wi' their scorning 
Baith evening and morning, 
Their jeering aft gaes to my heart wi f 

a knell, 

16 When through the wood, laddie, I wan- 
der mysel'. 

Then stay, im dear Sandie, nae langer 


But quick as an arrow, 
Haste here to thy mariow," 
Wha's living in languor till that happy 


20 When through the \\ood, laddie, we'll 
dance, sing, and play 



An thou were my am thing, 
I would lo\e thee, I would love thee, 
An thou were my am thing 
How dearly I would love thee 

6 Like bees that suck the morning dew, 
Frae flowers of sweetest scent and hue, 
Rae wad I dwell upon thy mow 7 
And gar" the gods envy me 

Rae laner's I had the use of light 
" f 'd on thy beauties feast mv sight, 
Syne in saft whispers through the night 
I'd tell how much I loved thee. 

1 mate 

T mouth 

How fair and ruddy is my Jean! 
She moves a goddess o'er the green. 
15 Were I a king thou should be queen 
Nane but myself aboon thee. 

I 'Id grasp thee to this breast of mine. 
Whilst thou like ivy on the vine 
Around my stronger limbs should twine, 
20 Formed handy to defend thee. 

Time's on the wing and will not stay, 
In shining youth let's make our hay; 
Since love admits of no delay, 
O let na scorn undo thee 

25 While love does at his altai stand, 
Hae, 1 here's my heart, gie me thy hand, 
And with ilk 2 smile thou shalt command 
The will of him who loves thee. 



An thou were my am thing 
I would love thee, I would love thee; 
An thou were my am thing, 
How dearly I would love thee 



Behind a tree upon the plain, 
Pate and his Petty meet; 
In love, without a vicious stain, 
The honnv lass and cheerfu* swain 
Change vows an* kisses sweet 


Peggy. Patie, let me gang, I 

maunna stay; 
We're baith cry'd hame, an' Jenny 

she's away. 
Patie 1 'm laith to part sae soon, now 

we're alane, 

An' Roger he's awa' wi 9 Jenny gane; 
5 They're as content, for aught I hear or 


To he alane themsells, I judge, as we. 
Here, where primroses thickest paint the 


Hard by this little bumie 8 let us lean. 
ITaik, how the lav 'rooks 4 chant aboon our 

10 How saft the westlm winds sough thro' 

the reeds! 
Peggy The scented meadows, birds, 

an' healthy breeze, 
For aught I ken, may mair than Peggy 


Patie. Ye wrang me sair, to doubt my 
being kind; 





In speaking sae, ye ca' me dull an 9 blind ; 45 Or lisp out words, I chocs 'd ye frae the 

** Gif I cou'd fancy aught 's sae sweet or thrang 

fair 0' a the bairns, an f led thee by the 

As my dear Meg, or worthy o' my care. hand, 

Thy breath is sweeter than the sweetest Aft to the tansy knowe, 1 or labhy 3 strand, 

brier, Thou smiling by my side:-- 1 took delyte 

Thy cheek an' breast the finest flow'rs To pou the rashes green, wi' roots sae 

appear. white, 

Thy words excel the maist dehghtfu' G0 O 9 which, as weel as my >oung fancy 

notes, cou 'd, 

20 That warble thro 1 the merl or mavis' 1 For thee I plet* the flow'ry belt an' 

throats. snood. 4 

Wi' thee I tent 1 nae flow'rs that busk 8 Peggy When first thoti gade wi' 

the field, shepherds to the hill, 

Or riper bemes that our mountains An' I to milk the ewes first try'd rav 

yield. skill, 

The sweetest fruits that hing upon the To bear a leglen 5 was nae toil to me, 

tree * 5 When at the bught 8 at e'en I met wi' 

Are far inferior to a kiss o' thee. thee. 

26 Peggy. But, Patrick, for some wicked Patie When corn grew yellow, nn' the 

end, may fleetch, 4 heather-bells 

An ' lambs shou'd tremble when the foxes Bloom 'd bonny on the mini 7 an' rising 

preach fells, 

I daurna stay, ye joker, let me gang Nae birns, 8 or briers, or whins, 9 e'er 

Anither lass may gar 5 you change your troubled me 

sang; Gif I cou 'd find blae-bernes ripe for thee 

Your thoughts may flit, and I may thole 6 fi Peggy When thou didst wrestle, run. 

the wrang. or putt the stane, 

80 Patte Sooner a mother shall her An' wan the day, my heart was flight- 

fondness drap, 9 im fain, 10 

An' wrang the bairn sits smiling on her At a' these sports thou still gie jo\ to 

lap: me; 

The sun shall change, the moon to change For nane can wrestle, run, or putt wi ' 

shall cease, thee. 

The gaits to clim, T the sheep to yield Patie. Jenny sings saft the Broom o 9 

their fleece, Cowdenknowei, 

Ere aught by me be either said or done, 65 An' Rosie lilts 11 the Milktncj o 9 the 

85 Shall skaith 8 our love, I swear by a ' aboon Ewes; 

Peggy. Then keep your aith But There's nane like Nancy Jenny Nettles 

mony lads will swear, sings; 

An' be mansworn to twa in bauf-a-year At turns 12 in Maggy Louder, Marion 

Now I believe ye like me wonder weel . dings : 1S 

But if a fairer face your heart shon'd But when my Peggy sings, wi' sweeter 

steal, skill, 

40 Tour Meg, forsaken, bootless might The Boatman, or the Lass o 9 Path's Mill, 

relate, 70 It is a thousand times mair sweet to 

How she was dawted 9 anes by faithless me; 

Pate Tho 9 they sing weel, they canna sing like 

Patie. I'm sure I canna change; ye thee. 

needna fear; Peggy. How eith 14 can lasses trow 

Tho' we're but young, I've looed you what they desire ! 

mony a year. iknoll overgrown charred items of 

I mind it weel, when thou cou'dst hardly with tansies ~ heather 

plaited; wove * fluttering with glad 

or tnranh'i ' goati to climb KM d bund BOM 

; watch harm milk-pall u ring! with spirit 

'made much of; *the pen In which the * A turn is an o 

droned ewes were milked ment In music, 

-walk 'heath "wjjela 

an orna- 
ment In mi * 


An', roos'd by them we love, blaws up The maiden that o'er quickly tines 1 her 

that fire; 1 power, 

But wha looes best, let time an' carriage* Like unripe fruit, will taste but hard an 1 

try; sour 

75 B e constant, an' my love shall time defy. Patie sings. 

Be still as now; an' a' my care shall But ^ they Mng o er hng up(m thc 

H W thee COnt " Ve What pleasnnt " for 105 Their sweetness they may tine; an' w 

Patie Were thou a gfelet eawkv' likp RrfJlffi ye completely ripe appear, 
better than our nowt' be- An ' " * "<"* >' d * ^ h " f - 

have; year 

80 At naught they'll ferly; 8 senseless tales 

believe; " **9M> tf&V, A* * into Patie's anus. 

Be blythe for silly heghts, T for trifles Then dinna pu' me, gently thus I fa' 

grieve-- , ^ xl A , Into ray Patie 's arms, for good an ' a ', 

Sic ne'er cou M win mv heart, that kennn no But stint your wishes to this kind em- 

how brace/ 

Either to keep n prize, or yet prove An' mint 8 nae farer till we've pot the 

true; grace 

But thou, in better sense without a flaw. 


How to contrive what pleasing: is for charming armfu'! hence, ye cares, 

thee away, 

Peggij. Agreed But hearken ! von '& I'll kiss my treasure a' the hve-lang day: 

auld aunty's cry, A' night 111 dream my kisses o'er again, 

I ken they'll wonder what can mak us 115 Till that day come that ye '11 be a' my 

stay. ain 

90 Pahe An' let thorn ferlv Now n Sung by both. 

kindly kiss. ' . 

Or five-score cuid anes wadna be amiss: hun gallop dowii the westlin skies, 
An f syne we'll sin? the sang, wi ' tunef n ' ^ ? a ^ * W f an' quickly rise; 

g] ee lash your steeds, post time away, 

That T made up last owk* on you and And haste about our bridal day! 

me 12 An' if ye 're wearied, honest light, 

Peqgy. Sing first, svne claim your Sleep, gin ye like, a week that night. 



Patie sings. I have observed that readers of the best 

By the delicious warmness of thy mouth, and most exquisite discernment frequratly 

An' rowinp een that smilinir tell the complain of our modern writings as filled 

^PQth Wlt " a " ec t e <* delicacies and studied re- 

T guess, ray lassie, that, as weel as I, 5 finements which they would gladly ex- 

You 're made for love, an' why should ve dmiiw for that natuial strength of 

^ env thought and simplicity of style our fore- 

fathers practiced. To such, I hope, the 

Peggy sings. following collection o$ poems will not be 

W But ken ye, lad, gin we confess o'er soon, 10 displeasing. 

Ye think us cheap, an' svne the wooing 's When these good old bards wrote, we 
done- had not yet made use of imported trim- 

ming upon our clothes, nor of foreign 

tbe flre of love, kin- cattle embroidery in our writings. Their poetry 

bu V rn. th uT we S3&. * M the product of their own country, not 

simpleton MllnR e w J loros attempt 

4 rent niive smreriMi 



and spoiled in the transportation 
from abroad. Their images are native, 
and their landscapes domestic; copied 
from those fields and meadows we every 
day behold. 

The morning rises (in the poet's de- 
scription) as she does in the Scottish 
horizxra. We are not carried to Greece or 
Italy for a shade, a stream, or a breeze. 
The groves rise in our own valleys; the 
rivers flow from our own fountains, and 
the winds blow upon our own hills. I find 
not fault with those things as they are in 
Greece or Italy; but with a Northern poet 
for fetching his materials from these 
places in a poem of which his own country 
is the scene, as our hymners to the spring 
and makers of pastqrals frequently do. 

This miscellany will likewise recommend 
itself by the diversity of subjects and 
humor it contains. The grave description 
and the wanton story, the moral saying 
and the mirthful jest, will illustrate and 
alternately relieve each other. 

The reader whose temper is spleened 
with the vices and follies now in fashion, 
may gratify his humor with the satires 
he will here find upon the follies and vices 
that were uppermost two or three hundred 
years ago. The man whose inclinations 
are turned to mirth will be pleased to 
know how the good fellow of a former age 
told his jovial tale; and the lover may 
divert himself with the old fashioned 
sonnet of an amorous poet in Queen Mar- 
garet and Queen Mary's days. 1 In a word, 
the following collection will be such an- 
other prospect to the eye of the mind as 
to the outward eye is the various meadow , 
where flowers of different hue and smell 
are mingled together in a beautiful irregu- 

I hope also the reader, when he dips into 
these poems, will not be displeased with 
this reflection, that he is stepping bark 
into the times that are past and that exist 
no more. Thus, the manners and customs 

The sixteenth centur j. 

then in vogue, as he will find them here 
described, will have all the air and charm 
of novelty; and that seldom fails of ex- 
citing attention and pleasing the mind. 
6 Resides, the numbers m which these 
images are conveyed, as they are not 
now common!} practiced, will appear new 
and amusing. 
The different stanza and varied cadence 

10 will likewise much soothe and engage the 
ear, which in poetry especially must be 
always flattered. However, I do not ex- 
pect that these poems should please every- 
body; nay, the critical reader must needs 

15 find several faults, for I own that there 
will be found m these volumes two or 
three pieces whose antiquity is their great- 
est value. Yet still I am persuaded there 
are many more that shall merit approba- 

80 tion and applause than censure and blame. 
The best works are but a kind of miscel- 
lany, and the cleanest corn is not without 
some chaff; no, not after often winnow- 
ing. Besides, dispraise is the easiest part 

28 of learning, and but at best the offspring 

of uncharitable wit. Even clown can see 

that the furrow is crooked; but uhere is 

the man that will plow me one straight? 

There is nothing can be heard more silly 

M) than one's expressing Ins ignorance of his 
native language; yet, such there are who 
can vaunt of acquiring a tolerable peifec- 
tion in the French or Italian tongues if 
they have been a fortnight in Paris, or a 

ff month in Rome. But show them the most 
elegant thoughts in a Scots dress, they as 
disdainfully as stupidly condemn it as bar- 
barous. But the true reason is obvious- 
every one that is born nexer so little 

40 superior to the vulgar would fain distin- 
guish themseh es from them by some man- 
ner or other, and mich, it would appear, 
cannot arrive at a better method. But this 
affected class of fops give no uneasiness, 

46 not being numerous; for the most part of 
our gentlemen, who are generally masters 
of the most useful and politest languages, 
can take pleasure (for n change) to speak 
and rend their own, 



BANGOUR (1704-1754) 





A. Bubk 9 ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny 


Busk >e, busk yc, my winsome mar- 
row, 8 
Husk ye, busk >e, my bonny boun> 


And think nae mair on the Braes 
of Yarrow 

5 B Where gat yp that bonny bonny bride T 
Where gat yo that winsome mar- 

A. I gat her where I dare na weil be seen, 
Puing the bnks 4 on the Biaes of 

Woop not, weep not, m> bonnj bonny 

10 Weep not, weep not, m> winsome 

marrow , 

Nor let thy heart lament to lene 
I'uing the birks on the Braes of 

B Why does she weep, lh> bonny bonny 

Why does bhe weep, thy nunbome 

marrow T 
15 And why dare ye nao mair weil be 


Puing the birkb on the Braeb of 
Yarrow ? 

.1 Lang maun bhe ueep, lans* maun she, 

maun she weep, 
l-ani* maun she weep uith dale 3 and 

sorrow , 
And lang maun I nae mair weil be 


- Pump: the birks on the Braes of 


For she has tint 6 licr luver, luver 


Her luver dear, the cause of sor- 

And I hae slam the comhest swam 
That eir pn'd birks on the Braes of 




s nrrav adorn 

pulling the birches 



Why rins thy stream, Yarrow*. 

Yarrow, reidf 
Why on thy braes heard the voice 

of sorrow? 

And why yon melancholious weids 
Hung on the bonny birks of 
Yarrow T 

What's yonder floats on the rueful 

rueful fludef 
What's yonder floats f dule and 


'tis he the comely swain I slew 
Upon the dulef ul Braes of Yarrow. 

Wash, wash his wounds, his wounds 

in tears, 
HIE. wounds in tears with dule and 

86 And wrap his limbs in mourning 


And lay him on the Braes of 

Then build, then build, ye sisters, 

sisters sad, 
Ye sisters sad, his tomb with 


And weep around in waeful wise 
His hapless fate on the Braes of 

Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless 

My arm that wrought the deed of 

The fatal spear that pierc'd his 


His comely breast on the Braes of 

46 Did I not warn thee, not to, not to 

And warn from fight f but to my 


Too la&hly bauld a stronger aim 
Thou mett'st, and fell 'at on the 
Braes of Yarrow. 

C. Sweet smells the birk, green grows, 

green grows the grass, 
60 Yellow on Yarrow's bank the 

gowan, 1 

Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, 
Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan. 2 

A. Flows Yarrow sweet f as sweet, as 

sweet flows Tweed, 
A 8 green its grass, its gowan as 

i the daisy 









As sweet smells on its braes the bnk, 
The apple frae its rock as mellow 

Pair was thy luve, fair, fail indeed 

thy luve, 
In flow'ry bands thou didst him 

Tho' he was fair, and ueil belin M 

1 Than me he never luv 'd thee bettei 

Busk ye, then busk, my bonny bonny 

Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome 

Busk ye, and luve me on the banks oi 


And think nae mair on the Biaes 
of Yarrow. 

C How can I busk, a bonny bonnj bride? 

How can I busk, a winsome raai ro\\ f 

How luve him upon the banks oi 


That slew my luve on the Braes ol 
Yarrow f 

Yarrow fields, may never, ne\ei 

Nor dew thy tender blossoms ccner 
For there was basely slain m> hue. 

My luve, as he had not been a lover 

The boy put on his robes, his robes of ]or> 

His purple vest, 'twas my a*n 

Ah! wretched me' I little, little 

He was in these to meet his ruin 

The boy took out his milk-white, milk- 
white steed, 

Unheedful of my dule and sorrow 
But ere the to-fall 1 of the night 

He lay a corps on the Braes of 

Much I rejoyc'd that waeful, waeful 


I sang, my voice the uoods return- 
But lang ere night the spear was 


That slew my luve, and left me 

; What can my barbarous, barbarous 

father do, 
But with his cruel rage pursue me* 

> close 


My luver's blood is on thy spear. 
How canst tbou, barbarous man, 
then wooe me? 

My happy sisters nm> be, may be 

With ciuel and ungentle seoffin', 
May bid me seek on Yarrow's Braes 

My lu\ei nailed in Ins coffin 

My brother Douglas ma> upbraid, up- 
And strive \vitli threatuing \\uids 

to mu\e me. 

My luver's blood is on thy speai, 
How canst thou e\er bid me luxe 

Yes, >es, prepare the bed, tlie bed of 

With bridal sheets my bod\ co\ci, 
Unbar, ye bndal maids, the door. 

Let in the expected husband 1m ei 

But who the expected husband hus- 
band is? 
His hands, metlunks, aie hath'd in 


Ah me' what ghastly spa-tie's \un 
Comes in his pale shroud, bleeding 

Pale as he is, here lay him, la\ him 


Ja\ his cold head on in\ pillou , 
Take aff, take a if, these bndal weids, 
And croun m\ careful head with 

Pale tho' thou ait, vet best, \et best 

beluv 'd, 
could my warmth to life restore 


Yet lye all mrfit between mv breists. 
No youth la> ever there before thee 

Pale, pale indeed, hivelv, Invelv 

youth ! 

Foigive, forgi\e so foul a slauhtei 
And lye all night between mv 

breists ; 
No youth shall ever l\e there after 

A Return, return, mouinful, mourn- 
ful bride, 

' Return, and drv th> useless soirou 
Thy luver heeds none of thy sighs. 
He lyes a corps on the Braes of 



DAVID MALLET (1705.1705) 


'Twas at the wlent solemn hour, 

When night and morning meet, 
In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, 
4 And stood at William's feet. 

Her face was like an April morn 

Clad in a wintry cloud ; 
And clay-cold was her lily hand 
8 That held her sable shroud. 

So shall the fairest face appear, 

When youth and years are flown. 
Such is the robe that kings must wear, 
12 When death has reft their crown. 

Her bloom was like the springing flower, 

That sips the silver dew , 
The rose was budded in her cheek, 
16 Just opening to the view 

Rut love had, like the canker-worm. 

Consumed her early prime, 
The rose grew pale, and left her cheek, 
20 She died before her time 

"Awake*" she cried, "thy true lo\e 


Come from her midnight grave 
Now let thy pity hear the maid 
24 Thy love refused to save. 

"This is the dark and dreary hour 

When injured ghosts complain ; 
When yawning graves give up their 

28 To haunt the faithless swam 

"Bethink thee, William, of thv fault, 

Thy pledge and broken oath ! 
And give me back m> maiden \ow, 
82 And give me back my troth 

"Why did you promise loie to me. 

And not that promise keepf 
Why did you swear my eyes were bright, 
86 Yet leave those eyes to weep? 

"How could you say my face was fair. 

And yet that face forsake f 
How could you win my virgin heart, 
Yet leave that heart to break f 

"Why did you say my lip was sweet. 

And make the scarlet paleT 
And why did I, young, witless maid I 
44 Behove the flattering talef 

"That face, alas! no more is fair, 

Those lips no longer red : 
Dark are my eyes, now closed in death, 
48 And every charm is fled. 

"The hungry worm my sister is; 

This winding-sheet I wear: 
And cold and weary lasts our night, 
62 Till that last morn appear. 

"But hark! 

the cock has warned me 

A lone and last adieu ! 
Come see, false man, how low she lies, 
66 Who died for love of you." 

The lark sung loud ; the morning smiled 

With beams of rosy red : 
Pale William quaked in every limb, 
60 And raving left his bed. 

He hied him to the fatal place 
Where Margaret's body lay; 
And stretched him on the green-grass 

64 That wrapt her breathless clay 

And thrice he called on Margaret's name, 

And thrice he wept full sore; 
Then laid his cheek to her cold grave, 
68 And word spake never more 1 


The smiling morn, the breathing spnng, 
Invite the tuneful birds to sing: 
And while they warble from each spray, 
Love melts the universal lay. 
5 Let us, Amanda, timely wise, 
Like them improve the hour that flies; 
And, in soft raptures, waste the day, 
Among the shades of Bndermay. 

For soon tire winter of the year. 
10 And age, fife's winter, will appear: 

At this, thy living bloom must fade: 

As that will strip the verdant shade. 

Our taste of pleasure then is o'er; 

The feather 'd songsters love no more: 
15 And when thev droop, and we decay, 

Adieu the shades of Endermay' 




JOHN DYER (1700-1758) 


Silent nymph 1 with canons eye, 
Who, the purple ev'ning, lie 
On the mountain 's lonely van, 
Beyond the noise of busy man, 
6 Painting fair the form of things, 
While the yellow linnet sings, 
Or the tuneful nightingale 
Charms the forest with her tale, 
Come, with all thy various hues, 

1 Come, and aid thy sister Muse; 
Now while Phoebus, riding high, 
Gives lustie to the land and sky, 
Grongar Hill invites my song, 
Draw the landskip bright and strong; 

16 Grongar, in whose mossy cells, 
Sweetly musing Quiet dwells; 
Grongar, in whose silent shade, A 
For the modest Muses made, 
So oft I have, the ev'mng still, 

20 At the fountain of a rill, 
Sat upon a flow'ry bed, 
With my hand beneath my head, 
While strav'd mv eyes o'er Towy's flood. 
Over mead and over wood, 

25 From house to house, from lull to hill, 
Till Contemplation had her fill. 

About Ins chequer M sides I wind, ^ 
And leave his brooks and meads behind, 
And groves and grottoes where I lay, 

80 And \istoes 2 shooting beams of day 
Wide fend wider spreads the vale, 
As circles on a smooth canal ' 
The mountains round, unhappy fate 1 
Sooner or later, of all height, 

86 Withdraw their summits from the skies, 
And lessen as the others rise 
Still the prospect wider spreads, 
Adds a thousand woods and meads ; 
Still it widens, widens still, 

40 And sinks the newly-risen lull 

Now I gam the mountain 's brow, 
What a landskip lies below* 
No clouds, no vapors intervene; 
But the gay, the open scene 

46 Does the face of Nature show 
In all the hues of heaven 'R bow. 
And, swelling to embrace the light. 
Spreads around beneath the sight. 
Old' castles on the cliffs arise, 

50 Proudly tow 'ring in the skies; 
Rushing from the woods, the spires 
Seem from hence ascending fires; 
Half his beams Apollo sheds 

'The name of paint- 

On the yellow mountain-heads, 
K Gilds the fleecesr-of the flocks, 

And glitters on the broken rocks. 
Below me trees unnumber'd rise, 

Beautiful in various dyes; 

The gloomy pine, the poplar blue, 
60 The yellow beech, the sable yew, 

The slender fir, that taper grows, 

The stui dy oak with broad-spi cad boughs, 

And beyond the purple grove, 

Haunt of Philhs, queen of love I 
65 Gaudy as the op'ning dawn, 

Lies a long and level lawn, 1 

On which a dark hill, steep and high, 

Holds and charms the wand 'ring eye 

Deep are his feet in Towy's flood, 
70 His sides are cloth 'd with waving wood, 

And ancient towers crown his brow, 

That cast an awful look below, 

Whose lagged walls the ivy creeps, 

And mith her arms from falling keeps, 
75 So both a safety from the wind 

On mutual dependence find. 

'Tis now the raven 's bleak abode ; 

'Tis now th' apartment of the toad; 

And there the iox securely feeds, 
80 And there the pois'nous adder breeds. 

Conceal 'd in ruins, moss, and weeds; 

While, e\ er and anon, there falls 

Huge lieaps of hoarv moulder 'd walls. 

Yet Time has seen, that lifts the low, 
85 And le\el lavs the lofty brow, 

Has seen this bioken pile com pleat, 2 

Big vuth the \anity of state. 

But transient is the smile of Fate! 

A little rule, a little sway, 
90 A sunbeam in a winter's day, 

Is all the proud and mighty 'have 

Between the cradle and the gra\e. 
And see the mcis how they rim 

Thro 9 \voods and meads, in shade and 

sun 1 
93 Sometimes ant if t and sometimes slow, 

Wave succeeding wave, they go 

A vanous journey to the deep, 

Like human life to endless sleep* 

Thus is Nature's vesture wrought, 
100 To instruct our wand 'i ing thought; 

Thus she dresses green and gay, 

To disperse our cares away. 
Ever charming, ever new, 

When will the landskip tire the view I 
105 The fountain's fall, the river's flow, 

The woody valleys warm and low; 

The windy summit, wild and high, 

Roughly rushing on the sky! 

The pleasant seat, the ruin'd tow'r, 


1 grassy field 

Complcat rimes with 



HO The naked rock, the shady bow'r; 
The town and village, dome and farm, 
Each give each a double charm. 
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm 
See on the mountain's southern side, 

116 Where the prospect opens wide, 
Where the ev'mng gilds the tide, 
How close and small the hedges he ' 
What streaks of meadows cross the eye 1 
A step, methinks, may pass the stream, 

120 So little distant dangers seem , 
So we mistake the Future's face, 
Ey'd thro' Hope's deluding glass , 
As yon summits soft and fair, 
Clad in colors of the air, 

126 Which, to those who journey near, 
Ban en, brown, and rough appear; 
Still we tread the same coarse way; 
The present's still a cloudy day 
may I with myself agree, 

180 And never covet what I see, 

Content me with an humble shade, 
M\ passions tam'd, mv wishes laid; 
For while our wishes wildly roll, 
We banish quiet from the soul , 

136 'Tis thus the bns\ beat the air, 
And misers gather wealth and care 
Now, ev'n no* t mv joys run high, 
As on the mountain-turf I he , 
While the wanton Zephyr smgK 

140 And in the >ale |xrf nines hib wings, 
While the wateis iniumur deep. 
While the shepherd charms 1 his sheep , 
While the birds unbounded fly, 
And with music fill the sky, 

145 Now, ev'n now, my io\s run high 

Be full, \e court** 1 be great who will; 
Search for Peace with all your skill 
Open wide the lofty door. 
Seek her on the marble floor 

150 Tn \am >e search, she is not there, 
In vain >e search the domes of Care* 
Grass and flowers Quiet treads, 
On the meads and mountain-heads, 
Along with Pleasure close ally'd, 

IK Ever bv each other's side. 

And often, by the murm'nng rill, 
Hears the thrush, while all is still. 
Within the groves of Gromrar Hill 


From BOOK I 

Ah, gentle shepherd, thine the lot to 

400 of all, that feel distress, the most as- 

1 control* or calms by playing upon bin pipe 

Feeble, defenceless: lenient be thy care: 
But spread around thy tenderest dili- 
In flow'ry spring-time, when the new- 

dropt lamb, 
Tottering with weakness by his mother's 

406 Feels the fresh world about him, and 

each thorn, 

Hillock, or furrow, trips his feeble feet 
Oh, guard his meek sweet innocence from 

Th' innumerous ills, that rush around 

his life, 
Mark the quick kite, with beak and 

talons prone, 
410 Circling the skies to snatch him from 

the plain ; 
Observe the lurking crows, beware the 

There the sly fox the careless minute 

Nor trust thy neighbor's dog, nor earth, 

nor sky . 

Thy bosom to a thousand cares divide 
415 Eunis oft sings his hail, the tardy fields 
Pay not their promised food; and oft 

the dam 
O'er her weak twins with empty udder 

Or fails to guard, when the bold bird of 


Alightb, and hops in many turns around, 
420 And tires her also turning: to her aid 
Be nimble, and the weakest in thine arms 
Gently convey to the warm cote, and oft, 
Between the lark 's note and the nightin- 
gale 's. 

His hungry bleating still with tepid milk : 
425 In this soft office may thy children join, 
And charitable habits learn in sport 
Nor yield him to himself, ere vernal airs 
Sprinkle thy little croft with daisy 

flowers . 

Nor vet forget him* life has rising ills: 
430 Various as ether 1 is the pastoral care- 
Through slow experience, by a patient 


The whole Ion? lesson gradual is at- 

By precept after precept, oft received 
With deep attention: such as Nuceus 

486 To the full vale near Soare's enamor'd 


While all is silence: sweet Hincklean 

1 Tbp HuliMtance mppo*ed to fill the upper regions 
of apace 


Whom rude obscurity severely clasps: 80 Tlie day's fair face. The wanderers of 

The muse, bowe'er, will deck thy simple heaven, 

cell Each to his home, retire; save those 

With purple violets and primrose flowers, that love 

440 Well-pleased thy faithful lessons to re- To take their pastime in tlie troubled air, 
pav. Or skimming; flutter round the dimply 

.*.-,. M * M . M * M ,.~ ...-> Thc cattle from the ""tasted fields return 

JAMES THOMSON (1700-1748) 85 A nd ask, with meaning low, their wonted 

THE SEASONS ^ Btalto, 

_ __ Or ruminate in the contiguous shade 

mj m i Thither the household feathery people 


See, Winter comes to rule the varied The msM cock Wlt|| all hlb female 

y***> train, 

Sullen and sad, with all his rising tram- Pensive and dripping , while the cottage- 

Vapors, and clouds, and storms. Be these hj D( j 

my theme, % Hangs o'er the enlivening blaze, and 

These, that exalt the soul to solemn taleful there 

e A thought Recounts his simple frolic much he 

5 And heavenly musing. Welcome, km- talks, 

dred glooms! ,,._,__. A And much he laughs, noi recks the storm 

Cogenial 1 horrors, hail! \\ith frequent that blows 

*?*: _ , , - Without, and rattles on his humble roof 

Pleased ha\e I, in my cheerful morn of W ide o'er the brim, with many a tor- 

^ llfc ' , . , , , T , , rent Dwelled, 

When nursed by carelesh solitude I h veil w And the mixed nun oi its bank* o'ei- 

And sung of Nature with unceasing joy, spread, 

10 Pleased ha\e I wandered through your At Jast the rouwd-up river pours along 

rough domain, Resistless, roaring, dreadful, doun it 

Trod the pure virgin-snou**, myself as comes, 

P nre J From the rude mountain and the mossy 

Heard the winds roar, and the big tor- W] ]<] y 

rent burst; Tumbling through rocks abrupt, anil 

Or seen the deep-fermenting tempest sounding far, 

brewed loo Then o'er the sanded valle\ floating 

In the grim evening-skv Thus passed spreads, 

i- m. tS 6 tim v' ., i j , u *t Calm duggish, silent; till again, con- 

^ Till through the lucid ' chambers of the strained 

80uth . . . _ , Between two meeting lulls, it bursts a 

Tx>oked out the joyous Spring looked wav 

out and smiled. Where rocks and *oods o'erhang the 

turbid stream \ 

Then comes the father of the tempest There, gathering triple force, rapid and 

forth, deep, 

Wrapt in black glooms First, joyless 105 It bofl 8 , and wheels, and foams, and 

rains obscure thunders through 
Drive through the mingling skies wjtn 

p*foul, Ah! little think the gay licentious 

75 Dash on the mountain's brow, and shake proud/ 

the woods Whom pleasure, power, and affluence 

That grumbling wave below The un- surround 

sightly plain They, who their thoughtless hours in 

Lies a brown deluge; as the low-bent g^y m i rt h f 

clouds 825 And wanton, often cruel, riot waste 

Pour flood on flood, yet unexhausted still A h! little think they, while they dance 

Combine, and, deepening into night, shut along, 

UP How many feel, this very moment, death 

And all the sad variety of pain ; 



How many unk in the devouring flood, 
380 Or more devouring flame; how manv 

By shameful variance betwixt man anil 

How nfeny pine in want, and dungeon- 

Shut from the common air and common 

Of their own limbs, how many dnnk the 


3*5 Of baleful gi ief , or eat the bitter bread 
Of misery, sore pierced by wintry winds, 
How many shrink into the sordid hut 
Of cheerless povert\ . licw many shake 
With all the fiercer tortures of the mind. 
340 Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, re- 

Whence, tumbled headlong from the 

height of life. 

They furnish matter for the tragic muse , 
Even in the \a\e. where wisdom lote* to 


With friendship, peace, and eon tern pla- 
, tion joined, 

845 How many, racked uith honest passions. 

droop < 

In deep letired distiess, lion manv stand 
Around the death-bed of their dearest 

And point the pai tin? nnmiish' Thought 

fond man 
Of these, and all the thousand nameless 


8M) That one incessant struggle rendei lile. 
One scene of toil, of suffeiinsr. and of 

Vice in hi* hiffh caieer would stand 

And heedless rambling Impulse leain to 

The conscious heart of Chant> would 


865 And her wide wish Benevolence dilate , 
The social tear would rise, the social 

sisrh ; 
And* into cleai perfection, stiadual 


Refining still the social passions work 
And here can I forpet the generous 

360 Who, touched with human woe, ledressive 

Into the horrors of the gloomy jnilf 1 

Unpitied and unheard where misery 

Where sickness pines, where thirst and 

hunger burn, 
Antl poor misfortune feels the lash of 


36r> While in the land of liberty the land 
Whose e\ery street and public meeting 


With open freedom little tyrants raged, 
Snatched the lean morsel from the starv- 

ing mouth, 
Tore from cold wintry limbs the tattered 

37 Even robbed them of the last of com- 

forts, sleep, 
The free-born Briton to the dungeon 


Or, as the lust of cuielty prevailed, 
At pleasure maiked him with inglorious 

And crushed out lives by secret bar- 

barous \\a\s. 
" 75 That for their country would have toiled 

or bled. 

prreat design! li executed well, 
With patient eaie and wisdom-tempered 


Ye sons of rnercx f > et resume the search ; 

Drag forth the legal monsters into light, 

3 * Wrench from their hands Oppression's 

iron rod, 
And bid the cruel feel the pains they 

Much still untouched remains, in this 

rank age, 
Much is the patnot's weeding hand re- 

The toils of law what dark insidious 

83 Have cumbrous added to perplex the 


And lengthen simple justice into trade 
How glorious were the day that saw 

these broke, 
And everv man within the reach of right S 

8u1111 *" 

that the wirdemhln* of prNonK were 

Mver* puDio 

gt,]] | e t me p ie ice into the midnight 


Of >onder grove, of wildest largest 

Thafc ? ormin * high in air a woodtand 


Nod. o'er the fflomt beneath At every 


620 Solemn and slow the shadows blacker And, falling fast from gradual slope to 

fall, slope, 

And all is awful listening gloom around. With wild infracted course and lessened 

These are the haunts of meditation, roar 

these * 606 It gains a safer bed, and bteaJb at last 

The scenes where ancient hards the in- Along the mazes of the quiet vale. 

spinng breath Invited from the cliff, to whose dark 

Ecstatic felt, and, from this world re- brow 

tned, He clings, the steep-ascending eagle 

625 Conversed with angels and immortal soars 

forms, With upward pinions through the flood 

On gracious enands bent to sa\e the of day, 

fall 61 And, giving full his bosom to the blaze, 

Of virtue struggling on the brink of vice; Gains on the Sun; while all the tuneful 

In waking whispers and repeated dreams race, 

To hint pure thought, and \varn the fa- Smit by afflictive noon, disordered droop 

vored soul, Deep in the thicket, or, from bower to 

630 For future tnals fated, to piepaie, bower 

To prompt the poet, who demoted gnes Kesponsive, force an interrupted strain. 

His muse to better themes, to soothe the cl5 The stock-do\e only through the forest 

pangb coos, 

Of dying \vorth, and from the patriot's Mournfully hoarse, oft ceasing from his 

breast plaint, 

(Backward to mingle in detested war, Short mtenal of weary woe! again 

MB But foremost when engaged) to turn the The sad idea of his murdered mate, 

death; Struck from his side by savage fowler's 

And numberless such offices of love, guile, 

Daily and nightly, zealous to perform. 62 Across his fancv comes, and then re- 

686 Thus up the mount, in airy A ision rapt, A louder song of sorrow through the 

I stray, regardless whither, till the gro\e 

sound Beside the dewy border let me sit, 

Of a near fall of water every sense All in the freshness of the humid air, 

Wakes from the charm of thought There on that hollowed lock, giotesque 

swift-shrinking back, and wild, 

I check my steps and Mew the broken 625 An ample chair moss-lined and over 

scene. head 

590 Smooth to the sheh ing brink a copious By flowenng umbrage shaded , where the 

flood bee 

Rolls fair and placid, wheie, collected Strays diligent, and with the extracted 

all balm 

Tn one impetuous toi rent, down the steep Of fragrant woodbine loadb his little 

It thundering shoots, and shakes the thigh 

country round ... . . 
At first, an azure sheet, it rushes broad, 13 The Sun has lost his rage, his down- 

696 Then, whitening bv degrees as prone it ward orb 

falls, Shoots nothing now but animating 

And from the loud-resounding rocks warmth 

below And vital lustre; that with -various ray, 

Dashed in a cloud oi foam, il sends Lights up the clouds, those beauteous 

aloft robes of heaven, 
A hoary mist and forms a ceaseless 1875 Incessant rolled into romantic shapes, 

shower The dream of waking fancy! Broad 

Nor can the tortured wave here And below, 

repose ; Covered with ripening fruits, and swell- 

600 But, raging still amid the shaggy rocks, ing fast 

Now flashes o'er the scattered frag- Into the perfect year, the pregnant earth 

ments, now And all her tribes rejoice. Now the soft 

Aslant the hollow channel rapid darts; hour 


iSftO of walking comes for linn who lonely loves And soar above this little scene of 
To seek the distant lulls, and there con- things- 
verse To tread low-thoughted \ice beneath 
With nature, there to harmonize his heart, their feet, 

And in pathetic song to breathe around To soothe the throbbing passions into 

The harmony to others. Social friends, peace, 

1386 Attuned to happy unison of soul And woo lone Quiet in her silent walks. 
To whose exulting eve a fairer world, 97 Thus sohtaiy, and in pensive guise, 

Of which the vulgar never had a glimpse, Oft let me wander o'er the russet mead, 

Displays its charms, whose minds are And through the saddened grove, where 

richly fraught scarce is heard 

With philosophic stores, superior light, One dying strain to cheer the woodman's 

1390 And in whose breast enthusiastic burns toil 

Virtue, the sons of interest deem ro- Haply some widowed songster pours his 

mance m plaint 

Now called abroad, enjov the falling day 97B Far in faint warblmgs through the 

Now to the verdant portico of woods, tawny 1 copse; 

To nature 's vast lyceum, forth they walk ; While congregated thrushes, linnets, 

1395 By that kind school where no proud mas- larks, 

ter reigns. And each wild throat whose artless 

The full free converse of the fnendb strains so late 

heart, Swelled all the music of the swarming 

Improving and improxed Now from the shades, 

world, Robbed of their tuneful souls, now shiv- 

Sacred to sweet retirement, lo\eis steal, enng sit 
And pour then souls in transport, which 98 On the dead tree, a dull despondent 

the sire flock, 

1400 Of lo\c approving hoars, and calls it With not a brightness \ta\ing o'er their 

good plumes, 

And naught save chat tenner discord in 

Fiom Aim MS their note. 

17 J0 Oh, let not, aimed from some inhuman 

960 But see the fading man\ -colored woods, eye, 

Shade deepen mu oxer shade, the counts The gun the music of the coming year 

round MX5 Destroy, and harmless, unsuspecting 

Imbrown; a crowded umbiage, dusk and harm, 

dun, Lay the weak tubes, n miserable prey, 

Of everv hue from \van declining screen In mingled murder fluttering on the 

To soot> dark. These now the lonesome ground ' 

muse, The pale descending ^ea^, yet pleasing 

955 Low -whisper ing, lead into their leaf still, 

strown walks, A gentler mood inspires, for now the 

And give the season in its latest MOH leaf 
Meantime, light shadowmsr nil, a sober wo Incessant rustles from the mournful 

calm grove, 

Fleeces 1 unbounded ethei , whose lenst Oft staithng Fiich as studious walk be- 

wave low, 

Stands tremulous, uncertain wheie to turn And slowlv circles lliroimh the waving 

960 The gentle current ; while, illumined wide, air. 

The dewy-skiited clouds mihil>e the sun. Rut, should a quicker biee/e amid the 

And through their lucid veil his softened boughs 

force Sob, o'er the skj the leafy deluge 

Shed o'er the peaceful \\orld Then is streams. 

the time " 5 Till, choked and matted uith the dreary 

For those whom wisdom and whom na- shower, 

ture charm The forest-walks, at e\erv rising gale, 

* To steal themselves from the degenerate Roll wide the wither 'd waste, and whistle 

crowd, bleak. 

1 fpreads over like t fleece ' vcllowWi brown 


Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields; ..'.... 

And, shrunk into their beds, the flowery Meanwhile the moon, 

race Full-orbed and breaking through the 

1000 Their sunny robes resign. Even what scattered clouds, 

lemamed 109 Shows her broad visage in the crimsoned 

Of bolder fruits falls from the naked east. 

tree; Turned to the mm diiect, her spotter! 

And woods, fields, gardens, orchaids, disk 

all around (Where mountains rise, umbrageous 

The desolated prospect thrills the soul dales descend, 

He comes 1 he comes f in e\ery breeze And caverns deep, as optic tubedescnes) 

the Power * A smaller eaith, gnes all his bla/r 

1005 Qf Philosophic Melancholy comes! again, 

His near approach the sudden-starting 1095 Void of its flame, and sheds a softer 

tear, cla\ 

The glowing cheek, the mild dejected air. Now through the passing cloud she seems 

The softened feature, and the beating to stoop. 

heart, Now up the pure cerulean rides sublime 
Pierced deep with manv a virtuous pan?. Wide the pale deluge floats, and stream- 
declare ing mild 

1010 O'er all the soul his sacred influence O'er the skied mountain to the shad- 
breathes; o\i v \ale, 

faflames imagination , through the breast 110 While rocks and floods leflect the qim- 

Infuses every tenderness , and far ei in? gleam, 

Beyond dim earth exalts the swelling The uhole air whitens with a boundless 

thought. tide 

Ten thousand thousand fleet ideas, such Of siher radiance trembling round the 

1015 AS never mingled with the vulgar dream. world. 

Crowd fast into the mind's creatne e\e * ' 

As fast the corres|x>ndent passions rise, O Nature' all-sufficient' oxer all 

As varied, and as high devotion raised Enrich me with the knowledge of thv 

To rapt me, and divine astonishment; works, 

1020 The love of nature unconflned, and, chief, Snatch me to hea\en th\ rolling won- 

Of human race; the large ambitious wish ders there, 
To make them blest, the sigh for suffer- 185B Woild beyond woild, m infinite extent 

ing worth Proiuselv scattered o'er the blue im- 

Lost m obscurity , the noble scorn men so, 

Of tvrant pride, the fearless great re- Show me, then motions, ]>eriods, and 

solve, their laws 

1025 The Bonder which the dying patriot (live me to scan , through the disclosm 

diaws, deep 

Inspiring glorv through remotest time. Light my blind ma\ the mineral stiatu 

The awakened throb for \irtue and for there, 

fame; 136 Thrust blooming thence the vegetnble 

The sympathies of love and inendship woild. 

dear, O'er that the rising svstem, more com- 

With all the social offspring of the heait ?!**> 

1030 oh f bear me then to vast em bo wen nu Of animals; and, higher still, the mind, 

shades. The varied scene of quick-compounded 

To twilight groves, and visionary \ales, thought, 

To weeping grottoes, and prophetic And where the mixing passions endless 

glooms ; shift ; 

Where angel forms athwart the solemn 1365 These ever open to my ravished eye- 
dusk, A search, the flight of time can ne'er 
Tremendous, suecp, or seem to sweep exhaust 1 

along; But, if to that unequalif the blood 

1035 And voices more than human, through In sluggish streams about my heart forbid 

the void That best ambition -under closing shades 
Deep-sounding, seize the enthusiastic ear wo Inglorious lay me by the lowly brook, 


And whuper to my di earns. From thee 

Dwell all on thee, with thee conclude 

my song; 
And let me ne\ or, novel stray from t hep r 


Thew,, as they change, Almighty Father! 

That, as they still succeed, they ravish 

But, wandering oft with brute uncon- 

seious gaze, 
Man marks not thee, marks not the 

mighty hand 

That, c\ei biihy, wheels the silent spheres, 
Work** in the becret deep, shoots steam- 


that oWsp.rndK the 

Tin 8 b3y walks, thy tenderness and 

WidiTush the fields, the softening air 

VIA 1m 

Kcho the mountamH round, the forest 

Creatu1 *' hurto the tempest 


ght and heat refulgent ' Then thy 

10 Shoots full perfection through the swell- 
ing year 
And oft thy \oice in dreadful thunder 

at dawn, deep noon, or falhng 

Thj 'bounty shmes ,n autumn unoon- 
An,! sptads a common feast for all 
In m a ter'atftil thon! w,th clouds and 
AroundTee thrown, tempest o'er tern- 

thou bidst the 


And humblest nature ,th thv northern 

* And ! . e rth * h 

W,th transport touches all the P rmg S 
ot llle 



Bon(|1 To hnn ' y * VOCal 

Brea ' h ? ft ' jf" 8 P int in 
ness Dreatnes* 

F,INThe P h,o W n h hde ,rth a religion 
Au a?e% hose bolder note , heard afar, 

- and "^ from whom 


Hw P. .?* brookfc - attnn *. J* trera - 
oiing mis, 

Mysterious round' what skill, what 

DeepSmthese appear' a s,mple train. " Or 
Yet so^dehghtful mixed, with nuch kind 

And all 'so forming an harmonious 


Ak|| vije . 

A secret world of wonders in thyself, 
Som eft h t v^***** 
von r OT b ' d8 

to him, whose snn 
y U ' and 

'brilliant: radlnnt 

Ye forests, bend; ye harvests, wave to 


60 Breathe jour biill bong into the leapi'i V The prompting seraph, and the poet's 

heart l>re 

As home he goeb beneath the joyous Still sing the God of Seasons as they roll. 

, % moon. For me, when I forget the darling theme, 

Ye that keep watch in hea\en, as earth 9B Whether the blossom blows, the summer- 

asleep ray 

Unconscious lies, effuse 1 your mildest Russets the plain, inspiring autumn 

beams, gleams, 

Ye constellations* while your angels Or winter rises in the blackening east, 

strike Be my tongue mute, ray fancy paint no 
66 Amid the spangled sky the silver lyre more, 

Qreat source of day' best image here And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat ! 

Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide 10 W fate Command me to the far- 

From world to world the vital ocenn * hest vei^e 

round | Of the green earth, to distant barbarous 

On nature write with every beam his climes, 

p raige Rivers unknown to son, where first the 

70 The thunder rolls- be hushed the pros- _ fl sun _ 

trate world Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting 

While cloud to cloud returns the solemn __ beam ...... , fj . , . 

hymn. Flames on the Atlantic isles, 'tis nought 

Bleat out afresh, ve hills, je mossy 1ft . to me, 

rogkg 105 Since God is ever present, e\er felt, 

Retain the sound, the broad responsive ^ * he * ld waste as in the city full, 
j ow And where he vital spreads there must 

Ye valleys, raise; for the Great Shep- ta J ^ 

herd reigns When e\en at last the solemn hour shall 

75 And his unsuffenng kingdom yet will come, 

come And wing my mystic flight to future 

Ye woodlands all, awake a boundless 110 _ J OT ^ . 

B0n g 110 I cheerful w ill obev , there, with new 

Burst from the groves; and, when the __ T P ow ers, 

restless day " "* nsin wonders sing: I cannot go 

Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, TOiere universal loie not smiles around, 

Sweetest of birds, sweet Philomela' Sustaining all yon orbs and all their 

charm Rons ' 

so The listening shades, and teach the night tl . ^Tu^ 6 ^ eul stl11 edll n P K*. 

his praise! An<J better tlienf e again, and better still, 

Ye, chief, for whom the whole creation J n ^J 11 * pmpiwion But I lose 

smiles, Mvself m him, in light ineffable' 

At once the head, the heart, the toncue Come then e^prossive Silence, mue his 

of all, 


A , A A . , /7SC-48 1748 

Assembled men, to the deep orean Prom CANTO I 

The 3 long-resounding voice, oft breaking n \M\l 

clear Whorp for a little 

At solemn pauses through the Rwellincr Wc Ilved rl ht 

bass; O mortal man, who livest here by toil, 

And, as each minulmg flame increases Do not complain of this thy hard 

each, estate, 

In one united ardor rise to heaven That like an emmet 2 thou must e\er 

Or, if you rather choose the rural shade, moil 

90 And find a fane in every sacred grove, Is a sad sentence of an ancient date. 8 

There let the shepherd's flute, the vir- i called; named 

^Lh ay ' 9 ^ n *& t y tMt of th 

forth hi part.*' GmrM, *5 1 



6 And, certes, there is for it reason 

For, though sometimes it makes thee 

weep and wail, 
And curse thy stars, and early drudge 

and late, 
Withouten that would come an heavier 

Loose life, unruly passions, and diseases 


10 In lowly dale, fast by a river's side, 
With woody hill o'er hill encompassed 


A most enchanting wizard did abide, 
Than whom a fiend more fell is no- 
where found 
It was, I ween, 1 a lovely spot of 

15 And there a season atween June and 

Half prankt with spring, with summer 

half imbrowned, 
A listless climate made, where, sooth 

to say, 
No living wight could work, ne car&d 

even for play. 

Was nought around but images of rest 
20 ' Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns 

between ; 

And flowery beds that slumbrous in- 
fluence kest, 2 
From poppies breathed, and beds of 

pleasant gieen, 
Where never yet was creeping creature 

Meantime unnumbered glittering sti eain- 

lets played, 
2B And hurled everywhere their \\ateis 

sheen ; 
That, as they bickeied thiough the 

sunny glade, 

Though restless still themselves, a lulling 
murmur made 

Joined to the pi at tie of the purling 

Were heard the lowing heids alone; 

the vale, 

80 And flocks loud-bleating fioin the dis- 
tant hills, 

And vacant 8 shepheids piping in the 

And now and then sweet Philomel 
would wml. 

Or stock-doves plain amid the forest 

1 think ' cant * cure f POO 

That drowsy rustled to the sighing 

86 And still a coil the grasshopper did 


Yet all these sounds > blent 1 inclined all 
to sleep. 

Full in the passage of the vale, above, 
A sable, silent, solemn forest stood, 
Where nought but shadowy forms weie 

seen to move, 
40 As Idless fancied in her dreaming 


And up the hills, on either side, a wood 
Of blackening pines, ay waving to and 

Sent forth a sleepy horror through the 

blood ; 
And where this valley winded out, 

46 The murmuring mam was heard, and 

scarcely heard, to flow 

A pleasing land of drowsyhed it was- 

Of dreams that wave before the half- 
shut eye, 

And of gay castles in the clouds that 

For ever flushing round a summer sky 
60 There eke the soft delights, that witch- 

Instil a wanton sweetness through the 

And the calm pleasures always hov- 
ered nigh; 

Hut whate'er smacked of nojance, or 


Was far far off expelled from this deli- 
cious nest 

65 The landskip such, inspiring perfect 

Wheie Indolence (for so the vvizaid 

Close-hid his castle mid embowering 


That half shut out the beams of Phoe- 
bus bright, 
And made a kind of checkered day 

and night 
60 Meanwhile, unceasing at the massv 

Beneath a spacious palm, the wicked 

Was placed , and, to his lute, of cruel 

\iul labor haisli complained, lamenting 

man's estate 
'blendod was oil led 



Thither continual pilgrims crowded 

*& From all the roads of earth that pass 

there by: 
For, as they chaunced to breathe on 

neighboring hill, 
The freshness of this valley smote 

their eye, 
And drew them ever and anon more 

Till clustering round the enchanter 

false they hung, 
70 Ymolten 1 with his syren melody ; 

While o'er th' enfeebling lute his 

hand he flung, 

And to the trembling chord these tempt- 
ing verses sung: 

"Behold! ye pilgrims of this earth, 

See all but man with unearned pleas- 
ure gay. 

76 See her bright robes the butterfly un- 

Broke from her wintry tomb in prime 
of Mav. 

' ' Outcast of Nature, man ! the wretched 

Of bitter-dropping sweat, of sweltry 

Of cares that eat away th} heart with 


And of the vices, an inhuman train, 
95 That all proceed from sa\age thirst 

of gain : 
For when hard-hearted Interest first 


To poison earth, Astraea left the plain , 
Guile, Violence, and Murder seized on 

And, for soft milk} streams, *ith blood 

the rivers ran. 

100 "Come, ye, who still the cumbrous 

load of life 
Push hard up hill; but, as the farthebt 

You trust to gain, and put an end to 

Down thunders back the stone with 

mighty sweep, 
And hurls >our labors to the \alley 


What youthful bride can equal her 103 Forever vain come, and withouten fee 
array? I m oblivion will your borrows steep, 

Who can with her for eas> pleasure y ol ir caies, vour toils, will steep you 

vie * in a sea 

From mead to mead with gentle uing Of full delight come, ye weary 

to strav, 
80 From flower to flower on balmy gales 

to fly, 

Ts all she has to do beneath the radiant 

"Behold the mem minstrels of the 


The swarming songsters of the care- 
less grove, 
Ten thousand throats that, from the 

flowering thorn, 
86 Hymn their good God, and carol sweet 

of love, 
Such grateful kindly raptures them 

They neither plough nor row; nc,* 1 fit 

for flail. 
E'er to the barn tbe nodding sheaves 

they drove; 
Yet theirs each harvest dancing in 

the gale, 
90 Whatever crowns the hill, or smiles 

along the vale. 

* melted 

move (cp emotion) 


wights, to me 1 

"With me, you need not rise at early 

110 To pass the joyless <la\ in \anous 

stounds, 1 
Or, louting low, on upstart iortune 

And sell fair honor for bome paltry 

Or through the city take >our dirty 

To cheat, and dun, and he, and visit 

115 Now flattering base, now giung secret 

Or prow] in courts of law for human 

In venal senate thieve, or rob on broad 


"No cocks, with me, to rustic labor 

From village on to village sounding 




ito TO tardy swain DO shrill-voiced ma- 
trons squall; 

No dogs, no babes, no wives to stun 
your ear; 

Imbittered more from peevish day to 

Even those whom fame has lent her 

fairest ray, 

No hammers thump; no horrid black- J3 The most renowned of worthy wights 

smith sear, 
Ne noisy tradesman your sweet slum- 
bers start 

With sounds that are a misery to hear . 
125 But all is calm as would delight the 


Of Sybarite 1 of old, all nature, and all 


"Here nought but candor reigns, in- 
dulgent ease, 

Good-natured lounging, sauntering up 
and down 

They who are pleased themsehes must 

always please, 

130 On others' ways they ne\er squint 4 

Nor heed what haps in hamlet or in 
town ' r ' 

Thus, from the souice of tender Indo- 

With milkv blood the heart is o\er- 

Is soothed and sweetened bv the social 


135 For interest, envv, pnde, and strife are 
banished hence 

of yore, 

From a base world at last ha\e stolen 

So Scipio, to the soft Cumaean shore 
Retiring, tasted joy he never knew be- 

"But if a little exercise you chuse, 
Some zest for ease, 'tis not forbidden 

Amid the groves you may indulge the 


Or tend the blooms, and deck the ver- 
nal year; 
Or softly stealing, with >our watery 

Along the brooks, the crimson-spotted 

You may delude the whilst, amused, 

you hear 
Now the hoarse stream, and no* the 

zephjr's sigh, 
Attuned to the birds, and \\oodland 


11 grievous foil} ' to heap up estate, 
Ixtsmg the davs you see beneath the 

"What, 11 hat is \irtue but repose of 16R When, sudden, comes blind unrelent- 

A pure etheieal calm tliat knows no 

Above the reach of wild ambition's 

Abo\e those passions that this world 

140 And torture man. a proud malignant 


But here, instead, soft prulos of passion 17 But sure it is of >anities most vain. 

To toil for what you hore unfailing may 

ing fate, 
And gives the untasted portion you 

ha\e won 
With ruthless toil, and manv a wretch 

To those who mock >ou gone to Pluto's 

reign, . 
There with sad ghosts to pine, and 

shadows dun 

And gentlv stir the heart, thereby to 

A quicker sense of jov. as breezes 

Across the enli \ened skies, and make 

them still more gay. 

44 The best of men have ever lo\ed re- 

They hate to mingle in the fllthv fra\ . 

Where the soul sours, and Gradual 
rancor grows, 

An inhabitant of SybnrK Ttalv, n ritr noted 
for luxurious living 



Tie ceased Rut still their trembling 
ears retained 

The deep vibrations of Ins witching 

That, by a kind of magic power, con- 

To enter in, pell-mell, the listening 

Heaps poured on heaps, and yet they 
slipt along 

In silent ease- as when, beneath the 



Of summer moons, the distant woods 

Or by some flood all silvered with the 

18 The soft-embodied fays through airy 

portal stream. 

By the smooth demon so it ordered was, 
And here his baneful bounty first 

Though some there were who would 

not further pass. 

And his alluring baits suspected ban. 1 
*** The wise distrust the too i air-spoken 

Yet through the gate they cast a \v ish- 

ful eye 
Not to nune on, perdie, 2 is all they 

For, do their \ery best, they cannot 


But often each nay look, and often 
soiely sigh 

lw When this the watchful wicked n i/ard 

With sudden spring he leaped upon 
them strait, 

And, soon as touched In his unhal- 
lowed paw. 

They found themselves within the 
cursed gate, 

Full hard to be re passed, like that of 


1*5 Not stronger were of old the giant- 

Who sought to pull high Jove from 
regal state, 8 

Though feeble wretch he seemed, of 

sallow hue* 

Ccitcs, nlio bides his grasp, will that 
encountei rue. 

Waked bv the crowd, slow from his 

bench arose 
A comely full-spread porter, swoln 

with sleep* 
210 ITis calm, broad, thoughtless aspect 

breathed repose, 
And in sweet torpor he was plunged 

Ne could himself from ceaseless > awn- 

ing keep; 
While o'er his eyes the drowsy liquor 


"Thp Titan*, who iv- 
1 An o a t b from the helled agtinnt Ju- 
French, par Dicu, by piter 

Through which his half-waked soul 

would faintly peep. 
Then, taking his black staff, he called 

his man, 
And loused himself as much as rouse 

himself he can. 

The lad leaped lightly at his master's 

He was, to weet, 1 a little roguish page, 

Sa\e sleep and play who minded 

nought at all, 

220 Like most the untaught striplings of 
his age 

This boy be kept each band to disen- 

Garters and buckles, task for him 

But ill-becoming his grave personage, 

And which his portlv paunch would 
, not permit. 

225 So this same limber page to all per- 
formed it. 

Meantime the master-porter wide dis- 
Hi eat store of caps, of slippers, and oi 

Wherewith he those who entered in 

Loose as the breeze that plavs alonj; 

the downs, 
230 And waves the summer woods when 

evening frowns 
fair undress, best dress 1 it checks 

no vein, 
But everv flowing limb in pleasure 

And heightens ease with grace This 

done, right fain 
Sir Porter sat him down, and turned to 

sleep again 

235 Thus eas\ rol>ed, they to the fountain 

That in the middle of the court up 

A stream, high-spout ing from its liquid 


And falling back again in dn/zl.v dew 
There each deep draughts, as deep he 

thirsted, drew, 

240 jf W as a fountain of Nepenthe 2 rare 
Whence, as Dan* Homer sings, 4 huge 

pleasannee grew, 

1 m far ai ono could and ROITOW 

tell ' Lord , master 

* A drug mblch cause* * Odytttfji, 4, 220 It. 
forget fulness of pain 


And sweet oblivion of vile earthly 


Fair gladsome waking thoughts, and 
joyous dreams more fair. 

This nte performed, all inly pleased 

and still, 
24fi Withouten trump 1 was proclamation 


"Ye sons of Indolence, do what you 
- will; 
And wander where you list, through 

hall or glade 
Re no man's pleasure for another's 

Let each as likes him best his hours 


250 And curst be he who minds his neigh- 
bor's trade 1 
Here dwells kind ease, and unieprox- 

He little merits bliss who others can 

annoy. " 

Strait of these endless numbers, 

swarming round 
As thick as idle motes in sunny 

255 Not one eftsoons 2 in \ie\v was to be 

Rut exery man sti oiled off his oun 

glad way 
Wide o'er this ample court's blank 


With all the lodges that thereto per- 
No living creature could be seen to 

stra\ ; 
260 While solitude and perfect silence 

So that to think vou dreamt \ou almost 

was constrained 

As when a shepherd of the Hebrid 


Placed far amid the melancholy mam, 
(Whether it be lone fanc> him be- 

265 Or that aerial beings sometimes deign 
To stand embodied to our senses plain) 
Sees on the naked hill, or valley low, 
The whilst in ocean Phoebus dips his 

wain, 8 

A vast assembly moving to and fro; 
270 Then all at once in air dissolves the 
wondrous show. 

1 trumpet 

* immediately 

while the nun god dips hla wagon, i e , while 

the Rim I* Hotting 

Ye gods of quiet, and of sleep pro- 

Whose soft dominion o'er this castle 

And all the widely-silent places round, 

Forgive me, if m> trembling pen dis- 

- 7B What never yet was sung in mortal 

Rut how shall I attempt such arduous 

I who have spent my nights and 
nightly days 

In this soul-deadening place, loose- 

Ah f how shall I for this uprear my 
moulted wingf 

280 Come on, m> muse, nor stoop to low 

Thou imp of Jo\e, touched by celestial 

Thou >et shalt sing of Mar, and actions 

Which the boll sons of Britain will 

Of ancient bards thou \et shalt sweep 

the lyre, 
2S5 Thou yet shalt tread in tragic pall the 

Paint loxe's enchanting woes, the 

heio's ire. 
The sage's calm, the patriot's noble 

Dashing corruption down through e\ery 

worthless age. 

The doors, that knew no shrill alarm- 
ing bell, 

2q Ne cursdd knocker plied by villain's 

Self -opened into halls, where, who can 

What elegance and grandeur wide ex- 

The pnde of Turkey and of Persia 

Soft quilts on quilts, on carpets car- 
pets spread, 

295 And couches stretched around in seemly 
band ; 

And endless pillows rise to prop the 


So that each spacious room was one full- 
swelling bed 

And everywhere huge covered tables 

With wines high-flavored and rich 

viands crowned; 



300 Whatever sprightly juice or tasteful 3JO Toil was not then. Of nothing took 


On the green bosom of this Earth are 

And all old Ocean genders in his 

Some hand unseen these silenth dis- 

Even undemanded by a sign or sound, 
806 You need but wish, and, instanth , 


Fair-ranged the dishes rose, and thick 
the glasses played. 

Here freedom reigned without the 

least alloy, 

Nor gossip 's tale, nor ancient maid- 
en's gall, 
Nor saintly spleen durst imumur at 

our joy, 
J1 And with envenomed tongue our 

pleasures pall 
For wh>T there was but one eient 

rule for all, 
To wit, that each should work his own 

And eat, drink, study, sleep, as it mav 

Or melt the time in lo\e, 01 wake the 

315 And carol what, unbid, the Muses nnsrht 



they heed, 
But with wild beasts the silvan war to 

And o'er vast plains their herds and 

flocks to feed* 
Blest sons of nature the\ f true golden 

age indeed f 

Sometimes the pencil, in cool airy halls 
Bade the gay bloom of vernal land- 

skips use, 
Or Autumn's varied shades imbrown 

the walls 
Now the black tempest strikes the 

astonished eyes, 
Now down the steep the flashing tor- 

rent flies, 
The trembling sun now pla.vs o'er 

ocean blue, 
And now rude mountains frown amid 

the skies, 
Whatever Lorrain light -touched with 

softening- hue, 

Or sa\age Rosa dashed, 01 learned 

Each sound too heie to languishment 

Lulli'd the weak IMISOIII, and induced 


Aerial music in the warbling wind, 
At distance rising oft, h\ small de- 

Vearer and nearer came, till o'er the 

It hung, and breathed such soul-dis- 

solving airs 
As did, alas* with soit perdition 

The looms with costl> tapestrt \\eie 

Where was inwoven many a gentle 


Such as of old the rural poets sung 
Or of Arcadian or Sicilian vale* 

1 5 Mll TfI u ei ?'i inth fu lonel \f al ! f 85 EntanglTd deep in its enchanting 
Poured forth at large the sweetl> tor- * F * 

tured heart; 

Or, looking tender passion, swelled the 

And taught charmed echo to resound 

their smart, 

While flocks, woods, streams around, re- 
pose and peace impart 


The listening heart forgot all duties and 
all cares 

A certain music, ne\er known before, 
Here soothed the pensive melancholy 

Full easil} obtained Behoves no more. 

825 Those pleased the most, where, by a 

cunning hand, 

Depeinten 1 was the patriarchal age; 
What tune Dan Abraham left the Chal- 

dee land, 
And pastured on from verdant stage 

to stage, 
Where fields and fountains fresh 

could best engage. 8 

i depicted ; printed 0Mtf*fo,l1 31. 

366 But sidelong to the gently-waving wind 
To lay the well-tuned instrument re- 
clined ; 
From which, with airy flying Angers 

Beyond each mortal touch the most 

The god of winds drew sounds of deep 


360 Whence, with just cause, the Harp of 
it hight 



Ah me! what hand can touch the 

strings so fine* 

Who up the lofty diapasan 1 roll 
Such sweet, such sad, such solemn airs 

, divine, 
Then let them down again into the 

385 Now rising love they fanned; now 

pleasing dole 
They breathed, in tender musings, 

through the heart; 
And now a graver sacred strain they 


As when seraphic hands an hymn im- 
Wild warbling Nature all, above the 

reach of Art 1 

370 Such the gav splendor, the (luxurious 

Of Caliphs 2 old, who on the Typm' 

In nugliU Bagdat. populous and 

Held their blight court, \\here WHS of 

ladies store: 
And \erse, lo\e, music* still the sjai- 

land woic 

376 When sleep \ins co>, the banl in wait- 
ing theie 
Cheered the lone midnmht with the 

muse'h lore. 

And hither Morpheus sent his kindest 

Raising a world of gayer tract and 

390 O'er which uere shadowy east Elysiau 

That played in *a\mg lights from 

place to place, 
And shed a roseate smile on nature's 

Not Titian's pencil e'er could so 

So fleece with clouds the pure ethereal 

806 Ne could it e'er such melting forms 

As loose on flowery beds all languishingly 


One great amusement of our house- 
hold was 

In a huge crystal magic globe to spy, 

Still as you turned it, all things that 
do pass 

Upon this ant-hill earth, where con- 

Of idl>-busy men the lestlebb frv 

Run bustling to and fro mtli foolish 

In search of pleasures vain, that from 
them fly. 

Composing miiHic bade Ins drenms be 44 Or which, obtained, the caitiffs dare 

not taste: 

When nothing is enjoyed, fan there be 
greater waste T 


And music lent ne\\ eladness in the 
morning air 

Near the pavilions where ue slept, 

still ran 
880 Soft-tinkling streams, and dashing 

waters fell, 
And sobbing breezes sighed, and oft 

(So worked the wizard) *mtrv storms 

to swell, 

As heaven and earth the) would to- 
gether raell: 8 
At doors and windows threatening, 

seemed to call 
3*6 The 

Vet the least entrance found they none 

at all; 
Whence sweeter grew our sleep, secure 

in massy hall 

Of Vanity the Mirror this was called 
Here you a muckworm of the town 

might see 
At his dull desk, amid his ledgers 


Eat up with earkmg care and penurie, 
Most like to carcase paiched on gal- 

"A penny saved is a penny got" 
Firm to this scoundrel maxim keepeth 

Ne of its rigor will he bate a jot, 

the tempest, ffnmlm* 43i Tl11 * B h quenched his fire, and ban- 

ishdd his pot 

Strait from the filth of this low grub, 

Comes fluttering forth a gaudy spend- 
thrift heir, 

All glossy gay, enamelled all with gold, 



Pimps, lawyers, stewards-harlots, flat- 
terers vile. 

And thieving tradesmen him among 
them share 

His father's ghost from Limbo-lake ' 

the while 

Sees this, which more damnation doth 
upon him pile 

This globe portrayed the race of 

learned men, 
Still at their books, and turning o'er 

the page, 
Backwards and forwards oft the> 

snatch the pen 
As if inspired, and in a Thespian 1 

Then write, and blot, as would your 

ruth engage. 
1 Why, authors, all this scrawl and 

scribbling soret 
To lose the present, gam the future 

Praised to be when you can hear no 


And much enriched with fame when use- 
less worldly store ' 

A bard here dwelt, more fat than baid 

605 Who, void of en\y, guile, and lust of 

On virtue still, and nature's pleasing 


Poured forth his unpremeditated strain, 
The uorld forsaking with a calm dis- 
Here laughed he caieless in his eas\ 

610 Here quaffed, encircled with the ]ov- 

ous train, 

Oft moralizing sage; his ditty sweet 
He loathed much to write, ne cared to 

repeat 8 

Full oft by holy feet our ground was 

Of clerks 8 good plenty here you mote 


616 A little, round, fat, oily man of God 
Was one I chiefly marked among the 

He had a roguish twinkle in his eye, 

* tragic (The<p!n wan the reputed fonndor of 

Lines 604-12 contain a portrait of Thomson 
himself, wltb the exception of 1 604, the 
tansa ia ascribed to Lord Lyttleton, an Eng- 
lish author and politician 

clergyman , prlesta 

And shone all glittering with ungodly 

If a tight 1 damsel chanced to tnppen 

Which when obser\ed, he shrunk into 

his mew, 1 
And straight would recollect his piety 



Tell me, thou soul of her I love, 
Ah ' tell me, whither art thou fled f 

To what delightful world above, 
Appointed tor the happy dead? 

5 Or dost thou fiee at pleasure roam, 

And sometimes share thy lover's woe 
Where, \oid of thee, his cheerless home 
Can now, alas! no comfort know? 

Oh r if thou hoverest round my walk, 
10 While, under e\ery well-knoun tree, 
I to thy fancied shadow talk, 
And e\ery tear is full of thee 

Should then the wean eje 

Beside some sympathetic stream 
15 In slumber find u short relief, 

Oh, \isit thou m\ soothing dieam f 


Come, dear Amanda, quit the town, 
And to the rural hamlets fly, 

Behold 1 the wintry storms are gone, 
A gentle radiance glads the sky 

6 The birds awake, the flowers appear, 

Earth spreads a \ ei dant couch for thee , 
'Tis joy and music all we heai, 
'Tis love and beaut> all we see 

Come, let us mark the gradual spring, 
10 How peeps the bud, the blossom blow s , 
Till Philomel begins to sing, 
And perfect May to swell the rose 

Even so thy rising charms improve, 
As life's warm season grows more 

15 And, opening to the sighs of love, 

Thy beauties glow with full delight. 

1 comely ; neat 

Line!! 618-21 contain a portrait of tbe Rev 
Itotrick Murdock, Thomson'n friend and biog- 



EDWARD YOUNG (1 681. 1765) 



Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy 


He, like the world, his ready visit pays 
Where Fortune smiles; the wretched he 


Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe, 
5 And lights on lids unsullied with a 

From short (as usual) and disturbed 

I wake: how happy they who wake no 

Yet that were vain, if dreams infest the 


I wake, emerging from a sea of dreams 
10 Tumultuous, where my wrecked, despond- 
ing thought 

From wave to wave of fancied misery 
At random drove, her helm of reason 

Though now restored, 'tis only change 

of pain, 

A bitter change ! severer for severe. 
16 The day too short for my distress, and 


Even in the zenith of her dark domain, 
Is sunshine to the color of my fate. 
Night, sable goddess! from her ebon 


In rayless majesty, now stretches forth 
20 Her leaden scepter o'er a slumbering 

Silence how dead! and darkness how 

profound ! 

Nor eye nor listening ear an object finds: 
Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse 
Of life stood still, and Nature made a 


* B An awful pause, prophetic of her end 
And let her prophecy be soon fulfilled! 
Fate, drop the curtain! I can lose no 

Silence and Darkness, solemn sisters, 


From ancient Night, who nurse the ten- 
der thought 

SO To reason, and on reason build resolve 
(That column of true majesty in man), 
Assist me ! I will thank you in the grave, 
The grave your kingdom ; there this frame 

shall fall 
A victim sacred to your dreary shrine. 

The bell strikes one: we take no note 

of time, 
M But from its loss. To give it, then, a 


Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, 
I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, 
It is the knell of my departed hours: 
Where are theyf With the years beyond 

the flood. 

60 It is the signal that demands despatch; 
How much is to be done! my hopes and 

Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow 

Look down on whatf a fathomless 


A dread eternity; how surely mine! 
66 And can eternity belong to me. 

Poor pensioner on the bounties of an 

How poor, how rich, how abject, how 

How complicate, how wonderful, is 

How passing wonder He who made him 

70 Who centred in our make such strange 

From different natures marvellously 


Connection exquisite of distant worlds! 
Distinguished link in being's endless 

chain ? 

Midway from nothing to the Deity! 
A beam ethereal, sullied, and absorpt! 
Though sullied and dishonored, still 


Dim miniature of greatness absolute! 
An heir of glory ! a frail child of dust I 
Helpless immortal ! insect infinite ! 
80 A worm! a god! I tremble at myself, 
And in myself am lost' At home a 


Thought wanders up and down, sur- 
prised, aghast, 
And wondenng at her own How reason 


0, what a miracle to man is man ! 
86 Triumphantly distressed! What joy! 

what dread! 

Alternately transported and alarmed! 
What can preserve my life? or what 

destroy f 
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the 


Legions of angels can't confine me there. 

The spritely lark's shrill matin wakes the 


f - 

Grief's sljarpest thorn bard pressing on Oar day of dissolution! name it right; 

- ' my breast, 'Tis our great pay-day; 'tib our harvebt, 

440 I strive, with wakeful melody, to cheer nch 

Tbfe'stwen gloom, sweet Philomel! like And npe: What tho 1 the sickle, some- 

tbee, times keen, 

A^dtelTthe stars to listen: every star Just sears us as we reap the golden 

' ft delff to mine, enamor'd of thy lay. gram! 

Yet be not vain; there are, who thine co * More than thy balm, () Oilead" heals 

' ' * excel, the wound 

445 And charm thro' distant ages wrapt in Birth's feeble cry, and death's deep dis- 

shade, ' mal groan, 

^Pris'faer of darkness! to the silent hours, Are slender tributes low-taxt nature pa\s 

t How of^en I repeat their rage divine For mighty gain the gam of each, a 

' o' lull 'my griefs, and steal my heart life ' 

ijroija woe ! Rut ! the last the former bo transcends. 
I roll their raptures, but not catch their 51 Life dies, compar'd life Ines be\ond 

fire. thegra\e 

460 Dark, tho 1 ndt blind, like thee, Maeomdes' And feel 1, death T no jo\ from thought 

Or, Milton! thee; ah could I reach jour of thee, 

strain Death, the great counsellor, ulio man 

Or his, who made Maomdes our own. 1 inspires 

Man too he sung: immortal man I sing; With ev'ry nobler thought and faiier 

Oft bursts my song beyond the bounds deed' 

of life Death, the deli \erei, who rescues man T 
455 What, now, but immortality can please 9 615 Death, the rewardei, \dio the icscuM 

had he press 'd his theme, pursu'd the crowns' 

track, Death, that absohes m\ birth, a cuise 

Which opens out of darkness into day f without it T 

had he, mounted on his wing of fire, Rich death, that realizes all in\ cares. 
Soar'd where I sink, and sung immortal Toils, virtues, hopes, without it a cln- 

man f mera ' 

460 How had it blest mankind, and rescu'd Death, of all pain the )>eiiod, not ot joy, 
me! 62 Joy's source, and subject, still subsist 

unhurt ; 

Prom NIGHT III NARCISSA One > m "? R0u1 ' an ' ] on<i in lw ' r iircat 


Then welcome, death' thy dread bar- Tho' the four \\mds TV ere uamnsr for 

bingers, mv dust 

Age and disease, disease, tho' long my Yes, and from winds and ua\cs, and 

guest; central night. 

That plucks my nerves, those tender ThV prison 'd there, m> dust too I u- 

stnngfe of hfe| claim, 
490 Which, pluckt a little more, will toll the 626 (To dust when diop pioud nature V 

bell, proudest spheres,) 

That calls my few friends to my funeral ; And live entiie Death is the cnron of 

Where feeble nature drops, perhaps, a life. 

tear, Were death denied, poor man would li\c 

While reason and religion, better taught. m vain , 

Congratulate the dead, and crown his tomb Were death denied, to li\o uould not ho 

4 *& With wreath triumphant. Death is vie- life; 

tory; Were death denied, e\ *n fools would wish 

It binds in chains the raging ills of life to die. 

Lust and ambitioh, wrath and avarice, 53 Death wounds to cuio we fall, \\e rise, 

Dragg'd at his chariot-wheel, applaud his we reign ' 

power. Spring from our fetters, fasten in the 

That ills corrosive, cares importunate, skies; 

600 Are not immortal too, death! is thine Where bloommer Eden withers in our 

1 P PSi who tnuMlfttrd the Otfiww and the /ftirf Slg '' 

of Homer. > Opfii-Mi..tT 2.'i f Vmnbriff^2 1-30 


Death gives us more than was in Eden lost Speaks wisdom ; is his oracle supreme ; 
This king of terror*, is the prince of 695 And he who most consults her, is most 

peace. wise. 

C35 When shall I the to vanity, pain, death? Lorenzo, to tliib heavenly Delphos haste; 

When shall I diet When shall I live for And come back all-immortal; all divine: 

everf Look nature through, 'tis revolution all; 

All change; no death. Day follows 
From NIGHT V. THE RELAPSE night; and night 

126 Let Indians and the gay, like Indians, 7 The W dav * Btara * and **' and 
PfivtA nsc, 

Of feler'd, the sun adore- ^J^ 8 * 11 ' ^^^ *+ *' 

chaplet ' and ambroMal 

Dark 3 %he curta.n drops o'er l.fe's 7 6 Blow / w y u * umn ' and h " * lden frait ' 

Tn ttekdbnd of Providence streteht Th-B *** **""* 

and vanity, 'tis reason's * fr m Wam chamber8 f lhe 


nmii Knjriuiu nun * 10 Emblems of man, who passes, not expires. 


Night is the good man's friend, and 

It JSfSl v.rte. than .nsp.n* Pro N ' IX ' CONSOLE 

....... As when a traveller, a long day past, 

Our senses, as our reason, are divine. next cot, 

Hut for the magic organ's powerful There ruminates awhile, his labor lost ; 

charm, s Then cheers his heart with what his fate 

430 Earth were a rude, uncolor'd chaos still. affords, 

Objects are but th' occasion; ours th' And chants his sonnet to deceive the 

exploit ; time, 

Ours is the cloth, the pencil, and the Till the due seasdn calls him to repose: 

paint, Thus I, long-travell f d in the ways of 

Which nature 's admirable picture draws ; men, 

And beautifies creation 'b ample dome And dancing, with the rest, the giddy 

B Like Milton's Eve, when gawng on the ma?e, 

lake, 1 10 Where disappointment smiles at hope's 

Man makes the matchless image, man career; 

admires* Warn'd by the languor of life's evening 

Say then, shall man, his thoughts all sent ray, 

abroad, At length have hous'd me in an humble 

Superior wonders in himself forgot, shed ; 

His admiration waste on objects round, Where, future wand 'ring banish 'd from 

<< When heaven makes him the soul of all my thought, 

he sees And waiting, patient, the sweet hour of 

Absurd; not rare* so great, so mean, is rest, 

man 16 I chase the moments with a serious song. 

....... Song soothes our pains; and age has 

Nature, thy daughter, ever changing birth pains to soothe. 

Of thee the Great Immutable, to man ....... 

i Paradltf lo*1 , 4, 4. p ift ff. ' ffentlt, Ilk* Pavonine, the west wind 





2759 1759 

But there are who write with vigor and * 
success, to the world's delight and their 
own renown. These are the glorious f nuts 
where genius prevails. The mind of a man 
of genius is a fertile and pleasant field, 
pleasant as Elysium, and fertile as Tempe ; 10 
it enjoys a perpetual spring. Of that 
spring, originals are the fairest flowers; 
imitations are of quicker growth bnf 
fainter bloom Imitations are of two 
kinds one of nature, one of authors. The 15 
first we call on&inals, and confine the term 
imitation to the second. I shall not enter 
into the curious enquiry of what is or is 
not, strictly speaking, original, content 
with what all must allow, that some com- 90 
positions are more so than others; and 
the more they are so, I say, the better. 
Originals are and ought to be great favor- 
ites, for they are great benefactors; they 
extend th-repubhc of letters, and add a 25 
new. province to its dominion. Imitators 
only give us a sort of duplicates of uhat 
we had, possibly much better, before, in- 
creasing the mere drug of books, while all 
that makes them \aluable, knowledge and 80 
genius, are at a stand The pen of an 
original writer, like Armula's wand, out 
of a barren waste calls a blooming spring. 
Out of that blooming spring, an imitator 
is a transplanter of laurels, which some- as 
times die on removal, always languish in 
a foreign soil . . 

We read imitation witii somewhat of his 
languor who listens to, a twice-told tale. 
Our spirits rouse at an original that is a 40 
perfect stranger, and all throng to learn 
what news from a foreign land. And 
though it comes like an Indian prince, 
adorned with feathers onl>, having little 
of weight, yet of our attention it will rob 46 
the more solid, if not equally new. Thus 
every telescope is lifted at a new-discov- 
ered star, it makes a hundred astronomers 
in a moment, and denies equal notice to 
the sun But if an original, by being as 00 
excellent as new, adds admiration to sur- 
prise, then are we at the writer's mercy; 
on the strong wind of his imagination, we 
are snatched from Britain to Italy, from 
climate to climate, from pleasure to pleas- 51 
lire; we have no home, no thought, of our 
own till the magician drops his pen. And 
then falling down into ourselves, we awake 
to flat realities, lamenting the change, 

like the beggar who dreampt himself a 
prince. . . . 

But why are originals so fewf Not 
because the writer's harvest is over, the 
great reapers of antiquity having left 
nothing to be gleaned after them, nor 
because the human mind's teeming time 
is past, or because it is incapable of put- 
ting forth unprecedented births; but be- 
cause illustrious examples engross, preju- 
dice, and intimidate. Thej engross our 
attention, and BO prevent a due inspection 
of ourselves, they prejudice our judg- 
ment m favor of their abilities, and so 
lessen the sense of our own, and they 
intimidate us with the splendor of their 
renown, and thus under diffidence bury 
our strength. Nature 's impossibilities and 
those of diffidence lie wide asunder. . . . 

Had Milton never wrote, Pope had been 
less to blame. But uhen in Milton's 
genius, Homer, as it were, personally rose 
to forbid Britons doing him that ignoble 
wrong, 1 it is less pardonable, by that 
effeminate decoration, to put Achilles in 
petticoats a second time. How much nobler 
had it been, if his numbers had rolled on 
in full flow, through the \arious modula- 
tions of masculine melody, into those gran- 
deurs of solemn sound which are indis- 
pensably demanded by the natixe dignit> 
of heroic song! How much nobler, if he 
had resisted the temptation of that Gothic 
demon, 8 which modern poesy tasting, be- 
came mortal ' how unlike the deathless, 
divine harmony of three great names (how 
justly joined') of Milton, Greece, and 
Rome ! His verse, but for this little speck 
of mortality in its extreme parts, as his 
hero had in his heel, like him, had been 
invulnerable and immortal 8 But unfor- 
tunately, that was undipt in Helicon, as 
this in Styx. Harmony as well as eloquence 
is essential to poesy ; and a murder of his 
music is putting half Homer to death 
Blank is a term of diminution , what we 
mean by blank \erse 18 verse unf alien, 
uncurst; verse reclaimed, reenthroned in 
the true language of the gods, who ne\er 
thundered, nor suffered their Homer to 
thunder, in rhyme. . . . 

When such an ample area for renowned 
adventure in original attempts lies before 

1 Pope'i offence In translating Homer wan doubled 

by the use of riming couplets 
* According to popular leflend, Achilles, tbe hem of 

waters o* 8ty* t and jds whole body made inynl- 
nerable, except the heel by wnlai in* wu held 



us, shall we be M mere leaden pipes, con- 
veying to the present age small streams of 
excellence from its grand reservoir of 
antiquity, and those too, perhaps, mudded 
5 in the passf Originals shine like comets; 
have no peer in their path; are rivaled 
by none, and the gaze of all. All other 
compositions (if they shine at all) shine 
in clusters, like the stars in the galaxy, 
10 where, like had neighbors, all suffer from 
all, each particular being diminished and 
almost lost in the throng. 

If thoughts of this nature prevailed, if 
ancients and moderns were no longer con- 
is sidered as masters and pupils, but as hard- 
matched rivals for renown, then moderns, 
b> the longevity of their labors, might one 
day become ancients themselves. And old 
time, that best weigher of merits, to keep 
so his balance even, might have the golden 
weight of an Augustan age 1 in both his 
scales; or rather our scale might descend, 
and that of antiquity (as a modern match 
for it strongly speaks) might kick the 

ROBERT BLAIR (1699-1746) 


While some affect 2 the sun, and some the 


Some flee the cit>, some the hermitage. 
Their aims as various as the roads they 

In journeying through life ; the task be 


6 To paint the gloomy liorrois of the tomb , 
Th' appointed place of rendezvous, where 

These travellers meet. Thy succors I 

Eternal King! whose potent arm sus- 

The keys of hell and death. The Grave, 

dread thing! 

10 Men shiver when thou'rt nam'd nature, 

Shakes off her wonted firmness Ah, 
how dark 

Thy long-extended realms, and rueful 

*A period when literatim U at 
purity and refinement M call 
rtlfffl i of Aojiitiu Omar fan _' 
was thu foKa a* 

btifht Of 


: prefer 

Where nought but silence reign*, and 

night, dark night, 

Dark as was chaos, ere the infant sun 
Was roll'd together, or had tried his 

Athwart the gloom profound. The sickly 

By glimmering through thy low-brow 'd 

misty vaults, 
(Furr'd round with mouldy damps and 

ropy slime) 

Lets fall a supernumerary horror, 
20 And only serves to make thy night more 

Well do I know thee by thy trusty 

yew, 1 
Cheerless, unsocial plant ! that loves to 

Midst skulls and coffins, epitaphs and 

Where light-heel 'd ghosts and visionary 

25 Beneath the wan cold moon (as fame 

Kmbodied, thick, perform their mystic 


No other merriment, dull tree! is thine. 
See yonder hallow M fane; the pious 

Of names once iam'd, now dubious or 

50 And buried midst the wreck of things 

which were; 
There he interr'd the more illustrious 

The wind is up: hark 1 how it howls! 

Till now I never heard a sound so 

Doors creak, and windows clap, and 

night's foul bird, 
35 Rook'd in the spire, screams loud, the 

gloomy aisles. 
Black-plaster 'd, and hung round with 

shreds of 'scutcheons 
And tatter 'd coats of arms, send back 

the sound 
Laden with heavier airs, from the low 

The mansions of the dead. Rous'd from 

their slumbers, 

40 In grim array the gnslv spectres rise, 
Grin horrible, and, obstinately sullen. 
Pass and repast, bnsh'd as the foot of 


Again the screech-owl shrieks: ungra- 
cious sound! 



I'll hear no more; it makes one's blood Listless, she crawls along in doleful 

ran chill. black, 
46 Quite round the pile, a row of rever- 75 Whilst bunts of sorrow gush from citber 

end elms, eye, 
(Coeval near with that) all ragged Fast falling down her now untested 

show, cheek : 

Long lash'd by the rude umds. Some Prone on the lowly gra\e of the dear 

nft half, down man 

Their branchless trunks, others so thin She drops; whilst busy, meddling mem- 

a-top, ory, 

That scarce two crows could lodge in the In barbarous buccebbion musters up 

same tree. 80 The past endearments of their softer 

50 Strange things, the neighbors sa>, ha\c hours, 

happen M here: Tenacious of its theme Still, still she 

Wild shrieks ha\e issued from the hollow thinks 

tombs She sees him, and, indulging the fond 

Dead men have come again, and walk'd thought, 

about; Clings yet more closely to the senseless 

And the great bell has toll'd, unrung, turf, 

untoucb'd. Nor heeds the passenger who looks that 

(Such tales their cheer, at wake or way. 

gossiping, 1 * 5 Invidious tfra\e f how dost thou rend 

55 When it draws near the witching time in sunder 

of night) Whom love has knit, and sympathy 

Oft in the lone church yard at night made one f 

I've seen, A tie more stubborn far than nature's 

By glimpse of moonshine chequering band. 

through the trees, Friendship* m>stenous cement of the 

The school-boy, with his satchel in his soul, 

hand, Sweetener of hie, and solder of societx ' 

Whistling aloud to bear his courage 90 I owe thee much thou bast deserved 

up, from me, 

w And lightly tripping o'er the long flat Far, far beyond \ihat I can e\er pay 

stones, Oft have I proved the labors of thy \o\ c. 

(With nettles skirted, and with moss And the warm efforts of the 'gentle 

o'ergrown,) heart, 

That tell in homely phrase who lie be- Anxious to please Oh ! when my friend 

low. and I 

Sudden he starts, and hears, or thinks 95 In some thick wood ha\e wander 'd heed- 
he hears, less on, 
The sound of something purring at his Hid from the vulgar eye, and sat us 

heels; down 

w Full fast he flies, and dares not look Upon the sloping cowslip-cover M bank, 

behind him, Where the pure limpid stream has slid 

Till out of breath he overtakes his along 

fellows; In grateful eirors 1 through the under- 

Who gather round, and wonder at the wood, 

tale 10 Sweet murmuring, methought the sbrill- 

Of horrid appantion, tall and ghastly. tongued thrush 

That walks at dead of night, or takes his Mended his song of lo\e, the sooty 

stand blackbird 

70 O'er some new-open 'd grave; and Mellow 'd his pipe, and soften'd every 

(strange to tell!) note; 

Evanishes at crowing of the cock. The eglantine smelt sweeter, and the 

The new-made widow, too, I've some- rose 

times 'spied, Assumed a dve more deep; wlnfet e\erv 

Sad sight! slow moving o'er the pros- flower 

Irate dead- 105 Vied with its fellow-plant in luxury 

* christening i wanderings 


Of dress. Oh! then the longest sum- A kfe well spent, whose early car* it was 

mer's day His riper years should not upbraid his 

Seem'd too, too much in haste- still the green 

full heart By unperceiv'd degrees he wears away; 
Had not imparted half! 'twas happiness 72 Yet like the sun seems larger at his 

Too exquisite to last Of joys departed, setting! 

110 Not to return, how painful the remem- High in his faith and hopes, look I how 

brance f he reaches 

After the pnze in view! and, like a bird 

Poor man 1 how happy once in thy That's hamper 'd, struggles hard to get 

fhst bttitef away' 

When vet but \taim from thy great Whilst the glad gateb of sight are wide 

Maker's hand, expanded 

He stamp M thee with his image, and, 72B To let new glories in, the first fair fruits 

well pleased, Of the fast-coming harvest! Then! O 

Smiled on his last fair work Then all then! 

was \\ell Each earth-born joy grows \il$, or dis- 

" >15 Sound \\as the bod\, and the soul serene; appears, 

Like tao sucet mstinments, ne'er out of Shrunk to a thing of nought how he 

tune, longs 

That play their se\eiul parts Nor head, To have Ins passport sign'd, and be dis- 

nor heart, ^ miss'd 1 

Oflei M to ache nor uas there cause TSO 'Tis done, and now he's happy! The 

the\ should , glad soul 

For all was pure within no 1'ell re- Has not a wish uncrown 'd. Even the lag 

morse. flesh 

5:>o N OX . anxious casting-up of what might be, Rests too in hope of meeting once again 

Alarm M his peaceful bosom Summer Its better half, never to sunder more. 

seas Nor shall it hope in vain: the time 

Show not more smooth, when kissed by draws on 

southern Minds 7 ' 6 When not a single spot of burial-earth, 

Just ieud\ to expire Scarce impor- Whether on land, or m the spacious sea, 

tuned. Rut must give back its long-committed 

Tho uenerous soil, Mith a luxuriant hand, dust 

"" Offei'd the >auous piodure of the >ear, Inviolate and faithfully shall these 

And exeiv thing most perfect in its kind Make up the full account, not the least 

BlessiMl' thrice-blessed days' But ah, atom 

\\o\\ short f 74 Embezzled, or mislaid, of the whole tale. 1 
Blest as the pleasing dreams of holy Each soul shall haAe a body ready- 
men , furnished ; 

Rut fugitive like those, and quickly gone And each shall have his own. Hence, ye 

5I| O shpppr\ slate of things' What sud- profane. 

den turns' Ask not how this can be Sure the same 

What strange \icissitudes in the first power 

leaf That reared the piece at first, and took it 

Of man's sad Instorv ' Today most down, 

happ\, 745 Can reassemble the loose scatter'd parts, 

And ere tomoi low's sun has set, most And put them as they were: Almighty 

abiect 1 Qod 

How scant the space between these vast Has done much more: Nor is his arm 

extremes 9 impair 'd 

Through length of days; and what he 

Sure the last end can he will 

Of the good man is peace Hou calm His faithfulness stands bound to see it 

his exit ! done. 

Night-dews fall not more eentlv to the 7BO When the dread trumpet sounds, the 

ground, slumbering: dust, 

7)5 Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft Not unattentive to the mil, Khali wake; 

Behold him 1 in the evening: tide of life, ' number , count 




And every joint possess its proper place, 
With a new elegance of form, unknown 
To its first state. Nor shall the con- 

scious soul 
Mistake its partner; but amidst the 


Singling its other half, into its arms 
Shall rush, with all the impatience of a 

5 Deeds of ill sort, and mischievous em- 

Lend me thy clarion, goddess I let me 

To sound the praise of merit, ere it 


Such as I oft have chaunced to espy, 
Lost IB the dreary shades of dull ob- 


10 In ev'ry village mark'd with little 

Embow'r'd in trees, and hardly known 

to fame, 
There dwells, in lowly shed, and mean 



That's new come home, who having long 

been absent, 
With haste runs over every different 

760 in pa in to see the whole. Thnce happy 20 

Nor time, nor death, shall ever part them 

Tis but a night, a long and moonless 

We make the grave our bed, and then 

are gone. 
Thus, at the shut of even, the weary 

765 Leaves the wide air, and in some lonely 

Cowers down, and dozes till the dawn of 

Then claps his well fledg'd nftngs and 

bears away. 


1756 1787 

Ah me! full sorely is my heart for- 

To think how modest worth neglected 

While partial fame doth with her 

blasts adorn 
Such deeds alone, as pride and pomp 




matron old, whom we school- 
mistress name; 

Who boasts unruly brats with birch 
to tame; 

They grieven sore, in piteous durance 

Aw'd by the pow'r of this relentless 


And oft-times, on vagaries idly bent, 
For unkempt hair, or talk unconn'd, are 

sorely shent * 

And all in sight doth nse a birchen tree, 
Which learning near her bttle dome 

did stowe, 

Whilom a twig of small regard to see, 
Tho' now so wide its saving branches 

And work the simple vassafs mickle* 

For not a wind might curl the leaves 

that blew, 
But their limbs shudder 'd, and their 

pulse beat low ; 
And as they look'd they found then 

borrow grew. 
And shap'd it into rods, and tingled at 

the view 

So have I seen (ulio has not, may 

A lifeless phantom near a garden 

So doth it wanton birds oi peace be- 

Of sport, of song, of pleasure, of re- 

They start, thev stare, tlie> wheel, 
they look aghast, 

Sad servitude f such comfortless annoy 

May no bold Briton's riper age e'er 

Ne superstition clog his dance of joy, 
Ne vision empty, vain, his native bliss 

Near to this dome is found a patch so 

On which the tribe their gambols do 

And at the door imprisoning board is 

Lest weakly wights of smaller si/e 

should stray; 

Eager, perdie,* to bask in sunny day ? 
The noises intermixed, which then'w 



'certainly (originally, 
&n oath) 


Do learning's little tenement betray; 
Where sits the dame, disguised in look 

46 And eyes her fairy throng, and turns 

her wheel around. 

Her cap, far whiter than the driven 

Emblem nght meet of decency does 

Her apron, dyed in grain, as blue, I 

As is the harebell that adorns the 


Albeit ne 1 flat fry did corrupt her 

Ne 1 pompous title did debauch her 

75 Goody, good-woman, gossip, 1 n'aunt, 

Or dame, the sole additions* she did 

Yet these she challeng'd, these she 

held nght dear: 
Ne would esteem him act as mought 

Who should not honor 'd eld with these 


50 And in her hand, for scepter, she does * For never title yet so mean could 


Tway birchen sprays, with anxious 
fear entwined, 

With dark distrust, and sad repent- 
ance filled; 

And steadfast hate, and sharp afflic- 
tion joined, 

And fury uncontrolled, and chastisement 


But there was eke a mind which did that 
title love. 

One ancient hen she took delight to 

The plodding pattern of the busy 

Which, ever and anon, impelled by 

Few have but kenn'd, in semblance 86 Into^r' school, begirt with chickens, 
meet portray 'd, 6 

The childish faces, of old Aeol's tram. 

Libs, Notus Auster these in frowns 
array 'd, 

How then would fare on earth, or sky, 
or main, 

Were the stern god to give his slaves 
the remf 

And were not she rebellious breasts to 

And were not she her statutes to main- 

The cot no more, I ween, were deem'd TT , . , , _ 

Herbs, too, she knew, and well of each 

could speak, 
That in her garden sipped the silvery 

Where no vain flower disclosed a 

gaudy streak, 
But herbs for use and physic, not a 


Such favor did her past deportment 

claim ; 
And, if neglect had lavished on the 

Fragment of bread, she would collect 

the same, 
For well she knew, and quaintly could 

90 What sin it were to waste the smallest 

crumb she found. 

the cell 

Where eomelv peace of mind, and decent 
order dwell 

A russet stole was o'er her shoulders 

thrown ; 
65 A russet krlle fenced the moping air; 

'Twas simple russet, but it was her 

'Twas her own country bred the flock 
so fair! 

'Twas her own labor did the fleece pre- 

And, sooth to say, her pupils ranged 

a round. 

70 Through rions awe, dH term it pass- 
in <r nrt 

For they in gaping wonderment abound, 
And think. PO doubt, she been the great- 
est wight on ground. 

Of gray renown, within those borders 


The tufted basil, pun-provoking thyme. 
Fresh balm, and mangold of cheerful 

The lowly gill, that never dares to 

And more I fain would sing, disdaining 

here to rhyme. 

1 ndtfttr nor 
sponsor at a baptism 

titles: dcftcrlptive 
terms added 







Here oft the dame, on Sabbath's de- 
cent eve, * 

Hymned such psalms as Steinhold 
forth did mete; 

If winter 'twere, she to her hearth did 
cleave, 14C 

But in her garden found a summer- 

Sweet melody' to heai her then ic- 

How Israel's sons, beneath a foreign 

While taunting foemen did a sonar en- 
treat, 1 

All, for the nonce,* untuning every 

string, lco 

Uphnng their useless Ivres small heart 
had they to sing. 

For she was just, and friend to vir- 
tuous lore, 

And passed much time in trul> \ir- 
tuous deed ; 

And in those elfins' ears would oft 

The times, when truth bv popish rage 
did bleed, r ' B 

And tortuous death was true elec- 
tion's meed: 

And simple faith in iron chains did 

That nonld 8 on wooden image place 
her creed ; 

And lawny saints 4 in smouldering 

flames did burn 

Ah! dearest Lord! forfend 5 thilk" days * 
should e'er return 

In elbow chair, like that of Scottish 
stem 7 

By the sharp tooth of cank'ring eld 

In which, when he receives his diadem, 

Oar sov 'reign prince and liefest 8 liege 
is plac'd, 16P> 

The matron sate; and some with rank 
she grac'd, 

(The source of children 's and of cour- 
tier 's pnde!) 

Redress M affronts, for vile affronts 
there pass'd; 

And warn'd them not the fretful to 


But love each other deal, wliate\er them 

Right well she knew each temi>er to 

To thwart the proud, and the submiss 

to raise, 
Some with xile copper pi use, exalt on 

And some entice >\ith pittance small 

of pi a iso, 
And other some \\it\\ baleful spn she 

'fraya. 1 
Kv'n absent, she the reins of pow'r 

doth hold, 
While with quaint 2 ails the eiddy 

crowd she M\a\s, 
Forewarned, if little hml then pianks 

'Twill whisper in hei CMI .iml all the 

scene unfold 

Lo, now with state she ntteis the com- 

mand ' 
EftsoonO the urchins to then t.i^ks 

Their books of statuie small tli<\ t.ikc 

in hand, 4 

Which with pelhuid hoin -ecmcd .ue, 
To sa\e fioin iiimei \ut the letteis 

The work so a\, that on then hack is 

St George's hmh atchie\ements iloos 

On which Hulk* wiht that has \-a/- 

ing been 
Kens the forth-coming lod impleasmi: 

sight, I ween ! 

Ah, luckless he, and born beneath the 


Of evil star 1 it nks me whilst T write*, 
As eist the bard* by Mulln's sil\ci 

Oft, as he told of dendlv dolorous 

Sighed as he sung, and did in tears 

indite : 


would not 

saints clad in lawn 

those same 

'The Scottish corona- 
tion chair at Scone 
retted upon a large 
atone of supposed 

mlraculouft power 
Edward tho Confe- 
nor took It to Eng- 
land In 1297, and 
wince that time it 
has been a part of 
the chair in which 
English sovereign* 
are crowned. 
mort loved 

1 frightens 

1 clever 

1 at once 

4 The book was a 
piece of board on 
which were printed 
the alphabet, the 

nine digits and 
sometime* the 
Lord's Prayer The 

sometime* tbe 
Lord't :_ . _:. 
front side was pro- 

tected with n thin 
tmniparent piece of 
horn the hnck *HS 
(lei orated with a 
sketch of St (innifp 
and the dragon 

9 that same 

* Spenser, whoso homo 
at KHcolman Castle, 
in Ireland, was near 
the river Mulln 



For, brandishing the lod, she doth 

To loose the brogues; 1 the stup* 

ling's late delight, 
170 And down they drop; appears his 

dainty skin, 

Fair as the furry coat of whitest 
ermelin. 2 

Ne hopeth aught of sweet reprieve to 

Or when from high she levels well her 

And through the thatch his cries each 
falling stroke proclaim f 

The other tribe, aghast, with sore dis- 
ruthful scene! when from a nook 2u Attend, and conn their tasks with 


His little sister doth his peril see, 
All playful as she sate she grows de- 
mure , 
176 She finds full soon her wonted spirits 


She meditates a pray'r to set him 

mickle 1 care; 

By turns, astonied, ev'ry twig survey. 

And from then fellow's hateful 
wounds beware, 

Knowing, I wist, 2 how each the same 
may share, 

Till fear has taught them a perform- 
ance meet, 

Nor gentle iwirdon could tins dame 20& 'And to the well-known chest the dame 

(If gentle pardon could with dames 

To her sad grief that swells in either 

180 And wrings her so that all for pity she 

could die. 

Whence oft with sugared cates 8 she 

doth 'em greet, 

And ginger-bread y-rare now, certes, 
doubly sweet ' 

No longer can slip now her shrieks 

command , 
And haidly she foi bears, through 

aweful fear, 
To ruslien forth and \\ith presump- 26B And now the grassy cirque 6 ban 6 

But now Dan 4 Phoebus gains the 

middle sky, 

And liberty unbars her prison door; 
And like a rushing torrent out thev 

tuous hand 

To sta> harsh justice in its mid career 
185 On thee she calls, on thee, her parent 

(Ah, too remote to ward the shameful 

She sees no kind domestic usage 

And soon a flood of tears begins to 

ft >7( 

co\ered o'er 

With boisterous revel rout and wild 

A. thousand ways in wanton rings they 

Hea\en shield their short-lived pas- 
times I implore; 

For \\ell may freedom erst so dearly 


And gives a loose at last to unavailing 

190 But ah, uhat pen his piteous plight 
may trace. 

Or what de\ice his loud laments ex- 

The form uncouth 8 of his disguised 

The palhd hue that ches his looks 
amain, 4 

The plenteous sho\\ f r tlmt does Ins 

cheek distain, 

195 When he, in abieet wise, implores the 

i tnMmerfl ' nDtmuftl 

B ermine completely 

J7 Appear to British elf more gladsome 
than the sun 

Knjoy, poor imps f enjoy your sportive 

And chase gay flies, and cull the fair- 
est flowers; 

For when my bones in grass-green sods 
are laid, 

never may ye taste more careless 

Tn knightlv castles or in ladies' 

O vain to Reek delight in earthly 



4 Txtrd , matter 


But most in courts, where proud urn- The active powerb of man, with wisest 

bition towers, care 

Deluded wigfat ! who weens fair peace 1J5 Hath Nature on the multitude of minds 

can spring Impress 'd a various bias; and to each 

Beneath the pompous dome of kesar 1 or Decreed its province in the common toil, 
of km?. To some she taught the fabric of the 

The changeful moon, the circuit of the 

MARK AKENSIDE (1721-1770) 1W| mL stars, 

i30 The golden zones of heaven : to some she 

M 1 ?J AOINATI 2SLTn To "a 11 the 8tor y o eternal thought, 

ma-43 1744.70 Qf gpace and time> of fate , g unbrokcn 

From PART I chain, 

1707 And will's quick movement: others by 

From Heaven my strains begin; from ^ the hand 

Heaven descends Sne er Na ' es an( * mountains, to 

100 The flame of genius to the chosen breast, , myL explore 

And beauty with poetic wonder jom'd, " B What healing \ ntue dwells in e\erj vein 

And inspiration Kre tlie rising sun Of herb& or trees But sn>e to nobler 

Shone o'er the deep, or 'mid the vault of w ho P 9 , , L 

ni ght \\ore destin'd bomc within a finer 

The moon her silver lamp suspended; mould 

ere She wrought, and temper d with a purer 

106 The vales with springs were water M, A ? am ^ A A 

or with groves these the Sire Omnipotent unfolds 

Of oak or pine the ancient hills were M0 In fuller aspects and with fairei lights, 
cicwn'd " 1S P ic ture of the world Through 

Then the Great Spirit *hom his works rpl cvcr y Irt 

a( j oref They trace the loft> sketches of Ins 

Within his own deep essence view'd the , hand 

f ortngf In earth or air, the meadow's flo\\ery 

The forms eternal of created things mi store* 

The radiant sun; the moon's nocturnal rhe "<*> 8 m '^l radiance, or the \ir- 

lamp, gin's mien 
"OThe mountains and the streams; the 141 l^ss'd in attractixe smiles, thev see por- 

ample stores tray d . 

Of earth, of hea\en, of nature. From (As far as mortal eyes the portrait scan) 

the first, Those lineaments of beauty which de- 

On that full scene his love divine he rnL ^jf nt 

2'^ The Mind Supreme They also feel their 

His admiration; till, in time complete, force, 

What he admir'd and lov'd, his vital 1Kft Enamor'd: they partake the eternal jo> 
p ower 16 For as old Memnon's image long re- 

115 Unfolded into being. Hence the breath nown'd 

Of life informing each organic frame; Through fabling Egvpt, at the genial 

Hence the green earth, and wild-resound- ,_ town ... 

ing waves *" morning, from its inmost frame sent 

Hence light and shade, alternate, forth 

warmth and cold; Spontaneous music; so doth Nature's 

And bnght autumnal skies, and vernal m hand, 

showers, o certain attributes which matter 

120 And all the fair variety of things. tK . . _ *lamw- 

But not alike to every mortal e>e 1B5 Adapt the finer organs of the mind: 
Is this great scene unveil'd. For while So thc ^ Ud impulse of those kindred 

the claims /^?P wer8 ^ , f ,. ,, 

Of social life to different labors urge ( f form of color's cheerful pomp, of 

; emperor Melodioiifl, or of motion aptly sped) 


Detains the enliven 'd sense; till soon Which murmnreth at his feet! Where 

the soul does the soul 

Feels the deep concord, and assents Consent her soaring fancy to restrain, 

through all 24 Which bears her up, as on an eagle's 

160 Her functions. Then the charm by fate wings, 

prepared Destin'd for highest heaven, or which 

Diffuseth its enchantment. Fancy dreams. of fate 's 

Rapt into high discourse with prophets Tremendous barriers shall confine her 

old, flight 

And wandering through Elysium, Fancy To any humbler quarry! 1 The rich 

dreams earth 

Of sacred fountains, of overshadowing Cannot detain her, nor the ambient* 

groves, air 
iB Whose walks with godlike harmony re- 24B With all its changes. For a while with 

sounds joy 

Fountains, which Homer visits, happy She hovers o'er the sun, and views the 

groves, small 

Where Milton dwells* the intellectual Attendant orbs, beneath his sacred beam, 

power, Emerging from the deep, like cluster 'd 

On the mind'b throne, suspends his isles 

graver cares, Whose rocky shore** to the glad sailor's 

And smiles the passions, to dnine re- eye 

pose, 25 Reflect the gleams of morning: for a 

170 Persuaded >ield: and love and joy alone while 

Are waking, love and joy, such as await With pnde she sees his firm, paternal 

An angel's meditation. 0! attend, sway 

Whoe'er thou art whom these delights Bend the reluctant planets to move each 

can touch ; Round its perpetual year. But soon she 

Whom Nature's aspect, Nature's simple quits 

gaili, That prospect: meditating loftier views, 
176 Can thus command; 01 listen to my -35 she darts adventurous up the long career 

song, Of comets; through the constellations 

And I will guide tliee to her bhssfuf holds 

walks, Her course, and now looks back on all 

And teach thy solitude her \oice to hear, the stars 

" 8 And point her gracious features to thy Whose blended flames as with a milky 

\ iew stream 

Part the blue region. Empyrean tracts,* 

- b Where happy souls beyond this concave 

For, amid heaven 

The various forms, which this full *orld Abide, she then explores, whence purer 

presents light 

Like rivals to his 1 choice, what human For countless ages traxels through the 

breast abyss, 

2JO E'er doubts, before the transient and Xor hath in sight of mortals yet arriv 'd. 

minute, Tpon the wide creation's utmost shore 

To prize the vast, the stable, the sub- -<K At length she stands, and the dread 

Iimef space be3oml 

Who, that from heists aerial sends hi^ Contemplates, half-recoiling : nathless* 

eye down 

Around a vuld horizon, and survejs The gloomy void, astonish 'd, jet un- 

Indus or Ganges rolling his broad wa\o quelPd, 

235 Through mountains, plains, thro' spa- She plungeth; down the unfathomable 

cious cities old, gulf, 

And regions dark with woods, will turn Where Ood alone hath being. There her 

away m . . hopes 

To mark the path of some penurious- i object portocd or T h e hifbett heaven, 

11 bunted far above the sky. 

n11 - urronnding on a 1 1 ' nevertheless 

* scanty Rides 


2 Rest at the fated goal for, from the Which glitters through the tendrils, like 

birth a gem 

Of human kind, the Sovereign Maker When first it meets the sun! Or what 

said are all 

That not in bumble, nor in brief delight, The various charms to life and sense 

Not m the fleeting echoes of renown, adjoin 'df 

Power's purple robes, nor Pleasuie's Are the> not pledges of a state entire, 

flowery lap, 48 Where native order reigns, with ever> 

2"6 The soul should find contentment, but, part 

from these In health, and every function well per- 

Turning disdainful to an equal good, form'd* 

Through Nature's opening walks enlarge Thus then at first was Beauty sent 

her aim, from Heaven, 

Till every bound at length should dis- The lovely mimstress of Truth and Good 

appear, ~ In this dark \\orld, for Truth and Qood 

And infinite perfection fill the scene. are one , 

436 And Beaut} d \\ells in them, and they in 


Then tell me (for ye know) With like participation 

Doth Beaut} c\er deign to d*ell uhere 


And aptitude ate strangers? is her All hei works 

praise Well-pleas 'd thuu didst behold the 

405 Confess 'd in aught whose most peculiar gloomv fires 

ends Of storm or earthquake, and the purest 

Are lame and fruitless? or did Nature light 

mean Of summer, soit Campania's new -horn 

This pleasing call the heiald of a lie, rose, 
To hide the shame ol discord and dis- 68 And the slow need which pines on Rus- 

ease, 8ian hills, 

And win each fond admirer into snares, Comely alike to tli\ full \ihion stand. 

410 Foii'd, baffled? No; with better prou- To thv Mirroundinj: \ision, uluHi unites 

dence All essences and jxwers of the great 

The general mother, conscious how infirm uorld 

Her offspring tread the paths of good In one sole order, fair alike they stand. 

and ill, G8B As features *ell consenting, and alike 

Thus, to the choice of credulous desire, RequirM by Nature cie she could attain 

Doth objects the completest of their tribe Her just resemblance to the perfect 

416 Distinguish and commend. Yon flowery shape 

bank, Of universal Beautv, uliieh vutli thec 

Cloth 'd in the soft magnificence of Dwelt from the first 

Spring, ... . 
Will not the flocks appro\e it I will they 


The reedy fen for pasture! That clear "58 

rill ' To me, *hom m their lays the shepherds 

Which trickleth murmuring from the call 

mossy rock, Actaea, daughter of the neighboring 

420 Yields it less wholesome beverage to the stream, 

worn This cave belongs. The fi-trce and the 

And thirsty traveller, than the standing vine, 

pool Which o'er the rocky entiaiuo down- 

With muddy weeds o'ergrownf Yon ward shoot, 

ragged vine, * Were placed by Glycon. He, with cow- 

Whose lean and sullen clusters mourn slips pale, 

the rage Primrose, and purple lychnis, decked the 

Of EnruB, will the wine-press or the green 

bowl Before my threshold, and my shelving 

426 Report of her, as of the swelling grape walls 



With honeysuckle co\ered. Here, at 

Lulled by the murmur of my rising 

10 I slumber, here ra> clustering fruits I 

tend ; 
Or fiom the humid flowers, at break of 

Fresh qprlands wea\e, and chase from 

all my bounds 

Kach tiling impure or noxious. Enter in, 
O sti anger, undismaved. Nor bat noi 


15 Here lurks and if thv breast of blame- 
less thoughts 
Approve 1 thee, not unwelcome shalt thou 


My quiet mansion ; chiefly, if thy name 
AVibe Pallab and the immortal Muses 




Tonight retired, the queen of heaven 2 

With young Endymion btajs; 

And now to llesper it ib gnen 

Awhile to iiile the %acant skv, 

6 Till she shall to her lamp supply 

A stieam of brighter ra>s 

Hespei. \\lule the Many thioug 
With i\\c tliv pdth MM founds, 

Oh. listen tn \\\\ suppliant sonu, 
10 If haplj nmi the \<K*al spheie 
Can Miffei thv delighted car 
To btoop to inoital bounds. 

So nun the bin leg mom's genial Mi am 

Thee Mill imoke to shine, 
* 5 So nin> the bnde's uuinaiiied tiani 
To Hx'inen Hiaunt their flattennsr \ow. 
Still that his lueky toich nm> altnv 

With lustre pine s thine 

Fa i othci VOMS must T ]>iefei 
20 To thv indulgent powei 
Alas' but now I paid my tear 
On fair Olympiad virgin tomb, 
And lo, from thenee, in quest I roam 
Of Philomela's bower. 

25 Piopitious send thy golden lay, 

Thou purest light above f 
l*t no false flame seduce to strav 
Where gulf or steep he hid for harm ; 
But lead where music's healinsr charm 

so May soothe afflicted lo\e. 

1 nroro confirm Olympla is the port's 
Diana, the moon boloved 

To them, by many a grateful song 

In happier seasons vow'd, 
These lawns, 1 Olympiads haunts, belong: 
Oft by yon silver stream we walk'd, 
Or flx'd, 8 while Philomela talk'd, 

Beneath yon copses stood. 

Nor seldom, where the beechcn boughs 

That roofless tower invade, 
We came, * bile her enchanting Muse 
40 The radiant moon above us held : 
Till, by a clamorous owl compell'd 

She fled the solemn shade. 

But hark! I heai her liquid tone! 

Now Hesper guide my feet f 
* 5 Down the red marl 8 with moss o'ergrown, 
Through yon wild thicket next the plain, 
Whose hawthorns choke the winding lane 

Which leads to her retreat. 

See the green space on either hand 
50 Enlarged it spreads around: 

See, in the midst she takes her stand, 
Where one old oak his awful shade 
Extends o'er half the level mead. 
Enclosed in woods profound. 

5 "' Haik! how through many a melting note 
She now prolongs her la\s: 

How s*ectlv down the void they float! 

The breeze their magic path attends; 

The stais shine out, the forest bends; 
<' The wakeful heifers graze. 

Whoe'er thou art whom chance may bung 

To this sequester 'd spot, 
If then the plaintive Siren sing, 
Oh softly tread beneath her bower 
65 And think of Heaven's disposing power, 

Of man's uncertain lot. 

Oh think; o'er all this mortal stage 
What mournful scenes aiise: 

What rum waits on kingly rage ; 
70 How often virtue dwells with woe; 

How many griefs from knowledge flow ; 
How swiftly pleasure flies' 

Oh sacred bird! let me at eve, 

Thus wandering all alone. 
76 Thy tender counsel oft receive, 
Bear witness to thy pensive airs, 
And pity Nature's common cares, 
Till I forget my own. 

' green fields 
'nttentho; mot Ion- 

A kind of soft eartbj 
deport t. 



WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759) 



To fair Fidele's grassy tomb 
Soft maids and village hinds 3 shall 

Each opening sweet, of earliest bloom, 
And rifle all the breathing spring. 

5 No wailing ghost shall dare appear, 

To vex with shrieks this quiet grove. 
But shepherd lads assemble here, 
And melting virgins own their love. 

No wither 'd witch shall here be seen, 
10 No goblins lead their nightly crew : 
The female fays shall haunt the green. 
And dress thy grave with pearly dew. 

The redbreast oft at ev'nmg hours 

Shall kindly lend his little aid, 
15 With hoary moss, and gather 'd flow'ra, 
To deck the ground where thou art 

When howling winds, and beating rain, 

In tempests shake the sylvan cell, 
Or midst the chace on ev'ry plain, 
20 The tender thought on thee shall 

Each lonely scene shall thee restore, 
For thee the tear be duly shed : 

Belov'd, till life could charm no more; 
And mourn 'd, till Pity's self be dead. 


thou by Nature taught 
To breathe her genuine thought, 
In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly 


Who first, on mountains wild, 
In Fancy, loveliest child, 
Thy babe or Pleasure's, nurb'd the 
pow'rs of son*' 

Thou who with hermit heart 
Disdain 'st the wealth of art, 

*Cmb<ll*c, IV. 2. 215-229, fornlibed the in- 
ptration for this png. The brothers there 
mourn for their slater Imogen, who li dis- 
guised as Fldcle, and mho they think Is dend. 

1 rustics ; peasant* 

And gauds, 1 and pageant weeds, and 

trailing pall, 
10 But com 'fit a decent 3 maid 

In Attic robe array 'd, 
chaste, unboastful nymph, to tbee I 

By all the honey 'd store 
On Hybla's tbymy* shore, 
15 By all her blooms, and mingled murmurs 


By her 4 whose lovelorn woe 
In ev'ning musings slow 
Sooth 'd sweetly sad Electra's poet's* 


By old Ceplusus deep, 

Who spread his wavy sweep 
In warbled wand 'rings round thy green 
retreat, 6 

On whose enamell'd side 

When holy Freedom died, 7 
No equal haunt allur'd thy future feet- 


sister meek of Truth, 
To my admiring youth 
Thy sober aid and native charms inf uue f 
The flow'rs that sweetest breathe, 
Tho' Beauty cull'd the wreath, 
80 Still ask thy band to range their order M 

While Rome could none esteem 
But virtue's 8 patnot theme, 
You lov'd her hills, and led her laureate 


But staid to sing alone 
To one distinguish 'd throne, 9 
And turned thy face, and fled her alter 'd 



No more, in hall or bow'r, 
The passions own thy pow'r; 
Love, only love, her forceless numbers 

mean : 10 

For thou hast left her shrine; 
Nor olive more, nor vine, 
Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile 

1 ornaments of drew* 
decorous i proper 
overgrown with 


"'The nightingale, 
for whom Sophocles 
seems to have enter- 
tained a peculiar 
fondness."- -Collins. 
Hophoclos. the au- 
thor of the Greek 
tragedy Electro 


'When Greece was 
conquered by Alex- 
ander, in 336 B C. 


and Horace. 
10 An allusion 

to the 

artificial love poetry 
of medieval Italy. 


The' taste, tho' genius bless 
To some divine excess, 
45 Faints the eold work till thou inspire the 


What each, what all supply, 
May court, may charm our eye, 
Thou, only thou, canst raise the meeting 


Of these let others ask, 

To aid some mighty task; 
I only seek to find my temp 'rate vale 

Where oft my reed 1 might sound 

To maids and shepherds round, 
And all thy sons, Nature, learn my 



As once, if not with light regard 2 
I read anght that gifted bard 8 
(Him whose school above the rest 
His loveliest Elfin Queen has blest), 
5 One, only one, nnnvall'd fair 4 
Might hope the magic girdle wear, 
At solemn turney hung on high, 
The wish of each love-darting eye , 
Lo! to each other nymph in turn applied, 
10 As if, in air unseen, some hov'ring 

Some chaste and angel friend to virgin 

With whispei'd spell had burst the 

starting band, 
It left unblest her loath M, dishonor 'd 

side . 

Happier hopeless fair, if never 
15 Her baffled hand with vain endeavoi 
Had touch M that fatal zone to her de- 
Young Fancy 5 thus, to me divmest 

To whom, prepared and bathM in 


The cest 8 of amplest pow'r is giv'n, 
80 To few the godlike gift assigns, 

To gird their blest, prophetic loins, 
And gaze her visions wild, and feel un- 
mix 'd her flame* 


The band, as fairy legends say, 
Was wove on that creating day 

Tbe svmbol of pan- 

ton! poetry. 

26 When He who call'd with thought to 


Ton tented sky, this laughing earth, 
And drest with springs and forests tall, 
And pour'd the main engirting all, 
Long by the lov'd enthusiast woo'd, 

80 Himself in some diviner mood, 
Retiring, sate with her alone, 
And plac'd her on his sapphire throne, 1 
The whiles, the vaulted shrine around, 
Seraphic wires were heard to sound, 

3r> Now sublimest triumph swelling, 
Now on love and mercy dwelling; 
And she, from out the veiling cloud, 
Breath M her magic notes aloud: 
And thou, thou rich-hair 'd Youth of 

40 And all thy subject life, was born ! 
The dang'roub Passions kept aloof, 
Far from the sainted growing woof* 
But near it sate ecstatic Wonder, 
Listening the deep applauding thunder; 

45 And Truth, in sunny vest array 'd, 
By whose 8 the tarsel's 4 eyes were made; 
All the shad'wy tribes of mind 
In braided dance their murmurs join 'd, 
And all the bright uncounted Pow'rs 

50 Who feed on heav'n 's ambrosial flow'rs 
Where is the bard whose soul can now 
Its high presuming hopes avow? 
Where he who thinks, with rapture blind, 
This hallow M work for him design 'dt 


56 High on some cliff, to heav'n up-pil'd, 
Of rude access, of prospect wild, 
Where, tangled round the jealous 9 steep, 
Strange shades o'er-brow the valleys 


And hol> genii guard the rock, 
60 Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock, 
While on its iich ambitious head 
An Eden, like his own, lies spread, 
I view that oak, the fancied glades 


By which as Milton lay, his ev'ning ear, 
65 From many a cloud that dropp'd ethereal 

Nigh sphei 'd 7 in hea\ 'n its native strains 

could hear, 
On which that ancient trump he reach 'd 

was hung 
Thither oft, his glory greeting. 

not Floil 
mri, M Collins rag 

muted Be* The 
rawit Queen?. IV. 
.", Ht 16-19 
R Imagination 
, girdle 

1 The bine or upper 
heavens. Above t b e 

- Tbe sun 

1 That is, by w h o i p 

4 male falcon's 


difficult of approach 

T in one of tbe spheres 
in which tbe heav- 
enly bodies were 
supposed to be fixed 



From Waller's myrtle shades retreat- 

ing, 1 
70 With many a vow from Hope's aspiring 

Mv trembling feet Ins guiding steps 


In vain such bliss to one alone 
Of all the sons of soul was known, 1 
And Heav'n and Fancv, kindred 

? 5 Have now overturn M tli' inspiring 


Or curtain 'd close such scene fiom ev'r> 
future view. 



17 W 1740 

How sleep the braxe who sink to rest 
By all then country's wishes blest' 
When Spring, with dewy flngei s cold, 
Returns to deck then hallou 'd mold, 
5 She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than Fancy's leet have ever trod 

By fairv hands their knell is rung, 
Bv form* unseen their dirsje is sung. 
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, 
10 To bless the turf that wraps their clay , 
And Freedom shall awhile repair, 
To dwell a weeping hermit there f 


If ought of oaten stup, 3 01 pastoial song. 

May hope, chaste K\<*, to sooth thv 

modest car. 

Like thy oun solemn springs. 
Thy springs and d\ing gales, 

5 nymph resen M, while no\\ the bright- 
hair 'd sun 
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy 


With brede 4 ethereal wove, 
O'erhang his wavy bed 

Now air is hush'd, sa\e where the wcak- 

e> 'd bat. 
10 With short shrill shriek, flits b\ on 

leathern wing, 
Or where the beetle winds 
His small but sullen horn, 

*An ftllndon to the * Milton 

lore poems of Ed- 'anything p] a \ed upon 

round Waller. The the shepherd^ oaten 

myrtle wti Mcred pipe 

to Venus * braid . embroider* 

As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path, 
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless 


16 Now teach me, maid compos 'd, 
To breathe some soften 'd strain, 

Whose mimbeis, stealing thro' thy 

dark'ning >ale, 
Ma\ not unseemly with its stillness suit, 

As, musing slow, I hail 
20 Tin Denial Jo\ 'd ietinn f 

Foi when t\i\ folding-stai anting slices 
His paly 1 circlet, at his warning lamp 
The fragrant Hours, and elves 
Who slept in flou 'ih the dav, 

25 Anil many a n^iuph who wreaths her 

brows with sedge. 
And sheds the fresh 'nnii* de\\, and, 

lo\eher still, 

The pensi\e Pleusmes sueet, 
Prepaie thv sliadu*\ c*ai 

Then lead, calm \ot'iess. ^lieic sonic 

sheet v lake 

30 Cheers the lone heath, or some tune- 
halloa M pile 
Or upland i allow* t>iny 
Ke fleet its lat cool u lea in 

Hut when olnll blu^t 'mi" Kinds, or din- 
ing rain. 

Forbid mv willing 1oet. be mine tlio hut 
3~> That from tlie mountain's side 
Views Diildh, and suellin^ floods 

And hamlets brown, and dim-disrox 01 M 

And hears then simple bell, and maiks 

o'ci all 

Thv dew\ iin^-is draw 
40 The gradual duskv A oil 

While Spring shall pour Ins slio\\ 'rs, s 

oft he wont, 2 

And bathe thy breathing tresses, meek- 
est Eve; 

AVlnle Summer lo\ es to sport 
Beneath thv hng'rmg light; 

45 While sallow Autumn fills tliv lap uith 

Or Winter, yelhnir thro' the troublous 


Affrights thv shrinking train, 
And rudely rends thv robes, 

' pale 

* 1 



So long, sure-found beneath the sylvan 

60 Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rose- 

hpp'd Health, 
Thy gentlebt influence omn. 
And lijmn thy fav'nte name' 



When Music, heav'nly maid, was voung, 
While vet in early Greece she sung, 
Tlje Passions oi't, to hear her shell, 1 
Throng M around her magic cell, 
6 Exulting, tiembhng, laging, fainting, 
Possest bevund the Muse's painting, 
Bv turns thc\ ielt the glowing mind 
Disturb 'd, delighted, lais'd, ri'fin'd 
Till once, 'tis said, when all meie fir'd, 

N> Fill'd mith furv, lapt, mspu 'd, 
From the supporting mvitles round 
The\ snatch 'd her instruments oi sound; 

. And as they oft had heard apart 
Smeet lessons of her forceful ait, 

15 Each, foi madness nil'd the hour, 
Would prove his o\vn e\i>ressi\c po\v V 

First Fear his hand, its skill to ti\. 
Amid the < liords hcwildci M laid, 
And Iwick ictoil'd, he knew not why, 
- FA 'n at the sound himself had niaile 

Xe\t Anjjei rushM, his e\es, on Ihe, 
In lightnings on n M his set'iet stings, 

In oni* uidc clash he struck the lyie, 
And swept v\ith huiiied hand the 

25 With uol'ul nieasuiOb v\an Despan 

Loi\ sullen sounds his grief beguil'd; 
A solemn, strange, and mingled an , 
9 Twas sad by tits, b> starts 'twas wild 

But thou, Ho]>e, with e\es so fair, 
80 What was thv delightful measure? 
Still it whisper M promis'd pleasure. 
And bad the lovel> scenes at distance 


Still mould her touch the strum prolong 
And from the rocks, the woods, the 

3* She call'd on Echo still tluo' all the 


And where her sweetest theme she 

*lyre (The flrat lyre Is said to ha\e been made 
from a tortolw shell ) 

A soft responsive voice was heard at 

ev'ry close, 

And Hope enchanted smil'd, and wav'd 
her golden hair 

And longer had she sung, but with a 

40 Re\engc impatient rose; 

lie threw his blood-stain 'd sword m 

thunder down 
And with a with 'ring look 
The war-denouncing 1 trumpet took, 
And blew a blast so loud and dread, 
45 Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of 


And e\ ei and anon he beat 
The doubling drum with furious 

And tho 9 sometimes, each dreary pause 


Dejected Pit>, at hib side, 
60 Her soul-subduing voice apply 'd, 
Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd 


While each strain 'd ball of sight seem'd 
bursting from his head. 

Thv numbers. Jealousv, to nought were 
' fix'd, 

Sad proof of thv distressful state; 
55 Of diff 'ring themes the veering song was 


Vnd now it courted Lo\e, now raving 
call'd on Hate 

With eves uprais'd, as one inspirM, 
Pule Melancholy sate retu 'd, 
And from her mild sequester M scat, 
<>0 In notes b\ distance made more sweet, 
Pour'd thiro* the mellow horn her pen- 
sive soul : 

And, dashing soft from rocks around, 
Bubbling runnels join 'd the sound ; 
Thro' glades and glooms the mingled 

measure stole, 
65 Or o'er some haunted stream with 

fond delay 

Round an hol> calm diffusing, 
lx)ve of peace and lonel.v musing, 
Tn hollow murmurs died awa>. 

Rut how alter 'd was its sprighther 


70 When Cheerfulness, a nymph of health- 
iest hue, 

Her bow across her shoulder flung, 
Her buskins gemra'd with morning dew, 

' announcing 



Blew an inspiring air, that dale and 

thicket rung, 
The hunter's call to faun and dryad 

known ! 
75 The oak-crown M sisters, 1 and their 

chaste-ey'd queen, 8 
Satyis, and syhan boys, were seen, 
Peeping from forth their alleys green , 
Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear. 
And Sport leapt up, *and se'z'd his 
beeehen spear. 

80 Last came Joy's ecstatic trial. 
He, with viny crown advancing, 
First to the h\ely pipe hib hand ad- 

But soon he baw the brisk awak'mng 

Whose sweet entrancing \oice lie lo\ M 

the best 
85 They would have thought, who heard 

the strain, 
They saw m Tempe's vale her natne 


Amidst the festal sounding shades, 
To some unwearied minstrel dancing, 
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the 


W Love fram'd with Mirth a ga\ fan- 
tastic round ; 
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone 3 


And he, amidst his frolic play, 
Ab if he uould the charming air repav, 
Shook thousand odors from his dewy 

93 Music, sphere-descended maid, 
Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid, 
Why, goddess, why, to us deny'd, 
tay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside f 
As in that lov'd Athenian bow'r 

100 Y oa learn M an all-commanding pow'r, 
Thy mimic soul, nymph endear 'd, 
Can well recall what then it heard 
Where is thy native simple heart, 
Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art! 

105 Arise as in that elder time. 
Warm, energic, chaste, sublime f 
Thy wonders, in that godlike age, 
Fill thy recording sister's page 
'Tig said, and I believe the tale, 

110 Thy humblest reed could more prevail, 
Had more of strength, diviner rage, 
Than all which charms this laggard age, 
Ev*n all at once together found, 
Cmilia's mingled world of sound. 

115 o bid our vain endeavors cease, 
Revive the just designs of Oreeee, 
Return in all thy simple state, 
Confirm the tales her sons relate! 

1748 1749 

In jonder gra\e a druid heb, 

Where slowly winds the stealing wave. 
The year's best sweets shall duteous rise 

To deck its poet's sylvan grave 

5 In yon deep bed of whisp'ring reedb 

His airy harp 1 shall now be laid, 
That he whose heart in sorrow bleeds 
May love thro' life the soothing shade. 

Then maids and youths shall hngei here , 
10 And while its sounds at distance swell, 
Shall sadly seem in Pity's ear 
To hear the Woodland Pilgrim 'b knell 

Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore 
When Thames in bummer wreaths is 


15 And oit suspend the dashing oar 
To bid his gentle spirit rest 

And oit ab Ease and Health retire 
To breezy lawn, or forest deep, 
The fnend shall view jon whit'ning 

- And mid the varied landbcape 

1 wood njmpbi * Diana 


But thou who own'bt that earthy bed, 
Ah, what will ev'ry dirge a\ail, 

Or tears which Love and Pity shed, 
That mourn beneath the gliding sail? 

25 Yet lives there one uhose heedless eye 
Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimm'nng 


With him, sweet bard, may Fancy die, 
And Joy desert the blooming year! 

But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide 
80 No sedge-crown 'd sisters now attend, 
Now waft me from the green lull's side 
Whose cold turf hides the buned 

And see, the fairy valleys fade; 
Dun night has veil 'd the solemn view 

1 The Harp of JEolm Bee Thornton's Tke Cattle 
of Indolence, 1. 360; alto MB Ode to rtolus'* 



* Tat Onee again, dear parted shade, 
Me*k Nature's child, again adieu I 

The genial meads, assign 'd to bless 

Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom; 
Their hinds and shepherd girls shall dress 
40 With simple hands thy rural tomb. 

tang, long, thy stone and pointed clay 
Shall melt the musing Bn ton's eyes; 

O vales and wild woods, shall he say, 
In yonder grave your druid lies ! 





, l ihou return's! from Thames, 

whose naiads long 
Have seen thee ling 'ring, uith a fond 

'Mid those soft friends, whose hearts, 

some future day, 
Shall melt, perhaps, to hear thv tracpc 

5 Go, not unmindful of that cordial 

youth 2 
Whom, long-endear M, thou lea \ 'at b\ 

Latant'b side; 

Together let us wish him lasting tiuth, 
And joy untainted, with his destined 

Go! not revardlesR, while these numbers 

10 My short-In M bliss, forget m\ social 

But think fai off how, on the Southern 

I met thy friendship with an equal 

Fresh to that soil thou turn'st, inhose 

ev'ry vale 
Shall prompt the poet, and his Boner 

demand . 
J * To thee thy copious subjects ne'er shall 

Thou need'st but take the pencil to 

thy hand, 

And paint what all believe who own thy 
genial land. 1 

'John Horn* (1782- 
1808), a Rcotttflb 
? 1 e r g r m a n and 

' iatl*t. whoie 

jdi of Aai was Una and Home 

jed by Onrriek, acknowledge ft a* 

the n o t e d English their country 
actor, when it waa 

t to him in 

in 1749 

* John Barrow, who 
had introduced Col- 

There must thou wake perforce thy Doric 1 

Tis Fancy's land to which thou sett'ht 

thy feet, 
20 Where still, 'tis said, the fairy people 

Beneath each birken shade on mead or 

There each trim lass that skims the 

milky store 
To the swart tribes 1 their creamy bowl 

By night they sip it round the cottage 

25 While airy minfltrels warble jocund 

There ev'ry herd, by gad experience, 

How, wmg'd with fate, their elf-shot 

arrows fly; 
When the sick ewe her summer food 

Or, stretch 'd on earth, the heart-smit 

heifers he 
10 Such airy beings awe th' untntor'd 

swam : 
Nor thou, thou learn M. his homelier 

thoughts neglect ; 

Let thy sweet Muse the rural faith sus- 
tain : 
These are the themes of simple, sure 

That add new conquests to her boundless 


3B And fill, with double force, her heart- 
commanding strain 

Kv'n yet preserv'd, how often may'st 

thou hear, 

Where to the pole the boreal 9 moun- 
tains run, 
Taught by the father to his list'ning 

Strange lays, whose pow'r had charm v d 

a Spenser's ear 

40 At ev'ry pause, before thy mind possest, 
Old Runic bards 4 shall seem to nae 

With uncouth 1 lyres, in many-color 'd 

vest, 6 

Their matted hair with boughs fantas- 
tic crown 'd' 

1 Hlmple ; natural poet* of the northern 

(Doric waa tho old- countrfea who wrote 

eat and *imple*t poem* in rune*, 

tyle of architecture their early alpha- 

Brownie*, atrange; of unoanal 

1 northern ahape 



Whether tbou bid'st the well-taught When headless Charles 1 warm on the 

bind repeat scaffold lay! 

*G The choral dirge that uiouriib bomc As Boreas threw his joung Aurora 

chieftain brave, forth, 

When ev'ry shrieking maid her bosom 7D In the first >ear of the first George's 

beat, reign, 

And strew 'd with choicest herbs his And battles rag'd in welkin 2 of the 

scented grave; North, 

Or, whether, sitting; in the shepheid's They mourn M in air, fell, fell Rebel- 

shiel, 1 lion slain 1 

Thou hear'st some sounding tale of And as, of late, they jo>'d in Pieston'* 

war's alarms, fight, 

60 When, at the bugle's call, with fti e and Saw at sad Falkirk all their hopes 

steel, near orounM, 

The sturdy elans ponr'd forth their 80 Thev ra\ 'd, dninmu, thro' their second 

bony swarms, sight, 

And hostile brothers met to pio\e each Tale, led Oulloden, inhere these ho]>es 

of her 's arms were cli ou n M f 

Illustrious William 11 liiitaiu's guardian 

'Tis thine to sins, hm\ t framing hideous name 1 

spells, One William sa\ M us from a lyi ant's 

In Sky's lone isle the gifted ui/anl stroke, 

&eei. Ho, for a sceptre, gam'd heioie fame, 

B & Lod 'dm the iuntr\ caie with f Fate's S5 Hut thou, moio ilorious. Slavery's 

fell spear] chain hast broke. 

Or in the depth of Uist'fe dark foiests To reign a prnate man. and bou to 

dwells. Freedom's \oke f 
How they uhose sight such dre.u\ 

dreams engross. These, too, thou 'It sing' for well thv 

With their own \isions oft astonish 'd magic Muse 

dioop. Can to the topmost hoa\ 'n of "landeur 

When o'ei the *ut'iy shath 2 01 <juasgv soai f 

moss Or stoop to wail the sunin that is no 

60 Tlie\ -see the trliduiu ii hosts iinboilied more' 

tioop; q Ah, homely swains 1 \our homeward 

Or if in sports, 01 on the festne areen, steps ne'er lose. 

Their [destined] glance some fated Let not dank Will 4 mislead you lo the 

louth descry, heath 

Who. now perhaps in lusty \igor seen Dancing in mnk\ niuht, o'er fen and 

And losy health, shall soon lamented lake, 

die He glows, to draw \ou downward to 

5 For them the viewless forms of air obev, \otir death. 

Their bidding heed, and at their beck In his bewitch 'd, low, marshy willow 

repair biake 1 ] 

They know what spirit brews the storm- **"> What tho* far off, fiom some dark dell 

ful dav, espied, 

And, heartless, 8 oft like moody mad- His ghmm'ring mazes cheer th' ex- 
ness stare cursn e sight, 

To see the phantom tram their secret Vet turn, >e wand'rers, turn ^o\^r steps 

work prepare aside. 

Nor trust the guidance of that fnith- 

70 [To monarchs dear, some liundi-ed miles less light; 

astrav, For, watchful, lurking 'mid th' unius- 

Oft have they seen Fate give the fatal tling reeil. 

blow ! 10 At those mirk" 1 hours the wily monster 

The seer, in Sky, shriek M as the blood lies, 

did flow, 

' Charta I. < Wlll-o'-the wfeft 

1 rammer hut ' dismayed ' the sky murky , dark 

valley cut by a river William of Orange 



And listens oft to Lear the passing steed, 
And frequent ruund him lolls his 

sullen eyes, 
If chance his sa\age \\ruth ma> some 

weak wretch sin prise 

Ah, luckless swam, o'er all unblest in- 

deed f 

105 Whom, late bewilder 'd in the dank, 
dark fen, 

Shall fondly seem to press her shud- 

d'ring cheek, 
And \\ith hib blue-swoln lace before her 

And, shiv'riug cold, these piteous ac- 

cents speak ' 
"Pursue, dear wife, thy daily toils 


At dawn or dusk, industrious as be- 

Far from his flocks and smoking ham- 135 Nor e'er of me one hapless thought 

let then, 
To that sad spot [where hums the sedgy 

On him, emag'd, the fiend, in angry 

Shall ne\er look with Pity's kind ron- 

While I lie welt 'ring on the ozier'd 1 


Drown 'd by the kelpie's 2 wrath, nor e'er 
shall aid thee more ' ' ' 

" But .n. fhnou. the .helming 
a j 

O'St dro*n<d banK, fo.b.dd.n* 

0,. ,f e me n d,tate Ins vushM escape 14 
To some di. lull tlmt seem, pr,,,n 


'" thv 

Wlth V0ned 

T " appetr 
Meantime, the wat'n M,,ae shall ro,,n,l 
Inm rise, 


Round he 

mnrge of each cold 
winch st.ll .ts rum 
vaults a p^y-folk , 8 

WIlose the deher Wlth hl , bpade 




reman,, but t,s and ho,,,- 

lost th< " r 

" ^^ 

o , 


wond'nn,, from the 
the show'rv 

For Inm. m Na.n. Ins nnx.ous w ,fe shall 
0, W a*!de, finth to meei l.,m on Ins 15 Y 
For'nnn! in tain, at to-fnlP of the 

H,s babes' shall l.nae, at th' um-losma 


tll<>m ' 



The rrfta^inonmK their ..wmwr e.lh 
All<1 r *" *** 

Ah, neer shall he ,etum Alone, ,f 

Hei tra! ell M , broken slumbers 


With dropping willows drest, hi^ mourn 
fill sprite 

Shall MBit sad. perchance, her silent 


in..**. K A nA *.u nnc . ui, ,vi A : D f oi^ mfVx 
Then he, perhnps, \\ith moist and wnt r\ 



WPe " thM Wlth 

Alld 0n oi ! h ,^, tWll * ht tOmbs aenal 

w!th wlllow , 
**atcr spirit's 

r> e cnpt t o* <>i t /i r 
Wcatetn /KMtt/f o/ 

Th7"iS;1i of ion. 

^ld to contain was Mid to contain 

many sm nil bonps the toman of the 

thought by the in klnn of Scotland, 

habitant* to be the Ireland, and No* 

bones of pigmies. way. See Martin'a 

See M M n i t i n s /)r*r)fpfion 


*** But 0, o'er all, forget not Hilda's race, Proceed, nor quit the tales which, simply 

On whose bleak rocks, which brave the told, 

wasting tides, ] 85 Could once so well my answ 'ring bosom 

Fair Nature's daughter, Virtue, yet pierce; 

abides. Proceed! in forceful sounds and colors 

Go, just as they, their blameless manner* bold, 

trace! The native legends of thy land re- 
Then to my ear transmit some gentle hearse, 

song To such adapt thy lyre and suit thy 

160 Of those whose Ines are \et sincere pow'rful verse. 

and plain, 

Their bounded walks the rugged cliffs In scenes like these, which, daring to 

along, depart 

And all their prospect but the wintry 1M From sober truth, are still to nature 

main. true, 

With sparing temp 'ranee, at the needful And call forth fresh delight to Fancy's 

time, view, 

They drain the sainted spring, or. Th' heroic muse employ 'd her Tasso's 

hunger-prest, art f 

165 Along th ' Atlantic i ock undreadm? How have I trembled, when, at Tancred 's 

climb, stroke, 

And of its eggs despoil the solan's 1 Its gushing blood the gaping cypress 

nest. pour'd; 1 

Thus blest in primal innocence they 195 When each live plant with mortal ac- 
tive, cents spoke, . 
Suffic'd and happy with that frugal And the wild blast upheav'd the 

fare vanish 'd sword ! 

Which tasteful toil 1 and hourly danger How have I sat, when pip'd the pensive 

give. wind, 

170 Hard is their shallow soil, and bleak To hear his harp h by British Fairfax 

and bare; strung, 

Nor ever vernal bee was heard to mur- Prevailing poet, whose undoubting mind 

mur there! 20 Behev'd the magic wonders which he 


Nor need's! thou blush, that such false Hence at each sound imagination glows; 

themes engage [The MS. lacks a line here.] 
Thy gentle 8 mind, of fairer stores Hence his warm lay with softest sweet- 
posses t, ness flows, 
Foi not alone they touch the village Melting it flows, pure, numerous, 

breast, strong, and clear, 

176 B u t flll'd m elder time th' historic page. 205 And fills th' impassion 'd heart, and wins 

There Shakespeare 's self, with ev 'ry gar- th ' harmonious ear 

land crown 'd, 

[Flew to those fairy climes his fancy All hail, ye scenes that o'er my soul 

sheen']- prevail. 

In musing hour, his wayward Sisters 4 Ye [splendid] friths 2 and lakes which, 

f oiitad, far awav, 

And with their terrors drest the magic Are by smooth Annan fill'd, or past'ral 

scene. Tay, 

180 From them he sung, when, 'mid his bold Or Don's romantic springs, at distance, 

design, hail T 

Before the Scot afflicted and aghast, 210 The time shall come when I, perhaps, may 

The shadowy kings of Banquo's fated line tread 

Thro' the dark cave in gleamy pageant Tour lowly glens, o'erhung with spread- 
past, ing broom, 

'pnnett . (a kind of ifacbeth.lV, 1. The Or >C * ur * tretchm * heftths bv *"* 

i arc led i 


food appetising i c, the Bisters of Tasso, Jerwlem Pe- 

well-born; cultivated Desllnjr. Mveretf, 18. 41-48 



[The MS. looks a line here.] 
Then will I dress once more the faded 

215 Where Jonaon sat in DrummondV 

[classic] shade, 
Or crop from Tiviot's dale each [lyric 

And mourn on Yarrow r s banks [where 

Willy V laid!] 
Meantime, ye Pow'rs that on the plains 

which bore 
The cordial youth, 8 on Lothian's plains, 


220 Where'er he dwell, on hill or lowly mmr, 
To him I lose your kind protection 


And, touch 'd with love like mine, pre- 
serve my absent friend ' 

THOMAS GRAY (1716.1771) 

17 t 1748 

Lo! where the rosy-bosom M Hours, 

Fair Venus' train, appear, 
Disclose 4 the long-expecting 8 flower*, 

And wake the purple 6 year* 
6 The Attic warbler 1 pours her throat, 
Responsive to the cuckoo's note, 

The untaught harmony of spring 
Wiiile, whisp'nng pleasure as they fly, 
Cool Zephyrs thro' the clear blue sky 
10 Their gather 'd fragrance fling 

Where'er the oak's thick branches 


A broader browner shade, 
Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech 

'er-canopies the glade, 
15 Beside some water's rushy brink 
With me the Muse shall sit. and think 

(At ease rechn'd in rustic state) 
How vain the ardor of the crowd, 
How low, how little are the proud, 
20 How indigent the great! 

Still is the tolling hand of Care; 

The panting herds repose ; 
Yet hark, how thro 9 the peopled air 

The busy murmur glows! 
25 The insect-youth are on the wing, 
Eager to taste the honied spring, 

Purple ft here used 
In IM claulcal lente 

The nlghtlniriile, 
common In Attica, 
and often referred 
to in Greek litera- 



noet William 
Drnmmond. at Haw- 

And float amid the liquid noon; 
Some lightly o'er the current skim, 
Some show their gayly-gilded trim 
30 Quick-glancing to the sun 

To Contemplation 's sober eye 

Such is the race of man: 
And the> that creep, and they that fly, 

Shall end where they began. 
85 Alike the busy and the gay 
But flutter thro' life's little da>, 

In Fortune's varying colors drest: 
Brush 'd by the hand of rough Mischance, 
Or chill 'd by Age, their airy dance 
*0 They leave, in dust to rest. 

Methinks I hear, in accents low, 

The sportive kind reply: 
Poor moralist' and what art thouf 

A solitary flv f 

46 Thy joys no glittering female meets, 
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, 

No painted plumage to display 
On hasty wings thy youth is flown; 
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone 
60 We frolic while 'tis May. 

174*. 1747 

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, 

That crown the wat'ry glade, 
Where grateful Science still adores 

Her Henry's holy shade; 1 
6 And ye, that from the stately brow 
Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below 

Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, 
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers 

Wanders the hoary Thames along 

His silver-winding way 


William Prummond. 


4 open- expand 


Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! 

Ah, fields belov'd in vain! 
Where once my careless childhood 

stray 'd, 

A stranger yet to pain ! 
" I feel the gales that from \e blow 
A momentary bliss bestow. 

As waving fresh their gladsome wing, 
My weary soul they seem to soothe, 
And, redolent of joy and youth, 
- To breathe a second spring. 

Sav, father Thames, for thou hast seen 
Full many a sprightly race, 

Kton CAllejce wan founded by Henry VT 



1 on thy margent green, 
_ tie paths of pleasure trace ; 
26 Who foremost now delight to cleave, 
With pliant arm. thy glassy wave? 
The eaptne linnet which enthra^f 
What idle progeny succeed 
To chase the rolling circle's speed, 
80 Or urge the flj ing hall T 

While some, on eainest business bent, 

Then muriu'img labors ph 
'Gainst grader hours that bung con- 

To sweeten liberty, 
35 Some bold adventurers disdain 
The limits of their little reign. 

And unknown regions dare dcscrv, 
Still as they run the\ look behind, 
They hear a \ oice in even \\ md, 
40 And snatch a fearful joy 

Gav hope is theirs by ianct led, 

Less pleasing when possest . 
The tear forgot a soon as shed , 

The sunshine of the breast , 
45 Theirs buxom health, of ros> hue, 
Wild wit, imention e\er-neu, 

And hveh cheer, of vwsor born : 
The thoughtless day. the easy night, 
The spirits pure, the slumbers light, 
60 That fly th ' approach of moi n 

Alas! regardless oi their doom 

The little victims play; 
No sense ha\ e they of ills to come, 

Nor care beyond today 
56 Yet see, how all around 'em wait 
The ministers of human Fate, 

And black Misfortune's baleful train' 
Ah. show them where in ambush stand. 
To seize their prev, the murth 'rous band ' 
60 Ah, tell them the> are men r 

These shall the furv Passions tear, 

The vultures of the mind 
Disdainful Angci, pallid Fear, 

And Shame that sculks behind ; 
66 Or pining Lo\e shall waste their youth, 
Or Jealousy, \vitli rankling tooth, 

That inly gna*s the secret heart; 
And Envy wan, and faded Care, 
Onm-visag'd comfortless Denpair, 
70 And Sorrow's piercing dart. 

Ambition this shall tempt to rise, 

Then whirl the wretch from high, 
To bitter Scorn a sacrifice. 

And grinning Infamy 
76 The stings of Falsehood those shall trv, 

And hard Unkindness' alter 'd eye, 

That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow; 
And keen Remorse with blood defil'd, 
And moody Madness laughing wild 
80 Amid seveiest 

Lo f in the vale of >eais beneath 

A giiesly troop are seen, 
The painful iamil> of Death, 

Moie hideous than their queen 
85 This lacks the joints, this Jires the 

veins ; 

Tliat e\cr\ Jahoung sinew shams, 
Those in the deeper Mtals rage, 
Lo' Pcncih to fill the band, 
That numbs the soul with icy hand, 
00 And slo>\ -consuming Age. 

To eudi his suiT'imgs all aie men, 

Condemn 'd alike to groan, 
The tender tor another's pain, 

Th' unfeeling for his own 
05 Yet, ah ! wli> should thc\ knon then 

Since sorrow iieu'i comes too late, 

And happiness too swiftly flies, 
Thought would destroy their paradise 
No moie, -where inoiance is bliss, 
100 "Tis foll\ to be wise 


Daughter ot Jo\e. lelentless 

Thou tamer of the human breast. 
Whose iron scourge and toit'nn hour 

The bad affright, afflict the best ' 
6 Hound in thv adamantine chain. 

The proud are taught to taste oi pain, 
And purple tyrants vainlj groan 
With pangs unfelt l>efore, unpitied and 

When first tin sire to send on eaith 
10 Virtue, his darling child, design M, 
To thee he ga^ e the hea\ 'nly birth, 

And bade to form her infant mind 
Stern, rugged mnse f thv rigid lore 
With patience inan> a year she bore; 
15 What sorrow was! thou bad'st her 


And from her own she learn M to melt 
at others ' woe 

RearM at thv frown 1 em fie, fl\ 

Self-plea *m Foil v 's idle brood. 
Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless 

20 And leave UR leisure to be good. 


Light they disperse, and with them go Save where the beetle wheels his droning 

The summer friend, the flattering foe , flight, 

By vain Prosperity receiv'd, And drowsy tinkhngs lull the distant 

To her they vow their truth, and are folds; 
again belie vM 

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow f r, 

Wisdom in *ble garb array M, 10 The opmg owl does to the moon 

Immers'd in rapt'rous thought pro- __ _ complain 

found, Of such as, wand 'ring near her secret 

And Melancholy, silent maul, _, _ how'r, 

With leaden eye that loves the Molest her ancient solitary reign 

Still^Tlw solemn steps attend, Beneat ]' " ^ ed elms that yew- 

30 Warm Charity, the gen'ral friend, . V1 tree b shade ' 4 . 

With Justice, to herself severe, Wllcre ^eavei the turf in many a 

And Pity, dropping soft the sadly- _ . m ? uld lin S ^P; 

nWsiinr tear Each m hls narr w cH forever laid, 

pleasm n tear Tfae radel forefathcrg of thc hamlet 

Oh! gentl> on thv, suppliant's head, P " 

Dread goddess, lav th> chast'nmg The breezv call of incense-breathing 

hand ' Mora, 

35 Notinthy Gorgon' teiioisclad. The swallow twitt 'ring from the straw- 

Not circled with the vengeful band- DU1 it s i iec ^ 

(As by the imi>ious thou art seen), The cock s shril f c lanon, or the echoing 

With thund ring \ oice, and threat nmp horn, 

mien ,. ,.,i 20 No more shall rouse them from their 

With screaming Horroi s fun 'ral crv, i ow j y ^ e ^ 
4 Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly 

Po\ert> For them no more the blazing hearth 

shall burn, 

Thv foim benign, O goddess, \\ear, Or busy housewife ply her e\enmg 

Thy milder influence impart, care; 

TI^ philosophic train be there No children run to lisp their sire's ro- 

To soften, not to \\ound. m\ heart turn, 

45 The &pn 'rous spark extinct rev i\ e , Or climb his knees the env led kiss to 

Teach me to lo\e, and to forgive, share. 

Kxact mv own defects to scan, , 

What others are to feel, and know my- 2i> Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 

self a man. Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe 2 

has broke- 

ELEGY WRITTEN TN A COUNTRY H W ffl 1 , d- thCy dm " their tcam 

, 7 f; H ,Y RCH YAR R 5 i How bow'd the woods beneath their 

"*"*' 1701 sturdy sUoke! 
The cm few tolls the knell of parting day; 

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er thc Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 

lea, 30 Their homely joys, and destiny ob- 

The ploughman homcuurd plods his scure, 

weary wav. Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful 

And leaves the woild to darkness and smile 

to me The short and simple annals of the 


B Now fades the glimmei in? landscape on 

the sighC Tlie boast of l |eiaj d rv ' * he pomp of 

And all the 'air a aolemn stillness .I 30 * 'ft . , A xl . 1A , 

t ii q And all that licaut.v, nil that wealth 

e'er gave. 

* death dealing (See Glossarr ) 

Tlic Furies s almpIe-Hvf ng "sod high descent 


86 Awaits alike tli' inevitable hour: TV applause of listening senates to 

The paths of glory lead but to the command, 

grave. The threats of pain and ruin to de- 


Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 

fault, And read their history in a nation's 

If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies yes, 


Where through the long-drawn aisle and 65 Their lot forbad: nor circuiiisci ib 'd alone 

fretted vault Their growing virtues, but their mines 

40 The pealing anthem swells the note of confined 

praise Forbad to wade thro ' slaughter to a throne, 

And shut the gates of mercy on man- 

Can storied 1 urn, or animated 2 bubt, 

The 8tru g*ling pangs of conscious truth 
Can Honor's voice provoke' the silent 70 To Jft the blufllle8 of ingonuous 

Or Flatly soothe the dull cold ea, of Qr ^^ of Luxury Rnd Pnde 
ileatnT With incense kindled at the Muse's 

46 Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 

Some heart once pregnant with celeb- Far from the maddmg crowd > 8 lgnoblc 

tial fire; strife 

Hands that the lod of empire m>ht Their ^ Wlghe8 new , earn , (1 to 

have sway 'd, 8tra ^ 
Or wak'd to extasy the hung lyre 76 Along the ^ ol ^uester'd ^alc of life 

w , , Thev kept the noiselesM tenor of then 
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample 

50 R,ch with the spoils of time, did ne'ei Yct ex , lhese boncs trom in&ult to 

unroll ; tect 

Chill Penury repressed their noble Some ^ memona l M \i erected 

*ag> nigh 

And froze the genial 8 current of the Wlth unc< ; uth3 rhymc8 and ^apeless 

so" 1 - sculpture deck'd, 

w Implores the passing tnbute of a sigrli. 
Full many a gem of purest ray serene 

The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean Their name> tneir yearg> 8pe | t bv th > un . 

.. w ^"5 * u . u, i ltter ' d Muse > 

WFull many a flower is born to blubh The place of fame and elegy supply , 

unseen, An( j many a holy text around she strews, 

And waste its sweetness on the desert That teach the mlAie moralist to die 

. . , . 85 For who, to dumb Forgetfnlness a pre>, 

Some village Hampden that with daunt- This pleasing anxious being e'er re- 

less breast, sign'd, 

The little tyrant of his fields with- j^ft the warm precincts of the cheerful 


Some mute inglorious Milton, here may j^or east one longing, ling 'ring look 

veetj behind f 
60 Some Cromwell guiltless of his coun- 

try's blood 6 On acme fond breast the parting soul 

^ * " tOPy S^&rdSTS^e 1 * Som^us drops the closing eye re- 


giving Ufe ambition, flee 1 07 

teenth i alwayn ; habitually ntrange ; odd 


E'en from the tomb the voiee of Nature Fair Science frown M not on his humble 

cries, birth, 

E'en in our ashes live their wonted uo And Melancholy mark'd him for her 

fires. own. 

For thee, who, mindful of th f nnhonor'd Larg^ was his bounty, and his soul sin- 

dead, cere; 

Dost in these lines their artless tale Heaven did a recompense as largely 

relate, send : 

95 If chance, 1 by lonely Contemplation led, He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear, 

Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy He gam'd from Heav'n ('twas all he 

fate,- wish'd) a friend. 

Haply some hoary-headed swam may say, 126 No farther Mek hlg mentg ^ dlgcloge 

"Oft have we seen him at the peep of ^ drftw hig frailtieg rom their dread 

dawn abode 

Brushing with hasty steps the de* (There tfaev ahke m trembhnj? hope 

100 TO meet the sun upon the upland lawn The ^^ ' of hlg Father and hig 

"There, at the foot of yonder noddm? 


That wreathes its old fantastic rooN m* l l "57 

so high, _, . , 

His listless length at noontide would he Awake, ^Eolian lyre, 1 awake, 

stretch And s?\e to rapture all thy trembling 

And pore upon the brook that babble* ^ tr 1 inff8f , . 

v rom Helicon 7 s harmonious springs 

A thousand rills their mazy progress 

ins "Hard b\ ^n wood, now mmhner as in take; 

scorn. * The laughm* flowers that round them 

Mutt'rinp his uavuaid fancies, h<> blow, 

would ro\ e , Drink life and fragrance as they flow. 

Now drooping, \soful-uan, like one foi- Now the rich stream of music winds 

lorn, along, 

Or craz'd with care. 01 cross M in Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, 

hopeless lo\e Thro 9 verdant vales, and Ceres' golden 


"One morn I misfi'd him on the cus- 10 NOW rolling down the steep amain, 

tom'd hill. Headlong, impetuous, see it pour, 

110 Alons the heath, and near his fa\ 'rite The rocks and nodding srroves rebellow 

tree, to the roar. 
Another came, nor yet beside the nil, 

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood Mas 12 

he. Oh! sov 'reign of the willing soul, 

,_. . ,, , ... j Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing 

"The next, with dirges due, in sad array airg 

Slow through the church-way path we 15 Enchanting shell! 8 the sullen Cares 

"*7 hm i b01 J 7* *u * And frantlc Passions hear thy soft 

i' 5 Approach and read (for thon ean'st control 

read) the lay On Thracia's hills the Lord of War* 

Orav'd on^the stone beneath yon a*ed Hag curb d the f ury o f nig ^^ 

tnorn - * And dropt his thirsty lance at thv com- 


Here rests his head upon the lap of UnY^*d hew a the eq^Tilt of ppetnr In the 

i? a ^ii lighter and nofter moods, like that of Pindar, 

fcartn the famous Greek lyric poet, of ^olla, Afla 

A vouth, to Fortune and to Fame tin- . Jf^jf' 4 , , , A . 

\.~JL~ . Tne flrtlt *JW lh **' d to have been made from 

known R tortolae ahelL 

_ ^ ^Hl 1 *' whcwe fa\orite haunt wa uald to be 

* perchance hawthorn tree Thrace 


30 Perching on the scept'red hand 

Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather VI 

king 1 

With ruffled plumes and flagging wing , 
Quench 'd in dark clouds of slumber he 
The terror of his beak, and lightning of 

his eye 

I. 3 

25 Thee, the voice, the dance, obey, 
Temper 'd to th\ warbled la\ 
O'er Tdalia's \elvet-green 
The rosy-crowned Loves are seen 
On Cytherea 's da> , 

* With antic Sports, and hlue-e\ed Pleas- 

Frisking light in frolic measures. 
Now pursuing, now retreating, 

Now in circling troops they meet , 
To brisk notes in cadence beating, 
36 Glance their manvtwmkhng feet 
Slow melting strains their Queen '* ap- 
proach declare 

Where'er she turns, the Graces hom- 
age pay 
With arms sublime, 2 that float upon the 

In gliding state she wnm her easy 

40 O'er liei uarui cheek and rising bosom, 


The bloom of \oung Desire and purple 
light of Love 

H. 1 

Man's feeble race what ills await* 
Labor, and Penury, the racks of Pain, 
Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, 
45 And Death, pad refuge from the storms 

of Fate' 

The fond 8 complaint, my song, dispro\e, 
And justify the laus of Jo\e 
Say, has he giv'n in vain the heav'nly 


Night and all her sickly dews, 
60 Her spectres wan, and birds of boding 


He gives to 4 range the dreary sky, 
Till down the eastern cliffs afar 
Hyperion 's march they spy, and ghtt 'ring 
shafts of war. 

II. 2 

In climes beyond the solar road, 
56 Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built moun- 
tains roam, 
The Muse has broke the twilight-gloom 

To cheer the Bhiv'nug native's dull 


And oit, beneath the od'roub bhade 
Of Chili's bouudlesb forests laid, 
60 She deigns to bear the savage youth repeat, 
In loose numbers wildly sweet, 
Their feather-cmctur'd chiefs, and dusky 


Her track, where'er the goddess roves, 
Glory pursue, and gen'rous Shame, 
66 Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's 
holy flame 

II 3 

Woods, that wave o'ei Delphi's steep, 
Isles, that crown th ' ^gean deep, 
Fields, that cool Ilissus laves, 
Or where Marauder's amber wa\es 
70 In lingeung lab'imths cieep, 

How do your tunelul echoes languish, 
Mute, but to the >oice of Anguish? 
Where each old poetic mountain 
Inspiration breath M around, 
?p> E\ 'ry shade and hallow 'd fountain 
Mm nun 'd deep a solemn sound; 
Till the sad Nine, in Gieece's evil hour, 1 
l^eft their Parnassus for the Latian 

Alike the\ scoin the pomp oi tyrant 

80 And coward Vice, that re\els in her 


When Latium had her lofty spint lost, 
They sought, O Albion, next, thy sea- 
encircled coast. 

HI 1 

Far from the sun and summer-gale, 
In thy green lap was Nature's darling 2 

*" What time, wheie lucid A\on Rtray'd, 

To him the mighty mother did unveil 
Her awful face* the dauntless child 
Stretch 'd forth his little arms and smil'd, 
"This pencil take," she said, "whose 

colors clear 
* Richly paint the vernal yeai 

Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy ' 
This can unlock the gates of Joy , 
Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, 
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic 
tears " 

III 2 

K NOT second he, 8 that rode sublime 
Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy, 

1 Jore*B etglo. 

* fooliih 
'Allow* to 

s Wh*n Grecian rfrfl- 
iratlon declined be- 
fore the rising pow- 
er of Rome, during 

the fteoood century 

B C 

* Rhftkapere. 
' Milton 



The secrets of th' Abyss to sp> 
He pass'd the flaming bounds of 

Place and Time. 

The In ing throne, the sapphne blaze, 
100 Where angels tremble while they ga/c, 
He saw , but, blasted with excess of light, 
Clos'd his eyes m endless night. 
Behold,, where Dryden's less presump- 
tuous car, 

Wide o'er the fields of Glory bear 
105 TWO coursers of ethereal race, 1 

With necks in thunder cloth 'd, and lon- 
resoundmg pace! 

ill 3 

Hark! his hands the lyie explore 
Bright-eyed Fanc>, hov'ung o'er, 
Scatteis from her pictur'd inn 
110 Thoughts that breathe, and \\ords that 


But ah f 'tis heard no more ' 
Oh ? lyie di\ me, what dating- spirit 2 
Wakes thee now? Tho' he inhent 
Nor the pnde, nor ample pinion, 
113 That the Theban Eagle 8 beai, 
Sailing with supieme dominion 

Thro' the a zinc deep of an 
Vet oft before his infant e\es would inn 
Such foims as glitter in the Muse's 

120 With Orient 1 hues unbonou M of the 


Yet shall he mount, and keep his dis- 
tant wav 

Beyond the limits of a \ ulgar fate. 
Beneath the good how fai but far abo\e 
the 71 eat 

/7TJ.--J7 1757 

"Ruin *eize thee, mthless King! 6 

Confusion 8 on thy banners wait; 
Tho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson 


They mock the air with idle state 
r> Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail, 
Nor e'en thy \irtues, tvrant, shall a\ail 
To save thv seciet soul fiom nighth 

From Cambria's curse, from Cambi in 's 


Such were the sounds that o'er the 
crested pride 

"Meant te expnM P I n d a r, Wjio com- 

the stately march paron himself to an 

and Bounding en- eagle In Olympian 

ergj of nrydra'H O/e, 2. 10 

rhvmiHi * TOrav bright, llko thl Past 

OrnT hlm4lf "Edward T 

10 * Of the first Edward scattei 'd wild 

As down the sleep ol Snowdon's shaggy 

He wound with .toilsome inaich his 

long array. 
Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speech- 

less trance, 
' ' To arms ! ' ' cried Mortimer, and couch 'd 

his quiv'rmg lance 


15 On a rock, whose haughty brow 
Frowns o'er cold Con way's foaming 


Robed in the sable garb of woe, 
With haggard eyes the poet stood 
(Loose his beaid, and hoary hair 
20 Stream 'd, like a meteor, to the troubled 

And with a master's hand, and proph- 

et's fire, 

Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre: 
"Hark, how each pant-oak and desert 

Sighs to the torrent's awful \oice be- 

neath ' 
25 O'er thee, oh Kui f then hundied aims 

they *a\c, 
lie\ene on thee in hoarser murrains 

hi eat he, 
Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal 


To high -born Hoel's haip, or soft Llew- 
ellyn 's lay. 

I. 3 

"Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, 
10 That hush'd the stormy mam; 

Brave Unen sleeps upon his craggy bed ; 
Mountains, >e mourn in vain 
Modred, whose magic song 
Made huge Phnlimmon bow his cloud-topt 


r> On dreary Arvon's shore they he, 
Smear 'd with gore, and ghastly pale; 
Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail; 
The famish 'd easrle screams, and passes 


Dear lost companions of mv tuneful art, 
40 Dear as the light that \isits these sad 

Dear as the rudd\ drops that .warm mv 

Ye died amidst your dying country's 

No more I weep They do not sleep! 

On yonder cliffs, a griesly band, 
T see them sit; they linger yet, 


Avengers of their native land : 
With me in dreadful harmony they join, 
And weave with bloody hands the tissue 
of thy line. 


n. i 
"Weave the warp, 1 and weave the 

* The winding-sheet of Edward's race, 

Give ample room, and verge* enough 
The characters of hell to trace 
Mark the year, and mark the night, 
When Severn shall re-echo with affright 
6* The shrieks of death, thro' Berkley's 

roofs that ring, 
Shrieks of an agonizing kmg f> 
She-wolf of France, 4 with unrelenting 

That tear 'st the bowels of thy mangled 


From thee be born, who o'er thy coun- 
try hangs 
60 The scourge of Heav'n. 5 What Terrors 

round him wait 1 
Amazement 6 in his \an, with Flight 


And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude 

II 2 

"Mighty victor, mighty lord! 
Low on his funeral couch he lies! 
66 No pitying heart, no eye, afford 
A tear to grace his obsequies. 
Is the Sable Warrior* fledf 
Thy son is gone; he rests among the 

The swarm, that in thy noontide beam 

were born! 
70 Gone to salute the rising morn.* 

Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephvr 

While proudly riding o'er the azure 


In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; 
Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at 

the helm; 
75 Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind 's 


That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his 
ev'ning prey 


II. 8 

"Fill high the sparkling bowl; 
The rich repast prepare; 
Reft of a crown, he yet may share 

the feast: 
80 Close by the regal chair 

Fell Thirst and Famine scowl 

A baleful smile upon th-ir baffled 


Heard ye the din of battle bray, 1 
Lance to lance, and horse to horse f 
Long years of havoc urge their des- 
tined course, 
And thro' the kindred squadrons mow 

their way 
Ye towers of Julius,* London's lasting 

With many a foul and midnight murther 

Revere his consort's* faith, his father's 4 

90 And spare the meek usurper's 5 holy head ' 

Above, below, 6 the rose of sno*, 

Twm'd with her blushing foe, ut> 

spread T 
The bristled Boar 8 in infant-gore 

Wallows beneath the thorny shade 
96 Now, brothers, bending o'er th' accursed 


Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify 
his doom! 

ni i 

"Edviard, lo f to sudden fate 
(Weave we the woof: the thread is 

spun ) 

Half of thy heart we conseciate 
100 (The web is wo\e The work is done ) 
Stay, oh staj f nor thus forlorn 
Lea\e me unbless'd, unpitied, here to 


In yon bnght track, that fires the west- 
ern skies, 

They melt, they vanish from my eves 
106 Rut oh! what solemn scenes on Snow- 

don's height, 

*The warp ! the 
threads extended 
lengthwise in the 
loom in wearing; 
the woof is the 
threads that cross 

the warp. 

'ildward II, who was 
murdered in Berk- 
ley Castle 

Isabel of France, 
the adulterous 
queen of Edward 1 1 

Edward III, mho 

scourged France 


'The Black Prince, 
who did not live to 
succeed his father 

Richard II. 

iThe Wars of the 

The Tower of Lon- 
don, part of which 
was said to have 
been built by JnUu* 

'Margaret of Anjou 

4 Henry V. 

Henry VI. who was 
deposed in 1401 

That is, in the loom 

7 The white and the 
red roses, emblems 
of the Houses of 
York and Lancaster, 
wore united by the 

marriage of Henry 
VII and Elisabeth 

Richard III, whose 
badge was a silver 
boar, and who mur- 
dered the two young 
sons of Edward IV, 
who stood between 
him and the throne 

Eleanor, queen of 
Edward I, lost her 
life in. saving her 
husband's by suck- 
ing the poison from 
a dagger-wound 



Descending plow, their ghttetmg skirts 


Visions of glory, spare iny aching sight* 

Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul ' 

No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail * 

110 All hail, ye genuine kings, 9 Britannia's 

issue, hail! 

in 2 

"dirt Hitli many a baron bold 
Sublime 3 their starry fronU they rear; 
And goigeous dames, and statesmen 


Fn bearded majest>, appear 
115 In the midst a foim divine 14 

Her eve proclaims hei oi the Bnton line, 
I lei lion-port, hei awe-commanding face, 
Attempei M sweet io virgin-grace 
What strings symphonious tremble in the 

120 What strains ot \oca1 tiansport round 

her plax ! 
llenr tiom the sra\e, pTCHt Tahessin, 

The\ bieathe n soul to animate thv 

Biiilit Rapture calls, and soaring as she 


W.nes in the e\e of IIen\ J n her many- 
color M \\mtrs 

111. 3 

125 "The \eibe adoin again 

tierce A\ai, and fait 111 ul Lo\e, 
Vnd Tiuth se\eie, b\ lain Fiction 

diest " 

In buskin M measuies mo\e 
Pale duet, and pleasing Pain, 
110 \\itli HOIIOT, tMant ot the throbbing 

hi east 7 

A \oice, as oi the cherub-choir, 
(tales fiom blooming Eden beai , 8 
And distant warbhngs lessen on mv eai. 

That, lost in loim fiitunt\, expire 
i Fond 9 impious man, think M them yon 

sanguine cloud, 
Itaib'd b\ thv breath, has quench M 

the orb of dayf 
Tomoirow he repairs the golden flood, 

1 It WEB predict*^ 
and common I v be- 
lieved that Kin* 
\rthur would re 
turn from fain 
land to reign o\ei 

The Hoi*e of Tudor, 
which was of Wefeh 

lifted up 

Queen Rllrabeth 

11 \* allusion to The 
Faerie Quecnc of 

tragic (The buskin 
w a s a high heeled 
shoe woin nv no tors 
in Greek tiagedi ) 

T \n a 1 1 u H 1 o n to 

\n allnMttn to Mil- 



And warms the nations with redoubled 

Enough for me, with joy I see 

The different doom our Fates assign. 
Be thine Despair, and scept'red Care, 
To triumph, and to die, are mine." 
lie spoke, and headlong 1 from the moun- 

tain 's height 

Deep in the roaring Jide lie plunged to 
endless night 

J7J4 1773 

Now the golden Morn aloft 

Waves her dew-bespangled wing , 
With veimeil cheek and whispei soft 

She \\ooes the tardy Spring, 
Till April starts, and calls around 
The sleeping fragrance from the giourid, 
And light Iv o'er the hvim? scene 
Scatteis his freshest, tenderest 

Xem-horn flocks, m rustic dance. 
10 ^ Fribking plv their feeble teet. 

Foiavtful of their wintry trance 
The birds his presence greet 

Rut chief, the sk \-lark warbles high 

His trembling thrilling ect>tas\, 
15 And, lehsenmcr from the dazzled sight, 

Melts into air and liquid light 

Rise, mv soul 1 on wings of fire, 

Rise the rapt'rous choii among 1 
ILirk f 'tis Nature strikes the lyre, 
-'" Vnd leads the tren'ral song 

Yesterday the sullen year 
Saw the snowv whirlwind flv; 

Mute was the music of the an, 

The herd stood drooping b\ 
25 Then laptuies now that mildly flow, 

No yesterday nor morrow know , 

7 Tis man alone that jo\ descries 

With forward and i everted eyep 


Smiles on past Misfortune's brow 
Soft Reflection's hand can trace, 

And o'er the cheek of Sorrow throw 
A melancholy grace; 

While Hope prolongs our happier hour, 

Or deepest shades, that dimly lowei 2 
t fi And blacken round our weaiv wa>, 

Oilds with a gleam of distant da\ 

1 regular change from 
one condition to TO 

z lonr appear gloomy 


Still, where rosy Pleasure leads, 

See a kindred Grief pursue; 
Behind the steps that Misery treads, 
40 Approaching Comfort view 
The hues of Bliss more brightly glow, 
Chastis'd 1 by sabler tints of woe, 
And blended form, with artful strife, 
The strength and harmony of life 


45 See the wretch, that long has tost 

On the thorny bed of pain, 
At length repair his vigor lost, 

And breathe and walk again 
The meanest floweret of the vale, 
50 The simplest note that swells the gale, 
The common sun, the air, the skies, 
To him are opening Paradise. 

Humble Quiet builds her cell. 

Near the source whence pleasure flows; 
56 She eyes the clear crystalline well, 
And tastes it as it goes 


Thyrsis, when we parted, swore 
Ere the spring he would return 

Ah' what means yon violet flower? 

And the buds that deck the thorn ? 
6 Twas the lark that upward sprung! 

'Twas the nightingale that sung! 

Idle notes! untimely green f 

Why this unavailing haste f 
Westein gales and skies serene 
10 Speak not always winter past 
Cease, my doubts, my fears to move, 
Spare the honor of my love 


1761 1768 ' 

Now the storm begins to lower 

(Haste,* the loom of hell prepare 1 ) 

Iron-sleet of arrowy shower 
Hurtles in the darken 'd air 

6 Ghtt'ring lances are the loom, 

Where the dusky warp we strain, 
Weaving many a soldier's doom, 
Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane 

See the griesly texture grow f 
10 TIB of human entrails made; 
And the weights, that play below, 
Each a gasping warrior's head. 

Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore 

Shoot the trembling cords along. 
16 Sword, that onee a monarch bore, 
Keep the tissue close and strong. 

Mista, black, terrific maid, 
Sangrida, and Hilda, see, 
Join the wayward work to aid: 
80 'Tis the woof of victory 

Ere the ruddy sun be set, 
Pikes must shiver, javelins sing, 

Blade with clattering buckler meet, 
Hauberk crash, and helmet ring 

26 (Weave the crimson web of war!) 

Let us go, and let us fly 
Where our friends the conflict share, 
Where they triumph, where they die. 

As the paths of fate we tread, 
'* Wading through th' ensanginn'd field, 
Gondula, and Geira, spread 
O'er the youthful king 1 youi shield 

We the reins to slaughtei gi\e, 

Ours to kill, and ours to spare 
36 Spite of danger he shall live 

(Weave the crimson web of war') 

They, whom once the desert-beach 

Pent within its bleak domain, 
Soon their ample suay shall stretch 
40 O'er the plenty of the plain 

Ix>w the dauntless earl is laid, 
GorM with nian\ a gaping wound 

Fate demands a nobler head, 
Soon a king 2 shall bite the ground. 

46 Long his loss shall Emn weep, 

Ne'er again his likeness see, 
Long her strains in sorrow steep, 
Strains of immortality! 

Horror covers all the heath, 
50 Clouds of carnage blot the sun 
Sisters, weave the web of death ' 
Sisters, cease , the work is done 

Hail the task, and hail the hands! 
Songs of joy and triumph sing! 
66 Jov to the victorious bands, 
Triumph to the younger king 

Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale, 
Learn the tenor of our song. 

i chastened 

'Blgtnrgg (Stctryg) 




Scotland, thro' each winding vale 
Far and wide the notes prolong. 

Sisters, hence with spurs of speed' 
Each her thundering falchion wield; 

Each bestride her sable steed. 
Hurry, hurry to the field! 

1761 1768 

Uprose the King of Men with speed, 
And saddled straight his coal-black steed , 
Down the >awnmg steep lie rode, 
That leads to Hela's drear abode. 
5 Him the Dog of Darkness spied; 
His shaggv throat he open'd wide, 
While from his jaws, with carnage flll'd, 
Foam and human gore distill 'd, 
Hoarse he bays with hideous dm, 

10 Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin, 
And long pursues with fruitless yell, 
The Father of the powerful spell 
On waul still Ins wav lie takes 
(The pioarung earth beneath him shakes), 

15 Till full before his tearless eyes 
The poitals nine of hell arise 

Kight against the eastern gate, 1 
By the mohb-giown pile he sate, 
Where long of >ore to sleep *ns laul 

20 The dust of the piophetic maid 2 
Facing to tlie northern clime, 
Thrice he trac'd the Runic 8 rhyme; 
Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread, 
The thrilling verse that wakes the dead , 

* B Till from out the hollow ground 
Slowl> breath M a sullen bound 

What call unknown, what 

charms, presume 

To break the quiet of the tomb? 
Who thus afflicts mv troubled sprite, 
And <lrae;s me from the realms of night T 
Ixmg on these mould 'rms bones have 


The winter's snow, the summer's heat, 
The drenching dews, and driving rain' 
l*t me, let me sleep aaam f 
Who is he, with voice noblest, 
That calls me from the bed of restf 

Odin A traveller, to thee unknown, 
Is he that culls, a warrior's son 
Thou the deeds of light shalt know; 

40 Tell me what is done below; 

For whom yon ghtt'ring board is spread, 
Dress 'd for whom yon golden bed? 

Prophetess. Mantling 1 in the goblet see 
The pure bev'rage of the bee, 2 

46 O'er it hangs the shield of gold, 
'Tis the dnnk of Balder bold. 
Balder 's head to death is giv'n, 
Pain can reach the sons of Heav'n! 
Unwilling I m> lips unclose: 

50 Leave me, lea\e me to repose* 

Odin Once again my call obey 
Prophetess, arise, and say 
What dangers Odin's child await; 
Who the author of his fate? 

55 Prophetess. In Hoder's hand the hero's 


His brother sends him to the tomb 
Now my weary lips I close. 
l^eave me, leave me to repose' 

rtaj- Angerbode the "mother of 
the tfant-hroooY 1 Penrls, Hela. and the Mld- 

the characters uaed In 
wAttai bT& MrtT oJrmaSlc peoples . they 
S"re Jnpposed to poamm magic power ) 

l Prophetess, ni> spell obey 
60 Once again arise, and say 
Who th' avenger of his guilt; 
K> whom shall Hoder's blood be spilt f 

Prophetess In tlie caverns of the west, 
By Odin 's fierce embrace comprest, 

65 A wond'roua boy shall Rmda bear, 
Who ne'er shall comb his raven-hair, 
Nor wash his visage in the stream, 
Nor bee the sun's departing beam, 
Till he on Hoder's corse shall smile 

70 Flaming on the fun'ral pile, 
Now mv weary lips I dose 
l*a\ e me, leave me to repose ' 

Odin. Yet a *hile my call obev 
Prophetess, awake, and say 

75 What virgins these, in speechless woe, 
That bend to earth their solemn brow, 
That their flaxen tresses tear, 
And snowy \eils that float in air. 
Tell me whence their sorrows rone, 

80 Then T leave thee to repose. 

Piophetea* Ha 1 no traveller art thou! 
King of Men, T know thee now , 
Mightiest of a mighty line 

Odin. No boding maid of skill divine 
85 Art thou, nor prophetess of good; 
But mother of the giant-brood! 

1 taking on a froth 

1 mead, a fermented drink made of honey 



Prophetess. Hie tbee hence, and boast 

at home, 

That never shall enquirer come 
To break my iron-sleep again, 
Till Lok has burst his tenfold chain; 
Never, till substantial Night 
Has reassum'd her ancient right; 
Till wrapt in flames, in ruin liurl'd, 
Sinks the i'ahnc of the world 



' 17GS 

Owen's praise demands my son?, 
Owen swift, and Owen strong, 
Fairest flower of Roderie's stem, 
G^yneth's shield, and Britain's gem. 
6 He nor heaps his brooded stores, 
Nor on all profusely pours; 
Lord of every regal art, 
Liberal hand, and open heart. 
Rig with hosts ot mighty name, 

10 Squadrons three against him came; 
This the force of Emn hiding. 
Side by side as proudly riding, 
On her shadow long and gay 
Lochhn plows the wat'ry way; 

15 There the Norman sails afar 
Catch the winds and join the war: 
Black and huge along they sweep, 
Burthens of the angry deep. 

Dauntless on his native sands 
20 The dragon-son 1 of Mona stands, 

In ghtt'ring arms and glory drest, 

High he rears his ruby crest. 

There the thund'ring strokes begin, 

There the press, and there the din ; 
26 Talyinalfra 's rock} shore 

Echoing to the battle's roar. 
. Check 'd by the torrent-tide of blood, 

Backward Meinai rolls his flood; 

While, heap'd his master's feet around, 
30 Prostrate warriors gnaw the ground 

Where his glowing eye-balls turn, 

Thousand banners round him burn : 

Where he points his purple spear, 

Hasty, hasty rout is there, 
35 Marking with indignant eye 

Fear to stop, and shame to fly. 

There confusion, terror's child, 

iAfl a descendant of Cnd* alladfr, a fa mom 
British king, Owen wore the device of a red 

Conflict fierce, and ruin wild, 
Agony, that pants for breath, 

40 Despair and honorable death. 




Had I but the torrent's might, 
\Vith headlong rage and wild affright 
('poll Deira's squadron's hurl'd 
To rush, and sweep them from the uorld ' 
5 Too, too secure in youthful pride. 
By them, my friend, my Hoel, died, 
Great Cian's son: of Madoc old 
He ask 'd no heap? of hoarded gold , 
Alone in nature 'b wealth array 'd 
10 He ask'd and had the lovely maid 

To Cattraeth's vale in glitt'rinn; row 

Thrice two hundred wainois go 

K\ery warrior's manly neck 

("hams of regal honor deck, 
15 Wreath 'd in man> a golden link 

From the golden cup they drink 

Nectar that the bees produce, 1 

Or the grape's ecstatic juice 

Flush 'd with mirth and hope the> burn 
20 But none from Cattraeth's \ale return. 

Save Aeion biaxe, and Conan sttony. 

(Bursting through the bloody throng) 

And I, the meanest of them all, 

That Ine to weep and sing their fall 



Have ye seen the tusky boar, 
Or the bull, with sullen roar, 
On surrounding foes advance 9 
So Caradoc bore his lance. 

i76J 1773 

Conan 's name, my lav, rehearse, 
Build to him the lofty verse, 
Sacred tribute of the bard, 
Verse, the hero's sole reward 

5 As the flamed devouring force, 
As the whirlwind in its course ; 
As the thunder's fiery stroke, 
Glancing on the shiver M oak; 
Did the sword of Couan mow 

10 The crimson harvest of the foe. 

l mead. a fermented drink made of hooey 


17S'J 1884 

SEPT. 17 

Journey to Geneva. The road runs over 
a mountain, which gives you the first taste 6 
of the Alps, in its magnificent rudeness, 
and steep precipices. Set out from 
Echelles on horseback to bee the Grande 
Chartreuse, the way to it up a \afot moun- 
tain, in many places the road not two 10 
>ards broad, on one side the rock hanging 
o\er you, and on the other side a mon- 
strous precipice. In the bottom runs a 
torrent, called Les Outers morts, that 
wcjrks its way among the rocks with a IB 
mighty noise, and Irequent falls You 
here meet with all the beauties so sa\age 
and horrid a place can piesent you with; 
locks of >ariou& and uncouth figures, cas- 
cades pouring down from an immense 20 
height out of hanging groves ot pine trees, 
and the solemn sound of the stream that 
roars below, all concur to form one of 
the most poetical scenes imaginable. 



1715 71 181484 


LIONS, Oct. 1.J, N s J7J9. M 

It is now almost fi\e weeks since 1 leit 
Dijon, one of the gayest and most agree- 
able little cities of France, for Lyons, its 
ie\erse in all these particulars It is the 
second in the kingdom in bigness and 85 
rank, the streets excessively narrow and 
nasty; the houses immensely high and 
large (that, for instance where we arc 
lodged, has twenty-five rooms on a floor, 
and that for fixe stories) ; it swarms with 40 
inhabitants like Paris itself, but chiefly 
a mercantile people, too much given up to 
commerce, to think of their own, much 
less of a stranger's diversions. We have 
no acquaintance in the town, but such 46 
English as happen to be passing through 
here, in their way to Italy and the south, 
which at present happen to be near thirty 
in number. It is a fortnight since we set 
out from hence upon a little excursion to 00 
Geneva. We took the longest road, which 
lies through Savoy, on purpose to see a 
famous monastery, called the grand Char- 
treuse, and had no reason to think our 
time lost. After bavin? travelled seven 66 
days very slow (for we did not change 
horses, it beme impossible for a chaise 
to go post 1 in these roads) we arrived at a 
i rapidly, like (foe relaying letter*, memagM, etc 

little village, among the mountains of 
Savoy, called Benefits; from thence we 
proceeded on horses, who are used to the 
way, to the mountain of the Chartreuse. 
It is six miles to the top, the road runs 
winding up it, commonly not six feet 
broad , on one hand is the rock, with woods 
of pine-trees hanging over head, on the 
other, a monstrous precipice, almost per- 
pendicular, at the bottom of which rolls a 
torrent, that sometimes tumbling among 
the fragments of stone that have tallen 
from on high, and sometimes precipitating 
itself down vast descents with a noise like 
thunder, which is still made greater by the 
echo from the mountains on each side, 
concurs to form one of the most solemn, 
the most romantic, and the most astonish- 
ing scenes I e\er beheld Add to this the 
stiange views made by the crags and 
cliffs on the other hand , the cascades that 
in many places throw themseh es from the* 
\ery summit down into the vale, and the 
n\er below; and many other particulars 
impossible to describe; you will conclude 
we had no occasion to repent our pains. 
This place St. Bruno chose to retire to, 
and upon its very top founded the afore- 
said eoment, winch is the superior of the 
whole order When we came there, the 
two fathers, who are commissioned to 
entertain strangers (for the rest must 
neither speak one to another, nor to any 
one else), received us very kindly; and 
set before us a repast of dned fish, eggs, 
butter, and fruits, all excellent in their 
kind, and extremely neat. They pressed 
us to spend the night there, and to stay 
some days with them; but this we could 
not do, so they led us about their house, 
which is, you must think, like a little city ; 
for there are 100 fathers, besides 300 serv- 
ants, that make their clothes, grind their 
corn, press their wine, and do everything 
among themseh es The whole is quiet, 
ordeilj, and simple, nothing of finery, 
but the wonderful decency, and the strange 
situation, more than supply the place of 
it. In the evening; we descended by the 
same way, passing through many clouds 
that were then forming themselves on the 
mountain 's side Next day we. continued 
our journey by Chamberry, which, though 
the chief city of the Dutchy, and residence 
of the King of Sardinia, when he comes 
into this part of his dominions, makes but 
a very mean and insignificant appearance; 
we lay at Aix, once famous for its hot 
baths, and the next night at Annecy; 



day after, by noon, we got to Geneva* 
I have not tune to say anything about it, 
nor of our solitary journey back again. 


TURIN, A'ow 16, N. S. 1739. 

After eight days' journey through 
Greenland, we arrived at Tunn. You ap- 
proach it by a handsome avenue of nine 
mileb long, and quite strait. The entrance 
is guarded by certain vigilant dragons, 
called Douamers, 1 who mumbled us for 
some time. The city is not large, as 
being a place of strength, and conse- 
quently confined within its fortifications; 
it has many beauties and some faults, 
among the first are streets all laid out by 
the line, regular uniform buildings, fine 
walks that surround the whole, and in 
general a good lively clean appearance. 
But the bouses are of bnck plasteied, 
which is apt to want repairing, the win- 
dows of oiled paper, which ib apt to he 
torn, and everything \ery blight, which 
is apt to tumble down There ib an excel- 
lent opera, but it is only in the canmal, 
balls even mght, but only in the carni- 
val, masquerades too, but only in the 
carnival This carnival lasts only from 
Christmas to Lent, one half of the remain- 
ing part of the vear is passed m remem- 
bering the last, the other in expecting the 
future carnixal We cannot well subsist 
upon such slender diet, no more than upon 
an execrable Italian comedy, and a pup- 
pet-show, called Eappresentazwne d'un 
anima dannata* which, I think, are all 
the present diversions of the place; except 
the Marquise de Cavaillac's Con versa- 
zione, where one goes to see people play at 
ombre and taroc, a game with seventy- 
two cards all painted with suns and moons 
and devils and monks. Mr. Walpole has 
been at court, the family are at present 
at a country palace, called La Venene. 
The palace here m town is the very 
quintessence of gilding and looking-glass; 
inlaid floors, carved panels, and painting, 
wherever they could stick a brush I own 
I have not, as yet, anywhere met with 
those grand and simple works of art that 
are to amaze one, and whose sight one is 
to be the better for; but those of Nature 
have astonished me beyond expression. 
In our little journey up to the Grande 
Chartreuse, I do not remember to have 

icnatom-honae officers 

Representation of a 

gone ten paces without an exclamation, 
that there was no restraining: not a prec- 
ipice, not a torrent, not a cliff, but is 
pregnant with religion and poetry. There 
are certain scenes that would awe an 
atheist into belief, without the help of 
other argument One need not have a 
very fantastic imagination to see spirits 
there at noon-day You have Death per- 

10 petually before your eyes, only so far 
removed as to compose the mind without 
frighting it. I am well persuaded St 
Bruno was a man of no common genius 
to choose such a situation for his retire- 

u ment, and perhaps should have been a 
disciple of his, had I been born m feis 
time. You may believe Abelard and 
Heloise were not forgot upon this occa- 
sion If I do not mistake, 1 haw you too 

20 every now and then at a distance along 
the trees, il me bcmblc, que j'ai vu te 
chien de visage lei quelque part. 1 You 
seemed to call to me from the other side 
of the precipice, but the noise ol the 

86 river below was so great, that I realh 
could not distinguish what \ou said, it 
seemed to ha\e n cadence like \erse In 
vour next jou will be so jrood to let me 
know what it was The week we ha\e 

ao since passed among the Alps has not 
equalled the single dav UJKMI that moun- 
tain, because the winter was rather too 
far advanced, and the weather a little 
foggy However, it did not uant its beau- 

86 ties, the savage rudeness of the view is 
inconceivable without seeing it I reck- 
oned m one day thirteen cascades, the 
least of which uas, 1 dare sa>, one hun- 
dred feet in height I had Livy in the 

40 chaise with me, and beheld his "Nives 
calo prop* immi8t<c, tecta wformia im- 
poaita rupibus, pecora jumentaque tornda 
fngore, "homines intonsi and intuit i, ani- 
maka inanimaque omnia ngentia gdu, 

16 omnia confragosa, prceruptaque " 3 The. 
creatures that inhabit them are, in all 
respects, below human it> , and most of 
them, especially women, have the tu- 
midum guttur* which they call goscia 

so Mont Cenis, I confess, carnes the permis- 
sion mountains have of being frightful 
rather too far, and its horrors were ac- 

1 It aeeraa to me that I have aeen that dog-face 

* Snows almost mingling with the nay, the ihape- 
56 leaa hnta rituatexf on the cliffs, the cattle and 

bearta of burden withered by the cold, the men 
nnihorn and wlldlr dreaaed, all thlnga animate 
and Inanimate stiffened with frort, everything 
broken and Jagged Uvy, Utttory of ~ 
21 82 

awollen throat 



coffipamed with too much danger to give 
one time to reflect upon their beauties. 
There is a family of the Alpine monsters I 
have mentioned, upon its very top, that 
in the middle of winter calmly lay in their 
stock of provisions and firing, and so are 
buried in their hut for a month or two 
under the snow When we were down it, 
and got a little way into Piedmont, we 
began to find "Apncoa quosdam colles, 10 
rtvosque prope sylvas, and jam humano 
cultu dignwra loca." 1 I read Silms Itah- 
cus too, for the first time; and wished 
for you, according to custom. We set 
out for Genoa in two days' time 15 


[1160 1 

I am BO charmed with the two speci- 
mens of Erse poetry, 8 that I cannot help 
gi\mg you the trouble to enquire a little 80 
farther about them, and. should wish to 
see a few lines of the original, that I ma> 
form boine slight idea of the language, 
the measures, and the rhythm 

Is there anything known of the authoi 25 
or authors, and of what antiquity are 
they supposed to bet Is there any more 
to be had of equal beauty, or at all ap- 
proaching to it* I have been often told 
that the poem called Hardtcanule (which 80 
T always admired and still admire) was the 
woik of somebody that Ined a few years 
ago This I do not at all believe, though it 
has exidently been letouched in places by 
some modem hand but howevei, 1 am 86 
authorized by this lepoit to ask whether the 
two poems in question aie ceitainly antique 
and genuine I make this enquiry in quality 
of an antiquary, and am not otherwise con- 
cerned about it for, it I were sure that 40 
anv one now living in Scotland had writ- 
ten them to divert himself, and laugh at 
the credulity of the world, I would under- 
take a journey into the Highlands only 
for the pleasure of seeing him. 46 


LONDON, June Q, 1760 

I have received another Scotch packet 
with a third specimen, inferior in kind 

Borne snnnv hills and rivulet* flowin 

woods, and scenes more worth; the abode of 
man Livy, Hwtorv of Rome. 21 37 
Specimens of the Omlanlc poem*, which Mac- 
*^ ion declared he had collected in the Scot- 
Highlands. and had translated from the 
r Bnc I 

(because it is merely description), but 
yet full of nature and noble wild imagi- 
nation. Five bards pass the night at the 
castle of a chief (himself a principal 
bard) ; each goes out in his turn to observe 
the face of things, and returns with an 
extempore picture of the changes he has 
seen; it is an October night (the harvest- 
month of the Highlands). This is the 
whole plan; yet there is a contrivance, 
and a preparation of ideas, that you 
would not expect The oddest thing is. 
that every one of them sees ghosts (more 
or less). The idea that struck and sur- 
prised me most, is the following One 
of them (describing a storm of wind and 
ram) says 

ChoRts ride on the t impost tonight 
Sweet is their voice between the gusts of wind , 
Their songs are of other orldt ' 

Did you never observe (while rocking 
winds are piping loud 1 ) that pause, as the 
trust is recollecting itself, and rising upon 
the ear in a shrill and plaintive note, like 
the swell of an ^Eohan harp? I do as- 
sure you there is nothing in the world so 
like the voice of a spmt. Thomson had 
an ear sometimes he was not deaf to this, 
and has described it gloriously, but given 
it another different turn, and of more 
horror I cannot repeat the lines- it is 
in his "Winter." 2 There is another very 
fine picture in one of them Tt describes 
the breaking of the clouds after the storm 
before it is settled into a calm, and when 
the moon is seen by short intervals. 

Iho *n\cR are tumbling on tlie lake, 

And lash the rocky Rides 

The boat Is brim-full In the cove, 

The oars on the rocking tide 

Had sits a maid beneath a cliff. 

And r>os the rolling stream , 

Her Lover promised to come, 

She now his boat (when It *HR evening) on the 


ire thesf his (jrnan* in the <raltf 
la thw his broken onat OH the *horrt* 


. neo i 

If you have seen Stonehewer, he has 
probably told you of my old Scotch (or 
rather Irish) poetry. I am gone mad 
about them. They are said to be transla- 
tions (literal and in prose) from the Erse 
tongue, done by one Macpherson, a young 

1 77 P0M*eroftO, 120 
* See 11 07-71 , 149-52 . 175-201. 
These lines were published In a note to Macpber- 
son's Oroma 



clergvman in the Highlands lie means 
to publish a collection he has of these 
specimens of antiquity, but what plagues 
me IK, J cannot come at anv certainty on 
that head. I was so struck, so cxtatne 1 5 
with their infinite beautv, that 1 wnt into 
Scotland to make a thousand enquiries. 
The letters I have m return nre ill wrote 
ill reasoned, unsatisfactory, calculated 
(one would imagine) to deceive one, and 10 
>et not cunning enough to do it cleverly 
In short, the whole external evidence 
would make one believe these fragments 
(for so he culls them, though nothing can 
be more entire) counterfeit , but the inter- is 
nal is so strong on the other side, that 1 
am lesolved to believe them genuine, spite 
of the devil and the kirk It is impossible 
to coimnce me that they were invented 
b\ the same man that writes me these 20 
letters On the other hand, it is almost 
as hard to suppose, if they are original, 
that he should be able to translate them 
so admirably What can one do? Since 
Stonehewer went. J have received another 
of a very different and inferior kind 
(being merely descriptive), much moie 
modern than the former (he savs), "set 
very old too This too in its way is ex- 
treme! v fine In short, this roan is the so 
very dromon of poetry, or he has lifflited 
on a treasure hid for acres The Welch 
poets are also coming to light I have 
seen a discourse in MS about them (hv 
one Mr Evans, a clersrvman) with ppeei- as 
mens of their writings Tins' is in I^atin. 
and thousrh it don't approach the othei 
there are fine scraps among it 



PEMBROKE HALL. August 7, 1760 

The Kise fragments hate been published 
the weeks ago in Scotland, though I had 
them not (by a mistake) till the other dav 45 
As you tell me new things do not reach 
TOU soon at Aston, I inclose w hat 1 can , 
the rest shall follow, when \ou tell me 
whether YOU have not got the pamphlet 
already I send the two which I had befoie, SO 
for Mr. Wood, because he has not the affec- 
tation of not admiring I continue to think 
them genuine, though my reasons foi 
believing the contrarv are rather strongci 
than ever* but I will have them antique. SB 
for T never knew a Scotchman of my own 
time that could read, much less write, 
poetry; and such poetry too* I have one 
1 enraptured 

(trom Mr Macpherson) which he has 
not printed- it is mere description, but 
excellent, too, in its kind. If you are good, 
and will learn to admire, I will tran- 
scribe it 

As to their authenticity, 1 have made 
many enquiries, and have lateh procured 
a letter from Mr Oavid Hume (the his- 
tonan), which is more satisfactorv than 
anything 1 ha\e yet met with on that 
subject. He says 

"Certain it is that these ]>oenis are in 
evervhod.v 's mouth in the Highlands, have 
been handed dov\ n from father to son, and 
me of an age bevond all memory and 
tradition Adam Smith, the eelebiated 
professor m Glasgow, told me that the 
pi]>er of the \iirv Icslme Militia icpcated 
to him all of those which Mr Macpherson 
hud translated, and nianv more oi equal 
beautv Major Muckav (Loid Rac's 
brother) told m* that he remembers them 
perfectly well, as likewise did the l^urd 
oi Macfarlane (the gieatest anti<|imiinn 
we have m this countrv), and who insists 
strongly on the historical truth as well as 
the poetical beautv ol these productions. 
T could add the Laird and Ladv Macleod. 
with many more, that Inc m different 
pnrts of the Highlands, verv remote from 
each othei, nnd could onlv he acquainted 
with what had become (in a manner) 
nntionol works Thcie is a countrv sui- 
ireon in Lochahcr who has bv heart the 
entire epic poem 1 mentioned by Mr Mac- 
pheison in Ins pretnce, and. as he is old, 
is perhaps the onlv pel son lmnr that 
knows it all, and has never committed it 
to writing, we are in the more haste to 
recover a monument which will certainly 
be regarded as a curiositv in the republic 
of letters we have, therefore, set about 
a subscription of a ermnea or two guineas 
apiece, in order to enable Mr Macpherson 
to undertake a mission into the High- 
lands to recover this poem, and other frag- 
ments of antiquity " 

He adds, too, that the names oi Pingal 
Ossian, Oscar, etc . are still given m the 
Highlands to large mastiffs, as we give 
to ours the names of Ctrsar, Porape\. 
Hector, etc 



Re9 *st sacra mmr* (says the poet), 
but 1 sav it is the happy man that is the 
sacred thing, and therefore let the profane 
A wretched person IB a sacred object 



keep their distance He is one of Lucre- 
tius ' gods, supremely blessed in the con- 
templation of hib own felicity, and what 
has he to do with worshippers? This, 
mind, is the first reason why I did not 
come to \ ork the second IB, that 1 do not 
love confinement, and probably by next 
summer may be permitted to touch whom, 
and where, and with what I think tit, 
without giving you any offence* the third 
and last, and not the least perhaps, is, 
tiiat the finances were at so low an ebb 
that I could not exactly do what 1 wished, 
hut was obliged to come the shortest road 
to town and recruit them I do not justly 
knou what >our taste in reasons may be, 
since you altered your condition, but theie 
is the ingenious, the petulant, and the 
dull, for you any one* Tvould have done, 
for in my conscience I do not behe\e you 
care a hali'pennv for any reasons at pres- 
ent , so (.Sod bless ye both, and gi\e ye all 
\e wish, when ve are restored to the use 
it \oiii wishes 

I am returned from Scotland charmed 
with in\ expedition, it is of the High- 
lands 1 speak, the Lowlands are worth 
seems* once, but the mountains are ec- 
static, and oimhl to he usited in pilirnm- 
nsre once a \eai None but those mon- 
strous creatiues of (iod know how to join 
so much lieautv \\ith so much horroi A 
I'm for \our poets, painters, gardeners, 
arid elerg\men, that ha\e not been among 
them their imagination can be made of 
nothing hut howling-greens, flowering 
sluuhs, hoise-jwiids. Fleet ditches, shell 
grottoes, and Chinese rails l Then I had so 
so beautiful an autumn, Italy could haidlv 
produce a nohlei s<ene, anil this so&*eetlv 
contrasted with that perfection of nasti- 
ness, and total Rant of accommodation, 
that Scotland only can mipplv Oh. von 
would ha\e blessed vourself I shall cer- 
tamlv go again, \\liat a pit\ it is I can- 
not draw, nor describe, nor ride on hoise- 

Stonehewer IR the busiest creature upon 
earth except Mr "Fraser, the\ stand pretty 
tight, for all his l^al Highness. Have 
vou read (oh no, I had forgot) I)r Lowth's 
pamphlet against \our uncle the Bishop? 
Oh, how he works him I hear he will 
soon be on the same bench Today Mr. 
Kurd came to see me, but we had not a 
word of that matter, he is grown pure 

* Terms almilar to those lined by Mason In Ills 
pot'trv, and Indicating popular Brrhltwtnnl 
ornament* of the 18th craturv 

and plump, just of the proper breadth 
ior a celebrated town-preacher. There 
was Dr Balgu> too, he bays Mrs. Mason 
ib very handsome, so you are his friend 
6 forever Ix>rd Newnham, I hear, has ill 
health of late, it is a nervous case, so 
have a care How do your eyes do? 

Adieu, my respects to the bride. I 

\vould kiss her, but you stand by and 

10 pretend it is not the fashion, though I 

know they do HO at Hull I am evei yours, 

% T G. 

u J78U 1775 

Sept. 30, 17ft) . On the astent of 
the hill abo\e Appleby the thick hang- 
ing wood and the long reaches oi the 
Eden (rapid, clear, and full as ever) wmd- 

20 mg below with \iews ot the castle ami 
town, gave much employment to the mii- 
lor, but the sun was wanting and the sky 
overcast . In the afternoon w a Iked 

up the Beacon-hill a mile to the top, saw 

25 Whmfteld and Ixwther Parks, and through 
an opening in the bosom of that cluster 
oi mountains, which the Doctor well le- 
uiembers, the lake of Viz -water, with the 
tops of a hundied nameless lulls 

October .1 Wind at S K , a h*a\enl\ 
day Hose at 7, and walked out under the 
conduct of my landlord to Bonodalc The 
!?rass was covered with a hoar frost, 
which soon melted, and exhaled in a thin 
hlueish smoke Crossed the meadows 
obliquely, catching a dixersity ef \iews 
among the hills over the lake and islands, 
and changing prospect at e\ei\ ten puces, 
left Cockshut and Castlehill (which we 
formerly mounted) behind me, and drew 
near the foot of Walla-craer. whose bare 
and rockv brow, cut pcipvmhfulaily down 
abo\e 400 feet, as I ajuess, awfulh o\ei- 
looks the way, our path here tends to the 
left, and the ground gentl> rising, and 
covered with a glade of scattering trees 
and bushes on the very margin of the 
water, opens both ways the most delicious 
MOW, that my eyes e\er beheld Behind 
vou are the magnificent heights of Walla- 
crag, opposite he the thick hanging woods 
of Lord Eprremont, and Newland valle\, 
with green and smiling fields embosomed 
in the dark cliffs; to the left the jaws of 
Itorrodale, with that turbulent chaos of 
mountain behind mountain, rolled in con- 
fusion; beneath you, and stretching far 
away to the right, the shining purity ot 



the Lake, just ruffled by the breeze, enough 
to shew it IB alive, reflecting rocks, woods, 
fields, and inverted tops of mountains, 
with the white buildings of Keswick, 
Crosthwait church, and Skiddaw for a 6 
background at a distance. Oh! Doctor! 
I never wished more for you; and pray 
think, how the glass played its part m 
such a spot, which is called Carf-close- 
reeds; I choose to set down these bar- 10 
barous names, that any body may enquire 
on the place, and easily find the particu- 
lar station, that I mean. This scene con- 
tinues to Borrow-gate, and a little far- 
ther, passing a brook called Barrow-beck, 16 
we entered Borrodale. The crags, named 
Lodoor-banks, now begin to impend ter- 
ribly over your way; and more terribly, 
when you hear, that three years since an 
immense mass of rock tumbled at once 20 
from the brow, and barred all access to 
the dale (for this is the only road) till 
they could work their way through it 
Luckily no one was passing at the time 
of this fall; but down the side of the 25 
mountain, and far into the lake he dis- 
persed the huge fragments of this ruin 
in all shapes and in all directions Some- 
thing farther we turned aside into a cop- 
pice, ascending a little m front of Lodoor ao 
waterfall, the height appears to be about 
200 feet, the quantity of water not great, 
though (these days excepted) it had rained 
daily in the hills for nearly two months 
before* but then the stream was nobly 86 
broken, leaping from rock to rock, and 
foaming, with fury. On one side a tower- 
ing crag, that spired up to equal, if not 
overtop, the neighboring cliffs (this lay 
all in shade and darkness) on the other 40 
hand a rounder broader projecting- hill 
shagged with wood and illumined by the 
sun, which glanced sideways on the upper 
part of the cataract The force of the 
water wearing a deep channel in the 46 
ground humes away to join the lake We 
descended again, and passed the stream 
over a rude bndge. Soon after we came 
under Oowder crag, a hill more formid- 
able to the eye and to the apprehension 60 
than that of Lodoor; the rocks a-top, 
deep-cloven perpendicularly by the rains, 
hanging loose and nodding forwards, 
seem just starting from their base in 
shivers; the whole way down, and the 66 
road on both sides is strewed with piles 
of the fragments strangely thrown across 
each other, and of a dreadful bulk. The 
place reminds one of those passes in the 

Alps, where the guides tell you to move on 
with speed, and say nothing, lest the 
agitation of the air should loosen the 
snows above, and bring down a mass, that 
would overwhelm a caravan. I took their 
counsel here and hastened on m silence. 
. . . Walked leisurely home the way 
we came, but saw a new landscape: the 
features indeed were the same in part, 
but many new ones were disclosed by the 
midday sun, and the tints were entirely 
changed. Take notice this was the best or 
perhaps the only day for going up Skid- 
daw, but I thought it better employed: 
it was perfectly serene, and hot as mid- 

In the evening walked alone down to the 
Lake by the side of Crow-Park after sun-set 
and saw the solemn colonnp ot night diaw 
on, the last gleam of sunshine fading away 
on the hill-tops, the deep serene of the 
waters, and the long shadows of the moun- 
tains thrown across them, till tliev nearly 
touched the hitliermost shoie At distance 
heard the murmur of many waterfalls 
not audible in the da\-time. Wished for 
the moon, but she was dark to me and silent, 
hid in her vacant \nterlunar cave. 

October 8 Past by the little chapel 
of Wiborn, out of winch the Sunday 
congregation were then issuing. Past 
a beck near Dunmailraiae and entered 
Westmoreland a second time, now begm 
to see Helm-crag distinguished from its 
rugged neighbors not so much bv its 
height, as bv the strange broken outline 
of its top, like some gigantic building de- 
molished, and the stones that composed it 
flung across each other in u il<l confusion. 
Just beyond it opens one of the sweetest 
landscapes that art ever attempted to 
imitate. The bosom of the mountains 
spreading here into a broad basin discov- 
ers in the midst Grasmere- water, its mar- 
gin is hollowed into small bays with bold 
eminences* some of them rocks, some of 
soft turf that half conceal and vary the 
figure of the little lake they command. 
From the shore a low promontory pushes 
itself far into the water, and on it stands 
a white village with the parish-church 
rising in the midst of it, hanging enclo- 
sures, corn-fields, and meadows green as 
an emerald, with their trees and hedges, 
and cattle fill up the whole space from 
the edge of the water Just opposite to 
you is a large farm-house at the bottom 
of a steep smooth lawn embosomed in old 



woods, which climb half way up the moun- 
tain 's side, and discover above them a 
broken line of crags, that crown the scene. 
Not a single red tile, no flaming gentle- 
man's house, or garden walls break m 
upon the repose of this little unsuspected 
paradise, but all is peace, rusticity, and 
happy poverty in its neatest, most becom- 
ing attire 

THOMAS WARTON (1728-1790) 

J7+5 1747 

Mother of musings, Contemplation 

Whose grotto stands upon the topmost 


Of Tenenff, 'mid the tempestuous night, 
On which, in calmest mediation held, 
c Thou hear'st with howling winds the 

heating ram 
And drifting hail descend , or if the 

Unclouded shine, and thro' the blue 


Pale Cynthia rolls her silver-axled car. 
Whence gazing stedfast on the spangled 

10 RnptnrM thou sitt'st, while murmurs 

Of distant billows sooth thy pensive 

With hoarse and hollow sounds, seeme, 


There ott thou listen 'st to the wild up- 
Of fleets encountering that in whispers 

15 Ascends the rocky summit, where thou 

Remote from man, con \ersing with the 

spheres ' 
lead me* queen sublime, to solemn 

Congenial *ith my soul, to cheerless 

To rum'd seats, to twilight cells and 

20 Where thoughtful Melancholy loves to 


Her fav'rite midnight haunts The laugh- 
ing scenes 
Of purple Spring, where all the wanton 

Of Smiles and Graces seem to lead the 


In sportive round, while from their hand 

they show'r 
Ambrosial blooms and flow'rs, no longer 

Tempe, no more I court thy balmy 

Adieu green vales 1 ye broider'd meads, 

adieu ! 
Beneath yon ruined abbey's moss-grown 


Oft let me sit, at twilight hour of eve, 
1 Where through some western window 

the pale moon 
Pours her long-levelled rule of stream- 

While sullen, sacred silence reigns around 
Save the lone screech-owl's note, who 

builds his bow'r 
Amid the mould 'ring caverns dark and 

* B Or the calm bree/e that rustles m the 


Of flaunting IVA, that with mantle greer 
Invests some uasted tow'r Or let me 

Its neighb'nng walk of pines, where 

mused of old 
The cloistered brothers* through the 

gloomy void 
40 That fai extends beneath their ample 


As on I pace, religious horror wraps 
My soul in dread repose. But when the 

Is clad in midnight's ra\en-eolom 

'Mid hollow ohamel let me watch th< 


4r> Of taper dim, shedding a livid glare 
O'er the wan heaps, while airy voice- 
Along the ghmm'ring walls, or ghostl; 

At distance seen, invites with beck'ninj 

My lonesome steps through the far 

winding vaults. 

50 Nor undehghtful is the solemn noon 
Of night, when, haplv wakeful, from m 1 


I start : lo, all is motionless around ! 
Roars not the rushing wind, the son 

of men 

And every beast in mute oblivion lie; 
w All Nature's hushed in silence and 11 


O then how fearful is it to reflect 
That through the still globe's awfu 




No being wakes but me! till stealing: 

My drooping temples bathes in opiate 

60 Nor then let dreanib, of wanton folly 

My senses lead through flow'ry paths of 


But let the sacred genius of the night 
Such mystic visions send as Spenser saw 1 
When through bewild'iing Fancy 'b magic 


66 To the fell house of Bnsyrane, he led 
Th f unshaken Bntomart; or Milton 

When m abstracted though he fiist con- 


All heav 'n in tumult, and the seraphim 
Come tow 'ring, arra'd in adamant and 

gold 2 

Thro' Pope's soft bong tho' all the 

Graces breathe, 

And happiest art adorn his Attic 8 page; 
1K5 \ e t does my mind with sweeter tians- 

port glow, 

As at the root of mossv trunk reclm'd, 
In magic Spenbei 's wildly- warbled song 4 
I see (lebeited Tna wander wide 
Tlno' wasteful solitudes, and lurid 

1BO Weary, forlorn, than when the fated 


Upon the bosom bright of silver Thames 
Launches m all the lustre of brocade, 
Amid the splendors of the laughing Sun * 
Tlie gav debciiptmn palls upon the sense, 
lfir ' And coldly strikes the 

mind with feeble 





Hence, iron-scepter M Winter, haste 

To bleak Siberian waste ! 
Haste to thv polar solitude, 

Mid cataracts of ice, 
5 Whose torrents dumb are stretch 'd in 

fragments rude 
From many an airy precipice, 
Where, e\er beat bv sleety show Vs. 
Thy gloomy Gothic castle tow'r*, 
Amid whose howling iles 6 and halls, 
10 Where no gay sunbeam paints the walls, 

1 T h f Paerlf Q*frne. * Tltc Fa+rlt Quffnf, I. 

Ill 11 12 land 6 

PoradVif Lotf, fl. 110 Pop*, The Jtapr of 
marked by clal thr Lotl, - - - 

qualitlei ~ " " 

On ebon throne thou lov'st to shroud 
Thy brows in many a murky cloud 

Haste thee, uj mph f and hand in hand, 
With thee lead a buxom band; 
Bring fantastic-footed Joy, 

With Sport, that yellow-tressed boy: 
Leisure, that through the balmy sky 
Chases a crimson butterfl> 
Bring Health, that lo\e*> in early dawn 
To meet the milk-maid on the lawn, 

b5 Bung Pleasure, rural nymph, and Peace, 
Meek, cottage-Jo\ ing shepherdess* 
And that sweet stripling, Zephvr, bring, 
Light, and forexei on the umg, 
lining the dear Muse, that loxes to lean 

70 On river-margins, moss\ green 
But who is she, that bears thy train, 
Pacing light the \el\et plain? 
The pale pink binds her auburn hair, 
Her tresses flow \uth pastoial air; 

75 'Tis Ma>, the (hace contest she stands 
By branch of hawthorn in her hands 
Lo v near her trip the lightsome Dews. 
Their wings all ting'd in ins-hues, 1 
With whom the pow'rs of Floia play, 

80 And jiaint uith pansies all the \\a\ 

Oft when th\ season, sweetest queen, 
Has dress M the groxes in li\ *rv green; 
When in each fair and fertile held 
Beauty begins tiei bow'r to build! 

88 While Evening, veil'd in shadows brown, 
Puts her matron-mantle on, 
And mists in spreading streams convey 
More fresh the fumes of new-shorn ha\ 
Then, goddess, guide ui\ pilgrim feet 
Contemplation hoar to meet. 

q As slow he winds in muset'ul mood, 
Near the rush'd marge of Cherwell's 


Or o'er old Avon's magic edge. 
Whence Shakespeare cull'd the spiky 

All playful yet. in years unripe, 

96 To frame a shrill and simple pipe 
There thro' the dusk but dimly seen, 
Sweet ev 'rung-objects intervene: 
His wattled cotes the shepherd plants, 
Beneath her elm the milk-maid chants, 
100 The woodman, speeding home, awhile 
Rests him at a shady stile 
Nor wants there fragrance to dispense 
Refreshment o'er m> soothed sense; 
Nor tangled woodbine's balmy bloom, 
105 Nor grass besprent 2 to breathe perfume: 
Nor lurking wild-th vine's spicv sweet 
To bathe in dew my roving feet 
1 colon of the rainbow iprtnkled over 



Nor wants there note of Philomel, 
Nor sound of distant-tinkling bell : 

110 Nor lowings faint of herds remote, 
Nor mastiff's bark from bosom 'd cot: 
Rustle the breezes lightly borne 
O'er deep embattled ears of corn: 
Knnnd ancient elm, with humming noise, 

* 15 Full loud the ehaffer-swarmb 1 rejoice. 


Bound for holy Palestine, 
Nimbly c brush 'd the level brine, 
All in azure bteel array 'd; 
O'er the wave our weapons play'd, 

5 And made the dancing billows glow , 
High upon the trophied prow, 
Man> a * amor-minstrel nwuiig 
His sounding harp, and boldly bung 
44 Syrian Mrgmb, wail and weep, 

10 Knglish Richard plowb the deep 1 
Tremble, watchmen, as vc spy 
From distant towers, \vith anxioiib eye, 
The radiant lange of shield and lance 
Down Damascus' lulls advance 

15 From Sion's turrets as afar 
Ye ken the march of Europe's war! 
Saladin, thou pajnim king, 
From Albion's isle re\enge we bring* 
On Aeon's spirv citadel, 

20 Though to the gale thy banners bnvcll, 
Pietui'd \utli the siher moon, 
England shall end th> glory boon f 
Tn \am, to break our him aira\. 
Thy brazen drums hoarse discord bra> 

23 Those sounds our rising fury fan 
Knglish Richard in the van, 
On to victor\ ue go, 
A vaunting infidel the foe " 
Hlondel led the tuneful band, 

30 And swept the wire uith glowing hand 
Opius, fiom her rocky mound. 
And Crete, with piny \eidure crown 'd, 
Far along the smiling main 
Echoed the prophetic strain. 

35 Soon we kiss 'd the sacred earth 
That pave a murder 'd Saviour birth; 
Then, \\ith ardor fresh endu'd, 
Thus the solemn song renew 'd: 
"Lo, the toilsome voyage past, 

40 Heaven's favor 'd hills appear at last 1 
Object of our holy vow, 
We tread the Tynan valleys now 
From Carmel's almond-shaded steep 
We feel the cheering fragrance creep: 

46 O'er Engaddi's shrubs of balm 
iwarm of beetles 

Waves the date-empurpled palm; 
See Lebanon's aspiring head 
Wide his immortal umbrage spread! 
Hail Calvary, thou mountain hoar, 

50 Wet with our Redeemer's gore' 

Ye trampled tombs, ye fanes forlorn, 
Ye stones, by tears of pilgrims worn; 
Your raMsh'd honors to restore. 
Fearless we climb this hostile shore! 

55 And thou, the sepulchre of God! 
By mocking pagans rudely trod, 
Bereft of every awful rite, 
And quench 'd thy lamps that beam'd 

so bright; 
For thee, from Britain's distant coast, 

60 Lo, Richard leads Ins faithful host! 
Aloft in his heroic hand, 
Blazing, like the beacon's brand, 
O'er the far-aff righted fields, 
Resistless Kahburn he wields 

65 Proud Saracen, pollute no more 
The shrines by mart\rs built of yore 
From each wild mountain's trackless 


In \ain th> gloomy castles frown 
Thy battering engines, huge and high, 

70 In \am our steel-clad steeds defy; 
And, rolling in temfic state, 
On giant-wheels harsh thunders gr.itc 
When eve has hush'd the buzzing 

Amid the moonlight vapors damp, 

7 " Thy neciomantic forms, in vain, 
Haunt us on the tented plain: 
We bid those spectre-shapes a\aunt, 
Ashtaroth, and Tennagaunt' 
With many a demon, pale of hue, 

R0 Doora'd to drink the bitter dew 
That drops from Macon's sooty tree, 
'Mid the dread grove of ebony 
Nor magic charms, nor fiends" of hell, 
The Christian 's holy courage quell. 

86 Salem, in ancient ma jest v 
Arise, and lift thee to the sk\ f 
Soon on thy battlements divine 
Shall wave the badge of Constantino 
Ye Barons, to the sun unfold 

90 Our Cross uith crimson wove and gold!' 1 




Deem not devoid of elegance the sage, 
By Fancy's genuine feelings unbegmled, 
Of painful pedantry the poring child, 
Who turns, of these proud domes, th' 
historic page, 



5 Now sunk by Time, and Henry's fiercer 'Mid intermingling elms her flowery 

rage. 1 meads, 

Think 'st thou the warbling Muses never And Hascombe's hill, in towering groves 

smiled ' array 'd, 

On his lone hours f Ingenuous views 6 Rear'd its romantic steep, with mind 
engage serene, 

I journey 'd blithe. Full pensive I re- 
turn 'd, 
For now my breast with hopeless passion 

burn 'd, 
Wet with hoar mists appear M the gaudy 

Winch late in careless indolence I 

10 And Autumn nil around those hues had 

His thoughts, on themes, unclassic falsely 

Intent. While cloistered Piety displays 
10 Her mouldering roll, the piercing eye 

New manners, and the pomp of elder 

Whence culls the pensive bard hib pic- 
tured stores 

Nor rough nor barren are the lundnii* 

Of hoar Antiquity, but strown with 


Thou noblest monument of Albion's isle T 

Whether by Merlin's aid from Rcytlna's 

To Amber's fatal plain Pendragon boic. 

Huge frame of giant-hands, the mighty 


5 T' entomb bib Britons slain by Hen- 
gist's guile 

Or Druid priests, sprinkled with human 

Taught 'mid thy massy maze their mys- 
tic lore. 

Or Danish chiefs, enrich 'd with su\age 

Where past delight my recent grief 

might trace. 
Sad change, that Nature a congenial 

Should wear, when most, mv cheerlesb 

mood to chase; 
1 wish'd her green attne, and wonted 

bloom f 


Where Yenta's Norman castle still up- 

Its rafter'd hall, that o'er the giass\ 

And scatter M flinty fragments clad in 

On yonder steep in naked state ap- 

To Victory's idol \ast, an unhewn * n L L ' * i r 

s | inne 5 Hugh-hung remains, the pride ol \var- 

10 Rear 'd the rude heap 01 , in thy hallow 'd - - - llkc years ' 

Kepose the kings of Brutus' genuine 

Or here those kings in solemn state 

were crown 'd. 
Studious to trace thy wondrous ongine, 

Old Arthur's hoaid on the capacious 

Some British pen lias sketch M the names 

renown M, 
In marks obscure, ot his immortal 

Though join'd b> magic skill, with 

many a rh\me, 
10 The Druid ftame, unhonnr'd, falls a 

We muse on man> an ancient tale 
renown M. 


PROSPECT PLAY'D To the slow vengeance of I he wi/aid 

While summer suns o'er the gay pros- And fg( j e ^ ]}e Bntlgh C | ianw , ter8 awa>; 
pect play d, Yet Spenger s ^^ that chants in verse 


Those chiefs, shall live, unconscious of 

Through Surry's verdant scenes, where 
Epsom spreads 

1 Henry Vlll's disruption of the monmiteriet 




It IB absurd to think of judging either 5 
Anosto or Spenser by precepts which they 
did not attend to. We who live in the 
days of writing by rule are apt to try 
every composition by those laws which 
we have been taught to think the sole 10 
cntenon of excellence Critical taste is 
universally diffused, and we require the 
same order and design which every mod- 
ern performance is expected to have, in 
poems where they never were regarded or 15 
intended. Spenser, and the same may be 
said of Anosto, did not live in an age of 
planning His poetry is the careless ex- 
uberance of a warm imagination and a 
strong sensibility. It was his business ao 
to engage the fancy, and to interest the 
attention bv bold and striking images, in 
the formation and the disposition of 
which, little labor or ait was applied. 
The various and the marvellous were the 25 
chief sources of delight Hence we find 
our author ransacking alike the regions 
of reality and romance, of truth and fic- 
tion, to find the proper decoration and* 
furniture for his fairy structure Born 80 
in such nn age, Spenser wrote rapidly 
from his own feelings, which at the same 
time were naturally noble Exactness 1 in 
his poem would have been like the cornice 
ifthich a painter introduced in the grotto 85 
of Calypso Spenser's beauties are like 
the flowers in Paradise, 

Which not niee Art 

In IxHlH and cuiioim knot*, hut Nature boon 
Tout cl forth profuse, on hill, and dale, and plain , 40 
lioth v how the morning mm nr*t warmly emote 
The open field, or where the unplerc'd fhado 
Imhrown d the noon-tide bowers 

Paradise Lost, 4, 241 

If The Fmri; Queen be destitute of that 
arrangement and economv which epic 45 
seventy requires, >et we scarcely regret 
the loss of these while their place is so 
amply supplied by something which more 
powerfully attracts us, something which 
engages the affections, the feelings of the so 
heart, rather than the cold approbation 
of the head. If there be any poem whose * 
graces please because they are situated 
beyond the reach of art, and where the 
force and faculties of creative imagina- is 
tion delight because they are unassisted 

1 conformity to net rule* (The eighteenth century 
WRR devoted to "exactness" In form and style 
of writing ) 

and unrestrained by those of deliberate, 
judgment, it is this. In reading Spenser, 
if the cntic is not satisfied, yet the reader 
is transported. (1,16-16.) 

1 cannot dismiss this section without 
a wish that this neglected author 
[Chaucer], whom Spenser proposed as the 
pattern of his style, and to whom he is 
indebted for many noble inventions, 
should be more universally studied. This 
is at least what one might expect in an 
age of research and curiosity. Chaucer 
is regarded rather as an old, than as a 
good, poet We look upon his poems as 
venerable relics, not as beautiful compo- 
sitions, as pieces better calculated to 
gratify the antiquarian than the critic. 
He abounds not only in strokes of humor, 
which is commonly supposed to be his sole 
talent, but of pathos and sublimity not 
unworthy a more refined age. His old 
manners, his romantic arguments, his 
wildness of painting, 1 his simplicity and 
antiquitv of expression, transport us into 
some iairy region, and are all highly 
pleasing to the imagination It is true 
that his uncouth 2 and unfamiliar language 
disgusts and deters many readers, but 
the principal reason of his being so little 
known and so seldom taken into hand, is 
the comement opportunity of reading him 
with pleasure and facility in modern imi- 
tations. For when translation, and such, 
imitations from Chaucer may be justly 
called, at length becomes substituted as 
the means of attaining a knowledge of 
any difficult and ancient author, the orig- 
inal not only begins to be neglected and 
excluded as less easy, but also despised 
as less ornamental and elegant Thus the 
public taste becomes imperceptibly viti- 
ated, while the genuine model is super- 
seded, and gradually gives way to the 
establishment of a more specious but false 
resemblance. Thus, too many readers, 
happy to find the readiest accommodation 
for their indolence and their illiteracy, 
think themselves sufficient masters of 
Homer from Pope's translation; and thus, 
by an indiscreet comparison, Pope's trans- 
lation is commonly preferred to the Gre- 
cian text, in proportion as the former is 

1 Chance r'a descriptions are noted for their natu- 
ralness and truth rather than for their wild- 
ness ; and although he wan fond of the medieral 
romances, his material la largely realistic 

Thin judgment is due to Ignorance of Middle 
English. Chaucer's language Is In no sense un- 



furnished with more frequent and shin- 
ing metaphors, more lively descriptions, 
and in general appears to be more full 
and florid, more elaborate and various 
s (1, 196-198 ) 

Mechanical critics will perhapb be dib- 
gubted at the liberties I have taken in 
introducing so many anecdotes of ancient 

10 chivalry. But my subject required fre- 
quent proofs of this bort Nor could I 
be persuaded that such enquiries were, in 
other respects, either useless or ridicu- 
lous; as they tended, at least, to illus- 

16 trate an institution of no frivolous or 
indifferent nature. Chivalry is commonlv 
looked upon as a barbarous sport or ex- 
travagant amusement of the dark ages 
It had, howexer, no small influence on the 

90 manners, policies, and constitutions of 
ancient times, and ser\ed many public 
and important purposes. It was the 
school of fortitude, honor, and affability 
Its exercises, like the Grecian games, 

26 habituated the youth to fatigue and enter- 
prise, and inspired the noblest sentiments 
of heroism It taught gallantry and 
civility to a savage and ignorant people, 
and humanized the natue ferocity of the 

80 Northern nations It conduced to rehne 
the manners of the combatants by excit- 
ing an emulation in the devices and ac- 
coutrements, the splendor and parade, oi 
their tilts and tournaments; while its mag- 

85 mficent festivals, thronged with noble 
dames and courteous knights, produced 
the first efforts of wit and fancv 

I am still further to hope that, together 
with other specimens of obsolete litera- 

40 ture in general hinted at before, the manv 
references I have made in particular to 
romances, the necessary appendage of 
ancient chivalry, will also plead their par- 
don For however monstrous and unnat- 

4B ural these compositions may appear to 
this age of reason and refinement, the\ 
merit more attention than the world is 
willing to bestow They prenerve man\ 
curious historical facts, and throw consid- 

erable light on the nature of the feudal 
system They are the pictures of ancient 
usages and customs; and represent the* 
manners, genius, and character of our an- 
cestors. Above all, such are their terrible 

Graces of magic and enchantment, so 
magnificently marvellous are their fictions 
and fablings, that they contribute, m a 
wonderful degree, to rouse and invigo- 
rate all the powers of imagination ; to 

store the fancy with those sublime and 
alarming images which poetry best de- 
lights to display. ( II, 266-268 ) 

JOSEPH WARTON (1722-1800) 



Ye green-rob 'd Diyads, oft at dusky 

By wondenng shepheids seen, to ioiests 

To unfrequented meads, and pathless 

Jjend me from guidons deck'd uith art's 

vain pomps 
5 Can gilt alcoves, can inaible-niimic 

Paiteires enibioidei M, obelisks, arid 

Of high relief, can the long, spieading 

Or \istn lessening to the siijlit , can 

With all her Attic lanes, such laptmes 

10 As the thiush-haiintcd copse, \\here 

lightlv leaps 
The fearful fa\\n the inMliiu* leaxcs 

And the busk squine! sports Jiom hough 

to hough, 
While tiom an hollow oak, \\liose naked 


O'erhanp a pensne nil. the bus\ bees 
15 Hum drowsy lullabies' 9 The hards of 

Fair Natuie's friends, sonulit Mich re- 

tieats, to chaini 
Sweet Kcho with their songs , oft too they 

In sumrnei excninus, neai sequester M 

Or mountain-nvmph, or Muse, and eacrer 

- The moral strains she taught 1<> mend 


As in a secret giot, JHgena stole 
With pntient Numa, and in silent 

Whisper *d him sacred laws, he list 'nine: 

Kapt with her virtuous voice, old Tiber 

25 Attentive on his um, and hush M his 

Rich in her weeping country's spoils, 



May boast a thousand fountains, that And golden crocus f Yet with these the 

can cast maid, 

The tortur'd waters to the distant co Philhs or Phoebe, at a feast or wake 

Heav'ns; Her jett> locks enamels, fairer she, 

Yet let me choose borne pme-topt preci- In innocence and homespun vestments 

pice drebs'd, 

30 Abrupt and shaggy, whence a foamy Than if cerulean bapphireb at her ears 

stream, Shone pendant, or a precious diamond- 
Like Amo, tumbling roars, or some bleak cross 

heath, b5 Heav'd gently on her Anting bosom 

Where strangling standb the muuinful white. 

jumper, Yon shepherd idly stretch M on the 

Oi yew-tree scath'd, while in clear pros- rude rock, 

pcct round, ' List'nin? to dashing waves, and sea- 

From the grove 'b bosom spirea eincigc. mew's clang 

and smoke iliyh-hovenng o'er his head, who views 

; ~' in bluisli wreaths aacendb, nj>e hanests beneath 

uave, The dolphin dancing o'er the level brine, 

Low lonely cottages, and riun'd tops 7() Feels more true bliss than the proud 

Ot (iotluc battlements appear, and admiral, 

streanjs Amid his vessels bright with burnish 'd 

Beneath the sun-boa ins twinkle The gold 

shrill lark, And silken streamers, though Ins lordly 

Tlmt wakes the woodman to his early nod 

task. Ten thousand war-woin manners re- 

40 Oi lo\e-sick Philomel, whose luscious \eie 

lays And gieat Aeneas ga/M with more de- 
Soot ho lone niglit-wandereis, the moan- light 

ing do\e " 5 On the rough mountain bhagg'd with 

Pitied h> hst'niiisr milk-maid, lai excel horrid shades, 

The deep-mouth M \iol, the soul-lullini; (Where cloud-compelling Jove, ab fancy 

lute, dream M, 

And battle-breathing trumpet. Artful Descending, shook his direful tegis black) 

sounds* Than it he enter M the high Capitol 

4r> That please not like the chousteis of On golden columns rear'd, a conquer 'd 

an, \iorld 

When lirst thc\ hail th f nppioach of so Exhausted, to enrich its stately head 

laughing Mav More pleas 'd he slept in poor Evandei 's 

(.'an Kent design like Nature? Maik cot 

* here- Thames On shaggy skins, lull'd by sweet mght- 

Plentv and pleasure poms through Lin- mgales, 

coin's meads, Than if a Nero, in an age rehn'd, 

Tan the great artist, though with taste Beneath a gorgeous canopy had plac'd 

supreme S5 His royal guest, and bade his minstrels 

~' Endu'd, one beauty to this Eden addf sound 

Tlioimh he, h> rules unfetter 'd, boldl} Soft slumb'rous airs, to sootli his rest 

scqrns Happy the first of men, ere yet con- 

Foruialitv and method, round and fln'd 

square To smoky cities, who in sheltering 

Disdaining, plans niegularly great groves, 

Oeati\e Titian, can thy \ivid strokes Warm eaves, and deep-sunk vallies liv'd 

" >r ' Or thine, graceful Raphael, dare to and lov'd, ' 

vie M By cares unwounded, what the sun and 

With the rich tints that paint the breath- showers, 

in? meadf And genial earth untillag'd, could pro- 

The thousand-color f d tulip, violet's ducc, 

bell They gather 'd grateful, or the acorn 

Snow-clad and meek, the verinil-tinctur'd brown 

row, Or blushing berry ; by the liquid lapse 


Of murm'nng waters oall'd to slake Herbs of malignant juice, to realms 

their thirst, remote 

95 Or with fair nymphs their sun-brown While we for powerful poisons madly 

limbs to bathe, roam, 

With nymphs who fondly clasp 'd their 13 From every noxious herb collecting 

fav'nte jouths, death. 

Unaw'd by shame, beneath the beechen What though unknown to those primeval 

shade, sires 

Nor wiles, nor artificial coyness knew The well-arch 'd dome, peopled with 

Then doors and walls were not , the melt- breathing forms 

ing maid By fair Italia f s skilful hand, unknown 

100 N or frown of parents fear'd, nor hub- The shapely column, and the crumbling 

band's threats, busts 

Nor had curs'd gold their tender hearth lt{5 Of awful an rest orb in long descent? 

allur'd Yet why should man, mistaken, deem it 

Then beauty was not venal. Injui'd nobler 

Ixnc, To dwell in palaces, and high-roof 'd 

O! whither, god of raptures, art them / halls, 

fledf Than in God's forests, architect su- 

\Vhile Avarice waves his golden wand premel 

around, Sav, is the Persian sarpet, than the 

105 Ahhorr'd magician, and his costly cup field's 

Prepares with baneful drugs, t' enchant 110 Or meadou 's mantle pay, more richly 

the souls uo\'n, 

Ot each low-though ted iair to wed ioi Or softer to the votaries ot ease 

gain Than bladed grass, perfum'd with dew- 

In Earth's first infancy (as sung the dropt flow'rs? 

bard O taste corrupt! that luxury and pomp, 

Who strongly painted what he boldlv In specious names of polish M manners 

thought), veiPd, 

110 Though the fierce north oft smote with "6 should proudlv banish Nature's simple 

iron *hip charms f 

Their shiv'nn^ limbs, though oft the AH beauteous Nature* b\ thy boundless 

bristly boar charms 

Or hungry lion, 'woke them with their Oppress 'd, wlieie shall I beinn thy 

howls, praise, 

And scar'd them from their moss-grnun Where turn th' ecstatic eye, how ease 

caves, to rove m\ bieast 

115 Houseless and cold in dark tempestuous That pants with wild astonishment and 

nights, lo\e ! 

Yet were not imnads in erabattl'd fields wo D^ forests, and the op'mnjr lawn, re- 

S*ept off at once, nor had the raging fresh 'd 

seas With ever-gushing brooks, hill, meadow, 

Overwhelm M the found 'ring bark and dale, 

shrieking crew, The haltn\ bean-field, the gay-clover 'd 

In vain the srlassy ocean smil'd to tempt close, 

1* The joll\ sailor, unsuspecting harm, So sweetly interchanged, the lowing ox, 

For Commerce ne'er had spread her The playful lamb, the distant waterfall 

swelling sails, 155 NOW faintly heard, now swelling with 

Nor had the wond'nncr Nereids ever the breeze, 

heard , The sound of pastoral reed from hazel- 

The dashing oar then famine, want, and bower, 

pain, The choral birds, the neighing steed, 

Sunk to the grave their fainting limbs: that snuffs 

but us, His dappled mate, stung with intense 

125 Diseaseful dainties, riot, and excess, desire, 

And feverish luxury destroy In brakes The ripen M orchard when the ruddy orbs 
Or marshes wild unknowingly thev 16 Betwixt the preen leaves blush, the 

eropp'd azure skies, 


The cheerful San that through Earth's Demons and goblins through the dark 

vitals pours air shriek, 

Delight and health, and heat; all, all While Hecat, with her black-brow 'd sis- 
conspire ters nine, 
To raise, to sooth, to harmonize the 195 Rides o'er the Earth, and scatters woes 

mind, and death. 

To lift on wings of praise, to the great Then too, they say, in drear Egyptian wilds 

Sire The lion and the tiger prowl for prey 

166 Of being and of beauty, at whose nod With roarings loud! the hst'nmg trav- 
Creation started from the gloomy vault eller 

Of dreary Chaos, while the gnesly Starts fear struck, while the hollow echo- 
king ing vaults 
Murmur 'd to feel Ins boisterous power 20 Of pyramids increase the deathful 

eonfin 'd sounds. 

What are the lays of artful Addison, But let me never fail m cloudless 

170 Coldly correct, to Shakespear's war- nights, 

bhngs wild? When silent Cynthia in her silver car 

Whom on the winding Avon's willow M Through the blue conclave slides, when 

banks shine the hills, 

Fair Fancy found, and bore the smiling Twinkle the streams, and woods look 

babe tipp'd with gold, 

To a close cavern (still the shepherds 205 To seek some level mead, and there 

show in\ oke 

The sacred place, whence with religious Old Midnight's sister, Contemplation 

awe sage, 

175 They hear, returning from the field at (Queen of the nigged biow and stern- 
eve, fi\t e>e) 

Strange whisp 'rings of sweet music To lift my soul aboie this little Earth, 

through the air) This folly-fetter 'd world to purge my 
Here, as with honey gather 'd from the ears, 

rock, " J1 That I ma> hear the rolling planets' 

She fed the little prattler, and with song, 

songs And tuneful turning spheres if this be 
Oft sooth 'd his wand 'ring ears, with deep burr'd, 

delight The little Fays that dance in neighboring 
l* On her soft lap he sat, and caught the dales, 

sounds Sipping the in slit-dew, uhile they laugh 
Oft near some crowded t> would I and lo\e, 

ualk. Shall charm me with aerial notes. -As 
Listening the far-off noises, rattling thus 

cars, 215 I wander musing, lo, what awful forms 

Ixnul shouts of jov, sad shrieks of sor- Yonder appear* sharp-ey'd Philosophy 

row, knells Clad in dun robes, an eagle on his 
Full slowly tolling, instruments of trade, wrist, 

186 Striking mine ears with one deep-swell- First meets mv eye, ne^, virgin Solitude 

ing hum. Serene, who blushes at each gazer's 
Or wand 'ring near the sea, attend the sight, 

sounds 2 - Then Wisdom's hoary head, with crutch 

Of hollow winds, and ever-beating waves in hand, 

Ev 'n when wild tempests swallow up the Trembling, and bent with age , last Vir- 

plains, tue's self 

And Boreas' blasts, big hail, and rains Smiling, in white array M, who with her 

combine leads 

wo TO shake the groves and mountains, Sweet Innocence, that prattles by her 

would T sit, side. 

Pensively musing on the outrageous A naked boy' Harass M with fear I 

crimes stop, 

That wake Heaven's vengeance: at such 225 I gaze, when Virtue thus "Who Vr 

solemn hours. thou art, 



Mortal, by whom I deign to be beheld 
In these my midnight- walks; depart, 

and say, 
That henceforth I and my immortal 

Forsake Britannia's ible, uho fondly 

230 TO Vice, her favorite paramour.' 7 She 

And as she turn'd, her lound and rosy 

Her flowing train, and long ambrosial 


Breathing rich odors, I enamor'cl \ lew 
who will bear me then to western 

- 3B (Since Virtue leaves our wretched land) 

to fields 

Yet unpolluted with Iberian swords 
The isles of Innocence, from mortal 

Deeply retir'd, beneath a plantane's 

Where Happiness and Quest sit en- 

240 With simple Indian swains, that I inav 

The boar and tiger thiough savannahs 1 

Through fragrant deserts, and through 

citron groves T 
There, fed on dates and herbs. *ould I 

The far-fetch 'd cates of luxuiy, and 


246 Of narrow-hearted avarice; nor heed 
The distant din of the tumultuous world 
So when rude whirlwinds rouse the roar- 
ing main, 

Beneath fair Thetis sits, in coral ca\es, 

Serenely gay, nor sinking sailor's ones 

250 Disturb her sportive nymphs, who round 

her form 
The light fantastic dance, or for her 

Weave rosy crowns, or with according 

Grace the soft warbles of her honied 



parent of each lovely Muse, 
Thy spirit o'er my soul diffuse, 
O'er all my artless songs preside, 
My footsteps to thy temple guide, 
6 To offer at thy turf -built shrine, 

tropical graislandg containing Mattered treet 

In golden cups no costly wine. 
No murder 'd fatling of the flock, 
But flowers and, honey from the rock. 

nymph with loosely-flowing hair, 
10 With buskin 'd 1 leg, and bosom bare, 

Thy waist with myrtle-girdle bound, 
Thy brews with Indian feathers crown 'd, 
Waving in thy snowy hand 
An all-commanding magic wand, 

15 Of pow'r to bid fresh gardens blow, 
'Mid cheerless Lapland's barren snow, 
Whose rapid wings thy flight convey 
Thro' air, and over earth and sea, 
While the vast various landscape lies 

20 Conspicuous to thy piercing eyes. 
() lover of the desert, hail f 
Say, in what deep and pathless \alc. 
Or on what lioaiv mountain's side, 
'Mid tall of waters, you reside, 

- r> T Mul broken rocks, a rugged scene. 
With gieen and grassy dales between. 
Mid forests dark of aged oak. 
Ne'er echoing with the woodman's stroke, 
Where never human art appear 'd, 

30 Nor ev'n one straw-roof 'd cot was icaied, 
Where Nature seems to sit alone. 
Majestic on a craggy throne , 
Tell me the path, sweet wand'rer, tell. 
To thy unknown Bequest 'red cell, 

35 Wheie woodbines clustei lound the 


Where shells and moss o'erlav the floor, 
And on whose top an hau thorn blows, 
Amid whose thickly-* o\ en boughs 
Some nightingale still builds hei nest, 

40 Each e\enmg warbling thee to rest. 
Then lay me by the haunted stream, 
Rapt in some wild, poetic dream, 
In converse while methmk<* I rove 
With Spenser through a fairy grove; 

Till, suddenly awak'd, I hear 

Strange whisper 'd music in in> ear, 
And my glad soul in bliss is droun'd 
By the sweetlv-soothing sound* 
Me, goddess, by thy right hand lead 

50 Sometimes through the yellow mead, 
Where Joy and white-rob 'd Peace resort. 
And Venus keeps her festive court, 
Where Mirth and Youth each evening 

And lightly tnp with nimble feet, 

66 Nodding their lily-crowned heads, 
Where Laughter, rose-bpp'd Hebe, leads; 
Where Echo walks steep hills among, 
List'nmg to the shepherd's song* 
Yet not these flowery fields of joy 

60 Can long my pensive mind employ, 
Haste, Fancy, from the scenes of folly, 

1 clad in a bnrtln, or half-boot 



To meet the matron Melancholy, 

Goddess of the tearful eye, 

That loves to fold her arms, and sigh ; 

5 Let us with silent footsteps go 
To eharnels and the house of woe, 
To Gothic churches, vaults, and tombs, 
Where each sad night some virgin comes. 
With throbbing breast, and faded cheek, 

7 Her promised bridegroom's urn to seek, 
Or to some abbey's mould 'ring tow'rs, 
Where, to avoid cold wintry show 'rs, 
The naked beggar shivering lies. 
While whistling tempests lound her 

And trembles lest the tottering wall 
Should on her sleeping infants fall. 
Now let us louder strike the lyie, 
For my heart glows with martial fire, 
I feel, I feel, with sudden heat, 
My big tumultuous bosom beat , 

80 The trumpet \ clangois pieice my 


A thousand widows' shrieks I hear, 
(hve me another horse, I crv, 
Lo f the base Gallic squadron* fly, 

W> Whence i* this iae1 what spirit, 


To battle hitmen me awav* 
'Tis Fancv, m her tien car, 
Transports me to the thickest war, 
Theie whirls me o'ei the hills of slain, 

o Where Tumult and Destiuction reign; 
Where mad with pain, the ucmmled 


Tramples the dying and the dead , 
Where giant Terror stalks around. 
With sullen ]ov survevs the giouml, 

95 And, pointing to th' ensanguiu'd field, 
. Shakes his dreadful Rorgon shield ! 
O guide me from this horrid scene, 
To high-arch M walks and alle\s green, 
Which lovely Uura seeks to shun 

iw The fenors of the mid-day sun; 
The pangs of absence, O remove' 
For thou canst place me near my love, 
Canst fold in v isionary bliss, 
And let me think I steal a kiss, 

105 While her rubv lips dispense 
Luscious nectar's quintessence! 
When young-eyed Spring profusely 


From her green lap the pink and rose, 
When the soft turtle of the dale 

"0 To Summer tells her tender tale, 
When Autumn coohm? caverns seeks, 
And stains with wine his ]oily cheeks; 
When Winter, like poor pilgrim old, 
Shakes Ins silver beard with cold; 

U* At every season let my ear 

Thy solemn whispers, Fancy, hear. 
warm, enthusiastic maid, 
Without thy powertul, vital aid, 
That breathes an energj divine, 

120 That gives a soul to every line, 
Ne'er may I stnve with lips profane 
To utter an unhallow'd strain, 
Nor dare to touch the sacred string, 
Save when with smiles thou birl'st me 

i- 5 hear our prayer, hither come 

From thy lamented Shakespeai f s tomb, 
On which thou lov'st to sit at eve, 
Musing o'er thy darling's grave; 
queen of numbers, once again 

110 Animate some chosen swam, 
\Mio, HUM with unexhausted fire, 
May boldly smite the sounding lyre, 
Who with' some new unequalled song, 
Mav rise above the rhyming throng, 

n5 O'er all our h&t'nmg passions reign, 
O'erwhelm our souls with joy and pain, 
With terror shake, and pity move, 
House with revenge, 01 welt with love, 
O deign t' attend his evening: walk, 

140 With him in groves and grottos talk, 
Teach him to scorn with frigid art 
Feebh to touch th' unraptur'd heart; 
Like lightning, let his mighty verse 
The bosom's inmost foldings pierce; 

145 With native beauties win applause * 
Ke\ond cold critics' studied laws; 
O let each Muse's fame increase, 
O hid Britannia rival Greece. 



Thus have I endeavored to give a crit- 
ical account, with freedom, but it is hoped 
with impartiality, of each of Pope's 
works; b> which review it will appear, 
5 that the largest portion of them is of the 
didactic, moral, and satyric kind, and 
consequently, not of the most poetic spe- 
cies of poetry ; whence it is manifest, that 
good sense and judgment were his char- 

10 actenstical excellencies, rather than fancy 
and invention: not that the author of 
The Rape of ihe Loci, and Elotsa, can be 
thought to want imagination; but because 
his imagination was not his predominant 

11 talent, because he indulged it not, and be- 
cause he gave not so many proofs of this 
talent as of the other This turn of mind 
led him to admire French models; he 
studied Boilea.ii attentively; formed him- 



self upon him, as Milton formed himself 
upon the Grecian and Italian sons of 
Fancy. He stuck to describing: modern 
manners, but those manners, because they 
are familiar, uniform, and polished, are, 5 
in their very nature, unfit for any lofty 
effort of the Muse He gradually became 
one of the most correct, even, and exact 
poets that ever wrote, ]>ohshing his pieces 
with a care and assiduity, that no business 10 
or avocation ever interrupted; so that if 
he does not frequently ravish and transport 
his reader, >et he does not disgust him 
with unexpected inequalities, and absard 
improprieties. Whatever poetical enthu- IB 
Piasm he actually possessed, he withheld 
and stifled. The perusal of him affects not 
our minds with such strong emotion* as 
we feel from Homer and Milton , BO that 
no man of a true poetical spirit, is master 20 
of himself while he reads them Hence, 
lie is a writer fit for universal perusal, 
adapted to all ages and stations; foi the 
old and for the voting , the man of business 
and the scholar He who would think The 25 
Furry Queen, Palamon and Arcite, The 
Tempest or Comus, childish and romantic, 
might relish Pope Suiely. it is no narrow 
and niggardly encomium, to say he is the 
great Poet of Reason, the first of ethical 80 
authors m verse And this species of 
wnting is, after all, the surest load to 
an extensive reputation It lies more 
level to the general capacities of men, 
than the higher flights ot more genuine 86 
poetry We all remember when e\en a 
Churchill was more in \ogue than a (Jrav 
He that treats of fashionable follies and 
the topics of the day, that describes pres- 
ent persons and recent events, finds man\ 40 
readers, whose understandings and whose 
passions he gratifies. The name of Ches- 
terfield on one hand, and of Walpole on 
the other, failed not to make a poem 
bought up and talked of. And it cannot 46 
be doubted that the Odes of Horace 
which celebrated, and the Satires which 
ridiculed, well-known and real characters 
at Rome, were more frequently cited, than 
the /Eneid and the Georgic of Virgil 60 

Where then, according to the question 
proposed at the beginning of this Essay, 
shall we with .lustice be authorized to 
place our admired Popef Not, assuredly, 
in the same rank with Spenser, Shake- 66 
speare, and Milton; however justly we 
may applaud the Elo\sa and Rape of the 
Lock; but, considering the correctness, 
elegance, and utility of his works, the 

weight of sentiment, and the knowledge 
of man they contain, we may venture to 
assign him a place, next to Milton, and 
just above Dryden. Yet, to bring our 
minds steadily to make this decision, *e 
must forget, for a moment, the divine 
Music Ode of Dryden ; and may, perhaps, 
then be compelled to confess, that though 
Dryden be the greater genius, yet Pope 
is the better artist 

The preference here given to Pope above 
other modern English poets, it must be 
remembered, is founded on the excel- 
lencies of his works in general, and taken 
all together, for there are parts and pass- 
ages in other modern authors, in Young 
and in Thomson, for instance, equal to any 
of Pope; and he has wntten nothing in a 
strain so truly sublime, as The Bard of 



A tale of the times of old f The deeds 
of days of other > ears' 

The murmur of thy streams, O Lora f 
brings back the memory of the past The 
sound of thy woods, Garmallar, is lo\ely 
in mine ear Dost thou not behold. Mal- 
vma,a rock with its head of heath? Three 
ased pines bend from its face, green is 
the nairow plain at its feet, there the 
flower of the mountain grows, and shakes 
its white head in the bieexe The thistle 
11 there alone, shedding its aged beard 
Two stones, half sunk in the ground, shew 
their heads of moss The deer of the 
mountain avoids the place, for lie beholds 
a dim ghost standing: there The mighty 
he, Mai vma f in the narrow plain of 
the rock. 

A tale of the times of old f the deeds 
of days of other years' 

Who comes from the land of strangers, 
with his thousands around him! the sun- 
beam pours its bnght stream before him . 
his hair meets the wind of his lulls. His 
face is settled from war. He is calm as 
the evening beam that looks from the 
cloud of the west, on Cona's silent vale 
Who is it but Comhal's son, the king of 
mighty deeds 1 He beholds his hills with 
joy, he bids a thousand voices nse. "Ye 
have fled over your fields, ye sons of the 
distant land ! The king of the world sits 
in his hall, and hears of his people's 
flight. He lift* his red eye of pride; he 



takes his father's sword. Ye have fled 
over your fields, sons of the distant land!" 

Such were the words of the bards, when 
they came to Selma's halls A thousand 
lights from the stranger's land rose in 5 
the midst of the people The feast IB 
spread around; the night passed away in 
joy. "Where is the noble Cless&mmorl " 
said the fair-haired Fingal "Where is the 
brother of Morna, in the hour of my joyf 10 
Sullen* and dark he passes his days in the 
vale of echoing; Lor a but, behold, he 
comes from the hill, like a steed in his 
strength, who finds his companions in the 
breeze, and tosses his bright mane in the 15 
wind. Blest be the soul of Clessdmmor, 
why so long from Selma t" 

"Returns the chief," Raid Clessfimmor, 
"in the midst of his fameT Such was the re- 
nown of Comhal in the battles of his youth, to 
Often did we pass over Carun to the land 
of the strangers our swords returner!, 
not unstained with blood nor did the 
kings of the world rejoice Whv do I 
remember the times of our mart My hair 25 
is mixed with in> Mv hand forgets to 
bend the bow J lift a lighter spear. 
O that my joy vtould return, as when I 
first beheld the maid, the white-bosomed 
daughter of the strangers, Moina, with 80 
the dark-blue eyes'" 

"Tell, " said the mighty Fuural, "the tale 
of thy youthful days Sonow, like a cloud 
on the sun, shades the soul of ClessAm- 
raor Mournful arc tliv thoughts, alone, 85 
on the banks of the roarins: Lora l*t 
us hear the sorrow of tliv vouth, and the 
darkness of thy days'" 

"It was in the da>s of peace," replied 
the great Clessamraor, "I came in mv 40 
bounding ship, to Balclutha's walls of 
towers The winds had roared behind 
my sails, and Clutha ? s streams received 
my dark-bosomed ship. Three days I 
remained in Reuth6mir's halls, and saw 45 
his daughter, that beam of hsrht The jov 
of the shell 1 went round, and the aged hero 
gave the fair Her breasts were like foam 
on the wave, and her eves like stars of 
hcrht: her hair was dark as the raven's 60 
wing- her soul was generous and mild 
My love for Moina was great my heart 
poured forth in joy 1 

"The son of a stranger came; a chief 
who loved the white-bosomed Moina His 56 
words were mighty in the hall, he often 
half -unsheathed his sword. 'Where,' said 

"To rejoice In the shell' In a Phrase, for Jeaiting 
nmptnouily and drinking freely "Mtopher- 

he, 'is the mighty Comhal, the restless wan- 
derer of the heath f Come& he, with his 
host, to Balclntha, since Clessammor is 
so bold t ' 'My soul, ' I replied, ' warrior f 
burns in a light of its own. 1 stand with- 
out fear in the midst of thousands, though 
the valiant are distant far Stranger* 
thy words are mighty, for Clessammor is 
alone But my sword trembles by my side, 
and longs to glitter in my hand Speak no 
more of Comhal, son of the winding 

"The strength of his. pride arose We 
fought, he fell beneath my sword. The 
banks of Clutha heard his fall , a thousand 
spears glittered around 1 fought, the 
strangers prevailed I plunged into the 
stream of Clutha Mv white sails rose 
over the waves, and I bounded on the dark- 
blue sea Moina came to the shore, and 
rolled the red eye of her tears, her 
loose hair flew on the wind, and I heard 
her mournful, distant cries Often did 1 
turn mv ship, but the winds of the East 
prevailed Nor Clutha ever since have I 
seen, nor Moina of the dark-brown hair. 
She fell in Balclutha, foi I have seen her 
ghost I knew her as she came through 
the dusky night, alone: the murmur of 
Lora* she was like the new moon, seen 
through the gathered mist when the sky 
pours down its flaky sno\\, and the world 
is silent and dark ' ' 

"Raise, ye bards," said the mighty Fin- 
firal, "the praise of unhappy Moina" Call 
her ghost, with your songs, to our hills, that 
she may rest with the fair of Morven, 
the sunbeams of other days, the delight 
of heroes of old I have seen the walls of 
Balclutha, but they were desolate The 
fire had resounded in the halls and the 
voice of the people is heard no more The 
stream of Clutha was removed from its 
place, by the fall of the walls The thistle 
shook there its lonely head- the moss 
whistled to the wind The fox looked out 
from the windows, the rank grass of the 
wall waved round its head Desolate is 
the dwelling of Moina, silence is in the 
house of her fathers. Raise the song of 
mourning, O bards! over the laud of 
strangers They have but fallen before 
us: for one day we must fall Why 
dost thou build the hall, son of the winged 
days? Thou lookest from thy towers to- 
day; yet a few years, and the'blast of the 
desert comes; it howls in thy empty court, 
and whistles round thy half-worn shield. 
And let the blast of the depert come ! we 



shall be renowned in our day I The mark 
of my arm shall be in battle ; my name in 
the aong of bards Raise the song, semi 
round the shell* let joy be heard in my 
hall When thou, sun of heaven, shalt c 
fail! if thou shalt fail, thou mighty light' 
if thy brightness IB for a season, like 
Fingal, our fame shall survive thy beams!" 
Such was the song of Fingal, in the day 
of his joy. His thousand bards leaned 10 
forward from their seats, to hear the voice 
of the king It was like the music of 
harps on the gale of the spring. Lovely 
were thy thoughts, O Fingal 1 why had 
not Ossian the strength of thy soul ? But 1ft 
thou standest alone, my father! who can 
equal the king of Selma f 

The night passed awav in song , morning 
returned in joy The mountains shewed 
their gray heads; the blue face of ocean 
smiled The white wave is seen tumbling 
round the distant rock, a mist rose, 
slowly, from the lake. It came in the 
figure of an aged man along the silent 
plain. Its large limbs did not mo\e in 26 
steps ; for a ghost supported it in mid-air. 
It came towards Selma 's hall, and dis- 
solved in a shower of blood. 

The king alone beheld the sight; he 
foresaw the death of the people He tt 
came in silence to his hall; and took his 
father's spear The mail rattled on his 
breast The heroes rose around Thev 
looked in silence on each other, marking 
the e>es of Fingal. They saw battle in 85 
hift face the death of armies on his spear 
A thousand shields at once are placed 
on their arms, they drew a thousand 
swords The hall of Selma brightened 
around The clan? of arms ascends The 40 
gray dogs howl in their place. No word 
is among the mighty chiefs Each marked 
the eyes of the king, and half-awromed his 

< ' Sons of Morven, ' ' begun the king, ' ' this 46 
is no time to fill the shell. The battle 
darkens near us; death hovers over the 
land. Some ghost, the fnend of Fingal. 
has forewarned us of the foe. The sons 
of the stranger come from the darkly- so 
rolling sea. For, from the water, came 
the sign of Morven 's gloomy danger Let 
each assume his heavy spear, each gird on 
his father's sword. Let the dark helmet 
rifle on every head, the mail pour its 66 
lightning from every side The battle 
gathers like a storm; soon shall ye hear 
the roar of death 91 
The hero moved on before his boat, like 

a cloud before a ridge of green fire, when 
it pours on the sky oi night, and marines 
foresee a fctorm On CODE'S rising heath 
they stood the white-bosomed maids be- 
held them above like a grove, they fore- 
saw the death of the youth, and looked 
towards the sea with fear The whit* 1 
wave deceived them for distant sails, the 
tear is on their cheek! The sun rose on 
the sea, and ue beheld a distant fleet 
Like the mist of ocean they came, and 
poured their youth upon the coast The 
chief was among them, like the stag in 
the midst of the herd. His shield is 
studded with gold, stately stiode the king 
of spears. He moved towaid Selmu , his 
thousands rao\od hehuid 

"Go, with a s*mg of peace," said Fingal , 
"go, Ulhn, to the king of swoids Tell 
him that we are might} in war, that the 
ghosts of our foes are many Hut le- 
nowned are they \\lio ha\e i ousted in m\ 
halls; they show the arm* of my i'atheis 
in a foreign land the sons ot the stranois 
Bonder, and bless the friends ot Monen's 
race: for our names June been heard afai 
the kings of the uoild shook in the midst 
of their host " 

Ulhn wont vulh his song Fmual rested 
on his spear he sau the mmhU foe in 
his armor* he blest the stiangei's son 
"How stately ait thou, son oi the sea'" 
said the king oi uood.v Morsen "Th\ 
sword is a beam oi file b\ th\ side tin 
spear is a pine that defies the storm 
The varied face of the moon is not hioadei 
than thy shield Kudd\ is tin fare ot 
youth! soft the ringlets of tin him * Hut 
tins tree ma\ fall, and his menioi\ be 
forgot 1 The daughtei of the stiangei 
will be sad, looking to the i oiling sea 
the children will sa\, 'We see 21 ship, 
perhaps it is the kuu* oi Bali hit ha ' The 
tear starts from then mothei \ e\e Hei 
thoughts are of him \*ho sleeps in Mor- 

Such uere the words of the king, when 
Ulhn came to the mighty Caithon, he 
threw down the spear before him, he 
raised the song of j>eace "Come to the 
feast of Fingal, Carthon, from the rolling 
sea! partake of the feast of the km?, or 
lift the spear of war 1 The ghosts of our 
foes are many hut renowned are the 
friends of Morven' Behold that field, 
Carthon f many a green hill rises there, 
with mossy stones and rustling grass 9 
these are the tombs of Fmgal's foes, the 
sons of the rolling sea!" 



"Dost thou speak to the weak in arms!" 
said Carthon, "bard of the woody Mor- 
venf Is my face pale for fear, son of the 
peaceful song? Whv, then, dost thou 
think to darken my soul with the tales of 
those who fell? My arm has fought in 
battle, mv renown is known afar Go 
to the feeble in arms, bid them yield to 
Fingal Have not I seen the fallen Bal- 
clutha? And shall I least with Coronal's 
son? Comhal, who threw his fire in the 
midst of my father's hall? 1 was young, 
and knew not the cause, why the virgins 
wept The columns of smoke pleased mine 
eve, when they rose above mv walls' I 
often looked baek with gladness when 
mv friends fled along the hill But when 
the years of mv vouth came on, T beheld 
the moss of my fallen walls. My sigh 
arose with the mornmir, and my tears 
descended with night 'Shall I not fight/ 
I said to mv soul, 'against the children of 
my foes?' And I will fight, bard* I 
ie'el the strength of my soul " 

His people gathered round the hero, and 
diow at once their shining swords He 
stands in the midst, like a pillar of fire, 
the tear half-starting from his eye; for 
he thought of the fallen Balclutha The 
crowded pride of his soul arose. Sidelong 
lie looked up to the lull, where our heroes 
shone in arms, the spear trembled in his 
hand Bending forward, he seemed to 
threaten the kins 

"Shall V'said Fingal to his soul, "meet, 
at once, the youth* Shall I stop him, m 
the midst of Ins course, before his fame 
sliall arise? But the bard, hereafter, may 
say, when he sees the tomb of Carthon, 
Fingal took his thousands to battle, be- 
fore the noble Carthon fell No bard of 
the times to comc f thou shalt not lessen 
Kintal's fame Mv heroes will fight the 
vouth, and Fingal behold the war If he 
overcomes, 1 rush, in my strength, like 
the roaring stream of Cona .Who, of mv 
chiefs will meet the son of the rolling seat 
Many are his warriors on the coast, and 
stiong is his ashen sj>ear f> ' 

Cathul rose, in his strength, the son of 
the mighty Lorraar: three hundred youths 
attend the chief, the race of his native 
streams Feeble was his arm against 
Carthon- he fell, and his heroes fled. 
Connal resumed the battle, but he broke 
his heavy spear: he lay bound on the 
field: Carthon pursued his people 

"Clessfimraor'" said the king of Morven, 
"where is the spear of thy strength? Wilt 

thou behold Connal bound; thy friend, at 
the stream of Loraf Rise, in the light of 
thy steel, companion of valiant Comhal! 
Let the youth of Balclutha feel the 
strength of Morven's race " He rose in 
the strength of his steel, shaking his grizzly 
locks. He fitted the steel to his side; he 
rushed, in the pride of valor 

Carthon stood on a rock; he saw the 
hero rushing on. He loved the dreadful 
joy of his face: his strength, in the locks 
of age! "Shall I lift that spear," he said, 
"that never strikes, but once, a foe? Or 
shall I, with the words of peace, preserve 
the warrior's life? Stately are his steps 
of age! lovely the remnant of his years! 
Perhaps it is the husband of Moina; the 
father of car-borne Carthon. Often have 
I heard that he dwelt at the echoing stream 
of Lora." 

Such were his words, when Clessam- 
mor came, and lifted high his spear. The 
vouth received it on his shield, and spoke 
the words of peace. "Warrior of the 
aged locks! Is there no youth to lift 
the spear? Hast thou no son to raise the 
shield before his father to meet the arm 
of youth? Is the spouse of thy love no 
more? or weeps she over the tombs of 
thv sons? Art thou of the kings of men 9 
What will be the fame of my sword 
should 'st thou fall?" 

"It will be great, thou son of pride '" 
begun the tall Cless&mmor. "I have been 
renowned in battle; but I never told my 
name to a foe. 1 Yield to me, son of the 
wave, then shalt thou know, that the 
mark of my sword is in many a field " 
' ' I never yielded, king of spears f ' ' replied 
the noble pnde of Carthon: "I have also 
fought m war, I behold my future fame. 
Despise me not, thou chief of men! my 
arm, my spear is strong. Retire among 
thy friends; let younger heroes fight" 
"Why dost thou wound my soul?" re- 
plied Cless&mmor, with a tear. "Age does 
not tremble on my hand; I still can lift 
the sword. Shall "l fly in Fingal's sight: 
in the sight of him I love? Son of the 
sea! I never fled- exalt thy pointed 
spear " 

They fought like two contending winds, 

' "To tell one'g name to an enemy wan reckoned. 
In theme rtnys of heroiHm, a manifest eraaion of 

tor* of the combatants, the battle immediately 
ceased, and the ancient amity of their fore- 
fstbers was renewed 'A man whd tells his 
name to his enemy.* was of old an ignominious 
term tor a coward/ 1 Macpherson 



that strive to roll the wave. Garthon 
bade his spear to err; he still thought 
that the foe was the spouse of Moina. 
He broke Clessammor's beamy spear in 
twain* he seized his shining sword But 5 
as Carthon was binding the chief, the 
chief drew the dagger of his fathers. He 
saw the foe's uncovered side, and opened 
there a wound. 

Fingal saw Clessammor low he moved 10 
in the sound of his steel. The host stood 
silent in his presence, they turned their 
ejes to the king He came like the sul- 
len noise of a storm before the winds 
arise the hunter hears it in the vale, and 16 
retires to the cave of the rock. Carthon 
stood in his place* the blood is rushing 
down his side he saw the coming down 
of the king, his hopes of fame arose; but 
pale was his cheek his hair flew loose, 20 
hib helmet shook on high: the force of 
Carthon failed; but his soul was 

Fingal beheld the hero'w blood; he at opt 
the uplifted spear. "Yield, king of 15 
bwords'" said Comhal's son, "I behold" 
thy blood. Thou hast been mighty m 
battle, and thy fame shall never fade " 
"Art thou the king so iar renowned t" 
replied tlfe oar-borne Carthon "Art 80 
thou that light oi death, that frightens 
the kings of the world T But why should 
Carthon askf for he is like the stream 
of his hills, strong as a nver in his 
course, swift as the eagle of heaven O 86 
that I had fought with the king, that 
my fame might be great in song I that the 
hunter, beholding my tomb, might say he 
fought with the mighty Fingal. But Car- 
thon dies unknown; he has poured out 40 
his force on the weak ' ' 

"But thou shalt not die unknown," 
replied the king of woody Morven: "my 
bards are many, O Carthon f Their sonerb 
descend to future time*. The children 45 
of years to come shall hear the fame of 
Carthon, when they sit round the burning 
oak, and the night is spent in songs of 
old The hunter, sitting in the heath, 
shall hear the rustling blast, and, raising 60 
his eyes, behold the rock where Carthon 
fell. He shall turn to his son, and shew 
the place where the mighty fought; 'There 
the king of Balclutha fought, like the 
strength of a thousand streams.' " 65 

Joy rose in Carthon 's face: he lifted 
his heavy eyes. He gave his sword to 
Fingal, lo he within his hall, that the 
memory of Balclutha 's king might remain 

in Morven. The battle ceased along the 
field, the bard had sung the song of peace. 
The chiefs gathered round the falling 
Carthon ; they heard his words with sighs. 
Silent they leaned on their spears, while 
Balclutha hero spoke. His hair sighed 
in the wind, and his voice was sad and 

"King of Morven," Carthon said, "I 
fall in the midst of my course. A foreign 
tomb receives, in youth, the last of 
Reuthamir's race. Darkness dwells in 
Balclutha: the shadows of grief in Crath- 
mo. But raise my remembrance on the 
banks of Lora, where my fathers dwelt. 
Perhaps the husband of Moina will mourn 
over his fallen Carthon " His words 
reached the heart of Clessammor he fell 
in silence on his son The host stood 
darkened around no voice is on the plain. 
Night came the moon, from the east, 
looked on the mournful field, but still 
they stood, like a silent pro\e that lifts 
its head on Gonna 1, when the loud winds 
are laid, and dark autumn is on the plain 

Three days they mourned above Car- 
thon; on the fourth his father died. In 
the narrow plain of the rock they he; a 
dim ghost defends their tomb There 
lovely Moina is often seen, when the sun- 
beam darts on the rock, and all around 
is dark There she is seen. Mahina' but 
not like the daughters of the hill Her 
robes are from the stranger's land, and 
she is still alone ! 

Fingal was sad for Carthon; he com- 
manded his bards to mark the day when 
shadowy autumn letunied And often did 
they mark the day, and sing the hero's 
praise "Who comes so dark from ocean's 
roar, like autumn's shadowy cloud f Death 
is trembling in his hand 1 hut eyes are 
flames of fire! Who roars along dark 
Lora'b heath f Who but Carthon, kme 
of swords! The people fall* see how he 
strides, like .the sullen ghost of Morven ' 
But there he lies, a goodly oak which 
Kiidden blasts overturned! When shalt 
thou rise, Balclutha 'b jovf When, Cai- 
thon, shalt thou arise? Who comes so 
dark from ocean's roar, like autumn's 
shadowy cloud f" Such were the words 
of the bards, in the day of their mourn- 
ing: Ossian often joined their voice, and 
added to their song My soul has been 
mournful for Carthon; he fell in the days 
of his youth: and thou, Clessammor 1 
uhere is thy dwelling in the windt Has 
the youth forgot his wound f Flies he, 



on clouds, with theef I feel the sun, 
Mai vina I leave me. to my rest. Perhaps 
they may come to my dreams; I think I 
hear a feeble voice* The beam of heaven 
delights to shine on the grave of Carthon 5 
I feel it warm around ! 

thou that rollest above, round as the 
shield of my father*! Whence are thv 
beams, sun ' thy everlasting: light f Thou 
comest forth, in thy awful beauty, the 10 
starb hide them selves in the sk> ; the 
moon, cold and pale, sinks m the western 
wave; but thou thyself movest alone 
Who can be a companion of thy course 1 
The oaks of the mountains fall the moun- 15 
tains themselves decay with years; the 
ocean shrinks and prows again the moon 
herself is lost in heaven , but thou art for 
ever the same, rejoicing in the brightness 
of thv course When the world is dark M 
with tempests, when thundei rolls and 
lightning flies, thou lookest in thy beauty 
from the Howls, and laughest at the stoiiu 
Hut to Ossian, thou lookest in \am, lor 
he beholds thv beams no more, \vlietliei 26 
thy vellow hair flows on the eastern 
clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of 
the uest Rut thou art, peihaps, like me, 
inr a season, thv veais uill have an end 
Tliou Khalt bleep in tin clouds, ciueles** 80 
of the \oice of the mornmir Exult then, 
() sun. in the stioniitli ot thv vouth ' Ape is 
daik nid nnlo\elv. it is like the glimmering 
hirht ot the moon, when it shines through 
hioken clouds, and the mist is on the hills, 86 
the blast oj thp uoith is on the plain, the 
tinxeller hlii inks in the midst of his jouinej 




As flies the uneonstant sun, over Lar- 
imm'b si assy hill, so pass the tales of 
old along my soul by night' When bards 
are lemmeil to their place, when harps 
are hung in Selma's hall, then conies a 45 
\oice to Ossian, and awakes his soul! It 
is the voice of years that are gone! they 
roll before me with all their deeds I 
seize the tales as they pass, and pour them 
forth in song Nor a troubled stream is so 
the song of the king, it is like the rising 
of music from Lutha of the strings. 
Lutlia of many strings, not silent are thy 
streamv rocks, when the white hands of 
Malvina move upon the harp' Light of the 65 
shadowy thought* that fly across my soul, 
daughter of Toscar of helmets, wilt thou not 
hear the song? We call back, maid of 
Lntha, the jears that have rolled away! 

It was in the days of the king, while 
yet my locks were young, that I marked 
Con-cathlin on high, from ocean's nightly 
wave. My course was towards the isle of 
Fuarf ed, woody dweller of seas f Fingal had 
sent me to the aid of Mal-orchol, lung of 
Fuarfed wild : for war was around him, and 
our fathers had met at the feast. 

In Col-coiled, 1 bound my sails, I sent 
my sword to Mal-orchol of shells. 1 He 
knew the signal of Albion, and his joy 
arose. He came from his own high hall, 
and seized my hand in grief. "Wh> 
comes the race of heroes to a falling 
king? Ton-thormod of many spears is 
the chief of wavy Sar-dronlo He saw, 
and loved my daughter, white-bosomed 
Oina-morul He sought, I denied the 
maid, for our fathers had been foes. He 
cathe with battle to Fuaifed, my people 
are rolled away. Why comes the race of 
heroes to a falling king? M 

"I come not, 1 ' I said, "to look, like a 
boy, on the stnte Fmgal remembers Mal- 
orchol, and his hall % f or strangers From 
his waves, the warrior descended on thy 
\ioody isle Thou wert no cloud befoie 
him ' Thy feast was spread with songs 
For this my swoid shall nse, and thy 
foes perhaps mny fail Our friends are 
not forgot in their danger, though distant 
is our land." ' 

"Descendant of the daiing Trenmor, 
thv words aio like the \oice of Cruth- 
loda, when he speaks from his parting 
cloud, strong dweller of the skv! Many 
ha\e rejoiced at m\ feast, but they all 
lia\e forgot Mal-orchol. I ha\e looked 
towards all the winds; but no white sails 
were seen. But steel resounds in my hall; 
and not the joyful shells Come to my 
dwelling, race of heroes 1 dark-skirted 
night is near Hear the voice of songs, 
from the maid of Fuarfed wild." 

We uent. On the harp arose the white 
hands of Oinn-morul. She waked her own 
sad tale, from everv trembling string. I 
stood m silence; for bright in her locks 
was the daughter of many isles! Her 
eyes were two stars, looking forward 
through a rushing shower The manner 
marks them on high, and blesses the lovely 
beams. With morning we rushed to battle, 
to Tormul's resounding stream- the foe 
moved to the sound of Ton-thormod 'a 
bossy shield From wing to wing the strife 

1 "The andent Scots, a* well as the present High- 
landers, drunk in nbell* , hence it In that we ao 
often meet In the old poetry with 'chief of 
belli* and 'the ball of Mb* " Macpberaon. 


was mixed. I met Ton-thormod in tight. 
Wide flew his broken steel I seized 
the king- in war. I gave his hand, bound 
fast with thongs, to MaJ-orchol, the giver 
of shells Joy rose at the feast of Fuar- ' 
fed, for the foe had faded. Ton-thormod 
turned his face awav, from Oma-morul of 

"Bun ot ItagaV" \*g\ra ItaVoiAiiA, 
''not forgot shalt thou pat* fium me A. 10 
light shall dwell in thy ship, Oina-morul of 
blow-rolling eyeb. She shall kindle glad- 
ness along thy mighty soul Nor unheeded 
shall the maid mo\e in Selma, through the 
dwellings of kings'" 18 

In the hall I lay in night Mine eyes 
were half-closed in sleep Soft music 
came to mine ear it was like the rising 
bree/e, that whirlb, at first, the thistle's 
beard, then flies, daik-shadowy, over the 10 
grasb It was the maid of Fuarfed wild! 
she raised the nightly song, she knew that 
my soul was a stream, that flowed at pleas- 
ant sounds "Who looks," she said, 
"from his rock on ocean's closing mistf 85 
His long locks, like the raven's wing, are 
wandering on the blast Stately are his 
steps in grief f The tears are in his eyes 1 
His manly bieast is heaving over his 
bursting soul' Retire, I am distant far, ao 
a wanderer in lands unknown Though 
the race of kms are around me. yet my 
soul is dark Why ha\e our fathers been 
foes, Ton-thormod, love of maids 1 " 

"Soft voice of the streamy isle." I said, K 
"why dost thou mourn by night f The 
race of daring Trenmor are not the dark 
in soul Thou shalt not wander by 
streams unknown, blue-e\ed Oina-morul 1 
Within this bosom is a voice, it comes not 
to other ears, it bids Ossian hear the 
hapless, in their hour of woe Retire, soft 
singer by night* Ton-thormod shall not 
mourn on his rock!" 

With morning I loosed the king. 1 41 
gave the long-haired maid Mal-orchol 
heard my words in the midst of his echo- 
ing halls. "King of Fuarfed wild, why 
should Ton-thormod mourn f He is of 
the race of heroes, and a flame in war. 
Tour fathers have been foes, but now 
their dim ghosts rejoice in death. They 
stretch their hands of mist to the same 
shell in Loda Forget their rage, ye 
warriors! It was the cloud of other 56 

Such were the deeds of Ossian, while 
yet his locks were young, though loveli- 
ness, with a robe of beams, clothed the 

daughter of many isles. We call back, 
maid of Lutha, the years that have rolled 
away I 


Cuthulhn bat by Tina's wall, by the ttee 
of the rustling bound Ilib spear leaned 
against the rock Ilib shield lay on the 
grass by his bide. Amid his thoughts ol 
mighty Cairbar, a heio slam by the chief 
in wai, the scout of ocean comets, Moran 
the son ot Fithil ' 

"Arise," sa>b the youth, "i'utliulhn, 
arise. I see the bhiph of the north! 
Mam, clnei ot men, are the loe Manv 
the heroes oi the sea-borne 8u aran ' ' ' 
"Moian!" replied the blue-eyed clnei, 
"thou ever tremblest, son ot FithiP Thy 
fears have increased the foe. It is Fingal, 
king of deserts, with aid to green Knn oi 
streams" "I beheld their chief," says 
Moran, "tall as a glittering rock His 
bpear is a blasted pine His shield the 
rising moon! He sat on the shore, like 
a cloud of mist on the silent hill! Many, 
chief of heroes 1 I said, many are our 
hands of war. Well art thou named, tin- 
mighty man, but many mighty men are 
seen from Tura 's windy walls ' ' 

"He spoke, like a wave on a rock. 'Who 
in this land appears like me? Heroes 
stand not in my presence: they fall to 
earth from mv hand. Who can meet 
Swaran in fight* Who but Fingal, king 
of Selma of storms? Once we wrestled on 
Malmor, our heels o\erturned the \voods 
Rocks fell from their place; rivulets, 
changing their course, fled murmuring 
from our side Three days we renewed 
the strife; heroes stood at a distance and 
trembled. On the fourth, Fingal says that 
the king of the ocean fell* but Swaran 
says he stood 1 Let dark Cuthulhn yield 
to him, that is strong as the storms of his 
land!" 9 

"No!" replied the blue-eyed chief, "I 
never yield to mortal man* Dark Cuth- 
ullin shall be great or dead! Go, son of 
Fithil, take my spear. Strike the sounding 
shield of Semo It hangs at Tura's rus- 
tling gate. The sound of peace is not its 
voice f My heroes shall hear and obey " 
He went He struck the bossy shield. The 
hills, the rocks reply. The sound spreads 
along the wood : deer start by the lake of 


roes. Curach leaps from the sounding 
rock; and Connal of the bloody spear 1 
Crugal's breast of snow beats high. The 
son of Favi leaves the dark-brown hmcl. 
It is the shield of war, said Ronnar! the 5 
spear of Cnthullin, said Lugar! Son of 
the sea, put on thy arms ! Calmar, lift thy 
sounding steel ! Puno 1 dreadful hero, 
anc\ Cautoav, from tViy Ted tree o 
Cromla! Bend thy knee, Etli' descend 10 
from the streams of Lena, Ca-olt, stretch 
thy side as thou movest along the whis- 
tling heath of Mora* thy side that is 
white as the foam of the troubled sea, 
when the dark winds pour it on rocky 16 

Now I behold the chiefs, in the pride of 
their former deeds 1 Then souls are kin- 
dled at the battles of old , at the actions 
of other times. Their eyes are flames of 20 
fire They roll in search of the foes of the 
land Their mighty hands are on their 
swords Lightning pours from their sides 
of steel. They come like streams from the 
mountains; each rushes roanng from the 2S 
hill Bright aie the chiefs oi battle, in 
the armor of their fathers Gloomy and 
dark their heroes folio*, like the gather- 
ing of the rainy clouds behind the red 
meteors of heaven The sounds of crash- ao 
ing arms ascend The gray dogs howl be- 
tween. Unequal bursts the song of battle. 
Rocking Cromla echoes round On Lena's 
dusky heath they stand, like mist that 
shades the hills of autumn when broken 86 
and dark it settles high, and lifts its head 
to heaven 1 

"Hail," saul Cuthullm, "sons of the 
narrow vales' hail, hunters of the deer! 
Another sport is drawing near. It is like 40 
the dark rolling oi that wave on the 
coast 1 Or shall we tight, >e sons of war! 
oi yield green Enn to Lochlmf Connal! 
s|>eak, thou first of men ' thou breaker of 
the shields' thou hast often fought with 41 
Lockhn- wilt thou lift thy father's 
spear 1" 

"Cuthullm 1 " calm the chief replied, 
"the spear of Connal is keen. It de- 
lights to shine in battle, to mis with the 80 
blood of thousands But though my hand 
is bent on fight, my heart is for the peace 
of Erin Behold, thou first in Comae's 
war, the sable fleet of Swaran. His masts 
are many on our coast, like reeds in the W 
lake of Lego. His ships are forests clothed 
with mists, when the trees yield by turns 
to the squally wind. Many are his chiefs 
in battle. Connal is for peace! Fingal 

would shun his arm, the first of mortal 
men! Fingal, who scatters the mighty, as 
stormy winds the heath, when streams 
roar through echoing Cona and night 
settles with all her clouds on the hill!" 

"Fly, thou man of peace," said Cal- 
uiar, "fly," said the son of Matha, "go, 
Connal, to thy silent hills, where the spear 
never VmgUteuB in war I Pursue the dark- 
brown deer of Cromla: stop with thine 
arrows the bounding roes of Lena. But, 
blue-eyed son of Semo, Cuthullm, ruler of 
the field, scatter thou the sons of Loch- 
1m ! roar through the ranks of their pride 
Let no vessel of the kingdom of snow 
bound on the dark-rolling waves of Inis- 
toie. Rise, ye dark winds of Enn, nse! 
toar, whirlwinds of Lara of hinds' Amid 
the tempest let me die, torn, in a cloud, 
by angry ghosts of men, amid the tem- 
pest let Calmai die, if ever chase was 
sport to him, so much as the battle of 

"Calmar'" Connal slow replied, "I 
never fled, young son of Matha r I was 
swift with my friends in fight, but small 
is the fame of Connal' The battle was 
won in rav presence, the \ahant over- 
came 1 Hut, son of Semo, hear my voice, 
regard the ancient throne of Cormac. 
Give wealth and half the land for peace, 
till Fingal shall arrive on our coast Or, 
if war be thy choice, I lift the sword and 
spear My joy shall be in the midst of 
thousands, my soul shall lighten through 
the gloom of the fight " 

"To me," Cuthulhn replies, "pleasant 
is the noise of arms' pleasant as the 
thunder of hea\en, before the shower of 
spring* But gather all the shining tribes, 
that I may view the sons of war 1 tat 
them pass along the heath, bright as the 
sunshine before a storm, when the west 
Hind collects the clouds, and Morxen 
echoes o\er all her oaks' But where nre 
my f i lends in bat tie f the supporters of 
my arm in danger Y Where art thou, wJiite- 
bosomed CathbaT Where is that cloud in 
war, Duchomar? Hast thou left me, 
Fergus 9 in the dav of the storm? Fergus, 
first in our joy at the feast f son of Rossat 
arm of death ! comest thou like a roe from 
Malmorf like a hart from thy echoing 
lulls f Hail, thou son of Ros'sa' what 
shades the soul of wart" 

"Four stones," replied the chief, "nse 
on the grave of Cftthba. These hands have 
laid in earth Duchdmar, that cloud in war I 
Cathba, son of Torman ! thou wert a sun- 


beam in Erin And them, O valiant Duch- 
oinar! a mist of the marshy Lano, when 
it moves on the plains of autumn, bearing 
the death of thousands along Moma! 
fairest of maids! calm is thy sleep in the 5 
cave of the rock! Thou hast fallen in 
darkness, like a star that shoots across the 
desert, when the traveller is alone, and 
mourns the transient beam!" 

"Say," said Semo's blue-eyed son, 10 
"say how fell the chiefs of Enn Fell 
they by the sons of Loclihn, striving in 
the battle of heroes? Or what confines 
the strong in arms to the dark and narrow 
house*" * 

"Cathba," icplied the hero, "fell by 
the sword of Duchomar at the oak of the 
noisy streams Duchomar came to Tura's 
cave, lie spoke to the lovely Morna 
'Morna, fairest among women, lovely 
daughter of strong-armed Cormac' Why 
in the circle of stones'* in the cave of 
the rock alone* The stream murmurs 
along Tlie old tree groans in the wind 
The lake is troubled before thee, dark 
are the clouds of the sky* But thou art 
snow .on the heath, thy hair is the mist 
of fromla, when it curls on the hill, 
when it shines to the beam of the west! 
Thy breasts are two smooth rocks seen 80 
from Branno of streams Thy arms, like 
two white pillars in the halls of the great 

"'From whence,' the fair-haired maid 
replied, 'from whence, Duchomar, most 
gloomy of men ? Dark are th\ brows and 
temble' Red are thy rolling eyes' Does 
Swaraii appear on the sea? What of the 
foe, Duchomail' 'From the hill T return, 
O Moma*, from the hill of the dark- 40 
brown hinds Three ha\e T slam with my 
bended yew Three with mv long-bound- 
ing dogs of the chase Tx>vely daughter of 
Cormac, I love thee as mv soul' I have 
slam one stately deer for thee High was 46 
his branchy head, and fleet his feet of 
wind ''Duchomar" calm the maid re- 
plied, 'I love thee not, thou gloomy man! 
hard is thy heart of rock; dark is thy 
terrible brow But Cathba, young son of 80 
Torman, thou art the love of Morna Thou 
art a sunbeam, in the day of the gloomy 
storm Sawest thou the son of Torman, 
lovely on the hill of his hinds f Here the 
daughter of format* waits the coming of SB 

" 'Ldng shall Morna wait, 9 Duchdmar 
said, 'Ion* shall Morna wait for Cathba! 
Behold thin sword unsheathed! Here 

wanders the blood of Cathba. Long shall 
Morna wait He fell by the stream of 
Branno! On Croma I will raise his tomb, 
daughter of blue-shielded Cormac! Turn 
on Duchomar thine e>es, his arm is 
strong as a storm ' ' Is the son of 
Torman f alien f said the wildly-bursting 
voice of the maid. 'Is he fallen on Ins 
echoing hills, the youth with the bieast ot 
snowf the first in the chase of hinds T 
the foe of the sti angers of ocean T Thou 
art dark 1 to me, Duchomar, cruel is thine 
arm to Morna r (Jive me that sword, my 
foe! I love the wandering blood of 

"He gave the sword to her tears. She 
pierced Ins manly breast f He fell, like 
the bank of a mountain-stream, and 
stretching forth his hand, he spoke 
'Daughtei of blue-shielded Cormac' Thou 
hast slam me in >outh' The sword is 
cold in my breast' Morna, I feel it cold 
(live me to Moma the maid Duchomar 
was the dream of her night' She will 
raise mv tomb, the lumtei shall raise in\ 
fame But draw the sword from m\ 
breast Moma, the steel is mid 1 ' She 
came, in all her tears, she came , she dri'it 
the s\\ord from his bieast He pieiced 
her ulute side* He spread liei fair locks 
on the ground ! Her bursting blood sounds 
from her side her white arm is stained 
with red Rolling in death she lay The 
ca\e re-echoed to her sighs " 

"Peace," said Cuthnllin, "to the souls 
of the heroes! tlieir deeds were great in 
fight Let them ride around me on clouds 
l^et them shew their features of war M\ 
sniil shall then be fiini in dansui . mm** 
nun like the thundei of henxcn' But lx 
thou on a moonbeam, Morna f near the 
window of mv rest, when ra\ thoughts 
are of peace; when the dm of arms is 
past Gather the strength of the tribes' 
Move to the wars of Enn' Attend the 
car of my battles ' Rejoice in the noise of 
my course' Place three spears by mv 
side, follow the bounding of my steeds' 
that my soul may be strong in my ft lends, 
\then battle dm kens round the IXMIIIS ol 
in V steel'" 

As rushes a stream of foam from the 
dark shady deep of Cromla, when the 
thunder is travelling above, and dark-brown 
night sits on half the bill, through the 
breaches of the tempest look forth the dim 
faces of ghosts So fierce, BO vast, so ter- 

to bls 

tbe <d * rk 



rible. rushed on the sons of Erin. The 
chief, like a wtale of ocean, whom all his 
billows pursue, poured valor forth as a 
stream, rolling his might along the shore 
The sons of Loehlin heard the noise, as 
the sound of a winter-storm Swaran 
struck his bossy shield- he called the son 
of Arno, ''What murmur rolls along the 
hill, like the gathenng flies of the evef The 
sons of Erin descend, or rustling winds 
roar in the distant wood ! Such is the noise 
of Gormai, before the white tops of my 
waves arise. O son of Arno' ascend the 
hill; view the dark face of the heath " 

He went. He, trembling, swift returned 
His eyes rolled wildly round His heart 
beat high against his side. His words were 
faltering, broken, slow. "Arise, son o* 
ocean, arise, chief of the dark-brown 
shields ' I see the dark, the mountain- 
stream of battle! the deep-moving strength 
of the sons of Enn ' The car of war comes 
on, like the flame of death f the rapid car of 
Cuthulhn, the noble son of Semo ' It bends 
behind like a wave near a rock , like the sun- 
streaked mist of the heath Its sides are em- 
bossed with stones, and sparkle like the sea 
icmiifl the boat of night Of polished \ew 
is itb beam , its seat of the smoothest bone 
The sides are replenished with speais, the 
bottom ib the footstool of heroes' Before 
the right side of the car is seen the 
snorting horse! the high-maned, broad 
breasted, proud, wide-leaping, strong steed 
of the hill. Loud and resounding is Ins 
hoof, the spreading of his mane above is 
hke a stream of smoke on a ridge of rocks 
Bright are the sides oi the steed' his 
name is Sulm-Sifadda 

"Before the left side of the car is seen 
the snorting horse 1 The thm-maned, hiflfh- 
headed, strong-hoofed, fleet, bounding son 
of the hill his name ib Dusronnal, amoncr 
the stormy sons of the sword ' A thousand 
thongs bind the car on high Hard pol- 
ished bits shine in a wreath of foam 
Thin thongs, bright studded with gems, 
bend on the statelv necks of the steeds 
The steeds that, like wreaths of mist, fly 
over the streamy % ales' The wildness of 
deer is in their course, the strength of 
eagles descending on the prey Their nowe 
is hke the blast of winter, on the sides of 
the snow-headed Gormtl 

"Within the car is seen the chief; the 
strong-armed son of the sword The 
hero's name is Cuthulhn, son of Semo, 
king of shells. 1 Hi* red cheek is like my 
* Bee p flt, n 1 

polished yew. The look of his blue-rolling 

eye is wide, beneath the dark arch of his 

brow His hair flies from his head like a 

flame, as bending forward he wields 

6 the spear. Fly, tang of ocean, fly! He 

comes like a storm along the streamy vale ! ' ' 

"When did I fly!" replied the king 

"When fled Swaran from the battle of 

spears f When did I shrink from danger, 

10 chief of the little soul? I met the storm 
of Gormai, when the foam of my waves 
beat high I met the storm of the elouds , 
shall Swaran fly from a hero? Were 
Finepl himself before me, my soul should 

16 not darken with fear Arise to battle, my 
thousands' pour round me hke the echo- 
ing main Gather round the bright steel 
of your king; strong as the rocks of my 
land, that meet the storm with joy, and 

20 stretch their dark pines to the wind!" 

Like autumn's dark storms pouring 
fiom two echoing hills, towards each 
other approached the heroes Like two 
deep streams from high rocks meeting, 

26 mixing, roaring on the plain ; loud, rough, 
and dark in batjle meet Lochlin and Inis* 
fail. Chief mixes his strokes with chief, 
and man with man ; steel, clanem?, sounds 
on steel Helmets are cleft on high Blood 

so bnists and smokes around Stungs mur- 
mur on the polished jews Darts rush 
along the skv Spears fall like the circles 
of light, which gild the face of night. As 
the noise of the troubled ocean, when roll 

S6 the waves on high, as the last peal of 
thunder in heaven, such is the dm of war' 
Though rormar's hundred bards ^ere 
there to give the fight to sons:; feeble was 
the voice of a hundred bards to send the 

40 deaths to future times' For many were 
the deaths of heioes; wide poured the 
blood of the bra\ e ' 

Mourn, ve Rons of song, mourn the 
death of the noble Sithdlhn. Let the siehs 

46 of Fiona rise, on the lone plains of her 
lo\ely Ardan. They fell, like two hinds 
of the desert, bv the hands of the might} 
Swaran; when, in the midst of thousands, 
he roared, like the shrill spirit of a storm 

60 He sits dim on the clouds of the north, 
and enjovs the death of the mariner Nor 
slept thy hand by thy side, chief of the 
isle of mist! 1 many were the deaths of 
thine arm, Cuthulhn, thou son of Semo! 

66 His sword was like the beam of heaven 
when it pierces the sons of the vale; when 
the people are blasted and fall, and all 

The IMP of Sky, off the comt of Scotland 



the hills are burning around. Dusronnal 
snorted over the bodies of heroes. Sifadda 
bathed his hoof in blood. The battle lay 
behind them, as groves overturned on the 
desert of Cromla; when the blast has s 
passed the heath, laden with the spirits 
of night 1 

Weep on the rocks of roaring winds, 
O maid of Inistore! Bend thy fair head 
over the waves, thou lovelier than the 10 
ghost of the hills, when it moves in a 
sunbeam, at noon, over the silence, of 
Morven! He is fallen 1 thy youth is low! 
pale beneath the sword of Cuthulhn ' No 
more shall valor raise thy love to match 1C 
the blood of kings. Trenar, graceful 
Trenar died, maid of Inistore! His 
gray dogs aie howling at home' they see 
his passing ghost. His bow is in the hall 
unstrung No sound is in the hall of hut ao 
hinds f 

Ah roll a thousand waves to the rocks, 
so Swaran's host came on As meets a 
rock a thousand waves, so Erin met 
Swaran of spears. Death raises all his 
\oices around, and mixes with the sounds 
of shields. Each hero is a pillar of dark- 
ness: the sword a beam of fire in his hand 
The field echoes from wing to wing, as a 
hundred hammers that rise, by turns, on *> 
the red son of the furnace. Who are 
these on Lena's heath, these so gloomy 
and darkf Who are these like two clouds, 
and their swords like lightning aboxe 
them! The little hills are troubled around, 86 
the locks tremble with all their moss. Who 
is it but Ocean's son and the car-borne 
chief of Erin f Many are the anxious eyes 
of their friends, as they see them dim on 
the heath But night conceals the chiefs 40 
in clouds, and ends the dreadful fight f 

It was on Cromla 's shaggy side that 
Dorglas had placed the deer; the earlv 
fortune of the chase, before the heroes 
left the hill A hundred youths collect 
the heath; ten warriors wake the fire, 
three hundred choose the polished stones 
The feast is smoking wide! Cnthullin, 
chief of Erin's war, resumed his mighty 
soul. He stood upon his beamy spear, and CO 
spoke to the son of songs, to Garni of 
other times, the gray-haired son of Km- 
fena "Is this feast spread for me alone 
and the king of Lochhn on Erin's shore, 
far from the deer of his hills, and sound- GS 
ing halls of his feasts? Rise, Carril of 
other times; carry my words to Swaran 
Tell him from the roaring of waters, that 
Cnthullin gives his feast. Here let him 

listen to the sound of my groves, amidst 
the clouds of night, for told and bleak 
the blustering winds rush over the foam 
of his seas Here let him praise the trem- 
bling harp, and hear the songs of heroes ! ' ' 

Old Carril went, with softest voice He 
called the king of dark-brown shields' 
"Rue from the skins of thy chase, rise, 
Swaran, king b of gio\es f Cuthulhn gnes 
the joy of shells Partake the feast of 
Erin's blue-eyed chief f " He answered 
like the sullen sound ol Cromla before a 
storm. "Though nil thy daughters, Ims- 
fail! should stretch then amis of snow; 
should raise the hea\mgs of their bi easts, 
and boftl} roll their e>es ot lo\e, vet. 
fixed as Lochhn 's thousand rocks, lieie 
Swaran should lemain, till morn, with the 
young beams of the east, shall light me to 
the death of Cut hull in Pleasant to m\ 
ear is Lochhn 's wind 1 Tt rushes o\er m\ 
seas! It speaks aloft in all my shrouds, 
and brings mv jreen forests to niv mind 
the green forests of Goimal, which often 
echoed to my winds, when m\ spear \tiis 
red in the chase of the boar Let dark 
Cuthulhn jield to me the ancient throne 
of Cormac, or Enn's t orients shall show 
from their hills the KM! foam of the blood 
oi his pride f " 

"Sad is the sound of Swaian's voice," 
said Can il of other tunes ! ' ' Sad to him- 
self alone/' suid the hlue-e>ed son of 
Semo \"But, Carril, raise the \oice on 
high, tell the deeds ot other times S*nd 
thou the night auav in son*;, and gi\e 
the joy of grief For manv heroes and 
maids of love, hate nin\ed on Ims-fail, 
and lovely aie the songs of woe that are 
heaid in Albion's lurks, when the now 
of the chase is past, and the streams 
of Coma answei to the \oioo of 
Ossian " 

"In other days," Carnl replies, "earao 
the sons of Ocean to Kim, a thousand 
vessels bounded on \vaves to Dim's lo\ol\ 
plains. The sons of Inis-fail arose to 
meet the race of dark-brown shields 
Cairbar, first of men, was there, and 
Grudar, stately youth* Long had the\ 
strove for the spotted bull, that lowed 
on Oolbun 's echoing heath Each claimed 
him as his own Death was often at the 
point of their steel' Side by side the 
heroes fought; the strangers of Ocean 
fled Whose name was fairer on the hill, 
than the name of Cairhar and Orudar 1 
But ah ! why ever lowed the bull, on Ool- 
bun *B echoing Ipatli Thev Raw him leap- 



ing like snow. The wrath of the chiefs 
returned ! 

* 'On Lubar's grassy banks they fought; 
Grudar fell in Ins blood Fierce Cairbar 
came to the vale, where Brassolis, fairest I 
of his sisters, all alone, raised the song 
of grief She sung of the actions of 
Grudar, the youth of her secret soul f 
She mourned him in the field of blood, 
but still she hoped for his return Her 10 
white bosom is seen from her robe, as 
the moon from the clouds of night, when 
its edge heaves white on the view, from the 
darkness which covers its orb Her voice 
was softer than the harp to raise the song 16 
of grief Her soul was fixed on Grudar 
The secret look of her eye was his 'When 
shalt thou come in thine arms, thou mighty 
in the war? ' 

"'Take, Brassolis, 1 Cairbar came and 
said, Hake, Brassolis, this shield of blood 
Fix it on high within my hall, the armor 
of my foe'' Her soft heart beat against 
her side Distracted, pale, she flew She 
found liei youth in all Ins blood , she died 26 
on (Vonila's heath Here rests their dust, 
Cutlnillin 1 these lonely \ews sprung from 
their tombs, and shade them from the 
storm Fair was Brassohs on the plain' 
Statelv \vas Grudar on the hilM The W 
bard shall preserve their names, and send 
them down to future times'" 

11 Pleasant is thy voice. O Carril," said 
the blue-e\ed chief of Eiin "Pleasant 
are the words of other times' They are as 
like the calm shower of spring, when the 
bim looks on the field, and the light cloud 
flies over the hills O strike the harp 
in praise of my lo\e, the lonely sun- 
beam of Dunscaith ' Strike the harp 40 
in the praise of Biagola, she that I left 
in the isle ot mist, the spouse of Semo's 
son' Dost thou raise thy iair face from 
the rock to find the sails of Cuthulhn* 
The sea is rolling distant far, its white 45 
foam deceives thee for my sails Retire, 
for it is night, my love, the dark winds 
sing in thy hair Retire to the halls of my 
feasts, think of the times that are past I 
will not retut n till the storm of war IB ceased 80 
Connal ' speak of war and arms, and send 
her from my mind Lovely with her flow- 
ing hair is the white-bosomed daughter of 
Sorglan " 

Connal, slow to speak, replied, "Guard H 
against the race of Ocean. Send thy 
troop of night abroad, and watch the 
strength of Swaran Cuthullm' I am 
for peace till the race of Selma come. 

till Fingal come, the first of men, and 
beam, like the sun, on our fields!" The 
hero struck the shield of alarms, the war- 
riors of the night moved on! The rest 
lay in the heath of the deer, and slept 
beneath the dusky wind The ghosts of 
the lately dead were near, 1 and swam on 
the gloomy clouds. And far distant, in the 
dark silence of Lena, the feeble voices of 
death weie faintly heard 

RICHARD KURD (1720-1808) 


1762 1702 


The ages we call barbarous present ua 
with many a subject of curious specula- 
tion What, for instance, is more re- 
markable than the Gothic chivalry t or 
than the spirit of romance, which took 
its rise from that singular institution f 

Nothing in human nature, my dear 
friend, is without its reasons. The modes 
and fashions of different times may ap- 
pear, at first sight, fantastic and unac- 
countable But they who look nearly into 
them discover some latent cause of their 

Nature once known, no prodigies remain, 1 

as sings our philosophical bard; but to 
come at this knowledge is the difficulty 
Sometimes a close attention to the work- 
ings of the human mind is sufficient to 
lead us to it Sometimes more than that, 
the diligent observation of what passed 
without us, is necessary. 

This last I take to be the case here 
The prodigies 2 we are now contemplating 
had their origin in the barbarous ages 
Why, then, says the fastidious modern, 
look any farther for the reason? Whv 
not resolve them at once into the usual 
caprice and absurdity of barbarians? 

This, you see, is a short and commodious 
philosophy Yet barbarians have their 
own, such as it is, if the\ are not en- 
lightened by our reason. Shall we then 
condemn them unheard, or will it not be 
fair to let them have the telling of then 
own story f 

Would we know from what causes the 

1 "It was lone the opinion of the ancient Scot* 
that a ghost was heard shrieking near the place 
where a death* was to happen soon after *- 

Pope, Moral Essay*, Epistle 1, 808 
8 Mode* and faohlons of medieval chivalry 



institution of chivalry was derived f The 
time of its birth, the situation of the 
barbarians, amongst whom it arose, must 
be considered Their wants, designs, and 
policies must be explored. We must in- 
quire when and where and how it came 
to pass that the western world became 
familiarized to this prodigy, which we 
now start at. 

Another thing is full as remarkable, 
and concerns us more nearly The spirit 
of chivalry was a fire which soon spent 
itself; but that of romance, which uas 
kindled at it, burnt long, and continued 
its light and heat even to the politer ages. 

The greatest geniuses of our own and 
foreign countries, such as Ariosto and 
Tasso in Italy, and Spenser and Milton 
in England, were seduced by these bar- 
barities of their forefathers, were even 
charmed by the Gothic romances. 1 Was 
this caprice and absurdity in them? Or, 
may there not be something in the Gothie 
romance peculiarly suited to the views of 
a genius, and to the ends of poetrv 9 
And may not the philosophic moderns 
have gone too far, in their perpetual ridi- 
cule and contempt of it? 

To form a judgment m the case, the 
rise, progress, and genius of Gothic chu- 
nky must be explained 

The circumstances in the Gothie fictions 
and manners, which aie proper to the 
ends of poetry (if any such theie be) 
must be pointed out. 

Reasons for the decline and rejection 
of the Gothic taste in later times must be 

You have in these particulars both the 
subject and the plan of the following 


Let it be no surprise to yon that, in 
the close of my last Letter, I presumed to 
bring; the Gurusalemme Liberate into com- 
petition with the Ihad 

So far as the heroic and Gothic man- 
ners are the same, the pictures of each, 
if well taken, must be equally entertain- 
ing But I go further, and maintain that 
the circumstances m which they differ 
are clearly to the advantage of the Gothic 

Tou see, my purpose is to lead yon from 
this forgotten chivalry to a more amusing 
snbiect, I mean the poetry we still read, 
and which was founded upon it. 
'Medieval romances of chivalry 

Much has been said, and with great 
truth, of the felicity of Homer's age, 
for poetical manners But as Homer was 
a citizen of the world, when he had seen 

5 in Greece, on the one hand, the manners 
he has described, could he, on the other 
hand, have seen in the west the manners 
of the feudal ages, I make no doubt but 
he would certainly have preferred the lat- 

10 ter And the grounds of this preference 

would, I suppose, have been the improved 

gallantry of the feudal times and the 

superior solemnity of their superstitions. 

If any great poet, like Homer, had lived 

u amongst, and sung of, the Gothic knights 
(for after all, Spenser and Tasso came 
too late, and it was impossible for them 
to paint truly and perfectly what was no 
longer seen or believed) this preference, 

20 I persuade myself, had been very sensible 
But their fortune was not so happy 

-omneq lllacrymahlles 
T'recntur, iRiiotiqup longA 
Nocte, carent quia vate aacro * 

25 As it is, we may take a guess of \\hat 
the subject was capable oi affording to 
real genius from the rude sketches we 
ha\e of it in the old romancers And it 
is but lookmsr into anv of them to be con- 

80 \iiiecd that the galhintn uhich inspirited 
the feudal times uas of a nature to fur- 
nish the poet with finer scenes and sub- 
jects of description m every view, than 
the simple and uncontrolled* barbarity of 

85 the Grecian. 

The principal entertainment ansing 
from the delineation of these consists in 
the exercise of the boisteious passions, 
which are provoked and kept alive from 

40 one end of the Iliad to the othei, by every 
imaginable scene oi rage, revenge, ami 
slaughter. In the other, together with 
these, the gentler and more humane affec- 
tions are awakened in us by the most 

46 interesting displays of lo\e and friend- 
ship; of love, elevated to its noblest 
heights; and of friendship, operating on 
the purest motives. The mere variety of 
these paintings is a relief to the reader, 

fio as well as writer. But their beauty, nov- 
elty, and pathos give them a vast advan- 
tage on the comparison 

Consider, withal, the surprises, acci- 
dents, adventures which probablv and 

56 naturally attend on the life of wandering 
knights; the occasion there must be for 

'All are overwhelmed with the long night of 
death, unwept and unknown becaimc the* lack 
a nacrod hard Horace, Ode*, IV, 0, 26 ff 



describing the wonders of different coun- 
tries, and of presenting to view the man- 
ners and policies of distant states: all 
which make so conspicuous a part of the 
materials of the greater poetry. 

So that, on the whole, though the spirit, 
passions, rapine, and violence of the two 
sets of raannerb were equal, yet there was 
a dignity, a magnificence, a variety in the 
feudal, which the other wanted 

As to religious machinery, perhaps the 
popular system of each was equally remote 
from reason, yet the latter had something 
in it more amusing, as well as more 
awakening to the imagination 

The current popular tales of elves and 
fames were even fitter to take the ciedu- 
lous mind, and charm it into a willing 
admiration of the specious miracles, which 
wayward fancy delights in, than those of 
the old traditionary rabble of pagan divin- 
ities And then, for the more solemn 
fancies of witchcraft and incantation, the 
horrors of the Gothic viere above measure 
striking nnil terrible The mummeries of 
the pagan priests were childish, but the 
(iuthic enchant PIS shook and alarmed all 

We feel this difference verv sensibly in 
readmit the ancient and modern poets 
^ on would not compaie the Canulm of 
Hoi nee uith the Witches in Macbeth And 
what aie Viuril's mvrtles dropping blood, 1 
lo Tasso'x enchanted forest I 2 

O\ id indeed, who had a fancv turned to 
romance, makes Medea, in a rant, talk 
But A\as this the common lan- 
of their other wntersf The en- 
chant i ess in Ynt*il savs coolK of the veiv 
<'lne1est prodigies of her charms and 

Ill** ego sippe liiniim fieri. & se condere s\l\is 
Mu'rin sippe iiiumim (nils e\< ire sepulchris 
\tqur sntns nho vldi traducere messes" 

The admirable poet has ariven an air of 45 
the marvellous to his subject, by the magic 
of his expression ENe, \\hat do we find 
here, but the onlmar\ effects of melan- 
choly, the Mileai superstition of evoking 
spirits, and the supposed influence of 50 
fascination on the hopes of rural in- 

1 finHd, 3, 21 ff seen him call forth 

Jewttatem DrHrmvf, souls from the 

11, st 41 ff depths of the tomb, 

Often I have (teen and I ha\e seen him 

Moeris become a remove PI ops from 

wolf, and hide him- one place to an- 

self In the foreflt, o t h e r Eclogue*, 

and often T h a v e 8, 97 ff 

Non latbic obliquo oculo mini commoda quisquam 
Llmat 1 . . . 

says the poet of his country-seat, as if 

this security from a fascinating eye were 
6 a bingular privilege, and the mark of a 

more than common good fortune 

Shakespear, on the other hand, with a 
'terrible sublime (which not so much the 

energy of his genius, as the nature of his 
10 subject drew from him) gives us another 

idea of the rough magic, as he calls it, of 

fairy enchantment. 

I have bedlmm'd 

The noon-tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, 
_ \nd *twlxt the Kieon s<u and the n/uie vault 
1* Set roarintr *ar to the dreud tattling thunder 
Have I giv'n fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak 
With his own bolt The strong-bag'd promontory 
Have I made shake, and by the spurs pluck'd up 
The pine and cedar Gra\e, at my command, 
Have opend, and lot forth their sleepers* 

20 The last circumstance, you will say, is 
but the animas imis excire sepulchris* of 
the Latin poet. But a very significant word 
marks the difference The pagan necro- 
mancers had a hundred little tricks bv 

25 which they pretended to call up the ghosts, 

or shadows of the dead, but these, in the 

ideas of paganism, were quite another 

thins? from Shakespear 's sleepers 

This may serve for a cast of Shake- 

ao spear's magic And I can't but think 
that, when Milton \\anted to paint the 
horrors of that night (one of the noblest 
parts in his Paiadt^e Regained) which the 
Devil himself is feisjned to conjure up in 

85 the wilderness, the Gothic language and 
ideas helped him to work up his tempest 
with such terror You will iiulere from 
these lines 

Nor staid the terror there 
4! Infernal ghosts and hi Dish furies round 
w Environ d thee , some how Id, swie vell'd, some 

Some hent at thee their flci\ dints' 

But above all from the following. 

Thus pnssM the nlcht so foul till morning fair 
Cam* forth with pi IB rim Bteps in amice 1 gray, 
Who with her t'ldmnt flntiet still d the roar 
Of thunder, (havd the clouds, and laid the vtlndft 
Vnd irsly *;m /< r 

Where the radiant fmoer points at the 
potent wand of the Gothic magicians, 
winch could reduce the calm of nature, 
upon occasion, as well as disturb it; and 
the gnetly specter laid by the approach 

1 No one here lessens, ' Virgil, quoted above 

with an envlou* Paraditc Regained, 4, 

look, in\ ad\an- 421 ff 

tagck Horace, A kind of hooded 

Kptoftai, 1. 14, 27 cloak lined with for 

8 The Tempe*t, V, 1, Paradtte Regained, 4, 

41 ff 426 ff 



of morn, were apparently of their raising, 
as a sagacious critic perceived when he 
took notice "how very injudicious it was 
to retail the popular superstition in this 
place." 6 

After all, the conclusion is not to be 
drawn so much from particular passages, 
as from the general impression left on our 
minds in reading the ancient and modern 
poets And this is so much in favor of 10 
the latter that Mr Addison scruples not 
to say, "The ancients have not much of 
this poetry among them, for, indeed, 
almost the whole substance of it ones its 
original to the darkness and superstition 16 
of later ages Our forefathers looked upon 
nature with more reverence and horroi, 
before the world was enlightened by learn- 
ing and philosophy, and loved to astonish 
themselves with the apprehensions of so 
Witchcraft, Prodigies, Charms, and In- 
chantments. There was not a village in 
England, that had not a Ghost in it; the 
churchyards were all haunted , e\ery large 
common had a circle of fairies belonging 86 
to it, and theie was scarce a Shepheid 
to be met with who had not been a spirit " 

We are upon enchanted ground, my 
friend; and vou are to think yourself 
well used that I detain YOU no longer in 
this fearful circle The glimpse you have 
had of it will help voui imagination to 
conceive the rest And without more 
words you will readily apprehend that the 
fancies of our modern bards are not only * 
more gallant, but, on a change of tlie 
scene, more sublime, more terrible, more 
alarming, than those of the classic fablers 
Tn a word, you will find that the manners 
they paint, and the superstitions they 40 
adopt, are the more poetical for being 

HORACE WALPOLE (1717-1797) 



Manfred, Prince of Otranto, had one 
son and one daughter The latter, a most 60 
beautiful virgin aged eighteen, was called 
Matilda Conrad, the son, was three years 
younger, a homely youth, sickly, and of no 
promising disposition, yet he was the 
darling of his father, who never showed 66 
any symptoms of affection to Matilda. 
Manfred had contracted a marriage for 
his son with the Marquis of Vicenza's 
daughter, Isabella, and she had already 

been delivered by her guardians into the 
hands of Manfred that he might celebrate 
the wedding as soon as Conrad's mtirin 
state of health would permit Manfred's 
impatience for tins ceremonial was re- 
marked by his family and neighbors The 
former indeed, apprehending the severity 
of their Prince's disposition, did not dare 
to utter their surmises on this precipita- 
tion. Hippohta, his wife, an amiable lady, 
did sometimes venture to represent the 
danger of marrying their only son so early, 
considering his great youth and greater 
infirmities, but she nevei received any 
other answer than reflections on her own 
sterility, who had given him but one heir 
His tenants and subjects were less cau- 
tious in their discourses They attributed 
this hasty wedding to the Prince's dread 
of seeing accomplished an ancient prophecy, 
which was said to have pronounced that 
the castle and lordship of Otranto should 
pass from the present family whene\ er the 
real owner should be grown too large to 
inhabit it. It was diitioult to make any 
seribe of this prophecy , and still less easy 
to conceive what it had to do with the 
marriage in question Yet these mvstenes 
or contradictions did not make the popu- 
lace adhere the less to their opinion 

Young Conrad's birthda> was fixed foi 
his espousals The company was assembled 
in the chapel of the castle, and everything 
ready for beginning the divine office, when 
Conrad himself was missing Manfred, 
impatient of the least delay, and who had 
not observed his son retire, dispatched one 
of his attendants to summon the vouii 
prince. The servant, who had not staid 
lone: enough to have crossed the court to 
Conrad's apartment, came running back 
breathless, in a frantic manner, his eves 
staring, and foaming at the mouth He 
said nothing, but pointed to the court 
The company were struck with terror and 
amazement. The Princess Hippohta, with- 
out knowing what was the matter, but 
anxious for her son, swooned away Man- 
fred, less apprehensive than enraged at 
the procrastination of the nuptials, and 
at the folly of his domestic, asked im- 
periously what was the matter The follow 
made no answer, but continued pointing 
towards the court-yard ; and at last, after 
repeated questions put to him, cned out, 
"Oh' the helmet' the helmet'" In the 
meantime, some of the company had run 
into the court, from whence was heard a 
confused noise of shrieks, horror, and sur- 



prise. Manfred, who began to be alarmed 
at not seeing his son, went himself to 
get information of what occasioned this 
iatrange confusion. Matilda remained en- 
deavoring to assist her mother, and Isa- 6 
bella staid for the same purpose and to 
avoid showing any impatience for the 
bridegroom, for whom, in truth, she had 
conceived little affection 

The first thing that struck Manfred *b 10 
e>eb was a group of his servants endea\ or- 
ing to raise something that appeared to 
him a mountain of sable plumes He gazed 
without believing his sight "What are 
ye doing f" cried Manfred, wrathfully 16 
"Where is my sonf" A volley of voices 
replied, "Oh f my lord 1 the prince 1 the 
prince * the helmet ' the helmet ' ' ' Shocked 
with these lamentable sounds, and dread- 
ing he knew not w hat, he advanced hastily, 20 
but with a bight for a father's eyes' He 
beheld his child dashed to pieces and 
almost buried under an enormous helmet, 
an hundred times more large than anv 
casque ever made for human being, and 25 
shaded with a proportionable quantity oi 
black feathers. 

The horror of the spectacle, the igno- 
rance of all around how this misfortune 
had happened, and above all, the tremen- ao 
dons phenomenon before him, took a wax 
the Prince's s|>eech Yet his silence lasted 
longer than e\cn grief could occasion He 
fixed his eves on what he wished in >am 
to behe\e a vision, and seemed less at ton- 86 
tne to his loss than buried in meditation 
on the stupendous object that had occa- 
sioned it He touched, he examined the 
fatal casque, nor could even the bleeding 
mangled remains of the voung Prince 40 
divert the e\es ot Manfred from the por- 
tent before him All who had known his 
iwrtial fondness for young Conrad were as 
much sui prised at their Prince's insensi- 
bility, as thunder-struck themsehes at the 46 
miracle of the helmet They con vexed the 
disfigured corpse into the hall, without 
iecei\ing the least direction from Man- 
fred As little \tas he attentive to the 
ladies *ho remained in the chapel On 60 
the contrary, without mentioning the un- 
happy princesses, his wife and daughter, 
the first sounds that dropped from Man- 
fred's lips were, "Take care of the Lady 
Isabella" 66 

The domestics, without observing the 
singularity of this direction, were guided 
by their affection to their mistress to con- 
sider it as peculiarly addressed to her 

situation, and flew to her assistance. They 
conveyed her to her chamber more dead 
than alive, and indifferent to all the 
strange circumstances she heard except 
the death of her son. Matilda, who doted 
on her mother, smothered her own grief 
and amazement, and thought of nothing 
but assisting and comforting her afflicted 
parents Isabella, who had been treated 
by Hippohta like a daughter, and who 
returned that tenderness with equal duty 
and affection, was scarce less assiduous 
about the Pimcess, at the same time en- 
deavoring to partake and lessen the weight 
of sorrow which she saw Matilda strove 
to suppress, for whom she had conceived 
the warmest sympathy of friendship Yet 
her own situation could not help finding 
its place in her thoughts She felt no 
concern for the death of young Conrad, 
except commiseration, and she was not 
sorrv to be delivered from a marriage 
ulncli had promised her little felicity 
either from her destined bridegroom or 
1mm the seveie temper of Manfred, who, 
thoupli he had distinguished her by great 
indulgence, had imprinted her mind with 
terror, from his causeless rigor to such 
amiable princesses as Hippohta and 

While the ladies were conveying the 
wretched mother to her bed, Manfred re- 
mained in the court, pazmp on the ominous 
casque, and regardless of the crowd which 
the stranqeness oi the e\ent had now 
assembled around him The lew words he 
articulated tended solelv to inquiries 
whether any man knew from whence it 
could luue come Nobody could give him 
the least information However, as it 
seemed to be the sole object of his cunos- 
itv, it soon became so to the rest of the 
spectators, whose conjectures were as ab- 
surd and improbable as the catastrophe 
itself was unprecedented In the midst of 
their senseless guesses, a voiincr peasant, 
whom rumor had draun thither from a 
neighboring Milage, observed that the 
miraculous helmet was exacth like that 
on the figuie in black marble of Alfonso 
the Good, one of their former pnnces m 
the church of St Nicholas "Villain* 
What sayest thoul" cned Manfred, start- 
ing from his trance in a tempest of raee, 
and seizing the vonng man by the collar 
How darest thou utter such treason? 
Thv life shall pav for it " The specta- 
tors, who as little comprehended the cause 
of the Prince's fury as all the rest they 



had seen, were at a loss to unravel this 
new circumstance. The young peasant 
himself was still more astonished, not con- 
ceiving how he had offended the Prince; 
yet recollecting himself, with a mixture of 6 
grace and humility, he disengaged himself 
from Manfred's gripe, and then with an 
obeisance which discovered more jealousy 
of innocence than dismay, he asked, with 
respect, of what he was guilty Manfred, 10 
more em aged at the \igor, however de- 
cently exerted, with which the young man 
had shaken off his hold, than appeased bv 
his submission, ordered his attendants to 
seize him, and if he had not been with- 16 
held by his friends, whom he had invited 
to the nuptials, would have poignarded the 
peasant in their arms 

During this altercation, some oi the 
vulgar spectator* had run to the great 20 
church, which btood near tlie castle, and 
came back open-mouthed, declaring that 
the helmet was missinu from Alfonso's 
statue Manfred, at tins ne\\s, anew per- 
iecth frantic, and, as it he sought a 25 
subject on which to \ent the tem|>est 
w ithm him, lie rushed again on the young 
peasant crvine, "Villain* Monster* Sor- 
cerer* 'Tis thou hast done this* 'Tis 
thou hast slain m\ son* M The mob, who 80 
wanted some object witlnn the sco)>e of 
thoir capacities on whom thev might dis- 
charge their bewildered reasonings, caught 
the noids tiom the mouth ot their lord 
and reechoed, "Ay, a\ , 'tis he, 'tis he, 86 
he has stolen the helmet from good AH on- 
set's tomb and dashed out the brains of our 
\oung Prince with it," never reflecting 
ho* enormous the disproportion was be- 
tween the marble helmet that had been in 40 
the church and that of steel before their 
eves, nor how impossible it was for a 
\outh, seeramglv not twenty, to wield n 
piece of armor of so prodigious a weight 

The tollv of these ejaculations brought 46 
Manfred to lumseli Vet whether pio- 
\oked at the peasant having obseived the 
lesemblance between the two helmets, and 
thereby led to the farther disco\erv of the 
absence of that in the church, or wishing 80 
to bury any fresh rumors under so imper- 
tinent a supposition, he gravely pro- 
nounced that the young man was certainlv 
a necromancer, and that till the church 
could take cognizance of the affair, he 66 
would have the magician, whom they had 
thus detected, kept prisoner under the 
helmet itself, which he ordered his attend- 
ants to raise and place the young man 

under it, declaring he should be kept there 
without food, with which his own infernal 
art might furnish him 

It was in vain for the youth to represent 
against this preposterous sentence In 
vain did Manfred's friends endeavoi to 
divert him from this savage and ill- 
grounded resolution The generality were 
charmed with their lord 's decision, 'which, 
to their apprehensions, carried great ap- 
pearance of justice, as the magician was 
to be punished by the very instrument 
with which he had offended Nor were 
thev struck with the least compunction at 
the probability of the youth being starved, 
for thev firmly believed that bv his dia- 
bolic skill he could easily supply himself 
with nutriment 

Manfred thus saw his commands even 
cheerfullv obeyed, and apjMiintmg a sruanl 
with strict orders to pre\ent anv food 
being conveved to the pnsoner, lie dis- 
missed Ins 1 1 tends and attendants, and 
let ned to his own ciiambei atter lockinir 
the gates of the castle, in which he 
suffered none but his domestics to remain 

In the meant i me, the <aic and /eal oL 
the vounsr ladies had brought the Princess 
Uippolita to heiseli. \\lio amidst the trans- 
ports ol her own sorrow tieqiientlv de- 
manded news of hei loid. would have dis- 
missed her attendants to watch o\ei him, 
and at last enjoined Matilda to leave her 
and visit and comf'oit hei tathei Matilda, 
who wanted no affectionate diitv to Man- 
fred though she tiembled at his austentv, 
obeved the orders ot Hippolata, whom she 
tenderlv recommended to Isabella, and 
enquiring of the domestics i'oi her lather, 
was informed that he was retired to his 
chamber and had commanded that nobody 
should have admittance to him Conclud- 
ing that he was immersed in sonow ior 
the death of her brother, and fearing to 
lenew his tears bv the sight ot his sole 
lemainmg child, she hesitated whether she 
should break in upon his affliction Yet, 
solicitude for him, backed bv the com- 
mands of her mother, encouraged hei to 
ventuie tnsobeving the orders he had 
given, a fault she had never been guiltv 
of before The gentle timidity of her 
nature made her pause for some minutes 
at the door She heard him traverse his 
chamber backwards and forwards with dis- 
ordered steps, a mood which increased her 
apprehensions. She was, however, just 
gome to beg admittance when Manfred 
suddenly opened his door, and as it was 



now twilight, concurring with the disorder 
of his mind, he did not distinguish the 
person, but asked angrily who it was 
Matilda replied trembling, "My dearest 
father, it is I, your daughter " Manfred 
stepping back hastily, cried, "Begone' I 
do not want a daughter," and flinging 
back abruptly, clapped the door against 
the terrified Matilda 

She was too well acquainted with her 
father's impetuosity to venture a second 
intrusion When she had a little recovered 
the shock of so bitter a reception, sho 
wiped away her tears to prevent the addi- 
tional stab that the knowledge of it would 
give to Hippohta, who questioned her in 
the most anxious terms on the health of! 
Manfred and how he bore his loss Ma- 
tilda assured hei he was well and sup- 
ported Ins misfortune with manly forti- 
tude "But will he not let me see him?" 
said Hippohta mournftillv, "will he not 
permit me to blend mv tears with Ins and 
shed a mother's sorrows in the bosom of 
her lord? Or do von deceive me, Matilda 9 
I know how Manfred doted on his son Is 
not the stioke too hea\v for him? Has 
he not sunk under it * Yon do not answer 
me Alas' 1 dread the woist' Kaise mo, 
mv maidens, I will, T viill see m\ lord 
Bear me to Inm instunth He is deaiei 
to me even than mv children " Matilda 
made sians to Isabella to prevent Hip- 
pohta \ using, and both those loveh 
vounc women wore using their gentle vio- 
lence to stop and calm the Princess, when 
a sen ant. on the part of Manfred, armed 
and told Isabella that his lord demanded 
to speak with her 

"With me'" cued Isabella "Oo'" 
said Hippohta, leheved bv a message from 
her lord, "Manfied cannot support the 
sight of his own familv He thinks von 
less d ioidered than we are, and dreads 
the shock of mv grief Console him, deai 
Isabella, and tell him 1 will smother mv 
own anguish rather than add to his " 

As it was no* evening, the servant who 
conducted Isabella bore a torch before hei 
When they came to Manfred, who was 
walking impatientlv about the gallery, he 
started and said hastilv "Take awav 
that light, and begone'" Then shutting 
the door impetuouslv, he flnng himself 
upon a bench against the wall, and bade 
Isabella sit bv him She obeved trembling 
"I sent for vou ladv," said he, and then 
stopped under great appearance of con- 
fusion. "My lord"' "Yes, I sent for 

>ou on a matter of great moment," re- 
sumed he. "Dry your tears, young lady. 
You have lost your bridegroom Yes, cruel 
fate! and I have lost the hopes of my 
6 race ' But Conrad was not worthy of your 
beauty." "How' my lord," said Isa- 
bella "Sure you do not suspect me of 
not feeling the concern I ought 1 My 
duty and affection would have always" 

10 "Think no more of him," interrupted 
Manfred; "he was a sickly puny child; 
and heaven has perhaps taken him away 
that I might not trust the honors of my 
house on so frail a foundation The line 

is of Manfred calls for numerous supports. 
My foolish fondness for that boy blinded 
the eyes of my prudence , but it is better 
as it is I hope in a few years to have 
reason to rejoice at the death of Conrad ' ' 

20 Words cannot paint the astonishment of 
Isabella At first, she apprehended that 
grief Lad diROideied Manfred's under- 
standing Her next thought suggested 
that this strange discourse was designed 

25 to ensnare her She feared that Manfred 
had perceived her indifference for his son, 
and in consequence of that idea she re- 
plied "Good nrv lord, do not doubt my 
tenderness Mv heart would have accom- 

ao panied my hand Conrad would .have 
engrossed all mv care , and wherever fate 
shall dispose of me, I shall always cherish 
his memory, and regard your highness and 
the \iituous Hippohta as m\ parents " 

85 "Curse on Hippohta'" cried Manfred 
"Forget her tiom this moment, as I do 
In short, lad\, you have missed a husband 
undeserving of vour charms Thev shall 
now be better disposed of Instead of a 

40 sicklv bov, you shall have a husband in 
the prime of his age, who will know how 
to value your beauties, and who may ex- 
l>ect a numerous offspring " "Alas' mv 
lord," said Isabella, "my mind is too 

45 sadlv engrossed by the recent catastrophe 
in your family to think of another mar- 
iiage If ever my father returns, and it 
shall be his pleasure, I shall obev, as I did 
when I consented to give my hand to your 

BO son But until his return,' permit me to 
remain under jour hospitable roof, and 
employ the melancholv hours in assuaging 
vours, Hippohta 's and the fair Matilda's 

66 "I desired you once before," said Man- 
fred, angrilv, "not to name that woman 
From this hour she must be a stranger to 
you as she must be to me In short. 
Isabella, since I cannot give you my son, 



I offer you myself " "Heavens!" cried 
Isabella, waking from her delusion, 
"what do I hear f You 1 my lord! you! 
my father-in-law! the father of Conrad f 
the husband of the virtuous Hippohta 1 " 6 
"I tell you," said Manfred, impexioush, 
' ' Hippohta is no longer my wife , I dn oroe 
her from this hour. Too long has she 
cursed me by her unf ruitf ulness My fate 
depends on having sons, and this night 10 
I trust will give a new date to my hopes " 
At those words he seized the cold hand of 
Isabella, who was half dead with fright 
and horror She shrieked and started 
1'iom him Manfred rose to pursue her. 15 
when the moon, which was now up and 
gleamed in at the opposite casement, pre- 
sented to his sight the plumes of the fatal 
helmet, which rose to the height of the 
windows, waving backwards and forwards. 20 
in a tempestuous manner, and accompa- 
nied with a hollow and rustling sound 
Isabella, who gathered courage from her 
situation, and who dreaded nothing so 
much as Manfred's pursuit of Ins declara- 25 
tion, cried "Look* my lord See' heaven 
itself declares against vour impious m- 
tentionb " "Heaven nor hell shall impede 
my designs," said Manfred, advancing 
again to seize the Princess At that in- 
slant the portrait of his grandfather, 
which hung oxer the bench where they 
had been sitting, uttered a deep sigh and 
heaved its breast. Isabella, whose back 
was turned to the picture, saw not the 86 
motion, nor knew whence the sound came, 
but started, and said "Hark* my lord! 
What sound \\as that 9 " and at the same 
time made towards the dooi. Manfred, 
distracted between the flight of Isabella, 40 
uho had now reached the stairs, and yet 
unable to keep his eyes from the picture, 
which began to move, had, however, ad- 
vanced some steps after her, still looking 
backwards on the portrait, when he saw 46 
it quit its panel and descend on the floor 
with a grave and melancholy air "Do 1 
dream 9 " cried Manfred, returning, "or 
are the de\ ils themselves in league against 
me* S|)eak, infernal spectre 1 Or, if thou so 
art my grandsire, why dost thou too con- 
spire against thy wretched descendant, 
who too dearly pays for ' ' Ere he could 
finish the sentence, the vision sighed again, 
and made a sign to Manfred to follow him. 66 
"Lead on!" cried Manfred, "I will fol- 
low thee to the gulf of perdition " The 
spectre marched sedately, but dejected, to 
the end of the gallery and turned into a 

chamber on the right-hand. Manfred ac- 
companied him at a little distance, full of 
anxiety and horror, but resolved. As he 
would have entered the chamber, the door 
was clapped to with violence by an invis- 
ible hand. The Prince, collecting courage 
irom this delay, would have forcibly burst 
open the door with his foot, but found 
that it resisted his utmost efforts "Since 
hell will not satisfy my curiosity," said 
Manfred, "I will use the human means in 
my power for preserving my race , Isabella 
shall not escape me ' ' 

That lady, whose resolution had gi\en 
way to terror the moment she had quitted 
Manfred, continued her flight to the bot- 
tom of the principal staiicase There she 
stopped, not knowing whither to direct her 
steps, nor how to esca]>e from the mipet- 
uositv of the Prince The gates of the 
castle she kneu were locked, and guaids 
placed in the court Should she, as hei 
heart prompted her, go and prepare Hip- 
pohta for the cruel destiny that audited 
her, she did not doubt but Manfred would 
seek her there, and that his \ lolence would 
incite him to double the mjiii\ he medi- 
tated, without lea MUG loom for them to 
a\oid the impetuosity of his passions 
Delay might gi\e hira tune to reflect on 
the horrid measures he had concened, or 
produce some circumstance in hoi laxoi if 
she could, ior that night at least, a\oid 
ins odious purjujse Yet, nhoio conceal 
herself? How moid the piiisuit he uould 
infallibly make throughout the castle 7 As 
these thoughts passed rapid! v through her 
mind, she recollected a snhtciiuripous pas- 
sage which led from the \aults of the 
castle to the church oi St Nicholas Could 
she reach the altar before she was over- 
taken, she knew e\en Manfred's \iolence 
would not dare to profane the sacredness 
of the place, and she determined, if no 
othei means of deliverance offered, to shut 
herself up iorcvor among the holy vir- 
gins, whose con\ent uas contiguous to the 
cathedral In this resolution, she seized 
a lamp that burned at the foot of the 
staircase, and hurried towards the secret 

The lower part of the castle was hol- 
lowed into several intricate cloisters, and 
it was not easy for one under so much 
anxiety to find the door that opened into 
the cavern. An awful silence reigned 
throughout those subterraneous regions, 
except now and then some blasts of wind 
that shook the doors she had passed, and 



which, grating on the rusty hinges, were 
reechoed through that long labyrinth of 
darkness. Every murmur struck her with 
new terror; yet, more she dreaded to hear 
the wrathful voice of Manfred urging his 
domestics to pursue her. She trod as 
softly as impatience would give her leave; 
yet frequently stopped and listened to hear 
if she was followed. In one of those 
moments she thought she heard a sigh. 
She shuddered, and recoiled a few paces. 
In a moment she thought she heard the 
step of some person Her blood cur- 
dled* she concluded it was Manfred. 
Every suggestion that horror could inspire 
rushed into her mind She condemned 
her rash flight, which had thus exposed 
her to his rage in a place where her cries 
were not likely to draw anybody to her 
assistance Yet, the sound seemed not to 
come from behind, if Manfred knew 
where she was, he must have followed her. 
She was still in one of the cloisters, and 
the steps she heard were too distinct to 
proceed from the way she had come. 
Cheered \vith this reflection, and hoping 
to find a friend in whoever was not the 
Prince, she was going to advance, when a 
door that stood ajar at some distance to 
the left was opened gently Rut ere her 
lamp, which she held up, could discover 
who opened it, the person retreated pre- 
cipitately on seeing the light 

Isabella, whom every incident was suffi- 
cient to dismay, hesitated whether she 
should proceed Her dread of Manfred 
soon outweighed everv other terror The 
very circumstance of the person avoiding 
her gave her a sort of courage It could 
only be, she thought, some domestic be- 
longing to the castle Her gentleness had 
ne\er raised her an enemy, and conscious 
innocence bade her hope that, unless sent 
by the Prince's order to seek her, his 
servants would rather assist than prevent 
her flight Fortifying herself with these 
reflections, and believing by what she 
could observe that she was near the mouth 
of the subterraneous cavern, she ap- 
proached the door that had been opened ; 
but a sudden gust of wind that met her 
at the door extinguished her lamp and left 
her in total darkness 

Words cannot paint the horror of the 
Princess's situation Alone in so dismal 
a place, her mind imprinted with all the 
terrible events of the day, hopeless of 
escaping, expecting every moment the ar- 
rival of Manfred, and far from tranquil 

on knowing she was within reach of c 
body, she knew not whom, who for 


cause seemed concealed thereabouts, all 
these thoughts crowded on her distracted 
mind, and she was ready to sink under her 
apprehensions. She addressed herself to 
every saint in heaven, and inwardly im- 
plored their assistance For a consider- 
able time she remained in an agony of 

ID despair. At last, as softly as was possible, 
she felt for the door, and having found it, 
entered trembling into the vault from 
whence she had heard the sigh and steps 
It gave her a kind of momentary joy to 

IB perceive an imperfect ray of clouded moon- 
shine gleam from the roof of the vault, 
which seemed to be fallen in, and from 
whence hung a fragment of earth or build- 
ing, she could not distinguish which, that 

80 appeared to have been crushed inwards 
She advanced eagerly towards this chasm, 
when she discerned a human form standing 
close against the wall. 

She shrieked, believing it the ghost ef 

85 her betrothed Conrad The figure advanc- 
ing said in a submissive voice: "Be not 
alarmed, lady; I will not injure you " 
Isabella, a little encouraged by the words 
and tone of voice of the stranger, and 

ao recollecting that this must be the person 
who had opened the door, recovered her 
spirits enough to reply: "Sir, whoever 
you are, take pity on a wretched princess 
standing on the brink of destruction. 

85 Assist me to escape from this fatal castle, 
or m a few moments I may be made miser- 
able forever " ' ' Alas ! " said the stranger, 
"what can I do to assist you? I will die 
in your defence; but I am unacquainted 

40 with the castle, and want-" "Oh*" 
said Isabella, hastily interrupting him, 
"help me but to find a trap-door that 
must be hereabout, and it is the greatest 
service you can do me, for I have not a 

45 minute to lose " Saying these words, she 
felt about on the pavement, and directed 
the stranger to search likewise for a 
smooth piece of brass inclosed in one of 
the stones "That," said she, "is the 

60 lock, which opens with a spring, of which 
I know the secret If we can find that, I 
may escape; if not, alas! courteous 
stranger, I fear I shall have involved you 
in my misfortunes. Manfred will suspect 

B you for the accomplice of my flight, and 
you will fall a victim to his resentment " 
"I value not my life," said the stranger; 
"and it will be some comfort to lose it 
in trying to deliver you from his tyranny. " 



"Generous youth," said Isabella, "how 
shall I ever requite" As she uttered 
those words, a ray of moonshine stream- 
ing through a cranny of the ruin above 
shone directly on the lock they sought. 5 
"Obi transport!" said Isabella, "here is 
the trap-door'" And taking out a key, 
she touched the spring, which starting 
aside discovered an iron ring "Loft 
up the door," said the Princess. The 10 
stranger obeyed, and beneath appeared 
some stone steps descending into a vault 
totally daik "We must go down here," 
said Isabella "Follow me. Dark and 
dismal as it is, we cannot miss our way; is 
it leads directly to the church of St 
Nicholas But perhaps," added the Prin- 
cess, modestlv, ">ou have no reason to 
leave the castle; nor have I farther occa- 
sion for your service In few minutes I 20 
shall be safe from Manfred's rage Only 
let me know to whom I am so much 
obliged " "I will never quit you," said 
the stranger eagerly, "until I ha\e placed 
you in safety. Nor think me, Princess, 26 
more generous than I am. Though you 
are my pnncipal care" The stranger 
was interrupted by a sudden noise of 
voices that seemed approaching, and they 
soon distinguished these words "Talk 80 
not to me of necromancers I tell you she 
must be in the castle I will find her in 
spite of enchantment " "Oh, heavens!" 
cried Isabella, "it is the voice of Man- 
fred! Make haste or we are ruined! And as 
shut the trap-door after you." Saying 
this, she descended the steps precipi- 
tately, and as the stranger hastened to 
follow her he let the door slip out of his 
hands. It fell, and the spring closed over 40 
it He tried in vain to open it, not having 
observed Isabella 's method of touching the 
spring; nor had he many moments to 
make an essay The noise of the falling 
door had been heard by Manfred, who 46 
directed by the sound, hastened thither, 
attended by his servants with torches 
"It must be Isabella," cried Manfred 
before he entered the vault; "she is 
escaping by the subterraneous passage, but 60 
she cannot have* got far." What was the 
astonishment of the Prince when, instead 
of Isabella, the light of the torches dis- 
covered to him the young peasant whom 
he thought confined under the fatal hel- 66 
met. "Traitor!" said Manfred; "how 
earnest thon heref I thought thee in 
durance above m the court." "I am no 
traitor," replied the young man boldly; 

"nor am I answerable for your thoughts." 
"Presumptuous villain!" cned Manfred, 
"dost thou provoke my wrath f Tell me 
How hast thou escaped from above f Thou 
hast corrupted thy guards, and their lives 
shall answer it " "My poverty," said 
the peasant calmly, "will disculpate them. 
Though the ministers of a tyrant's wrath, 
to thee they are faithful and but too will- 
ing to execute the orders which you un- 
justly imposed upon them." "Art thou 
so liardy as to daie my vengeance?" said 
the Prince "But tortures shall force the 
truth from thee. Tell me, I will know 
thy accomplices. " " There was my accom- 
plice," said the youth, smiling, and point- 
ing to the roof Manfred ordered the 
torches to be held up, and percened that 
one of the cheeks of the enchanted casque 
had forced its way through tlie pavement 
of the court as his servants had let it tall 
over the peasant, and had broken through 
into the vault, leading a gap through 
which the peasant had pressed himself 
some minutes before he was found bv 
Isabella "Was that the way by which 
thou didst descend *" said Manfred "It 
was," said the vouth "Hut what noise 
was that," said Manfred, "which I heaid 
as 1 entered the cloister?" "A door 
clapped," said the peasant, "1 heard it 
as well as you " "What door*" said 
Manfred hastily "I am not acquainted 
with \our castle," said the peasant, "this 
is the first time I e\er entered it, and this 
\ault the onh part of it within which I 
e\er was " "Hut I tell thee," said Man- 
fred, wishing to find out if the \outh had 
discoveied the trap-door, "it was this way 
I heard the noise, ray tenants heard it 
too" "M> lord," interiupted one of 
them ofllcioufcl>, "to be sure it was the 
trap-door, and he was going to make his 
escape" " Peace f blockhead," said the 
Pnnce angrily; "if he was going to 
escape, how should he come on this side 
I will know from his own mouth what 
noise it was I heard Tell me truly , tin 
life depends on thy veracity." "M\ 
veracity is dearer to me than my life," 
said the peasant, "nor would I purchase 
the one by forfeiting the other." "In- 
deed! young philosopher 1 " said Manfred 
contemptuously "Tell me then What 
was the noise I heard f" "Ask me what 
I can answer," said he; "and put me 
to death instantly if I tell you a lie " 
Manfred, growing impatient at the steady 
valor and indifference of the youth, cried : 



"Well then, thou man of truth! answer 
Was it the fall of the trap-door that I 
heard ?" ' 'It was, " said the youth. "It 
was f " said the Prince, "and how didst 
thou come to know there was a trap-door 5 
here?" "I saw the plate of brass by a 
gleam of moonshine," replied he "But 
what told thee it was a look*" said Man- 
fred. "Honv didst thou discover the secret 
of opening it*" "Providence, that de- 10 
Inered me from the helmet. *as able to 
direct me to the spring of a lock," said he 
"Proxidence should lime gone a little far- 
ther arid have placed thee out of the reach 
of mv resentment," said Manfred "When 
Providence had taught thee to open the 
lock, it abandoned thee for a fool who did 
not know how to make use of its favors 
Whv didst thou not pursue the path 
pointed out for th> escape* Why didst a> 
fhnii shut the tiap-dooi before thou hadst 
descended the steps'" "1 might ask \o\\. 
mx loid," said the peasant, "how I. 
totallx unacquainted uith \oiir castle, uas 
to kno\\ thilt those steps led to an\ outlet 26 
Hut I scorn to ex ode xour questions 
NYhoiexer those steps lead to, perhaps I 
should haxe cxploied the xuiv, T could not 
be in a xxorse situation than T was Hut 
the truth is, I let the tiap-door fall Your 80 
immediate arrixal followed I had gnen 
the alaim, uhat imported it to me 
u nether T x\as sei/ed a minute sooner or 
a minute late*" "Thou art a resolute 
\ill.un foi th\ xears." said Manfred, 85 
4 '\et on reflection T suspect thou dost but 
trifle *itli me Thou hast not xet told 
me ho\\ thou didst open the lock " "That 
I will shoxx \ou, mv lord," said the 
peasant, and taking up a fragment of 40 
stone that bad fallen fiom above, he laid 
himself on the tiap-dooi and began to beat 
on the piece of brass that covered it. 
meaning to gain time for the escape of 
the Princess This piesence of mind. 45 
joined to the frankness of the vouth, 
staggered Manfred He even felt a dis- 
position towards pardoning one who had 
Keen guiltv of no crime Manfred was not. 
one of those sax age tx rants who wanton 50 
in cruelty unprovoked The circumstances 
of lus fortune had given an asperity to 
his temper, which was naturally humane, 
and his virtues were always ready to 
operate when his passions did not obscure 66 
his leaflon 

While the Prince was in this suspense, 
a confused noise of voices echoed through 
the distant xaults As the sound ap- 

proached, he distinguished the clamors of 
some of his domestics, whom he had dis- 
persed through the castle in search of 
Isabella, calling out "Where is my lord! 
Where is the Prince T" "Here I am," 
said Manfred, as they came nearer. 
"Have jou found the Princess!" The 
first that arrived replied " Oh f my lord 
1 am glad we have found you " "Found 
me 1 " said Manfred "Have you found 
the Princess?" "We thought we had, my 
lord," said the fellow, looking terrified'; 
"but-" "But what*' 1 cued the Prince 
"Has she escaped*" "Jaquez and T, my 
lord-" "Yes, I and Diego," inter- 
rupted the second, ulio came up in still 
greater consternation "Speak one of you 
at a time," said Manfred "I ask you. 
Where is the Princess f" "We do not 
know," said they both together, "but xxe 
are frightened out of our wits " "So I 
think, blockheads," said Manfred "What 
is it has scared you thus*" "Oh f mv 
loid f " said Jaque/, "Diego has seen such 
a suht' ^ our hiuhness xxould not belic\* 
our eves " "What new absurdity is 
this*" cried Manfred "Gixe me a direct 
answer, or by heax en " " \Yh\ , my lord, 
if it please >our highness to hear me," 
said the j>oor felloe, "Diego and 1" 
"Yes, I and Jaquez," cried his comrade 
44 Did not I forbid xou to speak both at 
a time*" said the Prince "You, Jaque?, 
answer, for the other fool seems more 
distracted than thou ait " "What is the 
matter, my gracious lord?" said Jaquez. 
"It it please xour highness to hear me, 
Diego and I according to your highness 's 
oiders went to seaiclt for the \oung lady, 
but being comprehensive that \\e might 
meet the ghost ot mv xoung lord, your 
highness 's son, ((iod rest his soul') as 
he has not received Christian burial" 
"Rot'" cried Manfred, in a rage; "is it 
only a ghost then that thou hast seen?" 
4 Oh' xvoise' woise' mv lord," cried 
Diego " I had rather haxe seen ten whole 
ghosts" "Grant me patience'" said 
Manfred, "these blockheads distract me. 
Out of mv sight, Diego' And thou, 
Jaquez, tell me in one word- Art thou 
sober? Art thou raxing? Thou wast wont 
to have some sense Hast the other sot 
frightened himself and thee too? Speak f 
What is it he fancies he has seen?" 
"Whv, my lord," replied Jaquez, trem- 
bling, "I was going to tell vour highness 
that since the calamitous misfortune of 
mv vouns lord (fiod rest Ins precious 



soul 1 ), not one of us, your highness 's 
faithful servants indeed we are, my lord, 
though poor men I say, not one of us 
has dared to set a foot about the castle 
but two together So Diego and I, think- 6 
ing that my young lady might be in the 
great gallery, went up there to look for 
her, and tell her >our highness wanted 
something to impart to her" "0 blun- 
dering fools'" cried Manfred "And in 10 
the meantime she has made her escape 
because you were afraid of goblins! Why. 
them knave ' she left me in the gallery , I 
came from thence m> self " "For all that, 
she mav be there still for ought I know," 16 
said Jaquez, "but the devil shall ha\e 
me before I seek her there again f Poor 
Diego f I do not believe he will ever re- 
cover it " "Reco\er \vhat? " said Man- 
fred "Am I never to learn what it is 90 
has terrified these rascals' But I lose m\ 
time Follow me, shne, 1 will see if she 
is in the gallery " "For heaven's sake, 
my deal good lord," ciied Joque?, "<lo 
not uo to the pallen f Satan himself [ 25 
behe\e is in the great chamber next to the 
gallery" Manfred, who hitherto had 
treated the terror of his servants as an 
idle panic, was struck at this new circum- 
stance He recollected the apparition of so 
the portrait and the sudden closing of the 
door at the end oi the gallery His voice 
faltered, and he asked v>it\\ disordei 
"What is in the great chamber?" "M\ 
lord," said Jaquez, "when Dieuo and I 85 
came into the gallery, he went first, loi 
he said he had more courage than I So 
uhen we came into the galler\, we found 
nobody We looked under every bench 
and stool, and still we found nobody " 40 
"Were all the pictures in their places*" 
said Manfred "Yes my lord," answered 
Jaquez, "but we did not think of looking; 
behind them " "Well, well'" said Man- 
fred; "proceed " "When we came to the 46 
door of the great chamber," continued 
Jaquez, "we found it shut-" "And 
could not you open it?" said Manfred. 
"Oh f yes, mv lord, ^ould to heaven ue 
had not'" replied he "Na.\, it was not I 60 
neither, it \\as Diego He was grown 
fool-hardy, and would go on though 1 ad- 
vised him not If ever I open a door that 
is shut, again " " Trifle not, ' ' said Man- 
fred, shuddering, "but tell me what you 66 
saw in the great chamber on opening the 
door." "I my lord'" said Jaquez; "I 
saw nothing; I was behind Diego But 
I heard the noise." "Jaquez," said Man- 

fred, in a solemn tone of voice, "tell me, 
[ adjure thee b> the souls of my ances- 
tors What was it thou sawest? What 
was it thou heardst?" "It was Diego 
saw it, my lord, it was not I," replied 
Jaquez; "I only heard the noise Diego 
had no sooner opened the door than he 
cried out and ran back I ran back too, 
and said 'Is it the ghost? the ghost*' 
'No, no,' said Diego, and his hair stood 
an end, 'it is a giant, I believe He is 
nil clad in armor, for 1 sa\\ his foot and 
part of his leg, and they are as large as 
the helmet below in the court ' As he 
said these words, my lord, we heaid a 
\iolent motion and the rattling of armor 
as if the giant was rising, for Diego has 
told me since that he believes the giant 
was lying down, for the foot and leg were 
stretched at length on the floor Before 
we could get to the end of the gallery, we 
heard the door oi the great chamber clap 
behind us, but \\e did not dare turn back 
to see if the giant was following us Yet 
now think on it, \ve must ha\e heard 
him if he had pursued us Hut for hea\- 
en's sake, good mv lonl, send for the 
chaplain and ha\e the castle exorcised, 
for, for certain, it is enchanted " "A\, 
pray do, my lord," cried all the sonants 
at once, "or we must leaxe \our high- 
ness's service " "Peace, dotards," said 
Manfred, "and follo\\ me 1 will kno\\ 
iv hat all this means " "We 1 m\ lord," 
cued they \\ith one \oice, "\ve would not 
go up to the gallery for your hi?hn<s*'s 
ie\enue " The younj peasant, who had 
stood silent, nou spoke "Will vour high- 
ness," said he, "j>einnt me to try this 
adxenture? My life is of consequence to 
nobod\ I fear no bad angel, and have 
offended no irood one " "Your behavior 
is above your seeming," said Manfred. 
\iewmg him with surprise and admiration 
"Hereafter, I will reward your bravery, 
but now," continued he with a sigh, "J 
am so circumstanced that I dare trust no 
eyes but my own, however, I give you 
leave to accompany me " 

Manfred, when he first followed Isabella 
from the gallery, had gone directly to the 
apartment of his wife, concluding the 
Princess had retired thither Hippohta, 
who knew his step, rose with anxious fond- 
ness to meet her lord, whom she had not 
seen since the deatli of their son She 
would have flown in a transport mixed of 
joy and tenet to his bosom, but he pushed 
her rudely off, and said, "Where is Isa- 



bellaf" "Isabella! my lord!" said the 
astonished Hippohta. "Yes, Isabella!" 
cried Manfred imperiously. "I want Isa- 
bella. " "My lord, ' ' replied Matilda, who 
perceived how much his behavior had 
shocked her mother, "she has not been 
with us since your highness summoned 
her to your apartment " "Tell me where 
she is," said the Prince, "I do not want 
to know where she has been." "My good 10 
lord," said Hippohta, "your daughter 
tellb you the truth: Isabella left us by 
>our command, and has not returned since. 
But, my good lord, compose yourself, re- 
tire to your rest This dismal day has 16 
disordered you Isabella shall wait your 
orders in the morning" "What then! 
you know where she is 1 " cried Manfred. 
"Tell me directly, for I will not lose an 
instant And you, woman," speaking to 20 
his wife, "order your chaplain to attend 
me forthwith." "Isabella," said Hip- 
pohta calmh, "is retired, I suppose, to 
her chamber She is not accustomed to 
natch at this late hour. Gracious my 25 
lord," continued she, "let me know what 
IIHS disturbed you Has Isabella offended 
> on ? " " Trouble me not v, i th questions, ' ' 
said Manfred ; "but toll me where she is " 
"Matilda shall call her," said the Prm- so 
cess "Sit down, my lord, and resume 
your wonted fortitude. " " What, art thon 
jealous of Isabella," replied he, "that >ou 
wish to be present at our interview?" 
"Good heavens' my lord," said Hippol- 85 
ita, "what is it your highness means 9 " 
"Thou \vilt know* ere many minutes are 
passed," said the cruel Prince "Send 
\our chaplain to me, and wait my pleasure 
heic " At these morels lie flung out of the 40 
room in senich of Isabella, leaung the 
ama/ed ladies thunder-struck with his 
words and frantic deportment, and lost in 
vain conjectures on what he was medi- 
tating 45 

Manfred was now returning from the 
vault attended by the peasant and a few 
of his servants whom he had obliged to 
accompany him He ascended the stair- 
case without stopping till he arrived at 60 
the gallery, at the door of which he met 
Hippohta and her chaplain When Diego 
had been dismissed by Manfred, he had 
crone directly to the Princess's apartment 
with the alarm of what he had seen That 65 
excellent ladv, who no more tlian Manfred 
doubted of the reality of the vision, yet 
affected to treat it as a delirium of the 

servant. Willing, however, to save her 
lord from any additional shock, and pre- 
pared by a series of grief not to tremble 
at any accession to it, she determined to 
make herself the first sacrifice if fate had 
marked the present hour for their destruc- 
tion. Dismissing the reluctant Matilda to 
her rest, who in vain sued for leave to 
accompany her mother, and attended only 
by her chaplain, Hippohta had visited the 
gallery and great chamber, and now with 
more serenity of soul than she had felt for 
many hours, she met her lord and assured 
him that the vision of the gigantic leg and 
foot was all a fable, and no doubt an 
impression made by fear and the dark and 
dismal hour of the night on the minds of 
his servants. She and the chaplain had 
examined the chamber, and found every 
thing in the usual order Manfred, though 
persuaded like his wife that the vision 
had been no work of fancy, recovered a 
little from the tempest of mind into which 
so many strange events had thrown him 
Ashamed, too, of Ins inhuman treatment 
of a princess who returned every injury 
with new marks of tenderness and dutj, 
he felt returning lo\e forcing itself into 
his eyes ; but not less ashamed of feeling 
remorse towards one against whom he was 
inwardly meditating a vet more bitter out- 
rage, he curbed the yearnings of Ins heart 
and did not dare to lean even towards 
pity The next transition of his soul was 
to exquisite \illainy Presuming on the 
unshaken submission of Hippohta, he flat- 
tered himself that she would not onh 
acquiesce with patience to a divorce, but 
would obev, if it was his pleasure, in 
endeavoring to persuade Isabella to give 
him her hand But ere he could indulge 
this horrid hope, he reflected that Isa- 
bella was not to be found Coming to 
himself, he ga\ e orders that every avenue 
to the castle should be strictly guarded, 
and charged his domestics on pain of 
their lives to suffer nobodv to pass out. 
The young peasant, to whom lie spoke 
favorably, he ordered to remain in a 
small chamber on the stairs, in which 
there was a pallet-bed, and the key of 
mhich he took away himself, telling the 
youth he would talk with him in the 
morning Then dismissing his attendants, 
and bestowing a sullen kind of half-nod 
on Hippohta, he retired to his own 



THOMAS PERCY (1729-1811) 





When skaws 1 beene sheene, 8 and bhraddb 3 
full fayre, 

And leaves both large and lonpe 
Itt is merrye walking in the fayre forrest 

To heire the small birdes songe 

5 The A\ cod \veele 4 sang, and wold not ceabc, 

Sitting upon the sprave, 
Soe hrsvde, he wakened Robin Hood, 
In the greenwood uhere he lax 

"Now by my faye," 5 sayd jollye Robin 
JO "A bweaven 6 1 had this night. 
I dreamt me of tow wighty yemen, 7 
That fast with me can 8 fight 

Methought they did mee beate and bmdo, 

And tooke my bow mee f roe , 
15 lit I be Robin alive in this lande. 
He be wroken 9 on them towe M 

' ' Sweavens are swift, master, ' ' quoth John, 

"As the wind blow?* ore the hill, 
For if itt be never so loude this night, 
20 Tomorrow it may be btill " 

"Buske 10 yee, bowne yee, my merrjtmcn 

And John shall goe \uth mee, 
Foi He goe seeke >ond \\iht vonien. 

In greenwood where the 11 bee " 

25 Then the\ cast on then go\\nes of srienc 1 . 

And tooke tlievr howes each one. 
And the\ awav to the greene forrest 
A -shooting forth are gone, 

Untill they came to the merry gieenwood, 
30 Where they had gladdest bee. 
There weio the ware of a wight yeoman, 
His body leaned to a tree 

A swoid and a dajjgci he woie by his side. 

Of manve a man the bane, 

35 And he was clad in his eapull-hyde, 12 

Topp and tayll and mayne 

"Stand von still, master," quoth Little 

"Under this tree so grene, 

1 grove* * for ffan. did 

-' beautiful avraged 

UopplceB "make read\ (buwAt 
4 woodlark and boirne are doub 

* faith lota) 

dream " they 

T two strong yeomen " horse hide 

And I will go to yond wight yeoman 
40 To know what he doth meane " 

"Ah f John, by me tliou settest noe store, 

And that I farley 1 flnde: 
How offt send I my men beffore 

And tarry my selfe behindeT 

45 "It ib no cunning a knave to ken, 

And a man but heare him speake, 
And itt were not for bursting ot my bowc, 
John, 1 thy head \vold breuke " 

As often uordes they breeden hale, 
50 So they paited Robin and John; 
And John is gone to Harnesdale, 
The gates- he knoweth eche one. 

But when he came to Barnesdale, 

(ireut hea\inesse there hee hadd, 
M Foi he found toi& of Ins owne felloe es 
Wcic slame both in a slade 

And Scailette hr \\as fl.ving a-foote 

Fast ovei stock? und stone, 
Foi the pi olid slu*i life with sexcn scon men 
" Fast after him ib gone. 

"One shoot e no\\ I uill shoofe,* 1 quoth 

"With Christ his might and mavno 
He make yond fellow that fives soe fast, 

To btopp he shall be fa.Mie " 

fi5 Then John bent up his lontr bende-bo\\o,* 

And fetteled^ linn to shoote 
The bow uas made of tendei Uouuhe, 
And fell clown to his foote 

"Woe worth, uoe \\oith thee,' 1 \\ickod 


70 That ere thou gre\i on a tree , 
For now this day thou art my bale, 
My boote 7 when thou shold bee " 

His shoote it was but loosely shott. 
Yet fleuc not the arrowe in \unie, 
75 For itt mett one of the shenffes men. 
Good William a Trent was shnno 

It had bene better of William a Ticnt 

To ha\e bene abed with borrowe. 
Than to be that day in the green wood slade 
so To meet with Little Johns arrowe 

But as it is said, when men be mett 
Fyve can doe more than three, 

1 itrange 
*uavs. paths 
''valid , ravlno 
Hicnt, or curved, bow 

made roady 
" woj- h< to tli 
7 help 


The sherijffe hath taken Little John, The first time Robin shot at the pncke, 

And bound him fast to a tree He mist but an inch it froe : 

The yeoman he was an archer good, 
85 " Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe, 1 But he cold never shoote soe. 

And hanged hye on a hill." 
"But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose," 125 The second shoote had the wightye yeman, 

i i T* q u n? 1 u 11 M He shote Wlthm toe garlande l 

"If itt be Christ his will But Robm he ghott fitter than hee, 

. , . ... T ... T . For he clave the good pncke wande. 

Let us leave talking of Little John, 6 r 

90 And thinke of Robin Hood. ,, A ., ., . , ,, , , 

How he is gone to the w.ght yeomin, 130 ' f {lessinfir upon thy heart," he sayd, 

Where under the leaves he stood. 13 (Joo . d , fe lo " e : thy sho 1 tinR If *? V 

.For an thy hart be as good as thy hand, 

"Good morrowe, good fellowe," sa>d Thou wert better then Robm Hoode. 

Robin so fayre, 

"Good morrowe, good fellow," quoth "fcow tell me thy name, good fellowe," 

he- &ayd he, 

95 "Methmkcb bv this bowe thou beaies in "Under the leaxes of lyne " 2 

thy hande Ul> "Na\ b\ my faith, 1 ' quoth bolde Robin, 

A good archere thou sholdst bee " "Till thou have told me thine " 

" I am wilt'ulle j of my ua>c," <|iio' the "I dwell by dale and downe," quoth hee, 

veraan, ' ' And Robin to take Ime bworne , 

"And oi mv mornmcr t>de " And when I am called bv my right name 

"He lead thee through the wood," &a\d HO am Guye of good Gisborne " 

Robin , 
"(Sood fellow. He be th> guide " Mv dwelling is in this wood," sayes 

' I seeke an out lawe, "the sti aungrr sa> d, < < By thee T ^ nRnt nou ght 

4 ^ len TI 1 a11 him R ^ b ] ? ood ' _ lam Robin Hood of Barnesdale, 

Rather lid meet with that proud outla* e W liom thou so lontr hast sought " 

Than ioit\e pound soe good 

"First let us sonic master\e' make To & ee ho* these veomen together they 

" Amons: the woods so even, t . n m fought 

We ma\ chance to meet \\ith Robin Hond 1 10 Two howres of a summers day 
Here att some unsett steven " 4 Vott neither Robin Hood nor Sir Guy 

Them fettled to flye nwav 

Thev cutt them downe t^o Minimei 

shropcrs, 11 Robin was reachles* on a roote, 

That pre\\ both under a breere. And stumbled at that tyde; 4 

115 And sett them threescore rood in i" And On v was quick and nimble with-all, 

twaine" And hitt him ore the left side 

To shoot the pueko v-feie 7 

, ,, it, T> u **Ah, deere Lady," savd Robin Hood, 

"Leade on, good fellowe," quoth Robin ,< thou * ' 

Hood, That art both niothei and may, 15 

"T^ade on, 1 doe bidd thee t th fc lt Wfts never mang destmye 

"Nay by my fai th. gorf fdlowe, hee sayd, lw To dye brfore h dfty 
120 <MV leader thou bhalt be. M 

1 vtllo\ and hill B wands J the ring within which * linden 

astray apart the prick or target 'careless 

n trial of skill T the wnndn (targets) wan net to be *hot time 

unextio(tcd hour together at 'maiden 



Robin thought on oar ladye deere, 

And soone leapt up againe, 
And strait he came with a backward 1 

And he Sir Guy hath slayne 

166 He took Sir Guys head by the hayre, 

And stuck itt upon his bowes end 
"Thou hast beene a traytor all thy life, 
Which thing must have an ende. f ' 

Robin pulled forth an Irish kniffe, 
170 And nicked Sir Guy in the face, 
That he was never on woman born, 
Cold tell whose head it was 

Saies "Lye there, lye there, now Sir Guye, 

And with me be not wrothe, > 

176 If them have had the worst strokes at 

my hand, 
Thou shalt have the better clothe " 

Robin did off his gowne of greene, 

And on Sir Guy did throve, 
And hee put on that capull-byde, 
180 That cladd him topp to toe 

"The bowe, the arrowes, and htle home. 

Now with me I will beare , 
For I will away to Barnesdale, 

To see how my men doe fare ' ' 

185 Robin Hood sett Guyes home to his mouth. 

And a loud blast m it did blow. 
That beheard the sheriffe of Nottingham. 
As he leaned under a lowe.' 


"Hearken, hearken," sayd the sheriffe, 

' ' I heare now tydmgs good, 
For yonder I heare Sir Guyes borne blowc, 

And he hath slame Robin Hoode. 

For this i& all the rewarde 1 aske; 
Nor noe other will I have." 

20i "Thou art a madman, " said the shenffe, 
"Thou sholdst have had a knightes fee 
But seeing thy asking hath beene soe bad, 
Well granted it shale be " 

When Little John heard his mastei speakc, 
210 Well knewe he it was his steven - 1 

' ' Now shall I be looset, ' ' quoth Lit tie J ohn, 
"With Christ his might in heaven." 

Fast Robin hee hyed him to Little John, 

He thought to loose him belive ,-' 
- 13 The shenffe and all his companye 
Fast after him can drixe 

"Stand abacke, stand abacke," sayd 

Robin , 

"Why draw you mee soe neere? 
Itt was never the use in our countr>e, 
220 Ones shrift another shold heeie " 

Hut Robin pulled forth an Irysh knitr, 
And losed John hand and footo. 

And gave him Sir Guyes bow into his hand, 
And bade it be im boote 

225 Then John he took Guyes bow in his hand, 

His boltes and arrowes eche one 
When the shenffe saw Little John bend 

his bow, 
He fettled him to be gone 

Towards his house in Nottingham towne 
*o He fled full fast a*ay, 
And soe did all his company? 
Not one behind wold sta\ 

//- * T * i 1.1 But he cold neither runne soe fast, 

"Yonder I heare Sir Guyes home blowe, Nor awa 8O6 fagt cold _j 

Itt blowes soe well in tyde, 23:, B ut Little John with an arrowe soe hioad 

And yonder comes that wightye yeoman, He ghott him mto the backe - 8 yde 

Cladd in his eapull-hyde 

"Come hyther, come hyther, thou good 

Sir Guv, 

Aske what thou wilt of mee " 
"01 will none of thy gold," sayd Robin, 
200 Nor I will none of thy fee 

"But now I have slaine the master," he 

"Let me goe stnke the knave; 



The Perse owt 4 of Northombarlande, 
And a vowe to God mayd he, 

That he wolde hunte in the mountayns 

Off Chyviat within dayes thre, 

5 In the mauger of 5 doughtfe Dogles, 

And all that ever with him be. 


prooertv held on fou- 



the Bong 

4 came out 



The f attiste hartes in all Cheviat 
He sayd he wold kill, and cary them 

"Be my feth," sayd the dougheti Doglas 


! "I wyll let 1 that hontyng yf that I 

Then the Perse owt of Banborowe cam, 
With him a rayghtye meany,* 

With fifteen hondnth archares bold , 
The wear 8 chosen out of shyars thre 

16 This begane on a Monday at morn 

In Cheviat the hillys so he, 4 
The chyld may rue that ys un-born, 
It was the mor pitte. 

The cliyvars 8 thorowe the woodes went 
20 For to reas the dear; 

Bomen bickarte 8 uppone the bent 7 
With ther browd aras 8 cleare 

45 Hardyar men both off hart nar hande 
Wear not in Chnstiante. 

The wear twenty hondnth spear-men good 

Withouten any fayle; 1 
The wear borne a-long be the watter a 

,W Yth s bowndes of Tividale 

" Leave off the brytlyng of the dear," he 

"And to your bowys look ye tayk good 

For never sithe ye wear on your mothars 

Had ye never bo mickle 3 need " 

65 The dougheti Dogglas on a stede 
He rode att his men beforne; 
His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede , 4 
A bolder barne* was never born. 

Then the wyld thorowe the woodes went 

On every syde shear, 10 
2 "' Grea-hondes thorowe the ftrexes 11 glent 12 
For to kyll thear dear 

The begane in Ch>\iat the hyls above 

Yerly 18 on a Monnyn day, 
Be that 14 it drewe to the oware off none 1 " 
30 A hondnth fat hartes ded ther lay 

The ble\vo a inoit 16 uppone the bent, 

The semblyd on sydis shear; 
To the qu>iiy 1T then the Perse went 

To se the biyttlyng 18 off the dearc. 

35 He sa>d, "It was the Duglas promys 

This day to meet me hear, 
But I \\vste he wold faylle verament "** 
A gret oth the Perse swear 

At the laste a squyar of Northombelonde 
40 Lokvde at his hand full ny, 

He was war ath 20 the doughetie Doglas 

With him a mighte meany, 

Both with spear, byll, and brande- 21 
Yt was a m\ghti sight to se. 


Uliey were 
Kwlftly courvd 
T field 
wild deer 
u groves 



" when 

" hour of noon 

" death-note 

T Rlanghtered game 

w cutting np 


aware of 

and sword 

"Tell me what men ye ar," he says, 

"Or whos men that ye be: 
Who gave youe leave to hunte in this 

Chyviat chays in the spyt of met" 

The first mane that ever him an answear 


Yt was the good lord Perse. 
" We wyll not tell the what men we ar," 

he says, 

"Nor whos men that we be; 
But we wvll hount hear in this chays 
In the spyte of thyne, and of the 

"The f attiste hartes in all Chyviat 
70 We have kyld, and east 6 to carry them 

a-way " 
"Be my troth, sayd the doughte Dogglas 


"Ther- for the ton 7 of us shall de this 

Then sayd the doughte Doglas 

Unto the lord Perse: 
75 "To kyll all thes i It less men, 
A-las! it wear great pitte. 

"But, Perse, thowe art a lord of lande, 

I am a yerle callyd within my contre; 
Let all our men uppone a parti 8 stande , 
* And do the battell off the and of me." 

1 without any doubt 



4 glowing coal 


T one 

to one side 



"No we Cnstes corse 1 on his crovtue," 115 
sayd the lord Perse, 

"Who-soe\*r ther-to says nay 
Be my troth, doughte Doglas," he says, 

"Thow shalt ne\er se that day; 

85 "Nethar m Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nai 12 


Nor for no man of a woman born, 
But and fortune bo inv chance, J 
I dai met linn on 1 man foi on M 

Then bespayke a squyar off Northombar- 1J5 

90 Rie 4 Wytharvnton was his nam, 

*'lt shall never be told in Sothe-Yng- 

londe, v> he sa\s, 
'To k>nft Herry the fourth for sham 


"1 wat 3 youe byn b great loides twaw, 

1 am a poor squ\ar of lande, 
115 I \\>II net PI so m\ raptajne hfht on a 


And stande ni\-selffe, and looke on, 
But *hyll I may my weppone welde. 
1 wvll not ia\l both harte and hande " 

That da\, that day, that dredfull day 
100 The hist Fit heie I fynde, 7 

And \ou \(\l\ Jieie any 11101 atlie 8 hountvng 

athe Chyuat, 
Yet vs ther mor behynde 


The Ynsglislio men hade ther bow}b 

Thiughe our Yngghshe archery 1 
Gave many a wounde fall wyde; 

Many a doughete the garde 2 to dy, 
Which ganyde them no pryde 8 

The Tngglyshe men let thear bowys be, 
And pulde owt brandes that wer blight , 

It was a hevy syght to se 
Bryght swordes on basnites 4 lyght. 

Thorowe ryche male,' and myueyeple, 
Many stern? the stioke downc'stiecrht T 

Many a iie>ke. s that was full tieo, 
Ther undar foot dyd lyght 

At last the Duglas and the Perse met, 
L>k to captayns of myght and mayne, 

The swapie 9 together tyll the both swat 10 
"\\ii\i swoides that weie ot lyn myllan " 

Thes worth* freck>s foi to t\ght 

Ther-to the A\ ear full lavne, 
T\ll the hloo<le oute off thear basnetes 
spiente, 1 * 

As e\er d\d heal or rayne 



"Hnlcl the, Pei so," sa^d the 
And T tetli 1 shall the hnnge 

Wliei thoweshalte have a veils ^agis 11 
Ot Jamy our Scottish kynge 

"Thoue shalte have thv ransom fre, 
I highl the heai 14 this thin^e, 


That e> er I conquerj'd in filde fight yng ' ' 

Thei hartes \veie fjoocl >enoughe, 
1( 5 The tiixt nf aims that the shotc off, 
Sc\en skoie spear-men the sloughe 11 

Yel bvdys 10 the yeile Doglas uppon the 


A captayne good yenoughe, 
And that was sene verament, 
110 Fi lie wrought horn 11 both wuo and 
iicmche 1J 

The Dogglas pertyd his ost in thre, 
L>k a cheffe chef ten off piyde, 1 " 

With suar" speaies off myghttc tre lc 
The cum in on every syde 

"Na\, then," sa\d the lonl Peise, 

4t l tolde it the be tome, 
145 That I \\ohle ne\ei \eldyde be 
To no man of a woman born " 

With that ther cam an arrowe hastelv 
Forthe off a mightie wane, 15 

Hit hathe strekene the \erle Duglas 
In al the bust bane 

Thoroue ly\ai and longs bailie 111 
The sharp HI roue \s o, in o, 

That never after in all his ],\ffe days, 
lie spake mo worries but anc, 

t curse 

a if fortune favors me 


4 Richard 
& know 


T finish 

of the 

' they Blew 
10 abldeh 
" them 
" barm 
" like a proud leading 

" Hiire , trusty 
u btrong wood 

l amonR our English 

1 they made 
which won them no 


4 helmets 

5 armor 


7 many hold ones 

they strnr k down 


" man 

they smote 

" they both nweat 

" MJlnn Hteel 

! an ea 



1( promise thee here 
""one, man" Per 

" liver and luugb both 


155 That was "Fyghte ye, my merry men, 195 Heawing on yche othar, whyll the myght 

whyllys ye may, dre, 1 

For my lyff days ben gan ' f With many a bal-f ul brande. 

The Persfe leanyde on his brande, This battell begane in Chyviat 

And sawe the Duglas de , An owar bef or the none, 

He tooke the dede man be the hande, And when even-song bell was rang 

i And bayd, "Wo ys me foi the' 200 The battell was nat half done 

"To have bavyde thy lyffe, I wold have The tooke "on" a on ethar hand 

pertyd with Be the lyght off the mone; 

M\ landes for years thre, Many hade no strength for to stande, 

Foi a better man ot hart, nare of hande j n Chyviat the hyllys abone a 

Wab not in all the north countre " * * 

UK ,n* 11 ,1 t i 01 *. u i 14 205 * fifteen hondnth aichais of Ynglonde 

M Off all tliHl se' a Skottishe knynht, Went away but flfti and thre; 

Uab callyd Sir Hem the Mongon-byrry, O f twenty hondnth spear-men of Skot- 
He wi\ve the Duglas to the deth wab londe, 

dys* 1 *'* 4 4 t _ But even 'five and fifti 

He bpendyd a bpeai a tnibti tre s 

He rod uppon a eorsiare >10 Bl !* al [ * ear ^fyne Cheviat within 

l-o ThumKltt a hondnth aicheiy, - 10 ^hS ff^ 

lie nevei btyntyde, nar nexer blane/ TIl T e . ch>lde may rue that ys un-borne, 

T)ll he cam to the good loid Perae. !t was the mor P lttfe ' 

He set nppone the lord Perse Thear was slayne with the lord Perse 

A dynte, that was full boare, Sir John of Agerstone, 

'"' With a suar spear of a myghte tie 215 Rope* the hmde 11 Haitly, 

Clean thorow the body he the Perse bore, Sir Wyllyam the bolde Hearone 

Atlie tothar byde, that a man mvght se, Sir Jorg the worthe. Lovele 

A laige cloth raid and niaie "' A knyght of great renowen, 

Towe bettar captavns ^ear nat in Chub- Sn Raff the ryche Rugbfe 

tiante, 22 With dyntes wear beaten dowene. 
iso Then that day slain \\eai thaie. 

Foi Wetharryngton my harte was wo, 
An archer off Northomberlonde That ever he slayne shulde be; 

Say 6 slean uas the loicl Peise, For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to, 

lie bai a ben(le-ho\\ 7 in his hanrle. He knyled and iougbt on hy* kne 

made off trusti tre . 

. . Jj:i Tlier was slayne with the dougheh Douglas 

An arow, that a cloth yarde was lanpr, R ir jjewe the Mongon-byrry, 

To th ' hard stele halyde he , Sir Davye Lwdale, T that worthfe was, 

A dvnt, that was both sad and soar, Hib sistars son was he: 

He sat on Sir Hewe the Mongon-byiry. 

^ t A , ., , , Sir Thai les a Murre, in that place, 
The chnt yt was both sad and sar, M That ncxei a tnot A%olde fie, 

That he ot Mongon-byrry sete, Sir Hewe Maxwell> a lorde he wa 

The bwane-tetharb, that his airo*e l>ai, Wlth the D , ag d d he d 

With hib halt blood the wear wete * 

mi - , . u a So on the morrowe the mayde them 

Ther was never a freake wone foot wold fle, byears 8 

But still in btour" dycl stand, Qff b ^ rch> ftnd 

i iaw ' >aw 

doomed , promised T bent, or cur\ ed, bow i endure Roger 

'spanned, 4 f .placed "drew to the bard 'Percy's addition to courteous 

fn rest, a speai of Mteel, t f. f the the MS The Ralph 

strong wood bead phrase may mean T Pronounced as if 

stopped nor c\er et ''thejN continued spelled Lewdale 

ceased stress of battle fighting" they made them bier* 

1 more ' abore 



236 Many wedous with wepyng tears 
Cam to f ach ther makys 1 a-way. 

Ther was the dongghte Doglas slean, 
The Perse never went away. 

Tivydale may carpe off 2 care, 275 Ther was never a tym on the March-partes 

Northombarlond may mayk grat mone, Sen the Doglas and the Perse met, 

For towe such captayns, as olayne wear But yt was marvele, and 1 the redde blade 

thear, ronne not, 

240 On the March-perti 8 shall never be none AS the reane doys* in the stret. 

Word ys common to Edden-buxrowe, 
To Jamy the Skottishe kyng, 

That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the 

He lay slean Chyviot with-in. 

246 His handdes dyd he weal 4 and wryiifr, 
He sayd, "Alas, and woe ys me' 
Such another captayn Skotland within/' 
He sayd, "y-feth shuld never be." 

Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone 
250 Till the fourth Harry our kyng, 

That lord Perse, leyff-tennante of the 

He lay slayne Chyviat within. 

"God have merci on his soil," sayd 

kyng Harry, 

"Good lord, yf thy will it be 
255 i h ave a hondnth captayns in Yng- 

londe," he sayd, 
"As good as ever was hee- 
But Perse, and I brook 6 my lyffe, 
Thy deth well quyte 7 shall be." 

As our noble kyng made his a-vowe, 
260 Lyke a noble pnnce of renowen, 
For the deth of the lord Perse, 
He dyd the battel of Hombyll-down : 

Wher syz and thritte Skottish knyghtes 

On a day were beaten down : 
265 Glendale glytteryde on* ther armor 

Over castill, towar, and town. 

This was the hontynge off the Cheviat; 

That tear begane this spurn : 
Old men that knowen the grownde well 

2 7 Call it the Battell of Otterburn. 

Jhesue Christ our balys bete, 8 
- 80 And to the 4 blys us brynge' 

Thus was the hountynge of the Cheviat: 
Qod send us all good ending! 


The king sits in Dumferhng toune, 
Drinking the blude-reid wine 

' ' O quliar 6 will I get guid sailor, 
To sail this schip of mmef M 

6 Up and spak an eldern knicht, 

Sat at the kings richt kne . 
"Sir Patrick Spenco is the best sailor, 
That bailb upon the se " 

The king has written a braid* letter, 
10 And signd it wi ' his hand , 
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, 
Was walking on the sand. 

The first line that Sir Patrick red, 

A loud lauch 7 lauched he: 
15 The next line that Sir Patrick red, 
The teir blinded his ee. 

"<) quha 8 is this has don this deid, 

This ill deid don to me , 
To send me out this time o' the zcn," 

To sail upon the sef 


"Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all, 
Our guid schip sails the morne;" 

"0 say na sae, my master deir, 
For I feir a deadhe storme. 

25 "Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone, 

Wi' the auld rnqone in lur arme, 
And I feir, I feir, my deir master, 
That we will com to harme." 

At Otterburn began this spume 
Uppon a Monnyn day: 

s fetch their mates 
talk of 

border side 

in faith 

our Scots nobles wer richt laith 10 
80 To weet their cork-heild schoone; 

that there hesan this 


rain does 
evils remedy 

open; clean 





Hot lang owre 1 a' the play wer playd, 
Thair hats they swam aboone. 2 

lang, lang, may thair ladies sit 
Wi' thair fans into their hand, 
86 Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spenee 
Cam sailing to the land 

lang, lang, may the ladies stand 
Wi 1 thair gold kerns 8 in their hair, 
Waiting for thair am deir lords, 
40 For they'll se thame na mair 

Have owre, 4 have owre to Aberdonr, 

It's flftie fadom deip 
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spenee, 

Wi 1 the Scots lords at his feit. 


It fell about the Martinmas, 

Qulierf' the wind blew schril and can Id, 
Said Edom o' Gordon to his men, 

"We maun diuw to a hauld '"' 

6 " And quhat T a hauld sail we draw till, 

My mirry men and met" 
"We wul gae to the house o' the Rode?, 
To see that fair ladie." 

The ladv stude on her castle wa', 
1 Beheld baith dale and down a 
There she was ware of a host of men 
Cum ryding towards the toun. 9 

ze 10 nat, my mirrv men a'f 

see ze nat quhat I see f 

"> Methmks I see a host of men 

1 marveil quha 11 they be " 

She weend 18 it had been hir luvely lord, 

As he came ryding hame ; 
It was the traitor Edom o' Gordon, 
20 Quha reckt nae sin nor shame. 

She had nae sooner buskit 18 hirsel, 

And putten on hir goun, 
But Edom o' Gordon and his men 

Were round about the toun 

They had nae sooner supper sett, 

Nae sooner said the grace, 
But Edom o' Gordon and his men 
Were light about the place. 

The lady ran up to hir towir head, 
* Sa fast as she could hie, 
To see if by hir fair speeches 
She could wi' him agree 

But quhan he see 1 this lady saif , 

And hir yates all locked fast, 
86 He fell into a rage of wrath, 
And his look was all aghast. 

"Cum doun to me, ze lady gay, 

Cum doun, cum doun to me 
This night sail ye lig 2 within mine armea, 
40 Tomorrow my bride sail be." 

"I winnae* cum doun, ze fals Gord6n, 

I winnae cum doun to thee; 
I winnae forsake my am dear lord, 

That is sae far frae me " 

45 "Gue owre zour 4 house, ze lady fair, 

Gi\e owre zour house to me, 
Or I sail brenn* yourhel theiein, 
But and zour babies three " 

"I winnae give owre, ze false Gordon, 
50 To nae sik 7 tiaitor as zee; 

And if ze brenn my am dear babes, 
My loid sail make ze drie 8 

"But reach my pistoll, Glaud my man, 

And charge ze well my gun . 
66 For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher, 
My babes we been undone.' 9 

She stiule upon hir castle wa 9 , 

And let twa bullets flee 
She mist that bluidy butchers hart, 
60 And only raz'd his knee. 

"Set fire to the house," quo 9 fals Gord&n, 

All wood wi' dule and ire 9 
"Fals lady, ze sail rue this deid, 

As ze bren in the fire." 

65 "Wae worth, wae worth ze, 10 Jock my man, 

I paid ze weil zour fee; 11 
Quhy pow 12 ze out the ground-wa stane, 
Lets in the reek 18 to met 


i but low before 
warn above, I. f, 
floated on water 


half wav over 

we mt draw to- 

T wbat M _ m 
"valley and hill 
farm (with ity col- 
lection of buildings) 

And ein 14 wae worth ze, Jock my man, 
I paid ze weil zour hire; 





will not 

4 your 


both yon and your 

bable* three 
T no such 

suffer; pay demrlv 
all mad with pain 

and wrath 
woe be to thee 





Quhy pow ze out the ground-wa stane, 
To me lets in the flref >f 

"Ze paid me well my hire, lady; 

Ze paid me weil my fee . 
Tr > But now Ime Edom o' Gordon's man 
Maun either doe or die. 1 

than bespaik hir little son, 

Sate on the nounce' knee 
Sayes, "Mither deaie, gi owie this house, 
* For the reek it smithers me." 

"I wad gie a 5 my gowd, 2 my childe, 

Sac wad 1 a' my lee, 1 
For ane blast o 9 the west 1 in wind, 

To blaw the reek frae thee " 

*"' O then bespaik hu doditei dear, 

She was baith jimp 4 and sma 
"O row"' me in a pan o' slieits, 
And to\\" me owie the wa " 

The towd hu in a pan o' sheits, 
40 And towd hn owie the wa 
But on the point ol (lordons spear 
She gat a deadh fa 

bonnie bonnie was hn mouth, 
And cherry were her cheiks, 

**"' And clear clear was lin zellow hail, 
Whareon the leid blind dreips 

Then wi' his spear he tuind hir owre, 

O gin hit face was wan ?7 
He sa>d, "Ze are the hist that eir 
100 j wisht alive again " 

He tunul hir owie and owre nirain, 

gin hir skin was wh\te f 
*'I might ha spared that bonnie face. 

To line been sum mans delate 

106 "Busk and boun, 8 my merry men a', 
For ill dooms I doe guess, 

1 cannae luik in that bonnie face, 
As it lyes on the grafes " 

"Thame, luiks to freits, my master deir, 
Then freits wil follow thame 

Ijet it nen be said brave Edom o' Ooidon 
Was daunted by a dame." 

But quhen the ladye see the fire 

Cum flaming owre hir head, 
115 She wept and kist her clnldien twain, 
Sayd, "Bairns, we been but dead." 

The Gordon then his bougill bleu, 

And said, "Awa', avia', 
This house o' the Kodes ib a' in flume, 
120 Ibauld it time toga' " 

then bespyed hir am dear lord, 

As hee cam owr the lee, 
lie hied his lastli* all in hlu/i 1 

Sa far as he eon Id see 

125 Then sair, sair his mind misgave, 

And all his hart was wae, 
"Put on, put on, ni> nighty 1 men, 
So fast as ze can pie 

"Put on, put on, m> wighty men, 
180 Sa fast as /e can di le , 2 

For he that is hindmost of the thiani; 
Sail noir get gmd o' me " 

Than sum the\ rade. and sum the\ nn. 

Foil fast out-nwi the lient ,* 
3 iri But ir the foiemost fould get up, 
Baith ladv and babes were hi out 

He wrang his hands, he rent his ban. 

And wept in teenefu' 4 mind* 
'() traitors, for this eitiel deid 
"0 Xe sail Hoep tens o' blind " 

\n]j|[fter the Gordon he is gane, 

Sft fast as he murht dne 
Ami snnn i' the Ooidon \ foul hart is blind 


1 mudt eltber do or die 

1 p r op e r t y held on 
feudal tenuie 


lot down with a rope 
'Oh, hut her face 

wan wan (A flcot- 
tHh idiom express 
Ing Rreat aamlrn 
tlon ) 

get ready and go 
Them that look after 
omen* of 111 luck, 
111 luck will follow 


Lotd Thomas he \\as a bold 
And a chaser of the kings deeie, 

Faire Kllinor was a fine woman, 
And Lord Thomas he loved her deare. 

'M'ome riddle my riddle, dear mother/' 
he sayd, 

"And riddle us both as one, 6 
Whether T shall marrye with faire Ellinnt. 

And let the browne girl alone*" 

"The browne girl she has got houses and 

Faire Ellinor she has got none, 



4 torrowfnl 

B avenged 

let w 9 o 1 v e It to- 



And therefore I charge thee on my blessing, 
To bring me the browne girl home." 

And as it befelle on a high hohdaye, 

As many there are beside, 
15 Lord Thomas he went to faire Ellm&r, 
That should have been his bride. 

And when lie came to fair Ellmors boner, 

He knocked there at the ring, 1 
And who was so readye as faire Elhnor, 
20 To let I-ord Thomas witlnnn 

"What newes, what newes, Lord Thomas t" 

"What newes dost thou bring to meet " 
"I am come to bid thee to my wedding, 

And that is bad newes for thee " 

215 "0 God forbid, Lord Thomas," she savd, 

"That such a thing should lie done, 
T thought to have been the bnde mv selfe, 
And thou loha\e been the bn<leioome " 

"Come riddle mv nddle, dour motlwi," 

she sin (I, 
" "And riddle it all in one, 

\\ hetlier I shall goe to Lord Thomas his 

Or whether shall tarry at home?" 

"There are man\e that ate >onr fnendes, 


And man\e a one jour foe, 
* B Theiefore I charere you on mv blessine. 
To ford Thomas his wedding don't 
oe " 

"There are man>e that are mv fnendes, 


But nere e\erv one my foe, 
Betide me life, betide me death, 
*0 To Lord Thomas his wedding I'M 

She cloathed herself in gallant attire, 
And her merrve men all in greene; 

And as thev rid through everv towne, 
They took her to be some ipieene 

But when she came to Tx>rd Thomas his 


She knocked there at the ring; 
And who wan so read\e as Lord Thomas, 
To lett fair Klhnor in 

"Is this vour bride* " fair Ellinor savd; 
50 < < Methinks she look* wondei ous browne ; 

1 Dimmer of the door knocker 

Thou mightest have had as faire a woman, 
As ever trod on the grounde ", 

"Despise her not, fair Ellin," he sayd, 

"Despise her not unto mee; 

55 For better I love thy little finger, 

Than ail her whole bodee." 

This browne bnde had a little penknife, 

That was both long and sharpe, 
And betwixt the short ribs and the long.- 
She prick 'd faire Ellmor's harte. 

"O Christ thee save," Lord Thomas, hee 


"Methinks thou lookst wonderous wan; 
Thou usedst to look with as iiesh a coloui. 

As e\er the sun shone on " 

6B "Oh, art thou blind, Lord Thomas?" 

she sayd, 

"Or canst thou not \ery well see 9 
Oh f dost thou not see my owno heaits 

Kun trickling down my kneef " 

Loid Thomas he had a sword 1>\ his side; 
70 As he walked about the ha lie. 

He cut off his biuies head fioin her 

And threw it against the walle 

Tie set the hilte against the grountle, 

And the point against his harte 
7B There never three loveis toother did meete, 
That sooner againe did parte. 

JAMES BEATTIE (1735-1803) 


When in the crimson cloud of even 

The lingering light decays, 
And Hesper on the front of heaven 

His glittering gem displays; 
6 Deep in the silent vale, unseen, 

Reside a lulling stream, 
A pensu e Youth, of placid mien, 

Indulged this tender theme. 


"Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur piled 

High o'er the glimmering dale; 
Ye woods, along whose windings wild 

Murmurs the solemn gale: 
Where Melancholy strays forlorn, 

And Woe retires to weep, 
15 What time the wan Moon's yellow horn 

Gleams on the western deepl 


"To you, ye wastes, whose artless For he of joys divine shall tell, 

charms 70 That wean from earthly woe, 

Ne'er drew Ambition's eye, And triumph o'er the mighty spell 

'Scaped 1 a tumultuous world's alarms. That chains this heart below 
20 To your retreats I fly. 

Deep in your most sequester 'd bower "F r me no more the path invites 

Let me at last recline, Ambition lenes to tread; 

Where Solitude, mild, modest power, ?n NO more I climb those toilsome heights, 

Leans on her ivied shrine. By guileful Hope misled; 

** -How shall T woo thee, matchless fairt * " 

Thy heavenly smile how win T 

Thy imile that smooths the brow of Care, so 

And stills the storm within. 
O wilt thou to thy favorite grove 

30 Thine ardent votary bring, THE MINSTREL, OK, THE PROGRESS 

And bless his hours, and bid them move OF GENIUS 

Serene, on silent wingf J76671 mi 

"Oft let Remembrance soothe his mind * From BoOK T 

With dreams of former days, Ah ' who can tell how hard it is to 

15 When, in the lap of Peace reclined, Himb 

He framed his infant lays, The steep where Fame's proud temple 

When Fancy roved at large, nor Care shines afar? 

Nor cold Distrust alarm 'd, Ah! vtho can tell how miun a soul 

Nor Envy, with malignant glare, sublime 

40 His simple youth had harm 'd Has felt the influence of nwlijjnnnt 


" 'Twas then, Solitude, to thee 5 And *aged with Fortune an eternal 

His early vows were paid, war 

From heart sincere, and warm, and free, Check M bv the scoff of Pride, liv 

Devoted to the shade. Rnv> 's frown, 
45 Ah why did Fate his steps decoy And Poverty's unconquerable bar- 
In stormy paths to roam, In life's low \ale remote has pined 
Remote from all congenial joy T alone, 
take the wanderer home! Then ilroppM into the grave, unpitietl 

//n ,,.,.. , and unknown f 
"Thy shades, thy silence, now be mine, 

KO Thy charms my only theme , , n . . , . . . 

My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine 10 And yet the languor of inglorious 

Waves o'er the gloomy stream, _ A aa>s, 

Whence the scared owl on pinions grav ot e 'l ualj y oppressn e is to all , 

Breaks from the rustling boughs, Him * ho ne ei llstt ' n d to the xoice of 

65 And down the lone vale sails away _. P 18e > ... , . 

To more profound repose. h e silence of neglect can ne 'er appal. 

r There are, who, deaf to mad Arnbi- 

"Oh, while to thee the woodland pours t _ t tipn's call, 

Its wildly-warbling song, 1B V\uld shnnk to hear th' obstiep- 

And balmy from the banks of flowers erous trump of Fame, 

o The Zephyr breathes along. Supremely blest, if to their jiortion 

Ijet no rude sound invade from far, '*" 

No vagrant foot be nigh, Health, competence, and peace Nor 

No ray from Grandeur's gilded car ^ t ^^ aim 

Flash on the startled eye Hft< * lie whofte Rimple tale these artless 

lines proclaim 
98 "But if some pilgrim through the glade 

Thy hallow 'd bowers explore, The rolls of fame I will not now 

guard from harm his hoary head, explore; 

And listen to his lore; 20 Nor need I here describe, in learned 




How forth the Minstrel far'd in days 
of yore, 

Good counteracting ill, and gladness 

His waving locks and beard all hoar> 


Right glad of heart, though homely in G0 With gold and gems if Chilian moun- 
tains glow; 

If bleak and barren Scotia's hills 

There plague and poison, lust and 
rapine grow; 

Here, peaceful are the vales, and pure 

the bkies, 

And Freedom fires the soul, and spar- 
kles in the eyes. 


While from his bending shoulder, de- 
cent hung 

His harp, the sole companion of his 

Which to the whistling wild responsive 


And ever as he went some merr> lay he 

Fret not thyself, thou glittering child 

of pride, 
That a poor villager inspires ray 

strain , 
With thee let Pageantry and Power 

The gentle Muses haunt the syhan 

Where through uild gro\es at e\e the 

lonely swain 
Enraptured roams, to gaze on Nature's 

Thev hate the sensual and scorn the 

35 The parasite their influence ne\er 


Nor him whose sordid soul the lo\e of 
gold alarms 

Though richest hues the peacock's 

plumes adoin. 

Vet horror screams irom his discoid- 
ant throat 
Rise, sons of harmony, and hail the 

40 While warbling larks on russet pinions " 

Or seek at noon the woodland scene 

Where the cnav linnets carol from the 

Oh, let them ne'er, with artificial 

To please a tvrant. strain the little 

45 But sing what Heaven inspires, and 

wander where thev will f 

Liberal, not lavish, fa kind Nature's 

Nor was perfection made for man 

Yet all her schemes with nicest art 

are plann'd; 

5 "' Then grieve not, thou, to whom th' 

indulgent Muse 

Vouchsafes a portion of celestial tire; 
Nor blame the partial Fates, if they 

Th' imperial banquet and the rich 

Know thine own worth, and reverence 

the lyre. 
60 Wilt thou debase the heart which God 

refined f 
No, let tin heaven-taught soul to 

Heaven aspire, 

To fancy, freedom, harmony resign 'd ; 
Ambition's grovelling crew forever left 


Canst thou forego the pure ethereal 


In each fine sense so exquisitely keen, 
On the dull coueh of Luxury to loll, 
Stunp with disease, and stupefied with 

spleen ; 
Fain to implore the aid of Flattery's 

Kven from thyself thy loathsome heart 

to hide 
(The mansion then no more of joy 

Where fear, distrust, malevolence 

And impotent desire, and disappointed 

pride 7 

Oh, how canst thou renounce the 
boundless store 

Of charms which Nature to her votary 

The warbling woodland, the resound- 
ing shore, 

The pomp of groves, and garniture of 

AH that the genial ray of morning 

And all that echoes to the song of 




All thai the mountain's sheltering 

bosom shields, 
80 And all the dread magnificence of 


Oh, how canst thou i enounce, and hope 
to he forgiven ? 

And he, though oft with dust and 

sweat besprent, 

Did guide and guard their wanderings, 
wheresoe'erthey went 

And oft he traced the uplands, to 

These charms shall *ork thy soul's M When" o?' the sky advanced the km- 
eternal health, J 


And love, and gentleness, and v jov 

But these thou must renounce, it lust 

of wealth 
E'er win its wav to tin coirupted 

For, ah! it poisons like a scorpion's 


dhng dawn, 
The crimson cloud, blue mam, and 

mountain pray, 
And lake, dim-gleaming on the sniokv 

far to the west the long:, long 1 \ale 

Where twilight lo\es to linger for a 

while , 

PromptiiiR th' migeiieioub wish, the 170 A nd now he faintlv kens the bounding 

0J\1 flail UXlllOTYlU . * 


selfish scheme, 
The stern resolve, umnoxed bv pit\'s 

The troublous da\, and loner dMioss- 

ful dream 
Return, mv roMng Muse, resume thv 

purposed theme 

Theie lived in Gothic da\V as legends 

A shepherd swain, a mail of low de- 

Whose sires, perchame, in Fan viand 

misht dwell, 

Sicilian groves, or vales of Arcady, 
But he, 1 ween, was of the north eoun- 

A nation famed for song, and beaut v's 

charms ; 
Zealous, yet modest, innocent, though ]SI > 


Patient ot toil serene amidst alarms , 
Inflexible in faith : invincible in arms 

100 The shepherd swam of whom I men- 
tion made, 
On Scotia's mountains led his little 

The sickle, sc>the, or plough he never 

An honest heart was almost all his 1S ~* 

stock ; 
His drink the living water froin the 

105 The milky dams supplied his board, 

and lent 
Their kindly fleece to baffle winter's 

shock , 

' In the Middle Age, 

The "North Conntri*" wa the traditional 
dwelling place of fairies, demons, giants, etc. 


And villager abroad t o.ulv toil 
But, lo f the sun p|>oais, and heaven, 
eaith, ocean smile 1 

And oft the craguv cliff he lo\cd tn 

When all in mist the woild below uas 

175 What dieadful pleasure! there to 

stand sublime, 
Like shipwreck M marinei on desert 

And MC\\ the enormous \\*isfo of 

vapor. tossM 
hi billn\\s, lengthening to th' hon/xm 

Now scoop M in gulls, with inouiitaniR 

now emboss M 1 
And hear the \oice of Mirth and Song 

Flocks, herds, and watei tails, along the 

hoar profound ! 

In truth he was a strange and way- 
ward wight, 

Fond of each gentle and each dread- 
ful scene 

In darkness, and m storm, he found 
delight , 

Nor less than when on occan-wa\e 

The southem sun diffused his daz/lmg 

Even sad vicissitude amused his soul; 

And if a sigh would sometimes mter- 

And down his cheek a tear of pity roll, 
190 A sigh, a tear, so sweet, he wish'd not 
to control 



2*0 When the long-sounding curfew from 


Loaded with loud lament the lonelv 

A troop of dames from myrtle bowers 

advance , 
The little warriors doff the targe and 


Young Edwin, lighted by the evening 31 And loud enlivening strains provoke the 

Lingenng and listening, wander 'd 

down the xale 
Theie xxould he dream ui graves, and 

corses pale, 
JS5 And ghosts that to the charnel- 

dungcon throng, 
And diag a length of clanking chain. 

and wail. 
Till silenced bv the owl's terrific 


Or blast that shrieks bv fits the shudder- 
ing isles aloner 


Oi, xx heu the tiettms moon, in ciimson 

Him!* o'ci the daik and melaix hn]\ 

'lo haunted stieam. KM note tiom man. 

he hied, 
\\heie fa\s of xoie their lexels uont 

to keep. 
And theie let rancx loxe at lai^c, till 

A xisiou hiousht to hiw cnhaiHcd 

And fust, n xiildl\ inuinnuins wind 

'san deep 
Shnll to his iingmg em. then tapeis 

They meet, they dait away, they wheel 

askance ; 
To right, to left, thev thnd the flving 

Now bound aloft uith vigorous spring, 

then glance 

Rapid along* with manv-colorM lavs 
316 Of tapers, gems, and gold, the echoing 

forests blaze 

The dream is fled Proud harbingei 

of dav, 
Who scarM'st the Msion with thy cla- 

rion shrill. 
Fell chanticleer 1 who oft hath reit 



\\ith instantaneous gleam, illumed the 
xault of ninlit 

Anon in MCXV a poilal's bla/on'd 
a i ch 

Arose, the tiumpet bids the xalxes un- 

And t oi tli an host oi little wainors 

MX fancied good, and bioimht substan- 
tial ill' 

to thy cuised scream, discordant 

Let Harmon \ axe shut her gentle ear 

Thv boastful mirth let jealous rnals 

Insult thv crest, and glossy pinions 


And exei in th\ di earns the ruthless fo\ 
appear 1 

Forbear, my Muse Ixt Loxe attune 
thv line. 

Kexokc the spell Thine Kdxxin fiet* 
not so 

For how should he at wicked chance 

Who feels from e\eiy change amuse- 
ment flow* 

Kxen noxx his eyes with smiles of rap- 
ture glow. 

the diamond lance and taige S3 As on he zanders thioiigh the scenes 

of gold 
Their look xxas uentle, their demeanor 

And aieen then helms and gieen their 

silk attire. 
And here and there, right venerably 

The long-rob 'd nnnstiels wake the 

warbling wire. 
And some with mellow breath the mar- 

tial pipe inspire 

With merriment and song and timbrels 

of morn, 
Where the fresh floxxeis in lixing lustre 

Where thousand pearls the dexvy lawns 

A thousand notes of joy in every breeze 

are born 

But who the melodies of mom can 

The wild brook babbling down the 

mountain side. 
The lowing herd, the sheep-fold's 

simple bell, 



The pipe of early shepherd dim de- Fancy a thousand wondrous forms 

scned descries, 

In the lone valley; echoing far and 47B More wildly great than ever pencil 

The clamorous horn along the cliffs 


840 The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide: 
The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of 


And the full choir that wakes the uni- 
versal grove 

The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark ; 

Rocks, torrents, gulfs, and shapes of 

giant size, 

And gktt'rmg cliffs on cliffs, and fiery 
ramparts rise. 

Thence musing onward to the sounding 

The lone enthusiast ott would take hw 


Crown 'd with her pail the topping 48 Listening, with pleasing dread, to the 

milkmaid sings; 

The whistling ploughman stalks afield ; 
and hark f 

Down the rough slope the ponderous 
wagon rings; 

Through rustling: corn the hare aston- 
ish 'd springs, 

Slow tolls the village clock the drowsy 

deep roar 
Of the wide-weltering waves In black 

When sulphurous clouds rollM on th 9 

autumnal day, 
Even then he habten'd fiom the haunt 

of man, 
Along the trembling wilderness to 


The partridge bursts away on whir- 485 What time the lightning's fierce career 

nng wings , began, 

850 Deep mourns the turtle 1 m sequestei M And o'er HeavVb lending aich the lat- 

bower, thng thunder ran 
And shrill lark carols clear from her 
aerial tower 

Nature, how in every charm su- 
preme ! 

Responsive to the lively pipe, when all 
In sprightly dance the village vouth 

were join 'd, 
Edwin, of melody aye held in thrall, 

Whose votaries feast on raptures evei 4q From the rude gambol far remote re- 
new ! 

O for the voice and fire of seraphim, 
To sing thy glories with devotion due' 
Blest be the day I 'scaped the wran- 
gling crew, 
From Pyrrho's maze, and Epicurus' 


And held high converse with the god- 
like few, 

Sooth 'd with the soit notes waibhng 

in the wind. 
Ah ! then all jollity beem 'd noise and 


To the pure soul by Fancy's fire re- 
fin 'd; 

Ah I what is mirth but turbulence un- 

Who to th' enraptured heart, and eai, 495 When with the charm compared of hea\- 
and eye, only melancholy f 

860 Teach beauty, virtue, truth, and love, 

and melody. 

Meanwhile, whate'er of beautiful, or 

Oft when the winter btorra had ceasM "6 Sublime, or dreadful, in earth, sea, or 

to rave, _ sky, 

470 He roam'd the snowy waste at even. 

to view 

The cloud stupendous, from th 9 Atlan- 
tic wave 
High-towering, sail along th' horizon 

Where, midst the changeful scenery, 

ever new, 

By chance, or search, was offer 'd to 

his view, 
He scann'd with curious and romantic 


Whate'er of lore tradition could supply 
From Gothic tale, or song, or fable 

620 Rous'd him, still keen to listen and to 



At last, though long by penury eon- "Thou'rt righte," quod 1 hee, "for, by the 

troll'd Godde 

And solitude, his soul her graces 'gan 10 That syttes enthroned on hyghel 

unfold. Charles Bawdin, and hys fellowes twaine, 

To-daie shall surebe die. M 
Thus on the chill Lappoman's dreary 

land, Thenne wythe a jugge of nappy* ale 

For many a long month lost in snow Hys knyghtes dydd onne hymm waite; 

profound, * 5 "Goe tell the traytour thatt to-daie 

625 When Sol from Cancer sends the sea- Hee leaves thys mortall state." 

son bland, 

And in their northern caves the storms Sir Canterlone thenne bendedd lone, 

are bound , With harte brymm-fulle of woe; 

From silent mountains, straight, with Hee journey 'd to the castle-gate 

startling sound, 20 And to S>r Charles dydd goe. 
Torrents are hurl'd; green hills 

emerge, and, lo! But whenne hee came, hys children 

The trees are foliage, cliffs with flowers twaine, 

are crown 'd , And eke hys lovynge wyf e, 

580 Pure nils through vales of verdure Wythe bnnie tears dydd wett the floore, 

warbling go , For goode Syr Charleses lyf e 
And wonder, love, and joy, the peasant's 

heart o'erflow. 25 "0 goode Syr Charles " sayd Canter- 

Here pause, my Gothic lyre, a little "Badde tvdyngs I doe brynge " 

wlnle, "Speke boldhe, marine, sa>d brave Sjr 

The leisure hour is all that thou canst ,,wrP iarie8 ' , 

c | aun "Whatte says tlue tray tor kynget" 

Rut on this \erse if Montagu should 

smile, I gree\e to telle; before yonnc sonne 

M5 Ne* strains ere long shall animate thy 80 1*** 1'ioinnie the welkin flye, 

frame. I* 6 * hathe uppone hys honnour swnme, 

And her applause to me is more than Thatt thou shalt surehe die." 

For still with truth accords her taste "Wee all must die," quod brave Syr 

letinM Charles; 

At lucre or renown let others aim, _ R "Of thatte I'm not affearde; 

1 only wish to please the gentle 8R Whatte bootes to lyve a little space? 

mindf Thanke Jesu, I'm prepar'd. 

r 40 Whom Nature's charms inspire, and lo\e 

of humankind "Butt telle thy<? kynpe, for myne hee's 


I'de sooner die to-daie 
THOMAS CHATTERTON (1752-1770) Thanne lyve h>s slave, as manie are, 

BRISTOWE TRAGEDIE, 4 Thou h l shoulde lvve for aic " 

OR, THI DETHK OP SYR CHARLES BAWDIN Thenne Canterlone hee dydd goe out, 

1765 1772 To telle the maior straite 

The feathered songster chaunticleer To gett all thyn^es ynne reddyness 

Han 1 wounde hys bugle horne, For goode Syi Charles's fate. 
And tolde the eaihe villager 

The commynge of the morne * 4B Thenne Maisterr Canynge saughte the 


6 Kynge Edwarde 2 rawe the ruddie streakes And felle down onne hys knee; 

Of lyghte eclypse the greie; "I'm come," quod hee, "unto your 

And herde the raven's crokynge throte grace 

Proclayme the fated daie. To move your clemenqye." 

Edward IV quoth, wild 


Thenne quod the kynge, "Youre tale Respect a brave and nobile mynde 

speke out, Altho ' ynne enemies. ' ' 
50 You have been much cure fnende; 

Whatever youre request may bee, "Canynge, awaie By Godde ynne Heav'n 

We wylle to ytte attende " That dydd mee being gyve, 

95 i wy iie n ott taste a bitt of breade 

''My nobile leige! alle my request, Whilst thys Syr Charles dothe lyve 

Ys for a nobile knyghte, ttr > -. , a . . TT f 

* Who, tho' mayhap hel has donne wion^e, "Bie Mane, and a e Semcteynne Heav'n, 

Hee thoughte ytte style was ryghte- Thys sunne shall be hys laste," 

e J J Thenne Canynge dropt a brmie tenie, 

"Hee has a spouse and ehildien Uame. 10 - And from the P resence P aste - 

Alle rewynM' are forme, Wlth hcite bryinm . fulle of ^n awV n^ 

Yff that you aic tesolv'd to lett f J * fr 

60 Charles Biwdin die to-daic " 1Iee to s ^ Chfllles dvfM ^ 

. ,, And salt hvinni downe uponne a stoole, 

"Speke nott of such a traytoui vile," Ancl teareb begannp to flowe 

The kynge ynn lune sayde , 

"Before the exemng starre doth sheene, 105 "Wee alle must die," quod bra\e Syr 
Bawdin shall loose hys hedde* Charles, 

"Whatte bootes ytte howe or whenn?, 
6B "Justice does loudhe for hym calle, Dethe vs the sure, the certame fate 

And hee bhalle have hys meede Of all wee mortall nienne 

Speke, Maister Canynge' Whatte lli\ne 

else "Sa\e why, m> fnend, tine honest soul 

Att piesent doe von neede'" 1|U Kunns o\eir att th>ne e\e, 

Ts vtte for my most welcome doome 

"My nobile leie" ffood Canyn^e sayde, Thatt 


Be thyne the olyve rodde in An( , , eftve thy ^^ flnd 

.. A . . . . 'Tys thys thatt wettes myne e\e 

"Was Godde to serche our hertes and 

remes, 8 "Thenne dne the tears thatt out tliMie eve 

The best were svnners grete, Fioin godhe fountaines spnnge, 

7B rhnst's wcarr onlv knowes ne svnne, i^fhe I despise, and alle the powei 

Ynne all thys mortall state 120 of Kitanule, tia>!i k\nge 

"Leite mercie tule thvne infante reijjme, "Whan thmui*fa the fyi ant's welcoin means 

Twvlle faste tliye crowne fulle sine f 1 shall resigne mv l\fe, 

Fioin lace to race thye familie The Godde I serve w\lle socme pio\\ilc 

so Alle sov'reigns shall endure For bothe mve sonnes and 


But yff wythe bloode and slaughter thou "^ fore J Mwe th ? |vghtsome sunne. 
Be^inne thy infante reigne, ^ l v w ! *\ PInted mee, 

Thy crowne upponne thy childrennes brows J?h "JjJl manne repyne or gnulge 
Wylle never long remayne " What Oodde or < J evnes to bee* 

.._ . ,. .. "Howe oft >nne battaile ha\e I stoo.le. 

"Canynge, awaie thys traytour vile 130 Whan thousands dv'd arounde; 

Has scorn 'd my power and mee; W han smokynge streemes of ciimsnn 

Howe canst thou thenne for such a manne bloode 

Intreate my clemencye t ' ' Imbrew 'd the fatten 'd grounde 

"Mie nobile leige! the truhe brave "Howe dvdd I knowe thatt ev'rv darte, 

Wylle val'rous actions prize; That cutte the airie waie, 

a ril i n ed kidneyn 135 M yff htc nott f ynde passage toe my harte, 

1 the rod of peace And close myne e> es for aie f 


"And shall I nowe, forr feere of dethe, "Oh, fickle people! rewyn'd londe! 

Looke wanne and bee dysmayde* Thou wylt kenne peace ne moe; 

Ne! fromm my herte flie childyshe feere, Whyle Richard's sonnes 1 exalt themselves, 

140 Bee alle the manne display 'd Thye brookes wythe blonde wylle flowe 

"Ah!" goddelyke Henne' 1 Godde for- 185 "Saie, were ye tyr'd of godhe peace, 

fende, 8 And godhe Henne's reigne, 

And guarde thee and thye sonne, Thatt you dyd choppe 8 you easie daies 

Yff 'tis hys wylle , but yff 'tis nott, For those of bloude and peyne ! 

Why thenne hys wylle bee donne 

" Whatte too' I onne a sledde bee drawne, 
i "My honest friende, my faulte has beene iq And mangled by a hynde,' 

To serve Godde and mye prynce, I doe defye the traytor's pow'r, 

And thatt I no tyme-server am, Hee can ne harm ">y mynde; 

My dethe wylle soone convynce. 

" Whatte tho ', uphoisted onne a pole, 

" Ynne Londonne citye was I borne, 19 , . Mye lymbes shall rotte ynne ayre, 
160 Of parents of grete note , 195 And ne lyche monument of brasse 

My fadre dydd a nobile armes Charles Bawdm's name shall bear; 

Emblazon onne hys cote ^ ynne 

"' s 

From oute the reech of woe ,, for 

And eke hee tau^hte mee howe to knowe M > , lovvnce wvfe' 

ieo The wronge cause fromme the lyghte M ^ e sonnes and 10 ^ n * e w - vte 

Al . , . , 205 "Nowe dethe as welcome to mee comes. 

1 ' 1 i ee , tai i gh1 ; e "I** Wyth a prudent A " e >er * he raone t h <>f Maie , 

To feede the hungrie poore, Nor wou , de j even wyghe to lvV6( 

Ne lette mye sei vants dry\e awaie Wyth my (lere wyfe to staie , , 

The hungrie fromme my doore 

, . Quod Canvnse, " Tys a good lie thynge 

l5 "And none ran save butt alle mye Ivfe jio TO bee prepar'd to die, 

I have hvb torches kept , And from th\b world of peyne and grefe 

Aiid *.ummM the actyonns of the daie To Godde vnne Heav'n to flie " 
Kf he nvghte before I slept 

And nowe the belle beganne to tolle, 

"I ha\e a spouse, goe aske of her And clarMww 1 * lo ^ouude, 

170 yff I defyl'd her beddef 216 gyr C'harlei hee herde the horses' feete 

I ha>e a kvnge, and none can laie A-piaunrvnjr onne the giounde 

Blaeke treason onne my hedde 

And just before the officers 
"Ynne Lent, and onne the hohe e\e, His lovMige u\fe came ynne, 

Fronmie fleshe I dydd ref rayne ; Weepvnge unfeigned teeres of woe, 

"6 w| U e should I thenne appeare ilmmavM 220 Wvthe londe and dysmalle dynne 
To leave thvs worlde of pa^e* 

"Sweet Florence' nowe I praie forbere. 
"Ne, hapless Henne! I reiovce, Ynne quiet lett mee die, 

I shall ne see thve dethe, Praie Godde thatt ev'rv Chn^tian soule 

Moste willvnghe ynne thye just cause Maye looke onne dethe as I 

180 Doe I resign my brethe. 

> Richard. Duke of York, wa* father of Edward 
>HeDry VI, noted for MB piety, who had been IV nnif Richard III 

dpOHed and held captive b> fcdward IV "exchange 

defend (The word IB mlmned , It meant forbid ) ' peasant 


225 "Sweet Florence! why these bri met eerest The Freers of Seinete Augustyne next 

Theye waahe my aonle awaie, 27 Appeared to the syghte, 

And almost make mee wyshe for lyfe, Alle cladd ynne homelie russett weedes, 1 

Wythe thee, sweete dame, to staie, Of godhe monkysh plyghte 2 

" 'Tys butt a joarnie I shalle goe Ynne diffraunt partes a grihe psaume 

2W Untoethelaideofblysse; 275 ^oste sweethe theye dydd ehaunt, 

Nowe, as a proof e of husbanded love, * 75 Behynde theyre backes syx mvnstrelles 

Receive thys hohe kysse " _ *"* ... , . 4 _ 

Who tun M the strunge bataunt * 

Thenne Florence, fault'ring ynne her saie, Thenne f yve . a nd-twentye archers came; 
, ,< Tremblynge these wordyea spoke, Echone 4 the bnwe dydd ^ nde 

2 "Ah, cruele Edwarde! bloudie kynge From ^^^ of K H enne's friends 

Mye herte ys welle nyghe breke 2 80 S yr diaries f m i to defend 

"Ah, sweete Syr Charles f why wylt thou Bolde as a lyon came Syr Charles, 

goe, Drawne onne a cloth-layde aledde, 

Wythoute thye lovynge wyfef Bye two blacke stedes ynne trapjnnges 

The cruelle axe thatt cuttes thye necke, white, 

140 Ttte eke shall ende mye lyfe " Wyth plumes uponne theyre hedde 

And nowe the ofRcers eame ynne 28>5 Behynde hym five-and-twentye me 
To biynge Syr Charles awaie, Of archers stronge and stoule, 

Whoe turnedd toe hys lovynge wyfe, Wyth bended bowe eclione ynne hande, 

And thus to her dydd saie Maiched ynne fii>dlie mute, 

5 "I goe to lyfe, and nott to dethe; ^ Sc ' n< : te J ^ meses f reers marclied next, 

Tiuste thou ynne Godde above, * D ^^ ]l vs P art u e d ^ tthauilt 

And teache thye sonnes to f eare the Lorde, Beh > nde thc > re backeb M x 
And ynne theyre hertes hym lo^e WhoWd the strunge bataunt 

Thenne came the maior and 
fader runne , Ynne clothe of u&rlett deck 't . 

Florence! should dethe thee take-adieu! 295 A nd theyre attendyng menne 
Yee officers leade onne Lyke fe astcrne p^, tnokt 

Thenne Florence rav'd as anie madde, And after them a multitude 

And dydd her tresses tere , Of citizenns dydd thronpe ; 

2B5oh stole, ^ mye hufcbande! lorde, and The wyndowes were all fulle of he<Mf s 

lyfe! 300 As liee dydd passe alonge 

Syr Charles thenne dropt a teare 

And whenne hee came to the hygbe crosse, 
'Tyll tyredd oute wythe ravynge loud, Syr Charles dydd turne and saie, 

Shee felien onne the flore ; <( Thou, thatt saxest manne iromine 

Syr Charles exerted alle hys myghte, synne, 

200 And march 'd fromme oute the dore. Washe mye soule clean thys daie!" 

Uponne a sledde hee mounted thenne, 80B Att the grete mynsterr wyndowe sat 
Wythe lookes full brave and swete. The kynge ynne rayckle* btate, 

Lookes thatt enshone 1 ne more concern To see Charles Bawdm goe alonge 

Thanne anie ynne the strete. To hys most welcom fate 

* Before hym went the council-menne, flin Soone as the sledde drewe nyghe enowe 

Ynne scarlett robes and golde, 81 Th tt Edwarde hee myghte heare, 

And tassils spanglynge ynne the sunne, i homespun clothes an adjective, mean- 

Mnehe glonous to beholde: in. 

i showed (an Invented form) The word Is really great; much 

trunint is known ' decked out 



The brave Syr Charles hee dydd stande 

And thus hya wordes declare. 

' ' Thou seest mee, Edwarde f travtonr vile ? 

Expos 'd to infamie; 
315 Butt bee assur'd, disloyall manne, 
I 'm greaterr nowe thanne thee 1 

"B>e foule proceedyngs, murdre, bloude, 
Thou wearest nowe a crowne , 

And hast appovnted mee to dye, 
By power nott thyne owne 

' 20 

"Thou thynkest I shall die to-daie, 
I have beone dede 'till nowe, 

And soone shall lyve to weare a crowne 
For aie uponne my browe 

o- 1 1 tin i A , * * 

- "Whylst thou, perhapps, for som fe* 

Shalt rule thys fickle lande, 

* 6B For wrvynge loyally mye kyngc, 
Mye kynge most ryghtf ulhe 

"As longe as Edwarde roles thys land, 

Ne quiet you wylle knowe . 
Yonre sonnes and husbandes shalle bee 


86 And brookes wythe bloude shalle 

"You lea\c \onre goode and lawfnlle 

Whenne ynne adversitye, 
Lyke mee, untoe the true cause atycke, 

And for the true cause dye " 

m Thenne hee, wvth preestes, uponne hvs 


A P 1 ^ >r to Godde dydd make, 
Bescechynge hym unto hyraselfe 
Hys partyncre soule to take 

downe, hee lavd ,,vs 

' ' Thye pow 'r unjust, thou tray tour 
Shall falle onno thye owne hedde" 
Fiomme out nf hearyng of the kvnee 
Departed thenne the sledde 

K\ n^re Edn, aide f s soule i u*,h 'd in hvs face ... 
Hee turn M livs hedde awaie, u- ' 

' And to h>s biode Gloucester' 

Hee thus d\dd speke and sine 

4 , .,,,,,, 

And oute the bloude beganne to flowe. 

. -\" d rounde the scaflfolde twyne , 
And ***** e to & * w "i 
flow fromme ea(>h lnann 

1 ' T hym thai soe-nuich-dreaded dethe 

No ghasthe terrors brynjre. 
Keholde the niaune' lu>e ^pake the tmihe, 
in Hee's sjrenter tliunne a k\nae fi ' 

' Soe let t h vm die f " Duke Richard sayde , 
"And mu\e echone cure foes 

Bende do\\ne thevie neckes to bloudie axe 
\ml feede the carrvon crowes " 

>4r> And no>\e the horses gentlie dre\ie 

S\r Charles uppe the hyplie h>lle, 
The axe d\dd dvsterr ynne the sunne 
His pretious blonde to spvlle 

Svr Charles dvdd uppe the scaffold croe 
xr| As uppe a gildeil carre 

Of \ictorve, b\e xal'rouB chiefs 
ynne the bloudie wnrre 


The bloudie axe hvs bodie favre 

Ynn to f oui e parties cutte , 
And ey'rye parte, and eke h\s hedde, 

I T ponne a pole was putte 

One parte d>dd rotte onne K\nwulph- 
h vile, 

One onne the mynster-to*ei. 
And one from off the castle-gate 

The ciowen 1 dvdd devoure, 

And to the people hee d\dd saie, 
^Beholde \ou see mee d\e, 

n|8 " The otlier onne Seyncte Powle's 


A dreery spectacle, 
Hvs hedde was plac'd onne the hyghe 

Vnne hyphe-sfreete most nobile 

Thus was the ende of Bawdin's fate- 
^ q o Oodde prosper longe oure kynge, 
And grante hee mave. wyth Bawdin's 

Ynne hea\ 'n Godd's mercie synge! 

1 The DiAo of OloucvBtor nftor^ard Rlrbftrd III crows 




1768 1772 


Thorowe the halle the belle ban sounde ; l 
Byelecoyle doe the grave beseeme; 2 
The ealdermenne doe sytte aroundc, 
Ande snoffelle oppe 3 the cheorte 4 steeme. 
5 Lyche asses wylde ynne desarte waste 
Swotelye 5 the morneynge ayre doe 

Syke keene 6 thie ate ; the minstrels plaie. 
The dynne of angelles doe theie keepe." 
Heie styllc,* the guestes ha ne to saie, 
10 Bntte nodde vci 10 thankee ande falle 


Thus eehone daie bee I to deene, 1 ^ 
Gyf 12 Rowley. Ivamm, or Tvb 

be ne *eene 



1768 1777 


F if rate Mynstrellt 

The boddynpe 14 flourette* hlo^he^ atte 

The mees 15 be sprenged"' i*\th the 

yellowe hue , 
Vnh daiseyd mantels ys the mounta> ne 

The nesh 17 yonge co\vesJej>e bendethe 

wyth the dewe, 
5 The trees enleffcd, 1 " >ntoe hea\enne 

Whenn gentle ^yndeh dte blo\\e, to 

uhestlyng dvnne ys broutrht 

The e\enynge commes and bn nues the 

The roddie welkynne fiheeneth to the 

eyne , 20 
Anmnde the alestake 21 1 

Vonge ivie rounde the doore jKHte ilo 

ontwyne : 


1 ban Hounded 

e fair welcoming do 
the dignified |xr 
Honagefl appear 

1 snuff up 

4 <*a\orv , plcanant 


so keenh 

7 they plav muHie llki> 
that of angeh 

t h e y til 1, f c . 
when the murtdann 

11 thui prerj dm HIII 
1 to dine 

19 |f 

11 Imaginary boon com- 
paniona of i'amngt 
14 budding 
l> meadows 
w are gprtnklod 

onn the grabse; yette, to 
mie wylle, 

Albeytte alle ys fayre, there lackethe 
somethynge stylle 

Seconde Mynstrellc 

So Adam thoughtenne. whann. ' *in 

All heavenn and eithe d\d hominaue 

to hys mynde ; 
Vnn womroan alleyne 1 man n is ploas- 

aunce l}es, 
V^ instrumentefe of joie \veie nia<le the 

kynde - 
^0, take a \*vfe untoe tine armes. and 

Wxnter and brounie hvlles \\vll h\e a 

eharme for thee 

Thyrdc MynstutU 

Wlianne Autumpne blake" and ^onne- 

brente doe aj>|>eie, 
" With hvs goulde lionde i>inlte\nie 4 the 

ialleyntre leie, 
llr \ngev litre opjn* W\nten to folUlle 

the yere, 
Iteer.vnge ujwnne h\s baeke the uped 

shefe , 
Whan al the h\K \\Athe ucxltlie *ede* 

Vb i*hyte; 
Whanne le\yiine l>ie^' and leni<^ 7 dn mete 

from far the SA elite- 8 

1 Whann the fa.M** apple, rudde .1^ e\en 

hkie, tt 
Do bende the tiee unto the huctxle 1 " 

grounde . 
When joicie }K'res, and liernes of 

blacke die, 
Doe daunee >n a>ie, and eall the 

eyne 11 arounde; 

Thanii, bee the e\en foule 01 e\en fayie, 
Meethynckes mie hart>s 12 ioic ys steyneed 1 " 1 

\\vth ^ommeeare. 

have nothing 


14 Htretched 
90 the ruddT nk\ 

to the ere 
" \ Htak 

tho slf^n of an air 


Atmelles bee \\roehte to bee of neidher 

Vmrelles alleyne froninie ehafe 1 ' de.vre 

bee free: 

1 alone " n* far an the eye can 


ruddy ae\onlngsk\ 
(lu " fruitful 


hlea k , bare 

nary, it IK defined 

g1dlng ) 
willow wed 


i heart's 


14 are made to 

neither net 

he of 



Dheere 1 yb a soiiiwhatte evere yn the 

Yatte, 2 wythout wommanne, cannot 

styllfed bee; 
36 Ne seyncte yn celles, botte, 8 havynge 

blodde and tere, 4 

Do fynde the spryte to joie on syghte of 
wommanne f ayre , 

Wommen bee made, notte for hem- 

selves, botte mannc. 
Hone of hys bone, and chyld of hvi 

desire . 
Fromnie an ymityle inenibere 5 fyrsto 

began ne, 
40 Ywroghte with morhe of water, lyttele 

f yre ; 
Therefore theie seke the f.\re of love, 

to hete 
The milkynes** nt k.vnde, 6 and make hein- 

sH\s complete 

MbeUte wvthout uonmien mcruie 

To sahn^c kMidc." and wulde botte lyxi? 

to -len, 
46 Botte \\omineiinc ilte tt the spiyehtt 1 of 

peace so chores, 
Toohelod vii 10 Angel jme heie 11 An&rele* 

Go, take thee s\\ \thyn 12 to tine hedde 

a wyfe, 
Bee bante 18 01 blessed hie 14 yn proo\ynire 

marryage lyfe 


O ' synge untoe line roundelaie, 15 
O f droppe the brjnie tea re wythe mee, 
Daunce ne inoe atte halhe daie, 16 
Lycke a leynjnge 17 rvver bee; 
" Mie love ys dedde, 

(ion to hys death-bedde, 
VI under the wyllowe tree 

Blacke hys crjne 18 as the wyntere nyghte, 
Whyte h>s iode 10 as tho sommer snowe, 
10 Rodde 20 hvs face as the mornynpe lyphte, 
('nlo 21 he lyes ynne the jrraAe helowe, 
Mie" love ys detlde, 

1 there 

no Mint In cell, but 

5 aneleHM member, i 
r., Adam <* rlh 


savage species, 40 , 
wild beaita 


w dowered with 

" cursed 
" highly 
n accompanv me In mv 

i holidax 
" running 
" hair 

*' ruddv 

Gon to hys deathe-bedde, 
Al under the wyllowe tree 

15 Swote 1 hys tyngue as the throstles note, 
Qaycke ynn dannce as thonghte canne bee, 
Def te hys taboure, 1 codgelle stote, 8 
0! hee lyes bie the wyllowe tree 

Mie love ys dedde, 
20 Oonne to hys deathe-bedde, 

Alle underre the wyllowe tree 

Harke f the ravenne flappes hys wynpe, 

In the briered delle belowe , 

Harke ! the dethe-owle loude dothe synge, 
- r> To the nyghte-mares as heie 4 goe , 
Mie love ys dedde, 
Qonne to hys deathe-bedde, 
Al under the wyllowe tree 

See f the wh>te moone sheenes onne hie, 
50 Whyterre ys mie true loves shronde , 
Whytcire yanne 6 the mornynge skie, 
Whyterre yanne the cvenynge cloude, 
Mie love ys dedde, 
Gon to hys deathe-bedde, 
r ' Al under the wyllowe tree 

Heere, uponne mie true loves grave, 

Schalle the baren fleurs be layde, 

Nee one halhe Seyncte to save 

Al the celness of a mayde." 
40 Mie love ys dedde, 

Gonne to hys deathe-bedde, 
Alle under the wjllowe tree 

Wythe mie hondes I 'lie dente 7 the bneres 

Kounde his halhe corse to pie, 8 
15 Ouphante 9 fame lyghte youre fyres, 

ITeere mie boddie stylle schalle l>ee 
Mie love ys dedde, 
Gon to hys deathe-bedde, 
VI under the wvllowe tree 

50 Comme, wythe acorne-coppe and thorne, 
Drayne mie hartys blodde awaie; 
Lyfe and all yttes goode I scoine, 
Daunre bie nete, 10 or feaste by daie 

Mie love ys dedde, 
55 Gon to hys death-bedde, 

Al under the wyllowe tree. 

1 sweet 

'bkilful (he wan) in 
plaving the tabor 
(a stringed InRtru- 
ment nlmilar to the 

his rudgel wag ntout 



there Is not one holy 

<*alnt who can save 
a maid from the 
toldneM that corner 
from watching at 
her lover's grave ( ') 

' fasten 



10 by night 



Waterre wytcbes, crownede xx j (he reytes/ 
Here inee to yer leathalle 2 tyde. 
I die I I comme f mie true love waytos. . 
80 Thos the damselle spake, and dyed. 



KOV\ I XIE, 1464 
WO 1777 

In Virgyne 3 the sweltiie sun can 4 

And hotte upon the mees r> did caste 

his raie, 
The apple rodded* fiom its pah* 

And the mole 7 peiire did bendo the 

leafy spraie, 
5 The peede chelandri 8 sunge the h\e- 

long daie, 
Twas nowe the pride, the manhode 

of the yeare, 
And eke the jjiounde xxas dmiito 1 * in Us 

most defte numeie 10 

The sun xxas qlemein? in the middle 

of daie, 
Deadde still the aire, and eke the 

uelken bine, 
10 When f i-oin the sea aiist 11 in dieai 


A hepe o) cloud PS of sable sullen hue. 
The * Inch full fast unto the uood- 

lande dre^e, 
Hiltnng attenes the sunnis fety\e 

And the blaekc tempeste swolne 1 * 1 and 

sat houl ii]> apace 

15 Beneathe an holme, 14 by a pathwaie 

\Vlneli dxde unto Sexneto (5och\me'* 

cox T ent lfi lede, 

A hapless piicinn moneynge 16 dyd 

1 water flags 

14 \ kind of onk 

J lethal , cleaclh 

-"It would hate IKM-D 

Mn the Virgin, tunt 

that it able If tho 

part of tho xodiac 

author had not 

which the inn enters 

pointed at personal 

In August 

character* In thi* 


Ballad of Tharltx 

* ineado* s 

The ahuot of St 

1 leddened 

Oodmlnn at tho 

Murieeated or pied 

time of writing of 
thlT vi an Ralph do 


Bellomont. a great 


stickler for tho 

1(1 neat mantle 

Ijancaatrlan famlh 
Rowley wa a York 

hiding at once the 
nn*8 fertile face 

tat "Chatterton 
10 moaning 

u swelled 

Poic in his viewe, 1 ungentle 2 in his 

weede, 8 
Longe bretful 4 of the miseries of 

neede . 
- Where from the hailstone eoulde the 

aimer 6 fliet 

He hail no housen theeie. no nnie eovent 

Look in his gloimned' 1 iaeo, his spnght 

there wanne 
Howe Moe-be-gone, how uithejed. ioi- 

Haste to tine church - glebe - house." 

asshiewed" munne. 
Haste to thie kisle, 10 thie onlu- doi- 

touro 11 bedrl<> 
('ale 1 - 1 as the Hme \\hulie \\ill yie 11 on 

thie lutldp 
Is Choiihe and LO\P 

pl\ i?s , ! " 
Knicrhtis and B.IIOIIS li\o ioi ploasuie and 


Tlic uatheid stoiine i^ I\JH>. thr 

(hops ialle, 
- The loi^at 1 " ineadimc^ sincilie, 17 ami 

<liencli(' 1M tin* laiiic, 
The coinuiu jluisinoss' ' do (he cattle 

pail.- 50 
Vinl tho lull flo(kes ;no dii\\ii>e oir 

the plaint', 
Dashdc t loin tho cloudos, Iho 

flott- 1 as>aine t 
The uelkin opos, tht 1 \elhm 

*~ And the hot fiono sinotho 17 in the \\idi* 

lowmgv" dies 

LiRte! no\s the thuiiilei 's lattlmg cljin- 

m>njje 24 smmd 
('hexes-'" 1 sloxxlio (n, ,uid then onibollon ' 

Shakes the hie sp\ic> t and, losbt, de- 

pended, drovin'd. 
Still on the jralhnd-' 7 eaie of tonoun 

hangos , 
40 The ^mdes uio up. the loft\ olnien 

1 appi^arancc 
J lieggarh , not like i 

J- por^onais* N 
14 sunburnt 


17 Hteam 


1)1 drink 

' hrlmful 

n terror 

" beggar of alm^ 
n gloom \ , dejec*to<l 
' dry , withered 
" the grave 

* appal, frlghton 
- l flv 
" flashingf 

8 accursed 

* noinv 

10 cheat : coffin 

* moves 


CT fHghted 

1 grom 

* olin ^VIHVS 

14 among 



Again the levyune and the thunder 


And the full cloudes ate hiaste 1 attenes 2 
in btonen* showers 

Spurreynge his palfne oeie the watrie 

The Abbote oi* Seyiicte Godwynes con- 

\ ente came 
llih iliapoumette 4 wu> diented with the 


"Varlet/' leplyd the Abbatte, ^ 

>our dinne! 
This is no season almes and prayers to 


Mie poitei \\e\ei lets a faitoui 1 in, 
None touch mie i*ynge 2 who not in 

honom h\e '* 
And now the sonne with the blacke 

cloudeb did btiyvc. 
And bhettynge 4 on the grounde his 

glanie laie * 

And his penctc"' gyidk* met with mickle TO The Abbatte bpurrde nib steede, and eit- 

He avnewarde tolde his bederoll 7 at the 

same 8 
The storme encieasen, and he dre* 

With the mist" almes-ci\ei neere 10 to the 

holme to bide 


" |0 His cope 11 was all oi' Lyncolnc clothe 

so fync, 
With a gold butlon fasten 'd 

chvnne , 
His auticmcte 1 - \\as edged with erolden 

tttynne, 13 
And hib shoone 14 p.xke 1 " 1 a loxerds 10 

mishto luuc bump 
Full well it shemn ho thoiurhten c-ostc 

no smne, 
Tlie tinmmels 17 of the pal h ye pleasdc 

his sicrhte. 

soones roadde awaie 

Once moe the skie was blacks, tiic 

thoundei rolde 
Paste reyneynge ocr the plaine a pneste 

was been, 
Xe dighte 5 lull pioude, nc buttoned up 

m golde; 
His cope and ,]ape \\ere giaie, and ck 

were clene; 

\ Liinitouie he ^\as of oider j^ent* 7 
And fiom the pathvaie side then tuinM 

Where the poie almei hue bmethe tlu- 

holmen tree. 

"An allies sir pnost 1 " tho diopp>ni' 

])ilgrim sayde, 

"Foi sweete Seyncie .Mam- and 
mder bake ff 

Foi tin- hoistMmllnnaie 1 " Ins head with go The Limitoure then loosen 'd his pouchi 
roses dightc 

"An almes, sir pne*te ?M the drop- 

pynjjc 1 


()' let mi 1 \\aitc \\itliiu voui 

Till the sunno sheneth hie abo\e oiu 

And the loudo tempeste of the airc is 


Helplebb and ould am I. alas* and 8 , 

poor , 
No house, nc fnend, ne inoneie in m> 

pouchc , 
All \atte jo I calle mv uune is this mv silvei 

ciouche M!J1 

And did thereout e a gioate s of 

The mibtei* pilgimi d>d foi halhne 1 " 

Here take this sihei. it maie eat ho n 

thie care, 
We aie Goddes s1e\\aixls all, nete 12 oi 

oure o\\ne we bare 

But ah f unhaihe 18 pilgrim, lerne of 

Scathe 14 anie ine a ventiolle, 10 to then 

take my semecope, 10 thou arte 

\n\ro I see, 

1 hurst 

>' tine 


\ small round hat 

* painted a 
-much noil . "P 6 *! 1 ^ 
74i Hc told bis beads 1- lords 

backwards a flRura- " shackles u B c d to 
to make a borne amble 
- "one who deck, out 

then: at the 10 me 
pooi ' 


1 vagabond 
'hammer of the dooi 

1 shooting 
4 (shining raj 
dressed; adorned 
A abort surplice 
T aa to his order, be 
waa seen to be a 
llmiter, t. t , a 
friar licensed to beg 
within a certain 
limited area 

A small coin, worth 

four pence 

Account of 

1(1 under cloak 



Tib thyne; the Seyneteb will give me 

line rewarde." 
He left the pilgrim, and his uaie 

aborde. 1 
90 Virgynne and hallie Seyucte, who sitte 5 

>n gloure, 2 

Oi ^ne the raittee 8 \iill, or give the gode 
man power' 



Thys morn>nge staire of Radcleves 

rysynge raie, 
A true manne good of mynde and 

Canynge hyghte, 4 
Benethe thys stone lies moltrynpc 5 ynto 

Tntylle the dark tombe sheene an* 

eterne lyghte. * 

5 Thyrde from hys loynes the present 

Canynge came, 
Houtou* aie woides foi to telle h>* 

doe, 8 
For aye shall hve hys hea\en-iecorded a 

Ne shall yt dye whanne tynie slialle 

IKKJ no nioe," 
Whanne Myehael *s trumpe shall souzide 

to rise the solle, 
10 He'll \>>nre tn heaven with kjime '" ami 

happie bee hys clolle n 



J783 176,0 

Vathek, ninth Caliph of the race ot the 40 
Abaroides, mas the son of Motassem, and 
the giandson of Haroun Al Raschid Fioin 
an early accession to the throne, and 

5 the talent* he possessed to adorn it, his 
subjects were induced to expect that his 45 
leign \\ould be long and hapjn His 
figure was pleasing and majestic, but \\hcn 
he was angry one of his eyes became M 

10 terrible, that no person could beai to 
behold it, and the wretch upon uhoni it so 
was fixed instantlv tell backward, and 

w bis kinsmen 


"A title of the me 
cessors of Moham- 66 
med, now claimed 
bjr the Snltan of 
Turkey it com 
prebends the chai 
acter of propln i 
lrlot nnd 

1 molderlng 
bine in 
T empty 

suuietmieb expn-ed. For i'ear, liowevei, of 
depopulating Ins dominions and making 
his palace desolate, he but raiely gave viay 
to hife anger. 

Being much addicted to luiuien and the 
pleasures of the table, he bought by his affa- 
bility to piocuie agieeuhle companions, and 
lie succeeded the bettei as his geneiosity 
\\as unbounded, and Ins indulgences ume- 
sti anied, for he was by no means scrupulous, 
nor did lie think with the Caliph Omar Ben 
Abdalaziz, that it \vus necessary t<i make 
n hell of this urn Id to enjoy Paiadise in 
the next 

He surpassed in magniiic cnce all his pied- 
eces^ors The palace of Alkoremini, uhich 
his father Moiassem hud elected on the hill 
ot Pied Hoises. and which commanded the 
\\hole city of Samaiah, >\as m his idea far 
too seant> , he lidded, theiet'oir. ti\e \\ms, 
or lather othei palnces, \\hiHi he destined 
for the particular gratification ot each of 
his senses 

Tn the iiist of thce \\eie tables >n- 
tmually einered with the most ev|iusite 
dainties, \\luvh \\eic supplied both b> 
nmht and by da> uccoidin^* to then con- 
stant consumption. uhiNt the most deli- 
cious wines nnd the choicest coi dials 
lloued foith fiom n handled fountains 
that \\ere ne\ei exhausted This ]alace 
\\ns called ^The Kicinal <M I iisatiatins; 
Rdnquet " 

The swond \\as styled "The Temple of 
Melody, 01 the Nectai of the Soul " It 
\\HS inhabited b\ the most skilful musicians 
and ndmiied poets of the time, \\lio not 
only displayed then talents \\ithin, but, dis- 
persing m bands without, caused c\ei\ sur- 
loundinjr scene to ic\eibeiate then songs, 
\\hich weie contmiially \aned in the most 
delightful succession 

The palace named "The Delight of the 
Kyes, or the Suppoit of Memory," ^a^ 
one entire enchantment Hanties collected 
fiom exeiy comer of the earth \\eio thorp 
round m sueli piofnsmn as to dazzle and 
confound, but foi the oidei m \\lnch they 
were arranged One urnlleiy exhibited the 
pictuies of the celebiated Main, nnd statue* 
that seemed to be nine Here a u ell-man- 
aged peispectne attracted the sight, there 
the magic of optics agreeably deceived it: 
whilst the naturalist on his pail exhibited, 
m their several classes the various gifts 
that Heaven had bestowed on our globe 
Tn a word, Vathek omitted nothing in this 
palace that might gratify the curiosity of 
those who revolted to it. nlthoiiffh he \\us 



not able to satisfy his own, for he was of 
all men the most curious. 

14 The Palace of Perfumes," which was 
termed likewise "The Incentive to Pleas- 
ure," consisted of vaiious halls where the 
diffeient perfumes which the earth pioduces 
were kept perpetually burning in censer* 
of gold. Flambeaus and aromatic lamps 
were heie lighted in open day. But the too 
powerful effects of this agreeable delirium 
might be avoided by descending into an im- 
mense garden, where an asbemblage of every 
flagrant flo\\er diffused through the air the 
purest odois 

The fifth palace, denominated "The Re- 
heat of Joy, or the Dangerous," was fre- 
quented by troops of young females toau- 
tiful as the houris 1 and not less seducing, 
\\ho ue\er failed to iecei\e niith carets 
all whom the Caliph allowed to approach 
them, for he was by no means disposed 
to be jealous, as his own women neie 
secluded within the pnlacc lie inhabited 

Notwithstanding the sensuality in which 
Vathek indulged, he expeiienced no abate- 
ment in the lo\e of his people, who thought 
that a *o\eicign Jinniei^d in pleasure wa- 
not less toleiable to his subjects than one 
that einjIoud himsrlf in ci eating them foes. 
But the unquiet and impetuous disposition 
of the Caliph would not allow him to lest 
there, he had <tudied so much foi hi* 
amusement in the lifetime of his fathei, as 
to acqime a gieat deal of knowledge, though 
not n sunicienc\ to satisfy himself, for he 
\\islietl to know e\ 013 thing, e\en sciences 
that did not exist He was fond of engag- 
mtr in disputes with the learned, but liked 
them not to push their opposition with 
warmth. he stopped the mouths of those 
with presents whose mouths could be 
stopped, whilst others, whom his liberality 
was unable to subdue, he sent to prison to 
cool their blood, n remedy that often suc- 

Vathek disco>eied also a predilection for 
theological controveisy, but it was not with 
the orthodox that he usually held. B\ this 
means he induced the zealot* to oppose him, 
and then peisecuted them in return; for he 
resolved at any late to ha\e reason on his 

The great prophet Mahomet, whose vicars 
the caliphs are, beheld with indignation from 
his abode in the seventh heaven the irre- 
ligious conduct of such a viccregent "Let 

\lrgin of the Mohammedan 

us leave him to himseli," said he to the 
Genii, 1 who are always ready to recerve hie 
commands; 'Met us see to what lengths his 
folly and impiety will carry him; if he 

6 runs into excess we shall know how to chas- 
tise him. Assist him, therefore, to complete 
the tower which, in imitation of Nimiod, he 
hath begun, not, like that great warrior, to 
escape being drowned, but from the mso- 

10 lent curiosity of penetrating the secrets of 
Heaven; he will not divine the fate that 
awaits him " 

The Genii obeyed, and when the woikuien 
had raised their sti ucture a cubit in the day 

is time, two cubits moie mere added in the 
night. The expedition with which the fab- 
nc arose was not a little flattering to the 
vanity .of Yathek. He fancied that even 
insensible mattei showed a foiwardness to 

subserve his designs, not considering that 
the successes of the foolish and wicked foim 
the fust lod of their chastisement. 

His pride ai lived at its height when, hav 
ing ascended for the first time the eleven 

16 thousand stairs of his tower, he east his eyes 
below and beheld men not larger than pis- 
nines, mountains than shells, and cities than 
l>eehives The idea which such an elevation 
inspired of his own grandeui complete!} 

80 bewildered him; he was almost ready to 
adoie himself, till, lifting his eyes upward, 
he saw the stars as high abo\e him as they 
appeared when he stood on the surface 
ol the eat th He consoled himself, how- 

88 e\er, for this transient perception of his 
littleness, with the thought of being gieat 
in the eyes of others, and flattered 
himself that the light of his mind would 
extend beyond the reach of his sight, 

40 and transfer to the stars the dccieea of his 

With this view the iiiquisithe Prince 
passed most of his nights at the summit of 
his tower, till he became an adept in the 

mysteries of astrology, and imagined that 
the planets had disclosed to him the most 
marvellous advent uies, which weie to be 
accomplished by an extraordinary personage 
from a countr> altogether unknown 

60 Prompted by motives of curiosity he had 
always been courteous to strangers, but 
from this instant be redoubled his attention, 
and ordered it to be announced by sound of 

* IB Oriental mythology, the ienil are of a hither 
order than man, hut lower than the angels 
They are said to have governed the world be 
fore the creation of Adam They were noted 
for their architectural skill, the Egyptian pyra- 
mids having been ascribed to them The 
Pentium cannd thorn pcrN find dirra 



trumpet, through all the sheets of Samarah 
that no one of bis subjects, on peril of dis- 
pleasure, should either lodge or detain a 
traveller, but forthwith bring him to the 
palaee. & 

Not long after this proclamation there 
arrived in his metropolis a man so hideous 
that the very guards who arrested him were 
forced to shut their eyes as they led him 
along The Caliph him&elf appeared startled 10 
at so horrible a visage, but joy succeeded 
to this emotion of tenor when the strangei 
displayed to his view such rarities as he 
had nevei before seen, and of which he had 
no conception u> 

In reality nothing was ever so extraordi- 
nary as the merchandize this stranger pro- 
duced, most of his curiosities, which were 
not less admirable for their workmanship 
than splendor, had besides, their several vir- so 
tues described on a parchment fastened to 
each There were slippers which enabled 
the feet to walk; knives that cut without 
the motion of a hand; sabres which dealt 
the blow at the person they were wished to 
stuke, and the whole ennched with gems 
that were hitherto unknown. 

The sabres, whose blades emitted a daz- 
zling radiance, fixed more than all the 
Caliph 's attention, who promised himself to 80 
decipher at his lei&uie the uncouth charac- 
ters engraven on their sides Without, 
there! 01 e, demanding their price, he ordered 
all the coined gold to be bi ought from his 
treasury, and commanded the mei chant to as 
take what he pleased, the sti anger complied 
with modesty and silence, 

Vathek, imagining that the mei chant's 
taciturnity was occasioned by the awe which 
his presence inspired, encouraged him to 40 
advance, and asked him, with an air of con- 
descension, who he was, whence he came, 
and where he obtained such beautiful com- 
modities The man, or lather monster, in- 
stead of making a reply, thrice rubbed his 46 
forehead, which, as well as his body, was 
blacker than ebony, four times clapped his 
paunch, the projection of which was enor- 
mous, opened wide his huge eyes, which 
glowed like firebrands, began to laugh 60 
with a hideous noise, and discovered his 
long amber-colored teeth bestreaked with 

The Caliph, though a little startled, re- 
newed his inquiries, but without being able 66 
to procure a reply; at which, beginning to 
be ruffled, he exclaimed- "Knowest thou, 
varlet, who I amf and at whom thou art 
aiming thy gibes? " Then, addressing his 

guards, "Have ye heard him speak t is he 

' ' He hath spoken, ' ' they replied, ' ' though 
but little." 

"Let him speak again then," said Vathek, 
"and tell me who he is, from whence he 
came, and wheie he procured these smgulai 
curiosities, or I swcai by the ass oi Balaam 1 
that I will make him lue his peitmacity " 
The menace was accompanied by the 
Caliph with one of his angiy and perilous 
glances, which the stian^er sustained with- 
out the slightest emotion, although his eyes 
were fixed on the tcniblc eye ot the Pi nice 
No woids can descnhe the amazement oi 
the coin he is when they beheld tins iiule 
merchant withstand the encounter un- 
shocked They all fell piostiatc with then 
taces on the ground to a\oid the i isk of then 
lives, and continued in the samr ihj(rt 
posture till the Caliph exclaijnod in a fin urns 
tone: "Up, cowaicls 1 seize the nnscieant 1 
see that he be committed to pnson and 
guarded by the best of my soldiois' l^t 
him, howevei, ictain the mone> I tn\e him 
it is not my intent to take fioin him his 
property, I only want linn to speak " 

No sooner had he uttcml these 
than the sti anger \\as sun minded, pinioned 
with stiong fetters, and burned nw<iy to the 
piison of the gieat towei, which was en- 
compassed by sc\en empaleincnts oi iron 
bars, and armed with spikes in e\ci> direc- 
tion longer and shaiper than spits 

The Caliph, nevertheless, icinaiiiod in the 
most violent agitation; he sat down indeed 
to eat, but of the three bundled co\ers that 
were daily placed before him could taste of 
no more than thirty-two. A diet to which he 
had been so little accustomed was sufficient 
of itself to prevent him from sleeping, what 
then must be its effect when joined to the 
anxiety that preyed upon his spirits? At the 
first glimpse of clawp he hastened to the 
prison, again to importune this intractable 
stranger; but the rage of Vathek exceeded 
all bounds on finding the pi won empty, the 
gates burst asunder, and his guards lying 
lifeless around him In the paioxysni of his 
passion he fell furiously on the pooi car- 
casses, and kicked them till evening without 
intermission. His courtiers and vizn s exerted 
their efforts to soothe his extravagance, but 
finding every expedient ineffectual they all 
united in one vociferation- "The Caliph is 

1 Sec Numbers. 22-24 Mohammedans believed 
that all animals would be raited again, and 
that many of them, including the am of 
Balaam, were admitted into Pnradlne 



gone mad f the Caliph is out of his 

This outcry, which soon resounded through 
the streets of Samarah, at length reaching 
the ears oi Carathis, his mother, she flew in 6 
the utmost consternation to try her ascend- 
ancy on the mind of her son Her tears and 
cai esses called off his attention, and he was 
prevailed upon by her entreaties to be 
brought back to the palace. 10 

Carathis, apprehensive of leaving Vathdk 
to himself, caused him to be put to bed, and 
seating hei self by him, endeavored by her 
conveisation to heal and compose him Nor 
could anv one have attempted it with better 15 
success, ioi the Caliph not only loved her as 
a mother, but lespected hei as a person of 
su pei 101 genius, it was she who had induced 
linii, being a Gieek herself, to adopt all the 
sciences and s> stems of her country, which 90 
good Mussulmans hold in such thorough 
abhoiience Judicial astrology 1 was one of 
those systems in which Caiatlus v\as a inf- 
lect adept, she began, thereiore, with re- 
minding hei son of the piomise which the 26 
stars had made him, and intimated an inten- 
tion of consulting them again 

*' Alas' M sighed the Caliph, as soon as he 
<'<ul(l speak, "what a iool have I been! not 
I'oi the kicks bestov\ecl on inv guaids who so 80 
tamelv submitted to death, but for never 
ronsidei mg that thi< e\tiaoirlmai> man v\as 
the same the planets had foietold, v\hom, 
instead of ill-ti eating, I should have concil- 
iated bv all the ajts of peisuasion " SB 

"The past," said Cauitliis, "cannot lie 
i ccallcd, but it behoves us to think of the 
fut nil 1 , peibaps vou mav again see the ob- 
ject vu so much icgiet, it is possible the 
inscriptions on the sabies \\ill afford mfoi- 40 
million Eat. theiefoie, and take thy repose, 
m> dear son, we will consider, tomorrow, 
in \\hat mannei to act " 

Vathek yielded to hei counsel as well as he 
could, and'atosc m the morning with a mind 46 
more at ease The sabies he commanded to 
lie instantly hi ought, and poring upon them 
tluough a green glass, that their glitteiing 
might not da/zle, he set himself in eamest to 
deciphei the inscriptions ; but his reiteiated 
attempts v\eie all of them nugatory, in vain 
did he bent his head and bite his nails, not a 
letter of the whole was he able to ascertain 
So unlucky a disappointment would have 
undone him again, had not Carathis by good 
fortune enteied the apartment. 

i A pseudo-idence concerned with foretelling the 
future of nations and Individual^ from oWr- 
vation of the star* 

4 * Have patience, son!" said she; "you 
certainly are possessed of every important 
science, but the knowledge of languages is a 
trifle at best, and the accomplishment of none 
but a pedant. Issue forth a proclamation 
that you will confer such rewards as become 
your greatness upon any one that shall inter- 
pret what you do not understand, and what 
it is beneath you to learn, you will soon find 
your curiosity gratified. 9 ' 

" That may be," said the Caliph ; "but in 
the meantime I shall be horribly disgusted 
by a crowd of smatterers, who will come to 
the trial as much for the pleasure of retailing 
their jargon as from the hope of gaining the 
leward To avoid this evil, it will be proptf 
to add that I will put every candidate to 
death who shall fail to give satisfaction; 
for, thank heaven* I have skill enough to 
distinguish between one that translates and 
one that invents " 

"Of that I have no doubt," replied Cara- 
this, "but to put the ignorant to death is 
somewhat severe, and may be pioductive of 
dangerous effects, content yourself with 
commanding then beards to be burnt, 1 
beards in a state aie not quite so essential as 
men " 

The Caliph submitted to the reasons of his 
mothei, and sending for Morakanabad, hi* 
pi line vizir, said "Let the common ciieis 
proclaim, not only in Samaiah, but through- 
out every city in my empiie, that whosoevei 
\\ill icpair lnthei and decipher certain chai- 
acters \\lnch appear to be inexplicable, shall 
expenence the liberality for which I am re- 
nowned, but that all who fail upon trial 
shall ha\e their beards bunit off to the last 
han Let them add also that I will bestow 
fifty beautiful slaves, and as many jars of 
apucots from the isle of Kirmith, upon any 
man that shall bung me intelligence of the 
stranger " 

The subjects of the Caliph, like their sov ei - 
eign, being great admirers of women and 
apricots fiom Kirmith, felt their mouths 
water at these promises, but were totally 
unable to gratify their hankering, for no 
one knew which way the stranger had gone 

As to the Caliph's other requisition, the 
result was different. The learned, the half- 
learned, and those \vho were neither, but 
fancied themselves equal to both, came boldly 
to hazard theii beards, and all shamefully 
lost them 

The exaction of these forfeitures, which 

1 From the earliest times, among the Mohamme- 
dans. the loaa of the heard was regarded mm 
highly dlftaraeeful 



foiuid sufficient employment for the eunuchs, 
gave them such a smell of singed hair as 
greatly to disgust the ladies of the seraglio, 
and make it necessary that this new occupa- 
tion of their guardians should be transferred 
into other hands. 

At length, however, an old man presented 
himself whose beard was a cubit and a half 
longer than any that had appeared before 
him The officers of the palace whispered 
to each other, as they ushered him in, "What 
a pity such a beard should be burnt f ' f Even 
the Caliph, when he saw it, concuned with 
them in opinion, but his concern was en- 
tirely needless. This venerable personage 
read the characters with facility, and ex- 
plained them verbatim as follows "We 
were made where every thing good is made . 
we are the least of the wonders of a place 
where all is wonderful, and detuning the 
sight of the first potentate on earth " 

"You translate admirably!" cried Vath- 
ek, "I know to what these marvellous chai- 
acters allude Let him receive as many lobes 
of honor and thousands of sequins 1 of gold 
as he hath spoken words. I am in some 
raeasuie relieved from the perplexity that 
embanassed me!" 

Vathek invited the old man to dine, ami 
even to remain some days in the palace Un- 
luckily for him he accepted the offer; ioi 
the Caliph, having ordered him next morn- 
ing to be called, said- "Read again to me 
what vou have read already, I cannot heai 
too often the promise that is made me, the 
completion of which I languish to obtain ' * 

The old man forthwith put on his green 
spectacles, but they instantly dropped from 
his nose on perceiving the characters he had 
read the day preceding had given place to 
others of different import. 

"What ails you!" asked the Caliph, 
"and why these symptoms of wonder f" 

"Sovereign of the world," replied the old 
man, "these sabres hold another language 
today from that they yesterday held." 

1 ' How say you f " returned Vathek-' ' but 
it matters not ! tell me, if you can, what the> 

"Tt is this, my Lord," rejoined the old 
man* "Woe to the rash mortal who seeks 
to know that of which he should remain igno- 
rant, and to undertake that which surpasseth 
his power!" 

"And woe to thee!" cried the Caliph, in 
a burst of indignation; "today thou art 
void of understanding; begone from my 
presence! they shall burn but the half of thy 

A gold coin, worth about $2 26. 

beaid, because thou wcrt yebteiday fortu- 
nate in guessing; my gifts I never re- 

The old man, wise enough to perceive he 
s had luckily escaped, considering the folly of 
disclosing so disgusting a truth, immediately 
withdrew and appeared not again. 

But it was not long before Vathek dis- 
covered abundant reason to i egret his pie- 

10 cipitation, foi though he could not deciphei 
the characters himself, yet by constantly 
ponng upon them he plainly peieeived that 
they every day changed, and unfortunately 
no other candidate offered to explain them. 

15 This perplexing occupation inflamed hip 
blood, dazzled his sight, and brought on a 
giddiness and debility that he could not sup- 
poit He failed not, ho\\e\er, though in so 
reduced a condition, to be often carried to 

80 his tower, as he flattered himself that he 
might there read in the stais which he worn 
to consult something moie congenial to Ins 
wishes ' but in this his hopes were deluded , 
foi his eyes, dimmed b> the \apors of his 

26 head, began to subserve his curiosity so ill, 

that he beheld nothing but a thick dun cloud, 

which he took foi the most dnefiil of omens 

Agitated with so much anxiety, Vathek 

on tilery lost all firmness, a le\er seized him, 

80 and his appetite failed Instead of being 
one of the pea test eateis he became as dis- 
tinguished for drinking So insatiable was 
the thirst uhich toimented him, that his 
mouth, like a funnel, uas always open to 

86 receive the \auous liquors that might be 
poured into it, and esjiecially cold watei, 
which calmed him mot o than every other 

This unhappy pi nice hc-iup thus incapaci- 
tated for the enjoxment of any pleasuie, 

40 commanded the palaces of the five senses to 
be shut up, forboie to appear in public, 
either to display his magnificence or admin- 
ister justice, and retned to the inmost apart- 
ment of his harem As he had ever been an 

46 indulgent husband, his wives, overwhelmed 
with grief at his deplotable situation, inces- 
santly offered their prayers for his health 
and unremittingly supplied him with watet 
In the meantime the Pnncess Carathis, 

60 whose affliction no words can describe, in- 
stead of restraining herself to sobbing and 
tears, was closeted daily with the Vizir 
Morakanabad, to find nut some cure or miti- 
gation of the Caliph's disease. Under the 

66 persuasion that it was caused by enchant- 
ment, they turned over together, leaf by leaf, 
all the books of magic that might point out 
a remedy, and caused the horrible stranger, 
whom they accused a* the enchanter, to be 



everywhere 1 sought i'or with the stnctest 

At the distance of a few miles from Sama- 
rah stood a high mountain, whose sides were 
swaided with wild thyme and basil, and its i 
summit overspread with so delightful a 
plain, that it might be taken for the para- 
dise destined for the faithful Upon it nre\\ 
a hundred thickets of eglantine and otlioi 
fragrant shiuhs, a hundred arbors of roses, 10 
jessamine, and honeysuckle, as many clumps 
of orange trees, cedar, and citron, whoso 
branches, interwoven with the palm, tho 
pomegianate, and the vine, presented e\ei.\ 
luxiiM that could regale the eye or the taste 15 
The mound was stieued with violets, hate- 
belK, and pansies, in the midst of which 
sprunsr fotth tufts of jonquils. Inacmths. 
and cai nations, with e\ery othei pei f nine 
that impiegnatcs the an Four fountains, 20 
not less cleai than deep, and so abundant a<> 
to slake the thirst of ten ai lines, seemed pro- 
t'uselv placed heie to make the scene more 
lesenible the gaiden of Eden, uhich was 
wntered by the four sacred rivers 1 Here 
the nightingale sane: the birth of the rose, 
her well-belo\ed, and at the same time la- 
mented its shoit-lrted beauty, whilst the 
tin tie 3 deploied the loss of moie substan- 
tial pleasuies, and the wakeful lark hailed 80 
the nsme: light that teammates the whole 
Mention Tleie moie than an>heie the 
mingled nieloilies of buds e\piess*d the >ai i- 
ous passions they inspired, as if the exquisite 
flints m Inch they pecked at pleasure had 
eriteii them a double eneicrv 

To this mountain Vathek uas sometime** 
biouuflit foi the sake of bieatlnnir a ]>inei 
air, and especially to dunk at will of tlie 
four t'ou in mils which \\eie icputed in the 40 
highest den fee salubiious and sacied to him- 
self His attendants ueie his iiiothet. his 
wive% and some eunuchs, \\lio assiduoush 
employed themsehes in filling 1 capacious 
bouls'of lock ci \stal. and emnlously pre- 4* 
sent ing them to him. but it fici|iientlv hap- 
pened that Ins audits exceeded their zeal, 
insomuch that he uouM prostrate himself 
upon the around to lap up the water, of 
uliieh he could nevei ha\c enough. M 

One dav when this unhappy pnnce had 
been loner Iving in so debasing a posture, a 
UUCP hoai^e hut strong, thus addressed him : 
"Why assumes! thou the function of a dog, 
Caliph, so pi oud of thy dignitv and K 
power 1 M 

OHion TTMnVkri and ftnphrttefl flea* 

At this apostiophe he laised bib head and 
beheld the stranger that had caused him so 
much affliction. Inflamed with anger at the 
sight, he exclaimed : 

"Accursed Giaour! 1 what comest thou 
hither to dot is it not enough to have trans- 
formed a prince remarkable for his agility 
into one of those leather barrels which the 
Bedouin Arabs carry on their camels when 
they traverse the deserts? Peiceivest thou 
not thai I may pensh by drinking to excess 
no less than by a total abstinence If" 

"Drink then this draught," said the 
stranger, as he presented to him a phial of 
a led and yellow mixture, "and, to satiate 
the thirst of thy soul as well as of thy body, 
know that I am an Indian, but from a region 
of India which is wholly unknown. " 

The Caliph, delighted to see his desires 
accomplished in part, and flattering himself 
\\ ith the hope of obtaining their entire fulfil- 
ment, without a moment's hesitation swal- 
lowed the potion, and instantaneously found 
his health lestored, his thirst appeased, and 
his limbs as agile as evei. 

In the transports of his joy Vathek leaped 
ui>on the neck of the frightful Indian, and 
kissed his horrid mouth and hollow cheeks 
as though they had been the coral lips, and 
the lilies and roses of his most beautiful 
u ives , whilst they, less terrified than jealous 
at the sight, dropped their veils to hide the 
blush of mortification that suffused their 

Nor \\ould the scene have closed here, had 
not Carathis, with all the art of insinuation, 
a little repressed the raptures of her son 
Having pievailed upon him to retuin to 
Samaiah, she caused a herald to precede him, 
whom she commanded to proclaim as loudly 
as possible ' ' The wonderful stranger hath 
appealed again, he hath healed the Caliph, 
lie hath spoken T he hath spoken !" 

Forthwith all the inhabitants of this vast 
citv quitted their habitations, and ran to- 
gether in crowds to see the procession of 
Vathek and the Indian, whom they now 
blessed as much as they had before execrated, 
incessantly shouting ''He hath healed our 
sovereign,* he hath spoken ! he hath spoken I ' ' 
Nor were these words forgotten in the public 
festivals which were celebrated the same 
evening, to testify the general joy; for the 
poets applied them as a chorus to all the 
songs they composed 

The Caliph, fired with the ambition of pre- 

1 A term appltal to nil pontons not of thr Moham- 
medan faith 



scribing laws to the Intelligences of Dark- 
ness, was bat little embarrassed at this 
dereliction; the impetuosity of his blood 
prevented him from sleeping, nor did he 
encamp any more as befoie. Noiuomhar, 6 
whose impatience if possible exceeded his 
own, im pot tuned him to hasten his inaich, 
and lavished on him a thousand caiesses to 
beguile all reflection, she fancied herself 
already more potent than Balkis, and pic- 10 
tured to her imagination the Genii falling 
prostrate at the foot of hei tluone In this 
manner they ad^ anced by moonlight, till the> 
came within view of the tun tow ei ing rocks 
that form a kind of poital to the valley, IB 
at whose extienuty lose the vast rums of 
Istakhar. Aloft on the mountain glmuneied 
the fronts of vaiious ro\nl mausoleums, the 
horror of which was deepened bj the Wind- 
ows of night They passed thioimh two vil- 20 
lages almost deseited. the onK inhabitants 
lemaming being a few feeble old men, who 
at the sight of horses and httei, fell upon 
their knee? and ciied out 

"0 hea\en f is it then b> these phantoms 26 
that we June been for six months toimented 7 
Alas' it was fiom the teuoi of these spec- 
ties and the noise beneath the mountains, 
that oui people ha\e fled, and left us at the 
mercy of maleficent spirits ! ' 9 30 

The Caliph, to whom these complaints 
were but uupi onnsing auguiies, dio\e o\ci 
the bodies of these \\i etched old men. and at 
lenqth aimed at the foot oi the terrace oi 
black niaible, theie he descended fiom his 35 
litter, banding down Nouionihui ; both with 
beating heaits stared wildly aiound them, 
and expected with an apprehensive shuddei 
the approach of the Giaoiu ; but nothing ah 
yet announced his appeal ance 40 

A deathlike stillness leigned ovei the 
mountain and through the an , the moon 
dilated on a \ast platform the shades of the 
lofty columns, which i cached fiom the tci- 
race almost to the clouds , the gloomy watch- 46 
toweis, whose numheis could not be counted, 
were veiled by no i oof, and their capitals, of 
an architectme unknown in the recoids of 
the earth, sened as an asylum foi the birds 
of daikness, which, a la lined at the approach so 
of such visitants, fled away croaking 

The chief of the eunuchs, trembling with 
fear, besought Vathek that a fire might l>e 

"No ' " replied he, "there w no time left K 
to think of such trifles, abide where thou 
ait, and expect my commands. " 

Having thus spoken he presented his hand 
to Nouronihar, and, ascending the steps of a 

vast staircase, reached the ten ace, which was 
fagged with squares of marble, and resem- 
bled a smooth expanse of water, upon whose 
surface not a leaf ever dared to vegetate, 
on the right robe the watch-towers, langed 
befoie the ruins of an immense palace, whoso 
walls weie embossed with taiious fkfuies, 
in fiont stood toith the colossal forms oi 
four creatures, composed of the leopaid and 
the grifhn, and, though but ol stone, in- 
spired emotions of teiror; neai these weie 
distinguished b\ the splendoi oi the moon, 
which stieamed full on the place, characteis 
like those on the sabies of the (Jinoiu, that 
possessed the same > ntue of rhaiugum e\en 
moment; these, aftei vacillating for some 
time, at last fixed in Arabic leltois and 
piesciibed to the Caliph the following 
w 01 ds 

"Vathek 1 Thou hast \iolated the condi- 
tions oi m> paiclunent, and desenest to IN* 
sent back, but, in laxoi to tin companion, 
and ns the meed toi what thou hast done to 
obtain it. E bl is peimitteth that the poitul oi 
his palace shall be opened, and the sublet i- 
nean hie will iccene thce into the number oi 
its adoieis " 

He scai rely had icad these wmds bcfoie 
the mountain against which tin KM i ace was 
it'aied tiembled, and the watrh-toweis \\eio 
ieadv to topple- headlong upon (hern, the 
lock yawned, and disclosed within it a stnii- 
case of polished marble that seemed to up- 
pioach the ab\ss, upon cadi slaii weie 
planted two lame loichcs, like those Xmiion- 
ihar had seen in hei \ision, the cnmphoiated 
\apor ascending tiom which g.itluMod into a 
cloud undei the hollow of the \ault 

This api^aianre, instead of teiiifvnm, 
G^\e new rouue tn the dau^htei of Fak- 
reddin. Scaiccl^ domnint; to bid adieu i 
the moon and the fiiinamcnt. she abaudcmed 
without hesitation Hie puie atmosphere to 
]>lnnge into these mf'einal exhalations The 
tait of those ini])ious peisoiia^es was 
haughty and detei mined, as they descended 
bv the effulgence of the toiches they gazed 
on each other with mutual admiiation, and 
both appealed so lesplendent, that they al- 
leady esteemed themsehes spiritual Intelli- 
gences, the only en cumstanre that perplexed 
them was then not arnvinu at the bottom 
of the stairs , on hastening their descent with 
an ardent impetuosity, they felt their steps 
accelerated to such a degiee. that they seemed 
not walking, but falling from a precipice 
Their progress, however, was at length im- 
peded by a vast portal of ebony, which the 
Caliph without difficulty lecognized; hero 



the Giaour awaited them with the key 111 hi* 

"Ye are welcome, " said he to them with 
a ghastly smile, "in spite of Mahomet and 
all his dependants. I will now admit you 6 
into that palace where you have so highly 
merited a place " 

Whilst he was utteimg these words lie 
touched the enamelled lock \utli his key, and 
the doois at once expanded, \\ilh a noise still 10 
louder than the thundei of mountains, and 
as suddenly recoiled the moment they had 

Tlie Caliph und Nouiomlnn beheld each 
othei with ama/ement, at finding tlienisehes 15 
in a place which, though inofed with a 
\aulted ceiling, was so spacious and loft A 
fliat at fiist they look it I'oi an immcasui able 
plum But their eyes at length plowing 
f.nniliar to the giandcui of the objects at 20 
hand, thei extended their \\e\\ to those at a 
distance, and diseo\eied urns of columns 
and ai cades, \\lncli gradually diminished till 
they tci initiated in a point, ladiant as the 
Min \\hcn he daits his last beams athwait the 25 
ocean . the paxemcnt. sticucd ovei with gold 
dust and saffron, exhaled so subtle an odoi 
as almost ouipm\eicd them, they, houcxei 
\vent on, and obsened an infinity of ceii-eis 
in ulnch amheiinis and the uood of aloes 30 
\\eie contmualK binning, between the se\- 
cial columns \\eie placed tables, each spiead 
\\illi a pioiusion of \iands, and umes ol 
\cn spe<ies spaikhng in \ase* of ciTstal 
A thiong of Oenn and othei fantastic spmts 35 
of each sex danced lasemouslv in hoops, nt 
Iho sound of music \\lnch issued fiom be- 

In the midst of this immense hall a \ast 
multitude uas mcessantl> passing. \\ho se\- 40 
eiall\ kept then light hands on then heaiK 
\\ithout once ie< aiding an> thing aiound 
them, they had all the In id paleness of 
death, then eves, deep sunk in then sockets 
lesembled those phosphoiic meteors that 45 
slimmer bv night in places of mteiment 
Some talked slowly on, absorbed in pro- 
found ie\cnes, some, shrieking with agony, 
ran fuiiously about, like tigers wounded with 
poisoned anous, whilst others grinding 80 
their teeth in lage, foamed along, nioie fran- 
tic than the wildest maniac The> all axoided 
each othei. and, though surrounded by a 
multitude that no one could number, each 
wandeied at random, nnheedful of the rest. 66 
ns if alone on a desert \vhich no foot hod 

Vathek and Nouronihar, frozen with ter- 
ror at a sight so baleful, demanded of the 

Giaour what these appearances might mean, 
and wh> these ambulating spectres nevei 
withdiew their hands from their hearts. 

' Perplex not >oui selves," replied he 
bluntly, "with so much at once, you will 
soon be acquainted with all , let us haste and 
piesent you to Eblis " 

They continued then way through the mul- 
titude, but, notwithstanding their confidence 
at fiist, they \\eie not sufficiently composed 
to examine with attention the various per- 
spectrv es of halls and of galleries that opened 
on the right hand and left, which were all 
illuminated by toiches and braziers, whose 
flames rose in pyiamids to the centre of the 
A ault At length they came to a place whei e 
loner curtains, biocaded with crimson and 
gold, fell from all patts in striking confu- 
sion ; here the choirs and dances were heard 
no longer, the light which glimmered came 
fiom afar 

After some time Vatliek and Nouromhai 
pci cert ed a gleam brightening through the 
drapery, and enteied a \ast tabeinacle eai- 
peted with the skins of leopards, an mfimt\ 
of elders with stream me beards, and Afrits 1 
in complete aim or, had piostrated them- 
selxes before the ascent of a lofty eminence 
on the top of which, upon a globe of fire, sat 
the foimidable Eblis His person was that 
of n you nc: man, whose noble and mrulai 
feat in es seemed to \\a\e been tarnished b\ 
malignant \apors, m his large eyes ap- 
peaied both pride and despair, his flowing 
hau letamed some resemblance to that of an 
angel of light , in his hand, which thundei 
had blasted, he swaxed the mm sceptre that 
causes the monstei Ouianabad, the Afrits, 
and all the poweis of the abyss to tremble: 
at his presence the heart of the Caliph sunk 
within him. and for the fiist time, he fell 
prostiate on his face Nouionihar. however, 
though srreatlv dimaved, could not help ad- 
miung the peison of Eblis , for she expected 
to have seen some stupendous Giant Eblis. 
with a voice nioie mild than might be imag- 
ined, but such as transfused through the son! 
the deepest melancholy, said 

"Creatures of clay, I receive you into 
mine empire , ye are numbered amongst my 
adorers , en jov whatever this palace affords , 
the treasures of the pre-adamite Sultans, 
their bickering 8 sabres, and those talismans 
that compel the Dives to open the subter- 
ranean expanses of the mountain of Kaf, 
which communicate with these; there, in- 
satiable as your curiosity may be, shall you 

1 Powerful evil demons In Arabic mythology 
* clashing 



find sufficient to gratify it ; you bhall pos*e>s 
the exclusive privilege of entering the foi- 
tress of Aherman, and the halls of Aigenk. 
where are portrayed all creatures endowed 
with intelligence, and the vanous animals 5 
that inhabited that earth piior to the crea- 
tion of that contemptible being, whom vi 
denominate the Fathei of Mankind " 

Vathek and Noiuonihni, feelina them- 
selves ie\ived and eiicom aed bv this ha- w 
rangue, eaueih said to the (Jmoiii 

"Bung us instantly to the place which 
contains* these pimoiih talismans " 

' ' Come f ' ' answeied this wicked Di\ e, w ilh 
his malignant gun, "come' and posses* 15 
all that my So\ereign hath piomised. nml 
moie " 

lie then conducted them into a lonu aisle 
adjoining the tabeinacle. pi feeding them 
with hasty steps, and followed bv his disci- 
pies with the utmost alaci ilv Thev reached, 
at length, a hall of gieat extent, and co\cie<l 
with a lofty dome, aiound \\hich appealed 
fifty poi tals of bion/e, MN-UI ed \\ itli as man} 
fastening oi iron; a funeienl uloom pie- 25 
vailed o\ei the whole scene, heie, upon two 
beds of incorruptible cedai, lav lecumbenl 
the Ileshless fonns of the Pre-adamite Kmss. 
who had been monaichs of the whole eaith , 
they still possessed enough of life to be con- 80 
scious of their dephnable condition, then 
eyes retained a melancholy motion, the> re- 
garded each other with looks of the deepest 
dejection. ea<h licildinu his nghl hand mo- 
tionless on his heart, at their feet were 85 
inscribed the events of then several reigns, 
their powei, then pride, and their crimes. 
Soliman Raad, Rolnnan Dnki, and Soliman 
Di Oian Ben Oian, who, af tei hav ing chained 
up the Dives in the daik caverns of Kal, 40 
became so presumptuous as to doubt of the 
Supreme Powei ; all these maintained great 
state, though not to be compared with the 
eminence of Soliman Ben Daoud 

Thw king, so renowned foi his wisdom. 45 
was on the lottiest clcxation. and placed 
immediately imdei the dome, he appealed 
t< iKicsess more an mint ion thnn the test . 
though from time to tune he hiboied with 
profound sighs, and. like his companion-, SO 
kept his right hand on his heait. vet his 
countenance was more composed, and he 
Deemed to be listening to the sullen roar of a 
vast cataract, visible in part through the 
grated portals; this TV as the only sound that 65 
intruded on the silence of these doleful man- 
ion& A range of brazen \ses MI i rounded 
the elevation 

'Remove the covei* fiom these cabal wtic 

depositaiies," said the Giaour to Vathek, 
"and avail thyself of the talismans, which 
will break asunder all these gates of bronze . 
and not only rendei thee mastei of the tiea- 
ure& contained within them, but also of the 
spirits by which they are guarded " 

The Caliph, whom this ominous prehmi- 
naij had entirety disconcerted, approached 
the \ascs with fulteimg footsteps, and was 
i"tidy to Milk with terrot when he heaid the 
iri oans of Soliman As he pi oceeded, a voice 
horn the In id lips of the Prophet niticulated 
these words 4 

"In my life-time I filled u imuuuncont 
I In HUP. hn\ msron mv right hand t\\ehe thou- 
sand son N of uold, wheie the patiinichs and 
llie piophets hen id mv doct lines, on my left 
tlic slices and doctns, upon as many (hi ones 
of sil\ci, \\cie piesiMit at all mv decision* 
Whilst I thus ndminisfeied justice to innu- 
?nciahle multitude, the hnds of the nir librat- 
nn: 1 n\ei me s^ncd .is n canopy tiom the 
iavs of the sun. mv people flourished, and 
ni\ )ialce lose to the clouds. I elected n 
temple to the Most Hiirh, \\luch was the won- 
dei fit the mm cisc hut 1 hnsHv suffeieil 
m\si>lt lo he seduced hv the love of \\omen 
and a cuiiosm that could not be test mined 
hv suhliinai\ ilnnirs, \ listened to the 
(oun-cls of A hei iiuin and the dnuihtei ot 
Pliataoli. and adoied Hie and the hosts 
of heaxen. 1 toisook the liolv eitv, and 
commanded the Genii to real the stupen- 
dous palace of Ntakhai. and the teriaee 
of the \\atch-to\\eis ea<h of which v\as con- 
^ecuitCMl to n star, theie fii n \\lnlc I en- 
joved mvMi|f ln the zenith of irlorv and 
pleasure, not nnlv men, but supeniatural 
exi^tenws \\eie sul)|(H*t also to mv v\ill I 
bcyau to think, as these unhappv 
iioiind had alieadv thought that the 
ance of TIcaxcn v\as asleep, \\hen at on<c 
the thunder burst my structures asunder and 
precipitated me hithei , \\heie. howexer, I 
do not leinain. like the other inhabitants, 
totally destitute of hope, foi an ansrel of 
h'jht hath te\caled that, in consideiatioii of 
ihc piety of my eaily youth, m> woes shall 
(ome to an end when this catainct shall foi- 
e\er cease to flow; till then I am in tor- 
ments, ineffable torments' an unrelenting 
hie prey* on my heart " 

Having uttered this exclamation Soliman 
laised his hands towards Heaven, in token 
of supplication, and the Caliph discerned 
through his bosom, which was tianspnrent 
as crystal, his heart enveloped in flumes At 
.1 sunlit so full of hoi ioi Nouionihar fell 
1 hnlnndnff 



back, like one petrified, into the arms of 
Vathek, who cried out with a convulsive sob 

"0 Giaour I whither hast thou brought 
ust Allow us to depart, and I will rehn- 
quibh all thou hast promised. Mahomet ! 
remains there no more mercy t" 

"None! none!" replied the malicious 
Dive. "Know, miserable prince! thou art 
now in the abode of vengeance and despair, 
thy heart also will be kindled, like those of 10 
the other votaries of Ebhs A fexv days aie 
allotted thee previous to this fatal period; 
employ them as thou wilt ; recline on these 
heaps of gold; command the Infernal Po- 
tentates ; range at thy pleasure through these 16 
immense subterranean domains; no bamet 
shall be shut against thee , as for me, I have 
fulfilled my mission; I now leave thee to 
thyself." At these words he vanished 

The Caliph and Nouronihai remained in 
the most abject affliction; their teais unable 
to flow, scarcely could they support them- 
selves At length, taking each othei dc- 
*poiidingly by the hand, they went faltering 
fiom this fatal hall, indifferent which way 
thev tinned their steps, eveiv portal opened 
at their approach; the I)I\N fell prostrate 
befoic them; every resei\oir of riches was 
disc limed to their vieu , but they no longw 
felt the incentives of curiosity, piide, or 
avarice With like apathy they heaid the 
chorus of Genii, and saw the stately ban- 
quets pifpared to regale them, the> went 
\\andenng on from chamber to chambei, 
hall to hall, and gallery to gallery, all with- 86 
out bounds or limit, all distinguishable bv 
the same lowering gloom, all adoined v\ith 
the ame awful grandeur, all travel sed b> 
Arsons in search of icpose and consolation, 
but who sought them in vain, for, everyone *> 
earned within him a heart tormented in 
flames shunned by these vai ions suffei ings, 
uho seemed by their looks to be upbraiding 
the partners of their guilt, they withdrew 
fiom them to wait in direful suspense the 46 
moment which should render them to each 
other the like objects of terror. 

"What 1 " exclaimed Nouronihar, "will 
the tune conic when T shall snatch my hand 
fiiinithinef" w 

" Ah f " said Vathek , * ' and bhall my e> es 
e\er cease to drink from thine long di aughts 
of enjoyment! Shall the moment* of out 
reciprocal ecstasies be reflected on with hor- 
ior f It was not thou that broughtest me 
luther: the principles by which Carathis 
penerted my youth, have been the ole caiw 
of rav perdition!" Having given \ent to 
these* painful expressions, he called to an 

Afrit, who was Stirling up one ol the bra- 
ziers, and bade him fetch the Princess Cara- 
this from the palace of Samarab. 

After issuing these orders, the Caliph and 
Nouronihar continued walking amidst the 
silent crowd, till they heard voices at the end 
of the gallery; presuming them to proceed 
from some unhappy beings, who like them- 
selves were awaiting their final doom, they 
followed the sound, and found it to come 
from a small square chamber, where thev 
discovered sitting on sofas five young men of 
goodly figure, and a lovely female, who were 
all holding a melancholy conversation by t\w 
glimmering of a lonely larfp, each had a 
gloomy and forlorn air, and two of them 
were embracing each other with gieat tendei- 
ness On seeing the Caliph and the daugh- 
tet of Fakreddin enter, they arose, saluted 
and nave them place; then he who appeared 
the most considerable of the group addressed 
himself thus to Vathek 

" Stranger* f who doubtless are in the 
same state of suspense with ourselves, a* 
you do not jet bear your hand on your heart, 
it' you are come hither to pass the interval 
allotted previous to the infliction of our 
common punishment, condescend to relate 
the adventuies that ha\e biought you to this 
fatal place, and we in return will acquaint 
you \\ii\\ outs, which de<ene but too well to 
he heaid; we will trace back our crimes to 
i heir source, though we are not permitted 
to repent, this is the only employment suited 
to wretches like us!" 

The Caliph and Nouronihar assented to 
the pioposal, and Vathek began, not with- 
out tears and lamentations, a sincere recital 
ii f e\ ei y en cumstance that had passed. When 
the afflicting narratne was closed, the young 
man entered on his ow n Each person pro- 
c eeded in order, and when the fourth prince 
had reached the midst of his adventures, a 
sudden noise interrupted him, which caused 
the vault to tremble and to open. 

Immediately a cloud descended, which 
^laduaily dissipating, discovered Carathis on 
the back of an Afut, who grievously com- 
plained of his burden She, instantly spring- 
ing to the ground, advanced towards her son 
and said : 

"What dost thou heie in thv> little square 
chambei f As the Dives are become subject 
to thy beck, I expected to have found thee on 
the throne of the Pre-adamite Kings." 

"Execrable woman!" answered the Ca- 
liph; "cursed be the day thou gavest me 
birth ! go, follow this Afrit, let him conduct 
thee to the hall of the Prophet Soliman; 



there them wilt learn to what these palaces 
are destined, and how much I ought to abhor 
the impious knowledge thou hast taught 
me " 

"The height of power, to which thou art 5 
arrived, has certainly turned thy brain, ' ' an- 
swered Carathis, "but I ask no more than 
permission to show my respect for the 
Prophet. It is, however, proper thou should- 
est know, that (as the Afrit has informed me 10 
neither of us shall return to Samarah) I re- 
quested his permission to arrange my affairs, 
and he politely consented, a\ ailing myself, 
therefore, of the few moments allowed me, I 
set fire to the tower, and consumed in it the 15 
mutes, negresses, and serpents which have 
rendered me so much good service; nor 
should I have been less kind to Morakana- 
bad, had he not prevented me, by deserting 
at last to thy brother. As for Bababalouk. 80 
who had the folly to return to Samarah, and 
all the good brotherhood to provide husband** 
for thy wives, I undoubtedly would have put 
them to the toituie, could I but have allowed 
them the time, being, however, in a hurry. 1 25 
only hung him after having caught him in a 
snare with thy wnes, whilst them I buried 
alive by the help of my negresses, who thus 
spent their last moments greatly to their sat- 
isfaction. With icspect to Dilaia, who ever 50 
stood high in iny fa\or, she hath evinced the 
greatness of her mind by fixing herself near 
in the sei vice of one of the Map, and I think 
will soon be our own " 

Vathek, too much cast down to expies 35 
the indignation excited by such a discourse, 
ordered the Afnt to remove Corn this fiom 
his presence, and continued immersed in 
thought, winch his companion durst not 
disturb. 40 

Carathis, howexei, eageily entered the 
dome of Snliman, and, without regarding 
in the least the gioans of the Prophet, un- 
dauntedly removed the co\eis of the vases, 
and violently seized on the talismans, then, 45 
with a voice moie loud than had hitheito 
been heard within these mansions, she com- 
pelled the Dives to disclose to her the most 
secret treasures, the most profound stores, 
which the Afrit himself had not seen; she 80 
passed by rapid descents known only to 
Eblis and his most favored potentates, and 
thus penetrated the very entrails of the 
earth, where breathes the Sansar, or icy wind 
of death; nothing appalled her dauntless 5 
soul, she perceived, howe\er, in all the in- 
mates who bore their hands on their heart a 
little singularity, not much to her taste. As 
she was emerging from one of the abysses. 

Eblis stood forth to her View, but, notwith- 
standing he displayed the full effulgence of 
his infernal majesty, she preserved her 
countenance unaltered, and even paid her 
compliments with consideiable firmness 

This superb Monarch thus answeied 
"Princess, whose knowledge and whose 
crimes have merited a conspicuous rank in 
my empire, thou dost well to employ the 
leisure that remains; for the flames and tor- 
ments, which are ready to sei^e on thy heart, 
will not fail to provide thec with lull employ- 
ment " He said this, and was lost in the 
curtains of his tabernacle. 

Carathis paused for a moment with sur- 
prise; but, resolved to follow the advice of 
Ebhs, she assembled all the choirs of Genii, 
and all the Dives, to pay hei homage , thus 
marched slie in timniph thinugh a vapoi of 
perfumes, amidst the acclamations of all the 
malignant spit its. with most of whom stic 
had fonned a previous acquaintance, she 
e\en attempted to dethionc one of the Soli- 
rnans for the purpose of usurping hm place, 
when a \oice, piucmliiui fiom the nb>ss oi 
Death, pioclaimed, "All is accomplished f " 
Instantaneously, the hmightv forehead ot 
the intrepid Princess was conugated with 
agony; she uttcied a ticmendous veil, and 
fixed, no moie to be withdrawn, hei ri^ht 
hand upon hei heait, which uas become a 
receptacle of eternal fire 

In this delirium, forgetting all ambition** 
projects and her thirst foi that knowledee 
which should e\ei be hidden fiom inortaN. 
she ovei turned the nffciiiiQs <ij fh< Ocnn, 
and, haung e,\eoiated the hour she \\as bo- 
sntten and the womb that had home hei, 
glanced off in a whnl that rendeied her m- 
vi^ible, and continued to ie\ohe without 

At almost the same instant the same \oicr 
announced to the Caliph, Nouinmhar, the 
fhe princes, and the pi incest, the awiul and 
nmocable electee Their heaits immediately 
took file, and tbe\ .it once lost the most prec- 
ious of the gifts of hea\en Hope These 
unhappy beings recoiled \\ith looks of the 
most furious disti action, Vuthek beheld in 
the eyes of Noimmihai nothing but rage and 
vengeance, nor could she discern aught in his 
but aversion and despair The two pi nice- 
who were friends, and till that moment had 
preserved their attachment, shrunk back, 
gnashing their teeth with mutual and un- 
changeable hatred Knlilah and his sistei 
made reciprocal gestures of impiecation, 
whilst the two other princes testified then 
horror for each other bv the most ghastly 



convulsions, and screams that could not be 
smothered All severally plunged themselves 
into the accursed multitude, there to wander 
in on eternity of unabating anguish 

5 Such was, and such should be, the punish- 
ment of unrestrained passions and atrocious 
actions' Such is, and such should be, the 
chastisement of blind ambition, that would 
transgress those bounds which the Croat 01 

10 hath prescribed to human knowledge, and, 
by aiming at discoveries resened foi pmc 
Intelligence, acquire that infatuated pude. 
which perceives not the condition ap]>ointed 
to man is to be ignorant and humble 

IB Thus the Caliph Vathek, who, for the sake 
of empty pomp and forbidden pouei, had 
sullied himself with a thousand ci lines, be- 
came a prey to gnef without end. and le- 
tnorse without mitigation ; whilst the humble 

and despised Gulchenroiiz passed whole ages 
in undisturbed tianqmllity, and the pine 
happiness of childhood 

WILLIAM COWPER (1731-1800) 



Haik, mj souP it is the Lord, 
Tis thv SHMOI, heai his uord, 
.lesus siteaks, and speaks to thee, 
"Sax. pool sinni-i. lo\ 'st lliou me 7 

"' I dehxer'd thee uhen bound, 
And, when bleednm, heal'd thy 
Sought thee wand 'ring, set thee 
TunTd tli\ da ik ness into halit 

Can a woman's tendei cuio 
(Vase towaids the child ^he baie? 
Yes she ma\ fometful be 
Yet \vill I lemember thee 

Mine is an unchanging lo\e. 
Highei than the heights aho\? 
Deejier than the depths beneath, 
Free and faithful, stron as death 

Thou shalt see m> glory soon. 
When the work of grace is done 
Partner of rav throne shalt be 
Sa>, poor sinner, lov'st thou me"' 

Lord, it is my chief complaint, 
That my love is weak and faint, 
Yet I love thee and adore, 
Oh 1 foi grace to love thee moic 1 


Qod moves in a mysterious way. 

HIR wonders to perform; 
He plants his footsteps in the sea. 

And rides upon the storm 

5 Deep in unfathomable mines 

Of nevei -failing skill, 
lie treasures up his bright designs. 
And works his sovereign will 

^e leaiJul saints, fiesh courage take, 
10 The clouds ve so much dread 
Are big uith mercv, and shall break 
In blessings on >our head 

Judge not the Loid by feeble sense. 

Hut trust him for his grace, 
1 " Behind a frowmnji providence, 
He hides a smiling face 

His pin poses \sill ripen fast. 

rntbldin&r e\ 'r\ hour, 
The bud rrniv lia\e a bittei taste, 
-" But sweet uill be the flow'i 

Blind unbelief i sine to en. 
And scan his woik in vain, 

(tod is Ins own mteipretcr. 
And he uill make it plain 


3 78? 

Scenes that sooth M 
Oi (liaimM me \onna. no longer \oung, 

1 find 
Still soothing and of pou 'i to clmrm me 

And witness, dear companion of rm 

115 Wliose arm tins twentieth \\inter I per- 

Fast lork'd in mine, \\ith pleasure* such 

us lo\e, 
('onHrm'd b\ lony expenenee of tin 

u 01 tli 
And woll-tned \irtues, could alone m- 

Witness a ]tn that thou hast doubled 

r>0 Thou know 'st mv praise of nature most 


i John, 13 7 

-'Mis Mary Unwln, the friend and companion 

of Cowper for thirty-four year* Re* Cow- 

JUT'S To Warn, p 153 


'And that my raptures are not conjur'd The wafah oi' Ocean on his winding 

up shore, 

To Eerve occasions of poetic pomp. And lull the spirit \\Inle they fill the 

But genuine, and art partner of them mind, 

all. Unnumber'd branches waving in the 

How oft upon yon eminence our pace blast, 
166 Has slacken M to a pause, ami ue liaxe \nd all their lea\es fast flutt'ring, all 

home at once 
The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that 19 Nor Jess <*omi>oMire units upon the 

it blew, ioar 

While admiration, feeding at the e\e. Of distant floods 01 on the soitei 

And still unsated, dwelt ui>on the scene voice 
Thence with what pleasure have ve just Of neighboring fountain. 01 of nils thnt 

discern M slip 

160 The distant plough blow moving, ami Tlnough the cleft lock, and, chiming as 

beside they fall 

His lab 'ring team, that b\ven M not Tpon loobe }>ebbles, lose themselves ,it 

from the tiack, length 

The sturd> swain diminish M to a box f J0r> In matted grass, that mth a Ineher 

Here Ouse, slow \vmdm thiough a level gieen 

plain Betra>s the seciet of their silent couise 

Of spacious meads with cattle spunkled Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds, 

o'er, But animated natuie sueetei still. 

165 Conducts the e\e along his Millions To sooth and sutish the human eai 

course J0 Ten thousand win birrs cheer the da\. 

Delighted There, fast rooted in their and one 

bank, The livelong night not these alone, vliose 

Stand, never overlook M, 0111 fa\ 'rite notes 

elms, Nice-iingei 'd art must emulate in vain. 

That screen the herdsman's solitary hut , But cawing rooks, and kites that sv\nn 

While far beyond, and overthwart the sublime 

stream In still repeated circles sci earning loud. 
170 That, as nuth molten utass. inl.i\> the - 05 The jay, the pie, and e\ 'n the boding 

vale, owl 

The sloping land recedes into the doiuN. That hails the risuia moon, hu\e chuinis 

Displaying on its varied side the iue for me. 

Of hedge-rou beauties mtuibei les*. Sounds inharmonious in themselves and 

square tont'r, harsh. 

Tall spire, fiom which the sound ot Yet heard in scenes uheie peace forever 

cheerful bells reigns, 

ir> Just undulates upon the list'nni" eai . And only there, please highly for their 

Groves, heaths, and smoking villages, sake. 


Scenes must be beautiful, which, dailv God made the country, and man made 

view'd, the tontn. 
Pleabe daily, and whose noveltv MU- ""* What wonder then that health and vu- 

vives tue, gifts 

Long knowledge and the t>ciutin\ of That can alone make sweet the bitter 

years draught 

180 Fiaibe justly due to those (hat I di- That life holds out to all. should most 

scribe abound 

Nor rural sights alone, but ruial sounds, And least be threaten 'd in the fields 

Exhilarate the spirit, and restore and groves f 

The tone of languid Nature. Afmhtv Possess ye, therefoic, ye who. lk>nie 

winds, about 

That sweep the skirt of some far-spread- r . In chariots and sedans, know no fa- 
ing wood tigue 
186 Of ancient growth, make music not un- Rut that of idleness and taste no 

like scenes 


Bat such as art contrives, possess >e Lands intersected by a narrow frith 

still Abhor each other. Mountains interposed 

Your element; there only ye can shine, Make enemies of nations, who had else, 

There only minds like your's can do no Like kindred drops, been mingled into 

harm. one. 

760 Our groves were planted to console at 20 Thus man de\otes his biothei. and de- 

noon stroys , 

The pensne wand'rcr in their shades And, worse than all, and most to be 

At eve deplor'd, 

The moonbeam, sliding sofll t \ in be- As human nature's broadest, foulest 

tween blot, 

The sleeping lea\es, is all the hsrlit thev * Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts 

wish, his sweat 

Birds warbling all the music We can With stripe*, that Meicy, with a bleed- 

spare ing heart, 

765 The qplendor of your lamps, Uie> but 25 Weeps when she sees inflicted on a 

eclipse beast 

Our softer satellite Your song* con- Then what is man? And what man, 

found seeing this. 

Our more haimonioiiH notes the thrush And having human feelings, does not 

departs blush, 

Vur'd. and th' offended nightingale is And hang his head, to think himself a 

mute man ? 

Tlieie is a public mischief in \oiii inn th. I *ould not hu\e a sla\e to till m\ 

770 It plagues \our counti\. ,Foll\ such as ground, 

vour'h, ?u To carry me, to fan me uhile I sleep, 

(irac'd \\ith a suoid, and uoitlnei of .1 And tremble when I wake, for all the 

fan, wealth 

Has made, uhat enemies could nc'ei That sinews bought and sold lia\e evei 

hai e done, earn 'd 

Our nidi of empiie. stcdfast but toi No dear as freedom is. and in m\ 

vnu. heart 's 

A mutilated structuic, soon to lall Just estimation pn/'d abo\e all price, 

ir ' [ had much rather IK* m\self the slave, 

From BOOK IT THE TIME-PIECE An<1 * '"""I"- tlmn fasten them 

on him 

Oh lui a lodge in some \iist \\ildeiness. We have no bla\es ut home -Then wh> 

Some boundless contiguit\ ot shade, abroad? 

\Vheie rumor of oppression and deceit. And they themsehes. once ferried o'er 

Of unsuccessful or successful uar. the wave 

' Might ne\ei icach me inoie! My eai i< That parts us, are emancipate and loos 'd. 

pam'd, ' 40 Slaves cannot breathe in England, 1 if 

My soul is su'k, vith e\ 'ry da\ 's ie- their lungs 

poit Receive our air. that moment they are 

Of uroiig and outrune nith uhirh earth free, 

is fillM They touch out cnmitix. and their shack- 

Theic is no flesh in man's olMlniut > les fall. 

heart. That's noble, ami bespeaks a nation 

It does not feel lor man; the nut'rnl proud 

bond tnd jealous of the blessing Spread it 

10 Of brotherhood is sever'd as the flax then, 

That falls asunder at the touch of fire 45 And let it circulate through e\ 'ry vein 

He finds his fellow guilty of a skin Of all your empire; that where Britain's 

Not color 'd like his own; and, having pow'r 

| M)W > r Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too 

T' enforce the wrong, for such a worth \ 


dnvikto him nv Ins Inwfiil ! The court deoibioo that "flla\e* cannot breathe 

devote* mm ns ins lawrui |n Eng ] anj j" wt ^ en by ^^ Mansfield In 

pre\ 1 772 The slave trade wa? nholHbed In 


From BOOK VI THE WINTER WALK By which Heav'n moves ID pard'mng 

AT NOON guilty man , 

r,60 i would not enter on mv list of friends And he that shows none, being ii)>e in 
(Tho* grac'd with polish 'd manners and years, 

fine sense, And conscious of the outrage lie coin- 
Yet wanting sensibility the man mits, 

Who needlessly sets foot upon a \ioiin b Shall seek it, and not find it, in liib tuin 
An inadvertent step may crush the snail . . ... 

r>66 Ti ia t crawls at e\ 'nine: in the pubh<* 


But he that has humanitv, foiewarn d. 1734 1785 


A i iii i 21 xi j Vnd the \\hispcnng sound of the cool 

And charg'd perhaps with \enom, thai colonnade, 

A visit^mwXme, into scenes The w | s , no 1( "* e ' and " lllir '" 

Sacred to neatness and repose -II.' al- Xap QUMJ Qn , jis ' |K|som 1|iwr n ^ 

co\e, pones 
The chamber, or refer ton nun die 

s< sim<> ! lirst 

"5 And of offon,o. tl no.*- thr Bml 

Or tkethi imslnrn. ,n il.e S,MM,,S th<> 

/ 11 jaici, 

m, ,, , ., i . Al , Vnd the tiee i* in\ MMt tluif oim- lent 

There the\ me piniloi^d and lie that ft ^jp 


Or harms them there is ftinltx oi a \vronir, P . ,, ..,, , , . fl 

Disturbs th' ccnnonn of Natuic's icnhu 10 ffL AP {.ill "^ io / n ; n!hlM 1|l|l|l ' lt 
Who, nhcii she fonnM, draen'd then, ^ hne " " " 

The sum i?th!!-ir man's conven.ence, Xml 

Kosounds with his s\\iit-lloujii!; ditt\ 
Or safctv ink'iteic, his n<rht^ and 


Are paianiount. n,l must extinguish y y ft,giti*e >is a all ha^tinsr awa>. 

Klse they are all-tin- meanest tiling* And Imnst ere long lie as loK a t th. 

that are a ' iiienM, and a tone 

that are 
\sfreetolne, andto i)o\ thnt life. 

,, , , . 

\s Ood ^ab free to foim them at the Kre " Ml<h BMn<1 slwl1 al|s<> '" 

Who. inbB sox 'rcisn ,s.Iom, ma.le tl.en. Tjs ^ ^^ fo ^^^ |m . 
\e. ttaafainho loxe mem. lea. I. 

f lo lo\e it too The spring-time of 0111 ,, mail i 

s f Though hi& life be a, dream, his enjox- 

Is *oon dishonor M and denl'd in most 00 TT "iL 1 ;^ i Se J' ui *i i 

By budding ills that ask a prudent hand " TInxo n ^^ Ie ^ dlll lhl(t " en than hp 
To check them Hut, alas f none boonei 


If unrestram'd, into luxuriant growth, 17 * 8 17W 

Than cruelty, most dev'hsh of them all. Forc'd from home and all its pleasures, 
v5 Merc> to him thai shows it, ifc the Af lie's coast I lelt Joiloin, 

rule To increase a strangei 9 s treasures, 

And nsrhteous limitation of its act, O'er the rasing billows borne. 



6 Men from England bought and sold me. 

Paid my price in paltry gold ; 
But, though slave thov have enroll M me, 
Minds are never to !>e sold 

Still m thoimht as free ns ever. 
10 What are Knulnnd 'fe rights, I ask, 
Me from rav delights to sever, 

Me to tort me, me to task? 
Fleecv locks mid black complexion 

Cannot forfeit nature's claim, 
15 Skins may differ, but affection 

Dwells in white and black the same 

Whv did all-creating Nature 
Make the plant for which we toil? 

Sighs must fan it, tears must water, 
20 Sueat oi ouis must dress the soil 

Think, t Vo masters, iron-hearted. 
Lolhnu at \<mi joual hoauls. 

Think IHTO many backs ha\e smaited 
For tho sheets >our cane affords 

25 Is theie, as \e sometimes tell us, 

Is Ilioie one who reicrns on lush " 
Has he bid -urn buv and sell us, 

Speaking from his tin one, the skv ? 
\sk him if i our knotted scout ges 
?0 Matdics. blood-e\toitmu screws, 
\ie the means which duf\ urges 
Agetits of his \\ill to use* 

ll.ii k ! he an*\\pis f Wild tornadoes, 
<M i e\\ in ir \ ondei sea >\ ith wi ecks , 
3 " \\ntni! loAtns. plantations, meadows, 
\io the \oice \\ith wbuh he sfwaks 
Hi-, loicsoemii what \e\ations 
\ i'nc's sons should mulct go. 
1 i\M then \\ units' habitations 
40 \N line his uliiiluinds ans\\tM Xo 

"Rv oui blood in Afnc \iasted. 

Lre our necks locen M the chain, 
\\\ the mis 'IKS that \\e lasted. 

('tossim* in \oui barks the main. 
*** Rv our stiff 'rings since ve hi ought us 

To the man-degiadin? mait. 
All sustain M by patience, taughi us 

On!\ b\ a broken heart 

Deem out nation bmtes no longer 
50 Till *<>me reason ye shall find 
Worthier of rogaid and strongei 

Than the coloi of our kind. 
S!A\CS of sold, whose sordid dealings 

Tarnjsli all vour boasted pow'rs, 
6C Pro\e that >ou have human feelings. 
Ere ^ou proudly question ours I 


1700 1708 

Oh that those lips had language' Life 

has ])ass'd 
With me but ronglih since I heard th*< 

Those hps are thine thv own sweet 

*mile I see, 
The same that oit in childhood solaced 

5 Voice only fails, else, hoit distinct thex 

sav v 
"Gneve not, m\ child, chase all th\ 

fears awa> f " 

The meek intelligence of those dear e>es 
(Blest be the art that can immortalize, 
The ail that baffles Tune's tviannic claim 
10 To quench it) here shines on me still the 


Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, 
O \\clcome guest, though unexpected, 

here f 
Who bidd'st me honor with an artless 


Affectionate, a mother lost so long:, 1 
n T Hill obe\, not \\ilhnglv alone, 

Hut uladh, as the precept were her oun, 
And, nhile that face renews my filial 

Fancv shall wea\e a charm for m\ le- 


Shall steep me in Ehsian reverie. 
- >0 A momentaiy dienin, that thou art she 
M\ mother 1 when I learn 'd that thou 

wast dead, 
Sav. uast thou conscious of the teais I 

Ho\eiM th\ spmt o'ei th\ sorrowing 

Wretch e\en then, life's journey just 

-"' IVihaps thou a\ 'bt inc. thouch unf'elt, 

a kiss, 
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in 

Vh, that matenial smile 1 it atwtei**-- 


I heard the bell toll'd on tin burial da\. 
1 saw the hearse that boie thee slo\\ 

10 And, turning from m\ nurs'rv \imdo\\, 


A long, loner surh, and wept a last adieu ' 
But was it such 1 * Tt was Where thou 

art gone 

1 Cowper*s mother died In 1787. 



Adieus and farewells are a bound un- 
May I but meet thee on that peaceful 

3r The parting word shall pass my lips no 

Thy maidens griev'd themsehes at m> 


Oft gave me promise of thy quick retain 
What ardently I wish'd, I long behe\ M. 
And, disappointed still, was still de- 

cei\ 'd ; 

10 By expectation e^eiy day hegiulM, 
Dupe of tomorrow even from a child 
Thus many a sad tomouou came and 


Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent. 
I learn 'd at last submission to my lot. 
46 But, though I less deplor'd thee. ne'ei 

Where once *e dwelt our name i* 

heard no more, 
Children not thine have trod m\ nurs'n 

And where the gard'ner Robin, ilav h\ 


Drew me to school along the public *u\. 
60 Delighted with my bauble coach, ami 


In scarlet mantle warm, and \ehet capt. 
'Tis now become a lnstoi\ little kno*n. 
That once we calPd the past'ral house 

our own 
Short-hv'd possession! but the record 

55 That mem'r> keeps of all tli\ kindness 

Still outlives many a storm that has 

A thousand other themes less ileeph 


Thy nightly visits to my chambei made. 
That thou might ist know me sate nn<1 

warmly laid ; 

60 Thy morning bounties eie I leit in\ home. 
The biscuit, or confectionary plum , 
The fragrant waters on my cheeks be- 
stow 'd 
By thy own hand, till fresh the> shone 

and glow 'd; 
All this, and more endearing still than 

65 Thv constant flow of love, that knew no 

' fall, 
Ne'er roughen 'd by those cataracts and 


That humor interpos'd too often makes; 
All this still legible in mem'ry's page, 
And still to be so, to my latest age, 

70 Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay 
Such honors to thee as my numbers may; 
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere, 
Not scorn 'd in heav'n, though little no- 
tic 'd here. 
Could Time, his flight reters'd. restore 

the hours, 
""' When, placing with tin \esture 's tissued 


The \iolet, the pink, and jessamine. 
I prick 'd them into paper with a pin. 
(And thou want happier than nit self the 

Would 'st softly speak, ami stroke mt 

head, and smile) 
80 Could those few pleasant hours again 

Might one wish bring them, would I wish 

them here ? 
1 would not trust in\ heart the dear 


Seems so to lie desir'd, jxrhaps I miirht - 
But no what here we call our life m 


v5 So little to lie lot M, and thou so much, 
That 1 should ill lequite thee to constrain 
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again 
Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion *s 

(The storms all wenther'd and the ocean 

cross M) 
90 Shoots into port at some well-hut en M 


Where spices bieathe, and bn^htci sea- 
sons smile, 
There sits quiescent on the floods that 


Her beauteous form reflected clear below, 

Wlnle airs impregnated with incense pla> 

05 Around her, fanning light her streamers 

So thou, with sails how swift! hast 
reach 'd the shore 

"Where tempests neter heat nor billows 
roar," 1 

And thy lot M consort on the dangVous 

Of life, long since, has anchor M at thv 

side. 2 
100 But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest. 

Always from port withheld, always dis- 
tress M- 

Me howling blasts dnte detious tempest 

Sails ript, seams op'ning wide, and com- 
pass lost, 

* Garth, The Ditpemary, 8, 226, "Where bil- 

lowa never break, nor tempecitH roar ** 
1 Cowper'H father died in 1750 



And day by day some current's thwart- 
ing force 
106 g e t 8 me more distant from a pros'prons 

Yet, oh, the thought that Hum art safe, 

and he I 
That thought n joy, arrive what ma\ to 


My boast IB not that I deduce my birth 
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the 

earth, 1 
110 But higher far my proud pretensions 


The son of parents pasa'd into the skies 
And now, farewell Tun*-, unrevok'd. has 

His wonted course, yet ^hat I wibhM is 

By contemplation's help, not Bought in 

A am, 
115 [ s< em t' lia\e li\ M im childhood oVr 

To have reneu M the jo\s that once mere 


Without the sin of Molatinjr thine 
\nd. \\lnle the wings ui Fancj Mill .iir 


And I can view this mimic show of thee, 
120 Time has but hall succeeded in Ins 

Th\selt' remo\ M. t!i\ jKwer to sooth me 



1791 1804 

Sun ivor sole, and hardly such, of all 
That once li\ M lieic lh\ hrethten v at in\ 


(Since nhich 1 number three-score win- 
ters past) 

A shatter M \eternn. holloa -trunk M per- 

5 As now, and with excoriate* forks de- 

ttehcs o1 agt's' Could a mind, imbued 
With truth from heav'n, created thinir 

I might with re\ 'rence kneel and worship 


It seems idolatry with some excuse 
* When our forefather Dmids in their oaks 
Imagm 'd sanctit\ The conscience yet 
ITnpurifled b> an authentic act 
Of amnesty, the meed of blood divine, 
Lo\'d not the light, but, gloomy, into 

On his mother 1 * hldo, fowper triired hl an 

oestr? to Henry 711, 
hnrk removing 

13 Of thickest shades, like Adam after taste 

Of fruit proscribed, as to a refuge, fled. 

Thou wast a bauble once; a eup and 

Which babes might play with, and the 


Seeking her food, with ease might have 

purloin 'd 
20 The auburn nut that held thee, swallow- 

ing do* n 

Thy yet close-folded latitude of boughs 
And all thine embr>o vastness, at a gulp 
But Fate thy prowth decreed autumnal 

Beneath thy parent tree mellow M the 

25 Design VI th> ctadle, and n skipping 

With pointed hoof dibbling the glebe, 1 


The soft leceptaclc, in winch, secuic. 
Thy rudiments should sleep the winter 


So Fancy dreams Dispi ove it, if ye can. 
reas'ner* broad awake, whose bus\ 


Of argument, employ 'd too oft amiss, 
Sifts half the pleasures of short life 

Thou fell'st mature, and in the loam\ 


Swelling, with vegetatne force instinct 
35 Didst burst thine egg, as theirs the fabled 

Now stars; 2 two lobes, protruding, pair'd 

exact , 

A leaf succeeded, and another leaf, 
And all the elements thy puny growth 
Postering propitious, thou 'becam'st n 

Who hv 'd when thou wast such? 

couldst thou speak, 
Vs m Dodona once thy kindred trees 
Oracular, 8 I would not curious ask 
The future, best unknown, but at 

Inquisitive, the less ambiguous past. 

R> thee I might correct, erroneous oft. 
The clock of history, facts and events 
Timing more punctual, unrecorded facts 
Recovering, and misstated setting right 
Heap 'rate attempt, till trees shall speak 


1 making boles In the sod or ground 

Castor and Pollux, who, according to one tra- 

dition, were born of an egg 
'The retponsea of the oracle at Dodona, in 
Rpirui, were given bj the rustling of the oak 
trees In the wind. The nnnnd* wore Intrr- 
!>v priests 





" IU Time made thee what tbou wast King Thought cannot spend itself, compar- 

of the woods ; ing still 

And Time hath made thee nhat thou The great and little of thy lot, thy 

art a cave _ growth 

For owls to roost in Once thy spread- From almost nullity into a state 

ing boimhs Of matchless grandeur, and declension 
O'eihumj UK* champaign, 1 and the mi- thence, 

nierous flock** 90 Slow, into such magnificent deca>. 

Tlmt graz'd it stood beneath that ample Time was Hheu, settling: on thy leaf, a 

cope fly 

"" Uncrowded, yet safe-sheltei \1 fioni tho Could shake thee to the root, and time 

storm. has been 

No flock frequents thee IIOH. Thou hast When tempests could not. At thy firmest 

outln 'd ase 

Thy popularity and art become Thou hadst within thy bole solid contents 
(Unless \erse rescue thee u\\lule) a thins n3 That might lune iibb'd the sides and 
Forgotten, as the lolmge oi thv youth plank 'd the deck 

f While thus through all the stages thon Of some ilagvr'd admiral; and tortuous 

hast push 'd aims, 

Of treeslup, first a seedling hid in mass. The shipwright'* darling tieasuic. didst 
Then twijr, then sapling 1 , and, as centuix ])iesent 

loll'd To the lour-fjuartci 'd Hinds, robust and 
Slow after centui\, a giant bulk hold. 

Of giith enormous, with moss-cushion M AXaip'd into tough knec-timhei, man} a 

loot load 

'" I plica \ M abo\e the soil, and sides em- 1IIU Hut the axe spuicd thco. in those 

lx>ssM tluiltii'i ila\s 

With piommcnl wens globose, 2 till at Oaks loll not. hewn h\ thousands t<> 

the List supph 

The lottcuness, \\hidi Time is diai^'d Tiie hottoinless demands of contest i\ag <1 

t ' inflict Foi senatoi lal honois Thus to Tune 

On othet mighty ones found also thee The task \uis left to whittle thee a\\a\ 
What exhibitions \anous hath the HOT M lrt "' With Ins sly M*\the, ^xliose eAer-nibbhn^ 
70 Witness M of inutnbilit\ in all edt p c, 

That ^e account most durable below f Voiseless, an atom, and an atom moie, 

Change is the diet on \\lncli all subsist, Disjoimnp: from theiest, has, unohserv'd, 

(Seated changeable, and change at last Aclno\ M a laboi, which had, i'ar and 
Deploys them Skies uncertain, now the Hide, 

heat (I>v man j^ifoimM) made all the forest 
"' Transmit tiim cloiidloss, and the solai ring 

beam IMI KmboHeHM now, and of th\ ancient 

XOH qiieiichin** in a boundless sen of sell 

clouds; IWossinjr nought but the scoop VI nnd. 
Calm and alternate storm, moist me and that eems 

di ought. An huue throat calling to the clouds toi 
Iimcoiate by turns the spun us of life drink. 

In all that live, plant, ammnl. and Which it would %i\e in rn 'lets to tin 

man, loot, 

so And in conclusion mar them Nature's Thou temptest none, but rather much 

thieads, forbid 'at 

Fine passing thought, ev'n in her coais- m The feller's toil, which thou couldst ill 

est works, lequite. 

Delight in agitation, yet sustain Vet is th> root sincere, sound as the 
The force, that agitates not unimpaired. rock. 

But, worn by frequent impulse, to the A quarry of stout spurs and knotted fangs, 

cause Which, crook M into a thousand whim- 
85 Of their best tone their dissolution owe &ICR, clasp 

i fle1d The stubborn soil, and hold thee still 
*roth<< In tho nhape of globes erect 



1M So stands a kingdom, whose founda- 
tion yet 

Fails not, in virtue and in wisdom laid, 
Though all the superstructure, by the 


Puhem'd of venality, a shell 
Stands now, and semblance only of itself 
125 Thine arms have left thee. Winds have 

rent them off 

Long since, and rovers of the forest wild 
With bow and shaft have burnt them 

Some have left 
A splinter 9 d stump, bleach 'd to a sno\\\ 

And some memorial none, where once thc\ 

iso y e j j,f c s t,j| i imrers , n t] ic , c , ail d puts 


Proof not contemptible of what she ran. 
Even where death predominates The 

Finds thee not less alive to her sueet 

Than yonder upstart of the neighboring 

135 So much th\ juniors, ulio their birtli 

recei v M 
Half a millennium since the date of 

But since, although well qualified l>\ 

To teach, no spint dwells in tlicc. nor 


M.-n IK expected from thee, seated heie 
140 On thy distorted root, with hearers none 
Or prompter, save the scene, I will ]>er- 


Mvsolf the oracle, and will discourse 
In my own ear such matter as I may 

One man alone, the Father of us all. 
145 Drew not his life from woman, never 

With mute unconsciousness of what he 


On all around him ; learn 'd not by degrees, 
Nor owed articulation to his ear, 
Rut, moulded bv his Maker into man 
150 At once, upstood intelligent, suney'd 
All creatures, with precision understood 
Their purport, uses, properties, assign 'd 
To each his name significant, and, fill 'd 
With love and wisdom, render 'd back to 


156 In praise harmonious the first air he drew 
He was excus'd the penalties of dull 
Minority No tutor charg'd his hand 
With the thought-tracing quill, or task'd 

his mind 
With problems; history, not wanted vet, 

160 Leau'd on her elbow, watching Time, whose 

Eventful, should supply her with a theme 



The twentieth year is * ell-nigh past, 
Since our first sky was o\ercast, 1 
Ah, would that thr> might be the last 1 

My Marj ' 

6 Th> spirits have a laintei flow, 
I see thee daily weaker grow 
Twas my distress that brought thee low. 

My Mary' 

Thy needles, once a shining store, 

10 For my sake restless hcietofoie, 
Now nist disus'd, and shine no more, 

My Mary 

For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil 
The same kind office for me still, 

11 Thv sight now seconds not thy will, 

My Maijr* 

But \\ell thou playM'st the housewife's 


And all thy threads \\ith magic ait 
Have *onnd themsehes about this heart 
20 MyMarv' 

Th} indistinct expressions seem 
Like language utter VI in a dream, 
Yet me they charm, \\liate 'er the theme. 

My Man ' 

2:1 Thy silver locks, once auburn bright. 
Are still more lo\ely in mv sight 
Than golden beams of orient light, 

My Man f 

For, could I \iew nor them nor thee, 
80 What sight worth seeing could I sect 
The sun would rise in vain for me. 

My Marv' 

Partakers of thy sad decline, 
_ Thy hands their little force resign . 
r Yet, gently prest, press gently mine 

My Man ' 

And then I feel that still I hold 
A richer store ten thousandfold 
Than misers fancy in their gold, 
40 My Man- 1 

Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st, 
That now at every step thou mov'st 

1 A reference to Cowper's violent attack of In- 
sanltv In 1771, 



Upheld by too; yet still them lov'at, 

My Maij ! 

46 And still to love, though prest with ill. 
In wintry age to feel no chill, 
With me is to be lovely still, 

My Marj ' 

But ah ! by constant heed I know, 
r>0 How oft the sadness that I show 
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe. 

M> Mary! 

And should my future lot be cast 
With much resemblance of the past 
i-i Thy worn-out heart will break at last, 

My Marv' 


Obscured night imolv'd the sk>. 

TV Atlantic billows loar'd, 
When such a de&tm'd wretch as 1. 

Wash'd headlong fiom on board, 
' Of friends, of hope, of all beieft. 
His floating home fore\er lelt 

No bra\er chief could Albion boast 

Than he with whom he went, 
Nor ever ship left Albion 's const. 
10 With warmer wishes sent 

He loved them both, but both in \ain. 
Nor him beheld, nor her again 

Not long beneath the whelmm? brine. 

Expert to swim, he lay , 
15 Nor soon he felt his strength decline, 

Or courage die away ; 
But wag'd with death a lasting striie, 
Supported bv despair of life 

lie shouted : nor his friends had fail 'd 
J0 To check the vessel's course, 
Rut so the furious blast prevail 'd, 

That, pitiless perforce, 
They left their outcast mate behind. 
And scudded still before the wind 

2fi Some succor yet they could afford . 

And, such as storms allow, 
The cask, the coop, the floated cord, 

Delay 'd not to bestow 
But he (they knew) nor ship, nor shore, 
so Whatever they gave, should visit more 

Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he 
Their haste himself condemn, 

Aware that flight, in such a sea, 
Alone could rewue them; 

36 Yet bitter ielt 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, 
*o His destiny repelPd, 
And ever, as the minutes flew, 
Entreated help, or cried "Adieu 1 " 

At length, his transient respite past. 

His comrades, who before 
45 Had heard his voice in ev'r> blabt. 

Could catch the sound no more 
For then, by toil subdued, he diank 
The stifling wave, and then lie sank 

No poet wept him: but the jwm* 
r ' Of narrative sincere. 

That tells his name, his worth, his ai*e. 

Ts wet with Anton's teai ' 
And tears by bards or heroes ^hed 
Alike immortalize the dead 

I therefoie puiixise not, 01 tlieam. 

Descanting 2 on his fate. 
To give the melancholy theme 

A more enduring date 
But miserv still delights to tiac-e 
60 Its semblance in another'* case 

No voice dmne the storm nlln\ M, 

No light piopitious shone. 
When, snatch 'd from all effectual aid. 

We }>erish M. each alone 
65 Rut I beneath a roughei sea. 

And whelm 'd in deepei trull* than he * 

GEORGE CRABBE (1754-1832) 

1780-1783 1783 


The village hie. and e\eij care that 

O'er youthful peasants and declmiim 

What labor yields, uud \\hut, that labor 


Age, in its hour ot languoi, finds at last. 

"' What form the real picture of the poor. 

Demand a song the Muse can give no 


Cowper bad a dela- 
tion that be bad 

lout the favor of 

Min'g Voyage Round God See bis let 
the World (1748) ter to Newton, writ 

'commenting freely ten April 11, 1799. 

*Tbe poem la found- 
ed on an incident 
in Lord George An- 


Fled are those times, when, in harmo- The poor laborious natives of the place, 

nious strains, And see the mid-day sun. with fervid 

The rustic poet praised his native plains ray, 

No shepherds now, in smooth alternate On their bare heads and dewy temples 

verse, play, 

10 Their country's beauty or their nymphs' 4B While some, with feebler heads and 

rehearse; fainter hearts, 

Yet still for these we frame the tender Deplore their fortune, yet sustain their 

strain, parts* 

Still in our lav* fond Corydons complain, Then shall I dare these real ills to hide 

And shepherds' boys their amorous pains In tinsel trappings of poetic pride 1 

reveal, No; cast by Fortune on a frowning 

The onlv pains, alas! they never feel coast, 

^ On Mmeio's banks, in Caasar's boun- 50 Which neither groves nor happy valleys 

teous reign, boast, 

If Tit. \riis found the Golden Age again. Where other cares than those the Muse 

Must 'sleepy bards the flattering dream relates, 

prolong, And other shepherds dwell with other 

Mechanic echoes of the Mantuan song' mates, 

Fiom Truth and Nat me shall vie widel\ Bv such examples taught, I paint the cot. 

stray, As Truth will paint it, and as bards will 

20 Whoie Virgil, not where Fancv, leads ^ not: 

the way? 5B Nor >ou, ye poor, of letter 'd scorn com- 

^ os, thus the Mu^es *ong of* happy plain, 

swains, To vou th smoothest song is smooth in 

Because the Muses never knew their vain; 

pains O'ercome bj labor, and bow'd down by 

T!io\ boast their peasants' pipes, but time, 

l>easants now Feel vou the barren flattery of a rhyme ? 

Kesmn their pipes mid plod behind the Can poets soothe you, when you pine for 

plough ; bread, 

26 And low, amid the rural-tribe, ha\e time f ' By winding myrtles round your ruin'd 

To number syllables, and pla\ with shed? 

ihvme. ' Tan their light tales jour weighty griefs 

S\e honest Duck, what son of verse o'erpower, 

rould share Oi glad with airy mutli the toilsome 

The poet's rapture, and the peasant's hour? 

rare* lx>! where the heath iuth withering 

Or the great labors of the field degrade. brake grown o'er. 

80 With the new peril of a poorer trade? Lends the light turf that warms the 

From this chief cause these idle praises neighboring poor, 

spnng, 6B From thence a length of burning sand 

That themes so easy few forbear to sing; appears. 

For no deep thought the trifling subjects Where the thin banest waves its \\ith- 

ask, er 'dears; 

To sing of shepherds is an easv task: Rank weeds, that e\eiyart and care defj 

.16 TJ ie happy youth assumes the common Reign o'er the land, and rob the blighted 

strain, rve- 

A inmph his mistress, and himself a There thistles stretch their prickly arms 

swain , afar, 

With no sad scenes he clouds his tuneful 70 And to the ragged infant threaten war; 

prayer, There poppies nodding, mock the hope of 

But all, to look like her, is painted fair. toil; 

T grant indeed that fields and flocks There the blue bugloss 1 paints the sterile 

have charms soil; 

* For him that grazes or for him that Hardy and high, above the slender sheaf, 

farms; The slimy mallow 1 waves her silky leaf; 
But when amid swh pleasing scenes I 

truer ' \ kind of plnnt 


76 O'er the young shoot the chailoek 1 throxxs To loud tlie leadx, steed with gmltv 

u shade, haste, 

And clasping taies 1 cling round the siekly To flv in tenoi o'ei the pathles* \vdhte 

hlade, lu3 Or, \\hcn detected, in then strangling 

With mingled tint* the lockx eoasU eouise, 

abound. To foil then loos b\ cMiiimng 01 h\ 

And a bad splendor \ainlv bhines aiound Juice, 

So looks the nymph whom \\ietehed nils Oi. Melding p ft ut (\\lucli |iul kiuxcs 

adorn, demand), 

80 Betia.x'd bx man, then let! 1m mini to To gam a lawless jw^spoil tluoiigli the 

scorn , land 

Whose cheek in xam .isMime* the minuc Ileie, \xand 'iin< long, amid these frown- 

rose, ing helds, 

While her sad exes the ti on bled bieast llu 1 sought the simple hie that Natuie 

disclohe, yields 

Whoso outward splendoi is hut loll) V Kapmc and \\ join* and Keai iibiiipM hei 

dress, place, 

Exposing most, \\lien most it mlds dis- And a bold, .ntlul, smlx, s,n,ie i.ue, 

tiess Who, onlv skill M to take the finnv tube, 

85 Heie joyless mam d xxild amphibious _ Theyeaily dmnei, m septennial bnbe, 1 

race, l! "' Wait on the shoie, and, as the \\a\es inn 

With sullen uo disphu M in even iace. lnh, 

Who, far fiom civil arts and social fix. On the tost vessel bend then ea{>ei eve, 

And scowl at strangers with suspicious Which to their < oast dneets its vent 'roils 

eye. v\aj, 

Here too the lawless merchant ot the Theiis, 01 the ocean's miserable prev 

main 8 Ab on then nemiibonni* beach \on 

90 Diaxvs i i om hi* plough th' intoxicated six allows stand, 

swam, 3 1JO And xxait ioi f'.notuii; xxmds to leaxe 

Want only claim 'd the lalmi of the da> , the land, 

But xice nnxv steals his nightly iest While still ioi flmht tlie iead\ x\mt i^ 

away spiend, 

Wheie aie the stains, v\ho, daily labor So xvaited 1 the taxoimu hoiu, and fled 

done, Fled from these sboies xxheie ^nilt and 

With inral uames? plavM down the set- famine icign, 

ting sun. And cued, Ah f hapless the\ \\\io still 

n " Who stnick x\ith matchless ioice the remain, 

bounding ball, ^ 7|l s<1 ^ J*main to hear the ocean loai 

Or made the pond'rous (|llol t obluiuch Whose gieedv vxaxes dexoui the lesseninu 

iall Rhore ; 

While some huge Ajav ienible and Till somerce tide, xxith mo, i 

ttrtful qtriphnff of tlie 

And fell beneath him, foilM, while far ]JO All( i \> e , )OOI , llo | W | lon f rom the 

around 1K)or f 

Hoarse triumph rose, and rocks return M Bllt these aie scenes xt l.eie Nature's nip. 

the sound' j, uu l hand 

Where now arc these? Beneath von cliff (; UV e a spare pent ion to the famish M 

they stand, land ; 

To show the freighted pinnace where to Hers is the fault, if here mankind coin- 

land ; 4 plain 

i A kind of Diant ^ f fruitless toil and labor spent in vain , 
The smuggler 18C But yet in other scenes more fair in view, 

WSK&S^JXa&affl* Where Plenty sm.le.-alas! she sanies 

agriculture, in some place*, was seriously im- tor lew 
pcded by tbe constant employment of farmers' 

nones in carrying goods to n distanco from l bribe given at tbe septennial plrctlnnq of mem 

the snore bera of Parliament 


And those who taste not, yet behold hei Noi inoek the misery of a stinted meal; 

store, 17 llomely, not wholesome, plain, not plen- 

Are as the slaves that dig the golden teous, such 

ore, As you who praise would never deign to 

The uealtli aiound them makes them touch 

doubly pooi Ye gentle souls, who dream of rur^l 

110 Or "will you deem thorn amply punl in case, 

health, Whom the smooth stream and smoother 

Labor's fan child, that languishes with sonnet please; 

vtealthf Oo f if the peaceful cot vour praises 

(io then 1 and see them living with the share, 

sun, 175 Go look within, and ask if peace be there , 

Tliiougli a long rouise of daily toil to If )>eace be Ins that drooping weary 

run , sire, 
See them beneath the dog-star's i aging Or theirs, that offspring round their 

heat, feeble fire, 

in When the knees tremble nnd the temples Or hers, that matron pale, whose trem- 

bent ; bling hand 

Hehold them leaning on their sc\thes. Turns on the wretched hearth th f evpir- 

look o Vr ing brand ' 

The lahoi |>ast, and toils to come explore , i st) Xor \ et can Time itself obtain for these 

Se* them iil}ein<it< k suns and showers en- Life's latest comforts, due respect and 

aie, case , 

And hoaid up aches and anguish foi For \onder see that hoaiy swam, whose 

their aye, age 

r>0 Tlnnimh lens and marsliv moots their ("an wit li no caies except his own engage; 

steps puisne, Who, proppM on that rude staff, looks 

When their uaini poies imbibe the e\en- up to see 

inji de\\ , ls "' The bare aims broken irom the ^itheinur 

Then OAMI that labor may as fatal be tree. 

To these tin sl.nes, as thine e\*ss to On uhich, a bo\, he climb M the loftiest 

thee bough. 

Amid this tube too oft a manh pnde Then his first jov. but his ad emblem 

i 1 " 1 ' 1 Strnos in stiony toil the taint in? heait now. 

to hide, lie once \\as chief in all the rustic 

Theie nun \on spp the \outh of slendei tiade, 

irnrne Ilm steady hand the straight est funow 

Contend \\ith \\cakness, \\eanness, and made, 

shame. 1<>0 Full many a piize he ^on, nn<l still is 

>et, iircpd .iloncr, and proudly loth to proud 

Mold. To find the tnmnphs of his youth al- 

lh ^n\es to loin his fellous of the field. low'd, 

1MI Till loim-tontendins nature droops at A tiansient pleasuie sparkles in his eyes, 

last, He heais and smiles, then thinks a eft in 

Declinmu hc.iltli rejects his poor repast. and sisrh** 

His Hieerlesv xponse the coniinc: dansrer Foi now he iouine\s to his gravein pain: 

sees, iqs The iich disdain him, nny, the poor dis- 

\nd mutual murmurs uw the slow dis- dam 

ease Alteinate masteis now their slave corn- 
Yet uiant them health, 'tis not for us mand, 

to tell, True the weak efToits of his feeble hand, 

I' 1 "' Though the bend droops not, that the Xnd, uhen his aae attempts its task in 

heaif is vi ell. vain, 

Oi \\il1 \ou praise that homelv. health v With ruthless taunts, of lazy poor corn- 
fare, plain 
Plenteous and plain, that happi peas- 2M Oft ma\ \ou see him, when he tends 

ants share' the sheep, 

Oh* tufle not \\ith ^ants \ou cannot His winter-charge, beneath the hillock 



Oft liear him inurniui to the winds that Dejected widows with unheeded tears, 

blow And cnppled age with more than child- 

O'er his white locks and bury them in hood fears; 

snow, The lame, the blind, and, far the hap- 
When, roused by rage and muttering in piest they! 

the morn, The moping idiot and the madman gay. 

206 He mends the broken hedge with icy 24 Here too the sick their final doom receive, 

thorn: Here brought, amid the scenes of grief, 

"Why do I h\e, when I desire to l>e to grieve, 

At once from life and life's long laboi Where the loud groans from some sad 

free? chamber flow, 

Like leaves in spring, the young are Mix'd with the clamors r 4 ' the crowd 

blown away, below, 

Without the sorrows of a slow decay, Here, sorrowing, they each kindred sor- 

210 I, like yon wither M leaf, remain behind, row scan, 

Nipp'd by the frost, and shnenng in 245 And the cold chanties of man to man: 

the wind, Whose laws indeed for rum'd age pro- 
There it abides till younger buds come on, vide, 

As I, now all my fellow-swains are gone, And strong compulsion plucks the scinp 

Then, from the rising generation thrust, from pride, 

216 It falls, like me, unnoticed, to the duM But still that scrap is bought with main 

'These fruitful fields, these numeious a sigh, % 

flocks I sec, And pride embitters nthat it can't denx 
Ai e others 'gain, but killing cares to me, -"' <1 Sa\ ye, oppress M bv home iantastn 

To me the children of my youth an 1 woes, 

lords, Some jairing nene. that baffles youi ic- 

Tool m their looks, but hasty in their pose, 

words* Who press the downy couch, while sla\<*< 

J - Wants of their own demand their care: advance 

and who With timid eve, to read the distant 

Feels his own want and succors othcis glance, 

too! Who with sad prayers the weary doctoi 

A lonely, wretched man, m pain I go, tease, 

None need my help, and none rehe\e im 2 " >5 To name the nameless eicr-new disease, 

wo, * Who with mock patience dire complaints 

Then let my bones beneath the turf 1>e endure, 

laid, ' Which real pain and that alone can cure , 

225 And men forget the wietch they unuld How would ye bear in real pain to lie, 

not aid." Despised, neglected, left alone to dief 
Thus groan the old. till, by disease - (i How would ye bear to draw your latest 

oppress 'd, breath, 

They taste a final wo, and then they rest Where all that's wretched paves the wa\ 

Theirs is yon house that holds the for death f 

parish-poor, Such is that room which one rude 

Whose vialls of mud scarce bear the beam divides, 

broken door; And naked rafters form the slopmu 

280 There, where the putrid \apors, flagging, sides; 

play, Where the vile bands that bind the 

And the dull wheel 1 hums doleful through thatch are seen, 

the day; 26B And lath and mud are all that lie be- 
There children dwell who know no par- tween, 

ents' care; Save one dull pane, that, coarsely 

Parents who know no children's love. patch M, gives way 

dwell there! To the rude tempest, yet excludes the 

Heartbroken matrons on their joyless day: 

bed, Here, on a matted flock, 1 with dust o'et 

286 Forsaken wives, and mothers never wed, spread, 

* The spinning-wheel. * A bed filled with flock* of rotne wool 


The drooping wretch reclines his languid A jovial youth, who thinks his Sunday's 

head; task 

270 For him no hand the cordial eup applies, As much as God or man can fairly ask, 

Or wipes the tear that stagnates in his The rest he gives to loves and labors 

eyes; light, 

No friends with soft discourse bis pain To fields the morning, and to feasts the 

beguile, night; 

Or promise hope till sickness wears a 31 None better skill M the noisy pack to 

smile. guide, 

Hut soon a loud and hasty summons To urge their chase, to cheer them or to 

calk, chide; 

276 Shakes the thin roof, and echoes round A sportsman keen, he shoots through half 

the walls. the day, 

Anon, a figure enters, quaintly neat, And, skilTd at whibt, devotes the night 

All pnde and business, bustle and con- to play: 

ceit, Then, while such honors bloom around 

With looks unalter'd by these scenes of his head, 

wo, 315 shall he sit sadly by the sick man's 

With speed that, entering, speaks his bed, 

haste to go, To raise the hope he feels not, or with 

280 He bids the gazing throng around him zeal 

fly, To combat fears that e 'en the pious feel * 

And carries fate and physic in his e>e Now once again the gloomy scene et- 

A potent quack, long versed in hum an ills, plore, 

Who first insults the victim whom lie Less gloomy now ; the bitter hour is o 'er, 

kills; i- The man of many sorrows sighs no more 

Whose nmrd'rous hand a drowsy Bench 1 Up \onder hill, behold how sadly slow 

protect, The- bier moves winding from the vale 

2RG And whose most tender mercy is neglect below ; 

Paid by the parish for attendance here. There lie the happy dead, from trouble 

He viears contempt upon his sapient sneer, free, 

In haste he seeks the bed where Misery And the glad parish pa\s the frugal fee* 

lies, 126 No more, Death* thy \ictira starts to 

Impatience mark'd in his averted eyes, hear 

240 And, some habitual queries humed o'er. Churchwarden stern, or kingly (nerseei . 

Without reply, he rushes on the door No more the farmer claims Ins humble 

His drooping patient, long inured to bow, 

pain, Thou art his lord, the best of tyrants 

And long unheeded, knows remonstrance thou' 

vain ; Now to the church behold the mourn- 

Hc ceases now the feeble help to cra\e eis come, 

2 q 6 Of man ; and silent sinks into the grave n30 Sedately torpid and devoutly dumb , 

But ere his death some pious doubts The village children new their games 

arise, suspend. 

Some simple fears, which "bold bad" men To see the bier that bears their ancient 

despise ; fnend , 

Fain would he ask the parish-priest to For he was one in all their idle sport. 

prove ^nd like a monarch ruled their little 

His title certain to the jovs abo\e court, 

wo For this he sends the murmuring nurse, S3B The pliant bow he form'd, the flying ball. 

who calls The bat, the wicket, were his labors all; 

The holy stranger to these dismal ualls: Him now they follow to his prave, and 

And doth not he, the pious man, appear, stand 

He, "passing rich with forty pounds a Silent and sad, and gazing, hand in hand; 

year"! 8 While bending low, their eager eyes ex- 

Ah' no; a shepherd of a different stock, plore 

m And far unlike him, feeds this little flock- 84 The mingled relics of the parish poor: 

m ._ ^_ The bell tolls late, the moping owl flies 

The local body of Justice* of the Peace wumd 

Goldsmith, rtt />fwrf*r wftaff*. 142. round, 


Fear marks the flight and magnifies the Seek then thy garden's shrubby bound, 

sound; and look, 

The busy priest, detain 'd by weightier As it steals by, upon the bordering 

care, brook, 

Defers his duty till the day of prayer. That winding streamlet, limpid, hnger- 

345 And, waiting loner, the crowd retire ing, slow, 

distress M, 30 Where the reeds whisper when the zeph- 

To think a poor man 's bones should he yrs blow ; 

unbless'd Where in the midst, upon her throne of 


Prom THE BOROUGH Slts tlie lar ** e hl V as * h voter's queen, 

isio And makes the current, forced awhile 


Murmur and bubble as it shoots awa> , 

"Describe the Borouerh"- though our .u n ra ^ then the strongest contrast to 

idle tribe that stream, 

May lo\e description, can we so describe. And our broad river will before thee 

That 3011 shall fairh streets and build- seem 

ings trace, With ceaseless motion comes and goes 

And all that ernes distinction to a place* the tide, 

6 This cannot be, >et, mo\ed b\ jour re- Flowing, it fills the channel vast and 

quest, wide , 

A pait I paint-let fancy form the rest Then back to sea, with strong majestic 

Cities and towns, the \arious haunts sweep 

of men, 40 It iolls, in ebb yet terrible and deep, 

Require the pencil, the\ def\ the pen Here sampire-banks 1 and salt-wort 1 bound 

Could he, who sang so well the Grecian the flood, 

fleet, 1 Then* stakes and M.I- weeds wuhenni* on 

10 So well ha>c sung of alley, lane, or street* the mud , 

('an measured lines these \anous build- And higher up, a ridge of all things 

ms show, base, 

The Town-Hall Turning or the Prospect Which some strong tide has rolPd upon 

Row f the place 

("an 1 the seats of wealth and want ex- 4f> Thy gentle rner boasts its pigmy 

plore, l>oat, 

And lengthen out my la> from door to Urged on by poms, hall grounded, half 

door > afloat', 

" Then let thv ianey aid me-I repair \vinlc ut her stern an angler takes hi 

Fiom this tall mansion of our last-year's stand, 

ma\oi, And nmiks the fish he purposes to land. 

Till we the outskirts of the Rorouirh From that cleai space, where, in the 

reach, cheerful ro\ 

And these half -buried buildings next the -MI Qf t | ie wnrm Mln , t i, c seah pe 0p i e p i ax 

beach, Yar other craft our prouder river shows. 

Where hansr a open doors the net and Hoys, pmK and sloops, brigs, bngan- 

M -T, . cork ' f , , . tines, mid mmws - 

* While squalid sea-clanies mend the meshy x or ttnsr i er uo on OIIP W1( i stream de- 

woik. M . rXt 

Till comes the hour, when fishmtr through But one poor dredger where his oysters 

the tide, } ie 

The weary husband throws his freight ',5 He, cold and wet, and dining with the 

aside, th e tlde , 

A hvms mass, which now demands the Beats his weak arms against his tarn 

Wlf e, side, 

Th'alteinate labors of their humble life Then drams the remnant of diluted gin. 

Can scenes like these withdraw thee fiom TO aid the warmth that languishes within, 

thy wood, Renewing oft his poor attempts to beat 
Th> upland foiest or thy valley's flood T 

' r * i ^ kind of HOB hroh 

i Homer, Iliad, 2 < Kinds of small roasting \ csvelb 


60 His tingling fingers into gathering heat y > Before yon bid these busy scenes adieu. 

He shall again be seen when evening Behold the wealth that lies in public 

comes, view, 

And social parties crowd their favorite Those far-extended heaps of coal and 

rooms: coke, 

Where on the table pipes and papers he. Where fresh-fill M lime-kilns breathe. 

The steaming bowl or foaming tankard by; their stifling smoke. 

hr > 'Tis then, with all these comforts spread Tins shall pass off, and yon behold, in- 

around, stead, 
They hear the painful dredger's welcome 10 The night-fire gleaming on its chalky bed; 

sound, When from the light-house brighter 

And few themsehes the savory boon beams will rise, 

deny, To show the shipman where the shallow 

The food that feeds, the living: luxnr> lies. 

Yon is our quay 1 those smaller ho\s Thy walks are ever pleasant ; every scene 

from town, Is nch in beauty, lively, or serene 
70 Its various wares, for country -use. bung 105 Rich is that vaned view with woods 

down ; around, 

Those laden wagons, in return, impart Seen from thy seat, within the shrubb'ry 

The country-produce to the city mart; bound; 

Haik to the clamor in that miry road. Where shines the distant lake, and 

Hounded and narrow 'd by yon vessel**' where appear 

load, From rums bolting, unmolested deer; 

75 The lumbering wealth she empties round Lively the village-green, the inn, the 

the place, place, 
Package and parcel, hothead, chest, and 11 Where the good widow schools her infant 

ease lace, 

While the loud seaman and the angr\ Shops, whence are heard the hammer 

hind, and the saw, 

Mingling in busmen, hollou to the wind And village-pleasures uurepioved by law, 
Near these a creuv nmphibious m the Then hou serene 1 when in vonr favorite 

docks, room, 

80 Rear, for the sea, those castles on the Gales from jour jasmines soothe the 

stocks, evening gloom ; 
See 1 the long keel, uhich soon the ua\es n5 When from your upland paddock 1 you 

must hide, look down, 

See 1 the strong ribs uluch form the And just percehe the smoke which hides 

roomy side , the town . 

Bolts \ieldiim slowh to the sturdiest When weary peasants at the clo*e of day 

stroke, Walk to their cots, and part upon the way ; 

And planks which cuixe and crackle in When cattle hlowly cross the shallow 

the smoke brook, 
86 Around the uhole use domh wreaths. 12 And shepherds pen their folds, and rest 

and far uixm their crook 

Bear the \\auu pungence ot n'ei -boiling We prune our hedges, prime our slen- 

tar der trees, 

Dabbling on ^hoie halt-naked sea-ho\s And nothing looks untutoi'd and at ease; 

crowd. On the wide heath, or in the flow'ry vale, 

S*im round a ship, or suing ii|>on the We scent the >apore of the sea-born gale; 

bhroud; ljr> Kroad-beaten paths lead on from stile 

Or in a boat purloin 'd, with paddles play, to stile, 

W And jio\v t'ainihai with the watery \*ay Vnd sewers from streets, the road-side 

Younir though they be, thev feel whose banks defile; 

HODS the> are, Our guarded fields a sense of danger show, 

They know what British seamen do and Where garden-crops with corn and clover 

dare, grow; 

Proud of that fame, thev laise and thev Fences are form'd of wreck and placed 

enjoy around, 

The rustic wonder of the village-boy. ' email pafttnro , 



130 (With tenters 1 fcpp'd) a strong repul- 

Biv* bound; 

Wide and deep ditches by the gardens run, 
And there in ambush he the trap and gun , 
Or yon broad board, which guards each 

tempting prize, 

" Like a tall bully, lifts its head and lies "-' 
n ~> There stands a cottage with an open 


Its garden undefended blooms before 
Her wheel is still, and overturn 'd her stool, 
While the lone widow seeks the neigli- 

b'ring pool 
This gives us hope, all views of town to 


140 No I here are tokens of the sailor-son. 
That old blue jacket, and that shirt of 


And silken kerchief for the seaman f s neck ; 
Sea-spoils and shells from many a dis- 

tant shore, 

And furry robe from irozen Labrador 
145 Our bus\ streets and sylvan-walks be- 


Fen, marshes, bog, and heath all inten eue , 
Heiepitsol ciag, with spongy, plashy base, 
To some enrich th' uncultivated space 
For there are blossoms rare, and curious 

150 The sraleV nch balm, and sun-dew's' 

crimson blush, 
Whose velvet leaf with ladiant beaut \ 

dress 'd, 
Forms a !*aj pillow for the pkner's 

Not distant far, a house commodious 

(Lonely yet public stands) ior Sunda\- 


155 Thither, for this day free, gay parties go, 
Their tea-house walk, their tippling ren- 

Therc humble couples sit in corner- 


Or gaily ramble for th' allotted hours. 
Sailors and lasses from the town attend, 
160 The servant-lover, the apprentice-friend , 
With all the idle social tribes who seek. 
And find their humble pleasures once a 

Turn to the watery world 1 hut who 

to thee 
(A wonder yet unview'd) shall paint 

the sea? 

*** Various and vast, sublime in all its forms, 
When lull'd b> zephvrs, or when roused 

by storms, 

i iharp booked nails 
Pope, Moral K**ayi, 

Eplrtl 1, 140 
\ kind of plant 

Its colors changing) when from clouds 

and sun 

Shades after shades upon the surface run , 
Embrown 'd and horrid 1 now, and now 


17 In limpid blue, and evanescent green; 
And oft the foggy banks on ocean he, 
Lift the fair sail, and cheat th y expe- 

nenced eye 

Be it the summer-noon a sandy space 

The ebbing tide has left upon its place , 

17S Then just the hot and stony beach above, 

Light twinkling streams in bright con- 

fusion move, 
(For heated thus, the warmer air 

And \vith the ooolei in its fall con- 


Then the broad bosom of the ocean keeps 
' so An equal motion, swelling as it sleeps, 
Then slowly sinking, curling to the strand, 
Faint, IBTV waves o'ercreep the ridgy sand, 
Or tap the tarry boat with gentle blow, 
And back return in silence, smooth and 

ls "' Ships in the calm seem anchored, for 

they glide 

On the still sen, inged solely by the tide, 
Vrt thnu not pjesent. this calm seene 


Where all beside is pehbl> length of shore, 
And i'ai as e>e can leach, it ean discern 

no more* 
no Yet sometimes comes a iiifflinc: cloud 

to make 

The quiet suit ace oi the ocean shake, 
As an awaken 'd mnnt with a frown 
Might show his wrath, and then to sleep 

sink down 
View now the winter-storm* alxne, one 

WB Black and unbroken, all the skies o'er- 

Th' unwieldy porpoise througn the day 


Had roll 'd in \ lew of boding men on shoie , 
And sometimes hid and sometimes 

show'd his form, 
Dark as the cloud, and furious as the 

- M] All where the eve delights, vet dreads 

to roam, 

The breaking billows cast the flying foam 
Upon the billows rising all the deep 
Is restless change; the wa\es so swell'd 

and steep, 
Breaking and sinking, and the sunken 

> rough (n I ntlnlgm) 



** Nor one, one moment, in its station dwells 
But nearer land you may the billows trace, 
As if contending in their watery chase; 
May watch the mightiest till the shoal 

they reach, 
Then break and hum to their utmost 

stretch ; 
210 CurPd as they come, they stnke with 

furious force, 
And then le-flowmg, take their grating 


Raking the rounded flints, which ages past 
RolPd by then lage, and shall to ages last. 

Far off the petiel m the troubled way 
216 Swims with hcr brood, 01 flutters in the 


She rises often, often drops again, 
And sports at ease on the tempestuous 

High o'ei the restless deep, abo\e the 

Of gunner's hope. \ast flights oi wild- 

ducks stietcli, 

220 Fur as the e\c can ulawe on either side 
In a bioad space and le\el line they slide, 
All in then u edge-like limues liom the 


Da> after day, flight affei flight go forth 
In-shore then passage tubes of sea- 

gulls llim. 
2 -"' And diop foi pi\ \\itlnn the sweeping 


Oft in the lousrh opposing blast the\ fl\ 
Far back, then turn, and all then torce 

While to the storm the\ erne their weak 

complaining ci\ , 
Or clap the sleek white pinion to the 

230 And in the restless nwan dip loi rest 

Darkness bemns to man, the louder 

Appals the \\eak and awes the firniei 

But frights not him, \\liom exenmsr and 

the spia> 

In part conceal \ on pi cutler on his way 
*** I J() f i, e has something seen , he i uns apace, 
As if he fear'd companion in fie chase, 
He sees his pn/c, and now he tin us again. 
Slowly and son owing - "Wns voui 

* search in \nm ; " 

Gruffly he answeis " Tis a soiiv Mght' 
240 A seaman's body theie'll IK- nmie to- 

Hark' to those sounds' they're from 

distress at sea 

How quick tbe\ come' What terrois 
ma> there be' 

Yes, 'tis a driven vessel. I discern 
Lights, signs of terror, gleaming from 

the stern; 

245 others behold them too, and from the town 
In \anous parties seamen hurry down. 
Their wives pursue, and damsels urged 

by dread, 

Lest men so dear be into danger led. 
Their head the gown has hooded, and 

their call 

250 In this sad night is pieicing like the squall ; 
They feel their kinds of power, and w hen 

they meet, 
Chide, fondle, weep, dare, threaten, or 


See one poor girl, all terror and alarm. 
Has fondly sei/ed upon her lover's arm, 
?f>~. "Thou shall not \enture," and he ans- 
wers, "No! 
I will not" still she cries, "Thou shalt 

not go " 
No need of this, not here the stoutest 

Can through such breakers, o'er such 

billows float, 
Yet may the\ \ie\\ these lights upon the 

260 \VhiHi \ield them hope, whom help can 

From paited clouds the moon her 

ladiance tlnows 
On the wild wa\es, and all the danger 

Knt shows them beaming in her shining 


Terrific splendoi ' gloom in glory dress 'd' 

j(r> Th, s for a moment, and then clouds again 

Hide e\eiy beam, and fear and darkness 

Hut hear we now those sounds? Do 

lights appear* 

I see them not ' the storm alone I hear 
And lo f the sailors homeward take their 


270 Man must endure let us submit and pray. 
Such are our winter-Mews; but night 

comes on 
Now business sleeps, and daily cares are 

Now parties form, and some their friends 


_ To waste the idle hours at sober whist, 
- 1 ""* The ta\ era's pleasure or the conceit's 


Un number 'd moments of their sting dis- 

Play-bills and open doors a crowd invite. 
To pass off one dread portion of the night , 
And show- and sons and luxury combined, 



"^ Lift off from man this burthen of mankind. 
Others adventurous walk abroad and 

Returning parties pacing through the 


When various voices, in the dying day, 
Hum m our walks, and greet us in our 

285 When tavern-lights flit on from room to 

And guide the tippling sailor staggering 


There as we pass, the jingling bells betray 
How business rises with the closing dn\ 
Now walking silent, bv the mer's sule. 
*W The ear pereerves the nppling of the tide, 
Or measured cadence of the lads who tern 
Some enter 'd hoy, to fix her in her ro\\ . 
Or hollow sound, which from the parish- 

To some departed spirit bids farewell 1 
296 Thus shall you something of our Borough 


Far as a verse, with Fancy 's aid, can show , 
Of sea or river, of a quay or street, 
The best description must be incomplete , 
Rut when a happier theme succeeds and 

>\ hen 

800 Men are our subjects and the deeds of men , 
Then mav we find the Muse in happier 


And we mav sometimes sierh and some- 
times smile 



As slow T climb the cliff's ascending side. 
Much musing on the track of terror past, 
When o'ei the dark wave rode the howlini* 

Pleased I look back, and \iew the tranquil 

6 That laves the pebbled shore and now the 


Of evening smiles on the gray battlement. 
And yon foisaken tower that time has rent . 
The lifted oar far off with transient pi earn 
Is touched, and hushed is all the billnv \ 


10 Soothed by the scene, thus on tned Na- 
ture's breast 

A stillness slowly steals, and kindred lest. 
While sea-sonndis lull her, as she sinks to 


Like melodies that mourn upon the lyre. 
Waked by the breeze, and, as they mourn, 


1787 1789 

How sweet the tuneful bells' responsive 

As when, at opening morn, the fragiant 

Breathes on the trembling sense of pale 

So piercing to my heart their force I ieel ' 
3 And haik ! with lessening cadence now they 


And now, along the white and level tide. 
They fling their melancholy music wide, 
Bidding me many a tender thought recall 
Of summer days, and those delightful years 
10 When tiom an ancient touer, in life's fan 

The mouinful magic of then mingling 

Fust waked my uondenng childhood into 

But seeming nou. when all those davs ,ne 

o Vr, 
The sounds of jov once he.uri, and heunl no 



Whose was that gentle voice, that, whispei- 

ing sweet, 
Pionnsed, methought, long da\s of bliss 


Soothing it stole on 1113 deluded eat. 
Most like soft music, that might sometime*. 

r> Thoughts daik and dioopmg 'Tuns the 

voice of Hope 
Of lo\c, and social scenes, it seemed to 


Of truth, of friendship, of affection meek. 
That oh r pooi fnend, might to life's down- 

\\anl slope 

Lead us in pence, and bless our latest hours. 

10 Ah me f the prospect saddened as she sung , 

Loud on im stnitled enr the death-bell 

rung , 
Chill darkness wrapt the pleasmahlo 

Whilst Horroi pointing to yon hienthless 

"No peace he thine," exclaimed, "nnm, 



Ye holy towers that shade the wave-wot u 


Long may ye leai youi aged blow* sublime, 
Though, hurrying silent by, relentless Time 



Assail you, and the winds of winter sweep 
6 Round your dark battlements; for far 

from halls 

Of Pnde, here Chanty hath fixed her seat. 
Oft listening, tearful, when the tempests 

With hollow bodings round your ancient 


And Pity, at the dark and stormy hour 
10 Of midnight, when the moon is hid on high, 
Keeps her lone watch upon the topmost 


And turns her ear to each expiring cry , 
Blessed if her aid some fainting wretch ma\ 

And snatch him cold and speechless from 

the wave 



As one who, long by wasting sickness worn. 
Weary has watched the lingering night, and 


Unmoved the carol of the matin bird 
Salute his lonely porch , now first at mom 

5 Goes forth, leaving his melancholy bed , 
He the green slope and level meadow VIOA\ s 
Delightful bathed with slow-ascending 


Or marks the clouds, that o'ei the moun- 
tain 's head 

In varying forms fantastic wander white , 
10 Or turns his ear to every random song, 

Heard the green river's winding marge 

The whilst each sense is steeped in btill 

So o'er my breast young Sunmiei 's hi eat h 
I feel. 

Sweet Hope 1 thy fragrance pine and heal 
ing incense steal v 


Time f who know 'st a lenient hand to la> 
Softest on sorrow's wounds, and slowly 


Lulling to sad repose the weary sense. 
The famt pang stealest unperceived a*a\ 

6 On thee I rest my only hope at last, 

And think, when thou hast dried the bitter 

That flows in vain o'er all my soul held 


1 may look back on every sorrow past, 
And meet life's peaceful evening with a 

1* As some lone bird, at day's departing hour, 

Sings in the sunbeam, of the transient 

Forgetful, though its wings are wet the 

Yet ah ! how much must that poor heart 

Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a 



How shall I meet thee, Summer, wont to fill 
My heart with gladness, when thy pleasant 

First came, and on the Coomb's romantic 

Was heard the distant cuckoo's hollow 

bill' 1 
5 Fresh flowers shall f nnge the margin of the 


As with the songs of joyance and of hope 
The hedge-rows shall ring loud, and on the 


The poplars sparkle in the passing beam . 

The shrubs and laurels that I loved to tend, 

10 Thinking their May-tide fragrance would 


With many a peaceful charm, thee. my 
x poor friend. 

Shall put forth then green shoots, and 

cheer the sight r 
But I shall mark their hues with sadder 

And weep the nioie for one who in the cold 

earth lies' 



Theie is stimige music in the stirring wind. 

When loweis the autumnal eve, and all 

To the dark wood's cold covert thou art 

Whose ancient tiees on the lough slope re- 
* Rock, and at times scatter their tresses sere 

If in such shades, beneath their murmur- 

Thou late hast passed the happier hours of 

With sadness thou wilt mark the fading 

Chiefly if one, with whom such sweets at 


10 Or evening thou hast shared, afar shall 

Spring, return ( return, auspicious May I 

1 bell boon 



But sad will be thy coming, and forlorn, 
If she return not with thy cheenng ray, 
Who from these fehades is gone, far, far 

WILLIAM BLAKE (1757-1827) 


thou with dewy locks, who lookest down 
Through the clear windows of the morn- 
ing, turn 

Thine angel eyes upon our western isle, 
Which in full choir hails thy approach, 

6 The hills tell each other, and the listening 
Valleys hear, all our longing eyes are 


Up to thy bright pavilions issue forth, 
And let thy holy feet vibit our clime 

Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our 


10 Kiss thy perfumed garments, let us taste 
Thy morn and eiening breath, scatter 

thy pearls 
Upon our love-sick land that mourns ior 


deck her forth with thy fair fingeis , pour 
Thy soft kisses on her bosom , and put 
16 Thy golden crown upon her languished 

Whose modest tresses were bound up 

for thee 


How sweet I roamed from field to field, 
And tasted all the summer's pride, 

Till I the Pnnce of Love beheld, 
Who in the sunny beams did glide 

5 He showed me lilies for my hair, 

And blushing roses ior my brow , 
He led me through bib gardens fair, 
Where all his golden pleasures gnw 

With sweet May dews my wings were wet, 
10 And Phoebus fired m> vocal rage, 
He caught me in his silken net, 
And shut me in his golden cage. 

He loves to sit and hear me sing, 
Then, laughing, sports and plays with 


16 Then stretches out my golden wing, 
And mocks my low of liberty. 


My silks and fine arra>, 

My smiles and languished air, 
By loie are driven awav; 

And mournful lean Despair 
5 Brings me vew to deck my gra\e 
Such end true lovers have 

His face is fair as heaven 

When springing buds unfold, 
O, why to him was't given, 
10 Whose heart is wintry eoldt 

His breast is love's all- worshipped tomb, 
Whore all love's pilgrims come 

Krmg me an axe and spade, 

Bring me a windmii-bheet , 
16 When 1 my grave ha\ o made. 

Let winds and tempests beat: 
Then down I'll lie, as cold as clay 
True love doth pass away! 


Whether on Ida's shady brow, 
Or in the chambers of the East, 

The chambers of the sun, that now 
From ancient melod> ha\e ceased, 

" Whether in llemen ve Bander fair, 
Or the green corners of the earth, 
Or the blue rep on s of the air 

Where the melodious winds have birth , 

Whether on or\btal rocks ye rove, 
10 Beneath the bosom of the sea, 
Wandering in many a coral gro\e, 
Fair Nine, iorsaking Poetry 1 

How have you left the ani'ient love 

That bards of old enjoyed in you 1 
15 The languid strings do scarcely move. 
The sound is forced, the notes are few4 




Piping down the valle>s wild, 
Piping songs of pleasant glee, 

On a cloud I saw a cbild, 
And he, laughing, said to me 

5 "Pipe a song about a Lamb!" 
So I piped with merry cheer 
" Piper, pipe that song again;" 
So I piped : lie wept to hear. 



"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe, 
10 Sing thy songs of happy cheer!" 
So I sang the same again, 
While he wept with joy to hear. 

"Piiwi, Mi thee down, and wnte 
In a book, that all may read " 
16 So he vanished from my sight, 
And I plucked a hollow reed, 

And I made a rural pen, 

And I stained the water clear, 
And 1 wrote my happy songs 
20 Every child may joy to hear 


How sueet is the shepherd's sweet lot 1 
From the morn to the evening he strays , 

lie shall follow his sheep all the du>, 
And his tongue shall be filled with praise. 

5 For he hears the lambs' innocent call, 
And he hears the ewes' tender reply , 
He is uatchful *lule they are in peace, 
Foi they know uhen their bhepherd 
is nigh 


Mv mother bore me in the southern wild, 
And I am black, but (), my soul is white' 

White as an angel is the English child, 
But 1 am black, as it bereaved of light 

5 Mv mother taught me underneath a tiee. 
And, sitting doun before the heat ot 


She look me on her lap and kissed me. 
And,' pointing to the East, begun to say . 

"lx>ok on the rising sun there (iod does 

10 And gives His light, and gives His heat 

awa.v , 
And flowers and trees and beasts and 

men receive 

Comfort in morning, jov in the noon- 

"And we are put on earth a little space, 
That we may learn to bear the beams 

of love, 

16 And these black bodies and this sun- 
burnt face 
Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove 

Saying. 'Come out from the grove, my 

love and care, 

20 And round my golden tent like lambs 
rejoice.' " 

Thus did my mother say, and kissed me, 

And thus I say to little Enghsh boy. 
When I from black, and he from white 

cloud free, 

And round the tent of God like lambs 
we joy. 

25 I '11 shade hun f lorn the heat till he can bear 

To lean in joy upon our Father's knee. 

And then 1 '11 stand and stroke his silver 

And be like him, and he will then love me 


When the fifteen Moods laugh with the 

voice ot joy. 

And the dimpling stream luns laughing by; 
When the an does laugh \uth our merr\ 

Vnd the green hill laughs with the 
noise of it. 

5 When the meado\\s laugh with h\el> 

And the grasshopper laughs in the merry 

.scene , 

When Mar> and Susan and Emily 
With their s\\eet round mouths sing 

"Ha ha he" 1 

When the painted birds laugh in the shade, 
10 Where our table with cheines and nuts 

is spread 

Come live, and be merry, and join with me, 
To 81111* tlie s\\eet choius of "Ha ha he!" 


To Mercv. Pit.v, Peace, and Love, 

All pray in their distress, 
And to these virtues of delight 

Retuin their thankfulness 

"' For Mercv, Pitv, Peace, and Love, 

N (rod, our Father dear; 
, And Mercy. Pity, Peace, and Love, 

Is man, His child and care. 

For, when our souls have learned the For Mercy has a human heart; 

heat to bear, 10 Pity, a human face; 
The cloud will vanish, we shall hear And Love, the human form divine; 

His voice, And Peace, the human dress 



Then e\ery man of every clime, 

That prays in his distress, 
16 Prays to the human form dmne 
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace 

And all must love the human loim, 

In heathen, Turk, or Je\*. 
Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell, 
20 There God is dwelling too 


Once a dream did weave a shade 
O'er my angel-guarded bed, 
That an emmet 1 lost its wa> 
Where on grass mothought 1 la\ 

5 Troubled, uildered, and forlorn. 
Dark, benighted, travel-woin. 
Over mam a tangled bprav. 
All heart-broke, L heard her SHY 

"O my children! do the\ ci\. 
10 Do they hear their fathei sigh ' 
Now they look abroad to see. 
Now return and weep loi me " 

Pitting, T dropped a teai 
But I saw a glou-uorm neai, 
15 Who replied "What mailing wight 
Calls the watchman of the night ' 

"I am set to light the giound. 
While the beetle goes his lound ' 
Follow now the beetle's hum, 
20 Little wanderer, hie thee home 1 " 



eagle know *bat In In the pit. 
Or wilt tbou go ank the mole* 
Tan wlndom be put in a silver rod 
Or love in a golden bouP 

The Daughters of the Seraphim led innnd 

their sunny flocks- 
All but the youngest, she in pnlene*^ 

sought the secret air, 
To fade away like morning beauU tiom 

her mortal day 
Down by the river of Adona hei Mrf* 

voice is heard, 
6 And thus her gentle lamentation ialN 

like morning dew: 
"0 life of this, our Spring! why fades 

the lotus of the water T 


Why fade these children of the Spring, 

born but to smile and fall? 
Ah ! Thel is like a watery bow, and like 

a parting cloud, 
take a reflection in a glass, like shadows 

in the water, 
10 Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon 

an infant's face, 
Like the dove's voice, like transient da>. 

like music in the air. 
Ah' gentle mav I lay me down, and 

gentle rest my head, 
And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and 

gentle hear the voice 
Of Him that walketh in the garden in 

the evening time ! "* 

The Lily of the Valley, breathing in the 

humble glass, 
Answered the lo\eh maid, and said " I 

am a watery ueed, 
And I am \ery small, and lo\e to duel! 

in lo\vh \ales* 
So weak, the gilded butterfh scarce 

perches on mv head 
Vet I am \isited trom heaxen, and He 

that smiles on all, 
Walks in the \alle>, and each morn o\ei 

me -spreads His hand, 
J0 Saving, 'Rejoice, thou humble grass. 

thou new-born lily-flower, 
Thou gentle maid of silent \alle\b and 

of modest biooks. 
For thou shalt be clothed in light and 

fed with morning manna. 
Till summer's heat melts thee beside the 

fountains and the spring*. 
To flourish in eteinal vales ' Then win 

should Thel complain T 
23 Why should the mistiest, of the \ales of 

Har utter a sighf" 
She ceased, and smiled in teais, then 

sat down in her siher shrine 

Thel answered "O thou little \irgin 

of the peaceful valle\, 
<h\ing to those that cannot cnne, the 

voiceless, the o'ertired. 
Thy bieath doth nourish the innocent lamb, 

he smells thy milky garments. 
w He crops thy flowers, while thou sit test 

smiling in his face. 
Wiping his mild and meekin 2 mouth fiom 

all contagious taints 
Thy wine doth punfy the golden honey . 

thy perfume, 
Which thou dost scatter on every little 

blade of grass that spring*, 



Revives the milk&d cow, and tames the 

fire-breathing steed. 
* But Thel is like a faint cloud kindled 

at the rising sun- 
T vanish from wpy pearly throne, and who 

shall find my place?** 

44 Queen of the vales," the Lil> answered. 

"ask the tender Cloud, 
And it shall tell thee why it glitters in 

the morning skv, 
And why it scatters its bright heautv 

through the humid air 
40 Descend, little (loud, and ho\ei before 

the e\es of Thel *' 

The Cloud descended, and the Lih 
bowed her modest head, 

And went to mind her numerous charge 
among the \erdant 

"O little Cloud," the \irgm said. "I 

charge thee tell to me 
Wh\ thou complamest not. when in one 

hour thou fad'st awa\ 
4r> Then we shall seek thee, hut not find 

Ah! Thel is like to thee - 
1 pass away , yet I complain, and no one 

hears my voice '* 
The Cloud then showed his golden head. 

and his blight foiin einemcd. 
Hovering and glittering on the air. be- 

iore the face of The! 
"0 virgin, know'st thou not our ^teeds 

drink of the golden springs 
M Where Lmah doth renew his horses 7 

Look's! thou on in\ >oiith. 
And i'earest thou because 1 vanish and 

ain seen no more' 
Nothing remains () maul. I tell thee, 

when I pass awa>. 
It is to tenfold life, to lo\e, to peace. 

and raptures hoh 
Unseen, descending, weigh m\ light wing* 

upon balmv flowers. 
35 And court the fair-eyed Dew to take mo 

to her shining tent 

The weeping virgin, tremblmc, knooU be- 
fore the risen sun, 
Till we arise, linked in a golden band. 

and never part, 
But walk united, bearing food to all our 

tender flowers " 

"Dost thou, little Cloud* T foar that 

I am not like thee, 

60 For I walk through the vales of Har, 
and smell the sweetest flowers, 

But I feed not the little flowers; I hear 
the warbling birds, 

But I feed not the warbling birds they 
fly and seek their food. 

But Thel delights in these no more, be- 
cause I fade away, 

And all shall say, 'Without a use this 

shining woman lived; 
* 6 Or did she only live to be at death the 
food of worms?' " 

The Cloud reclined upon his airv throne, 
and answered thus 

''Then if thou art the food of worms, 

virgin of the skies, 
How great thy use, how great thy bless. 

ing! Everything that lues 
70 Li\es not alone nor for itself l Fear not, 

and I will call 
The weak Worm from its lowly bed, and 

thou shalt hear its voice 
Come forth. Worm of the silent valley, 

to tin pensi\e queen " 

The helpless Worm arose, and sat upon 

the Lilv's leaf. 

\nd the bright Cloud sailed on to find 
his partner in the vale 


" Then Thel, astonished, viewed the Worm 

upon its dew> bed 
"Art thou a worm, image of weakness 9 

art thou but a worm? 
1 see thee.. like an infant, wrapj>ed in 

the Lilv *s leaf 
Ah f weep not. little voice, thou canst 

not speak, but thou canst weep 
I* this a worm? I see thee he helpless 

and naked, weeping, 
R0 And none to answer, none to cherish 

thoe with mother's smiles " 

The Clod of Cla\ heard the Worm's 
>oice, and raised her pitying head- 

She bowed o\er the weeping infant, and 
her lite exhaled 

In milk\ fondness, then on Thel she fixed 
her humble eves 

"O beaut \ of the \ales of Har! we live 

not for ourselves. 
kfl Thou seest me, the meanest thing, and 

so I am indeed. 
M\ bosom of itself is cold, and of itself 

is dark . 
But He that loves the lowly pours Hie 

oil upon my head, 

i Be* Roma**, 14 -7 



And kisses me, and binds His nuptial 

bands around my breast, 
And says: 'Thou mother of my children, 

I have loved thee, 
90 And I have given thee a crown that none 

can take away. 1 
But how this is, sweet maid, I know not, 

and I cannot know ; 
I ponder, and I cannot ponder, yet I 

live and love!" 

The Daughter of Beauty wiped her pity- 
ing tears with her white veil, 

And said "Alas! I knew not this, and 

therefore did I weep 

45 That God would love a worm I knew, 
and punish the evil foot 

That wilful bruised its helpless form; 1 
but that He cherished it 

With milk and oil, I never knevi, and 
therefore did I weep 

And I complained in the mild air, lie- 
cause I fade awa>, 

And lay me down in thy cold bed, and 
leave my shining lot ' ' 

100 "Queen of the vales," the matron Clay 

answered, "I heard thy sighs, 
And all thy moans flew oVr m\ roof. 

but I have called them <lown 
Wilt thou, queen, enter my hoiw* 

TIB given thee to enter, 
And to return* fenr nothing, entei with 

thy virgin feet " 


The eternal gates' ternfic porter lifted 

the northern bar, 
105 Thel entered in, and sau the hecrets of 

the land unknown 
She saw the couches of the dead, and 

where fibrous root 
Of every heart on earth infixes deep its 

restless twists, 
A land of borrows and oi tears, where 

never smile was seen 

She wandered in the land of clouds. 

through valleys dark, listening 
110 Dolors and lamentations; waiting oft 

beside a dewy grave, 
She stood in silence, listening to the 

voices of the ground, 
Till to her own grave-plot she came, and 

there she sat down, 
And heard this voice of sorrow breathed 

from the hollow pit 

1 See Cowper'i The Tank, 6. 560 ff (p 148) 

"Why cannot the ear be closed to its 

own destruction? 

115 Or the glistening eye to the poison of a 

Why are eyelids stored with arrows ready 

Where a thousand fighting-men in am- 
bush he, 

Or an eje of gifts and graces showering 
fruits and coined gold? 

Why a tongue impressed with honey 

from every wind? 

120 \^hy an ear, a whirlpool fierce to draw 
creations in* 

Why a nostril m ide-inhahng terror, trem- 
bling, and affright? 

Why a tender curb upon the >outhful 
burning boy? 

Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed 
of our desire?" 

The Virgin started from her seat, and 

with a shnek 

l -* Fled back unhindered till she came into 
the \ales of liar 


"Love soeketh not itself to please. 

Nor lor itself hath an\ care, 
But for another give* its ease, 

And huildv. a heaxen in hell's despair " 

"' So sung a little clod of clay, 

Trodden with the cattle's feet, 
But a pebble of the brook 

Warbled out these metres meet 

*'Lo\e seeketh only self to please, 
10 To bind another to its delight, 
Jo>s in another's loss of ease, 
And builds a hell in hea\en's despite " 


Is this a hoh thing to see 
In a rich and fruitful land, 

Babes reduced to misery, 
Fed with cold and usurous hand? 

5 Is that trembling cry a song? 

Can it be a song of joy? 
And so many children poor? 
It is a land of poverty 1 

And their sun does never shine, 
10 And their fields are bleak and bare. 
And their ways are filled with thorns- 
It is eternal winter there. 



For tthereVr the sun does 

And where 'ei the lam does fall, 
15 Babe can ne\er hunger there, 
Nor poverty the mind appal 



A little black thine* amonu the snow. 
Tiring "weep* *eep f M in notes ol woe 1 
"Where are thv fathei and niothei ' 

"They aie both nnc up to chinch to pi ay 

6 "Because I vtas hupp> upon the heath, 
And smiled among the wintei 's sno\\. 
They elothed me in the clothe* nt death, 
And taught me to sing the notes of HOC 

"And taoause F am happx, and fiance 

and sins:, 

10 They think thev have done me no injury. 
And aie none to pnuse God and His 

puest and kmj, 
Who make up a heaven of 0111 nuseiv " 


When the \oices of cluldien are heaid on 

the jrrcen. 

And \\luspei mgs are in the dale. 
The da\s of m\ \outh use tresh in inv 

mind , 
M\ tare turns ieen and pah 1 

6 Then come homo m\ childien, the sun 

is irone down, 

And the dews oi night arise. 
Your splint? and \oiii dav aie wasted in 

And Your wintei and night in disguise 



Tiger, tiger, burning bright 
In the forests of the night. 
What immortal hand 01 e\e 
Could frame thv f em ful symmetrv* 

6 Tn what distant deeps 01 skies 
Burnt the fire of thine eves? 
On what wings dare he aspire' 
What the daie sei/e the fire 1 

And what shouldei and what art 
10 Could twist the sinews of thv heart ' 
And, when thy heart began to beat, 
What dread hand and what dread feet? 

\\hat the hammer/ uluit the chum? 
In what furnace was tin biain * 
1 ' \\hat the nn\il f \\hat dread grasp 
Daie its deidl\ tenors clasp'* 

When the stais tlue\\ do\\n then speais, 
And wateieil hea\en \\ith their tears, 
Did lie smile His \\ork to see* 
20 Did lie \\lio made tl)e lamb make theet 

r liiei, tmei. burning bright 
In the forests of the night, 
What immoital hand 01 e>e 
Daie liame thv fearful svmmetry* 


Ah, Run flower, weary of time, 
Who couiitest the steps of the sun; 

Seeking after that sueet golden clime 
Where the h^ellei 's journey is done, 

fl Wheie the Aonth pined awa\ with desire, 
And the pale \ugin shrouded in snow, 
Arise from their gra\cs, and aspire 
Where mv Sunflower wishes to go f 


T \\enf to the Garden of Love, 
And saw \\liat 1 ne\ei had been; 

A ehai^el was built in the midst. 
Where I used to play on the green 

" And the sutes of this chapel were shut, 
And 4 Thou shalt not" writ over the 


So I turned to the (Jarden of Love 
That so many sweet flowers bore 

And T *aw it \\a<* filled with graves, 
10 And tombstones where flowers should be; 
And pnests in black gowns \\ere walking 

their rounds. 

And binding \\ith briars my joys and 



T was angry uith m.\ friend' 

T told nn wrath, my wrath did end. 

T was angry with mv foe: 

I told it not, mv wrath did grow 

r > And I watered it in fears 
Night and morning with my tears, 
And I sunned it with smiles 
And with soft deceitful wiles. 



And it grew both day and night, 
10 Till it bore an apple bright, 
And m> foe beheld it shine, 
And he knew that it was mine, 

And into my garden stole 
When the night had veiled the pole, 
15 In tlie morning, glad, 1 see 

My foe outstretched beneath the tiee 


Sleep* sleep* beauty bright. 
Dreaming o'er the joyb of night 
Sleep f sleep! in thy sleep 
Little soriows sit and weep 

6 Sweet babe, in tin face 
Soft desires I can irate, 
Secret jovs and secret smiles. 
Little pretty infant wiles 

As thy softest limbs T feel, 
10 Smiles as of the morning steal 
O'er thy cheek, and o'ei thy hi east 
Wheie thy little heait does tesi 

0! the cunning wiles that deep 
In thy little heait asleep 
15 When thy little heart does wake. 
Then the dreadful lightnings break 

From thy cheek and fiom thy e\t 
O'er the >outhful harxests ni^h 
Infant wiles and infant smiles 
20 Hea\en and Earth of peace beguiles 



To see a world in a grain of sand, 
And a heaven in a wild flower, 

Hold infinity in the palm of \our hand, 
And eternity in an hoin 

5 A robin redbreast in a cage 
Puts all heaven in a rage , 
A do\e-house filled with dove* arid pigeons 
Shudders hell through all its regions 
A dog starved at his master's giitc 

10 Predicts the ruin of the state 

A game-cock clipped and aimed toi nuht 
Doth the rising- sun affright ; 
A horse misused upon the road 
Calls to heaven for human blood 
Every wolf's and lion's howl 

15 Raises from hell a human soul ; 
Each outcry of the hunted hare 
A fibre from the brain does tear; 
A skylark wounded on the wing 

20 Doth make a cherub cease to ins 

He who shall hurt the little wren 
Shall never be beloved by men ; 
He who the ox to wrath has moved 
Shall never be by woman loved ; 

-'" He who shall tram the horse to wai 
Shall never pass the polar bar 
The wanton bo> that kills the fl\ 
Shall feel the spider's enmity, 
lie who torments the chafer's spntc 

10 Weaves a bower in endless night 
The caterpillar on the leaf 
Itepeats to thee thy mother's griel , 
The wild deer wandciint? heie and 

Keep the human soul iiom care, 

35 The lamb misused bleeds public strife 
And yet foigi\es the hntchei 's knife 
Kill not the moth not hutteifh. 
For the last judgment diaweth mirli . 
The beggai 's doj and widow 's cat. 

10 Feed them and them shall iow fat 
Kvei> tear from e\ei\ e\e 
Becomes a babe in eternity, 
The bleat, the baik. hello\\. and 10111, 
Are \vn\es that heat on henxen's < 

43 The bat, that flits at close of e\e, 

lias leit the hi a in that won't believe, 
The owl, that calls upon the nurhi, 
Speaks the nnbelie\ei 's iimht. 
The not, that sinh his snnnnei 's Ming, 

>u Poison gets from Slandei 's tonuue, 
The poison of the snake and newt 
Is the sweat oi En\\ 's foot , 
The poison of the honeybee 
Is the aitist's jealousx . 

Vl The strongest jwnson e\er known 
("aine iroin (tsar's laurel crown 

Nought can del'uim the human race 

Like to the armorer's iron brace. 

The soldiei aimed with sword and mm 
,o p a imed strikes the Hummer's sun 

When sold and icem* adoin the plough. 

To peaceful arts shall Knxy how 

The be^gai *s ra^s fluttenng in an 

Do to rajrs the hem ens tear. 
ll " The pnnce's robes and begpr&r's ra^s 

\ie toadstools on the inisei \ bags 

One mite wimif* J'roni the laborer's 


Shall buy and sell the miser's lands, 
Or, if protected fiom on high, 
70 Shall that whole nation sell and buy; 
The ]XK>r man 's farthing is worth more 
Than all the gold on Af ric 's shore. 
The whore and gambler, by the state 
. build that nation's fate, 



75 The harlot's cry Irom street to street 
Shall weave Old England's winding sheet, 
The winner's shout, the loser's curse, 
Shall dance before dead England 'b hearse 

He who mocks the infant's faith 
S0 Shall be mocked m age and death, 
He who shall teach the child to doubt 
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out , 
Ho who respects the infant's faith 
Triumphs over hell and death. 
MB The babe is more than swaddling-bands 
Throughout all these human lands, 
Tools were made, and born were hands, 
Kvery farmer understands 

The questioner \\ho sits so sly 
lf Shall neter know how to reply, 
He who replies to words of doubt 
Doth put the light of knowledge out, 
A riddle, or the cricket's cry. 
Is to doubt a fit reply 

n * The child's toys and the old man's reasons 
Are the fruits of the two seasons 
The emmet V inch and eagle's mile 
Make la mo philosophy to smile 
A truth that's told with bad intent 
100 Heats all the lies you can invent 
He who doubts from uhat he sees 
Will ne'er behe\e. do nhat >ou please. 
If the sun and moon should doubt. 
They M immediateh go out 

|iri Kvery night and e\erv morn 
Some to miseiy are bom , 
Kverv morn and eveiy night 
Some are born to sweet delight , 
Some are born to sweet delight, 

110 Some are born to endless night 
Jo> and woe are wo\en tine, 
A clothing ioi the soul divine. 
Under every giiet and pine 
Runs a joy with silken twine 

116 It is right it should be so, 

Man was made for iov and woe. 
And, when this we rightly know. 
Safely through the world we go 

We ure led to behe\e a lie 
l - Ifl When we see uitJt riot through the eye 

Which *as bom in a night to perish m a 

When the soul slept in beams of light 

(iod appears, and God ib light 

To those poor souls who dwell in night, 
I2r Hut doth a human form display 

To those who dwell in realms of day 

1 nut's 

1801 1868 

I travelled through a land of men, 
A land of men and women too; 

And heard and saw such dreadful things 
As cold earth-wanderers never knew 

5 For there the babe is born in joy 
That was begotten in dire woe , 
Just as we reap m joy the fruit 
Which we in bitter tears did sow 

And, if the babe is born a boy. 
10 He's given to a woman old, 
Who nails him down upon a rock, 
Patches his shrieks in cups of gold 

She binds iron thorns around his head. 
She pierces both his hands and feet; 
15 She cuts his heart out at his side. 
To make it feel both cold and heat 

Her fingers number every ner\e. 

Just as a miser counts his gold, 

She lives upon his shrieks and cries, 

20 And she grows young as he gnws olil 

Till he becomes a bleeding youth. 

And she becomes a virgin bright . 
Then he rends up his manacles, 

And binds her down for his delight 

-' He plants himself m all her nerxes. 

Just as a husbandman his mould, 

And she becomes his dwelling-place 

And garden fruitful se\ entv-f old. 

An aged shadow soon he fades, 
30 Wandering round an earthly cot, 
Full-filled all with gems and gold 
Which he by industry had srot 

And these aie the gems of the human soul. 
The rubies and pearls of a love-sick eye, 
3 * The countless gold of the aching heart, 
The martyr's groan and the toner's sigh 

They are his meat, they are his drink . 
He feeds the beggar and the poor . 
To the wayfaring traveller 
111 Foie\ei open is his door 

His grief is their eteinal joj, 

They make the roofs and walls to ring, 
Till from the fire upon the hearth 

A little female babe doth spring. 

45 And she is all of solid fire 

And sretns and gold, that none his hand 



Dares stretch to touch her baby form, 
Or wrap her in his swaddlmg-band 

But she comes to the man she loves, 
r ' If young or old or nch or pool . 
They soon drue out the a&>ed hoM, 
A beggar at another's dooi 

He wanders weeping far nwav, 
Until some other take him in , 
55 Oft blind and age-bent, sore distressed, 
Until he can a maiden um 

And, to allay his freezing age. 

The poor man takes her in his arms , 
The cottage fades before his sight, 
* The garden and itb lovely charm** 

The guests are scattered through tho land , 
For the eye altering alters all , 

The senses roll themselves in feur. 
And the fiat earth becomes a ball 

* 5 The stars, sun, moon, all shrink away 

A desert vast without a bound, 
And nothing left to eat or drink. 
And a dark desert all around 

The honey of her infant lips, 
70 The bread and wine of her sweet smile, 
The wild fain* of her roving e>e. 
Do him to infancy beguile 

For as he eats and drinks, he grows 

Younger and >ounger c\er> da\ , 
75 And on tho desert wild, they both 
Wander in terror and dismax 

Like the wild stag she fli?* auav, 

Her fear plants many a thicket wild, 
While he pursues her night and day 
80 By various art of love beguiled , 

By various arts of lo\e and hate. 
Till the wild desert planted o'er 

With labyrinths oi ua\ward love. 
Where roam the lion, wolf, and boar, 

95 Till he becomes a wayward babe, 
And she a weeping woman old , 
Then many a lover wanders here, 
The sun and stars are nearer rolled , 

The trees bring forth sweet ecstasy 
l>0 To all who in the desert roam; 
Till many a city there is built 
And many a pleasant shepherd 's home 

But, when they find the frowning babe, 

Terror strikes through the region wide ; 
*5 Theycry: " The babe ! the babe is born ' " 
And flee away on every side 

For who daie touch the frowning form, 

His arms is withered to its root. 
Bears lions, ^ohes, all howling flee. 
100 And even tree doth shed its fruit 

And none can touch that iroftmng form 

Except it be a woman old , 
She nails him down upon the rock, 

And all is done as I have told 


Great things arc done when men and 

mountains meet. 
These are not done by jostling in the street 



And did those feet in ancient time 
Walk upon Farmland's mountain green? 

And -A as the holv I<4imb of God 
On Knirland 's pleasant pastures seen 1 

""' And did the Countenance Dmne 

Shine iortli upon our clouded hills? 
And \tas Jerusalem biulded here 
Among these dark Satanic* mills ' 

Bung me my bow ot burning gold' 
10 Briny me niv arrows of desire! 
Brine me rav spear f clouds, unfold ! 
Brine? me my chariot ot hre f 

T T\ill not cease from mental fight. 

Nor shall my snord sleep in mv hand. 
15 Till \ve ha\e built Jeiusalem 

In England 's qreen and pleasant land 

.1806 7 1808 

The door of Death is made of gold, 
That mortal eyes cannot behold , 
But when the mortal eyes are closed, 

_ And cold and pale the limbs reposed. 

" The soul awakes, and, wond'ring, 
In her mild hand the golden keys 
The grave is heaven 's golden gate, 
And rich and poor around it wait 
O Shepherdess oi England 's fold, 
10 Behold this gate of pearl and gold f 

To dedicate to England's Queen 
The visions that my soul has seen, 
And by her kind permission bring 



What I have borne on solemn wing 
is From the vast regions of the grave, 
Before her throne my wings I wave , 
Bowing before my sov 'reign's feet, 
The Grave produced these blossoms sweet, 
In mild repose from earthly strife, 
- The blossoms of eternal life. 

ROBERT BURNS (1759-1796) 

mi 1786 

0, once I lov'd a bonie lass, 

Ay, and I love her still f 
And whilst that virtue warms my breast, 

I'll love my handsome Noll 

5 As bonie lasses I hae 2 seen, 

And monie full as bian , * 
But for a modest, gracefu' mien, 
The like I ne\er sau 

A home lass, I will confess, 
"> Is pleasant to the e'e, 

But without some better qualities 
She's no a lass ioi me 

Hut Nelly's looks aie bhtlie an<l sweet. 

And \ihat is best of a', 
r Her reputation is complete, 
And lair without a ila\\ 

She dresses ,a\ sae clean and neat. 

Both dece'nt and ire nt eel 
And then there's something in her gait 
20 Gars 4 onie dress look weel. 

A gaudy dress and gentle air 
May slightly touch the heart , 

But it 's innocence and modesty 
That polishes the dait. 

- 1 'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 

Tis this enchants mv soul , 
Kor absolutely in my hi east 
She reiirns without control 


77W 1780 

Thou unknown, Almiphtv Cause 

Of all my hope and fear f 
In whose diead presence, eie an hour, 

Perhaps I must appear' 

5 If I have wander 'd in those paths 
Of life I ought to shun, 

As something, loudly, in my breast, 
Remonstrates I have done, 

Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me 
10 With passions wild and strong, 
And list 'ning to their witching voice 
Has often led me wrong. 

Where human weakness has come short, 

Or frailty stept aside, 
15 Do Thou, All-Good for such Thou ail- 
In shades of darkness hide. 

Where with intention I have err'd, 

No other plea I have, 
But, Thou art good, and Goodness still 
- Dehghtetlitoforgixe 


1781 1800 

Mary, at thy window be! 

It is the wish 'd, the trysted hour 
Those smiles and glances let me see, 

That make the misei 's treasure poor 
6 How blithely wad I bide 1 the stoure. J 

A weary slave frae 8 sun to sun , 
Could I the rich reward secure, 

The lovely Mary Morison I 



when to the trembling string 
The dance gaed 15 thro' the lighted ha' f 
To (lice mv fancy took its wing, 
I sat, but neither heard or saw : 
Tho' this was iair, and that was bra\t." 

And yon the toast of a' the town, 
15 I sigh'd, and said, amang them a' 
"Ye are na Mary Morison!" 

Mary, canst tliou wreck his peace 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die? 
Or canst thou break that heart of his 

Whase only faut 7 is loving thee* 
If lo\e for lo\e thou wilt na gie, 8 

At least be pity to me shown , 
A thought ungentle canna be 

The thought o' Mary Morison. 


J782 17S7 

Behind yon hills, where Lngar flows, 
'Man mm us an' mosses many, 

The wintry sun the day has clos'd, 
And I '11 awa to Name, 0. 

5 The westlm wind blaws loud an' shill;' 
The night's baith mirk and rainy, 0; 



'nwait: endure 

'dust, conflict 


lmt night 




But I '11 get my plaid, an ' out 1 '11 bteal, 
An 1 owre the hill to Name, 0. 

My Name's chaimiug, tweet, an ' young, 
10 Nae artfu' *iles to win ye, 
May ill bel'u ' the flattenng tongue 
That wad begin le my Name. 

Her tace is fair, her heart is tine; 

As spotless as she's home, 
15 The op 'mug guwan, 1 uat wi f dew, 
Nae puier is than Name, O 

A country lad ib in\ degiee. 

An' few tliere IH that ken me, 0; 
Hut what care I how ie\\ they be 1 * 
20 I'm welcome n> to Name, 0. 

M> iiches a's my pen n> -let 1 , 2 
An' I maun 11 guide it canine, 4 0, 

But wail's <!(Mi n iie'ei tumbles me. 
My thoughts aie n' m> Name, O 

26 Dm auld guidman' 1 delights to \iew 

His sheep an' k\c thine borne. O 
But I'm as hhthe that hands 7 his 
An ' has nae care but Name. O 

( ome \\cel, tome HOC. I caie nn ln, s 
1 '11 tak \\hat Hea\ 'n will send me. , 
Nae ither care in life ha\e I. 
But Inc. an' luxe my Name. O 


Lament in rhyme, lament in prose. 
AVi J saut teais tncklm down >om nose, 
Oui bardie's 9 tate is at a close. 

Past a' lemead, 10 
" The last. * eape-stane 11 ot his \\<ies t 

Poor Maihe'b dead* 

It's no the loss o' warl's <>eai, 12 
That could sae bitter dra* the tear. 
Or mak oui bardie, dowie, 18 wear 
10 The mouininji ueed 

He's lost a friend an' neebor deai 
In Maihe dead 

Thro' a 9 the toun she trotted b> him. 
A lang half-mile she could desen him 
15 Wi ' kmdlv bleat, when she did sp\ him. 
She ran wi f speed 

i daisy * I caro nothing 

f wages paid In mono? ' bard'b , poetV 

mast , w remedj 

4 carefully " cope-stone ( 
"world'"* goods tfve for Hi 

A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh 

Than Maihe dead. 

I wat 1 she wao a bheep o' tense, 
- An' could behave hersel \vi' raenw J 
I '11 say 't, she never brak a fence, 

Thro' thievish greed 
Our liaiihe, lanel>, 8 keeps the bpence 4 

Sin' Maihe 's dead 

25 Or, if be ^andeis up the howe, 5 
Her Imng linage in her yowe 6 
Tomeb bleatin till him, iwre the knowe. 7 

For bits o' bread; 
An ' down the bi my peai Is i owe 8 

30 Foi Maihe dead. 

She \\us nae got" o' moot Ian tips, 10 
Wi ta*ted n ket, 1J an' hair>' hips; 
Foi her iorheurb were brought in ships 

Fiue '\ont lj the Tumi 
35 A hnniet fleesh jie'ei cioss'd the clips 14 

Than Mailie's dead 

\ u 01 tli the man wha tirst did shape 
That \ile. \\anchanc ie r> thnif~a rape 111 * 
It mnks miid i'ellmts fiiin 17 an' gape, 
111 Wi' ehiikm diead 

An' llohin'b l>omiet >\a\e wi' crape, 
For Mailie dead 

O, a ' \e ban Is on lionie Doon ' 
An' \\ha on A>i yom chanters 18 tune ? 
4 " f Come, join the inelaiicholious cioon lu 

O' Robin 'sreed! 
His hcnit will ne\ei y:et abcwm- 

His Mailie's dead 1 

1783 1803 


Uieen io\\ the la^hcx. <)' 
Green grow the rashes ! 
The sweetest hours that e'ei I spend 
Are spent aninn** the lasses O 

Tlioie's nought but faio on e\ f rv ban', 
fn every hour that passes. 

What signifies the lite o' man, 
An ' 'twere nae for the lasses, f 

7 holds 

tfve for flnl 

"world'K pood* 
1 irlooniy 


u matted 

- ilUcrptlon ,gKKl man- 



11 beyond 


u shearn 

1 Inner room 

unluck\ . dangerous 



T knoll 

1(1 bagpipe^ 


"mournful tum 

11 no l*Mi 


> n nims 




The war'ly 1 race may nclieh chase, 
10 An ' riches still may fly them, , 
An 9 tho' at last they catch them fart, 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O 

But gie me a daiime 2 houi at e'en, 
My arms about my dearie, 

An' ivai'ly caies an' wai 
May a' pie tapsalteerie,* 


For you sae douce, 4 ye sneer at this, 

Ye 're nought but senseless asses, O 
The wisest man the wail' e'er saw, 
20 He dearlv lov'd the lasses, 

Auld Natuie sweuib the lovely dears 
Her noblebt uork she classes, 

Her pientiee han' she fued on man. 
\n' then *he made the lapses, O 

Choi if i 

OMHMI grow the rashes, O f 
Oieen grow the i ashes, O f 
The s\\wtpst hours that e'er 1 spend 
Ate s|M-nt amanjr the lusses, O 



178 ' f 178t> 


I'm thiee times doubly o'er vour debtor. 
Km \inii nnld-fanant 11 fnen'l> lettei 
Tho' I HMUM" say 't, I doubt ye flatlvi. 

Ye speak sae iair, 
"' KOI m\ puir, silly, rhvmin clatter 

Some less maun sail ' 

For ine, I'm on Parnassus' brink, 1 
20 Rivin* the words to gar them clink; 1 
Whyles daez't 4 wi' love, whyles daez't 
*i f drink, 

Wi'jads 5 or Masons, 
An' whyles, but ay owre 6 late, I think 
Draw 7 sober lessons 

25 Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man, 
Common' me to the Bardie clan , 
Except it be some idle plan 

0' rhymin clink 8 
The dewl-haet that 1 sud ban 

80 They never think 

Nae thought, nae \iew, nae scheme o' 


Nao eaies to pie us joy or grievin; 
But ju<t tbe pwichie 10 put the nievc 11 in. 

An ' while ought's theie 
5 " Then lullie-skiltic, 12 we gae scnevin, 11 
An 'fash naemair." 

me on iliyine' 1 " 1 it's a>e a tieusuir. 

My < hief , amamt 16 my only pleasure ; 
At hanic, n-hel', at waik or leisure. 
10 The Muse, poor hizzie' 17 

Tho' rough an* raploch 18 l>e her measure. 
She's seldom lazy 

Hand" to the Muse, my dainty Davie 
The uarl' may play you uionie a sha\ie.- 
r> Mut for the Muse, she'll never leave ve, 

TJio'e'ei sae pun. 21 
\n, e\en tho' hmpin wi the spavie 2J 

Frae door to dooi ' 

Hule be your heart, hale be your fiddle. 
Lang may your elbuck 8 jink 9 an' diddle. 10 
To <lHei vou thro' the neary widdle 11 
10 O'nar'ly cares, 

Till baini^' bairns 12 kindly cuddle 

Your auld !?ray ban* 1 

But Daxie, lad, 1 'm led 18 ye 'ie ulaikit , 14 
I'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit. 
'& An ' pif it's sae, 1B ye sud be lirket 1 " 

Until >ef>ke,' 7 
Si* linn V s as \oii sd ne'ei bo fmket, 19 

Be ham 't wlm like J0 

' rtilldron's i hllclren 
M thonghtli^ . foolish 

III' 1 !'"* 

old favoring ^ga- beaten 
clous " aqulrm 

IB lot off 

w bo spared who like, 
( f. who*\er may 
be spared 
" tni|rirli 

1 worldh 



1785 1780 

While hi icrs nil ' woodbines budding green. 
And | >o it ricks* 3 s<'iaichin <z * loud at e'en, 
An ' inoi IIIIIJT pou5sie w whiddm^ 6 seen, 

Inspire my Muse, 
5 This fieedom in an unknown fnen' 

I pray excuse. 

1 'Hint is. hofrinnlDK to 
r 1 1 o poetrv , <r, 


perhaps, * about t o " and worry no more 
publish r> blessing* on rh\mo 

------ (from left me, door 

IB to me) 


17 hussy 

1N bomevpun 

" hold 

10 bad turn 


make them jingle, or 

4 daied 

* Jade* wenches 

the 8 devil hat* mv 
boul that 1 should 
rune them 







On Fasten-e'en 1 we bad a rockin, 8 
To ca' the crack 8 and weave our 

stockm , 

And there was muckle 4 fun and 3okm, 
10 Ye need na doubt 

At length we had a hearty yokin 6 

At "sang about "" 

There was ae bang, 7 amang the rest, 
A boon 8 them a' it pleas 'd me best, 
15 That some kind husband had addrest 
To some su eet wife . 

It thirPd the heait-btnngb tluo' the 

A Mo the life 

I've scarce heard ought describ'd sac weel, 
20 What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel. 
Thought I, "Can this be Pope, or Steel?, 

They tauld me 'twas an odd kind elnel 1 " 

About Mini kirk 

25 It pat me iidgm-fam 11 to heai 'I, 
An' sae about him there I spier V J 
Then a* that ken 't 18 him round declai M 

He had inirfne, 1 ' 
That nane excell'd it. iew cam ncui 't, 

30 It was sae line 

That set him to a pint of ale. 

An* either douce 15 or merry tale, 

Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel. 

Or witty catches 16 
35 'Tween Inverness an' Teviotdale, 

Ho had iew matches 

Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith, 17 
Tho' I should pawn my pleugh an 9 


()i die a cadger powmeV 9 death, 
40 At some dyke-back, 10 

A pint an' gill I'd gie them baith, 

To heai join crack J1 

But, first an' foremost, I should tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell. 

the evening before 

hoclal meeting 
8 have a rbat 

4 roach 

'time, ipell < literal! v 
the word means ag 
much work as is 
done by the draught 
animals at one time ) 

A game in which 

each participant 

Mlngn a nong 
'one HOD* 


"> fellow 

"put m r tingling 

with pleasure 
" genius 

" MrlOQb 

three - part songs. 

each part flung in 


hawker pony's 
* hack of a fence 

45 I to the crambo-jingle 1 fell; 

Tho' rude an' rough- 
Yet crooning to a body's sel, 

Does weel eneugh 

I am nae poet, in a sense, 
50 But just a rhymer like by chance, 
An' hae to learning: nae pretence, 

Yet, what the matterl 
Wliene 'ei my Muse does on me glance, 

I jingle at her 

05 Your critic-folk may cock their none, 
And say, "How can >ou e'er propose, 
You, \\lia ken-' liaidly \eise frae prose, 

To mak a bang!" 
But, by >our lea\es, mv learned foes., 

60 Ye 'i c maybe wrang 

What's a ' your jaigon o' 3 our schools, 
Your Latin names toi horns 1 an' stools ' 
If lion Ob t Nature made you iools. 

What sans 1 youi giam- 


65 Ye'd hettei t.i'en up spades and sliools, 5 
()i knappin-haramers * 

A set o' dull, conceited hashes 7 
Confuse their brains in college clashes, 
They jjanj;* in **1irks u and come out 


70 Plain tiuih to speak, 

An ' s>ne* they think to climb Pnrnassu^ 
By dint o' Greek 1 

Che me ae *paik o' Natme's hre f 
That's a' the learning I desire, 
75 Then, tho' I diudge thro' dub 11 an T mil" 

At pleugh or cart, 
My Muse, tho' namely in attire, 

May touch the heart 

O for a spunk 12 o' Allan's 1 * 
80 Or Feigusson '&, the bauld an ' slee, 14 
Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be. 

If I can hit it ! 

That would be lear 10 eneugh for me, 
If I could get it ! 

8I > Now, sir, if ye hae friends enow, 
Tho' real friends, I b'lieve, are few, 
Yet, if your catalogue be fow, 10 

1 rhyming 



hammer* for hroak 
ing stono 


10 aftorwurds 
i' puddle 

" spark 

11 M1n It tun mu s 

" hold and Indent oun 
"loio learning 




I'se no 1 insist, 

But gif ye want ae friend that 's true, 
90 I'm on your list 

I winna* blaw about mysel, 

As ill I like my fauts' to tell; 

But friends an' folk that wish me well, 

They sometimes roose* 


9 & Tho 1 , 1 maun own, as monie btill 
As far abuse me 

There's ae wee faut they whyles lay to 


1 like the lasses Gude forgie me! 
For monie a plack 6 they wheedle f rae T 


100 At dance or fair, 

Ma>be some ither thing they gie me 
They weel can spare 

But Mauchlme Kace, or Mauchhne Fan. 
I should be proud to meet you there , 
105 We'se 8 gie ae night's discharge to care, 

Tf we forgather, 
And hae a bwap <>' ihymm-ware 

Wi' ane an it her 

The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clat- 
ter, 9 

11 An' kirsen 10 him wi' reckm 11 watei , 
S\ne ne'll sit down an' tak our whit- 
ter, 18 

To cheer our heart, 
An ' faith, we'se be acquainted better 
Before we part 

us Awa, ye selfish warly race, 

Wha think that havms, is sense, an' 


Kv'n love an' friendship, should give 


I dinna like to see your face, 
120 Nor hear your crack 

But ye whom social pleasure charms, 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms. 
Who hold your being on the terms, 

"Each aid the others," 
i-'3 Come to my bowl, come to my arms, 

My friends, my brothers ! 

1 1 shall not 

will not 


praise , flatter 

we sball 

we shall cause him 
to make a noise 



"Runt the coin (a 

But. to conclude my lang epistle. 
As my auld pen's worn to the gnssle; 
Twa lines f rae you wad gar me fissle, 1 
180 Who am most fervent, 

While I can either sing or whistle, 

Your friend and servant. 




1783 1808 

While at the stock 2 the shearers cow'r 
To shun the bitter blaudm' bhow'r, 
Or in guliavage, rinnin, scowr 4 

To pass the time, 
6 To you I dedicate the hour 

In idle rhyme 

My Musie, hr'd \vi' monie a sonnet 
On gown an ' ban," 1 an ' douse black-bonnet, 
Is in-own right eerie 7 now she's done it, 
10 Lest they should blame 


An' rouse their holy thunder on it, 
And anathem 8 her. 

I own 'twas rash, an' i at her hardy. 
That I, a simple, countra bardie, 
15 Should model le wi' a pack sae sturdy, 

Wha, if they ken 9 me, 
Can easy, wi' a single wordie, 

Louse 10 Hell upon me. 

But I gae 11 mad at their grimaces, 
20 Their sighin, cantin, 12 grace-proud face*. 
Their three-mile pra>ere, an' hauf-mile 

Then raxin 18 conscience, 
Whase 14 greed, rexensre, an* pride dis- 

Waui uor 15 their non- 

*5 There's Gau'n, 18 misca'd 17 waur Ihnn a 


Wha has mair honor in his breast 
Than monie scores as guid's the priest 
Wha sae abus't him 
And may a baid no crack his jest 
10 What way they \ e use 't 


tingle with delight 'know 

1 shock of sheaves * loose 

pelting "go 

4 ran and chase about "tilted to one bide 

in horse-play M elastic 

1 band (worn by clergy- " whose 

men) * worse than 

sedate * (J a v i n Iloiniltou. 
1 concerned : fwirf ul t bee Glossary.) 

pronounc o a < in c x " mist ailed f abased 




On Fasten-e'en 1 we bad a rockm, 8 
To ca' the crack 8 and weave our 


And there was muckle 4 fun and jokm, 
10 Ye need na doubt 

At length we had a hearty yokiu 5 

At "sang about '" 

There was ae sung, 7 araang the rest, 
Aboon 8 them a' it pleas M me best, 
16 That some kind husband had addrest 
To some sweet wife. 

It thirl'd the heail-strings tliio' the 

A Mo the hie 

I've scarce heaid ought deserib'd sae weel, 
20 What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel. 
Thought I, "Can this be Pope, or Stcele, 

OrBeattie's waik?" 
They tauld me 'twas an odd kind chipl 1 " 
About Mun kirk 

25 It pat me fidgm-fam 11 to hear't, 
An* sae about linn there I spier 't, 12 
Then a' that ken 't 18 him round derlai M 

Ho had inline, 14 
That nane exeell'd it. dew cam near 1 !, 

so It wab sae fine 

That set him to a pint of ale. 

An' either douce 15 or merry tale, 

Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel, 

Or witty catches - 16 
S 5 'Tween Inverness an' Teviotdale, 

He had few matches 

Then up I gat, an ' swoor an aith, 17 
The' I should pawn my pleugh an' 

gnutb f 

()i die a cadger pern me V* death, 
M At some dyke-back, 20 

A pint an' gill I'd gie them baith, 

To hear > on i <-rack J1 

But, first an' foremost, I should tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell, 

1 1 b evening Irforc 

* Hodttl meeting 

have a cbat 

- time . fippll (literally 

the word meant. ax 
much work as Is 
done by the draught 
animal* at OOP ti mr ) 

A game to which 
each participant 
Hlnan a 

7 one song 



'" follow 

"put me tingling 

with pleasure 
19 asked 
" gcniui 

45 I to the crambo-jingle 1 fell; 

Tho ' rude an ' rough- 
Yet crooning to a body's sel, 

Does weel eneugh 

I am nae poet, in a 'sense, 
50 But just a rhymer like by chance, 
An' hae to learning nae pretence; 

Yet, what the matter! 
Whene'er my Muse docs on me glance, 

I jingle at her 

55 Your critic-folk may cock their nose, 
And say, "How can you e'er propose, 
Yon, nt 1m ken- hardly >crse frae prose, 

To inak a sangt" 
But, by 3 our leaves, my learned foes, 

60 Ye 're maybe wrang. 

What's a' >our juigon o' jour schools, 
Your Lntin names leu horn* 3 an' stools ' 
If honest Nature marie you fools. 

What sairb 4 your gram- 


GB Ye'd belter tn'en up spades and sliools, 5 
()i knnp])in-hammers 6 

A set o' dull, conceited hashes 7 
Confuse their brains m college classes, 
Tliry fr*m<r s in sinks, 1 ' and come out 


70 Plain tiuth to speak f 

An ' syne 10 they think to climb Parnassus 
By dint o' Greek 1 

Gie me ae park o' Natiue's fire 1 
That's a' the learning I desire; 
75 Then, tho' I drudge thru' dub 11 an' mil" 

At pleugh or cart, 
My Muse, tho' hamely in aitire, 

May touch the heart 

O for a spunk 12 o' Allan V J price, 
* Or Ferpusson 's, the bauld an f slee, 14 
Or bright l^apraik'b, my friend to be. 

If I can bit it I 

That would be lear 15 eneuprh for me, 
If I could get it! 

* r > Now, sir, if ye hae friends enow, 
Tho' real friends, I b'heve, are few, 
Yet, if your catalogue be f ow, lfl 

"three - part 

each part sung In 

" tools 

"hawker pony's 
" hack of a fence 

1 rhyming 
* Ink-hornt) 

yearling Kt^-i 


hammers for hmak 

inff stone 

* fooft 

11 puddle 


" \llnn ItuiiiKm < 

11 lKld and lna?nloun 

n Joio, learning 

" full 



1 'be no 1 insist , 

But gif ye want ae friend that 9 s true, 
90 I'm on your list 

I wmna 9 blaw about mysel, 

AH ill I like my fauts 8 to tell; 

But friends an 9 folk that wish me well, 

They sometimes roose 4 


M Tho', I maun own, as monie btiil 
As far abuse me 

There's ae wee faut they whyles lay to 


1 like the lasses- Gude forgie me! 
For monie a plack 6 they wheedle f rae 1 


100 At dance or fair, 

Ma\be some ither thing they gie me 
They weel can spare 

But Mauchhne Race, or Mauchlme Fan, 
I should be proud to meet you there . 
105 We'se 1 gie ae night's discharge to caie, 

If we forgather, 
And hae a swap n' ihymin-ware 

Wi ' ane anither 

The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clat- 
ter, 9 

> 10 An' kirsen 10 him wi' reekin 11 water, 
SMie we'll sit down an* tak oui whit- 
ter, 1 * 

To cheer our heart , 
An f faith, we'se be acquainted better 
Before we part 

"5 Awa, ye selfish warly race, 

Wha think that ha\ms, 18 sense, an 

Ev'n love an 1 friendship, should give 

> I shall not 

will not 

* fault* 

praise , flatter 

But. to conclude my lang epistle. 
As my auld pen's worn to the grissle, 
Twa lines f rae you wad gar me fissle, 1 
> Who am most fervent, 

While I can either sing or whistle, 

Your friend and servant 





I dinna like to see your face, 
120 Nor hear your crack 

But ye whom social pleasure charms, 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms. 
Who hold your being on the terms, 

"Each aid the others," 

i-'5 Come to my bowl, come to my arms, 

j My f ncnd8| my brothers ! 

While at the stook 2 the shearers cow'r 
To shun the bitter blaudin 3 show 'i , 
Or in guh a\ age, nnnin, sctmi 4 

To pass the time, 
5 To you I dedicate the hour 

In idle rhyme. 

My Musie, tir'd \\T monie a sonnet 

On gown an ' ban, 5 an ' douse black-bonnet, 

Is grown nirht eerie 7 now she's clone it. 

10 Lest they should blame 


An' louse their holy thunder on it, 
And anathem 8 her. 

T own 'twas rash, an' lather hardy. 
That I, a simple, countra bardie, 

11 Should meddle wi' a pack sae sturd}. 

Wha, if they ken 9 me, 
Can easy, wi' a single wordie, 

Louse 10 Hell upon me. 

But I gae 11 mad at their grimaces, 
20 Their sighin, cantin, 12 grace-proud faces. 
Their three-mile prayers, an' liauf-mile 

Their raxin 18 conscience, 
Whase 1 * greed, rexeuge, an 1 pride dis- 

Waut uui n their non- 

* B There's Gau'n, 16 nrisca'd 17 wani Ihnn a 


Wha has mair honor m Ins breast 
Than monie scores as guid 's the priest 
Wha sae abub't Inni 
And may a Imid iu <*ia<k Ins jest 
so What way the\ '\e use't 


::;&. tl- 

to make a noise 
- .. wrth .Mrt SJSTJSSS* 

irS; i -psrti- 

tingle with delight 
*book of Bbeatca 
run and chase about 

ID hone-play 
band (worn by clergy- 

' concerned . fearful 


pronoum o 

nted to one side 
** worse than 
n (t A v 1 n lloiniltou. 
(MeeOlossary ) 

a i in so " niNtRlled , abused 



See him, the poor man 's friend, in need. 
The gentleman in word an 1 deed 
An ' shall his fame an ' honor bleed 

By worthless skellums, 1 
36 An 1 not a Muse erect her head 

To cowe the blelhuiM J 

Pope, had I thy satire's darts, 
To gie the rascals their deserts, 
I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts, 
An 'tell aloud 

Their jugghn hocus-pocus arts 

To cheat the eiuwd! 

God knows, I'm no the thing I should be, 
Nor am I even the thing T could be, 
45 But twenty times I rather ^ould be 

An atheist clean 
Than under gospel colors hid be, 

Just 01 a scteen 

An honest man may like a glass. 
50 An honest man may like a lass , 
But mean levenge, an' malice fause 3 

He'll still disdain, 
An * then cry zeal for gospel laws, 

Lake some we ken. 

56 They take religion in their mouth; 
They talk o* mercy, grace, an' truth, 
Foi what? to pie their malice skouth* 

On some pun wight, 
An' hunt him down, o'er right an* ruth. 

To ruin straight 

All hail, Religion! Maid divine! 
Pardon a Muse sae mean as mine, 
Who. in her rough imperfect line, 

Thus daunt to name thee 
83 To stigmatise false fnends of thine 

Can ne'er defame thee. 

Tho' blotch 't an' foul wi' monie a stain, 
An' far unworthy of thy train. 
With trembling \oice I tune my strain 
TO To join with those 

Who boldly dare thy cause maintain 
In spite of foes . 

In tspite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs, 
In spite of undermining jobs, 
75 In spite o' dark banditti stabs 

At worth an' merit, 
By scoundrels! even wi ' holy robes, 

But hellish spirit) 

1 uood-for-notlitngff 

1 falne 

Ayr! my dear, my native ground, 
80 Within thy presbytenal bound, 
A candid hb'ral band is found 

Of public teachers, 
As men, as Christians too, renown 'd, 

An ' manly preachers 

86 Sir, in that circle yon are nam'd . 
Sir, in that circle you are fam'd; 
An' some, by whom your doctnne'* 

(Which gies ye honor), 
E\ 'u, sir, by them vour heart J s esteem 'd, 
90 An ' winning manner. 

Pardon this freedom I hate tnen, 
An* if impertinent I've been, 
Impute it not, good sir, in ane 

Whase heait ne'ei 

96 But to Ins utmost would befriend 

Ought that belang'd >e 


1185 17UW 


When lyart 1 leaves bestiow the vnd. 
Or, wa\erui like the Imwkie-bird,- 

Bedim cauld Boreas ' blast . 
When hailstanes <ln\e ui' bittci skvtt*.' 
5 And infant frosts begin to bite. 

Tn lioarv cianreuch 4 diest. 
Ae night at e'en a mem core'' 
0' randie, gangrel 7 bodies, 
In Poo&ie-Nansie's held the spline." 
10 To drink their orra duddies , D 
Wi' quaffing and laughing. 

They i anted 10 an ' they sang , 
WT jumping an' thumping. 
The vera gizdle 11 rang 

18 First, niest 12 the fire, in auld red rags, 
Ane sat, weel biac'd wi' mealy bags 11 

And knapsack a' in order. 
His doxy 14 lay within his arm , 
Wi' usquebae 1 " an' blankets \vaini, 

20 She blinket on her sodger 1B 
An ' ay he gies the tozie diab 17 

'grav ll The meal hag waa 

F A the (hi<<f equipment 

of the beggar Ii 
iiHualh runtaln*d 
fiatmoal, which 
might be uaed as 
food, or traded, 01 
Hold Bee 1 48 

14 wench 

" whiaky 


"xivea the tips; 

4 front 
corpH , tfi<iui> 

7 vagrant 

ftpare rags or clothe** 
10 were Jovial in a 

" A plate of niotal for 

frying cakra 
> next 

ROIIKKT miltNH 181 

The father skelpin kiss, 1 

While she held up her greedy gab so He ended . and lhe kebars Bhcuk , 

Jus like an aumouB' dish Abaon , & e chorus roap 

llk'wnaek still did crack still Wllle fngh ted rattons* backward 

Like onie a radgei 'H whup, 4 l euk 

Then, swagg*nns an ' stagperin 8j A|| , ^ the ^wu* boie , 4 

HP roar'd this dim np - A lttlly Mdlep f|ae tbe neuk- % 

l" He skirl M a out Kncore' 


- ., , . . An' laid the loud uproar 
T am a son of Mars, who have been in 

many wars, im 
" >0 Vnd show m\ cuts and soars \iheic\ei 

I corne , Tl NE Ko *0 u Laddie 

This heie \\as for a wench, and that F once \\as a maid, tho' I cannot tell 

oth<*r in a trench, when, 

When \\flcouunK the iMrnch at tlu Vud still m\ delmht is in proper younsr 

sound of the drum men 

Lai de dandle, etc M ' ^omc- one of a ttoop of diagroonq was mv 


Mv prenticeftbip I past, when- m\ leinlii \n \\mi<lei I'm loud of a bodger laddie 1 

lircnth 'd IIIB last. Sing, lal de dal, etc 
5 "' WhiMi the blood\ die ntus en si mi the 

heights of Abram, The lust of mv lo\ea was a s\\n^&reimcr 

nut mv trade *\wn the< blade, 

aamo uas play'd, To inttle the thundeiinp drum ^a^ hm 

Vnd the Moio low A\:\S lni<l t\\ tin trade, 

^ound oi the drum *" His loir \\as sn tiyht/ and his cheek \\a^ 

T lasth uas with Curtis, amonu Hie float- Tianspoited T mat. Mith m\ lodsrer laddie 

inu batt'ries, 

\nd Iheie I left ioi uitness , m aim Hut the SO dlv old chaplain lei t him in the 

and a limb, luich, 

10 ^e let ui> foiiiiliv nwil me, null Kliott 'n, 6 ,^ on | f f oiw>0 k foi the sake of the 

to head me, church, 

I'd Matter on mv stumps at the sound 1!e llskw lne Mmlt an(1 T ^^tmM t) ie 

oi 1 the drum ] m dv 

. . i, T it -it i ^ T0 Twns then I prov'd fal*e to rav 

And no\\, tho' T must bee with a wooden Inddie 

aim nnd lejr, 

\nd manv a tatter'd iao Imnvinu o^eT Fiill wm j 

m\ bum, ^ 

I -.,. as happy i,ith mv wallet, nix bottle T||p Tit ^*rt at lame foi a husband T 

and my callet, ^ 

\, uhen I iisM in scailet to follow K|f|m ^ ^^^ sp(intlKM1 ., |n the fife , 

<llum Mas readv. 

What tho' with hoary lock* T must *tnnd T asked no moie but a sodaer laddie 

the winter shocks, .. _ , A . . . ,. J . 

Menenth tbo woods and locks often " Rut "** I* ie llu * * ^ **s in 

times foi n home? ,_ _ " e *H wir 

When the toflliei bajr I ^eH.* d lhe Till I metmv old bov in a Cunningham 

of bell at the 
of a 

rafter* hnok crlert : 

'ciiunt unothoi hottlo < Inmost chink \ wrrtpon carried by 

. i ^ hlii n<H * military ofllcem 



And now I have hv'd I know not how 

I c 

so And still I can join in a cup and a song. 
And whilst with both hands I can hold 

the glass steady, 

Here's to thee, my heio, my sodgei 

Sing, lal de dal, etc 


Poor Merry-Andrew in the neuk, 
86 Sat guzzling wi' a tmklei-hizzie. 1 
They imnd't na \\lin the choius teuk, 
Between themselves they were sae busy. 
At length \vitli dunk and courting dizzy, 
He stoiterM 2 up an' made a face, 
90 Then turn 'd, an ' laid a smack on Grizzie, 
Syne' tim'd his pipe** wi' giave gu- 

TL\E JiiW Sir Symo* 

Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou: 4 

Sir Kua\e is a fool in a session, 9 
He's theie but a prentice 1 tiow, 
96 But I am a fool by profession. 

My grannie *-le bought me a beuk. 

An ' 1 held awn to Hie school , 
1 tear I my talent misteiik. 

But what will ye hue 6 of a foolf 

100 "For drink I wad venture my neck , 
A hizzie's the half of my cratt , 
But what could ye other expect 
Of ane that's avowedly daft? 

I nnce was tyed up like a stirk, 7 
105 jr or civilly swearing and quaffing, 
f ance was abusM in the kirk, 
For towung a lass i' my daffin. 8 

Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, 

I^et naebody name wi' a jeei 

no Theie's e\en, I'm taul, i' the Court 

A tumblei ca'd the Premier 

Ob*rv'd ye yon reverend lad 

Mak faces to tickle the mob? 
He rail* at our mountebank squad 
"5 it ' s nvalship ju&t i ' the job 

And now my conclusion I'll tell. 
For faith ' I'm confoundedly dry f 

The chiel that's a fool for himsel, 
Quid Lord 1 he's far dafter than 1 

1 tinker-wench tied up like a young 
ataggered bollock or heifer .- 

then i c, punlflbed with 

* fall ; drank a sort of iron collar 

oonrt-aesalon fun 


120 Then niest outepak a raucle carlin, 1 
Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling 
For monie a pursie she had hooked, 
An ' had in monie a well been douked. 
Her love had been a Highland laddie, 

125 But weary fa' the waefu' woodie ! 
Wi ' sighs an ' sobs she thus began 
To wail her braw 4 John Highlandman: 

TUNi0 An' Ye Were Dead, Quidman 

A Highland lad my love was born, 
The Lalland 3 laws he held m scorn, 
180 But he still was taithfu' to his clan, 
My gallant, braw John Highlandman. 


Sing hey my braw John Highlandman ! 
Sing ho my braw John Highlandman ' 
There's not a lad in a' the Ian' 
136 w as match I'oi my John Highlandman! 

With his phihbeg" an' tartan plaid, 7 
An' guid claymore" do\in his side, 
The ladies' hearts he did trepan, 9 
My gallant, braw John Highlandman. 

140 We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 10 
An' hv'd like loids an' ladies gay, 
For a Lalland face he feared 'none, 
My gallant, biaw John Highlandman 

They banish 'd him beyond the sea, 
" 6 But eie the bud uas on (he tree, 
A down my cheeks the pearls ran, 
Embracing my John Highlandman 

But, Och I they catch 'd him at the last, 
And bound him in a dungeon fast, 
no My curse upon them every one 

They've bang'd my braw John Highland- 

And now a widow, I must mourn 
The pleasures that will ne'er return ; 
No comfort but a hearty can 
166 When I think on John Highlandman. 


Ring hey my braw John Highlandman ! 
Sing ho my braw John Highlandman ! 
There's not a lad in a' 'he Ian' 
Was match for my John Highlandman ! 

to the kneei, worn 
by HlfhlaiHleni 
T checkered coat 
A kind of broad 

1 sturdy old woman 
* pinch the ready caftb 
'Kallowa (on which 
her love bad been 

'$E? : *" 

A kind of ibort plait- 

, from on. 
end of the country 
to the other 




A pigmy scraper on a fiddle, 

Wha us'd to trystes an' fairs 1 to dnddle, 2 

Her strappm limb an ' gawue 3 middle 

(lie i each 'd nae higher) 
Had hol'd* his heartie like a riddle, ' 


Wi' hand on hainch," and upward e'e, 
He croon 'd 7 his gamut, one, two, tlnee, 
Then in an arioso 8 key. 

The wee Apollo 
Set off wi 9 allegretto 9 glee 

His gtga 10 solo 

TI NE Vhisllc On re the Laie" O't 

Let me ryke up to dight 12 that tear, 
An ' go wi ' me an ' be my dear, 
An 9 then your eveiy care an ' fear 
May whistle owie the lave o't 


I am a fiddler to inv trade, 
And a' the tunes (hat e'er I play'd, 
The sweetest still to wile or maid, 
Was Whittle Own* the Lave O't. 

1 At kuus 1 ' an* weddings we 'be be there 
An'O f sae nicely 's \\ewill fare 1 
We'll bowse 14 about till Daddie Care 
Smijfr Winkle Owre the Lave O't 

Sne meriily the banes ue'll pyke, 1B 
' An' sun ouisels about the dyke, 18 
An ' at our leisure, uhen ye like, 
We'll whistle owio the la\e o't f 

But bless me AM' \om hen\ 'n o' charms. 
An' while I kittle bun on thairms, 17 
) Hungei, cauld, an' a 1 sic harms, 18 
May whistle owre the lave o't 


T am a fiddler to my trade, 
And a ' the tunes that e f ei I play 'd. 
The bweetest still to wife or maid, 
Was Whittle Owie the Lave O't. 


Her chaurms had struck a sturdy eaird, 1 

As weel as poor gut-scraper; 
He taks the fiddler by the beard, 

And draws a roosty rapier, 
200 He swoor by a' was swearing worth, 

To speet him like a phver, 2 
Unless he would from that time forth 

Relinquish her forever 

\\V ghastly e'e, poor Tweedle-Dee 
2 <* Upon his hunkers 8 bended, 

An ' pray 'd for gi ace wi ' ruef u 1 face, 

An ' fane the quarrel ended 
But tho' his little heart did grieve 

When round the tinkler prest her, 
210 He feign 'd to snutle 4 m his sleeve, 

When thus the caird address 'd her 

Tt VF Clout* the Cauldron 

My borne lass, I woik in brass, 

A tinkler it> my station , 
I've travell'd lound all Christian ground, 

In this my occupation 
I'\e taen the gold, an 9 been enrolled 

In many a noble squad ion , 
But vain they seaich 'd, when off I march M 

To go an ' clout the cauldron. 


1 cattle-market* anil 
market* for hiring 
HervantK nncl farm 

' toddle 

1 buxom 




T bummed 

" smooth , raelodloui 

- -- '-ited 


quick . spirit 
A lively bane 

"remainder (See 
Burns'* poem of 
tul* title, p 196 ) 

"reach up to wipe 

'harvest borne* 


"bones we'll pick 

"stone or turf fence 

r tickle hair on cat 
gut, f e, play on 
the violin 

"all such harms 

-- Despise that shrimp, that wither 'd imp, 

Wi ' a ' his noise an ' cap 'mi, 
An' take a shaie \\i' those that bear 

The budget 7 and the apron ! 
And by that stowp,* my faith an 1 houpe.' 
M5 And by that deal Kiibaigie! 9 
If e'ei ye uant, or meet wi' scant, 
May I ne'er weet my eraigie 10 


The cand prevail 'd tb ' unblushing fair 

In his embiaces sunk, 
230 Partly wi' lo\e o'ercome sae sair, 11 

An' partly she *as drunk 
Sir Violmo, uith an air 

That show'd a nun o 9 spunk, 
Wiah'd unison between the pan, 
- 3P An' made the bottle clunk 12 

To their health that night 

* tinker 

2 spit him like a 

' hams 
4 snicker 

I mend 

II enlisted 

7 A tinker's hag o/ 


* V kind of whlskev 
named from a nntfil 

"wet mj Throat 

11 so sorely 

"gurgle (from th 
sound of emptying 
a narrow-necked 



But hurchin 1 Cupid shot a shaft, 
That play'd a dame a shavie; 8 
The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft, 
240 Bebint the chicken cane. 8 

Her lord, a wight of Homer's craft, 4 

Tho' limping wi' the spavie,* 1 
He hirpl'd* up, an' lap like daft, 7 

An' shor'd 8 them "Dainty Davie" 
3" O' boot 10 that night. 

He was a care-defying blade 
As ever Bacchus listed '" 
Tho ' Fortune &an upon bun laid, 

His heart she ever rmssM it 
260 He had uae wish but to be glad, 

Nor want but when he thirsted , 
He hated nought but -to be sad, 
An' thus the Muse tugge&ted 

His sang that night 

IUNE p ot j That, An' A 1 That 

265 I am a bard of no regard 

Wi' gentle folks, an' a' that, 

But Homer-like, the glownn byke, 12 

Frae town to town T draw that 

Chot u* 

For a' that, an' a' thai, 
wo An ' twice as muckle V 8 a ' that, 
^e lost but ane, I'\e twa behin', 
1 've wife uueugh for a' that 

I ne\er drank the Mnses' stank, 14 
Castaha's bum, 1 " 1 an' a' that, 
25 But theie it streams, and iirhlv ream* 18 
My Helicon I ca'that 

Great ln\e I bear to a' the fair, 

In raptures sweet, this houi we meet, 
Wi' mutual love, an' a' that; 

But for how lang the flie may stang, 1 
Let inclination law 2 that f 

276 Their tricks an' craft hae put me daft, 8 

They've taen me in, an' a' that, 
But clear your decks, an ' here's the sex ' 
I like the jads for a 'that 


For a 'that, an 'a' that, 
* M An' twice as muckle's a' that. 

My dearest bluid, to do them guid, 
They're welcome till V for n' that ' 





Their humble slave, an' a' thai . 
But lordly will, I hold it still 
A mortal un to thraw 17 that 



So sang the bard, and Nansie's wa'b 
Shook with a thunder of applause, 

Re-echo 'd from each mouth! 
They toora'd their pocks/' an' pawnM 

their duds, 
They scarcely left to com then fuds, 8 

To quench then lowin drouth 7 
Then owie again the jovial thiang. 

The poet did lequest 
To lowse his pack an ' wale a sang." 
A ballad o' the best, 
He, ruing, tejoicing. 

Between his twa 

Looks round him, an ' found them 
Impatient for the choi us - 

k 1 1 N* Jolly J/o> fa/*, Fill Yottr Qla**< H 

See the smoking bowl before us ' 

Mark our jovial lagged ring* 
Round and round take up the choius. 

And in raptures let u < 

i urchin 
trick . 

a person of Homer M 
profpRHlon. / c , a 
poet (Homer in al- 
lowed to lie the old- 
ist ballad filnger on 
record M Burn* ) 

' HpHVlD 


leaped like mad 


The name of a popo 
lar ong which cele- 
brated an amoroua 
adventure of Mass 
David WllllaniHon, 
a seventeenth con* 
tary blade, who be- 
came known an 
Dainty Davy Thi 
aong la printed in 
The Hem #* 
of Caledonia 

1 1011), p 81, and 
Thr 4fic<mf awl 
Modern Hcot* Rung* 
(1701), Vol St. p 
283 The Adven- 
ture is related in 
Memoir* (Rwi/t 
ed) t 12. 19-20. 
(Prom Henley ' 
note in tbe Cam- 
bridge ed. of Burn*, 
p #35) 

"to boot 

u unlisted, or enrolled, 
a* a follower 

w staring crowd 

11 an mncb as 

M pool ; ditch 

u rivulet 

" foam (He refera to 
ale ai bU M 
iniipiration ) 

" thwart 

\ iiu foi those by law protected ! 

Li beity's a ^lonous feast f 
runrts toi cowaids were erected, 

Churches built to please the pnest ' 

^ r > What is title f what is 

What is reputation's care? 
I !' wo lead a life of pleasure, 
*Ti no matter how or wheie! 

With the ready trick and fable, 
310 Round we wander all the day, 


1 bow long the fly may 
atlng ^ 

have made mo fool 



nn thlrst 
" open hi* pack 

their wal- 




And at night, in barn or stable, 
Hug oar doxies on the hay 

Does the tram-attended carnage 

Thro' the country lighter rove! 
313 Does the sober bed of marriage 
Witness brighter scenes of lovef 

Life is all a vaiioium, 

We legard not how it goes; 

Let them cant about decorum 

*-< Who \\a\c chaiactei to lose 

Heie'b to budgets, bags, and wallets! 

Heie's to all the wandenng tram 
Heie's 0111 tagged brats and calleN 1 

One and all, cry out, Amen 1 


A fig fin thone by law protected ' 

Libeity 's a glorious feast ' 
romts toi cowaids were erect el 
Him rlii- built to please the piiiM j 



A robe of s< pintug truth and trust 

Hid <rnH\ olwervHtlon , 
And w< ret tiuug, with poison d c rust, 

The dirk of defamation 
A inank that like the gorget hhow d 

Ilye varying on the pigeon , 
And for a tnnntlr lurgu a nil bna<l 

He wrapt him in Religion 

// iSfi r*c r i*// l mow 

Upon a mninier Sunda> morn. 

When Nature's face w laii, 
F walked forth to \iew the corn, 

An' snuff the rallei- an 
The using sun owie Galston Mun% 

\Vi f glorious liglii un> ulintin 
The hares were hirplin 1 down the tuis^ 

The la\'ncks B the> WIMI ilinntm 

Fu' sueet that duv 

10 As hjrht^miely 1 islinniW abnmd. 

To see a scene sac sav, 
Three hizzieh, 7 rail at the uuiil. 

Cam skelpm* up the way. 
Tun had manteeles o' dolefu* black, 
w Rut nnc wi* lyart 9 lining, 

The thud, that gacd a ww a-lmck. 
Was in the fashion shining 

Fu 1 ff\ that da> 

la a 

^ limping 

land for a aacra- "stared 


The twa appear 'd like sisters twin, 
20 In feature, form, an' claes; 1 

Their visage wither 'd,4ang, an' thin, 

An' sour as onic slaes. 2 
The third cam up, hap-etep-an Mowp,* 

As livht as onie lambie, 
25 An' mi' a curchie 4 low did btoop, 
As soon as e'er she saw me, 

Fu' kind that da> 

Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I. "Sweet lass, 

I think ye seem to ken me ; 
30 I'm sure I've seen that bome face, 

But yet I canna name >e " 
Quo' she, an' laughm as she spak. 

An ' taks me by the ban's, 
4 'Ye, ioi my sake, hae gi'en the feck 5 
& Of a' the Ten Comman's 

A sciecd" some day 

"Mv name H Fun your crome dear, 

The neatest irieud >e bae, 
\n' this is Supeistition here, 
10 An ' that "b Hvpocnsy 

I'm saun to Mauchlme Hol> Fair, 

To spend an hour in daffin 7 
Oin 8 ye '11 go there, yon runkl'd 9 pair, 

We will pret famous laughin 
^ At them this da> M 

Quoth I, "Wi' a' my hcait, I'll do 't, 

I'll get my Sunday's sark 10 on. 
An' meet >ou on the holy spot, 

Faith, we'sp hap 11 fine icmaikm'" 
r>0 Then T anod hnme at crowdie-time. 1 - 

An' soon T made me ready; 
For roails \neie clad, frae side to side, 
Wi' monie a wearie body. 

In droves that day 

ir> Heie, fanners ash, is in iidm graith M 

fJaed hoddm bv their cottei>. ri 
There swankies 16 younpr, in brnv bunl- 

claith. 17 

Aie spnn^in owre the gutters 
The lasses, skelpm barcnt, 18 thianu, 1 " 
6 Tn silks an' scarlets glitter, 

Wi' s^eet-milk cheese, in monie a 

whang,- 10 
An' niM hak'd wi' buttei, 

Fu' crump" that tKn 

u lHHiidge time 

u hhre*d 

" attire 

"jogging 1\ then rot 


M Htrapping fellows 
17 fine broadeloth 
"hastening barefoot 
thick allcp 
coarse rake 

i hop step and-leap 
1 curt^v 

ba\e glxen the sub- 
* fun , larking 


'" hlrt 

" we thnll ha\e 



When by the plate we set our nose, 
66 Weel heapfed up wi' ha'pence, 
A greedy glowr, 1 black-bonnet 8 throwb, 

An 9 we maun draw our tippence. 
Then m we go to see the show: 

On ev'ry side they're gath'nn; 
70 Some carrym dails,* some chairs an 

An' some are busy bleth'nn 4 

Right loud that day. 

Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs. 

An' screen our countra gentry, 
75 There Rarer Jess, and twa-threc whores. 

Are blinkin at the entry 
Here sits a raw of titthn ' jads, 5 

Wi 1 heavin breasts an' bnie net'k. 
An' there a batch o' wabster* lads, 
w Blackguardin frae Kilmarnock, 
For fun this day 

Here home are thinkm on their sins, 

An' some upo' their claos, 
Ane curses feet that fyl'd 7 his shins, 

Anither sighs an ' pra> t> 
Oil this hand sits a chosen su ak'li," 

Wi' screw 'd-up f grace-proud fates, 
On that a set o' chaps, at u.itdi 

Throng* \\inkm on the lasses 

To chairs that day. 


Hear how he clears the points o' faith 
no Wi' rattlin an ' thumpin I 

Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, 

He's Htampin and he'b jumpm! 
His lengthen 'd chin, his turn 'd-up snout. 

His eldritch 1 squeel an' gestuies, 
"5 Oh, how they fire the heart devout, 
Like canthandian 2 plaisteis, 

On sic 8 a day! 

But hark f the tent has chang'd its 

There's peace an' rest nae langei 
For a' tbe real judges use, 

They canna sit for anger. 
Smith opens out his cauld hai, indues 

On practice and on morals. 
An' an the godly pour in thrangs, 

To gie the jais an' barrels 
A lift that day 

What signifies his barren shine, 

Of moral pow 'rs an ' reason f 
His English st>le f an 7 gesture fine, 
130 A re a c i ( ari out o ? season. 
Like Socrates 01 Antonme, 

Oi some auld pagan heathen, 
The moial man he does define, 

But ne'er a word o' faith in 
185 That's right that day 


happy is that man an' blest ' 

Nae wonder that it pride him f 
Whase am dear lass that he likes best, 

Comes chiikin 10 down beside him f 
95 Wi' arm repos'd on the chair-back. 

He sweetly does compose him, 
Which, by degiees, slips lound lu*i iiH*k, 
An'b loof 11 upon hei bosom, 

Tnkend that day 

100 y ow a the congregation O'CT 

Is silent expectation 
For Moodie speels 1 - the Holy dooi . 

Wi' tidings o* damnation 
Should Ilurnie. as in ancient da\s. 
105 'Mang sons o 1 (rod pieseiit him, 
The veia sight o' Moodie 's face 
To's am het haiue 13 had sent him 
Wi' inht that da> 

i look 

The elder who held 
the collection plate 
at tbe entrance 
usually wore a black 


4 chattering 

row of whispering 



* sample 

fuci 1m A, 14i si 
(Scotch metrical 

10 dropping quickly 

"and nU hand 

18 climbs, f e , enters 
(Probably a caricn- 
ture of bis personal 
appearance and 
style of oratory i 

to bia own hot home 

In guid time comes an antidote 
Against sic poison 'd nostrum, 4 
For Peebles, frae the water-fit, 6 

Ascends the holy rostrum* 
no See, up he's aot the word o' God, 

An 1 meek an' mim 6 has view'd it, 
While Common Sense 7 has taen the mad, 
\u' ait, an' up the Cowgate 

Fast, fast, that day. 

ir> Wee Miller niest* the guard relieves, 

An' orthodoxy raibles, 9 
Tho' in his heart he weel believes 
An' thinks it auld wives' fables* 
But faith ! the birkie 10 wants a manse , 
160 So, cannihe he hums them, 11 
Altho' his cainal uit an' sense 
Like hafflnifc-wiM* overcomes him 18 
At times that day. 

prim: affectedly 

7 Supposed to refer to 
Duron's friend, I)r 
rattles off 
smart young fellow 
"bo cunningly tic 

humbugs them 
'nearly half oVr 
comes him 

1 unearthly 

made of cantharldes, 
n nreparntlon of 
dried bllfitfl beetles 


4 d(K>trlne (used figur- 

1 from the water foot, 
or river b mouth, 
i e, from Ni^ton, 
situated nt the 
inoutb of tbe Uivcr 



Now butt an' ben 1 the change-house 1 fills, 
166 \Vi* yill*caup" commentators; 
Here's crying out for bakes 4 an' gills, 5 
And there the pmt-stowp 6 clatters, 
While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' laug, 

Wi' topic an' wi' Scripture, 
160 They raise a dm, that in the end, 
Is like to breed a rupture 

0' wrath that day. 


An' how they ciouded to the yill, 1 

When they were a' clismist, 
How dnnk gaed lound, in cogs 3 an' 

caups, 8 

Amang the furms 4 an' benches, 
An* cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, 
Was dealt about in lunches 

An' clawds that day 

Leeze me on 7 drink ' it gies us mair 

Than either school or college; 
165 It kindles wit, it waukens lear, 8 
It pangs us fou o' knowledge 
Be't whisky-gill, or penny wheep, 10 

Or onie stronger potion, 
It never fails, on drmkm deep, 
170 TO kittle 11 up our notion, 

By night or day. 

The lads an' lasses, blythely bent 

To mind baith saul an' body, 
Sit round the table, weel content, 
ir> An' steer about the toddy 

On this ane's dress, an 9 that ane's leuk. 

They'remakin observations; 
While some aie cozie i' the nenk, 12 

An' forming assignations 
180 To meet some da> 

But now the Lord *s am tiumpet touts, 

Till a' the lulls are ramn, 13 
And echoes back return the shouts, 

Black Russell is na spairm 
1W His pieicin words, like Hisrhlan 1 swords. 

Divide the joints an ' marrow ; 
His talk o' hell, whare devils dwell. 
Our \eiia "sauls doe** hauow" M 

Wi 'fright that da v f 

1*0 A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit. 
Fill'd fou o' lowm briuistane, 1 % 
Whase ragm flame, an' scorchin heat, 
Wad melt the hardest whun-stane f ie 
The half-asleep start up wi' fear, 
i B An' think they hear it roann. 
When presently it does appear 
Twa* but some neebor snorm 
Asleep that da\ 

Twad be owre lang a tale to tell, 
200 How monie stories past; 

In comes a gawsie, 6 gash 7 guidwife, 

An' sits down by the fire, 
210 Syne 8 draws her kebbuck 9 an' her 


The lasses they are shyer 
The auld gnidmen, about the grace, 

Frae side to side they bother, 
Till some ane by his bonnet lay*. 
215 An' gies them't like a tether, 10 

FuMang that day. 


Waesucks' 11 for him that gets nae lass, 

Or lasses that bae naethmg ! 
Sma' need has he to say a grace, 
Or melvie 12 his biaw claithiDg* 

wives, be mmdiu ' ance yoursel 
IIow bonie lads ye wanted, 
An' dinna for a kcbbuck-heel 13 
Let lasses bo affronted 

On sic a da> f 

Now, Clinkumbell, wi' ratthn tow, 14 

Begins to jow 15 an' croon, 16 
Some swagger hame the best they do\\, 1T 

Some wait the afternoon 
23 At slaps 18 the billies 18 halt a blink, 

Till lustres strip their shoon, 20 
Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink. 
They're a' in famous tune 

For crack 21 that duj 

How monie hearts this day converts 

0' sinners and o' lasses' 
Their hearts o' stane, gm night, are gane, 

As saft as onie flesh is. 
There's some are fou o' love dmne 
240 There's some are fou o' brandy, 
An ' monie jobs that day begin, 
Ma> end in houghmagandie 32 
Some ither day. 

1 outer and inner 
apartments. < e, 
kitchen and parlor 



glasses of whisky 

pint - measure (two 

EnglWi quarts) 

7 blessings on 
crams us full 
small ale 
u tickle 

M Hamlet, 1, 5 t 16 
flaming brimstone 


"small bowls, tup* 
4 forms 
8 in full portions and 

Uunp ' 


"dust with meal 
last piece of cbe*so 


7 shrewd 
"That tb, gives 

WOF" ** ** |CO 

1<( gaps In the fencr 

11 voung fellows 


n talk 

"Illicit relations 




1783 1780 

Let iiot Ambition mock their useful toll, 
Their homely Jo^s, and destiny obscure , 

Nor Cirandeur hear, with a disdainful Hmlle, 
The Hboit rtn<i-himplt annata of the poor 
UBAI s Elcf/v 

My lov'd, my honor 'd, much respected 


No mcicenaiy haid hi* homage pa}t>, 
With honest pride, 1 scorn each seltish end 
My dearest meed a friend's esteem and 


5 To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays. 
The lowly tram in life's bequestei 'd bcene , 
The native feelings strong, the guileless 


What Aiken in a cottage would have been . 
Ah 1 tho' his worth unknown, far hap- 

piei theic, 1 \\een f 

10 Novemhei chill blaws loud wi ' angry Mighr 
The shoi t 'mug winter day is near a close , 
The miry beasts leti eating frae the pleugh. 
The black 'nmg trains o' ciaws* to then 

repose , 

The toil-worn cotter frae his labor goo*, 
** This night his weekly moil is at an end,- 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his 


Hoping the nioin in ease and lest to spend 
And weary, o'ei the moor, his eouise 
does hameward bend 

At length his lonely cot appeal t in Me\\ 
20 Beneath the shelter of an aged tree, 
TV expectant wee-things, toddhn, btaehci * 

To meet then dad, ui' fhchteim''' nmsi 

and glee 

His wee bit ingle," bhnkin bonilie, 7 
His clean hearth -stane, his thrifty wifle's 


26 The lisping infant, piatthng on his knee. 
Does a' his weary kiaugh 8 and caie l>e- 


An' makes him quite forget his labm 
and his toil 

Belyve, 9 the elder banns ccme d tapping in. 
At service out, amang the farmers roun', 
3 Rome ca xo the plough, some herd, some 
tentie 11 nn 

A canuie 1 enaud lu a ueebor town: 8 

Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman 

In youthfu' bloom, love spaiklmg in her 

Tomes hame, peihaps, to shew u biaw 8 

new gown, 
n Oi deposits her sair-won peniiy-iee,* 

To help her parents dear, if they in hard- 
ship be 

With joy un feign 'd, brothers and bisteis 

And each foi other's, weelfatc kindly 

The social hours, swift-wing 'd, unnotic'd 


40 Each tell the uncos that he sees or heats 
The parents, partial, eye then hopeful 


Anticipation forwaid points the uevs , 
The mother, wi' her needle and hci 

(la is 7 auld clacs look anmist as weelV llu 1 

r ' The father mixes a' wi' admonition due 

Then mastei 'h and their mist i ess V com- 

The younkers a' aic warned to ol>ej , 

And mtnd then labors wi' an eydent 8 

And ne'er, tho' out o' si^ht, to jauk 9 m 

^ "And O! be sure to fear Hie Loid alway, 

And mind your duty, dulv, morn and night ! 

Lest in temptation's pntli ye gang abtr> f 

Imploie His counsel and assisting might 
They nevei sought in \am that sought 
theLoid aright fM 

" Rul hnik f a rap comes gcntlx In (he dom . 
Jenny, wha kens 10 the meaning o ' the same. 
Tells how a neebor lad came o'er the moor, 
To do some enands, and convoy hei 


The wily mother sees the conscious flame 
( ' Sparkle in Jenny's e'e ( and flush her 

With heart-stunk, anxious raie, enquiies 

hi* name, 

While Jenny hafflins 11 IN afiaid to speak, 
Weel-pleas'd the mother hears it's nae 
wild, worthless rake 

t cottager'* 
* sound 

' shining prcttili 


, fin 


i careful 

farm (witb Its collet 

tion of bulldlngfl) 


bard-won WIIRPB 

7 makei. 

wbo knows 
" parti? 


With kindly welcome, Jenny brings him To grace the lad, her weel-ham 'd kebbuck, 1 

ben, * fell,' 

85 A strappm' youth, HP takes the innthn V And aft 8 he's prest, and aft he ca's it 

eye, guid; 

Blythe Jennv sees the Msit'a no ill taen , The frugal wifle, garrulous, will tell, 

The fathei ci neks- o1 hoisc*, plcimhs, and ITow 'twas a towmond 4 anld, sin' lint 8 

k\c< wasi'thebelL 8 
The youiif>stei 's ai i less heai 1 <> 'ei flow s wi ' 

joy, . 10 The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, 

Hut, blale 4 and lailhliiV seaiee enn weel They, round the ingle, form a circle wide, 

beha\ e , The sire turns o 'er, with patriarchal grace, 

70 The mother, \M' a woman's wiles, can spv The big ha '-Bible, 7 ancehis father's pn<l< 

What makes the \onth s m . bashlu' and sac His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 

gia\e, " 10B His lyart haffets 8 wearing thin and baie 

\Veel-pleasM to think her bairn's le- Those stiams that once did sweet in Zimi 

s|>ectel like the la\e dide, 

He wales 9 a portion with 3udicmus can-, 

() happy love' \\lieie lo\o like this is And, "Let us worship God 1 " he says, 

found f with solemn air. 
O h*H plll ,e' bhss he>-ond oom- 


"If Ileaxen n diaiiRht f keenly plpns- p^ j^^ , o<> Ulld . 1laibhn mcaq . 

ure spaie, HWK 

pan, flame 

, . 

That run, with stiuhed, sl> f ensnami" ait, P 

*'' I^et i ay sweet Jenny 's unsuspecting youth? The priest-like falhei leads the sacreil 

I'uisp mi his ]>et]uiM .ills' dissembling pa^e,-- 

sinoiitli f || fiw Abinm was the fnend cii God on high , 

AIP linnoi. \irtiip, cniwience, all exilM* I.MI <>, MCISI-S bade eleinal wailaie wage 

Is theio no pity, no lolpnting nith, \y lt i, Amalek's uiitraeious progeny; 

Points to the pnicnts londlmg o'er their O i how the loval baid 12 did roanmg lie 

'biW* Hpiicath the stioke of Heaxen's avemriner 

|M> Then jmints the unn'd mnid, and their lie% 

dishactiun wild* O, f j b's pathetic plaint, and wailing en . 

I2r Or lapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fiie, 

But nim the suj>pei croons then simple Or othfr hoi v seei-s that tune the sacieil 

lMnid, ^ lyre 
The henlsonic pnintch, 7 chief of Scotia's 

food Perhaps the Chi istian volume is the theme 

The sou pc N then only hnwkie" <loes aiTtml, HO\N inultless blood for guilty man wa< 

Thai Von! 1 " the hallan" sniiislv cho\\v hei shed, 

( . < iil How He, who hoie m ITea>en the second 

9R The dame bnnus forth, in complimental name, 

mood, ' wp11-nTWl chw^o ipinbh room In 

'^tronir Inrjfo housoK ) 

ii n T ^ hoU'sotiu' (MirrlAec ' of ton 'gra \lcuks ortcnpl> 

ta j kK ciatinonl twihi -month ihooHi^ 

JJ WK milk hlme flax 10 \ sv n><1 
4 hw " whlti* fntNMl < o\\ i bloiwom ]1 kindles 
iMHhfiil '"h^ond -hall-nihlr (Tlu> hall 

*rSt othors ipnrtltlon **s the pwi il i* 


130 Had not on earth whereon to lay His head; 166 Puces and lords are but the breath of 

How His flibt followers and servants sped , kings, 

The precepts sage they wrote to many a "An honest man's the noblest work of 

land; God."' 

How he, 1 who lone in Patraos banished, And certes, in fair Virtue's heavenly road, 

Saw m the sun a mighty angel stand, The cottage leaves the palace far behind . 

135 And heard gieat Bab 'Ion's doom pio- What is a lordhng's pomp! a cumbrous 

nouuc'd by Hea\en's command. load, 

170 Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, 

Then kneeling down to Heaven's Eteinal Studied in arts of Hell, in wickedness 

King, refin'dl 
The saint, the fathei, and the husband 

pi ays Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ' 

Hope "bprmgs exulting on triumphant For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is 

wing,"- wnt! 

That thus they all shall meet in future days , Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 

140 There, ever bask m nucleated rajs Be blest Wlth lie a ltn > nd P**<&, and sweet 

No more to sigh or shed the bittei teai, ^ content' 

Together hymning then Cieator 'a praise, And may Hea* en their simple lives pre- 

fn such society, yet still more dear, vent 

While ending Time moveh round in an From Luxury 's contagion, weak and vile ! 

eternal spheie. Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 

A urtuoub populace may rise the while, 

146 Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's 18 And stand a wall of fire aiound their 

pride, much-lov'd Isle. 

In all the pump ot method and of ait , ^ _, , .... A . . A ._ 

When men display to congregations wide ou, who pour 'd the patriotic tide 

Devotion'* ev*ry ffiace, except the heart, Th ** stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted 

The Power, mcens'd. the pageant will de- heart ; 

gert Who dar f d to nobly stem tyrannic pnde, 

iso The pompous strain, the sacculotal stole,' , Or nobly die, the second glorious part! 

But haply, m sonic cottae far apart, Ul (The pat not 's God, peculiarly Thou art, 

May hear, well-pleas'd, the language of the Hls fnend, inapmr, guardian, and re- 

houl ward!) 

And in His Book of Life the inmates J 1 ne *> " evcr Scotia's realm desert, 

poor enroll But gtl11 the P atnot an ^ the patnot-bard 

In bright succession raise, her ornament 

Then homeward all take off then sev'ml and guard 9 


nri The youngling cottagers retire to refct , TO A MOUSE 

The parent-pair then secret homage pay, ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH 

And pioffer up to Heaven the warm re- TUB PLOUGH, NOVEMBER. 178B 

quest, 1785 1786 

That He, who stills the raven's Ham 'nun Wee, sleekit,* cowrin, tim'rous beastie, 

nest, 4 O, what a panic's m thy breastie! 

And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pnde. 5 Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 

160 Would, m the way His wisdom sees the Wi ' bickering brattle ! 

best, " I wad be laith 4 to nn an' chase thee, 

For them and for their little ones provide , Wi ' murdering pattle ! 
But, chiefly, in their hearts with Grace 

Divine preside 1 'm truly sorry man's dominion 

, , , ,, . . llfts broken Nature's social union, 

From scenes like these, old Scotia ' flran- An' justifies that ill opinion 

deur springs, 10 Which makes thee startle 

That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd At me, thy poor, earth-born companion. 

abroad- ' An' fellow mortal! 

.ostmont , ' ** 


I doubt na, whyles, 1 but thou may thieve , 
What then? poor beastie, thou maun 

15 A daimen icker in a thrave s 

'S a ama f request 
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, 3 

And never miss't' 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! 
20 Its silly wa's the win's are strewin! 
An' naething, now, to big 4 a new ane, 

O' foggage 5 green 1 
Vn' bleak December's win's ensum, 
Baith snell an* keen' 

25 Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, 
An' weary winter oomm fast, 
An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 

Thou thought to dwell, 
Till crash v the cruel coulter 7 past 

so Out thro' thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o ' leaves an ' stibble 
lias cost thce monie a weary nibble! 
Xow thou's turned out, for a' thy 

But 8 house or hold, 9 

15 To thole 10 the wintei 'b sleetv dnbble, 
An' cianreuch 11 cauld 1 

But, Moufcie, thou art no thy lane, 12 
In proving foresight may be vain 
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men, 
40 Gang aft aglej," 

An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain 
For promis'd jo> ' 

Still thou art blest, compaied \u" nie f 
The present only toucheth thee 
< 5 But ochl I backward cast m> e'e, 

On prospects drear! 
An 1 forward, tho' I canna see, 

T guesi an' feni f 

1785 1780 

O Prince ' O Chief of many thronM pow'r* ' 
That led tlT rmbattl'd Mraphlm to war f 


thou! whatever title suit thee 
Auld Hornio, Satan, Nick, or Clootie" 
Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, 

at times , , 
an oocailonal ear In 

a shock (of twentv- 

four sheaves) 

1 remainder 

* bnlld 

rank grass 

* cutter attached to 

the beam of a plow 
to cut the sward 

10 endure 
" hoar frost 
(not alone 

"'Paradise //of f 1. 


A "clootlo H n little 

1 uplahhen 
* brimstone tub 
4 old hangman 
1 moment 
T flaming cavern 
shy nor timid 
" sometimes 
u unroofing the 

Clos'd under hatches, 
6 Spairges 1 about the bruustane cootie, 8 
To scaud 8 poor wretches' 

Hear me, Anld Hangie, 4 for a wee, 5 
An' let poor damned bodies be; 
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie. 
10 Ev'n to a deil, 

To skelp 8 an' scaud poor dogs like me, 
An' hear us squeel 

Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame; 
Far kend an ' noted is thy name : 
15 An' tho' yon lowin heughV thy hame, 

Thou travels far; 
An' faith! thou's neither lag, 8 nor lame, 

Nor blate, nor scaur. 9 

Whyles, 10 ranging like a roarin lion, 
20 For prey, a' holes an' corners trying, 
Whyles, on the strong-wing M tempest 

Tirlm the kirks; 11 
Whvles, in the human bosom pryin, 
Unseen thou lurks 

25 I've heard my rev 'rend grannie say, 
In lanely 12 glens ye like to stray; 
Or where auld ruin'd rattles gray 
Nod to the moon, 
Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way 

3 Wi' eldritch croon " 

When twilight did my graunie summon. 
To say her pray 'is, douce, 14 honest 

woman * 

Aft yont" the dyke she's heard \ou 
bummin, 16 

Wi' eerie dioue, 17 

35 Oi umtlin thro' the boortrees 18 conini. 
Wi' heavy groan 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night, 

The star shot down wi' sklent m 1 ' 1 


Wi ' >ou tnysel I gat a fright . 
Ayont the lough, 20 

Ye, like a rash-buss, 21 stood in sight, 
Wi' saving sugh M 


u unearthly moan 


u often beyond 
16 humming 
^ghostly Round 
* elders 

"bey'ond'the lake 
n bush of rashes 
B a sound as of th> 



The cudgel in my nieve 1 did shake, 
Each bristrd hair stood like a stake, 
15 When wi 9 an eldntch, stoor 1 "quaick, 

Amang the springs 
Awa ye bquatler'd like a dra" 

On whistling wings 

Let warlocks 8 gum, an 9 wither M hags, 
60 Tell how wi 9 you, on ragweed nag*. 1 
They skim the mnirs an 9 dizzy crags, 

Wi 9 wicked speed; 
And in kirk-yards lenew their league**" 

Owre hew kit" dead 

55 Thence, countra wives, wi 9 toil an 9 pain. 
May plunge an 9 plunge the kirn 7 in \am. 
For T the yellow treasure's taen 

By witching skill , 
An 9 dawtit. 8 twal-pmt hawkie 9 s 9 gaen 

o As yell's the bill '" 

Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse 
On young guidmen, 11 fond, keen, an' 

croose, 1 - 
When the best waik-lume 11 i 9 the house, 

By cantiaip 14 wit, 

65 Is instant made no worth a louse, 
Just at the bit 1 " 

When thowes 111 dis^Ke the snawy hoord. 17 
An 9 float the jin^lm icy-booid, 18 no 

Then, \\atoi-kelpiefe lw haunt the toord, 
By your direction. 

An 9 nighted travellers are allur'd 
To their debtruction. 

And aft 20 your moss-tra\ersiner spunkies 21 
Decoy the wight that late an 9 drunk is ' 
7fi The- bleezin,-'-' cuist, mischicvoub monki<"* 

Delude his e>es, 
Till in some miry slough he sunk is, 

Ne'er mair to nse |lf| 

When Masons 9 mystic word an 9 gnp 
80 In storms an' tempests raise you up, 
Some cork m cat your rage maun stop. 1 * 

Or, strange to tell f 
The youngest brother ye wad whip 

A3 straight to hell 125 

86 Lang syne, 1 in Eden's home yard, 

When yonthfu 9 lovers first were pairM, 
An 9 all the soul of love they shar'd, 
The raptur r d hour, 
Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry swaird, 

90 In shady bow'r: 

Then >ou, ye auld, smck-drawing 2 dog! 

Ye cam to Paradise incog, 

An 9 play'd on man a cursed brogue* 

(Black be your la 9 ! 4 ), 
''"' An 9 gied the infant waild a shog, 5 

9 Maist ruinMa 9 

13 ' ye mind that day when in a bizz," 
Wi 9 reekit 7 duds, an 9 reestit gizz, a 
Ye did present your smoutie phiz 
1011 'Mang better folk, 

An* sklented on the man ot Uzz 1 ' 1 
Your spitef u ' joke f 

An 9 how ye gat him i 9 >our thrall, 
An 9 brak him out o' house an 9 hal 1 , 
105 While scabs an 9 botches did him gall, 

Wi 9 bitter claw, 
And I<wh 9 d lj his iil-tongu 9 d, wicked 


4 rag-weed stems used 
inatead of broom - 
sticks, for bor^eH 
4 covenants 
* dug up 
7 churn 
* petted 
twelve plot white- 
faced COW'H 
10 as dry an the bull 
11 newlv married men 
bold sure 

11 work loom 
14 magic 
"at tho time when 
moat needed 
^ thaws 
17 snowy hoard 
1N surface of Ice 
> river-demons (UHU 
ally in the form of 
" wUl-o'-the wisps 
That is, by belnc of 
fered as a Maeriflce 

Was waist at a? 1 

But a 9 jour doings to rehearse, 
Your wily snares an fechtin 14 fierce, 
Sin 9 that day Michael did you pierce, 15 

Down to this time, 
Wnd ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse, 10 

In prose or rhyme 

An 9 now, Auld (loots, I ken ye 9 ic thinkiu, 
A certain Bardie's rantin, dnnkin, 
Sonic luckless hour will send him hnkin 17 

To your black pit . 
But. faith 1 he'll turn a corner jmkm, 1 * 

An 1 cheat you yet 

But, iaie you weel, Auld Nickie-ben r 
O, wad ye tak a thought an 9 men 9 ' 
Ye aibhns 19 might I dinna ken- 
Still hae'a stake: 10 
I 9 m wae 11 to think upo 9 yon den, 
Ev'n for yonr sake I 

latel-llftlBR. Intrnd- 



" Hinged face 

' nqulnted , direr ted 

11 |gf loose 
womt of all 



" Kkl 


baffle a Low- 
tongue or 


. aps 

*' have a position (cf 
"to have a stake in 
the country") 

11 aad 



1786 1786 

Is there * whim-inspired fool, 

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for 


Owre blate 1 to seek, owre proud to 
snoolf 2 

Let him draw near, 

fi And owre this grassy heap sing dool, 1 
And drap a tear. 

Is there a hard of rustic song. 
Who, noteless, steals the crowds among. 
That weekly this ara throng J 
10 O, pa&s not by 1 

But with a frater-feelmg strong, 

Here heave a sigh. 

I there a man whose judgment clear 
Can others teach the course to steei, 
15 Yet runs himself life's mad career 

Wild as the wave! 
Here pause and thro' the starting tear 

Survey this grave. 

The poor inhabitant below 
20 Was quick to learn and wise to know . 
And keenly felt the friendlv glow 

And softer flame, 
But thoughtless follies laid him lou , 

And stain 'd his name 

26 Reader, attend ' whether thv soul 
Soars fanc\ '& flights beyond the pole. 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole 

In low pursuit , 
Know, prudent, cautious, self-eontiol 

Is wisdom's root 



1786 1787 

Mi Sun. theae maxima mako a rule, 

An lump thorn ay tbetfther 
Tho Kljcld Righteous IK a fool. 

The ttlrfd WNo anlther 
The cleanest corn that e'er was dlpht' 

May hae some pvlen o' en IP in , 
Bo neVr a fellow-irenture slight 

For random fltn o f daffln 

Soiimox ccto, 7 10 

ye who are sae guid yonnd, 

Sae pious and sae holy, 
Ye've nought to do but mark and tell 

Your neebors' fauts 1 and folly, 
r Whaae life is like a weei-gaun 8 mill, 

cringe ; crawl 

orraiDK of chaff 

Supplied wi 9 store o f water, 
The heapet tapper's 1 ebbing still, 
An' still the clap* plays clatter! 

Hear me, ye venerable core, 1 
10 As counsel for poor mortals 

That frequent pass douce 4 Wisdom's door 

For glaikit 5 Folly's portals; 
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes. 

Would here propone 6 defences 
16 Their donsie 7 tricks, their black mistakes. 
Their failings and mischances. 

Ye see your state wi' theirs compared, 

And shudder at the niffer;* 
But cast a moment's fair regard, 
20 What makes the mighty differ?" 
Discount what scant occasion ga\e, 

That purity ye pnde in, 
And (what's aft 10 mair than a' the lave 11 ) 

Your better art o' hidin. 

2B Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now and then a wallop, 12 
What ratings must his veins convulse, 

That still eternal gallop ' 
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, 
KO Right on ye scud your sea-way; 
But in the teeth o' baith is to sail, 
It makes an unco 14 lee-way. 

See Social-life and Glee sit down, 

All joyous and unthinking, 
35 Till, quite transmogrify 'd, 1B they're 


Debauchery and Dnnking 
O, would they stay to calculate 

Th' eternal consequences, 
Or your more dreadful hell to state 
40 Damnation of expenses I 

Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, 

Tied up in godly laces 
Before >e gie poor Frailty names. 

Suppose a change o' cases; 
r ' A dear-lov'd lad, con \enienco suug, 

A treaoh'rons inclination 
But, let me whisper i' jour lug. 1 * 

Ye 're aiblins 17 nae temptation 

Then gently scan your brother man, 
" Still gentler sister woman ; 

Tho' they may panic a kenmn 1 * wtang. 
To step aside is human 

1 heaped-up hopper'* > often 

clapper " remainder 
1 corps: compnin "quick Jerk 

grave " both 
giddy "wonderful 

propose " transformed 
" unlucky oar 



One point must still be greatly dark, 

The moving why they do it; 
65 And just as lamely can ye mark 
How far, perhaps, they me it. 

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try us; 
He knows eaeh chord, its various tone, 
60 Each spring, its various bias : 
Then at the balance let's be mute, 

We never can adjust it ; 
What's done we partly may compute, 

But know not what's resisted 




1786 1786 

Wee, modest, erimson-tippfccl flo* V, 

Thou's met me in an evil Lour, 

For I maun 1 crush amang the stoure j 

Thy slender stem 
6 To spare thee now IB past my po* V, 

Thou borne gem. 

Alas! it's no tli> neebor sweet 
The home lark, companion meet, 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, 
10 Wi f spieckl'd breast' 

When upward-springing, blythe, to greet 
The purpling east 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early, humble birth ; 
15 Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm, 

Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth 
Thy tender form 

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield. 
20 High shelt'ring woods and waV maun 

But thou, beneath the random bield 4 

0' clod or stane, 
Adorns, the histie* stibble-field, 
Unseen, alane 

26 There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise; 
But now the share uptears thy bed, 

And low thou lies! 

1 mart 

dry ; bare 

Such is the fate of artless maid, 
Sweet flow 'ret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betray 'd, 

And guileless trust . 
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 

Low i' the dust 

Such is the fate of simple bard, 
On life's rough ocean, luckless starr'd! 
Unskilful he to note the card 1 
40 Of prudent lore, 

Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 
And whelm him o'er f 

Such fate to suffering Worth is gi\ 'n, 
Who long with wants and woes has 

45 B> human pride or cunning dri\ 'n 

To mis 'ry 'sbnnk, 

Till, Tireneh'd of ev'rv stay but Hea\ 'n, 
He, nun 'd, sink ' 

Ev'n thou who mourn 'st the Dairy's fate, 
<"' That fate is thine no distant date; 
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives elate. 

Full on thy bloom, 
Till crush 'd beneath the furrow's weight 

Shall be thv doom' 



Y786 1780 

Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin 2 ferheT 
Your impudence protects you sairly: 4 
1 canna say but ye strunt 6 rarely 

Owre gauze and lace ; 
5 Thn', faith f I fear ye dine but sparely 

On sic a place. 

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,' 
Detested, bhunn'd by saunt an' sinnci, 
How daur ye net your fit 7 upon her 
10 Sae fine a lady! 

Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner 
On some poor body. 

Swith! s in some beggar's hauffet' sqaat- 

tle; 10 
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and 

sprattle, 11 
16 Wi v ither kindred, jumping Battle, 



ride of the head 

n rtrafl 



aited marvel ( 



In shoals and nations; 
Whan horn 1 nor bane* ne'er daur un- 

Tour thick plantations. 

Now baud' you there 1 ye 're out o 9 sight, 
30 Below the fatt'rils, 4 snug an 9 tight , 
Na, faith ye yet!" ye '11 no he right 
'Till ye've got on it 
The vera tapmost, tow 'ring height 
O' Miss's bonnet. 

26 My tooth ! right bauld ye set your nose out, 
As plump an' gray as onie grozet ; e 

for Rome rank, mercurial rozet, T 

Or fell, red smeddum,* 
I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't, 
Jft Wad dress your droddum. 9 

1 wad na been surpns'd to spy 
You on an auld wife's flainen toy, 10 
Oi aibhns 11 some bit duddie 12 boj, 

On's wyliecoat , 18 
'" Hut Miss's fine Lunardi' 1 * fye 
How daur ye do'tT 

Jenny, dinna toss your head. 
An' set your beauties a' abread' 10 
Ye little ken what cursfed speed 
Theblastie'smakm* 1 " 

Thae winks an ' finger-ends, I dread, 
Are notice takin! 

wad some Power the giftie 17 gie us 
To see oursels as ithers see us! 
" It wad frae monie a blunder free us, 

An' foolish notion: 
What aiifl in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, 

An'ev'n devotion 1 

17S8 1790 

Oo, fetch to me a pint o' wine, 
And fill it in a silver tassie, 
That I may drink, before I go, 
A sen ice ID my home lassie 1 
"' The boat rooks at the pier o' Leith, 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the 


The ship rides by the Berwiek-Lau t 
And I maun leave my home Mar> 

The trumpets sound, the banner fl>, 
10 The guttering spears are rankfed 

The shouts o/ war are heard afar. 

The battle closes deep and bloody. 
It's not the roar o' sea or shore 

Wad make me langer wish to tarry; 
15 Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar 
It's leaving thee, my bonie Mary 

2788 1790 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 

I dearly like the west, 
For there the bonie lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best. 
6 There wild woods grow, and rivers row, 9 

And monie a hill between; 
Kut day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever *i' my Jean 

1 horn romt> 


4 ribbon end** 

t reiteration of tin* 
eiclnmatlon In 1 ft 




flannel rap 
u pernapfl 
nall ragged 

" flannel vent 

" b a 1 1 o o n bonnet 
(named n f to r 
Lunardl. a lamotis 


"blasted, i e, 
dwarfed, iron tun* 
IK making (01 pon- 
Mlbly, damned crctt 

umall gift 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 
10 I wee her sweet and fair: 
1 hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air. 
There 'b not a bonie flower that springs 

By fountain, shaw, a or green, 
n There's not a bonie bird that sings, 
Hut minds me o' my Jean 

1788 1796 

For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne, 
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet 

For auld lang syne! 

5 Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And never brought to mindf 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot. 
And auld lang syneT 

And surely yell be your pint-stowp,' 
10 And surely I'll be mine; 

And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet 
For anld lang syne I 

We twa hae run about the braes,* 
And pou'd 7 the gowans" fine; 

But we've wandered monie a weary fit* 
Sin' auld lang syne. 

< direction* 

old long ilnre 


be good for your 
tbree-plnt mearare 
f nulled 




We twa hae paidl'd 1 in the buin,-' 

Frae morning ran till dine/ 
Bat seas between us braid 4 hae roar'd 
M Sin 1 auld lang syne. 

And there's a hand, mv trusty fiere, 6 

And gie's a hand o' thine; 
And we'll tak a right guid-wilhe waught 9 

For auld lang syne. 

** For auld lang syne, my deai, 

For auld lang syne, 
We'll tak a cup o' kmdues* yet 
For auld lang syne f 

1789 1790 

First when Maggie was my care, 
Heav'n, I thought, was in her an , 
Now we're mamed spier nae mair 8 

But whistle o'er the lave o't! 
5 Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, 
Sweet and harmless as a child : 
Wiser men than uie's beguil'd 
Whistle o'er the lave o't! 

How we live, my Meg and me, 
10 How we love, and how we gree, 9 

I care na by 10 how few may see- 
Whistle o'er the lave o'tl 

Wlia I wish were maggots' meat, 

Dish 'd up in her winding-sheet, 
36 I could write but Meg wad see't 
Whistle o 'er the lave o 't f 


1789 1790 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart 

ih not hero; 
My heart's in the Highlands, a-chnsmp 

the deer, 
A-chasing the wild deer, and following 

the roe 
My heart's in the Highlands, where\ei 

I go. 

5 Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the 

The birthplace of valor, the country of 


Wherever 1 wander, wherever I rove, 
The hills of the Highlands forever 1 


> paddled 


1 dinner-time 


1 comrade 

" a*k on moro 

I oar* not 

Farewell to the mountains, high-cover M 

with snow; 

10 Farewell to the straths 1 and green val- 
leys below; 

Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging 

Farewell to the torrents and loud- 
pouring floods. 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heail 

is not here, 
My heart 's in the Highlands, a-chasinp 

the deei , 
15 A-t'habing the wild deei, and following 

the ioe 

Mj heait's in the Highlands. wheie\M 
I go 

1789 1790 

John Anderson my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent, 
Your locks were like the raven, 

Your home brow wub brent , n 
6 But now your bro\\ is held, 4 John, 

Your locks are like the snaw , 
But blessings on your fnwtv pnw, D 

John Anderson m\ jo 1 

John Anderson my jo, John, 
10 We clamb the hill thegithei , 
And monie a eantie* day, John, 

We've had wi' ane anither, 
Now we maun totter down, John, 

And hand in hand we'll go, 
** And sleep thegither at the foot, 
John Anderson mv ]o f 

JI789 1789 

Flow gently, sweet Aft on, among thv 

green biaes, 7 
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in th\ 

praise j 
Mv Mary's asleep by thy murmuring 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not 

her dream 

5 Thou stock-dove, whose echo reROun<N 

thro 9 the glen, 

Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon 
thorny den, 

* broad Tile* 




Thou green-created lapwing, thy scream- 
ing forbear 

I charge you, disturb not my slumbering 

How lofty, sweet Alton, thy neighbor- 
ing hills, 
10 Far mark'd with the courses of clear, 

winding rills f 

There daily I wander us noon nses high, 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in 
my eye 

How pleasant th> banks and green val- 
leys below, 

Where wild in the woodlands the prim- 
roses blow; 

15 There oft, us mild K\ 'mug weeps >\ei 
the lea, 

The sweet-scented bnk 1 shades my Maiy 
and me 

Tliy cr\sta! stream. Afton, how lo\el\ 

it glides, 
And winds by the cot wheie my Man 

resides f 
How wanton thj wateis her snowy feet 

- As iptlieimg sweet flowerets she stems 

thv clear wa\e f 

Flow gentl>. sweet Atton, among tin 

green braes, 
Flow genth, sweet river, the theme of 

mv lays, 
M\ Mary's asleep bv tin mninmrincr 

Flow gently, sweet \iton, disturb not 

her dream 

178t 1790 

\> e me na inn. 1 \\e'ie nae that foil, 

But ,iust a diappie 4 in oiu e'e! 
The cock may craw, the dav may daw, 

Vnd ay we'll tante the bailey-biee! 1 

r O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maiit, 

And Rob and Allan cam to see; 
Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang 1 ' 

Ye wad na found in Christendie. 

Here are we met, three merry boys, 
10 Three merry boy*, I trow, are we; 

."full riiiink 

< small drop 
11m knp 

And monie a night we've merry been, 
And monie mae & we hope to be! 

It is the moon, I ken her horn, 

That's blinkin in the lift 3 sae hie; 
13 She shines sae bright tn wyle 3 us hame, 
But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee! 

Wha first shall rise to gang awa, 

A cuckold, coward loun is he ! 
Wha first beside his chair shall fa', 
J0 He is the king amang us three! 

We are na fou, we're nae that fon, 

But just a drappie in our e'e f 
The cock may craw, the day may daw, 

And uv we'll taste the barley -bree I 

1189 17M 

M> heart it a-brvakincr, deai Uttie f4 
Some counsel unto me come len '. 

To aner them a' is a pity, 
lint will T do wi' Tarn Glen? 

5 I'm thinking, wi' sic a biaw" 5 fellow. 
In poor! Ufa* I might uak a fen' 7 
What care 1 in riches to wallow, 
If I niauna 8 marry Tain Glen * 

There's Lowrie, the laird o' Drumeller, 
10 "Guid day to you" brute! he comes 


lie bragb and he blaws o' his sillei, 
But when will he dance like Tam Qlent 

M> nun me 10 doet coiifrtantlj dea\e" me. 
And bids me beware o' young men; 
15 They flatter, she says, to deceive roe- 
Rut wha can think sae o' Tam Glenf 

My daddie says, gin 12 I'll forsake him, 

He'll gie me guid bunder marks 18 ten: 
But, if it's ordain M I maun take him, 
20 0, wha will I get but Tam Glen' 

Yestreen at the valentines' dealing, 
My heart to my mou" gied a sten, 16 

For thnce I drew ane without failing, 
And thrice it was written, "Tam Glen " ! 

1 more 



Burh a flni Scotch coins, worth 
povirti * 26 cents each 

' shift M month 

mm not "pmi* n Imp 



The last Halloween I was waukin 

My dronkit Bark-sleeve, 1 as ye ken;- 
His likeness earn up the house staukin, 8 
And the very gray breeks 4 o' Tarn Glen! 

Come, cpuubel, dear tittle, don't tarry 1 
* 111 gie you my bonie black hen, 
Gif ye will advise me to marry 
The lad I lo'e dearly, Tarn Glen 

1789 1700 

Thou ling 'ring stai with lessening lay, 
That lov'st to greet the early morn, 
Again thou usher 'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn 
D Mary, dear departed shade! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest* 
See 'at thou thy lover lowly laid? 
Ilear'st thou the groans that rend his 
breast f 

That sacred hour can I forget, 
10 Can I forget the hallow 'd gro\e, 
Where, by the winding Ayr, we met 
To live one day of parting love? 
Eternity cannot efface 

Those records dear of transports patt, 
15 Thy image at our last embrace 

Ah I little thought we 'twas our last' 

Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbl'd shore, 
O'erhung with wild woods, thickening 


The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar 
20 Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd 

The flowers sprang wanton to be prebt, 

The birds sang love on every spray. 
Till too, too soon, the glowing west 
Proclaim 9 d the speed of winged day 

2 *. Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes 

And fondly broods with miser-care. 
Time but th' impression stronger makes, 
As streams their channels deeper wear. 

drenched g a hi'" I 


hia _ 


Von go out, one or 
.(tor a 


lands me*/ ai 
your left 

dn Ll<* awake; 
and Home time near 
midnight, an ai 
ritton, having 
exact fignrt of 




.... Go to bed 
sight of a flre* 
J Bang jour wet 
fi)r*TP fwforr It to 

Mary, dear departed shade! 
30 Where is thy place of blissful reatt 
See 'at thou thy lover lowly laidf 
Hear'st thou the groans that rend his 


1790 1791 

Of Brown* IB and of BogilUa 1 full IK this Boke. 

When chapman billies 8 leave the street, 
And druuthy 4 neebois, neebois meet, 
As market-days are wearin late, 
An' folk begin to tak the gate/' 

6 While we sit bousing at the nappy, 
An 9 gettin' fou 7 and unco 8 happ}, 
We Hunk na on the lang Scots miles, 
The mosses, waters, slaps, 10 and btylen, 
That he between us and our hame, 

10 Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame, 
Gathering her bro\\s like gathering 

Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 


Ah he frae Ayr ae night did cantei : 
15 (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, 
For honest men and home lasses). 

Tarn, hadst thou but been sae wise. 
As taen thy am wife Kate's advice! 
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum IJ 
20 A blethering, 1 * blustering, drunken blel- 

lum; 1 * 

That frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was nae sober; 
That ilka melder" wi' the miller, 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller, 
25 That ev f ry naig was ca'd 16 a shoe on, 
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on . 
That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday, 
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Mon- 

She prophesied that, late or soon, 
* Thou would be found deep drown 'd in 


Or catch 'd wi f warlotkh" in the mirk ls 
By Allo way's auld, haunted kirk. 

longer than th<* 
Bngllah mile. 
w gapa ; openlngH In 

of the 
Prologue ft, 

8 peddler follow* 

* take, the way, i 

11 scamp 

n idly-talking 


The old Rcotch mile 
was 216 yards 

or grind* 

** driven 
" wiaa 



Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet 1 
To think how monie counsels sweet, 
36 How monie lengthen 'd, sage advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises! 

But to our tale Ae market-night, 
Tarn had got planted unco right; 
Fast by an ingle, 2 bleezwg finely, 

40 \Vi reaming swats, 3 that drank di- 
vinely , 

And at his elbow, Souter 4 Johnie, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy erome, 
Tarn lo'ed him like a very bnther; 
They had been fou for weeks thegither' 

45 The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter; 
And ay the ale was growing better. 
The landlady and Tarn grew gracious 
Wi' secret favors, sweet and precious, 
The Souter tauld his queerest stones, 

50 The landlord's laugh was ready chorus. 
The storm without might rair and rustle, 
Tarn did na mind the storm a whistle 

Care, mad to see a man sae happ>, 
EVii drown M hnnsel amang the nappy 
cr As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, 
The minutes wmgM their way wi' 


Kmi^s may be blent, but Tain was glorious, 
O'ei a' the ills o' life \ictorious' 

But pleasures are like poppies spread ; 

r>0 Yon seize the flow'i, its bloom is shed, 
Or like the snow falls in the river, 
A moment white then melts foievei , 
Or like the boreal is race. 
That flit ere vou can point their place. 

6 "' Oi like the rainbow V lo\ely form, 
K\anishing amid the storm 
Xao man can tethei time or tide: 
The hour approaches Tarn maun ride 
That hour, o 1 night's black arch the ke>- 

70 That drearv hour Tain mounts hi* beast 


And sic* a night he tuks the road in. 
As ne'er poor sinner mas abroad in 

The *md blew as 'twad blawn its last; 
The rattling showers rose on the blast. 
7ri The speedy gleam* the darkness swal- 
low 'd, 
Loud, deep, and langr, the thunder hel- 


That night, a child might understand. 
The Deil had business on his hand. 

Weel-mounted on his gray mare. Meg 

*" A better never lifted leg- 
Tarn skelpit 1 on thro 9 dub j and nure, 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire; 
Whiles holding fabt his guid blue bonnet, 
Whiles cioonnig 3 o'ei some auld Scot** 
sonnet ,* 

86 Whiles glow 'ring round wi ' prudent cares, 
Lest bogle* 1 catch him unawares; 
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, 
Where ghaists and houlets* nightly cry 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
90 Whare in the snaw the chapman 

Hinoor'd, 7 

And past the buks 8 and meikle 9 stanc, 
Whare dmnken Charlie brak's neckbane; 
And thro' the whins, 10 and by the cairn, 11 
Where hunters fand the murder'd bairn , 12 
95 And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel 
Before him Doon pours all his floods: 
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods, 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole; 
100 Near and more near the thunders roll ; 
When, glimmering thro' the groaning 


Kiik-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze, 13 
Thio' ilka boie 14 the beams were glancing , 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing 

106 Inspiring- bold John Barleycorn, 

What dangers thou canst make us scorn f 
Wi' tippenny, 15 we feai nae evil; 
Wi' usquabae," 1 \\r'll face the ck-ul 1 
The swats sae ream 'd 17 m Tainmie 's noddle, 

110 Fan pla>, he cai M na deils a bodclle 18 
But Maggie stood, right sair astonish 'd. 
Till, by the heel and hand admonish 'd. 
She ventured forward on the light, 
And, \ow! Tain sau an unco 19 

US Warlocks 20 and witches m a dance; 
Nae cotillion, bient-ne^- 1 frae Fiance, 
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and 


Put life and mettle m their heels 
At winnock-bunker 2 * in the east, 

130 There sat Auld Nick, in shape o' beast , 
A tousie tyke, 84 black, grim, and large, 

1 clattered " i PIT crevice 

'puddle ^tuo-pennj ale 

1 bamming w whiskey 

BOM ale so foamed 

* goblin^ '" copper 



1 make* me grlo\ r 
* flrr sldf 

^ fonmltip nli> 

11 flton* heap 
w child 


B brand-iiew 
Names of Bcnttisli 


M toiieled ^hnsp^ cm 



To gie them music was his charge; 
He screw M the pipes and garfc them 

skirl, 1 

Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. J 
Coffins stood round, like open presses, 
That shaw'd the dead in their last 

And, by some devilish cantraip sleight, 8 
Each in its cauld hand held a light, 
By which heroic Tarn was able 

180 To note upon the haly 4 table, 

A murderer's banes in gibbet-aunt*, 5 
Twa span-lang, wee, unchribten'd bairns, 
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape," 
Wi' his last gasp his gab 7 did gape, 

186 jp lve tomahawks, wi' blind red-iusted, 
Five scymitars, wi 9 murder crusted, 
A garter, which a babe had strangled , 
A knife, a father's throat had mangled. 
Whom his am son o' life bereft 

140 The gray hairs yet stack to the heft, 
Wi 1 mair o' horrible an' awefu', 
Which even to name wad be unlawfiT 

As Tammie glowr'd, 8 ainaz'd, and 


The mirth and fun grew fast and funous: 
145 The piper loud and louder blew, 
The dancers quick and quicker flew , 
They reel'd, they set, they cross 'd, the\ 


Till ilka carhn 10 swat and leekit, 11 
And coobt her duddies to the wark, 12 
tfO And linket at it in her bark'" 

Now Tarn* Tam f had thae been 

queans 14 

A 9 plump and stiappmg in their teens* 
Their <tarks, instead o' creeshie 15 flanneu, 
Been snaw-whjte seventeen hunder linen ! lb 
r>5 Thir brecks" o' mine, my only pair, 
That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them aff my hurdies, 18 
For ae blink o' the bouie buidies! 1 * 

But wither 'd beldams, auld and droll, 
160 Rigwoodie 20 hags wad sj>ean jl a foal, 
Loupuig and flinging on a crnnnnock,* J 
1 wonder did na turn thy felomaeh ! 

1 made thorn shriok 

"went at It In her 

" magic trick 

M Hhlr t 

bonea In gibbet 

very fine linen, with 
itOO threads to a 

1 mouth 




linked arms 


>o each old woman 
11 sweated and steamed 
"cast her clothes to 
tho wnrk 

** lean ; skinny 
n leaping an<T caper- 
Ing on ii cronkrd 

But Tarn kend what was what fa 9 

brawlie l 
There was ae winsome wench and wawlie, 2 

165 That night enlisted in the core, 8 
tang after kend on Carrick shore 
(For monie a beast to dead she shot, 
An' pei teh 'd monie a borne boat, 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear/ 

170 And kept the country-side in fear) ; 
Uei cutty sark, 6 o' Paisley barn," 
That while a lassie she had woni, 
In longitude tho' sorely scanty, 
It was hei best, and she was vauntie 7 

175 Ah ! little kend thy reverend grannie, 
That sark she cof t 8 for her wee Nannie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots* ('twas a 'her riches), 
\Vad ever grac'd a dance of witches! 

But here my Mime her wing maun 
cour, 10 

180 Sic flights are far beyond hei powei , 
To sing how Nannie lap and flaug 11 
(A simple ,]ad she \vas, and stiang), 
And how Tarn stood like ane bewitch f d. 
And thought his \ery een enrich 'd; 

1M E V e n Satan fflowi 'd, and Hd'd fu j fain," 
And botched 18 and blew wi 1 niinht and 


Till fust ae ca|>er, svne anither, 
Tarn tint 14 his ieaM>n a' thegither, 
And inais out Weel done, Cutty-saik f " 

1<l0 And in an instant all \vas dark; 

And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees biz/ out wi' aiigiy fyke, 1 '' 
When plnndeiing herds 10 assail their 

byke, 17 
193 As open 111 pussieV 9 mortal foes, 

When, pop' she starts before their nose; 
AH eager runs the market-crowd, 
When "Catch the thief!" resounds 

aloud ; 

So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 
200 Wi' inotne an eldiitch 20 skrieeh and hollo. 

Ah. Tain! ah, Tarn! thou'lt get thy 

famn f21 

In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin! 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comm! 

i fall well 

* vigorous 

* company 

* wheat and barley 
short shirt 

* coarse linen 


A pound Boots Is 

worth about forty 


* muwt toop 

u leaped and kicked 
"fidgeted with eager 

M hatched , jerked 

M herders of cattle 

begin to bark 
i* the bare*s 
* unearthly 
* reward (literally, u 
prrnont from R fnlr 



Kate souii will be a woeiu' woman' 
806 Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win the key-stane of the brig/ 
There, at them thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they dare na cross, 
But ere the key-stane she could make, 
210 The fient* a tail she had to shake, 
For Nannie, far before the rest, 
Hard upon noble Maggie pre&t, 
And flew at Tarn wi' furious ettle," 
But httle wist 4 she Maggie's mettle 
215 Ac spring 1 brought off her master hale, 
But left behind her am giay tail* 
The carlm claupht* her by the rump, 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stum]) 

Now, wha this tale o' tnith shall read, 
- 20 Ilk man and mother's son take heed 
Whene'er to drink YOU are inchn'd. 
Or cutty sarks run in your mind, 
Think 1 \e ma\ bu\ the joys o'er dear, 
Remembei Tain o' Rhanter's mare 


17*11 IHOft 

Ye flowei> banks o f home Doon, 
How ean \e blumo sae fair? 

How run <\e chant. \e little hinlfi, 
And I sae tu* o' careV 

r> Thou '11 break ni\ heart, thou tame bird, 

That sings upon the bough, 
Thou minds me o' the happv da\s 
When mj faiiso* Imp was true 

Thou '11 break mv heait, thou bonie bird, 
10 That sings beside thy mate, 
For fae 1 sat, and sae 1 sang, 
And wist na T o f my fate 

Aft" hae I lov'd by home Doon, 

To see the woodbine twine, 
ir ' And ilka" bud sans o 1 its luve, 
And sae did T o 1 mine 

Wi' lightsome heart 1 pu'd a rose. 

Frae aft its thornx hee. 
And my fanse huei Maw 1 ' 1 \\i\ lose, 
2 But left tin- thoin wT me* 


NY un in sij;hs and gioans I'll wage 1 thee 
"' Whd shall say that Fortune grieves him, 
While the star of hope she leaves him? 
Me, nae eheerfu' twinkle lights me, 
Dark despair around benights me 

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancj , 
10 Naethmg could resist my Nancy, 

But to see hei was to love her , 

Love but her, and love forever. 

Had we ne\er lov'd sac kmdl>. 

Had we never lo\ 'd sae blindly, 
r> Never met or never parted 

We hud ne'er been broken-hearted 

Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fauest 1 
Faie-thc*e-weel, thou best and dvaiesi ' 
Tlune be ilka^ jov and treasure, 
J0 Peace, enjoyment, lo\e, and pleasure' 
Ae iond kiss, and then we sever; 
Ae farewell, alas, fore\ei v 
Deep in heart-wiung tears I'll pledge 

Waning smhs and groans I'll wage thee! 


no* 1702 

Ae fond kiss, and then \\e sevei , 
Ae farewell, and then, forever 1 
Deep in heart-wrung teais I'll pledge thee, 

a Intention , aim 





TH f 

The doil's aw a, the deil's a\va, 
' The deil ^ awa wi ' th ' Exciseman t 
He's danc'd awa, he's dane'd awa, 
He's dane'd awa wi 1 tb 1 Exciseman! 

"' The doil cam liddlm tliio' tlie town 

And daiioM awa wi' th' Exciseman, 
And ilka j wife fries "Auld Mahoun/ 
1 \\isli you luck o' the pn/e, man* 

* 'We'll niak oui maut. 4 \\e'll biow tun 


10 We'll lauufli, sing, and rejoice, man. 
And inoiiie hi aw'' thanks to the iueikle n 

black ded, 
That dane'd awa \\iMh' Exciseman " 

Theie's tlneesome ieel 7 theie's foursome 

Theie's hoiupipe" and stiathsiu^s/ 

ir ' But the ae best dance e'er cam to the 


Was Tkr n<il\ \ua tu 9 lit 9 Kiriv- 

1 pledge mnuT fine 

s overj great 

'Old MahoinPt (an un- "revlu in which thnv 

dent nami> for the take part 

devil) "Lively Spot 1 isli 

4 malt ilnn res 



Uhw 110 

The deil's awa, the deiTs awa, 

The deil 'B awa wi ' th ' Exciseman ; 
He's danc'd awa, he'b danc'd awa, 
2 He'b danc'd awa v\T th' Exciseman! 

J792 1798 

0, saw ye borne Lesley, 
As she gaed o'er the border f 

She's gane, like Alexander, 
To spread her conquests farther. 

5 To see her is to lo\e her, 
And love but her forever; 
For Nature made her what she is, 
And never made anither! 

Thou art a queen, lair Lesley 
10 Th> subjects we, before thee: 
Thon'ait divine, fan Lesley 
The heart* o' men adore thee. 

The deil he could na skaith 1 thee, 

Nor aupht that wad belang thee; 
15 He'd look into thy home face, 

And sa^ "1 canna ^ranjr thee " 

The Powers alxxm will tent 2 thee. 

Misfortune sha' na steer 8 thee - 
Tbou'rt like themsel' sae lovelj, 
20 That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 

Return again, fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledome! 
That we may brag we hae a lass 

There's nane again sae bonie 


J752 1799 


banks and brae* 4 and streams 


The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair vour 


Your waters never drumlie! 
5 There Summer first unfald her rubes 

And there the langest tarry; 
For there I took the last fareweel, 
0' my sweet Highland Mar> 

How sweetly bloom 'd the gay, green bnk, n 
10 How rich the hawthorn 's blossom, 
AR underneath their fragrant shade 
I clasp 'd her to my bosom! 

* Injure 
tike care of 


Tlie golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie; 
16 For dear to me as light and life, 
Was my sweet Highland Man 

Wi' mome a \ow and lock'd embrace 

Our parting was fu' tender, 
And, pledging aft 1 to meet again, 
- u We tore oursela asunder. 

But 0, fell Death's untimely irusi, 
That nipt my flower sae early! 
Now green's the s<xl, and eauld's the 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

25 0, pale, pale now, HKIM* iosy lips 

I aft hae kigs'd sac fondly, 
And elos'd for ay, the spaiklnig glance, 

That dwalt on me sae kindly. 
And mouldering now in silent dust. 
<"> That heart that lo'ed me dearlv' 
But still within m> bosom ' coie 
Shall live my Highland Mar? 

1794 I" 1 *'* 

Last May a braw wooer cam down the 

lang glen, 

And sail 3 wi' hi** lo\e he did dea\e l in<> 
I said there was naething 1 hated like men 
The deuce gae wi'nP to behe\e me, IH*. 

lieve me 
5 The deuce gae wi'm to bchoxp nic ' 

He spak o f the darts in rny borne black ecu, 
And tow'd fot my lo\e he was d>in 

I said he might die \\hcn he liket A foi* Jeun 
The Loid formic me 1oi l>in, ioi Kin 
10 The Loid forgie me for lyin f 

A weel-stockct mailen, 7 liniisel foi the 


And mamage nff-hand were his prof- 

1 never loot on that 1 keim'd it or car'd, 
But thought I might hae waur offers/ 

waur offers 
15 But thought I might hae waur offeis 

But what uad ye think? In a fortnight m 


(The Deil tak Ins taste to gae near her!) 
He up the Gnto-Slack to my black conmn, 


1 fine : handnomo 



Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, 

could bear her 
20 Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her. 

But a 9 the niest 1 week, as I petted 5 wi' 


I gaed to the tryste 1 o' Dalgarnock, 
And wha but my fine fickle lovei was there? 
I fflowi 'd as I'd seen a warlock, 4 a war- 

* lock- 
25 I glowi 'd as I 'd seen a warlock. 

But owre my left shouther I gae him n 


Lest neebors might say I was baucy. 
My wooer he caper 'd as he'd been in 

And vow'd I was Ins dear lassie, dear 

<m And vow 'd I was his dear lassie 

I spier 'd ft for my cousin fu' couthy and 


Gin 6 bhe had recovered her hearin, 
And how her new ahoon fit her auld, 

shachl'd' feet- 
But heavens ' how he fell a sweann, a 

r ' But heavens f how he fell a nweann f 

He begged, for Gudesake, I wad be his 


Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow , 
So, e'en to preserve the poor body in life, 
I think I maun 8 wed him tomorrow, to- 
4I I think I maun wed him tomorrow ' 


1793 1794 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led , 
Welcome to your gory bed, 


r NOW'B the day, and now's the hour; 
See the front o' battle lour; 
See approach proud Edward's 9 power- 
Chains and slaverie! 

Wha will be a traitor knave f 
i Wha can fill a coward's grave f 
Wha sae base as be a slave t- 

Let him turn and flee! 


was vexed 


? shapeless 


Edward II, of Bng- 

Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
15 Freeman stand, or freeman fa 9 ; 

Let him follow me ! 

By Oppression's woes and pains 
By your sons m servile chains, 
We will drain our dearest veins, 
w But they shall be free I 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foel 
Liberty's in every blow! 

Let us do or die! 

1794 1796 

0, my luve is like a red, red rose, 
That 'a newly sprung in June: 

0, my luve is like the melodic 
That's sweetly played in tune. 

5 As fair art thon, my bonie lass, 

So deep in luve am I; 
And I will luve thee still, my dear, 
Till a' the seas gang dry. 

Till a 9 the seas gang dry, my dear, 
10 And the rocks melt wi 9 the sun; 
And I will luve thee still, my dear, 
While the sands o 9 life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve! 

And fare thee well a while! 
15 And I will come again, my luve, 
Tho' it were ten thousand mile! 

1794 1799 

Now in her green mantle blythe Nature 

And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er 

the braes, 1 
While birds warble welcomes in ilkn 

green shaw,* 
But to me it's delightless my Nanie'< 


* The snawdrap and primrose our wood- 
lands adorn, 

And violets bathe in the weet 8 o' the 

They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly 
they blaw; 

They mind me o ' Name and Name 9 s awa ! 

Thon lav 'rock, 4 that springs frae the 

dews of the lawn 
10 The shepherd to warn o 9 the gray-breaking 


'lopee w*t 

every green wood lark 



And thou mellow inavib, 1 thai hails the 

Give over for pity my Name's awa! 

Come autumn, sae pensne, in yellow and 

And soothe me wi f tidmps o' Nature's 

decay : 
15 The dark, drean \\intei, and wild-driving 

Alane can delight me now Name's awa 


119', 1791) 

Contented wi' little, and eantie 2 wi' man, 
Whene'er I forgather wi f Sorrow and 

I ie them n skelp, 8 as they'ie neepin 

Wi 1 a cog 4 o' pud swnto and an auld 
Scottish sanp 

B I whyleft 6 claw 7 the eltoro o f tioublesorae- 

But man is a sogei," and life i* a 

f aught; 9 
M> mirth and gnid linnior are com in 

my pouch, 
And my FieedomV ui> lundship nae 

monarch dam touch 

A towinond 10 o' tiuuble, should that be 

my fa', 11 
10 A night o' guid fellowship sowtheis 12 

it a': 
When at the blythe end o' our journej 

at last, 
Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he 

has past? 

Blind Chance, let her snapper and 

stoyte 18 on her way; 
Be 't to me, be 't frae me, e'en let the 

jade gae. 
16 Come Ense, or come Travail, come Plens- 

ure or Pain, 
II v warbt word is, "Welcome, and wel- 

come again!" 



Lassie wi 1 the lint-white locks, 
Borne lassie, artless lassie, 

* thrush 

Wilt thou wi 1 me tent 1 the flocks f 
Wilt thou be my dearie, Of 

6 Now Nature deeds 1 the flowery lea, 
And a' is young and sweet like thee; 
O wilt thou share its joy wi 9 me, 
And say thou 'It be my dearie. Of 

The primrose bank, the wimpling burn.* 1 
10 The cuckoo on the milk-white thorn, 
The wanton lambs at early mom, 
Shall welcome thee, my dearie, O 

And when the welcome simmer sbo\\ei 
lias eheer'd ilk drooping little flowei, 
is We'll to the breathing woodbine bourn 
At bultrj noon, my dearie, O 

When Cynthia hghtb, *i' silver rn>. 
The weary shearer's haroeward wax, 
Thro' yellow waling fields we'll Mrav 
20 And talk o ? lo\e, my dearie, 

And when the howling wintry blast 
Disturbs mv lassie's inidni^lit tcM. 
Knclasped to mv faithfu' bieast, 
I'll comfort thee, mj dearie, 

Lassie wi' the hut -white kicks, 

Rome lassie, ait less lassie, 
Wilt thou m f me tent the (liM'U! 

Wilt thou be my dearie, Of 


2 *> 


"tumble and tagger 
>flAX-colon>d (ft pair 

Is there for honest poverty, 

That lungs his head, an' a' thatf 
The cowaid slave, we pass him by 

We dare be poor for a ' that ' " 
r For a' that, an' a' thai, 

Our toils obbcuie, an' a' that, 
The rank is but the guinea's stamp. 

The man's the gowd 4 for n' that 

What though on hamely fare ue dine, 
10 Weai hoddin pray 1 nn' a' lhatf 
(lie fools their silks, and kna\e> then 


A man's a man for a f tlint f 
Fora' that, an' a 'that, 

Their tinsel nho^i, an' a' thai. 
16 The honest man, tho f e'er sac ]K>or, 
Is king o' men for a' that 

Te see yon birkie, 6 ca'd "a lord." 
Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' thatf 

J care for 
meandering brook 


'roarsomj cloth 
' young fellow 



Tho' hundreds worblup at bits 
20 He's but a cuif 1 tor a' that 
For a' that, an' a' that, 

His ribband, btai, an' u' that. 
The man o' independent mind, 

lie looks an' laughs at .1' that. 

2C A prince ran inak a belted knight, 

A marquiH, duke, an' a' tliat. 
But an foment man's abooir bib might 

Ouid faith, he innuna ta' J thul ' 
For a' that, an' a' that. 
3 Their dignities, an' a* that, 

The pith o' sense, and pride o' north, 
Are higher rank than a' that. 

Then let us pra> that come it ma>. 

As come it will for a' that, 
36 That sense and \iorth, o'ei a' the earth, 

Shall beat the gree 1 an' a' that; 
Fur a 1 that, an' a' that. 

It's comm yet tor a' that. 
That man to man, the world o'ei. 
40 Shall bnthers lie for a ' that * 


2796 180U 

O. \\ert thou in the cauld blast 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea, 
Mv plaidie to the angry airt, P> 

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee 
5 Or did misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, 
Tliv bield should be mv bosom. 

To share it a', to share it a' 

Oi Here I in the wildest waste?, 
10 Sae black and baie, sae black and bare. 
The desert were a paradise. 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there 
Oi weie I monarch of the globe, 

Wi f thee to reign, HI' thee to reign. 
16 The biightest jewel m my crown 

Wad be my queen, Had be nn queen 

1790 mw 


0, lay thy loof hi mine, lass. 
In mine, lass, in mine, lass, 
And swear on thy white hand, lass, 
That thou wilt be my ain. 

5 A slave to Love's unbounded sway, 
He aft has wrought me meikle wae; 8 


c above 

' may not rial in 

windy quarter 

But now he is my deadly fae, 1 
Unless thou be my am 

There's niome a lass has broke my rest, 

10 That for a blink I hae lo'ed best, 
Rut thou art queen within my breast, 

Fore\er to remain. 

Chot tut 

0, lay thy loof in mine, lass, 
In mine, lass, in mine, la*s, 

11 And swear on thy white hand, lass. 

That thou wilt be my ain. 



1786 IThG 

The following trifles are not the pro- 
duction of the poet, nho, with all the ad- 
vantages of learned art, and, perhaps, 
amid the elegancies and idlenesses of 

s upper life, looks down for a rural theme, 
with an e\e to Theocritus or Virgil. To 
the author of this, these and other cele- 
biated names (their countrymen) are, at 
least in their original language, "a foun- 

10 tarn shut up, and a book sealed " Un- 
acquainted with the necessary requisites 
tor commencing poet' by rule, 'he sings the 
sentiments and manners he felt and san 
in himself and his rustic compeers around 

iff him, in his and their natne language 
Though a rhymer from bin earliest years 
at least from the earliest impulses of the 
softer passions, it was not till very lately 
that the applause, perhaps the partiality. 

20 of friendship, wakened his vanitv so far 
as to make him think any thing of his was 
worth showing; and none of the following 
works were composed with a view to the 
press To amuse himself with the little 

25 creations of his own fancy, amid the toil 
and fatigues of a laborious life; to tran- 
scribe the various feelings, the loves, the 
griefs, the hopes, the fears, in his own 
breast; to find some kind of counterpoise 

80 to the struggles of a world, always an 
alien scene, a task uncouth to the poetical 
mind ; these were his motives for courting 
the Muses, and in these he found poetry 
to be its own reward 

86 Now that he appears in the public char- 
acter of an author, he does it with fear 
and trembling. So dear is fame to the 
rhyming tribe, that even he, an obscure, 
nameless bard, shrinks aghast at the 

10 thought of being branded as "An mtper- 

* palm of the hand 
nuicti OP 

- for 

the \ocatlon of n poet 



tiueui blockhead, obtruding his nonsense 
on the world; and, because he can make 
shift to jingle a few doggerel Scotch 
rhymes together, looks upon himself as a 
poet of no small consequence forsooth/' 

It is an observation of that celebrated 
poet, 1 whose divine Elegies do honor to our 
language, our nation, and our species 
that "Humility has depressed many a 
genius to a hermit, but never raised one 
to fame." If any critic catches at the 
word genius, the author tells him, once 
for all, that he certainly looks upon him- 
self as posbessed of some poetic abilities, 
otherwise his publishing in the manner he 
has done would be a maneuver below the 
worst character which, he hopes, his worst 
enemy will ever gi\e him. But to the 
genius of a Ramsay, or the glorious dawn- 
ings of the poor, unfortunate Fergusson, 
he, with equal unaffected sincerity, de- 
clares that, even in his highest pulse of 
vanity, he lias not the most distant pre- 
tensions. These two justly admired 
Scotch poets he has often had in his eye 
in the following pieces, but rather with 
a view to kindle at their flame, than for 
servile imitation. 

To his subscribers the author returns 
his most sincere thanks. Not the mer- 
cenary bow over a counter, but the heart- 
throbbing gratitude oi the bard, conscious 
how much he is indebted to benevolence 
and friendship for gratifying him, if ho 
deserves it, in that dearest wish of every 
poetic bosom to be distinguished. He 
begs his readers, particularly the learned 
and the polite, who may honor him with n 
perusal, that they will make every allow- 
ance for education and circumstances of 
life; but if, after a fair, candid, and im- 
partial criticism, he shall stand convicted 
of dulness and nonsense, let him be done 
by as he would in that case do by others 
let him be condemned without mercy, to 
contempt and oblivion. 




2787 1787 



A Scottish bard, proud of the name, 
and whose highest ambition is to sing in 
his country's service where shall he BO 

J An amodatlon of Mcottlsli liuntMnicii. 

properly look lor patronage as to the illus- 
trious names of his native laud; those who 
bear the honors and inhent the virtues of 
their ancestors T The poetic genius of m> 
5 country found me, as the prophetic bard 
Elijah did Elisha-at the plough; 1 and 
threw her inspiring mantle over me She 
bade me sing the loves, the joys, the rural 
scenes and rural pleasures of my native 

10 soil, in my native tongue 1 tuned my wild, 
artless notes, as she inspired She whis- 
pered me to come to this ancient metrop- 
olis of Caledonia and lay my songs under 
your honored protection : I now obey her 

15 dictates. 

Though much indebted to >oui good- 
ness, 1 do not approach you, my Lords 
and Gentlemen, in the usual style of dedi- 
cation, to thank you for pant favors' that 

20 jmth is so hackneyed by piostituted learn- 
ing that honest rusticity u ashamed of it 
Nor do I present this address with the 
venal soul of a senile author, looking foi 
a continuation of those iavor*. I was 

85 bred to the plough, and am independent 
I come to claim the common Scottish name 
with >ou, my illustrious eount r> men; ami 
to tell the world that I glory in the title 
1 come to congratulate in\ rountrv, that 

the blood of hei ancient heroes still runs 
unt'ontaminated ; and that from \our coin- 
age, knowledge, and public spirit, she ma\ 
expect protection, wealth, and libertv In 
the last place, I come to proffer my warm- 
as est wishes to the great fountain of honoi, 
the monarch of the nui\ers<. foi jour 
welfare and happiness. 

When you go forth to waken the echoeh. 
in the ancient and iavorite amusement of 

40 >oui foreiathers, may pleasure e\er be 
of your party, and may social joy await 
your return ! When harassed in courts 01 
camps with the jobthngs of bad men ami 
bad measures, may the honent conscioiih- 

ness of injured worth attend your return 
to your native seats; and ma> domestic 
happiness, with a smiling welcome, meet 
you at your gates ! May corruption sin ink 
at >our kindling, indignant ulauec; utnl 

may tyranny in the ruler, and licentious- 
ness in the people, equally find you an 
inexorable foe! 

I have the honor to be, with the sin- 
cerest gratitude and highest respect, 

w My Lords and Gentlemen, 

Your moftt devoted humble Servant, 

EDixnUBGH, Apnl 4, 1787 
i, 10 to 


SAMUEL ROGERS (1763-1855) We watched Hie emmet 1 to her grainy 

nest ; 

THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY Welcomed the wild bee home on weary 

17M Ii02 w j nft 

Pmin PAT I Laden with sweets, the choicest of the 

* roln * _ r spring! 

Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village 75 How oft inscribed, with Friendship's 

green, i votive rhyme, 

With magic tints to harmonize the scene. Tlie bai * now silvered by the touch of 

Stilled is the hum that thro' the hamlet Time; 

broke, Soared in the swing, half pleased and 

When round the ruins of their ancient oak ? "& afraid, 

R The peasants Hocked to hear the minstrel riiro sister elms t]iai waved their siun- 

p] aVi mer shade; 

And games 'and carols closed the busy day. Or strewed with crumbs yon root-inwo\ en 

Her wheel at rest, the matron thrills no Cft sea ^ 

mori . * u To lure the redbreast from his lone 

With treasured tales, and legendary lore. retreat! 

All, all are fled; nor mirth nor music Hows Mnidhood s loved group revihits every 

10 To chase the dreams of innocent repose. scene; 

All, all are fled; yet still 1 linger here! Ilie ta ^f le(1 f wood-walk and the tufted 

What secret charms this silent spot en- T _ . ^' re ^- 

d ear ; Indulgent Memory wakes, and lo, they live"! 

Mark yon old mansion frowning thro' Clothed with far softer hues than'Light 

the trees, ,- ran ' lve - 

Whose hollow 'turret woos the whistling ^ Thou fir ^ b f st , friend tliat Heaven 

breeze. , a ssigns below 

That casement, arched with ivy's brownest To S00 1 th aml sweeten all the cares we 

shade, * , know; 

First to these eve> the light of heaven con- Wllose f lad "egstionR still each vain 

veyed % ' alarm, 

The mouldering gateway strews the grass- Wheu naturc fa(les alld Iife forgets to 

grown court, ^ ,?\, ^ . , , 

Once the calm scene of manv a simple Thee ^ lld tbe Muse invoke !-to thee 

snort* ' belong 

When all things pleased, for life itself was 9 , T ' l , e f^J P**Pt a " d the poet/s song. 

new \\hat softened views thy magic glass 

20 And the heart promised what the fancy v reveals, 

, lvmv \Mien o er the landscape Times meek 

1 1 I U \1 t J ' 1 1 i J 1 I 

twilight steals! 

As when in ocean sinks the orb of day. 

As thro' the garden's desert paths I Long on the wave reflected lustres play; 

rove, ?3 Thy tempered gleams of happiness re- 

70 What fond illusions swarm in every signed 

grove! Glance on the darkened mirror of the 

How oft, when purple evening tinged minel. 

the west, J ant 



The school's lone porch, with reverend He breathed his prayer, "Long may such 

mosses gray, goodness kve ! ' ' 

Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay 'Twas all he gave, 'twas all he had to 

Mute is the bell that rung at peep of dawn, give. 

100 Quickening my truant feet across the Angels, when Mercy's mandate winged 

lawn, their flight. 

Unheard the shout that rent the noon- Had stopt to dwell nvith pleasure on the 

tide air, sight. 
When the slow dial gave a panse to care. 
Up springs, at every step, to claim a 13B But hatk! thro' those old firs, with 

teai, sullen swell, 

Some little friendship formed and cher- The church-clock strikes! ye tendei 

ished hcie, scenes, farewell' 

105 And not the lightest leaf, but trembling It calls me hence, beneath their shade, 

teems to trace 

With golden visions and romantic The few fond lines that Time mav soon 

di earns 1 efface. 

Down by \on ha/el copse, at evening, On yon gray stone, that front* tin 

blazed chancel door, 
The Gipsy's fagot there TVP stood and no Worn smooth b\ bus\ ieet no* seen no 

gazed . more, 

Gazed on her sun-burnt face with silent Each eve we shot the maible thro' the rin^. 

awe. When the heart danced, and life was in 

110 Her tattered mantle, and her hood of its spring, 

straw ; Alas f unconscious of the kindred earth 
Her moving lips, her caldron humming ^ That faintly echoed to the voice of mirth 

o'er, 14 "' The glow-wonn lo\es hei emei aid-light 

The drows\ brood that on her hack she to shed 

bore. Where now the sexton rests Ins hoar\ 

Imps, in the ham with mousing oulet head 

bred. Oft, as he tumed the greensward with 

From rifled roost at nightly revel fed ; his spade, 

m Whose dark eves flashed thro' locks of He lectured even youth that round ,hmi 

blackest shade, played, 

When in the breeze the distant watch- And, calmly pointing where our fathers 

dog bayed lay, 

And heroes fled the Sibyl's muttered call, 15 Roused us to n\al each, the heio oi hi*. 

Whose elfin prowess scaled the orchard- day 

wall Hush, ye fond fluttenngs, hush! uhile 

As o'er my palm the silver piece she here alone 

drew, I search the records of each mouldering 

'- And traced the line of life with search- stone 

ing view, Guides of my life! Instructors of ro\ 

How thrdbbed my fluttering pulse with youth! 

hopes and fears, Who first unveiled the hallowed form of 

To learn the color of my future years 1 Truth! 
Ah, then, what honest triumph flushed 155 Whose every word enlightened and 

my breast ; endeared ; 

This truth once known To bless is to Tn age beloved, in poverty revered, 

be blest! Tn Friendship's silent register ye live, 
125 We led the bending beggar on his way. Nor ask the vain memonal Art can give 
(Bare were hw feet, his tresses silver* But when the sons of peace, of pleas- 
gray) ure sleep, 
Soothed the keen pangs his aged spirit 16 When only Sorrow wakes, and wakes 

felt, to weep, 

And on his tale with mute attention dwelt What spells entrance mv usionary mind 

As in his wip we dropt our little store, With sighs so sweet, with trann ports so 

130 And sighed to think tlmt little \\ns no refined? 





Dear is my little native vale, 
The ring-dove builds and murmurs there, 
Close by m\ cot she tells her tale 
To every passing villager 
6 The squirrel leaps from tree to tree, 
And shells his nuts at hbert\ 

In orange groves and myrtle 
That breathe a gale of fragrance louud 
I charm the fair> -footed houis 
10 With my lo\ed lute's romantic sound. 
Or crowns oi h\m laurel weau*. 
For those that win the race at e\e 

The shepherd's horn at break of ilm, 
The ballet danced in twilight ulade 
r ' The can/one! 1 and roundela> J 

Sung m the silent, green-wood shade 
These simple jo\s, that ne\ei tail. 

Shall bind me to mv natne Mile 



While thio" the broken pane the tem- 

JKVst slghh. 

And my step faltcis tin tin* J a it hi ess flooi, 
Shades of departed jo>s uionnd me use. 
With mnn\ a iace that smiles on me no 

" With many a voice that tin ills of ti tins- 

port gave, 
Now silent as the grass that tufts their 

grave f 



Blue was the liM'Ii, 1 * the clouds were gone, 
Beti-IjOinond in his glory shone. 
When, Luss, I left thee, when the breeze 
Bore me fiom tliv siher bands, 

"' Th> kirk-yard uall among the trees, 
Where gray with age, the dial stands; 
That dial so well known to me t 
--Tho 9 many a shadow it had shed. 
Beloved sister, 4 since \\ith thee 

10 The legend on the stone was read 

The fairy isles fled far away; 
That with its woods and uplands gieen, 
Where shepherd huts are dimly seen, 
And songs are heard at close of day , 

15 That too, the deer's wild covert, fled, 
And that, the asylum of the dead* 

While, as the boat went merrily, 
Much of Rob Roy the boat-man told, 
His arm that fell below his knee, 

20 His cattle-foid and nioun tain-hold 

Tarbat, thy shore I climbed at la-t , 
And, thy shad} region passed, 
I pon another shore I stood, 
And looked upon anothei Hood , 

-'"' (Sreat Ocean's self (Tis He *ho hlN 
That \ast and awful depth ot hills,) 
Where many an elf was plaMni* lonnd 
Who treads unshod his classic mound, 
And speaks, IIIH natne rocks amoni*. 

u As Fingal spoke, and Ossian sung 

Night iell, and dark and darkei gn'\\ 
That natron sea. that narrow sk\ 
Vs o'ei the i>linmieiiiig wa\e* we Jl>\ , 
The sea-hud iiistlmt>, \\ailiiiy by 

n And now the gianipus, half-dcscned, 
I>huk and hupe <iho\( the tide, 
The cliftS and pioniontones there, 
Fiont to iiont, and bioad and baie. 
I^ach bevond each, with giant feet 

lu Ad \ancmg as in haste to meet; 

The shattered tortiess, whence the Dane 
Blew his shrill l>laM. nor lushed in \ain, 
Txinnt of the diear domain, 
Ml into midnight shadow sueep 

r When dav springs upuaid Irom the deep 
Kindling the waters in its flight. 
The prow wakes splendoi , and the oai. 
That lose and tell unseen before, 
Flashes in a sea ot liaht ! 

50 (ilad su>n, and sure* lor now \vo hail 

Tliv flowers, Olentinnait, in the gale 

And blight indeed the path should be 

That leads to friendship and to thee' 

Oh blest retieat, and sacied too 1 

r>6 Sacred as A\hen the bell o1 pia\oi 
Tolled duly on the deseit an, 
And ciosses decked thy summits blue 
Olt, like some lo\ed romantic tale, 
Oft shall m\ wearv mmd lecall, 

60 Amid the hum and stir ot men. 
Thy beer hen grove and waterfall, 
Th> terry with it* gliding sail, 
And hei the Laclv of the (Men' 

"A abort ong f light 
A mntf iiltli n 




Shepherd, or huntsman, or \\orn mariner. 
Whatever thou art, ^lio \\ouldst allav 

thj thirst, 
Dnuk and bo glad Tin* < istein of i\ lute 

Arched, and o'erwi ought \\ith man> a 

sacied veise, 
This non cup chained for the geneial 




Atid these rude seats of earth within the 

Were given by Fatima. Borne hence a 

'Twas here she turned from her beloved 

To see his face no more. Oh, if thou 

10 ('Tis not far off) visit his tomb with 

And with a drop of this sweet watei 

The two small cells scooped in the 

marble there, 
That birds may come and dnnk upon 

his grave, 
Making it holy 1 * * 

1819 1810 

' ' Say, what remains when Hope is fled f ' ' 
She answered, "Endless weeping!" 
For in the herdsman 's eve she read, 
Who in his shroud lay sleeping 
5 At Embsay rung the matin bell, 
The stag was roused on Barden fell . 
The mingled sounds were swelling, dying. 
And down the Whaife a hern 2 was flying, 
When near the cabin in the wood, 

10 In tartan clad and foiefct-preen, 

With hound in leash and hawk in hood, 
The Boy of Egremond was seen 
Blithe was his song, a song of yore , 
Rut where the rock is rent in two, 

15 And the river rushes through. 
His voice was heard no more ' 
Twas but a step! the gulf he passed . 
Hut that step it was his last! 
As through the mist he umgerl his way, 

20 (A cloud that hovers night and day,) 
The hound hung back, and back he drew 
The master and his merlin 8 too 
That narrow place of noise and strife 
Received their little all of life! 

25 There now the matin bell is rung, 
The "Miserere" duly sung; 
And liolv men in cowl and hood 
Are wanderinsr up and down the wood 
But what avail theyf Ruthless Lord, 

30 Thou didst not shudder when the sword 
Here on the young its fury spent. 
The helpless and the innocent 
Sit now and answer, groan for groan 
The child before thee is thy own. 

85 And she who wildly wanders there, 
The mother in her long despair, 

>A Turkish wpentition 


mnall European falcon 

Shall oft remind thee, waking, deeping, 
Of those who by the Wharfe were 


Of those who would not be consoled 
40 When red with blood the river rolled. 

1819-1881 1822-34 


Day glimmered in the east, and the white 


Hung like a vapor in the cloudless sky, 
Yet visible, when on my way I went, 
Glad to be gone, a pilgrim from the North, 
5 Now more and more attracted as I drew 
Nearer and nearer. Ere the artisan 
Had from his window leant, drowsy, 

To snuff the morn, or the caged lark 

poured forth, 
From his green sod upsprmging as to 


10 (His ttfbeful bill overflowing* with a song 
Old in the days of Homer, and his wings 
With transport quivering) on my way I 


Thy gates, Geneva, swinging heavih , 
Thy gates so slow to open, swift to shut , 
16 As on that Sabbath eve when he armed, 1 
Whose name is now thy glory, now by thee, 
Such virtue dwells in those small syllables. 
Inscribed to consecrate the narrow street, 
His birth-place, when, but one short 

step too late, 

20 Tn his despair, as though the die were cast, 
He flung him down to weep, and wept till 

Then rose to go, a wanderer through the 


Tis not a tale that every hour brings 

with it 

Vet at a city gate, from time to time, 
26 Much may be learnt; nor, London, least 

at thine, 

Thy hive the busiest; greatest of them all, 
Gathering, enlarging still. Let us stand by, 
Vnd note who passes. Here comes one. 

a youth, 

(flowing with pride, the pride of con- 
scious power, 

30 A Chatterton in thought admired, ca- 

And crowned like Petrarch in the Capitol; 
Ere long to die, to fall by his own hand, 
And fester with f he vilest. Here come two, 

Jean Jacques RmiHsenu, wuo visited Geneva, 
bis birthplace. In 1754 H bad left there In 
1788, when rixteen \ears of age 



Less feverish, less exalted soon to part, 
M A Oarrick and a Johnson; Wealth and 


Awaiting one, even at the gate ; Neglect 
And Want the other. But what multi- 
Urged by the love of change, and, like 


Adventurous, careless of tomorrow's fare, 
40 Press on though but a rill entering the sea, 
Entering and lost ! Our task would never 

Day glimmered and I went, a gentle 

Ruffling the Lemon Lake Wa^e after 

If such they might be called, dashed as 

in sport, 

46 Not anger, with the pebbles on the beach 
Making wild music, and far westward 


The sunbeam ^ here, alone and as en- 

Counting the hours, the fisher in his skiff 
Lay with his circular and dotted line 
50 On the bright waters. When the heart 

of man 
Ts light with hope, all things are sure to 


And soon a passage-boat swept gaily by. 
Laden with peasant girls and fruits and 


And many a chant iclcei and paitlet 1 caged 

56 p or Vevey 's market place a motley group 

Seen through the silvery haze But soon 

'twas gone 

The shifting sail flapped idly to and fro, 
Then boie them off I am not one of 


So dead to all things in this visible world, 

GO So wondrously profound, as to move on 

In the sweet light of heaven, like him of 

old 3 

(His name u justly in the Calendar 1 ), 
Who through the day pursued this pleas- 
ant path 
That winds beside the mirror of all 


65 And, when at eve his fellow pilprnmh bate. 
Discoursing of the lake, asked where it was. 
They marvelled as they might; and so 

must all, 

Seeing what now I saw : for now 'twas day, 

And the bnght sun was in the firmament, 

70 A thousand shadows of n thousand hues 

'Smart! Abbot of ClnirMiux <l<nn 11.VI) 
8 list of saints 

Chequering the clear expanse. Awhile 

his orb 
Hung o'er thy trackless fields of wow, 

Mont Blanc, 

Thy seas of ice and ice-built promon- 
That change their shapes forever as in 

75 Then travelled onward and went down 


The pine-clad heights of Jura, lighting up 
The woodman's casement, and perchance 

his axe 
Borne homeward through the forest in 

his hand ; 

And, on the edge of some o 'ei hanging cliff, 
80 That dungeon-fort less 1 never to be named, 
Where, like a lion taken in the toils, 
Toussaint breathed out his brave and 

generous spirit 

Little did be, 2 who sent him there to die, 
Thmk, when he gave the word, that he 


83 Great as he was, the greatebt among men. 
Should in like manner be so soon conveyed 
Athwart the deep, and to a rock so small 
Amid the countless multitude of waves, 
That ships have gone and sought it, and 

90 Saying it was not ! 


Boy, call the Gondola; the sun is set 
It came, and we embarked, but mstanth, 
As at the waving of a magic wand, 
Though she had stept on board so light 

of foot, 
6 So light of heart, laughing she kne\\ not 


Sleep overcame her, on my arm she slept 
From time to time I waked her; but the 

Rocked hei to sleep again. The moon 

was now 

Rising full-orbed, but broken by a cloud 
10 The wind was hushed, and the sea 


A, bingle zephyr, as enamored, played 
With her loose tresses, and drew more 

and more 

Her veil across her bosom Long I lay 

Contemplating that face so beautiful, 

15 That rosy mouth, that cheek dimpled 

1 with smiles, 
That neck but half-concealed, whiter 

than snow 

1 The Cattle of Jons in Francne-Comtt 
Napoleon, who Bent Touftsalnt L'Omertuiv to 

prison, and who tins la tor Imniilird to Rt 




'Twas the sweet slumber of her early age 
I looked and looked, and felt a flush of joy 
I would express but cannot. Oft I wished 
20 Gently by stealth to drop asleep myself, 
And to incline yet lower that sleep might 


Oft closed my eyes as in forgetfulness 
Twas all in vain Love would not let 

me rest 
But how delightful nhen at length she 


25 When, her light hair adjusting, and hei veil 
So rudely scattered, she lesumed hot plnee 
Beside me; and, as gailv as before, 
Sitting unconsciously nearer and nearer, 
Ponred out her innocent mind f 

So, noi lone: since. 

Simp a Venetian; and his lay of lo\e. 
Dangeioiis and sweet, charmed Venice 

For myself, 

(Less fortunate, if hue be happiness) 
No curtain drawn, no pulse beating alarm. 
I went alone beneath the silent moon , 
11 Thy square, St Mark, thy churches 

Glittering and frost-like and, as dm 

drew on, 

Melting away, an emblem of themselves 
Those porches passed, thro' which the 


Plays, though no longei on the noble forms 
10 That moved there, sable-\ested and the 

Silent, grass-grown adventurer-like T 


Into the deep, ere long discovering 
Isles such a cluster in the southern seas. 
\11 ^erd^le Evervwheie, fmm bush and 


r * The muskv odor of the serpents came , 
Their slimy tract across the woodman's 

Rri&rht in the moonshine . and. as round 

I went, 
Dreaming of flieece, whither the waves 

were eliding, 

I listened to the uwrable pines 
60 Then in elo*e eomerse, and, if right T 


Delivering nmnv a message to the winds, 
In secret, for their kindred on Mount Ida. 
Nor when again in Venice, when again 
In that strange place, so stirring and so 

55 Where nothing comes to drown the 

human voice 

But music, or the dashing of the tide, 
Ceased I to wander. Now a Jessica 
Sung to her lute, her signal as she sate 

At her half-open window Then, me- 


60 A serenade broke silence, breathing hope 
Thro' walls of stone, and torturing the 

proud heart 

Of some Priuh. Once, we could not err, 
(It was before an old Palladian house, 
As between night and day we floated by) 
65 A gondolier lay singing; and he sung, 
As in the time when Venice was herself, 
Of Tancreil and Erminin On our oais 
We i ostod , and the verse was verse divine v 
We could not err perhaps he was the 

70 For none took up the strain, none an- 

swered him; 

And, when he ceased, he left upon my ear 
A something like the dying voice of 

Venice f 
The moon went down, and nothing 

now was seen 

Save where the lamp of a Madonna shone 
7fi Faintly or heard, but when he spoke, 

uho stood 

O\ei the lantern at the prow and ciied, 
Turning the corner of some icveiend pile, 
Some school or hospital of old renown. 
Tho ' haply none were coming, none were 

80 ''Hasten or slacken" But at length 

Night fled; 
Vnd with her fled, scattering, the sons of 


Star after star shot bv, or, meteor-like, 
dossed me nnd \amshed lot at once 

Those hundred isles that tower mnjes- 


*" That rise abruptly from the water-mark, 
Vot with rough crncr, but marble and the 


Of noblest architects I lingered still , 

Xor sought my threshold, till the hour 
\\ns come 

Ynd past, when, flitting home in the gray 

Q0 The young Bianca found her f athei 's door. 

That door so often with a trembling hand. 

So often then so lately left ajar, 

Shut . and, all terror, all perplexity. 

Now by her lover urged, now by her love. 
* B Fled o'er the waters to return no more. 


It was a well 

Of whitest marble, white as from the 

i"The place bm deHcrlbed is near Mola dl 
GnPtfl, In HIP kingdom of NaplM " Rngprn 



And richly wrought with inauj a high 

Greek sculpture in some earher da\ 


6 A tomb, and honored with a hero'b abhet 
The water from the rock filled and o'er- 


Then dashed away, playing the prodigal, 
And soon was lost stealing unseen, un- 

Thro' the long giass, uud lound the 

iwi&ted loots 

10 ()i aged liees, disco\oiinu 1 uheie it ian 
liy the f i csh > ei dm e ( h ei come \i ith heat 
1 thiew me down, admiring, us 1 la\, 
That shady nook, a singing-plate lot birds, 
That gio\e so intncute, so lull of flowers, 
15 Moie than enough to please* a child 

The sun had set, a distant coin cut- bell 
Kingiii!* the -iwr/r'/Ms,- and now ap- 


The hoiu li stn and Mlla^e-ossip theic, 
The horn Kehekuh caiue, when iiom the 


20 She diew with such ulaciitx to sei\e 
The stiangei und his camels 3 Soon I 


Footsteps, and lo, descending ))\ a path 
Trodden foi uues, inan> a n\mph ap- 

peal ed. 
Ap|>eaied and \anished, healing on hei 


25 ii er enithen pitchei It called up the da> 
Ulvsses landed theie, 4 and lonu 1 mi/vd, 
Like one awaking in a distant time 

At length theie tame the loxehest of 

them all, 

Her little hi other dancing dow 11 bet 01 e hei , 

And ever as he spoke, which he did exer, 

Tiuniiii? and looking up in uninith ol 1 


And brut hei lv alTection Stopping theie, 
She joined hei ios\ ImiiiK and. iillim: 


With the puie element, A\? him to dunk, 
r And, ulnlo he quenched his thirst, stand- 

iim on tip-toe, t 

l^K)ked do* 11 upon ,111111 \\ith a si&tei s 

Xor stirred till he had clone, fixed m a 


ThaMii?fhe miniiuons to tho \iincldM. a sorMi. 
commcraoratlDC tlio iiunrniitlon of Christ 

AtrndKon: wrtrt In HtrnUo', 
V, 4, G Sec* the OdjpNf y, 11. 

Then hadbt tliou seen them as they 

stood, Canova, 
Thou hadst endowed them with immortal 


40 And they had evermore lived undivided, 
Winning all hearts of all thv works the 

WILLIAM GODWIN (1756-1836) 


170J 170J 



Additional perspicuity will be communi- 
cated to our \ie\\ of the CM!S of pohtual 
bociet>, il \\e leflect >\ith iaithei and 
dosei attention upon ^vliut ma\ he inlleil 

c its in tenor and domestic hist on 

T\\o ot the greatest abuses relutne tu 
the inteiiur i>olic\ ol nations, \\ \\u\\ at tin- 
time ]>ie\.ul m the woild, consist in the 
iiieuulur tiauslei of propeit\. either hist 

iu bv Molence, 01 secondly b> fraud U 
,11110112: the inhabitants of au\ countr>. 
theie existed no desire m one indnidnnl 
to possess himself ot the substance oi nn- 
<thei, 01 no desiie so \ehement and lest- 

IK less as to piompt him to ncfjmrc it b\ 
means inconsistent uith oidei and justice, 
undoubtedly in that count r\ jruilt could 
M-tticely be kno^n but b\ lepoit If e\ei\ 
man could uith ]>eite<t iaciht\ obtain the 

20 necessities ol lite, and, obtaining them. 
feel no unea^x cia\iiiQ aftei its supei- 
II in ties, temptation \\ould lose its powei 
Piixnte inteiest \\ould Msiblv accord with 
public srood, and cnil societ\ become \\hat 

26 poetiv has femued ot the golden age Let 

us eiiqimc into the piinciple to which 

these exils me indebted toi then existence 

First, then, it is to be obseived thnt in 

the most refined states of Europe, the in- 

equality of piojwitx has ansen to an 
alaimmir height Vast numlwrs of then 
inhabitants aie de])ined of almost e\erv 
accommodation that can lender life tolei- 
able or secure Their utmost industry 

86 scarcely suffices for their support The 
\\oinen and children lean \\ith an insup- 
portable weight upon the efforts of the 
man, so that a largo family has in the 
lower orders of life become a proverbial 

40 expression for an uncommon degree oi 
|K>verty and wretchedness If sickness 01 
some of those casualties which are per- 



petually incident to an active and labori- 
ous life be added to these burdens, the 
distress is yet greater. 

It seems to be agreed that in England 
there is less wretchedness and distress 
than m most of the kingdoms of the conti- 
nent. In England, the poor's rates 1 amount 
to the sum of t\\o millions sterling per 
annum. It has been calculated that one 
person in seven of the inhabitants of this 
country derives at some penod of his life 
assistance from this fund. If to this we 
add the persons who, from pride, a spirit 
of independence, or the want of a legal 
settlement, though in equal distress, re- 
ceive no such assistance, the proportion 
will be considerably increased. 

I lay no stress upon the accuracy of this 
calculation; the general fact is sufficient 
to gn e in an idee of the greatness of the 
abuse. The consequences that result are 
placed beyond the reach of contradiction. 
A perpetual struggle with the evils of 
poverty, if frequently ineffectual, must 
necessarily render many of the sufferers 
desperate A painful feeling of their op- 
pressed situation will itself deprive them 
of the power of surmounting it The 
superiority of the rich, being thus un- 
mercifully exercised, must inevitably ex- 
pose them to reprisals; and the poor man 
will be induced to regard the ( state of 
society as a state of war, an unjust com- 
bination, not for protecting every man in 
his rights and securing to him the means 
of existence, but for engrossing all its 
advantages to a few favored individuals, 
and reserving for the portion of the rest 
want, dependence, and misery. 

A second source of those destructive 
passions by *hich the peace of society is 
interrupted is to be found in the luxury, 
the pageantry, and magnificence with 
which enormous wealth is usually accom- 
panied. Human beings are capable of 
encountering with cheerfulness consider- 
able hardships, when those hardships are 
impartially shared with the rest of the 
society, and they are not insulted with 
the spectacle of indolence and ease in 
others, no way deserving of greater ad- 
vantages than themselves. But it is a 
bitter aggravation of their own calamity 
to have the privileges of others forced on 
their observation, and, while they are per- 
petually and vainly endeavoring to secure 
for themselves and their families the poor- 
est conveniences, to find others reveling in 
* Taxo* tariod for thp re!1f of the poor. 

the fruits of their labors. This aggrava- 
tion is assiduously administered to them 
under most of the political establishments 
at present in existence. There is a numer- 

OUB class of individuals who, though rich, 
have neither brilliant talents nor sublime 
virtues, and however highly they may 
prize their education, their affability, their 
superior polish, and the elegance of their 

i manners, have a secret consciousness that 
they possess nothing 1 by which they can HO 
securely assert their preeminence and keep 
their inferiors at a distance as the splen- 
dor of their equipage, the magnificence of 
their retinue, and the sumptuousness of 
their entertainments The poor man i<< 
struck with this exhibition; he feels his 
own miseries; he knows how unwearied 
are his efforts to obtain a slender pittance 
of this prodigal waste, and he mistake* 
opulence for felicity. He cannot persuade 
himself that an embroidered garment ma \ 
frequently cover an aching heart. 

A third disadvantage that is apt to con- 
nect poverty with discontent consists in 
the insolence and usurpation of the rich, 
If the poor man would in other respects 
compose himself in philosophic indiffer- 
ence, and, conscious that he po8<*esseh 
everything that is truly honorable to man 
as fully as his rich neighbor, would look 
upon the rest as beneath his envv, his 
neighbor would not permit him to do so 
He seems as if he could never be satisfied 
with his possessions unless he can make 
the spectacle of them grating to others, 
and that honest self-esteem, by which his 
inferior might otherwise arrive at apathy, 
is rendered the instrument of galling him 
with oppression and injustice In manv 
countries justice is avowedly made a sub- 
ject of solicitation, and the man of the 
highest rank and most splendid connec- 
tions almost infallibly carries his cause 
against the unprotected and friendless. In 
countries where this shameless practice is 
not established, justice is frequently a 
matter of expensive purchase, and the 
man with the longest purse is proverbiallv 
victorious. A consciousness of these facts 
must be expected to render the rich little 
cautious of offence in his dealings with 
the poor, and to inspire him with a temper, 
overbearing, dictatorial, and tyrannical 
Nor does this indirect oppression satisfy 
his despotism. The rich are in all such 
countries, directly or indirectly, the legis- 
lators of the state; and of consequence 
are perpetually reducing oppression into a 



system, and depriving the poor of that 
little commonage of nature, as it were, 
which might otherwise still have remained 
to them. 

The opinions of individuals, and of eon- 
sequence their desires, for desire is nothing 
but opinion maturing for action, will al- 
ways be in a great degree regulated by 
the opinions of the community. But the 
manners prevailing in many countries are 
accurately calculated to impress a convic- 
tion that integrity, virtue, understanding, 
and industry are nothing, and that opu- 
lence is everything. Does a man whose 
exterior denotes indigence expect to be 
well received in society, and especially by 
those who would be understood to dictate 
to the restf Does he find or imagine him- 
self in want of their assistance and favor 9 
lie is presently taught that no merits can 
atone for a mean appearance The lesson 
that is read to him is, "Go home; enneh 
yourself by whatever means; obtain those 
superfluities winch are alone regarded as 
estimable; and you may then be secure 
of an amicable reception." Accordingly, 
poverty in such countries is viewed as the 
greatest of dements It is escaped from 
uith an eagerness that has no leisure for 
the scruples of honesty. It is concealed 
as tbe most indelible disgrace. While one 
man chooses the path of undistinguishing 
accumulation, another plunges into ex- 
penses which are to impose him upon the 
world as more opulent than he is. lie 
hastens to the reality of that penur>, the 
appearance of which he dreads; and, to- 
gether with his property, saciifice* the 
integrity, veracity, and character, which 
might have consoled him in his adxersity. 

Such are the causes that, in different 
degrees under the different governments of 
the world, prompt mankind openh or 
secretly to encroach upon the propeitv of 
each other T*et us consider how far they 
admit either of remedy or aggravation 
from political institution. Whatever tends 
to decrease the injuries attendant upon 
poverty, decreases, at the same time, the 
inordinate desire and the enormous accu- 
mulation of wealth. Wealth is not pur- 
sued for its own sake, and seldom for the 
sensual gratification it can purchase, but 
for the same reasons that ordinarily prompt 
men to the acquisition of learning, elo- 
quence, and skill, for the love of distinc- 
tion and fear of contempt. How few 
would prize the possession of riches if 
they were condemned to enjoy their equi- 

page, their palaces, and their entertain- 
ments in solitude, with no eye to wonder 
at their magnificence, and no sordid ob- 
server ready to convert that wonder into 
5 an adulation of the owner 1 If admiration 
were not generally deemed the exclusive 
property of the rich, and contempt the 
constant lackey of poverty, the love of 
gam would cease to be an universal pas- 

10 sion. Let us consider in what respects 
political institution is rendered subservient 
to this passion 

First, then, legislation is in almost every 
country grossly the favorer of the rich 

15 against the poor Such is the character 
of the gume laws, by which the indus- 
trious rustic is forbidden to destroy the 
animal that preys upon the hopes of his 
future subsistence, or to supply himself 

20 with the food that unsought thrusts itself 
in his path Such was the spirit of the 
late rexenue laws of France, which in 
several of their provisions fell exclusn ely 
upon the humble and industrious, and 

95 exempted from their operation tho^e who 
are best able to support it Thus, in Eng- 
land, the land tax at this moment pro- 
duces half a million less than it did a 
century ago, while the taxes on consump- 

ao tion have experienced an addition of thir- 
teen millions per annum duiinj? the same 
period. This is an attempt, whether effec- 
tual or no, to throw the burden from the 
rich upon the poor, and as such is an 

85 exhibition of the spirit of legislation. 
Upon the same principle, robbery and 
other offences, which the wealthier part of 
the community have no temptation to 
commit, are treated as capital crimes, and 

40 attended with the most rigorous, often the 
most inhuman punishments The rich are 
encouraged to associate for the execution 
of the most paitial and oppressive posi- 
ti\c laws: monopolies and patents are 

45 lavishly dispensed to such as are able to 
purchase them; while the most vigilant 
policy is employed to prevent combinations 
of the poor to fix the price of labor, and 
they are deprived of the benefit of that 

50 prudence and judgment which would select 
the scene of their industry. 

Secondly, the administration of law is 
not less iniquitous than the spirit in which 
it is framed. Under the late government 

55 of France, 1 the office of judge was a matter 
of purchase, partly by an open price ad- 
vanced to the crown, and partly by a 
secret douceur* paid to the minister He 
* Before tbe Rerolottoii. * gift ; bribe 



who knew best how to manage this market 
in the retail trade of justice, could afford 
to purchase the good will of its functions 
at the highest price. To the client, justice 
was avowedly made an object of personal 
solicitation, and a powerful friend, a hand- 
some woman, or a proper present, were 
articles of a much greater \alue than a 
good cause In Knsrland, the criminal la\v 
is administered with greater impartiality 
HO far as regards the trial itself, but the 
number of capital offences, and of conse- 
quence the frequency oi pardons, oi>en n 
wide door to fa\or and abuse In cause* 
relating to property, the piactice of la* 
is arrned at such a pitch as to render all 
justice ineffectual The length of our 
chancei y suits, the multiplied appeals from 
court to comt, the enoimous fees of coun- 
sel, attorneys, secretanes, clciks, the di aw- 
ing of briefs, bills, replications, and re- 
joinders, and what has sometimes been 
called the glorious uncertamt} of the law, 
render it frequently more advisable to 
resign a property than to contest it, and 
particularly exclude the impoverished 
claimant fiom the faintest hope ot redress 
Thirdly, the inequality of conditions 
usually maintained by political institution 
is calculated greatly to enhance the imag- 
ined excellence of wealth In the ancient 
monarchies of the East, and in Turkey at 
the present day, an eminent station could 
scarcely fail to excite implicit deference. 
The timid inhabitant trembled before his 
superior, and would have thought it little 
less than blasphemy to touch the veil drawn 
by the proud satrap over his inglorious 
origin. The same principles were exten- 
sively prevalent under the feudal system. 
The vassal, uho was regarded as a sort of 
live stock upon the estate, and knew of no 
appeal from the arbitrary fiat of Ins lord, 
would scarcely venture to suspect that he 
was of the same species This, however, - 
constituted an unnatural and violent situa- 
tion. Theie is a propensity in man to look 
farther than the outside , and to come with 
a writ of enquiry into the title of the 

some reason to believe that, e\en in the 
milder state in which we are accustomed 
to behold it, it is still pregnant with the 
most mischievous effects. 


The corollaries respecting political 

10 truth, deducible from the simple propo- 
sition, which seems clearly established by 
the reasonings of the present chapter, that 
the \oluutary actions of men are in all 
instances conformable to the deductions of 

16 their undei standing, aie of the highest im- 
portance Hence, we may infer t\hat are 
the ho]>eH and prospects of human im- 
pnnemerit The doctrine \vhich may be 
lounded upon these principles may, per- 

20 liaps, best be expressed in the fhe follow- 
ing propositions- sound reasoning and 
truth, when adequateh communicated, 
must always be \ictoiioiiR o\er error, 
sound reasoning and truth are capable of 

being so communicated ; truth is omnipo- 
tent, the vices and moral weakness of 
man are not invincible, man is perfect- 
ible, or, in other words, susceptible of 
perpetual improvement. 

BO These propositions will be found in part 
synonymous with each other But the time 
of the enquirer mil not be unprofitabh 
spent in copious!} clearing up the founda- 
tions of moral and political system. It i* 

16 extremely beneficial that truth should be 
viewed on all sules, and examined under 
different aspects. The propositions are 
even little more than so many different 
modes of stating the principal topic of 

K this chapter. But if they will not admit 
each of a distinct train 'of aigumcnts in 
its support, it may not, howe\er, be use- 
less to bestow upon each a short illus- 

16 The first of these propositions is so 
evident that it needs only be stated in 
order to the being universally admitted 
Is there any one who can imagine that 
sound argument and sophistry are 

upstart and the successful By the opera- 60 fairly brought into comparison, the vic- 
tion of these causes, the insolence of tory can be doubtful? Sophistry may 
wealth has been in some degree moderated. 
Meantime, it cannot be pretended that 


even among ourselves the inequality is not 
strained, so as to give birth to very unfor- 
tunate consequences. If, in the enormous 
degree in which it prevails in some parts 
of the world, it wholly debilitate and 
emasculate the human race, we shall Bee 

assume a plausible appearance, and con- 
trive to a certain extent to bewilder the 
understanding. But it is one of the pre- 
rogatives of truth to follow it in its maze* 
and strip it of disguise Nor does any 
difficulty from this consideration interfere 
with the establishment of the present 
proposition. We mippnse truth not merely 



to be exhibited, but adequately communi- 
cated; that is, in other words, distinctly 
apprehended by the person to whom it is 
addressed. In this ease the victory is too 
sure to admit of being: controverted by the s 
most inveterate skepticism. 

The second proposition is that sound 
reasoning and truth are capable of being 
adequately communicated by one* man to 
another This proposition may be under- 10 
stood of such communication, either as it 
affects the individual or the species. First 
of the individual. 

In order to its due application in this 
point of view, opportunity for the com- 15 
mum cat ion must necessarily be supposed. 
The mcapacit> of human intellect at pres- 
ent requires that this oppoit unity should 
be of long duration or repeated recurrence 
We do not alums know hou to comnuini- 20 
cate all the eiidcnce we are capable or 
communicating, in a vnigle eon versa lion 
and much less in a single instant But il 
the communicator be sufficient^ master 
of Ins subject, and if the truth be alto- as 
get her on his side, he must ultimately 
succeed in his undertaking We suppose 
him to have sufficient urbanity to concil- 
iate the ood m ill, and sufficient energy to 
engage the attention of the partv con- 80 
cernod. In that ea-.o there is no piejudice, 
no blind rexeience lor established systems, 
no false IVar of the inferences to be 
drawn, that can resist him lie will en- 
counter these one after the other, and he K 
will encounter them with success. Our 
prejudices, our un<lue reference and imagi- 
nary fears flow out of some views the 
mind has been induced to entertain ; the> 
are founded in the belief of some propo- 40 
sitions. But e\erv one of these projwsi- 
tions is capable of being relnted The 
champion we describe proceeds from point 
to point; if in any his success luue been 
doubtful, that he will retrace and put out 46 
of the reach of mistake; find it is evi- 
dently impossible that with such qualifica- 
tions* and such perseverance he should not 
ultimately accomplish his purpose 

Such is the appearance which this prop- 
osition assumes when examined in a loose 
and practical view In strict considera- 
tion, it will not admit of debate Man is 
a rational being. If there be any man who 
is inoapable of making inferences for him- 
self; or understanding, when stated in the 
most explicit terms, the inferences of an- 
other, him we consider as an abortive 
production, and not in strictness belong- 

ing to the human species It is absurd, 
therefore, to say that sound reasoning and 
truth cannot be communicated by one man 
to another. Whenever in any case he 
fails, it is that he is not sufficiently labo 
nous, patient, and clear We suppose, 4 oi 
course, the person who undertakes to com- 
municate the truth really to possess it, and 
be master of his subject , for it is scarcely 
worth an observation to say that that 
which he has not himself he cannot com- 
municate to another 

If truth, therefore, can be brought home 
to the com iction of the individual, let us 
see how it stands with the public or the 
world Now in the first place, it is ex- 
tremely clear that il no individual can 
resist the force of truth, it can only be 
necessary to apply this proposition from 
individual to individual and ^e shall at 
length comprehend the whole Thus the 
affirmation in its literal sense is com- 
pletely established. 

With respect to the chance of success 
this *ill depend, first, upon the precluding 
all extraordinary convulsions of nature 
and after this upon the activity and 
energy of those to whose hands the sacred 
cause of truth mav be inti listed It is 
apparent that if justice be done to it* 
merits, it includes in it the indestructible 
germ of ultimate victor\ Every new con- 
\ert that is made to its cause, if he be 
taught its excellence as well as its reaht\, 
is a fresh apostle to extend its illumina- 
tions through a wider sphere In thi* 
respect it resembles the motion of a fall- 
ing bodv, which increases its rapidity in 
proportion to the squares of the distance* 
Add to which, that \slien a convert to 
truth has been adequately informed, it is 
barelv posmble that he should e\er fail in 
Ins adherence, ^heieas error contains in 
it the principle of its own mortality Tim*, 
the advocates of falsehood and mistake 
must continiialh diminish, and the well- 
informed adherents of truth incessantly 

It has sometime* been affirmed that 
whenever a question is ublv brought for- 
ward for examination, the decision of the 
human species must ultimately be on the 
nght side. But this proposition is to be 
understood with allowances Civil policy, 
magnificent emoluments, and sinister mo- 
tives may upon many occasions, by dis- 
tracting the attention, cause the worse 
reason to pass as if it were the better. It 
is not ntaolnteh coitnin tlmt in the eon- 



troversy brought forward by Clarke and 
Wilson against the doctrine of the Trinity, 
or by Collins and Woolstpn against the 
Christian revelation, the innovators had 
altogether the worst of the argument. Yet 5 
fifty years after the agitation of these 
controversies, their effects could scarcely 
be traced, and things appeared on all sides 
as if the controversies had never existed 
Perhaps it will be said that though the 10 
effects of truth may be obscured for a 
time, they will break out in the sequel 
with double lustre But this, at least, de- 
pends upon circumstances. No comet must 
come in the meantime and sweep away the 15 
human species, no Attila must have it in 
his power once again to lead back the flood 
of barbarism to deluge the civilized world , 
and the disciples, or at least the books, of 
the original champions must remain, or 20 
their discoveries and demonstrations must 
be nearly lost upon the world. 

The third of the propositions enume- 
rated is that truth is omnipotent Thib 
proposition, which is convenient for its 26 
brevity, must be understood with limita- 
tion? It would be absurd to affirm that 
truth unaccompanied by the evidence 
which proves it to be such, or when that 
evidence is partially and imperfectly *> 
stated, has any such property. But it has 
sufficiently appeared from the arguments 
alread> adduced, that truth, when ade- 
quately communicated, is, so far as relates 
to the conviction of the understanding, H 
irresistible There may, indeed, be propo- 
sitions which, though true in themsehes. 
may be beyond the spheie of human 
knowledge, or lespecting whic'h human 
beings have not yet discovered sufficient 40 
arguments for their support Tn that case, 
though true in themselves, they are not 
truths to us The reasoning by which tbe\ 
are attempted to be established, is not 
sound reasoning. It may, perhaps, be 45 
found that the human mind is not capable 
of arriving at absolute certainty upon any 
subject of enquin ; and it must be ad- 
mitted that human science IH attended mth 
all degrees of certainty, from the highest 80 
moral evidence to the slightest balance of 
probability. But human beings are capable 
of apprehending and weighing all these 
degrees; and to know the exact qnantit} 
of probability which I ought to ascribe to 65 
any proposition, may be said to be in one 
sense the possessing certain knowledge. 
It would farther be absurd, if we regard 
truth in relation to its empire over our 

conduct, to suppose that it is not limited 
in its operations by the faculties of our 
frame. It may be compared to a connois- 
seur, who, however consummate be his 
talents, can extract from a given instru- 
ment only such tones as that instrument 
will afford. But within these limits the 
deduction which forms the principal sub- 
stance of this chapter, proves to us that 
whatever is brought home to the convic- 
tion of the understanding, so long as it is 
present to the mind, possesses an undis- 
puted erapiie over the conduct Nor *ill 
he who is sufficiently conversant with the 
science of intellect be hasty in assigning 
the bounds of our capacity. There aie 
some things which the structure of our 
bodies will render us fore\er unable to 
effect , but in many cases the lines which 
appear to prescribe a term to our efforts 
\\ill. like the mists that arise fiom a lake, 
retire farther and farther, the more closely 
\\e endeavor to approach them. 

Fourthly, the vices and moral weakness 
of man are not invincible. This is the 
preceding proposition with a very slight 
Mination in the statement Vice and 
weakness are founded upon ignorance and 
error; but truth is more powerful than 
any champion that can be brought into the 
field against it, consequently, truth has 
the faculty of expelling weakness and vice, 
and placing nobler and more beneficent 
principles in their stead 

Lastly, man is perfectible This propo- 
sition needs some explanation. 

By perfectible it is not meant that he 
is capable of being brought to perfection 
Hut the word seems sufficiently adapted to 
express the faculty of being continually 
made better and receiving perpetual im- 
provement, and in this sense it is heie 
to be understood The term perfectible, 
thus explained, not only does not imply 
the capacity of being brought to perfec- 
tion, but stands in express opposition to it. 
Tf we could arrne at perfection, there 
would be an end of our improvement 
There is, however, one thing of great im- 
portance that it does imply, every per- 
fection or excellence that human beings 
are competent to conceive, human beings, 
unless in cases that are palpably and 
unequivocally excluded by the structure of 
their frame, are competent to attain. 

This is an inference which immediately 
follows from the omnipotence of truth. 
Every truth that is capable of being com- 
mnnicntwl is cqpnble of Iwing brought 



"home to the conviction of tlie mind. Every 
principle which can be brought home to 
the conviction of the mind will infallibly 
produce a eoiiebpondent effect upon the 
conduct. If there were not something in 6 
the nature of man incompatible with abso- 
lute perfection, the doctrine of the omnipo- 
tence of truth would afford no small prob- 
ability that he would one da> reach it. 
Why is the perfection oi man impossible? 10 

The idea ol absolute perfection is 
scarcely within the grasp of human under- 
standing If science were more familiar- 
ized to speculations of this sort, we should 
perhaps discover that the notion itself was 15 
pregnant with absurdity and contradiction. 

It is not necessary in this argument to 
dwell upon the limited nature of human 
faculties We can neither be present to 
all places nor to all times We cannot 20 
penetrate into the essences of things, or 
lather, ue ha\e no sound and satisfactory 
knowledge of things external to ourseh ea, 
but merely of our own sensations We 
cannot discover the causes of things, or as 
ascertain that in the antecedent which 
connects it Autli the consequent, and dis- 
cern nothing but their contiguity With 
\\hat pretence cnn a being thus shut in 
on all sides lay claim to absolute perfec- so 
tion f 

But not to insist upon these considera- 
tions, there is one principle in the human 
mind \\hich must forever exclude us from 
arriving at a close of our acquisitions, and 35 
confine ns to jierpetnal progress The 
human mind, so tui as \ie aie acquainted 
with it, IK nothing else but n faculty of 
l>ereeption All oin knowledge, all oui 
ideas, e\ery thing A\e possess a* intelh- 40 
Kent beings, comes from impiestuon All 
the minds that exist set out fiom absolute 
ignorance. They received first one im- 
pression, and then a second As the 
impressions became more numerous, and 46 
were stored bv the help of memorv, and 
combined by the facultv of association; 
HO the experience increased, and mth the 
experience, the kmrwleilsre, the wisdom, 
every thing that distinguishes man from 80 
what we understand by a "clod of the 
valley/ 91 This seems to be a simple and 
inconvertible history of intellectual 
beings; and if it be true, then as our 
accumulations have been incessant in the 
time that is gone; so, as long as we con- 
tinue to perceive, to remember or reflect, 
they must perpetually increase 



There is a principle frequently main- 
tained upon this subject, which is well 
entitled to our impartial consideration 
It is granted b\ those who espouse it, 
4 'that absolute monarchy, irom the im- 
perfection of those by whom it is admin- 
istered, is most frequently attended with 
evil," but they assert, "that it is the 
best and most desirable of all forms under 
a good and virtuous prince It is ex- 
posed," say they, "to the fate of all 
excellent natures, and from the best thmr 
frequently, if corrupted, becomes the 
i\ orst ' ' Tins remark is certainh not 1 01 v 
decisne of the general question, HO loni 
as any weight shall be attributed to the 
arguments which ha\e been adduced to 
c\ince, what sort of character and dis- 
position may be ordinarily expected in 
princes. It may, however, be allowed, if 
true, to create in the mind a sort of par- 
tial retrospect to this happv and perfect 
despotism , and if it can be shown to be 
false, it will render the argument foi the 
abolition of monarchy, so far as it is 
concerned, more entne and complete 

Now, whatever dispositions anv man 
mav possess in favor of the welfare of 
others, two things are necessar> to gne 
them validity discernment and po\\ei T 
can promote the welfare of a few persons, 
because I can be sufficiently informed of 
their circumstances. I can pioinote the 
A\ elf are of many in certain geneial arti- 
cles, because for this purpose it is onh 
necessary that I should be informed of 
the nature of the human mind as such, 
not of the personal situation of the mdi- 
uduals concerned. But for one man to 
undertake to administer the affairs of 
millions, to supplv, not general pnnciples 
and perspicuous reasoning, but particular 
application, and measuies adapted to the 
necessities of the moment, is of all under- 
taking the most extravagant ami absurd 

The most simple and obxious of all 
proceedings is for each man to be the 
sovereign arbiter of his o\\n concerns If 
the imperfection, the narrow views, and 
the mistakes of human benign render this 
in certain cases inexpedient and imprac 
tieable, the next resource is to call in the 
opinion of his peers, persons who from 
their vicinity may be presumed to have 
some srenornl knowledire of the <nse, nnd 


who have leisure and means minutely to 
investigate the merits of the question. It 
cannot reasonably be doubted that the 
same expedient which men employed in 
their civil and criminal concerns, would 6 
by nninstructed mortals be adopted in the 
assessment of taxes, in the deliberations 
of commerce, and in every other article in 
which their common interests were in- 
volved, only generalizing the deliberative 10 
assembly or panel m proj>ortion to the 
generality ot the question to be derided 

Monarchy, instead of leterrintr ever\ 
question to the persons concerned or their 
neighbors refers it to a single indnidual 16 
placed at the greatest distance possible 
from the 01 ilmarv members of the societi 
Instead of distributing the causes to be 
judged into as nmn> parcels as they uould 
conveniently admit for the sake of pro- 20 
viding leisure and opportunities of exami- 
nation, it draws them to a single centre, 
and renders enquiry and examination im- 
possible. A despot. houe\er Mrtuounlv 
disposed, is obliged to act in the dark, to 25 
derive his knowledge from other men's 
information, and to execul e his behests b\ 
other men's instrumentality Monaicln 
seems to be a RIWIPB of go\ eminent pio- 
scribed bv the nature of man , and those 50 
persons who furnished their despot with 
integrity and virtue fmgot to add om 
ni science and omnipotence, qualities not 
less necessary to fit him for the office the\ 
have provided. 36 

Let us suppose tins honest and incoi 
ruptiblc despot to be served bv ministers, 
avaricious In identical, and interested 
What will the people gain bv the good 
intentions of their monarch f He will *o 
mean them the greatest benefits, but he 
will be altogether unacquainted with their 
situation, their character and their wants 
The information he reccnes will frequently 
be found the very reverse of the truth lie 43 
will be taught that one individual IB higlih 
meritorious and a proper subject of ic- 
>\ard, whose only merit is the profligate 
cruelty with which he has served the pur- 
poses of his administration. He will be BO 
taught that another is the pest of the 
community, who is indebted for this report 
to the steady virtue with which he has 
traversed and defeated the wickedness of 
government. He will mean the greatest 56 
benefits to his people; but when he pre- 
scribes something calculated for their ad- 
vantage, his servants under pretence of 
eomplyincr fihnll in rcnlitv pprpetrnto dia- 

metrically the reverse. Nothing will be 
more dangerous than to endeavor to re- 
move the obscurity with u Inch his minis- 
ters surround him. The man who attempts 
so hardy a task will become the incessant 
object of their hatred. However unalter- 
able may be the justice of the sovereign, 
the time will come when his observation 
will be laid asleep, while malice and re- 
Mnge are ever Mgilant. Could he unfold 
the secrets of his prison houses of state. 1 
he would find men committed in hits name 
whose crimes he never knew, whose names 
he ne\er heard of, jwrhaps men whom ho 
honored and esteemed Such is the luston 
of the bone\olent and philauthiopic des- 
pots whom memory has recorded ; and the 
conclusion trom the whole is, that \therevei 
despotiHm exists, there it will alwa>s be 
attended with the evils of despotism, cap n- 
cious mcasuiea and atbihary inlliction 

''But will not u wise king take care to 
provide himself with good and Mrtuou<- 
seivnntH?" Undoubtedly he Atill effect u 
pait of this, but he cannot suj>erHe<le the 
essential natuics of things. He that exe- 
cutes an> office as a deputy mil iievei 
discharge it in the same perfection as if 
he \\ere the principal Either the minister 
must be the author of the plans which he 
<arries into effect, and then it is of little 
< onsequence, except so far as relates to 
his integrity in the choice of his enants, 
v\ hat sort of mortal the sovereign shall be 
found , or he must play a subordinate part, 
and then it is impossible to tranHiuse into 
his mind the ]>erfipicacitv and energy oi 
ins master Wherexer deBjwhsm exists it 
cannot remain in a single hand, but must 
be transmitted whole and entire through 
all the progrvHsne links of authontv To 
rendei depot ism auspicious and benign it 
is necessary, not only that the sovereign 
should possess every human excellence, but 
that all his officers should be men of ]>ene 
trating genius and unspotted vittue Tt 
they fall short of this, they will, like the 
ministers of Elizabeth, be sometimes Hpe 
cious profligates,- and sometimes men who. 
however admirably adapted for the tech- 
nical emergencies of business, consult on 1 
many occasions exclusively their private 
advantage, wdrship the rising sun, enter 
into vindictive cabals, and cuff down new- 
fledged merit* Wherever the continuity is 


* "Dudley. Earl of Leicester "Godwin 

1 "Cecil, iwrl of Ralisbury, Lord Treasurer , Ho* 

nrd, Earl of Nottingham Lord \dmlrnl " <Jnri 




broken, the flood of vice will bear down all 
before it. One weak or disingenuous man 
will be the source of unbounded mischief. 
It is the nature of monarchy under all its 
forms to confide greatly m the discretion fi 
of individuals. It provides no resource for 
maintaining and diffusing the spirit of 
justice. Everything rests upon the per- 
manence and extent of personal virtue 

Another position, not less generally 10 
asserted than that of the desirableness of 
u virtuous despotism, is, "that republican- 
ism is a species of government, practicable 
onlv in a small state, while monarchy is 
best fitted to embrace the concerns of a 16 
\ ast and flourishing- empire ' ' The reverse 
of this, so far at least as relates to mon- 
archy, appears at first sight to be the 
tiuth. The competence of anv government 
cannot be measured In a purer standaid 20 
than the extent and accuracv of itb infor- 
mation. In this respect inonimln ap|*aih 
in all cases to he wretchedlv deficient , but 
ii it can e\er be admitted, it must surely 
be in those nanow and limited instances 26 
\\heie nn individual can. with least absurd- 
ity, be supposed to be acquainted uith the 
n flan x and inteiests of the \\hole * 


There is one thing, more than nil the 
lest, ot importance to the ucll-toms* ot 
mankind, justice ("an there lie anv tlnnj- 
piohlematical or paradoxical in this fun da- 85 
mental piinci]iU% that nil ininstice is m- 
|in\ , and a thousand tunes nioie iniurious 
In its effects in penerting the under 
standing and oxertumim* our calculations 
of the futuie, than b\ the immediate 40 
cahumtv it ma\ piodme ' 

All moral science ma\ be reduced to this 
one head, calculation of the tutuio We 
cannot reasonahh e\|>ect \irtue from the 
multitude of mankind if thev IN' induced 46 
by the peneisenoss of the conductors of 
human affairs to believe that it i* not then 
uiteiest to be \ntuous. But this is not 
the point iijwii nthiHi the (|iiestion turns 
Virtue is nothing else but the pursuit ot 60 
general pood Justice is the standard 
which discriminates the advantage of the 
many and of the few, of the whole and a 
part. If this first and moht important of 
all subjects be involved in obscurity, how 66 
shall the well-being of mankind be gub- 
Rtantially promoted f The most bene\olent 
of our species u ill be engaged in crusades 
of error, while the cooler and more phle&r- 

matic spectators, discerning no evident 
clue that should guide them amidst the 
labyrinth, sit down in selfish neutrality, 
and leave the complicated scene to produce 
its own denouement. 

It is true that human affairs can never 
be reduced to that state of depravation as 
to reverse the nature of justice. Vntue 
will always be the interest of the indi- 
vidual as lAell as of the public Imme- 
diate virtue will always be beneficial to 
the present age, as well as to their pos- 
terity. But though the depravation cannot 
nse to this excess, it will be abundantly 
sufficient to ob&ciue the undei standing and 
mislead the conduct. Human beings will 
iie\er be so virtuous as they might easih 
be made, till justice be the spectacle pei- 
petually presented to their view, and 
injustice be wondered at as a prod i try 

Of all the principles of justice there is 
none so material to the moral rectitude 
of mankind as this that no man can be 
distinguished but In Lib ]>ersonal nient 
Why not endeaxor to i educe to practice 
so simple and sublime a lesson ? When a 
man ha* pro\ed himself a benefactor to 
the public, when he has already b\ laud- 
able ]>erseverance cultixated in himselt 
talents which need onlv encouragement 
and public favor to bring them to mi- 
turitv, let that man be honored In a state 
of society where fictitious distinctions aie 
unknown, it i& impossible he should not be 
honored But that a man should he lookc.l 
up to with serMht\ and a\te because the 
king has bestowed on him a spurious name 
or decorated him with a nbband, that 
another should ^ allow in luxury because 
his ancestor three centuries ago bled in 
the quarrel of l^an caster or York, do x\e 
imagine that these iniquities can be prac- 
ticed without uijnryT 

I-et those who entertain this opinion 
converse a little with the lower orders ot 
mankind. Thev null perceue that the un- 
fortunate wretch, who uith unremitted 
labor finds himself incapable adequateh 
to feed and clothe his iaimlv, has a sense 
of injustice rankling at his heart. 

one whom distress has spitod with the world 
Is ho nhom tempting flonils noiild pitch upon 
To do Huch deeds d* make the pioNperoutf men 
lift up their hands nnd uondir who could do 
them 1 

Such is the education of the human spe- 
cies Such is the fabric of jxriitical 
1 John Home, Dovnln*. Ill 100 1", 



But let us suppose that their sense of 
injustice were less acute than it is here 
described. What favorable inference can 
be drawn from thatT Is not the injustice 
real? If the minds of men be so withered 
and stupifled by the constancy with which 
it is practiced, that they do not feel the 
rigor that grinds them into nothing how 
does that improve the picture T 

I jet us for a moment give the lems to 
reflection, and endeavor accuratel.v to con- 
ceive the state of mankind where justice 
should form the public and general prin- 
ciple. In that case our moral feelings 
would assume a firm and wholesome tone, 
for they would not be perpetually counter- 
acted by examples that weakened their 
energy and confounded their clearness 
Men would be fearless because they would 
know that theie were no legal snare* 
lying in wait for their lives. They wouW 
1>e courageous because no man would be 
pressed to the earth that another might 
enjoy immoderate luxury, because every 
one -would be secure of the just reward of 
his industry and prize of his exertions 
Jealousy and hatred would cease, for they 
are the offspring of injustice. Every man 
would speak truth with bis neighbor, for 
there would be no temptation to falsehood 
and deceit. Mind would find its level, 
for there would be everything to encour- 
age and to amtaate. Science would be 
unspeakably improved, for understanding 
would convert into a real power, no longer 
an ignis fatuus, shining and expiring by 
turns, and leading us into sloughs of soph- 
istry, false science, and specious mistake 
All men would be disposed to avow their 
dispositions and actions; none would en- 
deavor to suppress the just eulogmm of 
his neighbor, for so long as there were 
tongues to record, the suppression would 
be impossible; none fear to detect the 
misconduct of his neighbor, for there 
would be "no laws converting the sincere 
expression of our convictions into a libel 

Let us fairly consider for a moment 
what is the amount of injustice included 
in the institution of aristocracy. I am 
born, suppose, a Polish prince, with an 
income of 300,000 per annum. Tou aie 
born a manorial serf or a Creolian negro, 
attached to the soil and transferable by 
barter or otherwise to twenty successive 

lords. In vain shall be your most generous 
efforts and your unwearied industry to 
free yourself from the intolerable yoke 
Doomed by the law of your birth, to wait 

t at the gates of the palace you must never 
enter, to sleep under a ruined weather- 
beaten roof while your master sleeps undei 
canopies of state, to feed on putnfie<l 
offals while the world is ransacked for 

10 delicacies for his table, to labor without 
moderation or limit under a parching sun 
while he basks in perpetual sloth, and to 
be rewarded at last with contempt, repri- 
mand, stripes, and mutilation. In fact the 

15 case is worse than this. I could endure 
all that injustice or caprice could inflict, 
provided I possessed in the resource of a 
firm mind the power of looking down with 
pitv on my tyrant, and of knowing that 1 

20 had that within, that Barred character of 
truth, virtue, and fortitude, winch all hi* 
injustice could not reach. But a slave and 
a serf are condemned to stupidity and vice 
as well as to calamity 

25 Is all things nothing! Is all this neces- 
sary for the maintamanee of civil order 9 
Let it be recollected that, for this distinc- 
tion, there i not the smallest foundation, 
in the nature of things, that, as we have 

SO already said, there is no particular mould 
lor the construction of lords; and that 
they are born neither better nor worse 
than the poorest of their dependents. It 
is this structure of aristocracy in all its 

85 sanctuaries and fragments against which 
reason and philosophy have declared war 
It is alike unjust, whether we consider it 
in the castes of India, the villainage of 
feudal system, or the despotism of the 

40 patricians of ancient Rome dragging their 
debtors into personal servitude to expiate 
loans they could not repay. Mankind will 
never be in an eminent degree virtuous 
and happy till each man shall possess that 

45 portion of distinction, and no more, to 
which he is entitled by hix personal merits 
The dissolution of aristocracy is equally 
the interest of the oppressor and the op- 
pressed. The one will be delivered from 

BO the listlessness of tyranny, and the other 
from the brutalizing operation of servi- 
tude. How long shall we be told in vain, 
"that mediocrity of fortune is the true 
rampart of personal happiness 1" 







278G 1815 

' Dear native regions, T foretell, 
Fiora what I feel at thib farewell, 
That, wheresoe'er my steps mav tend. 
And whensoever my course shall end 
" If in that hour a single tie 
Survive of local sympathy 
My soul will cast the backward A leu , 
The longing look alone on >on 

Thus, while the sun sinks down to rest 
10 Far in the regions of the west. 
Though to the vale no parting beam 
Be given, not one memoiial gleam, 
A lingering hpht he fondlv throws 
On the dear hills inhere first he rose' 

1786 1802 

Calm IB all nature as a resting wheel 
The kme are couched upon the dewy pi ass , 
The horse alone, seen diml> nt* 1 pass, 
la cropping audibly his later meal 
5 Dark ih the ground , a slumber seems to 

O'er vale, and mountain, and the stui- 

lesa sk\ 

Now, in tins blank of things, a haimony, 
Home- felt, and hcmie-cieated, comes to henl 
That irnef foi which the senses still 


10 Fresh food; for onlv then, ^\hen memorv 
Is hushed, am T nt rest M\ tnends r 


Those busy caies that would alla\ 1113 pain , 
Oh' lea\e me to myself, nor let me feel 
The olliciou* touch that makes- me dump 


1787-85 1703 

Dear Brook, farewell' Tomorrow's 
noon again 

Shall hide me, wooing long thv wild- 
wood strain; 

But now the sun has coined his western 

And eve's mild hour invites rav steps 

w While, near the niidwa> chif , the wlvered 

In many a whistling circle wheels her 

Slant watery lights, from parting clouds, 


Travel along the precipice's base, 
M Cheeimg its naked waste oi scat Leied slnnr. 
*" Bv lichens gi.iy, and hcanly moss, oVi- 

grown , 
Wheie scarce the foxglove peeps, 01 

thistle's beaid, 
And restless stone-chat, 1 all day long, is 


How pleasant, as the sun declines, to 

The spacious landscape change in foim 

and hue! 
100 Here, vanish, as m mist, before a flood 

Of blight obscinity, hill, lawn, and wood . 

There, objects b\ tlio searching beams 

Come forth, and heie retire in purple 

K\en the white sterns ot birch, the cot- 
tage Tibite, 
l B Soften then glaie before the mellow light , 

The skifFs, nt anchor where with um- 
brage nude 

Yon chestnuts halt the latticed boat- 
house hide. 

Shed from their sides, that face the 
sun's slant beam, 

Strong flakes of radiance on the trem- 
ulous stream 

110 Raised by ton travelling flock, a dnstv 

Mounts from the load, mid sjueads its 
mount: shroud. 

The shepherd, all in\ol\ed in uieaths of 

Now shows a shadow v speck, and now is 
lost entne 






1195 1708 

Nay, traveller* rest This lonely yew-tree 


Far from all human dwelling what if heie 
N<i fqiarkling rivulet spread the verdant 


< A common Eurnpeao Mntfng bfril 



What if the bee love not these barren 

boughs f 
* Yet, if the wind breathe soft, the curling 

That break against the shore, shall lull 

thy mind 
By one soft impulse saved from vacancy. 

Who he was 
That piled these stones and with the 

mossy nod 
10 Fust covered, and here taught this aged 

With its dark arms to form a circling 

I well remember. 1 He was one who 

No common soul Tn youth by science 


And led by Nature into a wild scene 
*5 Of lofty hopes he lo the world went forth 
A favored Being, knowing no desire 
Which genius did not hallow, 'gainst 

the taint 
Of dissolute tongues, and jealousy, and 


And scorn, against all enemies prepared. 
20 All but neglect The world, for so it 


Owed him no wvice , wherefore he at once 
With indignation turned himself awa\. 
And with the food of pride sustained hi** 

In solitude Stranger' these gloonn 

-'"' Had charms for him, and here he kue<l 

to sit, 

HIP only visitants a straggling sheep. 
The stone-chat, 2 or the glancing sand- 
And on these barren rocks, with fern 

and heath, 

And juniper and thistle, sprinkled o'er, 
10 Fixing his downcast eye, he many an hour 
A morbid pleasure nourished, tracing here 
An emblem of his own unfruitful life 
And, lifting up bis head, he then would 


On the more distant scene, how lovely 'tis 
: ~ Thou seest, and he would gaze till it 

Far lovelier, and his heart could not 


The beauty, still more beauteous' Nor, 
that time, 

1 "He was a gentleman of the neighborhood, a 
man of talent and learning, who had been 
educated at one of our nnlYemitle*, and re- 
turned to pass his time In aecliralon on MR 
own estate ff Wordsworth 

1 A common European Hinging bird 

When Nature had subdued him to her- 

Would he forget those Beings to whoso 

40 Warm from the labors of benevolence, 

The world and human life appeared a 

Of kindred loveliness* then be would sigh, 

Tnlv disturbed, to think that others felt 

What he must never feel: and so, lost 

45 On \isionar> \ieua would fano> feed, 

Till his eve streamed with tears In tins 
^ deep vale 

He died, this seat his onlv monument 

If tliou be one whose heait the holv 


Of young imagination ha\e kept pure, 
|0 Stranger! henceforth be warned; and 

know that pride, 

Howc'er disguised in its own majesty, 
Is littleness, that he who feels contempt 
For anv living thing, hath faculties 
Which he has never used, that thought 

with him 

r>r> Is in its infancy The man whose eye 
l& ever on himself doth look on one, ' 
The least of Nature's works, one who 

might move 

The wise man to that scorn which wis- 
dom holds 

Unlawful, ever lie wiser, thou! 
fio Instructed that true knowledge leads to 


True dignity abides mtli him alone 
Who, in the silent hour of inwaid thought, 
("an still suspect, and still ie\ere himself, 
In lowliness of heart. 

1797 1800 

At the corner of Wood Street, when 

daylight appears, 
Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it lias 

snng for three years: 
Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and 

has heard 
In the silence of morning the song of 

the bird. 

6 9 Tis a note of enchantment; what ails 

herf She sees 
A mountain ascending, a vision of 

Bright volumes of vapor through Loth- 

bury glide, 
And a river flows on through the vale of 




Green pastures she views in the midst of 

the dale, 
10 Down which she so often has tnpped 

with her pail; 
And a single small cottage, a nest like 

a dove's, 
The one only dwelling on earth that she 


She looks, and her heart IH in heaxen 

but they fade, 
The mist and the rwer, the hill and the 

15 The stream will not flow, and the hill 

will not rise, 
And the colors have all passed away 

from her eyes! 

1798 1708 

A simple child, 
That lightly draub its breath, 
And feelb its life in cxery limb, 
What should it knoxi of death f 

5 I met a little cottage girl 
She was eight >ears old. bhe said, 
Her hair \ias thick with many a curl 
That clustered round her head 

She had a rustic, woodland air, 
10 And she was wildlx clad* 

Her eyes were ian, and verx fair. 
Her beauty made me glad 

"Sisters aud brotheiR, little maid. 
How many may >ou be?** 
15 "How many? Seven in ail, 1 ' she said. 
And wondering looked at me 

"And where are they? I pray you tell " 
She anbuered, "Sex en aie we; 
And two of us at Conway dwell, 
20 And two aie gone tn sea 

"Two of us in the church>aid lie, 
My sister and my brother; 
And, in the church>aid cottage, 1 
Dwell near them with my mothei " 

26 "You sa> that two at Con wax dwell. 
And two 'are gone to sea, 
Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell, 
Sweet maid, how this may be ' * 

Then did the little maid reply, 
"Seven boys and girls are we, 
Two of us in the churchyard he. 
Beneath the churchyard tree " 

"You lun about, my little maid, 
Your limbs they are alive, 
36 If two are in the churchyard laid, 
Then ye are only five. 11 

"Their graves are green, they mav he 


The little maid replied, 
"Twelve steps or more from my mother f b 

40 And the> are bide by side 

"M> stockings there I often knit, 
My kerchief theie 1 hem, 
And there upon the ground 1 sit, 
And sing a bong to them 

45 "And often after sunset, sir, 
When it is light and fair, 
I take my little porringer. 
And eat my supper there 

"The first that died was sister Jane, 
r>0 In bed she moaning lay, 

Till God released her ot her pain , 
And then she went awav 

"So in the clmichxaid she xxa*-, laid 
And, when the grass was dry, 
" |B Together round her grave we pi axed, 
Wv brother John and I. 

"And when the ground was white xtitli 


And I could run and slide, 
My brother John was forced tn go, 
6 And he lies by her hide " 

"How man> are you, then." said I. 
"If thej two are in heaven?" 
Quick \\as the little maid's repl>, 
"0 master ' we are seven " 

66 But they are dead ; those two are dead ' 
Their spirits are in hea\enl" 
Twas throwing words away; for still 
The little maid would have her M ill, 
And Miid, "Xax*, xve are seven 1 " 

2798 1798 

"There is a Thorn it looks so old. 
In truth, you'd find it hard to sa> 
How it could exer have been young. 
It looks so old and gray. 
6 Not higher than a two years' child 
It stands erect, this aged Thorn ; 
No leaves it has, no prickly points; 
It is a mass of knotted joints. 


A wretched thing forlorn. 
10 It stands erect, and like a atone 
With hctiens is it overgrown. 

"Lake rock or stone, it is o'ergrown, 

With lichens to the very top, 

And hung with hea\y tufts of moss, 

16 A melancholy crop 

Up fiom the earth these mosses cioep, 
And this poor Thoiu they clasp it lound 
So close, you 'd say that they ure lient 
With plain and manifest intent 

20 To drag it lo the ground, 

And all ha\e joined in one endeavoi 
To bmy this poor Thoin forever 

"H*h on a mount am V highest ndge, 
Wheie oft the stoim> winter pale 

23 Cuts like a scythe, nhile through the clouds 
It s \\ecpb tiom vale to vale, 
Not h\e yaids from the mountain path. 
This Thoin t vm on \oui left esp t \ , 
And to the left, thiee vauls beyond, 

J0 You sw a little imuhK pond 
Of \\atei-ne\ei dry. 
Though but of compass small and bnie 
To tlnist\ suns and paidim^ an 

"And, close beside thii- aged Thoin, 
a3 Theie is a iiesh and loulj smht, 
A beauteous heaj>, a hill of moss, 
Just halt a toot in height 
VII lo\el\ colois theie \ou s<>e, 
Ml colfiis that iieie e\ei seen, 
10 And mossy net ^ oik too is there, 
\s i1 by hand of la<h fan 
The i\oik bad wo\eu been, 
And cups, the dulling ol the exe, 
So deep is then Aermihon dye 

A woman in a scarlet cloak, 
And to herself she cries, 
65 'Oh misery! oh misery! 
Oh woe ib me ! oh misery ! ' 

''At all tune* of the day and night 
This wretched woman thither goes , 
And she ib kuo\\n to every stai, 

70 And eAciy nmd that blows, 

And theio, beside the Thoin, she bits 
\Yhen the blue da) light's in the skip*, 
And when the whnhvmd's on the hill, 
Or f ittetj an ib keen and still, 

""' And to heiself she met.. 
'Oh imseiy! oh misery I 
Oh woe is me f oh inihei> |f " 

"Nn\ \\heiefoie, thus, b} iht} tiini ni^ht, 
In lain, in tempest, and in sno\\, 

S0 Thus to the dieni} niouiilam-iop 
Does this IHKII \\oman ^o 9 
And \\hy sits hhe Inside the Thoin 
When the blue daylight's in Hie skv 
Oi \\hen the \vhnK\imrv nil the lull, 

H "' Oi iios|\ an i*, keen and ^till, 
Vnd ^heietoK 1 diK-s she ci\ ' - 
O \\hei efoif/ ttheicloie' lell me \\h> 
l)(H's she icpcal that o!ol<*1ul ci\ '" 

4 * "Ah me f Tihat Jo\eh tints aic theic 
Of olive p ice 1 n and ^ailct brmht, 
In spikes, in IMHIK lies, and in MJI N 
CJii'i'ii, red, and peuiij whitf ' 
Tins heap of eaitb o'ciirnmn \utli 

: Which clobe beside the Thorn >ou sec, 
So fresh in nil it* beauteous dves, 
Is like an niianl's mn^c m H/e. 
As like as like 4*an Ix 1 
But never, ne\er nnjwheic, 

r ' :i An infant's ia\e vns half s tun 

"Now would you see tins aged Thorn, 
This pond, and beauteous hill of moth, 
You must take care and choose your time 
The mountain when to cross 
60 For oft there sits Itttwocn the heap, 
So like an inf nut's io\e in sixe, 
And that same pnd nf which T spoke, 

* 4 1 (.iiinot (ell, 1 uish 1 uld, 
Fm the tine leason no one knoins 
Hut \\ould you ^ladh \ie\\ the spot, 
The spot to which she noes, 
The hillock like an mi nut's iuu>, 
The pond -and Thoin, sn old and ^i. 
Pass b} hei dooi 'tis seldom shut- 
\nd il you see hei in her hut 
Then to the *>pu( u\n\ * 
I ne\ei heaid ol Mich as 
Vp]>ioaih tht spot >vlnn she i 

100 "lint \\heietoie to the mountain-lop 
Can this unhupp.x \\oinan ^o, 
\Vhate\ei stai is in the skies, 
Whate\ei mud mn> blow?" 
'Full twenty >cnis aie pst and one 

] "'* Snue she (her name is Mnitha Kn> ) 
Ua\c \\itli a maiden's tiuc ^rood-will 
IJei company to Stephen Hill 
And she \\ns blithe and gov, 
While friends and kmdrcil all appro\od 

110 Of him whom tendcily she loved. 

"And the.\ had fixed the wedding da^, 
The rimming that must wed them both , 
Rut Stephen to another maid 
Had Hwom another oath, 
1I " And, with this othei maid, to ehureh 
Stephen wont 



Poor Martha! on that woeful day 
A pang of pitiless dismay 
Into her soul was sent; 
180 A fire was kindled in her breast. 
Which might not burn itself to rest. 

' They say, full six months af tei this, 
While yet the summer leaves were green, 
She to the mountain-top would go, 

u> > And theie uas often seen. 

\Vhat could she seekt 01 wish to bidet 
Her state to any e>e was plain , 
She was with child, and she was mad , 
Yet often was she sober sad 

uo From her exceeding pain. 

guilty father would that death 

Had sa\ed him from that breach of faith ! 

' * Sad cae ioi such a brain to hold 
Communion with a sturing child' 

l - 5 Sad case, as you may think, ioi one 
Who had a brain so wild ' 
Last Chiistinas-eve we talked of this. 
And gia> -bailed Wilfied oi the glen 
Held that the unborn infant uiought 

n " About its mother's heait, and bioutfit 
Hei senses back again 
And, \\hen at last hei time dic\v neai. 
Hei looks \\eie calm, hei sense* deal 

"More know f not, 1 wish 1 did, 
1 >r And it should all be told to you; 
Foi what became of this poor child 
No mortal e\ei knew, 
Nay if a child to her was bom 
No earthly tongue could ever tell , 
ir>0 And if 'twas bom ah\e or dead, 

Km less could this with piooi he said, 
But some lemembej \\ell 
That Martha Ray about this time 
Would up* the mountain often climb 

l " 1 " "And all that wintei , when at night 
The \sind blew from the mountain-peak, 
'Twas worth youi while, though in the 


The Hiuich.uiicl path to heek. 
For mafiy a tune and oft weie heaid 

i t.o <; nes coining fiom the mountain head 
Some plainly living voices were, 
And otheis, I've heard many swear. 
Were voices oi the dead . 

1 cannot think, whatever they say, 
16". They had to do with Martha Ray. 

"But that she goes to this old Thorn, 
The Thorn which 1 described to you. 
And there sits in a scarlet cloak. 
I will be sworn in true. 

170 For one day with my telescope, 
To view the ocean wide and bright, 
When to this country first 1 came, 
Ere I had heard of Martha's name, 
I climbed the mountain's height' 

176 A storm came on, and I could see 
No object higher than my knee. 

' ' 'Twas miht and lain, and storm and i .im 
No screen, no fence could I discover, 
And then the wind ! in sooth, it was 

180 A wind full ten times over. 
I looked around, I thought 1 saw 
A jutting crag, and off I ran, 
Head-foremost, through the driving iam 
The shelter of the eiag to gain , 

186 And, as 1 am a man, 

Instead of jutting ciag I found 
A woman seated on the giound 


"1 did not speak 1 saw her face, 
Her lace 'it was enough for me, 

J< * I tunied about and beard her cry, 
* Oh misery ! oh misery ' ' 
And theie she sits, until the moon 
Through half the clear blue sky \\ill <: 
And when the little breezes make 

1<fr > The waters of the pond to shake, 
As all the country know, 
She shudders, and you hear hei ci j . 
Oh nnseiy ' oh misery ? ' ' ' 

"But what's the Thorn f and what the 

2(10 And what the hill of moss to bert 

And what the creeping breeze that comes 
The little pond to stir f" 
'I cannot tell, but some will say 
^ She hanged her baby on the tree; 

-' " Some say she diowned it in the pond, 
Which is a little step beyond 
Hut all and each agree, 
The little babe was buried theie, 
Beneath that hill of moss so fair 

210 i < i > ve heard, the moss is spotted red 

With drops of that poor infant 's blood , 

But kill a new-bom infant thus, 

I do not think she could; 

Some say if to the pond you go, 
215 And fix on it a steady view, 

The shadow of a babe you trace, 

A baby and a baby's face, 

And that it looks at you; 

Whene'er you look on it, 'tis plain 
220 The baby looks at you again. 

"And some had sworn an oath that she 
Should be to public justice brought; 



And for the little infant's bones 

With spades they would have sought 
But instantly the hill of moss 

Before their eyes began to stir! 

And, for full fifty yards around, 

The grass it shook upon the ground ' 

Yet all do still a\er 
230 The little babe hen bimed their, 

Beneath that hill of moss so fair 

"I cannot tell how this may be, 
But plain it is the Thorn is bound 
With heavy tufts of moss that strive 

285 TO drag it to the ground , 

And this I know, full many a time. 
When she was on the mountain high. 
By day, and m the silent night. 
When all the stars shone clear and hiicht, 

240 That I have heaid her cry, 
1 Oh misery! oh misery' 
Oh woe IP me! oh misery 1 '" 


1798 1798 

Oh! what's the matter f what's the matter t 
What is't that ails young Harry Gillt 
That evermore his teeth they chatter. 
Chatter, chatter, ehatter still ! 
15 Of waistcoats Harry has no lack, 
Good duffle 1 gray, and flannel fine, 
He has a blanket on his back, 
And coats enough to smothei nine 

In March, December, and in July, 
10 'Ti* all the same with Harry Gill , 
The neighbors tell, and tell you truly, 
His teeth they chatter, chatter still 
At night, at mornimr* and at noon, 
TIR all the same with Harry Gill , 
Beneath the sun, beneath the moon, 

His teeth they chatter, chatter still 

Young Harry was a lusty drovei, 
And who so stout of limb as net 
His cheeks were red as ruddy clover ; 
20 His voice was like the voice of three. 
Old Goody Blake was old and poor; 
111 fed die was, and thinly clad , 
And any man who passed her door 
Might see how poor a hut she had. 

** All day she spun in her poor dwelling: 
And then her three hours 9 work at night, 
Alas ! 'twas hardly worth the telling. 
It would not pay for candle-light. 
Remote from sheltered village-green, 

*0 On a hill's northern side she dwelt, 

A kind of coarae woolen cloth baring H thick 

Where from sea-blasts the hawthorns lean, 
And hoary dews are slow to melt 

By the same fire to boil their pottage, 
Two poor old dames, as I have known, 

86 Will often live in one small cottage; 
But she, poor woman f housed alone. 
Twas well enough, when summer came, 
The long, warm, lightsome summer-day, 
Then at her door the canty 1 dame 

40 Would ait, as any linnet, gay 

But when the ice our stienms did fetter. 
Oh then how her old bones \\ould shake ' 
You would have said, if you had met hei, 
'Twas a hard time for Goody Blake 
45 Her evenings then were dull and dead 
Sad case it was, as you may think, 
For very cold to go to lied , 
And then for cold not sleep a wink. 

joy for her ! whene 'ei in wintei 
r>0 The winds at night had made a rout , 
And scattered many a lush splinter 
And many a rotten bough about 
Yet never had she, well or sick. 
As every man who knew her sa\s. 
''"' A pile beforehand, turf or stick, 
Enough to warm hei for three days 

Now, when the frost was past enduring, 
And made her poor old bones to ache, 
Could anything be more alluring 
* Than an old hedge to Goody Blake f 
And, now and then, it must be said, 
When her old bones were cold and chill, 
She left her fiic, or left her bed, 
To seek the hedge of Harry Gill. 

* 5 Now Harry he had long suspected 
This trespass of old Goody .Blake, 
And vowed that she should he detet ted- 
That he on her would vengeance take 
And oft from his warm flic he'd ^n, 

70 And to the fields his road would take. 
And there, at night, in frost und snou. 
He watched to seize old Good} Blake. 

And once, behind a rick of barley, 
Thus looking out did Harry stand 

75 The moon was full and shining clearly, 
And crisp with frost the stubble land 
He hears a noise he's all awake- 
Again t on tip-toe down the hill 
He softly creeps f tis Goody Blake: 

She's at the hedge of Harry' Hill ' 

bt glad was he when he beheld her: 
~: lifter stick did Goody pull : 



He stood behind a budi of elder, 
Till she had filled her apron full 
86 When with her load she turned about, 
The by-way back again to take; 
He started forward, with a shout, 
And sprang upon poor Goody Blake 

And fiercely by the arm he took her, 
90 And by the arm he held her fast, 
And fiercely by the arm he shook hei. 
And cned, " I've caught you then at last 1 ' ' 
Then Goody, who had nothing- said, 
Her bundle from her lap let fall , 
96 And, kneeling on the sticks, she prayed 
To God that is the judge of all 

She prayed, her withered hand upreanng, 
While Harry held her by the arm 
''God ! who art never out of hearing, 
100 may he ne\er moie be waim |M 
The cold, cold moon above her head. 
Thus on her knees did Goodv pray , 
Young Harrv heaid what she had said 
And icy cold he tin ned nu a\ . 

lo:> He ueiit complaining all the moiiow 
That he \\as cold and \eiy chill* 
His face uus gloom, his fieait was sorrow, 
Alas! that <la\ foi Harry Gill 1 
That day he woie a riding-coat. 

110 But not a unit the warmer he 

Anothei was on Thursday brought, 
And ere the Sabbath he had three. 

Twas all in vain, a useless matter, 
And blankets \\crc about him pinned , 

"& Yet still his jaus and teeth they clatter, 
Like a loose casement in the wind 
And Harry's flesh it fell awa> , 
And all who see him sny, 'tis plain, 
That, Ine as long as li\e he may. 

] - He never will be warm again. 

No word to any man he utters, 
A -bed or up, to young or old ; 
But ever to himself he mutters, 
4 'Poor Harry Gill is very cold " 
125 A-bed or up, bv night or day; 
His teeth they chatter, chatter still 
Now think, ye farmers all, T pray, 
Of Goody Blake and Han y Gill v 

1748 1798 

Her eyes are wild, her head is bare, 
The sun has burnt her coal-black hair; 
Her eyebrows have a rusty stain, 
And she came far from over the mam 
18 She had n baby on her arm. 

Or else she were alone . 
And underneath the hay-stack warm, 
And on the greenwood stone, 
She talked and sung the woods among, 
10 And it was in the English tongnc 

' ' Sweet babe ! they say that I am mad, 
But nay, my heart is far too glad , 
And I am happy when I sing 
Full many a sad and doleful thing 

1B Then, lovely baby, do not fear I 
I pray thee have no fear of me, 
Rut safe as in a cradle, here, 
My lovely baby ! thou shalt be 
To thee 1 know too much I owe ; 

20 I cannot work thee any woe. 

' ' A fire was once within my brain , 
And in my head a dull, dull pain , 
And fiendish faces, one, two, three, 
Hung at my breast, and pulled at me , 

JB But then there came a bight of jo> , 
It came at once to do me good , 
1 waked, and saw my little boy. 
Mv little boy of flesh and blood. 
Oh joy for me that sight to see r 

80 Foi he was here, and only he. 

"Suck, httle babe, oh suck again f 
It coolb my blooil , it coolb my brain , 
Thy lips I feel them, baby 1 they 
Draw from my heart the pain awaj 

35 Oh ! pi ess me with thy little hand , 
It loosens something at my chest; 
About that tight and deadly band 
I feel thy little fingers prest 
The breexe 1 see is in the tiee 

10 It comeb to cool my babe and me 

"Oh ! love me, love me, little boy f 
Thou art thy mothei 's only joy , 
And do not diead the va\eb belou, 
When o'er the sea-rock 'b edge we go. 

43 The high crag cannot work me harm. 
Nor leaping torrents when they ho\vl . 
The babe I carry on my ai m, 
He saves for me my precious soul . 
Then happv lie; for blest am I; 

r>0 Without me my sweet babe *onld du 

"Then do not fear, my boy ! for theo 
Bold as a lion will I be; 
And I will always be thy guide, 
Through hollow snows and rivers wide 

55 I'll build an Indian bower; I know 
The leaves that make the softest bed : 
And if from me thou wilt not go, 
But still be true till I am dead, 
My pretty thing 9 then thou shalt sing 

B0 As mem" a* the bud* in sprinsr 



4 ' Thy father cares not for uiy bieaut, 
'Tis thine, sweet baby, there to rest ; 
'Tis all thine own I and if its hue 
Be changed, that was so fair to view, 

01 'Tis fair enough for thee, my dove ' 
My beauty, little child, is flown, 
But thou wilt live with me in love ; 
And what if my poor cheek be brown t 
'Tis well for me thou canst not see 

70 How pale and wan it else would be. 

"Dread not their taunts, my little life, 
am thy father's wedded wife; 
And underneath the spreading tiee 
We two will live in honesty. 

75 If his bweet boy he could forsake, 
With me he never would have stayed : 
From him no harm my babe can take , 
But he, poor man I is wretched made. 
And eveiy day we two will pray 

80 For him that 's gone and far away 

"I'll teach my boy the sweetest things. 

I'll leach him how the owlet sings 

My little babe thy lips are still. 

And thou hast almost sucked th> till 
85 Whei o art thou gone, my own clear child t 

What wicked looks aie those I see? 

Alas' Alas* that look so wild, 

It ncvei, never came fioni me 

If thou ait mad, my pretty lad, 
90 Then 1 must be I'm ever sad 

4 ' Oh ? smile on me, my little lamb ! 
Fm I thy own dear mother am . 
My love foi thee has well been tned 
1 've sought thy father far and wide 

1)5 I know the poisons of the shade, 
I know the earth-nuts fit for food 
Then, pretty dear, be not afraid 
We'll find thy father in the wood 
Now laugh and be gay, to the woods away ! 

100 And there, my babe, we'll live for aye." 




1798 1708 

In the sweet shire of Cardigan. 
Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall, 
An old man dwells, a little man, 
'Tis said he once was tall. 
' Full five and thirty years he lived 
A running huntsman merry; 
And still the centre of his cheek 
IB red as a ripe cherry. 

No man like him the horn could sound, 
10 And bill nml valley rang with crl*e 

When Echo bandied, round and round, 
The halloo of Simon Lee. 

In those proud days, he little cared 
For husbandry or tillage , 
ir > To blither tasks did Simon rouse 
The sleepers of the village. 

lit* all the countiy could outrun, 
Could leave both man and horse behind , 
And often, ere the chase was done, 
20 He reeled, and was stone-blind 

And btill theie's something in the world 
At winch ins Leait rejoices. 
For when the chiming hounds aie out, 
He dearly loves their \oices! 

20 But, oh the hea\v change! beie tt 

Of health, strength, friends, and kin- 
dred, sec! 

Old Simon to the woild is left 

In liveried poverty. 

His master's dead, and no one now 
* Dwells in the Hall ot Ivor, 

Men, dogs, and IJOISPS, all aie dead. 

He is the sole survivor 

And he is lean, anil he is sick , 
His body, dwindled and awn, 

35 Kests upon ankles swoln and thick; 
His legs are thin and dry 
One prop he has, and only one, 
His uifc, an aged woman. 
Lives with him, neai the wuteifall, 

40 Upon the village common 

Reside their mobH-grown hut of cla>, 
Not twenty paces from the door, 
A scrap of land they ha\ r, hut tliev 
Are poorest of the poor 
**> This scrap of land he from the heath 
Enclosed when lie was stronger, 
Rut what to them avails the land 
Which he can till no longer? 

Oft, working by her husband 'H ud<* 
"' Ruth does what Simon cannot do. 

For she, with scanty cause foi pnd 

Is stouter of the two 

And, though you with voui utmost skill 

From laboi could not wean them, 
55 Tis little, very little-all 

That they can do between them 

Few months of life has he in store 
As he to you will tell, 
For still, the more he works, the more 
w Do his weak ankles swell. 
Afv crentle render, T peieoivc 


How patiently you've waited, 
And now I fear that you expect 
Some tale will be related 

115 reader! had you 111 your mmd 
Such stores na silent thought fan 
O gentle teadei ! >uu would tind 
A tale in every thing 
What more 1 Tune to say is falioit, 

70 And >ou must kindly take it 

It is no tale, hut, should >ou flunk, 
1'eihaps a tale \ou'H make it 

One bummei-day I chanced to see 
This old uian doing all he could 

7B To unearth the loot of an old tiee, 
A stump ol rotten wood 
The mattock tottered m ins hand, 
So \aui uas Ins endeavor, 
That at the root ot the ol<l tiee 

80 lie mu>ht ha\c u inked 

"You're o^ertllsked, jjood Simon Lee, 
(ji\e me your tool," to him 1 said, 
And at the woid unlit sladl\ he 
Recened m\ pioilcied aid 
85 I struck, und \\ith a single blow 
The tangled loot I se>eied, 
At 11 Inch the pool old man so long 
Vnd \cimh had endea\oied 

The teais into Ins e\es \\ere bious*ht 
00 And thanks and piaises seined to iun 

So last out ot his heart, 1 thought 

They nexei would ha\e done 

l'\e heaid ot heaits unkind, kind deeds 

With coldnobs still letinninii, 
93 Alas 1 the gratitude oi men 

llath olteni'i left me moiiiiunt: 

1798 1708 

I heard a thousand blended notes. 
While in a ?io\e I sate leclined, 
Tn that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts 
ti<* sad thoughts to the mind 

The birds around me hopped and played, 
Their thoughts I cannot measure* 
15 But the least motion which they made, 
It seemed a thrill of pleasure. 

The budding twigs bpiead out then tan, 
To catch the breezy an , 
And 1 must think, do all 1 can, 
-' That there was pleasure there 

It this belief 1'ioin heaven be sent, 
It such be Nature's hoh plan, 
Have I not leason to lament 
What man has uuidc ot man / 

'70s 1708 

It is the first mild dajt ol Mau-h 
I Inch minute sweetei than before, 
The redbieabt smgb horn the tall hutli 
That stands beside oui dooi 

1 Theie ib a blessing in the an. 
Which seems a sense of jo> to weld 
To the baie tiees, and mountains baie 
And grass in the uieen lie Id 

My Mstci f ( 'tis wish of mine) 
10 Now that oui inoiniiiji meal is done. 
Make haste, \oiu morning task lesmn 
(.'ome ioith and feel the sun 

Kdwurd will come with ,\ou, and, pia\ 
Put on \\it\\ <peed v oui 'woodland diess 
"' And bring no book loi this on< ilav 
We'll gue to idleness 

3 To hei fair \\oiks did Nat me link 
The himian soul that thiough me mn . 
And much it irne\cd my heart to think 
\Yhnt man has mnde of man 

Through primrose tufts, in that green 


10 The periwinkle trailed its ^reatliR, 
And 'tis mv faith that exerv flower 
tho mi it brcnthos 

No .jOAless foiuis shall ieiulate 
Our living caleudai 
Wo from todav, mv friend, will date 
-'" The openni" ot the yeai 

Lo\e, now a unixersal buth, 
Kiom heart to heait is stealing 
From earth to man, from man to eaith 
It is the hoin of 

- 1 "' One moment now ma\ si\e us moie 
Than years of toiling leason 
Our minds shall drink at e\er\ 
The spirit of the season 

Some bilent laws our hearts will make. 
30 Which they shall long obey 
We for the year to come mav take 
Our temper from todav 

1 Domtliv Worclvn orth 


And from the blessed power that rolls 
About, below, above, 
85 We'll frame the measure of our souls* 
They shall be tuned to love. 

Then come, my sister I come, I pray. 
With speed put on your woodland dress; 
And bring no book . for this one day 
* We'll give to idleness. 


1798 1800 

A whirl-blast from behind the hill 
Rush M o'er the wood with startling souud , 
Then all at once the air was still, 
And showers of hailstones pattered round 
5 Where leafless oaks towered high above, 
I sat within an nndergrove 
Of tallest hollies, tall and green; 
A fairer bower was never seen. 
From year to year the spacious floor 

10 With withered leaves is covered o'er, 
And all the year the bower is green. 
But see' where'er the hailstones drop 
The withered leaves all skip and hop; 
There's not a breeze no breath of air 

U Yet here, and theie, and everywhere 
Along the floor, beneath the shade 
By those embowering hollies made, 
The leaves in myriads jump and spring, 
As if with pipes and music rare 

20 Some Robin Good-fellow were there. 
And all those leaves, in festive glee, 
Were dancing to the minstrelsy. 

1798 1798 

"Why, William, on that old gray stone, 
Thus for the length of half a day, 
Why, William, sit you thus alone, 
And dream your time awayf 

r > "Where are your books t- that light 


To beings else forlorn and blind ! 
Up! up! and drink the spirit breathed 
From dead men to their kind. 

"Ton look round on your Mother Earth, 
10 As if she for no purpose bore yon ; 
As if you were her first-born birth, 
And none had lived before yon!" 

One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake. 
When life was sweet, I knew not why, 

16 To me my good friend Matthew 1 spake, 
And thus I made reply : 

"The eye it cannot choose but see; 
We cannot bid the ear be still; 
Our bodies feel, where'er they be, 
20 Against or with our will. 

"Nor less I deem that there are Powers 
Which of themselves our minds impress; 
That we can feed this mind of ours 
In a wise passiveness. 

2 r i "Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum 
Of things forever speaking, 
That nothing of itself will come, 
But we must still be seeking f 

" Then ask not wherefore, liere, alone, 
80 Conversing as I may, 

I sit upon this old gray stone, 
And dream my time away." 


1798 1798 

U p! m y friend, and quit your books, 
Or surely you 11 grow double 1 
I 7 p! up! my friend, and clear your looks; 
Why all this toil and trouble? 

5 The sun, above the mountain's head, 
A freshening lustre mellow 
Through all the long green fields has 

His first sweet evening yello* 

1 Books f 'tis a dull and endless tnfc- 
10 Come, hear the woodland linnet, 

How s \\eet his music! on my life. 

There's more of wisdom in it. 

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings! 
He, too, is no mean preacher: 
1:> Come forth into the light of things, 
Let Nature be your teacher. 

She has a world of ready wealth, 
Our minds and hearts to Mess- 
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, 
- >u Truth breathed by cheerfulness. 

One impulse from a vernal wood 
May teach yon more of man, 
Of moral evil and of good, 
Than all the sages can. 

i "A friend who wai Romewfaat unreasonably at 
tarhed to modern hooks of moral philosophy " 



26 Sweet IB the lore winch Nature bimgb; 
Our meddling intellect 
Misshapes the beauteous forms of 

We murder to dissect 

Enough of Science and of Art , 
J0 Close up those barren leaves, 

Come forth, and bring with >ou a heart 
That watches and receives 





1798 1708 

Five yearn have past ; five Rummers, with 
the length 

Of the long winters*' and again I hour 

These waters, lolling from their moun- 

With a soft inland murmur Once again 
6 Do L behold these steep and lofty cliffs. 

That on a uild secluded scene impress 

Thoughts ot more deep seclusion; and 

The landscape mth the quiet of the sk\ 

The day is come A* hen I again repose 
10 Here, under this daik syca more, and \ie* 

These plots ot cottaire-in ound, these 

Which at this season, with then unripe 

Are clad in one preen hue, and IOM> 
themseh es 

'Mid groves and copses Once a^uni 1 see 
16 These hedgerows, hardly hedgeuws, little 

Of sportive Mood run mid these pas- 
toral farms, 

Green to the \er> dooi , anil wreaths o1 

Sent up, in silence, from among the tiees f 

With some uncertain notice, us might seem 
20 Of vagrant dwelleis in the houseless woods 

Or of some heimit 's ea\e. where by his iiie 

The hermit sits alone 

These beauteous forms, 
Through a long absence, ha\e not been 
to me 

2G As is a landscape to a blind man's eve 
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the dm 
Of towns and cities, I have cwed to them. 
In houis of weariness, sensations sweet, 
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart , 
And passing even into my purer mind. 

10 With tranquil restoration: feelings too 
Of unremembered pleasure : such, perhaps, 
As have no slight or trivial influence 

On that best portion of a good man 's hie, 
His little, nameless, unremembered acts 

36 Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, 
To them I may have owed another gift, 
Of aspect more sublime , that blessed mood, 
In which the burthen of the mastery, 
In which the heavy and the weary weight 

40 Of all this unintelligible uorld, 

Is lightened- that serene and blessed 


In which the affections gently lead us on, 
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame 
And even the motion of our human blood 

45 Almost suspended, we are laid asleep 
In body, and become a living soul . 
While with an e>e made quiet by the power 
Of harmom, and the deep power of ]o\. 
We see into the hie of things. 

If this 

lft Be but a vain belief, \et, oh! how oft 
In darkness and amid the many shapes 
Of joyless daylight, *hen the fretful 


Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, 
Have hung upon the beatings of mv 

r ' ri How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, 

sylvan Wye 1 thou wanderer thro' the 

How often has my spirit tinned to thee' 

And now, with gleams of half-extin- 
guished thought, 

With manv reco&mitions dim and faint, 
fir) And somewhat of a sad perplexity, 
The picture of the mind revives "again 
While here I stand, not only with the sense 
Of present pleasure, but* with pleasing 


That in this moment there is life and food 
fiB For futuie yeais. And so I dare to hope, 
Though changed, no doubt, from what I 
Titts when fhst 

1 came among these hills, when like a roe 
I hounded o'er the mountains, by the sides 
Of the deep rneis, and the lonely streams, 

Whemer nature led more like a man 
Flying from something that he dreads 

than one 
Who sought the thing he loved. For 

nature then 

(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, 
And their glad animal movements all 

gone by) 

75 To me was all in all. I cannot paint 
What then I was The Rounding cataract 
Haunted me like a passion the tall rock. 
The mountain, and the deep and gloom \ 



Their colors and their forms, were then Knowing that Nature uo\ or did betray 

to me The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, 

80 An appetite; a feeling and a love, Through all the years of this our life, 

That had no need of a remoter charm, to lead 

By thought bupplied, nor am interest 12:> Flora IOA to joy: for she can so inform 

Unhorrowed from the eye. -That time IK The mind that is within us, so impress 

past, With quietness and beauty, and so feed 

And all its aching joys are now no more. With lofty tliouojits, that neither evil 

83 And all its dizzv raptures Not for this tongues, 

Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur, other Unsh judgments, nor the sneers of selfish 

gifts men, 
Have followed; for such loss. I would 13 Nurgicetmus ^heie no kindness is, nor all 

believe. The dreary intercourse of daily life, 

Abundant recompense For T luue leained Shall e'er prevail against us, or distuib 

To look on nature, not as in the horn Our cheerful faith, that all which wo 

90 Of thoughtless youth; but hearing often- behold 

times Is full of blessings Thei of 01 e let the moon 
The still, sad music of humanity, 135 Shine on thee m thy sohtaix walk; 

Nor liaish nor gratiner, though of ample And let the misty mountain-winds lie fiee 

)K>wei To blow against thee and, in after yeais 

To chasten and subdue And I lune felt When these mild ecstasies shall be ma'tunM 

A presence that disturbs me with the joy Into a sober pleasure; TV lien thv mind 
qB Of elevated thoughts, a sense sublime 14 Shall be a mansion for all lovclv forms 

Of something far more deeply mtei fused. Thy memory be as a dwelling-place 

Whose dwelling is the lisrht of setting suns, For all sueet sounds and harmonies 

And the round ocean and the living an, oh' then, 

And the blue skv, and in the mind of man If solitude, or feai, 01 pain, or giief, 
100 A motion and a spirit, that impels Should be th> portion, mith what heal- 
All thinking things, all objects of all ing thoughts 

thought, 1IB Of tender joy A\ilt thou rememlier me. 

And rolls through all tinners Theiefoie And these my exhortations' Nor, por- 

am I still chance 

A lover of the meadows and the woods. If I should be where I no more can hear 

And mountains; and of all that we behold Thy \oiee, nor catch from thy wild e^ses 

KW From this green earth , of all the mi&rhtA these gleams 

world Of imst existence wilt thou then foiget 
Of eve, and ear, both what they half 1RO That on the banks of this delightful stream 

create, We stood togetliei i and that I, so lon 

Ami wlmt perceive: well pleased to rec- A worshipper of Natuie, hither came 

ogniase Unwearied in that service rather say 

In nature and the language of the sense With warmer lo\e oh with far deeper 

The anchor of mv purest thoughts, the aeal 

nurse, 1BB Of holier lo\c Xor wilt thou then foiget 

110 The guide, the guardian of mv heart. That aftei main wanderings, many years 

and soul Of absence, these steep woods and lofh 

Of all mv moral being. fliflfe, 

Nor perchance,' And this gieen pastoral landscape, were 

If I were not thus taught, should I the moi e to me 

Suffer my genial spirits to decay More dear, both for themselves and for 

For thou art with me here upon the banks thv sake ' 

u* Of this fair river; thou mv dearest friend, , m . 

My dear, dear friend; and in thy voice THE OLD OTMBKTU,A\I> REGGAR 

I catch J ' IKfm 

The language of my former heart, and read I TOW an aged beggar in my walk; 

Mv former pleasures in the shooting lights And he was seated, by the highway mile, 

Of thv wild eves Oh ! yet a little while On a low structure of rude masonry 

> May I behold in the* what I was once, Built at the foot of a huge hill, that thev 
My dear, dear sister! and this prayer * Who lead their horse* down the steep 

T make, rough road 



May thence remount at ease. The aged 

Had placed his staff across the broad 

smooth stone 

That overlays the pile, and, from a bap: 
All white with flour, the dole of village 

10 He diew his scraps and fragments, one 

by one, 
And scanned them with a fixed and sei i- 

OUB look 

Of idle computation In the sun, 
Upon the second step of that biuall pile, 
Surrounded by those wild unpeopled hills, 
r> He sat, and ate his food m solitude 
And ever scatteied from his palsied hand, 
That, still attempting to prevent the w aste, 
Was baffled still, the crumbs in little 


Fell on the ground , and the small moun- 
tain buds, 
20 Not \ent linns* >et to peck their destined 

Approached within the length of half In* 


Him f lorn m\ childhood lm\e I known 

and then 

He was so old. lie seems not oMei now . 
He tra\els on. a sohtai\ man 
2B So helpless in iipjM'iiiancc, thai for him 
The sauntering hoiscinun thiows not 

with a slack 
And careless hand his alms upon the 

Hut btops, that ho nun safelv lodge the 


Within the aid man 's hat , noi quits him so, 
* But still, when ho has m\en his hoi** 

the lein, 

Watches the a^ed heggai vith a look 
Sidelong, and half-ie\eited She who 


The tull-gnie, when in suniniei at hei door 

She tin us hoi wheel, if on the road she sees 

r ' The aged beggai coining, quits her work. 

And lifts the latch for him that he inav 

The post-bo>, when his rattling whoeK 


The aged beggar in the woody lane, 
Shouts to him from behind , and, if thus 

40 The old man does not change his course. 

the boy 
Turns with less noisy wheels to the 


And passes gently by, without a curse 
Upon his lips or anger at his heart. 

He travels on, a solitary man, 
45 His age has no companion. On the ground 
His eyes are turned, and, as he nurves 

They move along the ground, and, ever- 


Instead of common and habitual sight 
Of fields with rural works, of hill and dale, 
" And the blue sky, one little span of earth 
Is all his prospect. Thus, fiom day to day, 
How-bent, hib eyes foiever on the giound, 
fie plies his weary journey, seeing still, 
Ami seldom knowing that he sees, some 

"' Rome scattered leaf, or marks which, in 

one track, 
The nails of eart or chariot-wheel have 

Impiessed on the white road, in the 

same line, 

At distance still the same. Poor tia\ellei ! 
His staff trails with him ; scarcely do his 


60 Disturb the summer dust; he is so still 
In look and motion, that the <ottage cms, 
Kie he has passed the dooi, will tuin away, 
Weary of balking at him Boys and git Is, 
The \ftcant and the h\iM, mauls and 

fi " Ami urchins iiewh bieeched all pass 

him b\ 

Him e\en the slow-paced wayon leases 

Hut deem not this man useless 

Statesmen T je 

Who aie so restless in vuur wisdom, >e 
Who have a bioom still leady in youi hands 
70 To nd the woild of iiinsances, >e proud, 
Heart-swoln, while in your pride ye con- 

Vour talents, power, or wisdom, deem 

him not 

A burthen of the earth ' 'Tis Nat ure 's law 
That none, the meanest of cieated thinus, 
75 Of forms created the most \ lie and brute, 
The dullest or most noxious, should exist 
Divorced from srood a spirit and pulse 

of good, 

A life and soul, to every mode of being 
Inseparably linked Then be assured 
* That least of all ran aught that ever 

The heaven-regarding eye and front sub- 

Which man is born to sink, howe'er 


So low as to be scorned without a sin; 
Without offence to God cast out of view; 


85 Like the dry remnant of a garden flower 13 His present blessings, and to husband up 

Whose seeds are shed, or as an implement The respite of the season, he, at least, 

Worn out and worthless. While from And 'tis no vulgar service, makes them felt 

door to door, 

This old man creeps, the villagers in him Yet further. Many, I believe, there are 

Behold a record which together binds Who live a life of virtuous decency, 

90 Past deed* and offices of charity, 185 Men who can hear the Decalogue and feel 

Else unrememberi'd, and so keeps alive No self-reproach; who of the moral law 

The kindly mood in hearts which lapse Established in the land where they abide 

of years, Are strict observers, and not negligent 

And that half-wisdom half-experience In acts of love to those with whom thev 

gives. dwell, 

Make slow to feel, and by sure steps resign J4 Their kindred, and the children of their 

96 To selfishness and cold oblivious cares. blood. 

Among the farms and solitary huts, Praise be to such, and to their slumbers 

Hamlets and thinly-scattered villages, peace ' 

Where'er the aged beggar takes his rounds But of the poor man ask, the abject 

The mild necessity of use compels poor; 

100 To acts of love; and habit does the woik Co, and demand of him, -if there be here 

Of reason; yet prepares that a f lei -joy In thib cold abstinence from evil deeds, 

Which reason cherishes. And thus the soul, 143 And these me\ itable charities, 

By that sweet taste of pleasure unpunmed, Wherewith to satisfy the human soul? 

Doth find herself insensibly disposed No man is dear to man ; the poorest pooi 

105 TO virtue and true goodness Long for some moments in a weary life 

Some there are, When thev can know and feel that they 

By their good works exalted, lofty minds, \ia\ e been, 

And meditative, authors of delight 1KO Themsehes, the fal hers and the dealers-out 

And happiness, which to the end of time Of some small blessings, have been kind 

Will live, and spread, and kindle e\fn to such 

such minds As needed kindness, for this single cause, 

110 In childhood, from this solitary being, That we hate all of us one human hehrt 

Or from like wanderer haply have received Such plea sine is to one kind being 

(A thing more precious far than all that knovtn, 

books ln> > Mv neighbor, when \uth punctual care, 

Or the solicitudes of love can do f ) each week, 

That first mild touch of sympathy and Duly as Friday comes, though pressed 

thought, herself 

116 In which they found their kindred with B> her own wants, she from her store of 

a world meal 

Where want and sorrow were The eas\ Takes one unspanng handful for the scrip 

man Of this old mendicant, and, from her door 

Who sits at his own door. and, like the 16 Returning *ith exhilarated heart, 

pear Sits by her fire, and builds her hope in 

That overhangs his head from the green heaven 


Feeds in the sunshine; the robust and Then let him pass, a blessing on his head f 

young, And while in that vast solitude to which 

120 The prosperous and unthinking, the> The tide of things has borne him, he 

who live appears 

Sheltered, and flourish in a little grove ] * 5 To breathe and live but for himself alone. 

Of their own kindred; all behold in him Unblamed, uninjured, let him bear about 

A silent monitor, which on their minds The good which the benignant law of 

Must needs impress a transitory thought Heaven 

125 Of self-congratulation, to the heart Has hung around him* and, while bfe 

Of each recalling his peculiar boons, is his, 

His charters and exemptions; and, per- Still let him prompt the unlettered villagers 

chance, 17 To tender offices and pensive thoughts 

Though he to no one give the fortitude Then let him pass, a blessing on his head ! 

And circumspection needful to preserve And, long a A he can wander, let him breathe 



The freshness of the valleys; let his blood 

Straggle with frosty air and winter snows , 

"3 And let the chartered 1 wind that h weeps 

the heath 
Beat his gray lockb against his withered 


Reveience the hope whose vital anuousueas 

Gives the last human interest to his heart 

May never House, misnamed of Industry,-' 

180 Make him a captive 1 for that pent-up 

Those life-conbuming sounds that clog 

the air, 

Be his the natural silence of old age' 
Let him be free of mountain solitudes, 
And have around him, whether heard 

or not, 

ls3 The pleasant melod> oi woodland birds 
Few are his pictures : if bib eyes have now 
Been doomed so long to settle upon eaith 
That not without some effort they behold 
The countenance of the horizontal bun, 
190 Rising or netting let the light at least 
Find a free enhance to their languid orbs, 
And let him. \\heie and when he will, 

sit don n 

Beneath the trees, or on a grassy bank 
Of highway side, and with the bttlc Jmdv 
196 Share his chance-gathered meal; and. 


As in the e~\e of Nature he has lived. 
So in the eve of Nature let him die! 


1199 1800 

It seem& a da> 

(I 8}>eak oi one from many singled out) 
One of those hea\enl> days that cannot 


When, in the eagerness of boyish hope. 

5 I left our cottage threshold, sallying forth 

With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders 

A nutting crook in hand ; and turned m\ 

Tow'rd some far-distant wood, a figure 

Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off 

10 Which for that sen ice had been hus- 

By exhortation of my frugal dame- 
Motley accoutiement, of power to smile 
At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, 

and in truth 

More ragged than need was* O'er path- 
less rocks, 

1 The poorhouso 

16 Through beds ot matted fern, and tangled 


Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook 
Unvisited, where not a broken bough 
Drooped with its withered leaves, un- 
gracious sign 

Of devastation ; but the hazels rose 
20 Tall and erect, with tempting cluster* 


A \irgin scene! A little while I stood, 
Breathing with such suppression of the 


As joy delights in ; and with wise restraint 
Voluptuous, fearless of a iival, eyed 
25 The banquet, or beneath the trees 1 sate 
Among the flowers, and with the flowers 

I played; 

A temper known to those who, after long 

And wearj expectation, have been blest 

With sudden happiness beyond all hope 

30 Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose 


The violets of five seasons reappear 
And fade, unseen by any human eye, 
Where fairy watei-bieaks 1 do nmimui on 
Forevei , and I saw the sparkling foam, 
*"' And with my cheek on one of those 

green stones 
That, fleeced with moss, under the shad} 

Lay round me, scattered like a flock of 

1 heard the murmur and the murmuring 

In that sweet mood when pleasure love* 

to pay 

40 Tnbutc to ease, and, of its joy secure. 
The heait luxuriates with indifferent 


Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones. 
And on the vacant air. Then up I rose. 
And dragged to earth both branch and 

bough, with crash 

45 And merciless ia\age: and the shady nook 
Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower, 
Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up 
Their quiet being: and unless I now 
Confound my present feelings with the 


*' Ere from the mutilated bower I turned 
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings, 
T felt a sense of pain when I beheld 
The silent trees, and saw the intruding 

Then, dearest maiden, move along these 


r>6 In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand 
Touch for there is a spirit in the woods 
1 rlpplr* 





Strange fits of passion have I known 
And I will dare to tell, 
Bnt in the lover's ear alone, 
What once to me befell 

5 When she I loved looked every da> 
Fresh as a rose in June, 
I to her cottage hent iny ua>. 
Beneath an evening moon 

Upon the moon I fixed rav e>e 
All over the wide lea , 

With quickening pace my hor^c drew nmh 
Those paths so dear to me 

And now uc reached the ou haul-plot . 
And, as we climbed the hill, 
1B The sinking moon to Luc\ \ rot 
Tame near, and uearei btill 

In one of those sweet dream** I slept. 
Kind Nature's gentlest boon' 
And all the while mv eyes T kept 
20 On the descending moon 

M\ horse moved on. hoof uitei hoof 
He laised, and never stopped 
When down behind the cottaue loot 
At once, the bright moon dropped 

26 What fond and wavward thoughts will slide 
Into a lover 'H head f 
"0 racicy'" lo myself I cried. 
-If Lucv should he dead' '' 


1799 1800 

She dwelt among: the untrodden 

Beside the springs of Dove. 
A maid whom there were none to praise 

And ven few to love- 

5 A violet by a moss} stone 

Half hidden from the eye! 
Fair us a star, when only one 
Tb shining in the sky. 

She lived unknown, and few could know 
10 When Lucy ceased to be; 
Rut she is m her grave. and. oh, 
Tho difference to me' 


2799 1807 

1 travelled among unknown men, 

In lands bevond the sea; 
Nor, England ! did I know till then 

What love I bore to thee 

r ' 'Tis past, that melancholy dream! 

Nor will I quit thy shore 
V second time ; for still I seem 
To love thee more and more 

Among thy mountains did I feel 
10 The joy of my desire; 

And she I cherished turned her wheel 
Beside an English fire 

Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed, 

The borers where Luc\ placed: 
15 And thine too IH the last gieen Held 
That Lucy's evcb Hurve\ed 



Three years she grew in Run and show 01 
Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower 
On earth was ne\er sown, 
This child 1 to myself will take, 
1 She shall be mine, and T AM 11 make 
A lady of my own 

"Myself will to m> dailiug be 
Itoth law and impulse and with me 
The mil, in lock ami plain, 
10 In earth and heaven, m glade and bouei. 
Shall feel an overseeintr power 
To kindle 01 lestrain 

"She shall be bpoitive ab the fawn 
That wild with glee aerobs the lawn 
n Or up the mountain spungs, 

And heis shall be the breathing balm. 
And hers the silence and the calm 
Of mute insensate things. 

"The floating clouds their state fehall lend 
20 To her; for her the willow bend, 
Nor shall she fail to see 
Kven in the motions of the storm 
Grace that shall mould the maiden ^ tmni 
By silent sympathy 

25 "The stars of midnight shall be dear 
To her; and she shall lean her ear 
In many a secret place , 
Where rivulets dance their wayward round, 
And beauty born of murmuring sound 

10 Shall pans into her fnce. 



"And vital ieehngs oi' delight 
Shall rear her form to stately height, 
Her vn gin bosom swell, 
Such thoughts to Lucy I will 
3& While she and 1 together live 
Here in this lmpj)y dell " 

Thus Natuie spake -The work was done 
Uow soon m> Lucy's race was iun f 
She died, and left to me 
40 This heath, this calm, ami quiet scene 
The memory oi \\lint has been, 
And never moi e \\ ill lie 

1700 1800 

A slumbei did my spirit seal, 

I had no human i'eais 
She seemed a tliinr that could not I eel 

The touch of eaithh \ears 

" Xo motion has she no\\, no lone 

She neithei hears noi sees, 
Rolled lound in earth's diuinal cotii*e. 
\\ith locks, and stones, and tiees 



Ail thon a statist in the \an 
Ot public <onflicts tiamed and biod'f 
Fust leain to love one Innm man 
Then nun M thou think upon the dend 

" V la\\>ci art lhoii ? diin\ not nush 1 
(Id, c-a'nj to some httci place 
The keenness of that piacticed e>c. 
The baldness of that snllom tace 

Vit thon a man ot ] nu pie cbcei ' 
111 A rosy man, nnht plump to see* 
Appioach. \et, duct 01 J not too neai. 
This aia\e no cushion is fin Ihee 

Oi ait thou one of allant pude 
A qnldiei and no man oi chaff? 
15 Welcome 1 but lav thv s\\oid aside. 
And lean upon a peasant's staff 

Physician nil thou '-one, all e>e-, 
Philoso]>bei ' a tiiiueniur sla\e. 
One that would peep and botani/c 
- Upon his mothei 's jiin\c? 

Wra])t closely in thy scnsunl ilmc. 

turn aside, and take, T pia>, 
That he below may icsi in 

Thy e\ei-dwindlum soul, n 

1 \ 

J "' A moialist 1 perchance appeals. 

Led, Heaven knows how f to this pool sod 
And he has neither eyes nor ears, 
Himself his world, and his own God , 

One to whose smooth- rubbed soul can cling 
50 Noi ioiui, nor feeling, gieat 01 small, 
A ipflsonniK, self-sufficing thing, 
An intellectual all-in-all f 

Shut close i lie dooi , piess down the latch, 
Sleep in th> intellectual ciust, 
r Noi lose ten tickings of thy watch 
Neai this unpiolitable dust 

But who is he, with modest looks, 
And clad in homely tusset blown If 
He mm nuu s neai the limning brooks 
*" A music suectcM than then own 

Tip is iptired noontide dew, 
Oi fountain in a noon-day gnnc, 
And >ou must love him, eie to you 
He mil seem worthy ot your lo\e 

4<i The outward shous of sky and earth. 
Of bill and valley, he has vie\\ed , 
\nd miTdilsc^ of deepei biith 
lla\c come to him in solitude 

In common things that lound us he 
|0 Some landcnn tinths he can nnpai*t. 
Thchuixest ot a cpiiet eye 
That bioods and sleeps 'on his o\\n heait 

Rut he is ucak, lioth man and bo\ 
Hath bwn an idler in the land, 
"" Contented if ho nimht PII.IO\ 

The things which otheis undei stand 

Come hither in ll^ hour oi st length, 
Come, ^\eak as is a bieakum wa>e' 
licit- stieUh Ihv body at full length. 
M] (>i build tin house upon tiiispia\e 

119B 1800 

Tf Nature, for a favonte child, 
In thee hath tempered so hei clay, 
That e\eiy hour thy heait runs wild, 
Vet ncxei once doth 1*0 

R Head o'er these lines; and then re\iew 
This tablet, that thus humbly leais 
in such dneisit\ of hue 
Its hiMon of two bundled >euis 

Wlien tbrourfi this little wreck of fame 
10 Cipher and syllable.' thine eye 

1 Ono \\1in tonfh 



Has travelled down to Matthew's name. 
Pause with 110 common sympathy. 

And if a sleeping tear should wake. 
Then be it neither cheeked nor stayed . 
ir> For Matthew a request I make 
Which for himself he had not made. 

Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er. 
Is silent as a standing pool ; 
Far from the chimney's merry roar, 
30 And murmur of the village school 

The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs 
Of one tned out with fun and madness, 
The tears which came to Matthew's eyes 
Were tears of light, the dew of gladness 

26 Yet sometimes uhen the secret cup 
Of still and sei ions thought went round, 
Tt seemed as if he drank it up 
He telt with sjmit so profound 

Thou oul of God's best earthly mould* 
30 Thou happy Soul f and can it be 
That these tun words of glittering gold 
Aie nil that must remain of thee? 

ll't'J 1800 

We walked along, while bright and red 
I'prose the moi inng sun , 
And Matthew stopped, he looked, and said, 
"The will of Owl be done 1 " 

"' A ^ illage schoolmaster was IIP, 
With hair of glittering gray , 
As blithe a man as you could see 
On a spimg holiday 

And on that morning, through the glass. 
10 And by the steaming nils, 
We tia\elled merrily, to pass 
A day among the hills 

"Our work," said I, "was well begun, 
Then from thy bieast what thought, 
16 Beneath so beautiful a sun, 
So sad a sigh has brought f" 

A second time did Matthew stop , 
And fixing still his eye 
Upon the eastern mountain-top, 
20 To me he made reply: 

"Ton cloud with that long purple eleft 
Brings fresh into my mind 
A dav like this which I have left 
Fn 1 ! Iliirfv \ir*< behind. 

-5 "And just abo\e you slope of corn 
Such colors, and no other. 
Were in the sky, that Apnl morn, 
Of this the very brother. 

"With uid and line I sued 1 the sport 
30 Which that sweet season gave, 

And, to the churchyard coine, stopped 

Beside my daughter's grave 

"Nine summers had she scarcely seen. 
The pnde of all the vale; 
35 And then she sang, she would have been 
A very nightingale. 

"Six feet in eaitli my Emma lay, 
And yet I loved her more, 
For oo it seemed, than till that day 
40 I e'er had toed before. 

"And, turning from her gra\e f I met. 
Beside the churohvard >cw, 
A blooming gill, whose ban was met 
With point* of morning dew. 

r> "A basket on her head she bare, 
Tier biow UBS smooth and white: 
To see a child so \eiy fair, 
It MBS a pure delight' f 

"No fountain from its locky cave 
F/er tripped with foot so fiee, 
She seemed as happy as a \ia\e 
That dances on the sea. 

''There came fiom me a sigh of pain 
_ Which I could ill confine, 
" I looked at hei. and looked again 

And did not mish her inme f " 

Matthew is in his gra\e, yet now. 
Methmks, I see him stand, 
As at that moment, with a bough 
60 Of wilding in his hand 


1790 1800 

We talked with open heart, and tongue 
Vffertionate and true, 
A pair of friends, though I was young. 
And Matthew seventy-two 

3 We lay beneath a spreading oak, 
Beside a mossy seat; 
And from the turf a fountain broke, 
And gurgled at our feet. 



"Now, Matthew!" said I, "let us match 
10 This water's pleasant tune 

With some old border-song, or catch 
That suits a sunnnei f s noon , 

"Or ol* the chinch-clock and the chimes 
Sing here beneath the shade, 
16 That half-mad tinny: of witty ihymes 
Which you last Ajml made 1 " 

In silence Mattheu laj, and eyed 
The spring Yreneatli the tiee , 
And thus the deai old man le plied, 
20 The gray-haired man of glee 

"No chuck, no stay, tins sticamlet feais. 
How meriily it goes* 
'Twill murmur on a thousand jcais, 
And How as nou it fhnis 

26 "And hcie on (his delightful day, 
1 cannot choose but think 
How ni't, a \igoiiuis man, 1 lay 
Beside this fountain's bunk 

"My e\es art* dim uilh childish teais. 
30 My'hea'it is idl> stmed, 

For the sumo sound is in nn uais 
Which in those da\s I hcaid 

"Thus fares it still m oui deta\ 
And \ct the \\isci mind 
85 Mourns less foi uhat age takes a\\a\ 
Than what it lea>es behind 

"The blackbnd amid leutj 
The larkabo\e the hill, 
Let loose their nuoN \\hcti they please. 
W Are cjuiet when the} will 

"With Nature ne>ei do //// wage 
A foolish stute, the> see 
A happ> youth, and then old atre 
Is beautiful and fiee 

45 "But ve aie piessed b> he.nj lavs. 
And oiten, plail " iie, 
We \ieai a lace of joy. 
We have been lilad of 

tk I1 thei*e be une \\lu> need 
50 His kindred laid in earth, 

The household hearts that ueie his 
It is the man of mirth 

"My da>s, my friend, aie alm>st gone, 
My life has been approved, 
And man> lo^e me! but by none 
Am I enough beloved " 

"Now both himself and me he wrongs, 
The man who thus com plains* f 
I live and sing my idle bongs 
60 Upon these happy plains, 

"And, Matthew, foi thy child i en dead 
I'll be a son to thee'" 
At this he grasped my hand, and said 
-Alas! that cannot be" 

*"' We rose up from the fount am -bide , 
And down the smooth dpHcent 
Of the green sheep-tiack did we glide, 
And through the wood we went , 

And, ere we came to Leouaid's nx-k, 
70 He sang those witty rhymes 
About the craxv old church-dork, 
And the bewildered chimes. 


1799 1800 

Oft I had heaid nl Liu^ Gray 
And. when 1 c tossed the wild, 
I chanced to see at bienk of day 
The solitary child 

~ No mate, no comiade Lu<\ knew, 
She d\\elt on a uidc mooi. 
-The sweetest thins that e\ei jrie\\ 
Beside a human dom ' 

^ mi jet ma\ sjv the ia\\n at plav y 
10 The liai* upon the uriven; 

But the sweet face ot Lucy Gia> 
Will never more be seen. 

"Tonight Mill be a stormy night 
_ You to the tfwii must go, 
r> And take a lantein, child, to light 
Voui mothei thiougli the snow." 

'That, fathfi 1 \\ill J gladly do 
"Tis scnireK atternoon 
The minster-dork ha^ just stiuck tu 
20 Vnd yoiule? is the moon f '* 

At this the father laised his h(k. 
And Hiapped a faggot-band; 
He j)lied his * oik; and Luc> nk 
Tho lantern in her hand. 

25 Not blither is the mountain me 
With iiinnv a wanton stroke 
Her feet disperse the powoVn sno\\. 
That uses up like amoke 




The storm came on before its time 
30 She wandered up and down ; 
And many a hill did Lucy climb 
But nevei reached the town 

The wietched patents all that night 
Went shout in u far and wide, 
i5 But there was neither sound nui sight 
To serve them for a eruide 

At daybreak on a hill they stood 
That overlooked the moor. 
And thence thev SHU the budge of wood, 
10 A furlong fioni their door 

They wept and, tinning homeunid. cued 
"In heaven we all shall meet ," 
When in the snow the mothei spied 
The print of Lue\ 's feet 

11 Then downuaids I mm the steep hill's edge 12 
They t lacked the footmaiks small, 
And tliiough the hioken haw thorn hedge 
And by the long stone wall , 

And then an open field they ciossed 
50 The inaiks weie still the saine. 

They tracked them on. noi e\er lost, 32 "' 

And to the budge they <ame 

The\ followed iiom the sno\\\ bank 
Those footmaiks, one by one, 
5 "' Into the middle of the plank , 
\nd furthoi theie ueie none 1 

Yet some maintain that to this da\ 
She is a living child , 3JO 

That you may see sweet Luo (iia\ 
80 Upon the lonesome wild 

O'ei lough and smooth she trips along. 
And nevei looks behind, 3 '<5 

And sings a solitary sonp 
That whistles in the wind 

1709-1805 1850 



Fair seed-time had my soul, and I giew up 
Fostered alike by beauty and by feai *** 
Much faxored in my birthplace, and no less 
In (hat beloved Vale 1 to which erelong 
305 ^y c were transplanted there weie we let 

For sports of wider range Ere I had told 


1 Ruthwalto Lancahhlrp. in i\!ilch th< village of 
HflwkshPAd, wherp Woi<Nuorth n Mend pel 
' ' , wim Hltiifltd 

Ten birthdays, when among the mountain 

Frost, and the breath of frosty wind, had 


The la*t autumnal ciocus, 'twas my joy 
\vfth s t oic O f springes 1 o'er my should?! 

To lange the open heights \\heie wood- 

cocks run 
Among the smcnith gi*ecn tnif Tliiough 

half the night, 

Scudding away from snare to snare, I plied 
That anxious visitation, moon and stars 
Were shining o'er my head I was alone, 
And seemed to be a tiouble to the peace 
That dwelt among them Sometimes it 

In these night wanderings that n stmnir 


O'erpowered my better icason, and the bud 
Which was the captive of another's toil 
Became my prey, and when the deed was 


I heaid among the solitary hills 
Lou breathings comincf after me, and 


Of un distinguishable motion, steps 
Almost as silent as the turf they tiod 

Xor less when skiing had wnnntMl the 

cultured Vale, 2 
Mo\ed we as plnndeiers where the mothei - 

Had in high places built her lodge, though 


Our object and ingloiious, jot the end 
Was not ignoble Oh! when I ha\c hum- 
Above the i men's nebt, b> knots of pi ass 
And half-inch fissures in the slippery lock 
Hut ill-sustained, mid almost (so it seemed ) 
Suspended fa llu> blast that blew amain. 
Shouldering the naked ciag, oh, at that time 
While on the pei ilous i idge I hung alone. 
With what stianjre utterance did the loud 

dry \i md 
Tilow through my ear f the sky seemed not 

a sky 
Of earth and with uhat motion mo^ed 

the clouds' 

Dust as we are, the immortal spirit gi ows 
Like harmony in music, theie is a dark 
Inscrutable noiknianship that icconcilcs 
Discordant elements, makes them cling to- 


In one society llo\v strange that all 
The terrors, pains. HIM! eailv miseries, 

nonr Hnwkslirari 

1 snare* ; trap* 
fl Y<>x\GnU>, n vnlo 



Regrets, \cxiitions, lassitudes interfused 
Within my mind, should e'er ha\e home 


And that a needful pait, in making up 
The calm existence that is mine when 1 
ar ' Am worthy of myself' Piaise to the end f 
Thanks to the means which Natme dcurncd 

to employ , 

Whether hei fearless \isitmgs, or those 
That came with soft aim in, like hint less 

Owning the peaceful clouds, 01 she inaj 

iV Se\eici mtci \ent ions, nnnisti> 

Mme palpable, ns lie-st might suit hei aim 

Onesuniinei e\emng (led In hei ) I found 
A little boat tied to a willow" tiee 
Within a loclrv cove, its usual home 
!MI Straight 1 unloosed her chain, and stepping 

Pushed fiom the shoie It was an a<t 

of stealth 
And tioubled plensuie, not without the 

^ out 1 

OJ moiiiitnin echoes did im boat mo\e on, 
Famine hehind hei still, on eithei side, 
">'' Small cuclcs glittcinm idl\ in the moon. 
Kiiti! the% mrlted nil into mu> tiack 
Of spaiklnig lujht Hut now, like one 

who lows 

Pi oud of his skill, to lendi a chosen point 
With an unswervnm 1me 9 I fixed m> Mew 
870 Upon the summit of a ciHf>^\ nduc. 
The hoi i/.on 's utmost houndai>, tai aboxe 
Was not hum hut the stais and the ^im sk\ 
She was an elfin pinnace, lustih 
I dipped inv oai*s into the silent lake. 
i7 & And, as I rose upon the stioke. my boat 
Went hea\mg tlnonerh the water like a 

When, tiom behind that cuutt> steep till 

The hoi izon 's bound, a huge peak, black 

and huge, 

As if with \oluntary powoi instinct 
J ^ Fpreared it* head T tiuck and struck 


Vnd urowinpr still in Ratine the s>mn shape 
Toweied up between me and the stai-, 

and still. 

For so it seemed, with pmpose oJ it* own 

And measured motion like a lump thing. 

'W Stiode after me With trembling oai-s 

I tumed, 

And through the silent watei stole my wav 
Back to the covert of the willow tree; 
There in her mooriim-phiec 1 left my 


And through the meadows home wa id went. 

in gra^c 

^ And serious mood , but after T had seen 
That spectacle, fin nianv da^s, my brain 
Woiked with a dim and undetci mined sense 
Of unknown modes of hems:, o'er m> 


Theie hum; a daikness. call it solitude 
tir. (> r bi an k deseition No tamihai shapes 
Remained, no pleasant images of trees. 
Of sea or sky, no colois of gieen fields. 
Hut huge and mighty ioinis, that do not h\e 
Like living men, nuned slowly tlnouh the 

400 B\ day, and were a tiouble t> my dreams 

Wisdom and Spirit of the nniveisc 1 
Thou Soul that ait the eteinitv of thought 
That pi vest to toims and images a h 
And e\ei lasting motion, not in \am 
Ior ' HA dav 01 stai -light thus fiom my hi^t 


Ot childhood didst thou mtei twine toi me 
The passions that build up out human soul . 
\ot with the mean and Milgai woiks ot 

Hut with hmh objects, with endimnir 


110 With life and natuiepuiif>Hi^ thii^ 
The elements of feel in i> and oi thous>ht, 
And sanctifying, by such discipline. 
Hotli pain and feai, until we recognize 
A mandeui in the beatings of the heait 
ir ' \oi wa^ this icllowshi]* \ouchsafeil to me 
With stinted kindness In Nmembei days. 
When \apois lolling down the valley made 
A lonel> scene moie lonesome, ainonu 

\t noon and 'mid the calm of suimnei 


420 When, by the niai^iu of the fieinbling lake. 
Beneath the clooim InlN home\\aid J went 
In solitude, such niteicouise was mine. 
Mine wa< it in the fields both day and night, 
And bv the wateis. all the sunnnei lon 

42 " Vnd in the fio*t\ stMson, when the sun 
1 Was vet, and \isible Joi many a mile 
The cottage windows blazed through twi- 
light gloom, 

I heeded not then summons happ\ turn* 
Ft was indeed for all of us for me 
130 It was a time of laptuic* Cleai and loud 
The village clock tolled *i\, T wheeled 


Proud and e*ultmt> like an until ed hoise 
That cares not for his home All shod 

with steel. 
We hissed alonu the polished ice in ua 





" 5 

" |WI 

436 Confederate, mutatne of the chane 
And woodland pleasures, the resounding 

The pack loud chiming, and the hunted 

So through the daikuess and the cold we 


And not a voice was. idle; with the dm 
440 Smitten, the precipices rancr aloud; 
The leafless trees and every icy crag 
Tinkled like iion, \\hile fat distant hills 
Into the tumult sent an alien sound 
Of melancholy not unnoticed, \ihile the 

446 Eastward ueie sparkling clear, and in the 


The oiange sky of e\eiiing died awn\ 
Not seldom fiom the uproar I retiied 
Into a silent bay, or sport ivelv 
Glanced sideway, lea\mg the tumultuous 

450 To cut across the reflex of a star 

That fled, and, flying still before me 


Upon the glassy plain , and oftentimes. 
When we had given our bodies to the wind, 
And all the shadowy banks on either side 
456 Caine sweeping thiough the daiknc*s 

spinning still 

The lapid hue of motion, then at once 
Have I, reclining back upon my heels, 
Stopped shoit, }et still the solitary cliffs 
Wheeled by me even as if the earth had 


460 With visible motion her dmiual lound' 
Behind me did they stietch in solemn tram, 
Feebler and feeblei. and I stood and 

Till all was tranquil as a di cam less sleep 

Ye Presences of Nat me in the sky 
4 *B And on the earth ! Te Visions of the hills ! 
And Souls of lonely places 9 can I think -.75 
A vulgar hope was yours when ye em- 
Such ministry, when ye through many B 


Haunting me thus among my boyish spurts, 
170 On ca>cs and tiees, upon the woods and 

hills, 680 

Impressed upon all forms the chaiactets 
Of danger or deshc; and thus did make 
The surface of the umveisal earth 
With triumph and delight, with hope and 

475 Work like a seat 

Not uselessly employed. 
Might T puisne this theme through every 

Of e*eicise and play, to which the year 
Did summon us in his delightful round. 

Nor, sedulous as I have been to trace 
How Nature by extrinsic passion first 
Peopled the mind with forms sublime 01 


And made me love them, may I heie omit 
How other pleasures have been mine, and 

Oi subtler ougm, how [ ha\e felt, 

Not seldom even in that tempestuous time. 

Those hallowed and pure motions of the 


Which seem, in their simplicity, to own 
An intellectual charm, that calm delight 
Which, it I eii not, suiely must belong 
To those first-born affinities that lit 
Our new existence to existing things, 1 
And, in our dawn of being, constitute 
The bond of union between life and joj 

Yes, I remembet when the changeful 

And twice five summers on my mind had 


The faces of the moving year, even then 
I held unconscious in tei course with beaut \ 
Old as creation, drinking in a pure 
Organic pleasure fioni the silver meaths 
of curling mist, or fiom the level plain 
Of waters coloied by impending clouds 

The sands of Westmorland, the cieeks 

and bays 

Of Cumbria's locky limits, thev can tell 
How, when the Sea threw off his evening 


And to the shepheid's hut on distant lulls 
Sent welcome notice ot the rising moon, 
How I June stood, to fancies such as these 
A strangei, linking with the spectacle 
No conscious memory of a kindred sight, 
And bringing with me no peculiar sense 
Of quietness or peace , yet have I stood, 
E\en while mine eye hath moved o'ci 

many a league 

Of shining water, gathering as it seemed. 
Through every hair-breadth in that field 

of light, 
New pleasuie like a bee among the floweis 

Thus oft amid those fits of vulgar jov 
Which, through all seasons, on a child *s 

Aio prompt attendants, 'mid that giddy 

Which, like a tempest, works along the 





585 And 10 forgotten; even then I felt And BOI row is not there! The seasons came, 

Gleams like the flashing of a shield, And every season wheresoe'er I moved 

the earth 29 Unfolded transitory qualities, 

And common face of Natuie spake to me Which, but for this most watehlul pouer 
Bememberable things; sometimes, 'tis true, of love, 

By chance collisions and quaint accidents Had been neglected, lett a registei 

" MU (Like those ill-sorted unions, woik sup- Of permanent lelat ions, else unknown 

posed Honce life, and change, and beauty, soh- 

()f evil-minded fames), yet not vain hide 

Nor profitless, if haply they impiessed - OB More actne e\en than "best society" 
Collateral objects and appeal unces Society made sweet as solitude 

Albeit lifeless then, and dtxmied to sleep Hv silent mobtiusixo sympathies, 

r ' 9B Until niatiuei seasons called them iotth And gentle agitations of the mind 

To impregnate and to elevate the inmd From manifold distinctions, difference 

And if the vulgar jo\ by its o\in u eight 30 Perceued in things, wheie, to the un watch- 
Weaned itself out of the memory, i'ul eye, 
The scenes which weie a witness oJ that jo> No difference is, and hence, fiom the same 

coo liemaiiied in their substantial lineaments souicc, 

Depicted on the biam, and to the e>e Sublnner joj v for I would walk alone, 

\\Vie \isible, a daily sight , and thus Tndci the quiet stais, and at that tune 

By the impiessne discipline ot teai, lla\o felt whale 'ei tlieie is of po\\ei in 

Hv pleasuie and icpcatcd happiness. sound 

Mr So hequentlv icpeated. and )rv feme '' OB To breathe an ele\ated mood, by fonn 
Of oWme feelings icpicscntatne ()t linage un profaned, and I would stand. 

Of things forgotten, these smne scenes MI If the night blackened with a coming storm, 
blight, Ilciienflh some lock, listening to notes that 

So beautiful, so nia]Csti( in thcniselxes. aie 

Though vet the da> was distant, did become The ghostlv language of the ancient caith. 

110 IlnhitiinlK dcai, and all then ioims * 10 Oi make then dun abode in distant winds 

And changeful colois b\ imisihle links Thence did I dunk the MSI on a IT po\\ei . 

\Veie fastened to the affections And deem not piofitless those fleeting 


Prnn PftAK T7 ftlUIArtl TlMl f ^ in<l<m V eXlllfatlOll Hot for tills, 

Fron, BOOK II SCHOOL T.ML That fhey fl|fi fcu|dio|1 (n |mr pmtii ^^ 

nfir> Ft om eailv da\s B And intellectual life, but that the soul, 

Beginning not long aftei that liist tune Remembering him she felt, but what she 

In which, a babe, b\ intcicmiise of touch felt 

I held mute dialogues >\ith m> mothei '* Remembei ing not, retains an obscure sense 

heait, Of possible sublimity, \vheieto 

I have endeavoied to display the means With growing faculties she doth aspne. 

- 711 Wheieby this infant KenmlNlit\. !2 With faculties still gi-o\\mg, feeling still 

(lieot bnthright of nin being. \\as in me That whatsoever point thej' gain, they jet 

Augmented and sustained. Yet is a path Have something to pursue" 

Moie difiicult bet oie me, and J leai And not alone. 

That in its bioken umdings \\e shall need 'Mid gloom and tumult, but no less 'in id 

275 The chamois f sme\\ s, and the eagle 's \\ ing fair 

Koi now a trouble came into my mind And tiauquil scenes, that universal power 

Fiom unknown causes I was left alone 3 - r And fitness in the latent qualities 

Seeking the visible woi Id, nor knowing why And essences of things, by which the iniiicl 

The props of my affections weie lemovcd. Is mined with feelings of delight, to me 

280 And yet the building stood, as if sustained Came strengthened with a superaddcd soul, 

Hy its own spirit 1 All that I beheld A virtue not its oun 
Was dear, and hence to finer influxes 

The mind lay open, to a more exact S46 How shall I seek the oiiginl \\heie find 

And close communion Many are our joys Faith in the marvellous things which I hen 

28i x n youth, but oh f what happiness to live I felt ? 

When every hour brings palpable access Oft in these moments such a holy calm 

Of knowledge, when all knowledge i de- Would overspread my soul, that bodily eyes 

light, SRO Were utterly forgotten, and what T saw 



Appeared like something in myself, a 

A prospect in the mind 

'Twere long to tell 
What spring and autumn, what the winter 

A PC! what the suminei shade, what din 

and night, 
**>3 E\ miiiig and rooming, sleep and waking, 


Piom sources inexhaustible, pouied Joith 
To feed the spuit of religious love 
In which I * alked with Nature. But let tins 
Be not f 01 gotten, that I still retained 
260 My first riputive sensibility, 

That by the tegular action of the world 
Mv soul was unsubdued A plastic power 
Abode with me, a forming hand, at times 
Rebellious, acting in a devious mood, 
385 A local spnit of his own, at nar 

With creneial tendency, but, foi the intM, 
SuWment stiK'tK to e\teinal Ihnisrs 
With which it coinm lined An aiiMhai light 
r.iine from m\ iniiid mhich on the settnm 

370 Best o\\ed neui sjilendoi , the melodious 

The Iliitteiing biec^es, foiuitams that inn 


Mm mm im so s\vtHlh in themselxes. 

A like dominion, and the midnight stuini 

875 Giew daikei in the presence of mj e-\e 
Hence my obeisance, my demotion hence. 
And hence my tiunspoit 

Nor should this, peichance. 
Pat uniecoided, that I still had lo^efl 
The exeicise and pioduce of a toil, 
Than analytic industry to me 

More pleasing, and whose character I deem 
Is moie poetic as lesembling moie 
rieative agency The song would speak 
OL that mteiminable building i eared 
By observation of affinities 

!S3 In objects \\heie no brotheihood exists 
To passive nnnils My seventeenth year 

was comc t 

And, whether fiom this habit rooted now 
So deeply in my mind, or from excess 
In the great social principle of life 

900 rocicing all things into sympathy, 
To unoiganic natuies were tiansfened 
My own enjoyments; or the power of truth 
Coming in revelation, did converse 
With things that really aie, I, at this time. 

396 Saw blessings spread around me like a sea 
Thus while the days flew by, and yearn 

nasaed nn 

passed OH, . 

From Nature nnd h^r overflowing soul 

1 had received so much, that all my 


Weie steeped in feeling; I was only then 
40 Contented, when with bliss ineffable 
I felt the sentiment of Being spread 
O'er all that moves and all that seemelh 

<>'ei nil that, losl be>ond the londi ol 


m And human knowledge. to the human e\e 
|ir ' Invisible, yet hveth to the heart, 

O'ei all that leaps nnd num. and shouts 

and sings, 
Oi beatfe the gladsome an, o'oi all that 


Beneath the wa\e, >ea, in the wa\e itself, 

And mighty depth of \vateis Woudei not 

41 If high the tiauspoit, gieal the joy I fell 

Coin minimi* in this soil tluoiurh eailh and 

With e\en Joim of cientme, as it 
TowaioS the Vnciealed \\ith a 
Of iidoiatmii. \\ith an CM* of lo\e 
H r > One song lhe\ sain*, .uuPit \uis aiulihli 
Most audible, then, itht'ii the fleshh cm 
O'eicome by humblest ])ielude >t 

Foitot hei fiuu I inns, and slept 

If this IM> eiioi. and anothei iaith 
42 Find easiei access to the pious mind 
^et weie 1 t>m<*sK ilestitute cf all 
Those human sentiments that mnke this 


So dear, if J should iail uith guitetnl \oice 
To speak of von. AC mountains, ,ui<] >c 


12 '~ And sounding cataracts, ye mibts and winds 
That duell amon&r the hills where T uas 


If in uiy youth I ha\c been ]>uie in heait 
If, mingling uith the world, I am content 
With my o\in modest jtleasuies, and June 

With God and Natuie comiiiuniim. n- 


From little enmities and lo\\ desires 
The gift is yours, if in these times oi leai ' 
This melaiichoh waste of hopes nVi 

t hi own, 

If, 'mid mcliffeience and a])athy, 
43B And wicked exultation when good men 
On every side fall off, uc know not how. 
To selfishness, disguised in gentle names 
Of peace and quiet and domestic love, 

1 Daring the War of the Hecond Coalition, 1790 
1N01. when Bugliind feared an Invasion In 
Napoleon So' rnlnrlilipVi Fmr* / Hnlitutli 

(p. an \) 


Yet mingled not uii willingly with biieen> 
4 *o On visionary minds; if, in this time 
Of Dereliction and dismay, I yet 
Despair not of our nature, but retain 
A innie than Roman confidence, a faith 
That fails not, in all sonow my support, 
146 The blessing of my life, the i>ift is \ouis, 
Ye winds and sounding cataracts' 'tisyonis 
Ye mountains' thine, O Natmc f Thou 

hast fe<l 

My lofty speculations, and m thee, 
Foi this uneasy hcait of on is, I find 
4 "' A ue\ei-fnilini piinnple ot joy 
And pmest passion 


f| Oft \\heu the dazzling slum no lougei m>\\ 
Had ceased to da/zle, ot'ttunes did I quit 
\1\ conn ados, IcaAe the cmud, buildings 

and n i ox PS 

Vnd as 1 | meed alone the level held-. 
Fai horn those luxeK sights and sounds 


'' r| With \\hich I had been comeisaiit.the mind 
1 hooped not, but tlieie into heiselt ic- 

tin nuifi. 
With piompt icbound seemed iicsh as 


At least J moie distinctly lecogui/ed 
llei miti\e instincts- let me daie to speak 
1110 A hmhei Janiruaiie. sin that u<m I felt 
What independent solaces \vcie mine, 
To militate the mj ui ions s\\a\ oi place 
()i circumstance, lio\\ fai soe\ei changed 
In youth, 01 to be changed in attei \eais 
lft "' As" if auakencd, siuiinioiipd, roused, con- 

sti nined, 

1 .looked ioi uimcisal things. ]>eiused 
The common connten.inec of cai th and sk> 
Earth, lumheie uneniMhshoil h\ some 

OI that fiist I'aiailise whence man \\a^ 

din en. 
- 110 An<l sk\. \\hrsc l)e;iuh and bounty me 

120 All Imitu motioiib uiciiulmg, Ines 

In glory immutable But peace* enough 
Here to record that I was mounting now 
To such community with -highest truth 
A track pui suing, not untrod befoie, 

125 Fiom stuct analogies by thought supplied 
Oi consciousnesses not to be subdued 
To every natural foim, ro<'k f fmit, <i 

Even the loose stones that cover the Ingh- 

a moial hie 1 saw them feel, 
130 Or linked them to some feeling the great 


Ijay Ixnlded in a quickening soul, and all 
That ] beheld respued with m\\ard mean- 


Add that M hat e'er of Teiroi 01 of Lose 
Oi Beauty. Nature's daily face put on 
Ia " Kiom tiansitory passion, unto this 
I uas as sensitive as waters aie 
To the sky's influence in a kmdied mood 
< >f passion , \ias obedient as a lute 
That uaits UJMJII tlie touches oj the \vind 
1|n I nknown, uuthought of. >ei I was most 


I had a woild about me 'luas m\ omn. 
I made it, foi it onl} Ined to me. 
And to the (lod who sees into the )nait 


'Mid a throng 
310 Oi maids and youths old men. and n-a- 

tions staid, 

A medley of all tempeis, 1 had passed 
The nmht in dancuii;. gaiety, and ninth. 
With dm oi mshuments and 


And ulancmtr forms, and tapers 

tr> And nnaimed piattle tlyint> up and do\\n, 

S])iiitb upon the stietch, and heie and theie 

Slight shocks ot >oung lo\e-likmg infei- 

M\ the ]>ioud name she YKMUS the name 
ot ITen\en 

on both to teach me uhat they 

Whose tiansient ]>lea<uie mounted to the 

And tingled through the veius Ere \\e 


Or turning the mind in upon heiself, 
Pored, watched, expect ed. listened, spiead 

my thoughts 
11 " And spread them \\ith a widei ciecpme:, 


Incumbencies more auful, usitings 
Of the Upholder of the tranquil soul. 
That toleiates the indignities of Time. 
And. f loin the mitre of Etemitv 

.120 T 

em skj 
Was kindling, not unseen, from humble 

And open field, through which the path 

way uouud, 

And homeward led my steps Magnificent 
The monmig rose, in memorable pomp. 
* 25 Glorious as e'er I had beheld in fiont. 
The sea lav laughing at a distance, near, 


The solid mountains shone, bright as the Pressed closely palm to palm, and to hip 

clouds, mouth \ 

Grain-tinctured, 1 drenched in empyrean Uplifted, he, as through an instrument, 

light; Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls, 

And in the meadows and the lower grounds That they might answer him; and they 
s*o w a8 all the sweetness of a common dawn would shout 

Dews, vapors, and the melody of birds, 87B Across the watery vale, and shout again. 

And laborers going forth to till the fields Responsive to his call, with quivering peals. 

Ah f need I say, dear friend' that to the And long halloos and screams, and echoph 

brim ' loud, 

My heart was full , I made no vows, but Redoubled and redoubled, concourse wild 

vows Of jocund din; and, when a lengthened 
155 ^ ore then made for me; bond unknown pause 

to me 38 Of silence came and baffled his best skill, 

Was given, that I should be, else sinning- Then sometimes, in that silence while he 

greatly, hung 

A dedicated Spirit On I walked Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise 

Tn thankful blessedness, which yet survnes Has earned far into his heart the voice 

Of mountain toi rents; or the visible scene 

_ _ 38r Would enter unawares into his mind, 

Prom BOOK V BOOKS with all its Mlemn i mage ry, its rocks, 

These mighty workmen of our later a<re, Its woods, and that uncertain heaven, 10- 

Who, with a broad highway, have over- ceived 

bridged Tnto the bosom of the steady lake 
The froward chaos of futurity, 

Tamed to their bidding, they who ha*e ^is Bov waq taken fro|n h j q matew 

the skill and'died 
To manage books, and thing*, and make **o Tn chl ldhood, ere he was full twelve yean 

them act o ]^ 

On infant minds as surely as the sun Fair w t h e spot, most beautiful the vale 

Deals with a flowei . the keepeis of onr W here he was born; 1 the piass> elmreh- 

*i me _ f yard hangs 

The guides and wardens of our faculties, Upon a slope above lhe vi ,, n| , e ^ hoo , 8 

v* Sages who in their prescience would control And through that churchyard when inv 
All accidents, and to the very road way \ IBB \^ 

Which they have fashioned would eon- 393 Qn summer evenings, I behexe that there 

fine us down, A long half hour together I ha\e stood 

Like engines; when will their presumption M ute> looking at the grave in which he lies ' 

learn, ^ FA en now appeals befoie the mind's cleai 

That in the unreasoning progress of the gyp 

** . worW , * That self-same village church ; I see her sit 

A wiser spirit is at work for us, 400 (The thronfcd Lady whom erewhile we 

A better eye than theirs, most prodigal hailed) 

Of blessings, and most studious of our On her green hill, forgetful of this Boy 

ffd _ . M , Who slumbers at her feet, forgetful, too. 

Even in what seem onr most unfruitful of all her silent neighborhood of graves, 

hours T And listening only to the gladsome sounds 

There was a Boy: ye knew him well, 405 **> m ** *l ** pending, play 
ve cliffs Beneath her and about her. Hay she loiifr 

w And islands of Winander !-many a time ^ Id rae f .2V* ^ . llke . ^^ 
At evening, when the earliest stars began SSLSfcLft!^^ * . ' 

To move along the edges of the hills, 410 JJ ^^ S^i^fS^ f 
Rising or setting, would he stand alone 41 Of arte . an f lttera-but be that for- 
Beneath ft. trees or by the glimmering A ^yj^ ^^ not too ^ 

And there/ with fingers interwoven, both To learn ^' or too good; but wanton, 
hands rresrif 

9 \f nan knhead 



And bandied up and down by love aud 


Not unresentful where self -justified, 
415 Fierce, moody, patient, venturoub. modebt, 

Mad at their sports like withered lea\es 

in winds, 
Though doing wiong and suffeimg, and 

full oft 
Bending beneath our life's mysterious 

Of pain, and doubt, and feai, yet yielding 


420 In happiness to the happiest upon earth 
Simplicity in habit, truth in speech, 
Be these the daiJy strengthened of their 

minds , 

May books and Nature be their early joy f 
And knowledge, rightly honored with that 

425 Knowledge not purchased by the loss of 


A gracious spirit o'er this earth pre- 

And o'er the heart of man . invisibly 
It comet*, to woiks of unreproved delight. 
And tendency benign, directing those 
495 Who care not, know not, think not what 

they do. 

The tales that chaini away the wakeful 


In Araby, romances, legends penned 
For solace bv dun light of monkish lamps , 
Fictions, foi ladies of their love, devised 
.oo By youthful squires, ad\cutures endless, 


By the dismantled warnor in old age, 
Out of the bowels of those very schemes 
In which his youth did first extravagate , l 
These spread like day, and something in 

the shape 

306 Of these will live till man shall be no more. 
Dumb yearnings, hidden appetites, are 

And fkey must have their food. Our 

childhood sits, 

Our simple childhood, sits upon a throne 
That hath more power than all the ele- 

"10 I guess not what this tells of being past. 
Nor what it augurs of the life to come; 
But so it is, and, in that dubious hour, 
That twilight when we first begin to see 
This dawning earth, to recognize, expect, 
616 And, in the long probation that ensues, 
The time of trial, ere we learn to live 
In reconcilement with mir stinted powers; 
* wander ft bout 

To endure this state of meagie vassalage, 
Unwilling to foiego, confess, submit 
520 Uneasy and unsettled, yoke-felloes 

To custom, mettlesome, and not yet tamed 
And humbled down, oh! then we feel, 

we feel, 
We know when) \\e luue fueiids le, 

dreamers, then, 

Forgers of daring talcs ' we bless you then, 
625 Impostors, drivellers, dotards, as the ape 
Philosophy will call you; then we feel 
With what, and how great might ye aie in 

Who make our nush, our power, our 

thought a deed, 

An enipue, a possession, ye whom time 
530 And seasons serve, all Faculties to whom 
Earth crouches, the elements are potter's 

Space like a heaven filled up with northern 

Here, nowheie, there, and every wheie at 



The poet 's soul was with me at that time , 
Sweet meditations, the still overflow 
Oi present happiness, while futuie jwu* 
45 Lacked not anticipations, tendei dieaiiis. 
No few of which have since been reah/ed v 
And some lemain, hopes for my futuie 


Four years and thiity, told this \ery week, 
Ha\e I been now a sojoumei on earth, 
co By sorrow not unsnutten , yet for me 
Life's morning radiance hath not left the 

Her dew is on the floueis Those \veie the 


Which also fiist emboldened me to trust 
With firmness, hitherto but slightly touched 
56 By such a daring thought, that I might 

Some monument behind me which pure 


Should reverence. The instinctive humble- 
Maintained even b> the very name and 


Of printed books and authorship, began 
60 To melt awa> ; and further, the dread aue 
Of mighty names was softened down and 


Approachable, admitting fellowship 
Of modest sympathy. Such aspect now, 
Though not familiarly, my mind put on, 
*** Content to observe, to achieve, and to 



All winter long, whenever free to choose, Effort, and expectation, and desire, 
Did I by night frequent the College groves And something evermore about to be. 

And tributary walks; the last, and oft Under such banners militant, the soul 
The only one, who had been lingering theie 61 Seeks for no trophies, struggles for no 

TO Through hours of silence, till the porter's spoils 

bell, That may attest hei pi OH ess, blest in 

A punctual follower on the stroke of nine, thoughts 

Rang with its blunt unceremonious voice, That are their o\\n }>ertection and rcwaid, 

Inexorable summons ' Lofty elms, Strong in herself and in beatitude 

Inviting shades of opportune recess, That hides hei, like the mighty ilood o! 

76 Bestowed composure on a neighborhood Nile 

Unlawful in itself A single tree rtir Poured fioin his fount of Abyssinian 

With sinuous tiunk, boughs e\qm-itel\ clouds 

wreathed, To fertilize the whole Egyptian plain 

(tiew there; nn ash which Wintei i or him- _. , , , , , 

v^jf The melancholy slackening that ensued 

Docked as in piide, and mtli outlandish ]> IU those tidins by the peasant given 

" as won dislodged Dowmvaids we hm 

Up finm the groiuid, and almost to the ^fli^f' u i i i i i 

t0 b - H And uitli the hali-shuped loud winch 


The flunk und CA civ inaMei hianch wcic ., had missed, ... 

iJiileied a iiaiiou chasm The biook anil 

With <-'lusteiiii u\, and the li*htMn)c r / )J Jy 

( W1 p s were Jellow-tra\elleis in this gloomx 

And outer sprav profusely tipped uith t , strait, 

^ e( ] s * And with them did \\e jouine\ se\eial 

That hung in yellow tassels, \\hile the nn 4 1 howis 
8> Stmed them, not \cricele*, Olten ha\e 1 , tf At , a slow P at ' e Tlje inimeabiii able heiulil 

fctoQd ''- C)l woods decaying, nevei to be decayed, 

Foot-bound nplookms at this loxely tiw Thc*ltt1ionaiy blasts of wnleifalls, 

Beneath a frostv mcmn The hemiipheie Airi 111 the iiannw lent at e\ety tuin 

Of mai?ic fiction, \ersc of mine perchanro A\mds iliwaitiim uimls. liewildeied ,ind 
Mav ne\ei Iread, but scaicelv Sj>ensei 's foilorn, 

i he loirent sh(M>tiii|> iroin Ihe cleai hlnr 

90 Cimld have nioie tranquil visions in his ...... s y 

youth, *' ie r<K * vS lhat iimtteied close ii]>on om 

Or could more blight appeainnces cienle e , ais , 

Of hnmanfornm with superhuman pow eis. > ll ^ diizzling ciagb Unit spake by ll.c 

Than I beheld loitenng on calm clcai niphts ^ay-wde 

Alone, beneath this fairy woik ot earth <} s it a \oicc ueie in them, the sick sio|,i 

And ji<ldy piosj>ec( ol the raving stream, 

Iinagination-heie th'c Power Co failed The unfettered clouds and leerion of the 

Through sad incompetence of human .. _ havens, 

speech, Tumult and pence, (he daikness and the 

That awful Power rose from the mind's Hf^i" IP i . 

a ^ vss \\iw all hke woikin&>H of one mind, tin* 

596 Like an unfathered \apoi that enwraps, g ^ n featines 

At once, some lonely traveller I was lost , / IIlc * ^ blfmninw upon one tiee 

Halted without an effort to bieak through . laracteis of the R reat Apwalypse, 

nut to my conscious soul I now can say- , lft !$***** <J ^tnbolh ol Ltennty, 



, lft 

Ol Of firqt ' llfl last ' m * ^- '"> 

I leeogmze thy glory" in such strength 

oo of usurpation, when the light of sense ' . ^l' 1 .... 

Goes out, but with a flash that has revealed ^^^ 

The invisible world, doth greatness make BOOK VHI. BETROSPECT-LOVI or NATURI 


Theretarbors ; whether we be young or old, What sounds are those, Helvellyn, that are 
Our destiny, our being's heart and home, heard 

Is with infinitude, and only there; Up to thy summit, through the depth of an 

With hope it is hope that can never die, Ai*ndinQ, * H 1 distance had the power 



Tu make the sounds mote audible? What 

5 Covets, 01 sprinkles o'er, yuii village 


Crowd beems it, solitary lull ' to thee. 
Though but a little i'amily of men, 
Shepheids and tillers iif the pi-muid be- 

t lines 
Assembled with then children and their 


10 And here and theieustiannei mteis|eise<l 
Thc\ hold a mslic lair a iestnal. 
Such iih, on this Bide no\\, and now on that. 
Repeated through his tnhutan Miles 
Hohellyn, in the silence ol his iest, 
'* Sees annually, if clouds towards either 

hlown tioin then iiivonte lestmg-plaec, 

or mists 
Dissolved, lum Jotl linn an inisliioudcd 


IMmhtfiil da> it is loi nil \\lio dwell 
In this secluded glen, and eajeil % \ 
-'" They gi\e il welcome Long eio heat of 

Ft 0111 Imo 1 01 field the knu 1 wcic bious*ht , 

the sheep 
Aiv penned in cote*, the chattel nm is 


The heifer lows, nncns\ at the* \OHC 
Ol a new mastoi , bloat the (lock^ aloud 
-' Booths aie their none, n stall 01 two is 

hero , 

A lame mnn 01 a blind, the one to hour. 
The other to make inusii , hither, too. 
Kiom lai, \\iih h.isket, slun<z upon hei aim. 
Ot basket's uaies hooks ]iictuies 

combs, inul pms- 

!0 Siiiiie ai*ed \\oman finds hoi \\i\\ aj^ani. 
Voar nltci M'JII, n punctual Aisitant f 
Their aNo stnnds u speeih-makei h\ ioto, 
rnlhn: the stints ol his boxed taree- 

And m the lapse of ninnx xeais max come 
r Prouder it met ant, mountebank, or he 
Whose wonders in a coveiod wain he hid 
But one theie is the lo\ chest ot them all. 
Some sweet hiss ot the xallex, lookum out 
Koi natns, and vbo that sees hei would 

not bu> ? 
* Flints of hei fathet *s oichaid aie hei 

And with the iudd> produce she walks 

Among the crowd, half pleased with, half 


Of her new offlee, blushing restlessly 
The children now are rich, for the old todav 
1 mtt hnrn 

15 Are generoub as the }oung , and, it content 
With looking on, some ancient wedded pan 
Sit m the shade together, while they pa/e, 
'A cheerful smile unbends the wnnkled 


The days depaited stait auam to lite, 
11 And all the scones of childhood icappeai. 
Finnt, but inoie linnquil, like the rhaninim 

To him who slept at noon mid wake* at 

eve "' 

Thufe ninety and cheettuhicss ]>ie\ail, 
Spreading* 'fioin youn^ to old, irom old to 

5 ' And no one soems to want his shaie 


fs the lecoss, the circuuiamhiont woild 
MaETHincent, bv which the\ aie embiaced 
Tlie\ inoM- alH>iU ii])on the soft green tint 
How little they, they and then doings, 


Ml And all that the\ can iuithei 01 
Thiougii uttei weakness pitiabl> 
As tender irii'ants aie and yet' luw great ' 
For all things sene them , them the morn- 

m IT liplit 

Loxes, as it f> likens on the silent locks. 
*"* And them the silent locks, which HOIK irom 

Ijonk down upon them, the leposinir 

The wild biooK's prattling fiom invisible 


\nd old llehelhn, conscious oJ the sin 
Which animate^ this day their calm abode 

7 " With detp dcuilion, Natuie. did 1 ioeL 
In that enoi mous {City's turbulent \\oild 
Ot men and things, \\hat benefit I owed 
To thce, and those domains of mini j)eaco 
Where to the ense of beauty flut my hem t 

""' Was opened, tiact moie exqiunloly fan 
Than that tamed paiadise of ten 

<)i Gehol's niiitchless ^aulens.- lot delurhr 
Of the Tnitniinn dvnasty composed 
(Tieumd that mmhty wall, not fabulous. 
so China's stupendous mound) b\ patient toil 
Of mvi inds and boon Natuie 's lavish help , 
Theie. m a clime tiom widest empire 

Fulfilling (could enchantment ha\e done 

A sumptuous dream of flowery lawns, 

with domes 

86 Of pleasure sprinkled over, shady dells 
For eastern monasteries, sunny mounts 

1 Joseph Cottle, Malt cm Till?*, (152 n<f 


With temples crested, bridges, gondolas, Not such as Saturn ruled 'mid Latian wilds, 

Rocks, dens, and groves of foliage taught 13 With arts and laws so tempered, that 
to melt their lives 

Into each other their obsequious hues. Left, even to u* toiling hi this late day, 

( * Vanished and vanishing in subtle chase, A bnght tradition of the golden age, 

Too fine to be pursued; or standing forth Not such as, 'mid Arcadian fastnesses 

In no discordant opposition, strong Sequestered, handed down among thern- 

And gorgeous as the colors side by side selves 

Bedded among rich plumes of tropic birds; 13fi Felicity, in Grecian song renowned, 1 
<r> And mountains over all, embracing all ; Nor such as when an adverse fate had 

And all the landscape, endlessly ennched driven, 

With waters running, falling, or asleep. From house and home, the courtly band 

* i i * A xi.- iu j- whose fortunes 

But lovelier farfoan this, the paradise Entered W]th ghakspeare's genius, the 
Where I was reared, in Nature's primi- w ,|<j WOCM j g 

IAA *?** *!*** * . Of Arden-amid sunshine or in shade 

100 Favored no less, and more to every sense 140 Culled the best fruits of Time's uncounted 

Delicious, seeing that the sun and sky, hours 

^e elements, and seasons ab they chan^. Ere p hflP be 'sighed for the false Gany- 

Do find a worthy fellow-laborer there mede a 

Man free, man working for himself, with Or there wl| ^ Perdltft and FIon7jCl 

in* ** .. cholee j . , . . . . Together danced, Queen of the feast, and 

106 Of time, and place, and object, by his 'Kinj?, n 

w ante Nor such as Spenser fabled 4 Tnie it is, 

His comforts, native occupations, cares, 145 Tha t I had heaid (what lie perhaps had 
Cheerfully led to individual ends *&m) 

Or social, and still followed by a ham O f mauls at snniise bnnLnn^ in fiom far 

Unwooed, unthougbt-of even -simplicity, The]r May .busli, and along the stieet in 
110 And beauty, and inevitable grace fl 0(i ] vs 

Yea, when a glimpse of those imperial P ** m * {}l ? MU * of Bunting ihymes, 
bowers Aimed at the lagmiids slumbenng within 

Would to a child be transport over-great, ... ? cl T f , .. . 

When but a half-hour^ roam through M Hnd alw) I J Kl ; irom thofie wll y et re ' 

such a place niembeied, 

Would leave behind a danee of images, Tales * the M y pc,^ dunce, and wreath* 

That shall break in upon his sleep for n . tj ! at decked . _ 

ri eh, doorway, or knk pillar, and of 

Even then the common haunts of the gieeri ., . - . , , , _ 

eart j, kadi with his maid, befoie the sun was up, 

And oidmarV interests of man, lfifi JJ V annual custom, issuing forth m troops, 

Which they embosom, all without regard | d k th water f of * me fainted well, 

As both may seem, are fastening on the And han ff . Jl n>und Wlth garlands Love 

heart survives, 

120 Insensibly, each with the other's help But for feuch PP*i flowers no longer 

For me, when my affections first were led m . 8 row , 

From kindred, friends, and playmates, to The ****** fi 10 . perhaps too proud, 

partake ha\e dropped 

Love forthe human creature's absolute self, 1M "J 1 " 6 ]l & ieT raw ^ and 1 i] * m *\ W W 

That noticeable kindliness of heart And ">* whifh mv childhood lookeil 

'* Sprang out of fountains, there abounding , upon 

m0f & Were the unhuunant pi uduce of a life 

Where sovereign Nature dictated the taste ^'* nt n h * tle ^ ut /| ub8 i an ^ a i need 5 , 

And oecupations which her beauty adorned, Yet rich in beauty, beauty that was felt 

And shepherds were the men that pleased B" 1 images. of danger and distress, 

m a flt.i Man suffering among awful Powers and 

**** ** * I HV*i**iii 

These shepherds lived close to Nature and were ^^^ ' 

intensely real They appealed to Words- - - - - - 



Of this I heard, and saw enough to make - OB in unlabonous pleasure, with no task 
Imagination restless ; nor was free More toilsome than to carve a beechen bowl 

Myself from frequent perils; nor were For spring or fountain, which the traveller 

tales finds, 

Wanting, the tragedies of fonner times, When through the legion he* puisnes at 
170 Hazards and strange escapes of which the will 

locks His devious couise A glimpse of such 

Immutable, and evoi flowing stieains, sweet life 

Wheic'er I roamed, wore speaking nionn- - J0 I saw when, Irom the melancholy walls 

incnts Of Goslai, once nnpeiial, 1 icnt^icd 

M} daily walk alone: that \\ide chain- 
Smooth life had flock and shepheid in paign. 1 

old time, That, teaching to liei mates spieads east 

Long springs and tepid winters on the and west, 

banks And north waids, 1'joni beneatli the nioiin- 

f7fl Of delicate Galcsus, and 110 less tainous verge 

Those scatteied alone: Adiia's myrtle - 15 Of the Heicyniau loiest Yet, hail to jou 

shoies Moots, mountains headlands, and ye hol- 

Sinooth life had heidsman, and his mmu- low vales, 

white herd Ye Inntr deep channels foi the Atlantic V 

To tiiuni]>hs and to saeiificial ntes \oite. 

l)e\oted, on the in\ lolable stieam Poums ot my nuine region r Ye that sei/e 

1RO Of rich t'litnninus, and the goat-he. id h\ed The lieail \\iih fnniei giasp' Voursno\\s 
As calmlv, undeineath the pleasant bio\is and stieains 

Of cool Lucretihs, nhcre the pipe uas 2 - 1 iiio\einal)Io, nn<I MUII tenifyui? wind* 

heaid That \\o\\\ *o dismally for him who tread* 

Of Pan, imisible pod. thnllinu the rock* ( 1 nmpan ion less ,v>ui a \\ful politudes' 

With tntelaiy music, tiom all haini Theie, 'ti* the shepheul's ta*k the wintoi 

UB The fold protecting I ur\self. niatine lon 

Fn manhood then, hnu seen a pastoral To wait upon the stonns of then ap- 

tract 1 m ])Hach 

Like one of thes<, \\licie Fnnc\ inipht inn 22 "> Sagacious, into shelteimg co\es he dines 

wild. His flock, and thithei fioni the hoiuestend 

Though undei skies less on PIOUS less beais 

nennu' A loilsoine buiden up the craggy \^a>s. 

Thoie, foi hei o\\n dclmht had Nat HIP And deals it out, then ic^ular uoiirishinent 

framed Stieun on the i'loren snow And vhen the 

lq A pleasuie-giound, diffused a tan expanse spiing 

Of level pastuie, islanded mith pioves 2 ^ Tjooks out, and all the past in es dance with 
And hanked \\ith woody nsinpw. hut the lambs, 

plain And when the flock, uith warmer weather, 

Endless, heie opening \\ uleh nut, and there climbs 

Shut up in lesser lakes 01 l>eds of lawn Higher and higher, him his office leads 

19r ' And intncate iccesscs, cieek 01 bay To watch then goings, whatsoever track 

Sheltered mthin a slielter, \iheie at larerP The wand ems choose For this he quits 
The shepheid stiavs a rolling hut his ^ his home 

home 23r> At day-spun^, and no souiiei doth the sun 

Thither he comes with spring-time, there Begin to stnke him uith a fit e- like heat, 

abides Than he lies down upon some shining rock. 

All suinmei, and at sunrwe ye may hear And breakfasts with his dog When tbe> 

200 Hw flageolet to liquid notes of lo\e ha\e stolen, 

Attuned, or spnghtlv fife resounding far As is then wont, a pittance from strict 
Nook is theie none, 1101 tract of that ^ast tune. 

space 24 For rest not needed or exchange of love, 

Where passage opens but the same shall Then from his couch he starts; and now 

ha\e his feet 

In turn its visitant, telling there his hours Crush out a livelier fragrance from the 

n<in fbo Hnrtr Mountains J li-rol flold 





2 r >5 





Of lowly thyme, by Nature's skill en- 

In the wild turf: the lingering dews of 

Smoke round him, as from hill to hill he 


His staff piotending like a hunter's speai . 
Or by its aid leaping from eia? 1o eras, 
And o'er the brnwlincr beds of unbndced 


Philosophy, inethmks, at Fancy's call, 
Might deign to follow him through what 

he does 
Or sees in his day's maich; himself he 


In those vast regions where his sen-ice lies, 
A freeman, redded to his life of hope 
And hazard, and hard labor mterchanired 
With that majestic indolence so dear 
To native man A rambling schoolboy, thus 
I felt his presence in his own domain. 
AR of n lord and master, or a power, 
Or genius, under Natuie, under God, 
Prradmg, and severest solitude 
Had moie commanding looks when he uas 


When up the lonely brooks on lainy da>s 
Angling I went, or trod the backless lulls 
By mists bewildeied, suddenly mine eyes 
TTa\e glanced upon linn distant a few steps. 
In size a giant, stalking through thick fo. 
His sheep like Greenland bears; or, as he 

Beyond the boundary line of some hill 

shadow, * 

His form hath flashed upon me, glorified 
By f} ie (j^p radiance of the setting sun 
Or him have I descried in distant sky, 
A solitary object and sublime, 
Aho\e all height' like an aenal cioss 
Stationed alone upon a spiry rock 
Of the Chartreuse, for worship Thus was 


Ennobled outwardly befoie my sight, 
And thus my heart was early introduced 
To an unconscious love and reverence 
Of human nature ; hence the human form 
To me became an inc|ex of delight, 
Of grace and honor, power and worthiness 
Meanwhile this creature spintual almost 
As those of books, but more exalted far, 
Far more of an imaginative form 
Than the gay Corin of the groves, who lives 
For his own fancies, or to dance by the 


fn coronal, with Phyllis in the midst 
Was, for the purposes of kind, a man 
With the most common; husband, father; 


* 90 Gould teach, admonish; suffered with the 

From vice and folly, wretchedness and 


Of this I little saw, cared less for it, 
But something must have felt 

Call ye these appeaiances- 
^ Winch I tahold of shepherds in my youth, 
- 1 *" 1 This handily of Naline given to man 
A shadow, a delusion, ye who poic 
On the dead lettei, miss the spirit ot 


Whose truth is not a motion 01 a shape 

Instinct with vital functions, but a block 

' <0 Or waxen image which >ouisel\es have 


And ye adoie' But blessed be the God 
Of Nature and of Man that this was so , 
That men before my inexpei lenced eyes 
Did first present themsehes thus purified, 
30B Removed, and to a distance that was fit 
And so we all of us in some degree 
Are led to knowledge, wheresoever led, 
And howsoever, veie it otheiwise, 
And we found evil fast as we find good 
" in In our first years, 01 think that it is found, 
How could the innocent heait bear up and 


But doubly lortiinate my lot , not lieie 
Alone, that something of a better life 
Perhaps was lonnd me than it i<* the 

m Of most to nicne in, but thai fiist I 

At man through objects that weie eient tor 

fail ; 
First communed with him by then help 

And thus 
Was founded a sure safeguard and de- 

Against the weight of inennneHs. selfish 

?2 Coarse manners, vulgar passions, that 

beat in 

On all sides from the ordinal y world 
In which we traffic Starting from this 

I had my face tinned towiud the truth . 


With an advantage fuinished by that kind 

225 Of prepossession, without which the soul 

Receives no knowledge that can bring forth 


No genuine insight ever comes to her. 
From the restraint of over-watchful eyes 
Preserved, I moved about, year after year, 
83 Happy, and now most thankful that my 

Wag guarded from too enrly intercourse 


With the deformities oi crowded life, They bui nibbed her. From touch of tins 

And those ensuing laughters and con- new power 

tempts, Nothing was safe : the elder-tree that gieu 

Self-pleasing, which, if we would wish to Beside the well-known charnel-house had 

think then 

>r > With a due reverence on earth's rightful A dismal look, the yew-tree had its ghost, 

lord, 8M) That took his station there for ninament 

Here placed to be (lie inhentoi oi hca\en, The dignities oi plum oceuirenee then 

Will not pcimit us, but pin MIC the mind, Were tameless, and truth's golden mean, a 

Tbat to de\otion x\illmgl.\ would use, point 

Into the temple and the temple's lieait Wheie no Miimient plcusine could )>e 


:tl \vt deem not, iiiend 1 thai Inn nan kind Thou, it a xtulow, staggering \vith the blow 

with me l8 "' OI hei disticss, \uis known to ha\c tunied 

Thus curly took a place pic-eminent , hei steps. 

Nat me herself was, at this uniipe time, To the cold gra\e m which her husband 

But secondary to m> own pin hints slept, 

And animal activities, and all (hie night, 01 hapl> moie than one, 

.us Then tmial ploasuies, and \ihen the** thiough pain 

hud diooped Oi ha li -in unsafe impotence of mind, 

And giadiially expned, and Nut me. pii/ed The iact was caught at greedily, and theie 

Koi hei own sake became my jo^, e^oll s<f " ^lu mn>t be \isitnnt the \\hole >eai 

then tlnou*.*)!, 

And upwaids ilnoiu>h late xoulh. until imt \\t itm th( tint' \\ith u^\ei-eiid]n<; 

Thnn t^o-inid-tuentA ^innnieio been 'llnoii<>|i (juamt oblKiuities 1 I mmht 

told ] m i ^uo 

r>0 Ws Man in u\\ afl'eition^ and n^nid^ 'I he^ iia\in&>^ v \\hen the loxglove, one 

Suboidmnte to hei. hei MMble ioiui^ b^ one, 

And viewless a^eiMie^ a pa^ioii. s|u, I puanU ihiouuh e\ei\ stai*e ot the tall 

A ia]>tuie iilten. and mmiethute IOM ^ ^ stem, 

K\ci at hand; he, onh a delight " ><r> Had shed beside the public ua> its bells, 

Ti5 Occasional, an accidental giace, And stoini oi all dismantled, sa\e the lust 

His hom bemi! not \et come Fai less II.H! lx*tt at the tapenng lacldi'i V top. that 

then seemed 

The mteiioi cieatuies, beast 01 hud, at- To bend as doth a slcndci blade ol trass 

tuned Tipped uith a lam-diop, Famy lo^eil to 

My spmt to that gentleness oi lt\e seat, 

(Thoimh tlie> ha<l lonu n*H>n carefulU 4m Beneath the plant de^nnled, bin ciesfed 

obseixetl), still 

:GO \y on i lom me tho^e minute ibeisaiues With this last lehc, soon itself to fall, 

Of 1 oi idol ness, uhieh T max mini) KM mm Some \agiant inothei. \\lu>s^ uich little 

\Vilh m> lust blessing Ne\eitheless on ones, 

tliese Vll unconceined b\ hei dejwted plight, 

The light of lM?auU did not fall m A am ^ Lauuhe<l as \Mth 1 1\ a leatrei ness their hands 

(h jiiiiideiii eiienmf iis<< them t<i no end * <r> (S.itheied the pmplc enps that lound them 


3fl " But ^hen thai liist j>oelic facult\ Slie\\ms the tuif's meen slope 

Ot plain linaunmhon and sexeie, ^ A diamond light 

\oloimeiamiitemiluenceotthesoul, ( \Vhene Vi the sunmiei smi. dpchnmtr. 

Vent in el, at home rash muse *s ea i nest oa 1 1 smot e 

To ti> her strength among haimomous A smooth nn*k wet M it h constant sprm**) 

'woids, was setn 

170 And to book-notions and the rules ot art Spaikhng fiom out a copie-clad bank that 
Did knowingly conform itseli , theie t ame 

Among the simple shapes of human life "<> Fronting out cottaue Oft beside the hearth 
A wilfulness of fancy and conceit Seated, \\ith open door, oiten and lom> 

And Nature and hei objects beauliiied Upon this lestlew lustie have 1 gazed, 

375 Thfse fictions, as m some soit, in then tuin, 


That made iny fancy restless as itself. Some pensive musings which ought well 

'Twas now for me a burnished silver shield beseem 
415 Suspended over a knight's tomb, who lay Maturer yean. 

Inglorious, buned in the dusky wood A grove there is whose bough? 

An enhance now into some magic cau> Stretch from the western marge of Thm- 

Or palace built by fames of the rock, ston-mere, 

Nor could I have been bribed to disenchant |MI With length of shade so thick, that whoso 

420 The spectacle by visiting the spot. glides 

Thus wilful Fancy, in no hurtful mood, Along the line of lo* -roofed water, mo>e* 

Kugrafted far-fetched shapes on feeling*. A s in a cloister. Once while, in that shade 

bred loitering, I watched the golden beams ol 

By pure Imagination busy Power light 

She was, and with her ready pupil turned Flung from the setting sun, as they re- 

425 Instinctively to human passions, then posed 

Least undei stood Yet, 'mid the t'enent 465 In silent beauty on the naked ndge 

swarm Of a high eastern hill thus flowed my 

Of these vapaiies, with an eye so rich thoughts 

As mine wa& through the bounty of a grand In a pure stream of words fresh from the 

And lovely region, I had forms distinct heart: 

430 To steady me each airy thought revohed Dear native Regions 1 ^hereso'er Khali 

Round a pubstanhal centre, which at once close 

Incited it to motion, and con ti oiled. My mortal course, there will I think on you 
I did not pine like one in cities bred, 1 47 Dying, will cast on you a backward look 

As was thy melancholy lot, dear friend ' Even as this setting MIII (albeit the vale 

435 Great Spu it as thou ait, in endless dreams Is nowhere touched b\ one memorial 

Of sicklmess, disjoining, joining, things gleam) 

Without the light of knowledge. Where Doth with the fond remains of his laM 

the harm, power 

If, when the woodman languished with Still linger, and a farewell lustre sheds 

disease 47B On the dear mountain-tops where first he 

Induced by sleeping nightly on the ground rose. 
440 Within his sod-built cabin, Indian-wise, 

I called the pangs of disappointed love, Enough of humble arguments; recall, 

And all the sad etcetera of the wrong, My song f those high emotions which thy 

To help him to his grave f Meanwhile the voice 

man, Has heretofore made known ; that burst- 

If not already from the woods retired ing forth 

446 To die at home, was haply as I kne*, Of sympathy, inspiring and inspired. 
Withering by slow degrees, 'mid gentle 48 When everywhere a vital pulse was felt, 

airs. And all the seveial frames of things, like 

Birds, running streams, and hills so beaut i- stars, 

ful Through every magnitude distinguishable. 

On golden e\enmgs, while the charcoal pile Shone mutually indebted, 01 half lost 

Breathed up its smoke, an image of his Each in the other 's blaze, a galaxy 

ghost 485 Of life and glory. In the midst stood Man, 

450 Or spint that full soon must take her Outwardly, inwardly contemplated, 

flight As, of all visible natures, crown, though 

Nor shall we not be tending towards that born 

point Of dust, and kindred to the worm; a 

Of sound humanity to which our tale Being, 

Leads, though by sinuous *ays, if here I Both in perception and discernment, first 

show 49 In every capability of rapture, 

How Fancy, in a season when she wove Through the divine effect of power and 

4W Those slender cords, to guide the uncon- Jove; 

scious Boy As, more than anything we know, instinct 

For the Man's sake, could feed at Na- With godhead, and, by reason and by will, 

hire's call Acknowledging dependency sublime. 

* Bee Col<r1dRp' Fm*t *' VMnfoftf 51-IK (p ' The following eight Hnw AI* wart from tho 

850) Frtnrt, p liw 


405 Ere long, the lonely mountains left, I Some inner meanings which might harbor 

moved, there. 

Begirt, from day to day, with temporal But how could I in mood so light indulge, 
shapes B4 Keeping such fresh remembrance of the 

Of vice and folly thrust upon my view, day, 

Objects of sport, and ridicule, and scorn, When, having thndded the long labyrinth 
Manners and characters discriminate, Qf the suburban villages, I first 

600 And little bustling passions that eclipse, Entered thy vast dominion f On the roof 

As well they might, the impersonated ^ Of an itinerant vehicle I sate, 

thought, fi45 With vulgar men about me, trivial forma 

The idea, or absti action of the kind. Of houses, pavement, streets, of men and 


An idler among academic bowers, Mean sh *P es on e * erv Slde: but > at the 
Such was my new condition, as at large instant, . 

606 Has been set forth , yet here the vulgar ^hen to myself it fairly might be said, 

light The threshold now is overpast, (how 

Of present, actual, superficial life, rKn _. . stl *nge . 

Gleaming, through coloring of other time*, C5 ^at aught external to the living mind 
Old usages and local privilege, Shollld have such mi 8 bt y ^y ! y et 8 * 

Was welcome, softened, if not solemnized. . T"? * ^ -i ^ 
610 This notwithstanding, being biought moie wei ht * *&* & d ** descend 

near I pon my heart; no thought embodied, no 

To vice and guilt, foierunmng wretched- l)lstmct remembrances, but weight and 

ness power, 

I trembled,'-thought, at times, of human Power growing under weight- alas! I feel 

lif e ' fe f ' That I am tnflmg 'twas a moment's 

With an indefinite tenor and dismay, A ., P 8 ] 186 *"" 

Such as the storms and angry elements A11 that took P lace me came and 

616 Had bred in me, but gloomier far, a dim A went , Al _ _ , , 

Analogy to upnmr and mis C ule, *s m a moment; yet with Time it dwells, 

Disquiet, danger, and obscuntj And S teM memory, as a thing divine. 

_ . . A ., .. A . . . B6 The curious traveller, who, from open 

It nn^ht be told (but wherefore speak ( j a v 

of things Hath passed with torches into some huge 
Common to all?) that, seeing, I was led 


MO Giavely to ponder- judging between pood The Grott o o f Antiparos, or the den 1 

And evil, not as for the mind's delight In old tlme haun ted by that Danish witch, 

But foi her guidance- one who vas to Yordas, he looks around and sees the vault 

aet > . ,...., r ' 65 Widening on all sides, sees, or thinks he 

As sometime* to the best of feeble means 


I did, by human sympathy impelled. Erelong, the massy loof a bine his head, 

6*6 And, through dislike and most offensixe That instantly unsettles and lecedes,- 

P ain > , , . , Substance and shadow, light and darkness. 

Was to the tiulh conducted, of this faith a \\ 

Nevei forsaken, that, by acting well. Commingled, making up a canopy 

And understanding, I should leam to love 670 Qf 8 h ap es and foims and tendencies to 

The end of life, and everything \ve know. SQftpe 

That shift and vanish, change and inter* 
6SO Grave teacher, stern preceptress! for at change 

times Like spectres, ferment silent and sub- 

Thou canst put on an aspect most severe, lime! 

London, to thee I willingly return. That after a short space works less and less, 

Erewhile my verse played idly with the Till, every effort, every motion gone, 

flowers 675 The scene before him stands in perfect view 

Enwrought upon thy mantle; satisfied Exposed, and lifeless as a written book' 

6*6 With that amusement, and a simple look But let him pause awhile, and look again, 

Of child-like inquisition now and then And a new quickening shall succeed, at first 

Cast upwards on thy countenance, to detect > A cavern in Yorkshire. 


Beginning timidly, then creeping fast, 62 Stript of their harmonizing soul, the life 
680 Till the whole cave, 00 late a senseless mass. Of manners and familiar incidents, 
Busies the eye with images and forms Had never much delighted me. And less 

Boldly assembled, here is shadowed 1'oitli Than other .intellects had mine been used 
From the projections, wrinkles, cavities, To lean upon extrinsic circumstance 

A variegated landscape, there the shape 62fi Of record or tradition; but a sense 
585 Of some gigantic warrior clad in mail, Of what in the great City had been done 

The ghostly semblance of a hooded monk, And suffered, and was doing, suffering. 
Veiled nun, or pilgrim resting on his staff still, 

Strange congregation I yet not slow to meet Weighed with me, could support the test 
Eyes that perceive through minds that can of thought ; 

inspire. And, in despite of all that had gone by, 

680 Or was departing never to return, 

WO Even in such sort had I at first been The" ? conversed with majesty and po*ei 
movec | Like independent natures. Hence the 

Nor otherwise continued to be moved, __ place 

As I explored the vast metropolis, Was thronged with impregnations like the 

Fount of my country's destiny and the . wilds 

world's- I* 1 w hich my eai y feelings had been 

That great emporium, chronicle at once M . ^ ^H 186 ^ u ,. 
5B And burial-place of passions, and their 635 Bare hllla and valleys, full of caverns, 

home rocks, 

Imperial, their chief living residence. nd audible secluaonH, dashing lakes, 

Echoes and waterfalls, and pointed crags 

_... . . . , , That into music touch the parsing wind 

With strong sensations teeming as it did Here Uien my lmaffm ation found 

Of past and present, such a place must 640 No uncongenial element , could here 

needs ... , , Among new objects sene 01 ime coin- 

Have pleased me, seeking knowledge at mand, 

4AA ^. , that time _ g vcn ag ^ e heart's occasions might re- 

600 Far less than craving power; yet knowl- quire 

edge came, To forward reason's else too scrupulous 

Sought or unsought, and influxes of power march 

Came, of themselves, or at her call derived The effcct wa ' g stlll moie elcvated views 
In fits of kindliest apprehensneness, 945 O f human nature Neither Mce nor guilt. 

r E" 1 a11 8l * CS ^ hen whate ' er w j n ltfeclf Debasement undergone by body or mind 
<M Capacious found, 01 seemed to find, in me Nor all the miflery forced upon my Sl ^ 

A correspondent amplitude of mind, Misery not lightly passed, but sometimes 

Such is the strength and glory of our scanned 

youth! ,,..,. Most feehnply, could overthrow my trust 

The human nature unto which I felt 660 j n whfl t we may become; induce belief 

-fn ^ tlbelo ngl f and weicneed with love, That I was ignorant, had been falselv 
610 Was not a punctual piesence, but a spirit taught 

Diffused through time and space, with aid A gohtary, who with vain conceits 

derived Had been inspired, and talked about in 

Of evidence from monuments, erect, dreams 

Prostrate, or leaning towards their com- Yrom those Bad scenes when meditation 

mon rest turned, 

In earth, the widely scattered wreck sub- 655 LO everything that was indeed divine 
M _ _ _ J 8 . . . . _ Retained its purity inviolate, 

Of vanished nations, or more clearly drawn Nay brighter shone, by this portentous 
From books and what they picture and gloom 

record. get off; such opposition as aroused 

The mind of Adam, yet in Paradise 

'Til true, the history of our native land, eeo Though fallen from bliss, when in the 
With those of Greece compared and popu- east he saw 

lar Borne, Darkness ere day's mid course, and morn- 

And in our high-wrought modern narra- ing light 

lives More orient m the western cloud, that drew 



O'er the blue firmament a radiant white, 
Descending slow with something heavenl} 

Add also, that among the multitudes 
Of that huge city, oftentimes was seen 
Affectingly bet loith, moie than elsewhere 
lb possible, the unity of man, 
One spirit over ignorance and \iee 
(.70 Predominant in good and evil hearts, 
One sense for moral judgments, as one eye 
For the sun's light The soul when smit- 
ten thus 

By a sublime idea, whencesoe'er 
Vouchsafed for union or communion, feeds 
675 On the pure bliss and takes her rest with 

Thus from a \ cry early age, f riend f 
&fy thoughts by slow gradations had been 


To human-kind, and to the good and ill 
Of human life Natuie had led me on , 
6X0 And oft amid the "busy hum" 1 seemed 
To travel independent of her help, 
As if I had forgotten her, but no, 
The world of human-kind outweighed not 


In my habitual thoughts; the scale of loie, 
<S5 Though filling dailv, still was light, com- 
With that in which Iff mighty objects la> 


10< * pleasant exeicise of hope ami jo\ M 
Foi mighty weie the auMlmi^ ulnrli then 


Lpon our side, us \\lio weie shoim in lo\e' 
Bliss was it in that dawn to be nine, 
But to be young \\as \ery Hea\en f () 

* times* 

110 In which the meagre, stale, toi bidding wavs 
Of custom, law, and statute, took at once 
The attraction of a country in lomance 1 
When Reason seemed the most to assert her 


When most intent on making of herself 
115 A pi ime enchant less- to assist the work, 
Which then was going t'orwaid in hei 

name ' 
Not favored spots alone, but the whole 

The beauty WOIP of pionnse that which 


(As at some .moments might not be unfelt 
120 Among the bowers of Paradise itself) 
The budding rose above the rose full blown. 

*To "Meditate with nrdor on the rale and man- 
agement ot nntionN "1 90 

What temper at the prospect did not wake 
To happiness un thought oft The inert 
Were roused, and lively natures rapt away ! 
125 They who had fed their childhood upon 


The play-fellows of fancy, who had made 
All powers of swiftness, subtilty, and 

Their mimsteis, who in lordly wise had 


Among the grandest objects of the sense, 
130 And dealt with whatsoever they found 


As if they had within some lurking right 
To wield it , they, too, who of gentle mood 
Had watched all gentle motions, and to 

Had fitted then own thoughts, schemers 

more mild, 
135 And in the region of their peaceful 

Now was it that both found, the meek and 


Did both find, helpeis to their hearts' de- 
And stuff at hand, plastic as they could 


Wc*re called upon to exercise their skill, 
140 Not m Utopia, subterranean fields,- 
Or some secreted island, 1 Hea\en 

whei e f 

Hut m the \eiy world, which is the woild 
Of all of us, the place where, in the end, 
We find oiu happiness, or not at all I 

11 * Why should I not confess that Earth 

was then 

To me, what an inhentance, new-fallen, 
Seems, when the first tune visited, to one 
Who thither comes to find m it his hornet 
He walks about and looks upon the spot 
no With cordial transpoit, moulds it and 

\nd is half-pleased with things that are 

'Twill be such joy to see them disappear. 

An acti\e partisan, I thus convoked 
From every object pleasant circumstance 

156 To suit my ends, I moved among mankind 
With genial feelings still predominant, 
When erring, erring on the better part, 
And in the kinder spirit , placable, 
Indulgent, as not uninformed that men 

160 See as they have been taught Antiquity 
Gives nghts to ei ror , and aware, no less, 
That throwing off oppression must be work 
As well of License as of Liberty , 
And above all for this was more than all 
' Such an Bacons New Atlantis 



itf Not caring if the wind did now and then Which they had struggled for : up 

Blow keen, upon an eminence that gave mounted now. 

Prospect so large into futurity; 21 Openly in the eye of earth and heaven, 

In brief, a child of Nature, as at first. The scale of liberty. I read her doom, 

Diffusing only those affections wider With anger vexed, with disappointment 

170 That from the cradle had grown up with sore, 

me, But not dismayed, nor taking to the shame 

And losing, in no other way than light Of a false prophet While resentment rose 

Is lost in light, the weak in the more strong. 21& Stiiving to hide, what nought could heal, 

In the mam outline, such it might be said Qf mo flS uin pt,oa f I ""<1 

i Wa f my condrtl , on ' tlU . * OP 6 " w . More firmly to old tenets, and, to prove 

176 Britain opposed the liberties of France 1 Th *-. a t,nl them mn .- . n j 

This threw me first out of the pale of love , Their f^ fy* them more ' and 

Soured and corrupted, upwards to the Qf conte8t ; dld opinion8 every day 

source, . 220 (3.,^ ^ consequence, till round my mind 

My sentiments; was not, as hitheito, Th d ^ ^ te tf 

A swallowing up of lesser things in great. ' mo ^' ' ' * 

MO But change of them into their contraries, The ^ of ^ . ^ ^ 

And thus a way was opened for mistake*, ' n 

And false conclusions in degree as RIOBS, 

In kind moie dangerous What had been 270 ^ strong shock 

a pride, Wag gj ven to oM O p, molls a jj mcn >. 

Was now a sliame, my likings and my loves minds 

6 Ran in ne channels, Iwmnsr old ones Rad felt lt and m)ne WJW both , et 

dry, jn,,,^ 

And hence a blow that, in. maturer age, r,et loose and goaded Aftei what hath been 

Would but have touched the judgment, Aheady ,,*;, tnoiw , ove> 

struck more deep 2 76 Suffice it hei e to add, that, somewhat sten 

Into sensations near the heart meantime, , tempelal , lenl , llhal a happv mau 

ft i sfr ? mthefi ! st ' Wlldth ^? e8 ? reieafl ? lt ' And theiefore bold to look on painful 

" To whose pretensions, sedulously uisred, thln v 

lhadbutlentacarelewear.a&suied Piee hkewise of |he wol , d and thenw , 

That time was ready to set all thiua^ riarht, , uore j, o j d 

And that the multrtude, w. long oppressl. j Slimraoned my ^ ^j, and toiled Inten , 

Would be oppressed no more 2 80 To anatomize the frame of rocml life . 

, ae ,. , B l whe " en , ts Yea, the whole body of soc.ety 

195 Brought less encouragement, and unto these Searched to its heart. Share with me. 

The immediate pi oof of principles no moie f, leud t y, e ^^ 

Could be entrusted, while the e^ent8 them- Thal ^^ dramatlc tale> endu ^ ^^ 

selves, sh&Des 

Worn out in greatness, stripped of novelty, L ive lier, and flinging out less guarded 

Less occupied the mind, and sentiments words 

>0 Could through my understanding 's natural 285 Than slut the work we fashlon might wt 

growth f ort h 

No longer keep their ground, by faith Whnt then j leained or ^^ j i earneclt 

mauitamed of truth> 

Of inward consciousness, and hope that A|ld lhe errorh |nfo whldl j fell> bctraye4l 

, , . i_- i. j By present objects, and by reasonings false 

Her hand upon her object-evidence From tbeir beginnings, inasmuch as drawn 

Safer, of universal application, such 290 OiU of a heart that had been turned aside 

*o* As could not be impeached, was sought Prom Nature's way by outward accidents, 

elsewhere. And which was thus confounded, more 

But now, become oppressors in their p and more 

turn, Misguided, and misguiding. So I fared. 

Frenchmen had changed a war of self- Dragging all precepts, judgments, maxims, 

defense creeds, 

For one of conquest, losing sight of all * Like culprits to the bar; calling the mind, 

ilnl79 3 Suspiciously, to establish in plain day 



Her titles and her honors , now believing, 
Now disbelieving, endlessly perplexed 
With impulse, motive, right and wrong, 

the ground 

800 Of obligation, what the rule and whence 
The sanction; till, demanding formal 


And seeking it in everything, I lost 
All feeling of conviction, and, in fine, 
Sick, weaned out with conti aneties, 
05 Yielded up moial ()uestions in despair 

Then it was 
Thanks to the bounteous flnei oi all 


533 That the beloved sistei 1 in whose sight 
Those days were passed, now speaking in 

a voice 

Of sudden admonition like a brook 
That did but cioss a lonely road, and n<>\\ 
Is seen, heaid, felt, and caught at e\en 

tin 11. 
3 * Companion ni'\ei lost thioiuzh nian\ a 

lea uiH 1 

Maintained toi me a saxnii; inteieoui^c 
With m> tine self, ioi, thouh bedimiued 

and changed 
Much, as it seemed. I uas no fuithei 


Than as a clouded anil a \\aimm moon 
J4B She whibpeied still that blight nesv \\ould 


She, in tile midst of all, piescned me still 
A poet, made me beck beneath that name, 
And that alone. m\ otfiee upon eai th , 
And. lastly, as lieieattei mil be shown, 
i50 If milling audience tail not, Natuie's self, 
By all \aiieties of human love 
Assisted, led me back through opening da\ 
To those sweet counsels between head and 

Whence gicw that genuine knowledge, 

ii aught with peace, 
365 Which, t humph the latei sinking** ot this 

Hath still upheld me, and upholds me now 


Long time have human ignorance and 


Detained us, on \\hat spectacles of woe 
Compelled to look, and inwardly oppressed 
With sorrow, disappointment, \exmg 

Confusion of the judgment, zeal decayed, 

WordBWorth Joined hla rftcr Dorothy at Hull 
fn\ In the winter of 1704 

And, lastly, utter loss oi hope itself 
And things to hope