Returned him not a single word,
But to the house went in;
Whence straight he came with hat and wig; A wig that flowed behind,
A hat not much the worse for wear, Each comely in its kind.
He held them up, and in his turn That showed his ready wit, My head is twice as big as yours, They therefore needs must fit.
But let me scrape the dirt away, That hangs upon your face; And stop and eat, for well you may Be in a hungry case.
Said John, it is my wedding day, And all the world would stare, If wife should dine at Edmonton, And I should dine at Ware.
So turning to his horse he said, I am in haste to dine;
"Twas for your pleasure you came here, You shall go back for mine.
Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast! For which he paid full dear; For, while he spoke, a braying ass Did sing most loud and clear;
Whereat his horse did snort, as he Had heard a lion roar,
And galloped off with all his might, As he had done before.
Away went Gilpin, and away
Went Gilpin's hat and wig
He lost them sooner than at first, For why?-they were too big. Now mistress Gilpin, when she saw Her husband posting down Into the country far away,
She pulled out half a crown;
And thus unto the youth she said, That drove them to the Bell, This shall be yours, when you bring back My husband safe and well.
The youth did ride and soon did meet John coming back amain; Whom in a trice he tried to stop, Py catching at his rein;
But not performing what he meant And gladly would have done, The frighted steed he frighted more, And made him faster run.
Away went Gilpin, and away Went postboy at his heels,
The postboy's horse right glad to miss The lumbering of the wheels.
Six gentlemen upon the road, Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
With postboy scampering in the rear, They raised the hue and cry,-
Stop thief! stop thief! a highwayman! Not one of them was mute; And all and each that passed that way Did join in the pursuit.
And now the turnpike gates again Flew open in short space;
The toll-men thinking as before That Gilpin rode a race.
And so he did, and won it too, For he got first to town;
Nor stopped till where he had got up He did again get down.
Now let us sing, long live the king, And Gilpin, long live he; And, when he next doth ride abroad, May I be there to see!
AFFLICTED PROTESTANT LADY IN FRANCE
A STRANGER's purpose in these lays Is to congratulate and not to praise. To give the creature the Creator's due Were sin in me, and an offence to you. From man to man, or e'en to woman paid, Praise is the medium of a knavish trade, A coin by craft for folly's use designed, Spurious, and only current with the blind.
The path of sorrow and that path alone, Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown; No traveller ever reached that blest abode, Who found not thorns and briers in his road, The world may dance along the flowery plain, Cheered as they go by many a sprightly strain, Where Nature has her mossy velvet spread, With unshod feet they yet securely tread, Admonished, scorn the caution and the friend, Bent all on pleasure, heedless of its end.
But he, who knew what human hearts would prove How slow to learn the dictates of his love, That, hard by nature and of stubborn will,
A life of ease would make them harder still, In pity to the souls his grace designed To rescue from the ruins of mankind, Called for a cloud to darken all their years, And said, "Go, spend them in the vale of tears" O balmy gales of soul-reviving air!
O salutary streams that murmur there! These flowing from the fount of grace above, Those breathed from lips of everlasting love. The flinty soil indeed their feet annoys; Chill blasts of trouble nip their springing joys; An envious world will interpose its frown, To mar delights superior to its own; And many a pang, experienced still within, Reminds them of their hated inmate, Sin: But ills of every shape and every name, Transformed to blessings, miss their cruel aim; And every moment's calm that soothes the breast, Is given in earnest of eternal rest.
Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste! No shepherd's tents within thy view appear, But the chief Shepherd even there is near; Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain n; Thy tears all issue from a source divine, And every drop bespeaks a Saviour thine- So once in Gideon's fleece the dews were found And drought on all the drooping herbs around.
REV. W. CAWTHORNE UNWIN.
UNWIN, I should but ill repay
The kindness of a friend,
Whose worth deserves as warm a lay,
As ever friendship penned,
A union formed, as mine with thee, Not rashly, nor in sport, May be as fervent in degree And faithful in its sort,
And may as rich in comfort prove As that of true fraternal love.
The bud inserted in the rind, The bud of peach or rose, Adorns, though differing in its kind, The stock whereon it grows, With flower as sweet, or fruit as fair As if produced by nature there.
Not rich, I render what I may, I seize thy name in haste, And place it in this first essay,
Lest this should prove the last. "Tis where it should be-in a plan, That holds in view the good of man.
The poet's lyre, to fix his fame, Should be the poet's heart; Affection lights a brighter flame Than ever blazed by art. No muses on these lines attend, I sink the poet in the friend.
TO THE REVEREND MR. NEWTON An Invitation into the Country.
THE Swallows in their torpid state
Compose their useless wing,
And bees in hives as idly wait
The call of early Spring.
The keenest frost that binds the stream,
The wildest wind that blows,
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