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THE 
 
 TOUR OF THE DOVE, 
 
 A POEM, 
 
Rirhardsoii and Ifandtbrd, I'rintei<;, 
 Markct-Place, Derlw. 
 
THE 
 
 TOUR OF THE DOVE, 
 
 A rOEM; 
 WITH OCCASIONAL PIECES: 
 
 /BY 
 
 JOHN EDWAEDS. 
 
 " Who comes not hither, ne'er shall know 
 How beautiful the world below ; 
 Nor can he guess how lightly leaps 
 'l*he brook adown the rocky steeps." 
 
 ; ' ' ' ^ vv'o.ids\/oi';h. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWNo 
 1821. 
 
f^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^^'\ 
 
 v'/i'\^ 
 
 
TO 
 
 JESSE WATTS RUSSELL, ESQ. M. P. 
 THE FOLLOWING POEM, 
 
 WHICH, IN TRACING THE BANKS OF THE RIVER DOVE, 
 INCLUDES 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL AND ROMANTIC SCENERY 
 
 IN THE VICINITY 
 
 AND OARDENS OF ILAM HALL, 
 
 IS, 
 
 WITH PERMISSION, 
 
 MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED 
 
 BY HIS OBEDIENT SERVANT, 
 
 THE AUTHOB. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 On presenting this volume to the public, it is 
 due to the high patronage conferred upon the 
 author, that he should offer a few remarks, ex- 
 planatory of the inducements which led him to 
 the composition of the Tour of the Dove. 
 
 Having had various opportunities of visiting 
 most of the places in the Peak of Derbyshire, 
 celebrated for their beautiful or romantic scenery; 
 it has seemed to him a matter of regret, that there 
 should exist no good local poetry, claiming for 
 
viii PREFACE. 
 
 its birth-place some of these highly interesting 
 vallies. If the author may be permitted to take 
 his individual experience as a standard by which 
 to estimate the feelings of other tourists, an 
 impulse of pleasurable sensations is excited by 
 the extraordinary exhibitions of material nature, 
 that calls for a correspondent exertion of the 
 loftier faculties of mind. When contemplating the 
 sublime or the beautiful in the scenery around 
 VLSj we feel ourselves translated from the world 
 of common life ; the elysium in which we are 
 then placed, appears to us an imaginative region, 
 the pecuhar province of poetry ; and the soul 
 yearns for some breathings of " immortal verse/' 
 that she can identify with the objects before her. 
 That this desideratum is supplied by the present 
 work, it were too much to presume ; but the 
 favourable reception of the author's former poem, 
 on All Saints' Church, Derby, has encouraged him 
 
PREFACE. ix 
 
 to venture on the subject, hoping at least, to draw 
 the attention of other more highly gifted minds 
 to pursue it effectually. The lakes and mountains 
 of the north have already been consecrated by some 
 of the choicest strains of the muse, and surely the 
 rivers of the Peak cannot prove an ungrateful 
 theme. 
 
 On the merits of the present poetical tour, it 
 is not for the author to decide; but it may be 
 proper to account to the reader, for the method 
 in which it has been conducted. It was originally 
 intended, that, under the title of the Peak Rivers, 
 it should describe the whole of the romantic sce- 
 nery ; tracing the Dove upwards, to its source, 
 then descending with the Wye till it enters the 
 Derwent, and after taking a retrospect of that 
 river, proceeding with it to its junction with the 
 Trent. This design, it was soon found, would 
 
% PREFACE. 
 
 embrace a wider field of objects than could he 
 prudently admitted in a poem, the attractions of 
 which, must rest chiefly upon description ; and it 
 has therefore been limited to its present extent. 
 The original plan, of tracing the Dove upwards, is 
 preserved ; as the interest is thus better supported 
 than it could be by following the contrary and 
 apparently more natural direction. 
 
 Respecting the minor pieces, the writer has 
 only to observe, that with regard to the admission 
 of those placed in the appendix, he begs to take 
 shelter under the authority of Warton, whose 
 Oxford verses are attached to the body of his 
 poetry. He now commits himself to the candour 
 of the public, returning his sincere and grateful 
 acknowledgments to the Nobility, Gentry, Clergy, 
 and Others who have honored him with their 
 patronage. 
 
TUB 
 
 TOUR OF THE DOVE, 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 SPRING Ur, WELL ; SING YE UNTO IT. 
 
 Numbers xxi 
 
THE 
 
 TOUR OF THE DOVE, 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 T. 
 
 JL HOU eldest of the elements that sprang 
 From imderneath the Spirit's brooding' wings. 
 When chaos heard that potent voice which rang. 
 Commanding life and being to all things,— 
 Hail, WATER ! — beautiful thy gushing springs. 
 Thy lakes and rivers ; — shrined in clouds or dew ; 
 In ice or snow ; or where the rainbow flings 
 Its radiant arch ; — in every form and hue. 
 Thou, glorious element, art ever fair and new ! 
 
4 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 II. 
 
 Ever fresh springing in the wells and fountains. 
 
 The virgin waters rise and overflow ; 
 
 The cloud-nursed torrents hasting down the mountain?. 
 
 Replenish still the fleeting streams below : 
 
 The Thames, the Rhine, the Tyber, and the Po, 
 Are ever by fresh rivulets supplied ; 
 And mighty ocean, heaving to and fro, 
 Rock'd by the undulation's of the tide, 
 Is with pei^petual renovation purified. 
 
 III. 
 Charm'd by the music of the rolling deep. 
 The Muse, that pours her own sweet song to heaven. 
 Might hngering stay beside the rocky steep 
 Till the day fled, and came the star of even : 
 But she a boon has to her votary given ; — 
 With him to view the Dovedale of the Peak ; 
 And trace its River, in meanders driven 
 Through the deep-channeird hills its way to seek ;— 
 To tread the glens and caves, and climb the mountains bleak. 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. I 
 
 IV. 
 
 Lo, now she beckons from the battlement 
 Of yon mock pile, misnamed of Waterloo :— • 
 She saw the nuptials of the Dove and Trent, 
 But long before that mushroom fabric grew : 
 Each came with pomp of flowing retinue ; 
 Each, slow to meet, came on with winding wing ; 
 And this the language of their interview ; 
 *' Comest thou alone, proud Dove, or dost thou bring 
 Some tributary river from another spring ?" 
 
 V. 
 
 '^ Imperious Trent ! thy better mood disowns, 
 (Replied the fairer stream) this greeting harsh ; 
 But know that I am sprung from mountain thrones. 
 Beyond far Longnor's hills of pine and larch ; 
 Dovedale's rock-spires, and caves, and rock-built arch, 
 Ashboum's blue smoke, Uttoxeter's bright gleam, 
 And Burton's joyous bells announce my march. 
 These honors were sufficient dower, I deem. 
 Came I alone — ^but wilder waters swell my stream." 
 
 B 
 
6 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 VI. 
 Two rivers weary of the sun, that sheds 
 No beanty on their banks with shale embrown* d. 
 Have dared to pkmge and leave their stony beds 
 Empty, with naked track to wander round 
 The dreary moors. — What ear can reach the sound. 
 From ledge to ledge as the bold torrents leap 
 Through echoing caverns lock'd in gloom profound !— 
 Hamps roars to Manifold, deep answers deep. 
 As with converging tides the darkling rivers sweep. 
 
 VII. 
 
 I know thy meadows, Trent, are rich and green ; 
 Thy swelling slopes are gay with lawn and wood ; 
 But couldst thou visit Ham's sylvan scene. 
 Where grotto, cliff, and groves of various bud, 
 O'erhang each rising river's fountain flood,— 
 As cool and crystal-clear it springs to air. 
 And deeply drinks the light as 'twere life-blood ;— 
 It might have seem'd that some enchantment rare 
 Had scoop'd that mountain nook, and pour'd those rivers fail 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE 7 
 
 VIII. 
 With them, by Alton Abbey's castle-den, 
 The Churnet hither trails her willow locks : 
 'Twould seem those iron times had reach'd this glen, 
 When giants play'd at hewing mountain blocks,— 
 So bold and strange the profile of the rocks. 
 Whose huge fantastic figures frown above.— 
 But I refrain — ^for Trent no longer mocks 
 With cold repidse, but courts with ardent love 
 The bright espousals of his own sweet murmuring Dove ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Roll on, bright Pair, in galaxy of light. 
 Through the green meadows tow'rd your ocean home : 
 My fancy kindles at the flashing sight 
 Of your soft-moving waters, as they come, 
 Reflecting in their depths the clouded dome 
 Of that blue heaven to which they seem allied; — 
 And oh, ye rivers ! from what sacred womb 
 Of clouds or mountains sprang your fountain tide. 
 That flows with music light and beauty vivified } 
 
8 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 X. 
 
 Wast thou, fair Dove, a stream when Paradise 
 With rivers watered its deUghtful flowers ; 
 Before the Peak beheld yon summits rise. 
 And Dovedale's portal arch high-roof 'd with towers ? 
 Or when the drowning Deluge pour'd its showers 
 Wast thou produc'd ? Or later dates thy birth— 
 Engender'd where the cavern'd Geyser lours ; 
 And flung in steam condensed through fissures forth. 
 The child of fire, upsent to warm and water earth ? 
 
 XI. 
 Dark as the hidden fountains of the Nile, 
 Or Niger lost amid the burning sand ; 
 Gone and forgotten is the time erewhile 
 Thy robe of beauty trail'd along the land ;— 
 Thy robe embroider'd rich by Nature's hand. 
 With pictured rocks that o'er the margin bend ; 
 With cluster'd shrubs and trees, whose boughs expand 
 Their light and dark green foliage, 'till they blend 
 In graceful curves, wild-sweeping as the winds ascend. 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 9 
 
 XII. 
 
 O river of the mountain and the mead ! 
 Whose path has deepen'd like that fountain-train 
 Where stepp'd the angel with his measuring reed ;* 
 With joy I meet thee on this open plain : 
 Thou bearest onward to the distant main. 
 In whose vast home of waters ends thy course ; 
 My path pursues thy channel in its wane. 
 Where flows the current with decreasing force ; 
 'Till passing many a vale I reach its trickling source. 
 
 XIII. 
 Not thy famed wealth, that tempts the fisherman. 
 With line, and rod, and wallet, fitted out. 
 To seek thy banks, has me allured ; I can 
 With higher motive trace thy varied route. 
 If chance I see the crimson- spotted trout 
 On light fin darting up the lucid stream. 
 It ministers to thoughts not undevout ; 
 And better its shy beauties grace my theme. 
 Than gold or silver fish that love the tropic beam. 
 
 • See Ezekiel, chapter 47. 
 
10 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 But mark the grand effect of human strength ! 
 In vain the river spreads afar her wings ; 
 Yon culvert chain extends at greater length. 
 Girding the waters with its massive rings, 
 By arches form'd, where each its shadow flings 
 Upon the stream. Lift, Egginton, thy head ! 
 Upborne across the plains Man hither brings 
 Another flood ; — with mast and canvas spread. 
 Triumphant sailing o'er thy river's humbled bed. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The pride of Burton, that stupendous bridge 
 Whose crowded arches span the floods of Trent, 
 I pass not now ; but tow'rd the northern ridge 
 Of Needwood with the Dove my steps are bent : 
 I tread the classic ground where Mundy spent 
 His youthful hours ; when emulous he strove 
 With Darwin and the Gisbornes, each intent 
 To sing the charms of nature, as they rove 
 On Weaver hills, or woodland water'd by the Dove. 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 1 1 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Here noble Vernon oft led forth his hounds, 
 A pack that ever proved their good descent : 
 His sire had train'd them on these forest grounds ; 
 And braving oft the wintry element. 
 Beyond the precincts of the chase he went— 
 As once to Shirley Park, what time he vied. 
 With hounds on cry, and horn deep- winded, bent 
 Foremost of all the gallant train to ride. 
 Yet curbing gracefully his fiery courser's pride. 
 
 xvn. 
 
 The hills rebounded as the hunters past ; 
 Echoed the champaign, every bank and bush 
 Remurmuring back the music and the blast. 
 And shouts of horse and foot-men, as they rush 
 Through Dove whose stream recoils with troubled gush. 
 Morn had dispell'd the fogs, when from his cell 
 Reynard was rous'd ; and ere they seiz'd his brush, 
 (That trophy of the chase) the evening bell 
 Of distant Ashbourn sounded into Wooton Dell. 
 
12 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The ballad of this fox-chase has been sung 
 With strength of lungs that roar'd it out with glee ; 
 And when the chorus round gave mouthy it rung 
 As though the hounds had join'd in company. 
 But this obstreperous mirth ill suited me : 
 The wise man tells us laughter has its time ;* 
 Yet deeper on my spirit strikes the key. 
 When beauty^ pathos, power, and gifts sublime 
 Of high imagination " build the lofty rhyme." 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And I can find enjoyment in this task 
 Of humbler measures ; with a pure delight. 
 When nature beckons in her sylvan mask, 
 I trace her footsteps, whether she's bedight 
 With blossoms, or with berries glossy bright. 
 I climb the sandy cliff of Marchington ; 
 And thence to Hanbury's sublimer height. 
 Far from the river banks I wander on : 
 Before — behind — a glorious scene to gaze upon. 
 
 » Eccles. chajjter 3, verse 4 ; but see also chapter 7, verses 3, 4, and 5. 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 1 3 
 
 XX. 
 
 Lo, like the Hindu's sculptured idol-god. 
 Firm on his cushion'd root old Swilcar stands; 
 Casts his broad shadow o'er the la^\Ti's green sod. 
 And frowns upon the larch-grove's upstart wands ; 
 Here, lifts his foliage high with shaggy hands ; 
 And there, still stretch'd to meet the thunder-cloud. 
 One bare enormous arm aloft expands ; 
 While, question'd by the summer tempest, loud 
 His voice with deep and solemn roar gives answer proud. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Oh Swilcar, while before thy pillar'd trunk 
 I stood and gaz'd upon its amplitude ; 
 It seem'd the generations risen and sunk 
 Since from the acorn thou didst first protrude. 
 Before me in distinct succession stood: 
 They have departed. Thou dost still abide ;— 
 A land-mark to the spirits of the good ; 
 Showing, that mortal man may yet confide 
 In those bright hopes to immortality allied. 
 
14 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 For if, in vegetative life, its term 
 So reaches, that a thousand years- may roll. 
 Before the oak upspringing from its germ 
 Again to earth return its crumbling bole ; 
 Can we conceive of the diviner soul. 
 That it shall ever, ever, cease to be ? 
 And though the body seems to find its goal 
 In the dark grave ; yet Faith is there, to see — 
 The seed must die before it can produce the Tree. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Ah that some clump remain'd of mossy piles. 
 Some vestige of that Temple of thejsvood. 
 Which once resounded through its verdant aisles 
 With Mundy's lyre. Then all was fair and good ; 
 And Needwood Forest in its glory stood : 
 Free ranged the deer, and every beast of chase ; 
 There couch'd the pheasant o'er her nestling brood ; 
 The song-birds caroU'd ; humm'd the insect race ; 
 And sights and sounds of wildness tenanted the place. 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 15 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The hand is powerless now, the lyre unstrung. 
 That charm'd the dingles with its finest tones ; 
 That from the hollies where retired it hung. 
 Was reach'd once more, to pour with tuneful moans. 
 The Fall of Needwood with its stately cones ! 
 Yes, Needwood Forest now is but a name ; 
 And Mundy sleeps beneath the tomb's grey stones : 
 Yet still, beyond his Bust, survives to fame. 
 His VERSE, by genius halo'd with her purest flame. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Time cannot hide, power cannot quench the lamp 
 Of genius, kindled far above the sun ! 
 The works of art are crush'd beneath the tramp 
 Of rude barbarians, flush'd with victory won ; 
 Age wastes the giant to a skeleton ; 
 And man's immortal spirit has been di'iven 
 To shrink in ideotcy, with woe undone ; — 
 But genius through the night of years has striven ; 
 And Homer's deathless song to this late age is given. 
 
16 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The starry banners round night's azure cope 
 Are conquer'd by the golden shafts of morn ; 
 So the bright rays of mind, beyond the scope 
 Of matter reaching, yet attain a bourn 
 Impassable, that baffles as in scorn 
 Their trembling gleam. But He who reigns above. 
 Pitying our weakness was in weakness born. 
 In darkness crucified ; that He might prove 
 Strength, light, and wisdom, to the children of his love. 
 
 XXVII. 
 Where reason halts, and genius sinks in dearth. 
 Faith ventures with the Bible in her hand : 
 She hails the country of her second birth. 
 And seeks companions to that promis'd land. 
 Spread then the holy book ! the work is grand. 
 Is God's, and waits not purblind man's complying : 
 The vision John beheld on Patmos' strand 
 Is now fulfiU'd ; from clime to clime is flying* 
 The angel of the Everlasting Gospel, crying : 
 
 • Revelations chapter 14, verses 6 and 7. 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 17 
 
 XXVIII. 
 " Fear God, ye nations, kindreds, sons and daughters 
 Of every tongue and people, worship Him ! 
 He made the earth, the fountains of sweet waters ; 
 He bound the restless ocean with a rim 
 Of rocks and sands it cannot overswim. 
 And stretched on high heaven's glorious canopy. 
 Sing then, with cherubim and seraphim. 
 In universal choir sing loftily. 
 His mercies, judgments, glory, and eternity !" 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 But from her task imagination roves ; 
 I am not here on Canaan's happy shore ; 
 These banks are not the Jordan's but the Dove's, 
 And yonder towers that gleam in distant hoar, 
 Recal me to my chosen theme once more. 
 Alas, the vanity of human powers. 
 And earth-built structures ! Tutbury of yore 
 Rear'd in magnificence those castle towers. 
 And now they bear the mockery of the passing hours. 
 
1 8 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The palace-prison once of Scotia's queen ! — 
 Ah, hapless Mary, hurried to the tomb 
 By bloody hands, the tools of jealous spleen ! 
 Henceforth, whoever treads the shadowy gloom 
 Of yon proud ruins, will bewail thy doom 
 And long captivity. — Thou wast a gem 
 Of royalty, in beauty's roseate bloom : 
 Thy nobles would have kiss'd thy garments' hem ;- 
 Yet thou upon the block didst bow thy diadem ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The pilgrim's motto, " Earth is not our home," 
 On yonder walls is doubly written : Time 
 In broken lines, and History from her tome. 
 Have scribed it. Like the exile's* speech sublime 
 Who sate on ruin'd Carthage, their deep chime 
 Of meaning awes me.— Oh, within these walls. 
 Roofless, defaced, and sulHed now with shme. 
 Is there no ghost doth rise to tell the thralls 
 Of her that sate enthroned in Edin's regal haUs ? 
 
 • Marius, see I'lutarcU. 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 19 
 
 XXXII. 
 Look down upon the Dove ! within her deeps 
 Yon walls and towers inverted reappear : 
 And imaged there a holy fabric sleeps. 
 So tranquil in the liquid hemisphere. 
 So perfectly at rest, you almost fear 
 'Tis but illusion. No, — upon the slope 
 Of yon bold eminence the church doth rear 
 Its Saxon arches, rounded like the cope 
 Of heaven's bright bow of promise, symbol dear to hope. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 What new attractions need the tourist ask 
 To tempt his visits here ! May he not find 
 The beautiful, the bold, the picturesque. 
 And works of rare antiquity, combined 
 With recollections sacred to the mind .''— 
 The splendor of the feudal time is past. 
 But much of interest yet remains behind ; 
 The wretched hypocrite* has broke her fast. 
 But this fair church, these towers, for ages yet may last. 
 
 • Ann Moore, of receut notoriety. 
 
20 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Adieu ! long wave your ivy crests above 
 The smoke of Tutbury upcurling blue ! 
 Ye Forest Banks that overhang the Dove, 
 Ye dingles and romantic dells, adieu ! 
 Winding in folds of mist till lost from view. 
 The stream up tow'rd an open country leads. 
 Here heaven has pour'd its blessings like the dew : 
 Deep rolls the corn, and richest verdure feeds 
 White flocks of sheep, fair herds of kine, and dark-maned steeds . 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Reflecting the sun's rays, the gilded ball 
 On Sudbury's high dome, gleams o'er the grove 
 Embosoming its hospitable hall. 
 With brighter sheen than when at eve it strove 
 To rival, in the placid depths of Dove, 
 The perfect image pictured by the moon. 
 The porter here admits me, by the' alcove. 
 Where haply minstrel bards have sought a boon. 
 Or Palmer resting, dofF'd his scrip and sandal shoon. 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 21 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Before my mind what flitting fables cross ! 
 And sure, if ever waves, or earth's green sod. 
 Or floor of rock, or woodland bank of moss. 
 By naiads' or by dryads' feet were trod. 
 Here should I look to see the river god. 
 And list his tritons blow their azure shells : 
 For Dove that in the vallies long abode, 
 Oppress'd with shadow, now rejoicing swells. 
 And hither brings the waters of a thousand wells. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 At distance due from yonder weaving limes. 
 With equal pomp a shining lake is spread ; 
 And nature's rarities from distant climes. 
 Their mingled odours on its bosom shed. 
 The stately tulip tree here lifts his head ; 
 With shadowy foliage the magnolia towers 
 O'er the smooth lawn ; rich is the orange bed ; 
 And fed by artificial heat and showers. 
 The spicy plants of Ind are nourish'd in these bowers. 
 
22 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 On Trent's broad bosom float the snow-white swans. 
 Like painted ships becahii'd in ocean bay : 
 How beautifully arch'd their plumy vans. 
 The jet and scarlet on their heads how gay ! 
 But can the rapid Dove obtain their stay. 
 While rivaird by the fairer bosom'd lake 
 That skirts the lawn ? Or will that lake betray 
 Its isle, the haunt of heron, coot, and crake. 
 And household stork, that loves its sedge and sheltering brake? 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Ris'n to the surface, like the good man's alms 
 Cast on the waters which again returns. 
 The water lily spreads its leafy palms. 
 And o'er them bears its gold and silver urns. 
 From bulb nutritious that beneath sojourns. 
 Its forky leaf the arrow-root extends ; 
 With genial heat the water- soldier* burns. 
 Alert to show himself; and here ascends 
 The rusht that like a chandelier his flower suspend*. 
 
 • IStratiotes aloides. f Butomos umbellatus. 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 2eS 
 
 XL. 
 
 With tresses mantled like the weeping birch. 
 Muffled with ivy like a hermitage, 
 Tn yonder nook is screen'd a gothic church. 
 Its venerable aspect might assuage 
 The stormy passions, that too often wage 
 Unhallow'd conflict in the human breast. 
 Nature here seems in homage to the page 
 Of Holy Writ to wear this sober vest. 
 Listening to Words that speak of a diviner rest. 
 
 XLL 
 Here, Vernon, when to shun the sultry noon 
 Thou seek' St this cool invigorating shade ; 
 And oft at evening when th* pensive moon 
 Suspends her crescent o'er the umbrageous glade. 
 May thanks for past and present bliss pervade 
 Thy inmost spirit. Heir of noble blood ! 
 Of Thee and of thy Lineage be it said : 
 " The ennobling virtues well they understood ; 
 Theirs was the godlike exercise pf doing good I" 
 
24 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 XLII. 
 Quitting with fond regret, this solemn place, 
 A sinuous path conducts me to the lawn 
 Whence I behold the park. In uncurb'd space. 
 With towering woods and vistas far withdrawn 
 It spreads before me. But the mists of dawn 
 Hot noon has quaff 'd : within the shadowy dome 
 Of the broad pillar'd oak the panting fawn 
 Beneath its green roof finds a pleasant home : — 
 I hasten on, and track the river's crest of foam. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Unlike the plume upon the warrior's helm. 
 That tosses mid the battle's hottest strife. 
 This waves alone in nature's peaceful realm. 
 Far from the din of drmn, and trump, and fife, 
 The " pomp and circumstance" of martial life.— 
 'Tis sweet to drink at the pure fountain-head ; 
 To watch the streamlet in its snow-white coif 
 Wild-leaping down its rocky mountain bed ; 
 To mark the deepen'd flood in brightness garmented. 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 25 
 
 XLIV. 
 Whoe'er has trod the slopes of Doveridge park. 
 Where like a crescent winds the " horned flood;" 
 Or with the morning and the early lark 
 Has climb'd to Eaton's high o'er-hanging wood. 
 And seen the landscape stretching many a rood, 
 Silver'd with mists and streams,— if he could find 
 In all this prospect of the fair and good 
 Nothing attractive, let him stay behind ; 
 The power of waters cannot melt his sullen mind. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 But oh, like Beauty's cestus is the stream ! 
 Its glowing chain of waters with a spell 
 Constrains me, and the fascinating theme 
 My verse pursuing, shall delight to tell 
 Of rills and torrents, and the sink and swell 
 Of water-breaks and fountains, that anon 
 Will greet me, in the lone romantic dell 
 Piping, with clearer voice than Helicon, 
 Such liquid melodies as echo dreameth on. 
 
20 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 The barren Churnet joins upon the plains 
 Of Rocester. Here a loud-resounding mill 
 In its capacious hold awhile detains 
 The river, harder functions to fulfil 
 Than wandering in the flowery fields at will. 
 Fetter d like Sampson to the groaning wheels. 
 The plunging waters roar, and toss, and spill 
 With desperate strength, till all the fabric feels 
 The multitudinous motion whirl its thousand reels. 
 
 XLVII. 
 Wliere art or wast thou, O time-honor'd Tree, 
 That gavest thy name unto the fruitful Hundred 
 Round which the Dove meanders fair and free ? — 
 Thy branches, trunks and root, have long been sunder'd ; 
 Gone is the multitude that stood and wonder'd 
 At thy rich bloom or weight of golden fruit ; 
 The chieftains too, that sat beneath and ponder'd. 
 With equity deciding each dispute. — 
 In worth one oak-leaf now excels thy bravest suite. 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 27 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Lo, the round Weaver hills, that bound the sight, 
 Hang like a bed of clouds in sombre blue ; 
 But, shunning them, the channel to the right 
 By Calwich bends its shining avenue ; 
 Thence, till at Hanging Bridge I bid adieu, 
 Fair Hundred of the Apple-tree, to thee ! 
 A bolder district bursts upon the view ; 
 The rocky parapets of Peak I see. 
 And in those mountain holds, my spirit pants to be. 
 
 XLIX. 
 But night has issued from her caves ; her gloom 
 Climbs like a mist, and darkens every steep ; 
 The light that purpled all the west with bloom 
 Is vanish'd, and along the flowing deep, 
 A veil of dewy haze doth softly sweep. 
 Fine as the gossamer, and pearly white. 
 Thus warn'd of the approaching hours of sleep, 
 I haste to Ashbourn, and with new delight 
 Pass by its window'd spire with moonbeams tinted bright. 
 
28 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 L. 
 
 Oakover's grove, that caught the evening breeze. 
 Allured me onward when the morning smiled : 
 There, in the mansion shelter'd by the trees. 
 Is Raphael's sweetest work — the Virgin mild. 
 Pictured with Jesus her most holy child. 
 Here suits the tranquil scene ; Dove silent flows. 
 As loving rest, escaped from regions wild : 
 Hamps, too, and Manifold, here seek repose ; 
 Like swans upon her wave their silver pinions close, 
 
 LI. 
 
 Ham, thy ancient Hall is swept away ! 
 A fairer soon shall lift its domes and towers ; 
 While still thy fountain-deeps ebullient play. 
 And newborn rivers greet thy classic bowers 
 And fossil grots. Strike on, and bring the hours. 
 Thou clock embosom'd deep in ivy-green ! 
 Time all things earthly but himself devours : 
 Still broods antiquity upon the scene 
 Where Bertram sleeps, where Congreve and Rousseau have 
 been ! 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 29 
 
 LII. 
 
 Hail, thou cloud-mountain, on whose veteran front 
 The storms that move at winter's stern behest 
 Have beat for ages ! Thou endur'st the brunt. 
 Guarding, hke knighthood of unshaken test, 
 Dovedale's rock-gardens and her caves of rest. 
 Bound on a pilgrimage to nature vow'd. 
 Hither I come with no ungracious quest : — 
 Then lift thy battle-axe, O blue Thorp Cloud ! 
 And answer to my hail with clash of echoes loud ! 
 
 LHI. 
 Arriv'd within this dale of wonders, now 
 I climb a shee})-path leading to a bower 
 Of hawthorn : seated near, on the green brow 
 Of a projecting cliff, I feel the power 
 And beauty of the prospect — from the flower 
 Whose novelty attracts me, as it peeps 
 Above the herbage, to yon shelves that lour 
 In anger still — threat'ning the death he sleeps. 
 Whom erst they hurl'd, both horse and rider, down their steeps. 
 
30 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 LIV. 
 But most the alpine scenes in perspective 
 Disturb me by their grandeur, from my seat. 
 The earth itself seems changed on which I live : 
 Rocks striding up the hills, and at my feet 
 How fair the limpid Dove ! whose ripples greet 
 Each islet-stone or bush that intervenes. 
 Springing from lioary crags, in contrast meet 
 Full blossom'd thorns and glossy evergreens ! 
 While fern and moss-work frets amid these wild demesnes> 
 
 LV. 
 
 Let not the wanderer of the Switzer alps. 
 Who has beheld the clouds beneath him sweep. 
 And far above has seen the naked scalps 
 Of the huge glaciers, or within the deep 
 Dark piny forest on the mountain steep 
 Has been benighted, let him not control 
 These raptures ; passion here may reap 
 Strong pleasures, and the elevated soul 
 Expand this miniature into a mighty whole. 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 31 
 
 Lvr. 
 
 Grass of Parnassus, can tlie vagrant iriuse 
 Pass on, unmov'd by thy inspiring name ? 
 Not the wild roses bathed in morning dews. 
 Nor may the pimrose of the evening claim 
 Such title to the poet's meed of fame, 
 (Though many a charmed verse has told of them) 
 As thou, among the flowers^ the mountain dame. 
 That, seated on thy shapely pillar-stem. 
 Art lovely as the light-reflecting opal gem. 
 
 LVII. 
 Here too, bloom other flowers, both strange and rare. 
 The slender Catchfly* swings her silver bells 
 On the high cliff's, upon whose topmost stair 
 The mountain Scabious nods : those pinnacles 
 Named from the village of the holy wells. 
 Screen at their feet the lily of the vale. 
 And hence the shepherd girls that haunt these dells 
 Bear many a garland — Orchis, Cistus pale. 
 Geranium and Anthillis, cull'd in this sweet dale. 
 
 • Silcue uuitui;. 
 
32 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Stillj Dovedale, yield thy flowers to deck the fountains 
 Of Tissington^ upon its holy day ; 
 The customs long preserv'd among the mountains. 
 Should not be lightly left to pass away. 
 They have their moral ; and we often may 
 Learn from them how our wise forefathers wrought. 
 When they upon the public mind would lay 
 Some weighty principle, some maxim brought 
 Home to their hearts, the healthful product of deep thought. 
 
 LIX. 
 Now through a copse of underwood the path 
 Its course beside a roofless hovel brings. — 
 ^^ Is this the only structure Dovedale hath ? 
 " Is there no temple-tower that heav'nwai'd springs ? 
 " No palace-inn to stretch its crescent wings ?" — 
 Yes, Nature builds where Art illudes the search : 
 Look up, and see the ponderous arch that flings 
 Sublime from rock to rock a tower'd porch 
 To yon high caves : then mark the ancient Dovedale Church ! 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 33 
 
 LX. 
 
 Thou venerable Fane ! thy walls were rear'd. 
 Thy ivied arches springing roof d the void. 
 Thy fretted spires above the trees appeared. 
 Ere Science one fair Order had employ'd. 
 One metal, gold or silver unalloy'd. 
 To shape and ornament her piles with grace. 
 And yet the high emotions here enjoy'd. 
 The humbling thoughts that human pride abase. 
 Might well befit the service of a holier place. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 I glance around the dale from right to left ; — ■ 
 It seems as Paradise were passing by. 
 And I beheld it from this secret cleft. 
 Flowers yield their fragrance ; trees, luxuriant, high. 
 Climb the rude rocks ; and in the orient sky 
 O'er yonder peak the smi reveals his fires ; 
 The sparkling stream of Dove has caught his eye ; 
 His glory lightens all the cliiFs and spires ;— . 
 I see, I feel, my spirits glow with rapt desires. 
 
34 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 LXII. 
 O hither bring the harp from Judah's palms. 
 With psaltery, sackbut, dulcimer, and lute ; 
 The music tuned of old to golden psalms. 
 This crag-built church, these rocky aisles will suit. — 
 They come — the wilderness no more is mute : 
 The winds have brought the harpings of the sky ; 
 Dove breathes her dulcet tones, the lark his flute ; 
 The psaltery trees, the sackbut caves supply ; 
 And one harmonious voice of praise ascends on high. 
 
 LXIII. 
 So when the plague at Eyam thinn'd the flock. 
 The voice of worship on the sabbath day 
 Within the hollow of the Cucklet rock 
 Resounded. There with mingled sobs they pay 
 To pitying heaven their vows. Thor's hammer lay. 
 All impotent, to dust and darkness hurl'd : 
 No more to idol-gods the people pray ; 
 The banner of the cross, in light unfurl'd. 
 Had swept that brood of giants from the northern world. 
 
THE TOUR OF TliE DOVE. 35 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Ah Memory, if like echo tliou couldst give 
 The sound that has departed voice again ; 
 Couklst thou present, as in a mirror Hve 
 The forms before it, my loved Sarah, — then, 
 I'd bid thee solace me in this deep glen 
 With her sweet voice, her angel countenance : 
 But she, though faitliful as fond Imogen, 
 Comes not; no slumber can renew the trance 
 That once o'ercame me like a vision of romance ; 
 
 LXV. 
 
 She stood upon the threshold of the cave. 
 Whose darkness was a foil to her light dress : 
 The mountain masonry of nature gave 
 A picture framed with rock, in whose recess 
 Was shovm the Dove ; along the wilderness 
 Cloud shadows swept, chased evermore away 
 By the green sunshine : but can ought express 
 Her soul-illumin'd features, or convey 
 The breathing passion that she g<ive to this wild lay^? 
 
06 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 ODE. 
 
 1. 
 
 Lift up your heads, ye giant rocks ; 
 Like clashing cymbals rear your blocks 
 
 High in the upper air ; 
 
 And may the thunders spare. 
 When Dovedale trembles with loud shocks. 
 
 Your top-stones loose and bare. 
 2. 
 Ye caves, that in the summer's bloom 
 Afford a cool refreshing gloom, 
 
 A rest to weary feet ; 
 
 Still when the snow-storms beat. 
 With stalactites of ice illume 
 
 And welcome my retreat. 
 S. 
 And ye majestic rock defiles. 
 That, rising like cathedral aisles. 
 
 Catch the first gleams of dawn ; 
 
 The sunshine on the lawn 
 Between your walls, so sweetly smiles, 
 
 O be it ne'er withdrawn. 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 37 
 
 4. 
 When winter comes in shape deform. 
 And the hills shiver in the storm, 
 
 Scatt'ring their stones like hail ; 
 
 Still may he harmless sail 
 By every spire whose graceful form 
 
 Gives beauty to the dale. 
 5. 
 Adown these slopes no torrents dash ; 
 But here aspires the mountain ash. 
 
 The purple thyme doth cling ; 
 
 And wild-fowl on the wing. 
 Are gilded by the rays that flash 
 
 Upon the rainbow's ring. 
 
 6. 
 
 Wheeling with loftier sweep, the daw 
 Reiterates his plaintive caw ; 
 
 And on the cliff's bold breast. 
 
 The martin, summer guest, 
 Fix'd safely with tenacious claw. 
 
 Models her stucco nest. 
 
 D 
 
S% THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 7. 
 And thou, sweet Dove ! thy voice is mild. 
 Thy stream is playful as a child ; 
 
 Nor want'st thou shady bowers, 
 
 Or bright aquatic flowers : 
 Yet hast thou seen a period wild. 
 
 When horror ruled the hours ; 
 
 8. 
 In dreadful agitation tost. 
 Each moment fearing to be lost ; 
 
 For, from the deep abyss. 
 
 With fiery vapours' hiss. 
 Rose Earthquake, like a troubled ghost. 
 
 Darkening the scenes of bliss. 
 
 9^ 
 " Then shook tihe hills, by thunders riven ;' 
 And Ruin s ploughshare, fiercely driven. 
 Broke through the rocks its way. — 
 W^ho bade the tumult stay ? 
 Who turn'd the hell into a heaven ? — 
 The God whom worlds obey ! 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 10. 
 To Him be glory evermore ! — 
 The rocks, the hills, the spangled floor 
 Of earth, this arch, these caves. 
 And Dove's rejoicing waves ; — 
 Let every object Him adore, 
 
 Whose power in mercy saves. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Like moonlight after sunshine, such did seem 
 This my recital, bringing into mind 
 The music she had pour'd upon the theme, 
 She, whom with fond regret I left behind. 
 By weakness and the cares of life confin'd. 
 Ah, love and friendship still are precious things ; 
 Man was not for an anchorite design'd. 
 But for that sweet companionship which brings 
 Joy to his joys, and comfort to his sorrowings. 
 
40 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE, 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Thus ra using thoughtfully, I felt Imbued 
 With the pervading influence of the spot. 
 Its silence and oppressive solitude. 
 Nor mine nor quarry mars this hidden plot ; 
 The fox still shelters in the mountain grot; 
 And though no flaming sword forbids access. 
 Yet here the peasant shuns to fix his cot ; 
 For nature has her sanctities, no less 
 Than Eden's garden, left to utter loneliness. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 I scaled the craggy cliff's, and in the niche 
 Upon their summit, like a statue stood : 
 Down to the deeps of Dove mine eye could reach,-— 
 A dizzy sight, unfit to calm the blood, — 
 But here it roused the torpor of its flood ; 
 The freshen'd breeze in eddies round me curl'd ; 
 And now descending in a livelier mood, 
 I sought the gorge through which the floods are hurVd, 
 When Dove seems breaking from an inundated world. 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 41 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 As when, outstretching up the azure sky. 
 The clouds dispart their purple-tinted wings. 
 We gaze upon the canopy on high 
 'Till admiration into wonder springs. 
 And fancy paints, in bright imaginings, 
 A heavenly shape to wield those mighty plumes : 
 So where the cataract its torrent flings. 
 An arc of rainbow hues the spray assumes. 
 And forms of beauty dance amid the shadowy glooms. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Such where Niagara hurls her thundering flood 
 Are seen, as roving Indians make report ; 
 But Dove, when swoln wath rains and dark with mud, 
 Unwieldy welters in far different sort : 
 And I had rather watch the mimic sport 
 Of trim cascades, in Chatsworth gardens tost ; 
 Or wait till Winter holds his brilliant court ; 
 Then seek the pillar'd caves with ice embost. 
 And all the magic pageantry of snow and frost. 
 
42 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Not mocking now the turmoil of the ocean 
 Dove puts its rocky barriers to the proof; 
 But gently gliding with a tremulous motion. 
 As fearful lest the masses piled aloof 
 Should fall like thunder bursting heaven's cloud-roof. 
 Here skip the sheep along the stepping stones. 
 Reckless of danger, and with unwet hoof: 
 I following, pass the chasm, and reach the cones 
 Whose rude magnificence for slippery path atones. 
 
 LXXII. 
 Whence came this spectacle of rugged c6nes ? 
 Was it that some vast inundation hove 
 Hither the kraken of the deep, whose bones. 
 Then stranded on the margin of the Dove, 
 Have petrified, and give the mountain cove 
 Its horned aspect ? Or was this a camp 
 Of the huge Titans, warring against Jove ? 
 And these their weapons, thus, with echoing stamp, 
 Uprear'd from earth, the valour of high heaven to damp ? 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 43 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 They lodge on either mountain as a flock 
 Of sheep might rest, or herd of antler'd de^r ; 
 And One, more vast, doth front the Needle Rock. 
 Above the dense white fog uprising clear. 
 It seems an isle of a serener sphere. 
 Dependant not on earth, but on the laws 
 That guide the orbs of heaven in their career.— 
 But now, upon its base I see it pause. 
 Like Nature's finger pointing to the Great First Cause. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Such is the final scene magnificent ! 
 These are the closing Portals of the Dale : 
 And lo, within, but placed more eminent, 
 A Lion, sculptured on colossal scale. 
 Rears like a sphinx : his body and his tail 
 Are hidden ; but his noble head and breast 
 Declare the guardianship of this proud vale 
 On his stern magnanimity may rest ;— 
 Approach, ye tourists ; he will harm no loyal guest. 
 
44 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 With quiet lapse the gliding waters lave 
 An open plot of verdant meadow ground ; 
 Where, faring on, I reach a double cave,* 
 Above whose entrances, Avide- sweeping round, 
 A frontal arch by nature's hand is wound 
 Encircling both : the stony floor is dry ; 
 And where the shadow deeper falls, are found. 
 As in a gallery retiring high. 
 Ledges of rock, that seats and tables both supply, 
 
 LXXVI. 
 Here entering, I refresh'd myself within 
 With rest and food, and, more desir'd than all. 
 With Dove's pure lymph : no " Salutation Inn,'* 
 No " Haven" on the moors, glad house of call 
 To weary travellers, like this natural hall 
 Has e'er pleas'd me : and here, with voices bold. 
 The echoes pass the stream, from wall to wall ; 
 Fond of the pleasing name yon pile doth hold, — 
 The ^' Shepherd's Abbey," where at eve he pens his fold. 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 45 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 O Cliantrey, tliy incomparable skill 
 Could I command, I might employ it now ; 
 For on the apex of that conic hill 
 There stands — in listless apathy — a Cow. 
 No bushes, not a solitary bough. 
 To break the charmed figure interfere ; 
 But, as for sculpture fix'd, she keeps the brow. 
 That seems its rocky pedestal to rear. 
 Bearing the idol-goddess Egypt did revere. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Not dwindled but enlarged, still on the height. 
 That form the musing mind's attention fills. 
 Pondering the effect of place, and shade, and light 
 But nature moves our wonder as she wills : — 
 The shadows wandermg on the sunny hills. 
 And those of spectral shape, that walk the clouds ; 
 The wind that like a cavem'd spirit shrills ; 
 The white mists passing in their wreathed shrouds ; 
 The giant crags, sole-peering, or in banded crowds ; 
 
46 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 With lurid aspect the dark thunder storm 
 Opening upon the hills its eye of fire ;* 
 The water-spout, whose strange portentous form 
 Stoops its proboscis like a downward spire. 
 The crater of the clouds ; and, from the pyre 
 Of kiln or furnace vomited amain. 
 The smoke whose serpent girdle doth attire 
 The moorlands ; — these are the majestic train. 
 The retinue of Dove, in Nature's mountahi reign, 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 And in this lonely region wandering on, 
 (Yet to the arbitrary path confined,) 
 Recurs the bold rock-scenery : anon, 
 A rustic bridge appears, and lodged behind, 
 A groupe of cottages, with mill to grind 
 Their slender harvest. Gladly did I hail 
 The sight in this wild place of human kind : 
 But I must quit them, and pursue my tale 
 Beneath the tors and turret-peaks of Narrow Dale, 
 
 * «' Open thine eye of fire from some uncertain cloud." COLERIDGE. 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 47 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Valley of shadow ! thee the evening moon 
 Hath never visited ; the summer sun 
 Arrives too late to mark the hour of noon 
 In thy deep solitude : yet hast thou One 
 Will not forsake thee : here the Dove doth run 
 Mile after mile thy dreary steeps between. 
 Where rise the iron tors, of aspect dun : 
 While oft pursuing her dark wave are seen 
 The sportive king-fishers, on wings of emerald green. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Thy only buildings are the stepping stones,-— 
 A path of peril to the unpractis'd foot. 
 But at thy valley-head the country owns 
 A firmer bridge, outstretching from the root 
 Of a high hill that might, with Hanson Toot, 
 Have gain'd a name from Cotton's classic pen. 
 Here, in the glorious sun-light, I recruit 
 Awhile my overburthen'd spirits ; then, 
 I pass the meads to Berrisford's enchanting glen. 
 
48 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 But who can paint the beauties of Pike Pool ? 
 Thy Duddon, Wordsworth, in its splendid route 
 Has nought so soft and green, so shadowy cool. 
 'Tis haunted by the grayling and the trout: 
 And from the sleeping water rising out — 
 Fairer than workmanship of elfin hands — 
 Appears an obelisk, a rocky sprout ; 
 Like those of coral seen on Indian strands; 
 But here more elegant and beautiful it stands. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 Shrubs and steep crag a crescent skreen have drawn. 
 That on its southern side the river bounds; 
 The fellow bank is a smooth slip of lawn. 
 Skirted abrupt by bold romantic mounds. 
 With foliage hanging as from garden grounds : 
 These lead the eye to open fields of grass : 
 But loveliest is that pool the glen surrounds. 
 High above all is a stupendous mass, — 
 A rock-built range of towers that frown upon the Pass. 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 49 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Enough, methinks, is told of Nature's grace, 
 Pour'd freely on this stream, to anglers dear : 
 Diviner worth has sanctified the place. 
 That Fishing House among those firs that rear 
 Their tops above it, leads me to revere 
 The seal of Friendship warm as filial love : 
 Twined in one cypher, on the front appear 
 Walton and Cotton's names ; there fixed to prove 
 A record of affection near their favorite Dove. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 The heroism of friendship, he could tell 
 Who lay in jeopardy by Ezel stone ;* 
 What time beyond its mark the arrow fell 
 Wing'd with his .adverse fate. There, met alone. 
 Wept Jonathan and David, 'till the moan 
 Of David's grief prevail'd: and when, ere long. 
 His friend among the mighty lay o'erthrown 
 Upon Gilboa's mountains, O how strong 
 He pour'd his loud lament, in agony of song ! 
 
 • Vide 1 Samuel la. 19. 
 
50 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 But here the affections flow*d in a more calm 
 Though varied tenor. Cheerful, sage, and mild, 
 Walton's discourse was like the honey balm 
 Distill'd by flowers. Along these waters wild, 
 Srait with the love of angling, he beguiled, 
 With his adopted son, the hours away. 
 While Cotton own'd the fondness of a child 
 For him, in whose glad company to stay. 
 Had made the whole year pass like one sweet month of May. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 Peace to the memory of these plighted friends I 
 And peace to this fair glen and garden grove !— 
 Where Hartington up yonder slope ascends, 
 I hasten — still in presence of the Dove, 
 That now appears delightedly to rove^ 
 With ampler sweep, receding from the hills. 
 Yet ever as the springlets from above 
 Rush down, it turns to meet their glittering rills. 
 With volume serpentine, whose train the valley fills. 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 51 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 The " Nile of England !" do not think it strange 
 If Dove can prove that queenly title good : 
 Look on from Ludwell ; — what a lengthen'd range. 
 On either side, of moorlands ; bare of wood, 
 (A luxury here) yet cover'd with a brood 
 Of feeding cattle and innumerous sheep : 
 These heap the ground ; and in the time of flood. 
 The gathering torrents, with resistless sweep. 
 Convey the rich manure to fertilize the deep : — 
 
 xc. 
 
 The deep, that downward rolling to the south. 
 Wastes not its riches where the rifted dale 
 Confines its course ; yet soon with liberal mouth 
 Outpours them forth. Hence, many a milky vale. 
 And distant fertile plains its bounties hail. 
 But now, within its wonted bed the stream 
 Impels its billows, darken'd here with shale : 
 I trace them upward, guided by the gleam 
 Of Parker's giant-helm that meets the sunny beam. 
 
52 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 XCI. 
 But wearisome the way ; this vale's extent. 
 Whose glorious perspective deceives the eye. 
 Not hastily is measured ; and o'erspent 
 With heat, I sought the friendly shelter, nigh. 
 Of a fine ash that braves the sultry sky. 
 On a sharp knoll it stands ; but as I drew 
 Near to its shadow, haply there to lie 
 In dreamy mood, came suddenly in view, 
 A cave, about whose mouth the twisted ash-roots grew. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 A hollow path, whose surface was conceal'd 
 With richest verdui-e, tow'rd the entrance led. 
 Quick leaping down, I saw at once reveal'd 
 This charming grotto : — stretching o'er its head, 
 A marble slab ; its floor a liquid bed ; 
 Its marble sides festoon'd with mosses thin : — 
 I softly enter'd, with unsandall'd tread ; 
 When hark ! I heard an echoing voice within—- 
 It was a fountain chaunting with melodious din ! 
 
THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 53 
 
 XCIII. 
 With strength and freedom flow'd the water-song ; 
 And clear as morning came the gehd wave. 
 That from a dark recess now gush'd along. 
 And seem'd as with a mirror bright to pave 
 The fair interior of the fountain-cave. 
 Adown the hollow, then, through herbage deep. 
 And plants whose flowers and floating tresses gave 
 Their mantle to the stream, its waters sweep, 
 'Till on her bosom Dove receives them from the steep. 
 
 XCIV. 
 Then said I, tasting that deUcious lymph, 
 " Of life's dull tedium I'll complain no more : 
 <' The haunted isle where Circe, goddess-nymph, 
 « As fabled, with Ulysses dwelt of yore ; 
 " The syrens singing on their sun-bright shore ; 
 " With less of true enchantment sway the mind, 
 " Than this wild region fraught with nature's lore. 
 " Stretch on, ye vallies ! wheresoe'er ye wind, 
 '■' The waters guide me still, your secret paths to find." 
 
 E 
 
54 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 XCV. 
 Where sleeps the giant in his mountain-tent ; 
 Where from the deluge Croome upheaved his shell, — 
 Its mammoth bulk with ribs emboss'd and bent, — 
 The river hurries by each spectacle. 
 In such dread neighbourhood afraid to dwell. 
 But charming was the picture at Wash-Gate ! 
 There, through a rustic arch the waters fell ; 
 There, at one cottage door a peasant sate ; 
 And one, with ivy garlanded, stood desolate. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Now like a shallow brook the Dove is spread 
 Among the stones and pebbles, pour'd between. 
 Too weak to bathe them in her amber bed ; 
 Yet still is homaged as a river-queen. 
 Even here, she is the glory of the scene ; 
 The eye of light, that animates the ground ; 
 The ear, that tunes to harmony serene. 
 The piping rills, the torrents roaring round. 
 And tumbling waterfalls, that rush with deeper sound. 
 
TUB TOUR OF THE DOVE. 55 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Quitting the stream to slum a steep morass. 
 It meets me soon again in Immbler plight ; 
 With mosses, rushes, flags, and tufted grass 
 As in a cradle folded, yet still bright. 
 Busy, and cheerful, — still in hasty flight. 
 I clamber onward through the boggy sedge ; 
 And now the Peak's dark alp displays its height :— 
 Great Parent of swift rivers, which there fledge 
 Their infant wings ; — the cloud- sustaining broad Ax Edge ! 
 
 XCVIII. 
 There rise the Goit, the Dane, the Wye, the Dove ! 
 And if, as when, on Ida's summit view'd. 
 The rival goddesses for beauty strove. 
 If there the proud contention were renew'd 
 By these four rivers. Dove would gain the feud. 
 She, like the turtle dove that cleaves the sky. 
 Pursues her brilliant passage, many-hued ; — 
 Amber, blue, green, and silver, every dye 
 That peat, sliale, marbles, clouds, or foliage can supply. 
 
56 THE TOUR OF THE DOVE. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 At length 'tis gain'd, the heathy cloud-capt mountain ? 
 Not at the hamlet of Dove Head I rest. 
 But higher up, beside a bubbling fountain. 
 That makes within a little well its nest. 
 Here springs the Dove ! and with a grateful zest 
 I di'ink its waters, that first serve the poor. — 
 O when shall they repose on ocean's breast .'* 
 How long must their rough pilgrimage endure ? 
 They ask not, but commence their wild romantic tour ! 
 
 C. 
 
 Harp, to the sweeter voice of waters play'd !— 
 Where Ham's fountains rise in crystal rings ; 
 And where, with cliffs o'erhung, and leafy shade. 
 The stream of Dove descends on brilliant wings ; 
 Here may'st thou hush to rest thy quivering strings I 
 For I have seen Pike Pool's deep-mirror'd cone ; 
 Within the marble cave have drank its springs ; 
 And resting now upon Dove's fountain-stone. 
 Thy music dies away — her soft pipe trills alone ! 
 
NOTES. 
 
 Stanza 3, line 6. 
 " With him to view the Dovedale of the Peak" 
 
 That the admiration of picturesque scenery which 
 characterizes the present age, and seems to be a 
 natural feeling of the human mind, has not, at all 
 times been displayed, is evident from the topo- 
 graphical writings which antiquarians have left 
 us. If the splendid reign of Edward III. has, 
 in the choice of situation for the numerous abbeys 
 that were then founded, supplied sufficient demon- 
 stration of fine taste and fondness for romantic 
 seclusion ; yet a strange reverse of feeling must 
 have been in operation, during what has been 
 
58 NOTES. 
 
 called the golden age of our Elizabeth. The fol- 
 lowing extract from the " Survey of Staffordshire, 
 containing the antiquities of the County," by 
 Sampson Erdeswick, Esq., (who died in l603) 
 will show that this most beautiful dale of the Peak 
 was at that time held in no estimation. 
 
 " Dove having past by the side of Alstonfield, 
 for three or four miles, without any matter worth the 
 noting, at last receiveth on the west side, a pretty 
 brook, for its many turnings (by reason of the 
 mountains, and the unevenness of the ground) 
 called Manifold, which taketh its beginning within 
 a mile of the head of Dove, and, fellow-like, 
 keepeth its course with it, not being above two 
 miles from it until they meet." 
 
 Stanza 4, line 2. 
 " Q/'^o^ moch pile ynisnamed of Waterloo" 
 
 This prospect building, named Waterloo Castle, 
 was erected by A. Hoskins, Esq. of Newton Solney. 
 The site is finely elevated, commanding a very 
 extensive prospect ; that towards the north having 
 in its foreground the junction of the Dove and 
 Trent. The building, seen from a proper dis- 
 tance, is itself a fine object; but its imposing 
 
NOTES. 59 
 
 magnificence can hardly fail to occasion a disap- 
 pointment, when a nearer approach discovers its 
 deceptive outline, and homely materials. 
 
 Stanza G. 
 ^' Two rivers weary of the sun, that sheds, S^c" 
 
 In the ordinary dry weather of summer, these 
 rivers disappear entirely, each with a powerful 
 stream entering the rocky fissures in their channel. 
 The Hamps sinks a little above the bridge at Leek 
 Waterhouses ; and the Manifold near Wetton Mill. 
 In wet seasons a considerable surplus of water is 
 left to occupy their channels, which form a junction 
 about four miles above Ham. At this place the 
 subterranean waters are discharged by separate 
 orifices, and flowing into the old channel, they 
 form an united stream, which soon enters the 
 Dove, a little below the village. 
 
 Stanza 8, line 1. 
 " With these hy Alton Abbey's castle-den" 
 
 The ruins of the castle of Alveton, since called 
 Alton, have now dwindled into an appendage to 
 the abbey; having no architectural beauty left to 
 reconmiend them, they are worthy of notice chiefly 
 
60 NOTES. 
 
 on account of their abrupt and perilous situation 
 on the precipice that overhangs the bed of the 
 Churnet. Alton Abbey, is an irregular gothic 
 mansion ; its finest parts being of modern erection 
 by the present earl of Shrewsbury. It stands in a 
 bold hilly country; and its highly embellished 
 gardens, extending along the sides of the declivi- 
 tiesj, exhibit a combination of natural with artificial 
 beauty, which seems almost to have realized the 
 fictions of Arabian tales. 
 
 Stanza l6, lines 5 and 6. 
 " Beyond the precincts of the chase he went—' 
 As ( nee to Shirley Park." 
 
 This celebrated fox-chase has been made the sub- 
 ject of a ballad, written with considerable spirit, 
 and which it once happened to me to hear sung 
 with an animation worthy of a loftier excitement. 
 The following extract may serve as a specimen, 
 though it is not the most amusing portion. 
 
 " The sportsmen they rid at a desperate rate. 
 As if they had run for a thousand pound plate ; 
 No hedges could turn them, nor walls could them set. 
 For the choicest of sportsmen in England were met. 
 
NOTES. Ql 
 
 The hounds they did rally and briskly pursue ; 
 
 Do you hear little Careless, she runs him in view. 
 Fifty miles in four hours, which is a great ride ; 
 'Till in Wootton old park brave Reynard he died. 
 
 * * * * * -* * 
 
 Lets ring Reynard's farewell with a horn that 
 
 sounds clear; 
 You've not heard such a hollow this hundred year." 
 
 Stanza 24, lines 8 and Q. 
 " The hand is jjowcrless now, the lyre unstrung. 
 That charnid the dingles with itsjinest tones" 
 
 The death of such men as the late F. N. C. Mundy, 
 Esq., is a public loss; and the bust which has been 
 erected to his memory, affords a j^roof of the 
 general estimation with which he was regarded. 
 But his virtues have obtained for him a more pre- 
 cious memorial in the hearts of his surviving 
 countrymefi; and his genius, displayed in the 
 poems of " Needwood Forest," and the " Fall of 
 Needwood," will transmit his name to posterity, so 
 long as a taste for simple melody and genuine 
 pathos shall prevail. His bust, which is now the 
 ornament of our County Hall, is the production of 
 
62 NOTES. 
 
 E. Chantrey, Esq. ; and on the tablet, beneath it is 
 the following elegant and nervous inscription, from 
 the classic pen of Sir Brook Boothby, Bart. 
 
 THIS EFFIGY 
 
 IS CONSECRATED BY HIS COUNTRYMEN 
 TO THE 3HEM0RY OF 
 
 FRANCIS NOEL CLARKE MUNDY, 
 
 WHO HAVING MODESTLY DECLINED 
 
 THEIR UNANIMOUS OFEER 
 
 TO ELECT HIM AS THEIR REPRESENTATIVE IN PARLIAMENT, 
 
 CONTINUED TO PRESIDE 
 
 ON THE BENCH OF JUSTICES IN THIS HALL 
 
 DURING A PERIOD OF NEARLY 50 YEARS, 
 
 WITH A CLEARNESS OF JUDGMENT, 
 
 AND AN INTEGRITY OF DECISION, 
 
 WELL WORTHY 
 
 OF BEING GRATEFULLY RECORDED. 
 
 THIS EXCELLENT MAN 
 
 ADMIRED FOR THE ELEGANCE OF HIS LITERARY PRODUCTIONS, 
 
 BELOVED FOR THE GENTLENESS OF HIS MANNERS, 
 
 REVERED FOR HIS PUBLIC AND PRIVATE VIRTUES, 
 
 LIVED HAPPILY AT HIS PATERNAL SEAT 
 
 AT MARKEATON 
 
 TO THE AGE OF 76 YEARS. 
 
 MAY HIS EXAMPLE EXCITE EMULATION ! 
 
NOTES. 63 
 
 Stanza 46, line 1. 
 " The barren Churnet joins upon the plains 
 Of Rocesier." 
 
 " Churnett, at Rowcester, entering into Dove 
 upon the west side, hath its first spring within less 
 than two miles of Dove-head, though it wanders 
 something further off than Manifold did, and there- 
 fore longer ere it shakes hands with it. 
 
 " Churnett, passing from the head, through one 
 of the barrenest countries that I know, hath not 
 any place worth the naming, till it come to Dieu 
 le Cresse, an abbey founded by the last Ranulfe, 
 earl of Chester." — Erdeswick. 
 
 Stanza 47- 
 '' fVhere art or wast thou, time-honor' d Tr'ee, t^'C." 
 
 The Hundred of Appletree is said to derive its 
 name from a tree of that kind, underneath whose 
 branches the meetings of the magistracy were 
 convened, to transact the business of the district. 
 I have not been able to ascertain in what place this 
 tree stood ; but if I might offer a conjecture, I 
 should think it very probable that Cubley, which 
 is nearly in the centre of the Hundred, was the 
 spot. There is no vestige now remaining, but one 
 
64 NOTES. 
 
 part of the village where two of the principal roads 
 intersect each other, is called Cubley Stoop, which, 
 I am told, is a corruption of Cubley Stump, per- 
 haps derived from the stump of this extinct tree. 
 
 Stanza 48, line 4. 
 ^' By Calwich bends its shining avenue." 
 
 " From Mayfield, Dove passeth to Calwich, 
 whereof I can only make this report, that being, 
 or belonging to a cell, or house of religion (Kenil- 
 worth, in Warwickshire) now a Lancashire gen- 
 tleman is owner thereof; who, as I have heard, 
 hath made a parlour of the chancel, a hall of the 
 church, and a kitchen of the steeple, which may 
 be true, for I have known a gentleman in Cheshire 
 who hath done the like." — Erdeswick, A.D. 1600. 
 
 Stanza 51. 
 " Ham, thy ancient hall is swept away, S^^c." 
 
 Thus truly romantic situation, which has been 
 compared to '' a glen in the alps," is about to be 
 adorned with a new mansion, under the auspices 
 of its proprietor, Jesse Watts Russell, Esq., on a 
 plan that promises to be in harmony with the spirit 
 of the place. Near to the site of the mansion is 
 
NOTES. 6-5 
 
 the Churchj a fine antique structure, having its 
 tower luxuriantly decorated with ivy, which sus- 
 pends from the pinnacles its tassels of the most vivid 
 green, and beautifully festoons the dial of the 
 clock. Here is preserved the tomb of St. Bertram, 
 the scholar of St. Guthlac, who in this place led 
 an eremetical life ; and the church is soon to be 
 enriched with a splendid groupe of statuary in 
 memory of Mrs. Russell's father, the late D. P. 
 Watts, Esq. of London, from the chissel of our 
 great English sculptor; for containing which, a 
 cemetery is now in the course of erection. 
 
 Stanza 52, line 8. 
 « Then lift thy battle-axe, blue Thorp Chud !", 
 
 The summit of this mountain is a sharp ridge of 
 rock, bearing a rude resemblance to the head 
 of the ancient battle-axe. 
 
 Stanza 53, lines 8 and 9- 
 " threat'ning the death he sleeps, 
 Wliom erst they hurl'd, both horse and rider down 
 their steeps." 
 
 This passage refers to a melancholy accident which 
 befel the Rev. Dean Langton, of Cloger, in Ire- 
 
66 NOTES. 
 
 land. Having rashly proposed to ride up the 
 slope of these acclivities to the ridge of the hill, an 
 adventurous lady of the party, Miss La Roche, 
 requested to take her seat behind him on the 
 horse, which he unfortunately acceded to. The 
 result was, that the footing of the animal failed, 
 and the whole were precipitated down the steeps. 
 The Dean died of the injury he received; the 
 lady, whose hair became entangled in a bush, was 
 taken up insensible, from which state, she slowly 
 recovered ; the horse escaped with only a few 
 slight contusions. 
 
 Stanza 56. 
 " Grass of Parnassus, can the vagrant muse, ^x." 
 
 Dovedale has been celebrated for its variety of 
 plants, containing amongst them a number of rare 
 and beautiful species. A profusion of flowers and 
 ornamental shrubs, that flourish here, might have 
 been added to the selection made in this and the 
 following stanza ; but the subject will not be pur- 
 sued further, than to plead, as an apology for this 
 botanical minutia, the example of the Hebrew 
 Muse, whom Michaelis asserts to be the most 
 botanical of all muses; the various plants men- 
 
NOTES. (57 
 
 tioned in scripture (and chiefly in the poetical 
 parts) amounting to several hundreds. 
 
 Stanza 58. 
 
 " Still Dovedale yield thy Jlowers to deck the fomu 
 tains, S^c'' 
 
 The custom of decorating wells with flowers, and 
 attending them with religious services and festive 
 rejoicings on holy Thursday, is not peculiar to 
 Tissington. Many other wells have been commit- 
 ted to the patronage of the Saints, and treated 
 with similar reverence, some on account of the 
 purity, and others for the medicinal virtue of their 
 waters. St. Alkmund's well, at Derby, is an in- 
 stance of the former class, where the name has 
 been continued long after the superstition which 
 gave it has passed away. In the dark ages of 
 popery, this veneration for holy wells, was carried 
 to an idolatrous excess, insomuch, that in the 
 reigns of Edgar and Canute, it was found necessary 
 to issue edicts prohibiting well- worship. But the 
 principle of veneration for waters, if restricted 
 within its proper bounds, is amiable: indeed it 
 seems to have been implanted in the breast of mar. 
 in all ages. A fountain is the emblem of purity 
 
68 NOTES. 
 
 and benevolence. From the days when the patri- 
 archs journeyed in the wilderness, down to the 
 present period; whether bursting through the 
 arid sands of the African desert, or welling out 
 its genial waters amid the Greenland snows ; its 
 soft melody, its motion, its transparency, and its 
 refreshing virtues, have ever been a subject of 
 interest and dehght to the human race. Who 
 could have approached the Bethesda of the Jews 
 with a callous heart ? Who could have listened 
 with indifference to the song of Israel, when her 
 princes had digged the well, and her nobles and 
 lawgiver stood around it ? 
 
 Stanza 63. 
 *' So when the plague at Eyam tkinn'd ihejhck, c^c." 
 
 A very interesting account of the dreadful visit- 
 ation of the plague at Eyam, may be found in 
 Part I. of Rhodes's " Peak Scenery ;" a work that 
 deserves the patronage of every gentleman who 
 can estimate the merits of graphic embellishment, 
 or the beauties of fine writing. A polished stone 
 or marble hammer, supposed to be the symbol of 
 the divinity of Thor, has been lately turned up 
 by the plough from its obscurity, and is now in 
 the possession of Mr. Bird of Eyam. 
 
NOTES. G9 
 
 Ode^ verse 9? lines 1, 2, 3. 
 
 " Then shook the hills , hy thunders riven, 
 And mins ploughshare, Jiercelij driven, 
 Broke through the rocks its way." 
 
 The first line is borrowed from Campbell's Hohen- 
 linden, and the second is altered from Dr. Young's 
 verse, 
 
 *' and final ruin fiercely drives 
 Her ploughshare o'er creation." 
 
 Stanza 74. 
 *^ Such is the final scene magnificent, S^c," 
 
 It is not so easy as might be imagined, to obtain 
 a correct nomenclature of the places of note in 
 Dovedale. The accounts given in the various 
 publications respecting Derbyshire do not corre- 
 spond ; and the traditional tales delivered by the 
 guides are many of them unworthy of notice. 
 The projection of rock which affords a subject 
 to this stanza, bears a striking resemblance to the 
 head of a lion ; at a small distance, on the other 
 side of the river, is a dark cavern called the lion's 
 den ; some of the other names are given with 
 propriety ; but to listen to all the farrago of sugar 
 
 G 
 
70 NOTES. 
 
 loaveS;, the twelve apostles, the lover's leap. Queen 
 Mary's snuff-box, &c. &c., would be to render this 
 vale of contemplation, this museum of nature, a 
 vanity-fair, and a fool's paradise. 
 
 Stanza 78, line 6. 
 " And those of spectral shape that walk ike clouds." 
 
 This phenomenon is of rare occurrence; but the 
 writer was once favored with an appearance of the 
 kind upon Calton moor, when, in the midst of a 
 drizzling storm of sleet, he was startled by the 
 appearance of an equestrian figure upon the cloud 
 that skirted the hill, keeping pace with the horse 
 that carried him. 
 
 The water-spout is an electrical phenomenon, 
 that occurs with more frequency. They are 
 called pipes in the Peak of Derbyshire, and do not 
 always discharge their contents, but are sometimes 
 drawn back into the cloud from which they were 
 suspended. 
 
 Stanza 81. 
 " Valley of shadow! thee the evening moonj Sfc." 
 
 Dr. Plott, in his history of Staffordshire, speaking 
 of this part of the county, says, " The mountains 
 are so high that in rainy weather their tops may be 
 
NOTES. 71 
 
 seen above the clouds ; and they are so narroAv, 
 that the inhabitants, in that time of the 3'ear when 
 the sun is nearest the tropic of Capricorn, never 
 see it ; and when it does begin to appear, they 
 do not see it till about one o'clock, which they 
 call Narrow-dale noon, using it as a proverb w^hen 
 any thing is delayed." 
 
 This passage applies to the hamlet of Narrow- 
 dale, consisting of about four houses, situate 
 behind the range of hills which form the western 
 boundary of the confined valley where the Dove 
 finds its passage. But this defile also, is, with 
 more propriety, called Narrow-dale. It extends 
 about four miles, from Woscote* bridge to the new 
 bridge, where the road from Alstonfield crosses 
 the river to ascend the hill of Hanson Toot. Mill 
 Dale, which commences here, reaches to the caves 
 called Dove-holes, being above a mile in length. 
 The whole extent, from Mill Dale to Woscote 
 bridge, is remarkable for its deep seclusion and 
 solitary grandeur; especially the lower part of 
 the dale, where the rocks, denominated the Iron 
 tors, elevate their buttresses till they appear like 
 dilapidated turrets above the summit line of the 
 Staffordshire hills. It may perhaps be useful to 
 
 • This name, Mr. Henry Moore informs me, was originally Wolfs cote. I am 
 also indebted to him for information respecting the Iron tors, and Faik-house head. 
 
72 NOTES. 
 
 state, that the route along the side of the Dove, 
 may be pursued from Dovedale with greater ease 
 and safety, by crossing over the narrow bridge 
 at Mill Dale, and after having reached the new 
 bridge, where the Alstonfield road passes, there to 
 recross the river to the Derbyshire side, and then 
 continue on that side till Woscote bridge is 
 reached, which is but a short distance from Pike 
 Pool. 
 
 Stanza 82, lines 5 and 6. 
 
 " Of a high hill that might with Hanson Toot 
 Have gaitid a name from Cotton's classic pen." 
 
 The allusion here made, is to the following passage 
 in Walton's Complete Angler, part 2nd, by Cotton. 
 
 '^ Viator. Well, if ever I come to London, of 
 which many a man there, if he were in my place, 
 would make a question, I will sit down and write 
 my travels, and print them at my own charge. 
 Pray what do you call this hill we came down ? 
 
 PiscATOR. We call it Hanson Toot. 
 
 Viator. Why, farewell Hanson Toot; I'll no 
 more on thee : I'll go twenty miles about first." 
 
 It is always an unpleasant task to advert to the 
 errors committed by other writers; but in this 
 
NOTES. 73 
 
 Second Part of the Complete Angler, there is a 
 note subjoined by Walton, which has, I think, 
 misled several respectable authors, and in justice 
 to myself I am compelled to notice it. Speaking 
 of the rock in Pike- Pool, he says : 
 
 " 'Tis a rock in the fashion of a spire steeple, and almost as 
 big. It stands in the midst of the river Dove ; and not far 
 from Mr. Cotton's house, below which place this delicate 
 river takes a swift career betwixt many mighty rocks. And 
 this Dove being opposed by one of the highest of them, has, 
 at last, forced itself a way through it ; and after a mile's 
 concealment, appears again with more glory and beauty than 
 before that opposition, running through the most pleasant 
 vallies and most fruitful meadows that this nation can justly 
 boast of." 
 
 The Rev. Samuel Bentley, when he composed 
 his poem entitled " The River Dove, a lyric pas- 
 toral," must have been strangely deceived by this 
 note, as the one subjoined to his stanza on Pike 
 Pool is evidently fabricated from it. In the fol- 
 lowing verse he is yet more glaringly incorrect: 
 
 " A cavern now opes its huge round, 
 
 The Dove in its womb to enclose ; 
 Hark ! hollow its murmurs resound, 
 
 "While deep through its bowels it flows : 
 Absorb'd tho' the Dove from our sight, 
 
 A chymical filtering tries, 
 Emerging I see it more bright. 
 
 And more with transparency rise," 
 
74 NOTES. 
 
 As the statements conveyed by these writers are 
 not borne out by the fact, I have endeavoured to 
 ascertain what is the real truth, and how far it 
 has afforded any ground for the above assertions. 
 In tracing tlie course of the river, which in this 
 part I followed downwards, I found a continuous 
 stream ; suspecting however that its vokmie was 
 become decreased below Woscote bridge, I took 
 the opportunity of a second visit to examine it 
 more carefully ; and then discovered an eddy 
 behind the rock in Pike Pool, where I should cal- 
 culate that about one third part of the stream was 
 absorbed ; and it probably finds its outlet into the 
 channel again, somewhere in Narrow Dale. As I 
 had observed, in the summer of 1818, that the 
 stream of the Wye disappeared for a short space, a 
 little below Buxton ; I made inquiry at Harting- 
 ton, whether this had then been the case with 
 the Dove, and was informed, that the Dove had 
 never been known to disappear from the surface 
 in any part of its course. 
 
 Stanza 85, lines 4 and 5. 
 
 " That Fishing house among those ^rs which rear 
 
 Their tops above it." 
 As the Rev. S. Bentley, In the poem which has 
 already been quoted from, has mentioned this 
 
NOTES. 75 
 
 place with much fellcft)^ it is hoped it will not 
 be unacceptable to introduce his description. 
 
 " Here Cotton his temple has rear'd. 
 
 Which yonder peninsula shows. 
 By fishermen loved and revered. 
 
 For sacred to fishers it rose : 
 Close shaded those osiers among, 
 
 The father of fishers would lie. 
 And while silver Dove was his song, 
 
 Improved for deception the fly." 
 
 Stanza 93, line 1. 
 " With strength and freedom jlow'd the jvaler song." 
 
 This fountain, and another which issues from the 
 hill at a short distance, make a considerable 
 accession to the stream of the Dove^ in dr}'^ 
 weather nearly doubling its current. The na- 
 ture of the materials that compose the cavern 
 was not particularly investigated; but the pre- 
 valence of marble in this district must strike 
 the observation of the most inattentive tourist; 
 for he cannot pass through the common stiles 
 that connect the fields, without perceiving the fine 
 polish which the slabs forming their sides have 
 acquired. 
 
76 NOTES. 
 
 Stanza 95, lines 1 and 2. 
 " Where sleeps the giant in his mountain-tent ; 
 Where frmn the deluge Croome upheaved his shell." 
 
 One of the mountains in the neighbourhood of 
 Longnor, called Parker's head, a corruption of 
 Park-house head, discovers its summit at six or 
 eight miles distance, like a huge helmet peering 
 above the hills in its vicinity; which circumstance 
 was alluded to in the ninetieth stanza. On a 
 nearer approach, when the entire bulk of the 
 mountain is displayed, it bears a striking resem- 
 blance to the form of a tent, having on the north 
 side a projecting gable of rock, which might be 
 taken for the entrance porch. Croome, or High 
 Croome, is a neighbouring mountain of greater 
 magnitude, having its back furrowed like a 
 shell with indurated ridges. Each of these 
 mountains rises in a distinct mass from the plain, 
 unconnected with the high grounds in the 
 vicinity. 
 
 Stanza 97. line 9. 
 
 " The cloud sustaining broad Ax-Edge." 
 
 It is difficult to account for the name which has 
 been given to this mountain. If an opinion were 
 
NOTES. 77 
 
 to be formed in the abstract^ we might suppose 
 that it was moulded into a sharp ridge, and 
 received its name from that circumstance; but 
 as its form is very different, being a heavily- 
 rounded mass, may it not be concluded that its 
 etymology is derived from altitude alone, in which 
 respect, it stands superior to Moredge, Stanedge, 
 Ladder-edge, or any of the more abrupt eminences 
 in the neighbourhood. 
 
 Stanza 99^ line 5. 
 '^ Here sjniiigs the Dove." 
 
 Of the two principal forks which supply the 
 channel of the Dove, that which takes the most 
 direct line, and passes by the hamlet of Dove- 
 head, is here selected as the true source of the 
 river. For the head of the other fork, M'hich 
 lies upon Brand-side, it has been urged, that it 
 yields a greater current, originates higher up the 
 mountain, and passing through wilder moorlands, 
 has its course more diversified with picturesque 
 water-breaks and falls. But these considerations 
 ought not to outweigh the authority that supports 
 the legitimacy of the other stream. The large 
 
78 NOTES. 
 
 map of the County of Stafford published in 1820, 
 by Messrs. Greenwood and Co., from actual 
 survey, makes the line of the Dove to com- 
 mence at the road leading from Buxton to Leek, 
 upon the point where the Counties of Stafford and 
 Derby divide; and in this place, a small well, 
 situate only about twenty yards below a cottage 
 on the road-side which it supplies with water, 
 and a quarter of a mile above Dove-head, was 
 pointed out to the writer, as the commence- 
 ment of the river. The account given in 
 Walton's Complete Angler, that its source is 
 *^ a contemptible fountain, which might almost be 
 covered by a hat," literally describes this place, 
 now protected by a small covering stone. But 
 the most conclusive argument, is the circum- 
 stance, that the hamlet of Dove-head is situate 
 upon the border of this stream ; v/hereas the other 
 does not approach the direct channel, till about a 
 mile below the hamlet, where it enters the Dove, 
 ahuost at a right angle with its course. 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES, 
 
 &c. 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 LINES, PRESENTED TO 
 
 ON THE MORNING OF VALENTINE DAY, 1802, 
 BY A LITTLE BOY. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 To You, who when my Father droop'd 
 
 Depress'd by wan Disease, 
 With pitying aid benignant stoop*d 
 
 To pour the balm of ease ; 
 
 Who when the cheerful looks of health 
 
 Relum'd his faded eye, 
 Prov'd by a smile more dear than wealth. 
 
 That Ye partook his joy ; 
 
82 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 To YoUj this Valentine I bring : 
 
 Of little worth I guess ; 
 Yet though a trivial childish thing, 
 
 Ye'll not esteem it less, — 
 
 While, by my grateful Parents taught, 
 
 I offer my best store ; 
 Could I reward you as I ought, 
 
 I would, I would do more. 
 
 'TwAS when Creation, newly bom, 
 Awak'd in smiles the roseate morn. 
 That little Cupid took his round 
 Along her sweetest garden-ground. 
 The sun whose rising brightness shrouds 
 Its glory in the orient clouds ; 
 And earth adorn'd in bridal dress. 
 Fair as virgin loveliness ; 
 All the countless beasts that trod 
 Processive o'er her velvet sod ; 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 83 
 
 And every bird that perch'd above. 
 Sung of hymeneal love ; 
 Ev'ry flower that from beneath 
 Did her spikenard kisses breathe ; 
 As their plighted troth they told. 
 He danc'd with rapture to behold ; 
 And, mindless of his heav'nly birth, 
 Resolv'd thenceforth to dwell on earth. 
 But when amidst this Paradise 
 The form of woman met his eyes. 
 The lovely form so fair imprest 
 Her image on his silent breast. 
 All tribes that he before had known 
 Were by her presence far outshone ; 
 With graceful step she seem'd to move. 
 The queen of Beauty and of Love. 
 Awhile entranc'd in rapturous mood 
 With folded wings the stripling stood ; 
 At length, perplex'd he gaz*d around. 
 And trickling tears bedew'd the ground. 
 
84 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 He saw no creature fit to mate 
 
 With one of her divine estate^, 
 
 And straight prepar'd to search the sky ; 
 
 When from a jessamine arbour nigh, 
 
 A form of high majestic mien 
 
 Approaching, hail'd the beauteous queen. 
 His nobler port, and youthful prime. 
 His manly voice, and eye sublime. 
 Whence beam'd the energies of mind, 
 Bespake him of superior kind. 
 Worthy her heart's true love to gain. 
 The bride and partner of his reign. 
 Struck with the glorious sight in view. 
 And all the joys which fancy drew 
 Of inexpressive nuptial love, 
 Untasted in the realms above, 
 (That blessing of unvalued price. 
 Which makes earth still a paradise) 
 Sweet Cupid cry'd, " no more I ask ; 
 Henceforth be mine the pleasing task. 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 85 
 
 My spells, my arts, my arms t' employ 
 Devote to hymeneal joy. 
 And ever as returning Spring 
 Salutes her flowers on dewy wing, 
 While Nature owns her genial sway. 
 They too, my influence shall obey. 
 They too the soft alarms sliall prove. 
 The transports and the fears of Love." 
 
 But when, allur'd by fatal wiles, 
 Man forfeited his Maker's smiles. 
 And by his just decree was driven 
 From forth this fair terrestial heaven ; 
 While each bright visitant forsook 
 The drooping bowers with pitying look ; 
 Cupid, ere yet he soar'd above. 
 Soft breath'd this fond adieu of love : 
 '' Go, hapless Pair ! yet not forlorn ; — 
 Know, in each Child that shall be born. 
 Another Cupid you shall see. 
 In form and feature like to me. 
 
 H 
 
86 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 The playful nurslings, with sweet guile^ 
 
 Shall win your sorrows to a smile ; 
 
 And when amid your blooming boys 
 
 Again you taste departed joys. 
 
 Each fair beholder, too, shall find. 
 
 Though I am gone, my darts remain behind r 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN COMMEMORATION OF A CHILD 
 WHO WAS BORN APRIL 1, 1801, AND DIED 
 OF SCARLET FEVER, SEPTEMBER 25, 1802, 
 
 Soul of Sensibility ! 
 
 Mortal man's celestial guest. 
 Human nature owes to thee 
 
 Feelings not to be express'd. 
 
 If this secret solitude 
 
 Be a temple fit for thee. 
 Come, in thy divinest mood 
 
 Touch the chords of sympathy. 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 87 
 
 Once with fond hopes I survey'd 
 
 Life's fair garden as it smiled. 
 Now in Death's oblivious shade 
 
 Sleeps its sweetest flower — my child. 
 
 Yet shall memory love to dwell 
 
 On those moments rich in joy. 
 When in this secluded dell 
 
 I enjoy 'd my beauteous boy. 
 
 Lightly o'er the summer heaven 
 
 Danced the rosy-pinion*d hours. 
 Earth partook the blessings given, 
 
 'Twas the gala of her flowers. 
 
 When within this dell reclined. 
 
 And my Sarah seated nigh. 
 Love to rapture raised my mind. 
 
 As I gazed on each fair boy. 
 
88 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Ecich, endued with winning charms, 
 Own'd his mother's sweet control ; 
 
 But she fondled in her arms, 
 John, the darling of her soul. 
 
 Tell me, Sarah, what you felt 
 As you bending stoop'd to sip 
 
 Richest nectar that did melt 
 From your infant's cherub-lip ! 
 
 Sure such pleasure thrill'd each sense 
 From that fond exstatic kiss. 
 
 Such as Eve in innocence 
 
 Drank amid the bowers of bliss. 
 
 What soft sigh is that ascends 
 
 Breathing sweet of fruit and flower ? 
 
 o 
 
 'Tis the spirit that descends 
 At the evening's vesper hour. 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 89 
 
 Native of a purer clime. 
 
 Where eternal pleasures dwell. 
 Didst thou sigh to think that time 
 
 Soon my fondest hopes would quell ? 
 
 Soon, alas, the morning rose 
 
 That beheld those hopes laid low : 
 
 As her heavy eyes unclose 
 Bitter tears began to flow. 
 
 Ah, my soul, forbear to trace 
 
 Sorrow's sympathetic tale ; 
 Trembling nature wraps her face 
 
 Dark as winter's cloudy veil. 
 
 Rather bid thy thoughts aspire 
 
 Up to the bright Heaven above, 
 Wing'd by faith and strong desire 
 
 There to meet the child we love. 
 
90 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Glorious shines his countenance^ 
 Now in bright beatitude ; 
 
 Where the infant choir's response 
 Softly breathes in interlude. 
 
 Bow we then to his high will. 
 Author of the gracious plan. 
 Which absorbs each transient ill 
 
 In the final good of man. 
 
 Yet at meditation's hour 
 
 Oft will Memory pensive turn. 
 
 Tears of joy and grief to pour 
 Over her beloved's urn, 
 
 April 1, 1803, 
 
ODE. 9 1 
 
 ODE TO LIBERTY. 
 
 1. 
 
 How shall the wildly-roliing chords 
 Be touch'd to wake the solemn words 
 That mingle where the Muses nine 
 Surround, O Liberty, 
 Spirit dear to Poesy, 
 With censers incense-fill'd thy cloud-girt shrine ! 
 When first Aurora of the skies 
 Unclosed to light her heavenly eyes. 
 What time the morning stars among. 
 
 In notes that heav'nward died away. 
 Soft and more soft was heard the song 
 Thathail'd creation's natal day; 
 Then o'er the solitary mountains bounding. 
 And the bright vales, deep seas, and shores resounding. 
 With joy thou travei-sedst the mighty globe. 
 Winds waves thy wings, and azure light thy robe. 
 
92 ODE. 
 
 2. 
 
 But first and chief thy presence bless'd 
 One favor'd spot above the rest. 
 Where groves such towering pomp unfurl'd 
 As spake in majesty 
 Nature was inspired by Thee, 
 The while she form'd this garden of the world ; 
 And here, tliough sweet the fountain rills. 
 And voice of torrents from the hills. 
 And forests waving as in dance, 
 
 (Music that aye delights thine ear) 
 Yet wert thou rapt in holier trance. 
 The sweeter voice of man to hear. 
 And oft at morn or eve, when round his dwelling. 
 In seraph tones eolian breezes swelling 
 Mix'd with his orisons, — thy music bold. 
 Before the thunder was, in chorus roU'd. 
 
 Not in bright armour helmet crown'd. 
 With martial tread that shook the ground. 
 
ODE. 93 
 
 O Freedom ! didst thou then appear. 
 Vh-tue and innocence 
 Needed not the dread defence 
 Of thy thick-bossed shield and lightening spear. 
 Alas ! too soon arrived the hour 
 That heard the groans which haughty power 
 Extorted from the people's soul. 
 Yet many a deed by thee inspired. 
 
 Shall shine on fame's immortal roll. 
 Through every patriot age admired ; 
 And tell how impious foes in pride assembled. 
 At thy far-echoing voice have fled and trembled. 
 When its loud call has changed the people's groans 
 To sounds that fearful rock'd their tyrant's thrones. 
 
 4. 
 Proud Babylon's desert-wandering ghost. 
 And Egypt sitting in the dust. 
 Remember well their evil day. 
 
 Fire from the altar given. 
 Holy, such as burns in heaven. 
 Touched the lips that sung the victor-lay. 
 
94 ODE. 
 
 They sung how in the sacred cause 
 
 Of Liberty and heaven-tavight laws 
 
 The God of heaven revealed his might : 
 
 Cloud darken'd, amid pillar'd fire 
 That flash'd intolerable light. 
 
 He came : — Then felt the foes his ire : 
 Back fled their chariots dash'd in dire commotion ; 
 He gave the sign, and o'er them roll'd the ocean ! 
 Thus Egypt's vaunted triumphs closed their date. 
 Nor Babylon received a milder fate. 
 
 Ift-ael's tents, and Greece, and Rome, 
 Sweet Liberty thou mad'st thy home, 
 And last, Britannia's isle. 
 
 O source of virtues bold. 
 Spirit of the days of old ! 
 Still mid the threatening storm impart thy smile. 
 Ev'n now the winds that sweep our shores. 
 Are burthen'd with the fiend-like roars 
 
ODE. 95 
 
 Of man by impious passions toriji. 
 For mad ambition, drunk with blood. 
 
 Rage, hatred, envy, baffled scorn. 
 And murder, toss'd in direful mood. 
 Fierce o'er the embattled armies clang their pinions. 
 And point their hopes to these thy own dominions.— 
 Stand forth ! strong as the waves that round thee sweep. 
 And launch thy thunders o'er the angry deep. 
 6. 
 But oh, by every patriot prayer 
 Preferr'd to Him not slow to hear. 
 When death and instant danger frown'd; 
 By all the martyr'd dead ; 
 By the blood of heroes shed, 
 Moum'd by their orphan'd country weeping round ; 
 And by the tears that dimm'd thine eyes 
 When cherubs barr'd the gates of Paradise ; 
 
 O holy Freedom, teach the land 
 Where open as the boundless heaven 
 
 Religion's temples stand. 
 One day is holy of the seven; 
 
96 ODE. 
 
 Then seek in hallo w'd worsliip meek and lowly. 
 His aid who turneth human power to folly ; 
 He grasps the winds, and walketh on the sea. 
 And in his favor only lives true liberty, 
 
 1804. 
 
 MATLOCK BATH. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Not yet the giant sun had rear'd 
 From earth his flamy brow ; 
 
 Upon their watch the stars appear'd. 
 But were retiring now. 
 
 For lo the curtains of the night 
 By twilight thrown apart. 
 
 The opening hues of orient light 
 Had w arn'd tliem to depart. 
 
ODE. 97 
 
 Thus broke the day, which ere It closed 
 
 Again in shades of even ; 
 Matlock ! I saw thy vale reposed 
 
 Beneath a beauteous heaven. 
 
 Sweet place ! where oft hath echo flung 
 
 From rock to rock the lays 
 By many a wandering stranger sung, 
 
 Enamour'd of thy praise. 
 
 Fain would I to thy cavern'd hills. 
 And health-reviving springs, 
 
 Express the ardent joy that fills 
 And gives my spirit wings. 
 
 When in the court of Solomon 
 The queen of Sheba bow'd. 
 
 The majesty that round him shone 
 She saw, and cried aloud : 
 
98 INSCRIPTIONS. 
 
 Thy wisdom and thy might, O king ! 
 
 Loud fame afar hath told ; 
 But not the just report could bring 
 
 Of half what I behold! 
 
 So, when of river, rock, and wood, 
 
 I heard, a gladness came ; 
 But when amid those scenes I stood, 
 'Twas rapture fill'd my frame ! 
 
 INSCRIPTIONS. 
 
 ON A STATUE REMOVED FROM ANOTHER GARDEN 
 TO ITS PRESENT SITUATION. 
 
 Ask not my name, but when thou ^rt informed 
 Of my past fate, thyself, belike, may'st find 
 A moral more appropriate than name. 
 I stood within another garden once ; 
 
INSCRIPTIONS. 99 
 
 And when the widow'd lady of the scene 
 
 Contracted for my sale ; in serious mood. 
 
 Like as was Abraham's when he bought the cave 
 
 Of Machpelah, she made the contract. Death, 
 
 That had bereav'd him of his Sarah, her 
 
 Of a fond husband and an only son. 
 
 Was hungry still for prey, — was lurking then 
 
 Behind my form in ambush. Workmen came, — 
 
 With tools they shook my fabric started forth 
 
 His dread life-quelling dart — and at my feet 
 
 She sank a piteous corpse. Had I attained 
 
 This human shape in ancient times, when men 
 
 Bow'd down to stocks and stones, attributing 
 
 To them intelligence and godlike power. 
 
 They would with superstitious reverence. 
 
 As the dread punisher of sacrilege. 
 
 Have v/orshipp'd me. And even now I stand 
 
 A silent monitor upon the watch ; 
 
 Stand watching Thou ! twice mortal is that dart. 
 
 Unless re^^ved upon the shield of faith. 
 
100 INSCRIPTIONS. 
 
 ON A THUNDEU-StRlCKEN TREE SITUATE AMIDST 
 THE BEAUTIFUL SCENERY OF A PLEASURE 
 GROUND. 
 
 Stranger ! and does this barren leafless Tree 
 Arrest thine eye^ with wonder fill'd, to see. 
 Amidst the pomp of foliage blooming round. 
 One blasted Trunk that cumbers but the ground. 
 The genial earth, kind air, and sun, and showers. 
 Spend here in vain their fructifying powers ; 
 Still, like a spectre, hollow, dark, and bare. 
 Its stiffen'd form appears. — Mortal, beware ! 
 If on thy heart, unfruitful, cold, and dead. 
 The fostering dews of heaven in vain are shed ; 
 If in thy soul no christian graces shine. 
 Nor fruits of faith and piety be thine. 
 Sinner, beware ! thy spirit else may roam 
 A blasted spectre in the world to come. 
 
 1810. 
 
INSCRIPTIONS. 101 
 
 ON A STATUE. 
 
 Beneath the strata of incumbent rock 
 This form once lay, a rugged shapeless block ; 
 Now by the sculptor wrought, its lines vmfold 
 The human figure in its softest mould. 
 So man, by nature rude and clogg'd with sin. 
 When he receives the life of faith within. 
 Is byjthat quickening principle restored 
 Into the glorious image of his Lord. 
 
 1810. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 TO S. T. COLERIDGE, ESQ. 
 
 Coleridge, when in a distant purer age 
 
 Posterity shall yield thee all thy fame. 
 What character or title on the page 
 
 Of genius will recal to mind thy name ? 
 Shall thy own Sara, from the realms above. 
 
 Sweetly descend in beatific dream. 
 
 And lead the espoused virgins where the stream 
 Of poesy flows breathing hallow'd love ? 
 Yes, she will come ! yet ev'n the bright award. 
 That hails thee Nuptial Love's chaste peerless Bard, 
 
 Of higher tones is but the interlude : — 
 Poet of Freedom ! in the walks of light. 
 This greeting shall a deeper joy excite. 
 
 Given by the suffrage of the Wise and Good ! 
 
 August, 1804. 
 
SONNETS. 103 
 
 TO JOANNA SOPHIA LISTER.* 
 
 Revered Aunt^ as sure by me thou art ! 
 Accept in love, and pardon that I seek 
 The softer tones of verse, in which to speak 
 
 That full affection which o'erflows my heart. 
 
 At sight of Thee what recollections start 
 
 Of One even dearer than thyself ; who when 
 
 I nought received but slight from other men. 
 Delighted his best blessings to impart. 
 
 O yes, he lov'd me much ! and though since then 
 Long years have sped, these tears upon my cheek 
 Bear witness, that impression was not weak 
 
 Which on my soul is now renew'd again. 
 
 Let from the censer of my heart be given 
 
 Incense of gratitude to Thee and heaven, 
 
 September 1, 1804. 
 
 • Relict of the writer's maternal uscle, the Rev. C. Ljster, who Uied in the 
 Missionary service at Jamaica. 
 
104 SONNETS. 
 
 TO APRIL. 
 
 Welcome, fair April, breaking from the gloom 
 Of dreary Winter, like the gracious dawn, 
 That, as the nightly shadows are withdrawn. 
 Tint after tint puts on its heavenly bloom. 
 Thy tender hues the meadows now assume ; 
 The lively lark^ more wakeful than the fawn 
 Whose early foot imprints the dewy lawn. 
 Salutes thee, soaring high on sunny plume ; 
 And wood birds join in wild accompaniment. 
 Singing, mid buds and flowers of sweetest scent. 
 And opening blossoms, earliest of the year. 
 Stay, lovely vision, still my spirit cheer !— 
 But thou, sweet Month, on change art ever bent ; 
 Thy dripping wings will rest not in our sphere. 
 
 April 7, 1819. 
 
SONNETS. 105 
 
 EASTER. 
 
 I SAW the beauty of the year laid low : 
 
 Autumnal winds from mountain, rock, and cave. 
 
 Its dirge in melancholy echoes gave. 
 
 And Winter came and piled its tomb of snow. 
 
 Man. too, to his appointed place must go : 
 
 Strength, riches, valor, wisdom, cannot save ; 
 
 The noblest form is destined to the grave. 
 
 But, O ye heavens, with gratulation glow ! 
 
 And let the perish'd seasons of the year 
 
 Return in pristine loveliness and bloom. 
 
 With hope and gladness. Lo, the time draws near 
 
 Of Man's redemption from his mortal doom : 
 
 The trumpet of the festival we hear. 
 
 That hails Messiah trampling on the tomb ! 
 
 April 15, 1819. 
 
1 06 SONNETS. 
 
 COMPOSED ON PASSING BY THE CLOUD HILL 
 NEAR MACCLESFIELD. 
 
 The sun has set, — ^but his most glowing rays 
 Still hover round the west, as loth to leave 
 This beauteous hemisphere to shadowy eve, 
 Precurser of the night. Yet eve displays 
 With grander sweep the mountains ; and our gaze, 
 Strengthen'd by darkness, can at night perceive 
 How the bright constellations interweave 
 Their starry diagrams — a mystic maze ! 
 Shine forth, ye heavenly orbs, as in your prime ! 
 Through your majestic circles as ye roll. 
 Measuring by constant change the lapse of time. 
 From world to world o'er all in thought I climb. 
 
 There worship Him whose fiat made the whole 
 
 The great I AM, omnipotent and sole ! 
 
 August 19, 1819. 
 
SONNETS. 107 
 
 ON THE ERECTION OF DARLEY CHURCH. 
 
 What spirit breath'd the happy thought 
 Whose process, holding on through word and act. 
 By genius guided, and with skill compact. 
 This beauteous Church into existence brought ? 
 Hath not the Holy One of Israel wrought 
 His purpose, Evans ? when the people lack'd 
 Of heavenly knowledge, bidding thee attract 
 Their wandering footsteps hither, to be taught 
 The Word of Life ! Thine is this work of love : 
 And oft as each returning sabbath brings 
 The Christian flock to learn of holy things. 
 Here may the gracious Power, that from above 
 Descended once in likeness of a Dove, 
 O'er Thee and Them extend his sheltering wings. 
 
 November, 1820. 
 
108 SONNETS. 
 
 ON THE FALL OF DARLEV GROVE. 
 
 Fallen Is the pleasant Grove that on the bank 
 
 Of Derwent in surpassing beauty stood ; 
 
 Its stately trees transform'd to logs of wood ; 
 
 And that wild slope, so lively with each prank 
 
 Of playful childhood, is become a blank 
 
 Cheerless and desolate as widowhood. 
 
 Yet mourn not ! — Still the imperishable flood 
 
 Rolls on its generous waters, even more frank 
 
 Than when with pendent branches overhung : 
 
 Still are the ancient echoes clearly heard. 
 
 Like voices from beyond the river flung : 
 
 And lingers here yet many a singing bird. 
 
 Whose notes have charm'd me while soft breezes stirr'd 
 
 The nests that in the tree tops lightly swung. 
 
 N0VE3IBER, 1820. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The following pieces are inserted as an Appendix, partly 
 because they have already obtained a local circulation — 
 having been written for the use of the late William Smith, 
 who for nearly thirty years, travelled every week from 
 Derby to Sheffield, with the Newspapers for that district — 
 but more especially on account of their inferiority, their 
 unevenness of stile, and the mixture of levity introduced 
 to suit the purpose for which they were originally written. 
 Taken, however, as a light sketch of the eventful times to 
 which they apply, it is hoped they will not be unacceptable. 
 
THE 
 NEWSMAN'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 ADDRESSES. 
 
 ADDRESS FOR 1802. 
 
 Hush'd is the British lion's dreadful roar; 
 The trumpet's echoing blast resounds no more ; 
 Earth, on her strong foundations now is stay'd. 
 Nor rocks beneath the thundering cannonade : 
 Yet, while the brazen tongue of war is bound. 
 Say, shall the Newsman's horn, too, cease to sound ? 
 Though the proud horse for blood no longer neigh^ 
 Is then his harmless ass forbid to bray ? 
 No, these are tones, that, heard in daylight clear. 
 Or loudly breaking on " the Night's dull ear," 
 Are sweet as is the voice of Handel's muse 
 To every Englishman who reads the news. 
 And chorusses resembling this in kind. 
 Though not like this adapted for the mind. 
 
1 12 ADDRESSES. 
 
 Upon the forenoon of a christmas day. 
 From ovens, pans, kettles, spits, are heard to play : 
 Where, as the beef revolves before the fire. 
 Sweet-sounding notes in clouds of steam transpire; 
 While duly answering in responsive stave. 
 The dumpling roars from out the boiling wave ; 
 And pies and puddings, murmuring at the heat. 
 Fill up the prelude of a noble treat. 
 
 Perhaps to such occasions 'tis, we owe 
 The most expert invention mortals know. 
 Some wanderer from his mountains bleak and bare. 
 Returning charm'd with musicals so rare ; 
 Strain'd every nerve and faculty of mind, 
 A clever substitute in hopes to find. 
 Whereby his Highland countrymen might guess 
 The glorious things that he could not express : 
 Then, whilst with wondering gaze they throng'd around. 
 Forth burst aloud the bagpipes' noble sound ; 
 And apt and full similitude convey'd. 
 As through the maze of harmony it stray'd ; 
 Now squeaking like hot dinners, and anon. 
 Bubbling like bottles ere the ale is gone ; 
 While snug within the bag beneath his arm. 
 The growling bass winds up the tuneful charm. 
 
 A piper from the Highland hills I'm not ; 
 To be the County Newsman was my lot : 
 And who, that loves the social christmas rites. 
 That in the welfare of mankind delights. 
 But would awhile incline a gracious ear, 
 My favorite yearly orisons to hear, 
 
ADDRESSES. 113 
 
 Chanted in rhymes delectable and full. 
 To the great praise and glory of John Bull. 
 Let none my pleasant minstrelsy despise. 
 Or deem me little in their lofty eyes : 
 Know that the court whose errands I fulfil. 
 Is fix'd like Jove's, upon the olympian hill ; 
 And, ever as the restless globe turns round. 
 Regards attentively the murmuring sound ; 
 Arrests the fleet sensations of each hour ; 
 Selects, combines, and moulds with plastic pow'r ; 
 'Till forth in Mercury's form the vision springs. 
 With paper brains, and asses ears for wings. 
 
 Now Mercury was wondrous wise when young. 
 And age has certainly improv'd his tongue ; 
 Especially, whene'er he undertakes 
 To recommend a med'cine for our sakes. 
 And though sometimes his zeal for public good. 
 Prompts him to say more than, perhaps, he should ; 
 Yet many a speech of his, if I had time. 
 Should be most worthily set forth in rhyme. 
 This task I mean to enter on, as soon 
 As I shall travel in an air balloon ; 
 A new machine, which lately has bid fair 
 To make the waggoners and coachmen stare. 
 Then with more dignity than monarchs march, 
 Thron'd on the evening rain-bow's topmost arch. 
 With trumpets' rolling voice, in cadence loud, 
 I'll speak my mandates to the gazing crowd ; 
 Or, if along the milky- way I'm driven. 
 Despatch them down by parachutes from heaven : 
 
114 ADDRESSES. 
 
 Except at christmas, when, for him that begs. 
 It may be full as well to use his legs. 
 
 But hush ! I must not hint at this I trow. 
 Until you first have seen my raree-show. 
 Tol dol de de rol, it is time to begin ; 
 Now ladies and gentlemen please to walk in : 
 
 The first, is a sight which I cannot call new ; 
 The popes expos'd somethmg much like it to view ; 
 When with obstinate zeal, they would prove it to odds. 
 As infallibly certain, that wafers were gods : 
 'Tis a young legislator, who stoutly maintains. 
 That a Frenchman has liberty while he's in chains ; 
 That his laws promote freedom, his honor he'll plight ; 
 And if meant for himself, you must own he is right. 
 
 The next, is a group of spruce monkeys, at work 
 To polish a tiger, who looks like a Turk, 
 But was suckled and bred in a Corsican wood, 
 'Till he snufF'd from afar the hot smoking of blood. 
 To make him a hero, they scrub and they scour ; 
 But the scar on his crest is too deep for their power : 
 That scar he receiv'd on the memorable day. 
 When he sneak'd from the lion of Britain away ; 
 Indelibly fix'd, it is sure to remain ; 
 And scrubbing and scouring are labour in vain. 
 
 Now mark yonder eagle whose plumes hang unfurl'd; 
 She's an image of empire that once rul'd the world : 
 Who sighs not to see her despoil'd in the mud ; 
 Yet nobly resisting the vampires of blood ? 
 
 Again, where yon mountains on mountains are pil'd : 
 Where Freedom for ages on ages has smil'd 
 
ADDRESSES. 1 15 
 
 What heart but Indignantly groans to behold^ 
 
 Her heroic sons by the tyrant controll'd. 
 
 Yetj a few seasons passed, they, spurning his ties, 
 
 " Disdainful of danger" in might shall arise : 
 
 To the blast of the whirlwind that ruffles their locks. 
 
 Shall the standard of freedom be rear'd on the rocks ; 
 
 Yea, the hour is approaching, and sealed in heaven, 
 
 When oppression for ever from earth shall be driven. 
 
 Already some tokens of respite there are ; 
 I meant to have shown you a Muscovy bear. 
 But the caitiff has giv'n me the slip, as I find. 
 And 'tis so much the better, I know for mankind. 
 
 Well, you've seen all the shew, and I've nought to say 
 more. 
 But intreat you'll attend to the man at the door : 
 He's a good honest fellow, but indeed, worthy folks. 
 You know that he can't fill his belly with jokes ; 
 If you will but contribute to plump up his purse, 
 'Twill please him much better than praising his verse. 
 His family '11 be grateful for what you bestow ; '\ 
 
 And as for the old man ^but my feelings o'erflow, > 
 
 Let him speak for himself, he is waiting below. 3 
 
116 ADDRESSES. 
 
 ADDRESS FOR 1803. 
 
 Hail, ixierry chrlstinaS;, queen of cooking ! 
 For thee I've been a good while looking ; 
 While memory fondly has presented 
 Thy puddings with plums ornamented. 
 Thy pies, that cleanly Susan minces 
 So nice and neat they're fit for princes. 
 And beef the pride of all the dinner. 
 That fattens us, while it grows thinner. 
 But more than all thy jovial cheer, 
 Refresh'd with stout October beer, 
 AVliat most my memory bewitches 
 Is, that thou art a time of riches ; 
 When charity, that never lingers. 
 Put in her purse her angel fingers. 
 And lets those jewels see the day. 
 That frighten want, the dun, away. 
 Then, merry christmas, hail ! I love thee. 
 And hope as kind as erst to prove thee. 
 
 Your poets generally follow 
 Some of the sisters of Apollo, 
 Intreating them to show their pity. 
 And give a blessing on their ditty : 
 And now that likewise verse my trade is, 
 I ought to ask these maiden ladies. 
 While I am quavering with my pen. 
 To put a word in now and then. 
 
ADDKESSES. I 1 7 
 
 But lack-a-day, here's Mr. Bull 
 Of business lately's been so full. 
 What with his rude and noisy clamours. 
 They could not hear a man that stammers ; 
 So I refrain from interfering, 
 And take another method herein. 
 
 Not those immortal rose-lip'd lasses 
 That live upon the hill Parnassus, 
 But a good kitchen with a fire in. 
 The company with warmth inspiring ; 
 And cups with christmas ale o'erflowing 
 That soon sets every tongue a going, 
 These in each house where'er I trudge it. 
 Will make the Newsman ope his budget; 
 When, as the straps he quickly sunders. 
 Out flies his catalogue of wonders ; 
 Of crosses, losses, taxes, tales. 
 And every rumour that prevails. 
 
 Full fifty times, your honors, is it. 
 That I have duly paid my visit 
 To* acquaint you with the state of Europe, 
 Since last I try'd my wit to stir up. 
 When as a begging poet-monger, 
 I screw'd my visage somewhat longer ; 
 And now I hope, as the time lengthens. 
 It will be found that my cause strengthens. 
 
 The weather favors my old bones 
 No better than the trodden stones ; 
 Yet like tlie stones they've never flinched, 
 Wiietlier with cold severely pinched 
 
 K 
 
i IS ADDRESSES. 
 
 When through the drifted snows I've toil'd. 
 Or when in summer-time half broil'd ; 
 Still to ray task resolv'd to stick, 
 I've even travelled when sick. 
 For why ? — One reason amongst many, 
 (That suits me now the best of any) 
 I'll give, which to the truth is nigh on : 
 You know that John Bull keeps a lion ; 
 Now Buonaparte, a pilfering savage. 
 Who lately has made bold to ravage 
 And ransack Europe's finest countries. 
 Persisting still in his effrontries. 
 Had laid a plain in hopes of trapping 
 This dreadful animal while napping ; 
 But when he thought all safe, good lack. 
 And try'd to mount upon his back, 
 Up sprang the lion with a roar. 
 So loud was never yell'd before ; 
 Back shrunk the villain from his clutches ; 
 His heart already in his br lies. 
 
 All the particulars of this story. 
 And how the lion in his glory 
 Lashes his bushy tail, and shakes 
 His shaggy mane till Boney quakes. 
 All this good news my friends to tell ye. 
 Would I not trudge whate'er befel me. 
 
 You've heard of Madam Boney's longing 
 To have this little spot belonging 
 Herself, and planted with cow-cabbage. 
 Women sometimes do long for garbage. 
 
ADDRESSES. 1 19 
 
 And this affair will not surprise you ; 
 Especially when I advertise you 
 Her husband has, to keep him quiet, 
 Been treated with a certain diet 
 Made up in cakes the French call loans. 
 Or he'd be breaking people's bones. 
 
 Our islands in the west he meant 
 For sugar basins, and had sent 
 His brother for them to Domingo, 
 But there he learnt another lingo. 
 Then Malta dazzled both his eyes. 
 As being of a proper size* 
 To make a noble tea-pot, and 
 With our fine teas so near at hand. 
 Where like a dog he meant to worry t 
 But being rather in a hurry. 
 He miss'd the handle for the spout. 
 And scalding water straight came out ; 
 So quit his hold his fingers danghng. 
 And wish'd the English all a hanging. 
 
 But stop a little, master Boney ; 
 You've had a lick of Canaan's honey. 
 Yet even you did leave the hive. 
 Right glad to get away alive. 
 But let us catch you here a shopping. 
 We'll have that hat from off your toppin ;t 
 Then see if e'er a Briton flinches 
 A fellow not five feet six inches. 
 
 • Malta was intended to be a depot for the merchandise of the e.ost. 
 
 t The hat is often a prominent article in the caricatures of that period, particu 
 laxly in one which represents John Bull and Buonaparte, under the siniilitiide <t 
 the oak and mushroom. 
 
1-20 ADDRESSES. 
 
 I'll mount ray ass, and sound my horn. 
 For since the day John Bull was born. 
 None ever blazon'd forth a story 
 So much redounding to his glory. 
 While yet a lad in petticoats,* 
 He met the Spaniards in his boats. 
 And fearing nought their vain bravado. 
 Beat their invincible armada ; 
 Yet this, and all that has appear'd 
 Since he's been honor'd with a beard. 
 Are to his present fame not equal : 
 And well I trust that by the sequel 
 He'll show, that not in vain his limbs are 
 Supported by good belly timber. 
 
 But this must be the copious text 
 That shall be handled in my next ; 
 For now, I feel a certain longing 
 To tell you why I brought this song in. 
 Yet to repeat again the reason 
 That brings me here each christmas season, 
 Although I did it in a mood 
 Expressive of my gratitude. 
 Perhaps, good sirs, you wish to' excuse. 
 Already weary of a muse. 
 That only pours out frothy banter. 
 Like porter from a wine decanter : 
 Well, I'll leave off, if you think proper; 
 There's nothing like a silver stopper. 
 
 • " In the days of good queen Bess." 
 
ADDRESSES. 121 
 
 ADDRESS FOR 1805. 
 
 With glorious news the country rings i 
 And now that merry christmas brings 
 Your faithful Newsman to your door. 
 With his address, as heretofore ; 
 Perhaps you're looking while he speaks. 
 To see a pair of Dutchman's cheeks 
 Fresh borrow'd, and a bushy wig. 
 To suit his bouncing words so big. 
 Telling with proper pomp the wonders 
 Achiev'd by Britain's naval thunders. 
 
 But no your patience I beseech ; 
 
 For I have luckily a speech. 
 Which wiser heads affinn in troth. 
 Proceeded from the sov'reign mouth 
 Of Napoleon, emperor-elf 
 Of the great nation, who himself. 
 His head just peeping o'er his horse, 
 Pronounc'd it loud, in accents coarse. 
 (And of its merits general Mack 
 Was so convinc'd, that he kept back 
 The Austrian troops to hear it spoken ; 
 I therefore judge, from this same token. 
 It must than mine be mickle finer ; 
 I assure you, sirs, it is a shiner.) 
 
 " Austrian pris'ners ! (for we deign to speak 
 Thus condescendingly, in that we seek 
 
122 ADDRESSES. 
 
 Your minds t* enlighten,) we were much surprised 
 
 Our brother Francis was so ill-advis'd. 
 
 As to make demonstrations of his troops. 
 
 When such procedure here rekictant coops 
 
 My army of the ocean ; — unaton'd. 
 
 Those crimes with which six centuries have groan'd. 
 
 Have we not pledg'd ourself, for now three years. 
 
 That the first wind which favorably veers. 
 
 Or the first fog, or first dark winter night. 
 
 Or summer day of long-enduring light. 
 
 Our grand flotilla should go forth, and sweep 
 
 From imder heav'n those tyrants of the deep. 
 
 The hated English ? And shall Caesar's word 
 
 Fall unaccomplish'd, and our lifted sword 
 
 Turn not in wrath on the intruding foe ? — 
 
 Ev'n on the instant vengeance speeds the blow ; 
 
 And long yon haughty islanders shall wait. 
 
 Ere ye recover from this day of fate. 
 
 But why this rashness? While your sov'reign thwarts 
 
 Our hate to England, tell him, he departs 
 
 From his true int'rest, lavishing your blood 
 
 For strangers, reckless of his country's good. 
 
 Think you we are ambitious ? — Not t' enthral 
 
 Your pigmy empires, fated soon to fall ; 
 
 No ; my good city of Paris not expects 
 
 From the great genius whose high will directs 
 
 The destinies of France, such little aims ; 
 
 No, gentlemen, a nobler zeal inflames 
 
 To loftier capabilities our breast : 
 
 I am the anointed emperor of the west ; 
 
ADDRESSES. 123 
 
 Tliere stands my throne, and there ourself shall found 
 An endless dynasty ; while hov'ring round. 
 The Latian eagles, from the sceptred Ime 
 Of Charlemagne, shall stoop to shadow mine. 
 
 And yet although I shook with my renown 
 
 This continent; and were my iron crown 
 
 O'er all its kings exalted ; still my soul 
 
 Would pant at distance from ambition's goal, 
 
 England unconquer'd ! That's the spectred dream 
 
 Which nightly haunts my coucli ; and 1 would teem 
 
 In rivulets the blood of France, if so, 
 
 I might destroy this one unconquer'd foe. 
 
 Star of my fortune ! give me to behold 
 
 Yon island by my sceptred hand controU'd : 
 
 Ships, colonies, and commerce, let the sea 
 
 Bear on its bosom, and alone for me !" 
 
 A very modest speech indeed ! 
 Yet some correction it may need. 
 Now that he knows a British tar. 
 Has us'd the snuffers to his star. 
 Ships, colonies, and commerce, eh ? 
 He says he wants ? But well-a-day ! 
 He should have kept those wishes in, 
 Till Villeneuve's grand bulletin. 
 In letters of a ghastly size. 
 Had bolted on his startling eyes. 
 Ah, what avails it that Vienna, 
 Its gates set open to him, when a 
 Most dismal and distracted tale. 
 Informs him twenty gallant sail. 
 
] 24 ADDRESSES. 
 
 Are down the locker sent to davy. 
 Or dragg'd at tail o'th' English navy. 
 O ye ambassadors ! keep off him ; 
 Unless you're bone enough to cuff him ; 
 For he will storm, and stamp, and strut,— 
 Goliah's mouth, or mammoth's foot. 
 Would not betoken half the passion 
 That boils in him on this occasion. 
 
 But let him rage, and rant, and fights, 
 And still let Talleyrand indite 
 Philippics for the ear of kings ; — 
 With glorious news our country rings ; 
 Ye Gallic puppet shews, away ! 
 To Nelson's name I tune the lay. 
 Yet fancy's brightest w^ords are dim. 
 Attempting the high praise of him. 
 Whose matchless prowess has excell'd 
 Whate'er the rolling sun beheld. 
 Since first he rose with ruddy smiles 
 From ocean o'er the queen of isles ; 
 Since first her hand, with righteous reign, 
 Assum'd the sceptre of the main. 
 Blake, Rooke, and Rodney, Hawke, and Howe, 
 To mightier Nelson deign to bow. 
 Whose prouder flag, where'er unfurl'd, 
 Superior swept the wat'ry world. 
 Go, ask of him, where Vincent's steep 
 Controls the surges of the deep. 
 Or at the sev'nfold gates of Nile, 
 Or in the Baltic's dark defile. 
 
ADDRESSES. 125 
 
 Or seize the winged winds, and steer 
 
 Far to the western hemisphere ; 
 
 But there thou need'st not ask his fame. 
 
 There grateful islands shout the name. 
 
 Before whose terror fled amain 
 
 The boasted fleets of France and Spain. 
 
 What though the chief, so fast they fled. 
 
 Half the round globe encompassed. 
 
 While still their straining sails elude 
 
 His foaming vessels that pursued ! 
 
 Soon were they doom'd in blood to weep ; 
 
 Soon, dire destruction shook the deep. 
 
 When death's dark trump, with dreadful roll, 
 
 Call'd on the mighty Nelson's soul. 
 
 Longer on earth forbid to live. 
 
 Where fame had nothing more to give ! 
 
 Ah, mighty hero ! round thy bier. 
 
 While gather'd nations shed the tear ; 
 
 While proudest obsequies await 
 
 To shrine thy dust in glorious state ; 
 
 Ere the deep drum, and muffled bell. 
 
 Have bidden thee a long farewell ! 
 
 Ere the last cannons' awful sound 
 
 Has shook the consecrated ground ; 
 
 May'st thou with smiles observe, thy name, 
 
 Ev'n in this lay of humble fame, 
 
 Befriends the wishes of the bard. 
 
 Gains him "a bountiful reward — 
 
 Yes, Nelson's name in his address. 
 
 Your Newsman cannot want success. 
 
1 26 ADDRESSES. 
 
 ADDRESS FOR I8O6. 
 
 While o'er the continent insatiate war. 
 
 Spreads like a roaring deluge, wide and far ; 
 
 And every tale of each returning scout. 
 
 Is " ruin upon ruin, rout on rout ;" 
 
 Charg'd with these tidings, and what fame resounds 
 
 Of British prowess, through the world's wide bounds ; 
 
 What prophecy declar'd in days of old. 
 
 Whose mystic words these latter days unfold j 
 
 And what of weighty argument remains. 
 
 Your wonted gift, that animates my strains ; 
 
 Charg'd with these themes, from place to place I stray— 
 
 Your fiiithful Newsman with his Christmas lay. 
 
 When wandering Homer sung the fall of Troy, 
 What mighty labors ten long years employ. 
 His song reveal'd : the rich ideas roll. 
 Like streams of light that throng around the pole; 
 Or clouds, which multitudinous are driven. 
 In beauteous volumes o'er the face of heaven. 
 But what, immortal Homer ! are thy strains, 
 Compar'd with those a bulletin contains ? 
 Thy Iliad sinks again into a shell,* 
 Abash'd, to hear the modern Frenchman tell. 
 All in a breath, of armies breaking way, 
 In flying march through countries in a day ; 
 Of battles, cities, dukedoms, kingdoms won. 
 Arms, armies taken, beauteous queens imdone ; 
 
 * Thii alludes to a manuscript copy of Homer Iliad, said to be compriitd in a 
 nut-ihelJ. 
 
ADDRESSES. 127 
 
 Islands blockaded, without aid of ships, 
 By the mere dictum of the emperor's lips ; 
 With many a feat those lips alone should speak, 
 A century's labors grasp'd into a week ! 
 
 Alas ! and shall we list the vaunts of pride. 
 Unheard the victims groaning at his side ? 
 Oh, loud the cries of lamentation burst. 
 Where Europe mourns with heavy plagues accurst. 
 As when at the woe-trumpets' awful blast, 
 Down to the earth a star of heaven was cast ; 
 From hell's deep pit then locust armies broke ; 
 The sun was darken'd with the rising smoke ; 
 O'er the green earth they rush'd, on noisy wing. 
 Led by ApoUyon, their destroying king : 
 So, led by him whose foot with haughty prance. 
 Trampled in dust the lily-crown of France, 
 His Gallic slaves, the scorpions of the earth, — 
 Their moving camps horlzon'd round with dearth, — 
 Burst on the nations, breathing dreadful ire. 
 And arm'd with pestilence, and sword, and fire : 
 Loud up to heaven, where'er they march below. 
 In unremitting wails ascends the cry of woe I 
 Of tyrant-kings we know, that took by birth, 
 Their claim with iron rod to scourge the earth ; 
 But this destroyer, who, and whence is he ? 
 Has earth disgorg'd him ? or the tossing sea ? 
 In the dark strife of whirlwinds was he born ?* 
 His dam a dreadful beast, and he the horn. 
 The little horn, which stouter than the ten, 
 (Ten kingdoms these prefigur'd among men) 
 
 Sse Daniel, chap. VII. verses 'A C, S, a-^Al 24, compare also chap. II., tei»c iO. 
 
] 28 ADDRESSES. 
 
 Uprooted three, and midst the remnant seven. 
 
 Rose like a tower which threatens war to heaven ? 
 
 Yes, if these prophecies I right unfold. 
 
 In Him's accomplish'd what was then foretold. 
 
 Lo, Italy yields him her iron crown; 
 
 His arm has pluck'd the German eagle down ; 
 
 And slumbering Prussia woke, to see her power, 
 
 Quash'd, as the visions of her dreamy hour. 
 
 Nor fails he still to push his proud career. 
 
 If not to conquer, yet to domineer ; 
 
 Alone the British lion stands at bay. 
 
 And boldly dares him to the mortal fray ; 
 
 That fight the tyrant shuns, blaspheming loud , 
 
 And turns vindictive on the helpless crowd. 
 
 When once his measur'd crimes foam o'er the brim. 
 Then dark and heavy, fate will close on him. 
 Let future numbers celebrate his fall ; 
 Of nearer themes I now obey the call ; 
 Where wave Britannia's flags, with laurel bound, 
 I haste, to join the praise of the renown'd. 
 To Duckworth, victor on the western main ; 
 To Stuart, glorious on St. Maida's plain ; 
 Whence baffled Regnier slunk, with looks, how changed! 
 From him that, scoffing loud, the onset ranged ; 
 To Warren, leader of the hero ship. 
 That welcom'd Linois from his India trip ; 
 To Baird, and Beresford, whose valor gain'd, 
 (By gallant Popham from the fleet sustain'd,) 
 The cape that looks unto the frozen south. 
 And city neighbouring vast La Plata's mouth ; 
 
ADDRESSES. 129 
 
 To these, with youtliful Hood, their brave compeer. 
 
 And all, unnam'd, Avhose deeds have mark'd the year, 
 
 Victors and conquerors ! while England pays 
 
 The glorious tribute of deserved praise ; 
 
 While clanging peal on peal, the merry bells. 
 
 Mix with the martial music as it swells, 
 
 'Mongst the applausive sounds that roll along. 
 
 One mite bestow'd is mine — the Newsman's song. 
 
 Old Time, who ever working with his scythe. 
 
 Mows out the track, which, be it rough or blithe. 
 
 Mortals must follow — ^may he lead again. 
 
 Where if not olives, laurels shade the plain ; 
 
 Where bread abounds, to satisfy the poor. 
 
 And for the rich an hospitable store ; 
 
 Then when his hour-glass casts the number* d sand. 
 
 That tells, another christmas is at hand. 
 
 Again my voice to music shall be strung. 
 
 And England's glories tremble on my tongue. 
 
 But ah ! my country's glories not alone. 
 My country's losses also are my own. 
 The stars that long with rival lustre shone. 
 Those leading statesmen. Pit, and Fox, are gone ! 
 Them we deplore, for through the deep'ning gloom. 
 What new arcturus shall our course illume ? 
 Assembled senators ! be yours to shine, 
 A constellation glorious and benign ; 
 Through the dark night of war to light our way, 
 'Till peace breaks on us like the morning-ray. 
 
 Adieu, the verse that sweeps on sounding wings ! 
 My thought are anxious on the sum of things; 
 
130 ADDRESSES. 
 
 A candidate for christmas favors now. 
 An humble suppliant at your gates I bow. 
 Full twenty years your honors have, eachwhile, 
 Return'd me glowing with a grateful smile ; 
 Again your generous goodness I beseech ; 
 Befriend my canvas, and accept my speech ; 
 The smallest gift my comforts would increase. 
 But let it be a plumper ! if you please. 
 
 ADDRESS FOR 1807- 
 
 Come, listen, fair ladies, and gentlemen brave. 
 
 To the Newsman who sings you at christmas a stave ; 
 
 The wings of his muse like the wings of a goose. 
 
 Eleven months cannot fly, but the twelfth they are loose ; 
 
 Then spurning the ground, with their quarry in view, 
 
 (That quarry's the gift which is given by you) 
 
 They spring like an eagle that soars to the noon. 
 
 And scarcely are stopp'd by the man in the moon. 
 
 Then listen fair ladies and gentlemen bold. 
 
 But not to a tale of the wonders of old ; 
 
 Like the song of the skylark that wakens the morn. 
 
 High hovering o'er the green vallies of corn. 
 
 Like the snow of November, whose beautiful white 
 
 Fills the young eyes of children with novel delight. 
 
 So charmingly recent, and new to the ear. 
 
 Is the song of the minstrel that now you shall hear. 
 
ADDRESSES. 131 
 
 When after the lapse of its cycle of years. 
 At length in the heavens a comet appears, 
 Ev'ry eye turns with wonder the stranger to hail. 
 Admiring his splendor and beautiful tail ; 
 The stars that burn round him unnotic'd may roll. 
 Alone the dread wanderer fixes the soul ; 
 So when, overturaing the houses of kings. 
 One man in their place like a prodigy springs. 
 To him are the nations directing their gaze. 
 Awaiting his mandates in fearful amaze ; 
 And him does the poet behold in his dream, 
 WTien his eyes roll around him in search of a theme. 
 
 One foot on the land fix'd, and one on the sea. 
 Then lord of the globe. Napoleon would be : 
 The kings of the east, of the north, of the south, 
 M^ould crouch to the dust as the slaves of his mouth ; 
 His name would be rais'd to the stars, and the sun, 
 WTiere earth on its axle had formerly spun. 
 See the Buonaparte-planet encircling him run. 
 But alas, oh ye doctors, though skilful are ye. 
 This potsherd of earth still a potsherd must be ; 
 Not yet hydrophobia your nostrums can cure. 
 His dread of the water he still must endure. 
 Set his foot on the ocean ? the prince of the mice 
 Once mounted a frog, and was drown'd in a trice ; 
 Napoleon knows better ; still rolls through his brain 
 The thunder of Nelson that shook the wide main : 
 From the Nile, from the Baltic it burst on his ear. 
 And again from Trafalgar, tremendous to hear ; 
 He trembles, he shudders, ev'n down to his toes. 
 Then stamping with rage, thus his passion o'erflows : 
 
 } 
 
1 3^ ADDRESSES. 
 
 '^ I lift up my foot — it is never set down, 
 
 " But it crushes a sceptre, or tramples a crown ; 
 
 '^ I put forth my leg — and it stretches so wide, 
 
 "^ A continent scarcely gives room for the stride ; 
 
 '' Then where in the world is that king to be found, 
 
 " Mine arm cannot reach, cannot hurl to the ground ?" 
 
 That king is in England ! — Go gird on thy might. 
 
 Bring forth thy slave-legions array'd for the fight. 
 
 Thy thousands of thousands, and launch the black proers 
 
 Of all the flotillas that crowd on thy shores ; 
 
 Thy squadrons, fleets, navies, the whole of them bring ; 
 
 Will they dare to encounter the great ocean-king ? 
 
 They come not ; they dare not ! ye eagles that sweep 
 
 Afar from your mountains to prowl on the deep. 
 
 Return to your eyries ungorg'd with the slain ; 
 
 From the battle yon heros aloof will remain I 
 
 Excuse me, if now to enliven my tale, 
 I beg just a glass of your good christmas ale ; 
 Your health ma'm, and your's ma'm, and gentlemen round. 
 And now for the French we left keeping their ground : 
 Well, on Boulogne's heights let them quake as they stand. 
 And *' halt !" be for ever their word of command ; 
 That checks not my story, my tongue will not flag. 
 So long as a cat can be found in my bag : 
 This fortuneless feline whom much I condole. 
 Was kitten'd at Tilsit, a genuine Pole ; 
 At tlie famous convention of Tilsit, no doubt. 
 You know how they cropp'd her, and then turn'd her out. 
 Many notable things were at that very time 
 Transacted, and nov»^ shall be dene into rhyme ; 
 
I 
 
 ADDRESSES. 133 
 
 How a stout tiger-monkey, that ventur'd afloat^ 
 
 How he hiigg'd as his brother the bear in a boat ; 
 
 All shiv'ring and helpless an eagle sat by. 
 
 His pinions were shatter'd, and dimm'd was his eye,- 
 
 With talons so broken he scarcely could sign 
 
 The terms of the treaty they met to define. ,|- jt 
 
 They scotch'd him of forests and fields of the air, ; 
 
 Of movmtains and vallies, and each took a share ; 
 
 But when with the signet that stamp'd it as law. 
 
 Magnanimous bruin uplifting his paw. 
 
 Gave it next to the eagle and guided his claw, ,. 
 
 With a glance of reproach then the crown-crested bird . 
 
 Look'd up in his face, but he spake not a word. 
 
 What follow'd was whisper'd, but rumour stood near. 
 
 And since hath reported the whole in mine ear ; 
 
 They plotted to seize, or by force or by stealth, - 
 
 The islanded ocean, its ships and its wealth : 
 
 *' The lion of England, that o'er the domain 
 
 " Lord paramount reigneth, O were he but slain, 
 
 '' Then all would be done ; and, tiger-fac'd pug, 
 
 " The world will be thine !" said the bear with a shrug. 
 
 Then answer'd the monarch, outstretching his jaws 
 
 So forward they needed the prop of his paws ; 
 
 '' At the foot of the mountain of Caucasus, lo, 
 
 " The elephant's waiting my pleasure to know ; 
 
 " The American magpie is flapping his wings, 
 
 " It needs but a whistle and hither he springs ; 
 
 " But these cannot vanquish the lion we fight, 
 
 " The one is too heavy, the other too light ; 
 
 '^ 'Tis true our historian iEsop hath told 
 
 '^ How the mouse freed him once from a net's tangling fold ; 
 
 L 
 
J 34 ADDRESSES. 
 
 *' A rat's a more powerful being ; and him, 
 
 *^ I will choose as my champion, I know he can swim : 
 
 *' To the true race of Norway, for whiskers renown'd, 
 
 " Go carry my order to shut up the sound ; 
 
 *^ The Hon thus hamper'd, I'll spread other toils, 
 
 " 'Till safe I devour him, and then seize the spoils." 
 
 He ceas'd, and now grinn'd with an horrible gape ; 
 
 The eagle affrighted took wing to escape ; 
 
 Whereat he gave sign to the bear to unmoor. 
 
 Then crouch'd on his hams, and was row'd to the shore. 
 
 But woe was their counsel, O woe to the rat ! 
 
 Soon under the foot of the lion laid flat. 
 
 Disarmed and crushed, this champion so fit. 
 
 At the foe he would worry he only can spit ! 
 
 Here, ladies and gentlemen, ends my address ; 
 It reads like a preface to me, I confess ; 
 O let it be follow'd by something from you. 
 And with thanks for your bounty, I'll bid you adieu ! 
 
 ADDRESS FOR 1808. 
 
 Once more the wheels of time have roll'd the globe. 
 Where winter striding trails his snowy robe 
 Along our plains, and desolates the ground ; 
 Yet ever as he walks his gloomy round, 
 Lo, Christmas in his train, a lovely guest ! 
 Comes like a bride adorned for the feast. 
 
ADDRESSES. 135 
 
 Tills is the advent^ the desired time. 
 
 When your old Newsman brings his annual rhyme ; 
 
 When for the poet's harp he quits his horn. 
 
 And sings th' events another year has born. 
 
 These, as the mind reviews and counts them o'er. 
 
 Bring into memory the days of yore. 
 
 When life was broad awake and time was not : 
 
 Who has not read, how when Mahomet's foot 
 
 Had kick'd his water-pitcher on the brink. 
 
 As Giibriel bore him upwards in a twink 
 
 From his warm bed, and in celestial climes. 
 
 Held conf 'rence with him ninety thousand times ; 
 
 Then show'd him the seven heav'ns, and earth, and hell; 
 
 That he to bed return'd him, strange to tell ! 
 
 Ere yet that pitcher, overturn'd, could pour 
 
 The whole of its contents upon the floor ; 
 
 While still the bed in which the prophet slept. 
 
 As snug and warm as when he left it kept. 
 
 Now this was doing business with despatch ; 
 
 And Mercury, that on his tower of watch. 
 
 Awaits the coming of the royal mails. 
 
 To spread the news they bring as nimbly, fails ; 
 
 Though every hand is ply'd with quick addi'ess. 
 
 To speed the movements of the printing press. 
 
 As in a magic lantern's wondrous space, 
 A thousand images each other chase ; 
 Along the wall their mighty shadows pass. 
 Each as the artist waves his figur'd glass : 
 So on this precious paper I proceed 
 To show the times with all convenient speed. 
 
1 GG ADDRESSES. 
 
 But not as when the fatal news transpir'd^ 
 
 For which the park and tower guns were fir'd; 
 
 For which with color'd lamps the windows hung, 
 
 A festive radiance on the midnight flung : 
 
 Not with a false illusive glare I try 
 
 To make black white before the public eye. 
 
 Let not the servants of John Bull suppose 
 
 'Tis at their will to lead him by the nose ; 
 
 No, ev'ry puppet that I forward bring. 
 
 Is fairly copied from some living thing. 
 
 And first those puppets seated in a row, 
 
 A court that's summon'd for inquiry show. 
 
 I cannot give you information neAv, 
 
 Either about Sir Harry or Sir Hew ; 
 
 Nor whether proper generals may be had 
 
 Enow in time to form an awkward squad ; 
 
 And therefore chuse to state another case, 
 
 Which may or never may have taken place : 
 
 You're sent to use the utmost force you can 
 
 Against your enemy, a wicked man ; 
 
 This villain, who implacably is bent 
 
 To murder both the sender and the sent. 
 
 You knock him down, then seize him as your prize ; — 
 
 Oil no, you help your mortal foe to rise. 
 
 Lend him your arm, and see him safe at home. 
 
 His cudgel too, that he again may come 
 
 Another day to batter out your brains. 
 
 If any can be found worth while his pains. 
 
 For this strange conduct 'fore a court you're brought. 
 
 But not to trial till 'tis knov.^n you ought ; 
 
ADDRESSES. 1 37 
 
 And wiser licads than mine not yet discern. 
 Which way the sleepy scales of justice turn. 
 Now to a different scene direct your eyes. 
 Where yonder rocky pillar seems to rise ; 
 'Tis nam'd of Hercules ; and like to him 
 In form, in bulk, and brawny length of limb. 
 Against its base a drunken giant nods. 
 Awhile deserted by his demon gods. 
 Around its capital in spiral fold, 
 A golden fillet winds, on which, behold. 
 The sun of liberty, arising shines. 
 And renders visible these magic lines : 
 
 Now is come the fated hour ; 
 
 Drunken with the fumes of power, 
 
 At my foot the giant snores, 
 
 Breathing like a bull that roars. 
 
 He shall lie in magic swoon, 
 
 While to lighten earth, the moon, 
 
 Thrice with horns, and thrice without, 
 
 M'^hecls her spiral car about. 
 
 Ere her measured course be sped, 
 
 Spaniards strike the tyrant dead ! 
 
 Toss his carcass to the seas. 
 
 Or hurl it down the Pyrenees. 
 
 Spaniards, seize the golden hour ! 
 
 Freedom now is in your power. 
 Alas, their stroke falls short ! the partial blow. 
 Severs his left arm, not his head, and lo. 
 Time's golden hour expires ! the giant wakes ! 
 The moon eclips'd in blood her car forsakes. 
 And from the sick'ning sight in horror turns ; 
 For now the tyrant mad with vengeance burns ; 
 
1 38 ADDRESSES. 
 
 Howling he rlses^, from his mouth expire 
 Bkie smoky clouds, and flakes of wrathful fire ; 
 His howl is answer'd; who can stand the odds 
 Against the giant and his demon gods. 
 Rapine and riipe and murder in his train ! 
 Spaniards, your gallant loyalty is vain : 
 In vain to ev'ry popish saint you cry. 
 No voice, or sign, or thunder, gives reply ; 
 I hear the dragging chain, whose iron rings 
 Already bind your princes and your kings : 
 And see, ere yet the closing battle bleeds. 
 In haste the British standard-flag recedes ; 
 Yet every phalanx as it wheeling turns. 
 Fierce with unsated indignation burns. 
 And moves reluctant while it leaves behind. 
 The cries of woe that follow in the wind. 
 
 Now not to mingle, as would ill beseem, 
 A lighter subject with a mournful theme, 
 I pass the glorious actions of king Tom,* 
 And all that else was done in Christendom, 
 And from his shut-up shop I gladly turn. 
 To what at present is ray grand concern. 
 
 In the vast mass of life, a puny elf, 
 A shrimp, an atom, I may deem myself; 
 Yet even I have duties to fulfil. 
 And there are joys that pass my cottage fill ; 
 I travel weekly over hill and dale, 
 A trusty messenger, that must not fail ; 
 The summer melts me with its burning heat. 
 With snow the winter chills my weary feet, 
 
 • The head of the Frencli Yaxty in America, wtU known there under this appellation. 
 
ADDRESSES. 1 ;)9 
 
 And many a mile behind, is Derby town. 
 
 Ere at my journey's end I sit me down : 
 
 Thus week by week, while twice twelve years have rolFd 
 
 My task returning, now it finds me old. 
 
 But not deserted : — ev'ry closing year. 
 
 Your bounty came my homely hearth to cheer ; 
 
 Still on your christmas gifts I must depend. 
 
 And trust you'll prove again the Newsman's friend. 
 
 ADDRESS FOR 1810. 
 
 Winter, dark sleepy winter ! can thine ear 
 
 The melody of verse be charm'd to hear ? 
 
 Thou who dost all the warbling groves benumb. 
 
 And bidst the pleasant water-streams lie dumb .'' 
 
 The rolling rivers, bound in icy chains. 
 
 In silence pass through the deserted plains ; 
 
 And fields of ice, and mountains, choke the sound 
 
 Of ocean heaving from his deeps profound. 
 
 When heav'n's fair face thy gloomy vapour shrouds. 
 
 No thunder breaks the silence of the clouds ; 
 
 Noiseless their snow descends, a covering deep. 
 
 Like a broad mantle on the bed of sleep ; 
 
 Till undisturbed torpor holds her reign 
 
 O'er the mute earth, blank sky, and frozen main. 
 
 While to this slumber weary nature yields. 
 And winter keeps the sabbath of the fields. 
 
J 40 ADDRESSES. 
 
 With song I cheer the vigils of the night. 
 
 Pursue the meteors in their changing flight. 
 
 And watch the bright'ning atmosphere disclose 
 
 The sun arising on the virgin snows. 
 
 Following the shepherd, the delighted muse 
 
 Enjoys the beauty of the mountain views 
 
 Through the clear day ; and when the night returns. 
 
 And the stars haste to light their golden urns. 
 
 Her track adown the quiet vale proceeds. 
 
 Whither his flock the gentle shepherd leads. 
 
 How beautiful is night ! in still repose 
 
 The sheep are couch'd beside the drifted snows ; 
 
 In softest hue appears the mountain scene. 
 
 In deeper blue the starry cope serene ; 
 
 Around, so pure a white o'er all things spread. 
 
 The very ground seems holy as we tread. 
 
 Thus feasted with magnificence of light. 
 With glories of the day and of the night. 
 The muse retiring at the hour of rest. 
 Lifts up her orison among the blest. 
 And wakes the rapturous lay which rose to heaven. 
 When Milton's song from Cowper's lips was given : 
 *' These are thy glorious v/orks, thou Source of good ; 
 " How dimly seen, how faintly understood ! 
 '' Thine, and upheld by thy paternal care, 
 " This universal frame, thus wondrous fair !" 
 
 What dreams employ the muse ; it seems to me. 
 This is the ancient land of chivalry ; 
 I see a knight, like one of old romance ; 
 On a white couch he lies in wondrous trance. 
 
ADDRESSES. 1 4 1 
 
 And, glimmering to the moon, his glassy shield 
 
 Beside him lies extended on the field. 
 
 His frame, his limbs, might own a giant's strength ; 
 
 But stiff and motionless are stretch'd at length : 
 
 His flesh is colder than the gripe of death. 
 
 And cold and thick returns his silent breath. 
 
 The only sign of life, save that his eye 
 
 At times is feebly open'd to the sky. 
 
 A damsel weeping at his feet is seen ; 
 
 A stole of mourning hides her dress of green ; 
 
 For lo, the hour the charm should break is past. 
 
 And still the stern enchantment holds him fast. 
 
 O daughter, cease to weep, refrain those tears. 
 Though lovely as the pearls the snow-drop wears ; 
 Soon shall thy knight, to pristine vigor freed^ 
 Remount again his heavy-tramping steed. 
 Ride with the tempest through the crashing woods. 
 Stem the deep tide of inundating floods ; 
 Leap w ith the cataract, nor stay his force. 
 Nor check the fury of his headlong course. 
 Till he fulfil his promis'd boon, and bring 
 Home to her beauteous isle the w^elcome spring. 
 
 The dream and the enchantment fled, the muse. 
 Awake to real life, her theme pursues. 
 When, Derby, thy majestic fane, within 
 Rejoicing echoed to the sacred din 
 Of Handel's music, glorious was the sound : 
 The starry chain of lamps that shone around, 
 Charm'd less the audience, than the varying strain. 
 Now loud, now soft, triumphal loud again. — ■ 
 
142 ADDRESSES. 
 
 The song of Bartleman : he from his lips 
 
 Pours the full volume of a voice that dips 
 
 To music's deepest tones, a bass sublime. 
 
 The song of Harrison : in softest chime. 
 
 Its chasten'd flow regales the classic ear^ 
 
 Like mossy fountains musically clear. 
 
 IMore sweet Biancha's silver notes, till drown'd 
 
 By the full choir in majesty of sound. 
 
 When the grand chorus sang the glorious ire 
 
 That mingled hailstones with avenging fire. 
 
 But when the beauteous Catalani sung. 
 
 Angelic music on a mortal's tongue 
 
 So loudly sweetly trembled into air. 
 
 Might nothing earthly with her voice compare. 
 
 The seraph, charity, at whose behest 
 
 Arose yon princely pile for the distrest. 
 
 On their behalf rejoic'd amid the throng. 
 
 And gave diviner pathos to the song. 
 
 O for that voice, a requiem to sing 
 O'er the beloved daughter of a king ! 
 So haply might the royal mourner find 
 Alleviation to his tortur'd mind ; 
 And, won to listen, by the holy psalm 
 Be comforted into a pious calm : 
 Like Saul of old, whose evil spirit fled. 
 By David's melody discomfited ; — 
 Howling he went, to him gave anguish sharp 
 The sweet refreshing music of the harp. 
 
 While thus proceeding with my annual task. 
 Why is my strain so serious^ do you ask ? 
 
ADDRESSES. 148 
 
 Why do I slum with glee to intermix 
 
 The themes of victory and politics ? 
 
 Alas, how can my tongue be fram'd to mirth. 
 
 Amidst the general gloom tliat shades the earth : 
 
 Ev'n England's sun of glory, though not down. 
 
 Awhile eclisp'd, in darkness leaves the crown ; 
 
 The beast that feeds on human woe lives still. 
 
 And Europe suffers at his cruel will ; 
 
 How then can wit indulge a sprightly tune : 
 
 Humour on these sad themes must prove jejune ; 
 
 No, rather with a serious solemn brow. 
 
 Ladies and gentlemen, to you I bow. 
 
 And trust my gravity will not the less 
 
 Move you to favor kindly my address ; 
 
 Thankful for all the gifts of former times, 
 
 I now once more present ray christmas rhymes. 
 
 ADDRESS FOR 1811. 
 
 Come saddle thy hy|)pogriff bold-hearted muse. 
 
 And take up behind thee the m.an with the news. 
 
 Away let us sally like Sadler's balloon, 
 
 On a patriot excursion to visit the moon. 
 
 To ask of the oracle there to be seen. 
 
 What things shall succeed to the things that have been. 
 
144 ADDRESSES. 
 
 From Derby to Sheffield my feet know the track. 
 
 But now noble Pegasus lends me his back ; 
 
 From the ground with a bound hke an eagle he springs. 
 
 Like the sweep of a windmill the stroke of his wings ; 
 
 Adieu to the steeples and tops of the trees. 
 
 On the wing, on the gallop, we rise on the breeze ; 
 
 Through the dew-drops and rain-drops that spangle his mane. 
 
 Mid hailstones and snow-flakes he bears on the rein. 
 
 Ye wild-geese that travel in figures the sky. 
 
 Still changing the figure as higher ye fly ; 
 
 Ye have serv'd as the mile-stones from one up to seven. 
 
 To measure the height we have reached in heaven ; 
 
 But now we must leave yovi, the earth is your home. 
 
 And further ye will not adventure to roam ; 
 
 Alone on our journe}^ henceforward we fare. 
 
 Ascending the wild lonely regions of air. 
 
 Now passing the uppermost strata of clouds. 
 
 Grey evening the moon's silver crescent unshrouds. 
 
 And oh ! what a prospect unfolds to its beams ! 
 
 Cloud-mountains and vallies, and mist-rolling streams. 
 
 That curl'd by the zephyrs, or darken'd with storms. 
 
 Are changing for ever their beautiful forms. 
 
 Here in a cloud-cavern, whose light fleecy roof 
 
 Just halos the stars that are trembling aloof, 
 
 A water-spout rises • here stooping his wings. 
 
 The hyppogriff bathes in the smoke of its springs. 
 
 Thus cool'd and refreshed, renevving his speed. 
 
 Through ether's blue regions the broad-winged steed 
 
 Bounds forward again. O wonderful tour ! 
 
 We have pass'd where the flame-winged meteors scour ; 
 
ADDRESSES. 145 
 
 Earth like a parhelion is (hvindled and shorn. 
 Tile moon like a rainbow is rounding her horn. 
 Now the tide of attraction opposing our course. 
 Has set from its ebb with a contrary force ; 
 With an impulse pervading the ocean of space. 
 In a smooth gliding motion it draws us apace. 
 Nor fails, till the griffin alighting has furl'd 
 His sliadowy wings on the satellite world. 
 
 Here, ladies and gentlemen, pray let me paus^, 
 I begin to be stiff in the joints of my jaws. 
 And the time that's expended in tasting your ale. 
 Will none interrupt the events of my tale. 
 'Tis only my bodily carcass you see, 
 Ev'n now the invisible spirit may be 
 Engag'd. in the moon with Apollo's express. 
 To finish the news for the Christmas address. 
 And not to detain you with waiting in vain. 
 Attend while I open my budget again. 
 
 'Twas a wonderful spot where we lighted on ground ; 
 Trees, fountains, and flowers, yea ev'ry thing round. 
 Was strange to the eye, that almost we fear'd 
 A vision illusive was all that appear'd. 
 That still we were wandering the fathomless void ; 
 But soon reassur'd, sweet rest we enjoy 'd. 
 And when a soft slumber our strength had restor'd. 
 We rose and the wonderful region explor'd. 
 But nothing we meet with wherever we roam. 
 Can wean the affection that's fix'd upon home ; 
 The fate of old England, our pati'iot concern. 
 From the man in the moon we were hoping to learn ; 
 
146 ADDRESSES. 
 
 And with three of the minikin pygmies as guides. 
 
 Set out for the place where the Anak resides. 
 
 They warn'd us by signs as we drew near the place^ 
 
 To shun at our peril the sight of his face. 
 
 For the powers of kmacy dwelt in his frown ; 
 
 So beneath the rock Niger we sat ourselves down. 
 
 And waited with patience, not opening our lips. 
 
 Till the darkness came on of a total eclipse ; 
 
 Earth's cloud-girdled planet seera'd sinking in blood ; 
 
 And now in the darkness advancing, we stood 
 
 And call'd on the man in the moon : '^ O thou ! 
 
 That on yon darken'd sphere, with contemplative brow. 
 
 So long hast been gazing, till deep in thy breast 
 
 The wisdom of ages concentred doth rest, 
 
 O hear us, and answer ! though from earth long exil'd. 
 
 Yet remember that once she has call'd thee her child ; 
 
 Let filial affection thy bosom absorb. 
 
 And benignly look down on thy own native orb ; 
 
 She is shaken with battles maintain'd in the cause 
 
 Of humanity, freedom, religion, and laws ; 
 
 For tyranny grasps at the world for his prey. 
 
 And ocean and land are contesting the sway : 
 
 But shall all the nations enslav'd lose their woi:th. 
 
 And one, and one only, be man in the earth ? 
 
 His ambition, if this is permitted, will soon 
 
 Call thee his good brother the king of the moon, 
 
 Britannia will sink, all her glories exil'd. 
 
 And ocean shall mourn o'er his favorite child." 
 
 At the name of Britannia we felt the moon shake ; 
 
 For the oracle started, and answering spake : 
 
ADDRESSES. 147 
 
 *' Forbid it, ye heavens ! yon ocean that rolls 
 Still ebbing and flowing between the two poles. 
 His might shall prevail ! lo, as this I divine, 
 'Tis confirm'd in the skies with a wonderful sign : 
 That comet whose splendor illumines the west. 
 Presents the prince regent its feathery crest ; 
 Proclaims him the sovereign that rules on the waves. 
 And he and his Britons shall never be slaves." 
 Here ceas'd the response, which with tremors we heard ; 
 Then mounting in haste on our four-footed bird. 
 Were soon out of sight ; — and, gentlemen, now, 
 I am glad at your door to be making my bow, 
 Return'd with good news to enliven your feast. 
 Now doubly confirm'd by the news from the east. 
 If the world to a quarter'd mince-pie we compare. 
 Three quarters are yours, of the fourth you've a share ; 
 A slice where the dollars or tokens are current. 
 Would relish the best with your grateful News-errant. 
 
 ADDRESS FOR 1812. 
 
 Hark, 'tis the Newsman's horn that sounds ! 
 
 Every week he winds his blast. 
 
 But when fifty weeks are past 
 And he goes his christmas rovmds. 
 Then with memer glee it sounds. 
 
148 ADDRESSES. 
 
 In the days of chivalry. 
 
 When the errant knights did ride 
 On adventures far and wide. 
 
 All for love and loyalty ; 
 Oft the music of the horn. 
 Echoing through some forest lorn. 
 
 Led their footsteps, till their quest 
 Ended in the festive halls. 
 Within some castle's gothic walls. 
 
 Whose lord with welcome greeted ev'ry guest. 
 
 The Frenchman's castle 
 
 Was the Bastile ; 
 But ev'ry house and cottage 
 Where John Bull eats his pottage. 
 
 He proudly looks around, and calls 
 
 His law-defenced castle walls : 
 And here, before the hospitable gates. 
 Behold the Derby Newsman himibly waits. 
 
 Ho ! Peter, Bob, or Jane, or Jackey, 
 Dwarf, squire, or page, or maid, or lacquey. 
 Go ask your chief to give me shelter 
 From the storm's uncommon pelter 
 That beats upon me helter-skelter ; 
 
 And, if you please, a horn of ale 
 Will ope my mouth, in words uncouth. 
 
 To entertain you with a tale. 
 And now I'm seated in your kitchen. 
 Don't think you've let a wicked witch in, 
 I'll show you I'm a sage magician. 
 
ADDRESSES. 149 
 
 Who by my occult art 
 
 Have scann'd the fate of Buonaparte : 
 
 For with the muses' telescope 
 
 I've seen and read his horoscope. 
 
 And cast his dark nativity. 
 
 And darker destiny. 
 
 You all remember, that last year 
 A mighty comet did appear ; 
 
 Every night it rear'd its crest 
 
 Like a giant's in the west. 
 And ever seem'd to cast an angry glare 
 Tow'rd the constellation of the bear ; 
 Nay, so furious its splenetic ire. 
 It constantly was breathing fire. 
 
 This comet's orbit, you must know 
 
 Is shapen like a trumpet bow ; 
 
 Curv'd at each end, but all the middle 
 
 Straight as the bow that sounds a fiddle ; 
 
 When to one end the orb is shot. 
 
 It meets a climate burning hot ; 
 
 (For there the eccentric curve doth run 
 
 Almost in contact with the sun.) 
 
 But to the other end when roU'd, 
 
 The climate proves intensely cold ; 
 
 (For there the sun is out of sight 
 
 And all is dark and dreary night :) 
 
 Thus in aphelion or perhelion as it turns. 
 
 Alternately the comet starves and burns. 
 
 M 
 
150 ADDRESSES. 
 
 Whosoever hath eyes. 
 
 Will mark what he spies ; 
 
 Whosoever hath ears. 
 
 Must mind what he Iiears : 
 Else, in vain I trace the lines. 
 Of these astrologic signs. 
 
 This orbit of elliptic girth, 
 
 Is link'd to one that's drawn on earth ; 
 
 And within this magic chain, 
 
 A potent spirit holds his reign. 
 
 Buonaparte ! dreadful name. 
 
 Comet of infernal flame ! 
 
 From his dark aphelion he 
 
 Sprang out of obscurity. 
 
 Rising with malignant sway. 
 Onwards as he did prevail. 
 Mighty armies form'd his tail. 
 
 Spreading far its vast array. 
 O'er the region of the poles 
 Fierce th' imperial meteor rolls ; 
 A thousand battles' funeral pyres 
 Have fed its salamander fires ; 
 And fire, and blood, and smoking wrack, 
 Marks its desolating track. 
 
 Tremble, city of the Czars ! 
 
 Now is come thine evil day ; 
 What avail thy guardian stars, 
 
 To turn those fiery wheels aM'ay ? 
 
ADDRESSES. 151 
 
 The Tyrant still ambitious climbs 
 The high perhelion of his crimes — - 
 Lo the mighty city burns ! 
 
 Round the pyramid of flame. 
 See th' imperial chariot turns. 
 
 Returning by the way it came. 
 
 For now a starry light has broke. 
 Emerging from the clouds of smoke : 
 Above the north's imperial chair, 
 Tlie constellation of tJie bear 
 
 Ascendant rises through the gloom ; 
 The tyrant sees, and flies to shun his threaten'd doom. 
 
 Flies, but his diminish'd train 
 Has join'd the number of the slain. 
 
 Or follows at the victor's heels. 
 A PoAver beyond his arm's controlling. 
 
 Now the bridled despot feels ; 
 Victory, like a torrent rolling. 
 
 Overtakes his flying wheels. 
 And hark ! the Cossack's di-eadful howl ! 
 
 Famine's icy scowl. 
 Globes of hail, snow- sheeted drifts. 
 Which the dizzy whirlwind lifts. 
 And winter's dark and haunted night, 
 With dreams of ghosts in murder'd plight, 
 Wait--«-to intercept his flight. 
 
152 ADDRESSES. 
 
 Here I break off the story ; 
 
 A tale of better news 
 I never laid before ye. 
 
 Since I have walk'd in shoes. 
 
 The fortune of tliis Nero, 
 Has taken up my time. 
 
 Else England has a hero. 
 Deserves a nobler rhyme. 
 
 But now I cannot spare it 
 
 To any but myself j 
 For if I do not share it, 
 
 I risk my christmas pelf. 
 
 And surely I am never 
 
 So fill'd with fancy's pranks. 
 
 But for my patron's gifts I'll ever 
 Make room with warmest thanks. 
 
 THE END. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 TOUR OF THE DOVE, 1 
 
 Notes to the Tour of the Dove, 57 
 
 Lines written for Valentine day, 81 
 
 Lines in commemoration of a Child, 86 
 
 Ode to Liberty, 91 
 
 Matlock Bath, a fragment, 96 
 
 INSCRIPTIONS. 
 
 On a Statue removed &c, 98 
 
 On a thunder-stricken Tree, , 100 
 
 On a Statue, 101 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 To S. T. Coleridge, Esq, 102 
 
 To Joanna Sophia Lister, 103 
 
 To AprU, 104 
 
 On Easter, 105 
 
 Composed on passing by the Cloudhill, IOC 
 
 On the Erection of Darley Church, 107 
 
 On the FaU of Darley Grove, 108 
 
 NEWSMAN'S ADDRESSES. 
 
 For the year 1802, Ill 
 
 1803, 116 
 
 1805, 121 
 
 1806, 126 
 
 1807, 130 
 
 1808, 134 
 
 1810, 139 
 
 1811, 143 
 
 1812, 147 
 
630 
 
 Pimtta by lUchardson and UcUidlbid, 
 Mai-i.et-I!ace, Derby. 
 

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