Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail,
That idly waiting flaps with ev'ry gale,
Downward they move, a melancholy band,
Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand.
Contented toil, and hospitable care,
And kind connubial tenderness, are there;
And piety with wishes plac'd above,
And steady loyalty, and faithful love.
And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade!
Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame,
To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame;
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried,
My shame in crowds, my solitary pride;
Thou source of all my bliss, and all my wo,
That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so;
Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel,
Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well.
Farewell! and oh! where'er thy voice be tried,
On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side,
Whether where equinoctial fervours glow,
Or winter wraps the polar world in snow,
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,
Redress the rigours of th' inclement clime;
Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain;
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain;
Teach him, that states of native strength possess'd,
Though very poor, may still be very bless'd;
That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay,
As ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away;
While self-dependent pow'r can time defy,·
As rocks resist the billows and the sky.
THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH, A NORTHUMBER
DARK was the night, and wild the storm,
And loud the torrents roar;
And loud the sea was heard to dash
Against the distant shore.
Musing on man's weak hapless state,
The lonely Hermit lay;
When, lo! he heard a female voice
Lament in sore dismay.
With hospitable haste he rose,
And wak'd his sleeping fire;
And, snatching up a lighted brand,
Forth hied the reverend sire.
All sad beneath a neighbouring tree
A beauteous maid he found,
Who beat her breast, and with her tears
Bedew'd the mossy ground.
'O weep not, lady, weep not so;
Nor let vain fears alarm;
My little cell shall shelter thee,
And keep thee safe from harm.'
'It is not for myself I weep,
Nor for myself I fear;
But for my dear and only friend,
Who lately left me here:
And while some sheltering bower he sought Within this lonely wood,
Ah! sore I fear his wandering feet
Have slipp'd in yonder flood.'
'Oh! trust in Heaven,' the Hermit said,
'And to my cell repair;
Doubt not but I shall find thy friend,
And ease thee of thy care.'
Then climbing up his rocky stairs,
He scales the cliff so high;
And calls aloud, and waves his light
To guide the stranger's eye.
Among the thickets long he winds,
With careful steps and slow:
At length a voice return'd his call,
Quick answering from below:
‘O tell me, father, tell me true,
If you have chanc'd to see
A gentle maid, I lately left
Beneath some neighbouring tree:
'But either I have lost the place,
Or she hath gone astray:
And much I fear this fatal stream
Hath snatch'd her hence away.'
'Praise Heaven, my son,' the Hermit said; 'The lady's safe and well:'
And soon he join'd the wandering youth,
And brought him to his cell.
Then well was seen these gentle friends,
They lov'd each other dear:
The youth, he press'd her to his heart;
The maid let fall a tear.
Ah! seldom had their host, I ween,
Beheld so sweet a pair:
The youth was tall, with manly bloom;
She slender, soft, and fair.
The youth was clad in forest green,
With bugle horn so bright:
She in a silken robe and scarf,
Snatch'd up in hasty flight.
'Sit down, my children,' says the Sage;
'Sweet rest your limbs require :'
Then heaps fresh fuel on the hearth,
And mends his little fire.
'Partake,' he said, 'my simple store,
Dried fruits, and milk, and curds;'
And spreading all upon the board,
Invites with kindly words.
$ Thanks, father, for thy bounteous fare? The youthful couple say:
Then frecly ate, and made good cheer,
And talk'd their cares away.
'Now say, my children, (for perchance
My counsel may avail)
What strange adventure brought you here Within this lonely dale ?"
'First tell me, father,' said the youth, (Nor blame mine eager tongue)
'What town is near? What lands are these? And to what lord belong?'
'Alas! my son,' the Hermit said,
"Why do I live to say,
The rightful lord of these domains
Is banish'd far away?
'Ten winters now have shed their snows
On this my lowly hall,
Since valiant Hotspur (so the North
Our youthful lord did call)
"Against Fourth Henry Bolingbroke
Led up his northern powers,
And, stoutly fighting, lost his life
Near proud Salopia's towers.
'One son he left, a lovely boy,
His country's hope and heir;
And, oh! to save him from his foes
It was his grandsire's care.
'In Scotland safe he plac'd the child
Beyond the reach of strife,
Nor long before the brave old earl
At Bramham lost his life.
'And now the Percy name, so long
Our northern pride and boast,
Lies hid, alas! beneath a cloud;
Their honours reft and lost.
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