Away went Gilpin, and away

Went postboy at his heels, The postboy's horse right glad to miss The lumbering of the wheels.

Not one of them was mute;
And all and each that passed that way
Did join in the pursuit.

And now the turnpike gates again
Flew open in short space;

The toll-men thinking, as before,
That Gilpin rode a race.

And so he did, and won it too,
For he got first to town;
Nor stopped till where he had got up
He did again get down.

Now let us sing, Long live the king!
And Gilpin, long live he!

And when he next doth ride abroad
May I be there to see!

330

340

350

Thy morning bounties ere I left my home,
The biscuit, or confectionary plum;
The fragrant waters on my cheek bestowed
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and
glowed;

All this, and more endearing still than all, Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall,

Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and brakes

That humour interposed too often makes;
All this still legible in memory's page,
And still to be so to my latest age,
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay 70
Such honours to thee as my numbers may;
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,
Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed
here.

Could Time, his flight reversed, restore

the hours,

THE POPLAR FIELD

Shoots into port at some well-havened isle,

90

Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons

smile,

There sits quiescent on the floods that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below,

While airs impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay;

So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the shore,

"Where tempests never beat nor billows roar."

And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide

Of life long since has anchored by thy side.

But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, 100 Always from port withheld, always distressed

Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest tost,

Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost,

And day by day some current's thwarting