"This pippin shall another trial make, See from the core two kernels brown I take; This on my cheek for Lubberkin is worn; And Boobyclod on t' other side is borne. But Boobyclod soon drops upon the ground, A certain token that his love's unsound; While Lubberkin sticks firmly to the last; Oh, were his lips to mine but join'd so fast! From the tall elm a shower of leaves is borne, 100 And their lost beauty riven beeches mourn. 'With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' 110 "As Lubberkin once slept beneath a tree, I twitch'd his dangling garter from his knee. He wist not when the hempen string I drew, Now mine I quickly doff, of inkle blue. Together fast I tie the garters twain; And while I knit the knot repeat this strain: Three times a true-love's knot I tie secure, Firm be the knot, firm may his love endure!' 'With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' 120 "As I was wont, I trudg'd last market-day To town, with new-laid eggs preserv'd in hay, I made my market long before 'twas night, My purse grew heavy, and my basket light. Straight to the 'pothecary's shop I went, And in love-powder all my money spent. Behap what will, next Sunday, after prayers, When to the alehouse Lubberkin repairs, These golden flies into his mug I'll throw, And soon the swain with fervent love shall glow. With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.' Is Blouzelinda dead? farewell, my glee! As the wood-pigeon cooes without his mate, "But hold!—our Lightfoot barks, and cocks his ears, O'er yonder stile see Lubberkin appears. 30 Henceforth the morn shall dewy sorrow shed, And evening tears upon the grass be spread; The rolling streams with watery grief shall flow, And winds shall moan aloud-when loud they blow. Henceforth, as oft as Autumn shall return, The drooping trees, whene'er it rains, shall mourn; The season quite shall strip the country's pride, For 'twas in Autumn Blouzelinda died. 40 Where'er I gad, I Blouzelind shall view, Woods, dairy, barn, and mows, our passion knew, When I direct my eyes to yonder wood, Fresh rising sorrow curdles in my blood. Thither I've often been the damsel's guide, When rotten sticks our fuel have supplied; There I remember how her fagots large Were frequently these happy shoulders' charge. Sometimes this crook drew hazel-boughs adown, And stuff'd her apron wide with nuts so brown; 50 Or when her feeding hogs had miss'd their way, Or wallowing 'mid a feast of acorns lay; dirige in the popish hymn, dirige gressus meos, as some pretend; but from the Teutonic dyrke, laudare, to praise and extol. Whence it is possible their dyrke, and our dirge, was a laudatory song to commemorate and applaud the dead. Cowell's Interpreter. Ver. 15. Incipe, Mopse, prior, si quos aut Phyllidis ignes Virg. Aut Alconis habes laudes, aut jurgia Codri. *Dirge, or dyrge, a mournful ditty, or song of lamenta. tion, over the dead; .not a contraction of the Latin Virg. Ver. 27. Glee, joy; from the Dutch glooren, to recreate Th' untoward creatures to the sty I drove, 60 When in the barn the sounding flail I ply, Where from her sieve the chaff was wont to fly; 70 The poultry there will seem around to stand, Waiting upon her charitable hand. No succor meet the poultry now can find, GRUBBINOL. Albeit thy songs are sweeter to mine ear, Than to the thirsty cattle rivers clear; Or winter porridge to the laboring youth, Or buns and sugar to the damsel's tooth; Yet Blouzelinda's name shall tune my lay, Of her I'll sing for ever and for aye. 90 When Blouzelind expir'd, the wether's bell Before the drooping flock toll'd forth her knell; 100 The solemn death-watch click'd the hour she died, And shrilling crickets in the chimney cried! The boding raven on her cottage sate, 120 "Mother," quoth she, "let not the poultry need. And give the goose wherewith to raise her breed: Be these my sister's care-and every morn Amid the ducklings let her scatter corn; The sickly calf that's hous'd be sure to tend, Feed him with milk, and from bleak colds defend. Yet ere I die see, mother, yonder shelf, There secretly I've hid my worldly pelf. Twenty good shillings in a rag I laid; Be ten the parson's, for my sermon paid. The rest is yours-my spinning-wheel and rake Let Susan keep for her dear sister's sake; My new straw hat, that's trimly lin'd with green, Let Peggy wear, for she's a damsel clean. My leathern bottle, long in harvests tried, Be Grubbinol's-this silver ring beside: Three silver pennies, and a nine-pence bent, A token kind to Bumkinet is sent." Thus spoke the maiden, while the mother cried; And peaceful, like the harmless lamb, she died. 130 To show their love, the neighbors far and near Follow'd with wistful look the damsel's bier. Sprig'd rosemary the lads and lasses bore, While dismally the parson walk'd before. Upon her grave the rosemary they threw, The daisy, butter-flower, and endive blue. After the good man warn'd us from his text, 139 That none could tell whose turn would be the next; He said, that Heaven would take her soul, no doubt, And spoke the hour-glass in her praise quite out. 66 Excessive sorrow is exceeding dry." While bulls bear horns upon their curled brow, Or lasses with soft strokings milk the cow; While paddling ducks the standing lake desire, Or battening hogs roll in the sinking mire; While moles the crumbled earth in hillocks raise; So long shall swains tell Blauzelinda's praise. Thus wail'd the louts in melancholy strain, Till bonny Susan sped across the plain. They seiz'd the lass in apron clean array'd, And to the ale-house forc'd the willing maid; In ale and kisses they forget their cares, And Susan Blouzelinda's loss repairs. 160 Ver. 153. Dum juga montis aper, fluvios dum piscis amabit, Dumque thymo pascentur apes, dum rore cicada, Semper honos, nomenque tuum, laudesque manebunt. Virg. SATURDAY; OR, THE FLIGHTS. BOWZYBEUS. SUBLIMER strains, O rustic Muse! prepare ; For owls, as swains observe, detest the light, 30 Ah, Bowzybee, why didst thou stay so long? The mugs were large, the drink was wond'rous strong! Thou shouldst have left the fair before 'twas night; "To you, my lads, I'll sing my carols o'er, 40 50 For Buxom Joan he sung the doubtful strife, 100 When, starting from her silver dream, She, sprawling in the yellow road, Rail'd, swore, and curs'd: "Thou croaking toad, "Dame," quoth the Raven, "spare your oaths FABLE. THE FARMER'S WIFE AND THE RAVEN. "WHY are those tears? why droops your head? Betwixt her swagging panniers' load FABLE. THE TURKEY AND THE ANT. In other men we faults can spy, A Turkey, tir'd of common food, "Draw near, my birds! the mother cries, This hill delicious fare supplies; Behold the busy negro race, See millions blacken all the place! Of the seven deadly sins the worst." An Ant, who climb'd beyond his reach, Thus answer'd from the neighboring beech: Ere you remark another's sin, Nor for a breakfast nations kill." Bid thy own conscience look within; Control thy more voracious bill, 2 B 2 MATTHEW GREEN. MATTHEW GREEN, a truly original poet, was born, is further attested, that he was a man of great probably at London, in 1696. His parents were re- probity and sweetness of disposition, and that his spectable Dissenters, who brought him up within conversation abounded with wit, but of the most inthe limits of the sect. His learning was confined to offensive kind. He seems to have been subject to a little Latin; but, from the frequency of his clas- low-spirits, as a relief from which he composed his sical allusions, it may be concluded that what he principal poem, "The Spleen." He passed his read when young, he did not forget. The austerity life in celibacy, and died in 1737, at the early age in which he was educated had the effect of inspiring of forty-one, in lodgings in Gracechurch-street. him with settled disgust; and he fled from the The poems of Green, which were not made pubgloom of dissenting worship when he was no longer lic till after his death, consist of "The Spleen;" Verses on Barclay's Apology;" compelled to attend it. Thus set loose from the "The Grotto;" opinions of his youth, he speculated very freely "The Seeker," and some smaller pieces, all comon religious topics, and at length adopted the sys-prised in a small volume. In manner and subject tem of outward compliance with established forms, they are some of the most original in our language. and inward laxity of belief. He seems at one They rank among the easy and familiar, but are time to have been much inclined to the principles replete with uncommon thoughts, new and striking of Quakerism; but he found that its practice would not agree with one who lived "by pulling off the hat." We find that he had obtained a place in the Custom-house, the duties of which he is said to have discharged with great diligence and fidelity. It images, and those associations of remote ideas by some unexpected similitudes, in which wit principally consists. Few poems will bear more repeated perusals; and, with those who can fully enter into them, they do not fail to become favorites. THE SPLEEN.* 'AN EPISTLE TO MR. CUTHBERT JACKSON. THIS motley piece to you I send, The want of method pray excuse, The child is genuine, you may trace "In this poem," Mr. Melmoth says, "there are more original thoughts thrown together than he had ever read in the same compass of lines." † Gildon's Art of Poetry. School-helps I want, to climb on high, First know, my friend, 1 do not mean † A painted vest Prince Vortiger had on, § James More Smith, Esq. See Dunciad, B. ii. 1. 50. and FITZOSBORNE's Letters, p. 114. the notes, where the circumstances of the transaction here alluded to are very fully explained. |