See here a malkin, there a sheet
As spotless, pure, as it is sweet;
The horses, mares, and frisking fillies,
Clad all in linen white as lilies:
The harvest swains and wenches bound
For joy to see the hock-cart crowned:
About the cart, hear, how the rout
Of rural younglings raise the shout,
Pressing before, some coming after,
Those with a shout, and these with laughter:
Some bless the cart, some kiss the sheaves,
Some prank them up with oaken leaves;
Some cross the thill-horse, some with great
Devotion stroke the home-borne wheat,
While other rustics, less attent

To prayers than to merriment,

Run after with their breeches rent.
Well, on, brave boys, to your lord's hearth
Glittering with fire; where, for your mirth,
Ye shall see first the large and chief
Foundation of your feast, fat beef;
With upper stories, mutton, veal,
And bacon, which makes full the meal;
With several dishes standing by,
As here a custard, there a pie,
And here all tempting frumenty:
And, for to make the merry cheer,
If smirking wine be wanting here,

There's that which drowns all care, stout beer;
Which freely drink to your lord's health,
Then to the plough the commonwealth;
Next to your flails, your fanes, your fats,
Then to the maids with wheaten hats,
To the rough sickle, and crook'd sithe,
Drink, frolic boys, till all be blithe:

Feed and grow fat; and, as ye eat,
Be mindful that the labouring neat,
As you, may have their fill of meat:
And know, besides, ye must revoke
The patient ox unto the yoke;

And go back unto the plough

And harrow, though they're hanged up now:
And ye must know your lord's word's true,
Feed him ye must, whose food fills you:'
And that this pleasure is like rain,
Not sent ye for to drown your pain,
But for to make it spring again.

HERRICK.

THE

GAMEKEEPER'S RETURN AT NIGHT.

THROUGH the long morning have I toil'd
O'er heath and lonely wood,

And cross the dark untrodden glen

The fearful game pursued:

But deeper now the gathering clouds
Collect along the sky,

And, faint and weary, warn my steps
Their homeward course to hie.

And now the driving mist withdraws
Her gray and vapoury veil;
I mark again the sacred tower
I passed in yonder dale:
A little while and I shall gain
Yon hill's laborious height;
And then, perhaps, my humble cot
Will cheer my grateful sight!

Ah, now I see the smoke ascend

From forth the glimmering thatch; Now my heart beats at every step;

And now I lift the latch;

Now starting from the blazing hearth
My little children bound,

And loud with shrill and clamorous joy

Their happy sire surround.

1

How sweet when night first wraps the world Beneath her sable vest,

To sit beside the crackling fire,

With weary limbs at rest;

And think on all the labours past

That morn's bright hours employ'd;
While all, that toil and danger seem'd,
Is now at home enjoy'd.

The wild and fearful distant scene,
Lone covert, whistling storm,
Seem now in memory's mellowing eye
To wear a softer form;

And while my wanderings I describe,
As froths the nut-brown ale,
My dame and little listening tribe
With wonder hear the tale!

Then soft enchanting slumbers calm
My heavy eyelids close,
And on my humble bed I sink

To most profound repose;

Save that by fits the scenes of day
Come glancing on my sight,

And, touch'd by fancy's magic wand,
Seem visions of delight!

VOL. II.

SIR E. BRYDGES.

PP

SHOOTER'S HILL.

HEALTH! I seek thee!-dost thou love
The mountain top or quiet vale,
Or deign o'er humbler hills to rove

On showery June's dark southwest gale?
If so, I'll meet all blasts that blow,
With silent step, but not forlorn;
Though, goddess, at thy shrine I bow,
And woo thee each returning morn.

I seek thee where with all his might
The joyous bird his rapture tells,
Amidst the half excluded light

That gilds the foxglove's pendent bells;
Where cheerly up this bold hill's side
The deepening groves triumphant climb:
In groves Delight and Peace abides,
And Wisdom marks the lapse of time.

To hide me from the public eye,

To keep the throne of Reason clear,
Amidst fresh air to breathe or die,

I took my staff and wander'd here.
Suppressing every sigh that heaves,
And coveting no wealth but thee,
I nestle in the honied leaves,

And hug my stolen liberty.

O'er eastward uplands, gay or rude,
Along to Erith's ivied spire,

I start, with strength and hope renew'd,
And cherish life's rekindling fire.

Now measure vales with streaming eyes,
Now trace the churchyard's humble names;
Or, climb brown heaths, abrupt that rise,
And overlook the winding Thames.

I love to mark the floweret's eye,
To rest where pebbles form my bed,
Where shapes and colours scatter'd lie
In varying millions round my head.
The soul rejoices when alone,

And feels her glorious empire free;
Sees God in every shining stone,
And revels in variety.

Ah me! perhaps within my sight
Deep in the smiling dales below,
Gigantic talents, Heaven's pure light,
And all the rays of genius glow;
In some lone soul, whom no one sees
With power and will to say arise,'
Or chase away the slow disease,

And Want's foul picture from his eyes.

A worthier man by far than I,

With more of industry and fire,
Shall see fair Virtue's meed pass'd by,
Without one spark of fame expire!
Bleed not, my heart, it will be so,

The throb of care was thine full long;
Rise, like the Psalmist from his woe,
And pour abroad the joyful song.
Sweet health, I seek thee! hither bring
The balm that softens human ills;
Come, on the long-drawn clouds that fling
Their shadow o'er the Surry hills.