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KA R L. Most certainly. Benedict. Then these are things so near, That I might pardon one who hesitates, Doubting between them. But the Crop and Child ! They are so opposite, that I should look Sooner to hear the Frog teach harmony, Than meet a man, with hairs so grey as thine, Who did not know the difference. KARL. Benedict The oldest, ere he die, something might learn; And I shall hear, gladly, the certain marks That show the Killcrop. benedict. Father, listen then— The Killcrop, mark me, for a true man's child At first might be mistaken—has two eyes And nose and mouth, but these are semblances Deceitful, and, as Father Luther says, There's something underneath. KA al. Good Benedict! If Killcrops look like children, by what power Know you they are not? benedict. This from you, old Father! Why when they are pinch'd they squeak. KA R L. This is not strange; All children cry when pinch'd. benedict. But then their maws! The veriest company of threshing clowns Would think they had no appetite, compared With this and the rest of 'em.–Gormandizing beast! See how he yawns for food KA R L. But, Benedict! When hunger stings you, don't you ope your mouth? What other evidence? Benedict. Why, Devil-like, When any evil happens, by his grin T will always tell ye, and when tidings good Come near, the beasts of twins delivered, or Corn sold at market, or the harvest in, The raven never croak'd more dismally Before the sick man's window, than this Crep, With disappointment howls. And then, a mark Infallible, that shows the Killcrop true, Is this, old man, he sucks his mother dry 'T was but the other day, in our village, A Killcrop suck'd his mother and five more Dry as a whet-stone. Do you now believe? KA fil. Good Benedict, all children laugh and cry I have my doubts. BENE Dict. Doubts have you? Well-a-day! In tother world you'll sink ten fathoms deeper, I promise you, for this soul heresy. But nothing will move you, you won't be moved. I'll tell ye as true a story as ever man Told to another. I had a Changeling once
— Laid in my cradle, but I spied him out; Thou 'st never seen a creature so foul-mouth'd And body'd too. But, knowing Satan's drift, I balk'd him: to the lofty Church that stands Over yon river, I the Killcrop took, To ask advice, how to dispose of him, Of th’ holy Pastor. When, by the moon on high, (T is true I fear'd him,) as I pass'd the bridge, Bearing him in my arms, he gave a leap, And over the rails jump'd headlong, laughing loud With a fellow-fiend, that, from the waves beneath, Bawl’d—Killcrop Killcrop! KARL. Are you sure he laugh d, Might it not be a cry? penedict. Why' that it might; I won't be certain, but that he jump'd over And splash'd and dash'd into the water beneath, Making fierce gestures and loud bellowings: I could as soon a witch's innocence Believe, as doubt it. KA R L. Benedict, now say, Didst thou not throw him over? ee N edict. Throw him over ! Why, man, I could as easily have held A struggling whale. It needed iron arms To hold the monster. Doubt whateer you will, He surely laugh d. And when he reach'd the water, Grasping the fiend, I never shall forget The cries, the yells, the shouts; it seem'd to me That thunder was doves cooing to the noise These killcrops made, as, splashing, roaring, laughing, With their ha, ha, ha, so ominous! they rush d Down the broad stream.—That very night our cow Sicken'd and died. Saints aid us! Whilst these Crops Poison the air, they'll have enough to do To stay the pestilence. KA R L. But, Benedict, Be not outrageous! I am old, dye see; Trust me, thou art mistaken; t is no Killcrop : See how he smiles! Poor infant: give him me. BEN Edict. Stand off The Devil lent him, and again I will return him honestly, and rid Earth of one bane. RAR L. Thou dost not mean to kill Poor infant, spare him I have young and old, The poor, a houseful, yet I'll not refuse To take one more, if thou wilt give him me. Let me persuade. ben Edict. Away! I say, away! Even if an Angel came to beg him of me, I should suspect imposture, for I know He could not ask a Killcrop. Tis a thing Heaven hath no need of. Ere an hour be past, From yon tall rock I'll hurl him to perdition. K.A.R.L. Oh, spare the infant! Spare My cold creeping blood
Repeat it not!
Doth boil with indignation, at the thought
Scene.—Holland. TIME, during the Government of the Duke of Alva.
Endure in silence! suffer with beast patience
Nay—an it please you,
Rail on, rail on! and when the rod of power
And what has followed 7
KLAus. I saw him in his dungeon: "t is a place where the hell-haunted Murderer might almost Rejoice to hear the hangman summon him. By day he may divert his solitude With watching through the grate the snow-flakes fall, Or counting the long icicles above him; Or he may trace upon the ice-glazed wall Lines of most brave sedition! and at night The frosty moon-beam for his meditation Lends light enough. He told me that his feet were ulcered with the biting cold.—I would Thou hadst been with me, Ellis.
But does Philip
Command these things, or knowingly permit
He served his country, and his country paid him
Six months they stretch'd him on the rack of hope,
I would I were in England!
ki, Aus. Aye, get thee home again! you islanders Live under such good laws, so mild a sway, That you are no more fit to dwell abroad Than a doting mother's favourite to endure His first school hardships. We in Holland here Know't is as idle to exclaim against These state oppressions, as with childish tears To weep in the stone, or any other curse Wherewith God's wrath afflicts us. And for struggling, Why't would be like an idiot in the gout Stamping for pain'
FUNERAL SONG Fon. The PRiMcESS CHARLOTTE OF wales.
In its summer pride arrayed,
Ye whose relics rest around, Tenants of this funeral ground ! Know ye, Spirits, who is come, By immitigable doom Summoned to the untimely tomb 1 Late with youth and splendour crown'd, Late in beauty's vernal bloom, Late with love and joyaunce blest; Never more lamented guest Was in Windsor laid to rest.
Henry, thou of saintly worth, Thou, to whom thy windsor gave Nativity, and name, and grave; Thou art in this hallowed earth Cradled for the immortal birth. Heavily upon his head Ancestral crimes were visited. He, in spirit like a child, Meek of heart and undefiled, Patiently his crown resigned, And fixed on heaven his heavenly mind, Blessing, while he kiss'd the rod, His Redeemer and his God. Now may he in realms of bliss Greet a soul as pure as his.
Passive as that humble spirit, Lies his bold dethroner too; A dreadful debt did he inherit To his injured lineage due; ill-starred Prince, whose martial merit His own England long might rue!
Mournful was that Edward's fame,
Thou, Elizabeth, art here : Thou to whom all griefs were known: Thou wert placed upon the bier In happier hour than on the throne. Fatal Daughter, fatal Mother, Raised to that ill-omen'd station, Father, uncle, sons, and brother, Mourn'd in blood her elevation; Woodville, in the realms of bliss, To thine offspring thou mayst say, Early death is happiness; And favour'd in their lòt are they Who are not left to learn below That length of life is length of woe. Lightly let this ground be prest; A broken heart is here at rest.
But thou, Seymour, with a greeting, Such as sisters use at meeting; Joy, and Sympathy, and love, Wilt hail her in the seats above. Like in loveliness were ye, By a like lamented doom, Hurried to an early tomb; While together spirits blest, Here your earthly relics rest. Fellow angels shall ye be In the angelic company.
Henry, too, hath here his part; At the gentle Seymour's side, With his best beloved bride, Cold and quiet, here are laid The ashes of that fiery heart. Not with his tyrannic spirit, Shall our Charlotte's soul inherit; No, by Fisher's hoary head, By More, the learned and the good, By Katharine's wrongs and Boleyn's blood, ly the life so basely shed
FT of the bride of Norfolk's line, * By the axé so often red, By the fire with martyr. fed, Hateful Henry, not with thee May her happy spirit be!
And here lies one, whose tragic name A reverential thought may claim; The murdered monarch, whom the grave, Revealing its long secret, gave Again to sight, that we might spy
* His comely face, and waking eye;
There, thrice fifty years, it lay,
Ye, whose relics rest around, Tenants of this funeral ground; Even in your immortal spheres, What fresh yearnings will ye feel, When this earthly guest appears! Us she leaves in grief and tears; But to you will she reveal
t Tidings of old England's weal;
Of a righteous war pursued,
One who reverently, for thee, Raised the strain of bridal verse, Flower of Brunswick! mournfully Lays a garland on thy herse.
SCOTLAND. 'AN ODE, witHTTEN AFTER the king's visit to THAT country.
At length hath Scotland seen The presence long desired; The pomp of royalty Her ancient palace desolate how long! From all parts far and near, Highland and lowland, glen and fertile carse, The silent mountain lake, the busy port, Her populous cities, and her pastoral hills, In generous joy convened By the free impulse of the loyal heart, Her sons have gather'd, and beheld their king.
*. Land of the loyal, as in happy hour
A more auspicious union never Earth From eldest days had seen, Than when, their mutual wrongs forgiven, And gallant enmity renounced With honour, as in honour foster'd long, The ancient kingdoms form'd Their everlasting league.
Slowly by time matured, A happier order then for Scotland rose: And where inhuman force And rapine unrestrained Had lorded o'er the land, Peace came, and polity, And quiet industry, and frugal wealth; And there the household virtues fix'd Their sojourn undisturb’d.
Such blessings for her dowry Scotland drew From that benignant union; nor less large The portion that she brought. She brought security and strength, True hearts, and strenuous hands, and noble minds. Say Ocean, from the shores of Camperdown, What Caledonia brought! Say thou, Egypt! Let India tell! And let tell Victory From her Brabantine field, The proudest field of fame !
Speak ye, too, works of peace; For ye too have a voice Which shall be heard by ages! The proud bridge, Through whose broad arches, worthy of their name And place, his risint; and his refluent tide Majestic Thames, the royal river, rolls! And that which, high in air, A bending line suspended, shall o'erhang Menai's Straits, as if By Merlin's mighty magic there sustain'd. And Pont-Cyssylte, not less wondrous work; Where on gigantic columns raised Aloft, a dizzying height, The laden barge pursues its even way, While o'er his rocky channel the dark Dee Hurries below, a raging stream, scarce heard! And that huge mole, whose deep foundations, firm As if by Nature laid, Repel the assailing billows, and protect The British fleet, securely riding there, Though southern storms possess the sea and sky, And from its depths commoved, Infuriate ocean raves. Ye stately monuments of Britain's power, Bear record ye, what Scottish minds Have plann d and perfected! With grateful wonder shall posterity
See the stupendous works, and Rennie's name And Telford's shall survive, till time Leave not a wreck of sublunary things.
Him too may I attest for Scotland's praise, Who seized and wielded first The mightiest element That lies within the scope of man's control; Of evil and of good Prolific spring, and dimly yet discern'd The immeasureable results. The mariner no longer seeks Wings from the wind; creating now the power Wherewith he wins his way, light on across the ocean-flood, he steers Against opposing skies; And reaching now the inmost continent, Up rapid streams, innavigable else,
Ascends with steady progress, self-propell’d.
Nor hath the sister kingdom borne, In science, and in arms Alone, her noble part; There is an empire which survives The wreck of thrones, the overthrow of realms, The downfall, and decay, and death Of nations. Such an empire in the mind Of intellectual man Rome yet maintains, and elder Greece; and such By indefeasible right Hath Britain made her own. How fair a part doth Caledonia claim In that fair conquest! Whereso'er The British tongue may spread, (A goodly tree, whose leaf No winter eer shall nip:) Earthly immortals, there, her sons of fame, Will have their heritage; In eastern and in occidental Ind; The new antarctic world, where sable swans Glide upon waters, called by British names, And plough’d by British keels; In vast America, through all its length And breadth, from Massachusett's populous coast To western Oregan ; And from the southern gulf, Where the great river with his turbid flood Stains the green ocean, to the polar sea.
There nations yet unborn shall trace In Hume's perspicuous page, How Britain rose, and through what storms attain'd Her eminence of power. In other climates, youths and maidens there Shall learn from Thomson's verse in what attire The various seasons, bringing in their change Variety of good, Revisit their beloved English ground. There Beattie! in thy sweet and soothing strain Shall youthful poets read Their own emotions. There too, old and young, Gentle and simple, by Sir Walter's tales Spell-bound, shall feel Imaginary hopes and fears Stroug as realities, And, waking from the dream, regret its close.
These Scotland are thy glories; and thy praise
G House of Stuart, to thy memory still For this best benefit Should British hearts in gratitude be bound! A deeper tragedy Than thine unhappy tale hath never fill'd The historic page, nor given Poet or moralist his mournful theme ! O House severely tried, And in prosperity alone Found wanting; Time hath closed Thy tragic story now ! Errors and virtues fatally betrayed, Magnanimous suffering, vice, Weakness, and headstrong zeal, sincere though blind, Wrongs, calumnies, heart wounds, . Religious resignation, earthly hopes, Fears and affections, these have had their course, And over them in peace The all-engulfing stream of years hath closed, But this good work endures, 'Stablish'd and perfected by length of days, The indissoluble union stands.
Nor hath the sceptre from that line Departed, though the name hath lost Its regal honours. Trunk and root have failed: A scion from the stock Liveth and flourishesh. It is the Tree Beneath whose sacred shade, In majesty and peaceful power serene, The Island Queen of Ocean hath her seat; Whose branches far and near Extend their sure protection; whose strong roots Are with the isle's foundations interknit; Whose stately summit when the storm careers Below, abides unmoved, Safe in the sunshine and the peace of Heaven!
A SOLDIER'S EPITAPH.
Steep is the soldier's path; nor are the heights
Such fate was mine.—The standard of the Buffs I bore at Albuhera, on that day When, covered by a shower, and fatally For friends misdeemed, the Polish lancers fell Upon our rear. Surrounding me, they claimed My precious charge —s Not but with life!” I cried, And life was given for immortality! The flag which to my heart I held, when wet With that heart's blood, was soon victoriously Regained on that great day. In former times, Marlborough beheld it borne at Ramillies;
Mysterious are the ways of Providence;—