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THE MONKS OF BANCOWS MARCH. All-.—-Yrttdztitlt Mionge.
Written for Mr George Thomson's Welch Mclotlies.
Ernt-ztato, or Olfrid, King of Nortlmmherland, having besiegcd Chester in 6t3, and lirocltmael, a llritish prince, advancing to relieve it, the religions of the neighbouring monastery of,Bangor marched in procession, to pray for the success of their countrymen. But the British being totally defeated, the heathen victor put the monks to the sword, and destroyed their monastery. The tune to which these verses are adapted, is called the Monks‘ March, and is supposed to have been played at their ill-omened procession.
Warn the heathen trumpet’s clang
0 miserere, Dominel
On the long procession goes,
Glory round their crosses glows,
In their peaceful banner smiled :
0 misemre, Domino !
_ Bands that masses only sung,
O miserere, Domine!
Weltering amid warriors slain,
Spurn’d by steeds witlt bloody mane,
Mass unsung, and bread unhroke;
For their souls for charity,
Sing 0 vtiscrrre, Damine!
Bangor! o'er the murder wail,
' William of llialmesbury says, that in his time the extent of the ruins of the monastery bore ample witness to the desolation occasioned by the Il1Z\S5ilCi‘B;—lklDl, semiruti parietes erclesin--um, tot ttnfractus pot-ticum, tonta tttrhtt rnderumquauutm vi; nlihi reruns.» l The hint of the following tale is taken from La Carriiacia Ma
In the for eastern clime, no great while since,
Of monarch who can amble round his farm,
In chimney-corner seek domestic joys
I love a prince will bid the bottle pass, Exchanging with his subjects glance and glass; In fitting time, can, gayest of the gay,
Keep up the jest and mingle in the lay
Such monarchs best our free-born humours suit, But despots must be stately, stern, and mute.
This Solimaun, Serendih had in sway—
And where's Serendibl may some critic say— Good lack, mine honest friend, consult the chart, Scare not my Pegasus before I start!
If Renncll has it not, you 'll find, mayhnp,
The isle laid down in Captain Sindbad's map,-—
The last edition see by Long. and Co.,
Itces, Hurst, and Orrne, our fathers in the Row.
Screndib found, deem not my tale a fiction-
To raise the spirits and reform thejuices,
In my wife's practice, and perhaps in yours),
l wot not—hut the Sultaun never laugh’d,
In his long list of melancholies, mad,
Or mazed, or dumb, hath Burton none so bad.
Physicians soon arrived, sage, ware, and tried,
it His majesty is very far from well.»
Then each to work with his specific fell :
The Hakim lbmhim instanter brought
His ungueut ltlahazzitn al Zerdukkaut,‘
While Roompot, a practitioner more wily,
ltelied on his Munaskif al lillfily.
More and yet more in deep array appear,
And some the front assail and some the rear!
Their remedies to reinforce and vary,
Came surgeon eke, and eke apothecary;
Till the tired monarch, though of words grown chary,
There lack‘d, I promise you, no longer speeches,
To rid the palace of those learned leeches.
Then was the council call‘d—~by their advice,
The Omrahs,3 each with hand on scymitar,
Gave, like Sempronius, still their voice for war-tt The sabre of the Sttltaun in its sheath
Too long has slept, nor own'd the work of death; Let the Tamhourgi bid his signal rattle,
hang the loud gong, and raise the shout of battle! This dreary cloud that dims our sovereigns day Shall from his kindled bosom flit away,
When the bold Lootie wheels his courser round, And the arm'd elephant shall shake the ground. Each noble pants to own the glorious summons——And for the charges—-Lo! your faithful Commons!» The Riots who attended in their places
(Serendih language calls a farmer Riot)
Look’d rnefully in one another's faces,
From this oration anguring much disquiet,
Or as the whisker'd vermin fear the mousers,
And next came forth the reverend Convocation,
glau, a novel ofGt'nm ttattista Cnsti.
| For these hard words see d'llerhelot, or the learned editor of the Recipes of Avicenna. ‘ Soc Sir John Malcolm’; ndtuiiahlc llistury of Persia. 5 Nobility.
Others opined that through the realms a dole
Be made to holy men, whose prayers might profit The Sultaun's weal in body and in soul;
But their long-headed chief, the Sheik U1-Sofit,
And toy with beauty or tell o'er thy treasure;
These counsels sage availed not a whit,
And so the patient (as is not uncommon Where grave physicians lose their time and wit)
Resolved to take advice of an old woman; _ Ilis mother she, a dame who once was beauleous, And still was call’d so by each subject duteous. Now, whether Fatima was witch in earnest,
Or only made believe, I cannot say-—
By dint of magic amulet or lay;
u Symputhia magica. bath wonders done,»
(Thus did old Fatima bespeak her son),
(R It works upon the fibres and the pores,
And thus, insensibly, our health restores,
And it must help us hcre.—Thou must endure
Search land and sea, and get, where'er you can,
I mean his SHIRT, my son, which, taken warm
And your dull heart leap light as shepherd-boy's.\>
I know not if she had some under-game,
As doctors have, who hid their patients roam
And live abroad, when sure to die at home;
Or if she thought, that somehow or another, Queen Regent sounded better than Queen Mother; But, says the Chronicle (who will go look it2)' That such was her advice—the Sultaun took it.
u Enough of turbans,» said the weary king, u These dolimans of ours are not the thing;
Try we the Giaours, these men of coat and cap, I
At least they have as fair a cause as any can,
But fair Italia, she who once unfurl'd
Her eagle banners o’er a conquer’d world,
Long from her throne of domination tumbled,
“ While these the priest and those the noble fleeces, Our poor old boot,» they said, It is torn to pieces»! Its tops2 the vengeful claws of Austria feel,
And the Great Devil is rending toe and heel.3
If happiness you seek, to tell you truly,
We think she dwells with one Giovanni Bulli;
A tramontane, a heretic,—l.he buck,
Poffarcdio‘. still has all the luck;
liy land or ocean never strikes his flag-—
And then-a perfect walking money-bag.»
Off set our prince to seek John Bull's abode,
But first took France—it lay upon the road.
Monsieur Baboon, after much late commotion,
Twilching his visage into as many puckels
As damsels wont to put into their tuckers
(Ere liberal Fashion damn'd both lace and lawn,
u Jean Bnol !—I vas not know him——yes, I vasI vas remember dat von year or two,
I saw him at von place call'd Vaterloo—
Ma foil il s'est tres-joliment battu,
Dat is for Englishman,—m'entendez-vousZ
But den he had wit him von damn son-gun,
So Solimaun took leave and cross'd the strait.
' Master of the vessel.
1 The well-known resemblance of Italy in the map.
3 The Cahibriui, infested by bonds of assassins. One of thfi
leaders was called Fra Diztvolo, i. e. Brother Dcvil.
John Bull was in his very worst of moods,
That when his mortal foe was on the floor,
And past the power to harm his quiet more, Poor John had well nigh wept for Bonaparte! Such was the wight whom Solimaun salam’d,—at And who are you,» John answer’d, c and be d—d 7»
u A stranger, come to see the happiest man,
So, seignior, all avouch,—-in Frangistan.>\—1
u Happy! my tenants breaking on my hand? Unstock'd my pastures, and untill'd my land; Sugar and rum a drug, and mice and moths
The sole consumers of my good broad-clothsllappy ! why, cursed war and racking tax
Have left us scarcely raiment to our backs.»
(1 In that case, Seignior, I may take my leave;
I came to ask a favour—but I grieve——»
<< Favour?» said John, and eyed the Sultaun hard, 4! It ‘s my belief you came to break the yard l—But, stay, you look like some poor foreign sinner,—Take that, to buy yourself a shirt and dinner. »With that he chuck’d a guinea at his head;
But, with due dignity, the Sultaun said,
“ Permit me, sir, your bounty to decline;
A shirt indeed I seek, but none of thine.
Seignior, I kiss your hands, so fare you well.»
u Kiss and be d—d,» quoth John, K and go to hell E»
Next door to John there dwelt his sister Peg,
Once a wild lass as ever shook a leg,
V\'hen the blithe hagpipe blew—but soberer now,
Nor now of wealth or cleanliness a pattern,
Yet once a-month her house was partly swept,
And tccth, of yore, on slender provocation,
The sole remembrance of her warlike joys
Was in old songs she sang to please her boys.
Now found the woman, as he said, a neighbour,
The Sultaun enter'd, and he made his leg,
And with decorum curtsied sister Peg;
(She loved a book, and knew a thing or two, And guess’d at once with whom she had to do.)
' See the True-Born Englishman, hy Daniel de Fee. 1 Europe.
Now, for the land of verdant Erin,
The Sultaun's royal bark is stccring,
The emerald Isle where honest Paddy dwells,
The cousin of John Bull, as story tells.
For a long space had John, with words of thunder, Hard looks, and harder knocks, kept Paddy under, Till the poor lad, like boy that 's flogg'd unduly, Had gotten somewhat rcstive and unruly.
liard was his lot and lodging, you 'll allow,
A wigwam that would hardly serve a sow;
His landlord, and of middlemen two brace,
Had screw'd his rent up to the starving place;
His garment was a top-coat, and an old one,
His meal was a potatoe, and a cold one;
But still for fun or frolic, and all that,
In the round world was not the match of Pat.
The Sultaun saw him on a holiday,
Which is with Paddy still a jolly clay :
When mass is ended, and his load of sins
Then is Pat's time for fancy, whim, and spirit!
And dance as light as leaf upon the tree.
(( By Mahomet,» said Sultaun Solimaun,
(1 That ragged fellow is our very man 1
Rush in and seize him—do not do him hurt,
Shilela their plan was well nigh after baulking
(Much less provocation will set it a-walking),
But the odds that foil'd Hercules foil'd Paddy Whack; They seized, and they tloor'd, and they stripp'd hin1
Up-buhboo! Paddy had not——a shirt to his back I ! ! And the king, disappointed, with sorrow and shame, Went back to Serendib as sad as he came.
\Vu.coMt=., grave stranger, to our green retreats,
By Nature's limits metes the rights of man;
O'cr court, o'er custom-house, his shoe who flings,
Holds laws as 1nouse—traps baited for mankind;
That baulks the snare, yet battens on the cheese; Thine car has heard, with scorn instead of awe,. Our buckskin'd_justices expound the law, Wire-draw the acts that fix for wires the pain, And for the netted partridge noose the swaiu; And thy vindictive arm would fain have broke The last light fetter of the feudal yoke,
To give the denizens of wood and wild,
Nature's free race, to each her free—born child.
Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak o'ertops Wide-waving seas of birch and hazcl copsc, Leaving between deserted isles of land,
Where stunted heath is patch'd with ruddy sand: And lonely on the waste the yew is seen,
Or stra;;;;lin;; hollies spread a brighter green. llere, little worn, and winding dark and steep, Our scarce-mark’d path descends yon dingle deep: l"ollow—but hecdful, cautious of a trip,
In earthly mire philosophy may slip;
Step slow and wary o'er that swampy stream,
Of hovel fot-m’d for poorest of the poor;
No hearth the fire, no vent the smoke receives,
Rise in the progress of one night and day
As wigwam wild, that shrouds the native from On the bleak coast of frost-barr'd Labrador.‘
Approach, and through the unlatticed wi-ndow peep,
Nay, shrink not back, the inmate is asleep;
Sunk mid yon sordid blankets, till the sun
Stoop to the west, the plundcrer's toils are done.
\Vhile round the but are in disorder laid
The tools and booty of his lawless tmtle;
For force or fraud, resistance or escape,
The crow, the saw, the bludgeon, and the crape.
His pilfer'd powder in yon nook he hoards,
And the filch'd lead the church's roof affords—
(Hence shall the rectorseongregation fret,
That while his sermon ‘s dry, his walls are wet.)
The fish-spear barb‘d, the sweeping net are there,
llartcr'd for game from chase or warren won,
You cask holds moonlight,1 run when moon was none: And late-snatch'd spoils lie sto\v'd in hutch apart,
To wait the associate higglers evening cart.
Look on his pallet foul, and mark his rest: What scenes perturh’d are acting in his breast ! l'lis sable brow is wet and wrung with pain,
And his dilated nostril toils in vain,
For short and scant the breath each effort draws,
Now plies on wood and wold his lawless trade,
tr Was that wild start of terror and despair, Those bursting eye-balls, and that wildcr’d air, Signs of compunction for a rnurder'd hare‘! Do the locks bristle and the eye-brows arch, For grouse or partridge massacred in March 2»
No, scoffer, no! Attend, and mark with awe,
There is no wicket in the gate of law!
llc, that would e'er so lightly set ajar
That awful portal must undo each bar;
Tempting occasion, habit, passion, pride, _ \\'ill join to storm the breach, and force the barrier wide.
That ruffian, whom true men avoid and dread, Whom brnisers, poachers, smugglers, call Black Ned, Was Edward Mausell once;--the lightest heart,
That ever pl-_ty‘d on holiday his part!
1 Such is the law in the New Forest. Hampshire, tending; greatly to increase the various settlements ofthieves, smu3glB\"§,'t1m1_‘1”‘“" stealers, who infest it. In the forest courts the prestdtnti J“d5° wears as a badge of office an antique stirrup, said to have bztzn that of William ltttfus. See Mr William Rose I sptrtleil P°@"'v titled “The Red Ring."
‘ A cant name for smuggled spirits.