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As wigwam wild, that shrouds the native frore
THE POACHER.

On the bleak coast of frost-barr'd Labrador.
A FRAGMENT.

Approach, and through the unlatticed window peep,
WELCOME, grave stranger, to our green retreats, Nay, shrink not back, the inmate is asleep;
Where health with exercise and freedom meels! Sunk mid yon sordid blankets, till the sun
Thrice welcome, sage, whose philoscphic plan Stoop to the west, the plunderer's toils are done.
By Nature's limits metes the rights of man;

Loaded and primed, and prompt from desperate hand, Generous as he, who now for freedom bawls,

Rifle and fowling-piece beside him stand, Now gives full value for true Indian shawls;

While round the but are in disorder laid O'er court, o'er custom-house, his shoe who flings, The tools and booty of his lawless trade; Now bilks excisemen, and now bullies kings,

For force or fraud, resistance or escape, Like his, I ween, thy comprehensive mind

The crow, the saw, the bludgeon, and the crape. Holds laws as mouse-traps baited for mankind; His pilfer'd powder in yoo nook he hoards, Thine eye, applausive, each sly vermin sees,

And the fileh'd lead the church's roof affordsThat baulks the snare, yet battens on the cheese; (llence shall the rector's congregation fret, Thine car has heard, with scorn instead of awe, That wbile his sermon 's dry, his walls are wet.) Our buckskin'd justices expound the law,

The fish-spear barb'd, the sweeping nel are there, Wire-draw the acts that fix for wires the pain,

Doe-hides, and pheasant pluines, and skins of hare, And for the netted partridge noose the swain;

Cordage for toils, and wiring for the snare. And thy vindictivearm would fain have broke

Barter'd for game from chase or warren won, The last light fetter of the feudal yoke,

Yon cask holds moonlight, run whicn moon was none: To give the denizens of wood and wild,

And late-snatch'd spoils lie slow'd in hutch apart, Nature's free race, to each her free-born child. To wait the associate higgler's evening cart. Hence hast thou mark'd, with grief, fair London's race Mock'd with the boon of one poor Easter chace,

Look on his pallet foul, and mark his rest : And longd to send them forth as free as when What scenes perturb'd are acting in his breast! Pourd o'er Chantilly tlie Parisian train,

His suble brow is wet and wrung with pain, When musket, pistol, blunderbuss combined,

And his dilated nostril toils in vain, And scarce the field-pieces were left behind!

For short and scant the breath each effort draws, A squadron's charge cach leveret's heart dismay'd,

And 'twixt each cffort Nature claims a pause. On every covey fired a bold brigade :

Beyond the loose and sable neckcloth stretchd, La Douce Humanité approved the sport,

His sinewy throat seems by convulsion twitch'd, For

great the alarm indeed, yet small the hurt; While the tongue fallers, as to utterance loth, Shouts patriotic solemnized the day,

Sounds of dire import-watch-word, threat, and oath. And Seinc re-echo'd Vive la Liberté!

Though, stupified by toil and druge'd with gin, But mad Citoyen, meek Monsieur again,

The body sleep, the restless guest within
With some few added links resumes his chain;

Now plies on wood and wold his lawless frade,
Then since such scenes to France no more are known, Now in the fangs of justice wakes dismay'd.-
Come, view with me a hero of thine own!
One, whose free actions vindicate the cause

« Was that wild start of terror and despair, Of sylvan liberty o'er feudal laws.

Those bursting cyc-balls, and that wilder'd air,

Signs of compunction for a murder'd hare? Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak o'ertops

Do the locks bristle and the eye-brows arch,
Wide-waving seas of birch and hazel copse,

For grouse or partridge massacred in March ?>
Leaving between deserted isles of land,
Where stunted heath is patch'd with ruddy sand;

No, scoffer, no! Attend, and mark with awe,
And lonely on the waste the yew

is

There is no wicket in the gate of law!

seen, Or straggling hollies spread a brighter green.

He, that would c'er so lightly set ajar Ilere, little worn, and winding dark and steep,

That awful portal must undo each bar; Our scarce-mark'd path descends yon dingle deep :

Tempting occasion, habit, passion, pride, Follow-but hecdful, cautious of a trip.

Will join to storm the breach, and force the barrier wide. In earthly mire philosophy may slip, Step slow and wary o'er that swampy stream,

That ruffian, whom true men avoid and dread, Till, guided by the charcoal's smothering steam,

Whom bruisers, poachers, smugglers, call Black Ned, We reach the frail yet barricaded door

Was Edward Mansell once;-the lightest heart, Of hovel form'd for poorest of the poor;

That ever play'd on holiday his part! No hearth the fire, no vent the smoke receives,

The leader he in

every

Christmas game,
The walls are watiles, and the covering leaves ;

The harvest feast grew blither when he came,
For, if such hut, our forest statutes say,
Rise in the progress of one night and day

1 Such is the law in the New Forest, Hampshire, tending greatly (Though placed where still the Conqueror's hests o'er- to increase the varions settlemenis of thieves, snugglors, and deer

stealers, who infest it. In the forest courts the presiding judge awe,

wears as a badge of office an antique stirrap, said to have been And his son's stirrup shines the badge of law),

that of William Rufus. See Mr William Rose's spirited poem, enThe builder claims the unenviable boon,

titled - The Red king... To tenant dwelling, framed as slight and soon

2 A cant name for smuggled spirits.

1

And liveliest on the chords the bow did glance,
When Edward named the tune and led the dance.
Kind was his heart, his passions quick and strong,
Hearty his laugh, and jovial was bis song;
And if he loved a gun, his father swore,
« 'T was but a trick of youth would soon be o'er ;
Himself had done the same some thirty years before.»

But he, whose humours spurn law's awful yoke, Must herd with those by whom law's bonds are broke. The common dread of justice soon allies The clown, who robs the warren or excise, With sterner felons train'd to act more dread, E'en with the wretch by whom his fellow bled. Then, as in plagues the foul contagions pass, Leavening and festering the corrupted mass, – Guilt leagues with guilt, while mutual motives draw, Their hope impunity, their fear the law; Their foes, their friends, their rendezvous the same, Till the revenue baulkd, or pilferd game, Flesh the young culprit, and example leads To darker villany and direr deeds.

"T is at such a tide and hour,
Wizard, witch, and fiend have power,
And ghasily forms through mist and shower,

Gleam on the gifted ken;
And then the affrighted prophet's ear
Drinks whispers strange of fate and fear,
Presaging death and ruin near

Among the sons of men :--
Apart from Albyn's war-array,
"T was then gray Allan sleepless lay;
Gray Allan, who, for many a day,

Had follow'd stout and stern,
Where through battle's rout and reel,
Storm of shot and hedge of steel,
Led the grandson of Lochiel,

Valiant Fassiefern.
Through steel and shot he leads no more,
Low-laid 'mid friends and foemen's gore-
But long his native lake's wild shore,
And Suvart rough, and high Ardgower,

And Morven long shall tell,
Avd proud Ben Nevis hear with awe,
How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras,
Brave Cameron heard the wild hurra

Of conquest as he fell.

Wild howl'd the wind the forest glades along, And oft the owl renewd her dismal song; Around the spot where erst he felt the wound, Red William's spectre walk'd his midnight round. When o'er the swamp he cast his blighting look, From the green marshes of the stagnant brook The bittern's sullen shout the sedges shook ; The waning moon, with storm-presaging gleam, Now gave and now withheld her doubtful beam; The old oak stoop'd his arms, then flung them high, Bellowing and groaning to the troubled sky'T was then, that, couch'd amid the brushwood sere In Malwood-walk, young Mansell watch'd the deer: The fattest buck received his deadly shotThe watchful kecper heard, and sought the spot. Stout were their hearts, and stubborn was their strife, O'erpower'd at length the outlaw drew his knife! Next morn a corpse was found upon the fell The rest his waking agony may tell!

'Lone on the outskirts of the lost,
The weary sentinel held post,
And heard, through darkness far aloof,
The frequent clang of courser's hoof,
Where held the cloak'd patrole their course,
And spurr'd 'gainst storm the swerving horse;
But there are sounds in Allan's ear,
Patrole nor sentinel may bear,
And siyhts before his eye aghast
Invisible to them have pass'd,

When down the destined plain
'Twixt Britain and the bands of France,
Wild as marsh-borne meteors glance,
Strange phantoms wheeld a revel dance,

And doom'd the future slain.-
Such forms were seen, such sounds were heard,
When Scotland's James his march prepared

For Flodden's fatal plain;
Such, when he drew his ruthless sword,
As Chusers of the Slain, adored

The yet unchristen d Dane.
An indistinct and phantom band,
They wheeld their ring-dance hand in hand,

With gesture wild and dread;
The seer, who watch'd them ride the storm,
Saw through their faint and shadowy form

The lightning's flash more red;
And still their ghastly roundelay
Was of the coming battle-fray,

And of the destined dead.

THE DANCE OF DEATH.

Nigut and morning were at meeting

Over Waterloo ; Cocks had sung their earliest greeting,

Faint and low they crew, For no paly beam yet shone On the heights of Mount Saint John; Tempest-clouds prolong'd the sway Of timeless darkness over day; Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower, Mark'd it a predestined hour. Broad and frequent through the night Flash'd the sheets of levin-light; Muskets, glancing lightnings back, Show'd the dreary bivouack

Where the soldier lay, Chill and stiff, and drench'd with rain, Wishing dawn of morn again,

Though death should come with day.

SONG

Wheel the wild dance,
While lightnings glance,

And thunders rattle loud,
And call the brave
To bloody grave,

To sleep without a shroud.

Shall the welkin's thunders shame; Elemental rage is tame

To the wrath of man.

Our airy feet,
So light and fleet,
They do not bend the

rye, That sinks its head when whirlwinds rave, And swells again in eddying wave,

As each wild gust blows by;
But still the corn,
At dawn of morn,

Our fatal steps that bore,
At eve lies waste,
A trampled paste

Of blackening mud and gore.

At moro, gray Allan's mates with awe
Heard of the vision'd sights he saw,

The legend heard him say;
But the seer's gifted eye was dim,
Deafen'd his ear, and stark his limb,

Ere closed that bloody day-
He sleeps far from his Highland heath,
But often of the Dance of Death

His comrades tell the tale On piquet-post, when ebbs the night, And waning watch-fires glow less bright,

And dawu is glimmering pale.

Wheel the wild dance,
While lightnings glance,

And thunders rallle loud,
And call the brave
To bloody grave,

To sleep without a shroud.

FAREWELL TO THE MUSE.

Wheel the wild dance,
Brave sons of France !
For

you our ring makes room; Makes space

full wide For martial pride,

For banner, spear, and plume. Approach, draw near, Proud cuirassier!

Room for the men of steel! Through crest and plate,

padsword's weight Both head and heart shall feel.

ENCHANTRESS, farewell, who so oft hast decoy'd me,

At the close of the evening through woodlands to roam, Where the forester, lated, willi wonder espied me

Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for home. Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers wild speaking,

The language alternate of rapture and woe; Oh! none but some lover, whose heart-strings are

breaking, The pang that I feel at our parting can know.

Wheel the wild dance,
While lightnings glance,

And thunders ratile loud,
And call the brave
To bloody grave,

To slecp without a shroud.

Each joy thou couldst double, and when there came

sorrow, Or pale disappointment, to darken my way, What voice was like thine, that could sing of to-morrow,

Till forgot in the strain was the grief of to-day! But when friends drop around us in life's weary waning,

The grief, queen of numbers, thou canst not assuage: Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet

remaining, The languor of pain, and the chillness of age. "I was thou that once taught me, in accents bewailing,

To sing how a warrior lay stretch'd on the plain, And a maiden hung o'er him with aid unavailing,

And held to his lips the cold goblet in vain ; As vain those enchantments, O queen of wild numbers,

. To a bard when the reign of his fancy is o'er, And the quick pulse of feeling in apathy slumbers

Farewell then-Enchantress ! -I meet thee no more.

Sons of the spear!
You feel us near,

In many a ghastly dream;
With fancy's eye
Our forms you spy,

And hear our fatal scream.
With clearer sight
Ere falls the night,

Just when to weal or woe
Your disembodied souls take fight
On trembling wing-each startled sprite

Our choir of death shall know.

Whcel the wild dance,
While lightnings glance,

And thunders rattle loud,
And call the brave
To bloody grave,

To sleep without a shroud.

EPITAPH ON MRS EPSKINE. Plain, as her native dignity of mind, Arise the tomb of her we have resigo'd: Uoslaw'd and stainless be the marble scroll, Emblem of lovely form, and candid soul.But, oh! what symbol may avail, to tell The kindness, wit, and sense, we loved so well! What sculpture show the broken ties of life, Here buried with the parent, friend, and wife! Or, on the tablet, stamp each title dear, By which thine uro, Euphemia, claims the tear! Yet, taught, by thy meek sufferance, to assume Patience in anguish, hope beyond the tomb, Resign'd, though sad, this votive verse shall flow, And brief, alas! as thy brief span

below.

Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers, Redder rain shall soon be ours

See, the east grows wan' Yield we place to sterner game, Ere deadlier bolts and drearier flame

ON TAKING LEAVE OF THE EDINBURGH STAGE.

MR KEMBLE'S FAREWELL ADDRESS, But spied in mouse upon her marriage day,

Forgot her spouse and seized

upon

her

prey;

Even thus my bridegroom lawyer, as you saw, As the worn war-horse, at the trumpet's sound,

Threw off poor me and pounced upon papa. Erects his mane, and neighs, and paws the ground

His neck from Hymen's mystic knot made loose, Disdains the ease his generous lord assigns,

He twisted round my sire's the literal noose. And longs to rush on the emballed lines,

Such are the fruits of our dramatic labour, So I, your plaudits ringing on mine ear,

Since the New Jail became our next door neighbour.' Can scarce sustain to think our parting near; To think my scenic hour for ever past,

Yes, times are changed, for in your

fathers' age And that those valued plaudits are my last.

The lawyers were the patrons of the stage; Why should we parl, while still some powers remain,

llowever high advanced by future fate, That in your service strive not yet in vain?

There stands the bench (points to the Pit) that first reCannot high zeal the strength of youth supply,

ceived their weight. And sense of duty fire the fading eye?

The future legal sage, 't was ours to see,
And all the wrongs of age remain subdued

Doom though unwige'd, and plead without a fee.
Beneath the burning glow of gratitude ?
Ah no! the taper, wearing to its close,

But now astounding each poor mimic elf,
Oft for a space in fitful lustre glows;

Jostead of lawyers comes the Law herself; But all too soon the transient gleam is past,

Tremendous neighbour, on our riglit she dwells, It cannot be repew'd, and will not last;

Builds high her lowers and excavates her cells; Even duty, zeal, and gratitude, can wage

While on the left, she agitates the town But short-lived conflict with the frosts of age.

With the tempestuous question, Up or down? 2 Yes! It were poor, remembering wliat I was,

*Twixt Scylla and Charybdis thus stand we, To live a pensioner on your applause,

Law's final end and law's uncertainty. To drain the dregs of your endurance dry,

Lut soft! who lives at Rome the pope must flatter, And take, as alms, thic praise I once could buy, . And jails and lawsuits are no jesting matter. Till every sneering youth around inquires,

Then-just farewell! we wait with serious awe, « Is this the man who once could please our sires!»

Till your applause or cersure gives the law,
And scora assumes compassion's doubtful mien, Trusting our humble efforts may assure ye,
To warn me off from the encumber'd scene.

We hold you court and counsel, judge and jury.
This must not be;-and higher duties crave
Some space between the theatre and the grave;
That, like the Roman in the Capitol,

SONG.
1 may adjust my maode ere I fall :
My life's brief act in public service flown,

Ol, say not, my love, with that mortified air, The last, the closing scene, must be

That your spring-time of pleasure is flown,

Nor bid me to maids that are younger repair,
Here, then, adieu! while yet some well-graced parts For those raptures that still are thine own.
May fix an ancient favourite in
Not quite to be forgotten, cven when

Though April his temples may wreathe with the vine, You look on better actors, younger men:

Its tendrils in infancy curld, And if your hosoms own this kindly debt

'T is the ardour of August matures us the wine Of old remembrance, low shall mine forget

Whose life-blood enlivens the world. O, how forget !- how oft I hither came

Though thy form, that was fashion d as light as a fay's, In anxious hope, how oft return'd with fame!

Has assumed a proportion more round, llow oft around your circle this weak hand

And thy glance, that was bright as a falcon's at gaze, Has waved immortal Shakspeare's magic wand, Till the full burst of inspiration came,

Looks soberly now on the ground, -
And I have felt, and you bave fann'd the flame! Enough, after absence to meet me again,
By memory treasured, while her reign endures,

Thy steps still with ecstasy move;
Those hours must live-and all their charms are yours. Enough, that those dear sober glances retain
O favour'd land! renown'd for arts and arms,

For me the kind language of love!
For manly talent and for female charms,
Could this full bosom prompt the sinking line,

THE PALMER.
What fervent benedictions now were thine!
But
my
last
part
is play'd, my knell is rung,

«O Open the door, some pity to show, When e'en your praise falls faltering from my tongue;

Keen blows the northern wind;
And all that you can hear, or I can tell,
Is-Friends and Patrons, hail, and FARE YOU WELL!

"It is necessary to mention, that the allusions in this piece are all local, and addressed only to the Edinburgh audience. The new prisons of the city, on the Calton Hill, are not far from the

Theatre,
FPILOGUE TO THE APPEAL,

: At this time the pablic of Edinburgh was much agitated by a SPOKEN BY MRS 1. SIDDONS.

lawsuit betwixt the magistrates and many of the inhabitants of the

city, concerning the range of new buildings on the western side of A cat of yore (or clse old Æsop lied)

the North Bridge; which the latter insisted should be removed as a Was changed into a fair and blooming bride,

deformity.

61

my own.

your hicarts,

The glen is white with the drifted snow,

And the path is hard to find.

«No outlaw seeks your castle gate,

From chasing the king's deer,
Though even an outlaw's wretched state

Might claim compassion here.

that she might see him as he rode past. Her anxiety and eagerness gave such force to her organs, that she is said to have distinguished his horse's footsteps at an incredible distance. But Tushielaw, unprepared for the change in her appearance, and not expecting to see her in that place, rode on without recognizing her, or even slackening his pace. The lady was unable to support the shock, and, after a short struggle, died in the arms of her attendants. There is an instance similar to this traditional tale in Count Hamilton's Fleur d'Épine.

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O loyers' eyes are sharp to see,

And lovers' ears in hearing;
And love, in life's extremity,'

Can lend an hour of cheering.
Disease had been in Mary's bower,

And slow decay from mourning,
Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower,

To watch her love's returning.

« The hare is crouching in her form,

The hart beside the hind;
An aged man, amid the storm,

No shelter can I find.

« You hear the Ettrick's sullen roar,

Dark, deep, and strong is he, And I must ford the Eurick o'er,

Unless you pity me.

All sunk and dim her eyes so bright,

Her form decay'd by pining,
Till through her wasted hand, at night,

You saw the taper shining.
By fits, a sultry hectic hue

Across her cheek was flying;
By fits, so ashy pale she grew,

Her maidens thought her dying.

« The iron gate is bolted hard,

At which I knock in vain;
The owner's heart is closer barrd,

Who hears me thus complain.

« Farewell, farewell! and Mary grant,

When old and frail you be, You never may the shelter want,

That's now denied to me.»

Yet keenest powers to see and hear

Seem'd in her frame residing;
Before the watch-dog prick'd his ear,

She hcard her lover's riding;
Ere scarce a distant form was kennd,

She knew, and waved to greet him;
And o'er the battlement did bend,

As on the wing to meet him,

The ranger on his couch lay warm,

And heard him plead in vain ; But oft, amid December's storm,

He 'll hear that voice again :

He came-he pass'd-an heedless gaze,

As o'er some stranger, glancing ;
Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase,

Lost in his courser's prancing-
The castle arch, whose hollow tone

Returns each whisper spoken,
Could hardly catch the feeble moan,

Which told her heart was broken.

For lo, when through the vapours dank,

Morn shone on Ettrick fair, A corpse amid the alders rank,

The Palmer welier'd there.

wide sea;

THE MAID OF NEIDPATH.

WANDERING WILLIE.
All joy was bereft me, the day that you

Jeft

me, And climb'd the tall vessel to sail

yon There is a tradition in Tweeddale, that when Neid- o weary betide it! I wander'd beside it, path Castle, near Peebles, was inhabited by the Earls of

And bann'd it for parting my Willic and me. March, a mutual passion' subsisted between a daughter of that noble family, and a son of the Laird of Tushie- Far o'er the wave hast thou follow'd thy fortune, law, in Ettrick Forest. As the alliance was thought Oft fought the squadrons of France and of Spain; unsuitable by her parents, the young man went abroad. Ae kiss of welcome 's worth twenty at parting, During his absence, the lady fell into a consumption, Now I hae gotten my Willie again. and at length, as the only means of saving her life, her father consented that her lover should be recalled. On When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they were the day when he was expected to pass through Peebles, wailing, on the road to Tushielaw, the young lady, though I sat on the beach wi' the tear in my ce, much exhausted, caused herself to be carried to the And thought o' the bark where my Willie was sailing, balcony of a house in Peebles, belonging to the family, And wish'd that the tempest could a' blaw on me.

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