Warm to each elegant delight,
Ingenious, sensible, polite,
Known to the world you know so well,
Loved e'en by those whom you excel,
Meynell, my leader and my friend,
Stand forth! the manly chase defend!
O, raise your animating voice,
And cheer the Dian of your choice!
Not her whose foul Circean draught
Squires of preceding ages quaff'd,
Unletter'd reveller, whose joys
Were rudeness, turbulence, and noise;
But her, no less of British kind,
Well bred, intelligent, refined,
Of younger years and purer mould,
Chaste as the Huntress Queen of old.
Yes, I am thine, enchanting maid!
Come, in thy decent robes array'd!
O, bring thy blithe companion Health,
Who smiles and mocks the sluggard Wealth;
And Hope, who spleen and care destroys;
And Rapture scorning tamer joys;
Young Eagerness with kindling eyes;
And Triumph mingling jocund cries!
Come, as thy cheerful train is seen,
Where Foremarke waves his woodlands green;
When hears his vale thy matin song,
And Trent exulting shouts along:
While wait, thy gay return to greet,
Convivial Mirth and Welcome sweet.-
On me, thy humbler votary, shower
The balmy dews of every flower,
Which oft thy curious hand has twined
Thy Burdett's favour'd brows to bind!
WHENCE, Needwood, that tremendous sound?——
-Low dying murmurs run around,
A deeper gloom the wood receives,
And horror shivers on the leaves,
Loud shrieks the hern, the raven croaks-
Destruction's arm * arrests thy oaks!
Onward with giant strides he towers,
Dooms with dread voice thy withering bowers,
High o'er his head the broad axe wields,
Stamps with his iron foot and shakes the fields!
When from her lawless rocks and sands
Arabia pours her ruffian bands,
The village hinds in wild distress
Around some holy hermit press
Orb within orb, their wrongs declare,
And ask his counsel and his prayer;
All white with age, inspired he stands,
And lifts to heaven his wrinkled hands!
So seems the affrighted forest drawn
In crowds around this lonely lawn:
High in the midst with many a frown
Huge Swilcar + shakes his tresses brown,
Outspreads his bare arms to the skies,
The ruins of six centuries,
By order from the Duchy Court of Lancaster, to which the forest of Needwood belongs, the timber is now felling under the direction of an officer of that Court.
+ Swilcar oak stands singly upon a beautiful small lawn surrounded with extensive woods, measures thirteen yards round VOL. II.
Deep groans pervade his rifted rind-
-He speaks his bitterness of mind.
"Your impious hands, barbarians, hold!
Ye pause! but, fired with lust of gold,
Your leader lifts his axe, and, like
Accursed Julius*, bids you strike.
Deaf are the ruthless ears of gain,
And youth and beauty plead in vain.
Loud groans the wood with thickening strokes!
Yes, ye must perish, filial oaks!
at its base, and is supposed to be six hundred years old. The following address to this remarkable tree is by Dr. Darwin:
ADDRESS TO THE SWILCAR OAK.
Gigantic Oak! whose wrinkled form hath stood
Age after age the patriarch of the wood!
Thou who hast seen a thousand springs unfold
Their ravel'd buds, and dip their flowers in gold;
Ten thousand times yon moon relight her horn,
And that bright star of evening gild the morn!
Erst, when the Druid bards, with silver hair,
Pour'd round thy trunk the melody of prayer;
When chiefs and heroes join'd the kneeling throng,
And choral virgins trill'd the' adoring song;
While harps responsive rung amid the glade,
And holy echoes thrill'd thy vaulted shade,
Say, did such dulcet notes arrest thy gales
As Mundy pours along the listening vales?
Gigantic Oak!-thy hoary head sublime
Ere while must perish in the wrecks of time;
Should round thy brow innocuous lightnings shoot,
And no fierce whirlwinds shake thy steadfast root;
Yet shalt thou fall!-thy leafy tresses fade,
And those bare shatter'd antlers strew the glade;
Arm after arm shall leave the mouldering bust,
And thy firm fibres crumble into dust!
But Mundy's verse shall consecrate thy name,
And rising forests envy Swilcar's fame;
Green shall thy gems expand, thy branches play,
And bloom for ever in the immortal lay.
* Cæsar cuts down a consecrated grove.
In heaps your wither'd trunks be laid,
And wound the lawns ye used to shade;
Whilst Avarice on the naked pile,
Exulting, casts a hideous smile.
Strike here! on me exhaust your rage,
Nor let false pity spare my age!
No pity dwells with sordid slaves;
"Tis want of worth alone that saves.
Yes, ye will leave me with disdain
A mouldering landmark on the plain,
Where many a reign my trunk hath stood
Proud father of the circling wood.
In freedom's dearest days* I grew,
And Henry's jealous nobles knew;
I saw them pierce the bounding game,
And heard their horn announce the claim.
No more, beneath my favourite shade,
The forest youth and village maid
Shall meet to plight their troth and mark
Their love's memorial on my bark.
Yet, yet, fond Hope +, thy distant light
Beams unexpected on my sight;
Lo, Vernon hastes, the common friend!
The affrighted forest to defend;
Bids the keen axe the saplings spare,
And makes posterity his care.
* The charter of Henry III. confirms the privilege to lords of parliament of killing a deer or two in any of the royal forests in their way to or from parliament, in the presence of the keeper, or on blowing a horn in his absence.
+ Upon the above order from the Duchy Court, Lord Vernon proposed an enclosure of some parts of the forest, for the preservation of the young timber and the beauty of the place.
Yes, Joy shall see these scenes renew'd,
Shall wake his sister Gratitude,
Shall call on lawns and hills and dells
The silent echoes from their cells,
Long trains of golden years proclaim,
And Needwood ring with Vernon's name.'
He ceased, and shook his hoary brow:
Glad murmurs fill the vale below,
The deer in gambols bound along,
The plighted birds resume their song.
Thrice venerable Druid, hail!
O, may thy sacred words prevail,
May Needwood's oaks successive stand
The lasting wonder of the land!-
And may some powerful bard arise,
Though heaven to me that power denies,
The Pope or Denham of his days,
Whose lofty verse shall match their praise.
MUNDY*.
*This elegant writer, whose poem of Needwood Forest' has received the warm praise of Dr. Warton, Dr. Darwin, Miss Seward, and other literary characters, was descended from an ancient family of the county of Derby, in which county he possessed a considerable estate. One of his ancestors was Lord Mayor of London, in the reign of Henry the Eighth. His education was begun at Winchester, and completed at Oxford. It was, I believe, while he was at the University that he published his first work, a quarto volume of poems; and he is said to have been so disgusted by some illiberal criticisms that he resolved never again to appear in public in the character of an author. His Needwood Forest," which was written in 1776, was accordingly printed only for the perusal of his friends. Mr. Mundy passed his life chiefly in his native county, was an active and intelligent magistrate, and generally presided at the quarter sessions. His death took place in 1816; and the grand jury of Derby recommended that a monument to his memory should be erected by subscription.
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