Part 2

Yon hill, that glows with southern rays,[27] All-conscious of superior praise, Swells her smooth top and pastures green, And of her sisters seems the queen; Proud from her ancient seats to trace The lineage of a generous race. “That generous race,” fair SUDBURY cries, “Is mine,” and bids her turrets rise, Lifts from the lap of peace her dome, Where finds Munificence a home; Then wide her shining lake she leads Through blossom’d groves and emerald meads, Cloaths with dark woods the distant scene, And pours her dappled herds between. —Ah me! what sudden sadness lowers O’er her fair front and vernal bowers! There sinks to her untimely tomb A virgin flower in beauty’s bloom! O thou wast all that youth admires, A parent loves, or friend desires! I knew thee well! my sorrowing heart Bears in thy loss a bitter part!— Whilst the sad Muse in plaintive verse Strews all her flowers around thy hearse, Let Pity quit thy grave, and go A mourner to yon house of woe. There from thy father’s bosom break Sighs, which too eloquently speak: Thy mother weeps, but weeps resign’d, In all things noble, most in mind: Pale griefs thy sisters’ cheeks invade; And one, alas, too tender maid! Holds a long melancholy strife Betwixt her sorrows and her life: Thy manly brothers strive to cure In vain, the pangs themselves endure. Fair Saint! a happier lot is thine Repos’d beneath the silent shrine!

Now let me seek in pensive mood The rude recesses of the wood; And, where congenial gloom extends, Think of lost hopes and distant friends; Of scenes, whose pleasures fled too fast, And hours most valued now they’re past!

Beside me lies a dingle deep,[28] With shaggy banks abrupt and steep; Through vistas wild my course I bend, Till day-light opens at the end: Where from intoxicating height Bursts the wide prospect on my sight. The terrace bold, on which I stand, Steps broad and forward on the land; Rude hills compose the side-long scene, With crofts and cottages between: The various landscape onward spreads O’er cultur’d plains and verdant meads; And seats, and towns, and hamlets rise, Where yon smoke curls into the skies, And spires, that pierce thro’ tufted trees; Till, faintly fading by degrees, Beyond, in wild confusion tost, The hills blue tops in clouds are lost.

Yes, EATON-BANKS, in vain I strive[29] To hide the grief your oaks revive.— Bow thy tall branches, grateful wood! Afford me blossom, leaf, and bud! He, for whose memory these I blend, Thy late-lost master, was my friend!— Fall, gentle dews! fresh zephyrs, breathe! Spread, cooling shades! preserve my wreath!— Alas, it withers ere its time!— So faded he in manly prime!— But Virtue, scorning friendship’s aid, Rears her own palms, which never fade!

PART, IV.

Henry, O leave, whilst youth is ours,[30] And health leads on the fleeting hours, O leave awhile the court you grace, And urge with me the sylvan chase!

Oft, as I bathe in morning’s breath, Ere wakes the plover on the heath, Ere the sun robs the woodbine’s smell, Or dries the fox-glove’s purple bell, I hear the deep-mouth’d thunder rise; The monarch of the woodland flies, Whilst the loud triumphs of the horn On breezy wings are backward born.[31] His subject mates no succour lend; What tyrant ever found a friend? He dies!—the satiate echoes cease; The forest reassumes its peace.

Now sun-burnt Autumn with his spoils Diana’s bleeding altar piles: Again the slaughtering gun is heard, And wildly screams the parent bird; All night she mourns her lessen’d brood, Still views them fluttering in their blood, With timorous call the rest collects, And with quick wing their flight directs. Now the strong buck his rival drives, And awes with jealous threats his wives: Slow move the kine to fresher fields; The hawthorn to the holly yields: No twittering swallow skims the plain, No shrite-cock tunes his echoing strain:[32] Dumb are the full-plum’d songsters all, Save the lone red-breast on my wall; Thy tender lay, sweet bird, prolong, And sooth old Winter with thy song!

When wintry mists obscure the skies, His busy nose the spaniel plies, Where mossy glades and thickets brown Tempt the far-wandering wood-cock down: Stretch thy strong wing, thy flight retake, Nor trust the inhospitable brake!— Ah, forc’d from the luxuriant ground, He mounts, and feels the sudden wound. So transmeridian Zealand views Adventurous Europe’s wandering crews: Fierce hunger eyes the stranger-guest, And fraud secures the barbarous feast; Stain’d are the rocks with human gore, And white with scatter’d bones the shore.

The leveret—but I spare the rest, I see compassion touch thy breast— Come then, and whilst the murderous crew In harmless blood their hands imbrue, Rous’d to revenge by ravag’d flocks, Haste we to find the kennell’d fox. Hark! those preluding cries he hears; Thick beats his heart with conscious fears. Some tyrant thus, in luckless hour Whom fraud or force has rais’d to pow’r, With throbbing heart and pale eye stands, And spreads to heaven his harpy hands, When Freedom’s voice alarms the morn, And Vengeance winds her echoing horn. See, with the wind he scours away Sleek, and in crimes grown old and gray! Oft has he foil’d our angry pack, I know his customary track. Talk not of pity to such foes! Stern justice claims the life he owes. No storms arise to screen his flight; ’Tis long till interrupting night; The breathing South his sentence gives, And not an hour the caitiff lives! Through woods, and hills, and vales, and brakes, NEEDWOOD with general transport shakes. Mark how the pack diffusely spread, And shew me, if you can, their head! ’Tis here—’tis there—now onward far Streams down the vales irregular. As through the furzy brakes they drive The trembling coverts seem alive. Thus by the winds o’er bending corn Loose waves of light and shade are born. Now winding up yon steep they strain; Now wheel in silence on the plain: Again they catch the tainted wind; No hound disgraceful lurks behind: All striving with confederate aim, Their size, their power, their speed the same, With eager eye and clamorous tongue In broad career they press along, Fierce on their victim gathering round— —He suffers by no single wound! Thus o’er the azure fields of night Shoot the quick rays of northern light, To one bright point converg’d they flow, And round the silver zenith glow. So, when a lake surcharg’d by rain Bursts, and o’erwhelms the sloping plain, The wond’ring rustic flies, nor knows Which of its currents fastest flows; Now here the rattling eddies lead, Now there they foam along the mead, Till in a silent pool they stand, Collected on the hollow land.

Go languid fops, go pedants, waste Your sneers on joys you cannot taste; And cloak with many a vain pretence Cold-blooded fear and indolence!

Warm to each elegant delight, Ingenious, sensible, polite, Known to the world you know so well, Lov’d 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 draft ’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, refin’d, Of younger years and purer mold, 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 twin’d Thy BURDETT’S favour’d brows to bind!

PART, V.

Whence, NEEDWOOD, that tremendous sound!— —Low dying murmurs run around, A deeper gloom the wood receives, And horror shivers on the leaves, Loud shriekes the hern, the raven croaks— Destruction’s arm arrests thy oaks![33] 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, inspir’d 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,[34] Out-spreads his bare arms to the skies, The ruins of six centuries, Deep groans pervade his rifted rind— —He speaks his bitterness of mind. “Your impious hands, barbarians, hold! “Ye pause! but fir’d with lust of gold, “Your leader lifts his axe, and like “Accursed JULIUS, bids you strike.[35] “Deaf are the ruthless ears of gain, “And youth and beauty plead in vain. “—Loud groans the wood with thick’ning strokes! “Yes, ye must perish, filial oaks! “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 mouldring land-mark on the plain, “Where many a reign my trunk hath stood “Proud father of the circling wood. “In freedom’s dearest days I grew,[36] “And HENRY’S jealous nobles knew; “I saw them pierce the bounding game, “And heard their horn announce the claim. “No more, beneath my favorite shade, “The forest youth and village maid “Shall meet to plight their troth, and mark “Their loves memorial on my bark.

“Yet, yet, fond Hope, thy distant light[37] “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. “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 ceas’d, 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, Tho’ heaven to me that power denies, The POPE or DENHAM of his days, Whose lofty verse shall match their praise.

_FINIS._

ADDRESS TO SWILCAR OAK, DESCRIBED IN MR. MUNDY’S POEM ON NEEDWOOD FOREST,

Hail, stately oak, whose wrinkled trunk hath stood Age after age, the sov’reign of this wood; You, who have seen a thousand springs unfold Their ravell’d buds, and dip their flowers in gold; Ten thousand times yon moon relight her horn, And that bright eye of evening gild the morn.

Say, when of old the snow-hair’d druids pray’d With mad-ey’d rapture in your hallow’d shade, While to their altars bards and heroes throng, And crouding nations join the ecstatick song; Did e’er such dulcet notes arrest your gales, As MUNDY pours along the list’ning vales?

Yes, stately oak, thy leaf-wrapp’d head sublime Erelong must perish in the wrecks of time; Shou’d o’er thy brow the thunders harmless break, And thy firm roots in vain the whirlwinds shake, Yet must thou fall,—thy withering glories sunk, Arm after arm shall leave the mould’ring trunk!

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.

E. D.

A RURAL CORONATION, Inscribed to Mr. MUNDY, On reading his POEM ON NEEDWOOD FOREST.

Haste from your dells, your woods, and lawns, Nymphs, Naiads, Satyrs, Fays, and Fauns, Haste! hither bring your flowers and boughs, And weave a wreath for MUNDY’S brows!

First twigs of oak from SWILCAR rend, And round his auburn temples bend; Then tye the ends, that twisting meet, With tendrils from the wood-bine sweet: With laurel-blossoms next be spread Pale ivy crosswise o’er his head; These holly sprigs insert between, —The berries blush amid the green— While hare-bells blue, and lilies fair, Mix’d with the wild-rose, deck his hair.

Now with fantastick step advance, And hand in hand around him dance; To oaten pipe attune his lays, And hail the bard, who sings your praise. “While the gay choirings of the grove “Give breath to harmony and love, “And golden furze and purple ling “Around their mix’d embroidery fling, “And, all irregularly join’d, “Th’ according outline waves behind.”

A. S.

SONNET.

Mundy, whose song hath taught the forest swain To view fair NEEDWOOD thro’ the radiance clear Of bright imagination, taught the tear To glisten in his eye for other’s pain, And own that taste and virtue are not vain, How was thy pipe melodious wont to cheer The wintry groves, when every leaf was sear, And brighten summer with its artful strain!— Say, by what meed shall NEEDWOOD court thy stay? She unsuspecting twines in amorous care Her favorite holly and her flower-bells gay, To deck with modest hand her lover’s hair,— Ah, do not thou her gentle hope betray, And doom her tender bosom to despair!

B. B.

_On_ Mr. MUNDY’s _Needwood Forest_.

Where NEEDWOOD’S banks embroidered smile On bright-hair’d Dove, the british Nile, Pleas’d MUNDY fix’d his easel strong, And stretch’d his canvass wide and long; Broad o’er his hand the pallet lies With pencils for a thousand dyes. He look’d, and drew, and look’d again,— —Enamour’d Fancy snatch’d the pen, Nymphs, Graces, Loves around him throng, With all the sisterhood of song: Bright tints by fairy hands were mix’d. And Witchcraft etch’d the shades betwixt.

Delighted Flora smil’d and drew The primrose pale, and violet blue. A Naiad spreads the flake of snow,—[38] White foams the glittering stream below. “Give me the pallet,” Love demands, And stretching forth his baby hands Dip’d with nice touch his keenest shaft In all the blushing lakes, and laugh’d;[39] With sweetest grace the pencil flow’d, With softest tints the canvass glow’d; “I’ll draw Mamma,” the Wanton cries, And TALBOT’S features charm our eyes! With airy ease the white neck bends, Lock after lock the hair descends: O’er the fair form the Graces spread Their vest, and Hymen wreaths the head.

And then Thalia, muse of woe, Moves o’er the woof her crayon slow. Here, cold, bewilder’d, tir’d, forlorn, The Traveller sighs in vain for morn; Stretch’d on the imprinted snow he lies, And bends on heaven his stiffening eyes. There Friendship sits the shade beneath, And twines for CLARKE a fadeless wreath; Fresh cypress with the flowers she weaves, And many a tear-drop gems the leaves. Next o’er the lawn a virgin throng In sad procession moves along, Lorn Loves inverted torches bear, And Pity weeps o’er VERNON’S bier.

To shade the distant ground, and lay The rising group in bolder day, A Dryad chalks some dusky strokes,— Behind umbrageous frown her oaks! And SWILCAR, rent by many a storm, Rears high in air his leafless form.

Pleas’d MUNDY stood with eager eyes, And watch’d the living figures rise; Smil’d as the varying colours flow’d, And sigh’d by turns, and chill’d, and glow’d: And to the admiring world has shewn The immortal tablet for his own.

E. D. Jun.

THE FALL OF NEEDWOOD.

=Derby:=

PRINTED AT THE OFFICE OF J. DREWRY.

1808.

THE FALL OF NEEDWOOD.

Ah, Needwood! I, whose early voice Taught thy shrill echoes to rejoice; I, who first pour’d the sylvan song Thy glades, thy banks, thy lawns along; I, who with artless pencil drew Thy Forest charms of varied hue, Approach thee now with different strain, That mourns thy wrongs, yet mourns in vain: I come, but not with former haste, To view the dim unshelter’d Waste, That once was Needwood: on thy brow No green-rob’d Wood-nymph beckons now: Yet be thy Spirit sooth’d to bear My Requiem through the void of air!

O Draycot Cliff! again thy height, Known beacon of my young delight, With sad’ning thoughts, that much portend Of change and tumult, I ascend; Nor flatter’d by thy levell’d way, That smiles, like worldlings, to betray. How swells my aged heart, now near Scenes to my happiest youth so dear! How sinks that heart, as these arise Distorted, to my anguish’d eyes! Where are those ample plains, display’d ’Mong woods with many an opening glade? Where is the wild doe bounding by, Once emblem of their liberty? No stragglers from the warren fleet Scud cross my path with flirting feet. No jealous blood-hound, brave and proud, Throws from the lodge his challenge loud.

O hear me on thy summits tall, Time-honour’d Needwood! hear my call! For thou my filial voice hast known.— No answer follows—hark! a groan! His ancient seats I seek in vain; He, nor his ancient seats remain; But in strange horror staring round, A Spectre, pointing to his wound, Of hideous shape, with bald head, stalks Before me o’er the ravag’d walks; Where Desolation grim affrights[40] Sham’d Ceres in unhallow’d rites; Where the check’d Plunderer shrinks aside, As by his own deed terrified, Or fears, from many a faithful root, Vengeance in ambush at his foot.

Wavering alike in mind and pace, I roam, familiar haunts to trace; The winds, that bow me as I go, Rush unrestrain’d, as wild with woe, Or querulously vex’d to miss The blooming groves they lov’d to kiss. Each spot discover’d has its tale; Seems a friend’s voice in every gale; Wak’d Recollection starts aghast, And thoughtful sighs o’er pleasures past.