Halloo! halloo! away they goe,
Unheeding wet or drye;
And horfe and rider fnort and blowe,
And sparkling pebbles flye.
How swift the hill, how swift the dale,
Aright, aleft, are gone!
By hedge and tree, by thorpe and towne,
They gallop, gallop on.
Tramp, tramp, across the land they speede,
Splash, splash across the fee:
“Hurrah! the dead can ride apace;
Doft fear to ride with mee?
Look up, look up, any airy crewe
In roundel dances reele:
The moon is bryghte, and blue the nyghte,
Mayft dimlie fee them wheele.
Come to, come to, ye ghoftlie crew,
Come to, and follow mee,
And daunce for us the wedding daunce,
When we in bed shall be."`
And brush, brush, brush, the ghoftlie crew
Come wheeling ore their heads,
All ruftling like the wither'd leaves
That wyde the wirlwind spreads.
Halloo! halloo! away they goe,
Unheeding wet or drye;
And horfe and rider fnort and blowe,
And sparkling pebbles fiye.
And all, that in the moonfhyne lay,
Behynde them fled afar;
And backwarde fcudded, overhead,
The sky and every star.
Tramp, tramp, across the land they speede; Splafh, fplafh, acrosse the fee:
"Hurrah! the dead can ride apace;
Doft feare to ride with mee?"
I weene the cock prepares to crowe;
The fand will foone be runne:
I fnuffe the earlye morning aire;
Downe, downe! oure work is done.
The dead, the dead can ryde apace;
Oure wed-bed here is fit:
Oure race is ridde, oure journey ore,
Oure endleffe union knit."
And lo! an yren-grated gate
Soon biggens to their viewe:
He crackte his whyppe; the clangynge boltes,
The doors afunder flewe.
They pass, and 'twas on graves they trode;
"Tis hither we are bounde:"
And many a tombstone ghostlie white
Lay in the moonshyne round.
And when he from his steede alytte,
His armour, black as cinder,
Did moulder, moulder all awaye,
As were it made of tinder.
His head became a naked skull;
Nor haire nor eyne had hee ;
His body grew a skeleton,
Whilome fo blythe of blee.
And at his dry and bony heele
No fpur was left to be;
And in his witherede hande
you might
The fythe and houre-glaffe fee.
And lo! his fteede did thin to smoke,
And charnel fires outbreathe;
And pal'd, and bleach'd, then vanish'd quite
The mayde from underneathe.
And hollow howlings hung in aire,
And fhrieks from vaults arofe:
Then knew the mayde fhe might no more
Her living eyes unclose.
But onwarde to the judgement-feat,
Through myfte and moonlighte dreare,
The ghoftlie crewe their flyghte persewe,
And hollowe in her eare:
"Be patient; though thyne herte fhoulde breke,
Arrayne not Heaven's decree,
Thou now art of thie body refte,
Thie foule forgiven bee !"
To the MEMORY of a DECEASED FRIEND.
ORTAL, from yon lower sphere,
Ere eternal joys thou fhare,
Are thy earthly duties done,
Hufband, father, friend, and fon?
Haft thou, o'er a parent's head,
Drops of filial fondness fhed?
What the pleasure-haft thou prov'd,
'Tis to love and to be lov'd?
Haft thou, with delighted eyes,
Seen thy num'rous offspring rise?
Haft thou in the paths of truth
Led their inexperienc'd youth?
Didst thou e'er, in fadness, bend
O'er the forrows of a friend?
Didst thou hasten unappall'd,
When thy finking country call'd?
Hufband, father, friend, and fon,
Well thy journey haft thou run;
Life has known its beft employ,
Sown in virtue, reap'd in joy.
AREWELL, O native Spain! farewell for ever
FA banish'd eyes hall view thy coafts no more:
A mournful prefage tells my heart, that never
Gonzalvo's fteps again fhall press thy shore.
Hufh'd are the winds; while foft the veffel, failing
With gentle motion, ploughs th' unruffled main,
I feel my bofom's boafted courage failing,
And curfe the waves which bear me far from Spain.
I fee it yet! Beneath yon blue clear heaven,
Still do the fpires, fo well-belov'd, appear.
From yonder craggy point, the gale of even
Still wafts my native accents to mine ear.
Propp'd on fome mofs-crown'd rock, and gayly finging,
There, in the fun, his nets the fisher dries;
Oft have I heard the plaintive ballad, bringing
Scenes of paft joy before my forr'wing eyes.
Ah! happy fwain! he waits th' accuftom'd hour,
When twilight-gloom obfcures the closing sky:
Then gladly feeks his lov'd paternal bow'r,
And fhares the feast his native fields fupply.
Friendship and Love, his cottage guests, receive him
With honeft welcome, and with smile fincere:
No threat'ning woes of present joys bereave him;
No figh his bofom owns, his cheek no tear.
Ah! happy fwain! fuch blifs to me denying,
Fortune thy lot with envy bids me view;
Me, who, from home and Spain an exile flying,
Bid all I value, all I love, adieu.
No more mine ear fhall lift the well-known ditty,
Sung by fome mountain-girl, who tends her goats,
Some village fwain imploring am'rous pity,
Or fhepherd chanting wild his ruftic notes.
No more my arms a parent's fond embraces,
No more my heart domeftic calm must know;
Far from thefe joys, with fighs which mem❜ry traces,
To fultry fkies and diftant climes I go.
Where Indian funs engender new diseases,
Where snakes and tigers breed, I bend my way,
To brave the fev'rifh thirst no art appeases,
The yellow plague, and madding blaze of day.
But not to feel flow pangs confumé my liver,
To die by piece-meal in the bloom of age,
My boiling blood drank by infatiate fever,
And brain delirious with the day-star's rage,
Can make me know fuch grief as thus to fever,
With many a bitter figh, dear land! from thee;
To feel this heart muft doat on thee for ever,
And feel that all thy joys are torn from me!
Ah me! how oft will fancy's fpells, in flumber,
Recall my native country to my mind!
How oft regret will bid me fadly number
Each loft delight, and dear friend left behind!
Wild Murcia's vales, and lov'd romantic bowers,
The river on whofe banks a child I play'd,
My caftle's ancient halls, its frowning towers,
Each much-regretted wood and well-known glade.
Dreams of the land where all my wishes centre,
Thy fcenes, which I am doom'd no more to know,
Full oft fhall mem'ry trace, my foul's tormentor,
And turn each pleasure paft to prefent woe.
But, lo! the fun beneath the waves retires;
Night speeds apace her empire to restore;
Clouds from my fight obfcure the village-spires,
Now feen but faintly, and now feen no more.
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