246. THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN. John Gilpin was a citizen Of credit and renown, A train-band Captain eke was he John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear- My sister, and my sister's child, Myself, and children three, Will fill the chaise; so you must ride On horseback after we. He soon replied-I do admire Of womankind but one, And you are she, my dearest dear, Therefore it shall be done. I am a linendraper bold, As all the world doth know, And my good friend the calender Will lend his horse to go. Quoth Mistress Gilpin-That's well said; John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife; O'erjoy'd was he to find That, though on pleasure she was bent, She had a frugal mind. The morning came, the chaise was brought, But yet was not allow'd To drive up to the door, lest all Should say that she was proud. So three doors off the chaise was stay'd, Where they did all get in; Six precious souls, and all agog To dash through thick and thin. For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he, His journey to begin, When, turning round his head, he saw Three customers come in. So down he came; for loss of time, 'Twas long before the customers When Betty, screaming, came downstairs "The wine is left behind!" Good lack quoth he-yet bring it me, In which I bear my trusty sword, Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul!) Had two stone bottles found, To hold the liquor that she lov'd, And keep it safe and sound. Each bottle had a curling ear, Through which the belt he drew, Then, over all, that he might be His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat, He manfully did throw. Now see him mounted once again Upon his nimble steed, But finding soon a smoother road So, Fair and softly, John he cried, That trot became a gallop soon, Smack went the whip, round went the So, stooping down, as needs he must wheels, Were never folk so glad, The stones did rattle underneath, As if Cheapside were mad. John Gilpin, at his horse's side, Seiz'd fast the flowing mane, And up he got, in haste to ride, But soon came down again : Who cannot sit upright, He grasp'd the mane with both his hands, And eke with all his might. His horse, who never in that sort Away went Gilpin, neck or nought, The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, At last it flew away. Then might all people well discern The dogs did bark, the children scream'd, And ev'ry soul cried out-Well done! And still, as fast as he drew near, And now, as he went bowing down Down ran the wine into the road Which made his horse's flanks to smoke But still he seem'd to carry weight, Thus all through merry Islington These gambols he did play, And there he threw the Wash about At Edmonton, his loving wife Her tender husband, wond'ring much Stop, stop, John Gilpin !-Here's the house They all at once did cry; The dinner waits, and we are tired: But yet his horse was not a whit So, like an arrow swift he flew, Away went Gilpin out of breath, The calender, amazed to see His neighbour in such trim, What news? what news? your tidings tell; Tell me you must and shall- Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, I came because your horse would come; My hat and wig will soon be here, They are upon the road. The calender, right glad to find Whence straight he came with hat and wig; A wig that flow'd behind, A hat not much the worse for wear, He held them up, and in his turn Said John-It is my wedding-day, So, turning to his horse, he said- Ah! luckless speech, and bootless boast! The frighted steed he frighted more, Did sing most loud and clear; Went Gilpin's hat and wig, She pull'd out half-a-crown; And thus unto the youth she said, That drove them to the Bell This shall be yours when you bring back The youth did ride, and soon did meet But not performing what he meant, And made him faster run. Away went Gilpin, and away Went postboy at his heels, With postboy scamp'ring in the rear, Stop thief! stop thief!-a highwayman! And all and each that pass'd that way And now the turnpike gates again And so he did, and won it too, For he got first to town; Now let us sing-Long live the king, And, when he next doth ride abroad, 247. William Fulconer. 1730-1769. (Manual, p. 385.) FROM THE SHIPWRECK.' In vain the cords and axes were prepared, Till like the mine, in whose infernal cell 248. Erasmus Darwin. 1731-1802. (Manual, p. 385.) STEEL. Hail, adamantine STEEL! magnetic Lord! 249. James Macpherson. 1738-1796. (Manual, p. 386.) Star of descending night! fair is thy light in the west! thou liftest thy unshorn head from thy cloud; thy steps are stately on thy hill. What dost thou behold in the plain? The stormy winds are laid. The murmur of the torrent comes from afar. Roaring waves climb the distant rock. The flies of evening are on their feeble wings; the hum of their course is on the field. What dost thou behold, fair light? But thou dost smile and depart. The waves come with joy around thee: they bathe thy lovely hair. Farewell, thou silent beam! let the light of Ossian's soul arise! And it does arise in its strength! I behold my departed friends. Their gathering is on Lora, as in the days of other years. Fingal comes like a watery column of mist; his heroes are around. And see the bards of song, grey-haired Ullin! stately Ryno! Alpin with the tuneful voice! the soft complaint of Minona! How are ye changed, my friends, since the days of Selma's feast, when we contended, like gales of spring, as they fly along the hill, and bend by turns the feebly whistling grass! Minona came forth in her beauty, with downcast look and tearful eye. Her hair flew slowly on the blast, that rushed unfrequent from the hill. The souls of the heroes were sad when she raised the tuneful voice. Often had they seen the grave of Salgar, the dark dwelling of white-bosomed Colma. Colma left alone on the hill, with all her voice of song! Salgar promised to come; but the night descended around. Hear the voice of Colma, when she sat alone on the hill! Colma.-It is night; I am alone, forlorn on the hill of storms. The wind is heard in the mountain. The torrent pours down the rock. No hut receives me from the rain; forlorn on the hill of winds! Rise, moon, from behind thy clouds! Stars of the night, arise! Lead me, some light, to the place, where my love rests from the chase alone! his bow near him, unstrung! his dogs panting around him. But here I must sit alone by the rock of the mossy stream. The stream and the wind roar aloud. I hear not the voice of my love. Why delays my Salgar, why the chief of the hill, his promise? Here is the rock, and here the tree! here is the roaring stream! Thou didst promise with night to be here. Ah, whither is my Salgar gone? With thee I would fly from my father; with thee from my brother of pride. Our race have long been foes; we are no foes, O Salgar! Salgar, my Lo! the calm The rocks are His dogs come not Here I must sit Cease a little while, O wind! stream, be thou silent a while! let my voice be heard around. Let my wanderer hear me! Salgar, it is Colma who calls. Here is the tree, and the rock. love! I am here. Why delayest thou thy coming? moon comes forth. The flood is bright in the vale. grey on the steep. I see him not on the brow. before him, with tidings of his near approach. alone! Who lie on the heath beside me? Are they my love and my brother? Speak to me, O my friends! To Colma they give no reply. Speak to me; I am alone! My soul is tormented with fears! Ah, they are dead! Their swords are red from the fight. O my brother, my brother, why hast thou slain my Salgar? why, O Salgar, hast thou slain my brother? Dear were ye both to me! What shall I say in your praise? Thou wert fair on the hill among thousands! he was terrible in fight. Speak to me: hear my voice; hear me, sons of my love. They are silent, silent for ever! Cold, cold are their breasts of clay! Oh from the rock on the hill; from the top of the windy steep, speak, ye ghosts of the dead! speak, I |