The Banks of Wye | Page 3

came the news that HAL was born,?And MONMOUTH hail'd th' auspicious morn;?A boy in sports, a prince in war,?Wisdom and valour crown'd his car;?Of France the terror, England's glory,?As Stratford's bard has told the story.
No butler's proxies snore supine,?Where the old monarch kept his wine;?No Welch ox roasting, horns and all,?Adorns his throng'd and laughing hall;?But where he pray'd, and told his beads,?A thriving ash luxuriant spreads.
No wheels by piecemeal brought the pile;?No barks embowel'd Portland Isle;?Dig, cried experience, dig away,?Bring the firm quarry into day,?The excavation still shall save?Those ramparts which its entrails gave.?"Here kings shall dwell," the builders cried;?"Here England's foes shall low'r their pride;?Hither shall suppliant nobles come,?And this be England's royal home."?Vain hope! for on the Gwentian shore,?The regal banner streams no more!?Nettles, and vilest weeds that grow,?To mock poor grandeur's head laid low,?Creep round the turrets valour rais'd,?And flaunt where youth and beauty gaz'd.
Here fain would strangers loiter long,?And muse as Fancy's woof grows strong;?Yet cold the heart that could complain,?Where POLLETT [Footnote: The boatman.] struck his oars again; For lovely as the sleeping child,?The stream glides on sublimely wild,?In perfect beauty, perfect ease;?The awning trembled in the breeze,?And scarcely trembled, as we stood?For RUERDEAN Spire, and BISHOP'S WOOD.?The fair domains of COURTFIELD [A] made?A paradise of mingled shade?[Footnote A: A seat belonging to the family of Vaughan, which is not unnoticed in the pages of history. According to tradition, it is the place where Henry the Fifth was nursed, under the care of the Countess of Salisbury, from which circumstance the original name of Grayfield is said to have been changed to Courtfield. (This is probably an erroneous tradition; for Court was a common name for a manor-house, where the lord of the manor held his court.--Core's Monmouth.)]?Round BICKNOR'S tiny church, that cowers?Beneath his host of woodland bowers.
But who the charm of words shall fling,?O'er RAVEN CLIFF and COLDWELL Spring,?To brighten the unconscious eye,?And wake the soul to extasy?
Noon scorch'd the fields; the boat lay to;?The dripping oars had nought to do,?Where round us rose a scene that might?Enchant an ideot--glorious sight!?Here, in one gay according mind,?Upon the sparkling stream we din'd;?As shepherds free on mountain heath,?Free as the fish that watch'd beneath?For falling crumbs, where cooling lay?The wine that cheer'd us on our way.?Th' unruffled bosom of the stream,?Gave every tint and every gleam;?Gave shadowy rocks, and clear blue sky,?And double clouds of various dye;?Gave dark green woods, or russet brown,?And pendant corn-fields, upside down.
A troop of gleaners chang'd their shade,?And 'twas a change by music made;?For slowly to the brink they drew,?To mark our joy, and share it too.?How oft, in childhood's flow'ry days,?I've heard the wild impassion'd lays?Of such a group, lays strange and new,?And thought, was ever song so true??When from the hazel's cool retreat,?They watch'd the summer's trembling heat;?And through the boughs rude urchins play'd,?Where matrons, round the laughing maid,?Prest the long grass beneath! And here?They doubtless shar'd an equal cheer;?Enjoy'd the feast with equal glee,?And rais'd the song of revelry:?Yet half abash'd reserv'd, and shy,?Watch'd till the strangers glided by.
GLEANER'S SONG
Dear Ellen, your tales are all plenteously stor'd,?With the joys of some bride, and the wealth of her lord.
Of her chariots and dresses,?And worldly caresses,?And servants that fly when she's waited upon:?But what can she boast if she weds unbelov'd??Can she e'er feel the joy that one morning I prov'd,?When I put on my new gown and waited for John?
These fields, my dear Ellen, I knew them of yore,?Yet to me they ne'er look'd so enchanting before;
The distant bells ringing,?The birds round us singing,?For pleasure is pure when affection is won;?They told me the troubles and cares of a wife;?But I lov'd him; and that was the pride of my life,?When I put on my new gown and waited for John.
He shouted and ran, as he leapt from the stile;?And what in my bosom was passing the while?
For love knows the blessing?Of ardent caressing,?When virtue inspires us, and doubts are all gone.?The sunshine of Fortune you say is divine;?True love and the sunshine of Nature were mine,?When I put on my new gown and waited for John.
Never could spot be suited less?To bear memorials of distress;?None, cries the sage, more fit is found,?They strike at once a double wound;?Humiliation bids you sigh,?And think of immortality.
Close on the bank, and half o'ergrown,?Beneath a dark wood's soinbrous frown,?A monumental stone appears,?Of one who in his blooming years,?While bathing spurn'd the grassy shore,?And sunk, midst friends, to rise no more;?By parents witness'd--Hark! their shrieks!?The dreadful language horror speaks!?But why in verse attempt to tell?That tale the stone records so well[A]?
[Footnote A: Inscription on the side towards the water.?"Sacred to the memory of JOHN WHITEHEAD WARRE, who perished near this spot, whilst bathing in the river Wye, in sight of his afflicted