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CHAPTER 1st.
The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse |  |
DISTANT PROSPECT.
Now spread the vast Champaigne's expansive sweep,
Where swims the eye, and lands on many a steep.
Views peopled spots—wild wastes—or sylvan scenes,
In varied vests; dull drabs; or gladdening greens—
Where clustering Cottages, encircled, stand,
Whose Tenants' toils enrich thier roods of land;
With grey plains girt, neglected, and forlorn!
That ne'er knew music but the Huntsman's horn;
And bellowing bipeds, of the cruel kind,
With noisome sounds of clamorous kennels join'd.
Where pygmey flocks on purpled herbage feed,
And burrowing rabbits rear their furry breed.
Where starveling shrubs on separate acres pine,
And murkey mounds announce exhausted mine.
The ample space no flow'rs, no fountains, chear,
Nor Spring spreads out her verdant vestments there,
Save where twin Yew trees, like leagued brothers, bold,
Out-brav'd the tempest, and defied the cold;
And thro' unnumbered centuries kept their place
While millions fell of Man's ill-fated Race!
Or close-cut furze-bush, scatter'd, far and wide,
With yellow blooms bespots the savage void;
While stern Sterility, with mantle brown,
With thistly sceptre, and rough ferny crown,
Extends his dreary reign, with sullen sway,
Since whelming water swept Mankind away—
Nor hath bright share, or coulter, e'er been known
To tear his raiment, or o'erturn his throne;
But 'mid well-cultured tracks, and crowded towns,
From Age to Age, dark lowr'd with famine's frowns.
Where swims the eye, and lands on many a steep.
Views peopled spots—wild wastes—or sylvan scenes,
In varied vests; dull drabs; or gladdening greens—
Where clustering Cottages, encircled, stand,
Whose Tenants' toils enrich thier roods of land;
With grey plains girt, neglected, and forlorn!
That ne'er knew music but the Huntsman's horn;
And bellowing bipeds, of the cruel kind,
With noisome sounds of clamorous kennels join'd.
Where pygmey flocks on purpled herbage feed,
And burrowing rabbits rear their furry breed.
Where starveling shrubs on separate acres pine,
And murkey mounds announce exhausted mine.
The ample space no flow'rs, no fountains, chear,
Nor Spring spreads out her verdant vestments there,
Save where twin Yew trees, like leagued brothers, bold,
Out-brav'd the tempest, and defied the cold;
And thro' unnumbered centuries kept their place
While millions fell of Man's ill-fated Race!
Or close-cut furze-bush, scatter'd, far and wide,
With yellow blooms bespots the savage void;
While stern Sterility, with mantle brown,
With thistly sceptre, and rough ferny crown,
Extends his dreary reign, with sullen sway,
Since whelming water swept Mankind away—
Nor hath bright share, or coulter, e'er been known
To tear his raiment, or o'erturn his throne;
But 'mid well-cultured tracks, and crowded towns,
From Age to Age, dark lowr'd with famine's frowns.
'Mid the rude forehead of the rugged Wild,
Where Pleasure never laugh'd, nor Comfort smil'd!
With sedges fring'd, and birches border'd round,
A liquid mirror lights the vale profound,
And, like a Cyclops' eye, thro' thick-shagg'd brows,
And bristly lids, with glaring lustre glows;
Diffusing silvery gleams, with softening grace,
O'er the grim features of his grisley face!
Where Pleasure never laugh'd, nor Comfort smil'd!
With sedges fring'd, and birches border'd round,
A liquid mirror lights the vale profound,
And, like a Cyclops' eye, thro' thick-shagg'd brows,
And bristly lids, with glaring lustre glows;
Diffusing silvery gleams, with softening grace,
O'er the grim features of his grisley face!
Such was the Scene, thro' postdeluvian dates,
Till Dudley Ward ordain'd far different fates—
Call'd out the mattock, axe, and probing spade,
To bound and drain the thriftless knowle, and glade—
Grubb'd the stunt holly, and rude hawthorn bush,—
Banish'd rough swampy reed, and marshy rush—
Launch'd, boldly, thro' the propagating plough,
To try for harvests on each barren brow;
Severing dry hillock from gross oozey glen,
For tableing beasts, and fencing food for Men.
Soon o'er the smiling wilderness were seen
Rich clover grass, and turnips' vivid green;
While bordering Peasantry, with hopes, behold,
Fields gladly float in waves of wheaten gold!
Till Dudley Ward ordain'd far different fates—
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To bound and drain the thriftless knowle, and glade—
Grubb'd the stunt holly, and rude hawthorn bush,—
Banish'd rough swampy reed, and marshy rush—
Launch'd, boldly, thro' the propagating plough,
To try for harvests on each barren brow;
Severing dry hillock from gross oozey glen,
For tableing beasts, and fencing food for Men.
Soon o'er the smiling wilderness were seen
Rich clover grass, and turnips' vivid green;
While bordering Peasantry, with hopes, behold,
Fields gladly float in waves of wheaten gold!
But, ah! how seldom Scenes, like these, supply
One gleam of hope to Penury's eager eye!
How rare one real privilege impart,
To meagre Misery's hapless, pining, heart!
Furnish no useful helps to starving stores,
While Want petitions, and deep Woe deplores;
But more embitter hungry Labour's lot,
By scraps and morsels claim'd from murm'ring Cot!
Of all these benefits, that bliss, bereft,
That Heav'n had lent, but Pow'r no longer left!
Spontaneous products of the Sun and Soil,
Not given Intreaty, nor, now gain'd by Toil!
One gleam of hope to Penury's eager eye!
How rare one real privilege impart,
To meagre Misery's hapless, pining, heart!
Furnish no useful helps to starving stores,
While Want petitions, and deep Woe deplores;
But more embitter hungry Labour's lot,
By scraps and morsels claim'd from murm'ring Cot!
Of all these benefits, that bliss, bereft,
That Heav'n had lent, but Pow'r no longer left!
Spontaneous products of the Sun and Soil,
Not given Intreaty, nor, now gain'd by Toil!
Their little Cow, which, wont to prowl at large,
Pick'd its chief provender, exempt from charge;
Might, o'er unmeasur'd acres, freely roam,
And, half the year, bring burden'd udders home;
Returning, faithful, morning, noon, and night,
The Parent's dow'r, and Progeny's delight!
Still yielding each a charitable treat
Of palatable—pure—unpurchas'd—meat!
Pick'd its chief provender, exempt from charge;
Might, o'er unmeasur'd acres, freely roam,
And, half the year, bring burden'd udders home;
Returning, faithful, morning, noon, and night,
The Parent's dow'r, and Progeny's delight!
Still yielding each a charitable treat
Of palatable—pure—unpurchas'd—meat!
Their puny Pig, there, travell'd to and fro,
Which scarce to common glance appear'd to grow;
Yet would the Owner's interested eyes
Behold him, hourly, greatly grown in size;
While, near the narrow threshold, day by day,
He join'd the barefoot brood, in sportive play—
The pleas'd companion of their board and bed,
With care, with tenderness, well-hous'd and fed,
Till, fat with fondness, and full bulk, increas'd,
His flesh afforded Winter's weekly feast;
Supplying savoury food for Sunday's dish,
The fond fulfilment of their weekly wish—
Then some descendant, of the bristly race,
At Spring's return supplied his happy place.
Which scarce to common glance appear'd to grow;
Yet would the Owner's interested eyes
Behold him, hourly, greatly grown in size;
While, near the narrow threshold, day by day,
He join'd the barefoot brood, in sportive play—
The pleas'd companion of their board and bed,
With care, with tenderness, well-hous'd and fed,
Till, fat with fondness, and full bulk, increas'd,
His flesh afforded Winter's weekly feast;
Supplying savoury food for Sunday's dish,
The fond fulfilment of their weekly wish—
Then some descendant, of the bristly race,
At Spring's return supplied his happy place.
Their aged Gander, and their matron Goose,
Each Summer's morn, with clamorous cries, let loose,
To traverse, freely, all that ample round,
Where neither fastness stood, or tyrant frown'd;
Free from restraint led on their downy brood,
O'er lawns, and lakes, to find their constant food;
And every eve, with grateful fondness, chear'd,
Till, free from cost and toil, each offspring rear'd,
They proudly purchas'd, with the feathery flock,
Warm cloaths, and bread-corn, for their wintry stock.
Each Summer's morn, with clamorous cries, let loose,
To traverse, freely, all that ample round,
Where neither fastness stood, or tyrant frown'd;
Free from restraint led on their downy brood,
O'er lawns, and lakes, to find their constant food;
And every eve, with grateful fondness, chear'd,
Till, free from cost and toil, each offspring rear'd,
They proudly purchas'd, with the feathery flock,
Warm cloaths, and bread-corn, for their wintry stock.
When stern manorial Lords' unpitying pow'rs
Monopolize like providential dow'rs;
No little Cow transports the Peasant's soul,
Or fills, with strengthening treat his beechen bowl;
But callous hearts inclose the parcell'd plain,
While with his Cow, his Comfort's sold and slain!
Monopolize like providential dow'rs;
No little Cow transports the Peasant's soul,
Or fills, with strengthening treat his beechen bowl;
But callous hearts inclose the parcell'd plain,
While with his Cow, his Comfort's sold and slain!
The puny Pig greets eyes, and ears, no more,
With grunts, and gambols, round his cottage door!
No more in collops cut from season'd hoard,
To smoke, each Sabbath, on his battening board!
With grunts, and gambols, round his cottage door!
No more in collops cut from season'd hoard,
To smoke, each Sabbath, on his battening board!
No snowy Gander and grey Goose are seen,
Strutting before their troop about the green;
At Summer's close for wheat, and woollens, sold
To feed their frames and skreen them from the cold.
In tatters, now, expos'd to biting blasts,
And pinch'd with want while temporal being lasts—
No hope to stimulate, or toil, or care,
To chear their prospects, or to chace despair!
Think not that Crispin's meditating mind,
Strutting before their troop about the green;
At Summer's close for wheat, and woollens, sold
To feed their frames and skreen them from the cold.
In tatters, now, expos'd to biting blasts,
And pinch'd with want while temporal being lasts—
No hope to stimulate, or toil, or care,
To chear their prospects, or to chace despair!
Was e're so silly, bigotted, and blind,
As wish to see such tracts of turf produce
So little fruits for beauty, or for use—
No reasoning Soul could murmur, so misled,
Who wishes all Mankind well-cloth'd and fed;
Nor longs that Man alone, but labouring beasts,
Might find their comforts, and enjoy their feasts.
None touch'd with sympathy, or blest with taste,
Loves barren wild, or drear deformed waste—
Nor longs mere wildernesses still might lie
The scourge of conscious heart, and tutor'd eye.
Earth, in such sterile state, can ne'er afford
Full food for beasts, or bless Man's festal board—
But when Wealth's greedy pow'r, and grasping paw,
Urg'd on by selfishness, and back'd by law—
When lordly Chiefs extend the fatal chain,
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When, o'er each heathy height and grassy glade,
Large lots to Competence, and Wealth, are laid,
Should not Compassion point out some restraint,
To lighten labour, and preclude complaint?
Should not some plots for Poverty be found?
Some petty portions of contiguous ground?
Some spots to nurse the progeny of Need?
Where Pigs and Cows, with Families, might feed?
While Goose and Gander stepp'd their small extent,
From pinfolds free, and clear of lease and rent?
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CHAPTER 1st.
The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse | |