The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop :: :: University of Virginia Library

While Wits thro' Fiction's regions ramble,—
While Bards for fame or profit scramble;—
While Pegasus can trot, or amble;—
Come what may come,—I'll sing the Bramble.

“How now!”—methinks I hear you say:—
“Why? What is Rhyme run mad to-day?”
—No, Sirs, mine's but a sudden gambol;
My Muse hung hamper'd in a Bramble.

But soft! no more of this wild stuff!
Once for a frolic is enough;—
So help us Rhyme, at future need,
As we in soberer style proceed.

171

All subjects of nice disquisition,
Admit two modes of definition:
For every thing two sides has got,—
What is it?—and what is it not?

Both methods, for exactness sake,
We with our Bramble mean to take:
And by your leave, will first discuss
It's negative good parts,—as thus.—

A Bramble will not, like a Rose,
To prick your fingers, tempt your nose;
Whene'er it wounds, the fault's your own,—
Let that, and that lets you, alone.

You shut your Myrtles for a time up;
Your Jasmine wants a wall to climb up;
But Bramble, in its humbler station,
Nor weather heeds, nor situation;
No season is too wet, or dry for't,
No ditch too low, no hedge too high for't.

172

Some praise, and that with reason too,
The Honeysuckle's scent and hue;
But sudden storms, or sure decay,
Sweep, with it's bloom, it's charms away:
The sturdy Bramble's coarser flower
Maintains it's post, come blast, come shower;
And when time crops it, time subdues
No charms;—for it has none to lose.

Spite of your skill, and care, and cost,
Your nobler shrubs are often lost;
But Brambles, where they once get footing,
From age to age continue shooting;
Ask no attention, nor forecasting;
Not ever-green; but ever-lasting.

Some shrubs intestine hatred cherish,
And plac'd too near each other, perish;
Bramble indulges no such whim;
All neighbours are alike to him;

173

No stump so scrubby, but he'll grace it;
No crab so sour, but he'll embrace it.

Such, and so various negative merits,
The Bramble from it's birth inherits:—
Take we it's positive virtues next;
For so at first we split our text.

The more Resentment tugs and kicks,
The closer still the Bramble sticks;
Yet gently handled, quits it's hold;
Like heroes of true British mould:
Nothing so touchy, when they're teas'd,—
No touchiness so soon appeas'd.

Full in your view, and next your hand,
The Bramble's homely berries stand:
Eat as you list,—none calls you glutton;
Forbear,—it matters not a button.
And is not, pray, this very quality
Th' essence of true Hospitality?

174

When frank simplicity and sense
Make no parade, take no offence;
Such as it is, set forth their best,
And let the welcome—add the rest.

The Bramble's shoot, tho' Fortune lay
Point-blank obstructions in it's way,
For no obstructions will give out;
Climbs up, creeps under, winds about;
Like Valour, that can suffer, die,
Do any thing,—but yield, or fly.

While Brambles hints like these can start,
Am I to blame to take their part?
No—let who will, affect to scorn 'em,
My Muse shall glory to adorn 'em;
For as Rhyme did, in my preamble,
So Reason now cries, “Bravo! Bramble!”