The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] ... With a Copious Index. To which is prefixed Some Account of his Life. In Four Volumes |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
190
JENNY'S COMPLAINT.[_]
Notwithstanding the general contempt of
poor Sternhold and Hopkins, of psalm-inditing
memory, I do not deem them beneath the dignity
of some imitation. I fear that too many a poet
of the present day is affected (if I may coin an expression)
with a phusi-phobia, or a dread of nature
and simplicity; and, if I may judge from the
difficulty of comprehending their meaning, they
fancy Obscurity to be the genuine parent of the
Sublime. In the following ballad I have endeavoured
to steer between the two, assuming a little
liberty with historical truth respecting Jenny and
the celebrated auld Robin.
[_]
Notwithstanding the general contempt of poor Sternhold and Hopkins, of psalm-inditing memory, I do not deem them beneath the dignity of some imitation. I fear that too many a poet of the present day is affected (if I may coin an expression) with a phusi-phobia, or a dread of nature and simplicity; and, if I may judge from the difficulty of comprehending their meaning, they fancy Obscurity to be the genuine parent of the Sublime. In the following ballad I have endeavoured to steer between the two, assuming a little liberty with historical truth respecting Jenny and the celebrated auld Robin.
The night was still, and full of fear,
And all the world seem'd dead;
When, pond'ring on poor Robin Gray,
I went with sighs to bed.
And all the world seem'd dead;
When, pond'ring on poor Robin Gray,
I went with sighs to bed.
There, while my heart did heave with grief,
The moon, that wand'rer pale,
In at my window peep'd and shin'd
So faint against the wall.
The moon, that wand'rer pale,
In at my window peep'd and shin'd
So faint against the wall.
I clos'd my eye in vain to sleep,
And sigh'd ‘Ah! well-a-day!’
For then I dwelt on my dear love,
My buried Robin Gray.
And sigh'd ‘Ah! well-a-day!’
For then I dwelt on my dear love,
My buried Robin Gray.
As on my arm I lean'd my head,
All dreary and forlorn,
My hair did drink the briny tears
That down my cheek did mourn.
All dreary and forlorn,
My hair did drink the briny tears
That down my cheek did mourn.
Sudden a cloud, like ink so black,
The moon's pale face o'ercast;
The window shook, and horror howl'd,
Amid the hollow blast.
The moon's pale face o'ercast;
The window shook, and horror howl'd,
Amid the hollow blast.
The oaks that proudly look'd on high,
Their lofty heads bent low,
And 'midst their mighty branches roar'd,
As if they scorn'd to bow.
Their lofty heads bent low,
And 'midst their mighty branches roar'd,
As if they scorn'd to bow.
But, like a giant in his course,
The storm went rushing on,
Scattering their limbs and leaves so thick,
As heedless what was done.
The storm went rushing on,
Scattering their limbs and leaves so thick,
As heedless what was done.
Now thunder from the black cloud broke,
And terrified the night,
And lightnings, with a dangerous blaze,
Made all the darkness bright.
And terrified the night,
And lightnings, with a dangerous blaze,
Made all the darkness bright.
191
But my poor bleeding heat forlorn
Did sink with no dismay,
Since often it had wish'd to die
For dear auld Robin Gray.
Did sink with no dismay,
Since often it had wish'd to die
For dear auld Robin Gray.
Now did a spectre form appear,
All aged, pale, and wan;
And, by his visage, I could spy
He was my lost auld man.
All aged, pale, and wan;
And, by his visage, I could spy
He was my lost auld man.
Now on my bed-side did he sit,
As harmless as a dove;
And though he had two hollow eyes,
They look'd with tend'rest love.
As harmless as a dove;
And though he had two hollow eyes,
They look'd with tend'rest love.
Forth from their sockets then did rush
Full many a drop of woe:
So from the cave or rugged rock
The pearly waters flow.
Full many a drop of woe:
So from the cave or rugged rock
The pearly waters flow.
‘Jesu!’ I cry'd, and stretch'd my arms
To clasp him round the waist;
But nought of his poor spectre drear
My longing arms embrac'd.
To clasp him round the waist;
But nought of his poor spectre drear
My longing arms embrac'd.
‘Oh! Jenny (then he said), in vain
Thy arms would clasp me in;
For spirits, such as thou behold'st,
Have neither bones nor skin.’
Thy arms would clasp me in;
For spirits, such as thou behold'st,
Have neither bones nor skin.’
Full on his visage did I gaze,
All hurried with surprise;
And, eager to devour each look,
My soul rush'd through my eyes.
All hurried with surprise;
And, eager to devour each look,
My soul rush'd through my eyes.
Now did I strive to catch his hand,
That press'd so often mine;
But twas in vain—'twas nought but air,
Which made my heart to pine.
That press'd so often mine;
But twas in vain—'twas nought but air,
Which made my heart to pine.
And yet his hands so shrivell'd were,
As made of flesh and blood:
But God knows best what should be done,
And God is very good.
As made of flesh and blood:
But God knows best what should be done,
And God is very good.
192
‘And art thou happy then,’ I cry'd,
‘In this thy present state?’
He smil'd like angels then, and said,
‘God well hath chang'd my fate.
‘In this thy present state?’
He smil'd like angels then, and said,
‘God well hath chang'd my fate.
‘Let innocence, O Jane, be thine,
And peace shall dwell with thee;
And when just Heaven shall call thee hence,
With Robin thou shalt be.’
And peace shall dwell with thee;
And when just Heaven shall call thee hence,
With Robin thou shalt be.’
With that he look'd a sweet farewel,
And rais'd each wetted eye;
Then glided off, and, as he went,
I heard the kindest sigh.
And rais'd each wetted eye;
Then glided off, and, as he went,
I heard the kindest sigh.
‘Adieu!’ I cry'd, half chok'd with grief,
‘Soul of my soul, adieu!
My bosom throbs to leave this world,
And thy dear flight pursue.
‘Soul of my soul, adieu!
My bosom throbs to leave this world,
And thy dear flight pursue.
‘But Robin, Robin, stay awhile;
Ah! stay awhile,’ I said—
‘As Jemmy is come home from sea,
May I with Jemmy wed?’
Ah! stay awhile,’ I said—
‘As Jemmy is come home from sea,
May I with Jemmy wed?’
But Robin answer'd not a word,
But off his ghost did go;
Which made me wonder—but perhaps
His ghost had answer'd, ‘No.’
But off his ghost did go;
Which made me wonder—but perhaps
His ghost had answer'd, ‘No.’
Auld Robin's kindnesses to me,
Whilst we in love did live,
Deserve more streams from these sad eyes,
Than they have drops to give.
Whilst we in love did live,
Deserve more streams from these sad eyes,
Than they have drops to give.
The evening that he sought his grave,
Did wear a dismal gloom;
And all who did the burying see,
With eyes so red went home.
Did wear a dismal gloom;
And all who did the burying see,
With eyes so red went home.
The honest tribute of their tears,
I thought was sweetest fame;
And when I die, God grant my bier
Be sprinkled with the same!
I thought was sweetest fame;
And when I die, God grant my bier
Be sprinkled with the same!
193
The harmless children, too, in bands,
Did pour their little sighs,
And on the coffin near the grave
They strain'd their wat'ry eyes.
Did pour their little sighs,
And on the coffin near the grave
They strain'd their wat'ry eyes.
And when into the earth below
His corpse at length was giv'n,
They look'd towards each other's eyes,
And sigh'd, ‘He's goue to Heaven.’
His corpse at length was giv'n,
They look'd towards each other's eyes,
And sigh'd, ‘He's goue to Heaven.’
Then on his grave they sat them down,
And lisp'd his name with praise,
Till all the little wights did wish
To be auld Robin Grays.
And lisp'd his name with praise,
Till all the little wights did wish
To be auld Robin Grays.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |