University of Virginia Library

The wrath of Elspet, Gallowshiels's Fair—

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The first two lines of this poem are unnumbered in the text.

The fatal cause of all a Piper's care—
How by her changeful heart the dame misled,
Receiv'd a wand'ring Fiddler to her bed;
Forgetful she of all her former vows,
Her spotless fame and plighted Piper spouse;
Who, persevering in his early faith,
Wept her misdeed, and sorrow'd unto death,
Till plung'd in woes, and withering in her prime,
By late repentance she atoned her crime.
So did almighty destiny fulfil
The purpos'd counsels of his sovereign will.
Gracious, O muse! the mournful tale relate,
And warn the sex to shun the crime and fate.

For on that day when all the youths repair
From every quarter round to Gala's fair,
Industrious of gain, their wares to vend,
And copious mercats o'er the fields extend;
Where sprightly youths and virgins in the flow'r
Congenial meet, and hope the bridal hour;
With artful zeal the spacious tent they frame,
And to the linen dome invite the dame;
Or wait impatient for the setting light,
Behind the hedge to pass in joys the night.
To these, as circling in a ring they stand,
The Fiddler stretch'd the fiddle-bearing hand.

Ye men of Gallowshiels attentive hear,
Wives, matrons, widows, virgins, all give ear!
Unjustly blamed by a licentious tongue,
First let me speak, who first have suffer'd wrong.
No fault of mine your Piper's vengeance draws:
On me he throws the guilt of nature's laws.
True, in his dome, by friendly favours grac'd,
I joyful lived a fiddler and a guest;
What time rejoicing on the banks I stood
Of Gala's stream, and drank its unknown flood. [OMITTED]
For not to us, to love or hate is given
The appointment of our fates, and doom of heaven. [OMITTED]
Doom'd to the reaper's meal or bridal hour,
Who better brews the ale or kneads the flour,
Or who with her in needlework can vie,
Or swifter bid the whirling spindle fly?
Say Piper, then, ill judging as thou art,
Could I refuse so fair a damsel's heart?
Was I from offer'd blessings to abstain,
For that it gave my former host some pain?
But hear attentive what my thought decrees,
And set thy heart from idle fears at ease:
Ye men of Gallowshiels attentive hear,
Maids, widows, wives, and matrons, all give ear;
A conquest got with ease my soul disdains,
He's worse than conquer'd that but cheaply gains.
Before the fair let then our cause be tried,
And who her happy choice herself decide;
Sole in her breast the fav'rite youth shall reign,
Whose hand shall sweetest wake the warbled strain;
And if to me th' ill-fated Piper yield,
As sure I trust this well contended field,
High in the sacred dome his pipes I raise,
The trophy of my fame to after days;
That all may know, as they the pipes survey,
The Fiddler's deed, and this the signal day:
But if the Fates, his wishes to fulfil,
Shall give the triumph to his happier skill,
My fiddle his, to him be praises paid,
And joined with those the long contested maid.

All Gallowshiels the daring challenge heard,
Full blank they stood, and for their Piper fear'd;
Fearless, alone he rose in open view,
And in the midst his sounding bagpipe threw;
In act to speak, surveys with downward eye
The well-known instrument of melody:
Then on the maid he cast a mournful look,
He smote his breast, and sigh'd, while thus he spoke—

Alas for me that ever I was born!
Bred up to woes and to my Elspet's scorn!
For three long circling years, compell'd by fate,
My constant love has won her constant hate.
Can then so soft a mind so savage prove,
And is disdain a recompense for love?
Condemn'd, unblest, to waste my youthful prime,
Alas that constancy was e'er a crime!
Yet once, yet once, for happier days I knew,
She heard with pity then the sighs I drew.
In her soft breast consenting flames combin'd,
Each look confess'd the union of our mind.
But now these flames no more her heart inspire,
Far, far away, my hours of joy retire.
The hours of youth and joy fly first and fast,
To weeping and to age decreed the last.
These once consum'd, no more delights bestow,
But still remembrance keeps alive their woe.
Thus every joy exists before my mind
I shared ere yet my Elspet was unkind,
Ere yet the Fiddler, by insidious art,
Forc'd me from the possession of her heart;
By crafty lies seduced her easy youth,
(So much has flattery the odds of truth);
And now the more to aggravate the offence,
He styles his guilt the crime of Providence.
Base, to misname the gracious Pow'r above,
The Sire of Hate, who is the source of love;
He, all that we can boast from his dispose,
Or cheers with joys, or plunges us in woes.
Unerring he his bounties to misplace,
Our misery is a debt, our joys a grace.
Dar'st thou then say he prompts us from within,
Or draws aside from good, or drives to sin?
O impious thought of an abandon'd mind!
That daring tongue shall no just limits bind;
The scandal of thy kind and kindred born,
That treats thy Maker and his priests with scorn;
Opprobrious with thy baseborn thoughts to load,
To vindicate thy wrong, the man of God.
For this I hope to see thee mounted high,
Before the assembled church renounce the lie,
Where, clothed in sackcloth weeds, the failing dame
Her short-liv'd joys repays with long-liv'd shame,
Unable to endure his angry look,
The scoff of crowds, and suffering dire rebuke.
But would'st thou purge thyself of foul offence,
Thy surest pleader had been innocence;
For innocence to all commits its cause,
And, for it does no ill, it fears no laws.
But when the solid pow'r of justice fails,
Then eloquence with gaudy show assails,
Essays the hollow artifice of art,
And cheats the judgment, while it woos the heart.
My tongue shall speak but what my heart arreads,
Nor varnish use to blacken more thy deeds;
Nor shall I treat thy valued gifts with scorn,
But praise the talents that a foe adorn.
Thy lay of grief the mirthful bosom wounds,
None wakes the Fiddler to more sprightly sounds;
This to thy fame stern justice bade me say,
Then in the other scale thy vices lay.
Thy broken trust, thy false deceitful lies,
Dissembled fears, and real perjuries;
Skilled sore in wicked arts, a treacherous part,
Thou soothed my fair, and poisoned all her heart.
'Twas not for this I took thee to my dome,
A wandering stranger from thy native home;
Fool that I was! had it been given to know
What woes from thee were mine to undergo,
No power had from my vengeance set thee free,
Plunged in a well, or hanged on a tree, [mounted]
I with thy naked limbs had strown the plains,
Or mingled with the flinty rock thy brains.
But 'tis decreed, by heaven's disposing will,
Unknown to us, arrives our good or ill;
Nor heaven, in pity to his griefs, bestows
On man the fatal science of his woes.
But know, vain youth! thy falsehood I disdain,
Ingratitude be to itself a pain.
Suffice it not that with felonious hate,
Base and ungrateful, thou drove on my fate,
In secret wronged me, when I could not hear,
And stopped to my complaint my Elspet's ear.
Yet, now more impudent, thou dar'st to prove
Injurious, to accuse my want of love.
Ah! had I ne'er the fatal passion known,
Blest had I been, nor by the fair undone;
Then still with pity had she seen my tears,
Still sweet my bagpipe sounded in her ears.
Yet thus unhappy, thus supremely cursed,
In woes and misery decreed the first.
Yet this I owe, O Fiddler, to thy pride,
I once again may win the blooming bride,
I once again that tender strain essay,
That, bent on swiftest speed, has woo'd her stay,
When, by her mother sent at noon to bring
The limpid current from the distant spring,
Won by the song, until the golden light
Descending slow, resigned its place to night.
Pleased, from her honey lip then would I gain
A kiss, the sweet reward of all my pain.
But wert thou in my stead condemned to bear
Her constant hate, abandoned to despair;
Sole in her heavenly smiles if favoured I,
I'd not provoke again the doubtful die,
Of all my fortune could bestow secure
With her, and her alone, I'd live obscure.
But I too long from the expected scene
Myself and thee and those around detain.
Then haste thee, youth, begin thy loftiest lay,
The next be mine—in me is no delay.

The Piper ceased, then sadly silent sate,
And secret in his mind revolved his fate.
When slowly rising from the polished stone
That at the threshold fixed like marble shone,
Where their fair vestures laughing damsels lay
To bleach and whiten in the solar ray,
Thomas, the carter, grave of look, arose,
He loved the Piper much, and mourned his woes.
He now had seen three race of men decay,
Pleased with the first he passed his youth away;
Their sons he taught to drive the cart with skill,
And brush the well-shun'd goal with winged wheel;
Dext'rous the double-pointed fork to ply,
And rear with ease the golden sheaf on high.
That glory past, now mixed he with the young,
They heard, revered the counsels of his tongue.
Though full of years, yet still enjoyed the sage
A youthful vigour and a green old age.
He thus to the contending youths addressed
The artful words that laboured in his breast.

Hear me, O youths! whose now impending fates
The extreme of joy or misery awaits,
Or still to mourn your unavailing vows,
Or victor in the strife enjoy the spouse.
Then who shall first begin the important lay
Let lots determine, and those lots obey.
This coin, ordained through Scotia's realm to pass,
The monarch's face refulgent on the brass;
Fair, on the side opposed, the thistle rears
Its wand'ring foliage and its bristly spears.
This, from my hand flung upwards in the sky,
In countless circles whirls its orb on high;
If, when descended on the level ground,
The monarch's awful visage upward's found,
Then thou, O Fiddler, shall thy skill employ
The first, to try the song of grief or joy.
If, undeprised upon the blushing green
Its chance directs, the thistle's front is seen,
The Piper first the sweet melodious strain
Shall urge, and finish or increase his pain.
But thou, O Elspet, fair beyond the rest,
Whose fatal beauty breeds the dire contest,
O heedful of advice, attentive hear
My faithful counsels with no careless ear.
Fair (though) thou art, yet fairer have there been,
Such as of old these aged orbs have seen.
Lives there a maiden now that can compare
With Agnew's downy breasts and amber hair?
O, when shall I again the match behold
Of sprightly Henny, and her cheeks of gold!
Or her, adorn'd with every blushing grace,
Sweet Marion, comely as the Gentle's race!
If these in younger years I could engage,
Then blush not thou to hear my words of age.
View both the combatants with equal eyes,
Thyself at once the judge, at once the prize.
O dread to load thy tender soul with sin,
For love, I fear, corrupts the judge within.
For if misjudging, thou award'st the day
To him inferior in the sweet essay,
Each tongue shall rank thee with the worst of names,
Deep pierces scandal when 'tis truth that blames.
The perjury shall every age prolong,
To fright the changeful mind from doing wrong.
But if thy sentence speak an upright heart,
Where pride and female error has no part,
Thy name remembered in the feasting days,
The youths shall chant sweet ballads in thy praise,
The lover shall his faithless fair upbraid,
And quote the example of the Piper's Maid.
Then Elspet, Maid of Gallowshiels, take heed,
For infamy or fame attends thy deed.

This said, the mark of fate he upward threw,
Whirl'd round and round, thro' yielding air it flew;
Each pale beholds it hov'ring in the skies,
Each hopes his rival sign with ardent eyes.
Scarce could they frame the wish, when swift and prone
The joyful Piper views the lot his own.
Exulting thus: O thou who deign'st to bless
My sorrows with this omen of success;
By me, thy plant uninjured, ne'er shall feel
The treading footsteps nor the piercing steel;
O plant, that with perpetual verdure crown'd,
Wreathes our victorious monarch's temples round.
The carter took the word: Thy fate foreshows
A happy issue to thy tedious woes.
O may thy hopes enjoy their due success,
And heav'n still bless thee, that begins to bless!

No answer to the friendly speech returned,
The youth but inly for the trial burned.
He reared his pipes from earth, where dumb they lay,
But soon melodious, to speak forth the lay;
Then, as he tied the fair machine around,
To his strong arm, by gilded leather bound,
While all with secret joy and wonder gaze,
The Fiddler spoke in words of winged phrase.

Thus far indeed their way thy wishes find,
But flatt'ring shows do oft deceive the blind;
When skill superior shall thy hopes destroy,
Thou'lt mourn the chance of fate and short-liv'd joy.
Long labour yet, and various, thee remains,
If bold to vie with me in rural strains.
But now one moment let's suspend the day,
Nor join we yet in the harmonious fray.
By blood descending from a gentle race,
With thee contending I my kind disgrace;
Unless an equal birth renown thy name,
To conquer, not my glory, but my shame.
I, born where Tine her silver current pours,
And winds encircling round Hadina's towers.
A parson's daughter there retiring lay,
And pluck'd the springing flower in wanton play.
A lord, my sire, her in his walks beheld,
And to the pleasing deed of love compelled.
Hence I. Disclose thou, Piper, if thy veins
The blood of nobles or of thieves contains;
Say what thy ancestors in days of yore,
What sire begot thee, and what mother bore?

Vain are the tales of birth, the youth replies;
Vain he who on the empty boast relies.
The good man on himself alone depends,
His virtues and his merits are his friends.
The worthy oft lament the perished grace,
And wept the fool descending through the race.
Oft too, the son, the glory of his name,
Wipes from the tainted house the father's shame.
Fortune to noblest heights the low one brings,
And simple pipers have been sires of kings.
Their race, as heaven decrees, to fate must yield,
In after times, the labourers of the field.
Say, what avails it then, or to be born
The poor man's envy, or the rich man's scorn;
Since death, when once the race of life is past,
Demands the piper and the king at last;
Equal condemned to share their destined lot,
Alike the sceptre and the pipe's forgot.
Though the surviving friends lamenting tell
Who ruled with wisdom and who piped with skill,
And spread their glory wide from shore to shore,
Their praises charm the unconscious dead no more.
But for thou think'st thy ancestry divine
Diminished, if thou match thy skill with mine,
Then hear my tongue a faithful tale unfold,
Which but for thee had rested still untold.
Not great ones in the humble roll I call,
But honest swains and simple pipers all;
Nor yet unknown: To these our fame resounds,
Who drink of Glotta in their western bounds;
Or near the rising hills of Santry born,
Plough Preston fields, or thrash Tantallon corn.
Or even remote, where, far in northern lands,
Famed Johnny Groat's house and (its) table stands,
Reverend and peaceful o'er his sons he shined,
Twelve sons he shared that at one table dined.
The first famed author of our ancient race
Was Colin hight, and this his native place.
He the best piper Gallowshiels e'er saw,
The first who sung thy battle, Harry-Law.
For when, of old, by mad ambition fired,
The island chief to Scotia's rule aspired,
When bold in arms against his prince he stood,
And Harlaw's field dyed purple with his blood.
As to inspire his train to noble deeds,
Where raged the battle, and the mighty bleeds,
He played, and threw each thought of life behind,
And all on glory ran his restless mind,
Urged by the muses, for a sounding stone
Drove on his thigh, and crack'd the shattered bone.
Prone fell the youth, extended on the plain,
Yet still his slack'ning hands the pipes retain,
Still daring in the neighbourhood of death,
His labouring elbow roused the harmonious breath;
And safe returning to his native land,
He instituted games, and sports ordained.
With matchless art thy battle, Harlaw, sung,
Till Gallowshiels through all her echoes rung.
The wondrous skill did all his offspring grace,
From son to son transmissive through the race.
These oft have heard, and hearing can declare,
In the gay art, each son the father's heir.
But far, O far beyond the rest, he shone
Unrivalled, all the glorious art his own.
Long flourishing, the love of all he shared,
In youth regarded, and in age revered;
Till to the silent grave descending late,
Of years and honours full, he bowed to fate.
Three sons and one fair daughter blest their sire,
The eldest warmed with all his father's fire;
But, hapless youth! a dire disease invades
His heart, and sunk him to forgetful shades.
The second, sent a sailor to the main,
The storms o'ertook, and ne'er returned again.
Naked on some far distant shore he lies,
Bewailed, unconscious of his sister's sighs.
His blooming sister, rich in beauty's charms,
Refulgent glowed, and blessed a webster's arms.
He taught the web to shine with matchless art,
The matchless web allured the virgin's heart;
Nor knew, while she the workmanship approved,
The helpless maid, that she the workman loved.
The last a boy, by Gala's waters fed
His father's flocks, and in his art was bred.
But when the years of manhood he beheld,
His sire succeeding as his sire excelled,
No son was his; for so the fates ordain,
Those fates that cause our happiness or pain.
One only daughter sooth'd a father's care,
Her mother's likeness, and his fortune's heir.
From distant shires the am'rous youth repaired,
With her the dance, with her the feast they shared.
With gentle words and blandishments the dame
Soft they assault, to raise an equal flame.
Not all their words or blandishments could move;
Stubborn she stood, inflexible to love.
Oft would her sire essay the softest art,
Persuasive speech, to molify her heart;
Oft would adjure her by her virgin fears,
Her mother's ashes, and his aged years.
What grief was his, her's what immortal shame,
If by her fault should end the Piper's name!
He once of Gallowshiels the best delight,
Nor yet forgot, so famed from Harlaw fight;
How, would he say, th' harmonious founder mourn,
Would cruel fate release him from his urn,
Ill-fated to behold his pipes to grace
A foreign hand, the alien of his race.
This urged the father, but the nymph withstood,
Resolved and obstinate in virginhood.
The father urged in vain, averse she fled
The pleasing love-rights of the marriage bed.
But disobedient to thy chaste desires,
Thy form withstands, and wakes the lover's fires.
Thy wish unhappy! by thy wishes crost,
Thyself opposes what thou seek'st the most;
Severe thy bliss, thy beauty undecrees,
Thou would'st not be belov'd, and yet must please.
Her lov'd a lord, and fired by heavenly charms,
He sought to gain the damsel to his arms.
In vain to win her heart the youth assailed,
But force accomplished where his passion failed.
As with returning step at eve of day,
She from the finished revels shap'd her way,
Clandestine in a secret arbour laid,
He stood, resolved to seize the passing maid.
The passing maid, unknowing of th' event,
Securely paced and trod the deep descent.
Instant the youth his destined victim seized,
Compelled by strength, and with his victim pleased,
Swift to his chamber bore the ravished maid,
And drew her gently to the genial bed;
There in his arms the blushing fair comprest,
He held her panting, and was fully blest;
There mixing frequent, till a beauteous boy
She brought, the fruit of sweet forbidden joy.
For when the moon that monthly grows and fades,
Nine times renewed her light and changed her shades,
Born in her secret bower, the babe she laid
Soft in the ready cradle's silken shade.
But fortune, envious of her happy state,
Now shook the box, and threw another fate;
The stolen amour, until that hour concealed,
The infant's cries to the stern sire revealed:
Stern and resolved, the moody sire prepares
To wreck his rage, and plunge her soul in cares.
The youth foresaw, and fearful of her woes,
Dismissed the damsel when the fury rose.
O'er various fields she passed, and various floods,
And unknown mountains crown'd with sounding woods,
Till a far distant land concludes her toil,
Where Devern's waves enrich fair Bamfa's soil.
But when twelve years had run their destined race,
A strong desire to see his natal place
Impels the youth; then instant wand'ring home,
He seeks, with hopes erect, his father's dome.
He then, to share the sweets of nuptial bed,
A virgin equal to his birth had led.
Yet not unmindful of the hidden joy,
The pleasing rapture that produced the boy,
His wrathful sire and spouse he reconciles,
And meets the child with fond paternal smiles;
To him bestows, the witness of his care,
A house, defenceful of the piercing air,
Where Gala's waters run a blushing mead,
Where twenty sheep in plenteous pasture feed.
The youth, his filial virtue to approve,
Recalls his mother to the gifts of love.
Her, an unhappy exile, long withheld
From Gallowshiels's domes and native field,
A mason weds, and blest in all those charms
That pleased a lord, succeeded to her arms.
A numerous issue of the manly race,
And blooming girls, confess each soft embrace;
These sole survive. For, as in wanton play,
On Gala's bank in a fair summer's day,
Her noble-born on pastime bent, divides
With naked limbs the pure translucent tides,
Foredoomed to view his mother's face no more,
Fate sunk him helpless ere he reached the shore.
Great grief resounded loud through Gallowshiels,
Each social mourns, and for the damsel feels.
The damsel wastes in woes her youthful prime,
And helpless died, nor lived out half her time.
Raised by high hopes, and by ambition swayed,
Her son, the first of all his race that strayed,
To nobler glory the fond youth aspires,
And scorned the humble arts that fanned his fires.
A merchant vent'rous o'er the pathless main,
In foreign realms pursues the thirst of gain.
Scarce to his native land restored by fate,
He mourned his folly, but he mourned too late;
No consort blest his bed. A lovely boy,
The manly increase of his brother's joy,
Heired the famed pipes. He spoused a pleasing fair,
But still the dismal hour that caused his care
He to his death bewailed; for, fierce and bold,
The female sex ne'er bred so great a scold.
Abroad he roamed—the wise and happiest choice—
She persecuted so the dome with noise.
Full sore he toiled to please the clam'rous dame,
And all love's buckets plied to quench her flame.
To please her pride, mortgaged his house and land,
Nay, e'en the pipes—the far-famed pipes—she pawned!
Thus cursed, till death brought the long-wish'd relief,
The patient youth sustained all, dumb and deaf;
But when descending to the worms a feast,
He from the ill-meant blessing was releast.
Though not forgetful of his first estate,
He boldly dared to draw a second fate;
A gentle virgin she, the son she bore
With wisdom did his sinking race restore.
For, learned in frugal arts, the youth regained
The fated pipes, the pledge of debts detained.
But pow'rless yet his fortunes to repair,
Sunk by neglect and want of thrifty care,
The griping usurer claims his destined prey,
In prison dire his life to waste away,
Unless a slave; his hard commands he bears,
No wage demanded three revolving years:
The youth consents, and in his chains he mourned,
Till o'er his head three circling years returned.
But when old time, with softly stealing pace,
Had full of sorrows run the measured race,
The monster's daughter, of sweet gentle mind,
Bloomed far the fairest of the fairest kind;
Constrained by love he to the virgin bore,
He plights his service for six winters more.
In labours long and dire divides his toil,
To delve the glebe, to turn the furrowed soil.
No labour e'er so great he reckoned hard,
Her love the motive and the sweet reward.
But when his tedious months of bondage past,
The days of liberty looked out at last.
Struck by the hand of fate, the miser dies,
The youth possessed his wealth and blooming prize;
Who, warm in years, and faithful to his fires,
Blest his embraces with my grandsire's sires.
In good old age submitting to the grave,
Safe to his son the pipes redeemed he gave;
The pipes redeemed, he to my sire consigned
The shining gift, he dying, left behind
To the dear guardian of my tender age,
Whose faith in strictest ties he did engage.
He, studious of his charge, when years began
To shoot in strength, and blossom up to man,
On me the pipes bestowed, preserved with care,
And dying, blessed me with his latest prayer.
These, treasured in my dome, I still retain,
Nor fear shall rob, or hopes of greatest gain.
But if with me the glorious purchase ends,
Or to my son the pledge of fate descends,
Heaven suffers not my ignorance to know,
Or whether it decrees me joy or woe.
But now in empty words no more contend,
Words rise on words, and wrangling has no end.
Instant commence I then the stern debate,
And leave the event to Elspet and to fate.
He said; and all around the shouts arise,
The joint applauses mingle in the skies.

Now in his artful hand the bagpipe held
Elate, the Piper wide surveys the field.
O'er all he throws his quick discerning eyes,
And views their hopes and fears alternate rise.
Old Glenderule, in Gallowshiels long famed
For works of skill, the perfect wonder framed;
His shining steel first lopped with dext'rous toil,
From a tall spreading elm, the branchy spoil:
The clouded wood he next divides in twain,
And smoothes them equal to an oval plain;
Six leather folds, in still connected rows,
To either plank conformed, the sides compose,
The wimble perforates the bass with care,
A destined passage opening to the air,
But once enclosed within the narrow space,
The opposing valve forbids the backward race;
Fast to the swelling bag two reeds combined
Receive the blasts of the melodious wind;
Round from the turning loom, with skill divine
Embossed, the joints in silver circles shine;
In secret prison pent the accents lie,
Until his arm the lab'ring artist ply;
Then duteous they forsake their dark abode,
Fellows no more, and wing a separate road;
These upwards through the narrow channel glide,
In ways unseen, a solemn murmuring tide;
Those through the narrow path their journey bend,
Of sweeter sort, and to the earth descend;
O'er the small pipe at equal distance lie
Eight shining holes, o'er which his fingers fly;
From side to side the aerial spirit bounds,
The flying fingers form the passing sounds,
That issuing gently through the polished door,
Mix with the common air, and charm no more.

This gift long since old Glenderule consigned,
The lasting witness of his friendly mind,
To the famed author of the Piper's line:
Each empty space shone rich in fair design;
Himself appears high in the sculptur'd wood,
As bold in the Harlean field he stood,
Serene, amidst the dangers of the day,
Full in the van you might behold him play;
There in the humbler mood of peace he stands,
Before him pleased are seen the dancing bands;
In mazy rounds the flying ring they blend,
So lively framed they seem from earth t' ascend.
Four gilded straps the artist's arm surround,
Two knit by clasps, and two by buckles bound
His artful elbow; now the youth essays
A tuneful squeeze, to wake the sleeping lays.
With labouring bellows thus the smith inspires,
To frame the polished lock, the forge's fires;
Concealed in ashes lie the flames below,
Till the resounding lungs of bellows blow;
Then mounting high, o'er the illumined room
Spreads the brown light, and gilds the dusky gloom.
The bursting sounds, in narrow prison pent,
Rouse in their cells, loud-rumbling for a vent,
Rude tempests now the deafened ear assail,
Now gently sweet is breathed a sober gale.
As when the hawk his mountain nest forsakes,
Fierce for his prey, his rustling wings he shakes,
The air, impelled by the unharmonious shock,
Sounds clatt'ring and abrupt through all the rock;
But as he flies, he shapes, to smoother pace,
His winnowing vans, and swims the aerial space. [OMITTED]