Poems and Plays by Mr. Jerningham. In Four Volumes ... The Ninth Edition |
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ON THE AUTHOR OF THE BALLAD CALLED THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. |
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 | Poems and Plays |  |
190
ON THE AUTHOR OF THE BALLAD CALLED THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.
Let others praise the martial song,
Which rushes as a flood,
And round the harp attentive throng
That honours deeds of blood:
Which rushes as a flood,
And round the harp attentive throng
That honours deeds of blood:
Let me that humble Bard revere,
Tho' artless be his theme,
Who snatch'd the tale to Pity dear,
From dark Oblivion's stream.
Tho' artless be his theme,
Who snatch'd the tale to Pity dear,
From dark Oblivion's stream.
191
Say, little Mary
, prattling maid,
(Whose wit thine age excels)
Beneath what holy yew-tree's shade
Thy favourite Author dwells?
(Whose wit thine age excels)
Beneath what holy yew-tree's shade
Thy favourite Author dwells?
Ah! not on Westminster's proud ground
The fond enquiry waste:
Go where the meek of heart are found,
And th' unambitious rest.
The fond enquiry waste:
Go where the meek of heart are found,
And th' unambitious rest.
Where Walton's limpid streamlet flows,
On Norfolk's rich domain,
A gently-rising hillock shews
The hamlet's straw-roof'd fane.
On Norfolk's rich domain,
A gently-rising hillock shews
The hamlet's straw-roof'd fane.
192
Hard by is seen a marble stone,
By many a winter worn;
Forgetfulness around has thrown
The rude o'ermantling thorn:
By many a winter worn;
Forgetfulness around has thrown
The rude o'ermantling thorn:
Within this low obscure abode
Fame says the Bard is laid;
Oft have I left the beaten road
To greet the Poet's shade.
Fame says the Bard is laid;
Oft have I left the beaten road
To greet the Poet's shade.
Fame too reports, that when the bier
Receiv'd the Poet's frame,
The neighb'ring Hamlets hasten'd here,
And all the Childhood came:
Receiv'd the Poet's frame,
The neighb'ring Hamlets hasten'd here,
And all the Childhood came:
193
Attir'd in white, an Infant Band
Advanc'd in long array;
With rosemary-leaves each little hand
O'erspread the mournful way:
Advanc'd in long array;
With rosemary-leaves each little hand
O'erspread the mournful way:
Encircling now the Poet's tomb,
Thrice on his name they call,
And thrice into the hallow'd gloom
Sweet show'rs of violets fall.
Thrice on his name they call,
And thrice into the hallow'd gloom
Sweet show'rs of violets fall.
Compassion's Priest! oh! feeling Bard,
Who melts the heart away,
Enduring praise shall still reward
Thy short and simple lay.
Who melts the heart away,
Enduring praise shall still reward
Thy short and simple lay.
194
Those shall thy praise be found among
Whom Nature's touch has grac'd,
The warm of heart applaud thy song,
And all the pure of taste:
Whom Nature's touch has grac'd,
The warm of heart applaud thy song,
And all the pure of taste:
The Child shall leave his jocund dance,
Suppress his frolic mood,
And bend to hear, in silent trance,
The Story of the Wood.
Suppress his frolic mood,
And bend to hear, in silent trance,
The Story of the Wood.
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