Poems on several occasions

How, sister, can you silent lie
When epic subject is so nigh?
What can the matter be? I'll try
At least by guess to nick ye.
Is it for losing Epworth's view,
Or parting with some lover new,
Or pining after sister Sue
Or favourite brother Dicky?

422

II

For shame! now tune your warbling string,
As poets speak; essay to sing
Of Wroote, till all the levels ring,
Pleased with a theme so pretty;
Than Sandhole more,—I'll tell you that,—
Or Pat, or Poll, or Snip the cat,
Or lovers' and long-saddles' chat,
Deserving of your ditty.

III

Why, Hetty, is your heart, then, grown
(Perhaps thus Thorndike used to moan)
As cold as any marble stone?
Or are you turn'd a Stoic?
Fancy to me the truth supplies;
And Wroote now stands before mine eyes!
See, all the images arise,
And crowd to song heroic!

IV

The spacious glebe around the house
Affords full pasture to the cows,
Whence largely milky nectar flows;
O sweet and cleanly dairy!
Unless or Moll or Nan or you
Your duty should neglect to do;
And then 'ware haunches black and blue
By pinching of a fairy.

423

V

The house is good, if tight and clean;
Though there no battlements are seen,
But humble roof of thatch, I ween,
Low rooms from rain to cover;
Where, safe from famine, sorest ill,
Folks may live happy, if they will,
As any that St. James's fill,
The' Escurial, or the Louvre.

VI

A great dog came with you, I trow;
As famous Tobit, well we know,
Would that his cur should with him go
Where'er he meant to wander;
And faithful dogs, some two or three,
The guards of princes used to be;
In Dryden's Virgil you may see
The good old king Evander.

VII

Kittens and whelps, a friendly fry,
Peaceful in chimney-corner lie,
When cheap-bought fuel, heap'd up high,
Makes warm the winter-weather.
No fear of brawls of this and that
'Twixt Hetty sharp and envied Pat:
Can sisters jar, when dog and cat
Agree so well together?

424

VIII

What certain happiness is thine,
When all things for your good combine!
If you now, while the sun shall shine,
Take care your hay to gather;
And aim still at improving more
The newly-got domestic store,
Which never eye has seen before,
Belonging to my father.

IX

For every now and then, Fame sings,
Glad plenty to your table brings
Boil'd veal and bacon, food for kings,
Too good for low-born sinner!
Choose you to see the lambkins bleat,
And nibble, innocent, their meat?
Or else their legs and loins to eat,
Luxurious, for your dinner?

X

No fear that wolves should steal your ewes,
If erst, as tells old Spenser's muse,
A king did by a tax reduce
Their numerous herds to nothing.
The gentle swains may now go sleep
That use four-footed flocks to keep:
No danger but to two-legg'd sheep
From wolves in shepherds' clothing.

425

XI

Observe the warm, well-litter'd sty,
Where sows and pigs and porkets lie:
Nancy or you the draff supply;
They swill, and care not whether.
And much good do the pretty swine:
Secure from penury and pine,
They never out of humour whine
Except in windy weather.

XII

Are, sister, you that happy one
That marks the gosling's yellow down,
And noddling of its simple crown,
When duly food you scatter?
Who hears the little ducklings quack,
When, waddling at each other's back,
Races they run, a crumb to take
That's thrown into the water?

XIII

What raptures must possess you, when
Your eyes behold the mother-hen,
Or shut within her evening-pen,
Or scraping in the muck-hill!
Her callow chicks around her stray,
And chirp, and peck, and flutter: they,
Duteous, though bob-tail, scour away
At hearing of her chuckle;

426

XIV

Glad of the warmth from whence they had
Their life at first; but not so glad
As you to wait upon your dad!
O, 'tis exceeding pretty!
Methinks I see you striving all
Who first shall answer to his call,
Or lusty Nan or feeble Moll,
Sage Pat or sober Hetty;

XV

To rub his cassock's draggled tail,
Or reach his hat from off the nail,
Or seek the key to draw his ale,
When damsel haps to steal it;
To burn his pipe, or mend his clothes,
Or nicely darn his russet hose,
For comfort of his aged toes,
So fine they cannot feel it.

XVI

Do you not each one do her part,
With utmost duty, care, and art,
To cheer the cockles of his heart,
As knowing, “Now or never?”
And say?—sufficient sums to get
For former and for latter debt,
And portions then for Moll and Het,—
“O father, live for ever!”

427

XVII

What happiness, then, to be driven
Where power of saving may be given!
To hope for unmolested heaven,
While here on earth, too soon is.
But this I'm sure,—that, if you're wise,
Wroote is the seat of Paradise,
As much as any place that lies
On earth beneath the moon is.

XVIII

'Tis true, no fairy-lands are there,
Nor spring to flourish all the year,
Or bushes that perfumes will bear,
Flowers, fruits together springing;
Where Phœbus with perpetual beams
Glitters from gently-gliding streams,
And nymphs are lull'd to pleasing dreams
By Philomela singing:

XIX

No scenes of feign'd Elysian plains
Smile sweet; nor learn'd Arcadian swains
Your lovers are, with magic strains
And vocal harp to win ye.
Yet, if from want secure, at Wroote
Contented you may live, no doubt,
Unless or Geoffrey is without,
Or else the devil in ye.

The name which they gave to the spirit that disturbed them at Epworth.

University of Virginia Library

WROOTE: A HEROIC POEM.

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