The bard of the dales or poems and miscellaneous pieces; with a life of the author, written by himself. By John Castillo |
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THORNTON,
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 | The bard of the dales |  |
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THORNTON,
NEAR PICKERING, AT TOMBSTONE WORK.
Thou Thornton art queen of the villages near,
Forgive me in dropping a line for thy sake,
Thy glories would shine more resplendently clear
If watchmen and flock were more widely awake!
Forgive me in dropping a line for thy sake,
Thy glories would shine more resplendently clear
If watchmen and flock were more widely awake!
Thou'rt favour'd with scenery splendid and fair,
Or sunshine, or moonlight, illumine thy fane,
With wholesomest waters and healthiest air,
And life for those victims the serpent has slain!
Or sunshine, or moonlight, illumine thy fane,
With wholesomest waters and healthiest air,
And life for those victims the serpent has slain!
Thou, Thornton, hast beauties and blessings in store,
Thine might be the suburbs of tranquil and peace,
If the men in the tavern would cease their uproar,
And yon dogs in the kennel their howling would cease!
Thine might be the suburbs of tranquil and peace,
If the men in the tavern would cease their uproar,
And yon dogs in the kennel their howling would cease!
So rank and in order thy cedars arise,
Where nature and art are so grandly display'd,
While they wave their devotions aloft to the skies,
In winter a shelter, in summer a shade!
Where nature and art are so grandly display'd,
While they wave their devotions aloft to the skies,
In winter a shelter, in summer a shade!
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Trees ancient and healthy like sentinels stand
On the branches the feather-plum'd choristers sing,
While they rear up their heads, so majestic and grand,
They shelter the cottages under their wing!
On the branches the feather-plum'd choristers sing,
While they rear up their heads, so majestic and grand,
They shelter the cottages under their wing!
Yes, Thornton has music and melodies too,
Excelling the bugle, the drum, or the horn,
A crystal river glides gently through,
And talks of salvation at even and morn!
Excelling the bugle, the drum, or the horn,
A crystal river glides gently through,
And talks of salvation at even and morn!
And, Ellerburn, thou where our fathers have toil'd,
Have gaz'd on thy beauties of wood, land, and stream,
Where winters have glisten'd, and summers have smil'd,—
But their lives, like others, have gone like a dream!
Have gaz'd on thy beauties of wood, land, and stream,
Where winters have glisten'd, and summers have smil'd,—
But their lives, like others, have gone like a dream!
That steeple, they've view'd it again and again,
Antiquity's years with their mosses have skinn'd,
Their eyes bright with life, may have gazed on that fane
Which ancient and rusty, now grates in the wind!
Antiquity's years with their mosses have skinn'd,
Their eyes bright with life, may have gazed on that fane
Which ancient and rusty, now grates in the wind!
Their limbs, strong and healthy, could ramble those hills,
And share such indulgence as reason might crave;
The shops echo'd back the applause of the mills,
Whose workmen have long gone to dust in the grave!
And share such indulgence as reason might crave;
The shops echo'd back the applause of the mills,
Whose workmen have long gone to dust in the grave!
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Be hush'd then our passions, and think it not strange,
Our God will take care of the wise and the good,
Tho' we stand amazed at the rush, and the change
Of those years that have gone, with the years of the flood!
Our God will take care of the wise and the good,
Tho' we stand amazed at the rush, and the change
Of those years that have gone, with the years of the flood!
Like a child, or a stranger, just on the decline,
I range thy sweet borders all dripping with dew,
The fate or the fortune at present is mine
To just gaze on thy beauties, and bid them adieu!
I range thy sweet borders all dripping with dew,
The fate or the fortune at present is mine
To just gaze on thy beauties, and bid them adieu!
May I, and may you, then exert all our powers
To rid us of evil, and fill us with good!—
To improve them in passing, or soon those bright hours
Will be gone, and roll'd up with the years of the flood!
To rid us of evil, and fill us with good!—
To improve them in passing, or soon those bright hours
Will be gone, and roll'd up with the years of the flood!
| The bard of the dales | |