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But I digress, and, lo! an infant train Appear, and call me to my task again.



• Why Lonicera wilt thou name thy child ?'
I asked the gardener's wife, in accent mild.
We have a right,' replied the sturdy dame ;
And Lonicera was the infant's name.
If next a son shall yield our gardener joy,
Then Hyacinthus shall be that fair boy;
And if a girl, they will at length agree
That Belladonna that fair maid shall be.

High-sounding words our worthy gardener gets,
And at his club to wondering swains repeats :
He then of Rhus and Rhododendron speaks,
And Allium calls his onions and his leeks ;
Nor weeds are now, for whence arose the weed
Scarce plants, fair herbs and curious flowers, proceed;
Where cuckoo-pints and dandelions sprung-
Gross names had they, our plainer sires among ; -
There arums, there leontodons, we view,
And artemisia grows where wormwood grew.

But though no weed exists, his garden round,
From “rumex'strong our gardener frees his ground,
Takes soft • senecio' from the yielding land,
And grasps tho armed urtica' in his hand.

What plumy people sing in every grove !
All with the year awaked, to life's great duty, Love.
Then names are good, for how, without their aid
Is knowledge gained by man, to man conveyed ?
But from that source shall all our pleasure flow?
Shall all our knowledge be those names to know?
Then he with memory blest shall bear away
The palm from Grew, and Middleton, and Ray ;
No ! let us rather seek in grove and field
What food for wonder, what for use, they yield ;
Some just remark from Nature's people bring,
And some new source of homage for her King.

Pride lives with all ; strange names our rustics
To helpless infants, that their own may live; [give
Pleased to be known, some notice they will claim,
And find some by-way to the house of fame.

The straightest furrow lists the ploughman's heart,
Or skill allowed him in the bruiser's art;
The bowl that beats the greater number down
Of tottering nine-pins, gives to fame the clown ;
Or, foiled in these, he opes his ample jaws,
And lets a frog leap down, to gain applause ;
Or grins for hours, or tipples for a week,
Or challenges a well-pinched pig to squeak ;
Some idle deed, some child's preposterous name,
Shall make him known, and give his folly fame.




Not Darwin's self had more delight to sing Of floral courtship, in the awakened Spring,

To name an infant met our village sires, Than Peter Pratt, who simpering loves to tell

Assembled all, as such event requires ; How rise the stamens as the pistils swell ;

Frequent and full the rural sages sate, How bend and curl their moist top to the spouse,

And speakers many urged the long debate. And give and take the vegetable vows ;

Some hardened knaves, who roved the country round, How those esteemed of old but tips and chives

Had left a babe within the parish bound. Are tender husbands and obedient wives ;

First, of the fact they questioned. "Was it true?' Who live and love within the sacred bower, — The child was brought. What then remained to do?' That bridal bed the vulgar term a flower.

Was't dead or living?' This was fairly proved ; Hear Peter proudly, to some humble friend, 'T was pinched, it roared, and every doubt removed. A wondrous secret in his science lend.

Then by what name the unwelcome guest to call • Would you advance the nuptial hour, and bring Was long a question, and it posed them all ; The fruit of Autumn with the flowers of Spring ;

For he who lent a name to babe unknown, View that light frame where cucumis lies spread, Censorious men might take it for his own. And trace the husbands in their golden bed,

They looked about, they asked the name of all, Three turgid anthers ; – then no more delay, And not one Richard answered to the call ; But haste and bear them to their spouse away ; Next they inquired the day when, passing by, In a like bed you 'll see that spouse reclined, - The unlucky peasant heard the stranger's cry. 0! haste and bear them, they like love are blind, - This known, how food and raiment they might give, Then by thyself, from prying glance secure,

Was next debated for the rogue would live. Twirl the full tip and make the marriage sure ; At last, with all their words and work content, A long-abiding race the deed shall pay,

Back to their homes the prudent vestry went, Nor one unblest abortion pino away.'

And Richard Monday's to the work-house sent. To admire their friend's discourse our swains agree, EDUCATION OF A PARISH FOUNDLING; HIS ABJECT CONDIAnd call it science, and philosophy.


There was he pinched and pitied, thumped and fed, HOW TO STUDY BOTANY, NATURAL HISTORY, ETC. ; NAMES. And duly took his beatings and his bread ;

'T is good, 't is pleasant, through the advancing Patient in all control, in all abuse, To see unnumbered, growing forms appear ; [year, He found contempt and kicking have their use : What leafy-like from earth's broad bosom rise !

Sad, silent, supple ; bending to the blow, What insect myriads seek the summer skies ! A slave of slaves, the lowest of the low ; What scaly tribes in every streamlet move !

His pliant soul gave way to all things base,

They ask the price of each unrivalled steed,
And whence his sheep, that admirable breed ;
His thriving arts they beg he would explain,
And where he puts the money he must gain : -
They have their daughters, but they fear their friend
Would think his sons too much would condescend;
They have their sons who would their fortunes try,
But fear his daughters will their suit deny.
So runs the joke, while James, with sigh profound,
And face of care, keeps looking on the ground ;
These looks and sighs provoke the insult inore,
And point the jest — for Barnaby is poor.


He knew no shame, he dreaded no disgrace ;
It seemed, so well his passions he suppressed,
No feeling stirred his ever-torpid breast.
Him might the meanest pauper bruise and cheat,
He was a foot-stool for the beggar's feet ;
His were the legs that ran at all commands ;
They used, on all occasions, Richard's hands ;
His very soul was not his own ; he stole
As others ordered, and without a dole :
In all disputes, on either part he lied,
And freely pledged his oath on either side ;
In all rebellions, Richard joined the rest,
In all detections, Richard first confessed ;
Yet, though disgraced, he watched his time so well,
He rose

favor, when in fame he fell ;
Base was his usage, vile his whole employ,
And all despised and feed the pliant boy :
At length, ''Tis time he should abroad be sent,'
Was whispered near him, - and abroad he went ;
One morn they called him, Richard answered not,
They doomed him hanging, and in time forgot,-
Yet missed him long, as each, throughout the clan,
Found he had better spared a better man.'

Now Richard's talents for the world were fit ; He'd no small cunning, and had some small wit ; Had that calm look that seemed to all assent, And that complacent speech that nothing meant ; He'd but one care, and that he strove to hide, How best for Richard Monday to provide. Steel through opposing plates the magnet draws, And steely atoms culls from dust and straws; And thus our hero, to his interest true, Gold through all bars and from each trifle drew; But still more sure about the world to go, This Fortune's child had neither friend nor foe.

Long lost to us, at last our man we trace, -
Sir Richard Monday died at Monday-place ;
His lady's worth, his daughter's, wo peruse,
And find his grandsons all as rich as Jews;
He gave reforming charities a sum,
And bought the blessings of the blind and dumb ;
Bequeathed to missions money from the stocks,
And Bibles issued from his private box;
But to his native place, severely just,
He left a pittance bound in rigid trust;
Two paltry pounds on every quarter's-day
(At church produced), for forty loaves should pay ;
A stinted gift, that to the parish shows
He kept in mind their bounty and their blows.

To farmers three the year has given a son,
Finch on the moor, and French, and Middleton ;
Twice in this year, a female Giles I see,
A Spalding once, and once a Barnaby ;
An humble man is he, and when they meet,
Our farmers find him on a distant seat;
There for their wit he serves a constant theme ;
They praise his dairy, they extol his team ;

Last in my List, five untaught lads appear ; Their father dead, Compassion sent them here : For still that rustic infidel denied To have their names with solemn rite applied : His, a lone house, by Dead-man's Dyke-way stood; And his, a nightly haunt in Lonely-wood. Each village inn has heard the ruffian boast That he believed “in neither God nor ghost; That when the sod upon the sinner pressed, He, like the saint, had everlasting rest ; That never priest believed his doctrines true, But would, for profit, own himself a Jew, Or worship wood and stone, as honest heathen do ; That fools alone on future worlds rely, And all who die for faith deserve to die.'

These maxims part the attorney's clerk professed, His own transcendant genius found the rest. Our pious matrons heard, and much amazed Gazed on the man, and trembled as they gazed ; And now his face explored, and now his feet, Man's dreaded Foe, in this bad man, to meet : But him our drunkards as their champion raised, Their bishop called, and as their hero praised ; Though most, when sober, and the rest, when sick, Had little question whence his bishopric. But he, triumphant spirit ! all things dared, He poached the wood and on the warren snared ; 'T was his at cards each novice to trepan, And call the wants of rogues the rights of man ; Wild as the winds he let his offspring rove, And deemed the marriage bond the bane of love.

What age and sickness for a man so bold Had done, we know not; - none beheld him old : By night, as business urged, he sought the wood, The ditch was deep, the rain had caused a flood; The foot-bridge failed, he plunged beneath the deep, And slept, if truth were his, the eternal sleep. [sail,

These have we named ; on life's rough sea they With many a prosperous, many an adverse gale ; Where passions soon, like powerful winds, will rage, While wearied Prudence with their strength engage; Then each, in aid, shall some companion ask For help or comfort in the tedious task ; And what that help, what joys from union flow, What good or ill, we next prepare to show ; And row, meantime, our weary bark ashore, As Spencer his, but not with Spencer's oar.

Rural Odes for August.


The wealthy cit, grown old in trade, Now wishes for the rural shade, And buckles to his one-horse chair Old Dobbin or the foundered mare ; While, wedged in closely by his side, Sits Madam, his unwieldy bride, With Jacky on a stool before 'em, And out they jog in due decorum. Scarce past the turnpike half a mile, How all the country seems to smile ! And as they slowly jog together, The cit commends the road and weather, While Madam dotes upon the trees, And longs for every house she sees ; Admires its views, its situation, And thus she opens her oration :

• What signify the loads of wealth, Without that richest jewel, health Excuse the fondness of a wife, Who dotes upon your precious life ! Such ceaseless toil, such constant care, Is more than human strength can bear ! One may observe it in your face Indeed, my dear, you break apace : And nothing can your health repair, But exercise and country air ; Sir Traffic has a house, you know, About a mile from Cheney-Row; He's a good man, indeed 't is true, But not so “warm," my dear, as you : And folks are always apt to sneer — One would not be out-done, my dear!'

Sir Traffic's name, so well applied, Awaked his brother-merchant's pride, And Thrifty, who had all his life Paid utmost deference to his wife, Confessed her argument had reason, And by th' approaching summer season Draws a few hundreds from the stocks, And purchases his country-box. Some three or four miles out of town (An hour's ride will bring you down), He fixes on his choice abode, Not half a furlong from the road : And so convenient does it lay, The stages pass it every day : And then so snug, so mighty pretty, To have a house so near the city ! Take but your places at the Boar, You're set down at the very door.

Well, then, suppose them fixed at last,
White-washing, painting, scrubbing past,
Hugging themselves in ease and clover,
With all the fuss of moving over ;
Lo ! a new heap of whims are bred,
And wanton in my lady's head.

"Well, to be sure it must be owned,
It is a charming spot of ground ;
So sweet a distance for a ride,
And all about so countryfied !
'T would come but to a trifling price
To make it quite a paradise.
I cannot bear those nasty rails,
Those ugly, broken, mouldy pales :
Suppose, my dear, instead of these,
We build a railing, all Chinese :
Although one hates to be exposed,
"T is dismal to be thus enclosed ;
One hardly any object sees —
I wish you'd fell those odious trees.
Objects continual passing by
Were something to amuse the eye ;
But to be pent within the walls —
One might as well be at St. Paul's.
Our house beholders would adore,
Was there a level lawn before,
Nothing its views to incommode,
But quite laid open to the road !
While every traveller in amaze
Should on our little mansion gaze,
And, pointing to the choice retreat,
Cry, that's Sir Thristy's country-seat.'
No doubt her arguments prevail,
For Madam's taste can never fail.

Blest age ! when all men may procure
The title of a connoisseur ;
When noble and ignoble herd
Are governed by a single word ;
Though, like the royal German dames,
It bears an hundred Christian names ;
As genius, fancy, judgment, goût,
Whim, caprice, -ne-scai-quoi, virtù ;
Which appellations all describe
Taste, and the modern tasteful tribe.

Now, bricklayers, carpenters, and joiners,
With Chinese artists and designers,
Produce their schemes of alteration,
To work this wondrous reformation.
The useful dome, which secret stood,
Embosomed in the yew-tree's wood,
The traveller with amazement sees
A temple, Gothic, or Chinese,






With many a bell, and tawdry rag on,
And crested with a sprawling dragon ;
A wooden arch is bent astride
A ditch of water, four feet wide,
With angles, curves, and zigzag lines,
From Halfpenny's exact designs.
In front, a level lawn is seen,
Without a shrub upon the green ;
Where taste would want its first great law,
But for the skulking, sly ha-ha,
By whose miraculous assistance,
You gain a prospect two-fields' distance.
And now from Hyde-Park corner come
The gods of Athens and of Rome.
Here squabby Cupids take their places,
With Venus, and the clumsy Graces :
Apollo there, with aim so clever,
Stretches his leaden bow forever ;
And there, without the power to fly,
Stands fixed a tip-toe Mercury.

The villa thus completely graced,
All own that Thrifty has a taste ;
And Madam's female friends, and cousins,
With common-council men by dozens,
Flock every Sunday to the seat,
To stare about them - and to eat.

When waves the golden plain with ripened ears,
And clustered grapes their purple fragrance shed,

How does it glad his raptured heart,
Devoid of all the luxuries of art,
To reap the product of his toil,
Sweeter from his native soil !
When the daily task is done,
With the sober-setting sun,

How untainted his delight,
Underneath his straw-built shade,
Where nor grief nor cares invade,

Mirthfully to waste the night.
Where his merry, sunburnt wife,
Partner of his happy life,

Meets her spouse with open arms;
While his numerous infant line
Round his knees in gambols twine ;

Every hour is full of charms.


DEAR is my little native vale,

The ring-dove builds and murmurs there ; Close by my cot she tells her tale

To every passing villager;
The squirrel leaps from tree to tree,
And shells his nuts at liberty.


In orange groves and myrtle bowers,

That breathe a galo of fragrance round, I charm the fairy-footed hours

With my loved lute's romantic sound ; Or crowns of living laurel weave For those that win the race at eve.

The shepherd's horn at break of day,

The ballet danced in twilight glade, The canzonet and roundelay

Sung in the silent greenwood shade ; These simple joys, that never fail, Shall bind me to my native vale.

Happy the man, from busy cares withdrawn,

Who seeks the sweets of rural ease,

Where every spot has power to please, The rugged mountain and the verdant lawn.

He shuns the deathful din of war,

The dreadful trumpet's bray ;
Though cannons thunder from afar,

He hears without dismay.
Nor when the threatening billows rise,

And blackening clouds appear,
Does he with horror view the skies,

And Neptune's fury fear.
No golden dreams of fame or wealth

Disturb his humbler views,
With peace of mind and blooming health

His labor he pursues.
Contented with his rustic plains,
Luxurious revels he disdains.
When now the rosy-bosomed morn

Tinges the east with gilded ray,
And, on her silent courses borne,

Serenely ushers in the day,
The lonely voice of Chanticleer

Calls him from his humble bed ;
Unfolded soon his fleecy care appear,

And, bleating, stray along the distant mead.


Tell me on what holy ground May Domestic Peace be found Halcyon daughter of the skies ! Far, on fearful wings, she flies, From the pomp of sceptred state, From the rebells noisy hate. In a cottaged vale she dwells, Listening to the Sabbath bells ! Still around her steps are seen Spotless Honor's meeker mien ; Love, the sire of pleasing fears ; Sorrow, smiling through her tears ; And, conscious of the past employ, Memory, bosom spring of joy.

But when the beauteous Autumn rears,

With various fruitage crowned, her head,

Clare's "Broken Heart;"






To sober with sad truths the laughing mirth
Of rosy daughters round the cottage hearth,
And pass the Winter's lengthened eve away,
A mother told the tale of Sally Grey :-

How time,' she said, “and pleasure vanish by !'
Then stopped to wipe the tear-drops from her eye;-
• Time gains upon us distance unawares,
Stealing our joys and changing them to cares :
'T is nine-and-thirty years ago,' — the date
To prove, she looked above her where she sat
And pulled the Bible down — that certain guide
When boys and girls were born, and old friends
That lay with penny stories rustling near, (died –
And almanacs preserved for many a year ;
Stopping her story till she found the place,
Pulling her glasses from their leathern case -
T was right : and from her lap, in saddened vein,
She took her knitting and went on again. -
• Poor thing ! she died, heart-broken and distressed,
Through love. The doctors, who should know the
Said 't was decline that wasted life away : [best,
But truth is truth; and be it as it may,
She ne'er did aught that malice could reprove ; –
Her only failing was the fault of love !

'T is hard enough when Innocence is hurled On the cold bosom of a heartless world ; When Mockery and stony-hearted Pride Reveal the failings Pity strives to hide, And with sad, cruel taunt and bitter jest Lay thorns to pillow Trouble's broken rest; But when a poor young thing like Sally dies For love, and only love -- where are the eyes Can look in Memory's face without a tear? Ev'n Scorn no longer turns aside to sneer, But silent stands ; while Pity shakes her head, And thinks tears just herself declines to shed. VICTIM OF A MALE COQUET; SALLY'S PARENTAGE ; HER BEAU;

'Twas by another's failings that she fell,
Whose wanton follies were her passing bell :
A clown, as wild as young colts free from plough,
Who saw a prison in a marriage-vow,
Had won her heart, and kept it in his power,
As the rude bindweed clasps the tender flower -
A clown, as shifting as the summer wind,
To whom her heart and love were all resigned.

Poor girl! I felt in trouble for her end —
A next-door neighbor and an early friend :
Her father kept a cottage next to ours ;
He was a gardener and he dealt in flowers,

And Sally's beau would buy his flowers the while
With double prices - money and a smile ;
And many a whisper of love's cheating powers —
Calling her fairest of her father's flowers. [move,
Such ways, like spring-hopes, youngling blood did
And by and by got ripened into love.
He then the wishes of her mind expressed
And was received -- a lover, welcome guest !
Go where we would, him we were sure to meet,
Or on the pasture or about the street;
And oft on summer-eves, or Sabbath-days,
He'd join our walks and surfeit her with praise :
Nay, she could scarcely to the church repair,
But he held out his arm to lead her there.
Then to her father's house he often went,
Who welcome gave, and deemed it kindly meant,
And talked of goods and savings o'er his ale
Things he had earned by his spade and fail ;
And often showed, with fatherly regard,
The pigs and poultry in his little yard ;
How this and that, as matters closer led,
Were marriage-portions when his daughters wed.

The children then, her little sisters three,
Began to know him, and would climb his knee
To whisper little stories in his ear ;
They called him brother, which he smiled to hear,
And, to reward them for each pretty way,
He promised bride-cake on the wedding-day ;
And, with love's keepsakes brought from fair or
He ne'er forgot the children's toys or cake. (wake,
I marked these things ; for I was often by,
And even thought the wedding-day was nigh :
For, as a neighbor, oft by night and day
I took my work in, to pass time away ;
And oft without it on a Winter's eve
I've stole away, nor asked a mother's leave,
To play at cards, and talk of dress beside
For wenches' heads are ever after pride.

No holiday ere came but he was there :
For him the father left his corner-chair ;
Her mother blessed them as she touched the glass,
And wished him luck, and nodded to the lass ;
And all beheld him, when the freak begun,
In kindred prospect as a promised son.

Thus for a while his fawning love did burn,
But soon doubts rose at every touch and turn :
If she but nodded at a fair or Fake
To youths she knew, it made his bosom ache :

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