I make no doubt but he is gone Where soon I hope to go, Where we for ever shall be blest, From out the reach of woe.

He taught me justice and the laws With pity to unite;

And eke he taught me how to know
The wrong cause from the right:

He taught me with a prudent hand
To feed the hungry poor,
Nor let my servants drive away
The hungry from my door:

And none can say but all my life
I have his wordis kept;

And summ'd the actions of the day
Each night before I slept.

I have a spouse, go ask of her
If I defiled her bed?

I have a king, and none can lay
Black treason on my head.

In Lent, and on the holy eve,

From flesh I did refrain;

Why should I then appear dismay'd
To leave this world of pain?

No, hapless Henry! I rejoice
I shall not see thy death;
Most willingly in thy just cause
Do I resign my breath.

Oh, fickle people! ruin'd land!

Thou wilt ken peace no moe;
While Richard's sons exalt themselves,
Thy brooks with blood will flow.

Say, were ye tired of godly peace,
And godly Henry's reign,
That you did chop your easy days

For those of blood and pain?

What though I on a sledge be drawn,
And mangled by a hind,

I do defy the traitor's power,
He cannot harm my mind;
What though, uphoisted on a pole,
My limbs shall rot in air,
And no rich monument of brass

Charles Bawdin's name shall bear;

Yet in the holy book above,

Which time can't eat away,
There with the servants of the Lord
My name shall live for aye.

Then welcome death! for life eterne
I leave this mortal life:

Farewell, vain world, and all that's dear,
My sons and loving wife!

Now death as welcome to me comes As e'er the month of May;

Nor would I even wish to live,

With my dear wife to stay."

Saith Canynge, "'Tis a goodly thing

To be prepared to die;

And from this world of pain and grief To God in heaven to fly."

And now the bell began to toll,

And clarions to sound;

Sir Charles he heard the horses' feet A-prancing on the ground.

And just before the officers

His loving wife came in, Weeping unfeigned tears of woe With loud and dismal din.

"Sweet Florence! now I pray forbear,

In quiet let me die;

Pray God that every Christian soul
May look on death as I.

Sweet Florence! why these briny tears?
They wash my soul away,

And almost make me wish for life,
With thee, sweet dame, to stay.

'Tis but a journey I shall go

Unto the land of bliss;
Now, as a proof of husband's love
Receive this holy kiss."

Then Florence, faltering in her say,
Trembling these wordis spoke :
"Ah, cruel Edward! bloody king!
My heart is well nigh broke.

Ah, sweet Sir Charles! why wilt thou go
Without thy loving wife?

The cruel axe that cuts thy neck,

It eke shall end my life."

And now the officers came in
To bring Sir Charles away,
Who turned to his loving wife,
And thus to her did say:

"I go to life, and not to death,
Trust thou in God above,
And teach thy sons to fear the Lord,
And in their hearts him love.

Teach them to run the noble race
That I their father run,

Florence should death thee take-adieu!
Ye officers lead on."

Then Florence raved as any mad,

And did her tresses tear;

"Oh stay, my husband, lord, and life!" Sir Charles then dropp'd a tear.

Till tired out with raving loud,
She fell upon the floor;
Sir Charles exerted all his might,
And march'd from out the door.

Upon a sledge he mounted then,
With looks full brave and sweet;
Looks that enshone no more concern
Than any in the street.

Before him went the council-men,
In scarlet robes and gold,
And tassels spangling in the sun,
Much glorious to behold:

The friars of Saint Augustine next
Appeared to the sight,

All clad in homely russet weeds,
Of godly monkish plight:

In different parts a godly psalm

Most sweetly they did chant; Behind their back six minstrels came, Who tuned the strange bataunt.

Then five-and-twenty archers came;
Each one the bow did bend,
From rescue of King Henry's friends
Sir Charles for to defend.

Bold as a lion came Sir Charles,

Drawn on a cloth-laid sledde,

By two black steeds in trappings white, With plumes upon their head.

Behind him five and twenty more

Of archers strong and stout, With bended bow each one in hand, Marched in goodly rout.

Saint James's friars marchèd next,

Each one his part did chant;
Behind their backs six minstrels came,
Who tuned the strange bataunt.

Then came the mayor and aldermen,
In cloth of scarlet deck'd;
And their attending men each one,
Like eastern princes trick'd.

And after them a multitude
Of citizens did throng;

The windows were all full of heads,
As he did pass along.

And when he came to the high cross,
Sir Charles did turn and say,
"O Thou that savest man from sin,
Wash my soul clean this day."
At the great minster window sat
The king in mickle state,

To see Charles Bawdin go along
To his most welcome fate.

Soon as the sledde drew nigh enough,
That Edward he might hear,

The brave Sir Charles he did stand up,
And thus his words declare :

"Thou seest me, Edward! traitor vile!
Exposed to infamy;
But be assured, disloyal man,
I'm greater now than thee.

By foul proceedings, murder, blood,
Thou wearest now a crown;
And hast appointed me to die
By power not thine own.

Thou thinkest I shall die to-day;

I have been dead till now,

And soon shall live to wear a crown
For aye upon my brow;

Whilst thou, perhaps, for some few years,
Shalt rule this fickle land,

To let them know how wide the rule
'Twixt king and tyrant hand.

Thy power unjust, thou traitor slave!
Shall fall on thy own head"—
From out of hearing of the king
Departed then the sledde.

King Edward's soul rush'd to his face,
He turn'd his head away,
And to his brother Gloucester
He thus did speak and say:

"To him that so-much-dreaded death
No ghastly terrors bring;
Behold the man! he spake the truth;
He's greater than a king!"

"So let him die!" Duke Richard said;
"And may each one our foes
Bend down their necks to bloody axe,
And feed the carrion crows."

And now the horses gently drew

Sir Charles up the high hill; The axe did glister in the sun,

His precious blood to spill.

Sir Charles did up the scaffold go,
As up a gilded car
Of victory, by valorous chiefs
Gain'd in the bloody war.
And to the people he did say:
"Behold you see me die,
For serving loyally my king,

My king most rightfully.

As long as Edward rules this land,
No quiet you will know;
Your sons and husbands shall be slain,
And brooks with blood shall flow.

You leave your good and lawful king,
When in adversity;

Like me, unto the true cause stick,
And for the true cause die."

Then he, with priests, upon his knees,
A prayer to God did make,
Beseeching him unto himself
His parting soul to take.

Then, kneeling down, he laid his head
Most seemly on the block;
Which from his body fair at once
The able headsman stroke:

And out the blood began to flow, And round the scaffold twine; And tears, enough to wash 't away, Did flow from each man's eyne.

The bloody axe his body fair

Into four partis cut;

And every part, and eke his head, Upon a pole was put.

One part did rot on Kinwulph-hill,
One on the minster-tower,
And one from off the castle-gate

The crowen did devour.

The other on Saint Paul's good gate,

A dreary spectacle;

His head was placed on the high cross,
In high street most noble.

Thus was the end of Bawdin's fate:
God prosper long our king,

And grant he may, with Bawdin's soul,
In heaven God's mercy sing.

Chatterton.-Born 1752, Died 1770.

944. THE MINSTREL'S SONG IN ELLA.

O! sing unto my roundelay;

O drop the briny tear with me;

Dance no more at holiday,

Like a running river be;

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow tree.

Black his hair as the winter night,

White his neck as summer snow, Ruddy his face as the morning light, Cold he lies in the grave below: My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow tree.

Sweet his tongue as throstle's note,
Quick in dance as thought was he;
Deft his tabor, cudgel stout;

Oh he lies by the willow tree.
My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow tree.

Hark! the raven flaps his wing,

In the brier'd dell below;

Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing,
To the nightmares as they go.
My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow tree.

See the white moon shines on high;
Whiter is my true-love's shroud;
Whiter than the morning sky,
Whiter than the evening cloud.
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed,
All under the willow tree.

Here, upon my true-love's grave,

Shall the garish flowers be laid, Nor one holy saint to save All the sorrows of a maid. My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow tree.

With my hands I'll bind the briers,
Round his holy cors to gre;
Elfin-fairy, light your fires,
Here my body still shall be.
My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,
All under the willow tree.

Come with acorn cup and thorn,
Drain my heart's blood all away;
Life and all its good I scorn,
Dance by night, or feast by day.
My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow tree.

Water-witches, crowned with reytes,
Bear me to your deadly tide.
I die I come-my true-love waits.
Thus the damsel spake, and died.
Chatterton.-Born 1752, Died 1770.

945.-CHARACTER OF THE SHIP'S
OFFICERS.

O'er the gay vessel, and her daring band,
Experienced Albert held the chief command:
Though train'd in boisterous elements, his
mind

Was yet by soft humanity refined.

Each joy of wedded love at home he knew;
Abroad confess'd the father of his crew!
Brave, liberal, just, the calm domestic scene
Had o'er his temper breathed a gay serene.
Him science taught by mystic lore to trace
The planets wheeling in eternal race;
To mark the ship in floating balance held,
By earth attracted and by seas repell'd;
Or point her devious track, through climes
unknown,

That leads to every shore and every zone.
He saw the moon through heaven's blue con-
cave glide,

And into motion charm th' expanding tide;
While earth impetuous round her axle rolls,
Exalts her watery zone, and sinks the poles.
Light and attraction, from their genial source,
He saw still wandering with diminish'd force;
While on the margin of declining day,
Night's shadowy cone reluctant melts away.-
Inured to peril, with unconquer'd soul,
The chief beheld tempestuous ocean's roll;
His genius, ever for the event prepared,
Rose with the storm, and all its dangers

shared.

The second powers and office Rodmond bore:

A hardy son of England's furthest shore. Where bleak Northumbria pours her savage train

In sable squadron's o'er the northern main; That, with her pitchy entrails stored, resort, A sooty tribe! to fair Augusta's port. Where'er in ambush lurk the fatal sands, They claim the danger; proud of skilful bands;

For while with darkling course their vessels sweep

The winding shore, or plough the faithless deep,

O'er bar and shelf the watery path they sound,

With dexterous arm; sagacious of the ground:
Fearless they combat ev'ry hostile wind,
Wheeling in mazy tracks with course inclined.
Expert to moor, where terrors line the road;
Or win the anchor from its dark abode :
But drooping and relax'd in climes afar,
Tumultuous and undisciplined in war.
Such Rodmond was; by learning unrefined,
That oft enlightens to corrupt the mind:
Boisterous of manners; train'd in early youth
To scenes that shame the conscious cheek of
truth;

To scenes that nature's struggling voice control,

And freeze compassion rising in the soul! Where the grim hell-hounds, prowling round the shore,

With foul intent the stranded bark exploreDeaf to the voice of woe, her decks they board,

While tardy justice slumbers o'er her sword— Th' indignant Muse, severely taught to feel, Shrinks from a theme she blushes to reveal! Too oft example, arm'd with poisons fell, Pollutes the shrine where mercy loves to dwell :

Thus Rodmond, train'd by this unhallow'd

crew,

The sacred social passions never knew:
Unskill'd to argue; in dispute yet loud;
Bold without cantion; without honours proud;
In art unschool'd, each veteran rule he prized,
And all improvement haughtily despised:
Yet though full oft to future perils blind,
With skill superior glow'd his daring mind,
Through snares of death the reeling bark to
guide,

When midnight shades involve the raging

tide.

To Rodmond next, in order of command, Succeeds the youngest of our naval band. But what avails it to record a name

That courts no rank among the sons of fame?

While yet a stripling, oft, with fond alarms, His bosom danced to nature's boundless charms;

On him fair science dawn'd in happier hour, Awakening into bloom young fancy's flower;

But frowning fortune with untimely blast
The blossom wither'd, and the dawn o'ercast.
Forlorn of heart, and by severe decree
Condemn'd reluctant to the faithless sea,
With long farewell he left the laurel grove,
Where science and the tuneful sisters rove.-
Hither he wander'd, anxious to explore
Antiquities of nations now no more;
To penetrate each distant realm unknown,
And range excursive o'er th' untravell'd zone.
In vain!-for rude adversity's command,
Still on the margin of each famous land,
With unrelenting ire his steps opposed,
And every gate of hope against him closed.
Permit my verse, ye bless'd Pierian train,
To call Arion this ill-fated swain!

For, like that bard unhappy, on his head
Malignant stars their hostile influence shed.
Both, in lamenting numbers, o'er the deep,
With conscious anguish taught the harp to

weep;

And both the raging surge in safety bore
Amid destruction panting to the shore.
This last our tragic story from the wave
Of dark oblivion haply yet may save;
With genuine sympathy may yet complain,
While sad remembrance bleeds at ev'ry vein.
Such were the pilots; tutor'd to divine
Th' untravell'd course by geometric line;
Train'd to command, and range the various
sail,

Whose various force conforms to every gale.

Charged with the commerce, hither also came
A gallant youth, Palemon was his name;
A father's stern resentment doom'd to prove,
He came, the victim of unhappy love!
His heart for Albert's beauteous daughter

bled;

For her a secret flame his bosom fed. Nor let the wretched slaves of folly scorn This genuine passion, nature's eldest born! 'Twas his with lasting anguish to complain, While blooming Anna mourn'd the cause in vain.

Graceful of form, by nature taught to please,

Of power to melt the female breast with ease,
To her Palemon told his tender tale,

Soft as the voice of summer's evening gale.
O'erjoy'd, he saw her lovely eyes relent;
The blushing maiden smiled with sweet con-
sent.

Oft in the mazes of a neighbouring grove,
Unheard, they breathed alternate vows of love:
By fond society their passion grew,
Like the young blossom fed with vernal dew.
In evil hour th' officious tongue of fame
Betray'd the secret of their mutual flame.
With grief and anger struggling in his breast,
Palemon's father heard the tale confest.
Long had he listen'd with suspicion's ear,
And learn'd, sagacious, this event to fear.
Too well, fair youth! thy liberal heart he

knew ;

A heart to nature's warm impressions true!

Full oft his wisdom strove, with fruitless toil,

With avarice to pollute that generous soil:
That soil impregnated with nobler seed,
Refused the culture of so rank a weed.
Elate with wealth, in active commerce won,
And basking in the smile of fortune's sun,
With scorn the parent eyed the lowly shade
That veil'd the beauties of this charming
maid.

Indignant he rebuked th' enamour'd boy,
The flattering promise of his future joy:
He soothed and menaced, anxious to reclaim
This hopeless passion, or divert its aim:
Oft led the youth where circling joys delight
The ravish'd sense, or beauty charms the
sight.

With all her powers enchanting music fail'd,
And pleasure's syren voice no more prevail'd.
The merchant, kindling then with proud dis-
dain,

In look and voice assumed a harsher strain.
In absence now his only hope remain'd;
And such the stern decree his will ordain'd.
Deep anguish, while Palemon heard his doom,
Drew o'er his lovely face a saddening gloom.
In vain with bitter sorrow he repined,
No tender pity touch'd that sordid mind;
To thee, brave Albert, was the charge con-
sign'd.

The stately ship, forsaking England's shore,
To regions far remote Palemon bore.
Incapable of change, th' unhappy youth
Still loved fair Anna with eternal truth:
From clime to clime an exile doom'd to roam,
His heart still panted for its secret home.

Falconer.-Born 1730, Died 1769.

946.-THE SHIP DEPARTING FROM THE HAVEN.

The sun's bright orb, declining all serene, Now glanced obliquely o'er the woodland

scene.

Creation smiles around; on every spray
The warbling birds exalt their evening lay.
Blithe skipping o'er yon hill, the fleecy train
Join the deep chorus of the lowing plain :
The golden lime and orange there were seen,
On fragrant branches of perpetual green.
The crystal streams, that velvet meadows
lave,

To the green ocean roll with chiding wave.
The glassy ocean hush'd forgets to roar,
But trembling murmurs on the sandy shore:
And lo! his surface, lovely to behold!
Glows in the west, a sea of living gold!
While all above, a thousand liveries gay
The skies with pomp ineffable array.
Arabian sweets perfume the happy plains:
Above, beneath, around enchantment reigns!
While yet the shades, on time's eternal scale,
With long vibration deepen o'er the vale;

While yet the songsters of the vocal grove
With dying numbers tune the soul to love;
With joyful eyes th' attentive master sees
Th' auspicious omens of an eastern breeze.-
Now radiant Vesper leads the starry train,
And night slow draws her veil o'er land and
main ;

Round the charged bowl the sailors form a ring;

By turns recount the wondrous tale or sing;
As love or battle, hardships of the main,
Or genial wine awake their homely strain :
Then some the watch of night alternate keep,
The rest lie buried in oblivious sleep.

Deep midnight now involves the livid skies,
While infant breezes from the shore arise.
The waning moon, behind a wat'ry shroud,
Pale-glimmer'd o'er the long-protracted cloud.
A mighty ring around her silver throne,
With parting meteors cross'd, portentous
shone.

This in the troubled sky full oft prevails;
Oft deem'd a signal of tempestuous gales.-
While young Arion sleeps, before his sight
Tumultuous swim the visions of the night.
Now blooming Anna, with her happy swain,
Approach'd the sacred hymeneal fane :
Anon tremendous lightnings flash between,
And funeral pomp and weeping loves are

"All hands unmoor!" proclaims a boisterous cry:

"All hands unmoor!" the cavern rocks reply. Roused from repose aloft the sailors swarm, And with their levers soon the windlass arm. The order given, up-springing with a bound They lodge the bars, and wheel their engine round:

At every turn the clanging pauls resound.
Uptorn reluctant from its oozy cave,
The ponderous anchor rises o'er the wave.
Along their slippery masts the yards ascend,
And high in air the canvas wings extend:
Redoubling cords the lofty canvas guide,
And through inextricable mazes glide.
The lunar rays with long reflection gleam,
To light the vessel o'er the silver stream:
Along the glassy plain serene she glides,
While azure radiance trembles on her sides.