M DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Treasure %oom Haps BcparteH: OR, BANWELL HILL: % %m of tf)e Setorn &m* 13 a l> s ©tparUtr; OB, BANWELL HILL 9L Saa of tf)e Sb&otm &t&< REV. WM. LISLE BOWLES. " The windings of my way, through many years." Cowper. MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET, LONDON; AND CRUTTWELL, BATH. 1828. PRINTED BY RICHARD CRUTTWELL, ST. JAMES'S-STREET, BATH. DEDICATION. TO THE RIGHT REVEREND HENRY LAW, D.D. LORD BISHOP OF BATH AND WELLS. / MY DEAR LORD, How far I may be thought to have forgotten the Horatian precept,* in writing this Poem, must be left to the decision of others; at all events, I avail myself of the oppor- tunity of expressing, publicly, my high esteem, and most grateful feelings, towards Him, who, as he suggested the sub' ject, will be the first to pardon its defects of execution; and I remain, my Lord, Most faithfully, Your obliged Friend and Servant, WM. LISLE BOWLES. * -Solve senescentem, §*c. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from Duke University Libraries http://archive.org/details/daysdepartedorbaOObowl PREFACE. THE estimation of a Poem of this nature must depend, first, on its arrangement, plan, and disposition ; •secondly, on the judgment, propriety, and feeling, with which — in just and proper succession and relief — picture, pathos, moral and religious reflections, historical notices, or affecting incidents, are interwoven. The reader will, in the next place, attend to the ver- sification, or measure, in which the thoughts are conveyed. Shakespeare and Milton are the great masters of the verse I have adopted. But who can be heard after them? The reader, however, will at least find no specimens of sonorous harmony ending with such signi- ficant words as " of," " and," " if," " but," &c. of which we have innumerable examples in modern blank verse. PREFACE. I would, therefore, only request of him to observe, that when such passages occur in this poem, as "Vanishing! Hush!" &c. it was from design, and not from want of ear. An intermixture of scenes and characters from artifi- cial life might be thought, at first sight, out of keeping with the tone of general colouring: but the interspersion of the comic, provided the due mock-heroic stateliness be kept up in the language, has often the effect of light and shade, as will be apparent on looking at Cowper's exquisite "Task," though he has sometimes offended against taste. The only difficulty is " happily to steer" from grave to gay. Of blank verse of the kind to which I have alluded, I am tempted to give a specimen: 'Twas summer, and we sail'd to Greenwich in A four-oar'd boat. The sun was shining, and The scenes delightful; while we gazed on The river winding, till we landed at The Ship, &c. So far, respecting the plan, the execution, and the ver- sification. As to the sentiments delivered in this poem, and in the notes, I must explicitly declare, that when I am convinced, as a clergyman and a magistrate, there has been a dreadful increase of crimes, owing, among other causes, to the system pursued by " nominal" PREFACE. VU Christians, who either do not like, or will not under- stand, what is truly Evangelical preaching, according to the great rule of Christ and his Apostles, — I think it a public duty to express my own opinions without com- promise, fear, or disguise. When preachers are found,* who will not preach " these three" (faith, hope, and cha- rity,) according to the order of St. Paul, but keep two of these graces, and the greatest of all, out of sight, upon any human plea or pretension; when they will not preach, " add to your faith virtue," though they know St. Peter set the example ; when they will not preach, " Christ " died for the sins of the world, and not for our's only," as St. John declared ; when, from any pleas of their own, or persuaded by any sophistry or faction, they become, most emphatically, " dumb dogs" to more than * St. Paul says, "a man is justified by faith, without the deeds of " the LAW."f In a Sermon before the Municipal Authorities of Bristol, a Reverend theological Doctor adds, as I see by an extract in the papers, without "good" works! thus altering the fundamental posi- tion of the Apostle ; and in direct contradiction to what the same Apostle says, in the same Epistle to the Romans, and in the Epistle to Titus, Timothy, Colossians, Corinthians, &c. ! Whether the Mayor and Aldermen of Bristol are wiser or better, for such daring additions to the Apostolic text, is not of much consequence ; but, as guardians of public morals, it is of great consequence, as far as regards the general application. f " Glory, honour, and peace, to every man that worketh good!" Horn, ii, 10. PREFACE. half of that Gospel which they have engaged before God plainly to deliver; when abominations and crimes, as I am verily persuaded have been, are, and must be, the consequence of such public preaching, — leaving others to " stand or fall" to their own God ; 1 shall, as I have done through life, be guided by my own understanding, and the plain Word of God, as I find it earnestly, simply, beautifully, and divinely set before me, by the Apostles of my Master ; and so feeling, I shall as fear- lessly deliver my own opinions, being assured, whether popular or unpopular, whether they offend this man or that, this sect or that sect, they will not easily be shaken. Whatever may be thought of some of the sentiments which I have honestly, under paramount Christian feelings, expressed, I am not much afraid of any human condemnation among the note-learned sciolists of any school of divinity, when I am content to share the obloquy with St. Paul, St. Peter, and St. John. I might ask, why did St. Paul add, so emphatically, "these three," when he enumerated the Christian graces ? Doubtless, because he thought the distinction very important. Why did St. Peter say, " add to your " faith virtue?" Because he thought it equally impor- tant and essential. Why did St. John say, " Christ " died for the sins of the whole world, and not for our's PREFACE. IX ff only?" Because he thought this point equally impor- tant and necessary. Never omitting justification by faith, and the atonement, and never separating faith from its hal- lowed fellowship, we shall find all other parts of the Gospel unite in harmonious subordination ; but if we shade these points down, leave them out, contradict them, by insidious sophistry, in the face of the Giver of the "Holy Bible" — the Scripture, so far from being " rightly " divided," will be discordant and clashing. The man, be who he may, who preaches "faith" without its test and end, charity ; who preaches "faith without virtue'" is as pernicious and false an expounder of the divine message, as he who preaches "good works" without their legitimate and only foundation, Christian faith. It is more incumbent that the faithful minister should do this, as, in fact, how many millions are there who do not like the Gospel ; and, therefore, pay to hear only that which is most in unison with their own feelings ! One would suppose from the language of some preachers, the " civil," " decent," " moral" people, from the times of Baxter to the present, want amendment most ! We all know, that mere morals, which have no Christian basis, are not the Gospel of Christ; but I might tell Richard, with great respect notwith- PREFACE. standing, for I respect his sincerity and his heart — that, at least, " decent" and " civil" and " moral" people,* are not worse than indecent, immoral, and uncivil people; and when there are so many of these last, I think a word or two of reproof would not much hurt them, let the " decent," " moral," and " civil," be as wicked as they may. As there is such a lamentable dearth of crimes, in the present day, " Oratorios" — that is, the praises of God in his Holy Temple — have been held up as the essence of impiety, though I do not envy that man's piety, who has ever heard the strains of Handel pealing through the long-drawn aisles of our Cathedrals, without purer, more exalted, and more devotional feelings ! Of such a code of Christianity, I have thought it my duty to speak " boldly, as I ought to speak !" Respecting the language of the Poem, I had nearly forgotten one remark. In almost all the local poems I have read, there is generally a confusion, of the following nature. A local, descriptive poem must consist, first, of the graphic, view of the scenery * Baxter's " Saint's Rest." PREFACE. around the spot from whence the view is taken ; and, secondly, of the reflections and feelings which that view may be supposed to excite. The feelings of the heart naturally associate themselves with the idea of the tones of the supposed poetical harp ; but external scenes are the province of the pencil, for the harp cannot paint woods and hills, and, therefore, in almost all descriptive poems, the pencil and the lyre clash. Hence, in one page, the poet speaks of his lyre, and in the next, when he leaves feelings to paint to the eye, before the harp is out of the hand, he turns, per force, the pencil! This fault is almost inevitable; the reader, therefore, will see in the first page of this poem, that the graphic pencil is assumed, when the tones of the harp were unappropriate. I feel that I ought to make some apology to the reader, for the lightness of some of my Notes, particularly to the excellent Prelate, to whom the poem is inscribed ; but it will be recollected, the poem is on " Days " Departed," and a few incidental anecdotes, relating to that period of my life, will, I trust, be pardoned. I am not among those, who divide the Clergy of the Church of England into classes ; and I think it my duty ingenuously to declare, that the opinions I have given of the effects of such public doctrines as I have described, xii PREFACE. were written without communication with any one living. I think it right to declare this, most explicitly, lest the distinguished character, to whom this poem is inscribed, might be supposed to have any participation in such sentiments ; though, I trust, no possible objection could be made to the manly avowal of my opinion on the injurious effects of anti-nomian, anti-moral, anti-scriptural doctrines, be they preached by whom they may. As4oany personality in my portraits, the>eharacters described arelsemmon, and, as I have described them, seen every day. I discfeim^ gl^ personality, except in regard to the riders of the clock, in the Cathedral of Wells,* and the solitary gentleman, against the walLwho strikes the hours ! *" I need make no apology, except where my own name is mentioned, for printing Mr. Warner's sensible Letter, in his own language. * My earliest playfellow on Uphill Green was a respectable hair- dresser, now living at Wells. Having referred to him in a note, the note could not be understood without this explanation ; his name is James Caulfield. ®apg Beprteb; OB, BANWELL HILL S Hag of tfje gfloern &ca. ARGUMENT. PART I. Introduction — Retrospective — General View — Cave — Bones— Brief Sketch of Events since the Deposit Egypt — Druid — Roman Saxon — Dane — Norman — Hill — Campanula — Bleadon— Weston — Steep Hoi ms— Solitary- Flower on Steep Holms, the Piony — Flat Holms — Three unknown Graves — Sea — Sea, treacherous in its tranquillity— Mr. Elton's Children— Packet-Boat sunk. PART II. First Sound of the Sea— First Sight of the Sea— Mother— Children— Uphill Parsonage — Father — Wells Clock — Clock Figure— Contrast of Village Manners — Village Maid — Rural Nymph before the Justices— State of Agricultural Districts — Cause of Crimes — Workhouse Girl — Manufactory Ranters — Prosing Parson — Prig Parson — Calvinistic Commentators, &c. —Anti-moral Preaching — Unaffected Piety — Crimes pass'd over by Anti- moral Preachers— Bible, without note or comment — English Jaggernaut — Moral Education — Annual Meeting on the Lawn, at Castle-Combe, of 140 Children — Old Nurse — Benevolence of English Landlords — Stourhead— Ken at Longleat — Marston House — Early Travels in Switzerland— Compton House — Clergyman s Wife — Village Clergyman. PART III. Solitary Sea — Ship — Sea-scenes of Southampton contrasted — Solitary Sand —Young Lady — Severn — Walton Castle — Picture of Bristol — Brockley- Coomb Fayland Goblin-Coomb — Cottage — Poor Dinah Langford Court — Mendip Lodge — Blagdon — Wrington — Its Rector, authov of the tune of " Auld Robin Gray" — Auld Robin Gray — Auld Lang Syne. PART IV. Lang Syne — Return to the Deluge — Vision of the Flood — Archangel — Storm increasing — Trump — Voice — Phantom-Horse — Dove of the Ark — Dove ascending— Conclusion. IBagj* 9*part*0; OR, BANWELL HILL. I. INTROD UCTION — GENERAL VIE W — CA VE — STEEP HOLMS — FLAT HOLMS— SEA. IF, gazing from this eminence, I wake, With thronging thoughts, the harp of poesy Once more, ere night descend — haply, with tones Fainter, and haply with a long farewell ; If — looking back upon the lengthen'd way My feet have trod, since, long ago, I left Those well-known shores, and when mine eyes are filPd With tears, — I take the pencil in its turn, And lightly shade the landscape spread below, That smilingly beguiles those starting tears, Something — the feelings of the human heart — Something, the scene itself, and something more — DAYS DEPARTED; OB, Introduction. pjijuw i j » jfWW*vwjumnnrLr i Wi*nrr*r*-" """■"****"* ■- — -"*-"■«-—»— ■■»■■■■■»■■■. ■ A wish to gratify one gen'rous mind — May plead for pardon: — To this spot I came, To view the dark memorials of a world* Perish'd at the Almighty's voice, and swept With all its noise away ! Since then, unmark'd, In that rude Cave those dark memorials lay, And told no tale ! Spirit of other times, Sad Shadow of the ancient world, come forth, Thou who hast slept four thousand years, awake ! — Rise from the Cavern's last recess, and say, What giant cleft in twain the neighbouring rocks,:}: Then slept for ages in vast OGo'sf Cave, A.nd left them, rent and frowning, from that hour; Say, rather, when the stern Archangel stood, Above the tossing of the flood, what arm * The reader is referred to Dr. Buckland's most interesting illustra- tions of these remains of a former world. The Bishop of Bath and Wells has built a picturesque and appropriate cottage near the cave, on the hill commanding this fine view. $ The stupendous Cheddar Cliffs, in the neighbourhood. f WOOKEY. Antrum Ogonis. BANWELL HILL. Retrospective. Shatter'd this mountain, and its hollow chasm Heap'd with those mute memorials of that doom ? Spirit of other times, thou speakest not! Yet who could gaze a moment, on that wreck Of desolation, but must pause to think Of the mutations of the Globe ;— of Time, Hurrying to onward spoil; — of his own life, Swift passing, as the summer light, awayjr- Of Him, who spoke, and the dread storm went forth. The surge came, and the surge went back, and there — There — when the black abyss had ceas'd to roar, And waters, shrinking from the rocks and hills, Slept in the solitary sunshine — there, The bones, that strew the inmost cavern, lay : And when forgotten centuries had pass'd, And the grey smoke went up from villages, And cities, with their tow'rs and temples, shone, And kingdoms rose and perish'd — there they lay! The crow sail'd o'er the spot, the villager Plodded to morning toil, yet, undisturb'd, They lay: — when lo! — as if but yesterday, b 2 4 DAYS DEPARTED; OR, General View. The Archangel's trump had echo'd o'er the deep, The mighty shade of ages that are pass'd, Tow'rs into light ! Say, Christian, is it true ? That dim recess, that cavern, heap'd with bones, Will echo to thy Bible ! But awhile, Here let me stand, and gaze upon the scene, Array'd in living light around, and mark The morning sunshine, — on that very shore Where once a child I wander'd : — Oh ! return, (I sigh,) " return a moment, days of youth, " Of childhood, — oh, return !" How vain the thought, Vain as unmanly ! yet the pensive Muse, Unblam'd, may dally with imaginings ; For this wide view is like the scene of life, Once travers'd o'er with carelessness and glee, And we look back upon the vale of years, And hear remember'd voices, and behold, In blended colours, images and shades Long pass'd, now rising, as at Memory's call, Again in softer light. I see thee not — Home of my infancy — I see thee not, BANWELL HILL. Cave — Bones. Thou Fane that standest on the hill alone,* The homeward sailor's sea-mark ; but I view Brean Down, beyond it, and thy winding sands, Weston, and, far away, a wand'ring ship, Where stretches into mist the Severn Sea. There, mingled with the clouds, old Cambria draws Its stealing line of mountains, lost in hase ; There, in mid-channel, sit the sister HoLMS,f Secure and tranquil, though the tide's vast sweep, As it rides by, might almost seem to rive The deep foundations of the Earth again, Threat'ning, as once, resistless, to ascend In tempest to this height, to bury here Fresh-weltering carcases ! But, lo, the Cave ! Descend the steps, cut rudely in the rock, Cautious. The yawning vault is at our feet ! And caverns, winding within caverns, spread On either side their labyrinths — all dark, Save where the light falls glimm'ring on huge bones, In mingled multitudes. Ere yet we ask Whose bones, and of what animals they form'd * UrniLL Church. f Flat and Steep Holms. ■■■< DAYS DEPARTED; OR, Cave— Bones. The structure, when no human voice was heard In all this Isle, look upward to the roof That silent drips, and has for ages dripp'd, From which, like icicles, the stalactites Depend : then ask of the Geologist, How Nature, vaulting the rude chamber, scoop'd Its long recesses ; the Geologist Will talk of limestone-rock — of stalactites, And oolites, and hornblende, and grey whack ! With sounds almost as craggy as the rock Of which he speaks — Feldspar, and Gneis, and Schorl ! But let us learn of this same Troglodyte,* Who guides us through the winding labyrinth, The erudite " Professor" of the Cave, Not of the College — Stagyrite of bones : — He leads, with flick'ring candle, through the heaps Himself has pil'd, and plac'd in various forms, Grotesque arrangement, and the cave itself Seems but his element of breathing ! " Look ! — " This" humerus " is that of the wild ox ! !" The very candle, as with sympathy, Flares, while he speaks — in glimmering wonderment ! * Mr. Beard, of Banwell, called familiarly " the Professor," of whom I speak with respect, trusting he will forgive this good-hnmoured smile. BANWELL HILL. Brief Sketch of Events since the Deposit— Egypt— Druid— Roman. But who can mark these visible remains, Nor pause to think how awful, and how true, The dread event they speak ! What monuments Hath man, since then, the Lord — the Emmet — raised On earth ! He hath built pyramids, and said, " Stand there !" and in their solitudes they stood, Whilst, like the camel's shadow, on the sands Beneath them, years and ages pass'd. He said, " My name shall never die !" and like the God Of Silence,* with his finger on his lip, Oblivion mock'd, then pointed to a tomb — Mid vast and winding vaults — without a name. Where art thou, Thebes ? The chambers of the dead Echo, " Behold !" and twice ten thousand men, Ev*n in their march of rapine, and of blood, Involuntary halted, f at the sight Of thy majestic wreck, for many a league — Sphynxes, colossal fanes, and obelisks — Pale in the morning sun ! Ambition sigh'd, A moment, and pass'd on. In this rude Isle, The Druid altars frown'd ; and still they stand, As silent as the barrows at their feet, * Egyptian God of Silence, f Halt of the French army at the sight of the ruins. DAYS DEPARTED; OR, Saxon— Dane — Norman. Yet tell the same stern tale. Soldier of Rome, Art thou come hither, to this land, remote, Hid in the ocean-waste ? Thy chariot wheels Rung on that road below !* — Cohorts, and turms, With their Centurions, in long file, appear, Their golden Eagles glitt'ring to the sun, O'er the last line of spears ; and standard-flags Wave, and the trumpets sounding to " advance," And shields, and helms, and crests, and chariots, mark The glorious march of Csesar's soldiery, Firing the grey horizon! — They are pass'd! And like a gleam of glory, perishing, Leave but a name behind ! — So passes man, An armed spectre o'er a field of blood, And vanishes ! — and other armed shades Pass by, red battle hurtling as they pass. The Saxon Kings have strew'd their palaces From Thames to Tyne. But, lo ! the sceptre shakes : The Dane, remorseless as the hurricane That sweeps his native cliffs, harries the land ! What terror strode before his track of blood ! What hamlets mourn'd his desultory march, When on the circling hills, along the sea, * The Roman way passes immediately under Bamvell, BANWELL HILL. Hill — Campanula. The beacon-flame shone nightly ! He has pass'd Now frowns the Norman Victor on his throne, And every cottage shrouds its lonely fire. As the sad curfew sounds. Yet Piety, With new-inspiring energies, awoke, And ampler polity : in woody vales, In unfrequented wilds, and forest-glens, The tow'rs of the sequester'd Abbey shone, As when the pinnacles of Glaston Fane First met the morning light. The Parish Church Then too, exulting o'er the ruder cross, Up-sprung, till soon the distant village peal Flings out its music, where the tap'ring spire Adds a new picture to the shelter'd vale ; And Uphill rock, where sits the lonely church, Above the sands — seems, like the chronicler Of other times, there left, to tell the tale ! But issuing from the Cave — look round — behold How proudly the majestic Severn rides On the sea, — how gloriously in light It rides ! Along this solitary ridge, Where smiles, but rare, the blue Campanula, Among the thistles, and grey stones, that peep 10 DAYS DEPARTED; OR, Hill— Campanula. Through the thin herbage — to the highest point Of elevation, o'er the vale below, Slow let us climb. First, look upon that flow'r — The lowly heath-bell, smiling at our feet. How beautiful it smiles alone! The Pow'r, That bade the great sea roar — that spread the Heav'ns — That call'd the sun from darkness — deck'd that flow'r, And bade it grace this bleak and barren hill Imagination, in her playful mood, Might liken it to a poor village maid, Lowly, but smiling in her lowliness, And dress'd so neatly, as if ev'ry day Were Sunday. And some melancholy Bard Might, idly musing, thus discourse to it : — " Daughter of Summer, who dost linger here, " Decking the thistly turf, and arid hill, " Unseen — let the majestic Dahlia " Glitter, an Empress, in her blazonry " Of beauty; let the stately Lily shine, " As snow-white as the breast of the proud Swan, " Sailing upon the blue lake silently, " That lifts her tall neck higher, as she views " The shadow in the stream ! Such ladies bright ' ' May reign unrivall'd, in their proud parterres ! BANWELL HILL. 11 Bleadon — Weston, " Thou would'st not live with them; but if a voice, " Fancy, in shaping mood, might give to thee, " To the forsaken Primrose, thou would'st say, " ' Come, live with me, and we two will rejoice : — " * Nor want I company; for when the sea " ' Shines in the silent moonlight, elves and fays, " ' Gentle and delicate as Ariel, " * That do their spiritings on these wild holts — " * Circle me in their dance, and sing such songs " ' As human ear ne'er heard!' " But cease the strain, Lest Wisdom, and severer Truth, should chide. Behind that windmill, sailing round and round, Like days on days revolving — Bleadon lies,* Where first I ponder'd on dark grammar-lore — Sad as the Spelling-Book — beneath the roof Of its secluded Parsonage : Brean Down Emerges o'er the edge of Hutton Hill, Just seen in paler light ! — And Weston, there, Where 1 remember a few cottages * Bleadon Parsonage, tben inhabited by the Rev. Mr. Norman, my first instructor. An excellent Parsonage-house has been built by the present incumbent, the Rev. D. Williams. I must be allowed to express my thanks to Mrs. Williams, Miss Rogers, and Mrs. W. HUDDLESTON. 12 DAYS DEPARTED ; OR, Steep Holms — Solitary Flower on Steep Holms, the Piony. Sprinkling the sand, uplifts its tow'r, and shines, As if in conscious beauty, o'er the scene. And I have seen a far more welcome sight, The living line of population stream — Children, and village-maids, and grey old men — Stream o'er the sands to church ! — The hill, the shore, And even its very light, is to my eyes Familiar as those sister Isles, that sit In the mid channel, calm above the tide, As seeming each to listen to its sound ; Of different aspects : — This, abrupt and high, And desolate, and bare and bleak, uplifts Its dreary brow ! Dreary; but on its steep There is one native flower — the Piony. She sits companionless, but yet not sad : She has no sister of the summer-field, That may rejoice with her when spring returns, None that, in sympathy, may bend its head, When the bleak winds blow hollow o'er the rock, In autumn's gloom ! So Virtue, a fair flow'r, Blooms on the rock of care, and though unseen, It smiles in cold seclusion, and remote From the world's flaunting fellowship, it wears, Like hermit Piety, that smile of peace, BANWELL HILL. 13 Flat Holms— Three unknown Graves. In sickness, or in health, in joy or tears, In summer-days, or cold adversity ; And still it feels Heav'n's breath, reviving, steal On its lone breast — feels the warm blessedness Of Heaven's own light about it, though its leaves Are wet with ev'ning tears ! So smiles this flow'r : And if, perchance, my lay has dwelt too long, Upon one flower which blooms in privacy, I may a pardon find from human hearts, For such was my poor Mother !* Yonder Islef Seems not so desolate, nor frowns aloof, As if from human kind. The Light-house there, Through the long winter night, shows its pale fire ; And three forgotten graves mark the rude spot, None knows of whom; but graves of men who breath'd, And bore their part in life, and look'd to Heaven, As man looks now : — They died and left no name ! * Daughter of Dr. Grey, author of Memoria Technica, &c. rector of Hinton, Northamptonshire, and prebendary of St. Paul's. f Flat Holms. 14 DAYS DEPARTED ; OR, Three unknown Graves — Sea. Fancy might think, amid the wilderness Of waves, they sought to hide from human eyes All mem'ry of their fortunes ! Till the trump Of doom, they rest unknown ! But mark that hill ! Where Kewstoke seems to creep into the sea, Thy Abbey, Woodsping, rose.* Wild is the scene, And here three mailed murderers retir'd, To the last point of land ! Here they retir'd, And here they knelt upon the ground, and cried, ee Bury us 'mid the waves, where none may know " The whisper'd secret of a deed of blood !" No stone is o'er those graves : — the hollow tide, As it flows by, and moans along the shore, Seems heavily to say, " Pray for our souls !" Nor other " miserere " have they had, At eve, nor other orison, at morn. Thou hast put on thy mildest look to-day, Thou mighty Element ! Solemn, and still, And motionless, and touch'd with softer light, And without noise, lies all thy long expanse. Thou seemest now as calm,, as if a child Might dally with thy playfulness, and stand — * The Abbey was built by the descendants of Becket's murderers. BAN WELL HILL. 15 Sea, treacherous ia its tranquillity— Mr. Elton's Children. The weak winds lifting gently its light hair — Upon thy margin, watching one by one The long waves, breaking slow, with such a sound As Silence, in her dreamy mood, might love, When she more softly breath'd, fearing a breath Might mar thy placidness !— Oh ! TREACHERY ! — So still, and like a giant in his strength Reposing, didst thou seem, when the fond Sire One moment look'd, and saw his blithsome Boys, Gay, on the sands — one moment, — and the next, Heart-stricken and bereft, by the same surge, Stood in his desolation, — for he look'd, And thought how he had bless'd them in their sleep, And, the next moment, they were borne away, Snatch'd by the circling wave, and seen no more, While morning shone, and not a ripple told How terrible and dark a deed was done !* And so the seas were hush'd, and not a cloud Marr'd the pale moonlight, save that, here and there, * This most afflicting accident occurred at Weston to the children of Charles Elton, Esq; who has most pathetically recorded it. 16 DAYS DEPARTED; OR, Packet-Boat sunk. Wand'ring far off, some feathery shreds were seen, As the sole orb, above the light-house, held Its course in loveliness ; and not a sound Came from the distant deep, save that, at times, Amid the noise of human merriment, The ear might seem to catch a low faint moan, A boding sound, as of a dying dirge, From the sunk rocks,* while all was still beside, And every star seem'd list'ning in its watch, — When the gay packet-bark, to Erin bound. Resounding with the laugh and song, went on ! Look ! she is gone ! Oh ! God, she is gone down, fr\ + With her light-hearted company — gone down — And all at once is still, save, on the mast, Just peering o'er the waters, the wild shrieks Of three, at times, are heard ! They, when the dead — With whom they left the land, in hope and joy — Were round them, floating on the moon-light wave, Kept there their dismal watch till morning dawn'd, And to the living world again restor'd ! * Called " the Wolves," from their peculiar sound. BAN WELL HILL. 17 First Sound of the Sea. II. REFLECTIONS ON THE MORAL AND RELIGIOUS STATE OF PARISHES, FAST AND PRESENT. A show'r, even while we gaze, steals o'er the scene, Shrouding it, and the sea-view is shut out, •£jave where, beyond the Holms, one thread of light Hangs, and a pale and sunny stream shoots on, O'er the dim vapours, faint and far away, Like Hope's still light beyond the storms of Time. Come, let us rest awhile in this rude seat. — I was a child when first I heard the sound Of the great Sea! — 'Twas night, and journeying far, We were belated on our road, 'mid scenes New and unknown, — a mother and her child, Now first in this wide world a wanderer :— My father came, the Pastor of the Church* * Uphill. c 18 DAYS DEPARTED; OR, First Sound of the Sea. That crowns the high-hill crest, above the sea; When, as the wheels went slow, and the still night Seem'd listening, a low murmur met the ear, Not of the winds: — " Listen ! it is the Sea!" My Mother softly said ! With breathless awe, I heard the sound, and closer press'd her hand. Much of the sea, in infant wonderment, I oft had heard, and of the shipwreck'd man, Who sees, in some lone isle, day after day, The sun sink, o'er the wilderness of waves, Like Crusoe ; and the tears would start afresh, Whene'er my Mother kiss'd my cheek, and told The story of that desolate wild man, And how the speaking bird,* when he return 'd After long absence to his cave forlorn, Said, as in tones of human sympathy, " Poor Robin Crusoe!" Thoughts like these arose, When first I heard, at night, the distant sound, Great Ocean, " of thy everlasting voice !"f Where the white Parsonage, among the trees, * His Parrot. f Southey. BANWELL HILL. 19 First Sight of the Sea. Peep'd out, — that night I restless pass'd. " The Sea !" Fill'd all my thoughts; and when slow morning came, And the first sunbeam streak'd the window-pane, I rose unnoticed, and with stealthy pace — Straggling along the village-green,— explor'd Alone my fearful but adventurous way ; When, having turn'd the hedge-row, I beheld, For the first time, thy glorious element, Old Ocean, glittering to the beams of morn, Stretching far off, and, westward, without bound, Amid thy sole dominion, rocking loud ! Shivering I stood, and tearful; and ev'n now — When gathering years have mark'd my look — even now — I feel the deep impression of that hour, As but of yesterday ! ' Spirit of Time, A moment pause, and I will speak to thee ! Dark clouds are round thee; but lo ! Memory waves Her wand, — the clouds disperse, as the grey rack Disperses while we gaze, and light steals out, While the gaunt phantom almost seems to drop, His scythe ! — o 2 20 DAYS DEPARTED ; OR, Mother— Children. Now shadows of the past, distinct, Are thronging round ; the voices of the dead Are heard; and, lo ! the very smoke goes up f ) From yonder modest mansion on the green, gy\ ' Whose gravel-walk leads to the door. Now — pause — Enter that small blue parlour :* there sits one — A Female — and a child is in her arms, And one leans on her side, intent to show A pictur'd book, and looks upon her face, And two are at her feet, while this,f apart, Sighs o'er his solemn task — the Spelling-Book, Half moody, half in tears. Some lines of thought Are on that matron's brow; yet placidness, Such as resign 'd religion gives, is there, Mingled with sadness; for who can behold, Without a stealing sigh, a progeny Of infants clustering round maternal knees, Without some boding fears how they may fare In the wide world, when they who lov'd them most, Are mould'ring in their graves. Nay ! pass not on, Till thou hast mark'd a book — the page turn'd down — * I saw the identical room this summer. f The Author. BANWELL HILL. 21 Uphill Parsonage — Father. " Night Thoughts on Death and Immortality !" This book, my Mother, in the weary hours Of life — in every care, in every joy — Was thy companion : next to God's own Word, The book that bears this name,* thou didst revere, Leaving a stain of tears upon the page, Whose sentiments, with more emphatic truth, Touch'd thine own heart ! — That heart has long been still ! But who is he, of aspect more severe, — Yet with a manly kindness in his mien, — He who o'erlooks yon sturdy labourer Delving the glebe? — my Father as he liv'd! — That Father, and that Mother, — " earth to earth, " And dust to dust," — the inevitable doom Hath long consign'd! He, a few years remains, Whose future fate they ponder'd, with a sigh. Long, nor unprosperous, has been his way Through life's tumultuous scenes, who, when a child, Play'd in that garden platform in the sun ; Or loiter'd o'er the common, and pursued * Young's " Night Thoughts." 22 DAYS DEPARTED; OR, Wells Clock— Clock Figure. The colts among the sand-hills; or, intent On hardier enterprize, his pumpkin-ship, New rigg'd, and buoyant, with its tiny sail, Launch'd on the garden pond; or, stretch'd his hand — At once, forgetting all this glorious toil — When the bright butterfly came wandering by. But never will that day pass from his mind, When, scarcely breathing for delight — at Wells, He saw the Horsemen of the Clock* ride round, As if for life ; and ancient Blandibeg,! Seated aloft, like Hermes, in his chair, Complacent as when first he took his seat Some hundred years ago — saw him up-raise — As if old Time was cow'ring at his feet — His mace, solemn and slow, and strike the bell, (Himself for ever silent in his seat,) & Hank I i jjbG) two, threes Ml, flf U, [jS.?^^ eight, nine ! ?t - How little thought I then, the hour would come, When the lov'd Prelate of the beauteous fane, At whose command I sketch, might placidly * Clock in the Cathedral. f Clock-Image, seated aloft in a chair, and striking the hours. BANWELL HILL. 23 Contrast of Village Manners. Smile on this picture, in my future verse, ma / V* When Blandibeg had struck so many hours ' For me, his poet, in the vale of years, Himself unchang'd and solemn as of yore ! My Father, as the pastor, was a friend Of all, who living then — the brief scene clos'd — Now silent in that rockjr church-yard sleep, Familiar to his smile ! — A village then Was not as villages are now. The hind, Who delv'd, or "jocund drove his team afield," Had then an independency of look, And heart; and, plodding in his lowly path, Disdain'd a parish dole, content, though poor.* He was the village monitor : he taught His children to be good-— and read their book, And in the gallery took his Sunday place, — , To-morrow, with the bee, to work. ' So pass'd His days of cheerful, independent, toil ! * See some excellent observations, most feelingly and eloquently ex- pressed, in the Bishop's Charge, the whole of which is well worthy the perusal of the Statesman, as well as the Christian. DAYS DEPARTED ; OR, Village Maid. And when the Pastor came that way — at eve, He had a ready present for the child, Who read his book the best; — and that poor child Remember'd it, when treading the same path In which his father trod, he so grew up Contented, till old Time had blanch'd his locks, And he was borne — by villagers — to sleep In the same church-yard where his father slept! His daughter walk'd as pure and innocent, As lovely, in her lowly path: — She turn'd The hour-glass, as the humming wheel went round, Or went " a- Maying," o'er the fields, in spring, Leading her little brother, by the hand, Along the village-lane, and o'er the stile, To gather cowslips; and then, home again To turn her wheel, contented, through the day, C j3 Or singing low, with twinkling lingers twirl .^' The dancing bobbins, to "sweet William's grave!"* No lure could tempt her from her humble home Where she grew up, and folded first her hands In infant pray'r. Yet oft a tear would steal Pown her young cheek, to think how desolate ' i * Old ballad, BANWELL HILL. 25 Rural Nymph before the Justices. That home would be when her poor mother died — Still praying that she ne'er might cause a pain, Undutiful, to " bring down her grey hairs, " With sorrow, to the grave !" Now mark this scene!- The fuming factory's polluted air Has stain'd the country ! See that rural nymph, An infant in her arms ! She claims the dole From the cold parish, that her faithless swain Denies : he stands aloof, with clownish leer, — The constable, behind, with frowning brow, Beckons the nimble clerk, — the Justice, grave, Turns from his book a moment, with a smile, And signs th' accustom'd warrant for her pay, A weekly eighteen-pence, — she, unabash'd, Slides from the room, and not a transient blush, Far less th' accusing tear, is on her cheek ! A different scene comes next : — That village maid Approaches timidly, yet beautiful ; A tear is on her lids, when she looks down Upon her sleeping child. Her heart was won, The wedding-day was fix'd, the ring was bought ! 26 DAYS DEPARTED; OR, ,e ~ ) o State of Agricultural Districts. 'Tis the same story — Colin was untrue ! — He ruin'd, and then left her to her fate. Pity her — she has not a friend on earth, And that still tear speaks to all human hearts, But his, whose cruelty and treachery Caus'd it to flow ! ! So crime still follows crime Ask we the causes? — Water, air, and smoke Spread Out their giant-arms o'er all the land ! The wheel is silent in the vale ! Old age, And youth, are levell'd by one parish law ! Ask why that maid, all day, toils in the field, Associate with the rude and ribald clown, Ev^n in the shrinking pudency of youth ? To earn her loaf, and eat it by herself. Parental love is smitten to the dust — Over a little smoke the aged Sire Holds his pale hands — and the deserted hearth Is cheerless as his heart ; — but Piety Points to the Bible ! Shut the book again : The Ranter is the roving Gospel now, And each his own Apostle ! Shut the book, — * Machinery — Steam-Engines, 8fc. No thinking man will deny the necessity, politically considered, of these great means of national wealth, though the effect may he felt among the pauper agricultural labourers. BANWELL HILL. 27 Cause of Crimes — Workhouse Girl. A locust-swarm of tracts darken its light, And choke its utt'rance ; while a Babel-rout Of mock-religionists — turn where we will — Have drown'd " the small still voice," till Piety, Sick of the din, retires to pray alone. 1 But though abus'd Religion, and the dole Of pauper-pay, and vomitaries huge, Of smoke, are each a steam-engine of crime, Polluting, far and wide, the wholesome air, And with'ring Life's green verdure underneath, Full many a poor and lowly flow'r of want Has Education nurs'd, like a pure rill, Winding through desert glens, and bade it live To grace the cottage with its mantling sweets. There was a village girl — I knew her well, From five years old and upwards — all her friends Were dead, and she was to the workhouse left, And there a witness to such sounds profane As might turn virtue pale ! When Sunday came, Assembled with the children of the poor, Upon the lawn of my own parsonage, She stood among them, taught to spell and read In companies, and groups, upon the green, 28 DAYS DEPARTED; OK, t~-» Workhouse Girl. Each with her little book; and never yet The Sun beheld such lighted eyes, — a form More graceful, or a look more beautiful ! Instructed thus, she went a serving-maid, And in a neighbouring town, — ah ! who shall guide A friendless maid, so beautiful and young, From life's contagions ? But she had been taught The duties of her humble lot — to kneel To God and serve him — that a Father's eye Was over rich and poor: — she had been taught These truths, without a word of the vile cant Of loathsome tracts — she never left the Church, And God's plain holy Word — on Sunday night She read her Bible, turning still away From those, who flock'd, inflaming and inflam'd, To nightly meetings; but she never clos'd Her eyes, or rais'd them to the light of morn, Without rememb'ring Him, who made the sun, In Heav'n, to shine upon the rich and poor ! No art, no bribe, could lure her steps astray From the plain path, and lessons she had learnt, A village child ! She is a mother now, And lives to prove the blessings and the fruits Of moral duty, on the poorest child, BANWELL HILL. 29 Manufactory Ranters. When Duty, and when sober Piety, Impressing the young heart, go hand in hand.* No villager was then a disputant, In Calvinistic and contentious creeds; No pale mechanic, from a neighbouring sink Of steam, and rank debauchery, and smoke, Crawl'd forth upon a Sunday-morn — with looks Sadd'ning the very sunshine — to instruct The parish poor in Evangelic lore: — To teach them to cast off — " as filthy rags" — " Good works!" and listen to such ministers, Who all (besure) " are worthy of their hire," " Who only preach for good of their poor souls, " That they may turn. s from darkness unto light/ " And — above all — fly, as the gates of Hell, " Morality ! || and Baal's steeple house, " Where, without * heart-work,' Doctor Littlegrace ^7 " Drones his long requiem to the snoring clerk !"f * This exemplary young woman lives at Pickwick, in the parish of Corsham, married to a respectable carpenter. She was the first of Mrs. Bowles's scholars. || See " Pilgrim's Progress." f See Rowland Hill's infamous caricatures, called Village Dialogues i 30 DAYS DEPARTED; OR, Prosing Parson — Prig Parson. True: he who drawls his heartless homily For one day's work, and plods, on wading stilts, Through prosing paragraphs, with " Inference," Methodically dull, as orthodox, Enforcing sagely, that " we all must die " When God shall call" — Oh ! what a pulpit-drone Is he? — The blue-fly might as well preach "hum," And "so conclude!" But save me from the sight Of Curate-fop, half jockey and half clerk, The tandem-driving Tommy of a town, Disdaining books, omniscient of a horse, Impatient till September comes again, Eloquent only of " the pretty girl " With whom he danc'd last night !" Oh ! such a thing Is worse than the dull doctor, who performs Duly his stinted task, and then to sleep, Till Sunday asks another Homily, Against all innovations of the age — Mad Missionary zeal, and Bible-Clubs, And Calvinists and Evangelicals ! Yes ! Evangelicals ! Oh glorious word ! But who deserves that awful name ? Not he, BANWELL HILL. 31 Calvinistic Commentators, &c. Who spits his puny Puritanic spite On harmless recreation : who reviles All who, majestic in their distant scorn, Bear on, in silence, their calm Christian course.* He only is the Evangelical, Who holds in equal scorn dogmas and dreams, The Shibboleth of saintly Magazines, Deck'd with most grim and godly visages ; The cobweb sophistry, or the dark code Of Commentators, who, with loathsome track, Crawl o'er a text, or on the lucid page, Beaming with heavenly love and God's own light, Sit, like a night-mare !f Soon a deadly mist Creeps o'er our eyes and heart, till angel-forms Turn into hideous phantoms, 'mocking us, * Solomon is at least as wise as Old Prynne and hoc genus omne s and Solomon says, " there is a time to dance," though Old Prynne declares, that every step in a dance is a step to Hell ! In fact, to make innocent things, or those which are only vicious in their abuse, criminal, js the surest way to make crimes innocent. f The text, which no Christian can misunderstand, " God is not " willing," is turned, by elaborate Jesuistical sophistry, to " God is "willing," by one "Master in Israel." So that, in fact, the Almighty saying " no," when he should have said " yes," did not know what he meant, till such a sophistical blasphemer set him right ! To such length does an adherence to preconceived Calvinism lead the mind. 32 DAYS DEPARTED ; OR, Anti-moral Preaching. E'en when we look for comfort at the spring And well of life, while dismal voices cry, "Death! — Reprobation! Woe! eternal Woe!" He only is the Evangelical, WTio from the human commentary turns With tranquil scorn, and nearer to his heart Presses the Bible, till repentant tears, In silence, wet his cheek, — and new-born faith, And hope, and charity with radiant smile, Visit his heart, — all pointing to the Cross. He only is the Evangelical, Who, looking on that awful spectacle, " Christ and him crucified," with ardent hope, And holier feelings, lifts his eyes to Heaven, And cries, " My Father !" He whose heart is fix'd Upon God's Word ; , who preaches " Faith," and " Hope," And "Charity," — "these three," and not "that one !" — And " Charity," the greatest of "these three!"* * " And now remaineth Faith, Hope, and Charity — these three ; "but the greatest of these is Charity."—^. Paul. BAN WELL HILL. 33 Anti-moral Preaching. In the black catalogue of crimes, with those Who oft assume that awful name, — the crimes That " shake the Earth from its propriety" Are moral virtues ! — Spare the prodigal, — He may awake when God shall " call," but strike — Strike, preacher, as with lightning from above, The son, who never left his father's house, — Lest he should trust to morals, when he dies ! Let him not lay the unction to his soul, That his upbraiding conscience tells no tale At that dread hour — bid him confess his sin, The greatest that, with humble hope, he looks Back on a well-spent life ! Bid him confess \ He was the veriest monster of mankind; \ That his foul heart was black, e'en to the core, \ But Christ hath clean'd it with a sudden call ; | And chiefly, let him stand, puff'd up, in faith, J For sure he never sought to save his soul J By — " FILTHY WORKS !"* — S Let tabernacles ring, And churches too, with sanctimonious strains Baneful as these ; and let such strains be heard ' * This is, alas, no caricature. D / 7, /<*-*■ 34)* " '*"/ DAYS DEPARTED; OR, *■<-. tf£. Unaffected Piety. Through half the land ; and can we shut our eyes, And sadly wondering, ask the cause of crimes^ When Infidelity stands low'ring here, With open scorn, and such a code as this, -- So baneful, withers half the charities Of human hearts? — Tflnnft lows rhp Gospel more,— n T im i i mMQgc bl ' OU^ ' h ' fi y-iaegcy to mankind \ s ' Kq1 1 , p— lostj — ftm B^gS^ge of rpriprmin^ love ; Noaamoro diodains t h o longy cold h e n a i ry, Braa'davor clooping pews : But he who tears, Faith from her Heav'nly sisterhood, denies The Gospel, and turns traitor to the cause He has engag'd to plead. NoTie~l!P?a£|>Sz'd The consolations, and the glorious hopes,, / ., And purest spirit ol lliat Liospel,--«*»e ! ^ But save, oh ! save me from the tract^mad Miss, /tS Who trots to every Bible-club, and prates F Of this awakening Minister, and that, Whom she "mi under!" Piety is still, ^ And meek, a udjuiiuUiuir e. Yet the Priest, ^^ BANWELL HILL. 35 Crimes pass'd over by Anti-moral Preachers. Who4hinks the Almighty frowns upon his Throne, Because two pair of harmless Dowagers, Whose life has pass'd without a stain, beguile f\ ipirt hour with cards ; — who deems that Hell Burns fiercer for a Saraband ; — that Thou — Thou, my sweet Shakespeare — thou, whose touch awakes > The inmost heart of virtuous Sympathy; — Thou, oh ! divinest poet, at whose voice Sad Pity weeps, or guilty Terror drops The blood-stain'd dagger from his palsied hand, — That Thou art pander to the criminal! — The sullen Puritan, who preaches this, Moves — more than ev'n the Bible-trotting Miss — My pity, my aversion, and my scorn. v •<. ' ^Cr'y alouiv,!" — speak in launder to, the souj Th#c^leeps in sin ! Harrow the inmost heart Of murderous intent, till dew-drops stand Upon his haggard brow ! Call Conscience up, Like a stern spectre, whose dim finger points To dark misdeeds of yore ! Wither the arm Of the oppressor, at whose feet the slave Crouches, and pleading lifts his fettered hands! d 2 36 DAYS DEPARTED ; OR, Bible, without note or comment. Thou violator of the innocent Hide thee ! Hence ! hide thee in the deepest cave, From man's indignant sight ! Thou Hypocrite, Trample in dust thy mask, nor cry — " Faith— Faith," Making it but a hollow tinkling sound, That stirs not the foul heart ! Horrible wretch, Look not upon the face of that sweet child, With thoughts which Hell would tremble to conceive !* Oh shallow, and oh senseless ! — in a world Where rank offences turn the good man pale — Who leave the Christian's sternest code, to vent Their petty ire on petty trespasses — If trespasses they are — when the wide world Groans with the burden of deep sin ; when crimes Stalk on, with front defying, o'er the land, Whilst, her own cause betraying, Christian zeal Thus "swallows camels, straining at a gnat!!" Therefore, without a comment, or a note, We love the Bible, and we prize the more The spirit of its pure unspotted page, As pure from the infectious breath, that stains, * Every assize produces horrible cases of this kind, chiefly from a particular class of religionists. BANWELL HILL. 37 rftfMWW W MWWMWyWWlMlWl M MWWWWMIWM ' Bible, without note or comment. Like a foul fume, its hallo w'd light, we hail The radiant car of Heav'n, amidst the clouds Of mortal darkness, and of human mist, Sole, as the Sun in Heav'n ! Oh ! whilst the car Of God's own glory rolls along in light, >" We join the loud song of the Christian host, (All puny systems shrinking from the blaze,) " HOSANNAH, TO THE CAR OF LIGHT ! Roll On! " Saldanna's* rocks have echo'd to the hymns " Of Faith, and Hope, and Charity ! Roll on ! " Till the wild wastes of inmost Africa, " Where the long Niger's track is lost, respond, " ' HOSANNAH, TO THE CAR OF LIGHT !' Roll Oil ! — " From realm to realm, from shore to farthest shore, " O'er dark Pagodas, and huge Idol- Fanes, " That frown along the Ganges' farthest stream, " Till the poor widow, from the burning pile " Starting, shall lift her hands to Heav'n, and weep " That she has found a Saviour, and has heard * I forget in what book of travels I read an account of a poor Hot- tentot, who being brought here, cloathed, and taught our language, after a year or two was seen, every day til) he died, on some bridge, mutter- ing to himself, " Home go, Saldanna." 38 DAYS DEPARTED; OR, English Jaggernaut. " The sounds of Christian love! !" Oh ! horrible, The pile is smoking! — the bamboos lie there* That held her down when the last struggle shook The blazing pile !* Hasten, oh ! car of light ! Alas! for suff'ring nature ! Jaggernaut, Arm'd, in his giant car, goes also forth — Goes forth, amid his red and reeling priests, While thousands gasp and die beneath the wheels, As they go groaning on, 'mid cries, and drums, And flashing cymbals, and delirious songs Of tinkling dancing girls, and all the rout Of frantic Superstition ! Turn away ! And is not Jaggernaut himself with us, — Not only cold insidious sophistry, Comes, blinking with its taper-fume, to light, If so he may, the Sun in the mid Heav'n ! Not only blind and hideous blasphemy Scowls in his cloak, and mocks the glorious orb, Ascending, in its silence, o'er a world Of sin and sorrow, — but a hellish brood Of imps, and fiends, and phantoms, ape the form Of Godliness, till Godliness itself * See Bishop Heber's most interesting Journal, who mentions this circumstance. Yet the Shaster, or the Holy Book of the Hindoos, says, " No one shall be burned, unless willingly!" — See Notes. BANWELL HILL. 39 Village- School Children of Castle-Combe. Seems but a painted monster, and a name For darker crimes, at which the shudd'ring heart Shrinks, while the ranting-rout, as they march on, Mock Heav'n, with hymns, till, see — pale Belial* Sighs o'er a filthy tract, and Moloch marks With gouts of blood — his brandish'd Magazine ! Start, monster, from the dismal dream! Look up ! Oh ! listen to the Apostolic voice, That, like a voice from Heav'n, proclaims, " to Faith " Add virtue !" there is no mistaking here ; Thus moral Education, by the hand, Shall lead the children to the House of God — Nor sever Christian Faith from Christian Love. If we would see the fruits of charity, Look at that village group, and paint the scene. Surrounded by a clear and silent stream, Where the swift trout shoots from the sudden ray, A rural mansion, on the level lawn, * See some late cases of pious adultery and murder! None can know, none can believe these things, unless he has examined the black calendar of crimes at the assizes, and inquires by what description of people the most horrible are too often committed. 40 DAYS DEPARTED; OR, Village-School Children of Castle-Combe. Uplifts its ancient gables, whose slant shade Is drawn, as with a line, from roof to porch, Whilst all the rest is sunshine. O'er the trees In front, the village-church, with pinnacles, And light grey tow'r, appears; while to the right An amphitheatre of oaks extends Its sweep, till, more abrupt, a wooded knoll, Where once a castle frown'd, closes the scene. And see, an infant troop, with flags and drum, Are marching o'er that bridge, beneath the woods, On — to the table spread upon the lawn, Raising their little hands when grace is said ; Whilst she, who taught them to lift up their hearts In pray'r, and to " remember, in their youth," God, " their Creator," — mistress of the scene, (Whom I remember once, as young,) looks on, Blessing them in the silence of her heart. And we too bless them. Oh ! away, away ! Cant — heartless Cant, and that (Economy, Cold, and mis-call'd " Political!'' away ! Let the bells ring — a Puritan turns pale To hear the cheerful sound : let the bells ring— A Christian loves them ; and this holiday Remembers him, while sighs unbidden steal, BAN WELL HILL. 41 Annual Meeting on the Lawn, at Castle-Combe, of 140 Children — Old Nurse* Of life's departing, and departed, days, When he himself was young, and heard the bells, In unison with feelings of his heart — His first, pure, Christian feelings, hallowing The harmonious sound ! — And, children, now rejoice, — Now — for the holidays of life are few; Nor let the rustic minstrel tune, in vain, The crack'd church-viol, resonant, to-day, Of mirth, though humble ! Let the fiddle scrape Its merriment, and let the joyous group Dance, in a round, for soon the ills of life Will come ! Enough, if one day in the year, If one brief day, of this brief life, be giv'n To mirth as innocent as yours ! But lo ! That ancient woman, leaning on her staff. Pale, on her crutch she rests one wither'd hand — One wither'd hand, which Gerard Dow might paint, Ev'n its blue veins ! And who is she? The nurse Of the fair mistress of the scene : she led Her tottering steps in infancy, — she spelt The earliest lesson to her ; and she now Leans from that open window, while she thinks, 42 DAYS DEPARTED; OR, Benevolence of English Landlords. " When Summer comes again, the turf will lie " On my cold breast, — but I rejoice to see " My child, thus leading on the progeny " Of her poor neighbours, in the peaceful path " Of humble virtue ! I shall be at rest, " Perhaps, when next they meet ; but my last pray'r " Is with them, and the mistress of this home. " ' The innocent are gay,'* gay as the lark " That sings in morn's first sunshine ; and why not ? " But may they ne'er forget, as life steals on, " In age, the lessons they have learnt in youth !" How false the charge, how foul the calumny, On England's generous Aristocracy, That, wrapt in sordid, selfish apathy, They feel not for the poor! — But is it true ? — Lord of the whirling wheels, the charge is false !f — * COWPER. f The English Landlord has been held up to obloquy, as endeavouring to keep up the price of corn, for his own sordid interest ; but rent never leads, it only follows, and the utmost a landlord can get for his capital is three per cent, whereas the lord of whirling wheels gains thirty per cent. — Sec Letters, by the Author, in Bath Chronicle, signed Agricola. * BANWELL HILL. 43 Benevolence of English Landlords. Ten thousand charities adorn the land, Beyond thy cold conception, from this source. What cottage child but has been neatly clad, And taught its earliest lesson, from their care ? Witness that school-house, mantled with festoen Of various plants, which fancifully wreath Its window-mullions, and that rustic porch, Whence the low hum of infant voices blend With airs of spring, without. Now, all alive, The green sward rings with play, among the shrubs — Hush'd the long murmur of the morning task, Before the pensive matron's desk ! But turn, And mark that aged widow ! By her side Is God's own Word ; and lo ! the spectacles Are yet upon the page. Her daughter kneels And prays beside her ! Many years have shed Their snow so silently, and softly, down Upon her head, that Time, as if to gaze, Seems for a moment to suspend his flight Onward, in rev'rence to those few grey hairs, That steal beneath her cap, white as that snow. Whilst the expiring lamp is kept alive, Thus feebly, by a duteous daughter's love, 44 DAYS DEPARTED; OR, Stourhead. Her last faint pray'r, ere all is dark on earth, Will to the God of Heav'n ascend, for those Whose comforts smooth'd her silent bed. And Thou, Witness, Elysian Tempe of Stourhead ! Oh ! not because, with bland and gentle smile, Adding a radiance to the look of age, Like eve's still light — thy liberal master spreads His letter'd treasures ; — not, because his search Has div'd the Druid mound, illustrating His county's annals, and the monuments Of darkest ages; — not because his woods Wave o'er the dripping cavern of Old Stour, Where classic temples gleam along the edge Of the clear waters, winding beautiful ; — Oh ! not because the works of breathing art, Of Poussin, Rubens, Rembrant, Gainsborough, Start, like creations, from the silent walls — To thee, this tribute of respect and love, Belov'd, benevolent, and gen'rous Hoare, Grateful I pay; — but that, when thou art dead, (Late may it be !) the poor man's tear will fall, And his voice falter, when he speaks of thee.* * These lines were written at Stourhead. BANWELL HILL. 45 Ken at Longleat — Marstun House. And witness thou, magnificent abode, Where virtuous Ken,* with his grey hairs and shroud, Came, for a shelter from the world's rude storm, In his old age, leaving his palace-throne, Having no spot where he might lay his head, In all the earth! — Oh! witness thou, the seat Of his first friend — his friend from school-boy days ! — Oh! witness thou, if one who wanted bread Has not found shelter there ; if one poor man Has been deserted in his hour of need ; Or one poor child been left without a guide, A father, and instructor, and a friend, In Him, the pastor, and distributorf Of bounties large, yet falling silently As dews on the cold turf! And witness, thou, Marston, the seat of my kind, honour'd friend — My kind and honour'd friend, from youthful days. Then wand'ring on the banks of Rhine, we saw Cities and spires, beneath the mountains blue, Gleaming ; or vineyards creep from rock to rock ; * Bishop of Bath and Wells. Lord Weymouth and Ken were schoolfellows at Winchester, where, in my time, Ken's Manual of Hymns was the first book put into the hands of the children. f Rev. Mr. Skurhay, author of "Bidcombe Hill." 4G DAYS DEPARTED; OR, Early Travels in Switzerland. Or unknown castles hang, as if in clouds; Or heard the roaring of the cataract, Far of,J beneath the dark defile or gloom Of ancient forests — till behold, in light, Foaming and flashing, with enormous sweep, Through the rent rocks — where, o'er the mist of spray, The rainbow, like a fairy in her bow'r, Is sleeping while it roars — that volume vast, White, and with thunder's deaf'ning roar, comes down. Live long, live happy, till thy journey close, Calm, as the light of day ! But, witness, thou, The seat of noble ancestry — the seat Of science, honour'd by the name of Boyle, Though many sorrows, since we met in youth, Have press'd thy gen'rous master's manly heart, Witness, the partner of his joys and griefs; Witness, the grateful tenantry — the home Of the poor man, the children of that school, Still warm benevolence sits smiling there.* f At Shaffhausen. * Let it not be said, I have praised Lords and Ladies. I have spoken as warmly of a poor parish girl, and my first play-fellow, a hair- dresser of Wells. BANWELL HILL. 47 Compton-House. And witness, the fair mansion, on the edge Of those chalk hills, which, from my garden walk, Daily I see, whose gentle mistress droops With her own griefs, yet never turn'd her look From other's sorrows, — on whose lids the tear Shines yet more lovely than the light of youth ! And many a cottage-garden smiles, whose flow'rs Invite the music of the morning bee ! And many' a fire-side has shot out, at eve, Its light upon the old man's wither'd hand, And pallid cheek, from their benevolence — Sad as is still the parish-pauper's home — Who shed around their patrimonial seats The light of Heav'n-descending charity! And ev'ry feeling of the Christian heart Would rise accusing, could I pass, unsung, Thee,* fair as Charity's own form, who late Didst stand, beneath the porch of that grey Fane, Soliciting! a mite of all who pass'd, With such a smile, as to refuse would seem To do a wrong to Charity herself. * Mrs. Methuen, of Corsham House. f For the " Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge," on which occasion a Sermon was preached by the Author. 48 DAYS DEPARTED ; OR, Clergyman s Wife — Village Clergyman. How many blessings, silent and unheard, The mistress of the lonely parsonage Dispenses, when she takes her daily round Among the aged and the sick, whose prayers And blessings, are her only recompense. How many pastors — by cold obloquy And senseless hate revil'd — tread the same path Of charity, in silence, taught by Him, Who was revil'd, not to revile again, And leaving to a righteous God their cause. Come, let us, with the pencil in our hand, Pourtray a character. What book is this ? " Rector of Overton !"f I know him not; But well I know the Vicar, || and a man More worthy of that name, and worthier still, To grace a higher station of our Church, None knows ; — a friend and father to the poor, A scholar, unobtrusive, yet profound, " As e'er my conversation cop'd withal ;" His piety unvarnish'd, but sincere. f A book, just published, with this title. The Duke of Marx- borouch is Rector of Overton, near Marlborough. || Rev. Charles Hoyle, Vicar of Overton, near Marlborough. M BANWELL HILL. 49 Village Clergyman. Killarney's Lake,* and Scotia's hills,! nave heard His summer- wand'ring reed; nor on the themes Of hallow'd inspiration, J has his harp Been silent, though ten thousand jangling strings — When all are poets in this land of softg^ And ev'ry field chinks With its grasshopper — Have weM-nigh drown'd the tones; but Poesy Mingles, at Eventide, with many a mood Of stirring fancy, on his silent heart, When o'er those bleak and barren downs, in rain Or sunshine, where the giant Wansdike sweeps, Homewards he bends hi§ solitary way. V* Live long! — and late may the old villager -*•■.... Look on th^ stone, amid the church-yard grass, Rememberirig years of kindness, and the tongue, Eloquent of his Maker, when he sat At Church, aljia heard the undivided code Of Apostolic puth — of Hope, of Faith, Of Charity— The end and test of all. Live long ; and though I proudly migjit recal The names of many friends — like thee,' sincere, * Killarney, a poern.^ f Sonnets. f'Exodus; a poem. ' E 50 BAYS DEPARTED; OR, Village Clergyman. And pious, and in solitude, adorn'd With rare accomplishments, this grateful praise Accept, congenial to the poet's theme; For well I know, haply when I am cold, And in my shroud, whene'er thy homeward path Lies o'er those hills, and thou shalt cast a look Back on our garden-slope, and Bremhill tow'r, |Thou wilt remember me, andjnany a day, Thoro p ae c d, in converse, and swe«t harmony. A 7~J* 5 >&-m4i / — / C Sx^J Ss f?^*^- jt Ji- — ^g *t BANWELL HILL. 51 Solitary Sea — Ship. III. WALK ABROAD — VIEWS AROUND, FROM THE SEVERN TO BRISTOL — WRINGTON — " AULD ROBIN GRAY." The show'r is pass'd — the heath-bell,* at our feet, Looks up, as with a smile, though the cold dew Hangs yet within its cup, like Pity's tear Upon the eyelids of a village-child ! Mark ! where a beam upon those western waves Falls — as the passing show'r above our head f^* ^. ^, Sheds its last silent drops, amid the light Of the fast-fading rainbow, — such is life ! — Let us go forth — the redbreast is abroad, m^ *■*■ An?v .... . •• . " ■ "^* The straining vision, but one distant ship, Hanging, as motionless and still, far off, ~" • ■*' • '. T ^\ In the pale, haze, between the sea and sky, * Campanula. E 2 " 52 DAYS DEPARTED ; OR, Solitary Sea — Ship. She seems the ship — the very ship I saw In infancy, and in that very place, Whilst I, and all around me, have grown old Since she was first descried ; and there she sits, | A solitary thing of the wide main — As she sat years ago. Yet she moves on :— - To-morrow all may be one space of waves ! Where is she bound ? We know not ; and no voice Will tell us where. Perhaps she beats her way Slow up the Channel, after many years, Returning from some distant clime, or lands, Beyond the Atlantic ! Oh ! what anxious eyes Count every nearer surge that heaves around ! How many anxious hearts this moment beat With thronging thoughts of home, till the fix'd eyes* Intensely fix'd upon these very hills, Are fill'd with tears ! — Perhaps she wanders on — On — on — into the world of the vast sea, There to be lost : never, with homeward sails, Destin'd to greet these rising hills again, Now fading into mist ! So let her speed, And we will pray she may return in joy, When every storm is pass'd ! Such is this sea, That shows one wand'ring ship ! — How different smile BANWELL HILL. 53 Sea-scenes of Southampton contrasted. The sea-scenes of the South ; and chiefly thine, Waters of loveliest Hampton, chiefly thine — Where I have pass'd the happiest hours of youth — Waters of loveliest Hampton ! Thy grey walls, And loop-hole'd battlements, cast the same shade Upon the light blue wave, as when of yore, Beneath their arch, King Canute sat,* and chid The tide, that came regardless to his feet, A thousand years ago : — Oh ! how unlike Yon solitary sea, the Summer shines, There, while a crowd of glancing vessels glide, Fill'd with the young and gay, and pennants wave, And sails, at distance, beautifully swell To the light breeze, or pass, like butterflies, Amid the smoking steamers. And, oh ! look — Look ! what a fairy lady is that yacht That turns the wooded point, and silently Streams up the sylvan Itchin — silently — And yet as if she said, as she went on, " Who does not gaze at me !" Yon winding sands Were solitary once, as the wide sea. * Alluding to the well-known Story. 54 DAYS departed; or, Solitary Sand — Young Lady. Such I remember them ! No sound was heard, Save of the seagull warping on the wind, Or of the surge that broke along the shore, Sad as the seas ; and can I e'er forget, When, once — a visiter from Oxenford, Proud of Wintonian scholarship, a youth, Silent, but yet light-hearted, deeming here, I could have no companion, fit for Him — So whisper'd youthful vanity — for Him, Whom Oxford* had distinguish'd — can my heart Forget when once, with thoughts like these, at morn, I wander'd forth alone! The first ray shone On the white seagull's wing, and gazing round, I listen'd to the tide's advancing roar, When, for the old and booted fisherman, Who silent dredg'd for shrimps, in the cold haze Of sun-rise, I beheld — or was it not A momentary vision ? — a fair form — A female, following, with light airy step, The wave as it retreated, and again Tripping before it, till it touch'd her foot, As if in play — and she stood beautiful, Like to a fairy sea-maid of the deep, * Having gained the University Prize the first year. BANWELL HILL. 55 Solitary Sand— Severn. Graceful, and young, and on the sands alone. I look'd that she would vanish! — She had left, Like me, just left th' abode of discipline, And came, in the gay fulness of her heart, When the pale light first glanc'd along the wave, To play with the wild ocean, like a child ; And at that moment, though I knew her not, My bonnet I had vail'd, and vow'd — oh, hear! Ye votaries of German sentiment — Vow'd an eternal love ; but, diffident, I cast a parting look, that seem'd to say, " Shall we ne'er meet again ?" The vision smil'd, And left the scene to solitude : — Once more We met, and then we parted, in this world To meet no more ; and that fair form, that shone The vision of a moment, on the sands — Was never seen again ! — Now, it has pass'd Where all things are forgotten ; but ifc shone To me, a sparkle of the morning sun, That trembled on the light wave, yesterday, And perish'd there for ever ! Look around,— Above the winding reach of Severn, stands 56 days departed; or, Walton Castle. With massy fragments of forsaken tow'rs, Thy Castle, solitary Walton, Hark! Through the lone ivy'd arch, was it the wind Came fitful ? There, by moonlight, we might stand, And deem it some old castle of romance ; And on the glimm'ring ledge of yonder rock, Above the wave, fancy it was the form Of Spectre-Lady, for a moment seen, Lifting her bloody dagger, then, with shrieks Vanishing ! Hush ! there is no sound — no sound But of the Severn sweeping onward ! Look ! There is no bleeding apparition-form : — No fiery shapes glare, Walton, on thy walls ! Surrounded by the works of silent art, And far — far more endearing, by a groupe Of breathing children, their Possessor lives ;* And ill should I deserve the name of Bard, Of courtly Bard, if I could touch this theme Without a prayer — an earnest, heartfelt prayer, When one, whose smile I never saw but once, Yet cannot well forget, when one now blooms — * J. P. Miles, Esq; whose fine collection of Paintings, at his mag- nificent seat, Leigh-Court, is well-known. BANWELL HILL. 57 Picture of Bristol. Unlike the spectre-Lady of the Rock— - A living and a lovely Bride !f How proud — Oppos'd to Walton's silent towers — how proud, With all her spires and fanes — the volum'd smoke, Trailing, in column, to the mid-day sun, Black, or pale blue, above the cloudy haze — With the great stir of commerce, and the noise Of passing and re-passing wains, and cars, And sledges, grating in their under-path, And trade's deep murmur, and a street of masts, And pennants, from all nations of the earth, Streaming below the houses, piled aloft, Hill above hill; and every road below Fervent with troops of coal-nymphs, seated high On their rough pads, in dingy dust serene : — How proudly, amid sights and sounds like these, Bristol, through all whose smoke— dark and aloof, Stands Redcliff's solemn Fane: — How proudly, girt With villages, and Clifton's airy rocks, Bristol — the mistress of the Severn Sea — f Married, whilst these pages were in the press, to a son of my early friend. 58 DAYS DEPARTED; OB, Brockley-Coomb — Fayland— Goblin-Coomb. Bristol, amid her merchant-palaces, That ancient city, sits ! — But look, again! — There Congresbury lifts its slender spire, And think, how many glens and nooks of shade Or transient sunshine, fill the interval, Like Poussin's pictur'd landscapes ! Gnarled oaks, Dark, or with fits of desultory light, Flung through the branches, there, o'erhang the road, Where shelfcer'd, as romantic, Brockley-Coomb Allures the lingering traveller to wind Step by step, up its sylvan hollow, slow — Till the proud summit gain'd, how gloriously The wide scene lies in light — how gloriously, Sun, shadows, and pale mountains far away, Woods, meadows, and the mighty Severn — blend, While the grey hero'n up-shoots, and screams for joy ! Nor pass we Fayland, with its fairy rings Marking the turf, where tiney elves may dance, Their light feet twinkling in the dewy gleam, By moonlight. But what sullen daemon pil'd The rocks, that stern in desolation frown, Through the deep solitude of Goblin -Coomb, BANWELL HILL. 59 Cottage — Poor Dinah — Laugford Court, Where, wheeling o'er its crags, the shrilling kite More dismal makes its utter dreariness I* There, the dark yew starts from the limestone rock, Into faint sunshine,— there, the ivy hangs From the old oak, whose upper branches, bare, Seem as admonishing the nether woods Of Time's swift pace, — while dark and deep beneath The fearful hollow yawns, upon whose edge, One peeping cot sends up, from out the fern, Its early wreath of slow-ascending smoke. And who lives in that far-secluded cot? Poor Dinah ! She was once a serving-maid, Most beautiful ; now on the wild wood's edge She lives alone — alone, and bow'd with age, Mutt'ring and sad, and scarce within the sound Of human kind, forsaken as the scene ! But yonder, at the foot of Mendip, smiles The seat of cultivated Addington :f — And there, that beautiful, but solemn church, * A wild, desolate, and craggy vale, so called most appropriately, and forming a contrast to the open downs of Fayland, and the picturesque beauties of Brockley. f Lnngfoi'd Court, the seat of the late Right Hon. Helv Addington. 60 DAYS DEPARTED; OR, .. ■.....--.....-..-....■a.....*.... ....--......■...„.. — iwwwwm> *"*"r***v****v M M>»i m.« i i«inMmM f Jjf ili f ii -m / rftff n-rrr' IV. LANG SFNE — VISION OF THE DELUGE—* CONCLUSION. The music of " Lang Syne !" Oh ! long aga It died away — died — and was heard no more ! — And where those hills that skirt the level vale, On to the left, the vision intercept, I would not — could not look — were they remov'd I would not — could not look, lest I should see The sunshine on that spot of all the world, Where, starting from the dream of youth, I gaz'd Long since, on the cold, clouded world, and cried, " Beautiful vision, lovM, ador'd, in vain, " Farewell — farewell, for ever i n How sincere, How pure was my heart's love ; oh ! was it not ? Yes ; Heaven can witness — now my brow is chang'd, Now I look back, and seem almost to hear BANWELL HILL. 65 Lang Syne. The music of the days when we were young, Like music of that dream, ere I awoke, Oh ! witness, Heaven, how fervent, how sincere — How fervent, and how tender, and how pure, Was my fond heart's first love ! The summer eve Shone, as with sympathy of sweet farewell, Upon thy Tor, and solitary mound, Glaston, as rapidly I pass'd along,* Borne from those scenes for ever, while this song The sorrows of the hour and way beguil'd : — Time! who know'st a lenient hand to lay- Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence Soothing to sad repose the weary sense, Stealest the long-forgotten pang away; On Thee I rest my only hope at last, And think, when thou hast dry'd the bitter tear That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear, 1 may look back upon this anguish past, And meet life's peaceful evening with a smile — As some lone bird, at day's departing hour, Sings in the sunbeam of the transient show'r, Forgetful, though its wings are wet the while : — Yet ah ! how much must that poor heart endure, Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure !f * In the mail to London. t From Sonnets, by the Author. DAYS DEPARTED; OR, Lang Syne. When the next eve came down, — on Dover Cliffs A pale, solitary youth, " unknown " To fortune and to fame," stood — with a tear, Gazing upon a foreign land, and thus Sought the brief solace of a song again : — On these white cliffs, that calm above the flood, Uplift their shadowing heads, and, at their feet, Scarce hear the surge that has for ages beat, How many weary wanderers have stood ; And, whilst the lifted murmur met their ears, And o'er the distant billows the still Eve Sail'd slow, have thought of all their hearts must leave To-morrow; of the friends they lov'd most dear; Of social scenes, from which they wept to part : But if, like me, they knew how fruitless all — All the fond hopes that would the past recall, Soon would they quell the risings of the heart, And brave the storm and the unhearing tide — The cold wide World their home, and God their guide.* So pass'd the days of youth, which ne'er return, Tearful; for worldly fortune smil'd too late, And the poor minstrel-boy had then no wealth, Save such as Poets dream of — love and hope. At Fortune's frown, the wreath which Hope entwin'd J From Sonnets, by the Author. BAN WELL HILL. 67 Lang Syne. Lay withering, for the dream had been too sweet For human life ; — yet never— though his love,* "•All his fond love," he mutter'd to the winds; Though oft he strove, distemper'd, without joy, To drown ev'n the remembrance that he liv'd-^ Never, a weak complaint escap'd his lip, Save that some tender tones, as he pass'd on, Died on his desultory lyre. — No more ! — i Forget the shadows of a feverish dream, * As the following lines have appeared, without a name, in Miss Johanna Bailey's Collection of Poems 1 venture here to acknowledge them. They may possibly be read with some interest, when compared with the first effusions of my youth: — When last we parted, thou wert young and fair — How beautiful let fond remembrance say ! Alas ! since then old Time has stol'n away Full thirty years, leaving my temples bare:— So hath it perish'd like a thing of air, The dream of love and youth ! — My locks are grey ; Yet still remembering Hope's enchanting lay, Though Time has chang'd my look, and blanch'd my hair, Though I remember one dark hour with pain, And never thought, as long as I might live, Parted for years — to hear that voice again — I can a sad, but cordial greeting give, And for thy welfare breathe as warm a prayer, Lady, as when I iov'd thee young and fair ! F 2 68 DAYS DEPARTED; OR, Return to the Deluge — Vision of the Flood — Archangel. That long has pass'd away ! Uplift the eyes To Him, who " sits above the water flood," — To Him, who " was, and is, and is to come !" Wrapt in the thought of ages that are pass'd, And viewing here the records of earth's doom, Let us, even now, think that we hear the sound — The sound of the Great Flood, o'er all the earth Outspread, and surging in its solitude ! Let us a moment, wrapt in thought, forget The scenes before us, — cave, and hill, and sea, And bid Imagination lift the veil Spread, o'er the rolling globe,[four thousand years ! The Vision of the Deluge ! Hark — a trump ! It was the trump of the Archangel ! Stern, He stands, while the awak'ning thunder rolls Beneath his feet ! Stern, and alone, he stands Upon Imaus' height ! No voice is heard Of revelry or blasphemy so high ! He sounds again his trumpet; and the clouds Come deepening o'er the world ! — BANWELL HILL. 69 Storm increasing — Trump— Voice — Phantom-Horse. Why art thou pale ? A strange and fearful stillness is on earth, As if the shadow of th' Almighty, pass'd O'er the abodes of man, and hush'd, at once, The song, the shout, the cries of violence, The groan of the oppress'd, and the deep curse Of Blasphemy, who scowls upon the clouds, And mocks the louder thunder ! Hark ! a Voice — " Perish !" The thunder rocks more loud — the Earth Answers, from North to South, from East to West, " Perish !" The fountains of the mighty deep Are broken up — the rushing rains descend, Like night, deep night, while momentary seen, Through blacker clouds, on his pale phantom-horse, Death, a gigantic skeleton, rides on, Rejoicing, where the millions of mankind — (Seen as the lightning-shafts glare from his hand) — Welter beneath the shadow of his horse! Now, dismally, through all her caverns, Hell, Sends forth a horrid laugh, that dies away, And then a loud voice answers — ',' Victory! 70 DAYS DEPARTED; OR; Doye of the Ark. " Victory, to the rider, and his horse ! " Victory, to the rider, and his horse !" Ride on :— the Ark, majestic and alone On the wide waste of the careering deep, Its hull scarce peering through the night of clouds, Is seen. But lo ! the mighty deep has shrunk ! The Ark, from its terrific voyage, rests On Ararat. The Raven is sent forth, — Send out the Dove, and as her wings far off Sliine in the light, that streaks, the sev'ring clouds,. Bid her speed on, and greet her with a song:— Go, beautiful and gentle Dove, But whither wilt thou go ? For tho' the clouds ride high above, How sad and waste is all below •' The^wjfejrf Shem, a moment to her breast Held the poor bird^amidkiss [d it. Many a night When she was listening to the hollow wind, She press'd it to her bosom, with a tear ; Or when it murmur'd in her hand, forgot BAN WELL HILL. 71 Dove of the Ark. The Jong, loud tumult of the storm without.— She kisses it, and at her father's word, Bids it go forth. The dove flies on! In lonely flight She flies from dawn till dark; And now, amid the gloom of night, Comes weary to the ark. Oh! let me in, she seems to say, For long and lone hath heen my way; Oh! once more, gentle mistress, let me rest, And dry my dripping plumage on thy breast. So the bird flew to her who cherish'd it. She sent it forth again out of the ark ; — Again it came at ev'ning-fall, and lo, An olive-leaf pluck'd oif, and in its bill. And Shem's wife took the green leaf from its bill, And kiss'd its wings again, and smilingly Dropp'd on its neck one silent tear for joy. She sent it forth once more; and watch'd its flight, Till it was lost amid the clouds of Heaven : Then gazing on the clouds where it was lost, Its mournful mistress sung this last farewell : — 72 DAYS DEPARTED; OR, Dove of the Ark. Go, beautiful and gentle Dove, And greet the morning ray; For lo ! the sun shines bright above, And night and storm are pass'd away. No longer drooping, here confin'd, In this cold prison dwell ; Go, free to sunshine and to wind, Sweet bird, go forth, and fare thee well. Oh! beautiful and gentle dove, Thy welcome sad will be, When thou shalt hear no voice of love, In murmurs from the leafy tree: Yet freedom, freedom shalt thou find, From this cold prison's cell; Go, then, to sunshine and the wind, Sweet bird, go forth, and fare thee well.* And never more she saw it ; for the Earth Was dry, and now, upon the mountain's van, Again the great Archangel stands ! the light Of the bright rainbow glitters on his hair — He to the rainbow lifts his hands, whose arch Spans the whole Heaven ; and whilst, far off, in light, * This Song, set to music by the Author, is sold by Power, Music Warehouse, Strand ; and was originally written as words for an Oratorio. BANWELL HILL. 73 Dove ascending. The ascending dove is for a moment seen, Hereafter to descend on Jordan's banks, The last rain falls — falls, gently and unheard, Amid the silent sunshine ! Oh ! look up ! — Above the clouds, in azure depth of light, Behold a radiant Cross ! And hark ! the song Of Angels and Archangels jubilant, — " Glory, and praise, and honour be to thee, " Lord God of Hosts ; we laud and magnify " Thy glorious name, praising thee evermore, " For the great Dragon is cast down, and hell " Vanquish'd beneath thy cross, Lord Jesus Christ." Hark ! the clock strikes ! — The shadowy scene dissolves, And all the visionary pomp is pass'd ! I only see a few sheep on the edge Of this aerial ridge, and Ban well tower, Grey in the morning sunshine, at our feet. Farewell to Banwell Cave, and Banwell Hill, And Banwell Church ;* and farewell to the shores, * Banwell Church is eminently beautiful, as are all the churches in Somersetshire. Dr. Randolph has lately added improvements to the Altar-piece, and spared no expense. 74 DAYS DEPARTED ; OR, Conclusion. Where, when a child, I wander'd; and farewell, Harp of my youth ! Above this mountain-cave I leave thee, murm ring to the fitful breeze That wanders from that sea, whose sound I heard So many years ago. Yet, whilst the light Steals from the clouds, to rest upon that tow'r, I turn a parting look, and lift to Heav'n A parting prayer, that our own Sion, thus,— With sober splendour, yet not gorgeous, Her mitred brow, temper'd with lenity And Apostolic mildness, in her mien No dark defeature, beautiful as mild, And gentle as the smile of Charity, — Thus on the rock of ages may uplift Her brow majestic, pointing to the spires That grace her village glens, or solemn fanes In cities, bright above the stir and smoke, And list'ning to deep harmonies that swell From all her temples ! So may she adorn — (Her robe as graceful, as her Creed is pure)— This happy land, till Time shall be no more ! BANWELL HILL. 75 Conclusion. And whilst her grey cathedrals rise in air, Solemn, august, and beautiful, and touch'd By time — to show a grace, but no decay, Like that fair pile, which, from hoar Mendip's brow, The traveller beholds, crowning the vale Of Avalon, with all its tow'rs in light; — So, England, may thy grey cathedrals lift Their front in Heav'n's pure light, and ever boast Such Prelate-Lords — bland, but yet dignified — Pious, paternal, and beloved, as he Who prompted, and forgives, this Severn song ! END OF THE POEM. THOUGHTS ON THE APPEARANCES PRESENTED BY BAN WELL CAVE; IN A LETTER TO THE REV. WM. LISLE BOWLES, BY THE REV. R. WARNER. O* - t / > • » *y /*^-»' /Y ' £ #»•*-* ^ ^* ^ /& *►* "A^-*^ •/../- I '7 I 4 A *j* P - - ■ ■/• y t/k itfg' LETTER. r Chelwc )d House, 1 My dear Bowles: lth Aug. 1828. / I forward to you, with pleasure, my thoughts respecting the appearances which the Cave, near Banwell, presented, on itsidiscovery, about three years ago, by the intelligent and indefatigable Mr. Beard, an inhabitant of that de'liglitful neighbourhood. As I know nothing of Comparative Anatomy ; and assert no pretensions to scientific acquirement ; these thoughts may, possibly, excite a smile amWg those who are more highly gifted in these respects than myself. I should not, however, be disturbed fct such a reception of my humble theory; for, claiming n}o credit for its conception, and anticipating no fame or popularity from its notoriety, save what it may obtain, from the fortunate circumstance of its being identified with your respected name, and I \ 80 THOUGHTS ON THE APPEARANCES deservedly esteemed poetry, I should hear its condemna- tion without surprise, and witness its eversion without concern. I would Only add, however, (in the way of deprecation,) that there is one circumstance connected with it, which, whether it be adopted or extinguished, should preserve its existence from odium, or shield its memory from contempt. It was Darwin's design to " enlist imagination under the banner of science :" it is my wish to see the phenomena of Natural Philosophy harmonizing with the recitals in the Word of God ; and the great book of the visible creation forming a second volume to the sacred book of Revelation. This happy coincidence between the 4wo, was suggested to my mind by the first glance at Bagwell Cave, and its contents ; and every subsequent visit; to the interesting spot, served only to corroborate the justness of my original notion, that they aiforded a visible land satisfactory proof of the verity of Moses' account 4f the Universal Deluge. It was under this impression, that I paid more than an ordinary attention to the place in question ; and formed that theory, a slight outline^ of which I would now lay before you. *S >. „ Mj- ^-- — '■ The sagacity of Mr. Beard having detected the ex- istence of the cavern, and his perseverance effected a precipitous descent into it; the objects offered to his notice were of the most astonishing and paradoxical description — " an antre vast," mde from the hand of Nature, of various elevations, and branching into several PRESENTED BY BANWELL CAVE. 81 recesses; its floor overspread with a huge mingled mass of bones and mud, black earth (or decomposed animal matter), and sand from the Severn Sea, which flows about six miles to the northward of Banwell village. The quantity of bones, and the mode by which they could be conveyed to, and deposited in, the place they occupied, were points of equal difficulty to be explained : as the former amounted to several waggon loads ; and as no access to the cavern appeared to exist, except a fissure from above, utterly incapable, from its narrow dimen- sions, of admitting the falling in of any animal larger than a common sheep ; whereas, it was evident, that huge quadrupeds, such as unknown beasts of the ox tribe, bears, wolves, and, probably, hysenas and tygers, had perished in the cave. But, though the questions how and when were unanswerable, this conclusion was irresistibly forced upon the mind, by the phenomena submitted to the eye, — that, as the receptacle was infinitely too small to contain such a crowd of animals in their living state, they must necessarily have occupied it in succession: one portion of them after another paying the debt of Nature, and (leaving their bones only, as a memorial of their existence on the spot) thus making room in the cavern for a succeeding set of inhabitants, of similar ferocious habits to themselves. The difficulty, indeed, of the ingress of such beasts into the Cave did not long continue to be invincible ; as Mr. Beard dis- covered, and cleared out, a lateral aperture in it, suffi- G 82 THOUGHTS ON THE APPEARANCES ciently inclining from the perpendicular, and sufficiently large in its dimensions, to admit of the easy descent into this subterraneous apartment of one of its most unwieldy tenants, though loaded with its prey. From the circumstances premised, you will, probably, anticipate my thoughts on these remarkable phsenomena; if not, they are as follow: — I consider the Cavern to have been formed at the period of the original depo- sition, and consolidation, of the matter constituting the mountain limestone in which it is found ; possibly t by the agency of some elastic gas, imprisoned in the mass, which prevented the approximation of its particles to each other ; or, by some unaccountable interruption to the operation of the usual laws of its crystallization, — that, for a long succession of ages anterior to the deluge, and previously to man's inhabiting the colder regions of the earth, Banwell Cave had been inhabited by succes- sive generations of beasts of prey; which, as hunger dictated, issued from their den, pursued, and slaughtered, the gregarious animals, or wilder quadrupeds, in its neighbourhood; and dragged them, either bodily or piece- nieal, to this retreat, in order to feast upon them at leisure, and undisturbed, — that, the bottom of the cavern thus became a kind of charnel-house, of various and unnumbered beasts, — that, this scene of excursive car- nage continued till " the Flood came a nd d e s tTPyesUhem ■**"att$" blending " the oppressor with the oppressed," and mixing the hideoi\s furniture of the den with a quantity PRESENTED BY BANWELL CAVti. 83 of extraneous matter, brought from the adjoining shore, and subjacent lands, by the waters of the deluge, which tolled, surging (as Kirwan imagines), from the North- western quarter, — that, previously to this total submersion, as the flood increased on the lower grounds, the animals which fed upon them ascended the heights of Mendip, to escape impending death; and, with panic, rushed (as many as could gain entrance) into this dwelling-place of their worst enemies, — that, numberless birds also, terrified by the elemental tumult, flew into the same den, as a place of temporary refuge, — that, the interior of the cavern was speedily filled by the roaring deluge, whose waters, dashing and crushing the various sub- stances which they embraced, against the rugged rocks, or against each other ; and continuing this violent and incessant action for at least three months, at length tore asunder every connected form; separated every skeleton; and produced, that confusion of substances, that scene of disjecta membra, that mixture and disjunc- tion of bones, which were apparent on the first inspection of the cavern ; and which are now visible in that part of it, which has been hitherto untouched. — Such are my speculations (harmless I may at least call them) with respect to that singular and most curious feature of Mendip scenery, Banwell Cave: and I would fain flatter myself, that, when its contents shall be carefully examined by some competent osteologist and philosopher, the result may be, a confirmation of 84 THOUGHTS, ETC. an hypothesis, which appears to tally equally well with the existing phenomena and the Mosaical record. As every facility of investigating the cavern is now afforded to the public, by its liberal and honoured pro- prietor ; who, with a munificence, alike natural to his character, and becoming his station, has thrown a grace over the ruggedness of this hitherto neglected part of Mendip; and rendered it as interesting to taste, as it is inviting to scientific curiosity : so we may indulge the hope, that its attractions will, ere long, allure some "gifted sage" to the spot, whose patient observation may either confirm or correct those crude opinions, which, with much diffidence, but with great regard, have been submitted to your notice, by, My dear Bowles, Yours, very sincerely, R. WARNER. NOTES MISCELLANEOUS ILLUSTRATIONS. NOTES. PAGE vi. LINE 16. Himself has pil'd, and plac'd in various forms. Among the fossilists of England, Miss Hanning, of Lyme, ought to be mentioned : — Her father fell from a clhT at Charmouth; he lingered for about two years after this acci- dent, and expired in the year 1812, leaving a widow and three children totally destitute of the means of existence. Miss H. who, at the death of her father, was between ten and eleven years of age, had acquired a taste for his pur- suits ; and one day, a - short time after his decease, she picked up an Ammonite on the shore, which was observed by a lady passing by, and who, being struck by the novelty of the girl's pursuit, gave her 2s. 6d. for the specimen. The gii'l ran home to her mother, related the incident, and exclaimed, " Mother, we need not go to the workhouse " now, for I can pick up pretty stones, and support you " and all of us." Animated by this trifling occurrence, she pursued her occu- pation with ardour, and within twelve months completed a skeleton of an " Icthyosauri" from detached portions she 88 NOTES. discovered in the marie. This specimen was sent to the British Museum. She has subsequently completed the skeletons of three " Icthyosauri:" one is now at the Bristol Institution; one is 'about to be presented to the Bath Insti- tution by a Mr. Templeman ; and one was purchased by the Duke of Buckingham for £110. She has an order for ano- ther, at the same price, to go to Paris. She is very intelligent and unassuming. She has taught herself French, sufficiently to read Cuvier with tolerable facility. She employs herself after each tide in exploring the shore for specimens; and keeps a shop in Lyme for the sale of Minerals. I thought it due to such a person, in such a situation, to take an opportunity of saying this, from authority on which I can rely. p. vii. l. 14. Hark! how the wheels of stern Ostorius. Two signal victories under Claudius are celebrated over the Britons. After one of them, a magnificent triumphal temple was erected, and the strongest hold of Cunobelin became the colony of Camalodunum. But where was Camalodunum? It was in Essex, says the general voice : it is marked there in the Roman maps. It was at Camerton, in Somersetshire, replies the well-informed Rector of that parish, Mr. Skinner, — , " Non nostrum est tantas componere lites'." NOTES. 89 The strongest argument for Essex is a n^sage in Tacitus, of the apparition, — seen where? In (^nuario Thamesis, says Tacitus. Then Camalodumum couM not he at Camer- ton. Mr. Skinner says, the word T^Bnesis is not in the oldest edition. This is a most materia fact, and certainly the passage in Tacitus is far clearer, if applied to the Severn, than to the Thames. Now let us come to facts. A great battle was fought near Wookey, in Somersetshire, in the reign of Claudius, as proved by the most infallible of all tests — the following inscription, on a plate of lead : T. Claudius Caesar. Aug. P. vi. Trib. P. viii. imp. xvi. de Britan. The reverse of most of these coins of Claudius is a trium- phant arch. The ninth tribune of Claudius fell anno Romae conditae 802, in the year 52 of the Christian aera. I am con- vinced there was more than one Templum Claudii in Britain — more than one Camalodunum. Let me add, that Temple Cloud, and Temple-street, Bristol, I have no doubt, were so called from a temple of victory, dedicated to Claudius, in the neighbourhood of this great victory, and, probably, a triumphant arch at the entrance of Bristol. p. xi. l. 9. Like silent years revolving, Bleadon lies. I hope to receive the indulgence of my readers,Nif, in con- templating the scenes, after many years, which are among the 90 NOTES. subjects of thisWoem, I extract part of a letter from the kind-hearted old In (the Rev. Mr. Norman), the Parson Adams of the couftv, to whom I was seift; to learn the first rudiments of my ti^wation. / I find in a letter |» my father, dated Bleadon, 1779, this passage, expressing Ms surprise at some juvenile indifferent verses, which my fatMr, at the , time, thought prodigious : " Master Bowles appears already to have acquired, under " his incomparable master, a fund of learning and hu- " mour, visible in his representation of Sir Tobit; and if " the blossoms are so fair atviis early age, what unparalleled "fruit may we not hope fori when he is got on the top of " Parnassus ? A prospect grand enough to make so dull " a mortal as your humble serrant proud !" " Master" Bowles laid his hand by accident on this pas- sage, looking over some old letters to his father, while this Poem was in the press ; and he\ extracts it, thinking the reader might possibly smile, as he aid, when, after forty years communing with the Muse, he concludes this poem on the same scenes, with recollections of tkat first good old school- master, who in the second sight of prophecy, among the hills of the lonely village of Bleadon, prophesied for him a prospect of the hill of Parnassus, which undoubtedly meant this Poem on Banwell Hill ! ! One little incident, which has beeA called up by these recollections, had very nearly destroyed the prophecy; for coming tlirough Bristol, from Northamptonshire, we changed horses. Having never before seen a place greater than Ayno in Northamptonshire, the moment weWot out of the chaise, I took advantage, and instantly wandered away. The carriage was waiting, scouts were sent in every direc- 91 tion; and it was f not long before " Master ]&wles" the future Bard of BanweU, was found, sitting «iposedly, on the steps leading to Redcliffe Church ! T These verses on Sir Tobit were mo^Hnfortunate for me ; for in consequence, my\Father, lest "Jny humour" should be lost, set me, when I came home, to turn " Joe Miller's " selected Jests into verse ?^ And this was not the worst ; for whenever company came,Viy translation of the Jests was brought forth. Whether this gave me a turn to Elegy, I cannot say. p. xiii..' L. 19. Thy Abbey, Woodspring, rose. " Almost on the brink Of the Channel, being secured from " it only by a narrow shelf of rocks, called Swallow- Clift, " William de Courteneye, about the year 1210, founded a " Friary of Augustine Monks, at a place called Worspryng, " or Woodspring, to the honour of the Holy Trinity, the " blessed Virgin Mary,' and St. Thomas Becket, of Canter- " bury. This Wm. de Courteneye was son of Robt. de " Courteneye, and a descendant of Wm. de Traci, as well " as nearly allied to the three other assassinators of the " canonized Arcttbishop, to whom this Monastery was dedi- " cated." — History of Somerset. Four Barons were engaged to murder Becket; but three only were concerned in giving his first death-wounds, — Reginald Fitz-urse, William de Tracy, and Richard Brito, 92 NOTES. wn*»«ww>».«»« " M -nnr i -nruyifftfujifJ I transcribe from, the animated pen of Southey the following interesting recital " ' Reginald,' s* he (Becket) to Fitz-urse, ' I have " done you many li^^nessess, and do you come against me " thus armed?' ThT Baron, resolute as himself, in a worse " purpose, told him to get out from thence (the Cathedral), " and die; at the same time laying hold of his robe !" " Tracy, he had nearly thrown down; and Fitz-urse, he " thrust from him with a strong hand," &c. " Fitz-urse no " longer hesitated to strike," &c. " The second blow brought " him to the ground, on his face, before St. Benedict's Altar. " He had strength and composure enough to cover himself " with his robes, and then to join his hands in prayer, and " in that position died under their repeated strokes, each " pressing near to bear a part in the murder. Brito cleft " his skull." — Southey 's Vindicioe, fyc. vol. i. 239. I have ventured to suppose the graves might be those of Tracey, Fitz-urse, and Brito : the name of Hugh Neville does not occur. I have since heard, that on the Flat Holm9 are only two graves; and that, contrary to all received usages of ancient sepulture, the graves are North and South, instead of East and West. The supposition is natural, that these may be the graves of Fitz-urse and of Tracey, for Tracey 's descendants founded the Abbey in view of the Holms. The sepulture might have been contrary to the usual direction of Christian graves, from feelings of the direst remorse, as if such murderers, who smote the anointed Primate of the holy Church, should be consigned to oblivion, in graves with the usual position of Christian burial reversed ! NOTES. 93 The idea is, at all events, poetical, whether it be founded in truth, or not. It is more probable, ifVthere are only two graves ; for it is likely that two of the murderers might have retired here, and not three or ^four. Tracey was undoubtedly one ; Fitz-urse did not strike, till from personal irritation. Such men are more likely to have felt such remorse. p. xvi. l. 7. A moment — and the buoyant bark went down. Of the three or four who were saved, one was a Bailiff to a benevolent Nobleman of the county of Wilts. Hearing that the packet, which sailed to Ireland, was lost near the Flat Holms, he humanely sent an express to Bristol, to ascertain whether this was the packet in which his bailiff sailed, and finding it was, he naturally concluded he was drowned; and he told me, at the time; it was so. About six weeks after it happened, I was riding in a narrow road, when this very man, looking somewhat paler, approached me. I coidd scarce believe my eyes, for it seemed that the person before me must have been a spectre from the grave. I immediately said, " Is that ?" he said, 'Yes, Sir.' " Why I thought " you had been drowned in the packet ?" ' Yes, Sir; so I ' was — very nearly!' He then told me the circumstances of his escape, on the mast, with two boys ! I said, smilingly, " Well, you know the old proverb, — ' he that is born to " ' be hanged, will never be drowned !' " He smiled, 94 NOTES. in turn, and passed on. Reader, at the next Assizes for Somersetshire, this very man was condemned to be hanged for forgery ! ! He was transported, afterwards, for life. p. xvii. L. 11. Like \Crusoe ; The following Ittory is current : — A Mr. Robinson was introduced to a femme savante, in France, who, willing to show her perfect acquaintance with English literature, said to him — " Mr. RobinsonV I am delighted to be introduced " to the author of those Vclventures, which I have been " reading with so much interest : let me enquire, what " is become of that interesting character — your ' Man " ' Friday?' " Whether this be true or not, I cannot say ; but, receiving lessons on the violoncello, at Stra^burg, my maitre, in taking away some mnsic, took up a sonV It was the open- ing of the Messiah, " Comfort ye." I \aid, hastily, that song is mine ! He said he should like toVhear it ; but he was no judge of composition. However, h\ would show it to Mr. Richter !* The next day, he cameV to give his lesson: I asked, what said Monsieur Richter! yl dit — he replied, with a most profound bow, that you, Sar, " was " the greatest composer the world ever saw, oi\ ever " would see!" V * Organist of Strasburg, and excellent composer! NOTES. 95 p. xxi. L. 12. He who o'erlooks yon sturdy labourer. Wm. Thomas Bowles, my Father, took possession of the livings of Uphill and Brean in 1768. He had an uncle at that time, Fellow of Winchester College, and Rector of Donhead, near Shaftesbury. A sentence from a congratu- latory letter will shoV how obscure Uphill and its neigh- bourhood was then considered: " I take this opportunity to wish you joy of your prefer- " ments in Somersetshire, Roping they are not among the " Moors, or near Brent Marshy which is a kill-priest country ! " and should be glad to know\ow far Uphill may be from " Wells, Taunton, Minehead, or^Bridgewater, or either of " them, which are considerable towVjs; but Uphill I never "heard of before!"* P. xxii. l. 1. The colts amortg^. the sandhills \ My earliest playfellow on Uplu%green was James Caul- field, now a respectable hair-dresW of Wells. I never * The writer of this letter was the schoolfehW-and friend of Poly- metes Spence, Bishop Louth, and the Author or\TaleS of the Genii. It is not generally known, that in one of the taleiSthe name of the hermit, Phesoi Ecneps, is Joseph Spence, read backwaVd^s, as Ellor is Rolle, the Rector of Barwell-St.-John, Wilts. 9G NOTES. come to Wells without shaking him by the hand; and I here mention hiWame, because I think he may be gratified by this notice fro^m his old play-fellow. My friend James\I believe, shaves the Chapter of Wells ; and I may here be erased, if I mention an anecdote, of which this circumstanceNreminds me. It happened that having slept at a large townHn Wiltshire, the next morning I sent for the Old Tonsor of toe place to be " trimmed" — secundum artem. After the operation, he told me, with a solemn face, that, in his opinion, the Church Establishment had somewhat declined in popularity^ within the last ten or twenty years ; and, Sir, he gravely added, " I can tell the " reason: this single parish consists of fiVe thousand inhabit- " ants; and I can assure you, it contains hut — one wig, and " that belongs to Old Parson Pidding Vi and when he " is dead, there will not be a single wig n\all Corsham ! " How then, can any one suppose the Church can prosper?" p. xxvii. l. 1. A locust- swarm of tracts darken its light. It will not be supposed I meati any tracts which have the sanction of such a Society, as that \£ov promoting Christian " Knowledge." Tn fact, the religion^f the Bible is not hot enough for " nominal" Christians, wmSiind in tracts and comments what they do not find in the WorcKqf God, or in the Prayer-Book. NOTES. 97 P. XXX. L. 21. / And Calvinists and Evangelicals! I do not fear to say that the extreme Calvinistic creed is the "fate" of the Manicheans, of the worshippers of the evil principle, human nature not being 1 , as it is most properly ex- pressed in our Articles, V far gone," but, according to their system, utterly a putrid mass of corruption, and " fate," over all! This creed is derlyed\from the oriental philosophy, whose professors — the Ka&^oV or first Puritans — contended, that the evil principle made \th* world, and that matter was essentially corrupt, as partakihgVhe nature of the evil deity who made the world. They, therefore, " forbid marriage," because marriage, and children, extended the dominant rule of evil; and hence St. Paul says, v rorbidding marriage, and " giving heed to the doctrines of devils !" In opposition to these doctrines, Christ performed, h« first miracle at the marriage in Cana! and, in the same Vhapter, so tenderly speaks, " Suffer little children to comte uq£o me, for of such " is the kingdom of Heaven !" \ This "first miracle," and our Saviour's conduct afterwards towards the children, considered together ,\have\both a natural relation. I mention this, because it has, escaVed, as far as I know, commentators, who often leave Ant entirely what requires explanation, or are very diffuse in explarejing what requires no explanation at all ! As to the inhuman Doctor who, among the reformed', licked up the doctrines of the Manicheans, &c. one letter of 98 NOTES. his to FarreL the reformer of Switzerland, on poor Servetus, cannot be read without saying, in the beautiful language of a poetical CalSdnist, whose intense miseries were consonant to his creed, having a heart too humble for spiritual conceit, — \ " Now what man, seeing this, " And having human feelings, does not hang " His head, and blush to think himself a man !" Calvin, speaking qf Servetus, after his condemnation, uses these words, " Tectum reboaret belltjina stupiditale " MISERICORDIA ! MISERJCORDIA ! !"§ It was unfortunate, that a man, with such a head as this prodigy of learning and ^loquence, should have had such a heart ! As the history Of his treatment of Servetus is not commonly met with, I priri^this letter from the poor victim in prison : — \ " To my most honoured Bprds, the Syndic and Council " of Geneva. \ " My Lords, — Your petitioned beseeches you to consider, " that he has committed no fault in\your city, nor any where " else; that he has not been a seditious man, and a disturber \\ of the public ; that all the time lie was in Germany, he " never discoursed of these things biit with CEcolampadius, " Bucer, and Capito; and that he never imparted his opinions " in France. Besides, he always disapproved, and dis- " approves, of the Anabaptists, who oppose the magistrates, " and would have all things in common!" Yet this is the poor man, whom Calvin\ watched like a tyger; and when he found he had rested Vne night at a § Letter of Calvin to Farrel, of Switzerland : " Hevpnly roared out, " ' MeAgy ! meacy ! ! Bonner, hide thy diminished hea& !' ' ' NOTES. 99 public-house, in his way to Italy, wrote to say, " Servetus " has been found in this city, and I will take cafe he shall "not escape alive!!" In another letter, during imprisonment, Servetus addresses the magistrates, " Most honoured Lords, I humbly beseech you " that you wtyild be pleased to put a stop to these proceed- " ings, or leaveVoff persecuting me as a criminal. You see that " Calvin is put fip his last shifts, and is resolved I should rot "in a prison I A am eaten up with vermin, les poux me " mangent tout vifSI mes chausses are torn in pieces; I have " none to shift, or Vnother doublet — no shirt, che une " meckante!" And tha was, according to his amiable scho- lastic persecutor, for " robbing the Almighty of two of the " Hypostaces of his Esshnce ! !" p. xxxi. L. 8. Deck'd with most grim and godly visages. The effects of certain creeds may be traced in the visages that adorn sundry Godly Magazines, and which speak, more than volumes, of the feelings which could produce such effects on the " human face divine!" Let any physiognomist cast his eye on the books, whose frontispiece stares him in the face with the portentous visage of Alexander Gill, the Rev. Thomas Scott, the Rev. John Newton, &c. and I should think he would not have 100 NOTES. much disposition to turn to the long pages of casuistry, to prove that when God says one thing, he means another! I am afraid many young modern Evangelists read one modern indefatigable commentator, as the old Aristotelian Divines did, when, calling for St. Augustin, they used to say, da mihi Magistrum! p. xxxiii. l. 8. Lest he should trust to morals, when he dies! I can avouch for the following fact : — A young woman, of most respectable character, taught the children in a Clergy- man's village-school to read. Having been visited with the new light, she told the lady of the Clergyman, she should no longer superintend the school, as she had found, too late y . she had been bred up herself in a sad moral way! ! She was soon put out of this " sad moral, way !"/Ht the new lister she sat under! And when she was bnouaht before the magistrate, to affiliate a bouncing bab^ojj gram to this instructor, who natkput her out ofjker " moral war," she told the magistrate she fen%w < «ne was not tyss a ch^d of grace ! f ****S, I could produce a hundred, similar easels? but I shall only mention a fact in my own parish. When I first came to Bremhill, in 1805, Mrs. BowiJes established a Sunday- School for the poor girls, who, evWy Sunday, were taught by herself, on the lawn before the Panepnage, to read. The NOTES. 101 ItM^MWtlyMMWMMMWMMUUMWWyUUWWWMWUMHWWWMMW^^ lb... \ mode of instruction was of the simplest kind: after the \ Church Catechism, the elder class of these village girls \ instructed the youngest. This Parsonage garden-school ^consisted of sixty or seventy children, all reading from o\ie till five o'clock, and ending their lesson with the Lord's Prayer. T\us course of instruction is kept up to the present day. MostVf the girls, instructed during the first ten or fifteen years, ^urned out examples, on which the most ardent con- templates of the benefits of education might rest with delight. \Many of the poor children, thus instructed, went into respectable service; some married; and none, I think I can say, 'for the first ten or fifteen years, burdened the parish as unmarried "pauper-breeders!" A beautiful girl,§ in the parish Vorkhouse, was exposed to all scenes and sights to which the poor children of a parish, in a common work- house, are exposed. She went to no place of worship but the parish-church. At fifteen, this girl went to live in service at a country-town, the most dangerous of all places for a beautiful, friendless girl, at that age. Every tempta- tion, as I have been\ credibly informed, was resisted with the dignity of a young woman of the best education: neither (what is called) " keeping company," nor money, nor temptation of any kind, could for one moment weigh with her to forget that mbdesty, and character, which she derived from her Christian and moral education. She is now comfortably settled m marriage with a respectable tradesman! § Described in the Poem. 102 NOTES. I could mention dreadful examples of depravity among those attending mghtlySvrayer-meetingsf I have known a father and mother, with \a representation of the tree of " damnation," and other pious pictures, stuck in the window of their cottage, become panders to the abandoned profligacy of their daughter, preached Twit of morals, and full of tract-grace/ s - p. xxxiv. l. 2. And sadly wondering, ask the cause of crimes. I transcribe the following letter, addressed to the Editor of a London paper : — \ « Sir, — Every day brings accounts of the union of professed "piety, and the most hideous depravity. One example of " < nominal' Christianity is shown up in all the papers. A "pious villain seduced, in Devonshire^ the wife of his friend ft who " sat under him !" and, in powerful and indignant " language, he has been described, as * actually administering " ' to the unhappy victim of his crime, the\meat and drink of " 'the damnation, into which he had hurried her!!' — admi- " nistering the Holy Sacrament to her ! \ 'J I never entered this Reverend jGentleman's church ; " but of the nature of his pulpit-doctrines, I have '^ery little " doubt; namely, that 'good works,' according to tfievoca- " bulary — the Shibboleth of the day, among ' nomk}aJ. , " Christians — are ' all filthy rags!' NOTES. 103 " But, my reason for noticing this exquisite villain is to " call "your attention, and that of your readers, to what is " far njore important, — the increase of crimes, and the dete- " rioration of the high tone of national morals, through town " and country, in proportion, I verily helieve, as the Old " Church<>f-England-CHRiSTiANiTY, declines. " In one paper of last week, two instances were brought " forward of. ' our intellectual and moral march.' " One fellow was taken up for vagrancy. It appeared " he had been transported, and was well acquainted with the " Tread- wheel. \ After the most blasphemous execrations, he " altered his tone, and gravely and solemnly asserted his "acceptance witfc Heaven! Another miscreant was con- " victed of an offeftce too horrible to be named ; and being " condemned to a twelve-months' confinement, said, ' thus it " 'was that the righhpus were persecuted!!' by those who " went to wicked stage\plays ! ! " These, Sir, are frightful facts. I could harrow you, and " your readers, with enumerating a thousand others of a "kindred description/ ^ ne most depraved in country " villages have found the advantage in congregating "the young, at what they \blasphemously call 'pba.yer- "' meetings f A felon has heen transported for fourteen " years, who was tried at the fast Assize in Somersetshire, " who had prayer-meetings for hventy years at his house, " and during all that time had lived on plunder and robbery/ " Ask of the gaolers in every counW, what class, in general, " are found to be the polluters of infants, or the perpetrators "of crimes, whose name would defila the paper? Those " who attend places of worship where unflamed feelings are 104 NOTES. "excited, andynorality, not immorality, denounced as the " greatest crime \ And yet, our sapient Senators are pot- " tering about the\cause of crimes, when one most obvious " cause is under theft; eyes, — excited feelings of unscriptural " religion, together With anti-moral doctrines, publicly "preached, and nearly ks publicly practised." One honest writer, by^the name of Palmer, has published that " our good works cannot take us to Heaven, nor our " bad works prevent it! !" \This is, at least, more honest than Hawker, who says Christianity has not a "if," or "but!!!' ? p. xxx^i l. 18. Of murderous intent, ml dew-drops stand. The Bath murderer, the night before the horrible deed was perpetrated, I am credibly infoWed, attended a prayer- meeting ! Let us suppose he had\entered that " omnium " Dsemonum Theatrum," a play-hous^, just as the soliloquy was spokeq, " Is this a dagger, which I see befora me?" &c. Or, let us imagine his feelings when he neard this harrow- ing dialogue, from the same sublime drama of Macbeth: " Macb. I have done the deed : — Didst thou not hear a noise ? " Lady M. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets cry. " Didst thou not speak ? "Macb. When? " Lady M. Now. V 105 : Macb. As I descended ? • Lady M- Ay. Macb. Hark! — " Macb. Tht§ is a sorry sight. [Looking on his hands." If he could hava endured this whole heart-searching scene, let him have waiteli till he saw that terrihle picture of re- morse, when Lady Jyfoicbeth appears in her sleep, exhibited as I have seen it, I wo\dd venture to say that this horrible deed of blood would noh have been done ! ! I mention this, to show\how utterly at variance with the spirit of Christianity is indiscriminate abuse of Plays, as plays. It is well known that St. Paul quoted a line of Menander, the Greek play writer, in his Epistle to the Corinthians, on a subject so awnd as the resurrection from the dead! Could any thing 1 induce a Puritan to quote Shakespeare?^: We all remember what was said in a periodical publication ! I hope these observations will be excused ; for I am cer- tain of two things: first, to make innocent things appear criminal) is the surest step to make criminal things appear innocent ; and, secondly, fanaticism, or uncharitable and illi- terate puritanism, is the mother of atheist ! The Gospel is violated, when the criminal in heart leaves a place of worship, thinking he is no worse Yban others; and when the moral and conscientious are taughV that they are as bad as the worst ! ! \ See the same language — the very same images, used by Tertullian,* after he became a Montanist, Prynne, Rowland Hill, and Edward Irving, &c. * De Spcctaculis. 106 NOTES. p. xxxvi. l. 8. With thoughts which Hell would tremble to conceive/ An itinerant \raying villain of this description took two children of a pooV woman of Calne, from a cottage where he had been received as a godly doctor! Humanity shrinks from the recital. \ A description of\his person was sent into Wales, as it was supposed he had passed over the Severn. He was taken down from a cmss in Wales, where he was singing hymns and preaching the " Gospel/" and hanged at Salisbury : two godly visiters haviW informed the public, that Jesus Christ was delighted to Iteceive him in Paradise ! The calendar teems withV such offences, chiefly by such a description of men. I have\ known one wretch of this de- scription, who was tried for k rape on his own daughter — of eight years old ! If the ag4 does not abound in crimes, according to the doctrines taught in many Churches, upon every principle of cause and effect, it ought / p. xxxvi. l. 18. We love the Bible, I trust I need not say, that I cannot mean to object to any short explanatory notes on the Bible; but only to those 107 long, sophistical, and elaborate comments, which turn " yes" into "no," and "no" into "yes;" and make the "holy " Word of God" a mere instrument, to squeak according to human systems. A Calvinist, indeed, points to the eighth chapter of the Epistle to the Romans ! But upon this chapter, there may be different opinions : -upon " yes and " no," there can be but one ! p. xxxviii. l. 2. The pile is smoking/— the bamboos lie there. My friend, John Huddleston, Esq; late one of the Directors of the East- India Company, who, through a long- life, has been unwearied in the cause of humanity, has accu- mulated a mass of decisive evidence, that this horrible practice might be prevented. It is a fact, that the Shtxsters, or the Hindoos' Sacred Code, peremptorily lays down the law, that this horrible sacrifice shall not be allowed to take place, unless it be en- tirely voluntary on the part of the woman! and yet, it appears, from Bishop Heber's interesting Journal, that he passed by the spot, after this terrific spectacle had just taken place, and he saw — sickening as he describes the scene — the very bamboos, by which the victim was forcibly held down ! ! Some of these poor creatures are not more than four years old ! affianced to husbands, for whom they are burnt alive, willingly, as it is said! 108 NOTES. ■■*"vr*" , »'""'" , ''""' " M ' W M »" » ' , ** ' " ****** la **** , ******** rt '*'*"*""''*W^wnwft P. xl. L. 19. that (Economy, Cold, and mis-calVd " Political! "A VISION." Written in 1825. I had a dream: — before my sight A beautiful vessel was sailing in light — I saw the subject-surge, below, Break and bicker round the prow — Proud to the gale her ensign flew — " Old England !" shouted loud, the gallant crew ! So gloriously that vessel sail'd along, And " Britain, rule the waves," was every seaman's song. Was it the battle-blast her canvass rent, And caus'd that long and loud lament? Was it the whirlwind of the north With desolating sweep went forth? No ! scarce along the level seas, Was heard the ripple of the breeze ; The morning light sat in its lovely glory, On each white clift and distant promontory ; Stern war had ceas'd to roar, And airs of music died along the peaceful shore. With muttering lips, and withering look, I saw a Avizard, o'er his cursed book ; NOTES. 109 That wizard, with pale face and poring eye, Wascall'd "POLITICAL CECONOMY!!" And still he whisper'd, in the pilot's ear — " Steer this way — this way — this way steer ! " Yonder the hills of wealth hehold ! " And Eldorado's glittering coast of gold! !" The pilot turn'd his wheel ! a lurid smile Wrinkled the old man's face the while : For the pilot steer 'd right on, where dark, beneath, — Lurk'd the reef, and rocks of death ! That gallant ship was now at random toss'd — I look'd — the old man with his book was fled, A swart and hideous imp appear'd instead, That gibber' d, as it vanish'd, " Lost — Lost — Lost!"* p. xl. l. 21. Let the bells bing — a Puritan turns pale. The two great crimes of a " NoMiNAi/'f Christian are, and have been, from the time of the Manicheans, the drama, and the dance (public and domestic) ; to these, nominal Christians, una voce, add card-playing, without distin- guishing cards accompanied with the spirit of gaming. * See " Lay of the last Minstrel." f This expression cannot be objected to, as it is so commonly and charitably applied by others, by those who affect exclusive godliness. 110 NOTES. I can conceive, why the old Fathers were so horror- struck at dancing, considering the licentious character of the eastern dance. But what resemblance is there in a social meeting of this kind, to which a father and mother bring their sons and daughters, and of which, in their youth, they have taken part, without one evil thought or feeling ? What must be the heart of that man, who can view such a meeting with impure feelings ? Certainly he had better stay away. But what must be the impurity in his heart to confess such ideas? As to cards/^or myself, no game at carcls was ever played in my house ; and\what is more, l^»eyeT saw a game of cards played in the neighplmrhood^'where I reside ; but how much more harmless is suchj'tih amusement, than the game, after tea, of " playing^ the Bible /" We should - always remember, there is a great difference between religious feelings and religious principles. The one, if not guarded, will mislead ; the other, when firmly grounded on God's Word, and that alone, totally regardless of Papistical and Protestaiti| infallibility, is unerring. I know not where to look for Gospel truths, more rightly divided, and more soundly, earnestly, and eloquently urged, than in the Sermons of Dr. Pearson, before the King. But the spirit of Puritanism is as much like the spirit of Christianity, as the Mermaid, which was carried about for a show, consisting of an ass's head and fish's tail, is like a beau- tiful woman. Among all the horrible abominations of this wicked age, according to "nominal" Christians, there is one abomination, which I may have the thanks of suqh a school, for pointing out. NOTES. Ill There is a certain wicked and most idolatrous machine, called a Round-a-hout ; and though we are commanded not to make "the likeness of any thing above the earth, or " under the earth," this machine has a number of idolatrous images, in wood, representing horses/ But, far worse than this, boys and girls, at an age when they ought never to move their eyes from the assembly's catechism, the 5th question of which, addressed to children of eight or nine years old, is, " What are the decrees of God?" — instead of this precocious edification, in the mysteries of destiny and decrees, — to the horror of this age, of the " march ofintel- " led" be it spoken, — boys and girls are found riding round, with the most sedate tranquillity, and apparent satisfaction, one after the other, on the same wooden likenesses of little horses! * It will be sufficient, in an age where we have seen sancti- monious theft, and praying murder, and when those found guilty of monstrous and unnatural crimes, gravely assert that thus the Godly are persecuted ^t will be sufficient, besides a quiet game of whist, amono^fce old — an innocent dance, among the young — a drama, or delightful Shakespeare, for the middle-aged — to point out the horrible sin of this ma- chine, for the young ! ! I might add the dreadful impiety of a recreation, called, by the worldly, battledore and shuttle- cock/ 112 NOTES. P. xlv. L. 2. Wliere virtuous Ken, with his grey hairs and shroud. Ken, and the then possessor of the princely mansion of Longleat were school-fellows at Winchester. Ken was fellow of the college afterwards; and wrote the collection of prayers, and beautiful Latin hymns for the use of the students. The history of K;en is well known. He was, with the other Bishops, sent tb the Tower by James. He was a predecessor of the Prelate 'tb whom these lines are inscribed. He had character, patronage^ wealth, station, eminence: he resigned all, at the accession-of King William, for the sake of that conscience, which, in 'another reign, sent him a pri- soner to the Tower. He had no home in the world ; but he found an asylum with the generpus Nobleman who had been his old schoolfellow at Winchester. Here, it is said, he brought with him his shroud,M which he was buried at Frome ; and here he chiefly compose^fcs four volumes of poems. I hoped some of his lettffs would have been found at Longleat. I wrote to the Marquis of Bath on the sub- ject, and if they could have been found, I had a wish of attempting to write the life of a Wycchamist — a great and interesting character, connected with old Isaac Waller, with whose son he travelled in Italy ; but no letters could be found. Justice has never been done to this great and good man. There is a most interesting portrait of him at Longleat. : NOTES. 113 p. xlvi. l. 13. Of science, honour d by the name of Boyle. At Marston House is still to be seen the original Orrery, invented, if not made, by the nobleman whxu^name it bears. In a Review,* under the patronage of fl f Lord of the " whirling wheels," the Member for^ Jure, it was seriously advanced, as a proof of tha^^^HFortldessness, in talent and literature, of the Engl^H Miility, that the chief record of intellectual eminence^^^Breserved by the name of " Pembroke" given to aj| Hrcible ! The article being sent to me, I returned it ^|a simple marginal note, — " What does this liberal " At all events, the " ' Pembroke/ V " think of an ' Orrery ? ' may be placed against the p. liv. l. 6. Proud of Wintonian scholarship, To the circumstSwce which had nearly proved fatal to the writer's future poem\m Banwell Hill, I might add another circumstance which ne'&rly proved fatal to his progress " in humour" and " scholarship" at Winchester ; and this I shall record for the use of parents. * Westminster Review. I teVl 114 NOTES. EveryfboV in the school had a whip, and foair of boots, which thjey wfere particularly fond of displaying — comparing the cost, workmanship, neatness, &c. The Author was sent from Shaftesbury, on a little pony, ywith a servant, not with a pair of n\w boots, but ingloriousl/m a pair of worsted boot-stockings, which, my father observed, would keep my under-stockin^Sjdm the dirt, as weWas the best pair of boots in Shaftesbur^^Bsajd nothing, hvMvoefully proceeded thus to equip myaj ^^ng a guineaffis pocket-money. a heavy heart, I set out under conscious humilia- is boot-stockings ! In passing seen by any one, I bore up syllable to the servant, t-stockings, in summer, is is expressively called icter, In my equesf to cross the downs' tion at my equipment, over the downs, as I wl tolerably well, but deignei who assured me, in vain,, were just &s good as boots/ l' in Wiltshire, "stomachy /" The moment I dismount determined on making my or home. I had a' guin might join somewhere a parTy" of Gipsi&s ! e White Hart, I had ever return to school and thought I I set out from I passed\by the Cathedral piy P« the inn " on my forlorn hope." church-yard, looj^jed at the beautiful spire\ little thinking what would bef my future connection with \hat interesting edifice, though^ had the bells struck out, A might have thought they /waid — like Whittington — f> "Turn again, Whittington!' By the farther gate of the Close, just in the corner, was a handsome shoe and boot shop, and the same shop\is there, at this day, with the same articles. As good luck would have 115 it, a tempting/ pair of new boots, which I thought would fit me, hung at tnfe door. I walked backwards and forwards for twenty minutesV first looking at the boots, then feeling my money — then looking again at the boots. At last I went boldly into the sho\ and said to the shopman, " What is the " price of these bootte" ' The price of these boots, young ' gentleman, is just tranty shillings!' I had a guinea in my pocket, so that if I Mught them, I sh^^Riave only one shilling, with which to A to school ; ai^fl B\v;is almost as bad as wearing boot-stockllaias ! I thej^ alked out of the shop, and with my first intVtitioi shop, when, though I hear thought I would return and I had made up my mind. " You could not let me ' No! they are " back-si " they fit?" I asked, fully! I looked at one the boot-stocking on. ' Heavens, what a difference! the shilling; felt a triumph tar as old Easton's Whittington, I boots again. In fact, into the shop again: — Reboots a shilling cheaper?" 5«vavT« o-iwnwo-/.) " Will try : they fitted delight- boot, and the other with made for me ; and the guinea ; took i, in all my changes in life, I have never felt since ; and was jYist strutting out of the shop, when I spied the inglorious ^lockings. I took them up with some loftiness of scorn, threw them into the canal, and stood to see them swim gloriously down the canal, with other inglorious substances, till tAey were com- pletely out of sight; and then returned, wit\ one shilling, and my new boots, to the Inn. 116 NOTES. p. liv. l. 18. / A momentary vision? — /.. / After " my ta: more incidental L INTERN. since so cele entered at O who had huilt a hill, at UphiU. The uncle and my father ; the groves of Academe, t Romeo and Juliet scene, step, after she was vanished I had not however made/hym so — for Rohinson Crusoe was I composed the following for the first time, not havi lady, and which may acco her school-mistress— on the same rite scholar, as I have heard : — I trust I may be allowed a little The name ofythis young lady was left the pimilage of Miss More, from Wincwster, had been lately was a niece of the Rev. Mr. Gegg, ouse on the range of the Church- some parish feuds between her ad not been called away to nt might have led to a rural for the print of her light ave had washed it out. >m Joe Miller, in vain ; t out of my memory — ich I now write down to present them to the thevlines of Langhorne on sancRs — mine being 1 a favou- When Crusoe, on the desert sar\ls, A human footstep spied, He started, and with lifted hands, ] " The devil !" shudd'ring crie^ ! If such, amidst the desert scene, The dire effect of fear, What had he said, if he had seen This fairy -footstep here ? 117 This was my first effort in poetical compliment. To show- that I had not forgotten the style in maturer age, may I subjoin the following ? — On two Ladies, in company with Mr. Moore, after the publication of " Loves of the Angels." i Earth's daughters, in the world's first/light, Descending \ngels drew ! — / So sings the barfi ! — and well thejjftnight — If they resembled you. There is a tradition, that Lan^horne*,' on Uphill sands, in early days, scratched the following rhymes : " Upon the shorev ( " Walk'd HannahJMore, " Waves let this Jfcord last, — " Sooner shall be " The earth thy sea, " Than what yie writes be pass'd !" 1 The next day, to retunn ;the compliment, the lady wrote some lines, the two first m which are, I believe, as follows : " Some firmer basi^, po!i^Bl f Langhoine, chuse, " For the effusioip of th^Pirtial muse." Whatever may be Ihought of such coquetry, the following verses, by Langhorne, are indeed most exquisite : " 'Twas when at Summer's softest eve, " Of clouds, that wander'd west away, " Twilight, with gentlest hand did weave " Her fairy robe, of night and day; " When all the mountain-gales were still, " And the wave slept against the shore, " And the sun, sunk beneath the hill, " Left its last light on Limmer-Moorc !" } 118 NOTES. Langhorne left one son and one daughter : the son is living; the daughter, Constantia, so called from " Letters " to Constantia," married Abraham Edridge, esq; and is buried at Chippenham. I cannot close this note without a sigh to her memory. p. lviii. l. 23. Through the deep solitude of Goblin- Coomb. The Author having been engaged some time in writing his views on the chief of the Celtic Deities, the Mercurius of Caesar, the Teut of the Druids, or Teutates, as the word, from the ^Egyptian Thoth, is latinised by Lucan, had been led to consider the British or Cfcltic appellations of peculiar hills and mounds, these particularly, called Toots or Teut- hills, as dedicated to this Deity. ^ Caesar says, speaking of Mercury, that there were many images of Mm throughout ^buI. The image of Thoth — Taute, or Teut — was origimBy a stone, afterwards changed, by the Grecians, to the airy God, with wings and caduceus. Many hills are called to this day Teuts or Toots. And from this name is derived, according to my. ideas, those hills, one near Uphill, and many others, called Totter-Down — Taute-Downs.* \ i * The dissertation is called, Herjtles Britannicus, published by Nichols, Parliament-street. / f See Cotton's Angler, Derbyshire : " Viator. What hill is this? " Piscator. We call it Hanson Toot!" NOTES. 119 On all these hills, there will he generally found a cavity, where the image, or stone, stood. Many hills, still hearing that name, have only the cavity where the stone stood: there are also mounds with the stone remaining, hut not the name. Travelling from Weston to Bristol, I saw an im- mense conical hill, such as I should, in any part of the county, pronounce a Taute, or Teut hill, exactly of the shape of Silbury Hill in Wiltshire, with the huge stone on it. With some anxiety, I asked my fellow-traveller the name of that vast natural mound, with the stone on it, and he directly replied Cleeve-Toot! This elevation stands not far from that singular and solitary vale, called Goblin-Coomb vale. I have no doubt, the word Goblin-Coomb is derived from the idea of something supernatural connected with the rude stones in this place. To show the connection between Teut and Goblin- Coomb, I turn to the Celtic dictionary, and at the word Teus, I find spectre! Teut and Teus have an evident connection. Goblin-Coomb is near Cleeve-Teut, and the name is de- rived from the supposed apportion, or spectre, of the Deity. p. lix. l. 19. And there, that leautiful, but solemn church. In Somersetshire, wherte almost every parish-church is a small cathedral, few, in chalteness and picturesque propriety can be compared with Yattcto. Under the active super- intendence of the Bishop, wh\ shows at once his feelings 120 NOTES. of ecclesiastical interest as Diocesan, and his judgment as a person of taste, the parish-churches have put on a renewed and more interesting appearance. The beautiful church, of which my old frienl, Thomas Wickham, is vicar, is now under a course of repi ir. Some curious entries, from an old register, by the clerl , introduced by singular ornaments of penmanship, may be considered by the antiquarian as of some interest. A cl arge appears for bell-ringing at the death of Mary Quee i of Scotts, in the year 1559. The garden of this » Vicarage is in the most appropriate character of parsonic decoration. \p. lx. l. 11. With porch of flowers, and bird-cage, at the door. Wherever there is a flower at the window, or a bird-cage at the door, the owner ofHhat cottage is comparatively happy, and generally moral, m proportion. FINIS. PRINTED BY RICHARD CRUTTWELL, ST. JAMES'S-STREET, BATH. « «> 4' . • **<#«'"■* •*•*■>' *.v m w Hk ■ ■■'"■'■"'■'■ 89BHBL p '■'• ■ ' H ■' '■ ' ■