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0, Nanny, canst thou love so true,

Through perils keen wi' me to gae ? Or, when thy swain mishap shall rue,

To share with him the pang of wae ? Say, should disease or pain befall,

Wilt thou assume the nurse's care, Nor, wishful, those gay scenes recall,

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ? And when at last thy love shall die,

Wilt thou receive his parting breath? Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,

And cheer with smiles the bed of death? And wilt thou o'er his much-loved clay

Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear ?
Nor then regret those scenes so gay,

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ?
Dr. Thomas Percy.Born 1728, Died 1811.

938.—THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. It was a friar of orders gray

Walk'd forth to tell his beads, And he met with a lady fair,

Clad in a pilgrim's weeds. “Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar !

I pray thee tell to me, If ever at yon holy shrine

My true love thou didst see." “And how should I know your true love

From many another one ?"
“Oh! by his cockle hat and staff,

And by his sandal shoon :
But chiefly by his face and mien,

That were so fair to view,
His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd,

And eyes of lovely blue.”
“O lady, he is dead and gone!

Lady, he's dead and gone! At his head a green grass turf,

And at his heels a stone. Within these holy cloisters long

He languish'd, and he died,
Lamenting of a lady's love,

And 'plaining of her pride.
Here bore him barefaced on his bier

Six proper youths and tall;
And many a tear bedew'd his grave

Within yon kirkyard wall."
"And art thou dead, thou gentle youth-

And art thou dead and gone ? And didst thou die for love of me?

Break, cruel heart of stone!”
“O weep not, lady, weep not so,

Some ghostly comfort seek :
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,

Nor tears bedew thy cheek.”

“O do not, do not, holy friar,

My sorrow now reprove ;
For I have lost the sweetest youth

That e'er won lady's love.
And now, alas ! for thy sad loss

I'll evermore weep and sigh; For thee I only wish'd to live,

For thee I wish to die." “Weep no more, lady, weep no more ;

Thy sorrow is in vain :
For violets pluck'd, the sweetest shower

Will ne'er make grow again.
Our joys as winged dreams do fly;

Why then should sorrow last ?
Since grief but aggravates thy loss,

Grieve not for what is past."
“O say not so, thou holy friar!

I pray thee say not so;
For since my true love died for me,

"Tis meet my tears should flow. And will he never come again,

Will he ne'er come again ?
Ah, no! he is dead, and laid in his grave,

For ever to remain.
His cheek was redder than the rose-

The comeliest youth was he;
But he is dead and laid in his grave,

Alas! and woe is me.”
Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,

Men were deceivers ever;
One foot on sea, and one on land,

To one thing constant never.
Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,

And left thee sad and heavy;
For young men ever were fickle found,

Since summer trees were leafy." “Now say not so, thou holy friar,

I pray thee say not so;
My love he had the truest heart-

O he was ever true!
And art thou dead, thou much-loved youth

And didst thou die for me?
Then farewell home; for evermore

A pilgrim I will be.
But first upon my true love's grave

My weary limbs I'll lay,
And thrice I'll kiss the green grass turf

That wraps his breathless clay." " Yet stay, fair lady, rest a while

Beneath this cloister wall; The cold wind through the hawthorn blows,

And drizzly rain doth fall."
“O stay me not, thou holy friar,

O stay me not, I pray ;
No drizzly rain that falls on me

Can wash my fault away.”

" Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,

And dry those pearly tears;
For see, beneath this gown of gray,

Thy own true love appears.
Here, forced by grief and hopeless love,

These holy weeds I sought;
And here, amid these lonely walls,

To end my days I thought.
But haply, for my year of grace

Is not yet pass'd away,
Might I still hope to win thy love,

No longer would I stay."
"Now farewell grief, and welcome joy

Once more unto my heart; For since I've found thee, lovely youth, We never more will part.” Dr. Thomas Percy.-Born 1728, Died 1811.

One tree bends o'er the naked walls ;

Two broad-wing'd eagles hover nigh ;
By intervals a fragment falls,

As blows the blast along the sky.
The rough-spun hinds the pinnace guide

With labouring oars along the flood;
An angler, bending o'er the tide,

Hangs from the boat the insidious wood. Beside the flood, beneath the rocks,

On grassy bank, two lovers lean; Bend on each other amorous looks,

And seem to laugh and kiss between. The wind is rustling in the oak ;

They seem to hear the tread of feet; They start, they rise, look round the rock;

Again they smile, again they meet.
But see! the grey mist from the lake

Ascends upon the shady hills;
Dark storms the murmuring forests shake,

Rain beats around a hundred rills.
To Damon's homely hut I fly;

I see it smoking on the plain ;
When storms are past and fair the sky,

I'll often seek my cave again.
James Macpherson.—Born 1738, Died 1796.

939.—THE CAVE. The wind is up, the field is bare,

Some hermit lead me to his cell, Where Contemplation, lonely fair,

With bless'd content has chose to dwell. Behold! it opens to my sight,

Dark in the rock, beside the flood; Dry fern around obstructs the light;

The winds above it move the wood. Preflected in the lake, I see

The downward mountains and the skies, The flying bird, the waving tree,

The goats that on the hill arise. The gray-cloak'a herd drives on the cow,

The slow-paced fowler walks the heath; A freckled pointer scours the brow ;

A musing shepherd stands beneath. Curved o'er the ruin of an oak,

The woodman lifts his axe on high; The hills re-echo to the stroke ;

I see, I see the shivers fly! Some rural maid, with apron full,

Brings fuel to the homely flame; I see the smoky columns roll,

And, through the chinky hut, the beam. Beside a stone o'ergrown with mogs,

Two well-met hunters talk at ease; Three panting dogs beside repose ;

One bleeding deer is stretch'd on grass. A lake at distance spreads to sight,

Skirted with shady forests round ; In midst, an island's rocky height

Sastains a ruin, once renown'd.

940.--MORNING. Bright sun had in his ruddy robes been

dight, From the red east he flitted with his

train ; The Houris draw away the gate of Night,

Her sable tapestry was rent in twain : The dancing streaks bedecked heaven's plain, And on the dew did smile with skimmering

eye, Like gouts of blood which do black armour

stain, Shining upon the bourn which standeth by; The soldier stood upon the hillis side, Like young enleaved trees which in a forest bide.

Chatterton.-Born 1752, Died 1770.

941.-SPRING. The budding floweret blushes at the light, The meads be sprinkled with the yellow

hue, In daisied mantles is the mountain dight,

The fresh young cowslip bendeth with the The trees enleafed, into heaven straight,

dew;

When gentle winds do blow, to whistling din

is brought. The evening comes, and brings the dews

along, The ruddy welkin shineth to the eyne, Around the ale-stake minstrels sing the song, Young ivy round the door-post doth en.

twine; I lay me on the grass, yet to my will Albeit all is fair, there lacketh something still.

Chatterton.-Born 1752, Died 1770.

Then is your time to strike the blow,
And let the slaves of Mammon know,
Britain's true sons a bribe can scorn,
And die as free as they were born.
Virtue again shall take her seat,
And your redemption stand complete.

Chatterton.-Born 1752, Died 1770.

942.—THE PROPHECY. This truth of old was sorrow's friend “Times at the worst will surely mend.” The difficulty 's then to know How long Oppression's clock can go; When Britain's sons may cease to sigh, And hope that their redemption 's nigh. When vile Corruption's brazen face At council-board shall take her place; And lords-commissioners resort To welcome her at Britain's court; Look up, ye Britons ! cease to sigh, For your redemption draweth nigh. See Pension's harbour, large and clear, Defended by St. Stephen's pier! The entrance safe, by current led, Tiding round GM's jetty head; Look up, ye Britons ! cease to sigh, For your redemption draweth nigh. When civil power shall snore at ease; While soldiers fire-to keep the peace; When murders sanctuary find, And petticoats can Justice blind; Look up, ye Britons ! cease to sigh, For your redemption draweth nigh. Commerce o'er Bondage will prevail, Free as the wind that fills her sail. When she complains of vile restraint, And Power is deaf to her complaint; Look up, ye Britons ! cease to sigh, For your redemption draweth nigh. When at Bute's feet poor Freedom lies, Mark'd by the priest for sacrifice, And doom'd a victim for the sins Of half the outs and all the ins; Look up, ye Britons ! cease to sigh, For your redemption draweth nigh. When time shall bring your wish about, Or, seven-years' lease, you sold, is out; No future contract to fulfil ; Your tenants holding at your will ; Raise up your heads! your right demandFor your redemption 's in your hand.

943. -BRISTOW TRAGEDY, OR THE

DEATH OF SIR CHARLES

BAWDIN.
The feather'd songster chanticleer

Had wound his bugle-horn,
And told the early villager

The coming of the morn:
King Edward saw the ruddy streaks

Of light eclipse the gray,
And heard the raven's

croaking throat Proclaim the fated day. “ Thou’rt right,” quoth he, “ for by the God

That sits enthroned on high ! Charles Bawdin, and his fellows twain,

To-day shall surely die." Then with a jug of nappy ale

His knights did on him wait ; “Go tell the traitor, that to-day

He leaves this mortal state." Sir Canterlone then bended low,

With heart brimful of woe;
He journey'd to the castle-gate,

And to Sir Charles did go.
But when he came, his children twain,

And eke his loving wife,
With briny tears did wet the floor,

For good Sir Charles's life.
“Oh good Sir Charles !” said Canterlone,

“ Bad tidings I do bring.” "Speak boldly, man," said brave Sir Charles ;

“What says the traitor king ?" "I grieve to tell : before yon sun

Does from the welkin fly,
He hath upon his honour sworn,

That thou shalt surely die.” “We all must die," said brave Sir Charles ;

“Of that I'm not afraid ;
What boots to live a little space ?

Thank Jesus, I'm prepared.
But tell thy king, for mine he's not,

I'd sooner die to-day,
Than live his slave, as many are,

Though I should live for aye.”

Then Canterlone he did go out,

To tell the mayor straight
To get all things in readiness

For good Sir Charles's fate.
Then Mr. Canynge sought the king,

And fell down on his knee;
** I'm come," quoth he, "unto your grace,

To move your clemency." « Then," quoth the king, "your tale speak out,

Yon have been much our friend; Whatever your request may be,

We will to it attend."
* My noble liege! all my request

Is for a noble knight,
Who, though mayhap he has done wrong,

He thought it still was right.
He has a spouse and children twain;

All ruin'd are for aye,
If that you are resolved to let

Charles Bawdin die to-day.”
"Speak not of such a traitor vile,”

The king in fury said ; “Before the evening star doth shine,

Bawdin shall lose his head :
Justice does loudly for him call,

And he shall have his meed :
Speak, Mr. Canynge! what thing else

At present do you need ?"
“My noble liege !” good Canynge said,

"Leave justice to our God,
And lay the iron rule aside ;

Be thine the olive rod.
Was God to search our hearts and reins,

The best were sinners great ;
Christ's vicar only knows no sin,

In all this mortal state.
Let mercy rule thine infant reign,

'Twill fix thy crown full sure ;
From race to race thy family

All sovereigns shall endure :
But if with blood and slaughter thou

Begin thy infant reign,
Thy crown upon thy children's brows

Will never long remain."
"Canynge, away! this traitor vile

Has scorn'd my power and me ;
How canst thon then for such a man

Entreat my clemency ?”
"My noble liege! the truly brave

Will valorous actions prize;
Respect a brave and noble mind,

Although in enemies."
"Canynge, away! By God in heaven

That did me being give,
I will not taste a bit of bread

Whilst this Sir Charles doth live!

By Mary, and all saints in heaven,

This sun shall be his last !"
Then Canynge dropp'd a briny tear,

And from the presence pass'd.
With heart brimful of gnawing grief,

He to Sir Charles did go,
And sat him down upon a stool,

And tears began to flow. “We all must die,” said brave Sir Charles;

" What boots it how or when ? Death is the sure, the certain fate,

Of all we mortal men.
Say why, my friend, thy honest soul

Runs over at thine eye;
Is it for my most welcome doom

That thou dost child-like cry?”
Saith godly Canynge, “I do weep,

That thou so soon must die,
And leave thy sons and helpless wife ;

'Tis this that wets mine eye."
“Then dry the tears that out thine eye

From godly fountains spring; Death I despise, and all the power

Of Edward, traitor-king.
When through the tyrant's welcome means

I shall resign my life,
The God I serve will soon provide

For both my sons and wife.
Before I saw the lightsome sun,

This was appointed me;
Shall mortal man repine or grudge

What God ordains to be ?
How oft in battle have I stood,

When thousands died around;
When smoking streams of crimson blood

Imbrued the fatten'd ground.
How did I know that every dart

That cut the airy way,
Might not find passage to my heart,

And close mine eyes for aye ?
And shall I now, for fear of death,

Look wan and be dismay'd ?
No! from my heart fly childish fear;

Be all the man display'd.
Ah, godlike Henry! God forefend,

And guard thee and thy son,
If 'tis his will; but if 'tis not,

Why, then his will be done.
My honest friend, my fault has been

To serve God and my prince;
And that I no time-server am,

My death will soon convince. In London city was I born,

Of parents of great note ; My father did a noble arms

Emblazon on his coat:

1 1

I make no doubt but he is gone

Where soon I hope to go,
Where we for ever shall be blest,

From out the reach of woe.
He taught me justice and the laws

With pity to unite;
And eke he taught me how to know

The wrong cause from the right:
He taught me with a prudent hand

To feed the hungry poor,
Nor let my servants drive away

The hungry from my door:
And none can say but all my life

I have his wordis kept ;
And summ'd the actions of the day

Each night before I slept.
I have a spouse, go ask of her

If I defiled her bed ?
I have a king, and none can lay

Black treason on my head.
In Lent, and on the holy eve,

From flesh I did refrain ;
Why should I then appear dismay'd

To leave this world of pain ?
No, hapless Henry! I rejoice

I shall not see thy death;
Most willingly in thy just cause

Do I resign my breath.
Oh, fickle people! ruin'd land !

Thou wilt ken peace no moe ;
While Richard's sons exalt themselves,

Thy brooks with blood will flow.
Say, were ye tired of godly peace,

And godly Henry's reign,
That you did chop your easy days

For those of blood and pain ?
What though I on a sledge be drawn,

And mangled by a hind,
I do defy the traitor's power,

He cannot harm my mind ;
What though, uphoisted on a pole,

My limbs shall rot in air,
And no rich monument of brass

Charles Bawdin's name shall bear;
Yet in the holy book above,

Which time can't eat away,
There with the servants of the Lord

My name shall live for aye.
Then welcome death! for life eterne

I leave this mortal life :
Farewell, vain world, and all that's dear,

My sons and loving wife!
Now death as welcome to me comes

As e'er the month of May;
Nor would I even wish to live,

With my dear wife to stay."

Saith Canynge, "'Tis a goodly thing

To be prepared to die;
And from this world of pain and grief

To God in heaven to fly.”
And now the bell began to toll,

And clarions to sound;
Sir Charles he heard the horses' feet

A-prancing on the ground.
And just before the officers

His loving wife came in, Weeping unfeigned tears of woe

With loud and dismal din.
“Sweet Florence ! now I pray forbear,

In quiet let me die ;
Pray God that every Christian soul

May look on death as I.
Sweet Florence! why these briny tears ?

They wash my soul away,
And almost make me wish for life,

With thee, sweet dame, to stay. 'Tis but a journey I shall go

Unto the land of bliss;
Now, as a proof of husband's love

Receive this holy kiss."
Then Florence, faltering in her say,

Trembling these wordis spoke :
“Ah, cruel Edward ! bloody king!

My heart is well nigh broke.
Ah, sweet Sir Charles ! why wilt thou go

Without thy loving wife?
The cruel axe that cuts thy neck,

It eke shall end my life.”
And now the officers came in

To bring Sir Charles away, Who turned to his loving wife,

And thus to her did say:
“I go to life, and not to death,

Trust thou in God above,
And teach thy sons to fear the Lord,

And in their hearts him love.
Teach them to run the noble race

That I their father run,
Florence ! should death thee take-adieu !

Ye officers lead on."
Then Florence raved as any mad,

And did her tresses tear; “Oh stay, my husband, lord, and life!"

Sir Charles then dropp'd a tear.
Till tired out with raving loud,

She fell upon the floor;
Sir Charles exerted all his might,

And march'd from out the door.
Upon a sledge he mounted then,

With looks full brave and sweet; Looks that enshone no more concern

Than any in the street.

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