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Whereat his horse did short, as he

Had heard a lion roar,
And gallop'd off with all his might,

As he had done before.
Away went Gilpin, and away

Went Gilpin's hat and wig:
He lost them sooner than at first,

For why?-they were too big.
Now mistress Gilpin, when she saw

Her husband posting down Into the country far away,

She pull'd out half a crown; And thus unto the youth she said

That drove them to the Bell,
This shall be yours, when you bring back

My husband safe and well.
The youth did ride, and soon did meet

John coming back amain ;
Whom in a trice he tried to stop,

By catching at his rein;
But not performing what he meant,

And gladly would have done,
The frighted steed he friglated more,

And made him faster run.
Away went Gilpin, and away

Went postboy at his heels,
The postboy's horse right glad to miss

The lumbering of the wheels.
Six gentlemen upon the road,

Thus seeing Gilpin fiy,
With postboy scampering in the rear,

They raised the hue and cry:
Stop thief! stop thief!-a highwayman!

Not one of them was mute;
And all and each that pass'd that way

Did join in the pursuit.

And now the turnpike gates again

Flew open in short space;
The toll-men thinking as before,

That Gilpin rode a race.
And so he did, and won it too,

For he got first to town;
Nor stopp'd till where he had got up

He did again get down. Now let us sing, long live the king,

And Gilpin long live he; And, when he next doth ride abroad,

May I be there to see!




A STRANGER'S purpose in these lays
Is to congratulate, and not to praise.
To give the creature the Creator's due
Were sin in me, and an offence to you.
From man to man, or e'en to woman paid,
Praise is the medium of a knavish trade,
A coin by craft for folly's use design'd,
Spurious, and only current with the blind,

The path of sorrow, and that path alone, Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown ; No traveller ever reach'd that bless'd abude, Who found not thorns and briers in his road. The World may dance along the flowery plain, Cheer'd as they go by many a sprightly strain; Where Nature has her mossy velvet spread, With unshod feet they yet securely tread, Admonish'd, scorn the caution and the friend, Bent all on pleasure, heedless of its end, But he, who knew what human hearts would prove, How slow to learn the dictates of his love, That, hard by nature and of stubborn will, A life of ease would make them harder still, In pity to the souls his grace design'd To rescue from the ruins of mankind, Callid for a cloud to darken all their years, And said, 'Go, spend them in the vale of tears.'

EPISTLE TO A LADY IN FRANCE. 241 O balmy gales of soul-reviving air! O salutary streams, that murmur there! These flowing from the fount of grace above, Those breathed from lips of everlasting love. The Ainty soil indeed their feet annoys; Chill blasts of trouble nip their springing joys; An envious world will interpose its frown, To mar delights superior to its own; And many a pang, experienced still within, Reminds them of their hated inmate, Sin: But ills of every shape and every name, Transform'd to blessings, miss their cruel aim; And every moment's calm that soothes the breast, Is given in earnest of eternal rest,

Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste! No shepherds' tents within thy view appear, But the chief Shepherd even there is near; Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain ; Thy tears all issue from a source divine, And every drop bespeaks a Saviour thine So once in Gideon's feece the dews were found, And drought on all the drooping herbs around.

M м



UNWIN, I should but ill repay

The kindness of a friend,
Whose worth deserves as warm a lay,

As ever friendship penu'd,
Thy name omitted in a page,
That would reclaim a vicious age.

A union form'd, as mine with thee,

Not rashly, or in sport,
May be as fervent in degree,

And faithful in its sort,
And may as rich in confort prove,
As that of true fraternal love.

The bud inserted in the rind,

The bud of peach or rose,
Adorns, though differing in its kind,

The stock whereon it grows,
With flower as sweet, or fruit as fair,
As if produced by Nature there.

Not rich, I render what I may,

I seize thy name in haste,
And place it in this first essay,

Lest this should prove the last.
'Tis where it should be in a plan,
That holds in view the good of man.

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