Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

The Frenchman dropp'd his laughter,
The Fleming's thoughts grew sore,
As ye came

In your fame

To the dark and swampy shore.

But foul delays encompass'd ye,
More dangerous than the foe,
As Antwerp's town and its guarded fleet
Too well for Britons know;
One spot alone ye conquer'd,
With hosts unknown of yore,
And your might,

Day and night,

Lay still on the swampy shore.

In vain your dauntless mariners
Mourn'd every moment lost,

In vain your soldiers threw their eyes
In flame to the hostile coast;
The fire of gallant aspects
Was doom'd to be no more,
And your fame

Sunk with shame

On the dark and swampy shore.

Ye died not in the triumphing
Of the battle-shaken flood,
Ye died not on the charging field
In the mingle of brave blood;
But 'twas in wasting fevers,

For full three months and more,
Britons born,

Pierced with scorn,

Lay at rot on the swampy shore.

No ship came o'er to bring relief,
No orders came to save;

But Death stood there and never stirr'd,
Still counting for the grave.
They lay down, and they linger'd,
And died with feelings sore,
And the waves

Pierced their graves

Through the dark and swampy shore.

Oh England! Oh my countrymen !
Ye ne'er shall thrive again
Till freed from councils obstinate
Of mercenary men:
So toll for the six thousand
Whose miseries are o'er,
Where the deep,

To their sleep,

Bemoans on the swampy shore.

LEIGH HUNT.

THE OLDE AND NEW BARONNE*.

A BROTHER bard, I trow, who has mickle witte in his pate, [waste were great; Has sung of a worshipful squire, whose means and He lived in golden daies when Elizabeth ruled

the state,

And kept a noble house at the olde bountiful rate. Like an olde courtier of the queen's, And the queen's old courtier.

See the Olde and Young Courtier.-Reliques Anc. Poet. Vol. ii.

[blocks in formation]

But, lest our sonnes should say "past times were better than these,' [reader please, We'll look still further backe, if the courteous A hundred years or twain after William crossed the seas, [and little ease. When our fathers lived, I guesse, in great fear Like olde villaines of their lorde, And their lorde's old villaines.

wa',

The baronne, proud and fierce, then kept his castle [see nothing at a' From whence, though high and steep, ye could But a danke and dismalle moore, and a wide bridge made to draw [faugh! Over a moate so green, and so stinking, ye cried— Like an old baronne of the lande, And the lande's old baronne.

His chambers large and dimme, with gaudy painting dight,

But like no earthly thing e'er seen of mortal wight, With chimnies black with smoke, and windows of greate height,

That let in store of winde,but marvellous little light.
Like an old baronne of the lande,
And the lande's olde baronne.

and one,

There in a hall so wide, and colde as any stone, He fed, in freezing state, idle fellows a hundred [armour on, With black and bushy beards and bloode red Who, when he gives the worde, to rapine and slaughter are gone.

Like an olde baronne of the lande,
And the lande's olde baronne.

Beneath his flintie tower a noisome dungeon lies, Where many wretches pine unseen of mortal eyes, They waste the night and day in sobs and doleful [skies. Ah! never mo, poor souls! ye'll ken the cheerful Like an olde baronne of the lande,

cries,

And the lande's olde baronne.

His ladie was indeed a faire and comely flower, But she was nothing more than first slave in her

bower,

[stowre, She little converse had with her lord so stiff and For women he mote deem but toyes for idle hour. Like an olde baronne of the lande,

And the lande's olde baronne.

No studie the baronne had, for bookes he could na reede,

Ne yet for learned men did he e'er trouble his heade, A burley priest he payd to sing masse for his father deid,

And shrive the living lorde-perdie there was marvellous neede.

Like an olde baronne of the lande,
And the lande's olde baronne.

If any chiefs less strong provoked his savage ire, Their tenants' fields and woods he wastes with

sword and fire,

[pyre

Their castels a' are brent, and midst the smoking Their poor defenceless wives, their prettie babes

expire.

Like an olde baronne of the lande,
And the lande's olde baronne.

Ah! dismal daies were these of outrage and of woe!
Such daies as I foresee our sonnes shall never know,
For a race of nobles new prophetick Muses show,
Who, though some simple be, are better than the'
olde, I trow.

Like a new baronne of the king's,
And the king's new baronne.

Instead of rocky tower, all wrapt in sullen gloome, Rise structures faire and graunde as those of an[luxuriant bloome,

cient Rome,

With sloping lawns where flowers and shrubs And streames that smiling flow in bankes that breathe perfume.

Like a new castle of the londe,

And the londe's new castle.

In seats like these, I wis, a far superior kinde, The faire, the learn'd, the gay shall cast their cares behinde,

And, when the feast is done, a nobler joy shall finde In wise and sweet discourse, the banquette of the minde.

Like a new guest of the baronne,
And the baronne's new guest.

The artes of civil life shall then be duly taught,
And dear domestick peace the first of blessings
thought;
[sought
The women, slaves no more, by men shall aye be
As guides, companions, friends,—for so, in sooth,
they ought.

Like polish'd damselles of the courte,
And the courte's polish'd damselles.

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »