Whereat his horse did snort, as he And gallop'd off with all his might, Away went Gilpin, and away Now mistress Gilpin, when she saw 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 The youth did ride, and soon did meet Whom in a trice he tried to stop, But not performing what he meant, Away went Gilpin, and away The postboy's horse right glad to miss Six gentlemen upon the road, With postboy scampering in the rear, Stop thief! stop thief!-a highwayman! And all and each that pass'd that way And now the turnpike gates again And so he did, and won it too, Nor stopp'd till where he had got up 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! AN EPISTLE ΤΟ AN AFFLICTED PROTESTANT LADY IN FRANCE. Madam, A STRANGER'S purpose in these lays The path of sorrow, and that path alone, But he, who knew what human hearts would prove, 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 flinty 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 thineSo once in Gideon's fleece the dews were found, And drought on all the drooping herbs around. M TO THE REV. W. CAWTHORNE UNWIN. I. 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, II. A union form'd, as mine with thee, Not rashly, or in sport, And faithful in its sort, And may as rich in comfort prove, III. The bud inserted in the rind, IV. Not rich, I render what I may, Lest this should prove the last. |