Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets Part 121

[22] 'Eident:' a.s.sidious.

[23] 'Spae:' fortell.

[24] 'Brulzies:' contests.

[25] 'Gardies:' arms.

[26] 'Yird:' earth.

[27] 'Cracks:' pleasant talk.

[28] 'Bicker:' the cup.

[29] 'gash:' debat.

[30] 'Their mailins' produce hash:' destroy the produce of their farms.

[31] 'The fient a cheep:' not a whimper.

[32] 'Maen:' moan.

[33] 'Rangles:' circles.

[34] 'Gudame's:' grandame.

[35] 'Wirrikow:' scare-crow.

[36] 'Win:' abide.

[37] 'Fleetch:' entice.

[38] 'Tint:' lost.

[39] 'Scowder'd:' scorched.

[40] 'Eild:' age.

[41] 'Bairnly:' childish.

[42] 'Stent:' task.

[43] 'Lave:' the rest.

[44] 'Oy:' grand child.

[45] 'Her foy:' her farewell entertainment.

[46] 'Lerroch:'corner.

[47] 'Deas:' bench.

[48] 'Streeks:' stretches.

[49] 'Baudrins:' the cat.

[50] 'Kebbuck:' cheese.

[51] 'Fadge:' loaf.

[52] 'To prie:' to taste.

[53] 'Birn:' burden.

[54] 'Ba.s.sie:' the horse.

[55] 'Mu'ter:' the miller's perquisite.

[56] 'Hawkies:'cows.

[57] 'Tids:' fits.

[58] 'The laiglen: 'the milk-pail.

[59] 'To green:' to long.

[60] 'The cruizy:' the lamp.

[61] 'Cod:' pillow.

[62] 'Drumly pow:' thick heads.

[63] 'Sock:' ploughshare.

[64] 'Gleyb:' soil.

[65] 'Bien: 'comfortable.

DR WALTER HARTE.

Campbell, in his 'Specimens,' devotes a large portion of s.p.a.ce to Dr Walter Harte, and has quoted profusely from a poem of his ent.i.tled 'Eulogius.' We may give some of the best lines here:--

'This spot for dwelling fit Eulogius chose, And in a month a decent homestall rose, Something between a cottage and a cell; Yet virtue here could sleep, and peace could dwell.

'The site was neither granted him nor given; 'Twas Nature's, and the ground-rent due to Heaven.

Wife he had none, nor had he love to spare,-- An aged mother wanted all his care.

They thanked their Maker for a pittance sent, Supped on a turnip, slept upon content.'

Again, of a neighbouring matron, who died leaving Eulogius money--

'This matron, whitened with good works and age, Approached the Sabbath of her pilgrimage; Her spirit to himself the Almighty drew, _Breathed on the alembic, and exhaled the dew_.'

And once more--

'Who but Eulogius now exults for joy?

New thoughts, new hopes, new views his mind employ; Pride pushed forth buds at every branching shoot, And virtue shrank almost beneath the root.

High raised on fortune's hill, new Alps he spies, O'ershoots the valley which beneath him lies, Forgets the depths between, and travels with his eyes.'

EDWARD LOVIBOND.

Hampton in Middles.e.x was the birthplace of our next poet, Edward Lovibond.

He was a gentleman of fortune, who chiefly employed his time in rural occupations. He became a director of the East India Company. He helped his friend Moore in conducting the periodical called _The World_, to which he contributed several papers, including the very pleasing poem ent.i.tled 'The Tears of Old May-Day.' He died in 1775.

THE TEARS OF OLD MAY-DAY.

WRITTEN ON THE REFORMATION OF THE CALENDAR IN 1754.

1 Led by the jocund train of vernal hours And vernal airs, uprose the gentle May; Blus.h.i.+ng she rose, and blus.h.i.+ng rose the flowers That sprung spontaneous in her genial ray.

2 Her locks with heaven's ambrosial dews were bright, And amorous zephyrs fluttered on her breast: With every s.h.i.+fting gleam of morning light, The colours s.h.i.+fted of her rainbow vest.

3 Imperial ensigns graced her smiling form, A golden key and golden wand she bore; This charms to peace each sullen eastern storm, And that unlocks the summer's copious store.

4 Onward in conscious majesty she came, The grateful honours of mankind to taste: To gather fairest wreaths of future fame, And blend fresh triumphs with her glories past.

5 Vain hope! no more in choral bands unite Her virgin votaries, and at early dawn, Sacred to May and love's mysterious rite, Brush the light dew-drops from the spangled lawn.

6 To her no more Augusta's wealthy pride Pours the full tribute from Potosi's mine: Nor fresh-blown garlands village maids provide, A purer offering at her rustic shrine.

7 No more the Maypole's verdant height around To valour's games the ambitious youth advance; No merry bells and tabor's sprightlier sound Wake the loud carol, and the sportive dance.

8 Sudden in pensive sadness drooped her head, Faint on her cheeks the blus.h.i.+ng crimson died-- 'O chaste victorious triumphs! whither fled?

My maiden honours, whither gone?' she cried.