Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
On The Author Of The Ballad Called The Children In The Wood.
ON THE AUTHOR OF THE BALLAD CALLED THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD .
fTrom Jefningham ' s Poems . Viit our Review . ]
LET others praise the martial song , Which rushes as a flood , And round the harp attentive throng , That honours deeds of blood : Let me that humble Bard revere , Tho' artless be his theme ,
Whs snatch'd the tale , to Pity dear , From dark Oblivion ' s stream . Say , little-Mary , * prattling maid , ( Whose wit thine age excels ) Beneath what holy yew-tree's shade Thy favourite Author dwells ?
Ah ! not on W ESTMINSTER ' proud ground The fond enquiry waste : Go , where the meek of heart are found , And th' unambitious rest . - Where WALTON ' S limpid streamlet flows , On NORFOLK ' S rich domain ,
A gently-rising hillock shews The hamlet ' s straw-roof'd fane . Hard by is seen a marble stone , By many a winter worn ; Forgetfulness around has thrown The rude o ' ermantlirig thorn -.
Within this' low obscure abode Fame says the Bard is laid ; Oft have I left the beaten road , To greet the Poet ' s shade .-Fame , too , reports , that when the bier Receiv'd the Poet ' s frame , The neighb'ring Hamlets hasteti'd here . And all the Childhood came :
Attir'd in white , an Infant Band Advanc'd in' long array ; With rosemary . leaves each little band O'erspread the mournful way :
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
On The Author Of The Ballad Called The Children In The Wood.
ON THE AUTHOR OF THE BALLAD CALLED THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD .
fTrom Jefningham ' s Poems . Viit our Review . ]
LET others praise the martial song , Which rushes as a flood , And round the harp attentive throng , That honours deeds of blood : Let me that humble Bard revere , Tho' artless be his theme ,
Whs snatch'd the tale , to Pity dear , From dark Oblivion ' s stream . Say , little-Mary , * prattling maid , ( Whose wit thine age excels ) Beneath what holy yew-tree's shade Thy favourite Author dwells ?
Ah ! not on W ESTMINSTER ' proud ground The fond enquiry waste : Go , where the meek of heart are found , And th' unambitious rest . - Where WALTON ' S limpid streamlet flows , On NORFOLK ' S rich domain ,
A gently-rising hillock shews The hamlet ' s straw-roof'd fane . Hard by is seen a marble stone , By many a winter worn ; Forgetfulness around has thrown The rude o ' ermantlirig thorn -.
Within this' low obscure abode Fame says the Bard is laid ; Oft have I left the beaten road , To greet the Poet ' s shade .-Fame , too , reports , that when the bier Receiv'd the Poet ' s frame , The neighb'ring Hamlets hasteti'd here . And all the Childhood came :
Attir'd in white , an Infant Band Advanc'd in' long array ; With rosemary . leaves each little band O'erspread the mournful way :