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Smack went the whip, round went the So stooping down, as needs he must

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Then over all, that he might be Equipped from top to toe,

Who cannot sit upright.

He grasped the mane with both his hands, And eke with all his might.

His horse, which never in that sort
Had handled been before,
What thing upon his back had got
Did wonder more and more.

Away went Gilpin, neck or nought;
Away went hat and wig;

He little dreamt when he set out,
Of running such a rig.

The wind did blow, the cloak did fly,
Like streamer long and gay,
Till, loop and button failing both,
At last it flew away.

Then might all people well discern
The bottles he had slung;

A bottle swinging at each side,
As hath been said or sung.

The dogs did bark, the children screamed,

Up flew the windows all; And every soul cried out: 'Well done!' As loud as he could bewl.

Away went Gilpin-who but he?
His fame soon spread around;
He carries weight! he rides a race!
'Tis for a thousand pound!

And still, as fast as he drew near,
'Twas wonderful to view
How in a trice the turnpike-men
Their gates wide open threw.

And now, as he went bowing down
His reeking head full low,

His long red cloak, well brushed and neat, The bottles twain behind his back

He manfully did throw.

Now see him mounted once again
Upon his nimble steed,
Full slowly pacing o'er the stones
With caution and good heed.

But finding soon a smoother road
Beneath his well-shod feet,
The snorting beast began to trot,
Which galled him in his seat.

So, Fair and softly,' John he cried,
But John he cried in vain ;
That trot became a gallop soon,
In spite of curb and rein.

Were shattered at a blow.

Down ran the wine into the road,
Most piteous to be seen,

Which made his horse's flanks to smoke

As they had basted been.

But still he seemed to carry weight,
With leathern girdle braced;
For all might see the bottle necks
Still dangling at his waist.

Thus all through merry Islington
These gambols he did play,
Until he came unto the Wash
Of Edmunton so gay.

And there he threw the wash about

On both sides of the way,
Just like unto a trundling mop,
Or a wild goose at play.

At Edmonton, his loving wife
From the balcony spied

Her tender husband, wondering much
To see how he did ride.

'Stop, stop, John Gilpin!-Here's the house!'

They all at once did cry;

"The dinner waits, and we are tired!' Said Gilpin: 'So am I?'

But yet his horse was not a whit
Inclined to tarry there;
For why?-his owner had a house
Full ten miles off, at Ware.

So like an arrow swift he flew,
Shot by an archer strong;
So did he fly-which brings me to
The middle of my song.

Away went Gilpin out of breath,
And sore against his will,
Till at his friend the calender's
His horse at last stood still.

The calender, amazed to see

His neighbour in such trim,
Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate,
And thus accosted him :

What news? what news ? your tidings
Tell me you must and shall— [tell;
Say why bareheaded you are come,
Ör why you come at all?'

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,
And loved a timely joke;

And thus unto the calender

In merry guise he spoke:

'I came because your horse would come
And, if I well forebode,

My hat and wig will soon be here-
They are upon the road.'

The calender, right glad to find
His friend in merry pin,*
Returned him not a single word,
But to the house went in;

Whence straight he came with hat and

wig;

A wig that flowed behind,

A hat not much the worse for wear,
Each comely in its kind.

He held them up, and in his turn
Thus shewed his ready wit:
'My head is twice as big as yours,
They therefore needs must fit.

'But let me scrape the dirt away
That hangs upon your face;;
And stop and eat, for well you may
Be in a hungry case.'

Said John: 'It is my wedding-day,
And all the world would stare,
If wife should dine at Edmonton,
And I should dine at Ware.'

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*We may add to the poet's text an explanation of the old phrase a merry pin' as given in Fuller's Church History: At a grand synod of the clergy and laity, 3 Henry I. (1102 A.D), priests were prohibited from drinking at pins. This was a Dutch trick, but used in England. of artificial drunkenness, out of a cup marked with certain pins, and he accounted the best man who could nick the pin. drinking even unto it, whereas to go above or beneath it was a forfeiture. Hence probably the proverb, he is in a merry pin.'

But, not performing what he meant,
And gladly would have done,
The frighted steed he frighted more,
And made him faster run.

Away went Gilpin, and away

Went post-boy at his heels,
The post-boy's horse right glad to miss
The lumbering of the wheels.

Six gentlemen upon the road
Thus seeing Gilpin fly,

With post-boy 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 passed that way
Did join in the pursuit.

And now the turnpike gates again
Flew open in short space;
The tollman thinking as before,
That Gilpin rode a race.

And so he did, and won it too,
For he got first to town;
Nor stopped till where he had got up
He did again get down.

Now let us sing, long the king,
And Gilpin, long live he;
And when he next doth ride abroad,
May I be there to see!

WILLIAM HAYLEY.

WILLIAM HAYLEY (1745-1820), the biographer of Cowper, wrote various poetical works which enjoyed great popularity in their day. His principal work is "The Triumphs of Temper,' a poem in six cantos (1781).* He wrote also an Essay on History,' addressed to Gibbon (1780), an Essay on Epic Poetry' (1782), an Essay on Old Maids' (1785), Essays on Sculpture,' addressed to Flaxman (1800), The Triumph of Music (1804), &c. He wrote also various dramatic pieces and a Life of Milton' (1796). A gentleman by education and fortune, and fond of literary communication, Hayley enjoyed the acquaintance of most of the eminent men of his times. His over-strained sensibility and romantic tastes exposed him to ridicule, yet he was an amiable and accomplished man. It was through his personal application to Pitt that Cowper received his pension. He had-what appears to have been to him a sort of melancholy pride and satisfaction-the task of writing epitaphs for most of his friends, including Mrs. Unwin and Cowper. His life of Cowper appeared in 1803, and three years afterwards it was enlarged by a supplement. Hayley prepared memoirs of his own life, which he disposed of to a publisher on condition of his receiving an annuity for the remainder of his life. This annuity he enjoyed for twelve years. The memoirs appeared in two fine quarto volumes, but they failed to attract attention. Hayley had outlived his popularity, and his smooth but often unmeaning lines had vanished like chaff before the vigorous and natural outpourings of the modern muse. As a specimen of this once much-praised poet, we subjoin from his Essay on Epic Poetry' some lines on the death of his mother, which had the merit of delighting Gibbon, and with which Southey has remarked Cow. per would sympathise deeply:

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Tribute to a Mother, on her Death.
For me who feel, whene'er I touch the lyre,
My talents sink below my proud desire;
Who often doubt, and sometimes credit give,
When friends assure me that my verse will live;

Whom health, too tender for the bustling throng,
Led into pensive shade and soothing song
Whatever fortune my unpolished rhymes
May meet in present or in future times,
Let the blest art my grateful thoughts employ,
Which soothes my sorrow and augments my joy;
Whence lonely peace and social pleasure springs,
And friendship dearer than the smile of kings.
While keener poets, querulously proud,
Lament the ill of poesy aloud,

And magnify with irritation's zeal,

Those common evils we too strongly feel,
The envious comment and the subtle style
Of specious slander, stabbing with a smile;
Frankly I wish to make her blessings known,
And think those blessings for her ills atone;
Nor would my honest pride that praise forego,
Which makes Malignity yet more my foe.

If heartfelt pain e'er led me to accuse
The dangerous gift of the alluring Muse,
"Twas in the moment when my verse impressed
Some anxious feelings on a mother's breast.
O thou fond spirit, who with pride has smiled,
And frowned with fear on thy poetic child,
Pleased, yet alarmed, when in his boyish time
He sighed in numbers or he laughed in rhyme;
While thy kind cautions warned him to beware
Of Penury, the bard's perpetual snare;
Marking the early temper of his soul,
Careless of wealth, nor fit for base control !
Thou tender saint, to whom he owes much more
Than ever child to parent owed before;

In life's first season. when the fever's flame
Shrunk to deformity his shrivelled frame,
And turned each fairer image in his brain
To blank confusion and her crazy train,

"Twas thine, with constant love, through lingering years,
To bathe thy idiot orphan in thy tears;
Day after day, and night succeeding night,
To turn incessant to the hideous sight,
And frequent watch, if haply at thy view
Departed reason might not dawn anew;
Though medicinal art, with pitying care,

Could lend no aid to save thee from despair,

Thy fond maternal heart adhered to hope and prayer

Nor prayed in vain; thy child from powers above
Received the sense to feel and bless thy love.
O might he thence receive the happy skill,
And force proportioned to his ardent will,
With truth's unfading radiance to emblaze

Thy virtues, worthy of immortal praise!

Nature, who decked thy form with beauty's flowers. Exhausted on thy soul her finer powers;

Taught it with all her energy to feel

Love's melting softness, friendship's fervid zeal,

The generous purpose and the active thought,
With charity's diffusive spirit fraught.

There all the best of mental gifts she placed,
Vigour of judgment, purity of taste,

Superior parts without their spleenful leaven,
Kindness to earth, and confidence in heaven,

While my fond thoughts o'er all thy merits roll,
Thy praise thus gushes from my filial soul;
Nor will the public with harsh rigour blame
This my just homage to thy honoured name;
To please that public, if to please be mine,
Thy virtues trained me-let the praise be thine.
Inscription on the Tomb of Cowper.
Ye who with warmth the public triumph feel
Of talents dignified by sacred zeal,
Here, to devotion's bard devoutly just,
Pay your fond tribute due to Cowper's dust!
England, exulting in his spotless fame,

Ranks with her dearest sons his favourite name.
Sense, fancy, wit, suffice not all to raise
So clear a title to affection's praise:

His highest honours to the heart belong;
His virtues formed the magic of his song.

On the Tomb of Mrs. Unwin.
Trusting in God with all her heart and mind,
This woman proved magnanimously kind;
Endured affliction's desolating hail,

And watched a poet through misfortune's vale.
Her spotless dust angelic guards defend!

It is the dust of Unwin, Cowper's friend.

That single title in itself is fame,

For all who read his verse revere her name.

DR. ERASMUS DARWIN.

DR. ERASMUS DARWIN (1731-1802), an ingenious philosophical, though fanciful poet, was born at Elston, near Newark. Having passed with credit through a course of education at St. John's College, Cambridge, he applied himself to the study of physic, and took his degree of bachelor in medicine at Edinburgh in 1755. He then commenced practice in Nottingham, but meeting with little encouragement, he removed to Lichfield, where he long continued a successful and distinguished physician. In 1757 Dr. Darwin married an accomplished lady of Lichfield, Miss Mary Howard, by whom he had five children, two of whom died in infancy. The lady herself died in 1770; and after her decease, Darwin seems to have commenced his botanical and literary pursuits. He was at first afraid that the reputation of a poet would injure him in his profession, but being firmly established in the latter capacity, he at length ventured on publication. At this time he lived in a picturesque villa in the neighbourhood of Lichfield, furnished with a grotto and fountain, and here he began the formation of a botanic garden. The spot he has described

as

adapted to love-scenes, and as being thence a proper residence for the modern goddess of botany.' In 1781 appeared the first part of Darwin's Botanic Garden,' a poem in glittering and polished heroic verse, designed to describe, adorn, and allegorise the Linnæan system of botany. The Rosicrucian doctrine of gnomes, sylphs, nymphs, and salamanders, was adopted by the poet, as affording a

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