Away went Gilpin, and away
Went postboy at his heels,

The postboy's horse right glad to miss
The lumbering of the wheels.

Six gentlemen upon the road
Thus seeing Gilpin fly,

With postboy 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 toll-men 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 live the king!
And Gilpin, long live he!

And when he next doth ride abroad
May I be there to see!

POEMS

ADDED BY THE AUTHOR IN SUBSEQUENT EDITIONS OF HIS WORKS

ON THE DEATH OF MRS. THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH

YE Nymphs, if e'er your eyes were red
With tears o'er hapless favourites shed,
Oh share Maria's grief!

Her favourite, even in his cage
(What will not hunger's cruel rage?)
Assassined by a thief.

Where Rhenus strays his vines among
The egg was laid from which he sprung ;
And, though by nature mute
Or only with a whistle blessed,
Well-taught, he all the sounds expressed
Of flageolet or flute.

The honours of his ebon poll

Were brighter than the sleekest mole,
His bosom of the hue

With which Aurora decks the skies,
When piping winds shall soon arise
To sweep up all the dew.

Above, below, in all the house,
Dire foe alike to bird and mouse,
No cat had leave to dwell;
And Bully's cage supported stood
On props of smoothest-shaven wood,
Large built and latticed well.

Well latticed, but the grate, alas!
Not rough with wire of steel or brass,
For Bully's plumage sake,

But smooth with wands from Ouse's side,
With which, when neatly peeled and dried,
The swains their baskets make.

Night veiled the pole. All seemed secure
When, led by instinct sharp and sure
Subsistence to provide,

A beast forth sallied on the scout,

Long backed, long tailed, with whiskered snout,
And badger-coloured hide.

He, entering at the study door,
Its ample area 'gan explore;
And something in the wind
Conjectured, sniffing round and round,
Better than all the books he found,
Food chiefly for the mind.

Just then, by adverse fate impressed,
A dream disturbed poor Bully's rest;
In sleep he seemed to view
A rat fast clinging to the cage,
And, screaming at the sad presage,
Awoke and found it true.

For, aided both by ear and scent,
Right to his mark the monster went,-
Ah, Muse! forbear to speak

Minute the horrors that ensued;

His teeth were strong, the cage was wood,—
He left poor Bully's beak.

He left it—but he should have ta'en!
That beak, whence issued many a strain
Of such mellifluous tone,
Might have repaid him well, I wote,
For silencing so sweet a throat,
Fast stuck within his own.

Maria weeps, the Muses mourn ;
So, when by Bacchanalians torn,
On Thracian Hebrus' side
The tree-enchanter Orpheus fell,
His head alone remained to tell
The cruel death he died.

THE ROSE

THE rose had been washed, just washed in a shower, Which Mary to Anna conveyed,

The plentiful moisture encumbered the flower

And weighed down its beautiful head.

The cup was all filled, and the leaves were all wet,

And it seemed, to a fanciful view,

To weep for the buds it had left with regret
On the flourishing bush where it grew.

I hastily seized it, unfit as it was

For a nosegay, so dripping and drowned;
And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas!
I snapped it—it fell to the ground.

"And such," I exclaimed, "is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind,

Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart
Already to sorrow resigned!

"This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,

Might have bloomed with its owner awhile; And the tear that is wiped with a little address May be followed perhaps by a smile."

THE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT

TO MRS. (AFTERWARDS LADY) THROCKMOrton

MARIA! I have every good

For thee wished many a time,
Both sad and in a cheerful mood,
But never yet in rhyme.

To wish thee fairer is no need,
More prudent, or more sprightly,
Or more ingenious, or more freed
From temper-flaws unsightly.

What favour then not yet possessed
Can I for thee require,

In wedded love already blessed

To thy whole heart's desire?

None here is happy but in part;
Full bliss is bliss divine;

There dwells some wish in every heart,
And doubtless one in thine.

That wish, on some fair future day
Which Fate shall brightly gild,
('Tis blameless, be it what it may)
I wish it all fulfilled.

ODE TO APOLLO

ON AN INK-GLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN

PATRON of all those luckless brains
That, to the wrong side leaning,
Indite much metre with much pains,
And little or no meaning:

Ah, why, since oceans, rivers, streams,
That water all the nations,

Pay tribute to thy glorious beams
In constant exhalations,

Why, stooping from the noon of day,
Too covetous of drink,

Apollo, hast thou stolen away

A poet's drop of ink?

Upborne into the viewless air,

It floats a vapour now,

Impelled through regions dense and rare
By all the winds that blow.

Ordained, perhaps, ere summer flies,
Combined with millions more,

To form an Iris in the skies,
Though black and foul before.

Illustrious drop! and happy then
Beyond the happiest lot
Of all that ever passed my pen,
So soon to be forgot!

Phoebus, if such be thy design,

To place it in thy bow,

Give wit, that what is left may shine
With equal grace below.

CATHARINA

ADDRESSED TO MISS STAPLETON (AFTERWARDS MRS. COURTENAY)

SHE came-she is gone-we have met

And meet perhaps never again ;

The sun of that moment is set,

And seems to have risen in vain.
Catharina has fled like a dream—
(So vanishes pleasure, alas!)
But has left a regret and esteem
That will not so suddenly pass.

The last evening ramble we made,—
Catharina, Maria, and I,-

Our progress was often delayed

By the nightingale warbling nigh.

We paused under many a tree,

And much she was charmed with a tone

Less sweet to Maria and me,

Who had witnessed so lately her own.