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,
The bottles twain bebind his back

Were shattered at a blow.
Down ran the wine into the road,

Most piteous to be seen,
Which made bis 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 Edmonton 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 aloud 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 few,

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 ;

Tell me you must and shall---
Say why bare-headed you are come,

Or 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;
When straight he came with hat and wig ;

A wig that flowed behind,
A hat not niuch the worse for wear,

Each comely in its kind.
He held them up, and in his turn

Thus showed his ready wit,
My head is twice as big as your's,
They therefore needs must fit.

But let me scrape the dirt away,

That hangs about 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. So turning to his horse, he said,

I am in haste to dine; 'Twas for your pleasure you came here,

You shall go back for mine. Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast!

For which he paid full dear; For, while he spake, a braying ass

Did sing most loud and clear;

Whereat his horse did snort, as he

Had heard a lion roar,
And galloped off with all his might,

As he had done before.

Away went Gilpin, and away

Went Gilpin's hat and wig : He lost them sooner than at first,

For why?---They were too big. Now Mrs. Gilpin, when she saw

Her husband posting down Into the country far away,

She pulled 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

My husband safe and well. The youth did ride, and soon did meet

John coming back amain! Whom in a trice he tried to stop,

By catching at his rein :

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 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 bad 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!

AN EPISTLE

TO A PROTESTANT LADY IN FRANCE.

MADAM,
A STRANGER’S purpose in these lays
Is to congratulate, and not to praise.
To give the creature her Creator's due
Were sin to me, and an offence to you.
From man to man, or e’en to woman paid,
Praise is the medium of a.knavish trade,
A coin by craft for folly's use designed,
Spurious, and only current with the blind.

The path of sorrow, and that path alone,
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown;
No traveller ever reached that blest abode,
Who found not thorns and briars in his road.
The world may dance along the Aowery plain,
Cheered as they go by many a sprightly strain,
Where nature has her mossy velvet sprea
With unshod feet they yet securely tread,
Admonished, scorn the caution and the friend,
Bent upon pleasure, heedless of its end.
But he, who knew what human hearts would prove,
How slow to learn the dictates of his love,
That hard by nature and of stubborn will,
A life of ease would make then harder still,
In pity to the sinners he designed
To rescue from the ruins of mankind,
Called for a cloud to darken all their years,
And said, “Go, spend them in the vale of tears."
Oh balmy gales of soul-reviving air,
Oh 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,
And sadden sorrow nips 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;