Ah, Needwood! I, whose early voice
Taught thy shrill echoes to rejoice;
I, who first pour'd the sylvan song
Thy glades, thy banks, thy lawns along;
I, who with artless pencil drew
Thy Forest charms of varied hue,
Approach thee now with different strain,
That mourns thy wrongs, yet mourns in vain:
I come, but not with former haste,
To view the dim unshelter'd Waste,
That once was Needwood: on thy brow
No green-rob'd Wood-nymph beckons now;
Yet be thy spirit sooth'd to bear
My Requiem through the void of air!
O Draycot Cliff! again thy height,
Known beacon of my young delight,
With sad'ning thoughts, that much portend
Of change and tumult, I ascend;
Nor flatter'd by thy levell'd way,
That smiles, like worldlings, to betray.
How swells my aged heart, now near
Scenes to my happiest youth so dear!
How sinks that heart, as these arise,
Distorted, to my anguish'd eyes!
Where are those ample plains, display'd
'Mong woods with many an opening glade?
Where is the wild doe, bounding by
Once emblem of their liberty?
No stragglers from the warren, fleet
Scud cross my path with flirting feet.
No jealous blood-hound, brave and proud.
Throws from the lodge his challenge loud.
O hear me on thy summits tall,
Time-honour'd Needwood! hear my call!
For thou my filial voice hast known.—
No answer follows — hark! a groan!
His ancient seats I seek in vain;
He, nor his ancient seats remain;
But in strange horror staring round,
A Spectre, pointing to his wound,
Of hideous shape, with bald head, stalks
Before me o'er the ravag'd walks;
Where Desolation grim affrights
Sham'd Ceres in unhallow'd rites;
Where the check'd Plunderer shrinks aside,
As by his own deed terrified,
Or fears, from many a faithful root,
Vengeance in ambush at his foot.
Wavering alike in mind and pace,
I roam, familiar haunts to trace;
The winds, that bow me as I go,
Rush unrestrain'd, as wild with woe,
Or querulously vex'd to miss
The blooming groves they lov'd to kiss.
Each spot discover'd has its tale;
Seems a friend's voice in every gale;
Wak'd Recollection starts aghast,
And thoughtful sighs o'er pleasures past.
When Nature, with exulting smile,
Form'd from her stores this happy Isle,
Curious, and bounteously intent
To raise a central ornament,
She cull'd the brightest and the best;
And heap'd them on her darling's breast:
Sprung joyful to her warm embrace
Th' appointed Genius of the Place;
His features fair young Beauty drew;
On her soft lap the fondling grew;
The Seasons came his birth to greet,
And pour'd their choicest at his feet;
The Dryads quaintly curl'd his locks;
Nymphs, Fauns, and Satyrs rush'd in flocks,
Pleas'd in such Fairy-land to dwell,
And peopled every bower and dell.
Kings mark'd the consecrated ground;
And Power protective watch'd around.
Long Mercia sat beside enthron'd;
And prouder crowns its honors own'd.
Delighted Ages list'ning heard
The wild hoof beat the tainted swerd,
The glad'ning hound and echoing horn,
And hunters' shouts far onward borne.
How did his dignity excel!
Blush, blush ye times when Needwood fell!
'Twas Avarice with his harpy claws,
Great Victim! rent thy guardian laws;
Loos'd Uproar with his ruffian bands;
Bade havoc show his crimson'd hands;
Grinn'd a coarse smile, as thy last deer
Dropp'd in thy lap a dying tear;
Exulted in his schemes accurst,
When thy pierc'd heart, abandon'd, burst;
And, glozing on the public good,
Insidious demon! suck'd thy blood.
Detested ever be that day,
Which left thee a defenceless prey!
May never sun its presence cheer!
O be it blotted from the year!
Where now the Forest freeman's boast?
His joys, his hopes, his name are lost.
Repentant claimants of the soil!
Yours keen remorse and thankless toil;
Strangers and hirelings snatch the spoil.
Too late ye mourn your glory gone;
Thus, fell Owhyhee's senseless crew,
Him, their best friend, their idol, slew;
Shar'd his torn limbs with savage pride;
Then griev'd, infatuate! that he died.
Ah, who but knows and loves the lay
Which Seward hung on Cook's Morai?
O had I such melodious tear,
Lamented Needwood, for thy bier!
Forests of England! ye might claim
A proud share in her ancient fame.
Tell your forgetful country, tell,
When dangers dread her state befel,
How rush'd your sons in hardy bands,
Their long bows in their skilful hands;
How far the foremost and the best,
On fierce invading foes they press'd;
With what sure aim their arrows flew,
Whistling the death song ere they slew,
You, in your secret labyrinths, spread
Your dark shields o'er great Alfred's head,
True to your charge; the ruthless Dane
Brandish'd his reeking blade in vain.
'Twas yours to nurse that mighty mind,
Where every virtue sat enshrin'd.
Your hush'd leaves parted, as the beams
Of glory shot, and fir'd his dreams.
You fann'd his patriot bosom's glow;
You tun'd his harp; you trimm'd his bow.
He imag'd in your wolves his foes;
And practis'd vengeance keener rose.
Your proud oaks lean'd to court the hand,
Which England's conquering navy plann'd.
Your song-birds taught him to convey
Mild manners in attractive lay;
While Liberty, the nymph you love,
Braided the silken bands he wove.
On circled lawns, in secret glade,
You marshall'd thousands to his aid,
Then gave him from your woods to shine
A Caesar and an Antonine.
There the bright wreaths of victory grew;
And Themis pluck'd her wand from you.
Rous'd vigorous by the morning air,
So quits the monarch stag his lair;
With fresh fray'd beams his rival seeks;
His meditated vengeance wreaks;
And, stamping on the mountain's brow,
Claims homage from the vale below.
On yonder castled cliff, of old,
Needwood, how throng'd thy archers bold,
When there, for deeds of arms array'd,
His banner princely Gaunt display'd!
And fill'd they not his chosen ranks
On distant Ebro's oliv'd banks?
Spain's boasted slingers! soon ye fled
From English bowmen, Forest-bred.
Fame stak'd her dearest honors therhe:
And won not Needwood's sons their share?
Illustrious History, bear me back
Up golden Time's recorded track,
And bring from thy illumin'd page
The heroes of that martial age,
When knightly valour's own right hand
Sought fame, and spoil, and high command!
Say, as they pass in bright review,
What favourite takes precedence due?
They come — the pride and pomp of war
Mark their disastrous course afar.
Ah, while the mad'ning trumpet brays,
Fields reek with blood, and cities blaze;
Fell cries for glory or a crown
The shrieks of wives and orphans drown.
See English Richard's crest advance!—
Back from the lightning of his lance!
Hark! nations hail in loud accord
His lion heart and victor sword.
Cease, cease thy boasting, clarion vain!
Truth gives my lyre a purer strain.
Blush, as thy people, haughty king,
Shout for the man thy Minstrels bring,
And offer, with less guilty claim,
A Forest Yeoman's humble name!
How sweetly pours that bugle shrill
Its mellow tones o'er dale and hill,
As Sherwood's Hero, down the glade,
Steps with his bow and bright brown blade,
His feather'd arrows, broad and keen,
Hung lightly o'er his gown of green!
A robber! say'st thou? Thy harsh laws,
Oppressor, and the poor man's cause
Led him, indignant, to the wood,
With bold pretence of rights withstood.
Churls, with no feeling but for self,
Yield to his better hands your pelf!
Such trespass Fear disdains to hide;
And hoodwink'd Justice peeps aside.
The liberal air his freeborn soul
Lifts high, in scorn of base control.
In fellowship and fealty bound,
Firm as the knights of Table Round,
Him and his hundred, tall and fleet,
Not twice two hundred care to meet.
Minions oppose not his career!
He seeks no slaughter, but of deer.
Yet will he pass unquestion'd by:
Raise but your weapons and you die!
Start not fair maids! your path pursue
Unharm'd; he guards its peace for you;
And cheers, on each occasion kind.
In age or want, the hamlet hind.
Here, warriors, to the Forest turn,
True courage and its use to learn!
Here, nobles, to the wood resort,
For courtesy unknown at court! —
Needwood, this brave man was thy guest;
Love crown'd the day, and Mirth the feast.
Region, where all delights were found
How look'st thou now? a burial ground!
With sad memorials, here and there,
Of what was noble, free, and fair.
King's-standing, with a tortur'd frown,
Marks its own splendour overthrown.
Whate'er of wood or lawn could please,
In grand assemblage broad display'd,
This far commanding mount survey'd.
How chang'd! those oaks that tower'd so high,
Dismember'd, stript, extended, lie;
On the stain'd turf their wrecks are pil'd,
Where thousand Summers bask'd and smil'd;
In smouldering heaps their limbs consume;
The dark smoke marks their casual tomb;
From blacken'd brakes, the choak'd winds toss
The ashes of the golden goss;
While great with power, yon Wretch derides
And boasts the mischief, which he guides.
Thus, when, in unsuspecting peace,
Rush'd Scythia's hordes on fertile Greece,
Mars, their grim god, whom heav'n abhors,
Urg'd with fell taunts to wasteful wars.
Valley, where Marebrook all unveil'd
Her slender line far shining trail'd,
With frequent curves thy slopes between,
As loth to quit the enticing scene;
Or turning with young fawns to play,
Wily and volatile as they;
Alluring, with her tinkling sweet,
From bank to bank, their timid feet;
Lov'd Valley, now no charm invites
My steps to rove thy breezy heights:
Thy wavy knolls the fence arrests;
The rude spade wounds thy swelling breasts;
Rent her fair locks and mantle rich,
Forlorn, along that hateful ditch
Thy violated Naiad steals,
And in foul streams her shame conceals.
These broad roots bore a secret grove,
Where I was wont at eve to rove;
And, while low-thoughted cares retired,
Wrap'd in fond musings, fancy-fir'd,
Saw what alone the mind's eye sees;
Heard other whisperings than the breeze;
And knights and dames, and dwarfs portray'd,
And bright arms gleaming down the glade;
Drew Magic, muttering powerful spell,
And Witchcraft with demoniac yell.
Hark! the last trunk that axe assails;
See! the plough tears the writhing vales;
Stop, thoughtless clown! nor dare to bring
Destruction on that Fairy-Ring,
Imprinted deep with stainless green,
And lasting beauty, seldom seen.
E'en Winter paus'd that turf to spare;
Nor look'd the fiery Dog-star there.
And once more may Titania come,
With farewell, to her ancient home;
But, for the bee-bird's gaudy plume,
Wav'd o'er her neck in quivering bloom,
Funereal spray of dismal hue,
Of cypress, or the baleful yew,
Join'd with the nightshade's deadly flower,
Shall darkly o'er her forehead lower.
Attendant Fays, in mournful throng,
Nor trace the dance, nor raise the song;
While, for the shrill reed's cheerful sound,
That led them lightly tripping round,
Beetles and drones, with hummings low,
Measure their footfalls sad and slow.—
Alas, no gentle sprite remains!
But foul fiends scour th' affrighted plains,
Rob of their honours hills and lawns,
Trace the mean ditch that greedy yawns,
And teach the reptile hedge to crawl;
Twin pests, confederate, seizing all!
What old man with his grey dog sits,
What blind man, by those sandy pits?
'Tis Manuel! — and he rests him where
My fox-earth was his nightly care. —
Ah, come not now to scenes so drear,
Gay hunters! scenes ye cannot cheer.
Ah venture not their threats to brave;
Nor tample on your Needwood's grave!—
'Tis Manuel! and he knows my voice:
His tears, though not his eyes, rejoice:
Reduc'd by age and loss of sight
To beggary and the parish mite,
That dog his only guide, he picks,
Groping in fear, those wretched sticks.
But soon will such small gleanings end.—
Thou, Needwood, wast the poor man's friend!
Garden of Nature! on whose face
Contended fragrance, bloom, and grace;
Kind nurse of her abundant good
To human wants, from herb or wood,
Though seem the withering winds less rude
Than thoughtless man's ingratitude;
Not all thy children droop forlorn,
Hurl'd from magnificence to scorn.
You, fox-gloves, through the varying year
Fresh, vigorous, and countless here,
You, happy fox-gloves, as you fell,
In triumph clos'd each purple bell;
Proud that the bark of fam'd Peru
Was rival'd, British plant, by you.
Philosophy and Science rare
Had pitied Dropsy's sad despair,
And pour'd your healing treasure forth;
While their own Bard extol'd your worth;
Poet and Sage: hence doubly shine
Your honours on Hygiea's shrine,
Where pleas'd Apollo stoop'd to yield
To Darwin's hands his lyre and shield.
Again, to save this fair domain,
A Vernon strove, but strove in vain;
And many a noble heart was warm
The fell devourer's rage to charm;
But mean Self-interest lit the flame,
Blind Furies fann'd; and Ruin came.
Yet Lin-brook prattles, in her pride,
Of ancient scenery on her side,
Calls, where her beauties still prevail,
To Byrkley Bowers and Yoxall Dale,
Boasts of deep shades and allies green,
And bids me mark that Forest mien,
Pleas'd, in this circlet, to secure
Her injur'd parent's miniature;
And fain would cheer me, as she leads
By cultur'd banks to verdant meads;
And spreads her mirrors to reflect
How Nature's hand-maid, Art, hath deck'd
The matron here, with choicest bloom;
Ah, garlands now for Needwood's tomb!
Lin-brook! protected child and heir,
Enjoy thy patrimony fair;
And ever in thy favour'd bound,
Prosperity and Peace be found.
Yet long wilt thou lament the change
Of herds and flocks, that near thee range,
More loudly to thy rushes chide,
Since comes no doe her fawn to hide;
And long thy murmuring stream will shrink,
When stoops the stranger ewe to drink;
And long those oaks destruction spar'd,
Grieve for the greatness once they shar'd,
And sigh, while ages hence appear
The tracks of their remember'd deer,
And scatter, careless, to the wind,
Fruits, for their Autumn feast design'd.
Thus, when that Giant of the world
Thy nobles from their honours hurl'd,
Oh France! a few, to fate resign'd,
All lost, but dignity of mind,
Still on the general wreck abide,
Terror and tyranny beside,
And privileg'd in fall'n estate,
Walk humbly with the power they hate,
Regretful of their happier times,
And sighing o'er a nation's crimes.
Yet Byrkley Bowers, your Emma's art
Such sweet delusion can impart,
Such truth her curious pencil gives,
That Needwood in its magic lives.
O, haste to catch, ingenious maid,
His remnant beauties ere they fade:
So to th' admiring world be shown
Fair forms, accomplish'd, like your own!
Though aptly might these dells retain
Wild fancy and her sylvan train,
I ask no fabled nymph to lend
Her idle aid, as I descend;
I seek not such attendants here;
But hail your presence and revere,
Truth, Genius, Science! — Yoxall Dale,
'Mong Forest Walks distinguish'd, hail!
Enough, that future times will say:
'Here Gisborne penn'd his moral lay,
'Practis'd the duties he enjoin'd,
'Led and instructed human kind,
'Here the high paths of Nature trod,
'And saw and glorified her God.'
Majestic hollies! many a year
Your lopp'd limbs fed the pining deer;
And many a year, your growth renew'd,
In venerable solitude,
With arch and column, here you stood,
As once the Temple of the Wood.
The seasons wrought not on your form;
You bent not to the battering storm;
Arrested on each shrouded brow,
No wanton sunbeams play'd below.—
Respected veterans! favourite glade!
Oft, as I pac'd your pensive shade,
Rapt meditation mus'd in prayer;
Or self-indulgence soften'd care.—
These, Needwood, thy destroyers saw
And seiz'd, uncheck'd by shame or awe!
Fair Virgin! in that hallow'd gloom,
While the bell knoll'd thee to thy tomb,
I chose a polish'd trunk to mark
Thy memory on its yielding bark:
As held in reverence profound,
The grove was motionless around,
Save that an ivy's straggling leaf
Shook in the breathings of my grief;
Pity look'd on through starting tears,
Numbering too soon thy transient years;
Lorn Loves, that knew thee well, were by;
And Sorrow with reverted eye.
Yes; 'thou wast all that youth admires,
A parent seeks, or friend desires!'
Ah, if yet spar'd, to that lone shrine
Direct me, some remaining sign!
Or whispering airs instruct to find,
Soft as ye kiss the swelling rind!
Or gentle red-breast hop before!—
No; those retirements are no more:—
See the griev'd wood-dove on her flight!
And the scar'd owlet lost in light!
Hark! the same bell! — take, sister bier,
Affection's sigh and friendship's tear!
These for ourselves: — for thee, blest shade!
Amply thy debt of life was paid;
And gentle, as that life, thy fall;—
Rest, honour'd as belov'd by all!
Rest, while the parting Virtues bear
For heaven's approof, thy record fair!
In yonder cloud that lowers above,
Darkening the cheerful face of Dove,
Their white plumes glimmer to the eye,
And radiant arms extend on high.
Yes, Holly-Bush! — endeared spot!
Forsaken long, but ne'er forgot!
Yes, Holly-Bush! through all disguise
I know thee, but with watery eyes!
With thee what warm emotions start!
What passions press upon my heart!
Quick rushes my own change to view;
And wounds, yet tender, bleed anew.
I come not now to treasur'd sweets;
Blank my approach; no welcome greets;
No lifted sash, no smiling face
Salutes me, joyous from the chace;
No ready grooms my call await;
Leaps on its hinge no friendly gate;
Not for my meal that kitchen's blaze;—
Thy people on a stranger gaze;
And, for the fox-hound cow'ring bland,
Bays the fierce house-dog at his stand.
Yet, as my doubtful step withdraws,
Fresh memories plead for longer lause;
While mixes with each faint farewell
What only struggling sighs can tell.
Yes, Holly-Brush! here fled too fast
Fair hours, most valued now they're past.
But not, in my regard, import
These structures of a prouder sort;
And former fondness ill can brook
This order'd dress and inland look;
Thy flowery copse and bowers make room
For alien shrubs and new perfume;
Thy meek rill swells with glaring brim;
Thy rude paths march through gardens trim;
Ah, here no unambitious brow,
Nor my contented dwelling now!
But thee I find, familiar Tree!
Extend thy friendly canopy!
Ah! know me, sooth me, in my age,
And cheer this mournful pilgrimage!
Hall! Whose kind arm is stretch'd between
The spoiler and yon Forest scene,
Its green vale with its wooded banks,
(And Needwood's honour owes thee thanks)
Save too this suppliant at thy door,
O save my spreading Sycamore!
It gave my window breezes sweet,
And shelter when the tempest beat;
It fann'd the Lares on my hearth;
Or hush'd disturbance from their mirth.
When wild bees humm'd its boughs among,
Or cooing stock-dove watch'd her young,
Oft have I sat beneath its shade,
And bless'd my children, as they play'd.
Ah! let not Taste, with upstart pride,
This old domestic thrust aside;
This relic, generous owner, spare
To Needwood's earliest poet's prayer:
So prosper here thy fair designs;
So Beauty lend thee her own lines;
So here all social Pleasures throng;
And sweet Enjoyment flourish long!
Revered Swilcar! kingly Oak!
I'll spar'd from thee th' assassin's stroke.
How brilliant was thy sylvan court!
Of sons and subjects proud resort:
Here stately rang'd in close array;
There lightly group'd on carpets gay:
Attendant hollies glow'd beneath,
All arm'd; their crest a woodbine wreath:
In safety skipp'd the dappled herds;
Securely perch'd the choiring birds;
O'er charter'd ground thy sacred head,
Where age had whiten'd many a stem,
And plac'd an antler'd diadem.
Horrid! — I see thee far — defac'd—
In fetters on a dreary waste,
With outstretch'd arms and bosom bare,
Appealing to the troubled air;
Yet taxing not the pelting storm;
But those, more cruel, who deform
Thy rich retreats, thy turf defile
With fence, and road, and uses vile;
Nor of the whole, which Nature gave,
Leave thee enough to make thy grave,
When comes, as come it must, thy fall,
Lear of the Forest, robb'd of all!
Enough; and from my trembling hand
Drops the sad lyre.— Abused Land,
Take my last strains! in happier days
I tun'd my rude horn to thy praise;
And (all I wish'd) the friends I lov'd
Those unassuming notes approv'd;
And some, with strength beyond its own,
In sweeter echoes cheer'd the tone;
To swell this tear, which sorrow drew,
Do they remain? — alas, how few!
Swilcar! from thee a wither'd bough
Will best become my temples now.
And pendant here my shell I leave
Mournfully mute; save when, at eve,
While Silence lists on brooding wings,
Soft airs shall brush the murmuring strings:
So still be fond complaint preferr'd,
Its master's voice no longer heard!
Then haply some, who wander near
Musing, may lend a partial ear;
And if thy venerable age,
And awful size their hearts engage,
If Nature's wood-wild walks they love,
If violated grandeur move,
Ah, will not indignation rise,
As Fancy views, with weeping eyes,
Nymphs, Satyrs, Fauns, in cheerless row,
And Dian with a broken bow;
Hears Druid's groan and Dryad's shriek
Oft through the moonlight stillness break,
Yon prison'd cliffs their griefs repeat,
Dove howling hoarsely at their feet?
Region! — I lov'd thee at my heart —
Farewell! — for ever now we part.
Forest, farewell! — delighted Time
Thee would have spar'd in endless prime;
Me, as he shakes my ebbing sands,
While MORTAL LIFE her roll expands,
Me, feebly bending o'er thy tomb,
He beckons to her COMMON HOME.—
Ah, human weakness! may a name,
Aspiring to no splendid fame,
Live, yet a little, in my SONGS
Of NEEDWOOD'S PRAISE and NEEDWOOD'S WRONGS!
