Nine wicked elves, as legends sayne, 10 She chose to form her guardian trayne, And kennel near her side. Here screeching owls oft made their nest, possest, Night-howling thro' the rock: No wholesome herb could here be found; She blasted every plant around, And blister'd every flock. Her haggard face was foull to see; Her mouth unmeet a mouth to bee; Her eyne of deadly leer; She nought devis'd but neighbour's ill, And marr'd all goodly chear. All in her prime, have poets sung, E'er blest her longing armes : From Glaston came a lerned wight, And well he did, I ween: Sich mischief never had been known, 309 25 20 15 And, since his mickle lerninge shown, He chauntede out his godlie booke, Then-pater-noster done, The ghastly hag he sprinkled o'er : Full well 'tis known adown the dale: I'm bold to say, there's never a one, But tho' this lernede clerke did well; She left this curse behind: 35 40 45 50 That Wokey-nymphs forsaken quite, Tho' sense and beauty both unite, Should find no leman kind. For lo! even, as the fiend did say, 55 Shall then sich maids unpitied moane? As thus forsaken dwell. Since Glaston now can boast no clerks; Yet stay-nor thus despond, ye fair; I hear the gracious voice: 65 Is founded on a real fact, that happened in the Island of St. Christophers, about 1760. The editor owes the following stanzas to the friendship of Dr. James Grainger,* who was an eminent physician in that island when this tragical incident happened, and died there much honoured and lamented, in 1767. To this ingenious gentleman the public is indebted for the fine Ode on Solitude, printed in the fourth volume of Dodsley's Miscellanies, p. 229, in which are assembled some of the sublimest images in nature. The reader will pardon the insertion of the first stanza here, for the sake of rectifying the two last lines, which were thus given by the author: * Author of a poem on the Culture of the Sugar-Cane, &c. O Solitude, romantic maid, Whether by nodding towers you tread, Tadmor's marble wastes survey, &c. alluding to the account of Palmyra published by some late ingenious travellers, and the manner in which they were struck at the first sight of those magnificent ruins by break of day. THE north-east wind did briskly blow, Young Bryan thought the boat's-crew slow, Pereene, the pride of Indian dames, And whoso his impatience blames, 5 A long long year, one month and day, He dwelt on English land, 10 Nor once in thought or deed would stray, Tho' ladies sought his hand. For Bryan he was tall and strong, Like tendrils of the vine; Soon as his well-known ship she spied, She cast her weeds away, And to the palmy shore she hied, All in her best array. The crew with wonder saw the lad Repell the foaming flood. Her hands a handkerchief display'd, Which he at parting gave; And manlier beat the wave. Her fair companions one and all, 35 330 25 |