Part 3

Garden of Nature! on whose face Contended fragrance, bloom, and grace; Kind nurse of her abundant good To human wants, from herb or wood, Tho’ 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[71] 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 extoll’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 hand his lyre and shield.[72]

Again, to save this fair domain,[73] A Vernon strove, but strove in vain; And many a noble heart was warm[74] The fell devourer’s rage to charm; But mean Self-interest lit the flame, Blind Furies fann’d; and Ruin came.

Yet Limbrook prattles, in her pride,[75] 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 parents’ 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!

Limbrook! protected child and heir, Enjoy thy patrimony fair; And ever, in thy favour’d bound,[76] 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;[77] 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,[78] And scatter, careless, to the wind, Fruits, for their Autumn feast design’d.

Thus, when that monster of the world[79] 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[80] 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,[81] “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.”

Gigantic hollies![82] 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 pry’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,[83] 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 stragling leaf Shook in the breathings of my grief; Watch’d Pity through her 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,[84] 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![85]—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 chase; 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 pause; While mixes with each faint farewell What only struggling sighs can tell.

Yes, Holly-Bush!—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;[86] 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,[87] Nor my contented dwelling now!

But thou remainest, favourite 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[88] 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; 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![89] kingly Oak! Ill 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 broad shade spread; In freedom wav’d thy sacred head, Where age had whiten’d many a stem, And plac’d an antler’d diadem.

Horrid!—I see thee far[90]—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,[91] 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 pendent 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[92] 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!

MY GRAND CLIMACTERIC. 1802.

As one, who journeys over unknown lands, Ere yet the sun withdraws his western ray, Stops on some mountain’s brow, whose site commands The shifting scenes and labyrinths of the way;

With fond reverted look his thoughts retrace, Where flowers their sweets, and wild-birds gave their song, And dwell, long dwell! on many a favourite space, Where prodigal of time he loiter’d long;

Lovers and friends in bright perspective rise, Companions of his morn, on yon blue hill; Down that blank plain he drops a look, and sighs, Whence seem their parting words to reach him still;

Here his pain’d eyes unkindly districts mark, Where faint heats smote him or fierce storms o’ertook; There strain o’er deep’ning woods at noonday dark, Where his false steps their destin’d course forsook;

Pond’ring the change and chances of the day, As warning eve prepares her veil to close, Serious, he now proceeds with short survey, Expecting night’s dark hour, and hoping calm repose:

So I look back on more than sixty years, In life’s sequester’d walks obscurely spent, Where tho’ its trophied head no column rears, Inscrib’d with mighty deed, or proud event,

Yet, on some few small eminencies, glow The heart’s rejoicing-lights of self-applause; Some generous claims surmount the gloom below, And shame and sharp regrets a moment pause;

Yet these prevail—ah! might my wish prevail That Time would turn my near exhausted glass; Then not a grain should of its harvest fail;— Seeds are but sands when unimprov’d they pass.

Vain wish! vain promise! what dost thou presume, O weak Humanity? thyself but dust! Since from the cradle, hourly, to the tomb, Toil, trifle, err and grieve, frail thing! thou must.

But pleasures, passions lose their dangerous force; And the world’s business shrinks as age descends: O spare Adversity! my evening course; My little part is play’d, my small importance ends.

_To F. N. C. MUNDY, Esq._ ON HIS POEM THE FALL OF NEEDWOOD.

Poet of Needwood, much my heart approves This thy ow’d duty to his ravag’d groves, The lost! the lovely! who in better days View’d their each grace reflected in thy lays; And O! when many a future Age has pass’d, Rolling oblivious o’er his nameless Waste, Its sometime beauties shall again revive, And in thy pictur’d strains for EVER live.

Come, pensive listening, ye once jocund Throng, Whilome that rov’d those forest-haunts along; Explor’d, with pleasure brightening in your air, Each coy, green labyrinth and each turfy lair, Still, as in pride of youth, the wanton Spring Expanded to the Sun her showery wing, And cliffs, illustrious in their golden bloom, Rose o’er the glades of light-besprinkled gloom.

Nor absent ye when Summer’s fervid Hours Dropt more luxuriant curtains on the Bowers, And the vast Oak’s writh’d arms of dusky green Shadow’d the dappled Tenants of the Scene, With rival Elm, whose mossy trunk appears Out-numbering far the lonely Eagle’s years.

Nor when the Months consummate, left their vales To Suns less ardent, less benignant gales, And Autumn painted, with his tawny hand, The shrinking foliage, and in colours bland Streak’d the pale red with purple, faint and brief, And tipt with tarnish’d gold each trembling leaf.

Nor e’en when Phœbus’ Steeds, no longer fleet, With mane dishevel’d streaming to their feet, Struggling thro’ clouds, th’ hybernal Solstice gain, Their necks bedropt with globes of freezing rain, And the loud Tyrant of the dying Year Stript OTHER Groves, made OTHER Forests fear; For Needwood to his sway disdain’d to yield; His polish’d umbrage an unfailing shield, Those numerous hollies on his breast and brow, That thrust their scarlet clusters thro’ the snow, Or spread their glossy leaves to transient rays The rebel Glory of the icy days.

Nor if, ere yet arisen, dim Morning heard Your lightheel’d Coursers paw the dewy swerd, When the sly Prowler stole adown the wind, And hop’d he left no tell-tale scent behind. Vain hope! your swift staunch hounds the search began, To right and left their hurrying numbers ran, Till found the taint, in streaming files they hie, And in one shrill, continuous, clamouring cry, To which th’ accordant Forest joyous rings, Hang on his rear, while o’er the vale he springs, Dash through the rhimy glades, and round the hills As when receiving tribute brooks and rills O’er flinty bed a River foams and roars, Loud and impatient of meandering shores; Or, deepen’d, shews the Sun his mirror’d face, Or zones with silver light the mountain’s base.

Now come, with Mundy, where the Ruin lowers! He hymns the dirge of the devasted Bowers. Echo his wailings o’er their fallen state, Whom Centuries hail’d irregularly great. Come, execrate the Edict that destroy’d, Leaving Time-hallow’d Needwood bare and void! There fell Imagination’s rural fane! Thence fled fair-shafted Dian’s votive Train, All which the Bard, entranc’d, in forest sees, Satyrs and Fauns and leaf-crown’d Dryades. They fled when Avarice, with rapacious frown, From Mercia’s temples struck her sylvan crown.

Yet, gentle Minstrel, they whose raptur’d ears Drank thy sweet Song in the departed years; Saw oaken wreaths thy auburn brows entwine, The well-won meed at Needwood’s shadowy shrine, Shall find thy Gratulation’s vivid glow Match’d by thy Requiem in its mournful flow; The orb of Mundy’s Muse-illumin’d day Setting with rival tho’ with milder ray; Pleas’d shall compare the evening with the noon, And feel, in equal power, the Cypress Garland won.

ANNA SEWARD.[93]

IMPROMPTU. TO THE AUTHOR OF THE NEW POEM, ENTITLED THE FALL OF NEEDWOOD.

OCTOBER, 1808.

When Poesy, the Child of Zeal, Who soothes each Pang, that Earth can feel, Beheld, at wounded Nature’s call, That Scene of Horror, Needwood’s Fall! She said, in haste to yield Relief, And calm the Mighty Mother’s Grief: “Nature! dear Parent! Power divine! Whose Joys and Griefs are truly mine! To you my sympathy devotes My chearful, and my plaintive Notes: With Feelings not to be supprest, I view your lacerated Breast; This Waste of Ravages! where stood Your Sylvan Wealth! your graceful Wood! I cannot from the rifled Earth Call into sudden, second Birth The Forest, vanished from your sight, Tho’ once your Pride! and my Delight! But I can raise, in your Distress, A Charm, that scarce will soothe you less; Behold this Proof of my Regard, In Needwood’s fascinating Bard!

He, whom our blended Gifts engage To sing, with youthful Fire, in age, He, Needwood! by whose Breath you live, Gives you, whatever Verse can give; He makes immortal, in his Songs, Your Beauties all, and all your Wrongs: His Verse displays a deathless Charm, That foils the Force of Havoc’s Arm; Age after Age, while Nymphs are found To breathe Delight on English Ground, The grateful Dryads will admire The Magic of their Mundy’s Lyre; And boast the Wood, he lov’d to praise, For ever verdant in his Lays.

W. HAYLEY.

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Footnote 1:

[DOVE, _etc._] The river _Dove_.

Footnote 2:

[_And bids his hollies, etc._] The numerous groves and clumps of hollies give uncommon beauty to the winter-scenes of _Needwood Forest_.

Footnote 3:

[EMES, _etc._] Mr. EMES, who ornamented _Beaudesart_, the seat of Ld. PAGET, which is seen from the Forest, and who has obtained great reputation for his Taste in ornamental Gardening, has frequently assured the Author, that he took his best hints from the scenes of _Needwood_.

Footnote 4:

[_Maim’d the staunch hound, etc._] Alludes to the Order for _Lawing_, or cutting off a claw of all Dogs kept within the purlieus of the royal forests, to prevent their destroying the Deer.

Footnote 5:

[_Here with fair peace, etc._] The Author rents his house, upon the verge of the forest, of Sir WM. BAGOT. It was built and inhabited by two gentlemen of the BAGOT family.

Footnote 6:

[_And_ ARDEN _boasts, etc._] See SHAKESPEAR’S _As you like it_.—Scene Forest of Arden.

Footnote 7:

[_The wandering Wood, etc._] Fairy Queen, Book 1st. chap. 1st. stanza 13th. _This is the wandering Wood, this Errors den._

Footnote 8:

[_And bears away, etc._] B. 1st. c. 2d. The Shield inscribed _Sans Foy_.

Footnote 9:

[_A gaudy bee-bird’s, etc._] The Humming Bird.

Footnote 10:

[_And there in gothic arches, etc._] Dr. Warburton observes the gothic architecture originally imitated the groves, which were in earlier times consecrated to religious worship.

DIVINE LEGATION.

Footnote 11:

[_One like a sexton, etc._] Earth-stopper.

Footnote 12:

[_Where this gay mount, etc._] A beautiful eminence called KING’S-STANDING.

Footnote 13:

[_And_ LICHFIELD’S _bower, etc._] LICHFIELD Bower is supposed to be the tumulus of three Saxon Kings slain in battle near that spot.

Footnote 14:

[_British Nile, etc._] Dr. PLOTT calls the DOVE the Nile of England, and attributes the fertility of its floods to the sheep dung washed from the hills in the Moorlands.

Footnote 15:

[BROWN, _etc._] HAWKINS BROWN Esq; of _Foston upon Dove_.

Footnote 16:

[C’ANDISH, _etc._] _Doveridge_, the seat of C’ANDISH, ESQ;

Footnote 17:

[FITZHERBERT, _etc._] RICHARD FITZHERBERT, ESQ; of _Sommershall_.

Footnote 18:

[_The social flag, etc._] Messrs. ADDERLEY and SCOTT have pitched a tent upon a fine hill above _Coton_, from whence a flag flies when they are at home, as a signal to their friends.

Footnote 19:

[_Outlaw, etc._] A Deer-stealer refusing to surrender was here slain by a Keeper.

Footnote 20:

[_Where life a gentler breast, etc._] This unfortunate young man being sent on an errand by the Author of this Poem, died on his return; was found next morning in the forest within a mile of his home, his dog standing by him. He was a weaver, supported his father and mother; was engaged on the night of his death to meet his sweetheart at a Christmas feast in the neighbourhood.

Footnote 21:

[_Yon cliff, etc._] TUTBURY CASTLE.

Footnote 22:

[FERRERS, _etc._] ROBERT DE FERRERS joining a rebellion against HENRY 3d. forfeited the possession of _Tutbury_.

Footnote 23:

[_Castle-guard, etc._] A service imposed upon those to whom Castles and Estates adjoining were granted.

Footnote 24:

[MARY, _etc._] MARY Queen of _Scots_ was a prisoner in _Tutbury_ Castle at the time of the Duke of NORFOLK’s intrigues: she listened to his proposals of marriage, as the only means of obtaining her liberty, declaring herself otherwise averse to farther matrimonial connections.

Footnote 25:

[_While minstrels, etc._] The minstrels formerly crowded to _Tutbury_ Castle, then a place of festivity and hospitality, in such numbers, as to require regulations of order and precedence amongst them, the person appointed for this purpose was called _King_ of the _Minstrels_.

Footnote 26:

[_In the rude sport, etc._] The annual Bull-running.

Footnote 27:

[_Yon hill, etc._] HOUND-HILL, the ancient seat of the VERNON’S.

Footnote 28:

[_Beside me lies, etc._] The situation of NEEDWOOD is high, and its banks, descending from the plain of the forest to the country below, are in many places a mile deep; they consist of alternate cliffs and dingles, and are entirely covered with trees and rough copses.

Footnote 29:

[_Yes_, EATON-BANKS, _etc._] EATON-WOOD, seen from the Forest, was the property of the late GODFRY BAGNELL CLARKE, ESQUIRE.

Footnote 30:

[HENRY, _etc._] The Hon. HENRY VERNON.

Footnote 31:

[_On breezy wings, etc._] A Deer when hunted runs against the Wind.

Footnote 32:

[_No shrite-cock, etc._] The Shrite-cock or Missel Thrush.

Footnote 33:

[_Destruction’s arm, etc._] By order from the Dutchy Court of LANCASTER, to which the forest of NEEDWOOD belongs, the timber is now felling under the direction of an officer of that Court.

Footnote 34:

[_Huge_ SWILCAR, _etc._] SWILCAR Oak stands singly upon a beautiful small lawn surrounded with extensive woods,—it is of remarkable size, and supposed to be six hundred years old.

Footnote 35:

[_Accursed_ JULIUS, _etc._] CÆSAR cuts down a consecrated grove. LUCAN, lib. 3.

Footnote 36:

[_In freedom’s dearest days, etc._] The charter of HEN. 3. confirms the privilege to Lords of parliament of killing a Deer or two in any of the royal forests in their way to or from parliament, in the presence of the keeper, or on blowing a horn in his absence.—’tis about six hundred years since that king reigned.

Footnote 37:

[_Yet, yet, fond Hope, etc._] Upon the above order from the Dutchy Court, Ld. VERNON proposed an inclosure of some parts of the forest, for the preservation of the young timber, and the beauty of the place.

Footnote 38:

[_Flake of snow, etc._] Flake-white.

Footnote 39:

[_Lakes, etc._] Carnation Colours.

Footnote 40:

[_Where Desolation, etc._] The trees in some parts have been so injudiciously fallen, that the tillage of the ground is extremely difficult, or quite at a stand.

Footnote 41:

[_Long Mercia sat beside enthron’d_;] The magnificent site of the castle at Tutbury, no doubt was occupied by a considerable fort in or before the time of the Saxon heptarchy when it was the residence of the Kings and Earls of Mercia, who might alternately enjoy hence the pleasures of the chase in their adjoining forest of Needwood, or the satisfaction of security against an enemy.—Shaw’s _History of Staffordshire_.

Footnote 42:

[_And prouder crowns its honours own’d._] See Needwood Forest, p. 23, of King’s-Standing.

Footnote 43:

[_Loos’d Uproar &c._] The day of disafforesting presented an extraordinary scene of riot and disturbance, in consequence of the pursuit of the remaining deer by mobs from all parts.

Footnote 44:

[_Repentant claimants &c._] It is believed that the freeholders now very generally regret the Inclosure.

Footnote 45:

[_How far the foremost and the best_,] Though formerly the yeomanry of this kingdom were every where trained to the use of the long-bow, and excelled all other nations in the art of shooting, it may be reasonably presumed that the best archers were to be found in and near the forests.

Footnote 46: