{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_66950/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_66950","id":"gutenberg_66950","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66950","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Fox hunting -- Poetry","Scott, Walter, 1771-1832 -- Parodies, imitations, etc."],"text":"THE GOBLIN GROOM;\n\n A Tale\n\n OF DUNSE.\n\n BY\n\n R. O. FENWICK, ESQ.\n\n\n _Thus, while I ape the measure wild\n Of tales that charmed me yet a child,\n Rude though they be, still with the chime\n Return the thoughts of early time._--SCOTT.\n\n\n EDINBURGH:\n\n PRINTED BY ALEX. LAWRIE & CO.\n\n FOR ALEX. LAWRIE, EDINBURGH;\n AND\n J. RIDGWAY, LONDON.\n\n 1809.\n\n\n\n\n TO THOSE ADMIRERS\n\n OF ENGLISH POETRY\n\n WHO WISH TO SEE IT RESTORED TO ITS\n\n \u201c_OLD STYLE OF PATHOS_,\u201d\n\n THE FOLLOWING POEM\n\n IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED\n\n BY\n\n THE AUTHOR.\n\n\n\n\nADVERTISEMENT.\n\n\n_The Author of the Goblin Groom can, on no consideration, be induced to\nfollow the example of the amiable and justly celebrated Madame de\nGenlis, who, in her Historical Romance of the Chevaliers du Cygne,\nobserves,--\u201cEnfin l\u2019ide\u00e8 de faire mourir l\u2019heroine de l\u2019histoire des les\npremieres pages, et cependant de s\u2019occuper d\u2019elle jusqu\u2019 a la fin, est\npeutetre assez neuve pour meriter quelqu\u2019 indulgence.\u201d Could he, on the\ncontrary, prolong the precious life of his exalted hero, but for a\nsingle day, he should feel more real delight, than the indulgence due to\nthe most afflicting novelty can possibly confer. But though unable to\nguard him from the blow, which the unrelenting hand of time must one day\ninflict, the author can at least promise, if he shall himself survive\nthe catastrophe, to restore him to the respectful consideration of his\nreaders, in a form at once congenial to the spirit of poetry, and\nsuitable to the taste and temper of the times. To some of his readers,\nit may be necessary to remark, which must readily occur to the attention\nof the critic, that his true hero is only to be discovered, by the\nfrequent allusions to his high rank and acknowledged virtues; and having\nthus divested the Goblin of the precedency, which he might otherwise\nappear to have usurped, it now only remains to give his readers a\ngeneral idea of the story. It turns on the several incidents of a\nfox-chace, but is called a Tale of Dunse, because in that favourite_\nRENDEZVOUS _of the lovers of the chace, the Goblin first made his\nappearance. That the minds of his readers may be as perfectly prepared,\nas he could wish, for the manners of the age in which it is laid, he\napprizes them, that the poem opens on the last day of April 1806, and\nconcludes with the death of a fox on Flodden Field twenty-four hours\nthereafter. The country over which he has accompanied his elfin fay and\nmerry pack, he has viewed with the rapid glance of a sportsman, and\ntherefore trusts, that his hasty and imperfect sketch will not be\nregarded with the too scrupulous eye of rigid criticism. With all its\nfaults, but without further apology, he commits it to its fate, and,\nnotwithstanding the protecting influence of wire-wove,--broad\nmargin,--high price,--and hot-press, he is not without feeling some\napprehensions concerning its success._\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n PAGE\n\n_Introduction to Canto First_--TO WALTER MARROWFAT, _Gardener to\nhis Grace the Duke of B-- --h_ 1\n\nCANTO I. THE HOSTEL, OR INN, 13\n\n_Introduction to Canto Second_--TO BENJAMIN BUFFET, _Butler to his\nGrace the Duke of B-- --h_ 37\n\nII. THE FOX CHACE, 47\n\n_Notes to Canto First_ 81\n\n _Canto Second_ 103\n\n\n\n\nERRATA.\n\n\nPage 40, line 1, _for_ mintrel\u2019s _read_ minstrel\u2019s.\nPages 53 and 57, head line, _for_ FOX-CHASE _read_ FOX-CHACE.\nPage 72, line 5, note, _for_ son _read_ sont.\n 83, line 9, _for_ Anceps _read_ Auceps.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOBLIN GROOM.\n\n\nIntroduction to Canto First.\n\n\n\n\nTO WALTER MARROWFAT,\n\n_GARDENER TO HIS GRACE THE D-- OF B-- --H_.\n\n\n _Edinburgh._\n\n Walter, at last, in order due,\n The minstrel tunes his harp to you;\n The very notes of friendship dear,\n Are cordial to a poet\u2019s ear:\n Then why, my Walter, should I care\n From whence you come, or who you are.\n What! tho\u2019 no royal blood should flow\n Thro\u2019 veins of blue and breast of snow:\n Tho\u2019 lowest of the low you be,\n Still you shall hear my minstrelsy:\n Enough to me it is that you\n Are vassal to the bold B-- --h;\n For to my heart they still are dear,\n Who serve that stout, that valiant peer.\n But now, my friend, \u2019tis right to ask,\n How thrives your culinary task?\n Seems it to me the cultured soil,\n Should glow beneath your sun-burnt toil.\n I see thy face with ruddy glow\n Smile on the rising cabbage row;\n And now, methinks, I feel thy glee,\n For I, my friend, can feel like thee,\n E\u2019en at the peeping of a pea;\n Just when the germ has broke the soil,\n The very sight repays thy toil.\n O, Cultivation! Ceres\u2019 child,\n Foe to the hill and desert wild!\n Foe to the mountain and the moor,\n Friend to the hungry and the poor!\n But let me not, with thoughts elate,\n Forget my Walter\u2019s garden gate:\n Of all the gates so wonderous fair\n Here round the princely dwelling,\n My Watty\u2019s gate, beyond compare,\n All these is far excelling![1]\n But I forgot the garden fair,\n And sought the barren mountain bare.\n O\u2019er Tiviot\u2019s hills, I bent my way,\n Forgetful of my minstrel lay;\n Nor thought I much of this or that,\n Till fancy painted Marrowfat.\n She painted Walter as I\u2019ve seen,\n When weeding D-- --h\u2019s walks so green;\n To noble dames, just bent to bow;\n Dejected head, erected hoe,\n Proclaimed respect to ladye fair,\n And shewed her that defence was there.\n \u2019Twas diffidence and manly pride,\n That bows, yet shews the power to chide.\n Above the common height of man,\n My Walter stands at least a span:\n A brow of jet, a fiery eye,\n Like planet in a sable sky,\n Shone from my fancy\u2019s painted chief;\n And then, to give the scene relief,\n A nose projecting curvedly;\n The nose befitting well the eye.\n Vails it not me, alas! to speak\n Of bushy lip, or cherry cheek;\n To say I saw my Walter smile,\n I\u2019d rather pause a little while:\n For bootless is the task to paint,\n When fancy\u2019s self is far too faint,\n To shew the gardener of B-- --h,\n In form exact, and colours true.\n How happy passed my early days,\n With thee in D-- --h\u2019s groves of bays;\n When slinking sly, from bush to bush,\n We sought to catch the nestling thrush;\n Or when supported, friend, by thee,\n I climbed the giant cherry-tree;\n Or ran a race, dear Wat, with you,\n To please the gallant young B-- --h.\n The bower was still, and all was hushed,\n \u2019Twas eve, and modest nature blushed;\n The crimson setting of the sun,\n Waved o\u2019er the night-cloud\u2019s visage dun,\n And all creation, so serene,\n Enjoyed the still, the lovely scene.\n The thrush, upon the hazel bough,\n Pour\u2019d calmly forth her evening vow,\n And every bird, from tree to tree,\n Joined in the heavenly melody;\n What heart so fraught with woe or care,\n But might have tasted pleasure there.\n Such, Watty, was the night when we\n Pursued the humming bumble bee;[2]\n When you averred the beast[3] could sting,\n And I responded, no such thing!\n \u201cThe question fierce, the stern reply,\u201d\n Was heard to sound \u2019twixt U and I.[4]\n Anon: my Watty dared to fight\n The fancied foeman Wallace wight;\n And I, if pleasing mem\u2019ry hold.\n Dared to the combat, Bruce the bold.\n Perhaps, my friend, you\u2019ll wish to know\n Th\u2019 event of each successive blow;\n How Bruce, transported, swore he\u2019d die,\n But never, never yield or fly;\n How Wallace to the combat flew,\n With fancied pride, but courage true.\n Alas! my friend, your hopes are vain,\n For friendship still forbids the strain:\n The tale, alas! would only tend\n To make a foeman of a friend.\n And whilst I live, and whilst I breathe,\n I swear it is so much beneath\n The soul of man, to harbour hate\n Against the good, against the great,\n That I will ne\u2019er to man disclose\n The purport of these bloody blows.\n Enough! enough! it is to me\n To hate the name of bumble bee.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOBLIN GROOM.\n\nCANTO FIRST.\n\nThe Hostel, or Inn.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOBLIN GROOM.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO FIRST.\n\nThe Hostel, or Inn.\n\n\nI.\n\n Joy reign\u2019d in Dunse\u2019s[5] distant seat,\n Thro\u2019 tavern, market place, and street,\n The scene of many a valiant feat\n In days of distant yore.\n But now those distant days are fled,\n Peace rears again her placid head,\n And gory feud I hope is staid\n To plague the land no more.\n Where garden is, was place of tilt\n Or tournament, where blood was spilt;\n Where stain\u2019d was many a foeman\u2019s hilt\n With blood of knight laid low;\n Now peeps the pea, from glowing bed,\n Forgetful of December dread;\n The broader bean, her leaf has spread\n Th\u2019 unhallow\u2019d spot to show.\n\n\n II.\n\n Now why are Dunse\u2019s people glad,\n Who once were wont to be so sad;\n How was the feudal hatred staid\n That waste their lovely fields had laid;\n Why rolls the Whittadder[6] so white,\n The scene of many a bloody fight;\n And how has peace reception found\n On such unhallowed bloody ground?\n I may not tell the change of time;\n It ill becomes my minstrel rhyme:\n \u2019Twere impious surely to relate\n The fancied works of fancied fate.\n Enough, the bloody feud is staid;\n Enough, the sword aside is laid;\n And Whittadder long may\u2019st thou flow\n With spotless wave and crystal tide;\n And may\u2019st thou never, never know,\n Again the strife of border side.\n\n\nIII.\n\n The sun o\u2019er Dunse\u2019s hills of grey,\n Had nearly shed his parting light,\n Save to the west, one lingering ray,\n Seemed to forbid th\u2019 approach of night;\n And Lammermoor, with transient smile,\n Now lighted up her visage bleak,\n And every distant hill, the while,\n Shone with a vivid, passing streak;\n And Tweed\u2019s broad river, from afar,\n Blazed like a beacon flame of war:\n Sure \u2019twould have pleased your heart to see\n So much of grandeur, so much glee.\n \u2019Twas so to Dunse, when keen of sport\n The Lothian sportsmen bent their way;\n Her hostel then became a court;\n If courts are jovial, courts are gay.\n But why need I pretend to tell,\n What to each chief or squire befel\n In journeying that way.\n\n\nIV.\n\n Thronged was the hostel\u2019s chambered space,\n With peer, with baron, knight, and squire,\n And many a waiting man in lace\n Stood ready round the kitchen fire,\n Attentive to the jirking wire;\n For each attendant knew full well\n The jirking of his master\u2019s bell.\n I\u2019ll say the sportsmen all are dressed,\n Have doffed their morning\u2019s spattered vest,\n And after salutation meet,\n And question after lady fair,\n Each at the board has ta\u2019en his seat;\n For ev\u2019ry sportsman had his chair.\n\n\nV.\n\n Perchance, my friend, you\u2019d have me name\n Each, after each, in his degree;\n Or even say from whence they came;\n Alas! that must not, may not be.\n In truth, I only know a few\n Of all the gallant, noble crew:\n But he, the chieftain of them all,\n Is absent from the festival,\n The heir of bold B-- --h.\n\n\nVI.\n\n Why stands that chair\n So empty there,\n Whilst anxious eyes are cast around;\n And looks that show\n They do not know\n Where one so worthy may be found?\n The chair, they vow, shall empty stand,\n To shew their loyalty and truth;\n For each and all, this huntsman-band,\n Admired and loved the gallant youth;\n And said they, with a passing tear,\n \u201cHow much we miss his presence here.\u201d\n\n\nVII.\n\n Four-and-twenty huntsmen keen\n Round the table sat, I ween;\n Four-and-twenty footmen neat,\n Plied the beer, and served the meat:\n Landlady, and daughter fair\n Paid their due obedience there.\n Well I ween, each gallant youth,\n Cast an eye upon the maid;\n Each thought his look, in real truth,\n By the maiden\u2019s well repaid:\n One alone, of all the crew,\n More than all the others knew;\n What he knew, I may not tell,\n But the maiden knew full well.\n\n\nVIII.\n\n Fish, from Dunbar\u2019s rocky shore,\n Stood the president before,\n If my mem\u2019ry do not fail,\n Sent by noble L-- --le.\n In the centre, soup was seen\n Smoking, from a vase of snow.\n Beef, at bottom, fat and lean,--\n Beef of Indian Buffalo.\n This was sent by T-- --le\u2019s peer\n To augment the sportsman\u2019s cheer;\n T-- --le, sprung from mighty H--y,\n Foremost in the border day.\n Tarts and pastry sent, I ween,\n By the lady De G-- --ne.\n\n\nIX.\n\n \u2019Tis not for me to say what more\n The hostess\u2019 care supplied;\n But welcome free, and open door,\n And pease, from D-- --h\u2019s garden store,\n Were seen on every side:\n So one and all, at once agreed,\n That bold B-- --h had earlier seed\n Than any northward of the Tweed.\n\n\nX.\n\n The dinner\u2019s o\u2019er, the circling glass\n Now full, now emptier, passes round,\n As strikes the ear, the pleasing sound\n Of jovial song, or toasted lass:\n But short, alas! this tabled glee;\n For who the coming woe might see!\n\n * * * * *\n\n --Said I, D-- --h\u2019s much honoured chair\n Might not be filled by any there;\n And, said I, it was right that he,\n Though absent from the company,\n With honour due should treated be;\n D-- --h, so honoured for his worth,\n For rank, for titles, and for birth,\n Had not an equal here on earth,\n To fill his vacant chair:\n So one and all, with one consent,\n Their voice have given, and vote have lent,\n To let the seat be bare:\n\n (Friend Walter, I am certain quite,\n You\u2019ll say both voice and vote went right).\n\n\nXI.\n\n But why that hollow note of woe,\n That stops of wine the genial flow;\n Why shrinks the late convivial throng,\n And why has silence banished song;\n And why is horror\u2019s aching stare\n Sent wildly to the empty chair:\n Oh! why is every eyebrow knit,\n When turned to where D-- --h should sit.--\n\n * * * * *\n\n The chair is filled! a stranger sat\n Upon the honoured seat;\n Nor deigned he to doff his hat,\n Though more than one had hinted that\n Respect was always meet.\n But he was heedless of them all,\n And thrice he gazed round the hall,\n But ne\u2019er a word did he let fall:\n Whilst thus he sat, whilst thus he gazed,\n The goodly throng were all amazed;--\n\n\nXII.\n\n And marvelled they, how this could be,\n And how he entered none might say;\n And some averred a sprite was he,\n And others swore he was a fay:\n And all agreed \u2019twas passing strange,\n And marvellous withall,\n That either sprite or fay should range\n Into a festal hall:\n Nor could the wisest present name\n From whence he sprung, or how he came.\n\n\nXIII.\n\n He was of little form, and tight;\n His weight, if man, had been full light:\n In short, he was a sportsman-sprite.\n A pea-green jerkin on his back\n All dabbled by a splashing hack;\n His dirty boots, his leathers long\n With crimson whip-cord tied;\n His straight necked spurs, and heavy thong,\n Proclaimed him formed to ride:\n And he had ridden far that day,\n For he was daubed, and splashed with clay.\n\n\nXIV.\n\n The circling glass again goes round,\n As fear in wine and use is drowned:\n The goblin sprite enjoys each joke,\n Though never once the while he spoke,\n But lent a civil listening ear,\n Resolved minutely all to hear;\n And every toast with ready will\n His elfin hand consents to fill.\n Heavens! what a wondrous draught he drew\n When e\u2019er they toasted bold B-- --h.\n\n\nXV.\n\n Oh! \u2019twould have done you good to see\n How keen, how long, how heartily\n He pushed the liquor round:\n He never left or spilt a drop;\n He never let the bottle stop,\n Nor uttered a sound.\n And, strange to tell, the jovial fay,\n Though fond of wine, had nought to say.\n A man of words might never learn\n To be so wondrous taciturn.\n And now the song, with jovial strain,\n Awakened midnight\u2019s dull repose;\n Though many pleaded colds in vain,\n Ayes had the \u2019vantage still of noes:\n And thus may rulers ever be\n Supported by majority.[7]\n\n\nXVI.\n\n Dear unto me, my native land,\n Is every field of thy wide realm;\n And dearer still the guardian hand\n That holds the way-directing helm;\n And now I love thee ten times more,\n When threatened is thy rocky shore:\n When waves on every side assail,\n And adverse winds and tides prevail.\n But why should I with sorrow\u2019s flow\n Bewail my much loved country\u2019s woe,\n And all her coming danger tell;\n Enough to me it is to know\n I love my native country well.\n\n\nXVII.\n\n The song went round, the Goblin Groom\n Still plied the wine in festal room;\n And bumper after bumper flew;\n It was I ween a jovial crew.--\n What chance had mortal man at drink\n With one of charmed degree;\n I cannot say, but needs must think\n That chance but small could be.\n And so it proved, and so they found,\n E\u2019er thirty bumper toasts went round.\n\n\nXVIII.\n\n Why need I tell, why need I show\n Humanity debased, laid low;\n How some beneath the table lay;\n How others strove to get away,\n And, tumbling headlong on the floor,\n Ne\u2019er reached the fated festal door;\n Whilst stammering, incoherently,\n Towards the goblin turned an eye;\n Still saw him quaff the liquor down;\n Still saw him smile, still saw him frown,\n As fancied joke, or fancied toast,\n Or fancied anger, ruled him most:\n And thus he toasting bumpered on,\n As long as he was looked upon.\n\n\nXIX.\n\n And many say they heard the splash,\n And jingle of the elfin glass,\n Long after all the rest were dead,\n And carried lifeless into bed:\n But none may tell, for none can say,\n Where the unhallowed goblin lay:\n But he had beat the sportsmen all,\n At drinking in the festal hall;\n And soon I\u2019ll show, if luck betide,\n How this elf goblin dared to ride.[8]\n But now I\u2019ve left them all at rest:\n Where is the greatest, and the best?\n He, amid D-- --h\u2019s lovely groves,\n With virtuous footsteps strays the while,\n And woos the graces, and the loves,\n With many a courtly winning smile.\n\n\nXX.\n\n Long mayst thou flourish, gallant peer,\n For Caledonia owns thee dear,\n And bids her fav\u2019rite minstrel tell,\n How that she loves her hero well;\n Though polished mail no more shall grace,\n Oh! S--tt, thy ancient chieftain race:\n No more the splintered spear shall sound\n On N-- --k\u2019s green or D-- --h\u2019s ground:\n These days are past, and with them, too,\n The deeds their chiefs were wont to do:\n The towering plume, and nodding crest,\n Have with their wearers gone to rest;\n And ease and peace may now be seen\n In every hamlet, wood, or green.\n But nowhere are they seen so true\n As round the mansion of B-- --h;\n Where patriarchal peace is found,\n And care in rosy liquor drowned;\n Where all of this illustrious line\n Together sup, together dine.\n And now I\u2019ll cease my minstrel lay,\n For time it is I should give up,\n But once again, D-- --h, I\u2019ll say,\n Long may you dine, long may you sup.\n\n\nEND OF CANTO FIRST.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOBLIN GROOM.\n\n\nIntroduction to Canto Second.\n\n\n\n\nTO BENJAMIN BUFFET,\n\n_BUTLER TO HIS GRACE THE D--OF B-- --H._\n\n\n _Edinburgh._\n\n The cracking cork has pleased my ear,\n Has silenced grief, has banished fear;\n Has made dark winter\u2019s dreary night\n Seem to my senses noonday bright.\n December\u2019s cold was then forgot;\n The wine was good, the fire was hot:\n Thus many a heedless evening flew,\n In table-talk, dear Ben, with you.\n Though mentioned last in mintrel\u2019s lay,\n First in my heart you hold the sway:\n For love and interest must combine;\n And you are love, and interest wine:\n And what must make you still more dear,\n They say you have your master\u2019s ear;\n And if this rumour, Ben, be true,\n Speak well of me to bold B-- --h.\n Pleasing to me is every scene,\n Where, with my dearest friends, I\u2019ve been.\n I love the green, I love the grove,\n The cavern vast, the neat alcove,\n The mountain high, the valley low,\n The scenes of friendship all may show.\n These scenes I\u2019ve loved, and still adore,\n But, Oh! I love the pantry more.\n There have I sat, there have I sung,\n Have twirled a cork, or rolled a bung;\n As infant fancy played her part,\n That was a coach, this was a cart.\n Those were the days of childish youth,\n That promised parts, that promised truth;\n For fancy shewed herself in play,\n E\u2019en in my earliest infant day:\n When older grown, the pantry still\n Was dear to me, against my will.\n What there was done, I may not tell;\n It might not please your master well;\n So please me joy, or pierce me woe,\n The bold B-- --h shall never know.\n Enough, the claret is not there;\n But you and I both had a share.\n And joy, you know, by danger bought,\n Is always sweeter, dearer thought:\n Regrets for past mistakes are vain,\n And pleasure often follows pain.\n Pleasure is but an empty sound,\n And surely never yet was found:\n It reigns but in the poet\u2019s brain;\n Reality is always pain:\n And reasoning thus, it is my plan,\n To be as merry as I can:\n And though they say the claret went,\n I don\u2019t repine, I won\u2019t repent.\n It scarcely seems a summer\u2019s day,\n Though years and years have past away,\n Since in the pantry\u2019s snug retreat,\n I, at the fire, first took my seat.\n Oh! how I loved those moments dear;\n Oh! how your lessons pleased my ear.\n How oft you spoke of N-- --k\u2019s tower,\n Forgetful of the midnight hour;\n Of noble dames, of valiant knights,\n Of bloody fields, and listed fights;\n Of ancient manners, past and fled;\n How S--tts, victorious, fought and bled;\n In every combat, strife, or fight,\n S--tt was victorious, S--tt was right.\n And said I to myself, that they\n Shall one time hear my minstrel lay:\n That all my powers should then combine,\n To praise B-- --h\u2019s illustrious line.\n Yet whilst I sing the noble race,\n My humbler friend shall have a place.\n What though the oak be grand to see?\n The humbler shrub is dear to me.\n The sturdy oak unused to bend,\n Too stately looks to be my friend.\n So I\u2019m content, and amply paid,\n To crouch beneath the expansive shade.\n There, wondring at the form sublime,\n To friendship\u2019s heights, I dare not climb;\n And so I tune my humbler lays,\n To notes of wonder, notes of praise.\n And thus the minstrel\u2019s efforts tend,\n To claim a patron, not a friend.\n In you, dear Ben, the shrub I see,\n That lowly bows his head like me:\n And thus I choose thee for my friend;\n For both alike are doomed to bend:\n And whilst we bend, and whilst we bow,\n The adverse winds may rage and blow.\n We need not fear misfortune\u2019s stroke,\n While couched beneath the stately oak:\n And may that oak long live and last,\n That guards us from misfortune\u2019s blast.\n Dear Ben, the oak shall have his due,\n If bows, and flattering praise will do.\n And those, you know, who bow and bend,\n Ne\u2019er want a patron, or a friend.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOBLIN GROOM.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO SECOND.\n\nThe Fox-Chace.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOBLIN GROOM.\n\nCANTO SECOND.\n\nThe Fox-Chace.\n\n\nI.\n\n Now crows the cock in Dunse\u2019s streets;\n The twittering sparrow morning greets;\n The braying ass his trumpet blew,\n For well the morning air he knew;\n And hies the hostler to his care,\n With bosom light as morning air.\n The ruddy streaks of infant day\n On Lammer\u2019s hills and Chiviot\u2019s play;\n And freshly blows the morning breeze,\n From Firth of Forth to German seas.\n\n\nII.\n\n The kennelled pack, with conscious ear,\n Well know the huntsman to be near;\n Their deep-toned notes, in concert rise,\n As to the door each staunch hound flies;\n And merry were the huntsman\u2019s cries:\n Full well he knew to cheer each hound,\n Or quell his riot, by the sound\n Of angry word, or cracking thong.\n But now the pack as round they crowd,\n In notes melodious, and loud,\n Pour forth their morning song.\n And, on my soul, the sound was dear,\n And transport to the huntsman\u2019s ear.\n Out dashed the pack, a stauncher crew\n Ne\u2019er snuffed the pearly morning-dew:\n And soon the huntsman\u2019s sounding thong\n Has checked the ardour of the throng:\n In meet procession, quiet, slow,\n Behind their master\u2019s horse they go:\n His two assistants after ride,\n To bring them all to cover side.\n\n\nIII.\n\n Meanwhile the hostled sportsmen rise,\n With bosoms light, but heavy eyes;\n For last night\u2019s liquor still remained,\n And some would liked to\u2019ve lain in bed,\n To ease a fevered, aching head;\n But manly pride such ease disdained.\n So all have risen, and all have dressed,\n In jockey cap, and scarlet vest;\n And now they\u2019re met, and seated all\n At breakfast, in the festal hall:\n And question after question passed,\n Who saw the goblin jockey last?\n Disputes arise, but all agree\n That mortal man he could not be;\n And cried they, with a jovial air,\n Faith, but he drank his liquor fair!\n The hostess enters in to say,\n The Goblin Groom had gone away,\n And who his share of drink should pay.\n And all agree \u2019twas passing fair,\n As he had filled great D-- --h\u2019s chair,\n That his account for jovial cheer,\n Should be discharged by D-- --h\u2019s peer.\n\n\nIV.\n\n The hacks are pacing now before\n The Hostel\u2019s arch projecting door;\n Full twelve miles off the cover lay;\n The hunters went at peep of day:\n And some, I\u2019m told, went over night,\n To be in better hunting plight.\n Each sportsman mounts his cover steed,\n And through the town with fiery speed,\n Spurs on his ready hack:\n One thinks a canter gives him grace,\n Another thinks a trot the pace,\n And knowingly looks back;\n And pleased he looks, in sooth to find\n His cantering comrade left behind.\n Now one, now t\u2019other takes the lead,\n As jockey whim directs the speed.\n\n\nV.\n\n At Ladykirk the cover lay,\n Where, steep and high, a birken brae\n Hangs o\u2019er the river Tweed:\n Hence many a fox the hounds have driven,\n Whose dirtied brush has oft been given,\n The foremost horseman\u2019s meed.\n This bank, in former days, has been\n Sad witness of a different scene;\n When Norham\u2019s border castle rang\n With England\u2019s war foreboding clang;\n When threatened feud was heard to sound\n Defiance to the Scottish ground;\n When cannon roared from Norham\u2019s wall,\n The English border clans to call:\n Then flew the fox this brae of birk,\n And far from Scottish Ladykirk;\n And sought he, much against his will,\n The safe retreat of Chiviot hill.\n\n\nVI.\n\n Hither the hounds have bent their way,\n And hither come the sportsmen gay:\n Sure such a sight was never seen,\n At tournament, or listed green.\n The neighing steeds were seen to prance,\n As through the copse-wood green they came:\n The sounding whip displaced the lance,\n And sport has banished feudal flame.\n In every face a smile of joy,\n From titled peer, to huntsman-boy;\n In every eye a flash of fire;\n A flash of hope, but not of ire:\n In every heart joy\u2019s transport bounds,\n As into cover dash the hounds:\n And in they dash with such a clang,\n That Norham\u2019s empty castle rang:\n And every bush in tremor shook,\n And every sapling waved on high;\n Each horseman gazed with eager look,\n Or listened for the joyous cry:\n And sideways on their steeds they sat,\n With side-placed cap, or side-placed hat.\n\n\nVII.\n\n But when they hear the well known hound\n Proclaim the rascal to be found,\n High beats each gallant sportsman\u2019s heart\n To take the lead, or have the start.\n And now the banks of Ladykirk\n Ring with the pack\u2019s melodious cry;\n And waves its head, each verdant birk,\n To merry notes of extacy.\n O! how the hounds together dash,\n And make the greenwood cover crash.\n Poor Reynard! all your hopes are vain;\n In vain you strive to tarry here;\n Go seek the fields, or plains so drear;\n At Ladykirk you can\u2019t remain;\n To Tweed\u2019s green banks now bid adieu,\n They ne\u2019er again shall greet your view;\n No more her murm\u2019ring streams shall cheer,\n With soothing notes, your listening ear.\n\n\nVIII.\n\n Now peeping from the copse so green,\n The Fox\u2019s cunning head is seen,\n His ready ears turned back:\n His open mouth his terror shows;\n For time put off, full well he knows,\n Will bring the eager pack.\n So down towards the Tweed he steels,\n With outstretched brush, and nimble heels;\n When, hark! a horseman from below\n Has given the welcome Tallyho!\n Amazement filled the listening crew;\n The note was strange, the voice was new:\n Wondered they much who it could be\n That shouted with such melody;\n For such a voice, or such a sound,\n Ne\u2019er till this moment cheered a hound.\n\n\nIX.\n\n And round they gazing looked, when, lo!\n The Goblin Groom is seen below,\n Dressed as he was last night;\n Save that a cap, place hat, he wore,\n And neater looked he than before,\n His leathers were more tight.\n He strode a poney, lank and lean,\n That looked as if astray \u2019t had been:\n Dun was its hue, with flowing mane;\n The tail was black, and like a train\n Swept far behind the scented plain,\n Save, when at speed, he whisking spread\n It round the Goblin\u2019s fated head;\n Or to the spur, the sure reply\n Was lashed across the Goblin\u2019s thigh:\n On every side, above, below,\n The whisking tail was seen to flow.\n\n\nX.\n\n Said I the Fox towards the Tweed\n Had urged with fear his utmost speed;\n And that the hounds approaching nigh\n Had bid the cowering ruffian fly;\n And that the Goblin Groom had seen\n Him leave his haunts of copse-wood green;\n Had seen him leave the bank so steep,\n And stem the tide so broad and deep;\n And that he ready staid below\n To give the welcome Tallyho!\n\n\nXI.\n\n No sooner had the shout been given,\n Than to the hilt the spurs were driven:\n The lank-lean poney knew full well\n The signal for the chace;\n And only those who\u2019ve seen may tell\n The issue of the race.\n But Norham\u2019s castle saw the start,\n And knows the Goblin did his part;\n At least she knows, if it may be\n That Castles are allowed to see,\n That first the Goblin saw the find,\n And left the boldest far behind.\n\n\nXII.\n\n Into the river, broad and deep,\n Beneath old Norham\u2019s ruined keep,\n Where the descent appears most steep,\n The gallant pack have dashed:\n In likewise dashed the Elf and horse,\n Quite heedless of the torrent\u2019s force;\n And as they stemmed the river\u2019s course\n His tail the poney lashed.\n The Goblin Groom now screamed a scream;\n For Goblins hate a running stream;\n And, if the truth my records say,\n The Elfin Poney neighed a neigh.\n\n\nXIII.\n\n O! \u2019twas a gallant sight, and brave,\n To see them stem the chrystal wave:\n But now the tide and stream have bore\n The Groom and pack to England\u2019s shore:\n The other sportsmen, round about,\n With hurried speed, have ta\u2019en their route;\n For well they knew th\u2019 attempt were vain\n Here the English side of Tweed to gain;\n And so they\u2019ve gone a mile below,\n Where gurgling Tweed runs on more slow;\n And much they marvel, all the way,\n How crossed that gallant daring fay.\n\n\nXIV.\n\n Meanwhile the hounds round Norham\u2019s base\n Have ta\u2019en their way with eager pace;\n Have hurried on with ready will\n To where the Tweed receives the Till:\n Through Tillmouth\u2019s wooded banks they fly,\n Whilst Echo answers to the cry;[9]\n And then they seek the higher lands,\n Where Twizel\u2019s lordly castle stands:\n High on her wood surrounded mead,\n She views at once both Till and Tweed:\n Two fairer streams ne\u2019er met, I ween,\n In such a grand and lovely scene;\n Where braes and banks, and woods combine,\n And swiftly gliding waters shine;\n Where distant hills and mountains rise,\n And fade beneath th\u2019 expansive skies.\n\n\nXV.\n\n The Goblin Groom has led the van\n O\u2019er hill and dale, through grove and glen;\n And as the breast-high scent they ran,\n Nor yawning ditch nor boggy fen,\n Nor thickset-hedge, nor strong built wall,\n Could stop his bold career;\n His Elfin Steed disdained to fall,\n And dashed impetuous at them all,\n Determined each to clear.\n And thus he hilter skilter flew,\n And distanced all the huntsmen-crew;\n Whilst much they wondered such a steed\n So well could leap and take the lead.\n\n\nXVI.\n\n From lordly Twizel\u2019s wide domain,\n An opener country now they gain;\n No longer dells obstruct the sight:\n The fields were large, the soil was light;\n The eager hounds increase their pace;\n The gallop now becomes a race:\n But vain it were for horse to try\n To race with one that seemed to fly:\n And oft the Goblin looked in rear\n As if he sought great D-- --h\u2019s Peer:\n For be it known, and it is true,\n The Goblin honoured bold B-- --h;\n And had he come t\u2019enjoy the chace,\n The Goblin sure had slacked his pace;\n For, Goblin as he was, he knew\n Respect to rank is always due.\n\n\nXVII.\n\n Past Duddo\u2019s black and ruined tower\n The hard pressed Fox has bent his way;\n Past Etal\u2019s town and Etal\u2019s bower,\n Which in the neighb\u2019ring valley lay:\n Climbed they the hills so steep and fair,\n Which over Ford\u2019s proud castle stare;\n And pleased was every eye, I ween,\n Whilst glanced along the princely scene.\n The castle first attracts the eye,\n In all her ancient majesty:\n Meandering Till\u2019s impetuous flow,\n Runs wildly in the vale below;\n And mountains bleak, and hills of green,\n Diversify the giant scene.\n Such is the wide domain and hall\n Of John the Peer of Delaval.\n\n\nXVIII.\n\n And now the country bleaker grew,\n As to the upland grounds they drew;\n A barren waste, so bleak and drear,\n Is seen on every side:\n No objects to the sight appear\n The eye to glad, or heart to cheer,\n In all the desert wide.\n The ocean blue, with clustered isles,[10]\n The only feature here that smiles;\n Here glouring[11] o\u2019er the German flood,\n Bare Barmoor\u2019s baby castle stood,\n With pallid face of new built woe,\n Sad contrast to the moor below.\n The owner saw the hounds run by,\n And, from a tower, joined in the cry;\n Wondered he much who it could be\n That led the joyous revelry:\n To right, or left, the leading hound,\n The Goblin Groom was always found.\n \u201cOh!\u201d cried the squire of Barmoor bare,\n \u201cOh! like yon Elf, that I were there!\u201d\n Amazement seized his soul to find\n The others were a mile behind.\n\n\nXIX.\n\n From Barmoor\u2019s bare and shrubless hill,\n The hounds have doubled back to Till,\n And seem to make for Chiviot hill.\n Ah! hapless Fox, and dost thou know,\n That fated Flodden lies below;\n And does not dark foreboding fear\n Warn thee that fated Flodden\u2019s near;\n And art thou doomed so soon to yield\n Thy life on Flodden\u2019s fated field.\n\n\nXX.\n\n And now old Milfield\u2019s town they gain,\n And reach dark Flodden\u2019s dreary plain,\n Where, in full cry, and all abreast,\n The hounds the wily villain pressed:\n The Goblin Groom still keeps his place,\n And glories in the varying chace;\n No demi volte, nor demi air;\n No high curvett, nor terre-a-terre;\n No hand to guide the gay croupade,\n Nor heel to aid the balotade;\n No capriole his skill to shew;\n He these disdained, with pas et saut.[12]\n Stiff on his stirrups, standing now,\n He scorns to touch the saddle bow;\n His elbows squared, and head awry,\n As if he rode a race;\n But none might know, for none might spy,\n The Goblin\u2019s spell-bound face:\n For were he sprite, or were he fay,\n He only shewed his back that day.\n\n\nXXI.\n\n And now the Fox is losing ground;\n Now strains his speed each eager hound;\n Now at his brush the foremost prest;\n Now at his side, now at his breast;\n And now despair o\u2019ercoming fright,\n The crafty Fox turns round to fight;\n But soon by numbers overthrown,\n He yields his life without a groan.\n Thus fell the Fox, and, hate aside,\n We\u2019ll say, at least, he nobly died.\n\n\nXXII.\n\n Down from his Poney jumped the Elf,\n When, lo! the Poney disappeared;\n And now the Goblin Groom himself\n Has ta\u2019en the brush, the hounds has cheered;\n Has bowed his head to Chiviot gray,\n And vanished from the light of day:\n And when the distanced horsemen neared\n The bloody scene on Flodden\u2019s plain,\n No vestige of the Elf appeared;\n The Poney too, was sought in vain.\n Loud howled each hound; I will presume\n They howled at loss of Goblin Groom;\n And well they might, for such a fay\n Ne\u2019er rode before on hunting day;\n And hounds, like ladies fair, I\u2019m told,\n Dote on the daring and the bold;\n And than the Goblin, we\u2019ll agree,\n A bolder there could never be.\n\n\nXXIII.\n\n On Flodden\u2019s field there stands a bush,\n A willow bush where sedges grow,\n The fav\u2019rite haunt of Friar Rush:[13]\n This bush the neighb\u2019ring shepherds know:\n \u2019Twas here the hounds had killed their prey,\n And vanished here the Goblin fay;\n And, even to this very day,\n The passing shepherd calls the bush,\n The Winning-Post of Friar Rush;\n And, therefore, I may well presume,\n That Friar Rush was Goblin Groom.\n\n\nXXIV.\n\n I do not rhyme to that dull clown\n That has no fancy of his own;\n Who thinks on Flodden\u2019s dreary plain\n The wearied hunters still remain,\n Because not mentioned in my strain;\n Who cannot figure in his mind,\n That they returned to Dunse and dined;\n That flowing bumpers then went round\n To every horse, to every hound;\n That e\u2019en midst jokes, and converse hot.\n The Goblin Groom was not forgot;\n And that they sat \u2019twixt hope and fear,\n To see his Elfin form appear;\n And that they drank, with honours due,\n In three times three, the bold B-- --h;\n And midst the wassel-wine and cheer,\n They thought on D-- --h\u2019s noble Peer;\n And crowned in bowls of rosy wine,\n The whole of that illustrious line.\n\n\nL\u2019Envoy,\n\nTO THE READER.\n\n Now let the Minstrel bid adieu,\n With votive lays, my friends to you:\n To you, my friends, he\u2019ll now impart\n The wishes of a Minstrel\u2019s heart;\n If my poor rede be dull and flat,\n Pray blame my head alone for that;\n But when I act a friendly part\n You must not, cannot, blame my heart.\n To every Peer, if Peer there be,\n To read my idle minstrelsy,\n Unspotted fame, and courage true,\n And boundless wealth, like bold B-- --h:\n To every Bard that serves his Grace,\n A goodly pension or a place;\n To every Gardener may there be\n A Bard to sing his praise, like me;\n And may the bard be favoured too,\n With Gardener-friend, dear Wat, like you:\n Strong head, strong liquor, and good cheer,\n To every Butler, far and near,\n That serves a worthy, gallant, Peer:\n Long life to all; my friends adieu,\n And pray with me for bold B-- --h.\n\n\nTHE END OF THE GOBLIN GROOM.\n\n\n\n\nNOTES.\n\n\n\n\nNOTES TO CANTO FIRST.\n\n\nNOTE I, P. 16.\n\n Where garden is, was place of tilt\n Or tournament, where blood was spilt;\n Where stain\u2019d was many a foeman\u2019s hilt\n With blood of knight laid low.\n\nThe martial exercise of Tilting is said to have been introduced some\ntime between the years 920 and 937, by Henry I of Germany, styled\nAnceps, or Falconer, but better known by the appellation of the Fowler:\nhis motto was, \u201cTardus ad vindictam, ad beneficentiam velox.\u201d[14] He is\nlikewise said to have purchased the lance which pierced our Saviour\u2019s\nside, and, with it, some of the nails of the holy cross; giving in\nexchange a great portion of Suabia, and other valuable gifts.\n\n\nNOTE II, P. 23.\n\n In the centre, soup was seen\n Smoking, from a vase of snow.\n\nThat learned philosopher and prince of culinary perfection, Count\nRumford, has taught the world the mode of preparing ice-cream in a hot\noven, and of sending it freezing to table in a light crust of smoking\npastry. The epicurean reader will be much disappointed if he expects to\nfind that the above lines allude to some recent improvement in the\nscience of chemistry, establishing the converse of this discovery; and\nthat the soup at Dunse was actually served steaming to the company in an\nexcavated snow-ball. It is hoped, that \u201ca vase of snow\u201d will be allowed\nas an appropriate figure for a clean white crockery tureen.\n\n\n\n\nNOTE III, P. 26, 27.\n\n The chair is filled! a stranger sat\n Upon the honoured seat;\n Nor deigned he to doff his hat,\n Though more than one had hinted that\n Respect was always meet.\n But he was heedless of them all,\n And thrice he gazed round the hall,\n But ne\u2019er a word did he let fall:\n Whilst thus he sat, whilst thus he gazed,\n The goodly throng were all amazed.--\n\nThe subject of superstition, as connected with the history of man,\nwhether it be considered as influencing his character, or as affecting\nhis conduct in society, seems sufficiently important to occupy the\nserious attention of the most learned investigator. It has been treated,\nhowever, with so much ability by an elegant author of our own\ntimes,[15] that, if not altogether exhausted, little more seems left to\nthe ingenuity of any succeeding writer, than to avail himself, as his\noccasions may require, of the store of information thus amply afforded\nhim. No maxim being more certainly founded on truth, than that early\nimpressions are generally the most lasting. Would it not be highly\nmeritorious in any one equal to the task, to favour the public with new\neditions of these invaluable productions, Satan\u2019s Invisible World, and\nGlanvil\u2019s History of Witchcraft, rendered, on the modern and improved\nplan of juvenile education, into easy ditties, to be sung or said by\nnurse or child? Might we not then expect to see the pure principles of\npoetic taste reared on the solid basis of useful knowledge?\n\nThe following marvellous occurrence, recorded in the letter of a noble\npeer, and said to be founded in fact, may appear to the reader of\nprosaic fancy, as extremely dull and uninteresting; but as it has been\nthe ground-work of the present poem, the author cannot think of\nrefusing it insertion. It will likewise help to increase the volume to\nthat respectable size which may entitle it to the honours of Russia or\nMorocco, and to a distinguished situation on the well arranged shelves\nof a modern library.\n\n \u201cMY DEAR SIR,\n\n \u201cI obey your commands with some reluctance, in relating the story\n of which you have heard so much, and to which your curiosity\n appears to be so broad awake. I do it unwillingly, because such\n histories depend so much upon the manner in which they are related;\n and this, which I have told with such success, and to the midnight\n terrors of so many simple souls, will make but a sorry figure in a\n written narration.--However, you shall have it.\n\n\n \u201cIt was in the early part of-- -- --\u2019s life, that he attended an\n hunting club at their sport, when a stranger, of a genteel\n appearance, and well mounted, joined the chace, and was observed\n to ride with a degree of courage and address that called forth the\n utmost astonishment of every one present. The beast he rode was of\n amazing powers; nothing stopped them; the hounds could never escape\n them; and the huntsman, who was left far behind, swore that the man\n and his horse were devils from hell. When the sport was over, the\n company invited this extraordinary person to dinner; he accepted\n the invitation, and astonished the company as much by the powers of\n his conversation, and the elegance of his manners, as by his\n equestrian prowess. He was an orator, a poet, a painter, a\n musician, a lawyer, a divine; in short, he was every thing, and the\n magic of his discourse kept the drowsy sportsmen awake long after\n their usual hour. At length, however, wearied nature could be\n charmed no more, and the company began to steal away by degrees to\n their repose. On his observing the society diminish, he discovered\n manifest signs of uneasiness: he therefore gave new force to his\n spirits, and new charms to his conversation, in order to detain the\n remaining few some time longer. This had some little effect; but\n the period could not be long delayed when he was to be conducted to\n his chamber. The remains of the company retired also; but they had\n scarce closed their eyes, when the house was alarmed by the most\n terrible shrieks that were ever heard: several persons were\n awakened by the noise; but, its continuance being short, they\n concluded it to proceed from a dog who might be accidentally\n confined in some part of the house: they very soon, therefore,\n composed themselves to sleep, and were very soon awakened by\n shrieks and cries of still greater terror than the former. Alarmed\n at what they heard, several of them rung their bells, and, when the\n servants came, they declared that the horrid sounds proceeded from\n the stranger\u2019s chamber. Some of the gentlemen immediately arose, to\n inquire into this extraordinary disturbance; and, while they were\n dressing themselves for that purpose, deeper groans of despair, and\n shriller shrieks of agony, again astonished and terrified them.\n After knocking sometime at the stranger\u2019s chamber-door, he answered\n them as one awakened from sleep, declared he had heard no noise,\n and, rather in an angry tone, desired he might not be again\n disturbed. Upon this they returned to one of their chambers, and\n had scarce begun to communicate their sentiments to each other,\n when their conversation was interrupted by a renewal of yells,\n screams, and shrieks, which, from the horror of them, seemed to\n issue from the throats of damned and tortured spirits. They\n immediately followed the sounds, and traced them to the stranger\u2019s\n chamber, the door of which they instantly burst open, and found him\n upon his knees in bed, in the act of scourging himself with the\n most unrelenting severity, his body streaming with blood. On their\n seizing his hand to stop the strokes, he begged them, in the most\n wringing tone of voice, as an act of mercy, that they would retire,\n assuring them that the cause of their disturbance was over, and\n that in the morning he would acquaint them with the reasons of the\n terrible cries they had heard, and the melancholy sight they saw.\n After a repetition of his entreaties, they retired; and in the\n morning some of them went to his chamber, but he was not there;\n and, on examining the bed, they found it to be one gore of blood.\n Upon further inquiry, the groom said, that, as soon as it was\n light, the gentleman came to the stable booted and spurred, desired\n his horse might be immediately saddled, and appeared to be\n extremely impatient till it was done, when he vaulted instantly\n into his saddle, and rode out of the yard on full speed.--Servants\n were immediately dispatched into every part of the surrounding\n country, but not a single trace of him could be found; such a\n person had not been seen by any one, nor has he been since heard\n of.\n\n\n \u201cThe circumstances of this strange story were immediately committed\n to writing, and signed by every one who were witnesses to them,\n that the future credibility of any one, who should think proper to\n relate them, might be duly supported. Among the subscribers to the\n truth of this history are some of the first names of this\n century.--It would now, I believe, be impertinent to add any thing\n more, than that I am, yours, &c.\u201d\n\nIf farther proof were necessary to shew, that the dominion of\nsuperstition is not altogether confined, as has been erroneously\nsupposed, to the heroes of romance, it might be found in the learned\nsupport afforded, but a few years ago, to the predictions of the\nunfortunate Prophet Brothers: And although the sublime and simple truths\nof the Christian faith have given a fatal blow to the superstitious\nabsurdities of more early creeds, our propensity to the marvellous, has\nstill retained sufficient influence, to screen from detection the\ngrossest impositions of the Roman Church. Among the numberless\ndeceptions, which Popish craft has successfully practised upon the\ncredulity of its votaries, one has been handed down by a venerable\nhistorian, the insertion of which cannot fail to gratify the enlightened\ncommentators and note-compilers of the present age.--\n\n\n \u201cQui, cum die quadam tale aliquid foris ageret, digressis ad\n ecclesiam sociis, ut dicere c\u0153peram, et episcopus solus in oratorio\n loci, lectioni vel orationi operam daret; audivit repente, ut\n postea referebat, vocem suavissimam cantantium atque l\u00e6tantium de\n c\u0153lo ad terras usque descendere: quam videlicet vocem ab Euro\n austro, id est, ab alto brumalis, exortam, primo se audisse\n dicebat, ac deinde paulatim eam sibi appropiare, donec ad tectum\n usque oratorii, in quo erat Episcopus, perveniret; quod ingressa\n totum implevit, atque in gyro circundedit. At ille, dum solicitus\n in ea qu\u00e6 audiebat, animum intenderet, audivit denuo transacto\n quasi dimidi\u00e6 hor\u00e6 spatio, ascendere de tecto ejusdem oratorii idem\n l\u00e6titi\u00e6 canticum; et ipsa qua venerat via, ad c\u0153los usque cum\n ineffabili dulcedine, reverti. Qui cum aliquantulum hor\u00e6 quasi\n attonitus maneret, et quid h\u00e6c essent solerti animo scrutaretur,\n aperuit Episcopus fenestram oratorii, et sonitum manu faciens, ut\n s\u00e6pius consuevit, siquis foris esset, ad se intrare pr\u00e6cepit.\n Introivit ille concitus; cui dixit antistes: vade cito ad\n ecclesiam, et hos septem fratres huc venire facito; tu quoque simul\n adesto. Qui cum venissent, primo admonuit eos, ut virtutem\n dilectionis et pacis, ad invicem et ad omnes fideles servarent.\n Instituta quoque disciplin\u00e6 regularis, qu\u00e6 vel ab ipso\n didicissent, vel in ipso vidissent, vel in patrum pr\u00e6cedentium\n factis sive dictis invenissent, indefessa instantia sequerentur.\n Deinde subjunxit, diem sui obitus jam proxime instare. Namque\n hospes, inquit, ille amabilis, qui fratres nostros visitare\n solebat, ad me quoque hodie venire, meque de seculo evocare\n dignatus est. Propter quod revertentes ad ecclesiam, dicite\n fratribus, ut et meum exitum Domino precibus commendent, et suum\n quoque exitum, (cujus hora incerta est), vigiliis, orationibus,\n bonis operibus, pr\u00e6venire meminerint. Cumque h\u00e6c et hujusmodi plura\n loqueretur, atque illi, percepta ejus benedictione, jam multum\n tristes exiissent, rediit ipse solus, qui carmen c\u0153leste audierat,\n et prosternens se in terram, Obsecro, inquit pater, licetne aliquid\n interrogare? Interroga, inquit, quod vis. At ille, Obsecro, inquit,\n ut dicas, quod erat canticum illud l\u00e6tantium, quod audivi,\n venientium de c\u0153lis super oratorium hoc, et post tempus redeuntium\n ad c\u0153los. Respondit ille; Si vocem carminis audivisti, et c\u0153lestes\n supervenire c\u0153tus cognovisti, pr\u00e6cipio tibi in nomine Domini, ne\n hoc cuiquam, ante meum obitum, dicas. Revera autem Angelorum fuere\n spiritus, qui me ad c\u0153lestia, qu\u00e6 semper amabam ac desiderabam,\n pr\u00e6mia vocare venerunt; et post dies septem se redituros, ac me\n secum adducturos esse promiserunt. Quod quidem ita ut dictum ei\n erat opere completum est. Nam confestim languore corporis tactus\n est, et hoc per dies ingravescente, septimo (ut promissum ei\n fuerat) die, postquam obitum suum dominici corporis, et sanguinis\n perceptione munivit, soluta ab ergastulo corporis anima sancta,\n ducentibus (ut credi fas est), angelis comitibus, \u00e6terna gaudia\n petivit.\u201d\n\n E HIST. ECCLES. VENER. BED.\n\n\n\n\nNOTE IV, P. 28.\n\n A pea-green jerkin on his back,\n All dabbled by a splashing hack.--\n\nThe dress of this little stranger, and his manner of introducing himself\nto the festival, must satisfy the reader that the Goblin Groom is one\nof those supernatural sportsmen usually termed Fairies. In the sequel,\nhowever, it will appear evident, that he owes his origin to the hardy\nrace of northern Elves, rather than to the more delicate family of\neastern Peris.[16]\n\nThe existence of the Fairy, like that of the Mermaid, no longer rests on\nthe credulity of the ignorant, but is confirmed and established by\nattestations no less respectable than the affidavits so frequently made\nbefore the Lord Mayor of London, in support of the infallibility of a\nquack and his nostrums.\n\nIn the isle of Man, where sportsmen of more tangible materials enjoy a\ntemporary security, these little supernaturals, probably under similar\ncircumstances, find an agreeable retreat. In the Minstrelsy of the\nScottish Borders, on the unrefuted authority of Mr. Waldron, we have\nthe following interesting particulars.--\n\n \u201cLike the FELD ELFEN of the Saxons, the usual dress of the Fairies\n is green; though, on the moors, they have been sometimes observed\n in heath-brown, or in weeds dyed with the stoneraw, or lichen. They\n often ride in invisible procession, when their presence is\n discovered by the shrill ringing of their bridles. On these\n occasions, they sometimes borrow mortal steeds; and when such are\n found at morning, panting and fatigued in their stalls, with their\n manes and tails dishevelled and entangled, the grooms, I presume,\n often find this a convenient excuse for their situation; as the\n common belief of the elves quaffing the choicest liquors in the\n cellars of the rich, (see the story of Lord Duffus below), might\n occasionally cloak the delinquencies of an unfaithful butler.\n\n \u201cThe Fairies, beside their equestrian processions, are addicted, it\n would seem, to the pleasures of the chace. A young sailor,\n travelling by night from Douglas, in the Isle of Man, to visit his\n sister, residing in Kirk Merlugh, heard the noise of horses, the\n holla of a huntsman, and the sound of a horn. Immediately\n afterwards, thirteen horsemen, dressed in green, and gallantly\n mounted, swept past him. Jack was so much delighted with the sport,\n that he followed them, and enjoyed the sound of the horn for some\n miles; and it was not till he arrived at his sister\u2019s house that he\n learned the danger which he had incurred. I must not omit to\n mention, that these little personages are expert jockeys, and scorn\n to ride the little Manks ponies, though apparently well suited to\n their size. The exercise, therefore, falls heavily upon the English\n and Irish horses brought into the Isle of Man. Mr. Waldron was\n assured by a gentleman of Ballafletcher, that he had lost three or\n four capital hunters by these nocturnal excursions.\n\n WALDRON\u2019S WORKS, P. 132.\u201d\n\n\n\nIt is to be lamented, for the comfort of that valuable class of society\ndenominated Hunting-Grooms, that their masters do not look into the\ncasualties of their studs with the discriminating eye of the worthy\ngentleman of Ballafletcher.\n\n\nNOTE V, P. 29.\n\n And every toast with ready will\n His elfin hand consents to fill.\n Heavens! what a wondrous draught he drew\n Whene\u2019er they toasted bold B-- --h.\n\nMonsieur Mallet, the learned author of the ingenious work on Northren\nAntiquities, seems to consider Fairies and Elves as synonymous terms. In\nhis remarks on the ninth fable of the Edda, we find him thus expressing\nhimself.--\u201cALFHEIM signifies, in Gothic, the abode of the Genii, that\nis, the Fairies of the male-sex.\u201d To prove the Gothic origin of our Elf,\nwe need only appeal to the devotion he shews to the bottle. His conduct\nat the Dunse Festival is truly northern, and the mighty Thor himself,\nthe great champion of Scandinavian revelry, could not have displayed\ngreater zeal in emptying the enchanted horn.--But of this the reader may\njudge by perusing the Gothic fable.--\n\n\n THE TWENTY-FIFTH FABLE.\n\n _Of the Trials that Thor underwent._\n\n \u201cThen the king asked Thor, in what art he would choose to give\n proof of that dexterity for which he was so famous. Thor replied,\n that he would contest the prize of drinking with any person\n belonging to his court. The king consented, and immediately went\n into his palace to look for a large horn, out of which his\n courtiers were obliged to drink when they had committed any\n trespass against the customs of the court.[17] This the cup-bearer\n filled to the brim, and presented to Thor, whilst the king spake\n thus.--Whoever is a good drinker, will empty that horn at a single\n draught; some persons make two of it; but the most puny drinker of\n all can do it at three. Thor looked at the horn, and was astonished\n at its length;[18] however, as he was very thirsty, he set it to\n his mouth, and, without drawing breath, pulled as long and as\n deeply as he could, that he might not be obliged to make a second\n draught of it; but when he withdrew the cup from his mouth, in\n order to look in, he could scarcely perceive any of the liquor\n gone. To it he went again with all his might, but succeeded no\n better than before. At last, full of indignation, he again set the\n horn to his lips, and exerted himself to the utmost to empty it\n entirely: then looking in, he found that the liquor was a little\n lowered; upon this, he resolved to attempt it no more, but gave\n back the horn. I now see plainly, says the king, that thou art not\n quite so stout as we thought thee; but art thou willing to make\n any more trials? I am sure, says Thor, such draughts as I have been\n drinking, would not have been reckoned small among the Gods.\n\n MALLET\u2019S NORTH. ANTIQ. VOL. II, P. 126-127.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNOTES TO CANTO SECOND.\n\n\nNOTE I, P. 60.\n\n He strode a poney, lank and lean,\n That looked as if astray \u2019t had been;\n Dun was its hue, with flowing-mane;\n The tail was black, and like a train--\n\nContrary to the custom of the Manx Fairies, it might be inferred, that\nour Groom had just returned from the sanctuary of sportsmen, with a nag\nof the native breed. But having already made considerable progress in\nestablishing the origin of the rider, we shall now take some pains in\nproving to our readers the pedigree of the steed: and in asserting him\nto be from the stock of the far-famed Sleipner, we hope to be borne out\nby his performances, and confirmed by probability in our opinion. The\ncircumstance of that noted stallion having had eight legs, does not in\nthe least degree weaken our belief in the genuine descent of the\nGoblin\u2019s poney; for, reasoning by analogy, we have never yet heard of a\nparent with a wooden-leg transmitting timber-toes to posterity.\n\nTo those sportsmen who confine their genealogical inquiries to the\ngeneral stud-book and racing-calendar, we present, in the words of the\nGothic Edda, the history of a horse, more famed than the Childer\u2019s Barb,\nor the Godolphin Arabian.--\n\n\n HISTORIA VICESIMA PRIMA.\n\n _Quomodo Loco procreavit equum Sleipnerum cum Svadilfaro._\n\n \u201cFaber quidam Asas adveniens, ad urbem illis \u00e6dificandam per tres\n annos sese obtulit, eamque adeo munitam, ut tuta esset ab\n incursionibus Gigantum. Mercedem vero laboris Frejam postulavit, ut\n et lunam solemque. Dii vero, inito consilio, paciscuntur; si vero\n quid laboris prima die \u00e6statis superesset, pr\u00e6mium amitteret;\n nullius vero opera ei uti liceret. Hic de auxilio equi sui\n Svadelfari tantum pactus fuit. Omnia vero h\u00e6c fiebant, dirigente et\n instigante Locone. Hic urbam \u00e6dificaturus, noctu per equum lapides\n attraxit. Asis mirum videbatur, eam tam magnos adferre montes; nec\n non equum plus, quam fabrum, conficere. Pacto autem multi\n interfuere testes: quippe cum gigas videretur non satis tutus inter\n Asas, si hic esset, Toro domum reverso. Qui jam mari Baltico\n trajecto, hinc per amnes et fluvios ad Asiam progressus, (quod\n priscis Austerveg audit) bellum cum gigantibus gessit. Urbs fuit\n munita et tam alta, ut perspicere non valeres. Tribus vero reliquis\n fabro diebus, Dii congregati solia sua ascendentes qu\u00e6siverunt,\n quisnam auctor esset, ut Freya in Jotunheimiam elocaretur? ut et\n aer perderetur, inducta c\u0153lo calligine, sublatum solem et lunam\n dando gigantibus. Illos vero inter conventum fuit, Loconem hoc\n dedisse consilium. Dicebant, eum misera morte afficiendum esse,\n nisi rationem, qua faber mercedem amitteret, inveniret, adjicientes\n fore ut statim illum comprehenderent. Examinatus vero jurejurando\n promisit se effecturum, ut faber mercede frustraretur, quicquid\n tandem huic negotio impenderet. Fabro autem lapidis advehendi\n causa, cum Svadilfaro, egressuro, ex sylva prosiliit equa qu\u00e6dam\n solitaria, equo adhinniens. Quam conspicatus equus, in furorem\n actus, rupto fune, eam adcurrit, jam in sylvam accelerantem,\n insequente fabro, equum assecuturo. Equa vero totam per noctem\n discurrente, faber impeditus fuit, quominus, hac nocte, una cum die\n sequente, opus, uti antea, fuerit continuatum. Quo cognito, animo\n percellitur giganteo. Quo viso, juramentis non parcentes Torum\n invocarunt: qui statim adveniens, vibrato in aera malleo, dataque\n mercede, occisum fabrum in Niflheimium detrusit. Loconi vero cum\n Svadilfaro res fuit, ut equuleum genuerit nomine Sleipnerum, octo\n habentem pedes.\n\n EDDA, FAB. XXI, OPERA ET STUDIO JO. GORANSON.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nNOTE II, P. 63.\n\n The Goblin Groom now screamed a scream;\n For Goblins hate a running stream;\n And, if the truth my records say,\n The Elfin Poney neighed a neigh.\n\nThe terror of the inhabitants of Alfheim, or Fairy land, for running\nwater, has been too often asserted to require much comment. Unlicensed\nspirits, that wander on the face of the earth, with intentions injurious\nto mankind, are always represented as tortured with hydrophobia. The\nauthor cannot hope that he has painted the Goblin\u2019s terror in all the\nglowing colours of a Burns,[19] or with the finer tints of a Scott; yet\nhe flatters himself some beauty may be found, by the admirers of\npleonastic redundancy, in the passage expressive of the horror of the\nhorse and rider; and he feels that, in this judgment, he will be\nsupported by the most classical authorities in the English language;\n_e.g._\n\n\nGILES SCROGGINS.\n\n Giles Scroggins courted Molly Brown,\n Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;\n The fairest wench in all the town,\n Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;\n He bought a ring with posie true,\n \u201cIf you loves I as I loves you,\n \u201cNo knife can cut our love in two.\u201d\n Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido.\n\n But scissars cut as well as knives,\n Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;\n And quite unsartin\u2019s all our lives,\n Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;\n The day they were to have been wed,\n Fate\u2019s scissars cut poor Giles\u2019s thread,\n So they could not be mar-ri-ed.\n Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido.\n\n Poor Molly laid her down to weep,\n Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;\n And cried herself quite fast asleep,\n Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;\n When, standing all by the bed-post,\n A figure tall her sight engrossed,\n And it cried, I beez Giles Scroggins\u2019 Ghost!\n Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido.\n\n The Ghost it said, all solemnly,\n Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;\n O Molly, you must go with I!\n Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;\n All to the grave, your love to cool.--\n She says, I am not dead, you fool!--\n Says the Ghost, says he, Vy that\u2019s no rule.\n Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido.\n\n The Ghost he seized her, all so grim,\n Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;\n All for to go along with him;\n Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido.\n \u201cCome, come, said he, ere morning beam.\u201d--\n \u201cI vont!\u201d said she, and she screamed a scream--\n Then she woke and found she dreamed a dream.\n Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido.\n\nAnd again,--\n\n With rapid round the Baron bent;\n He sighed a sigh, he prayed a prayer;\n The prayer was to his patron Saint,\n The sigh was to his lady fair.\n\n LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL.\n\n\nNOTE III, P. 66.\n\n And thus he hilter skilter flew,\n And distanced all the huntsmen-crew.\n\nWe cannot give a better idea of the hilter skilter mode of riding with\nhounds, than by quoting the truly classical words of an accomplished\nLeicestershire sportsman, who is equally celebrated as a painter and a\npoet.--\n\n And next in the cluster\n See Wor\u2019ster and Muster;\n Now Muster sets Wor\u2019ster,\n Now Wor\u2019ster beats Muster;\n Now Muster is first, Sir,\n And Wor\u2019ster is burst, Sir:\n Such bunglers as those are\n Ought both to be curst, Sir.\n\nAlthough we in general disapprove of Parodies, the above is so\nexcellent, and so applicable to our subject, that we sacrifice our\nprinciples for the gratification of our readers.\n\n\nNOTE IV, P. 72.\n\n No demi volte, nor demi air;\n No high curvett, nor terre-a-terre;\n No hand to guide the gay croupade.\n Nor heel to aid the balotade;\n No capriole his skill to shew;\n He these disdained, with pas et saut.\n\nIt must be truly gratifying to yeomanry officers, and those who have not\nhad the advantages of an equestrian education, that, in works of fancy,\nthey may be at once amused and instructed with valuable hints on\nhorsemanship; and believing, as we do, that those who have feasted on\nthe pages of Marmion are now enabled to take a leading part in a meslee\nor fight, we shall proceed to forward them in their pursuits, by\nrecommending to their attention Astley\u2019s explanation of the Croupade.\n\nThe Tailor too of Brentford will be enjoyed with greater glee, when the\nspectators do not curb their mirth by a fellow-feeling for the Cockney\nequestrian.\n\n\n \u201cCROUPADE.\n\n \u201cThe horse leaps into the air with all his feet off the ground at\n one and the same time, and without stretching out those behind: by\n an attention to this action, much good might result to the cavalry;\n and here I will relate a man\u0153uvre, to which I often had recourse in\n 1761, and at other periods of the seven years war. I instructed my\n horse to strike an object, or objects, at the will of the rider,\n within a given distance, before, behind, or together; and necessity\n furnished me with the idea.\n\n \u201cIn patroling, a soldier sometimes wants a guide, and gentle means\n often prove ineffectual to induce a peasant to quit his bed, at\n the dead of the night, for the accommodation of others,--to\n dismount for the purpose of procuring admittance into a house, at\n such a time, barred and bolted within, and perhaps in an enemy\u2019s\n country, would be dangerous. I knew my duty, and, ere this, my\n horse knew his. On approaching the door, I caused him to strike it\n with his fore-feet; and if this did not answer my purpose, (for it\n would sometimes fail), I faced him about, when, with his croup, he\n would break the door in pieces: this he would accomplish in a few\n moments, to the surprise and terror of the inhabitants: on the\n other hand, when upon the defensive, no person could approach me\n without danger; and when on the offensive, and animated at my\n pleasure, to the highest pitch, he would strike in every direction,\n and clear his way!\n\n ASTLEY\u2019S EQUESTRIAN EDUCATION, P. 177.\u201d\n\n\n\nWe do not remember that La Broue has any where pointed out the\napplication of this useful air du Man\u00e8ge, as the French term it.\n\n\nNOTE V, P. 74.\n\n Loud howled each hound; I will presume\n They howled at loss of Goblin Groom;\n And well they might, for such a fay\n Ne\u2019er rode before on hunting day;--\n\nThough not exactly authorized by the writer of the following poem, yet\nwe cannot think he will take offence at our availing ourselves of its\nbeauties, to illustrate the fidelity and attachment of the canine\nspecies to their masters, and those who have shared with them in the\ndangers and fatigues of the chace. We extract this poem from a Calcutta\nGazette of 1807.--\n\n\nBETH-GELERT,\n\nOR\n\nTHE GRAVE OF THE GREYHOUND.[20]\n\n The spearmen heard the bugle sound,\n And cheerly smiled the morn,\n And many a brach, and many a hound,\n Obeyed Llewelyn\u2019s horn.\n\n And still he blew a louder blast,\n And gave a lustier cheer,\n \u201cCome, Gelert, come, wer\u2019t never last\n \u201cLlewelyn\u2019s horn to hear.\n\n \u201cOh! where does faithful Gelert roam,\n \u201cThe flower of all his race?\n \u201cSo true, so brave; a lamb at home,\n \u201cA lion in the chace!\u201d\n\n \u2019Twas only at Llewelyn\u2019s board\n The faithful Gelert fed;\n He watched, he served, he cheered his lord,\n And sentineled his bed.\n\n In sooth he was a peerless hound,\n The gift of royal John;\n But now no Gelert could be found,\n And all the chace rode on.\n\n And now, as o\u2019er the rocks and dells\n The gallant chidings rise,\n All Snowdon\u2019s craggy chaos yells\n The many mingled cries!\n\n That day Llewelyn little loved\n The chace of hart or hare,\n And scant and small the booty proved,\n For Gelert was not there.\n\n Unpleased, Llewelyn homeward hied:\n When, near the portal seat,\n His truant Gelert he espied\n Bounding his lord to greet.\n\n But, when he gained his castle door,\n Aghast the chieftain stood;\n The hound all o\u2019er was smeared with gore,\n His lips, his fangs, ran blood.\n\n Llewelyn gazed with fierce surprise:--\n Unused such looks to meet,\n His fav\u2019rite checked his joyful guise,\n And crouched and licked his feet.\n\n Onward in haste Llewelyn past,\n And on went Gelert too,\n And still, where\u2019er his eyes he cast,\n Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view.\n\n O\u2019erturned his infant\u2019s bed he found,\n With blood-stained covert rent;\n And all around, the walls and ground\n With recent blood besprent.\n\n He called his child, no voice replied;\n He searched with terror wild;\n Blood, blood he found on every side;\n But no where found his child.\n\n \u201cHell-hound! my child by thee\u2019s devoured!\u201d\n The frantic father cried;\n And to the hilt his vengeful sword\n He plunged in Gelert\u2019s side.\n\n His suppliant looks, as prone he fell,\n No pity could impart:\n But still his Gelert\u2019s dying yell\n Passed heavy o\u2019er his heart.\n\n Aroused by Gelert\u2019s dying yell\n Some slumberer wakened nigh:\n What words the parent\u2019s joy could tell\n To hear his infant\u2019s cry!\n\n Concealed beneath a tumbled heap,\n His hurried search had missed:\n All glowing from his rosy sleep,\n The cherub boy he kissed.\n\n Nor scath had he, nor harm, nor dread;\n But the same couch beneath\n Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead,\n Tremendous still in death.\n\n Ah, what was then Llewelyn\u2019s pain!\n For now the truth was clear;\n His gallant hound the wolf had slain,\n To save Llewelyn\u2019s heir.\n\n Vain, vain was all Llewelyn\u2019s woe:\n \u201cBest of thy kind adieu!\n \u201cThe frantic blow, which laid thee low,\n \u201cThis heart shall ever rue.\u201d\n\n And now a gallant tomb they raise,\n With costly sculpture deckt;\n And marbles storied with his praise,\n Poor Gelert\u2019s bones protect.\n\n There never could the spearman pass,\n Or forester, unmoved;\n There oft the tear-besprinkled grass\n Llewelyn\u2019s sorrow proved.\n\n And there he hung his horn and spear,\n And there, as evening fell,\n In Fancy\u2019s ear he oft would hear\n Poor Gelert\u2019s dying yell.\n\n And till great Snowdon\u2019s rocks grow old,\n And cease the storm to brave,\n The consecrated spot shall hold\n The name of \u201cGelert\u2019s Grave!\u201d\n\n\nNOTE VI, P. 76.\n\n The passing shepherd calls the bush,\n The Winning-Post of Friar Rush;--\n\nThis Friar, or \u201cesprit follet,\u201d is a gentleman of as many names and\ntitles as any Spanish Grandee; \u201cWill o\u2019 the Wisp,\u201d however, is the name\nhe is best known by, when stript of his ecclesiastical honours: he has\nalways been considered a tricky knave, and is thus spoken of in\nMarmion.--\n\n Better we had through mire and bush\n Been lanthorn led by Friar Rush.\n\nMARMION, CANTO IV, P. 187.\n\n\nNOTE VII, P. 79.\n\n To every Bard that serves his Grace,\n A goodly pension or a place;--\n\nWe here call upon our readers, to attend to the origin of the word Bard;\ninasmuch as, that term has become applicable to poem-mongers in general.\nThe learned Mr. Prideaux informs us,--\n\n \u201cBARDUS possessed his father Druis\u2019 place. To his ancestors\n Phylosophy, Magick, Politicks, Rites and Ceremonies, this man added\n Poetry, and set all their excellencies at a higher key. 2. From him\n we have the ancient Bardi, the chroniclers of all heroick actions,\n and commenders of their performers, to the imitation of their\n posterity, whom an ancient poet thus bespeaketh,--\n\n Vos quoq. qui fortes animas belloq. peremtas,\n Laudibus in longum vates deducitis \u00e6vum.\n Plurima securi fudistis carmina Bardi.\n\n Then you brave Bards securely song,\n The praise of dead Pears;\n In lofty strains, for to prolong\n Their fame for many years.\n\n 3. Their esteem was such amongst the greatest commanders, that if\n two armies were even at push of pike, and a Bard had step\u2019d in\n between them, they would have held their hands, harkened to their\n advice, and not have offered to strike until he were out of danger.\n 4. Famous amongst those Bards (before the coming of our Saviour)\n were held Plenidius and Glaskirion, and of late years, Davye Dee,\n David ap Williams and others. They say the island Bardsey had\n Bardorum Insula, its name, from them, and Aquila, Perdix, Patrick,\n Maddoch, and both the Merlins the wisards, were from this\n institution.\u201d\n\n PRIDEAUX\u2019S INTRODUCTION TO HISTORY, P. 255-256.\n\n\n\nAlthough the terms Bard and Poet are those in more general use to\nexpress the rhyme-weaving brotherhood, yet there are words of Gothic\norigin which may still be found of uncommon meaning, and, on certain\noccasions, even more significant than the former. Thus, a dame\ndeclaiming in heroics to her waiting-women and children, is denominated\na Scold, from the Scalds or Poets of Iceland; and the term Bragger may,\nfrom \u201cBrage\u201d of the Goths, be employed to designate a blustering\nPoetaster, who claims, for alleged facility and unquestionable length of\ncomposition, the applause reserved for creative genius and continued\nexertion.\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n_Printed by Alex. Lawrie & Co. Edinburgh._\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] In this happy manner of expressing his admiration of the object\nbefore him, the author assures his readers, that he lays no claim to\noriginality.\n\n[2] Bumble or bumbart bee. _Vide_ Dr. Jamieson\u2019s Dictionary.\n\n[3] North of the Tweed _beast_ is applied, as a general term, to\nanimals, without distinction.\n\n[4] The following anecdote, with many others equally interesting, is\nrecorded in a very _rare_ work, to be found in few _collections, however\nexcellent_. A gentleman and his friend, passing along Oxford Road, were\nstopped by an immense crowd near Hyde Park, and, on inquiring into the\ncause, were told that a person of the name of Vowel was leading to\nexecution at Tyburn. \u201cI wonder what vowel it can be,\u201d (cried the one).\n\u201cIt is neither U nor I, (replied the other), so let us pass on.\u201d JOE\nMILLER, a very old edition.\n\n[5] Dunse, supposed to be derived from the old Celtic word _Dun_, a\nhill, is situated in the centre of the county of Berwick, near to the\nLammermoor hills,--is famous for its _cabbages_,--from its being the\nbirth-place of _Duns Scotus_,--and from the number of _alehouses_ which\nit contains. For an account of its places of ancient strength, _vide_\nStatistical Account of Scotland, vol. iv.\n\n[6] Whitadder and Blackadder, probably corruptions of Whitewater and\nBlackwater, two streams which, uniting in their course, empty themselves\ninto the Tweed a little above Berwick.\n\n[7] Those who feel with the author on this subject, will consult, with\npeculiar pleasure, the general tenor of our Parliamentary Reports.\n\n[8]\n\n O fortes pejoraque passi\n Mecum s\u00e6pe viri nunc vino pellite curas\n Cras ingens iterabimus \u00e6quor.\n\n HOR. ODE 7, LIB. 1.\n\n\n[9] Et vox assensu nemorum ingeminata remugit.\n\n GEORG. III.\n\n\n[10] The Fern Islands.\n\n[11] Looking intensely. Dr. Jamieson gives the following authority for\nthis meaning of the word.--\n\n \u201cHe girnt, he _glourt_, he gapt, as he war weid.\u201d\n DUNBAR, MAITLAND POEMS, p. 77.\n\n\n[12]\n\n Il monte avec la main les eperons et gaule,\n Le cheval de pegase qui volle en capriole,\n Il monte si haut qu\u2019il touche de sa teste les cieux,\n Et par ses merveilles ravit en extasses les Dieux,\n Les chevaux corruptible qui la bas sur terre son\n En courbettes demi-airs terre-\u00e0-tere vont\n Avec humilite soumission et bassesse,\n L\u2019adorer, comme Dieu et auteur de leur adresse.\n\n _See a General System of Horsemanship, &c.\n by the DUKE OF NEWCASTLE._\n\n\n[13] Alias \u201cWill o\u2019 the Wisp,\u201d--alias, in Scotland, \u201cSpunkie.\u201d The\nreader who is anxious for farther information on this interesting\nsubject is referred to the notes on MARMION.\n\n[14] Hedio. Sleidan.\n\n[15] SCOTT. _Vide_ Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. ii.\n\n[16] By some etymologists of that learned class, who not only know\nwhence words come, but also whither they are going, the term _Fairy_, or\n_Fa\u00ebrie_, is derived from _Fa\u00eb_, which is again derived from _Nympha_.\nIt is more probable the term is of oriental origin, and is derived from\nthe Persic, through the medium of the Arabic. In Persic, the term _Peri_\nexpresses a species of imaginary being, which resembles the Fairy in\nsome of its qualities, and is one of the fairest creatures of romantic\nfancy.\n\n _MINSTRELSY OF THE SCOTTISH BORDER, p. 115-116._\n\n\n[17] Our modern Bachanals will here observe, that punishing by a bumper\nis not an invention of these degenerate days. The ancient Danes were\ngreat Topers.\n\n[18] The drinking vessels of the northern nations were the horns of\nanimals, of their natural length, only tipt with silver, &c. In\nYork-Minster is preserved one of those ancient drinking-vessels,\ncomposed of a large elephant\u2019s tooth, of its natural dimensions,\nornamented with sculpture, &c. See DRAKE\u2019S HIST.\n\n[19] Tam O\u2019Shanter.\n\n[20] The story of this Ballad is traditionary in a village at the foot\nof Snowden, where Llewelyn the Great had a house. The Greyhound, named\nG\u00ealert, was given to him by his father-in-law, King John, in the year\n1205; and the place to this day is railed Beth G\u00ealert, or the Grave of\nG\u00ealert.","title":"The Goblin Groom: a Tale of Dunse","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":12786}