Thou wilt hear nothing till the Judgment morning, When the great Trump shall thrill thee with its warning, Why should this worthless tegument endure, In living virtue, that when both must sever, THE WATER-FIENDS. COLMAN. ON a wild moor, all brown and bleak, Lord Hoppergollop's country-house. Here Silence reign'd, with lips of glue, Save when the owl cried, "Whoo! whoo! whoo!" Neglected mansion!-for 'tis said Whene'er the snow came feath'ring down, Four barbed steeds, from the Bull's-head, Carried thy master up to town. Weep, Hoppergollop!-Lords may moan, On two small rattling bits of bone, On little figure, or on great. Swift whirl the wheels-He's gone-A rose Sweet, beauteous blossom!-'twas the Cook! A bolder far than my weak note, Maid of the moor, thy charms demand; Long had the fair one sat alone, Had none remain'd save only she ;- 'Twas a tall youth, whose cheek's clear hue Oft would he cry," Delve, delve the hole! To scare the sparrows from the fruit.” A small, mute favourite, by day Follow'd his step; where'er he wheels His barrow round the garden gay, A bob-tail cur is at his heels. Ah, man! the brute creation see! Are found in ev'ry bob-tail cur. Hard toil'd the youth, so fresh and strong, While Bob-tail in his face would look, And mark his master troll the song"Sweet Molly Dumpling! Oh, thou Cook!" For thus he sung ;-while Cupid smil❜d- Maid of the moor! his love return! True love ne'er tints the cheek with shame : When gard'ners' hearts, like hot-beds, burn, A cook may surely feed the flame. Ah! not averse from love was she, Cold blows the blast-the night's obscure; Alone, pale, trembling, near the fire, List'ning, her hand supports her chin; They cannot come, sweet maid! to thee And what's impossible can't be ; And never, never comes to pass ! ; She paces through the hall antique, To call her Thomas from his toil; Thrice, on the threshold of the hall, She "Thomas!" cried, with many a sob; And thrice on Bob-tail did she call, Exclaiming sweetly" Bob! Bob! Bob!" Vain maid! a gard'ner's corpse, 'tis said, Back through the hall she bent her way; All, all was solitude around! The candle shed a feeble ray,— Though a large mould of four to th' pound. Full closely to the fire she drew; Adown her cheek a salt tear stole ; When, lo! a coffin out there flew, And in her apron burnt a hole! Spiders their busy death-watch tick'd More strong and strong her terrors rose; Up to her chamber, damp and cold, She climb'd Lord Hoppergollop's stair; Three stories high-long, dull, and old, All nature now appear'd to pause; And "o'er one half the world seem'd dead;" No "curtain'd sleep" had she-because She had no curtains to her bed. List'ning she lay ;-with iron din The clock struck twelve; the door flew wide; When Thomas grimly glided in, With little Bob-tail by his side. Tall, like the poplar, was his size; Green, green his waistcoat was, as leeks; Soon as the spectre she espied, The fear-struck damsel faintly said, "What would my Thomas?"-he replied, "Oh! Molly Dumpling! I am dead. All in the flower of youth I fell, Cut off with health's full blossom crown'd; I was not ill-but in a well I tumbled backwards, and was drown'd. "Four fathom deep thy love doth lie; "Yes; two foul Water-fiends are we; |