The Goblin Groom

Name: The Goblin Groom
Author: R. O. Fenwick

Whole book · 12 sections

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THE GOBLIN GROOM;

A Tale

OF DUNSE.

BY

R. O. FENWICK, Esq.

Thus, while I ape the measure wild
Of tales that charmed me yet a child,
Rude though they be, still with the chime
Return the thoughts of early time.—Scott.

EDINBURGH:

PRINTED BY ALEX. LAWRIE & CO.

FOR ALEX. LAWRIE, EDINBURGH;
AND
J. RIDGWAY, LONDON.
——
1809.

TO THOSE ADMIRERS

OF ENGLISH POETRY

WHO WISH TO SEE IT RESTORED TO ITS

“OLD STYLE OF PATHOS,”

THE FOLLOWING POEM

IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED

BY

THE AUTHOR.

ADVERTISEMENT.

The Author of the Goblin Groom can, on no consideration, be induced to follow the example of the amiable and justly celebrated Madame de Genlis, who, in her Historical Romance of the Chevaliers du Cygne, observes,—“Enfin l’ideè de faire mourir l’heroine de l’histoire des les premieres pages, et cependant de s’occuper d’elle jusqu’ a la fin, est peutetre assez neuve pour meriter quelqu’ indulgence.” Could he, on the contrary, prolong the precious life of his exalted hero, but for a single day, he should feel more real delight, than the indulgence due to the most afflicting novelty can possibly confer. But though unable to guard him from the blow, which the unrelenting hand of time must one day inflict, the author can at least promise, if he shall himself survive the catastrophe, to restore him to the respectful consideration of his readers, in a form at once congenial to the spirit of poetry, and suitable to the taste and temper of the times. To some of his readers, it may be necessary to remark, which must readily occur to the attention of the critic, that his true hero is only to be discovered, by the frequent allusions to his high rank and acknowledged virtues; and having thus divested the Goblin of the precedency, which he might otherwise appear to have usurped, it now only remains to give his readers a general idea of the story. It turns on the several incidents of a fox-chace, but is called a Tale of Dunse, because in that favourite RENDEZVOUS of the lovers of the chace, the Goblin first made his appearance. That the minds of his readers may be as perfectly prepared, as he could wish, for the manners of the age in which it is laid, he apprizes them, that the poem opens on the last day of April 1806, and concludes with the death of a fox on Flodden Field twenty-four hours thereafter. The country over which he has accompanied his elfin fay and merry pack, he has viewed with the rapid glance of a sportsman, and therefore trusts, that his hasty and imperfect sketch will not be regarded with the too scrupulous eye of rigid criticism. With all its faults, but without further apology, he commits it to its fate, and, notwithstanding the protecting influence of wire-wove,—broad margin,—high price,—and hot-press, he is not without feeling some apprehensions concerning its success.

CONTENTS.

			PAGE
		Introduction to Canto First—To Walter Marrowfat, Gardener to his Grace the Duke of B— —h	1
CANTO	I.	The Hostel, or Inn,	13
		Introduction to Canto Second—To Benjamin Buffet, Butler to his Grace the Duke of B— —h	37
	II.	The Fox Chace,	47
		Notes to Canto First	81
		Notes to Canto Second	103

ERRATA. — THE GOBLIN GROOM.

Page 40, line 1, for mintrel’s read minstrel’s.

Pages 53 and 57, head line, for FOX-CHASE read FOX-CHACE.

Page 72, line 5, note, for son read sont.

83, line 9, for Anceps read Auceps.

Introduction to Canto First.

TO WALTER MARROWFAT, GARDENER TO HIS GRACE THE D— OF B— —H . — THE GOBLIN GROOM.

Edinburgh.

Walter, at last, in order due,
The minstrel tunes his harp to you;
The very notes of friendship dear,
Are cordial to a poet’s ear:
Then why, my Walter, should I care
From whence you come, or who you are.
What! tho’ no royal blood should flow
Thro’ veins of blue and breast of snow:
Tho’ lowest of the low you be,
Still you shall hear my minstrelsy:
Enough to me it is that you
Are vassal to the bold B— —h;
For to my heart they still are dear,
Who serve that stout, that valiant peer.
But now, my friend, ’tis right to ask,
How thrives your culinary task?
Seems it to me the cultured soil,
Should glow beneath your sun-burnt toil.
I see thy face with ruddy glow
Smile on the rising cabbage row;
And now, methinks, I feel thy glee,
For I, my friend, can feel like thee,
E’en at the peeping of a pea;
Just when the germ has broke the soil,
The very sight repays thy toil.
O, Cultivation! Ceres’ child,
Foe to the hill and desert wild!
Foe to the mountain and the moor,
Friend to the hungry and the poor!
But let me not, with thoughts elate,
Forget my Walter’s garden gate:
Of all the gates so wonderous fair
Here round the princely dwelling,
My Watty’s gate, beyond compare,
All these is far excelling![1]
But I forgot the garden fair,
And sought the barren mountain bare.
O’er Tiviot’s hills, I bent my way,
Forgetful of my minstrel lay;
Nor thought I much of this or that,
Till fancy painted Marrowfat.
She painted Walter as I’ve seen,
When weeding D— —h’s walks so green;
To noble dames, just bent to bow;
Dejected head, erected hoe,
Proclaimed respect to ladye fair,
And shewed her that defence was there.
’Twas diffidence and manly pride,
That bows, yet shews the power to chide.
Above the common height of man,
My Walter stands at least a span:
A brow of jet, a fiery eye,
Like planet in a sable sky,
Shone from my fancy’s painted chief;
And then, to give the scene relief,
A nose projecting curvedly;
The nose befitting well the eye.
Vails it not me, alas! to speak
Of bushy lip, or cherry cheek;
To say I saw my Walter smile,
I’d rather pause a little while:
For bootless is the task to paint,
When fancy’s self is far too faint,
To shew the gardener of B— —h,
In form exact, and colours true.
How happy passed my early days,
With thee in D— —h’s groves of bays;
When slinking sly, from bush to bush,
We sought to catch the nestling thrush;
Or when supported, friend, by thee,
I climbed the giant cherry-tree;
Or ran a race, dear Wat, with you,
To please the gallant young B— —h.
The bower was still, and all was hushed,
’Twas eve, and modest nature blushed;
The crimson setting of the sun,
Waved o’er the night-cloud’s visage dun,
And all creation, so serene,
Enjoyed the still, the lovely scene.
The thrush, upon the hazel bough,
Pour’d calmly forth her evening vow,
And every bird, from tree to tree,
Joined in the heavenly melody;
What heart so fraught with woe or care,
But might have tasted pleasure there.
Such, Watty, was the night when we
Pursued the humming bumble bee;[2]
When you averred the beast [3] could sting,
And I responded, no such thing!
“The question fierce, the stern reply,”
Was heard to sound ’twixt U and I.[4]
Anon: my Watty dared to fight
The fancied foeman Wallace wight;
And I, if pleasing mem’ry hold.
Dared to the combat, Bruce the bold.
Perhaps, my friend, you’ll wish to know
Th’ event of each successive blow;
How Bruce, transported, swore he’d die,
But never, never yield or fly;
How Wallace to the combat flew,
With fancied pride, but courage true.
Alas! my friend, your hopes are vain,
For friendship still forbids the strain:
The tale, alas! would only tend
To make a foeman of a friend.
And whilst I live, and whilst I breathe,
I swear it is so much beneath
The soul of man, to harbour hate
Against the good, against the great,
That I will ne’er to man disclose
The purport of these bloody blows.
Enough! enough! it is to me
To hate the name of bumble bee.

CANTO FIRST. — I. — II. — III. — IV. — V. — VI. — VII. — VIII. — IX. — X. — XI. — XII. — XIII. — XIV. — XV. — XVI. — XVII. — XVIII. — XIX. — XX. — THE GOBLIN GROOM.

The Hostel, or Inn.

Joy reign’d in Dunse’s [5] distant seat,
Thro’ tavern, market place, and street,
The scene of many a valiant feat
In days of distant yore.
But now those distant days are fled,
Peace rears again her placid head,
And gory feud I hope is staid
To plague the land no more.
Where garden is, was place of tilt
Or tournament, where blood was spilt;
Where stain’d was many a foeman’s hilt
With blood of knight laid low;
Now peeps the pea, from glowing bed,
Forgetful of December dread;
The broader bean, her leaf has spread
Th’ unhallow’d spot to show.

Now why are Dunse’s people glad,
Who once were wont to be so sad;
How was the feudal hatred staid
That waste their lovely fields had laid;
Why rolls the Whittadder [6] so white,
The scene of many a bloody fight;
And how has peace reception found
On such unhallowed bloody ground?
I may not tell the change of time;
It ill becomes my minstrel rhyme:
’Twere impious surely to relate
The fancied works of fancied fate.
Enough, the bloody feud is staid;
Enough, the sword aside is laid;
And Whittadder long may’st thou flow
With spotless wave and crystal tide;
And may’st thou never, never know,
Again the strife of border side.

The sun o’er Dunse’s hills of grey,
Had nearly shed his parting light,
Save to the west, one lingering ray,
Seemed to forbid th’ approach of night;
And Lammermoor, with transient smile,
Now lighted up her visage bleak,
And every distant hill, the while,
Shone with a vivid, passing streak;
And Tweed’s broad river, from afar,
Blazed like a beacon flame of war:
Sure ’twould have pleased your heart to see
So much of grandeur, so much glee.
’Twas so to Dunse, when keen of sport
The Lothian sportsmen bent their way;
Her hostel then became a court;
If courts are jovial, courts are gay.
But why need I pretend to tell,
What to each chief or squire befel
In journeying that way.

Thronged was the hostel’s chambered space,
With peer, with baron, knight, and squire,
And many a waiting man in lace
Stood ready round the kitchen fire,
Attentive to the jirking wire;
For each attendant knew full well
The jirking of his master’s bell.
I’ll say the sportsmen all are dressed,
Have doffed their morning’s spattered vest,
And after salutation meet,
And question after lady fair,
Each at the board has ta’en his seat;
For ev’ry sportsman had his chair.

Perchance, my friend, you’d have me name
Each, after each, in his degree;
Or even say from whence they came;
Alas! that must not, may not be.
In truth, I only know a few
Of all the gallant, noble crew:
But he, the chieftain of them all,
Is absent from the festival,
The heir of bold B— —h.

Why stands that chair
So empty there,
Whilst anxious eyes are cast around;
And looks that show
They do not know
Where one so worthy may be found?
The chair, they vow, shall empty stand,
To shew their loyalty and truth;
For each and all, this huntsman-band,
Admired and loved the gallant youth;
And said they, with a passing tear,
“How much we miss his presence here.”

Four-and-twenty huntsmen keen
Round the table sat, I ween;
Four-and-twenty footmen neat,
Plied the beer, and served the meat:
Landlady, and daughter fair
Paid their due obedience there.
Well I ween, each gallant youth,
Cast an eye upon the maid;
Each thought his look, in real truth,
By the maiden’s well repaid:
One alone, of all the crew,
More than all the others knew;
What he knew, I may not tell,
But the maiden knew full well.

Fish, from Dunbar’s rocky shore,
Stood the president before,
If my mem’ry do not fail,
Sent by noble L— —le.
In the centre, soup was seen
Smoking, from a vase of snow.
Beef, at bottom, fat and lean,—
Beef of Indian Buffalo.
This was sent by T— —le’s peer
To augment the sportsman’s cheer;
T— —le, sprung from mighty H—y,
Foremost in the border day.
Tarts and pastry sent, I ween,
By the lady De G— —ne.

’Tis not for me to say what more
The hostess’ care supplied;
But welcome free, and open door,
And pease, from D— —h’s garden store,
Were seen on every side:
So one and all, at once agreed,
That bold B— —h had earlier seed
Than any northward of the Tweed.

The dinner’s o’er, the circling glass
Now full, now emptier, passes round,
As strikes the ear, the pleasing sound
Of jovial song, or toasted lass:
But short, alas! this tabled glee;
For who the coming woe might see!
————
—Said I, D— —h’s much honoured chair
Might not be filled by any there;
And, said I, it was right that he,
Though absent from the company,
With honour due should treated be;
D— —h, so honoured for his worth,
For rank, for titles, and for birth,
Had not an equal here on earth,
To fill his vacant chair:
So one and all, with one consent,
Their voice have given, and vote have lent,
To let the seat be bare:

(Friend Walter, I am certain quite,
You’ll say both voice and vote went right).

But why that hollow note of woe,
That stops of wine the genial flow;
Why shrinks the late convivial throng,
And why has silence banished song;
And why is horror’s aching stare
Sent wildly to the empty chair:
Oh! why is every eyebrow knit,
When turned to where D— —h should sit.—
————
The chair is filled! a stranger sat
Upon the honoured seat;
Nor deigned he to doff his hat,
Though more than one had hinted that
Respect was always meet.
But he was heedless of them all,
And thrice he gazed round the hall,
But ne’er a word did he let fall:
Whilst thus he sat, whilst thus he gazed,
The goodly throng were all amazed;—

And marvelled they, how this could be,
And how he entered none might say;
And some averred a sprite was he,
And others swore he was a fay:
And all agreed ’twas passing strange,
And marvellous withall,
That either sprite or fay should range
Into a festal hall:
Nor could the wisest present name
From whence he sprung, or how he came.

He was of little form, and tight;
His weight, if man, had been full light:
In short, he was a sportsman-sprite.
A pea-green jerkin on his back
All dabbled by a splashing hack;
His dirty boots, his leathers long
With crimson whip-cord tied;
His straight necked spurs, and heavy thong,
Proclaimed him formed to ride:
And he had ridden far that day,
For he was daubed, and splashed with clay.

The circling glass again goes round,
As fear in wine and use is drowned:
The goblin sprite enjoys each joke,
Though never once the while he spoke,
But lent a civil listening ear,
Resolved minutely all to hear;
And every toast with ready will
His elfin hand consents to fill.
Heavens! what a wondrous draught he drew
When e’er they toasted bold B— —h.

Oh! ’twould have done you good to see
How keen, how long, how heartily
He pushed the liquor round:
He never left or spilt a drop;
He never let the bottle stop,
Nor uttered a sound.
And, strange to tell, the jovial fay,
Though fond of wine, had nought to say.
A man of words might never learn
To be so wondrous taciturn.
And now the song, with jovial strain,
Awakened midnight’s dull repose;
Though many pleaded colds in vain,
Ayes had the ’vantage still of noes:
And thus may rulers ever be
Supported by majority.[7]

Dear unto me, my native land,
Is every field of thy wide realm;
And dearer still the guardian hand
That holds the way-directing helm;
And now I love thee ten times more,
When threatened is thy rocky shore:
When waves on every side assail,
And adverse winds and tides prevail.
But why should I with sorrow’s flow
Bewail my much loved country’s woe,
And all her coming danger tell;
Enough to me it is to know
I love my native country well.

The song went round, the Goblin Groom
Still plied the wine in festal room;
And bumper after bumper flew;
It was I ween a jovial crew.—
What chance had mortal man at drink
With one of charmed degree;
I cannot say, but needs must think
That chance but small could be.
And so it proved, and so they found,
E’er thirty bumper toasts went round.

Why need I tell, why need I show
Humanity debased, laid low;
How some beneath the table lay;
How others strove to get away,
And, tumbling headlong on the floor,
Ne’er reached the fated festal door;
Whilst stammering, incoherently,
Towards the goblin turned an eye;
Still saw him quaff the liquor down;
Still saw him smile, still saw him frown,
As fancied joke, or fancied toast,
Or fancied anger, ruled him most:
And thus he toasting bumpered on,
As long as he was looked upon.

And many say they heard the splash,
And jingle of the elfin glass,
Long after all the rest were dead,
And carried lifeless into bed:
But none may tell, for none can say,
Where the unhallowed goblin lay:
But he had beat the sportsmen all,
At drinking in the festal hall;
And soon I’ll show, if luck betide,
How this elf goblin dared to ride.[8]
But now I’ve left them all at rest:
Where is the greatest, and the best?
He, amid D— —h’s lovely groves,
With virtuous footsteps strays the while,
And woos the graces, and the loves,
With many a courtly winning smile.

Long mayst thou flourish, gallant peer,
For Caledonia owns thee dear,
And bids her fav’rite minstrel tell,
How that she loves her hero well;
Though polished mail no more shall grace,
Oh! S—tt, thy ancient chieftain race:
No more the splintered spear shall sound
On N— —k’s green or D— —h’s ground:
These days are past, and with them, too,
The deeds their chiefs were wont to do:
The towering plume, and nodding crest,
Have with their wearers gone to rest;
And ease and peace may now be seen
In every hamlet, wood, or green.
But nowhere are they seen so true
As round the mansion of B— —h;
Where patriarchal peace is found,
And care in rosy liquor drowned;
Where all of this illustrious line
Together sup, together dine.
And now I’ll cease my minstrel lay,
For time it is I should give up,
But once again, D— —h, I’ll say,
Long may you dine, long may you sup.

END OF CANTO FIRST.

Introduction to Canto Second.

TO BENJAMIN BUFFET, BUTLER TO HIS GRACE THE D—OF B— —H.

Edinburgh.

The cracking cork has pleased my ear,
Has silenced grief, has banished fear;
Has made dark winter’s dreary night
Seem to my senses noonday bright.
December’s cold was then forgot;
The wine was good, the fire was hot:
Thus many a heedless evening flew,
In table-talk, dear Ben, with you.
Though mentioned last in mintrel’s lay,
First in my heart you hold the sway:
For love and interest must combine;
And you are love, and interest wine:
And what must make you still more dear,
They say you have your master’s ear;
And if this rumour, Ben, be true,
Speak well of me to bold B— —h.
Pleasing to me is every scene,
Where, with my dearest friends, I’ve been.
I love the green, I love the grove,
The cavern vast, the neat alcove,
The mountain high, the valley low,
The scenes of friendship all may show.
These scenes I’ve loved, and still adore,
But, Oh! I love the pantry more.
There have I sat, there have I sung,
Have twirled a cork, or rolled a bung;
As infant fancy played her part,
That was a coach, this was a cart.
Those were the days of childish youth,
That promised parts, that promised truth;
For fancy shewed herself in play,
E’en in my earliest infant day:
When older grown, the pantry still
Was dear to me, against my will.
What there was done, I may not tell;
It might not please your master well;
So please me joy, or pierce me woe,
The bold B— —h shall never know.
Enough, the claret is not there;
But you and I both had a share.
And joy, you know, by danger bought,
Is always sweeter, dearer thought:
Regrets for past mistakes are vain,
And pleasure often follows pain.
Pleasure is but an empty sound,
And surely never yet was found:
It reigns but in the poet’s brain;
Reality is always pain:
And reasoning thus, it is my plan,
To be as merry as I can:
And though they say the claret went,
I don’t repine, I won’t repent.
It scarcely seems a summer’s day,
Though years and years have past away,
Since in the pantry’s snug retreat,
I, at the fire, first took my seat.
Oh! how I loved those moments dear;
Oh! how your lessons pleased my ear.
How oft you spoke of N— —k’s tower,
Forgetful of the midnight hour;
Of noble dames, of valiant knights,
Of bloody fields, and listed fights;
Of ancient manners, past and fled;
How S—tts, victorious, fought and bled;
In every combat, strife, or fight,
S—tt was victorious, S—tt was right.
And said I to myself, that they
Shall one time hear my minstrel lay:
That all my powers should then combine,
To praise B— —h’s illustrious line.
Yet whilst I sing the noble race,
My humbler friend shall have a place.
What though the oak be grand to see?
The humbler shrub is dear to me.
The sturdy oak unused to bend,
Too stately looks to be my friend.
So I’m content, and amply paid,
To crouch beneath the expansive shade.
There, wondring at the form sublime,
To friendship’s heights, I dare not climb;
And so I tune my humbler lays,
To notes of wonder, notes of praise.
And thus the minstrel’s efforts tend,
To claim a patron, not a friend.
In you, dear Ben, the shrub I see,
That lowly bows his head like me:
And thus I choose thee for my friend;
For both alike are doomed to bend:
And whilst we bend, and whilst we bow,
The adverse winds may rage and blow.
We need not fear misfortune’s stroke,
While couched beneath the stately oak:
And may that oak long live and last,
That guards us from misfortune’s blast.
Dear Ben, the oak shall have his due,
If bows, and flattering praise will do.
And those, you know, who bow and bend,
Ne’er want a patron, or a friend.

CANTO SECOND. The Fox-Chace. — THE GOBLIN GROOM. — I. — II. — III. — IV. — V. — VI. — VII. — VIII. — IX. — X. — XI. — XII. — XIII. — XIV. — XV. — XVI. — XVII. — XVIII. — XIX. — XX. — XXI. — XXII. — XXIII. — XXIV.

CANTO SECOND.

The Fox-Chace..

Now crows the cock in Dunse’s streets;
The twittering sparrow morning greets;
The braying ass his trumpet blew,
For well the morning air he knew;
And hies the hostler to his care,
With bosom light as morning air.
The ruddy streaks of infant day
On Lammer’s hills and Chiviot’s play;
And freshly blows the morning breeze,
From Firth of Forth to German seas.

The kennelled pack, with conscious ear,
Well know the huntsman to be near;
Their deep-toned notes, in concert rise,
As to the door each staunch hound flies;
And merry were the huntsman’s cries:
Full well he knew to cheer each hound,
Or quell his riot, by the sound
Of angry word, or cracking thong.
But now the pack as round they crowd,
In notes melodious, and loud,
Pour forth their morning song.
And, on my soul, the sound was dear,
And transport to the huntsman’s ear.
Out dashed the pack, a stauncher crew
Ne’er snuffed the pearly morning-dew:
And soon the huntsman’s sounding thong
Has checked the ardour of the throng:
In meet procession, quiet, slow,
Behind their master’s horse they go:
His two assistants after ride,
To bring them all to cover side.

Meanwhile the hostled sportsmen rise,
With bosoms light, but heavy eyes;
For last night’s liquor still remained,
And some would liked to’ve lain in bed,
To ease a fevered, aching head;
But manly pride such ease disdained.
So all have risen, and all have dressed,
In jockey cap, and scarlet vest;
And now they’re met, and seated all
At breakfast, in the festal hall:
And question after question passed,
Who saw the goblin jockey last?
Disputes arise, but all agree
That mortal man he could not be;
And cried they, with a jovial air,
Faith, but he drank his liquor fair!
The hostess enters in to say,
The Goblin Groom had gone away,
And who his share of drink should pay.
And all agree ’twas passing fair,
As he had filled great D— —h’s chair,
That his account for jovial cheer,
Should be discharged by D— —h’s peer.

The hacks are pacing now before
The Hostel’s arch projecting door;
Full twelve miles off the cover lay;
The hunters went at peep of day:
And some, I’m told, went over night,
To be in better hunting plight.
Each sportsman mounts his cover steed,
And through the town with fiery speed,
Spurs on his ready hack:
One thinks a canter gives him grace,
Another thinks a trot the pace,
And knowingly looks back;
And pleased he looks, in sooth to find
His cantering comrade left behind.
Now one, now t’other takes the lead,
As jockey whim directs the speed.

At Ladykirk the cover lay,
Where, steep and high, a birken brae
Hangs o’er the river Tweed:
Hence many a fox the hounds have driven,
Whose dirtied brush has oft been given,
The foremost horseman’s meed.
This bank, in former days, has been
Sad witness of a different scene;
When Norham’s border castle rang
With England’s war foreboding clang;
When threatened feud was heard to sound
Defiance to the Scottish ground;
When cannon roared from Norham’s wall,
The English border clans to call:
Then flew the fox this brae of birk,
And far from Scottish Ladykirk;
And sought he, much against his will,
The safe retreat of Chiviot hill.

Hither the hounds have bent their way,
And hither come the sportsmen gay:
Sure such a sight was never seen,
At tournament, or listed green.
The neighing steeds were seen to prance,
As through the copse-wood green they came:
The sounding whip displaced the lance,
And sport has banished feudal flame.
In every face a smile of joy,
From titled peer, to huntsman-boy;
In every eye a flash of fire;
A flash of hope, but not of ire:
In every heart joy’s transport bounds,
As into cover dash the hounds:
And in they dash with such a clang,
That Norham’s empty castle rang:
And every bush in tremor shook,
And every sapling waved on high;
Each horseman gazed with eager look,
Or listened for the joyous cry:
And sideways on their steeds they sat,
With side-placed cap, or side-placed hat.

But when they hear the well known hound
Proclaim the rascal to be found,
High beats each gallant sportsman’s heart
To take the lead, or have the start.
And now the banks of Ladykirk
Ring with the pack’s melodious cry;
And waves its head, each verdant birk,
To merry notes of extacy.
O! how the hounds together dash,
And make the greenwood cover crash.
Poor Reynard! all your hopes are vain;
In vain you strive to tarry here;
Go seek the fields, or plains so drear;
At Ladykirk you can’t remain;
To Tweed’s green banks now bid adieu,
They ne’er again shall greet your view;
No more her murm’ring streams shall cheer,
With soothing notes, your listening ear.

Now peeping from the copse so green,
The Fox’s cunning head is seen,
His ready ears turned back:
His open mouth his terror shows;
For time put off, full well he knows,
Will bring the eager pack.
So down towards the Tweed he steels,
With outstretched brush, and nimble heels;
When, hark! a horseman from below
Has given the welcome Tallyho!
Amazement filled the listening crew;
The note was strange, the voice was new:
Wondered they much who it could be
That shouted with such melody;
For such a voice, or such a sound,
Ne’er till this moment cheered a hound.

And round they gazing looked, when, lo!
The Goblin Groom is seen below,
Dressed as he was last night;
Save that a cap, place hat, he wore,
And neater looked he than before,
His leathers were more tight.
He strode a poney, lank and lean,
That looked as if astray ’t had been:
Dun was its hue, with flowing mane;
The tail was black, and like a train
Swept far behind the scented plain,
Save, when at speed, he whisking spread
It round the Goblin’s fated head;
Or to the spur, the sure reply
Was lashed across the Goblin’s thigh:
On every side, above, below,
The whisking tail was seen to flow.

Said I the Fox towards the Tweed
Had urged with fear his utmost speed;
And that the hounds approaching nigh
Had bid the cowering ruffian fly;
And that the Goblin Groom had seen
Him leave his haunts of copse-wood green;
Had seen him leave the bank so steep,
And stem the tide so broad and deep;
And that he ready staid below
To give the welcome Tallyho!

No sooner had the shout been given,
Than to the hilt the spurs were driven:
The lank-lean poney knew full well
The signal for the chace;
And only those who’ve seen may tell
The issue of the race.
But Norham’s castle saw the start,
And knows the Goblin did his part;
At least she knows, if it may be
That Castles are allowed to see,
That first the Goblin saw the find,
And left the boldest far behind.

Into the river, broad and deep,
Beneath old Norham’s ruined keep,
Where the descent appears most steep,
The gallant pack have dashed:
In likewise dashed the Elf and horse,
Quite heedless of the torrent’s force;
And as they stemmed the river’s course
His tail the poney lashed.
The Goblin Groom now screamed a scream;
For Goblins hate a running stream;
And, if the truth my records say,
The Elfin Poney neighed a neigh.

O! ’twas a gallant sight, and brave,
To see them stem the chrystal wave:
But now the tide and stream have bore
The Groom and pack to England’s shore:
The other sportsmen, round about,
With hurried speed, have ta’en their route;
For well they knew th’ attempt were vain
Here the English side of Tweed to gain;
And so they’ve gone a mile below,
Where gurgling Tweed runs on more slow;
And much they marvel, all the way,
How crossed that gallant daring fay.

Meanwhile the hounds round Norham’s base
Have ta’en their way with eager pace;
Have hurried on with ready will
To where the Tweed receives the Till:
Through Tillmouth’s wooded banks they fly,
Whilst Echo answers to the cry;[9]
And then they seek the higher lands,
Where Twizel’s lordly castle stands:
High on her wood surrounded mead,
She views at once both Till and Tweed:
Two fairer streams ne’er met, I ween,
In such a grand and lovely scene;
Where braes and banks, and woods combine,
And swiftly gliding waters shine;
Where distant hills and mountains rise,
And fade beneath th’ expansive skies.

The Goblin Groom has led the van
O’er hill and dale, through grove and glen;
And as the breast-high scent they ran,
Nor yawning ditch nor boggy fen,
Nor thickset-hedge, nor strong built wall,
Could stop his bold career;
His Elfin Steed disdained to fall,
And dashed impetuous at them all,
Determined each to clear.
And thus he hilter skilter flew,
And distanced all the huntsmen-crew;
Whilst much they wondered such a steed
So well could leap and take the lead.

From lordly Twizel’s wide domain,
An opener country now they gain;
No longer dells obstruct the sight:
The fields were large, the soil was light;
The eager hounds increase their pace;
The gallop now becomes a race:
But vain it were for horse to try
To race with one that seemed to fly:
And oft the Goblin looked in rear
As if he sought great D— —h’s Peer:
For be it known, and it is true,
The Goblin honoured bold B— —h;
And had he come t’enjoy the chace,
The Goblin sure had slacked his pace;
For, Goblin as he was, he knew
Respect to rank is always due.

Past Duddo’s black and ruined tower
The hard pressed Fox has bent his way;
Past Etal’s town and Etal’s bower,
Which in the neighb’ring valley lay:
Climbed they the hills so steep and fair,
Which over Ford’s proud castle stare;
And pleased was every eye, I ween,
Whilst glanced along the princely scene.
The castle first attracts the eye,
In all her ancient majesty:
Meandering Till’s impetuous flow,
Runs wildly in the vale below;
And mountains bleak, and hills of green,
Diversify the giant scene.
Such is the wide domain and hall
Of John the Peer of Delaval.

And now the country bleaker grew,
As to the upland grounds they drew;
A barren waste, so bleak and drear,
Is seen on every side:
No objects to the sight appear
The eye to glad, or heart to cheer,
In all the desert wide.
The ocean blue, with clustered isles,[10]
The only feature here that smiles;
Here glouring [11] o’er the German flood,
Bare Barmoor’s baby castle stood,
With pallid face of new built woe,
Sad contrast to the moor below.
The owner saw the hounds run by,
And, from a tower, joined in the cry;
Wondered he much who it could be
That led the joyous revelry:
To right, or left, the leading hound,
The Goblin Groom was always found.
“Oh!” cried the squire of Barmoor bare,
“Oh! like yon Elf, that I were there!”
Amazement seized his soul to find
The others were a mile behind.

From Barmoor’s bare and shrubless hill,
The hounds have doubled back to Till,
And seem to make for Chiviot hill.
Ah! hapless Fox, and dost thou know,
That fated Flodden lies below;
And does not dark foreboding fear
Warn thee that fated Flodden’s near;
And art thou doomed so soon to yield
Thy life on Flodden’s fated field.

And now old Milfield’s town they gain,
And reach dark Flodden’s dreary plain,
Where, in full cry, and all abreast,
The hounds the wily villain pressed:
The Goblin Groom still keeps his place,
And glories in the varying chace;
No demi volte, nor demi air;
No high curvett, nor terre-a-terre;
No hand to guide the gay croupade,
Nor heel to aid the balotade;
No capriole his skill to shew;
He these disdained, with pas et saut.[12]
Stiff on his stirrups, standing now,
He scorns to touch the saddle bow;
His elbows squared, and head awry,
As if he rode a race;
But none might know, for none might spy,
The Goblin’s spell-bound face:
For were he sprite, or were he fay,
He only shewed his back that day.

And now the Fox is losing ground;
Now strains his speed each eager hound;
Now at his brush the foremost prest;
Now at his side, now at his breast;
And now despair o’ercoming fright,
The crafty Fox turns round to fight;
But soon by numbers overthrown,
He yields his life without a groan.
Thus fell the Fox, and, hate aside,
We’ll say, at least, he nobly died.

Down from his Poney jumped the Elf,
When, lo! the Poney disappeared;
And now the Goblin Groom himself
Has ta’en the brush, the hounds has cheered;
Has bowed his head to Chiviot gray,
And vanished from the light of day:
And when the distanced horsemen neared
The bloody scene on Flodden’s plain,
No vestige of the Elf appeared;
The Poney too, was sought in vain.
Loud howled each hound; I will presume
They howled at loss of Goblin Groom;
And well they might, for such a fay
Ne’er rode before on hunting day;
And hounds, like ladies fair, I’m told,
Dote on the daring and the bold;
And than the Goblin, we’ll agree,
A bolder there could never be.

On Flodden’s field there stands a bush,
A willow bush where sedges grow,
The fav’rite haunt of Friar Rush:[13]
This bush the neighb’ring shepherds know:
’Twas here the hounds had killed their prey,
And vanished here the Goblin fay;
And, even to this very day,
The passing shepherd calls the bush,
The Winning-Post of Friar Rush;
And, therefore, I may well presume,
That Friar Rush was Goblin Groom.

I do not rhyme to that dull clown
That has no fancy of his own;
Who thinks on Flodden’s dreary plain
The wearied hunters still remain,
Because not mentioned in my strain;
Who cannot figure in his mind,
That they returned to Dunse and dined;
That flowing bumpers then went round
To every horse, to every hound;
That e’en midst jokes, and converse hot.
The Goblin Groom was not forgot;
And that they sat ’twixt hope and fear,
To see his Elfin form appear;
And that they drank, with honours due,
In three times three, the bold B— —h;
And midst the wassel-wine and cheer,
They thought on D— —h’s noble Peer;
And crowned in bowls of rosy wine,
The whole of that illustrious line.

L’Envoy,

TO THE READER.

Now let the Minstrel bid adieu,
With votive lays, my friends to you:
To you, my friends, he’ll now impart
The wishes of a Minstrel’s heart;
If my poor rede be dull and flat,
Pray blame my head alone for that;
But when I act a friendly part
You must not, cannot, blame my heart.
To every Peer, if Peer there be,
To read my idle minstrelsy,
Unspotted fame, and courage true,
And boundless wealth, like bold B— —h:
To every Bard that serves his Grace,
A goodly pension or a place;
To every Gardener may there be
A Bard to sing his praise, like me;
And may the bard be favoured too,
With Gardener-friend, dear Wat, like you:
Strong head, strong liquor, and good cheer,
To every Butler, far and near,
That serves a worthy, gallant, Peer:
Long life to all; my friends adieu,
And pray with me for bold B— —h.

THE END OF THE GOBLIN GROOM.

NOTES.

NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. — NOTE I, P. 16. — NOTE II, P. 23. — NOTE III, P. 26, 27. — NOTE IV, P. 28. — NOTE V, P. 29.

Where garden is, was place of tilt
Or tournament, where blood was spilt;
Where stain’d was many a foeman’s hilt
With blood of knight laid low.

The martial exercise of Tilting is said to have been introduced some time between the years 920 and 937, by Henry I of Germany, styled Anceps, or Falconer, but better known by the appellation of the Fowler: his motto was, “Tardus ad vindictam, ad beneficentiam velox.”[14] He is likewise said to have purchased the lance which pierced our Saviour’s side, and, with it, some of the nails of the holy cross; giving in exchange a great portion of Suabia, and other valuable gifts.

In the centre, soup was seen
Smoking, from a vase of snow.

That learned philosopher and prince of culinary perfection, Count Rumford, has taught the world the mode of preparing ice-cream in a hot oven, and of sending it freezing to table in a light crust of smoking pastry. The epicurean reader will be much disappointed if he expects to find that the above lines allude to some recent improvement in the science of chemistry, establishing the converse of this discovery; and that the soup at Dunse was actually served steaming to the company in an excavated snow-ball. It is hoped, that “a vase of snow” will be allowed as an appropriate figure for a clean white crockery tureen.

The chair is filled! a stranger sat
Upon the honoured seat;
Nor deigned he to doff his hat,
Though more than one had hinted that
Respect was always meet.
But he was heedless of them all,
And thrice he gazed round the hall,
But ne’er a word did he let fall:
Whilst thus he sat, whilst thus he gazed,
The goodly throng were all amazed.—

The subject of superstition, as connected with the history of man, whether it be considered as influencing his character, or as affecting his conduct in society, seems sufficiently important to occupy the serious attention of the most learned investigator. It has been treated, however, with so much ability by an elegant author of our own times,[15] that, if not altogether exhausted, little more seems left to the ingenuity of any succeeding writer, than to avail himself, as his occasions may require, of the store of information thus amply afforded him. No maxim being more certainly founded on truth, than that early impressions are generally the most lasting. Would it not be highly meritorious in any one equal to the task, to favour the public with new editions of these invaluable productions, Satan’s Invisible World, and Glanvil’s History of Witchcraft, rendered, on the modern and improved plan of juvenile education, into easy ditties, to be sung or said by nurse or child? Might we not then expect to see the pure principles of poetic taste reared on the solid basis of useful knowledge?

The following marvellous occurrence, recorded in the letter of a noble peer, and said to be founded in fact, may appear to the reader of prosaic fancy, as extremely dull and uninteresting; but as it has been the ground-work of the present poem, the author cannot think of refusing it insertion. It will likewise help to increase the volume to that respectable size which may entitle it to the honours of Russia or Morocco, and to a distinguished situation on the well arranged shelves of a modern library.

“MY DEAR SIR,

“I obey your commands with some reluctance, in relating the story of which you have heard so much, and to which your curiosity appears to be so broad awake. I do it unwillingly, because such histories depend so much upon the manner in which they are related; and this, which I have told with such success, and to the midnight terrors of so many simple souls, will make but a sorry figure in a written narration.—However, you shall have it.

“It was in the early part of— — —’s life, that he attended an hunting club at their sport, when a stranger, of a genteel appearance, and well mounted, joined the chace, and was observed to ride with a degree of courage and address that called forth the utmost astonishment of every one present. The beast he rode was of amazing powers; nothing stopped them; the hounds could never escape them; and the huntsman, who was left far behind, swore that the man and his horse were devils from hell. When the sport was over, the company invited this extraordinary person to dinner; he accepted the invitation, and astonished the company as much by the powers of his conversation, and the elegance of his manners, as by his equestrian prowess. He was an orator, a poet, a painter, a musician, a lawyer, a divine; in short, he was every thing, and the magic of his discourse kept the drowsy sportsmen awake long after their usual hour. At length, however, wearied nature could be charmed no more, and the company began to steal away by degrees to their repose. On his observing the society diminish, he discovered manifest signs of uneasiness: he therefore gave new force to his spirits, and new charms to his conversation, in order to detain the remaining few some time longer. This had some little effect; but the period could not be long delayed when he was to be conducted to his chamber. The remains of the company retired also; but they had scarce closed their eyes, when the house was alarmed by the most terrible shrieks that were ever heard: several persons were awakened by the noise; but, its continuance being short, they concluded it to proceed from a dog who might be accidentally confined in some part of the house: they very soon, therefore, composed themselves to sleep, and were very soon awakened by shrieks and cries of still greater terror than the former. Alarmed at what they heard, several of them rung their bells, and, when the servants came, they declared that the horrid sounds proceeded from the stranger’s chamber. Some of the gentlemen immediately arose, to inquire into this extraordinary disturbance; and, while they were dressing themselves for that purpose, deeper groans of despair, and shriller shrieks of agony, again astonished and terrified them. After knocking sometime at the stranger’s chamber-door, he answered them as one awakened from sleep, declared he had heard no noise, and, rather in an angry tone, desired he might not be again disturbed. Upon this they returned to one of their chambers, and had scarce begun to communicate their sentiments to each other, when their conversation was interrupted by a renewal of yells, screams, and shrieks, which, from the horror of them, seemed to issue from the throats of damned and tortured spirits. They immediately followed the sounds, and traced them to the stranger’s chamber, the door of which they instantly burst open, and found him upon his knees in bed, in the act of scourging himself with the most unrelenting severity, his body streaming with blood. On their seizing his hand to stop the strokes, he begged them, in the most wringing tone of voice, as an act of mercy, that they would retire, assuring them that the cause of their disturbance was over, and that in the morning he would acquaint them with the reasons of the terrible cries they had heard, and the melancholy sight they saw. After a repetition of his entreaties, they retired; and in the morning some of them went to his chamber, but he was not there; and, on examining the bed, they found it to be one gore of blood. Upon further inquiry, the groom said, that, as soon as it was light, the gentleman came to the stable booted and spurred, desired his horse might be immediately saddled, and appeared to be extremely impatient till it was done, when he vaulted instantly into his saddle, and rode out of the yard on full speed.—Servants were immediately dispatched into every part of the surrounding country, but not a single trace of him could be found; such a person had not been seen by any one, nor has he been since heard of.

“The circumstances of this strange story were immediately committed to writing, and signed by every one who were witnesses to them, that the future credibility of any one, who should think proper to relate them, might be duly supported. Among the subscribers to the truth of this history are some of the first names of this century.—It would now, I believe, be impertinent to add any thing more, than that I am, yours, &c.”

If farther proof were necessary to shew, that the dominion of superstition is not altogether confined, as has been erroneously supposed, to the heroes of romance, it might be found in the learned support afforded, but a few years ago, to the predictions of the unfortunate Prophet Brothers: And although the sublime and simple truths of the Christian faith have given a fatal blow to the superstitious absurdities of more early creeds, our propensity to the marvellous, has still retained sufficient influence, to screen from detection the grossest impositions of the Roman Church. Among the numberless deceptions, which Popish craft has successfully practised upon the credulity of its votaries, one has been handed down by a venerable historian, the insertion of which cannot fail to gratify the enlightened commentators and note-compilers of the present age.—

“Qui, cum die quadam tale aliquid foris ageret, digressis ad ecclesiam sociis, ut dicere cœperam, et episcopus solus in oratorio loci, lectioni vel orationi operam daret; audivit repente, ut postea referebat, vocem suavissimam cantantium atque lætantium de cœlo ad terras usque descendere: quam videlicet vocem ab Euro austro, id est, ab alto brumalis, exortam, primo se audisse dicebat, ac deinde paulatim eam sibi appropiare, donec ad tectum usque oratorii, in quo erat Episcopus, perveniret; quod ingressa totum implevit, atque in gyro circundedit. At ille, dum solicitus in ea quæ audiebat, animum intenderet, audivit denuo transacto quasi dimidiæ horæ spatio, ascendere de tecto ejusdem oratorii idem lætitiæ canticum; et ipsa qua venerat via, ad cœlos usque cum ineffabili dulcedine, reverti. Qui cum aliquantulum horæ quasi attonitus maneret, et quid hæc essent solerti animo scrutaretur, aperuit Episcopus fenestram oratorii, et sonitum manu faciens, ut sæpius consuevit, siquis foris esset, ad se intrare præcepit. Introivit ille concitus; cui dixit antistes: vade cito ad ecclesiam, et hos septem fratres huc venire facito; tu quoque simul adesto. Qui cum venissent, primo admonuit eos, ut virtutem dilectionis et pacis, ad invicem et ad omnes fideles servarent. Instituta quoque disciplinæ regularis, quæ vel ab ipso didicissent, vel in ipso vidissent, vel in patrum præcedentium factis sive dictis invenissent, indefessa instantia sequerentur. Deinde subjunxit, diem sui obitus jam proxime instare. Namque hospes, inquit, ille amabilis, qui fratres nostros visitare solebat, ad me quoque hodie venire, meque de seculo evocare dignatus est. Propter quod revertentes ad ecclesiam, dicite fratribus, ut et meum exitum Domino precibus commendent, et suum quoque exitum, (cujus hora incerta est), vigiliis, orationibus, bonis operibus, prævenire meminerint. Cumque hæc et hujusmodi plura loqueretur, atque illi, percepta ejus benedictione, jam multum tristes exiissent, rediit ipse solus, qui carmen cœleste audierat, et prosternens se in terram, Obsecro, inquit pater, licetne aliquid interrogare? Interroga, inquit, quod vis. At ille, Obsecro, inquit, ut dicas, quod erat canticum illud lætantium, quod audivi, venientium de cœlis super oratorium hoc, et post tempus redeuntium ad cœlos. Respondit ille; Si vocem carminis audivisti, et cœlestes supervenire cœtus cognovisti, præcipio tibi in nomine Domini, ne hoc cuiquam, ante meum obitum, dicas. Revera autem Angelorum fuere spiritus, qui me ad cœlestia, quæ semper amabam ac desiderabam, præmia vocare venerunt; et post dies septem se redituros, ac me secum adducturos esse promiserunt. Quod quidem ita ut dictum ei erat opere completum est. Nam confestim languore corporis tactus est, et hoc per dies ingravescente, septimo (ut promissum ei fuerat) die, postquam obitum suum dominici corporis, et sanguinis perceptione munivit, soluta ab ergastulo corporis anima sancta, ducentibus (ut credi fas est), angelis comitibus, æterna gaudia petivit.”

E HIST. ECCLES. VENER. BED.

A pea-green jerkin on his back,
All dabbled by a splashing hack.—

The dress of this little stranger, and his manner of introducing himself to the festival, must satisfy the reader that the Goblin Groom is one of those supernatural sportsmen usually termed Fairies. In the sequel, however, it will appear evident, that he owes his origin to the hardy race of northern Elves, rather than to the more delicate family of eastern Peris.[16]

The existence of the Fairy, like that of the Mermaid, no longer rests on the credulity of the ignorant, but is confirmed and established by attestations no less respectable than the affidavits so frequently made before the Lord Mayor of London, in support of the infallibility of a quack and his nostrums.

In the isle of Man, where sportsmen of more tangible materials enjoy a temporary security, these little supernaturals, probably under similar circumstances, find an agreeable retreat. In the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Borders, on the unrefuted authority of Mr. Waldron, we have the following interesting particulars.—

“Like the FELD ELFEN of the Saxons, the usual dress of the Fairies is green; though, on the moors, they have been sometimes observed in heath-brown, or in weeds dyed with the stoneraw, or lichen. They often ride in invisible procession, when their presence is discovered by the shrill ringing of their bridles. On these occasions, they sometimes borrow mortal steeds; and when such are found at morning, panting and fatigued in their stalls, with their manes and tails dishevelled and entangled, the grooms, I presume, often find this a convenient excuse for their situation; as the common belief of the elves quaffing the choicest liquors in the cellars of the rich, (see the story of Lord Duffus below), might occasionally cloak the delinquencies of an unfaithful butler.

“The Fairies, beside their equestrian processions, are addicted, it would seem, to the pleasures of the chace. A young sailor, travelling by night from Douglas, in the Isle of Man, to visit his sister, residing in Kirk Merlugh, heard the noise of horses, the holla of a huntsman, and the sound of a horn. Immediately afterwards, thirteen horsemen, dressed in green, and gallantly mounted, swept past him. Jack was so much delighted with the sport, that he followed them, and enjoyed the sound of the horn for some miles; and it was not till he arrived at his sister’s house that he learned the danger which he had incurred. I must not omit to mention, that these little personages are expert jockeys, and scorn to ride the little Manks ponies, though apparently well suited to their size. The exercise, therefore, falls heavily upon the English and Irish horses brought into the Isle of Man. Mr. Waldron was assured by a gentleman of Ballafletcher, that he had lost three or four capital hunters by these nocturnal excursions.

WALDRON’S WORKS, P. 132.”

It is to be lamented, for the comfort of that valuable class of society denominated Hunting-Grooms, that their masters do not look into the casualties of their studs with the discriminating eye of the worthy gentleman of Ballafletcher.

And every toast with ready will
His elfin hand consents to fill.
Heavens! what a wondrous draught he drew
Whene’er they toasted bold B— —h.

Monsieur Mallet, the learned author of the ingenious work on Northren Antiquities, seems to consider Fairies and Elves as synonymous terms. In his remarks on the ninth fable of the Edda, we find him thus expressing himself.—“Alfheim signifies, in Gothic, the abode of the Genii, that is, the Fairies of the male-sex.” To prove the Gothic origin of our Elf, we need only appeal to the devotion he shews to the bottle. His conduct at the Dunse Festival is truly northern, and the mighty Thor himself, the great champion of Scandinavian revelry, could not have displayed greater zeal in emptying the enchanted horn.—But of this the reader may judge by perusing the Gothic fable.—

THE TWENTY-FIFTH FABLE.

Of the Trials that Thor underwent.

“Then the king asked Thor, in what art he would choose to give proof of that dexterity for which he was so famous. Thor replied, that he would contest the prize of drinking with any person belonging to his court. The king consented, and immediately went into his palace to look for a large horn, out of which his courtiers were obliged to drink when they had committed any trespass against the customs of the court.[17] This the cup-bearer filled to the brim, and presented to Thor, whilst the king spake thus.—Whoever is a good drinker, will empty that horn at a single draught; some persons make two of it; but the most puny drinker of all can do it at three. Thor looked at the horn, and was astonished at its length;[18] however, as he was very thirsty, he set it to his mouth, and, without drawing breath, pulled as long and as deeply as he could, that he might not be obliged to make a second draught of it; but when he withdrew the cup from his mouth, in order to look in, he could scarcely perceive any of the liquor gone. To it he went again with all his might, but succeeded no better than before. At last, full of indignation, he again set the horn to his lips, and exerted himself to the utmost to empty it entirely: then looking in, he found that the liquor was a little lowered; upon this, he resolved to attempt it no more, but gave back the horn. I now see plainly, says the king, that thou art not quite so stout as we thought thee; but art thou willing to make any more trials? I am sure, says Thor, such draughts as I have been drinking, would not have been reckoned small among the Gods.

MALLET’S NORTH. ANTIQ. VOL. II, P. 126-127.”

NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. — NOTE I, P. 60. — NOTE II, P. 63. — NOTE III, P. 66. — NOTE IV, P. 72. — NOTE V, P. 74. — NOTE VI, P. 76. — NOTE VII, P. 79.

He strode a poney, lank and lean,
That looked as if astray ’t had been;
Dun was its hue, with flowing-mane;
The tail was black, and like a train—

Contrary to the custom of the Manx Fairies, it might be inferred, that our Groom had just returned from the sanctuary of sportsmen, with a nag of the native breed. But having already made considerable progress in establishing the origin of the rider, we shall now take some pains in proving to our readers the pedigree of the steed: and in asserting him to be from the stock of the far-famed Sleipner, we hope to be borne out by his performances, and confirmed by probability in our opinion. The circumstance of that noted stallion having had eight legs, does not in the least degree weaken our belief in the genuine descent of the Goblin’s poney; for, reasoning by analogy, we have never yet heard of a parent with a wooden-leg transmitting timber-toes to posterity.

To those sportsmen who confine their genealogical inquiries to the general stud-book and racing-calendar, we present, in the words of the Gothic Edda, the history of a horse, more famed than the Childer’s Barb, or the Godolphin Arabian.—

HISTORIA VICESIMA PRIMA.

Quomodo Loco procreavit equum Sleipnerum cum Svadilfaro.

“Faber quidam Asas adveniens, ad urbem illis ædificandam per tres annos sese obtulit, eamque adeo munitam, ut tuta esset ab incursionibus Gigantum. Mercedem vero laboris Frejam postulavit, ut et lunam solemque. Dii vero, inito consilio, paciscuntur; si vero quid laboris prima die æstatis superesset, præmium amitteret; nullius vero opera ei uti liceret. Hic de auxilio equi sui Svadelfari tantum pactus fuit. Omnia vero hæc fiebant, dirigente et instigante Locone. Hic urbam ædificaturus, noctu per equum lapides attraxit. Asis mirum videbatur, eam tam magnos adferre montes; nec non equum plus, quam fabrum, conficere. Pacto autem multi interfuere testes: quippe cum gigas videretur non satis tutus inter Asas, si hic esset, Toro domum reverso. Qui jam mari Baltico trajecto, hinc per amnes et fluvios ad Asiam progressus, (quod priscis Austerveg audit) bellum cum gigantibus gessit. Urbs fuit munita et tam alta, ut perspicere non valeres. Tribus vero reliquis fabro diebus, Dii congregati solia sua ascendentes quæsiverunt, quisnam auctor esset, ut Freya in Jotunheimiam elocaretur? ut et aer perderetur, inducta cœlo calligine, sublatum solem et lunam dando gigantibus. Illos vero inter conventum fuit, Loconem hoc dedisse consilium. Dicebant, eum misera morte afficiendum esse, nisi rationem, qua faber mercedem amitteret, inveniret, adjicientes fore ut statim illum comprehenderent. Examinatus vero jurejurando promisit se effecturum, ut faber mercede frustraretur, quicquid tandem huic negotio impenderet. Fabro autem lapidis advehendi causa, cum Svadilfaro, egressuro, ex sylva prosiliit equa quædam solitaria, equo adhinniens. Quam conspicatus equus, in furorem actus, rupto fune, eam adcurrit, jam in sylvam accelerantem, insequente fabro, equum assecuturo. Equa vero totam per noctem discurrente, faber impeditus fuit, quominus, hac nocte, una cum die sequente, opus, uti antea, fuerit continuatum. Quo cognito, animo percellitur giganteo. Quo viso, juramentis non parcentes Torum invocarunt: qui statim adveniens, vibrato in aera malleo, dataque mercede, occisum fabrum in Niflheimium detrusit. Loconi vero cum Svadilfaro res fuit, ut equuleum genuerit nomine Sleipnerum, octo habentem pedes.

EDDA, FAB. XXI, OPERA ET STUDIO JO. GORANSON.”

The Goblin Groom now screamed a scream;
For Goblins hate a running stream;
And, if the truth my records say,
The Elfin Poney neighed a neigh.

The terror of the inhabitants of Alfheim, or Fairy land, for running water, has been too often asserted to require much comment. Unlicensed spirits, that wander on the face of the earth, with intentions injurious to mankind, are always represented as tortured with hydrophobia. The author cannot hope that he has painted the Goblin’s terror in all the glowing colours of a Burns,[19] or with the finer tints of a Scott; yet he flatters himself some beauty may be found, by the admirers of pleonastic redundancy, in the passage expressive of the horror of the horse and rider; and he feels that, in this judgment, he will be supported by the most classical authorities in the English language; e.g.

GILES SCROGGINS.

Giles Scroggins courted Molly Brown,
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;
The fairest wench in all the town,
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;
He bought a ring with posie true,
“If you loves I as I loves you,
“No knife can cut our love in two.”
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido.

But scissars cut as well as knives,
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;
And quite unsartin’s all our lives,
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;
The day they were to have been wed,
Fate’s scissars cut poor Giles’s thread,
So they could not be mar-ri-ed.
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido.

Poor Molly laid her down to weep,
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;
And cried herself quite fast asleep,
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;
When, standing all by the bed-post,
A figure tall her sight engrossed,
And it cried, I beez Giles Scroggins’ Ghost!
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido.

The Ghost it said, all solemnly,
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;
O Molly, you must go with I!
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;
All to the grave, your love to cool.—
She says, I am not dead, you fool!—
Says the Ghost, says he, Vy that’s no rule.
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido.

The Ghost he seized her, all so grim,
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido;
All for to go along with him;
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido.
“Come, come, said he, ere morning beam.”—
“I vont!” said she, and she screamed a scream—
Then she woke and found she dreamed a dream.
Fol deriddle lol, fol deriddle lido.

And again,—

With rapid round the Baron bent;
He sighed a sigh, he prayed a prayer;
The prayer was to his patron Saint,
The sigh was to his lady fair.

LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL.

And thus he hilter skilter flew,
And distanced all the huntsmen-crew.

We cannot give a better idea of the hilter skilter mode of riding with hounds, than by quoting the truly classical words of an accomplished Leicestershire sportsman, who is equally celebrated as a painter and a poet.—

And next in the cluster
See Wor’ster and Muster;
Now Muster sets Wor’ster,
Now Wor’ster beats Muster;
Now Muster is first, Sir,
And Wor’ster is burst, Sir:
Such bunglers as those are
Ought both to be curst, Sir.

Although we in general disapprove of Parodies, the above is so excellent, and so applicable to our subject, that we sacrifice our principles for the gratification of our readers.

No demi volte, nor demi air;
No high curvett, nor terre-a-terre;
No hand to guide the gay croupade.
Nor heel to aid the balotade;
No capriole his skill to shew;
He these disdained, with pas et saut.

It must be truly gratifying to yeomanry officers, and those who have not had the advantages of an equestrian education, that, in works of fancy, they may be at once amused and instructed with valuable hints on horsemanship; and believing, as we do, that those who have feasted on the pages of Marmion are now enabled to take a leading part in a meslee or fight, we shall proceed to forward them in their pursuits, by recommending to their attention Astley’s explanation of the Croupade.

The Tailor too of Brentford will be enjoyed with greater glee, when the spectators do not curb their mirth by a fellow-feeling for the Cockney equestrian.

“CROUPADE.

“The horse leaps into the air with all his feet off the ground at one and the same time, and without stretching out those behind: by an attention to this action, much good might result to the cavalry; and here I will relate a manœuvre, to which I often had recourse in 1761, and at other periods of the seven years war. I instructed my horse to strike an object, or objects, at the will of the rider, within a given distance, before, behind, or together; and necessity furnished me with the idea.

“In patroling, a soldier sometimes wants a guide, and gentle means often prove ineffectual to induce a peasant to quit his bed, at the dead of the night, for the accommodation of others,—to dismount for the purpose of procuring admittance into a house, at such a time, barred and bolted within, and perhaps in an enemy’s country, would be dangerous. I knew my duty, and, ere this, my horse knew his. On approaching the door, I caused him to strike it with his fore-feet; and if this did not answer my purpose, (for it would sometimes fail), I faced him about, when, with his croup, he would break the door in pieces: this he would accomplish in a few moments, to the surprise and terror of the inhabitants: on the other hand, when upon the defensive, no person could approach me without danger; and when on the offensive, and animated at my pleasure, to the highest pitch, he would strike in every direction, and clear his way!

ASTLEY’S EQUESTRIAN EDUCATION, P. 177.”

We do not remember that La Broue has any where pointed out the application of this useful air du Manège, as the French term it.

Loud howled each hound; I will presume
They howled at loss of Goblin Groom;
And well they might, for such a fay
Ne’er rode before on hunting day;—

Though not exactly authorized by the writer of the following poem, yet we cannot think he will take offence at our availing ourselves of its beauties, to illustrate the fidelity and attachment of the canine species to their masters, and those who have shared with them in the dangers and fatigues of the chace. We extract this poem from a Calcutta Gazette of 1807.—

BETH-GELERT,

OR THE GRAVE OF THE GREYHOUND.[20]

The spearmen heard the bugle sound,
And cheerly smiled the morn,
And many a brach, and many a hound,
Obeyed Llewelyn’s horn.

And still he blew a louder blast,
And gave a lustier cheer,
“Come, Gelert, come, wer’t never last
“Llewelyn’s horn to hear.

“Oh! where does faithful Gelert roam,
“The flower of all his race?
“So true, so brave; a lamb at home,
“A lion in the chace!”

’Twas only at Llewelyn’s board
The faithful Gelert fed;
He watched, he served, he cheered his lord,
And sentineled his bed.

In sooth he was a peerless hound,
The gift of royal John;
But now no Gelert could be found,
And all the chace rode on.

And now, as o’er the rocks and dells
The gallant chidings rise,
All Snowdon’s craggy chaos yells
The many mingled cries!

That day Llewelyn little loved
The chace of hart or hare,
And scant and small the booty proved,
For Gelert was not there.

Unpleased, Llewelyn homeward hied:
When, near the portal seat,
His truant Gelert he espied
Bounding his lord to greet.

But, when he gained his castle door,
Aghast the chieftain stood;
The hound all o’er was smeared with gore,
His lips, his fangs, ran blood.

Llewelyn gazed with fierce surprise:—
Unused such looks to meet,
His fav’rite checked his joyful guise,
And crouched and licked his feet.

Onward in haste Llewelyn past,
And on went Gelert too,
And still, where’er his eyes he cast,
Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view.

O’erturned his infant’s bed he found,
With blood-stained covert rent;
And all around, the walls and ground
With recent blood besprent.

He called his child, no voice replied;
He searched with terror wild;
Blood, blood he found on every side;
But no where found his child.

“Hell-hound! my child by thee’s devoured!”
The frantic father cried;
And to the hilt his vengeful sword
He plunged in Gelert’s side.

His suppliant looks, as prone he fell,
No pity could impart:
But still his Gelert’s dying yell
Passed heavy o’er his heart.

Aroused by Gelert’s dying yell
Some slumberer wakened nigh:
What words the parent’s joy could tell
To hear his infant’s cry!

Concealed beneath a tumbled heap,
His hurried search had missed:
All glowing from his rosy sleep,
The cherub boy he kissed.

Nor scath had he, nor harm, nor dread;
But the same couch beneath
Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead,
Tremendous still in death.

Ah, what was then Llewelyn’s pain!
For now the truth was clear;
His gallant hound the wolf had slain,
To save Llewelyn’s heir.

Vain, vain was all Llewelyn’s woe:
“Best of thy kind adieu!
“The frantic blow, which laid thee low,
“This heart shall ever rue.”

And now a gallant tomb they raise,
With costly sculpture deckt;
And marbles storied with his praise,
Poor Gelert’s bones protect.

There never could the spearman pass,
Or forester, unmoved;
There oft the tear-besprinkled grass
Llewelyn’s sorrow proved.

And there he hung his horn and spear,
And there, as evening fell,
In Fancy’s ear he oft would hear
Poor Gelert’s dying yell.

And till great Snowdon’s rocks grow old,
And cease the storm to brave,
The consecrated spot shall hold
The name of “Gelert’s Grave!”

The passing shepherd calls the bush,
The Winning-Post of Friar Rush;—

This Friar, or “esprit follet,” is a gentleman of as many names and titles as any Spanish Grandee; “Will o’ the Wisp,” however, is the name he is best known by, when stript of his ecclesiastical honours: he has always been considered a tricky knave, and is thus spoken of in Marmion.—

Better we had through mire and bush
Been lanthorn led by Friar Rush.
MARMION, CANTO IV, P. 187.

To every Bard that serves his Grace,
A goodly pension or a place;—

We here call upon our readers, to attend to the origin of the word Bard; inasmuch as, that term has become applicable to poem-mongers in general. The learned Mr. Prideaux informs us,—

“Bardus possessed his father Druis’ place. To his ancestors Phylosophy, Magick, Politicks, Rites and Ceremonies, this man added Poetry, and set all their excellencies at a higher key. 2. From him we have the ancient Bardi, the chroniclers of all heroick actions, and commenders of their performers, to the imitation of their posterity, whom an ancient poet thus bespeaketh,—

Vos quoq. qui fortes animas belloq. peremtas,
Laudibus in longum vates deducitis ævum.
Plurima securi fudistis carmina Bardi.

Then you brave Bards securely song,
The praise of dead Pears;
In lofty strains, for to prolong
Their fame for many years.

3. Their esteem was such amongst the greatest commanders, that if two armies were even at push of pike, and a Bard had step’d in between them, they would have held their hands, harkened to their advice, and not have offered to strike until he were out of danger. 4. Famous amongst those Bards (before the coming of our Saviour) were held Plenidius and Glaskirion, and of late years, Davye Dee, David ap Williams and others. They say the island Bardsey had Bardorum Insula, its name, from them, and Aquila, Perdix, Patrick, Maddoch, and both the Merlins the wisards, were from this institution.”

PRIDEAUX’S INTRODUCTION TO HISTORY, P. 255-256.

Although the terms Bard and Poet are those in more general use to express the rhyme-weaving brotherhood, yet there are words of Gothic origin which may still be found of uncommon meaning, and, on certain occasions, even more significant than the former. Thus, a dame declaiming in heroics to her waiting-women and children, is denominated a Scold, from the Scalds or Poets of Iceland; and the term Bragger may, from “Brage” of the Goths, be employed to designate a blustering Poetaster, who claims, for alleged facility and unquestionable length of composition, the applause reserved for creative genius and continued exertion.

THE END.

Printed by Alex. Lawrie & Co. Edinburgh.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] In this happy manner of expressing his admiration of the object before him, the author assures his readers, that he lays no claim to originality.

[2] Bumble or bumbart bee. Vide Dr. Jamieson’s Dictionary.

[3] North of the Tweed beast is applied, as a general term, to animals, without distinction.

[4] The following anecdote, with many others equally interesting, is recorded in a very rare work, to be found in few collections, however excellent. A gentleman and his friend, passing along Oxford Road, were stopped by an immense crowd near Hyde Park, and, on inquiring into the cause, were told that a person of the name of Vowel was leading to execution at Tyburn. “I wonder what vowel it can be,” (cried the one). “It is neither U nor I, (replied the other), so let us pass on.” Joe Miller, a very old edition.

[5] Dunse, supposed to be derived from the old Celtic word Dun, a hill, is situated in the centre of the county of Berwick, near to the Lammermoor hills,—is famous for its cabbages,—from its being the birth-place of Duns Scotus,—and from the number of alehouses which it contains. For an account of its places of ancient strength, vide Statistical Account of Scotland, vol. iv.

[6] Whitadder and Blackadder, probably corruptions of Whitewater and Blackwater, two streams which, uniting in their course, empty themselves into the Tweed a little above Berwick.

[7] Those who feel with the author on this subject, will consult, with peculiar pleasure, the general tenor of our Parliamentary Reports.

[8]

O fortes pejoraque passi
Mecum sæpe viri nunc vino pellite curas
Cras ingens iterabimus æquor.
HOR. ODE 7, LIB. 1.

[9]

Et vox assensu nemorum ingeminata remugit.
GEORG. III.

[10] The Fern Islands.

[11] Looking intensely. Dr. Jamieson gives the following authority for this meaning of the word.—

“He girnt, he glourt, he gapt, as he war weid.”
DUNBAR, MAITLAND POEMS, p. 77.

[12]

Il monte avec la main les eperons et gaule,
Le cheval de pegase qui volle en capriole,
Il monte si haut qu’il touche de sa teste les cieux,
Et par ses merveilles ravit en extasses les Dieux,
Les chevaux corruptible qui la bas sur terre son
En courbettes demi-airs terre-à-tere vont
Avec humilite soumission et bassesse,
L’adorer, comme Dieu et auteur de leur adresse.

See a General System of Horsemanship, &c.
by the Duke of Newcastle.

[13] Alias “Will o’ the Wisp,”—alias, in Scotland, “Spunkie.” The reader who is anxious for farther information on this interesting subject is referred to the notes on Marmion.

[14] Hedio. Sleidan.

[15] Scott. Vide Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. ii.

[16] By some etymologists of that learned class, who not only know whence words come, but also whither they are going, the term Fairy, or Faërie, is derived from Faë, which is again derived from Nympha. It is more probable the term is of oriental origin, and is derived from the Persic, through the medium of the Arabic. In Persic, the term Peri expresses a species of imaginary being, which resembles the Fairy in some of its qualities, and is one of the fairest creatures of romantic fancy.

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, p. 115-116.

[17] Our modern Bachanals will here observe, that punishing by a bumper is not an invention of these degenerate days. The ancient Danes were great Topers.

[18] The drinking vessels of the northern nations were the horns of animals, of their natural length, only tipt with silver, &c. In York-Minster is preserved one of those ancient drinking-vessels, composed of a large elephant’s tooth, of its natural dimensions, ornamented with sculpture, &c. See Drake’s Hist.

[19] Tam O’Shanter.

[20] The story of this Ballad is traditionary in a village at the foot of Snowden, where Llewelyn the Great had a house. The Greyhound, named Gêlert, was given to him by his father-in-law, King John, in the year 1205; and the place to this day is railed Beth Gêlert, or the Grave of Gêlert.