E-GALLERY

Thorne Moors Photo's

This poem was originally published in 1831 as part of J.N. Mosby's collection of poetry entitled The Fall of Algiers: The Bride of the Desert and other poems.

MORNING WALK TO SPROTBRO

Soon as Aarora, with her keys of light.
Opens the bright portals of the orient
Heavens, and plants her purple banners in
The sky, to herald forth the son, bright monarch
Of the day: then drowsy slumbers from my
Eyes I shake, and, rising, leave my downy
Bed, which, soft, enticing, fain would bid me
Linger yet another hour— a sluggard's
Plea for rest; that hour still lingering soon would
Seal my eyes with quiet sleep, or broken slumbers.
Fraught with startling dreams of monsters dire, and
Ominous events, such as the waking
World ne'er saw, would lengthen out that hour to
Two, till all the summer morn was spent, while
Drowsy sloth was lolling at its ease.

But no— the morning smile invites me to
The fields, where blooming health my early coming
Waits, to fan me with its fragrant vivifying
Breeze. With joyful soul, and spirits all elate,

1 quit for one short while the narrow
Crowded streets, and noisome, smoky alleys
Where the busy scenes of life pass daily
On — where discord's sown — where slander's spread
Abroad — where strife's engendered, enmity
And pride — where mirth and madness mingle in the
Throng. Bat now 'tis hush'd : in sleep'a soft shrouding
Mantle all is lall'd — a temporary quell
Away I go, and leave the town behind
With all the toils and cares ; with nimble step
And buoyant heart, along the narrow lane.
Whose hedge-rows with white-blossom'd May-flowers
Hang luxuriant, shedding tears of dew.
Then o'er the rustic stile I skip, cross the
Rich meadow fields, where the wild king-cup
Thickly studs the ground, and decks it in a
Blazon'd vest of gold. 'Mid the thick herbage.
Threading its dubious labyrinths, the
Wandering landrail roams unseen, while its harsh
Grating voice, now here, now there, strikes like a
Discord on the listening ear ; but yet I
Love to hear the sound, flitting at random
O'er the enamell'd mead, as if it came
From some unearthly thing. And then the cuckoo —
O how I love to hear the cuckoo sing
At early morn, when the bright sun shines forth.
And nature wears her loveliest smiles: and
Who does not? None — surely none — unless their
Souls are like the senseless cold, with hearts
Unfeeling, ears that cannot hear, their sympathies
All dead and recollections lock'd in dull
Oblivion fast — sweet recollections
Of their childhood's golden days when the spring
Sounding voice of cuckoo met their joyful
Ears, a token sweet that winter's storms were o'er.

I love to hear the cuckoo's voice more than
All the warbling tribe that sing their songs of joy:
These meadows seem the cuckoo's favourite haunt
For hereabout her voice is often heard.

Prolonging still my walk, I pass the sleeping
Village, with its white-wash'd cottages
Embosora'd in the clustering trees of apple.
Pear, or plum, whose white and crimson blossoms
Feathering down, shook by the morning breeze.
Shed a rich perfume around.

Now let me turn
My steps aside a little while, to meditate
Upon the tombstones of the village dead.
Before me stands the church, whose tower's slanting
Top, with weathercock surmounted gay, first
Caught my wandering gaze, when passing o'er
The fields along the hedge-rows green. I hasten'd
To this city of the dead, expecting there
To find some sacred epitaph, by sorrow
Prompted, by affection wrote— some grateful
Tribute to departed friends. But, lo! instead
Of green graves cover'd o'er with moss, and daisies
Springing round — instead of sculptur'd tombs
And monumental urns — instead of gravestones
Standing up like watchful sentinels to
Guard the sleeping dost, or laid reclining
On the clay-cold bosom of the silent dead —
Instead of straggling hills embossing all
The ground, where the rank grass laxariatea
On the fattened soil — a strawfold spreada
Around, beneath the church's venerable
Shade, strewn thickly o'er with whiten'd hosks and
Disembodied chaff — the harvest's refuse.
Thrown promiscuously, a heap. No tomb
Was there — no grave — where sleeps the dead in
Undisturbed repose. The wooden tumbril.
Topsy-turvy tum'd, ungarnish'd with its
Winter's store of hay or straw, quite useless.
While the cattle all a-field browse the
Delicious herbage as it springs ; and
There a broken rake and rusty shovel,
Against the wall uprear'd, bore evidence of
Hard service done — now laid aside, like some
Old veteran worn out with toil, discarded now.
And left all helpless and distressed. Hard by
The porch, a wheelbarrow on the dunghill
Stands, half fiU'd with dirt and drifted chaff, where
Perch'd the lordly cock claps his glad wings, and
With his clarion shrill salutes the rising mom.
Close by the steeple's side, the little grunters
Throng arc rooting in the straw, half over head.
In search of scatter'd grain. There on a hill.
Beside a muddy pool, the gabbling geese.
Attendant on their infant charge of downy
Goslings, crop the thin straggling grass, or
Sprouting corn, scatter'd at riEindom from the
Loaded sheaves, perchance at harvest home.
There, too, the waddling duck, with its young
Colony of unfledgM ducklings, wander
Round and round, exploring each recess, where
Stagnant water festers in the sun.
Swarming with animalculae minute :
'Mid the blue fluid quick they dart their bills,
With sputtering noise, and squirt the mud about.

And can this be the place it seems to be ?
'Tis sorely some mistake. Here ar« no trophies
Of the dead — no emblem here of man's
Mortality. Come, let us advance a
Little nearer. Methought I saw the sexton
Enter by the porch : for a mere trifle
He will shew as round the church. But hark !
The solemn knell tolls slow, perchance for some
Departed soul ! 'Twas nought but fancy tingling
In the ear — no solemn knell has toll'd : and
Yet methought I heard a sullen sound
Beating in measured time ; and so it was —
The swinging flails, swift flying through the air.
Ring down a merry peal upon the boarded
Floor^ and beat the bearded grain with hasty
Strokes, by brawny sinews grasp'd. Surprised,
I stopped to listen to the sound ; then enter'd
Through the folding doors, half open thrown, and
Gazed around to see what it might mean.
A well stored mow of loaded sheaves, piled to
The roof on either side, where smiling plenty
Dwells, and bids the meagre fonn of want depart.
And fills the space where pews and benckcs»
Neatly lined and fashion'd o'er, migkt ataad, aiect
For the villager when deck'd in holiday
Attire, attended by a loving wife.
And lisping infant clinging to its nother'a
Breast, or skipping o'er the daiaied lawn in
Artless innocenee, upon the Sabbatk
Mom, repairing to receive divine
Instruction from the holy man, tkeir
Worthy pastor, who expounds the word of God
To their attentive ear. But wkero's Ike pnlpit.
With its velvet cushion, crimson taaad'd.
Fringed with gold, whereon reclines the sacred
Book of truth ? 'Tis nowhere to be seen beneath
This roof : the winnowing machine its place
Supplies, whose fanning breath hurls off with
Whirlwind blast the worthless chaff; while on the
Clean-swept floor in golden showers, the sifted
Grain descends — a harvest rich, fit for the
Storehouse of its lord. Within this edifice
No signs appear to show it is the temple
Of the holy God. View'd from the neighbouring
Hill, its architectural windows painted
Gothic wbe, and lozenge-paned — the Saxon
Arched door-way to its embattled porch-—
Its walls of quarry 'd stone, and slated roof—
And then the neat square steeple at the end.
Perchance a dovecote, towering o'er the rest—
Duly proclaim it is a house of prayer.
But no— no house of prayer is this; some freak
Of fancy in a pleasant mood its owner
Prompted thus to deck the building out.
To seem in outward semblance a church —
Within it is a barn!

And yet to make
The illusion more complete, upon the
Lawn hard by the vicarage stands with
Neatly stucco'd walls, looking so clean and
White, contrasted with the dark green ivy.
And the dangling vines that climb luxuriant
Round, curtaining the windows with their rich
Festoons. But still no vicarage house is this ;
No vicar dwelleth here, nor ministier
Of grace, preaching to all, repent and sin
No more : but some rich cit, whose increas'd
Wealth and stores abundant bid him from the
Busy world retire, and spend his still
Remaining days in peace, and live a country,
Quiety secluded life. By Don's sweet flowing
Stream he builds him here a house convenient
To his wish, in simple style, yet elegant
And neat, well suited to the scene, where
Nature spreads her ample carpet wide, and
Strews profusion round in all its loveliest
Forms, decking the rural bowers with
Summer garlands rich in every die,
Outrivalling the rainbow in their varied hues.
Breathing perfumes around. Clothed in their
Summer dress, the congregated trees, bearing
Rich promise of delicious fruity glancing
His garden's ample space in great variety
Of apple, pear, or plamb ; the nectarine rare.
The blushing cherry, and the downy peach.
Clad in the gayest livery of spring,
A lively green of mingled shade and sammer
Blossoms, white as monntain snow, with mingling'
Crimson, join to woo the morning son.
Drinking rich nectar from his smiling beams.

But now I mast away, and leave this scene
Where I have dwelt too long. Time, fleeting onward
With unwearied wing, warns me that I most
Soon return : yet far have I to go, and
Much to see, much to admire of nature's
Boundless charms, ere to the busy world
Again I wend my way, and like a bubble
Float amid ten thousand bubbles more.
Unseen and disregarded, down its broad
Impetuous tide, that rolls for ever on.

Then leave I now this spot, and thro' the lime-kilns
Healthful smoke I urge my way, while the white
Curling volumes from the furnace-crater rise.
And roll along the vale. 'Mid hills and dells.
By quarries of live rock, o'er heaps of straggling
Stones, obstructing all the way, I hurry
Onward, gain the river's brim, where nibbling
Sheep crop the young grass, making the sward
A velvet carpet of enamell'd green.
Then pause I here a moment, to observe
How eagerly they browse the sweet springing
Herbage, moist with sparkling dew ; and then to
See the frisking lambs« how innocent their
Sports, what gambol-freaks they play ; there.
Congregated in a group, they stand — then off
They start, like mimic racers, o'er the level
Coarse — away, away they go — the goal a
Bosh, a tree, a shrub, a tuft of waving grass.
They gain ; then panting round they turn, and off
Again they go with nimble glee, and stretch
Their little legs to win the prizeless race.
Yet should the foremost fall, then o'er its head
Incessantly they leap, and onward still
Career, nor stop their eager race before
The goal be won, while he is left behind.
Thus often have I watch'd their frolic sports.
And been diverted with their gambol play.

My steps now eagerly I bend, to pace
Thy climbing hills and lowly vale, O Sprotbro' !
Advancing gaily on the river's bank.
The hills before me gently swell on either
Hand : with steps elastic, up the beaten
White cliff path I mount, and pass the latched
Gate, which, swinging wide, loud claps against
The post, and echoes through the vale. Then taming
To the left, a way less travers'd, overgrown
With grass, directs my steps to where a humble
Pile stands, canopied by trees, far from the
Haunts of men. Deok'd in the native style of
True simplicity, upon the gentle
Eminence it stands — a fit retreat for
Solitude — a temple of tlie dead, and
Of the living too— where Chriatians meet in •
Charity and ftiith, to praise the God of alL
The elm, the ash, the sycamore, and fir.
Majestic rise aroand this sacred pile.
And wave their leafy honours o'er its roof.
With gentle mnrmnrings that Inll the mind
To rest, and calm the troubled soul towering
Steeple crowns its lowly roof; no solemn
Knell ere sounded on its hill, sare when tboaa
Sweet-toned belb of Bprotbro'a h81y brow.
Borne by the vagrant zephyrs o'er the lane
Come floating on the air, like soft aerial
Music to seraphic song, dictating
Harmony ; or, wafted by the breeze adown
The winding stream, the list'ning echoes catch
The magic soand ; from hill to hill responds
The music back, and floating on the ether
Pare, it faintly sounds^ then dies along the vale.
Or mingles in the concert of the woodland choirs!
No sculptured pillars of Corinthian mould.
No frieze or cornice in rare flutings wrought.
No circling arch, no Gothic ornament.
Is seen within its whited walls ; no oaken
Pulpit, richly carved with laboured art;
No costly, cushion'd pews, bedeck'd in
Crimson curtains' stately pride, veiling
Their worshippen from vulgar gaze, as if
Asham'd they seem'd to bow the knee to heaven's
Eternal King: what impotence and pride!
Fashion and carved of Norway's spruce
Fir, brought from its mountain-forests dark
To Britain's fairer isle, with simple neatness
Along each wall the ranging pews are plac'd ;
While down the centre runs the spacious aisle
With benches graced, for children of the
Village school. And then the chorch-yard is so
Stilly so quiet, so retired ! 'Tis a sweet nook
In this great bustling world, where noise and
Riot never come ; so green and fresh the grass
Grows from the swelling graves — so bright the
Daisies spring 'mid the rich velvet sward, and
Speckle all the church-yard o'er, like stars of
Pearl strewn on an emerald ground — so sweet
The perfume of the violet's breath, the. hawthorn's
Fragrant scent, the woodbine's odorous exhale.
As the luxuriant breeze wafts o'er the
Hill, and shakes the blossom'd May-flowers from
Each whiten'd bush, while flowery snow-flakes
Shower incessant down. The birds so sweetly
Sing, and such a pleasant shade th' umbrageous
Foliage sheds o'er all the tranquil scene.
That, wean'd from the world and all its pining
Cares, methinks for this sweet place I'd freely
Give ap all to spend my days in peace ; and
When I died, perchance some sorrowing friend
Beneath this lofty spreading sycamore
Would lay my bones, low in the quiet grave.
And water the green turf with true affection's
Tears. Yes, beneath this very tree I would
Be buried : it is the north from the
largest tree: it casts a deep sepulchral
Shade around — a pleasing, melancholy shade.
Close by its giant trunk I then would lie.
Near to the gravel walk, that leads the Christian
To the house of prayer. Then would the passing
Stranger ask, who sleeps beneath this tree?

And those who heard him might reply, he was
A youth who loved to visit this delightful
Spot, when life glow'd in his veins, who, dying, wished
To rest in the cold grave, beneath this spreading tree.
Then they might shed a tear to water the green turf.
Or plant a flower to decorate my gprave!

Lovely, secluded spot ! oft let me visit
This thy sacred hill, where meditation
Loves to dwell, where solitude, where silence
Reigns, save when the stock-dove, with its
Melancholy murmurs, woos its mate to love.

With a reluctant heart I leave this lovely
Scene, and wander down the smooth declivity.
To where the valley sinks abrupt From hence.
Far to the right, I view, as in a panoramic
Scene, the lovely vale of Don, through which the
Silver stream winds its meandering course.
Still further on, the village glitters white
Of Hexthorpe, which I lately pass'd ; and further
Still, like some fair city, in the distance
Far shines Doncaster, illuminM by the sun — '
A place endear'd to memory, and loved because
Endear'd by fond attachments formM in more
Than friendship's bonds ; and over all the tower
Of its noble chnrch — St George's Church —
Majestic rises to complete the scene.
And in unrivalled grandeur stands secure.
There, too, above the waving trees, with beauteous
Elegance of form, array'd in lovely
White, — pore emblem of the Christian's faith.
The Christian's hope, — rises the spire of
The church of Christ — Christ Church, and points
The Christian to the sky, for Christ is there.
And heaven is there, the paradise of God !

On either side the hills rise from the vale ;
On that a sloping height, on this the pending
Rock in broken fragments hangs. Here let me
Gaze upon the op'ning scene. But hark !
What music comes from yonder grove adown
The steepy hill ? It is the nightingale.
Sweet bird, warbling the last chorus of her
Nightly song. The skylark, brooding in the
Flowery vale, bathes her plnm'd pinions in
The nectar-dew, while twitt'ring o'er her morning
Lay, in softest strains, as if afraid to
Interrupt the chantress of the night, ere
Yet her chorus ends ; which, ended, up she
Springs, with wing^ expanded, soaring to the
Skies. Away, away, beyond the sight, she
Soars, pouring her notes upon the breezy
Mom — a ceaseless concert of unnumber'd
Song. Mounted aloft, upon her watch-tower
High, she greets the rising son, whose blazing
Orb rolls ap the blue ethereal ywAi immeiite»
And gilds the waking world with smiles of joy.
The mut of morning, like a sea of doads.
Rolls o'er the silver stream, overflows its narrow
Bounds, and fills the vale. Its phantom billows
Dash amid the trees softly and silently,
Save where the flatt'ring breese floats by, bearing
Upon its wings the sarging waves of vap'ry
C loads, condensed to dew by ehilly night.
The glorious san, withoat a dood to veil
His blushing faee, looks o'er the hill, and darts
His fiery glance oblique full many a
Fathom deep, into the passive bosom
Of the vap'ry sea, and with hb flaming
Breath drinks up the whole, nor leaves a floating
Particle behind, save where the rock
Projecting overhangs the vale, and bids
It linger in the darkened shade.
'Tin now as if creation, waking from a trance.
Looks on the sun with wonder and delight ;
While with his genial warmth he sheds
Refreshing vigour on her chilly breast
Hills, rocks, and woods, and vales and murm'ring rills.
Send forth an universal song of praise ;
The winged songsters from each bush and tree
Pour from their warbling throats, in floods of
Melody, their songs of joy ; the bleating
Flocks, the lowing herds, add, with their humble
Speechless voice, their meed of praise ; the buzzing

Insects, dancing on the breeze ; the fluttering
Winds, that rustle through the grove, and sweep the.
Bearded grass along the upland mead ; the
Gurgling streamlet, oozing 'mong the sedges green.
Or dashing from the chinky cliff with
Silver tone ; the river's rippling wave.
Murmuring along its course, combine to swell
With harmony of sound, nature's majestic
Voice, her universal hymn — for ever
Soanding forth their great Creator's praise.
And O shall man, proud lord of earth's domain.
Forget his maker, and blaspheme and half
Deny his God ? Forbid it, heaven; and teach
His erring soul, in sin's intricate mazes
Lost, to seek salvation while he may.
Lest in the thunder of Jehovah's wrath.
With justice sway'd, his guilty soul be doom'd
To pains eternal, and unceasing woe !

Still higher mounts the sun upon his azure
Throne ; then comes the fluttering zephyr with its
Perfum'd breath, shedding ambrosial odours
As it flies ; upon its airy pinions
Swift it skims along the vale, and sweeps o'er
All the hill, and kisses from the drooping
Flowers the pearly dew, and decks their silken
Leaves afresh in gorgeous colours beautiful
And fair. The daffodil, upon the margin
Stream, reclines its drooping head, and meets
Reflected on the glassy wave its deeply
Tinged head of gold. The cowslip, too, the pretty

Cowslip, that every child remember, knows.
And loves, from the first dawn of infant
Recollection ap to manhood's prime.
Planted by nature vildly irr^olar.
As if at random thrown, bedecks the rising
Hill and lowly vale, and adds to natare's
Charms a garland sweet. Then the pale primroae
From beneath the bramble-bash delighted
Peeps npon the new- bom day, and opens
Wide its filmy flow'rets to the son.
The parple violet from the mossy bulk
Breathes forth its sweet perfnine, balf hid among
Surroanding flowers of gaodier hne.
Emblem sweet of modesty, that shuns the
Obtrusive gaze, and ruthless hand of bold
Impertinence, that knows not how to blush.
The dangling blue-bell in the hedge-row springs.
Whose drooping cups hang pendant on the stalk.
And tremble in the breeze, knelling its name
As 'twere to all the prattling urchins of
The village-green. Here the wild hedge-rose buds
And blossoms forth, clasped by the woodbine's
Tendrils sweet, and wed to its embrace !
Scenting the air, they bloom in close communion
JoinM, garlanding the fields, where the wild bees
Their airy circles wing, enticed from far
To quafi* the honied balm !
Starting from the
Gentle slope, abrupt the craggy rocks
Impending steep, confront the morning sun.

Ragged and bold, — beat by the tempest and
The howling storm, parch'd by the summer's san.
They frown in broken fragments piled. When
Rushing torrents of descending rain, from
Thnnder-showers disgorged, roll down the
Craggy steep, and carry with their deluge-
Sweep the mould'ring earth, and choke each cranny
Up, each crevice fill ; whence bush and bramble
Spring, and trees, and shrubs, whose lively green and
Hawthorn whiteness dapple the frowning rock.
And form a pleasing contrast with the naked
Cliff, where browzing kine in safety graze ^
Upon the brink precipitate they stand, and
Snuff the morning breeze ; down the deep vale they
Gaze, and lowing greet their kindred herds
Feeding beneath, on the rich pasturage.
By the river's side.

A little further let
Me walk, and through the twinkling leaves of shrubs
And trees see where the rock breaks off.
Abrupt as first it rose ; 'tis on the further
Side, opposed to where we stand. The woody
Grove fills up the space, and clothes the sides, and
Crowns the sloping brow with stately trees,
Deck'd in full foliage richly gay, of
Various shade — of oak, and ash, and
Towering elm. Rearing their ample heads aloft.
They stand in congregated majesty.
And cast a mighty shadow on the vale
Below, when Sol descending seeks the

Western wave. Here on the topmost branches
Of the shaggy wood the wild rooks their
Aerial city baild, which, nodding
To the sammer breeze^ swing gently to and firo ;
Or, rock'd from side to side, harl'd by the stormy
Blast in quick yibrations, dash'd amid the
Warring winds, yet still secure they swing.
Firm roond the forky twigs they twine the
Pliant stalks of thorn and brier, with
Patient, studious care, laboring incessantly:
Then with soft wool, stolen from the bleating sheep.
Or gathered from the fields, they line their tott'ring
Nests, with curious art, firm interworen
And warm — a safe protection for their callow
Young. Then on a bough that mantles o'er the
Flood, whose wave peliacid glideth underneath.
The sable matrons sit, and caw a bold
Defiance to the rambling school-boy, who
In vain attempts their city to invade.
In search of plundered store.

Beneath the ash
And elm's umbrageous shade, the thorn and
Bramble, and the hazel bush, fill up the
S|)ace, a covert thick and strong. To this, the
Blackbird haunts, the thrush and linnet join.
And more than all the nightingale is there.
Each builds its mossy nest, in thought secure.
Unseen, amongst the foliage young of
Bush and shrub. But prying eyes are near.
And danger lurks around : the vagrant

Schoolboy, at his truant play, betakes him
To the woods; on mischief bent, he pries each
Nook and dell, each bash and thicket ronnd, and
E?er and anon he stoops him down, and^
With fixed gaze, like rav'ning vultnre ere it
Strikes its prey, his eager eyes quick glancing
Look the darkling bushes through^ and meet the
Opposing light. The inner twigs, with leaves
Scarce covered o'er, betray their charge ; for lo !
The hidden nest, with all its treasure fraught.
His prying eyes descry : then loud triumphing.
Thro' the woods he shouts, and bears the prize away !
Ah ! cruel, thoughtless boy — thou little thinkest
That for ev'ry egg thon steal'st unseen.
For ey'ry nest thon tear'st while dragging
Through the briars with ruthless haste, leaving
Its scattered ruins hanging there, or strewn
A plundered wreck upon the ground ; for every
Unfledged young thou takest from its feathery
Nest away in wanton sport, — thou little
Thinkest, cmel, thoughtless boy, what speechless
Anguish fills the warbling parent's throbbing
Breast, when she, returning to the home she
Left in search of food, bearing in her little
Homy beak the writhing worm or insect
Small, to satisfy the crying hunger
Of her unfledg'd brood, finds not their dwelling
Warm that she wa9 wont to find so readily ;
Fluttering from bush to bush, the anxious
Mother hurries on — perchance mistake or
Over haste, retarning from afar, might
Miss the welUicnown spot Chirping aloud.
She perches on a thorn, expectant listens .
Then to heai' the nestlings' call : she hears then
Not. At last she finds the bare fonndatioii
Of her plundered home i Robb'd of her young,
Robb'd of her e?'ry care, down drops the proniis'd
Food : her fluttering wings forget their wonted
Flight, her wakeful eyes grow dim« her beating
Heart with swelling anguish heaves her
Downy breast ; her tuneful melody, so
Sweet amid the woods when morning smil'd.
Ceases at once to flow. Down from her ravag'd
Nest she drops among the tangling grass.
To seek her young, nor Bnds them there ; then, in
Bereavement's pain, she flits from tree to tree.
From bash to bush, a solitary wanderer,
Till at last she drops exhausted down, and dies !

Is this thy triumph, then, O cruel, thoughtless boy?
Is this thy sport — thy wanton pastime this ?
Can rapine please thee, plunder give thee joy ?
Can cruel torture fill thee with delight ?
Then have thy wayward bent, perverse of will ;
From small beginnings may'st thou easily learn
To be a robber and a murd'rer too !

Whither away so fast, my wand'ring muse ?
Vagrant, and wild, and young, and unrestrained.
Thou, like a child in full pursuit of gaudy
Butterflies, hast led me far astray ; nor did
I miss my way, till I around me look'd.

And saw the road behind me far, while on
Forbidden ground I'd trespassed long. But I
Must call thee back, my wand'ring muse ; in close
Companionship we still must journey on :
Then guide my steps aright, while I explore
The charms of nature in her gayest mood.

Lo ! bursting from the tufted woods, appears
In majesty serene, the stately hall
Of Sprotbro's fair domains : 'tis full in view.
And far and wide displays iu ample front,
•Where multitudes of windows blaze in burnish'd
Gold, caught by the glancing rays of Sol's
Refracting beams. Firm built and well proportioned.
With its spreading wings, it stands upon the
Hill's steep brow, with aspect fair, commanding
All the Tale : bespeaking well a Copley's
Rural architectural skill, surpassing Rome's
Proud domes in pictureque beauty crown'd.
And Tadmor's marble-col nmn'd halls, whose
Massy workmanship, immensely large, distracts
The wearied eye; and Egypt's far-fam'd pyramids.
Built on the sandy deserts bare, can boast
No charms to equal thine : nor ancient
Thebes, with her hundred gates, giant of
Cities, on which the wreck of ages gone
Have vented all their desolating power.
Sublime in ruin still, ne'er view'd among
Her palaces magnificent and great, a spot
So sweety so charming, and so rich as thine!

An mmple garden circles round the hall,
oat in benntifsl designs, where choicest
Shmbs and rarest flowers prolific grow,
CnltoPd and nourished bjf an art refin'd^
Where tastefiil circling walks wind serpentine
Along^ and intersect the gronnd, in great
Variety of Ibmii^ where shmbs and e? ergreens
Form cool embowering shades, and mnltitadea
Of flowers in bright perennial beanty Uoom.

Tb at this princely mansion that the
Hospitable board is spread, wdcome alike
To all, as 'twas in days of yore, when
No one qaest*ning ask'd the wand'ring stranger
Whence he came, or whither went hb way.
Refresh'd with goodly cheer, and strength renewed.
So he departed on his way in peace.
Alike onknowing and oaknown.

Along the windiog galleries and spacious
Hslls of this fair mansion, hang, in barnish'd
Frames, gracing iu walls, the works of fairest
Art— immortal trophies these, selected
By its noble founder, who, with discerning
Judgment, learut to prize excelling genius.
Whilst his lib'ral band lov'd to promote its
Growth by merit's due reward. Here we see
A Raphael's finest efforts — inimitable —
Restoring life in vivid strokes, and richest.
Mellowest shades. There, pictured, kneels the
Saviour Son of God, in agony upon
The mount ; he seems to breathe his fervent

Spirit forth in prayer to God for guilty
Man, upon tbe canvass'd roll. And here a
Vandyke too gives place to none; bis sweetest
Touches live in dumb expression, eloquently
Silent, fixing the delighted gazer
Spell-bound on their charms. Here, too, a Vandeville.
Is seen, stirring the ocean waves with the
Smooth point of his obedient pencil :
He rigs the pride of Britain's boasted power
In swelling sails ; at bis command, they
Plough the surging flood, steering alike to
Ton id pr to frigid zone, — or east or west.

Where'er the sun gives day : braving the storms.
They visit every clime, and bear their commerce
To a thooaand realms ! And here, departed
Relatives, long since else forgot, deck'd in
Their antiquated garbs, live to the eye.
And tell us with a silent warning voice.
That as we live bo they too once have lived.
And as they died so we must also die !

Graced with a library of choicest books.
Where each exalted genius displays
His richest store of treasures to the
Enquiring mind, — 'tis here the congregated
Wisdom of the world, from the first annals
Of recorded time down the dark course of
Ages to the present day, is found upon
The lettered page : collected with discriminating
Care, filling the numerous shelves with many
A goodly pile of choicest books, in richest
Biddings gladily array'd. Here we might
Sit from morn to night, perasing o'er, with
Souls entranc'd, the sweet sablimity, the
Thrilling thoaghts intense of the inspired mose.
And with him disembodied soar far, far
AboYe this little world of oars, and visit
Other spheres : with wings of swiftest thonght,
Plange down the deep immense, and trace ereatioo
To its birth ; thence sweep around the aniTcrsc,
And count the stars, and track the comets in
Their fiery flight, while linking worlds to worlds ;
Then with exhausUess pinions mount sublime.
And win the gate of heaven, and view with
Faith's bright telescopic eye, the rich
Transcendent beauties faintly vision'd there !
Or, in the cool embowering shade, free from the
Noon-tide's heat, we might select from thy
Abundant stores th' historic volume, and
Read o'er a tale of other times, and other
Kings, and empires pass'd away, and kingdoms
Now no more.

Now let me leave the hall,
Amid the woods embower'd, where my
Impatient muse begins to feel restraint.
Cramped up and prison'd by the palace walls.
Panting for liberty, it longs again
To rove with vagrant flight and giddy wing;
Where nature's boundless charms invite and tempt
Me still to stray.

Above the wood-crownM top
Of Sprotbro's pleasant bill, the ehurch uprears
Her sacred head-^an ancient, venerable pile.
Whenever I approach a ch arch-yard filPd
With graves, a secret reverential awe
Steals o'er my soal, and fills my heart with
Gratitude to kind indulgent heaven.
That still allows a sinful worm like me
To live, and breathe the air salubrious ;
And permits the sun's bright beams upon my
Head to shine — my guilty head, unworthy
Of the glow-worm's feeble light my darksome
Path to cheer ; while every where around
Me fall the young, the old, the beautiful.
The fair, the innocent, — the guilty, wicked.
Too, — into the cold dark grave !

While gazing
Thus in solemn silence on the place where
Rest the dead, in undisturb'd repose ;
Teach me, O teach me, power divine — teach
Me to know myself, to know my Maker,
And to serve him too : and as I cannot
Shun the sleep of death, teach me to shun the
Death that never, never dies !

Death, like a
Mighty warrior, on his pale white horse.
Throws his keen darts promiscuously around.
With an unerring aim. By this, a hero
In the hour of conquest falls : by that, a
Coward trembling, fearing, dies ! The new-born

Infant, straggling into life, closet its eyes
In death, snd finds an early tomb : while
Tottering age, all palsied by decay, drops
Into the grave, and rests frem earthly toil !

The hoary tower casts a hallowed shadow
On the sidelong graves, while each in tnm reeeives
Its silent shade, as roand it softly steals.
When the bright snn rolls throagh the doadless sky.
Beneath its arched roof, the relics of
Fitzwilliam's ancient lords repose
In death, a numerous train, whose noble
Actions gain'd the unask'd praise of men of
Other times, when Norman William warred.
The sun each early mom peeps through the ivy'd
Window on the sculptured marble, where these
Valiant chieftains sleep, as if to tell
The wond'rous tale of mighty revolutions.
That slow revolving centuries unfold.
And then shut up in de^p oblivion seal'd.

Now from this solemn scene I must away.
And down the wooded steep again descend.
While clamb'ring, leaping down, to gain the
Level vale, through the dark quiv'ring leaves of
Branching elms, the glittering waters dance of
Don's smooth stream, lit by the radiant sun !

The stone-paved ford across th' embedded
River rans, o'er which the gushing waters
Pour a ceaseless stream, white foaming o'er the
Flood. Hoarse murmuring to the breeze it onward
Rolls, with deaf ning sound ; and if obstruction

Meeting dowR its headlong course, by shrab or
Tree, or broken cliff, projecting 'midst its
Harrying tide, reboanding into air
It flies and dances in the sunshine, like
A crystal shower distilling dew*

Upon a promontory small, the water
Mill juts out amid surrounding waves. Firm,
Yet trembling, it stands ; while through the open
Sluices rushing floods in whirling eddies
Roll, and turn with their impetuous tide
The ponderous wheels, whose finny circuit round
ReTohing slow, set wheels in wheels complex.
With motions intricate, revolving round
On numerous axes, answering each to each ;
Whose iron teeth wide gaping horrible
To powder grind the adamantine flint.
With crashing noise : then safe to Mexbro's hill
Convey'd,Hi^ mixed with tempered clay, whose ductile
Paste firm press'd in various moulds of
Curious form, and common some ; close-pack'd
In the refining furnace, till hard baked
By ardent heat. Dimly transparent then
They are produc'd, with shining coat encrusted
O'er, and landscape, church, or tree bepictuPd
On their convex sides, and rim just tipt with
Gold. Then in its gay enamell'd dress 'tis
Fit to grace the prince's gay saloon, or
Peasant's cot in corner cupboard placed.
For ornament or use.

A little cottRge
By the river stRnds, r ncRt Rod pleRSRiit
Cot, whose ghRdow dRoees on the rippling
WRve Rt noon-tide honr, reflected clear ;
Where lives r simple swRin, whose eonstnat
Crtc is to Rttend the well-known crII <»f
** BoRty R-hoy !'' then ever rendy to dbey*
Nor tagging onr to pnll, nor rodder's
AU-comniRnding sweep to iRTe, nor MIying •
SriIs nnfsrling to the gtle, nor fnnip—
Pointing to the frozen pole, nnerring gaide;
Nor Rnehor, ssfegoRfd from the rocks, to weigh ;
He enters in his little bark, nor storms.
Nor tempests fears ; nor whirlpools deep, nor
Splitting rocks, that bilge th' entangled ship.
When whirlwinds rage around : bat with a rope
From bank to bank made fast on either side,
By stump of tree or sturdy oak, he hauls
With sluggish ease the steady skiff upon
The surface smooth, which slowly glides across.
Nor ripples up the wave with oaken prow.
Beyond the mill's resounding splash, the
Tufted woods that crown'd the sloping height
Give place in turn, and mounting rock again
Diversifies the scene, for ever changing.
As you still proceed. Mangled and hack'd by
The strong-sinew'd villagers, who, with the
Poising lever and the delving pick, tear
The firm earth to fragments, and undermine

With persevering toil the solid rock.
Rip op the bowels of the hills, and bare
Their limestone sides, that like a mighty
Battlement stand threatening all. Then load
Exploding bursts th' ignited train, hid in
A crevice safe, lit by the taper's blaze :
Blasting the rocks with strong convalsive force.
It rends its way with irresistible control ;
While rolling masses, loosen'd from beneath.
Come thand'ring down the steep with crash tremendous,
O'erwhelming shrubs and trees in the huge wreck
It makes : then hack'd to pieces small, 'tis piled
In heaps of pyramidic form, with layers
Alternate — limestone rock and coal. Enkindled
From below, the subtle fire ascends, and
Soon ignites the whole, whose furnace heat
Subdues the stubborn rock, and calcines it to lime.

The noisy jackdaw builds its nest within
The crannies of the rock, and brooding there
Secure looks down upon the busy world below.
He caws contented there from mom to night.
Nor takes a thought of future life ; wakes with
The sun, and with the sun retires to rest.
Nor knows a day beyond the present hour.

Now from the western shores of Don the hill
Retires, and meadows intervene ; then rises
At a distance, gently smooth, clothed richly
Gay, with young plantations of luxuriant
Fir, well stored with numerous game. The fluttering
Partridge there, the golden pheasant, and the

Timid hare seek shelter id its friendly
Groands, cropping the tender gnm, or rattling
'Mid the leaves at every startling aoond.

The little village now is all alive;
The earling smoke, in spiral columns of light
Transparent bine, rises amid the trees;
Between the stately elms, shine cottages
All spruce and dean ; while, with his smiley, dm son
Illames them* The villager repairs him
To his daily toil, clad in his rustic garb ;
He whets his curving scythe upon a flint;.
And to the orchard or the paddock goes.
Where thickly planted trees, with blossoms
Covered o'er, screen off the sun's directer rays.
Here, in the moist and temperate shade, the
Tender g^rass luxuriant springs, a rich
Abundant crop. Now swinging wide his
Glittering blade, be mows the trembling stalks by
Twice ten thousand at a sweep : piercing their
Crowded ranks, he lays them on the earth in
Countless numbers prone, as when the fierce
Destroying angel passM through the Assyrian
Camp, smiting the proud Sennacherib and his
Pagan hosts ! Then opening wide his arms, htf
Gathers up the slaughtered mass, and bears it
To the stall, where long-expecting waits
The droning carter or the sprightly steed.
To taste the fragrant new-cut herb ; and then
To labour through the day amid the fallow fields.

The homely hoosewife, or the buxom lass,
Trips gaily o'er the dewy lawn, or through
The upland meads ; under her arm she bears
The white-scooPd kit, and sings her love-song as
She blithely g^oes. The grazing kine soon catch
Uerwell-known voice, and g^eet her visit
Welcome by an answering low, and meet her
At the gate. The swelling udder soon she
Eases then of its exuberant offerings rich.
Returning to the pastures then again.
The matron cows frolic and frisk about.
And chase each other round the mead.
Or goad the swelling hillock with their
Cnnring horns, in counterfeited ire, and
Make the crumbling mould fly round in dusky
Showers; or else upon the new-sprung flowers
They feed, whisking their tails about from side
To side, to whip the miscreant flies, buzzing
Around incessantly, in eager thirst
For blood ; or else perchance they lie them down
Upon the tufted sward, with looks demure.
Sedately ruminating o'er their cnd^
Nutritious, ejected from the stomach's
Spacious cavity, yet undigested,
Till twice ground between their ivory tusks.
Meanwhile the milkmaid to her cot repairs,
Whese, sprawling on the hearth, she finds the
Naked urchins gambolling in sweet innocence.
And sportive glee, as tumbling out of bed
In mother's absence by the fire they roll.
Then all with eager joy sarroand the
Brimniing kit, and each its tiny finger dips
To taste the wann new milk white ereaming o'er.

The swallow twittering heneath the eaves.
Or chattering on the chimney top at early nom.
Or swiftly darting through the ambient air.
Catching the insects swarming in the ann.
Or picking mad to baild its pensile nest.
Adds a sweet rural charm to country life.

The woodbine twines around the cottage door.
With sweet-brier interwoven, where the
Laborious bee, attracted by perfumes.
Sips up the nect'rous sweets, and loads its
Little thigh with the rich powder'd flour.
Returning joyous to its straw-built hive.
It kneads its unctuous wax, and stores its
Luscious honey in the balmy cells ; then
Hums away its cares, prepared with richest
Stores for banquets rare 'gainst wintry storms.

Within the little garden springs each fragrant
Shrub, each painted flower. The rose, queen of
The garden, grows in sweet companionship
With knots of clustering pinks. The golden
Gilly-flower, the glowing stock, shed their
Sweet perfume round. The deep carnation, deck'd
In crimson pride, loads the fresh air with odours
Rich, scenting the evening breeze. Around each
Bed of congregated flowers, of varied form.
Or square, or round, or long, or hexagon.

Rons in a irayy line the emerald box.
Bordering the walks with in enamell'd green.

Beneath the cottage window stands the bench
Of elm, or block of solid rock^ round which
The mantling i?y darkling creeps ; where^ on
A summer's eve, his daily labour done.
The weary ploughman sits to rest, and qua£b
With social joy his horn of home-brew'd ale ;
While with his clay-tubed pipe he puffs the smoke
About in fragrant curling clouds, and makes
The sportive children laugh, and sneeze, and cough !
While the old dame, with snuff-box by her side.
Keeps thumb and finger busily employed.
As she the fairy tale repeats, or often
Told legend of goblins grim, and sheeted ghosts.
Dancing by moonlight pale, amid the church-yard
graves. To the attentive listening throng around
The cottage door. Thus pass their days, and thus
Their evenings pass ; sweet peace and true content
Encircle every cot; each simple rustic subject.
When his toil is done, feels happy as his prince.

Perhaps this picture seems too perfect to
Be real, and some may say can ne'er be found
In this our world of turmoil, care, and pain.
But is it not more pleasing thus to paint
A scene of happy life, where peace and
Harmony encircle all, than one where
Bickering strife and discontent spread discord
Through the whole : when we have power to choose
'Twixt good and ill, 'twixt happiness and woe?
'Tis sorely sweeter to gxYe pleasure if
We can, than pain ; and when we paint all
Beantifal, we see, or know, or comprehend.
No blot should ere obtrude to mar the lordy aeene !

A fairer hill than Sprotbro', '' never san
View'd in his wide career." Sure nature on
Thb place has lavished all her charms, to least
The gazing eye, and fill the admiring
Soul with ecstasies of joy. View from the
Terraced hall the wide expanse below, of
Pending rock, and grove, and mead with tufted
Trees all speckled o'er, through which the silver
Stream of Don winds its meandering course ;
And then the pale blue hills in distance ridng
Dim, and steepled towers, and halls, and edls.
Scattered as 'twere at random 'mid the scene.
Far down the stream we view thy towering beiglit,
O pride of Doncaster, rising majestic
O'er the waving trees ; while, listening with
Delighted ear, thy merry pealing bells
Through Sprotbro's vale with softest music swell.
Then to the right we turn, and op the winding
Vale descry afar the darkling keep of
Conisbro's castled tower — proud emblem this
Of human greatness crumbling to decay.
Once with luxuriant pomp and mighty
Heroes thronged, clothed awfully in battle's
Stem array, when its beleaguer'd walls by
Banner'd hosts were close besieg'd around.

Who knows what scenes have passM before its walls;
Beneath its roof; what pageantries, what shows;
What sieges, wars, and conflicts fierce, to gain
And keep possession of its princely towers.
By Normans, Saxons, Danes, by Britons,
And perhaps by Roikians too !« Now silent
And Untenanted — a desert void, while
Strewn aroand its noble rnins lie ; where
The grey owlet and the finny bat resort.
And tring their dabioas flight at dusky
Eve, knd sally 'mid the gloomy turrets
And the darkenM trees, imposing on the
Timid mind a chilling awe and superstitions
Fear t while to unthinking, heedless, wayward
Man« it speaks in solemn tones the startling
Trutli of transient life, and Time's unseen.
Progressive, still destroying power, that
Sweeps the sons of men and all their boasted
Wo^ks away, nor scarcely leaves a fragment
Wreck behind, to tell where they had been.

Methinks 'tis time that now I hurried home :
Yet ere I go, I fain would ask, who has
Not been to Sprotbro' P Let them go — 'twill well
Repay them for their toil, if such a toil
It be where pleasure leads the way. If they
Have eyes to see the charms and beanties of
The scene, as mine beheld them when I
Thither stray 'd : if they have hearts to feel
The pure delight that such sweet scenes inspire :
If they have minds to contemplate the

Beaatifal variety that nature spreads
Around, which way soe'er they turn: if they
Have soqIs adapted to enjoy the
Intellectaal pleasure that snch scenes
Can giwe, as mine have seen have felt, have
Contemplated and enjoy'd: then let them go.
For it will well repay them for their toil.

Thus map We ont the way. Through Hexthorpe
Yoa mast go ; then by the Don's clear stream for
Half a mile ; cross o'er the stile close by the
River side ; now take yoar choice, and walk
Along the str^m on the soft YeWet grass.
Or climb the hill, and yoa will find a lane,
A sweet retired lane, all carpeted with
Grass, with daisies speckled o'er, and boond on
Either side by high and bashy hedges
Of white-blossom'd thorn — a nice green lane, where
Lovers oft might walk ; for 'tis, methinks, a
Lovely place to woo. This lane will lead yoa
To the church — to Warmsworth church, upon the
Hill, of which I spoke before : here you may
Stay awhile, if you feel so inclined ; yet
Do not trample down the grass too much, nor
Tread upon the graves : you will not hurry
Hence if you should feel as I have felt, when
I have linger'd here. But when you go 'tis
Down the hill, a way not often trod ; along
The beaten footpath then proceed upon
The hill that overlooks the vale ; then through
A shady avenue of branching trees.

A living green arcade, pillar'd and festooned

All the way with summer wreaths : while at the

Entrance stand two ancient yews, in dark

Green liYeries drest, like sentinels to guard

This cool and shady place. Down this broad

Over-arching yanlt yon may descend the hill ;

Yon here may run, or walk, or roll, just as

You list, until you gain the river's side 2

Then cross the boat, or if it should be dry^

Walk o'er the wash. When midway o'er the stream.

Stand still and look around you, to the right.

The left, before you, and behind : you there

Will see upon that very spot more lovely

Scenery than yon could conceive were centred

In so small a range, and which perhaps you

Never saw before, though you may oft hava

Cross'd the stream with inattentive mind.

And unobserving, unad miring eye.

The river crossed there is a pleasant walk

Right through the wood, that leads you to the hall.

If there you wish to go. It is so cool

And so delightful there on a hot summer's day;

'Tis straight, and broad, and clean, upon the very

Edge of the steep hill ; and such a solemn

Shade the lofty trees shed over it, and

Screen it from the sky, that it seems almost

As if you paced along the gloomy aisle

Of some cathedral vast. And so it is— »

It is a temple form'd by nature's hand.

And the tall stems of lofty trees are

too living pillars, that support the roof of

Tafted foliage waving far aloft.

Where all the feathery worshippers may cone.

And sing their songs of joy, as ancient

Drnids did of old beneath their sacred oak.

Within the wood there is a cave, a rough

Hewn cavity, cat in the steep hill side.

Some say it is the cave of Merlin, the

Magician ; and some, that it was once

A Draid's cave ; others will tell you 'tis

The bandit's cavern, wher6 the outlaw dwelt.

And kept his plundered store. As for myself

I wot not what it is : it seems, methinks.

To have been made in some rude, barb'rous

Age, by hands as barb'roas as the work they made ;

But if you go to view it you perhaps can tell.

Descending from the dark embower'd wood.
Once more you gain the river's side : if you
Prefer it, now return the way yon came ;
New beauties ev'ry step you there will find
To gaze on and admire : if not, continue
On your way, and follow at your will the
River's mazy ramble through the meads to
Newton, a hamlet small, a pleasant little
Spot ; still make the stream your guide, and it
Will lead you home.

O, I could talk the livelong day upon
A theme like this ; but you, perhaps, are wearied
With the walk, aiid want repose. Thus then
I end my song.

O, happy Sprotbro' ! spot
Romantic, where sweet nature's charms salute
The roving eye ! The church, the mansion, and
The lowly cot, delightful vales by hills
Encircled round — sweet scenes, adieu ! Reluctant,
To the noisy town I go, while contemplation
Lingers still with these, and bids my roving
Fancy cease to stray !

We're looking for new features, articles, and news stories written by budding Doncastrians - send to us here.