THE FALL OF NEEDWOOD.

Derby:

PRINTED AT THE OFFICE OF J. DREWRY.

1808.

55

THE FALL OF NEEDWOOD.

Ah, Needwood! I, whose early voice

Taught thy shrill echoes to rejoice;

I, who first pour’d the sylvan song

Thy glades, thy banks, thy lawns along;

I, who with artless pencil drew

Thy Forest charms of varied hue,

Approach thee now with different strain,

That mourns thy wrongs, yet mourns in vain:

56I come, but not with former haste,

To view the dim unshelter’d Waste,

That once was Needwood: on thy brow

No green-rob’d Wood-nymph beckons now:

Yet be thy Spirit sooth’d to bear

My Requiem through the void of air!

O Draycot Cliff! again thy height,

Known beacon of my young delight,

With sad’ning thoughts, that much portend

Of change and tumult, I ascend;

Nor flatter’d by thy levell’d way,

That smiles, like worldlings, to betray.

How swells my aged heart, now near

Scenes to my happiest youth so dear!

How sinks that heart, as these arise

Distorted, to my anguish’d eyes!

Where are those ample plains, display’d

’Mong woods with many an opening glade?

Where is the wild doe bounding by,

Once emblem of their liberty?

57No stragglers from the warren fleet

Scud cross my path with flirting feet.

No jealous blood-hound, brave and proud,

Throws from the lodge his challenge loud.

O hear me on thy summits tall,

Time-honour’d Needwood! hear my call!

For thou my filial voice hast known.—

No answer follows—hark! a groan!

His ancient seats I seek in vain;

He, nor his ancient seats remain;

But in strange horror staring round,

A Spectre, pointing to his wound,

Of hideous shape, with bald head, stalks

Before me o’er the ravag’d walks;

Where Desolation grim affrights^[40]

Sham’d Ceres in unhallow’d rites;

Where the check’d Plunderer shrinks aside,

As by his own deed terrified,

58Or fears, from many a faithful root,

Vengeance in ambush at his foot.

Wavering alike in mind and pace,

I roam, familiar haunts to trace;

The winds, that bow me as I go,

Rush unrestrain’d, as wild with woe,

Or querulously vex’d to miss

The blooming groves they lov’d to kiss.

Each spot discover’d has its tale;

Seems a friend’s voice in every gale;

Wak’d Recollection starts aghast,

And thoughtful sighs o’er pleasures past.

When Nature, with exulting smile,

Form’d from her stores this happy Isle,

Curious, and bounteously intent

To raise a central ornament,

She cull’d the brightest and the best;

And heap’d them on her darling’s breast:

Sprung joyful to her warm embrace

Th’ appointed Genius of the Place;

59His features fair young Beauty drew;

On her soft lap the fondling grew.

The Seasons came his birth to greet,

And pour’d their choicest at his feet;

The Dryads quaintly curl’d his locks;

Nymphs, Fauns, and Satyrs rush’d in flocks,

Pleas’d in such Fairy-land to dwell,

And peopled every bower and dell.

Kings mark’d the consecrated ground;

And Power protective watch’d around.

Long Mercia sat beside enthron’d;^[41]

And prouder crowns its honours own’d.^[42]

Delighted Ages list’ning heard

The wild hoof beat the tainted swerd,

The glad’ning hound and echoing horn,

And hunters’ shouts far onward born.

60How did his dignity excel!

Blush, blush ye Times when Needwood fell!

’Twas Avarice with his harpy claws,

Great Victim! rent thy guardian laws;

Loos’d Uproar with his ruffian bands;^[43]

Bade Havoc show his crimson’d hands;

Grinn’d a coarse smile, as thy last deer

Dropp’d in thy lap a dying tear;

Exulted in his schemes accurst,

When thy pierc’d heart, abandon’d, burst;

And, glozing on the public good,

Insidious demon! suck’d thy blood.

Detested ever be that day,

Which left thee a defenceless prey!

May never sun its presence cheer!

O be it blotted from the year!

Where now the Forest-freeman’s boast?

His joys, his hopes, his name are lost.

61Repentant claimants of the soil!^[44] }

Your’s keen remorse and thankless toil; }

Strangers and hirelings snatch the spoil. }

Too late ye mourn your glory gone;

Too late the deed yourselves have done.

Thus, fell Owhyhee’s senseless crew,

Him, their best friend, their idol, slew;

Shar’d his torn limbs with savage pride;

Then griev’d, infatuate! that he died.

Ah, who but knows and loves the lay,

Which Seward hung on Cook’s Morai?

O had I such melodious tear,

Lamented Needwood, for thy bier!

Forests of England! ye might claim

A proud share in her ancient fame.

Tell your forgetful country, tell,

When dangers dread her state befell,

How rush’d your sons in hardy bands,

Their long bows in their skilful hands;

62How far the foremost and the best,^[45]

On fierce invading foes they press’d;

With what sure aim their arrows flew,

Whistling the death song ere they slew.

You, in your secret labyrinths, spread^[46]

Your dark shields o’er great Alfred’s head,

True to your charge. The ruthless Dane

Brandish’d his reeking blade in vain.

’Twas your’s to nurse that mighty mind,

Where every Virtue sat enshrin’d.

Your hush’d leaves parted, as the beams^[47]

Of glory shot, and fir’d his dreams.

63You fann’d his patriot bosom’s glow;

You tun’d his harp; you trimm’d his bow.^[48]

He imag’d in your wolves his foes;

And practis’d Vengeance keener rose.

Your proud oaks lean’d^[49] to court the hand,

Which England’s conquering navy plann’d.

Your song-birds^[50] taught him to convey

Mild manners in attractive lay;

While Liberty, the nymph you love,^[51]

Braided the silken bands he wove.

On circled lawns, in secret glade,

You marshall’d thousands to his aid,

Then gave him from your woods to shine

A Cæsar and an Antonine.

There the bright wreaths of Victory grew;

And Themis pluck’d her wand from you.

64Rouz’d vigorous by the morning air,

So quits the monarch stag his lair;^[52]

With fresh fray’d beams his rival seeks;^[53]

His meditated vengeance wreaks;

And, stamping on the mountain’s brow,

Claims homage from the vale below.

On yonder castled cliff of old,^[54]

Needwood, how throng’d thy archers bold,

When there, for deeds of arms array’d,

His banner princely Gaunt display’d!

And fill’d they not his chosen ranks^[55]

On distant Ebro’s oliv’d banks?

65Spain’s boasted slingers! soon ye fled^[56]

From English bowmen, Forest-bred.

Fame stak’d her dearest honours there:

And won not Needwood’s sons their share?

Illustrious History, bear me back

Up golden Time’s recorded track,

And bring from thy illumin’d page

The heroes of that martial age,

When knightly valour’s own right hand

Sought fame, and spoil, and high command!

Say, as they pass in bright review,

What favourite takes precedence due!

They come—the pride and pomp of war

Mark their disastrous course afar.

Ah, while the mad’ning trumpet brays,

Fields reek with blood and cities blaze;

Fell cries for glory or a crown

The skrieks of wives and orphans drown.

66See English Richard’s crest advance!—

Back from the lightning of his lance!

Hark! nations hail in loud accord^[57]

His lion heart and victor sword.

Cease, cease thy boasting, clarion vain!

Truth gives my lyre a purer strain.

Blush, as thy people, haughty king,

Shout for the man thy Minstrels bring,^[58]

And offer, with less guilty claim,

A Forest Yeoman’s humble name!

How sweetly pours that bugle shrill

It’s mellow tones o’er dale and hill,

As Sherwood’s Hero, down the glade,^[59]

Steps with his bow and bright brown blade,^[60]

67His feather’d arrows, broad and keen,

Hung lightly o’er his gown of green!

A robber! say’st thou? Thy harsh laws,

Oppressor, and the poor man’s cause

Led him, indignant, to the wood,

With bold pretence of rights withstood.

Churls, with no feeling but for self,

Yield to his better hands your pelf!

Such trespass Fear disdains to hide;

And hoodwink’d Justice peeps aside.

The liberal air his freeborn soul

Lifts high, in scorn of base controul.

68In fellowship and fealty bound,

Firm as the knights of Table Round,

Him and his hundred, tall and fleet,

Not twice two hundred care to meet.

Minions, oppose not his career!

He seeks no slaughter, but of deer.

Yet will he pass unquestion’d by:

Raise but your weapons and ye die!

Start not fair maids! your path pursue

Unharm’d; he guards its peace for you;

And cheers, on each occasion kind,

In age or want, the hamlet hind.

Here, warriors, to the Forest turn,

True courage and its use to learn!

Here, nobles, to the wood resort,

For courtesy unknown at court!—

Needwood, this brave man was thy guest;^[61]

Love crown’d the day, and Mirth the feast.

69Region, where all delights were found,

How look’st thou now? a burial ground!

With sad memorials, here and there,

Of what was noble, free, and fair.

King’s-standing, with a tortur’d frown,^[62]

Marks its own splendour overthrown.

Whate’er of wood or lawn could please,

Whate’er of hills that rang’d with ease,

In grand assemblage broad display’d,

This far commanding mount survey’d.

How chang’d! those oaks, that tower’d so high,

Dismember’d, stript, extended, lie;

On the stain’d turf their wrecks are pil’d,^[63]

Where thousand Summers bask’d and smil’d;

In smouldering heaps their limbs consume;^[64]

The dark smoke marks their casual tomb;

From blacken’d brakes,^[65] the choak’d winds toss

The ashes of the golden goss;

70While great with power, yon Wretch^[66] derides

And boasts the mischief, which he guides.

Thus, when, in unsuspecting peace,

Rush’d Scythia’s hordes on fertile Greece,

Mars, their grim god, whom heaven abhors,

Urg’d with fell taunts to wasteful wars.

Valley! where Marebrook, all unveil’d,^[67]

Her slender line, far shining, trail’d,

With frequent curves thy slopes between,

As loth to quit the enticing scene;

Or turning with young fawns to play,

Wily and volatile as they;

Alluring, with her tinkling sweet,

From bank to bank their timid feet;

Lov’d Valley! now no charm invites

My steps to rove these injur’d heights;

Thy wavy knolls the fence arrests;

The rude spade wounds thy swelling breasts;

Rent her fair locks and mantle rich,

Forlorn along that hateful ditch

71Thy violated Naiad steals,

And in foul streams her shame conceals.

These broad roots bore a secret grove,

Where I was wont at eve to rove;

And, while low-thoughted cares retired,

Wrapp’d in fond musings, Fancy-fir’d,

Saw what alone the mind’s eye sees;

Heard other whisperings than the breeze;

And knights and dames, and dwarfs portray’d,^[68]

And bright arms gleaming down the glade;

Drew Magic, muttering powerful spell;

And Witchcraft with demoniac yell.

Hark! the last trunk that axe assails;

See! the plough tears the writhing vales;

Stop, thoughtless clown! nor dare to bring

Destruction on that Fairy-Ring,

Imprinted deep with stainless green,

And lasting beauty, seldom seen.

E’en Winter paus’d that turf to spare;

Nor look’d the fiery Dog-star there.

72And once more may Titania come,

With farewell, to her ancient home;

But, for the bee bird’s gaudy plume,^[69]

Wav’d o’er her neck in quivering bloom,

Funereal spray of dismal hue,

Of cypress, or the baleful yew,

Join’d with the nightshade’s deadly flow’r,

Shall darkly o’er her forehead low’r.

Attendant Fays, in mournful throng,

Nor trace the dance, nor raise the song;

While, for the shrill reed’s cheerful sound,

That led them lightly tripping round,

Beetles and drones, with hummings low,

Measure their footfalls sad and slow.—

Alas, no gentle sprite remains!

But foul fiends scour th’ affrighted plains,

Rob of their honours hills and lawns,

Trace the mean ditch that greedy yawns,

And teach the reptile hedge to crawl;

Twin pests, confederate, seizing all.

73What old man with his gray dog sits,

What blind man, by those sandy pits?

’Tis Manuel!^[70]—and he rests him, where

My fox-earth was his nightly care.—

Ah, come not now to scenes so drear,

Gay hunters! scenes ye cannot cheer.

Ah venture not their threats to brave;

Nor trample on your Needwood’s grave!—

’Tis Manuel! and he knows my voice:

His tears, tho’ not his eyes, rejoice:

Reduc’d by age and loss of sight

To beggary and the parish mite,

That dog his only guide, he picks,

Groping in fear, those wretched sticks.

But soon will such small gleanings end.—

Thou, Needwood, wast the poor man’s friend!

Garden of Nature! on whose face

Contended fragrance, bloom, and grace;

Kind nurse of her abundant good

To human wants, from herb or wood,

74Tho’ seem the withering winds less rude

Than thoughtless man’s ingratitude;

Not all thy children droop forlorn,

Hurl’d from magnificence to scorn.

You, fox-gloves, through the varying year^[71]

Fresh, vigorous and countless here,

You, happy fox-gloves, as you fell,

In triumph clos’d each purple bell;

Proud that the bark of fam’d Peru

Was rival’d, British plant, by you.

Philosophy and Science rare

Had pitied Dropsy’s sad despair,

And pour’d your healing treasure forth;

While their own Bard extoll’d your worth;

Poet and Sage: hence doubly shine

Your honours on Hygiea’s shrine,

Where pleas’d Apollo stoop’d to yield

To Darwin’s hand his lyre and shield.^[72]

75Again, to save this fair domain,^[73]

A Vernon strove, but strove in vain;

And many a noble heart was warm^[74]

The fell devourer’s rage to charm;

But mean Self-interest lit the flame,

Blind Furies fann’d; and Ruin came.

Yet Limbrook prattles, in her pride,^[75]

Of ancient scenery on her side,

Calls, where her beauties still prevail,

To Byrkley Bowers and Yoxall Dale,

Boasts of deep shades and allies green,

And bids me mark that Forest mien,

Pleas’d, in this circlet, to secure

Her injur’d parents’ miniature;

And fain would cheer me, as she leads

By cultur’d banks to verdant meads;

76And spreads her mirrors to reflect

How Nature’s hand-maid, Art, hath deck’d

The matron here, with choicest bloom;—

Ah, garlands now for Needwood’s tomb!

Limbrook! protected child and heir,

Enjoy thy patrimony fair;

And ever, in thy favour’d bound,^[76]

Prosperity and Peace be found.

Yet long wilt thou lament the change

Of herds and flocks, that near thee range,

More loudly to thy rushes chide,

Since comes no doe her fawn to hide;

And long thy murmuring stream will shrink,

When stoops the stranger ewe to drink;^[77]

And long those oaks, Destruction spar’d,

Grieve for the greatness, once they shar’d,

And sigh, while, ages hence, appear

The tracks of their remember’d deer,^[78]

77And scatter, careless, to the wind,

Fruits, for their Autumn feast design’d.

Thus, when that monster of the world^[79]

Thy nobles from their honours hurl’d,

Oh France! a few, to fate resign’d,

All lost, but dignity of mind,

Still on the general wreck abide,

Terror and Tyranny beside,

And privileg’d in fall’n estate,

Walk humbly with the power they hate,

Regretful of their happier times,

And sighing o’er a nation’s crimes.

Yet Byrkley Bowers, your Emma’s art^[80]

Such sweet delusion can impart,

Such truth her curious pencil gives,

That Needwood in its magic lives.

78O, haste to catch, ingenious maid,

His remnant beauties ere they fade:

So to th’ admiring world be shown

Fair forms, accomplish’d like your own!

Though aptly might these dells retain

Wild Fancy and her sylvan train,

I ask no fabled nymph to lend

Her idle aid, as I descend;

I seek not such attendants here;

But hail your presence and revere,

Truth, Genius, Science!—Yoxall Dale,

’Mong Forest Walks distinguish’d, hail!

Enough, that future times will say:

“Here Gisborne penn’d his moral lay,^[81]

“Practis’d the duties he enjoin’d,

“Led and instructed human kind,

“Here the high paths of Nature trod,

“And saw and glorified her God.”

79Gigantic hollies!^[82] many a year

Your lopp’d limbs fed the pining deer;

And many a year, your growth renew’d,

In venerable solitude,

With arch and column, here you stood,

As once the Temple of the Wood.

The seasons wrought not on your form;

You bent not to the battering storm;

Arrested on each shrouded brow,

No wanton sunbeams pry’d below.—

Respected veterans! favourite glade!

Oft, as I pac’d your pensive shade,

Rapt Meditation mus’d in prayer;

Or self-indulgence soften’d care.—

These, Needwood, thy destroyers saw

And seiz’d, uncheck’d by shame or awe!

Fair Virgin! in that hallow’d gloom,^[83]

While the bell knoll’d thee to thy tomb,

80I chose a polish’d trunk to mark

Thy memory on its yielding bark:

As held in reverence profound,

The grove was motionless around,

Save that an ivy’s stragling leaf

Shook in the breathings of my grief;

Watch’d Pity through her starting tears,

Numbering too soon thy transient years;

Lorn Loves, that knew thee well, were by;

And Sorrow with reverted eye.

Yes; “thou wast all that youth admires,

A parent seeks, or friend desires!”

Ah, if yet spar’d, to that lone shrine

Direct me, some remaining sign!

Or whispering airs instruct to find,

Soft as ye kiss the swelling rind!

Or gentle red-breast hop before!—

No; those retirements are no more.—

See the griev’d wood-dove on her flight!

And the scar’d owlet lost in light!

81Hark! the same bell!—take, sister bier,^[84]

Affection’s sigh and friendship’s tear!

These for ourselves:—for thee, blest shade!

Amply thy debt of life was paid;

And gentle, as that life, thy fall;—

Rest honour’d, as belov’d by all!

Rest, while the parting Virtues bear

For heaven’s approof, thy record fair!

In yonder cloud that lowers above,

Darkening the cheerful face of Dove,

Their white plumes glimmer to the eye,

And radiant arms extend on high.

Yes, Holly-Bush!^[85]—endeared spot!

Forsaken long, but ne’er forgot!

Yes, Holly-Bush! through all disguise

I know thee, but with watery eyes!

With thee what warm emotions start!

What passions press upon my heart!

82Quick rushes my own change to view;

And wounds, yet tender, bleed anew.

I come not now to treasur’d sweets;

Blank my approach; no welcome greets;

No lifted sash, no smiling face

Salutes me, joyous from the chase;

No ready grooms my call await;

Leaps on its hinge no friendly gate;

Not for my meal that kitchen’s blaze;

Thy people on a stranger gaze;

And, for the fox-hound cow’ring bland,

Bays the fierce house-dog at his stand.

Yet, as my doubtful step withdraws,

Fresh memories plead for longer pause;

While mixes with each faint farewell

What only struggling sighs can tell.

Yes, Holly-Bush!—here fled too fast

Fair hours, most valued now they’re past.

But not, in my regard, import

These structures of a prouder sort;

83And former fondness ill can brook

This order’d dress and inland look;^[86]

Thy flowery copse and bowers make room

For alien shrubs and new perfume;

Thy meek rill swells with glaring brim;

Thy rude paths march through gardens trim;

Ah, here no unambitious brow,^[87]

Nor my contented dwelling now!

But thou remainest, favourite Tree!

Extend thy friendly canopy!

Ah! know me, sooth me, in my age,

And cheer this mournful pilgrimage!

Hall! whose kind arm is stretch’d between^[88]

The spoiler and yon Forest scene,

84Its green vale with its wooded banks,

(And Needwood’s honour owes thee thanks)

Save too this suppliant at thy door,

O save my spreading Sycamore!

It gave my window breezes sweet,

And shelter when the tempest beat;

When wild bees humm’d its boughs among,

Or cooing stock-dove watch’d her young,

Oft have I sat beneath its shade,

And bless’d my children, as they play’d.

Ah! let not Taste, with upstart pride,

This old domestic thrust aside;

This relic, generous owner! spare

To Needwood’s earliest poet’s prayer:

So prosper here thy fair designs;

So Beauty lend thee her own lines;

So here all social Pleasures throng;

And sweet Enjoyment flourish long.

Revered Swilcar!^[89] kingly Oak!

Ill spar’d from thee th’ assassin’s stroke.

85How brilliant was thy sylvan court!

Of sons and subjects proud resort;

Here stately rang’d in close array;

There lightly group’d on carpets gay;

Attendant hollies glow’d beneath,

All arm’d; their crest a woodbine wreath.

In safety skipp’d the dappled herds;

Securely perch’d the choiring birds;

O’er charter’d ground thy broad shade spread;

In freedom wav’d thy sacred head,

Where age had whiten’d many a stem,

And plac’d an antler’d diadem.

Horrid!—I see thee far^[90]—defac’d—

In fetters on a dreary waste,

With outstretch’d arms and bosom bare,

Appealing to the troubled air;

Yet taxing not the pelting storm;

But those, more cruel, who deform

86Thy rich retreats, thy turf defile

With fence, and road, and uses vile;

Nor of the whole, which Nature gave,

Leave thee enough to make thy grave,

When comes, as come it must, thy fall,

Lear of the Forest, robb’d of all!

Enough; and from my trembling hand

Drops the sad lyre.—Abused Land,

Take my last strains! in happier days

I tun’d my rude horn to thy praise;

And (all I wish’d) the friends I lov’d

Those unassuming notes approv’d;

And some, with strength beyond its own,^[91]

In sweeter echoes cheer’d the tone;

To swell this tear, which sorrow drew,

Do they remain?—alas how few!

Swilcar! from thee a wither’d bough

Will best become my temples now.

87And pendent here my shell I leave

Mournfully mute; save when, at eve,

While Silence lists on brooding wings,

Soft airs shall brush the murmuring strings:

So still be fond complaint preferr’d,

Its master’s voice no longer heard!

Then haply some, who wander near

Musing, may lend a partial ear;

And if thy venerable age,

And awful size their hearts engage,

If Nature’s wood-wild walks they love,

If violated grandeur move,

Ah, will not indignation rise,

As Fancy views with weeping eyes,

Nymphs, Satyrs, Fauns, in cheerless row,

And Dian with a broken bow;

Hears Druid’s groan and Dryad’s shriek

Oft through the moonlight stillness break,

Yon prison’d cliffs^[92] their griefs repeat,

Dove howling hoarsely at their feet?

88Region!—I lov’d thee at my heart—

Farewell!—for ever now we part.

Forest farewell!—delighted Time

Thee would have spar’d in endless prime;

Me, as he shakes my ebbing sands,

While MORTAL LIFE her roll expands,

Me, feebly bending o’er thy tomb,

He beckons to her COMMON HOME.—

Ah, human weakness! may a name,

Aspiring to no splendid fame,

Live, yet a little, in my SONGS

Of NEEDWOOD’S PRAISE and NEEDWOOD’S WRONGS!

89