Chapter I: Part 1

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

_Canto Second_ 103

ERRATA.

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.

THE GOBLIN GROOM.

Introduction to Canto First.

TO WALTER MARROWFAT,

_GARDENER TO HIS GRACE THE D-- OF B-- --H_.

_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.

THE GOBLIN GROOM.

CANTO FIRST.

The Hostel, or Inn.

THE GOBLIN GROOM.

CANTO FIRST.

The Hostel, or Inn.

I.

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.

II.

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.

III.

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.

IV.

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.

V.

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.

VI.

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.”

VII.

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.

VIII.

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.

IX.

’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.

X.

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).

XI.

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;--

XII.

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.

XIII.

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.

XIV.

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.

XV.

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]

XVI.

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.

XVII.

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.

XVIII.

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.

XIX.

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.

XX.

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.

THE GOBLIN GROOM.

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.

THE GOBLIN GROOM.

CANTO SECOND.

The Fox-Chace.

THE GOBLIN GROOM.

CANTO SECOND.

The Fox-Chace.

I.

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.

II.

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.

III.

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.

IV.

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.

V.

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.

VI.

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.

VII.

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.

VIII.

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.

IX.

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.

X.

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!

XI.

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.

XII.

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.

XIII.

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.

XIV.

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.

XV.

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.

XVI.

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.

XVII.

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.

XVIII.

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.

XIX.

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.

XX.

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.

XXI.

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.

XXII.

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.

XXIII.

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.

XXIV.

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.

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.

NOTE II, P. 23.

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.

NOTE III, P. 26, 27.

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.

NOTE IV, P. 28.

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.”