Ah, lovely Lealholm! Where shall I begin,
To say what thou art now, and once hast been?
Once the dear seat of all my earthly joys,
That now, in recollection only, rise!
Methinks, where’er I look no life appears,
But all the place a cheerless aspect wears;
Thy groves are desolate, thy swains are fled,
And many of them number’d with the dead;
Religion ’s cold, the poor are sore oppress’d,
Thy orphans weep, and widows are distress’d.
O let us pray their griefs may shortly end,
And God, their Father, still may prove their friend.
This ancient Bridge some faint idea brings,
Where still the swallow comes and dips her wings;
The murmuring river, and the rumbling mill,
Bear some resemblance to poor Lealholm still;
Yon silent whirlpool beautifies the scene,
Where shades of trees are in its deepness seen,
Where leaping fishes on the surface play,
And gladly seems to close, the summer’s day;
The broken waters from yon glen resound,
Their constant rippling ’s heard the village round;
Yon burden’d iron pinion loudly shrieks,
While tears of oil hang on his rusty cheeks;
The greedy race, the water still supplies,
The lofty wheel’s broad shelves successive rise;
The thund’ring engine doth her hands employ,
And Hunter’s place is fill’d by William Joy;
The floating bubble swims upon the wave,
While Ord[B] lies mould’ring in the silent grave;
Behind yon hill the sun escapes from sight,
And yields his empire to the shades of night.
Alas! Poor Lealholm once in glory shone,
But now, she like a widow, sits alone!
Once from yon town the people flock’d like bees,
To taste the sweetness of the country breeze;
Pedestrians joyful, here and there were seen,
While shays and whiskeys deck’d her level green;
The banks of Esk, were crowded all along,
Either with Anglers, or with lookers on.
The full “Moon,”[C] then did through her valleys shine,
So bright, some thought she never would decline;
Year after year she in her sphere did move,
And all seem’d animation, life, and love:
But now, in mists and gloom she disappears,
Eclips’d—her light no longer Lealholm cheers!
Pluck’d from her orb, her borrow’d lustre’s fled,
And in the silent tomb, she rests her head.
In distant lands my father’s lot was cast,
And we were left to feel the bitter blast.
Death’s fatal hand its victim did arrest,
And tore him from the darlings of his breast.
I, by a mother’s care, when young was led,
Down by the river to yon primrose bed,
Where birds so sweetly sung the trees among,
I thought those days were happy, bright, and long.
Oft I, a boy, with others of my age,
Did eager here in youthful sports engage.
Oft in yon wood we rov’d when life was new,
The rocks, and trees and rugged caves to view;
Where woodbines wild, with sweets perfum’d the air,
And all seem’d joyous, beautiful, and fair.
Alas! where’s now the grove? The trees are gone!
And many the wide ocean are upon:
A few remaining springers yet survive,
And keep their owner’s name and place alive!
Just so it is with us, could we but see,
Our fathers who are in eternity!
Their offspring live, but they’re for ever gone,
Their portion’s fixed, no more will they return!
May we be wise, and lessons learn afresh,
To trust no longer in an arm of flesh!—
Begin to seek, and rest not till we find
The peace of God, which satisfies the mind.
Then seeing all my earthly joys are fled,
Where, O my soul! art thou for succour led?
’Tis Jesus, that can all thy wants supply,
A fountain ’s there which never will run dry:
Arabia’s grove, nor Sharon’s flowery field,
Such rich perfume, such holy incense yield:
’Tis Jesus’ merit, and his dying love,
’Tis these perfume the glorious courts above!
FOOTNOTES:
[B] The Mill was built by Mr. Ord.
[C] Mrs. Moon, landlady of the Public House, who died during the Author’s absence.
OLD SAM!
OR
THE EFFECTS OF THE GOSPEL.
Attend, all ye who Zion’s tidings love,
Whose hearts and hopes are fix’d on things above,
Whose chief delight is centred in the fame,
Of signs and wonders wrought through Jesus’ name;—
All ye who virtue love, and evil hate,
Attend, while I a simple tale relate.
A preacher being to a village sent,
To warn and woo the people to repent;
Depending only on God’s mighty grace,
His pious soul was looking for success.
For God, his people had a house prepared,
In which his arm had many times been bared,
And in that little village congregation,
Were found some earnest seekers of salvation.
Among the rest a noted Bruiser stood,
Whose hands had oft been stain’d with human blood;
A man of constitution so robust,
He oft had laid Goliaths in the dust.
He fully on the preacher fix’d his eye,
But scarcely could declare the reason why;
The subject, and the theme on which he dwelt,
Caught his attention, and its force he felt.
He thought the preacher all his actions knew,
His words, like arrows, pierc’d his conscience through;
His spirits fell, his heart was sick and sore,
Such anguish he had never felt before.
It seem’d to him as if an angel spoke,
He felt within as if his heart was broke,
He thought he heard mount Sinai’s thunder roll,
Which shook the very centre of his soul!
Such mighty strokes soon humbled all his pride,
He sank condemn’d, and loud for mercy cried.
“What shall I do?” said he, “Nay, who can tell?
Oh! how shall I escape the pit of Hell?”
On bended knees he did salvation seek,
Big tears roll’d down his long undaunted cheek:—
The people pray’d, the sinner wept the more,—
This man, who till that hour, ne’er wept before.
After a time his mighty anguish ceas’d,
The Lord of life his captive soul releas’d!
The joy he felt he scarcely could contain,
The people sung—“a sinner’s born again!”
Some time elaps’d—two of his mates had met,
As custom was, and in a tavern sat,
Conversing on events that daily pass’d,
Till one the other thus address’d at last.
“Heard you not what occurred the other day?
Old Sam has been converted, people say!”
“Old Sam!” the other says, with great surprise,
“What Sam, the Boxer?” “Yes!” the other cries!
“Depend upon’t, though you may think it strange,
But in old Sam there is a wondrous change!”
“Nay,—he converted! Pshaw! ’tis all a whim;
They’ve just as much converted me as him;
And I can find a man, I have no doubt,
That soon will beat all his religion out.”
“Perhaps not so,” the other softly said,
“I think Old Sam ’s of better mettle made,
I know that he was always bad to bend,
And on his firmness I will still depend.”
The other rose, and would a wager bet,
Old Sam was not so far converted yet,
But that if pick’d at, he would turn again,
And still he would the bloody cause maintain.
To Sammy’s door their way direct they took,
For he had now the tavern’s haunts forsook;
They call’d a rebel out to lead the van,
To vex and aggravate the poor old man.
At length they reach’d, and rattled at the door,
Standing around, like lions to devour
His happy soul; but he had by his side,
King David’s faithful Shepherd for his guide.
Old Sammy from his Bible reading rose,
And straightway forth to meet the rebel goes;
“Here’s one,” say they, “will fight for what you like!”
He stamp’d, and raged, and dared old Sam to strike;
Sam look’d and smiled, as he before him stood,
Then shook his head, thinking the cause not good;
At length his flaming passion to control,
He cries, “The Lord have mercy on thy soul!
Thy case I pity, O thou man of might,
Although this practice once was my delight;
Calm thy fierce rage, and to old Sam attend,
Before destruction prove thy awful end.
I clearly see the spirit thou art in,
For I myself oft in the same have been;
And many a one like thee I’ve made to bend,
And brought their boasting valour to an end.
’Tis well for thee that I’m another man,
Or thou wouldst rue the day that this began;
I soon should settle all thy boasts and brags,
And make thy bones fall rattling on the flags!
Thou mayst thank God, whose power and grace divine,
Have chang’d this proud, rebellious heart of mine;
The love I feel to thee forbids the blow,
Which soon would lay thy boasting prowess low.
Restrain thy passion, give old Sam thine hand,
Be thankful that thou dost before him stand;
Go tell the men whom once I did adore,
Their wager’s lost, old Sam will fight no more;
Tell them to save their money for their wives,
Give up their folly, and reform their lives;
To go and seek salvation while they may,
Before the wrath of God drives them away!”
Sam’s noble speech so satisfied them all,
That not one there durst him a coward call.
“Although the wager ’s fairly lost,” say they,
“We all must own old Sam hath won the day!”
Now Sammy like a warrior stout and bold,
Seeks new companions, and forsakes the old;
While shouts of praise his ravish’d ears surround,
He hears, and understands, the joyful sound!
Yes, Sammy has a better master now,
And more substantial friends to deal with too;
Secure he leans on his Redeemer’s breast,
And sweetly sings himself away to rest.