At length my wand'ring feet have brought
Me on this Derby Hill;
Where my sweet muse and fancy both
May sit and take their fill.
Although I've trod the stage of life
Past seventy years and three:
'Tis the first time that ever I
These Derby Hills did see.
Reader, before I now proceed,
I pray you will excuse;
Your pardon humbly I do beg,
Intruding with my muse.
Born in an humble state of life,
Grammar I could not attain;
But from the school of Nature I,
Did all my learning gain.
As on this eminence I stand,
And view the Landscape round,
Here hills and dales, rivers and rocks,
Most sweetly do abound.
Mark how the glorious setting sun
Fair Buxton Town displays;
Buxton whose healing streams and air,
Give hope for length of days.
The next that did attract the muse
Was the fine noble Church,
Where sinners every Sabbath day
Their wicked hearts should search.
What numbers there already lie,
Now sleeping at its feet;
Waiting the great and awful day,
When they their Judge must meet.
Their dust then joins its better part,
I hope in realms above;
And all its dross be pressed away,
By the Redeemer's love.
The fine Hotels I next remarked,
The walks and lawns so gay,
Where gentry their amusements take,
In this sweet month of May.