The DIRGE.
33
Yet Blouzelinda's name shall tune my lay.
Of her I'll sing for ever and for aye.
When Blouzelind expir'd, the weather's bell
Before the drooping flock toll'd forth her knell; 100
The solemn death-watch click'd the hour she dy'd,
And thrilling crickets in the chimney cry'd;
The boding raven on her cottage sat,
And with hoarse croaking warn'd us of her fate;
The lambkin, which her wonted tendance bred, 105
Drop'd on the plains that fatal instant dead;
Swarm'd on a rotten stick the bees I spy'd,
Which erst I saw when goody Dobson dy'd.
How shall I, void of tears, her death relate,
While on her darling's bed her mother sat! 110
These Words the dying Blouzelinda spoke,
And of the dead let none the will revoke.
Mother, quoth she, let not the poultry need,
And give the goose wherewith to raise her breed,
Be these my sister's care ——— and ev'ry morn 115
Amid the ducklings let her scatter corn;
The sickly calf that's hous'd, be sure to tend,
Feed him with milk, and from bleak colds defend.
Yet e'er I die ——— see, Mother, yonder shelf,
There secretly I've hid my worldly pelf. 120
Twenty good shillings in a rag I laid,
Be ten the parson's, for my sermon paid.
The rest is yours ——— My spinning wheel and rake,
Let Susan keep for her dear sister's sake's
My new straw hat that's trimly lin'd with green,
Let Peggy wear, for she's a damsel clean. 126
My leathern bottle, long in harvests try'd,
Be Grubbinol's ——— this silver ring beside:
Three silver pennies, and a ninepence bent,
A token kind, to Bumkinet is sent. 130
Thus spoke the maiden, while her mother cry'd,
And peaceful, like the harmless lamb, she dy'd.
To show their love, the neighbours far and near,
Follow'd with wistful look the damsel's bier.
Of her I'll sing for ever and for aye.
When Blouzelind expir'd, the weather's bell
Before the drooping flock toll'd forth her knell; 100
The solemn death-watch click'd the hour she dy'd,
And thrilling crickets in the chimney cry'd;
The boding raven on her cottage sat,
And with hoarse croaking warn'd us of her fate;
The lambkin, which her wonted tendance bred, 105
Drop'd on the plains that fatal instant dead;
Swarm'd on a rotten stick the bees I spy'd,
Which erst I saw when goody Dobson dy'd.
How shall I, void of tears, her death relate,
While on her darling's bed her mother sat! 110
These Words the dying Blouzelinda spoke,
And of the dead let none the will revoke.
Mother, quoth she, let not the poultry need,
And give the goose wherewith to raise her breed,
Be these my sister's care ——— and ev'ry morn 115
Amid the ducklings let her scatter corn;
The sickly calf that's hous'd, be sure to tend,
Feed him with milk, and from bleak colds defend.
Yet e'er I die ——— see, Mother, yonder shelf,
There secretly I've hid my worldly pelf. 120
Twenty good shillings in a rag I laid,
Be ten the parson's, for my sermon paid.
The rest is yours ——— My spinning wheel and rake,
Let Susan keep for her dear sister's sake's
My new straw hat that's trimly lin'd with green,
Let Peggy wear, for she's a damsel clean. 126
My leathern bottle, long in harvests try'd,
Be Grubbinol's ——— this silver ring beside:
Three silver pennies, and a ninepence bent,
A token kind, to Bumkinet is sent. 130
Thus spoke the maiden, while her mother cry'd,
And peaceful, like the harmless lamb, she dy'd.
To show their love, the neighbours far and near,
Follow'd with wistful look the damsel's bier.
Sprigg'd
