422 
Wild.as a woodbine'up:I grew}: 
Soon in his feats I bore aspart;: —/ 
_ And counted alljthe game lie slew: 
L Jearn’d the wiles, the shifts; the calls; 
The language of each living thing; 
I mark’d the hawk that darting falls, 
Or station’d_spreads)the trembling wing. 
I mark’d the owl that silent flits, 
The hare:that feeds at eventide, 
The upright rabbit, when he sits 
And mocks you, ’ere he deigns to hide. 
Theard the fox. bark through the night, 
I saw the rooks depart at morn, 
I saw the wild deer dancing light, 
And heard the hunter’s cheering horn. 
Mad with delight, I roam’d around, 
From morn.to eve throughout the year, 
But still, *snidst all Tsonght or found, 
My favourites were the spotted deer ; 
The elegant, the branching brow, 
“Phe doe’s clean limbs and eyes of love ; 
The fawn as white as mountain snow, 
Phat glanced through fern, and brier, 
van grove: 
°"'Phe’ ranger ‘then describes, in a 
striking way, the falk of an immense 
dak,.and the curiosity of the deer, who 
gather round it to survey the ruin, 
andj!as'“it Were, to deplore its over- 
throw.'-'This inquisitive disposition is 
@ strong feature in the natural history 
ofthat beautiful: animal, and seems to 
besicommon to the different species. 
In the expedition of Capt. Parry, men- 
tion is made of a rein-deer, that fol- 
lowed a party on an inland excursion 
for a considerable distance, and gam- 
bolled round them, till driven away by 
the discharge of their fowling-pieces. 
From every lawn, and copse, and glade, 
The timid deer in squadrons came, 
And circled round their fallen shade, 
With all of language but its name, 
Astonishment and dread withheld 
‘The fawn and doe of tender'ycars, 
But soon.a triple civele swell’d, 
With rattling horns and twinkling ears. 
Some‘in his root’s deep ’cavern heus’d, 
And seem’d to learn and muse, and teach, 
Or on his. topmost foliage brows’; 
That hadtor centuries mock’d theirreach, 
And with.a few. sentiments, rather 
too fine fora gaimekeeper, end, withal, 
a little trite,.the greenwood guardian 
sums up his contribution, which'is ac- 
cepted as a-suficient equivalent. 
But what ‘are we ‘to say to’ John 
Armstrong, the shepherd, with whose 
primitive appearance we are grlatly 
pleasédissrmsd unk tveq sonsrever finns 
— = Seatity locks'of erey! 
Edged roand’a hat ‘that seein"d.to anieck 
decay ; ‘ 
) News from Pav nussusy Noi XVUTS 
Q-what-a joy it gave my heart#0o a | 
[June a; 
‘ 
Its loops, its batids, were from the: pure 
BEGEyd sono i0 Lis o1997 ydooin yniAae 
Spun on the hills im silencesand in’ peace... 
A staff he Dore, caved round with. birds) 
and flowers, 1 ou hi 
The hietoglyphics of Nis leisure hours; >” 
And rough-form’d animals of various name, 
Not just like Bewick’s, but. they meant 
the same, nile OwT 
' , ’ 
. buswens odogend 900 
We do not doubt that John’s inten-: 
tion, in that matter, was good; as well: 
as in the verses which follow, ‘called, 
the Shepherd's Dream, or Fairies Mas- 
querade, but he seems to-ns.to have 
got upon wrong ground. “At the first 
glance, his vision was altogether unin- 
telligible to us, till we found, to our 
surprize, that itis an allegory. of the. 
Russian expedition, the burning . of, 
Moscow, the fall of Bonaparte, and, 
the present state of France. ‘This, to. 
our taste, is ‘very unpleasant, anda, 
violation of that modest propriety, and. 
suitable choice of subjects, for which, 
we have before bestowed praise upon, 
the poet. The versification, we allow, 
is pretty. In spite of this, John Arm. 
strong, we fear, has not brought us, an: 
article that will pass current ;,and our, 
. id . > ato . ’ 
sentence is, that he either pay down, 
his arrears to Lady-day, in metal. of, 
the new mintage, or return, to his flock, 
upon the hills, aud set his heart. to ins 
dite some new matter, which may be, 
: ov ; mits 
better worthy of Sir Ambrose’s, accep, 
tance. yoda sco 
An old soldier, broken in the Penin., 
sular wars, then rises to deseribe his, 
sensations on his return to his mative 
vale, and goes through his poetical 
evolutions with considerable credit. 
But what an hour was that, when from the main 
1 reacl’d this lovely valley once again! 
A glorious harvest filld my eager sight, 
Half shock’d, half waving ina flood offight; 
On that poor cottiave-roof where Lwas bern, 
The sun look'd down, as in Wi@’s early Worns" 8% ) 
1 gazed arouid, but nota soul appeardseo4 
[ Jistewd on the tbhreshold,—nothing heard. —__ 
I call’d my father thrice, but no oae eames) 7) O 1 
lc was hot fear or grief that slicok my frainé,) | 
Bat an o’erpowering sense of pedve anid beme, 
OF toils gone by, perhaps of juys to come. : 
The dcor invaingiy stood open wide, 100 7 
I sliook my dust, and’set my staff wside 7°" 
How sweet it wasito breathe that cooler ait; ©! 
And take possession of iy fathers chair b™ 
Beneath uy elbawy, ion the solid frames 
Appeord the rough initials ofmy Aue, ff 
Cut a years Uefore ) the siuile olibaloskun two | 
Struck the sume Vell) and gave my Nearly w shee © 
I never cat forvet.' SA short breeze sprnnuyo? 96) Vel 
And while a sighowas trembling on any orgies ot 
Caught the chidanelinmalmanacks Letiinuy 90's 2 
And apthey flew, like bmimers'inthe « 191 WT 
Then gently, singlyy downy; doen, doenyptey went; 7 
Aud told oftarenty yours) that-T iad Spevtie ig doy eit 
Far from my native Thuibsstlvat instaneeamenns 10 
A robia on tie thresholds the? so taness e oan id 10 
At first Ge look’d distrustfalalaosrshg7 yd of LA 
Aud cast onome life cowUblack Stedil fulk eyesoe? bod 
And seein’ 'o say, (pstottjendshi Nene y} 0 
“Ab hal alg Pate mill pitinld ui? 
* . * s 7 
bel 
But 
