ΤΟ GEORGE ELLIS, ESQ. Edinburgh. WHEN dark December glooms the day, And takes our autumn joys away; When short and scant the sun-beam throws, Upon the weary waste of snows, A cold and profitless regard, Like patron on a needy bard; When sylvan occupation's done, And o'er the chimney rests the gun, And hang, in idle trophy, near, The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear; When wiry terrier, rough and grim, And greyhound, with his length of limb, When wrinkled news-page, thrice con❜d o'er, And darkling politician, crossed, Inveighs against the lingering post, And answering house-wife sore complains Of carriers' snow-impeded wains: When such the country cheer, I come, Well pleased, to seek our city home; For converse, and for books, to change The Forest's melancholy range, And welcome, with renewed delight, The busy day, and social night. Not here need my desponding rhyme Lament the ravages of time, As erst by Newark's riven towers, And Ettricke stripped of forest bowers.* True, Caledonia's Queen is changed, Since on her dusky summit ranged, Within its steepy limits pent, By bulwark, line, and battlement, And flanking towers, and laky flood, Guarded and garrisoned she stood, Denying entrance or resort, Save at each tall embattled port; Portcullis spiked with iron prong. That long is gone, but not so long, *See Introduction to Canto II. Since, early closed, and opening late, Jealous revolved the studded gate; Whose task, from eve to morning tide, A wicket churlishly supplied. Stern then, and steel-girt was thy brow, When safe amid thy mountain court And liberal, unconfined, and free, Not she, the championess of old, In Spenser's magic tale enrolled, She for the charmed spear renowned, Which forced each knight to kiss the ground, Not she more changed, when, placed at rest, What time she was Malbecco's guest,* She gave to flow her maiden vest; When from the corslet's grasp relieved, Free to the sight her bosom heaved; Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile, And down her shoulders graceful rolled Her locks profuse, of paly gold. They who whilome, in midnight fight, Had marvelled at her matchless might, No less her maiden charms approved, * See "The Fairy Queen," Book III. Canto IX, + "For every one her liked, and every one her loved." SPENSER, as above. |