« ForrigeFortsett »
Away went Gilpin, and away
The postboy's horse right glad to miss
Six gentlemen upon the road,
Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
They rais'd the hue and cry:—
Stop thief! stop thief!—a highwayman!
Not one of them was mute;
Did join in the pursuit.
And now the turnpike gates again
Flew open in short space;
That Gilpin rode a race.
And so he did, and won it too,
For he got first to town;
He did again get down.
Now let us sing, long live the king,
And Gilpin long live he; And, when he next doth ride abroad,
May I be there to see!
AN AFFLICTED PROTESTANT LADY IN FRANCE.
A Stranger's purpose in these lays
The path of sorrow, and that path alone,
EPISTLE TO A LADY IN FRANCE. 365
Admonish'd, scorn the caution and the friend,
366 EPISTLE TO A LADT IN FRANCE.
Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste! No shepherd's tents within thy view appear, But the chief Shepherd even there is near; Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain; Thy tears all issue from a source divine, And ev'ry drop bespeaks a Saviour thine— So once in Gideon's fleece the dews were found, And drought on all the drooping herbs around.