POEMS, &c.

BATTLE BETWEEN THE MOORLAND AND SPANISH RAMS.

WHEN keen November winds did blow,
On Lowther hills white lay the snow,
The fleecy flocks sore pinched for meat,
Right wae on lower fells did bleat;
The curlers, on the ice below,
Their adamantine stones did throw,
And with true mathematic skill,
Contended who should most excell:
When, lo! a sturdy moorland ram,
In eager search of other game,

B

Came brushing o'er the highest hills,
To try his fortune in the vales;
When, by the lee side of a dyke,

Something he spied, a sheep 'twas like

To which advancing, void of fear,

What are you? or what brought you here?"

"I am a noble Spanish ram;

Don Pedro Merino my name;

A scion of a far-famed flock,
Imported to improve your stock."
"Your sounding name and pedigree
Are equally alike to me;

As for your fleece, it seems right fine,
Yet is not warmer, sure, than mine."
"We Spaniards are of courage bold,-
For noble deeds we're famed of old,
And gallant acts of chivalry:
Depart, you hairy fool, from me."
"We Britons are true hearts of oaks,
So do not break on us your jokes;
But, turn you out, I'll try you fairly;
Who fought it best at Talavera?”

This roused the Spaniard's Quixotte mettle,
Who, nothing loth to join the battle,
His courage rallied amain,

And hied him out into the plain.
While Johnny, ne'er of fighting shy,
A broadside instantly let fly;
When, quick as any bolt of thunder,
He clove the Spaniard's skull asunder.

MORAL.

O happy Britons! happy isle
Courage innate in thee doth dwell:
But show thy warriors the foe-
Charge bayonets and down they go.

THE BEWILDERED SHEPHERD.

[The following poem is a faint representation of the 24th and 25th of January, 1794, on the last of which days happened a violent snow-storm, more severe than any that had occurred within the recollection of the oldest person then living, which occasioned the loss of many valuable lives, besides a great number of the fleecy flocks.]

PART FIRST.

STERN Winter's rough storms we have not yet beheld,

And beautiful verdure still covers the field;
The daisies unblushing their petals display,

In January, as in their own native May.
Yet symptoms enow of stern winter appear,
And white is the mantle the Lowthers now wear.
Even those who do into futurity pry,

Begin to divine we'll have storms by and bye.

The grouse, from the mountain, descend to the

moor,

And 'neath thickest cover the partridges cour;