No. XLIV.

THE WITCH OF WOKEY.

DR. HARRINGTON.

Wokey-hole is a noted cavern in Somerfetfhire, which has given birth to as many wild fanciful stories as the Sybils Cave, in Italy. Through a very narrow entrance, it opens into a very large vault, the roof whereof, either on account of its height, or the thickness of the gloom, cannot be difcovered by the light of torches. It goes winding a great way under ground, is croft by a stream of very cold water, and is all horrid with broken pieces of rock: many of these are evident petrifactions; which, on account of their fingular forms, have given rife to the fables alluded to in this poem.

IN aunciente days tradition fhowes
A bafe and wicked elfe arofe,

The Witch of Wokey hight:

Oft have I heard the fearful tale
From Sue and Roger of the vale,

On fome long winter's night.

Deep

Deep in the dreary dismal cell,
Which feem'd and was ycleped hell,
This blear-eyed Hag did hide :
Nine wicked elves, as legends fayne,
She chofe to form her guardian trayne,
And kennel near her fide.

Here fcreeching owls oft made their nest,
While wolves its craggy fides poffeft,
Night-howling thro' the rock :

No wholefome herb could here be found:
She blafted every plant around,

And blifter'd every flock.

Her haggard face was foul to fee;
Her mouth unmeet a mouth to bee;
Her eyne of deadly leer,

She nought devised, but neighbour's ill;
She wreak'd on all her wayward will,
And marr'd all goodly chear.

All in her prime, have poets fung,
No gaudy youth, gallant and young,
E'er bleft her longing armes ;
And hence arofe her spight to vex,
And blast the youth of either sex,
By dint of hellish charms.

From

From Glafton came a lerned wight,
Full bent to marr her fell defpight,
And well he did, I ween :

Sich mifchief never had been known,
And, fince his mickle lerninge fhown,
Sich mifchief ne'er has been.

He chauntede out his godlie booke,
He croft the water, bleft the brooke,
Then-pater nofter done,-

The ghaftly Hag he sprinkled o'er;
When lo! where ftood a hag before,
Now stood a ghaftly stone.

Full well 'tis known adown the dale ;
Tho' paffing ftrange indeed the tale,
And doubtfull may appear,

I'm bold to fay, there's never a one,
That has not feen the witch in ftone,
With all her household gear.

But tho' this lernede Clerke did well;
With grieved heart, alas! I tell,
She left this curfe behind :
That Wokey-nymphs forfaken quite,
Tho' fenfe and beauty both unite,

Should find no leman kind.

VOL. II.

For

For lo! even, as the Fiend did fay,
The fex have found it to this day,

That men are wondrous fcant:
Here's beauty, wit, and fenfe combined,
With all that's good and virtuous join'd,
Yet hardly one gallant.

Shall then fich maids unpitied moane ?
They might as well, like her, be ftone,
As thus forfaken dwell.

Since Glafton now can boast no clerks,
Come down from Oxenford, ye sparks,
And, oh! revoke the spell.

Yet ftay-nor thus defpond, ye fair;
Virtue's the gods' peculiar care;

I hear the gracious voice:
Your fex fhall foon be bleft agen,
We only wait to find fich men,

As best deserve your choice.

1

No. XLV.

THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.

From "Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry.”

PART I.

KING Arthur lives in merry Carleile,

And feemely is to see;

And there with him Queene Guenever,
That bride foe bright of blee.

And there with him Queene Guenever,
That bride fo bright in bowre:
And all his barons about him stoode,
That were both ftiffe and ftowre.

The King a royale Chriftmaffe kept,
With mirth and princelye cheare;

To him repaired many a knighte,
That came both farre and neare.