PART FOURTH.

And who hath not heard how the knight from that day,

Was altered in look, and unwont in his way;
And how he sought wonders of every form,
And things of all lands, from a gem to a worm;
And how he divided his father's domain,

And sold many parts to the purchaser's gain ;
And how his poor neighbours with pity were sad;
And said, good Sir Ashton, through love, was gone
mad?

But, strangest of all, on that woe-wedding night,
A black horse was stabled where erst stood the white;
The grooms, when they found him, in terror quick fled,
His breath was hot smoke, and his eyes burning red;
He beat down a strong wall of mortar and crag,
He tore his oak stall as a dog would a rag,
And no one durst put forth a hand near that steed
Till a priest had read ave, and pater, and creed.

And then he came forth, the strange beautiful thing,
With speed that could lead a wild eagle on wing;

And raven had never spread plume on the air
Whose lustreful darkness with his might compare.
He bore the young Ashton-none else could him
ride-

O'er flood and o'er fell, and o'er quarry-pit wide;

The housewife, she blessed her, and held fast her child, And the men swore both horse and his rider were wild!

And then, when the knight to the hunting field came,
He rode as he sought rather death than his game;
He halloo'd through woods where he'd wander'd of
yore,

But the lost Lady Mary he never saw more!

And no one durst ride in the track where he led,
So fearful his leaps, and so madly he sped;

And in his wild phrensy he gallop'd one day

Down the church steps at Rochdale, and up the same

way.

THE WANDERER'S SONG ON MACCLESFIELD FOREST, 1828.

WHERE is now my home, my home?
Where is now my home?

"Tis nowhere, and 'tis everywhere,

As o'er the world I roam.

'Tis on the cold and cloudy hill

'Tis in the noiseless dell;

A reckless wight for once may sleep
In either place full well.

I care not who's my company,
Or be they high or low;

If they be rough, why I am rough,
If they be smooth, I'm so.
I take my bed where'er 'tis spread,
In country or in town;

Though I love to be at the hostelrie,
When night comes stealing down.

THE LANDOWNER.

TUNE-"There was a Jolly Miller Man."

THERE was a famous landowner
In Inglondshire, d'ye see,
He was a "graidly gentleman,"
A jolly old buck was he;
And thus he where'er he sung,

sang

And sing full oft would he;

I care for nobody, no not I,

Though many have care for me.

My cattle roam a thousand hills,
For miles of land are mine;
My valleys, with their teeming rills,
Yield butter, corn, and wine;

The fish, the game, I also claim;
I'll have them too, by G.
I care for nobody, no not I,
Though many have care for me.

I made a law, withouten flaw,
My farmers to protect;
For I had been a fool I ween,
My rentage to neglect ;

So all was right, and snug, and tight, my affairs should be ;

As

I care for nobody, no not I,

Though many have care for me.

One son commands a regiment,
Another hath a See ;

My daughter to the palace went,
A pension soon had she;
To leave behind good things we find,
Is sin of high degree;
I'll sin for nobody, no not I,
Whoever may sin for me.

"Tis thus, the army's on my side,
The church's prayers are mine ;
With one I drink, at tother wink,
When pottle deep in wine;

And whilst we sing God save the King,
Or Queen, when Queen there be,

I care for nobody, no not I,

Though many have care for me.

TIM BOBBIN' GRAVE. (7

I stoode beside Tim Bobbin' grave
'At looks o'er Ratchda' teawn;
An' th' owd lad 'woke within his yerth,
An' sed, "Wheer arto' beawn?"

"Awm gooin' into th' Packer-street,
As far as th' Gowden Bell,
To taste o' Daniel's Kesmus ale."
TIM.—“ I cud like o saup mysel'."

"An' by this hont o' my reet arm, If fro' that hole theaw'll reawk, Theaw'st have o saup o'th' best breawn ale 'At ever lips did seawk."

The greawnd it sturr'd beneath my feet,

An' then I yerd o groan ;

He shook the dust fro' off his skull,
An' rowlt away the stone.

I brought him op o deep breawn jug,
'At o gallon did contain ;

An' he took it at one blessed draught,
An' laid him deawn again!