[Page 107]

CLIFTON HILL.

Written in January 1785.

In this lone hour, when angry storms descend,
And the chill'd soul deplores her distant friend;
When all her sprightly fires inactive lie,
And gloomy objects fill the mental eye;
When hoary Winter strides the northern blast,
And Flora's beauties at his feet are cast;
Earth by the grisly tyrant desert made,
The feather'd warblers quit the leafless shade;
[Page 108]9  Quit those dear scenes where life and love began,
And, cheerless, seek the savage haunt of man;
How mourns each tenant of the silent grove! 
No soft sensation tunes the heart to love;
No fluttering pulse awakes to Rapture's call;
No strain responsive aids the water's fall. 
The Swain neglects his Nymph, yet knows not why;
The Nymph, indifferent, mourns the freezing sky;
Alike insensible to soft desire,
She asks no warmth — but from the kitchen fire;
Love seeks a milder zone; half sunk in snow,
Lactilla, shivering, tends her fav'rite cow;
The bleating flocks now ask the bounteous hand,
And crystal streams in frozen fetters stand. 
The beauteous red-breast, tender in her frame,
Whose murder marks the fool with treble shame,
[Page 109]25  Near the low cottage door, in pensive mood,
Complains, and mourns her brothers of the wood. 
Her song oft wak'd the soul to gentle joys,
All but his ruthless soul whose gun destroys. 
For this, rough clown, long pains on thee shall wait,
And freezing want avenge their hapless fate;
For these fell murders may'st thou change thy kind,
In outward form as savage as in mind;
Go, be a bear of Pythagorean name,
From man distinguish'd by thy hideous frame. 

Tho' slow and pensive now the moments roll,
Successive months shall from our torpid soul
Hurry these scenes again; the laughing hours
Advancing swift, shall strew spontaneous flowers;
[Page 110]39  The early-peeping snowdrop, crocus mild,
And modest violet, grace the secret wild;
Pale primrose, daisy, maypole-decking sweet,
And purple hyacinth together meet:
All Nature's sweets in joyous circle move,
And wake the frozen soul again to love. 

The ruddy swain now stalks along the vale,
And snuffs fresh ardour from the flying gale;
The landscape rushes on his untaught mind,
Strong raptures rise, but raptures undefin'd;
He louder whistles, stretches o'er the green,
By screaming milk-maids, not unheeded, seen;
The downcast look ne'er fixes on the swain,
They dread his eye, retire, and gaze again. 
[Page 111]53 'Tis mighty Love — Ye blooming maids, beware,
Nor the lone thicket with a lover dare. 
No high romantic rules of honour bind
The timid virgin of the rural kind;
No conquest of the passions e'er was taught,
No meed e'er given them for the vanquish'd thought. 
To sacrifice, to govern, to restrain,
Or to extinguish, or to hug the pain,
Was never theirs; instead, the fear of shame
Proves a strong bulwark, and secures their fame;
Shielded by this, they flout, reject, deny,
With mock disdain put the fond lover by;
Unreal scorn, stern looks, affected pride,
Awe the poor swain, and save the trembling bride. 
[Page 112]

As o'er the upland hills I take my way,
My eyes in transport boundless scenes survey:
Heretheneat** Clifton Church. In this church-yard the Author's Mother was buried.
domewheresacredrapturesrise,
From whence the contrite groan shall pierce the skies;
Where sin-struck souls bend low in humble prayer,
And waft that sigh which ne'er is lost in air. 

Ah! sacred turf! here a fond Parent lies,
How my soul melts while dreadful scenes arise! 
The past! Ah! shield me, Mercy! from that thought,
My aching brain now whirls, with horror fraught. 
Dead! can it be? 'twas here we frequent stray'd,
And these sad records mournfully survey'd. 
I mark'd the verse, the skulls her eye invite,
Whilst my young bosom shudder'd with affright! 
[Page 113]81 My heart recoil'd, and shun'd the loathsome view;
"Start not, my child, each human thought subdue,"
She calmly said; "this fate shall once be thine,
My woes pronounce that it shall first be mine."
Abash'd, I caught the awful truths she sung,
And on her firm resolves one moment hung;
Vain boast — my bulwark tumbles to the deep,
Amaz'd — alone I climb the craggy steep;
My shrieking soul deserted, sullen views
The depths below, and Hope's fond strains refuse;
I listen'd not — She louder struck the lyre,
And love divine, and moral truths conspire. 

Theproud** It is supposed this word is derived, though not very legitimately, from Croesus.
Croeseancrew,light,cruel,vain,
Whose deeds have never swell'd the Muse's strain,
[Page 114]95  Whose bosoms others sorrows ne'er assail,
Who hear, unheeding, Misery's bitter tale,
Here call for satire, would the verse avail. 
Rest, impious race! — The Muse pursues her flight,
Breathes purer air on Vincent's rugged height;
Here nibbling flocks of scanty herbage gain
A meal penurious from the barren plain;
Crop the low niggard bush; and, patient, try
The distant walk, and every hillock nigh:
Some bask, some bound, nor terrors ever know,
Save from the human form, their only foe. 
Ye bleating innocents! dispel your fears,
My woe-struck soul in all your troubles shares;
'Tis but Lactilla — fly not from green:
Long have I shar'd with you this guiltless scene. 
[Page 115]110 'Tis mine to wander o'er the dewy lawn,
And mark the pallid streak of early dawn;
Lo! the grey dusk that fill'd the vacant space,
Now fleets, and infant light pursues the chace;
From the hill top it seeks the valley low;
Inflam'd, the cheeks of morn with blushes glow;
Behold it 'whelm'd in a bright flood of day,
It strives no more, but to the God gives way. 

Yesilent,solemn** St. Vincent 's rocks, between which flows the River Avon.
,strong,stupendousheights,
Whose terror-striking frown the school-boy frights
From the young daw; whilst in your rugged breast
The chattering brood, secured by Horror, rest. 
Say, Muse, what arm the low'ring brothers cleft,
And the calm stream in this low cradle left? 
[Page 116]124 Coëval with Creation they look down,
And, sunder'd, still retain their native frown. 
Beneaththoseheights,lo!balmysprings** The Hot Wells.
arise,
To which pale Beauty's faded image flies;
Their kindly powers life's genial heat restore,
The tardy pulse, whose throbs were almost o'er,
Here beats a livelier tune. The breezy air,
To the wild hills invites the languid fair:
Fear not the western gale, thou tim'rous maid,
Nor dread its blast shall thy soft form invade;
Tho' cool and strong the quick'ning breezes blow,
And meet thy panting breath, 'twill quickly grow
More strong; then drink the odoriferous draught,
With unseen particles of health 'tis fraught. 
Sit not within the threshold of Despair,
Nor plead a weakness fatal to the fair;
[Page 117]140  Soft term for Indolence, politely given,
By which we win no joy from earth or heaven. 
Foul Fiend! thou bane of health, fair Virtue's bane,
Death of true pleasure, source of real pain! 
Keen exercise shall brace the fainting soul,
And bid her slacken'd powers more vigorous roll. 

Blame not my rustic lay, nor think me rude,
If I avow Conceit's the grand prelude
To dire disease and death. Your high-born maid,
Whom fashion guides, in youth's first bloom shall fade;
She seeks the cause, th'effect would fain elude,
By Death's o'erstretching stride too close pursu'd,
She faints within his icy grasp, yet stares,
And wonders why the Tyrant yet appears —
[Page 118]154  Abrupt — so soon — Thine, Fashion, is the crime,
Fell Dissipation does the work of time. 

Howthicklycloth'd,yon** Leigh Wood.
rockofscantysoil,
Its lovely verdure scorns the hand of Toil. 
Here the deep green, and here the lively plays,
The russet birch, and ever-blooming bays;
The vengeful black-thorn, of wild beauties proud,
Blooms beauteous in the gloomy-chequer'd crowd:
The barren elm, the useful feeding oak,
Whose hamadryad ne'er should feel the stroke
Of axe relentless, 'till twice fifty years
Have crown'd her woodland joys, and fruitful cares. 

The pois'nous reptiles here their mischiefs bring,
And thro' the helpless sleeper dart the sting;
[Page 119]168  The toad envenom'd, hating human eyes,
Here springs to light, lives long, and aged dies. 
The harmless snail, slow-journeying, creeps away,
Sucks the young dew, but shuns the bolder day. 
(Alas! if transmigration should prevail,
I fear Lactilla's soul must house in snail.) 
The long-nosed mouse, the woodland rat is here,
The sightless mole, with nicely-pointed ear;
The timid rabbit hails th'impervious gloom,
Eludes the dog's keen scent, and shuns her doom. 

Various the tenants of this tangled wood,
Who skulk all day, all night review the flood,
Chew the wash'd weed driven by the beating wave,
Or feast on dreadful food, which hop'd a milder grave. 
[Page 120]182 Hail, useful channel! Commerce spreads her wings,
From either pole her various treasure brings;
Wafted by thee, the mariner long stray'd,
Clasps the fond parent, and the sighing maid;
Joy tunes the cry; the rocks rebound the roar;
The deep vibration quivers 'long the shore;
The merchant hears, and hails the peeping mast,
The wave-drench'd sailor scorns all peril past;
Now love and joy the noisy crew invite,
And clumsy music crowns the rough delight. 

Yours be the vulgar dissonance, while I
Cross the low stream, and stretch the ardent eye
O'er Nature's wilds; 'tis peace, 'tis joy serene,
The thought as pure as calm the vernal scene. 
[Page 121]196 Ah, lovely meads! my bosom lighter grows,
Shakes off her huge oppressive weight of woes,
And swells in guiltless rapture; ever hail,
The tufted grove, and the low-winding vale! 

Low not, ye herds, your lusty Masters bring
The crop of Summer; and the genial Spring
Feels for your wants, and softens Winter's rage,
The hoarded hay-stack shall your woes assuage;
Woes summ'd in one alone, 'tis Nature's call,
That secret voice which fills creation all. 

Beneaththisstack** The beautiful unfortunate Louisa, fugitive Foreigner, lived three years in a state of distraction under this hay-stack, without going into a house. She once confessed, in a lucid interval, that she had escaped from a Convent, in which she had been confined by her father, on refusing a marriage of his proposing, her affections being engaged to another man.
Louisa'sdwellingrose,
Here the fair Maniac bore three Winters snows. 
[Page 122]208 Here long she shiver'd, stiffening in the blast,
The lightnings round their livid horrors cast;
The thunders roar, while rushing torrents pour,
And add new woes to bleak affliction's hour;
The heavens lour dismal while the storm descends,
No Mother's bosom the soft maid befriends;
But, frighten'd, o'er the wilds she swiftly flies,
And drench'd with rains, the roofless hay-stack tries. 
The morn was fair, and gentle — sought
These lonely woodlands, friends to sober Thought;
With Solitude, the slow-pac'd maid is seen
Tread the dark grove, and unfrequented green,
Well — knew their lurkings; Phoebus shone,
While, musing, she pursued the track alone. 
O, thou kind friend! whom here I dare not name,
Who to Louisa's shed of misery came,
[Page 123]224  Lur'd by the tale, sigh'd o'er her beauteous form,
And gently drew her from the beating storm,
Stand forth — defend, for well thou canst, the cause
Of Heaven, and justify its rigid laws;
Yet own that human laws are harshly given,
When they extend beyond the will of Heaven. 
Say, can thy pen for that hard duty plead,
By which the meek and helpless maid's decreed
To dire seclusion? Snatch'd from guiltless joys,
To where corroding grief the frame destroys;
Monastic glooms, which active virtue cramp,
Where horrid silence chills the vital lamp;
Slowly and faint the languid pulses beat,
And the chill'd heart forgets its genial heat;
The dim sunk eye, with hopeless glance, explores
The solemn aisles, and death-denouncing doors,
[Page 124]240  Ne'er to be past again. — Now heaves the sigh,
Now unavailing sorrows fill the eye:
Fancy once more brings back the long-lost youth
To the fond soul, in all the charms of Truth;
She welcomes the lov'd image; busy Thought
Pourtrays the past, with guiltless pleasures fraught;
'Tis momentary bliss, 'tis rapture high,
The heart o'erflows, and all is extacy. 
Memory! I charge thee yet preserve the shade,
Ah! let not yet the glittering colours fade! 
Forbear the cruel future yet to view,
When the sad soul must bid a long adieu,
E'en to its fancied bliss — Ah! turn not yet
Thou wretched bankrupt, that must soon forget
This farewel draught of joy: lo! Fancy dies,
E'en the thin phantom of past pleasure flies. 
[Page 125]256 Thought sinks in real woe; too poor to give
Her present bliss, she bids the future live;
The spirit soon quits that fond clasp, for see,
The future offers finish'd misery. 
Hope quite extinct, lo! frantic thro' the aisles
She raves, while Superstition grimly smiles. 
Th'exhausted mourner mopes, then wildly stalks
Round the drear dome, and seeks the darkest walks. 
The glance distracted each sad sister meets,
The sorrow-speaking eye in silence greets
Each death-devoted maid; Louisa here
Runs thro' each various shape of sad despair;
Now swells with gusts of hope, now sick'ning dies;
Alternate thoughts of death and life arise
Within her panting soul; the firm resolve,
The new desire, in stronger fears dissolve. 
[Page 126]272 She starts — then seiz'd the moment of her fate,
Quits the lone cloyster and the horrid grate,
Whilst wilder horrors to receive her wait;
Muffled, on Freedom's happy plains they stand,
And eager seize her not reluctant hand;
Too late to these mild shores the mourner came,
For now the guilt of flight o'erwhelms her frame:
Her broken vows in wild disorder roll,
And stick like serpents in her trembling soul;
Thought, what art thou? of thee she boasts no more,
O'erwhelm'd, thou dy'st amid the wilder roar
Of lawless anarchy, which sweeps the soul,
Whilst her drown'd faculties like pebbles roll,
Unloos'd, uptorn, by whirlwinds of despair,
Each well-taught moral now dissolves in air;
[Page 127]287  Dishevel'd, lo! her beauteous tresses fly,
And the wild glance now fills the staring eye;
The balls, fierce glaring in their orbits move,
Bright spheres, where beam'd the sparkling fires of Love,
Now roam for objects which once fill'd her mind,
Ah! long-lost objects the must never find. 
Ill starr'd Louisa! Memory, 'tis a strain,
Which fills my soul with sympathetic pain. 
Remembrance, hence, give thy vain struggles o'er,
Nor swell the line with forms that live no more. 

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Title (in Source Edition): CLIFTON HILL. Written in January 1785.

Author: Ann Yearsley (née Cromartie)

Themes: nature; landscapes

Genres: prospect poem / topographical poem

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Yearsley, Ann, 1753-1806. Poems, on several occasions. By Ann Yearsley, a milkwoman of Bristol [poems only]. The second edition. London: printed for T. Cadell, in the Strand, 1785, pp. 107-127. xxxii, 127p. (ESTC N22108)

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Typography, spelling, capitalization, and punctuation have been cautiously modernized. The source of the text is given and all significant editorial interventions have been recorded in textual notes. This ECPA text has been edited to conform to the recommendations found in Level 5 of the Best Practices for TEI in Libraries version 4.0.0.

CLIFTON HILL.

Written in January 1785.

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Other works by Ann Yearsley (née Cromartie)

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