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comparing the present with the past, from a consciousness of having 'Dealt with life, as children with their play,

Who first misuse, then cast their toys away,'

that we do not derive the same pleasure from what passes before us in maturer age; or whether, in boyhood, the impressions of such trifles as I have related are deeper rooted in the memory, I cannot say, certain it is, whatever be our situation in life, we all come to the conclusion, that our early days were our happiest.

Ovingham Fair.

(FROM A POEM ENTITLED "THE SCHOOL BOY,"

BY THOMAS MAUDE, M. A.)

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UT can I sing thy simpler pleasures flown,
Loved OVINGHAM! and leave the chief unknown,—
Thy annual Fair, of every joy the mart,

That drained my pocket aye, and took my childish
heart

Blest morn! how lightly from my bed I sprung,
When in the blushing east thy beams were young;
While every blithe co-tenant of the room

Rose at a call, with cheeks of liveliest bloom.

Then from each well-packed drawer our vests we drew,
Each gay-frilled shirt, and jacket smartly new.
Brief toilet ours! yet, on a morn like this,
Five extra minutes were not deemed amiss.
Fling back the casement-Sun, propitious shine!
How sweet your beams gild the clear-flowing Tyne,
That winds beneath our master's garden-brae,
With broad bright mazes o'er its pebbly way.
See Prudhoe! lovely in the morning beam :-
Mark, mark, the ferry-boat, with twinkling gleam,
Wafting fair-going folks across the stream.
Look out! a bed of sweetness breathes below,
Where many a rocket points its spire of snow;
And from the Crow-tree Bank the cawing sound
Of sable troops incessant poured around!
Well may each little bosom throb with joy!

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!

On such a morn, who would not be a boy?
Far o'er the village green the booths are reared-
Ah, village green! by many a sport endeared,
Still, still, methinks, thy wormwood scent I hail,
Mixed oft with passing waft from earthen pipe so frail.
But now, gay country groups are scattered o'er
Thee, sloping to the burn's romantic shore;
While mingling echoes float upon the air-
The merry humours of a Border Fair.
Hark! "hit my shins and miss my pins"-away!
Prepare the ground, and give the lads fair play.
The pins are set-the spice (like golden cup
At race) held in superb temptation up;
While many a youngster purchases a throw,
And whirls the stick-ah, ha! you win not so;
Wide flies the stick-the pins stand firm below.
Gay gear on every hand for boys and girls!
Here, to young sweethearts ribbons bright untwirls
The stallman; or the bonny-patterned gown,
The newest sprig from merry Carlisle town-
Or gloves of Hexham tan-or scarfs so gay,
Of silken twist-or rings of glancing ray-
Or bonnets, open some, and some designed

To shade the glowing cheek, to every beauty's mind.

Saint Hilda.

FROM SIR C. SHARP'S COLLECTIONS.

F e'er to Whitby's silver strand
Thy pilgrim steps have stray'd,
Descended Hakeness' vallies deep,
Or rov'd through Eskdale's1 shade,

Then sure thy weary feet have toil'd
The steep ascent to gain,
Where holy Hilda's mould'ring pile
O'erhangs the foaming main;

No station for monastic cell,
No warm sequester'd dale,
But fitter for baronial tower
To awe the subject vale.3

Yet there the pious fabric rose
And crown'd the dizzy steep,

Tho' sweet were Eskdale's tangl'd paths
And Hakeness' vallies deep.

There many a legend shalt thou hear
Which Whitby's fishers tell,
Of honours due and reverence paid
To noble Hilda's cell;

How, when above her oriel arch

The screaming sea-fowl soar'd,

Their drooping pinions conscious fell

And the virgin saint ador'd;

1 « Eska flu. oritur in Eskdale; defluit per Danbeium nemus & tandem apud Streneshalc in mare se exonerat."-Lel. Collec. tom. ter. p. 40.

2 Monasterium S. Hildæ apud Streneshalc (Whitby) penitus destructum fuit ab Inguaro & Hubba, Titusque abbas Glesconiam cum reliquis S. Hildæ aufugit. "Restitutum fuit monasterium de Streneshalc tempore Henrici primi per Gulielmum Perse."—Ibid.

366 Locus ubi nunc cœnobium est videtur mihi esse ars inexpugnabilis."—Ibid.

How sole amid the serpent tribe
The holy Abbess stood,

With fervent faith, and up-lift hands
Grasping the holy rood.

The suppliant's prayer and powerful charm
Th' unnumber'd reptiles own,—
Each falling from the cliff becomes

A headless coil of stone.1

But not alone to Whitby's fane
Shall Hilda's praise belong,
Nor there alone her virgin choir
Chaunted the matin song.

The winding Wear 2 and Deira's shore
Had heard her vows divine,

And Christian kings, where'er she pray'd,

Endow'd the hallow'd shrine.

Thence southward did her frail bark steer

Dunelmia's coast along,

And hardly 'scape the roaring surge
That foams her rocks among.

Now doubling Heorta's cavern'd cape,

It anchors in the bay;

1 < Mira res est videre serpentes apud Streneshalc in orbem giratos, & inclementia cœli vel, ut monachi ferunt, precibus D. Hildæ concretos."-Leland.

"Then Whitby's nuns, exulting told

How, &c.

And how, of thousand snakes, each one
Was changed into a coil of stone,
When holy Hilda pray'd,
Themselves within their holy bound,
Their stony folds had often found.
They told, how sea-fowl's pinions fail
As over Whitby's towers they sail;
And, sinking down, with flutterings faint,
They do their homage to the saint."

Scott's Marmion.

"Lapides hic" (apud Whitby) "inveniuntur, serpentium in spiram revolutorum effigie, naturæ ludentis miracula, quæ natura, cum veris & seriis negotiis quasi fatigata, indebitè efformat. Serpentes olim fuisse crederes quos lapideus cortex intexisset, Hildæ autem precibus adscribit credulitas.”— Camden.

2 History of Hartlepool, p. 7.

Here cavern'd rocks, there dark'ning woods1
In the wild landscape lay.

(Ah! vainly seeks the pilgrim now
The bowers, the dark'ning wood;
Nor hoary age can prattling tell
Where once the forest stood,

Save that on Stranton's frowning shore,"
When falls the ebbing wave,

The traveller marks the blacken'd trunks,
And the roots fantastic heave.)

'Twas here, by neighb'ring realms rever'd,
Did sainted Hilda dwell;

And ne'er on Anglia's eastern shore
Was found a holier cell.

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3 Oswy, king of Northumberland. History of Hartlepool, p. 7.

4 History of Hartlepool, p. 8.

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