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invoke the Muse to furnish me with a little more matter for the same subject:
THE AFFECTIONATE SOLDIER.
'Twas in the evening of a wint'ry day,
When safe returning from a long campaign, Allen o’ertoild and weary with the way,
Came home to see his Sally once again.
His batter'd arms he carelessly threw down,
And view'd his Sally with enraptur'd eyes ; But she receiv'd him with a modest frowni,
She knew not Allen in his rough disguise.
His hair was knotted and his beard unshorn;
His tatter'd 'coutrements about him hung; A tear of pleasure did his cheek adorn,
And blessings fell in torrents from his tongue.
Am I so alter'd with this cruel trade,
That you your faithful Allen have forgot?
When this he spake, her wonted colour fled ;
She ran, and sank upon her Allen's breast,
He kiss'd, she breath'd, and all her love confest.
Reduc'd by honest courage to this state,
My long lost husband, and my wish'd-for mate.
Having had for many years a wish to see the ancient and memorable town of Ludlow, in Shropshire, I took the opportunity, when at Worcester, to make it in my circuit to Buxton, and was well requited for
Whatever way you approach Ludlow, you find an ascent up to the market-place, which is in the centre of the town; the streets are wide and
well built, and, opening to the four points of the compass, east, west, north, and south, command different ways a variety of prospects.
The Castle stands upon a lofty hill, seemingly much higher than that of Windsor, when
upon the College of Eton from the terrace; it commands a most enchanting country, but is in a state of ruin, and the mouldering hand of time has given it a fantastic and magnificent effect.
Imagine yourself in the most favorite walk of Kensington-gardens, and that walk zig-zagged down the side of a stupendous mountain, shaded with embowering trees; and, as you peep through the different vistas, the fertile valleys below and the distant hills
present the most unrivalled landscapes; such is the promenade at Ludlow. The river, gliding through the meadows, near the base of the castle-walls, is clear and wide, decorated with various kinds of shrubs; a venerable bridge strides across the stream, over which there hangs a high and shaggy promontory, shelteri water-mill, standing near to a line of dwarfy rocks that run from shore to shore, impeding the hasty current, the effect of which is hardly to be conceived; the enraged river, rushing furiously against its cross impediment, rises, above the common surface, and in foaming surges overwhelms the obstructing ridge, hurrying down the counter-side with a tremendous roar, forming a beautiful cascade; picturing, if it may be allowed, an humble epi
the Niagara, or Mississippi; the whole presenting as beautiful and natural a landscape to the eye as can be formed by the most creative imagination.
The Castle is said to be nearly half a mile in circumference; I explored, and could have wept at its interior dilapidations. This relic of grandeur was once the ancient habitation of King Stephen, and in various reigns the station where many a British worthy has placed himself in his courtly seat, enjoying the splendor of his golden hours; some might have felt as I did, especially when they beheld the lofty toppling towers, mantled with pensive ivy, threatening every wandering passenger, whose veneration for the scene may have led him too near its precarious foundation or its opening sides.