CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.

Being a true relation of the inhuman murder of two children of a deceased gentleman in Norfolk, England, whom he left to the care of his brother; but the wicked uncle, in order to get the children's estate, contrived to have them destroyed by two ruffians whom he hired for that purpose; with an account of the heavy judgments of God, which befell him, for this inhuman deed, and of the untimely end of the two bloody ruffians. To which is added a word of advice to executors, &c.

Now ponder well, you parents dear,
These words which I do write;
A doleful story you shall hear,

In time, brought forth to light.

A gentleman of good account
In Norfolk lived of late,
Whose fame and credit did sur-
mount

Most men of his estate.

So sick he was, and like to die,
No help he then could have;
His wife by him as sick did lie,
And both possess one grave.

No love between these two was lost,
Each was to other kind;
In love they lived, in love they
died,

And left two babes behind; —

The one a fine and pretty boy,

Not passing three years old; The other a girl more young than he, And made of beauteous mould.

The father left his little son,

As plainly doth appear, When he to perfect age should come, Three hundreds pounds a year.

And to his little daughter Jane

Two hundred pounds in gold, For to be paid on marriage day.

Which might not be controlled.

But, if these children chanced to die
Ere they to age did come,
The uncle should possess the wealth;
For so the will did run.

"Now, brother," said the dying man,
Look to my children dear,
Be good unto my boy and girl:
No friend else have I here.

She weeps not for the wedding-day
Which was to be to-morrow:
Her hope was a farther-looking hope,
And hers is a mother's sorrow.

He was a tree that stood alone, And proudly did its branches wave: And the root of this delightful tree Was in her husband's grave!

Long, long in darkness did she sit, And her first words were, "Let there be

In Bolton, on the field of Wharf,
A stately Priory!"

The stately Priory was reared;
And Wharf, as he moved along,
To matins joined a mournful voice,
Nor failed at evensong.

And the lady prayed in heaviness
That looked not for relief!
But slowly did her succor come,
And a patience to her grief.

Oh! there is never sorrow of heart
That shall lack a timely end,
If but to God we turn and ask
Of Him to be our friend!

"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling,
Ere the early dews were falling,
Farre away I heard her song.
"Cusha! Cusha!" all along;
Where the reedy Lindis floweth,
Floweth, floweth,

From the meads where melick
groweth

Faintly came her milking song.

"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, "For the dews will soone be falling; Leave your meadow grasses mellow, Mellow, mellow;

Quit your cowslips, cowslips yel-
low;

Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe
Lightfoot,

Quit the stalks of parsley hollow,
Hollow, hollow;
Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow,
From the clovers lift your head;
Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe
Lightfoot,

Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow,
Jetty, to the milking shed."

If it be long, aye, long ago,
When I beginne to think howe long,
Againe I hear the Lindis flow,

Swift as an arrowe, sharpe and
strong;

And all the aire it seemeth mee
Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee),
That ring the tune of Enderby.

Alle fresh the level pasture lay,

And not a shadowe mote be seene, Save where full fyve good miles away The steeple towered from out the greene;

And lo! the great bell farre and wide Was heard in all the country side That Saturday at eventide.

The swannerds where their sedges

are

Moved on in sunset's golden breath, The shepherde lads I heard afarre, And my sonne's wife, Elizabeth; Till floating o'er the grassy sea Came downe that kyndly message free,

The "Brides of Mavis Enderby."

Then some looked uppe into the sky,

And all along where Lindis flows To where the goodly vessels lie, And where the lordly steeple shows.

They sayde, "And why should this thing be,

What danger lowers by land or sea? They ring the tune of Enderby!

"For evil news from Mablethorpe,

Of pyrate galleys warping down; For shippes ashore beyond the

scorpe,

They have not spared to wake the towne:

But while the west bin red to see, And storms be none, and pyrates flee, Why ring The Brides of Enderby ?''

I looked without, and lo! my sonne Came riding downe with might and main.

He raised a shout as he drew on,

Till all the welkin rang again, "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!”

(A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.)

"The olde sea wall (he cried) is downe,

The rising tide comes on apace, And boats adrift in yonder towne

Go sailing uppe the market-place." He shook as one that looks on death: "God save you, mother!" straight he saith;

"Where is my wife, Elizabeth?”

"Good sonne, where Lindis winds

away

With her two bairns I marked her long;

And ere yon bells beganne to play, Afar I heard her milking song."