TO F. N. C. MUNDY, ESQ.
How does this entity fit into Hayley's correspondence?
TO F. N. C. MUNDY, ESQ.: ON HIS POEM, THE FALL OF NEEDWOOD FOREST
Poem to Noel Francis Clark Mundy in response to his work, Needwood Forest.
2
Poet of Needwood, much my heart approves This thy owed duty to his ravaged groves, The lost! the lovely!—who, in better days, View'd their each grace reflected in thy lays: And O! when many future age has pass'd Rolling oblivious o'er his nameless waste, Its some-time beauties shall again revive, And in thy pictured strains forever live. Come pensive listening, ye once jocund throng, Whilome that roved those Forest Haunts along! Explored, with pleasure bright'ning in your air, Each coy, green labyrinth, and each turfy lair, Still, as in prime of youth, the wanton Spring Expanded to the sun her showery wing, And cliffs, illustrious in their golden bloom, Rose o'er the glades of light-besprinkled gloom. Nor absent ye, when Summer's fervent hours Drops more luxuriant curtains on the bowers, And the vast oak's writhed arms, of dusky green, Shadow's the dappled tenants of the scene; With rival elm, whose mossy trunk appears Out-numbering far the lonely eagle's years. Nor when the months consummate left their vales To suns less ardent, less benignant gales, And Autumn painted, with his tawny hand, The shrinking foliage; and, in colours bland, Streak'd the pale red with purple, faint and brief, And tipt with tarnish'd gold each trembling leaf. Nor e'en when Phœbus' steeds, no longer fleet, With mane dishevell'd, streaming to their feet, Struggling through clouds, th'hybernal solstice gain, Their necks bedroom with globes of freezing rain, And the loud tyrant of the dying year Stript other groves, made other forests sear; For Needwood to his sway disdain'd to yield, His polish'd umbrage an unfailing shield, Those numerous hollies on his breast and brow, That thrust their scarlet clusters through the snow, Or spread their glossy leaves to transient rays, The rebel glory of the icy days. Nor if, ere yet arisen, dim morning heard Your light-heel'd coursers paw the dewy sward, When the sly prowler sole down the wind, And hoped he left no tell-tale scent behind. Vain hope! your swift staunch hounds the scent began; To right and left their hurrying numbers ran, Till found the taint, in streaming files they hie, And, in one shrill, continuous, clamouring cry, To which th'accordant forest joyous rings, Hang on his rear while o'er the vale he springs; Dash through the rhyme glades, and round the hills, As when, receiving tribute brooks and rills, O'er flinty bed a river foams and roars, Loud and impatient of meandering shores, Or, deepen'd, shews the Sun his mirror'd face, Or zones with silver light the mountain's base. Now, come with MUNDY, where the ruin lowers, He hymns the dirge of the devastated bowers! Echo his wailing o'er their fallen state, Whom centuries hail'd irregularly great! Come, execrate the edict that destroy'd, Leaving time-hallow'd Needlewood bare and void! There fell Imagination's rural fane! Thence fled fair-shafted Dian's votive train; All which the bard entranced in forest sees, Satyrs and Fauns, and leaf-crown'd Dryades! They fled, when Avarice, with rapacious frown, From Mercia's temples struck her sylvan crown. Yet, gentle Minstrel, they whose raptured ears Drank thy sweet song in the departed years, Saw oaken wreaths thy auburn brows entwine, The well-won meed at Needwood's shadowy shrine, Shall find they Gratulation's vivid glow Match'd by the Requiem, in its mournful flow; The orb of MUNDY'S muse-illumined day Setting with rival, though with milder ray; Pleased, shall compare the evening with the noon, And feel, in equal power, the Cypress garland won.