  James Bannard, "a Wandering Poet, in his 74th year," is the writer of the following lines, which he says at the heading of the broad-sheet from which I reprint it, are "Views and reflections taken from Solomon's Temple, near Buxton." Of Bannard I know nothing, farther than that he was a poor man, and eked out his living by selling these verses "at the 'Cottage of Content,' Buxton." At length my wand'ring feet have brought Me on this Derby Hill; Where my sweet muse and fancy both May sit and take their fill. Although I've trod the stage of life Past seventy years and three: 'Tis the first time that ever I These Derby Hills did see. Reader, before I now proceed, I pray you will excuse; Your pardon humbly I do beg, Born in an humble state of life, Grammar I could not attain; But from the school of Nature I, Did all my learning gain. As on this eminence I stand, And view the Landscape round, Here hills and dales, rivers and rocks, Most sweetly do abound. Mark how the glorious setting sun Fair Buxton Town displays; Buxton whose healing streams and air, Give hope for length of days. The next that did attract the muse Was the fine noble Church, Where sinners every Sabbath day Their wicked hearts should search. What numbers there already lie, Now sleeping at its feet; Waiting the great and awful day, When they their Judge must meet. Their dust then joins its better part, I hope in realms above; And all its dross be pressed away, By the Redeemer's love. The fine Hotels I next remarked, The walks and lawns so gay, Where gentry their amusements take, To Solomon's Temple I repaired, To take a wider view; And as I was a stranger there, All things appeared new. How dare the wicked infidel Say that there is no God? These mountains high and these firm rocks May crumble at His nod. In Him I live, in Him I move, In Him I have my being; In Him I on this mount now stand And paint this beauteous scene. Brierlow and Foxlow I remark'd, Haddon and Croome likewise; But Axedge overcap'd them all, And struck me with surprise. The Lover's Leap likewise I view'd, Shootingslow did appear; The Cat-and-Fiddle I have seen But I was never there. Chee Tor, Bakewell, and Matlock too, Likewise the Diamond Hill; The Shivering Tor for to describe Is far beyond my skill. Now from this mount I do descend Into the vale below, From whence the River Wye doth spring, For to describe the beauties all, Display'd in Derbyshire; Instead of musing for one day, Methinks 'twould take a year. Having seen seventy years and three, My days are not a few; I may expect in a short time, To bid this world adieu. May blessings rest on all your heads, Ye rich, likewise ye poor; Something forebodes within my mind, I must see these Derby Hills no more. |
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