Benighted was an ancient dame,
And fearful haste she made

To gain the vale of Fakenham,
And hail its willow shade.

Her footsteps knew no idle stops,

But follow'd faster still;

And echo'd to the darksome copse

That whisper'd on the hill;

Where clam'rous rooks, yet scarcely hush'd,

Bespoke a peopled shade;

And many a wing the foliage brush'd,

And hov'ring circuits made.

The dappled herd of grazing deer

That sought the shades by day,

Now started from her path with fear,

And gave the stranger way.

Darker it grew; and darker fears

Came o'er her troubled mind;

When now, a short quick step she hears

Come patting close behind.

She turn'd; it stopt !...nought could she see

Upon the gloomy plain !

But, as she strove the Sprite to flee,

She heard the same again.

Now terror seiz'd her quaking frame:

For, where the path was bare,

The trotting Ghost kept on the same!
She mutter'd many a pray'r.

Yet once again, amidst her fright,
She tried what sight could do;

When through the cheating glooms of night,
A MONSTER stood in view.

Regardless of whate'er she felt,

It follow'd down the plain !

She own'd her sins, and down she knelt,
And said her pray'rs again.

Then on she sped, and hope grew strong,
The white park gate in view;

Which pushing hard, so long it swung
That Ghost and all pass'd through.

Loud fell the gate against the post!
Her heart-strings like to crack:
For, much she fear'd the grisly ghost
Would leap upon her back.

Still on, pat, pat, the Goblin went,
As it had done before :...

Her strength and resolution spent,

She fainted at the door.

Out came her husband, much surpris'd:

Out came her daughter dear:

Good-natur'd souls! all unadvis'd

Of what they had to fear.

The candle's gleam pierc'd through the night,

Some short space o'er the green;

And there the little trotting sprite

Distinctly might be seen.

An Ass's Foal had lost its dam
Within the spacious park ;

And simple as the playful lamb,
Had follow'd in the dark.

No Goblin he; no imp of sin:
No crimes had ever known.
They took the shaggy stranger in,
And rear'd him as their own.

His little hoofs would rattle round

Upon the cottage floor :

The matron learn'd to love the sound

That frighten'd her before.

A favourite the Ghost became ;

And, 'twas his fate to thrive :

And long he liv'd and spread his fame,
And kept the joke alive.

For many a laugh went through the vale;

And some conviction too:...

Each thought some other Goblin tale,
Perhaps, was just as true.

A MERRY SONG,

ON THE

DUKE'S LATE GLORIOUS SUCCESS OVer the dutch.

Tune "Suffolk Stiles."

Southwold Bay, commonly called Sole-Bay, is celebrated as the theatre of a most obstinate and sanguinary naval engagement, which took place on the 20th. of May 1672, between the combined fleet of England and France on the one side, and that of the Dutch on the other. The former consisted of 101 sail, 35 of which were French, carrying 6,018 guns, and 34,530 men ; and the latter of 91 men of war, 54 fire-ships, and 23 tenders. James, Duke of York, commanded the Red squadron the Count D'Etrees the White; and the Earl of Sandwich the Blue: the Dutch were commanded by De Ruyter, opposed to the Duke of York; Blankart to Count D'Etreès, and Van-Ghent to the Earl of Sandwich. Cornelius De Witt was on board the Dutch fleet, as deputy from the States.

The combined fleet lay in the Bay, in a very negligent posture, extending from Easton-ness to Menes-Mere The Earl of Sandwich, an experienced officer, had given the Duke warning of the danger; but received such an answer, as intimated that there was more of caution than of courage in his apprehensions. Upon the appearance of the enemy, every one ran to his post with precipitation; and many ships were obliged to cut their cables in order to be in readiness. Sandwich, though determined to conquer or to die, so tempered his courage with prudence, that the whole fleet was visibly indebted to him for its safety. He hastened out of the Bay, where it had been easy for De Ruyter, with his fire-ships, to have destroyed the combined fleet, which was crowded together; and by this wise measure, he gave time to the Duke of York, and to Count D'Etreès, to disengage themselves. He himself, meanwhile, rushed into the battle; and by presenting himself to every

danger, drew upon him all the bravest of the enemy. He killed Van-Ghent, and beat off his ship; he sunk another, which ventured to lay him aboard, and three fire-ships, that endeavoured to grapple with him. And though his vessel was torn in pieces with shot, and of 1000 men, which she contained, nearly 600 were killed, he continued still to thunder with his artillery in the

midst of the enemy. But another fire-ship, more for

tunate than the first, having laid hold of his vessel, her destruction was inevitable. Warned by Sir Edward Haddock, his captain, he refused to make his escape, and bravely embraced death as a shelter from that ignominy, which a rash expression of the Duke's had thrown upon him.

During this fierce engagement with Sandwich, De Ruyter remained not inactive. He attacked the Duke of York, and fought him with such fury for more than two hours, that of two and thirty actions in which he had been engaged, he declared this combat to have been the most obstinately disputed. The Duke's ship was so shattered, that he was obliged to leave her, and shift his flag to another. His squadron was overpowered by numbers, till Sir Joseph Jordan, who had succeeded to Sandwich's command, came to his assistance; and the fight being more equally balanced, was continued till night, when the Dutch retired, and were not pursued by the English. The loss sustained by the two maritime powers was nearly equal. The Dutch lost three ships of war; and their loss in men is supposed to have been very great, as the publication of it was forbidden by the States. Two English ships were burned, three sunk, and one taken; and about 2,500 men killed and wounded. The French suffered very little, having scarcely been engaged in the action. It is supposed that they had received secret orders to spare their ships, and let the Dutch and English weaken themselves by their mutual animosity. On the 27th. which was Whit-Monday, there was a great merrymaking on board the fleet; and so sudden and unexpected was the approach of the enemy, that many officers and sailors, who were on shore at Southwold,