The Petrified Nest

This bulfinch’ nest, which you behold, For thirty pence to me was sold:— Bound round with tape, and fix’d in place, Was petrified in twelve months’ space; Then taken down, brought to the inn, Where “Mother Shipton’s” sign is seen— (Herself, the dear old lady’s drawn In antique mantle, hood, and gown,)— On which is writ, as trav’lers see, The following lines of poetry— “Near to this petrifying well, I first drew breath, as records tell.”

O Knaresboro’, Knaresboro’! charms are thine; Thee, thousand beauties do combine: Oh! would that thou wert my abode,— Thou glorious spot inwrought by God! With Him no workman can compare, His skilful works are everywhere: And He alone did carve the world, Round which the mighty ocean curl’d. Incumbent rocks, as they were hurl’d, And mountains, tow’ring to the skies, And verdant valleys, greet our eyes. Here, ancient castles (once so grand) Show marks of Time’s defacing hand; Some, shatter’d by war’s hissing shot, Leave only stones to tell the spot; Whilst others, towers still abide To mourn, alas! their former pride: And thine, O Knaresboro’, shares the fall— Now little but a crumbling wall.