UC-NRLF 
 
 SB E7E 
 
 
GIFT OF 
 Mrs. Bernard Moses 
 
POETRY OF THE FIELDS. 
 
POETRY OF THE FIELDS: 
 
 PASSAGES FKO H THE POETS 
 
 tstrbttk of Btstontl Stems, 
 
 KLKUANTLY ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY E. II. BUTLER & CO. 
 
 1867. 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by 
 
 E. II. BUTLER & CO., 
 n the Clerk s Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 illORNING IN THE COUNTRY, . . . THOMSON, .... IT 
 
 THE LINNET GRAHAME, ... 18 
 
 THE GRASSHOPPER, COWLEY, .... 
 
 To BLOSSOMS, HERRICK, . . . 
 
 FROM RURAL SPORTS, GAY, 22 
 
 ODE TO LEVEN WATER, SMOLLETT, .... 23 
 
 A. WISH, CUNNINGHAM, ... 24 
 
 To A SLYLARK, WORDSWORTH, ... 25 
 
 ENGLISH SCENERY, COWPER, 26 
 
 THE HILLSIDE FLOWER, .... GOULD, 33 
 
 THE SKYLARK, HOGG, 35 
 
 THE GREEN PASTURES, M. L. DUNCAN, ... 87 
 
 THE LARK, SHAKSPEAFE, ... 38 
 
 THE CUCKOO, GEAHAMB, .... 38 
 
 THE BLACKBIRD, GRAHAME, .... 39 
 
 To DAFFODILS, HERRICK, .... 41 
 
 ODE ON SPRING, GRAY, 42 
 
 BOWLES, 44 
 
 (13) 
 
xiv CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 To A MOUNTAIN DAISY, .... BURNS, 45 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF MORNING, . . . BEATTIE, ... .48 
 
 PRIMROSES, HERRICK, .... 49 
 
 FROM AN ODE TO SUMMER, . . . WARTON, 50 
 
 FIELD SPORTS, SOMERVILLE, ... 52 
 
 To A SKYLARK, WORDSWORTH, . . . 55 
 
 RUTH, HOOD, 57 
 
 To THE DAISY, , . . . . . WORDSWORTH, ... 58 
 
 HARVEST, . BLOOMFIELD, . . . G2 
 
 AN ITALIAN SONG, . . ... ROGERS, 04 
 
 FIELD FLOWERS, CAMPBELL, . . . G5 
 
 OCTOBER TWILIGHT, ... . . MAY, G7 
 
 QUEEN MAB, f DUCHESS OF j . . 70 
 
 HER DWELLING, { NEWCASTLE, J . . 71 
 
 A RURAL MEDITATION, THYNNE, 72 
 
 THE CLOSE OF SPRING, SMITH, 73 
 
 ENGLISH SCENERY, SMITH, 74 
 
 ODE TO THE MISSEL THRUSH, , . SMITH, 76 
 
 CLIFTON HALL, YEARSLEY, .... 78 
 
 ON A SPRIG OF HEATH, GRANT, 79 
 
 THE ANGLER, HEMANS, 81 
 
 THE CHANGED HOME, LANDON, 83 
 
 A SUMMER DAY, CHAUCER, .... 85 
 
 LESSONS OF SPRING, KEBLE, 88 
 
 FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON, . . BURNS, 91 
 
 THE EARLY DAWN, GEORGE HUME, ... 93 
 
 THE LILIES OF THE FIELD, .... KKBLE, . . . . 9o 
 
CON 7 TENTS. xv 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE QUESTION, SHELLEY, 9G 
 
 THE HUSBANDMAN, BRUCE, 98 
 
 HUNTING SONG, BURNS, 99 
 
 PRAISE AND THANKSGIVING, . . . PAUL GERHARDT, . . 101 
 
 How SPRING HAS CLAD, ETC., . . BURNS, 105 
 
 AUGUST, SPENSER, 107 
 
 THE MORNING WALK, OKHLENSCIILAGER, . . 118 
 
 MAY SONG, VON KIRCHBERG, . .120 
 
 SUMMER PLEASURES, ANON., 121 
 
 SONG, JACOBI, 123 
 
 ENVIABLE POVERTY, .... DALEI, 125 
 
 THE WALK, .... ... DALKI, 126 
 
 LOVE ix IDLENESS, . . ... DOETE DE TROIES, . 128 
 
THE POETRY OF THE FIELDS 
 
 MORNING IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 WHEN from the opening chambers of the east 
 The morning springs, in thousand liveries drest, 
 The early larks their morning tribute pay, 
 And, in shrill notes, salute the blooming day. 
 Refreshed fields with pearly dew to shine, 
 And tender blades therewith their tops incline. 
 Their painted leaves the unblown flowers expand, 
 And with their odorous breath perfume the land. 
 The crowing cock and chattering hen awakes 
 Dull sleepy clowns, who know the morning breaks. 
 The herd his plaid around his shoulders throws, 
 Grasps his dear crook, calls on his dog, and goes 
 Around the fold : he walks with careful pace, 
 And fallen clods sets in their wonted place ; 
 
 3 (17) 
 
18 THE LINNET. 
 
 Then opes the door, unfolds his fleecy care, 
 Ai>d gladly sees them crop their morning fare ! 
 Down upon easy moss he lays, 
 And sings some charming shepherdess s praise. 
 
 THOMSON. 
 
 THE LINNET. 
 
 WHEN whinny braes are garlanded with gold, 
 And, blithe, the lamb pursues, in merry chase, 
 His twin around the bush ; the Linnet, then, 
 Within the prickly fortress builds her bower, 
 And warmly lines it round, with hair and wool 
 Inwove. Sweet minstrel, may st thou long delight 
 The whinny knowe, and broomy brae, and bank 
 Of fragrant birch ! May never fowler s snare 
 Tangle thy struggling foot ! Or, if thou rt doomed 
 Within the narrow cage thy dreary days 
 To pine, may ne er the glowing wire (oh, crime 
 
 accursed ! N 
 
 Quench, with fell agony, the shrivelling eye ! 
 Deprived of air and freedom, shall the light 
 Of day, thy only pleasure, be denied ? 
 
THE GRASSHOPPER. 
 
 j3ut thy own song will still be left ; with it, 
 Darkling, thou lt soothe the lingering hours away ; 
 And thou wilt learn to find thy triple perch, 
 Thy seed-box, and thy beverage saffron-tinged. 
 
 GKAHAME. 
 
 THE GRASSHOPPER. 
 
 HAPPY insect ! what can be 
 In happiness compared to thee ? 
 Fed with nourishment divine, 
 The dewy Morning s gentle wine ! 
 Nature waits upon thee still, 
 And thy verdant cup does fill ; 
 Tis filled wherever thou dost tread, 
 Nature s self s thy Ganymede, 
 Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing, 
 Happier than the happiest king ! 
 All the fields which thou dost see, 
 All the plants belong to thee ; 
 All that summer-hours produce, 
 Fertile made with early juice : 
 
20 THE GRASSHOPPER. 
 
 Man for thee does sow and plough ; 
 
 Farmer he, and landlord thou ! 
 
 Thou dost innocently joy, 
 
 Nor does thy luxury destroy. 
 
 The shepherd gladly heareth thee, 
 
 More harmonious than he. 
 
 Thee country hinds with gladness hear, 
 
 Prophet of the ripened year ! 
 
 Thee Phoebus loves, and does inspirp : 
 
 Phoebus is himself thy sire. 
 
 To thee of all things upon earth, 
 
 Life is no longer than thy mirth. 
 
 Happy insect ! happy thou, 
 
 Dost neither age nor winter know : 
 
 But when thou st drunk, and danced, and sung 
 
 Thy fill, the flowery leaves among, 
 
 (Voluptuous, and wise withal, 
 
 Epicurean animal !) 
 
 Sated with thy summer feast, 
 
 Thou retir st to endless rest. 
 
 COWLEY. 
 
TO BLOSSOMS. 21 
 
 TO BLOSSOMS. 
 
 FAIRE pledges of a fruitful tree, 
 
 Why do yee fall so fast? 
 
 Your date is not so past, 
 But you may stay yet here awhile 
 
 To blush and gently smile, 
 And go at last. 
 
 What, were ycc born to be 
 
 An houre or half s delight, 
 
 o " 
 
 And so to bid good night ? 
 Twas pitie nature brought yee forth 
 Meerly to shew your worth, 
 And lose you quite. 
 
 But you are lovely leaves, where we 
 
 May read how soon things have 
 Their end, though ne er so brave : 
 
 And after they have shown their pride, 
 Like you, awhile they glide 
 
 Into the grave. 
 
 HERRICK. 
 
22 FROM RURAL SPORTS. 
 
 FROM RURAL SPORTS. 
 
 Tis not that rural sports alone invite, 
 But all the grateful country breathes delight ; 
 Here blooming Health exerts her gentle reign, 
 And strings the sinews of the industrious swain. 
 Soon as the morning lark salutes the day, 
 Through dewy fields I take my frequent way, 
 Where I behold the farmer s early care 
 In the revolving labors of the year. 
 
 When the fresh Spring in all her state is crowned, 
 And high luxuriant grass o erspreads the ground, 
 The laborer with a bending scythe is seen, 
 Shaving the surface of the waving green ; 
 Of all her native pride disrobes the land, 
 And meads lays waste before his sweeping hand ; 
 While with the mounting sun the meadow glows, 
 The fading herbage round he loosely throws ; 
 But, if some sign portend a lasting shower 
 Th experienced swain foresees the coming hour ; 
 His sunburnt hands the scattering fork forsake, 
 And ruddy damsels ply the saving rake ; 
 In rising hills the fragrant harvest grows, 
 
 And spreads along the field in equal rows. 
 
 GAT. 
 
OL>E TO LEVEN WATER. 
 
 ODE TO LEVEN WATER. 
 
 Ox Leven s banks, while free to rove, 
 And tune the rural pipe to love, 
 I envied not the happiest swain 
 That ever trod the Arcadian plain. 
 
 Pure stream, in whose transparent wave 
 My youthful limbs I wont to lave ; 
 JS T o torrents stain thy limpid source, 
 No rocks impede thy dimpling course, 
 That sweetly warbles o er its bed, 
 With white, round, polished pebbles spread ; 
 While lightly poised the scaly brood 
 In myriads cleave thy crystal flood ; 
 The springing trout in speckled pride, 
 The salmon, monarch of the tide ; 
 The ruthless pike, intent on war, 
 The silver eel, and mottled par. 
 Devolving from thy parent lake, 
 A charming maze thy waters make, 
 By bowers of birch, and groves of pine, 
 And edges flowered with eglantine. 
 Still on thy banks, so gaily green 
 May numerous herds and flocks be seen, 
 
21 A WISH 
 
 And lasses chanting o er the pail, 
 And shepherds piping in the dale ; 
 And ancient faith that knows no guile, 
 And industry embrowned with toil ; 
 And hearts resolved and hands prepared 
 The blessings they enjoy to guard ! 
 
 SMOLLETT. 
 
 A WISH. 
 
 1782. 
 
 MINE be a cot beside the hill ; 
 A bee-hive s hum shall soothe my ear ; 
 A willowy brook that turns a mill, 
 With many a fall, shall linger near. 
 
 The swallow oft, beneath my thatch, 
 Shall twitter from her clay-built nest ; 
 Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, 
 And share my meal, a welcome guest; 
 
 Around my ivied porch shall spring 
 Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew ; 
 And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing 
 In russet gown and apron blue. 
 
TO A SKYLARK. 25 
 
 The village church among the trees, 
 Where first our marriage-vows were given, 
 With merry peals shall swell the breeze, 
 And point with taper spire to heaven. 
 
 TO A SKYLARK. 
 
 ETHEREAL minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky ! 
 Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound ? 
 Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye 
 Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground ? 
 Thy nest, which thou canst drop into at will, 
 Those quivering wings composed, that music still ! 
 
 To the last point of vision, and beyond, 
 
 Mount, daring warbler ! that love-prompted strain 
 
 ( Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond) 
 
 Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain : 
 
 Yet might st thou seem, proud privilege ! to sing 
 
 All independent of the leafy spring. 
 
 Leave to the nightingale her shady wood, 
 A privacy of glorious light is thine ; 
 
26 E N G L I S H S C E N E R Y. 
 
 Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood 
 Of harmony, with instinct more divine : 
 Type of the wise who soar, but never roam ; 
 True to the kindred points of Heaven arid Home. 
 
 WORDSWORTH, 
 
 ENGLISH SCENERY. 
 
 How oft upon yon eminence our pace 
 
 Has slackened to a pause, and we have borne 
 
 The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it blew, 
 
 While Admiration, feeding at the eye, 
 
 And still unsated, dwelt upon the scene. 
 
 Thence with what pleasure have we just discerned 
 
 The distant plough slow moving, and beside 
 
 His laboring team, that swerved not from the track, 
 
 The sturdy swain diminished to a boy ! 
 
 Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain 
 
 Of spacious meads, with cattle sprinkled o er, 
 
 Conducts the eye along its sinuous course 
 
 Delighted. There, fast rooted in their bank, 
 
 Stand, never overlooked, our favorite elms, 
 
 That screen the herdsman s solitary hut ; 
 
ENGLISH SCENERY. 27 
 
 While far beyond, and overthwart the stream, 
 That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale, 
 The sloping land recedes into the clouds ; 
 Displaying on its varied side the grace 
 Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tower, 
 Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells 
 Just undulates upon the listening ear, 
 Groves, heaths, and smoking villages, remote. 
 Scenes must be beautiful which, daily viewed, 
 Please daily, and whose novelty survives 
 Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years. 
 Praise justly due to those that I describe. 
 Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds, 
 Exhilarate the spirit, and restore 
 The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds, 
 That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood 
 Of ancient growth, make music not unlike 
 The dash of Ocean on his winding shore, 
 And lull the spirit while they fill the mind ; 
 Unnumbered branches waving in the blast, 
 And all their leaves fast fluttering, all at once. 
 Nor less composure waits upon the roar 
 Of distant floods, or on the softer voice 
 Of neighboring fountain, or of rills that slip 
 
28 ENGLISH SCENERY. 
 
 Through the cleft rock, and chiming as they fall 
 Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length 
 In matted grass, that with a livelier green 
 Betrays the secret of their silent course. 
 Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds, 
 But animated nature sweeter still, 
 To soothe and satisfy the human ear. 
 Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one 
 The livelong night : nor these alone, whose notes 
 Nice-fingered art must emulate in vain, 
 But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime 
 In still repeated circles, screaming loud, 
 The jay, the pie, and e en the boding owl, 
 That hails the rising moon, have charms for me. 
 Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh, 
 Yet heard in scenes where peace forever reigns, 
 And only there, please highly for their sake. 
 
 Peace to the artist, whose ingenious thought 
 Devised the weatherhouse, that useful toy ! 
 Fearless of humid air and gathering rains, 
 Forth steps the man an emblem of myself! 
 More delicate, his timorous mate retires. 
 When Winter soaks the fields, and female feet, 
 Too weak to struggle with tenacious clay, 
 
ENGLISH SCENERY. 29 
 
 Or ford the rivulets, arc best at home, 
 
 The task of new discoveries falls on me. 
 
 At such a season, and with such a charge, 
 
 Once went I forth ; and found, till then unknown, 
 
 A cottage, whither oft we since repair : 
 
 Tis perched upon the green hill top, but close 
 
 Environed with a ring of branching elms, 
 
 That overhang the thatch, itself unseen 
 
 Peeps at the vale below ; so thick beset 
 
 With foliage of such dark redundant growth, 
 
 I called the low-roofed lodge the Peasant s Nest. 
 
 And, hidden as it is, and far remote 
 
 From such unplcasing sounds as haunt the ear 
 
 In village or in town, the bay of curs 
 
 Incessant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels, 
 
 And infants clamorous, whether pleased or pained, 
 
 Oft have I wished the peaceful covert mine. 
 
 Here, I have said, at least I should possess 
 
 The poet s treasure, silence, and indulge 
 
 The dreams of fancy, tranquil and secure. 
 
 Vain thought ! the dweller in that still retreat 
 
 Dearly obtains the refuge it affords. 
 
 Its elevated site forbids the wretch 
 
 To drink sweet waters of the crystal well ; 
 
30 ENGLISH SCENEHY. 
 
 He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch, 
 And, heavy laden, brings his beverage home, 
 Far fetched and little worth ; nor seldom waits, 
 Dependent on the baker s punctual call, 
 To hear his creaking panniers at the door, 
 Angry and sad, and his last crust consumed. 
 So farewell envy of the Peasant s Nest ! 
 If solitude make scant the means of life, 
 Society for me ! thou seeming sweet, 
 Be still a pleasing object in my view; 
 My visit still, but never mine abode. 
 
 Not distant far, a length of colonnade 
 Invites us. Monument of ancient taste, 
 Now scorned, but worthy of a better fate. 
 Our fathers knew the value of a screen 
 From sultry suns ; and in their shaded walks 
 And long-protracted bowers, enjoyed at noon 
 The gloom and coolness of declining day. 
 We bear our shades about us ; self-deprived 
 Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread, 
 And range an Indian waste without a tree. 
 Thanks to Benevolus 1 he spares me yet 
 These chestnuts ranged in corresponding lines: 
 And, though himself so polished, still reprieves 
 
 1 John Courtney TLrot-kuiorton, Esq., of Wes-ton Underwood, 
 
E N L I S JI S C E N E H Y. 31 
 
 The obsolete prolixity of shade. 
 
 Descending now (but cautious, lest too fast) 
 A sudden steep upon a rustic bridge, 
 We pass a gulf, in which the willows dip 
 Their pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink. 
 Hence, ankle-deep in moss and flowery thyme, 
 We mount again, and feel at every step 
 Our foot half sunk in hillocks green arid soft, 
 Raised by the mole, the miner of the soil. 
 He, not unlike the great ones of mankind, 
 Disfigures earth : and, plotting in the dark, 
 Toils much to earn a monumental pile, 
 That may record the mischiefs he has done. 
 
 The summit gained, behold the proud alcove 
 That crowns it ! yet not all its pride secures 
 The grand retreat from injuries impressed 
 By rural carvers, who with knives deface 
 The pannels, leaving an obscure, rude name, 
 In characters uncouth, and spelt amiss. 
 So strong the zeal to immortalize himself 
 Beats in the breast of man, that e en a few, 
 Few transient years, won from the abyss abhorred 
 Of blank oblivion, seem a glorious prize, 
 And even to a clown. Now roves the eye ; 
 
22 ENGLISH SCENERY. 
 
 And, posted on this speculative height, 
 
 Exults in its command. The sheepfold here 
 
 Pours out its fleecy tenants o er the glebe. 
 
 At first, progressive as a stream, they seek 
 
 The middle field ; but, scattered by degrees, 
 
 Each to his choice, soon whiten all the land. 
 
 There, from the sunburnt hay-field homeward 
 
 creeps 
 
 The loaded wain ; while, lightened of its charge, 
 The wain that meets it passes swiftly by ; 
 The boorish driver leaning o er his team 
 Vociferous, and impatient of delay. 
 Nor less attractive is the woodland scene, 
 Diversified with trees of every growth, 
 Alike, yet various. Here the gray smooth trunks 
 Of ash, or lime, or beech, distinctly shine, 
 Within the twilight of their distant shades ; 
 There, lost behind a rising ground, the woods 
 Seem sunk, and shortened to its topmost boughs. 
 No tree in all the grove but has its charms, 
 Though each its hue peculiar ; paler some, 
 And of a warmish gray ; the willow such, 
 And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf, 
 <Ynd ash far stretching his umbrageous arm ; 
 
THE HILLSIDE FLOWER. 33 
 
 Of deeper green the elm ; and deeper still, 
 
 Lord of the woods, the long-surviving oak. 
 
 Some-glossy leaved, and shining in the sun, 
 
 The maple, and the beech of oily nuts 
 
 Prolific, and the lime at dewy eve 
 
 Diffusing odors : nor unnoted pass 
 
 The sycamore, capricious in attire, 
 
 Now green, now tawny, and, ere autumn yet 
 
 Have changed the woods, in scarlet honors bright, 
 
 O er these, but far beyond (a spacious map 
 
 Of hill and valley interposed between), 
 
 The Ouse, dividing the well-watered land, 
 
 Now glitters in the sun, and now retires, 
 
 As bashful, yet impatient to be seen. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 THE HILLSIDE FLOWER. 
 
 FLOWER upon the green hillside, 
 
 Thou, to shun the threatening blast, 
 
 In the grass thy head dost hide, 
 By the tempest overpast. 
 
 Then, to greet the azure skies, 
 And to feel the soothing sun, 
 
34 HIE HILLSIDE FLO WEE. 
 
 Brighter sweeter dost thou rise ! 
 Tell me, flower, how this is done ! 
 
 " I will tell thee, as a friend, 
 
 Artless timid whispering low ; 
 
 At the blast, tis good to bend ! 
 He who made me, taught me so. 
 
 " While his teaching I obey, 
 I but fall to rise, and stand, 
 
 Brighter for the stormy day, 
 Leaning on his viewless hand. 
 
 " When to him I ve lowly bowed, 
 He with freshness fills my cup 
 
 From the angry, scowling cloud ; 
 Gently then He lifts me up. 
 
 " So I sink, and so I rise 
 In the dark or sunny hour, 
 Minding Him who rules the skies : 
 
 He s my God ; and I m his flower !" 
 
 GOULD. 
 
THE SKYLARK. 35 
 
 THE SKYLARK. 
 
 BIRD of the wilderness, 
 
 Blithesome and cumberless, 
 Sweet be thy matin o er moorland and lea! 
 
 Emblem of happiness, 
 
 Blest is thy dwelling-place 
 Oh to abide in the desert with thee ! 
 
 Wild is thy lay, and loud, 
 
 Far in the downy cloud, 
 Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. 
 
 Where, on thy dewy wing, 
 
 Where art thou journeying ? 
 Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. 
 
 O er fell and fountain sheen, 
 
 O er moor and mountain green, 
 O er the red streamer that heralds the day, 
 
 Over the cloudlet dim, 
 
 Over the rainbow s rim, 
 Musical cherub, soar, singing away ! 
 
 Then, when the gloaming comes, 
 
 Low in the heather blooms, 
 
36 SUNRISE. 
 
 Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be ! 
 Emblem of happiness, 
 Blest is thy dwelling-place, 
 
 Oh to abide in the desert with thee ! 
 
 HOGG. 
 
 SUNRISE. 
 
 I MARVEL not, Sun ! that unto thee 
 In adoration man should bow the knee, 
 
 And pour his prayers of mingled awe and love ; 
 For like a God thou art, and on thy way 
 Of glory sheddest with benignant ray, 
 
 Beauty, and life, and joyance from above. 
 
 No longer let these mists thy radiance shroud, 
 These cold raw mists that chill the comfortless day , 
 
 But shed thy splendor through the opening cloud, 
 
 And cheer the earth once more. The languid 
 
 flowers 
 Lie odorless, bent drvvn with heavy rain, 
 
 Earth asks thy presence, saturate with showers ! 
 lord of light! put forth thy beams again, 
 
 For damp and cheerless are the gloomy hours. 
 
 SOUTH EY. 
 
HIE GREEN PASTURES. 37 
 
 THE GREEN PASTURES. 
 
 I WALKED in a field of fresh clover this morn, 
 Where lambs played so merrily under the trees, 
 
 Or rubbed their soft coats on a naked old thorn, 
 Or nibbled the clover, or rested at ease. 
 
 And under the hedge ran a clear water-brook, 
 
 To drink from, when thirsty, or weary with play ; 
 
 So gay did the daisies and buttercups look, 
 
 That I thought little lambs must be happy all day. 
 
 And when I remember the beautiful psalm, 
 
 That tells about Christ and his pastures so green ; 
 
 I know He is willing to make me his lamb, 
 And happier far than the lambs I have seen. 
 
 If I drink of the waters, so peaceful and still, 
 That flow in this field, I forever shall live ; 
 
 If I love Him, and seek his commands to fulfil, 
 A place in his sheephold to me lie will give. 
 
 The lambs are at peace in the fields when they play, 
 The long summer s day in contentment they spend; 
 
 Bat happier I, if in God s holy way, 
 
 I try to walk always, with Christ for my friend. 
 
 M. L. DUNCAN. 
 
38 THE CUCKOO. 
 
 THE LARK. 
 
 Lo, hear the gentle Lark, weary of rest, 
 From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, 
 And wakes the morning from whose silver breast 
 The sun ariseth in his majesty; 
 Who does the world so gloriously behold, 
 The cedar tops and hills seem burnished gold. 
 
 SlIAKSPEARE. 
 
 THE CUCKOO. 
 
 WHENCE is the magic pleasure of the sound ? 
 
 How do we long recall the very tree, 
 
 Or bush, near which we stood, when on the ear 
 
 The unexpected note, cuckoo! again, 
 
 Arid yet again came down the budding vale? 
 
 It is the voice of spring among the trees ; 
 
 It tells of lengthening days, of coming blooms ; 
 
 It is the symphony of many a song. 
 
 But, there, the stranger flies close to the ground, 
 
 With hawk-like pinion, of a leaden blue. 
 
 Poor wanderer ! from hedge to hedge she flies, 
 
 And trusts her offspring to another s care : 
 
T II E B L A C K E 1 K D. 39 
 
 The sooty-plumed hedge-sparrow frequent acts 
 The foster-mother, warming into life 
 The youngling, destined to supplant her own. 
 Meanwhile, the Cuckoo sings her idle song, 
 Monotonous, yet sweet, now here, now there, 
 Herself but rarely seen ; nor does she cease 
 Her changeless note, until the broom, full blown, 
 Gives warning that her time for flight is come. 
 Thus ever journeying on, from land to land, 
 She, sole of all the innumerous feathered tribes, 
 
 Passes a stranger s life, without a home. 
 
 GRAIIAME. 
 
 THE BLACKBIRD 
 
 WHEN snowdrops die, and the green primrose 
 
 leaves 
 
 Announce the coming flower, the Merle s note, 
 Mellifluous, rich, deep-toned, fills all the vale, 
 And charms the ravished ear. The hawthorn bush, 
 New-budded, is his perch ; there the gray dawn 
 He hails; and there, with parting light, concludes 
 His melody. There, when the buds begin 
 To break, he lays the fibrous roots ; and, sec, 
 
40 THE BLACKBIRD. 
 
 His jetty breast embrowned ; the rounded clay 
 
 His jetty breast has soiled : but now complete, 
 
 His partner, and his helper in the work, 
 
 Happy assumes possession of her home ; 
 
 While he, upon a neighboring tree, his lay, 
 
 More richly full, melodiously renews. 
 
 When twice seven days have run, the moment 
 
 snatch, 
 
 That she has flitted off her charge, to cool 
 Her thirsty bill, dipt in the babbling brook, 
 Then silently, on tiptoe raised, look in, 
 Admire : x five cupless acorns, darkly specked, 
 Delight the eye, warm to the cautious touch. 
 In seven days more expect the fledgeless young, 
 Five gaping bills. With busy wing, and eye 
 Quick-darting, all alert, the parent pair 
 Gather the sustenance which Heaven bestows. 
 But music ceases, save at dewy fall 
 Of eve, when, nestling o er her brood, the dam 
 Has stilled them all to rest : or at the hour 
 Of doubtful dawning gray ; then from his wing 
 Her partner turns his yellow bill, and chants 
 
 His solitary song of joyous praise. 
 
 GRAIIAME. 
 
TO DAFFODILS. 
 
 TO DAFFODILS. 
 
 FAIRE daffodils, we weep to see 
 You haste away so soone ; 
 As yet the early-rising sun 
 Has not attained his noone : 
 Stay, stay, 
 
 Until the hastening day 
 Has run 
 
 But to the even-song ; 
 And, having prayed together, we 
 
 Will goe with you along ! 
 
 We have short time to stay, as you ; 
 We have as short a spring, 
 As quick a growth to meet decay, 
 As you, or any thing : 
 
 We die, 
 As your hours doe ; and drie 
 
 Away 
 
 Like to the summer s raine, 
 Or as the pearles of morning dew, 
 
 Ne er to be found again. 
 
 HER RICK 
 
ODE ON SPRING 
 
 ODE ON SPRING, 
 
 Lo ! where the rosy-bosomed Hours, 
 
 Fair Venus train, appear, 
 Disclose the long-expecting flowers. 
 
 And wake the purple year ! 
 The Attic warbler pours her throat, 
 Kesponsive to the cuckoo s note, 
 
 The untaught harmony of spring : 
 While, whispering pleasure as they fly, 
 Cool Zephyrs through the clear blue sky 
 
 Their gathered fragrance fling. 
 
 Where er the oak s thick branches stretch 
 
 A broader, browner shade, 
 Where er the rude and moss-grown beech 
 
 O ercanopies the glade, 
 Beside some water s rushy brink 
 With me the Muse shall sit, and think 
 
 (At ease reclined in rustic state) 
 How vain the ardor of the crowd, 
 How low, how little are the proud, 
 
 How indigent the great ! 
 
r a:r Venus train, a;?:: ear. 
 
ODE ON SPRING. 43 
 
 Still is the toiling hand of Care ; 
 
 The panting herds repose: 
 Yet, hark, how through the peopled air 
 
 The busy murmur glows ! 
 The insect-youth are on the wing, 
 Eager to taste the honeyed spring, 
 
 And float amid the liquid noon: 
 .Some lightly o er the current skim, 
 Some show their gayly-gilded trim 
 
 Quick-glancing to the sun. 
 
 To Contemplation s sober eye 
 
 Such is the race of man : 
 And they that creep, and they that fly, 
 
 Shall end where they began. 
 Alike the Busy and the Gay 
 But flutter through life s little day, 
 
 In Fortune s varying colors drest : 
 Brushed by the hand of rough Mischance, 
 Or chilled by Age, their airy dance 
 
 They leave, in dust to rest. 
 
 Methinks I hear, in accents low, 
 The sportive kind reply: 
 
44 MAY. 
 
 Poor moralist ! and what art thou ? 
 
 A solitary fly ! 
 
 Thy joys no glittering female meets, 
 No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, 
 
 No painted plumage to display : 
 On hasty wings thy youth is flown ; 
 Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone 
 
 We frolic while tis May. 
 
 GRAY. 
 
 MAY. 
 
 How shall I meet thee, Summer, wont to fill 
 My heart with gladness, when thy pleasant tide 
 First came, and on each coomb s romantic side 
 
 Was heard the distant cuckoo s hollow bill? 
 
 Fresh flowers shall fringe the wild brink of the 
 
 stream, 
 
 As with the song of joyancc and of hope 
 The hedge-rows shall ring loud, and on the slope 
 
 The poplars sparkle on the transient beam, 
 
 The shrubs and laurels which I love to tend, 
 
 Thinking their May-tide fragrance might delight, 
 
TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 45 
 
 \\ith many a peaceful charm, thee, my best friend, 
 Shall put forth their green shoot, and cheer the 
 
 sight ! 
 But I shall mark their hues with sickening eyes, 
 
 And weep for her who in the cold grave lies ! 
 
 BOWLES. 
 
 TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 
 
 ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH. 
 
 WEE, modest, crimson-tipped flower 
 Thou st met me in an evil hour ; 
 For I maun crush amang the stoure 
 
 Thy slender stem ; 
 To spare thee now is past my power, 
 
 Thou bonnie gem. 
 
 Alas ! it s no thy neebor sweet, 
 The bonnie lark, companion meet, 
 Bending thee mang the dewy weet ! 
 
 Wi speckled breast, 
 When upward-springing, blithe, to greet 
 
 The purpling east. 
 
 Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
 Upon thy early, humble birth : 
 
4G TO ^ MOUNTAIN DAISY. 
 
 Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 
 
 Amid the storm, 
 Scarce reared above the parent earth 
 
 Thy tender form. 
 
 The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, 
 High sheltering woods and wa s maun shield, 
 But thou beneath the random bield 
 
 clod or stane, 
 Adorns the histie stibble-field, 
 
 Unseen, alane. 
 
 There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
 Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, 
 Thou lifts thy unassuming head 
 
 In humble guise ; 
 But now the .share uptears thy bed, 
 
 And low thou lies ! 
 
 Such is the fate of artless maid, 
 Sweet flow ret of the rural shade ! 
 By love s simplicity betrayed, 
 
 And guileless trust, 
 Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid- 
 
 Low i the dust. 
 
TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 47 
 
 Sucli is the fate of simple bard, 
 
 On life s rough ocean luckless starred ! 
 
 Unskilful he to note the card 
 
 Of prudent lore, 
 Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 
 
 And whelm him o er ! 
 
 Such fate to suffering worth is given, 
 Who long with wants arid woes has striven, 
 By human pride or cunning driven 
 
 To mis ry s brink, 
 Till wrenched of every stay but Heaven, 
 
 He, ruined, sink ! 
 
 Even thou who mourn st the Daisy s fate, 
 That fate is thine no distant date ; 
 Stern Ruin s ploughshare drives, elate, 
 
 Full on thy bloom, 
 Till crushed beneath the furrow s weight, 
 
 Shall be thy doom ! 
 
 BURNS. 
 
48 DESCRIPTION OF MORNING. 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF MORNING. 
 
 BUT who the melodies of morn can tell? 
 The wild brook babbling down the mountain side ; 
 The lowing herd ; the sheepfold s simple bell ; 
 The pipe of early shepherd dim descried 
 In the lone valley ; echoing far and wide 
 The clamorous horn along the cliffs above ; 
 The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide ; 
 The hum of bees, the linnet s lay of love, 
 And the full choir that wakes the universal grove. 
 
 The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark ; 
 Crowned with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings ; 
 The whistling ploughman stalks afield ; and, hark ! 
 Down the rough slope the ponderous wagon rings ; 
 Thro rustling corn the hare astonished springs ; 
 Slow tolls the village clock the drowsy hour ; 
 The partridge bursts away on whirring wings ; 
 Deep mourns the turtle in sequestered bower, 
 And shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tour. 
 
 Nature, how in every charm supreme ! 
 Whose votaries feast on raptures ever new ! 
 
P 11 1 M R S E S. 4\) 
 
 for the voice and fire of seraphim, 
 
 To sing thy glories with devotion due ! 
 
 BEATTIR. 
 
 PRIMROSES. 
 
 WHY doe ye weep, sweet babes ? Can tears 
 Speak griefe in you, 
 Who were but borne, 
 Just as the modest morne 
 Teemed her refreshing dew ? 
 Alas ! you have not known that shower 
 That marres a flower ; 
 Nor felt th unkind 
 Breath of a blasting wind ; 
 Nor are yc worne with yeares ; 
 
 Or wrap t, as we, 
 Who think it strange to see 
 Such pretty flowers (like to orphans young), 
 To speak by teares before ye have a tongue. 
 
 Speak, whimp ring younglings ; and make known 
 The reason why 
 Ye droop, and weep. 
 
 7 
 
50 FROM AN ODE TO SUMMER. 
 
 Is it for want of sleep ; 
 Or childish lullabie ? 
 Or, that ye have not seen as yet 
 The violet ? 
 Or brought a kisse 
 From that sweetheart to this ? 
 No, no ; this sorrow, shown 
 
 By your teares shed, 
 Would have this lecture read, 
 " That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, 
 Conceived with grief are, and with teares brought 
 
 forth." 
 
 HERIUCK. 
 
 FROM AN ODE TO SUMMER. 
 
 BUT when mild Morn, in saffron stole, 
 First issues from her eastern goal, 
 Let not my due feet fail to climb 
 Some breezy summit s brow sublime, 
 Whence Nature s universal face 
 Illumined smiles with new-born grace ; 
 The misty streams that wind below, 
 With silver-sparkling lustre glow ; 
 
FROM AN ODE TO SUMMER. 51 
 
 The groves and castled cliffs appear 
 Invested all in radiance clear ; 
 ! every village charm beneath ! 
 The smoke that mounts in azure wreath ! 
 
 beauteous rural interchange ! 
 The simple spire, and elmy grange ! 
 Content, indulging blissful hours, 
 Whistles o er the fragrant flowers, 
 And cattle, roused to pasture new, 
 Shake jocund from their sides the dew. 
 
 Tis thou alone, Summer mild, 
 Canst bid me carol wood-notes wild : 
 Whene er I view thy genial scenes, 
 Thy waving woods, embroidered greens, 
 What fires within my bosom wake, 
 How glows my mind the reed to take ! 
 What charms like thine the muse can call, 
 Witli Y. horn tis youth and laughter all ; 
 With whom each field s a paradise, 
 And all the globe a bower of bliss ! 
 With thee conversing all the day, 
 
 1 meditate my lightsome lay. 
 These pedant cloisters let me leave, 
 To breathe my votive song at eve 
 
52 FIELD SPOUTS. 
 
 In valleys where mild whispers use, 
 Of shade and stream to court the muse, 
 While wandering o er the brook s dim verge, 
 I hear the stockdove s dying dirge. 
 
 WAKTON 
 
 FIELD SPORTS. 
 
 NEXT will I sing the valiant falcon s fame ; 
 Aerial fights, where no confederate brute 
 Joins in the bloody fray ; but bird with bird 
 Jousts in mid air. Lo ! at his siege the hern, 
 Upon the bank of some small purling brook, 
 Observant stands to take his scaly prize, 
 Himself another s game. For mark behind 
 The wily falconer creeps: his grazing horse 
 Conceals the treacherous foe, and on his fist 
 Th unhooded falcon sits : with eager eyes 
 She meditates her prey, and, in her wild 
 Conceit, already plumes the dying bird. 
 Up springs the hern, redoubling every stroke, 
 Conscious of danger, stretches far away 
 With busy pennons and projected beak, 
 
F I E L D S P II T S. 53 
 
 Piercing th opponent clouds : the falcon swift 
 
 Follows at speed, mounts as lie mounts, for hope 
 
 Gives vigor to her wings. Another soon 
 
 Strains after to support the bold attack, 
 
 Perhaps a third. As in some winding creek, 
 
 On proud Iberia s shore, the corsairs sly 
 
 Lurk waiting to surprise a British sail, 
 
 Full freighted from Hetruria s friendly ports, 
 
 Or rich Byzantium ; after her they scud, 
 
 Dashing the spumy waves with equal oars, 
 
 And spreading all their shrouds ; she makes the 
 
 main 
 
 Inviting every gale, nor yet forgets 
 To clear her deck, and tell th insulting foe, 
 In peals of thunder, Britons cannot fear ; 
 So flies the hern pursued, but fighting flies. 
 Warm grows the conflict, every nerve s employed ; 
 Now through the yielding element they soar 
 Aspiring high, then sink at once, and rove 
 In trackless mazes through the troubled sky. 
 No rest, no peace. The falcon hovering flies 
 Balanced in air, and confidently bold 
 Hangs o er him like a cloud, then aims her blow 
 Full at his destined head. The watchful hern 
 
54 FIELD SPOUTS. 
 
 Shoots from her like a blazing meteor swift 
 That gilds the night, eludes her talons keen 
 And pointed beak, and gains a length of way. 
 Observe th attentive crowd ; all hearts are fixed 
 On this important war, and pleasing hope 
 Glows in each breast. The vulgar and the great, 
 
 o cD 
 
 Equally happy now, with freedom share 
 The common joy. The shepherd-boy forgets 
 His bleating care ; the laboring hind lets fall 
 His grain unsown ; in transport lost, he robs 
 Th expecting furrow, and in wild amaze 
 The gazing village point their eyes to heaven. 
 Where is the tongue can speak the falconer s cares, 
 Twixt hopes and fears, as in a tempest tost? 
 His fluttering heart, his varying cheeks confess 
 His inward woe. Now like a wearied stag, 
 That stands at bay, the horn provokes their rage ; 
 Close by his languid wing, in downy plumes 
 Covers his fatal beak, and cautious hides 
 The well-dissembled fraud. The falcon darts 
 Like lightning from above, and in her breast 
 
 Receives the latent death : down plump she falls 
 
 * 
 Bounding from earth, and with her trickling gore 
 
 Defiles her gaudy plumage. Sec, alas ! 
 
TO A SKYLARK. 5 
 
 The falconer in despair, his favorite bird 
 Dead at his feet, as of his dearest friend 
 He weeps her fate ; he meditates revenge, 
 He storms, he foams, he gives a loose to rage : 
 Nor wants he long the means ; the hern fatigued, 
 Borne down by numbers yields, and prone on earth 
 He drops : his cruel foes wheeling around 
 Insult at will. The vengeful falconer flies 
 Swift as an arrow shooting to their aid ; 
 Then muttering inward curses breaks his wings, 
 And fixes in the ground his hated beak ; 
 Sees with malignant joy the victors proud 
 
 Smeared with his blood, and on his marrow feast. 
 ******** 
 
 SOMERVILLE. 
 
 TO A SKYLARK. 
 
 UP with me ! up with me into the clouds ! 
 
 For thy song, Lark, is strong ; 
 Up with me ! up with me into the clouds ! 
 
 Singing, singing, 
 With clouds and sky about thee ringing, 
 
56 TO A SKYLARK. 
 
 Lift me, guide me till I find 
 That spot which seems so to thy mind ! 
 
 I have walked through wildernesses dreary, 
 
 And to-day my heart is weary ; 
 
 Had I now the wings of a Faery, 
 
 Up to thee would I fly. 
 
 There is madness about thee, and joy divine 
 
 In that song of thine ; 
 
 Lift me, guide me high and high 
 
 To thy banqueting-place in the sky. 
 
 Joyous as morning, 
 Thou art laughing and scorning; 
 Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest, 
 And, though little troubled with sloth, 
 Drunken Lark ! thou wouldst be loth 
 To be such a traveller as I. 
 Happy, happy Liver, 
 With a soul as strong as a mountain river 
 Pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver, 
 Joy and jollity be with us both ! 
 
 Alas ! my journey, rugged and uneven, 
 
 Through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind ; 
 
K U T II. 5 
 
 But hearing thee, or others of thy kind, 
 
 As full of gladness and as free of heaven, 
 
 I, with my fate contented, will plod on, 
 
 And hope for higher raptures, when life s day i 
 
 done. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 SHE stood breast high amid the corn, 
 Clasped by the golden light of morn, 
 Like the sweetheart of the sun, 
 Who many a glowing kiss had won. 
 
 On her cheek an autumn flush 
 Deeply ripened : such a blush 
 In the midst of brown was born, 
 Like red poppies grown with corn. 
 
 Round her eyes her tresses fell, 
 Which were blackest none can tell ; 
 But long lashes veiled a light, 
 That had else been all too bright. 
 
TO THE DAISY. 
 
 And her hat, with shady brim, 
 Made her tressy forehead dim ; 
 Thus she stood amid the stocks, 
 Praising God with sweetest looks : 
 
 Sure, I said, Heaven did not mean, 
 Where I reap tliou should st but glean ; 
 Lay thy sheaf adown and come, 
 Share my harvest and my home. 
 
 TO THE DAISY. 
 
 IN youth from rock to rock I went. 
 From hill to hill, in discontent 
 Of pleasure high and turbulent, 
 
 Most pleased when most uneasy ; 
 But now my own delights I make, 
 My thirst at every rill can slake, 
 And gladly Nature s love partake, 
 
 Of thee, sweet Daisy ! 
 
 Thee Winter in the garland wears 
 That thinly decks his few gray hairs 
 
 HOOD. 
 
TO THE DAISY. f>9 
 
 Spring parts the clouds with softest airs, 
 
 That she may sun thee ; 
 Whole Summer-fields are thine by right ; 
 And Autumn, melancholy wight ! 
 Doth in thy crimson head delight, 
 
 When rains are on thee. 
 
 In shoals and bands, a morrice train, 
 Thou greet st the traveller in the lane ; 
 Pleased at his greeting thee again ; 
 
 Yet nothing daunted, 
 JSTor grieved, if thou be set at nought : 
 And oft alone in nooks remote 
 We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, 
 
 When such are wanted. 
 
 Be violets in their sacred mews 
 
 The flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose ; 
 
 Proud be the rose, with rains and dews 
 
 Her head impearling ; 
 Thou livest with less ambitious aim, 
 Yet hast not gone without thy fame : 
 Thou art indeed by many a claim 
 
 The Poet s darling. 
 
60 TO THE DAISY. 
 
 If to a rock from rains he fly, 
 Or, some bright day of April sky, 
 Imprisoned by hot sunshine lie 
 
 Near the green holly, 
 And wearily at length should fare ; 
 He needs but look about, and there 
 Thou art ! a friend at hand, to scare 
 
 His melancholy. 
 
 A hundred times, by rock or bower, 
 Ere thus I have lain couched an hour, 
 Have I derived from thy sweet power 
 
 Some apprehension ; 
 Some steady love, some brief delight; 
 Some memory that had taken flight ; 
 Some chime of fancy, wrong or right ; 
 
 Or stray invention. 
 
 If stately passions in me burn, 
 
 And one chance look to thee should turn, 
 
 I drink out of an humbler urn 
 
 A lowlier pleasure ; 
 The homely sympathy that heeds 
 The common life, our nature breeds ; 
 
TO THE DAISY. 61 
 
 A wisdom fitted to the needs 
 Of hearts at leisure. 
 
 Fresh smitten by the morning ray, 
 When then, art up, alert and gay, 
 Then, cheerful flower ! my spirits play 
 
 With kindred gladness : 
 And when, at dusk, by dews opprest, 
 Thou sink st, the image of thy rest 
 Hath often eased my pensive breast 
 
 Of careful sadness. 
 
 And all day long I number yet, 
 All seasons through, another debt, 
 Which I, wherever thou art met, 
 
 To thce am owing ; 
 An instinct call it, a blind sense, 
 A happy, genial influence, 
 Coming one knows not how, nor whence, 
 
 Nor whither going. 
 
 Child of the Year ! that round dost run 
 Thy pleasant course, when day s begun 
 As ready to salute the sun 
 As lark or leveret, 
 
62 H A II V E S T. 
 
 Thy long-tast praise tliou shalt regain ; 
 Nor be less dear to future men 
 Than in old time ; thou not in vain 
 Art Nature s favorite. 
 
 WORDSWORTH 
 
 II A R V E S T. 
 
 HERE, midst the boldest triumphs of her worth, 
 
 Nature herself invites the reapers forth ; 
 
 Dares the keen sickle from its twelvemonth s rest, 
 
 And gives that ardor which in every breast 
 
 From infancy to age alike appears, 
 
 When the first sheaf its plumy top uprcars. 
 
 No rake takes here what Heaven to all bestows 
 
 Children of want, for you the bounty flows I 
 
 And every cottage from the plenteous store 
 
 Receives a burden nightly at its door. 
 
 Hark ! where the sweeping scythe now rips along, 
 Each sturdy mower, emulous and strong, 
 ^^ ^ hose writhing form meridian heat defies, 
 Bends o er his work, and every sinew 7 tries; 
 Prostrates the waving treasure at his feet, 
 But spares the rising clover, short and sweet. 
 
H A 11 V E S T. 03 
 
 Oome, Health ! come, Jollity ! lightfooted, come ; 
 Here hold your revels, and make this your home : 
 Each heart awaits and hails you as its own : 
 Each moistened brow, that scorns to wear a frown. 
 Th unpeopled dwelling mourns its tenants strayed ; 
 E en the domestic laughing dairy maid 
 Hies to the field, the general toil to share. 
 Meanwhile the Farmer quits his elbow-chair, 
 His cool brick floor, his pitcher, and his ease, 
 And braves the sultry beams, and gladly sees 
 His gates thrown open, and his team abroad, 
 The ready group attendant on his word, 
 To turn the swath, the quiv ring load to rear, 
 Or ply the busy rake, the land to clear. 
 Summer s light garb itself now cumb rous grown, 
 Each his thin doublet in the shade throws down ; 
 Where oft the mastiff skulks with half-shut eye, 
 And rouses at the stranger passing by ; 
 Whilst unrestrained the social converse flows, 
 And every breast love s powerful impulse knows, 
 And rival wits with more than rustic grace 
 
 Confess the presence of a pretty face. 
 
 BLOOM FIELD. 
 
G4 AN ITALIAN SONG. 
 
 AN ITALIAN SONO. 
 
 DEAR is my little native vale, 
 
 The ringdove builds and murmurs there, 
 
 Close by my cot she tells her tale 
 
 To every passing villager. 
 
 The squirrel leaps from tree to tree, 
 
 And shells his nuts at liberty. 
 
 In orange-groves and myrtle-bowers, 
 That breathe a gale of fragrance round. 
 I charm the fairy-footed hours 
 With my loved lute s romantic sound ; 
 Or crowns of living laurel weave, 
 For those that win the race at eve. 
 
 The shepherd s horn at break of day, 
 The ballet danced in twilight glade, 
 The canzonet and roundelay 
 Sung in the silent greenwood shade ; 
 These simple joys, that never fail, 
 Shall bind me to my native vale. 
 
 ROGERS 
 
FIELD FLOWERS. 65 
 
 FIELD FLOWERS. 
 
 YE field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, tis true, 
 Yet, wildings of Nature, I doat upon you, 
 
 For ye waft me to summers of old, 
 When the earth teemed around me with fairy 
 
 delight, 
 And when daisies and buttercups gladdened my 
 
 sight, 
 Like treasures of silver and gold. 
 
 I love you for lulling me back into dreams 
 
 Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing 
 
 streams, 
 
 And of birchen glades breathing their balm, 
 While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine 
 
 remote, 
 And the deep mellow crush of the wood-pigeon s 
 
 note 
 Made music that sweetened the calm. 
 
 Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune 
 Than ye speak to my heart, little wildings of June : 
 Of old ruinous castles ye tell, 
 9 
 
G6 FIELD FLOWERS. 
 
 Where I thought it delightful jour beauties to find, 
 When- the magic of Nature first breathed on my 
 
 mind, 
 And youi blossoms were part of her spell. 
 
 Even now what affections the violet awakes ; 
 What loved little islands, twice seen in their lakes, 
 
 Can the wild water-lily restore ; 
 What landscapes I read in the primrose s looks, 
 And what pictures of pebbled and minnowy brooks, 
 
 In the vetches that tangled their shore ! 
 
 - 
 
 Earth s cultureless buds, to my heart ye were dear, 
 Ere the fever of passion, or ague of fear, 
 
 Had scathed my existence s bloom ; 
 3nce I welcome you more, in life s passionless 
 
 stage, 
 
 With the visions of youth to revisit my age, 
 And I wish you to grow on my tomb. 
 
 CAMPBELL 
 
OCTOBER TWILIGUT. G 
 
 OCTOBER TWILIGHT, 
 
 OH mute among the months, October, thou, 
 
 Like a hot reaper when the sun goes down, 
 
 Reposing in the twilight of the year ! 
 
 Is yon the silver glitter of thy scythe 
 
 Drawn thread-like on the west? September corncs 
 
 Humming those waifs of song June s choral days 
 
 Left in the forest, but thy tuneless lips 
 
 Breathe only a pervading haze, that seems 
 
 Visible silence, and thy Sabbath face 
 
 Scares swart November, from yon northern hills 
 
 Foreboding like a raven. Yellow ferns 
 
 Make thee a couch ; thou sittest listless there. 
 
 Plucking red leaves for idleness ; full streams 
 
 Coil to thy feet, where fawns that come at noon 
 
 Drink with upglancing eyes. 
 
 . Upon this knoll, 
 
 Studded with long-stemmed maples, ever first 
 To take the breeze, I have lain summer hours, 
 Seeing the blue sky only, and the light 
 Shifting from leaf to leaf. Tree-top and trunk 
 Now lift so steadily, the airiest spray 
 Seems painted on the azure. Evening comes 
 
03 C T B E R T W I L I G H T. 
 
 Up from the valley ; overlapping hills, 
 
 Tipped by the sunset, burn like funeral lamps 
 
 For the dead day ; no pomp of tinsel clouds 
 
 Breaks the pure hyaline the mountains gird 
 
 A gem without a flaw but sharply drawn 
 
 On its transparent edge, a single tree, 
 
 That has cast down its drapery of leaves, 
 
 Stands like an athlete with broad arms outstretched, 
 
 As if to keep November s winds at bay. 
 
 Below, on poised wings, a hovering mist 
 
 Follows the course of streams ; the air grows thick 
 
 Over the dells. Mark how the wind, like one 
 
 That gathers simples, flits from herb to herb, 
 
 Through the damp valley, muttering the while 
 
 Low incantations ! From the wooded lanes 
 
 Loiters a bell s dull tinkle, keeping time 
 
 To the slow tread of kine ; and I can sec 
 
 By the rude trough the waters overbrim 
 
 The unyoked oxen gathered ; some, athirst, 
 
 Stoop drinking steadily, and some have linked 
 
 Their horns in playful Avar. Roads climb the hills, 
 
 Divide the forests, and break off, abrupt, 
 
 At the horizon ; hither, from below 
 
 There comes a sound of lumbering, jarring wheels. 
 
OCTOBER TWILIGHT. 69 
 
 The sound just struggles up the steep ascent, 
 Then drones off in the distance. Nearer still, 
 A rifle s rattling charge starts up the echoes, 
 That flutter like scared birds, and pause awhile 
 As on suspended wings, ere sinking slow 
 To their low nests. I can distinguish now 
 The laborer returning from his toil, 
 With shouldered spade, and weary, laggard foot; 
 The cattle straying down the dusty road ; 
 The sportsman balancing his idle gun, 
 Whistling a light refrain, while close beside 
 His hound, with trailing ears, and muzzle dropt, 
 Follows some winding scent. From the gray east, 
 Twilight, upglancing with dim fearful eyes, 
 Warns me away. 
 
 The dusk sits like a bird 
 
 Up in the tree-tops, and swart, elvish shadows 
 Dart from the wooded pathways. Wraith of day ! 
 Through thy transparent robes the stars are plain ; 
 Along those swelling mounds, that look like graves, 
 Where flowers grow thick in June, thy step falls 
 
 soft 
 As the dropt leaves ; amid the faded brakes 
 
QUEEN MAE. 
 
 The wind, retreating, hides, and cowering there, 
 Whines at thy coming like a hound afraid. 
 
 MAY. 
 
 QUEEN MAB. 
 
 QUEEN MAB and all her company 
 
 Dance on a pleasant mole-hill high, 
 
 To small straw pipes, wherein great pleasure 
 
 They take, and keep time, just time and measure 
 
 All hand in hand, around, around, 
 
 They dance upon the fairy-ground ; 
 
 And when she leaves her dancing hall, 
 
 She doth for her attendants call, 
 
 To wait upon her to a bower, 
 
 Where she doth sit under a flower, 
 
 To shade her from the moonshine bright, 
 
 Where gnats do sing for her delight ; 
 
 The whilst the bat doth fly about, 
 
 To keep in order all the rout. 
 
 A dewy waving leaf s made fit 
 
 For the queen s bath, where she doth sit, 
 
 And her white limbs in beauty show, 
 
 Like a new-fallen flake of snow ; 
 
HER DWELLING. 71 
 
 Her maids do put her garments on, 
 Made of the pure light from the sun, 
 Which do so many colors take, 
 As various objects shadows make. 
 
 DUCHESS OF NEWCASTLE 
 
 HER DWELLING. 
 
 I DWELL in groves that gilt are with the sun ; 
 
 Sit on the banks by which clear waters run ; 
 
 In summer s heat down in a shade I lie ; 
 
 My music is the buzzing of a fly ; 
 
 I walk in meadows, where grows fresh green grass ; 
 
 In fields, where corn is high, I often pass ; 
 
 Walk up the hills, where round I prospects see, 
 
 Some brushy woods, and some all champaigns be ; 
 
 Returning back I in fresh pastures go, 
 
 To hear how sheep do bleat, and cows do low; 
 
 In winter cold, when nipping frosts come on, 
 
 Then I do live in a small house alone ; 
 
 Although tis plain, yet cleanly tis within, 
 
 Like to a soul that s pure and clear from sin ; 
 
 And there I dwell in quiet and still peace, 
 
 Not filled with cares how riches to increase ; 
 
72 A RURAL MEDITATION. 
 
 I wish nor seek for vain and fruitless pleasures ; 
 No riches are, but what the mind intreasures. 
 Thus am T solitary, live alone, 
 Yet better loved, the more that I am known ; 
 And though my face ill-favored at first sight, 
 After acquaintance it will give delight. 
 Refuse me not, for I shall constant be ; 
 Maintain your credit and your dignity. 
 
 DUCHESS OF NEWCASTLE 
 
 A RURAL MEDITATION. 
 
 HERE in the tuneful groves and flowery fields, 
 
 Nature a thousand various beauties yields: 
 
 The daisy and tall cowslip we behold 
 
 Arrayed in snowy white, or freckled gold, 
 
 The verdant prospect cherishes our sight, 
 
 Affording joy unmixed, and calm delight ; 
 
 The forest walks and venerable shade, 
 
 Wide-spreading lawns, bright rills, and silent glade. 
 
 With a religious awe our souls inspire, 
 
 And to the heavens our raptured thoughts aspire, 
 
 To Kin; who sits in majesty on high, 
 
 VVho turned the starry arches of the sky ; 
 
THE CLOSE OF SPRING. 73 
 
 Whose word ordained the silver Thames to flow, 
 Raised all the hills, and laid the valleys low ; 
 Who taught the nightingale in shades to sing, 
 And bid the skylark warble on the wing ; 
 Makes the young steer, obedient, till the land. 
 And lowing heifers own the milker s hand ; 
 Calms the rough sea, and stills the raging wind, 
 And rules the passions of the human mind. 
 
 TlIYNNK 
 
 THE CLOSE OF SPRING. 
 
 THE garlands fade that Spring so lately wove, 
 
 Each simple flower which she had nursed in dew, 
 Anemones, that spangled every grove, 
 
 The primrose wan, and hare-bell mildly blue. 
 No more shall violets linger in the dell, 
 
 Or purple orchis variegate the plain, 
 Till Spring again shall call forth every bell, 
 
 And dress with humid hands her wreaths again, 
 Ah ! poor humanity ! so frail, so fair, 
 
 Are the fond visions of thy early day, 
 Till tyrant passion and corrosive care 
 
 Bid all thy fairy colors fade away ! 
 10 
 
74 ENGLISH SCENE 11 Y. 
 
 Another May new buds and flowers shall bring ; 
 Ah ! why has happiness no second Spring ? 
 
 SMITH 
 
 ENGLISH SCENERY. 
 
 (FROM " BEACHY HEAD.") 
 
 HAUNTS of my youth ! 
 
 Scenes of fond day-dreams, I behold ye yet ! 
 Where twas so pleasant by thy northern slopes, 
 To climb the winding sheep-path, aided oft 
 By scattered thorns, whose spiny branches bore 
 Small woolly tufts, spoils of the vagrant lamb, 
 There seeking shelter from the noonday sun : 
 And pleasant, seated on the short soft turf, 
 To look beneath upon the hollow way, 
 While heavily upward moved the laboring wain, 
 And stalking slowly by, the sturdy hind, 
 To ease his panting team, stopped with a stone 
 The grating wheel. 
 
 Advancing higher still 
 
 The prospect widens, and the village church 
 But little o er the lowly roofs around 
 
ENGLISH SCENE II Y. 75 
 
 Rears its gray belfry and its simple vane : 
 Those lowly roofs of thatch are half concealed 
 By the rude arms of trees, lovely in spring ; 
 When on each bough the rosy tinctured bloom 
 Sits thick, and promises autumnal plenty. 
 For even those orchards round the Norman farms, 
 Which as their owners marked the promised fruit, 
 Console them, for the vineyards of the South 
 Surpass not these. 
 
 Where woods of ash and beech, 
 And partial copses fringe the green hill foot, 
 The upland shepherd rears his modest home ; 
 There wanders by a little nameless stream, 
 That from the hill wells forth, bright now, and clear, 
 Or after rain with chalky mixture gray, 
 But still refreshing in its shallow course 
 The cottage garden ; most for use designed, 
 Yet not of beauty destitute. The vine 
 Mantles the little casement : yet the brier 
 Drops fragrant dew among the July flowers ; 
 And pansies rayed and freaked, and mottled pinks, 
 Grow among balm and rosemary and rue ; 
 There honeysuckles flaunt, and roses blow 
 Almost uncultured ; some with dark green leaves 
 
76 ODE TO THE MISSEL THRUSH. 
 
 Contrast their flowers of pure unsullied white ; 
 
 Others like velvet robes of regal state 
 
 Of richest crimson ; while, in thorny moss 
 
 Enshrined and cradled, the most lovely wear 
 
 The hues of youthful beauty s glowing check. 
 
 With fond regret I recollect e en now 
 
 In spring and summer, what delight I felt 
 
 Among these cottage gardens, and how much 
 
 Such artless nosegays, knotted with a rush 
 
 By village housewife or her ruddy maid, 
 
 Were welcome to me ; soon and simply pleased . 
 
 An early worshipper at Nature s shrine, 
 
 I loved her rudest scenes warrens, and heaths, 
 
 And yellow commons, and birch-shaded hollows, 
 
 And hedgerows bordering unfrequented lanes, 
 
 Bowered with wild roses and the clasping woodbine, 
 
 SMITH 
 
 ODE TO THE MISSEL THRUSH. 
 
 THE winter solstice scarce is past, 
 Loud is the wind, and hoarsely sound 
 
 The mill-streams in the swelling blast, 
 And cold and humid is the ground : 
 
ODE TO THE MISSEL Til RUB II. 77 
 
 When to the ivy that embowers 
 
 Some pollard tree, or shelt ring rock, 
 The troop of timid warblers flock, 
 
 And slmdd ring wait for milder hours. 
 
 While thou ! the leader of their band, 
 Fearless salut st the opening year ; 
 
 Nor stay st, till blow the breezes bland, 
 That bid the tender leaves appear ! 
 
 But on some tow ring elm or pine, 
 Waving elate thy dauntless wing, 
 Thou joy st thy love-notes wild to sing, 
 
 Impatient of St. Valentine ! 
 
 Oh, herald of the spring ! while yet 
 No harebell scents the woodland lane, 
 
 Nor starwort fair, nor violet, 
 
 Braves the bleak gust and driving rain : 
 
 Tis thine, as through the copses rude, 
 Some pensive wanderer sighs along, 
 To soothe him with thy cheerful song, 
 
 And tell of Hope and Fortitude ! 
 
 For thec, then, may the hawthorn bush, 
 The alder, and the spindle tree, 
 
78 CLIFTON HILL. 
 
 With all their various berries blush, 
 And the blue sloe abound for thee 1 
 
 For thee the coral holly grow, 
 
 Its armed and glossy leaves among, 
 And many a branched oak be hung 
 
 With thy pellucid mistletoe. 
 
 Still may thy nest, with lichen lined, 
 Be hidden from the invading jay ; 
 
 Nor truant boy its covert find, 
 To bear thy callow young away : 
 
 So thou, precursor still of good, 
 herald of approaching spring, 
 Shalt to the pensive wand rer sing 
 
 Thy song of Hope and Fortitude ! 
 
 SMITH. 
 
 CLIFTON HILL. 
 
 THOUGH slow and pensive now the moments roll, 
 Successive months shall from our torpid soul 
 Hurry these scones again ; the laughing hours 
 Advancing swift, shall strew spontaneous flowers ; 
 
The early-peeping snowdrop, croia.-. mild, 
 And modest violet, zraoe the r-reoret w!ld : 
 Pule primrose. r i->.y r Mav-r,o!e deokir;^ v 
 An 1 purple hTu-c ritri :o^^:her r^o^-;: 
 All N"a: lire s =^^e:.^ in jovo-is oir^I^^ ^07 
 And ~;ike the fj;zen soa! a^ n to love. 
 
 Ani --:5, fre-h. ardor fro- 
 Tne Ian-i5cae r;,\- :- :.\:i 
 
 B 
 . sore-i 
 
 
 
80 ON A SPHIG OF HEATH. 
 
 Flower of the desert though thou art ! 
 
 The deer that range the mountain free, 
 The graceful doe, the stately hart, 
 
 Their food and shelter seek from thee ; 
 The bee thy earliest blossom greets, 
 And draws from thee her choicest sweets. 
 
 Gem of the heath ! whose modest bloom 
 Sheds beauty o er the lonely moor; 
 
 Though thou dispense no rich perfume, 
 Nor yet with splendid tints allure, 
 
 Both valor s crest and beauty s bower 
 
 Oft hast thou decked, a favorite flower. 
 
 Flower of the wild ! whose purple glow 
 Adorns the dusky mountain s side, 
 
 Not the gay hues of Iris bow, 
 Nor garden s artful varied pride, 
 
 With all its wealth of sweets could cheer, 
 
 Like thee, the hardy mountaineer. 
 
 Flower of his heart ! thy fragrance mild 
 Of peace and freedom seem to breathe ; 
 
THE ANGLER. 81 
 
 To pluck thy blossoms in the wild, 
 
 And deck his bonnet with the wreath, 
 Where dwelt of old his rustic sires, 
 Is all his simple wish requires. 
 
 Flower of his dear-loved native land ! 
 
 Alas, when distant far more dear ! 
 When he from some cold foreign strand, 
 
 Looks homeward through the blinding tear, 
 How must his aching heart deplore 
 
 That home and thee he sees no more ! 
 
 GRANT. 
 
 THE ANGLER. 
 
 "I in those 1 flowery mends would l>e; 
 These crystal streams should solace me: 
 To whose harmonious bubbling noise 
 I with my angle would ri joice 
 * * # * * 
 
 And angle on, and beg to have 
 
 A quiet passage to a welcome grave." 
 
 IZAAK W ALTOS. 
 
 THOU that hast loved so long and well 
 
 The vale s deep quiet streams, 
 Where the pure water-lilies dwell, 
 
 Shedding forth tender gleams ; 
 11 
 
THE ANGLER. 
 
 And o er the pool the May-fly s wing 
 Glances in golden eves of spring. 
 
 Oh ! lone and lovely haunts are thine, 
 
 Soft, soft the river flows, 
 Wearing the shadow of thy line, 
 
 The gloom of alder-boughs ; 
 And in the midst, a richer hue, 
 One gliding vein of heaven s own blue. 
 
 And there but low sweet sounds are heard 
 The whisper of the reed, 
 The plashing trout, the rustling bird, 
 The scythe upon the mead : 
 Yet through the murmuring osiers near, 
 There steals a step which mortals fear. 
 
 Tis not the stag, that comes to lave, 
 
 At noon, his panting breast; 
 Tis not the bittern by the wave 
 
 Seeking her sedgy nest ; 
 The air is filled with summer s breath, 
 The young flowers laugh yet look ! tis death ! 
 
THE CHANGED HOME. 83 
 
 But if, where silvery currents rove, 
 
 Thy heart, grown still and sage, 
 Hath learned to read the words of love 
 
 That shine o er nature s page ; 
 If holy thoughts thy guests have been, 
 Under the shade of willows reen ; 
 
 o " 
 
 Then, lover of the silent hour, 
 
 By deep lone waters past, 
 Thence hast thou drawn a faith, a power, 
 
 To cheer thee through the last ; 
 And, wont on brighter worlds to dwell, 
 
 May st calmly bid thy streams farewell. 
 
 HEM AN 
 
 THE CHANGED HOME. 
 
 I LEFT my home ; twas in a little vale, 
 
 Sheltered from snow-storms by the stately pines ; 
 
 A small clear river wandered quietly, 
 
 Its smooth waves only cut by the light barks 
 
 Of fishers, and but darkened by the shade 
 
 The willows flung, when to the southern wind 
 
 They threw their long green tresses. On the slope 
 
84 THE CHANGED HOME. 
 
 Were five or six white cottages, whose roofs 
 
 Reached not to the laburnum s height, whose boughs 
 
 Shook over them bright showers of golden bloom. 
 
 Sweet silence reigned around : no other sound 
 
 Came on the air, than when the shepherd made 
 
 The reed-pipe rudely musical, or notes 
 
 From the wild birds, or children in their play 
 
 Sending forth shouts or laughter. Strangers came 
 
 Rarely or never near the lonely place. . . . 
 
 I went into far countries. Years past by, 
 
 But still that vale in silent beauty dwelt 
 
 Within my memory. Home I came at last. 
 
 I stood upon a mountain height, and looked 
 
 Into the vale below ; and smoke arose, 
 
 And heavy sounds ; and thro the thick dim air 
 
 Shot blackened turrets, and brick walls, and roofs 
 
 Of the red tile. I entered in the streets : 
 
 There were ten thousand hurrying to and fro ; 
 
 And masted vessels stood upon the river, 
 
 And barges sullied the once dew-clear stream. 
 
 Where were the willows, where the cottages ? 
 
 I sought my home ; I sought and found a city, 
 
 Alas ! for the green valley ! 
 
 LAN DON. 
 
A SUMMER DAY. 85 
 
 A SUMMER DAY. 
 
 N that the misty vapor was agone, 
 And clearc arid faire was the morning, 
 The dewe also like silver in shining 
 Upon the leaves, as any baume swete, 
 Till firy Titan with his persant hete 
 
 Had dried up the lusty licour new 
 Upon the herbes in the grene mede, 
 And that the floures of many divers hew, 
 Upon hir stalk es gon for to sprede, 
 And for to splay out her leves in brede 
 Againe the Sunne, gold burned in his sphere, 
 That doune to hem cast his beames clere. 
 
 And by a river forth I gan costay, 
 Of water clere as birell or cristall, 
 Till at the last, I found a little way 
 Toward a parkc, enclosed with a wall 
 In compace rounde, and by a gate small 
 Who so that would might freely gone 
 Into this parke, walled with grene stone 
 
86 A SUMMER DAY. 
 
 And in I went to heare the birdes song, 
 Which on the braunches, both in plaine and vale, 
 So loud sang that all the wood rong, 
 Like as it should shiver in peeccs smale, 
 And, as methought, that the nightingale 
 With so great might her voice gan out wrest, 
 Right as her herte for love would brest. 
 
 The soile was plaine, smoth, and wonder soft, 
 All oversprad with tapcttes that Nature 
 Had made her selfe : covered eke aloft 
 With bowes greene the floures for to cure, 
 That in hir beauty they may long endure 
 From all assaut of Phebus fervent fere, 
 Which in his sphere so liotc shone and clere. 
 
 The aire attempre, and the smothe wind 
 Of Zepherus, among the blossoms white, 
 So holesome was, and so nourishing by kind, 
 That smale buddcs and round blossoms lite 
 In manner gan of hir brethe dclitc, 
 To yeve us hope there fruitc shall take 
 Ayenst autumne roly for to shake. 
 
A S U M M E R D A Y. 87 
 
 I saw the Daphcnc closed under rindc, 
 Greene laurcr, and the holesome pine, 
 The mii-re also that wcepcth ever of kinde, 
 The ccdres hie, upright as a line, 
 The filbert eke, that lowc doth encline 
 Her bowes grene to the earth adoun, 
 Unto her knight called Demophoun. 
 
 There sawc I eke the fresh hauthorne, 
 In white motley, that so swete doth smell, 
 Aslic, firre, and okc, with many a young acorn, 
 And many a tree mo than I can tell, 
 And me befornc I saw a little well, 
 That had his course, as I gan beholde, 
 Under an hill, witli quicke stremcs colde. 
 
 The gravel gold, the water pure as glasse. 
 The bankcs round the well environyng, 
 And soft as velvet the yongc grasse 
 That thereupon lustely came springyng, 
 The sute of trees about compassyng, 
 Hir shadow cast, closing the well round, 
 And all the herbes growing on the ground. 
 
 CHAUCEF 
 
LESS N S OF S P R I N G. 
 
 S P R I N G. 
 
 WHAN that Phobus his chair of gold so hie 
 Had whirled up the sterry sky aloft, 
 And in the Boole was entered certainly, 
 When shoures sweet of raine descended soft, 
 Causing the ground fele times and oft, 
 Up for to give many an wholsome aire, 
 And every plaine was clothed faire 
 
 With new greene, and maketh small floures 
 To springcn here and there in field and in 
 So very good and wholsome be the shoures, 
 That it rcnueth that was old and dede, 
 In winter time ; and out of every sede 
 Springeth the hearbe, so that every wight 
 Of this season wcxcth glad and light. 
 
 CHAUCER 
 
 LESSONS OF SPRING. 
 
 They shall spring up as among the grass, as willows by tho watercourses." 
 
 ISAIAH 44 : 4. 
 
 LESSONS sweet of spring returning, 
 Welcome to the thoughtful heart ! 
 
LKS.SOXb OF Sl lMNtl. 81) 
 
 May I call ye sense or learning, 
 
 Instinct pure, or heaven-taught art? 
 Be your title what it may, 
 Sweet the lengthening April day, 
 While with you the soul is free, 
 Ranging wild o er hill and lea. 
 
 Soft as Mcmnon s harp at morning, 
 
 To the inward ear devout, 
 Touched hy light, with heavenly warning 
 
 Your transporting chords ring out. 
 Every leaf in every nook, 
 Every wave in every brook, 
 Chanting with ,1 solemn voice, 
 Minds us of our better choice. 
 
 Needs no show of mountain hoary, 
 Winding shore or deepening glen, 
 
 Where the landscape in its glory 
 Teaches truth to wandering men : 
 
 Give true hearts but earth and sky, 
 
 And some flowers to bloom and die, 
 
 Homely scenes and simple views 
 
 Lowly thoughts may best infuse. 
 12 
 
90 LESSONS OP SPUING. 
 
 See the soft green willow springing 
 
 Where the waters gently pass, 
 Every way her free arms flinging 
 O er the moist and reedy grass. 
 Long ere winter blasts are fled, 
 See her tipped with vernal red, 
 And her kindly flower displayed 
 Ere her leaf can cast a shade. 
 
 Though the rudest hand assail her, 
 
 Patiently she droops awhile, 
 But when showers and breezes hail her, 
 
 Wears again her willing smile. 
 Thus I learn Contentment s power 
 From the slighted willow bower, 
 Ready to give thanks and live 
 On the least that Heaven may give. 
 
 < r in<r 
 
 : 
 
 If, the quiet brooklet leav 
 Up the stony vale I wind, 
 
 Haply half in fancy grieving 
 For the shades I leave behind, 
 
 By the dusty wayside drear, 
 
 Nightingales with joyous cheer 
 
FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFT OX. 91 
 
 Sing, my sadness to reprove, 
 Gladlier than in cultured grove. 
 
 Where the thickest boughs are twining 
 
 Of the greenest, darkest tree, 
 There they plunge, the light declining 
 
 All may hear, but none may see. 
 Fearless of the passing hoof, 
 Hardly will they fleet aloof; 
 So they live in modest v ays, 
 
 Trust entire, and ceaseless praise. 
 
 KKBLE. 
 
 FLOW GENTLY, SWEET A FT ON. 
 
 FLOW gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
 Flow gently, I ll sing thcc a song in thy praise ; 
 My Mary s asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 
 
 Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro the glen, 
 Ye wild whistling blackbirds, in yon thorny den, 
 Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear, 
 I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 
 
92 FLOW E X T L Y, SWEET AFTON. 
 
 How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills, 
 Far marked with the courses of clear winding rills ; 
 There daily I wander as noon rises high, 
 My flocks and my Mary s sweet cot in my eye. 
 
 How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below : 
 Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ; 
 There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea, 
 The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and rne. 
 
 Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, 
 And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ; 
 How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, 
 As gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clear 
 wave. 
 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
 Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; 
 My Mary s asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 
 
 BURNS 
 
THE LILIES OF T JI E FIELD. 93 
 
 THE EARLY DAWN. 
 
 On seeing a picture of Mornir.G; on the Mountains. 
 
 How beautiful is morning ! I have been, 
 
 Painter, like thee, a wanderer, when the hills 
 
 Slept in their own great shadows, and have seen 
 The dawn kiss out the stars, have heard the rills 
 Warbling unseen, and sending forth the thrills 
 
 Of soothing melody. Methinks thou art 
 My spirit s own interpreter, we gaze 
 
 In kindred feelings, gaze, ay, heart to heart, 
 
 As friend with friend. 
 
 GEORGE HUME. 
 
 THE LILIES OF THE FIELD. 
 
 Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow. 
 
 ST. MATTHEW 6 : 28. 
 
 SWEET nurslings of the vernal skies, 
 Bathed in soft airs, and fed with dew, 
 
 What more than magic in you lies, 
 To fill the heart s fond view ? 
 
 In childhood s sports, companions gay, 
 
 In sorrow, on Life s downward way, 
 
94 THE LILIES OF THE FIELD. 
 
 How soothing ! in our last de cay 
 Memorials prompt and true. 
 
 Relics ye are of Eden s bowers, 
 As pure, as fragrant, and as fair, 
 
 As when ye crowned the sunshine hours 
 Of happy wanderers there. 
 
 Fallen all beside, the world of life, 
 
 How is it stained with fear and strife ! 
 
 In Reason s world what storms are rife, 
 What passions range and glare ! 
 
 But cheerful and unchanged the while 
 Your first and perfect form ye show, 
 
 The same that won Eve s matron smile 
 In the world s opening glow. 
 
 The stars of heaven a course are taught 
 
 Too high above our human thought ; 
 
 Ye may be found if ye are sought, 
 And as we gaze, we know. 
 
 Ye dwell beside our paths and homes, 
 Our paths of sin, our homes of sorrow, 
 
 And guilty man, where er he roams, 
 Your innocent mirth may borrow. 
 
THE LILIES OF THE FIELD. 95 
 
 The birds of air before us fleet, 
 They cannot brook our shame to meet 
 But we may taste your solace sweet 
 And come again to-morrow. 
 
 Ye fearless in your nests abide 
 
 Nor may we scorn, too proudly wise, 
 Your silent lessons, undescried 
 
 By all but lowly eyes : 
 For ye could draw th admiring gaze 
 Of Him who worlds and hearts surveys : 
 Your order wild, your fragrant maze, 
 He taught us how to prize. 
 
 Ye felt your Maker s smile that hour, 
 
 As when He paused and owned you good , 
 
 His blessing on earth s primal bower, 
 Ye felt it all renewed. 
 
 What care ye now, if winter s storm 
 
 Sweep ruthless o er each silken form ? 
 
 Christ s blessing at your heart is warm, 
 Ye fear no vexing mood. 
 
 Alas ! of thousand bosoms kind, 
 That daily court you and caress, 
 
96 THE QUESTION. 
 
 How few the happy secret find 
 
 Of your calm loveliness ! 
 " Live for to-day ! to-morrow s light 
 To-morrow s cares shall bring to sight, 
 Go sleep like closing flowers at night, 
 
 And heaven thy morn will bless." 
 
 KEBLE. 
 
 THE QUESTION. 
 
 I DREAMED that, as I wandered by the way, 
 Bare winter suddenly was changed to spring, 
 
 And gentle odors led my steps astray, 
 Mixed with a sound of waters murmuring 
 
 Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay 
 Under a copse, arid hardly dared to fling 
 
 Its green arms round the bosom of the stream, 
 
 But kissed it and then fled, as thou mightest in 
 dream. 
 
 There grew pied windflowers and violets, 
 Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth. 
 
 The constellated flower that never sets ; 
 
 Faint oxlips ; tender bluebells, at whose birth 
 
T II E Q U E S T I N. 97 
 
 The sod scarce heaved ; and that tall flower that 
 
 wets 
 
 Its mother s face with heaven-collected tears, 
 When the low wind, its playmate s voice, it l.ears. 
 
 And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine, 
 Green cowbind and the moonlight-colored May, 
 
 And cherry blossoms, and white cups, whose wine 
 Was the bright dew yet drained not by the day ; 
 
 And wild roses, and ivy serpentine, 
 
 With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray ; 
 
 And flowers azure, black, and streaked with gold, 
 
 Fairer than any wakened eyes behold. 
 
 And nearer to the river s trembling edge 
 
 There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prank t 
 with white, 
 
 And starry river buds among the sedge, 
 And floating water-lilies, broad and bright, 
 
 Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge 
 
 With moonlight beams of their own watery light ; 
 
 And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green 
 
 As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. 
 
 13 
 
98 THE HUSBANDMAN. 
 
 Methought that of these visionary flowers 
 I made a nosegay, bound in such a way 
 
 That the same hues, which in their natural bowers 
 Were mingled or opposed, the like array 
 
 Kept these imprisoned children of the Hours 
 Within my hand, and then, elate and gay, 
 
 I hastened to the spot whence I had come, 
 
 That I might there present it ! Oh ! to whom ? 
 
 SHELLEY 
 
 THE HUSBANDMAN. 
 
 (FROM A LONG POEM ENTITLED " LOCHLEVEN.") 
 
 How blest the man, who, in these peaceful plains, 
 
 Ploughs his paternal field ; far from the noise, 
 
 The care and bustle of a busy world ! 
 
 All in the sacred, sweet, sequestered vale 
 
 Of solitude, the secret primrose path 
 
 Of rural life he dwells ; and with him dwells 
 
 Peace and content, twins of the sylvan shade, 
 
 And all the graces of the golden age. 
 
 Such is Agricola, the wise, the good, 
 
 By nature formed for the calm retreat, 
 
HUNTING SONG. 99 
 
 The silent path of life. Learned, but not fraught 
 
 With self-importance, as the starched fool 
 
 Who challenges respect by solemn face, 
 
 By studied accent, and high-sounding phrase, 
 
 Enamored of the shade, but not morose, 
 
 Politeness raised in courts by frigid rules 
 
 With him spontaneous grows. Xot books alone, 
 
 But man his study, and the better part ; 
 
 To tread the ways of virtue, and to act 
 
 The various scenes of life with (iod s applause. 
 
 BRUCE. 
 
 HUNTING SONG. 
 
 THE heather was blooming, the meadows were 
 
 mawn. 
 
 Our lads gaed a-hunting ane day at the dawn. 
 Owre moor., and owre mosses and mony a glen 
 At length they discovered a bonnie moor-hen. 
 
 I red you beware at the hunting, young men ; 
 
 I red you beware at the hunting, young men ; 
 
 Tak some on the wing, and some as they 
 spring, 
 
 But cannily steal on a bonnie moor-hen. 
 
1UU HUNTIJN 
 
 Sweet brushing the dew from the brown heather 
 
 bells, 
 
 Her colors betrayed her on yon mossy fells ; 
 Her plumage out-lustred the pride o the spring, 
 And oh ! as she wantoned gay on the wing. 
 I red you beware, &c. 
 
 Auld Phoebus himsel, as he peeped o er the hill, 
 In spite at her plumage he tried his skill ; 
 He levelled his rays where she basked on the brae 
 His rays were outshone, and but marked wL -;e sli3 
 
 lay. 
 I red you beware, &c. 
 
 They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill ; 
 The best of our lads wi the best o their skill 
 But still as the fairest she sat in their sight, 
 Then, whirr ! she was over, a mile at a flight. 
 I red you beware, &c. 
 
P R A 1 ,< i: A X D T II A X K S G I V I X ( , . 101 
 
 PRAISE AND THANKSGIVING. 
 
 Loan, bow manifold are Thy works; in wisdom hast Thou 
 made them all ; the earth is full of Thy riches. PSALM 10-1 : 24. 
 
 Go forth, my heart, and seek delight 
 In all the gifts of God s great might, 
 
 These pleasant summer hours : 
 Look how the plains for thee and me 
 Have decked themselves most fair to see. 
 
 All bright and sweet with flowers. 
 
 The trees stand thick and dark with leaves, 
 And earth o er all her dust now weaves 
 
 A robe of living green ; 
 Nor silks of Solomon compare 
 With glories that the tulips wear, 
 
 Or lilies spotless sheen. 
 
 The lark soars singing into space, 
 The dove forsakes her hiding-place, 
 And coos the woods amon<r; 
 
 O 
 
 The richly gifted nightingale, 
 Pours forth her voice o er hill and dale, 
 And floods the fields with song. 
 
J02 PRAISE AND THANKSGIVING 
 
 . Here with her brood the hen doth walk, 
 There builds and guards his nest the stork, 
 
 The fleet-winged swallows pass ; 
 The swift stag leaves his rocky home, 
 And down the light deer bounding come 
 
 To taste the long rich grass. 
 
 The brooks rush gurgling through the sand, 
 And from the trees on either hand, 
 
 Cool shadows o er them fall ; 
 The meadows at their side are glad 
 With herds ; and hark ! the shepherd lad 
 
 Sends forth his mirthful call. 
 
 And humming, hovering to and fro, 
 The never-wearied swarms forth go 
 
 To seek their honeyed food ; 
 And through the vine s yet feeble shoots 
 Stream daily upwards from her roots 
 
 New strength and juices good. 
 
 The corn springs up, a wealth untold, 
 A sight to gladden young and old, 
 Who now their voices lift 
 
P II A I S E A N 1) T II A X K S G I V I N G . 1 03 
 
 To Him who gives such plenteous store, 
 And makes the cup of life run o er 
 With many a noble gift. 
 
 Thy mighty working, mighty God, 
 Wakes all my powers ; I look abroad 
 
 And can no longer rest ; 
 I too must sing when all things sing, 
 And from my heart the praises ring 
 
 The Highest lovcth best. 
 
 I think, art Thou so good to us, 
 And scatterest joy and beauty thus 
 
 O er this poor earth of ours ; 
 What nobler glories shall be given 
 Hereafter in Thy shining heaven, 
 
 Set round witli golden towers ! 
 
 What thrilling joy when on our sight 
 Christ s Burden beams in cloudless liMit, 
 
 O O 
 
 Where all the air is sweet, 
 Still laden with the unwearied hymn 
 From all the thousand seraphim 
 
 Who God s high praise repeat ! 
 
104 PHA1SE AND THANKSGIVING. 
 
 Oh were I there! Oh that I now, 
 
 Dear God, before Thy throne could bow, 
 
 And bear my heavenly palm ! 
 Then like the angels would I raise 
 My voice, and sing Thy endless praise 
 
 In many a sweet-toned psalm. 
 
 Nor can I now, God, forbear, 
 Though still this mortal yoke I wear, 
 
 To utter oft thy name ; 
 But still my heart is bent to speak 
 Thy praises ; still, though poor and weak, 
 
 Would I set forth thy fame. 
 
 But help me : let Thy heavenly showers 
 Revive and bless my fainting powers, 
 
 And let me thrive and grow 
 Beneath the summer of thy grace, 
 And fruits of faith bud forth apace 
 
 While yet I dwell below. 
 
 And set me, Lord, in Paradise 
 When I have bloomed beneath these skies 
 Till my last leaf is flown ; 
 
X W S P P. IXC, JI A S C LAD, E T C. 1- 
 
 Thus let me serve Thee here in time, 
 And after, in that happier clime, 
 And Thee, my God, alone ! 
 
 PA rr, Cii:unAi:i)T. 1759. 
 
 NOW SP11IXU HAS CLAD THE GROVE 
 IX GREEX. 
 
 Xow spring has clad the grove in green, 
 
 Arid strewed the lea wi flowers: 
 The furrowed, waving corn is seen 
 
 Rejoice in fostering showers ; 
 While ilka thing in nature join 
 
 Their sorrows to forego, 
 Oh why thus all alone are mine 
 
 The weary steps of woe ! 
 
 The trout within yon wimpling burn 
 
 Glides swift a silver dart ; 
 And safe beneath the shady thorn 
 
 Defies the angler s art. 
 My life was ance that careless stream, 
 
 That wanton trout was I , 
 1-4 
 
100 NOW SPRING HAS CLAD, ETC. 
 
 But love wi unrelenting beam, 
 Has scorched my fountains dry. 
 
 The little flow ret s peaceful lot, 
 
 In yonder cliff that grows, 
 Which, save the linnet s flight, I wot, 
 
 Nae ruder visit knows, 
 Was mine; till love has o er me past, 
 
 And blighted a my bloom, 
 And now beneath the with ring blast 
 
 My youth and joy consume. 
 
 The wakened lav rock warbling springs, 
 
 And climbs the early sky, 
 Winnowing blithe her dewy wings 
 
 In morning s rosy eye. 
 As little recked I sorrow s power, 
 
 Until the flowery snare 
 witching love, in luckless hour, 
 
 Made me the thrall o care. 
 
 Oh, had iny fate been Greenland snows, 
 
 Or Afric s burning zone, 
 Wi men and nature leagued my foes, 
 
 So Peggy ne er I d known ! 
 
A U G U S T. 107 
 
 The wretch whase doom is, " hope nae mair, 
 
 What tongue his woes can tell ! 
 Within wha.se bosom, save despair, 
 
 Xae kinder spirits dwell. 
 
 AUGUST. 
 AEG LOG A OCTAVA. 
 
 IN this Aegloguu is set i orih a delectable controversie, r.iade in 
 imitation of that in Theocritus: thereto also Virgil fashioned 
 liis third and seventh Aegloguc. They cboso 1 or uiupere of 
 their strife, Cinldv, a neat-heards, hoye : wlm, having tsidcd 
 their cause, reciteth also hiinsellb a proper sniii;, wliereot Colin ho 
 saith was authour. 
 
 WILLIE, PKRIGOT, CUDDIK. 
 
 WILLIE. Tell mee, Perigot, what shalbe the game, 
 
 Wherefore witli mine thou dare thy musick matche ? 
 Or bene thy bagpypcs renne l farrc out of frame? 
 
 Or hath the crampe thy ioynts benomd with ache ? 
 1 3 ER. Ah ! Willie, when the hart is ill assayde, 2 
 How can bagpype or ioynts be well apayde? 3 
 WlL. What the foulc cvill hath thec so bestad? 4 
 Whilom thou was peregall 5 to the best, 
 
 1 Rcnnc, run. * i. c. reduced you to this condition. 
 
 2 Assayde, affected. 5 Pereyall, equal. 
 
 3 Well npai/de, in good condition. 
 
108 AUGUST. 
 
 And wont to make the iolly shepheards glad 
 
 With pjping and dauncing did passe the rest. 
 PER. Ah ! Willie, now I have Icarnd a new daunce ! 
 My old musick mard by a new mischaunce. 
 WIL. Mischiefe m ought to that mischaunce befall, 
 
 That so hath raft 1 us of our merimcnt ; 
 But rede 2 me what paine doth thce so apall , 
 
 Or lovest thou, or bene thy younglinges miswcnt? 3 
 PER. Love hath misled both my younglinges and 
 
 me ; 
 
 I pine for payne, and they my paine to see. 
 WIL. Perdie and wellawaye ! ill may they thrive ; 
 
 Never knew I lovers sheepe in good plight: 
 But arid if in rymes with me thou dare strive, 
 
 Such fond fantasies shall soone be put to flight. 
 PER. That shall I doe, though mochell 4 worse I 
 
 fared : 
 
 Never shall be sayde that Perigot was dared. 
 WIL. Then loc, Perigot, the pledge which I plight, 
 
 A mazer 5 ywrought of the maple warre, 6 
 Wherein is enchased many a fay re sight 
 
 1 Raft, Dercft. * Mochell, mucli. 
 
 2 Rede, tell. 5 Mazer, bowl. 
 * Miswejit, ffone astray. G Warrc. ware. 
 
AUGUST. 109 
 
 Of bears and tygcrs, that maken ficrs warre ; 
 And over them spred a goodly wilde vine, 
 Entrailed with a wanton yvy twine. 
 Thereby is a lambe in the wolves iawcs ; 
 
 .But see, how fast rennetli the shcphcard swain 
 To save tlie innocent from the beastes pawes, 
 
 And here with his sheepchooke haili him slain. 
 Tell me, such a cup hast thou ever seene ? 
 Well mought it beseeme any harvest queen e. 
 PER. Thereto will I pawne yonder spotted lauibe ; 
 
 Of all my iloeke there nis sike l another, 
 For I brought him up without the dambe ; 
 
 But Colin Clout rafte me of his brother, 
 That he purchast of me in the plaine field ; 
 Sore against my will was I forst to yceld. 
 WlL. Sicker, 2 make like account of his brother; 
 
 But who shall iudgc the wager wonne or lost? 
 PER. That shall yonder heardgrome, and none other, 
 
 Which over the pousse 3 hetherward doth post. 
 WIL. But, for the sunnbeame so sore doth us beate. 
 Were not better to shunne the scortching heate ? 
 PER. Well agreed, Willie ; then set thcc downe, 
 swayue ; 
 
 1 Nis slice, is not such. 2 Sicker, surely. * Pousse, pease 
 
110 A U G U S T. 
 
 Sike a song never heartiest thou but Colin sing. 
 CUD. Gynne when ye list, ye iolly shepheardes 
 
 twayne ; 
 Sike a iudge as Cuddie were for a king. 
 
 PER. It fell upon a holy eve,* 
 
 WIL. Hey ho, holiday ! 
 
 PER. "When holy fathers wont to shrieve ; 
 
 WIL. Now ginneth this roundelay. 
 
 PER. Sitting upon a hill so hie, 
 
 WIL. Hey ho, the high hill ! 
 
 PER. The while my flocke did feede thereby ; 
 
 WIL. The while the shephcard sclfe did spill j 1 
 
 PER. I saw the bouncing Bcllibonc, 
 
 WIL. Hey ho, bonnibell ! 
 
 PER. Tripping over the dale alone ; 
 
 WIL. She can trip it very well. 
 
 PER. Well decked in a frock of gray, 
 
 WIL. Hey ho, gray is greet ! 2 
 
 1 Spill, pine. 2 Greet, mourning. 
 
 * It fell upon a Jioli/ eve. Nothing can be prettier in its way than 
 this little song. Besides being highly picturesque, it has a true lyiicai 
 quality which forces us to chant the words to a melody suggested by 
 themselves. C. 
 
AUGUST. Ill 
 
 PER. And in a kirtlc of crecne save, 1 
 
 & j 
 
 WIL. The greenc is for inaydens meet. 
 
 PER. A chapelct on lier head she wore, 
 
 WIL. Hey lio, chapelet ! 
 
 PER. Of sweete violets therein was store, 
 
 WIL. She sweeter then the violet. 
 
 PER. My sheepc did leave their wonted food, 
 
 WIL. Hoy no > s ce1y shecpe ! 
 
 PER. And ga/d on her as they were wood, 2 
 
 WIL. Wood as he that did them keepe. 
 
 PER. As the bonilasso passed bye, 
 
 WIL. Hey ho, bonilasse ! 
 
 PER. She rovde 3 at mee with glauncing eye, 
 
 WIL. As cleare as the cristall glasse : 
 
 PER. All as the sunny beame so bright, 
 
 WlL. Hey ho, the sunne-beame ! 
 
 PER. Glaunceth from Phoebus face forthright, 
 
 WIL. So love into thy heart did streame : 
 
 PER. Or as the thonder eleaves the cloudes, 
 
 WIL. Hey ho. the thonder! 
 
 PER. Wherein the lightsome levin 4 shroudcs, 
 
 WIL. So eleaves thy soule asonder : 
 
 * Horde, .shot, 
 
 * Levin, lightning 
 
112 AUGUST. 
 
 PER. Or as Dame Cynthias silver ray, 
 
 WIL. Hey ho, the moonclight ! 
 
 PER. Upon the glittering wave doth play, 
 
 WIL. Such play is a pitteous plight. 
 
 PER. The glaimce into my heart did glide, 
 
 WIL. Hey ho, the glyder ! 
 
 PER. Therewith my soule was sharply gryde, 1 
 
 WIL. Such woundcs soone wexcn wider. 
 
 PER. Hasting to raunch 2 the arrowe out, 
 
 WIL. Hey ho, Pcrigot ! 
 
 PER. I left the head in my heart-root, 
 
 WIL. It was a desperate shot. 
 
 PER. There it ranckleth aye more and more, 
 
 WIL. Hey ho, the arrow ! 
 
 PER. Ne can I find salve for my sore, 
 
 WIL. Love is a careless sorrow. 
 
 PER. And though my bale with death I bought, 
 
 WIL. Hey ho, heavie chcere ! 
 
 PER. Yet should thilk lasse not from my thought, 
 
 WIL. So you may buye golde too deere. 
 
 PER. But whether in paynefull love I pync ! 
 
 WIL. Hey ho, pinching payne ! 
 
 1 Gnjde, pierced. 2 Haunch, wmic.h. 
 
A U G U S T. 1 13 
 
 PER. Or thrive in wealth, she shalbe mine, 
 
 ^\ IL. But if thou can her obtaine. 
 
 PER. And if for gracelesse griefe I dye, 
 
 WIL. Hey ho, gracelesse griefe ! 
 
 PER. Witnesse she slue me with her eye, 
 
 WIL. Let thy folly be the priefe. 
 
 PER. And you, that sawe it, simple shcepe, 
 
 WIL. Hey ho, the fayre llocke ! 
 
 PER. For priefe thereof, my death shall weepe, 
 
 WIL. And inone with many a mocke. 
 
 PER. So learnd I love on a holy eve, 
 
 WIL. I fey ho, holy day! 
 
 PKR. That ever since my heart did greve, 
 
 WIL. Xow endeth our roundelay." 
 
 CUD. Sicker, sike a roundle 1 never heard I none; 
 
 Little lacketh Perigot of the best, 
 And Willie is not greatly overgone, 2 
 
 So weren his under-songes well addrcst. 
 \\ IL. Ileardgrome, I fear me thou have a sijuint eye ; 
 Areede 3 uprightly, who has the victorie. 
 CUD. Fayth of my soule, I deeme cche have gained 
 
 Forthy 4 let the lambe be Willie his ownc ; 
 
 1 RwmtUr, roundelay. 3 Aw.le, declare. 
 
 2 Overdue, ?urpa??ed. * Furtliy. therefore. 
 
 15 
 
114 AUGUST. 
 
 And for Perigot so well hath him payned, 
 
 To him be the wroughten mazer alone. 
 PER. Perigot is well pleased with the doome, 
 Ne can Willie wite the witelesse 1 heardgroome. 
 WIL. Never dcmpt 2 more right of beautie, I weene, 
 The shepheard of Ida that iudged Beauties Quccnc. 
 CUD. But tell me, shephcards, should it not yshemP 
 
 Your roundels fresh to licarc a doleful verse 
 Of Rosalind (who knowes not Rosalind ?) 
 
 That Colin made, ylke 4 can I you rehearse. 
 PER. Now say it, Cuddie, as thou art a ladde ; 
 With mery thing its good to medic 5 saddc. 
 WIL. Fayth of my soul, thou shalt ycrouncd be 
 
 In Colins steede, if thou this song arccde ; 
 For never thing on earth so pleaseth me 
 
 As him to hcare, or matter of his deede. 6 
 CUD. Then listen ech unto my heavie lay, 
 And tune your pypes as ruthfull as yce may. 
 
 Ye wastcfull woodes, bear witncsse of my woe,* 
 Wherein my plaints did oftentimes resounde ; 
 
 1 t. e., blame the blameless. 4 Ylkc, the same. 
 
 2 Dempt, deemed, judged. 5 Medic, mingle. 
 
 3 YeTiend, mar. C Dccde, doing. 
 
 * This poem is an imitation of the Italian Sestina, but is executed 
 with very little ?kill. <" . 
 
AUGUST. 115 
 
 i r c carelcsse byrds are privy to my cryes, 
 Which in your songs were woont to make a part ; 
 Thou pleasaunt spring hast luld mee oft asleepc, 
 Whose streamcs my trickling teares did oft augment 1 . 
 
 " Resort of people doth my griefes augment, 
 
 The walled towns doe work my greater woe ; 
 
 The forest wide is fitter to resound 
 
 The hollow ccclio of my carefull cries : 
 
 I hate the house, since thence my Love did part, 
 
 Whose wailefull want debars mine eyes from sleepc. 
 
 Let stremcs of teares supply the place of sleepc ; 
 Let all that sweetc is voyd, 1 and all that may aug 
 ment 
 
 My dole draw neere ! More meete to waile my w j 
 Benc the wild woods, my sorows to resound, 
 Then bed, nor bowre, both which I fill with cries. 
 When I them see so waste, and find no part 
 
 >< Of pleasure past. Here will I dwell apart 
 In gastfull 2 grove therefore, till my last sleep 
 
 1 \ y<t, remove. 2 Gasifull, frightful. 
 
110 AUGUST. 
 
 Doo close mine eyes ; so shall I not augment 
 With sight of such as chaunge my restlesse woe. 
 Help me, yee banefull byrds! whose shrieking sound 
 Is signe of dreery death, my deadly cries 
 
 " Most ruthfully to tune : and as my cryes 
 (Which of my woe cannot bewray least part) 
 You heare all night, when Nature craveth sleep, 
 Increase, so let your-yrksome yelles augment. 
 Thus all the nightes in plaintes, the days in woe, 
 I vowed have to waste, till safe and sound 
 
 " She home returne, whose voyces silver sound 
 
 To cheerefull songes can chaunge .my cheerelesse 
 
 cries. 
 
 Hence with the nightingale will I take part, 
 That blessed byrd, that spendes her time of sleepe 
 In songes and plaintive pleas, the more t augment 
 The memoric of his misdeede that bred her woe. 
 
 " And you that feel no woe, when as the sound 
 
 Of these my nightlie cries ye heare apart, 
 
 I.3t breake your sounder sleep, and pitic augment." 
 
 I R. Colin, Colin ! the shepheardes ioye, 
 How I admire ech turning of thy verse ; 
 
AUGUST. 117 
 
 And Cuddle, frcshe Cuddie, the liefest 1 boye, 
 How dolefully his dole 2 tliou didst rehearse ! 
 CUD. Then blow your pypes, shepheards, till you 
 
 be at home ; 
 The night higheth fast, yts time to be gone. 
 
 PERIDOT HIS EMULEME. 
 Vincent i (jloria licit. 
 WILLYES EMULEME. 
 
 CUDDIES EMBLEME.* 
 
 Felice chi puo. 
 
 <t, dearest. 
 
 ::- xhe meaning hereof is veric ambiguous: for Perigot by his 
 pocsie claiming the conquest, and Willye not yeclding, Cuddie, the 
 arbiter of thcyr cause and patr m of his owne, pecmeth to ehallengo 
 it as his due, saying, that hce is happie which can; so abruptly 
 ending; but hee mceneth eythcr him that can win the best, or 
 moderate hiuiselfe being best, and leave off with the best." E. K. 
 
 SPENSER. 
 
118 THE MO UN ING WALK. 
 
 THE MORNING WALK. 
 
 To the beech-grove with so sweet an air 
 
 It beckoned me. 
 earth ! that never the cruel ploughshare 
 
 Had furrowed thee ! 
 In their dark shelter the flowerets grew, 
 
 Bright to the eye, 
 And smiled by my foot on the cloudless blue 
 
 Which decked the sky. 
 
 * * # * * 
 
 lovely field and forest fair, 
 
 And meads grass-clad ! 
 Her bride-bed Ereya everywhere 
 
 Enamelled had. 
 The corn-flowers rose in azure band 
 
 From earthly cell ; 
 Nought else could I do, but stop and stand. 
 
 And greet them well. 
 
 "Welcome on earth s green breast again, 
 
 Ye flowerets dear ! 
 In spring how charming mid the grain 
 
 Your heads ye rear ! 
 
THE 31 MIXING WALK. 119 
 
 Like stars midst lightning s yellow ray 
 
 Yc shine, red, blue : 
 how your summer aspect gay 
 
 Delights my view !" 
 
 " poet ! poet ! silence keep, 
 
 God help thy case ! 
 Our owner holds us sadly cheap, 
 
 And scorns our race. 
 Each time he sees, he calls us scum, 
 
 Or worthless tares, 
 Hell-weeds, that but to vex him como 
 
 Midst his corn-ears." 
 
 " wretched mortals ! wretched i.ian ! 
 
 wretched crowd ! 
 No pleasures ye pluck, no pleasures ^j plan, 
 
 In life s lone road, 
 Whose eyes are blind to the glories gr^at 
 
 Of the works of God, 
 And dream that the mouth is the nearest gate 
 
 To joy s abode. 
 
 " Come, flowers ! for we to each other belong ; 
 
 o " 
 
 Come, graceful elf! 
 
120 MAY SONG. 
 
 And around my lute in sympathy strong 
 
 Now wind thyself; 
 And quake as if moved by Zephyr s wing, 
 
 Ncath the clang of the chord, 
 And a morning song with glee we ll sing 
 
 To our Maker and Lord." 
 
 OEHLENSCHLAQEK 
 
 MAY SONG. 
 
 MAY, sweet May, again is come, 
 
 May, that frees the land from gloom ; 
 
 Children, children, up, and see 
 
 All her stores of jollity ! 
 
 On the laughing hedgerow s side 
 
 She hath spread her treasures wide ; 
 
 She is in the greenwood shade, 
 
 Where the nightingale hath made 
 
 Every branch and every tree 
 
 Ring with her sweet melody ; 
 
 Hill and dale are May s own treasures. 
 
 Youths, rejoice ! In sportive measures 
 
 Sing ye ! join the chorus gay ! 
 
 Hail this merry, merry Mnv ! 
 
S U M M E II PLEAS U 11 E S. 121 
 
 Up, then, children ! we will go 
 Where the blooming roses grow ; 
 In a joyful company 
 We the bursting flowers will see : 
 Up, your festal dress prepare ! 
 Where gay hearts are meeting, there 
 May hath pleasures most inviting, 
 Heart and siirht and ear delighting 
 
 O GO 
 
 Listen to the birds sweet song : 
 Hark ! how soft it floats along ! 
 Courtly dames, our pleasure* share ! 
 Never saw I May so fair ; 
 Therefore dancing will we go. 
 Youths, rejoice ! the flowerets blow ! 
 
 Sing ye ! join the chorus gay ! 
 
 Hail this merry, merry May ! 
 
 CONRAD Vox KIRCIIBKRQ 
 
 SUMMER PLEASURES. 
 
 WHO would summer pleasures try, 
 Let him to the meadows hie. 
 O er the mountain, in the vale 
 Gladsome sounds and sights prevail : 
 16 
 
SUMMER PLEASURES. 
 
 In the fields fresh flowers are springing, 
 In the boughs new chorals singing, 
 Richly in sweet harmony 
 There the birds new music ply. 
 This is all thine own, sweet May ! 
 As thy softer breezes play, 
 Snow and frostwork melt away. 
 
 Old and young, come forth ! for ye 
 Winter-bound again are free ; 
 Up ! ye shall not grieve again. 
 Look upon that verdant plain, 
 Its gloomy robe no more it wears ; 
 How beauteously its face appears ; 
 He who mid the flowers enjoys 
 The sweetness of his lady s eyes, 
 Let him cast his cares away, 
 And give the meed of thanks to May. 
 
 From the heart s most deep recess, 
 Hovering smiles, intent to bless, 
 Gather on my lady s lips ; 
 Smiles, that other smiles eclipse ; 
 Smiles, more potent, care-dispelling, 
 Than the bank with flowers sweet smelling, 
 
Than the birds melodious measures, 
 Than our choicest woodland treasures, 
 Than the flower-besprinkled plains, 
 Than the nightingale s sweet strains ; 
 Fairer, sweeter, beauty reigns. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 TELL me, whore s the violet fled, 
 
 Late so gayly blowing ; 
 Springing ncath fair Flora s tread, 
 
 Choicest sweets bestowing ? 
 Swain, the vernal scene is o er, 
 And the violet blooms no more ! 
 
 Say, where hides the blushing rose, 
 Pride of fragrant morning ; 
 
 Garland meet for beauty s brows ; 
 Hill and dale adorning ? 
 
 Gentle maid, the summer s fled, 
 
 And the hapless rose is dead ! 
 
 Bear me, then, to yonder rill, 
 Late so freely flowing, 
 
124 SONG. 
 
 Watering many a daffodil 
 
 On its margin glowing, 
 Sun and wind exhaust its store ; 
 Yonder rivulet glides no more ! 
 
 Lead me to the bowery shade, 
 Late with roses flaunting ; 
 
 Loved resort of youth and maid. 
 Amorous ditties chanting. 
 
 Hail the storm with fury shower ; 
 
 Leafless mourns the rifled bower ! 
 
 Say where bides the village maid, 
 Late yon cot adorning ? 
 
 Oft I ve met her in the glade, 
 Fair and fresh as morning. 
 
 Swain, how short is beauty s bloom ! 
 Seek her in her grassy tomb ! 
 
 Whither roves the tuneful swain, 
 Who, of rural pleasures, 
 
 Rose and violet, rill and plain, 
 Sung in deftest measures ? 
 
 Maiden, swift life s vision flies, 
 
 Death has closed the poet s eyes ! 
 
 JACOJSI. 
 
K .\VIABLE P V E 11 T Y. 125 
 
 ENVIABLE POVERTY. 
 
 I GLANCE into the harvest field, 
 
 Where, ncath the shade of richest trees, 
 The reaper and the reaper s wife 
 
 Enjoy their noonday ease. 
 
 And in a shadow of the hedge 
 I hear full many a merry sound, 
 
 Where the stout, brimming water-jug 
 From mouth to mouth oes round. 
 
 - 
 
 About the parents in the grass, 
 Sit boys and girls of various size, 
 
 And, like the buds about the rose, 
 Make glad my gazing eyes. 
 
 See ! God himself from heaven spreads 
 Their table with the freshest green, 
 
 And lovely maids, his angel band, 
 Bear heaped dishes in. 
 
 A laughing infant s sugar lip, 
 
 Waked by the mother s kiss doth deal 
 
126 THE W A .j K . 
 
 To the poor parents a dessert 
 Still sweeter than their meal. 
 
 From breast to breast, from arm to arm, 
 Goes wandering round the rosy boy. 
 
 A little circling flame of love, 
 A living, general joy. 
 
 And strengthened thus for farther toil, 
 Their toil is but joy fresh begun; 
 
 That wife, 0, what a happy wife ! 
 And 0, how rich is that poor man 
 
 DALEI 
 
 THE WALK. 
 
 I WENT a walk on Sunday, 
 But so lonely everywhere ! 
 
 O er every path and upland 
 Went loving pair and pair. 
 
 I strolled through greenest corn-fields, 
 All dashed with gold so deep ; 
 
 How often did I feel as though 
 My very heart would weep ! 
 
THE WALK. 
 
 The heaven so softly azure, 
 
 The sun so full of life ! 
 And everywhere youth and maiden, 
 
 Was happy man and wife. 
 
 They watched the yellowing harvest, 
 Stood where cool water starts ; 
 
 They plucked flowers for each other, 
 And with them gave their hearts. 
 
 The larks, how they singing hovered 
 Arid streamed gladness from above ! 
 
 How high in the listening bosoms 
 Hose the flame of youthful love ! 
 
 In the locks of the blithe youngsters 
 
 */ o 
 
 The west wind loved to play, 
 And lifted with colder finger, 
 My hair already gray. 
 
 Ah ! I heard song and laughter, 
 And it went to my heart s core ; 
 
 0, were I again in boyhood ! 
 Were I free and young once more ! 
 
 DALKI 
 
128 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 WHEN comes the beauteous summer time, 
 
 And grass grows green once more, 
 And sparkling brooks the meadows lave 
 
 With fertilizing power ; 
 And when the birds rejoicing sing 
 
 Their pleasant songs again, 
 Filling the vales and woodlands gay 
 
 With their enlivening strain ; 
 Go not at eve nor morn, fair maids, 
 
 Unto the mead alone, 
 To seek the tender violets blue, 
 
 And pluck them for your own ; 
 For there a snake lies hid, whose fangs 
 
 May leave untouched the heel, 
 But not the less, 0, not the less, 
 
 Your hearts his power shall feel ! 
 
 DK TliOJ 
 
 THE END. 
 

 tt : 
 
 6 
 
 1932 
 
 OCT 
 
 933 
 
 & 
 
 
 " i*S*!*-* 
 
 31 
 
 AW 8018J4 
 
 MAY 5 1934 
 
 19 IS40 
 
 17 
 
 1947 
 12 , 948 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY