 | The Poetical Works of John Scott |  |
34
ELEGY III. Written in Harvest.
Farewell the pleasant violet-scented shade,
The primros'd hill, and daisy-mantled mead;
The furrow'd land, with springing corn array'd;
The sunny wall, with bloomy branches spread:
The primros'd hill, and daisy-mantled mead;
The furrow'd land, with springing corn array'd;
The sunny wall, with bloomy branches spread:
Farewell the bow'r with blushing roses gay;
Farewell the fragrant trefoil-purpled field;
Farewell the walk through rows of new-mown hay,
When ev'ning breezes mingled odours yield:
Farewell the fragrant trefoil-purpled field;
Farewell the walk through rows of new-mown hay,
When ev'ning breezes mingled odours yield:
Of these no more—now round the lonely farms,
Where jocund Plenty deigns to fix her seat;
Th' autumnal landscape op'ning all its charms,
Declares kind Nature's annual work complete.
Where jocund Plenty deigns to fix her seat;
Th' autumnal landscape op'ning all its charms,
Declares kind Nature's annual work complete.
35
In diff'rent parts what diff'rent views delight,
Where on neat ridges waves the golden grain;
Or where the bearded barley dazzling white,
Spreads o'er the steepy slope or wide champaign.
Where on neat ridges waves the golden grain;
Or where the bearded barley dazzling white,
Spreads o'er the steepy slope or wide champaign.
The smile of Morning gleams along the hills,
And wakeful Labour calls her sons abroad;
They leave with chearful look their lowly vills,
And bid the fields resign their ripen'd load.
And wakeful Labour calls her sons abroad;
They leave with chearful look their lowly vills,
And bid the fields resign their ripen'd load.
In various tasks engage the rustic bands,
And here the scythe, and there the sickle wield;
Or rear the new-bound sheaves along the lands,
Or range in heaps the swarths upon the field.
And here the scythe, and there the sickle wield;
Or rear the new-bound sheaves along the lands,
Or range in heaps the swarths upon the field.
Some build the shocks, some load the spacious wains,
Some lead to shelt'ring barns the fragrant corn;
Some form tall ricks, that tow'ring o'er the plains
For many a mile, the homestead yards adorn.—
Some lead to shelt'ring barns the fragrant corn;
Some form tall ricks, that tow'ring o'er the plains
For many a mile, the homestead yards adorn.—
36
The rattling car with verdant branches crown'd,
The joyful swains that raise the clam'rous song,
Th' inclosure gates thrown open all around,
The stubble peopled by the gleaning throng,
The joyful swains that raise the clam'rous song,
Th' inclosure gates thrown open all around,
The stubble peopled by the gleaning throng,
Soon mark glad harvest o'er—Ye rural Lords,
Whose wide domains o'er Albion's isle extend;
Think whose kind hand your annual wealth affords,
And bid to Heaven your grateful praise ascend!
Whose wide domains o'er Albion's isle extend;
Think whose kind hand your annual wealth affords,
And bid to Heaven your grateful praise ascend!
For tho' no gift spontaneous of the ground
Rose these fair crops that made your vallies smile,
Tho' the blithe youth of every hamlet round
Pursued for these thro' many a day their toil;
Rose these fair crops that made your vallies smile,
Tho' the blithe youth of every hamlet round
Pursued for these thro' many a day their toil;
Yet what avail your labours or your cares?
Can all your labours, all your cares, supply
Bright suns, or soft'ning show'rs, or tepid airs,
Or one indulgent influence of the sky?
Can all your labours, all your cares, supply
Bright suns, or soft'ning show'rs, or tepid airs,
Or one indulgent influence of the sky?
37
For Providence decrees, that we obtain
With toil each blessing destin'd to our use;
But means to teach us, that our toil is vain
If He the bounty of his hand refuse.
With toil each blessing destin'd to our use;
But means to teach us, that our toil is vain
If He the bounty of his hand refuse.
Yet, Albion, blame not what thy crime demands,
While this sad truth the blushing Muse betrays—
More frequent echoes o'er thy harvest lands,
The voice of Riot than the voice of Praise.
While this sad truth the blushing Muse betrays—
More frequent echoes o'er thy harvest lands,
The voice of Riot than the voice of Praise.
Prolific tho' thy fields, and mild thy clime,
Realms fam'd for fields as rich, for climes as fair,
Have fall'n the prey of Famine, War, and Time,
And now no semblance of their glory bear.
Realms fam'd for fields as rich, for climes as fair,
Have fall'n the prey of Famine, War, and Time,
And now no semblance of their glory bear.
Ask Palestine, proud Asia's early boast,
Where now the groves that pour'd her wine and oil;
Where the fair towns that crown'd her wealthy coast;
Where the glad swains that till'd her fertile soil:
Where now the groves that pour'd her wine and oil;
Where the fair towns that crown'd her wealthy coast;
Where the glad swains that till'd her fertile soil:
38
Ask, and behold, and mourn her hapless fall!
Where rose fair towns, where toil'd the jocund swain,
Thron'd on the naked rock and mould'ring wall,
Pale Want and Ruin hold their dreary reign.
Where rose fair towns, where toil'd the jocund swain,
Thron'd on the naked rock and mould'ring wall,
Pale Want and Ruin hold their dreary reign.
Where Jordan's vallies smil'd in living green,
Where Sharon's flow'rs disclos'd their varied hues,
The wand'ring pilgrim views the alter'd scene,
And drops the tear of pity as he views.
Where Sharon's flow'rs disclos'd their varied hues,
The wand'ring pilgrim views the alter'd scene,
And drops the tear of pity as he views.
Ask Grecia, mourning o'er her ruin'd tow'rs;
Where now the prospects charm'd her bards of old,
Her corn-clad mountains and Elysian bow'rs,
And silver streams thro' fragrant meadows roll'd.
Where now the prospects charm'd her bards of old,
Her corn-clad mountains and Elysian bow'rs,
And silver streams thro' fragrant meadows roll'd.
Where Freedom's praise along the vale was heard,
And town to town return'd the fav'rite sound;
Where Patriot War her awful standard rear'd,
And brav'd the millions Persia pour'd around:
And town to town return'd the fav'rite sound;
Where Patriot War her awful standard rear'd,
And brav'd the millions Persia pour'd around:
39
There Freedom's praise no more the valley chears,
There Patriot War no more her banner waves;
Nor bard, nor sage, nor martial chief appears,
But stern barbarians rule a land of slaves.
There Patriot War no more her banner waves;
Nor bard, nor sage, nor martial chief appears,
But stern barbarians rule a land of slaves.
Of mighty realms are such the poor remains?
Of mighty realms that fell, when mad with pow'r,
They call'd for Vice to revel on their plains;
The monster doom'd their offspring to devour!
Of mighty realms that fell, when mad with pow'r,
They call'd for Vice to revel on their plains;
The monster doom'd their offspring to devour!
O Albion! wouldst thou shun their mournful fate,
To shun their follies and their crimes be thine;
And woo to linger in thy fair retreat,
The radiant Virtues, progeny divine!
To shun their follies and their crimes be thine;
And woo to linger in thy fair retreat,
The radiant Virtues, progeny divine!
Fair Truth, with dauntless eye and aspect bland;
Sweet Peace, whose brow no angry frown deforms;
Soft Charity, with ever-open hand;
And Courage, calm amid surrounding storms.
Sweet Peace, whose brow no angry frown deforms;
Soft Charity, with ever-open hand;
And Courage, calm amid surrounding storms.
40
O lovely Train! O haste to grace our Isle!
So may the Pow'r who ev'ry blessing yields,
Bid on her clime serenest seasons smile,
And crown with annual wealth her far-fam'd fields.
So may the Pow'r who ev'ry blessing yields,
Bid on her clime serenest seasons smile,
And crown with annual wealth her far-fam'd fields.
| The Poetical Works of John Scott | |