The bard of the dales or poems and miscellaneous pieces; with a life of the author, written by himself. By John Castillo |
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SPRING. |
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 | The bard of the dales |  |
100
SPRING.
The morning was glorious, the lark in the sky,
Her notes with believers was lifted on high,
The storm had abated, the air was serene,
The fields look'd forth lovely in garments of green!
Her notes with believers was lifted on high,
The storm had abated, the air was serene,
The fields look'd forth lovely in garments of green!
Earth's surface had just been refresh'd by the rain,
The sun threw his splendour on mountain and plain;
On the blades and the branches, the pearly drops hung,
And each little planting with melody rung!
The sun threw his splendour on mountain and plain;
On the blades and the branches, the pearly drops hung,
And each little planting with melody rung!
'Twas a morning in April, and all things look'd gay,
The lambs they were bouncing in gambol and play,
The industrious and healthy were at their employ,
Each glen appeared full of extravagant joy.
The lambs they were bouncing in gambol and play,
The industrious and healthy were at their employ,
Each glen appeared full of extravagant joy.
The old river's bank, still its privilege own'd,
And that wisdom which mingled the scent and the sound,
Where Nature her beauties profusely bestow'd,
Where richly untrampled the primroses glow'd!
And that wisdom which mingled the scent and the sound,
Where Nature her beauties profusely bestow'd,
Where richly untrampled the primroses glow'd!
All tribes but the human, indeed, and in truth,
Appear'd to resemble the springs of our youth,
When real virgin beauty, by woodland and stream,
Have charmed our winter's away like a dream!
Appear'd to resemble the springs of our youth,
When real virgin beauty, by woodland and stream,
Have charmed our winter's away like a dream!
101
Then work was more plenteous, and labourers few,
Then lies were less common, and friends were more true;
There was less inclination our pleasures to gall,
Our tricks less corrupted, our numbers but small.
Then lies were less common, and friends were more true;
There was less inclination our pleasures to gall,
Our tricks less corrupted, our numbers but small.
To launch into debt then was thought a disgrace;
Bad words heard but seldom, and cronies were scarce,
To muster for sinful pursuits on the plain,
The bless'd, the bright Sabbath-day to profane!
Bad words heard but seldom, and cronies were scarce,
To muster for sinful pursuits on the plain,
The bless'd, the bright Sabbath-day to profane!
Comparing our rambles in mountain or glen,
With practices now they were innocent then,
There were fewer the villager's peace to annoy,
The blossoms to blemish, or fruit to destroy!
With practices now they were innocent then,
There were fewer the villager's peace to annoy,
The blossoms to blemish, or fruit to destroy!
The Farmers around to our parents were kind,
Because there were fewer to mischief inclined,—
There were fewer to break the young trees in the wood,
Or gather the sticks that were left by the flood.
Because there were fewer to mischief inclined,—
There were fewer to break the young trees in the wood,
Or gather the sticks that were left by the flood.
The privileg'd rights and claims of the poor,
The wicked and idle destroy or devour,—
Through their increase of number, and conduct of late,
Where the passage was free, there's a lock at the gate!
The wicked and idle destroy or devour,—
Through their increase of number, and conduct of late,
Where the passage was free, there's a lock at the gate!
Still nevertheless the old river runs free,
The ivy still clings to the ash, or oak tree,—
The cuckoo again to the groves doth repair,
And mingles her first mellow notes in the air.
The ivy still clings to the ash, or oak tree,—
The cuckoo again to the groves doth repair,
And mingles her first mellow notes in the air.
102
The green blades have cut through the leaves of last year,
Which, all dry and withered, must soon disappear;—
To lift our best thoughts to the region's of bliss,
Of beauty and pleasure, more lasting than this!
Which, all dry and withered, must soon disappear;—
To lift our best thoughts to the region's of bliss,
Of beauty and pleasure, more lasting than this!
The birds seemed in haste on the branch or the wing,
To teach us a lesson and learn us to sing,—
As though they'd agreed in the thicket to meet,
And rival each other in melody sweet!
To teach us a lesson and learn us to sing,—
As though they'd agreed in the thicket to meet,
And rival each other in melody sweet!
The hills were all bright, and the rocks had a voice,
With the sweetest of notes, and the purest of joys;
The earth appeared paradis'd, passing along,
Except three women singing a brutaliz'd song.
With the sweetest of notes, and the purest of joys;
The earth appeared paradis'd, passing along,
Except three women singing a brutaliz'd song.
With limbs strong and healthy, in frolicsome play,
They thus were caressing the toils of the day,—
To gather the whittens, or stones off the field,
Regardless what kind of a crop it might yield.
They thus were caressing the toils of the day,—
To gather the whittens, or stones off the field,
Regardless what kind of a crop it might yield.
Each face at a modest reproof seemed to grin,
Looked wickedly wanton, and harden'd in sin,—
Which seem'd all at once to extinguish the fire,
To stagger my muse, and to bid her retire.
Looked wickedly wanton, and harden'd in sin,—
Which seem'd all at once to extinguish the fire,
To stagger my muse, and to bid her retire.
| The bard of the dales | |