University of Virginia Library

POEMS

SUMMER IMAGES

HELPSTONE STATUTE

OR THE RECRUITING PARTY

OUR OWN FIRESIDE

NATURES HYMN TO THE DEITY

IMPULSES OF SPRING

ON SEEING A SKULL ON COWPER GREEN

PURSUITS AFTER HAPPINESS

MAYING

OR LOVE & FLOWERS

THOUGHTS IN A CHURCHYARD

THE VANITYS OF LIFE

CHILDHOOD

TO A POET

AUTUMN

ST MARTINS EVE

TO --- ON MAY MORNING

ON A CHILD KILLED BY LIGHTNING

THE AUTUMN ROBIN

ON THE MEMORY OF THE HONOURABLE LADY ---

Lifes current journeyed smooth with thee
& travelled to eternity
Calm & untroubled as it ran
When thy unruffled course began
Wealth lulled thee on her golden breast
But power neer stained thy princely rest
Titles were thine & not the pride
That is with shadows dignified
Thou knew how vain such things to trust
& felt earths honours were but dust
While vain ambition joined the crowd
While folly still pursued the proud
& pride blazed oer a titled name
Thy meekness sought a better fame
Unpleased with pomp unused to shine
These own no claims to trumpet thine
Patron to one—to all a friend
Beloved & honoured to thy end
Not in the mockery flattery vents
The marble tales of monuments
Nor in the verse that only tells
How much thy worth the theme excells
But in the hearts of those that knew
The blameless course thou didst pursue
In prayers that want to heaven would send
For even want could call thee friend
Though fortune wrapt thy heart from care
Yet pity found a dwelling there
That thought oer troubles not its own
& felt for sorrows never known
These are the farewells following thee
To worths well won eternity
& thus thy memory lingers on
Like sun beams when the day is gone
They praised thee once with truths free will
& love to turn & bless thee still
Let pride to tinsel follys throng
& shine in flatterys birthday song
Both are at best in their display
The insects of a summers day
While thine in many a heart shall live
Till memory hath a thought to give
Truth speaks thy fame & while it mourns
Thy end its gratitude returns
Then rest while foes if foes can be
Turn from thy cherished memory
Envying when they cannot blame
The blessing of an honest fame
& folly sighs at lifes decline
For half the love that dwells with thine

THE QUIET MIND

SHADOWS OF TASTE

STANZAS ON A CHILD

TO THE MEMORY OF AN ADMIRAL

DEATH

FAREWELL TO LOVE

THE VILLAGE DOCTRESS

STANZAS

[Though lifes rude floods with sudden roar]

THE ANNIVERSARY

TO A FLOWER OF THE DESERT

A MORNING WALK

TO P****

EMMONSALES HEATH

HYMN TO SPRING

VALENTINE TO MARY

VERSES

[Tho winter comes dreary]

THE HOLIDAY WALK

Come Eliza & Anna lay bye top & ball
& Freddy boy throw away cart & toys all
Look about for your hats & dispence with your play
We'll seek for the fields & be happy to day
Do but hark at the shouts of the boys by the school
As noisey & merry as geese in a pool
While the master himself is so sick of his thrall
That he laughs like the merriest child of them all
While they race with their shadows he joins in the fray
& leaps oer the “cat gallows” nimble as they
As glad to get out of his school in the sun
As a captive would be from his prison to run
The morning invites us to walk come along
Tis so sweet that the sparrow een tries at a song
The dews are all gone save amid the dark glooms
Neath the woods crowded leaves were the sun never comes
Nor need we regret that the dews linger there
For brambles defye us to come if we dare
& doubtless each poor little bird in the end
Is glad to consider the bramble its friend
For girls even often its dwelling destroys
& boys are so cruel birds cannot like boys
So we'll be contented to roam far away
Through bean fields in blossom & closes of hay
Do but look at those ducks how delighted they seem
All plashing & cleaning themselves in the stream
& the swallow that loves in black chimneys to sing
Will scarcely dart oer without washing his wing
Now were out of the town see the fields how they smile
So sweet that the boy climbs astride on the stile
To gaze round about him as much as to say
I should like to go where it pleased me to day
But poor little fellow he wishes in spite
Of his toil—for his sheep they want tending till night
Look here as we come in this cool narrow lane
How close martins pass us & pass us again
Darting on by the side of the hedges they go
As swift as an arrow shot out of a bow
The dust is all past which we met in the street
& the grass like a carpet spreads under our feet
See theres a fine Butterflye sits on that leaf
Aye you may go creeping as still as a thief
It can hear you & see you—see there up it flies
With wings like the rain bow youve seen in the skies
Yes yes you may run there it crosses the stream
As far out of reach as a joy in a dream
Aye now it delights ye to look at the sky
Those are hawks sailing proud as the clouds & as high
See there ones at rest hanging still even now
As fixed in the air as a bird on a bough
These are sweet sights in sooth but the milking maid sees
The sky every morning wear sweeter than these
When she hies to her cows while the sun large & round
Starts up like a table of fire from the ground
& she sees it so often she gives it no praise
Though some never saw it not once all their days
This morning I marked in what splendour he rose
Like a king of the east ere his journey he goes
His bed in the skys any fancy might trace
With a curtain of scarlet half hiding his face
Then as he rose up to his throne for a seat
It changed to a carpet of gold at his feet
Then as a majicians wand touched it there came
A dye oer the east of all hues ye can name
A dappled profusion of gold blue & red
Like pavements of rubies where angels may tread
A shadow een now of its splendour remains
Like an old ruined tapestry all blotches & stains
Giving lessons of grandeur & earthly parade
To think even heaven hath glories that fade
Nay sigh not at all you shall see bye & bye
The sun rise as oft as the milkmaid & I
Stop theres a whasps nest what a bustle & hum
Like legions of armies where danger is come
There they rush one by one in their jackets of yellow
Not one offers fight but he's backed by his fellow
So come on nor reach at that rose on the bower
We'll hazard no wounds for the sake of a flower
Heres the snail with his fine painted shell at his back
& theres one without in his jacket of black
The paths even covered with insects—each sort
Flock by crowds in the smiles of the morning to sport
Theres the cricket in brown & his couzin in green
The Grasshopper dancing & oer them is seen
The lady bird dressed like a hunter in red
Creeping out from the blossoms with whom she went bed
So good little girls now disturb not their play
& you Freddy stop till they hop far away
For to kill them in sport as a many folks will
& call it a pastime tis cruel & ill
As their lives are as sweet of enjoyment as ours
& they doat like yourselves upon sunshine & flowers
See yonders some boys all at swee in the cool
On the wood riding gate playing truant from school
How gladly they seek the fields freedom to play
To swee creaking gates & to roll in the hay
Mocking loud the wood ecchoes that answer again
In musical haloos so soft & so plain
That they no longer dread them as jiants or elves
But think them all boys fond of sport as themselves
& they shout in their pastimes to coax them away
From the woods gloomy arbours to join in their play
Now loves ye are weary I see by your walk
Well well heres a sweet cock of hay on the baulk
An ash hung with ivy too leans from the stile
So sit you down here & we'll rest us awhile
But not on that molehill for see what a mass
Of pismires are nimbling about in the grass
If you had crumbs to throw them theyed haul them away
& never seem weary the whole summers day
& if you sit on them as small as they are
Theyll sting you & teaze you so prythee beware
Do but look how the fields slope away from our eyes
Till the trees in the distance seem clouds in the skyes
A map spreads about us in greens of all stains
Dark woods paler meadows & fields varied grains
& look oer the gap of yon hedge & behold
Yon turnip lands seeming as littered with gold
Tis the charlock in blossom a troublesome weed
Yet a beautiful sight in the distance indeed
They are nought for a nosegay yet still in fine weather
You see what a show they make growing together
Aye yonder are steeples that catch on the eye
Like jiants of stone stretching up the blue sky
& windmills are sweeping their sails up & down
& cottages peeping all sunny & brown
See the cows grazing yonder & less quiet sheep
Some at feed & some chewing their cuds till they sleep
Thus the prospect in varied profusions abound
& spreadeth a beautiful picture around
Though there shines no old ruins for artists to prize
Nor mountains to thrust up their heads to the skyes
Yet as like Dewints pictures as nature can be
For nature owns no sweeter painter than he
Nay dont be alarmed & start up from the hay
Thats nought but a little mouse running away
& now she finds out we're not foes to destroy
Do but hear in the grass how she chitters for joy
No doubt in the beans nigh at hand may sojourn
Her childern awaiting her mothers return
See there where the willow bends over the brook
At our feet like an old shepherd over his crook
Neath its boughs Gnats & midges are still at their play
Like ball rooms of faireys all dancing away
Aye there in rich dress goes the great dragon flye
Like another proud thing buzzing scornfully bye
He scarce turns his head on their dancing & glee
& theyre full as carless of notice as he
O dont you my Anna be cruel & vain
The smallest of things are not strangers to pain
That long legged shepherd youve caught let him go
For he knows naught at all what you threaten no no
Though you tell him you'll kill both his son & his daughter
If he will not afford you a small drop of water
Your threats & your language he cant understand
Though he sheds tears for freedom while shut in your hand
& heres little Freddy crying “click clocking clay”
Poh—Lady birds know not the time of the day
Of “one oclock two oclock” no such a thing
So give it its freedom & let it take wing
Well now if your rested we'll wander again
Here the path strides the brook over closes of grain
So who's first to venture—come never see fear
Though the plank bends beneath us [no] danger is near
Well if you are fearful we'll turn back & go
Where stepping stones ford oer a shallow below
Dangers seldom my childern so near as we think
& often seems far when we stand on the brink
As the runlet in shallows bawls loud & in deeps
Decietfully sinks into silence & sleeps
Do but try how delicious those bean blossoms smell
No flower in the garden delights me so well
Perfuming the nest of the Partridge that lies
Basking safe in the shadows their forrest supplies
& the hare heres a beaten path tracks her retreat
Feels timidly safe in her corn covered seat
On this mown baulk no doubt she oft ventures to play
When a grasshoppers rustle might fright her away
How sweet & how happy such places appear
Well indeed may you wish that our cottage was here
With the wild bees for neighbours the whole summer long
& the Lark ever near us a piping his song
With the beans in full blossom close up to our door
& cows in the distance at feed on the moor
& grasshoppers singing wherere we might roam
& partridges calling at night by our home
Where we might sit at eve in our parlour & see
The rabbit bob out from that old hollow tree
& hear from yon thicket so gloomy & deep
The sweet little nightingale sing us to sleep
Which we heard tother night—dont you reccolect now
When I clomb the wood stile to get each one a bough
How one sung “jug jug” & you all sung amain
“Jug jug” & laughed loud as it answered again
Aye aye I knew well such a beautiful song
Would not be so quickly forgot come along
For the day gets so hot you may well wish again
To meet with the coolness we left in the lane
Do but [look] at our shadows what strangers weve got
Those jiants that came with us first from our cot
Stalking on stride for stride in a pomp stirring mood
Nigh as tall as the oaks that lay peeled by the wood
Whose long legs might cross a brook ever so wide
& leap oer a hedge nay a house at a stride
Theyve left us & shrunk from our sight by degrees
To childern & dwarfs scarce as high as our knees
That as we go on shrink so close to our feet
As if they were glad to get out of the heat
Come here is the foot path that leads to the town
Dont stop tis so hot loves we cannot sit down
O I see what delights ye—aye climb on the stile
& look round about as ye wish for awhile
Those things that go sweeing away to the wind
Though the willows scarce move that are growing behind
Are the sails of the Mill—& indeed as you say
They follow each other like things in their play
Now dropping then rising their wearisome round
& seem where you stand to spring out of the ground
Yon shepherd boy doubtless thinks so as he lies
Lolling oer the gate gazing in happy supprise
See now they move slower the winds nearly still
& there comes the miller—look—out of his mill
To peep at the weather with meal powderd oer
More white then the dog rose in bloom by the door
See there goes the mower a sweeping away
& yon folks in the nook see are stacking of hay
Some loading some forking the grounds are alive
With their labour as busy as bees in a hive
Theres no one seems idle but this little boy
Who runs after butterflyes bawling for joy
& now he has run like a fox in the wheat
If the farmer came bye he would surely get beat
The partridge whirs up frit away from her nest
& the hare with the morning dew yet on her breast
Jumps away from his hustle & bustle & noise
Which he makes in the midst of his rapture & joys
Now singing & tearing up weeds of all sorts
Showy corn poppys shining like foxhunters coats
& bluecaps & cockleflowers no matter what
To make a gay garland to stick in his hat
& now he struts out what a gesture he wears
As proud of his colours as soldiers of theirs
& why may he not be as vain as the rest
Of proud folk were the proudest are baubles at best
—Yes summer indeed bringeth pleasure to all
That colt feels its freedom now loosed from its stall
& even this wearisome wayfaring ass
Can find on the common his bunches of grass
While round the warped camp neath yon bushes & trees
The gipseys lie basking themselves at their ease
& the gipsey boys shaking their rags to the sun
Are head over ears in their frolic & fun
Chasing barefoot along with their dogs by their side
Barking loud as the rabbits bob by them to hide
See there sit the swath summer lovers at play
Neath the shade of those broad spreading maples all day
Those brown tawney lasses with lips like a cherry
& hair full as dark as the autumn blackberry
The mole hillocks make them soft cushions for love
& the hedges in harbours hang blooming above
As blest as the rich who on sofas reposes
They toy neath the shades of wild woodbines & roses
—Now look at the sky it grows muddy with showers
& black snails are creeping about in the flowers
The daisey too look tis a good weather glass
It seems even now half asleep in the grass
& other flowers too like the sun on the wane
Are shutting their eyes & seem dreaming of rain
While that shepherd boy yonder is startled from sleep
Peeping up at the sky as he bawls to his sheep
No doubt he is seeking his hut by the hedge
All wattled with willows & covered with sedge
To lie on his bed of cut brakes & be dry
While the threatened approach of the storm lessens bye
Now I see you are glad to get sight of the town
See theres the old spire & below it look down
Our cottage is peeping aye now you see't plain
As if it was happy to find us again
& happy am I we're so nigh to the door
So run in & take to your play as before
Or rest in your chairs from the toils of the day
By the oak bough that blooms in the chimney so gay
See there waining sunbeams they twitter & fall
Through the diamond paned window to dance on the wall
The pictures seem smiling its glitter to court
& up jumps the kitten to join in the sport
Aye well may you say you are glad weve got home
For sweeter it seemeth the farther we roam
So now we'll sit down & enjoy at our ease
The rest leisure gives us & do as we please
Take your toys or read lessons & chatter between
Of the walk we have had & the things we have seen
& while you are pleasing or resting yourselves
I'll reach down a poet I love from the shelves
My Thompson or Cowper like flowers in their prime
That set not in closets to study & ryhme
But roamed out of doors for their verses that yield
A freshness like that which we left in the field
That sing both at once to the ear & the eye
& breath of the air & the grass & the sky
A music so sweet while we're hid from the rain
That we even seem taking our rambles again

MARY LEE

THE COTTAGER

True as the church clock hand the hour pursues
He plods about his toils & reads the news
& at the blacksmiths shop his hour will stand
To talk of “Lunun” as a foreign land
For from his cottage door in peace or strife
He neer went fifty miles in all his life
His knowledge with old notions still combined
Is twenty years behind the march of mind
He views new knowledge with suspicious eyes
& thinks it blasphemy to be so wise
Oer steams almighty tales he wondering looks
As witchcraft gleaned from old blackletter books
Life gave him comfort but denied him wealth
He toils in quiet & enjoys his health
He smokes a pipe at night & drinks his beer
& runs no scores on tavern screens to clear
He goes to market all the year about
& keeps one hour & never stays it out
Een at St Thomas tide old Rovers bark
Hails dapples trot an hour before its dark
He is a simple worded plain old man
Whose good intents take errors in their plan
Oft sentimental & with saddend vein
He looks on trifles & bemoans their pain
& thinks the angler mad & loudly storms
With emphasis of speech oer murdered worms
& hunters cruel—pleading with sad care
Pitys petition for the fox & hare
Yet feels self satisfaction in his woes
For wars crushed myriads of his slaughterd foes
He is right scrupelous in one pretext
& wholesale errors swallows in the next
He deems it sin to sing yet not to say
A song a mighty difference in his way
& many a moving tale in antique ryhmes
He has for christmass & such merry times
When Chevy chase his masterpiece of song
Is said so earnest none can think it long
Twas the old Vicars way who should be right
For the late Vicar was his hearts delight
& while at church he often shakes his head
To think what sermons the old vicar made
Downright orthodox that all the land
Who had their ears to hear might understand
But now such mighty learning meets his ears
He thinks it greek or latin which he hears
Yet church recieves him every sabbath day
& rain or snow he never keeps away
All words of reverence still his heart reveres
Low bows his head when Jesus meets his ears
& still he thinks it blasphemy as well
Such names without a capital to spell
In an old corner cupboard by the wall
His books are laid—though good in number small
His bible first in place—from worth & age
Whose grandsires name adorns the title page
& blank leaves once now filled with kindred claims
Display a worlds epitome of names
Parents & childern & grandchildern all
Memorys affections in the lists recall
& Prayer book next much worn though strongly bound
Proves him a churchman orthodox & sound
The “Pilgrims Progress” too & “Death of Abel”
Are seldom missing from his reading table
& prime old Tusser in his homely trim
The first of bards in all the world with him
& only poet which his leisure knows
—Verse deals in fancy so he sticks to prose
These are the books he reads & reads again
& weekly hunts the almanacks for rain
Here & no further learnings channels ran
Still neighbours prize him as the learned man
His cottage is a humble place of rest
With one spare room to welcome every guest
& that tall poplar pointing to the sky
His own hand planted when an idle boy
It shades his chimney while the singing wind
Hums songs of shelter to his happy mind
Within his cot the “largest ears of corn”
He ever found his picture frames adorn
Brave Granbys head De Grasses grand defeat
He rubs his hands & tells how Rodney beat
& from the rafters upon strings depend
Beanstalks beset with pods from end to end
Whose numbers without counting may be seen
Wrote on the Almanack behind the screen
Around the corner upon worsted strung
Pootys in wreaths above the cupboards hung
Memory at trifling incidents awakes
& there he keeps them for his childerns sakes
Who when as boys searched every sedgey lane
Traced every wood & shattered cloaths again
Roaming about on raptures easy wing
To hunt those very pooty shells in spring
& thus he lives too happy to be poor
While strife neer pauses at so mean a door
Low in the sheltered valley stands his cot
He hears the mountain storm—& feels it not
Winter & spring toil ceasing ere tis dark
Rests with the lamb & rises with the lark
Content is helpmate to the days employ
& care neer comes to steal a single joy
Time scarcely noticed turns his hair to grey
Yet leaves him happy as a child at play

NATURES MELODYS

THE MUSIC OF THE STORM

THE CALM

THE SUMMER SHOWER

TO CONTENT

LOVE & MEMORY

THE FALLEN ELM

Old elm that murmured in our chimney top
The sweetest anthem autumn ever made
& into mellow whispering calms would drop
When showers fell on thy many coloured shade
& when dark tempests mimic thunder made
While darkness came as it would strangle light
With the black tempest of a winter night
That rocked thee like a cradle to thy root
How did I love to hear the winds upbraid
Thy strength without—while all within was mute
It seasoned comfort to our hearts desire
We felt thy kind protection like a friend
& edged our chairs up closer to the fire
Enjoying comforts that was never penned
Old favourite tree thoust seen times changes lower
Though change till now did never injure thee
For time beheld thee as her sacred dower
& nature claimed thee her domestic tree
Storms came & shook thee many a weary hour
Yet stedfast to thy home thy roots hath been
Summers of thirst parched round thy homely bower
Till earth grew iron—still thy leaves was green
The childern sought thee in thy summer shade
& made their play house rings of sticks & stone
The mavis sang & felt himself alone
While in thy leaves his early nest was made
& I did feel his happiness mine own
Nought heeding that our friendship was betrayed
Friend not inanimate—though stocks & stones
There are & many formed of flesh & bones
Thou owned a language by which hearts are stirred
Deeper then by a feeling cloathed in words
& speakest now whats known of every tongue
Language of pity & the force of wrong
What cant assumes what hypocrites will dare
Speaks home to truth & shows it what they are
I see a picture which thy fate displays
& learn a lesson from thy destiny
Self interest saw thee stand in freedoms ways
So thy old shadow must a tyrant be
Thoust heard the knave abusing those in power
Bawl freedom loud & then opress the free
Thoust sheltered hypocrites in many a shower
That when in power would never shelter thee
Thoust heard the knave supply his canting powers
With wrongs illusions when he wanted friends
That bawled for shelter when he lived in showers
& when clouds vanished made thy shade amends
With axe at root he felled thee to the ground
& barked of freedom—O I hate the sound
Time hears its visions speak & age sublime
Had made thee a deciple unto time
—It grows the cant term of enslaving tools
To wrong another by the name of right
It grows the liscence of oerbearing fools
To cheat plain honesty by force of might
Thus came enclosure—ruin was its guide
But freedoms clapping hands enjoyed the sight
Though comforts cottage soon was thrust aside
& workhouse prisons raised upon the scite
Een natures dwellings far away from men
The common heath became the spoilers prey
The rabbit had not where to make his den
& labours only cow was drove away
No matter—wrong was right & right was wrong
& freedoms bawl was sanction to the song
—Such was thy ruin music making elm
The rights of freedom was to injure thine
As thou wert served so would they overwhelm
In freedoms name the little that is mine
& there are knaves that brawl for better laws
& cant of tyranny in stronger powers
Who glut their vile unsatiated maws
& freedoms birthright from the weak devours

THE OLD SHEPHERD

NAPOLEON

The heroes of the present & the past
Were puny vague & nothingness to thee
Thou grasped a span almighty to the last
& strained for glory when thy die was cast
That little island on the mighty sea
Was but a dust spot in a lake thy mind
Swept space as shoreless as eternity
Thy jiant powers outstript this gaudy age
Of heroes & as looking at the sun
Gazing upon thy greatness made them blind
To merits that had adoration won
In olden times—for leaving kings behind
The world was but a comma on thy page
Of victorys—& fame a crowded mind
That found no room such greatness to presage
Thy prophets now are a superior kind
To friends or enemies—for natures eye
Sweeps over space great shadows to reclaim
& time—thy fate thy monument & fame
Links thee with names that cannot fade or die

SPORT IN THE MEADOWS

Maytime is to the meadows coming in
& cowslap peeps have gotten eer so big
& water blobs & all their golden kin
Crowd round the shallows by the striding brig
Daisys & buttercups & lady smocks
Are all abouten shining here & there
Nodding about their gold & yellow locks
Like morts of folken flocking at a fair
The sheep & cows are crowding for a share
& snatch the blossoms in such eager haste
That basket bearing childern running there
Do think within their hearts theyll get them all
& hoot & drive them from their gracless waste
As though there wa'n't a cowslap peep to spare
—For they want some for tea & some for wine
& some to maken up a cuckaball
To throw accross the garlands silken line
That reaches oer the street from wall to wall
—Good gracious me how merrily they fare
One sees a fairer cowslap then the rest
& off they shout—the foremost bidding fair
To get the prize—& earnest half & jest
The next one pops her down—& from her hand
Her basket falls & out her cowslaps all
Tumble & litter there—the merry band
In laughing friendship round about her fall
To helpen gather up the littered flowers
That she no loss may mourn—& now the wind
In frolic mood among the merry hours
Wakens with sudden start & tosses off
Some untied bonnet on its dancing wings
Away they follow with a scream & laugh
& aye the youngest ever lags behind
Till on the deep lakes very brink it hings
They shout & catch it & then off they start
To chase for cowslaps merry as before
& each one seems so anxious at the heart
As they would even get them all & more
One climbs a molehill for a bunch of may
One stands on tiptoe for a linnets nest
& pricks her hand & throws her flowers away
& runs for plantin leaves to have it drest
So do they run abouten all the day
& teaze the grass hid larks from getting rest
—Scarce give they time in their unruly haste
To tie a shoestring that the grass unties
& thus they run the meadows bloom to waste
Till even comes & dulls their phantasys
When one finds losses out to stifle smiles
Of silken bonnet strings—& uthers sigh
Oer garments renten clambering over stiles
Yet in the morning fresh afield they hie
Bidding the last days troubles all good bye
When red pied cow again their coming hears
& ere they clap the gate she tosses up
Her head & hastens from the sport she fears
The old yoe calls her lamb nor cares to stoop
To crop a cowslap in their company
Thus merrily the little noisey troop
Along the grass as rude marauders hie
For ever noisey & forever gay
While keeping in the meadows holiday

WILD BEES

These childern of the sun which summer brings
As pastoral minstrels in her merry train
Pipe rustic ballads upon busy wings
& glad the cotters quiet toils again
The white nosed bee that bores its little hole
In mortared walls & pipes its symphonies
& never absent couzin black as cole
That indian like bepaints its little thighs
With white & red bedight for holiday
Right earlily a morn do pipe & play
& with their legs stroke slumber from their eyes
& aye so fond they of their singing seem
That in their holes a bed at close of day
They still keep piping in their honey dreams
& larger ones that thrum on ruder pipe
Round the sweet smelling closen & rich woods
Where tawney white & red flushed clover buds
Shine bonnily & beanfields blossom ripe
Shed dainty perfumes & give honey food
To these sweet poets of the summer field
Me much delighting as I stroll along
The narrow path that hay laid meadow yields
Catching the windings of their wandering song
The black & yellow bumble first on wing
To buzz among the sallows early flowers
Hiding its nest in holes from fickle spring
Who stints his rambles with her frequent showers
& one that may for wiser piper pass
In livery dress half sables & half red
Who laps a moss ball in the meadow grass
& hurds her stores when april showers have fled
& russet commoner who knows the face
Of every blossom that the meadows brings
Starting the traveller to a quicker pace
By threatening round his head in many rings
These sweeten summer in their happy glee
By giving for her honey melodie

THE NIGHTINGALES NEST

VASCO NUNEZ ON HIS ENEMIES

AFTER READING WASHINGTON IRVINGS LIVES OF THE EARLY NAVIGATORS

A cloud is cast about me & the spell
Of evil tongues gloom round me like a hell
& shall their falshoods triumph & shall I
See fames sun wither in its summer sky
If so so be it—the eternal doom
of wrath & vengance on my side shall come
& for the truths compared to lies though few
Fate give them credit—hell should have its due
& for their lies in numberless array
That eat the heart hopes of my fame away
Time curse them with the curses of thy powers
Till pains eternitys grow out of hours
& hell itself in anguish so untried
Cries out time spare them—hell is satisfied
Yet spare their memories like a thunder sky
Wrap them in living flames & never let them die

INSECTS

Thou tiney loiterer on the barleys beard
& happy unit of a numerous herd
Of playfellows the laughing summer brings
Mocking the sunshine in their glittering wings
How merrily they creep & run & flye
No kin they bear to labours drudgery
Smoothing the velvet of the pale hedge rose
& where they flye for dinner no one knows
The dewdrops feed them not—they love the shine
Of noon whose sun may bring them golden wine
All day theyre playing in their sunday dress
Till night goes sleep & they can do no less
Then in the heath bells silken hood they flie
& like to princes in their slumber lie
From coming night & dropping dews & all
In silken beds & roomy painted hall
So happily they spend their summer day
Now in the cornfields now the new mown hay
One almost fancys that such happy things
In coloured hoods & richly burnished wings
Are fairy folk in splendid masquerade
Disguised through fear of mortal folk affraid
Keeping their merry pranks a mystery still
Lest glaring day should do their secrets ill

OLD FEELINGS

It did delight me—& delights me still
To make a summer seat upon a hill
Shielded from sun & wind by little bush
To list the song & not to start the thrush
Then rested down a pleasant path to roam
Through fields where peace is never found from home
& woods where woodbines dangle in the boughs
Daring the boys to reach them tending cows
Who often aided by a treacherous stile
Climb & destroy them in their idle toil
Dragging them down & spoiling hedgrow bowers
Singing more loud when they possess the flowers
& roads where clover bottles swarm full blown
Both red & white as thick as they were sown
Round which the bees go buzzing with delight
Following rich joy thats never out of sight
Then mark a clump of sheep & bye & bye
A brindled cow among the rushes lie
Now fresh ploughed lands seen through the gappy lane
Where peeps the spire that beckons home again
While oer the wooden brig that sturts supprise
A footstep hastens & a morehen flies
& then a tripping maiden skips the stiles
Who speaks in blushes & represses smiles
So sweet—one turns half round to look agen
To see if she be handsome fair or plain
& if she be a woman in her mind
She must be fair—& though a savage kind
& thus we turn to praise—who questions why
Ask thine own heart when beauty passes bye

BUSHY CLOSE

There is a thicket of familiar face
A little thicket green on summers morn
Soon as the largest—tis a quiet place
Thick set with foulroyce privet & blackthorn
So thickly set that birdboys cannot trace
Its mysterys or climb its little trees
Unless they creep upon their hands & knees
As I have crept full many hours away
To hunt for nests & wood flowers—for in these
My boyish heart was living—woods & vales
Made up my being—all the live long May
When leisure left me did I list the tales
Of shepherds & go nesting far away
& in this little spot the nightingales
Did sing so many all the night & day
I thought that all did to this thicket come
& on through mossy roots so eager on
I crept—the fox rushed up & left his lair
The first time danger seemed so near his home
But as for nightingales there seemed not one
All stopt their song as if no bird was there
& when I left my teazing search as vain
They teazed me with their singing all again
& for the sake of feelings witnessed then
I often in the summer morning fare
To see that little “bushy close” agen
& walk its little riding full of sloughs
& elting footmarks of the pastoral cows
Who through the hedges broken gaps intrude
& in the woodlands browze in happy mood
Seeming as they themselves loved melody
& the sweet woodland shadows well as me
So in these spots that memory makes divine
I dream of happiness & call it mine

THE MOORHENS NEST

O poesys power thou overpowering sweet
That renders hearts that love thee all unmeet
For this rude world its trouble & its care
Loading the heart with joys it cannot bear
That warms & chills & burns & bursts at last
Oer broken hopes & troubles never past
I pay thee worship at a rustic shrine
& dream oer joys I still imagine mine
I pick up flowers & pebbles & by thee
As gems & jewels they appear to me
I pick out pictures round the fields that lie
In my minds heart like things that cannot die
Like picking hopes & making friends with all
Yet glass will often bear a harder fall
As bursting bottles loose the precious wine
Hopes casket breaks & I the gems resign
Pain shadows on till feelings self decays
& all such pleasures leave me is their praise
& thus each fairy vision melts away
Like evening landscapes from the face of day
Till hope returns with aprils dewy reign
& then I start & seek for joys again
& pick her fragments up to hurd anew
Like fancy-riches pleasure loves to view
& these associations of the past
Like summer pictures in a winter blast
Renews my heart to feelings as the rain
Falls on the earth & bids it thrive again
Then een the fallow fields appear so fair
The very weeds make sweetest gardens there
& summer there puts garments on so gay
I hate the plough that comes to dissaray
Her holiday delights—& labours toil
Seems vulgar curses on the sunny soil
& man the only object that distrains
Earths garden into deserts for his gains
Leave him his schemes of gain—tis wealth to me
Wild heaths to trace—& note their broken tree
Which lightening shivered—& which nature tries
To keep alive for poesy to prize
Upon whose mossy roots my leisure sits
To hear the birds pipe oer their amorous fits
Though less beloved for singing then the taste
They have to choose such homes upon the waste
Rich architects—& then the spots to see
How picturesque their dwellings make them be
The wild romances of the poets mind
No sweeter pictures for their tales can find
& so I glad my heart & rove along
Now finding nests—then listening to a song
Then drinking fragrance whose perfuming cheats
Tinges lifes sours & bitters into sweets
That heart stirred fragrance when the summers rain
Lays the road dust & sprouts the grass again
Filling the cracks up on the beaten paths
& breathing insence from the mowers swaths
Insence the bards & prophets of old days
Met in the wilderness to glad their praise
& in these summer walks I seem to feel
These bible pictures in their essence steal
Around me—& the ancientness of joy
Breath from the woods till pleasures even cloy
Yet holy breathing manna seemly falls
With angel answers if a trouble calls
& then I walk & swing my stick for joy
& catch at little pictures passing bye
A gate whose posts are two old dotterel trees
A close with molehills sprinkled oer its leas
A little footbrig with its crossing rail
A wood gap stopt with ivy wreathing pale
A crooked stile each path crossed spinny owns
A brooklet forded by its stepping stones
A wood bank mined with rabbit holes—& then
An old oak leaning oer a badgers den
Whose cave mouth enters neath the twisted charms
Of its old roots & keeps it safe from harms
Pickaxes spades & all its strength confounds
When hunted foxes hide from chasing hounds
—Then comes the meadows where I love to see
A floodwashed bank support an aged tree
Whose roots are bare—yet some with foothold good
Crankle & spread & strike beneath the flood
Yet still its leans as safer hold to win
On tother side & seems as tumbling in
While every summer finds it green & gay
& winter leaves it safe as did the may
Nor does the morehen find its safety vain
For on its roots their last years homes remain
& once again a couple from the brood
Seek their old birth place & in safetys mood
Lodge there their flags & lay—though danger comes
It dares & tries & cannot reach their homes
& so they hatch their eggs & sweetly dream
On their shelfed nests that bridge the gulphy stream
& soon the sutty brood from fear elopes
Where bulrush forrests give them sweeter hopes
Their hanging nest that aids their wishes well
Each leaves for water as it leaves the shell
& dive & dare & every gambol trie
Till they themselves to other scenes can fly

PEWITS NEST

Accross the fallow clods at early morn
I took a random track where scant & spare
The grass & nibbled leaves all closely shorn
Leaves a burnt flat all bleaching brown & bare
Where hungry sheep in freedom range forlorn
& neath the leaning willow & odd thorn
& molehill large that vagrant shade supplies
They batter round to shun the teazing flies
Trampling smooth places hard as cottage floors
Where the time-killing lonly shepherd boys
Whose summer homes are ever out of doors
Their chockholes form & chalk their marble ring
& make their clay taws at the bubbling spring
& in their rangling sport & gambling joys
They straine their clocklike shadows—when it cloys
To guess the hour that slowly runs away
& shorten sultry turmoil with their play
Here did I roam while veering overhead
The Pewet whirred in many whewing rings
& “chewsit” screamed & clapped her flapping wings
To hunt her nest my rambling steps was led
Oer the broad baulk beset with little hills
By moles long formed & pismires tennanted
As likely spots—but still I searched in vain
When all at once the noisey birds were still
& on the lands a furrowed ridge between
Chance found four eggs of dingy dirty green
Deep blotched with plashy spots of jockolate stain
Their small ends inward turned as ever found
As though some curious hand had laid them round
Yet lying on the ground with nought at all
Of soft grass withered twitch & bleached weed
To keep them from the rain storms frequent fall
& here she broods on her unsavory bed
When bye & bye with little care & heed
Her young with each a shell upon its head
Run after their wild parents restless cry
& from their own fears tiney shadows run
Neath clods & stones to cringe & snugly lie
Hid from all sight but the all seeing sun
Till never ceasing danger seemeth bye

THE YELLOW WAGTAILS NEST

Upon an edding in a quiet nook
We double down choice places in a book
& this I noted as a pleasant scene
Hemmed in all round with barleys juicey green
While in its clover grass at holiday
A broken plough as leisures partner lay
A pleasant bench among the grass & flowers
For merry weeders in their dinner hours
From fallow fields released & hot turmoil
It nestled like a thought forgot by toil
& seemed so picturesque a place for rest
I een dropt down to be a minutes guest
& as I bent me for a flower to stoop
A little bird cheeped loud & fluttered up
The grasses tottered with their husky seeds
That ramped beside the plough with ranker weeds
I looked—& there a snug nest deep & dry
Of roots & twitches entertained my eye
& six eggs sprinkled oer with spots of grey
Lay snug as comforts wishes ever lay
The yellow wagtail fixed its dwelling there
Sheltered from rainfalls by the shelving share
That leaned above it like a sheltering roof
From rain & wind & tempest comfort proof
Such safety-places little birds will find
Far from the cares & help of human kind
For nature is their kind protector still
To chuse their dwellings furthest off from ill
So thought I—sitting on that broken plough
While evenings sunshine gleamed upon my brow
So soft so sweet—& I so happy then
Felt life still eden from the haunts of men
& in the brook-pond waters spread below
Where misty willows wavered too & fro
The setting sun shed such a golden hue
I almost felt the poets fables true
& fashioned in my minds creating eye
Dryads & nymphs like beautys dreams go bye
From the rich arbours of the distant wood
To taste the spring & try its golden flood
Thus pleasures to the fancy often shine
Truest when false when fables most divine
& though each sweet consception soon decays
We feel such pleasures after many days

TO **** ON NEWYEARS DAY

ON SEEING A BEAUTIFUL STATUE

THE FLITTING

THE SUMMER GONE

THE PROGRESS OF RYHME

THE ENTHUSIAST

A DAY DREAM IN SUMMER

Wearied with his lonely walk
Hermit like with none to talk
& cloyed with often seen delight
His spirits sickened at the sight
Of lifes realitys & things
That spread around his wanderings
Of wood & heath in brambles clad
That seemed like him in silence sad
The lone enthusiast weary worn
Sought shelter from the heats of morn
& in a cool nook by the stream
Beside the bridge wall dreamed a dream
& instant from his half closed eye
Reality seemed fading bye
Dull fields & woods that round him lay
Like curtains to his dreaming play
All slided by & on his sight
New scenes appeared in fairy light
The skys lit up a fairer sun
The birds a cheery song begun
& flowers bloomed fair & wildly round
As ever grew on dreaming ground
& mid the sweet enchanting view
Created every minute new
He swooned at once from care & strife
Into the poesy of life
A stranger to the thoughts of men
He felt his boyish limbs again
Revelling in all the glee
Of lifes first fairy infancy
Chasing by the rippling spring
Dragon flyes of purple wing
Or setting mushroom-tops afloat
Mimmicing the sailing boat
Or vainly trying by supprise
To catch the settling butterflyes
& oft with rapture driving on
Where many partner boys had gone
Wading through the rustling wheat
Red & purple flowers to meet
To weave & trim a wild cockade
& play the soldiers gay parade
Then searched the ivy haunted dell
To seek the pootys painted shell
& scaled the trees with burning breast
Mid scolding crows to rob their nest
Heart bursting with unshackled joys
The only heritage of boys
That from the haunts of manhood flye
Like song birds from a winter sky
& now tore through the clinging thorns
Seeking kecks for bugle horns
Thus with the schoolboys heart again
He chased & halooed oer the plain
Till the old church clock counted one
& told us freedoms hour was gone
In its dull humming drowsy way
It called us from our sports & play
How different did the sound appear
To that which brought the evening near
That lovely humming happy strain
That brought them liberty again
—The desk the books were all the same
Marked with each well known little name
& many a cover blotched & blurred
With shapless forms of beast & bird
& the old master white with years
Sat there to waken boyish fears
While the tough scepter of his sway
That awed to silence all the day
The peeled wand acting to his will
Hung oer the smoak stained chimney still
—The church yard still its trees possest
& jackdaws sought their ancient nest
In whose old trunks they did acquire
Homes safe as in the mossy spire
The school they shadowed as before
With its white dial oer the door
& bees hummed round in summers pride
In its time-crevised walls to hide
The gravestones childhood eager reads
Peeped oer the rudely clambering weeds
Where cherubs gilt [that] represent
The slumbers of the innoscent
Smiled glittering to the slanting sun
As if deaths peace with heaven was won
All all was blest & peace & plays
Brought back the enthusiasts fairy days
& leaving childhood unpercieved
Scenes sweeter still his dream relieved
Lifes calmest spot that lingers green
Manhood & infancy between
When youths warm feelings have their birth
Creating angels upon earth
& fancying woman born for joy
With nought to wither & destroy
That picture of past youths delight
Was swimming now before his sight
& loves soft thrills of pleasant pain
Was whispering its deciets again
& Mary pride of pleasures gone
Was at his side to lead him on
& on they went through field & lane
Haunts of their loves to trace again
Clung to his arm she skipt along
With the same music on her tongue
The self-same voice as soft & dear
As that which met his youthful ear
The sunny look the witching grace
Still blushed upon her angel face
As though one moments harmless stay
Had never stole a charm away
That self-same bloom & in her eye
That blue of thirteen summers bye
She took his hand to climb the stiles
& looked as wont her winning smiles
& as he met her looks divine
More tender did their blushes shine
Her small hand pressed within his own
Thrilled pleasures life hath never known
His heart beat as it once had done
& felt as love had just begun
As they'd neer told their minds before
Or parted long to meet no more
The pleasant spots where they had met
All shone as nought had faded yet
The sun was setting oer the hill
The thorn bush it was blooming still
As it was blooming on the day
When last he reached her boughs of may
& pleased he clumb the thorny grain
To crop its firstling buds again
& claimed in eager extacys
Loves favours as he reached the prize
Marking her hearts uneasy rest
The while he placed them on her breast
& felt warm loves oerbounding thrill
That it could beat so tender still
& all her artless winning ways
Where with her as of other days
Her fears such fondness to reveal
Her wishes struggling to consceal
Her cheeks loves same warm blushes burned
& smiled when he its warmth returned
O he did feel as he had done
When Marys bosom first was won
& gazed upon her eyes of blue
& blest her tenderly & true
As she sat by his side to rest
Feeling as then that he was blest
The talk the whisper met his ears
The same sweet tales of other years
That as they sat or mused along
Melted like music from her tongue
Objects of summer all the same
Where nigh her gentle praise to claim
The lark was rising from his nest
To sing the setting sun to rest
& her fair hand was oer her eyes
To see her favourite in the skies
& oft his look was turned to see
If love still felt that melody
& blooming flowers were at her feet
Her bending lovely looks to meet
The blooms of spring & summer days
Lingering as to wait her praise
& though she showed him weeds the while
He praised & loved them for a smile
The cuckoo sung in soft delight
Its ditty to departing light
& murmuring childern far away
Mockt the music in their play
& in the ivied tree the dove
Breathed its soothing song to love
& as her praise she did renew
He smiled and hoped her heart as true
She blushed away in maiden pride
Then nestled closer to his side
He loved to watch her wistful look
Following white moths down the brook
& thrilled to mark her beaming eyes
Brightening in pleasure & supprise
To meet the wild mysterious things
That evenings soothing presence brings
& stepping [on] with gentle feet
She strove to shun the larks retreat
& as he near the bushes prest
& scared the linnet from its nest
Fond chidings from her bosom fell
Then blessed the bird & wished it well
His heart was into rapture stirred
His very soul was with the bird
He felt that blessing by her side
As only to himself applied
Tis womans love makes earth divine
& life its rudest cares resign
& in his raptures gushing whim
He told her it was meant for him
She neer denied but looked the will
To own as though she blest him still
Yet he had fearful thoughts in view
Joy seemed too happy to be true
He doubted if twas Mary bye
Yet could not feel the reason why
He loitered by her as in pain
& longed to hear her voice again
& called her by her witching name
She answered—twas the very same
& looked as if she knew his fears
Smiling to cheer him through her tears
& whispering in a tender sigh
“Tis youth & Mary standing bye”
His heart revived yet in its mirth
Felt fears that they were not of earth
That all were shadows of the mind
Picturing the joys it wished to find
Yet he did feel as like a child
& sighed in fondness till she smiled
Vowing they neer would part no more
& act so foolish as before
She nestled closer by his side
& vowed “we never will” & sighed
He grasped her hand it seemed to thrill
& whispered “no we never will”
& thought in raptures mad extream
To hold her though it proved a dream
& instant as that thought begun
Her presence seemed his love to shun
& deaf to all he had to say
Quick turned her [tender] face away
When her small waist he strove to clasp
She shrunk like water from his grasp
He woke—all lonely as before
He sat beside the rilling streams
& felt that aching joy once more
Akin to thought & pleasant dreams

THE YELLOWHAMMERS NEST

Just by the wooden brig a bird flew up
Frit by the cowboy as he scrambled down
To reach the misty dewberry—let us stoop
& seek its nest—the brook we need not dread
Tis scarcely deep enough a bee to drown
So it sings harmless oer its pebbly bed
—Aye here it is stuck close beside the bank
Beneath the bunch of grass that spindles rank
Its husk seeds tall & high—tis rudely planned
Of bleached stubbles & the withered fare
That last years harvest left upon the land
Lined thinly with the horses sable hair
—Five eggs pen-scribbled over lilac shells
Resembling writing scrawls which fancy reads
As natures poesy & pastoral spells
They are the yellowhammers & she dwells
A poet-like—where brooks & flowery weeds
As sweet as Castaly to fancy seems
& that old molehill like as parnass hill
On which her partner haply sits & dreams
Oer all his joy of song—so leave it still
A happy home of sunshine flowers & streams
Yet in the sweetest places cometh ill
A noisome weed that burthens every soil
For snakes are known with chill & deadly coil
To watch such nests & seize the helpless young
& like as though the plague became a guest
Leaving a housless home a ruined nest
& mournful hath the little warblers sung
When such like woes hath rent its little breast

THE PETTICHAPS NEST

Well in my many walks I rarely found
A place less likely for a bird to form
Its nest close by the rut gulled waggon road
& on the almost bare foot-trodden ground
With scarce a clump of grass to keep it warm
& not a thistle spreads its spears abroad
Or prickly bush to shield it from harms way
& yet so snugly made that none may spy
It out save accident—& you & I
Had surely passed it on our walk to day
Had chance not led us by it—nay e'en now
Had not the old bird heard us trampling bye
& fluttered out—we had not seen it lie
Brown as the roadway side—small bits of hay
Pluckt from the old propt-haystacks pleachy brow
& withered leaves make up its outward walls
That from the snub-oak dotterel yearly falls
& in the old hedge bottom rot away
Built like a oven with a little hole
Hard to discover—that snug entrance wins
Scarcely admitting e'en two fingers in
& lined with feathers warm as silken stole
& soft as seats of down for painless ease
& full of eggs scarce bigger e'en then peas
Heres one most delicate with spots as small
As dust—& of a faint & pinky red
—We'll let them be & safety guard them well
For fears rude paths around are thickly spread
& they are left to many dangers ways
When green grass hoppers jump might break the shells
While lowing oxen pass them morn & night
& restless sheep around them hourly stray
& no grass springs but hungry horses bite
That trample past them twenty times a day
Yet like a miracle in safetys lap
They still abide unhurt & out of sight
—Stop heres the bird that woodman at the gap
Hath put it from the hedge—tis olive green
Well I declare it is the pettichaps
Not bigger than the wren & seldom seen
Ive often found their nests in chances way
When I in pathless woods did idly roam
But never did I dream untill to day
A spot like this would be her chosen home

THE WILD BULL

Upon the common in a motely plight
Horses & cows claim equal common right
Who in their freedom learn mischiveous ways
& driveth boys who thither nesting strays
& schoolboys leave their path in vain to find
A nest—when quickly on the threatening wind
The noisey bull lets terror out of doors
To chase intruders from the cowslap moores
& though a thousand blooms where he runs on
He dare not in his terror stoop for one
& when they see the urchins run away
Will toss the ground like savages at play
The schoolboy runs & whines & pants for breath
Like fear heart bursting from the chase of death
& though the hedge he tears for safetys lap
While the bull roars on t'other side the gap
He sees a nest but dare not stop to see
If eggs or birds within the dwelling be
—E'en skewish poneys show their teeth & kick
If leisure stirs a hand or bears a stick
& at the pointed fingure scream & run
Till mischiefs self the danger's forced to shun
& birds are all that whistle where they come
The[y] bite the bush but never hurt their home
& if a larks nest happens where they stray
They'll snuff't—& sturt—& turn another way
So birds are all that make such neighbours friends
& for such faith snug safety makes amends
There on a dotterel oak from year to year
The magpie builds her dwelling void of fear
Which danger guards around—& daring boys
Are seldom found to mar her quiet joys
For though tis easy clomb & far from high
Here many a year she trains her broods to flye
& there upon the awthorn easy seen
The linnet builds in plumage half as green
Yet safe she lives as in a pathless wood
& lays her eggs & rears her little brood
Till from the nest they flye—at ease reclined
On some projecting branches while the wind
Fans by the feathers of each downy breast
As soft as slumbers whispers into rest
While the hoarse bull lord of the pasture reigns
& lives like terror on the rushy plains
& there as soon as pleasure seeking boys
Hear the hoarse noise they startle from their joys
Drop down the rushes which they pulled to tie
The cowslip bunsh & leave the nest to flye
For safer scenes where they at peace can find
Their nests & flowers & leave their fears behind
Reading made easy such life pictures own
That still delight from pleasures they have known
I read such little books at leisures will
& joy though broken feels the picture still
I still look oer the cuts of boys at play
Among old hugh tree trunks or meadow hay
& read me of bird nesters bursting full
Of terror running from a roaring bull
& feel delight as boys with joy can be
To see him safety-pictured on a tree
Upon whose top he hides—while at its foot
The bulls bent head tears at each stubborn root
& then to read the reading just to see
How safety led the climber from the tree
& how the bull rage-weary went away
& left his prisoner pining after play
Who crept from grain to grain—& ventured down
& ran like lightening to the very town
& told on corner stool his dangers oer
& heard his parents cautions—never more
To hurt young birds or venture in the way
Of firey bulls but stay at home to play
& in my stolen walks on after years
The wild bulls dangers murmured in my ears
& now I feel by safetys side a joy
From memorys fears—delightful as a boy

THE SKY LARK

The rolls & harrows lie at rest beside
The battered road & spreading far & wide
Above the russet clods the corn is seen
Sprouting its spirey points of tender green
Where squats the hare to terrors wide awake
Like some brown clod the harrows failed to break
While neath the warm hedge boys stray far from home
To crop the early blossoms as they come
Where buttercups will make them eager run
Opening their golden caskets to the sun
To see who shall be first to pluck the prize
& from their hurry up the skylark flies
& oer her half formed nest with happy wings
Winnows the air—till in the clouds she sings
Then hangs a dust spot in the sunny skies
& drops & drops till in her nest she lies
Where boys unheeding past—neer dreaming then
That birds which flew so high—would drop agen
To nests upon the ground where any thing
May come at to destroy had they the wing
Like such a bird themselves would be too proud
& build on nothing but a passing cloud
As free from danger as the heavens are free
From pain & toil—there would they build & be
& sail about the world to scenes unheard
Of & unseen—O where they but a bird
So think they while they listen to its song
& smile & fancy & so pass along
While its low nest moist with the dews of morn
Lye safely with the leveret in the corn

THE EVENING STAR

THE ETERNITY OF NATURE

Leaves from eternity are simple things
To the worlds gaze whereto a spirit clings
Sublime & lasting—trampled underfoot
The daisy lives & strikes its little root
Into the lap of time—centurys may come
& pass away into the silent tomb
& still the child hid in the womb of time
Shall smile & pluck them when this simple rhyme
Shall be forgotten like a churchyard stone
Or lingering lie unnoticed & alone
When eighteen hundred years our common date
Grows many thousands in their marching state
Aye still the child with pleasure in his eye
Shall cry the daisy a familiar cry
& run to pluck it—in the self same state
As when time found it in his infant date
& like a child himself when all was new
Wonder might smile & make him notice too
—Its little golden bosom frilled with snow
Might win een eve to stoop adown & show
Her partner Adam in the silky grass
This little gem that smiled where pleasure was
& loving eve from eden followed ill
& bloomed with sorrow & lives smiling still
As once in eden under heavens breath
So now on blighted earth & on the lap of death
It smiles for ever—Cowslaps golden blooms
That in the closen & the meadow comes
Shall come when kings & empires fade & die
& in the meadows as times partners lie
As fresh two thousand years to come as now
With those five crimson spots upon its brow
& little brooks that hum a simple lay
In green unnoticed spots from praise away
Shall sing—when poets in times darkness hid
Shall lie like memory in a pyramid
Forgetting yet not all forgot though lost
Like a threads end in ravelled windings crost
& the small humble bee shall hum as long
As nightingales for time protects the song
& nature is their soul to whom all clings
Of fair or beautiful in lasting things
The little robin in the quiet glen
Hidden from fame & all the sons of men
Sings unto time a pastoral & gives
A music that lives on & ever lives
Both spring & autumn years rich bloom & fade
Longer then songs that poets ever made
& think ye these times play things pass proud skill
Time loves them like a child & ever will
& so I worship them in bushy spots
& sing with them when all else notice not
& feel the music of their mirth agree
With that sooth quiet that bestirreth me
& if I touch aright that quiet tone
That soothing truth that shadows from their own
Then many a year shall grow in after days
& still find hearts to love my quiet lays
Yet cheering mirth with thoughts sung not for fame
But for the joy that with their utterance came
That inward breath of rapture urged not loud
—Birds singing lone flye silent past a crowd
—So in these pastoral spots which childish time
Makes dear to me I wander out & ryhme
What time the dewy mornings infancy
Hangs on each blade of grass & every tree
& sprents the red thighs of the bumble bee
Who 'gins by times unwearied minstrelsy
Who breakfasts dines & most divinely sups
With every flower save golden buttercups
On their proud bosoms he will never go
But passes bye with scarcely “how do ye do”
So in their showy gaudy shining cells
May be the summers honey never dwells
—Her ways are mysterys all yet endless youth
Lives in them all unchangable as truth
With the odd number five strange natures laws
Plays many freaks nor once mistakes the cause
& in the cowslap peeps this very day
Five spots appear which time neer wears away
Nor once mistakes the counting—look within
Each peep & five nor more nor less is seen
& trailing bindweed with its pinky cup
Five lines of paler hue goes streaking up
& birds a many keep the rule alive
& lay five eggs nor more nor less then five
& flowers how many own that mystic power
With five leaves ever making up the flower
The five leaved grass trailing its golden cups
Of flowers—five leaves make all for which I stoop
& briony in the hedge that now adorns
The tree to which it clings & now the thorns
Own five star pointed leaves of dingy white
Count which I will all make the number right
& spreading goosegrass trailing all abroad
In leaves of silver green about the road
Five leaves make every blossom all along
I stoop for many none are counted wrong
Tis natures wonder & her makers will
Who bade earth be & order owns him still
As that superior power who keeps the key
Of wisdom power & might through all eternity

THE ROBINS NEST

Come luscious spring come with thy mossy roots
Thy weed strown banks—young grass—& tender shoots
Of woods new plashed sweet smells of opening blooms
Sweet sunny mornings & right glorious dooms
Of happiness—to seek & harbour in
Far from the ruder worlds inglorious din
Who see no glory but in sordid pelf
& nought of greatness but its little self
Scorning the splendid gift that nature gives
Where natures glory ever breaths & lives
Seated in crimping ferns uncurling now
In russet fringes ere in leaves they bow
& moss as green as silk—there let me be
By the grey powdered trunk of old oak tree
Buried in green delights to which the heart
Clings with delight & beats as loath to part
The birds unbid come round about to give
Their music to my pleasures—wild flowers live
About as if for me—they smile & bloom
Like uninvited guests that love to come
Their wild fragrant offerings all to bring
Paying me kindness like a throned king
Lost in such extacys in this old spot
I feel that rapture which the world hath not
That joy like health that flushes in my face
Amid the brambles of this ancient place
Shut out from all but that superior power
That guards & glads & cheers me every hour
That wraps me like a mantle from the storm
Of care & bids the cold[est] hope be warm
That speaks in spots where all things silent be
In words not heard but felt—each ancient tree
With lickens deckt—times hoary pedigree
Becomes a monitor to teach & bless
& rid me of the evils cares possess
& bids me look above the trivial things
To which prides mecenary spirit clings
The pomps the wealth & artificial toys
That men call wealth beleagued with strife & noise
To seek the silence of their ancient reign
& be my self in memory once again
To trace the path of briar entangled holt
Or bushy closen where the wanton colt
Crops the young juicey leaves from off the hedge
In this old wood where birds their passions pledge
& court & build & sing their under song
In joys own cue that to their hearts belong
Having no wish or want unreconsiled
But spell bound to their homes within the wild
Where old neglect lives patron & befriends
Their homes with safetys wildness—where nought lends
A hand to injure—root up or disturb
The things of this old place—there is no curb
Of interest industry or slavish gain
To war with nature so the weeds remain
& wear an ancient passion that arrays
Ones feelings with the shadows of old days
The rest of peace the sacredness of mind
In such deep solitudes we seek & find
Where moss grows old & keeps an evergreen
& footmarks seem like miracles when seen
So little meddling toil doth trouble here
The very weeds as patriarchs appear
& if a plant ones curious eyes delight
In this old ancient solitude we might
Come ten years hence of trouble dreaming ill
& find them like old tennants peaceful still
Here the wood robin rustling on the leaves
With fluttering step each visitor recieves
Yet from his ancient home he seldom stirs
In heart content on these dead teazle burs
He sits [&] trembles oer his under notes
So rich—joy almost choaks his little throat
With extacy & from his own heart flows
That joy himself & partner only knows
He seems to have small fear but hops & comes
Close to ones feet as if he looked for crumbs
& when the woodman strinkles some around
He leaves the twig & hops upon the ground
& feeds untill his little daintys cloy
Then claps his little wings & sings for joy
& when in woodland solitudes I wend
I always hail him as my hermit friend
& naturally enough whenere they come
Before me search my pockets for a crumb
At which he turns his eye & seems to stand
As if expecting somthing from my hand
& thus these feathered heirs of solitude
Remain the tennants of this quiet wood
& live in melody & make their home
& never seem to have a wish to roam
Beside this ash stulp where in years gone bye
The thrush had built & taught her young to flye
Where still the nest half filled with leaves remains
With moss still green amid the twisting grains
Here on the ground & sheltered at its foot
The nest is hid close at its mossy root
Composed of moss & grass & lined with hair
& five brun-coloured eggs snug sheltered there
& bye & bye a happy brood will be
The tennants of this woodland privacy

THE EVERGREEN ROSE

THE SHEPHERDS LODGE

THE PRIMROSE BANK

THE WOODS

FEARS

FANCYS

THE SKY LARK LEAVING HER NEST

THE LANDRAIL

THE MEADOW GRASS

THE WOODPIEGONS NEST

Roaming the little path neath dotterel trees
Of some old hedge or spinney side I've oft
Been startled [pleasantly] from musing ways
By frighted dove that suddenly aloft
Sprung through the many boughs with cluttering noise
Till free from such restraints above the head
They smacked their clapping wings for very joys
& in a curious mood I've oft been led
To climb the twig surrounded trunk & there
On some few bits of sticks two white eggs lie
As left by accident—all lorn & bare
Almost without a nest yet bye & bye
Two birds in golden down will leave the shells
& hiss & snap at wind blown leaves that shake
Around their home where green seclusion dwells
Till fledged & then the young adventurers take
The old ones timid flights from oak to oak
Listening the pleasant sutherings of the shade
Nor startled by the woodmans hollow stroke
Till autumns pleasant visions pine & fade
Then they in bolder crowds will sweep & flye
& brave the desert of a winter sky

THE RAVENS NEST

Upon the collar of an hugh old oak
Year after year boys mark a curious nest
Of twigs made up a faggot near in size
& boys to reach it try all sorts of schemes
But not a twig to reach with hand or foot
Sprouts from the pillared trunk & as to try
To swarm the massy bulk tis all in vain
They scarce one effort make to hitch them up
But down they sluther soon as ere they try
So long hath been their dwelling there—old men
When passing bye will laugh & tell the ways
They had when boys to climb that very tree
& as it so would seem that very nest
That ne'er was missing from that selfsame spot
A single year in all their memorys
& they will say that the two birds are now
The very birds that owned the dwelling then
Some think it strange yet certaintys at loss
& cannot contradict it so they pass
as old birds living the woods patriarchs
Old as the oldest men so famed & known
That even men will thirst into the fame
Of boys [&] get at schemes that now & then
May captivate a young one from the tree
With iron clamms & bands adventuring up
The mealy trunk or else by waggon ropes
Slung over the hugh grains & so drawn up
By those at bottom one assends secure
With foot rope stirruped—still a perrilous way
So perrilous that one & only one
In memorys of the oldest men was known
To wear his boldness to intentions end
& reach the ravens nest—& thence acchieved
A theme that wonder treasured for supprise
By every cottage hea[r]th the village through
Nor yet forgot though other darers come
With daring times that scale the steeples top
& tye their kerchiefs to the weather cock
As trophys that the dangerous deed was done
Yet even now in these adventureous days
Not one is bold enough to dare the way
Up the old monstrous oak where every spring
Finds the two ancient birds at their old task
Repairing the hugh nest—where still they live
Through changes winds & storms & are secure
& like a landmark in the chronicles
Of village memorys treasured up yet lives
The hugh old oak that wears the ravens nest

ON VISITING A FAVOURITE PLACE

ON SEEING SOME MOSS IN FLOWER EARLY IN SPRING

WALKS IN THE WOODS

SABBATH BELLS

A BEAUTIFUL SUNSET IN NOVEMBER

RYHMES IN THE MEADOWS

PASTORAL POESY