 | Poems, by Joseph Cottle |  |
‘Whilst o'er the stubborn glebe I urg'd my team,
‘Or led my flocks beside the pebbl'd stream,
‘Or with my reeden-pipe, at break of day,
‘Pour'd the rude warblings of a shepherd's lay;
‘Some Soldiers came; clad in a dazzling dress,
‘Laugh'd at my garments, dwelt on my distress;
‘Said, “spurn your plough, and all such grov'ling toys,
“And know the value of a Soldier's joys,
“No little Master do we deign to greet,
“My Lord or Duke directs our playful feet;
“No rustic rags are we compell'd to wear,
“We dress like Princes, and like Princes fare;
“Behold our cloaths, gay as autumnal trees,
“Behold our plumes nod to the passing breeze;
“But what are splendid garbs to deathless fame?
“We sigh for honors of a nobler name;
“We pant for Glory; and aspire to gain,
“Immortal laurels from the blood-red plain,
“Stain'd with the gore of Britain's slaughter'd prey,
“Whilst o'er their heads exulting clarions play.”
‘Or led my flocks beside the pebbl'd stream,
‘Or with my reeden-pipe, at break of day,
‘Pour'd the rude warblings of a shepherd's lay;
‘Some Soldiers came; clad in a dazzling dress,
‘Laugh'd at my garments, dwelt on my distress;
‘Said, “spurn your plough, and all such grov'ling toys,
“And know the value of a Soldier's joys,
“No little Master do we deign to greet,
“My Lord or Duke directs our playful feet;
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“We dress like Princes, and like Princes fare;
“Behold our cloaths, gay as autumnal trees,
“Behold our plumes nod to the passing breeze;
“But what are splendid garbs to deathless fame?
“We sigh for honors of a nobler name;
“We pant for Glory; and aspire to gain,
“Immortal laurels from the blood-red plain,
“Stain'd with the gore of Britain's slaughter'd prey,
“Whilst o'er their heads exulting clarions play.”
| Poems, by Joseph Cottle | |