 | Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell |  |
A MEADOW AT RYDAL.
The fields were bright as cloth of gold,
The buttercups so thickly grew;
The lanes were full as they could hold
Of orchis and the speedwell blue.
The buttercups so thickly grew;
The lanes were full as they could hold
Of orchis and the speedwell blue.
Hedgerows with starry flowers were gay,
And banks with purple foxgloves lined;
On meadows lay the new-mown hay,
Whose scent came on the summer wind.
And banks with purple foxgloves lined;
On meadows lay the new-mown hay,
Whose scent came on the summer wind.
White butterflies were on the wing,
Floating along the liquid air;
Bees into flowers themselves did fling,
And pass'd the honied hours there.
Floating along the liquid air;
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And pass'd the honied hours there.
The cows stood knee-deep in the stream
That rippled thro' the open glade;
Or churned their mouths in happy dream,
Couched 'neath the elm-trees' leafy shade.
That rippled thro' the open glade;
Or churned their mouths in happy dream,
Couched 'neath the elm-trees' leafy shade.
The hills were veiled in tender mist
Of azure and of golden air;
The vales shone like an amethyst,
The woods gleamed as the emerald fair.
Of azure and of golden air;
The vales shone like an amethyst,
The woods gleamed as the emerald fair.
The lark was singing in the sky,
And birds were warbling in the trees,
A happy voice came wandering by—
“Cuckoo, cuckoo,” on the breeze.
And birds were warbling in the trees,
A happy voice came wandering by—
“Cuckoo, cuckoo,” on the breeze.
We stood amidst the fragrant grass,
We looked on valley, sky, and hill;
We watched the shadows come and pass,
We drank of Nature to our fill.
We looked on valley, sky, and hill;
We watched the shadows come and pass,
We drank of Nature to our fill.
We talked of man, we talked of God,
Of friends on earth, and friends in heaven;
Of some who lay beneath the sod,
Of some who still to us were given.
Of friends on earth, and friends in heaven;
Of some who lay beneath the sod,
Of some who still to us were given.
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And then we fell to silence oft,
Broken at times by happy sigh;
Or by the woodland voice, so soft,
Of “Cuckoo, cuckoo,” passing by.
Broken at times by happy sigh;
Or by the woodland voice, so soft,
Of “Cuckoo, cuckoo,” passing by.
A calm, that o'er all Nature stole,
And gently breathed of peace and rest,
Pass'd from the scene into the soul,
And throned itself within the breast.
And gently breathed of peace and rest,
Pass'd from the scene into the soul,
And throned itself within the breast.
Ah! happy, happy, happy day,
I look for others like to thee!
For tho' my head since then is grey,
Nature is more, not less, to me.
I look for others like to thee!
For tho' my head since then is grey,
Nature is more, not less, to me.
I hope to love it on till death;
Blue noons, fair nights, and gentle springs,
The cuckoo's voice, the cowslip's breath,—
All living, and all lifeless things.
Blue noons, fair nights, and gentle springs,
The cuckoo's voice, the cowslip's breath,—
All living, and all lifeless things.
| Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell | |