 | The Poetical Works of John Payne |  |
“O HAPPY pleasaunce of the gods!” he sang,
“Where all is fair and there is harm in nought,
Where never lightnings break nor thunder-clang,
Nor ever summer air with storm is fraught,
Nor by the hurtling hail is ruin wrought,
But kindly nature is at peace with man
And all things sweetly fill their given span!
“Where all is fair and there is harm in nought,
Where never lightnings break nor thunder-clang,
Nor ever summer air with storm is fraught,
Nor by the hurtling hail is ruin wrought,
But kindly nature is at peace with man
And all things sweetly fill their given span!
“O pleasant land, where winter never blinds
The bare waste ways with snowdrift, nor the frost
With wrinkled ice the sad wan waters binds,
Nor Spring-tide joy by winter thoughts is crost,
Where never hope for weariness is lost,
But life is warm, though woods be cold and grey,
And never in the flower-hearts dies the May!
The bare waste ways with snowdrift, nor the frost
With wrinkled ice the sad wan waters binds,
Nor Spring-tide joy by winter thoughts is crost,
Where never hope for weariness is lost,
But life is warm, though woods be cold and grey,
And never in the flower-hearts dies the May!
“Where never skies are dull, nor tempest scowls,
Nor monster riots in the river's glass,
Where never in the woods the fierce beast prowls,
But in the fields the harmless snake does pass,
A living jewel, through the flowered grass,
Where sun burns not, nor breaths of winter freeze,
Nor thunder-blasts shrill drearly through the trees!
Nor monster riots in the river's glass,
Where never in the woods the fierce beast prowls,
But in the fields the harmless snake does pass,
A living jewel, through the flowered grass,
Where sun burns not, nor breaths of winter freeze,
Nor thunder-blasts shrill drearly through the trees!
236
“Yet is there nothing here that in the air
Should breathe such potency of healing balm
As might compel the unkindly blast to spare
Or birds to sing a never-ending psalm,
Or meadows glitter with the summer calm,
Or purge the terror from the winter grim:
But men love God and put their trust in Him!
Should breathe such potency of healing balm
As might compel the unkindly blast to spare
Or birds to sing a never-ending psalm,
Or meadows glitter with the summer calm,
Or purge the terror from the winter grim:
But men love God and put their trust in Him!
“And so all things of His do they hold dear
And see in all His handiwork a friend,
And not a foe,—and therefore skies are clear
And flowers are sweet, because men's souls intend
The essence of well-being and so bend
The kindred life of wood and field and fell
To that fair peace that in themselves does dwell!
And see in all His handiwork a friend,
And not a foe,—and therefore skies are clear
And flowers are sweet, because men's souls intend
The essence of well-being and so bend
The kindred life of wood and field and fell
To that fair peace that in themselves does dwell!
“For man it is that makes his circumstance,
Honouring all and loving all things good,
Bethinking him how he may best advance
The harvesting of nature's kindly mood,
By helping her in that relief she would
Be ever working for his cheer and stay:
So doth he love and joy in her alway.
Honouring all and loving all things good,
Bethinking him how he may best advance
The harvesting of nature's kindly mood,
By helping her in that relief she would
Be ever working for his cheer and stay:
So doth he love and joy in her alway.
“O happy folk that dwell in such a land!
O happy land that hast such habitants,
That know to walk with nature hand in hand
And find new cheer in every change and chance,
Not thinking, when the long grey days advance
And summer's gold is dying, hope is less;
But proving lightly all things' goodliness.”
O happy land that hast such habitants,
That know to walk with nature hand in hand
And find new cheer in every change and chance,
Not thinking, when the long grey days advance
And summer's gold is dying, hope is less;
But proving lightly all things' goodliness.”
| The Poetical Works of John Payne | |