The Poetical Works of Anna Seward With Extracts from her Literary Correspondence. Edited by Walter Scott ... In Three Volumes |
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The Poetical Works of Anna Seward | ||
THE COUNTRY MAID,
A PASTORAL BALLAD.
An easy heart adorns the vale,
And gilds the lonely plain;
No sighs of mine increase the gale,
No peevish tears the rain.
From happy dreams, the orient beams
Awake my soul to pleasure;
With cheek that glows, I milk my cows,
And bless the flowing treasure.
And gilds the lonely plain;
No sighs of mine increase the gale,
No peevish tears the rain.
From happy dreams, the orient beams
Awake my soul to pleasure;
With cheek that glows, I milk my cows,
And bless the flowing treasure.
To tend the flock thro' summer's day
Is surely no disgrace;
A wreath of leaves from noon-tide ray
Defends my shaded face.
Industrious heed the hours shall speed
On pinions gay and light;
The rising thought, with virtue fraught,
Shall consecrate their flight.
Is surely no disgrace;
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Defends my shaded face.
Industrious heed the hours shall speed
On pinions gay and light;
The rising thought, with virtue fraught,
Shall consecrate their flight.
A maple dish, a cedar spoon,
Seem fair and sweet to me,
When, on a violet bank, at noon,
I sit, and dine with glee.
From crystal rill my cup I fill,
And praise the bounteous giver;
Nor with the great would change my state,
But dwell in vales for ever.
Seem fair and sweet to me,
When, on a violet bank, at noon,
I sit, and dine with glee.
From crystal rill my cup I fill,
And praise the bounteous giver;
Nor with the great would change my state,
But dwell in vales for ever.
I love to mark the sultry hour,
When Phœbus ardent glows,
How deeply still are plain and bower
In undisturb'd repose;
All but the rills, that down the hills
Their glittering waters fling,
And round the bowers, on sweet, wild flowers,
The bees, that murmuring cling.
When Phœbus ardent glows,
How deeply still are plain and bower
In undisturb'd repose;
All but the rills, that down the hills
Their glittering waters fling,
And round the bowers, on sweet, wild flowers,
The bees, that murmuring cling.
When eve's grey mantle veils the sun,
And hill's late gilded height;
When green banks whiten, as the moon
Sheds wide her milky light,
I mark the vales and shadowy dales,
In soft perspective showing;
Their winding streams, beneath her beams,
In trembling lustre flowing.
And hill's late gilded height;
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Sheds wide her milky light,
I mark the vales and shadowy dales,
In soft perspective showing;
Their winding streams, beneath her beams,
In trembling lustre flowing.
The Poetical Works of Anna Seward | ||