The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys Late Minister Plenipotentiary from the United States of America to the Court of Madrid |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
 | The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys |  |
Thrice happy race! how blest were freedom's heirs,
Blest if they knew what happiness is theirs,
Blest if they knew to them alone 'tis given,
To know no sov'reign but the law and heav'n!
That law for them, and Albion's realms alone,
On sacred justice elevates her throne,
Regards the poor, the fatherless protects,
The widow shields, the proud oppressor checks!
Blest if they knew, beneath umbrageous trees,
To prize the joys of innocence and ease,
Of peace, of health, of temp'rance, toil, and rest,
And the calm sunshine of the conscious breast.
For them, the spring his annual task resumes,
Invests in verdure, and adorns in blooms
Earth's parent lap, and all her wanton bow'rs,
In foliage fair, with aromatic flow'rs.
Their fanning wings the zephyrs gently play,
And winnow blossoms from each floating spray:
In bursting buds the embryo fruits appear,
The hope and glory of the rip'ning year!
The mead that courts the scythe, the pastur'd vale,
And garden'd lawn, their breathing sweets exhale;
On balmy winds a cloud of fragrance moves,
And floats the odours of a thousand groves.
For them, young summer sheds a brighter day,
Matures the germe with his prolific ray;
With prospects cheers, demands more stubborn toil,
And pays their efforts from the grateful soil.
The lofty maize its ears luxuriant yields;
The yellow harvests gild the laughing fields,
Extend o'er all th' interminable plain,
And wave in grandeur like the boundless main.
For them, the flock o'er green savannas feeds:
For them, high prancing, bound the playful steeds:
For them, the heifers graze sequester'd dales,
Or pour white nectar in the brimming pails:
To them, what time the hoary frosts draw near,
Ripe autumn brings the labours of the year.
To nature's sons, how fair th' autumnal ev'n,
The fading landscape, and impurpl'd heav'n,
As from their fields they take their homeward way,
And turn to catch the sun's departing ray!
What streaming splendours up the skies are roll'd,
Whose colours beggar Tyrian dyes and gold!
Till night's dun curtains, wide o'er all display'd,
Shroud shad'wy shapes in melancholy shade.
Blest if they knew what happiness is theirs,
Blest if they knew to them alone 'tis given,
To know no sov'reign but the law and heav'n!
That law for them, and Albion's realms alone,
On sacred justice elevates her throne,
Regards the poor, the fatherless protects,
The widow shields, the proud oppressor checks!
Blest if they knew, beneath umbrageous trees,
To prize the joys of innocence and ease,
Of peace, of health, of temp'rance, toil, and rest,
And the calm sunshine of the conscious breast.
For them, the spring his annual task resumes,
Invests in verdure, and adorns in blooms
Earth's parent lap, and all her wanton bow'rs,
In foliage fair, with aromatic flow'rs.
31
And winnow blossoms from each floating spray:
In bursting buds the embryo fruits appear,
The hope and glory of the rip'ning year!
The mead that courts the scythe, the pastur'd vale,
And garden'd lawn, their breathing sweets exhale;
On balmy winds a cloud of fragrance moves,
And floats the odours of a thousand groves.
For them, young summer sheds a brighter day,
Matures the germe with his prolific ray;
With prospects cheers, demands more stubborn toil,
And pays their efforts from the grateful soil.
The lofty maize its ears luxuriant yields;
The yellow harvests gild the laughing fields,
Extend o'er all th' interminable plain,
And wave in grandeur like the boundless main.
For them, the flock o'er green savannas feeds:
For them, high prancing, bound the playful steeds:
For them, the heifers graze sequester'd dales,
Or pour white nectar in the brimming pails:
To them, what time the hoary frosts draw near,
Ripe autumn brings the labours of the year.
To nature's sons, how fair th' autumnal ev'n,
The fading landscape, and impurpl'd heav'n,
As from their fields they take their homeward way,
And turn to catch the sun's departing ray!
What streaming splendours up the skies are roll'd,
Whose colours beggar Tyrian dyes and gold!
Till night's dun curtains, wide o'er all display'd,
Shroud shad'wy shapes in melancholy shade.
| The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys | |