 | Orchard Songs |  |
5
A COTSWOLD VILLAGE
Roses!
Great wild roses,
Aisles of bud and whitethroat song
All along
The lower lanes
Where Peace,
That first inhabitant of earth,
Remains:
Folding her hands as day begins
And closes
She, tranquil, watches May
That melts to June in roses,
Great wild roses,
Roses!
These are so fair that they should rest
My rivals on the snowdrop breast
Where God, by some sweet circle of event,
Has lent me refuge when I turn
From street and stool
And work by rule,
Scarred by the plea of endless discontent,
The wine of morning sunshine stale or spent.
Great wild roses,
Aisles of bud and whitethroat song
All along
The lower lanes
Where Peace,
That first inhabitant of earth,
Remains:
Folding her hands as day begins
And closes
She, tranquil, watches May
That melts to June in roses,
Great wild roses,
Roses!
These are so fair that they should rest
My rivals on the snowdrop breast
6
Has lent me refuge when I turn
From street and stool
And work by rule,
Scarred by the plea of endless discontent,
The wine of morning sunshine stale or spent.
We neither spoke.
The leafy lyrics of the stripling oak
Sang us along.
Hamlet by hamlet passed,
And yellow sheep,
We came at last
Upon the hills that keep,
As mothers watch their babes asleep,
Long Compton guarded in the vale:
There as a dreaming child it lay
And took the evening light;
It was the vocal end of day
And larks in giddy flight
So out of view made music ring
That clouds, not birds,
Appeared to sing.
The leafy lyrics of the stripling oak
Sang us along.
Hamlet by hamlet passed,
And yellow sheep,
We came at last
Upon the hills that keep,
As mothers watch their babes asleep,
7
There as a dreaming child it lay
And took the evening light;
It was the vocal end of day
And larks in giddy flight
So out of view made music ring
That clouds, not birds,
Appeared to sing.
Go home, go home, ye doves, from out the field!
Fly to your forest cradles, fly!
In ambuscades of greenery concealed
Ponder the day gone by.
The shepherd is gone home,
The last rooks come,
Dear Jenny Wren shall whistle nothing more;
His team well-housed and fed
The ploughman thinks of bed,
And smiles upon his sweetheart at the door.
Down Gipsy Lane we roam,
Go home, ye doves, go home!
Little of sunlight now
This fruitful valley holds,
Deeper the greys invade,
Fainter become the golds;
The youngling's tap is on the pane,
And maids with sewing mothers sigh;
Go home, go home, ye doves, from out the field,
To forest cradles fly!
Fly to your forest cradles, fly!
In ambuscades of greenery concealed
Ponder the day gone by.
The shepherd is gone home,
The last rooks come,
8
His team well-housed and fed
The ploughman thinks of bed,
And smiles upon his sweetheart at the door.
Down Gipsy Lane we roam,
Go home, ye doves, go home!
Little of sunlight now
This fruitful valley holds,
Deeper the greys invade,
Fainter become the golds;
The youngling's tap is on the pane,
And maids with sewing mothers sigh;
Go home, go home, ye doves, from out the field,
To forest cradles fly!
9
We walked toward the inn.
O host and hostess looking forth
To make the welcome warm,
What man may fare from south to north,
From palace or from farm,
Shall early learn your kindly hearts
And never come to harm!
O host and hostess looking forth
To make the welcome warm,
What man may fare from south to north,
From palace or from farm,
Shall early learn your kindly hearts
And never come to harm!
O happy days!
O days of country beauty made more sweet
By steppings of dear feet
And voices captured from the city's stress
To add a charm to all the loveliness
Of leaf and land!
The lesser whitethroat in the orchard growth
Beneath an apple planned
A hive for nest,
And as we lay and watched
The while she matched
Each grassy joist and beam,
The fluffy architect, unstirred,
Rounded the entrance with her beak
Or smoothed the cup
Where she would dream
Upon her family of eggs,
And warm them into song
Where pears and pippins throng.
O days of country beauty made more sweet
By steppings of dear feet
And voices captured from the city's stress
To add a charm to all the loveliness
Of leaf and land!
The lesser whitethroat in the orchard growth
10
A hive for nest,
And as we lay and watched
The while she matched
Each grassy joist and beam,
The fluffy architect, unstirred,
Rounded the entrance with her beak
Or smoothed the cup
Where she would dream
Upon her family of eggs,
And warm them into song
Where pears and pippins throng.
Early we rose and raced to catch
Initial glories of the morn;
The air itself was an embrace,
And Beauty, living in the place,
Seemed growing personal and kind,
Till in my heart,
Till on my face
I felt the thrill
That comes when lips I love consent,
Obedient to my will.
So hour by hour and day by day
Long Compton nursed our idleness,
Each meadow-path, each woodland way
Where campion calls and bluebells press
Conferred its bounty of delight;
And when the fields of heaven were bright
With stars that have a native fire,
And those that do conspire
To rob a sun,
We knew a lane
Where in a briar's heart a bird
Released a strain
To cheer the mother musing on her eggs,
And promise her a son
Whose tender tale
Should shake the sleeping rosebud into dreams
And be the wonder of this Cotswold vale.
Initial glories of the morn;
11
And Beauty, living in the place,
Seemed growing personal and kind,
Till in my heart,
Till on my face
I felt the thrill
That comes when lips I love consent,
Obedient to my will.
So hour by hour and day by day
Long Compton nursed our idleness,
Each meadow-path, each woodland way
Where campion calls and bluebells press
Conferred its bounty of delight;
And when the fields of heaven were bright
With stars that have a native fire,
And those that do conspire
12
We knew a lane
Where in a briar's heart a bird
Released a strain
To cheer the mother musing on her eggs,
And promise her a son
Whose tender tale
Should shake the sleeping rosebud into dreams
And be the wonder of this Cotswold vale.
When time is weary of my company
Here let me rest.
If I should end within four walls
With bricks around,
Buy me no smoky patch of city ground,
But bring me to these acres of repose
Whose natural consecration is most sure,
That I may sleep beneath a country rose
And where the dew is pure;
For in this valley God appeared to me,
And where my soul is let my body be.
Here let me rest.
If I should end within four walls
With bricks around,
Buy me no smoky patch of city ground,
13
Whose natural consecration is most sure,
That I may sleep beneath a country rose
And where the dew is pure;
For in this valley God appeared to me,
And where my soul is let my body be.
What time the Father walked His earth
He trod, I know, these Cotswold slopes;
With silence and with sound
He clothed each mound;
The shadow of His robe goes over them,
The bounties of His wisdom cover them
And whoso cometh here
To tread this sod—
He sees the neighbour neighbourly,
And learning all Long Compton's loveliness
The better learns his God.
He trod, I know, these Cotswold slopes;
With silence and with sound
He clothed each mound;
The shadow of His robe goes over them,
The bounties of His wisdom cover them
And whoso cometh here
To tread this sod—
14
And learning all Long Compton's loveliness
The better learns his God.
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