 | Malvern Hills |  |
VII. ON THE VALE OF OLDLAND, GLOUCESTERSHIRE.
OLDLAND! sweet spot! with joy I greet
The place where once my youthful feet
In life's gay morn have stray'd;
I hail thy fair empictured stream,
In pleasing, long perspective seen
As loath to leave thy shade.
The place where once my youthful feet
In life's gay morn have stray'd;
I hail thy fair empictured stream,
In pleasing, long perspective seen
As loath to leave thy shade.
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I hail thy ever-busy mill
Thy “decent church” upon the hill,
With antique yew beside;
That, like celestial hope, is seen,
To flourish in perpetual green,
And angry storms deride.
Thy “decent church” upon the hill,
With antique yew beside;
That, like celestial hope, is seen,
To flourish in perpetual green,
And angry storms deride.
Thy cots, embower'd by guardian trees
That chide the blast, and court the breeze,
How charming to the view!
Oh, spare them, winds—ye lightnings, spare,
Nor wage with them a sylvan war,
Ye woodmen, spare them too!
That chide the blast, and court the breeze,
How charming to the view!
Oh, spare them, winds—ye lightnings, spare,
Nor wage with them a sylvan war,
Ye woodmen, spare them too!
Here, fann'd by gentlest airs that breathe,
May peace her olive garland wreathe,
Low shelter'd in the vale;
Orison'd by the tuneful throng
At early morn,—her even' song,
Sad Philomela's tale.
May peace her olive garland wreathe,
Low shelter'd in the vale;
Orison'd by the tuneful throng
At early morn,—her even' song,
Sad Philomela's tale.
Here, too, be plenty duly seen
To sport enamour'd o'er the green
With wheaten chaplet crown'd;
And all the virtues in their train,
Descending from yon holy fane
To take their village round!
To sport enamour'd o'er the green
With wheaten chaplet crown'd;
And all the virtues in their train,
Descending from yon holy fane
To take their village round!
For me—heaven grant! contented well,
In life's sequester'd vale to dwell,
And shun the steep to climb;
So shall the storms that shake the mind
No entrance to my bosom find,
But tranquil joys be mine.
In life's sequester'd vale to dwell,
And shun the steep to climb;
So shall the storms that shake the mind
No entrance to my bosom find,
But tranquil joys be mine.
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