The Poetical Works of John Langhorne ... To which are prefixed, Memoirs of the Author by his Son the Rev. J. T. Langhorne ... In Two Volumes |
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WRITTEN IN
A COTTAGE-GARDEN,
AT A VILLAGE IN LORRAIN.
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 | The Poetical Works of John Langhorne |  |
127
WRITTEN IN A COTTAGE-GARDEN, AT A VILLAGE IN LORRAIN.
OCCASIONED BY A TRADITION CONCERNING A TREE OF ROSEMARY.
O thou, whom love and fancy lead
To wander near this woodland hill,
If ever music smooth'd thy quill,
Or pity wak'd thy gentle reed,
Repose beneath my humble tree,
If thou lov'st simplicity.
To wander near this woodland hill,
If ever music smooth'd thy quill,
Or pity wak'd thy gentle reed,
Repose beneath my humble tree,
If thou lov'st simplicity.
Stranger, if thy lot has laid
In toilsome scenes of busy life,
Full sorely may'st thou rue the strife
Of weary passions ill repaid.
In a garden live with me,
If thou lov'st simplicity.
In toilsome scenes of busy life,
Full sorely may'st thou rue the strife
Of weary passions ill repaid.
In a garden live with me,
If thou lov'st simplicity.
128
Flowers have sprung for many a year
O'er the village maiden's grave,
That, one memorial-spring to save,
Bore it from a sister's bier;
And, homeward walking, wept o'er me
The true tears of simplicity.
O'er the village maiden's grave,
That, one memorial-spring to save,
Bore it from a sister's bier;
And, homeward walking, wept o'er me
The true tears of simplicity.
And soon, her cottage window near,
With care my slender stem she plac'd;
And fondly thus her grief embrac'd;
And cherish'd sad remembrance dear:
For love sincere, and friendship free
Are children of simplicity.
With care my slender stem she plac'd;
And fondly thus her grief embrac'd;
And cherish'd sad remembrance dear:
For love sincere, and friendship free
Are children of simplicity.
When past was many a painful day,
Slow-pacing o'er the village green,
In white were all its maidens seen,
And bore my guardian friends away.
Ah death! what sacrifice to thee,
The ruins of simplicity.
Slow-pacing o'er the village green,
In white were all its maidens seen,
And bore my guardian friends away.
Ah death! what sacrifice to thee,
The ruins of simplicity.
One gen'rous swain her heart approv'd,
A youth whose fond and faithful breast
With many an artless sigh confess'd,
In Nature's language, that he lov'd:
But, stranger, 'tis no tale to thee,
Unless thou lov'st simplicity.
A youth whose fond and faithful breast
With many an artless sigh confess'd,
In Nature's language, that he lov'd:
But, stranger, 'tis no tale to thee,
Unless thou lov'st simplicity.
129
He died—and soon her lip was cold,
And soon her rosy cheek was pale;
The village wept to hear the tale,
When for both the slow bell toll'd—
Beneath yon flow'ry turf they lie,
The lovers of simplicity.
And soon her rosy cheek was pale;
The village wept to hear the tale,
When for both the slow bell toll'd—
Beneath yon flow'ry turf they lie,
The lovers of simplicity.
Yet one boon have I to crave;
Stranger, if thy pity bleed,
Wilt thou do one tender deed,
And strew my pale flowers o'er their grave?
So lightly lie the turf on thee,
Because thou lov'st simplicity.
Stranger, if thy pity bleed,
Wilt thou do one tender deed,
And strew my pale flowers o'er their grave?
So lightly lie the turf on thee,
Because thou lov'st simplicity.
| The Poetical Works of John Langhorne | |