The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson ... for the first time fully collected and compared with the original and early editions ... edited ... by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart ... with portrait, illustrations, &c |
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| EPISTLE TO C. ORR. |
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 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
EPISTLE TO C. ORR.
From Milestown's fertile fields and meadows clear,
I hail my worthy friend with heart sincere,
And welcome, nay, most pressingly implore,
One friendly visit to my cot once more.
I hail my worthy friend with heart sincere,
And welcome, nay, most pressingly implore,
One friendly visit to my cot once more.
The fairest scenes that ever bless'd the year,
Now o'er our lawns, and woods, and meads appear;
The richest harvests choke each loaded field,
The fairest fruits our growing orchards yield.
In green and gold, and purple plumes array'd,
The sweetest songsters chant from every shade.
Such boundless plenty, such luxurious stores,
The rosy hand of Nature round us pours.
That every living tribe their powers employ
From morn to eve to testify their joy;
And pour from meadow, field, and air above,
One general song of gratitude and love.
Come then, dear Orr, the noisy town forsake,
Now o'er our lawns, and woods, and meads appear;
The richest harvests choke each loaded field,
The fairest fruits our growing orchards yield.
In green and gold, and purple plumes array'd,
The sweetest songsters chant from every shade.
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The rosy hand of Nature round us pours.
That every living tribe their powers employ
From morn to eve to testify their joy;
And pour from meadow, field, and air above,
One general song of gratitude and love.
With me a while these rural joys partake;
Forget your books, your pens, your studious cares,
Come, see the gifts that God for man prepares.
Here, as with me, at morn you range the wood,
Or headlong plunge amid the sparkling flood;
More vig'rous life your firmer limbs shall brace,
A ruddier glow shall wanton o'er your face;
A brighter glance re-animate your eye,
Each anxious thought, each fretting care shall fly.
For here, thro' glades, and ev'ry rustling grove,
Sweet peace and rosy health for ever rove!
For you my vines their clustering fruits suspend,
My pinks and roses blow but for my friend;
For him who joins with elegance and art,
The brightest talents to the warmest heart.
Come then, O come, your burning streets forego,
Your lanes and warfs, where winds infectious blow;
For deep majestic woods and opening glades,
And shining pools and awe-inspiring shades;
Where fragrant flowers perfume the air around,
And bending orchards kiss the flowery ground;
And luscious berries spread a feast for Jove,
And golden cherries stud the boughs above.
Amidst these various sweets, thy rustic friend
Shall to each woodland haunt, thy steps attend;
His noontide walks, his vine-entwisted bowers,
The old associates of his lonely hours;
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That mingles joy with joy, and tear with tear;
Shall fill each heart, and give to mem'ry's eye
Those native shores where fond relations sigh;
Where War accursed, and haggard Famine howl,
And R[oyal] D[ukes] o'er prostrate millions growl;
While we, alas! these mournful scenes retrace,
In climes of plenty, liberty, and peace;
A mingled flood of joy and grief shall flow,
For this so free, and that so full of woe.
Thus, in celestial bowers, the heavenly train
Escap'd from earth's dark ills and all its pain;
Talk o'er our scenes of suffering here below,
And drop a tear of pity for our woe.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |