The poetical works of John Nicholson ... Carefully edited from the original editions, with additional notes and a sketch of his life and writings. By W. G. Hird |
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 | The poetical works of John Nicholson |  |
But stop, my Muse—haste not so far away!
I'll woo thee in my native vale to stay.
Its beauties be thy theme—the woods and dells,
Sequestered bowers, and sweet melodious bells;
The flow'r-deck'd lawn, the distant heath-crowned hills,
Stupendous rocks, and softly-murmuring rills;
The woodland echoes whispering in the trees,
Or floating loudly on the fitful breeze;
Where nought of sameness the charmed sight offends,
But every scene the former scene transcends;
Where rocks in rich variety are dressed,
Some in the grey, and some the auburn vest;
Where varying Nature gives the lovely tinge,
And on the banks suspends the mossy fringe.
But where's the bard can sing of Bingley's vale,
And never once in his descriptions fail?
'Tis here the modest snow-drop first appears,
Drooping its head, and wet with icy tears,
Like some poor bard, unknown to public fame,
It shrinks and withers on its native stem.
And here the primrose, from its mossy bed,
Silver'd with dew lifts up its lovely head,
Where springing woodbine to the hazel cleaves,
With snow still pressing down its velvet leaves.
How pleasant here to walk, when daisies spring,
While the sweet bells in tuneful changes ring,
When ev'ry tone the echoing woods receive,
And thus delightfully the ear deceive,
Reverberating, mellow, sweet and clear,
As though a far more dulcet peal was there!
I'll woo thee in my native vale to stay.
Its beauties be thy theme—the woods and dells,
Sequestered bowers, and sweet melodious bells;
The flow'r-deck'd lawn, the distant heath-crowned hills,
Stupendous rocks, and softly-murmuring rills;
The woodland echoes whispering in the trees,
Or floating loudly on the fitful breeze;
Where nought of sameness the charmed sight offends,
But every scene the former scene transcends;
Where rocks in rich variety are dressed,
Some in the grey, and some the auburn vest;
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And on the banks suspends the mossy fringe.
But where's the bard can sing of Bingley's vale,
And never once in his descriptions fail?
'Tis here the modest snow-drop first appears,
Drooping its head, and wet with icy tears,
Like some poor bard, unknown to public fame,
It shrinks and withers on its native stem.
And here the primrose, from its mossy bed,
Silver'd with dew lifts up its lovely head,
Where springing woodbine to the hazel cleaves,
With snow still pressing down its velvet leaves.
How pleasant here to walk, when daisies spring,
While the sweet bells in tuneful changes ring,
When ev'ry tone the echoing woods receive,
And thus delightfully the ear deceive,
Reverberating, mellow, sweet and clear,
As though a far more dulcet peal was there!
| The poetical works of John Nicholson | |