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 |  |
The scenes how changed, since Loidi's castle stood
Encircled by the ancient park and wood!
Where streets are now, the shining pheasants flew,
Or cattle cropped the daisies closed with dew;
Commerce, to Albion's modern sons so dear,
Had never spread her golden pinions there.
Where churches stand, some centuries ago,
The swift-wing'd arrow left the archer's bow,—
A village small, no vessel then could ride,
The sails unfurling in commercial pride,
A place of little note and scarcely known,
Whose fame now widely spreads through ev'ry zone.
The village youth then heard but Kirkstall's bells,
And rustics sported where the organ swells;
Where now extends the great commercial street,
The virgins pluck'd the hawthorn blossoms sweet,
And where the spacious public halls are seen,
In times remote was once the village green,
Where noontide hours, and many a summer's night,
Were danc'd away with feelings of delight.
Upon the hills where oaks for cent'ries grew,
Years, undisturbed, the glossy pheasants flew;
Partridge and hares in ev'ry field were bred,
And never fell, struck by the murd'ring lead.
From aged furze, or from the lonely rocks,
Oft nightly wander'd forth the wily fox;
The valleys echoed on the early morn,
With hounds, with huntsman, and the cheerful horn!
Then, as they crossed the vale, fleet as the air,
Forsaken, lagg'd behind, old wrinkled Care,
Joy joined the chase, and cheered each sportive mind,
And Sorrow there could no companion find.
The life-inspiring cries the hunter knew,
And from each breast dark melancholy flew;
Pleasure and Mirth the foremost led the chase,
And rosy health was shining on each face.
Encircled by the ancient park and wood!
Where streets are now, the shining pheasants flew,
Or cattle cropped the daisies closed with dew;
Commerce, to Albion's modern sons so dear,
Had never spread her golden pinions there.
Where churches stand, some centuries ago,
The swift-wing'd arrow left the archer's bow,—
24
The sails unfurling in commercial pride,
A place of little note and scarcely known,
Whose fame now widely spreads through ev'ry zone.
The village youth then heard but Kirkstall's bells,
And rustics sported where the organ swells;
Where now extends the great commercial street,
The virgins pluck'd the hawthorn blossoms sweet,
And where the spacious public halls are seen,
In times remote was once the village green,
Where noontide hours, and many a summer's night,
Were danc'd away with feelings of delight.
Upon the hills where oaks for cent'ries grew,
Years, undisturbed, the glossy pheasants flew;
Partridge and hares in ev'ry field were bred,
And never fell, struck by the murd'ring lead.
From aged furze, or from the lonely rocks,
Oft nightly wander'd forth the wily fox;
The valleys echoed on the early morn,
With hounds, with huntsman, and the cheerful horn!
Then, as they crossed the vale, fleet as the air,
Forsaken, lagg'd behind, old wrinkled Care,
Joy joined the chase, and cheered each sportive mind,
And Sorrow there could no companion find.
The life-inspiring cries the hunter knew,
And from each breast dark melancholy flew;
Pleasure and Mirth the foremost led the chase,
And rosy health was shining on each face.
| The poetical works of John Nicholson | |