 | Poems |  |
49
MY NATIVE TOWN.
O Kent has many a town and many
A pleasant village by stream and sea,
But O more pleasant, more dear than any,
Is my native town where I dwell, to me,
And leafy Greenwich, green pleasant Greenwich,
Dear to my heart will it ever be.
A pleasant village by stream and sea,
But O more pleasant, more dear than any,
Is my native town where I dwell, to me,
And leafy Greenwich, green pleasant Greenwich,
Dear to my heart will it ever be.
My native Greenwich,—there dwelt my father,
And work'd for you till his early death;
O on what spot of the wide world rather
Would I first have seen day or have first drawn breath
Than in leafy Greenwich, green pleasant Greenwich,
That dear will be to me till death.
And work'd for you till his early death;
O on what spot of the wide world rather
Would I first have seen day or have first drawn breath
Than in leafy Greenwich, green pleasant Greenwich,
That dear will be to me till death.
My boyhood's Greenwich—each childish pleasure
In my old dear home in your streets I knew,
Each childish sadness, and thoughts I'll treasure,
Pleasant to think of my whole life through,
Of school-day times that long since in Greenwich
Sweet laughs and tears to my boy's eyes drew.
In my old dear home in your streets I knew,
Each childish sadness, and thoughts I'll treasure,
Pleasant to think of my whole life through,
Of school-day times that long since in Greenwich
Sweet laughs and tears to my boy's eyes drew.
My manhood's Greenwich,—'tis there the gladness,
The griefs and cares of my life I've known,
But, whether my days brought joy or sadness,
Thought of with all, you've but dearer grown,
And joy and sorrow, my native Greenwich,
Have but drawn you more close to my heart alone.
The griefs and cares of my life I've known,
But, whether my days brought joy or sadness,
Thought of with all, you've but dearer grown,
And joy and sorrow, my native Greenwich,
Have but drawn you more close to my heart alone.
'Tis there I've work'd to see those around me
Know wiser lives than their fathers knew,
With friends have labour'd that still have found me,
Through all my years, to your good still true;
And while I am with you, O pleasant Greenwich,
Still will I work, my town, for you.
Know wiser lives than their fathers knew,
With friends have labour'd that still have found me,
Through all my years, to your good still true;
And while I am with you, O pleasant Greenwich,
Still will I work, my town, for you.
O Medway, calm through your meadows winding,
Through blossoming hops that sweeten day,
O Darent, the shadows of orchards finding
Wherever your gleaming waters stray,
Who mates you with the royal river
That seawards by Greenwich glides away!
Through blossoming hops that sweeten day,
50
Wherever your gleaming waters stray,
Who mates you with the royal river
That seawards by Greenwich glides away!
Oxford and Reading watch its flowing;
A pleasant stream to their wharves it shows;
By Windsor and emerald Richmond going,
Yet, scarcely a river, it onward goes;
But here, where to Greenwich her domes it shadows,
With navies its broad breadth ebbs and flows.
A pleasant stream to their wharves it shows;
By Windsor and emerald Richmond going,
Yet, scarcely a river, it onward goes;
But here, where to Greenwich her domes it shadows,
With navies its broad breadth ebbs and flows.
O pleasant lawns by your chestnuts bounded,
O shadowing elms rook-throng'd through Spring!
To me, by London's deep roar surrounded,
What thoughts of stillness and peace you bring,
Of Mays when I've heard your hawthorns' blossoms
Rustled apart by some brown bird's wing!
O shadowing elms rook-throng'd through Spring!
To me, by London's deep roar surrounded,
What thoughts of stillness and peace you bring,
Of Mays when I've heard your hawthorns' blossoms
Rustled apart by some brown bird's wing!
And, fate, were my lot but summer dreaming,
The lot of the toilless, careless few,
Greenwich, how blest were it, to my seeming,
To dream away life, my town, in you,
Watching Autumn turning to gold your woodlands,
Watching Spring-time leafing your boughs anew.
The lot of the toilless, careless few,
Greenwich, how blest were it, to my seeming,
To dream away life, my town, in you,
Watching Autumn turning to gold your woodlands,
Watching Spring-time leafing your boughs anew.
Ah, should my future from you be parted,
Should I not leave you, my town, with pain!
Sorrow here finds me less sad-hearted,
Joy more joyous than elsewhere; fain
Here would my age in peace glide deathwards,
Here in your earth a calm grave gain.
Should I not leave you, my town, with pain!
Sorrow here finds me less sad-hearted,
Joy more joyous than elsewhere; fain
Here would my age in peace glide deathwards,
Here in your earth a calm grave gain.
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