 | The Poetical Works of Robert Story |  |
21
Pours the Spring.
1821.
[_]
[Howdsden—which I have softened into Howsden—a beautiful hill overlooking the Beaumont. It is remarkable as being always the very first to acknowledge, by its verdure, the favours of returning Spring. Its base, when I kept sheep upon it in my boyish days, used to exhibit a perfect forest of broom.]
Pours the Spring its earliest green
Upon Howsden still?
Are the milk-white hawthorns seen
Upon Howsden still?
Does the tall and grove-like broom,
With its moist and yellow bloom,
Shed a glory and perfume
Upon Howsden still?
Upon Howsden still?
Are the milk-white hawthorns seen
Upon Howsden still?
Does the tall and grove-like broom,
With its moist and yellow bloom,
Shed a glory and perfume
Upon Howsden still?
Rests the white and downy cloud
Upon Howsden still;
Is the skylark's carol loud
Upon Howsden still?
Is the curlew seldom dumb?
And the wild bees—do they come,
As of old, to sip and hum
Upon Howsden still?
Upon Howsden still;
Is the skylark's carol loud
Upon Howsden still?
Is the curlew seldom dumb?
And the wild bees—do they come,
As of old, to sip and hum
Upon Howsden still?
Sits the happy shepherd boy
Upon Howsden still,
Singing blithe his song of joy
Upon Howsden still?
While far beneath his eyes
The blue stream of Beaumont lies,
And her liquid murmurs rise
Upon Howsden still?
Upon Howsden still,
Singing blithe his song of joy
Upon Howsden still?
22
The blue stream of Beaumont lies,
And her liquid murmurs rise
Upon Howsden still?
Ah! the Summer sheds delight
Upon Howsden still;
And I walk, in dreams by night,
Upon Howsden still;
When, waking 'mid my joy,
I but meet the world's annoy,
And wish I were a boy
Upon Howsden still!
Upon Howsden still;
And I walk, in dreams by night,
Upon Howsden still;
When, waking 'mid my joy,
I but meet the world's annoy,
And wish I were a boy
Upon Howsden still!
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