Page images
PDF
EPUB

Revive my bosom with their kindlings still,
As I bend musing o'er thy ruddy pride;
Recalling days when, dropt upon a hill,
I cut my oaten trumpets by thy side.

John Clare.

THE BRAMBLE FLOWER.

THY fruit full well the schoolboy knows,
Wild bramble of the brake!

So, put thou forth thy small white rose;
I love it for his sake.

Though woodbines flaunt and roses glow
O'er all the fragrant bowers,
Thou need'st not be ashamed to show
Thy satin-threaded flowers;

For dull the eye, the heart is dull,
That cannot feel how fair,
Amid all beauty beautiful,
Thy tender blossoms are ;
How delicate thy gauzy frill,

How rich thy branchy stem,
How soft thy voice when woods are still
And thou sing'st hymns to them;

While silent showers are falling slow,
And, mid the general hush,
A sweet air lifts the little bough,
Lone whispering through the bush !
The primrose to the grave is gone;
The hawthorn flower is dead:

A PASTORAL SONG.

The violet by the mossed gray stone
Hath laid her weary head;

But thou! wild bramble! back dost bring,
In all their beauteous power,

The fresh green days of life's fair Spring,
And boyhood's blossomy hour.

Scorned bramble of the brake! once more

Thou bidd'st me be a boy,
To gad with thee the woodlands o'er,
In freedom and in joy.

A PASTORAL SONG.

HITHER! hither!

O come hither!

Lads and lasses, come and see!

Trip it neatly,

Foot it featly,

O'er the grassy turf to me!

Here are bowers

Hung with flowers,

Richly curtain'd halls for you!

Meads for rovers,

Shades for lovers,

Violet beds, and pillows too!

Purple heather

You may gather

Sandal-deep in seas of bloom,

Ebenezer Elliott.

67 Pale-faced lily,

Proud Sweet-Willy,

Gorgeous rose, and golden broom!

Odorous blossoms

For sweet bosoms,

Garlands green to bind the hair;

Crowns and kirtles,

Weft of myrtles,

Youth may choose, and Beauty wear!

Brightsome glasses

For bright faces

'Shine in ev'ry rill that flows;

Every minute

You look in it

Still more bright your beauty grows !

Banks for sleeping,

Nooks for peeping,

Glades for dancing, smooth and fine!

Fruits delicious

For who wishes,

Nectar, dew, and honey-wine!

Hither! hither!

O come hither!

Lads and lasses, come and see!

Trip it neatly,

Foot it featly,

O'er the grassy turf to me!

George Darley.

A SCENE.

A SERENADE.

AWAKE thee, my Lady-love!
Wake thee, and rise!

The sun through the bower peeps
Into thine eyes!

Behold how the early lark
Springs from the corn!
Hark, hark how the flower-bird
Winds her wee horn!

The swallow's glad shriek is heard
All through the air!

The stock-dove is murmuring
Loud as she dare!

Apollo's winged bugleman
Cannot contain,

But peals his loud trumpet-call
Once and again!

Then wake thee, my Lady-love!

Bird of my bower!

The sweetest and sleepiest

Bird at this hour!

69

George Darley.

A SCENE.

THE Landscape's stretching view, that opens wide, With dribbling brooks, and river's wider floods, And hills, and vales, and darksome lowering woods,

With green of varied hues, and grasses pied;

The low brown cottage in the sheltered nook; The steeple, peeping just above the trees Whose dangling leaves keep rustling in the breeze; And thoughtful shepherd bending o'er his hook; And maidens stripped, haymaking too, appear ; And Hodge a-whistling at his fallow plough; And herdsmen hallooing to intruding cow: All these, with hundreds more, far off or near, Approach my sight; and please to such excess, That language fails the pleasure to express.

John Clare

A LAIR AT NOON.

THE hawthorn gently stopped the sun, beneath,
The ash above its quivering shadows spread,
And downy bents, that to the air did wreathe,
Bowed 'neath my pressure in an easy bed:
The water whirlèd round each stunted nook,
And sweet the splashings on the ear did swim,
Of fly-bit cattle gulching in the brook,

Nibbling the grasses on the fountain's brim:
The little minnows, driven from their retreat,
Still sought the shelving bank to shun the heat.
I fain had slept, but flies would buzz around;
I fain had looked calmly on the scene,
But the sweet snug retreat my search had found
Wakened the Muse to sing the woody screen.

John Clare.

« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »