Ye darksome Woods where Echo dwells, Where every bud with freedom swells To meet the glorious day: The morning breaks; again rejoice; And with old Ringwood's well-known voice Bid tuneful Echo play....
Hey, Giles! in what new garb art dresst? For Lads like you methinks a bold one; I'm glad to see thee so caresst; But, hark ye! - don't despise your old one....
A Spring o'erhung with many a flow'r, The grey sand dancing in its bed, Embank'd beneath a Hawthorn bower, Sent forth its waters near my head: A rosy Lass approach'd my view;...
[Footnote: Sickness may be often an incentive to poetical composition; I found it so; and I esteem the following lines only because they remind me of past feelings which I would not willingly forget.]
Now fare-thee-well, England; no further I'll roam; But follow my shadow that points the way home; Your gay southern Shores shall not tempt me to stay; For my Maggy's at Home, and my Children at play!...
In the descriptive ballad which follows, it will be evident that I have endeavoured to preserve the style of a gossip, and to transmit the memorial of a custom, the extent or antiquity of which I am not acquainted with, and pre...
ROVER, awake! the grey Cock crows! Come, shake your coat and go with me! High in the East the green Hill glows; And glory crowns our shelt'ring Tree. The Sheep expect us at the fold:...
My untried muse shall no high tone assume, Nor strut in arms; - farewell my cap and plume: Brief be my verse, a task within my power, I tell my feelings in one happy hour;...
Come, friend, I'll turn thee up again: Companion of the lonely hour! Spring thirty times hath fed with rain And cloath'd with leaves my humble bower, Since thou hast stood In frame of wood,...
In our cottage, that peeps from the skirts of the wood, I am mistress, no mother have I; Yet blithe are my days, for my father is good, And kind is my lover hard by;...