There is a poor blind man, who, every day, In summer sunshine, or in winter's rain, Duly as tolls the bell, to the high fane Explores, with faltering footsteps, his dark way,...
Old soldier! old soldier! the beams of the day, That shone on thy sabre, have long passed away, And thy sun is gone down, and thy few hairs are gray, Old soldier! ...
Oh, who would keep a little bird confined, When cowslip bells are nodding in the wind; When every hedge as with "good morrow" rings, And, heard from wood to coombe, the blackbird sings!...
Luke Andrews is transported! Never more To see his sisters, mother, or the shore Of his own country! Never more to see The cottage smoke rise o'er the sheltering tree; Never again beneath the morning beam,...