The Tables Turned

"Nor less I dream that there are Powers
Which of themselves our minds impress;

That we can feed this mind of ours

In a wise passiveness.

"Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum

Of things forever speaking,

That nothing of itself will come,

But we must still be seeking?

"Then ask not wherefore, here, alone,
Conversing as I may,

I sit upon this old gray stone,

And dream my time away."

1611

William Wordsworth [1770-1850]

THE TABLES TURNED

AN EVENING SCENE ON THE SAME SUBJECT

UP! up! my friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you'll grow double:

Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun, above the mountain's head,

A freshening luster mellow

Through all the long green fields has spread,

His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:

Come, hear the woodland linnet,

How sweet his music! on my life

There's more of wisdom in it.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless-
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,

Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;

Our meddling intellect

Misshapes the beauteous forms of things:

We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;

Close up those barren leaves;

Come forth, and bring with you a heart

That watches and receives.

William Wordsworth [1770-1850]

SIMPLE NATURE

BE it not mine to steal the cultured flower
From any garden of the rich and great,
Nor seek with care, through many a weary hour,
Some novel form of wonder to create.
Enough for me the leafy woods to rove,
And gather simple cups of morning dew,
Or, in the fields and meadows that I love,
Find beauty in their bells of every hue.
Thus round my cottage floats a fragrant air,
And though the rustic plot be humbly laid,
Yet, like the lilies ale dly growing there,

"A-Hunting We Will Go"

1613

HUNTING-SONG

From "

King Arthur"

Он, who would stay indoor, indoor,

When the horn is on the hill? (Bugle: Tarantara!
With the crisp air stinging, and the huntsmen singing,
And a ten-tined buck to kill!

Before the sun goes down, goes down,

We shall slay the buck of ten; (Bugle: Tarantara!
And the priest shall say benison, and we shall ha'e venison,
When we come home again.

Let him that loves his ease, his ease,

Keep close and house him fair; (Bugle: Tarantara!
He'll still be a stranger to the merry thrill of danger
And the joy of the open air.

But he that loves the hills, the hills,

Let him come out to-day! (Bugle: Tarantara!

For the horses are neighing, and the hounds are baying,
And the hunt's up, and away!

Richard Hovey [1864-1900]

"A-HUNTING WE WILL GO"

From "Don Quixote in England "

THE dusky night rides down the sky,
And ushers in the morn;

The hounds all join in glorious cry,

The huntsman winds his horn.

And a-hunting we will go.

The wife around her husband throws

Her arms to make him stay;
"My dear, it rains, it hails, it blows;

You cannot hunt to-day.”

79M

Yet a-hunting we will go.

Away they fly to 'scape the rout,

Their steeds they soundly switch;
Some are thrown in, and some thrown out,
And some thrown in the ditch.

Yet a-hunting we will go.

Sly Reynard now like lightning flies,
And sweeps across the vale;

And when the hounds too near he spies,

He drops his bushy tail.

Then a-hunting we will go.

Fond Echo seems to like the sport,

And join the jovial cry;

The woods, the hills, the sound retort,

And music fills the sky,

When a-hunting we do go.

At last his strength to faintness worn,
Poor Reynard ceases flight;
Then hungry, homeward we return,

To feast away the night.

And a-drinking we do go.

Ye jovial hunters, in the morn
Prepare then for the chase;
Rise at the sounding of the horn
And health with sport embrace,

When a-hunting we do go.
Henry Fielding [1707-1754]

HUNTING SONG

WAKEN, lords and ladies gay,

On the mountain dawns the day;

All the jolly chase is here,

With hawk and horse and hunting-spear!

Hounds are in their couples yelling,

Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,

Merrily, merrily, mingle they,

"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

The Angler's Invitation.

Waken, lords and ladies gay,

The mist has left the mountain gray,
Springlets in the dawn are steaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming,
And foresters have busy been
To track the buck in thicket green;
Now we come to chant our lay,
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
To the greenwood haste away;
We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot and tall of size;

We can show the marks he made
When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed;
You shall see him brought to bay;
Waken, lords and ladies gay.

Louder, louder chant the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee
Run a course as well as we;

Time, stern hunstman! who can balk,
Stanch as hound and fleet as hawk?

Think of this, and rise with day,

Gentle lords and ladies gay!

1615

Walter Scott [1771-1832]

THE ANGLER'S INVITATION

COME when the leaf comes, angle with me,
Come when the bee hums over the lea,

Come with the wild flowers

Come with the wild showers

Come when the singing bird calleth for thee!

Then to the stream side, gladly we'll hie,
Where the gray trout glide silently by,
Or in some still place

Over the hill face

Hurrying onward, drop the light fly.