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Rhymes and Roundelayes in Praise of a Country Life
Birket Foster,Harrison Weir
No preview available - 2019
AUTUMN beauty bells beneath bird bloom blue bowers breath breeze bright buds cheer Christmas clear close clouds cold comes cottage dancing dark deep delight doth earth face fair fields flocks flowers forest fresh gale gentle glowing golden green grove grow half happy HARVEST hath head hear heard heart heaven hills hues hunt leaves light lives lonely looks lords loud mark merry moon MORNING mountain Nature never night nightingale notes o'er once plain play rest rising roses round scene seems seen shade shining side silent silver sing sits sleep smiles snow soft song sound spread SPRING stream summer sweet swell thee thou trees turn vale village voice warm waters waves weary wide wild wind wings winter woods yellow young youth
Page 29 - The turtle to her make hath told her tale. Summer is come, for every spray now springs. The hart hath hung his old head on the pale ; The buck in brake his winter coat he flings ; The fishes fleet with new repaired scale.
Page 142 - When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Page 62 - They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed— and gazed— but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure...
Page 37 - SWEET bird ! that sing'st away the early hours Of winters past, or coming, void of care. Well pleased with delights which present are, Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers : To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers, Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare, And what dear gifts on thee He did not spare, A stain to human sense in sin that lowers. What soul can be so sick which by thy songs...
Page 108 - Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel...
Page 61 - Methought that of these visionary flowers I made a nosegay, bound in such a way That the same hues, which in their natural bowers Were mingled or opposed, the like array Kept these imprisoned children of the Hours Within my hand, — and then, elate and gay, I hastened to the spot whence I had come, That I might there present it!
Page 81 - Hovering o'er the wanton face Of these pastures, where they come, Striking dead both bud and bloom : Therefore, from such danger lock Every one his loved flock; And let your dogs lie loose without, Lest the wolf come as a scout From the mountain, and, ere day, Bear a lamb or kid away; Or the crafty thievish fox Break upon your simple flocks. To secure...
Page 34 - Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise: Arise, arise.
Page 61 - Thou mightest in dream. There grew pied wind-flowers and violets, Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth, The constellated flower that never sets ; Faint oxlips ; tender blue-bells, at whose birth The sod scarce heaved ; and that tall flower that wets Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears, When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears.
Page 96 - Stand, never overlooked, our favourite elms That screen the herdsman's solitary hut ; While far beyond and overthwart the stream That as with molten glass inlays the vale, The sloping land recedes into the clouds ; Displaying on its varied side the grace Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tower, Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells Just undulates upon the listening ear ; Groves, heaths, and smoking villages remote.