O blessed, blessed Speaker’s clock,
All prophesying rain!
O blessed yaffil, laughing loud!
O blessed falling glass!
O blessed fan of cold gray cloud!
O blessed smelling grass!
O bless’d South wind that toots his horn
Through every hole and crack!
I’m off at eight to-morrow morn,
To bring
such
fishes back!
Eversley, April 1, 1856.
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1 Oh! that we two were Maying
3 Like children with violets playing4 In the shade of the whispering trees.5 Oh! that we two sat dreaming6 On the sward of some sheep-trimmed down,7 Watching the white mist steaming8 Over river and mead and town.9 Oh! that we two lay sleeping10 In our nest in the churchyard sod,11 With our limbs at rest…
(Written for music to be sung at a parish industrial exhibition)
Rises as her Maker rose.Seeds, so long in darkness sleeping,Burst at last from winter snows.Earth with heaven above rejoices;Fields and gardens hail the spring;Shaughs and woodlands ring with voices,While the wild birds build and sing.You, to whom your Maker grantedPowers to those sweet birds unknown,Use the craft by God implanted;Use the reason not your own.Here,…
It was an hairy oubit, sae proud he crept alang,
‘My Minnie bad me bide at hame until I won my wings;I show her soon my soul’s aboon the warks o’ creeping things.’This feckless hairy oubit cam’ hirpling by the linn,A swirl o’ wind cam’ doun the glen, and blew that oubit in:Oh when he took the water, the saumon fry they rose,And tigg’d him…
Ye mountains, on whose torrent-furrowed slopes,
I envied oft the soul which fills your wastesOf pure and stern sublime, and still expanseUnbroken by the petty incidentsOf noisy life: Oh hear me once again!Winds, upon whose racked eddies, far aloft,Above the murmur of the uneasy world,My thoughts in exultation held their way:Whose tremulous whispers through the rustling gladeWere once to me unearthly…
Wild wild wind, wilt thou never cease thy sighing?
Cold cold church, in thy death sleep lying,The Lent is past, thy Passion here, but not thine Easter-day.Peace, faint heart, though the night be dark and sighing;Rest, fair corpse, where thy Lord himself hath lain.Weep, dear Lord, above thy bride low lying;Thy tears shall wake her frozen limbs to life and health again.
1 ‘O Mary, go and call the cattle home,
3 And call the cattle home4 Across the sands of Dee’;5 The western wind was wild and dank with foam,6 And all alone went she.7 The western tide crept up along the sand,8 And o’er and o’er the sand,9 And round and round the sand,10 As far as eye could see.11 The rolling mist came…