English

Come then, and like two Doves with silv'rie wings,
Let our soules flie to' th' shades, where ever springs
Sit smiling in the Meads; where Balme and Oile,
Roses and Cassia crown the untill'd soyle.
Where no disease raignes, or infection comes
To blast the Aire, but Amber-greece and Gums.
This, that, and ev'ry Thicket doth transpire
More sweet, then Storax from the hallowed fire:
Where ev'ry tree a wealthy issue beares
Of fragrant Apples, blushing Plums, or Peares:
And all the shrubs, with sparkling spangles, shew

Close keep your lips, if that you meane
To be accounted inside cleane:
For if you cleave them, we shall see
There in your teeth much Leprosie.

Choose me your Valentine;
Next, let us marry:
Love to the death will pine,
If we long tarry.

Promise, and keep your vowes,
Or vow ye never:
Loves doctrine disallowes
Troth-breakers ever.

You have broke promise twice
(Deare) to undoe me;
If you prove faithlesse thrice,
None then will wooe ye.

A clock stopped — not the mantel's;
Geneva's farthest skill
Can't put the puppet bowing
That just now dangled still.

An awe came on the trinket!
The figures hunched with pain,
Then quivered out of decimals
Into degreeless noon.

It will not stir for doctors,
This pendulum of snow;
The shopman importunes it,
While cool, concernless No

Nods from the gilded pointers,
Nods from the seconds slim,
Decades of arrogance between
The dial life and him.

The more I've viewed this world, the more I've found,
That filled as 't is with scenes and creatures rare,
Fancy commands within her own bright round
A world of scenes and creatures far more fair.
Nor is it thaTher power can call up there
A single charm, that's not from Nature won, —
No more than rainbows in their pride can wear
A single tint unborrowed from the sun;
But 't is the mental medium it shines thro',
That lends to Beauty all its charm and hue;
As the same light that o'er the level lake

No — leave my heart to rest, if rest it may,
When youth, and love, and hope, have past away.
Couldst thou, when summer hours are fled,
To some poor leaf that's fallen and dead,
Bring back the hue it wore, the scent it shed?
No — leave this heart to rest, if rest it may,
When youth, and love, and hope, have past away.

Oh, had I met thee then, when life was bright,
Thy smile might still have fed its tranquil light;
But now thou comest like sunny skies,
Too late to cheer the seaman's eyes,

C OMIN ' through the craigs o' Kyle,
— Amang the bonnie bloomin' heather,
There I met a bonnie lassie,
— Keepin' a' her ewes thegither.

— — — Owre the muir amang the heather,
Owre the muir amang the heather;
— — — There I met a bonnie lassie,
Keepin' a' her ewes thegither.

Says I, My dear, where is thy hame, —
— In muir or dale, pray tell me whether?
She says, I tent the fleecy flocks
— That feed amang the bloomin' heather.

We laid us down upon a bank,

Comes fall, and with a sound of leaves,
The wind's incorrigible stroke
Blows out the insufficient sleeves
Of my forlorn and ancient cloak.

Expect no tenement, my friend,
Beneath this scant and threadbare vest;
Alone, to my indifferent end
I go my way, and God knows best.

Comes a dun in the morning and raps at my door —
" I made bold to call — 'tis a twelvemonth and more —
I'm sorry, believe me, to trouble you thus, sir —
But Job would be paid, sir, had Job been a mercer. "
My friend, have but patience — " Ay, these are your ways. "
I have got but one shilling to serve me two days —
But, sir — prithee take it, and tell your attorney,
If I han't paid your bill, I have paid for your journey.
Well, now thou art gone, let me govern my passion,
And calmly consider — consider? vexation!

Come, ye thankful people, come, Raise the song of harvest-home:
All is safely gathered in, Ere the winter storms begin;
God, Our Maker, doth provide For our wants to be supplied:
Come to God's own temple, come, Raise the song of harvest-home.

All the world is God's own field, Fruit unto his praise to yield;
Wheat and tares together sown, Unto joy or sorrow grown:
First the blade, and then the ear, Then the full corn shall appear:
Lord of harvest, grant that we Wholesome grain and pure may be.