English

God bless the field and bless the furrow,
Stream and branch and rabbit burrow,
Hill and stone and flower and tree,
From Bristol town to Wetherby—
Bless the sun and bless the sleet,
Bless the lane and bless the street,
Bless the night and bless the day,
From Somerset and all the way
To the meadows of Cathay;
Bless the minnow, bless the whale,
Bless the rainbow and the hail,
Bless the nest and bless the leaf,
Bless the righteous and the thief,
Bless the wing and bless the fin,
Bless the air I travel in,

Ten months after Florimel happen'd to wed,
And was brought in a laudable manner to bed,
She warbl'd her groans with so charming a voice,
That one half of the parish was stunn'd with the noise.
But when Florimel deign'd to lie privately in,
Ten months before she and her spouse were a-kin,
She chose with such prudence her pangs to conceal,
That her nurse, nay her midwife, scarce heard her once squeal.
Learn, husbands, from hence, for the peace of your lives,
That maids make not half such a tumult, as wives.

Well, I'm in love with a feller, a feller you have seen,
He's neither white nor yellow but he's altogether green;
His name is not so charming, it's only Common Bill,
He urges me to wed to him but I hardly think I will.

Poor Bill, poor silly Bill,
He urges me to wed to him, but I hardly think I will.

He whispers of devotion, devotion pure and deep,
But it sounds so mighty silly that I almost fell asleep;
Now he thinks it would be pleasant for to journey down the hill,
Go hand in hand together, but I hardly think I will.

A light is laughing thro' the scattered rain,
A color quickens in the meadow;
Drops are still, upon the window-pane—
They cast a silver shadow.

'T IS done! 'tis well!—I've freely signed
The Pledge that prompts me to be wise;—
To keep the balance of my mind,
To cast the film from off my eyes:
Help me, divine, unerring Power!
To Thee, not man, do I appeal;
Oh! lend me strength this very hour,
For my eternal weal.

How frail—how failing I have been
In man's best duties here below!
My thoughts how dark, my pangs how keen,
He, the All-Wise, can only know.
Yet I have yearned—in sorrow yearned,
To keep my soul unsoiled within;

the baby carriage
and the wild waves
side by side in summer

Only for thee I fly the joyful sun
And mar the gladsome features of the day;
But labour lost is all this labour done,
My travail gives thee not an hour of play.
My sleepless nights I consecrate to thee,
Thou canst not sleep the sounder, Love, for me.

My striving cannot bring thee rest from strife,
Nor all my weariness one moment's ease;
Thou hast a secret bitterness to wife.
Love's born of woes, but not such woes as these.
Last woe of all, my life for thee I give,
But dying, I can never make thee live.

Our bonny Scots lads, in their green tartan plaids,
Their blue-belted bonnets, and feathers sae braw,
Rank'd up on the green were fair to be seen,
But my bonny young laddie was fairest of a'.
His cheeks were as red as the sweet heather-bell,
Or the red western cloud looking down on the snaw,
His lang yellow hair o'er his braid shoulders fell,
And the een o' the lasses were fix'd on him a'.

My heart sunk wi' wae on the fearfu' day,
When torn frae my bosom they march'd him awa',
He bade me farewell, he cried, “O be leel,”

Creatures all eyes and brows, and tresses streaming
By speed divine blown back; within, all fire
Of wondering zeal, and storm of bright desire;--
Round the broad dome the immortal throngs are beaming:
With elemental powers the vault is teeming.
We gaze, and, gazing, join the fervid choir,
In spirit launched on wings that ne'er can tire,
Like those that buoy the breasts of children dreaming.
The exquisitest hand that e'er in light
Revealed the subtlest smile of new-born pleasure
The depth here fathoms, and attains the height;

Where heat of love doth once possess the heart,
There cares oppress the mind with wondrous ill:
Wit runs awry, not fearing future smart,
And fond desire doth overmaster will:
The belly neither cares for meat nor drink,
Nor over-watched eyes desire to wink.

Footsteps are false, and wavering to and fro;
The pleasing flower of beauty fades away;
Reason retires, and pleasure brings in woe,
And wisdom yieldeth place to black decay:
Counsel and fame, and friendship are contemned,
And bashful shame, and Gods themselves condemned.