On Some Friends Leaving a Favourite Spot

Tho thou wert not the place of my being & birth
Tho I spent not the sports of my childhood in thee
Yet amid the dear spots we call edens on earth
Thou art one of the fairest thats known unto me
Five beautiful springs thee & thine have I known
Thy woods & thy brooks winding peacfull at will
Thy heaths & like hermitage standing alone
Thy cottage that smoaks by the side of a hill.

I have rambld thy plains were no being beside
Hath intruded the length of a whole summers day
& followd the shepherds path dimly descryd
By the hedges all lind wi dog roseys & may
& wilds were no tracks but the rabbits hath been
Were flowers bloom untouchd till they fade seed & dye
Were the whole summer thro near a school boy is seen
& the linnets brood lives in their nest till they flye.

I have turnd to thy springs with the birds when adry
& hunted thy flowers with the hoarse humming bee
& the few scantling pleasures that manhood supply
Were some of them sought for & gatherd in thee
& a flower that grew with thee the fairest of all
That decks the soft bosom of april & may
Blooming lovly & wild by the lone cottage wall
Love wood it with rapture & won it away.

& Ive walkd oer thy wilds with the flower I esteem
& livd in the peace of her cottage a guest
& musd oer the charms of thy heath & thy stream
As she sunk in our walks on my bosom to rest
& the bowers on thy heaths sprinkld over with cows
Were we sat down at noon a cool minute to spend
Enjoying the breeze that fannd thro the green boughs
When I left them I bade em farwell like a friend.

Were the brook from its fountain rock drop after drop
Mutterd lonly & hid on its half buried way
Were shades on each side grew & met at the top
& made it seem night in the midst of the day
The dove hid her there were its foes rarely pass
Far away from the haunts of the rude netterd boy
& the brown bee its honey hurds in the tall grass
Were the mower neer comes with a scythe to destroy.

Tho spring brings the wild heath its anual bloom
Spreading white sheets of flowers on the thorns dripping bough
Yet tyrants have been with the friends of her home
& strangers are there to inhabit it now
The foot path as usual inviteth us on
& the old mosy cottage still peeps oer the dell
But the friends of the blossom I gatherd are gone
& bidden the fields & the dwelling farewell.

We might roam as wont to the heaths yellow oer
With furze flowers & lamb toe thick creeping & rove
Down the crookd path that leads to the fountain once more
The scenes of her childhood & haunts of our love
& the cottage woud shine just the same in her eye
But the voice of old welcomes woud meet us no more
We might pass her lovd dwelling as strangers pass bye
& no eye woud notice or open the door.

I lovd the dear haunts & the sweet solitudes
That round its lone walls in the circle did lye
Were no living thing all the season intrudes
But a bird or a bee humming wearisome bye
& Ive hunted for spots by the brook & have found
The lonliest existing an hour to abide
With nought but the green light of trees flitting round
& the shadow that seemd stretchd asleep by my side.

The wood rides as wont wind beneath the oak bough
Still tempting the eye that admires to rove on
But stranger [feet] walk in their lonliness now
& their old fellow hermits that lovd them are gone
The birds in the garden shades nestling among
As fond of their neighbours that usd to dwell bye
Hear strange voices now & stop short in their song
& startld peep down on fresh faces & flye.

The sparrows no doubt will grow coy & complain
To meddlsome foes that their freedom is gone
& the fond robin pause ere he ventures again
To pick up the crumbles of bread by the door
The martin that yet to the cottage repairs
That once met a welcome & quiet enjoyd
May now find a tyrant as cruel as theirs
& mourning retreat from its dwelling destroyd.

The black bee that hums by the mud crevisd wall
Even they may old friends & old neighbours deplore
While meddlsome children wi frolicsome brawl
Shouteth loudly that friendship & freedom is oer
I've seen these delights in their season of peace
When their old friends & neighbours was laboring nigh
Ere a tyrants intrusions had warnd them to cease
& I deeply regret that such seasons are bye.

Long long in seclus[i]on their lives had been nurst
Neighbours only to blossoms to birds & to bees
Till plumb stones & damsions set when they came first
& small apple curnels had grown up to trees
& a thorn that was not when they came to the spot
Which a linnet might bring when an awe from the dell
Had grown when they left half as high as the cot
& quite overshadowd the curb of the well.

The wood bine that crept up the door & peepd in
May with them of its bloom & its home be bereft
That clung to the cot with its inmates akin
& they felt that it viewd them as such when they left
When they left birds & flowers all their neighbours behind
In the noise & the strife of a village to dwell
They seemd to have borrowd the voice of the wind
& to sigh when their last look turnd on them ‘farewell’
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.