Classic Poem

Thou far-fled pasture, long evanished scene,
Where Nature's freedom spread the flowery green —
Where golden kingcups opened into view,
Where silver daisies charmed the raptured view,
And tottering (hid among those brighter gems)
Where silver grasses bent their tiny stems,
Where the pale lilac mean and lowly grew
Courting in vain each gazer's heedless view,
While cowslips, sweetest flowers upon the plain,
Seemingly bowed to shun the hand in vain,
Where lowing oxen roamed to feed at large
And bleating there the shepherd's woolly charge
Whose constant calls thy echoing valleys cheered,
Thy scenes adorned and rural life endeared —
No calls of hunger pity's feelings wound,
'Twas wanton plenty raised the joyful sound!
Thy grass in plenty gave the wished supply
Ere sultry suns had waked the troubling fly
Then blest retiring (by thy bounty fed)
They sought thy shades and found an easy bed.
But now, alas, those scenes exist no more,
The pride of life with thee (like mine) is o'er:
Thy pleasing spots, to which fond memory clings,
Sweet cooling shades and soft refreshing springs —
And though Fate's pleased to lay their beauties by
In a dark corner of obscurity,
As fair and sweet they bloomed thy plains among
As blooms those Edens by the poets sung,
Now all laid waste by Desolation's hand
Whose cursed weapons levels half the land!
Oh who could see my dear green willows fall,
What feeling heart but dropped a tear for all!
Accursed Wealth, o'erbounding human laws,
Of every evil thou remains the cause:
Victims of want, those wretches such as me,
Too truly lay their wretchedness to thee!
Thou art the bar that keeps from being fed,
And thine our loss of labour and of bread —
Thou art the cause that levels every tree,
And woods bow down to clear a way for thee!