Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/188
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Solitude.
High on the bare bleak hills the shepherd lies,
Watching his flocks which spot the green below;
Above him spread the grey and sullen skies,
And on the mountains round the unbroken snow.
What voice instructs him there? The winds that blow.
What friend has he? His dog. Yet with these twain
He grows a prophet of the frost and rain,
And well the fox's cunning learns to know.
There lies he, and through coming years must lie,
More lonely than the lonely hills, for they
Have mute companions, like themselves in form;
But he must live alone till life decay,
See nothing save his dog, the flocks, the sky,
Hear nothing save the old eternal storm.
Watching his flocks which spot the green below;
Above him spread the grey and sullen skies,
And on the mountains round the unbroken snow.
What voice instructs him there? The winds that blow.
What friend has he? His dog. Yet with these twain
He grows a prophet of the frost and rain,
And well the fox's cunning learns to know.
There lies he, and through coming years must lie,
More lonely than the lonely hills, for they
Have mute companions, like themselves in form;
But he must live alone till life decay,
See nothing save his dog, the flocks, the sky,
Hear nothing save the old eternal storm.
Song for May-Day.
It is May! it is May!
And all earth is gay,
For at last old Winter is quite away;
He lingered awhile in his cloak of snow,
To see the delicate primrose blow;
He saw it, and made no longer stay—-
And now it is May! it is May!
And all earth is gay,
For at last old Winter is quite away;
He lingered awhile in his cloak of snow,
To see the delicate primrose blow;
He saw it, and made no longer stay—-
And now it is May! it is May!
It is May! it is May!
And we bless the day
When we first delightedly so can say;
April had beams amid her showers,
Yet bare were her gardens, and cold her bowers;
And her frown would blight, and her smile betray—
But now it is May! it is May!
And we bless the day
When we first delightedly so can say;
April had beams amid her showers,
Yet bare were her gardens, and cold her bowers;
And her frown would blight, and her smile betray—
But now it is May! it is May!
It is May! it is May!
And the slenderest spray
Holds up a few leaves to the ripening ray:
And the birds sing fearlessly out on high,
For there is not a cloud in the calm blue sky,
And the villagers join in their roundelay—
For, oh! it is May! it is May!
And the slenderest spray
Holds up a few leaves to the ripening ray:
And the birds sing fearlessly out on high,
For there is not a cloud in the calm blue sky,
And the villagers join in their roundelay—
For, oh! it is May! it is May!