Ye hills, ye plains, ye groves, ye streams, ye gales, Ye ever-happy scenes! all you, your Poet hails.
All hail to thee, O May! the crown of all !
The
and glory of my song:
recompence
Ne small the recompence, ne glory small,
If gentle ladies, and the tuneful throng,
With lover's myrtle, and with poet's bay
Fairly bedight, approve the simple lay,
And think on Thomalin whene'er they hail thee,
May!
ATTEMPTED IN THE MANNER OF
SWEET poplar shade, whose trembling leaves emong
The cheereful birds delight to chaunt their laies;
Where oft the linnet powres the dulcet song,]
And oft the thrilling thrush descanting plaies;
Their tunes attempring to the silver Yare,
Which gently murmurs here,
A babbling brook; but swelling in his pride
Sees two fam'd towns upon his bankes appeare,
And the tall ships on his faire bosom ride;
Indignant then rolls his prowde waves away,
And fomes ore half the sea:
Sweet stream, with shade refresht, orehung with
Entrailed with the honied woodbine faire;
Where breathes the gentlest, softest, simplest aire
Stealing fresh odors from the rising flowres,
Joy of my calmer howres,
O sooth me with thy murmurs whiles I sing;
The hills, the dales, the woods, the fountaines ring.
With pleasance oft two silver swannes I view
Pranking their silken plumes with conscious pride,
A comely couplement of goodly hew,
Come softly swimming down the crystal tide
The crystal tide, resplendent as it may,
Looks not so faire as they,
Whether their snowie necks they love to lave,
Or pluck with jettie bill in wanton play
The yellow flowres that flote upon the wave;
Or sdeigne to tinge their plumage, lest they might
Soyle their pure beauties bright;
But with slow pomp on the clear surface move. 30
Sweet cygnets, whiter than the new-faln snow
That silvers ore Thessalian Pindus brow;
Purer than those that draw the queen of love,
Fayrer than Laeda's Jove,
Tune your melodious voices whiles I sing;
The hills, the dales, the woods, the fountaines ring.
Oft when the modest morn in purple drest,
Wak'd by the lively larke's love-learned laye,
Unbars the golden light-gate of the east,
And as a bridemaid leads the blushing daye ;
The sunnes bright harbinger before her goes
Scattering violet, scattering rose;
The jolly sunne, uprist with lusty pride,
Shakes his fair amber locks and round him throws
His glitterand beams to wellcome up his bride;
Then bids his livery'd clouds before him flie,
And daunces up the skie.
Sweet is the breath of heaven with day-spring born
Sweet are the flowres, that ore the damaskt meads
To the new sunne unfold their velvet heads;
Sweet is the dewe, the spangled child of morn,
That does the leaves adorn;
Sweet is the matin hymne the glad birds sing;
The hills, the dales, the woods, the fountaines ring.
With early step yon verdant slope I tread
Crown'd with the florisht bowre of cremosin health;
Whence auntient Norwic rears her towred head,
Norwic, fair nurse of industrie and wealth!
Down in the dale my lowly hamlet lies,
Where truth without disguise,
Where dove-like peace, and virgin virtue where.
Hence Bacon's villa greets my pleasur❜d eyes;
Bacon to Phoebus and the Muses deare,
Seeking, uncombred with the toyles of state,
This grove-embosom'd seate.
The tufted hill, the valley flowre-bedight,
Ꮫ The silver shinings of my winding Yare,
σ The corn green-springing, and the fallows seare,
The lambkins sporting round, rural delight,
From hence enchaunt the sight, 70
And wake the rura! pipe, and tempt to sing;
The hills, the dales, the woods, the fountaines ring.
Oft when the eve demure with dewy eye,
Clad in a lengthned stole of raven-gray,]
Assumes the sober empire of the skye,
The streakt west glimmering to the parting day;]
When golden Hesperus, forth-streaming bright,
The leader of the night,
Marshals his radiant troopes, and gives command
In heaven's hie arch their lovely lamps to light; 0
Shouting he walks the Gideon of the band: Stag
When first the youthfull moon begins to show
New-bent her blessed bow;
When, or uprising from her eastern bowre
Full-orb'd she strives her glowing face to shroud,
Gorgeously mantled in a lucid cloud;
Or all her beaming brightness deignes to powre
The silver'd landskip o'er ;
And shepherd swains their evening carrols sing;
The hills, the dales, the woods, the fountaines ring,
Ore the new-shaven level green I rove,
Where the fresh haycock breathes along the mead,
Or wander thro' th' uncertain-shaded grove,
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