British Georgics. January (James Grahame Poems)
The labours of the plough, the various toilsThat, still returning with the changeful year,Demand the husbandman's and cottar's care;The joys ...
The labours of the plough, the various toilsThat, still returning with the changeful year,Demand the husbandman's and cottar's care;The joys ...
Beneath the fervour of the noon-tide beamAll Nature's works in placid stillness pause,--Save man, and his joint labourer the horse,The ...
The long-piled mountain-snows at last dissolve,Bursting the roaring river's brittle bonds.Ponderous the fragments down the cataract shoot,And, buried in the ...
No more at dewy dawn, or setting sun,The blackbird's song floats mellow down the dale;Mute is the lark, or soars ...
Loud raves the blast, and, smell, the sleety showersDrive over hill and dale with hurrying sweep.The leafless boughs all to ...
Clear is the sky, and temperate the air,That, scarcely stirring, wafts, with gentlest breath,The gossamer light glittering in the sun.And ...
Intense the viewless flood of heat descendsOn hill, and dale, and wood, and tangled brake,Where, to the chirping grasshopper, the ...
Sweet month! thy locks with bursting buds begemmed,With opening hyacinths and hawthorn flowers,Fair still thou art, though showers bedim thine ...
Raised by the coming plough, the merry larkUpsprings, and, soaring, joins the high-poised choirsThat carol far and near, in spiral ...
Through boughs still leafless, or through foliage thin,The sloping primrose-bed lies fair exposed,Begemmed with simple flowers, gladdening the sight.Hail! month ...
Hark! the whetstone raspsAlong the mower's scythe; for now's the timeTo reap the grassy mead,—-ere yet the beeInto the purple ...
Delightful is this loneliness; it calmsMy heart: pleasant the cool beneath these elms,That throw across the stream a moveless shade.Here ...
Dear to my soul! ah, early lost!Affection's arm was weak to save:Now friendship's pride, and virtue's boast,Have come to an ...
When homeward bands their several ways disperse,I love to linger in the narrow fieldOf rest, to wander round from tomb ...
Twice has the sun commenced his annual round,Since first thy footsteps totter'd o'er the ground,Since first thy tongue was tuned ...
Yon motley, sable-suited throng, that waitAround the poor man's door, announce a taleOf wo; the husband, parent, is no more.Contending ...
More earnest was his voice! most mild his look,As with raised hands he bless'd his parting flock.He is a faithful ...
Slow glides the Nile: amid the margin flags,Closed in a bulrush ark, the babe is left, —Left by a mother's ...
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