Pastoral Ballad

O! share my cottage, dearest maid! Beneath a mountain, wild and high, It nestles in a silent glade, And a clear river wanders by. Each tender care, each honest art, Shall chase all future want from thee, If thy sweet lips consent impart To climb these craggy hills with me.

Far from the city’s vain parade, No scornful brow shall there be seen; No dull Impertinence invade, Nor Envy base, nor sullen Spleen; The shadowy rocks, that circle round, From storms shall guard our sylvan cell, And there shall every joy be found That loves in peaceful vales to dwell.

When late the tardy sun shall peer, And faintly gild yon little spire; When nights are long, and frosts severe, And our clean hearth is bright with fire, Sweet tales to read! sweet songs to sing! O! they shall drown the wind and rain, E’en till the soften’d season bring Merry spring-time back again!

Then hawthorns, flowering in the glen, Shall guard the warbling feather’d throng; Nor boast the busy haunts of men So fair a scene, so sweet a song. Thy arms the new-yean’d lamb will shield, And to the sunny shelter bear, While, o’er the rough and breathing field, My hands impel the gleaming share.

Ne’er doubt our wheaten ears will rise, And full their yellow harvest grow; Then taste with me the sprightly joys That Love and Industry bestow! Their jocund power can banish strife, Her clouds no passing day will see, Since all the leisure hours of life Shall still be spent in pleasing thee.