Squire Norton'S Song

There's a charm in Spring, when ev'rything Is bursting from the ground; When pleasant show'rs bring forth the flow'rs And all is life around.

In summer day, the fragrant hay Most sweetly scents the breeze; And all is still, save murm'ring rill, Or sound of humming bees.

Old Autumn comes;--with trusty gun In quest of birds we roam: Unerring aim, we mark the game, And proudly bear it home.

A winter's night has its delight, Well warmed to bed we go: A winter's day, we're blithe and gay, Snipe-shooting in the snow.

A country life, without the strife And noisy din of town, Is all I need, I take no heed Of splendour or renown.

And when I die, oh, let me lie Where trees above me wave; Let wild plants bloom around my tomb, My quiet country grave!