I rose, dear Mary
, from the soundest rest
A wondering, wayward, musing, singing guest;
I claim the priviledge of hill and plain
The woods are mine, and all that they contain;
The unpoluted gale that sweeps the glade,
All the cool blessings of the solemn shade;
Health, and the flow of happiness sincere,
Yet there's one wish—. I wish that thou wert here!
With me these dear Autumnal sweets to share,
Losing the trammels of domestic care,
To share my hearts ungovernable joy,
Ah! That's a tender string—(yet, while I find
That scenes like these can sooth the harass'd mind,
Trust me 'twould set thy jaded spirit free,
To wander thus through vales and woods with me.
Thou know'st how much I love to steal away
From noise, from uproar, and the glare of day,
With double transport would my heart rebound
To lead thee where the clustring nuts are found;
No toilsome efforts would our task demand,
For the brown treasure stoops to meet the hand.
Round the tall Hazel, beds of moss appear
And green-sward nibbled by the Forest Deer;
Sun, and alternate shade,—while o'er our heads
The cawing rook his glossy pinions spreads,
The noisy Jay his wild woods dashing through,
The ring-dove's chorus, and the rustling bough,
The far-resounding Gate, the Kite's shrill scream,
The distant ploughman's hollo to his Team,
This is the concert to my soul so dear,
It would delight thee too, wert thou but here.
For we might talk of home, and talk of days
Of sad distress, and Heav'ns mysterious ways,
Our chequer'd fortunes with a smile retrace,
And build new hopes upon our infant race;
Pour our thanksgivings forth, and weep the while,
And pray for blessing on our native Isle.
But vain my wish—Mary
thy sighs forbear,
Nor grudge the pleasure that you cannot share;
Make home delightful, kindly wish for me,
And I'll leave Hills and Dales, and Woods for thee.
You should pay the postage of your letters to me as I am not
always at Towcester to receive them,
and do not wish to take money out of the pockets of those who treat me so