Happiness of life

Here lies the germ & happiness of life
The foot beat playground of the village boys
Echo is weary of the rapturous strife
& almost fades neath the excessive noise
Some race at leap-frog o'er each others back
Some chase their shadows in the evening sun
Some play at hare & hounds a noisy pack
Or ‘Duck duck under water’ shout & run
Others at hopscotch try their cautious skill
Or nine peg morris cut on grassy hill
Astraddle upon clapping gates some swee
Or tie the branches down of willow tree
A passing bell scarce makes a deeper sigh
Than the remembrances of days gone by

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A ribbond sky

Now evenings rosey streaks—a ribbond sky

Spreads in the golden light of the far west
& mighty rocks are pillowed dark & high
The image & the prototype of rest

The heavens prophesy where peace is blest—
A stillness soft as fall of silent dews
Is felt around—the very dusk looks blest
As is the maiden while her heart pursues
Her evening walk oer fields in silent dews
Ave Maria tis the hour of love
When sighs & pains & tears on beautys breast
Are whispered into blessings from above
Ave Maria tis the hour of rest
For man & woaman & the weary beast
& parents love the minature delights
That blesses all with sleep & quiet rest
Ave Maria tis the hour of night
Like to an Indian Maiden dressed in white

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Restore the joy

Autumn I love thy latter end to view
In cold novembers day so bleak & bare
When like lifes dwindld thread worn nearly thro
Wi lingering pottering pace & head bleachd bare
Thou like an old man bids the world adieu
I love thee well & often when a child
Have roamd the bare brown heath a flower to find
& in the moss clad vale & wood bank wild
Have cropt the little bell flowers paley blue
That trembling peept the sheltering bush behind
When winnowing north winds cold & blealy blew
How have I joyd wi dithering hands to find
Each fading flower & still how sweet the blast
Woud bleak novembers hour Restore the joy thats past

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The chasm

There is a chasm in the heart of man 
 
That nothing fathoms like a gulph at sea 
 
A depth of darkness lines may never span 
 
A shade unsunned in dark eternity 
 
Thoughts without shadows — that eye can see 
 
Or thought imagine tis unknown to fame 
 
Like day at midnight such its youth to me 
 
At ten years old it boyhoods secret came 
 
Now manhoods forty past tis just the same

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His yearly task

At length the stir of rural labours still
& industry her care awhile foregoes
When winter comes in earnest to fulfil
His yearly task at bleak Novembers close
& stops the plough & hides the field in snows
When frost locks up the stream in chill delay
& mellows on the hedge the jetty sloes
For little birds then toil hath time for play
& nought but threshers flails awake the dreary day

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He doth dithering sit

The boy that scareth from the spiry wheat
The melancholy crow in hurry weaves
Beneath an ivied tree his sheltering seat
Of rushy flags & sedges tied in sheaves
Or from the field a shock of stubble thieves
There he doth dithering sit & entertain
His eyes with marking the storm driven leaves
Oft spying nests where he spring eggs had ta'en
& wishing in his heart twas summer-time again

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My life

My life hath been one love—no blot it out

My life hath been one chain of contradictions


Madhouses Prisons wh---re shops—never doubt


But that my life hath had some strong convictions

That such was wrong—religion makes restrictions

I would have followed—but life turned a bubble


& clumb the jiant stile of maledictions


They took me from my wife & to save trouble


I wed again & made the error double


Yet abscence claims them both & keeps them too

& locks me in a shop in spite of law


Among a low lived set & dirty crew


Here let the Muse oblivions curtain draw


& let man think—for God hath often saw


Things here too dirty for the light of day


For in a madhouse there exists no law—


Now stagnant grows my too refined clay
I envy birds their wings to flue away

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