The prospect round

O who can tell the sweets of May-days morn
To waken rapture in a feeling mind
When the gilt East unveils her dappled dawn
& the gay wood-lark has its nest resigned
As slow the sun creeps up the hill behind
Moon reddening round & daylights spotless hue
As seemingly with rose & lily lined
While all the prospect round beams fair to view
Like a sweet Spring flower with its unsullied dew

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Green drapery & crispy curls

I loved & wooed them in the field like gems

Of two much value for the clown who sung

The azure bluebells in their sapphire stems

Among green bushes low their mute bells hung

These seemed loves modest maidens dew bestrung

With blebs o' mornings glittering pearls

I loved them in the vallys where I sung

With their green drapery & crispy curls

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A Spring shower

Black grows the southern sky betokening rain
& humming hive-bees homeward hurry bye
They feel the change so let us shun the grain
& take the broad road while our feet are dry
Ay there some dropples moistened on my face
& pattered on my hat--tis coming nigh
Lets look about & find a sheltering place
The little things around like you & I
Are hurrying through the grass to shun the shower
Here stoops an ash-tree--hark the wind gets high
But never mind this ivy for an hour
Rain as it may will keep us dryly here
That little wren knows well his sheltering bower
Nor leaves his dry house though we come so near

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An April daisy

Welcome old Maytey peeping once again

Our meeting minds me of a pleasent hour
Springs pencil pinks thy cheek that blushy stain
& Summer glistens in thy tinty flower

Hail Beautys gem disdaining time nor place
Carlessly creeping on the dunghills side
Demeanour softens in thy crimpled face
& Decks thee with a charm unknown to pride

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A little mouse

Nay dont be alarmed & start up from the hay 
Thats nought but a little mouse running away 
& now she finds out we're not foes to destroy 
Do but hear in the grass how she chitters for joy 
No doubt in the beans nigh at hand may sojourn 
Her childern awaiting her mothers return 
See there where the willow bends over the brook 
At our feet like an old shepherd over his crook 
Neath its boughs Gnats & midges are still at their play 
Like ball rooms of faireys all dancing away

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Farm Cat

Now the cat has ta'en her seat, 
With her tail curled round her feet; 
Patiently she sits to watch 
Sparrows fighting on the thatch. 
Now Doll brings the expected pails, 
And dogs begin to wag their tails; 
With strokes and pats they're welcomed in, 
And they with looking wants begin; 
Slove in the milk-pail brimming o'er, 
She pops their dish behind the door. 
Prone to mischief boys are met, 
Neath the eaves the ladder's set, 
Sly they climb in softest tread, 
To catch the sparrow on his bed; 
Massacred, O cruel pride! 
Dashed against the ladder's side. 
Curst barbarians! pass me by; 
Come not, Turks, my cottage nigh; 
Sure my sparrows are my own, 
Let ye then my birds alone

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Early nightingales

When first we hear the shy-come nightingales
They seem to mutter oer their songs in fear
And, climb we eer so soft the spinney rails
All stops as if no bird was anywhere
The kindled bushes with the young leaves thin
Let curious eyes to search a long way in
Until impatience cannot see or hear
The hidden music; gets but little way
Upon the path--when up the songs begin
Full loud a moment and then low again
But when a day or two confirms her stay
Boldly she sings and loud for half the day
And soon the village brings the woodman's tale
Of having heard the newcome nightingale

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