SPRINGINVITATION TO THE COUNTRY

Againwith pleasant greenHas Spring renewed the wood,And where the bare trunks stoodAre leafy arbours seen;And back on budding boughsCome birds, to court and pair,Whose rival amorous vowsAmaze the scented air.The streams unbound anewRefill their mossy banks,The forward season pranksWith flowers of varied hue:And scattered down the meadsFrom hour to hour unfoldA thousand buds and beadsIn stars and cups of gold.Now hear, and see, and note,The farms are all astir,And every labourerHas doffed his winter coat;And how with specks of whiteThey dot the brown hillside,Or jaunt and sing outrightAs by their teams they stride.They sing to feel the SunRegain his wanton strength;To know the year at lengthRewards their labour done;To see the rootless stakeThey set bare in the ground,Burst into leaf, and shakeIts grateful scent around.Ah now an evil lotIs his who toils for gain,Where crowded chimneys stainThe heavens his choice forgot;’Tis on the blighted treesThat deck his garden dim,And in the tainted breezeThat sweet spring comes to him.Far rather would I chooseThe grace of brutes that bask,Than in an eager task,My inborn honour lose:Would rather far enjoyThe body, than inventA duty, to destroyThe ease which nature sent;And country life I praiseAnd lead, because I findThe philosophic mindCan take no middle ways;She will not leave her loveTo mix with men, her artIs all to strive aboveThe crowd, or stand apart.Thrice happy he, the rarePrometheus, who can playWith hidden things, and layNew realms of nature bare:Whose venturous step has trodHell underfoot, and wonA crown from man and GodFor all that he has done.—That highest gift of all,Since crabbèd fate did floodMy heart with sluggish blood,I look not mine to call;But, like a truant freed,Fly to the woods, and claimA pleasure for the deedOf my inglorious name.And am content, deniedThe best, in choosing right;For Nature can delightFancies unoccupiedWith ecstasies so sweetAs none can even guess,Who walk not with the feetOf joy in idleness.Then leave your joyless ways,My friend, my joys to see.The day you come shall beThe choice of chosen days:You shall be lost, and learnNew being, and forgetThe world, till your returnShall bring your first regret.

Againwith pleasant green

Has Spring renewed the wood,

And where the bare trunks stood

Are leafy arbours seen;

And back on budding boughs

Come birds, to court and pair,

Whose rival amorous vows

Amaze the scented air.

The streams unbound anewRefill their mossy banks,The forward season pranksWith flowers of varied hue:And scattered down the meadsFrom hour to hour unfoldA thousand buds and beadsIn stars and cups of gold.

The streams unbound anew

Refill their mossy banks,

The forward season pranks

With flowers of varied hue:

And scattered down the meads

From hour to hour unfold

A thousand buds and beads

In stars and cups of gold.

Now hear, and see, and note,The farms are all astir,And every labourerHas doffed his winter coat;And how with specks of whiteThey dot the brown hillside,Or jaunt and sing outrightAs by their teams they stride.

Now hear, and see, and note,

The farms are all astir,

And every labourer

Has doffed his winter coat;

And how with specks of white

They dot the brown hillside,

Or jaunt and sing outright

As by their teams they stride.

They sing to feel the SunRegain his wanton strength;To know the year at lengthRewards their labour done;To see the rootless stakeThey set bare in the ground,Burst into leaf, and shakeIts grateful scent around.

They sing to feel the Sun

Regain his wanton strength;

To know the year at length

Rewards their labour done;

To see the rootless stake

They set bare in the ground,

Burst into leaf, and shake

Its grateful scent around.

Ah now an evil lotIs his who toils for gain,Where crowded chimneys stainThe heavens his choice forgot;’Tis on the blighted treesThat deck his garden dim,And in the tainted breezeThat sweet spring comes to him.

Ah now an evil lot

Is his who toils for gain,

Where crowded chimneys stain

The heavens his choice forgot;

’Tis on the blighted trees

That deck his garden dim,

And in the tainted breeze

That sweet spring comes to him.

Far rather would I chooseThe grace of brutes that bask,Than in an eager task,My inborn honour lose:Would rather far enjoyThe body, than inventA duty, to destroyThe ease which nature sent;

Far rather would I choose

The grace of brutes that bask,

Than in an eager task,

My inborn honour lose:

Would rather far enjoy

The body, than invent

A duty, to destroy

The ease which nature sent;

And country life I praiseAnd lead, because I findThe philosophic mindCan take no middle ways;She will not leave her loveTo mix with men, her artIs all to strive aboveThe crowd, or stand apart.

And country life I praise

And lead, because I find

The philosophic mind

Can take no middle ways;

She will not leave her love

To mix with men, her art

Is all to strive above

The crowd, or stand apart.

Thrice happy he, the rarePrometheus, who can playWith hidden things, and layNew realms of nature bare:Whose venturous step has trodHell underfoot, and wonA crown from man and GodFor all that he has done.—

Thrice happy he, the rare

Prometheus, who can play

With hidden things, and lay

New realms of nature bare:

Whose venturous step has trod

Hell underfoot, and won

A crown from man and God

For all that he has done.—

That highest gift of all,Since crabbèd fate did floodMy heart with sluggish blood,I look not mine to call;But, like a truant freed,Fly to the woods, and claimA pleasure for the deedOf my inglorious name.

That highest gift of all,

Since crabbèd fate did flood

My heart with sluggish blood,

I look not mine to call;

But, like a truant freed,

Fly to the woods, and claim

A pleasure for the deed

Of my inglorious name.

And am content, deniedThe best, in choosing right;For Nature can delightFancies unoccupiedWith ecstasies so sweetAs none can even guess,Who walk not with the feetOf joy in idleness.

And am content, denied

The best, in choosing right;

For Nature can delight

Fancies unoccupied

With ecstasies so sweet

As none can even guess,

Who walk not with the feet

Of joy in idleness.

Then leave your joyless ways,My friend, my joys to see.The day you come shall beThe choice of chosen days:You shall be lost, and learnNew being, and forgetThe world, till your returnShall bring your first regret.

Then leave your joyless ways,

My friend, my joys to see.

The day you come shall be

The choice of chosen days:

You shall be lost, and learn

New being, and forget

The world, till your return

Shall bring your first regret.

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