Poems Written at Teignmouth
In A Letter to Haydon
For theres a Bishops Teign,
And Kings Teign,
And Coomb at the clear Teigns head;
Where, close by the stream,
You may have your cream,
All spread upon barley bread.
And theres Larch Brook,
Both turning many a mill;
And cooling the drouth
Of the salmons mouth,
And fattening his silver gill.
A mild hood,
To the sheep on the lea o the down,
Where the golden furze,
With its green, thin spurs,
Doth catch at the maidens gown.
With its spear-grass harsh,
A pleasant summer level;
Where the maidens sweet
Of the Market street,
Do meet in the dark to revel.
With dyke and ditch,
And hedge for the thrush to live in.
And the hollow tree
For the buzzing bee,
And a bank for the wasp to hive in.
The daisies blow,
And the primroses are wakend;
And the violets white
Sit in silver light,
And the green buds are long in the spike end.
Into dark Soho,
And chatter with dank-haird critics,
When he can stay
For the new- mown hay,
And startle the dappled crickets?
Where be you going, You devon maid?
And what have ye there in the basket?
Ye tight little fairy, just fresh from the dairy,
Will ye give me some cream if I ask it?
And I love your flocks a-bleating;
But oh, on the heather to lie together,
With both our hearts a-beating!
Your shawl Ill hang on a willow;
And we will sigh in the daisys eye,
And kiss on a grass-green pillow.
Epistle to John Hamilton Reynolds
In hopes of cheering you through a minute or two, I was determined, will he nill he, to send you some lines, so you will excuse the unconnected subject and careless verse. You know, I am sure, Claudes Enchanted Castle, and I wish you may be pleased with my remembrance of it.March, I8I8.
There came before my eyes that wonted thread
Of shapes, and shadows, and remembrances,
That every other minute vex and please:
Things all disjointed come from north and south,
Two Witchs eyes above a Cherubs mouth,
Voltaire with casque and shield and habergeon,
And Alexander with his nightcap on;
Old Socrates a-tying his cravat,
And Hazlitt playing with Miss Edgeworths cat
And Junius Brutus, pretty well, so so,
Making the best ofs way towards Soho.
Perhaps one or two whose lives have patent wings,
And thro whose curtains peeps no hellish nose,
No wild-boar tushes, and no Mermaids toes;
But flowers bursting out with lusty pride,
And young æolian harps personified;
Some Titian colours touchd into real life,
The sacrifice goes on; the pontiff knife
Gleams in the Sun, the milk-white heifer lows,
The pipes go
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