THE PRAISE OF A COUNTRYMAN'S LIFE. Он, the sweet contentment Heigh trolollie, lollie, lol, heigh trolollie, lee; Possesseth all my mind; Then, care away, and wend along with me. For courts are full of flattery, As hath too oft been tried; Heigh trolollie, lollie, lol, heigh trolollie, lee; The city full of wantonness, And both are full of pride; Then, care away, and wend along with me. But, oh! the honest countryman Heigh trolollie, lollie, lol, heigh trolollie, lee; His horses, and his cart; Then, care away, and wend along with me. Our clothing is good sheepskins, Heigh trolollie, lollie, lol, heigh trolollie, lee; 'Tis warmth, and not gay clothing, That doth prolong our lives; Then, care away, and wend along with me. PRAISE OF A COUNTRYMAN'S LIFE. The ploughman, though he labor hard, Heigh trolollie, lollie, lol, heigh trolollie, lee; Does pass his time away; Then, care away, and wend along with me. To recompense our tillage, The heavens afford us showers, The earth affords us bowers; Then, care away, and wend along with me. The cuckoo and the nightingale Full merrily do sing, Heigh trolollie, lollie, lol, heigh trolollie, lee; Do welcome in the spring; Then, care away, and wend along with me. This is not half the happiness The countryman enjoys; Heigh trolollie, lollie, lol, heigh trolollie, lee; Then, care away, and come along with me. 57 John Chalkhill. THE WILD CHERRY-TREE. Он, there never was yet so fair a thing, Up from the ground when the skies were blue, As thou, my wild, wild Cherry-tree! Jove! how it danced in the gusty breeze! 'Twas the same to my wild, wild Cherry-tree. Never at rest, like one that's young, Abroad to the winds its arms it flung, Shaking its bright and crownèd head, Whilst I stole up for its berries red. Back I fly to the days gone by, I see (nay, I taste) thy berries red, And I shout like the tempest, loud and free, Barry Cornwall. THE GARDEN. 59 THE GARDEN. How vainly men themselves amaze, Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, To this delicious solitude. No white nor red was ever seen When we have run our passion's heat. The gods, who mortal beauty chase, Only that she might laurel grow; What wondrous life is this I lead! Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less The mind, that ocean where each kind To a green thought in a green shade. Here at the fountain's sliding foot, |