ELEGY
.
WRITTEN
IN
THE
HARVEST
.
BY
THE
SAME
.
FAREWEL
the
pleasant
violet-scanted
shade
;
The
primros'd-hill
,
and
daisy-mantled
mead
;
The
furrow'd
land
,
with
springing
corn
array'd
;
The
sunny
wall
,
with
bloomy
branches
spread
:
Farewel
the
bower
with
blushing
roses
gay
;
Farewel
the
fragrant
trefoil-purpled
field
;
Farewel
the
walk
thro'
rows
of
new-mown
hay
,
When
evening
breezes
mingled
odours
yield
!
Farewel
to
these
—
now
round
the
lonely
farms
,
Where
jocund
Plenty
deigns
to
fix
her
seat
;
Th'
autumnal
landscape
opening
all
its
charms
,
Declares
kind
Nature's
annual
work
compleat
.
In
different
parts
what
different
views
delight
,
Where
on
neat
ridges
waves
the
golden
grain
;
Or
where
the
bearded
barley
dazzling
white
,
Spreads
o'er
the
steepy
slope
or
wide
champain
.
The
smile
of
Morning
gleams
along
the
hills
;
And
wakeful
Labour
calls
her
sons
abroad
;
They
leave
with
chearful
look
their
lowly
vills
,
And
bid
the
fields
resign
their
ripen'd
load
.
To
various
tasks
address
the
rustic
band
,
And
here
the
scythe
,
and
there
the
sickle
wield
;
Or
rear
the
new-bound
sheaves
along
the
land
;
Or
range
in
heaps
the
produce
of
the
field
.
Some
build
the
shocks
,
some
load
the
spacious
wains
,
Some
lead
to
sheltering
barns
the
fragrant
corn
.
Some
form
tall
ricks
that
towering
o'er
the
plains
,
For
many
a
mile
the
rural
yards
adorn
.
—
Th'
inclosure
gates
thrown
open
all
around
,
The
stubble's
peopled
by
the
gleaning
throng
,
The
rattling
car
with
verdant
branches
crown'd
,
And
joyful
swains
that
raise
the
clamorous
song
,
Soon
mark
glad
harvest
o'er
—
Ye
rural
lords
,
Whose
wild
domains
o'er
Albion's
isle
extend
;
Think
whose
kind
hand
your
annual
wealth
affords
,
And
bid
to
heaven
your
grateful
praise
ascend
.
For
tho'
no
gift
spontaneous
of
the
ground
Rose
these
fair
crops
that
made
your
vallies
smile
,
Tho'
the
blithe
youth
of
every
hamlet
round
Pursued
for
these
thro'
many
a
day
their
toil
.
Yet
what
avail
your
labours
or
your
cares
?
Can
all
your
labours
,
all
your
cares
supply
Bright
suns
,
or
softening
showers
,
or
tepid
airs
,
Or
one
indulgent
influence
of
the
sky
?
For
Providence
decrees
that
we
obtain
With
toil
each
blessing
destin'd
to
our
use
;
But
means
to
teach
us
that
our
toil
is
vain
,
If
he
the
bounty
of
his
hand
refuse
.
Yet
Albion
,
blame
not
what
thy
crime
demands
,
While
this
sad
truth
the
blushing
muse
betrays
,
More
frequent
echoes
o'er
thy
harvest
lands
The
voice
of
riot
than
the
voice
of
praise
.
Prolific
tho'
thy
fields
and
mild
thy
clime
,
Know
realms
once
fam'd
for
fields
and
climes
as
fair
,
Have
fell
the
prey
of
famine
,
war
,
and
time
,
And
now
no
semblance
of
their
glory
bear
.
Ask
Palestine
,
proud
Asia's
early
boast
,
Where
now
the
groves
that
pour'd
her
wine
and
oil
,
Where
the
fair
towns
that
crown'd
her
wealthy
coast
,
Where
the
glad
swains
that
till'd
her
fertile
soil
?
Ask
,
and
behold
,
and
mourn
her
hapless
fall
!
Where
rose
fair
towns
,
where
wav'd
the
golden
grain
,
Thron'd
on
the
naked
rock
and
mouldering
wall
,
Pale
Want
and
Ruin
hold
their
dreary
reign
.
Where
Jordan's
vallies
smil'd
in
living
green
,
Where
Sharon's
flowers
disclos'd
their
varied
hues
;
The
wandering
pilgrim
views
the
alter'd
scene
,
And
drops
the
tear
of
pity
as
he
views
.
Ask
Grecia
,
mourning
o'er
her
ruin'd
towers
;
Where
now
the
prospects
charm'd
her
bards
of
old
,
Her
corn-clad
mountains
and
Elysian
bowers
,
And
silver
streams
thro'
fragrant
meadows
roll'd
?
Where
Freedom's
praise
along
the
vale
was
heard
,
And
town
to
town
return'd
the
favourite
sound
;
Where
patriot
War
her
awful
standard
rear'd
,
And
brav'd
the
millions
Persia
pour'd
around
?
There
Freedom's
praise
no
more
the
valley
chears
,
There
patriot
War
no
more
her
banner
waves
;
Nor
bard
,
nor
sage
,
nor
martial
chief
appears
,
But
stern
barbarians
rule
a
land
of
slaves
.
Of
mighty
realms
are
such
the
poor
remains
?
Of
mighty
realms
that
fell
when
mad
with
power
,
They
lur'd
each
vice
to
revel
on
their
plains
;
Each
monster
doom'd
their
offspring
to
devour
!
O
Albion
!
would'st
thou
shun
their
mournful
fates
,
To
shun
their
follies
and
their
crimes
be
thine
;
And
woo
to
linger
in
thy
fair
retreats
,
The
radiant
virtues
,
progeny
divine
!
Bright
Truth
,
the
noblest
of
the
sacred
band
,
Sweet
Peace
whose
brow
no
ruffling
frown
deforms
,
Fair
Charity
with
ever
open
hand
,
And
Courage
smiling
'midst
a
thousand
storms
.
O
haste
to
grace
our
isle
,
ye
lovely
train
!
So
may
the
power
whose
hand
all
blessing
yields
,
Give
her
fam'd
glories
ever
to
remain
,
And
crown
with
annual
wealth
her
laughing
fields
.