DRIVE forth thy flock, young pastor, to that plain Where our old shepherds wont their flocks to feed; To those clear walks where many a skilful swain To'ards the calm ev'ning tun'd his pleasant reed. Those, to the Muses once so sacred, downs, As no rude foot might there presume to stand: (Now made the way of the unworthiest clowns, Digg'd and plough'd up with each unhallowed hand) If possible thou canst redeem those places, Where, by the brim of many a silver spring, The learned maidens and delightful graces Often have sat to hear our shepherds sing: Where on those pines, the neighb'ring groves among (Now utterly neglected in these days), Our garlands, pipes, and cornamutes were hung, The monuments of our deserved praise. So may thy sheep like, so thy lambs increase, And from the wolf feed ever safe and free! So may'st thou thrive, among the learned prease, As thou young shepherd art belov'd of me! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON A PORTRAIT OF WORDSWORTH BY B.R. HAYDON by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING NEURASTENIA by AGNES MARY F. ROBINSON SONNET: 12 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE YEW-TREES by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH TILL THE MIST PASSES by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON |