HOW sweetly did the moments glide, How happy were the days! When no sad fear my breast annoyed, Or e'er disturbed my ease; Hard fate! that I should be compelled My fond abode to lose, Where threescore years in peace I've dwelled, And wish my life to close. @3Chorus@1 Oh the time! the happy, happy time, Which in my cot I've spent; I wish the church-yard was his doom, Who murders my content. My ewes are few, my stock is small, Yet from my little store I find enough for nature's call, Nor would I ask for more! That word, ENCLOSURE! to my heart Such evil doth bespeak, I fear I with my all must part, And fresh employment seek. @3Chorus@1—Oh the time, &c. What little of the spacious plain Should power to me consign, For want of means, I can't obtain, Would not long time be mine: The stout may combat fortune's frowns, Nor dread the rich and great; The young may fly to market-towns, But where can I retreat? @3Chorus@1—Oh the time, &c. What kind of feelings must that man Within his mind possess, Who, from an avaricious plan, His neighbours would distress? Then soon, in pity to my case, To Reason's ear incline; For on his heart it stamps disgrace, Who formed the base design. @3Chorus@1 Oh the time! the happy, happy time, Which in my cot I've spent; I wish the church-yard was his doom, Who murders my content. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AUCTION: ANDERSON GALLERIES by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE COMING OF WISDOM WITH TIME by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE BARREL-ORGAN by ALFRED NOYES THE FAIRY KING by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM DON QUIXOTE by CRAVEN LANGSTROTH BETTS QUEEN MARY'S LETTER TO BOTHWELL by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT TO THE COUNTESS OF ANGLESEY UPON THE DEATH OF HER HUSBAND by THOMAS CAREW |