Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A BALLAD TO MRS. CATHERINE FLEMING IN LONDON, by ANNE FINCH


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A BALLAD TO MRS. CATHERINE FLEMING IN LONDON, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: From me, who whilom sung the town
Last Line: With a fa-la &c.
Alternate Author Name(s): Kingsmill, Anne; Winchilsea, Countess Of
Subject(s): Country Life


FROM me, who whilom sung the town,
This second ballad comes,
To let you know we are got down
From hurry, smoke, and drums,
And every visitor that rolls
In restless coach from Mall to Paul's,
With a fa-la-la-la-la-la.

And now were I to paint the seat
(As well-bred poets use),
I should embellish our retreat,
By favour of the muse:
Though to no villa we pretend,
But a plain farm at the best end,
With a fa-la &c.

Where innocence and quiet reigns,
And no distrust is known;
His nightly safety none maintains,
By ways they do in Town,
Who rising loosen bolt and bar;
We draw the latch and out we are,
With a fa-la &c.

For jarring sounds in London streets,
Which still are passing by;
Where 'Cowcumbers' with 'Sand ho' meets,
And for loud mastery vie:
The driver whistling to his team
Here wakes us from some rural dream,
With a fa-la &c.

From rising hills through distant views,
We see the sun decline;
Whilst everywhere the eye pursues
The grazing flocks and kine:
Which home at night the farmer brings,
And not the post's but sheep's bell rings,
With a fa-la &c.

We silver trouts and cray-fish eat,
Just taken from the stream;
And never think our meal complete,
Without fresh curds and cream:
And as we pass by the barn floor,
We choose our supper from the door,
With a fa-la &c.

Beneath our feet the partridge springs,
As to the woods we go;
Where birds scarce stretch their painted wings,
So little fear they show:
But when our outspread hoops they spy,
They look when we like them should fly,
With a fa-la &c.

Through verdant circles as we stray,
To which no end we know;
As we o'erhanging boughs survey,
And tufted grass below:
Delight into the fancy falls,
And happy days and verse recalls,
With a fa-la &c.

Oh! why did I these shades forsake,
And shelter of the grove;
The flowering shrub, the rustling brake,
The solitude I love:
Where emperors have fixed their lot,
And greatly chose to be forgot,
With a fa-la &c.

Then how can I from hence depart,
Unless my pleasing friend
Should now her sweet harmonious art
Unto these shades extend:
And, like old Orpheus' powerful song,
Draw me and all my woods along,
With a fa-la &c.

So charmed like Birnam's they would rise,
And march in goodly row,
But since it might the town surprise
To see me travel so,
I must from soothing joys like these,
Too soon return in open chaise
With a fa-la &c.

Meanwhile accept what I have writ,
To shew this rural scene;
Nor look for sharp satiric wit
From off the balmy plain:
The country breeds no thorny bays,
But mirth and love and honest praise,
With a fa-la &c.





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