Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AN INVITATION TO THE POOR TENANTS, by THOMAS ROWLEY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

AN INVITATION TO THE POOR TENANTS, by                    
First Line: Come all you laboring hands
Last Line: We'll not resign.
Subject(s): Landlords & Tenants


Come all you laboring hands
That toil below,
Among the rocks and sands;
That plough and sow
Upon your hired lands,
Let out by cruel hands;
'Twill make you large amends,
To Rutland go.

Your pateroons forsake,
Whose greatest care
Is slaves of you to make
While you live there:
Come, quit their barren lands,
And leave them in their hands,
'Twill ease you of your bands,
To Rutland go.

For who would be a slave,
That may be free:
Here you good land may have,
But come and see.
The soil is deep and good,
Here in this pleasant wood;
Where you may raise your food
And happy be.

West of the Mountain Green
Lies Rutland fair;
The best that e'er was seen
For soil and air:
Kind zephyr's pleasant breeze
Whispers among the trees
Where men may live at ease,
With prudent care.

Here cows give milk to eat,
By nature fed:
Our fields afford good wheat
And corn for bread.
Here sugar-trees they stand
Which sweeten all the land,
We have them at our hand,
Be not afraid.

Here's roots of every kind
To preserve our lives;
The best of anodynes
And rich costives.
The balsam of the tree
Supplies our chirurgery;
No safer can you be
In any land.

Here stands the lofty pine
And makes a show;
As straight as Gunter's line
Their bodies grow.
Their lofty heads they rear
Amid the atmosphere,
Where the wing'd tribes repair
And sweetly sing.

The butternut and beech
And the elm tree,
They strive their heads to reach
As high as they:
But falling much below,
They make an even show;
The pines more lofty grow
And crown the woods.

Here glides the pleasant stream
Which doth not fail
To spread the richest cream
O'er the intervale.
As rich as Eden's soil
Before that sin did spoil
Or man was doomed to toil
To get his bread.

Here little salmon glide,
So neat and fine,
Where you may be supplied
With hook and line:
They are the finest fish
To cook a dainty dish
As any one could wish
To feed upon.

The pigeon, goose and duck,
They fill our beds;
The beaver, coon and fox,
They crown our heads.
The harmless moose and deer
Are food and clothes to wear;
Nature could do no more
For any land.

There's many a pleasant town
Lies in this vale,
Where you may settle down;
You need not fail
To make a fine estate,
If you are not too late,
You need not fear the fate,
But come along.

We value not New York,
With all their powers;
For here we'll stay and work,
The land is ours.
And as for great Duane,
With all his wicked train,
They may eject again;
We'll not resign.





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