Classic Poem

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 rowls
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:
Tho' 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 thro' distant views,
We see the Sun decline;
Whilst every where 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 compleat,
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 shew:
But when our outspread hoops they spy,
They look when we like them should fly.
With a fa-la &c.

Thro' verdant circles as we stray,
To which no end we know;
As we o'er hanging 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 flowring 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.

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