Classic Poem

The Petition of sundry Life Tenants, or Hereditary Denizens of the said Manor

H UMBLY SHEWETH ,

That by the custom of this clime
Even from immemorial time,
We, or our forefathers old
(As in Withering's list enrolled)
Have in occupation been
Of all nooks and corners green,
Where the swelling meadows sweet
With the wavy woodlands meet.
There we peep and disappear
There in games to fairies dear
All the spring-tide hours we spend,
Hiding, seeking without end.
And sometimes a merry train
Comes upon us from the lane.
Every gleaming afternoon
All through April, May, and June,
Boys and maidens, birds and bees,
Airy whisperings of all trees,
With their music well supply
All we need of sympathy.
Now and then a graver guest
For one moment here will rest,
Loitering in his pastoral walk,
And with us hold kindly talk.
To himself we've heard him say,
" Thanks that I may hither stray;
Worn with age, and sin, and care.
Here I breathe the pure, glad air;
Here Faith's lesson learn anew
Of this happy vernal crew.
Here the fragrant shrubs around,
And the graceful, shadowy ground,
And the village tones afar,
And the steeple with its star,
And the clouds that gently move,
Tune the heart to trust and love. "
Thus we fared in ages past:
But the nineteenth age at last
(As your suppliants are advised)
Reigns, and we no more are prized.
Now a giant plump and tall,
Called " High Farming, " stalks o'er all.
Platforms, railings, and straight lines
Are the charms for which he pines.
Forms mysterious, ancient hues,
He with untired hate pursues;
And his cruel word and will
Is from every copse-crown'd hill,
Every glade in meadow deep
Us, and our green bowers to sweep.
Now our prayer is, here and there,
May your Honour deign to spare
Shady spots and nooks, where we
Yet may flourish, safe and free.
So old Hampshire still may own
(Charm to other shires unknown)
Bays and creeks of grassy lawn
Half beneath his woods withdrawn;
So from many a joyous child,
Many a sire and mother mild,
For the sheltering boughs so sweet,
And the blossoms at their feet,
Thanks, with prayers, shall find their way.
And we flowers, if we could pray,
With our very best would own
Your young floweret newly blown.