James Thomson (1)

While I deduce,
From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings,
The symphony of spring.

While I deduce,
From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings,
The symphony of spring.

Linnets . . . sit
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock.

Linnets . . . sit
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock.

A lucky chance, that oft decides the fate
Of mighty monarchs.

A lucky chance, that oft decides the fate
Of mighty monarchs.

Base envy withers at another's joy,
And hates that excellence it cannot reach.

Base envy withers at another's joy,
And hates that excellence it cannot reach.

Think, oh, grateful think!
How good the God of Harvest is to you;
Who pours abundance o'er read more

Think, oh, grateful think!
How good the God of Harvest is to you;
Who pours abundance o'er your flowing fields,
While those unhappy partners of you kind
Wide-hover round you, like the fowls of heaven,
And ask their humble dole.