Maxioms by James Beattie
Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down;
Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
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Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down;
Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
With here and there a violet bestrown,
Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave;
And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.
How sweet the words of Truth, breath'd from the lips of Love.
How sweet the words of Truth, breath'd from the lips of Love.
And, lo! in the dark east, expanded high,
The rainbow brightens to the setting Sun.
And, lo! in the dark east, expanded high,
The rainbow brightens to the setting Sun.
Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale,
And sing enamour'd of the nut-brown maid.
Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale,
And sing enamour'd of the nut-brown maid.
