James Beattie

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.

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.

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.

And from the prayer of Want, and plaint of Woe,
O never, never turn away their ear!
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And from the prayer of Want, and plaint of Woe,
O never, never turn away their ear!
Forlorn, in this bleak wilderness below,
Ah! what were man, should Heaven refuse to hear!

Be ignorance thy choice, where knowledge leads to woe.

Be ignorance thy choice, where knowledge leads to woe.