James Thomson (1)

Hail! Independence, hail! Heaven's next best gift,
To that of life and an immortal soul!

Hail! Independence, hail! Heaven's next best gift,
To that of life and an immortal soul!

Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames;
Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt
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Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames;
Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt
In Twit'nham bowers, and for their Pope implore.

Of evening tinct,
The purple-streaming Amethyst is thine.

Of evening tinct,
The purple-streaming Amethyst is thine.

The Redbreast, sacred to the household gods,
Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky,
In joyless fields and read more

The Redbreast, sacred to the household gods,
Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky,
In joyless fields and thorny thickets leaves
His shivering mates, and pays to trusted Man
His annual visit.

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

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