SONG BY A SHEPHERD.
WELCOME, stranger, to this place,
Where joy doth sit on every bough,
Paleness flies from every face;
We reap not what we do not sow.
Innocence doth like a rose
Bloom on every maiden's cheek;
Honour twines around her brows,
The jewel health adorns her neck.
SONG BY AN OLD SHEPHERD.
WHEN silver snow decks Sylvia's clothes,
And jewel hangs at shepherd's nose,[1]
We can abide life's pelting storm,
That makes our limbs quake, if our hearts be warm.
Whilst Virtue is our walking-staff,
And Truth a lantern to our path,
We can abide life's pelting storm,
That makes our limbs quake, if our hearts be warm.
Blow, boisterous wind, stern Winter frown,
Innocence is a Winter's gown.
So clad, we'll abide life's pelting storm,
That makes our limbs quake, if our hearts be warm.
- ↑ See the opening lines of Blindman's Buff (in the "Poetical Sketches.")—Ed.
