WRITTEN
ON
WHITSUN-MONDAY
1795.
AT
an
open
window
sitting
,
On
this
day
of
mirth
and
glee
,
'Cross
a
flow'ry
vista
flitting
,
Many
passing
forms
I
see
.
Ah
!
lovely
prospect
,
stay
awhile
!
And
longer
glad
my
doating
eye
,
With
poverty's
delighted
smile
,
And
lighten'd
step
,
as
passing
by
;
With
labour's
spruce
and
ruddy
train
,
Deck'd
out
in
all
their
best
array
,
Who
,
months
of
toil
and
care
disdain
,
Paid
by
the
pleasures
of
a
day
.
The
village
girl
still
let
me
view
,
Hast'ning
to
the
neighb'ring
fair
;
Her
cap
adorn'd
with
pink
or
blue
,
And
nicely
smooth
her
glossy
hair
.
With
sparkling
eye
and
smiling
face
,
Ting'd
o'er
with
beauty's
warmest
glow
;
With
timid
air
,
and
humble
grace
,
With
clear
and
undepressed
brow
.
Go
!
lovely
girl
,
and
share
the
day
,
To
thy
industrious
merit
due
;
There
join
the
dance
,
or
choral
lay
;
Thou
blooming
,
village
rose
,
adieu
!
And
thou
,
O
youth
,
so
blythe
and
free
,
Bounding
swiftly
o'er
the
plain
,
Go
,
taste
the
joys
of
liberty
,
And
cheer
thy
spirit
,
happy
swain
!
How
different
to
the
lonely
hour
,
When
slowly
following
the
plough
,
Self-buoyant
joy
forgets
the
pow'r
,
Which
warms
thy
gladden'd
bosom
now
.
If
some
rural
prize
desiring
,
Or
ambitious
of
applause
,
Loud
huzzas
thy
wishes
firing
,
Thy
steady
hand
the
furrow
draws
;
Ne'er
a
victor
fam'd
in
story
,
Greater
praise
and
reverence
drew
,
Than
thou
,
attir'd
in
humble
glory
,
So
,
guiltless
conqueror
,
adieu
!
Oh
,
here
a
charming
group
appears
!
A
cottage
family
,
so
gay
,
Whose
youthful
hopes
,
uncheck'd
by
fears
,
In
smiles
of
thoughtless
rapture
play
.
Here
,
borne
in
fond
,
parental
arms
,
The
infant's
roving
eye
we
view
;
Boasting
a
thousand
,
thousand
charms
,
Endearing
innocents
,
adieu
!
They
go
!
no
more
with
beating
heart
,
And
lively
,
dancing
step
to
tread
;
Unwillingly
will
they
depart
,
To
seek
again
their
homely
shed
.
Ah
!
Eve
,
I
love
thy
veil
of
grey
,
Which
will
conceal
them
from
my
view
,
For
,
bending
home
their
weary
way
,
How
sad
would
be
our
last
adieu
!