The Vine
THE wine of Love is music,
And the feast of Love is song:
And when Love sits down to the banquet,
Love sits long:
Sits long and arises drunken,
But not with the feast and the wine;
He reeleth with his own heart,
That great, rich Vine.
poem by James Thomson
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Day
Waking one morning
In a pleasant land,
By a river flowing
Over golden sand:--
Whence flow ye, waters,
O'er your golden sand?
We come flowing
From the Silent Land.
Whither go ye, waters,
O'er your golden sand?
We go flowing
To the Silent Land.
And what is this fair realm?
A grain of golden sand
In the great darkness
Of the Silent Land.
poem by James Thomson
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Song
When blooming spring
Arrays the laughing fields in green,
Then flowers in open air are seen,
And warbling birds are heard to sing,
Almighty love
Doth sweetly move
All nature through;
Then tell me, Chloe, why are you
Averse thereto;
When blooming charms
Invite your lover's circling arms?
O be no longer coy
..................... to love and share of joy.
poem by James Thomson
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The Morning Lark
Feather'd lyric, warbling high,
Sweetly gaining on the sky,
Op'ning with thy matin lay
(Nature's hymn) the eye of day,
Teach my soul, on early wing,
Thus to soar and thus to sing.
While the bloom of orient light
Gilds thee in thy tuneful flight,
May the Day-spring from on high,
Seen by faith's religious eye,
Cheer me with His vital ray,
Promise of eternal day.
poem by James Thomson
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Sunday up the River
MY love o'er the water bends dreaming;
It glideth and glideth away:
She sees there her own beauty, gleaming
Through shadow and ripple and spray.
O tell her, thou murmuring river,
As past her your light wavelets roll,
How steadfast that image for ever
Shines pure in pure depths of my soul.
poem by James Thomson
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Songs In The Masque Of Alfred: To Alfred
First Spirit.
Hear, Alfred, father of the state,
Thy genius Heaven's high will declare!
What proves the hero truly great,
Is never, never to despair:
Is never to despair.
Second Spirit.
Thy hope awake, thy heart expand,
With all its vigour, all its fires.
Arise! and save a sinking land!
Thy country calls, and heaven inspires.
Both Spirits.
Earth calls, and Heaven inspires.
poem by James Thomson
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Come, Gentle God
Come, gentle God of soft desire,
Come and possess my happy breast,
Not fury-like in flames and fire,
Or frantic folly's wildness dressed;
But come in friendship's angel-guise;
Yet dearer thou than friendship art,
More tender spirit in thy eyes,
More sweet emotions at thy heart.
O, come with goodness in thy train,
With peace and pleasure void of storm,
And wouldst thou me for ever gain,
Put on Amanda's winning form.
poem by James Thomson
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Gifts
Give a man a horse he can ride,
Give a man a boat he can sail;
And his rank and wealth, his strength and health,
On sea nor shore shall fail.
Give a man a pipe he can smoke,
Give a man a book he can read:
And his home is bright with a calm delight,
Though the room be poor indeed.
Give a man a girl he can love,
As I, O my love, love thee;
And his heart is great with the pulse of Fate,
At home, on land, on sea.
poem by James Thomson
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To The God Of Fond Desire
One day the God of fond desire,
On mischief bent, to Damon said,
'Why not disclose your tender fire,
Now own it to the lovely maid?'
The shepherd marked his treacherous art,
And, softly sighing, thus replied:
''Tis true you have subdued my heart,
But shall not triumph o'er my pride.
'The slave, in private only bears
Your bondage, who his love conceals
But when his passion he declares,
You drag him at your chariot-wheels.'
poem by James Thomson
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To The Reverend Patrick Murdoch, Rector Of Stradishall, In Suffolk
Thus safely low, my friend, thou canst not fall:
Here reigns a deep tranquillity o'er all;
No noise, no care, no vanity, no strife;
Men, woods, and fields, all breathe untroubled life.
Then keep each passion down, however dear;
Trust me, the tender are the most severe.
Guard, while 'tis thine, thy philosophic ease,
And ask no joy but that of virtuous peace;
That bids defiance to the storms of fate:
High bliss is only for a higher state!
poem by James Thomson
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