To His Wife (1804)

I rise, dear Mary, from the soundest rest, A wandering, way-worn, musing, singing guest. I claim the privilege of hill and plain; Mine are the woods, and all that they contain; The unpolluted gale, which sweeps the glade; 5 All the cool blessings of the solemn shade; Health, and the flow of happiness sincere; Yet there’s one wish,—I wish that thou wert here; Free from the trammels of domestic care, With me these dear autumnal sweets to share; 10 To share my heart’s ungovernable joy; And keep the birth-day of our poor lame boy. Ah! that’s a tender string! Yet since I find That scenes like these, can soothe the harass’d mind, jaded spirits free, 15 To wander thus through vales and woods with me. Thou know’st how much I love to steal away From noise, from uproar, and the blaze of day; With double transport would my heart rebound To lead thee, where the clustering nuts are found; 20 No toilsome efforts would our task demand, For the brown treasure stoops to meet the hand. Round the tall hazel, beds of moss appear In green-swards nibbled by the forest deer, Sun, and alternate shade; while o’er our heads 25 The cawing rook his glossy pinions spreads; The noisy jay, his wild-woods dashing through; The ring-dove’s chorus, and the rustling bough; The far resounding gate; the kite’s shrill scream; The distant ploughman’s halloo to his team. 30 This is the chorus to my soul so dear; It would delight thee too, wert thou but here: For we might talk of home, and muse o’er days Of sad distress, and Heaven’s mysterious ways; Our chequer’d fortunes, with a smile retrace, 35 And build new hopes upon our infant race; Pour our thanksgivings forth, and weep the while; Or pray for blessings on our native isle. But vain the wish!—Mary, thy sighs forbear, Nor grudge the pleasure which thou canst not share; 40 Make home delightful, kindly wish for me, And I’ll leave hills, and dales, and woods for thee. Whittlebury Forest, Sept. 16, 1804.