Page:Poems Cook.djvu/176

Sure there's enough of earth beside,
Held by the sons of Wealth and Pride;
Their glebe is wide enough without
Our "commons" being fenced about!

We guard the spot where steeples rise
In stately grandeur to the skies;
We mark the place where altars shine,
As hallow'd, sainted, and divine;
And just as sacred should we hold
The turf, where peasants blithe and bold
Can plant their footsteps day or night,
In free, unquestioned, native right.

The common range—the common range—
Oh! guard it from invading change;
Though rough, 'tis rich—though poor, 'tis blest—
And will be while the skylark's nest
And early violets are there,
Filling with sweetness earth and air.

It glads the eye—it warms the soul,
To gaze upon the rugged knoll;
Where tangled brushwood twines across
The straggling brake and sedgy moss.
Oh who would give the blackthorn leaves
For harvest's full and rustling sheaves?
Oh! who would have the grain spring up
Where now we find the daisy's cup;
Where clumps of dark red heather gleam,
With beauty in the summer beam—
And yellow furze-bloom laughs to scorn
Your ripen'd hops and bursting corn?
"God speed the plough!" but let us trace
Something of Nature's infant face;

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