Page:Poems Cook.djvu/178

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STANZAS.
Others will sit and chatter o'er
The village fund of cricket lore—
Quote this rare "catch," and that bold "run,"
Till, having gossip'd down the sun,
They promise, with a loud "Good night!"
That if to-morrow's sky be bright,
They'll be again where they have been
For years—upon the "common green."

The chicken tribe—the duckling brood,
Go there to scratch their daily food;
The woodman's colt—the widow's cows,
Unwatch'd—untether'd there may browse;
And, though the pasturage be scant,
It saves from keen and starving want.

"God speed the plough!" let fields be till'd,
Let ricks be heap'd and garners fill'd;
"Tis good to count the Autumn gold,
And try how much our barns can hold;
But every English heart will tell
It loves an "English common" well;
And curse the hard and griping hand.
That wrests away such "hallow'd" land;
That shuts the green waste, fresh and wild,
From poor man's beast and poor man's child!


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