O WHAT harper could worthily harp it,
Mine Edward! this wide-stretching wold
(Look out wold) with its wonderful carpet
Of emerald, purple, and gold!
Look well at it--also look sharp, it
Is getting so cold.
The purple is heather (erica);
The yellow, gorse--call’d sometimes “whin.”
Cruel boys on its prickles might spike a
Green beetle as if on a pin.
You may roll in it, if you would like a
Few holes in your skin.
You wouldn’t? Then think of how kind you
Should be to the insects who crave
Your compassion--and then, look behind you
At yon barley-ears! Don’t they look brave
As they undulate (undulate, mind you,
From unda, a wave).
The noise of those sheep-bells, how faint it
Sounds here (on account of our height)!
And this hillock itself--who could paint it,
With its changes of shadow and light?
Is it not--(never, Eddy, say “Ain’t it”)--
A marvellous sight?
Then yon desolate, eerie morasses,
The haunts of the snipe and the hern--
(I shall question the two upper classes
On aquatiles, when we return)--
Why, I see on them absolute masses
Of filix or fern.
How it interests e’en a beginner
(Or tyro) like dear little Ned!
Is he listening? As I am a sinner,
He’s asleep--he is wagging his head.
Wake up! I’ll go home to my dinner,
And you to your bed.
The boundless, ineffable prairie;
The splendour of mountain and lake,
With their hues that seem ever to vary;
The mighty pine-forests which shake
In the wind, and in which the unwary
May tread on a snake;
And this wold with its heathery garment
Are themes undeniably great.
But--although there is not any harm in’t--
It’s perhaps little good to dilate
On their charms to a dull little varmint
Of seven or eight.
_Charles Stuart Calverley._