If we decide to till our farms,
They don't care to help us with their arms
We are hungry while they are in satisfactory
Is only food we always battle for ...
Written in April 1798, during the alarm of an invasion
A green and silent spot, amid the hills,
A small and silent dell! O'er stiller place
No singing skylark ever poised himself.
The hills are heathy, save that swelling slope,
Which hath a gay and gorgeous covering on,
All golden with the never-bloomless furze,
... Read complete poem
