Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. IV. The Nineteenth Century: Wordsworth to Rossetti

Joanna Baillie (1762–1851)

The Chough and Crow

THE CHOUGH and crow to roost are gone,

The owl sits on the tree,

The hush’d wind wails with feeble moan,

Like infant charity.

The wild fire dances on the fen,

The red star sheds its ray,

Uprouse ye, then, my merry men!

It is our opening day.

Both child and nurse are fast asleep,

And closed is every flower,

The winking tapers faintly peep

High from my lady’s bower;

Bewildered hinds with shortened ken

Shrink in their murky way.

Uprouse ye, then, my merry men!

It is our opening day.

Nor board nor garner own we now,

Nor roof nor latched door,

Nor kind mate bound by holy vow

To bless a good man’s store;

Noon lulls us in a gloomy den,

And night is grown our day;

Uprouse ye, then, my merry men!

It is our opening day.