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Show THE VAGABOND. 1 I can not bide the sober town, With decent villa, church and square; Nor madam with her stylish gown, . . . Nor master with his glossy hair. I can not bide the sober town, Nor master with his glossy hair. But I would over vale and hill, And draw the breath of distance free, And roam from opal dawn until The twilight creeps across the lea. Oh! I would over vale and hill, And sleep in barn or ruin'd mill. For I a vagabond was born, I love to wander far and wide, And seek out places most forlorn, And evil hills where men have died. For I a vagabond was born, And love the twilight and the morn. I love all wild and woeful lands, Where I may talk with woods and streams, Or walk on desolate sea sands, And tell the ocean all my dreams. I love all wild and woeful lands, And ocean's dolorous wet sands. I love to watch the sunset die, And hear the large night's solemn words, And on the moonlit heather lie, And wake to greet the morning birds. I love to watch the sunset die, And on the moonlit heather lie. For oh! I hate the sober town, . I hate the villa, church and square, I long to knock the houses down, And ruffle master's glossy hair. For oh ! I hate the sober town, And madam's modish silken gown. But ah! the country air is pure, And ah! the country lads are true. And loving comrades they'll endure; They'll stand by me, they'll stand by you, But ah ! the country air is pure, And country friendships long endure. Douglas Goldring in The Academy. |