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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355126" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Invitation: To Tom Hughes</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come away with me, Tom,<br>Term and talk are done;<br>My poor lads are reaping,<br>Busy every one.<br>Curates mind the parish,<br>Sweepers mind the court;<br>We'll away to Snowdon<br>For our ten days' sport;<br>Fish the August evening<br>Till the eve is past,<br>Whoop like boys, at pounders<br>Fairly played and grassed.<br>When they cease to dimple,<br>Lunge, and swerve, and leap,<br>Then up over Siabod,<br>Choose our nest, and sleep.<br>Up a thousand feet, Tom,<br>Round the lion's head,<br>Find soft stones to leeward<br>And make up our bed.<br>Eat our bread and bacon,<br>Smoke the pipe of peace,<br>And, ere we be drowsy,<br>Give our boots a grease.<br>Homer's heroes did so,<br>Why not such as we?<br>What are sheets and servants?<br>Superfluity!<br>Pray for wives and children<br>Safe in slumber curled,<br>Then to chat till midnight<br>O'er this babbling world-<br>Of the workmen's college,<br>Of the price of grain,<br>Of the tree of knowledge,<br>Of the chance of rain;<br>If Sir A. goes Romeward,<br>If Miss B. sings true,<br>If the fleet comes homeward,<br>If the mare will do,-<br>Anything and everything-<br>Up there in the sky<br>Angels understand us,<br>And no 'saints' are by.<br>Down, and bathe at day-dawn,<br>Tramp from lake to lake,<br>Washing brain and heart clean<br>Every step we take.<br>Leave to Robert Browning<br>Beggars, fleas, and vines;<br>Leave to mournful Ruskin<br>Popish Apennines,<br>Dirty Stones of Venice<br>And his Gas-lamps Seven-<br>We've the stones of Snowdon<br>And the lamps of heaven.<br>Where's the mighty credit<br>In admiring Alps?<br>Any goose sees 'glory'<br>In their 'snowy scalps.'<br>Leave such signs and wonders<br>For the dullard brain,<br>As aesthetic brandy,<br>Opium and cayenne.<br>Give me Bramshill common<br>(St. John's harriers by),<br>Or the vale of Windsor,<br>England's golden eye.<br>Show me life and progress,<br>Beauty, health, and man;<br>Houses fair, trim gardens,<br>Turn where'er I can.<br>Or, if bored with 'High Art,'<br>And such popish stuff,<br>One's poor ear need airing,<br>Snowdon's high enough.<br>While we find God's signet<br>Fresh on English ground,<br>Why go gallivanting<br>With the nations round?<br>Though we try no ventures<br>Desperate or strange;<br>Feed on commonplaces<br>In a narrow range;<br>Never sought for Franklin<br>Round the frozen Capes;<br>Even, with Macdougall, {295}<br>Bagged our brace of apes;<br>Never had our chance, Tom,<br>In that black Redan;<br>Can't avenge poor Brereton<br>Out in Sakarran;<br>Tho' we earn our bread, Tom,<br>By the dirty pen,<br>What we can we will be,<br>Honest Englishmen.<br>Do the work that's nearest,<br>Though it's dull at whiles,<br>Helping, when we meet them,<br>Lame dogs over stiles;<br>See in every hedgerow<br>Marks of angels' feet,<br>Epics in each pebble<br>Underneath our feet;<br>Once a year, like schoolboys,<br>Robin-Hooding go,<br>Leaving fops and fogies<br>A thousand feet below.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Eversley, August 1856.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charles+Kingsley">Charles Kingsley</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355126" data-title="The Invitation: To Tom Hughes de Charles Kingsley" data-description="Come away with me, Tom,
Term and talk are done;
My poor lads are reaping,
Busy every one.
Curates mind the parish,
Sweepers mind the court;
We'll away to Snowdon
For our ten days' sport;
Fish the August evening
Till the eve is past,
Whoop like boy..."></div>
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