notAmos Performing Editions 1 Lansdown Place East, Bath BA1 5ET, UK +44 (0) 1225 316145 Performing editions of pre‑classical music with full preview/playback and instant download |
John Wall Callcott
(1766 - 1821)
Spring's dewy hand
(S.A.T.B.)
Full score (PDF), €0.00 for unlimited copies Download this item(1766 - 1821)
Spring's dewy hand
(S.A.T.B.)
Printable cover page (PDF), €0.00 for unlimited copies Download this item
If you have any problem obtaining a PDF, please see our help page. If that does not resolve the issue, please click here.
Page 1 of 5
This work, Callcott : Spring's dewy hand : scoreid 147836, as published by notAmos Performing Editions, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. All relevant attributions should state its URL as https://www.notamos.co.uk/detail.php?scoreid=147836. Permissions beyond the scope of this licence may be available at https://www.notamos.co.uk/index.php?sheet=about.
| Enquire about this score |
| About John Wall Callcott |
| Full Catalogue |
| About us | Help, privacy, cookies |
| About John Wall Callcott |
| Full Catalogue |
| About us | Help, privacy, cookies |
Published in Callcott's first collection of glees, etc. London, c.1790.
Lyrics: Charlotte Turner Smith
SONNET XXXI. Written on Farm Wood, South Downs, May, 1784.
Spring's dewy hand on this fair summit weaves
The downy grass, with tufts of Alpine flow'rs,
And shades the beechen slopes with tender leaves,
And leads the shepherd to his upland bow'rs,
Strewn with wild thyme; while slow descending show'rs,
Feed the green ear, and nurse the future sheaves!
Ah! blest the hind, whom no sad thought bereaves
Of the gay Season's pleasures! All his hours
To wholesome labour giv'n, or thoughtless mirth;
No pangs of sorrow past, or coming dread,
Bend his unconscious spirit down to earth,
Or chase calm slumbers from his careless head!
Ah! What to me can those dear days restore,
When scenes could charm, that now I taste no more!
SONNET XXXI. Written on Farm Wood, South Downs, May, 1784.
Spring's dewy hand on this fair summit weaves
The downy grass, with tufts of Alpine flow'rs,
And shades the beechen slopes with tender leaves,
And leads the shepherd to his upland bow'rs,
Strewn with wild thyme; while slow descending show'rs,
Feed the green ear, and nurse the future sheaves!
Ah! blest the hind, whom no sad thought bereaves
Of the gay Season's pleasures! All his hours
To wholesome labour giv'n, or thoughtless mirth;
No pangs of sorrow past, or coming dread,
Bend his unconscious spirit down to earth,
Or chase calm slumbers from his careless head!
Ah! What to me can those dear days restore,
When scenes could charm, that now I taste no more!