Come away, gentle Clare, to the banks of the Wye,
While the stars of the earth shine to gladden thine eye,
And the sward of the dell by the hazel-wood grove
Is a carpet most meet for thy light feet to rove ;
While the echoes repeat the wild bird's gushing song ;
While the bright babbling brook goes careering along ;
And all things are so fair no delights can outvie
The delights that abound on the banks of the Wye.

On Maplecliffe's top there's a wide-spreading yew.
From beneath whose dark boughs the glad eye gains a view
Of a prospect so grand thy pure heart can but praise,
As away o'er its beauties thy bright blue eyes gaze ;
For the smooth-gliding river, the oak, elm, and pine.
Will enrapture a soul so susceptive as thine ;
Then bid the gay city's allurements good bye,
And repair to the beautiful banks of the Wye.

Drawn fresh from the founts of perennial joy.
The delights of thy mind shall be free from alloy ;
For in cool, quiet glades, where the leafy boughs wave.
We'll peruse the wise words of the learned and grave ;
And, as gaily we roam the bright valleys along,
Eehearse the sweet strains of the Children of Song,
Then bid the gay city's allurements good bye,
And repair to the beautiful banks of the Wye.

The sage's rich lore and the poet's sweet lay,
The fields gaily dight in their choicest array ;
The musical brook and the leaf-vestur'd tree,
Are ready to yield their enjoyments to thee,
For delights such as these that thine advent await
A Queen might abandon her splendour and state.
Then bid the gay city's allurements good bye,
And repair to the beautiful banks of the Wye.

More verses by John Bradford

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