University of Virginia Library

COUNTRY NOTES.

Beside an ivied lattice, in the shade,
I sat; and so my recreation made
Of rural sounds, that floating far and near,
Found welcome access to my open ear.
A distant sheep-bell tinkled; and the lambs
Cried from the folded pastures to their dams,
Whose deep responses though remote and faint,
Kept pleasant concert with the sweet complaint.
The workman's trowel, busy on repair,
Clinked, and its echoes climbed the startled air.
A saucy chaffinch sang of leisure long,
With sprightly flourish winding up the song,
Poised on a tree-top; while his homely mate,
Low on a neighbouring nest reposed sedate.
A nameless bird, from some divided choice,
With hesitating desultory voice,
Performed a solo. Nature smiled. The axe,
Plied by the woodman, laid its wonted tax
Upon the timber. But at every stroke,
Faint snatches of a country ballad broke
From lips unskilled but hearty, keeping time
And cadence with the ringing axe's rhyme.
The shepherd-boy his rough and ready din
Expended on the chorus, chiming in.
A buzzing sound at intervals would come,
That made the happy little homestead hum,
From threshing-engines; and the lumbering wain
Rolled slowly onward as a thing in pain,
Heaped skyward, heavy; at the turning-point,
It groaned and shook in every labouring joint.
Pigs grunted, poultry clucked; the carter's cry,
Instant and keen, rang out and scaled the sky.
A song-thrush warbled. On the landscape bent,
The brooding shadow of a vast content.
My soul was soothed and in no sadness sighed,
And without wooing sense was satisfied,
Not cloyed. A gentle hush, of heavenly kin,
Had found ajar the gates and entered in.
The genial fulness of the sounds and sights,
Not overflowing, bound me with delights
Of flowers and music that would not be pent,
And many a tender symphony and scent.
The tawny hare, half-hidden in the grass,
Crouched, trembling as the mirrored cloudlets pass,
And draw the heaven to earth. A snake obscene,
Glanced fugitive and sought the copse's screen,
Trailing his lengths of light—but from behind
Escaped the wail of some imprisoned wind.
Meanwhile I dreamed of worlds without a curse,
And sudden fancies took the form of verse:
But thus I fixed the fleeting waifs of thought,
By fond compulsion into order brought.
“From fields of sleep, the heavenly babes unborn,
In lands of shadow fairy and forlorn,
Send messages of peace and pleasant cheer,
As echoes wafted over waters clear.
They bid us still with jealousy prepare
The present means, to build a Future fair;
A fabric pure with every favoured nook,
Where wanderers rest, and quiet casements look
On spaces cool, in floating isles becalmed—
With twilight temples populous, and palmed
By tufted trees: yea, mixed with music deep,
Old oracles they murmur in their sleep.
Life with its men and maidens cherry-lipt,
Its undecypherable manuscript,
Leans forward; and we fill our costly shelves,
For generations nobler than ourselves,
More beautiful. They come, they come at length,
Star-bright, reposing in their god-like strength;
Crowned with their laurels, and with light of deeds
That settle not as perishable seeds;
But pave the glorious streets with stones of gold,
And bringing forth their fruit a hundred-fold,
They supersede by graduations blest,
Our broken knowledge, wonder, and unrest.”
Melodious nonsense muttering I woke,
And through my vision's veil the scenery broke.
Awake, I watched the reaper—now he ground
His sickle on the whetstone, and around
The iron flashed, the herbage flew, the spray
Dividing right and left in beauty lay.
But as he dipped his brown and brawny hand,
A gentle ripple by resistance fann'd
Ran o'er the surface, loitering in the light,
And played a moment as a zephyr might.
Beneath the hissing hook succumbed the swathe.
The kine had straggled riverwards to bathe,
And belly-deep in troubled waters stood.
The noontide made a marvel of the wood,
With sunbeams woven into golden haze;
While scudding swallows swept the windless ways,
In zigzag fashion, swift, on slanting wings—
God knows I praised the innocent bright things.
I praised the hourly miracles of grace.
The sunset glowing on a woman's face,
The evening hush that orbs her actions round,
Her consecration of the vilest ground.
I praised the little prettinesses heard
In girlish laughter, and in wisdom's word
That falls by chance from children's lisping mouth,
And warmer breezes of the balmy south.
I praised the precious loveliness of light,
The sense of sound, the captivating sight;
That grand creative effort, which adorned
The admirable firmament, nor scorned
To labour in the lower world, but took
A living pen and wrote in Nature's book,
Sweet lessons to be learnt from idle days—
And was there anything I did not praise?
My heart was full of love, and humbly showed
Its love to Him from whom the loving flowed.
I praised mankind and God, without a thought,
And found a solace which I never sought:
The rich thanksgiving nourished in my breast
Rose to my lips, and gave enjoyment zest.
I blest the beasts, and every spark of life
That sleeps in stone or dreams in fruitful strife.
Still unawares my benediction fell,
And blessing all I blest myself as well.