 | The Harvest |  |
CANTO FIRST.
Sweet smil'd the morn from Bewick fells,
On fair Roddamia's greenwood dells,
And bade the rising vapours redden,
O'er Dunmoor wild, and heathy Heddin.
The corn fields, yellow, deep, serene,
By hawthorn hedge and forest green,
Seem'd to invite, with mellow smile,
The jovial reaper-band to toil.
On fair Roddamia's greenwood dells,
And bade the rising vapours redden,
O'er Dunmoor wild, and heathy Heddin.
The corn fields, yellow, deep, serene,
By hawthorn hedge and forest green,
Seem'd to invite, with mellow smile,
The jovial reaper-band to toil.
Rous'd by good Albert's mild command,
Calder sent forth her reaper band—
A motely group! the village maid,
By Neatness' simple hand array'd,
Here sweetly smil'd; the youthful hind
Here jested blithe with vacant mind;
Here wedded life, and age were seen,
With calmer glee to tread the green.
—Rapt into pleasures past, again
I view the gaily-marching train,
Through eastern wood as sunbeams dance,
And fair on Calder's windows glance,
I see them pass the lea along,
And hear the jest, and frequent song!
Come, then, celestial glow of soul,
Whose raptures have so often stole
My fancy softly on;
At ev'ning calm, or morning gay,
Or when still midnight's solemn ray
In pensive beauty shone!
But most when lovely Anna smil'd
I felt thy sacred pow'r
Inspirit every love note wild,
That sung the peerless Flow'r.
Oh, come! and while the lightsome throng
To fields of Roddam hie,
Select the chief that train among
To live through all, and grace my song—
Ah! not to last through ages long,
But with their names to die!
Calder sent forth her reaper band—
A motely group! the village maid,
By Neatness' simple hand array'd,
Here sweetly smil'd; the youthful hind
Here jested blithe with vacant mind;
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With calmer glee to tread the green.
—Rapt into pleasures past, again
I view the gaily-marching train,
Through eastern wood as sunbeams dance,
And fair on Calder's windows glance,
I see them pass the lea along,
And hear the jest, and frequent song!
Come, then, celestial glow of soul,
Whose raptures have so often stole
My fancy softly on;
At ev'ning calm, or morning gay,
Or when still midnight's solemn ray
In pensive beauty shone!
But most when lovely Anna smil'd
I felt thy sacred pow'r
Inspirit every love note wild,
That sung the peerless Flow'r.
Oh, come! and while the lightsome throng
To fields of Roddam hie,
Select the chief that train among
To live through all, and grace my song—
Ah! not to last through ages long,
But with their names to die!
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ALBERT's CHARACTER.
By pious parents train'd from youth
To pure devotion, and to truth,
Albert the path of virtue trod,
The friend of man—the child of God.
His was not Fortune's golden store,—
She gave enough, though little more,
But in a lovely, virtuous wife,
Fair beam'd his pleasure-star of life.
Six comely babes to him she bore,
And happiness, but once before
That smil'd on earth, to Calder giv'n,
Seem'd to have left her native heav'n,
As if mistaking this serene
For sinless calm, for Eden's scene!
But ah, chang'd doom! the calm is done!
Woe-clouds o'ercast so bright a sun!
Like lily, nipp'd by bitter gales,
His Ellen dies—and Albert wails!
His little children, weeping round,
Would wake Mammā from slumber sound—
Alas! she hears not grief express'd—
Sees not her Albert's tortur'd breast,
That vainly strives to check the flow
Of deep, of unavailing woe!
The mournful sounds those echoes bore,
Which never heard a sigh before!
To pure devotion, and to truth,
Albert the path of virtue trod,
The friend of man—the child of God.
His was not Fortune's golden store,—
She gave enough, though little more,
But in a lovely, virtuous wife,
Fair beam'd his pleasure-star of life.
Six comely babes to him she bore,
And happiness, but once before
That smil'd on earth, to Calder giv'n,
Seem'd to have left her native heav'n,
As if mistaking this serene
For sinless calm, for Eden's scene!
But ah, chang'd doom! the calm is done!
Woe-clouds o'ercast so bright a sun!
Like lily, nipp'd by bitter gales,
His Ellen dies—and Albert wails!
His little children, weeping round,
Would wake Mammā from slumber sound—
Alas! she hears not grief express'd—
Sees not her Albert's tortur'd breast,
That vainly strives to check the flow
Of deep, of unavailing woe!
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Which never heard a sigh before!
Celestial friend! Religion, hail!
Delightful cheerer of the vale!
When fate's deep-black'ning tempests howl,
'Tis thou alone canst calm the soul!
When chill'd with anguish and dismay,
We watch the ling'ring life away,
'Tis thine to show the blissful shore
Where friends shall meet to part no more!
Delightful cheerer of the vale!
When fate's deep-black'ning tempests howl,
'Tis thou alone canst calm the soul!
When chill'd with anguish and dismay,
We watch the ling'ring life away,
'Tis thine to show the blissful shore
Where friends shall meet to part no more!
Time and Religion's aid at last
Their veil expanded o'er the past.
Less keen was felt the bosom-throe,
And ceas'd the frequent tear to flow.
A sister, long to him endear'd,
With pious care his children rear'd!
Domestic happiness serene,
Began once more to gild the scene;
And cheerfulness, with smiling face,
To reign the mistress of the place.
Their veil expanded o'er the past.
Less keen was felt the bosom-throe,
And ceas'd the frequent tear to flow.
A sister, long to him endear'd,
With pious care his children rear'd!
Domestic happiness serene,
Began once more to gild the scene;
And cheerfulness, with smiling face,
To reign the mistress of the place.
Such Albert was; free, kind, sedate,
The good man's boast, the tyrant's hate,
Beloved by all within his land,
The Master of the reaper band.
The good man's boast, the tyrant's hate,
Beloved by all within his land,
The Master of the reaper band.
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CHARACTER OF ANNA.
The fairest of the female train
(Confess'd by every maid and swain,)
Was Anna. Fair indeed was she;
Sweet innocence, and modesty
Beam'd in each look—which charm'd the good—
The rake repented as he view'd,
Of virtuous beauty own'd the pow'r,
And would be chaste for Calder's Flow'r!
(Confess'd by every maid and swain,)
Was Anna. Fair indeed was she;
Sweet innocence, and modesty
Beam'd in each look—which charm'd the good—
The rake repented as he view'd,
Of virtuous beauty own'd the pow'r,
And would be chaste for Calder's Flow'r!
Ah! why was e'er sweet Anna's lot
The labouring peasant's humble cot?
For sure, that black eye, beaming bright,
That lovely cheek, and neck of light,
That form of finest symmetry,
That angel motion, sprightly, free,
Might well have joy diffus'd o'er all,
In brightest room of courtly hall!
The labouring peasant's humble cot?
For sure, that black eye, beaming bright,
That lovely cheek, and neck of light,
That form of finest symmetry,
That angel motion, sprightly, free,
Might well have joy diffus'd o'er all,
In brightest room of courtly hall!
Led by the moon, o'er moor and glen,
Have often come the Cheviot men,
The blithest they that wear the plaid,
And favourites of each rural maid.
Anna alone their suit denied—
Their simple tales she could deride;
In vain they knew, with graceful arm,
The plaid to throw—it fail'd to charm.
To her though hope's illusive tongue
Of higher fortune never sung;
In lovely Anna there was more
Than ever cottage saw before.
When hill and vale in beauty smil'd,
As fell the beams of ev'ning mild,
When glow'd the clouds along the sky,
And wak'd the forest-melody.
So gaily look'd her sparkling eye,
And thoughts so novel utter'd she.
As spoke a fancy, lively, fine—
Which, if illum'd by learning's shine,
May yet, in spite of penury's pow'r,
Give fame to Calder's lovely Flow'r,
And future ages bless the lays
Sweet sung by her on Cheviot braes.
Have often come the Cheviot men,
The blithest they that wear the plaid,
And favourites of each rural maid.
Anna alone their suit denied—
Their simple tales she could deride;
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The plaid to throw—it fail'd to charm.
To her though hope's illusive tongue
Of higher fortune never sung;
In lovely Anna there was more
Than ever cottage saw before.
When hill and vale in beauty smil'd,
As fell the beams of ev'ning mild,
When glow'd the clouds along the sky,
And wak'd the forest-melody.
So gaily look'd her sparkling eye,
And thoughts so novel utter'd she.
As spoke a fancy, lively, fine—
Which, if illum'd by learning's shine,
May yet, in spite of penury's pow'r,
Give fame to Calder's lovely Flow'r,
And future ages bless the lays
Sweet sung by her on Cheviot braes.
Lo! how she smiles amid the throng;
Hark! is it not fair Anna's song?
Yes—as her heart from sorrow free,
She pours the simple melody.
Ceas'd now the countless notes that rung,
The lasses list her sweeter tongue;
The youth of Calder move along,
And bless the maid, and bless her song!
Yes! all admire, but one adores!
Mark, as her song sweet Anna pours,
How speaks that glance, his inward flame!
Sylvander is the stripling's name.
Hark! is it not fair Anna's song?
Yes—as her heart from sorrow free,
She pours the simple melody.
Ceas'd now the countless notes that rung,
The lasses list her sweeter tongue;
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And bless the maid, and bless her song!
Yes! all admire, but one adores!
Mark, as her song sweet Anna pours,
How speaks that glance, his inward flame!
Sylvander is the stripling's name.
SYLVANDER's CHARACTER.
Full twenty times had Winter snell,
His tempests blown o'er Cheviot Fell;
As often spring had green'd the tree,
Since smil'd the youth in infancy.
His tempests blown o'er Cheviot Fell;
As often spring had green'd the tree,
Since smil'd the youth in infancy.
He pass'd his childhood's sportive days,
On banks of Tweed and Beaumont braes,
And where, beneath the southern hill,
Fair Ewart shines beside the Till.
These lovely scenes, now sung so long,
Attun'd his infant mind to song,
And gave a joy to after days
Which poverty could ne'er eraze.
For oh! 'twas all his pleasure still
To wake the harp by dale and hill,
And paint the feelings, fervid, warm,
When love sublimed each maiden charm!
And long shall Roddam's daughters sing
The strains Sylvander taught the string.
On banks of Tweed and Beaumont braes,
And where, beneath the southern hill,
Fair Ewart shines beside the Till.
These lovely scenes, now sung so long,
Attun'd his infant mind to song,
And gave a joy to after days
Which poverty could ne'er eraze.
For oh! 'twas all his pleasure still
To wake the harp by dale and hill,
And paint the feelings, fervid, warm,
When love sublimed each maiden charm!
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The strains Sylvander taught the string.
When winter over plain and steep
Had thrown his mantle white and deep;
How grand, he deem'd, at night's calm noon,
To walk beneath the lovely moon,
As high amid her starry show,
She smil'd upon a land of snow!
While not a breeze was heard to stir
Roddamia's woods of gloomy fir;
His hoary branches stretch'd the oak
In silent grandeur o'er the rock;
And Cheviot seem'd, in snowy pride,
Among the stars his head to hide!
Had thrown his mantle white and deep;
How grand, he deem'd, at night's calm noon,
To walk beneath the lovely moon,
As high amid her starry show,
She smil'd upon a land of snow!
While not a breeze was heard to stir
Roddamia's woods of gloomy fir;
His hoary branches stretch'd the oak
In silent grandeur o'er the rock;
And Cheviot seem'd, in snowy pride,
Among the stars his head to hide!
When Spring, with fairy hand began,
In all her hues, to paint the lawn;
To bid the forest smile again,
And birds resume the rapture-strain;
Wherever spread yon alders dank
Above the riv'let's grassy bank,
Oft has the wand'rer of the dean,
(Conceal'd among the foliage green,)
Beheld his eye in raptures roll
As Fancy lighten'd on his soul;
And often fear'd the flying gale
Might waft, unheard, the tender tale!
In all her hues, to paint the lawn;
To bid the forest smile again,
And birds resume the rapture-strain;
Wherever spread yon alders dank
Above the riv'let's grassy bank,
Oft has the wand'rer of the dean,
(Conceal'd among the foliage green,)
Beheld his eye in raptures roll
As Fancy lighten'd on his soul;
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Might waft, unheard, the tender tale!
Elate with hope—elate in vain!
Our Bard had left his native plain,
To seek promotion in the vale,
Where Aire's soft murmurs load the gale.
Too proud to cringe to shallow Pride,
Too proud a Pedan'ts sneer to bide,
His parting tear indignant burn'd,
And to Northumbria he return'd.
Our Bard had left his native plain,
To seek promotion in the vale,
Where Aire's soft murmurs load the gale.
Too proud to cringe to shallow Pride,
Too proud a Pedan'ts sneer to bide,
His parting tear indignant burn'd,
And to Northumbria he return'd.
And now twelve months away have flown
Since first to him was Anna known;
That charmer of the rural scene,
In all the bloom of seventeen,
Soon caught his heart; for none could view
That maid, and not adore her too!
She caught his heart—but felt her own,
Before she knew her conquest, gone.
Oh glorious time of bliss and love!
Sweet foretaste of the joys above!
When, from each frigid doubt estrang'd,
Hearts, mutually dear, are interchang'd
And confidently can repose
In others' breast their joys or woes!
Since first to him was Anna known;
That charmer of the rural scene,
In all the bloom of seventeen,
Soon caught his heart; for none could view
That maid, and not adore her too!
She caught his heart—but felt her own,
Before she knew her conquest, gone.
Oh glorious time of bliss and love!
Sweet foretaste of the joys above!
When, from each frigid doubt estrang'd,
Hearts, mutually dear, are interchang'd
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In others' breast their joys or woes!
So lov'd the pair; but penury cold
Still cramp'd Hope's rose-bud in the fold,
But soon a fortune-beam shall glow,
And sweet expand its beauty-blow!
Sufficiency shall bless his lot
With Anna in Roddamian Cot,
And love, unconscious of controul,
To purest rapture tune the soul!
Such were his hopes, when, all-unskill'd,
He sought good Albert's harvest field,
Not prizing much a reaper's name,
He came for money—not for fame.
Still cramp'd Hope's rose-bud in the fold,
But soon a fortune-beam shall glow,
And sweet expand its beauty-blow!
Sufficiency shall bless his lot
With Anna in Roddamian Cot,
And love, unconscious of controul,
To purest rapture tune the soul!
Such were his hopes, when, all-unskill'd,
He sought good Albert's harvest field,
Not prizing much a reaper's name,
He came for money—not for fame.
EDWARD AND JESSY.
There Edward walks in manhood's bloom!
He, forc'd by Fortune's sullen gloom,
Has chang'd, for peasant's toil and strife,
His much-lov'd hills and shepherd-life.
From Dunmoor oft, at nightly hour,
He came to Calder's fairest Flow'r.
Though in his limbs, and in his face,
Were manly strength, and youthful grace;
And though his uncorrupted heart
Ne'er knew the rake's seductive art;
With usual sneer that Beauty heard
His artless tale of love preferr'd.
Of lively fancy unpossess'd,
No “Soul of Fire” inform'd his breast,
Which, teaching words to burn or sigh,
And glancing from the speaking eye,
Might, like to powder touch'd by flame,
Have shot sweet tumult through her frame.
He, forc'd by Fortune's sullen gloom,
Has chang'd, for peasant's toil and strife,
His much-lov'd hills and shepherd-life.
From Dunmoor oft, at nightly hour,
He came to Calder's fairest Flow'r.
Though in his limbs, and in his face,
Were manly strength, and youthful grace;
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Ne'er knew the rake's seductive art;
With usual sneer that Beauty heard
His artless tale of love preferr'd.
Of lively fancy unpossess'd,
No “Soul of Fire” inform'd his breast,
Which, teaching words to burn or sigh,
And glancing from the speaking eye,
Might, like to powder touch'd by flame,
Have shot sweet tumult through her frame.
Tir'd of a tedious suit, and vain,
Long ere to Albert's mellow plain
He came, for Jessy young and fair,
(Save Anna far the loveliest there,)
Edward did feel a passion pure,
To slighted love the happiest cure!
Now could he look on Anna's eye,
Now hear her speak without a sigh.
Jessy less coy as lovely grew,
Though fainter beam'd her eyes of blue;
And deeper tints the cot-maid speak
Than those on Anna's lady-cheek.
Secure of being lov'd again
By Edward, Cheviot's comely swain,
Blithe was the maid, and light, and free,
As lamb that bounds on Calder-lea.
Not Anna's self more sprightly, gay,
Who chose her partner of her way,
Whether they sought the house of prayer
Or shone in Wooler's merry fair.
Mark the fond lovers! foremost seen,
As pass the band yon woods between,
Whence to the view, in morning's glow,
Expand the golden fields below.
Resolv'd, in ev'ry bustling field
Together still their hooks to wield,
They move with jest and smile so bland,
The pride of Albert's Harvest-band!
Long ere to Albert's mellow plain
He came, for Jessy young and fair,
(Save Anna far the loveliest there,)
Edward did feel a passion pure,
To slighted love the happiest cure!
Now could he look on Anna's eye,
Now hear her speak without a sigh.
Jessy less coy as lovely grew,
Though fainter beam'd her eyes of blue;
And deeper tints the cot-maid speak
Than those on Anna's lady-cheek.
Secure of being lov'd again
By Edward, Cheviot's comely swain,
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As lamb that bounds on Calder-lea.
Not Anna's self more sprightly, gay,
Who chose her partner of her way,
Whether they sought the house of prayer
Or shone in Wooler's merry fair.
Mark the fond lovers! foremost seen,
As pass the band yon woods between,
Whence to the view, in morning's glow,
Expand the golden fields below.
Resolv'd, in ev'ry bustling field
Together still their hooks to wield,
They move with jest and smile so bland,
The pride of Albert's Harvest-band!
CHARACTER OF MARY NELSON.
Passing yon haws in clusters ripe,
Who rolls the blue smoke from her pipe?
Her wan and wrinkled visage bears
The envious marks of sixty years—
Envious—for, though so old and staid,
Mary in sooth, is still a maid.
Who rolls the blue smoke from her pipe?
Her wan and wrinkled visage bears
The envious marks of sixty years—
Envious—for, though so old and staid,
Mary in sooth, is still a maid.
She bore, and proudly bore a name
Distinguish'd in the list of Fame,
And—half deranged—each rural jar
Brought to her fancy Trafalgar,
Where her brave kinsman, she would tell,
So nobly fought—so nobly fell!
But chief, when Harvest sickles toil'd
Her bosom beat, her blood high boil'd;
And rather would she die, than shame,
In hottest kemp, a Nelson's name!
Distinguish'd in the list of Fame,
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Brought to her fancy Trafalgar,
Where her brave kinsman, she would tell,
So nobly fought—so nobly fell!
But chief, when Harvest sickles toil'd
Her bosom beat, her blood high boil'd;
And rather would she die, than shame,
In hottest kemp, a Nelson's name!
The black companion of her way,
Where'er she wander'd, follow'd Tray.
What tales of him would Mary tell!
Oft had he cross'd the ocean's swell:
Oft cours'd in Afric's burning soil,
And scar'd Egyptian crocodile.—
Then westward bounding swift as breeze,
He dash'd through rough-opposing seas!
Now kept by Mary many a day,
Through wintry storm, and sunny ray,
Fed by her hand was gentle Tray.
Where'er she wander'd, follow'd Tray.
What tales of him would Mary tell!
Oft had he cross'd the ocean's swell:
Oft cours'd in Afric's burning soil,
And scar'd Egyptian crocodile.—
Then westward bounding swift as breeze,
He dash'd through rough-opposing seas!
Now kept by Mary many a day,
Through wintry storm, and sunny ray,
Fed by her hand was gentle Tray.
Such was her look and brow austere,
That e'en her smile inspir'd a fear.
Few were the hearts could firm advance
To meet her wild eye's piercing glance.
Sternly against the flights of wit,
Jests all but Mary safe might hit;
But here, a single look forbade,
And pleasantry retir'd dismay'd!
Yet those who, like our lovers, would
Divert her from her sullen mood,
Had nought to do, but notice take
Of fav'rite Tray, with stroak or cake,
And then a heart more kind and good
Ne'er felt the throb of gratitude.
That e'en her smile inspir'd a fear.
Few were the hearts could firm advance
To meet her wild eye's piercing glance.
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Jests all but Mary safe might hit;
But here, a single look forbade,
And pleasantry retir'd dismay'd!
Yet those who, like our lovers, would
Divert her from her sullen mood,
Had nought to do, but notice take
Of fav'rite Tray, with stroak or cake,
And then a heart more kind and good
Ne'er felt the throb of gratitude.
ELLEN OF RODDAM.
Thy hall, Roddamia! glancing sheen
From forth thy woods of varied green,
Now rises to the reapers' view,
And to its task thy steeple true,
Now chimes the hour of seven aloud.—
Who comes from thence to join the crowd?
Her smirking smile, her rosy face,
Her fluster'd dress, and sturdy pace
Well do the laughing youngsters know—
“Here comes the virgin! O—huroe!”
From forth thy woods of varied green,
Now rises to the reapers' view,
And to its task thy steeple true,
Now chimes the hour of seven aloud.—
Who comes from thence to join the crowd?
Her smirking smile, her rosy face,
Her fluster'd dress, and sturdy pace
Well do the laughing youngsters know—
“Here comes the virgin! O—huroe!”
A maiden she—though many tell—
Yet many frame a falsehood well.
Enough for me, who dare not stand
Her advocate against a band,
She bore a virgin's honour'd name,
But rather deem'd its honour shame.
For now, full twenty summers gay
Have seen her stand in wedlock's way,
Unnotic'd oft, while meaner eyes
And blaer cheeks have caught the prize.
Yet blasted hope reblossom'd still,
And not a lad, on dale or hill,
No lowland youth, or mountain swain,
But would of her to wife be vain!
Yet many frame a falsehood well.
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Her advocate against a band,
She bore a virgin's honour'd name,
But rather deem'd its honour shame.
For now, full twenty summers gay
Have seen her stand in wedlock's way,
Unnotic'd oft, while meaner eyes
And blaer cheeks have caught the prize.
Yet blasted hope reblossom'd still,
And not a lad, on dale or hill,
No lowland youth, or mountain swain,
But would of her to wife be vain!
All news she had, and added too,
Which shepherd's cot, or village knew.
What courtships had of late begun;
What old ones now (she smil'd) were done;
What maiden had resign'd the name,
Scandal her pleasure, and her aim.
Which shepherd's cot, or village knew.
What courtships had of late begun;
What old ones now (she smil'd) were done;
What maiden had resign'd the name,
Scandal her pleasure, and her aim.
Smoothly and slyly could she find
The secrets of another's mind,
And when acquainted with the cause
Why neighbours were with neighbours foes,
Eager she mov'd the springs of ire,
And blew the kindling spark to fire;
Then unsuspected inly joy'd
To see her arts so well employ'd.
Or if, by chance to air it came
That Ellen's lies had rais'd the flame,
Deeply might kindle Anger's cheek,
But ne'er to her might Anger speak;
She pour'd of epithets such store,
Told all she knew, and fabled more,
That few or none durst e'er resent
Affront by Roddam's virgin lent.
The secrets of another's mind,
And when acquainted with the cause
Why neighbours were with neighbours foes,
Eager she mov'd the springs of ire,
And blew the kindling spark to fire;
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To see her arts so well employ'd.
Or if, by chance to air it came
That Ellen's lies had rais'd the flame,
Deeply might kindle Anger's cheek,
But ne'er to her might Anger speak;
She pour'd of epithets such store,
Told all she knew, and fabled more,
That few or none durst e'er resent
Affront by Roddam's virgin lent.
Yet in the Harvest's joyous field
The soul of mirth was Ellen held.
To her the merry youngsters drew;
Their jests to her the married threw:
In his first harvest, e'en the boy
Beheld her join the band with joy,
And welcom'd to the field with shout
The fear and wonder of the rout!
The soul of mirth was Ellen held.
To her the merry youngsters drew;
Their jests to her the married threw:
In his first harvest, e'en the boy
Beheld her join the band with joy,
And welcom'd to the field with shout
The fear and wonder of the rout!
These are the chief, but following these
A various crowd the Poet sees,
To share in Harvest toils and gains
They come from distant hills and plains,
Where Teviot crystals o'er her bed,
From Tweedmouth, and the banks of Jed,
And, further far, where surges roar
Around, O Skie! thy misty shore.
A various crowd the Poet sees,
To share in Harvest toils and gains
They come from distant hills and plains,
Where Teviot crystals o'er her bed,
From Tweedmouth, and the banks of Jed,
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Around, O Skie! thy misty shore.
Now all arriv'd—by Albert set—
Three on each ridge the reapers met.
With Anna, blooming as the spring,
Sylvander led the foremost wing,
And Mary, who oft blest her case,
Beside the pair to gain a place.
Next Edward brought his ridge along;
Here Roddam's virgin, stale and strong,
Smil'd at his left, and Jessy fair
Stood prompt his dexter side to bare.
Behind, and next to these again,
Two ridges wait the Tweedmouth train.
And farther still the soldier stood
Whose harmless weapon ne'er drank blood,
Whom fate ne'er sent from home afar
To try his chance in ranks of war,
Still in dear red he casts a dash.
Next, smutty from his hasty wash,
His ponderous bulk the blacksmith rears;
And next the joiner's form appears;
Ruddy and young, he leaves his shade,
And smiles beside his fav'rite maid.
Last, join'd with two, stands mournful by
Poor Norman from the Isle of Skie;
Alone he seem'd, though with a crowd,
And sad though laughter wak'd aloud;
But none as yet made comfort flow,
None knew to soothe the stranger's woe!
Three on each ridge the reapers met.
With Anna, blooming as the spring,
Sylvander led the foremost wing,
And Mary, who oft blest her case,
Beside the pair to gain a place.
Next Edward brought his ridge along;
Here Roddam's virgin, stale and strong,
Smil'd at his left, and Jessy fair
Stood prompt his dexter side to bare.
Behind, and next to these again,
Two ridges wait the Tweedmouth train.
And farther still the soldier stood
Whose harmless weapon ne'er drank blood,
Whom fate ne'er sent from home afar
To try his chance in ranks of war,
Still in dear red he casts a dash.
Next, smutty from his hasty wash,
His ponderous bulk the blacksmith rears;
And next the joiner's form appears;
Ruddy and young, he leaves his shade,
And smiles beside his fav'rite maid.
30
Poor Norman from the Isle of Skie;
Alone he seem'd, though with a crowd,
And sad though laughter wak'd aloud;
But none as yet made comfort flow,
None knew to soothe the stranger's woe!
Thus, in long order, stand the group,
Heads after heads, successive, stoop;
Rustles along the falling corn,
The rising shocks salute the morn;
Light fly the jests, the harmless wiles,
And laughter rings, and beauty smiles!
Their mirth upon the breezes swell,
Rung sweetly to the sunny dell,
Where many a warbler pour'd his strain,
And sweetly sent to them again.
Fair Anna smiling sweet I see,
Sylvander wears an air of glee,
And many a love-taught art he tries
To ease the form that by him plies;—
Oh, happy youth! whose every art
Was more than paid with such a heart!
Heads after heads, successive, stoop;
Rustles along the falling corn,
The rising shocks salute the morn;
Light fly the jests, the harmless wiles,
And laughter rings, and beauty smiles!
Their mirth upon the breezes swell,
Rung sweetly to the sunny dell,
Where many a warbler pour'd his strain,
And sweetly sent to them again.
Fair Anna smiling sweet I see,
Sylvander wears an air of glee,
And many a love-taught art he tries
To ease the form that by him plies;—
Oh, happy youth! whose every art
Was more than paid with such a heart!
The morn's cool breeze, expanding now,
Blew warm on every reaper's brow,
And, sounding far to field and glen,
Roddamia rung the hour of ten.
Prompt at the moment, Albert bade
The toiling hooks aside be laid.
At once they cease, and, stretch'd at ease,
Devour their forenoon bread and cheese;
While from each ridge, along the rout,
By fits resound the laugh and shout;
With frequent song, and loving smile,
Which soon the short half hour beguile.
Blew warm on every reaper's brow,
31
Roddamia rung the hour of ten.
Prompt at the moment, Albert bade
The toiling hooks aside be laid.
At once they cease, and, stretch'd at ease,
Devour their forenoon bread and cheese;
While from each ridge, along the rout,
By fits resound the laugh and shout;
With frequent song, and loving smile,
Which soon the short half hour beguile.
Good Albert's voice is heard again;
Bestir the slow, reluctant train;
And o'er the field, from wing to wing,
Fast falls the corn, the sickles ring;
A merry bustle! all the while
Sweet lasses jest, and lasses smile.
Behind, the cheerful bindsters ply,
And proudly rear their shocks on high,
While oft with jest and leering eye,
Some lovely maid they stay,
As, sweet, she turns with loaded hand,
She feels it grasp'd within the band
A moment forc'd, unseen, to stand,
She, smiling, walks away.
High rides the flaming orb of day,
Smile Cheviot's mountains in the ray.
All heathless, to the south, are seen
Thy summits Fawdon! cloth'd in green.
In brightness flows the winding Till,
And gay is Hebburn's shrub-wild hill.
At hand, the sunbeams brightly play,
On village, field, and turret gay;
On woods, that like green mantles lie,
(Wav'd free from sloping summits nigh,)
Whose verdant folds luxuriant flow
Down bank and brae, in graceful show!
Bestir the slow, reluctant train;
And o'er the field, from wing to wing,
Fast falls the corn, the sickles ring;
A merry bustle! all the while
Sweet lasses jest, and lasses smile.
Behind, the cheerful bindsters ply,
And proudly rear their shocks on high,
While oft with jest and leering eye,
Some lovely maid they stay,
As, sweet, she turns with loaded hand,
She feels it grasp'd within the band
A moment forc'd, unseen, to stand,
She, smiling, walks away.
32
Smile Cheviot's mountains in the ray.
All heathless, to the south, are seen
Thy summits Fawdon! cloth'd in green.
In brightness flows the winding Till,
And gay is Hebburn's shrub-wild hill.
At hand, the sunbeams brightly play,
On village, field, and turret gay;
On woods, that like green mantles lie,
(Wav'd free from sloping summits nigh,)
Whose verdant folds luxuriant flow
Down bank and brae, in graceful show!
The breezes, now, so slowly borne,
Scarce fann'd the cheek, or stirr'd the corn,
While, fiercely pour'd, meridian heat
O'er all the sickening landscape beat!
Each heart is faint, and, wrung with toils,
And bath'd in sweat, each body broils;
All spirits sink,—thirst rages sore,—
Light fly the jest and song no more!
Oh, for a cloud to intervene,
Whose shadow o'er the parched scene
A grateful gloom might throw!
Vain wish! the wide horizon blue
Nor streak, nor vapour gives to view,
And not a breeze to blow.
At length, by Albert's care, from spring
The cooling water one must bring,
And oh! that maid, how black soe'er,
To-day is fairest and most dear!
Refresh'd a moment—mirth again
Begins to wake among the train,
Again the youth divert the while
With lasses blithe, and lasses smile.
Scarce fann'd the cheek, or stirr'd the corn,
While, fiercely pour'd, meridian heat
O'er all the sickening landscape beat!
Each heart is faint, and, wrung with toils,
And bath'd in sweat, each body broils;
All spirits sink,—thirst rages sore,—
Light fly the jest and song no more!
Oh, for a cloud to intervene,
Whose shadow o'er the parched scene
A grateful gloom might throw!
33
Nor streak, nor vapour gives to view,
And not a breeze to blow.
At length, by Albert's care, from spring
The cooling water one must bring,
And oh! that maid, how black soe'er,
To-day is fairest and most dear!
Refresh'd a moment—mirth again
Begins to wake among the train,
Again the youth divert the while
With lasses blithe, and lasses smile.
But Nelson's languid eye and brow
Bespoke her strength exhausted now:
What cordial can in age replace
The springs that mov'd life's morning race?
Sweet Anna saw, and on her tongue
That instant pity's dictates hung;
Old Mary could the tear espy
Wet the bright blackness of her eye,
And thus she gave her fancy scope
In prospects vain, and idle hope:—
“Nay,—view not me an object here
That needs a sympathetic tear.
Not force, but choice draws me to wield
A reaper's hook in Albert's field,
To see my grounds have justice done:
For yonder hall, so bright with sun,
Yes—Roddam Hall is mine, by will,
With all the lands of Tankerville.
—Nay laugh not! for my kinsman brave
To Roddam all his riches gave,
And bade that I, who on my knee
Had danc'd the warrior's infancy,
His heiress, these possessions claim,
Long to perpetuate the name.
Ceas'd Roddam's name in Roddam now,
To Nelson of Nelson all must bow.”
Bespoke her strength exhausted now:
What cordial can in age replace
The springs that mov'd life's morning race?
Sweet Anna saw, and on her tongue
That instant pity's dictates hung;
Old Mary could the tear espy
Wet the bright blackness of her eye,
And thus she gave her fancy scope
In prospects vain, and idle hope:—
“Nay,—view not me an object here
That needs a sympathetic tear.
34
A reaper's hook in Albert's field,
To see my grounds have justice done:
For yonder hall, so bright with sun,
Yes—Roddam Hall is mine, by will,
With all the lands of Tankerville.
—Nay laugh not! for my kinsman brave
To Roddam all his riches gave,
And bade that I, who on my knee
Had danc'd the warrior's infancy,
His heiress, these possessions claim,
Long to perpetuate the name.
Ceas'd Roddam's name in Roddam now,
To Nelson of Nelson all must bow.”
At once she heard such laughter burst—
She blush'd not—though she inly curs'd.
For Roddam's Ellen sign had sent,
And to her speech all ears were lent.
She stoop'd and cut, and stoop'd again,
Till ceas'd the laughing of the train;
Then, rising, thus in lower tone
Once more her reverie went on:
“They mock—but ye, so happy pair!
Shall yet be blest in Mary's care.
The best of food in Nelson's hall
Shall, ready, soon attend your call.
And of the silks of Trafalgar
My gallant kinsman gain'd in war
The fairest, Anna, shall be thine,
And in a hall as grand as mine,
(Built on the bank of yonder dell,)
Shalt thou and thy Sylvander dwell.”
She blush'd not—though she inly curs'd.
For Roddam's Ellen sign had sent,
And to her speech all ears were lent.
She stoop'd and cut, and stoop'd again,
Till ceas'd the laughing of the train;
Then, rising, thus in lower tone
Once more her reverie went on:
35
Shall yet be blest in Mary's care.
The best of food in Nelson's hall
Shall, ready, soon attend your call.
And of the silks of Trafalgar
My gallant kinsman gain'd in war
The fairest, Anna, shall be thine,
And in a hall as grand as mine,
(Built on the bank of yonder dell,)
Shalt thou and thy Sylvander dwell.”
Upon her lover turn'd her eye,
And half on Mary, smiling sly,
Sweet Anna thank'd her generous care,
And wish'd her soon her heirship fair.
Blithe smil'd Sylvander too, the while
He saw his lovely Anna smile;
But when she turn'd her footstep light,
And hid her beauteous eyes so bright,
As stoop'd she to the ridge again,
The neatest reaper of the train,—
He thought the whimsies that beguil'd
The toils of Mary not more wild
Than those himself had felt inspire
His bosom, ever prone to fire!
'Tis true his prayers did never soar
For splendid hall, or golden store;
The wish, the dearest to his heart
To dwell with love in cot apart:
But then his hopes of lasting fame;
Ages unborn to boast his name;
Perhaps with awe to seek the vale,
Where oft his harp had charm'd the gale;
With rev'rence tread the very wild
Where first he lov'd, and Anna smil'd;
Or view her cottage, whither oft,
With heart that throbb'd, and eye that glanc'd
High rapture, as his steps advanc'd,
Had he repair'd at moonlight soft;—
As wildly vain Sylvander knew.
He on the future turn'd his view,—
There he beheld, with blasting rage,
Censure! thy fires consume his page;
And from the lovely book of Fame
Oblivion's hand eraze his name!
A madd'ning thought!—his reverie
Was broke by many a voice of glee.
And half on Mary, smiling sly,
Sweet Anna thank'd her generous care,
And wish'd her soon her heirship fair.
Blithe smil'd Sylvander too, the while
He saw his lovely Anna smile;
But when she turn'd her footstep light,
And hid her beauteous eyes so bright,
As stoop'd she to the ridge again,
The neatest reaper of the train,—
He thought the whimsies that beguil'd
The toils of Mary not more wild
Than those himself had felt inspire
His bosom, ever prone to fire!
36
For splendid hall, or golden store;
The wish, the dearest to his heart
To dwell with love in cot apart:
But then his hopes of lasting fame;
Ages unborn to boast his name;
Perhaps with awe to seek the vale,
Where oft his harp had charm'd the gale;
With rev'rence tread the very wild
Where first he lov'd, and Anna smil'd;
Or view her cottage, whither oft,
With heart that throbb'd, and eye that glanc'd
High rapture, as his steps advanc'd,
Had he repair'd at moonlight soft;—
As wildly vain Sylvander knew.
He on the future turn'd his view,—
There he beheld, with blasting rage,
Censure! thy fires consume his page;
And from the lovely book of Fame
Oblivion's hand eraze his name!
A madd'ning thought!—his reverie
Was broke by many a voice of glee.
For now from far the steeple's chime
Had rung the hour of resting-time,
And jolting down the neighb'ring road,
The cart its kegs and baskets show'd.
Each reaper, tir'd of heat and hook,
Regards it with a blithsome look.
And slowly fill the sheaves, I ween,
And few the bands are made between,
And seldom moves each wistful eye,
Till the slow wheels are grazing nigh!
At length the tins froth to the brim,
By each is laid a wheaten loaf;
Albert's delays now cruel seem,—
For almost drain'd the barrel-stream,
They drop their hooks and off.—
See! how they crowd around the cheer,
Till wholesome draughts of cooling beer
Their burning thirst allay;
Sylvander rush'd among the rest,
And lovely Anna forward prest;
He chose a bap he deem'd the best,
And tipt the wink to stay.
She smiling understood the sign;
And never cup of rosy wine
Was heartier offer'd, heartier ta'en,
Than this, of ale, the maid and swain
Exchang'd with humour gay!
Now part the group, as fancies please,
Some quaff their beer, reclin'd at ease,
Beneath the standing grain,
Where infant clover, fresh and green,
Presents a cooling, grateful scene;
Some make the yellow shocks their screen,
And feel reviv'd again.
The blacksmith, soldier, and the hind,
A garrulous few! are here combin'd.
Whose wives beside, (their dinner done)
Industrious sew or knit in sun,
Or list, by fits, with Mary old,
The warm debates their husbands hold.
They spoke of all that then rung through,
Of Wellington and Waterloo.
Some mourn'd the thousands there that bled,
And wish'd the ruthless Chieftain dead,
Whom wild ambition led again
To spill a nation's blood in vain!
Still heating as uncheck'd they go—
Doom the vile wretch to endless woe,
Would wish the regent mercy show
To old Britannia's fellest foe!—
Others as heartily execrate
Th'ungen'rous conduct of the state
That heard, with careless look and high,
The pray'r of fallen majesty!
Brook'd not to tread upon our shore
Such foot as never trod before;
But sent to exile, sad and far,
The wise in peace, the brave in war!
Had rung the hour of resting-time,
37
The cart its kegs and baskets show'd.
Each reaper, tir'd of heat and hook,
Regards it with a blithsome look.
And slowly fill the sheaves, I ween,
And few the bands are made between,
And seldom moves each wistful eye,
Till the slow wheels are grazing nigh!
At length the tins froth to the brim,
By each is laid a wheaten loaf;
Albert's delays now cruel seem,—
For almost drain'd the barrel-stream,
They drop their hooks and off.—
See! how they crowd around the cheer,
Till wholesome draughts of cooling beer
Their burning thirst allay;
Sylvander rush'd among the rest,
And lovely Anna forward prest;
He chose a bap he deem'd the best,
And tipt the wink to stay.
She smiling understood the sign;
And never cup of rosy wine
38
Than this, of ale, the maid and swain
Exchang'd with humour gay!
Now part the group, as fancies please,
Some quaff their beer, reclin'd at ease,
Beneath the standing grain,
Where infant clover, fresh and green,
Presents a cooling, grateful scene;
Some make the yellow shocks their screen,
And feel reviv'd again.
The blacksmith, soldier, and the hind,
A garrulous few! are here combin'd.
Whose wives beside, (their dinner done)
Industrious sew or knit in sun,
Or list, by fits, with Mary old,
The warm debates their husbands hold.
They spoke of all that then rung through,
Of Wellington and Waterloo.
Some mourn'd the thousands there that bled,
And wish'd the ruthless Chieftain dead,
Whom wild ambition led again
To spill a nation's blood in vain!
Still heating as uncheck'd they go—
Doom the vile wretch to endless woe,
39
To old Britannia's fellest foe!—
Others as heartily execrate
Th'ungen'rous conduct of the state
That heard, with careless look and high,
The pray'r of fallen majesty!
Brook'd not to tread upon our shore
Such foot as never trod before;
But sent to exile, sad and far,
The wise in peace, the brave in war!
Amid a group of young and fair
(Herself by far the fairest there,)
Sweet Anna sat, her youth apart,
With glowing, but respectful heart,
Unseen, a glance of rapture stole
At the dear Idol of his soul!
There circled jests, unwont to fail,
And many a merry local tale,
Till fare was done, and tankards quaff'd,
And maidens smil'd, and youngsters laugh'd.
(Herself by far the fairest there,)
Sweet Anna sat, her youth apart,
With glowing, but respectful heart,
Unseen, a glance of rapture stole
At the dear Idol of his soul!
There circled jests, unwont to fail,
And many a merry local tale,
Till fare was done, and tankards quaff'd,
And maidens smil'd, and youngsters laugh'd.
Now noisy mirth has done; each fair
Uncovering, combs her sunburnt hair.
The youths, delighted, mark the curls
Fall down their favourite's cheeks in swirls.
But still was cast the general view
On Anna's locks of raven hue;
Now o'er her snowy brows that twin'd,
Now, wanton, waving, hung behind;
Till, roll'd on high, and smoothly laid,
Again reclin'd the lovely maid.
Uncovering, combs her sunburnt hair.
The youths, delighted, mark the curls
Fall down their favourite's cheeks in swirls.
40
On Anna's locks of raven hue;
Now o'er her snowy brows that twin'd,
Now, wanton, waving, hung behind;
Till, roll'd on high, and smoothly laid,
Again reclin'd the lovely maid.
“But who our lasses fair among
Will welcome Harvest with a song?”
Was often by the crowd requir'd;—
From Anna's voice, the most admir'd,
They begg'd to hear a fav'rite strain,—
For well they knew her loving swain
Had taught her all the tender lays
Himself had sung in Beauty's praise,
Oh! still the lovely blush I view,
And my warm'd bosom beats anew—
That lovely blush which deeper gave
The rose-bloom o'er her cheek to wave,
Confus'd, as in Sylvander's eye
The glance of rapture she could spy,
And, sweet, essay'd to find the air
Of “Armley's Flow'r that blooms so fair”
Will welcome Harvest with a song?”
Was often by the crowd requir'd;—
From Anna's voice, the most admir'd,
They begg'd to hear a fav'rite strain,—
For well they knew her loving swain
Had taught her all the tender lays
Himself had sung in Beauty's praise,
Oh! still the lovely blush I view,
And my warm'd bosom beats anew—
That lovely blush which deeper gave
The rose-bloom o'er her cheek to wave,
Confus'd, as in Sylvander's eye
The glance of rapture she could spy,
And, sweet, essay'd to find the air
Of “Armley's Flow'r that blooms so fair”
41
With wave and shout the tidings soon
Were carried through the scatter'd boon,
And young and old to Anna drew,
The aged ran, the youthful flew;
E'en politicians ceas'd debate,
Resign'd Napoleon to his fate,
And, eager, join'd the impatient ring
To hear the lovely virgin sing!
Were carried through the scatter'd boon,
And young and old to Anna drew,
The aged ran, the youthful flew;
E'en politicians ceas'd debate,
Resign'd Napoleon to his fate,
And, eager, join'd the impatient ring
To hear the lovely virgin sing!
ANNA's SONG.
Once free in heart I rov'd the plain,
Nor minded flow'rs of beauty blooming;
I careless wak'd the past'ral strain,
And thought not—knew not what was coming.
But love at last hath caught my heart;
I feel, what once did ne'er alarm me;
And she who causes all my smart,
Is the fairest Flower that blooms in Armley!
Nor minded flow'rs of beauty blooming;
I careless wak'd the past'ral strain,
And thought not—knew not what was coming.
But love at last hath caught my heart;
I feel, what once did ne'er alarm me;
And she who causes all my smart,
Is the fairest Flower that blooms in Armley!
Though sweet the lowly daisy blows,
And sweet the heath-flow'r on the mountain;
Though sweet the blooms the wild-brier shows,
And blue-bell by the chrystal fountain;
Yet sweeter far the garden's pride,
The Rose, supremely does it charm me:
So shines my love o'er all beside,
The fairest Flower that blooms in Armley!
And sweet the heath-flow'r on the mountain;
Though sweet the blooms the wild-brier shows,
And blue-bell by the chrystal fountain;
42
The Rose, supremely does it charm me:
So shines my love o'er all beside,
The fairest Flower that blooms in Armley!
In cold Misfortune's stormy vale,
Through life, alas! I'm doom'd to wander;
Not love itself should e'er prevail
To bid the fair resign her grandeur.
But were I king of nations wide,
Did all the sex aspire to charm me;
I'd, raptur'd, stoop from all the pride,
And bless the Flower that blooms in Armley!
Through life, alas! I'm doom'd to wander;
Not love itself should e'er prevail
To bid the fair resign her grandeur.
But were I king of nations wide,
Did all the sex aspire to charm me;
I'd, raptur'd, stoop from all the pride,
And bless the Flower that blooms in Armley!
Her mellow voice so sweetly rung,
So sweet they deem'd the lay she sung,
With one accord applause they roar,
And beg another from her store.
The fair obey'd, and, to the throng,
Thus gave Sylvander's farewell song,
When, leaving Aire's soft banks, again
He sought his much-lov'd native plain.
So sweet they deem'd the lay she sung,
With one accord applause they roar,
And beg another from her store.
The fair obey'd, and, to the throng,
Thus gave Sylvander's farewell song,
When, leaving Aire's soft banks, again
He sought his much-lov'd native plain.
43
FAREWELL.
How sweetly balm'd the gentle breeze
That whispers o'er the dewy leas,
While glimpsing through yon trembling trees,
The silent moon shines bonny!
Eliza, come! of maids the pride!
Once more we tread the dewy side
Of Aire, that leads her silver tide
Beneath the moonshine bonny.
That whispers o'er the dewy leas,
While glimpsing through yon trembling trees,
The silent moon shines bonny!
Eliza, come! of maids the pride!
Once more we tread the dewy side
Of Aire, that leads her silver tide
Beneath the moonshine bonny.
Afar from friends that knew my youth,
I sought them here my woes to soothe;
But thee—and honour, love, and truth,
Were fled these vales so bonny!
Eliza! still to thee I stole—
Forgot the griefs that wrung my soul—
As walk'd we by the water's roll
When fell the moonshine bonny.
I sought them here my woes to soothe;
But thee—and honour, love, and truth,
Were fled these vales so bonny!
Eliza! still to thee I stole—
Forgot the griefs that wrung my soul—
As walk'd we by the water's roll
When fell the moonshine bonny.
I sigh'd not then for Border stream,
For love and joy were all our theme,
And lost, the while, in rapture's dream,
Were thoughts of sorrow many.—
But now I bid these scenes farewell,
Where all the graces love to dwell;
And thee, the fairest of the dell,
Where thousand maids are bonny!
For love and joy were all our theme,
And lost, the while, in rapture's dream,
Were thoughts of sorrow many.—
44
Where all the graces love to dwell;
And thee, the fairest of the dell,
Where thousand maids are bonny!
Northumbria's mountains lovely are,
And green her vales, expanding far,
Her sons are fam'd in glorious war,
Her daughters good and bonny.
I go—dear soother of my care!
Farewell my sweet transcendent fair!
Long will I think on thee and Aire,
Where shone the moon so bonny!
And green her vales, expanding far,
Her sons are fam'd in glorious war,
Her daughters good and bonny.
I go—dear soother of my care!
Farewell my sweet transcendent fair!
Long will I think on thee and Aire,
Where shone the moon so bonny!
Ceas'd her sweet voice;—applauses loud
Re-thunder through the charmed crowd.
They die away;—and many a strain
Alternate raise the maiden train.
Those airs a Ramsay's pipe had blown,
Those raptures that a Burns had known,
Here, true to nature's feelings, find
A living mirror in each mind.
Last Jessy, ask'd by all the train,
Awak'd thy lovely Flower, Dumblane!
On the sweet air attention hung,
And when she ceas'd applauses rung.
Re-thunder through the charmed crowd.
They die away;—and many a strain
Alternate raise the maiden train.
Those airs a Ramsay's pipe had blown,
Those raptures that a Burns had known,
Here, true to nature's feelings, find
A living mirror in each mind.
Last Jessy, ask'd by all the train,
Awak'd thy lovely Flower, Dumblane!
45
And when she ceas'd applauses rung.
With mirth and many a lovely lay
'Twas thus they sent the time away,
Till, in the field arriv'd again,
Good Albert rous'd to toil the train!
'Twas thus they sent the time away,
Till, in the field arriv'd again,
Good Albert rous'd to toil the train!
THE END OF THE FIRST CANTO.
| The Harvest | |