 | Poems |  |
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BOOK IV.
ARGUMENT OF THE FOURTH BOOK.
The pleasures of the favourite village during Spring—the warm sun, and first leaf and blossom of the year—the fine night and stormy day of March—the equinoctial sunrise—general appearance of nature—the flock—the ewe and lamb—the reptile basking in the sun—the first appearance of the flesh-fly —the pleasure of travelling at this season—various wild blossoms—the pea and bean—the plough-team—the group of weeders—the clear mid-day sun—the song of birds, especially the lark—the warmer day of Spring, and its effect upon the ploughman and his team—the appearance of the swallow —of the butterfly—of the child pursuing it—of the caterpillar —general view of nature—the first of May—the furze down —the garden—the hedge-row—birds building nests—the evening walk—agreeable vernal sounds of the favourite village —the walk at noon—The sight of cattle grazing—of boys playing at cricket—of other rural sports—of the mower —of the bean field—the clear evening not expected, and its agreeable imagery—the bee, an emblem of the bard—Conclusion.
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Say, when the northern gale of March blows keen,
Inducing ear-twitch, ague, pain acute
Of tooth decaying, pulmonary cough,
Or ach rheumatic of the shudd'ring limb,
Under the southern wall, yet unadorn'd,
Or hedge-row shelter of the rosy dyke,
Where blooms the pale-ey'd messenger of prime,
In the warm sunbeam of unclouded noon
Is it not heav'n to bask? Is it not heav'n
To walk beneath the high meridian wall,
Where the spruce apricot, a daring beau,
His leafless branches with advent'rous bloom
Sparingly powders, or their blushing gems
Unfold, more cautious, nectarine and peach?
Lo! the flush'd almond tree, divinely fair!
Why blush her ruddy blossoms, but for shame
Of the bare bloomless branch that round her lives,
And shews no flower, and no leaf unfolds?
So redden'd erst the sacerdotal rod,
And dropp'd its bloom, and deck'd its branch with fruit,
While not a bud the naked stems adorn'd
Of its unhallow'd rivals. Wond'rous God,
Tender and good to all which thou hast made,
Succour the blossom and the forward bud—
The scarce and fearful daisy, ill disclos'd
And couching low, veiling its tender eye
With fingers dipp'd in crimson—the fresh leaf
That decks the gooseberry's vindictive branch,
And elder's thornless bough—the ruddy ear
Of woodbine eager to be gay, his flow'r
Determin'd soon about the ling'ring oak
To wind in shame of the slow Spring's delay.
Succour the lilac, whose prolific bud
Betrays its purple symptom, promise sweet
Of many a spike to be unfolded soon,
And nod majestic on the brow of May.
Thou fickle season, let thy morning smile
To noon continue, and from noon to night.
Let not the cloud that lifts its pillowy head
Above the blue horizon, and ere long
Shall shew its sable waist and trailing skirt,
Curtain thy orb, and the protruded gem
Bruise with its dancing hailstone. If the show'r
Fall frequent, fall it kind, and not severe,
And fall to meliorate the thirsty soil
Of field and garden, that thy genial beam
May hatch the blade of ev'ry seed unseen.
So shall the farmer bless thee—so, his dame,
Who spreads to bleach upon the village green
Her home-spun sheeting, recent from the loom—
So, the blithe gard'ner, often with his spade
Seen early deep-upturning the rich soil,
Harrowing often and disposing smooth
Its mellow surface with the fine-tooth'd rake,
Often his scythe heard whetting ere the dawn,
And shaving smooth the sward, or seen at noon
Trampling his border with assiduous heel.
Inducing ear-twitch, ague, pain acute
Of tooth decaying, pulmonary cough,
Or ach rheumatic of the shudd'ring limb,
Under the southern wall, yet unadorn'd,
Or hedge-row shelter of the rosy dyke,
Where blooms the pale-ey'd messenger of prime,
In the warm sunbeam of unclouded noon
Is it not heav'n to bask? Is it not heav'n
To walk beneath the high meridian wall,
Where the spruce apricot, a daring beau,
His leafless branches with advent'rous bloom
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Unfold, more cautious, nectarine and peach?
Lo! the flush'd almond tree, divinely fair!
Why blush her ruddy blossoms, but for shame
Of the bare bloomless branch that round her lives,
And shews no flower, and no leaf unfolds?
So redden'd erst the sacerdotal rod,
And dropp'd its bloom, and deck'd its branch with fruit,
While not a bud the naked stems adorn'd
Of its unhallow'd rivals. Wond'rous God,
Tender and good to all which thou hast made,
Succour the blossom and the forward bud—
The scarce and fearful daisy, ill disclos'd
And couching low, veiling its tender eye
With fingers dipp'd in crimson—the fresh leaf
That decks the gooseberry's vindictive branch,
And elder's thornless bough—the ruddy ear
Of woodbine eager to be gay, his flow'r
Determin'd soon about the ling'ring oak
To wind in shame of the slow Spring's delay.
Succour the lilac, whose prolific bud
Betrays its purple symptom, promise sweet
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And nod majestic on the brow of May.
Thou fickle season, let thy morning smile
To noon continue, and from noon to night.
Let not the cloud that lifts its pillowy head
Above the blue horizon, and ere long
Shall shew its sable waist and trailing skirt,
Curtain thy orb, and the protruded gem
Bruise with its dancing hailstone. If the show'r
Fall frequent, fall it kind, and not severe,
And fall to meliorate the thirsty soil
Of field and garden, that thy genial beam
May hatch the blade of ev'ry seed unseen.
So shall the farmer bless thee—so, his dame,
Who spreads to bleach upon the village green
Her home-spun sheeting, recent from the loom—
So, the blithe gard'ner, often with his spade
Seen early deep-upturning the rich soil,
Harrowing often and disposing smooth
Its mellow surface with the fine-tooth'd rake,
Often his scythe heard whetting ere the dawn,
And shaving smooth the sward, or seen at noon
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If show'r, attended by the gale, descend,
Grateful the contrast of imperious day
Chasing indignant the dishevell'd cloud,
And still transparent night, with peerless gems
Studding the tranquil canopy of heaven.
Grateful the contrast of imperious day
Chasing indignant the dishevell'd cloud,
And still transparent night, with peerless gems
Studding the tranquil canopy of heaven.
From yon uplifted summit, when the sun
Of March, high-mounted, wears a moody smile,
Indulgent only to these winnow'd brows,
What time the partial storm in sullen pomp
Sails o'er the prostrate weald, let me look down
And see the murky cloud prone deluge shed,
And ev'ry town and steeple, dim-discern'd,
Curtain in gloom terrific. At such time,
What if the lightning bolt, long laid aside,
Amid the grim procession chance to gleam,
And thunder, surly to be rous'd so soon,
Mutter reluctant from his stormy couch?
It shall but solemn render the slow march
Of the dark tempest, through its gloomy brows
Frowning meridian night, and wake no dread,
No wish of flight, nor sense of peril here.
No! I shall eye it safely as it steals
In gloomy state away, and leaves behind
The freshen'd landscape leisurely dismiss'd.
Lo! in the glowing east the cloud sublime
Lifting its arduous and illumin'd head
High above highest earth, a pile superb
Of vapour, wrapping in its smoky skirts
Heav'n's everduring threshold, and the beam
Of day's clear orb resplendent from its folds
Reflecting glorious. With the falling sun
Slow sinks the pomp away, and while his orb
In flaky redness sets, and fills the west
With fiery fragments of disparted cloud,
The last-apparent summit of the storm
The ruddy hue imbibes, and sanguine glows;
Till, day withdrawn and the vex'd ether hush'd,
The tempest all subsides and dies away,
And the pure heav'n displays an ardent moon
Swimming self-balanc'd through the blue profound.
Of March, high-mounted, wears a moody smile,
Indulgent only to these winnow'd brows,
What time the partial storm in sullen pomp
Sails o'er the prostrate weald, let me look down
And see the murky cloud prone deluge shed,
And ev'ry town and steeple, dim-discern'd,
Curtain in gloom terrific. At such time,
What if the lightning bolt, long laid aside,
Amid the grim procession chance to gleam,
And thunder, surly to be rous'd so soon,
Mutter reluctant from his stormy couch?
It shall but solemn render the slow march
Of the dark tempest, through its gloomy brows
Frowning meridian night, and wake no dread,
No wish of flight, nor sense of peril here.
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In gloomy state away, and leaves behind
The freshen'd landscape leisurely dismiss'd.
Lo! in the glowing east the cloud sublime
Lifting its arduous and illumin'd head
High above highest earth, a pile superb
Of vapour, wrapping in its smoky skirts
Heav'n's everduring threshold, and the beam
Of day's clear orb resplendent from its folds
Reflecting glorious. With the falling sun
Slow sinks the pomp away, and while his orb
In flaky redness sets, and fills the west
With fiery fragments of disparted cloud,
The last-apparent summit of the storm
The ruddy hue imbibes, and sanguine glows;
Till, day withdrawn and the vex'd ether hush'd,
The tempest all subsides and dies away,
And the pure heav'n displays an ardent moon
Swimming self-balanc'd through the blue profound.
On this commanding summit let me stand,
To see the vernal equinoctial orb
Fresh from his chambers in the deep ascend.
Arise, bright leader of the beauteous year,
Sweep thy long fingers o'er the shadowy vale,
And smite the hill-tops. Nature at thy soft
Reviving touch with concord exquisite
Shall to her center vibrate. Total earth
Shall ring sweet unison from hill and dale.
My bosom, like the fabled lyre of old
Memnonian, or the harp that wooes the breeze,
Shall sing with ecstasy, and pour around
Spontaneous sweet effusion, mellow verse,
Ode best expressive of the grateful soul.
Here let me stand, and o'er the level weald,
That, like a spacious chart, outstretch'd beneath
Lies chequer'd, cast an aching eye, to mark
Each well-known object in the misty skirt
Of the long-drawn perspective. Seen from hence
The budding wood a russet hue assumes,
And, as the gem protrudes, the social group
Of elms and oaks that herd upon the lawn
(Shelter affording to the yeaning flock)
Seem pencil'd softer on the vale below.
The paintress Nature with reviving green
Colours her tender landscape, down and mead,
A deeper tinge upon the long-sown field
Spreading with equal hand, intending soon
Like grace and beauty for the tardier spot.
To see the vernal equinoctial orb
Fresh from his chambers in the deep ascend.
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Sweep thy long fingers o'er the shadowy vale,
And smite the hill-tops. Nature at thy soft
Reviving touch with concord exquisite
Shall to her center vibrate. Total earth
Shall ring sweet unison from hill and dale.
My bosom, like the fabled lyre of old
Memnonian, or the harp that wooes the breeze,
Shall sing with ecstasy, and pour around
Spontaneous sweet effusion, mellow verse,
Ode best expressive of the grateful soul.
Here let me stand, and o'er the level weald,
That, like a spacious chart, outstretch'd beneath
Lies chequer'd, cast an aching eye, to mark
Each well-known object in the misty skirt
Of the long-drawn perspective. Seen from hence
The budding wood a russet hue assumes,
And, as the gem protrudes, the social group
Of elms and oaks that herd upon the lawn
(Shelter affording to the yeaning flock)
Seem pencil'd softer on the vale below.
The paintress Nature with reviving green
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A deeper tinge upon the long-sown field
Spreading with equal hand, intending soon
Like grace and beauty for the tardier spot.
Now yields the flock to the bard's curious eye
Peculiar pleasures. Often let me mark
The sullen ewe's authoritative stamp
Where'er the sheep-dog passes. Let me smile
At her deluded sense, what time her lamb,
By the bleak season slain, his welted coat
Yields to the flayer, and the ravish'd twin
Of some fond mother in the coarse disguise
Appears loose-coated, and usurps his dug.
Dull fool, how ill perceives thy stupid eye
The palpable imposture! Let me hear
The morning uproar of the fleecy folk,
What time, vociferous, their tardy march
With baying curs impatient their rude lord
To the green pasture urges. Loud enquires
The bleating mother for her sunder'd lamb,
As loud complaining for his mother lost.
With quick infallible perception, she,
Amid the mingled outcry, hears distinct
His slender shrill entreaty. He remote,
With nicety that shames our grosser sense,
Her voice acknowledges, and through the crowd
Winds his insulted way. She, provident,
Her milky treasures for his lip reserves,
Butting intruders with a frown away.
At length he finds her, and with bended knees,
Emblem of innocence and filial grace,
His plenteous meal receives, and bleats no more
Peculiar pleasures. Often let me mark
The sullen ewe's authoritative stamp
Where'er the sheep-dog passes. Let me smile
At her deluded sense, what time her lamb,
By the bleak season slain, his welted coat
Yields to the flayer, and the ravish'd twin
Of some fond mother in the coarse disguise
Appears loose-coated, and usurps his dug.
Dull fool, how ill perceives thy stupid eye
The palpable imposture! Let me hear
The morning uproar of the fleecy folk,
What time, vociferous, their tardy march
With baying curs impatient their rude lord
To the green pasture urges. Loud enquires
The bleating mother for her sunder'd lamb,
As loud complaining for his mother lost.
With quick infallible perception, she,
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His slender shrill entreaty. He remote,
With nicety that shames our grosser sense,
Her voice acknowledges, and through the crowd
Winds his insulted way. She, provident,
Her milky treasures for his lip reserves,
Butting intruders with a frown away.
At length he finds her, and with bended knees,
Emblem of innocence and filial grace,
His plenteous meal receives, and bleats no more
Now as I walk and slumber by the dyke,
Whene'er the mid-day sun with pow'rful beam
Plays full upon the bank, 'mid the fresh tops
Of nettle fast reviving, or green shoots
Of parsley welcome at the warren side,
Or sear grass unconsum'd, or prickly goss,
Wriggles the viper and the basking eft,
Or spotted snake innocuous, snapping short
The thread of meditation, as they glide,
With whisper not unwelcome. At the door
Enters the flesh-fly, and with cheerful hum
Travels the house interior. On the pane
Thumps he and buzzes, the resounding hall
Travels again, and with a bounce departs;
Grateful remembrance leaving on the mind
Of still enjoyment in the musing hour
Of summer's drowsy noon, and pleasing thought
Oft interrupted by his brisk career.
Whene'er the mid-day sun with pow'rful beam
Plays full upon the bank, 'mid the fresh tops
Of nettle fast reviving, or green shoots
Of parsley welcome at the warren side,
Or sear grass unconsum'd, or prickly goss,
Wriggles the viper and the basking eft,
Or spotted snake innocuous, snapping short
The thread of meditation, as they glide,
With whisper not unwelcome. At the door
Enters the flesh-fly, and with cheerful hum
Travels the house interior. On the pane
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Travels again, and with a bounce departs;
Grateful remembrance leaving on the mind
Of still enjoyment in the musing hour
Of summer's drowsy noon, and pleasing thought
Oft interrupted by his brisk career.
If now I journey, often at my side
Let me the blue-bell'd hyacinth behold,
The silver anemóne of the wood,
And golden primrose, intermingled well.
Let ev'ry bank with rosy tufts be fring'd;
Be ev'ry corn-field carpeted anew
In recent herbage, ev'ry hillock crown'd,
And ev'ry valley gracefully besprent
With drooping cowslip, ev'ry marshy dell
With sumptuous caltha lin'd, and ev'ry down
Sow'd with innumerable daisy, white
Or ting'd with crimson at each finger's tip.
Let delicate archangel, white as snow,
In ev'ry nook appear, tempting the hand
Of city botanist, or village boy
Who plucks the leaf and blossom from its stem,
Fearless of smart, and the quadrangled tube
Into a pipe monotonous converts;
A wailing pipe, whose miserable note
Resembles most the viol's woeful scream
By the hard hand of inexperience scrap'd,
Or hautboy's harsher squall, that racks the sense,
And tortures patience till she scarce endures.
Not such that awfuller Archangel trump
Which sang at Sinai's mount, and shook the host
Of prostrate Israel with excessive awe:
Nor such that future tube, which death dethron'd
Shall hear ill-pleas'd, and harass man no more,
Pris'ner for ever in the seal'd abyss.
Let me the blue-bell'd hyacinth behold,
The silver anemóne of the wood,
And golden primrose, intermingled well.
Let ev'ry bank with rosy tufts be fring'd;
Be ev'ry corn-field carpeted anew
In recent herbage, ev'ry hillock crown'd,
And ev'ry valley gracefully besprent
With drooping cowslip, ev'ry marshy dell
With sumptuous caltha lin'd, and ev'ry down
Sow'd with innumerable daisy, white
Or ting'd with crimson at each finger's tip.
Let delicate archangel, white as snow,
In ev'ry nook appear, tempting the hand
Of city botanist, or village boy
Who plucks the leaf and blossom from its stem,
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Into a pipe monotonous converts;
A wailing pipe, whose miserable note
Resembles most the viol's woeful scream
By the hard hand of inexperience scrap'd,
Or hautboy's harsher squall, that racks the sense,
And tortures patience till she scarce endures.
Not such that awfuller Archangel trump
Which sang at Sinai's mount, and shook the host
Of prostrate Israel with excessive awe:
Nor such that future tube, which death dethron'd
Shall hear ill-pleas'd, and harass man no more,
Pris'ner for ever in the seal'd abyss.
Neat lies the surface of the weedless field,
Where springs the bean-top martially dispos'd
File within file, a lusty brotherhood,
Or shoots more tender in continuous rank
The pea-plant ill-supported, soon to fall
And with weak elbow lean upon the ground,
Save where the gard'ner with indulgent hand
Plants in her neighbourhood the leafless stake:
There with glad tendril to the branchy staff
She clings, and with ambitious finger climbs
To wave her limber blossoms high in air.
Where springs the bean-top martially dispos'd
File within file, a lusty brotherhood,
Or shoots more tender in continuous rank
The pea-plant ill-supported, soon to fall
And with weak elbow lean upon the ground,
Save where the gard'ner with indulgent hand
Plants in her neighbourhood the leafless stake:
There with glad tendril to the branchy staff
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To wave her limber blossoms high in air.
Now moves again, but with a sluggard's pace,
Not well awake, the plough. The harness'd team
Moves slowly forward, and not seldom stays,
Impeded sore by congregated clods.
The rooky tribe attend, and, perch'd at hand,
Watch the moist furrow with superior eye,
And brisk alight, upon the worm to prey,
Or sweeter grub unhous'd. Frequently there
Loiters, a grey-coat pensioner, the mew,
(His treasury the main left far behind,)
And shares the spoil terrene, with outstretch'd wing
The ploughman's clodded heel pursuing close,
And settling timorous. At length arrives
The hour of rest long look'd for, and the team
Of wearied steers, from the bright share releas'd,
Leave in the midst of the fresh field upturn'd
The plough recumbent, and with hurried pace
March cheerful homeward. Expedition clanks
The heavy chain which knits them pair to pair,
And oft the forward ox, impatient, drags
The lingerer behind, his brawny neck
Straining with pressure of the cumbrous yoke.
Not well awake, the plough. The harness'd team
Moves slowly forward, and not seldom stays,
Impeded sore by congregated clods.
The rooky tribe attend, and, perch'd at hand,
Watch the moist furrow with superior eye,
And brisk alight, upon the worm to prey,
Or sweeter grub unhous'd. Frequently there
Loiters, a grey-coat pensioner, the mew,
(His treasury the main left far behind,)
And shares the spoil terrene, with outstretch'd wing
The ploughman's clodded heel pursuing close,
And settling timorous. At length arrives
The hour of rest long look'd for, and the team
Of wearied steers, from the bright share releas'd,
Leave in the midst of the fresh field upturn'd
The plough recumbent, and with hurried pace
March cheerful homeward. Expedition clanks
The heavy chain which knits them pair to pair,
And oft the forward ox, impatient, drags
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Straining with pressure of the cumbrous yoke.
Forth goes the weeding dame, her daily task
To travel the green wheat-field, ancle-deep
In the fresh blade of harvest yet remote.
Now with exerted implement she checks
The growth of noisome weeds, to toil averse,
An animal gregarious, fond of talk.
Lo! where the gossipping banditti stand
Amid field idle all, and all alike
With shrill voice prating, fluent as the pye.
Far off let me the noisy group behold,
Nothing molested by their loud harangue,
And think it well to see the fertile field
By their red tunics peopled, and the frock
Of the white husbandman that ploughs hard by,
Or guides the harrow team, or flings the grain
At ev'ry footstep with exerted arm
Over the yawning furrow. Never more
Pleases the rural landscape, than when man,
Drawn by the vernal sunbeam from his cell,
The needful culture of the field renews.
To travel the green wheat-field, ancle-deep
In the fresh blade of harvest yet remote.
Now with exerted implement she checks
The growth of noisome weeds, to toil averse,
An animal gregarious, fond of talk.
Lo! where the gossipping banditti stand
Amid field idle all, and all alike
With shrill voice prating, fluent as the pye.
Far off let me the noisy group behold,
Nothing molested by their loud harangue,
And think it well to see the fertile field
By their red tunics peopled, and the frock
Of the white husbandman that ploughs hard by,
Or guides the harrow team, or flings the grain
At ev'ry footstep with exerted arm
Over the yawning furrow. Never more
Pleases the rural landscape, than when man,
Drawn by the vernal sunbeam from his cell,
The needful culture of the field renews.
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Still of the frozen drift it somewhere swept
Savours the breeze of morn, and makes the cheek
Of beauty kindle with its keen salute.
But grateful is the mild and genial noon,
Which, bursting unexpected from the cloud,
Dispels the sullen vapour that obscur'd
And quench'd the matin beam, and the sharp gale,
Which tasted of the ling'ring snows it pass'd
In some cold arctic realm remote, bids hush.
How delicate the foretaste yielded then
Of Summer yet withheld! and how delights
The ravish'd ear to listen to the sound
Of warblers numberless! Appears it not
As if harmonious exhalation sprung,
Soon as the cheering sunbeam smote the field,
From earth's transported bosom, and diffus'd
Its sweet vibrations through the trembling air?
No longer now assembles as of late,
Gregarious only in the winter hour,
Bird of the sky baptiz'd, the speckled lark.
Oft o'er the plain inert or fallow then
In flight circuitous the nimble flock
Swam eddying, or with sudden wheel revers'd
Shew'd their transparent pinions to the sun.
Now, earnest as of yore with dewy plumes
To touch the roof of heav'n, in the first beam
Of the clear orb apparent, with a spring
Mounts the sweet warbler, and with upward flight,
And throat that struggles to make sweeter still
Exquisite anthem, to the clouds ascends.
The eye that sees him with strain'd vision soars
To mark him quiv'ring in the skies above;
Nor seldom, his ascension not observ'd,
Looks with vain scrutiny the dappled air,
Nor finds, invisible, the vocal spirit
Which fills with ravishment the deep of heaven,
And chants aerial melody unseen.
Savours the breeze of morn, and makes the cheek
Of beauty kindle with its keen salute.
But grateful is the mild and genial noon,
Which, bursting unexpected from the cloud,
Dispels the sullen vapour that obscur'd
And quench'd the matin beam, and the sharp gale,
Which tasted of the ling'ring snows it pass'd
In some cold arctic realm remote, bids hush.
How delicate the foretaste yielded then
Of Summer yet withheld! and how delights
The ravish'd ear to listen to the sound
Of warblers numberless! Appears it not
As if harmonious exhalation sprung,
Soon as the cheering sunbeam smote the field,
From earth's transported bosom, and diffus'd
Its sweet vibrations through the trembling air?
No longer now assembles as of late,
Gregarious only in the winter hour,
Bird of the sky baptiz'd, the speckled lark.
Oft o'er the plain inert or fallow then
In flight circuitous the nimble flock
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Shew'd their transparent pinions to the sun.
Now, earnest as of yore with dewy plumes
To touch the roof of heav'n, in the first beam
Of the clear orb apparent, with a spring
Mounts the sweet warbler, and with upward flight,
And throat that struggles to make sweeter still
Exquisite anthem, to the clouds ascends.
The eye that sees him with strain'd vision soars
To mark him quiv'ring in the skies above;
Nor seldom, his ascension not observ'd,
Looks with vain scrutiny the dappled air,
Nor finds, invisible, the vocal spirit
Which fills with ravishment the deep of heaven,
And chants aerial melody unseen.
Be still, thou chilly breeze, and let the beam
Of noon refulgent o'er the mellow field
Shed summer premature. Let the slow team
Of steers reluctant pressing on the yoke,
With down-sunk forehead and depending tongue,
With winding shoulders and slow-pacing foot,
Pant as it ploughs along the mountain side
The furrow, turning and returning still.
Let him that steers the glitt'ring share be warm,
And often pause at the transparent pool,
His doff'd brim dipping, and the gelid lymph,
Which trickles round it to his thirsty lip,
Imbibing eagerly. Let him that stalks,
And from the seedlip scatters wide around
The fruitful grain, peel'd of his frock appear,
White o'er the furrows marching. White as he
Follow the pilot of the harrow-team,
Crumbling the surface, and concealing well
Under its levell'd wave the buried seed.
Alike divested, o'er the finish'd field,
With sleeve expos'd and long resounding whip,
Let the rude boy, of his employment proud,
Guide the revolving axis. Gentle Heaven,
Yield meet indulgence to the yeaning flock
Which spreads the green enclosure, and the lamb
Cherish propitious, whether he repose,
Or feebly totter upon feet untried,
Or gambol sprightly round the grazing ewes,
Soon lost, and soon enquiring for his dam,
Who bleats and mumbles at his slender call.
Yield to the trembling calf, inactive yet,
And the faint mother lowing at his side
Internal fond concern, their due support.
Of noon refulgent o'er the mellow field
Shed summer premature. Let the slow team
Of steers reluctant pressing on the yoke,
With down-sunk forehead and depending tongue,
With winding shoulders and slow-pacing foot,
Pant as it ploughs along the mountain side
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Let him that steers the glitt'ring share be warm,
And often pause at the transparent pool,
His doff'd brim dipping, and the gelid lymph,
Which trickles round it to his thirsty lip,
Imbibing eagerly. Let him that stalks,
And from the seedlip scatters wide around
The fruitful grain, peel'd of his frock appear,
White o'er the furrows marching. White as he
Follow the pilot of the harrow-team,
Crumbling the surface, and concealing well
Under its levell'd wave the buried seed.
Alike divested, o'er the finish'd field,
With sleeve expos'd and long resounding whip,
Let the rude boy, of his employment proud,
Guide the revolving axis. Gentle Heaven,
Yield meet indulgence to the yeaning flock
Which spreads the green enclosure, and the lamb
Cherish propitious, whether he repose,
Or feebly totter upon feet untried,
Or gambol sprightly round the grazing ewes,
Soon lost, and soon enquiring for his dam,
172
Yield to the trembling calf, inactive yet,
And the faint mother lowing at his side
Internal fond concern, their due support.
How welcome to the sight, when first discern'd
The vernal swallow, skimming with swift wing
The windy mead, or floating high in air
If noon be calm, or twitt'ring lonely song
Perch'd on the brink of chimney-throat profound!
How sweetly falls it on th' attentive ear,
Reviving memory of summers past,
And many a sweet and pleasurable thought
Of sultry days enjoy'd and mus'd away
Beneath the garden shade, while thus she sang
And warbled freely from her household nest!
The vernal swallow, skimming with swift wing
The windy mead, or floating high in air
If noon be calm, or twitt'ring lonely song
Perch'd on the brink of chimney-throat profound!
How sweetly falls it on th' attentive ear,
Reviving memory of summers past,
And many a sweet and pleasurable thought
Of sultry days enjoy'd and mus'd away
Beneath the garden shade, while thus she sang
And warbled freely from her household nest!
Behold again with saffron wing superb
The giddy butterfly. Releas'd at length
From his warm winter cell, he mounts on high,
No longer reptile, but endued with plumes,
And through the blue air wanders; pert alights,
And seems to sleep, but from the treach'rous hand
Snatches his beauties suddenly away,
And zig-zag dances o'er the flow'ry dell.
Across the lawn he flies. His sumptuous wing
Provokes attention in the playful child,
Who gallops brisk his not unruly cane
Over the daisies at his parent's door,
Diverting and diverted. With fix'd eye
The settled bird he marks, with eager hand
Grasps at the prize, but covets it in vain,
Gives chace impetuous, but unable soon
To reach the golden flutterer, aloft
Flying still free, with final fond attempt
Tosses his cap in air, and strives no more.
So hunts the fast philosopher his fly,
The gilded fugitive o'er hedge and dyke
Insane pursuing with a child's career.
'Twere well if he too fail'd, and spread his net
And toss'd his cap in vain, and seldom doom'd
The beauteous captive to a ling'ring death.
But oft with base delight his murd'rous hand
Impales the sufferer, and heats the dart
Which pierc'd its mail with ineffectual wound,
By little and by little quenching life,
Lest the quick hand of mercy discompose
And mar the beauty of its burnish'd coat.
Lively abhorrence stigmatize the deed.
It is enough for poets to detain
The lovely stranger, till the curious eye
Has well survey'd its graces, and ador'd
The power that cloth'd it in attire so gay.
Such inquisition made, to the free wing
Give we the pris'ner, liberty restore,
Dismiss and thank him, and enjoy the thought
That some remote similitude is our's
Of Him who all things made, and all preserves,
Sparing the meanest, and oppressing none.
The giddy butterfly. Releas'd at length
From his warm winter cell, he mounts on high,
No longer reptile, but endued with plumes,
And through the blue air wanders; pert alights,
And seems to sleep, but from the treach'rous hand
Snatches his beauties suddenly away,
173
Across the lawn he flies. His sumptuous wing
Provokes attention in the playful child,
Who gallops brisk his not unruly cane
Over the daisies at his parent's door,
Diverting and diverted. With fix'd eye
The settled bird he marks, with eager hand
Grasps at the prize, but covets it in vain,
Gives chace impetuous, but unable soon
To reach the golden flutterer, aloft
Flying still free, with final fond attempt
Tosses his cap in air, and strives no more.
So hunts the fast philosopher his fly,
The gilded fugitive o'er hedge and dyke
Insane pursuing with a child's career.
'Twere well if he too fail'd, and spread his net
And toss'd his cap in vain, and seldom doom'd
The beauteous captive to a ling'ring death.
But oft with base delight his murd'rous hand
Impales the sufferer, and heats the dart
Which pierc'd its mail with ineffectual wound,
By little and by little quenching life,
174
And mar the beauty of its burnish'd coat.
Lively abhorrence stigmatize the deed.
It is enough for poets to detain
The lovely stranger, till the curious eye
Has well survey'd its graces, and ador'd
The power that cloth'd it in attire so gay.
Such inquisition made, to the free wing
Give we the pris'ner, liberty restore,
Dismiss and thank him, and enjoy the thought
That some remote similitude is our's
Of Him who all things made, and all preserves,
Sparing the meanest, and oppressing none.
Hatch'd by the sunbeam from contiguous cells
Around the slender apple-twig combin'd
In circuit orderly, egg glued to egg,
Issue the caterpillar swarm minute.
There left, oviparous, her half-born brood,
Ere summer clos'd, the parent; left, and died.
There have they still endur'd, and still surviv'd
Sharp winter's tyranny; the bitter frost,
That slew the myrtle and the lasting leaf
Of the screen'd laurel chang'd, no death to them.
Now busily conven'd, upon the bud
That crowns their genial branch they feast sublime,
And spread their muslin canopy around,
Pavilion'd richer than the proudest king.
The spinster caterpillar ties aloft,
Fine as the gossamer, his slender cord
To his lov'd cradle the recov'ring elm,
And, playfully suspended, rocks and whirls,
And, ere his wings are granted, lives in air.
So dangles o'er the brook, depending low,
The spider artist, till propitious breeze
Buoy him athwart the stream. From shore to shore
He fastens then his horizontal thread,
Sufficient bridge, and, traversing alert,
His fine-spun radii flings from side to side,
Shapes his concentric circles without art,
And, all accomplish'd, couches in the midst,
Himself the center of his flimsy toils,
So spins the British mariner his shrouds,
Nor spins them with less art, what time he fits
To the vast thunder-bark her woven wings.
Around the slender apple-twig combin'd
In circuit orderly, egg glued to egg,
Issue the caterpillar swarm minute.
There left, oviparous, her half-born brood,
Ere summer clos'd, the parent; left, and died.
There have they still endur'd, and still surviv'd
Sharp winter's tyranny; the bitter frost,
That slew the myrtle and the lasting leaf
175
Now busily conven'd, upon the bud
That crowns their genial branch they feast sublime,
And spread their muslin canopy around,
Pavilion'd richer than the proudest king.
The spinster caterpillar ties aloft,
Fine as the gossamer, his slender cord
To his lov'd cradle the recov'ring elm,
And, playfully suspended, rocks and whirls,
And, ere his wings are granted, lives in air.
So dangles o'er the brook, depending low,
The spider artist, till propitious breeze
Buoy him athwart the stream. From shore to shore
He fastens then his horizontal thread,
Sufficient bridge, and, traversing alert,
His fine-spun radii flings from side to side,
Shapes his concentric circles without art,
And, all accomplish'd, couches in the midst,
Himself the center of his flimsy toils,
So spins the British mariner his shrouds,
Nor spins them with less art, what time he fits
To the vast thunder-bark her woven wings.
176
Now let the painter poet walk abroad.
At ev'ry turn shall his attentive eye
Some lovely feature of reviving prime
Observe delighted. The green springing blade
Of wheat, impatient of the long control
Of ling'ring frost, spite of the prancing lamb
And mumbling ewe that check its prosp'rous growth,
Waves upon ev'ry hill. From ev'ry vale,
With verdure scarce inferior, smiles remote
The herb reserv'd, and not to be impair'd
By the voracious grazer's hungry tooth,
Ere it has yielded to the herdsman's scythe
The precious burden of the fragrant rick.
The orchard floor, with sumptuous carpet spread,
Shames the flow branch that only buds above.
The hedge-row feels the scandal of delay,
And, here and there, along the sunny dyke,
The pendent catkin hangs and flowery gull.
Provok'd at their reproach, the darker thorn
Awakes, and sprinkles his vindictive branch,
Not to be touch'd in vain, with bloom of snow.
Their tender leaf the woodbine and the quick
Put softly forth. The cerasus sublime
Decks with few blossoms cautiously display'd
The cottage garden-plot, while bold beneath
The gooseberry unfolds an ample leaf,
And hides in foliage her ten thousand swords.
At ev'ry turn shall his attentive eye
Some lovely feature of reviving prime
Observe delighted. The green springing blade
Of wheat, impatient of the long control
Of ling'ring frost, spite of the prancing lamb
And mumbling ewe that check its prosp'rous growth,
Waves upon ev'ry hill. From ev'ry vale,
With verdure scarce inferior, smiles remote
The herb reserv'd, and not to be impair'd
By the voracious grazer's hungry tooth,
Ere it has yielded to the herdsman's scythe
The precious burden of the fragrant rick.
The orchard floor, with sumptuous carpet spread,
Shames the flow branch that only buds above.
The hedge-row feels the scandal of delay,
And, here and there, along the sunny dyke,
The pendent catkin hangs and flowery gull.
Provok'd at their reproach, the darker thorn
Awakes, and sprinkles his vindictive branch,
Not to be touch'd in vain, with bloom of snow.
Their tender leaf the woodbine and the quick
177
Decks with few blossoms cautiously display'd
The cottage garden-plot, while bold beneath
The gooseberry unfolds an ample leaf,
And hides in foliage her ten thousand swords.
Sweet holiday of nature, eldest born
Of the fair train of laughter-loving May,
Come with thy garland tripping debonair,
Dance to the music of the woodland choir,
And lead thy lovely sisterhood along
In flowery fantastic chace. Bear each,
Lightly depending from her careless arm,
The mingled basket of ten thousand hues,
Blossoms of ev'ry odour, and with hand
Profusely bounteous strew them in the vale,
Or crown the mountain with their fragrant wreath.
Come not, as once I met thee, wrapt in clouds
Down-stooping awful, and with no vain threat
Charg'd, when thy furious sulphur-breathing steeds,
By lightning lash'd, gallop'd with thund'ring hoofs
The hollow amphitheatre of heav'n,
Till ether roar'd above, and earth beneath
Quak'd at the hurry of thy sultry wheels.
Yet come not showerless, but let thy brief
And transitory cloud oft intercept
The glowing day-beam, and with silken sound
Dispense its gentle fertilizing dews
Upon the thankful champain. Thus refresh'd,
Earth shall the bridal suit of youth put on,
And hill and valley, in the various hues
Of mingled verdure dress'd, seem to the sight
A lovely paradise, where all is fresh,
All fair and flourishing, and nothing fear.
Of the fair train of laughter-loving May,
Come with thy garland tripping debonair,
Dance to the music of the woodland choir,
And lead thy lovely sisterhood along
In flowery fantastic chace. Bear each,
Lightly depending from her careless arm,
The mingled basket of ten thousand hues,
Blossoms of ev'ry odour, and with hand
Profusely bounteous strew them in the vale,
Or crown the mountain with their fragrant wreath.
Come not, as once I met thee, wrapt in clouds
Down-stooping awful, and with no vain threat
Charg'd, when thy furious sulphur-breathing steeds,
By lightning lash'd, gallop'd with thund'ring hoofs
The hollow amphitheatre of heav'n,
Till ether roar'd above, and earth beneath
178
Yet come not showerless, but let thy brief
And transitory cloud oft intercept
The glowing day-beam, and with silken sound
Dispense its gentle fertilizing dews
Upon the thankful champain. Thus refresh'd,
Earth shall the bridal suit of youth put on,
And hill and valley, in the various hues
Of mingled verdure dress'd, seem to the sight
A lovely paradise, where all is fresh,
All fair and flourishing, and nothing fear.
How elegant yon furze-hill cloth'd in gold!
Though distant, the soft undulating breeze,
That sweeps its flow'rs and after laves the cheek,
Bears to the nostril of its faint perfume
Sufficient to subdue and drowse the sense,
Nor make it wish for more. Behold at hand
Presage delightful of the beauteous year;
The bud, no longer cautious, from the bough
Drops its small winter tunic, and bestrews
With flaky show'r the gravell'd path beneath.
Though distant, the soft undulating breeze,
That sweeps its flow'rs and after laves the cheek,
Bears to the nostril of its faint perfume
Sufficient to subdue and drowse the sense,
Nor make it wish for more. Behold at hand
Presage delightful of the beauteous year;
The bud, no longer cautious, from the bough
Drops its small winter tunic, and bestrews
With flaky show'r the gravell'd path beneath.
Now sends the garden all its glories forth,
With many a nodding pyramid of flowers,
Or pale or purple-hued, her varnish'd leaf
The lilac decks. Laburnum at her side
Weeps gold, sweet mourner! From behind uprears,
And tosses high in air her frothy globes,
Her unsubstantial roses, light as foam
Of new milk bubbling in the cow-herd's pail,
The beauteous guelder shrub. Along the wall
Displays the fruit-tree its superbest bloom.
The glorious shew fond appetite surveys,
And dreams of special apricots unborn,
Of the fine-flavour'd nect'rine, juicy gage,
Cherry delicious, plum with purple coat,
Sweet pear and mellow apple, luscious fig,
And the well-relish'd orb of autumn peach,
Which almost melts or e'er it reach the lip.
179
Or pale or purple-hued, her varnish'd leaf
The lilac decks. Laburnum at her side
Weeps gold, sweet mourner! From behind uprears,
And tosses high in air her frothy globes,
Her unsubstantial roses, light as foam
Of new milk bubbling in the cow-herd's pail,
The beauteous guelder shrub. Along the wall
Displays the fruit-tree its superbest bloom.
The glorious shew fond appetite surveys,
And dreams of special apricots unborn,
Of the fine-flavour'd nect'rine, juicy gage,
Cherry delicious, plum with purple coat,
Sweet pear and mellow apple, luscious fig,
And the well-relish'd orb of autumn peach,
Which almost melts or e'er it reach the lip.
Where'er the cherry spreads its flowery tufts,
'Tis pleasure to survey the snowy pomp,
And pause in contemplation of the hum
Of mingled bees industrious, that invade
And rifle in succession ev'ry flower;
Some large, and gifted with the voice profound
Of mellow bass, some with the loftier pipe
Of tenor soft, of small soprano some,
That fancy oft may deem she hears distinct
The sweet coincidence of fellow tones
Producing harmony's full chord divine.
Where the meek sycamore, of nothing vain,
Covers with foliage its depending flowers,
The same harmonious murmur shall be heard;
Which feeds delay and gratifies repose
Beneath his singing bough, from earliest morn
To sultry noon, from noon to latest eve.
What wonder that the hind his evening tube
Of sweet Virginian fragrance at his door
Delights to kindle, if thy drowsy branch
His bench o'ershadow? Luxury it is
Here to be stationary, or where'er
Around the honied foliage of the lime
The bee by day and chafer hums at eve,
Roaring profound and buzzing as it 'lights
To sup upon the dewy fragrant leaf.
'Tis pleasure to survey the snowy pomp,
And pause in contemplation of the hum
Of mingled bees industrious, that invade
And rifle in succession ev'ry flower;
Some large, and gifted with the voice profound
180
Of tenor soft, of small soprano some,
That fancy oft may deem she hears distinct
The sweet coincidence of fellow tones
Producing harmony's full chord divine.
Where the meek sycamore, of nothing vain,
Covers with foliage its depending flowers,
The same harmonious murmur shall be heard;
Which feeds delay and gratifies repose
Beneath his singing bough, from earliest morn
To sultry noon, from noon to latest eve.
What wonder that the hind his evening tube
Of sweet Virginian fragrance at his door
Delights to kindle, if thy drowsy branch
His bench o'ershadow? Luxury it is
Here to be stationary, or where'er
Around the honied foliage of the lime
The bee by day and chafer hums at eve,
Roaring profound and buzzing as it 'lights
To sup upon the dewy fragrant leaf.
O lovely season! when on ev'ry bough
The recent equipage of beauty glows
Divine, and even in the bush appears
The manifested God. How sweet to sense,
How delicate the breeze that lades its wings
With odours from the hawthorn! To the spot
Where dwells the sweet allurer, decking late
Her crowded foliage with abundant flow'rs,
Turns the fond eye to gaze, and, smit with love,
Marks here the swelling bough's expanded bloom,
And there a host of beauties yet unborn,
Globules unnumber'd the prolific branch
Besetting thick around, ere long to unfold
Their milky petals to th' enamour'd bee.
The recent equipage of beauty glows
181
The manifested God. How sweet to sense,
How delicate the breeze that lades its wings
With odours from the hawthorn! To the spot
Where dwells the sweet allurer, decking late
Her crowded foliage with abundant flow'rs,
Turns the fond eye to gaze, and, smit with love,
Marks here the swelling bough's expanded bloom,
And there a host of beauties yet unborn,
Globules unnumber'd the prolific branch
Besetting thick around, ere long to unfold
Their milky petals to th' enamour'd bee.
Hard by, another peerless beauty blooms.
Behold the blushing crab, and view elate
Her sanguine blossoms intermingled well
With crimson buds unblown, and her red arm,
To the less rubicund espalier's branch
Or maiden's orchard's bough of snow, prefer.
Such is the rural apple; emblem fair
Of nature's sweet uneducated maid,
Whose glowing cheek, by city air unbleach'd,
The bloom of health and loveliness retains.
No lily fairer in attire, no rose
More delicately blushing, lo! she comes,
From the religious altar just dismiss'd
With finger conscious of the ring it wears,
A bride consorted. Native modesty
Down-weighs her drooping eyelid to the ground,
And rich confusion glows upon her cheek.
The village spinsters shower on her head
And strew before her the full lap of flowers,
Not without caution cull'd, lest aught unfair,
Offensive aught, or aught of jealous hue,
Or unprolific, ill express the hope
Of joy and peace and fertile days to come.
Say now, which most excels, the sanguine flower
Of the wild apple that adorns its bough,
Or glowing rose of her disorder'd cheek?
And say, on which would thy transported heart
Bestow in preference the smile or kiss?
Behold the blushing crab, and view elate
Her sanguine blossoms intermingled well
With crimson buds unblown, and her red arm,
To the less rubicund espalier's branch
Or maiden's orchard's bough of snow, prefer.
Such is the rural apple; emblem fair
Of nature's sweet uneducated maid,
Whose glowing cheek, by city air unbleach'd,
The bloom of health and loveliness retains.
182
More delicately blushing, lo! she comes,
From the religious altar just dismiss'd
With finger conscious of the ring it wears,
A bride consorted. Native modesty
Down-weighs her drooping eyelid to the ground,
And rich confusion glows upon her cheek.
The village spinsters shower on her head
And strew before her the full lap of flowers,
Not without caution cull'd, lest aught unfair,
Offensive aught, or aught of jealous hue,
Or unprolific, ill express the hope
Of joy and peace and fertile days to come.
Say now, which most excels, the sanguine flower
Of the wild apple that adorns its bough,
Or glowing rose of her disorder'd cheek?
And say, on which would thy transported heart
Bestow in preference the smile or kiss?
Now ev'ry feather'd tenant of the grove
Labours his sweetest song, studious to cheer
His busy mate, a pensive architect,
That builds the woven wonder of the nest,
Laps in a gentle cradle lin'd with down
Her future brood, or vigilant expects
Day after day the pregnant egg to live,
And supplicate provision, not in vain.
Such care maternal needs the sweet relief
Of labour'd song, and sometimes, parent Sir,
The free assistance of a silent beak.
Enamour'd songsters, grateful is the task,
While you from ev'ry brake the rising orb
With sweet hosanna welcome, to admire
And mark the several energies, that fill
Your morning anthem of spontaneous praise.
The sparrow couple with industrious bill
The scatter'd straw collect, contriving snug
Under the cottage eave or low-roof'd barn
Their genial couch. More than mere chirpers now,
They watch the floating feather as it flies,
Eye-serve the goose for his superfluous down,
Or dressing fowl, or self-adorning drake,
And bear triumphant the loose spoil away.
Nor these alone are busy. Feathery pairs,
Innumerable as the kindling bud,
Of wedded cares partake, and build the nest,
And hopes divide, with constancy that shames
Man's brittle contract and infirm regard.
Lo! to the steeple with alternate wing
Bears expeditious his long twig the daw,
Nor seldom struggles with his awkward freight,
And drops it, startled by the hooting boy
That shouts beneath. The solitary dove,
Which loves the still dilapidated tower
Of desert castle, or the time-cleft arch
Of ancient chantry, whose unshelter'd shafts
Ivy in pity clothes, and verdant moss
Crowns in respect his weather-beaten head,
With frequent wing alighting in the field
Bears the loose stubble thence, and builds on high
Her bed unseen, beyond the pilferer's reach.
His airy nurs'ry in the neighb'ring elm
Constructs the social rook, and makes the grove
That girds the crumbling edifice around,
And ev'ry angle of its ruin'd pile,
With the bass note of his harsh love resound.
Labours his sweetest song, studious to cheer
His busy mate, a pensive architect,
That builds the woven wonder of the nest,
183
Her future brood, or vigilant expects
Day after day the pregnant egg to live,
And supplicate provision, not in vain.
Such care maternal needs the sweet relief
Of labour'd song, and sometimes, parent Sir,
The free assistance of a silent beak.
Enamour'd songsters, grateful is the task,
While you from ev'ry brake the rising orb
With sweet hosanna welcome, to admire
And mark the several energies, that fill
Your morning anthem of spontaneous praise.
The sparrow couple with industrious bill
The scatter'd straw collect, contriving snug
Under the cottage eave or low-roof'd barn
Their genial couch. More than mere chirpers now,
They watch the floating feather as it flies,
Eye-serve the goose for his superfluous down,
Or dressing fowl, or self-adorning drake,
And bear triumphant the loose spoil away.
Nor these alone are busy. Feathery pairs,
Innumerable as the kindling bud,
184
And hopes divide, with constancy that shames
Man's brittle contract and infirm regard.
Lo! to the steeple with alternate wing
Bears expeditious his long twig the daw,
Nor seldom struggles with his awkward freight,
And drops it, startled by the hooting boy
That shouts beneath. The solitary dove,
Which loves the still dilapidated tower
Of desert castle, or the time-cleft arch
Of ancient chantry, whose unshelter'd shafts
Ivy in pity clothes, and verdant moss
Crowns in respect his weather-beaten head,
With frequent wing alighting in the field
Bears the loose stubble thence, and builds on high
Her bed unseen, beyond the pilferer's reach.
His airy nurs'ry in the neighb'ring elm
Constructs the social rook, and makes the grove
That girds the crumbling edifice around,
And ev'ry angle of its ruin'd pile,
With the bass note of his harsh love resound.
Tell me, philosopher, in what sage school
Of perfect wisdom were the feathery folk
Taught to diversify and labour each
The several nest of his peculiar race?
Where learn'd the sloven sparrow, little wise
Or little studious to excel, his art
Inferior, the maternal cell to thatch?
Whence drew the marten his superior skill
To knead and temper, mason-like, the slime
Of street or stagnant pool, and build aloft
Beneath the cornice brink or shady porch
His snug depending couch, on nothing hung,
Founded in air, and finish'd with a neat
Convenient aperture, from whence he bolts
Sudden, and whither brisk returns, with mouth
Fill'd for his hiant offspring? Whence receiv'd
The daw his lesson, or the rook, the one
Within the lonely unfrequented tower
Weaving his basket of unnumber'd twigs,
The other on the topmost elm sublime
His wicker cradle fixing, to be rock'd
By the rude nurse adversity's strong gale?
Whence knew the sprightly golden-pinion'd finch,
Of ruddy countenance, and ivory beak,
And coat of sleekest umber, his fond art
To line with locks and pave with neatest love
The verdant nest of interwoven moss,
Fast to the blushing apple's forked branch
Amid the blossoms of the codlin tied?
Thou prying school-boy, spare the neat design,
And think of Him whose all-protecting hand
Secretes the nestling with innumerous leaves,
And with abundant foliage makes obscure,
And to the sight impervious, branches erst
Easily pierc'd, or by the solar ray,
Or beam of human eye, or arrowy gale,
Dark and impenetrable now to all.
Think of His mercy that protects the nest;
And, kind to all, with more especial love
The linnet spare and finch of crimson face,
That twitter each the none-offending song
Of quiet prettiness, and pluck the down
Of the prolific thistle for their bread.
Not to destroy be earnest, but to save.
Gentle thy heart, till it observe ill-pleas'd
Yon feathery spoils of the sweet songster slain,
And in the warm and sunny nook devour'd
By the swift falcon. Let thy curse reprove
The tyrant soaring in the clouds above
(An emblem apt of thy severer self)
With gyrous scrutiny the furze-clad hill
Closely surveying as he winds along,
Or in mid ether hovering, till his eye
Some fascinated warbler fix below,
And he to seize him from his airy watch
Drop sudden, and not always drop in vain.
185
Taught to diversify and labour each
The several nest of his peculiar race?
Where learn'd the sloven sparrow, little wise
Or little studious to excel, his art
Inferior, the maternal cell to thatch?
Whence drew the marten his superior skill
To knead and temper, mason-like, the slime
Of street or stagnant pool, and build aloft
Beneath the cornice brink or shady porch
His snug depending couch, on nothing hung,
Founded in air, and finish'd with a neat
Convenient aperture, from whence he bolts
Sudden, and whither brisk returns, with mouth
Fill'd for his hiant offspring? Whence receiv'd
The daw his lesson, or the rook, the one
Within the lonely unfrequented tower
Weaving his basket of unnumber'd twigs,
The other on the topmost elm sublime
His wicker cradle fixing, to be rock'd
By the rude nurse adversity's strong gale?
Whence knew the sprightly golden-pinion'd finch,
186
And coat of sleekest umber, his fond art
To line with locks and pave with neatest love
The verdant nest of interwoven moss,
Fast to the blushing apple's forked branch
Amid the blossoms of the codlin tied?
Thou prying school-boy, spare the neat design,
And think of Him whose all-protecting hand
Secretes the nestling with innumerous leaves,
And with abundant foliage makes obscure,
And to the sight impervious, branches erst
Easily pierc'd, or by the solar ray,
Or beam of human eye, or arrowy gale,
Dark and impenetrable now to all.
Think of His mercy that protects the nest;
And, kind to all, with more especial love
The linnet spare and finch of crimson face,
That twitter each the none-offending song
Of quiet prettiness, and pluck the down
Of the prolific thistle for their bread.
Not to destroy be earnest, but to save.
Gentle thy heart, till it observe ill-pleas'd
187
And in the warm and sunny nook devour'd
By the swift falcon. Let thy curse reprove
The tyrant soaring in the clouds above
(An emblem apt of thy severer self)
With gyrous scrutiny the furze-clad hill
Closely surveying as he winds along,
Or in mid ether hovering, till his eye
Some fascinated warbler fix below,
And he to seize him from his airy watch
Drop sudden, and not always drop in vain.
What time the sun has from the west withdrawn
The various hues that grac'd his cloudy fall—
When the recumbent ruminating fold
Greets with peculiar odour the fond sense
Of the lone wand'rer—when the recent leaf
Of clover 'gins to sleep, and, white with dew,
Closes its tender triple-finger'd palm
Till morning dawn afresh—when the moon wears
Nor hood nor veil, nor looks with cold regard
Through the fine lawn of intervening cloud,
But lifts a fair round visage o'er the vale,
And smiles affection which no bard can paint,
No painter with poetic pencil sing—
When the dark cloud that couches in the west
Seems to imbibe the last pale beam of eve,
Absorbing in its dun and gloomy folds
The feeble residue of dying day—
Is it not pleasure, with unbended mind
To muse within or meditate abroad,
While either hand in the warm bosom sleeps,
And either foot falls feebly on the floor,
Or shaven sward, or stone that paves the path
Of village footway winding to the church?
'Twere passing pleasure, if to man alone
That hour were grateful: but with like desire
The dusky holiday of thick'ning night
Enjoys the chuckling partridge, the still mouse,
The rabbit foraging, the feeding hare,
The nightingale that warbles from the thorn,
And twilight-loving solitary owl,
That skims the meadow, hovers, drops, her prey
Seizes, and screeching to her tower returns.
Her woolly little ones there hiss on high,
And there who will may seek them, but who dares
Must 'bide the keen magnanimous rebuff
Of irritated love, and quick descend,
By the maternal talon not in vain
Insulted, baffled, scar'd, and put to flight.
'Tis pleasant in this peaceful serious hour
To tread the silent sward that wraps the dead,
Once our companions in the cheerful walks
Of acceptable life, the same ere long
In the dark chambers of profound repose.
All have their kindred here, and I have mine.
Yes, my sweet Isabel, and I have mine.
To die—what is it but to sleep and sleep,
Nor feel the weariness of dark delay
Through the long night of time, and nothing know
Of intervening centuries elaps'd,
When thy sweet morn, Eternity, begins?
Or else—what is it but a welcome change
From worse to better, from a world of pain
To one where flesh at least can nothing feel,
And pain and pleasure have no equal sway?
What is it but to meet ten thousand friends,
Whose earthly race was finish'd ere our own,
And be well welcome, where the timorous foot
Fear'd to intrude, and whence no foot returns?
To me what were it but the happier lot
To find my long-lost Isabel, and shed
(If tears of joy are shed where tears of grief
Fall never, and immortal angels weep
At bliss excessive) joy's profusest show'r:
To tell her what was felt, and what was sung,
When cruel death unsparing from my sight
Pluck'd her away, and wafted her pure spirit
Whither no soul could tell?—But hush! my heart,
Lest sorrow burst her cicatrice anew,
And painful thought, which saddens my slow step,
Disperse the pleasures of this tranquil hour.
The various hues that grac'd his cloudy fall—
When the recumbent ruminating fold
Greets with peculiar odour the fond sense
Of the lone wand'rer—when the recent leaf
Of clover 'gins to sleep, and, white with dew,
Closes its tender triple-finger'd palm
Till morning dawn afresh—when the moon wears
Nor hood nor veil, nor looks with cold regard
Through the fine lawn of intervening cloud,
But lifts a fair round visage o'er the vale,
188
No painter with poetic pencil sing—
When the dark cloud that couches in the west
Seems to imbibe the last pale beam of eve,
Absorbing in its dun and gloomy folds
The feeble residue of dying day—
Is it not pleasure, with unbended mind
To muse within or meditate abroad,
While either hand in the warm bosom sleeps,
And either foot falls feebly on the floor,
Or shaven sward, or stone that paves the path
Of village footway winding to the church?
'Twere passing pleasure, if to man alone
That hour were grateful: but with like desire
The dusky holiday of thick'ning night
Enjoys the chuckling partridge, the still mouse,
The rabbit foraging, the feeding hare,
The nightingale that warbles from the thorn,
And twilight-loving solitary owl,
That skims the meadow, hovers, drops, her prey
Seizes, and screeching to her tower returns.
Her woolly little ones there hiss on high,
189
Must 'bide the keen magnanimous rebuff
Of irritated love, and quick descend,
By the maternal talon not in vain
Insulted, baffled, scar'd, and put to flight.
'Tis pleasant in this peaceful serious hour
To tread the silent sward that wraps the dead,
Once our companions in the cheerful walks
Of acceptable life, the same ere long
In the dark chambers of profound repose.
All have their kindred here, and I have mine.
Yes, my sweet Isabel, and I have mine.
To die—what is it but to sleep and sleep,
Nor feel the weariness of dark delay
Through the long night of time, and nothing know
Of intervening centuries elaps'd,
When thy sweet morn, Eternity, begins?
Or else—what is it but a welcome change
From worse to better, from a world of pain
To one where flesh at least can nothing feel,
And pain and pleasure have no equal sway?
What is it but to meet ten thousand friends,
190
And be well welcome, where the timorous foot
Fear'd to intrude, and whence no foot returns?
To me what were it but the happier lot
To find my long-lost Isabel, and shed
(If tears of joy are shed where tears of grief
Fall never, and immortal angels weep
At bliss excessive) joy's profusest show'r:
To tell her what was felt, and what was sung,
When cruel death unsparing from my sight
Pluck'd her away, and wafted her pure spirit
Whither no soul could tell?—But hush! my heart,
Lest sorrow burst her cicatrice anew,
And painful thought, which saddens my slow step,
Disperse the pleasures of this tranquil hour.
Place of my birth, how many are the sounds,
Which, peaceful as thou art, thy vernal morn,
Ere yet I rise, improve! Loud lows the calf,
Loud bleats the lamb, and the responsive cock
His kind attentions with transition quick
Duly performs—his open-throated squall,
That bids his wives and little-ones beware,
Oft as the falcon or the dove appears—
His chuckle of affection to his dames—
The shuffle of his wing, on this side now,
Now exercis'd on that, with low-bow'd head,
And eye attentive to the fair he courts—
His croak of sage composure—his brisk call,
That summons to the huswife's scatter'd grain—
His sympathizing clamour o'er the nest—
His loud what what of wonder—and his shrill
Far-sounding challenge to his distant peer.
His feather'd concubine, meantime, aloud
Prates as she passes, or with silly pride
Cackles incontinent of new-laid eggs.
The sea-mew cries aloft with mingled tone;
And, plausible and silver-tongued, below
The drake his chattering seraglio leads
At the near pool to bathe. Anon is heard
The turkey gabbling at the whistler boy
With hollow throat profound, as 'mid his dames
He struts with swelling plumes, erected fan,
Low-curtsied wing, and countenance inflam'd.
The croaking raven his profounder note,
Seated aloft upon the bending elm,
Harshly pronounces, or his sable mate
Hails as she soars on high with tenor soft,
Expressing well esteem and manly love.
How pleasant is it, as the break of day
Dawns, and the mountains lift their glowing heads
Into the golden sun-beam, to be rous'd
By the faint tinkling of the farmer's team,
His bells of ev'ry tone, a mingled peal
Remote and indistinct! Swell'd by approach
They jingle loud, and louder as they pass,
Then softly sing again, and die away.
Which, peaceful as thou art, thy vernal morn,
Ere yet I rise, improve! Loud lows the calf,
Loud bleats the lamb, and the responsive cock
His kind attentions with transition quick
Duly performs—his open-throated squall,
That bids his wives and little-ones beware,
191
His chuckle of affection to his dames—
The shuffle of his wing, on this side now,
Now exercis'd on that, with low-bow'd head,
And eye attentive to the fair he courts—
His croak of sage composure—his brisk call,
That summons to the huswife's scatter'd grain—
His sympathizing clamour o'er the nest—
His loud what what of wonder—and his shrill
Far-sounding challenge to his distant peer.
His feather'd concubine, meantime, aloud
Prates as she passes, or with silly pride
Cackles incontinent of new-laid eggs.
The sea-mew cries aloft with mingled tone;
And, plausible and silver-tongued, below
The drake his chattering seraglio leads
At the near pool to bathe. Anon is heard
The turkey gabbling at the whistler boy
With hollow throat profound, as 'mid his dames
He struts with swelling plumes, erected fan,
Low-curtsied wing, and countenance inflam'd.
The croaking raven his profounder note,
192
Harshly pronounces, or his sable mate
Hails as she soars on high with tenor soft,
Expressing well esteem and manly love.
How pleasant is it, as the break of day
Dawns, and the mountains lift their glowing heads
Into the golden sun-beam, to be rous'd
By the faint tinkling of the farmer's team,
His bells of ev'ry tone, a mingled peal
Remote and indistinct! Swell'd by approach
They jingle loud, and louder as they pass,
Then softly sing again, and die away.
The voluntary toils of morning past,
How pleasant to allow the studious mind
Convenient pause, and, ev'ry thought dismiss'd,
To ramble heedless o'er the bleating down,
'Mid thousand thousand children of the flock
Yet from the dam unwean'd, and flowery tufts
Ten thousand of rich furze, erewhile
By the fast fleecy nibbler neatly trimm'd,
And decorated now in robe superb,
Wrapping its branches in a blaze of gold,
As if the Deity himself were there.
Be this my Horeb, often as mine eye,
Fatigued with poring o'er the page divine,
Thirsts for the sweet amusements of the hill;
Thirsts to survey the clear unbillowy deep,
Which lifts the distant vessel into heaven,
And the green vale, that, various in its hues,
E'en to the pebbly verge of the blue flood
Its cattle-sprent enclosures neatly spreads.
How delicate to bask upon the brink
Of yon high cliff, which overlooks the broad
And boundless ocean, at what time becalm'd
The war-ship near at hand with flaccid sail
Upon the polish'd bosom of the flood
Lies motionless! How pleasant, while the sun
Upon the foster'd shoulder tepid plays,
Inducing lassitude and faint repose,
To plant the telescope, and view distinct,
Submitted to the clear and curious eye,
The thunder-laden monster! Passing thence,
How sweet to cull from the meridian bank,
Which underlies the wood-invested hill,
The recent, vigorous, protected flower
Of cowslip, harebell, violet, or rose
Of prime peculiar, and with full-fill'd hand
To steal upon the nightingale unseen,
Where'er she sings, invisible as wont,
And marvel at the wonder-working God,
Who in the compass of her slender breast
Such sweet exuberance of music lodg'd;
Such melody of loveliest plaintive power,
Whatever mood she choose, whether to weep
In feeble tone acute, or trill profound
Song self-consoling, or jug sweet content,
Or by ten thousand varied notes express
Liquid complacency and melting love!
How pleasant to allow the studious mind
Convenient pause, and, ev'ry thought dismiss'd,
To ramble heedless o'er the bleating down,
'Mid thousand thousand children of the flock
Yet from the dam unwean'd, and flowery tufts
Ten thousand of rich furze, erewhile
By the fast fleecy nibbler neatly trimm'd,
And decorated now in robe superb,
Wrapping its branches in a blaze of gold,
193
Be this my Horeb, often as mine eye,
Fatigued with poring o'er the page divine,
Thirsts for the sweet amusements of the hill;
Thirsts to survey the clear unbillowy deep,
Which lifts the distant vessel into heaven,
And the green vale, that, various in its hues,
E'en to the pebbly verge of the blue flood
Its cattle-sprent enclosures neatly spreads.
How delicate to bask upon the brink
Of yon high cliff, which overlooks the broad
And boundless ocean, at what time becalm'd
The war-ship near at hand with flaccid sail
Upon the polish'd bosom of the flood
Lies motionless! How pleasant, while the sun
Upon the foster'd shoulder tepid plays,
Inducing lassitude and faint repose,
To plant the telescope, and view distinct,
Submitted to the clear and curious eye,
The thunder-laden monster! Passing thence,
How sweet to cull from the meridian bank,
Which underlies the wood-invested hill,
194
Of cowslip, harebell, violet, or rose
Of prime peculiar, and with full-fill'd hand
To steal upon the nightingale unseen,
Where'er she sings, invisible as wont,
And marvel at the wonder-working God,
Who in the compass of her slender breast
Such sweet exuberance of music lodg'd;
Such melody of loveliest plaintive power,
Whatever mood she choose, whether to weep
In feeble tone acute, or trill profound
Song self-consoling, or jug sweet content,
Or by ten thousand varied notes express
Liquid complacency and melting love!
No longer now stand dozing in the close,
Or ruminate recumbent, the sad herd,
But scatter'd wide upon the pastur'd hill,
Meadow, and marsh, people the rural scene,
And add new beauty wheresoe'er they graze.
Among them skips and races the wild calf,
And colt ingenuous, daring gentle touch,
And nothing conscious of his future toils.
No grazer he, nor useful servant yet,
To help the team along, or bear his lord,
But time finds much to play, to frisk, to bound,
And gallop o'er the field, or idly bask
Stretch'd at his ease in the meridian beam.
Or ruminate recumbent, the sad herd,
But scatter'd wide upon the pastur'd hill,
Meadow, and marsh, people the rural scene,
And add new beauty wheresoe'er they graze.
Among them skips and races the wild calf,
And colt ingenuous, daring gentle touch,
And nothing conscious of his future toils.
195
To help the team along, or bear his lord,
But time finds much to play, to frisk, to bound,
And gallop o'er the field, or idly bask
Stretch'd at his ease in the meridian beam.
How pleasant now upon the village stile
To rest well-wearied, while the jovial boy,
From school dismiss'd, upon the sunny green
Pitches his wicket, a stone-steadied hat,
And bowls exulting! Of encumbrance stript,
He for his maiden visage nothing fears,
But to the scorching day-beam, unconcern'd,
His cheek and bosom bares, nor aught regards
The freckled aspect, or the sun-burnt skin.
Piece of the nether millstone is his heart
Who marks ill-pleas'd the frolic of the child,
Or views the rural festival unmov'd.
Me it delights to overhear the dance
Upon the winnow'd floor of the void grange,
To pause at hand, and listen to the sound
Of the brisk viol challenging the foot,
And of the foot respondent, and to see
The village maid and village hind alert
Pacing the giddy labyrinth of joy,
Each in the trim of holiday attir'd.
Nor pleases not, upon the social green,
The game laborious of the manly ball
Aim'd at the wicket, and its taper shanks
Levelling certain, but for hindrance quick
And resolute repulse of the strong blow,
That sends it thunder-struck aloft in air,
Or o'er the plain rebounding. Thou hast charms,
Rural festivity, not soon surpass'd,
Compare thee, as we may, with sport polite,
The neat amusement fashion qualifies,
Till nice refinement sits without disdain
Spectatress of the scene. Never more keen
Their liveliest ecstasy, than when, for health
To George restor'd, illumination's lamp
Was freely kindled, and the rural throng
From ev'ry door conven'd, along the street
Mingled in loyalty's triumphant maze.
Then pipe and viol felt alone fatigue,
While, nothing wearied, they with foot alert
The blazing window's artificial day
Down danc'd, the fretted cupola of heaven
Their spacious ball-room, their assembler God.
To rest well-wearied, while the jovial boy,
From school dismiss'd, upon the sunny green
Pitches his wicket, a stone-steadied hat,
And bowls exulting! Of encumbrance stript,
He for his maiden visage nothing fears,
But to the scorching day-beam, unconcern'd,
His cheek and bosom bares, nor aught regards
The freckled aspect, or the sun-burnt skin.
Piece of the nether millstone is his heart
Who marks ill-pleas'd the frolic of the child,
Or views the rural festival unmov'd.
Me it delights to overhear the dance
Upon the winnow'd floor of the void grange,
To pause at hand, and listen to the sound
Of the brisk viol challenging the foot,
And of the foot respondent, and to see
196
Pacing the giddy labyrinth of joy,
Each in the trim of holiday attir'd.
Nor pleases not, upon the social green,
The game laborious of the manly ball
Aim'd at the wicket, and its taper shanks
Levelling certain, but for hindrance quick
And resolute repulse of the strong blow,
That sends it thunder-struck aloft in air,
Or o'er the plain rebounding. Thou hast charms,
Rural festivity, not soon surpass'd,
Compare thee, as we may, with sport polite,
The neat amusement fashion qualifies,
Till nice refinement sits without disdain
Spectatress of the scene. Never more keen
Their liveliest ecstasy, than when, for health
To George restor'd, illumination's lamp
Was freely kindled, and the rural throng
From ev'ry door conven'd, along the street
Mingled in loyalty's triumphant maze.
Then pipe and viol felt alone fatigue,
While, nothing wearied, they with foot alert
197
Down danc'd, the fretted cupola of heaven
Their spacious ball-room, their assembler God.
'Tis sport itself to see the cheerful lamb
Skip in the field, and lead the wanton race
In the soft sunshine of departing day.
'Tis pleasure to survey the couching flock,
When ev'ry mother ruminates apart,
Recumbent in the dusk, and ev'ry son,
Sportful no longer, and his bleating hush'd,
Reclines expectant of the dewy night
Fast by his chewing dam. And pleasure 'tis
To see the gracious moon prevail aloft,
While the nocturnal curlew greets the ear
With sweet contented pipe, foreboding calm.
Skip in the field, and lead the wanton race
In the soft sunshine of departing day.
'Tis pleasure to survey the couching flock,
When ev'ry mother ruminates apart,
Recumbent in the dusk, and ev'ry son,
Sportful no longer, and his bleating hush'd,
Reclines expectant of the dewy night
Fast by his chewing dam. And pleasure 'tis
To see the gracious moon prevail aloft,
While the nocturnal curlew greets the ear
With sweet contented pipe, foreboding calm.
What transport is it, when awaking day
Its rosy eyelid lifts, to hear the sound
Of mower whetting his neglected scythe,
To hear his wide and double-handed sweep
Shear the reluctant herbage from the field,
Disposing well in swath succeeding swath
The fragrant burden, which his dewy blade
Severs with ease and repetition keen
From the luxuriant mead! How neat appears,
Shorn of its beard promiss, the tender sward!
How sweet the bean-field now, in blossoms cloth'd,
With, here and there, a well-supported stem
Of pea that overtops the scene, and waves
The healthy banner of its crimson flower
High in the liberal air; with royal ease,
And condescension graceful, to the gale
Still bowing. The spent orchard's bough its bloom
Retains no longer. Ravish'd by the breeze,
Its drifted petal mounts and floats on high,
Or on the musing poet softly sheds
The grateful show'r of spring's peculiar snow;
As, thoughtful, he surveys and strives to paint
Earth green beneath, and ether blue above,
And the progressive cloud that creeps between,
Trailing its fleece, to niveous fairness bleach'd,
'Cross the cerulean temple, the clear dome
Of heaven sublime; where sits enthron'd on high
The worshipp'd Godhead, while all nations meet
And thinly people the vast aisle below.
Its rosy eyelid lifts, to hear the sound
Of mower whetting his neglected scythe,
To hear his wide and double-handed sweep
Shear the reluctant herbage from the field,
Disposing well in swath succeeding swath
The fragrant burden, which his dewy blade
198
From the luxuriant mead! How neat appears,
Shorn of its beard promiss, the tender sward!
How sweet the bean-field now, in blossoms cloth'd,
With, here and there, a well-supported stem
Of pea that overtops the scene, and waves
The healthy banner of its crimson flower
High in the liberal air; with royal ease,
And condescension graceful, to the gale
Still bowing. The spent orchard's bough its bloom
Retains no longer. Ravish'd by the breeze,
Its drifted petal mounts and floats on high,
Or on the musing poet softly sheds
The grateful show'r of spring's peculiar snow;
As, thoughtful, he surveys and strives to paint
Earth green beneath, and ether blue above,
And the progressive cloud that creeps between,
Trailing its fleece, to niveous fairness bleach'd,
'Cross the cerulean temple, the clear dome
Of heaven sublime; where sits enthron'd on high
The worshipp'd Godhead, while all nations meet
And thinly people the vast aisle below.
199
How sweet the pleasure when the muffled orb
Unseen has journey'd all the livelong day,
And only here and there by chance display'd
A sloping sidelong beam, to see it sink
Into a clear horizon—to observe
The cloud-skirt far inflam'd, till its bright disc,
At length apparent, swells into a drop
Of purest bullion, cooling ere it falls!
Lo! now, a globe complete, the crimson ball,
Shorn of its lustre, of the shadowy earth
Takes its last farewel. The marsh-loving gnat
Swarms in its mellow mitigated ray
Along the stagnant dyke, or bank of Ouse
Slow moving seaward, or more speedy brook,
Or dances o'er the maid who singing fills
Her brimmer pail from the cud-chewing cow,
Or o'er the musing loiterer aloft
Hums insignificant. Now with slow step
Long let me ramble in the fragrant shade
Of the dark winding lane, whose powder'd thorn
On either hand the hollow shadow'd way
Borders impenetrable, save where gate,
Rude stile, or ill-heal'd gap, a transient glimpse
Yield of sweet landscape, village church and farm,
Or cottage snug beneath o'erhanging elms,
Or distant hill, or wood, or watery vale.
Or by the wood-side patient let me stand
While the mild orb of tranquil eve departs,
What time the moon, ascending as he sinks,
With aspect swoln and sickly scarce appears
In the dun-belted east, to hear the song
Of sylvan choristers, hosanna sweet,
Sweet hallelujah, to the King of kings
With free voice chanting. Above all delights
The wood-lark echoing, the nightingale
Gracing with plaintive pause her various strain,
The wild dove cooing diapason soft,
Language of love with elegance express'd,
And ouzle fluting with melodious pipe.
Deem not they praise the Deity amiss.
Pleas'd he their evening sacrifice accepts,
Thanksgiving pure, nor scorns it that it flows
From hearts which know him not. Lo! as they sing,
With grace and beauty kindles the pale cheek
Of his wan minister the orb of night;
The smile of pleasure glows upon her brow;
She thanks them. Down the village path, releas'd
And pleas'd, I saunter homeward, and the hind
From distant toil returning pass rever'd;
Or cross the fresh green field to see the herd
Or weary team, dismiss'd, with eager mouths
Crop the young herbage; or attend the sound
Of village children playful, and the tone
Of pipe or viol, clumsily produc'd
By the rude finger of the self-taught clown.
Unseen has journey'd all the livelong day,
And only here and there by chance display'd
A sloping sidelong beam, to see it sink
Into a clear horizon—to observe
The cloud-skirt far inflam'd, till its bright disc,
At length apparent, swells into a drop
Of purest bullion, cooling ere it falls!
Lo! now, a globe complete, the crimson ball,
Shorn of its lustre, of the shadowy earth
Takes its last farewel. The marsh-loving gnat
Swarms in its mellow mitigated ray
Along the stagnant dyke, or bank of Ouse
Slow moving seaward, or more speedy brook,
Or dances o'er the maid who singing fills
Her brimmer pail from the cud-chewing cow,
Or o'er the musing loiterer aloft
Hums insignificant. Now with slow step
Long let me ramble in the fragrant shade
Of the dark winding lane, whose powder'd thorn
On either hand the hollow shadow'd way
200
Rude stile, or ill-heal'd gap, a transient glimpse
Yield of sweet landscape, village church and farm,
Or cottage snug beneath o'erhanging elms,
Or distant hill, or wood, or watery vale.
Or by the wood-side patient let me stand
While the mild orb of tranquil eve departs,
What time the moon, ascending as he sinks,
With aspect swoln and sickly scarce appears
In the dun-belted east, to hear the song
Of sylvan choristers, hosanna sweet,
Sweet hallelujah, to the King of kings
With free voice chanting. Above all delights
The wood-lark echoing, the nightingale
Gracing with plaintive pause her various strain,
The wild dove cooing diapason soft,
Language of love with elegance express'd,
And ouzle fluting with melodious pipe.
Deem not they praise the Deity amiss.
Pleas'd he their evening sacrifice accepts,
Thanksgiving pure, nor scorns it that it flows
201
With grace and beauty kindles the pale cheek
Of his wan minister the orb of night;
The smile of pleasure glows upon her brow;
She thanks them. Down the village path, releas'd
And pleas'd, I saunter homeward, and the hind
From distant toil returning pass rever'd;
Or cross the fresh green field to see the herd
Or weary team, dismiss'd, with eager mouths
Crop the young herbage; or attend the sound
Of village children playful, and the tone
Of pipe or viol, clumsily produc'd
By the rude finger of the self-taught clown.
To-morrow, with the bee of humble fame,
I rise to sing and trace the field anew.
He, ever busy, still from flow'r to flow'r,
Stooping their limber stems, the livelong day
Travels with audible melodious hum.
Though in ten thousand cells of varied shape
Her precious balm ingenious nature hides,
He knows them all, and readily unlocks
The labiate blossom's close elastic lip,
To steal the dear ambrosia from within.
But why, sweet traveller, whose eager lip
Delights to visit the bloom-sprinkled branch,
And leave a kiss upon its ev'ry flower,
Why scorns it to salute the beauteous rose,
And greets his sweet bud never? Partial bird,
Has May alone thy love? and spreads in vain
June the sweet treasures of her flowery lap?
Why else untouch'd upon its thorny stem
Hangs the pale rose unfolding and the red?
These I contemn not, every bud that blows
Visiting daily with a bee's desire,
And serenading with impartial praise.
Musical wanderer, where'er thou stray'st,
How well does thy free toil resemble mine!
From flow'r to flow'r with unabated thirst
So roam I sedulous, hum as I pass,
And bear mellifluous treasure to my cell,
Song dropping honey, verse distilling balm.
Now still night silences both thee and me;
And pleas'd that I have sung, place of my birth,
Thy pleasures multifarious, pass the sun
Through what fair sign it will, I drop the wing,
Hie to my grounded nest, and sing no more.
I rise to sing and trace the field anew.
He, ever busy, still from flow'r to flow'r,
Stooping their limber stems, the livelong day
Travels with audible melodious hum.
Though in ten thousand cells of varied shape
Her precious balm ingenious nature hides,
He knows them all, and readily unlocks
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To steal the dear ambrosia from within.
But why, sweet traveller, whose eager lip
Delights to visit the bloom-sprinkled branch,
And leave a kiss upon its ev'ry flower,
Why scorns it to salute the beauteous rose,
And greets his sweet bud never? Partial bird,
Has May alone thy love? and spreads in vain
June the sweet treasures of her flowery lap?
Why else untouch'd upon its thorny stem
Hangs the pale rose unfolding and the red?
These I contemn not, every bud that blows
Visiting daily with a bee's desire,
And serenading with impartial praise.
Musical wanderer, where'er thou stray'st,
How well does thy free toil resemble mine!
From flow'r to flow'r with unabated thirst
So roam I sedulous, hum as I pass,
And bear mellifluous treasure to my cell,
Song dropping honey, verse distilling balm.
Now still night silences both thee and me;
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Thy pleasures multifarious, pass the sun
Through what fair sign it will, I drop the wing,
Hie to my grounded nest, and sing no more.
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