 | The Poems of Robert Bloomfield |  |
Joyous the crimson morning rose,
As joyous from the night's repose
Sprung the light heart. The glancing eye
Beheld, amidst the dappled sky,
Exulting Pen-y-Vale. But how
Could females climb his gleaming brow,
Rude toil encount'ring? how defy
The wint'ry torrent's course, when dry,
A rough-scoop'd bed of stones? or meet
The powerful force of August heat?
Wheels might assist, could wheels be found
Adapted to the rugged ground:
'Twas done; for prudence bade us start
With three Welsh ponies, and a cart;
A red-cheek'd mountaineer , a wit,
Full of rough shafts, that sometimes hit,
Trudged by their side, and twirl'd his thong,
And cheer'd his scrambling team along.
As joyous from the night's repose
63
Beheld, amidst the dappled sky,
Exulting Pen-y-Vale. But how
Could females climb his gleaming brow,
Rude toil encount'ring? how defy
The wint'ry torrent's course, when dry,
A rough-scoop'd bed of stones? or meet
The powerful force of August heat?
Wheels might assist, could wheels be found
Adapted to the rugged ground:
'Twas done; for prudence bade us start
With three Welsh ponies, and a cart;
A red-cheek'd mountaineer , a wit,
Full of rough shafts, that sometimes hit,
Trudged by their side, and twirl'd his thong,
And cheer'd his scrambling team along.
| The Poems of Robert Bloomfield | |