University of Virginia Library

SUNDAY WALKS

How fond the rustics ear at leisure dwells
On the soft soundings of his village bells
As on a sunday morning at his ease
He takes his rambles just as fancys please
Down narrow baulks that interscet the fields
Hid in profusions that its produce yields
Long twining peas in faintly misted greens
& winged leaf multitudes of crowding beans
& flighty oatlands of a lighter hue
& speary barley bowing down with dew
& browning wheat ear on its taper stalk
With gentle breezes bending oer the baulk
Greeting the parting hand that b[r]ushes near
With patting welcomes of a plentious year
Or narrow lanes were cool & gloomy sweet
Hedges above head in an arbour meet
Meandering down & resting for awhile
Upon a moss clad molhill or a stile
While every scene that on his leisure crowds
Wind waving vallies & light passing clouds
In brighter colors seem to meet the eye
Then in the bustle of the days gone bye
A peacful solitude around him creeps
& nature seemly oer its quiet sleeps
No more is heard save sutherings thro the trees
Of brisk wind gushes or a trembling breeze
& song of linnets in the hedgrow thorn
As twittering welcomes to the days return
& hum of bees were labours doomd to stray
In ceasless bustle on his weary way
& low of distant cattle here & there
Seeking the stream or dropping down to lare
& bleat of sheep & horses playfull neigh
From rustics whips & plough & waggon free
Biting in carless freedom oer the leas
Or turnd to knap each other at their ease
While neath the bank on which he rests his head
The brook mourns drippling oer its pebbly bed
& wimpers soothingly a calm serene
Oer the lulld comforts of a sunday scene
He ponders round & muses with a smile
On thriving produce of his earlier toil
What once was curnels from his hopper sown
Now browning wheat ears & oat bunches grown
& pea pods swelld by blossoms long forsook
& nearly ready for the scythe & hook
He pores wi wonder on the mighty change
Which suns & showers perform & thinks it strange
& tho no philisophic reasoning draws
His musing marvels home to natures cause
A simple feeling in him turns his eye
To where the thin clouds smoak along the sky
& there his soul consents the power must reign
Who rules the year & shoots the spindling grain
Lights up the sun & sprinkles rain below
The fount of nature whence all causes flow
Thus much the feelings of his bosom warms
Nor seeks he further then his soul informs
A six days prisoner lifes support to earn
From dusty cobwebs & the murky barn
The weary thresher meets the rest thats given
& thankfull sooths him in the boon of heaven
& sabbath walks enjoys along the fields
With loves sweet pledges poddling at his heels
That oft divert him with their childish glee
In fruitless chaces after bird & bee
& eager gathering every flower they pass
Of yellow lambtoe & the totter grass
Oft wimpering round him dissapointments sigh
At sight of blossoms thats in bloom too high
& twitching at his sleeve their coaxing powers
To urge his hand to reach the tempting flowers
& as he climbs their eager hopes to crown
On gate or stile to pull the blossoms down
Of pale hedgroseys straggling wild & tall
& scrambling woodbines that outgrows them all
Turns to the days when he himsen woud teaze
His tender father for such toys as these
& smiles with rapture as he plucks the flowers
To meet the feelings of those lovly hours
& blesses sundays rest whose peace at will
Retains a portion of those pleasures still
& when the duty of the days expird
& priest & parish offerd whats requird
When godly farmer shuts his book again
To talk of profits from advancing grain
Short memory keeping what the parson read
Prayers neath his arm & business in his head
& dread of boys the clerk is left to close
The creaking church door on its weeks repose
Then leave me sundays remnant to employ
In seeking sweets of solitary joy
& lessons learning from a simpler tongue
Were nature preaches in a crickets song
Were every tiney thing that lives & creeps
Some feeble language owns its prayer to raise
Were all that lives by noise or silence keeps
An homly sabbath in its makers praise
There free from labour let my musings stray
Were foot paths ramble from the public way
In quiet lonliness oer many a scene
This grassy close or Grounds of blossomd bean
Oft winding baulks were groves of willows spread
Their welcome waving shadows over head
& thorns beneath in woodbines often drest
Inviting strongly in their peace to rest
Or wildly left to follow choice at will
Oer many a trackless vale & pathless hill
Or natures wilderness oer heaths of goss
Each foot step sinking anckle deep in moss
By pleasing interuptions often tyd
An hedge to clamber or a brook to stryde
Were nought of 'proaching feet or noises rude
Molests the quiet of ones solitude
Save birds song broken by a false alarm
Thro branches fluttering from their fancyd harm
& cows & sheep the startld low & bleat
Disturbd from lare by ones unwelcome feet
The all thats met in sundays slumbering ease
That rather adds then checks the power to please
& sweet it is to creep ones blinded way
Were woodland boughs shuts out the smiles of day
Were hemmd in glooms that scarce give leave to spy
A passing cloud or patch of purple sky
Tracking half hidden from the world beside
Sweet hermit nature that in woodlands hide
Were namless flowers that never meet the sun
Like bashing modesty the sight to shun
Buds in their snug retreat & bloom & dye
With out one notice of a passing eye
There while I drop me in the woody waste
Neath arbours nature fashions to her taste
Entwining oak trees with the ivys gloom
& wood bines propping over boughs to bloom
& scallopt briony mingling round her bowers
Whose fine bright leaves make up the want of flowers
With natures minstrels of the woods let me
Thou lord of sabbaths add a song to thee
A humble offering for the holy day
Which thou most wise & graciously hast given
As leisure dropt in labours rugged way
To claim a passport wi the rest to heaven