 | The girl's reading-book ; in prose and poetry |  |
229
THE VILLAGE.
The farmer, fill'd with honest pleasure, sees
His orchards blushing in the fervid breeze,
His bleating flocks, the shearer's care that need,
His waving woods, the wintry hearth to feed,
His patient steers, that break the yielding soil,
His hardy sons, who share their father's toil,
The ripening fields, for joyous harvest drest,
And the white spire that points a world of rest.
His orchards blushing in the fervid breeze,
His bleating flocks, the shearer's care that need,
His waving woods, the wintry hearth to feed,
His patient steers, that break the yielding soil,
His hardy sons, who share their father's toil,
The ripening fields, for joyous harvest drest,
And the white spire that points a world of rest.
His thrifty mate, solicitous to bear
An equal burden in the yoke of care,
With vigorous arm, the flying shuttle heaves,
Or from the press the golden cheese receives;
Her pastime, when the daily task is o'er,
With apron clean, to seek her neighbour's door;
Partake the friendly feast, with social glow,
Exchange the news, or make the stocking grow,—
Then hale and cheerful, to her home repair,
When Sol's slant ray renews her evening care,
Press the full udder for her children's meal,
Rock the tir'd babe, and wake the tuneful wheel.
An equal burden in the yoke of care,
With vigorous arm, the flying shuttle heaves,
Or from the press the golden cheese receives;
Her pastime, when the daily task is o'er,
With apron clean, to seek her neighbour's door;
Partake the friendly feast, with social glow,
Exchange the news, or make the stocking grow,—
Then hale and cheerful, to her home repair,
When Sol's slant ray renews her evening care,
Press the full udder for her children's meal,
Rock the tir'd babe, and wake the tuneful wheel.
See,—toward yon dome where village science dwells
When the church-clock its warning summons swells
What tiny feet the well-known path explore,
And gayly gather from each rustic door.
The new-wean'd child, with murmuring tone proceeds,
Whom her scarce taller baby-brother leads,
Transferr'd as burdens, that the housewife's care
May tend the dairy, or the fleece prepare.
When the church-clock its warning summons swells
What tiny feet the well-known path explore,
And gayly gather from each rustic door.
The new-wean'd child, with murmuring tone proceeds,
Whom her scarce taller baby-brother leads,
230
May tend the dairy, or the fleece prepare.
Light-hearted group, who carol loud and high,
Bright daisies cull, or chase the butterfly,
Till by some traveller's wheel arous'd from play,
The stiff salute with glance demure they pay,
Bare the curl'd brow, or stretch the sunburnt hand,
The simple homage of an artless land.
Bright daisies cull, or chase the butterfly,
Till by some traveller's wheel arous'd from play,
The stiff salute with glance demure they pay,
Bare the curl'd brow, or stretch the sunburnt hand,
The simple homage of an artless land.
The stranger marks amid their joyous line,
The little baskets whence they hope to dine,
And larger books, as if their dexterous art,
Dealt most nutrition to the noblest part:—
Long may it be, ere luxury teach the shame
To starve the mind, and bloat the unwieldy frame.
The little baskets whence they hope to dine,
And larger books, as if their dexterous art,
Dealt most nutrition to the noblest part:—
Long may it be, ere luxury teach the shame
To starve the mind, and bloat the unwieldy frame.
Scorn not this lowly race, ye sons of pride,
Their joys disparage, nor their hopes deride;
From germs like these have mighty statesmen sprung,
Of prudent counsel and persuasive tongue;
Unblenching souls, who ruled the willing throng,
Their well-braced nerves by early labour strong;
Inventive minds, a nation's wealth that wrought,
And white-haired sages, sold to studious thought;
Chiefs, whose bold step the field of battle trod,
And holy men, who fed the flock of God.
Their joys disparage, nor their hopes deride;
From germs like these have mighty statesmen sprung,
Of prudent counsel and persuasive tongue;
Unblenching souls, who ruled the willing throng,
Their well-braced nerves by early labour strong;
Inventive minds, a nation's wealth that wrought,
And white-haired sages, sold to studious thought;
Chiefs, whose bold step the field of battle trod,
And holy men, who fed the flock of God.
Here, 'mid the graves by time so sacred made,
The poor, lost Indian slumbers in the shade,—
He, whose canoe with arrowy swiftness clave
In ancient days yon pure, cerulean wave;
Son of that Spirit, whom in storms he traced,
Through darkness followed, and in death embraced,
He sleeps an outlaw 'mid his forfeit land,
And grasps the arrow in his mouldered hand.
The poor, lost Indian slumbers in the shade,—
He, whose canoe with arrowy swiftness clave
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Son of that Spirit, whom in storms he traced,
Through darkness followed, and in death embraced,
He sleeps an outlaw 'mid his forfeit land,
And grasps the arrow in his mouldered hand.
Here, too, our patriot sires with honour rest,
In Freedom's cause who bared the valiant breast;—
Sprung from their half-drawn furrow, as the cry
Of threatened liberty went thrilling by,
Looked to their God, and reared, in bulwark round,
Breasts free from guile, and hands with toil embrown'd,
And bade a monarch's thousand banners yield—
Firm at the plough, and glorious in the field;
Lo! here they rest, who every danger braved,
Unmarked, untrophied, 'mid the soil they saved.
In Freedom's cause who bared the valiant breast;—
Sprung from their half-drawn furrow, as the cry
Of threatened liberty went thrilling by,
Looked to their God, and reared, in bulwark round,
Breasts free from guile, and hands with toil embrown'd,
And bade a monarch's thousand banners yield—
Firm at the plough, and glorious in the field;
Lo! here they rest, who every danger braved,
Unmarked, untrophied, 'mid the soil they saved.
Round scenes like these doth warm remembrance glide,
Where emigration rolls its ceaseless tide,
On western wilds, which thronging hordes explore,
Or ruder Erie's serpent-haunted shore,
Or far Huron, by unshorn forests crowned,
Or red Missouri's unfrequented bound.
Where emigration rolls its ceaseless tide,
On western wilds, which thronging hordes explore,
Or ruder Erie's serpent-haunted shore,
Or far Huron, by unshorn forests crowned,
Or red Missouri's unfrequented bound.
The exile there, when midnight shades invade,
Couch'd in his hut, or camping on the glade,
Starts from his dream, to catch, in echoes clear,
The boatman's song that charmed his boyish ear;
While the sad mother 'mid her children's mirth,
Paints with fond tears a parent's distant hearth,
Or cheers her rustic babes with tender tales
Of thee, blest village, and thy velvet vales;
Her native cot, where luscious berries swell,
The simple school, and Sabbath's tuneful bell;
And smiles to see the infant soul expand,
With proud devotion for that father-land.
Couch'd in his hut, or camping on the glade,
Starts from his dream, to catch, in echoes clear,
The boatman's song that charmed his boyish ear;
While the sad mother 'mid her children's mirth,
Paints with fond tears a parent's distant hearth,
232
Of thee, blest village, and thy velvet vales;
Her native cot, where luscious berries swell,
The simple school, and Sabbath's tuneful bell;
And smiles to see the infant soul expand,
With proud devotion for that father-land.
| The girl's reading-book ; in prose and poetry | |