 | Our Holiday Among The Hills |  |
THE COUNTRY LAIRD.
(Beatus ille, qui procul negotiis, &c.)
Happy the man who leads the life
Of patriarch of old,
Far from the city's fevering strife
And from the race for gold.
Of patriarch of old,
Far from the city's fevering strife
And from the race for gold.
He owns with pride his fathers' lands
—Who would that pride condemn?
And cultivates with his own hands
The fields he had from them.
—Who would that pride condemn?
And cultivates with his own hands
The fields he had from them.
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A soldier, when the bugle calls,
Must leap to meet the foe;
A sailor, when the storm appals,
Must hurry from below!
Must leap to meet the foe;
A sailor, when the storm appals,
Must hurry from below!
A lawyer must attend his case,
His client at his heel;
A hanger-on, to earn a place,
Must knuckle down, and kneel.
His client at his heel;
A hanger-on, to earn a place,
Must knuckle down, and kneel.
From fear, and care, and envious hopes,
The country laird is free,
As to the breezy mountain-slopes
At morning forth goes he!
The country laird is free,
As to the breezy mountain-slopes
At morning forth goes he!
How pleasant from their pastoral tops
To watch his herds below;
Or see, at mid-day, in the copse
The oaks he planted grow!
To watch his herds below;
Or see, at mid-day, in the copse
The oaks he planted grow!
Now in his garden in the cool
Of shady flowering trees,
He plies an easy gardening tool,
Or overlooks his bees.
Of shady flowering trees,
He plies an easy gardening tool,
Or overlooks his bees.
Or on the first warm day in May
After a genial spring,
He rises at the peep of day
To view the sheep-shearing.
After a genial spring,
He rises at the peep of day
To view the sheep-shearing.
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Or, when the year to harvest comes,
He stooks the golden sheaves,
Or counts his juicy pears and plums
And looks in vain for leaves!
He stooks the golden sheaves,
Or counts his juicy pears and plums
And looks in vain for leaves!
While these delightful seasons pass,
He sometimes may be seen
Extended on the scented grass
Beneath a leafy screen.
He sometimes may be seen
Extended on the scented grass
Beneath a leafy screen.
Soft sunshine through the branches peeps,
And fountains fall around,
And wrens and robins sing—he sleeps,
Yet hears in sleep their sound.
And fountains fall around,
And wrens and robins sing—he sleeps,
Yet hears in sleep their sound.
But Winter comes: the trees are bare,
The fields are hard with frost;
And now, you ask, how does he fare?
—Are all his pleasures lost?
The fields are hard with frost;
And now, you ask, how does he fare?
—Are all his pleasures lost?
See him at early morning, capped
With fox-fur for the cold,
Step forth, well-breakfasted and wrapped,
A hardy hunter bold!
With fox-fur for the cold,
Step forth, well-breakfasted and wrapped,
A hardy hunter bold!
On his left arm the shining steel,
Upon his back the bag,
And sure, but shivering, at his heel,
Spotty, and Spring, and Shag.
Upon his back the bag,
And sure, but shivering, at his heel,
Spotty, and Spring, and Shag.
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Two red hares in the valley bleed,
One blue hare on the hill;
But round the marsh, where wild-fowl feed,
There is a deadly kill!
One blue hare on the hill;
But round the marsh, where wild-fowl feed,
There is a deadly kill!
Four brace of snipe, a ptarmigan,
Six brace of duck and teal,
And, maybe, a fat Iceland swan
Fall to the pointed steel.
Six brace of duck and teal,
And, maybe, a fat Iceland swan
Fall to the pointed steel.
As homeward in the early gloom
A tired man he returns,
He sees far off his dining-room,
The fire within that burns;
A tired man he returns,
He sees far off his dining-room,
The fire within that burns;
And, waiting with a welcoming smile,
His healthy comely wife
—For an unwedded love's a wile
To mar the happiest life.
His healthy comely wife
—For an unwedded love's a wile
To mar the happiest life.
And now—while bon vivants in town
Sit o'er their oyster-sauce,
Or gulp the fat green turtle down
Their vitiated hausse;
Sit o'er their oyster-sauce,
Or gulp the fat green turtle down
Their vitiated hausse;
Or French ragout, or fricassee,
With unclean jaws devour,
Drenching th'unhallowed mixture wi'
A claret cold and sour;
With unclean jaws devour,
Drenching th'unhallowed mixture wi'
A claret cold and sour;
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Or, maybe, in a lodging-house,
Or modish restaurant,
They pick their morsel of a mouse
While still the doors go bang!
Or modish restaurant,
They pick their morsel of a mouse
While still the doors go bang!
As black-tailed mutes, bedropt with grease,
Whisk out, and whirry in,
And bring the biscuit and the cheese
Before you well begin—
Whisk out, and whirry in,
And bring the biscuit and the cheese
Before you well begin—
He sits at his own table-head
In peace, and plenty too,
And eats his game to home-baked bread
And native mountain-dew!
In peace, and plenty too,
And eats his game to home-baked bread
And native mountain-dew!
One tidy Phyllis, and no more,
To whom he needs but look,
Receives the dishes at the door
From a sweet-tempered cook!
To whom he needs but look,
Receives the dishes at the door
From a sweet-tempered cook!
He drinks the Queen, the Church and State,
The landed Interest too;
Then, turning to his smiling mate
—“And this, my dear, to you!”
The landed Interest too;
Then, turning to his smiling mate
—“And this, my dear, to you!”
—Oh, that's the life, as all will own,
Securest yet from sorrow;
I'll sell my shares, call up my loans,
And buy a farm to-morrow!
Securest yet from sorrow;
I'll sell my shares, call up my loans,
And buy a farm to-morrow!
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He raised his loans—he realised
Ten thousand for that end;
A fortnight—and he advertised
Ten thousand pounds to lend!
Ten thousand for that end;
A fortnight—and he advertised
Ten thousand pounds to lend!
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