 | The Harvest |  |
ELLEN OF RODDAM.
Thy hall, Roddamia! glancing sheen
From forth thy woods of varied green,
Now rises to the reapers' view,
And to its task thy steeple true,
Now chimes the hour of seven aloud.—
Who comes from thence to join the crowd?
Her smirking smile, her rosy face,
Her fluster'd dress, and sturdy pace
Well do the laughing youngsters know—
“Here comes the virgin! O—huroe!”
From forth thy woods of varied green,
Now rises to the reapers' view,
And to its task thy steeple true,
Now chimes the hour of seven aloud.—
Who comes from thence to join the crowd?
Her smirking smile, her rosy face,
Her fluster'd dress, and sturdy pace
Well do the laughing youngsters know—
“Here comes the virgin! O—huroe!”
A maiden she—though many tell—
Yet many frame a falsehood well.
Enough for me, who dare not stand
Her advocate against a band,
She bore a virgin's honour'd name,
But rather deem'd its honour shame.
For now, full twenty summers gay
Have seen her stand in wedlock's way,
Unnotic'd oft, while meaner eyes
And blaer cheeks have caught the prize.
Yet blasted hope reblossom'd still,
And not a lad, on dale or hill,
No lowland youth, or mountain swain,
But would of her to wife be vain!
Yet many frame a falsehood well.
27
Her advocate against a band,
She bore a virgin's honour'd name,
But rather deem'd its honour shame.
For now, full twenty summers gay
Have seen her stand in wedlock's way,
Unnotic'd oft, while meaner eyes
And blaer cheeks have caught the prize.
Yet blasted hope reblossom'd still,
And not a lad, on dale or hill,
No lowland youth, or mountain swain,
But would of her to wife be vain!
All news she had, and added too,
Which shepherd's cot, or village knew.
What courtships had of late begun;
What old ones now (she smil'd) were done;
What maiden had resign'd the name,
Scandal her pleasure, and her aim.
Which shepherd's cot, or village knew.
What courtships had of late begun;
What old ones now (she smil'd) were done;
What maiden had resign'd the name,
Scandal her pleasure, and her aim.
Smoothly and slyly could she find
The secrets of another's mind,
And when acquainted with the cause
Why neighbours were with neighbours foes,
Eager she mov'd the springs of ire,
And blew the kindling spark to fire;
Then unsuspected inly joy'd
To see her arts so well employ'd.
Or if, by chance to air it came
That Ellen's lies had rais'd the flame,
Deeply might kindle Anger's cheek,
But ne'er to her might Anger speak;
She pour'd of epithets such store,
Told all she knew, and fabled more,
That few or none durst e'er resent
Affront by Roddam's virgin lent.
The secrets of another's mind,
And when acquainted with the cause
Why neighbours were with neighbours foes,
Eager she mov'd the springs of ire,
And blew the kindling spark to fire;
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To see her arts so well employ'd.
Or if, by chance to air it came
That Ellen's lies had rais'd the flame,
Deeply might kindle Anger's cheek,
But ne'er to her might Anger speak;
She pour'd of epithets such store,
Told all she knew, and fabled more,
That few or none durst e'er resent
Affront by Roddam's virgin lent.
Yet in the Harvest's joyous field
The soul of mirth was Ellen held.
To her the merry youngsters drew;
Their jests to her the married threw:
In his first harvest, e'en the boy
Beheld her join the band with joy,
And welcom'd to the field with shout
The fear and wonder of the rout!
The soul of mirth was Ellen held.
To her the merry youngsters drew;
Their jests to her the married threw:
In his first harvest, e'en the boy
Beheld her join the band with joy,
And welcom'd to the field with shout
The fear and wonder of the rout!
These are the chief, but following these
A various crowd the Poet sees,
To share in Harvest toils and gains
They come from distant hills and plains,
Where Teviot crystals o'er her bed,
From Tweedmouth, and the banks of Jed,
And, further far, where surges roar
Around, O Skie! thy misty shore.
A various crowd the Poet sees,
To share in Harvest toils and gains
They come from distant hills and plains,
Where Teviot crystals o'er her bed,
From Tweedmouth, and the banks of Jed,
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Around, O Skie! thy misty shore.
Now all arriv'd—by Albert set—
Three on each ridge the reapers met.
With Anna, blooming as the spring,
Sylvander led the foremost wing,
And Mary, who oft blest her case,
Beside the pair to gain a place.
Next Edward brought his ridge along;
Here Roddam's virgin, stale and strong,
Smil'd at his left, and Jessy fair
Stood prompt his dexter side to bare.
Behind, and next to these again,
Two ridges wait the Tweedmouth train.
And farther still the soldier stood
Whose harmless weapon ne'er drank blood,
Whom fate ne'er sent from home afar
To try his chance in ranks of war,
Still in dear red he casts a dash.
Next, smutty from his hasty wash,
His ponderous bulk the blacksmith rears;
And next the joiner's form appears;
Ruddy and young, he leaves his shade,
And smiles beside his fav'rite maid.
Last, join'd with two, stands mournful by
Poor Norman from the Isle of Skie;
Alone he seem'd, though with a crowd,
And sad though laughter wak'd aloud;
But none as yet made comfort flow,
None knew to soothe the stranger's woe!
Three on each ridge the reapers met.
With Anna, blooming as the spring,
Sylvander led the foremost wing,
And Mary, who oft blest her case,
Beside the pair to gain a place.
Next Edward brought his ridge along;
Here Roddam's virgin, stale and strong,
Smil'd at his left, and Jessy fair
Stood prompt his dexter side to bare.
Behind, and next to these again,
Two ridges wait the Tweedmouth train.
And farther still the soldier stood
Whose harmless weapon ne'er drank blood,
Whom fate ne'er sent from home afar
To try his chance in ranks of war,
Still in dear red he casts a dash.
Next, smutty from his hasty wash,
His ponderous bulk the blacksmith rears;
And next the joiner's form appears;
Ruddy and young, he leaves his shade,
And smiles beside his fav'rite maid.
30
Poor Norman from the Isle of Skie;
Alone he seem'd, though with a crowd,
And sad though laughter wak'd aloud;
But none as yet made comfort flow,
None knew to soothe the stranger's woe!
Thus, in long order, stand the group,
Heads after heads, successive, stoop;
Rustles along the falling corn,
The rising shocks salute the morn;
Light fly the jests, the harmless wiles,
And laughter rings, and beauty smiles!
Their mirth upon the breezes swell,
Rung sweetly to the sunny dell,
Where many a warbler pour'd his strain,
And sweetly sent to them again.
Fair Anna smiling sweet I see,
Sylvander wears an air of glee,
And many a love-taught art he tries
To ease the form that by him plies;—
Oh, happy youth! whose every art
Was more than paid with such a heart!
Heads after heads, successive, stoop;
Rustles along the falling corn,
The rising shocks salute the morn;
Light fly the jests, the harmless wiles,
And laughter rings, and beauty smiles!
Their mirth upon the breezes swell,
Rung sweetly to the sunny dell,
Where many a warbler pour'd his strain,
And sweetly sent to them again.
Fair Anna smiling sweet I see,
Sylvander wears an air of glee,
And many a love-taught art he tries
To ease the form that by him plies;—
Oh, happy youth! whose every art
Was more than paid with such a heart!
The morn's cool breeze, expanding now,
Blew warm on every reaper's brow,
And, sounding far to field and glen,
Roddamia rung the hour of ten.
Prompt at the moment, Albert bade
The toiling hooks aside be laid.
At once they cease, and, stretch'd at ease,
Devour their forenoon bread and cheese;
While from each ridge, along the rout,
By fits resound the laugh and shout;
With frequent song, and loving smile,
Which soon the short half hour beguile.
Blew warm on every reaper's brow,
31
Roddamia rung the hour of ten.
Prompt at the moment, Albert bade
The toiling hooks aside be laid.
At once they cease, and, stretch'd at ease,
Devour their forenoon bread and cheese;
While from each ridge, along the rout,
By fits resound the laugh and shout;
With frequent song, and loving smile,
Which soon the short half hour beguile.
Good Albert's voice is heard again;
Bestir the slow, reluctant train;
And o'er the field, from wing to wing,
Fast falls the corn, the sickles ring;
A merry bustle! all the while
Sweet lasses jest, and lasses smile.
Behind, the cheerful bindsters ply,
And proudly rear their shocks on high,
While oft with jest and leering eye,
Some lovely maid they stay,
As, sweet, she turns with loaded hand,
She feels it grasp'd within the band
A moment forc'd, unseen, to stand,
She, smiling, walks away.
High rides the flaming orb of day,
Smile Cheviot's mountains in the ray.
All heathless, to the south, are seen
Thy summits Fawdon! cloth'd in green.
In brightness flows the winding Till,
And gay is Hebburn's shrub-wild hill.
At hand, the sunbeams brightly play,
On village, field, and turret gay;
On woods, that like green mantles lie,
(Wav'd free from sloping summits nigh,)
Whose verdant folds luxuriant flow
Down bank and brae, in graceful show!
Bestir the slow, reluctant train;
And o'er the field, from wing to wing,
Fast falls the corn, the sickles ring;
A merry bustle! all the while
Sweet lasses jest, and lasses smile.
Behind, the cheerful bindsters ply,
And proudly rear their shocks on high,
While oft with jest and leering eye,
Some lovely maid they stay,
As, sweet, she turns with loaded hand,
She feels it grasp'd within the band
A moment forc'd, unseen, to stand,
She, smiling, walks away.
32
Smile Cheviot's mountains in the ray.
All heathless, to the south, are seen
Thy summits Fawdon! cloth'd in green.
In brightness flows the winding Till,
And gay is Hebburn's shrub-wild hill.
At hand, the sunbeams brightly play,
On village, field, and turret gay;
On woods, that like green mantles lie,
(Wav'd free from sloping summits nigh,)
Whose verdant folds luxuriant flow
Down bank and brae, in graceful show!
The breezes, now, so slowly borne,
Scarce fann'd the cheek, or stirr'd the corn,
While, fiercely pour'd, meridian heat
O'er all the sickening landscape beat!
Each heart is faint, and, wrung with toils,
And bath'd in sweat, each body broils;
All spirits sink,—thirst rages sore,—
Light fly the jest and song no more!
Oh, for a cloud to intervene,
Whose shadow o'er the parched scene
A grateful gloom might throw!
Vain wish! the wide horizon blue
Nor streak, nor vapour gives to view,
And not a breeze to blow.
At length, by Albert's care, from spring
The cooling water one must bring,
And oh! that maid, how black soe'er,
To-day is fairest and most dear!
Refresh'd a moment—mirth again
Begins to wake among the train,
Again the youth divert the while
With lasses blithe, and lasses smile.
Scarce fann'd the cheek, or stirr'd the corn,
While, fiercely pour'd, meridian heat
O'er all the sickening landscape beat!
Each heart is faint, and, wrung with toils,
And bath'd in sweat, each body broils;
All spirits sink,—thirst rages sore,—
Light fly the jest and song no more!
Oh, for a cloud to intervene,
Whose shadow o'er the parched scene
A grateful gloom might throw!
33
Nor streak, nor vapour gives to view,
And not a breeze to blow.
At length, by Albert's care, from spring
The cooling water one must bring,
And oh! that maid, how black soe'er,
To-day is fairest and most dear!
Refresh'd a moment—mirth again
Begins to wake among the train,
Again the youth divert the while
With lasses blithe, and lasses smile.
But Nelson's languid eye and brow
Bespoke her strength exhausted now:
What cordial can in age replace
The springs that mov'd life's morning race?
Sweet Anna saw, and on her tongue
That instant pity's dictates hung;
Old Mary could the tear espy
Wet the bright blackness of her eye,
And thus she gave her fancy scope
In prospects vain, and idle hope:—
“Nay,—view not me an object here
That needs a sympathetic tear.
Not force, but choice draws me to wield
A reaper's hook in Albert's field,
To see my grounds have justice done:
For yonder hall, so bright with sun,
Yes—Roddam Hall is mine, by will,
With all the lands of Tankerville.
—Nay laugh not! for my kinsman brave
To Roddam all his riches gave,
And bade that I, who on my knee
Had danc'd the warrior's infancy,
His heiress, these possessions claim,
Long to perpetuate the name.
Ceas'd Roddam's name in Roddam now,
To Nelson of Nelson all must bow.”
Bespoke her strength exhausted now:
What cordial can in age replace
The springs that mov'd life's morning race?
Sweet Anna saw, and on her tongue
That instant pity's dictates hung;
Old Mary could the tear espy
Wet the bright blackness of her eye,
And thus she gave her fancy scope
In prospects vain, and idle hope:—
“Nay,—view not me an object here
That needs a sympathetic tear.
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A reaper's hook in Albert's field,
To see my grounds have justice done:
For yonder hall, so bright with sun,
Yes—Roddam Hall is mine, by will,
With all the lands of Tankerville.
—Nay laugh not! for my kinsman brave
To Roddam all his riches gave,
And bade that I, who on my knee
Had danc'd the warrior's infancy,
His heiress, these possessions claim,
Long to perpetuate the name.
Ceas'd Roddam's name in Roddam now,
To Nelson of Nelson all must bow.”
At once she heard such laughter burst—
She blush'd not—though she inly curs'd.
For Roddam's Ellen sign had sent,
And to her speech all ears were lent.
She stoop'd and cut, and stoop'd again,
Till ceas'd the laughing of the train;
Then, rising, thus in lower tone
Once more her reverie went on:
“They mock—but ye, so happy pair!
Shall yet be blest in Mary's care.
The best of food in Nelson's hall
Shall, ready, soon attend your call.
And of the silks of Trafalgar
My gallant kinsman gain'd in war
The fairest, Anna, shall be thine,
And in a hall as grand as mine,
(Built on the bank of yonder dell,)
Shalt thou and thy Sylvander dwell.”
She blush'd not—though she inly curs'd.
For Roddam's Ellen sign had sent,
And to her speech all ears were lent.
She stoop'd and cut, and stoop'd again,
Till ceas'd the laughing of the train;
Then, rising, thus in lower tone
Once more her reverie went on:
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Shall yet be blest in Mary's care.
The best of food in Nelson's hall
Shall, ready, soon attend your call.
And of the silks of Trafalgar
My gallant kinsman gain'd in war
The fairest, Anna, shall be thine,
And in a hall as grand as mine,
(Built on the bank of yonder dell,)
Shalt thou and thy Sylvander dwell.”
Upon her lover turn'd her eye,
And half on Mary, smiling sly,
Sweet Anna thank'd her generous care,
And wish'd her soon her heirship fair.
Blithe smil'd Sylvander too, the while
He saw his lovely Anna smile;
But when she turn'd her footstep light,
And hid her beauteous eyes so bright,
As stoop'd she to the ridge again,
The neatest reaper of the train,—
He thought the whimsies that beguil'd
The toils of Mary not more wild
Than those himself had felt inspire
His bosom, ever prone to fire!
'Tis true his prayers did never soar
For splendid hall, or golden store;
The wish, the dearest to his heart
To dwell with love in cot apart:
But then his hopes of lasting fame;
Ages unborn to boast his name;
Perhaps with awe to seek the vale,
Where oft his harp had charm'd the gale;
With rev'rence tread the very wild
Where first he lov'd, and Anna smil'd;
Or view her cottage, whither oft,
With heart that throbb'd, and eye that glanc'd
High rapture, as his steps advanc'd,
Had he repair'd at moonlight soft;—
As wildly vain Sylvander knew.
He on the future turn'd his view,—
There he beheld, with blasting rage,
Censure! thy fires consume his page;
And from the lovely book of Fame
Oblivion's hand eraze his name!
A madd'ning thought!—his reverie
Was broke by many a voice of glee.
And half on Mary, smiling sly,
Sweet Anna thank'd her generous care,
And wish'd her soon her heirship fair.
Blithe smil'd Sylvander too, the while
He saw his lovely Anna smile;
But when she turn'd her footstep light,
And hid her beauteous eyes so bright,
As stoop'd she to the ridge again,
The neatest reaper of the train,—
He thought the whimsies that beguil'd
The toils of Mary not more wild
Than those himself had felt inspire
His bosom, ever prone to fire!
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For splendid hall, or golden store;
The wish, the dearest to his heart
To dwell with love in cot apart:
But then his hopes of lasting fame;
Ages unborn to boast his name;
Perhaps with awe to seek the vale,
Where oft his harp had charm'd the gale;
With rev'rence tread the very wild
Where first he lov'd, and Anna smil'd;
Or view her cottage, whither oft,
With heart that throbb'd, and eye that glanc'd
High rapture, as his steps advanc'd,
Had he repair'd at moonlight soft;—
As wildly vain Sylvander knew.
He on the future turn'd his view,—
There he beheld, with blasting rage,
Censure! thy fires consume his page;
And from the lovely book of Fame
Oblivion's hand eraze his name!
A madd'ning thought!—his reverie
Was broke by many a voice of glee.
For now from far the steeple's chime
Had rung the hour of resting-time,
And jolting down the neighb'ring road,
The cart its kegs and baskets show'd.
Each reaper, tir'd of heat and hook,
Regards it with a blithsome look.
And slowly fill the sheaves, I ween,
And few the bands are made between,
And seldom moves each wistful eye,
Till the slow wheels are grazing nigh!
At length the tins froth to the brim,
By each is laid a wheaten loaf;
Albert's delays now cruel seem,—
For almost drain'd the barrel-stream,
They drop their hooks and off.—
See! how they crowd around the cheer,
Till wholesome draughts of cooling beer
Their burning thirst allay;
Sylvander rush'd among the rest,
And lovely Anna forward prest;
He chose a bap he deem'd the best,
And tipt the wink to stay.
She smiling understood the sign;
And never cup of rosy wine
Was heartier offer'd, heartier ta'en,
Than this, of ale, the maid and swain
Exchang'd with humour gay!
Now part the group, as fancies please,
Some quaff their beer, reclin'd at ease,
Beneath the standing grain,
Where infant clover, fresh and green,
Presents a cooling, grateful scene;
Some make the yellow shocks their screen,
And feel reviv'd again.
The blacksmith, soldier, and the hind,
A garrulous few! are here combin'd.
Whose wives beside, (their dinner done)
Industrious sew or knit in sun,
Or list, by fits, with Mary old,
The warm debates their husbands hold.
They spoke of all that then rung through,
Of Wellington and Waterloo.
Some mourn'd the thousands there that bled,
And wish'd the ruthless Chieftain dead,
Whom wild ambition led again
To spill a nation's blood in vain!
Still heating as uncheck'd they go—
Doom the vile wretch to endless woe,
Would wish the regent mercy show
To old Britannia's fellest foe!—
Others as heartily execrate
Th'ungen'rous conduct of the state
That heard, with careless look and high,
The pray'r of fallen majesty!
Brook'd not to tread upon our shore
Such foot as never trod before;
But sent to exile, sad and far,
The wise in peace, the brave in war!
Had rung the hour of resting-time,
37
The cart its kegs and baskets show'd.
Each reaper, tir'd of heat and hook,
Regards it with a blithsome look.
And slowly fill the sheaves, I ween,
And few the bands are made between,
And seldom moves each wistful eye,
Till the slow wheels are grazing nigh!
At length the tins froth to the brim,
By each is laid a wheaten loaf;
Albert's delays now cruel seem,—
For almost drain'd the barrel-stream,
They drop their hooks and off.—
See! how they crowd around the cheer,
Till wholesome draughts of cooling beer
Their burning thirst allay;
Sylvander rush'd among the rest,
And lovely Anna forward prest;
He chose a bap he deem'd the best,
And tipt the wink to stay.
She smiling understood the sign;
And never cup of rosy wine
38
Than this, of ale, the maid and swain
Exchang'd with humour gay!
Now part the group, as fancies please,
Some quaff their beer, reclin'd at ease,
Beneath the standing grain,
Where infant clover, fresh and green,
Presents a cooling, grateful scene;
Some make the yellow shocks their screen,
And feel reviv'd again.
The blacksmith, soldier, and the hind,
A garrulous few! are here combin'd.
Whose wives beside, (their dinner done)
Industrious sew or knit in sun,
Or list, by fits, with Mary old,
The warm debates their husbands hold.
They spoke of all that then rung through,
Of Wellington and Waterloo.
Some mourn'd the thousands there that bled,
And wish'd the ruthless Chieftain dead,
Whom wild ambition led again
To spill a nation's blood in vain!
Still heating as uncheck'd they go—
Doom the vile wretch to endless woe,
39
To old Britannia's fellest foe!—
Others as heartily execrate
Th'ungen'rous conduct of the state
That heard, with careless look and high,
The pray'r of fallen majesty!
Brook'd not to tread upon our shore
Such foot as never trod before;
But sent to exile, sad and far,
The wise in peace, the brave in war!
Amid a group of young and fair
(Herself by far the fairest there,)
Sweet Anna sat, her youth apart,
With glowing, but respectful heart,
Unseen, a glance of rapture stole
At the dear Idol of his soul!
There circled jests, unwont to fail,
And many a merry local tale,
Till fare was done, and tankards quaff'd,
And maidens smil'd, and youngsters laugh'd.
(Herself by far the fairest there,)
Sweet Anna sat, her youth apart,
With glowing, but respectful heart,
Unseen, a glance of rapture stole
At the dear Idol of his soul!
There circled jests, unwont to fail,
And many a merry local tale,
Till fare was done, and tankards quaff'd,
And maidens smil'd, and youngsters laugh'd.
Now noisy mirth has done; each fair
Uncovering, combs her sunburnt hair.
The youths, delighted, mark the curls
Fall down their favourite's cheeks in swirls.
But still was cast the general view
On Anna's locks of raven hue;
Now o'er her snowy brows that twin'd,
Now, wanton, waving, hung behind;
Till, roll'd on high, and smoothly laid,
Again reclin'd the lovely maid.
Uncovering, combs her sunburnt hair.
The youths, delighted, mark the curls
Fall down their favourite's cheeks in swirls.
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On Anna's locks of raven hue;
Now o'er her snowy brows that twin'd,
Now, wanton, waving, hung behind;
Till, roll'd on high, and smoothly laid,
Again reclin'd the lovely maid.
“But who our lasses fair among
Will welcome Harvest with a song?”
Was often by the crowd requir'd;—
From Anna's voice, the most admir'd,
They begg'd to hear a fav'rite strain,—
For well they knew her loving swain
Had taught her all the tender lays
Himself had sung in Beauty's praise,
Oh! still the lovely blush I view,
And my warm'd bosom beats anew—
That lovely blush which deeper gave
The rose-bloom o'er her cheek to wave,
Confus'd, as in Sylvander's eye
The glance of rapture she could spy,
And, sweet, essay'd to find the air
Of “Armley's Flow'r that blooms so fair”
Will welcome Harvest with a song?”
Was often by the crowd requir'd;—
From Anna's voice, the most admir'd,
They begg'd to hear a fav'rite strain,—
For well they knew her loving swain
Had taught her all the tender lays
Himself had sung in Beauty's praise,
Oh! still the lovely blush I view,
And my warm'd bosom beats anew—
That lovely blush which deeper gave
The rose-bloom o'er her cheek to wave,
Confus'd, as in Sylvander's eye
The glance of rapture she could spy,
And, sweet, essay'd to find the air
Of “Armley's Flow'r that blooms so fair”
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With wave and shout the tidings soon
Were carried through the scatter'd boon,
And young and old to Anna drew,
The aged ran, the youthful flew;
E'en politicians ceas'd debate,
Resign'd Napoleon to his fate,
And, eager, join'd the impatient ring
To hear the lovely virgin sing!
Were carried through the scatter'd boon,
And young and old to Anna drew,
The aged ran, the youthful flew;
E'en politicians ceas'd debate,
Resign'd Napoleon to his fate,
And, eager, join'd the impatient ring
To hear the lovely virgin sing!
| The Harvest | |