 | The Harvest |  |
Exchang'd is now the sickles' jar
For noisier tongues, and female war.
Now angry jest and jeer inflame,
On this, on that is flung the blame;
While scandal stale, and private spite
Are brought, in all their grace, to light.
My song! to polished ages thou
An humble debtor needst not bow;
But for restraints which they impose,
What beauties shouldst thou here disclose!
Those oaths which awe the eastern deep,
When night-clouds lour, and tempests sweep,
And which, imported from afar,
Now thunder'd in the wordy war,
And chill'd with fear the village throng,
Should, sweetly number'd, flow in song!—
Half blithe, and half in vengeful mood,
Vexing, the Roddam virgin stood;
And scarce could Anna's angel tongue,
Where peace's calming accents hung,
Restrain old Nelson's wrath, as kind
She strove her bleeding hand to bind!
Roddamia's steeple, ringing clear,
Was heard by few save Albert's ear;
When “four o'clock!” he shouted loud,
And soon in groups reclin'd the crowd.
For noisier tongues, and female war.
Now angry jest and jeer inflame,
On this, on that is flung the blame;
While scandal stale, and private spite
Are brought, in all their grace, to light.
My song! to polished ages thou
An humble debtor needst not bow;
But for restraints which they impose,
What beauties shouldst thou here disclose!
59
When night-clouds lour, and tempests sweep,
And which, imported from afar,
Now thunder'd in the wordy war,
And chill'd with fear the village throng,
Should, sweetly number'd, flow in song!—
Half blithe, and half in vengeful mood,
Vexing, the Roddam virgin stood;
And scarce could Anna's angel tongue,
Where peace's calming accents hung,
Restrain old Nelson's wrath, as kind
She strove her bleeding hand to bind!
Roddamia's steeple, ringing clear,
Was heard by few save Albert's ear;
When “four o'clock!” he shouted loud,
And soon in groups reclin'd the crowd.
| The Harvest | |