 | The Harvest |  |
Sweet smil'd the morn from Bewick fells,
On fair Roddamia's greenwood dells,
And bade the rising vapours redden,
O'er Dunmoor wild, and heathy Heddin.
The corn fields, yellow, deep, serene,
By hawthorn hedge and forest green,
Seem'd to invite, with mellow smile,
The jovial reaper-band to toil.
On fair Roddamia's greenwood dells,
And bade the rising vapours redden,
O'er Dunmoor wild, and heathy Heddin.
The corn fields, yellow, deep, serene,
By hawthorn hedge and forest green,
Seem'd to invite, with mellow smile,
The jovial reaper-band to toil.
Rous'd by good Albert's mild command,
Calder sent forth her reaper band—
A motely group! the village maid,
By Neatness' simple hand array'd,
Here sweetly smil'd; the youthful hind
Here jested blithe with vacant mind;
Here wedded life, and age were seen,
With calmer glee to tread the green.
—Rapt into pleasures past, again
I view the gaily-marching train,
Through eastern wood as sunbeams dance,
And fair on Calder's windows glance,
I see them pass the lea along,
And hear the jest, and frequent song!
Come, then, celestial glow of soul,
Whose raptures have so often stole
My fancy softly on;
At ev'ning calm, or morning gay,
Or when still midnight's solemn ray
In pensive beauty shone!
But most when lovely Anna smil'd
I felt thy sacred pow'r
Inspirit every love note wild,
That sung the peerless Flow'r.
Oh, come! and while the lightsome throng
To fields of Roddam hie,
Select the chief that train among
To live through all, and grace my song—
Ah! not to last through ages long,
But with their names to die!
Calder sent forth her reaper band—
A motely group! the village maid,
By Neatness' simple hand array'd,
Here sweetly smil'd; the youthful hind
Here jested blithe with vacant mind;
14
With calmer glee to tread the green.
—Rapt into pleasures past, again
I view the gaily-marching train,
Through eastern wood as sunbeams dance,
And fair on Calder's windows glance,
I see them pass the lea along,
And hear the jest, and frequent song!
Come, then, celestial glow of soul,
Whose raptures have so often stole
My fancy softly on;
At ev'ning calm, or morning gay,
Or when still midnight's solemn ray
In pensive beauty shone!
But most when lovely Anna smil'd
I felt thy sacred pow'r
Inspirit every love note wild,
That sung the peerless Flow'r.
Oh, come! and while the lightsome throng
To fields of Roddam hie,
Select the chief that train among
To live through all, and grace my song—
Ah! not to last through ages long,
But with their names to die!
| The Harvest | |