The Farmer's Boy: A Rural Poem Part 4

The tender speckled moth here dancing seen, The vaulting gra.s.shopper of glossy green, And all prolific _Summer's_ sporting train, Their little lives by various pow'rs sustain.

But what can una.s.sisted vision do?

What, but recoil where most it would pursue; His patient gaze but finish with a sigh, When musing waking speaks the _sky-lark_ nigh!

Just starting from the corn she cheerly sings, And trusts with conscious pride her downy wings; Still louder breathes, and in the face of day Mounts up, and calls on _Giles_ to mark her way.

Close to his eyes his hat he instant bends, And forms a friendly telescope, that lends Just aid enough to dull the glaring light, And place the wand'ring bird before his sight; Yet oft beneath a cloud she sweeps along, Lost for awhile, yet pours her varied song: He views the spot, and as the cloud moves by, Again she stretches up the clear blue sky;

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Her form, her motion, undistinguish'd quite, Save when she wheels direct from shade to light: The flutt'ring songstress a mere speck became, Like fancy's floating bubbles in a dream; He sees her yet, but yielding to repose, Unwittingly his jaded eyelids close.

Delicious sleep! From sleep who could forbear, With no more guilt than _Giles_, and no more care?

Peace o'er his slumbers waves her guardian wing, Nor conscience once disturbs him with a sting; He wakes refresh'd from every trivial pain, And takes his pole and brushes round again.

Its dark-green hue, its sicklier tints all fail, And rip'ening harvest rustles in the gale.

A glorious sight, if glory dwells below, Where Heaven's munificence makes all the show, O'er every field and golden prospect found, That glads the ploughman's Sunday morning's round, When on some eminence he takes his stand, To judge the smiling produce of the land.

Here Vanity slinks back, her head to hide: What is there here to flatter human pride?

The tow'ring fabric, or the dome's loud roar, And stedfast columns, may astonish more, Where the charm'd gazer long delighted stays, Yet trac'd but to the _architect_ the praise; Whilst here, the veriest clown that treads the sod, Without one scruple gives the praise to G.o.d; And twofold joys possess his raptur'd mind, From grat.i.tude and admiration join'd.

Here, midst the boldest triumphs of her worth, NATURE herself invites the REAPERS forth; Dares the keen sickle from its twelvemonth's rest, And gives that ardour which in every breast From infancy to age alike appears, When the first sheaf its plumy top uprears.

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No rake takes here what Heaven to all bestows-- Children of want, for you the bounty flows!

And every cottage from the plenteous store Receives a burden nightly at its door.

Hark! where the sweeping scythe now rips along: Each st.u.r.dy Mower emulous and strong; Whose writhing form meridian heat defies, Bends o'er his work, and every sinew tries; Prostrates the waving treasure at his feet, But spares the rising clover, short and sweet.

Come, HEALTH! come, _Jollity!_ light-footed, come; Here hold your revels, and make this your home.

Each heart awaits and hails you as its own; Each moisten'd brow, that scorns to wear a frown: Th' unpeopled dwelling mourns its tenants stray'd; E'en the domestic laughing dairy maid Hies to the FIELD, the general toil to share.

Meanwhile the FARMER quits his elbow-chair, His cool brick-floor, his pitcher, and his ease, And braves the sultry beams, and gladly sees His gates thrown open, and his team abroad, The ready group attendant on his word, To turn the swarth, the quiv'ring load to rear, Or ply the busy rake, the land to clear.

Summer's light garb itself now c.u.mb'rous grown, Each his thin doublet in the shade throws down; Where oft the mastiff sculks with half-shut eye, And rouses at the stranger pa.s.sing by; Whilst unrestrain'd the social converse flows, And every breast Love's powerful impulse knows, And rival wits with more than rustic grace Confess the presence of a pretty face.

For, lo! encircled there, the lovely MAID, In youth's own bloom and native smiles array'd; Her hat awry, divested of her gown, Her creaking stays of leather, stout and brown;...

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Invidious barrier! why art thou so high, When the slight covering of her neck slips by, There half revealing to the eager sight Her full, ripe bosom, exquisitely white?

In many a local tale of harmless mirth, And many a jest of momentary birth, She bears a part, and as she stops to speak, Strokes back the ringlets from her glowing cheek.

Now noon gone by, and four declining hours, The weary limbs relax their boasted pow'rs; Thirst rages strong, the fainting spirits fail, And ask the sov'reign cordial, home-brew'd ale: Beneath some shelt'ring heap of yellow corn Rests the hoop'd keg, and friendly cooling horn, That mocks alike the goblet's brittle frame, Its costlier potions, and its n.o.bler name.

To _Mary_ first the br.i.m.m.i.n.g draught is given By toil made welcome as the dews of heaven, And never lip that press'd its homely edge Had kinder blessings or a heartier pledge.

Of wholesome viands here a banquet smiles, A common cheer for all;... e'en humble _Giles_, Who joys his trivial services to yield Amidst the fragrance of the open field; Oft doom'd in suffocating heat to bear The cobweb'd barn's impure and dusty air; To ride in murky state the panting steed, Destin'd aloft th' unloaded grain to tread, Where, in his path as heaps on heaps are thrown, He rears, and plunges the loose mountain down: Laborious task! with what delight when done Both horse and rider greet th' unclouded sun!

Yet by th' unclouded sun are hourly bred The bold a.s.sailants that surround thine head, Poor patient _Ball!_ and with insulting wing Roar in thine ears, and dart the piercing sting: In thy behalf the crest-wav'd boughs avail More than thy short-clipt remnant of a tail, A moving mockery, a useless name, A living proof of cruelty and shame.

Shame to the man, whatever fame he bore, Who took from thee what man can ne'er restore, Thy weapon of defence, thy chiefest good, When swarming flies contending suck thy blood.

Nor thine alone the suff'ring, thine the care, The fretful _Ewe_ bemoans an equal share; Tormented into sores, her head she hides, Or angry brushes from her new-shorn sides.

Pen'd in the yard, e'en now at closing day Unruly _Cows_ with mark'd impatience stay, And vainly striving to escape their foes, The pail kick down; a piteous current flows.

Is't not enough that plagues like these molest?

Must still another foe annoy their rest?

He comes, the pest and terror of the yard, His full-fledg'd progeny's imperious guard; The GANDER;... spiteful, insolent, and bold, At the colt's footlock takes his daring hold: There, serpent-like, escapes a dreadful blow; And straight attacks a poor defenceless cow: Each b.o.o.by goose th' unworthy strife enjoys, And hails his prowess with redoubled noise.

Then back he stalks, of self-importance full, Seizes the s.h.a.ggy foretop of the bull, Till whirl'd aloft he falls; a timely check, Enough to dislocate his worthless neck: For lo! of old, he boasts an honour'd wound; Behold that broken wing that trails the ground!

Thus fools and bravoes kindred pranks pursue; As savage quite, and oft as fatal too.

Happy the man that foils an envious elf, Using the darts of spleen to serve himself.

As when by turns the strolling _Swine_ engage The utmost efforts of the bully's rage, Whose nibbling warfare on the grunter's side Is welcome pleasure to his oristly hide; Gently he stoops, or strecht at ease along, Enjoys the insults of the gabbling throng, That march exulting round his fallen head, As human victors trample on their dead.

Still TWILIGHT, welcome! Rest, how sweet art thou!

Now eve o'erhangs the western cloud's thick brow: The far-stretch'd curtain of retiring light, With fiery treasures fraught; that on the sight Flash from its bulging sides, where darkness lours, In Fancy's eye, a chain of mould'ring tow'rs; Or craggy coasts just rising into view, Midst jav'lins dire, and darts of streaming blue.

Anon tir'd labourers bless their shelt'ring home, When MIDNIGHT, and the frightful TEMPEST come.

The Farmer wakes, and sees with silent dread The angry shafts of Heaven gleam round his bed; The bursting cloud reiterated roars, Shakes his straw roof, and jars his bolted doors: The slow-wing'd storm along the troubled skies Spreads its dark course; the wind begins to rise; And full-leaf'd elms, his dwelling's shade by day, With mimic thunder give its fury way: Sounds in his chimney top a doleful peal, Midst pouring rain, or gusts of rattling hail; With tenfold danger low the tempest bends, And quick and strong the sulph'urous flame descends: The fright'ned mastiff from his kennel flies, And cringes at the door with piteous cries....

Where now's the trifler? where the child of pride?

These are the moments when the heart is try'd!

Nor lives the man with conscience e'er so clear, But feels a solemn, reverential fear; Feels too a joy relieve his aching breast, When the spent storm hath howl'd itself to rest.

Still, welcome beats the long continued show'r, And sleep protracted, comes with double pow'r; Calm dreams of bliss bring on the morning sun, For every barn is fill'd, and HARVEST _done_!

Now, ere sweet SUMMER bids its long adieu, And winds blow keen where late the blossom grew, The bustling day and jovial night must come, The long accustom'd feast of HARVEST-HOME.

No blood-stain'd victory, in story bright, Can give the philosophic mind delight; No triumph please while rage and death destroy: Reflection sickens at the monstrous joy.

And where the joy, if rightly understood, Like cheerful praise for universal good?

The soul nor check nor doubtful anguish knows, But free and pure the grateful current flows.

Behold the sound oak table's ma.s.sy frame Bestride the kitchen floor! the careful dame And gen'rous host invite their friends around, While all that clear'd the crop, or till'd the ground, Are guests by right of custom:... old and young; And many a neighbouring yeoman join the throng, With artizans that lent their dext'rous aid, When o'er each field the flaming sun-beams play'd,--

Yet Plenty reigns, and from her boundless h.o.a.rd, Though not one jelly trembles on the board, Supplies the feast with all that sense can crave; With all that made our great forefathers brave, Ere the cloy'd palate countless flavours try'd, And cooks had Nature's judgment set aside.

With thanks to Heaven, and tales of rustic lore, The mansion echoes when the banquet's o'er; A wider circle spreads, and smiles abound, As quick the frothing horn performs its round; Care's mortal foe; that sprightly joys imparts To cheer the frame and elevate their hearts.

Here, fresh and brown, the hazel's produce lies In tempting heaps, and peals of laughter rise, And crackling Music, with the frequent _Song_, Unheeded bear the midnight hour along.

Here once a year Distinction low'rs its crest, The master, servant, and the merry guest, Are equal all; and round the happy ring The reaper's eyes exulting glances fling, And, warm'd with grat.i.tude, he quits his place, With sun-burnt hands and ale-enliven'd face, Refills the jug his honour'd host to tend, To serve at once the master and the friend; Proud thus to meet his smiles, to share his tale, His nuts, his conversation, and his ale.

Such were the days, ... of days long past I sing, When Pride gave place to mirth without a sting; Ere tyrant customs strength sufficient bore To violate the feelings of the poor; To leave them distanc'd in the mad'ning race, Where'er Refinement shews its hated face: Nor causeless hated;... 'tis the peasant's curse, That hourly makes his wretched station worse; Destroys life's intercourse; the social plan That rank to rank cements, as man to man: Wealth flows around him, fas.h.i.+on lordly reigns; Yet poverty is his, and mental pains.

Methinks I hear the mourner thus impart The stifled murmurs of his wounded heart: 'Whence comes this change, ungracious, irksome, cold?

'Whence the new grandeur that mine eyes behold?

'The wid'ning distance which I daily see, 'Has Wealth done this?... then wealth's a foe to me; 'Foe to our rights; that leaves a pow'rful few 'The paths of emulation to pursue:...

'For emulation stoops to us no more: 'The hope of humble industry is o'er; 'The blameless hope, the cheering sweet presage 'Of future comforts for declining age.

'Can my sons share from this paternal hand 'The profits with the labours of the land?

'No; tho' indulgent Heaven its blessing deigns, 'Where's the small farm to suit my scanty means?

'Content, the Poet sings, with us resides; 'In lonely cots like mine the damsel hides; 'And will he then in raptur'd visions tell 'That sweet Content with Want can ever dwell?

'A barley loaf, 'tis true, my table crowns, 'That fast diminis.h.i.+ng in l.u.s.ty rounds, 'Stops Nature's cravings; yet her sighs will flow 'From knowing this,... that once it was not so.

'Our annual feast, when Earth her plenty yields, 'When crown'd with boughs the last load quits the fields, 'The aspect still of ancient joy puts on; 'The aspect only, with the substance gone: 'The self-same Horn is still at our command, 'But serves none now but the plebeian hand: 'For _home-brew'd Ale_, neglected and debas'd, 'Is quite discarded from the realms of taste.

'Where unaffected Freedom charm'd the soul, 'The separate table and the costly bowl, 'Cool as the blast that checks the budding Spring, 'A mockery of gladness round them fling.

'For oft the Farmer, ere his heart approves, 'Yields up the custom which he dearly loves: 'Refinement forces on him like a tide; 'Bold innovations down its current ride, 'That bear no peace beneath their shewy dress, 'Nor add one t.i.ttle to his happiness.

'His guests selected; rank's punctilios known; 'What trouble waits upon a casual frown!

'Restraint's foul manacles his pleasures maim; 'Selected guests selected phrases claim: 'Nor reigns that joy when hand in hand they join 'That good old Master felt in shaking mine.

'HEAVEN bless his memory! bless his honour'd name!

'(The poor will speak his lasting worthy fame:) 'To souls fair-purpos'd strength and guidance give; 'In pity to us still let goodness live: 'Let labour have its due! my cot shall be 'From chilling want and guilty murmurs free: 'Let labour have its due;... then peace is mine, 'And never, never shall my heart repine.'