Daughter of pastoral smells and sights And sultry days and dewy nights July resumes her yearly place Wi her milking maiden face Ruddy and tand yet sweet to view When everywhere`s a vale of dew And raps it round her looks that smiles A lovly rest to daily toils Wi last months closing scenes and dins Her sultry beaming birth begins Hay makers still in grounds appear And some are thinning nearly clear Save oddly lingering shocks about Which the tithman counteth out Sticking their green boughs where they go The parsons yearly claims to know Which farmers view wi grudging eye And grumbling drive their waggons bye In hedge bound close and meadow plains Stript groups of busy bustling swains From all her hants wi noises rude Drives to the wood lands solitude That seeks a spot unmarkd wi paths Far from the close and meadow swaths Wi smutty song and story gay They cart the witherd smelling hay Boys loading on the waggon stand And men below wi sturdy hand Heave up the shocks on lathy prong While horse boys lead the team along And maidens drag the rake behind Wi light dress shaping to the wind And trembling locks of curly hair And snow white bosoms nearly bare That charms ones sight amid the hay Like lingering blossoms of the may From clowns rude jokes they often turn And oft their cheeks wi blushes burn From talk which to escape a sneer They oft affect as not to hear Some in the nooks about the ground Pile up the stacks swelld bellying round The milking cattles winter fare That in the snow are fodderd there Warm spots wi black thorn thickets lind And trees to brake the northern wind While masters oft the sultry hours Will urge their speed and talk of showers When boy from home trotts to the stack Wi dinner upon dobbins back And bottles to the saddle tyd Or ballancd upon either side A horse thats past his toiling day Yet still a favorite in his way That trotts on errands up and down The fields and too and fro from town Long ere his presence comes in sight Boys listen wi heart felt delight And know his footsteps down the road Hastening wi the dinner load Then they seek in close or meadows High hedgerows wi grey willow shadows To hide beneath from sultry noon And rest them at their dinner boon Where helping shepherd for the lass Will seek a hillock on the grass The thickset hedge or stack beside Where teazing pismires ne`er abide And when tis found down drops the maid Proud wi the kind attention paid And still the swain wi notice due Waits on her all the dinner through And fills her horn which she tho dry In shoyness often pushes bye While he will urge wi many a smile It as a strength to help her toil And in her hand will oft contrive From out his pocket pulld to slive Stole fruit when no one turns his eve To wet her mouth when shes adry Offerd when she refuses ale Noons sultry labour to regale Teazd wi the countless multitude Of flyes that every where intrude While boys wi boughs will often try To beat them from them as they lye Who find their labour all in vain And soon as scard they swarm again Thus while each swain and boy and lass Sit at their dinner on the grass The teams wi gears thrown on their backs Stand pulling at the shocks or racks Switching their tails and turning round To knap the gadflys teazing wound While dob that brought the dinners load Too tricky to be turnd abroad Needing the scuttle shook wi grain To coax him to be caught again Is to a tree at tether tyd Ready for boy to mount and ride Nipping the grass about his pound And stamping battering hooves around Soon as each ground is clear of hay The shepherd whoops his flocks away From fallow fields to plentys scenes Shining as smooth as bowling greens But scard wi clipping tides alarms They bleat about the close in swarms And hide neath hedges in the cool Still panting tho wi out their whool Markd wi the tard brands lasting dye And make a restless hue and cry Answering the lambs that call again And for their old dams seek in vain Running mid the stranger throng And ever meeting wi the wrong Fiegn wi some old yoe to abide Who smells and tosses them aside And some as if they know its face Will meet a lamb wi mended pace But proving hopes indulgd in vain They turn around and blair again Till weand from memory half forgot They spread and feed and notice not Save now and then to lambs shrill crys Odd yoes in hoarser tone replys Still may be seen the mowing swain On balks between the fields of grain Who often stops his thirst to ease To pick the juicy pods of pease And oft as chances bring to pass Stoops oer his scythe stuck in the grass To seek the brimming honey comb Which bees so long were toiling home And rifld from so many flowers And carried thro so many hours He tears their small hives mossy ball Where the brown labourers hurded all Who gather homward one by one And see their nest and honey gone Humming around his rushing toil Their mellancholly wrongs awhile Then oer the sweltering swaths they stray And hum disconsolate away And oft neath hedges cooler screen Where meadow sorrel lingers green Calld `sour grass` by the knowing clown The mower gladly chews it down And slakes his thirst the best he may When singing brooks are far away And his hoopd bottle woeful tale Is emptied of its cheering ale That lulld him in unconsious sleep At dinners hour beneath a heap Of grass or bush or edding shock Till startld by the country clock That told the hours his toil had lost Who coud but spare an hour at most And wearing past the setting sun He stays to get his labour done The gipsey down the meadow brook Wi long pole and reaping hook Tyd at its end amid the streams That glitters wi the hot sunbeams Reachs and cuts the bulrush down And hawks them round each neighboring town Packd at his back or tyd in loads On asses down the dusty roads He jogs and shouts from door to door His well known note of calling oer Offering to huswives cheap repairs Mending their broken bottomd chairs Wi step half walk half dance, and eye Ready to smile on passers bye Wi load well suiting weather warm Tuckd carlessly beneath his arm Or peeping coat and side between In woolen bag of faded green Half conseald and half displayd A purpose tell tale to his trade The gipsey fiddler jogs away To village feast and holiday Scraping in public house to trye What beer his music will supply From clowns who happy wi the din Dance their hand naild hilos thin Along the roads in passing crowds Followd by dust like smoaking clouds Scotch droves of beast a little breed In swelterd weary mood proceed A patient race from scottish hills To fatten by our pasture rills Lean wi the wants of mountain soil But short and stout for travels toil Wi cockd up horns and curling crown And dewlap bosom hanging down Followd by slowly pacing swains Wild to our rushy flats and plains At whom the shepherds dog will rise And shake himself and in supprise Draw back and waffle in affright Barking the traveller out of sight And mowers oer their scythes will bear Upon their uncooth dress to stare And shepherds as they trample bye Leaves oer their hooks a wondering eye To witness men so oddly clad In petticoats of banded plad Wi blankets oer their shoulders slung To camp at night the fields among When they for rest on commons stop And blue cap like a stocking top Cockt oer their faces summer brown Wi scarlet tazzeles on the crown Rude patterns of the thistle flower Untrickd and open to the shower And honest faces fresh and free That breath of mountain liberty The pindar on the sabbath day Soon as the darkness waxes grey Before one sun beam oer the ground Spindles its light and shadow round Goes round the fields at early morn To see what stock are in the corn To see what chances sheep may win Thro gaps the gipsey pilfers thin Or if theyve forcd a restless way By rubbing at a loosend tray Or nuzling colt that trys to catch A gate at night left off the latch By traveller seeking home in haste Or the clown by fareys chas`d That listning while he makes a stand Opens each gate wi fearful hand And dreads a minute to remain To put it on the latch again And cows who often wi their horns Toss from the gaps the stuffing thorns These like a fox upon the watch He in the morning trycs to catch And drives them to the pound for pay Carless about the sabbath day Soon as the morning wakens red The shepherd startles from his bed And rocks afield his moving pace While folded sheep will know his face Rising as he appears in sight To shake their coats as in delight His shadow stalking stride for stride Stretches a jiant by his side Long as a tree without a top And oft it urges him to stop Both in his journey and his song And wonders why it seems so long And bye and bye as morning dies Shrinks to an unbrichd boy in size Then as the evening gathers blue Grows to a jiants length anew Puzzld the more he stops to pause His wisdom vainly seeks the cause Again his journey he pursues Lengthening his track along the dews And his dog that turnd to pick From his sides the sucking tick Insects that on cattle creep And bites the labourer laid asleep Pricks up his ears to see twas gone Ana shakes his hide and hastens on And the while the shepherd stayd Trailing a track the hare had made Bolts thro the creeping hedge again And hurring follows wi the swain The singing shouting herding boys Follows again their wild employs And ere the sun puts half his head From out his crimson pillowd bed And bawls behind his cows again That one by one lobs down the lane Wi wild weeds in his hat anew The summer sorts of every hue And twigs of leaves that please his eye To his old haunts he hallows bye Wi dog that loiters bv his side Or trotts before wi nimble stridc That waits till bid to bark and run And panteth from the dreaded sun And oft amid the sunny day Will join a partner in his play And in his antic tricks and glee Will prove as fond of sport as he And by the flag pool summer warm He`ll watch the motions of his arm That holds a stick or stone to throw In the sun gilded flood below And head oer ears he danses in Nor fears to wet his curly skin The boys field cudgel to restore And brings it in his mouth ashore And eager as for crust or bone He`ll run to catch the pelted stone Till wearied out he shakes his hide And drops his tail and sneaks aside Unheeding whistles shouts and calls To take a rest where thickly falls The rush clumps shadows there he lyes Licking his skin and catching flyes Or picking tween his stretching feet The bone he had not time to eat Before when wi the teazing boy He was so throngd wi plays employ Noon gathers wi its blistering breath Around and day dyes still as death The breeze is stopt the lazy bough Hath not a leaf that dances now The totter grass upon the hill And spiders threads is hanging still The feathers dropt from morehens wings Upon the waters surface clings As stedfast and as heavy seem As stones beneath them in the stream Hawkweed and groundsels fairey downs Unruffld keep their seeding crowns And in the oven heated air Not one light thing is floating there Save that to the earnest eye The restless heat swims twittering bye The swine run restless down the street Anxious some pond or ditch to meet From days hot swoonings to retire Wallowing in the weeds and mire The linnets seek the twiggs that lye Close to the brook and brig stones drye At top and sit and dip their bills Till they have drunk their little fills Then flurt their wings and wet their feathers To cool them in the blazing weathers Dashing the water oer their heads Then high them to some cooling sheds Where dark wood glooms about the plain To pick their feathers smooth again The young quick`s branches seem as dead And scorch from yellow into red Ere autumn hath its pencil taen Their shades in different hues to stain Following behind the crawling ploughs Whiping oft their sweating brows The boys lead horses yokd in pairs To jumping harrows linkd that tears And teazes the hard clods to dust Placing for showers in hopes their trust The farmer follows sprinkling round Wi turnip seed the panting ground Providing food for beast and sheep When winters snows are falling deep Oft proving hopes and wishes vain While clouds disperse that promisd rain When soon as ere the turnip creeps From out the crust burnt soil and peeps Upon the farmers watching eye Tis eaten by the jumping flye And eager neath the midday sun Soon as each plough teams toil is done Scarse waiting till the gears are taen From off their backs by boy and swain From hayfilld racks they turn away Nor in the stable care to stay Hurr[y]ing to the trough to drink Or from the yard ponds muddy brink Rush in and wi long winded soak Drink till theyre almost fit to choak And from the horsbees teazing din Thrust deep their burning noses in Almost above their greedy eyes To cool their mouths and shun the flyes Deaf to the noise the geese will make That grudge the worthy share they take Boys now neath green lanes meeting bough Each noons half holiday from plough Take out their hungry teams till night That nipp the grass wi eager bite Wi long tails switching never still They lounge neath trees when eat their fill And stamp and switch till closing day Brushing the teazing flyes away Endless labour all in vain That start in crowds to turn again When the sun is sinking down And dyes more deep the shadows brown And gradual into slumber glooms How sweet the village evening comes To weary hinds from toil releasd And panting sheep and torturd beast The shepherd long wi heat opprest Betakes him to his cottage rest And his tird dog that plods along Wi panting breath and lolling tongue Runs eager as the brook appears And dashes in head over ears Startling reed sparrow broods to fiye That in the reed woods slumberd nigh And water rotts in haste to hide Nibbling the sedges close beside Lapping while he floats about To quench his thirst then drabbles out And shakes his coat and like the swain Is happy night is come again The beast that to the pond did creep And rushd in water belly deep The gad flyes threatning hums to shun And horse bee darting in the sun Lashing their tails the while they stood And sprinkling thick their sides wi mud Snuff the cool air now day is gone And linger slow and idly on To the pebbly fore to drink And drop and rest upon its brink Ruminating on their beds Calm as the sky above their heads The horse whose mouth is seldom still Is up and cropping at his will The moisting grass unteazd and free In summer eves serenity Uncheckt by flyes he grazes on Right happy that the day is gone Ne`er leaving off to turn around His stooping head to knap the wound And tail that switchd his sides all day Is quiet now the suns away The cowboys as their herd plod on Before them homward one by one Grows happy as their toil grows short And full of fancys restless sport Oft starts along wi sinking day Acting proud their soldier play Wi peeld bark sash around each waist And rush caps oer each beaver placd Stuck wi a headaches red cockade And wooden swords and sticks displayd For flags-thus march the evening troop While soon one strikes a whistle up And others wi their dinner tins The evenings falling quiet dins Patting wi hollow sounding tums And imitating pipes and drums Calling their cows that plod before Their army marching from the moor And thus they act till met the town Carless of laughs from passing clown Even their dogs too tird for play Loiter on their evening way Oft rolling on the damping grass Or stopping wi the milking lass Waiting a chance the ways conseal A mouth full from her pails to steal Dropping down to pick a bone The hedger from his wallets thrown Or found upon some greensward platt Where hayfolks at their dinner sat Sweet the cows breath down the lane Steaming the fragrance of the plain As home they rock and bawling wait Till boys run to unloose the gate And from their milksheds all adry Turn to the pump wi anxious eye Where shoud the maids wi boys repair To fill the dashing bucket there They hurry spite of threatning clown And kick the milkers bucket down And horses oft wi eager stoop Will bend adown to steal a sup Watching a moments chance to win And dip their eager noses in As by they pass or set it down To rest or chatter to a clown And knats wi their small slender noise Bother too the troubld boys And teaze the cows that while she chides Will kick and turn to lick their sides And like so many hanting sprites Will bite and weal the maid anights Who dreams of love and sleeps so sound As ne`er to feel each little wound Till waken by the morning sun She wonders at the injury done Thinking in fears simplicity That faireys dreaded mistery On her white bosom in the dark Had been and left each blisterd mark The fox begins his stunt odd bark Down in its dew bed drops the lark And on the heath amid the gorse The night hawk stints the feeding horse That pricks his ear wi startling eye And snorts to hear its trembling crye The owlet leaves his ivy tree Into its hive slow sails the bee The mower seeks his cloaths and hides His scythe home bent wi weary strides And oer his shoulder swings his bag Bearing in hand his empty cag Hay makers on their homward way Into the fields will often stray Among the grain when no one sees Nestle and fill their laps wi peas Sheep scard wi tweenlight doubting eye Leap the path and canter bye Nipping wi moment stoops the plain And turning quick to gaze again Till silence upon eve awaits And milkmaids cease to clap the gates And homward to the town are gone Wi whispering sweethearts chatting on And shepherds homward tracks are past And dogs rude barks are still at last Then down they drop as suits their wills Or nips the thyme on pismire hills Where nought is seen but timid hares That nights sweet welcome gladly shares And shadows stooping as they stoop Beside them when the moon gets up Reviving wi the ruddy moon The nightingale resumes his tune What time the horsboy drives away His loose teams from the toils of day To crop the closes dewy blade Where the hay stacks fencd and made Or on the commons bushy plain To rest till the sun comes again Whistling and bawling loud and long The burthen of some drawling song That grows more loud as eve grows late Yet when he opes the clapping gate He cant help turning in his joys To look if his fear damping noise Has raisd a mischief in the wind And wakd a ghost to stalk behind And when hes turnd them safe aground And hookd the chain the gate around Wi quicker speed he homward sings And leaves them in the mushroom rings Wi the dewdrunk dancing elves To eat or rest as suits themselves And as he hastes from labour done An owlets whoop een makes him run And bats shill flickerings bobbing near Turns his heart blood cold wi fear And when at home wi partner ralph He hugs himself to think hes safe And tells his tale while others smile Of all he thought and feard the while The black house bee hath ceasd to sing And white nosd one wi out a sting That boys will catch devoid of dread Are in their little holes abed And martins neath the mossey eves Oft startld at the sparrow thieves That in their house will often peep Breaking their little weary sleep And oft succeed when left alone In making their clay huts their own Where the cock sparrow on the scout Watches and keeps the owner out The geese have left the home close moats And at the yard gate clean their coats Or neath their feathers tuck their heads Asleep till driven to their sheds The pigeon droves in whisking flight Hurrying to their coats ere night In coveys round the village meet And in the dove coat holes retreat Nor more about the wheaten grounds The bird boys bell and clapper sounds Retiring wi the setting sun His toil and shout and song is done The shrill bat wi its flitting mate Starts thro the church vaults iron grate Deaths daily visitors and all He meets save slanting suns that fall At eve as if they lovd to shed Their daily memory oer the dead Hodge neath the climbing elms that drop Their branches oer a dove coat top Hath milkd his cows and taken in On yokes the reeking pales or tin And been across the straw to chain The hen roost wicket safe again And done his yard rounds hunting eggs And taen his hat from off the peggs To scamper to the circling cross To have a game at pitch and toss And day boy hath his supper got Of milk before twas hardly hot Eager from toil to get away And join the boys at taw to play Neath black smiths cinder litterd shed Till the hour to go to bed Old gossips on the greensward bench Sit where the hombound milking wench Will set her buckets down to rest And be awhile their evening guest To whom their box is held while she Takes the smallest nips that be That soon as snift begins to teaze And makes her turn away to sneeze While old dames say the sign is plain That she will dream about her swain And toss the cloaths from off her bed And cautions her of roguish ned Holding their hands agen their hips To laugh as up she starts and trip In quickend speed along the town Bidding good night to passing clown From the black smiths shop the swain Jogs wi ploughshares laid again And drops them by the stable shed Where gears on pegs hang over head Ready for driving boys to take On fore horse when their toils awake The kitchen wench wi face red hot As blazing fire neath supper pot Hath cleand her pails and pansions all And set them leaning by the wall And twirld her whool mop clean again And hung it on the pales to drain Now by the maids requesting smile The shepherd mounts the wood stack pile Reard high against the orchard pales And cause of thorns she oft bewails Prickd hands and holes in sunday gown He throws the smoothest faggot down And hawls it in at her desire Ready for the kitching fire Beneath the elderns village shade Oer her well curb leans the maid To draw the brimming bucket up While passing boy to beg a sup Will stop his roll or rocking cart And the maidens gentle heart Gives ready leave-the eager clown Throws off his hat and stoops adown Soaking his fill then hastens on To catch his team already gone Eager from toil to get release And in the hay field feed at peace The weary thresher leaves his barn And emptys from his shoes the corn That gatherd in them thro the day And homward bends his weary way The gardener he is sprinkling showers From watering pans on drooping flowers And set away his hoe and spade While goody neath the cottage shade Sits wi a baskett tween her knees Ready for supper shelling peas And cobler chatting in the town Hath put his window shutter down And the knowing parish clerk Feign to do his jobs ere dark ilath timd the church clock to the sun And wound it up for night and done And turud the hugh kev in the door Chatting his evening story oer Up the street the servant maid Runs wi her errands long delayd And ere the door she enters in She stops to right a loosend pin And smooth wi hasty fingers down The crumpling creases in her gown Which Rogers oggles rudly made For may games forfeit never paid And seizd a kiss against her will While playing quoits upon the hill Wi other shepherds laughing nigh That made her shoy and hurry bye The blacksmiths gangling toil is oer And shut his hot shops branded door Folding up his arms to start And take at ease his evening quart And farmer giles his business done Wi face a very setting sun Jogging home on dobbins back From helping at the clover stack The horse knows well nor trys to pass The door where for his custom glass He nightly from the saddle jumps To slake his thirst or cheer the dumps Leaving old dob his breath to catch Wi bridle hanging at the latch The shepherd too will often spare A sixpence to be merry there While the dog that trackd his feet Adown the dusty printed street Lies as one weary loath to roam Agen the door to wait him home While the taylors long day thirst Is still unquenchd tho fit to burst Whose been at truants merry play From sheers and bodkin all the day Still soaks the tankard reeling ripe And scarce can stoop to light his pipe The labourer sitting by his door Happy that the day is oer Is stooping downwards to unloose His leathern baffles or his shoes Making ready for his rest Quickly to be the pillows guest While on mothers lap wi in The childern each their prayers begin That taen from play are loath to go And looking round repeating slow Each prayer they stammer in delay To gain from bed a longer stay Goody hath set her spinning bye Deafend by her chattering pye That calls her up wi hungry rage To put his supper in the cage That done she sought a neighbours door A minutes time to gossip oer And neath her apron now tis night Huddles for home, her candle light Hid from the wind-to burn an hour As clouds wi threatend thunder lower The mastiff from his kennel free Is now unchaind at liberty In readiness to put to rout The thieves that night may bring about Thus evening deepning to a close Leaves toil and nature to reposeSourceThe script ran 0.011 seconds.
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