Harvest approaches with its bustling day The wheat tans brown and barley bleaches grey In yellow garb the oat land intervenes And tawney glooms the valley thronged with beans Silent the village grows, wood wandering dreams Seem not so lovely as its quiet seems Doors are shut up as on a winters day And not a child about them lies at play The dust that winnows neath the breezes feet Is all that stirs about the silent street Fancy might think that desert spreading fear Had whisperd terrors into quiets ear Or plundering armys past the place had come And drove the lost inhabitants from home The fields now claim them where a motley crew Of old and young their daily tasks pursue The barleys beard is grey and wheat is brown And wakens toil betimes to leave the town The reapers leave their beds before the sun And gleaners follow when home toils are done To pick the littered ear the reaper leaves And glean in open fields among the sheaves The ruddy child nursed in the lap of care In toils rude ways to do its little share Beside its mother poddles oer the land Sun burnt and stooping with a weary hand Picking its tiney glean of corn or wheat While crackling stubbles wound its legs and feet Full glad it often is to sit awhile Upon a smooth green baulk to ease its toil And feign would spend an idle hour to play With insects strangers to the moiling day Creeping about each rush and grassy stem And often wishes it was one of them In weariness of heart that it might lye Hid in the grass from the days burning eye That raises tender blisters on his skin Thro holes or openings that have lost a pin Free from the crackling stubs to toil and glean And smiles to think how happy it had been Whilst its expecting mother stops to tye Her handful up and waiting his supply Misses the resting younker from her side And shouts of rods and morts of threats beside Pointing to the grey willows while she tells His fears shall fetch one if he still rebells Picturing harsh truths in its unpracticed eye How they who idle in the harvest lye Shall well deserving in the winter pine Or hunt the hedges with the birds and swine In vain he wishes that the rushes height Were tall as trees to hide him from her sight Leaving his pleasant seat he sighs and rubs His legs and shows scratchd wounds from piercing stubs To make excuse for play but she disdains His little wounds and smiles while he complains And as he stoops adown in troubles sore She sees his grief and bids him sob no more As bye and bye on the next sabbath day She`ll give him well earned pence as well as play When he may buy almost with out a stint Sweet candied horehound cakes and pepper mint Or streaking sticks of lusious lolipop What ere he chuses from the tempting shop Wi in whose diamond winder shining lye Things of all sorts to tempt his eager eye Rich sugar plumbs in phials shining bright In every hue young fancys to delight Coaches and ladys of gilt ginger bread And downy plumbs and apples streaked with red Such promises all sorrows soon displace And smiles are instant kindled in his face Scorning all troubles which he felt before He picks the trailing ears and mourns no more The fields are all alive with busy noise Of labours sounds and insects humming joys Some oer the glittering sickle sweating stoop Startling full oft the partridge coveys up Some oer the rustling scythe go bending on And shockers follow where their toils have gone First turning swaths to wither in the sun Where mice from terrors dangers nimbly run Leaving their tender young in fears alarm Lapt up in nests of chimbled grasses warm And oft themselves for safty search in vain From the rude boy or churlish hearted swain Who beat their stone chinkd forks about the groun( And spread an instant murder all around Tho oft the anxious maidens tender prayer Urges the clown their little lives to spare Who sighs while trailing the long rake along At scenes so cruel and forgets her song And stays wi love his murder aiming hand Some ted the puffing winnow down the land And others following roll them up in heaps While cleanly as a barn door beesome sweeps The hawling drag wi gathering weeds entwind And singing rakers end the toils behind When the sun stoops to meet the western sky And noons hot hours have wanderd weary bye They seek an awthorn bush or willow tree Or stouk or shock where coolest shadows be Where baskets heapd and unbroachd bottles lye Which dogs in absence watchd with wary eye To catch their breath awhile and share the boon Which beavering time alows their toil at noon All gathering sit on stubbs or sheaves the hour Where scarlet poppys linger still in flower Stript in his shirt the hot swain drops adown And close beside him in her unpind gown Next to her favoured swain the maiden steals Blushing at kindness which her love reveals Who makes a seat for her of things around And drops beside her on the naked ground Wearied wi brambles catching at her gown And pulling nutts from branches pulld adown By friendly swain the maid Wi heaving breast Upon her lovers shoulder leans at rest Then from its cool retreat the beer they bring And hand the stout hooped bottle round the ring Each swain soaks hard-the maiden ere she sips Shrieks at the bold whasp settling on her lips That seems determined only hers to greet As if it fancied they were cherrys sweet So dog forgoes his sleep awhile or play Springing at frogs that rustling jump away To watch each morsel that the boon bestows And wait the bone or crumb the shepherd throws For shepherds are no more of ease possest But share the harvests labours with the rest When day declines and labour meets repose The bawling boy his evening journey goes At toils unwearied call the first and last He drives his horses to their nights repast In dewey close or meadow to sojourn And often ventures on his still return Oer garden pales or orchard walls to hie When sleeps safe key hath locked up dangers eye All but the mastiff watching in the dark Who snufts and knows him and forbears to bark With fearful haste he climbs each loaded tree And picks for prizes which the ripest be Pears plumbs or filberts covered oer in leams While the pale moon creeps high in peaceful dreams And oer his harvest theft in jealous light Fills empty shadows with the power to fright And owlet screaming as it bounces nigh That from some barn hole pops and hurries bye Scard at the cat upon her nightly watch For rats that come for dew upon the thatch He hears the noise and trembling to escape While every object grows a dismal shape Drops from the tree in fancys swiftest dread By ghosts pursued and scampers home to bed Quick tumbling oer the mossy mouldering wall And looses half his booty in the fall Where soon as ere the morning opes its eyes The restless hogs will happen on the prize And crump adown the mellow and the green And makes all seem as nothing ne`er had been Amid the broils of harvests weary reign How sweet the sabbath wakes its rest again For each weary mind what rapture dwells To hear once more its pleasant chiming bells That from each steeple peeping here and there Murmur a soothing lullaby to care The shepherd journying on his morning rounds Pauses awhile to hear their pleasing sounds While the glad childern free from toils employ Mimic the ding dong sounds and laugh for joy The fields themselves seem happy to be free Where insects chatter with unusual glee While solitude the stubbs and grass among Apears to muse and listen to the song In quiet peace awakes the welcomed morn Men tired and childern with their gleaning worn Weary and stiff lye round their doors the day To rest themselves with little heart for play No more keck horns in homestead close resounds As in their school boy days at hare and hounds Nor running oer the street from wall to wall With eager shouts at `cuck and catch the ball` In calm delight the sabbath wears along Yet round the cross at noon a tempted throng Of little younkers with their pence repair To buy the downy plumb and lucious pear That melt i` th mouth-which gardners never fail For gains strong impulse to expose for sale And on the circling cross steps in the sun Sit when the parson has his sermon done When grandams that against his rules rebell Come wi their baskets heapd wi fruit to sell That thither all the season did pursue Wi mellow goosberrys of every hue Green ruffs and raspberry reds and drops of gold That makes mouths water often to behold Sold out to clowns in totts oft deemd too small Who grudging much the price eat husks and all Nor leaves a fragment round to cheer the eye Of searching swine that murmurs hungry bye And currans red and white on cabbage leaves While childerns fingers itches to be thieves And black red cherrys shining to the sight As rich as brandy held before the light Now these are past he still as sunday comes Sits on the cross wi baskets heapd wi plumbs And Jenitens streakd apples suggar sweet Others spice scented ripening wi the wheat And pears that melt ith` mouth like honey which He oft declares to make their spirits itch They are so juicy ripe and better still So rich they een might suck em thro a quill Here at their leisure gather many a clown To talk of grain and news about the town And here the boy wi toils earnd penny comes In hurrying speed to purchase pears or plumbs And oer the basket hangs wi many a smile Wi hat in hand to hold his prize the while Not so the boys that begs for pence in vain Of deaf eard dames that threat while they complain Who talk of the good dinners they have eat And wanting more as nothing but consiet Vowing they ne`er shall throw good pence away So bids them off and be content wi play Reaching her rod that hangs the chimney oer And scaring their rude whinings to the door Who sob aloud and hang their hats adown To hide their tears and sawn along the town Venturing wi sullen step his basket nigh And often dipping a desiring eye Stone hearted dames thrifts errors to believe Who make their little bellys yearn to thieve But strong temptation must to fears resign For close beside the stocks in terror shine So choaking substitutes for loss of pelf He keeps his hungry fingers to himself And mopes and sits the sabbath hours away Wi heart too weary and too sad for play So sundays scenes and leisure passes bye In rests soft peace and home tranquillity Till monday morning doth its cares pursue And wakes the harvests busy toils anewSourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
The script ran 0.001 seconds.
