Harvest awakes the morning still And toils rude groups the valleys fill Deserted is each cottage hearth To all life save the crickets mirth Each burring wheel their sabbath meets Nor walks a gossip in the streets The bench beneath its eldern bough Lined oer with grass is empty now Where blackbirds caged from out the sun Could whistle while their mistress spun. All haunt the thronged fields still to share The harvests lingering bounty there As yet no meddling boys resort About the streets in idle sport The butterflye enjoys his hour And flirts unchaced from flower to flower And humming bees that morning calls From out the low huts mortar walls Which passing boy no more controuls Flye undisturbed about their holes And sparrows in glad chirpings meet Unpelted in the quiet street None but imprison`d childern now Are seen where dames with angry brow Threaten each younker to his seat That thro` the school door eyes the street Or from his horn book turns away To mourn for liberty and play Loud are the mornings early sounds That farm and cottage yard surrounds The creaking noise of opening gate And clanking pumps where boys await With idle motion to supply The thirst of cattle crowding bye The low of cows and bark of dogs And cackling hens and wineing hogs Swell high-while at the noise awoke Old goody seeks her milking cloak And hastens out to milk the cow And fill the troughs to feed the sow Or seeking old hens laid astray Or from young chickens drives away The circling kite that round them flyes Waiting the chance to seize the prize Hogs trye thro gates the street to gain And steal into the fields of grain From nights dull prison comes the duck Waddling eager thro the muck Squeezing thro the orchard pales Where mornings bounty rarely fails Eager gobbling as they pass Dew worms thro the padded grass Where blushing apples round and red Load down the boughs and pat the head Of longing maid that hither goes To hang on lines the drying cloaths Who views them oft with tempted eye And steals one as she passes bye Where the holly oak so tall Far oer tops the garden wall That latest blooms for bees provide Hived on stone benches close beside The bees their teazing music hum And threaten war to all that come Save the old dame whose jealous care Places a trapping bottle there Filled with mock sweets in whose disguise The honey loving hornet dies Upon the dovecoats mossy slates The piegons coo around their mates Where morns sunbeams early fall By the barn or stable wall Basking hens in playfull rout Flap the smoaking dust about In the barn hole sits the cat Watching within the thirsty rat Who oft at morn its dwelling leaves To drink the moisture from the eves The redbreast with his nimble eye Dare scarcely stop to catch the flye That tangled in the spiders snare Mourns in vain for freedom there The dog beside the threshold lyes Mocking sleep with half shut eyes With head crouched down upon his feet Till strangers pass his sunny seat Then quick he pricks his ears to hark And bustles up to growl and bark While boys in fear stop short their song And sneak on hurrys fears along And beggar creeping like a snail To make his hungry hopes prevail Oer the warm heart of charity Leaves his lame halt and hastens bye The maid afield now leaves the farm With brimming bottles on her arm Loitering unseen in narrow lane To be oertook by following swain Who happy thus her truth to prove Carrys the load and talks of love Full soon the harvest waggons sound Rumbling like thunder all around In ceasless speed the corn to load Hurrying down the dusty road While driving boy with eager eye Watches the church clock passing bye Whose gilt hands glitter in the sun To see how far the hours have run Right happly in the breathless day To see it wearing fast away Yet now and then a sudden shower Will bring to toil a resting hour When under sheltering shocks a crowd Of merry voices mingle loud Wearing the short lived boon along With vulgar tale and merry song Draining with leisures laughing eye Each welcome bubbling bottle drye Till peeping suns dry up the rain Then off they start to toil again Anon the fields are wearing clear And glad sounds hum in labours ear When childern halo `here they come And run to meet the harvest home Stuck thick with boughs and thronged with boys Who mingle loud a merry noise Glad that the harvests end is nigh And weary labour nearly bye Where when they meet the stack thronged yard Cross bunns or pence their shouts reward Then comes the harvest supper night Which rustics welcome with delight When merry game and tiresome tale And songs increasing with the ale Their mingled uproar interpose To crown the harvests happy close While rural mirth that there abides Laughs till she almost cracks her sides Now harvests busy hum declines And labour half its help resigns Boys glad at heart to play return The shepherds to their peace sojourn Rush-bosomed solitudes among Which busy toil disturbed so long The gossip happy all is oer Visits again her neighbours door For scandals idle tales to dwell Which harvest had no time to tell And on each bench at even tide Which trailing vine leaves nearly hide And free from all its sultry strife Enjoy once more their idle life A few whom waning toil reprieves Thread the forests sea of leaves Where the pheasant loves to hide And the darkest glooms abide Beneath the old oaks mossd and grey Whose shadows seem as old as they Where time hath many seasons won Since aught beneath them saw the sun. Within these brambly solitudes The ragged noisy boy intrudes To gather nuts that ripe and brown As soon as shook will patter down Thus harvest ends its busy reign And leaves the fields their peace again Where autumns shadows idly muse And tinge the trees with many hues Amid whose scenes I`m feign to dwell And sing of what I love so well But hollow winds and tumbling floods And humming showers and moaning woods All startle into sudden strife And wake a mighty lay to life Making amid their strains divine All songs in vain so mean as mineSourceThe script ran 0.002 seconds.
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