With upper stories-mutton, veal,
And bacon-which makes full the meal ;
With several dishes standing by,-
As here a custard, there a pie,
And here all-tempting frumenty.
And for to make the merry cheer,
If smirking wine be wanting here,
There's that which drowns all care-stout beer;
Which freely drink to your lord's health,
Then to the plough, the commonwealth ;
Next to your flails, your fanes, your fats;
Then to the maids with wheaten hats.
To the rough sickle, and crook'd scythe,
Drink, frolic boys, till all be blithe.
Feed and grow fat; and as ye eat,
Be mindful that the labouring neat,
As you, may have their full of meat;
And know besides, ye must revoke
The patient ox unto the yoke,
And all go back unto the plough
And harrow, though they're hang'd up now.
And you must know your lord's words true-
Feed him ye must whose food fills you;
And that this pleasure is like rain,
Not sent ye for to drown your pain,
But for to make it spring again.
AROUND th' adjoining brook, that purls along The vocal grove, now fretting o'er a rock, Now scarcely moving through a reedy pool, Now starting to a sudden stream, and now
Gently diffused into a limpid plain,
A various group the herds and flocks compose,
Rural confusion! On the grassy bank
Some ruminating lie; while others stand
Half in the flood, and often bending sip
The circling surface. In the middle droops
The strong laborious ox, of honest front,
Which incomposed he shakes; and from his sides
The troublous insects lashes with his tail,
Returning still. Amid his subjects safe,
Slumbers the monarch-swain, his careless arm
Thrown round his head; on downy moss sustain'd :
Here laid his scrip, with wholesome viands fill'd;
There, listening every noise, his watchful dog.
O'ER the heath the heifer strays
Free;-(the furrow'd task is done)-
Now the village windows blaze,
Burnish'd by the setting sun.
Now he sets behind the hill,
Sinking from a golden sky;
Can the pencil's mimic skill
Copy the refulgent dye?
Trudging as the ploughmen go
(To the smoking hamlet bound), Giant-like their shadows grow,
Lengthening o'er the level ground.
Where the rising forest spreads
Shelter for the lordly dome,
To their high-built airy beds
See the rooks returning home.
As the lark with varied tune
Carols to the evening loud,
Mark the mild resplendent moon
Breaking through a parted cloud!
Now the hermit owlet peeps
From the barn or twisted brake; And the blue mist slowly creeps, Curling on the silver lake.
As the trout, in speckled pride,
Playful from its bosom springs
To the banks a ruffled tide
Verges in successive rings.
Tripping through the silken grass,
O'er the path-divided dale,
Mark the rose-complexion'd lass
With her well-poised milking-pail.
Linnets with unnumber'd notes,
And the cuckoo bird with two, Tuning sweet their mellow throats, Bid the setting sun adieu.
How beautiful this Night! The balmiest sigh
Which vernal zephyrs breathe in Evening's ear,
Were discord to the speaking quietude
That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault,
Studded with stars unutterably bright,
Through which the Moon's unclouded grandeur rolls,
Seems like a canopy which Love had spread
To curtain her sleeping world. Yon gentle hills,
Robed in a garment of untrodden snow;
Yon darksome walls, whence icicles depend
So stainless, that their white and glittering spears Tinge not the Moon's pure beam; yon castled steep, Whose banner hangeth o'er the time-worn tower
So idly, that wrapt Fancy deemeth it
A metaphor of Peace,-all form a scene
Where musing Solitude might love to lift
Her soul above this sphere of earthliness;
Where Silence undisturb'd might watch alone,
So cold, so bright, so still.
THE moon is up in splendour,
And golden stars attend her ;
The heavens are calm and bright;
Trees cast a deepening shadow,
And slowly off the meadow
A mist is rising silver-white.
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