Fixing a steady eye, maintain their speed; And spin--and pant- and overhead again, Wild Pursuivants! until their breath is lost, Or bounty tires and every face that smiled Encouragement, hath ceased to look that way.
But, like the Vagrants of the Gipsey tribe, These, bred to little pleasure in themselves, Are profitless to others. Turn we then
To Britons born and bred within the pale Of civil polity, and early trained
To earn, by wholesome labor in the field, The bread they eat. A sample should I give
Of what this stock produces to enrich
The tender age of life, ye would exclaim,
'Is this the whistling Plough-boy whose shrill notes Impart new gladness to the morning air?' Forgive me if I venture to suspect
That many, sweet to hear of in soft verse, Are of no finer frame: his joints are stiff; Beneath a cumbrous frock, that to the knees Invests the thriving Churl, his legs appear, Fellows to those that lustily upheld
The wooden stools for everlasting use,
Whereon our Fathers sate. And mark his brow!
Under whose shaggy canopy are set
Two eyes, not dim, but of a healthy stare;
Wide, sluggish, blank, and ignorant, and strange; Proclaiming boldly that they never drew A look or motion of intelligence
From infant conning of the Christ-cross-row, Or puzzling through a Primer, line by line, Till perfect mastery crown the pains at last.
What kindly warmth from touch of fostering hand.
What penetrating power of sun or breeze,
Shall e'er dissolve the crust wherein his soul
Sleeps, like a caterpillar, sheathed in ice? This torpor is no pitiable work
Of modern ingenuity; no Town
Nor crowded City may be taxed with aught Of sottish vice or desperate breach of law, To which in after years he may be roused.
- This Boy the Fields produce: his spade and hoe - The Carter's whip that on his shoulder rests In air high-towering with a boorish pomp, The sceptre of his sway; his Country's name, Her equal rights, her churches, and her schools What have they done for him? And, let me ask, For tens of thousands uninformed as he? In brief, what liberty of mind is here ?"
This ardent sally pleased the mild good Man, To whom the appeal couched in its closing words Was pointedly addressed; and to the thoughts That, in assent or opposition, rose
Within his mind, he seemed prepared to give Prompt utterance; but, rising from our seat, The hospitable Vicar interposed
With invitation urgently renewed.
We followed, taking as he led, a Path Along a hedge of hollies, dark and tall, Whose flexile boughs, descending with a weight
Of leafy spray, concealed the stems and roots
That gave them nourishment. When frosty winds Howl from the north, what kindly warmth, methought,
Is here, how grateful this impervious screen!
Not shaped by simple wearing of the foot
On rural business passing to and fro,
Was the commodious Walk; a careful hand
Had marked the line, and strewn the surface o'er
With pure cerulean gravel, from the heights
Fetched by the neighboring brook. Across the Vale The stately Fence accompanied our steps;
And thus the Pathway, by perennial green
Guarded and graced, seemed fashioned to unite, As by a beautiful yet solemn chain,
The Pastor's Mansion with the House of Prayer.
Like Image of solemnity, conjoined With feminine allurement soft and fair,
The Mansion's self displayed; a reverend Pile With bold projections and recesses deep; Shadowy, yet gay and lightsome as it stood Fronting the noontide Sun. We paused to admire The pillared Porch, elaborately embossed; The low wide windows with their mullions old; The cornice richly fretted, of gray stone;
And that smooth slope from which the Dwelling rose By beds and banks Arcadian of gay flowers And flowering shrubs, protected and adorned; Profusion bright! and every flower assuming A mere than natural vividness of hue, From unaffected contrast with the gloom Of sober cypress, and the darker foil Of yew, in which survived some traces, here Not unbecoming, of grotesque device And uncouth fancy. From behind the roof Rose the slim ash and massy sycamore, Blending their diverse foliage with the green Of ivy, flourishing and thick, that clasped The huge round chimneys, harbor of delight For wren and redbreast, where they sit and sing Their slender ditties when the trees are bare. Nor must I leave untouched (the picture else Were incomplete) a relique of old times Happily spared, a little Gothic niche
Of nicest workmanship; that once had held The sculptured Image of some Pation Saint, Or of the Blessed Virgin, looking down On all who entered those religious doors But lo! where from the rocky garden Mount Crowned by its antique summer-house - descends, Light as the silver fawn, a radiant Girl;
For she hath recognized her honored Friend, The Wanderer ever welcome! A prompt kiss The gladsome Child bestows at his request; And, up the flowery lawn as we advanced, Hangs on the Old Man with a happy look, And with a pretty restless hand of love.
We enter by the Lady of the Place Cordially greeted. Graceful was her port: A lofty stature undepressed by Time, Whose visitation had not wholly spared
The finer lineaments of form and face;
To that complexion brought which prudence trusts in And wisdom loves. But when a stately Ship Sails in smooth weather by the placid coast On homeward voyage, what — if wind and wave And hardship undergone in various climes, Have caused her to abate the virgin pride, And that full trim of inexperienced hope With which she left her haven not for this, Should the sun strike her, and the impartial breeze Play on her streamers, fails she to assume Brightness and touching beauty of her own, That charm all eyes. So bright, so fair, appeared This goodly Matron, shining in the beams Of unexpected pleasure. Soon the board Was spread, and we partook a plain repast.
Here, resting in cool shelter, we beguiled
The mid-day hours with desultory talk; From trivial themes to general argument Passing, as accident or fancy led,
Or courtesy prescribed. While question rose And answer flowed, the fetters of reserve Dropping from every mind, the Solitary Resumed the manners of his happier days; And, in the various conversation, bore A willing, nay, at times, a forward part; Yet with the grace of one who in the world Had learned the art of pleasing, and had now Occasion given him to display his skill, Upon the steadfast vantage ground of truth. He gazed with admiration unsuppressed Upon the landscape of the sun-bright vale, Seen, from the shady room in which we sate, In softened perspective; and more than once Praised the consummate harmony serene
Of gravity and elegance diffused Around the Mansion and its whole domain; Not, doubtless, without help of female taste And female care "A blessed lot is yours! The words escaped his lip with a tender sigh Breathed over them;. but suddenly the door Flew open, and a pair of lusty Boys Appeared confusion checking their delight. Not Brothers they in feature or attire, But fond Companions, so I guessed, in field, And by the river's margin - whence they come, Anglers elated with unusual spoil. One bears a willow-pannier on his back, The Boy of plainer garb, whose blush survives More deeply tinged. Twin might the other be To that fair Girl who from the garden Mount Bounded triumphant entry this for him!
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