Classic Poem

XLI.

But brighter days approach — the joyous sun,
From the gay chambers of the cloudless sky,
Looks out with light and life. Her mantle dun,
Rejoicing earth for living green lays by.
And sweet the early flower, of loveliest dye,
Blooms, odour-breathing, on the sunward slope;
Soft wing'd abroad the westling breezes fly,
With genial dew mild Eve begins to drop,
And trees, and flowers, and fields put forth the buds of hope.

XLII.

'Tis now that pleasure waits upon the Plough,
High Heaven resounds the lark's wild melody,
And the bland air gives out the living glow
Active with life and fervid energy.
The leaves as yet but scantly clothe the tree,
The fields but scantly yield the honey'd flower;
But, on the clustering palms, the busy bee,
With eident hum, employs the sunny hour,
To heap his hoarded bread, or swell his waxen store.

XLIII.

Forth, to the joyous labours of the field,
The household hasten at the master's call;
Some bear the precious seed, some patient wield
The needful spade, some beat the furrow small
And light of heart, good humour smiles on all;
The soil, the season, and the labour new,
For very joy the children noisy brawl,
And still their ardour bursts afresh, to view
The dogs from field to field the pilfering rooks pursue.

XLIV.

And soon approaching gladsome, jolly May,
With the full flush of buds, and leaves, and flowers,
And the full choir of woodland music gay,
From morn to even with rapture fills the hours.
And lovely June, with dews and genial showers,
Refresh'd the grandeur of her gay costume,
Sportive, within her ivy mantled bowers,
With honeysuckles bursting into bloom,
And clustering roses hid, breathes out her rath perfume.

XLV.

July behind, all blowz'd with native heat,
Half breathless paces slow th' umbrageous shade,
And scatters wide the cooling berry sweet,
Of deepest blue, or blushing purply red,
And in her breath matured, with heavy head,
Earthward the wheat, full ear'd, begins to tend,
While to the orchard fair, with fruitage spread,
A yellow tinge her touch begins to lend,
And bow'd by slow degrees the laden branches bend.

XLVI.

August at length, in robes of purple dye,
Most gorgeous over moor and mountain glides,
And plenty flows, responsive to her sigh,
Wide o'er the yellow vale in wavy tides.
And while in clouds her portly form she hides,
Or rushes hollow through the forest sear,
With prudent care the husbandman provides,
To save the precious products of the year,
The solace of his toils, his hopes for winter drear.

XLVII.

September comes, with dogs and thundering guns,
Re-echoing to the ardent sportsman's noise,
And keen through all her fervid spirit runs
Resuscitating Spring's delightful joys.
The skies are clear, and no dark thought destroys
Creation's joy with views of future pain;
The merle once more her mellow pipe employs,
The lark to Heaven's gate bears her song again,
And sweet the linnet swells the reaper's joyous strain.

XLVIII.

Till pale October, in her robes of brown,
Lifts dowie on the world her weeping eye,
And Nature's voice, in forest, dale, and down,
Sinks dull into a melancholy sigh.
The sobbing blast, the sear leaf rustling by,
The distant waterfall's portentous swell,
The voice that sweeps responsive o'er the sky,
Re-echo'd far from yonder misty fell,
Bid to the passing year, a long, a sad farewell.

XLIX.

Yet lingering still, most delicately sweet,
Flowers here and there put forth their pensive bloom,
And on the bank that fronts the noonday heat,
Still crackles on the ear the expanding broom.
And still the red-breast, with unruffled plume,
Continues wild his warblings from the tree,
Which cheers the simple cottar's harvest home,
That knows no higher feast or revelry,
Save from the heart to heaven the warm thought rushing free.

L.

Now ease and plenty smile upon the farm,
For all its labours for the year are done,
The yard with stacks is full, and each from harm
Secur'd by coverings carefully put on
And on that little spot his hands have won,
By skilful toil from the surrounding waste,
Cheer'd by a mild and bright October sun,
The cottar and his smiling inmates haste,
Now others' crops are saved, to save their own at last.