To Britons born and bred within the pale Of civil polity, and early trained
To earn, by wholesome labour in the field, The bread they eat. A sample should I give Of what this stock hath long produced 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. Stiff are his joints; 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 can be taxed with aught Of sottish vice or desperate breach of law, To which (and who can tell where or how soon?) He may be roused. This Boy the fields produce: His spade and hoe, mattock and glittering scythe, 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 the 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 low bending 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, me
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 its surface o'er With pure cerulean gravel, from the heights Fetched by a neighbouring 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 grey 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 more 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, harbour 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 patron-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 recognised her honoured friend, The Wanderer ever welcome! A prompt kiss The gladsome Child bestows at his request; And, up the flowery lawn as we advance, 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 stedfast '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, Keen anglers with unusual spoil elated. 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! Between his hands he holds a smooth blue stone, On whose capacious surface see outspread Large store of gleaming crimson-spotted trouts ; Ranged side by side, and lessening by degrees Up to the dwarf that tops the pinnacle. Upon the board he lays the sky-blue stone With its rich freight; their number he proclaims; Tells from what pool the noblest had been dragged; And where the very monarch of the brook, After long struggle, had escaped at last— Stealing alternately at them and us (As doth his comrade too) a look of pride : And, verily, the silent creatures made A splendid sight, together thus exposed; Dead-but not sullied or deformed by death, That seemed to pity what he could not spare.
But O, the animation in the mien Of those two boys! yea in the very words With which the young narrator was inspired,
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