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FLED now the sullen murmurs of the North,
The splendid raiment of the Spring peeps forth;
Her universal green, and the clear sky,

Delight still more and more the gazing eye.
Wide o'er the fields, in rising moisture strong,
Shoots up the simple flower, or creeps along
The mellowed soil, imbibing fairer hues,

Or sweets from frequent showers and evening dews:
That summon from their sheds the slumb'ring ploughs.

No wheels support the diving, pointed share;
No groaning ox is doomed to labour there;
No helpmates teach the docile steed his road
(Alike unknown the ploughboy and the goad);
But, unassisted, through each toilsome day,
With smiling brow the ploughman cleaves his way;
Draws his fresh parallels, and, wid'ning still,
Treads slow the heavy dale, or climbs the hill;

Strong on the wing, his busy followers play

Where writhing earthworms meet th' unwelcome day; Till all is changed, and hill, and level down,

Assume a livery of sober brown:

Again disturbed when Giles, with wearying strides,
From ridge to ridge the ponderous harrow guides,

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His heels deep sinking every step he goes,
Till dirt adhesive loads his clouted shoes.

Welcome, green headland! firm beneath his feet; Welcome, the friendly bank's refreshing seat! There, warm with toil, his panting horses browse Their shelt'ring canopy of pendent boughs: Till rest delicious chase each transient pain, And new-born vigour swell in every vein.

Hour after hour, and day to day, succeeds,
Till every clod and deep-drawn furrow spreads
To crumbling mould: a level surface clear,
And strewed with corn to crown the rising year;
And o'er the whole Giles once traverse again,
In earth's moist bosom buries up the grain.

The work is done; no more to man is given ; The grateful farmer trusts the rest to Heaven.

BLOOMFIELD.

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Now the golden Moon aloft

Waves her dew-bespangled wing;
With vermeil cheek and whisper soft
She woos the tardy Spring:
Till April starts, and calls around.
The sleeping fragrance from the ground,
And lightly o'er the living scene
Scatters his freshest, tenderest green.

New-born flocks, in rustic dance,
Frisking, ply their feeble feet;
Forgetful of their wintry trance,

The birds his presence greet:
But chief, the skylark warbles high
His trembling, thrilling ecstasy;
And, lessening from the dazzled sight,
Melts into air and liquid light.

Yesterday the sullen year

Saw the snowy whirlwind fly;
Mute was the music of the air,
The herd stood drooping by ;
Their raptures now that wildly flow,
No yesterday nor morrow know:
'Tis Man alone that joy descries
With forward and reverted eyes.

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Smiles, on past misfortune's brow,

Soft reflection's hand can trace,
And o'er the cheek of sorrow throw

A melancholy grace;

While hope prolongs our happier hour,
Or deepest shades, that dimly lour
And blacken round our weary way,
Gilds with a gleam of distant day.

Still, where rosy pleasure leads,
See a kindred grief pursue;
Behind the steps that misery treads
Approaching comfort view:

The hues of bliss more brightly glow,
Chastised by sabler tints of woe;
And blended form, with artful strife,
Her strength and harmony of life.

See the wretch that long has tost
On the thorny bed of pain,
At length repair his vigour lost,

And breathe and walk again :

The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,

To him are opening Paradise.

GRAY.

THE VALLEY AND ITS TENANTS.

37

THE VALLEY AND
AND ITS TENANTS.

THE vale was beautiful; and, when a child,

I felt its sunny peace come warm and mild
To my young heart. Within high hills it slept,
Which o'er its rest their silent watches kept,
And gave it kindly shelter as it lay

Like a fair, happy infant in its play.

The dancing leaves, the grain that gently bent
In early light, as soft winds o'er it went;
The new-fledged panting bird, in low, short flight,
That filled my little bosom with delight,
Yet mixed with fear, lest that some unseen harm
Should spoil its just-born joy,—all these a charm
Threw round my morn of being. Here I stood,
Where, from its covert in the thick-boughed wood,
The slender rill leaped forth, with its small voice,
Into the light, as seeming to rejoice
That it was free; and then it coursed away,
With grass, and reeds, and pebbles holding play.

It seemed the vale of youth-of youth untried :
Youth in the innocence and all the pride
Of its new life delighted; free from fears,
And griefs, and burdens, borne on coming years.

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