The Farmer's Boy: A Rural Poem Part 5

AUTUMN.

ARGUMENT.

_Acorns. Hogs in the wood. Wheat-sowing. The Church. Village girls.

The mad girl. The bird-boy's hut. Disappointments; reflections, &c.

Euston-hall. Fox-hunting. Old Trouncer. Long nights. A welcome to Winter._

[Ill.u.s.tration]

AUTUMN.

III.

Again, the year's _decline_, midst storms and floods, The thund'ring chase, the yellow fading woods, Invite my song; that fain would boldly tell Of upland coverts, and the echoing dell, By turns resounding loud, at eve and morn The swineherd's halloo, or the huntsman's horn.

No more the fields with scatter'd grain supply The restless wand'ring tenants of the STY; From oak to oak they run with eager haste, And wrangling share the first delicious taste Of fallen ACORNS; yet but thinly found Till the strong gale have shook them to the ground.

It comes; and roaring woods obedient wave: Their home well pleas'd the joint adventurers leave: The trudging sow leads forth her numerous young, Playful, and white, and clean, the briars among, Till briars and thorns increasing, fence them round, Where last year's mould'ring leaves bestrew the ground, And o'er their heads, loud lash'd by furious squalls, Bright from their cups the rattling treasure falls; Hot thirsty food; whence doubly sweet and cool The welcome margin of some rush-grown pool, The wild duck's lonely haunt, whose jealous eye Guards every point; who sits prepar'd to fly, On the calm bosom of her little lake, Too closely screen'd for ruffian winds to shake; And as the bold intruders press around, At once she starts, and rises with a bound: With bristles rais'd the sudden noise they hear, And ludicrously wild, and wing'd with fear, The herd decamp with more than swinish speed, And snorting dash thro' sedge, and rush, and reed: Through tangling thickets headlong on they go, Then stop, and listen for their fancied foe; The hindmost still the growing panic spreads, Repeated fright the first alarm succeeds, Till Folly's wages, wounds and thorns, they reap: Yet glorying in their fortunate escape, Their groundless terrors by degrees soon cease, And Night's dark reign restores their wonted peace.

For now the gale subsides, and from each bough The roosting pheasant's short but frequent crow Invites to rest; and huddling side by side, The herd in closest ambush seek to hide; Seek some warm slope with s.h.a.gged moss o'erspread, Dry'd leaves their copious covering and their bed.

In vain may _Giles_, thro' gath'ring glooms that fall, And solemn silence, urge his piercing call: Whole days and nights they tarry midst their store, Nor quit the woods till oaks can yield no more.

Beyond bleak _Winter's_ rage, beyond the _Spring_ That rolling Earth's unvarying course will bring, Who tills the ground looks on with mental eye, And sees next _Summer's_ sheaves and cloudless sky; And even now, whilst Nature's beauty dies, Deposits SEED, and bids new harvests rise; Seed well prepar'd, and warm'd with glowing lime, 'Gainst earth-bred grubs, and cold, and lapse of time: For searching frosts and various ills invade, Whilst wint'ry months depress the springing blade.

The plough moves heavily, and strong the soil, And clogging harrows with augmented toil Dive deep: and clinging mixes with the mould A fat'ning treasure from the nightly fold, And all the cow-yard's highly valu'd store, That late bestrew'd the blacken'd surface o'er.

No idling hours are here, when Fancy trims Her dancing taper over outstretch'd limbs, And in her thousand thousand colours drest, Plays round the gra.s.sy couch of noontide rest: Here GILES for hours of indolence atones With strong exertion, and with weary bones, And knows no leisure; till the distant chime Of Sabbath bells he hears at sermon time, That down the brook sound sweetly in the gale, Or strike the rising hill, or skim the dale.

Nor his alone the sweets of ease to taste: Kind rest extends to all;... save one poor beast, That true to time and pace, is doom'd to plod, To bring the Pastor to the HOUSE of G.o.d: Mean structure; where no bones of heroes lie!

The rude inelegance of poverty Reigns here alone: else why that roof of straw?

Those narrow windows with the frequent flaw?

O'er whose low cells the dock and mallow spread, And rampant nettles lift the spiry head, Whilst from the hollows of the tower on high The grey-cap'd daws in saucy legions fly.

Round these lone walls a.s.sembling neighbours meet, And tread departed friends beneath their feet; And new-brier'd graves, that prompt the secret sigh, Shew each the spot where he himself must lie.

Midst timely greetings village news goes round, Of crops late shorn, or crops that deck the ground; Experienc'd ploughmen in the circle join; While st.u.r.dy boys, in feats of strength to shine, With pride elate their young a.s.sociates brave To jump from hollow-sounding grave to grave; Then close consulting, each his talent lends To plan fresh sports when tedious service ends.

Hither at times, with cheerfulness of soul, Sweet _village Maids_ from neighbouring hamlets stroll, That like the light-heel'd does o'er lawns that rove, Look shyly curious; rip'ning into love; For love's their errand: hence the tints that glow On either cheek, an heighten'd l.u.s.tre know: When, conscious of their charms, e'en Age looks sly, And rapture beams from Youth's observant eye.

THE PRIDE of such a party, Nature's pride, Was lovely POLL;[Footnote: MARY RAYNER, of Ixworth Thorp.] who innocently try'd, With hat of airy shape and ribbons gay, Love to inspire, and stand in Hymen's way: But, ere her _twentieth_ Summer could expand, Or youth was render'd happy with her hand, Her mind's serenity was lost and gone, Her eye grew languid, and she wept alone; Yet causeless seem'd her grief; for quick restrain'd, Mirth follow'd loud, or indignation reign'd: Whims wild and simple led her from her home, The heath, the common, or the fields to roam: Terror and joy alternate rul'd her hours; Now blithe she sung, and gather'd useless flow'rs; Now pluck'd a tender twig from every bough, To whip the hov'ring demons from her brow.

Ill-fated Maid! thy guiding spark is fled, And lasting wretchedness awaits thy bed ...

Thy bed of straw! for mark, where even now O'er their lost child afflicted parents bow; Their woe she knows not, but perversely coy, Inverted customs yield her sullen joy; Her midnight meals in secresy she takes, Low mutt'ring to the moon, that rising breaks Through night's dark gloom:... oh how much more forlorn _Her_ night, that knows of no returning dawn!...

[Ill.u.s.tration:]

Slow from the threshold, once her infant seat, O'er the cold earth she crawls to her retreat; Quitting the cot's warm walls unhous'd to lie, Or share the swine's impure and narrow sty; The damp night air her shiv'ring limbs a.s.sails; In dreams she moans, and fancied wrongs bewails.

When morning wakes, none earlier rous'd than she, When pendent drops fall glitt'ring from the tree; But nought her rayless melancholy cheers, Or sooths her breast, or stops her streaming tears.

Her matted locks unornamented flow; Clasping her knees, and waving to and fro;...

Her head bow'd down, her faded cheek to hide;...

A piteous mourner by the pathway side.

Some tufted molehill through the livelong day She calls her throne; there weeps her life away: And oft the gaily pa.s.sing stranger stays His well-tim'd step, and takes a silent gaze, Till sympathetic drops unbidden start, And pangs quick springing muster round his heart; And soft he treads with other gazers round, And fain would catch her sorrow's plaintive sound: One word alone is all that strikes the ear, One short, pathetic, simple word,... "_Oh dear!_"

A thousand times repeated to the wind, That wafts the sigh, but leaves the pang behind!

For ever of the proffer'd parley shy, She hears the' unwelcome foot advancing nigh; Nor quite unconscious of her wretched plight, Gives one sad look, and hurries out of sight....

Fair promis'd sunbeams of terrestrial bliss, Health's gallant hopes,... and are ye sunk to this?

For in life's road though thorns abundant grow, There still are joys poor Poll can never know; Joys which the gay companions of her prime Sip, as they drift along the stream of time; At eve to hear beside their tranquil home The lifted latch, that speaks the lover come: _That_ love matur'd, next playful on the knee To press the velvet lip of infancy; To stay the tottering step, the features trace;...

Inestimable sweets of social peace!

O THOU, who bidst the vernal juices rise!

Thou, on whose blasts autumnal foliage flies!

Let Peace ne'er leave me, nor my heart grow cold, Whilst life and sanity are mine to hold.

Shorn of their flow'rs that shed th' untreasur'd seed, The withering pasture, and the fading mead, Less tempting grown, diminish more and more, The dairy's pride; sweet Summer's flowing store.

New cares succeed, and gentle duties press, Where the fire-side, a school of tenderness, Revives the languid chirp, and warms the blood Of cold-nipt weaklings of the latter brood, That from the sh.e.l.l just bursting into day, Through yard or pond pursue their vent'rous way.

Far weightier cares and wider scenes expand; What devastation marks the new-sown land!

"From hungry woodland foes go, _Giles_, and guard The rising wheat; ensure its great reward: A future sustenance, a Summer's pride, Demand thy vigilance: then be it try'd: Exert thy voice, and wield thy shotless gun: Go, tarry there from morn till setting sun."

Keen blows the blast, or ceaseless rain descends; The half-stript hedge a sorry shelter lends.

O for a HOVEL, e'er so small or low, Whose roof, repelling winds and early snow, Might bring home's comforts fresh before his eyes!

No sooner thought, than see the structure rise, In some sequester'd nook, embank'd around, Sods for its walls, and straw in burdens bound:

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Dried fuel h.o.a.rded is his richest store, And circling smoke obscures his little door; Whence creeping forth, to duty's call he yields, And strolls the Crusoe of the lonely fields.

On whitethorns tow'ring, and the leafless rose, A frost-nipt feast in bright vermilion glows: Where cl.u.s.t'ring sloes in glossy order rise, He crops the loaded branch; a c.u.mb'rous prize; And o'er the flame the sputt'ring fruit he rests, Placing green sods to seat his coming guests; His guests by promise; playmates young and gay:...

BUT AH! _fresh pastimes_ lure their steps away!

He sweeps his hearth, and homeward looks in vain, Till feeling _Disappointment's_ cruel pain, His fairy revels are exchang'd for rage, His banquet marr'd, grown dull his hermitage.

The field becomes his prison, till on high Benighted birds to shades and coverts fly.

Midst air, health, daylight, can he prisoner be?

If fields are prisons, where is Liberty?

Here still she dwells, and here her votaries stroll; But disappointed hope untunes the soul: Restraints unfelt whilst hours of rapture flow, When troubles press, to chains and barriers grow.

Look then from trivial up to greater woes; From the poor bird-boy with his roasted sloes, To where the dungeon'd mourner heaves the sigh; Where not one cheering sun-beam meets his eye.

Though ineffectual pity thine may be, No wealth, no pow'r, to set the captive free; Though _only_ to thy ravish'd _sight_ is given The golden path that HOWARD trod to heaven; Thy slights can make the wretched more forlorn, And deeper drive affliction's barbed thorn.

Say not, "I'll come and cheer thy gloomy cell With news of dearest friends; how good, how well: I'll be a joyful herald to thine heart:"

Then fail, and play the worthless trifler's part, To sip flat pleasures from thy gla.s.s's brim, And waste the precious hour that's due to him.

In mercy spare the base unmanly blow: Where can he turn, to whom complain of you?

Back to past joys in vain his thoughts may stray; Trace and retrace the beaten worn-out way, The rankling injury will pierce his breast, And curses on thee break his midnight rest.

Bereft of song, and ever cheering green, The soft endearments of the Summer scene, New harmony pervades the solemn wood, Dear to the soul, and healthful to the blood: For bold exertion follows on the sound Of distant sportsmen, and the chiding hound; First heard from kennel bursting, mad with joy, Where smiling EUSTON boasts her good FITZROY, Lord of pure alms, and gifts that wide extend; The farmer's patron, and the poor man's friend: Whose mansion glitt'ring with the eastern ray, Whose elevated temple, points the way, O'er slopes and lawns, the park's extensive pride, To where the victims of the chace reside, Ingulf'd in earth, in conscious safety warm, Till lo! a plot portends their coming harm.

In earliest hours of dark unhooded morn, Ere yet one rosy cloud bespeaks the dawn, Whilst far abroad THE FOX pursues his prey, He's doom'd to risk the perils of the day, From his strong hold block'd out; perhaps to bleed, Or owe his life to fortune or to speed.

For now the pack, impatient rushing on, Range through the darkest coverts one by one; Trace every spot; whilst down each n.o.ble glade That guides the eye beneath a changeful shade, The loit'ring sportsman feels th' instinctive flame, And checks his steed to mark the springing game.

Midst intersecting cuts and winding ways The huntsman cheers his dogs, and anxious strays Where every narrow riding, even shorn, Gives back the echo of his mellow horn: Till fresh and lightsome, every power untried, The starting fugitive leaps by his side, His lifted finger to his ear he plies, And the view halloo bids a chorus rise Of dogs quick-mouth'd, and shouts that mingle loud, As bursting thunder rolls from cloud to cloud.

With ears erect, and chest of vigorous mould, O'er ditch, o'er fence, unconquerably bold, The shining courser lengthens every bound, And his strong foot-locks suck the moisten'd ground, As from the confines of the wood they pour, And joyous villages partake the roar.

O'er heath far stretch'd, or down, or valley low.

The stiff-limb'd peasant, glorying in the show, Pursues in vain; where youth itself soon tires, Spite of the transports that the chace inspires; For who unmounted long can charm the eye, Or hear the music of the leading cry?

Poor faithful TROUNCER! thou canst lead no more; All thy fatigues and all thy triumphs o'er!

Triumphs of worth, whose honorary fame Was still to follow true the hunted game; Beneath enormous oaks, Britannia's boast, In thick impenetrable coverts lost, When the warm pack in fault'ring silence stood, Thine was the note that rous'd the list'ning wood, Rekindling every joy with tenfold force, Through all the mazes of the tainted course.

Still foremost thou the dashing stream to cross, And tempt along the animated horse; Foremost o'er fen or level mead to pa.s.s, And sweep the show'ring dew-drops from the gra.s.s; Then bright emerging from the mist below To climb the woodland hill's exulting brow.