The Farmer's Boy: A Rural Poem Part 6

Pride of thy race! with worth far less than thine, Full many human leaders daily shine!

Less faith, less constancy, less gen'rous zeal!...

Then no disgrace mine humble verse shall feel; Where not one lying line to riches bows, Or poison'd sentiment from rancour flows; Nor flowers are strewn around Ambition's car:...

An honest dog's a n.o.bler theme by far.

Each sportsman heard the tidings with a sigh, When Death's cold touch had stopt his tuneful cry; And though high deeds, and fair exalted praise, In memory liv'd, and flow'd in rustic lays, Short was the strain of monumental woe: "_Foxes, rejoice! here buried lies your foe.[A]_"

[Footnote A: Inscribed on a stone in Euston Park wall.]

In safety hous'd, throughout NIGHT'S _length'ning_ reign, The c.o.c.k sends forth a loud and piercing strain; More frequent, as the glooms of midnight flee, And hours roll round, that brought him liberty, When Summer's early dawn, mild, clear, and bright, Chas'd quick away the transitory night:...

Hours now in darkness veil'd; yet loud the scream Of Geese impatient for the playful stream; And all the feather'd tribe imprison'd raise Their morning notes of inharmonious praise; And many a clamorous Hen and c.o.c.krel gay, When daylight slowly through the fog breaks way, Fly wantonly abroad: but ah, how soon The shades of twilight follow hazy noon, Short'ning the busy day!... day that slides by Amidst th' unfinish'd toils of HUSBANDRY; Toils still each morn resum'd with double care, To meet the icy terrors of the year; To meet the threats of _Boreas_ undismay'd, And _Winter's_ gathering frowns and h.o.a.ry head.

THEN welcome, COLD; welcome, ye _snowy_ nights!

Heaven midst your rage shall mingle pure delights, And confidence of hope the soul sustain, While devastation sweeps along the plain: Nor shall the child of poverty despair, But bless THE POWER that rules the _changing year_; a.s.sur'd,... tho' horrors round his cottage reign,...

That _Spring_ will come, and Nature smile again.

WINTER.

ARGUMENT.

_Tenderness to cattle. Frozen turnips. The cow-yard. Night.

The farm-house. Fire-side. Farmer's advice and instruction. Nightly cares of the stable. Dobbin. The post-horse. Sheep-stealing dogs. Walks occasioned thereby. The ghost. Lamb time. Returning Spring. Conclusion._

[Ill.u.s.tration]

WINTER.

IV.

With kindred pleasures mov'd, and cares opprest, Sharing alike our weariness and rest; Who lives the daily partner of our hours, Thro' every change of heat, and frost, and show'rs; Partakes our cheerful meals, partaking first In mutual labour and in mutual thirst; The kindly intercourse will ever prove A bond of amity and social love.

To more than man this generous warmth extends, And oft the team and shiv'ring herd befriends; Tender solicitude the bosom fills, And Pity executes what Reason wills: Youth learns compa.s.sion's tale from every tongue, And flies to aid the helpless and the young;

When now, unsparing as the scourge of war, Blasts follow blasts, and groves dismantled roar, Around their home the storm-pinch'd CATTLE lows, No nourishment in frozen pastures grows; Yet frozen pastures every morn resound With fair abundance thund'ring to the ground.

For though on h.o.a.ry twigs no buds peep out, And e'en the hardy bramble cease to sprout, Beneath dread WINTER'S level sheets of snow The sweet nutritious _Turnip_ deigns to grow.

Till now imperious want and wide-spread dearth Bid Labour claim her treasures from the earth.

On GILES, and such as Giles, the labour falls, To strew the frequent load where hunger calls.

On driving gales sharp hail indignant flies, And sleet, more irksome still, a.s.sails his eyes; Snow clogs his feet; or if no snow is seen, The field with all its juicy store to screen, Deep goes the frost, till every root is found A rolling ma.s.s of ice upon the ground.

No tender ewe can break her nightly fast, Nor heifer strong begin the cold repast, Till _Giles_ with pond'rous beetle foremost go, And scatt'ring splinters fly at every blow; When pressing round him, eager for the prize, From their mixt breath warm exhalations rise.

If now in beaded rows drops deck the spray, While _Phoebus_ grants a momentary ray, Let but a cloud's broad shadow intervene, And stiffen'd into gems the drops are seen; And down the furrow'd oak's broad southern side Streams of dissolving rime no longer glide.

THOUGH NIGHT approaching bids for rest prepare, Still the flail echoes through the frosty air, Nor stops till deepest shades of darkness come, Sending at length the weary laborer home.

From him, with bed and nightly food supplied, Throughout the yard, hous'd round on every side, Deep-plunging Cows their rustling feast enjoy, And s.n.a.t.c.h sweet mouthfuls from the pa.s.sing boy, Who moves unseen beneath his trailing load, Fills the tall racks, and leaves a scatter'd road; Where oft the swine from ambush warm and dry Bolt out, and scamper headlong to their sty, When _Giles_ with well-known voice, already there, Deigns them a portion of his evening care.

_Him_, though the cold may pierce, and storms molest, Succeeding hours shall cheer with warmth and rest:

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Gladness to spread, and raise the grateful smile, He hurls the f.a.ggot bursting from the pile, And many a log and rifted trunk conveys, To heap the fire, and to extend the blaze That quiv'ring strong through every opening flies, Whilst smoaky columns un.o.bstructed rise.

For the rude architect, unknown to fame, (Nor symmetry nor elegance his aim) Who spread his floors of solid oak on high, On beams rough-hewn, from age to age that lie, Bade his _wide Fabric_ unimpair'd sustain _Pomona's_ store, and cheese, and golden grain; Bade from its central base, capacious laid, The well-wrought chimney rear its lofty head; Where since hath many a savoury ham been stor'd, And tempests howl'd, and Christmas gambols roar'd.

FLAT on the _hearth_ the glowing embers lie, And flames reflected dance in every eye: There the long billet, forc'd at last to bend, While frothing sap gushes at either end, Throws round its welcome heat:... the ploughman smiles, And oft the joke runs hard on sheepish _Giles_, Who sits joint tenant of the corner-stool, The converse sharing, though in duty's school; For now attentively 'tis his to hear Interrogations from the Master's chair.

'LEFT ye your bleating charge, when daylight fled, 'Near where the hay-stack lifts its snowy head?

'Whose fence of bushy furze, so close and warm, 'May stop the slanting bullets of the storm.

'For, hark! it blows; a dark and dismal night: 'Heaven guide the traveller's fearful steps aright!

'Now from the woods, mistrustful and sharp-ey'd, 'The _Fox_ in silent darkness seems to glide, 'Stealing around us, list'ning as he goes, 'If chance the c.o.c.k or stamm'ring c.o.c.kerel crows, 'Or Goose, or nodding Duck, should darkling cry, 'As if appriz'd of lurking danger nigh: 'Destruction waits them, _Giles_, if e'er you fail 'To bolt their doors against the driving gale.

'Strew'd you (still mindful of the unshelter'd head) 'Burdens of straw, the cattle's welcome bed?

'Thine heart should feel, what thou may'st hourly see, '_That duty's basis is humanity._ 'Of pain's unsavoury cup tho' thou may'st taste, '(The wrath of Winter from the bleak north-east,) 'Thine utmost suff'rings in the coldest day 'A period terminates, and joys repay.

'Perhaps e'en now, while here those joys we boast, 'Full many a bark rides down the neighb'ring coast, 'Where the high northern waves tremendous roar, 'Drove down by blasts from _Norway's_ icy sh.o.r.e.

'The _Sea-boy_ there, less fortunate than thou, 'Feels all thy pains in all the gusts that blow; 'His freezing hands now drench'd, now dry, by turns; 'Now lost, now seen, the distant light that burns, 'On some tall cliff uprais'd, a flaming guide, 'That throws its friendly radiance o'er the tide.

'His labours cease not with declining day, 'But toils and perils mark his watry way; 'And whilst in peaceful dreams secure _we_ lie, 'The ruthless whirlwinds rage along the sky, 'Round his head whistling;... and shall thou repine, 'While this protecting roof still shelters thine?'

Mild, as the vernal show'r, his words prevail, And aid the moral precept of his tale: His wond'ring hearers learn, and ever keep These first ideas of the restless deep; And, as the opening mind a circuit tries, Present felicities in value rise.

Increasing pleasures every hour they find, The warmth more precious, and the shelter kind; Warmth that long reigning bids the eyelids close, As through the blood its balmy influence goes, When the cheer'd heart forgets fatigues and cares, And drowsiness alone dominion bears.

Sweet then the ploughman's slumbers, hale and young, When the last topic dies upon his tongue; Sweet then the bliss his transient dreams inspire, Till chilblains wake him, or the snapping fire:

He starts, and ever thoughtful of his team, Along the glitt'ring snow a feeble gleam Shoots from his lantern, as he yawning goes To add fresh comforts to their night's repose; Diffusing fragrance as their food he moves And pats the jolly sides of those he loves.

Thus full replenish'd, perfect ease possest, From night till morn alternate food and rest, No rightful cheer withheld, no sleep debar'd, Their each day's labour brings its sure reward.

Yet when from plough or lumb'ring cart set free, They taste awhile the sweets of liberty: E'en sober _Dobbin_ lifts his clumsy heels And kicks, disdainful of the dirty wheels; But soon, his frolic ended, yields again To trudge the road, and wear the clinking chain.

Short-sighted DOBBIN!... thou canst only see The trivial hardships that _encompa.s.s_ thee: Thy chains were freedom, and thy toils repose, Could the poor _post-horse_ tell thee all his woes; Shew thee his bleeding shoulders, and unfold The dreadful anguish he endures for gold: Hir'd at each call of business, l.u.s.t, or rage, That prompt the trav'eller on from stage to stage.

Still on _his_ strength depends their boasted speed; For them his limbs grow weak, his bare ribs bleed; And though he groaning quickens at command, Their extra shilling in the rider's hand Becomes his bitter scourge:... 'tis _he_ must feel The double efforts of the lash and steel; Till when, up hill, the destin'd inn he gains, And trembling under complicated pains, p.r.o.ne from his nostrils, darting on the ground, His breath emitted floats in clouds around: Drops chase each other down his chest and sides, And spatter'd mud his native colour hides: Thro' his swoln veins the boiling torrent flows, And every nerve a separate torture knows.

His harness loos'd, he welcomes eager-eyed The pail's full draught that quivers by his side; And joys to see the well-known stable door, As the starv'd mariner the friendly sh.o.r.e.

Ah, well for him if here his suff'rings ceas'd, And ample hours of rest his pains appeas'd!

But rous'd again, and sternly bade to rise, And shake refreshing slumber from his eyes, Ere his exhausted spirits can return, Or through his frame reviving ardour burn, Come forth he must, tho' limping, maim'd, and sore; He hears the whip; the chaise is at the door:...

The collar tightens, and again he feels His half-heal'd wounds inflam'd; again the wheels With tiresome sameness in his ears resound, O'er blinding dust, or miles of flinty ground.

Thus nightly robb'd, and injur'd day by day, His piece-meal murd'rers wear his life away.

What say'st thou, _Dobbin?_ what though hounds await With open jaws the moment of thy fate, No better fate attends _his_ public race; His life is misery, and his end disgrace.

Then freely bear thy burden to the mill; Obey but one short law,... thy driver's will.

Affection, to thy memory ever true, Shall boast of mighty loads that _Dobbin_ drew; And back to childhood shall the mind with pride Recount thy gentleness in many a ride To pond, or field, or village fair, when thou Held'st high thy braided mane and comely brow; And oft the Tale shall rise to homely fame Upon thy gen'rous spirit and thy name.

Though faithful to a proverb, we regard The midnight chieftain of the farmer's yard, Beneath whose guardianship all hearts rejoice, Woke by the echo of his hollow voice; Yet as the Hound may fault'ring quit the pack, Snuff the foul scent, and hasten yelping back; And e'en the docile Pointer know disgrace, Thwarting the gen'ral instinct of his race; E'en so the MASTIFF, or the meaner Cur, At times will from the path of duty err, (A pattern of fidelity by day; By night a _murderer_, lurking for his prey); And round the pastures or the fold will creep, And, coward-like, attack the peaceful _sheep_: Alone the wanton mischief he pursues, Alone in reeking blood his jaws imbrues; Chasing amain his fright'ned victims round, Till death in wild confusion strews the ground; Then wearied out, to kennel sneaks away, And licks his guilty paws till break of day.

The deed discover'd, and the news once spread, Vengeance hangs o'er the unknown culprit's head: And careful _Shepherds_ extra hours bestow In patient _watchings_ for the common foe; A foe most dreaded now, when rest and peace Should wait the season of the flock's increase.

In part these nightly terrors to dispel, GILES, ere he sleeps, his little Flock must tell.

From the fire-side with many a shrug he hies, Glad if the full-orb'd Moon salute his eyes, And through the unbroken stillness of the night Shed on his path her beams of cheering light.

With saunt'ring step he climbs the distant stile, Whilst all around him wears a placid smile; There views the white-rob'd clouds in cl.u.s.ters driv'n, And all the glorious pageantry of heav'n.

Low, on the utmost bound'ry of the sight, The rising vapours catch the silver light; Thence Fancy measures, as they parting fly, Which first will throw its shadow on the eye, Pa.s.sing the source of light; and thence away, Succeeded quick by brighter still than they.

For yet above these wafted clouds are seen (In a remoter sky, still more serene,) Others, detach'd in ranges through the air, Spotless as snow, and countless as they're fair; Scatter'd immensely wide from east to west, The beauteous 'semblance of a _Flock_ at rest.

These, to the raptur'd mind, aloud proclaim Their MIGHTY SHEPHERD'S everlasting Name.