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walk with the breeze upon one's brow, to trample the level grass exuberant with freshness, to climb upon the mountain, to follow through the meadows some thread of water gliding under rushes and water-plants,-I give you my word for it, there is happiness in this. At this contact with healthy and natural things, the follies of the world drop off as drop the dead leaves when the spring sap rises and the young leaves put forth.


LED 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 slumbering ploughs,
While health impregnates every breeze that blows.
No wheels support the diving, pointed share;
No groaning ox is doomed to labor there;

Welcome, green headland! firm beneath his feet:
Welcome, the friendly bank's refreshing seat;
There, warm with toil, his panting horses browse
Their sheltering canopy of pendant boughs;
Till rest delicious chase each transient pain,
And new-born vigor 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 transverse again,
In earth's moist bosom buries up the grain.

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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 plougman cleaves his way,
Draws his fresh parallels, and, widening still,
Treads slow the heavy dale, or climbs the hill.
Strong on the wing his busy followers play,
Where writhing earthworms meet the 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.
His heels deep sinking, every step he goes,
Till dirt adhesive loads his clouted shoes.

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Down the rich pasture heedlessly they graze,

Or hear the summons with an idle gaze.
For well they know the cow-yard yields no


Its tempting fragrance, nor its wintry store.
Reluctance marks their steps, sedate and slow,
The right of conquest all the law they know;
The strong press on, the weak by turns succeed,
And one superior always takes the lead,
Is ever foremost whereso'er they stray,
Allowed precedence, undisputed sway:
With jealous pride her station is maintained,
For many a broil that post of honor gained.
At home, the yard affords a grateful scene,
For spring makes e'en a miry cow-yard clean.
Thence from its chalky bed behold conveyed
The rich manure that drenching winter made,
Which, piled near home, grows green with many
a weed,

A promised nutriment for autumn's seed.

Forth comes the maid, and like the morning smiles;
The mistress, too, and followed close by Giles.
A friendly tripod forms their humble seat,
With pails bright scoured and delicately sweet.
Where shadowing elms obstruct the morning ray
Begins the work, begins the simple lay;
The full-charged udder yields its willing stream
While Mary sings some lover's amorous dream;
And crouching Giles, beneath a neighboring tree,
Tugs o'er his pail and chants with equal glee;
Whose hat with battered brim, and nap so bare,
From the cow's side purloins a coat of hair,—
A mottled ensign of his harmless trade,
An unambitious, peaceable cockade.

As unambitious, too, that cheerful aid
The mistress yields beside her rosy maid;
With joy she views her plenteous reeking store,
And bears a brimmer to the dairy door;
Her cows dismissed, the luscious mead to roam,
Till eve again recall them loaded home.



VER the hills the farm-boy goes,
His shadow lengthened along the land,
A giant staff in a giant hand;

In the poplar tree, above the spring,
The katydid begins to sing;

The early dews are falling;-
Into the stone-heap darts the mink;
The swallows skim the river's brink;
And home to the woodland fly the crows,
When over the hill the farm-boy goes,
Cheerily calling,-

"Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! co'!" Farther, farther, over the hill, Faintly calling, calling still, —

"Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'!"

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Now to her task the milkmaid goes,

The cattle come crowding through the gate,
Lowing, pushing, little and great;
About the trough, by the farm-yard pump,
The frolicsome yearlings frisk and jump,
While the pleasant dews are falling;
The new-milch heifer is quick and shy,
But the old cow waits with tranquil eye;
And the white stream into the bright pail flows,
When to her task the milkmaid goes,

Soothingly calling,

"So, boss! so, boss! so! so! so!" The cheerful milkmaid takes her stool, And sits and milks in the twilight cool, Saying, "So! so, boss! so! so!"

To supper at last the farmer goes,
The apples are pared, the paper read,
The stories are told, then all to bed.
Without, the cricket's ceaseless song
Makes shrill the silence all night long;
The heavy dews are falling.

The housewife's hand has turned the lock;
Drowsily ticks the kitchen clock;
The household sinks to deep repose;
But still in sleep the farm-boy goes
Singing, calling, -

"Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! co'!"

And oft the milkmaid in her dreams
Drums in the pail with the flashing streams,
Murmuring, "So, boss! so!"


LOVE, I love to see


Bright steel gleam through the land;

'Tis a goodly sight, but it must be

In the reaper's tawny hand.

The helmet and the spear

Are twined with the laurel wreath;

But the trophy is wet with the orphan's tear;

And blood-spots rust beneath.

I love to see the field

That is moist with purple stain,

But not where bullet, sword and shield
Lie strewn with the gory slain.

No, no; 'tis where the sun

Shoots down his cloudless beams, Till rich and bursting juice-drops run On the vineyard earth in streams.

My glowing heart beats high

At the sight of shining gold;

But it is not that which the miser's eye
Delighteth to behold.

A brighter wealth by far

Than the deep mine's yellow vein,

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