WHO has not seen the chearful Harvest Home
Enliv’ning the scorch’d field, and greeting gay
The slow decline of Autumn ? All around
The yellow sheaves, catching the burning beam,
Glow, golden lustr’d; and the trembling stem
Of the slim oat, or azure corn-flow’r,
Waves on the hedge-rows shady. From the hill
The day-breeze softly steals with downward wing,
And lightly passes, whisp’ring the soft sounds
Which moan the death of Summer. Glowing scene !
Nature’s long holiday ? Luxuriant, rich,
In her proud progeny, she smiling marks
Their graces, now mature, and wonder fraught !
Hail ! season exquisite ! and hail, ye sons
Of rural toil ! ye blooming daughters ! ye,
Who, in the lap of hardy labour rear’d,
Enjoy the mind unspotted ! Up the plain,
Or on the sidelong hill, or in the glen,
Where the rich farm, or scatter’d hamlet shews
The neighbourhood of peace, ye still are found,
A merry and an artless throng, whose souls
Beam thro’ untutor’d glances. When the dawn
Unfolds its sunny lustre, and the dew
Silvers the outstretch’d landscape, labour’s sons
Rise, ever healthful, ever chearily,
From sweet and soothing rest; for fev’rish dreams
Visit not lowly pallets ! All the day
They toil in the fierce beams of fervid noon,
But toil without repining ! The blythe song,
Joining the woodland melodies afar,
Flings its rude cadence in fantastic sport
On Echo’s airy wing ! The pond’rous load
Follows the weary team: the narrow lane
Bears on its thick wove hedge the scatter’d corn,
Hanging in scanty fragments, which the thorn
Purloin’d from the broad waggon.
On the plain
The freckled gleaner gathers the scant sheaf,
And looks, with many a sigh, on the tythe heap
Of the proud, pamper’d pastor ! To the brook
That ripples shallow down the valley’s slope,
The herds slow measure their unvaried way:
The flocks along the heath are dimly seen
By the faint torch of ev’ning, whose red eye
Closes in tearful silence. Now the air
Is rich in fragrance ! fragrance exquisite !
Of new-mown hay, of wild thyme dewy-wash’d,
And gales ambrosial, which, with cooling breath,
Ruffle the lake’s grey surface. All around
The thin mist rises, and the busy tones
Of airy people, borne on viewless wings,
Break the short pause of nature. From the plain
The rustic throngs come chearly; their loud din
Augments to mingling clamour. Sportive hinds,
Happy ! more happy than the lords ye serve !
How lustily your sons endure the hour
Of wint’ry desolation; and how fair
Your blooming daughters greet the op’ning dawn
Of love-inspiring Spring !
Hail ! harvest home !
To thee, the Muse of Nature pours the song,
By instinct taught to warble: instinct pure,
Sacred, and grateful to that Pow’r ador’d,
Which warms the sensate being, and reveals
The soul self-evident ! beyond the dreams
Of visionary sceptics ! Scene sublime !
Where earth presents her golden treasuries;
Where balmy breathings whisper to the heart
Delights unspeakable ! Where seas and skies,
And hills and vallies, colours, odours, dews,
Diversify the work of Nature’s God !
(Mary Elizabeth Robinson)
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Based on Topics: Mind Poems, Sadness Poems, Death & Dying Poems, Soul Poems, Nature Poems, War & Peace Poems, Dreams Poems, Happiness Poems, Money & Wealth Poems, Summer Poems, Work & Career PoemsBased on Keywords: purloin, augments, gleaner, oat, untutor, unvaried, sceptics, hedge-rows, sensate, pallets, love-inspiring