A Pastoral Ballad

An easy heart adorns the vale, And gilds the lonely plain; No sighs of mine increase the gale, No peevish tears the rain. From happy dreams, the orient beams Awake my soul to pleasure; With cheek that glows, I milk my cows, And bless the flowing treasure.

To tend the flock thro’ summer’s day Is surely no disgrace; A wreath of leaves from noon-tide ray Defends my shaded face. Industrious heed the hours shall speed On pinions gay and light; The rising thought, with virtue fraught, Shall consecrate their flight.

A maple dish, a cedar spoon, Seem fair and sweet to me, When, on a violet bank, at noon, I sit, and dine with glee. From crystal rill my cup I fill, And praise the bounteous giver; Nor with the great would change my state, But dwell in vales for ever.

I love to mark the sultry hour, When Phœbus ardent glows, How deeply still are plain and bower In undisturb’d repose; All but the rills, that down the hills Their glittering waters fling, And round the bowers, on sweet, wild flowers, The bees, that murmuring cling.

When eve’s grey mantle veils the sun, And hill’s late gilded height; When green banks whiten, as the moon Sheds wide her milky light, I mark the vales and shadowy dales, In soft perspective showing; Their winding streams, beneath her beams, In trembling lustre flowing.

Then homeward my pleased steps I bend To yonder ivied cottage, Where parents dear and gentle friend Prepare the savoury pottage. The wholesome fare, the pious prayer, Conclude my day so pleasant! Ye rich and proud, confess aloud Right happy such a peasant. (j.)