Part 14 (1/2)

I love the joyful harvest months; When smiling on the plain, We see rich golden ears of corn, And bending sheaves of grain.

I love to see the cellar filled With sauce of various kinds, Potatoes, beets and onions too, And squashes from the vines.

I love to see the well filled barn, And smell the fragrant hay; I'll milk while brother feeds the lambs, And see them skip and play.

I love to rise before the sun, And see his rosy beams s.h.i.+ne glim'ring through the waving trees, In quiv'ring fitful gleams.

I love, when nothing intervenes.

The setting sun to spy, Tinging the clouds with every hue, Which charms the gazing eye.

I love the country every where, Here let me spend my life; No higher shall my thoughts aspire-- I'd be a farmer's wife.[6]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 6: ”Good, Sarah, that's right! If we can find one that worthy of you, we will send him along.”--_Editor_.]

ODE TO SARAH.[7]

Rural maid, who, o'er glade, Forest, plain, and mountain, roam In joy and peace, and made Happy by the brook's gay foam; Who art content to live In the farmer's domicil; A listening ear give To a stranger, who, with quill In hand, sits down to write An epistle, or letter, To one, of whom it might Be said, she's far his better.

Fair maiden, thou hast said, And I doubt not truly too, A farmer thou would wed, If he would sincerely woo Thy heart's best affection, And at the holy altar Vow, that kind protection He'd give thee, and never falter, But sacred keep the vow Thus solemn made, and never, So long as life lasts, bow Down, and let this bond sever.

Lady fair, wouldst thou dare A mechanic's wife to be, And with him toil, and share All the ills of life's rough sea?

Wouldst thou trust thy frail bark In his hands, and if perchance Ills should come, thick and dark, Stand firmly, and thus enhance His happiness, and not, At disappointment's first dart, Complain of thy sad lot, And sink under a faint heart?

What sayest thou, fair one?

Dost thou view the mechanic, As some _fair_ ones have done, With disgust, who grow frantic At the sight of his dress, Just because it does not fit So smooth as they confess That they should like to see it?

Dost thou, in honesty Of heart, think him good and wise.

And in sincerity Believe him not otherwise?

Dear lady, wouldst not thou, To flee ”single blessedness,”

Accept an offer now From a mechanic, and bless Him, throughout a long life, With thy good fairy presence, And ne'er the cry of strife Raise, but yield obedience?

If _him_ thou wilt many, Give him soon thy residence, That he may not tarry, But, with lightning speed, fly hence.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 7: Auth.o.r.ess of ”Praises of Rural Life.”]

JERE.

AN EPISTLE TO JERE, IN ANSWER TO HIS ODE.

Worthy and much respected friend, Accept the thanks I freely send; Your generous offer, all will say, Mere grateful thanks but ill repay.

An answer you request of me, But prudence calls for some delay; This weighty subject claims my care, To answer now I must forbear.

Could you admire a homely face, Devoid of beauty, charms, or grace?

Would you not blush, should friends deride The rustic manners of your bride?