Description of a Summer's Eve

Down the sultry arc of dayThe burning wheels have urged their way;And eve along the western skiesSheds her intermingling dyes.Down the deep, the miry lane,Creaking comes the empty wain,And driver on the shaft-horse sits,Whistling now and then by fits:And oft, with his accustom'd call,Urging on the sluggish Ball.The barn is still, the master's gone,And thresher puts his jacket on,While Dick, upon the ladder tall,Nails the dead kite to the wall.Here comes shepherd Jack at last,He has penn'd the sheepcote fast,For 't was but two nights before,A lamb was eaten on the moor:His empty wallet Rover carries,Nor for Jack, when near home, tarries.With lolling tongue he runs to tryIf the horse-trough be not dry.The milk is settled in the pans,And supper messes in the cans;In the hovel carts are wheel'd,And both the colts are drove a-field;The horses are all bedded up,And the ewe is with the tup.The snare for Mister Fox is set,The leaven laid, the thatching wet,And Bess has slink'd away to talkWith Roger in the holly walk.

Now, on the settle all, but Bess,Are set to eat their supper mess;And little Tom and roguish KateAre swinging on the meadow gate.Now they chat of various things,Of taxes, ministers, and kings,Or else tell all the village news,How madam did the squire refuse;How parson on his tithes was bent,And landlord oft distrain'd for rent.Thus do they talk, till in the skyThe pale-eyed moon is mounted high,And from the alehouse drunken NedHad reel'd--then hasten all to bed.The mistress sees that lazy KateThe happing coal on kitchen grateHas laid--while master goes throughout,Sees shutters fast, the mastiff out,The candles safe, the hearths all clear,And nought from thieves or fire to fear;Then both to bed together creep,And join the general troop of sleep.

Go to the raging sea, and say, "Be still!"Bid the wild lawless winds obey thy will;Preach to the storm, and reason with Despair,But tell not Misery's son that life is fair.

Thou, who in Plenty's lavish lap hast roll'd,And every year with new delight hast told,Thou, who, recumbent on the lacquer'd barge,Hast dropt down joy's gay stream of pleasant marge,Thou mayst extol life's calm untroubled sea,The storms of misery never burst on thee.

Go to the mat, where squalid Want reclines,Go to the shade obscure, where merit pines;Abide with him whom Penury's charms control,And bind the rising yearnings of his soul,Survey his sleepless couch, and, standing there,Tell the poor pallid wretch that life is fair!Press thou the lonely pillow of his head,And ask why sleep his languid eyes has fled;Mark his dew'd temples, and his half shut eye,His trembling nostrils, and his deep drawn sigh,His muttering mouth contorted with despair,And ask if Genius could inhabit there.

Oh, yes! that sunken eye with fire once gleam'd,And rays of light from its full circlet stream'd:But now Neglect has stung him to--the core,And Hope's wild raptures thrill his breast no more;Domestic Anguish winds his vitals round,And added Grief compels him to the ground.Lo! o'er his manly form, decay'd and wan,The shades of death with gradual steps steal on;And the pale mother, pining to decay,Weeps for her boy her wretched life away.

Go, child of Fortune! to his early grave,Where o'er his head obscure the rank weeds wave;Behold the heart-wrung parent lay her headOn the cold turf, and ask to share his bed.Go, child of Fortune, take thy lesson there,And tell us then that life is wondrous fair!

Yet, Lofft, in thee, whose hand is still stretch'd forth,To encourage genius, and to foster worth;On thee, the unhappy's firm, unfailing friend,'T is just that every blessing should descend;'T is just that life to thee should only showHer fairer side but little mix'd with woe.