Now swarms the village o'er the jovial mead The rustic youth, brown with meridian toil, Healthful and strong; full as the summer rose Blown by prevailing suns, the ruddy maid, Half-naked, swelling on the sight, and all Her kindled graces burning o'er her cheek. Even stooping age is here; and infant hands Trail the long rake, or, with the fragrant load O'ercharg'd, amid the kind oppression roll. Wide flies the tedded grain; all in a row Advancing broad, or wheeling round the field, They spread the breathing harvest to the sun, That throws refreshful round a rural smell; Or, as they rake the green-appearing ground, And drive the dusky wave along the mead, The russet haycock rises thick behind, In order gay: while heard from dale to dale, Waking the breeze, resounds the blended voice Of happy labor, love, and social glee.
Or rushing thence, in one diffusive band, They drive the troubled flocks, by many a dog Compell'd, to where the mazy-running brook Forms a deep pool; this bank abrupt and high, And that, fair-spreading in a pebbled shore. Urg'd to the giddy brink, much is the toil, The clamor much, of men, and boys, and dogs, Ere the soft fearful people to the flood Commit their woolly sides. And oft the swain, On some impatient seizing, hurls them in: Embolden'd, then, nor hesitating more, Fast, fast they plunge amid the flashing wave, And panting labor to the farther shore. Repeated this, till deep the well-wash'd fleece Has drank the flood, and from his lively haunt The trout is banish'd by the sordid stream, Heavy and dripping, to the breezy brow Slow move the harmless race; where, as they spread Their swelling treasures to the sunny ray, Inly disturb'd, and wondering what this wild Outrageous tumult means, their loud complaints The country fill--and, toss'd from rock to rock, Incessant bleatings run around the hills. At last, of snowy white, the gather'd flocks Are in the wattled pen innumerous press'd, Head above head; and rang'd in lusty rows The shepherds sit, and whet the sounding shears. The housewife waits to roll her fleecy stores, With all her gay-dress'd maids attending round. One, chief, in gracious dignity enthron'd, Shines o'er the rest, the pastoral queen, and rays Her smiles, sweet-beaming, on her shepherd-king, While the glad circle round them yield their souls To festive mirth, and wit that knows no gall. Meantime, their joyous task goes on apace: Some, mingling, stir the melted tar, and some, Deep on the new-shorn vagrant's heaving side To stamp his master's cipher ready stand; Others the unwilling wether drag along; And, glorying in his might, the sturdy boy Holds by the twisted horns the indignant ram. Behold where bound, and of its robe bereft, By needy man, that all-depending lord, How meek, how patient, the mild creature lies! What softness in its melancholy face, What dumb, complaining innocence appears! Fear not, ye gentle tribes, 'tis not the knife Of horrid slaughter that is o'er you wav'd; No, 'tis the tender swain's well-guided shears, Who having now, to pay his annual care, Borrow'd your fleece, to you a cumbrous load, Will send you bounding to your hills again.