Bats flit by in hood and cowl; Through the barn-hole pops the owl; From the hedge, in drowsy hum, Heedless buzzing beetles bum, Haunting every bushy place, Flopping in the labourer's face. Now the snail hath made its ring; And the moth with snowy wing Circles round in winding whirls, Through sweet evening's sprinkled pearls, On each nodding rush besprent; Dancing on from bent to bent; Now to downy grasses clung, Resting for a while he's hung; Then, to ferry oer the stream, Vanishing as flies a dream; Playful still his hours to keep, Till his time has come to sleep;
In tall grass, by fountain head, Weary then he drops to bed. From the hay-cock's moistened heaps, Startled frogs take vaunting leaps; And along the shaven mead, Jumping travellers, they proceed: Quick the dewy grass divides, Moistening sweet their speckled sides; From the grass or flowret's cup, Quick the dew-drop bounces up. Now the blue fog creeps along, And the bird's forgot his song: Flowers now sleep within their hoods; Daisies button into buds; From soiling dew the butter-cup Shuts his golden jewels up; And the rose and woodbine they Wait again the smiles of day. Neath the willow's wavy boughs, Dolly, singing, milks her cows; While the brook, as bubbling by, Joins in murmuring melody. Dick and Dob, with jostling joll, Homeward drag the rumbling roll; Whilom Ralph, for Doll to wait, Lolls him o'er the pasture gate. Swains to fold their sheep begin; Dogs loud barking drive them in. Hedgers now along the road Homeward bend beneath their load; And from the long furrowed seams, Ploughmen loose their weary teams: Ball, with urging lashes wealed, Still so slow to drive a-field, Eager blundering from the plough, Wants no whip to drive him now; At the stable-door he stands, Looking round for friendly hands
To loose the door its fastening pin, And let him with his corn begin. Round the yard, a thousand ways, Beasts in expectation gaze, Catching at the loads of hay Passing fodderers tug away. Hogs with grumbling, deafening noise, Bother round the server boys; And, far and near, the motley group Anxious claim their suppering-up.
From the rest, a blest release, Gabbling home, the quarreling geese Seek their warm straw-littered shed, And, waddling, prate away to bed. Nighted by unseen delay, Poking hens, that lose their way, On the hovel's rafters rise, Slumbering there, the fox's prize. Now the cat has ta'en her seat, With her tail curled round her feet; Patiently she sits to watch Sparrows fighting on the thatch. Now Doll brings the expected pails, And dogs begin to wag their tails; With strokes and pats they're welcomed in, And they with looking wants begin; Slove in the milk-pail brimming o'er, She pops their dish behind the door. Prone to mischief boys are met, Neath the eaves the ladder's set, Sly they climb in softest tread, To catch the sparrow on his bed; Massacred, O cruel pride! Dashed against the ladder's side. Curst barbarians! pass me by; Come not, Turks, my cottage nigh; Sure my sparrows are my own, Let ye then my birds alone.