Here, midst the boldest triumphs of her worth, NATURE herself invites the REAPERS forth; Dares the keen sickle from its twelvemonth's rest, And gives that ardour which in every breast From infancy to age alike appears, When the first sheaf its plumy top uprears. [Illustration] No rake takes here what Heaven to all bestows-- Children of want, for you the bounty flows! And every cottage from the plenteous store Receives a burden nightly at its door. Hark! where the sweeping scythe now rips along: Each sturdy Mower emulous and strong; Whose writhing form meridian heat defies, Bends o'er his work, and every sinew tries; Prostrates the waving treasure at his feet, But spares the rising clover, short and sweet. Come, HEALTH! come, _Jollity!_ light-footed, come; Here hold your revels, and make this your home. Each heart awaits and hails you as its own; Each moisten'd brow, that scorns to wear a frown: Th' unpeopled dwelling mourns its tenants stray'd; E'en the domestic laughing dairy maid Hies to the FIELD, the general toil to share. Meanwhile the FARMER quits his elbow-chair, His cool brick-floor, his pitcher, and his ease, And braves the sultry beams, and gladly sees His gates thrown open, and his team abroad, The ready group attendant on his word, To turn the swarth, the quiv'ring load to rear, Or ply the busy rake, the land to clear. Summer's light garb itself now cumb'rous grown, Each his thin doublet in the shade throws down; Where oft the mastiff sculks with half-shut eye, And rouses at the stranger passing by; Whilst unrestrain'd the social converse flows, And every breast Love's powerful impulse knows, And rival wits with more than rustic grace Confess the presence of a pretty face. For, lo! encircled there, the lovely MAID, In youth's own bloom and native smiles array'd; Her hat awry, divested of her gown, Her creaking stays of leather, stout and brown;... [Illustration] Invidious barrier! why art thou so high, When the slight covering of her neck slips by, There half revealing to the eager sight Her full, ripe bosom, exquisitely white? In many a local tale of harmless mirth, And many a jest of momentary birth, She bears a part, and as she stops to speak, Strokes back the ringlets from her glowing cheek. Now noon gone by, and four declining hours, The weary limbs relax their boasted pow'rs; Thirst rages strong, the fainting spirits fail, And ask the sov'reign cordial, home-brew'd ale: Beneath some shelt'ring heap of yellow corn Rests the hoop'd keg, and friendly cooling horn, That mocks alike the goblet's brittle frame, Its costlier potions, and its nobler name. To _Mary_ first the brimming draught is given By toil made welcome as the dews of heaven, And never lip that press'd its homely edge Had kinder blessings or a heartier pledge.