Anon tir'd labourers bless their shelt'ring home, When MIDNIGHT, and the frightful TEMPEST come. The Farmer wakes, and sees with silent dread The angry shafts of Heaven gleam round his bed; The bursting cloud reiterated roars, Shakes his straw roof, and jars his bolted doors: The slow-wing'd storm along the troubled skies Spreads its dark course; the wind begins to rise; And full-leaf'd elms, his dwelling's shade by day, With mimic thunder give its fury way: Sounds in his chimney top a doleful peal, Midst pouring rain, or gusts of rattling hail; With tenfold danger low the tempest bends, And quick and strong the sulph'urous flame descends: The fright'ned mastiff from his kennel flies, And cringes at the door with piteous cries.... Where now's the trifler? where the child of pride? These are the moments when the heart is try'd! Nor lives the man with conscience e'er so clear, But feels a solemn, reverential fear; Feels too a joy relieve his aching breast, When the spent storm hath howl'd itself to rest. Still, welcome beats the long continued show'r, And sleep protracted, comes with double pow'r; Calm dreams of bliss bring on the morning sun, For every barn is fill'd, and HARVEST _done_! Now, ere sweet SUMMER bids its long adieu, And winds blow keen where late the blossom grew, The bustling day and jovial night must come, The long accustom'd feast of HARVEST-HOME. No blood-stain'd victory, in story bright, Can give the philosophic mind delight; No triumph please while rage and death destroy: Reflection sickens at the monstrous joy. And where the joy, if rightly understood, Like cheerful praise for universal good? The soul nor check nor doubtful anguish knows, But free and pure the grateful current flows. Behold the sound oak table's massy frame Bestride the kitchen floor! the careful dame And gen'rous host invite their friends around, While all that clear'd the crop, or till'd the ground, Are guests by right of custom:... old and young; And many a neighbouring yeoman join the throng, With artizans that lent their dext'rous aid, When o'er each field the flaming sun-beams play'd,-- Yet Plenty reigns, and from her boundless hoard, Though not one jelly trembles on the board, Supplies the feast with all that sense can crave; With all that made our great forefathers brave, Ere the cloy'd palate countless flavours try'd, And cooks had Nature's judgment set aside. With thanks to Heaven, and tales of rustic lore, The mansion echoes when the banquet's o'er; A wider circle spreads, and smiles abound, As quick the frothing horn performs its round; Care's mortal foe; that sprightly joys imparts To cheer the frame and elevate their hearts. Here, fresh and brown, the hazel's produce lies In tempting heaps, and peals of laughter rise, And crackling Music, with the frequent _Song_, Unheeded bear the midnight hour along.