Such golden deeds lead on to golden days, Days of domestic peace--by him who plays On the great stage how uneventful thought; Yet with a thousand busy projects fraught, A thousand incidents that stir the mind To pleasure, such as leaves no sting behind! Such as the heart delights in--and records Within how silently--in more than words! A Holiday--the frugal banquet spread On the fresh herbage, near the fountain-head. With quips and cranks--what time the woodlark there Scatters his loose notes on the sultry air; What time the kingfisher sits hushed below, Where silver-bright the water-lilies blow:-- A Wake--the booths whitening the village green, Where Punch and Scaramouch aloft are seen; Sign beyond sign in close array unfurled, Picturing at large the wonders of the world; And far and wide, over the Vicar’s pale, Black hoods and scarlet crossing hill and dale, All, all abroad, and music in the gale:-- A Wedding Dance--a dance into the night, On the barn-floor, when maiden feet are light; When the young bride receives the promised dower, And flowers are flung, herself a fairer flower: A Morning-visit to the poor man’s shed, (Who would be rich while one was wanting bread?) Where all are emulous to bring relief, And tears are falling fast--but not for grief;-- A Walk in Spring--GRATTAN, like those with thee By the heath-side (who had not envied me?) When the sweet limes, so full of bees in June, Led us to meet beneath their boughs at noon: And thou didst say which of the great and wise, Could they but hear and at thy bidding rise, Thou would’st call up and question. Graver things Come in their turn. Morning and evening brings Its holy office; and the sabbath bell, That over wood and wild, and mountain-dell, Wanders so far, chasing all thoughts unholy, With sounds most musical, most melancholy, Not on his ear is lost. Then he pursues The pathway leading through the aged yews, Nor unattended; and when all are there, Pours out his spirit in the House of Prayer,-- That House with many a funeral-garland hung, Of virgin white--memorials of the young; The last yet fresh when marriage chimes were ringing, And hope and joy in other hearts were springing;-- That House where age led in by filial love,-- Their looks composed, their thoughts on things above, The world forgot, or all its wrongs forgiven-- Who would not say they trod the path to Heaven? _Rogers’ Human Life._ CHAPTER III. LIFE OF THE GENTRY IN THE COUNTRY.