488 IOWA DEPARTMENT OP AGRICULTURE. 



and confine my remarks exclusively to such esthetic, poetic, sentimental 

 and humorous facts and fancies, as I can evolve, associated with the 

 cow and her belongings. 



In the mad rush for the dollar in the present very materialistic age, I 

 feel that I am simply turned loose in a barren field — asked to make bricks 

 without straw, or finding some trace of the esthetic and poetic left will 

 bring my treasure to unresponsive souls and unappreciative ears. Modern 

 inventive American enterprise and the almighty dollar have so completely 

 invested the cow and her beneficient mission, that a modern poet would 

 find in a corn sheller or washing machine, as fit a subject for his muse. 

 However, it was not always thus. In days past some pleasing and very 

 gracious things have been written upon this theme. The mystery of 

 milk, its secretion and production, the conversion of the nutriment 

 and fragrance of the rich herbage of pasture and meadow into a delightful 

 aromatic delicacy, coupled with all the peaceful and fascinating environ- 

 ment of rural life has often been touched upon by the poets. 



Jean Ingelow in her beautiful poem "The High Tide on the Coast 

 of Lincolnshire," says: 



She moved where Lindis wandereth 

 My Sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth. 

 "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!"' calling, 

 Ere the early dews were falling, 

 Farre away I heard her song; 

 "Cusha! Cusha! all along; 

 Where the reedy Lindis floweth. 



Floweth, floweth, 

 From the meads where melick groweth 

 Faintly came her milking song: 

 "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, 

 "For the dews will soon be falling; 

 Leave your meadow grasses mellow. 



Mellow, mellow, 

 Quit your cowslips yellow, yellow; 



Then the pitiful tragedy — the bells of the village church playing the 

 danger signal for the simple folk who dwelt in the valley of the Lindis, 

 while the angry high tide from the great North sea overwhemled 

 the peaceful plain, its roar mingling with "The Brides of Enderby" from 

 the church bells. 



"The waters laid her at his doore 



Ere yet the early morn was clear 



The pretty bairns in fast embrace 

 ********* 



And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath. 

 Than my Sonne's wife. Elizabeth. 



