WEEATFIELDS. 95 



time to time came the sweet voice, full of hope in 

 coming summer. 



The day declined, and from the clear, cold sky of 

 March the moon looked down, gleaming on the smooth 

 planed furrow where the plough had passed. Scarce 

 had she faded in the dawn ere the lark sang again, 

 high in the morning sky. The evenings became dark; 

 still he rose above the shadows and the dusky earth, 

 and his song fell from the bosom of the night. With 

 full untiring choir the joyous host heralded the birth 

 of the corn; the slender, forceless seedleaves which 

 came gently up till they had risen above the proud 

 crests of the lovers. 



Time advanced, and the bare mounds about the 

 field, carefully cleaned by the husbandman, were 

 covered again with wild herbs and plants, like a 

 fringe to a garment of pure green. Parsley and 

 "gix,'* and clogweed, and sauce-alone, whose white 

 flowers smell of garlic if crushed in the fingers, came 

 up along the hedge; by th gateway from the bare 

 trodden earth appeared the shepherd's purse; small 

 must be the coin to go in its seed capsule, and there- 

 fore it was so called with grim and truthful humour, 

 for the shepherd, hard as is his work, facing wind and 

 weather, carries home but little money. 



Yellow charlock shot up faster and shone bright 

 above the corn ; the oaks showered down their green 

 flowers like moss upon the ground ; the tree pipits 

 sang on the branches and descending to the wheat. 

 The rusty chain-harrow, lying inside the gate, all 

 tangled together, was concealed with grasses. Yonder 

 the magpies fluttered over the beans among which they 



