12 Idylls of the Field. 



fugitives sought shelter here beneath these low-browed 

 eaves, too often, alas ! in vain. 



Still the plough turns up heavy bullets and corroded 

 cannon-balls. Still on many a cottage wall there hang 

 old arms that played a part in that fierce struggle. 

 Now it is the broadsword of a Royal trooper ; now the 

 rusted rapier of a rebel captain ; now a halberd of 

 elaborate device bent with a last desperate blow struck 

 for a hopeless cause. Still among these hamlets linger 

 traditions of the fight ; of the cruelties of the inhuman 

 Kirke, of the judicial infamy of the unspeakable 

 Jeffreys. 



Among the ditches that cross the scene of conflict, 

 in quiet pools screened with dark alder-trees and set 

 round with fringing reeds, the teal finds safe retreat. 

 Hard by, in summer-time, the shrike builds in a way- 

 side thorn, and impales on its sharp points the mice 

 and beetles of her larder. In the early days of autumn 

 quail lie close among the stubble ; and even a clutch 

 of their broadly-painted eggs is not an unheard-of find 

 among the summer clover. 



Here, in the chill dawns of winter, long lines of 

 mallard, bearing downward from their swift career, 

 descend with a great rush upon the water, striking up 

 a cloud of spray that hides them for a moment ; or 

 alighting perchance on an unexpected sheet of ice, 

 they skim far along the glassy surface in helpless and 

 comical confusion. 



At times there drifts over the moor a wedge of 



