INTRODUCTION. 



THE PLOUGH-BOY'S SONG, 

 in September. 



The morning breaks o'er Shooter's hill ;- 

 The Redbreast twitters by the mill ; — 

 The Cocks, at answering distance, crow; 

 In neighbouring mead the cattle low; 

 Yo, hup — yo, ho I 

 To plough we go ! 



While artless Jane, of beauty pride. 

 Her light step dashing dew aside, 

 With notes of song wakes echo now, 

 As blithe she hastes to milk the cow ; — 



Yo, hup — yo, ho! 



To plough we go ! 



The sun his streams of golden light 

 Now pours o'er hills and vallies bright ;- 

 The Thrush her song is warbling now ; 

 Afield we go to chearful plough ; 

 ' Yo, hup — yo, ho! 

 To plough we go ! 



O Nature ! mistress of my song, 

 To thee love, beauty, truth belong ; — 

 To thee I homage pay ; and now 

 Afield we go, and — speed the plough; — 



Yo, hup — yo, ho! 



To plough we go ! 



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