510 POEMS. 



A HARVEST SCENE. 



WAKED by the gentle gleamings of the morn, 

 Soon clad, the reaper, provident of want, 

 Hies cheerful-hearted to the ripen'd field ; 

 Nor hastes alone ; attendant by his side 

 His faithful wife, sole partner of his cares, 

 Bears on her breast the sleeping babe ; behind, 

 With steps unequal, trips her infant train : 

 Thrice happy pair, in love and labour joined ! 



All day they ply their task; with mutual chat, 

 Beguiling each the sultry, tedious hours. 

 Around them falls in rows the severed corn, 

 Or the shocks rise in regular array. 



But when high noon invites to short repast, 

 Beneath the shade of sheltering thorn they sit, 

 Divide the simple meal, and drain the cask : 

 The swinging cradle lulls the whimpering babe 

 Meantime; while growling round, if at the tread 

 Of hasty passenger alarm'd, as of their store 

 Protective, stalks the cur witli bristling back, 

 To guard the scanty scrip and russet frock. 



