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 ! 



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 ! 



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 ! 



