June i, 1888.] THE TROPICAL AGRICULTURIST. 
837 
li. 
But my little hat dees little good ; my plight is very 
sad ! 
I stand with clothes all drippii'g wjt, like some poor 
fi-hing-lad ; 
Like him I have a bisVet, too, of meshes woven fine— 
A fisher-lad, if I only hud his fishing r<.d and line. 
12. 
The ruin is o'er : the outer ItaviS their blanching fibres 
show ; 
Shake down th > br&njh, the fragrant scent about us 
'gius to b'ow ; 
Gather tho yellow golden threads that high aud low 
are foun I — 
Oh what a precious odour now is wafted all around '. 
13. 
No sweeter perfume does the wild aud fair Aglaia shed, 
Throughout Uuu-yuon's bounds my tea the choicest 
will be said ; 
When all are picked we'll leave the shoots to bud 
again in spring, 
But lor this moruing wo have done the third, last 
gathering. 
14. 
Oh, weary is our picking, yet do I my toil withhold ? 
My maiden locks are all askew, my pearly fiugers cold; 
I only wish our tea to be superior over all, 
O'er this one's " sparrow-tongue," and o'er the other's 
" dragon-ball." 
15. 
Oh, for a mouth 1 weary strive to find a leisure day ; 
I go to pick at early dawn, and until dusk I stay ; 
Till midnight at the tiring-pan I hold my irksome place: 
But will not labor hard as this impairs my pretty face? 
16. 
But if my face be somewhat lank, more firm shall bo 
my mind ; 
I'll tire my tea that all else shall be my gulden buds be- 
hiud ; 
But jet the thought arises who the pretty maid shall be 
To put the leaves in jewelled cup, from thence to sip 
my tea. 
17. 
. Her griefs all flee as she makes her tea, and she is glad; 
but ob, 
Where shall she learn the toils of us who labour for her 
so P 
And shall she know of the winds that blow, and the 
rains that pour their wrath. 
And drench and soak us thro' aud thro', as plunged into 
a bath '( 
18. 
In driving rains and howling winds the birds forsake 
the nest, 
Yet many u loving pair are seen still on the boughs to 
rest ; 
Oh, wherefore, loved one, with light look, didst thou 
emid me away 'I 
I cannot, grieving as I grieve, go through my work today. 
19. 
But though my bosom rise and f ill, like bucket in a well, 
Patient and toiling as I am, gainst work I'll ne'er rebel; 
My care shall be to have my tea fired to a tender lirown, 
Aud lot the tlmj aud awl well-rolled display their whitish 
down. • 
20. 
Ho I for my toil I Ho I for my step, ! Aweary though 
I be, 
In our po.ir house, for working folk, thure 'a lots of 
work 1 see ; 
WUeri ibu tiring and the dryii. , s don , ,.i at tho call 
1 go, 
And once, again tin | Vi rj m >rn I climb the high Sunglo. 
[• The Ay, or " (lag " is the t. nil bv which the lenllets 
are enllo.l wheu they just begin to unroll: tho ttUBtg or 
" awl " dealgnktra those leave* wlreS ure still wrapped 
up mid which uru somewhat ihiirp J 
21. 
My wicker basket slung on arm, and hair entwined with 
flowers, 
To the slopes I go of high Sunglo, and pick the tea for 
hours ; 
How laugh we, sisters, on tho road ; what a merry 
turn we 've got ; 
I giggle and say, as I point down the way, "There 
look, there lies our cot. 
22. 
Yourhandmaid'neath the sweet greenshade in sheltered 
cot abides, 
Where tho pendant willow's sweeping bough the 
thatchy dwelling hides ; 
Tomorrow if you wish it bo, my guests I pray you '11 be ! 
Tho door you '11 know by the fragraut scent, the scent 
of the firing tea." 
23. 
A while 'tis cold, and then 'tis warm, when I want 
tiro my tea, 
The sky is sure to shift and change— and all to worry me: 
When the sun goes down on the western hills, on the 
eastern there is rain I 
And however fair he promises, he promises in vain. 
24. 
To day the tint of the western hills is looking bright 
and fair. 
And I bear my crate to the stile, and wait my fellow 
toiler there : 
A little tender lass is she — she leans upon the rail 
And sleeps, and though I hail her she answers not 
my hail. 
25. 
And when at length to my loudest call she murmurs 
a reply, 
'Tisasif hard to conquer sleep, and with half-opened 
eye ; 
Up starts she, and with straggling steps along the path 
she 's gone ; 
She brings her basket, but forgets to put the cover on 
29. 
Together trudge we, and we pass the lodge of the south- 
ern bowers, 
Where the beautiful sea-pomegranate waves all its yel- 
low flowers ; 
lain would we stop aad pluck a few to dock our tre9ses 
g*y> . "' "'■ 
But the tree is high, and 'tis vain to try and reach the 
tempting spray. 
27. 
The pretty birds upon the boughs sing songs so sweet 
to hear, 
And the sky is so delicious now, half cloudy and half 
clear ; 
While bonding o'er her work, each maid will prattle of 
her woe, 
And we talk till our hoarts are sorely hurt, and toar-i 
unstinted flow. 
28. 
Our time is up, and yet not full our baskets to tho 
mouth — 
The twigs a-north aro fully searched, let 's seek tin. m in 
tho south ; 
Just then by chance I snapped a twig, WhJdO learos 
wi n- all a pair ; 
See, with my taper fingers now I fix i ' in my hair. 
29. 
Of all the v»>ioiis kinds of tea, the hitt«T !>.>,»< tho 
nweet. 
But fir wliouii'vor either seeka, for him I'll t i , ,| i treat 
Thong ■ who it is ahall drink them, an bitter or swe- t 
tltry hi-, 
I know no 4 , niv fri-nd — hut tho (Vi-lv oiid of my tinhorn 
only kd I 
