‘ 2-25 
Crown’d with the ears of corn, now come, 
And, to the pipe, sing Harvest-home. 
Come forth, my lord, and see the cart 
Drest up with all the country art. 
See here a maukin, there a sheet. 
As spotlesse pure as it is sweete ; 
The horses, mares, and frisking fillies. 
Clad all in linen white as lilies. 
The harvest swains and wenches bound 
For joy, to see the Hock-cart crown’d. 
About the cart heare how the rout 
Of rural younglings raise the shout. 
Pressing before, some coming after. 
Those with a shout, and these with laughter. 
Some blesse the cart, some kisse the sheaves. 
Some pranke them up with oaken leaves: 
Some cross the fill horse, some with great 
Devotion stroak the home-borne wheat. 
The younger portion of the Harvest-throng find abundant 
employment in searching the hedges for the favourite and 
refreshing fruit of the Blackberry — and we see them standing- 
in groups in lanes and fields, with their plump, rosy faces 
dyed, in no very becoming style it is true, with the dark 
purjde juice • while many a wofid rent in frock and pinafore 
tells of their exploits among the tangled and prickly briars. 
In the woods, too, both blackbeny-gathering and nutting 
may now be enjoyed to perfection; and in autumn’s Forest 
scenery the Poet and Painter find her greatest glory. Every 
tree, aye, almost every leaf has a different tint, and the dis¬ 
tant woody landscape is touched with every hue of the 
painter s palette, laid on by the delicate and harmonious 
finger of Natm-e. Few spots can display this magnificent 
G G 
