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The barn is still, the master's gone,
And thresher puts his jacket on,
While Dick upon the ladder tall,
Nails the dead kite to the wall.
Here comes shepherd Jack at last,
He has penned the sheep-cote fast;
For 'twas but two nights before,
A lamb was eaten on the moor;
His empty wallet Rover carries,
Nor for Jack, when near home, tarries;
With lolling tongue he runs to try
If the horse trough be not dry.

The milk is settled in the pans
And supper messes in the cans;
In the hovel carts are wheeled,
And both the colts are drove a-field;"
The horses are all bedded up,
And the ewe is with the tup;
The snare for Mister Fox is set,
The leaven laid, the thatching wet;
And Bess has slinked away to talk
With Roger in the Holly Walk.
Now, on the settle all but Bess
Are set to eat their supper mess;
And little Tom and roguish Kate
Are swinging on the meadow-gate.
Now they chat on various things,
Of taxes, ministers, and kings,
Or else tell all the village news,
How madam did the squire refuse;
How parson on his tithes was bent,
And landlord oft distrained for rent.
Thus do they talk, till in the sky

The pale-eyed moon is mounted high.

The mistress sees that lazy Kate
The happing coal on kitchen grate
Has laid-while master goes throughout,
Sees shutters fast, the mastiff out,

The candles safe, the hearths all clear,
And naught from thieves or fire to fear;
Then both to bed together creep,

And join the general troop of sleep.

H. Kirke White.

The Useful Plough

A COUNTRY life is sweet!

In moderate cold and heat,

To walk in the air, how pleasant and fair!
In every field of wheat,

The fairest of flowers adorning the bowers,
And every meadow's brow;

To that I say, no courtier may

Compare with they who clothe in gray,

And follow the useful plough.

They rise with the morning lark,

And labour till almost dark,

Then folding their sheep, they hasten to sleep;

While every pleasant park

Next morning is ringing with birds that are singing

On each green, tender bough.

With what content and merriment

Their days are spent, whose minds are bent
To follow the useful plough!*

The Water-Mill

"ANY grist for the mill ?"

How merrily it goes!

Flap, flap, flap, flap,

While the water flows.

Round-about, and round-about,

The heavy mill-stones grind,

And the dust flies all about the mill,
And makes the miller blind.

"Any grist for the mill ?"

The jolly farmer packs
His waggon with a heavy load
Of very heavy sacks.

Noisily, oh noisily,

The mill-stones turn about : You cannot make the miller hear Unless you scream and shout.

"Any grist for the mill ?"

The bakers come and go;

* Other lines omitted.

E

Old Song.

They bring their empty sacks to fill,
And leave them down below.
The dusty miller and his men
Fill all the sacks they bring,
And while they go about their work
Right merrily they sing.

"Any grist for the mill ?"

How quickly it goes round! Splash, splash, splash, splash, With a whirring sound. Farmers, bring your corn to-day;

And bakers, buy your flour;

Dusty millers, work away,

While it is in your power.

"Any grist for the mill?"

Alas! it will not go ;

The river, too, is standing still,

The ground is white with snow. And when the frosty weather comes, And freezes up the streams,

The miller only hears the mill

And grinds the corn in dreams.

Living close beside the mill,

The miller's girls and boys Always play at make-believe, Because they have no toys. 'Any grist for our mill?”

The elder brothers shout, While all the little Petticoats

Go whirling round about.

The miller's little boys and girls
Rejoice to see the snow.

"Good father, play with us to-day;

You cannot work, you know.

We will be the mill-stones,

And you shall be the wheel; We'll pelt each other with the snow, And it shall be the meal."

Oh, heartily the miller's wife.
Is laughing at the door :
She never saw the mill worked
So merrily before.

"Bravely done, my little lads,
Rouse up the lazy wheel,

For money comes but slowly in

When snow-flakes are the meal."

The Windmill

BEHOLD! a giant am I !

Aloft here in my tower,

With my granite jaws I devour

The maize, and the wheat, and the rye,
And grind them into flour.

I look down over the farms;
In the fields of grain I see
The harvest that is to be,
And I fling to the air my arms,

For I know it is all for me.

"Aunt Effie."

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