麻豆约拍

By Samuel Thomson

JANUARY

SEE how yon lofty trees are torn,
By vengeful Winters wrath,
While peacefully the lowly thorn
In safety lurks beneath.

鈥楾is thus the adverse gale compels,
鈥榯he wealthy man to bow;
While snug the humble shepherd dwells
Uninjur鈥檇: far below.

Just now yon tall, aspiring plane
Defy鈥檇 the angry skies,
Now overturn鈥檇, across the lane,
A shatter鈥檇 ruin lies!

Just so the son of pride and pomp,
Adversity beneath,
Inactive lies 鈥� a cumbrous lump,
And mars the shepherds path.

The shivering choirs, in wild dismay,
Forsake th鈥檜ncertain bough,
As if assur鈥檇 their safety lay
In burken bowers below.

When louring Fate obscures my day,
And adverse gales contend,
May I, like yonder willows, grey,
With resignation bend.

FEBRUARY

鈥楾is bitter cold, and snow and rain,
All ematively drives o鈥檈r the plain,
Th鈥� impatient sun has found the West,
And nightly shades the vales invest,
As yet ye youngsters, blithe and gay,
Frequent my cot at closing day!
To innocence and rural glee,
My fireside is ever free.

When Spring bedecks the smiling bowers,
And paints the fields and meads with flowers,
When zephyrs kind, from every grove,
Breathe soft the kindling soul of love,
Thro鈥� lonely glens then let me stray,
And give to Solitude the day.

But now while Winter, stem, invades,
The joyless fields, and tuneless shades.
When short-liv鈥檇 day but serves to shew,
The tumbling floods and half-thaw鈥檇 snow;
Give me the sweets the fire imparts,
And talk that come from honest hearts.

Ye powers, let me but have, sincere,
Whose souls no views illicit move,
But such as Virtue may approve.
Which wit congenial, and sense
To hate affected insolence.
In such society, by night,
I relish national delight;
With famous author鈥檚 works a store,
Sweet bards, I mean, that sung before,
I鈥檒l be content, nor will I wish for more.

With such who is not satisfied,
If Health allows him care,
In winter, by an ingle-side,
Is very ill to please.

MARCH

鈥楾he ewes they lamb, and kye they ca鈥�
鈥榯he laverocks litlt their annual sang,
The silly herd his Lord does bla鈥�
鈥楢nd a鈥檉or joy the days grown lang.鈥�
ANON.

COLD Winter now prepares to fly,
And March approaches; clear and dry;
And flocks again the mountains try.

The rustics, o鈥檈r the hills and meads,
Again resume their rural deeds,
And th鈥檈arth receives her annual feeds.

The lark aloft his carrol keeps;
O鈥檈r yonder bank the Conie creeps;
Where modest primrose sweetly peeps.

Regardful o the noontime hour,
The wild bee visits glen and bower,
Saluting kind each bud and flower.

By Nature led, of peace inquest,
From man afar, in wat鈥檙y waste,
The duck and mallard make their nest.

And now, then Evening light her lamps,
High towering o鈥檈r the lonely swamps,
The wild snipes low their horny trumps.

The lapwings wallops o鈥檈r the bogs;
in every ditch hoarse croak the frogs;
And linnets pair among the scroggs.

With me, come shepherds, pipe and sing;
Ye maids, come join the wanton ring,
And kindly greet the coming Spring.

APRIL

Now hoary Winter, o鈥檈r the deep,
Again has fled with sullen roar,
鈥榤id Snows and ice his court to keep,
On Zembla鈥檚 frigid, frozen shore.

Again, along the hills and vales,
Sweet Nature starts to life and light
And smiling spring, on musky gales,
Bestows the balm of young delight.

While Beauty鈥檚 dewy hand adorns
The lawn out-stretch鈥檇, a fairy scene
And simply sweet arrays the thorns,
In pleasing shades of blushing green.

Once more, my muse, in rural strain,
Exulting, try thy vocal shell;
Come, let us wander o鈥檈r the plain,
And seek some lone sequester鈥檇 cell.

On yonder bank, at ease reclin鈥檇,
Beside the tinkling waterfall,
We鈥檒l pensive to the whispering wind,
Descant our artless madrigal.

There watch the bee, from flower to flower,
Hi aerial course instinctive wing;
And list鈥� the thrush, from upland bower,
Melodious hail the blooming Spring.

Behold the ever-tim鈥檙ous hare,
Already quits her furzy shade,
And o鈥檈r the field, with watchful care,
Unseen to nip the sprouting blade.

Adown the whin-beskirted way,
Thought less plods the school-boy young,
At times, in haste 鈥� anon he鈥檒l stay,
And thinks he hears the cuckoo鈥檚 song.

On yonder hill, beside his flock,
Piping, sits the shepherd boy,
Whilst Echo, from the hollow rock,
Off repeats the vernal joy.

Woods and waters all agree;
Hills and vallies far and near,
Universal harmony,
Bursts upon the listening ear.

MAY

SOFT, blyth and gay, now smiling May,
Walks o鈥檈r the flowry dale;
From countless throats, delightful notes,
Are thrown on every gale.

Hail, cleaning month, whose steps at length,
Have reach鈥檇 our vales and groves,
Whose influence bland, along the land,
Awakes the rural hours.

Now is the time, for sons of rhyme,
To stray by burns and bowers;
Blyth o鈥檈r the dews, to woo the muse,
And gather Fancy鈥檚 flowers.

While fro each tree, I warbling glee,
The feather鈥檇 folk conspire;
With oaten quill, beside this rill,
I鈥檒l join the general choir.

To the grove alone, young Jockey鈥檚 gone,
To meet his buxom Sally;
While from the brae, horse Adie鈥檚 lay
Wild echoes thro鈥� the valley.

Let other nights pursue delights,
Each in his different way;
Beside this brook, give me a book,
In the merry month of May.

JUNE

鈥楾is June. --- How sweet the balmy Summer breathes
Her fragrance, redolent o鈥檈r hill and vale!
The milkwhite hawthorn gives the evening breeze
A health-inspiring smell, to equal which
The spicy Araby may try in vain.

The vernal Cuckoo yet prolongs his stay,
Adding delight to every Vernal gale,
And marks the moments when the rural love,
Are seal鈥檇 with kisses, in the hawthorn bower.
The nimble swallows skim he midgy shade,
Collecting supper for their callow young;
Th鈥檌ncessant rail, our only nightingale,
The lonely Echo still the note repeats,
Cries thro鈥� the night, the same thing oe鈥檙 again.

Now, Lyle, I love to sit upon thy brow,
And while I mark throughout the vale beneath,
The tufted dwellings of my gay compeers,
With philanthropic soul, I fervent pray
For lasting blessings on my rural friends;
And not on them alone but all mankind.

Yonder, in lays of sweet simplicity.
My Damon lives; Damon my warmest friend,
And best associate thro鈥� this vale of care.
Long since we met in the sequester鈥檇 shade,
Of rural life 鈥� and soon the band mysterious,
Such as of yore, in friendly amity,
Held favour鈥檇 David and son of Saul,
In holy union bound our hearts in one.

Let fools political their heads perplex
鈥榖out that which ignorant, as I of Greek, indeed they are.
It makes me lunatic almost to hear,
Some clownish blockheads, Frenchified fools,
Lisp out, affected, their exotic terms
Of Citizen and Section, nonsense all.
Would individuals but reform themselves,
And represent them, each the virtuous man,
Reform in Parliaments would come of will,
And vile dissension from the land would fly.

Ye powers, that order from confusion bring,
Give health and peace to meditate my song;
Preserve my friends 鈥� and thro鈥� the Summer months,
I鈥檒l sing exulting from the brow of Life.

JULY

Now July invites us again to the hills,
Where Summer, in mantle of purple array鈥檇,
So languid reclines by the cool bubbling rills,
And sees the long vallies beginning to fade.

Come, Betty, let鈥檚 visit the haunts of last year,
And sit in the shiel that we made in the hether;
Our colour, the nut-brown, has nothing to fear,
From the blade-withering blaze of the dog-days hot weather.

Look over the valley! What bustle and noise;
What cutting and tossing, and turning of hay;
Where, sweating, the light-hearted girls and boys,
Enliven their labour with innocent play.

See fire-side, on suggans, the turf-driving boors,
cloth instead of saddle
Thro鈥� far winding ways to the moss up they canter;
There light, load and home, where the Goodman secures,
The whole in a stack, 鈥榞ainst the rigours of winter.

Here wild we will wander, delighted, and aview
At a distance, the bustle of this mortal hive;
Mark o鈥檈r corn-cover鈥檇 vallies the ripening hue,
Of the coming abundance, that keeps us alive.

Thus, Betty, my charmer, we鈥檒l spend the hot noon,
And when evening descends to our cot we will steer,
Along, hand in hand, by the light of the moon,
The scene is delightful, at this time of year.

AUGUST

NOW, August, we hail thy loud horn,
That calls the blyth reapers away,
Who, awake by the dawn of the morn.
Exulting, the summons obey.

With their sickles laid over the arms,
To their gladsome industry they hie;
Simplicity lends them her charms,
And labour indulges in joy.

Hail Autumn, thou matron of glee,
In thy bonnet and belt made of straw;
But alas! It belongs not to me,
Thy picture descriptive to draw!

Yet still when I see the attire
Thyself in thy rustling suit,
My fanciful soul catches fire,
And I can鈥檛, tho鈥� a rustic, be mute.

O Thomson, meet poet, 鈥榯was thine,
At this season with rapture to rise,
Inhale inspiration divine,
And Nature exalt to the skies!

When I name thee, my muse must return,
All the colours, descriptive do fade;
So my pencil I fling in the fire,
And respectfully bow to thy shade.

SEPTEMBER

鈥楾IS Autumn鈥檚 eve 鈥� a hollow murmur creeps
Around the hills. 鈥� obscuring Night descends
Adown the braes the wailing streamlet weeps,
Where the lost fir, with rough romantic bends.

See, o鈥檈r the steep, the booted sportsmen run,
And the upland stubble carefully explore,
There Cara-Pluma long bewail鈥檇 her son,
But Cara-Pluma now laments no more.

For as she cautiously, from ridge to ridge,
Her dole collected on the stubble ground,
The wicked ruffian, from behind the hedge,
From tube well level鈥檇, gave the mortal wound.

The smoke arose 鈥� I heard the loud report,
When straight th鈥� instinctive spaniel, scampering fleet,
Bore off the victim of their barbarous sport,
And laid her dying at his master鈥檚 feet.

Ah! Vermin filthy! Of malignant sort,
My very soul detests your bloody joy;
The muse abhors hum, who for wanton sport,
Can Nature鈥檚 feather鈥檇 family destroy.

Now, pensive robin from the fading tree,
At morn and even鈥檛ide essays to sing;
And eke the lark, above the withering lee,
Doth cheer at intervals inverted Spring.

O Nature, kind! How 鈥減regnant with delight鈥�,
Are all thy scenes throughout the changing year!
Thy varied grandeur charms my ravish鈥檇 sight;
Thy heaven-taught harmony enchants my ear.

OCTOBER

BEHOLD, the leaves begin to fall again;
And sick鈥檔ing Beauty leaves the withering plain;
No more the lark exults on touring wing;
And woodland minstrels forget to sing,
The stretching night succeesds the short鈥檔ing day,
And languid flocks o鈥檈r wat鈥檙y pastures stray;
While tuneful Colin, thro鈥� the list鈥檔ing bower.
Pipes a short-farewell to the time of flowers.

Hark how he sings! 鈥� Adieu to every scene
Of rural joy, upon the jocund green!
Kind Summer flies, while in the blast I hear
The hollow voice of gloomy Winter near.

Now duteous shepherds, with attentive care,
A watt鈥檒ed shelter for your Stocks prepare;
Then will kind Nature, with a mother鈥檚 pride,
Give peace and pleasure to your fire-side,
Gay Health and Happiness spontaneous come,
With sweet Content, to live with you at home.

Thus pip鈥檇 young Colin to the sullen-woods,
While Night ascending swallow鈥檇 up the day,
Pleas鈥檇 with the dashing rush of distant floods,
He to his homely cottage strode away.

NOVEMBER

Now hoary Winter, cauld an鈥� keen,
Erects his wither鈥檇 trap ance mair;
And, shivering wither鈥檇 tap ance mair;
Flouts ragged rustics unco fair;
Wha, ne鈥檈rtheless, on Hallowe鈥檈n,
About the hearth sae trig an鈥� clear,
Reckless o鈥檉rost, or sna or rain
Agree to burn their nits again;
While fairies fleet their gambols play,
Thro鈥� many an eldritch glen an鈥� brae.

In pairs, before the ingle now,
The mystic nits are laid alang,
And presently they a鈥� tak鈥� luve,
And blink and burn, some right some wrang,
(O, Superstition! Crazy fool!
Thin, thin is worn thy silly school;
For learning鈥檚 soul-exalting ray
Has rescued mankind frae thy sway;
Excepted tunes, when rural glee
Invites thee back to laugh at thee.)

The auld gude man, indifferent, sees
The pastime that he ance held dear,
While younkers eye the sancing bleeze,
Wi鈥� counterfeited hope and fear.
An鈥� social graunie takes her smoak,
Laughs wi鈥� the lave, and clubs her joke;
Gies her auld mou the youthfu鈥� twine,
Waeclucks, to think on a lang syne,
Wee chicks and tells how happy she has been,
a-burning nits on Hallowe鈥檈n.

O, Damon, while the minutes flee,
On silent wing, unfelt, unseen,
Wilt thou again come down to me,
And laugh at Folly鈥檚 Hallowe鈥檈n.
How thy auld wrinkled down and mine,
Wad鈥檚t and plot, and girn, and whine;
And burn prophetic nits forsooth,
Insulting age wi鈥� glaiks o鈥檡outh!
The L__d preserve us frae their clutches,
The grey-beard, auld smell鈥檇, wither鈥檇 witches.

A social jug here waits my frien鈥�,
And eke the heel o鈥� an auld cheese,
That;s now as ance raddish keen,
And canna fail, I think, to please.
Here, apart frae vulgar strife,
And a鈥� the din o鈥� married life;
While Friendship smiles upon our lot,
And closer draws the mutual knot,
We鈥檒l sit and crack till midnight hour,
Then gae to bed and sleep secure.

DECEMBER

Winter clad in terror, reigns,
And frost an鈥� sna鈥� obscure the plains,
Nae mair the warbling, woodland strains,
Re-echo mild;
But ruefu鈥� ravens, thro鈥� the lanes,
Croak hoarsely wild.

In vain I wander o鈥檈r the mead,
In vain I seek my wanted shade,
These braes, so late with daisies spread,
Lie bleak and bare;
And every vernal scene is fled,
The L__d knows where.

The tempest thro鈥� the forest rings;
Dejected nature dolefu鈥� hings;
Or fast to fountain border clings,
There droops and dies,
While lonely stremlet dowie sings,
Her obsequies!

The seely sheep, denied a shed,
By cold and hunger now haf dead,
Each, to procure the sapless blade,
The snow up-digs,
And find, thro鈥� night, a cauld-rife bed
On frozen riggs.

Upon the leaf-deserted boughs,
The chittering songsters sit in rows,
A muttering out their weary woes,
In sorry mood,
While ageing Boreas half o鈥檈rthrows
The rocking wood.

But most of all, the helpless hare,
Of pity claims the greatest share;
Her luckless footsteps now declare,
Her every path,
Before her cold and hunger stare,
Behind her death.

The bees secure within their hives,
No more along the hedges drive;
But, warm and full, on plenty thrive,
Industrious fok,
On Summer-gather鈥檇 store survive,
Cauld Winter鈥檚 shock.

O cou鈥檇 e鈥檈n mon like them be wise,
And learn his Summer Hours to prize,
Instead of hunting earthly toys,
Amass a store,
Of sweets, to quaff about the skies,
When Time鈥檚 no more.