Page:The Poems of John Dyer (1903).djvu/100

 Equal the honeycomb. We next are shown A circular machine, of new design, In conic shape : it draws and spins a thread Without the tedious toil of needless hands. A wheel, invisible, beneath the floor, To every member of th' harmonious frame Gives necessary motion. One, intent, O'erlooks the work : the carded wool, he says, Is smoothly lapp'd around those cylinders, Which, gently turning, yield it to yon' cirque Of upright spindles, which with rapid whirl Spin out, in long extent, an even twine. From this delightful mansion (if we seek Still more to view the gifts which honest toil Distributes) take we now our eastward course To the rich fields of Burstal. Wide around Hillock and valley, farm and village, smile ; And ruddy roofs and chimney-tops appear Of busy Leeds, up-wafting to the clouds The incense of thanksgiving : all is joy ; And trade and bus'ness guide the living scene, Roll the full cars, adown the winding Aire Load the slow-sailing barges, pile the pack On the long tinkling train of slow-pac'd steeds. As when a sunny day invites abroad The sedulous ants, they issue from their cells In bands unnumber'd, eager for their work, O'er high o'er low they lift, they draw, they haste With warm affection to each other's aid, Repeat their virtuous efforts, and succeed. Thus all is here in motion, all is life : The creaking wain brings copious store of corn ; The grazier's sleeky kine obstruct the roads ; The neat-dress'd housewives, for the festal board