Page:The Poems of John Dyer (1903).djvu/61

 Silent to droop; or who at ev'ry gate Or hillock rub their sores and loosen'd wool. But rather these, the feeble of thy flock, Banish before th' autumnal months. Ev'n age Forbear too much to favour: oft renew And thro' thy fold let joyous youth appear. Beware the season of imperial Love, Who thro' the world his ardent spirit pours; Ev'n sheep are then intrepid! the proud ram With jealous eye surveys the spacious field: All rivals keep aloof, or desp'rate war Suddenly rages; with impetuous force, And fury irresistible, they dash Their hardy frontlets: the wide vale resounds: The flock, amaz'd, stands safe afar; and oft Each to the other's might a victim falls; As fell of old, before that engine's sway, Which hence ambition imitative wrought, The beauteous tow'rs of Salem to the dust. Wise custom at the fifth or six return, Or ere they 'ave past the twelfth, of orient morn, Castrates the lambkins; necessary rite, Ere they be number'd of the peaceful herd. But kindly watch whom thy sharp hand has grieved, In those rough months that lift the turning year: Not tedious is the office; to thy aid Favonius hastens; soon their wounds he heals, And leads them skipping to the flow'rs of May; May! who allows to fold, if poor the tilth, Like that of dreary houseless common fields, Worn by the plough; but fold on fallows dry. Enfeeble not thy flock to feed thy land, Nor in too narrow bounds the pris'ners crowd; Nor ope the wattled fence while balmy Morn Lies on the reeking pasture: wait till all