Page:The Poems of John Dyer (1903).djvu/62

 The crystal dews, impearl'd upon the grass, Are touch'd by Phœbus' beams, and mount aloft, With various clouds to paint the azure sky. In teasing fly-time, dank or frosty days, With unctuous liquids, or the lees of oil, Rub their soft skins between the parted locks: Thus the Brigantes: 't is not idle pains: Nor is that skill despis'd which trims their tails, Ere summer-heats, of filth and tagged wool. Coolness and cleanliness to health conduce. To mend thy mounds, to trench, to clear, to soil, Thy grateful fields, to medicate thy sheep, Hurdles to weave, and cheerly shelters raise, Thy vacant hours require; and ever learn Quick ether's motions: oft the scene is turn'd; Now the blue vault, and now the murky cloud, Hail, rain, or radiance: these the moon will tell, Each bird and beast, and these thy fleecy tribe. When high the sapphire cope, supine they couch, And chew the cud delighted; but ere rain Eager, and at unwonted hour, they feed. Slight not the warning; soon the tempest rolls, Scatt'ring them wide, close rushing at the heels Of th' hurrying o'ertaken swains: forbear Such nights to fold; such nights be theirs to shift On ridge or hillock; or in homesteads soft, Or softer cots, detain them. Is thy lot A chill penurious turf, to all thy toils Untractable? Before harsh winter drowns The noisy dykes, and starves the rushy glebe, Shift the frail breed to sandy hamlets warm; There let them sojourn, till gay Procne skims The thick'ning verdure and the rising flow'rs. And while departing autumn all embrowns The frequent-bitten fields, while thy free hand