Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/112

 Healthful, and strong; full as the summer-rose Blown by prevailing suns, the ruddy maid, Half-naked, swelling on the sight, and all Her kindled graces burning o'er her cheek. Even stooping age is here; and infant-hands Trail the long rake, or, with the fragrant load O'ercharg'd, amid the kind oppression roll. Wide flies the tedded grain; all in a row Advancing broad, or wheeling round the field, They spread the breathing harvest to the sun, That throws refreshful round a rural smell: Or, as they rake the green-appearing ground, And drive the dusky wave along the mead, The russet hay-cock rises thick behind, In order gay. While heard from dale to dale, Waking the breeze, resounds the blended voice Of happy labour, love, and social glee.

rushing thence, in one diffusive band, They drive the troubled flocks, by many a dog Compell'd, to where the mazy-running brook Forms a deep pool: this bank abrupt and high, And that fair-spreading in a pebbled shore. Urg'd to the giddy brink, much is the toil, The clamour much, of men, and boys, and dogs, Ere the soft fearful people to the flood Commit their woolly sides. And oft the swain, On some impatient seizing, hurls them in: Embolden'd then, nor hesitating more, Fast, fast, they plunge amid the flashing wave, And panting labour to the farthest shore. Repeated this, till deep the well-wash'd fleece Has drunk the flood, and from his lively haunt The trout is banish'd by the sordid stream; Heavy, and dripping, to the breezy brow Slow-