Then Home we drove along the Road And stopped the Horses there to drink From out the Village Pool. Here oft the Boys would Welcome us, I never could refuse the lads, They had such winning faces! That soon the Rogues were perched astride Surpassing that of Kings; 'Tis true their Joys lacked Splendour, And every Youngster gratefully And then off Home to speed again Like herd of flying deer. Now, when the Supper we had had Old Ben began to say How many Lessons good as Gold The Field had taught that Day. Young Jim he turned about and smiled, As he was wont to do, And whispered slyly to the Maids, Old Ben is now on view! The Girls they gave him knowing looks, Then all of us did grin ; Old Ben he sat and smoked the while; He didn't care a pin. Aye, Lads! but ye are prime To-night,' I think I hear him say; 'And, Mary, lass, it does me good To see thy heart so gay. 'I well remember, Lads,' said he, Before 'twas sown by anyone, Or touched by any scythe.'Twas in a rough and rugged state, Not as you see it now; A wilderness of brake and thorns! Untouched by any Plough.- One day the Master said to me, "I think we'll try and till That thick-set mass of Tangled Land Which lies upon the Hill ; It has lain Idle long enough!— I think we'll make it pay !— So set to work with right goodwill !— 'Our bills and hooks were soon at work We carted scores of loads away, Three weeks from then or more it took My word, it was a trying job, They were such ugly brutes! And some we carried Home to burn, The rest we burnt in piles; You should have seen the Bonfires bright! Some saw them forty miles Gleam red and silent through the Night As silent as a Star, Upon the far-off Horizon, Like messengers of War. 'Then we Ploughed the Field Together! Me, Master and the Men ! It was the toughest, hardest job That ever I did ken ! At last we got it into Shape, Well Ploughed and Harrowed, too; And you may think that we were Proud 'The Spring-time wan'd, the Summer went, Then came the Autumn tide, And oft I felt my bosom swell With honest, manly pride, When in the Sunshine warm and bright Of hot and sultry Noon, Or 'neath the silv'ry shadowy light The splendid Yield of that Golden Field An Army strong, a Peaceful Throng Of such as never fight. 'We Reaped the Field Together!- I was a Young Man then, my Lads !— A better Harvest see !— And every Season that I Plough, Land must bring Something forth, my Lads!—— Ripe Corn or useless Weeds ! So root the Latter from your Hearts !— Sow only Golden Seeds !— Lay your Furrows long and straight!— Be ever kind and true!— Then God, who makes the Corn increase, The Ripening of Good Deeds!— Than Crops of Noxious Weeds !'— Old Ben we knew had Finished then, Yet in our Hearts his Golden Seeds Though with some little Trouble; But he who Plants the Golden Grain, Must first Plough Down the Stubble !— We Ploughed yon Field Together! Full twenty year gone by !— Old Ben is dead! young Jim is wed! And, Stranger, so am I ! Composed at Brawby, April 12-14, 1886. This Poem was suggested to me by seeing Three Teams of Horses ploughing in a Stubble Field of Mr. Frank Coates, called Robin Barn. |