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Then Home we drove along the Road
Down by the Village School,
From out the Village Pool.
And some would ask to ride
Come, let us have a Ride!' I never could refuse the lads,
They had such winning faces ! That soon the Rogues were perched astride
Old Dobbin's jingling traces ; And there they found a Happiness
Surpassing that of Kings; 'Tis true their Joys lacked Splendour,
But then they had no Stings ! For when their Ride was ended
Contentment reigned supreme;
Did help us with the Team,
gear ; 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,
Old Ben is now on view !
Then all of us did grin ;
: ; He didn't care a pin. * Aye, Lads! but ye are prime To-night,'
I think I hear him say;
To see thy heart so gay.
'I well remember, Lads,' said he,
• That Field in Years gone by !-Before 'twas sown by anyone,
Or touched by any scythe. -
Not as you see it now ;-
Untouched by any Plough.-
“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 !
Begin, my Lads, To-day !"
Our bills and hooks were soon at work
To cut the Brushwood down ;
And sold them in the Town.
To pull the stumps and roots;
They were such ugly brutes !
The rest we burnt in piles ;
Some saw them forty miles
As silent as a Star,
Like messengers of War.
'Then we Ploughed the Field Together ! —
Me, Master and the Men -
That ever I did ken -
Well Ploughed and Harrowed, too;
And you may think that we were Proud
When we had Sown it Through.
The Spring-time wan'd, the Summer went,
Then came the Autumn tide,
With honest, manly pride,
Of hot and sultry Noon,
Beamed by the Harvest Moon,
Stood out before my Sight;
Of such as never fight.
We Reaped the Field Together
'Tis now nigh thirty year! I was a Young Man then, my Lads !
Though now I'm Old and Sere !Yet never did I in my Time,
A better Harvest see !For every
Acre that we sowed Brought forth abundantly.And every Season that I Plough,
Or reap the standing Corn, One Lesson Good it teaches me:
“ Be not a Brake of Thorn !"
Land must bring Something forth, my Lads
Ripe Corn or useless Weeds !-
Be ever kind and true !
Shall round Your Pathway strew
The Ripening of Good Deeds !-
Than Crops of Noxious Weeds !
Old Ben we knew had Finished then,
So we retired to Sleep,
Had taken Root most deep.
Though with some little Trouble ;
Must first Plough Down the Stubble !
We Ploughed yon Field Together!
Full twenty year gone by !-
And, Stranger, so am I !