Poems (David)/Harvest
HARVEST.
HOW I love to see the golden corn
Lie basking in the new-born morn;
The reapers bending to their toil;
The sun their efforts cannot foil.
The golden sheaves, in yellow bundles bound,
Soon dots the fields within their little mound;
The gleaners gather up each scatter'd grain,—
They find their trouble not in vain;—
Perchance some child entwines a wreath
Of those fair flowers that grew beneath
The corn so tall, and dancing poppies bright,
Which look so gay and gaudy in the light!
Lie basking in the new-born morn;
The reapers bending to their toil;
The sun their efforts cannot foil.
The golden sheaves, in yellow bundles bound,
Soon dots the fields within their little mound;
The gleaners gather up each scatter'd grain,—
They find their trouble not in vain;—
Perchance some child entwines a wreath
Of those fair flowers that grew beneath
The corn so tall, and dancing poppies bright,
Which look so gay and gaudy in the light!
THE JADIS AND AUJOURD HUI OF A FASHIONIST.
AT sweet eighteen, Miss Julia is thought to be
From the finishing school of Miss Trimmer set free.
Beautiful and accomplished in foreign airs and graces,
Promenades, rides and drives, in all the fashionable places.
"To day, oh! happy day! I dine at charming Lady C's,
To morrow night, a brilliant ball at lovely Lady B's.
Dancing is my delight, and I love music from my soul,
Never so happy as when on the light fantastic toe.
With 'la politesse' I always make a point to hide
From insolent cockscombs with their horrid gibes—
They say I paint my face and colour too my eyes,
The error is soon found out to their very great surprise.
But now they think me handsome, indeed a perfect belle,
Nothing would surprise them, if did not marry well!
As a fashionist, of course, I've already learnt to fib—
Orders given to say 'not at home,' when really only hid.
I only shew my good sense and aristocratic breeding
To my vulgar country cousins, when I'm thus deceiving.
A monster chignon and small plate I invariably wear,
When the fashion changes of course I dye my hair.
I really think if pea green was the fashion and the vogue,
I would carry out this silly taste, and dress quite 'à la mode.'
When I condescend to walk my robe quite trails along the ground,
And when perchance 'tis trod upon, I feel and know I frown!
Alas!—as I'm no longer young, I rouge, and paint, and dye,
Keep twisting too and rolling my bella-donna eyes!
At home, I spend my time in really useless nothing,
From the finishing school of Miss Trimmer set free.
Beautiful and accomplished in foreign airs and graces,
Promenades, rides and drives, in all the fashionable places.
"To day, oh! happy day! I dine at charming Lady C's,
To morrow night, a brilliant ball at lovely Lady B's.
Dancing is my delight, and I love music from my soul,
Never so happy as when on the light fantastic toe.
With 'la politesse' I always make a point to hide
From insolent cockscombs with their horrid gibes—
They say I paint my face and colour too my eyes,
The error is soon found out to their very great surprise.
But now they think me handsome, indeed a perfect belle,
Nothing would surprise them, if did not marry well!
As a fashionist, of course, I've already learnt to fib—
Orders given to say 'not at home,' when really only hid.
I only shew my good sense and aristocratic breeding
To my vulgar country cousins, when I'm thus deceiving.
A monster chignon and small plate I invariably wear,
When the fashion changes of course I dye my hair.
I really think if pea green was the fashion and the vogue,
I would carry out this silly taste, and dress quite 'à la mode.'
When I condescend to walk my robe quite trails along the ground,
And when perchance 'tis trod upon, I feel and know I frown!
Alas!—as I'm no longer young, I rouge, and paint, and dye,
Keep twisting too and rolling my bella-donna eyes!
At home, I spend my time in really useless nothing,