I.
With many a busy scene familiar grown,
Ye, who have lived amid the city's strife,
To rugged hills and verdant woods unknown,
Unknown to rural joys and cottage life,
Its hardy toil, its bloom inspired by health,
Its warmth of friendship and its guileless ways;--
Oh, learn, that there's a treasure more than wealth,
An honor higher far than human praise;--
Nor deem the lesson vain, though read in simple lays.

II.
Haste, from the mart of busy commerce flee,
And for a time its tumult leave behind,
When birds are singing in the summer's tree,
Or Autumn comes his golden sheaves to bind.
Go forth amid the forest and the rocks,
And there untarnished truth and virtue trace;
As thou shalt see the shepherd with his flocks,
Or scan, as I do now, the ploughman's race,
Or, at the cottage hearth, shalt mingle face to face.

III.
'Twas thus I onward fared, one summer's day,
Where rising hills in native grandeur spread;
Lonely and far the path ascending lay,
That upward to the Farmer's dwelling led.
The merry birds poured forth their various song;
The squirrel on the hazel took his seat;
The bubbling brooks danced rapidly along,
And filled the forest with their echoes sweet,
As through the woods I went, my rural friend to meet.

IV.
Nor was the meeting void of friendship's truth,
Repressed by selfishness, or marred by fears;
For we had known each other in our youth,
And youthful love had grown with riper years.
His Home was in the Mountains. Far from noise,
And undisturbed by grandeur's gaudy scene,
He, with his wife and children, had his joys,
Calm as their mountain sunset's ray serene,
Although, perchance, at times, some clouds may intervene.

V.
His bliss was not in Idleness, 'tis true.
(On that dull tree true pleasure will not grow.)
The Farmer ever had his work to do,
And wanton days and slothful, did not know.
The sun, that doth no sluggard's part fulfil,
What time it decks the sky with earliest red,
And scales with dewy step the eastern hill,
Ne'er found him useless in the loiterer's bed,
But forth, with men and boys, where toil and duty led.

VI.
Uprose the sun, and 'uprose Emily;'
Thus English Chaucer sung in days of old.
Uprose the sun; nor was less pleased to see
The Farmer's daughters, with his eye of gold.
The morning maids were at their milking pail;
And soon the cows, obedient to their word,
Regained, in lengthened row, the distant vale;
And all around, to higher anthems stirred,
From glittering bush and tree, sung loud the early bird.

VII.
The maids, if right I saw, were well content,
Nor envied aught the sport and splendor found
Among the gay, the proud, the opulent.
Far other cares they knew. The daily round
Of household duties occupied their thought;
The churn, the wheel, and to the parent pair,
By Nature's strong unerring instinct taught,
They fondly gave their homage and their care.
Such were their usual toils, such humble joys they share.

VIII.
One ruling wish they had. It was to spend
Upon their native hills their peaceful days,
Where they had known the neighbor and the friend,
A parent's fondness, and a brother's praise.
'Still to our hearts our native hills are dear,'
Thus sung they oft by murmuring brook and tree,
Where, with their gossip maids they sit and hear,
At sultry noon or starlight shining free,
Of all their sports and toils, the humble history.

IX.
Those, who are pent in sylvan scenes apart,
Whene'er they meet, have ever much to say;
Their words bear not the stamp of polished art,
Nor are they such, as higher minds might sway.
But though their speech is not of things that thrill,
And bring sad shadows o'er the throbbing brow,
'Tis such as may a Cotter's fancy fill,
Though but the story of his faithful plough,
Or of his petted lamb, or luckless wandering cow.

X.
Sometimes the sheep, that stray, ne'er come again;
Sometimes the fox invades the garden's bound;
Or sudden winds have vexed the standing grain,
Or blown, alas, the village steeple down.
But all such things shall pass, as they have come,
And every shadow from the memory flee,
When Lucy's brother from the town comes home,
And Jeannie's lad returns from o'er the sea,
To rest from toil awhile, in mountain liberty.

XI.
'Tis ever thus. The ties of friend and kin
Are found most strong and most with pleasure rife,
Among the dwellings of the poor, and in
The unambitious walks of rural life.
With woods around them, waters at their feet,
With flowers beneath, and fragrance in the air,
'Tis not in vain, that they each other meet;
Not one, that has a pleasure or a care,
But calls a kindred heart, that joy or grief to share.

XII.
The restless steers are fastened to the wain;
(I marked them ere they went their sounding way);
The early ditcher seeks the fields again,
With shovel glancing in the morning ray.
With bag and barley from the threshing-floor,
The slow-paced horse expands his loaded side.
The feathered group surround the cottage door,
And Mary, with her basin well supplied,
Forth from her little hand their portion doth divide.

XIII.
Far in the noisy woods, the bleating sheep
Ascend the rocks, and breathe the upland air.
The fair-haired William there his watch doth keep,
Too young as yet, a higher charge to share.
Nor outward sights alone refresh the eye,
Nor outward labors to the heart appeal;
The elder Jane her constant task doth ply,
Within the cottage-walls, with cheerful zeal,
And, singing rural songs, still turns her murmuring wheel.

XIV.
Such are the scenes, that Mountain homes unfold;
The history such of those who till the land.
Forth in the fields the Cotter's self behold
Behind his plough, with persevering hand.
Nor deem it a disgrace the plough to guide:
Did not great Cincinnatus till the ground,
He, who the hostile Volsci scattered wide?
The Seer Elisha, at the plough was found;
The plough, that reverence claims the mighty world around.

XV.
I venerate man the plough who speeds,
The independent tiller of the soil,
Who, boasting not of vainly glorious deeds,
Yet scorns to live by other people's toil.
Though all unnoticed in ambition's strife,
Which, with its noisy war, doth wide resound,
There's yet a pleasure in the Ploughman's life,
A bliss, attendant on the cultured ground,
Which kings and Caesars seek, but never yet have found.

XVI.
And then at eve behold him at his hearth,
Planning the duties of the coming morn;
How one shall wield the axe or spade the earth,
Another's task to till the tender corn:
Around him sit the peaceful household train;
And he, by Nature's right, their guide and head.
Than this, what juster power, what higher reign!
The lads marked well whate'er the father said,
By his experience taught, and by his wisdom led.

XVII.
And if at times the children leave their home,
In village near, some little wealth to earn,
The heart, untraveled, hath no power to roam,
Nor long the time which sees them all return.
Fair shines their cottage to the mental sight,
And pleasures blossom in their mountain air.
When, with a love unchanged, they forth repair,
And hail their happy hearth, its wonted blessings share.

XVIII.
And thus in solitude, yet not alone,
They have their joys and duties day by day;
To them unchanging Honor's path is known,
Though shut from noisy Glory's towering way.
Their feelings deep; if pensive, yet sincere;
And when they meet, poured through each other's mind.
In answering smiles, or sympathizing tear;
With power too great for outward forms to bind,
And pure as they are strong, though not by art refined.

XIX.
And on some pleasant days, in shaded walks,
They wander far, when hills and woods are green;
Around them is the voice of joyful flocks,
And flowers, and sounding waters grace the scene.
Yes, there are those, the pure and high of soul,
Whose passions, by a Holy Power subdued,
Are won to virtue's wise and just control;
And such, though deemed in outward manners rude,
Shall drink, from Nature's works, the beautiful and good.

XX.
And Nature is to them a living thing,
Food to the heart and beauty to the eye;
The hill, the mossy tree, the bubbling spring,
The bud, the flower, the autumn's mellow sky,
Awake the moral thought and sympathy.
The bird goes singing up, its joy revealing;
The gilded insect passes buzzing by;
The quiet bee, o'er beds of flowerets stealing;
All share their joyful eye, all wake their better feeling.

XXI.
Those, whom religious life hath given to know
The right, the pure, the honest, and the fair,
Have a new power. In all above, below,
In heaven and earth, the waters and the air,
There's a new glow of beauty. God's revealed;
The high, entranced eye of Faith can see,
(No longer by the earth's dim shadows sealed,)
The bright effulgence of the Deity,
The glory now that is, the greater that shall be.

XXII.
That glory shines in every planet's ray;
'Tis sounding forth in every blessed rill;
Upon the winged winds it makes its way,
O'er blooming valley, and o'er frowning hill;
And sends its light from all creation round.
In rural scenes, from polished arts afar,
Where Faith in all its holy power is found,
It shines with nought its lustre that may mar,
Enthroned in life and heart, the favorite guiding star.