Classic Poem

BY THE SAME .

'T IS sultry noon; and now the lab'ring swains,
Fatigu'd with heat, forsake the sun-burnt plains
To take their cool repast, beneath a shade,
Of ancient oaks and spreading elm-trees made.
The panting flocks lie stretch'd upon the mead,
The lowing herds, grown faint, refuse to feed;
For, Sol's bright lustre burns the verdant fields,
And ev'ry herb beneath his influence yields.
The blooming flow'rs, beneath his fervid ray,
All droop their heads and sicken at the day:
The surrow'd fields resign their golden load,
And weighty teams o'er-spread the dusty road:
The fattening poultry fill the stubbled land,
The feather'd tribe their flutt'ring wings expand;
O'erjoy'd they fly to cull the scatter'd grain,
By nature yielded to the russet plain.