Classic Poem

I ROSE to-day, put on my hose,
My handkerchief, and all my clothes;
And, with my porringer and spoon,
I ate my mess of milk. Full soon,
With brother Will, a stout young chap,
We levell'd down the old field gap,
The horse traced in, and all away
With forks and rakes about the hay.
Dad built the load; we work'd amain,
Expecting it would shortly rain;
Then drove the laden wain along
With many a shout, and many a song.
How fresh the flowers, with dew-drops
How sang the sky-lark over head!
Well, then 'twas who will build the rick?
Shall Will, or Sam, or Matt, or Dick?
Or Jem, as he 's a clever lad?
O no, the lot must fall on Dad.
So he began to work away,
When we upset the load of hay;
Then, turning the red horse about,
We from the corn-close hasten'd out,
And trotted down the narrow lane,
And soon we had a load again;
Threw up the ropes, and driver John,
With chirp and whistle, drove him on;
While mother in the field did stay
Behind us raking up the hay.
Ann trod the dry grass on the stack,
Her hair and bonnet, too, hung back;
And father pull'd with might and main,
For fear the clouds would pour down rain;
And driver John re-loaded quick,
That soon we built and thatch'd the rick.