Classic Poem

Hushed the storm that raged at night,
And the stars with paling light
More and more give token
Dawn by now has broken.
Clouds are streaming,
Sunlight beaming,
On the mist and smoke is gleaming.
Breezes blowing soft and gay
Rattle windows with their play,
Maples, aspens rustle,
Roaring fountains bustle.
Black-cock singeth,
Peasant springeth,
Harness on his horse he flingeth.
Fire now skips,
Flutters and licks
Brushwood and chips,
Grasses and sticks.
Porridge cooks on ruddy cinder.
Now with locks awry
Cotter on the sly
Feels about for pipe and tinder;
And a Dalesman lone,
Leaning on a stone,
To the shovel sets his foot.

Now the landlord dons a boot,
Cleans his brandy-still from soot,
Holds his pint-pot, laughing,
In his doorway quaffing;
While he jokes there,
Father smokes there,
Heroes they amid the folks there.
Dame in wagon by the gate
With her hand upholds her pate,
Back and forward swaying,
Nods, in dreamland straying.
Sunlight smarts then,
Dame she starts then,
Sips a glass as she departs then.
Wheels in the mill
Start on their round.
Hark! through the still
Morn comes the sound
Of the first blows from the smithy.
Blacksmith, tall and spare,
To the waist all bare,
Red tongs held with fore-arm pithy,
'Twixt the forge and sand,
Bellows in one hand,
Singeth now his morning prayer.

Winds are romping fresh and fair,
Seeds and plants and flow'rets rare
Open sheath and petal,
Smile where dewdrops settle.
Dawn, all-splendid,
Comes attended
By delight with zephyrs blended,
Forest glimmers darkly blue,
Hills and mountains rise in view;
Lambs and heifers roam there,
Lads and lasses come there.
Loud they hollo
As they follow,
Herding all the flocks that wallow.
Larks in the sky
Wing the cool air,
Roosters near by
Flap wings and blare;
All of Nature turns to duty,
Or as it awakes
Glow and glory takes. ...
And to treasure all the beauty
Movitz now gets up,
Grabs his color-cup,
Sets his canvas on his knee.

Ha! 't is Madame Bergstrom — see! —
What a bonnet! Glory be!
With a bosom nosegay,
Pug on arm, she goes gay.
Ear-rings jolly,
Parasol, l'
Faith — Poor Movitz and his folly!
Sure I 'll die with laughing at
Her fop son with shepherd hat,
Fine as anybody;
Beauty-patch, the noddy!
Much to brag on!
See the sag on
Her big double chin, the dragon!
Bosom tight-laced
Juts from her frame —
My what a chaste
Inn-keeper's dame
On your canvas you 've inflicted!
Only will you say
Why she sits, I pray,
With a bird on wrist depicted?
" Ay, the reason 's this,
Bergstrom's wife it is;
He would take the truth amiss. "