The barn is still, the master's gone, The milk is settled in the pans The pale-eyed moon is mounted high. The mistress sees that lazy Kate The candles safe, the hearths all clear, And join the general troop of sleep. H. Kirke White. The Useful Plough A COUNTRY life is sweet! In moderate cold and heat, To walk in the air, how pleasant and fair! The fairest of flowers adorning the bowers, To that I say, no courtier may Compare with they who clothe in gray, And follow the useful plough. They rise with the morning lark, And labour till almost dark, Then folding their sheep, they hasten to sleep; While every pleasant park Next morning is ringing with birds that are singing On each green, tender bough. With what content and merriment Their days are spent, whose minds are bent The Water-Mill "ANY grist for the mill ?" How merrily it goes! Flap, flap, flap, flap, While the water flows. Round-about, and round-about, The heavy mill-stones grind, And the dust flies all about the mill, "Any grist for the mill ?" The jolly farmer packs Noisily, oh noisily, The mill-stones turn about : You cannot make the miller hear Unless you scream and shout. "Any grist for the mill ?" The bakers come and go; * Other lines omitted. E Old Song. They bring their empty sacks to fill, "Any grist for the mill ?" How quickly it goes round! Splash, splash, splash, splash, With a whirring sound. Farmers, bring your corn to-day; And bakers, buy your flour; Dusty millers, work away, While it is in your power. "Any grist for the mill?" Alas! it will not go ; The river, too, is standing still, The ground is white with snow. And when the frosty weather comes, And freezes up the streams, The miller only hears the mill And grinds the corn in dreams. Living close beside the mill, The miller's girls and boys Always play at make-believe, Because they have no toys. 'Any grist for our mill?” The elder brothers shout, While all the little Petticoats Go whirling round about. The miller's little boys and girls "Good father, play with us to-day; You cannot work, you know. We will be the mill-stones, And you shall be the wheel; We'll pelt each other with the snow, And it shall be the meal." Oh, heartily the miller's wife. "Bravely done, my little lads, For money comes but slowly in When snow-flakes are the meal." The Windmill BEHOLD! a giant am I ! Aloft here in my tower, With my granite jaws I devour The maize, and the wheat, and the rye, I look down over the farms; For I know it is all for me. "Aunt Effie." |