Again great Horus, the vanguard of day,
Rolls up th’ horizon, and paints o’er the sky.
Eight harvest labourers bask on yonder hill,
Partaking of their early breakfast-meal;
Refresh’d they rise and scythe the bearded corn,
And nurse it till ’tis ready for the barn:
From field to field the sickle rushes forth;
The master[241] meditates upon its worth:
He bushels it, and bags it in a cart,
And takes it to a profitable mart;
Receives the coin, and cheers his trusty heart.
But while those peasants laid the hill-side bare,
The mansion inmates had their daily care;
And Rollingate was now all joy within,
Preparing for the matrimonial scene.
The different tradesfolk came from Ruttendell
With their resources for the festival;
And stores of every kind were now being brought.
(The wedding-ring already had been wrought.)
Upholsterers were busily at work
From early morning till the day grew dark:
Two suites of rooms were thus being re-arranged;
And sundry goods appropriately changed.
(Arnold, himself, took special interest—
Observing everything done in its best.)
Three decorators, from one Mr. Small’s—
Were renovating ceilings, doors, and walls.
[241] The proprietor.