The rain was pattering o’er the low thatch’d shed
That gave us shelter. There was a shepherd boy
Stretching his lazy limbs on the rough straw
In vacant happiness. A tatter’d sack
Cover’d his sturdy loins, while his rude legs
Were deck’d with uncouth patches of all hues,
Iris and jet, through which his sun-burnt skin
Peep’d forth in dainty contrast. He was a glory
For painter’s eye; and his quaint draperies
Would harmonize with some fair sylvan scene,
Where arching groves, and flower-embroider’d banks,
Verdant with thymy grass, tempted the sheep
To scramble up their height, while he, reclin’d
Upon the pillowing moss, lay listlessly
Through the long summer’s day. Not such as he
In plains of Thessaly, as poets feign,
Went piping forth at the first gleam of morn,
And in their bowering thickets dreamt of joy,
And innocence, and love. Let the true lay
Speak thus of the poor hind:--his indolent gaze
Reck’d not of natural beauties; his delights
Were gross and sensual: not the glorious sun,
Rising above his hills, and lighting up
His woods and pastures with a joyous beam,
To him was grandeur; not the reposing sound
Of tinkling flocks cropping the tender shoots
To him was music; not the blossomy breeze
That slumbers in the honey-dropping bean-flower
To him was fragrance: he went plodding on
His long-accustomed path; and when his cares
Of daily duties were o’erpass’d, he ate,
And laugh’d, and slept, with a most drowsy mind.
Dweller in cities, scorn’st thou the shepherd boy,
Who never look’d within to find the eye
For Nature’s glories? Oh, his slumbering spirit
Struggled to pierce the fogs and deepening mists
Of rustic ignorance; but he was bound
With a harsh galling chain, and so he went
Grovelling along his dim instinctive way.
Yet _thou_ hadst other hopes and other thoughts,
But the world spoil’d thee: then the mutable clouds,
And doming skies, and glory-shedding sun,
And tranquil stars that hung above thy head
Like angels gazing on thy crowded path,
To thee were worthless, and thy soul forsook
The love of beauteous fields, and the blest lore
That man may read in Nature’s book of truth.
Despise not, then, the lazy shepherd boy,
For his account and thine shall be made up,
And evil cherish’d and occasion lost
May cast their load upon thee, while his spirit
May bud and bloom in a more sunny sphere.
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Two things are required on the part of the working classes to
adjust themselves to the state of society as one altering and
improving:--skill, or practical knowledge, so that when one branch
of productive labour fails from improvement or fluctuation, they
may resort to another; and economy, that they may provide against
“a rainy day,” and instead of seeking relief in combination and
outrage, have the means of support until the arrival of more
favourable times. These qualities will appear only where there has
been some training of the head and the heart. Let then the mind be
taught to think and the judgment be fitted for correct decision,
and the difference will be manifest, as it is now in cases
occasionally witnessed; the intelligent will not be the dupes of
demagogues or incendiaries, and the thrifty will discover a higher
tone of feeling than their improvident neighbours.--_Wilderspin’s
Early Discipline._
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