Till the swift vehicle approach, they stand;
Then, following closely with the cloud of dust,
An uncouth feat exhibit, and are gone
Heels over head, like tumblers on a stage.
-Up from the ground they snatch the copper coin,
And, on the freight of merry passengers
Fixing a steady eye, maintain their speed;
And spin-and pant-and overhead again,
Wild pursuivants! until their breath is lost,
Or bounty tires-and every face that smiled
Encouragement, hath ceased to look that way.
-But, like the vagrants of the gipsy tribe,
These, bred to little pleasure in themselves
Are profitless to others.

Turn we then
To Britons born and bred within the pale
Of civil polity, and early trained

To earn, by wholesome labour in the field
The bread they eat. A sample should I give
Of what this stock produces to enrich
And beautify the tender age of life,

A sample fairly culled, ye would exclaim,

'Is this the whistling plough-boy whose shrill notes
Impart new gladness to the morning air?'
Forgive me if I venture to suspect

That many, sweet to hear of in soft verse,
Are of no finer frame: his joints are stiff;
Beneath a cumbrous frock, that to the knees
Invests the thriving churl, his legs appear,
Fellows to those which lustily upheld
The wooden stools for everlasting use,

On which our fathers sate. And mark his brow!
Under whose shaggy canopy are set

Two eyes-not dim, but of a healthy stare-
Wide, sluggish, blank, and ignorant, and strange--
Proclaiming boldly that they never drew
A look or motion of intelligence

From infant-conning of the Christ-cross-row,
Or puzzling through a primer, line by line,
Till perfect mastery crown the pains at last.

-What kindly warmth from touch of fostering hand.
What penetrating power of sun or breeze,
Shall e'er dissolve the crust wherein his soul
Sleeps, like a caterpillar sheathed in ice?
This torpor is no pitiable work

Of modern ingenuity; no town

Nor crowded city may be taxed with aught
Of sottish vice or desperate breach of law,
To which in after years he may be roused.
-This Boy the fields produce: his spade and hoe,
The carter's whip which on his shoulder rests
In air high-towering with a boorish pomp,
The sceptre of his sway; his country's name,