The Poetical Works of Miss Susanna Blamire (1842) - Gredos ...

The Salamanca Corpus: The Poetical Works of Miss Susanna Blamire (1842)
The morning toils are now completely o’er,
The bowls well scalded, and well swept the floor.
The daughter at the needle plies the seam,
While the good mother hastens to the stream:
There the long webs, that wintry moons began,
Lie stretch’d and beaming in the summer’s sun;
And lest he scorch them in his fervid hours,
She scoops along the nice conducted showers;
Till like the snow, that tips the mountain’s height,
The brown’s dull shade gives place to purest white;
While her sweet child knee-deep is wading seen,
Picking bright stones, or tumbling on the green.
But now the sun’s bright whirling wheels appear
On the broad front of noon, in full career,
A sign more welcome hangs not in the air,
For now the sister’s call the brothers hear;
Dinner’s the word, and every cave around
Devours the voice, and feasts upon the sound.
‘Tis dinner, father! all the brothers cry,
Throw down the spade, and heave the pickaxe by;
Tis dinner, father! home they panting go,
While the tired parent still pants on more slow.
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Now the fried rasher meets them on the way,
And savoury pancakes welcome steams convey.
Their pace they mend, till at the pump they stand,
Deluge the face, and purify the hand,
And then to dinner. There the women wait,
And the tired father fills his chair of state;
Smoking potatoes meet their thankful eyes,
And Hunger wafts the grateful sacrifice;
To her libations of sweet milk are pour’d,
And Peace and Plenty watch around the board.
Now, till the sun has somewhat sunk in height,
Yet long before he dips his wheels in night,
The nut-brown labourers their senses steep
In the soft dews of renovating sleep;
The worthy sire to the soft bed repairs,
The sons beneath the shade forget their cares.
The clock strikes two, it beats upon the ear,
And soon the parent’s anxious voice they hear;
Come, come, my lads, you must not sleep all day!