Farm Fastivals.

Otago Witness, Issue 1585, 8 April 1882, Page 26

Farm Fastivals.

THE FESTIVAL OF INDUSTRY ;

on, Tljc County Fair.

I. They brought the best and sleekest of their flocks— Tho milkiest, cow, the Kqimrcst-shouldored ox ; ' The bull, With mimic thunder in his cry, And lightning in ench uageiy wicked oye ; ' Thu sheep that had tho heaviest garment* worn, The cock that crowed the loudest in the morn ; The mule, unconscious hypocrite and knave, Thb horse, proud high-born Asiatic slave : Thfe playful calf; with eyes precocious-bright, The hog-grim quadrupedal appetite ; The Indian corn-oare, prodigal of yield,' The golden pumpkin, nugget of the field ; The memeat-oyed potatoes, nursed in Rlooni, Jubfc remirrected from thoir cradle-tomb ; Rich apples, mellow-cheeked, sufficient all To'v'o tempted five to (all— to make them fall ; TKo grapes; whose picking BGrvedstronj,' vinosto prune, Tlfc peach — rich alio'of the orchard's tune ; The very best the farmer's Jand had grown, THoy brought to this menagerie of their own. But listen T from among, the scattered herds . ,", ' Came to my hearing those equestrian words : ' '

' . [DIALOGUE, ,OF THE HORSES.] J i ■ i , , !. FIRST HORBK. | Wo are the pets of men— ' | , • | , The pampered pets ol mon '. . i There is naught for us too gpntle and good , ♦ In tho graceful days of our,babyhood ; " We frißkand caper' in ehildiah gleo— I Oh, none bo pretty and'proud as wo ! j They cheer and cherish ua in our play— • * Oh; none so smilingly sweet aa they ! - And when a little our lives h&vo grown, i Each has a table arid roonrhis own, \ A waiter to fill hjs bill pf fare, , ( s 'A barber to clean and comb'his hair, s Yes, we arc the pets of men ! ' * ;i; i ;Thepampored,petaof men ! \ They show U9 gaily dressed and proud, £ To the eager eyes of the clamorous crowd ; I They champion us in,the rattling race, % They praise our beauty and choer our pace ; a They keep for ua our family trees— I They trumpet bur names beyond tho seas ; } They hang our portraits on their walls, ' ' And paint and garnish and gild our stalls. I , Yes, we are the pets of mon— , v j • ' The pampered pets of men 1 I ' ' BKCOND HORSE. '' '

i We are the slaves of men— ' The menial slaves of men ! ) They lash usover the dusty roada, ; And' bend us down with murderous loads ; They fling vile insults on our track, And know that we can not answer back ; , In winds of Winter, or Summer sun, , , , Tho tread of our toll is never done ;

) And when we are weak and old and Jarno, j "And labour-stiffened, and bowed with shame, ! And hard of heating, and blind of eye, < ? They dim us out of the world to die. i . < • Yes, we are the slaves of men— ' ■ The slaves of selfish men ! They draft us into their bloody spites, > They spur us, bleeding, into their fights ; ■ They poison onr souls with their senseless ire, ' 'And curse ua into a storm of fire. < And when' to death we are bowed and bent, f And take the ball that for them was meant, \ Alone they leave us to groan and.bleed, ■ And dash their spurs in another steed ; | Yes, we are the slaves of men— ' The slaves of brutish men !■

11. ■ ' t i Thotgrtm mechanic waved a hardenod hand— i Behold ! on every side his trophies stand :

1 The new-made plough, with curving iron beam, The thresher, with 1 its snowy plume of steam ; ' Tho cultivator, striped,gay, and proud, ' With new Ideas and dental wealth endowed ; . The windmill, how once moro at work for men, i Like Borne old help discharged and hired again ; ; The patent churns, whose recommends would seem To promise butter, almost without cream ; Sewing-machines of several-woman power, And destitute of gossip, Bweet or Hour. • The loud piano raised its voice on high, . And sung the constant chorus, Who will buy? 1 The patent washer strove to clench the creed That cleanliness and laziness agreed ; The reaper, resting idly on its wheel, Held fotth a murderous arm of iron and steel, And seemed to think 'twas waiting over-long • Before it might begin its rattling song : [SONG OP THE REAPER.] My grandfather was right little and old, And crooked and worn woa he ; But his teeth were stood, and his heart was bold, And he swam the waves of a sea of gold, But he couldn't keep up with me— me— mo— Couldn't keep up with mo. Then hie ! away to the golden plain ! We will clash and dash through glistening grain, And gather the wealth of earth and sun, And the world, will eat when our work is done ! My father he was bent and lean, But a wide-spread hand had he ; And his fingers they were long and clean, And he swung his broadsword bright and keen, But he never could light with me— me— me— Never could fight with mo 1 Then hie ! away whore the sunlight sleeps, ' And the wide-floored eartfi a granary keeps ; We will capture its bushels, ono by one. And the world will eat when our work is done ! The grain-sfcalk bows his bristling head, As 1 clatter and clash along, • The stubble it bends beneath my troad, The stacker's yellow tent is spread, And the hills throw back my song— myaong— The hills throw back my song ! Then hie ! where the food of nations glows, And the yellow tide of the harvest flows, Aud we dash and clash and glide and run ; And the world w ill eat whon our work is dono !

in. Edge deftly with mo into ' Floral Hall,' Where toil's handwrifciog, on each crowded wall, Weighs Industry in balance o'er and o'or, And finds tho greater part not out-of-door. The bread loaf, in an unobtrusive pluce, Displays its checiful, honest featured face, A coin of triumph, from tho mintage struck, Of uhomistry, skill, iaithfulness, and luck. What statesman, moulding laWd can understand The far-eyed cunninjr of a housewiie'a hand? What quoen her suhjeots with more anxious oyes Can watch, than bho her ' emptyings,' as thoy rise? What eonquo t gives that warrior more delight Than she haa, when baking comes out right? (Ah, mo ! we oft know not, till over-late, What things are truly email, and wluit aro great ! 'Tie something had to tell, in God's vast sky, What's actually low, and what ia high !) Hero rests, not over-f reo from pain and ache, Bread's proud, rich, cifiy-' urtured cousin, Cako ; Gay-plumaged as his bisteiy are the ]>ies — Food chiefly for the palate and the eyes. These canned fruits, like the four-and-twouty birds Imprisoned in the nursery ballad's words, Will be expected, when at last released, To bincf sweet taste-soups for some Winter feast. Proudly displayed, rich" trophies there are found Of the fierce jiocdle's thread-strewn battle-ground : This is a bed-quilt— its credentials howStitched by a jyrandntno, centuries aj»o ; That 5s embroidery made this very .year, By seme unteened mias, who is lurking 1 near. The picture family ia abroad to-day, Dreaded up in every gaze-cntiointr m ay : Here an oil-paintinjjf'ploafls f<>r trn hful svrt, Wrought "by some local genius with his heavt ; He sighß to see his soul misumlerutood,

* ' Farm li'cbfciviUs,' )>y Will Cvli'ton, author of 'Farm JJcillads/ 'Kun> VnuulV i»v. Balhuifcyuo Hanson, and Co., Edinburgh and London.

And hear them call the picture • pr'tty good.' Work on, poor boy, with courage that endures : Stars have burst forth from blacker clouds than yours. Feel with your own hcart-tbink with your own mind, And make the canvas speak the thoughts they find ! The eyes may not be very far away Tbat will, on some gad, unexpected day, Bring other eyes within your weird control, And lift your name alongside of your soul. Thiß is the town photographer's display ; Who shows his showiest patronß here to-day. He places in his pillory of frame 3 The faces of the town's most talked of names : The mayor, with his eyebrows stiffly arched, And collar unc inditionally starched, Shows, through his careful chemical design, His last majority in every line. His wife Hangs in an advantageous placo, , With new-discovered beauties in her face, ' From the sun-artist's thrifty, cunning trado : Photography, you are a flatt'ring jade 1 Some of their subjects dangling hero are found— A settlement of faces clusters round— A king of kingdom, as it wero, in sport : The mayor holding photographic couti. Each one in half-fictitious splendour's dressed, And each id doing bis pictorial beat. The artist, grinning down a look of gall, Worked for- these baby.-picturea most of all ; Dear, dear ! How low he had'to bow and surape, To; keep his infant popinjays in shape, And hold the sinless villain's glance in check, To save his shadow enterprise from wreck ! To keep this little wandering Arab-eye He made himself a miscellaneous guy ; ! He was this pretty tyrant's vassal true, His portrait-painter, and court- jester, too ; •An!d, that a first-class picture might bedouo, jMade himself into a ridiculous one ; Said ''Hooty-tooty,' and ttiat sort of thiug, And made the rattle-box insanely sinir. But, passing fromthe'so posy-sprinkled bowers (For children's features are the facial flowers), Come with me, where white bands have thickly strewn Trie horticultural house-pets they havo grown. i What arebut weeds beneath a southern sky, Are here as house-plants,' rated precious high ; 'As villains'gb to uncongenial climes, But, being less known, havo better social times. >'(Sb our old Mullein, here of deference scant, Struts round England as ' The Velvet Plant ; ' And ' Cactus '—Thistle when in south-land met— Ignore a prickly flower, to keep and pet.) But woman's wand-like nature' can, indeed, Make'beaUty Bprlngfrom c'en a common weed ; Hbwniuch more, when, around some flower-gem rare She throws the settiugtof her tender care ! Sweet window-gardoners ! with dainty arts Tracing,, the floral language of your hearts, Making The Home, with thoso gay-livoried slaves, A, bloom-fed island 'iriid the winter-waves : In which the frost-bit callor can commune With bright hours stolen from some day of Juno. 'Tis your sweet, 'cultured taste that bids us call This niche of labour's temple ' Floral Hall. 1 h: ; ,: ... ;rr . Tho'peoplß siood about on every sid<>, And Keenly these familiar wonders eyed, Each miriute seeking some new ocular prize }" • But, as they gazed about, their greedy eyes: • , ■ . On nothing queeroi than mankind could fall, And so they watched, each other, most of all. „ There was the thrifty farmer : quickly he Had seen about all that he wished to see, ' And knew while up and down condemned to roam, How much more he would feel at home, at home., The farmer's 1 .'wife, with, smiles of rural grace . O'erflawing from her soul into her face, Screamed loud as each acquaintance. hove in view, And gave the cordial cry, 'How dew you dew V The' farmer's boy bore vigour in his tread, And' in his hands a block of gingerbread ; The farmer's girl was somewhat prone to flirt, > , Watched by her mother, lest she come, to hurt ; Whose words had full as much effect as when,, Around some pond,, an anxious eyed old hen t To draw away her gosling-children strives, , And take'them from their life to save their lives. ' The doctors, lawyers, merchants and that kind, Looked round, their old-time customers to find, < > Or shun— and smiling 'noath the verbal din, Dilated on Jheir country origin. A writer for the Agricultural Press, • vVhb farmed (on 'foolscap) with complete success, WbVraised great crops of produce, in a wink, And tilled largo farms with/papor, pen,' and ink— Who, sitting in-door at a regular price, ; Gave largo amounts of good out-door advice, , And, as his contribution to the Fair, ' Had' brought himself and an oration there — Arose, in somewhat over-conscious strength, , And 'gave his views 'at any amount of length. ' As when the sun at morning upwards 1 crowds 1 His kingly path through thickly gathered clouds,' Sometimes, .behold ! these vapour birds have flown, Driven byjila rays, and left him there alone, , So from this luminary,' fancy-fired, ', The saddened audience gradually retired ; Though 'still stayed where they were when he began, Three children, and a veiy deaf old man. And even these showed signs of weakening, When the sad poet rose, and with a fling Of paper that a. ragman might rejoice, Remarked, in timidly defiant vcice : ' Spirits of earth-dead agriculturists ! If the ghost ear to rhythmic nonsense lists ' (And ill have a hearing, that must be, For I'm not jostled by mortality)-^ Spirits, if you ahquld deem attention duo To one who soon must starve his way to you (A process that this rich world, by-the-way, Ia aiding quietly, from day to day, Seeming to think the poet's proper place Is 'mongst his own— ahem !— angelic raeo), Oh list to me, sad spirits, here declare My contribution to the County FailTo be a drop of rhythm from ofl my pen, Which I deuominato " The Labouring men "'