But I came on, I smelt the hay,
And up the hills I took my way,
And down them still made holiday,
  And walked, and wearied not a whit;
But ever with the lane I went
Until it dropped with steep descent,
Cut deep into the rock, a tent
  Of maple branches roofing it.

Adown the rock small runlets wept,
And reckless ivies leaned and crept,
And little spots of sunshine slept
  On its brown steeps and made them fair;
And broader beams athwart it shot,
Where martins cheeped in many a knot,
For they had ta’en a sandy plot
  And scooped another Petra there.

And deeper down, hemmed in and hid
From upper light and life amid
The swallows gossiping, I thrid
  Its mazes, till the dipping land
Sank to the level of my lane. 
That was the last hill of the chain,
And fair below I saw the plain
  That seemed cold cheer to reprimand.

Half-drowned in sleepy peace it lay,
As satiate with the boundless play
Of sunshine in its green array. 
  And clear-cut hills of gloomy blue,
To keep it safe rose up behind,
As with a charmed ring to bind
The grassy sea, where clouds might find
  A place to bring their shadows to.

I said, and blest that pastoral grace,
“How sweet thou art, thou sunny place! 
Thy God approves thy smiling face:” 
  But straight my heart put in her word;
She said, “Albeit thy face I bless,
There have been times, sweet wilderness,
When I have wished to love thee less,
  Such pangs thy smile administered.”

But, lo!  I reached a field of wheat,
And by its gate full clear and sweet
A workman sang, while at his feet
  Played a young child, all life and stir—­
A three years’ child, with rosy lip,
Who in the song had partnership,
Made happy with each falling chip
  Dropped by the busy carpenter.

This, reared a new gate for the old,
And loud the tuneful measure rolled,
But stopped as I came up to hold
  Some kindly talk of passing things. 
Brave were his eyes, and frank his mien;
Of all men’s faces, calm or keen,
A better I have never seen
  In all my lonely wanderings.

And how it was I scarce can tell,
We seemed to please each other well;
I lingered till a noonday bell
  Had sounded, and his task was done. 
An oak had screened us from the heat;
And ’neath it in the standing wheat,
A cradle and a fair retreat,
  Full sweetly slept the little one.

The workman rested from his stroke,
And manly were the words he spoke,
Until the smiling babe awoke
  And prayed to him for milk and food. 
Then to a runlet forth he went,
And brought a wallet from the bent,
And bade me to the meal, intent
  I should not quit his neighborhood.

“For here,” said he, “are bread and beer,
And meat enough to make good cheer;
Sir, eat with me, and have no fear,
  For none upon my work depend,
Saving this child; and I may say
That I am rich, for every day
I put by somewhat; therefore stay,
  And to such eating condescend.”