| |
| WHEN smoke stood up from Ludlow, | |
| And mist blew off from Teme, | |
| And blithe afield to ploughing | |
| Against the morning beam | |
| I strode beside my team, | 5 |
| |
| The blackbird in the coppice | |
| Looked out to see me stride, | |
| And hearkened as I whistled | |
| The trampling team beside, | |
| And fluted and replied: | 10 |
| |
| ‘Lie down, lie down, young yeoman; | |
| What use to rise and rise? | |
| Rise man a thousand mornings | |
| Yet down at last he lies, | |
| And then the man is wise.’ | 15 |
| |
| I heard the tune he sang me, | |
| And spied his yellow bill; | |
| I picked a stone and aimed it | |
| And threw it with a will: | |
| Then the bird was still. | 20 |
| |
| Then my soul within me | |
| Took up the blackbird’s strain, | |
| And still beside the horses | |
| Along the dewy lane | |
| It sang the song again: | 25 |
| |
| ‘Lie down, lie down, young yeoman; | |
| The sun moves always west; | |
| The road one treads to labour | |
| Will lead one home to rest, | |
| And that will be the best.’ | 30 |
| |
