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Of birch-trees waves above the chimney top;
In shape, in size, and colour, an abode
Such as in unsafe times of Border war
Might have been wished for and contrived—to elude
The eye of roving Plunderer, for their need
Suffices; and unshaken bears the assault
Of their most dreaded foe, the strong South-west,
In anger blowing from the distant sea.
—Alone within her solitary Hut;
There, or within the compass of her fields,
At any moment may the Dame be found,
True as the Stock-dove to her shallow nest
And to the grove that holds it. She beguiles
By intermingled work of house and field
The summer's day, and winter's; with success
Not equal, but sufficient to maintain,
Even at the worst, a smooth stream of content,
Until the expected hour at which her Mate
From the far-distant Quarry's vault returns;
And by his converse crowns a silent day
With evening cheerfulness. In powers of mind,
In scale of culture, few among my Flock
Hold lower rank than this sequestered Pair.
