Page:The Poems of John Dyer (1903).djvu/101

Crown'd with full baskets, in the field-way paths 325
Come tripping on ; the echoing hills repeat
The stroke of axe and hammer ; scaffolds rise,
And growing edifices ; heaps of stone,
Beneath the chisel, beauteous shapes assume
Of frieze and column. Some, with even line, 330
New streets are marking in the neighb'ring fields,
And sacred domes of worship. Industry,
Which dignifies the artist, lifts the swain,
And the straw cottage to a palace turns,
Over the work presides. Such was the scene 335
Of hurrying Carthage, when the Trojan chief
First view'd her growing turrets : so appear
Th' increasing walls of busy Manchester,
Sheffield, and Birmingham, whose reddening fields
Rise and enlarge their suburbs. Lo ! in throngs, 340
For every realm, the careful factors meet,
Whispering each other. In long ranks the bales,
Like War's bright files, beyond the sight extend.
Straight, ere the sounding bell the signal strikes,
Which ends the hour of traffic, they conclude 345
The speedy compact ; and, well-pleas'd transfer,
With mutual benefit, superior wealth
To many a kingdom's rent, or tyrant's hoard.
Whate'er is excellent in art proceeds
From labour and endurance. Deep the oak 350
Must sink in stubborn earth its roots obscure,
That hopes to lift its branches to the skies.
Gold cannot gold appear until man's toil
Discloses wide the mountain's hidden ribs,
And digs the dusky ore, and breaks and grinds 355
Its gritty parts, and laves in limpid streams
With oft-repeated toil, and oft in fire
The metal purifies : with the fatigue
And tedious process of its painful works