And with much labour make of it their bread.
These plant the young shoots in the fertile earth-
Earth all untill’d, to which the plough, or spade,
Or rake, or harrow, are alike unknown.
The young girls carry water on their heads
In well-formed pitchers, just like Cambrian maids;
And all each morn and eve wash in the stream,
And sport like mermaids in the sparkling wave.
The village is laid out with taste and skill:
In the midst a spacious square, where stands the church,