The clouds o’erspread the sky in masses dense,
  And gentle rain down to the earth dispense. 
  First may the public fields the blessing get,
  And then with it our private fields we wet! 
  Patches of unripe grain the reaper leaves;
  And here and there ungathered are the sheaves. 
  Handfuls besides we drop upon the ground,
  And ears untouched in numbers lie around;—­

  These by the poor and widows shall be found. 
  When wives and children to the toilers come,
  Bringing provisions from each separate home,
  Our lord of long descent shall oft appear;
  The Inspector also, glad the men to cheer. 
  They too shall thank the Spirits of the air,
  With sacrifices pure for all their care;
  Now red, now black, the victims that they slay,
  As North or South the sacrifice they pay;
  While millet bright the altars always show;—­
  And we shall thus still greater blessings know.

The Complaint of an Officer

  O Heaven above, before whose light
  Revealed is every deed and thought,
     To thee I cry. 
  Hither on toilsome service brought,
  In this wild K’ew I watch time’s flight,
     And sadly sigh. 
  The second month had just begun,
  When from the east we took our way. 
     Through summer hot
  We passed, and many a wintry day. 
  Summer again its course has run. 
     O bitter lot! 
  There are my compeers, gay at court,
  While here the tears my face begrime. 
     I’d fain return—­
  But there is that dread net for crime! 
  The fear of it the wish cuts short. 
     In vain I burn!

  Ere we the royal city left,
  The sun and moon renewed the year. 
     We marched in hope. 
  Now to its close this year is near. 
  Return deferred, of hope bereft,
     All mourn and mope. 
  My lonesome state haunts aye my breast,
  While duties grow, and cares increase,
     Too hard to bear.

  Toils that oppress me never cease;
  Not for a moment dare I rest,
    Nigh to despair. 
  I think with fond regard of those,
  Who in their posts at court remain,
    My friends of old. 
  Fain would I be with them again,
  But fierce reproof return would cause. 
    This post I hold.

  When for the West I left my home,
  The sun and moon both mildly shone,
    Our hearts to cheer. 
  We’d soon be back, our service done! 
  Alas! affairs more urgent come,
    And fix us here. 
  The year is hastening to expire. 
  We gather now the southern-wood,
    The beans we reap;—­
  That for its fragrance, these for food. 
  Such things that constant care require
    Me anxious keep. 
  Thinking of friends still at their posts,
  I rise and pass the night outside,
    So vexed my mind. 
  But soon what changes may betide? 
  I here will stay, whate’er it costs,
    And be resigned.