IN a faraway northern county, in the placid, pastoral region, Lives my farmer friend, the theme of my recitative, a famous Tamer of Oxen: There they bring him the three-year-olds and the four-year-olds, to break them; He will take the wildest steer in the world, and break him and tame him; He will go, fearless, without any whip, where the young bullock chafes up and down the yard; The bullockâ€™s head tosses restless high in the air, with raging eyes; Yet, see you! how soon his rage subsidesâ€”how soon this Tamer tames him: See you! on the farms hereabout, a hundred oxen, young and oldâ€”and he is the man who has tamed them; They all know himâ€”all are affectionate to him; See you! some are such beautiful animalsâ€”so lofty looking! Some are buff colorâ€™dâ€”some mottledâ€”one has a white line running along his backâ€”some are brindled, Some have wide flaring horns (a good sign)â€”See you! the bright hides; See, the two with stars on their foreheadsâ€”See, the round bodies and broad backs; See, how straight and square they stand on their legsâ€”See, what fine, sagacious eyes;
See, how they watch their Tamerâ€”they wish him near themâ€”how they turn to look after him! What yearning expression! how uneasy they are when he moves away from them: â€”Now I marvel what it can be he appears to them, (books, politics, poems departâ€”all else departs;) I confess I envy only his fascinationâ€”my silent, illiterate friend, Whom a hundred oxen love, there in his life on farms, In the northern county far, in the placid, pastoral region.