 | The Battle-Day and Other Poems |  |
Oh! what is so blithe as through cornfields to roam,
When the lark is in heaven and laughter on earth?
Oh! what is so blithe as the glad harvest-home,
When the lads are all frolic—the lasses all mirth?
When the lark is in heaven and laughter on earth?
Oh! what is so blithe as the glad harvest-home,
When the lads are all frolic—the lasses all mirth?
Oh! what is so fair as mid breezes of June
To watch the long corn-billows sweep?
When the fields in their bloom sway like tides to the moon,
And from slender stalks drooping the soft whispers creep,
As though angels walked through them and prayed o'er their sleep!
To watch the long corn-billows sweep?
When the fields in their bloom sway like tides to the moon,
And from slender stalks drooping the soft whispers creep,
As though angels walked through them and prayed o'er their sleep!
90
Oh! what is so gay as the harvest-home dance,
When the moonbeams troop on the gray churchroof,
And the old men smile as they stand aloof;
The boys and the girls round them riot and race,
And the moon seems to laugh till 'tis red in the face
At the goblets that clank and the younkers that prance—
And the village-girls glance—at their partners askance,
As though heads and hearts too could be proof?
When the moonbeams troop on the gray churchroof,
And the old men smile as they stand aloof;
The boys and the girls round them riot and race,
And the moon seems to laugh till 'tis red in the face
At the goblets that clank and the younkers that prance—
And the village-girls glance—at their partners askance,
As though heads and hearts too could be proof?
Oh! what is so sweet as the Sunday morn?
When the bells on the breezes flow;
And the peasant lad walks with his bride through the corn
As church-ward they go—oh!—how slow—
Because—the blue cornflowers along the path grow!
And he and his lass bless the corn as they pass—
For they speak with a glance of the harvest-home dance.
When the bells on the breezes flow;
And the peasant lad walks with his bride through the corn
As church-ward they go—oh!—how slow—
Because—the blue cornflowers along the path grow!
And he and his lass bless the corn as they pass—
For they speak with a glance of the harvest-home dance.
91
Oh! what is so calm as the old man's joy,
When he walks by the field in its pride,
And talks of his feats in that field when a boy,
To the young boy who walks by his side?
How he mowed it down in one long summer's day:
When the labour was done how he knelt down to pray!
See! the flashes of boyhood from aged eyes glance,
For he thinks of his bride at the harvest-home dance.
When he walks by the field in its pride,
And talks of his feats in that field when a boy,
To the young boy who walks by his side?
How he mowed it down in one long summer's day:
When the labour was done how he knelt down to pray!
See! the flashes of boyhood from aged eyes glance,
For he thinks of his bride at the harvest-home dance.
'Twas merry in England in times of old
When the summer fields rolled their long billows of gold,
And the bright year had climbed to its noon;
The earth was song, laughter, and joyaunce and love,
And the Spirit of heaven sat smiling above,
From the orb of the red harvest moon.
When the summer fields rolled their long billows of gold,
And the bright year had climbed to its noon;
The earth was song, laughter, and joyaunce and love,
And the Spirit of heaven sat smiling above,
From the orb of the red harvest moon.
But where has it flown? Why less bright than of old
Does summer turn emerald fields into gold?
And the harvest moon struggle through mist faint and dim,
Like a pale ghost who peers round the charnel shroud's rim?
On the fair brow of woman a shadow is bent,
From the wild eye of man flashes forth discontent!
Say! Whence comes the change? Whence the curse has been sent?
Does summer turn emerald fields into gold?
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Like a pale ghost who peers round the charnel shroud's rim?
On the fair brow of woman a shadow is bent,
From the wild eye of man flashes forth discontent!
Say! Whence comes the change? Whence the curse has been sent?
| The Battle-Day and Other Poems | |