The Poetical Works of James Gates Percival With a biographical sketch |
1. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
10. |
11. |
12. |
13. |
14. |
15. |
16. |
17. |
18. |
19. |
20. |
21. |
22. |
1. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
10. |
11. |
12. |
13. |
14. |
15. |
16. |
17. |
18. |
19. |
20. |
21. |
1. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
10. |
11. |
12. |
13. |
14. |
15. |
XV. The Vintage.
|
16. |
17. |
18. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
1. |
1. |
2. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
10. |
11. |
12. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
The Poetical Works of James Gates Percival | ||
XV. The Vintage.
“Bekränzet die Tonnen.”—
Hölty.
Hölty.
The vines are deeply blushing;
The vintage is nigh;
And plenty is gushing,
In showers, from the sky.
Bright spirits are fleeting,
On white clouds, along;
And glad hearts are greeting
Their presence with song.
The vintage is nigh;
And plenty is gushing,
In showers, from the sky.
Bright spirits are fleeting,
On white clouds, along;
And glad hearts are greeting
Their presence with song.
The youth and the maiden
Now haste to the vine;
The choicest of clusters
They gracefully twine:
With music and dances,
They bear them away;
Their toil is but pastime,
Their labor is play.
Now haste to the vine;
The choicest of clusters
They gracefully twine:
With music and dances,
They bear them away;
Their toil is but pastime,
Their labor is play.
O'er hill, and o'er valley,
Is calm and repose;
The voice of the fountain
Is hushed as it flows;
The lake, too, is sleeping,
Unruffled its breast:
All nature is keeping
A Sabbath of rest.
Is calm and repose;
356
Is hushed as it flows;
The lake, too, is sleeping,
Unruffled its breast:
All nature is keeping
A Sabbath of rest.
The vintage is gathered;
The harvest is in;
The fruitage of autumn
Is piled in its bin:
The swallows are flitting
To sunnier shore;
We care not for Winter,—
We 've plenty in store.
The harvest is in;
The fruitage of autumn
Is piled in its bin:
The swallows are flitting
To sunnier shore;
We care not for Winter,—
We 've plenty in store.
The Poetical Works of James Gates Percival | ||