University of Virginia Library

One summer's day—the tale is told—
An honest Peasant, poor and old,
Worked in the meadow with his wife,
When thus she spoke: “Well, on my life!
'T is precious hard that you and I
Must sweat beneath the burning sky,
Like galley slaves, for paltry pay,
And all because—alas the day!—
Of Adam's fall! But for his sin
And Eve's, how happy we had been!”
“True!” said the Peasant; “I believe,
Had I been Adam, you been Eve,
No foolish fancies would have come
To drive us from our Eden-home;
But all the race, this very day,
Had in the Garden been at play!”
The Count, their master, standing near
(Though quite unnoticed), chanced to hear
Their wise discourse; and, laughing, said:
“Well, my good friends, suppose instead
Of Paradise, my mansion there
Were yours to-day; with princely fare
For food to eat and wine to drink,
Would that content ye, do ye think?”

“Ah! that were Paradise indeed!
What more,” they cried, “could mortals need?”
“Well, we shall see,” the Count replied;
“But that your virtue may be tried,
Remember, on the table, served
With many a dish, there 's one reserved;
Partake of every one you see
Save that, which (like the Fatal Tree)
Just in the centre I will place.
Beware of that! lest Adam's case
Should be your own, and straight you go
Back to your sickle, rake, and hoe!”
Soon to the castle they were led,
And by a table richly spread,
As for a bacchanal carouse,
Behold the Peasant and his spouse!
“See!” said the woman, “what a treat!
Far more, I'm sure, than we can eat;
With such excess we well may spare
The dish that 's in the centre there!”
“Who cares for that?” the Peasant said;
(While eagerly the couple fed
From all the plates that round them lay.)
“My dear! I would n't look that way!”
“No harm in looking!” said the wife;
“I would n't touch it for my life.”
But in their minds, at length, there grew
A strong desire for something new;
Whereat the woman said, “I wish
I knew what 's hidden in that dish?”
“And, to be sure,” the man replied,
“Merely to look was not denied!”
“And even touching it,” said she,
“Were no great harm, it seems to me;
Of course, I will not lift the lid;
And who would know it if I did?”
She suits the action to the word,
When from the dish a little bird
(The Count had slyly hidden there)
Came rushing forth into the air,
And through the open window flew;
And so it was the master knew
What they had done. “Away!” he said;
“Back to the field and earn your bread
As you were wont,—and ne'er complain
Of Adam and of Eve again!”