 | Song and Story |  |
139
A LEGEND OF HARVEST.
So long ago that history pays
No heed nor record of how long,
Back in the lovely dreamy days,
The days of story and of song,
No heed nor record of how long,
Back in the lovely dreamy days,
The days of story and of song,
Before the world had crowded grown,
While wrong on earth was hard to find,
And half the lands had never known
The forms and faces of mankind,
While wrong on earth was hard to find,
And half the lands had never known
The forms and faces of mankind,
When just as now the years would keep
Their terms of snows and suns and showers,
It chanced that Summer dropt asleep,
One morning, in a field of flowers.
Their terms of snows and suns and showers,
It chanced that Summer dropt asleep,
One morning, in a field of flowers.
And while the warm weeks came and fled,
In all their tender wealth of charm,
She slept, with beauteous golden head
Laid softly on her milky arm.
In all their tender wealth of charm,
She slept, with beauteous golden head
Laid softly on her milky arm.
140
She did not hear the waving trees,
The warbling brook she did not hear,
Nor yet the velvet-coated bees
That boomed about her rosy ear.
The warbling brook she did not hear,
Nor yet the velvet-coated bees
That boomed about her rosy ear.
In many a yellow breezy mass,
The rich wheat ripened far away,
And glittering on the fragrant grass,
Her silver sickle idly lay.
The rich wheat ripened far away,
And glittering on the fragrant grass,
Her silver sickle idly lay.
But then at last, one noontide hour,
A bright moth, fluttering through the air,
Mistook her sweet mouth for a flower,
And waked her as he lighted there.
A bright moth, fluttering through the air,
Mistook her sweet mouth for a flower,
And waked her as he lighted there.
She rose in anxious wonder now,
To gaze upon the heightened wheat,
And saw its plenteous tassels bow
Dead ripe below the sultry heat.
To gaze upon the heightened wheat,
And saw its plenteous tassels bow
Dead ripe below the sultry heat.
Half crazed, she wandered east and west,
About the peaceful spacious clime,
Until at last, with panting breast,
She stood before old Father Time.
About the peaceful spacious clime,
Until at last, with panting breast,
She stood before old Father Time.
141
With tears of shame she told him all,
While pointing to the wheat unmown,
And said, “What power shall make it fall
Ere Autumn's bitter winds have blown?”
While pointing to the wheat unmown,
And said, “What power shall make it fall
Ere Autumn's bitter winds have blown?”
Then Father Time, with laughter gay,
Leaned low his frame and crooked his knees,
And tossed his white beard like the spray
That crowns the crests of wintry seas.
Leaned low his frame and crooked his knees,
And tossed his white beard like the spray
That crowns the crests of wintry seas.
“Oh, daughter, cheer your heart,” he cried;
“The wheat shall fall ere falls the night;
We two shall mow it, side by side,
And reap it in the stars' pale light.”
“The wheat shall fall ere falls the night;
We two shall mow it, side by side,
And reap it in the stars' pale light.”
So Summer cleared her brow of gloom,
And forth with Father Time she went,
And haggard age by youth in bloom,
Above the tawny wheat they bent.
And forth with Father Time she went,
And haggard age by youth in bloom,
Above the tawny wheat they bent.
Ere fall of night the harvest fell;
But since that season, fair and blithe,
As ancient annals love to tell,
Old Father Time has borne a scythe.
But since that season, fair and blithe,
As ancient annals love to tell,
Old Father Time has borne a scythe.
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