A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/Omnia Vincit Amor (Auguste de Belloy)
OMNIA VINCIT AMOR.
Under an ardent sun, a traveller gay,
From a long pilgrimage I was coming back,
Twelve oxen large and slow, along the track
Dragged on the bark, in which I sheltered lay,
Now half asleep, now gazing at the day
Dying upon the red horizon's verge;
Light blent with shade, when in the twilight dim,
The landmarks sun-tipped of my journey's end
Appeared far off, as beacons that emerge
Over a sea, through vapours round that swim.
But rough, uneven was the towing road,
And so, nor crack of whip nor cry could lend
Speed to the oxen staggering with their load.
Sudden a child at play upon the shore
Observed us, laughed, and warning me from far,
Detached the oxen, swiftly, and with grace,
From rope and halter, then triumphant bore
With a gold thread bright-beaming as a star,
Onwards the equipage at a wondrous pace,
Without the semblance of an effort. 'What!'
Cries out a sage, 'No effort—can it be?
Why, Hercules himself could do it not.
'Tis a tale idle as the Genie's ring.
When did this happen, and oh! tell me where?'
Dear reader, shall I clear the mystery?
The child was Love, of all magicians king,
The thread of gold was from my Chloe's hair.