SONG OF THE HAYMAKERS.
Come forth, gentle ladies—come forth, dainty sirs,
And lend us your presence awhile;
Your garments will gather no stain from the burs,
And a freckle won't tarnish your smile.
Our carpet's more soft for your delicate feet
Than the pile of your velveted floor;
And the air of our balm-swath is surely as sweet
As the perfume of Araby's shore.
Come forth, noble masters, come forth to the field,
Where freshness and health may be found;
Where the wind-rows are spread for the butterfly's bed,
And the clover bloom falleth around.
Then a song and a cheer for the bonnie green stack,
Climbing up to the sun wide and high;
For the pitchers, and rakers, and merry haymakers,
And the beautiful Midsummer sky!
And lend us your presence awhile;
Your garments will gather no stain from the burs,
And a freckle won't tarnish your smile.
Our carpet's more soft for your delicate feet
Than the pile of your velveted floor;
And the air of our balm-swath is surely as sweet
As the perfume of Araby's shore.
Come forth, noble masters, come forth to the field,
Where freshness and health may be found;
Where the wind-rows are spread for the butterfly's bed,
And the clover bloom falleth around.
Then a song and a cheer for the bonnie green stack,
Climbing up to the sun wide and high;
For the pitchers, and rakers, and merry haymakers,
And the beautiful Midsummer sky!
"Hold fast!" cries the waggoner, loudly and quick,
And then comes the hearty "Gee-wo!"
While the cunning old team-horses manage to pick
A sweet mouthful to munch as they go.
The tawny-faced children come round us to play,
And bravely they scatter the heap;
Till the tiniest one, all outspent with the fun,
Is curl'd up with the sheep-dog, asleep.
Old age sitteth down on the haycock's fair crown,
At the close of our labouring day;
And wishes his life, like the grass at his feet,
May be pure at its "passing away."
Then a song and a cheer for the bonnie green stack,
Climbing up to the sun wide and high;
For the pitchers, and rakers, and merry haymakers,
And the beautiful Midsummer sky!
And then comes the hearty "Gee-wo!"
While the cunning old team-horses manage to pick
A sweet mouthful to munch as they go.
The tawny-faced children come round us to play,
And bravely they scatter the heap;
Till the tiniest one, all outspent with the fun,
Is curl'd up with the sheep-dog, asleep.
Old age sitteth down on the haycock's fair crown,
At the close of our labouring day;
And wishes his life, like the grass at his feet,
May be pure at its "passing away."
Then a song and a cheer for the bonnie green stack,
Climbing up to the sun wide and high;
For the pitchers, and rakers, and merry haymakers,
And the beautiful Midsummer sky!
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