The DIRGE.
31
Henceforth the morn shall dewy sorrow shed;
And ev'ning tears upon the grass be spread;
The rolling stream with watry grief shall flow, 35
And winds shall moan aloud—when loud they blow.
Henceforth, as oft as autum shall return,
The dropping trees, whene'er it rains, shall mourn;
This season quite shall strip the country's pride,
For 'twas in autum Blouzelinda dy'd. 40
Where-e'er I gad, I Blouzelind shall view,
Woods, dairy, barn and mows our passion knew.
When I direct my eyes to yonder wood,
Fresh rising sorrows curdles in my blood.
Thither I've often been the damsel's guide, 45
When rotten sticks our fuel have supply'd;
There, I remember how her faggots large,
Were frequently these happy shoulders charge.
Sometimes this crook drew hazle boughs adown,
And fluff'd her apron wide with nuts so brown;
Or when her feeding hogs had miss'd their way, 50
Or wallowing 'mid a feast of acorns lay;
Th' untoward creatures to the stye I drove,
And whistled all the way———or told my love.
If by the dairy's hatch I chance to hie, 55
I shall her goodly countenance espie;
For there her goodly countenance I've seen,
Set off with kerchief starch'd and pinners clean.
Sometimes like wax, she rolls her butter round,
Or with the wooden lilly prints the pound. 60
Whilome I've seen her skim the clouted cream,
And press from spongy curds the milky stream.
But, now, alas! these ears shall hear no more
The whining swine surround the dairy door:
No more her care shall fill the hollow tray, 65
To fat the guzzling hogs with floods of whey.
Lament, ye swine, in gruntings spend your grief,
For you, like me, have lost your sole relief.
When in the barn the sounding flail I ply,
Where from her sieve the chaff was wont to fly, 70
And ev'ning tears upon the grass be spread;
The rolling stream with watry grief shall flow, 35
And winds shall moan aloud—when loud they blow.
Henceforth, as oft as autum shall return,
The dropping trees, whene'er it rains, shall mourn;
This season quite shall strip the country's pride,
For 'twas in autum Blouzelinda dy'd. 40
Where-e'er I gad, I Blouzelind shall view,
Woods, dairy, barn and mows our passion knew.
When I direct my eyes to yonder wood,
Fresh rising sorrows curdles in my blood.
Thither I've often been the damsel's guide, 45
When rotten sticks our fuel have supply'd;
There, I remember how her faggots large,
Were frequently these happy shoulders charge.
Sometimes this crook drew hazle boughs adown,
And fluff'd her apron wide with nuts so brown;
Or when her feeding hogs had miss'd their way, 50
Or wallowing 'mid a feast of acorns lay;
Th' untoward creatures to the stye I drove,
And whistled all the way———or told my love.
If by the dairy's hatch I chance to hie, 55
I shall her goodly countenance espie;
For there her goodly countenance I've seen,
Set off with kerchief starch'd and pinners clean.
Sometimes like wax, she rolls her butter round,
Or with the wooden lilly prints the pound. 60
Whilome I've seen her skim the clouted cream,
And press from spongy curds the milky stream.
But, now, alas! these ears shall hear no more
The whining swine surround the dairy door:
No more her care shall fill the hollow tray, 65
To fat the guzzling hogs with floods of whey.
Lament, ye swine, in gruntings spend your grief,
For you, like me, have lost your sole relief.
When in the barn the sounding flail I ply,
Where from her sieve the chaff was wont to fly, 70
The
