IV.
[COTTON-PICKING SONG][[15]]
In the field how many blossoms showing,
In the field how many maidens rare?
Golden, set with red, the blossoms glowing;
Red veils sewn with gold the maidens wear.
Oh, the merry hours
Midst the maids and flowers!
Tell us, which of these twain is most fair?
CHORUS OF BOYS.
O golden bud!
Spotless without thou art,
Sin--stained within, like blood--
So woman's heart.
CHORUS OF GIRLS.
Not so! No, no!
We will not have it so!
O pale, pure bloom,
Cold to the world thou art;
Yet warm love finds a room
In woman's heart.
In the field the merry leaves are dancing;
In the field small hands which never rest;
Leaves with five points crimson-tinged and glancing,
Fingers henna-tipped and daintiest.
Fate a bright spell weaves
With the hands and leaves.
Tell us, which of these twain is the best?
CHORUS OF BOYS.
Wind-driven leaves,
Busy at its command,
Idle when none perceives--
So woman's hand.
CHORUS OF GIRLS.
Not so! No, no!
We will not have it so!
Pitiful leaves,
Doing, by kindness planned,
Work that no man perceives--
So woman's hand.
In the field, down on the breeze is blowing;
In the fields, the maidens' thoughts rise light;
Down to bear the seed for wider sowing,
Thoughts which fly to dear ones out of sight;
Merrily they've flown,
Thoughts and cotton down.
Tell us, which of these twain does the right?
CHORUS OF BOYS.
Unstable down,
By every idle wind
Hither and thither blown--
So woman's mind.
CHORUS OF GIRLS.
Not so! No, no!
We will not have it so!
Soft, white--winged down,
Eager new work to find,
Hoarding naught for its own--
So woman's mind.
In the field the husk-shells swing and rustle;
In the field the merry tongues wag fast;
Clatter! chatter! Oh, the laughing bustle!
Smiles and jests at all as they come past.
Yonder's a man--
Answer if he can.
"Blows and kisses, tears and smiling;
Women's faith and man's beguiling;
Money spending, money piling:
Tell us, what in life will longest last?"
VOICE OF A MAN.
Ram, give me strength,
Else it will be unsung,
For none can tell the length
Of woman's tongue.
CHORUS OF GIRLS.
Fie, fie! Not so!
We will not have it so!
CHORUS OF MATRONS.
Have patience, lassies--wait a little space;
The bridal lamps will flame, the songs be sung;
Then you can laugh, and teach your own good man
To know the length of his good woman's tongue!