See how it raineth! and the com is cut upon the plain,
And I have left my sickle, too, forgotten 'mid the grain,
Now there it lies—ah, woe to me! beneath the falling rain.
The spinning songs, which are absolutely improvisations, have, of course, all the inevitable character of abruptness and irregularity, but a charming grace of feeling is often visible through them, and their imagery is as effective as it is spontaneous and natural.
SPINNING SONG.
What didst thou, mother, when thou wert a maiden?—
I was young.—
Didst thou, like me, hark to the moon's soft footfalls,