The tinkling bells the tidings spread,
The milkmaid muffles up her head,
And wakes the village hum.
In shining pans the snowy flood
Through whitened canvas pours;
The dyeing pots of otter good
And rennet tinged with madder blood
Are sought among their stores.
The quivering curd, in panniers stowed,
Is loaded on the jade,
The stumbling beast supports the load,
While trickling whey bedews the road
Along the dusty glade.
As Cairo's slaves, to bondage bred,
The arid deserts roam,
Through trackless sands undaunted tread,
With skins of water on their head
To cheer their masters home,
So here full many a sturdy swain
His precious baggage bore;
Old misers e'en forgot their gain,
And bed-rid cripples, free from pain,
Now took the road before.
The widow, with her dripping mite
Upon her saddle horn,
Rode up in haste to see the sight
And aid a charity so right,
A pauper so forlorn.
The circling throng an opening drew
Upon the verdant-grass
To let the vast procession through
To spread their rich repast in view,
And Elder J. L. pass.
Then Elder J. with lifted eyes
In musing posture stood,
Invoked a blessing from the skies
To save from vermin, mites and flies,
And keep the bounty good.
Now mellow strokes the yielding pile
From polished steel receives,
And shining nymphs stand still a while,
Or mix the mass with salt and oil,
With sage and savory leaves.