Bearing the weary elders, and beside
The pipes and tambourines with ribbons tied.
Anon by fields of beardless wheat they passed,
Lashed into billows by the noisy blast;
And “Mon Dieu, but that is noble grain!”
They cried. “What tufts of ears! There shall we gain
“Right pleasant reaping! The wind bows them over;
But see you not how quickly they recover?
Is all the wheat-crop of Provence thus cheering,
Grandfather?” asked a youth, old Ambroi nearing.
“The red is backward still,” he made reply;
“But, if this windy weather last, deem I
“Sickles will fail us ere the work be done.
How like three stars the Christmas candles shone!
That was a blessed sign of a good year!”
“Now, grandfather, may the good God thee hear,
And in thy granary the same fulfil!”
So Ambroi and the reapers chatted still
In friendly wise, under the willows wending;
For these as well to Lotus Farm were tending.
It also chanced that Master Ramoun went
That eve to hearken for the wheat’s complaint
Against the wind, wild waster of the grain;
And, as he strode over the yellow plain
From north to south, he heard the golden corn
Murmuring, “See the ills that we have borne,
Master, from this great gale. It spills our seed
And blurs our bloom!”—“Put on your gloves of reed,”
Sang others, “else the ants will be more fleet,
And rob us of our all but hardened wheat.
“When will the sickles come?” And Ramoun turned
Toward the trees, and even then discerned
The reapers rising in the distance dim;
Who, as they nearer drew, saluted him
With waving sickles flashing in the sun.
Then roared the master, “Welcome, every one!
“A very God-send!” cried he, loud and long;
And soon the sheaf-binders about him throng,
Saying, “Shake hands! Why, Holy Cross, look here!
What heaps of sheaves, good master, will this year
Cumber your treading-floor!”—“Mayhap,” said he:
“We cannot alway judge by what we see.
“Till all is trod, the truth will not be known.
I have known years that promised,” he went on,
“Eighty full bushels to the acre fairly,
And yielded in their stead a dozen barely.
Yet let us be content!” And, with a smile,
He shook their hands all round in friendly style,
And gossiped with old Ambroi affably.
So entered all the homestead path, and he
Called out once more, “Come forth, Mirèio mine:
Prepare the chiccory and draw the wine!”
And she right lavishly the table spread;
While Ramoun first him seated at its head,
And the rest in their order, for the lunch.
Forthwith the labourers began to crunch
Hard-crusted bread their sturdy teeth between,
And hail the salad made of goats-beard green;
While fair as an oat-leaf the table shone,
And in superb profusion heaped thereon