The peasantry suffer great hardships in bad years; and, unfortunately, these more frequently recur than good.
Having, week after week, toiled up and down the nearly perpendicular cliffs, and worked amid their vineyards unmindful alike of sun and rain, it is very sad to think that generally the gain is small for so much labour; and even in good years, although the peasantry benefit considerably, yet it is not they, but the wine-buyers, who make the principal profit.
In every village may be seen one or two houses, evidently occupied by a class far above the peasantry. To these houses are attached large cellars, through whose open doors we sometimes see great casks piled up; the owners of these dwellings are small merchants, who buy up the grapes from the poorer people, paying by the weight. They are the real gainers by a good year, for they rule the prices of the market; and by advancing sums when necessary to the peasants, the latter are in a measure bound to accommodate them. That all do benefit is, however, an undoubted fact; and the happy vintage-time is the most joyful season of the year upon our river’s banks.
THE HARVEST.
The green leaves wither with the autumn’s breath;
The brown leaves falling, pass from life to death.
The winter, stealing on with silent feet,
Hastens the yearly cycle to complete.
But on our river’s banks no sorrows dwell,
No sigh is breath’d for summer on Moselle;