Brandenburg Harvest-Song. From the German of La Motte Fouque

The corn in golden light
Waves o’er the plain;
The sickle’s gleam is bright;
Full swells the grain.

Now send we far around
Our harvest lay!--
Alas! a heavier sound
Comes o’er the day!

Earth shrouds with burial sod
Her soft eyes blue,--
Now o’er the gifts of God
Fall tears like dew!

On every breeze a knell
The hamlets pour:
We know its cause too well--
She is no more!