No. 22 At the Village Dance
Meadows bloom, in Winter’s room
Reign the Loves and Graces,
With their gift of buds that lift
Bright and laughing faces;
’Neath the ray of genial May,
Shining, glowing, blushing, growing,
They the joys of spring are showing
In their manifold array.
Song-birds sweet the season greet,
Tune their merry voices;
Sound the ways with hymns of praise,
Every lane rejoices.
On the bough in greenwood now
Flowers are springing, perfumes flinging,
While young men and maids are clinging
To the loves they scarce avow.
O’er the grass together pass
Bands of lads love-laden:
Row by row in bevies go
Bride and blushing maiden.
See with glee ’neath linden-tree,
Where the dancing girls are glancing,
How the matron is advancing!
At her side her daughter see!
She’s my own, for whom alone,
If fate wills, I’ll tarry;
Young May-moon, or late or soon,
’Tis with her I’d marry!
Now with sighs I watch her rise,
She the purely loved, the surely
Chosen, who my heart securely
Turns from grief to Paradise.
In her sight with heaven’s own light
Like the gods I blossom;
Care for nought till she be brought
Yielding to my bosom.
Thirst divine my soul doth pine
To behold her and enfold her,
With clasped arms alone to hold her
In Love’s holy hidden shrine.
But the theme of the dance is worked up with even greater elaboration and a more studied ingenuity of rhyme and rhythm in the following characteristic song. This has the true accent of what may be called the Musa Vagabundula, and is one of the best lyrics of the series:—