Now, see’st thou aught in this lone scene
Can tell of that which late hath been?--
A stranger might reply,
“The bare extent of stubble-plain
Seems lately lighten’d of its grain;
And yonder sable tracks remain
Marks of the peasant’s ponderous wain,
When harvest-home was nigh.
On these broad spots of trampled ground,
Perchance the rustics danced such round
As Teniers loved to draw;
And where the earth seems scorch’d by flame,
To dress the homely feast they came,
And toil’d the kerchief’d village dame
Around her fire of straw.”--