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Translated by K. F. Kroeker
IN lightning and in summer’s rain | |
| In noon-sun hot and glowing, | |
| Full gayly, O, Westphalia’s grain, | |
| Art shooting up and growing! | |
| Old Hellweg’s rye, so lithe and strong, | 5 |
| Seven feet and more thy stems are long, | |
| How gloriously dost ripen! | |
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| “I grow and ripen fast and strong, | |
| The year with gifts is mellow, | |
| To satisfy both old and young | 10 |
| I ripen rich and yellow; | |
| But dost thou not, O wanderer, know | |
| That he who joyfully did sow | |
| Can never cut and reap me? | |
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| “Forth through my swaying ears he went, | 15 |
| In rank and order starting, | |
| With clenched fist and tearful eye | |
| From house and home departing; | |
| Loud summoned by the drum and horn, | |
| He goes to crush his brother’s corn | 20 |
| In brother-war unhallowed. | |
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| “Who then for this year’s harvest-home | |
| Will fetch the girls to foot it? | |
| Alas! Who ’ll wave the harvest wreath, | |
| Upon the barn who ’ll put it? | 25 |
| The reaper’s name is Death, I wot, | |
| He mows this year with grape and shot; | |
| Well know I who has hired him. | |
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| “A little bird sings on the Haar: | |
| ‘Where Elbe and Main are hieing, | 30 |
| There he, who was a plough-boy here, | |
| All stiff and stark is lying; | |
| His homestead’s pride, forth did he go, | |
| A brother’s bullet laid him low!’ | |
| I rustle to the breezes.” | 35 |
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