A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/The Grand Pint (Auguste de Châtillon)
THE GRAND PINT.
Round the Grand Pint when rough winds moan,
And make the sign-board creak and groan
In frosty weather,
A huge log in the kitchen burns,
And there the stranger's eye discerns
Friends met together.
An old Dutch picture! cheek by jowl
Gosling and turkey, duck and fowl,
The turnspit garnish!
And then perchance the sun darts in,
To gild the pots and pans of tin,
And add the varnish.
Good cheer and noise and merry song
Shorten the hours when hours are long,
The wine flows steady;
And if one ever asks mine host,
Complaisant always at his post,
Is dinner ready?
'Ready?' He cries, and low he bows,
'We're always ready in this house,
Though it be humble;
The best of all things at a word!
And never, never have I heard
A patron grumble.'
I come, salute and mount; up springs
A table laid as if for kings!
The glasses glitter!
Where are my friends? The hard, hard frost
Has bound the road in distance lost,
The cold is bitter.
Let me behold the hazy plains:
The curtains part; the crystal panes
Show Frost-king's traces,
Lo! Mountains, lakes, and cypress-trees,
And bending flowers! but idly, these
My hand effaces.
Ah! Life is rude and hard to bear,
We bend with weight of years and care,
Whence comfort borrow?
At the Grand Pint, all laugh at all,
With merriment resounds the hall,
Adieu to sorrow!
Adieu one instant; joy and hope
Colour in rose the prospect's-scope,
Its darkness brightening,
Awake to mirth! The hour commands!
It is by blowing on the brands
Flames start like lightning.
Farewell Ennui, and welcome Wit!
As here with friends well pleased I sit,
How swift time passes!
When Friendship, Friendship, is the toast,
Brims up the best wine of mine host,
We drink full glasses.
Four friends! And shall it aye be thus,
Hand linked in hand, one heart in us?
No! Death may scatter.
But should one die, we shall be three,
Then two perchance, then one, ah me!
And then—no matter.