best verses are distinguished for their inspiration and
genuine enthusiasm. Careless of form and finish, not always stopping to
make sure of his rhymes or perfect his metre, he gave the freest vent to
his emotions. Some of the heart-glow which makes the exhilaration of
Burns's poems infectious is found in his songs, but they are generally
so entirely French that its scope is limited in a way that the Scotch
poet's, despite his vernacular, was not. The Frenchman's sympathy is
always with the harder side of life. In the 'Songs of the Soldier' he
plays on chords of steel. These verses resound with the blast of the
bugle, the roll of the drum, the flash of the sword, the rattle of
musketry, the boom of the cannon; and even in the 'Songs of the Peasant'
it is the corn and the wine, as the fruit of toil, that appeal to him,
rather than the grass and the flowers embellishing the fields.

THE HARVEST

From 'Chants du Paysan'

The wheat, the hardy wheat is rippling on the breeze.
'Tis our great mother's sacred mantle spread afar,
Old Earth revered, who gives us life, in whom we are,
We the dull clay the living God molds as he please.

The wheat, the hardy wheat bends down its heavy head,
Blessed and consecrate by the Eternal hand;
The stalks are green although the yellow ears expand:
Keep them, O Lord, from 'neath the tempest's crushing tread!

The wheat, the hardy wheat spreads like a golden sea
Whose harvesters--bent low beneath the sun's fierce light,
Stanch galley-slaves, whose oar is now the sickle bright--
Cleave down the waves before them falling ceaselessly.

The wheat, the hardy wheat ranged in its serried rows,
Seems like some noble camp upon the distant plain.
Glory to God!--the crickets chirp their wide refrain;
From sheaf to sheaf the welcome bread-song sweeping goes.

Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature,' by Thomas
Walsh.

IN GOOD QUARTERS

From 'Poemes Militaires'

MIREBEAU, 1871

Good old woman, bother not.
Or the place will be too hot:
You might let the fire grow old--
Save your fagots for the cold:
I am drying through and through.

But she, stopping not to hear,
Shook the smoldering ashes near:
"Soldier, not too warm for you!"

Good old woman, do not mind;
At the storehouse I have dined:
Save your vin