On goes the age with footsteps fleet and strong, And we have seen a wondrous sight to-day; The mighty Chariot reaper forced its way Where erst the half-hidden scythe's man stoop'd along. Another tale of harvest hours is o'er, With all its great, and all its little gains, And poor old Ailsie piles her wheaten store, And feels as rich as all the rolling wains. The moonrise seems to burn a golden oil, To light a world of plenty, while it shows The woodland, listening in its dark repose To many a voice and homeward step of toil, Till all have pass'd beyond the forest bound, And not a footfall chafes it into sound. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ENGLISHMAN IN ITALY by ROBERT BROWNING EXILE OF ERIN by THOMAS CAMPBELL THE HERITAGE by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL |