264 AMERICAN 6BAPB 6B0WIKG 



ness. His wish was gratified by an all-wise Providence. 

 He was found dead among his beloved vines, one fine win- 

 ter's morning of that year, with the pruning shears still 

 in his hand, in his 84th year. Peace be to his memory. 

 One of the best and most genial of men, he yet livea 

 eternal in the memory of his many friends. 



AMERICAN VINTNER'S SONG. 



BY FREDERICK MUENCH (FAR WBSX). 



{Dranslated from the German by Mrs. Wiatar.} 



Plant the vine 1 Plant the vine ! 

 Generous fount of ruby wine! 



In the sunlight gladly playing, 



Richly all your toil repaying, 

 Will the smiling clusters shine. 



Eve and dawn I Eve and dawn I 



Still must find us working on, 



Digging, cutting, pruning, bindingf. 

 Round their props the tendrils twiniag^** 



Sweet the mite of labor done. 



San and air! Sun and air I 

 Leafy green and odors fair; 



Then the berries, luscious treasuro, 



Fill the inmost soul with pleasure. 

 Leaves and fruit and blossoms fair,— 



Then at last! Then at last I 



Left below, our labors past. 



Let us, o*er the mountains straying, 

 Where the air's mild breath is playing^ 



Down the vale our glances cast. 



Gather in I Gather in I 

 Let onr harvest now begin. 



Kow the purple juice, dark glowlng^l 



Fall and free, in streams is flowing^ 

 Toang and old, come, gather iu.|i 



Hear it foam t Hear it f oaml 

 Surging in its narrow home ; 



Let it seethe and bubble rightl|(| 



Till il sparkles, clear and bri^^tlf 

 Bm within tits lumow hom^. 



