264 AMERICAN GRAPE GROWING 



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

 He was found dead among his heloved 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 lives 

 eternal in the memory of his many friends. 



AMERICAN VINTNER'S SONG. 



BY FREDERICK MUENCH (FAR WEST). 



(Translated from the German by Mrs. Wlstar.) 



Plant the vine ! 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! Eve and dawn! 



Still must find us working on, 



Digging, cutting, pruning, binding, 

 Round their props the tendrils twining, 



Sweet the mite of labor done. 



Sun and air ! Sun and air ! 

 Leafy green and odors fair ; 



Then the berries, luscious treasure, 



Fill the inmost soul with pleasure, 

 Leaves and fruit and blossoms fair, 



Then at last ! Then at last ! 



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 ! Gather in ! 

 Let our harvest now begin. 



Now the purple juice, dark glowing, 



Full and free, in streams is flowing. 

 Young and old, come, gather in.' 



Hear it foam ! Hear it foaml 

 Surging in its narrow home ; 



Let it seethe and bubble rightly 



Till it sparkles, clear and brightly 

 Here within its narrow home. 



