C 64 ] 

 A WAVING RYE-FIELD 



July 8, 1851. Here are some rich rye-fields wav- 

 ing over all the land, their heads nodding in the eve- 

 ning breeze with an apparently alternating motion; 

 i.e., they do not all bend at once by ranks, but sepa- 

 rately, and hence this agreeable alternation. How rich 

 a sight this cereal fruit, now yellow for the cradle, — 

 fiavus ! It is an impenetrable phalanx. I walk for half 

 a mile beside these Macedonians, looking in vain for 

 an opening. There is no Arnold Winkelried to gather 

 these spear-heads upon his breast and make an open- 

 ing for me. This is food for man. The earth labors 

 not in vain; it is bearing its burden. The yellow, wav- 

 ing, rustling rye extends far up and over the hills on 

 either side, a kind of pinafore to nature, leaving only 

 a narrow and dark passage at the bottom of a deep 

 ravine. How rankly it has grown! How it hastes to 

 maturity! I discover that there is such a goddess 

 as Ceres. These long grain-fields which you must 

 respect, — must go round, — occupying the ground 

 like an army. The small trees and shrubs seen dimly 

 in its midst are overwhelmed by the grain as by an 

 inundation. They are seen only as indistinct forms of 

 bushes and green leaves mixed with the yellow stalks. 

 There are certain crops which give me the idea of 

 bounty, of the Alma Natura. They are the grains. 

 Potatoes do not so fill the lap of earth. This rye ex- 

 cludes everything else and takes possession of the soil. 



