POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2418, 5 January 1882, Page 4

POETRY.

D O B M U 8. A UNITS BONO. [“ Macmillan’s Magazine.”] Down from the lifted corn-field trips The child with ripe red-berriod lips. The radiont mountain boy with eyes Blue as wet gentians in the shade. His golden hair all wet with heat, Limp as the meadow gold new laid; And as a russet fir-oone brown. An earthen pitcher gaily swings Upon his little shoulder borne. Water to fetch from sunless springs ; And while the flowers his bare feet brush Loud sings he like a mountain thrush. Ah, corn-flowers blue and poppies red, Weep, for our little Love is dead. By paths that through sweet hay new mown Like hillside brooks come leaping down. Past silver slabs of morning, where Tho wet crags flash the sunlight back, Past the warm runnels in the grass, Whose course the purple orchards track, And down the shining uplond slopes, And herby dell ell dark with pine, Incarnate gladness, leaps the child, Still singing like a bird divine, His little pottering sunburnt feet With bruised meadow spikenard sweet. Ah cornflowers blue and poppies red, Weep, for our little Love is dead. Too soon, ah mo, too bitter soon He reached the dell unsunned at noon, Where in long flutes the water falls Into a deep and glimmering pool, And struck from out tho dripping rooks The silvery water sparks all cool Spangle the chilly cavern-dark, And olear-out ferns green fringe the gloom, And with continuous sounds the air

Trembles, and all the still perfume— Here came the child for water chill. The sultry reapers’ thirst to still. Ah cornflowers blue and poppies red, Weep for our little Love is dead. “ Hither, come hither, thou fair child," Loud sang the water voices loud. “ Oome hither, thou delightful boy, And tread our cool translucent floors, Where never scorching heats may oome. Nor ever wintry tempest roars ; Nor the sharp tooth of envious age May fret thy beauty with decay, And thou grow sad mid wailful men ; But in thy deathless spring-time stay. Made one with our eternal joy, Forever an immortal boy.” Ah, cornflowers blue and poppies red. Weep, for our little Love is dead. He dipped bis pitcher o’er the brink, About it dimpling sunlights wink. The smooth rill fills its darkling throat With hollow tinklings mounting shrill And shriller to it* thirsty lip ; But sweeter, wilder, louder still The water voices ringing sing ; And beckon him, and draw him down The cool-armed silver-wristed nymphs, His warm lips with cold kisses orown ; And to their chilly bosoms prest, He sinks away in endless rest. Ah cornflowers blue and poppies red, Weep, for our little Love is dead. But still in the warm twilight eyes, Threading the lone moon-silvered sheaves. Or where, in fragrant, dusky heaps, The dim-seen hay cool scents emits. The boy across the darkening hills Bearing his little pitcher flits. With feet as light as snowflakes fall, Nor, passing, stir the feathered grass ; And sings a song no man may know Of old forgotten things that pass, And love that endeth in a sigh, And beauty only born to die. Blue cornflowers weep, red poppies sigh. For all we love must ever die. —Eliza Hopkins.

Note. —The “ Linus Songs ” were sung in the harvest field, or in the vineyards at vintage. They were of a tender and melancholy character, with a pathetic burden, in which all joined, beating time with their feet; and seem to have been inspired by some sort of unconscious sense of sadness over tho golden corn laid low and tho purpling grapes gathered and crushed. They derive their name from Linus, a beautiful boy brought up among the sheepfolds and torn to death by wild dogs.

BETTER CURE OF MILK [“Prairie Farmer.”] As the area devoted to the dairy interests enlarges, we are led to speculate upon its future greatness. Are we to go on increasing, always finding a market for our butter or cheese, good, bad, and indifferent, or will there be such an enormous quantity placed upon the market that only the good will be accepted, and the bad rejected, thereby forcing the manufacturers of the poorer grades to work out their own salvation or go to the wall F Such a turn in affairs would confine the production of butter and cheese to those who aim to make only fine goods, and who are enabled to accomplish this point by the use of the best appliances and the aid of human skill and ingenuity to assist them in the manufacture of the finer grades of butter and cheese. Therefore it is necessary that we watch every manipulation of the milk from the time it leaves the cow (in fact the food which is given the cow) to the time it is placed in the hands of the consumer in the form of butter and cheese. The responsibility for its good care up to the time of its delivery to the manufacturer rests with the farmer. Much as this subject has been dwelt upon, and although many precepts have been laid down, not one-half of the dairymen who take milk to the factories feel the responsibility resting upon them, Many seem to think that any time or money spent in oaring for their milk is so much clear loss to them personally, although it may benefit the manufacturer, failing to see that any deterioration in the quality of a single can of milk will affect all the butter and cheese made that day, and consequently lessen the dividend that should came to them. The other half of our dairymen deserve the credit of seeing the necessity of taking proper care of their milk, delivering it to the manufacturers in a good condition. In discussing this question Mr 0. 8. Kelbaum gives some very valuable suggestions to the indifferent and inexperienced dairymen of the grave results that come through their carelessness. He says manufacturers want the full and hearty co-operation of every dairyman in endeavoring to get the best possible results from their milk with the least percentage of loss. Good cows, well fed and well watered, will produce good milk. Well watered means plenty of good healthy water from a running stream or good well. It is a notorious fact that poor water—or water from stagnant pools—is the cause of more taint in the milk in summer time than anything else. Salt, regularly given, adds to the quantity as well as the quality of milk. If it be possible, let the cows have access to plenty of shade during the hot days of summer, for many a can of milk is spoiled by a single pailful drawn from a cow in an over-heated condition. Do not allow your men to beat them nor dogs to worry them. They will give more and better milk for the kindness bestowed upon them. When your men come to milk, insist that they clean the bag and teats with water, it they need it, and then dry them before milking; and, for heaven’s sake, don't allow them to drain the dirty mixture into the pail. L" jk to it that every pail, every strainer, every can, is washed in cold water first, and then most thoroughly with hot water, drained, and allowed to get the sun’s rays upon them, it possible, for there is no purifier like good pure air and a bright sun.

Every dairy farmer should be provided with a good milk-house, situated at a good distance from the cow stable, so that it may be free from the disagreeable odors that milk is always sure to absorb if left all night in the cow stable. If you have not running water in the milk house, provide yourself with a good windmill pump. As soon as the milk is drawn, carry it at once to the milk house. Have the water about the cans changed several times, and the milk stirred to prevent cream rising, until it is cooled to about sixty degrees for the night’s milk, and sixty-five for the morning’s. During all this time be sure and leave the can covers off, to allow the animal heat to escape. Do not mix your morning’s and night's milk, but place them in separate nans, even if yon have only a can altogether. Carry to the factory as soon alter milking as it in cooled to a proper temperature, using, if possible, a spring waggon, to prevent too great churning of the milk on rough roads. Always cover your cans with a blanket—to protect the milk from the sun in summer and from the cold in the winter.— “American Dairyman.”