A Miller's Madrigal

A GRIST in the hopper, the sun on the sill,
An’ a heigho 1
Lucky the lane that comes out at a mill,
An’ a heigho !
Over his profit the honey-bee hums,
Out of his blanket the butterfly comes,
An’ a heigho, an’ a heigh !

The Doctor comes up on his mite of a mare,
An’ a heigho !
We agree this old world is all out o’ repair,
An’ a heigho ! But we leave it alone in our neighborly chats,
An’ he mixes a mess for my beggarly rats,
An’ a heigho, an’ a heigh !

The ’Squire, o’ late, he rides double with Care,
An’ a heigho !
Two mouths at a manger have left his mow bare,
An’ a heigho !
He never calls for the foot o’ my score,
Till it runs from the rafter clean down to the floor,
An’ a heigho, an’ a heigh !

The Parson’s the best o’ the black-coated clan,
An’ a heigho !
There is wheat he makes out in the branniest bran,
An’ a heigho !
He never grudges a grain o’ my toll,
He has an eye for a shoat or a foal,
An’ a heigho, an’ a heigh !

The sun’s at the gable, come hurry, old wheel,
An’ a heigho !
What say, my good widow, a coin in your meal ?
An’ a heigho !
’T was in your corn, maybe, the Lord only knows,
He tempers the lamb — I forget how it goes,
An’ a heigho, an’ a heigh !

The greater the worry the lighter the gain,
An’ a heigho !
The deeper the furrow the better the grain,
An’ a heigho !
The thicker the stubble the fuller the bin,
The darker without side the lighter within,
An’ a heigho, an’ a heigh !

There are haps in the air that a minute may bring,
An’ a heigho !
For a cock is more sure of his head than a king,
An’ a heigho !
So I sing out the days in my own merry mill,
A grist in the hopper, the sun on the sill,
An’ a heigho, an’ a heigh !