Oh , the heat of the August sun,
And the dance of the flies and midges,
When the cattle gather one by one
To all the sheltered ridges;
When the fireflies dance as falls the night,
And the glow-worm sheds its softest light
About the river bridges:
When the great wide marsh lies black and bare,
At the time of low tide-water,
And the rushes shrink in the golden air —
Not a breath from any quarter;
When the swamp mosquitoes sharpen their bill,
And giddily dance round Hanna's Hill,
Prepared for their work of slaughter.
So do they now, so did they of yore,
So runs the ancient story —
Told for a hundred years and more,
The tale with age is hoary —
Of master and slave; and the slave ran away,
Took with him a boat, and for many a day
They found neither him nor his dory.
Then the master said, and an oath he swore —
And he said it for all to hear him —
If the slave comes back, it shall be as before,
For not an iron shall sear him,
Nor shall he be whipped, nor have extra task;
If he will come back, it is all that I ask,
And never a lash shall come near him.
Then the slave, who had kept in hiding so well,
Heard of the words of his master;
His food was all gone, it was easy to tell
He was weakening faster and faster.
So just at eve, in the waning light,
He came back to his home as fell the night,
Thinking no thought of disaster.
Then the master laughed a laugh of glee:
It is true I will have no whipping;
We will take him out on the marsh, said he,
To cure his love of shipping, —
Out on the marsh to the little hill,
Where mosquitoes dance and sharpen their bill,
He can have a taste of their nipping.
They took him out, and stripped him bare,
And on the ground they laid him,
And left him in the warm night air,
And fast and tight they made him;
And the air was dancing with insect life,
And he 'gainst them all night long strife,
And all night long they flayed him.
When the sun looked up from out the sea,
And sent forth golden flushes,
Silent and calm and still lay he,
Nor saw the morning blushes;
And his master's laughter was turned to dread,
When he came and found it a place of the dead,
Where the marsh flies dance in the rushes.
They dance and they dance in the August noon,
And float as light as a feather,
And all night long hum an insolent tune,
Joining in chorus together.
Men call the place to this day Hanna's Hill,
And there in the marsh they are dancing still,
Through all the summer weather.
And the dance of the flies and midges,
When the cattle gather one by one
To all the sheltered ridges;
When the fireflies dance as falls the night,
And the glow-worm sheds its softest light
About the river bridges:
When the great wide marsh lies black and bare,
At the time of low tide-water,
And the rushes shrink in the golden air —
Not a breath from any quarter;
When the swamp mosquitoes sharpen their bill,
And giddily dance round Hanna's Hill,
Prepared for their work of slaughter.
So do they now, so did they of yore,
So runs the ancient story —
Told for a hundred years and more,
The tale with age is hoary —
Of master and slave; and the slave ran away,
Took with him a boat, and for many a day
They found neither him nor his dory.
Then the master said, and an oath he swore —
And he said it for all to hear him —
If the slave comes back, it shall be as before,
For not an iron shall sear him,
Nor shall he be whipped, nor have extra task;
If he will come back, it is all that I ask,
And never a lash shall come near him.
Then the slave, who had kept in hiding so well,
Heard of the words of his master;
His food was all gone, it was easy to tell
He was weakening faster and faster.
So just at eve, in the waning light,
He came back to his home as fell the night,
Thinking no thought of disaster.
Then the master laughed a laugh of glee:
It is true I will have no whipping;
We will take him out on the marsh, said he,
To cure his love of shipping, —
Out on the marsh to the little hill,
Where mosquitoes dance and sharpen their bill,
He can have a taste of their nipping.
They took him out, and stripped him bare,
And on the ground they laid him,
And left him in the warm night air,
And fast and tight they made him;
And the air was dancing with insect life,
And he 'gainst them all night long strife,
And all night long they flayed him.
When the sun looked up from out the sea,
And sent forth golden flushes,
Silent and calm and still lay he,
Nor saw the morning blushes;
And his master's laughter was turned to dread,
When he came and found it a place of the dead,
Where the marsh flies dance in the rushes.
They dance and they dance in the August noon,
And float as light as a feather,
And all night long hum an insolent tune,
Joining in chorus together.
Men call the place to this day Hanna's Hill,
And there in the marsh they are dancing still,
Through all the summer weather.