On Amroom are sunshine and summer to-day;
And it seems less lone and drear ;
The islanders gather in heaps their hay,
Their hope for the coming year.
And father and mother and youth and maid,
All join in the common toil ;
Earnest their work and the words that are said, —
Mirth flies from so rude a soil.
And ever a shadow yet graver still
O'er each laborer's face doth pass,
As he sendeth a glance toward yonder hill
Where, shivers the tufted grass.