BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND THE GIFT OF Blieiirg W, Sage 1891' A'MA/^?«? 2^/2:-//f 930b Cornell University Library PS 3113.U7 1850a American cottaoe life :a series of poems 3 1924 022 206 811 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022206811 '■,:'jt%"{£i--f--i ■ir im r, v b ii,il,a e t: /c iki y [ri cg hi , -^M\A*r. ?» I'^C^^i: 3P CO) Iffi Tf 3T^ A\ W ]!9 Sfi ® = It'^ lU 111 P_. I § H E (I 18 Y 6! h. W rS O 18 W & C A IPS If E ffn 1 8 S 2 , AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. THIRD EDITION. 1832. POKTLAND: PUBLISHED BY SANBOEN & CAETER. AMEBIGAN COTTA&E LI¥E. A SEKIES OE POEMS ILLUSTRATlyE OF AMEKICAN SCENEBY, ABD OF THE ASSOCIATIONS, FEELINQS, AND EMPLOYMENTS OF THE AMEKIOAN OOTTAGEB AND PABMEB. BY THOMAS 0. UPHAM. THIRD EDITION. PORTLAND: PUBLISHED BY SANBORN & CARTER. 1852. ^3(a,Ct>f 1 o Entered according to Act of CongreaB, in the year 1860, by THOMAS C. UPHAM, In the Clerk's Office of the Bistrict Court of Maine. STE&EOTTFED BT HOBABT & BOBBINS, NEW ENGLAND TYPE AND STEREOTYPE FODHDEBT, BOSTON. PREFACE. In early life I was led to form an acquaintance with those classes of persons, whose occupations and feelings are attempted to be described in the following poems. My youthful associations are with the lakes, the rivers, and the mountains of New Hampshire; .and with the hardy and industrious people who dwell among them. Mingling for successive years at their firesides, sharing in their sympathies, affected by the constant disclosure of a humble and devout piety, it seemed to me that American Cottage Life, in some respects, unlike that of any other country, possessed great attractions for the heart as well as the imagination. No pen, so far as I was acquainted, had undertaken to describe it. Aware of my own incom- petency to describe it suitably, it still appeared to me, that I might properly make an attempt, however imperfect it might be, in the hopes that others might follow, and do full justice to a subject so interesting. If these poems are ever read to any great extent, they will be read by those, whose life they delineate. And as it is religious feeling, which, more than anything else, 1* PREFACE. has made the American farmer and cottager what they are, I have introduced the religious sonnets and hymns, in the hopes of encouraging and strengthening this feel- ing. It is the Bible, accompanied yrith prayer, which gives the American farmer his consistency of life, his strength of purpose, his strong and serene alliance with truth, freedom, and humanity. Like the furrow which he turns, he may be said to be nourished in the rains and sunshine of an overruling Providence, and amid the wonderful works of nature to be trained up for the acknowledgment and the worship of the God of nature. The first editions of this work were published with reluctance. It was no small trial of mind, to appear before the public, without some obvious and adequate reason, in this species of writing. But this unpleasant feehng has been relieved in a considerable degree, in consequence of the interest with which the work seems to be received, among the class of people for which it was particularly designed. It will be one of the great conso- lations of my hfe, if I shall find that I have contributed something to their happiness. THOMAS C. UPHAM. Bbunswice, Maise, Jan. 1862. CONTENTS. AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. PAGE The Farmer's Fireside 13 The Home in the Mountains 23 The Winter Evening 31 The Cottage Revisited 41 The Widow and her Children 83 The Snow-Storm 90 Thanksgiving Day, 96 Days of Youth, Part First, 139 Days of Touth, Part Second, 154 The Sabbath, 230 The Cottage Marriage 238 The Old House, 244 BALLADS AND SONGS EOR THE COTTAGE. Death of Colonel Hayne, 51 Tanko, the Noble Negro, 59 Dark-rolling Connecticut, 65 The Closing Tear 66 The Sick ChUd, 67 The Wounded Bird, 68 The Hunters, 69 'T is many a Year, 70 The Landscape 71 Sing that Song again, 72 Maid of Sunoook, 7S. The Bower 75 The Deserted Island, 75 Vm CONTENTS. FAOS The Daughters of the Sun, 76 Happiness of United Minds, 77 Adieu ! and oh, what Tongue can tell 78 Cooheoo 79 Sing on, Sweet Bird ! I love thy Strain, 80 The Exile's Song, 81 Why does my Heart so oft 82 COTTAGE HYMNS AND RELIGIOUS SONGS. Penitence, 106 0, what a Fearful Thing it is 107 The Light is rising o'er the Sky, 108 Deliverance in Christ 109 God the Unfailing Source of Love, 109 Encouragement, 110 Bird of the Heavens, go, Ill Think not that the Blest, Ill Jehovah, Sovereign of my Heart, 112 0, could I rule my erring Thought, 113 Man's Spirit hath an Upward Look 113 The Secret Sign 114 Christ our Befuge, 115 Thou Giver of the Rising Light, 116 Desire for Heaven 117 Consolation in Sorrow, 117 Wilt Thou, oh my Father, leave me, 118 They say their Path with Flowers is strown, 119 Enmity of the Heart 120 Jesus has gone on High 120 The Song of the Angels, 121 If there e'er was a Time, 122 When first I started on my Way 123 Vanity of Earthly Expectations, 123 Earth sent her Streams from Bock and Hill, 124 Entire Consecration 125 Resource in Temptation, 125 Sorrow the Nurse of Love, 126 I know, oh God, that Dangers near, 127 Power of Holy Love 128 CONTENTS. IX FAGB The Thorny Diadem, 129 Thou cbideat, but thou dost not know, 129 How Happy is the peaceful Breast, 130 Love! Thou Day-star of my Heart, 131 Triumph in Death, 132 Quietness of Spirit reflected in the Life 182 To Freedom from the Earliest Days, 133 A little Bird I am, 134 The True Rest, 135 Remembrance in Prayer 186 In Prison, when the early Saints, 136 The Mystic Dove, 137 The Divine Life, 138 SCSIPTURE SONNETS FOR RELIGIOUS HOURS. The Liberty of the Gospel 170 Necessity of Divine Illumination, 171 Restoration to the Divine Image, ' 172 The Blessed Name of Christ, 173 True Rectitude 174 The Millennial Day, 175 The Sovereign Will, 176 He standeth at the Door 177 Confidence in God in Bereavements, 178 Meekness of Spirit, 179 Consolation in the Gospel, 180 The Place of Refuge, 181 The Hidden Life 182 Help in the Wilderness, 183 Support in Affliction, 184 Christian Benevolence, 185 The Book of Judgment, 186 The Source of Happiness in the Soul 187 Living near to Christ, 188 The Glimpse of Heaven 189 The Last Trump, 190 The True Ground of Joy, 191 The Physician of the Mind, ^92 Sorrow for Sin 19j X CONTENTS. PAGB Christ's Yoke easy 194 I shall yet praise Him, 196 A Divided Mind 196 Submission in Sickness, 197 Light in Goshen 198 The Voyage 199 The Grave of the Beautiful, 200 The Christian Pilgrim 201 Despise not the Beginnings, 202 God no Respecter of Persons 203 Parental Bereavement 204 I would not always live 205 Mystery of the New Birth 206 Constancy, 207 Power of Faith 208 The Fountain of Jerusalem, 209 Uncertainty of Earthly Objects 210 The Besurrection, 211 Winter, 212 Persecution, 218 The Good Shepherd 214 The Church 215 The Returning Dove 216 Protection in Danger 217 Humility, 218 Secret Prayer, 219 Spiritual Freedom, 220 God angry with Rebellious Nations, 221 Religious Recollections, 222 The Christian's Confidence in God 223 I will not Blame thy Tears, 224 The Wreck, 225 Christ's Intercession 226 Rejoicing in God, 227 The Martyrs, 228 Heaven, 229 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. THE FABMEB'S FIRESIDE. [It may be proper to say here, that this poem, as well as some of those which follow it, was written in early life. The Old French War, as it was termed, which has now almost passed away from the recol- lections of men, was often spoken of at that period. The writer was acquainted with a number of old men who had a share in that bloody contest. This fujcounts for the reference made to it.] The moTing accident iB not my trade ; To freeze tJie blood I have no ready arts ; *T is my delight, alone in summer shade, To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts. Hart-leap WeUy J^ordswortk. Happy the man, not doomed afar to roam. In distant lands, beneath a foreign sky, Who hath a humble and secluded home, Bathed by the little brook that prattles by, With trees begirt, and birds that warble nigh. He, as he sitteth at his cottage gate, Breathes not for earthly wealth the troubled sigh; Nor doth he envy whom the world calls great, Encircled with the pomp which guards their haughty state. 2 " 14 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. The king upon a throne a sceptre wields, The cotter for a sceptre wields a hoe ; But kings have griefs, which he, who tills the fields In humble honesty, doth never know. He, who through life in quietness would go. Far from the noisy world his way will keep, Beside the streams in solitude that flow. Contented with his little flock of sheep, Nor seek in glory's paths, her fading \vreaths to reap. Far to the woodland haunts I turn mine eye, Nor longer in the troubled world remain. Where I have known no sweets of liberty. And seeming joy hath turned to real pain. Welcome to wood, to mountain, and to plain. To silent streams, and forests reaching wide ! But chiefly guide my weary step again To youth's rude scenes, Cocheco's gushing tide. And that old cottage, once that graced its verdant side. Meekly arose its moss-besprinkled wall, Where, broad and green, the elm majestic bore Its branches o'er it, overshadowing all The space around its hospitable door ; Within, might one behold its little store, The plates well ranged, the shelves that neatly graced. The chairs of oak upon the sanded floor, The wheel industrious in its corner placed, The clock, " that hourly told how life runs on to waste." THE farmer's fireside. 16 V. Once more the pensive eve, with silent tread, Returns to hush the noisy world to peace ; Once more the farmer seeks his humble shed, Glad from his daily toil to gain release, His task accomplished, and his heart at ease, And hails betimes the fireside of his cot ; And there, as from the hills the shades increase, " The world forgetting, by the world forgot," He tastes the simple joys, that soothe his quiet lot. His patient herd, ere set the beams of day. With lowings oft alarmed the neighboring plain ; Now, penned within the well-known bars, they pay Their milky tribute to his pails again. His flocks upon the distant hill remain. Their tinkling bells sound in the passing wind ; Though small the limits of his rude domain, Yet fails he not, with unambitious mind. From field and lowing herd a due supply to find. To greet him home the crackling fagots burn ; The housewife, busy round the blazing fire. Cheers with her smiles her husband's loved return. His children climb around their honored sire, And to his fond caress once more aspire ; Inquisitive, they ask of each far field, Whether its hills than their own cliffs are higher ? What wonders there of cascade are revealed ? What flowers enchanting bloom, what gifts the mountains yield ? 16 AMEKICAN COTTAGE LIFE. The smiling father in his turn inquires What sights of joy hath bright-eyed Mary seen ? The kind parental look her voice inspires. And she doth tell, where o'er their plat of green The elm erects its sun-excluding screen, She watched the lambs, and saw them at their play ; Nor had they long at their rude gambols been, Ere two small birds, perched on a little spray, Proud of their yellow wings, poured forth their joyous lay. Her father's knee his Mary soon surmounts. Around his neck her tender arms she throws ; From her bright eyes, as from celestial founts, The laughing light through locks of darkness glows. Not she alone ; he on them all bestows Alike his kisses, and alike his tears. Who bloomed, (on autumn's bosom like the rose, 'Mid cold and storm its loveliness that rears,) To cheer his riper age, and deck his vale of years. To him, how blessed the daylight's closing gleam. The hour that ushers bliss supremely dear. When bright his hearth expands its evening beam. And needed rest succeeds to toil severe ! The cricket chirps his humble home to cheer ; The cheerful blaze illumes the white-washed wall ; Bowed on the hearth the wearied dog sleeps near ; The playful kitten round and round the ball Urges with active sport, unmindfully of all. THE farmer's fireside. 17 The children, too, disposed to childish mirth, Their busy laugh and prattle do not spare. Such sounds of joy, such sports around his hearth, Scenes which each eve returning doth repair, Charm from the farmer's breast corroding care. And banish it to " blank oblivion foul." Hark ! loud and startling through the misty air. The prowling wolf resumes his nightly howl. And from the hollow oak is heard the muffled owl. How oft I sought that distant, lonely cot ! A grandam dwelt there when my days were young, And there, when Christmas logs blazed red and hot, And wintry blasts their nightly descant sung. My soul attentive on her lips has hung, As spoke she oft of dreadful deeds of yore. How savage men with savage fury sprung Upon the lonely cot, and tides of gore Were shed, as when the clouds their vernal treasures pour. Her hands were withered as an autumn's leaf. Her cheeks were like a parched and shrivelled scroll; In truth, she 'd seen, though life at best be brief, The wheels of eighty years their circuits roll. And friends and kindred reach their earthly goal. She sat beside her busy wheel to spin. And, as the hours at evening onward stole, We teased her oft some story to begin. At length she slowly moved her old, projecting chin. 2* IS AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. Of Other scenes and other years she told, Of Hopehood's wars and Pangas' frantic yell ; And as her lips those bloody deeds unfold, And as, with up-turned gaze, we heard her tell. Unconsciously the crystal tear-drops fell; For from our infancy we 'd heard and read Of chiefs from Canada, and knew full well Of Sachem's wrath, that feasted on the dead, And shook the haughty plume, and arm with life-blood red. O, who can tell to what a storm of grief, In those sad days, our fathers' hearts were bared ! They were no common sorrows, few and brief, For capture wasted what the sword had spared. Yet strong in faith, for each event prepared, To live or die, as God should order how. The griefs and dangers of their lot they dared. They walked in joy and glory with the plough. And at the throne of God did morn and evening bow. Deem it not strange such recollections fill With feelings new and strong the youthful mind ; They make e'en seared and aged bosoms thrill. And mourn the woes that fall on human kind. One evening to that cot my steps inclined, — The giant elm-tree waved before its door, The frowning clouds were driven before the wind, The distant cataract was heard to roar. And pale the tranquil moon as wave on ocean's shore. THE FARMEE'S FIHESIDE. 19 XVII. There, too, a soldier bent his nightly way, ('T was long ago,) — one of " the Old French War," Who carried proof of fierce and bloody fray Upon his visage, marked with seam and scar ; Weary his step, for he had wandered far. The locks upon his silvered head were few. His eye was like the winter's clouded star. But much that eye had seen, and much he knew, Though now his frame was bent, and towards the grave he drew. The sturdy staff that in his hand he bore Was parted from an oak, whose branches spread Near wild Cocheco's oft remembered roar ; And turning to the cottage door his tread. Though old and weary, well his purpose sped. The farmer hailed him to his lone abode. Gave him a portion of his cup and bread. And soon, forgetful of the tedious road. How fields were lost and won, the aged soldier showed. He told the deeds of Abraham's blood-red plain, Where, as their standards flashed upon the gale. The rival warriors fell like summer's rain. And shouts were heard, triumphant songs, and wail ; Not unto him a visionary tale ; For where the wide St. Lawrence winds his way. He fought with Wolfe, called from his native vale, And dark Piscatawa's glades of green array. To cross the mountains blue to distant Canada. 20 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. Full well he knew the craelties of strife, For, as he trod, with blood-red foot, the field, He saw full many in the morn of life, Their parents' hope, to death and darkness sealed. Alas ! what woes that dreadful day revealed ! The day when fell the chivalrous Montcalm. And then more loud the trump its war-note pealed; And (withered be the hand that wrought such harm !) Soon Wolfe sunk bleeding low, nerveless his mighty arm. Thus did the bowed old man, with hoary head, Eelate the sad and stormy times of yore. When jealous France and England madly shed Amid the forests of this western shore. As it were worthless dust, their bosom's gore. So prompt are men, from pride or lust of gain, Whate'er they have, still seeking after more. To scoff at love, and justice to profane. And with a brother's blood a brother's hand to stain. But though such tales were heard with many a tear, And memory, fancy, feeling all possessed. Yet soon, in truth, the gayety and cheer That ever animate the youthful breast. By solemn thoughts unconquered, unsuppressed, Awoke in sports anew ; the slipper's sound. By youth and village maiden ne'er at rest. Was driven through the circle round and round, And every cheek did smile, and every heart did bound. THE farmer's fireside. 21 E'en the old soldier felt his bosom thrill With memory of scenes that erst he knew ; His mind the visions of his childhood fill, And as around the room the children flew At blind-man's buff, he would have joined them too : But age to youth will not wing back its flight ; To sit and smile was all that he could do, While he, who blinded was, to left and right Pursued the flying group, and caught them as he might. At blind-man's buff who hath not often played, At pledges oft the moments to beguile. When sober evening lends her peaceful shade. When heart replies to heart, and smile to smile ? The hearth is burdened with the oaken pile, Such as New England's forests well can spare ; Still flies the slipper round ; — a few, meanwhile, The warriors of the checker-board prepare, The garrulous old folk draw round the fire the chair. But now the moon, through parted clouds revealed, Is climbing far the arches of the sky ; The farmer's cot, the cultivated field. The brook, the plain, the mountain soaring high. Beneath her beams in peaceful silence lie. The dog upon the ground hath lain his breast. Stilled is his howl, and sealed his restless eye ; The sturdy wood-cutter hath gone to rest ; The flock is on the hill, the bird is on the nest. 22 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. XXVI. Farewell, thou cottage ! for 'tis late at eve ; Farewell, ye scenes to memory ever dear ! Now eld and youth and maiden take their leave, With kindly wishes and adieu sincere. In separate ways and groups they disappear ; Some through yon scattered woods that skirt the moor, Some to yon hills their frowning tops that rear ; And by the fireside of the cot once more Devotion lifts her voice, as she was wont of yore. The thoughtful farmer reads the Sacred Book, Then, with the wife and children of his heart. With mind serene, and reverential look. He humbly kneels, as is the Christian's part. And worships Thee, our Father, Thee, who art The good man's hope, the poor man's only stay ; Who hast a balm for sorrow's keenest dart, A smile for those to thee who humbly pray. Which, like the morning sun, drives every cloud away. Thou Lord of heaven above and earth below. Our maker and our guide, our hope, our all ! Be thou the farmer's friend. In want and woe. Teach him to look to thee, on thee to call ; Nor let his steps in error's pathway fall. With him preserve his loved, his native land ; A cloud be round her, and a fiery wall ; In innocence and honor let her stand ; And centuries yet to come, oh, hold her in thy hand ! THE HOME IN THE MOUNTAINS. [A few miles back of the early residence of the writer, is a range of beautiful mountains. They are gradual in their ascent, and in some places cultivated to the top. They are inhabited by an industrious and intelligent, and, for the most part, a religious people. These mountains were the scene of the writer's youthful visits ; and it was his good fortune to become acquainted with some of the inhabitants. It is the object of the following poem to embody some of the pleasing impressions to which that acquaintance gave rise.] Let not ambition mock tlidr usefiil toil, Tbeii homely joys and destiny obscure ; Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, The short but simple annals of the poor. Gray. With many a busy scene familiar grown, Ye who have lived amid the city's strife, To rugged hills and verdant woods unknown, Unknown to rural joys and cottage life, Its hardy toil, its bloom inspired by health, Its warmth of friendship and its guileless ways ; — O, learn that there 's a treasure more than wealth, An honor higher far than human praise ; — Nor deem the lesson vain, though read in simple lays. 24 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. Haste, from the mart of busy commerce flee, And for a time its tumult leave behind, When birds are singing in the summer's tree, Or Autumn comes his golden sheaves to bind. Go forth amid the forest and the rocks. And there untarnished truth and virtue trace ; As thou shalt see the shepherd with his flocks. Or scan, as I do now, the ploughman's race. Or, at the cottage hearth, shalt mingle face to face. 'T was thus I onward fared, one sutmner's day, Where rising hills in native grandeur spread ; Lonely and far the path ascending lay. That upward to the farmer's dwelling led. The merry birds poured forth their various song; The squirrel on the hazel took his seat ; The bubbling brooks danced rapidly along, And filled the forest with their echoes sweet. As through the woods I went, my rural friend to meet. Nor was the meeting void of friendship's truth. Repressed by selfishness, or marred by fears ; For we had known each other in our youth, And youthful love had grown with riper years. His home was in the mountains. Far from noise, And undisturbed by grandeur's gaudy scene. He, with his wife and children, had his joys. Calm as their mountain sunset's ray serene. Although, perchance, at times, some clouds may intervene. THE HOME IN THE MOUNTAINS. 25 His bliss was not in idleness, t is true. (On that dull tree true pleasure will not grow.) The farmer ever had his work to do, And wanton days and slothful did not know. The sun, that doth no sluggard's part fulfil. What time it decks the sky with earliest red, And scales with dewy step the eastern hill. Ne'er found him useless in ttie loiterer's bed, But forth, with men and boys, where toil and duty led. Uprose the sun, and "uprose Emily;" Thus English Chancer sung in days of old. Uprose the sun, nor was less pleased to see The fa:nner's daughters, with his eye of gold. The morning maids were at their milking pail ; And soon the cows, obedient to their word, Regained, in lengthened row, the distant vale ; And all around, to higher anthems stirred, From glittering bush and tree, sang loud the early bird. The maids, if right I saw, were well content. Nor envied aught the sport and splendor found Among the gay, the proud, the opulent. Far other cares they knew. The daily round Of household duties occupied their thought ; The chum, the wheel, and to the paient pair. By Nature's strong, unerring instinct taught. They fondly gave their homage and their care. Such were their 'Useful -toils, such humble -joys they share. 3 26 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. VIII. One ruling wish they had. It was to spend Upon their native hills their peaceful days, Where they had known the neighhor and the friend, A parent's fondness, and a brother's praise. " Still to our hearts our native hills are dear," Thus sung they oft by murmuring brook and tree, Where, with their gossip maids, they sit and hear, I At sultry noon, or starlight shining free, Of all their sports and toils, the humble history. Those, who are pent in sylvan scenes apart, Whene'er they meet, have ever much to say ; Their words bear not the stamp of polished art, Nor are they such as higher minds might sway. But though their speech is not of things that thrill, And bring sad shadows o'er the throbbing brow, 'T is such as may a cotter's fancy fill. Though but the story of his faithful plough. Or of his petted lamb, or luckless, wandering cow. Sometimes the sheep, that stray, ne'er come again ; Sometimes the fox invades the garden's bound ; Or sudden winds have vexed the standing grain. Or blown, alas ! the village steeple down. But all such things shall pass, as they have come, And every shadow from the memory flee. When Lucy's brother from the town comes home. And Jeannie's lad returns from o'er the sea, To rest from toil awhile, in mountain liberty. THE HOME m THE MOUNTAINS. 27 'T is ever thus. The ties of friend and kin Are found most strong and most with pleasure rife, Among the dwellings of the poor, and in The unambitious walks of rural life. With woods around them, waters at their feet. With flowers beneath, and fragrance in the air, 'T is not in vain that they each other meet ; Not one that has a pleasure or a care. But calls a kindred heart, that joy or grief to share. The restless steers are fastened to the wain ; (I marked them ere they went their sounding way;) The early ditcher seeks the fields again, With shovel glancing in the morning ray. With bag and barley from the threshing-floor. The slow-paced horse expands his loaded side. The feathered group surround the cottage door. And Mary, with her basin well supplied. Forth from her little hand their portion doth divide. Far in the noisy woods the bleating sheep Ascend the rocks, and breathe the upland air. The fair-haired William there his watch doth keep, Too young, as yet, a higher charge to share. Nor outward sights alone refresh the eye. Nor outward labors to the heart appeal ; The elder Jane her constant task doth ply. Within the cottage-walls, with cheerful zeal, And, singing rural songs, still turns her murmuring wheel. 28 AMBKICAN COTTAGE LIFE. XIV. Such are the scenes that mountain homes unfold ; The history such of those who till the land. Forth in the fields the cotter's self behold Behind his plough, with persevering hand. Nor deem it a disgrace the plough to guide : Did not great Cincinnatus till the ground, He who the hostile Volsci scattered wide ? The seer Elisha at the plough was found ; The plough, that reverence claims the mighty world around. I venerate the man the plough who speeds, The independent tiller of the soil. Who, boasting not of vainly glorious deeds, Yet scorns to live by other people's toil. Though all unnoticed in ambition's strife, Which, with its noisy war, doth wide resound, There 's yet a pleasure in the ploughman's life, A bliss attendant on the cultured ground. Which kings and Csesars seek, but never yet have found. XVI. And then at eve behold him at his hearth. Planning the duties of the coming mom ; How one shall wield the axe or spade the earth. Another's task to till the tender com : Around him sit the peaceful household train ; And he, by Nature's right, their guide and head. Than this, what juster power, what higher reign ? The lads marked well whate'er the father said, By his experience taught, and by his wisdom led. THE HOME IN THE MOUNTAINS. 29 rvn. And if at times the children leave their home, In village near some little wealth to earn, The heart, untravelled, hath no power to roam. Nor long the time which sees them all return. Fair shines their cottage to the mental sight. And pleasures blossom in their mountain air ; Scarce does the week resign its parting light, When, with a love unchanged, they forth repair, And hail their happy hearth, its wonted blessings share. And thus in solitude, yet not alone, They have their joys and duties day by day ; To them unchanging Honor's path is known, Though shut from noisy Glory's towering way. Their feelings deep ; if pensive, yet sincere ; And when they meet, poured through each other's mind, In answering smiles, or sympathizing tear ; With power too great for outward forms to bind. And pure as they are strong, though not by art refined. And on some pleasant days, in shaded walks. They wander far, when hills and woods are green ; Around them is the voice of joyful flocks. And flowers and sounding waters grace the scene. YeS, there are those, the pure and high of soul. Whose passions, by a Holy Power subdued, Are won to virtue's wise and just control ; And such, though deemed in outward manners rude. Shall drink, from Nature's works, the beautiful and good. 3* 30 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. And Nature is to them a living thing, Food to the heart and heauty to the eye ; The hill, the mossy tree, the bubbling spriiig, The bud, the flower, the autumn's mellow sky, Awake the moral thought and sympathy. The bird goes singing up, its joy revealing ; The gilded insect passes buzzing by ; The quiet bee, o'er beds of flowerets stealing ; All share their joyful eye, all wake their better feeling. Those, whom religious life hath given to know The right, the pure, the honest, and the fair, Have a new power. In all above, below. In heaven and earth, the waters and the air, There 's a new glow of beauty. God 's revealed j The high, entranced eye of Faith can see, (No longer by the earth's dim shadows sealed,) The bright effulgence of the Deity, The glory now that is, the greater that shall be. XXII. That glory shines in every planet's ray ; 'T is sounding forth in every blessed rill ; Upon the vidnged winds it makes its way. O'er blooming valley, and o'er frowning hill ; And sends its light from all creation round. In rural scenes, from polished arts afar. Where Faith in all its holy power is found, It shines with naught its lustre that may mar. Enthroned in life and heart, the favorite guiding star. THE WINTER EVENING. [The Winter Evening constitutes in the farmer's li^e, more ipily and emphatically than in the Bfe of any other class of persons, a, period by itself, — a select season, a portion of time known and recog- nized by its distinctive traits, and blessed vrith its peculiar pleasures. It is a season of the year when there is, to a considerable extent, a relaxation from that constant toil which occupies him ia the more genial months. He is at home, in the bosom of his family; and in the exercise and interchange of domestic feelings enjoys a degree of humble happiness, which the wealthy and luxurious have but little conception of. We have here, therefore, a distinct and interesting subject, which poetry, coming from a heart that can understand and fully sympathize with rural life, may properly and successfully adopt as its own.] The summer's fading flowers have passed away, And wintry snows invest the frozen ground ; And now, when closes fast the setting day, The silent stars resume their nightly round ; And bright, emerging from her depths profound, The placid moon adorns the central sky. Oh, Winter Eve ! The Muse at length shall sound, Long wont on other themes her skill to try, Her notes, as well she may, in fitting praise of thee. 32 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. The winds are hushed, and all around is calm ; Scarce on the cold blue heavens is seen a cloud ; Nor sudden rains, nor storms, with rude alarm. Come forth with meteor glooms the earth to shroud. Prone in their quiet folds the sheep are bowed ; The teamster drives abroad ; and o'er the way, With clear, shrill bells, resounding oft and loud, The well-wrapped traveller guides his rapid sleigh, And merry cracks his whip, or sings his rustic lay. lU. And see ! Along the glassy river's face. On skates swift-gliding, or perchance without, The village lads each other gayly chase, And rising loud, the oft repeated shout Of those who tire their boon companions out. Or pass them in the race, bursts to the sky. Anon, while distant whirls the giddy rout. Some neighbor lads their wits at jesting try ; Some tell a jocund tale, some laugh out merrily. E'en winter has its charms. How pure the glow That decks the pensive brow of evening's queen ! The spotless hills, adorned in robes of snow. Ascend in light and loveliness serene. Far in the tranquil distance may be seen The hoary forests and the mountain pile. Shut to the door ! The outer air is keen ; And 'neath the cottage roof repose awhile, Where, round its joyous hearth, the happy inmates smile. THE WINTER EVENING. 33. V. The fire is blazing with the crackling trees, Upon the walls the dancing shadows play ; Without, is heard the sudden winter breeze. And then more close they gird the hearth's bright ray. The aged father 's there. His locks of gray. In many a twine, are round his shoulders spread ; His eye beams not, as in his earlier day, When strength and buoyant youth inspired his trea^ ; Yet pleasant are the joys his age doth round him shed. yi- For oft to fondly listeiiing ears he traced How, in his youth, in distant lands and new, He smoje the soil, the rocks an^ woods displaced. Until the desert to a ga,rden grew. And much he told, (for much forsooth he knew,) How best to rear the sheep or lowing herd. Of what in spring and autumn months to do ; And to his serious mind it oft occurred. To mingle, as b?! sp^ke, the njonitory word. His prompt and careful wife seemed " made of fire," For round and round she plied her rapid wheel ; She knew not at her daily task to tire. And scarce the withering touch of age did feel. While others pressed the couch, with wakeful zeal, Soon as the early note of chanticleer. Heard from the neighboring barn, renewed its peal. She called akud ; the starting maidens hear, And hasten to their work, ere morning gleams appear. 34 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. A dweller here, the sturdy ditcher Tims, True to his spade, though crowned with tresses gray ; He on the settle throws his weary limbs, (As well he might, who toilsome spends the day,) And bids in rustic dreams his cares away. And there was one, — he was an orphan lad, — Who came at first in tears and mean array. But generous friendship made his bosom glad. And here Dick toiled by day, and here his dwelling had. Nor these alone were there ; a numerous race. To filial love and deeds of reverence true. Graced from their early days their dwelling-place, And humble arts and household duties knew. And often, when their daily task was through, And evening's shadows darkened in the air. Around the hearth the sons and daughters drew; Of looms and distaflfs these, (whate'er their care,) Those spake of huntings, wilds, and mountains drear and bare. If angry storms have o'er the mountains broke. And deluged wide the fields with sudden rain ; If lightnings, redly winged, have rent the oak. That mighty stood, the monarch of the plain ; If fierce the sullen wolf hath come again, With bloody thoughts, and ready to destroy ; These, too, (nor deem their humble converse vain,) Recurring oft, may well their thoughts employ. And fill the social hours with sorrow or with joy. THE WINTER EVENINO. 35 Perhaps they listen to some ancient tale, (What land cannot its legends rude recall ?) Which tells of other days of grief and wail, And sudden bids the generous tear-drop fall. Perchance more recent themes their minds enthrall, Themes that are sad with deep domestic woe ; As when but lately, though adorned with all That worth could give, or beauty's charms bestow. The mountain maid they loved, was in the grave laid low. XII. Hark ! scarcely noticed, doth the noiseless door, Unfolding soft, invite a stranger in ; A daughter of the oft-neglecled poor, But she hath virtues that exalt and win. They grasp her hand, as if she were their kin. Their hearts, their hopes congenial with her own. Soon other joys and other tales begin ; The rural news is round the hearth made known ; Anon the darker scenes, which memory drew, are flown. And well the maiden merited their praise. As pleased they listened to her simple tone ; Far ifi the wilds, 't is true, she spent her days, Accomplished well in rural arts alone. But none the less her sylvan beauty shone. And guileless honor crowned her virgin heart. Ah, little to the busy world are known The virtue and the bliss that dwell apart, Far from the crowded hall, and place of polished art. 36 AMEKICAN COTTAGE LIFE. XIV. Dick in his corner sits with wondering gaze ; Attentive he, though seldom heard to speak ; Upon his hand his lazy chin he stays, Distending wide his plump and steadfast cheek. Despite his quiet aspect, rude yet meek, He loves the song and merry tale to hear; And, slow the pleasant couch of rest to seek. Though not unused to wearying toil severe, He sometimes loudly laughs, and sometimes sheds the tear. XV. Placed in the great arm-chaii, the grandam sitting, In decent cap, with spectacles astride. Old as she is, she stiU is at her knitting ; And, though by age and many sorrows tried, Is ever last to lay her work aside. The little Emma, bright as flowers of spring. And noisy, too, as birds in summer's pride. Yields to the common joy her offering. The fagots blaze anew, the bubbling kettles sing. XVI. And oft the evening's merry sports go round In games, repeated long with fervent will. The simple board with autumn's fruits is crowned ; Perchance some vagrant minstrel adds his skill. Meantime, (who else the vacant rack shall fill ?) Doth honest Dick go forth the herd to feed ; And whistling loud, with Rover at his heel. Who, faithful, follows at his master's need, He thinks of stalking ghosts, or some mysterious deed. THE WINTER EVENING. 37 And now, when skies are clear and toils are done, (And may that ancient custom long abide !) With joyous hearts, united all as one, In ready sleigh, the youth and maidens glide. They seek the plains ; they climb the hillock's side ; Well pleased, they praise the splendors of the night, The stars, that give the galaxy its pride, The overhanging cliflfs in robes of white. The chaste, unclouded moon, that sheds o'er all her light. The cracking thong, the tramp, the bells' rude chime, The owl have frightened from his leafless bower. Where, hooting oft at midnight's " witching time," His song has added terror to that hour. They pass the forests wide, that proudly tower ; The wild deer lifts his arching head to hear. High on his cliffs. Dreading the hunter's power. The hare starts suddenly away with fear. Then crouching to the ground, erects his sentinel ear. Far other was the night, whose whirlwinds loud Tossed through the troubled air the restless snow • Darkly on high went forth the angry cloud, And breaking forests uttered sounds of woe. Remote, alone, with footsteps faint and slow, That night a hunter did his way pursue. Cold o'er his track, the stormy tempests blow; No cot was near, his strength that might renew ; His hands to ice congealed ; his cheeks to marble grew 4 38 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. Sad victim of the storm and weary way, He bowed his head, like one that soon shall die ; For life was breaking from its house of clay. And light was stealing from his glassy eye. And yet he had a home, a wife, and nigh His cheerful hearth, were lovely children twain. No more their heads shall on his bosom lie. No more he '11 press their ruddy lips again. Cold is the hunter's breast upon the distant plain. But whither bends the Muse her wayward flight, Indulging thus in solemn minstrelsy ? 'T is true, when winter spreads o'er earth its blight. And rends its bloom and fruit from field and tree, That songs of joy may uncongenial be ; Such as would suit, when birds are on the wing. And leaf and flower are shining laughingly. And yet, though sad, she will not cease to sing. But ever, full of life, her various tribute bring. Then rouse the fire, — the moon is watching yet, — And chanticleer his midnight cry delays. Though others, pleased with later times, forget, Old Tims, at least, shall tell of other days. 'T is pleasant, seated round the evening blaze. In Fancy's eye, the wonders to review Of chieftains of the lost, the native race. And memory yet her efforts shall renew. And Passaconaway * sketch with tints and honors due. * See the note, which belongs here, on the next page. THE WINTER EVENING. 39 Son of the forest ! Child of deathless fame ! If deeds of death a deathless name can win ; Who bore aloft, where'er in wrath he came, The club that oft had made the battle thin, And fearless raised the war-cry's dreadful din. Around his painted neck terrific hung, With dangling claws, a broad and shaggy skin ; Victorious trophies o'er his bosom swung. And oft the sachem danced, and oft the sachem sung. XXIV. Strange man ! A tenant of the dusky wood, The cave, the mountain, and the tangled glen, He roused the hissing serpent, and pursued The angry bear, and slew him in his den. O'er craggy cliffs, the dread of other men. The eagle's solitary home he sought. And sternly tamed his mighty wing, and then O'ertook the tall gray moose, as quick as thought, And then the mountain cat he chased, and chasing caught. ♦This is the name of a distingaished Indiaa sachem, residing at ,the place known by the Indian name of Penacouk, whose dominions, chiefly upon the banks of the Merrimack and Piscatawa rivers, were very extensive. " He excelled the other sachems," says Belknap, in his history of New Hampshire, vol. i., ch. 5, " in sagacity, duplicity, and moderation ; hut his principal qualification was his skill in some of the secret operations of nature, which gave him the reputatiou of a sorcerer, and extended his fame and influence among all the neighbor- ing tribes. They believed that it was in his power to make water burn, and trees dance, and to metamorphose himself into a flame ; that in winter he could raise a green leaf from the ashes of a dry one, and a living serpent from the skin of one that was dead." 40 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. And often o'er 'Seogee's * thick-ribbed ice, With fiercely howling wolves, trained three and three, High seated on a sledge, made in a trice, Of bones and skins and fitly shapen tree, He " rode sublime," and sung right jollily. And once upon a car of living fire, The dreadful Indian shook with fear to see, The King of Penacook, his chief, his sire, Borne flaming up towards heaven, than any mountain higher. XXVI. Thus ever hath the Muse a mingled note. Such as all places and all times will suit. In summer's winds her numbers gently float. Breathed soft as sound of sighing lover's lute. All gentleness, with stormy passions mute. But when strong winter comes with maddening strife, Aroused, she lays aside her shepherd's flute, And takes the shrilling trump, the martial fife. And sounds the stormy notes of wild, mysterious life. Those youthful days are gone ! And with them fled The scenes, the sports, that soothed my simple heart ; Yet still those scenes their genial ray shall shed, To charm the careless hour, to soothe the smart Of disappointment's sting and sorrow's dart. Oft will I muse, and shed the willmg tear. O'er the loved plains whence fortune bade me part, Recall the happy faces once so dear. Recall the Winter Eve, and all its social cheer. * The Lake Winnipiseogee, in New Hampshire. THE COTTAGE REVISITED. [It is well known that every year a large number of persons, especially from tlie agricultural class, leave the northern states of the republic, for the purpose of making a settlement in the new and more fertile lands of the west. They seldom, however, lose that strong attachment which they had previously cherished for the place of their nativity. It is the object of the following poem to describe the feel- ings of one of this class of persons, at his return, after many years, to his father's house.] Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! l?or whom my wannest wish to heaven is sent ; Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health and peace and sweet content. Bums, When one returneth from a distant land, Where he hath been in pilgrimage afar, And seeks once more with wandering foot to stand Beneath the brightness of his country's star, It is vvith beating heart and joyful eyes He views the long-remembered scenes again, The mountains far, ascending to the skies, The verdant hills more near, the flowering plain, The willow-shaded stream, the fields of golden grain, 4* 42 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. The cottage maids their spinning-wheel delay, And from the window look with well-pleased eye ; And gray-haired men, that sit beside the way, Arise to bless him as he passes by. He finds, as round he casts his gladdened look. The friendly " Welcome home " in everything, — In ancient elms, and in the well-known brook, In vines that o'er the talking waters cling. And from the singing birds, that clap the joyful wing. I, too, have been a pilgrim. On the shore. Where wide Ohio flows, I'eEist my lot; But while I trimmed my vine'j^nd plucked my store, My childhood's dwelling-place was ne'er forgot. I ever deemed the time would come, at last, Though cast upon a far and venturous track. To take my staff, as in the days long past. And to my father's cottage travel back. Where yet he lives and toils, upon the Merrimack.* * This beautiful river, (the Merrimack,) one of the principal in New Rngland, has its rise among the mountains and lakes of New Hamp- shire, and, after a long and winding course, empties into the ocean at Newburyport, in Massachusetts. Through its whole length its shores are occupied by a hardy and industrious people, chiefly of the agri- cultural class. The population has become so dense, however, that frequently the younger members of families find it convenient to emi- grate to the western parts of the Union. But here, as in other similar instances, the residence of their fathers, on this delightful stream, is still the home of their hearts. THE COTTAGE REVISITED. '"43.) IT. That time hath come. With grateful heart I hear The sounding river with its waters wide ; Sweetly its heavy murmur strikes mine ear, Borne through the oaks that crown its verdant side. The golden day reveals its parting glow, And where yon window, with its flickering light. Dim through the interposing woods doth show, That cluster round the gently rising height, At last my father's home repays my straining sight. The watchful dog patrols the narrow track That joins the household to the public road ; He barks aloud, then playful hastens back. As if to guide me to that loved abode. The patient ox comes weary from the hill ; The tinkling sheep-fold bell is sounding near ; Sudden I hear the nightly whippoorwill ; The cheerful cottage window shines more clear ; And mingling sounds, well known, rejoice my wakeful ear. And see I what venerable form is there ? 'T is he, my father's self, surviving yet. Before his cottage door, with temples bare, He thoughtful marks the sun's resplendent set. With beating heart his doubting eye I claimed ; He gave a startled, momentary view ; But ere his faltering tongue his wanderer named. My arms, impatient, round his neck I threw. Nor could the gushing tear and voice of joy subdue. 44 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. And thou, he said, hast found me, ere I die ; Welcome to your old father's arms, my son ! White is my head, and dim my aged eye ; But thou hast cheered me ere my race is run. Then quickly, with a heart relieved from care. And vigorous step, he hastened on before ; His aged tresses swept the evening air ; And as he reached his hand and oped the door. He bade me welcome back to friends and home once more. That moment was beyond the poet's pen, A moment of the heart, and graven there. There sat my father, most revered of men ; There sat my mother in her spacious chair. Bright beamed the fire, and round its cheerful blaze Two little brothers, full of noisy joy, ('T was thus with me in other distant days,) Recalled the time when I, too, was a boy. And loved in childish sports the moments to employ. And as I scanned each object o'er and o'er. And marked with care the venerable place, In wall and window, beam and sanded floor, The signs and records of the past I trace. They seemed like old companions, and mine eyes, Like one in search of treasures under ground. Who sods, and rocks, and gaping crevice tries, Eenewed their searching glances round and round, Till all the past revived in mingling sight and sound. THE COTTAGE REVISITED. 45 The same capacious hearth, expanding wide, The spacious kettle on its length of crane. The settle, stationed at the chimney side, Just as in other times, they all remain, Substantial all, as they were wont to be. Affecting sight ! To me they all were dear, Since all were consecrate in memory. The massy oaken chair is standing near ; And pleased the ticking of the eight-day clock I hear. My mother had unnumbered things to say, And, as she spoke, alternate wept and smiled ; Changed was her face, her scatjgsed'locks were gray, But still she loved, the sariffifner pilgrim child. Well pleased she saw, while often to the heart Their hopeless blightings time and distance bring. The love of childhood's home doth ne'er depart. But like some flower, which blooms with endless spring, Repels the autumn's frost, the winter's withering. Slowly have passed the long, the twenty years, Since first I parted from this social fire ; Sad was the hour, and many were the tears, But hope was high, and strength of purpose higher. But here, at last, I stand once more, and find Old objects faithful to their ancient place ; And where the form is changed, unchanged the mind. If lapse of years hath plucked some outward grace, Yet could it not the heart, the fount of love, displace. .46 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. But who is this, with form so tall and fair, A woman grow^n, and yet in beauty's prime, With kindling eye, and darkly flowing hair ? The same, the cherished one, who many a time I carried in mine arms, and loved so much ; Who went with me o'er hill and ridgy steep, (I fondly thought there was no other such,) To call the cows, and tend the gentle sheep, And ever at my side did, prattling, love to keep. XIV. Loved sister Mary ! give me one caress. Sacred to memory and other years I The generous maid cannot her soul repress. But sought my arms, and bathed her face in tears. Nor deem it wrong, if Heaven may aught bestow, To pray for blessings on that radiant head. For me, alas ! such bliss I ne'er shall know. As when abroad her childish steps I led, Amid the " vernal year," or blooms that summer shed. Swift spread the news of my unlooked return. And called with busy haste the neighbors in ; They grasp my hand, and eagerly would learn What I have seen, and where so long have been. Some were young girls, to woman's beauty grown ; Some were old men, who looked no older now; Some were young lads, whom at the school I 'd known, But now erect, with manhood's ample brow, They bore the sinewy arm, that rules the spade and plorgh. THE COTTAGE REVISITED. 47' if they of distant scenes desired to learn, And bent with eager gaze my tale to hear, 1, too, with heart as eager, asked, in turn. Of scenes that nearer lay, but doubly dear. Full many were the thoughts that filled my mind. Of sylvan sights, that once delighted me ; Nor was the heartfelt pleasure small to find. Of hills and brooks, of fields and favorite tree. So closely like the past the present history. Still flowed my loved, my native stream ; and o'er Its solitary path hung arching still The same luxuriant vine. The beech still bore Its tempting nuts, where I was wont to fill My eager hands, when, at the sun's decline, I trod the vales, the errant flocks to call. Still built the crow upon the ancient pine ; And where the oak o'erspread the waterfall. The squirrel watched his hoard, and kept his airy hall. XVIII. And oft I asked, with sympathy sincere. Who yet were living, who had sunk to rest ? Whom fortune in her smiles had come to cheer. Or deep in poverty and grief depressed ? Where were the lads, whose pleasures, ever new, At early eve resounded long and loud ? And where the men, so gravely stern and true. Strong in their aged locks, the fields that ploughed. Though now, perchance, gone hence, or sorrowfully bowed ? 48 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. The sturdy miller, had he still his jest, As rough and honest as in days of yore ? And poor, decrepit Jenks, among the rest, Did he still beg his bread from door to door ? And she, with scrutinizing features old, That sought into the maiden's palm to pry, Hath she her last prophetic legend told ? Thus went inquiry round, " in converse high," And heart leaped forth to heart, and kindling eye to eye. XX. And now the eve was far advanced and dim. And closing round the fire, as in my youth, We reverently sung the Evening Hymn, And then my father read the Word of Truth. The sight of that old Bible moved my heart, And stirred anew the scarcely sleeping tsars. From childhood, till the morn that saw me part, I ever knew it, clasped, and dark with years. At morn and eve brought forth, to wake our hopes and fears. XXI. And then he offered up the evening prayer. Poured from a humble, reverential breast ; Not the mere show of truth and love was there, — The heart acknowledged what the lips expressed. He uttered thanks, that, ere his days were passed. He saw, save one that mouldered in the earth, (Too bright that loved one's joyful beam to last,) His scattered children gathered to his hearth. Thus God his people loves, nor scorns their humble worth. THE COTTAGE REVISITED. 49 There are some men that make a scoff at prayer, At early morn, or at the close of day. Ah, little do they know how grief and care Before true supplication melt away. How pleasant 't is, when sorrows pierce the heart, To tell them to our heavenly Father's ear ! He plucks with gentle hand the hostile dart, And, even when he looks with frown severe. Is ever prompt to bend, his children's griefs to hear. At morning's light I held my pensive track Where scattered elms and mourning willows grew, Along the deeply-sounding Merrimack. A little hillock met my anxious view ; 'T was my loved Lucy's grave, my sister's grave, Her grassy turf and monumental stone. Naught but the sympathizing woods and wave Beheld my bitter grief, and heard my moan : 'Twas good to shed the tear; 'twas good to be alone. How oft around the hearth, the eve before, I cast my eyes, but saw no Lucy near ! She was not named, lest naming should restore The mournful memory, the bitter tear. She was the sister next to me in age. Companion of my walks, with me she took. Along the hills, her summer pilgrimage, Or climbed the rocks, or sought the shaded brook, That in its mirror bright gave back her maiden look. 5 50 AMEKICAN COTTAGE LIFE. Together to the distant school we went, And when the snows perplexed the doubtful way, The helping hand to guide her forth I lent, Well pleased my skill and courage to display. And often, with a kind solicitude. When weary I returned from plough or spade, She wiped my heated brow, and brought my food, And, in her smiles and sylvan grace arrayed. More than a brother's care, a brother's love repaid. XXVI. Mary and Lucy ! Those were household names, That messages to joyous fancy brought. And urged upon my heart their sacred claims. Whatever lands my wandering footsteps sought. They were my only sisters. One is gone ; And though a sister lives to bless me yet. That other star, which o'er my pathway shone. Beneath the ocean wave its ray is set. But never shall this heart, this mourning heart, forget. BALLADS AND SONGS POR THE COTTAGE. DEATH OF COLONEL HAYNE. [Colonel Isaac Hayne, of South Carolina, was a valuable and distin- guished officer of the Kevolution. He was taken prisoner by the Brit- ish, under the command of Lord Kawdon; and, though great interest was made in his behalf, both by Englishmen and Americans, he was executed as a rebel. His wife had died but a short time before. His eldest son, a boy of thirteen, was permitted to stay with his father in the prison; but he was so shocked and overcome at the execution as to become insane. — See the Life of Marion, and Thacher's Military Journal.] I. Sadly and slow the mourners came Through Charleston's streets, with bleeding heart ; And breathed their hate on Rawdon's name, Who acted such a cruel part. Lord Rawdon came from England old, Renowned for skill and courage true ; And oft in onset fierce and bold Americans his vengeance knew. 62 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. The fearless Hayne was one of those Whom in the field of death he took, Where bands with bands in battle closed, And spear to spear defiance shook. Soon as the captured Hayne drew near. Lord Kawdon looked with scornful eye And said, Thou rebel, thou art here. Upon the gallows' tree to die ! Then Colonel Hayne with boldness said, It matters not, my lord, to me ; 1 'd rather mingle with the dead. Than slave to any man to be. The feeble body thou canst bind. And draw the life-blood from the vein ; But there 's defiance in the mind. The bounding spirit knows no chain. Lord Rawdon shook his plumage high. And half unsheathed his angry sword ; And swore in wrath, Thou soon shalt die. If there is truth in Rawdon's word. If men will not their king obey, But set themselves against his power, Their life itself the crime shall pay. And they shall rue the 'venging hour. Again the soldier answer made. And said, It matters not to me ; Of foul dishonor I 'm afraid. But fear not death, my lord, nor thee BALLADS AND SONGS FOR THE COTTAGE. 53 I 'd rather be the sightless mole, And in the dust and ashes mine, Than stoop to tyranny's control, Or ever bend to thee or thine. II. Down in a dungeon's dark retreat The brave American was cast ; And round his hands, and round his feet, Were made the links of iron fast. And with him there his eldest boy An inmate of the cell remained ; His father viewed him once w^ith joy. But now the sight his bosom pained. For well he knew what deep distress. In this dark world of sin and strife. Too oft befalls the fatherless. Thrown early on the sea of life. The boy clung round his father's neck; It was a time his love to try ; He wept, as though his heart would break. And said, his father must not die. I saw, said he, the winding sheet, That robed my mother's pallid clay ; I saw the men, with slow-paced feet. That sadly bore her far away. 5* 54 AMERICAN COTl'AGE LIFE. And as the bell, with heavy tongue, Filled with her death the listening air, Deep to my heart its accents rung. And moved anew the anguish there. With faltering tongue, before she died. She said, " My Charles, I leave you, dear ! " And as she spoke, she strove to hide The grief that shone in many a tear. " I leave you, (and may God be kind,) With one a constant friend who '11 be ; Charles ! in your father you will find A friend, as he has been to me." That mother, to my infant sight, Far back as memory's step can trace. Rose, like an angel, clothed in light. And shone o'er all my early race. But she hath gone ; her light hath fled ; And can her parting words be true. If you shall seek that narrow bed. And I must bid farewell to you. Around his father's veteran neck He threw his little arms again ; While, trickling o'er his youthful cheek. The tears his faded beauty stain. BALLADS AND SONGS FOE THE COTTAGE. 55 III. My child, my child ! said Colonel Hayne, Think not I do not deeply feel ; Thy griefs are like the clanking chain, And pierce me as the foeraan's steel. But when our griefs and duty meet. There is one course for me, for all, — To trample sorrow under feet, And stand erect at honor's call. But there is One, who knows our need, Nor claims what man cannot fulfil ; 'T is ours his Providence to read, And bow submissive to his will. Repose, my child, your hopes in God ; Make him your counsellor and friend ; He blesses, when he lifts the rod, And oft in good our troubles end. And while on him for aid you call. Fear not, but all your strength renew ; For there are others yet so small. That they must look for help to you. Yet scarcely old enough to know That they nor father have nor mother, Watch over them, and ever show The care, the kindness, of a brother. 56 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. IV. Two coursers at the dungeon meet, And black were they as raven's wing ; They smite the earth with pawing feet, And high the dust around them fling. And from the grates, the iron grates. The brave American looked through ; And on those steeds, the coal-black mates, The ministers of vengeance knew. To friends and foes farewell he bade. Who mourned alike o'er one so brave ; Upon his son his hand he laid, And sad his parting blessing gave. Then blew the trumpet loud and long. Then wide the dungeon doors were flung ; And Colonel Hayne went through the throng, Upon the gallows to be hung. The steeds pressed heavily the ground. The soldiers marched with solemn tread ; The trumpets pealed their thrilling sound. The muffled drums beat dull and dread. But Colonel Hayne showed no dismay. No panic blanched his manly cheek ; Though multitudes, that thronged his way, In sighs and tears their sorrows speak. BALLADS AND SONGS FOK THE COTTAGE. 57 Unmoved, he reached the place of death ; Unmoved, he trod the scaffold high ; For life he knew was useless breath, Without the sweets of liberty. But ere he died, the heart-felt prayer. Poured for his native land, he gave. That God would shield her with his care. And in the hour of darkness save. 'T is done ! He gives his last embrace. And, in the twinkling of an eye. He, who was swift in freedom's race. Hung black and moveless in the sky. I marked a boy pass through the street. With garments rude, dishevelled hair ; He walked the earth with wandering feet. And with a wild and maniac air. He said but little ; oft he stood. When gained the sun his noon-day height, And fixed, when in his frantic mood, Upon its beams his staring sight. I asked what I his name should call, And how that one, so young as he, So early in his life should fall To such extreme of misery. 58 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. Alas ! he was his father's pride, Nor less he loved that father well ; He saw him when he, struggling, died ; He shrieked, and tottering reason fell. And, from that dark, distracting day. Wild horrors in his hosom reign ; His face is marked with sad dismay ; 'T is Charles, the son of Colonel Hayne. VI. These are thy fearful scenes, oh War ! These are the trophies thou dost bring ; How many pleasures thou dost mar ! How many bosoms thou dost wring ! A despot's heart is in thine arm. Tyrannic power invokes thy hate. To scatter wide thy dread alarm, And leave the just man desolate. The son and father thou dost sever, The husband from the wife dost part ; And sendest wretchedness forever O'er ruined home and bleeding heart. YANKO, THE NOBLE NEGRO. [The incidents which are the foundation of the folloTring stanzas are matters of fact, and not mere poetical fiction. A few years since, two children were left by an English gentleman on board a vessel, in the care of a negro, who belonged to his family. His object in leaving them was merely to make a short visit to another vessel, in the expect- ation of returning very soon. In the mean time a storm arose, and the vessel, in which the children were, was wrecked. The children, however, were saved through the disinterested kindness of the negro, who, in order that room might be made for them in the boat which conveyed the survivors, willingly and cheerfully remained on the wreck, and perished. Some notices of this affecting story may be found in Roberts' Memoirs of Mrs. Hannah More.] THE FATHEB. Yanko ! We leave the ship to-day : We give our children to your care ; While o'er the sea's unruffled way To yonder vessel we repair. 60 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. See how she strikes the gazer's eye, With towering mast and canvas wide ! I know her gallant compajiy ; One hour will bring us to her side. And though the feast and song may flow, As there our early friends we hail, The sunset with its parting glow Shall brighten our returning sail. THE MOTHEE. Yanko ! To my loved boys be kind ; My thread of life to theirs is bound ; If they should suffer, I should find In my own soul the rankling wound. They long thy faithfulness have known ; We only ask thee now to prove, What thou in other times hast shown, That thou dost hold them in thy love. Our boat will urge its joyful track Over the sea's unruffled plain ; But soon to speed its journey back. And bring us to the boys again. THE CHUDKEN. O, mother, yield not thus to fear. When we are absent from your view • The hours, with faithful Yanko near. With sport and joy are ever new. BALLADS AND SONGS FOR THE COTTAGE. 61 Around the ship he guides our feet, And shows the mast, the ropes, the sail ; Or, seeking out some quiet seat, Relates the sailor's wondrous tale. THE NEaBO. Master and Mistress ! I will take Care of my little masters here ; If they were hurt, my heart would break ; I love them too ; ye need not fear. I feel their sorrows, and am sad. If but a swelling tear I see ; And not a pleasure makes them glad, But brings its happiness to me. I will not say what I would do, To save them from the slightest smart ; Fearless I make appeal to you ; They have th«ir image in my heart. II. "T was thus the parting parents sought The noble ship, that waiting lay ; And as they joyful went, they thought Ere long to urge their homeward way. Some natural fears disturbed their mind ; But still they knew the negro's heart. And doubted not, that one so kind Would act the honorable part. 6 62 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. Meantime a sudden storm arose, And wrapped the sea in deepest black; In foaming piles the ocean flows, And lightnings cleave their angry track. The vessel, which so late they left. Was dashed in fierceness to and fro ; Until, of sail and mast bereft. She settled gradually low. Then there were shrieks and agony ; The boat was hoisted ; in it fast The striving crew plunged hastily. And Yanko and the boys came last. ' And, what was rending to the heart. The boatmen hesitate to take them ; And make all ready to depart, And to the raging sea forsake them. The children, at the negro's side. Looked up to see what he would do. And in the tear he could not hide The fulness of his friendship knew. For then he felt the inward strife. The grief which generous bosoms feel. And gladly would have yielded life. To save the boys he loved so well. The boatmen eagerly he prayed. That they the little boys would take, And save them in their youth arrayed. And save them for their parents' sake. BALLADS AND SONGS FOR THE COTTAGE. 63 III. Then rose the master of the boat, Which scarce sustained the whelming tide, And grief his hardy bosom smote, As thus to Yanko he replied : Whate'er I can I '11 gladly do. But if they enter, it will be, That then no place will be for you, And you must perish in the sea. Well, Yanko said, it matters not ; No worthless fear my breast annoys ; On such as I ne'er spend a thought ; Let Yanko perish, — take the boys. To them shall life its joys unfold ; The parent heart is bound to theirs ; But Yanko, when in death he 's cold. Has none his destiny that shares. He spoke, and placed within the boat The children to his charge consigned ; The little bark was soon afloat. But noble Yanko staid behind. The boys for sorrow could not speak, But tears and sobs their anguish tell, As Yanko, on the sinking deck, Repeated loud his long farewell. The negro stood alone. His eye Raised upward to the Lord of light ; 64 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. The world's last look was passing by, And vast Eternity in sight. 'T was but a moment. Quick the wave Bushed deeply o'er its sinking prize ; And swept his body to its grave, And gave his spirit to the skies. IV. This is the story, sad but true. Showing a negro's noble feeling. Reader ! It has a word for you, Unto your sympathies appealing. There are some men who scorning say The negroes are a lower race. Did Yanko's generous deed betray A lower, an ignoble place ? Where'er the sun the world doth bless. Is there a white man, that doth bear A soul with which in nobleness Poor Yanko's heart will not compare ' Judge not of virtue by a name, Nor think to read it on the skin ; Honor in black and white 's the same. The stamp of glory is within. Whate'er his color, man is man, A negro's heart like any other ; And Heaven, in its capacious plan, Bids us to treat him as a brother. BALLADS AND SONGS FOR THE COTTAGE. 65 DARK-ROLLING CONNECTICUT. [The writer spent a number of the early years of his life in the ■vicinity of the Connectiont. The following stanzas commemorate the feelings inspired by the natural scenery of that noble river, and by the social attractions connected with it.] O, TELL me no more of the blisses prevailing In the tapestried halls of the noble and great ! 0, tell me no more of the joys never failing, That are deemed at the feet of the vsrealthy to wait ! For dearer than riches or power are the mountains, The hills and the vales, to remembrance allied, The murmur of winds, and the rushing of fountains That haste to Connecticut's dark-rolling tide. Dark-rolling Connecticut ! Often recalling The days and the years that I spent on thy shore, I start at the tears, as, unconsciously falling. They tell me those days shall be present no more. 'T was summer. In brightness the wild-flow'rs were shining, And loud sung the beautiful birds in the trees ; — In the heat of the noon, in their shadows reclining, I watched thy broad waters that curled to the breeze. And when the cold winter, with wild stormy weather, Round the hearths of thy homes, at the closing of day, Collected thy sons and thy daughters together, How pleasantly passed the long evenings away ! Remembrance the joy of those moments shall cherish, Though quickly they faded, though long they have past, Nor e'er from the depths of my heart shall they perish, As long as a throb in that bosom shall last. 6* 66 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. And I think, when the moment shall come to depart, 'T would soften its anguish, my head could I pillow, As life, like a vision, shall fade from my heart. By the side of Connecticut's dark-rolling billow. THE CLOSING YEAH. In the glad days of summer the lily and rose, The delight of the garden, were fragrant and bright; But their bloom and their fragrance have come to a close, And another short year hath betaken to flight. 'T is a few days ago, when I walked out one mom. As the sun was just rising above the green hiU ; The pear-tree was laden, the flower hid the thorn. And sweet was the murmuring voice of the rill. The thrush and the linnet were joyous and gay. The lark sweetly sang from his tent in the sky; From the hazel's retreat burst the black-bird away. And the fields seemed in music and beauty to vie. But now the fair landscape hath lost its delight. The earth is all barren, the trees are all bare, The forest indeed wears a mantle of white. But the voices that cheered it no longer are there. Wherever I look, there are signs of decay ; I hear the winds whistle unjoyous and drear, The rills through the ice urge their desolate way, And blighting and grief mark the death of the year. BALLADS AND SONGS FOR THE COTTAGE. 67 Still the sun shall return and his lamp shall be nigh, And the trees that are naked and torn by the blast Be again green as ever, and rich in his eye, But the year of our life is the first and the last. Our lamp shall wax dinj, and our sun shall retire. And our bodies return to the dust of their birth; O, who shall rekindle that lustreless fire. And its beauty restore to that mouldering earth ? A sun that 's eternal shall burst on the tomb. And commence a new year to the good and the wise ; His rays their dark prison shall pierce and relume. And sprinkle with splendor their path to the skies. THE SICK CHILD. The sweat is standing on her brow. The tear is beaming in her eye. She doth not clasp her father now. As in the happy days gone by. Borne in her cradle of distress, From morn to evening doth she lay : Her little arms are powerless, She hath no strength to run or play. In vain shall those, who love her, seek Her radiant look, her beauty's glow : The tints have faded from her cheek, Her mourning voice is weak and low. 68 AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. O, could I hear that voice once more Speak out as it was used to do, How sweetly would those tones restore The joys which once my spirit knew ! When spring was in its beauty dressed, And birds were singing in their bowers, With joy too great to be repressed. She played among the opening flowers. But see, the sweat is on her brow, The tear is beaming in her eye ; She doth not clasp her father now. As in the happy days gone by. THE WOUNDED BIRD. Poor wounded bird ! my bosom aches for thee, As I thy torn and bleeding form behold. Wide in the sky no more thou shalt unfold Thy wings, exulting in their liberty. It was but yester morn I saw thee blest ; I marked thy plumage gay, and heard thee sing, And watched thee upward on thy early wing. Before the sunbeam found thy dewy nest. Thou wast a tenant of the boundless air ; Thy song, at coming morn, rejoicing loud. Thrilled from the bosom of the golden cloud. And thou didst lodge in light and beauty there. BALLADS AND SONGS FOR THE COTTAGE. 69 Poor bird ! I would that I could bring relief, And call thee back to joys and songs again ; But that can never be ; these tears are vain, And thou shalt bow thy head in early grief. I see thy heaving heart with throbs dilate ; I mark the shadows of thy closing eye ; Yes, thou art fallen low, but shalt not die Without a friend to mourn thy cruel fate. THE HUNTERS. The moon hath bowed her orb of light. And here we '11 rest, till morn is bright; The mountain deer were swift to-day, And far have led our feet astray. The cottage fire is out ; afar The watch-dog bays the lingering star ; Upon the mount springs up the deer, And lifts his antlered head to hear. But he shall rest again his eye Beside the brook that murmurs by. And lose in dreams and soft repose The sense of weariness and woes. The hunters, too, shall sink to sleep. With burning pines their watch to keep ; While far and near the vrakeful trees Make music in the nightly breeze. 70 AMERICaX COTTAGK LlFiJ. But soon again the sun shall fling The daylight from his golden wing ; And hills, and woods, and waters far. Resound with horn and sylvan war. 'TIS MANY A YEAK. 'T 18 many a year, since first I drew Your airs, ye hills, with panting breast ; And on your rocks the loud halloo With voice and waving arm exprest. Your rugged steeps I loved to climb. And thence with eager eye survey, When seated on their brow sublime. The fields and farmhouse far away. 'T is many a year. Those years I wish would come again, Those distant times I oft recall ; Alas ! my youthful joys are slain ; I say, as silent tear-drops fall. Where are the days when down your side The little sled, that bore me swift, At winter eve I loved to guide O'er icy steep and frozen drift ? 'T is many a year. Old men have died since I was young ; Young men have into manhood grown. It is not now as when I sung Upon those distant hills alone, BALI