LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. S^Hti dxipajng^l ^^* Shelf -*.S.^. 5^6 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. ^<^^J^J(M^J^ iS^ s (^/^^xaIW , RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS, BY ARTHUR E. SMITH, ILLUSTRATED. NEW YORK : / ?;- 5-^^ V ^ JOHI^ B. ALDEN, PUBLISHER.^: 1892. Copyright, 1892, by THE AUTHOR. [All Bights Reserved."] THIS COLLECTION IT Dedicate TO ALL Who in the love of Nature hold CoTTiTn union with her visible forms. ' CONTEI^TS. PAGE The Three Requests, 7 Stars, 8 The Bonny Maiden, . . . . . .9 The Flower in the Cleft of the Rock, . . 10 Life, 11 The Hunter, 12 The Angel, Truth, 13 Wild Flowers, 14 Worthlessness, 15 In the Adirondacks, 16 "Ere Clouds and Mists," 21 The Two Travelers, 21 The Old Mansion, 22 Who Does Not Love the Spring? . . .22 A May Day Ramble, 24 Evening Song, 26 The Angel of the Desert, 27 The Woodland Rill, 30 The Bedouin's Call, . . . . . .31 Beside the Hudson 32 In November, 33 O Lord, Thy Eye Is Over All! . . . .34 Reuben and Flora, 35 O Hear Ye the Song ! .39 Ode, 40 "When I Go Home Again!" 41 Midsummer, ........ 42 The Lost Hunter, 43 Hudson River. 47 6 CONTENTS. PAGE Soon Will the Summer-time Be Gone, . . 50 Harvest Hymn, 53 Man's Weakness Compared with God's Great- ness, 53 Christ's Established Word, 57 MiN-NE-KO-MA, 58 The Old Red Mill, 73 The Old Turnpike Road, 75 The Rabbi's Vision, 76 October, 78 Ode to Fancy, . • 79 Landscape, 85 A Winter Walk, 87 Friar John, 94 " Our Flag Shall Float Triumphant !" . .100 To Immortality 101 "And the Day Is Dark and Dreary,* . .104 O Whither, Birds? 105 Autumn, 107 To THE Chimney Swallows, 109 In the Heart of the Woods, .... 110 The First Christmas Morn, 112 Sorrowing, 116 To Chloris, 117 Beneath the Forest's Shade I Rest, . . .118 The Old Trysting Tree, 119 The Hermit, 120 Hymn for Christmas Eve, 124 Mortality, 125 Immortality, 126 An Evening Beside the Sea, . . . .127 Recompense, 128 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. THE THREE REQUESTS. Within his garden, 'neath a tamarind-tree, The Sultan sat with his fair daughters three. "My eldest born, what shall I grant thee, pray? Ask it, and it shall granted be to-day!" The fair maid, raising her dark eyes, replied : " Grant me a prince, some courtier for my side!" " My second born, what wouldst thou have, I pray? Choose well, my child; I'll grant it thee to- day!" " Thou knowest, father, I long for pow'r and fame! Grant me a realm! I ask it in thy name!" " My youngest child, what dost thou wish, I pray? Tell me, and it shall granted be to-day!" "0 father! since thou will, my heart doth crave Thy love! naught else! for that I'd be thy slave!" Thus said, she fell down at her father's feet. On which she rained hot tears and kisses sweet. 8 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. The father's heart was touched; his child's pale brow He kissed, and said: "Thy wish I grant thee 710W ! " STAES. When the pleasant day is ended, And the evening shades appear, And the night-birds sweet are calling From out the forest near. Then the doors of heav'n are opened And the stars shine bright and clear ! The stars seem to my fancy Like lights in a city's street; They glimmer and gleam in the heavens Like the fire-flies at my feet. 0, the stars, they light the city Which is not for mortals meet ! From the distant East the full moon Climbs slowly overhead. And her light falls on the hillside. Showing the city of the dead. 0, the evening's pensive sweetness Has a melancholy shade ! Is the night but the end of the day-time? Is death but the end of life? Night's but the forerunner of day-time, And death, of a nobler life : A life without shadows or sadness. But with sunshine and happiness rife ! THE BONNY MAIDEN. ^ THE BONNY MAIDEN. Sweet Summer, send your softest gale To greet a lover's ear, For there is coming up the vale A bonny little dear ; The daisies blossom 'neath her feet. Wild-roses by her path, While thrushes answer— 0, so sweet !— Her merry, merry laugh. Ye sunbeams, play across the lea ; Ye willows, fondly sigh ; For there's no fairer maid than she Who now is drawing nigh. Her sparkling eyes are like the dew Upon a wildwood's fiow'r, And o'er her cheeks of crimson hue Aye smiles like sunbeams pour. Sweet sing, ye brooks, within yon glade, A melody divine. For there's no fairer rural maid Than bonny Jennie mine ; Ye zephyrs, kiss her lips rose-red And fan her lily brow; Ye gentle violets, hang your heads, And low before her bow. Sweet Summer, send your softest gale To greet a lover's ear. For there is coming up the vale A bonny little dear ; She's coming now to meet her love Beneath the trysting-tree, While voices from the maple-grove Make joyful melody. 10 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. THE FLOWER IN THE CLEFT OF THE ROCK. One summer morn I sought the woods Behind McDonald's mill; Then all the leaves were motionless, And all the winds were still. Upon the grasses 'side my path The crystal dew-drops hung, While in the distance, sweet and clear, The cascade's joy-bells rung! At last I paused beside the stream That coursed adovm the glen, While from the hazel thickets dense, Sweet called the little wren. Before me rose a rocky wall, O'ergrown. with mosses green. And at its feet that streamlet flowed, — It was a pretty scene ! And there, within a cleft, I saw A lovely little flow'r. With scarcely dirt to hide its roots, Nursed both by sun and show'r! Its mission there was but of cheer. For it made that waste place bloom ; And I likened it to sunshine bright Within some lonely room ! ''We speak of angels, and we hear The flutt'ring of their wings!" Yea, ev'ry gift that we receive From heav'n some angel brings! I thought of angels, but knew not An angel then was nigh. LIFE. 11 Until within that cleft I did The little fiow'r espy! My melancholy heart grew glad As fondly I stood near ! Was not that flow'r an angel, if It had such pow'r to cheer? And oh ! I thought, though destiny's Stern walls before me tow'r, What joy is mine, if in some cleft Groweth some angel fiow'r I LIFE. Life is but the shad'wy gleam Of a cloud on some still stream, Or the little time by heaven To weak, erring mortals given ! Life is like a vapor light, Climbing up a mountain height. Which soon reaches the summit high, And is lost in cloud and sky ! Life is like a journey o'er Eough, steep mountains, and bleak moor,- Whither do thy footsteps tend? To what distant land, my friend? Life is earnest, but is short; No time to idly sport. Man must strive, if he would rise Higher than his own self's eyes! Is life but the path to fame? Tell me, what is in a name? 12 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. Worldly fame in time will rot, And its wearer be forgot ! Naught survives the darkened grave But the Christlike spirit save, But the soul that seeks its King While the bells of heaven ring. Life is blest to those who will Highest missions here fulfil; But's a curse to those who lust After that which is but — Dust 1 THE HUNTER. When slowly fades the morning star, And Phoebus in his golden car Ascends the heavens clear, The hunter grasps his rifle true, And leaves his cabin, rude and low, And goes to hunt the deer ! With rifle on his shoulder, and Four w^ell-trained dogs at his command, Why halts he by yon pine? Lo, in the trembling light and shade, Anear the cottage in the glade, He sees his Emeline ! The hot blood surges to his cheeks As he the sinuous pathway seeks, Thinking of her behind ! Before him, like an emerald sea, Stretches a forest wild and free, Swept by the warm south wind ! THE ANGEL, TRUTH. 13 On, on, he threads that wilderness, Thinking of her last fond caress, And humming a song of cheer ; O'er stream and runway, and through brush, The home of the partridge and the thrush. He goes to hunt the deer ! 0, Love's the same wherever found, Where wildwoods spread their shade around, And God alone is God ; Or in the city and the town. Or where from rise till set of sun The peasant tills the sod ! THE ANGEL, TRUTH. Listen to the angel, Truth, When he speaketh unto thee I Sweet his voice as far-off bell, Chiming wild and free ; Or, the grander melody Of the proud, old ocean's waves Breaking o'er its coral caves! Truth wields pow'r, and pow'r is Might! Therefore, if you would have pow'r, List to Truth, for Truth is Right! And he ever holds in store Gifts for thee, the richest known, And, — which angels might covet to own, Riches that bring joy and peace. And which through all time increase ! What is worldly pomp and pride? What is gold but vanity? 14 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS, Who can safe Life's storms outride? Who can safe sail Life's wild sea, If Truth is not near their side? If Truth is not their true guide? Truth is mighty ; Truth is strong ; Truth is victor over Wrong ! Listen to the angel. Truth, When he speaketh unto thee! Sweet his voice as far-off bell, Chiming wild and free ; Or, the grander melody Of the proud, old ocean's waves Breaking o'er its coral caves! WILD FLOWERS. I LOVE the flowers for their beauty, And for the One who gave them birth ; They ever lead by paths of duty — These angels of the earth. Down through the wooded mountain passes These angels stream in gorgeous clothes; And in the meadows, 'mid the grasses, Their lovely forms repose. By brinks of pools, in sedgy places, 'Mid wild and trackless woods they grow; While, near the streams, their pleasant faces Gleam on the tides below. Wild flow 'rets in the sunlight shining, Half-open buds, and glossy leaves. Which, trembling, show their silver lining, We find among the sheaves. WORTHLESSNESS. 15 Spring cannot claim all kinds of flowers ; Nor Summer wear all at her breast ; For Autumn flies to Khea's bowers And begs a flow'ry crest. We scan, for tokens of God's kindness, The vast cathedral heights above ; Nor see, because of sin -made blindness, In flow'rs signs of His love! Within my heart I would that flowers Fair as earth's fairest ones might grow! For thoughts, if blossoms, would thrive on showers Of joy and love, I know ! I think all flowers are but disguises Of angels from the realms above ; For they whisper when the wind surprises Sweet words of joy and love ! Flow'rs, like to angels, take departure! They come to us with noiseless tread ; They breathe of heaven and less of nature ; They guard the living and the dead ! O cherish e'er the fair wild flowers, — That wild and beauteous sisterhood ; And strive with all God-given powers To be as pure and good ! WORTHLESSNESS. Things that are cheap are oft a cheat ; The garment that doth bear the tint Of cheapness often has the print Of worthlessness upon its face. 16 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. The character that one doth bear Cannot be hid from God's inspection, And worthlessness cannot escape detection In souls, no more than in the robes we wear. IN THE ADIEONDACKS. (after A STORM.) The night has passed ; the tempest wild has ceased ; The dark- winged clouds have vanished with the trace Of morn upon the mounts within the East ! The mighty constellations, set in space. Grow dim as into view now sweeps the sun, Flooding with light the whole vast horizon ! And as I walk along the upland way, I cast my eyes upon the peaceful scene, — Where giant mountains in their grandeur lie. Like warriors, guarding the fair vales be- tween ; And where the thin gray mists curl slowly up From quiet lake-like vapors from a cup ! The rain-drops glisten on the proud old trees. And fall beneath, on tufts of tall rank grass, In diamond show'rs whene'er the gentle breeze Chances with quickened steps to rudely pass. Or happy birds drop on their leafy spray To greet with songs of joy the youthful day ! IN THE ADIRONDACKS. 17 Beside my path the mountain Hhes bhish, And the bhthe streamlet, downward leap- ing, sings; While from the tangled thicket and the brush On whirring wings the partridge shy up- springs ! From monarch oaks that overlook the glade The squirrels call, and play beneath their shade. From depths of wood the fairies of the air. The gay-winged butterflies, come one by one; And bees go humming by without a care, — Their tiny forms soon lost in shade and sun ; While from beneath the leaves, — their cov- erlet dry, Creep many a beetle, ant, and dragon-fly ! The time has been that these wild solitudes Have rung with shouts of Indians fierce and bold. How many a warlike scene these dark, stern woods Have frowned upon; and, in the years grown old, How many a dusky warrior, doubly brave. Beneath their silent shade has found his grave ! Perhaps, yon glade can tell a fearful tale, — How Indian hunter, wearied by the chase. Was pounced upon by beasts from out the vale At night, and how his bones about the place 18 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. Were strewn, and how at morn an Indian maid His relics found while passing through the glade ! In ages past, before the red man made This wilderness his home, — the same sweet look The great sun bore ; and from the w^ooded glade, To take his fill from pool and mountain brook. The an tiered dweller of the forest came. Nor knew, nor "feared the arrow's deadly aim!" But since man's trod with passions unre- strained This mighty wilderness, the mountain turf With blood of innocent has oft been stained ! Where'er man's evil hand is laid, the earth Cries out, and Life beholds with half-drawn breath. Firm seated on her throne, the tyrant, Death! Oh, mountains wild ! Oh, leafy solitudes ! Now from man's evil passions thou art clean ; By lakes and streams, in thickets, groves and woods. In heaven above, in leaf and spar, are seen The geometric signs of God which teach That joy and peace are placed for all in reach ! IN THE ADIRONDACKS. 19 And, as I tread the wood and winding glen, An ''offspring of a mightier, nobler race," Through vision, a great multitude of men I see ; the woods recede, and in their place Large towns shoot up, while o'er the Indian's grave The well-filled wheat and tender grasses wave! Ay ! it is best that Peace and Enterprise Should take the place of savage cruelty ! And Justice, from her throne within the skies Should ^ule the hearts of peoples yet to be ! When differences shall exist, let her Decide, and thus become sole arbiter ! Upon the human heart, as years roll by. The "love of gain" takes deeper, firmer hold; And man, with utmost skilh doth plan and try His best to hoard a wealth of what? Of gold! Nor pauses he amid the beautiful To thank the Great Creator who made all I Away! I'd rather dwell alone with God Where mighty mountains unto mountains call And worldly Avarice has never trod. Than in a palace fine, or marble hall ! Oh, I would dwell where cataracts leap and play, But not where Pride and Wealth alone hold sway! 20 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. Oh, proud, majestic mountains of the North! O'er thee the bright sun guides his golden car, And fragrant winds spring from thy caverns forth To hymn their praises to the Northern star! Grand are thy crags by time and tempest riven, And rough-hewn granite spires that point tow'rd heaven ! Oh, man! if thou dost love the beautiful, — If thou wouldst gaze on Nature's lovely face, — Seek thou these mountains, 'round whose summits call The eagles, and down whose sides the tor- rents race, Hurling with thund'rous sound unto the vales The rocks and trees loosed by the winds and gales ! And as thou climb 'st above the haunts of men. And see'st around thee hanging crag and spar. And far below thee precipice, ay ! then Thy heart will own its weakness, and hail the pow'r That bears thee onward tow'rd the heavenly height Where time is not, and all is love and light ! u ''ERE CLOUDS AND MISTS AHISE." 21 EEE CLOUDS AND MISTS AEISE." Ere clouds and mists arise to dim The radiance of the skies, In Hfe's bright morn, think on Him Who made thee, and be wise ! Ere fears and trembhngs shall assail, And hope and strength decrease, O think on Him ! He will not fail, When earthly comforts cease ! Ere thy last day shall break in Hght Across thy pathway lone, O let Him guide thy feet aright ! Be wise ! Trust Him alone ! This mortal state 'tis vain to trust! We hasten to the grave ! Dust shall again return to dust, Our lives to Him who gave ! THE TWO TRAVELEES. Thou little streamlet, singing sweet and low The livelong day, whither dost thou flow? Thy dimpling waves kissing the shining sand, whither thou? Unto what distant land? " Days, weeks, and years I journey on, nor would 1 pause, e'en for a moment, if I could ! "On, on, I haste unto the boundless sea; As thou, trav'ler, to Eternity!" 22 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. THE OLD MANSION. The mansion old is standing Near the arching Hnden trees, With its old front -door unfastened, And swinging to the breeze. Ad own the gravelled pathway The dusky shadows creep, While birds in the trees beside it Have folded their wings in sleep. As I stand within the doorway. And gaze within the hall, I see but the dust and the mildew That covers each dusky wall ; And I hear not children's footsteps On the rotten, trembling floor, Nor the music of their voices As they enter through the door. The happy little children, Alas ! that they are dead, And only in His mansion Is heard their spirit-tread. The birds at morn in the lindens May sing as sweet as of yore, But the happy songs of the children Will be heard here nevermore. WHO DOES NOT LOVE THE SPEING? Who does not love the bonny spring. And all her beauteous train? The flocks of birds that swiftly wing Their flight o'er hill and plain, WHO DOES NOT LOVE THE SPMIV 23 And flow'rs that dance to ev'ry wind, Have they no lesson for the mind? Ay, flow'rs! The very name of flow'rs, That haunt both fleld and glen, Bring back loved scenes in winter hours Of home and youth again ! The king- cups on the grassy lea Were more than riches then to me ! The violets that flourished vride Within the shad'wy grove, — I've talked to them with childish pride, And whispered words of love ! For then I thought an elfin sprite Lay hid mthin each blossom bright ! Within the clefts of rocks I've seen The honeysuckles peer, And humming-birds with breasts of green Stealing their nectar clear ! And then my childish fancy deemed That these birds more than earthly seemed. I thought them spirits from some sphere Beyond the azure sky ; And in the spring, when earth was clear Of winter, they drew nigh. And took this dainty, bird-Uke form So they would freest be from harm ! Among the dwellers of the field. When spring-time hours were mellow. The verdant meadow-side revealed The dandelion yellow^ ! His crown was of refined gold : Such were my true, tried friends of old ! U RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. Still are the birds and flow'rs my friends! But what of human kind ? Some fickle, false, of basest end, While some like flow'rs I find; And sweetest birds that haunt the grove, And all the places that I love ! Long as we stay in Pleasure's ring. To friends our eyes are blind ; Though Conscience gives a random sting How little do we mind ! But when on seas, by tempests driven, Then friends seem dear, and so does heav'n ! Will time destroy our love for those Who were our friends in youth? Nay ! Year by year, love stronger grows, For love's the soul of truth! Can I forget the birds and flow'rs Who were my friends in youth's fond hours? A MAY-DAY EAMBLE. One mellow descant more, sweet thrush ! for me one mellow descant more ! Why hidest thou within yon bush ? Art thou not glad that winter's o'er? Though now the May-day is half gone, yet still I seek the glowing fields While loud the meadow-lark sings on, thank- ful for gifts the season yields. Loud call the crows from wooded hill, while from the elm-tree's tangled loft The blue-bird pipes a few notes shrill, and then rich melting notes and soft. A MAY-DAY RAMBLE. 35 Green are the little hollows where for w^orms old robm-redbreast looks ; The leafing woods, and skies how fair ! and how sweet sing all the brooks ! O'er meads the slim-winged swallows sweep, and to the distant river pass ; While in wide circles wheels a hawk, watch- ing for mice within the grass. Within the little pools, whose floors are strewn with grass and tall rank reed. The water-bugs, shy mariners, with their small oars row 'round, nor heed The world about them; but, intent upon their own selves' joy, they fall A prey, as the warm days are sent, to greedy reptiles large and small ! How oft upon this upland slope mine eyes have seen the seasons pass With all their glory ! Now with hope I wait new joy and happiness! How oft I've watched the dark groves fling their infant leaves unto the gale ! The maples and the locusts bloom, each in its time, adown the vale ! I have watched till eye and brain were full of color and of dreams As they! And fairy lands I've seen which with a thrice -fold beauty teems ! It is not fame that brings one joy! It is not wealth that brings one peace ! S6 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. But it is love, without alloy, and which through time doth e'er increase! I look around, but can not see, daisy, thy perfect white-rayed moon ! But yet I know from thy dark home the winds and sun will call thee soon ! Ay, I have loved thee, gentle flow'r, with poet's fondest love; and I Have learned from thee that greatest pow'r for good in meekness e'er doth lie! When in the grave they lay me low, and pile the earth upon my breast, I would that thou, dear flow'r, might 'st grow anear my lowly place of rest ! I ask not for historic ground ! I would pre- fer some unknown place Where wild-winds prattle sweet around, with thou, dear flow'r, the scene to grace! Enough of melancholy thought! Why should my heart be sad to-day. When earth and bournless sky are w^rought with the fair handiwork of May? EVENING SONG. When gently down the sunset way The golden lights and shadows play, And from the skies the purple dyes In darkness slowly fade away. Then, like a bird, I long to be Anear my nest, anear, love, thee ! THE ANGEL OF THE DESERT. 21 When from the dark and lonely wood The night-bird breaks the solitude With wild, sweet lay, and o'er my way The moonlight falls in a silv'ry cloud, Then, love, I long to be with thee. And from all earth-born cares set free! When down the heathery hillsides steep The shepherd slowly drives his sheep. And from the fields no more there steals The merry shouts of those who reap. Then, like a bird that seeks its tree, I seek my home and, true-love, thee ! What joys for me at even- tide! What peace when thou art near my side! What happiness when I caress And draw thee closer to my side ! When thou art nigh Night's shadows flee— For love's the light centred in thee! THE ANGEL OF THE DESEET. Have you heard the marvellous legend. Told by Gentile and by Jew, Of the "Angel of the Desert," Be it false, or be it true? On the white sands of the desert Mercilessly the burning sun Shone, while onward, slowly onward, Moved a weary trav'ler, on! Fevered were his cheeks and forehead, And his lips and throat were dry : 28 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. Lost he was upon the desert, Where naught was but sand and sky ! Not a mist or not a shadow Fell across his pathway lone; Powerless he before the simoon, Like a giant, sw^eeping down ! Tortured both by earth and heaven, Sick and blinded by the heat, On he staggered until reason Guided not his aching feet. On he staggered like a drunkard, While thought whispered he must die ; Soon he fell upon the hot sands. With parched lips and dimming eye! As he lay, amid the heavens Overhead, he caught the gleam Of blue mountains and cool forests. And of lake and winding stream! Then with sudden last strong impulse On his elbow leaned he forth For to drink from the cool fountain Near him springing from the earth. But to find, alas! the vision, — That the airy region spanned, — Was a mirage of the desert. And naught was but wastes of sand ! As he sank back on his pillow, Panting for his very breath. In the red haze of the simoon Saw he there the gates of Death ! As he helpless lay, and dying, With eyes growing strangely dim, Lo, the "Angel of the Desert" Came and gently knelt by him ! THE ANGEL OF THE DESERT. 29 To his lips she pressed a flagon Filled with water cool and sweet, And with oil she bathed his forehead, And anointed she his feet ! Then she took him up and bore him To a green oasis, where Gently laid she him, still slumb'ring, Near a little fountain clear ! All around him cooling shadows Fell, and lilies strewed the vale. While the palm-trees joined in anthem With the sweet-voiced desert gale ! Nature soon itself asserted. And he 'woke, but she was gone ; Near him sang the fronded palm-trees, And the fountain leaping down. As he 'rose, the rescued trav'ler, And beheld his Paradise, Thankfulness welled from his bosom, And joy filled his dusky eyes. And he murmured: "God, I thank thee! Here henceforth my home I'll make; And likewise, perhaps, some brother I may rescue for thy sake!" When I heard this marvellous legend, Came this thought straight home to me Like the "Angel of the Desert" He who would so may he be ! Every act of love and mercy, When in the right spirit done. E'er will gather more of brightness As the mighty years roll on ! 30 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. THE WOODLAND EILL. I WANDER down the aisles of pine, And turn the brow of the hill, And there within the wooded vale Swift flows the v/oodland rill. Its banks are lined with briar and vine, And graceful arching trees, Whose sun-kissed leaves and cooling shade Invite the summer breeze. At early morn, when the bright sun Eounds slowly into sight, And floods the woods and vales around With a rich, golden light. The timid partridge and her brood E'er come to take their fill From this sweet fountain, crystal clear, This little woodland rill. I stoop, and quench my thirst from where The waters slowly run, And where they form a little pool Sheltered from the bright sun. I prize this gift that Nature gives. These waters cool and clear. Which leap aud sparkle through the vale The whole of the long year. Pure as the tear which sorrow draws From the eye's hidden well. Pure as the dew of heaven caught In the modest lily's bell, And purer than the rain which clouds Scatter o'er vale and hill Are the laughing, sparkling waters of This little woodland rill. THE BEDO UIN ' S CALL. 3 1 Here lovers meet, at night's fond hour, To hold communion sweet, Here hunters cool their heated brows. And rest their weary feet, Here beauty lingers longest, here Are first seen smiles of spring, And here the joyous birds of song Their sweetest anthems sing. Fair woodland stream ! a charm thou hast For all who do thee love ; Eound thee, with light and joyous wing, Fancy doth ever move. I count life drear if I can not From Nature pleasures cull ; But thou art glad, for thou dost breathe E'er of the beautiful! THE BEDOUIN'S CALL. A WEARY Arab, 'mid the desert wild. Had wandered from the way ; A mirage had his steps beguiled, And far he'd gone astray. And now the sun had set in blood, And night was sweeping down ; In answer to his call, he heard. Afar, a camel's plaintive moan. He hastened whence the glad sound came, And, lo, a Bedouin's tent! The Sheik appeared: "In Allah's name, For you who are forespent. Here's rest and water cool and food!" The wand'rer sought his side. 32 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. "Praise be to Allah for He is good! My long lost son!" the old Sheik cried. The son replied : " Father, 'tis I, And but for you I'd died!" And hence the custom, when draws nigh The night on desert wide. The Bedouin stands outside his tent, Facing the sunset's gate. And cries: "All you who are forespent, In Allah's name, for you I wait!" BESIDE THE HUDSON. Beside the far-famed Hudson now am I, Intently gazing at the beauteous scene Displayed. Yon mountains, clothed with forests green. In eternal grandeur, are limned against the sky! From off their Titan shoulders, mantles white, Formed from the mists and dews, and gemmed with light, They cast, and fling to the river at their feet. Which flows with rippling wave and music sweet Through channel cut through precipices high And level lands. Above its turbulent breast The small birds and the blue- winged herons fly! Ah! here where Nature's sov' reign there is rest! IN NOVEMBER. 33 And here the weary spirit can be free To reassiime, again, simplicity ! IN NOVEMBER. What visions greet the eye to-clay, — Green fields of clover and of grain, Fair skies and mounts of bluish-gray, And beauteous flow'rs on hill and plain? I would these might ! But, ah ! instead, Are seen but visions of the dead ! The woods are stripped; the fields laid waste ; The woodland-paths are piled with leaves ; And on its journey tow'rd the west, For Summer past the river grieves ! Deserted stands the old stone mill. And ice-bound is its water-wheel 1 Upon the distant mountains high. All robed in white, young Winter stands; While, through the groves and woodlands nigh, Pale spectres stalk with upraised hands ! In field remains not one bright ember To light the pathway for November I Lo ! as we gaze, from out the waste Of leaden clouds, in shad'wy height, Down stream the snows; soon ev'ry place And object's robed in garments white, — Soon hillside, moor, and tangled brake Are white as banks of stream and lake ! 34 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. Though dreary dow when birds have flown, And trees their painted leaves have cast, And o'er the hills and forests lone Fierce sweeps the bitter, northern blast — Yet let us strive to truly say : "God is our light, our joy to-day!" LOED, THY EYE IS OVER ALL! Lord, thou dost tend with loving care The lilies in the fields ; The birds within the forests share The joy thy presence yields ; And thou dost note each sapling small Change to the perfect tree ; Lord, thy eye is over all, So watch and guard thou me ! The clouds which float the mountains o'er, And winds which sweep the plain, Thou bid'st them go, they own thypow'r. And come, they come again. Thou calmest. Lord, the troubled sea ; Its waves obey thy will, — Bid thou the doubts and fears in me To evermore be still ! As the oak upon the mountain side The lightning rends in twain. As leaflets scatter far and wide Before the hurricane. So scatter. Lord, all wrong, all sin. And rend my stubborn heart With love, if need be. Lord, in twain ; Then sanctify each part. O LORD THY EYE 18 OVER ALL! ' Page 34 REUBEN AND FLORA. 35 EEUBEN AND FLORA. "Do you love me?" asked young Eeuben to his handsome, blue-eyed Flo ; "Do you love me, love me any? Answer truly, yes or no!" O'er their heads the sunlight golden lingered with a long caress Till the sun had wholly vanished in the dis- tant, crimson west. "Do you love me, love me, truly? Is your dear heart fully mine? I can trust you, darling, ever?" Soft her It is two years since that evening, and dear Flora by me stands ; From her eyes the tears are falling, while in mine I clasp her hands. White her cheeks as are the lilies, and her lips have bloodless grown ; Her blue eyes have lost their brightness, and her youthful beauty's gone. "Shall I never," sighs she softly, "see my darling, Eeuben, more? Though I love him, so fondly, shall I never see him more? " Just two years ago my Eeuben and I stood within yon grove; There he told me how he loved me, and he asked me for my love!" 36 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. Then I tried to soothe her sorrow, but her grief would burst anew ; And she'd murmur, sweetly murmur, ''Is he false, or is he true ! "0 I'm longing just to see him ere I die, just once again; I forgive him for the suff 'ring which he's caused me, and the pain!" Yet one more year, and the May-time with its lovely flow'rs has come; And the birds are singing gayly in the elms near Flora's home. Flora on her bed is lying nigh unto the gates of death ; And she looks out through the window, and she whispers with each breath : " He is coming, he is coming, I shall see him yet once more ! Ere I close my eyes in slumber, Eeuben I shall see once more!" "Ev'ry day her voice grows weaker, yet she whispers: "Reuben, dear, He will come ere comes the evening, once again I'll meet him here! " Though three years have slowly vanished since I have my Reuben met. Ere I close my eyes in slumber, I shall see him, see him yet !" REUBEN AND FLORA. 37 It was on a lovely morning in the latter part of June, When the skies were bright with sunshine, and the birds seemed most in tune, And in through the open windows came the scent of flowers fair. Of the old hall garden's roses, violets and lilies rare, That I heard light footsteps coming quickly up the gravelled path. But the lilacs hid him ; thought I it is Keu- ben, or his wraith. As I gazed out through the window, I saw Eeuben at the door ; "He is coming," Flora whispered; "I shall see my love once more ! " Now what makes you look so joyful ? Why the gladness in your eye? Is he coming? Do you see him? Is my Eeuben, Reuben nigh?" But she knew not who was waiting anxiously her then to see ! Soft she whispered: "He is coming, for the angels have told me I" Then I told her that her Eeuben had come back to her again, And outside the door was waiting till I'd bid him to come in. "God be praised!" she fondly whispered; "go, and bid him come to me! I shall die ere comes the twilight, but, thank God, I him shall see!" 38 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. Then I oped the door, and Reuben entered with his face aglow. "I have come," he told her gayly, ^'never- more to leave you, Flo!" As he knelt down by her bedside, and he saw how pale and thin Were her cheeks, once like the roses, tear- drops stood his eyes within. " Great," he said, " the wrong I've done you ; God have pity on my soul ! I knew not you loved so truly, that I was your all in all!" " Do not thus upbraid me, Reuben, love and not love I can not ! I was true to you ; I loved you after you had me forgot ! "I forgive you freely, Reuben! Clasp me now unto your heart ! Let me feel your arms around me as of old before we part!" Tight he clasped her to his bosom, and he whispered words of love ; Fond her eyes she fixed upon him, but her lips refused to move. Then he laid her on her pillow, and he kissed her forehead white ; One long gasp, and all was over — her sweet soul had winged its flight ! All day long he knelt beside her — his old love had burst anew ; And he'd moan: "0 God, that I was, so false, and she so true!" HEAR YE THE SONG! 39 Thirty years have passed, and Eeuben still remembers his sweet Flo ; that he had been more faithful in the long, sad years ago. HEAE YE THE SONG! HEAR ye the song which the bonny June sings ! hear ye the whirr of her beautiful wings, As swiftly she flies over woodland and lea To waken the roses, my Mary, for thee ! The buttercups thrive on the green grassy plains, And the song-birds are chanting their glad- some refrains, For June, she is here with her laughter and glee To waken the roses, my Mary, for thee! Adown through the forest the brook flows along With a silvery laugh, and a low pleasant song; For June, she is flying o'er woodland and lea To waken sweet music, my Mary, for thee ! Yet, the sweetest of melody springs from the soul When love of the harp-strings has perfect control ; But the fairest of flow'rs and the dearest to me Are the roses June wakens, my Mary, for thee ! 40 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS ODE. (Written for the anniversary of Washington's Birthday.) This is the anniversary Of that most highly honored day When heaven gave Columbia Her noble Washington ! Peal, guns, from forts beside the sea ! Ring, bells, wild bells, for Liberty ! Shout to the moimtains grand and free : God, and our Washington!" a It was our fearless Washington That fiercely hurled the gauntlet down, And bravely crossed the ''Rubicon," And fought for Liberty ! Honor the warrior, first in war. With character that none could mar ! The statesman pure! our country's star! Our noble Washington ! Let Fame his glorious name engrave Beyond the reach of tyrant, knave ! Beyond the sweep of Time's swift wave. That all who run may read ! From Atlantic's to Pacific's strand, Ours is a firm united land ! Ours is the Yankee's Fatherland I The Home of Liberty! No more his pow'r the Briton boasts! Docile his lion on our coasts ; And dear to us is the Lord of Hosts, And thee, O Washington! " WHEN I GO HOME AGAIN! " 41 No foreign foe can drag us down, For Freedom reigns, and Slavery's flown! We learned to trust in God alone From thee, O Washington ! Long as Columbia shall be Home for the noble, brave, and free, Thy name shall ever honored be. Great Father, — Washington! "WHEN I GO HOME AGAIN!" The evening shadows deepen. As the dreary hours roll on. And the autumn breezes murmur In a dull, sad undertone. As I sit by the fitful firelight, And list to the splash of the rain, My heart is filled with a longing For the dear old home again ! I long for the dear old faces And the hearts so loving always, So ready with words of counsel, So ready with words of praise ! I'm tired of the wrongs and the heartaches, And the ceaseless struggle for "gain;" And I long for the restful quiet Of the dear old home again ! When I step o'er the well-worn threshold Of my dear old boyhood's home, How my heart will thrill with rapture At their welcome — "He is come!" As sweet as the voice of angels, Chanting in glad refrain. 42 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS, Will be their joyous greeting When I go home again ! The evening shadows deepen, As the dreary hours roU on, And the autumn breezes murmur In a dull, sad undertone. As I sit by the fitful firelight, While steadily falls the rain, T dream of the friends awaiting My coming home again ! MIDSUMMER. From mossy cliffs the little fountain leaps. And tenderly his tale of love he lisps Unto the daisies, and the wind that drifts In a small boat slowly across the deeps Of clover blooms. O'erhead, the bright sun keeps His fiery steeds upon the bound, nor shifts He his course through mid-heav'n. O'er granite cliffs His radiance streams, and down the moun- tain steeps. Earth's multitudes are smitten, — e'en the maize. With slender, half- curled leaves, faints in the field, And herds pant though by the dark woods concealed. All living creatures shrink from the mid- summer blaze; — No break is in the sky-line, save where aloft Some startled pigeons stream from a low croft. THE LOST HUNTER. 43 Noon of the seas'n! The summer's sultry noon ! A silence like that of a Sabbath clay Reigns o'er the fields, and o'er the hills holds sway! The lab'rer sits within his door; alone His horse, unharnessed, eats of the new hay Beneath the overarching maples strewn ; While from the garden comes the bees' low drone. And from the barn shouts of his boys at play ! Yet a few moons, and changed will be the scene ! No more the bees will murmur by the hedge, Nor warblers pij)e their clear notes 'mid the sedge, Nor crickets chirp upon the wind-swept green ! " 'Tis well the seasons change, for did they keep A changeless state 'twere cause indeed to weep!" THE LOST HUNTEE. (a legend of the north woods.) " I KNOW where the herd of wild deer hide In the depth of the forest shade, Where with sandaled feet the south winds glide From mossy glade to glade ! " I know where the Morning laughs at the Night By the noisy waterfall, 44 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS And the eagle drops from his dizzy height To his nest on the mountain wall ! " I know where the panther has his lair, And the black bear has his den ; And have seen their forms by the firehght's glare When far from the haunts of men ! " I know where the partridge rears her brood, And the wild bees build their comb ! Each wild waste and each solitude With a fearless heart I roam ! " I know where the mountain-lilies blush. And turn towards the summer sun Their brilliant cheeks; and I've heard the thrush Smging the daylight down ! "Yet, the fairest flow'r of sun and show'r Now blooms for me alone ; And oft do we meet in the wild-graj)e bow'r When the evening shades sweep down! "On the mossy bank, where the hemlock throws Its tilting shades around, I 'wait her step with a heart that knows No sweeter, holier sound!" Thus the hunter sings as he lightly fares Along the mountain path, And he hears her voice in the musical airs. And in splashing streams her laugh! In birchen thickets the scurry of wings Proclaim the wild-birds' flight. THE LOST HUNTER. 45 And the timid fawn from her covert springs Away to the wooded height. From the rocky walls the pine-trees throw Their boughs o'er the narrow pass, While dew-drops tremble on bushes low And tufts of tall rank grass. By the morning winds the trees are stirred Where the birds their carols renew, And the quickened roar of the cascade's heard Where the birches sparkle with dew ! The hunter threads with eager feet The depths of the solitudes ; With his trusty rifle he dares to meet The "scourge" of the dark stern woods! He promised one, ere his home he left In the first faint flush of the morn, That he'd return ere the night should drift O'er Sandanona's horn. The dark'ning woods by the mountain track Ring loud with the night-bird's lay. Yet the weary hunter comes not back From the wilds at the close of day ! The shadows grow, and grow apace, And the mists rise from the rills. Till a dark robe hides each mountain's face And the brows of the wooded hills! He comes not back, though the stars peei down From their heights in the gray-black sky ; 46 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. By her frugal board his mother alone Sits waiting anxiously ! And oft to the door of the cottage low A maiden steps to look Adown the vale where the maples throw Their shades o'er the silent brook! In vain she looks ! She can see not him 'Mid the shades of night which fall ; But she hears on the hill a panther scream, And a wolf in the valley howl ! In vain she waits through the long, still night,— Until the moon goes down. And the stars grow dim 'neath the soft white light That heralds the morrow's sun! In vain her tears like an April rain. For he comes not with the morrow ! The swift hours fly, and the night again Comes bringing her hopeless sorrow ! 'Tis three years since, when the wild -birds sing Their sweetest in woodland bow'rs. And summer comes on gentle wing, A strewing the land with flow'rs. At the foot of a jagged precipice. One morn, some hunters found In the depths of the silent wilderness A rifle upon the ground. Its barrel was choked with dirt and rust, Both hammer and flint were gone ; HUDSON RIVER. 47 From off the plate they brushed the dust, And read— ''Bill Donaldson!" In a little nook by grass and moss And fern-leaves overgrown, Half -hid from sight, they came across A human skeleton. How the hunter met his death none knew ! Some thought he plunged the height, And others, a murd'rous hand him slew In the dark and the dead of night. HUDSON EIVEE. From this proud height I look down on Our noble Hudson flowing Betwixt steep hills, while western v/inds Across its breast are blowing ! Born in the North, where cooling gales Sweep o'er the rugged mountains, And fed by waters from a host Of clearest, purest fountains ! Were never scenes more fair than these ! Were never scenes more grand, ! The Switzers boast of Alpine heights. Bright skies, and happy land, ! They cannot boast of highland scenes More fair than these of ours, — Yon river and the fertile vales, These mountains with their flowers! Old Scotland has her "crystal streams," Her Devon, Doon, and Ayr, O, And Germany her castled Ehine, And Italy her Arno ! 48 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. But our dear land can boast of streams With growing fame and glory, Ordained to take the highest place In legend, song, and story ! Above me tow'r the granite crags, Beside me pines are swaying. And from a level forest comes The hounds' excitant baying ! The crows from tops of hemlocks call, O'erhead a hawk is winging, While near my feet, o'er ledges steep, A mountain stream goes singing! I hear a wood -thrush in the glen, A black-bird in the fallow, And deep within the beechen grove A huntsman's joyous halloo ! Hudson ! O'er no fairer stream Do morning clouds go sailing, And on no fairer brow shall gleam The sunset's golden veiling ! O'er Crow's Nest sings the blythe west wind. Then sweeps across the water. To die within Ma-co'o-pack's^ arms. The Highlands' fairest daughter! Far to the south Old Anthony A golden crown is wearing. And Phoebus with his cohorts bright Down on Break- Neck f is bearing ! * Lalie Mahopac. On Sauthier's map of 1779 this lake is called " Lake Ma-co'o-pack. f This poem depicts the Hudson in the vicinity of Cold Spring, N. Y. HUDSON RIVER. 49 A century ago was heard Here war's wild ruthless clamor, But now from yonder village come The ring of blacksmith's hammer, And shouts of men at w^ork upon The church's lofty steeple, And roaring of the passing trains, Bearing their loads of people ! I look unto the South, and there Behold the smoke clouds hov'ring Above large cities, and large mills Their many acres cov'ring! I look unto the North, and there Behold rich meadows glowing With brightest green, and well-tilled fields. The thrift of farmers showing ! In Africa, where the Congo rolls Its waters tow'rds the ocean. There heav'n beholds the heathen hordes E'er in warlike commotion! But Peace our Christian river hath Forever in her keeping. And shepherds on the hills fear not Diana's kiss when sleeping! Here Freedom's watch-fires brightly throw Their gleams across the waters. And noblest types of humankind Are our own sons and daughters ! Here Justice rules, and Wisdom takes A high, exalted station ; Ours is a common brotherhood, — A model of a nation ! 50 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. Freedom of thought, and speech, and press ! Freedom from iron fetters ! To God alone we bend the knee, To God alone we're debtors! My coimtry, thou shalt never fall ! And free as yonder river, Which sweeps along with current strong. Thy children shall be ever ! SOON WILL THE SUMMER-TIME BE GONE. With loving eye glance at the flow'rs That deck with beauty hill and plain. And drink the gladness of these hours. Which never back will come again ! The golden-rod, whose lovely head With regal splendor decks yon hill, Eeflects the light by angels shed, And teaches us the Master's will. The snow-white daisies haunt the vales And pastures where the lambkins play ; And e'er they whisper kindly tales, — Both innocent and truthful they ! Upon the hillsides lilies sway. And nod to ev'ry passing breeze; While from the clover fields, to-day. Is borne the murm'rous sound of bees. The brook within the tangled glade Prattles along its pebbly way ; SOON WILL THE SUMMER-TIME BE GONE. 51 But where the birds who song once made Beside its banks in spring-time gay? Soon will the summer-time be gone ! Soon will the flowers disappear, And wailing winds blow piercing, chill, O'er fields, and through the forests near! A gentleness seems in the skies ; A misty haze hangs o'er the earth; A slumb'rous calm o'er Nature lies, Unlike to sadness, joy, or mirth ! The locust whips his gauzy wings, And pipes clear notes in field and grove ; The katydid at evening sings From out the elm-tree to his love. All that have felt life's strength and bloom, All that ^re born must soon decay; The fairest flow'r robes for the tomb; The sweetest singer must pass away ! The fairest season hath its death ; The longest day hath e'er its close; The greenest leaf soon feels the breath Of quick decay, well as the rose ! Great joy is balanced by great grief; Midsummer's by midwinter's sight; The spring-time by the autumn brief; And life's bright day by death's dark night ! As joyous seasons near their end The thankful heart to thoughts gives rise 52 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. Which e'er the veils of darkness rend, And show the soul its Paradise. When we as dust become again Where will the spirit's dwelling be? Far from all changes, we shall then The beauty of true summer see ! HAEVEST HYMN. To thee, gracious Father, we joyfully raise A song of thanksgiving, an anthem of praise. For the earth thou hast blessed with the sunlight and rain ; Now rich is the harvest on hillside and plain ! The orchards are lad'n with the choicest of fruits. The grain on the hillsides is golden and fair, The vineyards are burdened, and now the glad shouts And songs of the reapers are borne on the air! With kind, loving hand thou hast led us along. And hast sown in our spirits the blessings of song! For health and prosperity gladly we raise To thee, gracious Father, an anthem of praise ! Lord, all that we need thou hast given indeed ! Thy promises rich are unfolding each hour ! MAN'S WEAKNESS. 53 The wine of thy love which our spirits have need From the horn of thy plenty forever out- pour ! The heavens are glowing with promise above, And this harvest's a sign of thy kindness and love ! From the depths of our hea^rts now we joy- fully raise To thee, gracious Father, this anthem of praise ! MAN'S WEAKNESS COMPAEED WITH GOD'S GREATNESS. Roll ! roll, thou murky clouds, across the sky! And thou, mighty hurricane. Break from the adamantine chain That binds thee, and teach Man that he must die ! Upon yon mountain's side, sway thou, pine ! And sweep, winds, o'er mount and vale, For what can Man's weak pow r avail Against the Great Creator^s pow^r divine! And thou, mighty avalanche, swift hurl The deb7ns of a thousand years Adown the mountain's side! fears. Arise from out the uttermost parts of the world 54 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. And sway the stubborn heart of Man till he Acknowledges that God reigns o'er This world from wave-washed shore to shore, And ever will till earth shall cease to be! Let Man with pride sit in High Halls of State, And yet like dew he perisheth ! Sure as the coming night is death ! "Time heals all cruel wounds!'' Death's but the gate. The only entrance to a nobler sphere ! Man by his deeds on earth is known. And surely he will reap what he has so^^ai In the Hereafter, if he does not here ! Has Man like to the eagle pow'r of flight, And can he with his naked eye Unflinching gaze at the sun on high? Like to the timid owl can he see at night? Has Man the pow'r of song as has the thrush? Can he the rightful cause explain, How grow the flow'rs on yonder plain? How thrives upon yon hill the white-thorn bush? Well may Man in his journey a moment pause. And overlook the plains of life ! For why to-day the wrong and strife? For each effect there surely is a cause ! 3IAN'S WEAKNESS. 55 Let Man cast to one side his Science and His weak and vain Philosophy, That he his duty clear may see. And with God through this life walk hand in hand 1 'Tis best that Man with Arrogance shouldst part. For has he pow'r to stop the moon As Joshua had at Ajalon? Better by far than pow'r is a Christ-like heart ! Can Night retard the wheels of coming Day? Can Man build mountains from the plain, And from the skies bring down the rain? God rules the earth, and Nature doth obey ! As Man on some proud eminence looks down Upon the far, broad widening plain Below, on fields of waving grain. And notes each object in the morning's sun, So God from his proud eminence above Looks through the starry atmosphere Down on his great creations here, And notes with joy Man's ev'ry deed of love ! The painter on his canvas puts each thought In colors with well -trained eye — The land, the sea, the mounts, the sky! His work's soon done, and he is soon forgot! The poet writes sweet songs fresh from his heart That melt with love and tenderness, Awhile the world doth him caress. But soon casts him aside, for such is Art ! 56 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. The singer on his instrument sweet chords Strikes, then begins his passionate song ; And with his voice sways the great throng As doth the wind the pines — the forest lords ! Soon sickness comes and his great pow'r is gone; Or some one with more perfect voice Than he becomes the people's choice! Such is their fate who follow Art alone ! "Fame's but a bubble tossed into the air!" A meteor's flash in the midnight sky! The gleam at eve of a fire-fly ! Or a cloud's shadow in the noon-day glare! But blest the soul of him who kindness does, Who scorns all worldly, fleshly lust. And tries to e'er be noble, kind, and just ! His is the peace no other mortal knows ! Throw off, O Man, thy vain Philosophy ! Be pure as Nature is to-day ! Though thou art weak, born to decay, Thy soul shall live when stars no longer be ! Thou wast flrst fashioned in the image of thy God! Of bis great wisdom thou dost share! How meet it is for thee to bear A humble heart, and walk where he has trod! Is this the age of Eeason when Men scorn The teachings of Gethsemane, And ridicule the Deity? Must Earth witness another crucifixion morn? CBRISrS ESTABLISHED WORD. 57 Heav'n, forbid that Man should back- ward go In this age of enhghtenment ! Or that his years should be misspent In following strange gods of Sin and Woe ! Thou, the Light, the Life, the Breath, the Glory ! With pow'r to heal and strength to slay! Thou didst ordain from Time's first day That ev'ry Man shouldst bend a knee before Thee! If Man but turns to Thee as to the light His eyes, his sightless eyes shall see ! And to his heart thy love will be As to the thirsting flow'r the dew of night! Where are the gods that ruled by sin and death? Lo, they are gone as in the chase The hounds upon the wild -beast's trace, And naught remains but the poisons of their breath ! Strange gods will rise as in the East the sun ; But eons of time will fiercely smite Them with their wings. When comes the night They're gone, for Thou, O God, art God alone ! CHRIST'S ESTABLISHED WORD. Though earthly joys should fade away. Like stars before the dawn of day, Yet naught can dim the joys from Heaven, The joys they feel who are forgiven. 58 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. The ancient mariners whose guide The North Star was, o'er ocean's tide, Were filled with awe and sore dismay When fled that guiding star away. And so might we be filled with dread If Christ's own Word should cease to shed Its joys like rays from stars of gold Upon our ever-burdened souls. Yet Christ's established Word will last Till sun and moon shall cease to cast Their lights on earth, and ages roll Around a fixed eternal pole. Though earth and life must fade away, God's Word will last for aye and aye! Ye weary ones by sin oppressed Trust in God's Word; 'twill bring you rest! MIN-NE-KO-MA. From the wildei-ness of Mus-ko-ka,* from the lake that faileth never, Flows the Ash-ke-Muck-Muckt river through dark wood and intervale Westward to the great lake Huron, west- ward to that inland ocean. Bright with many a gleaming sail ! * Mus-ko-ka is the name of a small lake in the pro- vince of Ontario ; also refers to the region surrounding that lake. f The Ash-ke-Muck-Muck River is the outlet of Mus- ko-ka Lake. It flows westward, and empties into Match-e-dash-a Bay, Lake Huron. MIN-NE-KO-MA. 59 Now beside that northern river, leaping, sparkHng, sweeping westward, In the summer's heard the loons' cries, and the wild-geese' bell-like clang. And the cries of blue-winged herons, as of old when Min-ne-ko-ma On its green banks sat and sang ! This fair river hath its legend, just a simple wild-wood's legend. Yet 'tis worthy of rememb' ranee, so I'll weave it in a lay : For I prize the old traditions of the rude and warlike people That have passed from earth away ! " Ere the white men crossed the ocean, in the days that are forgotten. On the uplands of Mus-ko-ka dwelt a band of Ir-o-quols ; And they fished beside the river, and they hunted in the forests. Fearing not their Huron foes ! "Their head chief was a great warrior, Match-e-dash, the brave, the mighty ! Well he ruled his band, and wisely, and with them was law his word ! Not a son he had, and only one fair daugh- ter, Min-ne-ko-ma, With a heart and voice of bird ! 60 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. "As the Goddess of the Morning, in her car above the mountain, Beautiful was Min-ne-ko-ma ; as the fawn her steps were Hght ; And her hair was long and glossy as a rav- en's wing down drooping, While her eyes were dark as night ! "All the young men loved her fondly, and would lay their gifts beside her. But of them she took no notice, nor their gifts receive would she ! But she loved the w41d, dark forest, with its moaning pines and hemlocks, Where birds made sweet melody ! "Often in the quiet mornings, when unto her father's wigwam Gathered young men from the village, she would flee unto the wood ; Lest her father should be angry, none there were who dared to follow, Or upon her haunts intrude ! " But of all her many suitors one there was, the fierce 0-jet-ka, Whom she hated 'bove all others, yet re- pulsed he would not be ! Far and near he sought the choicest gifts and brought them to her dwelling; Though she scorned him, naught cared he ! "Yes, a crafty, cunning warrior was 0-jet- ka, for with presents Eich he brought the old chief over to espouse with warmth his cause ! 3I1N-NE-K6-MA. 61 But in vain, for Min-ne-ko-ma did not love him, and she would not, For her heart another's was ! " None could guess or tell the reason why this maiden did not marry ; Yet some thought she loved the Huron who, for her, had earnestly plead With her father, and had offered him rich presents, but who answered : '"She some Ir-o-quois must wed!' " Thay-en da-ga was a mighty warrior, hon- ored by the Hurons ; Just he was, and brave and noble, and he loved this maiden well ; And she loved him — this fair wild-rose — for she whispered : 'Ere a hundred Moons shall pass with you I'll dwell!' " So it was that Thay-en-da-ga left the wig- wam of her father. And returned unto his people dwelling near the Great fresh Lake ! * After he had gone, oh, dreary seemed the days to Min-ne-ko-ma, Yet she was happy for his sake ! " Though the old chief was much angered, and he chided his fair daughter. Still he did not wish her e'er to marry one she did not love. So a year passed ; again Summer, wrapping her bright robes about her. Softly stole through thicket and grove ! * Great fresh Lake refers to Lake Huron. 62 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. "In the fields the small green feathers of the maize shot slowly upward, While the small leaves of the maple longer, broader, greener grew ! Soon the whole land blushed with beauty, with the beauty of the summer, And the deep blue heavens too ! "In the evenings Min-ne-ko-ma sat and lis- tened to the night-birds, To the mournful Wa-won-is-sas * calling from the forests near ! When asleep she lay at midnight she would dream of Thay-en-da-ga, And his footsteps she would hear ! "Now, 0-jet-ka, grown more cunning, hid his grief and appeared light-hearted. So as to throw Min-ne-ko-ma off her guard ; but all the while He was watching o'er her movements as a panther o'er a hunter Hunting in the lonely wild ! "But one evening, when the sun had set behind the western mountains. He beheld the blushing maiden leave her lodge and seek the wood ; Dark the fog lay on the river, while amid the reeds and rushes And the lilies, young Night stood. "Even then 0-jet-ka dared not to be seen to follow after, So he took a wider circle that would come out on her trail. * Wa-won-is-sas is the Indian word for whippoor- wills. MIN-NE-KO-MA. 63 Like a panther he crept onward, list'ning for the faintest echo Of her footsteps in the vale ! " Dark before him loomed the forest — loomed the hemlocks and the pine trees ! *What was that?' he stopped a moment. 'What was that — a wolf or bear? 'T«is the cracking of the dry twigs 'neath the feet of MIn-ne-ko-ma!' To himself he muttered there. "On he followed to a clearing; there, in open space and moonlight. With her long hair down her shoulders, Min-ne-ko-ma list'ning stood; Was it then an evil omen that a star down through the heavens Swept and fell into the wood? "As 0-jet-ka in the shadow of a hemlock stood a watching Came a sound as of a pigeon from a thicket to the west ; Then out in the space and moonlight Thay- en-daga stepped, and clasped his Min-ne-ko-ma to his breast ! "At the sight 0-jet-ka's heart with anger burned, and quick an arrow He let fly; but Min-ne-ko-ma saw him, and like lightning-flash She her lover's head struck downward, and the arrow whistled harmless By, and shivered in an ash ! 64 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS, '' Then out from his ambush, quickly, toma- hawk in hand, 0-jet-ka Sprang, and, whirHng it in air, he at his rival let it fly; But too late, for Thay-en-da-ga, tall and sj)ringy as a cedar. Leaped aside, and it whistled by ! " Then, as leaps the forked lightning from a cloud high in the heavens, Thay-en-da-ga leaped upon his foe with a defiant yell ; And who fell before him, as the oak before a furious whirlwind. Sweeping on from fell to fell ! "On the greensward fell 0-jet-ka, with blood streaming from his nostrils ; With his eyes fixed on his conq'ror, thus O-jet-ka met his death ! As beside him Thay-en-da-ga stood with foot upon his bosom. Waiting for his latest breath, — "Lo, six Ir-o-quois, returning from a month of hunting in the Forests, fell on Thay-en-da-ga! Fierce he fought, and bravely, but Soon was overpowered. Then they with their cruel, raw-hide, deer-thongs Bound him tightly hand and foot ! " And they took him up to carry him unto the Indian village. While sweet Min-ne-ko-ma followed them with heavy heart and sad. MIN-NE-KO-MA. 65 Life for life she feared her people would demand of the brave Huron, And the thought it made her mad ! " 'Ne'er the fierce wolves of the mountain, nor the soaring vultures, shall e'er Own him as their helpless quarry long as life is given me ! They who take his life must take mine, and if the Great Spirit help me, He, sometime, shall yet be free ! " 'And shall build for me a wigwam on the banks of some fair river, And the red -deer of the forest he shall hunt aud bring to me! There I'll cook for him and help him shape and build a light canoe from The bark of the white birch tree ! "'Where they take him will I follow; through the night-time will I guard him ; And by hand of my own people he shall never, never die I ' Thus she swore, the dusky maiden, thus she swore, the dark-haired maiden. With clenched hand and blazing eye. "Through the far-receding forest, through the forest wild and vacant. Loud the night-bird's cry went ringing, and soft came the echo back ; While the moon, low in the heavens, faintly smiled upon the mountains And the dreary woodland track. 66 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. "Onward tow'rcl the Indian village fol- lowed Mln-ne-ko-ma vslowly; While, adown the darkened valley, she beheld the bright camp-fire — Saw its bright flames leaping upward, up- ward higher than the laurels. Than the pines and hemlocks higher. "Loud the murmurs of the warriors, seated round the blazing camp-fire. When the Huron, Thay-en-da-ga, bound both hand and foot, was brought, And was placed within their circle, and was told them how he fiercely For 0-jet-ka's life had sought. "In their council they decided that a mur- d'rer was the Huron. Match-e-dash arose then, saying : 'We to him a chance will give For his life. Upon the morrow he shall run the gantlet, and if Then he dies not he shall live I ' "So they bound him to a pine tree, and on guard they placed three warriors ; While, in vain, watched Min-ne-ko-ma for a chance to set him free. Yes, in vain, for those gaiards slept not I so, with fears and strange misgivings, For the morning waited she. "Westward, westward swept the morning, and the bright sun, Gheezis,^ rising, Set the clouds on fire with crimson, and through forests shot his speai?3, * Gheezis is the Indian word for sun. m1n-ne-k6-ma. 67 Breaking through the shields of shadows, who with haste fled through the hol- lows, Hard pressed by his cavaliers. "From the wigwams came the children, came the squaws, and came the maidens. Shouting, laughing, and deriding, for the cruel sport * to see. There, in two long lines, the warriors face to face formed, while between them Was a space of paces three. '' Armed they were with stiff blunt lances, and with green rods and light war- clubs, With which they could beat the runner that must run betwixt their lines. Motionless they stood, and waiting, with their feathered helmets tossing To the winds that swept the pines. " Like a circle of flame behind them blazed and flamed the red horizon. And a hundred suns seemed gazing on them from the burning skies ; While from dismal, dank, wet moorlands, from its thickets of red -willow, Came the wild swans' mournful cries. "Then the guards led out the Huron, stripped him naked, save his breech- cloth And his moccasins, and placed him at their head; while, proudly, he, * This sport, running the gantlet, was often indulged in by the aborigines when captives were taken. 68 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. Like a Eoman gladiator waiting for the hungry Hons, Stood and faced that company ! "As he anxiously looked 'round him, on the crowd of laughing women, He amongst a group of maidens saw his Min-ne-ko-ma stand ; As he fixed his gaze upon her not a nerve or muscle quivered, Save he tighter clenched his hand. " When the old chief gave the signal, quickly then the guards released him, And closed up the gap behind him. Then their line unto the left Suddenly he leaped, and tow'rds the bluff that bounds the river sped he Like a deer, leaping chasm and cleft. "At his daring, for a moment, all his foes were struck with wonder ; Only for a moment ; then they, spreading out, gave chase to him. Like a leopard through the jungle, onward leaped he tow'rds the river, Straining ev'ry nerve and limb. " Thay-en-da-ga reached the sheer bluffs far ahead of his pursuers. And, with loud yell of defiance, sprang into the waters green. As his foes, half-crazed with anger, o'er the jagged crags peered downward, Nowhere was he to be seen. MfN-NE-KO-MA. 69 " Some in ambush hid, while others hurried up and down the river, Searching ev'ry cleft and hollow, yet found not a trace of him ; Thought they then that he was lying drowned within the river, or had, Unseen, swam adown the stream. " In great shame the baffled warriors, chaffed by all their squaws and children. Ere the evening, left the river, and unto their camp returned. That the Huron without torture had died glad was MIn-ne-ko-ma, Though she greatly for him mourned. '' Through the fields and through the forests, when the birds were singing gayly. In the Moon of Flow'rs* were singing, ev'ry day she wandered forth ; All alone she wandered, weeping, while the great trees whispered softly : ^Let your sorrow give place to mirth!' " And oft she in her canoe would float upon the sluggish river, Eank with flags and water-lilies, and with reeds and rushes green, Lighted by the fitful firef that all the ghosts of dead men kindle. And the moon the clouds between. * " Moon of Flowers" — June. f This refers to the will-o'-the-wisp, etc., seen near graveyards and in swampy places. (Phosphuretted hy- drogen, formed by the decomposition of bones and organic substances, remarkable for its igniting sponta- neously on coming to the air. ) 70 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. "Three moons passed; and then the Au- tumn, with her crimson leaves and sunshine, From the northern land came stealing through the forest from afar ! While in fields the tall maize, ripened, stood in all its yellow plumage Eeady for the harvester. "In the crisp and mellow mornings, bright with sunshine, to the maize-fields Gathered there the squaws and maidens for to garner the golden grain. While the old men and the young men, seated in their wigwams, listened To the reapers' glad refrain. " One bright morn, instead of going to the maize-field, Min-ne-ko-ma Wandered off unto the forest, to the try sting- place of yore ; There she stood a long time moaning: 'Thay-en-da-ga, Thay-en-da-ga 1 Shall I see you nevermore? " ' Wheresoe'er I go before me spring the bees, the honey gath'rers; And in sheltered, sunny places bloom the flowers fair to see. What to me the bees and flowers! What to me the brilliant forests, If thou, love, no longer be I' "And the winds, her guardian angels, kiss- ing her bronze cheeks and forehead. And with their small, shapely fingers comb- ing her dark unbound hair, MIN-NE-KO-MA. 71 Softly whispered words of comfort ; and the birds, in their sweet language, Bid her never to despair ! "As she there stood, sadly musing, came the coo as of a pigeon ; Then from a near thicket Thay-en-da-ga stepped out silently. When she saw 'twas not his spirit, but him- self, she quickly bounded To his side with a glad cry ! "As he led her to a safe place where to hide until the evening, Told her how into the river he had leaped, and how again He arose and climbed up quickly to a cave unknown but to him. And how fearful he had lain " There till night, and his pursuers, all, had left; then how he made good His escape unto his people, dwelling near the Great Lake's side; Also, told her how his boat was waiting, and how he had come back For to claim her as his bride ! — "Min-ne-ko-ma's heart was melted, and when Night a sable mantle Threw across the shimmering landscape, she with the brave Huron down The still river, in his birch -boat, glided, wak- ing not the heron In the marshes dank and lone. 72 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. " All next day her father's warriors searched in vain, but, with great cunning, Tracked them o'er bare rocks and through the forests to the river ; and There, among the reeds and rushes, found marks of a boat, and a chieftain's Totem lying on the sand. " Match-e-dash well knew this token, for he said: 'Alas, a Huron Chieftain has borne off my daughter! has borne off my only child ! Sweet her laugh was as the wind's among the wild flow'rs in the morning. Or at eve, amid the wild ! "'Pride of my aged heart, where art thouV Thou the wild flow 'r of the forest! Thou with eyes so meek and fawn-like ! 0, my child, where hast thou gone? In the Moon when Leaves are Falling, " in the moon when nights are brightest, Why didst thou leave me alone? " 'Like yon blasted cedar, ready for the tem- pest, am I! As yon shining river darkens Now as Night her robes spread o'er it, am I ! 0, my child ! my child ! Brothers, let us with the Hurons make a peace, for they are mighty, And 'tis best to be reconciled!' * " Moon AVhen Leaves are Falling"— September. THE OLD RED MILL. 73 "Next moon sent he all the wise men of his tribe with gifts of wampum, And of furs, unto the Hurons dwelling near the Great fresh Lake. Thay-en-da-ga, then their head chief, in return sent back kind words and Gifts for MIn-ne-ko-ma's sake. "All were happy then, and peace was thus established 'twixt the nations. For a long time were they friendly, until o'er the ocean came The white race of people bringing their superior civilization. Destined men and wilds to tame." "THE OLD EED MILL." Scorched by the summer sun's bright light, Like sleeping warrior lies the hill; And minuting the swift hours' flight, The shadows lengthen by the mill ! The noon has passed ; the sky is clear. Save here and there a fleck of cloud ; The clanking of the mill-wheel near Alone disturbs the quietude ! The maple leaves are motionless. The winds asleep within the sky, Alone, the miller's bonny lass Sits dreaming of the days gone by. Where willows form a shady place. Seated upon a granite pier, Is she the Undine of the race, The water-nymph that millers fear? 74 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. No mountain torrent have we here That turns the old mill's pond'rous wheel, But a small stream which in despair Struggles in vain with stone and steel. Over the top-stones of the dam A thin white sheet of water pours, Forming small eddies which whirl and jam Against the reeds that line the shores. Beneath a spreading cottonwood The milFs broad door wide open stands; And on an old bench, carved and rude. The miller sits with folded hands. These words the miller keeps in place : "God pity him who is a shirk!" And day by day his smiling face Proclaims success crowneth his work. The miller hath an eye for all The beauties of the summer day — The glorious sky, the mountains tall. And flow'rs that deck the woodland way. His motto this : " It is not pence That man alone should strive to win ! Just work and trust, and Providence With grain will surely fill thy bin !" God hath His teachers ev'ry where! We cannot run amiss of good, Nor of His love and tender care, 'Though 'mid the wildest solitude. 0, Johnson, of the ''Old Eed Mill," Thou'rt one of Nature's noblemen ! Let come what may, though good or ill, If ill, thy faith shines brighter then. THE OLD TURNPIKE ROAD. 75 Wisdom will sometime clear our eyes, And, ay ! we then will see, forsooth, The beauty that e'er underlies Each pointed, well-directed truth. THE OLD TURNPIKE ROAD. Through sand and clay the old road brings One straight unto the sloping hills. By meadow where the fountain springs. By grove where sweet the wild -bird trills ! The strong-limbed wind, that herds the storms. Sweeps down across the rutted way, Hurling the dust in cloud-like forms On high as doth a child at play. Light, trembling shades sweep o'er the grain ; Afar the dip of higher leaves ; Then lower dips ; then level plain. Through which its course the old road weaves. Then farther, 'neath the haze's woof Spun from the sunlight and the green, The old inn's slanting, shingled roof And gables show the trees between. O'er gravel, stones, and sharp-horned rocks. The streamlet plunges in swift cascade. Tossing its long and whitened locks Against the pines that clothe the glade. And there the mill stands by the road With faded sign above the door : The waiting teams with heavy load Within its yard are seen no more. ?6 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. Beside the bridge, the toll-gate stands; And there within his dingy room, The toll-man sits with folded hands. Awaiting the few teams that come. With sunken eyes and furrowed brow, Bent form and long white hair and gray, From out his chair he rises slow. Then comes to the window for his pay. Though men desert thee, ancient road. The birds and fair-eyed flow'rs do not! For thou art fringed by golden-rod, A wond'rous fringe by fairies wrought! Though thou art vanquished, yet, I pray That my last days may be like thine! That o'er my sunset, golden way Eternal love and goodness shine ! Sweet Nature lays her choicest gifts Upon the altar of the heart ; And she the veil of doubting lifts. And shows to us life's better part. Farewell, farewell, thou ancient road ! Thou land-mark of the time that's gone! We are remembered by the good Only that we through life have done ! THE EABBI'S VISION. One summer morning. Rabbi Ben Isaac strode His ass, and forth from famed Ecbat'ana rode. His many daily cares oppressed his mind ; He needed rest ; he rode that rest to find. THE RABBFS VISION. 77 Long had he labored for the good of men, Now felt the weight of three-score years and ten. The Eabbi was a good man, wise and great, Beloved by men of high and low estate. As he rode slowly down the dusty street, Chanting a hymn of David's, low and sweet, The little birds upon the olive limbs Awoke the echoes with their joyous hymns. It was the harvest time. From fields he heard Men say," Behold, the good man of the Lord !'* That men thus spake of liim, it pleased him best. Kind words from loving friends cheereth the breast. He rode until far were Ecbat 'ana's tow'rs. And from mid-heav'n the sun flung golden show'rs. So hot the noon, and not a cooling breeze, He halted in a grove of sycamore trees. As he dismounted from his ass, the sound Of steps behind he heard. He looked around, And, lo, a stranger with a sword, drew near! The startled Eabbi felt a sudden fear. For many were the tales, he'd heard of late, Of robb'ries done in sight of the city's gate. "Who art thou, stranger? And what dost thou, pray," The Eabbi asked, "desire of me to-day?" The stranger frowned, and raised his flam- ing brand, At which Ben Isaac knelt upon the sand. And as he bowed low, opened were his eyes ; He saw the angel in the stranger's guise. 78 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. The angel's robes, before the Rabbi's gaze, Changed to pure white, while light o'erspread his face. Then from high heav'n a voice spake loud and clear: "My son, Ben Isaac, spare yet one more year!" At which the angel dropped his flaming sword. And said "Thy mandate I obey, Lord!" Then to Ben Isaac : "Pray, canst thou not tell My name, Eabbi? It is Azrael!" And then was gone. The Eabbi arose, and strode His ass, and slowly tow'ds Ecbat^ana rode. No godlier man than he did ever dwell, For one brief year in all of Israel ! OCTOBER. SONNET. A BEAUTIFUL wild queen came up the glade. Whence Summer, wounded in her love, had fled. Bright was the crown this queen wore on her head. And sweet, the smiles that o'er her fair face played ! By woodland ways, where'er she listless strayed, The tender leaflets turned to gold and red, While, by the stream, Pan on his mossy bed To her on mellow pipes sweet music made. ODE TO FANCY. 79 We could not look upon her loveiy face Without a feeling that her love was ours, For her sweet smiles caused through our veins to race A new life's flood to guard against Death's powers. Yet, as she journeyed tow'rds the sunset- lands, The flowers we loved, from us she carried in her hands. ODE TO FANCY. To-night the cold west winds begin to rise, And roar across the sunset bay. The last red leaf is whirled away From the proud elm, and cheerless are the skies. The ice-bound stream goes murm'ring down the hill. While, on the moor and frosty lea And ruined tow'r and lofty tree, A few pale, sickly sunbeams linger still. The sound of bells comes from a distant fold ; The rooks have sought the shelf ring fens; On pastured steeps, in wooded glens, November's robbed the earth of all her gold ! Slowly, like smoke from an Indian fun'ral pyre, A cloud arises from the west, And topples 'round with crimson breast — A phoenix tinged with sunset's brilliant fire! 80 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. The day is past ; faint gleam the nebulous bars; From eastern realms, along the ground, The dark night steals without a sound ; While Uranus stands aloft, among the stars, Beck'ning unto those countless hosts to light Their brilliant torches, and to throng His way. At his command, along The nebulous highlands gleam their torches bright ! quiet hour that Fancy loves ! Blest hour When down the golden vista of Our dreams she quick doth move, Making our minds to own her sov'rign pow'r ! Like unto watchers in a ball-room gay. That sit, half -dazed, watching the feet Of dancers moving to the music sweet. We sit and watch the scenes which Fancy doth display ! 0, Fancy, charming maid ! lead me where Pale, tear-eyed Sorrow cannot come ! Beside some stream whose waters hum Sweet ballads as they fall from stair to stair ! Or, where low gales moan through the track- less wood Full-foliaged, and which reply With softer, sweeter symphony ! There Melancholy dare not to intrude ! lead me where amid the quiet vale The lakelet lies in calm repose. And on whose banks the sweet wild rose At evening sighs unto the nightingale ! ODE TO FANCY. 81 There would I linger 'neath some sylvan shade, ^And watch the sluggish, slimy snail Creep o'er his dusty, moonlit trail. While loud the beetles drone within the glade ! ' charming maid ! Thee do I love to meet As oft, when summer nights are still. The ruined church upon the hill 1 seek, and trace its walls with restless feet ; Or, when, within its yard, on marble stone, I pass the solitary hour While loud within the ivied tow'r " The mottled owl complains unto the moon !" Thy presence I invoke these autumn eves Whene'er I seek that ancient pile ; And hear the blasts sweep through the aisle, Rustling the inblown piles of sere, crisp leaves, (While, loud without, fierce Boreas stamps the ground, Impatient with his followers. And beats the hail, and steady pours The rain upon the roof with dreary sound.) Lured by the splendors of thy magic torch. Mine eyes follow thy lovely form At noon -tide calm, or night of storm. Or when I sit at morn 'neath vine-clad porch ! O Fancy ! Oft for me thy hand doth trace The busy peasant at the plow. The herd returning from the brow Of some sharp hill to better pasture place. 82 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. Oft thou dost trace the lowly setting sun, The laborer leading his horse Adown the steep, shunning the gorse, Glad in his heart that the day's work is done, Glad as his boy who by his side doth walk, Shouting and laughing for his joy! Glad as his fair-haired, youngest boy Who. runs ahead, yet never stops his talk. Oft thou dost trace home scenes, the blaz- ing hearth, The father holding on his knee His happy, red-cheeked children three, The frugal board, laden with fruits of earth, Which the good-wife has spread for to ap- pease The hunger of her weary groom, Who sits and glances 'round the room. Thankful at heart for the tidioess he sees. Oft thou dost trace the cozy ingle-side Within whose shelter children stand. While, near, with Bible in his hand, The father sits and turns with honest pride Its leaves, and reads some passage quaint and rare, (Perhaps the history of some saint. Or psalm, or faithful Job's meek plaint). After which they all sing, then kneel m pray 'r. I fear, Fancy, thou wouldst pour too strong. Too vivid hues o'er the rich man's home! 'Tis true that Want can not there come; But is the rich man given more to wrong. ODE TO FANCY. 83 Than is the faithful peasant at the plow, The architect drawing alone The plans for vast cathed'ral of stone, Or the poor mason, toiling with sweaty brow? I would not say the rich man loves not God ! But the poor peasant, with but hands And portion small of all our lands. And whom Want often beats with iron rod, Lives nearer to the heart of our dear Lord, For he doth feel his helplessness. And knows that God alone will bless ! Hath not Christ promised this much in his word? Oft Fancy, thou dost trace the village school, — The pretty school-house by the way, The stern old Master bent and gray Beside the desk, teaching each well-proved rule. The aisles, the benches rude, some carved, some not. The childish faces ranged a-row Some hateful, dull, and some aglow With modest, sweet simplicity of thought ! varied are the scenes which thou dost throw Upon the canvas of the mind. Dainty pastoral scenes combined With tragic, city scenes of want and woe ! Some hold that Happiness gives unto Death Its cruel sting : if that be so. Then, Fancy, closer unto you, I'll cling! The soul is never harmed by Death! 84 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. All hail, sweet Fancy ! Meek-eyed Goddess, hail! In thee, combustions poesy Needs but the torch to set it free ! All hail to thee ! Thou meek-eyed Goddess, hail! Of old, thou dwelt upon the heav'nly heights. With thunders breaking at thy feet From out the clouds which there did meet. While all around thee shook the starry lights ! There thou once dwelt, a handmaid unto God! It was thy plan which God did take When He, from naught, this world did make! Because Man sinned, thou left thy fair abode And came to earth to teach, and to distill In him a loftier desire, And, on his soul to trace with fire Heav'n scenes — God's realm and "City on the Hill!" THE COMING OF WINTER. Proud Autumn, shorn of all her glory, Lies prone at Winter's feet. Who stands with streaming locks and hoary Where mountain torrents meet. The white-winged messengers are falling From heav'n 's gray arches down, In answer to the strong winds calling From uplands bare and brown. LANDSCAPE. 85 Heavii's heart is sad, because she loses Both bird and insect forms ; And she, for this chief sorrow, chooses To veil her face with storms. The ice -sheathed oak, now grim and barren, Deep-rooted in the mold. Shows age, as doth some miser baron Wrinkled and gray and old. Alas ! how diff 'rent are the visions That greet our anxious eyes. To those of Spring, when from their prisons Earth's fairy millions rise! Still, music wild and sweet goes sounding Through you, O winter woods ! — • Wild music of the north-winds bounding Through leafless solitudes ! Our hearts, familiar with the greeting, Still are not comforted ! We long for Spring and her fond meeting With her resurrected dead ! swiftly glide away our pleasures ! We strive in vain with sighs To win again the Past's rich treasures — The Present's we do not prize ! LANDSCAPE. (in winter.) Night ^s shadows climb the mountain wall, While day dies in the golden west. From clouds, a few white snow-flakes fall Within the robin's empty nest. 86 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. The wan moon sinks behind a cloud ; The peasant feels the icy chill, And turns again unto the road, And seeks his cottage on the hill. The strong-limbed wind is hoarse with grief ; Strange voices fill the deep, stern wood, The pathos of the falling leaf, And moan of pines beside the flood. ^Woodsy and wild and cold and lone To east, to west, to north and south ! Only the little village down At th' tawny river's ice-rimmed mouth. ' But yesterday, the sulky year First saw the snowy tempest fly ; Hushed was the music of the air. Frozen the streams that wandered by. How like the landscape, cold and drear. The stricken heart that knows not God ! Devoid of conscience, filled with fear. And wand 'ring far from faith's bright road! Alas, unmindful of their doom, Behold the helpless victims play ! They have no fear of ills to come, No other care beyond to-day ! Better to work with hand and heart. Than sit, half dazed, in idle ease; To do is but the nobler part ; The laborer's reward is peace! happier the peasant, far. From Passion's cruel bonds set free, Who breathes the cool, sweet mountain air And dwells with rugged Poverty, A WINTER WALK. 87 For, when is o'er his weary task, He hies him to his humble cot, And there in home's sweet smiles to bask Without a care or anxious thought ! From toil he wins a sweet repose. While Joy attends his steps the while. ''Rich, from the want of wealth," he knows That he will win from heav'n a smile. Content with what one's lot may be Makes life one sweet and endless psalm, For just beyond life's sunset sea The angels show heav'n's borders calm! A WINTER WALK. The stillness is unbroke. Save by the clarion of the breeze Sounding amongst the leafless trees, Of maple, beach, and oak. Which stand like Druids on the hills around. A dazzling splendor shines On all, and tempts my eager feet. I leave the village' trodden street For avenue of pines, And open fields fenced by rude chestnut rails. Upon each white -banked hill The morning sun's keen lances break; And, blown from the sky's airy lake, Like feathers, soft and still. The frost-lakes fall to earth as messengers. 88 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. The songs of Spring are sweet, And sweet the Summer's gentle gale, But sweeter from the wintry vale The rill's song by my feet Like chime of silver bells by elfins rung ! Not undelightful now To tread the sparkling wild moor o'er, And dream the mermaid's dream of door Beneath the sea, that slow Swings, and through which each mortal soul must pass! With kindled heart, I pace The leafless forest's ample round. And hear the rabbits lightly bound, And from the mountain chase The bay of hounds upon the fox's trail. What miracle is here? What artist's hand has deftly wrought This frost-robe? And what nymph has brought These jewels to the Year Who stands like some proud Viking by his throne? The spangled branches shine ; The moss has many a hue upon The bark of trees or flinty stone, Where clings the wild -grape vine ; While on the holly clustered berries hang I The alders by the stream. Clad in bright mail, stand rank on rank; While armored reeds, anear each bank, On which the sunbeams gleam, Lift up their oriflammes to greet the winds. A WINTER WALK. 89 One instant to the day, Then lost beneath its icy case, The stream's swift currents madly race Adown the rocky way ; Yet, through the ice, I see the grasses wave. The drooping pines sing low In answer to the west wind's call. While from their boughs the jewels fall Upon the ice below With tinkling sound like unseen dulcimers. The chopper's ax I hear Eing out within the level wood, While one lone crow sits cawing loud Upon a hemlock near. The loneliness breathes peace unto my soul. I welcome every sound Borne on the hollow, frosty air — The crackling of the beech limbs bare. The rustling sere leaves found Upon tne saplings small like wind-blown shreds. At foot of yon bare knoll, The lengthened cedar shadows throw Their pale thin forms along the snow, Like ghosts upon a stroll. As tow'rds the west slow moves the winter sun. Eefiection loves these hours, When Nature, hid from present sight, Bids not the fields to open bright. Nor bloom the fair wild-flow 'rs. Through winter days she sleeps away her cares ! 90 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. Lo ! as I walk, ahead The forest opens like a door ! Above, the skies ! below, the floor O'er which I lightly tread, And proudly feel that Nature makes me king ! 'Eebuke me not, heav'n! Eeproach me not, stainless fields, If thy own purity reveals One's state with sins forgiv'n!' Reproach me not, if I but covet it ! Here, by the forest's edge, Is where the squire's poor daughter, Jane, Last met young Tim, ere o'er the main He sailed away. His pledge He kept not, and she saw not him again. Deranged, she often came Unto this virgin forest's side. Or to yon brown rick's shelter wide. And loud would call his name. Ay, it was sad to hear her frenzied grief ! More hopeless grew her case ; Then they her to the mad -house sent. And there five fearful years she spent. And then she died. The place They buried her is 'neath yon spreading elm. Each shrub and briery hedge. Each dogwood clump and drooping fern, With silver rays flash, as I turn And pass beneath the ledge Iced by the waters from the trickling rill. A WINTER WALK. 91 Here o'er the southern ridge The river rolls with noiseless zest Unto the distant, hazy west, And as, upon the bridge I stand and lean upon the railing strong, Fair seems the level land ! From white to gray the marshes fade As westward moves the sapphire shade By snowy dunes like sand, And clumps of willows, birches, and red- elms ! The shoes of passing sleigh Grate on the bare, brown planks; while down Upon the ice, the boys put on Their skates ; and then away They swiftly glide, while lightly ring their steels. The river's banks shine bright With polished armor, which, with skill. The Frost Elves, with their hammers still, Forge in the long cold night. And 'gainst which break the lances of the sun. I love the pensive song That floats triumphant from the lips Of earth ! I love the heights and dips And levels that belong Unto the highlands of my native land ! They ask why these bleak hills I love, and why to them I cling ; Why loves the moss the woodland spring? 92 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. Or smooth stones in the rills? Why clings it to the lordly mountain oak? Often, for other lands, My heart breaks out in wild desire ; And when is lit the sunset's fire, Fond Fancy shows the sands Of Italy, washed by the great sea's waves ! And then my eyes do fill With tears, and, sad, I turn away Unto the eastern skies of gray. And dark pine-skirted hill, Glad that my feet stand on New England soil. Who loves not our dear land. Oft bound with winter's gyves of frost? Of her prosperity I boast, And feel the strong right hand Of Freedom's mine, gift from my Pilgrim sires ! Beside the beaten way, How stiff each mullein holds its head ; While sumachs, with their berries red, Backward and forward sway ! Not without grace the thistle's spiky form! The snow has sifted down In ev'ry nook and hollow small; Likewise, in all our hearts shall fall — Though they are grieved and lone — Some grains of love, sown by God's own right hand ! A WINTER WALK. 93 Within these souls of ours, Perchance, are buds of higher birth Which, in due time, will fill the earth With bright and fragrant flow'rs, As will the sleeping ones beneath the snow. Anear, the village gleams Along the hill. From chimneys red, Thin clouds of smoke float overhead. Then down the airy streams Are swiftly driven to the farthest blue. My home, it will remain About the same after I go The common way. These streams will flow Across the wintry plain Till many future generations pass ! With heart more firm and true, I go back to my usual task, Yet with a heart not loth to ask Of heav'n for strength to do Of good work that awaits the willing hand. How sweet at evening's close. When for the day one 's task is o'er, To seek again the welcome door For to commune with those One deems far dearer than his own sweet life. Contentment gives to such As ever in her footsteps move The choicest gift of living — love ; Nor does she overmuch Ask of her many faithful followers. 94 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. A lover's claim I hold On all this glorious land of ours ; I love the season of the fiow'rs; I prize the winter cold, For snowy fields are not unglorious ! All things are born of God ! Then let the Storm-King's trumpets blow, And thus announce the coming snow ! For surely from the sod Shall spring to life those who in bondage lie ! And I will trust that He, Who chains the fury of each storm, And bids the changing seasons form, Will mould the destiny Of our dear land, and firm establish j^eace. FEIAR JOHN. CHRISTMAS TALE OF THE TWELFTH CENTURY The full moon, like a silver shield Suspended in the starry field, Upon the convent brightly shone ; And far the convent's shapely tow'rs Eeflected were on the snowy sward. While on their eagle-wings the hours Passed on to usher in the day — The anniversary of our Lord ! Now in the convent brightly burned The Yule-logs on the blackened hearth, While to the banquet room with mirth And song the jolly friars turned ; And soon around the festal board They gathered, a goodly band ! FRIAR JOHN. 95 " Pray, do we owe aught to the Lord, If so, now let us that debt pay For our December's all too brief For us to hope to shrive away All sins we've committed in our May!" So spake good friar John, and they For a brief space were filled with grief. But their penitence but transient was. And merrier they as the wine went round, And coarser and sharper the jests they sent. And louder and louder their applause To the minstrel's song and accompaniment. Now of all his brothers friar John By far was the fairest to look upon, And he was less, than they, of earth ; And as he sat with head bowed down And joining not in their jests and mirth. He thought, "Shall I e'er with these eyes Behold the Christ in Paradise, And gaze on Mary as she sits adored At the feet of her Son and risen Lord? Is my soul as white as the driven snow On the convent's roof and the fields below? Daily, I've tried to walk with God, But rough and thorny has been my road ! But 0, I shall be satisfied In His shadow only to abide!" Then his ears were filled with music sweet, And he heard the tread of angel feet ; And he saw their forms in the mystic light That shone o'er the walls and around him bright. 96 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. And he thought, " Are we not creatures of dust, For sooner or later die we must ! 'As commg events cast their shadows be- fore, ' Death's shadows we see in the flush of the flow'r! E'er a moon be past, its petals are gone; And what remains but the seed alone ! Now with Man the seed is his good work done, And his soul, the flow'r fair to look upon. Man's life is limited; yea, is brief; And I liken it to the maple-leaf Which slowly pales, touched by the rime That chills and kills in the autumn-time; As the cold north-wind sweeps through the tree. It gently falls, and is swept o'er the lea! Yea, life's like a cloud that proudly floats down From the wind-swept space of the horizon, And onward which floats — like a thing of might — O'er valley and plain, and mountain-height, But soon is engulfed in the boundless sea And so is life in eternity ! "0, long have we fought the Paynim horde, For Truth and Eight, and our dear Lord ! And our cities are drenched with Christian blood. For sustaining the cross, and the Word of God. FRIAR JOHN. 97 But naught doth avail the VandaFs fire — The Hghted torch falls from his hand Unto the ground, there to expire ; While through our wide and fruitful land Our warriors, a noble brotherhood, Like a wall unsurmountable, stand. But how long must Peace be sustained with blood, How long, Lord, how long, God!" And thus as he mused, before his gaze Fair visions passed of youthful days. He saw the pastures, where half asleep In shade of the grove lay the well-fed sheep, And, near to the foot of the wind-swept hill. The sheep-cote, and the murmuring rill ; And farther down the quiet glade Where the groves of lindens spread their shade. Half hid from view by their large green leaves, The cottage, low with its sloping eaves. And his mother's voice he seemed to hear. That humble home of his youth within ; And he saw the honeysuckles peer Through the windows small and the ivy green ; And he caught the breath of the violet, And the rose, and the fragrant mignonette. And he heard from the top of the linden tree, 'In his pulpit half hid by the dark green leaves, "The robin, the abbot of that wood," Chanting his anthem clear and loud ! 98 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. And friar John felt, as fell each tear From his eyes, that heav'n and God were near ! And long he sat, till from the tow'r The hells chimed out the midnight hour, And the holy Christmas day had come ! Then he slowly arose without a sound And tightly his homespun cloak he drew His slender shivering form around. And noiselessly stole from the banquet room. Through the lonely cloister dark with night, Trimming his feeble, flickering light. And murmuring, " God, how can Man be A slave to Passion, and a servant to Thee! " He moved with measured steps and slow ! The chapel was dark, but for the light From the candles on the altar's height, When friar John opened the door. And slowly walked o'er the marble floor Unto the crucifix ; and there. Knelt down, and told his beads in pray'rl And as he prayed for his brothers all, And the sinful world, and his own soul. Like a lightning's flash, a blinding flame Swept through the chapel; and an angel came With shining robes and silently stood Beside of the Saviour carved in wood. Morn came with rosy cheeks and fair. Drawn in her car swift through the air; Through the chapel's oriel windows the sun On altar and floor and pillar shone, FRIAR JOHN. 99 And the sparrows chirped from the laurel trees That gently swayed to the stiff, cool breeze, And the tower-bells rung a merry chime In honor of the Christmas-time, When the friars entered where lay the dead For early mass with measured tread ; And, there they saw, by the altar-place, The quiet, peaceful, upturned face Of friar John ; and one of them said, "An angel's been here, and our brother is dead!" ''Yea, Christ has punished us," murmured they, "For our sinful last night's revelry!" As they took and gently bore him away I O, these friars did all fervently pray For their own souls the rest of that day ! As they sat around the chimney wide. And watched the Yule-log's roaring tide. And the brilliant trains of crimson sparks Like rockets that shot up the chimney's darks, Whil'e fiercely the wind from mountain peak Swept the open wold and hill-top bleak, And whirled the snow and the searching cold Through the cracks in the convent's case- ments old. They felt there was something beyond this earth With its passions that have in sin their birth ! Ay, something beside food, raiment, and wine — The soul's welfare and God's love divine! 100 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. ''OUR FLAG SHALL FLOAT TRI- UMPHANT !" Our flag shall float triumphant Upon the loyal breeze From men-of-war and merchantmen That sail the storm-swept seas ! God's pity on the people Who dare our flag assail ! Like leaves in autumn, they will fall Beneath our leaden hail ! Our flag shall float triumphant As emblem of the free, Upheld by sons of patriot sires Who fought for liberty ! Fling out the starry banner Unto the loyal breeze, For its tri-colors twice have dazed The "empress of the seas!" Our flag shall float triumphant On sun-kissed land and sea, Emblem of seventy million hearts, Of seventy millions free, Who boast not of their valor, Who boast not of their might ; But trust in God, and ask for naught But what is just and right ! Five years, we fought for Freedom, And drenched with human blood The very soil our Pilgrim sires For their own freedom trod ! Five years, we fought our brothers ! We met their steel with steel, TO IMMORTALITY. 101 'Till Slav'ry fell a lifeless corpse On Appomattox' field! Our flag shall float triumphant, And all the world shall see That right and might go hand in hand Where there is liberty ! When Freedom reigns, the greatest Of all the blessings giv'n Are manliness and happiness, Gifts from the God of heav'n! Our flag shall float triumphant Where'er the sun shall light! They who insult its starry folds Shall learn that right is might! For God, our nation's Pilot, Is at the helm to-day ! He is our present help and strength ! He'll be our future stay! TO IMMOETALITY. (a fragment.) In winter wild the hard shell of the nut Is burst, and in the spring the loosened meat Sends out a tiny sprout which in the ground Takes root! The seasons pass, the years fly by, And, lo! where once the brown nut fell, there stands A mighty oak. Time, mounted on swift wings, Sweeps on. The giant forces of the air 102 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. With those of earth combine, then the proud oak Soon loses vigor, pales, decays, and falls, While all its particles become as dust. Man comes, and tills the soil ; and, likewise, he Soon falls, and then is numbered with the past. Thus, after many seasons, earth beholds New scenes, new generations of her children. Here, 'neath the skies, unlimited, I rove Like to a shadow up and down the world ! ''Yon changeless, silent spaces of the East, — Its folded mists, and ruby halls of morn, Seem ever to my fancy like a dream." Alas, that this frail shadow (once a youth. Boasting of beauty, strength, and iron will, And seeming in his heart to be a god) Should in these few short years become like this Poor tremb'ling reed — a prey to ev'ry blast! winds, to thee I cry, "Give me the strength To rise from this sad world, and find a home Somewhere amid the stars where Death can- not His cruel warfare wage!" In vain I cry! "The strong Hours work their wills, and beat me down To earth, and mar my form, and waste my flesh; And, though they cannot end me, still they leave TO IMMORTALITY. 103 Me here in presence of the young and fair ! A spectral shadow 'side of mortal Youth!" My carnal heart cries, " Immortality, Breathe thou immortal youth within my veins ! I fain would cling unto thy shining robes, For all my former self in ashes lies ! Thy beauty wins me, and thy love doth charm ! Thy tremulous eyes, that fill with tears, would guide Me 'long a path ne'er trod before by Man! Yea, I would vary from the race of men, And, in thy armor drest, would Time defy!" But ah ! within me now I find my soul Antagonistic is unto the flesh ; And loud my spirit cries, "Forbear, forbear To wish upon thy body formed from dust The immortal gift! For with thy imperfec tions. Pray, wouldst thou dwell where soft airs fan the clouds. And just above them silver stars bend with Such lustrous eyes, and from the zones that gird The heav 'nly sphere, 'the wild team, yearn- ing for The yoke, arise, and shake the lightnings from Their loosened manes, and beat the shades of night Into dense flames of fire?' Pray, would 'st thou dwell With that fair creature with such shoulders fine 104 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. And bosom heaving with eternal life, And with fair cheeks, and eyes that blind the stars, And whose sweet voice is sweeter far than e'er Apollo's was when he, of old, upon The Olympian Mountains sang so won- drously ? Pray, wouldst thou dwell with him, forever, in That land where sin cannot abide an hour, Clothed in thy earthly nakedness and shame? Forbear, forbear to wish upon thyself, Till cleansed by fire, the gift — immortal youth ! " "AND THE DAY IS DAEK AND DREAEY!" The day is dark, and the north winds cold With anger sweep through valley and wold. Like a pack of wolves on a hunter's trail. With frenzied howls they sweep through the vale, "And the day is dark and dreary!" Like sheeted ghosts the clouds sweep by. Obscuring the light of the sun on high; While the snowflakes fall without a sound On the leafless trees and the frozen ground ; "And the day is dark and dreary!" My heart is sad, for I miss the lays Of the merry birds, and the summer days ; " And the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast," WHITHER, BIRDS? 105 As the storm of Life goes hurrying past ; O "the day is dark and dreary !" Take courage, heart, for soon will spring Come, and her blessings to thee bring ! Take courage, heart, as the years fly by, And remember each day brings heaven more nigh, "With its days never dark and dreary!" How weak in sight of God is man, And vain is ev'ry well-laid plan! 'Tis only Truth that can stem the tide, And Eight the storms of life outride, When the "days are dark and dreary!" Take courage, heart, rest comes at last When the cruel storms of life are past ! Though grief to-day, to-morrow joy. And peace which sin cannot destroy — An eternity of gladness ! O WHITHER, BIRDS? WHITHER, whither, gay robins? whither, whither away? Though the forests are dyed with deep crim- son and gold. And the chill winds are sweeping through valley and wold. And the skies they are ashen and gray, — From the orchards and maples, gay robins. Why haste you, why haste you away? whither, whither, brave swallows? Why soar you so high in the sky? 106 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. Your little snug nests 'neath the barn's sheltered eave, Without a regret, O do you now leave, And circle and soar in the sky? O whither, whither, brave swallows? Do you fear because winter is nigh? whither, my darlings, my blue-birds? O why do you leave me alone? I will miss you, my birds, in the orchard and grove. And your songs in the morning, your songs which I love! Yes, my heart will be sad when you're gone ! whither, my darlings, my blue-birds? why do you leave me alone? whither, whither, blythe thrushes? Why leave the wild glade and the glen? The thickets of hazel and birch, and the brook That flows through the wood and by shad- owy nook? will you come back ne'er again? When the winter is past, and the spring- time Is come, shall I hear you again? "We're going," sing the robins, gay robins, "To a clime where winter is spring!" "And so are we," twitter the swallows, "Where we can be e'er on the wing!" " We're going, " sing blue -birds, " where skies AUTUMN. 107 Do borrow the blue of our wings!" "And we," sing the thrushes, "are hasting To a land where we blithely can sing!" Now these are the answers they made me, My darlings, one autumn morn bright, As I roamed through the forest and valley, And watched them prepare for their flight. AUTUMN. Behold, the Autumn, modest maid. Has come ! Birds are downhearted, For Summer, with her beauteous train Of flowers, has departed ! Now Silence sits with downcast eyes In woodlands wild and shady. Where once the wood -thrush sang of love > Unto his v/insome lady. The brook within the mossy glade Sings on as blythe as ever ; It takes no thought of days gone by, Nor days to come, ah, never ! The frost has seared the fields around, The flow'rs in graves are lying. And through the branches of the pines The lonely winds go sighing ! An angel from the upper world Has set Time's wheels to turning, And a fire is lit in the heav'ns above Which set the woods a-burning. 108 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. As far as eye can reach, the flames Envelop vales and mountains, And only stop upon the banks Of rivers, lakes, and fountains. The autumn-fires light up the cheeks Of farmer boy and maiden. Who carry on their well-turned arms Baskets with apples laden. Within the orchards ripe fruit bears The print of Autumn's fingers; On fields of corn and running vine Her golden sunshine lingers. Soon will the leaves fall from the trees, And on the damp earth moulder. And brilliant fires within the skies Will only feebly smoulder. But as we sit by the kitchen hearth, When Autumn has departed, And eat the fruit of tree and vine, How can we feel downhearted? When loudly roars the wind without. And down the chimney chases. Though humble be our home, 'twill seem The dearest of all places. Thank God for health and happiness, And cellars overflowing With richest gifts that earth can yield : The harvest of our sowing. TO THE CHIMNEY SWALLOWS. 109 TO THE CHIMNEY SWALLOWS. Ye little, chatt'ring, brown-backed chimney swallows, Having thy home within the chimney's hol- lows, Something I have to say to ye this summei' day. What business had ye for to take possession Of premises of mine? Though a transgres- sion That ye a home there choose, still I'll not ye abuse. Not any thy unceasing, uncouth thund'ring In nights I hear. But then ye are so blund'ring That I'm afraid ye '11 come sometime into my room. Then what would be thy fate, my friends, supposing Old Tabba should lie on the sofa, dozing. And should awaken when ye, fearless, enter in? For this, and for the soot which ye are scattering, I'll close the flue; not for thy thumping, clatt'ring. Nor anything ye do else, ye merry crew ! That ye are happy, there is joy in knowing! There's greatest happiness in kind deeds doing. But never selfishness will bring man happi- ness ! 110 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. The same kind Harxd that gives thee Hfe will feed thee ! If I do right that same kind Hand will lead me; And all yet well will be with me, as now with thee ! Ye are, withal, so winsome and so friendly. That I'd not have ye harmed! On that depend ye ! Hence, through each summar day — live, love, and sing away ! IN THE HEAET OF THE WOODS. Through the dense underwood I force my way; Now climb the rocky steeps, and now descend The ledges bare or mossy to the glade Where pines and hemlocks spread their um- brage broad. With careless foot crushing the dainty flow'rs That star the lone recesses where the pines Attune their lyres and thrushes merrily sing. Onward I go, and ask not whither, for A spirit pure as is the morning light, With voice more sweet than that of mountain stream. Bids me go on. The passion in me quelled, I feel that I am free as is the wind That sweeps down through the hollows of the hills. At last, within the heart of these great woods I stand. Here may I laugh away all care ! IN THE HEART OF THE WOODS. Ill Here will I seat myself beside this oak On whose long crooked boughs the ivy and The mistletoe cling, forming a network Of dark green leaves and vines ! Yea, I will rest My limbs within this cooling shade, and list Unto the murmurings of the mountain stream And mellow cadences of thrush and wren! ye Wood -Nymphs and dusky Dryads, And Oreads, come, and on this sylvan slope Join in a merry dance unto the tune The Wild-Wind plays upon his yellow-reed ! Ye Woodland-Elves! I see ye pluck the heads Of lychnis, cardinallis, and bell-flowers, And scatter them upon the glassy pool. Lo, as I look, a breeze comes dancing down, And stirs the nestling waters into small Wavelets, but only for a moment, "then Those fragments dim of lovely forms unite; And as the pool a mirror bright becomes Again, I see the same fair flow'rs upon Its marge inverted there, and there The scraggy oak and half-uprooted pine!" where the sportive fairy-elves that cast The blossoms on the small pool's glassy breast? Homeward they steal through many a wood- land maze — By many a path unknown but unto them ! why does Man, when Nature smiles on him, And spreads for him her joys in field and grove — 112 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. Why does he seek the syren maiden, Vice, And pillow on her warm voluptuous breast His head? Why follow Euin as she walks Along the crowded thoroughfare of life, Seeking for victims whom she can destroy? If he who vile enjoyments ever seeks Could know what joy a pure life brings. His soul would fling its robes of sin away And don the spotless robes of Purity ! Nature ! Blest are they who dwell with thee, For thine the sweets that never satisfy, And thine the riches that do ne'er corrupt! Here, in this lone recess, emancipate From passion's bonds, I rest! Here can I raise My voice in adoration to the One Who gives to Nature all her sov' reign charms ! THE FIEST CHEISTMAS MORN. Loud went the shout through heaven's wide domain : " The Christ, the Son of God, on earth doth reign!" And here on earth Nature, in fear for Him, And mindful of man's sins, had doffed her gaudy trim. And she — to hide all her deformities. And to appear fair in her Master's eyes — Had donned a spotless robe of purity, As emblematic of her love and deep hu- mility. THE FIRST CHRISTMAS MORN. 113 The sun, ashamed to mar the sanctity Of the Most Holy Christ's Nativity, Full -orbed and bright, had early gone to rest Far down the golden pathway of the dis- tant West. 0, peaceful was the night when here began Christ's reign of peace! The winds with. wonder ran. And sweetly sang the little streams and rills That had their source among the wild Judean hills ! Hate slumbered, and peace ruled; for not a sound Of war's wild strife was heard the world around. The spear and shield hung on the fortress' wall. And unstained with human gore the chariot in the stall. The trumpet summoned not the warlike throng, And in the hall was hushed the minstrel's song! In banquet room the Bacchanalian horde. Awe-struck and speechless, sat around their fearful lord. The shepherds in the field — who sat that night Watching their flocks lest beasts from moun- tain height Should come and ravage — little dreamed or knew Of the heav'nly scene which Soon they, won- d'ringly, would view. 114 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. The midnight hour had passed, and they in row Were sitting, and their lamps were burn- ing low, When suddenly a flame suffused the heav'nly heights As if a thousand suns as one had joined their lights ! As if the heav'ns had caught a wild desire. And burning were with supernatural fire ! And as they gazed, before their astonished view. In dazzling, fire-fringed robes, the herald angel drew ! Saying: ''Fear not, for tidings of great joy I bring, for unto you is born this day In Bethlehem the promised Saviour, Christ, Who now has come to earth as a willing sacrifice ! "And unto you now let this be the sign. In a manger, wrapped in swaddling clothes, ye '11 find The little child !" When they these strange words heard. They knew the Lord had come, fulfilling his promised word ! Then music — such as mortals never knew, Or from stringed instrument or reed e'er drew. And sweeter than Apollo ever made Upon Olympic height, or in Thessalian for- est shade — THE FIRST CHRISTMAS MORN. 115 Rang down the heav'nly arches; and sweet song Burst from cherubic and seraphic throng, While Cynthia in her journey paused to hear That mighty anthem, rolling on from sphere to sphere ! Not when God formed the stars such song had birth ! Nor when from naught he made and shaped the earth ! Before or since, no mortals have heard such strains As heard those favored ones on Bethlehem's star-lit plains ! Chime on, cr^^stal spheres, f orevermore ! And sing, angel host, that old sweet anthem o'er. That we may catch, if only the echo, of Its joyful strains of peace, good will and of Christ's love! And if to-day that song but linger long. Right will on earth be victor over Wrong ! Yea, Sin will slink away, and Strife will cease, And Time will usher in a blissful age of peace ! Yea, Truth and heav'n-born Justice, both will then Control, direct, and guard the hearts of men ! And all the Larez, formed from gold and stone Will be, by Righteousness, eternally o'er- thrown ! 116 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. Chime on, crystal spheres, f orevermore ! And sing, angel host, the anthem operand o'er With which ye heralded the Saviour's birth, Who came to dwell two thousand years ago on earth ! SOREOWING. The last faint trace of summer O'er the landscape now I see; The flow'rs upon the meadows, Beloved by bird and bee, Like the purple mists of morning, They vanish silently ! Like a withered flow'r my heart, love, Since you have gone from me ! No more the water-lilies Will fringe the silvery lake, For summer fair is leaving, And autumn's in her wake. The little brooklet ever Sings a mournful melody, And my heart sings the self -same song, love, Since you have gone from me. Sometime again the summer Will come to bless the land. And the flow'rs and birds will waken At her divine command ; Like the summer will you come, love. To one who is waiting for thee? Or, like a joy that is gone, love, Will you never come back to me? TO CHLORIS, 117 TO CHLORIS. (old style.) My gentle Chloris, doubt no more. For Cupid now of me has made A captive, and with simple song I'll strive to woo thee in yon glade! Once spring for me had many charms, And summer once was my delight ! But when, my Chloris, thou art gone From me has gone all joy, all light ! No more at morn the flow'ry plain. Nor at noon's hour the shady grove, For me have joys ! I only see In sky and earth thy shadow, love ! My gentle Chloris, thou art like The autumn ripe, yet mild as May ; Brighter thy smile than light at noon, And fairer thou than early day ! That little daisy at your foot Has heart for love as well as I ! See how it leans its head tow'rds you, And turns to you a pleading eye ! The merry lark with folded wing. Awaiting for the morning's light, Sits on yon thorn, and how he longs With song to melt the heav'nly height! And wouldst thou, my Chloris fair. For heart of love break forth and sing? had I voice as has yon lark How I would make the heavens ring ! 118 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. let us to yon sylvan glade, Where fountains flow and winds sing sweet, Together now, with arm in arm, To Love's sweet tune make swift retreat, Lest Phoebus in the gilded East His bounding steeds and car shouldst stay ; Or he through bitter jealousy With fiery jav'lins us shouldst slay! BENEATH THE FOREST'S SHADE I REST. Beneath the forest's shade I rest. Wearied by the noon's sultry heat. And hear the breezes from the West Amid the tall pines singing sweet. Above me in the heated sky. Like a huge ball hangs the bright sun ; ¥/hile over all the mountains nigh The haze of noontide settles down. 0, glorious is the realm outspread. The realm o'er which fair summer reigns, The wooded hills, the skies overhead. The meads and broad extended plains ! There o'er its channel deep and wide The streamlet seeks the distant West ; And o'er it softly the warm winds glide, Tossiug in ripples its silvered breast. I would that life might be as sweet Always as at this noontide hour ; But joy must die as at my feet Must die sometime yon lovely flow'r! THE OLD TRYSTINO TREE. 119 I would that life might glide as smooth Along its channel as yon stream, And that life's sunset hour might prove To all more fair than poet's dream! THE OLD TEYSTING TEEE. When the dewdrops are falling O'er the green, grassy plains, And the night-birds are chanting Their gladsome refrains, — Then I think of the maiden So dear, dear to me, And I go forth to meet her 'Neath the old try sting tree! When the angel of sunset, In purple robes drest, In her chariot of glory Eides down from the West, — I sit with the maiden So dear, dear to me, 'Mid the shadows that gather 'Eound the old try sting tree! When the stars in their splendor Peer down from the skies. They reflect but the brightness Of her beautiful eyes ! O, my loved one seems dearer, Far dearer to me, As the night-shadow gather 'Eound the old trysting tree! 120 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. As the beauties of sunset Soon vanish away, And the night-time fast follows Its gold and its gray, So death in our footsteps, — Yet dear, dear to me, E'er will be the fair maiden, And the old trysting tree ! THE HERMIT. AN ENGLISH TALE OF THE TWELFTH CENTURY. Within his humble hermitage, The Hermit sat one night ; The rude lamj) flickered on the stand, And on the Pray'r-Book in his hand It cast a feeble light. Upon the hearth the log fire burned, And fiercely snapped and roared; While, in the room, each angry gust Blew the white snow as fine as dust Through cracks 'twixt stone and board. Before the fire, the Hermit's dog Lay stretched upon the rug ; While on the table rough and rude, Which close beside the window stood, Was but an empty mug. On rusty hooks his halberd hung Above the thick slab door, And yet was Cheerfulness a guest Within the aged Hermit's breast Though Sorrow 'd been before. THE HERMIT. 121 Asleep within his old arm-chair The Hermit sat, and dreamed Of boyhood's years, of bygone days, While down fair Mem'ry's golden ways His angel comrades streamed. Long sat he lost in pleasant dreams, Till came a sudden rap Upon the door as from some one Out in the night of storm alone — A loud and sudden rap ! And then a gust swept down, and shook The windows with a roar; While loud the elm- trees sighed and moaned, And neath its shock the aspens groaned Beside the lone cell's door. The oil within the lamp had burned. The logs had burnt to coals. While o'er the walls the shadows crept. And o'er the floor their dark robes swept Like garments of ghost-souls ! Again there came a louder rap. And then a sweet voice spake : " Open, I pray, your humble door, For cold's the storm, and loud the winds roar ! Open, for Christ's dear sake!" Half -dazed, the Hermit then arose. And drew the oaken bar. A gust of wind flung back the door, And whirled the sleet across the floor. Then quickly fled afar ! As the Hermit peered out in the storm, Amid the misty haze, 122 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. The gleaming spirit- form of one Whom he, for years, had mourned as gone Then met his eager gaze. She seemed to him more spiritual, Yet bore the same sweet smile. Her soft white hands she stretched to him ; In accents sweet she called his name As she was wont the while ! And as he clasped her hands in his — Her hands so cold and white — With her she gently bade him come ; Gladly he left his humble home, To tempt the angry night ! Again, he fancied he was a boy ! Again, he felt that pride Which oft he felt with Edna near — Though there had passed a fifty year Since that sad day she died ! On, on they walked, her hand in his, Yet not a word said she ; The winds around them shrieked and hissed ; The snow was whirled, an eddying mist. Across the barren lea. 'It filled the air with broken clouds Like drifting smoke, and now 'Twas hurled on high with arrow flight Above the loftiest pine tree's height, Then dashed in heaps below.' At last, she drew her hand from his; He stopped, but she had gone ; Thrice then he called to her. Alas, He heard but the torrent rushing past, And the dusky hemlock's moan! THE HERMIT. 123 ' Near him the laurel's drooping tufts Curled close around their stems, And the sere beech-leaves still that clung, And to each shrieking blast that swung, Were white with feathery gems.' He started on, but tried in vain The well-known path to find. The winds around him cried: "Despair! For we who walk with feet of air Leave not a trace behind!" Here, plunging in a -snowy mound, There, "clinging to a limb," The Hermit gasped for very breath ; Around his throat the hand of Death He felt ; his eyes grew dim ! As on he staggered through the snow, He thought that he must die ! " The blood seemed freezing round his heart, With ev'ry blast an icy dart Seemed through his frame to fly!" When Hope, his last bright star, had set, And strength was nearly gone, Lo, just ahead, a feeble light Gleamed through the storm haze and the night. And sound of bells swept down. "Thank God! Saint Agnes Chimes!" he cried ; Then on his stiffened form He dragged; at last the convent's door He reached ; there fell and knew no more, Chilled by the awful storm ; 124 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. Then, in the lofty old stone tow'r Through which the wild winds roared, One after one, the great bells swung ; And to the tempest which them rung Their symphonies outpoured. The monks within, hearing the chimes, Bushed forth the bells to stay ; And as they swung the outer door, They found, by snow half -covered o'er. The Hermit who there lay. They dragged him from the wave-like heap. And thawed his half- froze form. He lived, rescued by those sweet chimes, Snatched from Death's hands by those sweet chimes Eung by the midnight storm. And ever since, the pious monks Sit in the old stone tow'r On New Year's Eve ; and through the night. They ring those bells till the morning light Proclaims the glad New Year ! HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS EVE. The night is dark; o'er the church tow'r The pale moon dips her horn ; The silent stars proclaim the hour When Thou, Christ, was born ! Make Thou, Lord, my heart as pure As are yon frosty skies, Or as, upon the wintry moor, The sparkling snow that lies ! MORTALITY. 125 The evening hours pass slowly on ; The winds are loud and keen ; Now as I bow before thy throne, Make Thou my garments clean ! Me thinks, amid the heav'nly height, I hear the angels sing : '' All glory to the Prince of Light, To heav'n's eternal King!" Sinful and weak and vain I am ! Sinful and weak am I ! But Thy dear love, O precious Lamb, Can cleanse and sanctify ! O lift me to that heav'nly place Where endless summers move ! There let me gaze upon Thy face, And sing thy wond'rous love! MOETALITY. Here are huge beeches, oaks, and gnarled pines, Upon which pale green mosses thrive. This ground Was never torn by ploughshare rude. Around, In sunny places, bloom fair flow'rs; here twines The woodbine round a kingly oak, and shines The sun down on the bower formed ! With bound Of joy, a squirrel leaps upon a mound Of ferns, then back into the tree, while in The hazel thicket chirps a minstrel- thrush I 126 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. The summer fails; the autumn comes, and thin Fihns of hoar-frost are spread on tree and bush, And all the wood is stilled at autumn's ''hush." Then are we brought in contact with grim Death- Mortality is but his pois'nous breath! IMMOETALITY. I LOOK around upon land, sea, and sky, And note the steady changes going on ! The landmarks of this year, the next, are gone; And naught remains then but the memory ! "Change and decay go on!" the wild winds sigh. In vain I turn, and hail the setting sun, And wait the answer which he sendeth down: "Thousands of years I've watched the earth with eye That never failed, yet. Immortality, Have never seen her classic brow upon!" The depths of hell beneath me spew their lurid fires, And there, lo ! Immortality expires ! Above me gleam heav'n's gates, — yea, far above. I look ; there, Immortalitv — is — LOVE ! 7 7 1/ AN EVENING BESIDE THE SEA. 127 AN EVENING BESIDE THE SEA. The night-winds, fallen through the starry sky, Sweep down the foaming pathway of the sea, And drive the clouds as o'er the em 'raid lea The shepherds drive their flocks to folds that lie Beyond. The keeper climbs the tower high And lights the lamps; soon, bright and free. They shine, that those on passing ships may see And shun the sunken reefs and dangers nigh. The white-lipped waves and eerie winds that race Across the main chant Nature's song sub- lime, While the bright orb that leads the starry chase From her proud height echoes the hymn of time! I join in song to ease my heart of care. True song is but the spirit's uttered prayer! 128 RURAL LEGENDS AND LYRICS. EECOMPENSE. Falling, falling, one by one. Leaves of crimson, leaves of gold, Faintest trace of summer is gone, And the year is growing old. Cheer up, sad heart ! Be at rest ! Youth has passed, and Age is here ! Age has trials, yet is blessed With a harvest like the year ! Flock by flock the birds have fled ; Thicket and grove are silent now ; Beauteous flow'rs lie withered and dead On the hills and meadows low. Will the heart be silent when Life has changed from green to gold? Will joys never come again To the heart that has grown old? Chilly blow the north winds o'er Forests lone and meadows sere ; Autumn has come, and the earth once more Feels the weight of the aged year. Time gives Age its snow-white hair. Love guards old hearts from the cold ; Life is blest if love be there. Though the heart, like the year, is old. THE END, n LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 762 925 6