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In offering to the public an edition of these well-known Eallads upon the il- ^i lustration of which the utmost care has been bestowed, the publishers have much pleasure in presenting the following note from the author : — " I have examined the sheets of the Ballads, and I find that in truthful- ness of illustration, and in beauty and delicacy of execution, the pictures are all that could be desired. In the illustrations to Cobbler Keezar's- Vision, The Wreck of Rivermouth, My Playmate, and The Countess, es- pecially, I recognize the scenery familiar from boyhood, and which I have endeavored to associate in the mind of the reader of my Ballads with the characters and incidents of local traditions." JOHN G. WHITTIER. *:5'-*- .vr^f^J CONTENTS Telling the Bees My Playmate Skipper Ireson's Ride Cobbler Keezar's Vision Amy Wentworth The Countess Mary Garvin . The Ranger The Wreck of Rivermouth The Changeling . Page • 13 17 22 28 . 42 48 • 56 66 ■ 76 85 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. [The Engravings by A. V. S. Anthony, under whose supervision the book is prepared.] Telling the Bees. "Right over the hill Artist. Page Runs the path I took." Harry Fenn .... 13 "Went drearily singing the chore-girl small." S. Eytinge, Jr. ... 15 " Her poor flowers, weed o'errun." .... Harry Fenn .... 16 My Playmate. "The pines were dark on Ramoth hill." . . Harry Fenn. ... 17 The Playmates WiNSLOW Homer . . 18 " She lives where all the golden year Her summer roses blow." Winslow Homer . . 19 "The lilies blossom in the pond." Harry Fenn .... 21 Skipper Ireson's Ride. " Sailed away from a sinking wreck." . . . Harry Fenn .... 22 The Skipper's Ride Alfred Fredericks . 23 viii List of Illustrations. ' Looked for the coming that might not be." . Granville Perkins . 25 ' Sweetly along the Salem road Bloom of orchard and lilac showed." . . . Harry Fenn .... 26 'And left him alone with his shame and sin." Alfred Fredericks . 27 Cobbler Keezar's Vision. "The beaver cut his timber." Harry Fenn .... 28 " When Keezar sat on the hillside, Upon his cobbler's form " F. O. C. Darley ... 29 " Down on the sharp-horned ledges." .... Harry Fenn .... 30 "The purple harvests." Samuel Colman . . 32 " The grand old river Rhine." " " • ■ 33 " A marvellous picture mingled The unknown and the known." .... Harry Fenn . . " Grand were the strutting turkeys." .... " " . . "Loud laughed the cobbler Keezar." . . . . F. O. C. Darley " \\\ the summer twilights." Harry Fenn . . " The weary mill-girl lingers." " " . . Amy Wentworth. " And bids the sea-birds flying north Bear messages to him." Harry Fenn . . . "The icebergs in the sun." Granville Perkins The Ivied Porch Harry Fenn . . . "She looks across the harbor-bar." .... W. J. Hennessy Kittery Side Harry Fenn . . . 35 37 39 40 41 42 43 45 46 47 List of Ilhtstratioiis, The Countess. "The dark tunnel of the bridge." HARRY Fenn . " The idle shad-net dries." " " . " The hamlet's buried idlers sleep." .... " " . "The walk on pleasant Newbury's shore." . S. Eytinge, Jr. "Fern and brake." Harry Fenn . Mary Garvin. " Over cedars darkening inland the smokes of Spurwink blew." H.\rry Fenn . " Right and left sat dame and goodman." . . J. W. Ehninger " It is Mary's self I see." " " " The young girl knelt beside him." .... " " " Uprising, the aged couple stood, And the fair Canadian also, in her modest maidenhood." " " " Her wooden cross at Simcoe." Harry Fenn IX 48 49 51 53 55 56 58 60 62 64 65 The Ranger. " Green isles of Casco Bay." Harry Fenn . " Straggling rangers, worn with dangers." . . S. Eytinge, Jr. Martha Mason " " The Beach " " " Some red squaw his moose-meat 's broiling." " " " The barn-yard cock is crowing." Harry Fenn . The Lovers' Meeting S. Eytinge, Jr. "The bridal bells." Harry Fenn . 66 67 70 71 72 73 74 75 List of Illustrations. The Wreck of Rivermouth. "And fair are the sunny isles." Harry Fenn . . . " A young man siglied, who saw them pass." Alfred Fredericks " Tlie skipper hauled at the heavy sail." . . Granville Perkins " The mad old witch-wife wailed and wept." . Alfred Fredericks " In the calm of a closing summer day." . . Harry Fenn . . . " The White Isle kindled its great red star." . " "... 76 77 79 81 83 84 The Changeling. " At set of harvest-day." Harry Fenn .... 85 " Rake out the red coals, goodman, For there the child shall lie." W. J. Hennessy . . 86 " The cloud of her soul was lifted, And she knew her little child." .... " " . . 89 " He set his horse to the river." " " . . 91 " And Goody Cole at cockcrow Came forth from Ipswich jail." .... " " . . 92 " Then through the night the hoof-beats Went sounding like a flail." Harry Fenn .... 92 [The Vignettes and Ornaments in the introductory pages are drawn by John Harley.] ^ i^ ■^.^ I' miUjmm TELLING THE BEES. T T ERE is the place ; right over the hill Runs the path I took ; You can see the gap in the old wall still, And the stepping-stones in the shallow brook. There is the house, with the gate red-barred. And the poplars tall ; And the barn's brown length, and the cattle-yard. And the white horns tossino: above the wall. There are the beehives ranged in the sun ; And down by the brink Of the brook are her poor flowers, weed-o'errun, Pansy and daftbdil, rose and pink. Telling t/ie Bees. A year has gone, as the tortoise goes, Heavy and slow ; And the same rose blows, and the same sun glows, And the same brook sings of a year ago. There 's the same sweet clover-smell in the breeze And the June sun warm Tangles his wings of fire in the trees, Setting, as then, over Fernside farm. I mind me how with a lover's care From my Sunday coat I brushed off the burrs, and smoothed my hair, And cooled at the brookside my brow and throat. Since we parted, a month had passed, To love, a year ; Down through the beeches I looked at last On the little red gate and the well-sweep near, I can see it all now, — the slantwise rain Of light through the leaves, The sundown's blaze on her window-pane. The bloom of her roses under the eaves. I ellincr the Bees. 15 Just the same as a month before, — The house and the trees, The barn's brown gable, the vine by the door, Nothins; chano-ed but the hives of bees. Before them, under the garden wall, Forward and back, Went drearily singing the chore-girl small. Draping each hive with a shred of black. 1 6 Telling the Bees. Trembling', I listened : the summer sun Had the chill of snow ; For I knew she was telling the bees of one Gone on the journey we all must go ! Then I said to myself, " My Mary weeps For the dead to-day : Haply her blind old grandsire sleeps The fret and the pain of his age away." But her dog whined low ; on the doorway sill, With his cane to his chin, The old man sat ; and the chore-girl still Suner to the bees stealing out and in. And the song she was singing ever since In my ear sounds on : — " Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence Mistress Mary is dead and gone ! " ^.C^^WjJ^i'HIr-M MY PLAYMATE. '' B ^HE pines were dark on Ramoth hill, Their song was soft and low : The blossoms in the sweet May wind Were fallino- like the snow. The blossoms drifted at our feet, The orchard birds sang clear ; The sweetest and the saddest day It seemed of all the year. For, more to me than birds or flowers, My playmate left her home. And took with her the laughing spring, The music and the bloom. My Playmate. She kissed the lips of kith and kin, She laid her hand in mine : What more could ask the bashful boy Who fed her father's kine ? .//^/i/ She left us in the bloom of May : The constant years told o'er Their seasons with as sweet May morns, But she came back no more. My Play mate. 19 I walk, with noiseless feet, the round Of uneventful years ; Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring And reap the autumn ears. She lives where all the golden year Her summer roses blow ; The dusky children of the sun Before her come and jro. There haply with her jewelled hands She smooths her silken gown, — No more the homespun lap wherein I shook the walnuts down 20 My Playmate. The wild grapes wait us by the brook, The brown nuts on the hill, And still the May-day flowers make sweet The woods of Follymill. The lilies blossom in the pond. The bird builds in the tree, The dark pines sing on Ramoth hill The slow sons: of the sea. I wonder if she thinks of them, And how the old time seems, — If ever the pines of Ramoth wood Are sounding in her dreams. I see her face, I hear her voice : Does she remember mine ? And what to her is now the boy Who fed her father's kine .^ What cares she that the orioles build For other eyes than ours, — That other hands with nuts are filled. And other laps with flowers .'' My Playmate. 21 O playmate in the golden time Our mossy seat is green, Its fringing violets blossom yet, The old trees o'er it lean. The winds so sweet with birch and fern A sweeter memory blow ; And there in spring the veeries sing The sons: of long ago. And still the pines of Ramoth wood Are moaning like the sea, — The moaning of the sea of change Between myself and thee ! _^!l»tuisS^ , X. \ t SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE. /~\F all the rides since the birth of time, Told in story or sung in rhyme, — On Apuleius's Golden Ass, Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass, Witch astride of a human hack, Islam's prophet on Al-Borak, — The strangest ride that ever was sped Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead ! Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead ! Body of turkey, head of owl, Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl, Feathered .and ruffled in every part. Skipper Ireson stood in the cart. Skipper Iresoiis Ride. 23 Scores of women, old and young, Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue, Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane, Shouting and singing the shrill refrain : " Here 's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead ! " Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips, Girls in bloom of cheek and lips. 24 Skipper Iresons Ride. Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase Bacchus round some antique vase, Brief of skirt, with ankles bare. Loose of kerchief and loose of hair. With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang. Over and over the Maenads sang : " Here 's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead ! " Small pity for him ! — He sailed away From a leaking ship, in Chaleur Bay, — Sailed away from a sinking wreck, With his own towns-people on her deck ! "Lay by! lay by!" they called to him. Back he answered, " Sink or swim ! Brag of your catch of fish again ! " And off he sailed through the fog and rain ! Old Floyd L'eson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead ! Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur That wreck shall lie forevermore. Mother and sister, wife and maid. Looked from the rocks of Marblehead Skipper IresoiLS Ride. 25 ^r^?! Over the moaning and rainy sea, — Looked for the coming that might not be ! What did the winds and the sea-birds say Of the cruel captain wlio sailed away ? — Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead ! Through the street, on either side, Up flew windows, doors swung wide ; Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray, Treble lent the fish-horn's bray. Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound. Hulks of old sailors run aground. Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane, And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain : 26 Skipper Iresoiis Ride. " Here 's F'lud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead ! " Sweetly along the Salem road Bloom of orchard and lilac showed. Little the wicked skipper knew Of the fields so green and the sky so blue. Riding there in his sorry trim, Like an Indian idol glum and grim, Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear Of voices shouting, far and near : " Here 's Find Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead ! " " Hear me, neighbors ! " at last he cried, " What to me is this noisy ride } Skipper Ires 71 s Ride. 27 What is the shame that clothes the skin To the nameless horror that lives within ? Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck, And hear a cry from a reeling deck ! Hate me and curse me, — I only dread The hand of God and the face of the dead ! " Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead ! Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea Said, "God has touched him! — why should we ?" Said an old wife mourning her only son, " Cut the rogue's tether and let him run ! " So with soft relentings and rude excuse, Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose. And gave him a cloak to hide him in, And left him alone with his shame and sin. Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead ! COBBLER KEEZAR'S VISION. 'T^HE beaver cut his timber With patient teeth that day, The minks were fish-wards, and the crows Surveyors of highway, — When Keezar sat on the hillside Upon his cobbler's form, With a pan of coals on either hand To keep his waxed-ends warm. And there, in the golden weather, He stitched and hammered and sung In the brook he moistened his leather. In the pewter mug his tongue. Cobbler Keczars Vision. 29 Well knew the tough old Teuton Who brewed the stoutest ale, And he paid the goodwife's reckoning In the coin of sons; and tale. The songs they still are singing Who dress the hills of vine, The tales that haunt the Brocken And whisper down the Rhine. 5 30 Cobbler Keezars^ Vision, Woodsy and wild and lonesome, The swift stream wound away, Through birches and scarlet maples Flashing in foam and spray, — Down on the sharp-horned ledges Plunging in steep cascade, Tossing its white-maned waters Against the hemlock's shade. Woodsy and wild and lonesome. East and west and north and south ; Only the village of fishers Down at the river's mouth ; Cobbler Kcczars Vision. Only here and there a clearing, With its farm-house rude and new, And tree-stumps, swart as Indians, Where the scanty harvest grew. No shout of home-bound reapers. No vintage-song he heard, And on the green no dancing feet The merry violin stirred. " Why should folk be glum," said Keezar, " When Nature herself is glad. And the painted woods are laughing At the faces so sour and sad .'' " Small heed had the careless cobbler What sorrow of heart was theirs Who travailed in pain with the births of God, And planted a state with prayers, — Hunting of witches and warlocks, Smiting the heathen horde, — One hand on the mason's trowel, And one on the soldier's sword ! 32 Cobbler Keezars Vision. But give him his ale and cider, Give him his pipe and song, Little he cared for Church or State, Or the balance of right and wrong. " 'T is work, work, work," he muttered, " And for rest a snuffle of psalms ! " He smote on his leathern apron With his brown and waxen palms. " O for the purple harvests Of the days when I was young ! For the merry grape-stained maidens, And the pleasant songs they sung ! Cobbler Keezars Vision. ZZ " O for the breath of vineyards, Of apples and nuts and wine ! For an oar to row and a breeze to blow Down the grand old river Rhine ! " A tear in his blue eye glistened, And dropped on his beard so gray. " Old, old am I," said Keezar, " And the Rhine flows far away ! " But a cunning man was the cobbler ; He could call the birds from the trees, Charm the black snake out of the ledges, And bring back the svvarmins: bees. 34 Cobbler Keezars Vision. All the virtues of herbs and metals, All the lore of the woods, he knew, And the arts of the Old World mingled With the marvels of the New. Well he knew the tricks of magic. And the lapstone on his knee Had the gift of the Mormon's goggles Or the stone of Doctor Dee. For the mighty master Agrippa Wrought it with spell and rhyme From a fragment of mystic moonstone In the tower of Nettesheim. To a cobbler Minnesinger The marvellous stone gave he, — And he gave it, in turn, to Keezar, Who brou2:ht it over the sea. He held up that mystic lapstone. He held it up like a, lens, And he counted the long years coming By twenties and by tens. Cobbler Keezars Vision. 35 " One hundred years," quoth Keezar, " And fifty have I told : Now open the new before me, And shut me out the old ! " Like a cloud of mist, the blackness Rolled from the magic stone. And a marvellous picture mingled The unknown and the known. I?.*^ 36 Cobbler Keezars Vision. Still ran the stream to the river, And river and ocean joined ; And there were the bluffs and the blue sea-hne, And cold north hills behind. But the mighty forest was broken By many a steepled town, By many a white-walled farm-house, And many a garner brown. Turning a score of mill-wheels, The stream no more ran free ; White sails on the winding river. White sails on the far-off sea. Below in the noisy village The flags were floating gay, And shone on a thousand faces The light of a holiday. Swiftly the rival ploughmen Turned the brown earth from their shares ; Here were the farmer's treasures, There were the craftsman's wares. Cobbler Keezars Vision. 37 Golden the goodwife's butter, Ruby her currant-wine ; Grand were the strutting turkeys, Fat were the beeves and swine. Yellow and red were the apples, And the ripe pears russet-brown, And the peaches had stolen blushes From the girls who shook them down. And with blooms of hill and wild-wood, That shame the toil of art. Mingled the gorgeous blossoms Of the garden's tropic heart. " What is it I see .-' " said Keezar, " Am I here, or am I there ? Is it a fete at Bingen .'' Do I look on Frankfort fair } 6 38 Cobbler Keezars Visio7t. " But where are the clowns and puppets, And imps with horns and tail ? And where are the Rhenish flagons ? And where is the foamins: ale ? " Strange things, I know, will happen, — Strange things the Lord permits ; But that droughty folk should be jolly Puzzles my poor old wits. " Here are smiling manly faces. And the maiden's step is gay ; Nor sad by thinking, nor mad by drinking. Nor mopes, nor fools, are they. " Here 's pleasure without regretting. And good without abuse. The holiday and the bridal Of beauty and of use. " Here 's a priest and there is a Quaker, — Do the cat and dog agree .'' Have they burned the stocks for oven-wood .-* Have they cut down the gallows-tree .-* Cobbler Keezars Vision, " Would the old folk know their children ? Would they own the graceless town, With never a ranter to worry And never a witch to drown ? " 39 Loud laughed the cobbler Keezar, Laughed like a school-boy gay ; Tossing his arms above him, The lapstone rolled away. It rolled down the rugged hillside, It spun like a wheel bewitched, It plunged through the leaning willows, And into the river pitched. 40 Cobbler Keezars Vision. There, in the deep, dark water, The magic stone lies still, Under the leaning willows In the shadow of the hill. But oft the idle fisher Sits on the shadowy bank, And his dreams make marvellous pictures Where the wizard's lapstone sank. And still, in the summer twilights, When the river seems to run Out from the inner glory. Warm with the melted sun. Cobbler Keezars Vision. The weary mill-girl lingers Beside the charmed stream, And the sky and the golden water Shape and color her dream. 41 Fair wave the sunset gardens, The rosy signals fly ; Her homestead beckons from the cloud, And love goes sailing by ! .J.// A,"' ■>.k AMY WENTWORTH. T T ER fingers shame the ivory keys They dance so light along ; The bloom upon her parted lips Is sweeter than the song. O perfumed suitor, spare thy smiles ! Her thoughts are not of thee ; She better loves the salted wind, The voices of the sea. Her heart is like an outbound ship That at its anchor swings ; The murmur of the stranded shell Is in the sons; she sin2;s. Amy Weiitworth, 43 She sings, and, smiling, hears her praise. But dreams the while of one Who watches from his sea-blown deck The icebergs in the sun. She questions all the winds that blow, And every fog-wreath dim. And bids the sea-birds flying north Bear messacjes to him. She speeds them with the thanks of men He perilled life to save, And grateful prayers like holy oil To smooth for him the wave. 44 Amy Wentworth. Brown Viking of tlie fisliing-smack ! Fair toast of all the town ! — The skipper's jerkin ill beseems The lady's silken gown ! But ne'er shall Amy Wentworth wear For him the blush of shame Who dares to set his manly gifts Against her ancient name. The stream is brightest at its spring, And blood is not like wine ; Nor honored less than he who heirs Is he who founds a line. Full lightly shall the prize be won, If love be Fortune's spur ; And never maiden stoops to him Who lifts himself to her. Her home is brave in Jaffrey Street, With stately stairways worn By feet of old Colonial knights And ladies gentle-born. A?7iy ]Vcnhvorth. 45 Still green about its ample porch The English ivy twines, Trained back to show in English oak The herald's carven signs. And on her, from the wainscot old, Ancestral faces frown, — And this has worn the soldier's sword, And that the judge's gown. But, strong of will and proud as they. She walks the gallery floor As if she trod her sailor's deck By stormy Labrador ! 7 46 Amy Wenhvorth. The sweetbrier blooms on Kittery-side, And green are Elliot's bowers ; Her garden is the pebbled beach, The mosses are her flowers. /■%lh \t--<^^ '^ <^ She looks across the harbor-bar To see the white gulls fly ; His greeting from the Northern sea Is in their clanging cry. Ai7ty JVcntzuorth, 47 She hums a song, and dreams that he, As in its romance old, Shall homeward ride with silken sails And masts of beaten s:old ! O, rank is good, and gold is fair, And high and low mate ill ; But love has never known a law Beyond its own sweet will. THE COUNTESS. /^~\VER the wooded northern ridge, ^-"^ Between its houses brown, To the dark tunnel of the bridge The street comes straggling down. You catch a ghmpse, though birch and pine, Of gable, roof, and porch, The tavern with its swinging sign. The sharp horn of the church. The river's steel-blue crescent curves To meet, in ebb and flow. The single broken wharf that serves For sloop and gundelow. The Coil lit CSS. With salt sea-scents along its shores The heavy hay-boats crawl, The long antennas of their oars In lazy rise and fall. 49 Along the gray abutment's wall The idle shad-net dries : The toll-man in his cobbler's stall Sits smoking with closed eyes. You hear the pier's low undertone Of waves that chafe and gnaw ; You start, — a skipper's horn is blown To raise the creakinsr draw. At times a blacksmith's anvil sounds With slow and sluggard beat, Or stage-coach on its dusty rounds Wakes up the staring street. 50 The Countess. A place for idle eyes and ears, A cobwebbed nook of dreams, Left by the stream whose waves are years The stranded vina2;e seems. And there, like other moss and rust, The native dweller clings, And keeps, in uninquiring trust, The old, dull round of things. The fisher drops his patient lines, The farmer sows his grain, Content to hear the murmuring pines Instead of railroad train. Go where, along the tangled steep That slopes against the west. The hamlet's buried idlers sleep In still profounder rest. Throw back the locust's flowery plume. The birch's pale-green scarf. And break the web of brier and bloom From name and epitaph. The Countess. 51 "r^^'>-?^v'^* ^(j^j^'^i A simple muster-roll of death, Of pomp and romance shorn, The dry, old names that common breath Has cheapened and outworn. Yet pause by one low mound, and part The wild vines o'er it laced, And read the words by rustic art Upon its headstone traced. Haply yon white-haired villager Of fourscore years can say What means the noble name of her Who sleeps with common clay. -3- Ike Ceunt£ss. I — Of lo^v \ -- Tkt C0U7ltcSS. A ~ '' 52it vrriz- t2.u.:i^£LL him love net '. 54 The Cottntess. Ah ! life is brief, tliougli love be long ; The altar and the bier, The burial hymn and bridal song, Were both in one short year ! Her rest is quiet on the hill, Beneath the locust's bloom : Far off her lover sleeps as still Within his scutcheoned tomb. The Gascon lord, the village maid, In death still clasp their hands ; The love that levels rank and grade Unites their severed lands. What matter whose the hillside grave, Or whose the blazoned stone .'' Forever to her western wave Shall whisper blue Garonne ! O Love ! — so hallowing every soil That gives thy sweet flower room, Wherever, nursed by ease or toil. The human heart takes bloom ! — The Countess. ^^ Plant of lost Eden, from the sod Of sinful earth unriven, White blossom of the trees of God Dropped down to us from heaven This tangled waste of mound and stone Is holy for thy sake ; A sweetness which is all thy own Breathes out from fern and brake. And while ancestral pride shall twine The Gascon's tomb with flowers, Fall sweetly here, O song of mine, With summer's bloom and showers ! And let the lines that severed seem Unite again in thee, As western wave and Gallic stream Are mingled in one sea ! MARY GARVIN. T7R0M the heart of Waumbek Methna, from the lake that never fails, Falls the Saco in the green lap of Conway's intervales ; There, in wild and virgin freshness, its waters foam and flow. As when Darby Field first saw them, two hundred years ago. But, vexed in all its seaward course with bridges, dams, and mills, How changed is Saco's stream, how lost its freedom of the hills. Since travelled Jocelyn, factor Vines, and stately Champer- noon Heard on its banks the gray wolf's howl, the trumpet of the loon ! Mary Garvin. 57 With smoking axle hot with speed, with steeds of fire and steam, Wide-waked To-day leaves Yesterday behind him hke a dream. Still, from the hurrying train of Life fly backward far and fast The milestones of the fathers, the landmarks of the past. But human hearts remain unchanged : the sorrow and the sin, The loves and hopes and fears of old, are to our own akin ; And if, in tales our fathers told, the songs our mothers sung, Tradition wears a snowy beard, Romance is always young. O sharp-lined man of traffic, on Saco's banks to-day ! O mill-girl watching late and long the shuttle's restless play ! Let, for the once, a listening ear the working hand beguile, And lend my old Provincial tale, as suits, a tear or smile ! The evening gun had sounded from gray Fort Mary's walls ; Through the forest, like a wild beast, roared and plunged the Saco's falls ; And westward on the sea-wind, that damp and gusty grew, Over cedars darkening inland the smokes of Spurwink blew. On the hearth of Farmer Garvin blazed the crackling walnut locr • Right and left sat dame and goodman, and between them lay the dog, 58 Mary Garvin. Head on paws, and tail slow wagging, and beside him on her mat, Sitting drowsy in the fire-light, winked and purred the mottled cat. " Twenty years ! " said Goodman Garvin, speaking sadly, under breath. And his gray head slowly shaking, as one who speaks of death. The goodwife dropped her needles : " It is twenty years to-day Since the Indians fell on Saco, and stole our child away." Then they sank into the silence, for each knew the other's thought. Of a great and common sorrow, and words were needed not. Mary Garvin, 59 " Who knocks ? " cried Goodman Garvin. The door was open thrown ; On two strangers, man and maiden, cloaked and furred, the fire-Hght shone. One with courteous gesture hfted the bear-skin from his head ; " Lives here Elkanah Garvin } " " I am he," the goodman said. " Sit ye down, and dry and warm ye, for the night is chill with rain." And the goodwife drew the settle, and stirred the fire amain. The maid unclasped her cloak-hood, the fire-light glistened fair In her large, moist eyes, and over soft folds of dark brown hair. Dame Garvin looked upon her : " It is Mary's self I see ! Dear heart ! " she cried, " now tell me, has my child come back to me .'' " " My name indeed is Mary," said the stranger, sobbing wild ; " Will you be to me a mother } I am Mary Garvin's child ! " She sleeps by wooded Simcoe, but on her dying day She bade my father take me to her kinsfolk far away. 6o Mary Garvin. V V " And when the priest besought her to do me no such wrong, She said, ' May God forgive me ! I have closed my heart too long. "'When I hid me from my father, and shut out my mother's call, I sinned against those dear ones, and the Father of us all. "'Christ's love rebukes no home-love, breaks no tie of kin apart ; Better heresy in doctrine, than heresy of heart. Alary Garvin. 6i " ' Tell me not the Church must censure : she who wept the Cross beside Never made her own flesh strangers, nor the claims of blood denied ; " ' And if she who wronged her parents with her child atones to them, Earthly daughter, Heavenly mother ! thou at least wilt not condemn ! ' " So, upon her death-bed lying, my blessed mother spake ; As we come to do her bidding, so receive us for her sake." " God be praised ! " said Goodwife Garvin. " He taketh, and he gives ; He woundeth, but he healeth ; in her child our daughter lives ! " " Amen ! " the old man answered, as he brushed a tear away. And, kneeling by his hearthstone, said, with reverence, " Let us pray." All its Oriental symbols, and its Hebrew paraphrase, Warm with earnest life and feeling, rose his prayer of love and praise. 9 62 Mary Garvin. But he started at beholding, as he rose from off his knee, The stranger cross his forehead with the sign of Pa- pistrie. " What is this ? " cried Farmer Garvin. "Is an English Christian's home A chapel or a mass-house, that you make the sign of Rome ? " Then the young girl knelt beside him, kissed his trembling hand, and cried : " O, forbear to chide my father ; in that faith my mother died ! «*. Mary Garvin. 6 J " On her wooden cross at Simcoe the dews and sunshine fall, As they fall on Spurwink's graveyard ; and the dear God watches all ! " The old man stroked the fair head that rested on his knee ; " Your words, dear child," he answered, " are God's rebuke to me. " Creed and rite perchance may differ, yet our faith and hope be one. Let me be your father's father, let him be to me a son." When the horn, on Sabbath morning, through the still and frosty air. From Spurwink, Pool, and Black Point, called to sermon and to prayer, To the goodly house of worship, where, in order due and fit, As by public vote directed, classed and ranked the people sit ; Mistress first and goodwife after, clerkly squire before the clown, From the brave coat, lace embroidered, to the gray frock, shading down ; From the pulpit read the preacher, — " Goodman Garvin and his wife Fain would thank the Lord, whose kindness has followed them through life. 64 Mary Garvin. " For the great and crowning mercy, that their daughter, from the wild, Where she rests (they hope in God's peace), has sent to them her child ; "And the prayers of all God's people they ask, that they may prove Not unworthy, through their weakness, of such special proof of love." As the preacher prayed, uprising, the aged couple stood. And the fair Canadian also, in her modest maiden- hood. Majy Gcn^vin. 65 Thought the elders, grave and doubting, "She is Papist born and bred " ; Thought the young men, " 'T is an angel in Mary Garvin's stead ! " ^ •fa*- -%^t > ^om"% THE RANGER. 13 OBERT RAWLIN ! — Frosts were falling When the ranger's horn was calling Through the woods to Canada. Gone the winter's sleet and snowing, Gone the spring-time's bud and blowing, Gone the summer's harvest mowing. And again the fields are gray. Yet away, he 's away ! Faint and fainter hope is growing In the hearts that mourn his stay. Where the lion, crouching high on Abraham's rock with teeth of iron. Glares o'er wood and wave away, Faintly thence, as pines far sighing, The Ranger. Or as thunder spent and dying, Come the challenge and replying, Come the sounds of flight and fray. Well-a-day ! Hope and pray ! Some are living, some are lying In their red graves far away. 67 ..-©^-^ Nli" ;( Straggling rangers, worn with dangers. Homeward faring, weary strangers Pass the farm-gate on their way ; 68 The Ranger. Tidings of the dead and living, Forest march and ambush, giving. Till the maidens leave their weaving, And the lads forget their play. " Still away, still away ! " Sighs a sad one, sick with grieving, " Why does Robert still delay ! " Nowhere fairer, sweeter, rarer. Does the golden-locked fruit-bearer Through his painted woodlands stray. Than where hillside oaks and beeches Overlook the long, blue reaches. Silver coves and pebbled beaches, And green isles of Casco Bay ; Nowhere day, for delay. With a tenderer look beseeches, " Let me with my charmed earth stay." On the grain-lands of the mainlands Stands the serried corn like train-bands, Plume and pennon rustling gay ; Out at sea, the islands wooded. Silver birches, golden-hooded. Set with maples, crimson-blooded. White sea-foam and sand-hills gray, Stretch away, far away. The Rangc7\ 69 Dim and dreamy, over-brooded By the hazy autumn day. Gayly chattering to the clattering Of the brown nuts downward pattering, Leap the squirrels, red and gray. On the grass-land, on the fallow, Drop the apples, red and yellow. Drop the russet pears and mellow, Drop the red leaves all the day. And away, swift away. Sun and cloud, o'er hill and hollow Chasing, weave their web of play. "Martha Mason, Martha Mason, Prithee tell us of the reason Why you mope at home to-day : Surely smiling is not sinning ; Leave your quilling, leave your spinning ; What is all your store of linen, If your heart is never gay t Come away, come away ! Never yet did sad beginning Make the task of life a play." Overbending, till she 's blending With the flaxen skein she 's tending 70 The Ranger. Pale brown tresses smoothed away From her face of patient sorrow, Sits she, seeking but to borrow, From the trembling hope of morrow, Solace for the weary clay. " Go your way, laugh and play ; Unto Him who heeds the sparrow And the lily, let me pray." The Ranger. 71 " With our rally rings the valley, — Join us ! " cried the blue-eyed Nelly ; "Join us!" cried the laughing May: " To the beach we all are going, And, to save the task of rowing, West by north the wind is blowing. Blowing briskly down the bay ! Come away, come away ! Time and tide are swiftly flowing, Let us take them while we may ! " Never tell us that you '11 fail us, Where the purple beach-plum mellows On the bluffs so wild and gray. Hasten, for the oars are falling ; Hark, our merry mates are calling : Time it is that we were all in, Singing tideward down the bay ! " " Nay, nay, let me stay ; Sore and sad for Robert Rawlin Is my heart," she said, " to-day." ']2 The Ranger, wm^ww^^m^^ yA\\ i\\ " Vain your calling for Rob Rawlin ! Some red squaw his moose-meat 's broiling, Or some French lass, singing gay ; Just forget as he 's forgetting ; What avails a life of fretting ? If some stars must needs be setting, Others rise as good as they." " Cease, I pray ; go your way ! " Martha cries, her eyelids wetting ; " Foul and false the words you say !" " Martha Mason, hear to reason ! Prithee, put a kinder face on ! " " Cease to vex me," did she say ; " Better at his side be lying. With the mournful pine-trees sighing, And the wild birds o'er us crying, Than to doubt like mine a prey ; While away, far away. Turns my heart, forever trying Some new hope for each new day. The Ranger. 73 " When the shadows veil the meadows, And the sunset's golden ladders Sink from twilight's walls of gray, From the window of my dreaming I can see his sickle gleamino- Cheery-voiced, can hear him teaming Down the locust-shaded way ; But away, swift away. Fades the fond, delusive seeming, And I kneel again to pray. i?% " When the growing dawn is showing, And the barn-yard cock is crowing, And the horned moon pales away, From a dream of him awaking, Every sound my heart is making Seems a footstep of his taking ; Then I hush the thought, and say, ' Nay, nay, he 's away ! ' Ah ! my heart, my heart is breaking For the dear one far away." 74 The Ranger. Look up, Martha ! worn and swarthy, Glows a face of manhood worthy : " Robert ! " " Martha ! " all they say. ■:^^ c 'W% O'er went wheel and reel together, Little cared the owner whither ; Heart of lead is heart of feather, Noon of night is noon of day ! Come away, come away ! When such lovers meet each other. Why should prying idlers stay ? The Rancrer. 75 Quench the timber's fallen embers, Quench the red leaves in December's Hoary rime and chilly spray, But the hearth shall kindle clearer, Household welcomes sound sincerer, Heart to loving heart draw nearer. When the bridal bells shall say : " Hope and pray, trust alway ; Life is sweeter, love is dearer, For the trial and delay ! " THE WRECK OF RIVERMOUTH. 13 IVERMOUTH ROCKS are fair to see, -^ ^ By dawn or sunset shone across, When the ebb of the sea has left them free, To dry their fringes of gold-green moss : For there the river comes winding down From salt sea-meadows and uplands brown, And waves on the outer rocks afoam Shout to its waters, " Welcome home ! " And fair are the sunny isles in view East of the grisly Head of the Boar, And Agamenticus lifts its blue Disk of a cloud the woodlands o'er ; The Wreck of Rivernioiith.'. And southerly, when the tide is down, 'Twixt white sea-waves and sand-hills brown, The beach-birds dance and the gray gulls wheel Over a floor of burnished steel. 11. Once, in the old Colonial days, Two hundred years ago and more, A boat sailed down through the winding ways Of Hampton River to that low shore, Full of a goodly company Sailing out on the summer sea, Veering to catch the land-breeze light. With the Boar to left and the Rocks to right. 78 The WT-eck of Rivermouth. In Hampton meadows, where mowers laid Their scythes to the swaths of salted grass, " Ah, well-a-day ! our hay must be made ! " A young man sighed, who saw them pass. Loud laughed his fellows to see him stand Whetting his scythe with a listless hand, Hearing a voice in a far-off song, Watching a white hand beckonins: lone-. " Fie on the witch ! " cried a merry girl, As they rounded the point where Goody Cole Sat by her door with her wheel atwirl, A bent and blear-eyed poor old soul. "Oho!" she muttered, "ye 're brave to-day! But I hear the little waves laugh and say, ' The broth will be cold that waits at home ; For it 's one to go, but another to come ! ' " " She 's cursed," said the skipper ; " speak her fair I 'm scary always to see her shake Her wicked head, with its wild gray hair. And nose like a hawk, and eyes like a snake." But merrily still, with laugh and shout, From Hampton River the boat sailed out. Till the huts and the flakes on Star seemed nigh, And they lost the scent of the pines of Rye. TJie Wreck of Rivermoitth. 79 They dropped their hnes in the lazy tide, Drawing up haddock and mottled cod ; They saw not the Shadow that walked beside, They heard not the feet with silence shod. But thicker and thicker a hot mist grew, Shot by the lightnings through and through : And muffled growls, like the growl of a beast, Ran along the sky from west to east. Then the skipper looked from the darkening sea Up to the dimmed and wading sun ; But he spake like a brave man cheerily, "Yet there is time for our homeward run." Veering and tacking, they backward wore ; And just as a breath from the woods ashore Blew out to whisper of danger past. The wrath of the storm came down at last ! 8o The Wreck of Rivermouth. The skipper hauled at the heavy sail : " God be our help ! " he only cried, As the roaring gale, like the stroke of a flail. Smote the boat on its starboard side. The Shoalsmen looked, but saw alone Dark films of rain-cloud slantwise blown. Wild rocks lit up by the lightning's glare. The strife and torment of sea and air. Goody Cole looked out from her door : The Isles of Shoals were drowned and gone, Scarcely she saw the Head of the Boar Toss the foam from tusks of stone. She clasped her hands with a grip of pain. The tear on her cheek was not of rain : "They are lost," she muttered, "boat and crew Lord, forgive me ! my words were true ! " Suddenly seaward swept the squall ; The low sun smote through cloudy rack ; The Shoals stood clear in the light, and all The trend of the coast lay hard and black. But far and wide as eye could reach, No life was seen upon wave or beach ; The boat that went out at morning never Sailed back again into Hampton River. The Wreck of Rivermouth. • O mower, lean on thy bended snath, Look from the meadows green and low The wind of the sea is a waft of death, The waves are singing a song of woe ! By silent river, by moaning sea. Long and vain shall thy watching be : Never again shall the sweet voice call, Never the white hand rise and fall ! O Rivermouth Rocks, how sad a sight Ye saw in the light of breaking day ! The Wreck of Rivermouth. Dead faces looking up cold and white From sand and sea-weed where they lay. The mad old witch-wife wailed and wept, And cursed the tide as it backward crept : " Crawl back, crawl back, blue water-snake ! Leave your dead for the hearts that break ! " Solemn it was in that old day In Hampton town and its log-built church, Where side by side the coffins lay And the mourners stood in aisle and jDorch. In the singing-seats young eyes were dim, The voices faltered that raised the hymn. And Father Dalton, grave and stern, Sobbed through his prayer and wept in turn. But his ancient colleague did not pray, Because of his sin at fourscore years : He stood apart, with the iron-gray Of his strong brows knitted to hide his tears. And a wretched woman, holding her breath In the awful presence of sin and death, Cowered and shrank, while her neighbors thronged To look on the dead her shame had wronged. The Wreck of Rivejnnonth. Apart with them, Hke them forbid, Old Goody Cole looked drearily round, As, two by two, with their faces hid, The mourners walked to the burying-ground. She let the staff from her clasped hands fall : " Lord, forgive us ! we 're sinners all ! " And the voice of the old man answered her : " Amen ! " said Father Bachiler. 83 So, as I sat upon Appledore In the calm of a closing summer day, And the broken lines of Hampton shore In purple mist of cloud-land lay, The Rivermouth Rocks their story told ; And waves aglow with sunset gold, Rising and breaking in steady chime, Beat the rhythm and kept the time. 84 The Wreck of Rivermouth. And the sunset paled, and warmed once more With a softer, tenderer after-glow ; In the east was moon-rise, with boats off shore And sails in the distance drifting slow. The beacon glimmered from Portsmouth bar, The White Isle kindled its great red star ; And life and death in my old-time lay Mingled in peace like the night and day ! THE CHANGELING. T70R the fairest maid in Hampton ^ Tliey needed not to searcli, Who saw young- Anna Favor Come wallvins^ into church, — Or bringing from the meadows, At set of harvest-day, The frolic of the blackbirds, The sweetness of tlic hay. Now the weariest of all mothers. The saddest two-years' bride. She scowls in the face of her husband, And spurns her child aside. 86 The Changeling. \\ "Rake out the red coals, goodman, For there the child shall lie, Till the black witch comes to fetch her, And both up chimney fly. " It 's never my own little daughter, It 's never my own," she said ; "The witches have stolen my Anna, And left me an imp instead. " O, fair and sweet was my baby, Blue eyes, and hair of gold ; But this is ugly and wrinkled, Cross, and cunning, and old. The Changeling. Z'] " I hate the touch of her fingers, I hate the feel of her skin ; It 's not the milk from my bosom, But my blood, that she sucks in. " My face grows sharp with the torment ; Look ! my arms are skin and bone ! — Rake open the red coals, goodman. And the witch shall have her own. " She '11 come when she hears it crying, In the shape of an owl or bat, And she '11 bring us our darling Anna In place of her screeching brat." Then the goodman, Ezra Dalton, Laid his hand upon her head : " Thy sorrow is great, O woman ! I sorrow with thee," he said. " The paths to trouble are many, And never but one sure way Leads out to the light beyond it : My poor wife, let us pray." The Changeling. Then he said to the great All-F'ather, " Thy daughter is weak and blind ; Let her sight come back, and clothe her Once more in her right mind. " Lead her out of this evil shadow, Out of these fancies wild ; Let the holy love of the mother Turn again to her child. " Make her lips like the lips of Mary Kissing her blessed Son ; Let her hands, like the hands of Jesus, Rest on her Httle one. " Comfort the soul of thy handmaid. Open her prison-door, And thine shall be all the glory And praise forevermore." Then into the face of its mother The baby looked up and smiled ; And the cloud of her soul was lifted. And she knew her little child. The Changeling. 89 A beam of the slant west sunshine Made the wan face almost fair, Lit the blue eyes' patient wonder, And the rings of pale gold hair. She kissed it on lip and forehead, She kissed it on cheek and chin, And she bared her snow-white bosom To the lips so pale and thin. go The Changeling. O, fair on her bridal morning Was the maid who blushed and smiled, But fairer to Ezra Dalton Looked the mother of his child. With more than a lover's fondness He stooped to her worn young face. And the nursing child and the mother He folded in one embrace. " Blessed be God ! " he murmured. " Blessed be God ! " she said ; " For I see, who once was blinded, I live, who once was dead. " Now mount and ride, my goodman. As thou lovest thy own soul ! Woe 's me if my wicked fancies Be the death of Goody Cole ! " His horse he saddled and bridled, And into the night rode he, — Now through the great black woodland, Now by the white-beached sea. The Chano-clinc^. 91 He rode through the silent clearings, He came to the ferry wide, And thrice he called to the boatman Asleep on the other side. He set his horse to the river, He swam to Newbury town. And he called up Justice Sewall In his nightcap and his gown. And the grave and worshipful justice (Upon whose soul be peace !) Set his name to the jailer's warrant For Goody Cole's release. 92 The Changeling. Then through the night the hoof-beats Went sounding hke a flail ; And Goody Cole at cockcrow Came forth from Ipswich jail. «^ -^^ 'V^ A 4-^ 4 o - ^ .r V<4 >4> O V -^ ^ rO"-. <$^^ °° ^•^ .U'«. -^^ ^^-;^ ,^^ ^. *^. > ^ ,^ •^ G" ^"-^^^ '^ K^ 0' A ^ .0^ <-^ ^ %°mwsA^ -V" .<^ G 0^ .-^" -0^ 3 O v^ ^<; v^ „^r^''^. ^ 1 O * a " " aO ST. AUGUSTINE f,""^^ ^ "-^