Welcome was Winter, to the agriculturist of olden times,Then, while fruitful Earth, with whom he was in league, held her sabbath,Knowledge entered into his soul. At the lengthened evening,Read he in an audible voice to his listening familyGrave books of History, or elaborate Theology,Taxing thought and memory, but not setting fancy on tiptoeTeaching reverence for wise men, and for God, the Giver of Wisdom.Not then had the era arrived, when of making books there is no end.Painfully the laboring press, brought forth like the kingly whaleOne cub at a time, guiding it carefully over the billows,Watching with pride and pleasure, its own wonderful offspring.A large, fair volume, was in those days, as molten gold,Touched only with clean hands, and by testators willed to their heirs.
Welcome was Winter, to the agriculturist of olden times,Then, while fruitful Earth, with whom he was in league, held her sabbath,Knowledge entered into his soul. At the lengthened evening,Read he in an audible voice to his listening familyGrave books of History, or elaborate Theology,Taxing thought and memory, but not setting fancy on tiptoeTeaching reverence for wise men, and for God, the Giver of Wisdom.Not then had the era arrived, when of making books there is no end.Painfully the laboring press, brought forth like the kingly whaleOne cub at a time, guiding it carefully over the billows,Watching with pride and pleasure, its own wonderful offspring.A large, fair volume, was in those days, as molten gold,Touched only with clean hands, and by testators willed to their heirs.
Welcome was Winter, to the agriculturist of olden times,
Then, while fruitful Earth, with whom he was in league, held her sabbath,
Knowledge entered into his soul. At the lengthened evening,
Read he in an audible voice to his listening family
Grave books of History, or elaborate Theology,
Taxing thought and memory, but not setting fancy on tiptoe
Teaching reverence for wise men, and for God, the Giver of Wisdom.
Not then had the era arrived, when of making books there is no end.
Painfully the laboring press, brought forth like the kingly whale
One cub at a time, guiding it carefully over the billows,
Watching with pride and pleasure, its own wonderful offspring.
A large, fair volume, was in those days, as molten gold,
Touched only with clean hands, and by testators willed to their heirs.
Winter also, brought the school for the boys,—released from farm-labor.Early was the substantial breakfast, in those short, frosty mornings,That equipped in season, might be the caravan for its enterprise,Punctuality in those simple times being enrolled among the virtues.There they go! a rosy group, bearing in small baskets their dinner;Plunging thro' all snow-drifts, the boys,—on all ices sliding the girls,Yet leaving not the straight path, lest tardy should be their arrival.Lone on the bleak hill-side, stood the unpainted village school-house,Winds taking aim at it like a target, smoke belching from its chimney,Bare to the fiery suns of summer, like the treeless Nantucket.Desks were ranged under the windows where on high benches without backsSate the little ones, their feet vainly reaching toward the distant floor,Commanded everlastingly to keep still and to be still,As if immobility were the climax of all excellence;Hard lesson for quick nerves, and eyes searching for something new.Nature endowed them with curiosity, but man wiser than sheCalling himself a teacher, would fain stiffen them into statues.No bright visions of the school-palaces of future daysWith seats of ease, and carpets, and pianos, and pictured walls,And green lawns, pleasantly shaded, stretching wide for play,And knowledge fondling her pets, and unveiling her royal road,Gleam'd before them as Eden, kindling smiles on their thoughtful faces.
Winter also, brought the school for the boys,—released from farm-labor.Early was the substantial breakfast, in those short, frosty mornings,That equipped in season, might be the caravan for its enterprise,Punctuality in those simple times being enrolled among the virtues.There they go! a rosy group, bearing in small baskets their dinner;Plunging thro' all snow-drifts, the boys,—on all ices sliding the girls,Yet leaving not the straight path, lest tardy should be their arrival.Lone on the bleak hill-side, stood the unpainted village school-house,Winds taking aim at it like a target, smoke belching from its chimney,Bare to the fiery suns of summer, like the treeless Nantucket.Desks were ranged under the windows where on high benches without backsSate the little ones, their feet vainly reaching toward the distant floor,Commanded everlastingly to keep still and to be still,As if immobility were the climax of all excellence;Hard lesson for quick nerves, and eyes searching for something new.Nature endowed them with curiosity, but man wiser than sheCalling himself a teacher, would fain stiffen them into statues.No bright visions of the school-palaces of future daysWith seats of ease, and carpets, and pianos, and pictured walls,And green lawns, pleasantly shaded, stretching wide for play,And knowledge fondling her pets, and unveiling her royal road,Gleam'd before them as Eden, kindling smiles on their thoughtful faces.
Winter also, brought the school for the boys,—released from farm-labor.
Early was the substantial breakfast, in those short, frosty mornings,
That equipped in season, might be the caravan for its enterprise,
Punctuality in those simple times being enrolled among the virtues.
There they go! a rosy group, bearing in small baskets their dinner;
Plunging thro' all snow-drifts, the boys,—on all ices sliding the girls,
Yet leaving not the straight path, lest tardy should be their arrival.
Lone on the bleak hill-side, stood the unpainted village school-house,
Winds taking aim at it like a target, smoke belching from its chimney,
Bare to the fiery suns of summer, like the treeless Nantucket.
Desks were ranged under the windows where on high benches without backs
Sate the little ones, their feet vainly reaching toward the distant floor,
Commanded everlastingly to keep still and to be still,
As if immobility were the climax of all excellence;
Hard lesson for quick nerves, and eyes searching for something new.
Nature endowed them with curiosity, but man wiser than she
Calling himself a teacher, would fain stiffen them into statues.
No bright visions of the school-palaces of future days
With seats of ease, and carpets, and pianos, and pictured walls,
And green lawns, pleasantly shaded, stretching wide for play,
And knowledge fondling her pets, and unveiling her royal road,
Gleam'd before them as Eden, kindling smiles on their thoughtful faces.
Favor'd were the elder scholars with more congenial tasks:Loudly read they in their classes, glorying in the noise they made,Busily over the slates moved the hard pencils, with a grating sound,Diligently on coarse paper wrote they, with quill pens, bushy topp'd,Blessed in having lived, ere the metallic stylus was invented.Rang'd early around the fire, have been their frozen inkstands,Where in rotation sits each scholar briefly, by the master's leave,Roasting on one side, and on the other a petrefaction,Keen blasts through the crevices delighting to whistle and mock them.Patient were the children, not given to murmuring or complaining,Learning through privation, lessons of value for a future life,Subjection, application, and love of knowledge for itself alone.On a high chair, sate the solemn Master, watchful of all things,Absolute was his sway and in this authority he gloried,Conforming it much to the Spartan rule, and the code of Solomon,Showing no mercy to idleness, or wrong uses of the slippery tongue:Yet to diligent students kind, and of their proficiency boastful,Exhibiting their copy-books, to committee-man and visitant,Or calling out the declaimers, in some stentorian dialogue.Few were the studies then pursued, but thoroughness required in all,Surface-work not being in vogue, nor rootless blossoms regarded.Especially well-taught was the orthography of our copious language,False spelling being as a sin to be punished by the judges.In this difficult attainment the master sometimes accordedA form of friendly conflict sought with ardor as a premium,Stirring the belligerent element, ever strong in boyish natures.Forth came at close of the school-day, two of reproachless conduct,Naming first the best spellers, they proceeded to choose alternately,Till all, old and young, ranging under opposite banners,Drawn up as in battle array, each other stoutly confronted.Rapidly given out by the leaders to their marshall'd forces,Word by word, with its definition, was the allotted lesson,Vociferously answered from each side like discharges of artillery;Fatal was the slightest mistake, fatal even pause or hesitation,Doubt was for the vanquished, to deliberate was to be lost.Drooping with disgrace down sate each discomfited pupil,Bravely stood the perfect, the most unbroken line gaining the victory.Not unboastful were the conquerers, cheered with shouts on their homeward way,Crest-fallen were the defeated, yet eager for a future contest.Strong elements thus enlisted, gave new vigor to mental toil,As the swimmer puts forth more force till the rapids are overpast.Dear to the persevering, were those schools of the olden time,Respected were the teachers, who with majestic austerity,Dispensed without favoritism, a Lacedamonian justice.Learning was not then loved for luxury, like a lady for her gold,But testing her worshippers by trial, knew who sought her for herself.
Favor'd were the elder scholars with more congenial tasks:Loudly read they in their classes, glorying in the noise they made,Busily over the slates moved the hard pencils, with a grating sound,Diligently on coarse paper wrote they, with quill pens, bushy topp'd,Blessed in having lived, ere the metallic stylus was invented.Rang'd early around the fire, have been their frozen inkstands,Where in rotation sits each scholar briefly, by the master's leave,Roasting on one side, and on the other a petrefaction,Keen blasts through the crevices delighting to whistle and mock them.Patient were the children, not given to murmuring or complaining,Learning through privation, lessons of value for a future life,Subjection, application, and love of knowledge for itself alone.On a high chair, sate the solemn Master, watchful of all things,Absolute was his sway and in this authority he gloried,Conforming it much to the Spartan rule, and the code of Solomon,Showing no mercy to idleness, or wrong uses of the slippery tongue:Yet to diligent students kind, and of their proficiency boastful,Exhibiting their copy-books, to committee-man and visitant,Or calling out the declaimers, in some stentorian dialogue.Few were the studies then pursued, but thoroughness required in all,Surface-work not being in vogue, nor rootless blossoms regarded.Especially well-taught was the orthography of our copious language,False spelling being as a sin to be punished by the judges.In this difficult attainment the master sometimes accordedA form of friendly conflict sought with ardor as a premium,Stirring the belligerent element, ever strong in boyish natures.Forth came at close of the school-day, two of reproachless conduct,Naming first the best spellers, they proceeded to choose alternately,Till all, old and young, ranging under opposite banners,Drawn up as in battle array, each other stoutly confronted.Rapidly given out by the leaders to their marshall'd forces,Word by word, with its definition, was the allotted lesson,Vociferously answered from each side like discharges of artillery;Fatal was the slightest mistake, fatal even pause or hesitation,Doubt was for the vanquished, to deliberate was to be lost.Drooping with disgrace down sate each discomfited pupil,Bravely stood the perfect, the most unbroken line gaining the victory.Not unboastful were the conquerers, cheered with shouts on their homeward way,Crest-fallen were the defeated, yet eager for a future contest.Strong elements thus enlisted, gave new vigor to mental toil,As the swimmer puts forth more force till the rapids are overpast.Dear to the persevering, were those schools of the olden time,Respected were the teachers, who with majestic austerity,Dispensed without favoritism, a Lacedamonian justice.Learning was not then loved for luxury, like a lady for her gold,But testing her worshippers by trial, knew who sought her for herself.
Favor'd were the elder scholars with more congenial tasks:
Loudly read they in their classes, glorying in the noise they made,
Busily over the slates moved the hard pencils, with a grating sound,
Diligently on coarse paper wrote they, with quill pens, bushy topp'd,
Blessed in having lived, ere the metallic stylus was invented.
Rang'd early around the fire, have been their frozen inkstands,
Where in rotation sits each scholar briefly, by the master's leave,
Roasting on one side, and on the other a petrefaction,
Keen blasts through the crevices delighting to whistle and mock them.
Patient were the children, not given to murmuring or complaining,
Learning through privation, lessons of value for a future life,
Subjection, application, and love of knowledge for itself alone.
On a high chair, sate the solemn Master, watchful of all things,
Absolute was his sway and in this authority he gloried,
Conforming it much to the Spartan rule, and the code of Solomon,
Showing no mercy to idleness, or wrong uses of the slippery tongue:
Yet to diligent students kind, and of their proficiency boastful,
Exhibiting their copy-books, to committee-man and visitant,
Or calling out the declaimers, in some stentorian dialogue.
Few were the studies then pursued, but thoroughness required in all,
Surface-work not being in vogue, nor rootless blossoms regarded.
Especially well-taught was the orthography of our copious language,
False spelling being as a sin to be punished by the judges.
In this difficult attainment the master sometimes accorded
A form of friendly conflict sought with ardor as a premium,
Stirring the belligerent element, ever strong in boyish natures.
Forth came at close of the school-day, two of reproachless conduct,
Naming first the best spellers, they proceeded to choose alternately,
Till all, old and young, ranging under opposite banners,
Drawn up as in battle array, each other stoutly confronted.
Rapidly given out by the leaders to their marshall'd forces,
Word by word, with its definition, was the allotted lesson,
Vociferously answered from each side like discharges of artillery;
Fatal was the slightest mistake, fatal even pause or hesitation,
Doubt was for the vanquished, to deliberate was to be lost.
Drooping with disgrace down sate each discomfited pupil,
Bravely stood the perfect, the most unbroken line gaining the victory.
Not unboastful were the conquerers, cheered with shouts on their homeward way,
Crest-fallen were the defeated, yet eager for a future contest.
Strong elements thus enlisted, gave new vigor to mental toil,
As the swimmer puts forth more force till the rapids are overpast.
Dear to the persevering, were those schools of the olden time,
Respected were the teachers, who with majestic austerity,
Dispensed without favoritism, a Lacedamonian justice.
Learning was not then loved for luxury, like a lady for her gold,
But testing her worshippers by trial, knew who sought her for herself.
Not given to frequent feasting was the home-bred farmer of New England,Parties, and the popular lectures swelled not his code of enjoyments.One banquet, climax of his convivial delight, was the yearly thanksgiving,Substituted by puritan settlers for the Christmas of the Mother-Clime,Keeping in memory the feast of ingathering, of the Ancient Covenant People;Drear November was its appointed season, when earth's bounty being garnered,Man might rest from his labors, and praise the Lord of the Harvest.Such was its original design, but the tendencies of Saxonism,Turn'd it more to eating and drinking, than devotional remembrance.Yet blessed was the time, summoning homeward every wanderer:Back came the city apprentice, and from her service place the damsel,Back came the married daughter to the father's quiet hearth-stone,Wrapped warmly in her cloak is a babe, its eyes full of wonder,—Hand in hand, walked the little ones, bowing low before the grandparents,Meekly craving their blessing, for so had they been piously taught.Back to the birth-spot, to the shadow of their trees ancestral,Came they like joyous streams, to their first untroubled fountain,Knowing better how to prize it, from the rocks that had barred their course.In primitive guise, journeyed homeward those dispersed ones.Rare, in these days, was the carriage, or stage-coach for the traveller;Roads, unmacadamized, making rude havoc of delicate springs.Around the door, horses gather with the antique side-saddle and pillion,Led thence to the full barn, while their riders find heartfelt welcome.
Not given to frequent feasting was the home-bred farmer of New England,Parties, and the popular lectures swelled not his code of enjoyments.One banquet, climax of his convivial delight, was the yearly thanksgiving,Substituted by puritan settlers for the Christmas of the Mother-Clime,Keeping in memory the feast of ingathering, of the Ancient Covenant People;Drear November was its appointed season, when earth's bounty being garnered,Man might rest from his labors, and praise the Lord of the Harvest.Such was its original design, but the tendencies of Saxonism,Turn'd it more to eating and drinking, than devotional remembrance.Yet blessed was the time, summoning homeward every wanderer:Back came the city apprentice, and from her service place the damsel,Back came the married daughter to the father's quiet hearth-stone,Wrapped warmly in her cloak is a babe, its eyes full of wonder,—Hand in hand, walked the little ones, bowing low before the grandparents,Meekly craving their blessing, for so had they been piously taught.Back to the birth-spot, to the shadow of their trees ancestral,Came they like joyous streams, to their first untroubled fountain,Knowing better how to prize it, from the rocks that had barred their course.In primitive guise, journeyed homeward those dispersed ones.Rare, in these days, was the carriage, or stage-coach for the traveller;Roads, unmacadamized, making rude havoc of delicate springs.Around the door, horses gather with the antique side-saddle and pillion,Led thence to the full barn, while their riders find heartfelt welcome.
Not given to frequent feasting was the home-bred farmer of New England,
Parties, and the popular lectures swelled not his code of enjoyments.
One banquet, climax of his convivial delight, was the yearly thanksgiving,
Substituted by puritan settlers for the Christmas of the Mother-Clime,
Keeping in memory the feast of ingathering, of the Ancient Covenant People;
Drear November was its appointed season, when earth's bounty being garnered,
Man might rest from his labors, and praise the Lord of the Harvest.
Such was its original design, but the tendencies of Saxonism,
Turn'd it more to eating and drinking, than devotional remembrance.
Yet blessed was the time, summoning homeward every wanderer:
Back came the city apprentice, and from her service place the damsel,
Back came the married daughter to the father's quiet hearth-stone,
Wrapped warmly in her cloak is a babe, its eyes full of wonder,—
Hand in hand, walked the little ones, bowing low before the grandparents,
Meekly craving their blessing, for so had they been piously taught.
Back to the birth-spot, to the shadow of their trees ancestral,
Came they like joyous streams, to their first untroubled fountain,
Knowing better how to prize it, from the rocks that had barred their course.
In primitive guise, journeyed homeward those dispersed ones.
Rare, in these days, was the carriage, or stage-coach for the traveller;
Roads, unmacadamized, making rude havoc of delicate springs.
Around the door, horses gather with the antique side-saddle and pillion,
Led thence to the full barn, while their riders find heartfelt welcome.
Then all whom culinary cares release, hasten to the House of Worship,Religion being invoked to sanction the rejoicing of the fathers.Plain was the village-church, a structure of darkened wood,Having doors on three sides, and flanked by sheds for the horses,Guiltless of blackening stove-pipe, or the smouldering fires of the furnace.Assaulted oft were its windows, by the sonorous North-Western,Making organ-pipes in the forest, for its shrill improvisationsPatient of cold, sate the people, each household in its own square pew,Palisaded above the heads of the children, imprisoning their roving eyes.Patiently sate the people, while from 'neath the great sounding-board,The preacher unfolded his sermon, like the many-headed cauliflower.Grave was the good pastor, not prone to pamper animal appetites,But mainly intent to deal with that which is immortal.Prolix might he have been deemed, save by the flock he guided,Who duteously accounted him but a little lower than the angels.
Then all whom culinary cares release, hasten to the House of Worship,Religion being invoked to sanction the rejoicing of the fathers.Plain was the village-church, a structure of darkened wood,Having doors on three sides, and flanked by sheds for the horses,Guiltless of blackening stove-pipe, or the smouldering fires of the furnace.Assaulted oft were its windows, by the sonorous North-Western,Making organ-pipes in the forest, for its shrill improvisationsPatient of cold, sate the people, each household in its own square pew,Palisaded above the heads of the children, imprisoning their roving eyes.Patiently sate the people, while from 'neath the great sounding-board,The preacher unfolded his sermon, like the many-headed cauliflower.Grave was the good pastor, not prone to pamper animal appetites,But mainly intent to deal with that which is immortal.Prolix might he have been deemed, save by the flock he guided,Who duteously accounted him but a little lower than the angels.
Then all whom culinary cares release, hasten to the House of Worship,
Religion being invoked to sanction the rejoicing of the fathers.
Plain was the village-church, a structure of darkened wood,
Having doors on three sides, and flanked by sheds for the horses,
Guiltless of blackening stove-pipe, or the smouldering fires of the furnace.
Assaulted oft were its windows, by the sonorous North-Western,
Making organ-pipes in the forest, for its shrill improvisations
Patient of cold, sate the people, each household in its own square pew,
Palisaded above the heads of the children, imprisoning their roving eyes.
Patiently sate the people, while from 'neath the great sounding-board,
The preacher unfolded his sermon, like the many-headed cauliflower.
Grave was the good pastor, not prone to pamper animal appetites,
But mainly intent to deal with that which is immortal.
Prolix might he have been deemed, save by the flock he guided,
Who duteously accounted him but a little lower than the angels.
As solemn music to the sound of his monotonous periodsListened attentively the young, until he slowly enunciatedFifteenthly, in the division of his elaborate discourse.Then gadded away their busy thoughts to the Thanksgiving dinner,Visioning good things to come.
As solemn music to the sound of his monotonous periodsListened attentively the young, until he slowly enunciatedFifteenthly, in the division of his elaborate discourse.Then gadded away their busy thoughts to the Thanksgiving dinner,Visioning good things to come.
As solemn music to the sound of his monotonous periods
Listened attentively the young, until he slowly enunciated
Fifteenthly, in the division of his elaborate discourse.
Then gadded away their busy thoughts to the Thanksgiving dinner,
Visioning good things to come.
At length, around the table,Duly bless'd by the Master of the feast, they cheerily assemble.Before him, as his perquisite, and prerogative to carve.In a lordly dish smokes the huge, well-browned Turkey,Chickens were there, to whose innocent lives Thanksgiving is ever a death-knell;Luscious roasters from the pen, the large ham of a red complexion,Garnish'd and intermingled with varied forms of vegetable wealth.Ample pasties were attached, and demolished with dexterity,Custards and tarts, and compounds of the golden-faced pumpkin,Prime favorite, without whose aid, scarcely could New England have been thankful.Apples, with plump, waxen cheeks, chestnuts, and the fruit of the hickory,Bisected neatly, without fragment, furnished the simple dessert,Finale to that festival where each guest might be safely merry.Hence, by happy-hearted children, was it hailed as the pole-star,Toward which Memory looked backward six months, and Hope forward for six to come,Dating reverently from its era, as the Moslem from his Hegira.Hymen also hailed it as his revenue, and crowning time;Bachelors wearied with the restraints that courtship imposes,Longed for it, as the Israelite for the jubilee of release,And many a householder, in his family-bible marked its dateAs the day of his espousals, and of the gladness of his heart.
At length, around the table,Duly bless'd by the Master of the feast, they cheerily assemble.Before him, as his perquisite, and prerogative to carve.In a lordly dish smokes the huge, well-browned Turkey,Chickens were there, to whose innocent lives Thanksgiving is ever a death-knell;Luscious roasters from the pen, the large ham of a red complexion,Garnish'd and intermingled with varied forms of vegetable wealth.Ample pasties were attached, and demolished with dexterity,Custards and tarts, and compounds of the golden-faced pumpkin,Prime favorite, without whose aid, scarcely could New England have been thankful.Apples, with plump, waxen cheeks, chestnuts, and the fruit of the hickory,Bisected neatly, without fragment, furnished the simple dessert,Finale to that festival where each guest might be safely merry.Hence, by happy-hearted children, was it hailed as the pole-star,Toward which Memory looked backward six months, and Hope forward for six to come,Dating reverently from its era, as the Moslem from his Hegira.Hymen also hailed it as his revenue, and crowning time;Bachelors wearied with the restraints that courtship imposes,Longed for it, as the Israelite for the jubilee of release,And many a householder, in his family-bible marked its dateAs the day of his espousals, and of the gladness of his heart.
At length, around the table,
Duly bless'd by the Master of the feast, they cheerily assemble.
Before him, as his perquisite, and prerogative to carve.
In a lordly dish smokes the huge, well-browned Turkey,
Chickens were there, to whose innocent lives Thanksgiving is ever a death-knell;
Luscious roasters from the pen, the large ham of a red complexion,
Garnish'd and intermingled with varied forms of vegetable wealth.
Ample pasties were attached, and demolished with dexterity,
Custards and tarts, and compounds of the golden-faced pumpkin,
Prime favorite, without whose aid, scarcely could New England have been thankful.
Apples, with plump, waxen cheeks, chestnuts, and the fruit of the hickory,
Bisected neatly, without fragment, furnished the simple dessert,
Finale to that festival where each guest might be safely merry.
Hence, by happy-hearted children, was it hailed as the pole-star,
Toward which Memory looked backward six months, and Hope forward for six to come,
Dating reverently from its era, as the Moslem from his Hegira.
Hymen also hailed it as his revenue, and crowning time;
Bachelors wearied with the restraints that courtship imposes,
Longed for it, as the Israelite for the jubilee of release,
And many a householder, in his family-bible marked its date
As the day of his espousals, and of the gladness of his heart.
Content was the life of agriculture, in unison with that wisest prayer"Thy will be done." Wisest, because who, save the EternalKnoweth what is best for man, walking ignorantly among shadows,Himself a shadow, not like Adam our father in Paradise,Rightly naming all things, but calling evil, good, and good, evil,Blindly blaming the discipline that might bless him ever-lastingly,And embracing desires, that in their bosom hide the dagger of Ehud.Asketh he for honor? In its train are envyings and cares;"Wealth? It may drown the soul in destruction and perdition;Power? Lo! it casteth on some lone St. Helena to die:Surely, safest of all petitions, is that of our blessed Saviour,—"Not my will hut Thine."
Content was the life of agriculture, in unison with that wisest prayer"Thy will be done." Wisest, because who, save the EternalKnoweth what is best for man, walking ignorantly among shadows,Himself a shadow, not like Adam our father in Paradise,Rightly naming all things, but calling evil, good, and good, evil,Blindly blaming the discipline that might bless him ever-lastingly,And embracing desires, that in their bosom hide the dagger of Ehud.Asketh he for honor? In its train are envyings and cares;"Wealth? It may drown the soul in destruction and perdition;Power? Lo! it casteth on some lone St. Helena to die:Surely, safest of all petitions, is that of our blessed Saviour,—"Not my will hut Thine."
Content was the life of agriculture, in unison with that wisest prayer
"Thy will be done." Wisest, because who, save the Eternal
Knoweth what is best for man, walking ignorantly among shadows,
Himself a shadow, not like Adam our father in Paradise,
Rightly naming all things, but calling evil, good, and good, evil,
Blindly blaming the discipline that might bless him ever-lastingly,
And embracing desires, that in their bosom hide the dagger of Ehud.
Asketh he for honor? In its train are envyings and cares;
"Wealth? It may drown the soul in destruction and perdition;
Power? Lo! it casteth on some lone St. Helena to die:
Surely, safest of all petitions, is that of our blessed Saviour,—
"Not my will hut Thine."
Thus, as it was in the days before us,Rural life in New-England, with its thrift, and simplicity,Minutely have I depicted, not emulous of embellishment.More of refinement might it boast when our beautiful birth-clime,From the colonial chrysalis emerging, spread her wing among the nations.Then rose an aristocracy, founded not on wealth aloneThat winds may scatter like desert sands, or the floods wash away,But on the rock of solid virtue, where securely anchors the soul.
Thus, as it was in the days before us,Rural life in New-England, with its thrift, and simplicity,Minutely have I depicted, not emulous of embellishment.More of refinement might it boast when our beautiful birth-clime,From the colonial chrysalis emerging, spread her wing among the nations.Then rose an aristocracy, founded not on wealth aloneThat winds may scatter like desert sands, or the floods wash away,But on the rock of solid virtue, where securely anchors the soul.
Thus, as it was in the days before us,
Rural life in New-England, with its thrift, and simplicity,
Minutely have I depicted, not emulous of embellishment.
More of refinement might it boast when our beautiful birth-clime,
From the colonial chrysalis emerging, spread her wing among the nations.
Then rose an aristocracy, founded not on wealth alone
That winds may scatter like desert sands, or the floods wash away,
But on the rock of solid virtue, where securely anchors the soul.
Mid its cultured acres rose gracefully a dwelling of the better class,Large, but not lofty, its white walls softened by surrounding shades,Fresh turf at its feet like velvet, green boughs bannering its head,Bannering, and dropping music, till the last rustle of the falling leaves.There, still in her comely prime, dwelt the lady of the mansion.Moderate would her fortune be held in these days that count by millions,Yet rich was she, because having no debts, what seemed to be hers, was so;Rich, in having a surplus for the poor, which she gladly imparted;Rich too, through Agriculture, pursued less from need than habit.Habit mingled with satisfaction, and bringing health in its train.Early widowhood had touched her brow with sadness such as time bringeth,Yet in her clear eye was a fortitude, surmounting adversity.Busy were her maidens, and happy, their right conduct kindly approved,Busy also the swains thro' whose toil her fields yielded increase,Respect had she for labor; knowing both what to require, and when it was well performed,Readily rendering full wages, with smiles and words of counsel,Accounting those who served her, friends, entitled to advice and sympathy.Thus, looking well to the ways of her household, and from each expecting their duty,Wisely divided she her time, and at intervals of leisure,Books allured her cultured mind through realms of thought and knowledge.
Mid its cultured acres rose gracefully a dwelling of the better class,Large, but not lofty, its white walls softened by surrounding shades,Fresh turf at its feet like velvet, green boughs bannering its head,Bannering, and dropping music, till the last rustle of the falling leaves.There, still in her comely prime, dwelt the lady of the mansion.Moderate would her fortune be held in these days that count by millions,Yet rich was she, because having no debts, what seemed to be hers, was so;Rich, in having a surplus for the poor, which she gladly imparted;Rich too, through Agriculture, pursued less from need than habit.Habit mingled with satisfaction, and bringing health in its train.Early widowhood had touched her brow with sadness such as time bringeth,Yet in her clear eye was a fortitude, surmounting adversity.Busy were her maidens, and happy, their right conduct kindly approved,Busy also the swains thro' whose toil her fields yielded increase,Respect had she for labor; knowing both what to require, and when it was well performed,Readily rendering full wages, with smiles and words of counsel,Accounting those who served her, friends, entitled to advice and sympathy.Thus, looking well to the ways of her household, and from each expecting their duty,Wisely divided she her time, and at intervals of leisure,Books allured her cultured mind through realms of thought and knowledge.
Mid its cultured acres rose gracefully a dwelling of the better class,
Large, but not lofty, its white walls softened by surrounding shades,
Fresh turf at its feet like velvet, green boughs bannering its head,
Bannering, and dropping music, till the last rustle of the falling leaves.
There, still in her comely prime, dwelt the lady of the mansion.
Moderate would her fortune be held in these days that count by millions,
Yet rich was she, because having no debts, what seemed to be hers, was so;
Rich, in having a surplus for the poor, which she gladly imparted;
Rich too, through Agriculture, pursued less from need than habit.
Habit mingled with satisfaction, and bringing health in its train.
Early widowhood had touched her brow with sadness such as time bringeth,
Yet in her clear eye was a fortitude, surmounting adversity.
Busy were her maidens, and happy, their right conduct kindly approved,
Busy also the swains thro' whose toil her fields yielded increase,
Respect had she for labor; knowing both what to require, and when it was well performed,
Readily rendering full wages, with smiles and words of counsel,
Accounting those who served her, friends, entitled to advice and sympathy.
Thus, looking well to the ways of her household, and from each expecting their duty,
Wisely divided she her time, and at intervals of leisure,
Books allured her cultured mind through realms of thought and knowledge.
But the deepest well-spring of her joys, not yet hath been unfolded,A fountain where care and sorrow forgot both their name and nature.Two little daughters, like olive plants, grew beside that fountain,One, with dark, deepset eyes, and wealth of raven tresses,The other gleaming as a sunbeam, through her veil of golden hair,With a glance like living sapphire, making the beholder glad.Clinging to the sweet mother's hand, smiling when she smiled,If she were sad, grieving also, they were her blessed comforters,Morn and Even were they styled by admiring, fanciful visitants,So "the evening and the morning, were to her soul the first day,"After the heavy midnight of her weeping and widowhood.
But the deepest well-spring of her joys, not yet hath been unfolded,A fountain where care and sorrow forgot both their name and nature.Two little daughters, like olive plants, grew beside that fountain,One, with dark, deepset eyes, and wealth of raven tresses,The other gleaming as a sunbeam, through her veil of golden hair,With a glance like living sapphire, making the beholder glad.Clinging to the sweet mother's hand, smiling when she smiled,If she were sad, grieving also, they were her blessed comforters,Morn and Even were they styled by admiring, fanciful visitants,So "the evening and the morning, were to her soul the first day,"After the heavy midnight of her weeping and widowhood.
But the deepest well-spring of her joys, not yet hath been unfolded,
A fountain where care and sorrow forgot both their name and nature.
Two little daughters, like olive plants, grew beside that fountain,
One, with dark, deepset eyes, and wealth of raven tresses,
The other gleaming as a sunbeam, through her veil of golden hair,
With a glance like living sapphire, making the beholder glad.
Clinging to the sweet mother's hand, smiling when she smiled,
If she were sad, grieving also, they were her blessed comforters,
Morn and Even were they styled by admiring, fanciful visitants,
So "the evening and the morning, were to her soul the first day,"
After the heavy midnight of her weeping and widowhood.
Side by side, in sweet liberty hither and thither roamed those little ones,Hunting violets on the bank, tasting cheese curds in the dairy,Seeking red and white strawberries, as ripening they ran in the garden beds,To fill the small basket for their mother, covering the fruit with rose-buds,Peering archly to see if she would discover what was lurking beneath.Gamboling with the lambs, shouting as the nest-builders darted by,Sharing in the innocence of one, and catching song from the other.
Side by side, in sweet liberty hither and thither roamed those little ones,Hunting violets on the bank, tasting cheese curds in the dairy,Seeking red and white strawberries, as ripening they ran in the garden beds,To fill the small basket for their mother, covering the fruit with rose-buds,Peering archly to see if she would discover what was lurking beneath.Gamboling with the lambs, shouting as the nest-builders darted by,Sharing in the innocence of one, and catching song from the other.
Side by side, in sweet liberty hither and thither roamed those little ones,
Hunting violets on the bank, tasting cheese curds in the dairy,
Seeking red and white strawberries, as ripening they ran in the garden beds,
To fill the small basket for their mother, covering the fruit with rose-buds,
Peering archly to see if she would discover what was lurking beneath.
Gamboling with the lambs, shouting as the nest-builders darted by,
Sharing in the innocence of one, and catching song from the other.
Nighty on the same snowy pillow, were laid their beautiful heads,The same morning beam kiss'd away their lingering slumbers,The first object that met their waking eye, was the bright, sisterly smile.One impulse moved both hearts, as kneeling by their little bed,Breathed forth from ruby lips, "Our Father, who art in Heaven!"Simple homage, meekly blending in a blessed stream of incense.
Nighty on the same snowy pillow, were laid their beautiful heads,The same morning beam kiss'd away their lingering slumbers,The first object that met their waking eye, was the bright, sisterly smile.One impulse moved both hearts, as kneeling by their little bed,Breathed forth from ruby lips, "Our Father, who art in Heaven!"Simple homage, meekly blending in a blessed stream of incense.
Nighty on the same snowy pillow, were laid their beautiful heads,
The same morning beam kiss'd away their lingering slumbers,
The first object that met their waking eye, was the bright, sisterly smile.
One impulse moved both hearts, as kneeling by their little bed,
Breathed forth from ruby lips, "Our Father, who art in Heaven!"
Simple homage, meekly blending in a blessed stream of incense.
Forth went they among the wild flowers, making friendship with the dragon-fly,With the ant in her circling citadel, with the spider at her silk-loom,Talking to the babbling brook, speaking kindly to the uncouth terrapin,And frog, who to them seem'd dancing joyously in watery halls.Like the chirping of the wood-robin murmured their tuneful voices,Or rang out in merry laughter, gladdening the ear of the Mother,Who when she heard it afar off, laughed also, not knowing wherefore.
Forth went they among the wild flowers, making friendship with the dragon-fly,With the ant in her circling citadel, with the spider at her silk-loom,Talking to the babbling brook, speaking kindly to the uncouth terrapin,And frog, who to them seem'd dancing joyously in watery halls.Like the chirping of the wood-robin murmured their tuneful voices,Or rang out in merry laughter, gladdening the ear of the Mother,Who when she heard it afar off, laughed also, not knowing wherefore.
Forth went they among the wild flowers, making friendship with the dragon-fly,
With the ant in her circling citadel, with the spider at her silk-loom,
Talking to the babbling brook, speaking kindly to the uncouth terrapin,
And frog, who to them seem'd dancing joyously in watery halls.
Like the chirping of the wood-robin murmured their tuneful voices,
Or rang out in merry laughter, gladdening the ear of the Mother,
Who when she heard it afar off, laughed also, not knowing wherefore.
Thus, in companionship with Nature, dwelt they, growing each day more happy,Loving all things that she cherish'd, and loved by her in return.Yet not idly pass'd their childhood, in New England's creed that were heresy,Promptly, as strength permitted, followed they examples of industry,Lovingly assisting the Mother wherever her work might be.Surprising was it to see what their small hands could accomplish,Without trespassing on the joy of childhood, that precious birthright of life.Diligently wrought they in summer, at the dame's school with plodding needle,Docile at their lessons in winter, stood they before the Master:Yet learning most from Home and Mother, those schools for the heart,Befitting best that sex, whose sphere of action is in the heart.Attentive were they to the Parents' rule, and to the open book of Nature,Teachers, whose faithful pupils shall be wise towards God.
Thus, in companionship with Nature, dwelt they, growing each day more happy,Loving all things that she cherish'd, and loved by her in return.Yet not idly pass'd their childhood, in New England's creed that were heresy,Promptly, as strength permitted, followed they examples of industry,Lovingly assisting the Mother wherever her work might be.Surprising was it to see what their small hands could accomplish,Without trespassing on the joy of childhood, that precious birthright of life.Diligently wrought they in summer, at the dame's school with plodding needle,Docile at their lessons in winter, stood they before the Master:Yet learning most from Home and Mother, those schools for the heart,Befitting best that sex, whose sphere of action is in the heart.Attentive were they to the Parents' rule, and to the open book of Nature,Teachers, whose faithful pupils shall be wise towards God.
Thus, in companionship with Nature, dwelt they, growing each day more happy,
Loving all things that she cherish'd, and loved by her in return.
Yet not idly pass'd their childhood, in New England's creed that were heresy,
Promptly, as strength permitted, followed they examples of industry,
Lovingly assisting the Mother wherever her work might be.
Surprising was it to see what their small hands could accomplish,
Without trespassing on the joy of childhood, that precious birthright of life.
Diligently wrought they in summer, at the dame's school with plodding needle,
Docile at their lessons in winter, stood they before the Master:
Yet learning most from Home and Mother, those schools for the heart,
Befitting best that sex, whose sphere of action is in the heart.
Attentive were they to the Parents' rule, and to the open book of Nature,
Teachers, whose faithful pupils shall be wise towards God.
Different were the two daughters, though to the same discipline subjected.Grave was the elder born and thoughtful, even beyond her years,Night upon her tresses, but the star of morning in her heart.Exceeding fair was the younger, and witty, and full of grace,Winning with her sunny ringlets, the notice of all beholders.Different also were their temperaments, one loving like the VioletShaded turf, where the light falls subdued through sheltering branches,The other, as the Tulip, exulting in the lustrous noontide,And the prerogatives of beauty, to see, and to be seen.Sweet was it to behold them, when the sun grew low in summer,Riding gracefully through the green-wood, each on her ambling palfrey,One, white as milk, and the other like shining ebony,For so in fanciful love had the Mother selected for her darlings.Sweet was it to mark them, side by side, in careless beauty,Looking earnestly in each others' faces, thought playfully touching thought.
Different were the two daughters, though to the same discipline subjected.Grave was the elder born and thoughtful, even beyond her years,Night upon her tresses, but the star of morning in her heart.Exceeding fair was the younger, and witty, and full of grace,Winning with her sunny ringlets, the notice of all beholders.Different also were their temperaments, one loving like the VioletShaded turf, where the light falls subdued through sheltering branches,The other, as the Tulip, exulting in the lustrous noontide,And the prerogatives of beauty, to see, and to be seen.Sweet was it to behold them, when the sun grew low in summer,Riding gracefully through the green-wood, each on her ambling palfrey,One, white as milk, and the other like shining ebony,For so in fanciful love had the Mother selected for her darlings.Sweet was it to mark them, side by side, in careless beauty,Looking earnestly in each others' faces, thought playfully touching thought.
Different were the two daughters, though to the same discipline subjected.
Grave was the elder born and thoughtful, even beyond her years,
Night upon her tresses, but the star of morning in her heart.
Exceeding fair was the younger, and witty, and full of grace,
Winning with her sunny ringlets, the notice of all beholders.
Different also were their temperaments, one loving like the Violet
Shaded turf, where the light falls subdued through sheltering branches,
The other, as the Tulip, exulting in the lustrous noontide,
And the prerogatives of beauty, to see, and to be seen.
Sweet was it to behold them, when the sun grew low in summer,
Riding gracefully through the green-wood, each on her ambling palfrey,
One, white as milk, and the other like shining ebony,
For so in fanciful love had the Mother selected for her darlings.
Sweet was it to mark them, side by side, in careless beauty,
Looking earnestly in each others' faces, thought playfully touching thought.
Chief speaker was Miranda, ever fearless and most fluent."Tired am I of always seeing the same dull, old scenes.I wish the rail-fences would tumble down, and the sprawling apple-trees,—And the brown farm-houses take unto themselves wings and fly away,Like the wild-geese in autumn, if only something might be new.There's the Miller forever standing on that one same spot of ground,Watching his spouting wheel, when there's water, and when there is none,Grumbling, I suppose, at home, to his spiritless wife and daughters.I like not that fusty old Miller, his coat covered with meal,Ever tugging at bags, and shoveling corn into the hopper."Discreetly answer'd Bertha, and the lively one responded,Lively, and quick-sighted, yet prone to be restless and unsatisfied,"Counting rain-drops as they fall, one by one, from sullen branches.Seeing silly lambkins leap, and the fan-tail'd squirrels scamper,What are such things to me? Stupid Agriculture I like not,Soap-making, and the science of cheese-tubs, what are they to me?The chief end of life with these hinds and hindesses,Is methinks, to belabor their hands, till they harden like brick-bats."
Chief speaker was Miranda, ever fearless and most fluent."Tired am I of always seeing the same dull, old scenes.I wish the rail-fences would tumble down, and the sprawling apple-trees,—And the brown farm-houses take unto themselves wings and fly away,Like the wild-geese in autumn, if only something might be new.There's the Miller forever standing on that one same spot of ground,Watching his spouting wheel, when there's water, and when there is none,Grumbling, I suppose, at home, to his spiritless wife and daughters.I like not that fusty old Miller, his coat covered with meal,Ever tugging at bags, and shoveling corn into the hopper."Discreetly answer'd Bertha, and the lively one responded,Lively, and quick-sighted, yet prone to be restless and unsatisfied,"Counting rain-drops as they fall, one by one, from sullen branches.Seeing silly lambkins leap, and the fan-tail'd squirrels scamper,What are such things to me? Stupid Agriculture I like not,Soap-making, and the science of cheese-tubs, what are they to me?The chief end of life with these hinds and hindesses,Is methinks, to belabor their hands, till they harden like brick-bats."
Chief speaker was Miranda, ever fearless and most fluent.
"Tired am I of always seeing the same dull, old scenes.
I wish the rail-fences would tumble down, and the sprawling apple-trees,—
And the brown farm-houses take unto themselves wings and fly away,
Like the wild-geese in autumn, if only something might be new.
There's the Miller forever standing on that one same spot of ground,
Watching his spouting wheel, when there's water, and when there is none,
Grumbling, I suppose, at home, to his spiritless wife and daughters.
I like not that fusty old Miller, his coat covered with meal,
Ever tugging at bags, and shoveling corn into the hopper."
Discreetly answer'd Bertha, and the lively one responded,
Lively, and quick-sighted, yet prone to be restless and unsatisfied,
"Counting rain-drops as they fall, one by one, from sullen branches.
Seeing silly lambkins leap, and the fan-tail'd squirrels scamper,
What are such things to me? Stupid Agriculture I like not,
Soap-making, and the science of cheese-tubs, what are they to me?
The chief end of life with these hinds and hindesses,
Is methinks, to belabor their hands, till they harden like brick-bats."
"Look, look, Miranda, dearest! The new moon sweetly risingHoldeth forth her silver crescent, which the loyal stars perceiving,Gather gladly to her banner, like a host around their sovereign.Let us find the constellations that our good Instructor taught us.Remember you not yesterday, when our lesson was well-render'd,How with unwonted flattery he call'd us his Hesperus and Aurora?"
"Look, look, Miranda, dearest! The new moon sweetly risingHoldeth forth her silver crescent, which the loyal stars perceiving,Gather gladly to her banner, like a host around their sovereign.Let us find the constellations that our good Instructor taught us.Remember you not yesterday, when our lesson was well-render'd,How with unwonted flattery he call'd us his Hesperus and Aurora?"
"Look, look, Miranda, dearest! The new moon sweetly rising
Holdeth forth her silver crescent, which the loyal stars perceiving,
Gather gladly to her banner, like a host around their sovereign.
Let us find the constellations that our good Instructor taught us.
Remember you not yesterday, when our lesson was well-render'd,
How with unwonted flattery he call'd us his Hesperus and Aurora?"
"These hum-drum teachings tire me, I'm disgusted with recitingAnd repeating, day by day, what I knew well enough before."Then quickening briskly her startled steed with the riding-whip,She darted onward through the forest, reaching first their own abode.
"These hum-drum teachings tire me, I'm disgusted with recitingAnd repeating, day by day, what I knew well enough before."Then quickening briskly her startled steed with the riding-whip,She darted onward through the forest, reaching first their own abode.
"These hum-drum teachings tire me, I'm disgusted with reciting
And repeating, day by day, what I knew well enough before."
Then quickening briskly her startled steed with the riding-whip,
She darted onward through the forest, reaching first their own abode.
At night, when they retired, ere the waning lamp was extinguished,That good time for talking, when heart to heart disclosethWhat the work or the pride of day, might in secrecy have shrouded,Said Miranda,"I have seen our early play-mate, Emilia,From a boarding-school return'd, all accomplished, all delightful,So changed, so improved, her best friends might scarcely know her.Why might not I be favor'd with similar advantages?Caged here, year by year, with wings beating the prison-door;I would fain go where she went. If overruled I shall be wretched.Imustgo, Bertha, yes! No obstacle shall withhold me."
At night, when they retired, ere the waning lamp was extinguished,That good time for talking, when heart to heart disclosethWhat the work or the pride of day, might in secrecy have shrouded,Said Miranda,"I have seen our early play-mate, Emilia,From a boarding-school return'd, all accomplished, all delightful,So changed, so improved, her best friends might scarcely know her.Why might not I be favor'd with similar advantages?Caged here, year by year, with wings beating the prison-door;I would fain go where she went. If overruled I shall be wretched.Imustgo, Bertha, yes! No obstacle shall withhold me."
At night, when they retired, ere the waning lamp was extinguished,
That good time for talking, when heart to heart discloseth
What the work or the pride of day, might in secrecy have shrouded,
Said Miranda,
"I have seen our early play-mate, Emilia,
From a boarding-school return'd, all accomplished, all delightful,
So changed, so improved, her best friends might scarcely know her.
Why might not I be favor'd with similar advantages?
Caged here, year by year, with wings beating the prison-door;
I would fain go where she went. If overruled I shall be wretched.
Imustgo, Bertha, yes! No obstacle shall withhold me."
"Oh Miranda! Our Mother! In your company is her solace.In your young life she liveth, at your bright smile, ever smileth,Such power have you to cheer her. What could she do without youWhen the lengthen'd eve grows lonely, and the widow sorrow presseth?""Oh persuade her!" she cried, with an embrace of passionate fervor,"Persuade her, Bertha! and I'll be your bond-servant forever."
"Oh Miranda! Our Mother! In your company is her solace.In your young life she liveth, at your bright smile, ever smileth,Such power have you to cheer her. What could she do without youWhen the lengthen'd eve grows lonely, and the widow sorrow presseth?""Oh persuade her!" she cried, with an embrace of passionate fervor,"Persuade her, Bertha! and I'll be your bond-servant forever."
"Oh Miranda! Our Mother! In your company is her solace.
In your young life she liveth, at your bright smile, ever smileth,
Such power have you to cheer her. What could she do without you
When the lengthen'd eve grows lonely, and the widow sorrow presseth?"
"Oh persuade her!" she cried, with an embrace of passionate fervor,
"Persuade her, Bertha! and I'll be your bond-servant forever."
Seldom had a differing purpose ruffled long those sisterly bosoms.Wakeful lay Bertha, the silent tear for her companion,While frequent sighs swelling and heaving the snowy breast of Miranda,Betray'd that troubled visions held her spirit in their custody.
Seldom had a differing purpose ruffled long those sisterly bosoms.Wakeful lay Bertha, the silent tear for her companion,While frequent sighs swelling and heaving the snowy breast of Miranda,Betray'd that troubled visions held her spirit in their custody.
Seldom had a differing purpose ruffled long those sisterly bosoms.
Wakeful lay Bertha, the silent tear for her companion,
While frequent sighs swelling and heaving the snowy breast of Miranda,
Betray'd that troubled visions held her spirit in their custody.
Like twin streamlets had they been, from one quiet fountain flowing,Stealing on through fringed margins, anon playfully diverging,Yet to each other as they wander'd, sending messages through whispering reeds,Then returning and entwining joyously, with their cool chrystalline arms.
Like twin streamlets had they been, from one quiet fountain flowing,Stealing on through fringed margins, anon playfully diverging,Yet to each other as they wander'd, sending messages through whispering reeds,Then returning and entwining joyously, with their cool chrystalline arms.
Like twin streamlets had they been, from one quiet fountain flowing,
Stealing on through fringed margins, anon playfully diverging,
Yet to each other as they wander'd, sending messages through whispering reeds,
Then returning and entwining joyously, with their cool chrystalline arms.
But who that from their source marketh infant brooklets issue,Like sparkling threads of silver, wending onward through the distanceCan foretell which will hold placid course among the vallies,Content with silent blessings from the fertile soil it cheereth,Or which, mid rocky channels contending and complaining,Now exulting in brief victory, then in darken'd eddies creeping,Leaps its rampart and is broken on the wheel of the cataract.
But who that from their source marketh infant brooklets issue,Like sparkling threads of silver, wending onward through the distanceCan foretell which will hold placid course among the vallies,Content with silent blessings from the fertile soil it cheereth,Or which, mid rocky channels contending and complaining,Now exulting in brief victory, then in darken'd eddies creeping,Leaps its rampart and is broken on the wheel of the cataract.
But who that from their source marketh infant brooklets issue,
Like sparkling threads of silver, wending onward through the distance
Can foretell which will hold placid course among the vallies,
Content with silent blessings from the fertile soil it cheereth,
Or which, mid rocky channels contending and complaining,
Now exulting in brief victory, then in darken'd eddies creeping,
Leaps its rampart and is broken on the wheel of the cataract.
Generous is the love and holy that springeth from gratitude;Rooting not in blind instinct, grasping not, exacting not,Remembering the harvest on which it fed, and the toil of the harvester;Fain would it render recompense according to what it hath received,Or falling short, weepeth. As the leaf of the white LilyBendeth backward to the stalk whence its young bud drew nutrition,So turneth the Love of Gratitude, with eye undimm'd and fervent,To parent, friend, teacher, benefactor, bountiful Creator.Sympathies derived from such sources ever sacredly cherishing;Daughter of Memory, inheriting her mother's immortality,Welcome shall she find among angels, where selfish love may not enter.
Generous is the love and holy that springeth from gratitude;Rooting not in blind instinct, grasping not, exacting not,Remembering the harvest on which it fed, and the toil of the harvester;Fain would it render recompense according to what it hath received,Or falling short, weepeth. As the leaf of the white LilyBendeth backward to the stalk whence its young bud drew nutrition,So turneth the Love of Gratitude, with eye undimm'd and fervent,To parent, friend, teacher, benefactor, bountiful Creator.Sympathies derived from such sources ever sacredly cherishing;Daughter of Memory, inheriting her mother's immortality,Welcome shall she find among angels, where selfish love may not enter.
Generous is the love and holy that springeth from gratitude;
Rooting not in blind instinct, grasping not, exacting not,
Remembering the harvest on which it fed, and the toil of the harvester;
Fain would it render recompense according to what it hath received,
Or falling short, weepeth. As the leaf of the white Lily
Bendeth backward to the stalk whence its young bud drew nutrition,
So turneth the Love of Gratitude, with eye undimm'd and fervent,
To parent, friend, teacher, benefactor, bountiful Creator.
Sympathies derived from such sources ever sacredly cherishing;
Daughter of Memory, inheriting her mother's immortality,
Welcome shall she find among angels, where selfish love may not enter.
CANTO SECOND.
In the gay and crowded cityWhere the tall and jostling roof-treesJealous seem of one another,Jealous of the ground they stand on,Each one thrusting out its neighborFrom the sunrise, or the sunset,In a boarding school of fashionWas Miranda comprehended,Goal of her supreme ambition.
In the gay and crowded cityWhere the tall and jostling roof-treesJealous seem of one another,Jealous of the ground they stand on,Each one thrusting out its neighborFrom the sunrise, or the sunset,In a boarding school of fashionWas Miranda comprehended,Goal of her supreme ambition.
In the gay and crowded city
Where the tall and jostling roof-trees
Jealous seem of one another,
Jealous of the ground they stand on,
Each one thrusting out its neighbor
From the sunrise, or the sunset,
In a boarding school of fashion
Was Miranda comprehended,
Goal of her supreme ambition.
—Girls were there from different regions,Distant States, and varying costumes,She was beautiful they told her,And her mirror when she sought itGave concurrent testimony.
—Girls were there from different regions,Distant States, and varying costumes,She was beautiful they told her,And her mirror when she sought itGave concurrent testimony.
—Girls were there from different regions,
Distant States, and varying costumes,
She was beautiful they told her,
And her mirror when she sought it
Gave concurrent testimony.
—Many teachers met their classesIn this favorite InstitutionWhere accomplishments or studiesWere pursued as each selected,Or their parents gave commandment.But Miranda was impededIn successful application,By the consciousness of beautyAnd the vanity it fosters.
—Many teachers met their classesIn this favorite InstitutionWhere accomplishments or studiesWere pursued as each selected,Or their parents gave commandment.But Miranda was impededIn successful application,By the consciousness of beautyAnd the vanity it fosters.
—Many teachers met their classes
In this favorite Institution
Where accomplishments or studies
Were pursued as each selected,
Or their parents gave commandment.
But Miranda was impeded
In successful application,
By the consciousness of beauty
And the vanity it fosters.
—Very fond was she of walkingIn the most frequented places,Fondly fancying all beholdersGazed on her with admiration.Striking dresses, gay with colorsShe disported and commended,Not considering that the highestOf attractions in a womanIs simplicity of costume,And a self-forgetful sweetness.
—Very fond was she of walkingIn the most frequented places,Fondly fancying all beholdersGazed on her with admiration.Striking dresses, gay with colorsShe disported and commended,Not considering that the highestOf attractions in a womanIs simplicity of costume,And a self-forgetful sweetness.
—Very fond was she of walking
In the most frequented places,
Fondly fancying all beholders
Gazed on her with admiration.
Striking dresses, gay with colors
She disported and commended,
Not considering that the highest
Of attractions in a woman
Is simplicity of costume,
And a self-forgetful sweetness.
—Men with business over-laden,Men of science, pondering axioms,Men of letters, lost in reverie,She imagined when they passed herGaz'd with secret admiration,Ask'd in wonder, "who can that be?"Backward turned perchance, to view her,As she lightly glided onward.
—Men with business over-laden,Men of science, pondering axioms,Men of letters, lost in reverie,She imagined when they passed herGaz'd with secret admiration,Ask'd in wonder, "who can that be?"Backward turned perchance, to view her,As she lightly glided onward.
—Men with business over-laden,
Men of science, pondering axioms,
Men of letters, lost in reverie,
She imagined when they passed her
Gaz'd with secret admiration,
Ask'd in wonder, "who can that be?"
Backward turned perchance, to view her,
As she lightly glided onward.
—So completely had this beautyLeagued with vanity, uprootedSerious thought and useful purpose,And the nobler ends of being,That even in the solemn TempleWhere humility befittethAll who offer adoration,Close observance of the apparelOf acquaintances or strangers,And a self-display intrudedOn the service of devotion,While her fair cheek oft-times restedDaintily on gloveless fingersWhere the radiant jewels sparkledOn a hand like sculptured marble.
—So completely had this beautyLeagued with vanity, uprootedSerious thought and useful purpose,And the nobler ends of being,That even in the solemn TempleWhere humility befittethAll who offer adoration,Close observance of the apparelOf acquaintances or strangers,And a self-display intrudedOn the service of devotion,While her fair cheek oft-times restedDaintily on gloveless fingersWhere the radiant jewels sparkledOn a hand like sculptured marble.
—So completely had this beauty
Leagued with vanity, uprooted
Serious thought and useful purpose,
And the nobler ends of being,
That even in the solemn Temple
Where humility befitteth
All who offer adoration,
Close observance of the apparel
Of acquaintances or strangers,
And a self-display intruded
On the service of devotion,
While her fair cheek oft-times rested
Daintily on gloveless fingers
Where the radiant jewels sparkled
On a hand like sculptured marble.
Meantime in the rural mansionWhence with gladness she departed,Sate the mother and the sisterBy the hearth-stone or the lamp-light,Thinking of their loved Miranda,Speaking of her, working for her,Writing tender, earnest lettersTo sustain her mid her studies,Fearing that her health might sufferBy the labor and privationThat a year at school demanded.
Meantime in the rural mansionWhence with gladness she departed,Sate the mother and the sisterBy the hearth-stone or the lamp-light,Thinking of their loved Miranda,Speaking of her, working for her,Writing tender, earnest lettersTo sustain her mid her studies,Fearing that her health might sufferBy the labor and privationThat a year at school demanded.
Meantime in the rural mansion
Whence with gladness she departed,
Sate the mother and the sister
By the hearth-stone or the lamp-light,
Thinking of their loved Miranda,
Speaking of her, working for her,
Writing tender, earnest letters
To sustain her mid her studies,
Fearing that her health might suffer
By the labor and privation
That a year at school demanded.
—As the autumnal evenings lengthen'd,Bertha with a filial sweetnessSought her mother's favorite authors,And with perfect elocutionMade their sentiments and feelings,Guests around the quiet fireside.
—As the autumnal evenings lengthen'd,Bertha with a filial sweetnessSought her mother's favorite authors,And with perfect elocutionMade their sentiments and feelings,Guests around the quiet fireside.
—As the autumnal evenings lengthen'd,
Bertha with a filial sweetness
Sought her mother's favorite authors,
And with perfect elocution
Made their sentiments and feelings,
Guests around the quiet fireside.
—Page of Livy, or of Cæsar,Stirring scenes of tuneful Maro,From their native, stately numbersTo the mother's ear she rendered;Or with her o'er ancient regions,Fallen sphynx, or ruin'd column,Led by guiding Rollin, wandered,Deeply mused with saintly Sherlock,Or through Milton's inspirationScanned the lore of forfeit Eden.
—Page of Livy, or of Cæsar,Stirring scenes of tuneful Maro,From their native, stately numbersTo the mother's ear she rendered;Or with her o'er ancient regions,Fallen sphynx, or ruin'd column,Led by guiding Rollin, wandered,Deeply mused with saintly Sherlock,Or through Milton's inspirationScanned the lore of forfeit Eden.
—Page of Livy, or of Cæsar,
Stirring scenes of tuneful Maro,
From their native, stately numbers
To the mother's ear she rendered;
Or with her o'er ancient regions,
Fallen sphynx, or ruin'd column,
Led by guiding Rollin, wandered,
Deeply mused with saintly Sherlock,
Or through Milton's inspiration
Scanned the lore of forfeit Eden.
With the vertic rays of SummerHomeward came the fair Miranda.How the village people wonder'dAt her fashions, and her movements,How she made the new pianoTremble to its inmost centreWithandante, andbravura,What a piece she had to show themOf Andromache the Trojan,Wrought in silks of every color,And 'twas said a foreign languageSuch as princes use in Paris,She could speak to admiration.
With the vertic rays of SummerHomeward came the fair Miranda.How the village people wonder'dAt her fashions, and her movements,How she made the new pianoTremble to its inmost centreWithandante, andbravura,What a piece she had to show themOf Andromache the Trojan,Wrought in silks of every color,And 'twas said a foreign languageSuch as princes use in Paris,She could speak to admiration.
With the vertic rays of Summer
Homeward came the fair Miranda.
How the village people wonder'd
At her fashions, and her movements,
How she made the new piano
Tremble to its inmost centre
Withandante, andbravura,
What a piece she had to show them
Of Andromache the Trojan,
Wrought in silks of every color,
And 'twas said a foreign language
Such as princes use in Paris,
She could speak to admiration.
—Greatly their surprise amused her,But the Mother and the SisterWith their eagle-eyed affection,Spied a thorn amid the garland,Heard the sighing on her pillow,Saw the flush invade her forehead,And were sure some secret sorrowRankled in that snowy bosom.
—Greatly their surprise amused her,But the Mother and the SisterWith their eagle-eyed affection,Spied a thorn amid the garland,Heard the sighing on her pillow,Saw the flush invade her forehead,And were sure some secret sorrowRankled in that snowy bosom.
—Greatly their surprise amused her,
But the Mother and the Sister
With their eagle-eyed affection,
Spied a thorn amid the garland,
Heard the sighing on her pillow,
Saw the flush invade her forehead,
And were sure some secret sorrow
Rankled in that snowy bosom.
Rumor, soon with hundred voicesWhisper'd of a dashing lover,Irreligious and immoral,And the anxious Mother counsel'dSad of heart her fair-hair'd daughter.
Rumor, soon with hundred voicesWhisper'd of a dashing lover,Irreligious and immoral,And the anxious Mother counsel'dSad of heart her fair-hair'd daughter.
Rumor, soon with hundred voices
Whisper'd of a dashing lover,
Irreligious and immoral,
And the anxious Mother counsel'd
Sad of heart her fair-hair'd daughter.
—Scarce with any show of reverenceListen'd the impatient maiden,Then with tearless eyes wide openLike full orbs of shadeless sapphireAll unpausing, thus responded.
—Scarce with any show of reverenceListen'd the impatient maiden,Then with tearless eyes wide openLike full orbs of shadeless sapphireAll unpausing, thus responded.
—Scarce with any show of reverence
Listen'd the impatient maiden,
Then with tearless eyes wide open
Like full orbs of shadeless sapphire
All unpausing, thus responded.
—"I have promised Aldebaran,To be his,—alone,—forever!And I'll keep that promise, Mother,Though the firm skies fall around me,And yon stars in fragments shatter'd,Each with thousand voices warn'd me.
—"I have promised Aldebaran,To be his,—alone,—forever!And I'll keep that promise, Mother,Though the firm skies fall around me,And yon stars in fragments shatter'd,Each with thousand voices warn'd me.
—"I have promised Aldebaran,
To be his,—alone,—forever!
And I'll keep that promise, Mother,
Though the firm skies fall around me,
And yon stars in fragments shatter'd,
Each with thousand voices warn'd me.
—Thou hast spoken words reproachful,Doubting of his soul's salvation,Of his creed I never question'd,But where'er he goes, I follow.Whatsoe'er his lot, I'll share it,Though it were the darkest chamberIn the lowest hell. 'Twere betterThere with him, than 'mid the carolsOf the highest heaven, without him."Swan-like arms were wrapped around herWith a cry of better pleading,"Oh Miranda!—Oh my Sister!Gather back the words you've spoken,Quickly, ere the angel write themWeeping on the doom's day tablet.
—Thou hast spoken words reproachful,Doubting of his soul's salvation,Of his creed I never question'd,But where'er he goes, I follow.Whatsoe'er his lot, I'll share it,Though it were the darkest chamberIn the lowest hell. 'Twere betterThere with him, than 'mid the carolsOf the highest heaven, without him."Swan-like arms were wrapped around herWith a cry of better pleading,"Oh Miranda!—Oh my Sister!Gather back the words you've spoken,Quickly, ere the angel write themWeeping on the doom's day tablet.
—Thou hast spoken words reproachful,
Doubting of his soul's salvation,
Of his creed I never question'd,
But where'er he goes, I follow.
Whatsoe'er his lot, I'll share it,
Though it were the darkest chamber
In the lowest hell. 'Twere better
There with him, than 'mid the carols
Of the highest heaven, without him."
Swan-like arms were wrapped around her
With a cry of better pleading,
"Oh Miranda!—Oh my Sister!
Gather back the words you've spoken,
Quickly, ere the angel write them
Weeping on the doom's day tablet.
—You have grieved our blessed Mother:See you not the large tears trickleDown those channels deeply furrow'dWhich the widow-anguish open'd?Kneel beside me, Oh my Sister!Darling of my cradle slumbers,Ask the grace of God to cleanse theeFrom thy blasphemy and blindness,Supplicate the Great EnlightenerHere to purge away thy madness,Pray our Saviour to forgive thee."
—You have grieved our blessed Mother:See you not the large tears trickleDown those channels deeply furrow'dWhich the widow-anguish open'd?Kneel beside me, Oh my Sister!Darling of my cradle slumbers,Ask the grace of God to cleanse theeFrom thy blasphemy and blindness,Supplicate the Great EnlightenerHere to purge away thy madness,Pray our Saviour to forgive thee."
—You have grieved our blessed Mother:
See you not the large tears trickle
Down those channels deeply furrow'd
Which the widow-anguish open'd?
Kneel beside me, Oh my Sister!
Darling of my cradle slumbers,
Ask the grace of God to cleanse thee
From thy blasphemy and blindness,
Supplicate the Great Enlightener
Here to purge away thy madness,
Pray our Saviour to forgive thee."
"Bertha! Bertha! speak not to me,What knowest thou of love almighty?Naught except that craven spiritMeasuring, weighing, calculating,That goes shivering to its bridal.On this deathless soul, all hazardHere I take, and if it perish,Let it perish.From the socketThis right eye I'd pluck, extinguishThis right hand, if he desire it,And go maim'd through all the agesThat Eternity can number.
"Bertha! Bertha! speak not to me,What knowest thou of love almighty?Naught except that craven spiritMeasuring, weighing, calculating,That goes shivering to its bridal.On this deathless soul, all hazardHere I take, and if it perish,Let it perish.From the socketThis right eye I'd pluck, extinguishThis right hand, if he desire it,And go maim'd through all the agesThat Eternity can number.
"Bertha! Bertha! speak not to me,
What knowest thou of love almighty?
Naught except that craven spirit
Measuring, weighing, calculating,
That goes shivering to its bridal.
On this deathless soul, all hazard
Here I take, and if it perish,
Let it perish.
From the socket
This right eye I'd pluck, extinguish
This right hand, if he desire it,
And go maim'd through all the ages
That Eternity can number.
—Prayer is not for me, but action,Against thee, and Her who bare meStand I at Love's bidding, boldlyIn the armor that he giveth,For life's battle, strong and ready.—Hush! I've sworn, and I'll confirm it."
—Prayer is not for me, but action,Against thee, and Her who bare meStand I at Love's bidding, boldlyIn the armor that he giveth,For life's battle, strong and ready.—Hush! I've sworn, and I'll confirm it."
—Prayer is not for me, but action,
Against thee, and Her who bare me
Stand I at Love's bidding, boldly
In the armor that he giveth,
For life's battle, strong and ready.
—Hush! I've sworn, and I'll confirm it."
In due time, the handsome suitorPaid his devoirs to Miranda,In her own paternal dwelling.Very exquisite in costume,Very confident in manner,Pompous, city-bred, and fearlessWas the accepted Aldebaran.
In due time, the handsome suitorPaid his devoirs to Miranda,In her own paternal dwelling.Very exquisite in costume,Very confident in manner,Pompous, city-bred, and fearlessWas the accepted Aldebaran.
In due time, the handsome suitor
Paid his devoirs to Miranda,
In her own paternal dwelling.
Very exquisite in costume,
Very confident in manner,
Pompous, city-bred, and fearless
Was the accepted Aldebaran.
—Axious felt she, lest the customsOf the rustic race around her,So she styled her rural neighbors,Might discourage or disgust him,But he gave them no attention,Quite absorbed in other matters.
—Axious felt she, lest the customsOf the rustic race around her,So she styled her rural neighbors,Might discourage or disgust him,But he gave them no attention,Quite absorbed in other matters.
—Axious felt she, lest the customs
Of the rustic race around her,
So she styled her rural neighbors,
Might discourage or disgust him,
But he gave them no attention,
Quite absorbed in other matters.
—In their promenades togetherShe beheld the people watchingMid their toils of agriculture,Saw them gaze from door and windows,Little ones from gates and fences,On the stylish Alderbaran,And her heart leap'd up exulting.
—In their promenades togetherShe beheld the people watchingMid their toils of agriculture,Saw them gaze from door and windows,Little ones from gates and fences,On the stylish Alderbaran,And her heart leap'd up exulting.
—In their promenades together
She beheld the people watching
Mid their toils of agriculture,
Saw them gaze from door and windows,
Little ones from gates and fences,
On the stylish Alderbaran,
And her heart leap'd up exulting.
—Notice took he of the homestead,With an eye of speculation,Ask'd the number of its acres,And what revenue they yielded.Notice took of herds and buildingsWith their usufruct, and value,Closer note than seem'd consistentWith his delicate position;But Miranda, Cupid blinded,No venality detected.
—Notice took he of the homestead,With an eye of speculation,Ask'd the number of its acres,And what revenue they yielded.Notice took of herds and buildingsWith their usufruct, and value,Closer note than seem'd consistentWith his delicate position;But Miranda, Cupid blinded,No venality detected.
—Notice took he of the homestead,
With an eye of speculation,
Ask'd the number of its acres,
And what revenue they yielded.
Notice took of herds and buildings
With their usufruct, and value,
Closer note than seem'd consistent
With his delicate position;
But Miranda, Cupid blinded,
No venality detected.
—He, in gorgeous phrase address'd her,With an oriental worship,As some goddess condescendingTo an intercourse with mortals.Pleas'd was she with such observance,Pleas'd and proud that those around herShould perceive what adorationWas to her, by him accorded.
—He, in gorgeous phrase address'd her,With an oriental worship,As some goddess condescendingTo an intercourse with mortals.Pleas'd was she with such observance,Pleas'd and proud that those around herShould perceive what adorationWas to her, by him accorded.
—He, in gorgeous phrase address'd her,
With an oriental worship,
As some goddess condescending
To an intercourse with mortals.
Pleas'd was she with such observance,
Pleas'd and proud that those around her
Should perceive what adoration
Was to her, by him accorded.
—When he left, 'twas with the assuranceThe next visit should be final.Marking on his silver tabletWith gay hand, the day appointedWhen he might return to claim herIn the nuptial celebration.
—When he left, 'twas with the assuranceThe next visit should be final.Marking on his silver tabletWith gay hand, the day appointedWhen he might return to claim herIn the nuptial celebration.
—When he left, 'twas with the assurance
The next visit should be final.
Marking on his silver tablet
With gay hand, the day appointed
When he might return to claim her
In the nuptial celebration.
There's a bridal in the spring-time,When the bee from wintry covertTalking to the unsheath'd blossoms,Meditates unbounded plunder,And the bird mid woven branchesBrooding o'er her future treasuresHarkeneth thrilling to the love-songOf her mate, who nestward tendeth.
There's a bridal in the spring-time,When the bee from wintry covertTalking to the unsheath'd blossoms,Meditates unbounded plunder,And the bird mid woven branchesBrooding o'er her future treasuresHarkeneth thrilling to the love-songOf her mate, who nestward tendeth.
There's a bridal in the spring-time,
When the bee from wintry covert
Talking to the unsheath'd blossoms,
Meditates unbounded plunder,
And the bird mid woven branches
Brooding o'er her future treasures
Harkeneth thrilling to the love-song
Of her mate, who nestward tendeth.
—There's a bridal in the spring-time,And the beautiful MirandaThrough her veil of silvery tissueGleams, more beautiful than ever.From the hearth-stone of her fathers,With the deathless love of womanTrusting all for earth or heavenTo a mortal's rule and guidance,One, but short time since, a stranger,Forth she goes.The young beholdersGazing on the handsome bridegroom,Gazing on the nuptial carriage,Where the milk-white horses sportedKnots of evergreen and myrtle,Felt a pleasure mix'd with envyAt a happiness so perfect.
—There's a bridal in the spring-time,And the beautiful MirandaThrough her veil of silvery tissueGleams, more beautiful than ever.From the hearth-stone of her fathers,With the deathless love of womanTrusting all for earth or heavenTo a mortal's rule and guidance,One, but short time since, a stranger,Forth she goes.The young beholdersGazing on the handsome bridegroom,Gazing on the nuptial carriage,Where the milk-white horses sportedKnots of evergreen and myrtle,Felt a pleasure mix'd with envyAt a happiness so perfect.
—There's a bridal in the spring-time,
And the beautiful Miranda
Through her veil of silvery tissue
Gleams, more beautiful than ever.
From the hearth-stone of her fathers,
With the deathless love of woman
Trusting all for earth or heaven
To a mortal's rule and guidance,
One, but short time since, a stranger,
Forth she goes.
The young beholders
Gazing on the handsome bridegroom,
Gazing on the nuptial carriage,
Where the milk-white horses sported
Knots of evergreen and myrtle,
Felt a pleasure mix'd with envy
At a happiness so perfect.
—But more thoughtful ones, instructedBy the change of time and sorrow,By the cloud and by the sunbeam,Felt the hazard that attendedSuch intrustment without limit,Vows that none had right to cancelSave the hand of Death's dark Angel.
—But more thoughtful ones, instructedBy the change of time and sorrow,By the cloud and by the sunbeam,Felt the hazard that attendedSuch intrustment without limit,Vows that none had right to cancelSave the hand of Death's dark Angel.
—But more thoughtful ones, instructed
By the change of time and sorrow,
By the cloud and by the sunbeam,
Felt the hazard that attended
Such intrustment without limit,
Vows that none had right to cancel
Save the hand of Death's dark Angel.
Of the sadness left behind herIn the mansion whence she parted,Loneliness, and bitter heart-ache,Deep, unutter'd apprehension,Fearful looking for of judgment,It were vain in lays so feebleTo attempt a true recital.
Of the sadness left behind herIn the mansion whence she parted,Loneliness, and bitter heart-ache,Deep, unutter'd apprehension,Fearful looking for of judgment,It were vain in lays so feebleTo attempt a true recital.
Of the sadness left behind her
In the mansion whence she parted,
Loneliness, and bitter heart-ache,
Deep, unutter'd apprehension,
Fearful looking for of judgment,
It were vain in lays so feeble
To attempt a true recital.
—Still, to Mother and to SisterCame epistles from Miranda,Essenc'd and genteelly written,Painting happiness so perfect,So transcending expectation,So surpassing all that fancyIn her wildest flights had pencil'd,That even Eden ere the tempterCoil'd himself amid the blossomsFail'd to furnish fitting symbol.
—Still, to Mother and to SisterCame epistles from Miranda,Essenc'd and genteelly written,Painting happiness so perfect,So transcending expectation,So surpassing all that fancyIn her wildest flights had pencil'd,That even Eden ere the tempterCoil'd himself amid the blossomsFail'd to furnish fitting symbol.
—Still, to Mother and to Sister
Came epistles from Miranda,
Essenc'd and genteelly written,
Painting happiness so perfect,
So transcending expectation,
So surpassing all that fancy
In her wildest flights had pencil'd,
That even Eden ere the tempter
Coil'd himself amid the blossoms
Fail'd to furnish fitting symbol.
Heartfelt bliss is never boastful,Like the holy dew it stealethTo the bosom of the violet,Only told by deeper fragrance.
Heartfelt bliss is never boastful,Like the holy dew it stealethTo the bosom of the violet,Only told by deeper fragrance.
Heartfelt bliss is never boastful,
Like the holy dew it stealeth
To the bosom of the violet,
Only told by deeper fragrance.
—He who saith "See! see! I'm happy?Happier than all else around me,"Leaves, perchance, a doubt behind himWhether he hath comprehendedWhat true happiness implieth.
—He who saith "See! see! I'm happy?Happier than all else around me,"Leaves, perchance, a doubt behind himWhether he hath comprehendedWhat true happiness implieth.
—He who saith "See! see! I'm happy?
Happier than all else around me,"
Leaves, perchance, a doubt behind him
Whether he hath comprehended
What true happiness implieth.
Oh, the storm-cloud and the tempest!Oh, the dreary night of winter!Drifting snows, and winds careeringDown the tall, wide-throated chimney,Like the shrieking ghosts from Hades.Shrieking ghosts of buried legions.
Oh, the storm-cloud and the tempest!Oh, the dreary night of winter!Drifting snows, and winds careeringDown the tall, wide-throated chimney,Like the shrieking ghosts from Hades.Shrieking ghosts of buried legions.
Oh, the storm-cloud and the tempest!
Oh, the dreary night of winter!
Drifting snows, and winds careering
Down the tall, wide-throated chimney,
Like the shrieking ghosts from Hades.
Shrieking ghosts of buried legions.
—"Mother! hear I not the wailingOf a human voice?""My daughter!'Tis the blast that rends the pine-trees.The old sentry-Oak is broken,Close beside our chamber-window,And its branches all are moaning.'Tis their grief you hear, my daughter."
—"Mother! hear I not the wailingOf a human voice?""My daughter!'Tis the blast that rends the pine-trees.The old sentry-Oak is broken,Close beside our chamber-window,And its branches all are moaning.'Tis their grief you hear, my daughter."
—"Mother! hear I not the wailing
Of a human voice?"
"My daughter!
'Tis the blast that rends the pine-trees.
The old sentry-Oak is broken,
Close beside our chamber-window,
And its branches all are moaning.
'Tis their grief you hear, my daughter."
But the maiden's car was quicken'dTo all plaint of mortal sorrow,And when next, the bitter north windLull'd, to gather strength and vigor,For a new exacerbation,Listening close, she caught the murmur,"Hush mein daughter! hush mein baby."Then she threw the door wide open,Though the storm rush'd in upon her,With its blinding sleet and fury.
But the maiden's car was quicken'dTo all plaint of mortal sorrow,And when next, the bitter north windLull'd, to gather strength and vigor,For a new exacerbation,Listening close, she caught the murmur,"Hush mein daughter! hush mein baby."Then she threw the door wide open,Though the storm rush'd in upon her,With its blinding sleet and fury.
But the maiden's car was quicken'd
To all plaint of mortal sorrow,
And when next, the bitter north wind
Lull'd, to gather strength and vigor,
For a new exacerbation,
Listening close, she caught the murmur,
"Hush mein daughter! hush mein baby."
Then she threw the door wide open,
Though the storm rush'd in upon her,
With its blinding sleet and fury.
What beheld she, near the threshold,Prostrate there beside the threshold,But a woman, to whose bosomClung a young and sobbing infant?
What beheld she, near the threshold,Prostrate there beside the threshold,But a woman, to whose bosomClung a young and sobbing infant?
What beheld she, near the threshold,
Prostrate there beside the threshold,
But a woman, to whose bosom
Clung a young and sobbing infant?
—Oh the searching look that kindled'Neath those drooping, straining eye-lids,Searching mid the blast and darkness,For some helper in her anguish,Searching, kindling look, that settledInto heavy, deadly slumber,As the waning taper flashesOnce, to be relumin'd never.
—Oh the searching look that kindled'Neath those drooping, straining eye-lids,Searching mid the blast and darkness,For some helper in her anguish,Searching, kindling look, that settledInto heavy, deadly slumber,As the waning taper flashesOnce, to be relumin'd never.
—Oh the searching look that kindled
'Neath those drooping, straining eye-lids,
Searching mid the blast and darkness,
For some helper in her anguish,
Searching, kindling look, that settled
Into heavy, deadly slumber,
As the waning taper flashes
Once, to be relumin'd never.
Still her weak arm clasp'd the baby,Rais'd its pining, pinching features,Faintly cried, "Mein kind! Have pity,Pity, for the love of Jesus!"
Still her weak arm clasp'd the baby,Rais'd its pining, pinching features,Faintly cried, "Mein kind! Have pity,Pity, for the love of Jesus!"
Still her weak arm clasp'd the baby,
Rais'd its pining, pinching features,
Faintly cried, "Mein kind! Have pity,
Pity, for the love of Jesus!"
—Yes, forlorn, benighted wanderer,Thy poor, failing feet have brought theeWhere the love of Jesus dwelleth.Gently in a bed they laid her,Chafed her stiffening limbs and temples,Pour'd the warm, life-giving cordial,But what seem'd the most to cheer her,Were some words by Bertha spokenIn her own, dear native language.Voice of Fatherland! it quicken'dAll the heart's collapsing heart-strings,As though bath'd, and renovatedIn the Rhine's blue, rushing waters.
—Yes, forlorn, benighted wanderer,Thy poor, failing feet have brought theeWhere the love of Jesus dwelleth.Gently in a bed they laid her,Chafed her stiffening limbs and temples,Pour'd the warm, life-giving cordial,But what seem'd the most to cheer her,Were some words by Bertha spokenIn her own, dear native language.Voice of Fatherland! it quicken'dAll the heart's collapsing heart-strings,As though bath'd, and renovatedIn the Rhine's blue, rushing waters.
—Yes, forlorn, benighted wanderer,
Thy poor, failing feet have brought thee
Where the love of Jesus dwelleth.
Gently in a bed they laid her,
Chafed her stiffening limbs and temples,
Pour'd the warm, life-giving cordial,
But what seem'd the most to cheer her,
Were some words by Bertha spoken
In her own, dear native language.
Voice of Fatherland! it quicken'd
All the heart's collapsing heart-strings,
As though bath'd, and renovated
In the Rhine's blue, rushing waters.
O'er the wildering waste of ocean,Moved by zeal of emigrationShe had ventured with her husbandTo this western World of promise,Rainbow-vested El-Dorado.
O'er the wildering waste of ocean,Moved by zeal of emigrationShe had ventured with her husbandTo this western World of promise,Rainbow-vested El-Dorado.
O'er the wildering waste of ocean,
Moved by zeal of emigration
She had ventured with her husband
To this western World of promise,
Rainbow-vested El-Dorado.
On that dreary waste of watersHe had died, and left her mourning,All unguided, unbefriended.—There the mother-sorrow found herAnd compell'd her by the weepingOf the new-born, to encounterWith a broken-hearted welcomeLife once more, which in the torrent of her utter desolationShe had cast aside, contemningAs a burden past endurance.
On that dreary waste of watersHe had died, and left her mourning,All unguided, unbefriended.—There the mother-sorrow found herAnd compell'd her by the weepingOf the new-born, to encounterWith a broken-hearted welcomeLife once more, which in the torrent of her utter desolationShe had cast aside, contemningAs a burden past endurance.
On that dreary waste of waters
He had died, and left her mourning,
All unguided, unbefriended.
—There the mother-sorrow found her
And compell'd her by the weeping
Of the new-born, to encounter
With a broken-hearted welcome
Life once more, which in the torrent of her utter desolation
She had cast aside, contemning
As a burden past endurance.
—Outcast in this land of strangers,Strange of speech, and strange in manner,She had travel'd, worn and weary,Here and there, with none to aid her,Ask'd for work, and none employ'd her,Ask'd for alms, and few reliev'd her,Till at length, the wintry tempestSmote her near that blessed roof-tree.
—Outcast in this land of strangers,Strange of speech, and strange in manner,She had travel'd, worn and weary,Here and there, with none to aid her,Ask'd for work, and none employ'd her,Ask'd for alms, and few reliev'd her,Till at length, the wintry tempestSmote her near that blessed roof-tree.
—Outcast in this land of strangers,
Strange of speech, and strange in manner,
She had travel'd, worn and weary,
Here and there, with none to aid her,
Ask'd for work, and none employ'd her,
Ask'd for alms, and few reliev'd her,
Till at length, the wintry tempest
Smote her near that blessed roof-tree.
Heavy slumber weigh'd her downward,Slumber from whence none awaketh.Yet at morn they heard her sighing,On her pillow faintly sighing,"I am ready! I am ready!""Leonore! my child! my darling!"
Heavy slumber weigh'd her downward,Slumber from whence none awaketh.Yet at morn they heard her sighing,On her pillow faintly sighing,"I am ready! I am ready!""Leonore! my child! my darling!"
Heavy slumber weigh'd her downward,
Slumber from whence none awaketh.
Yet at morn they heard her sighing,
On her pillow faintly sighing,
"I am ready! I am ready!"
"Leonore! my child! my darling!"
Then they brought the infant to her,Cleanly robed, and sweetly smiling,And the parting soul turn'd backward,And the clay-seal on the eyelidsLifted up to gaze upon it.
Then they brought the infant to her,Cleanly robed, and sweetly smiling,And the parting soul turn'd backward,And the clay-seal on the eyelidsLifted up to gaze upon it.
Then they brought the infant to her,
Cleanly robed, and sweetly smiling,
And the parting soul turn'd backward,
And the clay-seal on the eyelids
Lifted up to gaze upon it.
Bertha kiss'd the little forehead,Said "mein kind," and lo! a shudderOf this earth's forgotten pleasureTrembled o'er the dying woman,And the white hand cold as marbleStrove to raise itself in blessing,For the mother-joy was strongerThat one moment, while it wrestledWith the pausing king of terrors,Stronger than the king of terrors.
Bertha kiss'd the little forehead,Said "mein kind," and lo! a shudderOf this earth's forgotten pleasureTrembled o'er the dying woman,And the white hand cold as marbleStrove to raise itself in blessing,For the mother-joy was strongerThat one moment, while it wrestledWith the pausing king of terrors,Stronger than the king of terrors.
Bertha kiss'd the little forehead,
Said "mein kind," and lo! a shudder
Of this earth's forgotten pleasure
Trembled o'er the dying woman,
And the white hand cold as marble
Strove to raise itself in blessing,
For the mother-joy was stronger
That one moment, while it wrestled
With the pausing king of terrors,
Stronger than the king of terrors.
Then they laid her icy fingersMid the infant's budding ringlets,And the pang and grasp subsidedIn a smile and whispering cadence,"God, mein God, be praised!"—and silenceSettled on those lips forever.
Then they laid her icy fingersMid the infant's budding ringlets,And the pang and grasp subsidedIn a smile and whispering cadence,"God, mein God, be praised!"—and silenceSettled on those lips forever.
Then they laid her icy fingers
Mid the infant's budding ringlets,
And the pang and grasp subsided
In a smile and whispering cadence,
"God, mein God, be praised!"—and silence
Settled on those lips forever.
Favor'd is the habitationWhere a gentle infant dwelleth,When its brightening eye revealethThe immortal part within it,And its curious wonder scannethAll its wide spread, tiny fingers,And its velvet hand caressingPats the nurse's cheek and bosom,Hoary Age grows young before it,As the branch that Winter blightedAt the touch of Spring reviveth.
Favor'd is the habitationWhere a gentle infant dwelleth,When its brightening eye revealethThe immortal part within it,And its curious wonder scannethAll its wide spread, tiny fingers,And its velvet hand caressingPats the nurse's cheek and bosom,Hoary Age grows young before it,As the branch that Winter blightedAt the touch of Spring reviveth.
Favor'd is the habitation
Where a gentle infant dwelleth,
When its brightening eye revealeth
The immortal part within it,
And its curious wonder scanneth
All its wide spread, tiny fingers,
And its velvet hand caressing
Pats the nurse's cheek and bosom,
Hoary Age grows young before it,
As the branch that Winter blighted
At the touch of Spring reviveth.
When its healthful form evolveth,And with quadrupedal pleasureCreeping o'er the nursery carpet,Aiming still, its flowery surfaceWith faint snatches to appropriate,Or the bolder art essayingOn its two round feet to balanceAnd propel the swaying bodyAs with outstretch'd arms it hastensTottering toward the best beloved,Hope, her freshest garland weavethGlittering with the dews of morning.
When its healthful form evolveth,And with quadrupedal pleasureCreeping o'er the nursery carpet,Aiming still, its flowery surfaceWith faint snatches to appropriate,Or the bolder art essayingOn its two round feet to balanceAnd propel the swaying bodyAs with outstretch'd arms it hastensTottering toward the best beloved,Hope, her freshest garland weavethGlittering with the dews of morning.
When its healthful form evolveth,
And with quadrupedal pleasure
Creeping o'er the nursery carpet,
Aiming still, its flowery surface
With faint snatches to appropriate,
Or the bolder art essaying
On its two round feet to balance
And propel the swaying body
As with outstretch'd arms it hastens
Tottering toward the best beloved,
Hope, her freshest garland weaveth
Glittering with the dews of morning.
When the lisping tongue adventuresThe first tones of imitation,Or with magic speed o'ermastersThe philosophy of languageTwining round the mind of others,Preferences, and pains and pleasures,Tendrils strong, of sentient being,Seeking kindness and indulgence,Loving sports and smiles, and gladness,Tenderest love goes forth to meet it,Love that every care repayeth.
When the lisping tongue adventuresThe first tones of imitation,Or with magic speed o'ermastersThe philosophy of languageTwining round the mind of others,Preferences, and pains and pleasures,Tendrils strong, of sentient being,Seeking kindness and indulgence,Loving sports and smiles, and gladness,Tenderest love goes forth to meet it,Love that every care repayeth.
When the lisping tongue adventures
The first tones of imitation,
Or with magic speed o'ermasters
The philosophy of language
Twining round the mind of others,
Preferences, and pains and pleasures,
Tendrils strong, of sentient being,
Seeking kindness and indulgence,
Loving sports and smiles, and gladness,
Tenderest love goes forth to meet it,
Love that every care repayeth.
Thus the little German exileLeaning on her foster parentsBrought a love that soothed and cheer'd them,And with sweet confiding meeknessTaught to older ones the lessonOf the perfect trust, we childrenOf One Great Almighty ParentShould repose in His protectionGoodness and unerring wisdom:Though His discipline mysteriousOft transcendeth feeble reason,And perchance overthrows the fabricsThat in arrogance we builded,Call'dour own, and vainly rentedTo a troop of hopes and fancies,Gay-robed joys, or fond affections.
Thus the little German exileLeaning on her foster parentsBrought a love that soothed and cheer'd them,And with sweet confiding meeknessTaught to older ones the lessonOf the perfect trust, we childrenOf One Great Almighty ParentShould repose in His protectionGoodness and unerring wisdom:Though His discipline mysteriousOft transcendeth feeble reason,And perchance overthrows the fabricsThat in arrogance we builded,Call'dour own, and vainly rentedTo a troop of hopes and fancies,Gay-robed joys, or fond affections.
Thus the little German exile
Leaning on her foster parents
Brought a love that soothed and cheer'd them,
And with sweet confiding meekness
Taught to older ones the lesson
Of the perfect trust, we children
Of One Great Almighty Parent
Should repose in His protection
Goodness and unerring wisdom:
Though His discipline mysterious
Oft transcendeth feeble reason,
And perchance overthrows the fabrics
That in arrogance we builded,
Call'dour own, and vainly rented
To a troop of hopes and fancies,
Gay-robed joys, or fond affections.
'Tis a solemn thing and lovely,To adopt a child, whose motherDwelleth in the land of spirits:In its weakness give it succor,Be in ignorance its teacher,In all sorrow its consoler,In temptation its defender,Save what else had been forsaken,Win for it a crown in Heaven,—Tis a solemn thing and lovely,Such a work as God approveth.
'Tis a solemn thing and lovely,To adopt a child, whose motherDwelleth in the land of spirits:In its weakness give it succor,Be in ignorance its teacher,In all sorrow its consoler,In temptation its defender,Save what else had been forsaken,Win for it a crown in Heaven,—Tis a solemn thing and lovely,Such a work as God approveth.
'Tis a solemn thing and lovely,
To adopt a child, whose mother
Dwelleth in the land of spirits:
In its weakness give it succor,
Be in ignorance its teacher,
In all sorrow its consoler,
In temptation its defender,
Save what else had been forsaken,
Win for it a crown in Heaven,—
Tis a solemn thing and lovely,
Such a work as God approveth.
Blessed are the souls that nurtureWith paternal care the orphan,Neath their roof-tree lending shelter,At their table breathing welcome,Giving armor for the journeyAnd the warfare that awaitethEvery pilgrim, born of woman,Blessed, for the grateful prayerRiseth unto Him who hearethThe lone sigh of the forsaken,Bendeth, mid the song of seraphs,To the crying of the ravens,From whose nest the brooding pinionBy the archer's shaft was sever'd.
Blessed are the souls that nurtureWith paternal care the orphan,Neath their roof-tree lending shelter,At their table breathing welcome,Giving armor for the journeyAnd the warfare that awaitethEvery pilgrim, born of woman,Blessed, for the grateful prayerRiseth unto Him who hearethThe lone sigh of the forsaken,Bendeth, mid the song of seraphs,To the crying of the ravens,From whose nest the brooding pinionBy the archer's shaft was sever'd.
Blessed are the souls that nurture
With paternal care the orphan,
Neath their roof-tree lending shelter,
At their table breathing welcome,
Giving armor for the journey
And the warfare that awaiteth
Every pilgrim, born of woman,
Blessed, for the grateful prayer
Riseth unto Him who heareth
The lone sigh of the forsaken,
Bendeth, mid the song of seraphs,
To the crying of the ravens,
From whose nest the brooding pinion
By the archer's shaft was sever'd.
Pomp and wealth, and pride of officeWith their glitter and their shouting,May not pass through death's dark valley,May not thrill the ear that restethMid the silence of the grave-yard;But the deed that wrought in pityMid the outcast and benighted,In the hovel or the prison,On the land or on the ocean,Shunning still the applause of mortals,Comes it not to His remembranceWho shall say amid the terrorsOf the last Great Day of Judgment,"Inasmuch as ye have done itUnto one, the least, the lowest.It was done to Me, your Saviour."
Pomp and wealth, and pride of officeWith their glitter and their shouting,May not pass through death's dark valley,May not thrill the ear that restethMid the silence of the grave-yard;But the deed that wrought in pityMid the outcast and benighted,In the hovel or the prison,On the land or on the ocean,Shunning still the applause of mortals,Comes it not to His remembranceWho shall say amid the terrorsOf the last Great Day of Judgment,"Inasmuch as ye have done itUnto one, the least, the lowest.It was done to Me, your Saviour."
Pomp and wealth, and pride of office
With their glitter and their shouting,
May not pass through death's dark valley,
May not thrill the ear that resteth
Mid the silence of the grave-yard;
But the deed that wrought in pity
Mid the outcast and benighted,
In the hovel or the prison,
On the land or on the ocean,
Shunning still the applause of mortals,
Comes it not to His remembrance
Who shall say amid the terrors
Of the last Great Day of Judgment,
"Inasmuch as ye have done it
Unto one, the least, the lowest.
It was done to Me, your Saviour."
CANTO THIRD.