Roderick Lee.This is a wild, lone valley, and the road that threads it throughIs the loneliest road I know of, and I’ve traveled not a few;Those hills on the left[72]so barren, and yon[73]towering, rocky ridge,Look down on a sluggish river that is spanned by a moss-grown bridge—And nigh to the bridge like a sentry, a tall, gray chimney stands,’Mid the wreck that time has buried ’neath the tangled weeds and sands.In this valley three ruins moulder that were once three happy homes,And where once fond voices mingled, now the sly fox fearless roams;Then these locks[74]were thick and glossy, that are now so sparse and gray;Then I’d clamber these rocks as willing by night as I would by day—But, if a royal scepter, if the world[75]were promised mineTo cross again this valley, I would shudder and decline.Roderick Lee was a miller, and as grist was hard to findDown in his old New Hampshire,[76]he had little or naught to grind;So, with his young wife blooming and his brown-eyed daughter Nell,Together with two young farmers, he came to this[77]place to dwell:And many’s the mile of prairie, and many’s the forest drear,That lay ’twixt the far-off Merrimack[78]and the stream[79]that ripples here.Yet with a heart as buoyant and as brave as it was true,Young Lee, ’mid the cheers at parting, bade his native town adieu;Then came the weeks of toiling, aye, months, ere the scorching plainWas crossed, and his eyes were greeted by the distant mountain chain;But the white-topped, dusty wagons at last made their final stand,And he knelt to breathe thanksgiving with his little pilgrim band.Stay! even now in fancy, I can see their forms once more,I can see their peaceful faces and the look of hope they wore—Poor Kate and Nell and Edith, young Harry, Mag and Joe—’Neath that oak[80]I see them kneeling, tho’ ’tis thirty years ago!And long ere the hazy autumn had mellowed another year,Our huts were built in the clearing, and our corn hung ripe in the ear.Joe was a model husband, as fair Edith, his wife, well knew,And Mag and her raw-boned Harry, lived as loving couples do;But, as their homes were childless, very natural-like it fellThat these kind and worthy people thought the world of little Nell.Many a time they kept her whole days ’gainst her mother’s will,First in the hut by the river[81], then in the hut by the hill[82].Once in the chill November, when the slender moon[83]hung low,And the barren hill tops yonder[84]were clad in a gauze of snow;Kate with a gleam of mischief in her bright and twinkling eye,Started across the river[85]to the hut of Joe, hard by;And Roderick sat by the window, watching her out of sight,Dreamily watching the shadows of that chill November night.Ere it had seemed a moment she again stood by his chair;She had called at their neighbor’s cabin, but Nellie had not been there.Roderick slowly rising took his rifle from the rack,For the road was wild and lonely and led through a forest tract;Over the ruts and boulders, chatting, they strode[86]alongTill the voice of raw-boned Harry was heard in a merry song.“Singing for Nell’s amusement,” said the wife, as she hurried on;“Pity,” she added, musing, “that they have no child of their own.”Soon with a hearty greeting they were met at the cabin door,“And where is your little daughter?” asked Mag, as she scanned them o’er.“Question your good man, Harry[87], for I’ll venture that he can tell,”Said Kate, then smiling added, “we must stop lending little Nell.”Mag, with a playful gesture drew the bed-room screen[88]aside,“See!” she exclaimed, “she’s not here; now I hope you are satisfied.”“Come, Maggie, come, don’t trifle, for the hour is growing late;I know that the child is hiding; would you have us longer wait?”Thus queried Kate, half pleading, when a look akin to fearStole over the face of Harry as he said, “she is not here!”[89]“Not here! O God[90]protect her!” with a gasp young Roderick cried,And his pale wife like a statue, mute with fright, stood at his side.’Twas but a single moment, yet it seemed like an age to waitEre Mag and Kate with their husbands filed out[91]through the open gate;Dark[92]was the night as a dungeon, for the moon had sunk away[93],And the far-off cries of a panther[94]filled each breast with dread dismay.On[95]through the gloomy forest like a band of ghosts they sped,Silently, save when the mother sobbed, or a twig snapped ’neath their tread;“Hark[96]!” whispered tall, gaunt Harry, and they stood with heads[97]bent low,While faint on the air of midnight came shrieks[98]of pain and woe.“Hello! hello[99]!” cried Harry; but they heard no voice reply—“Heavens! what means that crimson, that glow[100]on the fleecy sky?See how it spreads[101]and deepens! Look! our cabins are ablaze!”Then Roderick paused in terror at the sight that met his gaze.Light grew the wood about[102]them; their shadows fell before,For behind[103]them on the hillside leaped the flames from Harry’s door:“On[104]for your lives!” screamed Harry, “on for little Nell!”Then, like an answering challenge, rose the distant Indians’ yell.Bang! bang! “That’s Joe replying; he’ll fight ’em game and well,”Were the words that Harry uttered; “God[105]spare my darling Nell!”This from the pallid mother; and the settlers fairly flewO’er the matted brush and boulders till the clearing came in view.Oh, such a sight[106]of ruin! oh, such a ghastly scene!Stark, dead,[107]lay Joe and Edith on the charred and trampled green.Crouching down ’mid the bushes they watched the painted fiends,Watched with the strange, grim calmness that despair so often lends;“My child! my child!” then springing from the group like astartled deer,Kate rushed[108]o’er the red-lit clearing ere one could interfere—The hideous, screeching cut-throats had captured little Nell;But, when they saw her mother, they stood bound, as by a spell.“Spare![109]oh, spare my darling! Here, pierce me,[110]strike me dead![111]Give back my child, my Nellie!” the frantic woman said;Then on her panting bosom her daughter’s head she laid,Then both sank[112]down in silence, looked up and mutely prayed;That was the fatal signal, for on, like a sweeping hell[113]They came with knife and hatchet, with rifle-shot and yell.Bravely they fought, yet vainly, that fated settler band,Clubbing their empty rifles, meeting them hand to hand;Roderick reeled and staggered, then fell[114]’neath a crushing blow,And a whoop of fiendish malice told the triumph of the foe;Then like a flash they vanished[115]and Roderick bleeding lay,Hearing their yells grow fainter, till at last they died away.Gray dawned the wintry morning on that awful scene of death,And five cold brows of marble were kissed[116]by its chilling breath—God in his wisdom took them—save Nellie, who ne’er was found;And all of them sleep in this valley, each ’neath a grassy mound.Poor little Nell may be living, but if living she’s dead to me;Yes, the tale is indeed a true one—and my name?—is Roderick Lee.—Geo.M. Vickers.Gestures.[72]Left A. O.[73]Left ind. A. O.[74]Point to head.[75]H. sweep.[76]H. L.[77]H. F.[78]H. L.[79]H. F.[80]Ind. H. F.[81]H. O.[82]Left H. O.[83]A. O.[84]Left A. O.[85]H. O.[86]H. F.[87]H. O.[88]Left H. O.[89]Shake head.[90]Glance up.[91]H. F.[92]Ver. H. sweep.[93]Let hand fall.[94]H. O.[95]H. F.[96]Raise hand to listen.[97]Bow head.[98]H. F.[99]Hand to mouth.[100]A. F.[101]A. sweep.[102]b. H. O.[103]A. B.[104]H. F.[105]Clasp hands.[106]b. hands raised V. and head turned away.[107]H. F.[108]H. F.[109]Clasp hands.[110]b. H. F.[111]b. D. F.[112]b. D. F.[113]P. ind. D. F.[114]D. F.[115]H. O.[116]P. D. F.
This is a wild, lone valley, and the road that threads it throughIs the loneliest road I know of, and I’ve traveled not a few;Those hills on the left[72]so barren, and yon[73]towering, rocky ridge,Look down on a sluggish river that is spanned by a moss-grown bridge—And nigh to the bridge like a sentry, a tall, gray chimney stands,’Mid the wreck that time has buried ’neath the tangled weeds and sands.In this valley three ruins moulder that were once three happy homes,And where once fond voices mingled, now the sly fox fearless roams;Then these locks[74]were thick and glossy, that are now so sparse and gray;Then I’d clamber these rocks as willing by night as I would by day—But, if a royal scepter, if the world[75]were promised mineTo cross again this valley, I would shudder and decline.Roderick Lee was a miller, and as grist was hard to findDown in his old New Hampshire,[76]he had little or naught to grind;So, with his young wife blooming and his brown-eyed daughter Nell,Together with two young farmers, he came to this[77]place to dwell:And many’s the mile of prairie, and many’s the forest drear,That lay ’twixt the far-off Merrimack[78]and the stream[79]that ripples here.Yet with a heart as buoyant and as brave as it was true,Young Lee, ’mid the cheers at parting, bade his native town adieu;Then came the weeks of toiling, aye, months, ere the scorching plainWas crossed, and his eyes were greeted by the distant mountain chain;But the white-topped, dusty wagons at last made their final stand,And he knelt to breathe thanksgiving with his little pilgrim band.Stay! even now in fancy, I can see their forms once more,I can see their peaceful faces and the look of hope they wore—Poor Kate and Nell and Edith, young Harry, Mag and Joe—’Neath that oak[80]I see them kneeling, tho’ ’tis thirty years ago!And long ere the hazy autumn had mellowed another year,Our huts were built in the clearing, and our corn hung ripe in the ear.Joe was a model husband, as fair Edith, his wife, well knew,And Mag and her raw-boned Harry, lived as loving couples do;But, as their homes were childless, very natural-like it fellThat these kind and worthy people thought the world of little Nell.Many a time they kept her whole days ’gainst her mother’s will,First in the hut by the river[81], then in the hut by the hill[82].Once in the chill November, when the slender moon[83]hung low,And the barren hill tops yonder[84]were clad in a gauze of snow;Kate with a gleam of mischief in her bright and twinkling eye,Started across the river[85]to the hut of Joe, hard by;And Roderick sat by the window, watching her out of sight,Dreamily watching the shadows of that chill November night.Ere it had seemed a moment she again stood by his chair;She had called at their neighbor’s cabin, but Nellie had not been there.Roderick slowly rising took his rifle from the rack,For the road was wild and lonely and led through a forest tract;Over the ruts and boulders, chatting, they strode[86]alongTill the voice of raw-boned Harry was heard in a merry song.“Singing for Nell’s amusement,” said the wife, as she hurried on;“Pity,” she added, musing, “that they have no child of their own.”Soon with a hearty greeting they were met at the cabin door,“And where is your little daughter?” asked Mag, as she scanned them o’er.“Question your good man, Harry[87], for I’ll venture that he can tell,”Said Kate, then smiling added, “we must stop lending little Nell.”Mag, with a playful gesture drew the bed-room screen[88]aside,“See!” she exclaimed, “she’s not here; now I hope you are satisfied.”“Come, Maggie, come, don’t trifle, for the hour is growing late;I know that the child is hiding; would you have us longer wait?”Thus queried Kate, half pleading, when a look akin to fearStole over the face of Harry as he said, “she is not here!”[89]“Not here! O God[90]protect her!” with a gasp young Roderick cried,And his pale wife like a statue, mute with fright, stood at his side.’Twas but a single moment, yet it seemed like an age to waitEre Mag and Kate with their husbands filed out[91]through the open gate;Dark[92]was the night as a dungeon, for the moon had sunk away[93],And the far-off cries of a panther[94]filled each breast with dread dismay.On[95]through the gloomy forest like a band of ghosts they sped,Silently, save when the mother sobbed, or a twig snapped ’neath their tread;“Hark[96]!” whispered tall, gaunt Harry, and they stood with heads[97]bent low,While faint on the air of midnight came shrieks[98]of pain and woe.“Hello! hello[99]!” cried Harry; but they heard no voice reply—“Heavens! what means that crimson, that glow[100]on the fleecy sky?See how it spreads[101]and deepens! Look! our cabins are ablaze!”Then Roderick paused in terror at the sight that met his gaze.Light grew the wood about[102]them; their shadows fell before,For behind[103]them on the hillside leaped the flames from Harry’s door:“On[104]for your lives!” screamed Harry, “on for little Nell!”Then, like an answering challenge, rose the distant Indians’ yell.Bang! bang! “That’s Joe replying; he’ll fight ’em game and well,”Were the words that Harry uttered; “God[105]spare my darling Nell!”This from the pallid mother; and the settlers fairly flewO’er the matted brush and boulders till the clearing came in view.Oh, such a sight[106]of ruin! oh, such a ghastly scene!Stark, dead,[107]lay Joe and Edith on the charred and trampled green.Crouching down ’mid the bushes they watched the painted fiends,Watched with the strange, grim calmness that despair so often lends;“My child! my child!” then springing from the group like astartled deer,Kate rushed[108]o’er the red-lit clearing ere one could interfere—The hideous, screeching cut-throats had captured little Nell;But, when they saw her mother, they stood bound, as by a spell.“Spare![109]oh, spare my darling! Here, pierce me,[110]strike me dead![111]Give back my child, my Nellie!” the frantic woman said;Then on her panting bosom her daughter’s head she laid,Then both sank[112]down in silence, looked up and mutely prayed;That was the fatal signal, for on, like a sweeping hell[113]They came with knife and hatchet, with rifle-shot and yell.Bravely they fought, yet vainly, that fated settler band,Clubbing their empty rifles, meeting them hand to hand;Roderick reeled and staggered, then fell[114]’neath a crushing blow,And a whoop of fiendish malice told the triumph of the foe;Then like a flash they vanished[115]and Roderick bleeding lay,Hearing their yells grow fainter, till at last they died away.Gray dawned the wintry morning on that awful scene of death,And five cold brows of marble were kissed[116]by its chilling breath—God in his wisdom took them—save Nellie, who ne’er was found;And all of them sleep in this valley, each ’neath a grassy mound.Poor little Nell may be living, but if living she’s dead to me;Yes, the tale is indeed a true one—and my name?—is Roderick Lee.—Geo.M. Vickers.
This is a wild, lone valley, and the road that threads it throughIs the loneliest road I know of, and I’ve traveled not a few;Those hills on the left[72]so barren, and yon[73]towering, rocky ridge,Look down on a sluggish river that is spanned by a moss-grown bridge—And nigh to the bridge like a sentry, a tall, gray chimney stands,’Mid the wreck that time has buried ’neath the tangled weeds and sands.In this valley three ruins moulder that were once three happy homes,And where once fond voices mingled, now the sly fox fearless roams;Then these locks[74]were thick and glossy, that are now so sparse and gray;Then I’d clamber these rocks as willing by night as I would by day—But, if a royal scepter, if the world[75]were promised mineTo cross again this valley, I would shudder and decline.Roderick Lee was a miller, and as grist was hard to findDown in his old New Hampshire,[76]he had little or naught to grind;So, with his young wife blooming and his brown-eyed daughter Nell,Together with two young farmers, he came to this[77]place to dwell:And many’s the mile of prairie, and many’s the forest drear,That lay ’twixt the far-off Merrimack[78]and the stream[79]that ripples here.Yet with a heart as buoyant and as brave as it was true,Young Lee, ’mid the cheers at parting, bade his native town adieu;Then came the weeks of toiling, aye, months, ere the scorching plainWas crossed, and his eyes were greeted by the distant mountain chain;But the white-topped, dusty wagons at last made their final stand,And he knelt to breathe thanksgiving with his little pilgrim band.Stay! even now in fancy, I can see their forms once more,I can see their peaceful faces and the look of hope they wore—Poor Kate and Nell and Edith, young Harry, Mag and Joe—’Neath that oak[80]I see them kneeling, tho’ ’tis thirty years ago!And long ere the hazy autumn had mellowed another year,Our huts were built in the clearing, and our corn hung ripe in the ear.Joe was a model husband, as fair Edith, his wife, well knew,And Mag and her raw-boned Harry, lived as loving couples do;But, as their homes were childless, very natural-like it fellThat these kind and worthy people thought the world of little Nell.Many a time they kept her whole days ’gainst her mother’s will,First in the hut by the river[81], then in the hut by the hill[82].Once in the chill November, when the slender moon[83]hung low,And the barren hill tops yonder[84]were clad in a gauze of snow;Kate with a gleam of mischief in her bright and twinkling eye,Started across the river[85]to the hut of Joe, hard by;And Roderick sat by the window, watching her out of sight,Dreamily watching the shadows of that chill November night.Ere it had seemed a moment she again stood by his chair;She had called at their neighbor’s cabin, but Nellie had not been there.Roderick slowly rising took his rifle from the rack,For the road was wild and lonely and led through a forest tract;Over the ruts and boulders, chatting, they strode[86]alongTill the voice of raw-boned Harry was heard in a merry song.“Singing for Nell’s amusement,” said the wife, as she hurried on;“Pity,” she added, musing, “that they have no child of their own.”Soon with a hearty greeting they were met at the cabin door,“And where is your little daughter?” asked Mag, as she scanned them o’er.“Question your good man, Harry[87], for I’ll venture that he can tell,”Said Kate, then smiling added, “we must stop lending little Nell.”Mag, with a playful gesture drew the bed-room screen[88]aside,“See!” she exclaimed, “she’s not here; now I hope you are satisfied.”“Come, Maggie, come, don’t trifle, for the hour is growing late;I know that the child is hiding; would you have us longer wait?”Thus queried Kate, half pleading, when a look akin to fearStole over the face of Harry as he said, “she is not here!”[89]“Not here! O God[90]protect her!” with a gasp young Roderick cried,And his pale wife like a statue, mute with fright, stood at his side.’Twas but a single moment, yet it seemed like an age to waitEre Mag and Kate with their husbands filed out[91]through the open gate;Dark[92]was the night as a dungeon, for the moon had sunk away[93],And the far-off cries of a panther[94]filled each breast with dread dismay.On[95]through the gloomy forest like a band of ghosts they sped,Silently, save when the mother sobbed, or a twig snapped ’neath their tread;“Hark[96]!” whispered tall, gaunt Harry, and they stood with heads[97]bent low,While faint on the air of midnight came shrieks[98]of pain and woe.“Hello! hello[99]!” cried Harry; but they heard no voice reply—“Heavens! what means that crimson, that glow[100]on the fleecy sky?See how it spreads[101]and deepens! Look! our cabins are ablaze!”Then Roderick paused in terror at the sight that met his gaze.Light grew the wood about[102]them; their shadows fell before,For behind[103]them on the hillside leaped the flames from Harry’s door:“On[104]for your lives!” screamed Harry, “on for little Nell!”Then, like an answering challenge, rose the distant Indians’ yell.Bang! bang! “That’s Joe replying; he’ll fight ’em game and well,”Were the words that Harry uttered; “God[105]spare my darling Nell!”This from the pallid mother; and the settlers fairly flewO’er the matted brush and boulders till the clearing came in view.Oh, such a sight[106]of ruin! oh, such a ghastly scene!Stark, dead,[107]lay Joe and Edith on the charred and trampled green.Crouching down ’mid the bushes they watched the painted fiends,Watched with the strange, grim calmness that despair so often lends;“My child! my child!” then springing from the group like astartled deer,Kate rushed[108]o’er the red-lit clearing ere one could interfere—The hideous, screeching cut-throats had captured little Nell;But, when they saw her mother, they stood bound, as by a spell.“Spare![109]oh, spare my darling! Here, pierce me,[110]strike me dead![111]Give back my child, my Nellie!” the frantic woman said;Then on her panting bosom her daughter’s head she laid,Then both sank[112]down in silence, looked up and mutely prayed;That was the fatal signal, for on, like a sweeping hell[113]They came with knife and hatchet, with rifle-shot and yell.Bravely they fought, yet vainly, that fated settler band,Clubbing their empty rifles, meeting them hand to hand;Roderick reeled and staggered, then fell[114]’neath a crushing blow,And a whoop of fiendish malice told the triumph of the foe;Then like a flash they vanished[115]and Roderick bleeding lay,Hearing their yells grow fainter, till at last they died away.Gray dawned the wintry morning on that awful scene of death,And five cold brows of marble were kissed[116]by its chilling breath—God in his wisdom took them—save Nellie, who ne’er was found;And all of them sleep in this valley, each ’neath a grassy mound.Poor little Nell may be living, but if living she’s dead to me;Yes, the tale is indeed a true one—and my name?—is Roderick Lee.—Geo.M. Vickers.
This is a wild, lone valley, and the road that threads it through
Is the loneliest road I know of, and I’ve traveled not a few;
Those hills on the left[72]so barren, and yon[73]towering, rocky ridge,
Look down on a sluggish river that is spanned by a moss-grown bridge—
And nigh to the bridge like a sentry, a tall, gray chimney stands,
’Mid the wreck that time has buried ’neath the tangled weeds and sands.
In this valley three ruins moulder that were once three happy homes,And where once fond voices mingled, now the sly fox fearless roams;Then these locks[74]were thick and glossy, that are now so sparse and gray;Then I’d clamber these rocks as willing by night as I would by day—But, if a royal scepter, if the world[75]were promised mineTo cross again this valley, I would shudder and decline.
In this valley three ruins moulder that were once three happy homes,
And where once fond voices mingled, now the sly fox fearless roams;
Then these locks[74]were thick and glossy, that are now so sparse and gray;
Then I’d clamber these rocks as willing by night as I would by day—
But, if a royal scepter, if the world[75]were promised mine
To cross again this valley, I would shudder and decline.
Roderick Lee was a miller, and as grist was hard to findDown in his old New Hampshire,[76]he had little or naught to grind;So, with his young wife blooming and his brown-eyed daughter Nell,Together with two young farmers, he came to this[77]place to dwell:And many’s the mile of prairie, and many’s the forest drear,That lay ’twixt the far-off Merrimack[78]and the stream[79]that ripples here.
Roderick Lee was a miller, and as grist was hard to find
Down in his old New Hampshire,[76]he had little or naught to grind;
So, with his young wife blooming and his brown-eyed daughter Nell,
Together with two young farmers, he came to this[77]place to dwell:
And many’s the mile of prairie, and many’s the forest drear,
That lay ’twixt the far-off Merrimack[78]and the stream[79]that ripples here.
Yet with a heart as buoyant and as brave as it was true,Young Lee, ’mid the cheers at parting, bade his native town adieu;Then came the weeks of toiling, aye, months, ere the scorching plainWas crossed, and his eyes were greeted by the distant mountain chain;But the white-topped, dusty wagons at last made their final stand,And he knelt to breathe thanksgiving with his little pilgrim band.
Yet with a heart as buoyant and as brave as it was true,
Young Lee, ’mid the cheers at parting, bade his native town adieu;
Then came the weeks of toiling, aye, months, ere the scorching plain
Was crossed, and his eyes were greeted by the distant mountain chain;
But the white-topped, dusty wagons at last made their final stand,
And he knelt to breathe thanksgiving with his little pilgrim band.
Stay! even now in fancy, I can see their forms once more,I can see their peaceful faces and the look of hope they wore—Poor Kate and Nell and Edith, young Harry, Mag and Joe—’Neath that oak[80]I see them kneeling, tho’ ’tis thirty years ago!And long ere the hazy autumn had mellowed another year,Our huts were built in the clearing, and our corn hung ripe in the ear.
Stay! even now in fancy, I can see their forms once more,
I can see their peaceful faces and the look of hope they wore—
Poor Kate and Nell and Edith, young Harry, Mag and Joe—
’Neath that oak[80]I see them kneeling, tho’ ’tis thirty years ago!
And long ere the hazy autumn had mellowed another year,
Our huts were built in the clearing, and our corn hung ripe in the ear.
Joe was a model husband, as fair Edith, his wife, well knew,And Mag and her raw-boned Harry, lived as loving couples do;But, as their homes were childless, very natural-like it fellThat these kind and worthy people thought the world of little Nell.Many a time they kept her whole days ’gainst her mother’s will,First in the hut by the river[81], then in the hut by the hill[82].
Joe was a model husband, as fair Edith, his wife, well knew,
And Mag and her raw-boned Harry, lived as loving couples do;
But, as their homes were childless, very natural-like it fell
That these kind and worthy people thought the world of little Nell.
Many a time they kept her whole days ’gainst her mother’s will,
First in the hut by the river[81], then in the hut by the hill[82].
Once in the chill November, when the slender moon[83]hung low,And the barren hill tops yonder[84]were clad in a gauze of snow;Kate with a gleam of mischief in her bright and twinkling eye,Started across the river[85]to the hut of Joe, hard by;And Roderick sat by the window, watching her out of sight,Dreamily watching the shadows of that chill November night.
Once in the chill November, when the slender moon[83]hung low,
And the barren hill tops yonder[84]were clad in a gauze of snow;
Kate with a gleam of mischief in her bright and twinkling eye,
Started across the river[85]to the hut of Joe, hard by;
And Roderick sat by the window, watching her out of sight,
Dreamily watching the shadows of that chill November night.
Ere it had seemed a moment she again stood by his chair;She had called at their neighbor’s cabin, but Nellie had not been there.Roderick slowly rising took his rifle from the rack,For the road was wild and lonely and led through a forest tract;Over the ruts and boulders, chatting, they strode[86]alongTill the voice of raw-boned Harry was heard in a merry song.
Ere it had seemed a moment she again stood by his chair;
She had called at their neighbor’s cabin, but Nellie had not been there.
Roderick slowly rising took his rifle from the rack,
For the road was wild and lonely and led through a forest tract;
Over the ruts and boulders, chatting, they strode[86]along
Till the voice of raw-boned Harry was heard in a merry song.
“Singing for Nell’s amusement,” said the wife, as she hurried on;“Pity,” she added, musing, “that they have no child of their own.”Soon with a hearty greeting they were met at the cabin door,“And where is your little daughter?” asked Mag, as she scanned them o’er.“Question your good man, Harry[87], for I’ll venture that he can tell,”Said Kate, then smiling added, “we must stop lending little Nell.”
“Singing for Nell’s amusement,” said the wife, as she hurried on;
“Pity,” she added, musing, “that they have no child of their own.”
Soon with a hearty greeting they were met at the cabin door,
“And where is your little daughter?” asked Mag, as she scanned them o’er.
“Question your good man, Harry[87], for I’ll venture that he can tell,”
Said Kate, then smiling added, “we must stop lending little Nell.”
Mag, with a playful gesture drew the bed-room screen[88]aside,“See!” she exclaimed, “she’s not here; now I hope you are satisfied.”“Come, Maggie, come, don’t trifle, for the hour is growing late;I know that the child is hiding; would you have us longer wait?”Thus queried Kate, half pleading, when a look akin to fearStole over the face of Harry as he said, “she is not here!”[89]
Mag, with a playful gesture drew the bed-room screen[88]aside,
“See!” she exclaimed, “she’s not here; now I hope you are satisfied.”
“Come, Maggie, come, don’t trifle, for the hour is growing late;
I know that the child is hiding; would you have us longer wait?”
Thus queried Kate, half pleading, when a look akin to fear
Stole over the face of Harry as he said, “she is not here!”[89]
“Not here! O God[90]protect her!” with a gasp young Roderick cried,And his pale wife like a statue, mute with fright, stood at his side.’Twas but a single moment, yet it seemed like an age to waitEre Mag and Kate with their husbands filed out[91]through the open gate;Dark[92]was the night as a dungeon, for the moon had sunk away[93],And the far-off cries of a panther[94]filled each breast with dread dismay.
“Not here! O God[90]protect her!” with a gasp young Roderick cried,
And his pale wife like a statue, mute with fright, stood at his side.
’Twas but a single moment, yet it seemed like an age to wait
Ere Mag and Kate with their husbands filed out[91]through the open gate;
Dark[92]was the night as a dungeon, for the moon had sunk away[93],
And the far-off cries of a panther[94]filled each breast with dread dismay.
On[95]through the gloomy forest like a band of ghosts they sped,Silently, save when the mother sobbed, or a twig snapped ’neath their tread;“Hark[96]!” whispered tall, gaunt Harry, and they stood with heads[97]bent low,While faint on the air of midnight came shrieks[98]of pain and woe.“Hello! hello[99]!” cried Harry; but they heard no voice reply—“Heavens! what means that crimson, that glow[100]on the fleecy sky?
On[95]through the gloomy forest like a band of ghosts they sped,
Silently, save when the mother sobbed, or a twig snapped ’neath their tread;
“Hark[96]!” whispered tall, gaunt Harry, and they stood with heads[97]bent low,
While faint on the air of midnight came shrieks[98]of pain and woe.
“Hello! hello[99]!” cried Harry; but they heard no voice reply—
“Heavens! what means that crimson, that glow[100]on the fleecy sky?
See how it spreads[101]and deepens! Look! our cabins are ablaze!”Then Roderick paused in terror at the sight that met his gaze.Light grew the wood about[102]them; their shadows fell before,For behind[103]them on the hillside leaped the flames from Harry’s door:“On[104]for your lives!” screamed Harry, “on for little Nell!”Then, like an answering challenge, rose the distant Indians’ yell.
See how it spreads[101]and deepens! Look! our cabins are ablaze!”
Then Roderick paused in terror at the sight that met his gaze.
Light grew the wood about[102]them; their shadows fell before,
For behind[103]them on the hillside leaped the flames from Harry’s door:
“On[104]for your lives!” screamed Harry, “on for little Nell!”
Then, like an answering challenge, rose the distant Indians’ yell.
Bang! bang! “That’s Joe replying; he’ll fight ’em game and well,”Were the words that Harry uttered; “God[105]spare my darling Nell!”This from the pallid mother; and the settlers fairly flewO’er the matted brush and boulders till the clearing came in view.Oh, such a sight[106]of ruin! oh, such a ghastly scene!Stark, dead,[107]lay Joe and Edith on the charred and trampled green.
Bang! bang! “That’s Joe replying; he’ll fight ’em game and well,”
Were the words that Harry uttered; “God[105]spare my darling Nell!”
This from the pallid mother; and the settlers fairly flew
O’er the matted brush and boulders till the clearing came in view.
Oh, such a sight[106]of ruin! oh, such a ghastly scene!
Stark, dead,[107]lay Joe and Edith on the charred and trampled green.
Crouching down ’mid the bushes they watched the painted fiends,Watched with the strange, grim calmness that despair so often lends;“My child! my child!” then springing from the group like astartled deer,Kate rushed[108]o’er the red-lit clearing ere one could interfere—The hideous, screeching cut-throats had captured little Nell;But, when they saw her mother, they stood bound, as by a spell.
Crouching down ’mid the bushes they watched the painted fiends,
Watched with the strange, grim calmness that despair so often lends;
“My child! my child!” then springing from the group like astartled deer,
Kate rushed[108]o’er the red-lit clearing ere one could interfere—
The hideous, screeching cut-throats had captured little Nell;
But, when they saw her mother, they stood bound, as by a spell.
“Spare![109]oh, spare my darling! Here, pierce me,[110]strike me dead![111]Give back my child, my Nellie!” the frantic woman said;Then on her panting bosom her daughter’s head she laid,Then both sank[112]down in silence, looked up and mutely prayed;That was the fatal signal, for on, like a sweeping hell[113]They came with knife and hatchet, with rifle-shot and yell.
“Spare![109]oh, spare my darling! Here, pierce me,[110]strike me dead![111]
Give back my child, my Nellie!” the frantic woman said;
Then on her panting bosom her daughter’s head she laid,
Then both sank[112]down in silence, looked up and mutely prayed;
That was the fatal signal, for on, like a sweeping hell[113]
They came with knife and hatchet, with rifle-shot and yell.
Bravely they fought, yet vainly, that fated settler band,Clubbing their empty rifles, meeting them hand to hand;Roderick reeled and staggered, then fell[114]’neath a crushing blow,And a whoop of fiendish malice told the triumph of the foe;Then like a flash they vanished[115]and Roderick bleeding lay,Hearing their yells grow fainter, till at last they died away.
Bravely they fought, yet vainly, that fated settler band,
Clubbing their empty rifles, meeting them hand to hand;
Roderick reeled and staggered, then fell[114]’neath a crushing blow,
And a whoop of fiendish malice told the triumph of the foe;
Then like a flash they vanished[115]and Roderick bleeding lay,
Hearing their yells grow fainter, till at last they died away.
Gray dawned the wintry morning on that awful scene of death,And five cold brows of marble were kissed[116]by its chilling breath—God in his wisdom took them—save Nellie, who ne’er was found;And all of them sleep in this valley, each ’neath a grassy mound.Poor little Nell may be living, but if living she’s dead to me;Yes, the tale is indeed a true one—and my name?—is Roderick Lee.—Geo.M. Vickers.
Gray dawned the wintry morning on that awful scene of death,
And five cold brows of marble were kissed[116]by its chilling breath—
God in his wisdom took them—save Nellie, who ne’er was found;
And all of them sleep in this valley, each ’neath a grassy mound.
Poor little Nell may be living, but if living she’s dead to me;
Yes, the tale is indeed a true one—and my name?—is Roderick Lee.
—Geo.M. Vickers.
Gestures.