I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, i 
 
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 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. I 
 
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ERRATA. 
 
 Page ix, 9th line from top, for "sun-dawD," read sun-down. 
 " <* "' '^ and swinging arms," 
 
 read with swinging arms. 
 '* bottom, /or *^tune and hark," 
 
 read turn and hark. 
 << *' *' *'worbs," '* w^ords. 
 
 '' '* " " furrow's," reofci? furrowed. 
 
 ** top, /or ''whinings," reac/whirrings. 
 '< '* " ''valley," '' yalleys. 
 
 '' '• *' "master's," '' muster's. 
 
 '' bottom, /or "on," " no. 
 u i( a '-on." " no. 
 
 " 27, 
 
 11th 
 
 " 55, 
 
 4 th 
 
 " 84, 
 
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 " 104, 
 
 3d 
 
 " 110, 
 
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 "117, 
 
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 " 129, 
 
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 " 225, 
 
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'^miimimMmmiBmm.mmm 
 
 "WlutecKuicli. 
 
THE 
 
 NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 PARRY & MCMILLAN, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO A. HART. 
 
 1855. 
 
 Cob v Z, 
 

 ItA- 
 
 Coft^ 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by 
 
 PARRY & M'MILLAN, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in 
 and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA ; 
 STEREOTYPED BY GEORGE CHARLES. 
 PRINTED BY T. K. & P. G. COLLINS. 
 
A GROUP OF GENEROUS FRIENDS 
 
 IN PHILADELPHIA, 
 
 WITHOUT WHOSE ENCOURAGEMENT 
 THESE PAGES MIGHT NEVER HAVE BEEN WRITTEN, 
 
 THIS VOLUME, WITH GRATEFUL FEELINGS, 
 IS DEDICATED 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Florence, August C^/*, 1854. 
 
INTRODUCTION, 
 
 If from this oaten pipe — 
 Plucked from the shadow of primeval woods, 
 And waked to changeful numbers by strange airs, 
 Born by my native stream, in leafy depths 
 Of unfrequented glades — somewhat of song 
 Pour through its simple stops, and wake again 
 In other hearts what I have felt in mine, 
 Then not in vain I hold it to my lips. 
 And breathe the fulness of my soul away. 
 
 My theme, the country — worthier theme is not 
 In all the tomes which star the centuries, 
 From blind MaBonides to Milton blind ! 
 Oh! would that I, with all my living sight. 
 Might see the least of what their blank orbs saw; 
 And seeing, wake but once their kindling note, 
 And, unappalled, attempt their solemn bass; 
 Then would the song behind the argument 
 Halt at less distance. As it is, I sing, 
 
 1* (Y) 
 
vi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Conscious of the disparity, and tremble, — 
 
 As who might not? But what mine eyes have seen. 
 
 Ears heard, heart felt, my muse shall teach in numbers ; 
 
 Not with a bondmaid's hand, but housewife's care, 
 
 Who holds chaste plenty better than rich waste. 
 
 And not of wars terrestrial or of heaven, 
 
 Or of a hero, whose great name ablaze 
 
 With glory lights the annals of an era. 
 
 My pipe proclaims ; but of that pastoral phase, 
 
 W^here man is native to his sphere, which shows 
 
 The simple light of nature, fresh from God ! — 
 
 That middle life, between the hut and palace, 
 
 'Twixt squalid ignorance and splendid vice ; — 
 
 Above, by many roods of moral moves, 
 
 The Indian's want, and happily below — 
 
 If the superior may be called below — 
 
 The purple and fine linen; — the broad plain, 
 
 Where rests the base of our protecting walls, 
 
 Where many labour, though but few take note, 
 
 And prop the world, as pillars prop a dome. 
 
 Of trial and of triumph is my song. 
 
 Of maidens fair and matronhood sublime, 
 
 Of iron men who build the golden future, — 
 
 Heroic wills, by which the hugest oak 
 
 Is broken like a sapling; and to which 
 
 The wilderness, the rank and noxious swamps, 
 
 Inhospitable hills, renouncing all 
 
 The incumbrances of ages, bow and bear 
 
 The burthen of the harvest. — This my song. 
 
 Scorn not the muse, because mid scenes like these 
 
 She loves to wander; and, with calm delight. 
 
 Prefers to dwell among the rustic homes. 
 
 Where sweet Content, beside the well- swept hearth, 
 
 Sits like an angel, and will not depart. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 To this the plush and curtains of the proud, 
 
 The stucco and thin gikUng of the town — 
 
 In halls where Luxury, excited, sees 
 
 A thousand repetitions of herself 
 
 Caught into shadowy corridors, afar, 
 
 Of glass in glass interminably lost — 
 
 Were cold and naked as the winter-shed, 
 
 Through which the snpw falls filtered to the floor, 
 
 Piling the cheerless drift. Let me but look 
 
 On Nature through the tranquil change of day — 
 
 The common shade and sunshine — and on liffe 
 
 Which, unambitious, seeks no other hues 
 
 To show her fair, or hide deformities. 
 
 Ye who would seek for aught, beside such light 
 
 And beauty as is found in summer fields, — 
 
 For theories new, where splendid errours shine. 
 
 And charm like syrens, while they drown the soul, — 
 
 For aught of song which, covertly, dispreads 
 
 The seeds which shall breed poison in the dews. 
 
 And round the foot of our great sheltering tree, 
 
 Give root to vines, with odours breathing bane, — 
 
 For any mystery deeper than which lies 
 
 Between the bounds of human wo and bliss, — 
 
 May close these harmless pages and pass on : 
 
 The truths I seek lie round us in the sun. 
 
 There are whom neither sun nor shade delights^ 
 
 One warming not, the other is not grateful ; 
 
 Who rest so deeply dungeoned in themselves, 
 
 No sound can waken, and no light attract ; 
 
 Who lay approving hands on Nature's head, 
 
 Too wise to sit, recipient, at her feet : 
 
 The applause of such lies not within the pale 
 
 Of my ambition. Though my song may be 
 
 The transient music of a spring-time runnel, 
 
viii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Which may not last the season through; — or though 
 
 My light be only as an evening-taper 
 
 Placed in the casement of a hill-side home, 
 
 AVhich, ere the midnight, in the socket dies ; — 
 
 Still will I hold the satisfying trust. 
 
 That some there are who, in a transient brook, 
 
 Can find a music which may give them joy ; 
 
 Or pleasure in the taper, lit at eve 
 
 To send its ray aslant the peaceful vale. 
 
 And yet one higher hope still lights my toil, 
 
 And cheers the darkness when the lamp grows dim ; 
 
 And I have pledged me in the heart to fill 
 
 The compass of this wish, if in me lies 
 
 Strength, native and achieved — and heaven vouchsafe' 
 
 What else is needful, equal to the task! — 
 
 Let me but place one stone within the wall — 
 
 While the stout masons, with great plumb and line, 
 
 Are laying the foundations, broad and deep. 
 
 Of native mind, to be a temple, and 
 
 A future tower of strength, — let me but place 
 
 One stone within the wall, where worthier are, 
 
 Inscribed with Poesy! — no other word! 
 
 Whether the name of him who placed it there 
 
 Go with it, is but little ; and should be. 
 
 In the just balance of true poets, — naught! 
 
PRELUDE. 
 
 A VISION strode before me toward the west, 
 
 What time the day let drop its golden shield — 
 
 A giant form with sun-illumined face : 
 
 His hue was like the last dull bar that falls 
 
 At eve athwart the hill-tops. From his brow, 
 
 A plume of many colours 'gainst th'e sky 
 
 Blazed like a torch-flame. In his tawny hand 
 
 A mighty bow he bore — so tall, its top 
 
 Flamed in the sun-dawn, while the low extreme 
 
 Trailed the dusk dew, unseen, along the vale. 
 
 His eyes were deep, cavernous, unsubdued — 
 
 So deep, a curse seemed crouching in their depth - 
 
 And bent with fixed and melancholy stare; 
 
 The sun a target to his arrowy sight. 
 
 He took no note of where his footsteps fell — 
 
 No sound of tread, no rustle in the grass 
 
 Ran herald to his coming — all was soft 
 
 And noiseless as the owlet's wing. His lips 
 
 (ix) 
 
X V II ELUDE. 
 
 Were set in ■ancomplaining firmness ; his right hand 
 
 Grasped, as with joy, the trophies at his girdle. 
 
 From his huge breast no word of sadness broke — 
 
 Not even a sigh to startle the calm hour ! 
 
 And yet not voiceless was the air ; small sounds. 
 
 Faint murmurs, delicate whisperings and low songs — 
 
 The cadence of invisible choirs, perchance, 
 
 Of aboriginal elves, which fly the haunts 
 
 Of pallid Saxons as a child a ghost ; — 
 
 A choral sorrow, as if leaves and flowers. 
 
 The sprites of wood and stream and water-fall. 
 
 Were pouring out a burthen of despair, 
 
 Filling the ear of twilight, rose and rose. 
 
 Thrilled to the faint stars brightening overhead. 
 
 And fell and fell, until the deep lake heard 
 
 The shy nymphs answering from their caves forlorn. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 I. 
 0, mighty spirit, flying, ever flying ! 
 
 We are the woodlands — hearken to our wail! 
 Our poplars trembling and our maples sighing, 
 
 Our great oaks bowing, as before a gale. 
 Our pines all sorrowing and our aspens dying, 
 Our sycamores with terror growing pale. 
 All mourn thy flight. Oh! turn to their embraces, 
 Nor let the sunshine gloat upon their vacant places! 
 
 11. 
 
 0, mighty spirit, speeding, ever speeding! 
 
 We are the hills and valleys thou hast loved! 
 Here rest your sires, their dead hearts freshly bleeding 
 
 Beneath thy flight, while they lie unremoved ! 
 
PRELUDE. xi 
 
 Above their shrines dull foreign herds are feeding, 
 And glides the grating ploughshare unreproved. 
 Oh! turn again — repel the foe's advance — 
 Rebuild your midnight fires, and weave your warlike dance! 
 
 III. 
 0, mighty spirit, fading, ever fading! 
 
 We are the springs and brooklets, rivers, lakes ! — 
 We miss your maidens — miss your children wading 
 Along our sands and pebbles ; and where breaks 
 Our lightest ripple now, it dies upbraiding 
 The lonely marge, and every fountain aches! 
 Your light canoes lie warping on the shore. 
 Half-buried in the sand ! Oh ! turn to us once more ! 
 
 CHORUS OF ALL. 
 
 0, mighty spirit, flying, ever flying I 
 
 Thou wilt not stay and on us smile again : 
 Our hopes are ashes, and our hearts are dying, 
 
 Our garlands are transmuted to a chain; 
 Our necks beneath the conquerors are lying, 
 The toiling yoke succeeds thy peaceful reign ! 
 The clouds have ta'en thee ! We have looked our last. 
 And mournful memory now alone can bring the past. 
 
 The song was ended and the shade was gone, 
 Lost in the fiery forests of the sun. 
 But often since, as Eve her mantle drew 
 O'er her chaste bosom, stepping from her cave, 
 Where all the day she nods above her urn 
 Of dews and perfume, sentried by her owl — 
 The muse has watched in the departing west 
 Mid visionary landscapes, rivers, lakes, 
 
xii P K E L U D E . 
 
 O'er purple prairies, and through golden woods, 
 This flying shadow with his blazing bow 
 And flashing arrows, flaming as they flew. 
 Chasing the deer whose antlers mid the stars 
 Flung up the lustre of the dying day ; 
 Or o'er the fallen bison saw him stand. 
 His red foot glowing in its gorgeous mane. 
 
 Such wa?; the Tision and its flight : and when 
 All this had passed — the shadow and the song — 
 A lovelier music to the spiritual ear 
 Swelled through the starry air and filled the vale, — 
 Sounds which seemed born in heaven, and poured 
 From out the constellations in the East. 
 Scarce sweeter were the melodies, methinks. 
 Heard by the shepherds on far Bethlehem's plain, 
 What time the flocks, waked by the midnight dawn, 
 Greeting the fancied advent of the day, 
 Arose, their fleeces dripping fresh Avith dew. 
 And crept the wet grass in the amber light 
 Of that one star which ushered in a morn 
 That circles all the years, and, brightening, sheds 
 Its radiance through the ages. 
 
 CHOEUS OF SPIRITS. 
 
 FIRST SPIRIT. 
 
 I am the fairest spirit breathed from God — 
 
 Not mine the praise, but His — 
 And where my foot-prints sanctify the sod 
 
 There peaceful plenty is. 
 Hail, happy land! your ancient night is through - 
 
 Receive us and be blest ! 
 From this celestial urn of holy dew 
 
 I here baptize the West ! 
 
PRELUDE. xm 
 
 SECOND SPIRIT. 
 
 I am the child of her whose voice but now 
 
 Made musical the air ; 
 I bring the laurel which shall bind your brow, 
 
 I come to place it there. 
 I bring the sword so tempered in the glow 
 
 Of courage, truth, and right, 
 Its keen edge severs at one steady blow 
 
 The tyi'ant's chain of might ! 
 Unsheathed still let it gleam athwart the land, 
 
 The light of peace or ire ; 
 Its flash shall be as lightning in your hand — 
 
 Its stroke, a bolt of fire ! 
 I bring the buds of future centuries 
 
 To bloom upon your breast — 
 They hold the dews of Freedom — and with these 
 
 I here baptize the West ! 
 
 THIRD SPIRIT. 
 
 I am that spirit born in Paradise, 
 
 When man's first parents erred, 
 And the deep judgment thundered from the skies 
 
 The dread commanding word. 
 I walked Avith them through far and thorny lands, 
 
 In desert realms unknown, 
 And taught them toil, until their tender hands 
 
 AYere tawny as my own. 
 I bring the axe, the sickle, and the plow. 
 
 Whose use alone gives rest — 
 And with the dews which fell from Adam's brow, 
 I here baptize the West! 
 
 2 
 
xiv PRELUDE. 
 
 FOURTH SPIRIT. 
 
 I am that spirit who, in ages gone, 
 
 No certain shelter found; 
 But here, at last, I hail the peaceful dawn, 
 
 And bless the sacred ground. 
 Mine was the name the joyous angels sung, 
 
 To cheer the shepherd's ear; 
 And with that Star I into being sprung, 
 
 And with that Star am here. 
 And with this palm-branch, plucked from off the stem 
 
 Of Heaven's own tree of rest. 
 And dipped in dews which fell o'er Bethlehem, 
 
 I, too, baptize the West! 
 
 The chorus died ; and presently the sound 
 Of falling forests, and the woodman's blow, 
 Of mill wheels labouring in the stream, replied, 
 AVith one loud voice, to welcome in the band; 
 
THE NEW PASTOKAL. 
 
 BOOK FIRST. 
 
 Fair PennsylvaBia I than thy midland vales. 
 Lying 'twixt hills of green, and bound afar 
 By billowy mountains rolling in the blue, 
 No lovelier landscape meets the traveller's eye. 
 There Labour sows and reaps his sure reward. 
 And Peace and Plenty walk amid the glow 
 And perfume of full garners. I have seen 
 In lands less free, less fair, but far more known. 
 The streams which flow through history and wash 
 The legendary shores — and cleave in twain 
 Old Capitols and towns, dividing oft 
 Great empires and estates of petty kings 
 
 (15) 
 
16 THE NEW PASTOllAL. 
 
 And princes, whose domains full many a field, 
 Rustling with maize along our native West, 
 Out-measures and might pnt to shame ! and yet 
 Nor Rhine, like Bacchus crowned, and reeling through 
 His hills — nor Danube, marred with tyranny. 
 His dull waves moaning on Hungarian shores — 
 Nor rapid Po, his opaque w^aters pouring 
 Athwart the fairest, fruitfullest, and worst 
 Enslaved of European lands — nor Seine, 
 Winding uncertain through inconstant France — 
 Are half so fair as thy broad stream whose breast 
 Is gemmed with many isles, and whose proud name 
 Shall yet become among the names of rivers 
 A synonym of beauty — Susquehanna! 
 But where, fair land, thy smaller streams invite 
 With music among plenteous farms, I turn, 
 As to a parent's fond embrace, and lay. 
 Well pleased, my way-worn mantle by, and shed, 
 With grateful heart, from off my weary feet 
 The white dust gathered in the world's highway. 
 Here my young muse first learned to love and dream — 
 To love the simplest blossom by the road — 
 To dream such dreams as will not come again. 
 And for one hour of that unlettered time — 
 One hour of that wild music in the heart. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 17 
 
 When Fancy, like the swallow's aimless wing, 
 Flitted eccentric through all moods of nature — 
 I would exchange, thrice told, this weary day. 
 Then were yon hills, still beautiful and blue, 
 Great as the Andes ; and this rushy brook. 
 Which the light foot-board, fallen, turns aside, 
 A flood considerable, with noisy falls 
 And gulfy pools profound; and yonder stream. 
 The fisher wades with ease to throw his bait 
 Into the larger ripple, was a river 
 To measure Jordan by ! For then my thoughts 
 Were full of scriptural lore, oft-heard at morn. 
 And in the evening heard, until the place 
 Became a Palestine, while o'er the hills 
 The blue horizon compassed all the world. 
 
 Adieu to Fancy! Let me ope the gate, 
 Wide as the lane it bars, and cool my feet 
 Along the grassy path, and turn with joy. 
 As erst, to yonder chapel on the hill. 
 Lo ! the calm Sabbath sanctifies the air. 
 And over all, from God's uplifted hand. 
 The silence falls, and, like a blessing, lies 
 Tlie stillness on my spirit. The sweet sounds, 
 Which unprohibited from Eden time till now 
 Have charmed alike the day of toil and rest, 
 
 2* 
 
18 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Alone assail the ear, making the quiet heard, 
 Soothing the soul as with a psalm ! Yon bird 
 Which soars and falls, swinging its way thro' heaven 
 On airy billows, and this brook which sings 
 The better for the obstacles opposed. 
 As bards have done, together with the sounds 
 Of lesser note, which come from these small choirs 
 In leafy chapels closed, make to the ear 
 A music lovelier than the brazen notes 
 Blown through the serried pillars of cathedrals. 
 It is the Spring time : April violets glow 
 In wayside nooks, close clustering into groups. 
 Like shy elves hiding from the traveller's eye ; 
 The mellow air, which from the woodland comes, 
 Is full of perfume shed from opening buds. 
 There the young maple, earlier putting forth. 
 In memory of the past dead Autumn gleams. 
 And waves its purple torch ; and o'er the spring, 
 The willow its own sprouting in the pool 
 Hangs watching ; while the dryad in its branches 
 Is dreaming of the hours when that fair maid. 
 The child and light of yonder cot, shall come 
 And, kneeling, laugh above her urn to see 
 Her sweet face WTinkled by prophetic waters. 
 The plough in this broad field with upthrown share, 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 19 
 
 There left at yester sunset, lies at rest 
 Along the midway furrow. Here the maize 
 Shall rustle through the summer ; while near by 
 Already the live grain, which 'neath the snow 
 Slept the white winter through, sends up its green 
 And whispers in the sunshine. 
 
 Lo ! anon. 
 From hillside homes and hamlets in the vale, 
 One after one, in Sabbath garb arrayed. 
 Their mantles breathing of deep oaken drawers 
 And antique chests, the people throng, and take 
 The various pathways which converging lead 
 Here to this quiet shrine among the elms. 
 Oh, happy hour, beloved of peace and heaven ! 
 Around, and over all, the white calm lies 
 Flooded with perfume and mysterious light; 
 So sweet, so beautiful, it seems a day 
 Lost out of Eden ! See, where children come. 
 Like hopes unchecked, still running in advance. 
 With innocent laughter, but not over loud, 
 Plucking the purple violets by the way; 
 While from their feet the butterfly, released 
 But yesterday from out his winter cell. 
 Darts up with devious flight, and, like a wisp, 
 Wavers across the meadow! Happy sounds, 
 
20 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 By happier faces followed, still approach. 
 
 What round and ruddy cheeks are there, to which 
 
 Health, like the sun, with daily welcome comes, 
 
 Leaving the impress of his glowing hand ! 
 
 But suddenly their tongues to whispers low 
 
 Drop, as their eyes look wondering on the stranger, 
 
 And into decorous columns, two by two. 
 
 They file before me with shy glances cast 
 
 From shadowy brims and snowy hoods turned back. 
 
 By matron care arranged. Some in their hands 
 
 Bear the small volume — book of praise or prayer; 
 
 And some with freedom-loving feet released 
 
 Printing the dusty path, their little shoes, 
 
 For Sunday polished, carry at the side, 
 
 To be resumed at yonder stile which gains 
 
 The highway near the church. And, following, soon 
 
 The larger people come ; the youths and maids 
 
 Joining their steps as chance or fancy leads ; 
 
 And, after these, stout men with faces brown. 
 
 And browner hands which on the plough-helves took. 
 
 Ungloved, the last v,^eek's sunshine. At their side 
 
 The matrons with fair brows but half-way cleared 
 
 Of household cares, which, oft accomplished, still 
 
 As oft recur, monotonous, only cheered 
 
 By virtuous sense of duty and the light 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL 21 
 
 Of happy children, or encouraging words 
 
 Heard at the well-served meal ; or better still, 
 
 Finding approval in their own calm hearts. 
 
 Whose gentle tempers round their daily toil 
 
 Shed music and a halo else unknown. 
 
 Here following still, with reverend steps and slow, 
 
 Their garments venerable with age, and out 
 
 Of joint with modern custom, come the sires 
 
 And mothers of the country, silver-haired. 
 
 One leans upon his cane, with knotted hands. 
 
 An oak long bowed and gnarled by tempests ; one 
 
 Stands upright as a winter pine. To-day 
 
 He comes not in his long surtout of drab — 
 
 The coat of many capes and sweeping skirt. 
 
 Brushing the stubble, proof to winds rheumatic — 
 
 Now laid aside until November calls. 
 
 But in the spring-time garments of the past. 
 
 See what a brow is there, where Time delights 
 
 To place the warning record of the years ! 
 
 Note the calm eye, grown mild mth light of wisdom ! 
 
 Assisted by his arm his partner, bowed, 
 
 Walks tottering, with a palsy-shaking head. 
 
 And mumbling to herself. Perchance she dreams. 
 
 Within her hazy brain, of that bright hour, 
 
 Now buried beneath half a century. 
 
21. THE NEW r AST ORAL. 
 
 When on the selfsame arm she proudly leaned, 
 
 And, y\ith the blush of youth upon her cheek, 
 
 Crossed this same pasture, and, returning, heard 
 
 And answered to another name. Her hopes 
 
 Of earth have all been realized — her dreams 
 
 Have, one by one, gone floating down the past. 
 
 Like bubbles in the sun, where envious years 
 
 Have touched them into nothing, and now point 
 
 Derision at the empty places. Thus 
 
 Pull many a heart grows old, and spirit bowed, 
 
 In intellectual want — a poverty 
 
 Scarce second to the need of bread ! For what, 
 
 When all the joys which stir our inward life. 
 
 And wake a pleasure in the blood, are dead 
 
 Or dying at their sources, can renew 
 
 Long past enjoyment, like the power of thought 
 
 Drawn from a wisdom gleaned in fields of knowledge ? 
 
 And many a life, before its time, thus wilts 
 
 And withers to the root, and to each wind. 
 
 Adverse or fair, rustles its sad complaint. 
 
 Which else should sway vdth music. They should store. 
 
 Like bees in summer, for their winter want. 
 
 Nor leave improvidence to clip their wings. 
 
 Not so the form she leans on : unto him 
 
 Each sight and sound of Nature is a page 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 23 
 
 Full of fresh thought and pleasing contemplation. 
 
 A man not deep in books, but in research, 
 
 Among the hidden lore which round him lies 
 
 Most practical ; and all the neighbourhood 
 
 Holds him an oracle, and reverence pays, 
 
 As well they may ; for he, within these bounds, 
 
 Has held the keys of knowledge many a year, 
 
 Teaching in yonder rude house in the grove. 
 
 All these are of his scholars — first to last 
 
 Have laid their little books upon his knee. 
 
 And stumbled through their lessons undismayed, 
 
 Guided with kindness ; and in every heart 
 
 Is Master Ethan filially remembered. 
 
 His son, a man of mild and easy mood — 
 
 A nature far mere gentle than befits 
 
 One who must struggle with a stubborn soil — 
 
 Walks hearkening to his sire's discourse. And next, 
 
 Lo, the staid matron, with emphatic step. 
 
 Whose every movement speaks her stately soul — 
 
 The undaunted mistress of her narrow realm, 
 
 With all th' amenities which goodness gives — 
 
 A woman fit for heroes to call mother ! 
 
 With form less tall and full, the daughter comes. 
 
 Her blonde hair waving round her gentle brow — 
 
 A face to be remembered, and^ methinks, 
 
24 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Not easily forgotten ; for that eye, 
 
 So deep and blue, where staiTy truth abides, 
 
 As in the fabled well, once on your own 
 
 Falling, with its miraculous pure light. 
 
 Stays not upon the face, but to the heart 
 
 Looks in, as through a casement, and the soul 
 
 Then feels as if an angel, going by. 
 
 Had glanced, and left its smile in passing ! 
 
 And should your feet e'er wander to these vales, 
 
 The farms of Hazel-meadow, many a tongue 
 
 This picture shall attest, and, as they speak, 
 
 Mark if the sigh comes not with confirmation. 
 
 For there are hearts to which that face hath grown 
 
 A part and a necessity, as grows 
 
 A child unto the sunshine of a household ; 
 
 And oft the neighbouring groves shall hear her name. 
 
 As some lone peasant takes his woodland way, 
 
 Recalling the bright summers of the past. 
 
 ''Olivia!" they'll sigh, with slackened pace. 
 
 And all the leaves reply ^'Olivia!" 
 
 Yet unattended by the swains gallant. 
 
 Nor yet free mingling with the joyous groups 
 
 Of neighbour-maidens, from her childhood known. 
 
 She keeps her Sabbath way; still cheerful, though 
 
 Her eyes are now more kin to tears than smiles. 
 
THE NEW PASTOKAL. 25 
 
 Nor are cold glances, sidelong looks unkind, 
 And jealous hate, accusing her of pride. 
 From former playmates cast upon her now ; 
 But words all gentleness, and eyes all love. 
 Meet her where'er she turns, which kindly say, 
 If not in language, in each tone and act, 
 ^'We know, dear friend, the secret which you keep. 
 And whence the fountain of that springing tear 
 The smile not wholly hides. We know the pain 
 Which cankers at that rose upon your cheek. 
 We also grieve the absence which you grieve. 
 And mourn the distance 'twixt his heart and ours, 
 And pray for his return. Ships come and go. 
 The sea gives up its living, day by day. 
 And presently our Arthur shall return. 
 Full of brave life and wisdom — shall return, 
 Glowing with noble thoughts and filled with hope, 
 The promise of great actions. Then, beneath 
 The summer shade, or by the blazing hearth, 
 His voice shall cheer the noonday or the eve, 
 Recounting, with accustomed eloquence, 
 Rare tales of travel, intermixed with song.'' 
 Such is the comfort in each look and word 
 Which soothes awhile her fancy, but not long; 
 For absence is a shadow which no light 
 
26 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Can utterly dispel — a prison door, 
 Before the spirit, made of grated bars, 
 Through which the brightest day can only send 
 A checkered sunshine. Here next, following, come 
 The happy members of the parson's household ; 
 .And last, with thoughtful care conning, perchance. 
 The plain, unwritten sermon of the day. 
 The parson walks, a man of fifty years. 
 Who half his life has laboured in this field. 
 Baptizing, marrying, — and burying oft 
 Where death had put asunder. His broad brow 
 The quiet storehouse is of wdsdom, learned 
 From open nature, and vouchsafed from God. 
 All week he tends ydthin his noisy mill,^ 
 Whose w^heel now hangs and dreams o'er yonder 
 
 stream. 
 And bends his brawny shoulders to the sacks 
 Which daily cross the threshold; or among 
 The ceaseless jar and whirr of rumbling stones. 
 And clattering hoppers, garrulous with grain. 
 He walks amid the misty meal, and plans 
 The solemn lesson for the coming Sabbath. 
 His heart is full of boundless sympathies : 
 The stranger and the friend, the erring or 
 The good, come not within his genial voice 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 27 
 
 Or smile, but they go hence with firm resolve 
 For happy change, or strengthened in the right. 
 The old or young, departing, bear away 
 The influence of his spirit in their hearts. 
 E'en as they bear the mill-dust on their garments. 
 The sire of Arthur he, the youth who now 
 Wanders in foreign lands, by romance led. 
 Bearing the hearts and hopes of many hence ; 
 But chiefly hers, long deemed by all his choice. 
 By various ways the people still come in : 
 Here on the hillside path, and swinging arms. 
 Weaving the air with visionary shuttles. 
 Gaunt Bowman mounts, ascending as on treadles — 
 Bowman, chief weaver of the vale ; his mfe 
 Close following, like himself, arrayed in suit 
 Of homemade russet. Down the dusty road 
 The vehicles, of various forms, approach : 
 The rattling wagon, out of joint and loose, 
 With temporary seats, and difficult 
 For unaccustomed riders ; and the chaise 
 With rocking motion, easy as a chair. 
 Drawn by a jogging steed whose shoulders still 
 Feel the fresh record of the yester plough. 
 Some, rudely mounted as equestrians, come ; 
 The switch held upward, like a sword; the horse, 
 
2S THE NEW PASTOIIAL. 
 
 With sAvinging head, blowmg the foam ia air: 
 And here, anon, the family steed is seen 
 Bearing a double burthen with slow pace. 
 How all the landscape, with the Sabbath scene. 
 Smiles with a bland and staid propriety ! 
 
 About the chapel door, in easy groups. 
 The rustic people wait. Some trim the switch. 
 While some prognosticate of harvests full, 
 Or shake the dubious head, with arguments 
 Based on the winter's frequent snow and thaw. 
 The heavy rains, and sudden frosts severe. 
 Some, happily but few, deal scandal out. 
 With look askance pointing their victim. These 
 Are the rank tares in every field of grain — 
 These are the nettles stinging unaware — 
 The briers which wound and trip unheeding feet- 
 The noxious vines, growing in every grove ! 
 Their touch is deadly, and their passing breath 
 Poison most venomous! Such have I known — 
 As who has not? — and suffered by the contact. 
 Of these the husbandman takes certain note. 
 And in the proper season disinters 
 Their baneful roots ; and, to the sun exposed. 
 The killing light of truth, leaves them to pine 
 And perish in the noonday ! 'Gainst a tree, 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 29 
 
 With strong arms folded o'er a giant chest, 
 
 Stands Barton, to the neighbourhood chief smith ; 
 
 His coat, unused to aught save Sunday wear, 
 
 Grown too oppressive by the morning walk. 
 
 Hangs on the drooping branch : so stands he oft 
 
 Beside the open door, what time the share 
 
 Is whitening at the roaring bellows' mouth. 
 
 There, too, the wheelwright — he, the magistrate — 
 
 In small communities a man of mark — 
 
 Stands with the smith, and holds such argument 
 
 As the unlettered but observing can ; 
 
 Their theme some knot of scripture hard to solve. 
 
 And 'gainst the neighbouring bars two others fan, 
 
 Less fit the sacred hour, discussion hot 
 
 Of politics ; a topic, v/hich inflamed, 
 
 Knows no propriety of time or place. 
 
 There Oakes, the cooper, with rough brawny hand, 
 
 Descants at large, and, with a noisy ardour. 
 
 Battles around his theme as round a cask; 
 
 While Hanson, heavy browed, with shoulders bent. 
 
 Bent with great lifting of huge stones — for he 
 
 A mason and famed builder is — replies 
 
 With tongue as sharp and dexterous as his trowel, 
 
 And sentences which like his hammer fall. 
 
 Bringing the flinty fire at every 1^1 ow ! 
 
30 THE NEW r AS TOR AL. 
 
 But soon the approacMng parson ends in peace 
 The wordy combat, and all turn within. 
 Awhile rough shoes, some with discordant creak, 
 And voices clearing for the psalm, disturb 
 The sacred quiet, till, at last, the veil 
 Of silence wavers, settles, falls ; and then 
 The hymn is given, and all arise and sing. 
 Then follows prayer, which from the pastor's heart 
 Flows unpretending, with few^ words devout 
 Of humble thanks and askings ; not, with lungs 
 Stentorian, assaulting heaven's high wall. 
 Compelling grace by virtue of a siege ! 
 This done, with loving care he scans his flock. 
 And opes the sacred volume at the text. 
 Wide is his brow, and full of honest thought — 
 Love his vocation, truth is all his stock. 
 , With these he strives to guide, and not perplex 
 With words sublime and empty, ringing oft 
 Most musically hollow. All his facts 
 Are simple, broad, sufficient for a world ! 
 He knows them well, teaching but v>'hat he knovrs. 
 He never strides through metaphysic mists. 
 Or takes false greatness because seen through fogs ; 
 Nor leads 'mid brambles of thick argument 
 Till all admire the wit which brings them through ; 
 
T II E N E W P A S T R A L . 31 
 
 Nor e'er essays, in sermon or in prayer, 
 To share the hearer's thought ; nor strives to make 
 The smallest of his congregation lose 
 One glimpse of heaven, to cast it on the priest. 
 Such simple course, in these ambitious times. 
 Were worthy imitation ; in these days, 
 When brazen tinsel bears the palm from worth, 
 And trick and pertness take the sacred desk ; 
 Or some coarse thund'rer, armed with doctrines new, 
 Aims at our faith a blow to fell an ox — 
 Swinging his sledge, regardless where it strikes. 
 Or what demolishes — well pleased to win 
 By either blows or noise! — A modern seer. 
 Crying destruction I and, to prove it true. 
 Walking abroad, for demolition armed. 
 And boldly levelling where he cannot build ! 
 The service done, the congregation rise. 
 And with a freshness glowing in their hearts. 
 And quiet strength, the benison of prayer, . 
 And wholesome admonition, hence depart. 
 Some, loath to go, within the graveyard loiter. 
 Walking among the mounds, or on the tombs. 
 Hanging, like pictured grief beneath a willow. 
 Bathing the inscriptions with their tears ; or here, 
 Finding the earliest violet, like a drop 
 
32 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Of heaven's anointing blue upon the dead, 
 Bless it with mournful pleasure; or, perchance, 
 With careful hands, recall the wandering vine, 
 And teach it where to creep, and where to bear 
 Its future epitaph of flowers. And there. 
 Each with a separate grief, and some with tears, 
 Ponder the sculptured lines of consolation. 
 
 ^'The chrysalis is here — the soul is flown, 
 And waits thee in the gardens of the blest !" 
 " The nest is cold and empty, but the bird 
 Sings with its loving mates in Paradise !'' 
 ''Our hope was planted here — it blooms in heaven!'' 
 " She walks the azure field, 'mid dews of bliss. 
 While 'mong the thorns our feet still bleed in this !" 
 *' This was the fountain, but the sands are dry — 
 The waters have exhaled into the sky !" 
 ''The listening Shepherd heard a voice forlorn. 
 And found the lamb, by thorns and brambles torn. 
 And placed it in his breast ! Then wherefore mciirn ?" 
 
 Such are the various lines ; and, while they read, 
 Methinks 1 hear sweet voices in the air. 
 And winnowing of soft, invisible wings, 
 Tlie wliisperings of angels breathing peace ! 
 
BOOK SECOND. 
 
 Where now Olivia, joined by her one friend 
 
 And confidant, Amy, the wheelwright's daughter. 
 
 Turns from the church, a youth from yonder town, 
 
 The Tillage of the vale, the postman's son. 
 
 With courteous greeting, unobserved bestows 
 
 A missive blurred Vrith foreign stamps, through which 
 
 The cyphers of her name are dimly seen. 
 
 Swift darts the flush across her cheek and brow; 
 
 Her brain is reeling with the sudden joy ; 
 
 She clasps the letter as 'twere Arthur's hand. 
 
 Then slips it in her bosom, where it hears 
 
 The impatient fluttering of her happy heart. 
 
 Both silently pursue their homeward walk. 
 With arm affectionate at each other's waist. 
 No lovelier picture e'er shall bless the vale 
 Than those two maidens strolling down the fields, 
 
 (33) 
 
34 THE NEW TAST ORAL. 
 
 Their faces beautiful with various thoughts ; 
 
 One lost 'mid visions rising in her soul, 
 
 Until her eyes grow dreamy with love's dew; 
 
 The other, with warm pressure of the arm, 
 
 And tender looks, pronouncing sympathy! 
 
 Their pleasing pathway leads by yonder grove; 
 
 But scarce their footsteps skirt the silent wood, 
 
 When Amy, with a shudder, checks her pace; 
 
 Olivia recoils, and both stand still ! 
 
 Lo ! the weird dame of Oakland stops their path ! 
 
 A beldame, bowed, bearing a bunch of sticks 
 
 To light her evening fire. Her shreds of hair 
 
 Floating in snowy wisps beneath her hood. 
 
 The toothless visage, shrivelled, pinched and cramped 
 
 By years which well nigh span a century's gap, 
 
 Make her, to youthful eyes, a sight uncouth ; 
 
 And even the whisper of her name oft sends 
 
 An ugly phantom to the urchin's pillow. 
 
 Smoothing his wry face in the covers hid. 
 
 Her voice is like the creak of withered limbs ! 
 
 And, with a smile across her frosty face, 
 
 She summons the half timid maids approach. 
 
 Lo ! there the living allegory stands 
 
 Of Winter beckoning to young May and June ! 
 
 *' Hey-day! fair lasses, I've a word for you!" 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 35 
 
 She cries, and holds her shrivelled finger up. 
 
 '^ Can you tell why the blue bird, on yon branch, 
 
 Is singing so ? Ah, silly hearts, to say 
 
 It sings for simple pleasure ! Know you why 
 
 This brook, which through your fathers' meadows 
 
 flows. 
 Makes such sweet music and so swiftly runs ? 
 Ah, no ; you have not pondered on it well. 
 The blue bird is a young man's heart, forsooth ; 
 The brook, the heedless fancies of a maiden. 
 One sings, with all its art, to win a mate ; 
 The other hurries, without knowing why. 
 Until it meets the rivers. There — go ! go ! 
 And when your sweethearts next shall clasp your 
 
 hands. 
 Ask them, in autumn, whither fly the birds? — 
 If they depart in singing pairs together ? 
 And tell them how the winter shall come in. 
 And choke the brook with ice till it is dumb ! 
 Yet, stay ! you are, I see, the wheelwright's daughter. 
 What doth he with the chips about his door, 
 That a poor soul is not allowed to have 
 A shaving but to light her faggots with ? 
 Who grudgeth splinters may, himself, want logs ; 
 Who gives no drink, may have his well go dry ! 
 
86 THE NEW PASTOllAL. 
 
 The kind man's wheat is seldom trampled down, 
 Nor oft his fence-rails feed the poor man's oven; 
 His herds come home, not worried by the dogs; 
 His horse, astray, is not put into pound ! 
 When you are married, teach your husband this, 
 If you would hare him thrive. But, mark you, first ; 
 Beware the brightness of your coal black eye, 
 For it may fascinate to your own harm ! 
 I have a parable for you : 
 
 A little bird there was would sing. 
 
 Would sing with all its throat. 
 And sang so loud that every wing 
 
 Came hurrying to the note. 
 A sailing hawk, among the rest, 
 
 On spotted pinions came. 
 And floated east, and floated west. 
 
 Still circling near his game. 
 Until she fancied every breast 
 
 Must feel an envious flame ! 
 
 His eye was on the silly bird, 
 
 It made her heart rejoice ; 
 She thought, too true, the great hawk heard, 
 
 With deep delight, her voice. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 37 
 
 And, nearer still, she saw him stoop, 
 
 On wheeling pinions gay — 
 The noblest wing, of all the troop. 
 
 She fancied his that day — 
 Till, with one sudden, cruel swoop. 
 
 He bore her far away ! 
 
 Your sky now shines as bright as this o'er head, 
 But I can see, as over yon blue hills. 
 The white clouds rising which, before the night. 
 Shall fill the land with thunder and with rain." 
 Thus speaking with a frown, she cle'ars her brow, 
 And to the other turns: — '^And you, I see. 
 Are daughter to good neighbour Bald^™ here. 
 You have a lover — ay, I know it well — 
 I rocked his cradle when he w^as a child. 
 And promised him a sweetheart fair and kind ; 
 And as I said, a sweetheart, how he laughed. 
 And clapped his dimpled hands, as if the word 
 He could not comprehend, had music in't. 
 And, then, upon the day that you were born, 
 I took you, in your little robes of white. 
 And, on a pillow, bore you to the window. 
 'See, there,' said I, 'your sweetheart, in the field, 
 Is chasing butterflies among the clover !' 
 
38 THE NEW TASTOKAL. 
 
 And then yon smiled. It may be fancy, still, 
 
 Metlionglit, I saw yon smile as yon smile now ! 
 
 Come to my cot, anon, if yon wonld know 
 
 The mystery of the fntnre — when the moon 
 
 Is in the crescent, come ! And, mark yon well 
 
 To view her o'er the shonlder on the right; 
 
 For she is jealous, and, viewed otherwise. 
 
 Can w^ork you direful mischief. When you plant, 
 
 Either your hopes or flowers, oh! then beware! 
 
 Consult her pleasure, and look out the signs. 
 
 Else will they bear you thorns, and never roses 
 
 And tear the hand which planted ! Call me witch, 
 
 Or what you will; but only this remember. 
 
 When evil I predict, beware — beware!" 
 
 Thus saying, she adjusts her twisted load 
 
 Of gnarled sticks, and turns into the grove. 
 
 Shaking her warning finger as she goes. 
 
 ^'Xay, Amy dear, mind not the snarling dame!" — 
 
 Speaks mild Olivia, comforting her friend ; — 
 
 *^Her brain is far more crooked than her body; 
 
 Her temper is as crabbed as a thorn. 
 
 Which, when an ill wind blows, can only chafe 
 
 And worry its own branches ! Mind her not ! 
 
 'Tis evident she holds a harmless grudge. 
 
 Poor soul! I needs must pity her — so old. 
 
 And so forlorn — she must ho miserable!" 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 39 
 
 To whicli the other answers, with a shudder, 
 
 ''Some say she is a witch, and can work harm. 
 
 Send sickness ^mong the cattle, and brew storms !" 
 
 ''Mere superstition!" cries her friend. '"Tis wrong, 
 
 'Tis sinful, to hold such belief of one 
 
 Whom God has made, even as he has us ! 
 
 The height of her pretence is but to tell 
 
 The fortune, from the hand, as many do, 
 
 Which hath no further harm in it than this, 
 
 That some there are, who, foolishly, have faith, 
 
 And wait her promises, with hope or dread. 
 
 Why, I, myself, will turn a cup, and read 
 
 The accidental figures in the grounds. 
 
 And thereby, with shrewd guesses, tell the future ; 
 
 And yet I am no witch ! I pity her : 
 
 And I have heard my grandsire often say, 
 
 There w^as a time when she was young and fair. 
 
 And light of heart, as either you or I ; 
 
 And how she was betrothed, and how the war 
 
 Left her as friendless as we see her now. 
 
 Suppose — but, no, we will not think of that; 
 
 But let us pity the poor crone, and pray. 
 
 When we grow old, we may not be like her." 
 
 Thus saying, they approach diverging paths. 
 
 And, after sweet adieus, take separate ways. 
 
BOOK THIRD. 
 
 How, o'er the silent fields, tlie white lieat gloats 
 And shimmers like a silver swarm ! Anon, 
 A distant rumbling shudders through the air, 
 Shed from those domes of thunder in the west, 
 Which swell and rise, and, brightening, as they swell, 
 Show the black walls beneath, from out whose ports 
 The flash shall lighten and the rain be poured ! 
 The warning given, the various stragglers hear. 
 And note it well, and hasten to their homes. 
 Olivia, now, hath crossed her native porch 
 Where, earlier arrived, the family sit. 
 There, unappalled by unmolesting friends. 
 The russet wren glides in among the vines. 
 And adds another straw unto its nest. 
 Then, on the neighbouring trellis, pours its song. 
 The poor man's cottage is its favourite haunt; 
 
 (40) 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 41 
 
 And he is poor, indeed, who to his roof 
 
 Can welcome not the yearly visitor, 
 
 To cheer his door with music ! There, too, comes, 
 
 But less to be desired, the boring bee 
 
 Blowing his warning horn, and in the wood 
 
 Mining his secret galleries secure. 
 
 A carpenter is he who for himself 
 
 Builds, and destroys for others ; while the dust 
 
 Of his incessant saw upon the floor 
 
 Demands the busy broom. Some on the face 
 
 Wear the white badge of innocence, and these 
 
 Fall frequent captives to the boy who frights 
 
 The smaller children with the stingless shape. 
 
 The wayward swallows flicker through the air. 
 
 Or, safely sheltered 'neath the mossy eaves. 
 
 Sit chattering scandal at their clay built doors ; 
 
 While others, with a taste for soot and smoke. 
 
 Dart down the chimney, with a muffled noise. 
 
 Echoing the distant thunder. For these sounds 
 
 Olivia hath no ear, nor any eye 
 
 For aught save that dear page o'er which she pores, 
 
 Reading it with her heart as with her sight. 
 
 Secure from all intrusion, there she sits 
 
 Beside her chamber window. O'er the sill 
 
 The creeping vine looks in, and on her brow, 
 
 4* 
 
42 THE NEW PASTORAL.. 
 
 Flushed with delight, the passing air is shed 
 
 Fresh with the perfume of the coming rain ; 
 
 And ere she is aware the darkness falls. 
 
 Deeper than twilight, and the first big drops 
 
 Rattle like pebbles on the sultry shingles, 
 
 And splash the window-ledge. Then bursts the 
 
 shower, 
 And roars along the roof. The while, outside. 
 The housetop smokes w^ith the rebounding spray; 
 The troughs with fulness choke and overrun ; 
 And noisy water, streaming from the eaves. 
 Deepens the furrows in the earth beneath. 
 Or, if the shower abates a breathing spell. 
 The crooked flash blinds the calm instant, when 
 The sudden thunder stamps upon the storm. 
 And fiercer, fuller, louder than before. 
 The drowning deluge pours, and frights the house 
 To silence and to wonder. Still she reads. 
 And thus the tenor of the letter runs : — 
 
 ^'The lands which I most vvdshed to tread. 
 The scenes which I most wished to see. 
 
 The shrines of the immortal dead 
 Have known me, and I now am free. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 43 
 
 There is no claim the t3nrant makes 
 So strong as that of young Desire> 
 
 No cloud the syren Music wakes 
 So sweet as Fancy^s pilgrim lyre. 
 
 IVe traced the chain which led me on, 
 And saw it fall, like links of sand, 
 
 And followed till the charm was gone 
 From Fancy's harp-awaking hand. 
 
 If for myself I lived alone, 
 
 If there was no fond heart to greet 
 
 With love the fulness of my own, 
 I here could deem my life complete. 
 
 Desire achieved is pleasure lost — 
 
 Hope dies when cold possession comes — 
 
 And Memory poorly pays the cost 
 With her exact and formal sums.'' 
 
 Thus far she reads, and with a tremor stops. 
 A tear is on the page — one mournful tear — 
 As it would blot the last sad verse away. 
 Who tells me Love is blind ? Oh, say not so ! 
 He is an Argus in the soul which sits 
 
44 IHE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 And watches with a hundred tireless eyes — 
 A diligent recorder of each act 
 And word is he. The steward of his house 
 Sleeps not in indolence beside the wine, 
 Or squanders among strangers, unrebuked, 
 The master's wealth ! And still Olivia reads : 
 
 *^If I have said, a hope achieved 
 
 Is something lost, oh ! do not frown ; 
 
 Nor let your gentle mind be grieved 
 That love when won is pleasure flown. 
 
 For, in my inmost heart, I hold 
 Our love was never here begun ; 
 
 But, old as our two souls are old. 
 It dates more cycles than the sun. 
 
 That somewhere, in God's outer space. 
 Our spirits had together birth, 
 
 With kindred ties, no time or place 
 Can utterly destroy on earth. 
 
 Then since our love was never won, 
 And cannot wilt in sun or frost. 
 
 Still let me sing, as I have done — 
 ^Desire achieved is pleasure lost 1' " 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 45 
 
 Her heart, rebuked, is touched to tenderness, 
 And through the starry light of swimming tears, 
 Too happy to be shed, she reads again : — 
 
 '^Thy brightness so encircles me 
 
 I cannot reach its bounds. 
 What though my footsteps daily trace 
 
 The paths of foreign grounds ? 
 
 I walk in an unbroken dream 
 
 Of thy remembered light, 
 A moving dome it glows by day, 
 
 A sheltering arch by night ! 
 My waking hours in peace are spent — 
 I sleep as in a guarded tent !'' 
 
 Oh, love, thrice happy love, that thus can make 
 A day of darkness, and, at noontime, shed 
 A light which gilds the sunshine ! Nought she hears, 
 Kor sees the swelling freshet in the vale. 
 The streaming, roaring torrent, bearing down 
 Dead limbs and fallen trees, and in its wrath 
 Leaving the meadows fenceless, and, anon, 
 Kobbing the woodman of his winter cords. 
 Still, as the rain assaults the roof, she reads :— 
 
46 
 
 THE NEW PASTOKAL. 
 
 ''I see Italia, with her spires and domes, 
 Her pinnacled cathedrals and her towers, 
 
 Her castles, and gray ruins, and the homes 
 Of splendid infamy in princely bowers ! 
 
 Here Sin and Shame together herd, like gnomes 
 Mining in secret, and here Hunger cowers, 
 
 And squalid Want before the palace waits, 
 
 And stays the stranger passing at the gates! 
 
 Where Art, of all the good which hath been, lives 
 Holding decaying state, half imbecile. 
 
 Like Tyranny, and now no more receives 
 The aid of genius, but with fading smile 
 
 Lives on the past ; or, if a new hand gives 
 
 As Alston and Thorwaldson gave erewhile 
 
 An impulse to her old triumphal car. 
 
 It is not native here, but comes from far ! 
 
 Where once the North, in swift destruction skilled. 
 Trampled the arts to ruin, now, behold. 
 
 Across the Alps it comes again to build; 
 
 And the New World, with reverence for the Old, 
 
 Sends her few sons, with native ardour filled, 
 Lending new life where all is dead and cold. 
 
 The Tuscan capitol and haughty Eome 
 
 Grow prouder while they hold our sculptor^s home. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 47 
 
 But all these glorious galaxies of art — 
 
 This antique world — this garden of the past — 
 
 Not long can bid the dream of home depart. 
 The marble Venus hath a charm to last 
 
 With those alone who wear a wandering heart. 
 Beside the Apollo, watching where is cttst 
 
 His long gone arrow, off I stand and see 
 
 Its far flight ever guiding back to thee. 
 
 Oh ! for one hour along the quiet lane, 
 
 Which leads between the school and thj dear home, 
 
 To breathe those tender April vows again! 
 
 Or by the stream, or through the woods to roam, 
 
 As we were wont when summer held her reign. 
 Conversing love, though from our lips might come 
 
 No sound of words ! Oh, sighing hearts, give o'er, 
 
 Ye yet shall sing together as of yore !'' 
 
 The page is finished, and a sudden gloAv, 
 Sent from an iris towering in the east, 
 Sheds o'er her face its lustre, till she sees 
 And blesses the bright bow, as happy sign 
 And confirmafion of her lover's words ! 
 
BOOK FOURTH. 
 
 The storm is past; but still the torrent roars, 
 Louder and louder, with incessant swell. 
 The brook, near by, hath overswept its bounds, 
 Drowning its tallest rushes; and the board 
 Which made the path continuous to the school — 
 And where the children loitered to behold 
 The minnows playing — now is borne afar. 
 Sweeping above the bowing hazel tops. 
 Within the opening west, the careful sun — 
 Like one who throws his mansion doors apart, 
 And looks abroad, to Scan his wide estate — 
 Is forth to note the progress of the storm. 
 And what its rage hath ^\TOught. Afar and near. 
 The clouds are all ablaze with amber light; 
 The earth receives it, and the fields look glad; 
 And still the rainbow, brightening as it grows, 
 
 (48) 
 
T HE N E >V r A S T R A L . 49 
 
 Rises and bends/ and makes the perfect arch. 
 
 All crowd the porch, and wonder at the flood. 
 
 With various surmises and alarms; 
 
 And Master Ethan takes his hat and cane, 
 
 (''Pilgrim," he calls the cane for it hath been; 
 
 Through many generations handed down, 
 
 Since first some long gone ancestor had found 
 
 The straight stem growing in an English grove 
 
 And gave the ivory top,) ''Pilgrim" he takes. 
 
 And strides across the vale. Xot winding round 
 
 By easy paths, but with a course direct 
 
 O'er fences and ploughed fields, to younger feet 
 
 Forbidding, bends his steps, and gains the mill; 
 
 And lo ! the sad fulfilment of his fears ! 
 
 The dam has burst! and, with a roar of triumph, 
 
 The freshet mocks the miller as it flies. 
 
 There stands the parson, there his good wife stands. 
 
 Surrounded by their children, and with words 
 
 Of wonder and of comfort Ethan comes. 
 
 The miller takes his sympathizing hand, 
 
 And in reply makes answer with a sigh — 
 
 "He rules the storm, the floods are in his hold, 
 
 He gives and takes, and doeth all things well ! '^ 
 
 The sun goes down ; the day departs in peace ; 
 
 And through the vale the starry tapers gleam, 
 
50 THE NEW PASTOllAL. 
 
 Signals of household calm, from cottage homes ; 
 
 And here and there, perchance, the slender ray 
 
 Conducts the venturous feet of rustic swain, 
 
 Who seeks the fireside Avhere the maiden sits 
 
 Expectant of his step and welcome knock. 
 
 Not thus Olivia waits; but even thus. 
 
 Beside the wheelwright's evening-lighted hearth, 
 
 Her gentle friend, with an uneasy breast. 
 
 Holds anxious quiet till her lover comes. 
 
 Not long she waits, but, with a fluttering heart. 
 
 Hears his approach, and welcomes him with smiles 
 
 And maiden blush discreet. The well-pleased sire 
 
 Takes, with rough grasp, the youth's smooth hand in 
 
 his, 
 And points the place of honor by the fire. 
 The matron, with misgivings in her mind, 
 Bends the cold nod, and, bustling for a while 
 About her household cares, withdraws in doubt 
 Shaking her dubious head. Not so the squire : 
 He sits and lights his pipe, in social mood. 
 Which, oft as jovial converse lets go out. 
 As oft the glowing ember reillumes. 
 At last, with easy tapping at the jamb. 
 The ashes fall; the pipe is laid aside. 
 And he departs, and leaves the room to love ; — 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 51 
 
 To liappy whisperings, breathing words so low 
 
 That nought is heard except the cricket's song, 
 
 In chorus with the simmering of the log 
 
 And muttering flame, which hath a voice prophetic. 
 
 Oh, Muse, forbear ! Although 'mid scenes like this, 
 
 Thy wont is ever to draw softly near, 
 
 And sit eavesdropping at the door of Love ! 
 
 Forbear, forbear ! and be no record kept. 
 
 Except within the pages of their hearts. 
 
 For Time hereafter to peruse with joy, 
 
 Or Grief to blot with tears. Or if to note 
 
 Thou needs must lend thine ear, approach, invade 
 
 The sanctuary, by intruding feet 
 
 Seldom assailed — chief bed-room of the house — 
 
 And say the tenor of the long dispute. 
 
 ''He is no choice of mine,'' so speaks the spouse. 
 
 To which the squire demands, with testy w^ords, 
 
 ''A reason, wife, a reason? — without that 
 
 Your talk is but an idle wind, to which 
 
 My set conviction is no weathervane." 
 
 ''Well, call it but a wind," the wife replies; 
 
 "But 'tis a wind which runs before the storm. 
 
 And tells which way the bitter cloud is coming. 
 
 And, as for reason, it is quite enough 
 
 My heart mislikes him, and I never found 
 
52 T II 1'] N E \V P A S T 11 A L . 
 
 My instincts wrong. Besides, yon know the dream 
 I told you of." To wliicli the husband answers, 
 With growing tartness, '^Wind — heart — instinct — 
 
 dream ! 
 A woman's reason truly ! Now hear mine : 
 The youth is comely, and our daughter loves him, 
 And, fresh returned from college, is well bred, 
 With so much learning that the neighbourhood 
 Looks on him wondering, and the loutish swains 
 Eye him with jealousy. Who, more than I, 
 Should know the advantage of a well stored mind ? 
 Hence am I magistrate; and he may be, 
 As he is like to be, the people's choice. 
 And take his seat in Congress. Then remark 
 What honour follows, which must e'en reach us." 
 To which the wife — ''Were he the Governor, 
 I VA'ould not bate a jot what I have said. 
 Yfhere goes my liking not, I ask no honour. 
 He is no choice of mine. You may despise 
 The dream I told you ; but I say his eye 
 Is just the eye that glittered in the snake ; 
 So like that, when he looks at me, I shudder. 
 And chiefly when he smiles. And he wears rings — 
 I like not that — the snake was also ringed." 
 ''Tush, woman!" cries the squire, interrupting; 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 53 
 
 ^'Look Reason in the face, and put to blush 
 Your childish superstition ! Answer this : 
 Who hath the largest farm in all the State ? 
 Who the best cattle ? Who the fullest purse ? 
 And is not this his heir V The spouse replies, 
 With bitterness which gives each sentence strength : 
 ''How was the farm procured? Bit after bit, 
 By cunning tricks of law. If each had theirs — 
 The poor man, and the widow, and the orphan — 
 Those cattle would go home to different stalls. 
 Case after case hath come to you for trial ; 
 And you should know — for it hath oft been said. 
 Oft been a taunt our children heard at school — 
 That you gave favour Against the poor man's cause. 
 Oh, Walters, many a time as I have heard 
 Some neighbour here recount to you his wrongs. 
 My heart has ached, and indignation flamed. 
 Until I wished that, in your icy stead, 
 I might sit there and hold the whip of Justice ! 
 He, too, is maker of that poison drug 
 Which blights the land with poverty and woe. 
 His still-house knows no rest, by day or night, 
 Until one needs must think a demon tends it. 
 Oh, he hath much to answer for, and grows 
 More fat in sin than bodv ! E'en the swine 
 
54 T II E N E W PASTORAL. 
 
 He yearly bloats for slaughter at his troughs, 
 
 Roll in less ugliness than he to me.'' 
 
 The husband, angered, scarce can find reply ; 
 
 He feels the truth, but will not leave his point ; 
 
 His judgment, like a wayward child rebuked. 
 
 Grows sullen and determined in the wrong. 
 
 But presently responds: — ^'Well, say no more; 
 
 When weds the maid, the maid shall have her choice, 
 
 And if it be this youth — so let it be." 
 
 To which the wife makes answer with resolve : — 
 
 ''I shall forbid, and if against my voice. 
 
 Encouraged on by you, the girl shall go. 
 
 Then be what mischief follows at your door — 
 
 I'll none of it." The voices cease; and now 
 
 The stars of midnight glimmer o'er the vale ; 
 
 The wheehmght's gate swings o'er the silent dark, 
 
 And one lone rider occupies the road. 
 
BOOK FIFTH. 
 
 The lamp, renewed, still sliecls a cheerful light, 
 
 Hope lends a halo to its steady blaze ; 
 
 And through the casement beam the westward stars, 
 
 Taking their noiseless way, and shining still, 
 
 Though sleeps the world and there are few to note. 
 
 And thus, encouraged by example high, 
 
 The Muse awakes her simple theme and sings, 
 
 And breathes, in the attentive air of night, 
 
 The song to-morrow may refuse to hear. 
 
 When comes the tumult of the noisy day. 
 
 And the great city, like a cataract, swells, 
 
 Pouring its drowning tide of toil and trade, 
 
 IN'ot Pan's own pipe might bid it tune and hark. 
 
 And, hearkening, be refreshed, — much less the tune 
 
 Floating unskilful from these rustic stops. 
 
 Oh, thou to-morrow! wherefore wilt thou rise, 
 
 I 
 
5G THE NEW PASTOIIAL. 
 
 And shake the quiet from thy garment's fold, 
 E'en as a lion shakes the dream of peace 
 From out his mane, and springs upon his prey ? 
 As on the Sabbath, birds and brooks will sing, 
 The flowers come forth and gentle airs shall breathe, 
 Laden with perfume ; yet wilt thou go forth, 
 Girded v/ith love of transient gain and power, 
 As if the world of beauty and of song 
 Behind the gates of yesterday lay closed ! 
 Oh, rapid age, whence tends thy noisy course ? 
 Thy roaring wheels affright me, and I shrink — 
 Shrink to the wayside hedge, and stand appalled ; 
 And, 'mid the smoke and discord, blindly ask 
 The question none will spare the time to ansv\Tr ! 
 Whence tends thy course ? To that white mart of 
 
 Peace 
 Where Wisdom, on the perfect throne of Knowledge, 
 Reigns absolute, and Justice, loving all. 
 And by all loved, hath dropped her useless scales ? 
 Or to the realm of Discord, where the walls, 
 For their stupendous height, shall one day fall. 
 With louder ruin, round the homes of men ; 
 And this huge towxr aspiring to the heavens. 
 Which Science daily rears, be stayed at last 
 With multitudinous jargon of wild tongues ? 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 57 
 
 Vain question; where no voice will make reply. 
 Time only answers in the distant fature, 
 So far his words faint in the midway air. 
 Or come in broken murmurs, like the sea's, 
 Dying uncomprehended. Still my soul 
 Holds faith in man and in his progress forth ; 
 Since not alone 'tis his, but God's. 
 
 Day dawns, 
 And with it swell the sounds, afar and near, 
 Of lowing cattle and the crowing cocks. 
 From farm to farm the wakening signals run, 
 And the blue smoke ascends. The sheep, released, 
 Leap the low bars and, following their bell. 
 Go bleating to the pasture. And, anon. 
 The ploughman drives his team into the field. 
 And treads the furrow till the horn recalls. 
 Meanwhile the kine their generous udders yield. 
 And fill the sounding pail, till it o'erruns. 
 And drips the path with foam. Then, at the spring. 
 The snowy liquid poured in careful rows. 
 And on the watery slabs arranged to cool. 
 Gleams like a series of full moons. Afar 
 The giant forge, at labour 'mid the hills. 
 Throbs sullen thunder from its iron heart, 
 And 'neath yon poplar, bursting into bloom, 
 
58 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 The lesser anvil rings. While from the cot 
 Which on the breezj upland greets the east, 
 The windows blazing with the morning red, 
 The loom makes answer with its busy beat. 
 
 Look in to-day upon the murmuring school. 
 There sits the old man at his wonted desk, 
 Round which the scholars stand in crescent rows. 
 Class after class, the oldest coming first ; 
 Then, gradually descending, till the child 
 In russet slip comes tottering to his feet, 
 And finds a place upon the knee of age. 
 Where dimpled fingers point the letters wrong, 
 Or stray unchided to the master's watch-seals. 
 How like a hive, the busy school house hums ! 
 Till comes the hour of recess, when in streams. 
 With laughter loud, they pour into the air. 
 And join in various games. Two desks there are, 
 Which hold for all especial charms ; and oft 
 The smiling children mark them out, and point 
 On one the deep carved ^^0." Six times the Spring 
 Hath breathed its odours round the sacred place, 
 Since here the boy engraved the charmed cypher; 
 And yearly the tradition is passed down, 
 ''There sat Olivia, and here Arthur sat." 
 Now bloom the orchards, and the noisy bees 
 
TUE NEW PASTORAL. f9 
 
 Sing like a wind among the snowy limbs. 
 
 The occupants of neighbouring garden hives 
 
 Are there, in full communities, to mine 
 
 The odorous Eldorado ; and the wasp 
 
 Dropping his long legs, like a flying crane, 
 
 Lights on the flower, and, with his ready sting, 
 
 Threats the intruder. There the humble-bee 
 
 Comes booming, and departs with laden thighs. 
 
 The yellow-jacket, small and full of spite. 
 
 Bedecked in livery of golden lace. 
 
 Comes with the fretful arrogance of one 
 
 Who plays the master, though himself a slave ; 
 
 And over all, the tyrant of the hour. 
 
 The kingbird, hovers, darting on his prey ; 
 
 And takes the ventured argosy of sweets,^ 
 
 Then boasts his conquest on the adjacent branch. 
 
 Where, like a pirate hauled against the wind. 
 
 He waits another sail. From limb to limb, 
 
 The birds which here delight to build their nests — 
 
 The bhie-bird, and the robin, and the small 
 
 Gray wood-pecker — now flit among the flowers. 
 
 Until the air is full of life and song. 
 
 As it is full of perfume. Xow begins 
 
 The house^vife's happiest season of the year. 
 
 The ground, already broken by the spade — 
 
60 TIIK NEW PAS Ton A L. 
 
 The bedS; made level by the passing rake — 
 
 The almanac consulted, and the signs 
 
 Conspiring favour — forth with apron full 
 
 Of choicest seeds, the best which last year gave, 
 
 She sallies to the garden where, all day, 
 
 Breathing the pleasant odour of the mould. 
 
 She bends and plants, while, to her eye of hope, 
 
 Here springs the early pea, and there the bean. 
 
 The lettuce and the radish, and what else 
 
 Her culinary providence requires. 
 
 But chief of all, with careful hands, she sets 
 
 The slips, and bulbs, and seeds which, round each bed, 
 
 Shall make a bright embroidery of flowers. 
 
 Thus the dame Baldwin in her garden bends. 
 
 Meanwhile, Olivia by the mellow air. 
 
 Her winter task of flax not wholly spun. 
 
 Is woo'd unto the porch, where at her wheel, 
 
 Where sat her grandma generations since. 
 
 She sits and sings, not loud but low. 
 
 The little wren to listen stops his song, 
 
 And w^onders on the woodbine. Thus she sings :— 
 
 ''A damsel dwelt in a mansion old. 
 
 Her eyes were blue, her hair was blonde; 
 
 The hills were bright, the sky was gold, 
 Where rose the flaming sun beyond. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 61 
 
 The red stream of the rising day 
 Set all her windows east a-glow, 
 
 And on her face the morning ray- 
 Still stole, as it were loth to go. 
 
 And there she spun the silver flax, ■■ 
 
 But guessed not what the woof would be, 
 
 While, through her hands of snowy wax, 
 The w^hite thread ran incessantly. 
 
 As fair as any queen, in sooth, 
 
 She toiled and held a noble trust; 
 Her heart had whispered this one truth — 
 
 What work would brighten, sloth would rust. 
 
 ^ There is a loom,' she said, ^receives 
 Whatever skeins my reel shall bear; 
 There is a weaver, daily weaves 
 
 The woof which I, perforce, must wear. 
 
 And be the thread or coarse or fine. 
 
 The loom is still the sure receiver; 
 Whatever I spin, the same is mine. 
 
 Returned in full from Time the weaver!'^' 
 
 6 
 
BOOK SIXTH. 
 
 Aloxg the roads, with busy pick and spade, 
 
 The neighbours gather, and, in cheerful groups, 
 
 Repair the way. Some hold the heavy plough. 
 
 Which grates and scours along the sandy side. 
 
 Or from the rock rebounds, with sudden jerk, 
 
 Or caught beneath the deep-laid elm-root, stalls. 
 
 Some fill the gullies which the winter made. 
 
 And with broad shovels smooth the gravelly ground. 
 
 And all, with frequent jest and laugh, pursue 
 
 Their labour, making holiday of toil ; 
 
 And, when the work is done, turn cheerly home. 
 
 Well pleased to know the yearly tax is paid. 
 
 Xow comes the mid-week; and, from various roads, 
 
 Behold the frequent chaise, with easy jog. 
 
 Taking its tranquil way to yonder grove — 
 
 A grove of Lombard poplars, tall and saint-like — 
 
 (62) 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 68 
 
 And Rnder which the long, low building stands, 
 
 Gray with the touches of a century, — 
 
 A house of meditation and of prayer, 
 
 The favourite temple of meek-handed Peace. 
 
 There naeets the calm community of ^^ Friends," 
 
 The old and young, in rigid garb arrayed; 
 
 The same their grandsires wore, and, in their hope, 
 
 The same their far descendants shall put on. 
 
 Remembering their fathers, and their faith. 
 
 And simple piety. The ample brim 
 
 Shades the white patriarchal hair of age. 
 
 And the brown locks of youth. There maidenhood. 
 
 Its gay soul glancing from meek bending eyes, 
 
 Walks, like the matron, in staid habit dressed. 
 
 How beautiful, in those straight hoods of silk. 
 
 And scrupulous lawns, which shield their tender necks. 
 
 The gentle Rachels, Ruths and Deborahs pass ! 
 
 There oft the Christian virtues come in name, 
 
 And oft in spirit, walking hand in hand — 
 
 Hope cheering Faith, with Charity between. 
 
 But this, alas ! is fading year by year ; 
 
 From out the Quaker chrysalis are born 
 
 The wings which wear the changing hues of fashion ; 
 
 And feet, released, forget their ancient thrall. 
 
 And for the late constraint, with lighter tread, 
 
64 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Lead through the mazes of the intricate dance, 
 
 Imported fresh from foreign capitols. 
 
 Their mission is accomplished; and the march 
 
 Of this calm band, which, in the van of Peace, 
 
 Walked, conquering with forbearance, 'mid reproach, 
 
 And jeers of ridicule, is o'er; and now 
 
 The few who still surround the saintly tent, 
 
 And prop it 'mid the advancements of the time, 
 
 May rest upon the memory of the past. 
 
 Content with its results. The future comes. 
 
 And things, which have been useful in their day, 
 
 Are driven into the bygone realms of old. 
 
 And leave no vestige of their powerful camps. 
 
 The good, which they have wrought, alone survives — 
 
 The form in which it came, departs, and this 
 
 Is undistinguishably merged at last. 
 
 And in the general stream of progress lost. 
 
 New orders come, as old ones take their leave; 
 
 And '^welcome" sounds not oftener than ''adieu." 
 
 The streams, which late the storm had overcharged, 
 Have fallen, and left the record of their height 
 Marked on the woodland trunks ; while here and there, 
 Where obstacles opposed, the muddy drift 
 Is lodged to dry, and in the summer sun 
 Become the rest of reptiles, and what else 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 In snch vicinities consort. When comes 
 The mantled winter, this may be the haunt 
 Of timid rabbits, and the flocking quail ; 
 Where oft the hunter, with his dog, shall steal 
 Tracking the knee-deep snow ; and shivering here, 
 The children of the poor shall frequent come. 
 And tear the tangled drift apart, and bear 
 The frozen branch to light their dreary hearth. 
 The stream has fallen ; and at the miller's dam. 
 The neighbours, by good master Ethan called. 
 Collecting come with crowbar, pick and spade. 
 And in the breach begin the swift repair. 
 How like a miracle the progress is 
 Of cheerful labour, wrought by numerous hands 
 Working in concert, w^here the heart and hand 
 Conspire, well pleased, to do a generous act! 
 No hope of recompense, which wealth can give, 
 Sends such alacrity to hands humane, 
 As doth the sense of doing noble duty. 
 The day which sees a liberal deed complete, 
 A fellow creature in misfortune helped. 
 Falls round the doer, at its evening close. 
 With gentle airs and loving dews of peace; 
 Sleep, like an angel, at his pillow sits. 
 And charms his lids 'gainst ill-intruding dreams. 
 
66 T 11 E N E W P A S T R A L . 
 
 The week draws near its close, and now the school 
 Takes wonted holiday. It is a time 
 The older children are required at home. 
 The wide-mouthed oven must be set a-roar, 
 Fired by such light brush and broken rails 
 As fence and woodland yield. These bring the boys, 
 Dragging the crackly loads with shouts of glee. 
 At home the girls, delighted, tend the babe. 
 And teach it by the sliding chair to walk — 
 How beautiful to watch their loving care, 
 The future mother swelling in their breasts! 
 While those, which date nor yet so young nor old. 
 Beneath the orchard crowd the little swing. 
 Or in the barn disturb the secret nest. 
 Some by the roadside build the mimic house. 
 With moss and broken ware set out. Meanwhile 
 The busy matron, o'er the floury tray, 
 Kneads the huge loaf; or on the snowy board 
 Kolls the thin crust, and crimps the juicy pie. 
 Then, from the paddle broad, the pan and dish 
 Glide grating to the heated cave to bake. 
 By noon, the ample tables and the shelves 
 Groan with the weight of swollen loaves, em])rowned, 
 And pies arranged to cool ; and all the air 
 Is redolent with the delicious scent 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 67 
 
 Which makes the appetite by expectation, 
 And whets the watery tooth! 
 
 From the warm south 
 The whispering breezes flow; and the calm sky 
 Is flecked with shadowy vapours, scarcely clouds, 
 Through which the sun rolls lazily and red. 
 This master Ethan notes, and takes his rod — 
 For he has heard, for weeks, the whistling swamps 
 A welcome signal to the fisher's ear — 
 And, with the feeling fresh as when a youth. 
 Makes through the meadow, where the stream invites, 
 And to the surface gives the tempting bait. 
 And there the well-pleased grandchild bears the string — 
 No love of gentle Walton charms his brain; 
 His art is such as anglers only know 
 Who from experience learn to trim the hook. 
 And swing the whip-like line. The bait is rude ; 
 No artificial fly, with golden wing, 
 Flits o'er the ripple; yet, as oft he throws. 
 The round chub, whirling on its watery wing. 
 Darts through the wave, then flutters on the land. 
 Above, below — they will not mar his sport — 
 The ploughmen, boisterous from their finished fields 
 With nets relentless scoop the deepest pools, 
 And throw the heterogeneous tribes ashore. 
 Some whose long task detains them through the day, 
 
68 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Treading the furrows, when that eve sets in, 
 Will come T\dth torch and spear, and wade the stream ; 
 Or at the rude boat's prow, beneath the blaze 
 Dripping with flaming pitch, with watchful eye 
 And steady hand direct the sure harpoon. 
 
 Another week comes in. The Sabbath past, 
 The old and young are gathered to the fields. 
 Some walk the furrow, and let drop the maize. 
 With measured space between ; while some, behind. 
 With hoe industrious conceal the grain, 
 And form the little mounds, erelong to sprout 
 And wave their rustling plumes. This done, behold. 
 The hideous shape is throned upon the field! 
 A figure built awry, with outstretched arms, 
 And, like a drunkard maudlin, in the wind 
 Flutters its rags, and frights the pilfering crow. 
 
 jSTow blooms the lilac, sweetening all the air ; 
 And by the brook the alder, and the rose, 
 Propt at the cottage door with careful hands. 
 Bursts its green bud, and looks abroad for May. 
 To-morrow, and the smiling month shall come. 
 To-morrow ! w^hat delight is in to-morrow ! 
 What laughter and what music, breathing joy, 
 Float from the woods and pastures, wavering down 
 Dropping like echoes' through the long to-day. 
 Where childhood waits with weary expectation ! 
 
BOOK SEVENTH. 
 
 May has come in — young May, tlie beautiful — 
 
 Wearing the sweetest chaplet of the year. 
 
 Along the eastern corridors she walks, 
 
 What time the clover rocks the earliest bee, 
 
 Her feet a-flush with sunrise, and her veil 
 
 Floating in breezy odours o'er her hair ; 
 
 And ample garments, fluttering at the hem, 
 
 With pleasing rustle round her sandal shoon. 
 
 What happy voices wake the rural airs. 
 
 From hillside homes and valley cottages. 
 
 And every village is alive at dawn ! 
 
 Long ere the dews have winged themselves to heaven. 
 
 In vernal paths the little bands are out. 
 
 Winning their course, with joyous steps and song, 
 
 Until the Oaklands take them to their arms, 
 
 And grove to grove, with loving voice, proclaims 
 
70 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 The gladness wliicli it feels. Before the sun 
 
 Hath burnt the western shadows from his dial, 
 
 Olivia and Amy through the shade 
 
 Walk in their snowy garments of the time, 
 
 O'er which the flickering sunshine, through the boughs, 
 
 Dances amid innumerous phantom leaves. 
 
 Chasing those lovely forms w^here'er they go. 
 
 And starring them with brightness. Arm in arm, 
 
 They print the tender mosses, and disturb 
 
 The broad-leafed raandrake, bending here and there 
 
 To pluck the violets peering through the leaves ; 
 
 Or those small woodland flowers, so delicate 
 
 That fancy deems them the exotic blooms 
 
 Of fairy gardens, planted in the night, 
 
 And nurtured by the moon. With converse sweet. 
 
 And confidence which young hearts only know — 
 
 So pure themselves, they have not guessed how deep 
 
 The world is lored in treachery — they each 
 
 To each repeat the secrets of their loves. 
 
 Beneath yon whispering maple in the lawn — 
 A dainty lawn in middle of the woods — 
 The Mayday groups are gathered, and from there 
 The air comes laden with the breath of mirth; 
 And Amy and Olivia, in delight. 
 Withhold their steps, and gaze between the trees — 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 71 
 
 'Twixt shadowy vistas of huge mossy trunks 
 
 And drooping vines — and watch the floating forms, 
 
 Now seen, now hid, like stars 'mid broken clouds. 
 
 All wildly dancing 'neath their scented wreaths. 
 
 As they the embodied spirits were of flowers. 
 
 And presently, ascending to her throne. 
 
 One lovely maid for coronation mounts. 
 
 And thus, along the gladdened air, is borne 
 
 The song which greets her and proclaims her queen. 
 
 We bring roses, beautiful fresh roses. 
 
 Dewy as the morning and coloured like the daw^n; 
 Little tents of odour, where the bee reposes. 
 
 Swooning in sweetness of the bed he dreams upon. 
 Roses, fresh roses from the young Spring borrowed, 
 To bind round your tresses where the zephyr loves 
 to play. 
 Smile, gentle princess, while your snowy forehead 
 Takes the sweet coronal which crowns you queen 
 of May! 
 
 Roses, fresh roses, 
 Which crown you^queen of May! 
 
 We bring violets, the purple and the azure, 
 
 Which bloomed at the coming of the blue bird's 
 wizard wing. 
 
72 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 To greet your dear presence they oped their eyes of 
 pleasure, 
 Then bowed, and they wept that you came not first 
 of spring. 
 Violets, sweet violets, we plucked from April's bosom, 
 The last which he smiled upon before he passed away ; 
 And thus round your forehead shall fairy bud and 
 blossom 
 Shine in the coronal which crowns you queen of May ! 
 Yiolets, sweet violets, 
 "Which crown you queen of May! 
 
 We bring daisies, little starry daisies. 
 
 The angels have planted to remind us of the sky. 
 When the stars have vanished they twinkle their mute 
 praises. 
 Telling, in the dewy grass, of brighter fields on high. 
 Daisies, bright daisies, to gleam around your tresses, 
 Until your brow shall shine like the dawning of 
 the day; 
 And thus, as the coronal your lovely forehead presses, 
 We bow to your sceptre, and we hail you queen of 
 May ! 
 
 Daisies, bright daisies, 
 Which crown you queen of May ! 
 
T II E N E W PAS T II A L . 73 
 
 Thus fly the hours to youthful fancy dear. 
 
 Now, midway in the afternoon, the sun 
 
 Descends upon his poised and flaming wing, 
 
 Looking aslant the earth ; and still 
 
 The voice of joy, with simple music joined. 
 
 Thrills through the grove, which not to childhood only 
 
 Yields up its vernal spaces, but to youths 
 
 And maidens, who come gaily flocking in. 
 
 And round the rustic viol reel the dance. 
 
 There trusting Amy greets a welcome hand. 
 
 And, hearkening to the voice she loves, floats down 
 
 From sun to shadow in bewildering maze. 
 
 The woods swim round, the trees with linked hands 
 
 "Whirl through the music and the misty light, 
 
 "With giant gesture and half human smile, 
 
 Swaying as to a wind. And thus the maid. 
 
 Clasped by the arm of love, forgets the world. 
 
 Alone Olivia strolls beyond the place. 
 
 Seeking in unfrequented paths the quiet 
 
 Her soul desires — communion with itself; 
 
 And following her heart, which fondly leads. 
 
 She finds the sacred places where, in days 
 
 Long gone, she walked with Arthur at her side. 
 
 Here was the spot where from the summer school. 
 
 When childish liking heralded their love, 
 7 
 
74 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 They wandered, and from honeysuckle boughs 
 Gathered nectarean fruit. Here was the place 
 They walked beside the brook, and gaily plucked 
 The spiry rushes which, with rustic art. 
 They wove in little baskets ; such as held 
 The handful of wild berries, after gleaned. 
 From vines which stole beneath the meadow grass, 
 Or at the briery fence-side grew. Here was the scene — 
 Dear heart be calm! — where, 'neath these sheltering 
 
 limbs. 
 When the broad poplar filled his cups of gold — 
 Where every wandering wind and pilgrim bee 
 Drank, and, departing, boasted of the draught — 
 Her ear had caught the low first words of love. 
 Her hand had felt the first declaring pressure; 
 And now, as then, she leans against the tree. 
 Her hair escaping glides unto her shoulder; 
 From out its folds the wild flowers, like her tears. 
 Drip noiseless and unnoted to the ground. 
 The sun descends; the long and level ray 
 Kisses the maiden's shoulder, and glides up. 
 Flaming a little in the poplar's top ; 
 Then, lighting on a fleecy cloud overhead. 
 Burns, fades and dies as embers in the ashes. 
 
BOOK EIGHTH. 
 
 The spring departs ; and, in her speeding haste, 
 Chased by a swarm of murmuring winds and bees, 
 Scatters the withered lilacs as she flees. 
 The blue bird mourns for her ; the russet wren 
 Leads out its young, to see her ere she leaves. 
 Her hands are full of garlands, some a-bloom, 
 Some budding and some dead. With floating hair, 
 Thus fled Ophelia in her frenzied hour ; 
 And, like Ophelia, from her willow branch. 
 Spring, singing, falls into the lilied pool, 
 And in the crystal stream of summer drowns. 
 The heavens a little weep above her form. 
 What time she floats adown into the past. 
 Till June, full blown and blooming, like her rose. 
 Comes laughing in beneath the rainbow arch. 
 It is the season when the stormy hive 
 
 (75) 
 
76 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Gives forth the noisy whirlwind of its swarm, 
 Which swings awhile above its ancient home, 
 With whirrings louder than a housewife's wheel, 
 And warns the dame of their intended flight ; 
 When forth she sallies, all a-glow with fear 
 And anxious hope, and on the sounding pan 
 Beats like a maniac drummer in mid battle, 
 Filling the air with wild, discordant noise. 
 Until, for thus her rustic fancy deems. 
 The guiding voice of the great sovereign bee 
 Is drowned amid the tumult. Then, perforce. 
 Their further flight is stayed; and on a limb. 
 With layer o'er layer, they settle till the branch 
 Droops with the black, impending weight; and then 
 The ready hive receives the living mass. 
 Or, if too late the ringing pan assails. 
 Behold the swift and winding line, afar. 
 Flies warping on the sun-illumined air. 
 And mocks the disappointed eye, until 
 Amid the distant forest boughs it sweeps. 
 And, like a veil entangling, clings and lights 
 Too high to be regained. Then, in some tree. 
 Some hollow oak, or beech, or sycamore. 
 Driving the astonished squirrel from his home, 
 They fix their habitation, and at once 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 7T 
 
 Fill up their waxen garners with the sweets 
 
 The woodland blossoms and the clover yield; 
 
 And little reck how, in the autumnal hour, 
 
 The assailing axe shall come, and sulphurous smoke 
 
 Besiege their woody citadel, until 
 
 Invading hands usurp their winter store. 
 
 Now have the flocks been driven unto the brook, 
 And bathed to snowy whiteness 'gainst their will; 
 And, bleating oft beneath the clipping shears. 
 Have yielded up the fleece. The meadow fields 
 Are waving in the sunshine like a sea — 
 A billowy deep, whose flowers are like a foam ; 
 And all abroad, behold the busy throng 
 Of those who swing the clover, as a path. 
 From seething scythes into the sidelong swath, 
 And sharp their blades with many a shrill che-whet. • 
 The air is full of perfume. Following these, 
 With laugh and song, gay youths, with glittering 
 
 prongs. 
 Shake out the scented masses to the sun. 
 Until the noon beholds the fields half mown. 
 And from the hill-side calls the midday horn. 
 Some bands there are, in harvest plains remote. 
 Who hearken not the conch's announcing call; 
 But pass into the oak or poplar's shade, 
 
78 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 And on the branch suspend the glittering scythes, 
 Which hang vibrating; then the circle draw — 
 The grass alike their table and their seat — 
 While well-stored baskets furnish forth the meal. 
 The spring near by its crystal tribute gives, 
 And deals its freshness through the rustic gourd. 
 
 When now the grass, oft turned beneath the sun, 
 Is dry and crisp, and rustles to the tread. 
 Then comes the rake, with many a long drawn sweep, 
 Gleaning the shaven weed, until the plain. 
 Rough with the sultry stacks, appears a field 
 Thick set with russet tents. And thus it stands 
 Until the wagons, drawn by horse or yoke 
 Of easy oxen, with slow swaying gait. 
 Their large eyes dreaming o'er the rolling cud, 
 C^onvey the winter store unto the barn. 
 Then what wild laughter fills the heated mow. 
 Where boyhood treads the sweltering weaves of hay, 
 Climbing the encroaching billows as they roll. 
 Till like a tide it swells along the roof. 
 Molesting wasps and swallows! — swells and swells. 
 Till the marauding child, with curious eye. 
 Thrusts his adventurous hand into the nest — 
 The highest in the grooved rafters lodged — 
 And finds but fragments of the tender shell. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 79 
 
 Which crumble in his fingers, while outside 
 The parent bird darts laughing its derision. 
 
 Behold yon shape which, down the dusty road, 
 Comes marvellously large! It is a form 
 To frighten childhood from its wayside play; 
 At whose approach the household mastiff barks. 
 And, barking, to his kennel shrinks afraid. 
 It is the pedler, bending 'neath his load. 
 Like mighty Samson with the Gaza gates. 
 Or Atlas with the world. His monthly round 
 Once more hath brought him to these quiet homes. 
 Once more he lets the monster pack descend. 
 Straightens his shoulders, and unbinds the straps. 
 And shows the housewife the enticing store. 
 Long time she looks, yet shakes the cautious head. 
 Swaying 'twixt prudence and desire. Meanwhile 
 The children crowd, with wondering eyes, to see 
 The motley heap, with fingers oft offending, 
 And often chid; while, at her apron, one 
 Clings timidly, and nears, by gradual steps. 
 As wonder gains the mastery of fear. 
 With artful words the petty merchant spreads 
 The various show ; now smooths the glossy silk, 
 And holds it to the light aslant; or, dropped 
 To lengthened folds, displays the embryo skirt. 
 
80 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 There the white lace and there the ribands gleam, 
 Which light the maiden's eye. The vender's art, 
 Catching at every favourable sign, 
 Still pours persuasion from his ready tongue; 
 And, in the face of many a stubborn '*No," 
 Lightens his pack and bleeds the matron's purse. 
 
BOOK NINTH. 
 
 But this is past, and dies the cloudless day. 
 How solemnly and calm the evening falls 
 Around the rural scene ! One burning bar 
 Along the shadowy western hill-top flames, 
 And, like the blazing iron upon an anvil. 
 Sinks to a cooler red, and darkly fades. 
 Leaving the vale to twilight. Charmed hour! 
 Now fall the dews, of which the blossoms drink 
 Deep opiate draughts, till, nodding on their stems, 
 Within their scented mantles folded close. 
 They dream till morn. The sounds of day are done. 
 Innumerous tongues, which only wake at eve, 
 Resume, till night is filled with various notes 
 Which start the inmost fancy into flight. 
 Touching the pleasing chords of melancholy. 
 Until the heart holds sympathy, perforce, 
 
 (81) 
 
82 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 With all the dusk invisible. Above, 
 The dreary night-hawk wheels on mournful wings, 
 Like some doomed spirit seeking for its mate, 
 And pours his bitter wail. Within the deep 
 Impenetrable sorrow of the woods. 
 Like one in weeds, with knotted chords of grief 
 Scourging his heart until it shrieks its wo, 
 The whip-poor-will lifts up its direful voice. 
 While, like a demon jeering at their pain. 
 The owl makes answer with his scornful laugh. 
 These are sad sounds ; and unto Amy's heart — 
 Although her lover's arm is at her waist. 
 While their slow feet together brush the path. 
 Sweeping the shadowy pasture near the grove — 
 They have a voice prophetic which half drowns 
 The joy it is her spirit's wont to hear ; 
 And on the wayside grass, methinks, unseen. 
 One tear-drop more than pensive evening weeps 
 Is shed. They tell us angels, good and ill, 
 Attend our steps, to guide or to mislead; 
 If such be true, with what imploring words. 
 And clasped hands, and piteous gaze of eyes, 
 The one oft speaks that would persuade aright. 
 And in the hour by us securest deemed 
 Whispers its fears and warns ; the while the other 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 83 
 
 With smiles assuring, safely strews the path 
 
 With flowers which lead but to a field of thorns ! 
 
 If this indeed be true, the instinctive tear, 
 
 The shudder, or each inward faint recoil. 
 
 Springing we know not whence, should be a voice 
 
 To stay the swiftest step — should be a bolt 
 
 Transfixing where we stand — a giant rock 
 
 Kising, like sudden gates of adamant, 
 
 To bar our further course ! Alas ! too oft. 
 
 We lay our hand on the good angel's lip. 
 
 And murmur ^' Peace," whence peace alone can flow; 
 
 And list the alluring tongue, whose sweeter words 
 
 Pour in the soul the airs which yet shall wake 
 
 The prowling storm of discord. ^' Take this chain'' — 
 
 So speaks a voice, the while a heated cheek 
 
 Flames at her own — ''and wear it for my sake." 
 
 Then, with" a smile, he drops it on her neck ; 
 
 While in her hand a locket, like an ember. 
 
 Glows as the wide moon stares above the east — 
 
 Stares, like a ghost, across the maiden's shoulder, 
 
 Gazing with Amy on the lover's picture. 
 
 Long time she looks, and then, with trembling care. 
 
 Within her bosom hides the image dear; 
 
 Where on her breast, with wide and stolid eyes. 
 
 It lies and warms against her beating heart. 
 
84 THE NEW P A S T 11 A L . 
 
 Swaying to each emotion, while the moon 
 A moment glides behind a fleecy vapour, 
 And floods it into whiteness like a shroud. 
 
 Olivia, with her little taper's light, 
 Looks from her chamber window to the east — 
 Looks long with mingled feelings, chiefly hope; 
 And when a star aslant the zenith drops, 
 A sigh from out her heart responds, and then 
 A vision of her gentle friend and lover 
 Rises ; and now amid the Mayday groups, 
 She once more watches where the reeling dance 
 Whirls their light forms along, from sun to shade. 
 So swift is thought that, ere the meteor line 
 Has faded but a moment from across 
 The rising constellation in her breast. 
 The name of Arthur questions every star ; 
 What time each lifts its silvery brow to sight, 
 And gazes o'er th' horizon's woody bar ; — 
 What news it brings from out the Orient, 
 What tidings it hath carried in its heart, 
 Which not the loud pervading sea could drown, 
 Or time or distance mar? What worbs of love, 
 What longing westward looks, from those dear lips 
 And faithful eyes, of one w^ho travels far ? 
 And when the pillow holds her golden hair, 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 85 
 
 She hears the happiest sounds which charm the night ; 
 
 But chiefly, from afar, the flashing stream 
 
 Which rustles o'er the breastwork at the mill 
 
 With ceaseless music. Often — oh, how oft — 
 
 Bj that same sound hath Arthur's ear been soothed 
 
 Till slumber weighed with melody his lids! 
 
 And sympathizing with the sacred vision 
 
 Her fancy sees, the while his name in prayer 
 
 Passes, and yet seems lingering on her lips, 
 
 A gentle dream before her spirit steals, 
 
 Closing the doors of sleep upon her soul. 
 
BOOK TENTH. 
 
 What sounds are these which thrill the morning star, 
 
 Hailing the advancing banner of the sun, 
 
 While now the herald dawn, with backward hair, 
 
 Inflates his winding horn, and wakes the day. 
 
 Speeding across the hill-tops? Hark, the roll 
 
 Of distant cannon rumbling through the sky, 
 
 As if a huge triumphal car, in haste. 
 
 Were rolling and resounding through the streets 
 
 Of some glad city welcoming its return ; 
 
 While lesser sounds of bells and rattling guns 
 
 Swell the rejoicing hour! It is the day 
 
 When Independence celebrates her birth — 
 
 The Jubilee of Freedom yearly kept! 
 
 A nation rising from its rest secure; 
 
 A nation which hath never worn a crown; 
 
 A land which hath not held a throne, or felt 
 
 (86) 
 
T II E N E W P A S T R A L . 87 
 
 The foot of king, or seen his purple robe, 
 Sends up its voice, with one loud shout of joy, 
 Which starts the eagle of the I^or'most lake, 
 And wakes the Mexic gulf — while on his shore 
 The Atlantic hears, and his eternal head 
 Lifts, and prolongs the sound — till in the West, 
 On stretching sands, in many an unknown bay, 
 Mid shadowy slumber the Pacific smiles. 
 Catching the cadence as it dies, and dreams 
 Of Freedom's cities rising on his coast. 
 And navies showing Liberty her flag! 
 It is a sound to flush the patriot's breast, 
 And drive the colour from the tyrant's cheek ; 
 Where on his olden and decaying throne, 
 He stands a-gaze, and, staring o'er the sea, 
 Wonders; and, with a nervous hand of haste. 
 Presses the weighty crown upon his brow. 
 And grasps the sceptre his amaze hath loosed. 
 Assuring him a king ! Long be the day 
 Remembered, and awaked with shouts, as now ! 
 
 From every home the gladsome people pour; 
 O'er woods and fields resound the drum and fife; 
 And presently the flaming banners, rich 
 With golden mottoes and with silver stars, 
 Along the highw^ay set a-blaze the air : 
 
88 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 As in the hour when wildly on the sky, 
 
 They wrote in words of fire the despot's fall, 
 
 Dazzling his dull uncomprehending eye 
 
 With ^^ weighed and wanting I'' "^ till the interpreter, 
 
 The father of a grateful country, came 
 
 And read the ^^UpharsM^ to his startled ear! 
 
 With one accord, the various cottage-homes 
 Pour down the paths and highw^ays to the town — 
 The village on the white and dusty road — 
 Their several habitants. The young and old. 
 Each bent on pleasing and on being pleased, 
 Are ranged into procession, two by two. 
 While many a jest and laugh run down the line. 
 Across the pasture, winding to the grove. 
 All follow, to the measure of that tune 
 Which first had birth upon Derision's lips. 
 Till Victory heard, and with exulting tongue. 
 Echoed the notes, that, hallowed by her voice, 
 Henceforth became an anthem for a nation! 
 
 Already the rude table's giant length 
 Stretches beneath the embow^ering limbs, and scents 
 The fragrant air with pine. Adjacent, see 
 The speaker's rostrum — rough, as suits the time, 
 And strong — w^here, caught aloft in smooth festoons, 
 Two silken banners of the stripes and stars, 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 89 
 
 With friendly points of glittering spear-heads crossed, 
 
 Delight the enthusiast's eye. Anon, 
 
 Mid shouts, the leaders take the stand; and now 
 
 The parson pours the solemn thankful prayer. 
 
 The gratitude which every freeman feels. 
 
 Then rises Master Ethan, tall and frail, 
 
 And clearly, with well modulated voice. 
 
 Reads the great ^^ Declaration''^ to the end. 
 
 Whereat a long huzza, from every heart. 
 
 Shakes the deep welkin, while the limbs between 
 
 Murmur afar, and each astonished bird 
 
 Drops in the trees and listens. Then arises 
 
 The song which every tongue delights to swell. 
 
 This past, the fiery speech inflames the hour. 
 
 Oft interrupted by the loud applause ; 
 
 And with a loving ardour lingers long 
 
 O'er scenes our grandsires, in the years agone — 
 
 What time they held us charmed upon their knees — 
 
 Pictured unto our childish eyes, until 
 
 The little soul, to patriot's teaching true. 
 
 Rose up in arms and waved the mimic sword. 
 
 Then comes the plenteous feast, with stated toasts. 
 
 And music and gay song between. And now. 
 
 In brimming cups the amber cider flows, 
 
 Sparkling and sweet, smelling of autumn brown; 
 
 8* 
 
90 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Three years a-past from out the creaking press 
 It streamed, and now full ripe and rich, it glows 
 In cooling pitchers, starred and striped with dew ; 
 Or paler beverage, where the citron sv\'ims, 
 Yielding the acid from its severed sphere, 
 And shedding odours of the melting South, 
 So nectarine, the wasp attracted comes. 
 An armed republican, and tastes the cup 
 Ere the libation, at the waiting mouth. 
 Is pledged to Liberty. 
 
BOOK ELEVENTH. 
 
 Thus flies the hour. 
 Meanwhile; O Muse, withdraw awhile apart, 
 And note yon figure bending in the woods. 
 It is the dame of Oakland gathering herbs — . 
 Here plucking liverwort, and there the rank 
 Hot stems of penny-royal — and, anon. 
 With crooked fingers, in the easy mould. 
 Digging the sinuous snake-root, and what else 
 Her curious knowledge finds. In bundles tied. 
 These all must at her odorous ceiling hang. 
 To dry mid swinging sheaves of various mint. 
 Plucked from the garden and the brook; with sage, 
 Savouring of Christmas, and wild chamomile, 
 With bitterer tansy, and the virtuous barks 
 Of elm and sassafras; with much beside. 
 Shedding perpetual perfume round the joists, 
 
 (91) 
 
92 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Forgot, or to the muse unknown. She kneels ; 
 
 And, as she gathers, mumbles words, unheard. 
 
 Whose import none may know except those forms 
 
 Invisible which bend the attentive ear, 
 
 And catch the faintest breathings of the soul ; 
 
 Interpreting the murmurs of a child. 
 
 The honied accents swarming at its lips. 
 
 And the low blended, toothless sounds of age. 
 
 Not long she bends when, with a tongue uncouth. 
 
 The round Distiller, all a-glow with heat, 
 
 Comes fuming like his still; for he hath strode 
 
 Throughout the morn across his stretching lands, 
 
 Armed with the heavy hickory which he wears, 
 
 To note if, in the all-exulting hour, 
 
 A foot should dare to trespass on his grounds 
 
 Thus, ever, the bad man is seen abroad 
 
 Grudging the innocent joy, which others feel. 
 
 Impossible to him; while Jealousy, 
 
 Within the envious precincts of his heart, 
 
 Suggests the wicked act, and, with a smile. 
 
 Gloats o'er the cruelty ere it is done. 
 
 The fairest landscape may not mould a heart; 
 
 A niggard in his palace still is mean ; 
 
 And cruelty may native be to scenes 
 
 Whose loveliness might move another's tears. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL 93 
 
 See how his set teeth grind in base delight, 
 And how he strikes from side to side, and beats 
 A fancied culprit at each blow ! He speaks : — 
 '^What bring'st thou, hag, to trespass on these 
 
 grounds ? 
 What stealest thou within these woods forbid?'' 
 To which the woman, rising on her staff: — 
 ^^I gather simples that thou know'st not of: 
 Here's this to cool, and here is this which gives 
 A generous heat when ague numbs the heart. 
 Oh, I can find all plants, and roots, and barks, 
 Which Nature's storehouse yields. I know them all ; 
 And, better than your school-diploma'd leech. 
 Can I prescribe the antidote of ills 
 Which fire or freeze the blood ; but in my art, 
 I do avow 'fore Heaven, I know no power 
 Of herb to cool a feverish temper vile. 
 Or thaw the starving ague of a soul !" 
 To which the man, with lifted cane, replies: — 
 '^ Hence, with a bridle on thy tongue, or else 
 Beware the weight of this !" When thus the dame, 
 Shaking her skinny finger o'er her staff : — 
 '^Once came a beggar to a rich man's gate. 
 Asking the crumbs which from his table fell; 
 He was refused — perchance thou know'st the rest. 
 
94 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 These simples, to the fulness of thy land, 
 
 Are less than were the crumbs beneath that table. 
 
 All these untended here, self-planted, grow 
 
 "From year to year, and custom's long consent 
 
 Hath yielded them to serve the general use. 
 
 I do not trespass, and I do not steal ; 
 
 Nor shalt thou say it unrebuked. These grounds, 
 
 They are not thine save by a legal lie. 
 
 Stolen by trick, or bought with devil's blood — 
 
 I mean the poison dripping from your still— 
 
 And might the wronged man from his coffin rise. 
 
 And, with the wddow and the orphan, tell 
 
 The baseness of thy cunning, the dull ear 
 
 Of common justice should be stunned and pained. 
 
 And the loud public tongue cry out thy shame, 
 
 And retribution, like a bolt of fire 
 
 Amid the thunder, fall.'' E'en as she speaks. 
 
 She seems to rise above her wonted height; 
 
 Her gray locks falling take the passing breeze. 
 
 Her eyes indignant flame, and on her lip 
 
 Scorn sits supreme, and mocks the lifted cane. 
 
 Meanwhile the blood to the distiller's brow 
 
 Mounts with swift madness, and his whole broad face 
 
 Burns like a furnace by the bellows blown. 
 
 '* Hence, witch!" he cries; and reeling from his aim, 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 95 
 
 With a loud shriek of oaths, he strikes the air, 
 And striking falls, foaming at mouth, convulsed. 
 The apoplectic blood, inflamed, hath drowned 
 His brain ; and there, with horrible distort 
 Of face and frame, he clutching tears the ground. 
 These are rough touches, but they give the life. 
 The scars and moles which make the picture true. 
 And thus he lies until a sauntering group, 
 Which presently comes by, in wonder stops; 
 And takes the fallen man in charge, and l)ears 
 Him ^rathing home. The dame, with musing voice. 
 Speaks as they go, and they may hear who will : — 
 ^' Twice hath the mad ox grovelled in the dust. 
 Dragged by the dogs of anger ; when again 
 They take him to the earth, he shall not rise.'^ 
 Aud now once more she kneels above her task. 
 And, digging, traces the eccentric root. 
 
BOOK TWELFTH. 
 
 Let us descend afar the summer road, 
 And note how in the crowded mart is kept 
 The sacred day. Along the harvest fields, 
 Throughout the stretching valley, smokes the air 
 With a long line of the impending dust, 
 Sultry and thick, until the Sunday garb 
 Of smoothest black becomes a suit of grey, 
 And the deep standing grain beside the road 
 Bows with the collecting weight ; while feet 
 Innumerous are plumping in the dust. 
 Deep as the fetlocks, as it were a snow; 
 And flying wheels fling from their tires and spokes 
 Invisible the choking cloud. Behold the inn, 
 Midway between the village and the town. 
 Where waves the starry flag across the way. 
 Swung from the house-top to the opposing tree, 
 
 (96) 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 97 
 
 A silken arch of triumpli. O'er the porch 
 Swarm out and in, like bees about a hive, 
 The noisy people whom the keeper greets 
 With smile incessant and unfailing joke. 
 Lo, how the hot air reeks with the perfume 
 Of crushing mint, in potent glasses drowned, 
 And smoke of Cuban weed ; or, stronger yet. 
 Of rank plant cultured in Kentuckian fields. 
 From either side the high and pendulous sign 
 The painted eagle looks, with spreading wings. 
 As if to sentinel the coming guest. 
 But 'neath his shade, with an unchecking rein, 
 Behold yon party pass ! Olivia there. 
 Between her parents, sits with glowing cheeks. 
 Thus ride they on until, beyond the hill. 
 In the far smoky landscape, winding slow, 
 They catch with eager gaze the silvery line 
 Of tranquil Delaware ; so distance-veiled. 
 The eye, unaided, scarcely notes the sail 
 Brooding in middle of receding plains. 
 Then bursts the glowing city on the view ; 
 Waking a pleasurable sense which none 
 So deep in soul can feel as they who bring 
 The mind well stored with rural love, and wear 
 At heart the freshness of the summer fields. 
 
 9 
 
98 THE NEW TASTOllAL. 
 
 Thus, in lost ages of the long ago, 
 
 The rustic swains, girded with simple skins, 
 
 From Carmers side or cedared Lebanon, 
 
 Beheld the gorgeous city at their feet ; 
 
 What time the yearly festival enticed. 
 
 Its thousand banners swelling on the wind. 
 
 And every breeze with music jubilant, 
 
 And gates all wide. Or thus the pilgrim band, 
 
 Aweary with long travel, sore of feet, 
 
 Turning some point of the Abruzzian mount, 
 
 Beholds the plain, and Tiber winding dim. 
 
 And the long stretch of ancient aqueducts, 
 
 Striding like caravans the blue champaign ; 
 
 Till, lo ! the Boman capitol appears. 
 
 Crowned with the dome which crowns the world ! 
 
 Anon, the Schuylkill, sacred to the barge of mirth. 
 
 Its green banks consecrate to pleasure's paths. 
 
 Winds into sight with many a silvery curve ; 
 
 And at the breast-work, with a ceaseless voice, 
 
 Bustles the music which its waters learned, 
 
 On mountain wilds remote, where Carbon's hills 
 
 Hear in their inmost heart the miner's stroke. 
 
 Behold the mound by art and nature reared, 
 
 'Tairmount !" in whose tall top the waters lie 
 
 Lifted as in a great baptismal font; 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. * 91 
 
 The height from whence the river deity 
 
 Pours, from his giant and refreshing urn, 
 
 The stream which slakes a grateful city's thirst. 
 
 But fancy this ; for yet no statue there, 
 
 Worthy the place, above his liquid task 
 
 Stands to the four winds, beautiful and bright. 
 
 Gazing upon the city which he laves, 
 
 While the glad city gazes back to him. 
 
 Oh ! wherefore rises not the marble pile 
 
 Above this green and consecrated height ? 
 
 Not one, but many, one above the rest, 
 
 Looking like Allegheny o'er his hills. 
 
 Lo, how it bathes unnumbered miles of streets — 
 
 A great heart pulsing through far crystal veins — 
 
 Where, but a few short generations since. 
 
 The Indian stretched his lazy sombre length ; 
 
 And the red deer stooped, undeterred, and drank, 
 
 Or, 'neath the chestnut or the walnut shade. 
 
 Cropped the rank grass at leisure. At the Bridge, 
 
 The horses sudden tramp the sounding planks ; 
 
 Where passes oft the Connestoga team. 
 
 Ringing its own announcement of approach. 
 
 With shoulder-shaken bells — a monster v>^ain. 
 
 Slow, rumbling, and which oft in winter sends 
 
 The shrilly creak from frosty wheels afar. 
 
100 T II E N E W P A S T R A L . 
 
 How the white noon awakes to the report 
 Of all explosive engines known to man, 
 From the sharp cracker to the roaring bass 
 Of cannon, answering from square to square ! 
 At every proclamation shaking earth, 
 And rattling every window ; while the scent 
 Of wasted powder loads each breath inhaled. 
 As in some town resisting when besieged. 
 From street to street the party takes its way, 
 Gazing on the processions as they pass 
 With wondering admiration. There they see, 
 In costly uniform, the shining troops 
 Of armed volunteers ; or there the long, 
 Proud lines of labour, honouring their trades. 
 Parading with bright banners ; and the stout, 
 Brave firemen decked in helmet and in cape — 
 A conflagration pictured upon each- — 
 Their costly engine wreathed about with flowers — 
 Drawing as 'twere a conqueror's car. No day. 
 Of all the year, is so alive as this ; 
 No other day hath this calm city been 
 So driven from staid propriety, and waked 
 To such wild, joyous riot ; save that time 
 When youthful feet ran boundless through the streets, 
 To fix the childish gaze on one who came 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 101 
 
 Welcomed with honour's highest, last excess — 
 
 The honour only rivaled by the love — 
 
 Taking his glorious way with roses strewn, 
 
 And under endless bannered arches, starred 
 
 With one proud name, still sacred — ''La Fayette !'' 
 
 And still the party wander down the street, 
 Oft gazing on the snowy marble pile ; 
 Or stroll into the crowded squares, and walk 
 Beneath the shade of ancient forest trees. 
 Greeting them as all friends. Oh, wherefore, ye 
 Who hold the welfare of the tov>m at heart. 
 And wield its destinies, will ye behold 
 The city, with its hot and rapid heat, 
 Trample the woods and blight the fields ; nor leave 
 One ampler space where, on a day like this. 
 The thankful throng may walk abroad, and feel 
 The pleasure which it is to breathe the air 
 Which, unimpeded by the heated walls, 
 Takes health and freshness from the leaves it stirs. 
 And gives to whom inhales ? Nor yet too late. 
 While those wide spaces — full of sun and shade. 
 And antique trees, with daily trembling filled 
 And apprehension of the approaching axe — 
 O'er Schuylkill spread their asking arms, and call 
 Aloud for your protection. Ere the street, 
 
102 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 With frequent ringing of the builder's trowel, 
 Usurps their quiet depth, go boldly forth ; 
 And, with your powerful wand of office, draw 
 The boundary line which none shall dare invade. 
 And every tree, thus rescued, when the crowds 
 Of future generations walk beneath, 
 Shall whisper to their grateful ears your name; 
 And be a vernal monument, each year, 
 Renewinf^ honour to the rescuer. 
 
BOOK THIRTEENTH. 
 
 Here, stranger, stay! This is the sacred spot 
 Which knew the patriots in the years agone. 
 Here trod the noblest form the land has known ; 
 Here swelled the stoutest soul e'er form has held; 
 And here — nor here alone, but round the world, 
 And throughout heaven- — my faith will have it so — • 
 The name most loved is spoken, and rolls on 
 Revered by freemen, and by angels breathed. 
 And trembling oft upon the lips of slaves. 
 Brightening their dream of hope. Still to our hearts 
 Let the great name of Washington be dear; 
 And faithful as the star is to the night. 
 Or as Niagara to his cataract true, 
 Let the increasing stream of praise be poured 
 From off a nation's tongue. This is the spot : 
 Here is the hallowed hall where bravely met 
 
 (103) 
 
lOi THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Freedom's stout conclave, pledging lives and honour 
 
 And this the terrace, looking to the square. 
 
 Where Liberty's apostles, all a-glow 
 
 With the "wdld ardour. of the hour, came forth, 
 
 And, to the applauding patriot crowd without. 
 
 Read the great chart ere yet the names were dry. 
 
 This is the place : and there, upon the step. 
 
 Behold, where sits yon figure scarred and grey, 
 
 His stout staff taking palsy from his hand. 
 
 And shaking on the door-stone. Here, once more, 
 
 He pays the yearly visit to the spot, 
 
 And lives in memory all the glorious past ; 
 
 And thus unto the group of listeners gives 
 
 The visions of gone days, as one by one 
 
 They rise before his spiritual eye. 
 
 *'Lo, now the cannon thundering to the sky. 
 The thickening fumes that scent the heated air, 
 
 Recall the camp, and spread before mine eye 
 The pitch of battle and the triumph there. 
 
 The summoned ploughman grasps the ready gun. 
 And swiftly strides across the furrow's sod ; 
 
 The smith, ere half the heated shoe is done. 
 Swing's on in haste, and rides the steed unshod. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 105 
 
 The mason flings his glittering trowel by, 
 And leaves behind the pale and weeping few; 
 
 The miller's wheel above the stream hangs dry, 
 While o'er the hill he waves the swift adieu. 
 
 Lo, all the air is throbbing to the drum ; 
 
 In every highway sounds the shrilly fife; 
 And flashing guns proclaim afar they come, 
 
 Where hurried banners lead the way to strife. 
 
 Though rude the music, and the arms are rude. 
 And rustic garments fill the motley line. 
 
 Yet noble hearts, with noble hopes imbued, 
 Thrill through the ranks with energy divine. — 
 
 Thrill through the ranks until those sounds become 
 Celestial melodies from Freedom's lips ! 
 
 These arms an engine to strike despots dumb. 
 And leave oppression howling in eclipse. 
 
 Then comes the struggle, raging loud and long — 
 The seven years' battle with the banded foes — 
 
 The tyrant, and the savage, and the strong 
 Grim arm of want with all its direful woes. 
 
106 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Half clad and barefoot, bleeding where tliey tread, 
 Where hunger and disease allied consort, 
 
 The pale survivors stand among their dead, 
 
 And brave the winter in their snow-walled fort. 
 
 But heavier than the storms which fold the Earth, 
 Than all the ills which winter's hand commits. 
 
 The bitter thought that at the sacred hearth 
 Of unprotected homes some horror sits. 
 
 But God is just; and they w^ho suffer most. 
 Win most ; for tardy triumph comes at last ! 
 
 The patriot, bravely dying at his post. 
 Hath rivalled all the Ca3sars of the past. 
 
 Right conquers wrong, and glory follows pain, 
 The cause of Freedom vindicated stands; 
 
 And heaven consents ; while, staring o'er the main. 
 Old Europe greets us with approving hands. 
 
 If now a film o'er-swim my aged gaze. 
 
 Or if a tremour in my voice appear. 
 It is the memory of those glorious days 
 
 Which moves my failing frame and starts the tear. 
 
THE NEW PASTOUAL. 107 
 
 Oh, on this sacred spot again to rest, 
 
 Where passed the patriots, ere this old heart faints 1 
 Then I depart, with a contented breast, 
 
 Where they are walking crowned among the saints. 
 
 Here on these steps, made holy by their tread, 
 I list their kindling voices as of yore ; 
 
 And hear that bell, now hanging speechless, dead. 
 Which rung for Freedom, broke, and rung no more. 
 
 Broke with the welcome tidings on its tongue, 
 Broke, like a heart, with joy's excessive note 
 
 'Tis well no cause less glorious e'er hath rung 
 In silver music from its hallowed throat." 
 
BOOK FOURTEENTH. 
 
 Behold the river, wide, respiring, vast. 
 
 Swelling and falling, answering to the main. 
 
 Here rise and sink the multitudinous ships. 
 
 Swaying in slumberous ease, where every flag 
 
 Known to a Christian sky salutes the air. 
 
 How the brown cordage like a net-work spreads, 
 
 A monster web entangling leafless pines ! 
 
 From this same wharf, down dropping with the tide. 
 
 Went Arthur, when he bade his last adieu — 
 
 While the great bay, as usherer to the sea. 
 
 Unto the ocean's awful presence led — 
 
 Where stands the maid in secret musing held. 
 
 While from the charmed fountains of her soul 
 
 The longing tear upwells. The sun descends; 
 
 And like a startling meteor in the sky, 
 
 The whizzing rocket streaks the twilight air, 
 
 (108) 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL 109 
 
 And curving up the azure deep afar, 
 
 Explodes with muffled sound, and lights the eve 
 
 With momentary stars of various hue. 
 
 In swift succession how they soar and burst. 
 
 Answered from all the quarters of the town, 
 
 Till oft the sky is full of falling lights ; 
 
 As on that memorable autumn night. 
 
 When rained the heavens a thick meteoric shower, 
 
 Puzzling the wise astronomers at watch, 
 
 And shaking many a sturdy soul with fear. 
 
 Till superstition, with affrighted voice, 
 
 Proclaimed the day of doom. From yon green isle, 
 
 Which like a war-ship on the water lies. 
 
 The arrowy signals chiefly fly; while come 
 
 The joyous habitants and crowd the wharves. 
 
 The ships, the ferries, barges and batteaux, 
 
 And skiffs that glide between, while every house 
 
 From base to roof overflows. And now the night. 
 
 While every face unto the island looks, 
 
 Falls deeply down; and all the curious stars 
 
 People the dark and crowding, group o'er group. 
 
 Gaze from the shadowy terraces of heaven, 
 
 And wonder at the fires that mock their light. 
 
 Hark, the loud rattle, like artillery! 
 
 And note the phantom lustre on each face, 
 
 10 
 
110 THE N F. W r A S T K A L . 
 
 Swift changing through tlie iris scale of hues, 
 
 Most strange and beautiful, thrown from yon wheel 
 
 Which from its flails of fire flings the light sparks 
 
 Like chaff upon the air, with whinings loud, 
 
 While admiration flies from face to face. 
 
 'NoY this alone; wheel after wheel is fired, 
 
 Whirling continuous, discharging lights 
 
 Innumerous as summer's dust; until 
 
 Behold the flaming chariot appears, 
 
 A swift triumphal car ablaze with gems. 
 
 And flying through a crowd of welcoming roses, 
 
 Where Liberty a starry goddess rides, • 
 
 While o'er her head her favourite eagle sails 
 
 On guardian wings of fire. And suddenly 
 
 A temple lifts its constellated front. 
 
 Swinging its great arch, drawn in blazing lines. 
 
 Athwart the dark with architecture strange, 
 
 Inspiring, grand; as if the stars of heaven 
 
 Should sw^eep together, clustering into form. 
 
 To show the world the dome where freedom dwells. 
 
 And lo ! the glorious vision in the tide 
 
 Inverted hangs in wavering lines of light: 
 
 Such is the pyrotechnist's art. And now 
 
 The sky vibrates Avith the prolonged applause; 
 
 The lights die out; the night resumes its sway, 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. Ill 
 
 While peace and silence close the festive gates. 
 
 Olivia, weary, to her pillow strange 
 Resigns her cheek, w^hile through her wakeful brain 
 The visions of the day, in clear review. 
 Pass one by one, and fright the wings of sleep. 
 Hour after hour, the watchman's sounding tread 
 And solemn voice alarm the sinking lid. 
 And wake the thought afresh; till, presently. 
 The whirling rattle and the startling cry 
 Of ^'fire!'' too frequent heard, disturb the town. 
 Breaking the charm of midnight; while reply, 
 From spire and tower, the wild and direful bells. 
 Directing with their strokes the engines' course. 
 Which now fly thundering to assail the blaze, 
 And soon to conquer. Rising on the sky, 
 Destruction's banner, like a boreal light. 
 Dilates and brightens till the maiden's room, 
 Though safe, is full of splendour like a noon. 
 She hears the frequent heavy brakes descend, 
 Mingled with voices and with hurrying feet. 
 Till gradually the drowned flame submits. 
 While slowly dies the hue from out her chamber. 
 And now once more the quiet, like a bird 
 Untimely startled from its nest, refolds 
 Its wings, and drops through visions into sleep. 
 
BOOK FIFTEENTH. 
 
 When I recount the pleasant sights of earth — 
 
 Fair childhood blowing bubbles in the sun — 
 
 A pleasure party, in a moonlit barque; 
 
 The little sail with breeze and music swelled — 
 
 A dancing wreath of children crowning May — 
 
 A bridal group across a distant field 
 
 Returning, with gay footsteps, from the church — 
 
 I can recall no brighter, nobler scene, 
 
 Than men at labour mid the waving grain, 
 
 When summer, with its alchemy, transmutes 
 
 The crops from green to gold ! The harvest sun 
 
 Burns broad and white above the yellowing world. 
 
 Which, for its plenty, laughs a rustling laugh ; 
 
 A voice which cheers the hearts of those who strode 
 
 Athwart the yielding ground, with swinging hands. 
 
 In springtime, casting bread upon the earth, 
 
 (112) 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 113 
 
 To be returned a hundred fold. The air 
 
 Hangs hot and silent, save where yonder bird, 
 
 The meadow-lark, darts into sudden voice 
 
 From out the grain, and in the next tree lights, 
 
 And, panting, sings no more; or where, perchance, 
 
 The Oriole, careless of its swinging nest. 
 
 From whence the young have flown, a moment streaks 
 
 The sky with fire and song, and then gives o'er; 
 
 Or yon tricoloured bird, with nervous haste 
 
 Ascending spirally the sapless trunk, 
 
 Drums loudly as he climbs; or locust hid 
 
 Swift springs his shrilly rattle; or the small 
 
 Green insect, greener than the grass it bends. 
 
 With the field cricket lifts its jarring voice ; 
 
 While his grey brother, on ambitious wings, 
 
 Flickers his short flight down the summer road. 
 
 Oft dropping in the sultry sand. Behold 
 
 The yellow, dainty-pinioned swarm arise. 
 
 On simultaneous wings, as soars a flame; 
 
 Or, settling where the small spring blots the dust. 
 
 Glow like a golden group of butter-cups. 
 
 What a calm realm of sunshine gleams the world ! 
 The aspen only feels a phantom breath ; 
 Beneath the great tree's shadow in the field 
 The silent cattle stand ; and in the cool 
 
 10* 
 
114 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Deep shade of garden slirubs the fowls are hid, 
 
 Fluttering the dust upon their wings, with eye 
 
 Suspicious watching oft the hawk which sails, 
 
 N^oiseless as sleep, upon the lofty air. 
 
 Beside the spring, where the tall sycamore. 
 
 And one wide willow, roof the cooling spot, 
 
 The dairy maid is singing mid her pans. 
 
 And skimming off the deep and yellow cream. 
 
 While floats abroad the sweet delicious scent 
 
 Of cedar from the scalded churn. And now. 
 
 With many a rumbling splash, the dasher flies. 
 
 Forcing the cream which oozes at the lid. 
 
 At length the gathering weight, which lifts and falls. 
 
 Denotes the labour through. In days like these, 
 
 An hour suffices to transmute the mass. 
 
 Which oft, in winter, whirls from morn till noon, 
 
 Or later still, refusing to obey — 
 
 Withheld, as some have deemed, by witch's charm. 
 
 Along the wayside fence, by briery roads. 
 
 The ruddy children, with their fingers stained. 
 
 Collect the berries which, with milk combined. 
 
 Shall to the reaper's hearty palate give 
 
 The luscious dessert when the meat is past. 
 
 The full fields, like a shepherd's flock in spring, 
 
 Yield up their fleeces, till the well-bound sheaves. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 115 
 
 In glowing stacks, nod o'er the stubbled farm. 
 Now sounds the horn 'neath the meridian sun; 
 And the brown labourers, hunying to the call, 
 Beside the deep well lave their heated brows; 
 Where oft the bucket from the windlass drops. 
 Rattling till deluged, then, ascending slow, 
 Comes dripping to the brink, and sends abroad 
 A cool and grateful freshness. Then behold 
 Where sweeps the table wide, from door to door, 
 liooking from east *to west. With open brow 
 The generous matron welcomes in the group ; 
 And there Olivia, not too proud to tend, 
 But with a flush of pleasure on her face, 
 Glides gracefully from chair to chair, and helps 
 The glowing reaper's plate ; here fills the glass 
 With odorous cider, sparkling as it flows. 
 Or draws the bowl with liquid from the churn. 
 Cooled at the spring beside the yellow prints. 
 Here smokes the ample joint, and steaming there 
 The yellow ears of maize inviting stand. 
 Fresh from the cauldron drained — delicious food, 
 To other lands unknown — with much beside. 
 When this is past, the berries crown the board, 
 The whortle from the wood, and those at morn 
 Plucked from the wayside briers. The garden, too, 
 
116 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 And oreliard lend their fulness to the hour; 
 For ^tis the season when the generous year 
 Pours from his plenteous horn the ripened fruit — 
 The mellow peach, and bursting purple plum, 
 The early apple, and the golden pear; 
 But chiefly the huge melon which, when ripe. 
 Yields, to the pressing hands and listening ear, 
 A crisp and frosty sound, from out its heart 
 Of crimson snow, that calls the thirsty knife. 
 Thus flies the noon, until the heated fields 
 Recall to labour, and the day goes by. 
 Now, when the eve sets in, and one by one 
 The stars come leaping o'er the eastern bar. 
 And the great moon, aflush with summer heat. 
 Climbs lazily along the harvest sky — 
 Where dart the fire-flies with eccentric course, 
 Oping their frequent dainty lantern-doors. 
 As if to find a treasure lost — the group 
 Of reapers gather on the social porch, 
 And pass the shadowy hour in language meet 
 The season and the place. And much they talk 
 Of news which lately, from the far off West,^ 
 Startled the calm community ; as when 
 Some foreign sound disturbs the labouring hive — 
 Or bee, returning from exploring search. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 117 
 
 Proclaims a land of more enticing sweets, 
 
 And wakes a general buzz throughout the swarm. 
 
 The younger men are restless to be gone, 
 
 And descant largely on the wild pursuit 
 
 Of game, exhaustless in the boundless woods. 
 
 Some shake the doubtful head — the older these — 
 
 And tell of labours long to be endured — 
 
 The battle with the forest, and the stern 
 
 Privation to be borne, where oft the call 
 
 Of chill necessity affrights the soul ; 
 
 Repeating tales their childhood frequent heard 
 
 From sires who mid these hills and valley came, 
 
 And, with the guardian fire-arm at their side. 
 
 Laid the loud axe unto the woodland foot. 
 
 But what was meant to caution and deter, 
 
 Inflames the youthful fancy and desire; 
 
 And even age detects along his veins 
 
 A curious yet an unacknowledged glow, 
 
 And feels an impulse rising in his breast 
 
 He hath not felt for years ; and, to conceal 
 
 How much his spirit echoes younger thought, 
 
 Puts by the subject with some careless jest. 
 
 And turns the converse on to-morrow's task. 
 
 Now see where strides, o'er many a homeward field, 
 
 The hired labourer to his lowly cot: 
 
118 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 The shouldered sickle, by the moonshine lit, 
 Gleams like a rising crescent. At the door 
 His happy wife, and happier children, stand 
 And welcome his return. Then to his couch. 
 To others hard, luxurious to him, 
 Softened by toil, he turns and drains the cup- 
 The drowning cup of sleep — unto the dregs. 
 
BOOK SIXTEENTH. 
 
 On yonder hill, with oak and hickory crowned, 
 What sight is that which draws, from far and near. 
 The thronging people up the dusty roads, 
 And through each field where'er a by-path leads ? 
 See, where the red and new-arisen sun 
 Points his bright finger through the upland grove. 
 Flushing the white tents to a rosy hue ! 
 And hark, the call of the resounding horn, 
 Which echo, from yon hill, with slumberous shell 
 Blows softly back ! Are these the tents of Vv^ar, 
 By some proud general pitched, where bayonets gleam, 
 And sentinels walk, and banners to the drum 
 Dance in mid air, and flap their sanguine folds ? 
 It is the camp of that increasing strife 
 Waged 'gainst a world of sin ; it is a host 
 Come out upon the glorious side of Truth, 
 
 (119) 
 
120 TUE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 To fight, to suffer, and, with love, to conquer ! 
 
 With songs triumphal under flags of peace. 
 
 Spread like the wings of swans upon the wind, 
 
 They hold their siege against the walls of Wrong, 
 
 And will not rest till on the highest tower 
 
 Which crowns his ramparts that white banner floats. 
 
 There Wesley's spirit hovers, and, with voice 
 
 Clear as a bugle winding, mid the hills, 
 
 The soul of Whitfield soars. There, with long beard 
 
 Sweeping his patriarchal breast, arrives 
 
 The apostle-pilgrim, punctual to the hour — 
 
 Lorenzo, the eccentric — and at once 
 
 Mounts the rough desk, and lifts his startling voice. 
 
 While eager thousands crowd the space to look; 
 
 And seeing, hear ; and every neighbouring tree 
 
 Is popiilous with faces forward bent. 
 
 Here, £«;'offer, smooth the scorn from off thy lip ; 
 
 ISTor yoi;^ nor I, though holding faith divine. 
 
 May sit in judgment and condemn the scene. 
 
 Though v/e approve not, wiser heads than ours 
 
 Have bowed and w^orshipped at the woodland altar, 
 
 And pressed the temporary couch at night 
 
 Within the wavy tent, and often found 
 
 The peace which they had sought elsewhere in vain. 
 
 Let us not waste the vigour of our minds 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 121 
 
 In acrimonious quarrel over creeds. 
 
 Not ours the business of dispute ; but ours, 
 
 Ye gentle hearts for whom I chiefly sing, 
 
 The pleasing duty to find good in all ; 
 
 And, finding, recognize and own in each 
 
 A brotherhood, no difference of faith 
 
 May set afar. Nor Brahmin, Turk, nor Jew, 
 
 Nor he who kneels to Deity in stones — 
 
 The savage instinct searching for its God 
 
 Each seeking truth the nearest way he know^s, 
 
 Shall wake in me one cold condemning w^ord 
 
 While Charity, the sweetest child of Heaven, 
 
 Hides her bright face, and weeps behind her wings — 
 
 But love instead. And w^e will interchange 
 
 Whatever thought may cheer each other on; 
 
 For all are pilgrims on one darksome road: 
 
 One may have store of water and no bread ; 
 
 The other bread, and faint with sultry thirst: 
 
 One plenteous oil, another but dry wick. 
 
 Hence is our duty plain; and simple need, 
 
 Left to itself, would teach us oft aright; 
 
 While prejudice, by doctrines of a sect. 
 
 Would leave us hungry, thirsty, or at night 
 
 Give but a lightless lantern. Let wiio will 
 
 Quarrel o'er outward forms : so quarrelled they 
 
 11 
 
122 T II E x\ E W PAS T II A L . 
 
 Who gambled for the garments of our Lord, 
 And heard not the deep agony of soul 
 Of Him who cast all mantles by as vain, 
 And died for simple truth. 
 
BOOK SEVENTEENTH. 
 
 The summer flies, 
 And autumn slowly comes, his withering breath 
 Crisping whatever he breathes on ; and the woods 
 He sets ablaze with gorgeous hues which burn, 
 With noiseless flame, until the foliage falls, 
 Strewing the ground like embers, while the limbs 
 Spread to the sky their empty ashen arms. 
 At her lone window, drawn from household cares 
 Olivia sits, and to her lover writes ; 
 And thus the ardour of her fancy flows : 
 ^'The months go by, the seasons slow depart. 
 With steps reluctant, looking to the time 
 When thou wert here — how different their flight! 
 I think one half the sunshine went with thee, 
 And, like my thoughts, the better half. And now. 
 The dreary autumn comes, the sighing days, 
 
 (123) 
 
124 THE NEW PAS TO UAL. 
 
 With wliicli my heart seems strangely set in tune. 
 
 Here, where I gaze, I see the stubbled fields, 
 
 The reddening forest, and the misty air — 
 
 All sights and sounds which make the soul alone. 
 
 Day after day, the flying flocks go south. 
 
 In living lines, which write along the sky 
 
 The prophecy of winter's sure approach; 
 
 I hear at night their voices o'er the roof. 
 
 Mingled with whirring wings. On yonder plain 
 
 The rustling maize, in many a bovving shock. 
 
 Whispers to every passing breeze. Last night, 
 
 Beneath the white moon, in the silent air, 
 
 In jovial bands the buskers, flocking, came, 
 
 And stripped the covers from the yellow ears, 
 
 And left them glowing there in golden mounds. 
 
 Oh, how the song, and jest, and laugh, went round ! 
 
 And when the crimson ear was found, the prize 
 
 Was held in blazing splendour, like a torch, 
 
 And all proclaimed a ^sweetheart,' and rejoiced. 
 
 I stood apart, and, as in days a-gone. 
 
 Hearkened to hear thy voice among the rest ; 
 
 But there were none so hajDpy or so clear, 
 
 Or, as I fancied, half so musical. 
 
 Within doors, through the busy afternoon. 
 
 Till late at eve, the neighbouring dames and maids 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 125 
 
 Found social pleasure round the spreading quilt, 
 
 With rapid hands, till on the oft-rolled frame 
 
 The latest puffy diamond-row was stitched. 
 
 Then, when the gay and separate tasks were done, 
 
 And noisy supper past, the room was cleared ; 
 
 When mirth, and music, and the mazy dance 
 
 Keeled through the night till every rafter rang, 
 
 And the wide floor, beneath the gliding feet. 
 
 Swayed till each long joist, half-astonished, groaned. 
 
 I could not dance, and could not join the glee ; 
 
 Each smile I forced w^as half akin to tears ; 
 
 So clearly came the old times o'er my mind. 
 
 To-day the orchard yields its glowing fruits. 
 
 Which tumble, widely, with a thunderous sound, 
 
 Shaken from stormy limbs — a monster hail. 
 
 And there the creaking cider-press is fed, 
 
 And oozes the sweet liquid through the straw. 
 
 Where gather the inebriate bees and wasps ; 
 
 And childhood imitates the winged thieves 
 
 With wheaten pipes w^hich yield the nectar draught. 
 
 The sweetened air across the casement floats, 
 
 And merriment invites abroad. Ah, me ! 
 
 How pining Memory flies into the past. 
 
 And lives in the departed scene — so fond, 
 
 She cannot taste the pleasure of to-day ! 
 11* 
 
126 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Theu were we children, and in hours like this 
 
 None were more happy. It is now the time 
 
 When slumber seems to hover on the air. 
 
 O'er all the veil of Indian summer floats, 
 
 Blue, thin, and silent, lovely as a dream — 
 
 A dream which, presently, the North shall wake. 
 
 The shrewish North, with shrilly tongue of storm 
 
 The sounding flails, and Bowman's beating loom. 
 
 Pulse through the brooding air. From out yon barn 
 
 Floats the loud tempest of the sweeping fan ; 
 
 While, on the stormy gust its wings create, 
 
 Beyond the door the winnowed chaff is blown 
 
 Swarming like golden bees. E'en where I sit, 
 
 I can behold the great wheel of the mill 
 
 Flashing its silvery circles in the sun, 
 
 And yet so distant cannot hear its song. 
 
 All happiest sights and sounds seem held afar. 
 
 In the dear light of memory thou dost stand; 
 
 I see thee smile yet cannot hear thy voice. 
 
 It is the season when the woodland trees. 
 
 Through yellow fingers, shed the plenteous nuts; 
 
 When happy children, from the school released. 
 
 Wander from grove to grove. Canst thou not yet 
 
 Bring back to fancy those ^departed days 
 
 When we, together, with our baskets went, 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 127 
 
 Shelling the walnuts till our little hands 
 
 "Were like the autumn's brown ? or chestnuts found 
 
 Dropped from their starry burrs ? or with the squirrels, 
 
 Beneath the hickory, shared the shellbark's store? 
 
 How then we spread them in, the loft to dry, 
 
 Between the rolls of wool for winter wheels — 
 
 The loft made odorous by the bundled herbs ? 
 
 Ah, yes, thou needs must often see it all. 
 
 And, seeing, sigh for the delightful hours. 
 
 Oft have I prayed for thy return — how oft ! — 
 
 But chiefly now, for these are changeful times. 
 
 Loud Rumour's voice entices to the West — 
 
 The call from out the backwoods daily comes — 
 
 The only topic when the neighbours meet; 
 
 And the excitement like a fever spreads. 
 
 Contagious, till one cannot safely say 
 
 Who, ere another summer, may depart 
 
 To be immured in the far forest's gloom. 
 
 The drover, with his cattle passing by, 
 
 Tells marvellous stories of that plenteous land, 
 
 Inflaming all he meets. And frequently 
 
 A letter from its three weeks journey rests. 
 
 Breathing of woods primeval, and confirms 
 
 The floating tale, advising all to come. 
 
 Even round our fireside spreads the exciting theme. 
 
I 
 
 128 T II E ]S' E AV P A S T K A L . 
 
 Wert tliou but here, to join in the exploit, 
 The wilderness were welcome as the town." 
 And more she writes; but let the veil be drawn 
 Between the world and her more tender thoughts. 
 
BOOK EIGHTEENTH. 
 
 Now comes the master's jovial, motley day, 
 Remnant of troublous times ; and after this 
 Election follows. To the neighbouring town 
 The farmers flock, and gathering in crowds. 
 Discuss their candidates with growing warmth; 
 Then drop the powerful scrip into the poll — 
 The little weight which turns a nation's scale — 
 Where oft a world-wide interest is weighed 
 Beyond recall, and settled. Let no vote 
 Be dropped with careless thought; for it may be 
 The last strong hand which draws the lever down 
 Which moves the giant destiny of man. 
 
 Ko future shall replace what power is yours. 
 Ye heirs of what the patriots bequeathed. 
 The hand which holds a plough is strong as that, 
 And stronger oft, than which a sceptre grasps. 
 
 (129) 
 
130 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Then be ye each as watcliful as a king, 
 And jealous of your rights ; yet generous, 
 As only freemen can afford to be. 
 Behold where walks the white-haired beldame. Frost, 
 Breathing her bitterness o'er all the scene — 
 She whom erewhile we hailed as maiden Dew. 
 The flowers she fed, when morning-glories blew 
 Their white and purple trumpets to the dawn, 
 Are nipped and withered by her fingers cold ; 
 The grass is crisp and brittle 'neath her tread ; 
 And, like a witch, she flies the broad clear sun. 
 But works her charm beneath the gibbous moon 
 See, where the joyous hallow-eve comes in. 
 And how the country is awaked to mirth ! 
 While, far and near, the sleepless watch-dog's bark 
 Responds from farm to farm, till oft the wife 
 Starts from her couch to peer with anxious eye ; 
 Or, on her troubled pillow, dreams of harm 
 In cabbage plots or poultry sheds sustained. 
 Round many a hearth, in noisy groups, collect 
 The youths and maids, and there Pomona reigns. 
 Swift flies the apple to the paring blade. 
 While, like a serpent, falls the coiling peel. 
 Some quarter and take out the core, and some 
 Attend the giant cauldron o'er the fire. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 131 
 
 Whicli on the huge crane stretched from jamb to jamb, 
 Wide as a gate that lets a chariot pass, 
 Swings o'er the blaze with cider steaming hot, 
 Where the brown stirrer with its handle long 
 A ceaseless motion keeps. Thus flies the night. 
 Until the odorous mass grows thick and dark, 
 Which then is dipped in yarions jars to cool. 
 And now the reel, to some rude Afric's viol. 
 Whirls through the shadowy hour till oft the star 
 Of morning lights the laughing revellers home. 
 Lo, now the ungentle time of slaughter comes, 
 And horrid preparation frights the hour. 
 The flashing knives upon the grinding disk 
 Are held, with grating and discordant noise ; 
 And the great casks with scalding water smoke, 
 Where oft the red-hot stone falls hissing, drowned. 
 The muse, affrighted, flies the barbarous scene, 
 And seeks, elsewhere, whatever rural sights 
 Engage the autumn day. Beside the barn. 
 Some break the brittle flax with swingle loud. 
 And on the thorny hackle cleanse from tow. 
 Some, where the full cribs like a sunset gleam, 
 Shedding a golden lustre, shell the ears 
 Of Indian corn preparing for the mill; 
 Or thresh the buckwheat which on many a morn. 
 When Boreas on the frosty panes shall breathe. 
 
132 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Fresh from the griddle shall delight the board. 
 And there the matron by her cottage door, 
 With numerous wicks on slender twigs arranged, 
 In melting cauldrons gives the fragrant dip, 
 Preparing tapers for the winter's eve ; 
 Which then, suspended in the air to cool, 
 Hang like the icicles at frozen roofs. 
 That harden as the sinking sun departs. 
 
 Now through the heavens the changing vapours fly. 
 Driven by winds eccentric, threatening storm. 
 While answering shadows sweep the stubbled land. 
 Together smite the woodland's empty arms. 
 While, with the last leaves, fall the latest nuts. 
 Along the ground the rustling foliage v>^hirls. 
 Where oft the quail from out the sickled fields. 
 Affrighted, comes, in kindred coloured drifts. 
 To seek a rescue from the hunter's eye. 
 And there the squirrel, with his pattering feet. 
 Collects his winter store ; or on a limb. 
 The highest 'gainst the sky, with blowing bush, 
 Sits swinging o'er the leafless world amazed. 
 At length the slanting, chill November rain 
 Usurps the landscape wide, and with its hand — 
 Agued and blue with penetrating cold — 
 Closes the slumberous barn, and every door, 
 Most hospitable, shuts. 
 
 
BOOK NINETEENTH. 
 
 The winter comes, 
 Proclaimed by winds, and charioted by snows; 
 And, like an arctic voyager returned, 
 His w^Mte furs breathing of the Nor'land frost, 
 Tells of the frozen fields and mounts of ice, 
 For ever flaming in the boreal lights, 
 A-flush with dawn-like hues which bring no day. 
 'Now the bright sun above a brighter world — 
 A world as white as last month's perfect moon — 
 Looks all abroad, and on the jewelled trees, 
 And icicles which taper at the eaves. 
 Flashes his lavish splendour. Every stream 
 Is deeply sealed beneath a frozen bridge. 
 Where glides the glittering skate, with many a whirl. 
 Scarring the polished floor. Afar and near 
 The air is full of merriment aud bells ; 
 
 12 (133) 
 
134 THE NEW PASTOHAL. 
 
 And the swift sleigh, along the slippery road, 
 
 Flies through the powdery mist which every gust 
 
 Blows from the buried field. Here sweep some past^ 
 
 Muffled in generous skins — the bison's robe 
 
 Spread largely, trailing in the sidelong drift. 
 
 There timid Amy by her lover sits, 
 
 Her soft cheek blushing at the winter's kiss. 
 
 Anon, behold the temporary sledge — 
 
 Built in the first joy of the earliest snow — 
 
 Which gives to rustic youths a thrill of ^^leasure 
 
 Deeper than feels the Czar, encased in furs. 
 
 Mid music swifter and more safely whirled. 
 
 Down yonder hill, mid boyhood's ringing shouts. 
 
 An avalanche of little sleds are shot, 
 
 Streaking the air with laughter as they fly. 
 
 There the tough snow-balls, hardened 'twixt the knees. 
 
 Stream through the air, with meteor-crossing lines. 
 
 Till oft the winter coat is starred with vrhite. 
 
 The mark of skilful aim. Here one, perchance, 
 
 Starts the small round, which gathers as it rolls. 
 
 Until the giant pile half blocks the road; 
 
 Or at the wayside reared, takes human form — 
 
 A monster bulk that, when the eve sets in, 
 
 Shall fright the traveller with its ghostly shape. 
 
 And start his steed aside. In yonder shed. 
 
THE X E W P A S T 11 A L . 135 
 
 Where rings the anvil with a bell-like sound, 
 
 The Smith, while oft the share is in the coals, 
 
 Leans on the polished handle of his sledge. 
 
 And sees in visions, pleasing to his eye. 
 
 The pictures which the floating rumours give 
 
 Enticing to the West. And when the iron 
 
 Flames on the stithy, like a rising sun. 
 
 Driving the shadows into cobweb corners, 
 
 The hammer takes new impulse from his arm — 
 
 Imagination so possesses him — 
 
 And falls as 'twere the echo-waking axe, 
 
 Swung by a pioneer in boundless woods. 
 
 The Wheel^Tight, too, wields the curved, dangerous 
 
 adze. 
 And shapes the axle, as it were a beam 
 Or rafter for the cabin, in his mind. 
 The Mason — for the frozen mortar novf 
 Refuses use — beside the glowing fire. 
 Spreads his hard hands, and, gazing in the blaze. 
 Startles the woodlands with his trowel's ring. 
 The Cooper, at his shaving-horse astride, 
 Draws the swift knife, and shapes the oaken stave 
 As 'twere a shingle for his forest home. 
 The Miller hears, amid the dusty meal. 
 The mill-dam roaring at some unknown stream, 
 
136 THE NEW PAS TO HAL. 
 
 And rears his pulpit in the distant wild. 
 
 And in the grove the Woodman, mid his cords, 
 
 Fells the primeval trunks. And e'en the Gunner — 
 
 So powerful the infectious fever grows — 
 
 Strides, heedless of the rising flocks of quail ; 
 
 And, homeward turning, hangs the weapon up. 
 
 Saving his charge for more important game. 
 
 Now comes the warmer noon. The vanes swing round 
 
 Before the south wind's soft and venturous wing. 
 
 The breeze, like childhood in the shell-bark limbs, 
 
 Shakes from the trees the rattling sleet; and now 
 
 The eaves are pouring as with summer rain. 
 
 Along the slushy roads the labouring sleigh, 
 
 Returning, cuts into the softened earth, 
 
 Grating discordant to the bells; the driver's face, 
 
 Each melting moment falling with the thaw, 
 
 Gives the long gauge of disappointed mirth. 
 
 Then follows eve. The slanting sun descends — 
 
 The snow grows crisp — the roofs withhold their rain — 
 
 And, like a proud man's mind, the icicle. 
 
 Which had been spendthrift once, gives less and less, 
 
 Until the last slow drop is held congealed, 
 
 And the cold, miser point forbids approach. 
 
 When o'er the western threshold goes the sun. 
 Spreading his great hand through the crimson clouds, 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL.. ]37 
 
 Shedding his benediction ere he leaves, 
 
 Then dawns the eve around the social fire ; 
 
 From six to ten the nightly quiet glows, 
 
 Soothing the household. Oh, how blest are they 
 
 Who feel the calm that gilds the sacred hearth ! 
 
 To them, nor spring, nor summer's voiceful time. 
 
 Hold music sweeter than is chaunted there. 
 
 From out the steaming logs the woodland sprites 
 
 Sing, as they fly, a grateful song of peace ; 
 
 And crickets, full of harvest memories, 
 
 In nook and crevice warm, rehearse their lays. 
 
 Until the charmed and dreamy sense beholds 
 
 The scented hay-fields, and the nodding sheaves ; 
 
 While Winter, like an uninvited guest. 
 
 Stands at the hearth forgot. What though the morn. 
 
 Through darkened chambers, pours her phantom 
 
 snow, 
 While all the stars, which ice the arch of heaven. 
 Pierce the deep stillness with their splintered light ; — 
 Or though the clouds their fleecy fulness shed. 
 Till farm with farm become one fenceless field. 
 And fill the road, and roof the running brook. 
 To oft mislead the wagoner and his team ; — 
 Though 'gainst the cottage piles the shifting snow. 
 While at the sill the searching powder sifts; — 
 
 12* 
 
IC8 THE xp:w pastohal. 
 
 Far from the blaze the deepenmg cold withdraws, 
 And all grow tranquil as the tempest swells. 
 
 Thus flames the hearth where Master Ethan sits. 
 In dreamy trance, w^ho, gazing at the blaze, 
 Beholds Elijah^s mounting wheels of fire ; 
 While, at his feet, the glowing grandchild, rapt, 
 Pours o'er some magic page; or, eager lists, 
 With largening eyes, the reverend tongue discourse 
 Of troublous days when Yfar bestrode the land. 
 On her low chair the dozing grandam knits. 
 The needles moving w^hen her eyes are closed. 
 Till the dropped stitch requires the ready aid 
 Of younger sight and hands. Still at her wheel 
 Olivia dreams with misty, brooding eye. 
 While flies the flax between her fingers warm, 
 And on the spindle grows the oval spool. 
 And there the larger w^heel, w^hose whirring loud 
 Makes through the house a tempest of its own. 
 The matron drives ; and, pacing forth and back. 
 Smooths the white rolls that dwindle as they go. 
 The easy farmer o-er the journal pours ; 
 Or, musing, clears the western forest lands. 
 And sows his harvest in the ashen field ; 
 Or drives his plough into the deep, rank soil 
 Of boundless prairies stretching to the sky, 
 
THE NEW PASTOllAL. 139 
 
 Till fancy fills the crescent of his hope. 
 
 No chilling sound disturbs the pleasing dream; 
 
 In vain the winds besiege his stable- walls 
 
 Where, mid the well-filled racks, his cattle lie. 
 
 And now, responsive to the village spire. 
 
 The cock proclaims the hour, and all is well; 
 
 While shadowy Time, who stands upon the stair. 
 
 Lifts his clear voice, and points his warning hand. 
 
 Anon, the flames in ashen depths expire. 
 
 And none but crickets cheer the cooling hearth. 
 
 Peace bars the doors. Content puts out the lamp. 
 
 And Sleep fills up the residue of night. 
 
 And still, as sounds the hour-announcing spire. 
 
 The crowing cock makes answer, ^'all is well!'' 
 
BOOK TWENTIETH. 
 
 Approaches now the time to Christians dear, 
 Hallowed with grateful memories ; the hour 
 Which startled Herod on his throne, and drew 
 The star-led Magi through the manger door, 
 Where lay the infant Saviour of a world. 
 More terrible to Eden's serpent vile — 
 Which now, affrighted, backward shrunk, chagrined. 
 Coiling upon himself — than was the boy. 
 The cradled Hercules, unto the snake 
 He strangled in his grasp. This is the eve, 
 Welcome to all, by childhood chiefly hailed, 
 Bringing that day the angels ushered in 
 O'er favoured Bethlehem; and every house 
 Is waked with joy, no pagan palace knew. 
 Now to the hearth the Christmas-log is rolled. 
 Huge, unassailed by severing wedge and maul: 
 
 (UO) 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 141 
 
 Not the light pine, consuming in a day, 
 Or loud explosive chestnut whose report 
 Oft calls the housewife with her hurried broom; 
 But hickory, solid, or, more common, oak. 
 Whose knotted grain defies the splitting axe; 
 Which, once arranged, behind the andirons glows, 
 Devouring many a forelog, daily brought. 
 Till jN'ew Year rolls another in its place. 
 
 Behold where through the starry twilight air, 
 Across the field, with crispy footfalls, walk 
 Olivia and Amy, bearing each. 
 From Baldwin's pantry, something for the dame 
 Who in the lonely Oakland shadow dwells; 
 While Master Ethan, in his ancient coat. 
 Whose long skirts sweep the snow, strides on before 
 Bearing the fowl — no plumper crowds the roost — 
 To cheer the morrow's feast. Beside her door, 
 Already, the rough wain has tracked the snow. 
 And shed the winter cord ; and on the sill 
 The miller's frequent sack, to-day, was left. 
 Oh, ye, who sit in warm, penurious ease, 
 Did ye but know the recompense which flows. 
 Richer than gold, unto the heart that gives, 
 Your very selfishness would master self. 
 Till, on the coldest night of all the year. 
 
142 T H E N E W PAS T K A L . 
 
 There should not ba o hearth-stone unablaze ; 
 
 Or in a pantry want of wlierewithal 
 
 To bless th'^ humble board, however poor! 
 
 The door i.pproached, the comfortable flame 
 Gleams through unlisted crannies and the small 
 Four panes which make a window; while above 
 The cheerful smoke, shot through vrith frequent sparks, 
 Mounts on the still cold air. A ha:-:} glance 
 They cast, and set their burthens dovvm, and turn 
 To leave ; when at the door, with startling voice; 
 The dame arrests them, crying, ^'Fly not so! 
 Stay yet awhile; for knowing who ye are, 
 I wot, there are some thanks for me to pay. 
 At least, fair damsels, let me pass my hand 
 A moment o'er your own ; and, in the dark, 
 Perchance, I'll tell you something not amiss. 
 Oh, here is joy!" she cries — the while she draws 
 Her bony finger o'er Olivia's palm — 
 ^'So soon to come it needs no prophecy!" 
 Then, taking Amy's shrinking hand in her's, 
 With low, confiding voice she speaks : — ^' When times 
 Have changed, and bring to you the need of friends. 
 Beneath this humble roof one may you find. 
 Here is a shelter where the tainted breath, 
 The bad world loves to breathe, cannot invade ; 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. U3 
 
 Cold slander points not at a couch like mine. 
 This have the outcasts for their comfort; while 
 That low and horrid shed must jet be built, 
 Which hath not space enough for Peace to enter.'' 
 Thus having heard, they turn beyond the gate, 
 And leave her murmuring to herself; and soon 
 The farm-house takes them to its glowing arms. 
 
 How swell the young hearts round the evening 
 board. 
 While spreads conjecture of the coming gifts ! 
 And soon the stockings at the jamb 
 Are hung, convenient, where the promised saint, 
 Through sooty entrance, shall descend unseen. 
 Oh, thou brave, generous spirit, whose sure round 
 Comes yearly, like the snow — Saint Nicholas, 
 Or Santa Claus — or, in these sylvan vales, 
 ''Kriss Kringle" called — of all the blessed saints 
 Which, as the legends say, revisit earth, 
 I have chief faith in thee ! For thou dost com-, 
 Noiseless and unobtrusive, to thy shrines. 
 The Christmas hearths; and to thy votaries give:t. 
 And takest naught, save, at the early morn. 
 The countless thanks, from youthful hearts of joy, 
 Given in shouts profuse. In what strange form 
 Thou comest is not known ; but fancy deems 
 
144 T II E N E W P A S T R A L . 
 
 Thy breast is swept with patriarchal beard, 
 
 Thy silver locks encased in downy cap, 
 
 Thy ample mantle of the softest furs, 
 
 Native to arctic climes; thy starry car — 
 
 Laden at Nuremberg's toy-crowded gables — 
 
 A sleigh, with silver runners, w^hich through 
 
 Clouds of snow, unfallen on the frosty dark. 
 
 Flies drawn by spirits of a Lapland team. 
 
 With shadowy antlers broad, whose many bells 
 
 Are only heard in slumber's dreamy air. 
 
 Thus wilt thou come to-night ; and, with the dawn, 
 
 Whether thou stayest to hear, or fliest afar, 
 
 To shade thy head a twelvemonth in thy realm — 
 
 Withdrawn, unknown — the happiest laughing voice 
 
 Sincerest of the year, shall swell with praise 
 
 And gratitude to thy mysterious name. 
 
 Along the valleys winds the coachman's horn. 
 
 Announcing his approach ; and w^hile his steeds 
 
 Are led to stable, steaming as they go. 
 
 And fresher are brought out, one traveller 
 
 Alights ; and, straightway, favoured by the moon, 
 
 Takes the near path across, through field and grove. 
 
 And on the hill, which gives the vale to sight, 
 
 Stands for a moment, breathless with his joy. 
 
 His shadow, like his fancy, streaming far 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 145 
 
 And swiftly in advance, along the snow, 
 
 Full twice his wonted height the figure seems 
 
 Above his shade ; while all his stately frame 
 
 Is glowing, throbbing with a new delight. 
 
 The landscape swims, confused, in manly tears; 
 
 The cottage lights, like wisps, unsteady shine, 
 
 Wavering, uncertain, as his steps renew. 
 
 Swiftly he glides, recalling every spot 
 
 Which sideway meets his eye; but still his gaze 
 
 Upon one lighted window firmly holds. 
 
 Now hath he neared the gate ; and, trembling now. 
 
 Steals slowly to the door, while sounds within 
 
 The boisterous laugh of children. When this fades, 
 
 His heart so loudly thunders in his brain. 
 
 He cannot catch the voice he most would hear. 
 
 His hand is at the latch ; but, ere it lifts. 
 
 The door, as by a spirit oped, swings wide, 
 
 And all the brightness of the light within 
 
 Falls on his noble form ; and, like a ghost. 
 
 Breathless, Olivia before him stands. 
 
 The taper drops from out her loosened grasp ; 
 
 She calls his name, and swoons into his arms ; 
 
 And all the household echoes, '^Arthur! Arthur!" 
 
 How speed the hours between those happy hearts ! 
 What welcomes sweet ! what fluent interchange 
 
 13 
 
146 THENEWrASTORAL. 
 
 Of all which filled their separated past ! 
 
 Ne'er were two dwellings waked with deeper joy, 
 
 Than are to-night the homes of the betrothed ; 
 
 So deep that sleep, admiring, stands withdrawn. 
 
 Listening unseen beneath the midnight arch. 
 
 The morrow comes, and every neighbouring house 
 
 Is filled with gladness at the welcome news — 
 
 So much is Arthur held in their esteem. 
 
 And invitations, set for different nights. 
 
 Soon fill the coming week ; when the full board 
 
 Is spread, with honour to the housewife's skill. 
 
 And choicest cider-casks are bid to flow. 
 
 While fruits and nuts go round. There, every eve, 
 
 The favoured lovers lead the country reel, 
 
 Where Envy, pale, abashed at her own voice. 
 
 Shrinks from the door to more ambitious halls. 
 
 And there, the frequent centre of a group. 
 
 The happy traveller, glowing with his theme, 
 
 Kepeats the wonders of the sea or land. 
 
 Spreading, to the undoubting, marvelling eye, 
 
 The pictures which his rapid language paints. 
 
 Till many a listener takes his pack and staff. 
 
 Sailing imaginary seas, to climb 
 
 The visionary Alp, or stride the plain 
 
 Where history's various-coloured tents are pitched. 
 
BOOK TWENTY-FIRST. 
 
 The winter speeds; yet, ere the spring comes in, 
 
 On many a tree which at the cross-roads stands. 
 
 And at the Tillage tavern and the store, 
 
 And on the blacksmith^s wall — in staring print. 
 
 Or in coarse wi^itten lines — unnumbered bills 
 
 Proclaim the dissolution near at hand. 
 
 There the choice farm, and stock of household wares, 
 
 Are offered, and the day of vendue set ; 
 
 And, ere from off the fields the last snow melts 
 
 From crops, another than the hand which sowed 
 
 Shall in the harvest reap. The sales begin, 
 
 While Melancholy walks from door to door, 
 
 And with strange pleasure holds divided sway. 
 
 Already the great wains, with produce filled. 
 
 Have groaned their way unto the distant market. 
 
 And in return brought back such various stores 
 
 (147) 
 
148 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 As the long journey needs — the rifle, axe, 
 And ammunition for defence and game ; 
 While evening oft beholds around the hearth, 
 As in those days when war convulsed the land, 
 The molten lead run into moulded balls, 
 Till every pouch is full and, with the horn. 
 Hangs waiting on the wall. At many a door 
 The new-bought wagon, with its cover vv^hite. 
 Stands with the long tongue ready for the team. 
 From house to house the auction goes by turns ; 
 While flock the people in from miles around, 
 And bear at eve, well pleased, the purchase home. 
 Thus oft the household goods, as to the winds 
 Blowing from fitful quarters, fly afar. 
 Like severed families, to meet no more ; 
 And oft the sad wife, gazing where they go, 
 Needs dry the starting tear. The sales proceed ; 
 The various round is well nigh done ; and now 
 To Baldwin's dwelling comes the fatal day. 
 From loft to cellar, all the staid old house 
 Is made to pour its contents to the yard, 
 Until the feet most native to the stairs 
 Wake but a hollow, uncongenial sound. 
 Saddening, sepulchral — until each heart feels 
 As if the stranger, at the outer door, 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 149 
 
 Stood waiting with liis wares. The brown okl clock, 
 
 Slender and tall, with curious antique face, 
 
 Which stood for three-score years with hourly tongue, 
 
 Warning and cheering — or, if none would hear. 
 
 Like childish age, still garruling to itself — 
 
 Now passes silent through the mournful door, 
 
 Borne, carefully, foot first. The faithful wheels 
 
 Which, like the cat with purring voice of peace. 
 
 Sang as the flax from off the distaffs ran. 
 
 The mothers and the daughters stand outside, 
 
 Whirling to idle hands. The bureau old, 
 
 With deep and odorous drawers, where oft the rose 
 
 Scattered its leaves to scent the snow-white robes. 
 
 Is lightly thrummed upon, with careless fingers. 
 
 Or peered into, with calculating eyes. 
 
 Measuring its worth. And there the mirror tall. 
 
 Which now hath ta'en farewell of well known forms. 
 
 Reflects the stranger and the bustling scene. 
 
 See, how the crier's hard, unpitying look 
 
 Gloats o'er the medley mass, while all draw near! 
 
 Swift as a rattle flies his marvellous tongue. 
 
 While his quick eye, from face to face, darts round. 
 
 Catching the nod ere full consent approves. 
 
 And the rough joke, which wakes the crowd to mirth, 
 
 Adds a fresh blow unto the aching hearts 
 
 13* 
 
150 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Of those who, piecemeal, see their home destroyed. 
 Part after part, as rafters to a flame, 
 With sound of desolation, falling in. 
 
 Among the heirlooms, note the aged pair, 
 Downcast as at a funeral, move about 
 With nervous stealth, taking a sad farewell 
 Of many a dumb old friend. The palsied dame 
 Among the curious children, shuffling, goes 
 From room to room, with wondering mournful eyes ; 
 Or on the last chair, by the starving hearth, 
 Crouches, and gazes in the cheerless fire. 
 And Master Ethan, stifling many a sigh. 
 Affects the cheerful, and sets out the ware ; 
 The while the matron, favouring the move. 
 Stirs chief amid the scene ; and, frequent, chides 
 The tear upon Olivia's cheek, yet oft, 
 With hasty apron, clears her own blurred gaze. 
 The day goes by; the evening quiet comes. 
 Where sadness half way dims their one poor light. 
 Until, to such rough temporary beds 
 As haste and need can make, they seek repose : 
 Some dreaming of the past, and some 
 Of the to-morrow's busy scene — of ties 
 Soon to be broken, and no more renewed; 
 While Fancy oft, before the expedition, 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 151 
 
 Flies like the horizon, and in forest depths 
 Pitches the evening tent. The starting-morn, 
 Full of bright sunshine, bursts upon the vale ; 
 But in the broken home — their home no more — 
 A stranger foot hath pressed, and led one hence. 
 Without a breath announcing to the air 
 His coming or departure; and the house, 
 From Master Ethan to the youngest there. 
 Is shadowed with a sudden gust of grief. 
 There lies the grandam, placid as in sleep, 
 Where she shall wake no more. The weary soul 
 Hath left its time-worn tenement of earth, 
 Shaking the dust from off its pilgrim feet 
 Against a sinful world, and passed to Heaven. 
 The news is spread, and all the wagons wait. 
 A few swift days fly o'er the dreary vale ; 
 And, for the last time, to the chapel-yard 
 The pastor turns his steps, where follow, soon, 
 The mournful train. And now the grave is filled ; 
 The last sad mound is shaped, as 'twere a seal 
 Signing the separation made in peace. 
 Or monument to the departing hour. 
 
BOOK TWENTY-SECOND. 
 
 Here, by the highway, let us stand and note 
 The long, slow, labouring caravan which takes. 
 To-day, its westward course. Like moving tents. 
 The laden wagons pass. Along the road 
 Some, who remain, collect in wayside groups. 
 And wave the 'kerchief, uttering heartfelt words 
 Of cheer ; some join the pilgrimage a space, 
 Walking behind the wains in converse meet, 
 Speeding the adventurers on. Some, in advance. 
 Who started earlier on the way, with gaze 
 Cast frequent back, and leisure, mournful steps, 
 Hold melancholy talk with those whom they, 
 Perchance, shall see no more. Saddest of these, 
 Toung Amy, leaning on her lover, walks, 
 Her tears usurping all her powers of speech ; 
 While he, as voluble as spring-time brooks, 
 
 (152) 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 153 
 
 Pours in her ear the promise which her hope 
 Gathers and holds in its securest depths. 
 A few short weeks will soon go by, and then 
 His steps shall follow to their forest home, 
 Where thought of separation shall no more 
 Affright her tender soul. With words like these 
 He drowns, at last, the saddest of her fears. 
 On yonder height, where forks the woodland road, 
 And the old finger-boards with letters pale, 
 Long washed by storms, direct diverging ways, 
 The schoolhouse stands, where master Ethan taught, 
 Now silent as a bee-deserted hive ; the shutters closed, 
 As on a room of death, while chain and lock 
 Make the lone door secure. There, on her cane, 
 Beneath the hand-post, stands the Oakland dame 
 Watching the winding line with curious eye. 
 When Amy passes she exalts her voice, 
 Weaving a cautious finger as she speaks : 
 ^^Kemember, lass, the words of Christmas eve!" 
 And, suddenly, across the young girl's heart 
 Flashes the whole sad sentence she then heard. 
 Loud laughs the youth, and bids her hold her peace ; 
 And Amy, trembling as they pass her by, 
 Hastens her onward steps; Next, following, come 
 Olivia and Arthur; after these, 
 
154 T II E N E W P A S T ORAL. 
 
 Frail Master Ethan, with his pilgrim cane, 
 Leading the wondering grandchild by the hand ; 
 Then, next, the wagons. First, the well-shod team 
 Bearing the blacksmith's household ; following this, 
 The wheelwright, full of magisterial pomp, 
 Directs his steeds, holding himself the centre 
 And spring of all the movement. One of those, 
 Chancing in front, who arrogate the lead ; 
 Or, in the rear, is driver — nothing less. 
 Adverse or fair, the world from one proud point 
 Is viewed and met; if good, it is his due — 
 If ill, another's fault ; yet ne'er so bad. 
 But that the saddest half, by skill of his, 
 Is headed and turned off. The ridden world 
 Bears many such; and oft obeys the reins. 
 Which arrogance usurps with shameless hand. 
 While modest wisdom stands aside, abashed. 
 There, next, the mason and the cooper come, 
 Their wives and children from the crowded wain 
 Peering abroad, with eyes half smiles and tears ; 
 And, in communion close, the parson's team 
 And Baldwin's bring the rear. Anon they gain 
 The summit of the height, and turn to gaze ; 
 And, gazing, heave the sigh, and breathe adieu, 
 While many a rough hand feels the farewell grasp. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 165 
 
 At length the long leave-taking is all o'er; 
 
 The train descends; and lo, the happy vale 
 
 Is closed from sight beyond the mournful hill, 
 
 And all the West, before the onward troop, 
 
 Lies in the far unknown. As goes a bride. 
 
 With pain and joy alternate in her breast. 
 
 To find a home within the alien walls 
 
 Of him who hath enticed her hence — her heart 
 
 More hoping than misgiving — so, to-day, 
 
 Departed the slow train ; and now the miles. 
 
 Gliding beneath with gradual but sure pace, 
 
 Bring them at last to unfamiliar scenes. 
 
 Thoughtful they hold their onward, plodding course. 
 
 Each in his own reflection wrapt; for now. 
 
 With every step, some ancient tie is broke, 
 
 Some dream relinquished, or some friend given up ; 
 
 While old associations spring, self-called. 
 
 Even as tears, unbidden. Thus, awhile. 
 
 They keep the silent tenour of their wa^^ ; 
 
 Till, like a sudden, unexpected bird. 
 
 Which from the still fields soars into the air. 
 
 Flooding the noon with melody, up swells 
 
 The gladsome voice of Arthur into song. 
 
 Cheering the drooping line. 
 
156 TUE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 *'Bid adieu to the homestead, adieu to the vale, 
 Though the memory recalls them, give grief to the 
 
 gale : 
 There the hearths are unlighted, the embers are black, 
 Where the feet of the onward shall never turn back.* 
 For as w^ell might the stream that comes down from 
 
 the mount. 
 Glancing up, heave the sigh to return to its fount ; 
 Yet the lordly Ohio feels joy in his breast 
 As he follows the sun, onward, into the West. 
 
 There the great inland seas wash their measureless 
 
 shores, 
 The voice of whose grandeur Niagara pours ; 
 There the wide prairie rolls, a deep ocean, away, 
 Where the bison toss through in leviathan play ; 
 Or oft pours through autumn a deluge of fire, 
 Where the herds fly, like demons, in fear and in ire. 
 At the noon or the midnight, in tempest or rest. 
 The sublime hath its realm in the land of the West. 
 
 Oh, to roam, like the rivers, through empires of woods, 
 Where the king of the eagles in majesty broods ; 
 Or to ride the wild horse o'er the boundless domain, 
 And to drag the wild buffalo down to the plain ; 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 157 
 
 There to chase the fleet stag, and to track the huge 
 
 bear, 
 And to face the lithe panther at bay in his lair, 
 Are a joy which alone cheers the pioi^ieer's breast. 
 For the only true hunting-ground lies in the West ! 
 
 Leave the tears to the maiden, the fears to the child. 
 While the future stands beckoning afar in the wild ; 
 For there Freedom, more fair, walks the primeval 
 
 land. 
 Where the wild deer all court the caress of her hand. 
 There the deep forests fall, and the old shadows fly. 
 And the palace and temple leap into the sky. 
 Oh, the East holds no place where the onward can 
 
 rest. 
 And alone there is room in the land of the West !" 
 
 Thus swelled the song, and cheerfulness at last. 
 With the new scene, possess the flying hour. 
 And when the evening, like a tollman gray, 
 Drops his dusk bar across the winding road, 
 Before the dull, secluded wayside inn. 
 The laden wains collect, where tired teams 
 Hear the loud creaking pump, and rustling hay 
 Which from the near mow rolls ; or dusty oats 
 
 14 
 
158 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Poured into troughs, and heave the hungry neigh. 
 
 Around the evening hearth, the cheerful groups 
 
 Collect ; and, in the novel hour, forget 
 
 Their various regrets and their fatigues. 
 
 While jest and laugh go round. Alone, v^ithdrawn, 
 
 The mournful Amy by Olivia sits ; 
 
 And, on the willing shoulder of her friend. 
 
 Leans her sad head, and pours her heart of grief, 
 
 Mingled with hope, to the confiding breast 
 
 Which, having known a kindred pain, can feel, 
 
 And, feeling, give its depth of sympathy. 
 
 How beautiful is innocence which, thus. 
 
 To innocence consigns its deepest thought ! — 
 
 How pure ! how angel-like ! A sacred scene 
 
 Which, to the brow of cold, suspecting man — 
 
 They most suspicious who betray — should start 
 
 The colour, given by the sudden blow 
 
 Of self-reproach, upon the scoundrel front. 
 
BOOK TWENTY-THIRD. 
 
 Another morning finds them on their way : 
 Another still, and still another flies. 
 To-day beside the Susquehanna leads 
 Their road romantic ; and to-day, the sun, 
 Looking betwixt the hill-tops to the vales, 
 Beholds, with cheerful eye, the climbing line 
 Which by the roaring Juniata winds ; 
 Till lo ! upon the windy mountain height. 
 While glows the eve above a sea of hills. 
 Flushing the Alleghanian peaks, the train 
 Hangs like a cloud that, with the coming day, 
 Beside the brook which takes a westward course 
 Shall hold its far descent. Here, from the road. 
 They turn into the vv^oods beneath the pines. 
 And, mid the budding laurels, pitch their camp. 
 The wains, together, in close circle drawn, 
 
 (159) 
 
160 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Give shelter to the steeds that feed within. 
 
 At once, in noisy groups, all hands collect 
 
 The dry, dead branches and the resinous cones, 
 
 And build the fire, and hew the stakes and crane ; 
 
 While Master Ethan, fathoming his pouch. 
 
 Draws out the line, and Arthur trims the rod. 
 
 And soon along the wild, tumultuous brook 
 
 The bait is swept ; and oft, as to the eddy 
 
 It whirls, mid spray and foam, the mountain trout 
 
 Flickers in the air its constellated sides 
 
 To eke the evening meal. The camp-fire springs, 
 
 And the red day fades out, and leaves the sky 
 
 To the cold April moon and stars — the moon, 
 
 As Ceres' sickle, thin, and sharp, and bright. 
 
 Behold where glide the dusk forms to and fro 
 
 Before the crackling blaze, their shadows far 
 
 Beaching among the pines ! Throughout the night 
 
 The hungry fire is fed by those who hold. 
 
 By turns, the dreary watch — a foretaste this 
 
 Of many a night to come, in gloomy depths 
 
 Of wildernesses, far, unknown. Strange sounds 
 
 Are floating on the gusty air ; the limbs, 
 
 In wavy motion, make continuous noise 
 
 As of a mighty river roaring by; 
 
 While, as night deepens, louder brawl the brooks, 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 161 
 
 Flashing their spectral light among the rocks : 
 One sweeping east, unto the Chesapeake — 
 One west, to Mississippi and the Gulf. 
 To such inhospitable heights as this, 
 Where the thin air unto the palest cheek 
 Sends the quick blood, the fancy deems that sleep 
 Would scarcely come, or, coming, stay not long ; 
 But now in many a tented wain she sits. 
 Soothing the fallen lid with murmurous sounds, 
 Despite the young, capricious imp of dreams. 
 Who half way mars her choicest task. The watch 
 Of middle night is Arthur's ; when his form 
 Stands tall and brave against the steadfast blaze, 
 One other figure steals unto his side. 
 And, 'gainst persuasion, shares the starry hour: 
 For love, more sure than sleep, attends the course 
 Of whosoever once hath harboured him. 
 W^here'er they look, the black and pillared pines 
 Sway to and fro, as if some giant arm. 
 Like Samson's, rocked them to their fall ; and yet 
 The tempest, in his oft accustomed track, 
 Sits, like a hunter mid his leash of hounds. 
 Resting, uncertain where to bend his steps. 
 The moon, above the shadowy mountain lines. 
 Drops its increasing crescent, where the hope 
 
 14* 
 
1G2 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Of those two hearts as one together glides, 
 
 To round and brighten in the distant West. 
 
 Dear, as a new star to the wakeful eye 
 
 Of one who, on a midnight tower, keeps watch, 
 
 Is scene like this unto the tuneful muse : 
 
 The maid all tenderness and trust, and rich 
 
 With sympathies w^hich time alone can show ; 
 
 The other boundless in his guardian love, 
 
 Which colours even his most ambitious dream; — 
 
 A noble nature, full of great desires, 
 
 And whom the well-pleased future shall behold 
 
 A leader mid his people. Night departs; 
 
 The stars withdraw behind a veil of light, 
 
 To gild in other worlds the evening sky. 
 
 While morning rules in this. When now the sun. 
 
 Like a swift diver 'neath a vessel's keel. 
 
 Hath swept the nether space, and all a-glow 
 
 Exalts his shining forehead in the east — 
 
 Laying his level arms across the hills — 
 
 Gazing, delighted, where he climbs, refreshed — 
 
 The white train, like a bank of spring-time snow 
 
 Loosened by w^armth, glides slowly down along 
 
 The steep and melting fords; vv^hile constant care 
 
 Scarce shuns the dread abyss which yawns beside 
 
 The freezing depths where, half the summer through. 
 
TIIH NEW PASTORAL. 163 
 
 Some straggling follower of winter rests, 
 Lodged in liis sheltered tent of snnless snow. 
 Still by their side, companioning their way, 
 The embryo river — here a gust of foam 
 Which the deer leaps, and hunter, undismayed. 
 Seizing a rough branch, follows — headlong flies. 
 Days come and close ; and, with another eve. 
 Against the sky their ken discerns, well-pleased. 
 The swinging cloud, starred through with meteor sparks 
 Which, hourly, o'er the Iron City floats. 
 Announcing where the loud and labouring forge 
 And furnace flame, continuous, throb and glow. 
 And when within the hospitable yards 
 Of well-stored inns, the teams are led ungeared. 
 And matrons, maids, and children, round the fire, 
 Thaw out the memory of the mountain cold, — 
 The men and youths, adventurous, sally forth, 
 And seek the red mouth of the furnace broad. 
 Where flows the iron into smoky moulds ; 
 Or stand, admiring, where the hammer huge 
 Falls on the white hot metal, at each blow 
 Filling the space with sudden rain of fire ; 
 Or how the hungry rollers take the mass. 
 And yield, at length, the long and slender bars. 
 Here Barton stands, as native to the scene, 
 
IGt THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 And feels the impulse of his noble craft 
 
 Thrill to his fingers, with a fond desire 
 
 To grasp the bar and sledge. The morning comes : 
 
 Behold where noisy builders by the stream, 
 
 With axe and adze, construct the future arks, 
 
 To sweep the Ohio to its mouth, and take 
 
 The Mississippi, in its swift career, 
 
 Wide- winding 'twixt the boundaries of States 
 
 As lesser streams 'twixt farms. Here, on this beam, 
 
 The fresh-hewn poplar, which among its fellows 
 
 Sweetens the air with odours, till it floats 
 
 Enamoured in the sun as o'er a garden, 
 
 Let us sit down, unstartled — sit and hear 
 
 The song of labour, whose resounding blow 
 
 Sounds like a voice proclaiming to th^ future 
 
 The march of this, our forward-going age. 
 
 The song of labour ! nobler song is not ! 
 
 He is the bard who writes, in living acts. 
 
 The epic of the era; every stroke 
 
 A word prophetic of the great hereafter. 
 
 Observe this group of workmen who prepare 
 
 The beams and boards, and clear the ample space. 
 
 To shape the flat-boat's square, ungraceful form. 
 
 Some line and score, and with the broad-axe hew 
 
 The giant log: and then the whip-saw comes, 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 166 
 
 Long, slender, biting as a champion's sword, 
 And double-handled, manned at either end. 
 One on the up-reared trunk and one beneath! 
 See how the swift blade, as the lightning, flies. 
 Severing, like death, what time can never join ! 
 Thus separated, and the ends a-slope. 
 Hewn equal, like the runners of a sleigh. — 
 Huge as a northern army might desire, 
 To bear provisions for a winter camp — 
 They upturned lie ; and now the oaken planks 
 Reach crosswise, pinned and spiked from end to end. 
 Then, with dull chisel, and the noisy mallet. 
 The swingling-tow is driven into the seams. 
 Till all are caulked, and comes the black cement. 
 Of molten odorous pitch, which gives secure 
 Protection 'gainst invasion of the wave. 
 Anon, the monster hull, by levers reared. 
 Heaves a great vault in air, and righted thus, 
 Lies ready for the launch. The rails are laid, 
 And to the slippery slope the boat is given ; 
 And, lo ! the wooden avalanche descends 
 Sheer to the middle of the stream, to be 
 Recalled by checking cables. As it strikes, 
 One, mid loud shouts from the resounding shore, 
 Breaks on the bow the deep baptismal flask; 
 
166 THE NEW PAS TO HAL. 
 
 And let our hopes with his be freely joined, 
 With heartfelt prayers that fair Prosperity 
 May spread her pinions o'er the sailor's ark ; 
 For this the deck w^hich Providence ordains 
 To bear our travellers hence. A fev/ swift days 
 Go by : the boat is covered, and complete 
 Within and out. On either side the oars. 
 And one astern, from ashen sapling hewn — 
 Each suppled, toughened many seasons through 
 In sweeping rivers of the mountain wind- — 
 Droop, like unfolded wings, half spread for flight. 
 And now, in groups, unto the crowded wharf 
 The various households gather with their wares, 
 And soon betake them to their floating home ; 
 And, drawn in close assemblies on the deck, 
 Gaze, wondering, at the tumult which they leave ; 
 Bidding adieu to Pennsylvanian shores. 
 Which few, of all the crowd, shall tread again. 
 When, suddenly, a well-known voice is heard. 
 And all, delighted, hearken as it swells : 
 
 '^Lo, our waiting ark is freighted; 
 In its depths of oak and pine 
 All our household goods are gathered — 
 Thine, my noble friend, and mine ! 
 
THENEWPASTOKAL. 167 
 
 Here the laughter-loving children 
 
 Gaze, with wonder-filling eyes, 
 With the maidens whose emotions. 
 
 Like the waters, fall and rise. 
 
 Here are youths whose westward fancies 
 
 Chase the forest-sheltered game ; 
 Here are men with soul and sinew 
 
 Which no wilderness can tame. 
 
 Here are matrons, full of courage — 
 
 Worthy these the pioneers — 
 And the patriarch lends a sanction 
 
 In" the wisdom of his years. 
 
 Axe and team, and plough and sickle, 
 
 In the hold are gathered all ; 
 And, methinks, I hear the woodlands, 
 
 Mid their thundering echoes, fail. 
 
 And behold the great logs blazing. 
 
 Till the ashen fields are bare, 
 And a boundless harvest springing — 
 
 The response of toil and prayer! 
 
168 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Draw the foot-board, loose the cables, 
 Free the wharf, and man the oars ; 
 
 Give the broad keel to the river, 
 Bid adieu to crowded shores : 
 
 Wharves where Europe's venturous exiles 
 Throng with all their hopes and cares - 
 
 Sires of future States of freemen. 
 Standing mid their waiting wares. 
 
 Bid adieu the Iron City, 
 
 With its everlasting roar, 
 Whose Niagara of traffic 
 
 Flows to westward evermore. 
 
 Where the cloud swings into heaven. 
 And the furnace flames disgorge, 
 
 With the multitudinous clamour 
 Of the factory and the forge. 
 
 In yon mountains, like the eagles, 
 Brood the rivers at their springs. 
 
 Then descend, with sudden swooping, 
 On their far and flashing wings. 
 
THE NEW PASTOllAL. 169 
 
 Here the dashing Alleghany 
 
 And Monongahela meet, 
 And a moment whirl and dally 
 
 Round the city^s crowded feet; 
 
 Till, anon, with wedded pinions, 
 How they sweep the shores as one, 
 
 Driving westward, ever westward. 
 In the pathway of the sun. 
 
 Like a cloud upon the storm-wind, 
 
 Xow our heaving ark careers ; 
 Or some great bridge which a freshet 
 
 Bears in triumph from its piers. 
 
 Dovrn we sweep ; and yonder steamer 
 
 Smoking round the distant hill. 
 With its swift wheel flashing splendour. 
 
 Like the loud wheel of a mill. 
 
 Shall not fright us, though the waters 
 Sweep our deck with foamy force, 
 
 While the angel of Adventure, 
 With true courage, guides our course. 
 
 15 
 
170 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 And tlie river, like our purpose, 
 Brooks no voice which bids it wait, 
 
 Bearing onward, ever onward. 
 Where the forest opes its gate ; 
 
 Opes the gate that hung for ages. 
 Busting in its old repose. 
 
 Which, once swung upon its hinges. 
 There's no giant hand can close. 
 
 Far beyond that ancient portal 
 We will pitch our camp, nor rest 
 
 Till from out our forest cabins 
 
 Spring the homesteads of the West.'' 
 
BOOK TWENTY-FIFTH. 
 
 Bettveex tlie hills whose perforated sides 
 
 Bleed to the watered banks, from veins of coal, 
 
 The black bituminous mass, for days they float 
 
 Delighted with the changing view. The shore, 
 
 On either hand, a lovely landscape glides: 
 
 And Beaver passed, lo, presently appear 
 
 The fields of other States. Here, on the left, 
 
 Virginia, whose historic name recalls 
 
 The scenes of chivalry and old romance — 
 
 A State which lavished heroes, as a mountain 
 
 Gives to the land its rivers. The broad home 
 
 Of Kaleigh's hope and Pocahontas' love, 
 
 Of Washington and Jefferson, and him 
 
 Who, midst the cry of ''treason," shook the world, 
 
 Till tyranny, wdth all his traitor band, 
 
 A-pace recoiled as billows to the blast. 
 
 (171) 
 
172 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 There on the right, behold, more newly freed 
 From the grim forest's grasp, the lovely land 
 Christened in honour of the stream which bears 
 The produce of her fruitful farms afar. 
 
 The time arrives vrhen labour's iron doors 
 Are closed upon the tumult of the week, 
 Secure, as evenings shuts behind the day ; 
 And, when the silent hour is ushered in, 
 A dusky island on the river looms. 
 Brooding above its shadow, like a cloud 
 Bereft of all the winds — companionless, 
 It hangs suspended o'er the inverted sky. 
 Concealing half the river stars. And here 
 The heavy ark unto the sheltering shore 
 Glides noiseless, as an eagle swooping in 
 To rest beneath the over-arching limbs. 
 And soon the cables hold it to the bank 
 Among the watery vnllows. In the east. 
 As red and wide as is the forge's mouth 
 Oft seen mid Alleghanian hills, the moon — 
 Like some great soul, a-flush with earthly lusts. 
 That nobly rises from its base estate — 
 Ascends, each moment lessening from the stain. 
 Until the heavens receive it pure and white. 
 Invited by her ray, unto the shore 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 173 
 
 The lovers wander through the sinuous paths, 
 In happy freedom from the crowded deck, 
 And Arthur to Olivia repeats 
 The saddening tale of Blennerhassett's isle : 
 
 ^^Once came. an exile, longing to be free, 
 
 Born in the greenest island of the sea ; 
 
 He sought out this, the fairest blooming isle 
 
 That ever gemmed a river ; and its smile, 
 
 Of summer green and freedom, on his heart 
 
 Fell, like the light of Paradise. Apart 
 
 It lay, remote and wild ; and in his breast 
 
 He fancied this an island of the blest ; 
 
 And here he deemed the world might never mar 
 
 The tranquil air with its molesting jar. 
 
 Long had his soul, among the strife of men. 
 
 Gone out and fought, and, fighting, failed; and then 
 
 Withdrew into itself: as when some fount 
 
 Einds space within, and will no longer mount, 
 
 Content to hear its own secluded waves 
 
 Make lonely music in the new-found caves. 
 
 And here he brought his household; here his wife, 
 
 As happy as her children, round his life 
 
 Sang as she were an echo, or a part 
 
 Of the deep pleasure springing in his heart — 
 
 15* 
 
174 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 A silken string which with the heavier cord 
 Made music, such as well-strung harps afford. 
 She was the embodied spirit of the man, 
 His second self, but on a fairer plan. 
 And here they came, and here they built their home, 
 And set the rose and taught the vines to roam, 
 Until the place became an isle of bowers, 
 Where odours, mist-like, swam above the flowers. 
 It was a place where one might lie and dream, 
 And see the naiads, from the river-stream. 
 Stealing among the umbrous, drooping limbs; 
 Where Zephyr, mid the willows, tuned her hymns 
 Round rippling shores. Here would the first birds 
 
 throng. 
 In early spring-time, and their latest song 
 Was given in autumn; w^hen all else had fled, 
 They half forgot to go ; such beauty here was spread. 
 It was, in sooth, a fair enchanted isle. 
 Round which the unbroken forest, many a mile, 
 Reached the horizon like a boundless sea; — 
 A sea whose waves, at last, w^ere forced to flee 
 On either hand, before the westward host. 
 To meet no more upon its ancient coast. 
 But all things fair, save truth, are frail and doomed ; 
 And brightest beauty is the first consumed 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 175 
 
 By envious Time ; as if he crowned the brow 
 With loveliest flowers, before he gave the blow 
 Which laid the victim on the hungry shrine : — 
 Such was the dreamer's fate, and such, bright isle, 
 
 was thine. 
 There came the stranger, heralded by fame, 
 Whose eloquent soul was like a tongue of flame, 
 Which brightened and despoiled whate'er it touched. 
 A violet, by an iron gauntlet clutched. 
 Were not more doomed than whosoe'er he won 
 To list his plans, with glowing words o'errun : 
 And Blennerhassett hearkened as he planned. 
 
 Far in the South there was a glorious land, 
 Crowned with perpetual flower, and where repute 
 Pictured the gold more plenteous than the fruit — 
 The Persia of the West. There would he steer 
 His conquering course; and o'er the bright land rear 
 His far-usurping banner, till his home 
 Should rest beneath a wide, imperial dome, 
 Where License, round his throned feet, should whirl 
 Her dizzy mazes like an orient girl. 
 His followers should be lords ; their ladies each 
 Wear wreaths of gems beyond the old world's reach ; 
 And emperors, gazing to that land of bloom. 
 With impotent fire of envy should consume. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Such was the gorgeous vision which he drew. 
 The listener saw; and, dazzled by the view — 
 As one in some enchanter's . misty room, 
 His senses poisoned by the strange perfume, 
 Beholds with fierce desire the picture fair. 
 And grasps at nothing in the painted air — 
 Gave acquiescence, in a fatal hour, 
 And wealth, and hope, and peace were in the temp- 
 ter's power. 
 The isle became a rendezvous ; and then 
 Came in the noisy rule of law^less men. 
 Domestic calm, affrighted, fled afar. 
 And Riot revelled 'neath the midnight star. 
 Continuous music rustled through the trees, 
 Where banners danced responsive on the breeze ; 
 Or in festoons, above the astonished bowers, 
 With flaming colours shamed the modest flowers. 
 There clanged the mimic combat of the sword, 
 Like daily glasses round the festive board; 
 Here lounged the chiefs, there marched the plumed file, 
 And martial splendour over-run the isle. 
 Already, the shrewd leader of the sport 
 The shadowy sceptre grasped, and swayed his court. 
 In dream, or waking, revelling or alone, 
 Before him swam the visionary throne; 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 177 ^ 
 
 Until a voice, as if the insulted woods 
 
 Had risen to claim their ancient solitude, 
 
 Broke on his spirit, like a trumpet rude, 
 
 Shattering his dream to nothing as he stood ! 
 
 The revellers vanished, and the banners fell. 
 
 Like the red leaves beneath November's spell. 
 
 Full of great hopes, sustained by mighty will, 
 
 Urged by ambition, confident of skill, 
 
 As fearless to perform as to devise, 
 
 A-flush, but now he saw the glittering prize 
 
 Flame like a cloud in day's descending track; 
 
 But, lo, the sun went down, and left it black ! 
 
 Alone, despised, defiance in his eye. 
 
 He heard the shout, and ''treason!" was the cry; 
 
 And that harsh word, with its unpitying blight, 
 
 Sv\^ept o'er the island like an arctic night. 
 
 Cold grew the hearthstone, withered fell the flowers, 
 
 And desolation walked among the bowers. 
 
 This was the mansion. Through the ruined hall 
 The loud winds sweep, with gusty rise and fall. 
 Or glide, like phantoms, through the open doors ; 
 And winter drifts his snow along the floors. 
 Blown through the yawning rafters, where the stars 
 And moon look in as through dull prison bars 
 
iTS THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 On yonder gable, tlirougli the nightly dark, 
 
 The o^yl replies unto the dreary bark 
 
 Of lonely fox, beside the grass-grown sill; 
 
 And here, on summer eves, the whip-poor-will 
 
 Exalts her voice, and to the traveller's ear 
 
 Proclaims how ruin rules with full contentment here.' 
 
BOOK TWENTY-SIXTH. 
 
 Thus sang the poet-lover, mid the scenes 
 
 Where happiness once brooded like a dove. 
 
 The mournful tale is ended with a sigh, 
 
 And she who listened weeps ; and where they stand 
 
 The sad moon ponders, like the ghost of Eve 
 
 All night a-gazing on an Eden lost. 
 
 The conjuring fancy fills the place with shapes, 
 
 Holding their doubtful tryste ; the overshadowed eye 
 
 Peoples the dusk with phantoms ; and the ear, 
 
 By keen imagination finely tuned. 
 
 Like a light cord to fullest tension drawn, 
 
 Yibrates to each accordant sigh of air. 
 
 And hears a world of sounds, where ruder sense 
 
 Would only note the silence. Did you hear ? 
 
 Was it a rustle in the budding limbs. 
 
 Or lone bird darting from his wakeful branch ? 
 
 (179) 
 
180 THE NEW rASTOllAL. 
 
 Did you not see ? — There, through the light, and there ! 
 
 Was it a spirit swept across their path ? 
 
 And hark again! a sound as of a wave, 
 
 Weary of rolling to a pitiless Vvind, 
 
 Dashing its tired breast against a rock! 
 
 Near by, the river reels around a point. 
 
 Sweeping from darkness into sudden light — 
 
 So near, the lovers' slanting shadows glide. 
 
 Bending together, o'er the dreamy bank. 
 
 An instant Arthur gazes on the stream, 
 
 And bounds aside, and leaps into the flood. 
 
 And bears a dripping figure to the shore; 
 
 ¥/hile, like a marble wonder, speechless stands 
 
 Ti-c pale Olivia: even as one in sleep. 
 
 Who fain would follow while the feet, enchained, 
 
 Refuse their wonted office. On his arm 
 
 The deluged form, with loosened, oozing locks. 
 
 Hangs, like a sea-nymph, fainting; from her face,' 
 
 Which to the moon's astonishment gives back 
 
 A look of pallid sorrow, the hair smoothed, 
 
 Displays the well-known features of their friend. 
 
 Olivia, frighted, bends above the form. 
 
 And calls her ''Amy! Amy!" till the ear, 
 
 Dulled with the water, hears, and the sad eyes. 
 
 Bewildered, ope, as if to meet the shapes 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 181 
 
 And scenes of other worlds — amazed, confused, 
 
 Uncertain if an angel speaks her name. 
 
 Or if a spirit bears her soul released. 
 
 Conscious, at last, she clasps her bosom-friend. 
 
 And sighs ^'forgive, forgive!'' Sad heart, she feels 
 
 The weight of crime attempted, yet scarce knows — 
 
 So tangled, like a delicate web, her brain — 
 
 'Gainst whom or what ! But e'er the night is o'er, 
 
 While sits Olivia by the cabin couch, 
 
 The sole receiver of her inmost thought — 
 
 In concert to the under-going stream 
 
 Which, like the river of death, flows darkly near — 
 
 She pours upon the sympathizing breast 
 
 Her deep heart-drowning sorrow and her fears ; 
 
 And both-, together, weep the long night through. 
 
 Or pray in union while their comrades sleep. 
 
 Oh, Heaven, if e'er thy pitying angel stoops, 
 As holiest faith believes, and in the hour 
 Of fear and pain breathes his consoling voice. 
 Like sounds of waters to the ear of one 
 Who droops in -deserts lone — in this sad place 
 Permit his wings to fold beside the couch, 
 And bid him shed into the fainting soul 
 The holy calm whence courage only springs ! 
 The world is full of sadness : oft the smile 
 
 16 
 
182 T II E N E W r A S T R A L . 
 
 Is but the flower, above decaying hopes, 
 Blooming to hide a ruin. But a sight, 
 Saddest of all — sadder than sudden death — 
 It is to see a young heart touched with frost, 
 And all its freshness scattered to the wind; — 
 A heart which had been full of joy, all hope. 
 All love, all trust, break from its hold of all, 
 And, like an easy, noiseless bank of sand, 
 Fall, crumbling by continuous degrees. 
 Into the gulfy river of despair. 
 
BOOK TWENTY-SEVENTH. 
 
 Adieu the island ! Lo, the Sabbath dawns, 
 
 A cloudless April-day. Still toward the West 
 
 The broad stream bears them onward in its arms. 
 
 On either shore, and through the neighbouring fields, 
 
 While sounds the bell from yonder village spire, 
 
 The unknowm people throng. Then to the deck 
 
 The various inmates of the ark collect. 
 
 And round the pastor drawn, in pious groups, 
 
 Flood the calm air with the melodious hymn ; 
 
 While, as they pass the town, an answer comes. 
 
 Like a clear echo, from the hill-side church. 
 
 The melody into their hearts descends — 
 
 The" old familiar tune — till every breast 
 
 Is waked to joy, and even the sternest eye 
 
 Is moistened with a sympathizing mist. 
 
 (183) 
 
184 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 How beautiful, in such an hour and place, 
 
 To hear from stranger lips, unseen perchance. 
 
 That never may be seen till met in Heaven, 
 
 The sacred sounds proclaiming brotherhood — 
 
 The masonry of souls ! How beautiful ! 
 
 In all the world of art — a wondrous world — 
 
 I know no picture lovelier than to-day 
 
 Melts o'er my vision. Chief amid the group — 
 
 A dvrindled portion of his former flock — 
 
 Each face familiar, all, as children, dear — 
 
 The pastor stands, and on his loving arm 
 
 Holds the gieat volume, and, with sunburnt hand, 
 
 Turns o'er the intimate leaves. Ope where he will. 
 
 The broad page greets him like a well-known friend. 
 
 Near by, with white hair stirring to the breeze. 
 
 Frail Master Ethan, leaning on his cane. 
 
 Stands hat in hand. The matrons, on the deck, 
 
 Sit with the children at their careful sides ; 
 
 There youths and maids respectful posture hold; 
 
 And every man draws near, save those who lean 
 
 And listen at the easy moving oars. 
 
 Suns rise and set, and still the boat glides on; 
 Peace rules the day, and music cheers the eve. 
 Lo, on the south extends the lovely land 
 Where strode the solitary man of old. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 185 
 
 Barsting upon the entangled night of woods, 
 Like prophecy, proclaiming where he went 
 The forest's fall, and the red man's decline ! 
 Here the lone Nimrod of the pathless West 
 Keigned with his rifle, and, through hostile vnlds, 
 Won to himself an empire undisturbed. 
 His nights o'erhung with royal tents of limbs, 
 His vernal board with venison was crowned, 
 His cup with coolest crystal from the rocks ; 
 And oft unto his morning throne of state — 
 A crag which overbrowed the stateliest woods — 
 He mounted, and surveyed his wide domain. 
 Deciding where to bend his further sway. 
 Behind him, like the murmuring of the sea 
 Which, to a constant wind, invades the shore, 
 He heard the encroaching tumult of the world ; 
 And, with the sun, strode on a few swift miles, 
 Usurping, Avestward, what he eastward lost. 
 Such was the realm of Boone, the pioneer,* 
 Whose statue, in the eternal niche of fame, 
 Leans on his gleaming rifle ; and whose uame 
 Is carved so deep in the Kentuckian rocks, 
 It may not be effaced. His glorious soul. 
 Heroic among kindred hero souls, 
 Now threads the boundless forest of the stars ; 
 
 16* 
 
186 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 While still his memory, like a spirit, walks 
 With living influence in his favourite land. 
 
 What means this sudden swelling of the stream, 
 As if a thousand springs wdthin its depths 
 Had burst, like mighty geysers, to exalt 
 The river's watery head that, rising, roars. 
 And frights the banks until they swoon and drown ? 
 Answer, ye nymphs, from out your turbid caves ! 
 For nymphs there are in this unclassic flood, 
 Born of the savage muse in vanished years, 
 Who peopled all the solitude with shapes. 
 Whose spiritual whispers in the wind. 
 The waters and the woods, still charm the ear. 
 A poesy, unwritten, floats abroad. 
 So wide dis-spread, the echo-waking axe 
 Shall not dispel it; nor the busy plow 
 Turn it beneath the furrows ; nor the train. 
 Thundering along its iron way, affright ; 
 I^or smoking barges, with their flashing wheels. 
 Dislodge it from the w^aters. Every brook 
 And tree, could w^e but comprehend the song. 
 Is musical with voices not its own ; 
 An influence of the primal time still lives. 
 And breathes, and moulds us in our daily walks, 
 And thus developes in us, unaware. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 187 
 
 A sometMng of the earliest things which were. 
 
 'Tis this which links us with the perfect plan, 
 
 The chain which was, and is, and is to be. 
 
 Even where I gaze, the fancy, in the stream. 
 
 Pictures dim, liquid shapes which rise and- sink. 
 
 And sway in waves that ripple to the shore. 
 
 Intoxicate in the redundant flood. 
 
 There curved an arm, and there a bright face laughed, 
 
 With momentary eyes and lips disclosed. 
 
 And sound of sinless kisses thrown, perchance, 
 
 Prom watery fingers to the youths on deck. 
 
 There swim the children of the Indian muse, 
 
 Who ply at night the shadowy canoe. 
 
 While kindred forms, along the moon-lit woods. 
 
 Startle the phantom deer and wake the chase. 
 
 From whence their sires have gone — forever gone. 
 
 The man has fled, the spirit still remains — 
 
 The substance less substantial than the shade — 
 
 And still the river's sullied waters swell. 
 
 Augmented by the melting mountain snows. 
 
 And plenteous April-rains. Afar and near. 
 
 The swift careering drift chaotic flies. 
 
 Borne on the thievish shoulders of the flood ! 
 
 Great trees, whirled ruthless from their native banks, 
 
 Sweep headlong, with their budding limbs all drowned, 
 
i8S THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 And roots fantastic raking through the air. 
 These are the shapes that in the channel depths 
 Of Mississippi lodge — the downward prongs 
 Mining the sandy bed — the dreadful trunk 
 Swaying aslant to gore the freighted ark. 
 Here float the logs of some disjointed raft, 
 And there the w^oodman's scattered cords ! Enough 
 Swims prodigal to build a nation's navy. 
 At such a time as this, the wary crew 
 Must needs, w^ith well manned oars, avoid the drift, 
 While many a danger lies engulphed, unseen. 
 And wdien the night comes on, as now it comes, 
 And threatening clouds impend from east to west, 
 While all the w^atery shore no harbour gives. 
 With what misgivings, doubting hopes and fears. 
 The venturous watchers ride into the dark. 
 Where Providence assumes the swaying helm. 
 Loud sweeps the torrent ; but with louder voice 
 Koars on the shoreless ocean of the vrind. 
 Bearing the dusky navies of the storm. 
 Whose signal cannons, flashing, threat the land. 
 Along the hills gleam scattered cottage-lights, 
 Mocking the homeless households where they float, 
 Compassed with dangers which the starless night, 
 With cruel kindness, veils. The startled sense. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 189 
 
 For every peril liid, beholds, thrice told, 
 The horror painted on the blackened air ; 
 While oft the fancy, drowning with the wreck, 
 Dies momentary deaths. The grinding drifts 
 Chafe hoarsely at their thin and creaking walls 
 With frightful discord, and the ominous waves 
 Dash at the wide partition, as in scorn, 
 Striking with multitudinous hands. The lights. 
 Before and aft, dispense their scanty rays — 
 How spectral, thin, and ineffectual ! — 
 Which oft the sheeted lightning in the south. 
 With sudden brilliance dims, and shows the guard, 
 An instant, where to set the helm and where 
 To ply the sidelong oar. Thus speeds the ark; 
 And midnight rules the wild tempestuous hour. 
 On deck the men are gathered by the oars; 
 Below, the women sit in dreary groups. 
 Waiting and listening : some with infants clasped, 
 Convulsive, on the breast, while at their feet 
 The older children crowd, their terror drowned 
 In unrecording sleep. But hark ! the shock ! 
 The shout above ! the shriek below ! the neigh 
 Of frighted steeds ! Fear rules the scene. On deck 
 All crowd with straining eyes, which nought discern 
 Save random lights on shore. Their course is stopped; 
 
190 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 And, lo, a noon-like sheet of liglitning flames, 
 And shows their ark 'mong rafts and steamers lodged ; 
 While, like a vision in delirium seen, 
 A midnight city, with its sudden spires. 
 Springs on their sight — a marvelous instant springs- — 
 Then vanishes in night, and leaves them nought 
 But wild conjecture which must wait the dawn. 
 The storm is i^ast ; a cloudless day awakes, 
 And to the wondering multitudes on deck 
 A glorious city spreads its welcoming arms — 
 The Queen Metropolis of inland States — 
 "Which, like a mighty heart, receives and gives. 
 Swelling through all the body of the land 
 The pulsing veins of trade. In foundry yards 
 Loud hammers ring upon the boilers huge — 
 Too oft the ominous knell of future deaths. 
 Wrought by destruction in the sudden air. 
 Making a murderous gap a nation feels. 
 In each great bolt, 'twixt double sledges clinched. 
 What lives are wedged — a hfe for every blow! 
 Bold wielder ! strike again, and still again. 
 Lest that the careless stroke hereafter fall, 
 With triple weight, on many an aching heart ! 
 Along the sloping wharf the giant keels 
 Swing by their cables, e'en as monsters chained. 
 
T II E N E W P A S T R A L . 191 
 
 Frighting the sky with hot discordant breath, 
 
 Heaved from their hmgs of fire ; and noisy Toil 
 
 Lays his brown shoulders to the southern bale, 
 
 Or rolls the cask ashore, where Commerce stands 
 
 Smiling among the mountainous freight, and sends 
 
 Her northern product back. Time was, my friend — 
 
 Thou, who beneath thy own Catawba vine^ 
 
 Sittest, like autumn in a plenteous land. 
 
 Crowned with the fruits of heayy labours past, 
 
 Forgetting not thy reapers, nor the poor 
 
 Gleaning amid the stubble — when thy feet 
 
 Here paced the sod primeval, while the trees 
 
 Stretched their defiant branches unalarmed. 
 
 Then were yon hills — which now the reaching streets. 
 
 Audacious, climb with all a city's din — 
 
 Templed within a Sabbath shade of woods ; 
 
 And where the eagle, on the topmost limb, 
 
 Gazed at the sun unstartled, nightly, now, 
 
 In its high tower, the astronomic glass 
 
 Sweeps the blue space to mightier suns than ours. 
 
 Within thy memory, on this self-same ground, 
 
 A forest and a giant city stand. 
 
 When now the day discloses all the scene. — 
 The thronging wharf and their own ark half wrecked — 
 The adventurers hold a solemn council hour, 
 
192 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 And ill the small republic, on the deck, 
 
 Discuss their future course. Some, unapalled, 
 
 Call for repairs, impatient to be on ; 
 
 Some urge a transfer to the rapid bark, 
 
 Whose flashing wheels shall bear them quickly through. 
 
 But they, whose hands grew brown upon the plough, 
 
 And they who joyed to drive the well-fed team 
 
 And laden wain to market, once more sigh 
 
 To feel the solid earth beneath their feet, 
 
 To wind their way 'twixt farms and thorough woods, 
 
 Hewing, if need be, their own forest-path. 
 
 This plan is carried; and their yarious wagons 
 
 Are rolled ashore, and the delighted steeds, 
 
 Pawing the ground, receive the accustomed gears, 
 
 The collar and the rein ; and all, well-pleased. 
 
 Assume their places, and take up their march. 
 
 The suburbs now, and now the hills, receive 
 
 The winding line ; and soon amid the fields, 
 
 The city lost, they note the stretching road 
 
 Inviting on and on. Another State, 
 
 With noble farms usurping glorious woods, 
 
 Now bids them welcome, and still cheers their course ; 
 
 While, day by day, the sidelong forests grow 
 
 To longer stretches, and the new-made fields. 
 
 Rougher with fallen logs and girdled trunks, 
 
 Occur less frequent with their lessening homes. 
 
BOOK TAVENTY-EIGHTH. 
 
 Where a far prairie pours its yearly, flood 
 
 Of verdure to a forest's dusky foot, 
 
 And where a stream to Mississippi flows 
 
 In endless vassalage ; and where the beaver, 
 
 Like the red Indian and the buffalo, 
 
 Flying before the fast-encroaching plow, 
 
 The sickle and the mill, hath fled so late, 
 
 Scared by the trapper from his watery door — 
 
 While his small homestead, in the liquid plain, 
 
 With empty threshold looks abroad amazed — 
 
 And where the breastwork still retards the stream, 
 
 To hint and aid the future miller's dam; 
 
 Where, through the woodland depth, the wild deer's 
 
 track 
 Still shows the hoof-prints leading to the brink. 
 And, on the opposing shore, the larger path 
 
 17 (193) 
 
194 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 AVorn by the prairie herds alhirst ; behold 
 
 One small, rude hut of bark and motley skins 
 
 Sits, like a tired hunter, on the bank, 
 
 Companionless and still. Half drawn ashore, 
 
 A rough canoe lies dreaming ; and, near by. 
 
 The forest Selkirk, sitting with his dog. 
 
 Fondles his rifle and resets the flint. 
 
 He is of those who, like the venturous bees. 
 
 Herald the nation following in their wake — 
 
 An advance courier of a world of men — 
 
 A scout, from civilization's onward line, 
 
 Sent to inspect the forest's savage camp. 
 
 Silent he muses, and, athwart his brow. 
 
 Thoughts and their shadows pass like autumn-clouds. 
 
 Perchance he walks, in the departed years. 
 
 Along some green New England vale, — a child, 
 
 Led by a parent, while his happy heart 
 
 Throbs, like an echo, to the Sabbath bell. 
 
 Dear faces rise, and loving voices speak; 
 
 A mother's hand smooths back his boyish hair; 
 
 A sister's glowing arms are round his neck; 
 
 Or, later, through the scented hay-field strolls, 
 
 Or sits beside the rose-embowered door. 
 
 With one whose snowy garment past his soul 
 
 Now rustles like an ano'cl's floatino: robe. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 195 
 
 Perchance — but no; his rough and sunburnt hand 
 Dashes the vision from his half-bhirred gaze ; 
 His swift eye sweeps the prairie to its verge, 
 And, like an arrow, darts through umbrous woods, 
 Where desolation owns him for its lord. 
 
 Hark ! is't a panther leaping through the limbs ? 
 Or wild buck flying from pursuit of wolves ? 
 Or steeds, which never knew the curb of rein, 
 N'eighing along the prairie ? 'Tis a sound 
 Unusual to his startled ear. The dog 
 Kecoils unto his master's feet, and listens. 
 But soon the accustomed eye discerns the cause ; 
 And on the trapper's gaze the obnoxious gleam. 
 From the v/hite covers of approaching wains. 
 Strikes on his spirit, like the light of ghosts. 
 Seen in a long abhorrent train. His soul 
 Shrinks from the vision, and within him cries: 
 '^Is there no shelter from the reach of men? 
 Or must I, like the westward-going game, 
 Lie down in fear, and only wake to fly ? 
 Or, like the tired courser of the plain, 
 Yield me unto the lasso, and submit 
 To wear the rein, and feel the daily whip 
 Which civilization wields, and be a slave 
 Where I have been so free ? Or lay my hand 
 
196 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Against this brotlierliood of trees, and be, 
 At last, a traitor to the wilderness?'' 
 Sullen he stands, and notes the line approach ; 
 And when a shout goes up among the limbs, 
 ''Here will we pitch our camp and build our homes,'- 
 He tears the prop from 'neath his cabin roof. 
 And from the ruin takes his load of skins. 
 Shoves his canoe from shore, and, with his dog. 
 Glides o'er the silent waters out of sidit. 
 
BOOK TWENTY-NINTH. 
 
 When comes the eve — and in these antique woods 
 Eve comes before its time, and the deep night 
 With double darkness falls — then springs the blaze 
 Of crackling camp-fires ; while the astonished trees, 
 Half-lighted, stand and murmur their surprise 
 To others crowding in the shade behind ; 
 And many a bird with fascinated wonder, 
 And stealthy beast, with wide unwinking stare 
 And fixed amazement, gaze with silent fear. 
 Till night is robbed of half its dreary noise. 
 There stands the pastor mid his little flock, 
 And opes the wonted volume ; while beside, 
 ^oung Arthur holds the flaming torch of pine, 
 Where all draw round and hearken till the close. 
 Then suddenly the evening hymn is given, 
 Thrilling the leaves with pleasure where it floats, 
 
 17* (197) 
 
198 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 And, for the first, this ancient forest hears 
 
 The melody of well-accorded souls 
 
 Breathing of Christian peace ; while desolation, 
 
 Pained with prophetic music, stands withdrawn, 
 
 Like some lone Indian, last of all his tribe, 
 
 Drooping his unstrung bow. Then prayer 
 
 And silence rules the camp. Near by — perchance 
 
 An arrow-shot beyond — there is a rock 
 
 Which overlooks the stream ; the ripples break 
 
 About its giant foot, and from its brow 
 
 The light vines, growing many a season down. 
 
 Trail their long fingers o'er the shadowy pool. 
 
 To gain its top, and wait the rising moon, 
 
 Which, large and flaming as a chariot-vfheel, 
 
 jSTow rolls among the eastern stars, with joy 
 
 The lovers pass, and muse upon the scene. 
 
 And fancy tells how this exalted spot 
 
 Hath been, in its oblivion of years. 
 
 The happy altar where young love hath tamed 
 
 The savage heart, until the wild soul felt 
 
 The tranquil pleasure which 'tis ours to know 
 
 Beside the Christian hearth. Or here, perchance. 
 
 In desperate hour, some Indian maid, forlorn. 
 
 Hath to the midnight flung her streaming hair, — 
 
 Phmged, like the pleiad, to be known no more. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 199 
 
 Around, below, the world is silent, dark, 
 
 Or waked by wild, uncomprehended sounds. 
 
 Making the solitude more lone ; as when 
 
 Some star-led w^atcher, on a noiseless deck. 
 
 Hears the far waves communing with themselves. 
 
 Speechless they rest, and gaze into the sky 
 
 On that white path of splendour, like the track 
 
 Left by a vessel on the midnight sea — 
 
 Foamy, phosphorent, nebulous and strange — 
 
 The highway of the universe, perchance. 
 
 And populous with mightier worlds than this. 
 
 From out the dusk of that deep silent wood, 
 
 They pore upon the heavens with wandering thought — 
 
 More 'wildered as it wanders through the maze 
 
 And intricate bright tangle of the stars — 
 
 Until each soul recoils into itself. 
 
 Amazed, confounded, shrinking with a sigh, — 
 
 Which sigh, interpreted aright, proclaims 
 
 ''How great, eternal, boundless and sublime! 
 
 And we, how frail and insignificant ! — 
 
 The merest dust upon the wings of time. 
 
 Which a rude breath, or the destroyer's finger, 
 
 Dislodges, and we pass and know not where !'' 
 
 Oh, man, in thy most proud and pompous hour — 
 
 Or in the feast among the costly bowls — 
 
200 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Or throned upon ambition's dizzy top, 
 
 Where slaves, unto your slightest bidding, lly 
 
 As leaves before a gust — go boldly forth, 
 
 And look upon the silence of the stars ; 
 
 And though your frame be armoured up in gold, 
 
 Your great soul mailed in pride, their quiet light 
 
 Shall dwindle you to nothing where you stand; 
 
 Your arrogant spirit be a point so small. 
 
 That you shall tremble lest that God's own eye 
 
 Shall not discern you, fluttering in the dust, 
 
 And leave you there, eternally forgot ! 
 
 But where two souls are, and, with love between, 
 
 Xot self-reliant all; but each on each 
 
 Leaning reciprocal, and both on God; 
 
 Not long the gloom of the primeval wood. 
 
 Or the profounder melancholy shade 
 
 Pervading space, can overveil their hearts : 
 
 For so divine a sentiment is theirs, 
 
 The soul dilates where others only shrink. 
 
 And, as with angels' eyes, sees all things through 
 
 The mellow, purple light of Paradise, 
 
 Makinp^ a dawn where others feel the dark. 
 
BOOK THIRTIETH. 
 
 Behold the morn! and now begins the toil. 
 The first loud axe alarms the forest's shade ; 
 And there the first tree falls, and falling wide, 
 With spreading arms that tear their downward way- 
 Strips the adjacent branches ; the loud crash 
 Thunders to Heaven, and the astonished sun 
 Looks down the murderous gap. Thus, ever thus, 
 In the community of men, a wrong 
 To one deals injury to many more. 
 Hark, how the roar runs echoing through the woods, 
 And every oldest oak and sycamore 
 Thrills with prophetic feeling of its fall. 
 
 Now marks each labourer his future home ; 
 And wheresoe'er a spring gives out its rill. 
 There grows the first rude temporary hut — 
 Named, in the language of the pioneer, 
 
 (201) 
 
202 T II E N E W P A S T R A L . 
 
 ''The half-faced camp'' — of hurried saplings built, 
 
 And bound by withes of vines, and roofed with bark. 
 
 In open air the steaming cauldrons swing, 
 
 While the blue smoke sweeps up among the limbs, 
 
 Tangled, impeded; where, far over all, 
 
 The forest eagle, circling, sails amazed. 
 
 Some on the prairie stake their future hearths. 
 
 Crossing the river at its nearest ford ; — 
 
 There, where the crystal o'er the pebbles slides. 
 
 Leaving the imprint of the earliest wheels 
 
 Which ever pressed these cool, delicious sands. 
 
 Days come and go: at every break of dawn — 
 
 While yet the gibbous moon, above the west. 
 
 Hangs like a ghostly fragment of white cloud — 
 
 The youths are forth to find the forest game ; 
 
 And oft the prairie to the woodland gives 
 
 The rifle's shrill alarm ; and many a morn. 
 
 Ere the red sun hath climbed his first slant hour. 
 
 The dun deer from the bended shoulder falls. 
 
 Prone, at the cabin door. Still sounds the axe. 
 
 For many weeks the heavy forests fall. 
 
 And, falling, groan aloud, and, groaning, die ; 
 
 And, dying, yield their vernal souls in smoke. 
 
 And sink in crumbled ashes to the ground. 
 
 Which the rough plow, among the jagged roots 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 2a3 
 
 Oft stalled, with difficult progress turns beneath 
 
 The black and antique mould. And now behold 
 
 The various crops are sown, and in the soil 
 
 Await the genial rain and summer sun, 
 
 To swell the primal harvest of the land. 
 
 This done, the pioneer may breathe a day ; 
 
 And, looking round him, choose a jfitter spot 
 
 To rear his home and plant his cabin ground. 
 
 Then follows trimming of the fallen logs ; 
 
 The hewing, and the rolling into place. 
 
 Occasion oft of many a festive scene, 
 
 When come the neighbours, each with axe or team, 
 
 Accomplishing, by well concerted strength. 
 
 In one short day a heavy season's task. 
 
 Behold, even now, upon the gentle slope, 
 
 And near this spring which, from its rocky urn. 
 
 Pours down a runnel through a bed of moss. 
 
 The wooden dwelling must be reared to-day. 
 
 And Baldwin points the spot. With axe, and adze. 
 
 And sledge, and iron bar, and voices glad. 
 
 The labourers come, and make the toil a play. 
 
 Some place the trunks, while others notch, and hew. 
 
 And fit the ends, until, with log on log. 
 
 The walls ascend — at either corner manned — 
 
 Until, at last, against the evening sky 
 
20i Till: NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 They stand complete, and/ in the golden sun, 
 The mounted toilers glow like sentinels 
 Upon a tower of old ; and now the eve, 
 With mirth and music filled, concludes the scene. 
 Thus, while the crops are springing, spring the homes, 
 And ruder garners for the winter store. 
 Till lo, a village smiles along the stream ; 
 And all the air, with odours of the wood 
 Fresh-hewn, o'erfloods the place with redolence, 
 Sweeter than winds from the magnolian isles. 
 Gratefully to the ear the various sounds 
 Of pastoral life discourse : the lowing kine. 
 The neighing steeds, and early-crowing cocks — 
 Which, like clear silver bells, awake the dawn — 
 The only bells which mark the forest hours. 
 Till, hark ! the smith's half-sheltered anvil rings, 
 And the light sparkles star the morning dusk. 
 And there the wheehmght rolls his first stout wheel 
 To take the burning tires ; while at the stream, 
 Where toiled the beaver, lo, the breastwork grows, 
 And whistling builders labour mid their logs. 
 Here, in the pleasant sunny afternoons. 
 Old Master Ethan takes his little flock ; 
 And in the shade of one great forest tree, 
 Left to embower the parson's summer door, 
 
THE NEAV PASTORAL. 205 
 
 On new-fallen timber seats them round, and there 
 Sets up the moderate by-laws of his school. 
 And the low murmur of the urchins' lips 
 Floats on the air, commingling with the sound 
 Of whispering leaves that flicker overhead ; 
 And, when the task is done, with rod and line 
 He strolls the woods along the sunset stream. 
 Ere many weeks go by, still other trains, 
 Fresh-breathing of the East, arrive, and fright 
 The farther forest with the flashing axe. 
 There, foremost in the crowd to welcome them, 
 Pale Amy stands, mth disappointed gaze, 
 And sadly questions every newest comer. 
 If he has seen or heard, upon the road, 
 Aught of a youthful wagoner or horseman, 
 Hailing from Hazelmead, and bound this way. 
 And oft the shaken head, or careless ^'No,'' 
 Strikes through her eye or ear, until her heart 
 Tolls in her bosom like a bell of death. 
 Lo ! once again, upon that starlit rock, 
 Where there shall come no smiling moon to-night ; 
 For she is gone beyond her wonted veil. 
 Gone to her monthly cloister of deep shade, 
 To clear her brow, in silent penitence. 
 Of painful memories of nightly ills 
 
 18 
 
206 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Which she beheld on earth. — Lo, once again, 
 
 And e'en the stars seem shrinking in the blue ; 
 
 And o'er the prairie's unreflecting waves 
 
 The black south-west exalts its stormy wings, 
 
 And the hot light, fanned from those gusty vans. 
 
 Darts up the sky in sudden, transient dawns ; 
 
 While o'er the stream, and o'er the sultry grass, 
 
 The myriad fire-flies mimic the far cloud. — 
 
 Lo, once again ; but not the tranquil scene, 
 
 Y/here love led fancy in a wildered maze, 
 
 Through constellated gardens in the blue ; 
 
 But holier, if holier can be. 
 
 Step lightly ; for 'tis God's deep, chastening sorrow 
 
 Usurps the hour, and fills its solemn task. 
 
 Two forms are there ; and one, with posture prone, 
 
 Hides her sad face upon the other's lap. 
 
 ''I wait, and wait, and yet he will not come; 
 
 My mother chides me for my fruitless grief; 
 
 My father frowns upon me at his board ; 
 
 Oh, better I had died before I loved ! 
 
 Oh, better I had floated with the stream. 
 
 Floated, and drowned among the muddy drift!" 
 
 AVhereat the other clasps her in her arms. 
 
 And, speaking, smooths aside her tear-wet hair : 
 
 '^We have been friends from childhood's early time, 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 207 
 
 When we went tottering truants to the field, 
 And lost ourselves among the harvest grass ; 
 And we were friends together in the school, 
 Walking the path, at morn and eve, with hands 
 Locked each in each ; and we were doubly friends. 
 When first we interchanged, in whispers low, 
 The secrets of our loves. And when misfortune 
 Falls, like a tree beneath whose shade we built, 
 JS^ot dreaming of the storm, shall we not be. 
 As now we are, with triple friendship bound ? 
 Look up, dear friend, and kiss me for reply. 
 E'en though an unkind father closed his door, 
 Another stands, inviting, open wide ; 
 And when my Amy hath nowhere to rest, 
 Olivia shall be homeless. Cheer, take cheer ! 
 The dreadful sea you shuddered to behold, 
 Is but a troubled verdure, like the prairie, 
 Which, from the distance, looks an ocean wide. 
 But nearer seen becomes a flowery pasture. 
 And look ! the cloud, which threatened from afar. 
 Sails, like a ship, around the verge remote. 
 And leaves us undismayed !'' 
 
i 
 
 BOOK THIRTY-FIRST. 
 
 Onward still, 
 The giant moyement goes with rapid pace, 
 And civilization spreads its arms abroad ; 
 While the cleared forest-lands look gladly up, 
 And nod their harvest plumes. The summer speeds ; 
 And many a whispering field of wheat and rye 
 Gleams, like a yellow sunshine, in the woods. 
 The grain, deep-standing, half conceals below 
 The primal roughness, where the reaper yet 
 Must take his difficult way; and there the maize, 
 With stalwart growth, as native to the soil. 
 Waves its tall martial tops, and gaily wears 
 Its tassel of soft silk. A few more days — 
 jBehold the toilers lay their sickles by. 
 And all the sheaves are bound. Oh, happy time I 
 What season of the year so bright as this ? 
 
 (208) 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 20! 
 
 The labour done, the sultry crops are in, 
 
 And BOW they celebrate with harvest rites ; 
 
 As in the dear and distant vales and years, 
 
 In shadowy ages of the Pagan past, 
 
 The ''harvest home'^ was scene of sacrifice: 
 
 There the fat swine poured its red life away 
 
 Upon the altar stone ; and, at the shrine 
 
 Sacred to Sylva, flowed the dairy flood. 
 
 To-day a kindred sacrifice is made ; 
 
 But, with improved sense, the modern dame 
 
 Gives from her oven the well-garnished meat. 
 
 With crisped rind, and savoury with green ; 
 
 And in great jars, fresh-dripping, icy-cool. 
 
 Cooled in the crystal at the shady spring. 
 
 The snow-white fluid gleams; where, not less white. 
 
 Is spread the crimped cloth beneath the trees, 
 
 O'er which the flecks of sun, on golden wings, 
 
 Flutter mid phantom leaves. The sports begin, — 
 
 The various games which please the rural mind. 
 
 And knit the manly frame. Some throw the ball ; 
 
 From hand to hand the little messenger. 
 
 Swift as a meteor, flies. Beside the stream. 
 
 On plushy beds of greenest moss and grass, 
 
 The wrestlers ply the old Olympian game ; 
 
 Struggling in friendly war, as struggled once — 
 
 18* 
 
210 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 So sings Jove's laureate — the heroes two, 
 
 Ajax and Ulysses, when Achilles 
 
 Bade the great game begin and end, and gave 
 
 To both, so equally they strove, the mead 
 
 Of well-earned victory. Through sun and shade. 
 
 Some in the foot-race emulate the deer; 
 
 Or, like the wild buck startled from his lair. 
 
 Leap the incredible space. While others bend 
 
 And lift the monster weight which, heaved beyond, 
 
 Deep dents the soil, and shakes the adjacent ground. 
 
 But, yonder, mark the- sport which pleases most. 
 
 And most to be approved. Whirling in air. 
 
 The swift quoit cleaves its long and graceful arch. 
 
 And strikes, half-buried in the soil, aslant. 
 
 Beside the well-marked spot; on which a second. 
 
 With equal aim, oft clangs with fiery glance. 
 
 Flying aside mid shouts of those who win ; 
 
 Or, with still nicer judgment sent, descends. 
 
 And crowns the difficult meg. Behold yon form 
 
 The moment when the balanced ring is sped — 
 
 The foot advanced — the expanded chest — the arm. 
 
 An instant stretched with open hand — the eye 
 
 Following the iron flight, e'en as an archer's 
 
 Chases his winged shaft ! ]^o nobler shape. 
 
 Or freer movement of the form divine. 
 
 May charm the artistic sight ! So stands to-day 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 211 
 
 The sculptured Greek in Rome : as if great Jove, 
 
 Thrilling wdth admiration at the scene, 
 
 Had turned the man to marble when he threw. 
 
 And made the act immortal, that, henceforth, 
 
 The Parian shape should nobly teach the world 
 
 The manliest classic game. Par through the woods 
 
 Ramble fair bands of happy youths and maids ; 
 
 And noisy children, curious in their search, 
 
 Proclaim the novel wonders where they go. 
 
 There blooms some unknown flower ; and there hangs, 
 
 To ripen in the autumn frost, the wild 
 
 Banana of the North ; and, lowly, there 
 
 The golden mandrakes, odorous, profuse, 
 
 Drag down their yellow stalks. Between the trees, 
 
 As through an antique colonnade o'ergrown 
 
 With moss and creeping vines, the lovers walk. 
 
 Musing, delighted, on the marvellous wild. 
 
 Here, gaze in wonder on the monster path 
 
 Where strode the great tornado, summers past, 
 
 Overturning trees whose giant roots in air 
 
 Rose, like a barricade, behind its flight. 
 
 Or here, their light steps fright the astounded squirrel, 
 
 Which flies the prone logs to its native tree. 
 
 Behold these pillared trunks, which, ere they prop 
 
 Their rafter limbs, and cornice of deep green, 
 
 O'ertop the tallest oak in cultured fields; 
 
212 T II E N E W P A S T R A L . 
 
 Here Europe's groves might grow, and wave beneath, 
 Nor graze their plumes against the lowest branch : 
 Here hangs, as if from Heaven, the antique vine, 
 Or clasps the trunk with anacondian coils ! 
 And where the younger festoon, like a rope 
 Drooping between two mast heads to the deck, 
 Sways in the wind, inviting to the young. 
 The woodland people, in their boisterous mirth. 
 Usurp the swing, and sweep the shadowy air. 
 Ye who condemn the red man's tameless life. 
 Go forth into the primal forest depth, 
 And feel the freedom which pervades its shade ; 
 There taste the fruit upon uncultured stalks, 
 And slake your thirst at fountains, sunless, cool; 
 There note the game your every step shall start, 
 And you shall find, in your own Christian breast, 
 A savage spirit, pleading to remain. 
 Claiming its ancient patrimonial right. 
 
 But hark, upon the breath of afternoon, 
 A sound is floating, and all stand to hear ; 
 And e'en the birds sit listening in amaze ; 
 In delicate notes, alternate heard and lost, 
 Breathed from the rosined cordage of the viol 
 It flows from out the clearing, and, at once, 
 All guess the call, and hasten to the scene, 
 Where dance and mirth fill up the fading hours. 
 
BOOK THIRTY-SECOND. 
 
 Of all the lovely seasons of the year, 
 
 None is so full of majesty as this, 
 
 When red October, like a king of old — 
 
 As wise as rich, and generous as wise — 
 
 Smiles on the untaxed garners of the land. 
 
 The fields lie cleared and brown ; and all the woods 
 
 Gleam with a mellow splendour, where the gold 
 
 Yies with the purple and the crimson glory,— 
 
 The sunset of the year. Whence soon shall follow 
 
 The gusty twilight of ISTovember days ; 
 
 Then the dull, rainy eve, till Winter conies, 
 
 Like a white moonlight night, and shuts the scene 
 
 With his pervading snow. The prairie grass 
 
 Sways, seethes, and dryly rustles in the air — 
 
 A harvest sound, where only fire shall reap ; 
 
 And over all an azure mist is spread, 
 
 (213) 
 
214 THE N E W P A S T R A L . 
 
 Silent and dreamy, Avliere the autumn sun 
 
 Kolls flushed and large ; and, through the smoky sky, 
 
 The airy eagle, like a pirate bark, 
 
 Sails, tacks, and veers, and looks abroad for prey. 
 
 Now that the heavier tasks are done, the woods 
 Ring and re-echo, and the cabin walls 
 Are coated o'er with furry skins, to dry; 
 While oft the eve, beside the blazing fire. 
 Beholds the moulding of the murderous balls. 
 But, now, what means this early morning stir. 
 This general voice, and merriment abroad ? 
 On restive steeds the assembled hunters mount; 
 The powder-oxhorn at each girdle hangs. 
 Swung like the forest-bugle worn of old. 
 Then weighs the laden pouch ; and, in the belt, 
 The smaller fire-arms slant ; while, in the hand. 
 The polished rifle gleams, and coils of rope 
 Hang at the saddle-bow, — a lasso rude. 
 And lo ! the cavalcade across the stream 
 Dashes, v»ith shouts, toward the prairie lands ! 
 O'er the far plains, in dim and dusky lines, 
 Moving like wave on wave, their sight discerns. 
 Or fancies it discerns, the bison herd 
 Which roams the vernal sea ; and, like a crew 
 That notes on the horizon, vague, remote, 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 215 
 
 Their giant prej, which spouts the brine in air, 
 And from the vessel drops, in venturous boats, 
 Striking abroad upon the billowy deep — 
 The pioneers sweep up against the wind. 
 Spreading as they approach, to circumvent, 
 That each may choose his victim from the flock, 
 And, as he passes, send the bolt of death. 
 Thus speed they on, with weapons grasped secure ; 
 And near and near — more cautious as they near — 
 Widening the snary crescent of their line — 
 Till lo ! the bearded patriarch of the herd 
 Exalts his front, and gives the quick alarm ! 
 A sea of heads and horns is in the air ; 
 And, swift as yesty waves before the gale. 
 Sweeps the full tribe, with their innumerous hoofs 
 Making continuous shudder in the ground. 
 Loud and tremendous, as when through the cane 
 Roars the tornado ! 'Now the chase begins ; 
 And, presently, the vollied rifles ring. 
 While here and there the dying monster drops ; 
 Or, wounded, leaves behind the sanguine trail. 
 Till, fainter and more faint, he staggers, sinks. 
 While his pursuer tracks his flying mate. 
 Or see yon giant, where he stands at bay, — 
 The flashing eye-balls and the foaming mouth, — 
 
216 THENEWPASTORAL. 
 
 The foam half crimson! From his fated side 
 The red stream pours, and still he bravely fronts 
 The assailing hunter, thrusting left and right, 
 And oft the wary charger, with his rider, 
 Darts from the plunging horns ; and, as he fights, 
 He feels the numbing pain within his breast, 
 The leaden foe his fury cannot reach! 
 Still he resists; and slowly fails and fails — 
 His eyes grow filmy, and his sight is dim — 
 Sullen, from side to side, the great bulk sways — 
 The wide plain reels around him, and he falls. 
 And lifeless lies the hero of the herd ! 
 
 What though the muse attempt the murderous 
 scene, 
 Her spirit finds small pleasure in the song. 
 And shrinks before the vision she has drawn ; 
 The sounds grate harshly, and seem out of tune. 
 Jarring against each other. Kather far 
 Her eye adventurous sweeps the distant hill, 
 And follows Arthur, where, with glittering hoofs, 
 His charger o'er the billows of the plain 
 Mounts and descends, to take the prairie-steed 
 Grazing among its fellows. The wild group, 
 With nostrils wide, soon note the scented air; 
 And o'er the ridge the unshod coursers speed. 
 
TUE NEW PASTORAL. '211 
 
 Giving their streaming manes unto the wind, 
 
 Like that mad team which charioted the sun, 
 
 Flying afar, eccentric, unrestrained, 
 
 With Phaeton behind. In hot pursuit 
 
 The guided charger sweeps, and, taking oft 
 
 A shorter course direct, still intercepts; 
 
 And, straining every muscle, nears and nears. 
 
 Until the fatal cord is sped, and falls. 
 
 And the wild creature feels the tightening snare, 
 
 And yields at last unto the lariat curb ; 
 
 Then, led in triumph to its captor's friends. 
 
 Stands with wide eyes of wonder. When the sun 
 
 Pitches his blazing camp along the west. 
 
 Following their lengthening shadows, stretching home. 
 
 The laden hunters ride; and in the dusk 
 
 Behold their fire-lit windows, like the stars. 
 
 Smile in the darkening east. The plain is past \ 
 
 Their doors receive them ; and throughout the eve, 
 
 Beside the autumn fire, sit gray-haired men. 
 
 And maids, and matrons, and the wondering young, 
 
 Listening the marvellous history of the day. 
 
 Where oft the shadowy people on the wall 
 
 Leap up, and clap their visionary hands. 
 
 Again the pictured bison toss away. 
 
 Shouldering o'er tangled grass — again the chase — 
 
 19 
 
218 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Again the bleeding giant fights and dies. 
 Musing and marvelling Master Ethan sits, 
 While on his chair Olivia leans, and hears 
 The glowing language which her lover breathes; 
 And when again the lariat takes the steed, 
 And the wild creature struggles with the noose, 
 Her wonder half to chastening pity melts. 
 So great the pleasure of the eventful time, 
 Each sighs to think of those, left far behind. 
 Who dream beside their tame ancestral hearths, 
 Dozing monotonous lives away, and longs 
 To pour into their ears the exciting theme, 
 And woo them to the West. Here, drawn apart, 
 Pale Amy listens, mourning in her soul. 
 Thinking of one who also, 'mong th^ rest. 
 Might have repeated to her charmed ear 
 The wild exploit ; and, mid the smiles of all. 
 Returned the long-praised hero of the chase. 
 But hark, the song awakes the shadowy eve : 
 
 '^Form the ring, and pile the fire; 
 Swell the chorus, like a choir. 
 While the minstrel wakes his lyre. 
 Bound with garlands never sere. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 2031 
 
 And, like holy stars arisen 
 From their orient blue prison, 
 Joy shall mount, and Peace shall listen, 
 While the social hearth shall glisten, 
 On the newly-found frontier. 
 
 Let no dull regret remind us 
 
 Of the homes which lie behind us, 
 
 Or the tear of memory blind us 
 
 To the world of beauty here : 
 Let the past retain its pleasure. 
 While the present, without measure. 
 Opes the promised land of treasure, 
 Where wide Freedom's dome of azure 
 
 Overbinds the far frontier. 
 
 Soon the forest, like the bison, 
 
 Shall enrich the land it dies on. 
 
 And the ground, its shade now lies on, 
 
 Smile in harvests broad and clear. 
 Then the gloom these lands inherit, 
 Like a shadow from the spirit 
 When the world rewards its merit, 
 Shall depart — the sun shall scare it — 
 
 From the bountiful frontier. 
 
220 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Then, alone, witliin the furrow, 
 Or in woodland alleys narrow, 
 Shall some flint-head of the arrow 
 
 S}3eak of tribes long sped from here ; 
 Or the children, while they're playing, 
 Find the stone-axe in their straying. 
 Or the lone wigwam decaying — 
 The last fading signs betraying 
 
 Who once ruled the dark frontier. 
 
 Round our barks yon stream shall ripple, 
 On our banks rise church and steeple, 
 Where the bell to busy people 
 
 Shall ring, hourly, silver-clear. 
 And the eagle, sailing airy, 
 With his downward glances wary, 
 Shall behold the swdft scene vary 
 Over forest, stream and prairie. 
 
 Wondering at the changed frontier. 
 
 And his wings shall mount, affrighted, 
 O'er the scene so strangely lighted. 
 And to western wilds, benighted, 
 
 Take his marvelling career; 
 Yet, before his flight he urges, 
 From the clearing's noisy verges, 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 221 
 
 He shall see the silvery surges 
 On the mill-wheel, hear the forges 
 
 Which shall wake the far frontier. 
 
 And mid scenes of peaceful culture, 
 Shall the dove succeed the vulture, 
 E'er the pioneer's sepulture 
 
 Tolls the bell or starts the tear. 
 And our State from its probation, 
 Soon shall take its glorious station 
 In the union of the nation. 
 And the coming generation 
 
 Westward seek a new frontier." 
 
 The song is done. Lo, through the casement seen, 
 A marvellous light along the southern sky 
 Flames with an angry hue — as in the east. 
 Oft, o'er the full and yet unrisen moon, 
 The strange light blots through veils of evening-mist — 
 While, like an eagle's shadow, o'er the plain 
 The frequent deer flies north. The hungry wolf 
 Forgets his prey, and prowls into the woods ; 
 The frighted steed, with many an unknown shape, 
 Sweeps past beneath the stars — as when at sea 
 The speeding tribes proclaim the foe behind. 
 
 19* 
 
222 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 And still the great light, on the prairie's verge, 
 
 Springs like the boreal glow in winter seen, — 
 
 A spectral, melancholy dawn : as if 
 
 The south would fling the north its splendours back; 
 
 Or earth, like some great vessel sideward thrown, 
 
 Had far careened, and from the tropics brought 
 
 The red, unnatural morn. And, thicker still. 
 
 Pour on the heterogeneous herds. And now 
 
 A roar sweeps wide upon the sultry air — 
 
 As when the wind, wet with Niagara's mist. 
 
 Bears the perpetual thunder leagues away- — 
 
 It nears and nears. ^'The prairie is on fire!" 
 
 And the announcement flies from door to door. 
 
 Swift as from tent to tent a call to arms. 
 
 When down the distance pours the assailing foe — 
 
 ^'The prairie is on firel'' And on the wind 
 
 The red tornado spreads its blighting wings — 
 
 Fearful and splendid in magnificent rage — 
 
 Chasing the frantic dwellers of the plain, 
 
 Flying in reckless terror. Such the scene- — 
 
 Abhorrent, awful, wonderful, sublime — 
 
 Which passed o'er Milton's inward sight, what time 
 
 He saw the infernal lake, when from the fire 
 
 The shadowy demons, to their master's call. 
 
 Sped in a cloud confused. Around the homes, 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 223 
 
 Pitched on the prairie's side, fear rules the scene; 
 And consternation throbs in every breast, 
 And stupifies the needed ready mind ; 
 Till one, with cooler presence than the rest, 
 Grasps the great blazing brand, and wildly flies, 
 And streaks the grass with flame. The powdery mass 
 Flashes and roars ; and, with its mane of fire. 
 Drives left and right; and, flickering to the skies, 
 Darts o'er the plain to west, and north, and south ; 
 And, with the other merging, leaves the space 
 Where stand the anxious pioneers agaze. 
 While many a prayer of thankfulness ascends. 
 
BOOK THIRTY-THIRD. 
 
 The skies are clouded, and the sad winds sweep, 
 
 Wailing along the forest, like a bard 
 
 Pouring a requiem upon his harp. 
 
 All sights and sounds are dreary; and the pipe, 
 
 So long attuned to pleasurable exploits, . 
 
 Breathes like a widowed night-bird unconsoled. 
 
 A melancholy wide pervades the air 
 
 Whence falls the shadow? what invisible hand 
 
 Spreads the dusk veil? Is it that autumn drops 
 
 Her chilly mantle, like a funeral weed, 
 
 Ti'ailing and rustling on the gusty wind ? 
 
 Or some presentiment of ill to come. 
 
 Half comprehended, springs ? Is it that grief 
 
 Stands ever at the chair of revelling joy. 
 
 To fill with bitter the alternate cup, — 
 
 A medicine to temper the sweet draughts 
 
 (224) 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 22i 
 
 Which, else, would cloy and sicken ? Let it pour I 
 
 It is the great Physician who prescribes ! 
 
 Does disappointment lower ? or yawns the grave ? 
 
 iSTot even this should overcloud us so. 
 
 At all our portals death, impatient, stands ; 
 
 As oft, beside the door of one who feasts, 
 
 The watchful bailiff waits. Who may escape ? 
 
 We but prolong the banquet at the best; 
 
 And happy those who unbesotted rise, • 
 
 With vision clear, and go to their account. 
 
 O'er lands from which the driven savage flies, 
 A direful spirit lingers, as to avenge 
 The red man's wrongs, — to execute the curse 
 He breathed upon the landscape when he fled. 
 From lake and river, and low, sodden marsh. 
 The blighting phantom, on miasma's wings, 
 Rises, and sheds its night-brewed venom round; 
 And from its ghostly pinions widely fans 
 The alternate airs of dreadful fire and frost. 
 The incautious breast, inhaling unaware. 
 Now burns with heat, on winter's breath could quell; 
 Now shakes with cold, on furnace blast could reach : 
 Consuming now, as in a martyr's flame. 
 To shiver soon as in a cave of ice. 
 To grateful draughts now cling the fevered lips ; 
 
226 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Now, pinched and pnrple, drain the scakling bowl : 
 
 Such is the startling blight the autumn sees 
 
 Sweep o'er the frontier homes. Here shuddering forth, 
 
 Seeking the sun against his cabin wall, 
 
 With trembly knees, the labourer, late so strong, 
 
 JSTow crawls to thaw the current of his blood. 
 
 Or shivers in the blazing chimney-side ; 
 
 And there the matron droops. Crouched o'er the 
 
 hearth, 
 Baldwin, disheartened, gazes in the flame, 
 His sad soul aching with the internal cold. 
 Meanwhile, his good wife, struggling, unsubdued, 
 Holds, as with palsy-shaken arms, the child 
 Which, like an ember, burns upon her breast. 
 Olivia, only spared of all the house. 
 Glides, like an anxious angel, mid the group. 
 And fills her trebled duties all the day; 
 While frequent sunshine of her generous face 
 Gladdens the neighbouring doors. And Arthur oft. 
 Himself pursuing charitable paths. 
 Beholds her pass, and feels his love increase. 
 Nightly, by Amy's bed, her golden hair 
 Sheds a soft splendour; and her saint-like voice, 
 Low as the summer-music of a brook. 
 And mellow soul-light beaming from her eyes, 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 227 
 
 Half melt tlie ague from the sufferer's heart. 
 Here Master Ethan, ever on the alert, 
 Forgets himself, to go from couch to couch. 
 
 Now, to the fevered fancy, glowmg springs — 
 In all the brightness time and distance give, 
 When want and pain attend the exile's bed — 
 The charmed home, the dreamy-lighted vale. 
 The fire-side comforts, and the w^holesome air ; 
 Which once again to feel, and freely breathe. 
 Were panacea for the mind and frame 
 No subtle drug could match. Yet few there are, 
 In the heroic group, whose hearts, subdued. 
 Harbour the home-sick vision ; but resist. 
 With stubborn valour, as a forest-tree 
 Resists the assailing blast. Beside the stream. 
 Where the low chapel lifts its modest head. 
 Of fresh-hewn timbers built, the first small mound 
 Is shaped; and Baldwin's household mourns. From 
 
 there 
 The light of childhood passed ; from out their door 
 The shape, so morning-halo'd once, was borne, — 
 A little form of dull and sunless dust. 
 And now the rude inscription sanctifies 
 The enclosed spot, and to the future speaks: — 
 '^The first pale flower here consecrates the ground.'' 
 
228 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Here Christmas comes — how different from the 
 last ! 
 The little stockings, at rude wooden jambs, 
 Are hung again with undiminished faith ; 
 Each chest in secret turns its contents out, 
 And, ransacked oft, gives scantly to the time. 
 And meagre joy had crowned the prayed-for morn, 
 Had not Olivia's busy, generous hand 
 Oft plied the midnight needle, and, unseen, 
 Wrought curious shapes within the flowery tray; 
 While Arthur's dexterous knife, and ready taste. 
 Carved wooden forms of beautiful device. 
 The week, to happy childhood dear, departs. 
 Now sweeps the snow, and blows the boreal blast, 
 While winter, like a crabbed regent, rules 
 The young, obstreperous year. On many a night, 
 The wakeful household, shuddering with the wind — 
 Which searches every cranny, while the snow, 
 A powder fine, attends the inveterate gust— 
 Shall hear, dismayed, the direful panther's cry, 
 Startlingly human, and the adventurous wolf 
 Howling in fearful nearness ; and, in dreams, 
 Behold the ravage wrought in bleating sheds ! 
 And oft the pioneer shall start, alarmed, 
 And with the rifle steal into the dark 
 
THE NEW PASTOllAL. 229 
 
 To guard the midnight fold. Such are the scenes, 
 The hardships, and the perils which deter 
 Full many a spirit in its eastern home, 
 Long wishing to be gone. The trials these 
 Which only sternest natures well can meet. 
 The fight is hard, the battle long sustained, 
 Ere the wild forest yields, and the broad land 
 With unresistance wears the peaceful yoke. 
 Bid civilization send unto her verge 
 The frame of iron and the heart of oak, 
 With courage, will and sinew to subdue: 
 Let gentler natures court a gentler scene. 
 
 20 
 
BOOK THIRTY-FOURTH. 
 
 The season comes when, from her three-month's trance; 
 The Earth awakes : already her deep heart 
 Begins to stir, and send its life abroad. 
 On slopes, which lie adjacent to the sun, 
 The snows grow thin and vanish, and the air 
 Is scented with the odours of the mould ; 
 For there the Spring, with warm and delicate feet, 
 Fresh from her hidden caverns of perfume, 
 Walks in the noon to wake the early flowers. 
 Here the first bird begins the woodland's song ; 
 But in yon maple grove, where genial airs 
 Are earliest to blow, and last to leave, 
 A louder voice is heard. The augur there 
 Passes from tree to tree, and deals the wound 
 Whence flows the saccharine crystal into troughs, 
 Propt at the great trunks' feet ; while overhead 
 
 (230) 
 
T II K N E W PASTORAL. 231 
 
 The squirrel swings, and looks in wonder down. 
 
 And now begins the pleasurable toil 
 
 Which tends the sugar camp. The fire is built : 
 
 All day the smoke rolls through the antique boughs, 
 
 All night the blaze illumes the forest-depths! 
 
 And there the giant cauldron seethes and steams, 
 
 Until the simple alchemy bestows 
 
 The dusky syrup which, in cooling jars, 
 
 Transmutes, and gives the granulated mass ; 
 
 Or often, poured in shallow depths, contracts 
 
 To marble smoothness, waxen to the eye. 
 
 Hard to the tooth, delicious to the taste, 
 
 Dearer to childhood than a Christmas-toy. 
 
 It is the spring-time. Dowai yon woodland path 
 A lovely picture glides between the trees. 
 Taking its w^ay unto the chapel-door. 
 Gay garments, and soft fluttering robes of white, 
 Charm the calm sunshine, while the swelling hymn 
 The slow procession chants, ascends the air, 
 And, unimpeded, passes into heaven. 
 Behold the pastor leads the sacred way, 
 Then Arthur and Olivia. Look again ! 
 How beautiful the maiden's dow^ncast eyes. 
 With drooping lids that hold the happy tears ! 
 A hallowed dream-light floats o'er all her form; 
 
232 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 The snowy vesture rustles at her feet, 
 
 With pleasant music, as of whispering leaves. 
 
 Her golden hair, the veil but half-way hides. 
 
 Sparkles with April's choicest violets. 
 
 By loving fingers plucked from sunniest spots, 
 
 "While yet the morn was red. Her parents next, 
 
 Pale and disheartened with the trying year. 
 
 Follow, with Master Ethan at their side : 
 
 And not the memory of the long disease. 
 
 The want of comforts, and the weakening toil 
 
 Which their slow feet betray, can check the light 
 
 Of pleasure springing to their languid eyes. 
 
 And after these, upon her mother's arm. 
 
 Comes Amy, with weak trembling steps, her cheeks 
 
 Glowing, as fits the occasion ; but, alas ! 
 
 It is the fiery rose that fever gives. 
 
 Which, but a few hours hence, shall be consumed. 
 
 And leave the hue of ashes there instead ! 
 
 Then follows the whole glad community ; 
 
 And presently the sanctuary-door 
 
 Receives the line, and silence reigns without. 
 
 Here while we rest, in quiet musing held. 
 And gaze upon the empty cabin-homes — 
 vYhere one stands waiting, with warm glowing arms, 
 For those we shall no more behold as two, 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 233 
 
 But bound together in that golden bond 
 
 Which, to the trusting heart, scarce death can break — 
 
 Let contemplation view the future scene. 
 
 Afar the woods before the vision flies — 
 Swift as a shadow o'er the meadow grass 
 Chased by the sunshine — and a realm of farms 
 O'erspreads the country wide ; where many a spire 
 Springs in the valleys, and on distant hills, — 
 The watch-towers of the land. Here quiet herds 
 Shall crop the ample pasture, and on slopes 
 Doze through the summer noon. While every beast 
 Which prowls, a terror to the frontier fold, 
 Shall only live in some remembered tale. 
 Told by Tradition in the lighted hall. 
 When the red grate usurps the wooded hearth. 
 Here shall the city spread its noisy streets. 
 And groaning steamers chafe along the wharves ; 
 While hourly o'er the plain, with streaming plume. 
 Like a swift herald bringing news of peace, 
 The rattling train shall fly; and from the East — 
 E'en from the Atlantic to the new-found shores 
 Where far Pacific rolls, in storm or rest. 
 Washing his sands of gold — the arrowy track 
 Shall stretch its iron bond through all the land. 
 Then these interior plains shall be as they 
 
 20"^ 
 
234 T II E N E W P A S T Tv A L . 
 
 Which hear the ocean roar. And northern lakes 
 
 Shall bear then' produce, and return them wealth; 
 
 And Mississippi, father of the floods, 
 
 Perform their errands to the Mexic Gulf, 
 
 And send them back the tropic bales and fruits. 
 
 Then shall the generations musing here. 
 
 Dream of the troublous days before their time ; 
 
 And antiquaries point the very spot 
 
 Where rose the first rude cabin, and the space 
 
 Where stood the forest-chapel with its graves. 
 
 And where the earliest marriage rites were said. 
 
 Here, in the middle of the nation's arms. 
 
 Perchance the mightiest inland mart shall spring. 
 
 Here the great statesman from the ranks of toil 
 
 May rise, with judgment clear, as strong as wise ; 
 
 And, with a well-directed patriot-blow, 
 
 Reclinch the rivets in our union-bands, 
 
 Which tinkering knaves have striven to set ajar ! 
 
 Here shall, perchance, the mighty bard be born. 
 
 With voice to sweep and thrill the nation's heart. 
 
 Like his own hand upon the corded harp. 
 
 His songs shall be as precious girths of gold, 
 
 Reaching through all the quarters of the land, 
 
 Inlaid so deep within the country's weal, 
 
 That they shall hold when heavier bands shall fail, 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 235 
 
 Eaten by rust, or broke by traitor blows. 
 
 Heaven speed his coming ! he is needed now ! 
 
 He wisely spake who said, ''let me but sing 
 
 The songs, and let who will enact the laws.'^ 
 
 There are whose lips are touched with living fire : 
 
 In this great moment are they silent now ? 
 
 Lift up your foreheads, 0, ye glorious few. 
 
 Exalt your laurels in the gusty air! 
 
 And, like brave heralds on a windy hill. 
 
 Let your clear voices as a bugle ring ! 
 
 The wild time needs you. There are trembling hearts 
 
 To strengthen and assure ; and there are tongues. 
 
 Uttering they know not what, that should be drowned. 
 
 And babbling lips that should be filled with song. 
 
 Lest they breathe treason unaware. Who dares. 
 
 Like that bad angel which dismembered Heaven, 
 
 Stand forth, and, with ''disunion" on his lips. 
 
 Earn endless infamy ? None are so base. 
 
 Or if he lives — the world on land and sea 
 
 Hides many monsters — let his villain tongue. 
 
 In its proclaiming, struck with palsy, cleave — 
 
 Cleave to the roof, as with a ten years drought, 
 
 And rot to ashes in the traitor's throat I 
 
 And may his arm which lifts the severing sword, 
 
 Be lightning-shivered ere it gives the blow! 
 
236 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 And on his brow be branded these black words : 
 ^^ Behold the Iscariot of his native land!" 
 Then drive him forth in all his impotence — 
 The wide earth's exile — an abhorred show ! 
 thou, my country, may the future on 
 Thy shape majestic stand supreme as now, 
 And every stain which mars thy starry robe. 
 In the white sun of truth, be bleached away ! 
 Hold thy grand posture with unswerving mien. 
 Firm as a statue proud of its bright form. 
 Whose purity would daunt the vandal-hand 
 In fury raised to shatter! From thine eye 
 Let the clear light of freedom still dispread 
 The broad, unclouded, stationary noon ! 
 Still with thy right hand on the fasces lean, 
 And with the other point the living source 
 Whence all thy glory comes ; and where unseen. 
 But still all-seeing, the great patriot-souls. 
 Whose swords and wisdom left us thus enriched. 
 Look down and note how we fulfil our trust ! 
 Still hold beneath thy fixed and sandaPd foot 
 The broken sceptre and the tyrant's gyves ; 
 And let thy stature shine above the world, 
 A form of terror and of loveliness I ^ 
 
BOOK THIRTY-FIFTH. 
 
 Along yon rugged road which, like a stream, 
 Bursts through the shadowy forest to the west — 
 Where many a wain, like a deep-laden barge. 
 Sweeps with the current following the sun — 
 Behold to-day, with toilsome course reversed. 
 One lonesome team is heading to the east. 
 Crouched 'neath the cover, pale and sick at heart. 
 Like wounded sufferers from a camp of war, 
 The dwindled household of the pioneer 
 Pursues its homeward way. And when the wheel 
 Sinks, in the black mire stalled, 'tis Baldwin's arm, 
 'Now robbed of half its strength, impels it on. 
 And Master Ethan on the prairie-steed, 
 The gift of Arthur, slowly rides beside. 
 Too stern the battle for such souls as theirs. 
 At best, the forest is a stubborn foe, 
 
 (237) 
 
23S THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Debating every inch it gives ; but when 
 His pale ally from sudden ambush springs, 
 And deals from unseen hands the certain blow, 
 They must be stout, indeed, who still resist, 
 Preferring death to honourable retreat. 
 
 When the third eve upon their labouring way 
 Threatens impending darkness, and the fire 
 Lights up their lone and ill-provided camp. 
 Which the red sunset mocks along the sky. 
 And the tired horses crop the scanty grass ; — 
 Lo, to the wondering languor of their looks, 
 A dreary figure o'er the summit toils. 
 Approaching slowly; and the shadowy shape 
 Looms strangely dusk against the crimson west, 
 Startling in this lone place the sickly eyes 
 That watch the coming form. What may it be ? 
 The shape is human ; yet the clearings lie 
 So separated by long miles of woods. 
 To meet a lonely traveller in such place. 
 And at such hour, the coolest reason deems 
 The chance as rare; and fancy half believes 
 Yon nearing shade the nightly walking ghost 
 Of some poor pilgrim who, beside the road. 
 Sat down, wayworn, and laid its life-load by. 
 And still it nears, and still amazement springs. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 239 
 
 Its robes disordered and overspread with mire — 
 Its wild hair floating — and its wilder eyes 
 Fearless and staring — and the parted lips 
 Breathing no audible sound — make it, indeed, 
 A sight to send a shudder through the soul, 
 And start the brow's cold dew. But hark, a cry 
 Of recognition thrills the twilight air. 
 And Amy's arms are round the matron's neck. 
 Oh, love, thy thorns outnumber all thy flowers ; 
 And oft the frenzied eye-glance tells, as now. 
 How thy sharp, cheating garland wounds the brain ! 
 Thy clearest streams oft wind to gulfs of wo — 
 Thy morning clouds of beauty end in storm — 
 Thy sheltering myrtles call the lightning down — 
 Thy violet by-ways tend to fields of briers — 
 Thy dove oft proves a vulture — and, in short. 
 So deeply art thou leagued with old despair, 
 Who sittest ever on a throne of tombs. 
 Thy brightest path leads nearest to his realm. 
 
 The heavy weeks toil past. June rules the sky. 
 When now, in middle of the afternoon. 
 The great white sun impends above the west, 
 Flooding the valley with his dreamy light — 
 Where farm, and village, and star-glittering spires 
 Shine like the enchanted realm of peace — behold, 
 
240 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Oil yonder brow beyond the crossing roads, 
 The little wagon rises, and stands still. 
 The weary horses droop ; the harness hangs, 
 Along their lank sides, roughly and awry; 
 The careless rein drops, coiling, to the ground; 
 The dusty wain is loose and out of joint ; 
 The cover soiled and warped. A dreary sight! 
 And not less w^oful, in their way-worn garbs, 
 The melancholy group whose tearful eyes 
 Take in the landscape dearest to their hearts. 
 And while they gaze, their joy is half rebuked 
 With wonder why they left so fair a spot. 
 Yonder, within its little knot of trees. 
 The sacred homestead smiles; and, there, the fields 
 Which called them to the harvest; but, alas. 
 The stranger in their native doorway stands. 
 His scytnes along yon clover-pasture sweep. 
 And all the acres hold his waving crops. 
 The unknown mower wipes his reeking blade. 
 And, whistling, whets its sun-reflecting side ; 
 The pleasant odour steals along the breeze. 
 Sweet as from out the hay-fields of the past ; 
 The cow-boy, singing on the distant slope. 
 Turns home the tinkling herd. There springs the 
 smoke 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 241 
 
 From long-remembered heartlis. Some stranger smith 
 Awakes the ringing anvil ; and from far. 
 The giant hammer of the stream-worked forge 
 Throbs through the air its old familiar beat. 
 There gleams the chapel on its Sabbath-hill, 
 Where now some foreign pastor wakes the desk; 
 And in the lowland, by the winding stream, 
 Flashes the mill-wheel ; but who tends the mill ? 
 Here, by the highway, the elm-shaded school 
 Lulls the soft air with murmurs ; but within 
 What faithful master fills the sovereign chair ? 
 Such are the sights and such the thoughts that rise, 
 Till each heart throbs with mingled joy and pain. 
 Their feet, forgetful of long travel past. 
 Receive new impulse, and descend the road. 
 Taking fresh vigour; as if e'en the dust. 
 Which held their footprints in their younger years, 
 Gave back the lightness of those brighter days. 
 
 So great a draft the westward-going line 
 Made on the happy vale, to fill the gap. 
 From various sides, came in the stranger crowd 
 Usurping fields and hearths. The homeward few 
 Gaze wistfully to meet one well-known face. 
 As yet but unfamiliar, curious looks. 
 Greet their return until their little wain 
 
 21 
 
242 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Drags its slow course toward the wayside inn, 
 The centre of the vale ; when to their side, 
 With wondering eyes and questions on his lips, 
 One old-time friend, with many welcoming words 
 Assails the group, and guides it to his gate. 
 And there his good wife, with astonished tears, 
 Receives the way-worn pilgrims ; while, outside. 
 The rattling bars admit the ungeared team. 
 
BOOK THIRTY-SEVENTH. 
 
 The red sun sinks, and brings the noiseless eve : 
 Within the orchard, ere he drops to rest, 
 The robin pours his vesper hymn — his voice 
 Closes the chorus of the day ; while now, 
 Within the shadowy grove, the whip-poor-will 
 Takes up the song, and leads the nightly choir. 
 
 Through yonder lane one tall, frail figure moves — 
 Moves like a phantom, sighing where he goes — 
 While in the east the white moon, as in pity. 
 Watches his lingering steps. These are the fields 
 His once strong arm had cleared. In this same path — 
 Since when full half a century has flown — 
 He led his fair bride home. And these tall trees, 
 Whose high .leaves whisper in the upper air. 
 He bore as saplings in his arms, and set 
 The roots, now spread so broad and deep. And here 
 
 (243) 
 
2U T HE N E W P A S T 11 A L . 
 
 His happy children played. But now, alas, 
 
 His feet intrude upon another's grounds ; 
 
 And through yon garden, where the long-gone past 
 
 Oft heard his household singing mid the flowers. 
 
 The iron highway unrelenting cleaves — 
 
 Cleaves like an arrow through a heart forlorn — 
 
 Where soon the engine, with discordant wheels, 
 
 Shall scream and thunder by. He turns in pain. 
 
 And strides the new-mown fields — his fields no more — 
 
 And gains the little chapel. Its calm shape, 
 
 Unchanged, melts o'er his spirit like the smile 
 
 Of one whose tongue is ever tuned to peace ; 
 
 And down the little garden of low tombs. 
 
 He walks once more among his cherished friends, 
 
 Brushing the dewy roses where they sleep. 
 
 Here feels at home — here breathes a freer air — 
 
 And in his deep heart hears the welcome given 
 
 Which strengthens and consoles. Long by one grave 
 
 He leans with tranquil tears; and stands as one 
 
 Who waits beside a happy palace-gate, 
 
 Hearing his comrade's gliding feet within. 
 
 And hearkens for the warder's opening key. 
 
 The warder lingers, but the feast will last ; 
 
 And they who come to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
 
 Shall find the eternal banquet but begun. 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 245 
 
 With firmer steps the old man turns away — 
 
 Crosses the dewy pasture — threads the grove — 
 
 Till, at the woodland's edge, a sudden hand 
 
 Falls on his arm, and on his ear a voice 
 
 Familiar of the past : '^ This way, good friend, 
 
 For here is need of you !'' And to her door 
 
 The dame of Oakland guides the willing feet. 
 
 '^ Step lightly and speak low!'' and murmuring thus, 
 
 She leads across the time-worn sill. Her hand, 
 
 Palsied and shaking like a winter limb, 
 
 Points to the woful shape upon her couch. 
 
 ^'Behold, for thou art worthy to behold, 
 
 The frail form wrecked upon the reefs of wo !" 
 
 Whereat the other, sighing, deeply speaks : 
 
 ^^ Good dame, 'tis well the healing arts are yours. 
 
 You know what plants may medicine her ills." 
 
 To which the crone: — ^*I know that sweet herd well; 
 
 Already she hath drained the bowl, and sleeps. 
 
 Believe me, friend, I am not wont to weep — 
 
 I thought my springs of pity all were dry — 
 
 And yet to-night mine eyes have known strange tears ! 
 
 Speak low, she sleeps ! Poor fool, I warned her oft ! 
 
 Oh, double folly, thus to wander back. 
 
 To seek the thing which was not worth the finding ! 
 
 But piteous Heaven, oft kinder than it seems, 
 
 21* 
 
246 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Hath moved the wretch beyond her pure soul's reach. 
 A few days past, in some wild tavern brawl, 
 And 'mong companions fit, he made a boast — 
 The boast that only fools and liars make — 
 When scarce the words had passed his scoundrel lips, 
 One nobler than the rest, with sudden hand. 
 Dealt the red stroke that saved a maiden's honour! 
 The son proved worthy the bad-guiding sire. 
 Who, bloated like his swine, beside his still 
 Death slaughtered at a blow! — a hideous sight! 
 
 Poor child, she sleeps ! 'Tis but a half hour past 
 The hot delirium raged. A little while 
 She lay, and chided, with most piteous word. 
 The tardy lover; and, with broken sobs. 
 Told him the hardships of the lonely woods : 
 But even there, she said, were lovely spots. 
 And she had found them all — the rock, the glen, 
 And the deep sunless forest — charmed scenes. 
 Inviting all to love. Then, with a start, 
 And ghostly smile, like moonshine on her face, 
 She cried, ' Oh, mother, cease to chide ! he comes ! 
 I knew that he would come.' And darkly, then, 
 A sudden shadow passed across her brow; 
 And presently she whispered, ' Why so pale ? 
 Why stands he there with such despairing eyes ! 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 247 
 
 There's blood upon his forehead ! there's a wound 
 Which only I should bind ! Come, let me twine 
 This 'kerchief there ! Oh, look not thus ! smile once, 
 And I forgive !' Whereat she swooned, and slept 
 As she sleeps now !" '^ You mean the sleep of death !" 
 The old man cries, and starts unto the couch. 
 ^*What other sleep could soothe?" replies the dame; 
 ^'The slumber which we know is poor at best. 
 And full of night-mares! — but ^er dreams are past!" 
 And now the veteran takes the clay-cold hand. 
 Smoothes back the troubled tresses from her brow, 
 And sighs, '"tis well," and by the bedside prays. 
 When through the vale the melancholy news 
 Of their return is spread, the rural hearts — 
 For simple hearts lie openest to the touch — 
 Are waked to pity ; and the gathered group, 
 The leaders of the place, consult, devise. 
 And settle the benevolent plan. And now, 
 A little home, with moderate acres round. 
 Receives the worthy farmer and his plow, 
 Where soon his household smiles with health renewed 
 The frail old Master, whose undimmed repute 
 Through many years had widened miles abroad. 
 Accepts the well-urged offer ; and once more. 
 Content among the rosy girls and boys, 
 
248 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 Kesumes his morning and his evening walk. 
 
 His locks grow thinner, and his steps less firm, 
 
 JBut cheerily still he rules his small domain; 
 
 And e'en less frequent sounds his chiding voice, 
 
 While oft the unnoted fault goes by, and love 
 
 Out-rules the rusted rod. Behold, abroad 
 
 In summer-noon recess, what happier sight ! 
 
 The glowing children with their laughter loud 
 
 Startle the scented air ; and games begin. 
 
 Only to end what time the bell recalls. 
 
 How the glad foliage rustles overhead. 
 
 As if the angels hovered listening there, 
 
 Watching the innocent pastimes, likest that 
 
 In purity which cheers celestial groves ! 
 
 The hour goes by, and still the urchins play; — 
 
 Another hour, and still another flies. 
 
 Until they deem a holiday is given. 
 
 And peering oft where, leaning on his desk. 
 
 The Master holds his wonted rest, they turn 
 
 And look with wonder in each other's eyes. 
 
 And then renew their games ! Dear hearts, play on ; 
 
 Your laughter cannot break his slumber now! 
 
 His hand of dust shall no more wake the bell ; 
 
 A greater ruler hath dismissed the school ; 
 
 The weary Master takes recess in Heaven ! 
 
THE NEW PASTORAL. 249 
 
 The circling tlieme is clasped where it began ; 
 But, lingering still within this happy vale, 
 The bard reluctant stands. The pipe, attuned 
 To melancholy, yet prolongs the sound, 
 Like waves that murmur when the breeze is done. 
 Ye who have followed in the long-drawn path, 
 And borne with patient steps your pilgrim-stafifs, 
 Xor dropt aside, way-worn, — forgive the guide. 
 If oft, enamoured of the tune he played. 
 He vaguely wandered — like an April brook, 
 Blind and oblivious, on its singing way — 
 And led through tedious woods and briery fields ; 
 And, like brave travellers from a various tour, 
 Forget the toil — the dull, inclement days — 
 Recalling only landscapes bright with sun. 
 
 THE END. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 Page 26. 
 
 1 All week he tends within his noisy mill. 
 
 There are those who, perhaps, will be struck with the novelty 
 of a man devoting his Sabbaths to the pulpit, and his week- 
 days to an occupation which would seem to allow him but little 
 time for study and meditation; but if they knew our rural 
 districts better, they would probably call to mind many origi- 
 nals of the picture which I have attempted to draw. The 
 *' local preacher," I believe, not only receives no salary, but is 
 generally one of the first persons called upon in cases of 
 charity. It is with no intention to disparage the ministerial 
 profession that this character is drawn; on the contrary, no 
 one can hold in higher esteem than I do, that valorous army 
 of ill-rewarded men who nobly sacrifice all worldly considera- 
 tions for the amelioration of their fellows. 
 
 Page 59. 
 
 2 The king-bird hovers, darting on his prey, 
 And takes the ventured argosy of sweets. 
 
 Since this passage was written, the supposed fact has become 
 a disputed question. I shall be glad to find that I have done 
 this little marauder injustice. 
 
 (251) 
 
252 NOTES. 
 
 Page 116. 
 
 3 And much they talk 
 Of news which, lately, from the far-off "West, 
 Startled the calm community. 
 
 The time represented in this poem, was about the year 1832, 
 at which period, as many will remember, the " backwoods 
 fever" was especially prevalent. 
 
 Page 185. 
 
 4 Such was the realm of Boone, the pioneer, 
 Whose statue, in the eternal niche of Fame, 
 Leans on his gleaming rifle. 
 
 If it is not taking too much liberty, I would suggest that 
 Kentucky might also find a niche in her capitol for a statue of 
 the father of her state. It is a subject which her own sculp- 
 tor, Mr. Hart, would treat with propriety and enthusiasm. 
 
 Page 191. 
 
 5 Thou, who beneath thine own Catawba vine. 
 
 There is no man to whom the "West is more indebted than to 
 Mr. N. Longworth, of Cincinnati. And chief among the benefits 
 which he has conferred must be regarded the introduction of 
 the grape-culture. The country will yet acknowledge him to be 
 the most effectual apostle of Temperance : for it is a remark- 
 able fact, that the vineyard is the antagonist of the still-house, 
 and that in vine-growing countries the curse of alcohol s not 
 known. 
 
 Page 236. 
 
 6 And let thy stature shine above the world 
 A form of terror and of loveliness. 
 
 This passage was suggested by Powers' statue of *' America," 
 — one of the few works worthy to become the property of a 
 nation. 
 
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