LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ^6' 3 6// Chap. Copyright No. sheif-.i._^.i'3 S^ /S'99 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. ■■-.■^t:^- m 91 1 *Mii5 Hi HP il .-.^s oB m 1 rfi 1 IH x.4«| 1 Hi •'! y^ ^^/ i* 4--%' ! LB LU Q O Pi < O !^ «^ E-i in '} ^% #) ■o^ SUGAR MAPLE AND OTHER POEMS BY CHARLES SHELDON FRENCH, ILLUSTRATED. WITH A FACSIMILE LETTER JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. SECOND EDITION. HARTFORD, CONN.: C. Sheldon French, Publisher, 44 Woodbridge Street. Prkss OF THE IIAHTI-OIU) I'UINTING CdMl'ANY, (KI.IHU UEER's sons,) 16 State Street, Hartford, Conn., 1899. O 44259 Copj-right, 1892 and iSgg by Charles Sheldon French. The Berkshire Hills views are from photos by C. L. Mulette, Pittsfield, Mass. The views of " Mount Tom in Winter " and of the " Connecticut River from Mountain Park," are published by courtesy of the Holyoke Street Railway Company. TWO COPIES RECEIVED. •ecoNH COPY, POEMS. We Have Need of Olr Flag, For Peace, .... "For Humamtv's Sake," Witch Hazel, . . . , . Welcome to the Bell, . In HuMiLnv, .... The Farmers and Theu^ (iralx To Poetry, .... Oh Irelam>, Sweet Ireland!. Suoar Mai'le, .... On Mount Tom, Hymn eor Columbus Day, Lady's Tresses, Lines to a Centenarian, In the Piiii.iittnes, . From the Philiittne Point ok View, The Giant and the Riyer, Mount Tom and the Connecticut Riv On the Site of Trinity College, Hymn for Harvest Sunday, . French's Hill, .... The Tories' Cave, Lenox, Mass., The Wood Thrush, . To a Friend, .... Ashmere, Trust, Sunday Mokninc; in June, Lines in an Aliu m, . Page. 9 lO 13 17 iS 21 22 25 26 33 So 83 84 85 86 Sg 90 93 94 97 98 lOI 103 104 105 106 107 loS ILLUSTRATIONS. Connecticut State Capitol, Hartford, City Hall, Holyoke, Mass., .... United States Arsenal, Springfield, Mass., Putnam Statue, Bushnell Park, Hartford, Peru, In the Berkshire Hills, Massachuset Saint Joseph's Cathedral at Hartford, Facsimile Letter of John G. Whittier, Portrait of the Author, Sheldon Homestead, North Reading, Mass Sunset Cottage, Peru, Mass., Hale Statue, near Athen.eum, Hartford, Peru Church, Berkshire Hills, Mass., Ford Homestead, Peru, .... Connecticut River, above Holyoke, The Aery, Peru, The Fernery, Peru, .... Mount Tom in Winter, .... The Puritan; Chapin Memorial, Springfiei The Holyoke Dam, .... Trinity College, Hartford, . French's Hii.l, Peru, Mass., . Page. Frontispiece. ts. n, II I£ 19 23 29, 30 31 39 43 49 57 6i 67 71 77 81 87 91 95 99 "O'ER THE MART AND THE HALL." HOLYOKE CITY HALL. Photo by E. M. Bolton, Holyoke, Mass. WE HAVE NEED OF OUR FLAG, These hum lilt- lines are respectfull}- dedicated to Winfield Scott Schley, Rear Admiral U. vS. Navy, with regrets that the author cannot more worthily express his admiration for that gnllant defender of the flag than by this inscription. (These lines were suggested by the following incident. A certain New England town had no flag suitable for use on patriotic occasions, and when the gift of a flag was offered, objection was made that the money for its purchase had better be given toward repairing the old town hall.) Of what use i.s the ring- on the finger that tells Of a day, glad and bright, in the years that are fled, And which wakens anew all the sweet wedding-bells Whose mtisic shall last till life's journey is sped? Of what use in the sky is that beautiful bow Smiling brightly upon us from dark clouds of rain? At the sight of its man3'-hued archway we know That the promise of God is renewed once again. Of what use is our banner, the "red, white and blue," Which unfolds like a flower on the patriot's grave? A symbol it is of the good and the true Which the life-blood of thousands was poured out to save. On how many red fields, with that emblem in view, Have our brave soldiers fought for the blessings it holds! On how many a deck o'er the fathomless blue Have our sailors invincible bled 'neath its folds! We have need of our flag! Let it float ever^-where. O'er the mart and the hall, o'er the school and the home; Let it bathe its bright wing in the ambient air. And ma}^ God bless and shield it through ages to come! FOR PEACE. May all earth's arsenals yet be Changed to museums vast, Where wondering multitudes shall see War's murderous engines past. But till the angel Peace is sent The whole wide world around, God grant our nation's armament For right be ever found. 6h H W m D X u < M tfj < S ^ q" 1 hJ .S g V ■*^ fc to^ C5 12; ^' ^ »:; ^ 0. « M <1 J S < ^ ^; a ^ w Pi Xi <^ 1 m «i. H ^ < h ■SI r\ S h ^ t> ^^FOR HUMANITY'S SAKE/' For humanity's sake and the love of God, In the name of unnumbered slain, The starved and butchered on Cuba's sod, Drive out the hosts of vSpain! For humanity's sake let the ships be manned And the "flag of the free" unfurled, And let this great republic stand. If need be, against the world. For humanity's sake, although war is a curse. Leave the anvil and plow to-day; The starving of innocent babes is worse Than death in the bloody fray. For humanitj^'s sake! and what shall be said Of the sunken war-ship "]\Iaine," With her fourth of a thousand heroes dead Through the treachery of Spain. For humanity's sake! Our Master's Word Forever and aye is sure, "I came not to send peace but a sword;" No peace till the world is pure. For humanity's sake ; Could the statues speak, Our bronzes of Putnam and Hale, They would say, "Let the strong protect the weak; The right shall at last prevail." For humanity's sake, in its snug retreat In that simny, far-distant isle. Our Dewey demolished the Spanish fleet And the whole world watched the while. For humanity's sake Cervera's fleet On that famous morn in July Was whelmed with ruin, sudden, complete. By the ships of Sampson and Schley. 14 PUTNAM STATUE IN BUSHNELL PARK, HARTFORD. Photo by Nyser, Hartford. WITCH-HAZEL, (From a Boston and Albany car-window in December.) By Mrs. Sus.\n P. Fremch. What spirit of the solitude Has touched thy soul in loving- mood And set its joy-bells ringing-? Ere yet the alder sheds its gold, Or downy willows dare unfold, Thy fairy cups are swinging. 'Tis nought to smile in sunny days. When all around lie pleasant ways Like spreading beds of heather; I Avould that from thy secret heart Thou'dst teach that rare diviner's art, To bloom in adverse weather. Ring, wintry bells of green and gold, Till far across the wintry wold Like some knight errant drummer, Ye herald in the warm springtide And all its flood-gates open wide To usher in the summer! 17 WELCOME TO THE BELL. By Mrs. Susan P. French. This bell was given by the ladies of the Crane family, Dalton, foi- the new church on Peru Hill, Massachusetts, re- placing the one destroyed by fire. READ AT THE PRIVATE DEDICATION SERVICE, FEB. l6, 1896. Ring a glad peal this happy day; Proclaim both near and far, The glory of the Lord our God, Whose all earth's temples are. Ring out o'er every vale and hill, A song of glad accord. To welcome to the house of prayer, The ransomed of the Lord. Ring, ring the happy children in. As, with their songs of praise. They bring unto the Lord of Hosts The beauty of their days. Ring for our sires; those heroes brave With hearts so strong and free, Who first upon this hilltop built. For God and Liberty. < .2 Di o W m OJ hi o X H Ring', in a glad triumphant strain, Those spirits freed from clay, 'Tween whom and ns the veil's so thin, We almost see to-day The iniseen host come fioating- in To hear us while we pray. Toll out from every stricken home, Where we our treasures weep, This tender, pitying- refrain, "He gives his loved ones sleep." IN HUMILITY. Just as truly does the daisy Show the Father's forming hand As the tree which towers above it. Stately elm or maple grand. Just as truly may the lowly Show the gentle Saviour's grace As the saints whose pathways lead them To the most exalted place. THE FARMERS AND THEIR GRAIN. Two neig'hborino- farmers started At the dawn of an autumn day With their loads of grain for grinding' To the mill long miles away. To both 'twas a pleasant journey For the road to both was new, Till they reached a fork in the highway With no "guide-post" in view. And one said "'Turn to the left hand," And one said "Turn to the right!" Till the journey begun in friendship Had almost ended in fight. Then each took his lonely journey Led on by his own sweet will Till they caine, almost together, Where both roads met, at the mill. SAINT JOSEPH'S CATHEDRAL AT HARTFORD. Photo by Harney. And never a word was asked them By the miller old and gray Of the way they had journeyed, only "Do you bring" good grain to-day?" And the question will not be asked us When we reach our heavenly home If we came through the "Church of England, Or came through the "Church of Rome." TO POETRY. Thy rule is gentle, Poesy, And 3'et 'tis slavery still, And vainly struggling to be free And wrest my captive soul from thee, I wear thy fetters ill. I would thy silken cords unbind, I dream that I am free; Yet wake, my restless soul to find. With threefold stronger cords entwined, A captive still to thee. 25 OH IRELAND, SWEET IRELAND! DEDICATED, IJV I'ERMISSIOiV, TO REV. DANIEL F. CRONIN, OF HINSDALE, MASS. Oh Ireland, sweet Ireland! God bless the Emerald Isle! Where'er Hibernia's dwellings stand Bestow Thy loving" smile. Throughout the wide world everywhere Where Erin's children roam, From every heart ascends a prayer For our forefathers' home. God bless the land where Thomas Moore, His sweet home-ballads sang, And where from bog to sounding shore, O'Connell's speeches rang. Oh Father! From Thy bounteous hand The gifts most dear to man Pour out upon the goodly land Of Emmett and Grattan ! Oh Ireland, Sweet Ireland! God bless the Emerald Isle! Where'er Hibernia's dwellings stand Bestow Thy loving smile. 26 TO MY MOTHER, These htinible lines descriptive of happy farm-life in our old home, arc most affectionately dedicated -by- THE AUTHOR. -^^:^^M^I^. ^:./T.-^- 'c/^Lsl^ 28 /^U^^. ^^-^C-Pc^^X^jO^^ ^ 29 -^^>^^i^!^_l> tJ-e/f^-^ Danvers, Mass., loth Mo. 5, 1883. C. S. FRENCH, Peru, Mass., Dear Friend : I have read with pleasure the manuscript of "The Sugar Makers." If it is not artistically perfect, and if it gives evidence of a somewhat unaccustomed writer it has much metrical felicity and descriptive power; It has the flavor of the woods and hills ; it recalls the farm-life of New England with its happy mingling of thrift and amusement. Its theme has, I believe, never been sung before. If published I think it would find many gratified readers of its simple and home-taught idylic verse. Thy friend, John G. Whittier. NOTE. The title "The Sugar Makers," was later exchanged for the name of the tree "Sugar Maple," Acer sacchariniim, which is really the foundation of the poem. 30 CHARLES SHELDON FRENCH. SUGAR MAPLE. PART I. Our chamber-windows, looking" toward the east, To vision spread an ever-changing feast ; From thence we watched upon the distant blue The golden bud, each morning fresh and new, Which spread its petals, bright as glowing flame, In changing shapes and colors ne'er the same Till Night forsook her star-bespangled way And morn's sweet bud unfolded into day. What dreams were ours in that enchanted room ! Our spirits walked in Eden's early bloom; No beauty lay beyond our childish grasp, No prize too high for our young hands to clasp; Ours were the mines of California's gold And ours the Orient's riches all untold; Each emerald isle in ocean's lap that lay Released its wealth to fancy's powerful sway. On every side broad belts of sturdy trees Waved their defiance to the mountain breeze; All summer-clad the firs and spruces stood. Yet naked-limbed the beech and maple wood. 33 Down to the vale a narrow pathway led And there, beneath the shelter of a shed, In winter time the herd of stock we took And gave them water from the meadow brook. With joyful hands along the path we raise Bulwarks of snow; The knights of feudal days Were not more proud of their embattled towers Than we of those snow-fortresses of ours. Behind their walls snow-balls were piled in rows To hurl upon imaginary foes, And wooden swords, our boyish hands had hewn. Upon their floors in rude arra}^ were strewn. Along that path we oftentimes had sped And drawn our sister on the steel-shod sled; No Russian noble felt a keener pride, The empire's fairest princess at his side As 'mid the pines his rapid courser flew. Than we as thus our eentle charo-e we drew. One early morn our father's voice awoke Our far-off dreams, and thus to us he spoke; "My boys, arise! Beneath so warm a sun The maple juices will begin to run; A gleam of day upon the east appears, Make haste and yoke the speckled Hereford steers." 34 For many days our longing hearts had yearned For such good news, and now our spirits burned With sudden joy, we leaped forth from our beds. Our clothing donned, and reached the cattle-sheds. The lively steers, to labor all unbroke, Disdained to place their heads beneath the yoke. To fury roused the British lion stood And showed his valor in their noble blood. In vain to force obedience we tried And cruelly the stinging lash applied; Embodiments of fear and rage they stood, Rebellious servants, whipped but unsubdued. Our father came, and soon the frightened steers In milder treatment quite forgot their fears, Until at length his gentle means attained The end our violence had never gained. The calm-eyed oxen, gentle beasts and true. Were placed ahead the wild steers to subdue ; So trained were they their driver's voice to hear And learn his purposes with willing ear. That he alone behind the plow could stand And write his name in furrows on the land. For those dumb brutes a love we used to hold And oft the actions singular we told That they had done, which almost showed a mind And reasoning akin to humankind. 35 Diverse in nature, 'twas a study rare To watch the habits of that bovine pair. The fur of one was colored cherry red; His massive frame, with k)rdly neck and head. Refused no task ; his broad breast to the yoke He firmly pressed oft till the harness broke. His mate, gray-coated and of slender frame. Who afterward consumption's prey became. Shrank from the yoke as though he fain would ask Deliverance from the imequal ta.sk. To Red belonged a keen, observing eye. Lighted by fires of restless energy; Not such the gaze of his unruffled mate Whose every act was studied and sedate. But now upon expectant ears there fell The welcome music of the breakfast-bell. We hastened to the kitchen's clean domain, That fragrant spot beneath our mother's reign; In her strong charge the arsenal where lay The stores which kept the wolf of want away. And yet she told, it seems now like a dream, Of night-attacks upon the sweets and cream ; No foes without, the robbers could have been, And could it be that traitors dwelt within? We might have charged the spirits or their ilk. But why need they such bowls of bread and milk? And who'd suspect a disembodied soul Of such strange fondness for the sugar-bowl? Be that as't may, the rogues were dressed in white, And did their deeds unaided by a light. The wide-spread table, neatly clad in white, Asmoke with viands met our hungry sight; The healthful tubers, natives of Peru, Which oin- rich soil in great abundance grew, 'Neath pink-tinged skins the steaming Early Rose Their mines of mealy nutriment disclose. Our humble table could at least command The sweet-fleshed fish from banks of Newfoundland ; In fragments cooked in fresh, delicious cream. Such fare to us did food ambrosial seem. Lord! speed the day when every earthly home Shall own the source from whence its blessings come. When each home-circle everywhere shall raise To Thee the voice of grateful prayer and praise. Both young and old were seated 'round the board ; The strengthening drink of Java's Isle was poured For older lips, while younger ones partake Of fresh new milk their morning thirst to slake. While thus supplied, our busy mother bakes A lib'ral dish of lightest buckwheat cakes. Through summer time that snowy-blossomed field 37 Harvests of sweets to busy bees did yield. Was it that such a loss might be supplied That we the sugar-canes's rich juice applied? We promised oft, as that repast we ate, We'd soon partake of sweets more delicate. Our mother's youth was passed by Ipswich stream ; Still unforgot, she sees its waters gleam. Life's later storms could never quench the flame Which every day a brighter blaze became Of homeward love. The Gardener of mankind Knows where each plant in his vast charge to find, And when he sees, in some deep wooded bower, vSlender and pale, a rare and valued flower, The feeble plant to some wild hill he moves And seems to scourge what he most dearly loves. But chilly winds, that almost seem its death, Give to its leaves their vitalizing breath, And the hot rays of summer sunlight shed Bring back the colors that long since had fled. The rose that graced the vales of Middlesex Transplanted, now our Berkshire hills bedecks. Its petals glow with hues of deeper red, With livelier green its foliage is spread. The weary traveller, at close of day. Pursuing still his rugged toilsome way, 38 Has often breathed that delicate perfume And turned aside to view the scented bloom, While many a dweller on that mountain height Has daily drunk its fragrance with delight, And offered up, in gratitude, a prayer To Him whose loving kindness placed it there. No prize to us was richer meed of praise Than mother's stories of her early days; We seemed to pick the cranberries that grew On that broad marsh which Ipswich wanders through, Or go with her into the grove in search Of sheets of bark peeled from the snowy birch. And seated there within the leafy shade. With her in thought, the birch bark cups we made. Then went with her those home-made cups to fill, With huckleberries from the pastured hill. Oh, mother dear! beneath that eastern sky In peaceful sleep do both 3'our parents lie; And yet not sleep, for they have entered in To that blest state which knows not grief or sin. As they approach the glorious pearly gates What mighty One for their arrival waits? O'er that same path the feet divine have been; It is the Saviour bids the pilgrims in. 41 Have you not heard, in summer starlight clear, The sound of their familiar voices near! Do not their hands from out the glowing- west At eventide seem beckoning to rest? May our kind Father give you grace to bear With patient heart earth's weariness and care; May His kind hand, throughout life's closing day, vSmooth to your feet the rough and thorny way; And when, at last, His loving voice invites To rest and taste eternity's delights, May your last hours with peace and joy be bright As western skies in day's declining light! 42 PART SECOND. The frequent drifts of snow impede Our wood-ward journey slow; The patient oxen take the lead, Sunk breast-deep in the snow. The younger cattle seek in vain For freedom from their load, And with each quick successive strain Sink deeper in the road. With graceful branches plumed with snow Droops low the balsam fir; From its protecting limbs below We hear the partridge whirr. Beneath the alder's leafless boughs The rabbits' tracks we see, And where was held a night's carouse Around that hemlock tree. 45 Poor creatures! pretty, still and shy, Small parts in Nature's plan. And 5xt their blood the snow must dj^e To furnish sport for man. Too wintry yet for song of bird, Except the sombre crow. Whose harsh discordant note is heard Fault-findino- with the snow. And bright blue jays that always cried, As if in mockery The shouting teamsters to deride. Their shrill command, "Gee! eee!" Across our path in footprints clear. The fox's trail is found, And far off in the woods we hear The baying of the hound. Poor Reynard ! Arovmd yonder hill A swift detour he makes. And 3"et the hunter's cruel skill Anon his gray coat takes. 46 Triumphal arches overhead The woven branches made, Though missed the leafy curtain spread In suiumer for a shade. A hillock in the wood's embrace Our father's practiced eye Selected for the "boiling- place" A lofty ash tree by. As Israel's race, in holy fear. When entering Canaan's land. Of unhewn stones an altar rear At Joshua's command. Our work relationship might claim As guided by no rule, Our forest altar rough we frame Polluted by no tool. The maple through the summer yields A most luxuriant shade. By no tree in the heated fields Is cooler shelter made. 47 Although its life-blood, drop by drop, It uncomplaining- gives, 'Twoiild seem, though thus of life deprived, It yet more richly lives. Our father with the bit so keen The coarse bark pierces through, And drop by drop the sap is seen Emerging to our view. Whence should we that rare nectar seek Our thirsty lips desire? Not from the beech tree's shaven cheek Nor larch's towering spire ; Not from the lordly evergreen In courtly garments dressed, No sweetness courses through the vein Within its sombre breast; Not from the soft and pliant pine Nor brittle ashen wood : Not one can yield this sweetness fine Thoup-h frauo-ht with other good. 7,J5. 4 NATHAN HALE, 1755 — 1778. -==59g ii^-s''^ "COULD THE STATUES SPEAK. "-SEE P.\ge 14. Photo by Harney. A swamp beyond the maples lay, The laurels grew between, Whose boughs, on many a holiday, We robbed of everofreen. Oft sought by us in summer hours The mossy spot we knew, Where, lifting pitchers to the showers. The Sarracenia o-rew. We knew where slept 'neath snowy shroud The purple orchis fringed, Its colors bright as in the cloud By summer sunset tinged. Oft at the midnight hour I've stood And heard the sap-drops fall, Throughout the lone aisles of the wood From the rough maples all. The moon, through rifts of snow-cloud white, vShone full and clear o'erhead. And shadows mixed with showers of light Upon the snow were spread. 5' When sharp night-frosts the rising- sap With unseen power restrain, And day's succeeding warmth anew Unlocks the maple's vein. The maple sap, with life renewed, Each woody artery thrills, And soon each pail throughout the wood With liquid sweetness fills. In hogsheads drained of southern sweets The gathered sap is stored, And thence into the boiling-pans At intervals is poured. Oh father! still I see thy face Illumined by the light That gleamed upon it from the arch That well-remembered night. I hear again the anecdotes To eager listeners told, Of your adventures in the mines Of California's gold. 52 With you again, in thought, I may The toilsome journey take Upon the Atlantic's heaving breast And Nicaraguan lake. I tread again Floridian Keys, Where, 'mid the ocean's spray, You picked the sea-shells, souvenirs For loved ones far away. With you I reach the Golden Gate, With you the mines explore, And from the rich earth liberate The precious bits of ore. I see the cabin which you reared Beside the sandy bar. The rustic windows it contained, Each pane a pickle-jar. I hear your lips again recite The violence and crime Which in its early days disgraced That semi-tropic clime. 53 I see that shrewd, deceitful wretch Who, all one vSabbath day, Contemptuons of God and man, Fired golden ore aw^ay. Across the stream from where he stood His unproductive "claim" At least in one selected spot, Enriched with gfold became. To unsuspecting "prospectors" Upon succeeding days. This master of deceptive art His worthless land displays. The miner leads them to his "claim,' Ecpiipped with pick and spade; They dig upon the very spot Which he his target made. As they behold the prize desired, Amid spadefuls of earth, They purchase all his interest At many times its worth 54 Thus with our father's anecdotes The hours of evening sped, Until the chilly rain-clouds drew Their curtain overhead. In providence for such a storm, A shelter had been made Of poles reposed on beechen posts. With rouofh boards on them laid. Beneath that dripping coverlet The weary watchers crept, And each, in turn, the fire renewed While his companion slept. But morning comes ; the sky is clear The snow-enveloped land And every object, far and near, In icy armor stand. Has human architectural skill Such wondrous roof e'er planned As that which with its glitt'ring dome. The maple pillars spanned? 55 Ascend with^nie the glowing slopes Which lead to yonder hill, And let the feasts of beauty there Your hungry vision fill. Above the lesser heights which rise In wild profusion 'round, Does noble Greylock proudl}^ rear Its summit forest-crowned. Beneath us, westward, lies Ashmere, A lovely mountain-lake, Whose waters from the leaping brooks Unceasine tribute take. Their peaks against the western sky The Catskill ^Mountains raise; Monadnock, o'er New Hampshire's hills. Its pyramid displays. Like trusty sentinels that guard Connecticut's bright stream. Their tops aglow with morning light Mounts Tom and Holyoke gleam. S6 Il^^ liloi I lllllii ■ ■ ■ PERU CHURCH, BUILT 1807, BURNED ig The highest church-site in Massachusetts. Upraised above the Worcester hills O'er many a lovely home, Through purest atmosphere we see Wachusett's beauteous dome. See near us noble Bryant's home Amid the Hampshire hills! His name is graven on its rocks And murmured by its rills. Let us thank God that He has sent One man these hills among", Whose deep-toned voice so truthfully Their loveliness has sunsf. Oh, Bryant! In the hearts of men Th}" memory is secure So long as these, th}^ native hills. In majesty endure. But at our feet, the fairest sight In all this glorious view. Lifts high toward heaven its steeple bright The white church of Peru. 59 But on the o-lowing- mountain-top We may not always stay, For duty now w^ith urgent voice From pleasure calls away. The thickened syrup in the pans Is waiting' our return; Beneath it but the glowing brands Of last nieht's watch-fires burn. Deposited in buckets rude On neck-yokes hung with care, Out from the woodland's quiet aisles The syrup home we bear. Oh Father! when earth's night is passed And dawns eternal day. May our unfettered souls at last Rejoicing, bear away The fruitage of a Christian life To that most glorious home Where naught of bitterness or strife Or sorrow ever come. 60 PART THIRD. Our mother planned a sugar-feast, And northward, southward, west and east Sent invitations to each guest The Maple's fruit with us to taste. New Englanders where'er they roam. Bear this remembrance of their home; Although their vagrant feet ma}^ stray Across thy prairies, Iowa; Or where the Indian waters smile Around sweet Ceylon's lovely isle; Or where, at eve, the shadows fall Of China's vast defensive wall ; (An emblem of the stony heart Which held it from the world apart, But which, beneath the gospel's ray, Is warming into life to-day. ) Or where New Bedford's hardy race Pursue the whale in daring chase; Or where, on Gospel missions sent. They traverse the "Dark continent," 63 The bearers of a gift as free To Afric's sons as you and me; These exiles from their native soil Will pause amid their daily toil, And taste anew the jo}' that fills These feasts upon their native hills. The young man eager is to share His invitation with the fair, And fearful lest another's voice Invite the lady of his choice. The first bright moon his steps will find Which through dark woods and valleys Avind, Through gorges choked with snow-drifts deep. Where ice-imprisoned lakelets sleep, Or where the brook's dwarf waterfall, Impatient, beats its rocky wall. He sees, athwart the evening sky, Belated wild fowl northward fly; As some dark grove he passes through He hears the owl's gruff challenge, "Who?" He pauses on a rustic bridge. Beneath which, down a rocky ridge, The waters leap; yon bowl from out He oft has swung the speckled trout; 64 He needs, perhaps, a finer skill To win capricious girlhood's will. A g-rist-mill stood, long- years ago, Beside the brook, the bridge below; A mossy mill-stone only shows Where once its dusty walls arose. The waters now unhindered go With joyful leaps to pools below. Protected by a hemlock grove The sweet-scented arbutus throve; Its leaves of changeless evergreen Emerging from the snow were seen. At April's close or early May Does this meek vine its load display Of chalices of pink and white, To Flora's lovers a delight. How many pictured scenes like these The dreamer on the old bridge sees. He sees the pretty student come And pluck for her herbarium. The trailing vine whose blossoms bear Such fragrance through the April air; He sees the motley cavalcade Which toward the mill its journe}' made; 6S The angry brook, swelled high by rain, A noisy bondman, grinds the grain. He sees the huntsmen who pm'sue Plump partridges the brushwood through. The goal of his far-wandering feet Is this fair farm-house, trim and neat. Scarce whiter is surrounding snow Beneath the moon's reflected glow. His freedom "mid the household cheer Shows their young guest no stranger here. The grandsire has his word to say Of counsel grave or sally gay. He tells how in his early life Himself and his most frugal wife Did simplest, coarsest goods prefer Lest they should needless debt incur. And Sundays to the far church sped Upon a rough and home-made sled, Esteeming such conveyance rude Unmatched by sleigh of ebon wood, Beneath whose cushions, demon-like. The serpent. Debt, lay coiled to strike Its poisonous fangs in years to come Heart-deep into the joys of home. 66 A happy hoUvSehold, loving, kind ; What fitter emblem can we find Of Heaven on earth ; each member seeks The other's joy; each act bespeaks The ceaseless love that animates The lives of all ; such love awaits No formal word, but lightest things Attest its deep and hidden springs. On Peru Hill, that festive night, The old church stood in snowy white. Our fathers built their house of prayer Upon a mountain-summit, where The water from its west roof-side Sought Housatonic's busy tide, And turned the mill-wheels which it found Upon its journey to the sound. The drops which on its east roof fell With countless others went to swell The brook which constant tribute gave Connecticut's sea-seeking wave. Return ! Oh, ancient, holy days. When to these courts of prayer and praise The steeple-bell, with accents strong, Called forth a happy, numerous throng From bleak farm-house on wind-swept height, And home late-sought by morning light. 69 The old brick house, just opposite, Is now from top to bottom lit. The jing-ling of the merry bells The earlier gaiests arrival tells; The bob-sled outfit we may see. Which loears a jolly family; Though used for drawing logs of late, 'Tis loaded now with human freight. Strength seems to be the main idea Which blossoms into being here; We hear it in the lusty shout Which calls the host so quickly out; We see it in the stalwart plan On Avhich are framed both team and man ; 'Tis felt in those impulsive grasps With which his neighbor's hand he clasps. There next arrives a cutter new Whose shell-like box will hold but two. The horse, light-limbed and delicate, In harness bright with silver plate. The silvery bells, whose tinkling light Scarce broke the silence of the night, Their lively testimony bear To our physician's watchful care. I 'specially remember one, 70 "The Old Brick House Just Opposite," as it Looked in the Summer of 1876. THE AERY, PERU, MASS. Our little social system's sun ; Unselfish almost as the light, His fellows' joy was his delight; His merry words will interweave With memories of that jo3'ous eve; Does not through such a presence shine An influence from the Friend divine? How can we doubt that such as he Gain happy immortality. With Christ his friend, he knew no fear, And when so quickly smitten here, Exultantl}' his song arose, For such a life most fitting close. In that old-fashioned fire-place, The ancient kitchen's quaintest grace, The heavy kettle now is hung And on the stout crane inward swung. Beneath, the birch wood gives its heat; Within it leaps the syrup sweet. Its surface an epitome Of some enraged tempestuous sea. Anon the dancing, yellow foam Up to the kettle's brim doth come. And, frenzied by the red-hot glow, It threatens all to overflow; 73 A bit of butter is applied Which makes the mutiny subside. The boys for deepest drifts have sought And freshest, purest snow have brought, And this is firmly pressed within And rounded o'er the pans of tin. Sage experts now the syrup try; With wooden ladles they apply The boiling liquid to the snow; At once the syrup's fiery glow Is quenched; the hardened sugar takes A brittle form, and glass-like, breaks. The grave inspectors now admit Tis for the daintiest palate fit. Our pastor, wise and temperate. Now sadly fails to extricate His molars, tardy to relax Their grip upon the maple wax. His flock enjoy his puzzled plight And ply with questions, left and right. While he, in silence, makes reply But through each merry laughing eye. I call to mind one presence there That graced our gatherings for prayer, And when disciples monthly met Tidings from mission lands to get, 74 Her section to report would be The distant islands of the sea. When other lamps were flickering low Hers kept its steady, chang-eless glow And held its strong persistent flame Till morning's bright revival came. A namesake of the greatest sage Whose words illumine any age, (And yet in one important thing Quite difi^erent from the Hebrew king, For he had never found a wife To share the ills and joys of life. Although in our society None showed more gallantry than he. ) Sits 'mid a gay and youthful throng Who fill with wax his whiskers long; He tries, but vainly, to oppose The work of these fair female foes. A youth we held in high esteem, W^ho filled our fancy's fondest dream Of manliness and cultured mind, Of mental power and grace combined, Of muscle well allied to brain And both submissive to the reign Of Christ's own spirit; one whose hand 75 Can hold the plow o'er stony land, And skilfully the mill-saw guide Along- the hemlock's knotty side, And yet whose mental prowess calls For praise in Williams College halls. Repeats to one who gladly hears. The story of his studious years. Hers is the facile pen to trace The lithe mosquito's saucy grace Back to the wayside water warm Which nourishes the wriggler's form. Hers the discerning eye to seek To make each tiny floweret speak The secret which its Maker hid Its inmost dark recesses 'mid. Oh, patient, thoughtful friend of mine! Of such inquiring minds as thine Are made those suns of intellect, Which to our lower sight reflect The brightness of the Father's eye Out from our scientific sky. And thou wert there, whose highest aim The honor of thy Father's name, Whose lips are tremulous in prayer 76 And eyes grown dim in Zion's care, Whose faltering voice, these latter days, On Sundays reads our hymns of praise. A pillar in God's temple here Is thy place in this earthly sphere; Earth's proudest king might envy thee Thy honor and humility. But now the shepherd of our flock, (Whose 'prisoned jaws at last unlock Their sweet embrace, too friendly quite,) Arising, bids the guests "Good Night." "We thank our Parent, wise and good, For love's rich gifts in plenitude ; That we have found, while gathered here, vSuch warmth of friendship, social cheer; Such seasons make life's pathway bright; Friends, host and hostess, all. Good Night! 79 ON MOUNT TOM, Come to Mount Tom! Life's wearisome cares Shall fall from your shoulders here, While Nature her kindliest balm prepares In this radiant atmosphere. Northeast, Wachusett glad greeting sends. Proud Greylock looms up northwest, Monadnock, north, with the storm-cloud blends, Far southward is Talcott's crest. The Paper City is at our feet. The City of Homes hard by; Many thousand square miles, with beauty replete, Are spread "neath a wondrous sky. Connecticut's silvery waters take Their verdantly-winding trail Where Smith and Amherst and Holyoke make Of this a collegiate vale. Such glorious landscapes before our eyes! vSuch grandeur of cloud and sod! Shall not our wondering souls arise Much nearer to Nature's God? 80 The Connecticut Capitol's gilded dome Is agleam in the southern sky; Wherever our wandering- glances roam There is beauty, afar and nigh. HYMN FOR COLUMBUS DAY. (Peru, Mass., 1892.) Almighty God! we praise Thy name Thou Father wise and kind, That o'er the sea Columbus came This great New World to find! We thank Thee for this nation grand So fair and free to day; As in the hollow of Thy hand Keep her, Oh God, we pray! We thank Thee for these noble hills. These valleys clothed with green; Thy presence every landscape fills, In all Thy love is seen. We thank Thee for our own fair town; For her our prayers shall be; Grant her in future years renown As she shall honor Thee! LADY^S TRESSES; OUR LATEST ORCHID. By Mrs. Susan P. French. Along- the rugged mountain-side Thick-set with granite ledges, Where bands of feathery clematis Entwine among- the hedges, Where bobolinks their hearts sing out Along the grassy plain, And orchids hold their fringed lips To drink the welcome rain, Where goldenrod and gentian blue Stand in their autumn beauty, Like dreams of youth and truth and love Beside the path of duty. Where larches drop their fading gold And hermit thrushes sing, A fragrance steals along the air Like violets of the spring; Like some dear friend whose faithful heart Keeps love through chilly weather, Or those with whom we trod life's way In early days together. LINES TO A CENTENARIAN. (Mrs. LuciNDA Sheldon Howard, of North Reading, Mass.) To thee, my distant, unseen friend, A reverent greeting- I would send; The honor which is ever due From youth to age I render you. So rarely does our Father give To man a century to live, We look with awe and thankfulness On one whom he thus deigns to bless. It is no chance or accident Which such long life to 3'ou has sent, For length of days is a reward Promised to servants of the Lord. May each day draw you nearer Him, And Heaven grow bright as earth grows dim, And peaceful may thy entrance be To joys throughout eternity. 85 IN THE PHILIPPINES. For a mess of pottage of bitter taste, We barter our birthright grand, We make of the isles a barren waste And leagued with oppressors stand. We slaughter by wholesale men as brave As any that history knows. Their sole offence that they rise to save Their land from its forei«-n foes. Our fathers fought, in the olden days. For the sacred rights of man, And side by side in the battle's blaze Stood the Celt and the Puritan. In wild delirium of greed The fathers' work we shame. And murder and robbery are decreed In Freedom's sacred name. 86 "THE PURITAN." MEMORIAL TO DEACON SAMUEL CHAPIN, SPRINGFIELD. Photo by Lazelle. FROM THE PHILIPPINE POINT OF VIEW. It was an ill-starred morning when Columbia's warships came, Like some mighty mystic giants wrapped in thun- der and in flame, When they sank our former masters and we looked for swift release. And we gave them royal welcome as we would the Prince of Peace ! For they came to give us freedom from the gal- ling Spanish yoke. But at once they forged new fetters in the place of those they broke; And the western tyrant's banner floats o'er city, field and bay, And they swear by all that's holy it forevermore shall stay. It may be that there is no God to succor the op- pressed. And that the powers on high are marching with the Tyrant of the West! But we know no middle station 'twixt a freeman and a slave. And instead of vassalage we choose a soldier's o'rave. It is quite beyond our reason, this new gospel from the West, And it brings no consolation to the heart of the oppressed ; 'Tis the gospel of the robber, as he lays his power- ful hand On the ignorant and helpless, on our lives and on our land. 89 THE GIANT AND THE RIVER. A giant of old by the river-bank Lay lazily down full length ; He labored at times, he ate and drank, And nobody guessed his strength. He watched the waters go tumbling by In their hurry to reach the sea. And at last he pondered "Why shouldn't I Make the Connecticut work for me?" "I'll harness the monster;" he cried with jo}^ And they grappled at once in glee ; But the river threw him down like a toy And ran merrily on to the sea. But he won at length, and man}" a mill Now sits on the plain below. While homes of plenty and comfort fill The beautiful high plateau. And often I think, when the daylight dies And the heavy shadows fall, I see the gleam of the giant's eyes From Holyoke's city-hall. 90 h X o 2 h < :f} ^ J < fo > '£, h-^ Q < ffi ;r; ^3 X ;^ ^ l-> I^' o ^i, ■s. 1 < :^ Q ^ N Q ■^ > -^ o X •:i ^ ^ < =1, ai W > « f^ D o H O W ;?; ?5 o o MOUNT TOM AND THE CONNECTICUT RIVER. The mountain looked down at the river; "Good neighbor, it does seem to me Every drop of your waves is a-quiver In your hurry to reach the sea. "Through years I'll not venture to number On this rocky and picturesque height, Undisturbed through long ages of slumber. Have my features been turned to the light. "Then stay in your endless endeavor For awhile let your industry cease; Why go on your journey forever? Let your waters rest calmly in peace." The stream, on its way to the ocean, One instant for answer found breath, "There's life in the music of motion, Inaction and silence are death!" 93 ON THE SITE OF TRINITY COLLEGE. In those old days of blood and fire and glory, Impetuous youth, he bore a traitor's brand; On history's page, as "Moses Dunbar, Tory," Bereft of stain, his name will ever stand. And so, I think, although not so intended. Whene'er my e3xs on Trinity are bent. Those massive walls, so grand, so richly blended, Became, in truth, the tory's monument. There was the gloomy scaffold elevated. There darkly stood the frowning multitudes, And when the drop a white soul liberated A white deer bounded forth from out the woods. It was his fearless unrestrained devotion To his new love, his "Church of England" dear. Made him espouse that power beyond the ocean And die in shame upon the scaffold here. 94 And where this martyr of the revohition vSaw his Hfe snufTed out as a thing- accursed Is it not most poetic retribution That thrones of students in his faith are nursed? HYMN FOR HARVEST SUNDAY. (West Worthington, Mass., i8g2.) Oh God of Harvest! this giad da}^ Our joyful songs we raise; In Tliy high courts accept, we pray, Our hmnble notes of praise. Our hillsides, bright with autumn's gold. Their harvest wealth bestow; Our vales, like Palestine's of old, With milk and honey flow. And richer far than golden corn Or maple sweetness rare. We thank Thee for the pleasure born In homes of love and prayer. Kind Father! lead us by the hand; Permit us not to roam ; 'Till in that purer, better land We sing our "Harvest Home." 97 FRENCH'S HILL. vSweet spot of earth! The hurrying time hath wrought Small change upon thy ever-pleasant form ; Thy smiling cheeks and rocky brow have brought New beauty from each conflict with the storm. About thy ample feet As fair as Paradise, The beech and maple sweet In beauteous forests rise, And spruce and glossy firs lean darkly 'gainst the skies. Grand is thy look when wintry tempests wreathe Thy solemn evergreens with purest white, Or frosty airs o'er falling rain-drops breathe, And icy-armored forests greet the light; When each low-bending bough. By midnight breezes swung About thy noble brow. With jeweled lamps is hung. And over all the moon's pale light is flung. THE TORIES^ CAVE, LENOX. Below October Mountain, The Housatonic flows, Fed by the rain-cloud's fountain And by dissolving snows. Plunging- from heights forsaken Through many a leaf}- nook. One motmtain stream has taken The name of Roaring Brook. A cleft in Mount October, The foaming waters lave ; The yellow violets sober Bloom near the humble cave. In those old days, whose glories To patriots all are dear. Some hated, hunted tories Found safe seclusion here. In constant anguish fearing The dawn of each day's sun. In doubt lest death were nearing By patriot rope or gun. They with the wolvevS disputed The right to shelter here, While shad-trees bloomed and fruited And leaves grew brown and sere. No sound of builder's hammer This ancient dwelling heard ; The brook's incessant clamor Its deep recesses stirred. At dead of night a woman, The fugitives brought food, The only vision human Which broke their solitude. Oft did the Berkshire yeomen The forest search in quest Of their few tory foemen. Nor this rude shelter guessed. A century has humbled The refugees' abode ; Stones from the cliff have crumbled Beneath the mountain road, October Mount its glory O'er Housatonic shows. Whilst patriot and tory In dust, at peace, repose. THE WOOD THRUSH. The watcli-fii"e in the west is cold That late in gorg-eous splendor rolled Its chariot-wheel o'er seas of gold. The many-colored sunset dye, The rainbow hues of earth and sky Before the coming darkness fly. Yet lingers still upon the rim Of the horizon, cold and grim, A yellow light fast growing dim. I stand within the solemn wood, No breezes stir the solitude, The loneliness seems over-good. Yet clear above the gurgling rush Of waters through the alder brush, I hear the sweet voice of the thrush. A tiny bell, whose silver peal, As saddest memories o'er me steal, In deepest depths of soul I feel. 103 A sadness still, yet not despair, A sombre ecstasy of prayer, A voice that climbs Hope's shining- stair. Again the evening air is still. Save where the gently-flowing rill Sends through the air a dreamy thrill. But through the chambers of the brain, In hours of joy and hours of pain The thrush's song I hear again. So sweetly sad, so sadly sweet. Those bursts of music, wild and fleet. Seem songs escaped from Heaven's seat. TO A FRIEND. May God give you long life, my friend, And may you all its moments spend In serving Him; vSo shall life's end Be bright as sunset, when there blend Rich colors in the glowing west. Bright curtains veiling heavenly rest. 104 ASHMERE. (VVRITTKN ABOUT TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS AGO.) Oh, lovely lakelet! nestling- low Our rugged Berkshire hills between, Not summer's heat nor winter's snow Can dim the pleasure of thy scene. How often in the starlit night I've viewed thee from this rocky height. And e'en at midnight's lonely hour Have climbed to this, my broad watch-tower. To gaze upon thy form. Or watched thy ripples scud beneath The chilly wind's swift-sweeping breath Before a thunder-storm. Thy modest beauty and sweet grace Remind me of a sister's face; The thought within my memory stirs That this, thy birth -year, too is hers. Oh, mirror of the sky and earth! 105 How many men of future birth Shall hold the spot where I look forth, O'erjoyed, like me, at seeing-, Enchanted with thy loveliness, Thy mossy marge and woody dress, vShall all thy tinted beauty bless, Unconscious of my being. Be thy pure waters ever clear. Thou jewel of the hills, Ashmere! And may the sister of thy age Endure like thee the tempest's rage, vSubdue, like thee, surrounding strife, Charmed to a sweeter, gentler life. TRUST. As toiling boatmen, bending to the oar, See but the waves behind and not a glimpse before, So we see but the past, the future all is dim ; We place our trust in God and leave our way to Him. io6 SUNDAY MORNING IN JUNE. [By Courtesy of the HARTFORD CouRANT.] The thrush has rung- her silver bell, The maple forest through ; The robins in the orchard tell That day begins anew. There floats aside the veil of mist The valley's face which hid When Night her sleeping features kissed Her leafy curls amid. The golden bud of morn that grew Above the eastern hills Unfolds till all the heavenly blue Its radiant petals fills. The Christian to his house of prayer The solemn church-bells call; How grandly on the throbbing air Their deep-toned voices fall ! 107 By every path unnumbered flowers Their mute thanksgiving raise, Uplifting through the tuneful hours Their voiceless hymns of praise. All nature in a joyful mood From wood and height and plain Seems sweetly singing "God is good' And man repeats the strain. LINES IN AN ALBUM. The lily of the valley decks The fertile plains of Middlesex; The sweet-scented arbutus hides Upon the Berkshire mountain-sides. vSome lives an even tenor keep While some are as the mountains steep; Though rough or smooth should be life's field May it some flowery sweetness yield. io8 OCT Ifi 1899