-pS 2.903 T PRICE 25 CI- '^"^' =^c»..==^«dii^g«^ iiWUHiiliHiiiiiiSi : E. H, STANDISH SHADOWLIGHT A POEM, - B. H. STANDISH; AUTHOR OF "AMONG THE DELLS." ^5 EVANSVILLE: ENTERPRISE PRINT, 1885. .535^ rui iCopwiffht, 1885,1 . , ^*'i by the author. ^^ PREFACE. Different motives inffaence different men to write poetrj^, and a writer may be influenced by many motives, but the passionate liking of poetrj' is the prin- cipal one. Thus it follows that however much a reader may enjoy a poem his pleasure is apt to be less than the au- thor's was in writing it. But there are many vvho never read poetry; but perhaps their number will become less as poets continue in show- ing less of philosophy, and more of nature and of the human heart. This poem is such as I would buy at a book-store, read, re-read, and tr}- to in- duce my neighbor to read. Still I do not expect il will please all; but 1 ex- pect it maj^ please those whose theory of poetry is like my own. B. H. Standish. Evansville, Wis., 1886. — ^^^>— AMONG THE DELLS, A POEM, With Illustrations. ^. H. STANQ)ISH. It relates a charming story about the weird old haunts of the Wisconsin. — Ei:ansville lieview. The poem by its simplicity, its exact- ness of detail and its perfer^t descrip- tions, shows a delightful fulfillment of the author's desire. — University Press. Pages 106. 8vo. Cloth SI. 25. For sale by the author, Evansville, Wis. CONTENTS. FIRST DAY. PAET FIEST, THE KIVER, - 3 PART SECOND, THE SETTLER's HOME, 18 PART THIRD, THE ORPHAI^, - 30 SECOND DAY. PART FIRST, THE SETTLEMENT, - 42 PART SECOND, THE COUNCIL, - 59 PART THIRD, A STRANGE PIONEER, 71 PART FOURTH, THE BATTLE OF BAD AXE, - - - 83 PART FIFTH, THE MISSION, . 92 SHADOWLIGHT. Come, Traveler, stay with me a day ; Thy feet are sore and hard the way, And heavy falls each mile of road Upon thee; heavy is thy load. But otay until the morrow's glow, For in the woodland roses blow And thrushes sing and we will go. A lake is there whose banks low lie, To photograph the hollow skj' ; And quietude is on the spot, And weariness shall be forgot: So come and stay with me a day, And when thou shalt resume thy way, More light. T trust, shall seem thy load, And shorter every mile of road. Fair.flaxen morn ! thou gray-robed grace Now blushing, as we view thy face. And spreading wide thy golden fan Before the steady eye of man! The village cocks play chimes to thee; A thousand songsters, puffed with glee, Fling up good-morrows on the air. Good-morrows answer everywhere. The clouds I looked upon last night, SHADOWLIGHT. As high thej^ hovered, cold and white. Are on the mar&h, and fallen lie As motionless as on the sky: While stealthy vapors rise and fall. Along the summit of the hight. As in-door shadows on the wall. When lamps are out and flames are bright. Some hand hath sown, as thick as grain Upon the ready soil, bright drops. That twinkle on the grassy plain. And wink among the growing crops. Here lies the lake; a gallant drake Leads out his partner in his wake. While in a half-reluctant mood Follow the downy little brood. The halcyon leaves his lowly rest. Upon the lake's unruffled breast His image shows a snowy vest; And faintly comes his echoed scream. Like whispers o'er a haunted stream, Or voices of a fevered dream. The wasted bank, tree-plumed, and grave. Where Time's vast masonry doth show. Yet smoothed by sun and frost and wave, Is outlined in the world below. SHA.DOWLIGHT. O Yon crab-tree feeds the perfumed air; The noisy bee shall labor there The bright da}' through, and pack within The bristled hollow of the thigh. The golden dust that it may win From clusters stained with I'OS}' dye. A little sparrow, fresh from rest, Now perching on the leafy thorn Above his mate's overcrowded nest, Flings down a welcome to the morn. The great horned owl is still awake. And far his measured accents break, The forest takes the lonely cry. And echoes back a dole reply. The nibbling rabbits to and fro Along the clover pastures go. But often start, and stop, and hark. As sounds the farm-dog's hollow bark; The heifer lows upon the lea. The cosset shakes its noisy bell. And drones his tone the butnble-bee, As passing to the flowery dell. The village in the valley lies A scattered jlock; far toward the skies The gray and vane-capped church-spires rise ; There bometimes peals the marriage bell, SHADOWLIGHT. And souieriraes uioans the fmieral knell; While rounrl iss borne upon the air The Sfiered song- and solem!i prayer. Upon the shallow, winding- race. The hungry mill still keep< its place. Where year by year, in suit of gray, Amid the rumble and the spray. The miller toils; he sees each day A Rhenish city far away. And hears each evp the noisy rill That turns his father's humble mill. Beyond this aged work is seen The schoolhouse on the path-worn green ; There germs of great republics swell! Behind, upon tln^ sloping hill. The marble city, white and still. Where all of us must some day dwell. Long years ago, while in the wood Thtj great beams of that mill yet stood. The native launched his light canoe. Upon this sheet of liquid blue; The doe. beside her spotted young, Reclined the tufted brakes among; The shiny bear then made his den Within yon cool and rocky glen; The bison roamed throughout the year, SHADOWLICtIIT. Yet found his favorite pastures here. The years went on; the settler came And claimed the forest and the game; He built beside the stream and lake. Upon the plain, and in the glen-. He shot the deer beside the brake, The bear before his bony den, The bison at the river's brink. While knee-deep standing still to drink. This kindled up the native's wrath; He watched upon the intruder's path. And touched his flinty-pointed dart With venom from a jealous heart; While many a horrid trophj' told His aim was true, his hand was bold. The valley of the river Rock — Good field for corn and haunt for game — Grew noted through a hostile flock Of natives that each summer came ; Yet homes sprang up along the stream, As flowers along a woodland path; The settler struggled to redeem The waste that still his offspring hath. Above the highest settlement. The soldier came and pitched his tent. Then made a fort, to reassure SHADOWLlGHT. In pence, in \v:ir to make secure. Far north\\ ard townrd tbe wilderness Of stately pines the prairie lay. Where once the bison roamed, but less He came of late, and short his stay. And eastward rose the billowy hills. With stunted forests here and there. Which autumn's drift of flame, that kills The tender life, had dei.o:ned to spare. And southward, through its banks of sand. The river glided ceaselessly. Fair forests clothed the bottom-land. And bluffs reached out determinedly. As if to hold it from the sen. Until at last it bursts with joy Upon the fields of Illinois To wed a greater soon than she. And westward in the prairie grass, Upon a single stream of glass, Four little lakes had made their nest. Where now^ the citj'' ever blest Is brooding like a swan at rest. One blessed day in blessed June, When all the woodland kept in tune, A young man left the Fort, intent On visiting the Settlement. SHADOWIJGHT. No soldier he, but in the band Gave help to him who held conimaiid, And he a worthy map could draw, Without a blot, witliout a Haw ; Draw plants and insects, fish and birds. For that fast growing manuscript, For which the Major's pen was dipped. And had so many Latin words. But half the eastern line of gray Had caught the blushes of the day, When downward to the river-bank. Where many groups of birchens lay Among the willows, green and rank, He lightly took his dewy way; The fairest boat his hand untied. Its head was pointed down the tide; It moved as if it loved the strife Of element, and throbbed with life. The river here among low hills Wound on its interrupted way. Along its banks the woods in frills And unpretentious clusters lay; Xow widening, where the shifting sand Might tax a boatman's unskilled hand, Xow narrowing, the margined trees Foi-nied broken arches where the breeze 10 SHADOWLIGHT. Played in its many minor keys. The boatman passed the rocky height. Where lingered shadows of the night. Below the islands bare and white; Then through thick fog, where yet no beam Of morning light caressed the stream, And by the marsh that hid in steam. He did not make a hasty note Of what his bark before liini brought. But seemed half thoughtlessly to Hoat, Half thoughtlessly he seemed in thought. There is a spot, mid reeds and brakes. Upon the border of a wood. Where suddenly the river makes An elbow, and the view is good. The boatman gained the little cove. Within the shadow of this grove. And with his oar no longer strove ; But still the wavelets rose atul fell Around him in a growing swell. Like undulations of a bell. About ihis placid little bay Mild nature held her simple swa}'. The river sobbed and glided by. A solemn wood was sleeping nigh. SHADOWLIGHT. 11 And oil one side was open sky; Above its rim commingled rills Brought down the rainfall from the hills. The reeds and willows bent to look, And in the mirror-water laved. While on the margin of the brook The honey-laden linden waved. The boat had startled from her sleep A mallard in her suit of gray, And now with ever widening sweep She screamed and circled o'er the bay. Among the lily-pads a mink Would rise, a moment Ptare, and sink; While dreaming yet upon the silt, A bittern balanced On its stilt — A self-made sentinel no doubt For nesting-mate somevvhere about. Across the river and below Were flats that vanish in high tide Where fed, mid sand-girt isles, a doe. A spotted fawn was at her side. From this mild scene about the bay The youth looked toward the opening day. The master painter had begun His work upon the eastern sky, And all about the rising sun 12 SHADOWLIGHT, Was seen a many-colored (jye; And nortliward by a cloud was made A picture of a vast crusade. As strange an imagery of cloud The youth saw westward, where a sea. Shut in by mountains, stern and proud. Seemed frozen in an hour of glee; The waves still showed their hoary locks. Mock ships seemed beaten from their way, And driven on the jagged rocks. Which still held up the frozen spray^ The youth from r^very awoke. The oar was tightened in his hand. His bark the liquid-mirror broke. And anchored on the sloping sand. The bittern stretched its neck to note The unwelcomed presence of the boat. Then spread its wings and in the wood Sought out a deeper solitude; The shiny mink was scared, and sank To hide beneath the tunneled bank; Above a choir of eager bees Still sung about the linden ti'ees. And from their creamy blossoms bore The trifles of a golden store. The patli which led him from the bay SHADOWLIGHT, 13 Within the lovelj^ woocHand lay; This wood — an ancient sngar-canii). Where formerly the native came. When all the earth with spring- was damp To draw the sap, and strike his game; In autumn here the Indiaii boy. Once clapped his little hands for joy Among the nuts, which frost would pluck And tling down from the loosened shuck. The wood was thick, its broad tops make A canopy of even shade. Save here and there a sunnj^ rent. Where once some patriarch had grown, Which^ when the hurricane was sent. Upon the sounding earth was thrown; Above the ground the fallen lay, Dissolving in a red decay Where squirrels stored their holiday. The wood was passed, his path was layed Along a cool and fresh arcade; Some hand, it seems, long years ago, Had planted here a brok-on I'ow Of air}' elms, and either side Had stately growths, with arches wide; Upon their trunks the lichens clung, 14 SHADOWLTGHT. From oiitslretched arms green climbers svvuiig. And shily at their mossy feet The little star-tl owe r took its -seat; While maicleulike, the eolumbine Hid features iieath a hood divine. The path now left the bottom-land. And wound up o''er a windy bluff, Whose wooded growth is scant enough To let the sunlight on its sand; The summit bears its stunted oaks. Their kind below the prospect chokes; But through the openings you can see The prairie, with its grassy hil]s» And valleys where the waters flee In spring-time, with their thousand rills. And near are cultivated fields; And somewliat of the flat is showed Upon the woody right, where steals The ford-bent militarj' road. Upon the left is heard the sound Of farm life; shrill-voiced chanticleer. And lowing kine; the boisterous hpund Pursuing some far-fleeing deer. Some secondary bluffs at hand Wall in a little plot of land ; The rows of gray stone are emboss«.d, SHADOWLIGIIT. lo And worn b}' rain aiul smoothed by frost The chinks between are ferned and mbssed ; Beneath the lower tier of blocks. Which form this pile of corded rocks, A little spring is given birth. Bj" some dark cavern in the earth; A skillful hand hath built around A rude, j^et firmly fashioned wall; , The water gives a constant sound That o'er the margin takes its fall. Why came he here, who was not gay Upon this-4-nature's holiday? Came he like schoolboy, in sweet June, Who takes a pleasant hour at noon, ]n mimic chase of hare or hind. But deep within the wood doth find A little spring, mid moss and sand. And drinks from out his hollow hand. Then fiings himself upon the land, And hears the mystic partridge drum. And songs that have but lately come Into the woodland old and dumb. Till sylvan fairies seem to dance About him in a merry throng, Anfl spread their dull, delicious trance Upon him, and he lingers long? 16 SHADOWLIGHT. Xo matter why he came, his ear Detected footsteps, drawing near; He stepped amid the elder bloom, Which tilled th^ nook with sweet per- fume. And saw, upon the spring ward trail, A man approach with staff and pail: His day seemed in its afternoon; White yeais had crowned him, and full soon A humble bed. a narrow room. Must be^his kingdom— in the tomb. His single eye successive yiewed The brook, with nielod}'^ renewed. The ancient and overhanging trees^ Xow palpitating in the breeze, , And noAv the clouds, and sky that bent Above all like a mighty tent. He paused before the spring at last. And held the pail beneath the rim — A scollop where the waters passed — Until it had a flowing brim. Hereat from out the elder screen, Monroe, all bushing to be seen. Reluctant stepped and paused between; The Settler, in a kindly tone. Spoke out a welcome to his guest. SHADOWLIGHT. 17 At which the youth possessed his own, For he with easy speech was blessed. They talked about the Fort and news, The wood below, the distant views, In short, as other people talk, Who meet upon the lonely walk Of frontier lite — until at last Together from the spring they passed. And disappeared where trees were massed. -^^<^<^-^>^ 18 SHADOWLIGHT. PART SECOND. THE settler's HOME. This day was like some human lives; It had a birth in wondrous light, When stars went out, as other wives. And then it journej^ed on less bright. In clouds and darkness to its night. The Settler sat beside his door And thought of his departed guest, And watched the shadows evermore Descending on the lighter west; About him hung a veil of gray, And mist was in the firmament; Which made these latter hours of day Appear like darkness of a tent. The hiredman unyoked his team Before the mossy water-trough, Which had a cool and constant stream That from the brook was broken ofi. The heifer peered above the gate, Her evening and her morning haunt, Impatiently she seemed to wait The maid that would relieve her want. The doves were silent in their cot. The chanticleer beneath the shed, SHADOWLIGHT. 19 And e'en the swallows had forgot Their twitters ere the day had fled. A gentle rain began to fall; It gathered quickly on the lot, Beyond the poplars pale and tall, Then thickened as it neared the cot. The Settler heard a childish call. And took his great-armed chair, and bore It through the loud-complaining door; But ere he had resumed bis seat. His youngest daughter came to meet Him with a smile and welcome sweet. A gentle child of winning ways — Or not a child, because she stood Beyond her childhood's mist and haze In sunny morn of maidenhood. She softly took her father's hand. And asked him why he seemed so sad; If rain should flood the bottom-land Would it destroy what grass he had; Or did he fear a wash of soil Among the hills; or that the grain Upon the sand}^ flat would spoil, If there should be much rain. The father gazed upon his child , Then gathered up, and faintly smiled And said, "It is not that I fear!" 20 SHADOWLIGHT. Then turned the talk, and showed good cheer. He dared not tell the little maid, The hillside spring had ceased to flow, Which all these years had brightly played — Except the dreary day a blow- Had layed her darling mother low — For then she, too, had doubtless thought The omen had new evil brought. A sister, in a silent mood, Before a high-silled window stood; She lightly drummed upon its form, And watched without the growing storm. The flat was hid beneath the screen. The wood was veiled but showed its green. The winding road was soon unseen; And near at hand the poplar trees Flung out their satin-bottomed leaves. Which swayed about and danced at ease; And out beneath the barnyard sheds, The cattle shook their horny heads, And quarreled for their choice of beds; And in the little cot for doves. The gallants played about their loves ; SHADOWLIGHT. 21 And now and then the cpats they wore Would flash before the oval door; And at the steps the flag-stones showed Their hollows long since overflowed, And seams where trampled grasses lay; While in the raintrough, old and gray, The bubbles seemed to be at play, And whirled and danced then passed away. Two horsemen galloped up the road, At first but dimly seen in mist, But Hearing more distinctly showed Their lives had military gist. They paused before the open shed. And saw their horses housed and fed — But ordered such a feed of oats The hiredman displayed amaze, At which they cursed penurious ways, _ And said that they were royal shoats. _ But when they sought the cottage door. To ask a shelter from the storm, A kindly look the Settler wore, And bid them welcome without form. ^ And then he ordered food and fire. And quickly from the cellar brought His home-brewed beer, and said he thought 22 SHADOWLIGHT. It healthy, though it made one dryer. And they related whence they came, And news about the Settlement; While in the lire-place aflame Crept up among the sticks, and sent A pleasant light about, a plume Of smoke up through the sootj vent. The well kept room was ample size, And showed a neat but simple guise; Upon the whitewashed walls now played The shadows that the fire made. The corner had its curtained bed. With foot-board and its globe-capped posts, Which midday sunshine showed in red. And midnight fancies changed to ghosts. Like paper, with its lines of black. The chamber-floor showed many a crack ; And on the further wall, among Ground-pine, a little picture hung; It showed some battle where the dead Still kept their wounds of faded red; While on another wall, mid moss, A maid was weeping hj the cross. Within a distant corner stood The clock, which had a record good; SHADOWLIGHT. 23 It tolfl the month, the clay, the hour, The change of moon, with drouth and shower, So wise it seemed that one might trace His destinj' upon its face. A cord suspended in the room The black wasp's tenantless balloon; While near, a mounted falcon stood, With outstretched vvin£;s and ruffled hood; And nameless works of art were there, Of ferns, and leaves, and flowers rare, And floating castles in the air. Few companions in grief or mirth Ere gathered at a settler's fire, Who had so various a birth. Or such a various desire. The host had lost his golden keys; He once had opulence and ease. And sails upon commercial seas. But storms of fierce disaster came, And took his favorable name. And left him poverty and shame ; At which he sought the wilderness, , And hither brought his little flock To find seclusion, peace, and bliss, Within this home beside the Rock. 24 SHADOWLIGH-T. And here he toiled, from year to year, Nor made a sigh, nor dropped a tear, For what he once had held so dear; And now his years lay on him like A fleece most shorn, yet he could strike A woodman's blow, or build a dike; One loss, and one alone he knew; The monster death had plucked his heart, And hid it where the grasses drew Their greenness from its mouldered part ; But all these years his manly life Was faithful to his buried wife. Ah, thou hast given us a true Ideal, though it be not new! And thou hast proved, and none regret, That love is not tour-footed yet. . , / His favorite sister moved about '' To superintend the evening meal; While from the kitchen, smells of trout And corn-bread now and then would steal; A woman blessed with gentle ways; And innocense of childhood days; Although her lonely life had passed The milestone of her womanhood. And now with calloused feet she stood Upon this desert, like the last. SHADOWLIGHT. Her brother's brood had known her care, As teacher and as guardian, Since the pale reaper came to bear The burden that he found so wan; And in this care she found her rest. By blessing these she, too, was blessed, A foster mother to his nest. The Settler's elder daughter drew The bloom of her divine estate, A.0 good a rose as ever blew Within an early settler's gate; And yet at first you only saw A model form and modest face, And still I think her eyes would draw A second look, and lose no grace; And since she was so shy in speech. You well might wonder what strange power Had made her spice for every hour And yet so far above your reach. The younger daughter, free to S:how Her kitchen skill, and proud to feel Her new importance to the meal, Played like a shuttle to and fro ; But when beyond the sound of talk. She flung her song, and made her jest, 26 SHADOWLIGHT. And mocked their sober-featured guest, And laughed at every awkward balk. She had but little care as yet. The Settlement, where she had met The merchant's daughter, and a few. And Fort, where men were dressed in blue, Was all of this wide world she knew; And yet she learned as much ol books As any farm-girl of her age. And she could wade the meadow brooks And still have health her heritage. The hiredman was quite complete. Erect and solid, scarcely neat, And six foot in his stocking feet; This man had been induced to flee His earh' home upon the Rhine. Yet on his cheek you still could see The color of his native wine; And he had gained another speech — Yet often was compelled to use Such figures as were in his reach. Though awkward as his wooden «hoes. As Rachel unto Jacob dear. So grew the Settler's rose to him. Yet, groping in a light so dim He could but find the unsought Leah: SHADOWLIGHT. 27 But still he plowed and made the hay. And love still kept his labor strong. While everj' twelve-month seemed a day, And every harvest bat a song. One guest, a gaunt and dirty man, Had raven hair, and little eyes, A scar was on his cheek of tan And his scant beard had raven dyes; He kept the corner of the room. And half was hidden in the gloom, But still his hungry e^^es were bright And feasting, and they showed their light As glow-worms in a starless night. His furlough had been overspent Tn revelry and lawless bent Upon a neighboring settlement. But now, returning to the Fort, He knew the punishment that would Await his long-since due report, Yet would escape it if he could. Something mysterious hung about This fellow, whom his comrades shunned His promises were held in doubt, And, though in debt, was never dunned. The other was a flaxen guest. 28 SHADOWLIGHT. With face as fair as Isabell, And ej^es that seemed to want to tell A cheerful countenance is best. But he had surely had enough Of evil fortune's kick and cuff To make him miserable and gruff; A child, he found an orphan's lot, Alone, neglected and forgot He struggled for a brighter spot; And when in manhood he had won A lovely maiden for his wife, She disappeared, and he undone Had wandei'ed in an aimless life; And then enlisting, he had fought With Harrison, and sapped the root Of British power, since but naught, And he had lost a faithful foot. And though he wished a life of ease He still maintained a soldier's port. And, never difficult to please. Of late was sutler at the Fort. And now he sat before the fire. His wooden foot was laid aside, He talked and laughed, nor seemed to tire — Although be surely grew much drier, Lentil the cellar jar was dried. SHADOTTLIGHT. ^219t And so a social evening passed, The Settler entertained thtm w-ell; He furnisked forth a good repast. And found a ni To giitber tiowei-s, perchance, the maid Along' this woodhmd'.s marge had stray- ed: Her bonnet, fell behind her head. She plneked the blossom.«i, white and red : The snnbeams on her featni-es fell. And then her beauty did excel The blossoms that she loyed so well. He closer canio and made a jest. As if her meaning were not guessed, Theii asked if she would sing the rest; Aslfghtning- playing, red and white. I'^pon a fleecy cloud at night. So played her color for a while Upon the dimples of a smile; Bat when she sau' the little doe. That dogged th. footsteps of Monroe. She sought, with woman's wit. to draw His thoughts upon the thing she saw; And then she told of this lone doe Whose Orphan-master filled with woe, Would haunt the gloomj^ solitude. Or beg at sorest need his food. The Orphan was a w^itless hoy Belonging at the Settlement; But here had wandered to annov 36 SHADOWLIGHT. With his unmeaning merriment; And while they lingered he appeared. Unclean and ragged, wild and weird; His hair was yellow as a sheaf. His slender arms were brown and bare, A nd his blue eyes bespoke their grief In language of a keen despair. He stood upon the brook-wet sand. A cudgel-bone was in his hand. With this he thumped upon his breast. And muttered some deformed request; Then, tripping by, he beat in time His heavy bone to some rude rhyme. When first was made that rhythmic beat, The little doe, with nimble feet. Secured position at his side. And galloped there with seeming pride. Within the border of the wood An ancient oak had some day stood, But when fierce tempests raged around Was fallen halfway to the ground. And there, upon a comrade's breast. Had found a comfortable rest. High up the Orphan found a seat. And swung below his naked feet. Then imitated with success The voices of the wilderness, SHADOWLIGHT. There jseemed to be the cuckoo's note. The owl, with his immodest throat. The plaintive call of wbip-poor-will, Robwhite, the weather-prophet still, The bittern's hiccough, and the cry Of loon, and then the far replj*: At last the eagle's scream he gave, : And all grew silent as the grave. Then by a vine swung down to earth, And in the wood revived his mirth. Now lightly from the cottage tripped The maiden Mabel, and a wealth Of hair was floating, and she dipped Her tongue in song,hercheeks in health; Before the two she hung her head. And her red flush grew still more red. And then she flung it off and said, "The Orphan spurned the food I gave. But of some loss ceased not to rave; The little doe came not to-daj\ In this, perhaps, his sorrow lay." Beside the margin of the stream They wended toward the cottage door; The waters passed in shade and gleam, The birds sang songs ne'er sung before, Or heard hj only such as these — SHADOWLIGHT. And those in hapi^iness above Where ni-e celesriMl melodies — But rliis was heaven bewuise oflove. Upon the highway of ,his lire. Amid the jostle and the strife. ^Ve find companions as we walk — Thongh. haplj', l)nt an hour talk. Yet feel a sad and throl)l)ing heart. When at divei'giirg roads we part; And still looK backward as we go Up exevy liilldf joy oi- woe. And hope, ai cxcry c'-os