 | Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr |  |
345
THE PARSON'S DAUGHTER
“What, ho!” he cried, as up and down
He rode through the streets of Windham town—
“What, ho! for the day of peace is done,
And the day of wrath too well begun!
Bring forth the grain from your barns and mills;
Drive down the cattle from off your hills;
For Boston lieth in sore distress,
Pallid with hunger and long duress:
Her children starve, while she hears the beat
And the tramp of the red-coats in every street!”
He rode through the streets of Windham town—
“What, ho! for the day of peace is done,
And the day of wrath too well begun!
Bring forth the grain from your barns and mills;
Drive down the cattle from off your hills;
For Boston lieth in sore distress,
Pallid with hunger and long duress:
Her children starve, while she hears the beat
And the tramp of the red-coats in every street!”
“What, ho! What, ho!” Like a storm unspent,
Over the hill-sides he came and went;
And Parson White, from his open door
Leaning bareheaded that August day,
While the sun beat down on his temples gray,
Watched him until he could see no more.
Then straight he strode to the church, and flung
His whole soul into the peal he rung;
Pulling the bell-rope till the tower
Seemed to rock in the sudden shower—
Over the hill-sides he came and went;
And Parson White, from his open door
Leaning bareheaded that August day,
While the sun beat down on his temples gray,
Watched him until he could see no more.
Then straight he strode to the church, and flung
His whole soul into the peal he rung;
Pulling the bell-rope till the tower
Seemed to rock in the sudden shower—
The shower of sound the farmers heard,
Rending the air like a living word!
Then swift they gathered with right good-will
From field and anvil and shop and mill,
To hear what the parson had to say
That would not keep till the Sabbath-day.
For only the women and children knew
The tale of the horsemen galloping through—
The message he bore as up and down
He rode through the streets of Windham town.
Rending the air like a living word!
Then swift they gathered with right good-will
From field and anvil and shop and mill,
To hear what the parson had to say
That would not keep till the Sabbath-day.
346
The tale of the horsemen galloping through—
The message he bore as up and down
He rode through the streets of Windham town.
That night, as the parson sat at ease
In the porch, with his Bible on his knees,
(Thanking God that at break of day
Frederic Manning would take his way,
With cattle and sheep from off the hills,
And a load of grain from the barns and mills,
To the starving city where General Gage
Waited unholy war to wage),
His little daughter beside him stood,
Hiding her face in her muslin hood.
In the porch, with his Bible on his knees,
(Thanking God that at break of day
Frederic Manning would take his way,
With cattle and sheep from off the hills,
And a load of grain from the barns and mills,
To the starving city where General Gage
Waited unholy war to wage),
His little daughter beside him stood,
Hiding her face in her muslin hood.
In her arms her own pet lamb she bore,
As it struggled down to the oaken floor:
“It must go; I must give my lamb,” she said,
“To the children that cry for meat and bread,”
Then lifted to his her holy eyes,
Wet with the tears of sacrifice.
“Nay, nay,” he answered. “There is no need
That the hearts of babes should ache and bleed.
Run away to your bed, and to-morrow play,
You and your pet, through the livelong day.”
As it struggled down to the oaken floor:
“It must go; I must give my lamb,” she said,
“To the children that cry for meat and bread,”
Then lifted to his her holy eyes,
Wet with the tears of sacrifice.
“Nay, nay,” he answered. “There is no need
That the hearts of babes should ache and bleed.
Run away to your bed, and to-morrow play,
You and your pet, through the livelong day.”
He laid his hand on her shining hair,
And smiled as he blessed her, standing there,
With kerchief folded across her breast,
And her small brown hands together pressed,
A quaint little maiden, shy and sweet,
With her lambkin crouched at her dainty feet.
Away to its place the lamb she led,
Then climbed the stairs to her own white bed,
While the moon rose up and the stars looked down
On the silent streets of Windham town.
And smiled as he blessed her, standing there,
With kerchief folded across her breast,
And her small brown hands together pressed,
A quaint little maiden, shy and sweet,
With her lambkin crouched at her dainty feet.
Away to its place the lamb she led,
Then climbed the stairs to her own white bed,
347
On the silent streets of Windham town.
But when the heralds of morning came,
Flushing the east with rosy flame,
With low of cattle and scurry of feet,
Driving his herd down the village street,
Young Manning heard from a low stone wall
A child's voice clearly yet softly call;
And saw in the gray dusk standing there
A little maiden with shining hair,
While crowding close to her tender side
Was a snow-white lamb to her apron tied.
Flushing the east with rosy flame,
With low of cattle and scurry of feet,
Driving his herd down the village street,
Young Manning heard from a low stone wall
A child's voice clearly yet softly call;
And saw in the gray dusk standing there
A little maiden with shining hair,
While crowding close to her tender side
Was a snow-white lamb to her apron tied.
“Oh, wait!” she cried, “for my lamb must go
To the children crying in want and woe.
It is all I have.” And her tears fell fast
As she gave it one eager kiss—the last.
“The road will be long to its feet. I pray
Let your arms be its bed a part of the way;
And give it cool water and tender grass
Whenever a way-side brook you pass.”
Then away she flew like a startled deer,
Nor waited the bleat of her lamb to hear.
To the children crying in want and woe.
It is all I have.” And her tears fell fast
As she gave it one eager kiss—the last.
“The road will be long to its feet. I pray
Let your arms be its bed a part of the way;
And give it cool water and tender grass
Whenever a way-side brook you pass.”
Then away she flew like a startled deer,
Nor waited the bleat of her lamb to hear.
Young Manning lifted his steel-blue eyes
One moment up to the morning skies;
Then, raising the lamb to his breast, he strode
Sturdily down the lengthening road.
“Now God be my helper,” he cried, “and lead
Me safe with my charge to the souls in need!
Through fire and flood, through dearth and dole,
Though foes assail me and war-clouds roll,
To the city in want and woe that lies
I will bear this lamb as a sacrifice.”
One moment up to the morning skies;
Then, raising the lamb to his breast, he strode
Sturdily down the lengthening road.
“Now God be my helper,” he cried, “and lead
Me safe with my charge to the souls in need!
Through fire and flood, through dearth and dole,
Though foes assail me and war-clouds roll,
To the city in want and woe that lies
I will bear this lamb as a sacrifice.”
| Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr | |