 | Poems by John Howard Bryant |  |
176
LINES READ AT THE OLD SETTLERS' MEETING.—1864.
It is six and forty summers—
How swift the years go by!—
Since the pleasant lands of Bureau
First lay beneath mine eye.
How swift the years go by!—
Since the pleasant lands of Bureau
First lay beneath mine eye.
It was in the early autumn,
And these broad plains of ours
Were clad in the prairie grasses,
And glowed with the autumn flowers:
And these broad plains of ours
Were clad in the prairie grasses,
And glowed with the autumn flowers:
The Golden Rod and the Aster,
And a countless crowd beside,
Were clothed in a brighter glory
Than kings in all their pride.
And a countless crowd beside,
Were clothed in a brighter glory
Than kings in all their pride.
A sea of gold and purple,
The star-like blossoms stood
And danced in the morning zephyr,
That rustled the lonely wood.
The star-like blossoms stood
And danced in the morning zephyr,
That rustled the lonely wood.
177
Still memory holds that picture
Undimmed by Time's rude breath,
And I fancy I'll bear it with me
Beyond the river of death.
Undimmed by Time's rude breath,
And I fancy I'll bear it with me
Beyond the river of death.
Oh! what are royal trappings,
Brocade and satin and lace,
To the all-surpassing beauty
Of nature's blooming face?
Brocade and satin and lace,
To the all-surpassing beauty
Of nature's blooming face?
It is six and forty summers—
My thoughts go back o'er the years,
And a crowd of recollections
Before my mind appears.
My thoughts go back o'er the years,
And a crowd of recollections
Before my mind appears.
And I think, with a pang of sorrow,
Of the loved and the good, since then,
Who have come and passed like shadows
From the homes and haunts of men.
Of the loved and the good, since then,
Who have come and passed like shadows
From the homes and haunts of men.
There are graves in the edge of the forest,
There are graves in the prairie mound,
Where our dead have been tenderly buried
And sleep in the virgin ground.
There are graves in the prairie mound,
Where our dead have been tenderly buried
And sleep in the virgin ground.
There lie the fathers and mothers—
Bold pioneers—who came,
Like Cæsar, and saw and conquered,
But not with battle and flame.
Bold pioneers—who came,
Like Cæsar, and saw and conquered,
But not with battle and flame.
178
And many who sat by our hearth-stones,
Have builded their homes afar,
Beneath the broad sun's setting,
And the gleam of the evening star,
Have builded their homes afar,
Beneath the broad sun's setting,
And the gleam of the evening star,
And far away by the mountains
And streams of a distant sky,
Our brave, who have died for their country,
In the land of the stranger lie.
And streams of a distant sky,
Our brave, who have died for their country,
In the land of the stranger lie.
And still there is weary watching
In many a lonely home,
Waiting and watching for loved ones,
Who never more will come.
In many a lonely home,
Waiting and watching for loved ones,
Who never more will come.
It seems but a transient season
Since all was new and strange,
And I gaze on the scene around me
And wonder at the change.
Since all was new and strange,
And I gaze on the scene around me
And wonder at the change.
Though scant at first our homely fare,
A little industry and care
Soon brought abundance, and to spare,
And the whole land was filled amain,
With herds and steeds and golden grain.
Our cabins, though uncouth and rude,
Built of the forest trees unhewed,
Were homes of comfort, snug and warm,
That fenced away the driving storm;
Where, huddled in winter time,
Our children, now in manhood's prime:
And many a joyous, winter night
Was passed around the blazing light
Of the big fire. And tales were told
Of Indians, bears and panthers bold,
Till on each urchin's frowsy head
The bristling hair stood up with dread.
Those days will come no more again,
Their simple tastes and manners plain,
Give place to those, if more refined,
Less social, hospitable, kind.
Oh! deem ye not the rich and great,
Who dwell in fashion's pomp and state,
Have more of happiness on earth
Than the great mass of humbler birth;
To each are compensations given,
That make conditions nearly even.
Cast back your thoughts, each sire and dame,
Who with our early settlers came,
And say, if more of joy ye know,
Than six and forty years ago,
When this fair region, unsubdued,
Before us lay a solitude
And we were struggling, nature's powers
To bend to purposes of ours?
Not to obey a stern command,
Does man put forth a toiling hand;
He seeks the pleasure of the mind
In striving nature's force to bind,
And stores of happiness obtains,
While conquering her wild domains.
When first I saw, with wondering eyes,
This broad and blooming paradise,
The murmur of domestic life,
Its busy hum and noisy strife,
Its trading marts, its fashions gay,
Were twice two hundred miles away.
Then were these fields by plow unbroke;
No spire of church, no village smoke
Climbed the blue chambers of the air,
And told the white man's home was there.
No busy tick of household clock,
No morning call of crowing cock,
Nor low of kine, nor bleat of flock;
No neigh of steeds, where green and gay
The unfenced plains stretched far away.
Then, here and there beside the wood,
The squatter's rude, rough cabin stood;
While all around, fair nature smiled,
Untamed and beautiful and wild
No chariot whirled along the way,
No schoolboys shouting at their play,
Nor anvil's ring, or hammer's stroke
The silence and the quiet broke.
Then, by the streams and forests here
The Red Man chased the timid deer;
And where our village gardens bloom
The wolf and badger made their home.
Where, upon Princeton's main street stand
The busy shops on solid land,
These eyes have seen the wild swan float.
These ears have heard his trumpet note,
As in the autumn morning gray,
He grandly rose and sailed away.
The birds that haunt our woodland sprays
Have changed since those remoter days,
And softer, sweeter, are their lays;
The thrush, that each returning spring,
Now comes to build his nest and sing,
But twenty years, if yet so long,
Has filled our orchards with his song;
And the pugnacious chattering wren,
First made his home with us since then.
Look now abroad! how changed the scene,
From those wild prairies, broad and green,
Where the red flames each passing year,
Swept the thick herbage, brown and sere,
Bread for the nations, from the land
Is yielded to the tiller's hand.
Broad wheat fields wave, and stately maize
Rustles in autumn's golden days,
And herds in richest pastures fed,
Walk the soft earth with heavy tread;
And Norris' beef is sent afar,
By steamer, ship and railroad car,
And smokes on London's bounteous boards,
To fatten English dukes and lords;
And Bureau flour by Scotland's braes,
Makes cakes for Christmas holidays!
A little industry and care
Soon brought abundance, and to spare,
And the whole land was filled amain,
With herds and steeds and golden grain.
Our cabins, though uncouth and rude,
Built of the forest trees unhewed,
Were homes of comfort, snug and warm,
That fenced away the driving storm;
179
Our children, now in manhood's prime:
And many a joyous, winter night
Was passed around the blazing light
Of the big fire. And tales were told
Of Indians, bears and panthers bold,
Till on each urchin's frowsy head
The bristling hair stood up with dread.
Those days will come no more again,
Their simple tastes and manners plain,
Give place to those, if more refined,
Less social, hospitable, kind.
Oh! deem ye not the rich and great,
Who dwell in fashion's pomp and state,
Have more of happiness on earth
Than the great mass of humbler birth;
To each are compensations given,
That make conditions nearly even.
Cast back your thoughts, each sire and dame,
Who with our early settlers came,
And say, if more of joy ye know,
Than six and forty years ago,
When this fair region, unsubdued,
Before us lay a solitude
And we were struggling, nature's powers
To bend to purposes of ours?
Not to obey a stern command,
180
He seeks the pleasure of the mind
In striving nature's force to bind,
And stores of happiness obtains,
While conquering her wild domains.
When first I saw, with wondering eyes,
This broad and blooming paradise,
The murmur of domestic life,
Its busy hum and noisy strife,
Its trading marts, its fashions gay,
Were twice two hundred miles away.
Then were these fields by plow unbroke;
No spire of church, no village smoke
Climbed the blue chambers of the air,
And told the white man's home was there.
No busy tick of household clock,
No morning call of crowing cock,
Nor low of kine, nor bleat of flock;
No neigh of steeds, where green and gay
The unfenced plains stretched far away.
Then, here and there beside the wood,
The squatter's rude, rough cabin stood;
While all around, fair nature smiled,
Untamed and beautiful and wild
No chariot whirled along the way,
No schoolboys shouting at their play,
Nor anvil's ring, or hammer's stroke
181
Then, by the streams and forests here
The Red Man chased the timid deer;
And where our village gardens bloom
The wolf and badger made their home.
Where, upon Princeton's main street stand
The busy shops on solid land,
These eyes have seen the wild swan float.
These ears have heard his trumpet note,
As in the autumn morning gray,
He grandly rose and sailed away.
The birds that haunt our woodland sprays
Have changed since those remoter days,
And softer, sweeter, are their lays;
The thrush, that each returning spring,
Now comes to build his nest and sing,
But twenty years, if yet so long,
Has filled our orchards with his song;
And the pugnacious chattering wren,
First made his home with us since then.
Look now abroad! how changed the scene,
From those wild prairies, broad and green,
Where the red flames each passing year,
Swept the thick herbage, brown and sere,
Bread for the nations, from the land
Is yielded to the tiller's hand.
Broad wheat fields wave, and stately maize
182
And herds in richest pastures fed,
Walk the soft earth with heavy tread;
And Norris' beef is sent afar,
By steamer, ship and railroad car,
And smokes on London's bounteous boards,
To fatten English dukes and lords;
And Bureau flour by Scotland's braes,
Makes cakes for Christmas holidays!
| Poems by John Howard Bryant | |