 | Farm legends |  |
26
THREE LINKS OF A LIFE.
I.
A word went over the hills and plains
Of the scarce-hewn fields that the Tiffin drains,
Through dens of swamps and jungles of trees,
As if it were borne by the buzzing bees
As something sweet for the sons of men;
Or as if the blackbird and the wren
Had lounged about each ragged clearing
To gossip it in the settlers' hearing;
Or the partridge drum-corps of the wood
Had made the word by mortals heard,
And Diana made it understood;
Or the loud-billed hawk of giant sweep
Were told it as something he must keep;
Of the scarce-hewn fields that the Tiffin drains,
Through dens of swamps and jungles of trees,
As if it were borne by the buzzing bees
As something sweet for the sons of men;
Or as if the blackbird and the wren
Had lounged about each ragged clearing
To gossip it in the settlers' hearing;
Or the partridge drum-corps of the wood
Had made the word by mortals heard,
And Diana made it understood;
Or the loud-billed hawk of giant sweep
Were told it as something he must keep;
As now, in the half-built city of Lane,
Where the sons of the settlers strive for gain,
Where the Indian trail is graded well,
And the anxious ring of the engine-bell
And the Samson Steam's deep, stuttering word
And the factory's dinner-horn are heard;
Where burghers fight, in friendly guise,
With spears of bargains and shields of lies;
Where the sun-smoked farmer, early a-road,
Rides into the town his high-built load
Of wood or wool, or corn or wheat,
And stables his horses in the street;—
It seems as to each and every one
A deed were known ere it well be done,
As if, in spite of roads or weather,
All minds were whispering together;
So over the glens and rough hill-sides
Of the fruitful land where the Tiffin glides,
Went the startling whisper, clear and plain,
“There's a new-born baby over at Lane!”
Where the sons of the settlers strive for gain,
Where the Indian trail is graded well,
And the anxious ring of the engine-bell
And the Samson Steam's deep, stuttering word
And the factory's dinner-horn are heard;
Where burghers fight, in friendly guise,
With spears of bargains and shields of lies;
Where the sun-smoked farmer, early a-road,
Rides into the town his high-built load
Of wood or wool, or corn or wheat,
And stables his horses in the street;—
It seems as to each and every one
A deed were known ere it well be done,
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All minds were whispering together;
So over the glens and rough hill-sides
Of the fruitful land where the Tiffin glides,
Went the startling whisper, clear and plain,
“There's a new-born baby over at Lane!”
Now any time, from night till morn,
Or morn till night, for a long time-flight,
Had the patient squaws their children borne;
And many a callow, coppery wight
Had oped his eyes to the tree-flecked light,
And grown to the depths of the woodland dell
And the hunt of the toilsome hills as well
As though at his soul a bow were slung,
And a war-whoop tattooed on his tongue;
But never before, in the Tiffin's sight,
Had a travail bloomed with a blossom of white.
Or morn till night, for a long time-flight,
Had the patient squaws their children borne;
And many a callow, coppery wight
Had oped his eyes to the tree-flecked light,
And grown to the depths of the woodland dell
And the hunt of the toilsome hills as well
As though at his soul a bow were slung,
And a war-whoop tattooed on his tongue;
But never before, in the Tiffin's sight,
Had a travail bloomed with a blossom of white.
And the fire-tanned logger no longer pressed
His yoke-bound steeds and his furnace fire;
And the gray-linked log-chain drooped to rest,
And a hard face softened with sweet desire;
And the settler-housewife, rudely wise,
With the forest's shrewdness in her eyes,
Yearned, with tenderly wondering brain,
For the new-born baby over at Lane.
His yoke-bound steeds and his furnace fire;
And the gray-linked log-chain drooped to rest,
And a hard face softened with sweet desire;
And the settler-housewife, rudely wise,
With the forest's shrewdness in her eyes,
Yearned, with tenderly wondering brain,
For the new-born baby over at Lane.
And the mother lay in her languid bed,
When the flock of visitors had fled—
When the crowd of settlers all had gone,
And left the young lioness alone
With the tiny cub they had come to see
In the rude-built log menagerie;
When grave Baw Beese, the Indian chief,
As courtly as ever prince in his prime,
Or cavalier of the olden time,
Making his visit kind as brief,
Had beaded the neck of the pale-face miss,
And dimpled her cheek with a farewell kiss;
When the rough-clad room was still as sleek,
Save the deaf old nurse's needle-click,
The beat of the grave clock in its place,
With its ball-tipped tail and owl-like face,
And the iron tea-kettle's droning song
Through its Roman nose so black and long,
The mother lifted her baby's head,
And gave it a clinging kiss, and said:
When the flock of visitors had fled—
When the crowd of settlers all had gone,
And left the young lioness alone
With the tiny cub they had come to see
In the rude-built log menagerie;
When grave Baw Beese, the Indian chief,
As courtly as ever prince in his prime,
Or cavalier of the olden time,
Making his visit kind as brief,
Had beaded the neck of the pale-face miss,
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When the rough-clad room was still as sleek,
Save the deaf old nurse's needle-click,
The beat of the grave clock in its place,
With its ball-tipped tail and owl-like face,
And the iron tea-kettle's droning song
Through its Roman nose so black and long,
The mother lifted her baby's head,
And gave it a clinging kiss, and said:
Why did thou come so straight to me,
Thou queer one?
Thou might have gone where riches be,
Thou dear one!
For when 'twas talked about in heaven,
To whom the sweet soul should be given,
If thou had raised thy pretty voice,
God sure had given to thee a choice,
My dear one, my queer one!
Thou queer one?
Thou might have gone where riches be,
Thou dear one!
For when 'twas talked about in heaven,
To whom the sweet soul should be given,
If thou had raised thy pretty voice,
God sure had given to thee a choice,
My dear one, my queer one!
“Babe in the wood” thou surely art,
My lone one:
But thou shalt never play the part,
My own one!
Thou ne'er shalt wander up and down,
With none to claim thee as their own:
Nor shall the Redbreast, as she grieves,
Make up for thee a bed of leaves,
My own one, my lone one!
My lone one:
But thou shalt never play the part,
My own one!
Thou ne'er shalt wander up and down,
With none to claim thee as their own:
Nor shall the Redbreast, as she grieves,
Make up for thee a bed of leaves,
My own one, my lone one!
Although thou be not Riches' flower,
Thou neat one,
Yet thou hast come from Beauty's bower,
Thou sweet one!
Thy every smile's as warm and bright
As if a diamond mocked its light;
Thy every tear's as pure a pearl
As if thy father was an earl,
Thou neat one, thou sweet one!
Thou neat one,
Yet thou hast come from Beauty's bower,
Thou sweet one!
Thy every smile's as warm and bright
As if a diamond mocked its light;
Thy every tear's as pure a pearl
As if thy father was an earl,
Thou neat one, thou sweet one!
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And thou shalt have a queenly name,
Thou grand one:
A lassie's christening's half her fame,
Thou bland one!
And may thou live so good and true,
The honor will but be thy due;
And friends shall never be ashamed,
Or when or where they hear thee named,
Thou bland one, thou grand one!
Thou grand one:
A lassie's christening's half her fame,
Thou bland one!
And may thou live so good and true,
The honor will but be thy due;
And friends shall never be ashamed,
Or when or where they hear thee named,
Thou bland one, thou grand one!
E'en like the air—our rule and sport—
Thou meek one,
Thou art my burden and support,
Thou weak one!
Like manna in the wilderness,
A joy hath come to soothe and bless;
But 'tis a sorrow unto me,
To love as I am loving thee,
Thou weak one, thou meek one!
Thou meek one,
Thou art my burden and support,
Thou weak one!
Like manna in the wilderness,
A joy hath come to soothe and bless;
But 'tis a sorrow unto me,
To love as I am loving thee,
Thou weak one, thou meek one!
The scarlet-coated child-thief waits,
Thou bright one,
To bear thee through the sky-blue gates,
Thou light one!
His feverish touch thy brow may pain,
And while I to my sad lips strain
The sheath of these bright-beaming eyes,
The blade may flash back to the skies,
Thou light one, thou bright one!
Thou bright one,
To bear thee through the sky-blue gates,
Thou light one!
His feverish touch thy brow may pain,
And while I to my sad lips strain
The sheath of these bright-beaming eyes,
The blade may flash back to the skies,
Thou light one, thou bright one!
And if thou breast the morning storm,
Thou fair one,
And gird a woman's thrilling form,
Thou rare one:
Sly hounds of sin thy path will trace,
And on thy unsuspecting face
Hot lust will rest its tarnished eyes,
And thou wilt need be worldly-wise,
Thou rare one, thou fair one!
Thou fair one,
And gird a woman's thrilling form,
Thou rare one:
Sly hounds of sin thy path will trace,
And on thy unsuspecting face
Hot lust will rest its tarnished eyes,
And thou wilt need be worldly-wise,
Thou rare one, thou fair one!
32
O that the heaven that smiles to-day,
My blest one,
May give thee light to see thy way,
My best one!
That when around thee creeps The Gloom,
The gracious God will call thee home,
And then, increased a hundredfold,
Thou proudly hand Him back His gold,
My best one, my blest one!
My blest one,
May give thee light to see thy way,
My best one!
That when around thee creeps The Gloom,
The gracious God will call thee home,
And then, increased a hundredfold,
Thou proudly hand Him back His gold,
My best one, my blest one!
II.
A word went over the many miles
Of the well-tilled land where the Tiffin smiles,
And sought no youthful ear in vain:
“There's a wedding a-coming off at Lane!”
Of the well-tilled land where the Tiffin smiles,
And sought no youthful ear in vain:
“There's a wedding a-coming off at Lane!”
They stood in the shade of the western door—
Father, mother, and daughter one—
And gazed, as they oft had gazed before,
At the downward glide of the western sun.
The rays of his never-jealous light
Made even the cloud that dimmed him bright;
And lower he bent, and kissed, as he stood,
The lips of the distant blue-eyed wood.
Father, mother, and daughter one—
And gazed, as they oft had gazed before,
At the downward glide of the western sun.
The rays of his never-jealous light
Made even the cloud that dimmed him bright;
And lower he bent, and kissed, as he stood,
The lips of the distant blue-eyed wood.
And just as the tired sun bowed his head,
The sun-browned farmer sighed, and said:
The sun-browned farmer sighed, and said:
And so you'll soon be goin' away,
My darling little Bess;
And you ha' been to the store to-day,
To buy your weddin'-dress;
My darling little Bess;
And you ha' been to the store to-day,
To buy your weddin'-dress;
And so your dear good mother an' I,
Whose love you long have known,
Must lay the light o' your presence by,
And walk the road alone.
Whose love you long have known,
Must lay the light o' your presence by,
And walk the road alone.
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So come to-night, with mother and me,
To the porch for an hour or two,
And sit on your old father's knee,
And talk, as we used to do;
To the porch for an hour or two,
And sit on your old father's knee,
And talk, as we used to do;
For we, who ha' loved you many a year,
And clung to you, strong and true,
Since we've had the young Professor here,
Have not had much of you!
And clung to you, strong and true,
Since we've had the young Professor here,
Have not had much of you!
But lovers be lovers, while earth endures;
And once on a time, be it known,
I helped a girl with eyes like yours
Construct a world of our own;
And once on a time, be it known,
I helped a girl with eyes like yours
Construct a world of our own;
And we laid it out in a garden spot,
And dwelt in the midst of flowers;
Till we found that the world was a good-sized lot,
And most of it wasn't ours!
And dwelt in the midst of flowers;
Till we found that the world was a good-sized lot,
And most of it wasn't ours!
You're heavier, girl, than when you come
To us one cloudy day,
And seemed to feel so little at home,
We feared you wouldn't stay;
To us one cloudy day,
And seemed to feel so little at home,
We feared you wouldn't stay;
Till I knew the danger was passed, because
You'd struck so mortal a track,
And got so independent an' cross,
God never would let you back!
You'd struck so mortal a track,
And got so independent an' cross,
God never would let you back!
But who would ever ha' had the whim,
When you lay in my arms an' cried,
You'd some day sit here, pretty an' prim,
A-waitin' to be a bride!
When you lay in my arms an' cried,
You'd some day sit here, pretty an' prim,
A-waitin' to be a bride!
But lovers be lovers, while earth goes on,
And marry, as they ought;
And if you would keep the love you've won,
Remember what you've been taught:
And marry, as they ought;
And if you would keep the love you've won,
Remember what you've been taught:
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Look first that your wedded lives be true,
With naught from the other apart;
For the flowers of true love never grew
In the soil of a faithless heart.
With naught from the other apart;
For the flowers of true love never grew
In the soil of a faithless heart.
Look next that the buds of health shall rest
Their blossoms upon your cheek;
For life and love are a burden at best,
If the body be sick and weak.
Their blossoms upon your cheek;
For life and love are a burden at best,
If the body be sick and weak.
Look next that your kitchen fire be bright,
And your hands be neat and skilled;
For the love of man oft takes its flight,
If his stomach be not well filled!
And your hands be neat and skilled;
For the love of man oft takes its flight,
If his stomach be not well filled!
Look next that your money is fairly earned,
Ere ever it be spent;
For comfort and love, however turned,
Will ne'er pay six per cent.
Ere ever it be spent;
For comfort and love, however turned,
Will ne'er pay six per cent.
And, next, due care and diligence keep
That the mind be trained and fed;
For blessings ever look shabby and cheap,
That light on an empty head.
That the mind be trained and fed;
For blessings ever look shabby and cheap,
That light on an empty head.
And if it shall please the gracious God
That children to you belong,
Remember, my child, and spare the rod
Till you've taught them right and wrong;
That children to you belong,
Remember, my child, and spare the rod
Till you've taught them right and wrong;
And show 'em, that though this life's a start
For the better world, no doubt,
Yet earth an' heaven ain't so far apart
As many good folks make out!
For the better world, no doubt,
Yet earth an' heaven ain't so far apart
As many good folks make out!
III.
A word went over the broad hill-sweeps
Of the listening land where the Tiffin creeps:
Of the listening land where the Tiffin creeps:
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“She married, holding on high her head;
But the groom was false as the vows he said;
With lies and crimes his days are checked;
The girl is alone, and her life is wrecked.”
But the groom was false as the vows he said;
With lies and crimes his days are checked;
The girl is alone, and her life is wrecked.”
The midnight rested its heavy arm
Upon the grief-encumbered farm;
And hoarse-voiced Sorrow wandered at will,
Like a moan when the summer's night is still,
And the spotted cows, with bellies of white,
And well-filled teats all crowded awry,
Stood in the black stalls of the night,
Nor herded nor milked, and wondered why.
And the house was gloomy, still, and cold;
And the hard-palmed farmer, newly old,
Sat in an unfrequented place,
Hiding e'en from the dark his face;
And a solemn silence rested long
On all, save the cricket's dismal song.
Upon the grief-encumbered farm;
And hoarse-voiced Sorrow wandered at will,
Like a moan when the summer's night is still,
And the spotted cows, with bellies of white,
And well-filled teats all crowded awry,
Stood in the black stalls of the night,
Nor herded nor milked, and wondered why.
And the house was gloomy, still, and cold;
And the hard-palmed farmer, newly old,
Sat in an unfrequented place,
Hiding e'en from the dark his face;
And a solemn silence rested long
On all, save the cricket's dismal song.
But the mother drew the girl to her breast,
And gave to her spirit words of rest:
And gave to her spirit words of rest:
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Come to my lap, my wee-grown baby; rest you upon my knee;
You have been traveling toward the light, and drawing away from me;
You turned your face from my dark path to catch the light o' the sun,
And 'tis no more nor less, my child, than children ever have done.
So you joined hands with one you loved, when we to the cross-road came,
And went your way, as Heaven did say, and who but Heaven to blame?
You have been traveling toward the light, and drawing away from me;
You turned your face from my dark path to catch the light o' the sun,
And 'tis no more nor less, my child, than children ever have done.
So you joined hands with one you loved, when we to the cross-road came,
And went your way, as Heaven did say, and who but Heaven to blame?
You must not weep that he you chose was all the time untrue,
Or stab with hate the man whose heart you thought was made for you.
The love God holds for your bright soul is more to get and give
Than all the love of all of the men while He may bid them live.
So let your innocence stanch the wound made by another's guilt;
For Vengeance' blade was ever made with neither guard nor hilt!
Or stab with hate the man whose heart you thought was made for you.
The love God holds for your bright soul is more to get and give
Than all the love of all of the men while He may bid them live.
So let your innocence stanch the wound made by another's guilt;
For Vengeance' blade was ever made with neither guard nor hilt!
Who will avenge you, darling? The sun that shines on high.
He will paint the picture of your wrongs before the great world's eye.
He will look upon your sweet soul, in its pure mantle of white,
Till it shine upon your enemies, and dazzle all their sight.
He'll come each day to point his finger at him who played the knave;
And 'tis denied from him to hide, excepting in the grave.
He will paint the picture of your wrongs before the great world's eye.
He will look upon your sweet soul, in its pure mantle of white,
Till it shine upon your enemies, and dazzle all their sight.
He'll come each day to point his finger at him who played the knave;
And 'tis denied from him to hide, excepting in the grave.
Who will avenge you, darling? Your sister, the sky above.
Each cloud she floats above you shall be a token of love;
She will bend o'er you at night-fall her pure broad breast of blue,
And every gem that glitters there shall flash a smile to you.
And all her great wide distances to your good name belong;
'Tis not so far from star to star as 'twixt the right and wrong!
Each cloud she floats above you shall be a token of love;
She will bend o'er you at night-fall her pure broad breast of blue,
And every gem that glitters there shall flash a smile to you.
And all her great wide distances to your good name belong;
'Tis not so far from star to star as 'twixt the right and wrong!
Who will avenge you, darling? All the breezes that blow.
They will whisper to each other your tale of guiltless woe;
The perfumes that do load them your innocence shall bless,
And they will soothe your aching brow with pitying, kind caress.
They will sweep away the black veil that hangs about your fame:
There is no cloud that long can shroud a virtuous woman's name.
They will whisper to each other your tale of guiltless woe;
The perfumes that do load them your innocence shall bless,
And they will soothe your aching brow with pitying, kind caress.
They will sweep away the black veil that hangs about your fame:
There is no cloud that long can shroud a virtuous woman's name.
Who will avenge you, darling? The one who proved untrue.
His memory must undo him, whate'er his will may do;
The pitch-black night will come when he must meet Remorse alone;
He will rush at your avenging as if it were his own.
His every sin is but a knot that yet shall hold him fast;
For guilty hands but twine the strands that fetter them at last.
His memory must undo him, whate'er his will may do;
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He will rush at your avenging as if it were his own.
His every sin is but a knot that yet shall hold him fast;
For guilty hands but twine the strands that fetter them at last.
Lay thee aside thy grief, darling!—lay thee aside thy grief!
And Happiness will cheer thee beyond all thy belief!
As oft as winter comes summer, as sure as night comes day,
And as swift as sorrow cometh, so swift it goeth away!
E'en in your desolation you are not quite unblest:
Not all who choose may count their woes upon a mother's breast.
And Happiness will cheer thee beyond all thy belief!
As oft as winter comes summer, as sure as night comes day,
And as swift as sorrow cometh, so swift it goeth away!
E'en in your desolation you are not quite unblest:
Not all who choose may count their woes upon a mother's breast.
| Farm legends | |