 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
THE BOONE WAGONER.
I.
Bring hither to my view again
The long-lost Conestoga wain.
The long-lost Conestoga wain.
Its jingling bells with cheery chime,
To clinking hoof-stamps keeping time.
To clinking hoof-stamps keeping time.
Its body curved and painted red,
With canvas canopy o'erhead.
With canvas canopy o'erhead.
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Its axles strong and broad-tired wheels,
Its Norman studs with clumsy heels.
Its Norman studs with clumsy heels.
Its Lehigh wagoner, honest Fritz,
Who in the wheel-house saddle sits.
Who in the wheel-house saddle sits.
Steady and slowly goes the load
Adown the dusty turnpike road.
Adown the dusty turnpike road.
From out my vision's teeming rack,
To life again come back. Come back!
To life again come back. Come back!
O vain command! the words give o'er,
Come back my early days no more.
Come back my early days no more.
Nor bells I hear, nor stamping heels,
Nor creaking of the burdened wheels.
Nor creaking of the burdened wheels.
The wagon rots beneath the shed,
And honest Fritz long since is dead.
And honest Fritz long since is dead.
II.
But what is this I see below
Through Len's Creek valley toiling slow?
Through Len's Creek valley toiling slow?
A wagon dragged in devious line,
By wrath-provoking sons of kine.
By wrath-provoking sons of kine.
Six ill-matched oxen hard to guide;
A brindle cur the wain beside.
A brindle cur the wain beside.
Coffee and salt the load which reels
Above the worn and creaking wheels—
Above the worn and creaking wheels—
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The creaking wheels, with narrow tire,
That deeply mark the yellow mire.
That deeply mark the yellow mire.
The wagoner with aspect grim,
With narrow chest, but sinewy limb.
With narrow chest, but sinewy limb.
His face, sharp-featured, wrinkled, spare,
Crowned with unkempt and raven hair.
Crowned with unkempt and raven hair.
His whip, beneath the left arm borne—
The long lash trailing back forlorn.
The long lash trailing back forlorn.
So much absorbed in thought is he,
He has no thought to waste on me.
He has no thought to waste on me.
I know him well, by face and name;
From Boone he comes—'tis Burwell Graeme.
From Boone he comes—'tis Burwell Graeme.
His life is one unvarying scene—
Is, will be, as it still has been.
Is, will be, as it still has been.
That which he did on yesterday,
To-day he does the self-same way.
To-day he does the self-same way.
When sunset comes he pauses near
Some bubbling fountain, lone and clear.
Some bubbling fountain, lone and clear.
Down lie the oxen in their yokes,
And soon the camp-fire snaps and smokes.
And soon the camp-fire snaps and smokes.
His coffee simmers o'er the blaze,
While champ his oxen blades of maize.
While champ his oxen blades of maize.
His table is the verdant sod,
He sits and eats and thanks his God.
He sits and eats and thanks his God.
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His meal despatched, his form he throws
Upon the ground to seek repose;
Upon the ground to seek repose;
A quilt perchance beneath him spread,
A good stout log supports his head.
A good stout log supports his head.
All night in dreams delight he takes,
And cheerful in the morning wakes.
And cheerful in the morning wakes.
III.
You scorn, who pass that wagoner by
The humble man; not so do I.
The humble man; not so do I.
For 'neath that torn and tattered coat,
A manly spirit well I note.
A manly spirit well I note.
Patient and honest, frank and free,
No guile within his heart has he.
No guile within his heart has he.
A loving husband, tender sire,
He never dreams of station higher.
He never dreams of station higher.
Content to live on scanty fare,
So he may shun both debt and care.
So he may shun both debt and care.
What matters it to him, the strife
That marks the busy haunts of life?
That marks the busy haunts of life?
The Gallic patriotism burns;
The Gaul a dynasty upturns.
The Gaul a dynasty upturns.
In England sink the three-per-cents;
Drop fearfully low the Gallic rentes.
Drop fearfully low the Gallic rentes.
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Spain totters on destruction's brink,
The Prussian king goes mad through drink.
The Prussian king goes mad through drink.
In Mexico a change again;
New rulers weekly, weakly reign.
New rulers weekly, weakly reign.
King Ludwig yields and crowns his son;
Sebastopol is lost and won.
Sebastopol is lost and won.
Yet what are these to Burwell Graeme?
He drives the oxen all the same.
He drives the oxen all the same.
He lets not these his spirit stir;
He is our Boone philosopher.
He is our Boone philosopher.
And humble though the teacher be,
His lesson is not lost on me.
His lesson is not lost on me.
Henceforth I leave the haunts of men,
And take me to the hills again.
And take me to the hills again.
Content and quietude is there,
Blue are the skies and sweet the air.
Blue are the skies and sweet the air.
There let me live, there let me die,
There let my worn-out body lie.
There let my worn-out body lie.
IV.
But, stay! the road curves to the right,
And shuts my mentor out of sight.
And shuts my mentor out of sight.
Away goes wagoner and wain—
I mingle with the world again.
I mingle with the world again.
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My olden life again I feel;
Again revolves Ixion's wheel.
Again revolves Ixion's wheel.
With Sisyphus the stone I turn,
With Tantalus in thirst I burn.
With Tantalus in thirst I burn.
The dream of quiet life is o'er;
Pass Burwell Graeme for evermore.
Pass Burwell Graeme for evermore.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |