 | The vagabonds, and other poems |  |
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MY BROTHER BEN.
From the door where I stand I can see his fair land
Sloping up to a broad sunny height;
The meadows new-shorn, and the green wavy corn,
The buckwheat all blossoming white:
There a gay garden blooms, there are cedars like plumes,
And a rill from the mountain leaps up in a fountain,
And shakes its glad locks in the light.
Sloping up to a broad sunny height;
The meadows new-shorn, and the green wavy corn,
The buckwheat all blossoming white:
There a gay garden blooms, there are cedars like plumes,
And a rill from the mountain leaps up in a fountain,
And shakes its glad locks in the light.
He dwells in the hall where the long shadows fall
On the checkered and cool esplanade;
I live in a cottage secluded and small,
By a gnarly old apple-tree's shade:
Side by side in the glen, I and my brother Ben,—
Just the river between us, with borders as green as
The banks where in childhood we played.
On the checkered and cool esplanade;
I live in a cottage secluded and small,
By a gnarly old apple-tree's shade:
Side by side in the glen, I and my brother Ben,—
Just the river between us, with borders as green as
The banks where in childhood we played.
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But now nevermore upon river or shore
He runs or he rows by my side;
For I am still poor, like our father before,
And he, full of riches and pride,
Leads a life of such show, there is no room, you know,
In the very fine carriage he gained by his marriage
For an old-fashioned brother to ride.
He runs or he rows by my side;
For I am still poor, like our father before,
And he, full of riches and pride,
Leads a life of such show, there is no room, you know,
In the very fine carriage he gained by his marriage
For an old-fashioned brother to ride.
His wife, with her gold, gives him friends, I am told,
With whom she is rather too gay,—
The senator's son, who is ready to run
For her gloves and her fan, night or day,
And to gallop beside, when she wishes to ride:
O, no doubt 't is an honor to see smile upon her
Such world-famous fellows as they!
With whom she is rather too gay,—
The senator's son, who is ready to run
For her gloves and her fan, night or day,
And to gallop beside, when she wishes to ride:
O, no doubt 't is an honor to see smile upon her
Such world-famous fellows as they!
Ah, brother of mine, while you sport, while you dine,
While you drink of your wine like a lord,
You might curse, one would say, and grow jaundiced and gray,
With such guests every day at your board!
But you sleek down your rage like a pard in its cage,
And blink in meek fashion through the bars of your passion,
As husbands like you can afford.
While you drink of your wine like a lord,
You might curse, one would say, and grow jaundiced and gray,
With such guests every day at your board!
But you sleek down your rage like a pard in its cage,
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As husbands like you can afford.
For still you must think, as you eat, as you drink,
As you hunt with your dogs and your guns,
How your pleasures are bought with the wealth that she brought,
And you were once hunted by duns.
O, I envy you not your more fortunate lot:
I 've a wife all my own in my own little cot,
And with happiness, which is far better than riches,
The cup of our love overruns.
As you hunt with your dogs and your guns,
How your pleasures are bought with the wealth that she brought,
And you were once hunted by duns.
O, I envy you not your more fortunate lot:
I 've a wife all my own in my own little cot,
And with happiness, which is far better than riches,
The cup of our love overruns.
We have bright, rosy girls, fair as ever an earl's,
And the wealth of their curls is our gold;
O, their lisp and their laugh, they are sweeter by half
Than the wine that you quaff red and old!
We have love-lighted looks, we have work, we have books,
Our boys have grown manly and bold,
And they never shall blush, when their proud cousins brush
From the walls of their college such cobwebs of knowledge
As careless young fingers may hold.
And the wealth of their curls is our gold;
O, their lisp and their laugh, they are sweeter by half
Than the wine that you quaff red and old!
We have love-lighted looks, we have work, we have books,
Our boys have grown manly and bold,
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From the walls of their college such cobwebs of knowledge
As careless young fingers may hold.
Keep your pride and your cheer, for we need them not here,
And for me far too dear they would prove;
For gold is but gloss, and possessions are dross,
And gain is all loss, without love.
Yon severing tide is not fordless or wide,—
The soul's blue abysses our households divide:
Down through the still river they deepen forever,
Like the skies it reflects from above.
And for me far too dear they would prove;
For gold is but gloss, and possessions are dross,
And gain is all loss, without love.
Yon severing tide is not fordless or wide,—
The soul's blue abysses our households divide:
Down through the still river they deepen forever,
Like the skies it reflects from above.
Still my brother thou art, though our lives lie apart,
Path from path, heart from heart, more and more.
O, I have not forgot,—O, remember you not
Our room in the cot by the shore?
And a night soon will come, when the murmur and hum
Of our days shall be dumb evermore,
And again we shall lie side by side, you and I,
Beneath the green cover you helped to lay over
Our honest old father of yore.
Path from path, heart from heart, more and more.
O, I have not forgot,—O, remember you not
Our room in the cot by the shore?
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Of our days shall be dumb evermore,
And again we shall lie side by side, you and I,
Beneath the green cover you helped to lay over
Our honest old father of yore.
39
BEYOND.
From her own fair dominions,
Long since, with shorn pinions,
My spirit was banished:
But around her still hover, in vigils and dreams,
Ethereal visitants, voices, and gleams,
That forever remind her
Of something behind her
Long vanished.
Long since, with shorn pinions,
My spirit was banished:
But around her still hover, in vigils and dreams,
Ethereal visitants, voices, and gleams,
That forever remind her
Of something behind her
Long vanished.
Through the listening night,
With mysterious flight,
Pass those winged intimations:
Like stars shot from heaven, their still voices fall to me;
Far and departing, they signal and call to me,
Strangely beseeching me,
Chiding, yet teaching me
Patience
With mysterious flight,
Pass those winged intimations:
Like stars shot from heaven, their still voices fall to me;
Far and departing, they signal and call to me,
Strangely beseeching me,
Chiding, yet teaching me
Patience
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Then at times, oh! at times,
To their luminous climes
I pursue as a swallow!
To the river of Peace, and its solacing shades,
To the haunts of my lost ones, in heavenly glades,
With strong aspirations
Their pinions' vibrations
I follow.
To their luminous climes
I pursue as a swallow!
To the river of Peace, and its solacing shades,
To the haunts of my lost ones, in heavenly glades,
With strong aspirations
Their pinions' vibrations
I follow.
O heart, be thou patient!
Though here I am stationed
A season in durance,
The chain of the world I will cheerfully wear;
For, spanning my soul like a rainbow, I bear,
With the yoke of my lowly
Condition, a holy
Assurance,—
Though here I am stationed
A season in durance,
The chain of the world I will cheerfully wear;
For, spanning my soul like a rainbow, I bear,
With the yoke of my lowly
Condition, a holy
Assurance,—
That never in vain
Does the spirit maintain
Her eternal allegiance:
Through suffering and yearning, like Infancy learning
Its lesson, we linger; then, skyward returning,
On plumes fully grown
We depart to our own
Native regions!
Does the spirit maintain
Her eternal allegiance:
Through suffering and yearning, like Infancy learning
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On plumes fully grown
We depart to our own
Native regions!
42
MIDWINTER.
The speckled sky is dim with snow,
The light flakes falter and fall slow;
Athwart the hill-top, rapt and pale,
Silently drops a silvery veil;
And all the valley is shut in
By flickering curtains gray and thin.
The light flakes falter and fall slow;
Athwart the hill-top, rapt and pale,
Silently drops a silvery veil;
And all the valley is shut in
By flickering curtains gray and thin.
But cheerily the chickadee
Singeth to me on fence and tree;
The snow sails round him, as he sings,
White as the down of angels' wings.
Singeth to me on fence and tree;
The snow sails round him, as he sings,
White as the down of angels' wings.
I watch the slow flakes as they fall
On bank and brier and broken wall;
Over the orchard, waste and brown,
All noiselessly they settle down,
Tipping the apple-boughs, and each
Light quivering twig of plum and peach.
On turf and curb and bower-roof
The snow-storm spreads its ivory woof;
It paves with pearl the garden-walk;
And lovingly round tattered stalk
And shivering stem its magic weaves
A mantle fair as lily-leaves.
On bank and brier and broken wall;
Over the orchard, waste and brown,
All noiselessly they settle down,
Tipping the apple-boughs, and each
Light quivering twig of plum and peach.
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The snow-storm spreads its ivory woof;
It paves with pearl the garden-walk;
And lovingly round tattered stalk
And shivering stem its magic weaves
A mantle fair as lily-leaves.
The hooded beehive, small and low,
Stands like a maiden in the snow;
And the old door-slab is half hid
Under an alabaster lid.
Stands like a maiden in the snow;
And the old door-slab is half hid
Under an alabaster lid.
All day it snows: the sheeted post
Gleams in the dimness like a ghost;
All day the blasted oak has stood
A muffled wizard of the wood;
Garland and airy cap adorn
The sumach and the wayside thorn,
And clustering spangles lodge and shine
In the dark tresses of the pine.
The ragged bramble, dwarfed and old,
Shrinks like a beggar in the cold;
In surplice white the cedar stands,
And blesses him with priestly hands.
Gleams in the dimness like a ghost;
All day the blasted oak has stood
A muffled wizard of the wood;
Garland and airy cap adorn
The sumach and the wayside thorn,
And clustering spangles lodge and shine
In the dark tresses of the pine.
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Shrinks like a beggar in the cold;
In surplice white the cedar stands,
And blesses him with priestly hands.
Still cheerily the chickadee
Singeth to me on fence and tree:
But in my inmost ear is heard
The music of a holier bird;
And heavenly thoughts, as soft and white
As snow-flakes, on my soul alight,
Clothing with love my lonely heart,
Healing with peace each bruiséd part,
Till all my being seems to be
Transfigured by their purity.
Singeth to me on fence and tree:
But in my inmost ear is heard
The music of a holier bird;
And heavenly thoughts, as soft and white
As snow-flakes, on my soul alight,
Clothing with love my lonely heart,
Healing with peace each bruiséd part,
Till all my being seems to be
Transfigured by their purity.
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THE WOLVES.
Ye who listen to stories told,
When hearths are cheery and nights are cold,
When hearths are cheery and nights are cold,
Of the lone wood-side, and the hungry pack
That howls on the fainting traveller's track,—
That howls on the fainting traveller's track,—
Flame-red eyeballs that waylay,
By the wintry moon, the belated sleigh,—
By the wintry moon, the belated sleigh,—
The lost child sought in the dismal wood,
The little shoes and the stains of blood
The little shoes and the stains of blood
On the trampled snow,—O ye that hear,
With thrills of pity, or chills of fear,
With thrills of pity, or chills of fear,
Wishing some angel had been sent
To shield the hapless and innocent,—
To shield the hapless and innocent,—
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Know ye the fiend that is crueller far
Than the gaunt gray herds of the forest are?
Than the gaunt gray herds of the forest are?
Swiftly vanish the wild fleet tracks
Before the rifle and woodman's axe:
Before the rifle and woodman's axe:
But hark to the coming of unseen feet,
Pattering by night through the city street!
Pattering by night through the city street!
Each wolf that dies in the woodland brown
Lives a spectre and haunts the town.
Lives a spectre and haunts the town.
By square and market they slink and prowl,
In lane and alley they leap and howl.
In lane and alley they leap and howl.
All night they snuff and snarl before
The poor patched window and broken door.
The poor patched window and broken door.
They paw the clapboards and claw the latch,
At every crevice they whine and scratch.
At every crevice they whine and scratch.
Their tongues are subtle and long and thin,
And they lap the living blood within.
And they lap the living blood within.
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Icy keen are the teeth that tear,
Red as ruin the eyes that glare.
Red as ruin the eyes that glare.
Children crouched in corners cold
Shiver in tattered garments old,
Shiver in tattered garments old,
And start from sleep with bitter pangs
At the touch of the phantoms' viewless fangs.
At the touch of the phantoms' viewless fangs.
Weary the mother and worn with strife,
Still she watches and fights for life.
Still she watches and fights for life.
But her hand is feeble, and weapon small:
One little needle against them all!
One little needle against them all!
In evil hour the daughter fled
From her poor shelter and wretched bed.
From her poor shelter and wretched bed.
Through the city's pitiless solitude
To the door of sin the wolves pursued.
To the door of sin the wolves pursued.
Fierce the father and grim with want,
His heart is gnawed by the spectres gaunt.
His heart is gnawed by the spectres gaunt.
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Frenzied stealing forth by night,
With whetted knife to the desperate fight,
With whetted knife to the desperate fight,
He thought to smite the spectres dead,
But he smites his brother man instead.
But he smites his brother man instead.
O you that listen to stories told,
When hearths are cheery and nights are cold,
When hearths are cheery and nights are cold,
Weep no more at the tales you hear,
The danger is close, and the wolves are near.
The danger is close, and the wolves are near.
Shudder not at the murderer's name,
Marvel not at the maiden's shame.
Marvel not at the maiden's shame.
Pass not by with averted eye
The door where the stricken children cry.
The door where the stricken children cry.
But when the beat of the phantom feet
Sounds by night through the stormy street,
Sounds by night through the stormy street,
Follow thou where the spectres glide;
Stand like Hope by the mother's side;
Stand like Hope by the mother's side;
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And be thyself the angel sent
To shield the hapless and innocent.
To shield the hapless and innocent.
He giveth little who gives but tears,
He giveth his best who aids and cheers.
He giveth his best who aids and cheers.
He does well in the forest wild
Who slays the monster and saves the child;
Who slays the monster and saves the child;
But he does better, and merits more,
Who drives the wolf from the poor man's door.
Who drives the wolf from the poor man's door.
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THE MASKERS.
Yesternight, as late I strayed
Through the orchard's mottled shade,—
Coming to the moonlit alleys,
Where the sweet south-wind, that dallies
All day with the Queen of Roses,
All night on her breast reposes,—
Drinking from the dewy blooms,
Silences, and scented glooms
Of the warm-breathed summer night,
Long, deep draughts of pure delight,—
Quick the shaken foliage parted,
And from out its shadows darted
Dwarf-like forms, with hideous faces,
Cries, contortions, and grimaces.
Through the orchard's mottled shade,—
Coming to the moonlit alleys,
Where the sweet south-wind, that dallies
All day with the Queen of Roses,
All night on her breast reposes,—
Drinking from the dewy blooms,
Silences, and scented glooms
Of the warm-breathed summer night,
Long, deep draughts of pure delight,—
Quick the shaken foliage parted,
And from out its shadows darted
Dwarf-like forms, with hideous faces,
Cries, contortions, and grimaces.
Still I stood beneath the lonely,
Sighing lilacs, saying only,—
“Little friends, you can't alarm me;
Well I know you would not harm me!”
Straightway dropped each painted mask,
Sword of lath, and paper casque,
And a troop of rosy girls
Ran and kissed me through their curls.
Sighing lilacs, saying only,—
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Well I know you would not harm me!”
Straightway dropped each painted mask,
Sword of lath, and paper casque,
And a troop of rosy girls
Ran and kissed me through their curls.
Caught within their net of graces,
I looked round on shining faces.
Sweetly through the moonlit alleys
Rang their laughter's silver sallies.
Then along the pathway, light
With the white bloom of the night,
I went peaceful, pacing slow,
Captive held in arms of snow.
I looked round on shining faces.
Sweetly through the moonlit alleys
Rang their laughter's silver sallies.
Then along the pathway, light
With the white bloom of the night,
I went peaceful, pacing slow,
Captive held in arms of snow.
Happy maids! of you I learn
Heavenly maskers to discern!
So, when seeming griefs and harms
Fill life's garden with alarms,
Through its inner walks enchanted
I will ever move undaunted.
Love hath messengers that borrow
Tragic masks of fear and sorrow,
When they come to do us kindness,—
And but for our tears and blindness,
We should see, through each disguise,
Cherub cheeks and angel eyes.
Heavenly maskers to discern!
So, when seeming griefs and harms
Fill life's garden with alarms,
Through its inner walks enchanted
I will ever move undaunted.
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Tragic masks of fear and sorrow,
When they come to do us kindness,—
And but for our tears and blindness,
We should see, through each disguise,
Cherub cheeks and angel eyes.
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STRAWBERRIES
Little Pearl Honeydew, six years old,
From her bright ear parted the curls of gold.
And laid her head on the strawberry-bed,
To hear what the red-cheeked berries said.
From her bright ear parted the curls of gold.
And laid her head on the strawberry-bed,
To hear what the red-cheeked berries said.
Their cheeks were blushing, their breath was sweet,
She could almost hear their little hearts beat;
And the tiniest lisping, whispering sound
That ever you heard came up from the ground.
She could almost hear their little hearts beat;
And the tiniest lisping, whispering sound
That ever you heard came up from the ground.
“Little friends,” she said, “I wish I knew
How it is you thrive on sun and dew!”
And this is the story the berries told
To little Pearl Honeydew, six years old.
How it is you thrive on sun and dew!”
And this is the story the berries told
To little Pearl Honeydew, six years old.
“You wish you knew? and so do we!
But we can't tell you, unless it be
That the same kind Power that cares for you
Takes care of poor little berries too.
But we can't tell you, unless it be
That the same kind Power that cares for you
Takes care of poor little berries too.
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“Tucked up snugly, and nestled below
Our coverlid of wind-woven snow,
We peep and listen, all winter long,
For the first spring day and the bluebird's song.
Our coverlid of wind-woven snow,
We peep and listen, all winter long,
For the first spring day and the bluebird's song.
“When the swallows fly home to the old brown shed
And the robins build on the bough overhead,
Then out from the mould, from the darkness and cold,
Blossom and runner and leaf unfold.
And the robins build on the bough overhead,
Then out from the mould, from the darkness and cold,
Blossom and runner and leaf unfold.
“Good children then, if they come near,
And hearken a good long while, may hear
A wonderful tramping of little feet,—
So fast we grow in the summer heat.
And hearken a good long while, may hear
A wonderful tramping of little feet,—
So fast we grow in the summer heat.
“Our clocks are the flowers; and they count the hours
Till we can mellow in suns and showers,
With warmth of the west-wind and heat of the south,
A ripe red berry for a ripe red mouth.
Till we can mellow in suns and showers,
With warmth of the west-wind and heat of the south,
A ripe red berry for a ripe red mouth.
“Apple-blooms whiten, and peach-blooms fall,
And roses are gay by the garden-wall,
Ere the daisy's dial gives the sign
That we can invite little Pearl to dine.
And roses are gay by the garden-wall,
Ere the daisy's dial gives the sign
That we can invite little Pearl to dine.
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“The days are longest, the month is June,
The year is nearing its golden noon,
The weather is fine, and our feast is spread
With a green cloth and berries red.
The year is nearing its golden noon,
The weather is fine, and our feast is spread
With a green cloth and berries red.
“Just take us betwixt your finger and thumb—
And quick, O quick! for, see! there come
Tom on all-fours, and Martin the man,
And Margaret, picking as fast as they can!
And quick, O quick! for, see! there come
Tom on all-fours, and Martin the man,
And Margaret, picking as fast as they can!
“O dear! if you only knew how it shocks
Nice berries like us to be sold by the box,
And eaten by strangers, and paid for with pelf,
You would surely take pity, and eat us yourself!”
Nice berries like us to be sold by the box,
And eaten by strangers, and paid for with pelf,
You would surely take pity, and eat us yourself!”
And this is the story the small lips told
To dear Pearl Honeydew, six years old,
When she laid her head on the strawberry-bed
To hear what the red-cheeked berries said.
To dear Pearl Honeydew, six years old,
When she laid her head on the strawberry-bed
To hear what the red-cheeked berries said.
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THE SUMMER SQUALL.
“Goodness gracious! what's the matter?
What a clamor, what a clatter!
Gracious goodness! was there ever
Such a terrible—I never!
Run and shut the chamber windows!
Jenny, keep the children in-doors!
The clothes upon the line go dancing—
Where 's the basket? Bring the pans in!
O dear!” For now the rain is coming;
You hear the chimney swallows drumming,
With a mighty fuss and flutter,
While the chimneys moan and mutter;
And see! the crumbled soot is flying
All over the pork that Jane was frying.
What a clamor, what a clatter!
Gracious goodness! was there ever
Such a terrible—I never!
Run and shut the chamber windows!
Jenny, keep the children in-doors!
The clothes upon the line go dancing—
Where 's the basket? Bring the pans in!
O dear!” For now the rain is coming;
You hear the chimney swallows drumming,
With a mighty fuss and flutter,
While the chimneys moan and mutter;
And see! the crumbled soot is flying
All over the pork that Jane was frying.
What a clamor, what a clatter!
The swift, slant rain begins to patter;
The geese they cackle, cow-bells rattle,
The pelted and affrighted cattle,
Across the pasture, helter-skelter,
Run to the nearest trees for shelter;
The old hen calls her skulking chickens;
The fowls fly home; the darkness thickens;
The roadside maples twist and swing,
The barn-door flaps a broken wing;
The old well-pail sets out to travel,
And drags the chain across the gravel;
In vain the farmer's wife is trying
To catch the clothes as they are flying;
Nine new tin pans are bruised and battered,
And all about the door-yard scattered;
And thicker, thicker, faster, faster,
Come tumult, tempest, and disaster.
The swift, slant rain begins to patter;
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The pelted and affrighted cattle,
Across the pasture, helter-skelter,
Run to the nearest trees for shelter;
The old hen calls her skulking chickens;
The fowls fly home; the darkness thickens;
The roadside maples twist and swing,
The barn-door flaps a broken wing;
The old well-pail sets out to travel,
And drags the chain across the gravel;
In vain the farmer's wife is trying
To catch the clothes as they are flying;
Nine new tin pans are bruised and battered,
And all about the door-yard scattered;
And thicker, thicker, faster, faster,
Come tumult, tempest, and disaster.
The wind has blown the haycocks over;
The rain has spoiled the unraked clover;
With half a load the horses hurry,
And one half—flung on in the flurry,
Invisible pitchforks tearing, tossing—
Was blown into the creek in crossing;
And thicker, thicker, faster, faster,
Come whirlwind, tempest, and disaster.
The rain has spoiled the unraked clover;
With half a load the horses hurry,
And one half—flung on in the flurry,
Invisible pitchforks tearing, tossing—
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And thicker, thicker, faster, faster,
Come whirlwind, tempest, and disaster.
Now, all without the storm is roaring,
The house is shut, the rain is pouring;
Incessantly its fury lashes
The roof, the clapboards, and the sashes;
The fowls have gone to roost at noon,
We 'll have the candles lighted soon.
In flies the door,—the farmer enters
Dripping and drenching from his adventures;
Finds Jenny sighing, baby crying,
The frightened children hushed, and lying
Huddled upon the bed together;
Mother storming, like the weather;
With pans, and chairs, and baskets, which in
Wet confusion crowd the kitchen.
The house is shut, the rain is pouring;
Incessantly its fury lashes
The roof, the clapboards, and the sashes;
The fowls have gone to roost at noon,
We 'll have the candles lighted soon.
In flies the door,—the farmer enters
Dripping and drenching from his adventures;
Finds Jenny sighing, baby crying,
The frightened children hushed, and lying
Huddled upon the bed together;
Mother storming, like the weather;
With pans, and chairs, and baskets, which in
Wet confusion crowd the kitchen.
But Hugh is not the man to grieve;
He shakes his hat, and strokes his sleeve,
And laughs, and jests, and wrings his blouse:—
His very presence in the house
Dispels like sunshine the bewildering
And awful gloom that wrapped the children.
Old Farmer Hugh! the whole world through,
I find no nobler soul than you!
A heart to welcome every comer,
Alike the Winter and the Summer.
When Fortune, with her fickle chances,
Now smiles, now frowns, retreats, advances,
To make poor mortals mourn the loss of her,
You, trustful heart and true philosopher,
Securely centred in your station,
Yourself the pivot of gyration,
Look forth serenely patient, seeing
All things come round to your true being.
He shakes his hat, and strokes his sleeve,
And laughs, and jests, and wrings his blouse:—
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Dispels like sunshine the bewildering
And awful gloom that wrapped the children.
Old Farmer Hugh! the whole world through,
I find no nobler soul than you!
A heart to welcome every comer,
Alike the Winter and the Summer.
When Fortune, with her fickle chances,
Now smiles, now frowns, retreats, advances,
To make poor mortals mourn the loss of her,
You, trustful heart and true philosopher,
Securely centred in your station,
Yourself the pivot of gyration,
Look forth serenely patient, seeing
All things come round to your true being.
O thus, like you, when sudden squalls
Of angry fortune strike my walls,
Spoil expectation's unraked clover,
And blow my hopes like haycocks over,—
When storm and darkness, wild, uncertain,
Deluge my sky with their black curtain,—
O then, like you, brave Farmer Hugh!
May I, with vision clear and true,
Behold, beyond each transient sorrow,
The gleam and gladness of to-morrow.
Of angry fortune strike my walls,
Spoil expectation's unraked clover,
And blow my hopes like haycocks over,—
When storm and darkness, wild, uncertain,
Deluge my sky with their black curtain,—
152
May I, with vision clear and true,
Behold, beyond each transient sorrow,
The gleam and gladness of to-morrow.
163
THE WONDERFUL SACK.
The apple-boughs half hid the house
Where lived the lonely widow;
Behind it stood the chestnut wood,
Before it spread the meadow.
Where lived the lonely widow;
Behind it stood the chestnut wood,
Before it spread the meadow.
She had no money in her till,
She was too poor to borrow;
With her lame leg she could not beg;
And no one cheered her sorrow.
She was too poor to borrow;
With her lame leg she could not beg;
And no one cheered her sorrow.
Her best black gown was faded brown,
Her shoes were all in tatters,
With not a pair for Sunday wear:
Said she, “It little matters!
Her shoes were all in tatters,
With not a pair for Sunday wear:
Said she, “It little matters!
“Nobody asks me now to ride,
My garments are not fitting;
And with my crutch I care not much
To hobble off to meeting.
My garments are not fitting;
And with my crutch I care not much
To hobble off to meeting.
164
“I still preserve my Testament,
And though the Acts are missing,
And Luke is torn, and Hebrews worn,
On Sunday 't is a blessing.
And though the Acts are missing,
And Luke is torn, and Hebrews worn,
On Sunday 't is a blessing.
“And other days I open it
Before me on the table,
And there I sit, and read, and knit,
As long as I am able.”
Before me on the table,
And there I sit, and read, and knit,
As long as I am able.”
One evening she had closed the book,
But still she sat there knitting;
“Meow-meow!” complained the old black cat;
“Mew-mew!” the spotted kitten.
But still she sat there knitting;
“Meow-meow!” complained the old black cat;
“Mew-mew!” the spotted kitten.
And on the hearth, with sober mirth,
“Chirp, chirp!” replied the cricket.
'T was dark,—but hark! “Bow-ow!” the bark
Of Ranger at the wicket!
“Chirp, chirp!” replied the cricket.
'T was dark,—but hark! “Bow-ow!” the bark
Of Ranger at the wicket!
Is Ranger barking at the moon?
Or what can be the matter?
What trouble now? “Bow-ow! bow-ow!”—
She hears the old gate clatter.
Or what can be the matter?
What trouble now? “Bow-ow! bow-ow!”—
She hears the old gate clatter.
165
“It is the wind that bangs the gate,
And I must knit my stocking!”
But hush!—what 's that? Rat-tat! rat-tat!
Alas! there 's some one knocking!
And I must knit my stocking!”
But hush!—what 's that? Rat-tat! rat-tat!
Alas! there 's some one knocking!
“Dear me! dear me! who can it be?
Where, where is my crutch-handle?”
She rubs a match with hasty scratch;
She cannot light the candle!
Where, where is my crutch-handle?”
She rubs a match with hasty scratch;
She cannot light the candle!
Rat-tat! scratch, scratch! the worthless match!
The cat growls in the corner.
Rat-tat! scratch, scratch! Up flies the latch,—
“Good evening, Mrs. Warner!”
The cat growls in the corner.
Rat-tat! scratch, scratch! Up flies the latch,—
“Good evening, Mrs. Warner!”
Blue burns at last the tardy match,
And dim the candle glimmers;
Along the floor beside the door
The cold white moonlight shimmers.
And dim the candle glimmers;
Along the floor beside the door
The cold white moonlight shimmers.
The old cat's tail ruffs big and black,
Loud barks the old dog Ranger;
The kitten spits and lifts her back,
Her eyes glare on the stranger.
Loud barks the old dog Ranger;
The kitten spits and lifts her back,
Her eyes glare on the stranger.
166
His limbs are strong, his beard is long,
His hair is dark and wavy;
Upon his back he bears a sack;
His staff is stout and heavy.
His hair is dark and wavy;
Upon his back he bears a sack;
His staff is stout and heavy.
“My way is lost, and with the frost
I feel my fingers tingle.”
Then from his back he slips the sack,—
Ho! did you hear it jingle?
I feel my fingers tingle.”
Then from his back he slips the sack,—
Ho! did you hear it jingle?
“Nay, keep your chair! while you sit there,
I 'll take the other corner.”
“I'm sorry, sir, I have no fire.”
“No matter, Mrs. Warner.”
I 'll take the other corner.”
“I'm sorry, sir, I have no fire.”
“No matter, Mrs. Warner.”
He shakes his sack,—the magic sack!
Amazed the widow gazes:
Ho, ho! the chimney 's full of wood!
Ha, ha! the wood it blazes!
Amazed the widow gazes:
Ho, ho! the chimney 's full of wood!
Ha, ha! the wood it blazes!
Ho, ho! ha, ha! the merry fire!
It sputters and it crackles!
Snap, snap! flash, flash! old oak and ash
Send out a million sparkles.
It sputters and it crackles!
Snap, snap! flash, flash! old oak and ash
Send out a million sparkles.
167
The stranger sits upon his sack
Beside the chimney-corner,
And rubs his hands before the brands,
And smiles on Mrs. Warner.
Beside the chimney-corner,
And rubs his hands before the brands,
And smiles on Mrs. Warner.
She feels her heart beat fast with fear,
But what can be the danger?
“Can I do aught for you, kind sir?”
“I'm hungry,” quoth the stranger.
But what can be the danger?
“Can I do aught for you, kind sir?”
“I'm hungry,” quoth the stranger.
“Alas!” she said, “I have no food
For boiling or for baking!”
“I 've food,” quoth he, “for you and me”;
And gave his sack a shaking.
For boiling or for baking!”
“I 've food,” quoth he, “for you and me”;
And gave his sack a shaking.
Out rattled knives, and forks, and spoons,
Twelve eggs, potatoes plenty,
One large soup-dish, two plates of fish,
And bread enough for twenty.
Twelve eggs, potatoes plenty,
One large soup-dish, two plates of fish,
And bread enough for twenty.
And Rachel, calming her surprise,
As well as she was able,
Saw, following these, two roasted geese,
A tea-urn, and a table.
As well as she was able,
Saw, following these, two roasted geese,
A tea-urn, and a table.
168
Strange, was it not? each dish was hot,
Not even a plate was broken;
The cloth was laid, and all arrayed,
Before a word was spoken.
Not even a plate was broken;
The cloth was laid, and all arrayed,
Before a word was spoken.
“Sit up! sit up! and we will sup,
Dear madam, while we're able.”
Said she, “The room is poor and small
For such a famous table.”
Dear madam, while we're able.”
Said she, “The room is poor and small
For such a famous table.”
Again the stranger shakes the sack,
The walls begin to rumble;
Another shake! the rafters quake!
You 'd think the roof would tumble.
The walls begin to rumble;
Another shake! the rafters quake!
You 'd think the roof would tumble.
Shake, shake! the room grows high and large,
The walls are painted over;
Shake, shake! out fall four chairs, in all,
A bureau, and a sofa.
The walls are painted over;
Shake, shake! out fall four chairs, in all,
A bureau, and a sofa.
The stranger stops to wipe the drops
That down his face are streaming.
“Sit up! sit up! and we will sup,”
Quoth he, “while all is steaming.”
That down his face are streaming.
“Sit up! sit up! and we will sup,”
Quoth he, “while all is steaming.”
169
The widow hobbled on her crutch,
He kindly sprang to aid her.
“All this,” said she, “is too much for me!”
Quoth he, “We'll have a waiter.”
He kindly sprang to aid her.
“All this,” said she, “is too much for me!”
Quoth he, “We'll have a waiter.”
Shake, shake, once more! and from the sack
Out popped a little fellow,
With elbows bare, bright eyes, sleek hair,
And trousers striped with yellow.
Out popped a little fellow,
With elbows bare, bright eyes, sleek hair,
And trousers striped with yellow.
His legs were short, his body plump,
His cheek was like a cherry;
He turned three times; he gave a jump;
His laugh rang loud and merry.
His cheek was like a cherry;
He turned three times; he gave a jump;
His laugh rang loud and merry.
He placed his hand upon his heart,
And scraped and bowed so handy!
“Your humble servant, sir,” he said,
Like any little dandy.
And scraped and bowed so handy!
“Your humble servant, sir,” he said,
Like any little dandy.
The widow laughed a long, loud laugh,
And up she started, screaming;
When ho! and lo! the room was dark!—
She 'd been asleep and dreaming!
And up she started, screaming;
When ho! and lo! the room was dark!—
She 'd been asleep and dreaming!
170
The stranger and his magic sack,
The dishes and the fishes,
The geese and things, had taken wings,
Like riches, or like witches!
The dishes and the fishes,
The geese and things, had taken wings,
Like riches, or like witches!
All, all was gone! She sat alone;
Her hands had dropped their knitting.
“Meow-meow!” the cat upon the mat;
“Mew-mew! mew-mew!” the kitten.
Her hands had dropped their knitting.
“Meow-meow!” the cat upon the mat;
“Mew-mew! mew-mew!” the kitten.
The hearth is bleak,—and hark! the creak,—
“Chirp, chirp!” the lonesome cricket.
“Bow-ow!” says Ranger to the moon;
The wind is at the wicket.
“Chirp, chirp!” the lonesome cricket.
“Bow-ow!” says Ranger to the moon;
The wind is at the wicket.
And still she sits, and as she knits
She ponders o'er the vision:
“I saw it written on the sack,—
‘A Cheerful Disposition.’
She ponders o'er the vision:
“I saw it written on the sack,—
‘A Cheerful Disposition.’
“I know God sent the dream, and meant
To teach this useful lesson,
That out of peace and pure content
Springs every earthly blessing.”
To teach this useful lesson,
That out of peace and pure content
Springs every earthly blessing.”
171
Said she, “I'll make the sack my own!
I'll shake away all sorrow!”
She shook the sack for me to-day;
She'll shake for you to-morrow.
I'll shake away all sorrow!”
She shook the sack for me to-day;
She'll shake for you to-morrow.
She shakes out hope; and joy, and peace,
And happiness come after;
She shakes out smiles for all the world;
She shakes out love and laughter.
And happiness come after;
She shakes out smiles for all the world;
She shakes out love and laughter.
For poor and rich,—no matter which,—
For young folks or for old folks,
For strong and weak, for proud and meek,
For warm folks and for cold folks;
For young folks or for old folks,
For strong and weak, for proud and meek,
For warm folks and for cold folks;
For children coming home from school,
And sometimes for the teacher;
For white and black she shakes the sack,—
In short, for every creature.
And sometimes for the teacher;
For white and black she shakes the sack,—
In short, for every creature.
And everybody who has grief,
The sufferer and the mourner,
From far and near, come now to hear
Kind words from Mrs. Warner.
The sufferer and the mourner,
From far and near, come now to hear
Kind words from Mrs. Warner.
172
They go to her with heavy hearts,
They come away with light ones;
They go to her with cloudy brows,
They come away with bright ones.
They come away with light ones;
They go to her with cloudy brows,
They come away with bright ones.
All love her well, and I could tell
Of many a cheering present
Of fruits and things their friendship brings,
To make her fireside pleasant.
Of many a cheering present
Of fruits and things their friendship brings,
To make her fireside pleasant.
She always keeps a cheery fire;
The house is painted over;
She has food in store, and chairs for four,
A bureau, and a sofa.
The house is painted over;
She has food in store, and chairs for four,
A bureau, and a sofa.
She says these seem just like her dream,
And tells again the vision:
“I saw it written on the sack,—
‘A Cheerful Disposition!’”
And tells again the vision:
“I saw it written on the sack,—
‘A Cheerful Disposition!’”
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