 | Landmarks and other poems |  |
9
LANDMARKS.
“GLAD SIGHT, WHEREVER NEW WITH OLD
IS JOIN'D THROUGH SOME DEAR HOME-BORN TIE.”
Wordsworth.
IS JOIN'D THROUGH SOME DEAR HOME-BORN TIE.”
Wordsworth.
11
THE LOST FARM.
THE SCHOOLMASTER'S STORY.
When my strong fathers came into the West,
They chose a tract of land they thought the best:
Near a swift river, in whose constant flow
Peacefully earth and heaven were one below;
Gigantic wardens, on the horizon, stood
Far-circling hills, rough to their tops with wood.
They chose a tract of land they thought the best:
Near a swift river, in whose constant flow
Peacefully earth and heaven were one below;
Gigantic wardens, on the horizon, stood
Far-circling hills, rough to their tops with wood.
They came, a long and dangerous journey then,
Through paths that had not known of civil men;
With wives and children looking back, and still
Returning long in dreams confusing will,
They came, and in the panther-startled shade
The deep foundations of a State were laid.
The axe, in stalwart hands, with steadfast stroke,
The savage echoes of the forest woke,
And, one by one, breaking the centuries' spell,
The hardy trees, long-crashing, with thunder fell.
The log-house rose, within the solitude,
And civilized the tenants of the wood.
It was not long before the shadow'd mold
Open'd to take the sunshine's gift of gold;
In the dark furrow dropp'd the trusted seed,
And the first harvest bless'd the sower's need.
Through paths that had not known of civil men;
With wives and children looking back, and still
Returning long in dreams confusing will,
12
The deep foundations of a State were laid.
The axe, in stalwart hands, with steadfast stroke,
The savage echoes of the forest woke,
And, one by one, breaking the centuries' spell,
The hardy trees, long-crashing, with thunder fell.
The log-house rose, within the solitude,
And civilized the tenants of the wood.
It was not long before the shadow'd mold
Open'd to take the sunshine's gift of gold;
In the dark furrow dropp'd the trusted seed,
And the first harvest bless'd the sower's need.
Oh, dear the memory of their simpler wealth,
Whose hardship nursed the iron flower of health;
Oh, sweet the record of the lives they spent,
Whose breath was peace, whose benison content;
Unenvied now by us, their delicate sons,
The dangers which they braved, those heartier ones!
The Indian's midnight coming, long ago,
And the wolf's howl in nights that shone with snow,
These are but dreams to us (who would but dream),
Pictured far off, heard as lost sounds that seem:
They knew the terror, seventy years gone by,
Of the realities we may not try,
Who left the farm on which my new-born eyes
Saw the great miracle of earth and skies.
Whose hardship nursed the iron flower of health;
Oh, sweet the record of the lives they spent,
Whose breath was peace, whose benison content;
Unenvied now by us, their delicate sons,
13
The Indian's midnight coming, long ago,
And the wolf's howl in nights that shone with snow,
These are but dreams to us (who would but dream),
Pictured far off, heard as lost sounds that seem:
They knew the terror, seventy years gone by,
Of the realities we may not try,
Who left the farm on which my new-born eyes
Saw the great miracle of earth and skies.
The fields were clear'd; the farm-house, girt around
With meadow-lands and orchards, held its ground;
The goodly place had wavering uplands, sweet
With cattle-pastures, hot with ripening wheat.
The house look'd Westward, where the river lay
Shimmering o'er level lands at close of day,
Or, many-twinkling through the autumnal morn,
In the hazy heat rustled the languid corn.
Not far were neighbors—heirs of acres wide,
Or the small farms in which the old divide.
By the close pike, a half-mile off to the north,
The tavern, with old-fashion'd sign thrust forth,
Show'd Washington, a little faded then,
(Too faded now, among new-famous men!)
And, close beside, the blacksmith-shop was found,
In August noons obtrusive with its sound,
Or late in winter eves, a welcome sight,
Burning and brightening through with bursting light!
With meadow-lands and orchards, held its ground;
The goodly place had wavering uplands, sweet
With cattle-pastures, hot with ripening wheat.
The house look'd Westward, where the river lay
Shimmering o'er level lands at close of day,
Or, many-twinkling through the autumnal morn,
In the hazy heat rustled the languid corn.
14
Or the small farms in which the old divide.
By the close pike, a half-mile off to the north,
The tavern, with old-fashion'd sign thrust forth,
Show'd Washington, a little faded then,
(Too faded now, among new-famous men!)
And, close beside, the blacksmith-shop was found,
In August noons obtrusive with its sound,
Or late in winter eves, a welcome sight,
Burning and brightening through with bursting light!
Such was the farm—how dear to my regret!—
Whose fresh life runs into my bosom yet.
My dreams may bear me thither even now.
Again, with eager heart and sunburnt brow,
Homesick at times, I take a noiseless train,
Wandering, breath-like, to my home again;
See my glad brothers, in the June-sweet air,
Toss the green hay, the hot sheaves of harvest bear;
The fireside warms into my heart—how plain!
And my lost mother takes her boy again;
My sisters steal around me tenderly—
And all that can not be yet seems to be!
Whose fresh life runs into my bosom yet.
My dreams may bear me thither even now.
Again, with eager heart and sunburnt brow,
Homesick at times, I take a noiseless train,
Wandering, breath-like, to my home again;
15
Toss the green hay, the hot sheaves of harvest bear;
The fireside warms into my heart—how plain!
And my lost mother takes her boy again;
My sisters steal around me tenderly—
And all that can not be yet seems to be!
In thirty years what changes there have been!—
How disappear the landmarks that were seen!
If I should go to seek my boyhood's place,
What chart would show the way, what guide would trace?
How disappear the landmarks that were seen!
If I should go to seek my boyhood's place,
What chart would show the way, what guide would trace?
New people came. Around the tavern grew
New dwellings and new manners—all things new.
The impetus of something in the land
(Some gold, unseen, diviners understand),
Some mystic loadstone of the earth or air,
Drew all the nimble spirits of action there.
The village, not without a conscious pride,
Grew fast and gather'd in the country-side,
Then took the name of town. And now, behold,
A wild, strange rumor through the country roll'd!—
A railroad was projected, East and West,
Which would not slight us, so the shrewd ones guess'd.
Strange men with chain and compass came at last
Among the hills, across the valley pass'd;
Through field and woodland, pasture, orchard, they
Turn'd not aside, but kept straight on their way.
Old farmers threaten'd, but it did no good—
The quick conservatives of the neighborhood.
“We do not want it!” many said, and one,
“Through field of mine I swear it shall not run!”
And paced his boundary-line with loaded gun.
Others replied (wise, weather-sighted, they!)
“You'll think a little differently, some day.
The wheels of progress will you block—good speed!
(Cut off your nose to spite your face, indeed!)
'T will make the land worth double, where you walk.”
“Stuff! stuff!” the old fogies answer'd—“how you talk!”
New dwellings and new manners—all things new.
The impetus of something in the land
(Some gold, unseen, diviners understand),
Some mystic loadstone of the earth or air,
16
The village, not without a conscious pride,
Grew fast and gather'd in the country-side,
Then took the name of town. And now, behold,
A wild, strange rumor through the country roll'd!—
A railroad was projected, East and West,
Which would not slight us, so the shrewd ones guess'd.
Strange men with chain and compass came at last
Among the hills, across the valley pass'd;
Through field and woodland, pasture, orchard, they
Turn'd not aside, but kept straight on their way.
Old farmers threaten'd, but it did no good—
The quick conservatives of the neighborhood.
“We do not want it!” many said, and one,
“Through field of mine I swear it shall not run!”
And paced his boundary-line with loaded gun.
Others replied (wise, weather-sighted, they!)
17
The wheels of progress will you block—good speed!
(Cut off your nose to spite your face, indeed!)
'T will make the land worth double, where you walk.”
“Stuff! stuff!” the old fogies answer'd—“how you talk!”
The road was open'd. Soon another, down
Northward and Southward, cut across the town:
Both pass'd through meadows where my boyhood stray'd:
One through the barn within whose mow I play'd.
And then a newer force of circumstance
Took hold and pull'd the place in quick advance:
The lovely river—swift, and deep, and strong—
Upon whose shore I fish'd and idled long,
(The still companion of my dreaming hour,)
Had great advantages of water-power.
Saw-mills and grist-mills, factories builded there,
Cover'd the banks and jarr'd the quiet air.
The river could not sleep nor dream its old
Beautiful dream, in morn or evening gold,
Or as a fallen soul had fitful glance
At its divine and lost inheritance.
Northward and Southward, cut across the town:
Both pass'd through meadows where my boyhood stray'd:
One through the barn within whose mow I play'd.
And then a newer force of circumstance
Took hold and pull'd the place in quick advance:
The lovely river—swift, and deep, and strong—
Upon whose shore I fish'd and idled long,
(The still companion of my dreaming hour,)
Had great advantages of water-power.
18
Cover'd the banks and jarr'd the quiet air.
The river could not sleep nor dream its old
Beautiful dream, in morn or evening gold,
Or as a fallen soul had fitful glance
At its divine and lost inheritance.
The town became a city—growing still,
And growing ever, with a giant's will
Gathering and grasping, changing all it took.
A city sewer was my school-boy brook.
The farm remain'd, but only in the name;
The old associations lived the same.
The approaching city drew its arm around,
And threaten'd more and more the invaded ground;
Near and more near its noises humm'd and groan'd,
(Higher and higher priced the land we own'd!)
My father held his ground, and would not sell.
The stiff wiseacres praised his wisdom well.
And growing ever, with a giant's will
Gathering and grasping, changing all it took.
A city sewer was my school-boy brook.
The farm remain'd, but only in the name;
The old associations lived the same.
The approaching city drew its arm around,
And threaten'd more and more the invaded ground;
Near and more near its noises humm'd and groan'd,
(Higher and higher priced the land we own'd!)
My father held his ground, and would not sell.
19
At last I came from home. At college long
Absent, at home something, meanwhile, went wrong.
I need not tell the fact. What house is proof,
With jealous threshold and protected roof
Against the subtle foes that every-where
Stand waiting to attack in safest air—
The insidious foes of Fortune or of Fate,
Who plan our ruin while we estimate
Our sum of new success? My father died—
(My mother soon was buried by his side;)
The farm pass'd into speculative hands,
Who turn'd to sudden profit all its lands.
The greedy city seized upon them fast,
And the dear home was swept into the Past.
Across its quiet meadows streets were laid,
White-hot, the dusty thoroughfares of trade.
Where the gray farm-house had its sacred hearth
Sprang buildings hiding heaven and crowding earth.
Absent, at home something, meanwhile, went wrong.
I need not tell the fact. What house is proof,
With jealous threshold and protected roof
Against the subtle foes that every-where
Stand waiting to attack in safest air—
The insidious foes of Fortune or of Fate,
Who plan our ruin while we estimate
Our sum of new success? My father died—
(My mother soon was buried by his side;)
The farm pass'd into speculative hands,
Who turn'd to sudden profit all its lands.
The greedy city seized upon them fast,
And the dear home was swept into the Past.
Across its quiet meadows streets were laid,
White-hot, the dusty thoroughfares of trade.
20
Sprang buildings hiding heaven and crowding earth.
A score of years were pass'd. Return'd by chance
(A railway accident the circumstance)
To that strange city only known by name,
Unwilling visitor by night I came;
And, sleeping there within some great hotel,
There rose a dream that fills my heart to tell.
I came, a boy—it seem'd not long away—
Close to my father's house at shut of day.
I cross'd the pasture and the orchard where
Glimmer'd the cider-mill in golden air;
The faint, soft tremor of the wandering bell
Of cattle mingled with the old clover-smell.
I leap'd the brook that twinkled darkly bright,
And saw the farm-house dusk'd in mellow light.
The river, painted with the Western gleam,
Show'd through the leaves a Paradisal dream.
By the side-door my father met me then,
My mother kiss'd me in the porch again—
A moment all that was not was! I 'woke
And through my window saw the morning smoke
Of the loud city. And my dream, behold,
Was on the spot of the dear hearth of old!
A man's vain tears hung vague within my eyes.
(A railway accident the circumstance)
To that strange city only known by name,
Unwilling visitor by night I came;
And, sleeping there within some great hotel,
There rose a dream that fills my heart to tell.
I came, a boy—it seem'd not long away—
Close to my father's house at shut of day.
I cross'd the pasture and the orchard where
Glimmer'd the cider-mill in golden air;
The faint, soft tremor of the wandering bell
Of cattle mingled with the old clover-smell.
I leap'd the brook that twinkled darkly bright,
And saw the farm-house dusk'd in mellow light.
The river, painted with the Western gleam,
21
By the side-door my father met me then,
My mother kiss'd me in the porch again—
A moment all that was not was! I 'woke
And through my window saw the morning smoke
Of the loud city. And my dream, behold,
Was on the spot of the dear hearth of old!
A man's vain tears hung vague within my eyes.
The Lost Farm underneath the city lies.
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THE FORGOTTEN WELL.
By the old high road I find,
(The weeds their story tell,)
With fallen curb and fill'd with stones,
A long-forgotten well.
(The weeds their story tell,)
With fallen curb and fill'd with stones,
A long-forgotten well.
The chimney, crumbling near,
A mute historian stands,
Of human joy and human woe—
Far, faded fireside bands!
A mute historian stands,
Of human joy and human woe—
Far, faded fireside bands!
Here still the apple blows
Its bloom of rose-lit snow;
The rose-tree bless'd some gentle hands
With roses, long ago.
Its bloom of rose-lit snow;
The rose-tree bless'd some gentle hands
With roses, long ago.
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I can not choose but dream
Of all thy good foredone;
Old alms-giver, thy gifts once more
Show diamonds in the sun!
Of all thy good foredone;
Old alms-giver, thy gifts once more
Show diamonds in the sun!
From yonder vanish'd home,
Blithe children therein born;
The mother with her crowing babe;
The grandsire palsy-worn;
Blithe children therein born;
The mother with her crowing babe;
The grandsire palsy-worn;
Strong men, whose weighted limbs
Falter through dust and heat;
Lithe youths in dreamland sowing deeds;
Shy maidens blushing sweet;
Falter through dust and heat;
Lithe youths in dreamland sowing deeds;
Shy maidens blushing sweet;
The reaper from his sheaves;
The mower from his hay—
These take thy freshness in their hearts,
And pass—my dream—away!
The mower from his hay—
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And pass—my dream—away!
Forgotten by the throng,
Uncared for and unknown,
None seek thee through the wood of weeds
Neglect has slowly sown.
Uncared for and unknown,
None seek thee through the wood of weeds
Neglect has slowly sown.
Yet, under all, thou'rt there—
Exhaustless, pure, and cold—
If but the sunshine came to see;
The fountain ne'er grows old!
Exhaustless, pure, and cold—
If but the sunshine came to see;
The fountain ne'er grows old!
25
TWO HARVESTS.
A MOUND IN THE PRAIRIES.
All day the reapers through the wheat
Have wrought amid the sultry heat,
Reaping the harvest wide and fleet.
Have wrought amid the sultry heat,
Reaping the harvest wide and fleet.
All day the binders' stooping train
Have swelter'd through the sweating grain,
Binding the bearded sheaves amain:
Have swelter'd through the sweating grain,
Binding the bearded sheaves amain:
With shouted jest, with breaks of song,
Lightening their heavy toil along,
A merry-hearted, boisterous throng!
Lightening their heavy toil along,
A merry-hearted, boisterous throng!
But now, where all alone I stand,
The shocks like tents of gold expand,
The camp of Plenty in the Land!
The shocks like tents of gold expand,
The camp of Plenty in the Land!
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Through the wide solitude around
Shrills but the empty dream of sound;
The Hours in golden sheaf lie bound.
Shrills but the empty dream of sound;
The Hours in golden sheaf lie bound.
Bathed in the crimsoning hush of air,
Yon mound, against the twilight bare
Breathes from a deeper twilight there.
Yon mound, against the twilight bare
Breathes from a deeper twilight there.
The long grass rustled, year by year;
The herded bison thunder'd near;
Bounding in sunshine flew the deer.
The herded bison thunder'd near;
Bounding in sunshine flew the deer.
The summers went, the summers came—
Years, years, years, years!—and all the same;
November's winding-sheet was flame!
Years, years, years, years!—and all the same;
November's winding-sheet was flame!
The trees that hedge the prairies in
Have whispers dim of what has been,
Traditions of their crumbled kin.
Have whispers dim of what has been,
Traditions of their crumbled kin.
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Yon mound was still while centuries fled
And at their feet forgot their dead;
Nothing was ask'd and nothing said.
And at their feet forgot their dead;
Nothing was ask'd and nothing said.
Now, vast with twilight's glamoury,
It whispers weirdly unto me;
Great dusky mirages I see.
It whispers weirdly unto me;
Great dusky mirages I see.
In far-off days the Atlantic morn
Came not to find a world new-born;
Wide fields of sunshine shake with corn.
Came not to find a world new-born;
Wide fields of sunshine shake with corn.
Lo, here an elder harvest land,
With many another reaper band!—
The tents of Plenty thickly stand.
With many another reaper band!—
The tents of Plenty thickly stand.
All day the binders' stooping train,
Sweltering through the sweating grain,
Bind the hot-bearded sheaves amain:
Sweltering through the sweating grain,
Bind the hot-bearded sheaves amain:
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With shouted jest, with breaks of song,
Lightening their heavy toil along,
A merry-hearted, boisterous throng!
Lightening their heavy toil along,
A merry-hearted, boisterous throng!
And, as in those fair fields we see,
Through Bible-gates of memory,
In the high East shine beauteously:
Through Bible-gates of memory,
In the high East shine beauteously:
Some Boaz owns the harvest plain,
Where, following the reapers' train,
See, Ruth, the gleaner, walks again!
Where, following the reapers' train,
See, Ruth, the gleaner, walks again!
Love, that had flush'd the centuries,
Lovely, as yonder, dwells with these;
And Faith, with nations at her knees!
Lovely, as yonder, dwells with these;
And Faith, with nations at her knees!
The same sun shines, the same earth glows,
With the same transient joys and woes
The last man as the first man knows.
With the same transient joys and woes
The last man as the first man knows.
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For Nature, swarthy mother, warms
(However changed their faces, forms,)
One human family in her arms!
(However changed their faces, forms,)
One human family in her arms!
The cattle low from field to fold;
The harvesters in evening gold
Leave the dusk shocks—the tale is told!
The harvesters in evening gold
Leave the dusk shocks—the tale is told!
The silence falls, the twilight deep;
Myriads of morns the grasses creep
Across vast solitudes of sleep.
Myriads of morns the grasses creep
Across vast solitudes of sleep.
The herded bison thunder'd near;
Bounding in sunshine flew the deer;
The long grass rustled year by year.
Bounding in sunshine flew the deer;
The long grass rustled year by year.
Wolf, deer, and bison!—lo! the Wind,
A huntsman wild, to mad and blind,
Flinging his fiery torch behind!
A huntsman wild, to mad and blind,
Flinging his fiery torch behind!
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MOORE'S CHIMNEY.
I.
THE SHADOW-LAND.
Round us lies a Land of Shadow, not a footstep echoes o'er;
Song of peace and cry of battle falter, dying, evermore.
Song of peace and cry of battle falter, dying, evermore.
War-fires in the vales are leaping, with the glaring dance of war,
But the fiercely-gleaming faces are a painted dream afar.
But the fiercely-gleaming faces are a painted dream afar.
O'er the valley, clothed in shadow, sunlit stands the startled deer,
From the cliff against the morning flashing away, breath-like, with fear.
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Lo, the golden light of morning o'er the Land of Shadow cast,
Where the tomahawk is buried in the grave-mound of the Past!
Where the tomahawk is buried in the grave-mound of the Past!
Nothing of that Land remains, now, save these gray historic trees,
Shaking through their glittering branches dews of olden memories!
Shaking through their glittering branches dews of olden memories!
II.
THE RUIN.
Here among the greenery hidden, warder of that Shadow-Land,
Near the noisy-trampled highway, see the old dead chimney stand!—
Near the noisy-trampled highway, see the old dead chimney stand!—
32
Hidden from the busy highway 'mong the cherries large and low,
Whose new blossoms fill the breezes with a gentle drift of snow!
Whose new blossoms fill the breezes with a gentle drift of snow!
Dead!—no more a flame is leaping through it toward the wintry cold;
Dead!—no more its smoke is wreathing woodlands deep and dim and old.
Dead!—no more its smoke is wreathing woodlands deep and dim and old.
Dead!—no more its azure welcome gladdens eyes that houseless roam;
Dead!—no more it seems uplifting incense from the heart of Home!
Dead!—no more it seems uplifting incense from the heart of Home!
Gone the hands that shook the forest, burying in the furrow'd soil
Careful seeds of trust returning harvest-guerdon for their toil.
Careful seeds of trust returning harvest-guerdon for their toil.
33
Gone the hearts that made pale faces, when the wolves came starved with cold,
And the fireside still was waiting through the twilight snows of old.
And the fireside still was waiting through the twilight snows of old.
Gone the homely cabin-threshold, with the feet that cross'd it o'er;
Gone the closely-gather'd household, with their dwelling low and poor.
Gone the closely-gather'd household, with their dwelling low and poor.
Yet I see a light of sparkles redden up old evenings wild,
Like the fancies sent to wander up the chimney by a child.
Like the fancies sent to wander up the chimney by a child.
Hearts, I think, there may be, somewhere, echoing through the vanish'd door,
Dreaming dreams returning, hearing footsteps from the crumbled floor.
Dreaming dreams returning, hearing footsteps from the crumbled floor.
34
Children, whose new lives were darken'd here with shades of sudden fears,
May be children, wandering hither, while old gray men lose their years;
May be children, wandering hither, while old gray men lose their years;
They may hear the red-man's voices through the night the silence start,
And, awaking, the old terror shiver newly through the heart.
And, awaking, the old terror shiver newly through the heart.
You may find them growing weary, faltering through the busy lands,
Wrinkled by the years their faces, shaken by the years their hands.
Wrinkled by the years their faces, shaken by the years their hands.
Of them here no token lingers, save the chimney gray and low,
With a gleam of lighted faces from a fireside long ago!
With a gleam of lighted faces from a fireside long ago!
35
WALKING TO THE STATION.
I wander down the woodland lane,
That to the turnpike greenly steals:
In breathless twilight-gold, again,
To wait the far-approaching wheels;
To hear the driver's horn once more
Wind all around the river wood,
Shy echoes start along the shore
And thrill the bosky solitude.
That to the turnpike greenly steals:
In breathless twilight-gold, again,
To wait the far-approaching wheels;
To hear the driver's horn once more
Wind all around the river wood,
Shy echoes start along the shore
And thrill the bosky solitude.
Here, coming back last night, I 've found,
Of folk familiar once, how few!—
Some, blacken'd names in graveyard ground,
Forgotten on the farms they knew.
In our quick West the ruthless plow
Spares not dear landmarks to displace;
The old Home, so long regretted, now
Stared at me with a stranger's face!
Of folk familiar once, how few!—
Some, blacken'd names in graveyard ground,
Forgotten on the farms they knew.
36
Spares not dear landmarks to displace;
The old Home, so long regretted, now
Stared at me with a stranger's face!
Hark! the vague hum of wheels is blown,
Fitful, across the evening calm—
No; 't is the far-off sound, well known
To boyish ears, of Mower's dam.
I started later than I ought,
It may be, and the stage is pass'd—
Fond fancy!—disenchanting thought,
That will not let the fancy last!
Fitful, across the evening calm—
No; 't is the far-off sound, well known
To boyish ears, of Mower's dam.
I started later than I ought,
It may be, and the stage is pass'd—
Fond fancy!—disenchanting thought,
That will not let the fancy last!
Ah, broken dream! The wheels no more
Ring faint beyond the Southern hill;
No longer down the valley roar,
Waking the twilight bridges still;
No more the lonely farm it cheers
To see the tavern's added light—
The stage is gone these seventeen years;
I walk to meet the train to-night.
Ring faint beyond the Southern hill;
No longer down the valley roar,
Waking the twilight bridges still;
37
To see the tavern's added light—
The stage is gone these seventeen years;
I walk to meet the train to-night.
Yet here 's the crossing (ne'er a trace
Of the old toll-gate toward the mill)—
The parting and the meeting place,
Dear, dear to homesick memory still!
Oh, schoolboy-time of joy and woe,
Of sad farewells, of blithe returns!—
I feel again the pang to go,
The homeward rapture in me burns!
Of the old toll-gate toward the mill)—
The parting and the meeting place,
Dear, dear to homesick memory still!
Oh, schoolboy-time of joy and woe,
Of sad farewells, of blithe returns!—
I feel again the pang to go,
The homeward rapture in me burns!
A sound grows busy with the breeze,
A nearing roar, a glancing light,
A tremor through yon darkling trees—
The fiery pant, the rushing might!
The head-light glares, the whistle screams;
I cross the field, the platform gain.
Give back, for old regrets and dreams,
To-morrow, love and dear ones, train!
A nearing roar, a glancing light,
A tremor through yon darkling trees—
The fiery pant, the rushing might!
38
I cross the field, the platform gain.
Give back, for old regrets and dreams,
To-morrow, love and dear ones, train!
39
GRANDFATHER WRIGHT.
He knew of the great pioneering days,And the dread Indian times that only live
In dreams of old men when the ember-ghost
Of long December evenings, Memory,
Rising from the white ashes of the hearth
And from the ashes of their outburnt lives,
Haunts them, and fills them with a tender breath
From the rough forests, full of wolves and deer,
Where their young hearts made the fierce land their own.
40
FARTHER.
Far-off a young State rises, full of might:I paint its brave escutcheon. Near at hand
See the log cabin in the rough clearing stand;
A woman by its door, with steadfast sight,
Trustful, looks Westward, where, uplifted bright,
Some city's Apparition, weird and grand,
In dazzling quiet fronts the lonely land,
With vast and marvelous structures wrought of light,
Motionless on the burning cloud afar:—
The haunting vision of a time to be,
After the heroic age is ended here,
Built on the boundless, still horizon's bar
By the low sun, his gorgeous prophecy
Lighting the doorway of the pioneer!
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