 | The Country |  |
4
The Country.
5
TO Col. Wade Hampton, WHO HAS DEVOTED SO MANY YEARS TO THE OCCUPATIONS AND IMPROVEMENT OF THE COUNTRY; GIVING TO ITS HORSES, FLOCKS AND HERDS, NEW BEAUTY AND VALUE, AND TO ITS LIFE THE GRACE AND CHARM OF A NOBLE HOSPITALITY, THIS ATTEMPT TO CELEBRATE WHAT HE HAS SO LONG LOVED AND ADORNED, IS DEDICATED WITH RESPECT AND ESTEEM,
BY THE AUTHOR.
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The Argument.
The Poet's wish for country life; few appreciate it; the multitude prefer gold or power; the Country the choice of Sage, Poet, Statesman, wronged by the world, or weary of it; produces the best defenders of a nation; the Ironsides of Cromwell, the Swiss, the clans of Scotland, the Arabs, the Romans; their praises of country life; their charm still appreciated in this far western world; our people, like that of Rome, addicted to rural pursuits and, like them, destined to great ends from small beginnings; their progress; the frontier hunter, the settled farmer, the early preacher; the people, a noble one; prompt to defend their country—Bennington, King's Mountain, New-Orleans; fortunate, if they adhere to their rural occupations and, in adorning and improving their home, follow noble examples.
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“HOC ERAT IN VOTIS.”—
Horace.
Horace.
The Sabine farm amid continuous hills
Remote from honours and their kindred ills,
Its chrystal fountain, and inviting shade
By groves of ancient oak and chesnut made,
Where flocks and herds, in noonday heats repose,
Or linger grazing, at the evening's close;
Where bees abroad, on thyme or willow reap
Their harvest sweets, and rivulets murmur sleep;
The sunny fields, the modest mansion there,
The sober plenty of the rustic year,
Friends, leisure, books—the Muses' various art—
That calm and banish from the Master's heart,
The thorns, the cares, prolific passions yield,
As noxious weeds, are vanquished from the field,
This made the poet's prayer—alas, how few
Enjoy the bliss or deem the blessing true!
Remote from honours and their kindred ills,
Its chrystal fountain, and inviting shade
By groves of ancient oak and chesnut made,
Where flocks and herds, in noonday heats repose,
Or linger grazing, at the evening's close;
Where bees abroad, on thyme or willow reap
Their harvest sweets, and rivulets murmur sleep;
The sunny fields, the modest mansion there,
The sober plenty of the rustic year,
Friends, leisure, books—the Muses' various art—
That calm and banish from the Master's heart,
8
As noxious weeds, are vanquished from the field,
This made the poet's prayer—alas, how few
Enjoy the bliss or deem the blessing true!
How few from gold's alluring visions fly
Or shun ambition with undazzled eye,
Turn from the specious gifts their sorceries give,
And taught by Time's long lesson learn to live;
Law's fairy fortune fled, a bankrupt scheme,
Napoleon's boundless rule, a baseless dream;
Chained to his rock, from arms and power apart,
With vulture memories feeding on his heart,
In broken accents of imperial sway
And stern command, he breathed his soul away,
In vain—nor less in vain the lesson fraught
With gentler lore, by nobler spirits taught,
When, for the pomp and pride of war and state,
Untainted by the pleasures of the great,
They seek the happiness that never cloys
Of homelier pleasures and serener joys;
In vain—new schemes bewilder and betray,
New crowds pursue, where honours point the way;
Alike the dupes of vanity and lies,
If won, or missed, the hard contested prize,
From the drained cup, the insensate revellers crave
A deeper draught, insatiate to the grave,
Crushed the fond scheme! yet haunted by its ghost
They clutch the shadowy form, the substance lost,
As storm tossed seamen seize the broken mast,
Cling to the wreck, and struggle to the last,
The foundered demagogue of party strife
Cleaves to his purpose and intrigues for life;
Fallen from the topmost pinnacle of place,
He rails and wrangles, at the miry base,
And as the drunkard hugs his hapless doom,
Raves and harangues, like Adams to the tomb.
Or shun ambition with undazzled eye,
Turn from the specious gifts their sorceries give,
And taught by Time's long lesson learn to live;
Law's fairy fortune fled, a bankrupt scheme,
Napoleon's boundless rule, a baseless dream;
Chained to his rock, from arms and power apart,
With vulture memories feeding on his heart,
In broken accents of imperial sway
And stern command, he breathed his soul away,
In vain—nor less in vain the lesson fraught
9
When, for the pomp and pride of war and state,
Untainted by the pleasures of the great,
They seek the happiness that never cloys
Of homelier pleasures and serener joys;
In vain—new schemes bewilder and betray,
New crowds pursue, where honours point the way;
Alike the dupes of vanity and lies,
If won, or missed, the hard contested prize,
From the drained cup, the insensate revellers crave
A deeper draught, insatiate to the grave,
Crushed the fond scheme! yet haunted by its ghost
They clutch the shadowy form, the substance lost,
As storm tossed seamen seize the broken mast,
Cling to the wreck, and struggle to the last,
The foundered demagogue of party strife
10
Fallen from the topmost pinnacle of place,
He rails and wrangles, at the miry base,
And as the drunkard hugs his hapless doom,
Raves and harangues, like Adams to the tomb.
In ancient Elis, to the Olympic game,
From towns and states when joyous myriads came
For fame, or gain, or idler crowds to see,
With tranquil eye, defeat or victory,
In calm spectator and exciting strife,
The Sage of Samos viewed the scenes of life,
Claimed, as his own, the cool observer's part,
Disdained the racer's speed, the wrestler's art,
The craft of state, the trader's busy care,
To dwell with nature, in a purer sphere,
Her games, her strifes, her various tribes explore,
In field or wood, by sea or river shore,
With Holbrook's eye, to watch their changeful mood
And hoard the wisdom won from solitude.
From towns and states when joyous myriads came
For fame, or gain, or idler crowds to see,
With tranquil eye, defeat or victory,
In calm spectator and exciting strife,
The Sage of Samos viewed the scenes of life,
Claimed, as his own, the cool observer's part,
Disdained the racer's speed, the wrestler's art,
The craft of state, the trader's busy care,
To dwell with nature, in a purer sphere,
11
In field or wood, by sea or river shore,
With Holbrook's eye, to watch their changeful mood
And hoard the wisdom won from solitude.
Such the calm shelter for his weary age
Of Milton's prayer—the peaceful hermitage;
Such the pure life by Rydal's grassy mead,
Mountain and lake that Wordsworth loved to lead,
That Shakspeare sought, contemptuous of the bays,
The town's poor pleasures, and uncertain praise;
That Cowper found a healing balm to cure,
Or soothe the ills that stricken hearts endure;
That Shenstone dressed, with taste and love allied,
That Scott adorned on Tweed's romantic side,
That Horace wished, that Mantua's poet knew,
That Cowley praised and Thomson's pencil drew.
Of Milton's prayer—the peaceful hermitage;
Such the pure life by Rydal's grassy mead,
Mountain and lake that Wordsworth loved to lead,
That Shakspeare sought, contemptuous of the bays,
The town's poor pleasures, and uncertain praise;
That Cowper found a healing balm to cure,
Or soothe the ills that stricken hearts endure;
That Shenstone dressed, with taste and love allied,
That Scott adorned on Tweed's romantic side,
That Horace wished, that Mantua's poet knew,
12
Here Statesmen wronged or wearied seek repose,
Relief from labour and retreat from foes,
Zama's great victor, in his rural home,
Scorned or forgot the ingratitude of Rome,
And Tully from the noisy Forum came,
In lettered ease to find new fields of fame;
Waked from long slumber when the boundless rage
Of license ruled the spirit of the age,
On trampled altars, when the Tiger mood
Of France ran riot with the taste of blood,
From Burke's retreat, arose the voice of power
That checked and quelled the phrenzy of the hour,
Abashed the exorcis'd demon slunk away,
And Truth and Order reassumed their sway.
But not for Poet, nor for sage alone,
To calm and teach, is Nature's influence known;
Her subtle spells and plastic powers controul
The spirit's power and form the heroic soul;
She bids the heart with patriot ardour glow,
She hurls its vigour on the invading foe,
Awakes its wrath for violated laws,
And points its sword, in freedom's sacred cause.
Relief from labour and retreat from foes,
Zama's great victor, in his rural home,
Scorned or forgot the ingratitude of Rome,
And Tully from the noisy Forum came,
In lettered ease to find new fields of fame;
Waked from long slumber when the boundless rage
Of license ruled the spirit of the age,
On trampled altars, when the Tiger mood
Of France ran riot with the taste of blood,
From Burke's retreat, arose the voice of power
That checked and quelled the phrenzy of the hour,
Abashed the exorcis'd demon slunk away,
And Truth and Order reassumed their sway.
13
To calm and teach, is Nature's influence known;
Her subtle spells and plastic powers controul
The spirit's power and form the heroic soul;
She bids the heart with patriot ardour glow,
She hurls its vigour on the invading foe,
Awakes its wrath for violated laws,
And points its sword, in freedom's sacred cause.
Of such the iron bands that formed and taught
By Cromwell's skill, in Naseby's battle fought,
No placeless lackies taught to cringe and bow,
In city haunts, but yeomen from the plough;
The sword of Gideon disciplined to wield
They drove the Stuart's gay pennon from the field,
Made distant tyrants on their mad career
Of carnage pause, and bigots pale with fear:
From Piedmont's caves, no more the dying cries
Of stifled multitudes for vengeance rise;
On Savoy's hills, religious murders cease,
And child and mother pray and sleep in peace.
By Cromwell's skill, in Naseby's battle fought,
No placeless lackies taught to cringe and bow,
In city haunts, but yeomen from the plough;
The sword of Gideon disciplined to wield
They drove the Stuart's gay pennon from the field,
Made distant tyrants on their mad career
14
From Piedmont's caves, no more the dying cries
Of stifled multitudes for vengeance rise;
On Savoy's hills, religious murders cease,
And child and mother pray and sleep in peace.
In Alpine valleys such the hardy host,
And such the clans of Scotland's rugged coast,
Stern on their native hills as when afar
Their Slogan's voice, amid the din of war,
Thrilled on the fevered matron's slumbering ear,
In Lucknow's walls, and spoke of succour near:
Resistless there, with fierce avenging wrath,
Through rebel ranks, they clove their crimson path;
Maid, mother, children, hailed the tartaned brave,
And blessed the hero sent of heaven to save.
Such be our champions, children of the field,
Strong with the vigour healthful labours yield,
Not the pale growth of cities, of the gloom
Of cellars, cripples from the mill or loom;
Gaunt in-door workmen, never trained to bear
The summer's heat or winter's biting air,
Whose faculties are cramped and cabined in
To cut or point the wire that forms a pin,
Or polish needles, or like spiders spread,
In muslin webs, the attenuated thread;
Weak, toiling artists, fated to supply
Wealth's idle wants and labour till they die;
To swift extinction doomed, but nature's hand
Marches new levies from the teeming land,
Recruits the decimated ranks, sustains
And lends new vigour to their feeble veins.
Mother of men! Thy rustic vigour gives
Alone, the heart by which a Nation lives;
Strong in thy strength, untamed the Arab roves
His waste of sand, and guards his spicy groves,
Unconquered by the Turk's destroying horde,
Assyria's arrow, or the Roman sword,
While all his holy cities sink the prey
Of vice submissive to the stranger's sway.
And such the clans of Scotland's rugged coast,
Stern on their native hills as when afar
Their Slogan's voice, amid the din of war,
Thrilled on the fevered matron's slumbering ear,
In Lucknow's walls, and spoke of succour near:
Resistless there, with fierce avenging wrath,
Through rebel ranks, they clove their crimson path;
Maid, mother, children, hailed the tartaned brave,
And blessed the hero sent of heaven to save.
15
Strong with the vigour healthful labours yield,
Not the pale growth of cities, of the gloom
Of cellars, cripples from the mill or loom;
Gaunt in-door workmen, never trained to bear
The summer's heat or winter's biting air,
Whose faculties are cramped and cabined in
To cut or point the wire that forms a pin,
Or polish needles, or like spiders spread,
In muslin webs, the attenuated thread;
Weak, toiling artists, fated to supply
Wealth's idle wants and labour till they die;
To swift extinction doomed, but nature's hand
Marches new levies from the teeming land,
Recruits the decimated ranks, sustains
And lends new vigour to their feeble veins.
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Alone, the heart by which a Nation lives;
Strong in thy strength, untamed the Arab roves
His waste of sand, and guards his spicy groves,
Unconquered by the Turk's destroying horde,
Assyria's arrow, or the Roman sword,
While all his holy cities sink the prey
Of vice submissive to the stranger's sway.
From fields and folds the martial Roman came,
The dauntless spirit, the athletic frame,
By labour nerved, on rustic plenty fed,
To health and vigour by endurance bred,
In warlike virtues trained by rustic cares,
To scorn the toil of camp, the battle's fears,
Yet prompt, with crowns of triumph on his brow
The sword renouncing, to resume the plough,
He flew his eagles till the wasting blight
Of city vices checked their onward flight.
The dauntless spirit, the athletic frame,
By labour nerved, on rustic plenty fed,
To health and vigour by endurance bred,
In warlike virtues trained by rustic cares,
To scorn the toil of camp, the battle's fears,
Yet prompt, with crowns of triumph on his brow
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He flew his eagles till the wasting blight
Of city vices checked their onward flight.
Nor versed in arms alone! he learned to praise
The fields he cherished in immortal lays;
To teach the art that guides the farmer's hand,
When with the plough to turn the fertile land,
How wed to ash or elm the yielding vine,
What cares attend the fleecy flock or kine,
Or horse of nobler breed; what signs betray
The storm, or promise the serener day,
What nice experience aids the roving bee
To make and store his vernal luxury;
How guard the grassy mead with bank and drain,
What seed the valley asks and what the plain
Which soils, or rich, or stoney, readiest suit
The olive's wealth, the orchard's blushing fruit,
Unfold the varied purpose of the year,
Its simple pleasures and abundant cheer,
Spring's fragrant breezes, summer's cool resorts,
Autumn's gay feasts, and winter's bracing sports.
The fields he cherished in immortal lays;
To teach the art that guides the farmer's hand,
When with the plough to turn the fertile land,
How wed to ash or elm the yielding vine,
What cares attend the fleecy flock or kine,
Or horse of nobler breed; what signs betray
The storm, or promise the serener day,
What nice experience aids the roving bee
To make and store his vernal luxury;
How guard the grassy mead with bank and drain,
What seed the valley asks and what the plain
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The olive's wealth, the orchard's blushing fruit,
Unfold the varied purpose of the year,
Its simple pleasures and abundant cheer,
Spring's fragrant breezes, summer's cool resorts,
Autumn's gay feasts, and winter's bracing sports.
So with unequalled dignity and grace
The Mantuan bard instructs the rustic race,
With stately ease and elegance describes
The forest's grandeur and its leafy tribes,
The tall Narycian pine, Dodona's oak,
And sacred beech, where Jove in whispers spoke,
Cedars of fragrant green, the flexile yew,
That gave its vigour to the Parthian bow,
The sea of box on green Cytorus' sides,
The Alder flourishing where Mincius glides,
Caucasian woods, that winter storms delight
To rend and scatter from the mountain height:
Warm with the theme, his kindling verses glow,
With growing beauty, brightening as they flow;
Oh, blest of Heaven! the wrapt enthusiast cries,
Too greatly blest; whom nature's hand supplies,
Far from the selfish clamours of the crowd,
Far from the gilded mansions of the proud,
With plenty, peace, security, content,
A life in simple cares and pleasure spent,
Safe slumbers in the shade of caverned rocks,
The rural music of the lowing ox,
Of bird, or breeze, or sound of rustling trees,
Of pebbly brook at play, or murmuring bees,
Where frugal wants and quiet toils engage
Laborious youth and venerable age;
Where Justice left her parting footsteps driven
From earth's pollutions to her native Heaven;
Oh, who! what God, what Muse's present aid,
Will lay their votary in the sacred shade
Of Hœmus, and his joyous days prolong
In Tempe, smitten with the love of song,
From wealth afar and power's delusive smile,
The world's vain cheats, its arrogance and guile.
The Mantuan bard instructs the rustic race,
With stately ease and elegance describes
The forest's grandeur and its leafy tribes,
The tall Narycian pine, Dodona's oak,
And sacred beech, where Jove in whispers spoke,
Cedars of fragrant green, the flexile yew,
That gave its vigour to the Parthian bow,
The sea of box on green Cytorus' sides,
19
Caucasian woods, that winter storms delight
To rend and scatter from the mountain height:
Warm with the theme, his kindling verses glow,
With growing beauty, brightening as they flow;
Oh, blest of Heaven! the wrapt enthusiast cries,
Too greatly blest; whom nature's hand supplies,
Far from the selfish clamours of the crowd,
Far from the gilded mansions of the proud,
With plenty, peace, security, content,
A life in simple cares and pleasure spent,
Safe slumbers in the shade of caverned rocks,
The rural music of the lowing ox,
Of bird, or breeze, or sound of rustling trees,
Of pebbly brook at play, or murmuring bees,
Where frugal wants and quiet toils engage
20
Where Justice left her parting footsteps driven
From earth's pollutions to her native Heaven;
Oh, who! what God, what Muse's present aid,
Will lay their votary in the sacred shade
Of Hœmus, and his joyous days prolong
In Tempe, smitten with the love of song,
From wealth afar and power's delusive smile,
The world's vain cheats, its arrogance and guile.
So sang the poet; Latium's echoes caught
His strains, the rustic listened as he taught,
Fresh joys in rural haunt and hamlet played
And statesmen found new pleasure in the shade.
His strains, the rustic listened as he taught,
Fresh joys in rural haunt and hamlet played
And statesmen found new pleasure in the shade.
Away from Tiber's banks, in climes remote,
Still loved and honoured lives the Poet's note,
Where nobler streams reflect a bluer sky,
Where greener fields and broader valleys lie,
Where deep in forest hid and mountain glen,
Cradles of States, and nurseries of men,
A sturdy brood, like Rome's undaunted race,
Trained to the plough and hardened to the chase,
To empire rushing from the Atlantic shore,
Climb the blue hills, the distant plains explore;
Their course, nor toil retards, nor foes restrain,
Stream, mountain, desert, check their speed in vain;
Weak, too, at first—like Rome's yet infant state,
When Gaul's barbarians thundered at her gate—
They braved the tomahawk of savage strife,
The midnight warwhoop, and the bloody knife,
Till now resistless grown in manhood's might,
Swift and unswerving as the eagle's flight
Their onward march—they see and follow far
In western skies, the light of Empire's star,
And stay the advancing standard only where
The broad Pacific stops their bold career.
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Where nobler streams reflect a bluer sky,
Where greener fields and broader valleys lie,
Where deep in forest hid and mountain glen,
Cradles of States, and nurseries of men,
A sturdy brood, like Rome's undaunted race,
Trained to the plough and hardened to the chase,
To empire rushing from the Atlantic shore,
Climb the blue hills, the distant plains explore;
Their course, nor toil retards, nor foes restrain,
Stream, mountain, desert, check their speed in vain;
Weak, too, at first—like Rome's yet infant state,
When Gaul's barbarians thundered at her gate—
They braved the tomahawk of savage strife,
The midnight warwhoop, and the bloody knife,
Till now resistless grown in manhood's might,
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Their onward march—they see and follow far
In western skies, the light of Empire's star,
And stay the advancing standard only where
The broad Pacific stops their bold career.
So from his fountain of dissolving snows,
At first a feeble rill Missouri flows,
Now, loitering with the idle sedge at play,
Now, murmuring at the pebble in his way,
Beneath o'erhanging boughs a verdant arch
Of hemlock, stealing now his quiet march;
Then, through the rocky cleft, the torrent toils,
Along the roaring rapid foams and boils,
Till, with the tribute of a thousand streams,
Broad in the sun the boundless river gleams,
Pours, in full flood, his deluge on the plain,
And rolls resistless to the distant main.
At first a feeble rill Missouri flows,
Now, loitering with the idle sedge at play,
Now, murmuring at the pebble in his way,
Beneath o'erhanging boughs a verdant arch
Of hemlock, stealing now his quiet march;
Then, through the rocky cleft, the torrent toils,
Along the roaring rapid foams and boils,
Till, with the tribute of a thousand streams,
Broad in the sun the boundless river gleams,
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And rolls resistless to the distant main.
First in the march the hardy hunter dares
Each untried peril, and the way prepares
For feebler steps; amid the stately pride
Of oak and elm, the quiet brook beside,
Where, far and wide, before his searching eyes,
Savannahs blossom, and dark forests rise,
His rifle, axe, and dauntless heart invade
The unknown secrets of the woodland shade;
With logs to measure notched, and roughly cut,
Course after course, he rears his homely hut,
Of shingle forms the roof, the narrow door
Of timber squared, of trampled clay the floor;
One room supplies his wants, one chimney place,
For all his household, spreads an ample space,
Warms, through the day, his cabin home and lights,
With knots of pine, his busy winter nights;
Beside the blaze—white-headed urchins near
To watch or help—the hunter mends his gear;
His wife apart prepares the evening meal,
Or plies the labour of the loom or wheel;
Rough hounds along the floor, at ease retrace,
In sleep, the fortunes of the morning chase,
With twitching limbs and dreamy yelps pursue
The buck, and drag him to the ground anew.
Each untried peril, and the way prepares
For feebler steps; amid the stately pride
Of oak and elm, the quiet brook beside,
Where, far and wide, before his searching eyes,
Savannahs blossom, and dark forests rise,
His rifle, axe, and dauntless heart invade
The unknown secrets of the woodland shade;
With logs to measure notched, and roughly cut,
Course after course, he rears his homely hut,
Of shingle forms the roof, the narrow door
Of timber squared, of trampled clay the floor;
One room supplies his wants, one chimney place,
24
Warms, through the day, his cabin home and lights,
With knots of pine, his busy winter nights;
Beside the blaze—white-headed urchins near
To watch or help—the hunter mends his gear;
His wife apart prepares the evening meal,
Or plies the labour of the loom or wheel;
Rough hounds along the floor, at ease retrace,
In sleep, the fortunes of the morning chase,
With twitching limbs and dreamy yelps pursue
The buck, and drag him to the ground anew.
No costly forms of furniture provide,
For idlers, ease, complacency for pride,
No sofa's length invites the lounger here,
The bench or block supplies the easy chair,
White beechen trenchers, spoons of polished horn,
And cups of shining tin the shelf adorn,
Or massive table, by the wall apart
Secure from paint and innocent of art;
O'er chimneys nailed, broad horns in antlered state
Of bucks sustain the rifle's idle weight,
Or bristling on the oak as trophies stand,
And tell the skill that guides the hunter's hand.
For idlers, ease, complacency for pride,
No sofa's length invites the lounger here,
The bench or block supplies the easy chair,
25
And cups of shining tin the shelf adorn,
Or massive table, by the wall apart
Secure from paint and innocent of art;
O'er chimneys nailed, broad horns in antlered state
Of bucks sustain the rifle's idle weight,
Or bristling on the oak as trophies stand,
And tell the skill that guides the hunter's hand.
Now, on the forest, the long war begins,
A bloodless field, the hunter ready wins;
To left, to right, with skillful arm he wields
His conquering axe—the stately hickory yields,
Majestic oaks, submissive meet their fate,
The strong earth trembles with the falling weight;
Well dried by sun and wind, on spring's return
In crackling fires, the gathered branches burn,
And leave a fertile space—the hoe subdues
And turns the soil to mellowing showers and dews;
With bounteous harvest, every field is spread,
Broad gourds for dishes, yellow maize for bread,
The climbling bean, the pumpkin's ample round,
Spread their wide leaves and shade the cumbered ground
Expectant children watch the coming cheer,
Feast on the ripening pod and milky ear,
And the glad matron to her standing store
Of bear or venison, adds one dainty more.
A bloodless field, the hunter ready wins;
To left, to right, with skillful arm he wields
His conquering axe—the stately hickory yields,
Majestic oaks, submissive meet their fate,
The strong earth trembles with the falling weight;
Well dried by sun and wind, on spring's return
26
And leave a fertile space—the hoe subdues
And turns the soil to mellowing showers and dews;
With bounteous harvest, every field is spread,
Broad gourds for dishes, yellow maize for bread,
The climbling bean, the pumpkin's ample round,
Spread their wide leaves and shade the cumbered ground
Expectant children watch the coming cheer,
Feast on the ripening pod and milky ear,
And the glad matron to her standing store
Of bear or venison, adds one dainty more.
When summer's toils are past and summer's sun,
Nor yet grim winter's sleety storms begun,
When on the hills afar, in smoky haze,
The Indian summer veils its mellow rays;
From northern hills, when chilling breezes strew
The wood and glen with leaves of altered hue,
Gold, crimson, purple, showers, that mingling fly,
And swept by winds in rustling masses lie;
When in his hollow, with industrious care,
The squirrel hoards his wonted winter fare
Of shining nuts, and from their airy height
The cry of passing geese is heard at night;
Impatient of repose the hunter eyes
The rifle's length and to the covert flies,
Now, the bear's glossy spoils reward his search,
Or bearded goblers from the morning perch,
Now stealing on, with cautious step and slow,
He stalks the buck, or strikes the barren doe,
Far to their haunts, pursues the flying game
And thins their numbers with unerring aim.
If long harassed to distant wilds they flew,
The ready hunter changed his homestead too,
Though fair his cabin home, a fairer fills
Boone's fancy, beckoning from the distant hills,
Though rich his valley land, a richer lies
Beyond the ridge—a hunter's paradise—
Away he roams to wood and waste unknown,
Hand, eye and rifle, his defence alone,
Skilled, savage wiles with subtler wiles to meet,
He drove the Indian from his dark retreat,
By mighty streams, in forests dim and drear,
Bearded their chiefs and scorned the thought of fear;
A captive, tortured, with unflinching will,
He bore and braved the torturer's baffled skill,
Fled from their toils, with vengeance fired by pain,
Took the long rifle and the woods again,
Unyielding kept his stern determined way,
And held his conquests with a monarch's sway.
Nor yet grim winter's sleety storms begun,
When on the hills afar, in smoky haze,
The Indian summer veils its mellow rays;
27
The wood and glen with leaves of altered hue,
Gold, crimson, purple, showers, that mingling fly,
And swept by winds in rustling masses lie;
When in his hollow, with industrious care,
The squirrel hoards his wonted winter fare
Of shining nuts, and from their airy height
The cry of passing geese is heard at night;
Impatient of repose the hunter eyes
The rifle's length and to the covert flies,
Now, the bear's glossy spoils reward his search,
Or bearded goblers from the morning perch,
Now stealing on, with cautious step and slow,
He stalks the buck, or strikes the barren doe,
Far to their haunts, pursues the flying game
And thins their numbers with unerring aim.
28
The ready hunter changed his homestead too,
Though fair his cabin home, a fairer fills
Boone's fancy, beckoning from the distant hills,
Though rich his valley land, a richer lies
Beyond the ridge—a hunter's paradise—
Away he roams to wood and waste unknown,
Hand, eye and rifle, his defence alone,
Skilled, savage wiles with subtler wiles to meet,
He drove the Indian from his dark retreat,
By mighty streams, in forests dim and drear,
Bearded their chiefs and scorned the thought of fear;
A captive, tortured, with unflinching will,
He bore and braved the torturer's baffled skill,
Fled from their toils, with vengeance fired by pain,
Took the long rifle and the woods again,
29
And held his conquests with a monarch's sway.
But not in thought alone of forest strife,
Or woodland sport, was spent the hunter's life;
From some steep mountain's lingering crest of snow
He gazed, transported, on the scene below,
When spring's light touch had waked the forest trees,
And new-born blossoms wooed the balmy breeze,
When over prairie wide, and forest glade,
Hill top, and valley, herds unnumbered strayed,
Of shaggy buffalo, tall elk, and deer,
At pleasure browsing, careless yet of fear—
Unknown the rifle—to the hunter's breast
Stole gentle thoughts that whispered peace and rest,
Old memories of boyhood's home and friends
By Yadkin's banks, and with the vision blends
A deeper feeling—shadowy thoughts arise
Of awe, instinctive, pointing to the skies
From nature's aspects—but not long the charm
That stops the step, or stays the hunter's arm,
Down, with swift foot, he takes the craggy pass
And the buck's blood imbrues the springing grass.
Or woodland sport, was spent the hunter's life;
From some steep mountain's lingering crest of snow
He gazed, transported, on the scene below,
When spring's light touch had waked the forest trees,
And new-born blossoms wooed the balmy breeze,
When over prairie wide, and forest glade,
Hill top, and valley, herds unnumbered strayed,
Of shaggy buffalo, tall elk, and deer,
At pleasure browsing, careless yet of fear—
Unknown the rifle—to the hunter's breast
Stole gentle thoughts that whispered peace and rest,
Old memories of boyhood's home and friends
30
A deeper feeling—shadowy thoughts arise
Of awe, instinctive, pointing to the skies
From nature's aspects—but not long the charm
That stops the step, or stays the hunter's arm,
Down, with swift foot, he takes the craggy pass
And the buck's blood imbrues the springing grass.
Off with their game, the children of the chase
Impatient pass, a more laborious race
Subdue the forest; from the mountain brow,
Along the vale, obedient to the plough,
Broad farms are seen; the clouds drop fatness there,
In fertilizing showers; from earth and air,
Things whisper happiness; with audible voice
Streams murmur gratitude, the hills rejoice,
Pouring, from maple founts, their sweets in spring,
And, filled with corn, the vallies laugh and sing.
Impatient pass, a more laborious race
Subdue the forest; from the mountain brow,
Along the vale, obedient to the plough,
Broad farms are seen; the clouds drop fatness there,
In fertilizing showers; from earth and air,
Things whisper happiness; with audible voice
Streams murmur gratitude, the hills rejoice,
31
And, filled with corn, the vallies laugh and sing.
In quiet pastures, feed unnumbered flocks,
The frisking colt, the slow, laborious ox;
Herds of fair form engage the farmer's care,
And droves of swine, the sylvan banquet share;
Fit emblem of the Epicurean sty,
To-day that revel and to-morrow die,
Their mast and maize, the greedy host consume,
Feast to the knife, and fatten for their doom.
The frisking colt, the slow, laborious ox;
Herds of fair form engage the farmer's care,
And droves of swine, the sylvan banquet share;
Fit emblem of the Epicurean sty,
To-day that revel and to-morrow die,
Their mast and maize, the greedy host consume,
Feast to the knife, and fatten for their doom.
In cottage yards, familiar sounds are heard,
The sharp, shrill challenge of the martial bird,
The noisy, restless hen from Guinea's coast,
And quacking ducks, and geese a cackling host:
There struts the gobler's state, with crest of pride,
The radiant peacock marches at his side,
Bright tints expand, like gems from monarch's won,
And spread their gorgeous circle to the sun:
Alert and hungry, with inquiring cries
And side-long glances shot from shining eyes,
They watch the matron at her morning stand,
The brimming basket, and the liberal hand,
Rush to her call, with flapping pinions greet
The scattered feast, and scramble at her feet.
The sharp, shrill challenge of the martial bird,
The noisy, restless hen from Guinea's coast,
And quacking ducks, and geese a cackling host:
32
The radiant peacock marches at his side,
Bright tints expand, like gems from monarch's won,
And spread their gorgeous circle to the sun:
Alert and hungry, with inquiring cries
And side-long glances shot from shining eyes,
They watch the matron at her morning stand,
The brimming basket, and the liberal hand,
Rush to her call, with flapping pinions greet
The scattered feast, and scramble at her feet.
No foe to fear, exulting children play,
And gather nuts or flowers the livelong day,
Detect the clustered grape with prying eyes,
And climb the vine to win the purple prize;
Wild echoes on the hills, to shouting boys
Shout in reply; with sympathetic joys,
The dog, their blythe companion gambols round,
Chases the flitting sparrow from the ground,
And clamorous at the oak's deep rooted base,
Bays the shy squirrel in his pride of place.
And gather nuts or flowers the livelong day,
Detect the clustered grape with prying eyes,
And climb the vine to win the purple prize;
Wild echoes on the hills, to shouting boys
33
The dog, their blythe companion gambols round,
Chases the flitting sparrow from the ground,
And clamorous at the oak's deep rooted base,
Bays the shy squirrel in his pride of place.
Embanked and guided now the mountain rill,
No longer idle, turns the exacting mill,
The log-built cabin and rude fence are gone,
Trim painted pales enclose the grassy lawn,
And elm or oak beside—a leafy skreen—
With lattice windows of contrasted green,
White mansions gleam, and garners statelier still,
Rise through the vale or crown the adjoining hill;
Close in the rear, an ample garden spreads
With roses gay, a maze of walks and beds;
Orchards with minstrel music never mute
In blossom blush, or glow with autumn's fruit,
And on the new-mown field the tedded hay,
With grateful fragrance cheers the brightening day.
No longer idle, turns the exacting mill,
The log-built cabin and rude fence are gone,
Trim painted pales enclose the grassy lawn,
And elm or oak beside—a leafy skreen—
With lattice windows of contrasted green,
White mansions gleam, and garners statelier still,
Rise through the vale or crown the adjoining hill;
Close in the rear, an ample garden spreads
With roses gay, a maze of walks and beds;
34
In blossom blush, or glow with autumn's fruit,
And on the new-mown field the tedded hay,
With grateful fragrance cheers the brightening day.
Along the valley, spires, in calm repose,
That forest trees half hide and half disclose,
Arrest the eye, with wiser lessons fraught
Than Grecian sage or Roman ever taught;
There, in the grave's sad refuge slumberers lie
And wait their joyous summons to the sky;
For savage yells and shrieks of earlier days,
Swells the soft solemn voice of Sabbath praise;
While teachers toil with earnest zeal to find
Each easier access to the rustic mind;
And where from Nature's scenes the Indian drew
Of Nature's author all the love he knew,
To purer faith, they bid her forms convey
A clearer light, to guide the rustic's way;
He sees, with pensive eye, the forest round
Restore its faded foliage to the ground,
Learns from the swelling bud and opening flower,
More grateful thoughts, for genial dew and shower;
And when with heavier hand he turns the soil,
Digs, breaks and harrows with redoubled toil
And sees as deeper sinks the rugged share,
That richer harvests fill the closing year;
So too he finds, when troubles harder grow,
And the torn bosom's ploughed with sharper woe,
From seeming griefs, celestial pleasures rise,
And the heart's harvest blossoms for the skies;
He feels the heavenly husbandman's controul,
And learns how sorrows fertilize the soul.
That forest trees half hide and half disclose,
Arrest the eye, with wiser lessons fraught
Than Grecian sage or Roman ever taught;
There, in the grave's sad refuge slumberers lie
And wait their joyous summons to the sky;
For savage yells and shrieks of earlier days,
Swells the soft solemn voice of Sabbath praise;
While teachers toil with earnest zeal to find
Each easier access to the rustic mind;
And where from Nature's scenes the Indian drew
35
To purer faith, they bid her forms convey
A clearer light, to guide the rustic's way;
He sees, with pensive eye, the forest round
Restore its faded foliage to the ground,
Learns from the swelling bud and opening flower,
More grateful thoughts, for genial dew and shower;
And when with heavier hand he turns the soil,
Digs, breaks and harrows with redoubled toil
And sees as deeper sinks the rugged share,
That richer harvests fill the closing year;
So too he finds, when troubles harder grow,
And the torn bosom's ploughed with sharper woe,
From seeming griefs, celestial pleasures rise,
And the heart's harvest blossoms for the skies;
He feels the heavenly husbandman's controul,
36
Such thoughts they gain from men in humble guise,
Though rude in garb, in saintly wisdom wise,
Trained by no college to their simple creed,
And bold and hardy as the flocks they feed,
The Bible furnishing their pulpit lore,
The leathern saddle bags, their worldly store,
The horse, their help, companion, friend, they go
Through summer's burning heat and winter's snow,
Climb the rough mountain, swim the icy stream,
Dare the wolf's howl, and brave the panther's scream;
The fallen leaves their bed, at evening's close,
Broad sheltering oaks invite them to repose,
Their steps no danger, toil, nor want delays,
The forest echoes to their song of praise,
As, strong in faith, through pathless woods they ride,
The sun or mossy trunk of trees their guide,
And, steadfast like the sun to place and day,
Hasten to teach the Borderer how to pray,
Religion's pioneers, to do, or bear
What martyrs suffer, or what heroes dare,
They preach with simple eloquence, reprove,
Sow, in rough hearts, the seeds of Christian love,
Rough hearts but honest, no devices there
Clothe glib hypocricy in forms of prayer,
Plain, as their homespun garb of household dyes,
But pure, the faith that leads them to the skies.
Though rude in garb, in saintly wisdom wise,
Trained by no college to their simple creed,
And bold and hardy as the flocks they feed,
The Bible furnishing their pulpit lore,
The leathern saddle bags, their worldly store,
The horse, their help, companion, friend, they go
Through summer's burning heat and winter's snow,
Climb the rough mountain, swim the icy stream,
Dare the wolf's howl, and brave the panther's scream;
The fallen leaves their bed, at evening's close,
Broad sheltering oaks invite them to repose,
Their steps no danger, toil, nor want delays,
The forest echoes to their song of praise,
37
The sun or mossy trunk of trees their guide,
And, steadfast like the sun to place and day,
Hasten to teach the Borderer how to pray,
Religion's pioneers, to do, or bear
What martyrs suffer, or what heroes dare,
They preach with simple eloquence, reprove,
Sow, in rough hearts, the seeds of Christian love,
Rough hearts but honest, no devices there
Clothe glib hypocricy in forms of prayer,
Plain, as their homespun garb of household dyes,
But pure, the faith that leads them to the skies.
Time's grand historic picture never drew
A nobler race, brave, self-dependent, true;
No tenants cringing to a landlord's will,
They till the land, but own the land they till;
No serfs of kings, they vote the tax they pay,
And make themselves the laws that they obey;
With sturdy axes, from the forest hew
An empire's space, and rule what they subdue;
No tythes nor customs, rents nor dues betray
Their rights and filch their hard earned crops away;
No nobles govern, whether wise or fool,
Drones, madmen, knaves, yet privileged to rule,
Born for preserves, parks, patronage and place,
Stars, garters—playthings of a noble race,
While landless laborers ever toil and strive,
But taste no portion of the sweets they hive,
Yet boastful of the bliss their fates afford,
And always prone, like Moore, to love a lord;
The passions, Reason labours to restrain,
With all her force, yet ever strives in vain,
Thus nursed by laws, assume a darker shade,
The noble pamper, and the mass degrade,
With subtle power, the multitude debase,
And, for a people, form a populace.
A nobler race, brave, self-dependent, true;
No tenants cringing to a landlord's will,
38
No serfs of kings, they vote the tax they pay,
And make themselves the laws that they obey;
With sturdy axes, from the forest hew
An empire's space, and rule what they subdue;
No tythes nor customs, rents nor dues betray
Their rights and filch their hard earned crops away;
No nobles govern, whether wise or fool,
Drones, madmen, knaves, yet privileged to rule,
Born for preserves, parks, patronage and place,
Stars, garters—playthings of a noble race,
While landless laborers ever toil and strive,
But taste no portion of the sweets they hive,
Yet boastful of the bliss their fates afford,
And always prone, like Moore, to love a lord;
The passions, Reason labours to restrain,
39
Thus nursed by laws, assume a darker shade,
The noble pamper, and the mass degrade,
With subtle power, the multitude debase,
And, for a people, form a populace.
Stript of a birthright in their native soil,
No arts can elevate the sons of toil;
No mastership in gems or gold bestows
The ennobling thought, the humblest peasant knows
Whose field's his own—a labour then of love,
The daily toil, the nightly vigil prove;
The joy of home about his cottage clings,
A joy unknown in palaces of kings;
The simplest flower with softer beauty blows,
A richer fragrance blushes in the rose,
Stocks, stones, acquire a magic power to charm,
And foster memories for the yeoman's farm;
Though rude the clime, each tropic grace unknown,
He loves it still, if rugged, 'tis his own.
No arts can elevate the sons of toil;
No mastership in gems or gold bestows
The ennobling thought, the humblest peasant knows
Whose field's his own—a labour then of love,
The daily toil, the nightly vigil prove;
The joy of home about his cottage clings,
A joy unknown in palaces of kings;
The simplest flower with softer beauty blows,
A richer fragrance blushes in the rose,
40
And foster memories for the yeoman's farm;
Though rude the clime, each tropic grace unknown,
He loves it still, if rugged, 'tis his own.
By drooping boughs of fir, or gloomy pines,
Where bound in chains of ice Penobscot shines,
He wields his axe, and with a master hand
Strikes the broad forest from the subject land;
On swelling streams, when snows dissolving lend
Their aid, in spring, compacted rafts descend,
Guided by skillful hands—the impetuous tide
Sweeps the huge masses to the Ocean's side,
There the tall pine, again before the gale,
Bends to the blast, and spreads the bellying sail.
In caves and dens, he hunts the torpid bear,
Through banks of snow, pursues the struggling deer,
Rouses the antlered elk—a nobler chase—
In wilds where spruce and hemlock enterlace
Their dusky limbs; in vain the quarry flies,
Where, drift on drift, the wintry labour lies,
He reels, he stops, he feels the fatal blow,
And the deep crimson stains the treacherous snow.
Where bound in chains of ice Penobscot shines,
He wields his axe, and with a master hand
Strikes the broad forest from the subject land;
On swelling streams, when snows dissolving lend
Their aid, in spring, compacted rafts descend,
Guided by skillful hands—the impetuous tide
Sweeps the huge masses to the Ocean's side,
There the tall pine, again before the gale,
Bends to the blast, and spreads the bellying sail.
In caves and dens, he hunts the torpid bear,
41
Rouses the antlered elk—a nobler chase—
In wilds where spruce and hemlock enterlace
Their dusky limbs; in vain the quarry flies,
Where, drift on drift, the wintry labour lies,
He reels, he stops, he feels the fatal blow,
And the deep crimson stains the treacherous snow.
With graver step, the plodding farmer goes
Afield, in milder climes, where Lehigh flows,
Or where, reflecting towns, on either side,
And States, Ohio glides, in beauty's pride,
By fertile valleys, fields of waving maize,
Long grassy slopes, where flocks unnumbered graze,
Green meadows, orchards flushed, on every spray,
Or white with fragrant promise of May;
Round hills that every gift and charm combine,
The purple clusters of the distant Rhine,
The mossy rock, dim glen and sunny glade,
And the wide stretch of ancient forest shade,
Where quiet farms in sheltered nooks appear,
And health and plenty bless the circling year.
Afield, in milder climes, where Lehigh flows,
Or where, reflecting towns, on either side,
And States, Ohio glides, in beauty's pride,
By fertile valleys, fields of waving maize,
Long grassy slopes, where flocks unnumbered graze,
Green meadows, orchards flushed, on every spray,
Or white with fragrant promise of May;
42
The purple clusters of the distant Rhine,
The mossy rock, dim glen and sunny glade,
And the wide stretch of ancient forest shade,
Where quiet farms in sheltered nooks appear,
And health and plenty bless the circling year.
In climes where fields of tropic vigour rear
Rich crops that task the Southern farmer's care,
Cotton of snowy fleece, luxuriant cane,
And rice with drooping heads of golden grain,
Where safe from fortune, sable labourers share
The feast, rejoicing, that their hands prepare,
Stern in resolve, and ardent, like his skies,
To tread the shining path where glory lies,
Frank, courteous, brave, tenacious of his claims,
Prompt to abandon gain for nobler aims,
The dauntless yeoman laughs at war's alarms,
And bids defiance to the world in arms.
Rich crops that task the Southern farmer's care,
Cotton of snowy fleece, luxuriant cane,
And rice with drooping heads of golden grain,
Where safe from fortune, sable labourers share
The feast, rejoicing, that their hands prepare,
Stern in resolve, and ardent, like his skies,
To tread the shining path where glory lies,
Frank, courteous, brave, tenacious of his claims,
43
The dauntless yeoman laughs at war's alarms,
And bids defiance to the world in arms.
These make our country's strength, the nerve, the bone;
The love of country dwells with these alone;
Or North, or South, their healthful vigour gives
The crimson stream by which a nation lives;
Trained to the rifle's use, they fear no foe,
And war confront, though heroes strike the blow;
Twice over ocean England's warriors came,
Proud in their strength, and vaunting of their fame,
Twice back defeat has scourged the broken host,
Their honour dimmed, and shamed their idle boast;
Though trained to arms, the bravest of her brave,
They won and kept no conquest but a grave.
In Vermont's valleys, when the startled ear
Of matrons heard the sounds of battle near,
And for their homes and hearths, not empty fame,
To arms, the host of sturdy farmers came,
By Spartan speech inspired, with Spartan blow,
Starke's levies crushed the mercenary foe,
With slaughtered warriors heaped the crimson plain,
Turned to the field and drove their teams again.
The love of country dwells with these alone;
Or North, or South, their healthful vigour gives
The crimson stream by which a nation lives;
Trained to the rifle's use, they fear no foe,
And war confront, though heroes strike the blow;
Twice over ocean England's warriors came,
Proud in their strength, and vaunting of their fame,
Twice back defeat has scourged the broken host,
Their honour dimmed, and shamed their idle boast;
Though trained to arms, the bravest of her brave,
They won and kept no conquest but a grave.
44
Of matrons heard the sounds of battle near,
And for their homes and hearths, not empty fame,
To arms, the host of sturdy farmers came,
By Spartan speech inspired, with Spartan blow,
Starke's levies crushed the mercenary foe,
With slaughtered warriors heaped the crimson plain,
Turned to the field and drove their teams again.
And, South, when gathered hosts of yeomen sped
Their secret march to King's broad mountain head;
In buckskin shirt arrayed, from forest farms,
The hunter's knife and rifle all their arms,
Their bed, the earth, their tent, the tree or skies,
Their stores what woodcraft wins, or chance supplies,
The rugged borderers came—three bands divide,
Surround and climb the wooded mountain side,
In turn they yield, in turn advance to meet
The foe's attack and press his slow retreat,
Here Campbell charges—to the mountain height
Here Lacey leads, here Cleveland cheers the fight,
Fiercer with every shout the onset grows,
On every side at once the hunters close
Around the conquered host, and mingling now,
On the bare summit of the mountain brow,
They pause—their wild huzzas of victory fill
The wood and vale and roll from hill to hill;
Williams, faint, bleeding, hears with kindling eye,
Starts at the sound, and dies as heroes die.
Their secret march to King's broad mountain head;
In buckskin shirt arrayed, from forest farms,
The hunter's knife and rifle all their arms,
Their bed, the earth, their tent, the tree or skies,
Their stores what woodcraft wins, or chance supplies,
The rugged borderers came—three bands divide,
45
In turn they yield, in turn advance to meet
The foe's attack and press his slow retreat,
Here Campbell charges—to the mountain height
Here Lacey leads, here Cleveland cheers the fight,
Fiercer with every shout the onset grows,
On every side at once the hunters close
Around the conquered host, and mingling now,
On the bare summit of the mountain brow,
They pause—their wild huzzas of victory fill
The wood and vale and roll from hill to hill;
Williams, faint, bleeding, hears with kindling eye,
Starts at the sound, and dies as heroes die.
From Biscay's coast, when England's navy bore
Her war trained armies to our Western shore,
Proud of their fame, in serried ranks they stood,
At early dawn, by Mississippi's flood,
In fancy saw his feeble legions fly,
And clutched the spoils of easy victory;
But vain the plunderer's hope, the warrior's wrath,
Grim in his lair, a lion in the path,
A stern old chief, of iron heart and hand,
Marshalled his host, the champion of the land,
Girt with strong arms and hearts—more brave and true
Crusade or courtly tourney never knew,
There, with no stirring sound of trump or drum,
From boundless forests troops of yeomen come,
Where glides deep Cumberland, in regal pride,
Where Holston rushes from the mountain side,
Where Tennessee, with bold imperial sweep,
Rolls his full tribute to the distant deep,
Where, in a wilderness of vine-clad bowers,
Sequatchy lingers through his vale of flowers,
Left in the forest haunt, the hunted deer,
Left in the furrow's mould, the shining shear,
Swift, silent, steady, through the pathless waste,
Active and strong, the willing hunters haste,
With nerve of iron, skilled, and falcon's sight,
To tame the bounding deer, the eagle's flight,
Along the rampart's line, at ease, they lie,
And watch the foe—with courage stern and high
They come—before the rifle's fatal ball,
The leaden hail of battle, hundreds fall;
From ocean's tempest as with sullen roar
Wave breaks on wave, along the unyielding shore,
Row after row, as autumn's towering cane,
Falls at the reaper's stroke and loads the plain,
Before the rampart, sinking hopelessly,
Line heaped on line, the charging squadrons lie,
In vain, his rallying shout the leader cries,
At every rifle's flash, a Briton dies,
In vain, he leads the desperate charge again,
He sinks his sword, his hand deserts the rein,
Fought his last field, brave Packenham no more
Hears the faint echo of the battle's roar;
Fast to the shelter of the welcome fleet,
With shattered ranks, his sullen bands retreat,
And ne'er again shall foot of hostile host
The tale forgotten, dare the fatal coast,
While hunters cheer the hound, while yeoman strain
Their smoking teams along the furrowed plain,
Draw health and vigor from the wood and field,
And live contented with the joys they yield.
How great their blessing! if the bliss they know,
And shun the scenes polluted cities show,
Nor leave the silent woods serenely sweet,
For filth and noise, the sewer and the street,
And dazzled by a false refinement brave
The specious ill, the feverish pleasure crave,
Court idle courtesies where selfish pride,
And glossing vanity alone preside,
Endure the chilling smile, the hollow phrase,
The covert sneer, the patronizing praise,
Wealth's petty arrogance, detraction's lies,
And the base brood of social treacheries,
There, the frank voice of truth is seldom heard,
There, smiling slander murders with a word,
There, villany assumes a softer name,
Keen fraud's a dodge, and swindling leads to fame,
Sharp knavery is laughed at and excused,
The clerk's base theft is confidence abused,
Thieves are defaulters, rogues are in arrears,
And cunning scoundrels, dextrous financiers;
Like swine or sheep in reeking pen or fold,
The independent voter 's bought or sold;
In every heart, the rage for money burns,
Commerce to gambling speculation turns,
All grasp at gold to squander and abuse
Its power, at once rapacious and profuse,
Bulls, bears, sneak off, like Schuyler in disgrace,
But other swindlers fill the abandoned place;
Extremes of want and wasteful luxury meet,
Banks fail, yet flourish, quacks delude and cheat,
These trick with promises to cure and they
Defraud, with bankrupt promises to pay;
While fashion's thoughtless crew of idlers nurse
The growing ill, and swell the country's curse;
For them the mouthing player struts and prates,
Lives the licentious life he personates,
And foreign dancers, with indecent arts,
And fiddlers come, while pristine worth departs;
Athwart the glare of theatre or ball,
The shadowy forms of vice and misery fall,
To drunken orgies, gay saloons entice,
Grey-headed seniors leer at flaunting vice,
The gambler's toils around his victim close,
And crime unwhipt of justice bolder grows;
No longer murder stabs and steals away,
But stalks defying in the light of day,
Riot and drunken rowdies haunt the street,
Mob matched with mob in brutal conflict meet,
Then in the coarse debauch of midnight crown
The day's exploits, and care and conscience drown.
No! for the fevered city's glare and noise,
Change not your purer scenes and calmer joys,
On the glad fields, if bounteous seasons pour,
In golden harvests, wealth unknown before,
Adorn your homes—with taste and skill impart,
New charms to nature by the help of art;
Teach plants of other climes and stranger flowers
To breathe their fragrance on your native bowers;
With fairer herds, the dairy's wealth increase,
On growing flocks, bestow a softer fleece,
Give to the courser wings to sweep afar
Your country's pennon through the storm of war;
Enclose, drain, till with nicer hand, prepare
Field, meadow, orchard, with increasing care,
Help, with more open hand, the neighbor's need,
On, with the plough, each generous feeling speed,
The genial board, prepare with fresh delight,
Yet warmer make each hospitable rite,
Like him—long honored in his native land
Late mourned—the noble heart, the bounteous hand,
Prompt with his purse to aid each civic end,
Prompt with the sword his country to defend,
In war, no bolder breast, no stronger arm,
Adorning peace with every social charm,
To whom no sorrow ever sighed in vain,
Who felt a dream of meanness like a stain
Whose frank, warm nature made his ample hall
A home for friends, a place of joy for all,
Like Hampton—flocks and herds and homes improve,
And give due honour to the field and grove.
Her war trained armies to our Western shore,
46
At early dawn, by Mississippi's flood,
In fancy saw his feeble legions fly,
And clutched the spoils of easy victory;
But vain the plunderer's hope, the warrior's wrath,
Grim in his lair, a lion in the path,
A stern old chief, of iron heart and hand,
Marshalled his host, the champion of the land,
Girt with strong arms and hearts—more brave and true
Crusade or courtly tourney never knew,
There, with no stirring sound of trump or drum,
From boundless forests troops of yeomen come,
Where glides deep Cumberland, in regal pride,
Where Holston rushes from the mountain side,
Where Tennessee, with bold imperial sweep,
Rolls his full tribute to the distant deep,
47
Sequatchy lingers through his vale of flowers,
Left in the forest haunt, the hunted deer,
Left in the furrow's mould, the shining shear,
Swift, silent, steady, through the pathless waste,
Active and strong, the willing hunters haste,
With nerve of iron, skilled, and falcon's sight,
To tame the bounding deer, the eagle's flight,
Along the rampart's line, at ease, they lie,
And watch the foe—with courage stern and high
They come—before the rifle's fatal ball,
The leaden hail of battle, hundreds fall;
From ocean's tempest as with sullen roar
Wave breaks on wave, along the unyielding shore,
Row after row, as autumn's towering cane,
Falls at the reaper's stroke and loads the plain,
48
Line heaped on line, the charging squadrons lie,
In vain, his rallying shout the leader cries,
At every rifle's flash, a Briton dies,
In vain, he leads the desperate charge again,
He sinks his sword, his hand deserts the rein,
Fought his last field, brave Packenham no more
Hears the faint echo of the battle's roar;
Fast to the shelter of the welcome fleet,
With shattered ranks, his sullen bands retreat,
And ne'er again shall foot of hostile host
The tale forgotten, dare the fatal coast,
While hunters cheer the hound, while yeoman strain
Their smoking teams along the furrowed plain,
Draw health and vigor from the wood and field,
And live contented with the joys they yield.
49
And shun the scenes polluted cities show,
Nor leave the silent woods serenely sweet,
For filth and noise, the sewer and the street,
And dazzled by a false refinement brave
The specious ill, the feverish pleasure crave,
Court idle courtesies where selfish pride,
And glossing vanity alone preside,
Endure the chilling smile, the hollow phrase,
The covert sneer, the patronizing praise,
Wealth's petty arrogance, detraction's lies,
And the base brood of social treacheries,
There, the frank voice of truth is seldom heard,
There, smiling slander murders with a word,
There, villany assumes a softer name,
Keen fraud's a dodge, and swindling leads to fame,
50
The clerk's base theft is confidence abused,
Thieves are defaulters, rogues are in arrears,
And cunning scoundrels, dextrous financiers;
Like swine or sheep in reeking pen or fold,
The independent voter 's bought or sold;
In every heart, the rage for money burns,
Commerce to gambling speculation turns,
All grasp at gold to squander and abuse
Its power, at once rapacious and profuse,
Bulls, bears, sneak off, like Schuyler in disgrace,
But other swindlers fill the abandoned place;
Extremes of want and wasteful luxury meet,
Banks fail, yet flourish, quacks delude and cheat,
These trick with promises to cure and they
Defraud, with bankrupt promises to pay;
51
The growing ill, and swell the country's curse;
For them the mouthing player struts and prates,
Lives the licentious life he personates,
And foreign dancers, with indecent arts,
And fiddlers come, while pristine worth departs;
Athwart the glare of theatre or ball,
The shadowy forms of vice and misery fall,
To drunken orgies, gay saloons entice,
Grey-headed seniors leer at flaunting vice,
The gambler's toils around his victim close,
And crime unwhipt of justice bolder grows;
No longer murder stabs and steals away,
But stalks defying in the light of day,
Riot and drunken rowdies haunt the street,
Mob matched with mob in brutal conflict meet,
52
The day's exploits, and care and conscience drown.
No! for the fevered city's glare and noise,
Change not your purer scenes and calmer joys,
On the glad fields, if bounteous seasons pour,
In golden harvests, wealth unknown before,
Adorn your homes—with taste and skill impart,
New charms to nature by the help of art;
Teach plants of other climes and stranger flowers
To breathe their fragrance on your native bowers;
With fairer herds, the dairy's wealth increase,
On growing flocks, bestow a softer fleece,
Give to the courser wings to sweep afar
Your country's pennon through the storm of war;
Enclose, drain, till with nicer hand, prepare
Field, meadow, orchard, with increasing care,
53
On, with the plough, each generous feeling speed,
The genial board, prepare with fresh delight,
Yet warmer make each hospitable rite,
Like him—long honored in his native land
Late mourned—the noble heart, the bounteous hand,
Prompt with his purse to aid each civic end,
Prompt with the sword his country to defend,
In war, no bolder breast, no stronger arm,
Adorning peace with every social charm,
To whom no sorrow ever sighed in vain,
Who felt a dream of meanness like a stain
Whose frank, warm nature made his ample hall
A home for friends, a place of joy for all,
Like Hampton—flocks and herds and homes improve,
And give due honour to the field and grove.
| The Country | |