University of Virginia Library

It was the opening spring-time of the year,
When captives struggle most to break their chains,
And brooks let loose, and swelling buds, appear,
And youthful blood seems starting from the veins,
When Henry Mildmay, in his breakfast hall,
Had press'd good morrow on each daughter's lip,
And, seated at the board, his children all,
By concert, urg'd him for a summer trip.
“One at a time, for pity's sake, my dears,”
Half laughing, half provok'd, at length he said,
“This babylonish din about my ears
Confounds my brain, and nearly splits my head.”

And well might Henry of the rout complain
That broke the comfort of his morning meal;
For tongues, as wild as colts that spurn the rein,
Maintain'd, in loud debate, a ceaseless peal.
Three clamorous girls, as many boisterous boys,
All straining at their topmost voice to speak,
In ev'ry tone, from childhood's piping noise
To incipient manhood's mingled growl and squeak,
With two cag'd songsters of Canary's brood,
Both emulous to join their thrilling strains—
All this might well provoke the gentlest mood,
And raise a tumult in the coolest brains.

“Why should you wish,” continued he, “to roam,
In fancied pleasure's quest, the country round,
And leave the solid comforts of your home,
Where all that reason can desire is found?
'Tis not for health impair'd, or hearts depress'd,
Or spirits burden'd by a load of care
Your minds require no tone-restoring rest,
Your bodies need no change of scene or air.
This lawn, these trees and shrubs, your senses cheer
When summer heats prevail, and close in view
A noble city rises; so that here
You may enjoy the town and country too.”
“Oh dear papa,” cried Kate, the eldest child,
“Indeed, indeed, you are mistaken quite;
We are sick to death of home, and almost wild
Of somewhat else on earth to get a sight.
How often on your accents have we hung
When of your youth's adventures you have told;
And why should not we store our minds, while young,
With things of which to think and speak when old?
Why should we dose at home, when all the world,
With former times compar'd, seems rous'd from sleep;
In steamboats dashing, or in rail-cars hurl'd,
Or in swift vessels bounding o'er the deep?
How would it make our snail-pac'd fathers stare
To see the rate at which we go; and soon,
I trust, we shall ascend the fields of air,
And make our yearly visits to the moon”—
“Yes, to the paradise of fools,” cried he,
“This gadding generation's proper place.
I do protest it makes me mad to see
The restless rambling of the present race.
Now, rough mechanics leave their work undone,
And, with pert milliners and prentice youth,
To some gay, throng'd resort away they run,
To cure dyspepsia or ennui, forsooth!
That idle, pamper'd wealth should gladly haste
To try the traveller's miseries, may be right:
The sickly palate needs some pungent taste
To cure the nausea that mere sweets excite.
Nor would I honor from the man withhold
Whom searching science bids to distant shores;
Who, to extend her empire, constant, bold,
The works of Nature and of Art explores.
Much pleasure, too, there is in change of scene,
When streams glide smoothly, and the skies are bright;
The towering mountains and the valleys green,
Impress the thoughtful mind with pure delight.
But, that the highest pleasures which we know
In all these idle jaunts, I will maintain,
Is hope that lures us when at first we go,
And heartfelt joy at coming home again.”

“Why dearest father, sure your reasoning's scope
But tends your very purpose to destroy;
What happier life than one led on by hope,
And which, at last, concludes with heartfelt joy?”

“Poh, poh, what nonsense!” was the sole reply
That to this brisk retort her father made,
With half a smile, and twinkle of the eye
That spoke—“You are a darling saucy jade.”

When dear-lov'd daughters, for some trivial prize,
Against a widow'd father's voice contend,
How fierce soe'er the strife may seem to rise,
All know in whose behalf it soon will end.
The promise worded in a doubtful guise,—
“Well, well, soon as the season comes, we'll see”—
Brought instant pleasure's lightning to their eyes,
And fill'd each bounding heart with hopeful glee.
At length, that all should go, it was agree'd;
Though Henry knew full well the weighty charge
'Twould be, on purse and patience both, to lead
Afar from home a troop so wild and large.
But all their pleasure would be turn'd to pain,
If one or more, selected from the rest,
Were doom'd, all sad and quiet, to remain,
While they with constant change and chance were blest.
For this was all they wish'd, nor did they care
If they went North or South, or East or West;
And gladly left their father to declare
Which course he deem'd the pleasantest and best.

And soon, without a murmur, 'twas resolv'd
The noble Hudson's waters to ascend,
When vernal clouds and damps should be dissolv'd
And summer's balmy breath their voyage befriend.

Fair cloudless day-spring of our early youth!
How seem we then to think 'twill ne'er be night!
How ev'ry fancied form we take for truth!
How all the distance gleams with roseate light!
Nor let foreboding Prudence sigh with pain
To see the dangers of youth's rash career,
Nor grieve that brightest hopes may beam in vain,
Soon to be quench'd in disappointment's tear.
In bounteous Nature's works we ever see
Apparent waste, and fruitless efforts find:
How many a blossom of the goodliest tree
Is idly scatter'd by the wanton wind!
And are these fruitless flowers abortive quite?
Has Nature bid them bloom and fall in vain?
No; ere they perish, they impart delight;
And plenteous fruits in embryo still remain.
If dearest hopes that fill the youthful mind,
And joys of fairest promise, end in gloom,
Yet still, successive hopes we ever find,
And other joys, upspringing in their room.
No, let not frigid age regard with scorn
The youthful spirit's warm outbreakings wild:
How many a hero to the world is born
Whose deeds are but the reckless darings of a child!