 | The girl's reading-book ; in prose and poetry |  |
233
THE EMIGRANT'S DAUGHTER.
“The way is long,”—the father said,
While through the western wild he sped,
With eager searching eye.
“Cheer ye, my babes,”—the mother cried,
And drew them closer to her side,
As frown'd the evening sky.
While through the western wild he sped,
With eager searching eye.
“Cheer ye, my babes,”—the mother cried,
And drew them closer to her side,
As frown'd the evening sky.
Just then, within the thicket rude,
A log rear'd cabin's roof they view'd,
And its low shelter blest;
On the rough floor their simple bed,
In haste and weariness, they spread,
And laid them down to rest.
A log rear'd cabin's roof they view'd,
And its low shelter blest;
On the rough floor their simple bed,
In haste and weariness, they spread,
And laid them down to rest.
On leathern hinge the doors were hung,
Undeck'd with glass the casement swung,
The smoke-wreath stain'd the wall;
Yet here they found their only home,
Who once had rul'd the spacious dome,
And pac'd the pictur'd hall.
Undeck'd with glass the casement swung,
The smoke-wreath stain'd the wall;
Yet here they found their only home,
Who once had rul'd the spacious dome,
And pac'd the pictur'd hall.
But hearts with pure affections warm,
Unmurmuring at the adverse storm,
Did in that cell abide;
And there the wife her husband cheer'd,
And there her little ones she rear'd,
And there in hope she died.
Unmurmuring at the adverse storm,
Did in that cell abide;
And there the wife her husband cheer'd,
And there her little ones she rear'd,
And there in hope she died.
The lonely man still plough'd the soil,
Tho' she, who long had sooth'd his toil,
No more partook his care,
But in her place a daughter rose,
As from some broken stem there grows
A blossom fresh and fair.
Tho' she, who long had sooth'd his toil,
234
But in her place a daughter rose,
As from some broken stem there grows
A blossom fresh and fair.
With tireless hand the board she spread,
The Holy Book at evening read,
And when, with serious air,
He saw her bend so sweetly mild
And lull to sleep the moaning child,
He blest her in his prayer.
The Holy Book at evening read,
And when, with serious air,
He saw her bend so sweetly mild
And lull to sleep the moaning child,
He blest her in his prayer.
But stern disease his footstep staid,
And down the woodman's axe he laid—
The fever-flame was high;
No more the forest fear'd his stroke,
He fell, as falls the smitten oak,
The emigrant must die.
And down the woodman's axe he laid—
The fever-flame was high;
No more the forest fear'd his stroke,
He fell, as falls the smitten oak,
The emigrant must die.
His youngest girl, his fondest pride,
His baby when the mother died,
How desolate she stands;
While gazing on his death-struck eye
His kneeling sons with anguish cry,
And clasp his clenching hands.
His baby when the mother died,
How desolate she stands;
While gazing on his death-struck eye
His kneeling sons with anguish cry,
And clasp his clenching hands.
Who hastes his throbbing head to hold?
Who bows to chase his temples cold?
In beauty's opening prime;
That blessed daughter, meek of heart,
Who, for his sake, a matron's part
Had borne before her time.
Who bows to chase his temples cold?
In beauty's opening prime;
That blessed daughter, meek of heart,
Who, for his sake, a matron's part
Had borne before her time.
235
That gasp, that groan,—'tis o'er, 'tis o'er,
The manly breast must heave no more,
The heart no longer pine;
Oh, Thou, who feed'st the raven's nest,
Confirm once more thy promise blest,
“The fatherless are mine.”
The manly breast must heave no more,
The heart no longer pine;
Oh, Thou, who feed'st the raven's nest,
Confirm once more thy promise blest,
“The fatherless are mine.”
| The girl's reading-book ; in prose and poetry | |