Rural rhymes

Front matter

Cornell University Library

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LURA AlSriSrA BOIES.

Introduction

The rule of Architecture requiring a portico to correspond in style and proportions to the edifice to which it is both an entrance and an adornment, ought, perhaps, to apply to Introductions. It had been well, therefore, for the writer, had he duly pondered the delicacy of his task, before permitting a Teacher's pride and joy in a well-beloved pupil, to betray him into a promise of writing an introduction to this volume of Poems. As, however, the rudes-t lattice-work has, at times, sufficed for a siipport to the clinging tendrils of a flowering vine, grown up by the hospitable door of some fair rural cottage, while itself has been lost to sight in the luxuriant verdure of o'er-arching leaves; so may this plain portal to the festal bower of a fair daughter of the Muses deserve well of the entering guests, whom it shall introduce by the directest route, to a rare repast.

"God made the country — man, the town.'' Afar from the din and dust of the town, in a humble farm-house on the bank

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vi INTEODUCTION.

of the noble Hudson, overlooking the site of old Fort Edward, the gentle spirit of Lura A. Boies first saw the light. In this rural seclusion, from which she has been lured only far enough away, to lave her thirsting soul in the nearest fountain of Learning; here, under the tuition of holy Nature, with a few choice books and a few appreciative friends, has her young life glided sweetly on, to the music of her pure and loving thoughts, until all unconscious of the passing years, lo I she has reached the charmed threshold of early womanhood ; and — stranger still — those uttered thoughts have grown to be a volume of poems ! while her friends come around her, to demand their publication.

That, in brief, is the story of how this book came to be. 'tfi " God made the country." Therefore it is that the poets, whose hearts, like the olden Bards, are fresh and simple, and susceptible to all pure inspirations, are they whose lives have been nearest to Nature. If, in this volume, there shall be less of Art than the professional critic may demand, there will, at least, be no bookish affectations. The ingenuous reader will not be tantalized with a display of verbal pyrotechnics, brilliant, but cold and cheerless ; neither will any dramatic spasms or hysterical extravagances tempt the vitiated appetite of the worn and wicked worldling.

The transcendentalist will search in vain, through all the lines of our rural Poet, for that mysticism in which he delights to lose himself. Her men and women are all human, with real forms and dimensions, with beating hearts that can ache and be glad ; and whose tears are moist. The children

INTRODUCTION.

of her verse are not starched into manikins or perched upon stilts, but are free-hmbed boys and girls, that, at times, can prattle and romp ; and, again in their moods, make us feel that "childhood is a holy thing," and nestling in our bosoms can lead us whither they will.

Every true heart will recognize in the healthful earaestness, the home-like tenderness and the sincere unselfishness of these poems, a most loving evangel to inspire pure and elevated thoughts, and prompt to noble and generous actions.

It is an unpretending feast, to which the reader is bidden. "Wheaten cakes, browned by the honest kitchen fire-place, with ripe and juicy berries from the meadow, and cool spring water, bubbling fresh and pure from the hillside. The table is a patch of greensward, sheltered by a stately elm, on whose rugged trunk and spreading branches a wild grape Ji has hung its verdant festoons, to soften the noontide rays, and to invite the summer-birds to linger with their happy songs, and build their nests. A few wild flowers, still wet with morning dew, alone adorn the rural table. "Well, let the feast begin I Unostentatious as it is, many a weary heart shall rise up from the repast, refreshed, and go out from the sheltering elm with blessings upon the gentle giver. Such great-souled noblemen of Nature, as Bryant and Irving, shall feel their old age greener for a whole year, if they shall chance to sit, an hour, at this humble festive board. Here, mayhap, some Numa of state shall, in the interval of his heavy cares, find an "Bgeria in the woods" which shall smooth the wrinkles from his brow, and inspire him to be a i n

INTRODUCTION.

stronger and a better man. And other vexed dignitaries may recognize in these sweet songs a tone kindred to that of

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• " the minstrel shepherd's lyre

The shrinking Poet, like a timid fawn, not without many misgivings, trusts herself beyond the protecting obscurity of her native retreats. Let the presence of her friends reassure her. The success of her modest volume is not left entirely to the caprice of strangers. This first edition will be well nigh absorbed by the circle of private friends whom her school-girl rhymes, in the Institute chapel, and an occasional lyric in the village papers, near her home, had attracted ; and who, by right of that friendship, will eagerly welcome this volume, and keep it as a precious souvenir, for themselves and their children.

May a kind Providence preserve the delicately wrought tabernacle — alas ! too frail — of this gifted daughter of Poesy, that she who has sung so well, may long live to wake the echoes of this Muse-haunted valley, with her divinely attuned harp.

K.

FoKT Edward Institute, N. Y. )

Decemher, 1858. )

If

PROOFREADER'S POSTSCRIPT.

The contents of Professor King's preceding introduction are, in consequence of its late receipt at the printing-office, altogether unknown to Miss Boies.

That remark — but for a different and obvious reason — applies also to an ensuing tribute of womanly respect, and sisterly affection ; a concise — because condensed — poem, which the proof-reader having casually perused in manuscript, and purposely obtained, publishes here ou his own authority alone. I He is, however, in no wise displeased with that thus assumed responsibility.

The authoress, whose literary num. de guerre will be readily recognized, was an intimate companion and competing classmate of Miss Boies, in a collegiate Institute, and has therefore, with sufficient knowledge of her subject — a grateful theme — familiarly, yet delicately, addressed the following appropriate and sympathetic

"LINES TO LUEA.

Loved Ltjha ! E'en the very name

Hath music in its tone : Its soft and gentle cadence bears

A beauty all its own.

proof-reader's postscript.

Alreadj-, Fame hath twined her wreath

Around thy brow so fair, And every coming year shall add,

Fresh leaves to cluster there.

And Time shall bring rich offerings

To lay upon thy shrine ; For ever hath the world bowed down

Before such gifts as thine.

Thine is the power to touch, with skill,

The chords of every heart, — To weave a spell around the soul,

With more than magic art.

To bring the finer feelings forth.

To thee the power is given ; To raise the soul above this earth.

And fix the thoughts on Heaven.

Then warble on, fair poetess, —

Inspired with sacred Are, — Till thou shalt strike a chord above, Upon thy golden lyre.

Carrie May."

Saratoga Springs.

T

Contents

Page.

Jake McCkea, . . . • 17

Little Children, 35

I

'T "WAS in the gorgeous summer time, The vesper hells, with mellow chime,

Kang out the golden day.

Along the distant mountain's hight, And o'er the Hudson, flashing hright. In purple floods of dazzling light,

The sunset glory lay ; The crimson of the western fires Glowed redly on Fort Edward's spires,

And deeper splendors burned, Till earth, with all her lakes and rills. Her waving woods and towering hills,

To burnished gold was turned.

II

I had been listening to the chimes. And thinking of the stirring times. When hill and lonely glen,

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18 JANE M'CBEA. W

Woke to the thunder tones of yore,

The sounds that rolled from shore to shore,

The deep-mouthed cannon's sullen roar.

The tram^D of mail-clad men ; I had been thinking of the days, When the fierce battle's lurid blaze,

Hung like a fiery cloud, O'er rock and river, wood and dell. Where now the radiant sunset fell,

And I had left the crowd, And sought, with hushed and reverent tread, That pleasant city of the dead,

Where the wild wind harps play.

And pine trees wave and willows weep, Above her in her dreamless sleep.

The hapless Jane M'Crea.

III

Silent, as if on holy ground, I neared that angel-guarded mound,

Where white wings viewless wave ; An aged man, with hoary hair, And rude scars on his forehead bare, Was kneeling in the sunset there,

Upon the maiden's grave.

Was it some risen chief I saw, That o'er me came that breathless awe ?

Was it some warrior bold ?

Whose hand had grasped the ringing steel, Whose soul had thrilled to freedom's peal,

In the wild strife of old ?

JANE M'CEEA.

IV

With sudden tears mine eyes grew dim, Nearer I drew and questioned him

Of all the storied past ; Of the fierce days when roused our sires

To the shrill trumpet's hlast, And the red light of battle fires

Upon our free hills lay ; I asked him of that green arcade, Where gleamed the savage chieftain's blade, I asked of her, the Scottish maid.

The fated Jane M'Crea !

V

Then did the veteran warrior speak. And down his pale and furrowed cheek

The hot tears glistening ran ; Then with the old fire flashed his eye, His trembling tones rose clear and high.

And thus his tale began.

Pakt I.

The booming guns of Lexington Had roused the sire and gallant son. And louder than the trumpet's clang The notes of wild alarum rang, The dawning light of Freedom's star. Shone dimly in the skies afar,

JANE M'CEEA.

Where veiled in the black night of war

The sun of Peace went down.

And by that faint and flickering glow, The brave of heart, and broad of brow, Had boldly sworn they would not bow To England's regal crown.

II.

A thrill went through Columbia's soul,

An alien sound went o'er the sea, Majestic as an anthem's roll.

The Declaeation of the free !

Earth's startled millions wondering heard, Britannia, to her proud heart stirred, &l Hurled back the bold defiant word.

And drew, in wrath, her flaming sword. Fiercely the hostile nations met. And yonder sun in darkness set.

On many a fatal day ; In scenes of blood and carnage dire, 'Mid hissing balls the gray haired sire Fought with the youthful warrior's fire

In many a deadly fray ; Still rose the red War's fiery form. Still raged the furious battle's storm,

When Burgoyne's haughty hosts.

Breaking the waves with mighty sweep. Came o'er the waters blue and deep.

And landed on our coasts.

f

JANE M'CREA.

III.

Clad in the battle's bright array, With waving plumes and pennons gay,

And flaming banners spread, And arms that in the sunlight glanced. Forward the British ranks advanced

With slow and measured tread ; Then rose a swift and rushing sound, That woke the hills and shook the ground.

Then freemen fought and fell.

Then redder gushed the crimson flood, Then was our land baptized in blood — Of all the strife that followed then, That thrilled the hearts of mighty men.

Ah me ! I may not tell !

IV.

The spirit of that warlike age

I feel its fire within me rage,

My bosom heaves, my old heart swells,

I feel it now, the evening bells

Eing out the dying day.

I hear the sound of martial strains,

I hear the war-horse neigh ; I see the smoke of battle plains. The swift blood courses through my veins,

I plunge into the fray.

I feel the scorching, burning blaze, I live again those stirring days.

The days of Jane M'Orea !

la=-

JANE M'CREA.

Paet IL

'T was morning. — Rich and radiant dyes Flamed in the gorgeous orient skies : Draped in the purple of his throne The royal sun resplendent shone.

The broad, blue Hudson blazing bright, Glowed like a line of liquid light, A wave of glory rippled o'er The hills along the eastern shore, And waving wood and fortress gray. Blushing in rosy splendor lay, Kissed by the red lips of the day. And glittering spear and lances' gleam Flashed back again the rising beam.

II.

On the broad lands beyond the wood.

Now bright with harvest sheaves, The solid lines of Albion stood

Thick as the forest leaves ; Hot haste and consternation then, Spread through the ranks of our brave men, A clear blast rang throughout the glen.

And the quick tramp of hurrying feet. The drum's deep bass that rapid beat, The gathering din of swift retreat,

Eose on the summer morn.

JANE M CREA.

III.

From many a lowly woodland home Went up the cry " The foe ! they come !" And warm young hearts grew faint with fear, And little children clustered near,

And Mushing cheeks grew pale ; And many a form with noiseless glide Stole to the gallant warrior's side,^ And fluttering garments, white and fair, Were blent, in strange confusion there,

With coats of burnished maU.

IV.

Aside, that mom, from all the crowd,

In earnest thought her young head bowed.

The Scottish maiden stood.

With downcast face and lips apart, A new joy thrilling in her heart. That gave her cheek a warmer glow. And brought unto its stainless snow

The quick o'ermantling blood.

Thus stood she bound as by a spell.

Oh, in that hour how wondrous fair ! Around her Uke a glory fell,

The rich veil of her raveri hair. The fearless spirit throbbing high Lit up her clear, calm hazel eye. And lent the face bowed meekly there,

A beauty such as angels wear,

Oh, human love ! what strength divine,

What strange mysterious power is thine ;

It was thy light that inward shone

And bound her in its radiant zone ;

It was thy low, melodious lay

That charmed her soul from earth away,

Till mindless of the outward din

She only heard the voice within,

And listened to the silver tone,

That whispered of the chosen one

To whom her plighted troth was given.

Who filled her deepest heart with heaven !

By thee, a willing captive led,

The maiden knew no secret dread.

Nor felt a boding fear ; Nor heard the Indian's stealthy tread.

Nor saw the danger near.

VI. A sudden shriek, a piercing cry

That seemed to rend the bending sky, Went up that morn so shrill and high, It made the sternest soldier start,

And chilled and froze the circling blood. And sent it curdling to his heart,

That still with terror stood ; Then rose a wild demoniac yell, A sound our brave men knew too well !

JANE M'CKBA.

TIL

Eacli soul had felt the sickening fear, Each hand had grasped the gleaming spear, When on the air, distinct and clear, The tramp of falling hoof drew near, And with thin nostrils spreading wide. The ringing spur plunged in his side. With headlong fury rushing fast, A foaming courser darted past.

Ha ! 't was the chieftain held the rein And goaded on the steed amain, And one, a gentle girl, was there, With hazel eye and flowing hair ; Grasped in his sinewy arm, and press'd Rudely upon his brawny chest.

The frail form helpless lay.

Alas for thee ! thou captured maid, Oh that some hand thy doom had stayed,

Thou fated Jane M,'Crea !

VIII. A voice went iip from mighty men

A loud and stirring cry, And the bold warrior shouted then,

"Mount ! to the rescue fly !"

They rose, a brave and gallant few. And o'er the ground their swift steeds flew.

Winged with the lightning's speed ; Till in that green and shady deU, 11

Where the clear waters sparkling well, W

JANE M'CREA.

Where towers the tall and stately pine, And the light falls with softer shine, The savage gave a fiercer yell.

Forth from the leafy woodland shades,

Leaped many a painted warrior's form. And brightly glanced their murderous blades,

And wildly rose the battle's storm. Hot balls hissed through the summer sheen,

And haughty plumes and crests bent low, Then darker grew the fearful scene.

And waves of blood surged to and fro. Before the shower of fiery hail, The chieftain saw his numbers fail, pi With ire his swarthy cheek grew pale.

And turning from the fell strife there.

He stood by her, the Scottish maid. He seized her long and flowing hair.

And o'er her gleamed his naked blade ; And reeking with the tide of life, Back flashed the long and glittering knife ; A fiendish sneer upon his lip,

A strange wild triumph in his eye. The chieftain saw the red blood drip.

And held the ghastlj' trophy high ; Then round him drew his blanket-plaid, And plunged into the forest shade.