Fireside poetical readings, illustrative of American scenery, rural life, and historical incidents, and also of religious feelings, designed as a domestic and religious offering

Front matter

a* e

FIRESIDE POETICAL READINGS,

ILLUSTRATIVE OF AMERICAN SCENERY, RURAL LIFE, AND HISTORICAL INCIDENTS, AND ALSO OF RELIGIOUS FEELINGS,

PART I.— THE DOMESTIC OFFERING. Reflections on the New Year 9

Days of Youth. Part 1 12

AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE.

The Home in the Mountains 63

The Widow and her Children 91

The Snow-Storm 98

BALLADS AND SONGS.

Destruction of the Willey Family 122

Yanko, the Noble Negro 131

The Frozen Family of Illinois 137

Dark-Rolling Connecticut 143

The Closing Year 144

The Sick Child 145

The Wounded Bird 146

The Hunters 147

'T is Many a Year 148

When the Cherub of Mercy 149

The Landscape 150

Sing that Song Again 150

Song of the Pilgrims 151

The Daughters of the Sun 153

The Bower 154

The Deserted Island 154

The Exile's Song 155

When Autumn's Star was Brightly Beaming 156

4 CONTENTS.

Cocheco 158

Maid of Suncook 159

Sweep Harp of my Country 160

PART II.— THE RELIGIOUS OFFERING. Patmos, or Meditations in Solitude 163

Evening Reflections 185

Sennacherib 186

Dying Thoughts 187

SCRIPTURE SONNETS.

The Liberty of the Gospel 188

Divine Light „ 189

The Good Shepherd 190

Fear of Death 191

The Power of God in Creation 192

Necessity of Divine Illumination 194

Restoration of the Divine Image 195

The Blessed Name of Christ 196

True Rectitude 197

Subjection to God 198

The Millennial Day 199

The Sovereign Will 200

He standeth at the Door ; . . 201

Confidence in God in Bereavements 202

The Light of Faith 203

Meekness of Spirit 204

God Angry with Rebellious Nations 205

God Righteous in Judgments 206

Consolation in the Gospel 207

The Poor of this World Rich in Christ 208

Strength from the Cross 209

Vanity of Life 210

The Ruler of the Nations 211

The Place of Refuge 212

God Worshipped in his Works 213

The Hidden Life 214

Help in the Wilderness 215

Trust in the Saviour 216

Support in Affliction 217

Christian Benevolence 218

The Book of Judgment 219

The Source of Happiness in the Soul 220

Death of a Young Christian 221

Living Near to Christ 222

CONTENTS. 0

Meditations on Christ 223

The Glimpse of Heaven 224

The Last Trump 225

The Resurrection 226

The True Ground of Joy 227

The Pride of Man Confounded 228

The Physician of the Mind 229

Sorrow for Sin 230

Christ's Yoke Easy 231

Love of the World 232

I shall yet Praise Him 233

A Divided Mind 234

Submission in Sickness 235

Light in Goshen 236

The Voyage 237

The Grave of the Beautiful 238

The Christian Pilgrim 239

Depise not the Beginnings 240

Uncertainty of Earthly Objects 24]

God no Respecter of Persons 242

The Fountain of Jerusalem 243

Parental Bereavement 244

I Would not Always Live 245

Mystery of the New Birth 246

Light 247

Constancy 248

The Power of Faith 249

The Wreck 250

Religious Recollections 251

Depravity of the Heart 252

Protection in Danger 253

Humility 254

The Christian's Confidence in God 255

I will not Blame Thee 256

Vanity of Fame 257

He Loveth Whom He Chasteneth 258

Persecution 259

The Good Shepherd 260

The Church 261

The Returning Dove 262

The Martyrs • • . 263

Heaven 264

Christ's Intercession 265

Rejoicing in God 266

Secret Prayer 267

Spiritual Freedom 268

Union with Christ 269

Eternity 270

Winter 271

The Last Sleep."; 272

God Seen in the .Mind. . . 273

CONTENTS.

RELIGIOUS HTMNS AND SONGS.

Penitence... 274

The Captive Jew '..'.'.'. 275

Solomon's Choice '///. 276

Like the Streams from Mount Hermon 276

Submission ; 277

Long did the Clouds and Darkness Roll V. 278

Jehovah, Sovreign of my Heart 279

Oh, could I Rule my Erring Heart 279

If Thou Would have the World to Prize 280

Sometimes I Upwards Lift my Eye 281

Man's Spirit hath an Upward Look 282

The Secret Sign 282

Dark is the Watery Way 283

Thou Giver of the Rising Light 284

My Heart is in a Land Afar... 285

Although Affliction Smites my Heart 286

Wilt Thou, Oh My Father, Leave Me 286

The Divine Life 287

They say their Path with Flowers is Strown 288

If there is Sunshine in the Face 288

Power ol God 289

The Song of the Angels 290

God Praised in His Works 291

Protection from God 291

The Orphan 292

Far in the Lonely Woods 293

Earthly Objects Unsatisfying 294

The Best Friendship 295

The Departing Christian 296

Omnipresence of the Deity 296

Oh, Could I Behold 297

Doubts and Fears 298

Hymn at Sea 299

The Pilgrim's Return 299

A Voice from the Dying 300

The First Day of the New Life 301

Conversion 302

Gather the Roses 303

Desiring to be with Christ 304

Missionary Hymn 304

In all the Countless Orbs 305

The Latter Day Glory 306

If there e'er Was a Time 307

God's Glory in Creation 308

Encouragement 309

Day of Judgment 309

Think not that the Blest 310

Resurrection of the Saints 311

Remembrance in Prayer 311

The Passing of Jordan 312

The Last Song 313

THE

DOMESTIC AND RELIGIOUS OFFERING.

Part First. The Domestic Offering

THE

DOMESTIC AND RELIGIOUS OFFERING.

Reflections on the New Year.

I

HELD in their path of glory by the hand, That reared all nature's bright and wondrous frame, That made the sky, the ocean, and the land, And all that dwell therein, whate'er their name ; Held by that wondrous hand of might and power, The distant stars their steady course have run, The moon hath watched in her aerial tower, Along his annual round hath march'd the sun, Until his task once more, his Zodiac race, is done.

II

Yes ! Time's unwearied course hath borne us on ; Successively the rapid seasons passed ; Another twelve month's space is come and gone, And a New Year upon the world is cast. Time's noiseless wheel rolls on, and, oh how fast ! 'T is like the tide that rushes to the sea; Uncounted things are on it — at the last, Those of the earth shall perish, cease to be, But souls, a spark of heaven, go to eternity.

10 REFLECTIONS ON THE NEW YEAR.

III

The earth, still subject to its ancient curse, Hath felt its storms, and shook with thunders dread, And Death, to make its bosom populous, Hath smitten down full many a weary head. The young, the man of scattered locks and gray, All ages to the grave's cold rest have gone, The dwelling-place of silence and decay. There dwells the worm ; the serpent feeds upon The soulless mass deformed, and twines the skeleton bone.

IV

The living, too, whose bosoms erst did beat With promise high and unabated joy, How many now in gloomy sorrow sit, And constant woes their life and hopes annoy ! How many in the course of one short year, Who love received, and love as warmly gave, Now shed o'er sundered ties the burning tear ! Alas ! earth's ties are often like the wave, That brightly clasps the shore, then breaks, and seeks its grave.

V

See here a mother mourning o'er her son ! How desolate her soul ! And seated there, With countenance of deeper grief, is one, New robed in widow's weeds. Into thin air And blackness terrible hath sunk their light. Oh ! happy they, when joys terrestrial fade, Who rest on God's right arm and changeless might. There's nothing firm of all things that are made, But life shall wane to death, and substance change to shade.

REFLECTIONS ON THE NEW YEAR. 11 VI.

Yes, there's a spirit of change in all things round, Which shows itself, as year on year goes by ; Which at the last shall sink the solid ground, Nor spare the brighter fabric of the sky ; Both heaven and earth shall be one cemetry. Down from their home of light the stars shall fall, The blaze, that lights the solar pathway, die, While clouds and flame shall wrap this earthly ball; Its wither'd pomp depart, and fade its glory all.

VII

Boast not, because these things have never been, For we shall see them, though we see not now, When rolls through heaven the final trumpet's din, And lightnings bind the " seventh angel's brow." Then months and New Years shall be o'er. Ah, how That final trump shall rock the land and sea ! Then shall the proud, majestic mountains bow, The islands and the continents shall flee, The solid earth go down, and time no more shall be.

VIII

The years of earth shall pass; but heavenly years Shall start upon their endless destiny. The joys of earth shall perish ; but no tears Shall dim the brightness of the joys on high. The scenes and things below shall fade away ; The brighter scenes of heaven shall be the same, Without a blighting touch, without decay ; And all her hosts, in one sublime acclaim, Shall pour their transports high, and shout the Saviour's name.

Part First

CONTENTS. Introduction. Cowper on seeing the portrait of his mother. Recollections of maternal love and care. A scene in the nursery. The schoolmistress. Saturday afternoon. Field sports. The oaken grove. The imprisoned robins. The bower. A scene in Autumn. Thanksgiving day. The Farmer. Reflections. The river Cocheco. Old Richards, the miller. River sports. The solitary Grandam. The story of Lucy Wilson. The Conclusion.

WHEN fearless seamen spread the journeying sail, And bear away beneath the welcome gale, To brave, o'er ocean's waste, with hardy form, The smiting sun, the billow, and the storm, Though firm their courage, oft their hearts they find Filled with the thoughts of those they left behind ; And, as ihe ocean widens, turn their eye, To catch once more their native hills and sky. Where'er they go, whatever climes they roam, They fondly think of country, friends, and home ; Repeating in each mess-mate's listening ear, How maids and matrons shed the parting tear, And in the visions of the night review The cherished scenes, where many a joy they knew.

Remembrance thus in life's decline endears The home, and scenes, and sports of earlier years ; Back o'er the tide of time we cast our eye, And 'neath its gaze enchanted regions lie ;

We see once more, with fondness unexpressed,

The light of early days, and call them blessed.

Sweet days ! When life was undisturbed by cafe,

And busy hope made every vision fair ;

When, passing swiftly by, the frolic hours

Welcomed and crowned each scene with songs and flowers !

Yes ! That blest Power, which hath the art to bring

Departed joys and visions on its wing,

Shall from oblivion's mist their beam restore,

Each faded line and tint repair once more,

And giving to them form, and life, and truth,

Hold up to Age the mirror of its Youth.

'T was thus, when storms had gathered on his way, And hope and pleasure dimmed their feeble ray, His swimming gaze the gentle Cowper bent Upon his mother's pictured lineament, As late in life into his hands it came, With lips and smile, as when she lived, the same.* His vigils o'er the portrait long he kept, And, as he viewed it, thought, remembered, wept : For Fancy, quickened by his feelings' strife, Brought that dear mother's form and love to life, Revealed her kindness in the days gone by, Which shielded, and which blessed his infancy ; Her " nightly visits to his chamber made," That she might see him safe and warmly laid ; The fond solicitude, that " saw him wrapped In scarlet mantle, warm, and velvet-capped,"

* See the beautiful poem of Cowper on the receipt of his mother's picture from Norfolk, beginning,

" Oh, that those Iip9 had language ! Life hath passed " With me but roughly since I saw thee last." 1*

And with the gardener Robin, day by day, Sent him to school along the public way.

I too admit a mother's sacred claim,

I too would consecrate that matchless name,

And like the bard of Olney strive to pay

The grateful honors of my humble lay.

How oft the picture rises to my view,

Fresh as at first its hues, distinct, and true !

How oft, in solitude's creative hour,

When thought and feeling own a quickened power,

I sit in pensive silence and retrace

Each well known feature, each attractive grace ;

Her silent grief, when those she loved went wrong,

Her smile, her kindly words, her voice of song !

All else may fail, all other joys may die,

And leave the fount of hope and feeling dry,

But life nor death shall from my bosom tear

A mother's looks, her kindness, and her care ;

That care, which further back than memory goes,

Heightened my early joys, or soothed my woes.

When life was new, and scarce my infant sight With a strange joy had opened on the light, She watched my cradle, wiped the starting tear, And soothed with mellowed song my infant ear. There, as she sat, in Fancy's forming eye, The doubtful future passed in vision by, That sometimes cast its brightness o'er my way, But oftener veiled in clouds the favoring ray. And then, alarmed with all a mother's fears, She looked to Him, a mother's voice that hears,

And prayed, with faith and feeling unrepressed, That He, who stills the raven's hungry nest, That He, who knows, and who alone can know The sins and sorrows of this world of woe, Would guide her child in life's uncertain way, Nor let temptation lead his steps astray.

Soon as my infant footsteps dared explore, (No trifling journey then,) the nursery floor, She reached her hand, and standing constant by, . My progress watched with fond and curious eye ; And when at last I reached the destined goal, Nor could but laugh aloud with joy of soul, She shared my triumphs, and bent down to bless My joyous brow with many a warm caress. That care, it knew no bound ; that love, no end ; Where'er I went, her guardian steps attend, Till in my crimson frock, and bonnet fine, Where the first gathered rose was taught to shine, Thoughtless, my way to yonder school I take, Loaded with kisses, (what was more,) with cake.

And thou, the Mistress of our little school,

For age revered, and wisely skilled to rule,

From whom our minds their infant knowledge drew,

As flowers from vernal skies imbibe the dew,

Though many years have passed since then, art not

By all thy little company forgot;

Still on our hearts thy virtues have a claim,

Still dwells upon our tongues thine honored name.

When we began, in learned order set With eye and finger on the Alphabet,

The task, (a mighty task it seemed to be,)

To search the mysteries of A, B, C,

We heard the changeless law, that not a look

Should leave the pages of the Spelling Book ;

That none the seat assigned him should forsake,

That none with whispers should the silence break ;

Nor was it last or smallest in the code,

Which ruled the realm of learning's young abode,

That none should turn his luckless head awry,

To watch a spider, or impound a fly.

Enthroned upon her ancient elbow chair,

She swayed her sceptre, and dispensed her care ;

She praised the boy, whose time was rightly spent,

But woe to him on whom her frown was bent ;

Who dared her awful word to disobey,

And what .was meant for science give to play.

Thrice hapless he, who tumbling sprawled the floor,

Or sought with truant step the tempting door,

Or, reckless of the pain and bitter tear,

A bodkin thrust into his neighbor's ear.

Ah me ! The wrinkles curled upon thy face,

Thine eye flashed fire, and threatnings came apace ;

Wrath shook thy cap ; more frightful than thy nod,

Thine arm uplifted, waved the birchen rod.

When time had flown, and consecrate to play, Af rived at last the joyous Saturday, Forth from the School with leap and shout we went, With youth inspired, on youthful pleasures bent ; The favored space, which once a week could bless With freedom from our learned Governess.

No longer subjects of her sovereign law,

Whose word controled, whose ferule struck with awe,

In various ways, for various ends we part,

Joy on our lips, and transport in our heart ;

We heard no more her tongue, nor feared her look,

Nor o'er our heads the rod of terror shook.

Lo ! o'er the fields with eager hand and eye, Some chase from flower to flower the butterfly : Or, shouting with the sharers in their play, The rapid hoop drive o'er the traveled way ; While others near the brook apply their skill, Watching the workings of their mimic mill, Or teach the kite high in the air to fly, And sweep the bosom of the boundless sky. Some sought the woods that distant caught the view, Or ranged with eager steps the vallies through ; Some gathered flowers, and the bright wreath prepare To weave into their young Narcissa's hair, While others climbed with fearless feet the hill, Light as the winds, and wanderers at will ; But chiefly loved our merry band to rove Where echoes answered from the Oaken Grove.

Dear to my heart by strong unnumbered ties, By fond delights and best remembrances, Those ancient Oaks, with leaf and acorn crowned, That o'er my father's rugged acres frowned ; See, how aloft, in kingly pride they bear Their massy trunks and twisted arms in air, Still changeless in their strength and giant form, By suns unwithered, moveless in the storm.

Beneath those arms, that venerable shade Often my lingering footsteps have delayed, When early Spring, in budding beauty gay, Awoke my heart, and smiled its cares away. In Summer, too, that poured its sultry blaze, When flocks and herds sunk panting in its rays, I breathed the freshness of the cooling air, That nestled in the leaves and lingered there. But chiefly, when the sober Autumn came, With languid suns, that gave their feeble flame, And sighing winds, with rude invasion, shook The clustering acorns from their leafy nook, I hastened forth, and with delighted toil, Collected at their feet the fallen spoil.

Nor was this all. Still other ties invite,

Where o'er our heads their knotted arms unite.

'Twas there, in early spring, the birds with care

Their nests composed of gathered sticks and hair ;

'T was there I watched them fly from spray to spray,

Or capture in the air their insect prey ;

'T was there, from branch to branch, their tuneful throat

Poured forth the music of its sylvan note,

And seated on some rock, I bent mine ear,

The tribute of their warbled song to hear.

Pleased with their chirp, bright eye, and speckled breast,

One day I took two robins from their nest,

And placed them in a cage. Upon a tree

I hung the cage, and they sung mournfully,

And hopped from side to side, as if they still

Were thinking of their native wood and hill ;

When, lo, the mother to their prison flew,

And fed her young, as she was used to do, —

Placing a worm within their beaks, and then

She lit upon a branch, and poured her strain,

As if to sooth their sorrows. Thus she came,

And daily fed them, daily sung the same.

A thought at last rose in my childish heart :

It seemed to charge me with a cruel part ;

If I were in a prison, what would be

My mother's thoughts, my mother's griefs for me !

She, too, would come, would feed me, and would sing,

And try all arts, some joy, some hope to bring

To her poor boy. And oh, if I were free,

How would she triumph in my liberty !

I wept, and not a reason needed more,

But went at once, and oped the wiry door ;

The little birds hopped from the open cage,

And soaring on their airy pilgrimage,

Poured forth their song to rocks and trees around,

Till rocks and trees their warbled joys resound.

In those young days, when Summer in its gleam Beckoned us forth to hill, and wood, and stream; When, swinging on its branch, the little bird Plumed its blue wing, and made its carol heard, Down in the valley by the river's side, We built the Bower, and graced its arch of pride. Fair hands were busy, bloom and branch to bring, And all were present with their offering. Some lent their skill high in its top to twine The fragrant fern, the rose, the large-leafed vine; Some gathered leaves and flowers, and o'er the ground, And sidelong benches, strewed their treasures round.

The joyous stream bestowed its hoarse applause, To cheer our ardor in the mutual cause, Urging its curling wave with graceful sweep 'Mid elms and vines, that clothed the valley deep. Our hearts were one ; the breath of worldly fame Had not yet blown our passions to a flame ; And envy was not felt. Each strove to be A source of joy, and not of misery; We saw no future ills, all griefs forgot, Blessing and blest, we would not change our lot. There faithful hands were clasped, there songs arose, Till sober evening bade our pastimes close.

That summer eve is passed ! The summer's bloom

No longer yields its beauty and perfume.

The joyous birds are gone : there nests are bare,

Hanging in leafless branches in the air.

How changed is all around ! The Autum's gale

Breathes from the moaning wood its joyless wail ;

The cattle, shivering in the fenceless fields,

Nibble the poor repast the stubble yields ;

The bleating sheep complain ; the flocks of crows,

But though the day be cheerless, none the less

It comes to gladden, harmonize, and bless,

The day, when huts and cottages shall hold

As much of bliss as if they gleamed with gold —

THANKSGIVING DAY, which, ere the year shall part,

Returns to sooth the farmer's generous heart.

Full well I knew him. Often when a boy, The Farmer hailed me with a boisterous joy,

Asked how I fared, and took me by the hand, And kindly led me o'er his well-tilled land, And showed his bleating sheep and lowing kine, Pride of the master's eyes, and joy of mine.

To him, good man, Thanksgiving day ne'er came,

Without a full observance of its claim ;

For whether much or small he had to spare,

He had enough to give the poor a share,

Who constant came, and never failed to meet

The ready greeting, and the welcome seat.

His decent home was on a rising place,

Where nature showed her strength, but not her grace ;

And yet that rugged height the pear-tree crowned,

And scattered beeches closed the mansion round.

His garden gave its treasures ; not in vain

From ripened fields he drove his autumn wain ;

Huge stands his table ; fruits and pies appear ;

The choicest products of the teeming year ;

Gathered around his loaded board, he sees

His sturdy sons, his daughters " formed to please,"

Who, while the brothers felled the forest's bloom,

Controlled, with busy hand, the noisy loom ;

Susan, and Dick, and John, and dark-eyed Bess;

Proud heaves his heart with conscious happiness.

Happy are those, whose hand and heart of fire Nature hath framed to rule the tuneful lyre ; Whose souls can feel, whose powers of verse can tell The deep emotions in their hearts that swell. Alas for me ! Such praise I cannot claim, No epic heights resound my humble name : 2

I do not ask the noisy world to hear,

I do not seek the trained and courtly ear ;

The budding wreath, which they may bind, shall be

The light for other brows, but not for me.

But I will sit upon my native plain,

And tune my pipe, and call the rustic train,

Their lowly toils repeat, their griefs reveal,

And tell the joys, which such alone can feel ;

And, where Cocheco gently winds along,

Renew to woods and rocks my rural song.

Cocheco's River ! Fitter strains should sing,

Than my poor note, thy gentle murmuring,

Whispered through nodding birch and elm-trees hoar

Till down opposing rocks thy waters roar.

If Burns were here, he would describe thee fair,

As blooming Doon and bonny banks of Ayr ;

In simple verse would tell the mingled charm

Of woods and stream and cultivated farm,

Of birds rejoicing in their leafy bowers,

Of bees, "that hum around the breathing flowers,"

And many a cottage on thy banks should gain

The heartfelt homage of his touching strain.

Roll on, fair River ! Yield your torrents still, And turn, with vigorous^ weep, Old Richard's mill. While others sing the men and deeds of fame, Be ours to consecrate Old Richard's name. For oft the aged miller at his hearth Detained our boyish troop with well-timed mirth ; Told us strange tales, nor waited to be pressed ; Laughing old man ! He loved the tale and jest.

Strong was his arm, and while the mill went round, He hooped his pails and tubs with clattering sound. His long grey coat with dust was thick beset, His broad-brim hat was hat and epaulet. Nor was he all for jesting. In a trice He sober grew, and gave us sage advice; With shake of head and keen, emphatic eye, Descanting loud on truth and honesty. But baffled oft to make his audience hear, When wheels and tubs and hammer claimed the ear, He raised his voice, and with its accents shrill, Defied the deaf'ning clamor of his mill.

Loved waters ! Oft we spent the rapid hours

Upon thy waves, and in thy leafy bowers ;

And they were hours of quietude and bliss ;

No cloud of sorrow dimmed our happiness.

See ! On thy banks, where cautiously and slow

The thirsty steer stoops to the wave below,

The noisy group at idle length recline,

While others aim the spear or wield the line.

See ! In thy waves the daring band divide

With skillful arm thine unresisting tide ;

Or guide with slender sail their dancing boat,

And proudly o'er thy gentle waters float.

Bright was thy summer's sun, and sweet the breeze,

That chased the fragrance from thy clustered trees ;

Green waved thine elms, with massy arms and strong ;

Loud from the alders burst the black-bird's song;

While thrush and red-breast from the meadows gay,

In merry groups, proclaimed their rival lay.

And e'en, when chill and frozen winter came,

Around thy banks we gathered still the same ;

The rapid sled directed down the hill, Whose snowy brow o'er-topped the noisy mill, Or made the polished ice, thy waves that bound, With trampling feet and ringing skates resound.

Stream of the mossy rock and sheltering tree ! Unknown to fame, but not unknown to me. Thought, retrospective, fondly lingers o'er The cliffs, the woods, the vallies of thy shore. Ye pensive haunts, to recollection dear ! One picture yet ; I cannot leave you here ; For e'en the dwellers of your vale and hill Find mingled, in their cup of joy, its ill ; And while they speak of bliss, their griefs at times Are breathed in simple melancholy rhymes.

Upon thy rugged banks there lived alone

An aged woman to the world unknown.

She, hapless one, was sadly taught to know

How frail are fairest prospects here below ;

How, in the time of bitterness and need,

All human help is but a broken reed.

Time was when she had friends ; but that was past,

And all her griefs on higher aid were cast.

Wretched her hovel ; all her art and care

Could scarce exclude the rain and searching air.

She had a chair, a table, and a bed,

And some poor things for making tea and bread.

Daily she ranged each shady solitude,

To gather withered leaves and sticks of wood,

To heap her lonely hearth. When gleaming high

The stars were summoned to the evening sky,

Beside her frugal fire, her hours were given To humble toil and fitting thoughts of heaven. Not seldom to that grandam's hut we drew, When sable evening clothed the hills from view ; She stopped the wheel, that twined her flaxen thread, She closed the Bible, whence she nightly read, And from the fruitful fount of former years Revealed the tale of sadness to our ears.

'T was long ago, she said ; in that rude time, When first our fathers came from England's clime ; When households, in our frontier town, were few, And close and dark the forest round them grew. With busy hands the farmers cleared away The tangled woods, and oped them to the day ; They had no time in idleness to spare, But built their barns, the guarded house prepare ; Old men and young alike engaged in toil, With spade and plough to quell the rugged soil ; The maids obeyed the busy housewife's call, And Lucy Wilson gained the prize from all.

The neighbors marked her ever cheerful face, The magic of her voice, her movement's grace ; And with a glow of pride told o'er and o'er Her kindness to her parents old and poor. Like Lucy Wilson none, they said, could spin, And none like her could keep their cottage clean ; None listened on the holy Sabbath day, With heart so fervent with devotion's ray ; None had such kindly looks and cheerfulness In disappointment, labor, and distress, Prompt to her daily toil with morning's gleam, Nor slack in duty with day's latest beam. 2*

One morn she went out with her milking pail, And the same song, that oft had cheered the vale ; It was a summer's morn ; the earliest beam Was scarce restored to tinted wood and stream ; And as she passed, her brightly floating hair Waved to the welcome of the joyful air. 'T was the last time ; for fiercely raging war Had drawn the savage from his haunts afar ; Men of hard heart and unrelenting eye, Unmoved by beauty and by sympathy ; And with that license cruel strife hath given, Their spears they hurled, and Lucy went to heaven.