Betrayed: a northern tale

Dedication

A son have I, a ruddy boy, All full of health and life and joy, Whose burly form doth promise give, If he to man's estate should live. That we a health}' man shall find • Alike in body and in mind. He drives his goat, his, pou}' rides, Like pei'fect horseman, him bestrides ; Flies forth on him o'er hill and dale. Leaps broadest ditch and highest rail ; LeajDS with his dog, or him outruns. Nor any danger shirks nor shuns ; Swims on the stream, or rows his boat, And shouts the songs he has by rote. Does everything I bid him do. To me is alwaj^s kind and true ; And while on winter nights ni}' time I spent in building up this rh3'me. Beside my chair his own he drew. His blue eyes fix'd on me their view, And as I wrote each couplet down, I saw him either smile or frown — Just as it chanced his list'ning ear Did plain or not my mutterings hear ; For as with verse I paper don Aloud m}' song I alwa3'S con ; It seems to give it smoother flow, And make mj^ song more rapid grow ; And when a coviplet pleased his ear He would repeat it loud and clear. This rh3'me -alone amongst this host Has alwaj' s seemed to please him most : " Forward the stream of time has drawn. To gulfs that never cease to j-awn." Both night and day I hear his voice Repeat aloud and oft his choice. With me he'd sit right late at night, Till drowsiness o'ercame him quite ; Then on the lounge he'd sink to rest, His burly arms across his breast ; And when Aurora's ros}^ car Lit up the east and paled each star,

DEDICATION.

From off the lounge he lightly sprung,

Preface

PREFACE.

About a year has ta'en its flight Across this realm of day and night, Since I brought forth through joy and

pain, Another vintage of, my brain I styled the Bride of Gettysburg, Whose metre charmed John Odenswurg, A friend of mine, whose hand and pen Is foremost 'mongst the sons of men ; Whose mind soars o'er the noblest walks Wherever knowledge sings or talks ; Whose judgment ever stands supreme 'Mongst men, whatever be the theme ; Who is a critic sharp and keen As ever in this sphere was seen, But void of all things base and mean ; Whose spirit knows no spite nor spleen. But is of every baseness clean As is the purest gold, I ween, That ever gleamed on hand of queen. Or rosy lass of seventeen. I've never known his soul to lean To'rds that grim monster all obscene Whose eyes they say are bleared and

green, With flaming tongue foul lips between. Whose haggared features plainly show Its servile nature, grim and low, Where never thought nor deed did glow To comfort j 03^ or solace woe, Which ne'er heroic feeling felt And where no thought of courage dwelt ; But is all low, depraved and vile, Concentred mass of fraud and wile. Yes, void of jealousy is he. As is the earn that breaks the sea ; And brave is he as is the rock That backward turns the billow's shock. And this friend of mine, John Odenswurg, Pronounced my Bride of Gettysburg A noble tale, from end to end. As ever yet by man was penn'd ; Sublime in thought, in action grand. Let the scene be on flood or land —

PREFACE.

All, all, was limned to nature true,

Whate'er the figure, shade or hue —

The grass within my story grew

The way that laughing nature knew.

And flowers bloomed upon the earth,

As they in nature found their birth,

The mountains reared their peaks on high,

And o'er them spread the sacred sky

Just as they are in nature seen,

With winter's rime or summer's green ,

The floods gushed forth in streams or rills

As they gush over nature's hills ;

The ocean looked, in calm or storm,

As in the lap of nature warm.

And when the human heart I drew,

I painted it to nature true ;

Limn'd it in either ill or good

As it has aye in nature stood.

My battle scenes were limn'd complete,

In either triumph or defeat ;

As swept the tide of verse along,

The cannon thundered in my song,

And plain the charger's neigh was heard,

As death and tumult round him stirr'd ;

And defeat, victory, or death.

Rolled from the drum or trumpet's breath.

Thus speaks my friend, John Odenswurg,

About my Bride of Gettysburg.

And yet I do not thank him more

Than other critics, full a score.

Who said my tale was full of fault,

Did all in rhyme and nonsense wait.

From end to end all lame and halt —

Tasted like bread all void of salt

Mixed with sand or flinty gault,

Or porter with no taste of malt.

That mouldering lies in the vault.

That will in silence waste away

¥/hen vats that hold it shall decay.

I do not care if good or ill

The critics speak of me, I still

In heart and soul shall feel the same,

Let them bestow me praise or blame.

I know my tale is really good,

And if 'tis rightly understood

By those who read it through and throvigh,

Thejr'll view my verse as it I view

And credit me as is my due —

Bear witness what I say is true ;

PREFACE.

They'll see it is not full of fault,

Nor in the least way lame and halt,

But sturdy, native strength is thrown

In every line unto them shown,

And none of feebleness is known

In any of its flow or tone.

Those who praise, give but what's my due

And tell me what I know is true ;

And while I thank them for all this,

Yet I feel, nor do I feel amiss.

Nor am I it asliamed to tell.

That I have really paid them well

For all the trouble, praise and time

They've spent a'conning o'er my rhyme ;

For surely, they have in it found

Some things that made their spirits bound

With sorrow, joy, delight or hope.

Or made them altogether cope.

Perhaps they far better spent their time

A'reacling o'er my flowing rhyme,

Than had it never met their view,

Nor vital breath its author drew.

To those who blindly me condemn,

I'd speak a word or two with them:

If me the3^'d only deign to meet

Within some classical retreat,

I'd still their jealousy awliile.

Make reason through their beings smile.

If e'er with them I chance to meet,

A gallant friend or foe they'll greet.

And with my mind and spirit fraught

With just such feelings and such thought,

I send forth on the stream of time

Another tale in flowing rhyme.

Which I, its father, style Betrayed,

Nor feel I for its success afraid.

Go forth, my child, upon your course,

You o'er the world your way shall force ;

Nor shall human hands your progress mar,

Nor 3^ou from your just glory bar.

Press on ; I'll put you to the test ;

I've blest .you, and you shall be blest.

Pres on, press on ; your sire's arm

Shall shield you from all dole and harm.

The good will hail ^'ou with a zest,

And bless you, as j^ou I have blest.

You shall not beg, but force your way.

And nothing fear by night nor day

BETRAYED.

Part I

Autumn's lazy mists spread soft and still, With amber hues o'er sky and hill ; The setting sun all bright and fair, With yellow glorj'" fills the air ; Gives unto hill and dale below, An all-bewitching, crimson glow. And sweet does sparkling rill and stream Reflect the fast departing beam, O'er trees where frost but late has been, And turned to red their leaves of green ; Huge gums and oaks and maples tall. Poplars vast, scrub-wood dense but small, The sun bestowes his parting glow, Makes all the hues of fire show ; Like sparks of flame amidst the glare, Their leaves at times fall on the air — Far from their parent stems repair. Then spark-lilte, make on earth their lair Along the base of those bright hills. Whence gush a hundred rippling rills, Which form a river broad and clear Of waters pure as ever were ;

Whose shallow crystal ripples show, The pebbles white o'er which they flow. And pastures broad and rich and green, On which are herds of cattle seen, And bleating sheep b}^ thousands graze. O'er fields that midst the sun-set blaze.

II

High on the mountain's rocky side, O'erlooking all the pastures wide, There stood, built of dark-gray stone, A mansion fair as e'er was known. Its stately walls and slated roof. To flame and rain and storms are proof Full many a spacious room, I ween. Is in that stately mansion seen. It looks all like some castle-hold Reared b}^ some gallant prince of old, Save that no battlements are there. Such as round ancient castles were ; But all around are porches seen. And o'er them crawls the ivy green ; Near by are walks with hedges trim. And stately trees of giant limb. And gardens that in summer time Breathe round a fragrance all sublime.

HI.

Upon its porch the owner stands, And gazes o'er his fertile lands ; Happy is he, no care he knows, For not a cent to man he owes ; O'er all his home and pastures broad, He is the sole and only lord ;

No dime to any man owes he,

Though in his debt full many be.

Large is his heart and kind his soul,

And chanty his thoughts control ;

Good will he bears the human race,

Whate'er their station, call or place.

No mortal ever sore in need

Of aid, to him did vainly plead;

If gold they craved he gave the hoard.

Oft more than he could well afford ;

To them man^^ a loan he made.

Which unto him was ne'er repaid ;

O'er such losses he'd ne'er grieve nor fret,

But give the borrower the debt.

To losses he was aye resigned.

And soon would cast them from his mind ;

Far o'er the country was he known,

As one who ne'er called in a loan.

Though hard to gain his wealth he'd toil.

And made it all from out his soil,

His beaming face and smiling brow,

Tell plain that he is happy now ;

That not a care disturbs his soul,

And placidly his feelings roll.

His clean-shaved, ruddy cheeks disclose

The perfect health that through him flows ;

From their hue strangers might divine

Their florid color came from wine ;

But none of this e'er made his fare —

'Twas perfect health that reddened there.

His stalwart form and brawny limb

Shows 3'ou no man more strong than him;

His form and limbs all, all reveal,

A perfect man from head to heel ;

Though from his look it plain appears That he is "well advanced in ^^ears ; For his thin hair is white as snow, Or foam that rolling billows show ; But if not for their milk-white rime He'd look like one in hardy prime, So stalwart is his look and tread ; But five and sixty years have fled Since dawned on earth that rosy morn When was this man, John Logan, born.

IV

The broad domains his eyes survey, And many herds that o'er them stray. Were now the grand reward and spoil Of his own thrift}^, constant toil : Yea, all the lands and home he'd won, Came through the patient work he'd done ; All had been gained by his own hands — His mansion, herds, and fertile lands, And God he thanked, his actions showed, For what to him He had bestowed. Beside him now his daughter stands, And on his shoulder rests her hands. Looks on his ruddy face the while. With happy heart and loving smile ; Bare is her head of scarf or hood, Her tresses bound with silken snood. Her long thick curls of light brown hair, Sport freely on the balmy air. Her form is slender, frail and tall, But graceful, and majestic all. Fair is her forehead, broad and high, And 'neath it darts a hazel eye ; Her ruby lips reveal to sight

Her even teeth all pearly white ; Her rosy face, her ruddy cheek, Do her own perfect health bespeak ; All o'er her face from chin to brow, Such beauty ne'er was seen till now Since first the lovely race began, And came to bless and comfort man. The hues of blood and driven snow, In mingled shades divinely glow ; Each strives the mastership to win, O'er all that face from brow to chin. Her swan-like neck and bare round arms Compete with all her glowing charms, And like the milk-white mists are fair, That near the moon's full disk repair, And o'er her seem to make their lair, Or float at night in moon-ljt air ; And light her tread, as fleecy snow The cloud-land sends to earth below, Her voice is soft, and sweet and low As music in its sweetest flow. And ne'er a soul more good and pure Did ever human flesh immure.] A tear she had for other's woes. And sorrow o'er her soul arose, While pity all her being stirred Whene'er a tale of grief she heard. She Avas that country's boast and pride, And famed for beauty far and wide ; Yea, prized o'er all that country's range, Was Mary of the Logan Grange.

And happy might John Logan be, With such a daughter as was she ;

In owning such a glorious child,

One so gentle, pure, and meek and mild ;

A paradise his home she made.

And all his cares to rest she laid ;

Made all his days serenely pass.

As sunshine o'er his fields of grass ;

Or in one even tenor glide

As crystal rill down mountain si„e,

On which no ruffling tempests blow,

Nor falls no chilling winds nor snow ;

But b}^ it rose and lily glow,

And form in arches o'er its flow,

While summer suns eternal shine.

And cheer it down its steep incline.

If faults in either one were seen.

As are in humankind, I ween,

They never troubled either mind.

For both to such seemed always blind.

VI

Within his child he sees portra3'ed. With every grace and charm arrayed, The image of that lovely one. Long years ago he woo'd and won ; That lovely maiden pure and mild, Ile'd made the mother of his child — The lustre of whose hazel eyes Was pure and bright as dew that lies On the flower at early morn, When first the sun doth it adorn — Pure and serene as is the light The stars shed on a frosty night, Which only tell of peace and love Within their silent vaults above.

And straight his memory is cast

Adown the vista of the past,

Far swifter than the sunbeams pass

Along a field of waving grass,

Cast through the cloud's dark, broken form,

That speeds before the mountain storm ;

And all his joys and woes of 3'ore

Pass through his musing soul once more

As through the past his musings range.

It rises up with all its ceaseless change,

And limns a panorama strange.

And midst its scenes his daughter, there,

Who smiles so blooming, grand and fair,

With all her mother's peerless charms,

He sees a babe brought to his arms —

Like on that bright and happy day,

When first he did his child survey.

Yea, hailed his first-born with a joy,

Nor time nor care could e'er destroy :

Hailed her a gift sent from above,

To crown his days with peace and love. The joyous thrill his bosom knew When first to him the tidings flew That he a father was, once more He feels as holy as of yore. A year of time flies on, again He hears the nurse's voice amain Shout unto him with teeming joy — His second ofl'spi-ing is a boy. Feels as of old through all his form, The blood sweep pulsing swift and w^rm ; In thought he climbs the winding stair, Doth to its mother's coucli repair,

And on the twain he plants once more, The loving kiss he gave of yore ; His soul feels with that joy assailed, As when his second born he hailed, And o'er his features beams the while, Just as of old, his tender smile. Two years sweep by, that boy he sees A little prattler on his knees. With azure eyes just like his own, An image of himself is shown, In all that infant's features pure, Which years shall strengthen, not obscure. O'er dale and hill he leads his child, Till comes a night with tempest wild ; Though falls no rain fierce roars the storm, And flying clouds the sky deform. Sudden a glaring flame is seen. Below amidst his pastures green, And swift a roaring fire glows From out a barn that there arose ; Right soon is wrapped its stately frame In one all-devouring flame. From out his couch with speed he hies, And to the scene of ruin flies ; While round the burning wreck he toils, The flames of other buildings foils ; Tears down the gates and fences all, Around those burning structures tall, And from the flame's terrific ray Swift drives his frighted herds awaj^. To stables hastes, and from each stall, Leads out his trembling coursers all, And saves all things his hand can find. That some one had to flame consigned. While thus he toiled, the very hands That there had cast the flaming brands,

BETRAYED. 1 T

An entrance to his mansion found,

His wife they seized, and gagged and

bound, And while she thus all helpless lay. The bo}'^ the ruffians bore away. The night sped on, and morning came, Still Logan fought the roaring flame ; The barn was ail to ashes burned, Ere he unto his home returned, And all the horrid tidings learned Of what had in his absence passed.

VII

O'er all that country wild and vast, Like dust that flies before the blast, The fearful news spread far and wide, And men flew forth on every side. To find that child, none, none delayed, In search were neighbors swift arrayed, And everywhere keen search was made ; By day and night, o'er hill and glen, Through woods and swamps and robber's

den.

Through cit}^, hamlet, town and shed, The feet of seai'ching thousands sped. And though they searched that country

round.

No trace they of the infant found ; E'en through ships on the sea they sought, But not a single trace they caught ; Although they offered huge reward. To those whoe'er the child restored ; And swore that those who did the deed, Should of their fearful crime be freed, And should to them be paid the meed,

If they returned the child with speed. Though this was widely noised abroad, Yet, yet the child was not restored. The days and months flew on apace. Yet of the child was found no trace ; A year sped by, another flew, Yet of the child was found no clue. The mother wept and prayed and3^earned, Yet, to her arms no child returned. Its solace Hope at last denied. And with her grief the mother died.

VIII

This is a scene in Logan's life, Which, with sad episodes is rife. But though the cruel, dreary past Has man}^ sorrows round him cast, He has survived them, and looks back Along his life's long, gloomy track, "With lesser, far, of grief than joy, Which time doth strengthen, not destroy. Heavenly hope assails his soul. Keeps all his thoughts in sweet control. Looks on his sorrows of the past As trials God has round him cast For some all-wise, divine intent. Which only for his weal were meant ; Which God will yet to him make plain, And for each loss give ample gain ; And lead him to that blissful shore, Where he shall meet his lost of yore, Whom here on earth he did adore ; And they shall meet to part no more ; Yea, meet each cherished one again. Where dwell no parting, grief nor pain.

BETRAYED.

Swayed only by these hopes, he lives, And unto God his thoughts he gives — Breathes on at peace with God and man, Aids all his fellow-men he can,

IX

The sun goes down, and Logan's eye. Enraptured views the crimson sky, For rifted clouds around him lie. And these receive his reddening dye ; Seldom a pageantry more fair. The setting sun made nature wear ; Bright o'er the heaven's vast expanse His j^ellow glories upward glance — To every far off cloud advance, Till all the arch divinely glows "With the mellowing hues he throws. On mists that o'er the mountains spread. And veil from sight each summit's head, His brightest tints effulgent glow, And hues of gold and amber show. So bright and long the splendor lasts. The setting sun on nature casts. It seems his flight he stays a while. To shed o'er all one loving smile — Make earth and sky together blaze. Beneath the splendor of his rays. Make all things in nature wide. Their many hues of darkness hide ; And all in sweetest tints be shown. Although a splendor not their own ; Force Nature through her boundless clime, To confess his power sublime.

.19

From Logan's sight the sun has sped, And all that pageantry has fled, jS^ot e'en one tint the heavens show, Of all that dazzling pomp and glow ; But over sky and earth below, The darkening shades of evening grow ; Fast o'er each mountain's shaggy head, The moving mists begin to spread — Dark, dense and vast to vales repair. And settle o'er their nightly lair. While from the pastures broad and green, The herds are homeward moving seen. And sheep with lambs that skip and play, Come bleating on their homeward way ; And throng the ample folds below. Those hills' green sides and bases show Where enormous barns and stables rise, As ever met a Granger's eyes. Come from the pools the noisy geese To pens and settle down in peace ; To stately roosts the poultry fly And crowd upon their perches high. The air grows moist with breath of kine, And noisy with the squeal of swine. While waiting for their corn and hay, Is frequent heard the horses neigh. The corn within the manger falls, Hay placed in racks along the stalls. The grunting swine receive their fill Of moistened bran and floods of swill. Amongst the gentle, lowing herd, The sprightly milkmaids' feet have stirr'd,

BETRAYED. Jl

Ceased are the lively songs they trilled, While with reeking milk their pails they

filled ; And to the milk-house down the hill, Into which flows a rippling rill, As clear as crystal, cold as snow, Tljat milk is placed in cans that glow Like i^vire and jDolished silver sheen, And as is polished silver, clean. And all the toil and work is done. Which comes on after set of sun ; And over dell and mountain's brow The shades of night are settled now, And scarcely can John Logan trace Midst growing gloom his daughter's face, As thus she breathes within his ear What none but him she wished to hear.

XI

" Father," she said, " I would not giye Earl Ragan for all men that live ; And if I ever wedded be.

He'll be my lord, and only he. His soul is noble, good and kind, As ever God to flesh consigned ; His eyes are full of truth and love, And azure as the skies above ; And though he poor and humble be, Yet, he is dearly loved by me ; And with none other will I wed, Far sooner would I join the dead." " Your love for him I will not chide," The Father with a smile replied, " For truth to tell, in him I see, A noble spirit, frank and free ;

Though poor he is, he is the peer Of all the youths who journey here, And seek to woo my daughter fair. Poor, did I say ? no, no, my child ; As poor, he can no more be styled. 'Twas I who loaned him all the hoard With which he bought his acres broad. , One-half of it he has restored ; And every mite he won through toil, And from the yielding of that soil. If he repa3's me at the rate, He has been pa^dng me of late. In two years he'll own his whole estate ; And not a man save me, he owes, Is solemn truth, your father knows. And just suppose I now should whim, To cancel all I hold 'gainst him ; He'd the wealthiest wooer be 'Mongst all who come my child to see. And ere shall rise to-morrow's morn, That mortgage shall to shreds be torn ; I will forgive him all the debt, Though of it I'll not tell him yet. In truth I really like the lad. And that you love him I am glad. But there is that gay Crawford Storm, Of handsome face and agile form. With garb forever neat and trim. How will you free yourself from him ? For it is whispered far and wide, My Mary is his promised bride. And if one word of this be true. If he's at all beloved by you, First see that love is sere and dead, As leaf the stem past ages shed,

That wasted on the rock is seen, And never can again be green."

XII

Bright flashed the maiden's ej'es with pride Night could not from her father hide, And on her cheek the color died, As with a frown she thus replied : " Though such reports are whispered wide, By me they have been oft denied ; For they are false, as void of truth, As is a rock of love or ruth. Oft have I wished he'd keep from here, And o'er our threshhold never dare ; Respect to him I simply show, Because I would not have him know The deep contempt for him I feel, Lest he some harm to us might deal. I hail him as some loathsome weed, Of which our garden must be freed ; When time a proper chance shall give, He'll learn it, truly as we live. But think not, father, I will wed, Ere many years shall yet be sped — Till Ragan every mite has made, He owes to you, and it has paid ; When this has my own Ragan done, And not till then, his bride he's won. A solemn compact we have made, And it shall stand though long delayed — When he his lands from debt shall free, Wed on that very day are we. And he by his own thrift and toil, No other means must win his spoil ;

Far, far too proud of soul is he,

To take your gift, though grand it be ;

Though years of toil 'twould him relieve,

The gift I know he'd not receive ;

So ne'er such thoughts to Ragan tell —

You'll shortly see him prosper well ;

For day and night to God I pray,

That He will Ragan bless alway ;

And far more things through prayer are

wrought Than of this world has ever thought.

XIII

Now, just two weeks have ta'en their flight Since Crawford Storm last met my sight, And when he left he said to me. This evening here again he'd be ; And I have vowed not to be thrown, Within his company alone. This very eve, by my request, Here will gather many a guest ; Yea, all the neighbors far and near. Both old and 3'oung will gather here ; You seem to have forgotten, quite, That you are sixty-five to-night — Or, of the day that j-ou were born. The anniversary came this morn ; And while to-day away 3^ou were, I have prepared more ample cheer, And summoned all the neighbors here. When lights are lit you'll find each board With choicest food is amply stored ; And should sly Cjawford come to-night, You'll see how him I'll shun and slight; And all the neighbors, young and old,

Shall my contempt for him behold. And all such tales are false, they'll see, That I am Crawford's bride to be. The}" '11 see that Ragan has my love — Is prized all others far above, And only, me as bride shall win." At this her father swift broke in : " My daughter, do not so to-night. Nor show to him the least of slight ; That 3'ovi do naught, I would prefer, To forth the neighbors' gossip stir ; Oh, bring not this upon your head, ; Their gossip is a thing I dread ; For, be 30U pure and white as snow. Ere from the cloud it falls below — That in the ether has its birth. Nor yet has ta'en one taint of earth, 'Twill not let you pass, whate'er you do, Without 3'our share of scandal, too. Leave Crawford unto me alone, Nor be to him jour feelings known ; Of him 3' ou shall be shortly rid. His presence here I will forbid. And then, I trust, he'd keep away, Nor ever near you dare to stray. This eve I shall engross him, quite, Give you no cause to show him slight."