5. What matter how the night behaved?
What matter how the north wind raved?
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow
Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow.
We sped the time with stōries old,
Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told,
Or stammered from our school-book lōre1
"The Chief of Gambia's golden shōre."
6. Our uncle, innocent of books,
Was rich in lore of fields and brooks-
The ancient teachers, never dumb,
Of Nature's unhoused lyceum,
In moons and tides and weather wise,
He read the clouds as prophecies,
And foul or fair could well divine,
By many an occult 2 hint and sign,
Holding the cunning-warded keys
To all the woodcråft mysteries;
Himself to Nature's heart so near
That all her voices in his ear
Of beast or bird had meanings clear.
7. A simple, guilelèss, childlike man,
Content to live whêre life began—
Strong only on his native grounds,
The little world of sights and sounds
Whose girdle was the parish bounds,
Whereof his fondly partial pride
The common features magnified—
He told how teal and loon 4 he shot,
And how the eagle's eggs he got,
The feats on pond and river done,
The prodigies of rod and gun;-
Till, warming with the tales he told,
Forgotten was the outside cold;
1 Lōre, that which is learned; knowledge gained from reading or study; learning.
2 Oc'cult, hidden from the eye or understanding; secret.
3 Teal, a web-footed water-fowl, nearly allied to the common duck, but smaller.
4 Loon, a web-footed swimming and diving bird.
The bitter wind unheeded blew,
From ripening corn the pigeons flew,
The pärtridge drummed i' the wood, the mink
Went fishing down the river-brink.
8. In fields with bean and clover gãy
The woodchuck, like a hermit gray,
Peered from the doorway of his cell;
The muskrat plied the mason's trade,
And tier by tier his mud-walls laid:
And from the shagbark overhead,
The grizzled squirrel dropped his shell.
9. At låst the great logs, crumbling lōw,
Sent out a dull and duller glōw ;—
The bull's-eye watch that hung in view,
Ticking its weary circuit through,
Pointed with mutely warning sign
Its black hand to the hour of nine.
That sign the pleasant circle broke:
My unele ceased his pipe to smoke,
Knocked from its bowl the refuse grãy,
And laid it tenderly ǎway,
Then roused himself to safely cover
The dull red brands with ashes over.
10. And while, with câre, our mother laid The work aside, her steps she stayed One moment, seeking to express
Her grateful sense of happiness
For food and shelter, warmth and health,
And love's contentment more than wealth,
With simple wishes (not the weak,
Vain prayers which no fulfillment seek,
But such as warm the generous heart,
O'er-prompt to do with heaven its part),
That none might lack, that bitter night,
For bread and clothing, warmth and light.
11. Within our beds awhile we heard
The wind that round the gables roared,
With now and then a ruder shock,
Which made our very bedsteads rock.
We heard the loosened clapboards toss,
The board-nails snapping in the frost;
And on us, through the unplåstered wall,
Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall.
12. But sleep stōle on, as sleep will do,
When hearts are light, and life is new;
Faint and more faint the mûrmûrs grew,
Till in the summer-land of dreams
They softened to the sound of streams,
Low stir of leaves, and dip of ōars,
And lapsing waves on quiet shōres.
Adapted from J. G. WHITTIER.
110. THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.
NDER a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
2. His hâir is crisp, and black, and long;
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honèst sweat-
He earns whate'er he can ;
He looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
3. Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows 1 blow;
Bellows (běl'lus), an instrument, utensil, or maçhïne for forcing air through a tube, for different
purposes, as blowing fires, ventilating mines, filling the pipes of an organ with wind, etc.
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,1
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
4. And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming fōrge, 2
And hear the bellows rōar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
5. He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
6. It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise !3
He needs must think of her once mōre,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
7. Toiling-rejoicing-sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some tåsk begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
8. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught !
Thus at the flaming fōrge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought! LONGFELLOW.
1 Sledge, a large, heavy hammer. 2 Fōrge, a furnace where iron is heated and wrought.
8 Păr'a dise, a place of great hap
piness; a region of delight; heaven.
4 An'vil, an iron block, usually with a steel face, upon which metals are hammered and shaped.
111. THE SONG OF THE FORGE.
LANG, clang! the måssive1 anvils ring;
Clang, clang! a hundred hammers swing—
Like the thunder-rattle of a tropic sky,
The mighty blows still multiply—
Say, brothers of the dusky brow,
What are your strong arms fōrging now ?
2. Clang, clang! We fōrge the cōlter2 now-
The colter of the kindly plow:
Benignant Fäther, bless our toil!
May its broad fùrrow still unbind
To genial rains, to sun and wind,
The most productive soil!
3. Clang, clang! Our colter's course shall be
On many a sweet and sheltered lea,
By many a streamlet's silver tide,
Amid the song of morning birds,
Amid the low of säuntering herds,
Amid soft breezes which do stray
Through woodbine hedges and sweet may,
Along the green hill's side.
4. When regal Autumn's bounteous hand
With wide-spread glory clothes the land-
When to the valleys, from the brow
Of each resplendent slope, is rolled
A ruddy sea of living gold-
We bless-we bless the plow.
5. Clang, clang! Again, my mates, what glows
Beneath the hammer's potent blows?
1 Massive (mås' iv), formed or consisting of a great måss or quantity collected; heavy.
2 Colt'er, the fore iron of a plow, with a sharp edge to cut the sod
3 May, the flowers of the hawthorn;-so called because they bloom in the last of May.
4 Re'gal, pertaining to a king; kingly; royal.
|