POEMS. POEMS BY CHARLES G. EASTMAN. MONTPELIER: EASTMAN & DANFORTH. 1848, Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1848, by I'M A RLE i G. EAITHAN, In the Clerk'* Office of the District Court of the District of Vermont. CONTENTS. Page. A PICTURE 1 THE OLD PINE TREE 3 PURER THAN SNOW 8 THE UNKNOWN SLEEPER 9 KATE WAS ONCE A LITTE GIRL .... 11 MUTABILITY 13 OLD TIME STEALS ON 14 r SHE IS THE LAST ...... 15 SCENE IN A VERMONT WINTER .... 17 FANNY HALL 21 APRIL RAIN 22 THANATOS ........ 23 THE TOWN PAUPER'S BURIAL .... 24 THE REAPER 2(> I WOULD THAT HE WERE BACK, AGAIN . . 28 SIIK I.IVKTII 15V 'I'HE VALLEY BKHOK . . 30 MAKV OF TUF. <;(,!. N 32 1823042 VI CONTENTS. Page. I BLAME T1IEE NOT 34 EVENING IN SUMMER 36 HART BLANE 38 I'VE THROWN TiiKM ALL AWAY ... 40 SHE REIGNETH IN THIS HEART OF MINE . . 42 LILT 44 THE FIRST SETTLER 46 HER GRAVE 19 BY HER MOTHER'S ... 49 - IN AUTUMN 51 PRATERS FOR A SICK CHILD .... 53 ISABEL 56 HOW CALMLY PASS HER QUIET DAYS ... 59 WAY, MOTHER TELL ME NOT .... 61 SHE PERISHED ERE HER HEART HAD KNOWN . 62 WE WEEP IN VAIN 64 THE KIDD-MAN 66 AS SCMMER FADES AWAY 7.1 THE DEFORMED 77 I SEE HER NOT 79 OLD MARGARET 82 LOOKING IN THE RIVER ! >i ! MBER 99 SONG BRING ME A CDP 102 HELEN 105 JOHN SMITH 108 KNITTING 114 11(J Tin: AMF.IUCA-V ]]H THF. ' .1RV 121 RTF .... IJt CONTENTS. VU Page. MY UNCLE JERRY 127 THE MOSS ROSE THAT SHE GAVE ME . . 139 GONE ......... 141 UP THE MOUNTAIN VALLEY .... 143" LOVE'S VAGARIES ...... 145 THE LATE SEASON 148 COME SING ME THE SONGJ 152 SONG OF THE VERMONTERS .... 154 HUBERT THE NORMAN 156 THE APPLE BLOSSOM 166 LOVE AND THE POET 168 THE HAUGHTY MAIDEN 170 TO LIVE UPON HER SMILE 173 IF THOU THINK TO WIN HER .... 175 COME OVER THE MOUNTAIN TO ME, LOVE . 176 TWENTY-NINE 178 SHADOWS 181 OP LOVE AND WINE 184 A NEW EUGENE ARAM 186 I SHOWED MY LOVE ...... 189 DIRGE 190 HALF MY LIFE I SPENT IN DREAMING . . 192 SWEETLY SHE SLEEPS ..... 193 COUNT ZWAGERDORFF 194 LITTLE BEL 198- MILL MAY , 200 SPRING-TIME 202" A WIFE-SONG ....... 205 THE BLIND BEGGAR .... , 20T POEMS, A PICTURE. TriE farmer sat in his easy chair Smoking his pipe of clay, While his hale old wife with busy care Was clearing the dinner away ; A sweet little girl with fine blue eyes On her grandfather's knee was catching flies. The old man laid his hand on her head, With a tear on his wrinkled face, lie thought how often her mother, dead, Had sat in the self-same place ; As the tear stole down from his half-shut eye, Don 't smoke !" said the child. " how it makes you cry !" 2 A PICTURE. The house-dog lay, stretched out on the floor Where the shade after noon used to steal, The busy old wife by the open door Was turning the spinning wheel, And the old brass clock on the mantle tree Had plodded along to almost three, Still the fanner sat in his easy chair, While close to his heaving breast, The moistened brow and the cheek so fair Of his sweet grandchild were pressed ; His head, bent down, on her soft hair lay Fast asleep were they both, that summer day ! THE OLD PINE TREE. BY my father's house, this side of the hill, As you followed the road to the cider mill, Was the swamp, as we called it, then ; A low, wet spot, where the cat-bird mewed, The tadpole bred and the bull frog spughed, And the muskrat built his den, And stealing out from his hiding hole Through the rotten grass, came the meadow-mole, To peep at the works of men. In the swamp, on a knoll, in the summer, dry, But half covered up, when the water was high, A magnificent Pine had grown Last of a race that the State shall see. Last of his race ! that glorious tree. Supreme on his forest throne. Like a mighty man of wondrous rhyme, Towering above the rest of his time. 1IIK OLD 1'IXK TRKK. II. The swamp by the road to the cider mill, And the old Pine Tree, I remember still, And well, you will think, I may, For there were the boys of the village seen When the ice was strong or the leaves were green, In summer or winter at play, Skating flat stones, or rolling the snow. Into citadels, forts, and such things, you know. And shouting and laughing all day. In the winter time, when the snow was deep, Through the drifts by the old slash-fence they 'd leap. And tumble each other in ; Then all hands hold, they would ' snap the snake !' How the old ' Red Lion" his mane would shake, When his prey he chanced to win ! And then, with the old Pine Tree for a '_V were again to lie eeii. THE OLD TIM'. THICK. And there on the grass ibr hours they 'd lie, Making ships and things of clouds in the sky. While round on the fragrant lea, The bob o'link', on the mullen stalk, Would rattle away like a sweet girl's talk, And the gay yellow birds, d 'ye see, Would chirp to ea<;h other with merry call, As they swung in the wind on the weeds so tall, A fine little, company. When summer came and the weeds were thick. And their blood grew warlike, warm and quick, The train-baud company, With a brake for a plume and a shingle sword The, gloomy wilds of the swamp explored, Their trowsers rolled to the knee ; With bricks broke in two, and hands full of stones, At their deadly fire how the cat-tail groans, And the hosts of the thistle flee ! 'Fore George ! what a siege we had one time With a saucy old frog who lived in the slime Of a lordly pool at the south ! How he'd dodge- out ot sight, till our hail hud *ped. Then poke up again his great, green head. And wink in the cannon's mouth ! The bricks round his head went, thud! thud! thud! Till the captain lisped, all (Jeered with 1)1- mud. ' We can never tcliilowu hith houth." THK 01. I> TIXK TREE. There many an hour thanksgiving day. When the ice was glare, the girls used to stay And share in our glorious fun, While the shouting boys, with cap in hand, Would chase them off" from the ice to the land. Till the Governor's meeting was done; Till grace was said, the turkey carved, The mince'-pie cooled and the pudding srved. And the LTUVV too cold to run. in. They are gone, ah, me ! those merry boys, All gone from the scene of their early joys, Alas, that it should be so ! Some have gone to the west to shake with the ague, And some to the south to die with that plague- Y Jack, ' Yellow Jack,' you know ; One 's made a great spec* in Missouri lead, And one, they say, got a broken head At the fall of Alamo: And one has gone where the soft winds blow O'er the vine-clad hills of Val d' Arno, With his wife and children, two, And his cheek has trained the ^low it lost In our northern land of snow and fro.-t: OIK- 's in Kalama/oo; THE OLD PIXE TREE. And one through the drifts of a northwest snow Tracks the prairie wolf and the buffalo, With a tribe of wild Sioux. IV. The swamp is ditched : where the leaves used to [ioat, A Frenchman has raised some ' vary fine oat,' The frogs have all hopped off, And the little green knoll, where the boys used to play Through the spring and the fall and the winter day, And the cares of manhood scoff, Is gouged by a premium Berkshire brood And the old Pine Tree, by the great high road, Is used for a watering trough. PURER THAN SNOW. PUREK than snow, Is a girl I know ; Purer than snow is she ; Her heart is light, And her cheek is bright Ah ! who do vou think she can be ? / know very well, But I never shall tell, 'Twould spoil all the fun, you see ; Her eye is blue, And her lip like dew, And rod as a mulberry. Mild as a dove, Is a girl I love ; Mild as a dove is she, And dearer too, Than ten like you, Ah ! who do you think she can b ? THE UNKNOWN SLEEPER. BENEATH an aged locust tree Upon the blue Lamoille, Where all the summer day, the bee Works at her busy toil, By brake and grass and vine o'ergrowu, A child's unlettered grave is shown. None know how long the sod hath been Above the sleeper's breast, And none can tell the stranger when The child was laid to rest ; No kindred hath it left to tell Its birth, its death or burial. Long, long ago, they'll tell you, when The deer came there to drink, Before a hut in all the glen Stood on the river's brink, A hunter in his wanderings found The locust and the gentle mound. 10 THE UNKNOWN SLEEPER. And since, though sire and son, the land Have tilled with thrifty care, Yet all have let the locust stand, And still the grave is there, Beside the river on the plain ^ Of waving grass and yellow grain. About the mound they 've built a pale Of rude and artless form, Through which the bending meadow swail Sighs in the autumn storm ; And where their young the ground birds feed Among the grass and yellow weed. As 'twere their own, that nameless child, They watch its long repose Beneath the brake and briar wild, The strawberry and the rose ; And every spring an hour they save To mend the pale that guards the grave. KATE WAS ONCE A LITTLE GIRL. KATE was once a little girl, Heigh-ho! heigh-ho! Eyes of blue and teeth of pearl, Heigh-ho ! heigh-ho ! In the spring when school was done, Full of life and full of fun, O 'er the hills away she 'd run, Heigh-ho ! heigh-ho ! Gentle breezes all the day, Heigh-ho ! heigh-ho ! Through her sunny locks would play, Heigh-ho ! heigh-ho ! All her thoughts were pure and bright As the stars we see at night, Shining with a joyous light, Heigh-ho ! heigh-ho ! I'-' KATK WAs <>.\< ]. A LITT1.K (JU![ Kate 's a little older now, Ilrigh-ho! hcigh-ho ! Still as fair her radiant brow, Heigh-ho ! heigh-ho ! Still on her cheek as brightly play* The sunshine of her youthful da\<. And still as sweet her girlish ways, Hrigh-ho! heigh-ho! Kate will always be the same, HrUrh-ho! heigh-ho! She '11 never change, except in name ! Hi-igh-ho! heigh-ho! So gently time shall steal away, Sin- '11 always be as bright and gay As when she laughed in girlhood's day. Heigh-ho ! hcigh-ho ! MUTABILITY. ALAS ! how soon the heart forgets Its wildest, deepest pain ! A tear an hour the eyelid wets, And all is joy again ! Still rushes on the tide of men As though the past had never been. A year, one year, is scarcely gone, Since, in the dreary fall, We heaped the frozen clay upon Thi! dearest of us all; And now, alas ! as 'twere a dream, The memory of that day doth seem. She was our life but yestermorn, And by her tombstone now, We sing and plant the yellow corn, And drive the furrowing plough, As gay as though beneath that stone \Vi'ro sleeping one we 'd never known. OLD TIME STEALS ON. Old Time steals on and away he goes ! Away he goes, goes he, lie stealeth away and nobody knows Whence cometh or goeth he. He iingereth never for rich or for poor, For palace or hovel, for prince or for boor, O'er the grave and the cradle he glideth along, And alike amid sorrow, alike amid song, Old Time steals on and away he goes .' Away he goes, goes he, He stealeth away and novody kn Whence cometh or goeth he. From youth to age, how quick is his flight ! From night to morn, from morning to night ' And hurrying on in his own silent way, Mid thf snow* of Di'1'nulnT ihr Mo^om.- ut' .May. Old Thni' >/ a !.< nt, nuit iiirni/ / <)<>, > / Au'd'/ /i- - he, He stealeth away and nohndy kn>n Whence coined' r //.-. OLD TIME STKALS ON. 15 For war or for peace, for loss or for gain, For love and for hate, for pleasure or pain, For grace or dishonor, for glory or shame, Not a moment he tarries, but, ever the same, Old Time steals on and away he goes ! Away lie goes, goes he, He stealeth away and nobody knows Whence cometh or goeth he. Well ! since it is settled, that this is the way Old Time dashes on with us, day after day, Sweet girls ! while in handfulls, we pile on his wing The soft, dewy roses of Love, let us sing Old Time steals on and away he goes, Away he goes, goes he ! He stealeth away and nobody knows Whence cometh or goeth he. S H E I S T H E L A S T ! is the last of all that God Has given to our hearth, Two brothers sleep beneath the sod They perished at their birth ; Ah ! fondly did we hope that she Would live through her frail infancy. She is the last, and there she lies ! Beneath the locust tree We 've laid to rest with streaming eyes, The last of all the three ; We've heaped the clay above her breast, And left her sleeping with the rest. She is the last ; we give her up With silent lips to Heaven ; Submissively we take the cup, 'Tis bitter, but 'tis given ; And trusting still in Him who gave, We yield our last hope to the grave. SCENE IN A VERMONT WINTER 'Tis a fearful night in the winter time, As cold as it ever can be ! The roar of the storm is heard like the. chime Of the waves on an angry sea. The moon is full, but her silver light, The storm dashes out, with its wings, to-night, And over the sky from south to north, Not a star is seen, as the winds come forth In the strength of a mighty glee. n. All day the snow came down, all day As it never came down before, And over the earth, at night, there lay Some two or three feet or more ; The fence was lost and the wall of stone, The windows blocked and the well-curb gone, The haystack grown to a mountain lift, And the woodpile looked like a monster drift As it lay by the farmer's door. 2 18 SCENE IN A VERMONT WINTER. As the night set in, came hail and snow, And the air grew sharp and chill, And the warning roar of a terrible blow AVas heard on the distant hill ; And the Norther ! see ! on the mountain peak, In his breath, how the old trees writhe and shriek ! He shouts along o Vr the plain, ho ! ho ! He drives from his nostrils the blinding snow, And growls with a savage will. in. Such a night as this to be found abroad In the snow and the stinging air, A shivering dog, in the field, by the road, When the hail, through his shaggy hair, The wind drives hard, doth crouch and growl, And shut his eyes with a dismal howl ; Then to shield himself from the cutting sleet, His nose is pressed on his quivering feet Pray what does the dog do there ? His master came from the town to-night, And lost the traveled way, A ud for hours he trod with main and might, A path for his horse and sleigh, SCENE IN A VERMONT WINTER. 19 But deeper still the snow drifts grew, And colder still the fierce wind blew, And his mare, a beautiful Morgan, brown, At last o 'er a log had floundered down, That deep in a huge drift lay. Many a plunge, with a frenzied snort, She made in the heavy snow, And her master strove, till his breath grew short, With a word and a gentle blow ; But the snow was deep and the tugs were tight, His hands were numb and had lost their might, So he struggled back to his sleigh again, And strove to shelter himself, in vain, With his coat and his buffalo. IV. He has given the last faint jerk of the rein To rouse up his dying steed, And the poor dog howls to the blast in vain, For help in his master's need. He strives for awhile with a wistful eye To catch but a glance from his heavy eye, And wags his tail if the rude wind flap The skirt of his coat across his lap, And whines that he takes no heed. 20 SCENE IN A VERMONT WINTER. The wind goes down the storm is o'er, "l]is the hour of midnight, past, The forest writhes and bends no more In the rush of the mighty Ua>t. The moon looks out with a silver light On the high old hills with the snow all white, And the giant shadow of Camel's Hump, Of ledge and tree and ghostly stump, On the silent plain are ca.st. But there are they, by the hidden log, Who came that night from the town, All dead ! the man and his faithful dog And his beautiful Morgan, brown ! He sits in his sleigh, his face is bland, With his cap on his head and the reins in his hand, The dog with his head on his master's feet, And the horse half seen through the crusted sleet. Where she lav when she floundered down. FANNY HALL. THE sweetest girl of all I know Is charming Fanny Hall ; The wildest at a husking, The gayest at a ball ; Her cheek is like a Jersey peach, Her eye is blue and clear, And her lip is like the sumac, In the Autumn of the year. Canova never made a hand Like hers so plump and fair ; Poor Raphael had been crazed with her Madonna brow and hair ; And I 'm inclined to think if Powers Could see her, he would grieve, To find a romping Yankee girl Had beaten Mrs. Eve ! There 's not a blemish in her form, No fault about her face Sit down and gaze from morn till night - You '11 find her perfect grace ; And then, to finish all, her voice ! From the sweetest bird's in spring You couldn 't tell its warble ; but She " doe?n 't know a thin" !" APRIL RAIN. GENTLY fall upon the plain April rain ! Bless the oak and maple bud, Rouse the faint and sickly flood, But the gentle flowers, Tender leaf and blow, Ah ! the heavy showers, Kill them where they grow. Do thy mission on the plain April rain ! Bless the grass and apple bud, Cheer the faint and sickly flood, But the gentle flower, On the meadow's breast, Spare its little hour, Short enough, at best ! THANATOS. HUSH ! her face is chill, And the summer blossom, Motionless and still, Lieth in her bosom ; On the shroud so white, (Like snow in winter weather,) Her marble hands unite, Quietly together. n. Closed, the soft eye lid On the thin cheek presses, Still her neck is hid With her golden tresses ; And her lips, that Death, Left a smile to sever, Seem wooing back the breath, Gone, alas ! forever. THE TOWN PAUPER'S BURIAL. BURY him there No matter where ! Hustle him out of the way ! Trouble enough We have with such stuff Taxes and money to pay. Bury him there No matter where ! Off in some corner at best! There 's no need of stones, Above his old bones Nobody '11 ask where they rest. Bury him there No matter where ! None by his death are bereft ; THE TOWN PAUl'KK'S BURIAL. 25 Stopping to pray ? Shovel away ! We still have enough of them left. Bury him there No matter where ! Any where out of the way ! Trouble enough We have with such stuff Taxes and money to pay. THE REAPER. BENDING o 'er his sickle, Mid the yellow grain, Lo, the sturdy reaper, Reaping on the plain ! Singing as the sickle Gathers to his hand, Rustling in its ripeness, The plory of his land. Mark the grain before him, Swaying in the wind, And the even gavel Following behind ! Bound, in arm-full bundles, Standing one by one, The yester morning's labor Ripens in tho sun. THE REAPEB. 27 Long I 've stood and pondered, Gazing from the hill, While the sturdy reaper Sung and labored still ; Bending o 'er his sickle, Mid the yellow grain, Happy and contented, Reaping on the plain ; And as upon my journey, I leave the maple tree, Thinking of the difference Between the man and me, I turn again, to see him, Reaping on the plain, And almost wish my labor, Were the sickle and the grain. I WOULD THAT HE WERE BACK! I WOULD that he were back, agaiu, From lands beyond the sea ! I cannot bear to hear them say - ' He will, be false to tli< < '.' I know 'tis childish idle weak I know 'tis wrong in ine, But yet, I would that he were back, From lands beyond tin | I would that he were back, again ! While, he is far away, They breathe their .slanders in my ear, Through all the weary day ; harsh, they say, and proud and cold, That one bejond the 9CE, Hi- may be so to them, ju-rhap-. He never was to me. I WOULD THAT HK WERK BACK, AGAIN. 29 I would that lie were back, again, To crush this servile throng ! One glance from his indignant eye Why is he gone so long '? Oh ! if he knew, how I have borne, As none but Heaven knows, The doubtings of his fickle friends, The insults of his foes ! I would that he were back, again ! 'Tis hard to hear them say, Ambition or another's love Prolongs his weary stay. I fear him not ! his love is true ! And yet, though weak, in me, I would that he were back, again, From lands beyond the sea ! SHE LIVETH BY THE VALLEY BROOK. SHE liveth by the valley brook, Away from care and wrong, HIT heart a pure and open book, Her lip a mellow song. A mother, meek and old, is all The kindred that she knows, Her playmates are the waterfall, And every flower that blows. She singeth when the earth is spread With green, and spring has come, And weepeth when the flowers are dead, And her sweet brook is dumb. And thus the gentle maiden's life Steals quietly away, Without a shade of care or strife To cloud its summer day. SHE LIVETH BY THE VALLEY BROOK. 31 She liveth by the valley brook, Away from care and wrong, Her heart a pure and open book, Her lip a mellow song ; Ah ! never may the maiden dream Of this sad world of ours, Or stray beyond her sister stream, Its valley and its flowers. MARY OF THE GLEN. Has anybody spoke for you, Mary of the Glen? Is there a heart that's Irokefor you, M'iry of the Glen? I have lands and I have leases, I have gold and cattle, too, I have sheep with finest llreces Can I marry you ? , .vj'r, has spoke for me, Mury of the Glen, is no heart that's broke for me, 'thi: (lien ; Hut there is lilric-,-vc(l Willie, \\'tio labors with the men, Who lir'mj."< the sweet To Marv of the (il-n ! MARY OF THE GLEN. 33 He has neither lands nor leases, But his cheek is cherry red, And finer than your fleeces Are the curls upon his head, And though he 's never spoke for me, I know he loves me true, And his heart it would be broke for me, If I should marry you. 3 I BLAME THEE NOT! I BLAME tliec not ! I knew it all, Before a glance from thec, Could stir my heart as doth the wind The slumber of the sea ; I knew, before thy presence made Of this fair life a part, Another, many a year had been The idol of thy heart I never strove to check a love So hopeless, and so bright, Like some sweet star the school-boy sees In the far heavens at night ; And though, at times, there came a thought, That I was wronging thee, I could not quench that star myself, For it was life to me. I never wished to steal a look, < )r thought of thine, from him. ild not for the world have seen His worshipped light grow dim; I BLAMK TIIEK NOT. 35 I never meant to let thee know, God grant I never did ! That in my heart I nursed for thee A love, that love forbid. So hoping without hope, I loved ; Too blest to think how fast The hour was stealing on me when I must awake 'tis past ! The fault was mine I knew it all- And yet, despite this pain, As I have loved, I dare not say, I should not love again. Well ! Southern suns will soon renew Thy cheeks half-perished health, While he, God bless him ! proudly shares Thy heart's long-treasured wealth, The bark that bears thee from the North, With sails set for the sea, Is fading on the misty main Good-bye to that and thee ! EVENING IN SUMMER. I'm Min has set at last! the sky, That all the hot and stifling day, Hung like a burning arch on high, Grows, as the fierce heat dies away, Cool and refreshing ; o 'er the glades The hills loom giant-like and grim, And meadows, in the misty shades Of night, look shadowy and dim. Tin- sun is down, yet, in the west I- lingering -till the day's last light, Around* the hills his glory blest, \Vlu-n sinking slowly from the sight; And, far above the mountain brown, Along the dreamy azure, sleep Tin- vmull, wliit clouds, liki- Infix if down ii tilt- UKOIII of tin- EVENING IN SUMMER. 37 As twilight fades, how all the earth The night with solemn gladness fills ! The moon, as fair as at her birth, Where heaven is wedded to the hills, Through fleecy clouds around her flung, Wheels up beside the same sweet star, That, with her, when the sky was young, Looked over Eden from afar. Beneath the moon the wild brook learns Its own sweet music ; o 'er the plain, The latened husbandman returns, Rejoicing to his home again, While, from the dense old forest trees, Where, shrouded from the scorching heat, All day it slept, the evening breeze Comes sweeping up the dusty street ; And passing on its mission, goes To cool the parched and fevered soil, To bless the fainting vine that throws Its tendrills round the door of toil, And stir the myriad leaves, until Their rising murmur swells along With all life's utterances, that fill The world with a perpetual song. MARY BLANK. ' ;i health to thee, .Mary Blane ! Hen- 'i a health to thce, Mary Blane ! Here 's a health to the girl that I loved when a boy, Though I never shall see her again. Tis right to remember old friends, "Tis well, is it not, Mary Blane ? When the heart ' growing old and the blood 's getting cold, To live our first love o 'or again ! rah for thee, Mary Blane! t>,> , M