Classic Poem

Now morning fair with golden hair
Is through the pine woods streaming,
And of a day of mirth and play
The youngsters all are dreaming;
No sound of ax salutes the ear,
The ox is freed from logging,
And neighbors all, both great and small,
Are to the picnic jogging.

The girls and boys, how they rejoice!
So merrily they're driving,
And far and wide from ev'ry side
In happy pairs arriving.
Bill's mounted on his idol there —
With boughs he has array'd her —
And boasts the virtues of that mare
To Dick, the great horse-trader.

Dick stumps him just to try a heat:
" Come, bring your scarecrow hither, "
And in such loving converse sweet
They trot along together;
They pass beside the ridge of beech,
And by the hemlocks hoary,
And leave the noble clump of pines
All tow'ring in their glory.

They reach the groves of maple green,
Beside the winding river —
Still at the song it sung so long
To Red Men gone forever;
And it will leap and laugh along,
As gay and happy-hearted,
And it will sing this very song
When we, too, have departed.

A table's spread beneath the trees —
Some busily partaking,
While others swing or romp and sing,
All bent on merry-making.
The old folks talk about the crops,
The little boys are larking,
With damsels fair and sweet and young
The lads are busy sparking.

They form a circle round the spring,
The sparkling waters quaffing,
All poking fun — and ne'er a one
Of all can keep from laughing
At am'rous John, still sparking on —
At sixty-two a " wanter " —
Or roaring at the great exploits
Of Bill, the mighty hunter —

His treeing coons 'neath autumn moons,
His fishings and his forays,
His great affairs with angry bears,
His terrible wolf stories.
When Fred comes with his violin,
By young and old invited,
With shouts of joy the bashful boy
They circle round delighted.

Tho' he is but a backwoods lad,
A native-born musician,
What strains he brings from those mere strings —
Oh, he's a real magician!
He plays a quick and merry tune —
With joy each eye is glancing —
Now he appeals to all their heels,
And sets them all a-dancing.

That mother with her joyous air,
Her baby how she dandles!
While Bill and Dick are dancing quick,
And shouting out like vandals.
The chipmunk peeps from out the logs,
And wonders at the flurry;
And, all amazed, with tail upraised,
Makes tracks in quite a hurry.

The grey owl opens up his eyes,
And looks in stupid wonder,
While through the wood the partridge brood
Are rolling off like thunder.
The old coon's in the elm above,
Pretending that he's sleeping,
But with one eye the old boy sly
A wond'ring watch is keeping.

Fred's mood has changed, and in the midst
Of all our merry madness
He makes us drink, ere we can think,
The deeper joy of sadness.
The youths and maidens hush to hear —
Tho' 'tis no tale of glory —
And drink in with a greedy ear
That simple backwoods story.

His voice he flings among the strings —
They seem with sorrow laden —
Oh! hear the sighs and wailing cries
Of the poor hapless maiden:
" Ah! thou art laid in thy death-bed,
Beneath the grassy cover;
Why did the tree not fall on me
Which fell on thee, my lover? "

That wail of woe, so long and low,
Is in the distance dying,
And there the rude sons of the wood
Are all around him sighing;
Yes, there they stand, the rude, rough band,
Untutor'd by the Graces,
As spell-bound there by that wild air,
Tears streaming down their faces.

And while their hearts within them leap —
Those hearts unused to weeping —
Oh, what a silence still and deep
The maple trees are keeping!
The grove is all a magic hall,
And he the necromancer —
The master of the wizard-spells
To which our spirits answer.

Time steals along with tale and song,
Until the warning shadow
Is stretching seen from maples green,
And creeping o'er the meadow.
Old folk begin to think 'tis time
That they are homeward going,
And so they sing a parting hymn
With hearts all overflowing.

The boys must see the girls all home;
So they hitch up for starting,
And merrily they drive along
To have a kiss at parting.
As Dick trots home, that little song
He can't keep from repeating,
While Bill declares, " Those backwoods airs
Are good as go-to-meeting! "