Classic Poem

CUTTING THE First T REE

I

Then to work we blithely went,
And we soon got up a tent,
On a point 'round which the lake
Wound like an enormous snake,
As 'twould bind it hard and fast.
Then it stretch'd away at last,
Till in the horizon lost,
Swallow'd in its cloud-built coast.

II

There our humble tent was spread,
With the green boughs overhead,
Such as wand'ring Arabs rear
In their deserts lone and drear.
'Twas a temporary thing,
Yet it made our hearts to sing;
And the wild duck, floating by,
Paus'd, and, with a startl'd cry,
Call'd her scatter'd brood to save —
Soon she dived beneath the wave.
And the crane that would alight
Scream'd at the unlook'd-for sight,
Then, like a bewilder'd thing,
Lakeward bent her heavy wing;
And the stag that came to drink,
Downward to the water's brink,
Show'd his branching head, and then
Bounded to the woods again.

III

One sturdy elm I mind right well —
It was the first we tried to fell —
I think I could point out to you
The very spot on which it grew.
Together soon we at it went —
'Twas a kind of sacrament,
Like to laying the foundation
Of a city or a nation;
But the sturdy giant stood,
Let us strike him as we would;
Not a limb nor branch did quiver —
There he stood, as straight as ever.

IV

While we labor'd, lazy Bill
On a rotten log sat still.
There he sat, and shook his head,
And in doleful accents said:
" Oh! this chopping's horrid work,
Even for a barbarous Turk!
Many a doleful day of gloom
Have I groan'd upon the loom, —
Oh, that was a weary curse,
But this chopping's worse and worse!
Sleep will heal the wretch's woes,
Longest days draw to a close,
Time and tide will hurry past,
Look'd-for-long will come at last;
Whigs may wear a cheerful face,
Even when they're out of place;
Tories cease to rule the roast,
Britain learn to count the cost;
Radicals may yet have pow'r,
Britain perish in an hour;
Yankees cease their boasting, too, —
Who can tell what time may do?
That a miracle would be,
Yet might happen possibly:
There is even room to hope
For the Devil and the Pope.
Changes strange we all may see,
But we'll never fell that tree. "

V

He had just repeated never ,
When the limbs began to quiver,
And a rent, which made us start,
Seem'd to split the giant's heart;
And the branches, one and all,
Seem'd preparing for the fall —
Sway'd a moment to and fro,
As in doubt which way to go —
Then his head he gently bent,
All at once away he went —
Down he came, as loud as thunder,
Crushing limbs and brushwood under.

VI

Then we gazed upon the sight
With the consciousness of might,
And we cheer'd, as when a foe
Or a tyrant is laid low.
Soon, the orator, elated,
On the stump got elevated,
And, without premeditation,
Thus began a long oration:

VII

" Invaders of the ancient woods,
Dark primeval solitudes,
Where the prowling wolf and bear,
Time unknown, have made their lair,
We are God-commission'd here,
This rough wilderness to clear,
Till with joy it overflows,
Blooms and blossoms like the rose.
Trees, of which the poet sings,
May be very pretty things,
And these green-arch'd solitudes,
Where no traveller intrudes,
May be fine, I do not doubt,
Just to sit and sing about.
Sentiment's for those at ease,
But I fear they fell no trees;
Not the sentimental tear,
But strong arms are needed here —
Stout hearts and determin'd will —
Don't give up like Brother Bill.

" Not by wringing of the hands
Shall we win the fertile lands,
But by honest, manly toil
Lords we shall be of the soil.
He who would in aught be great,
He must toil, and he must wait.
Favors drop not from the skies —
Perseverance gains the prize.
Hear ye what the sages say:
" Rome was not built in a day."
With the giants bending o'er us,
We have work enough before us;
Let us tramp on doubt and fear,
Work must be the watchword here.

" 'Tis too soon to count the winning,
Yet we've made a good beginning;
And, you know, the half is done
When a job is well begun.
Triumph crowns the persevering —
By and by we'll have a clearing.
There's one giant overcast;
Stubborn, but he fell at last.
There he lies, like Caesar, slain,
And he'll never rise again.
Caesar's mantle could not show
Half as many stabs, I trow,
When stern Brutus o'er him stood
With the dagger dripping blood.
I'm no seer, yet I can see
From the felling of a tree
Greater consequences rise
E'en than when a Caesar dies.
Who would be a patriot now,
Sweat, not blood, must bathe his brow.
Like a patriotic band
Let us all join heart and hand;
Let us use but common sense,
Industry and temperance;
And God's blessing on our task
Let us now with reverence ask;
For, with these, we'll hardly miss
Health and wealth and happiness. "

VIII

When the speech drew to a close
Slowly doubting John arose,
Gave a quiet cough, and then
Said he, " Listen, fellow-men;
Pay attention, and I will
Speak to you a parable.

IX

" In the days, long, long ago,
Ere the world was fill'd with woe,
In a lone, retired place
Liv'd a simple, honest race.
They were ignorant of art,
Yet they had far more of heart
Than the people nowadays,
With their dark and crooked ways.
They gave pow'r and place to no man
And had ev'rything in common;
No one said, " This is mine own" —
Money was a thing unknown;
No lawgiver, and no pelf,
Each a law was to himself.
They had neither high nor low,
Rich nor poor — they did not know
Such distinctions e'er could be,
Such was their simplicity.
Yea, they were a happy band,
Cutivating their own land;
Herds and flocks did fast increase,
And they ate their bread in peace.
Now, my inference is plain,
What has been may be again.
Just compare their simple ways
With the doings in our days:
Ev'ry man is for himself,
Hunting after pow'r and pelf;
Not a moment can he rest,
Grasping like a thing possest;
Running, racing, here and there,
Up and down and ev'rywhere,
Hunting for the root of evil,
Restless as the very devil —
He'll do aught to gain his end,
Kiss a foe, or stab a friend;
He'll be either rude or civil,
Play the saint, or play the devil.
Neither scrupulous nor nice,
Follow Skinflint's last advice —
It is short and soon repeated,
Simply " Cheat or ye'll be cheated .
A' moral creeds are strings o' blethers;
The world's a goose, pluck ye her feathers;
Nae matter how ye rax and draw,
If ye aye keep within the law;
And ye may lie, and dodge, and wheel,
A' 's fair as lang's ye dinna steal;
And be ye either saint or sinner,
A' 's richt as lang as ye're the winner;
So get cash, if ye can come at it
By fair means, but be sure and get it."
" Now, my friends, 'tis clear as day,
If we choose the proper way,
Like the tree we've now laid low,
We shall conquer vice and woe.
I can see no reason why
We might not unite and try,
Like those simple men of old,
To redeem the world from gold.
Each for all and all for each
Is the doctrine that I preach.
Mind the fable of the wands
('Tis a truth that always stands):
Singly, we are poor and weak,
But united, who can break? "