XXVI.

Farewell, thou cottage, for 't is late at eve,
Farewell, ye scenes to memory ever dear!
Now eld, and youth, and maiden take their leave,
Their 'kerchiefs wave, and with adieu sincere,
The rural company soon disappear;

Some through yon scattered woods, that skirt the moor,
Some to yon mountains, craggy, bold, and drear,
And by the Fireside of the cot once more,
Devotion lifts her voice, as she was wont of yore.

XXVII.

The thoughtful farmer reads the Sacred Book,
Then with the wife and children of his heart,
With solemn soul and reverential look,
He humbly kneels, as is the Christian's part,
And worships Thee, our Father, Thee, who art
The good man's hope, the poor man's only stay;
Who hast a balm for sorrow's keenest dart,

A smile for those, to thee who humbly pray,
Which, like the morning sun, drives every cloud away.

XXVIII.

Thou, Lord of Heaven above, and earth below,
Our maker, friend, our guardian, and our all,
The Farmer keep from every want and woe,
Nor let the thunderbolts, that most appall,
Of righteous vengeance, dreadful on him fall;
With him preserve his dear, his native land;
A cloud be round her, and a fiery wall,

In innocence and honor let her stand,

And centuries yet to come, oh, hold her in thy hand.

American Cottage Life.

(11.) THE HOME IN THE MOUNTAINS.

[A few miles back of the early residence of the writer, is a range of beautiful mountains. They are gradual in their ascent, and in some places cultivated to the top. They are inhabited by an industrious and intelligent, and, for the most part, a religious people. These mountains were the scene of the writer's youthful visits; and it was his good fortune to become acquainted with some of the inhabitants. It is the object of the following Poem to embody some of the pleasing impressions to which that acquaintance gave rise.]

I.

I, WHO with other scenes familiar grown,
Have spent my days amid the city's strife,
Too long to rugged hills and woods unknown,
Have learnt at last the joys of cottage life,
The hardy toil, the form inspired with health,
The warmth of friendship, and the guileless ways.
Ye, who in vain seek happiness in wealth,

Attentive, meditate my simple lays,

Inspired by truth, perchance, if wanting other praise.

II.

Up, from the mart of busy commerce flee,
Its pomp and jarring tumult leave behind;
When birds are singing in the summer's tree,
Or Autumn comes his golden sheaves to bind.
Go forth amid the forest and the rocks,
And there untarnished truth and virtue trace;
As thou shalt see the shepherd with his flocks,
Or scan, as I do now, the ploughman's race,
Or, at the cottage hearth, shalt mingle face to face.

III.

"T was thus I onward fared, one summer's day,
Where rising hills in native grandeur spread;
Lonely and far the path ascending lay,

That upward to the Farmer's dwelling led.
The merry birds poured forth their various song;
The squirrel on the hazel took his seat;
The bubbling brooks danced rapidly along,
And filled the forest with their echoes sweet,

As through the woods I went, my rural friend to meet.

IV.

Nor was the meeting void of friendship's truth,
Repressed by selfishness, or marred by fears;
For we had known each other in our youth,
And youthful love had grown with riper years.
His Home was in the Mountains. Far from noise,
And undisturbed by grandeur's gaudy scene,
He, with his wife and children, had his joys,
Calm as their mountain sunset's ray serene,

Although, perchance, at times, some clouds may intervene.

V.

His bliss was not in Idleness, 't is true.
(On that dull tree true pleasure will not grow.)
The Farmer ever had his work to do,

And wanton days and slothful, did not know.
The sun, that doth no sluggard's part fulfill,
What time it decks the sky with earliest red,
And scales with dewy step the eastern hill,
Ne'er found him useless in the loiterer's bed,
But forth, with men and boys, where toil and duty led.

VI.

Uprose the sun, and "uprose Emily; Thus English Chaucer sung in days of old. Uprose the sun; nor was less pleased to see The Farmer's daughters, with his eye of gold. The morning maids were at their milking pail ; And soon the cows, obedient to their word, Regained, in lengthened row, the distant vale; And all around, to higher anthems stirred, From glittering bush and tree, sung loud the early bird.

VII.

The maids, if right I saw, were well content, Nor envied aught the sport and splendor found Among the gay, the proud, the opulent. Far other cares they knew. The daily round Of household duties occupied their thought; The churn, the wheel, and to the parent pair, By Nature's strong unerring instinct taught, They fondly gave their homage and their care. Such were their useful toils, such humble joys they share.

VIII.

One ruling wish they had. It was to spend Upon their native hills their peaceful days, Where they had known the neighbor and the friend, A parent's fondness, and a brother's praise. "Still to our hearts our native hills are dear," Thus sung they oft by murmuring brook and tree, Where, with their gossip maids they sit and hear, At sultry noon or starlight shining free, Of all their sports and toils, the humble history.

IX.

Those, who are pent in sylvan scenes apart,
Whene'er they meet, have ever much to say;
Their words bear not the stamp of polished art,
Nor are they such, as higher minds might sway.
But though their speech is not of things that thrill,
And bring sad shadows o'er the throbbing brow,
'Tis such as may a Cotter's fancy fill,

Though but the story of his faithful plough,
Or of his petted lamb, or luckless wandering cow.

X.

Sometimes the sheep, that stray, ne'er come again;
Sometimes the fox invades the garden's bound;
Or sudden winds have vexed the standing grain,
Or blown, alas, the village steeple down.

But all such things shall pass, as they have come,
And shadow from the memory flee,

every

When Lucy's brother from the town comes home, And Jeannie's lad returns from o'er the sea,

To rest from toil awhile, in mountain liberty.