XI.

'Tis ever thus. The ties of friend and kin

Are found most strong and most with pleasure rife,
Among the dwellings of the poor, and in

The unambitious walks of rural life.

With woods around them, waters at their feet,
With flowers beneath, and fragrance in the air,
"T is not in vain, that they each other meet;
Not one, that has a pleasure or a care,

But calls a kindred heart, that joy or grief to share.

XII.

The restless steers are fastened to the wain ;
(I marked them ere they went their sounding way ;)
The early ditcher seeks the fields again,
With shovel glancing in the morning ray.
With bag and barley from the threshing-floor,
The slow-paced horse expands his loaded side.
The feathered group surround the cottage door,
And Mary, with her basin well supplied,

Forth from her little hand their portion doth divide.

XIII.

Far in the noisy woods, the bleating sheep

Ascend the rocks, and breathe the upland air.

The fair-haired William there his watch doth keep,
Too young as yet, a higher charge to share.
Nor outward sights alone refresh the eye,
Nor outward labors to the heart appeal;
The elder Jane her constant task doth ply,
Within the cottage-walls, with cheerful zeal,

And, singing rural songs, still turns her murmuring wheel.

XIV.

Such are the scenes, that Mountain homes unfold;
The history such of those who till the land.
Forth in the fields the Cotter's self behold
Behind his plough, with persevering hand.
Nor deem it a disgrace the plough to guide:
Did not great Cincinnatus till the ground,
He, who the hostile Volsci scattered wide?
The Seer Elisha, at the plough was found;

The plough, that reverence claims the mighty world around.

XV.

I venerate the man the plough who speeds,
The independent tiller of the soil,

Who, boasting not of vainly glorious deeds,
Yet scorns to live by other people's toil.
Though all unnoticed in ambition's strife,
Which, with its noisy war doth wide resound,
There's yet a pleasure in the Ploughman's life,
A bliss, attendant on the cultured ground,
Which kings and Cæsars seek, but never yet have found.

XVI.

And then at eve behold him at his hearth,
Planning the duties of the coming morn;

How one shall wield the axe or spade the earth,
Another's task to till the tender corn:
Around him sit the peaceful household train;
And he, by Nature's right, their guide and head.
Than this, what juster power, or glorious reign!
The lads marked well whate'er the father said,
By his experience taught, and by his wisdom led.

XVII.

And if at times the children leave their home, In village near, some little wealth to earn, The heart, untraveled, hath no power to roam, Nor long the time which sees them all return. Fair shines their cottage to the mental sight, And pleasures blossom in their mountain air. Scarce does the week resign its parting light, When, with a love unchanged, they forth repair, And hail their happy hearth, its wonted blessings share.

XVIII.

And thus in solitude, yet not alone,

They have their joys and duties day by day;
To them unchanging Honor's path is known,
Though shut from noisy Glory's towering way.
Their feelings deep; if pensive, yet sincere;

And when they meet, poured through each other's mind, In answering smiles, or sympathizing tear;

With power too great for outward forms to bind, And pure as they are strong, though not by art refined.

XIX.

And on some pleasant days, in shaded walks,
They wander far, when hills and woods are green;
Around them is the voice of joyful flocks,

And flowers, and sounding waters grace the scene.
Yes, there are those, the pure and high of soul,
Whose passions, by a Holy Power subdued,

Are won to virtue's wise and just control;

And such, though deemed in outward manners rude, Shall drink, from Nature's works, the beautiful and good.

XX.

And Nature is to them a living thing,
Food to the heart and beauty to the eye;
The hill, the mossy tree, the bubbling spring,
The bud, the flower, the Autumn's mellow sky,
Awake the moral thought and sympathy.
The bird goes singing up, its joy revealing;
The gilded insect passes buzzing by ;

The quiet bee, o'er beds of flowerets stealing;
All share their joyful eye, all wake their better feeling.

XXI.

Those, whom religious life hath given to know
The right, the pure, the honest, and the fair,
Have a new power. In all above, below,
In heaven and earth, the waters and the air,
There's a new glow of beauty. God's revealed;
The high, entranced eye of Faith can see,
(No longer by the earth's dim shadows sealed,)
The bright effulgence of the Deity,

The glory now that is, the greater that shall be.

XXII.

That glory shines in every planet's ray;
'Tis sounding forth in every blessed rill;
Upon the winged winds it makes its way,
O'er blooming valley, and o'er frowning hill;
And sends its light from all creation round.
In rural scenes, from polished arts afar,
Where Faith in all its holy power is found,

It shines with nought its lustre that may mar,

Enthroned in life and heart, the favorite guiding star.

American Cottage Life.

(III.) THE WINTER EVENING.

[The Winter Evening constitutes in the Farmer's life, more truly and emphatically than in the life of any other class of persons, a period by itself, a select season, a portion of time, known and recognized by its distinctive traits, and blessed with its peculiar pleasures. It is a season of the year, when there is, to a considerable extent, a relaxation from that constant toil, which occupies him in the more genial months. He is at home, in the bosom of his family; and in the exercise and interchange of domestic feelings enjoys a degree of humble happiness, which the wealthy and luxurious have but little conception of. We have here, therefore, a distinct and interesting subject, which, poetry, coming from a heart that can understand and fully sympathize with rural life, may properly and successfully adopt as its own.]

I.

THE summer's fading flowers have passed away,
And wintry snows invest the frozen ground;

And now, when closes fast the setting day,
The silent stars resume their nightly round;
And bright, emerging from her depths profound,
The placid moon adorns the central sky.

Oh, Winter Eve! The muse at length shall sound,
Long wont on other themes her skill to try,

Her notes, as well she may, in fitting praise of thee.