Page:Poems Dorr.djvu/441

From hamlet to hamlet he hurries along,
Borne on by a purpose deep and strong.
Look! there's a deer in the forest glade,
Stealing along like a silent shade!
Hark to the loon that cries and moans
With a living grief in its human tones!
At Pittsford the light begins to grow
In the wakening east; and drifting slow,
From valley and river and wildwood, rise,
Like the smoke of a morning sacrifice,
Clouds of translucent, silver mist,
Flushing to rose and amethyst;
While thrush and robin and bluebird sing
Till the woods with jubilant music ring!

It was day at last! He looked around,
With a firmer tread on the springing ground;
"Now the men will be all a-field," said he,
"And that will save many a step for me.
Each man will be ready to go; but still,
I must confess, if I'd had my will,
I'd have waited till after planting-time,
For now the season Is in its prime.
The young green leaves of the oak-tree here
Are just the size of a squirrel's ear;
And I've known no rule, since I was born,
Safer than that for planting corn!"

He threaded the valleys, he climbed the hills,
He forded the rivers, he leaped the rills,
While still to his call, like minute-men
Booted and spurred, from mount and glen,
The settlers rallied. But on he went
Like an arrow shot from a bow, unspent,
Down the long vale of the Otter to where