New Hampshire' s Lament. 345
" There are pleasant, sheltered places hidden 'mid my mountain mazes ;
There are bold and craggy ledges where the eagle rests her wing ; There are cascades loudly brawling, and deep rivers hoarsely falling ;
There are darkly shaded hedges where the timid thrushes sing.
" Steamers on my lakes are sailing, with their cloud-veils backward trailing, In and out between my islands, green as those of fairy tales ;
While the rail-cars, onward steaming, find an echo to their screaming In the hamlets on my highlands, and the cities in my vales.
" Strangers come in days of leisure, travelling through my lands for pleasure, Climbing up my rugged mountains, to their summits steep and bare ;
Gazing far with eyes admiring, and with voices never tiring.
Praising all my pearly fountains and my pure and bracing air.
" But my children, loved so dearly, they whose voices rang so clearly
Through my woods and o'er my waters, and along each mountain side,
They who sported 'mid my flowers, learned love's lessons in my bowers. Bravest sons and fairest daughters, they are scattered far and wide.
"'■ Basking in the faded glory of the lands of ancient story,
Searching o'er the buried treasures of a long-forgotten race,
'Mid the famous or the lowly, find they aught so pure and holy
As the simple loves and pleasures clustering round their native place ?
■" Find they on the Western prairies, or amid the gold-veined quarries, Warmer hearts or kindlier faces than they left upon my strand ?
Are there ties more true and tender, that thus lightly they surrender All the old familiar places hallowed by their household band ?
" When the sabbath bells are pealing, are no dreams around them stealing, — Dreams of sabbaths, calm and holy, 'mid the scenes their childhood knew.
When the very sky seemed blending with the earnest prayers ascending, While the golden sun went slowly up the tranquil cloudless blue ?
" In the crowded streets of strangers, toiling on 'mid cares and dangers. Through the roar of nearer noises and the far-off busy hum.
Hear they not my trout-brooks falling, and my breezy shade-trees calling. With their loving, luring voices, ever calling, come, oh, come ?
" Come, oh, come ! for even gladness wears a look akin to sadness,
And a plaintive strain is throbbing through the wild-bird's song of glee.
In the sunlight's golden glimmer, one may trace a farewell shimmer ; And too tear-like is the dropping of the dew-drop from the tree.
" Come, for others now are straying where your little feet were playing ;
Many a ruined roof is falling where a bright home used to be ; Tangled weed and brier are creeping where your kindred dead are sleeping ;
Hear me, day and night I'm calling, come, my children, come to me."
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