| |
| “HOME is home, no matter where!” | |
| Sang a happy, youthful pair, | |
| Journeying westward, years ago,— | |
| As they left the April snow | |
| White on Massachusetts’ shore; | 5 |
| Left the sea’s incessant roar; | |
| Left the Adirondacks, piled | |
| Like the playthings of a child, | |
| On the horizon’s eastern bound; | |
| And, the unbroken forests found, | 10 |
| Heard Niagara’s sullen call, | |
| Hurrying to his headlong fall, | |
| Like a Titan in distress, | |
| Tearing through the wilderness, | |
| Rending earth apart, in hate | 15 |
| Of the unpitying hounds of fate. | |
| |
| Over Erie’s green expanse | |
| Inland wildfowl weave their dance: | |
| Lakes on lakes, a crystal chain, | |
| Give the clear heaven back again;— | 20 |
| Wampum strung by Manitou, | |
| Lightly as the beaded dew. | |
| |
| Is it wave, or is it shore?— | |
| Greener gleams the prairie-floor, | |
| West and south, one emerald; | 25 |
| Earth untenanted, unwalled. | |
| There, a thread of silent joy, | |
| Winds the grass-hid Illinois. | |
| |
| Bringing comfort unawares | |
| Out of little daily cares, | 30 |
| Here has Elsie lived a year, | |
| Learning well that home is dear, | |
| By the green breadth measureless | |
| Of the outside wilderness, | |
| So unshadowed, so immense! | 35 |
| Garden without path or fence, | |
| Rolling up its billowy bloom | |
| To her low, one-windowed room. | |
| |
| Breath of prairie-flowers is sweet; | |
| But the baby at her feet | 40 |
| Is the sweetest bud to her, | |
| Keeping such a pleasant stir, | |
| On the cabin hearth at play, | |
| While his father turns the hay, | |
| Loads the grain, or binds the stack, | 45 |
| Until sunset brings him back. | |
| |
| Elsie’s thoughts awake must keep, | |
| While the baby lies asleep. | |
| Far Niagara haunts her ears; | |
| Mississippi’s rush she hears; | 50 |
| Ancient nurses twain, that croon | |
| For her babe their mighty tune, | |
| Lapped upon the prairies wild: | |
| He will be a wondrous child! | |
| |
| Ah! but Elsie’s thoughts will stray | 55 |
| Where, a child, she used to play | |
| In the shadow of the pines: | |
| Moss and scarlet-berried vines | |
| Carpeted the granite ledge, | |
| Sloping to the brooklet’s edge, | 60 |
| Sweet with violets, blue and white; | |
| While the dandelions, bright | |
| As if Night had spilt her stars, | |
| Shone beneath the meadow-bars. | |
| |
| Could she hold her babe, to look | 65 |
| In that merry, babbling brook,— | |
| See it picturing his eye | |
| As the violet’s blue and shy,— | |
| See his dimpled fingers creep | |
| Where the sweet-breathed Mayflowers peep | 70 |
| With pale pink anemones, | |
| Out among the budding trees!— | |
| On his soft cheek falls a tear | |
| For the hillside home so dear. | |
| |
| At her household work she dreams; | 75 |
| And the endless prairie seems | |
| Like a broad, unmeaning face | |
| Read through in a moment’s space, | |
| Where the smile so fixed is grown, | |
| Better you would like a frown. | 80 |
| |
| Elsie sighs, “We learn too late, | |
| Little things are more than great. | |
| Hearts like ours must daily be | |
| Fed with some kind mystery, | |
| Hidden in a rocky nook, | 85 |
| Whispered from a wayside brook, | |
| Flashed on unexpecting eyes, | |
| In a wingèd, swift surprise: | |
| Small the pleasure is to trace | |
| Boundlessness of commonplace.” | 90 |
| |
| But the south-wind, stealing in, | |
| Her to happier moods will win. | |
| In and out the little gate | |
| Creep wild roses delicate: | |
| Fragrant grasses hint a tale | 95 |
| Of the blossomed intervale | |
| Left behind, among the hills. | |
| Every flower-cup mystery fills; | |
| Every idle breeze goes by, | |
| Burdened with life’s blissful sigh. | 100 |
| |
| Elsie hums a thoughtful air; | |
| Spreads the table, sets a chair | |
| Where her husband firs t shall see | |
| Baby laughing on her knee; | |
| While she watches him afar, | 105 |
| Coming with the evening star | |
| Through the prairie, through the sky, | |
| Each as from eternity. | |
| |
