Sank the mighty orb of day, Staring with a hazy glow On the purple plain below, Where (like burning embers shed From the sunset's glowing bed, Dying out or burning bright, Every leaf a blaze of light) Ran the maple swamps ablaze; Everywhere amid the haze, Floating strangely in the air, Farms and homesteads gather'd fair; And the River rippled slow Thro' the marshes green and low, Spreading oft as smooth as glass As it fringed the meadow grass, Making 'mong the misty fields Pools like golden gleaming shields. Thus I walked my steed along, Humming a low scrap of song, Watching with an idle eye White clouds in the dreamy sky Sailing with me in slow pomp. In the bright flush of the swamp, While his dogs bark'd in the wood, Gun in hand the sportsman stood; And beside me, wading deep, Stood the angler half asleep, Figure black against the gleam Of the bright pools of the stream; Now and then a wherry brown With the current drifted down Sunset-ward, and as it went Made an oar-splash indolent; While with solitary sound, Deepening the silence round, In a voice of mystery Faintly cried the chickadee- Suddenly the River's arm Rounded, and a lonely Farm Stood before me blazing red To the bright blaze overhead; In the homesteads at its side, Cattle lowed and voices cried, And from out the shadows dark Came a mastiff's measured bark. Fair and fat stood the abode On the path by which I rode, And a mighty orchard, strown Still with apple-leaves wind-blown, Raised its branches gnarl'd and bare Black against the sunset air, And with greensward deep and dim, Wander'd to the River's brim. Close beside the orchard walk Linger'd one in quiet talk With a man in workman's gear. As my horse's feet drew near, The labourer nodded rough "good-day," Turned his back and loung'd away. Then the first, a plump and fat Yeoman in a broad straw hat, Stood alone in thought intent, Watching while the other went, And amid the sunlight red Paused, with hand held to his head. In a moment, like a word Long forgotten until heard, Like a buried sentiment Born again to some stray scent, Like a sound to which the brain Gives familiar refrain, Something in the gesture brought Things forgotten to my thought; Memory, as I watched the sight. Flashed from eager light to light Remember'd and remember'd not, Half familiar, half forgot. Stood the figure, till at last, Bending eyes on his, I passed, Gazed again, as loth to go, Drew the rein, stopt short, and so Rested, looking back; when he, The object of my scrutiny, Smiled and nodded, saying, "Yes! Stare your fill, young man! I guess You'll know me if we meet again!" In a moment all my brain Was illumined at the tone, All was vivid that had grown Faint and dim, and straight I knew; him, Holding out my hand unto him, Smiled, and called him by his name. Wondering, hearing me exclaim. Abraham Clewson (for'twas he) Came more close and gazed at me, As he gazed, a merry grin Brighten'd down from eyes to chin: In a moment he, too, knew me, Reaching out his hand unto me, Crying "Track'd, by all that's blue Who'd have thought of seeing you? Then, in double quicker time Than it takes to make the rhyme, Abe, with face of welcome bright, Made me from my steed alight; Call'd a boy, and bade him lead The beast away to bed and feed; And, with hand upon my arm, Led me off into the Farm, Where, amid a dwelling-place Fresh and bright as her own face, With a gleam of shining ware For a background everywhere, Free as any summer breeze, With a bunch of huswife's keys At her girdle, sweet and mild Sister Annie blush'd and smiled,— While two tiny laughing girls, Peeping at me through their curls, Hid their sweet shamefacËdness In the skirts of Annie's dress.
That same night the Saint and I Sat and talked of times gone by, Smoked our pipes and drank our grog By the slowly smouldering log, While the clock's hand slowly crept To midnight, and the household slept "Happy?" Abe said with a smile, "Yes, in my inferior style, Meek and humble, not like them In the New Jerusalem." Here his hand, as if astray, For a moment found its way To his forehead, as he said, "Reckon they believe I'm dead? Ah, that life of sanctity Never was the life for me. Couldn't stand it wet nor dry, Hated to see women cry; Couldn't bear to be the cause Of tiffs and squalls and endless jaws Always felt amid the stir Jest a whited sepulchre; And I did the best I could When I ran away for good. Yet, for many a night, you know (Annie, too, would tell you so), Couldn't sleep a single wink, Couldn't eat, and couldn't drink, Being kind of conscience-cleft For those poor creatures I had left, Not till I got news from there, And I found their fate was fair, Could I set to work, or find Any comfort in my mind. Well (here Abe smiled quietly), Guess they didn't groan for me! Fanny and Amelia got Sealed to Brigham on the spot; Emmy soon consoled herself In the arms of Brother Delf; And poor Mary one fine day Packed her traps and tript away Down to Fresco with Fred Bates, A young player from the States: While Sarah,'twas the wisest plan, Pick'd herself a single man— A young joiner fresh come down Out of Texas to the town— And he took her with her baby, And they're doing well as maybe.'" Here the Saint with quiet smile, Sipping at his grog the while, Paused as if his tale was o'er, Held his tongue and said no more. "Good," I said, "but have you done? You have spoke of all save one— All your Widows, so bereft, Are most comfortably left, But of one alone you said Nothing. Is the lady dead?" Then the good man's features broke Into brightness as I spoke, And with loud guffaw cried he, "What, Tabitha? Dead! Not she. All alone and doing splendid— Jest you guess, now, how she's ended! Give it up? This very week I heard she's at Oneida Creek, All alone and doing hearty, Down with Brother Noyes's party. Tried the Shakers first, they say, Tired of them and went away, Testing with a deal of bother This community and t'other, Till she to Oneida flitted, And with trouble got admitted. Bless you, she's a shining lamp, Tho' I used her like a scamp, And she's great in exposition Of the Free Love folk's condition, Vowing, tho' she found it late, Tis the only happy state.... "As for me," added the speaker, "I'm lower in the scale, and weaker; Polygamy's beyond my merits, Shakerism wears the spirits, And as for Free Love, why you see (Here the Saint wink'd wickedly) With my whim it might have hung Once, when I was spry and young; But poor Annie's love alone Keeps my mind in proper tone, And tho' my spirit mayn't be strong, I'm lively—as the day is long." As he spoke with half a yawn, Half a smile, I saw the dawn Creeping faint into the gloom Of the quickly-chilling room. On the hearth the wood-log lay, With one last expiring ray; Draining off his glass of grog, Clewson rose and kick'd the log; As it crumbled into ashes, Watched the last expiring flashes, Gave another yawn and said, "Well! I guess it's time for bed!" THE END.
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