THE SONG OF THE AXE.

———

BY ALFRED B. STREET.

———

I was born deep down—deep down in the sable depths of the mine,

(Thus commenced the iron,)

Where I lay in dull and sullen sleep,

Till the miner, gaunt, naked and strong,

With his sharp pickaxe,

And by the light of his flaring torch,

Torch of flary and smoky crimson!

That lit up the gloom like a star,

Forced me from my dull and sullen sleep.

And whistling like the keen northwest over a peak of the Ural mountains, (oh mountains, stern mountains of snow.)

Lifted me, dull and sullen as I was, to the dazzling eye of the sun-god,

I hated the miner, that miner, gaunt, naked and strong,

With his flaring and crimson torch,

And his sharp pickaxe,

I hated him, and I wished I was a weapon to bite into his heart —

Ho! ho! ho! how I would have laughed, as I bit into his heart,

That miner, gaunt, naked and strong,

For lifting me from my dull and sullen sleep

Into the presence of so radiant a being as the golden-tressed, beautiful sun-god.

For I was black, from my dull and sullen sleep,

And the dross of long years, of long years that I spent in the mine, clung about me like barnacles to a ship.

So I was glad when I was hurried to the forge;

But, oh, how I writhed and bent in my anguish as the red hot furnace!

Yea, the furnace “heated to a white heat,”

Made my heart melt within me, and my whole body change to a mass of living flame —

That fierce and merciless forge.

Oh how my heart melted within me, and how my whole body changed to a mass of living flame,

That softened each agonized pore, and made me turn liquid with sorrow.

I was taken then from the forge,

And beaten into a long, slender wand, like a spear,

And I thought I was changing to a spear,

And laughed, for then I could bite into heart

Of that miner,

That miner, gaunt, naked and strong,

That took me from my dull and sullen sleep,

And hurried me, all black, and covered with dross like the barnacles on a ship,

Into the golden presence of him the bright, beautiful sun-god.

But I was not destined to bite into the heart of that miner:

And I was hurried then to the smithy,

Where stood the stalwort blacksmith leaning on his sledge:

That blacksmith, with his leathern apron and arm that would fell a buffalo.

And he smiled, that blacksmith,

When he placed me in his forge, and wakened his monstrous bellows.

And I—I knew that my foe the red fire would leap again into my entrails,

And melt my heart;

And I tried to yell out my wrath, but could not —

And so I lay dark and sullen, yea, dark and sullen as when

I slept deep down in the sable mine,

Until I felt my foe the red fire again melting my heart,

And again softening my strong, well-knit muscles

Into a mass of living flame —

Ah then that sharp anvil!

“Swank! swank! swank!” rang the blows of that stalwort blacksmith, and a smutty faced lad that he called “son!”

“Son!” oh how I wished I had his throat in my strong and well-knit muscles —

I would have torn it as the wild wolf tears the throat of the deer —

But as for the stalwort blacksmith, I was afraid of him —

So I lay and let him smite me.

Then I felt myself beaten into a shape—the welcome shape of the axe —

And I laughed,

For the axe was made for slaughter —

Then I was taken from the burly blacksmith’s,

And keen, clear, flashing teeth of steel

Were given me,

And I laughed again,

For I thought that if I had a chance how I would bite in the heart of that miner,

That miner, gaunt, naked and strong!

And the smutty-faced boy whom the burly blacksmith

Called “son.”

But the burly blacksmith himself, I would not bite him,

No, not even were his veins beneath the gripe of my clear, keen, flashing teeth,

For I loved the burly blacksmith,

The burly, stalwort blacksmith,

With his apron of leather and arm that could fell a buffalo.

And then I was hung up in a village store;

A paltry village store, amidst onions, and turnips and tape,

To wait my destined doom.

I was born in the pleasant wood;

(Thus commenced the helve,

Not rough and fierce and hateful

Like the iron, but modest and mild)

I was born in the pleasant wood;

I was an arm of the sturdy oak;

And I bore a wealth of green leaves

In the long bright summer days,

Where the sunlight loved to sparkle and the rain-drops loved to hum —

And I bent a green roof o’er the nest of the merry bird.

Oh, I was happy!

I danced in the liquid wind,

And murmured my joy at all times;

In the golden dawn, and sunny noontide;

In the crimson evening and beneath the seraphic moon;

Yea, I was happy!

The oak loved me; for I was his sturdiest arm,

And I bore my leaves like an emerald shield.

Oh, I was happy!

But my time came.

The woodman saw me, and he looked at the handle of his axe —

The woodman saw me, and grasped the handle of his axe —

The woodman saw me, and before I could shrink behind my emerald shield,

Ay, even before I could call upon my father oak

To bend his green plume and protect his son,

I was crashing on the earth —

Oh! I fell headlong to the moss, and I lay without motion,

As the woodman,

As the whistling woodman,

As the free and careless woodman,

Rent from me my emerald shield, and made me bare

As a bird just emerged from its shell.

And then he shaped me into a thick stick,

A thick white stick, with his wood-knife,

And carried me to the village store,

And bargained me off, me, the strong arm of the oak,

That wore an emerald shield, and made arrows of all the beams,

And flashed and murmured at dawn, in the red eve,

And beneath the seraphic moon;

Yes, me, did that careless woodman

Bargain for a keg of apple-sauce,

The mean, sneaking villain!

That pitiful woodman!

And here the helve sang out keen and shrill like the sap

When it shrieks in its prison for help,

As the red flame enters its chamber.

(But again murmured the helve.)

There in that paltry village store,

Amidst onions, and turnips, and tape,

There did I rest in my dusky nook,

Whilst the smooth-faced shopman smirked and smiled,

With “yes marm!” and “no marm!” “did you say calico!

Calico or tape!

Joe, measure a yard of tape!”

Good heavens! even the blood of my father the oak

Began to boil in me.

But as for the axe,

Oh, how he showed his keen, clear, flashing teeth,

As if he would bite into the heart of that shopman,

That shopman, so smooth-faced and smirk,

So smiling, so smooth-faced and smirk,

With his “yes marm” and “no marm!” “did you say

Calico

or

Tape? Joe, measure a yard of tape!”

At length an honest settler

Came in from his hill-meadows

And spoke for an axe.

I was dragged from my corner,

And the iron was released from his thraldom,

And the sharp knife of the honest settler,

As the sundown turned his hill-meadows into golden velvet,

Shaved me down and shaped me,

Smooth and white, and then married me to my husband the iron,

The iron, with his purple head,

And his keen, clear, flashing teeth.

Since then have we dwelt together,

Me and my husband the iron,

In the hut of the honest settler.

The helve ceased.

And then a blended song

In which rang the clear treble of the helve

And the gruff notes of the iron

Swelled on my ear.

But at length the settler harnessed his oxen,

And bent a canvas tent over his wagon,

His wagon, broad-wheeled and wide,

And filling it with his household wealth,

And casting us, married as we were,

On his brawny shoulder,

Started on his journey.

Oh! long was our way through the forest;

The broad-wheeled wagon crushed the violets in its path,

The purple, fragrant violets looking with their blue eyes

From the knotted feet of the pine-tree —

Oh, how the pine-tree shook!

Oh, how the pine-tree roared!

As the violets, that looked with their blue eyes

From his knotted feet,

Screamed in their purple blood underneath the broad-wheeled wagon,

And the red strawberries, with their pouting lips,

Oh! how they splashed with their sweet blood

The broad wheels

Of the ruthless wagon.

In vain did the laurel hang

Its magnificent bouquet of pink and pearl

Over that broad-wheeled wagon!

In vain did the loftier dog-wood

Arch his blossoms of creamy silver,

Both forming a triumphal arch,

Worthy a Roman general in his most glorious days,

Over that broad-wheeled wagon.

On did the wagon plough,

Staying for nothing, and crushing still,

Oh, that broad-wheeled wagon!

The huddling violets with their blue eyes,

And the red strawberries with their ripe pouting lips,

Letting their sweet blood flow

Till the green velvet of the grass blushed like a sunset cloud.

And so we journeyed on,

Resting upon the brawny shoulder

Of the honest settler.

At sunset he made us work,

And we bit into the trees,

And formed his night-bower in the forest.

And so we journeyed on

Till we came in sight of the home

That the settler had chose in the forest,

The forest that blackened the tide

Of the Delaware, mountain-born;

Here he made his home—here he looked at his sylvan empire,

And led his band to hew and slaughter the forest,

The forest that blackened the tide

Of the Delaware, mountain-born.

Bright was the August morn

That laughed on the vales and the tree-tops,

When he led his stalwort band

To slaughter the virgin forest

That blackened the Delaware’s brow,

And gayly and freely they slaughtered

The trees of the creek-fed river,

The river that leaped from its mountain-goblet

Glittering, clear as dew, and pure as a thought of the Deity,

Far up in its deep scoop of rock.

How they laughed as they swung their blows

On the hemlock and spruce and green maple

That arbored the glen of the eagle,

And bent o’er the cave of the wolf.

How they laughed as they heard the deep groans

Of the hemlock and spruce and green maple

And their proud plumes were bowed to the ground.

The forests thus vanished away

Like the fog that is breathed from the water,

And the eagle screamed keen from the top

Of his dwelling, laid bare from her brood,

Whilst they shivered and shook with the cold,

Icy cold of the gauntlet that Jack Frost

Laid upon the soft down of their breasts.

Thus vanished the forests away,

And the green smiling farm-fields succeeded,

Some like the tawny lion-skin,

Some spotted like the robe of the ounce,

And some striped like the splendid glory of the tiger.

The cabin arose in its clearing,

The kine-bells sent tinklings like sounds of silver amidst the thickets and bushes,

That grouped in rounded clusters the grassy and quiet glades.

Then the log hut was swept away

With its chimney of sticks,

And its little window, like the eye of the deer

Peering out from its leafy ambush.

The village spread out with its roofs

And its delicate finger-like steeple

That pointed forever toward heaven,

Like the prayer of the pastor ascending.

On an emerald knoll, with the shape

Of the delicate finger-like steeple

Cutting black in the sunshine beside it,

The pioneer’s white modest dwelling

Sparkled out of its bosom of verdure.

There lived the brave old patriarch,

The father of many children —

There lived the gray old patriarch,

Awaiting his summons to go

To the land, the bright land of his hopes —

To the land, the sweet land of the happy.

On the spot where he saw the brindled form of the stealthy panther

Prowling like guilt through the tangles of the wood,

He sees the quiet steed, born in the spacious Merrimac meadows,

The old, faithful, honest steed,

Whose feet seemed shod with wind,

And whose snort was like the deep bass note of the ophicleide

In the fiery days of his youth;

Stamping the flies and whisking his stump of a tail

As he sluggishly moves toward the sparkling spring

Welling up to the rim of the mossy hogshead.

Ah, the old father in Zion was blest!

Blest in his household, his home and his goods!

Ah, he was perfectly happy!

As the full golden moon of his purified soul

Wheeled down to the rim of the west,

Where the angel of God stood with waiting pinions

To waft him high upward to glory.

My song is done.

(And the blended tones of the axe sunk away

Like the last water-like notes of the lute of the winds,

Sunk away—away—swooned deliciously away,

And I treasured it in the inner chamber of my ear,

And sung it to myself in the deepest nook of my heart,

And then gave it to the world.)