THE LOST CHILDREN.
Reading edition
At early morn a mother stood, Her hands were raised to heaven. And she praised Almighty God For the blessings He had given; But far too deep were they Encircled in her heart,— Too deep for human weal, For earth and love must part. She looked with hope too bright On the forms that by her bent, And loved, by far too fondly, Those treasures God had sent. They bound her to the earth, With love's own golden chain, How were its bright links severed By the spirit's wildest pain? She parted the rich tresses, And kissed each snowy brow, And where, oh! happy mother, Was one so blest as thou? The summer sun was shining All cloudless o'er the lea, When forth her children bounded, In childhood's summer glee. They strayed along the woody banks, All fringed with sunny green, Where, like a silver serpent, The river ran between. Their glad young voices rose, As they thought of flower or bird, And they sang the joyous fancies That in each spirit stirred. Oh! sister, see that humming bird; Saw ye ever ought so fair? With wings of gold and ruby, He sparkles through the air; Let us follow where he flies O'er yonder hazel dell, For oh! it must be beautiful Where such a thing can dwell. Yet to me it seemeth still, That his rest must be on high; Methinks his plumes are bathed In the even's crimson sky: How lovely is this earth, Where such fair things we see, And yet how much more glorious The power that bids them be! Nay, sister, let us stay Where those water lilies float, So spotless and so pure Like a fairy's pearly boat. Listen to the melody That cometh soft and low, As through the twining tendrils The water glides below. Perchance 'twas in a spot like this, And by a stream as mild, Where the Jewish mother laid Her gentle Hebrew child. Then rested they beneath the trees, Where, through the leafy shade, In ever-changing radiance, The broken sun-light played; And spoke in words, whose simple truth Revealed the guileless soul, Till softly o'er their senses A quiet slumber stole. Lo! now a form comes glancing Along the waters blue, And moored among the lilies Lay an Indian's dark canoe. The days of ancient feud were gone. The axe was buried deep. And stilled the red man's warfare, In unawaking sleep. Why stands he then so silently, Where those fair children lie? And say, what means the flashing Of the Indian's eagle eye? He thinks him of his lonely spouse, Within her forest glade; Around her silent dwelling No children ever played. No voice arose to greet him When he at eve would come, But sadness ever hovered Around his dreary home. Oh! with those lovely rose-buds Were my lone hearth-stone blest, My richest food should cheer them, My softest furs should rest. Their kindred drive us onward, Where the setting sunbeams shine; They claim our father's heritage, Why may not these be mine? He raised the sleeping children, Oh! sad and dreary day! And o'er the dancing waters He bore them far away. He wiled their hearts' young feelings With words and actions kind, And soon the past went fading All dream-like from their mind. Oh! brightly sped the beaming sun Along his glorious way, And feathery clouds of golden light Around his parting lay. In beauty came the holy stars, All gleaming mid the blue, It seemed as o'er the lovely earth A blessed calm they threw. A sound of grief arose On the dewy evening air, It bore the bitter anguish Of a mortal's wild despair; A wail like that which sounded Throughout Judea's land, When Herod's haughty minions Obeyed his dark command. The mourning mother wept Because her babes were not, Their forms were gone for ever From each familiar spot. Oh! had they sought the river, And sunk beneath its wave; Or had the dark recesses Of the forest been their grave. The same deep tinge of sorrow, Each surmise ever bore; Her gems from her were taken; Of their fate she knew no more. Long years of withering woe went on, Each sadly as the last, To other's ears the theme became A legend of the past. But she, oh! bright she cherished Their memory enshrined, With all a mother's fondness And fadeless truth entwined. Many a hope she treasured In sorrow's gloom had burst, But still her spirit knew No grieving like the first. Along her faded forehead The hand of time had crost, And every furrow told Her mourning for the lost. With such deep love within her, What words the truth could give, Howe'er she heard the tidings— "Thy children yet they live." But one alone was near, And with rushing feelings wild, The aged mother flew To meet once more her child. A moment passed away— The lost one slowly came, And stood before her there— A tall and dark-browed dame. Far from her swarthy forehead Her raven hair was roll'd; She spoke to those around her, Her voice was stern and cold: "Why seek ye here to bind me, I would again be free; They say ye are my kindred— But what are ye to me? My spring of youth was past With the people of the wild: And slumber in the green-wood My husband and my child. 'Tis true I oft have seen ye In the visions of the night; But many a shadow comes From the dreamer's land of light. If e'er I've been among ye, Save in my wandering thought, The memory has passed away— Ye long have been forgot." And were not these hard words to come To that fond mother's heart, Who through such years of agony Had kept her loving part. Her wildest wish was granted— Her deepest prayer was heard— Yet it but served to show her How deeply she had err'd. The mysteries of God's high will May not be understood; And mortals may not vainly ask, To them, what seemeth good. With spirit wrung to earth, In grief she bowed her head: "Oh! better far than meet thee thus, To mourn thee with the dead." But, think ye, He who comforted The widowed one of Nain— Who bade the lonely Hagar With hope revive again? Think ye that mother's trusting love Should bleed without a balm? No! o'er the troubled spirit There came a blessed calm. Amid the savage relics Around her daughter flung, Upon her naked bosom A crucifix there hung. And though the simple Indian False tenets might enthral— Yet, 'twas the blessed symbol Of Him who died for all. And the mourner's heart rejoiced For the promise seemed to say— She shall be thine in Heaven, When the world has passed away. Tho' now ye meet as strangers, Yet there ye shall be one; And live in love for ever, When time and earth are gone.
In the days of the early settling of the country, marriages were attended with a ceremony called stumping. This was a local way of publishing the banns, the names of the parties and the announcement of the event to take place being written on a slip of paper, and inserted on the numerous stumps bordering the corduroy road, that all who ran might read, though perchance none might scan it save some bewildered fox or wandering bear; the squire read the ceremony from the prayer-book, received his dollar, and further form for wedlock was required not. Now they order these things differently. A wedding is a regular frolic, and generally performed by a clergyman (though a few in the back settlements still adhere to the custom of their fathers), a large party being invited to solemnise the event. The last winter we were in the country we attended one some distance from home; but here, while flying along the ice paths, distance is not thought of. Nothing can be more exhilarating than sleigh-riding, the clear air bracing the nerves, and the bells ringing gladly out. These bells are worn round the horse's neck and on the harness, to give warning of the sleigh's approach, which otherwise would not be heard over the smooth road. The glassy way was crowded with skaters, gliding past with graceful ease and folded arms, "as though they trod on tented ground." We soon reached our destination, and found assembled a large and joyous party. The festival commenced in the morning, and continued late. The fare was luxuriant, and the bride, in her white dress and orange blossoms (for, be it known, such things are sometimes seen, even in this region of spruce and pine), looked as all brides do, bashful and beautiful. The "grave and pompous father," and busy-minded mother, had a look which, though concealed, told that at heart they rejoiced to see their "bairn respeckit like the lave," and "all indeed went merry as a marriage bell." We and some others left at midnight. The air was piercingly cold, and the bear skins in which we were wrapped soon had a white fringe, where fell the fast congealing breath. There was no moon, and the stars looked dim, in the fitful gleam of the streamers of the aurora borealis, which were glancing in corruscations of awful grandeur along the heavens, now throwing a blood red glare on the snow, their pale sepulchral rays of green or blue imparting a ghastly horror to the scene, or arranging themselves like the golden pillars of some mighty organ, while, ever and again, a wild unearthly sound is heard, as if swords were clashing. Those mysterious northern lights, whose appearance in superstitious times was supposed to threaten, or be the forerunner, of dire calamity; and no wonder was it, for even now, with all the light science has thrown upon such things, there is attached to them, seen as they are in this country, a feeling of dread which cannot all be dispelled.
Travelling on the ice is not altogether free from danger; and even when it is thought safe, there are places where it is dangerous to go. The best plan of avoiding these is to follow the track of those who have gone before—never, but with caution, and especially at night, striking out a new one.
One of the parties who accompanied us wished to reach the shore. There was a path which, though rather longer, would have led him safely to it, but he determined to strike across the unmarked ice, to where be wished to land. All advised him to take the longer way, but he was resolute, and turned his horse's head from us. The gallant steed bounded forward—the golden light was beaming from the sky—and we paused to watch his progress. A fearful crashing was heard—then a sharp crack, and sleigh, horse, and rider vanished from our sight. 'Twas horrible to see them thus enclosed in that cold tomb.
Assistance was speedily sought from the shore, but ere it came I heard the horrid shout of "steeds that snort in agony," while the blue sulphurous flash from above showed the man struggling helplessly among the breaking ice. Poles were placed from the solid parts to where he was, and he was rescued. He was carried to the nearest house, and with some difficulty restored to warmth. The sleighing rarely passes without many such accidents occurring, merely through want of caution.
When the balmy breezes of spring again blew ever New Brunswick, circumstances had arisen which induced me to leave it, and though I loved it not as my native land, I sighed to go, so much of kindness and good feeling had I enjoyed among its dwellers; and I stood on the vessel's deck, gazing on it till the green trees and white walls of Partridge-Island faded in the distance, and the rolling waves of the Bay of Fundy, throwing me into that least terrestrial of all maladies, the "mal du mer," rendered me insensible of all sublunary cares.