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This moment there, so low,
O change!-stupendous change!
The new immortal wakes-
I LOVE it, I love it; and who shall dare
To chide me for loving that old arm-chair?
I've bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with sighs
In childhood's hour I lingered near
The hallowed seat with listening ear;
She told me shame would never betide,
With truth for my creed and God for my guide;
She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer
As I knelt beside that old arm-chair.
I sat and watched her many a day,
When her eye grew ain, and her locks were gray;
"Tis past ! 'tis past! but I gaze on it now
Say it is folly, and deem me weak,
While the scalding drops start down my cheek;
My soul from a mother's old arm-chair.
SONG OF THE HEMPSEED.
Y, scatter me well, 'tis a moist Spring day,
And bravely I'll stand on the Autumn land
When the rains have dropp'd and the winds have blown.
Man shall carefully gather me up,
His hand shall rule and my form shall change, Not as a mate for the purple of state,
Nor into aught that is "rich and strange." But I will come forth all woven and spun,
With my fine threads curled in serpent length,
And the fire-wrought chain, and the lion's thick mane,
I have many a place in the busy world,
I am linked to childhood's darling toy.
Bravely I swing in the anchor ring
Where the foot of the proud man cometh not, Where the dolphin leaps, and the sea-weed creeps O'er the rifted sand and coral grot. Down, down below I merrily go
When the huge ship takes her rocking rest; The waters may chafe, but she dwelleth as safe As the young bird in its woodland nest. I wreathe the spars of that same fair ship
Where the gallant sea-hearts cling about,
Putting their faith in the cordage stout.
I abide with the bark, in the day and the dark,
Sons of evil, bad and bold,
Madly ye live and little ye reck,
The yarn is smooth and the knot is sure
Thinly they twine the halter line,
Yet when does the halter hitch or break?
My leaves are light and my flowers are bright—
But what think ye of me 'neath the gibbet-tree,
The people rejoice, the banners are spread;
From trellised porch and Gothic wall;
Gayly they laugh when I am found,
And rare music they make, till the quick peals shake
The sunshine falls on a new-made grave!
The poor man has come to the happiest home
I shall be there to lower him down
Gently into his narrow bed;
I shall be there, the work to share,
To guard his feet, and cradle his head.
may be seen on the hillock green,
Flung aside with the bleaching skull,
Till the sexton has done, and the grave is full.
Back to the gloomy vault I'm borne,
Leaving coffin and nail to crumble and rust,
Moistened with tears and clogged with dust:
Harvest shall spread with its glittering wheat;
The barn shall be opened, the stack shall be piled;
Let the sheaves go towering to the sky,
I will fetter the rolling load;
Not an ear shall escape my binding hold,
My threads are set in the heaving net,
Round and round I steadily twist,