Page:Poems and essays (IA poemsessays00howerich).pdf/24
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Acadia.
For us they freely pour'd life's crimson tide,—
For us they labor'd, and for us they died.
And though they rest in no time honor'd tomb,
Acadia's wild flowers o'er their ashes bloom.
Oh! could they now her smiling fields behold,
While in the breezes wave their crops of gold,
While on her thousand hills, her children stand,
And Peace and Plenty crown the happy land,
'Twould glad their Spirits, like some Seraph's strain
To know they had not toiled, and died in vain.
For us they labor'd, and for us they died.
And though they rest in no time honor'd tomb,
Acadia's wild flowers o'er their ashes bloom.
Oh! could they now her smiling fields behold,
While in the breezes wave their crops of gold,
While on her thousand hills, her children stand,
And Peace and Plenty crown the happy land,
'Twould glad their Spirits, like some Seraph's strain
To know they had not toiled, and died in vain.
They felled the forest trees with sturdy stroke,
The virgin soil, with gentle culture broke,
Scatter'd the fruitful seeds the stumps between,
And Ceres lured to many a sylvan scene.
Then rose the Log House by the water side,
Its seams by moss and sea weed well supplied,
Its roof with bark o'erspread—its humble door
Hung on a twisted withe—the earth its floor,
With stones and harden'd clay its chimney form'd,
Its spacious hearth by hissing green wood warmed,
Round which, as night her deep'ning shadows throws,
The Hamlet's wearied inmates circling close.
The sturdy settler lays his axe aside,
Which all day long has quell'd the forest's pride.
The wooden cleats that from the walls extend,
Receive his gun, his oft tried faithful friend,
Which crowns his frugal board with plenteous meals,
And guards his rest when sleep his eye-lids seals.
The virgin soil, with gentle culture broke,
Scatter'd the fruitful seeds the stumps between,
And Ceres lured to many a sylvan scene.
Then rose the Log House by the water side,
Its seams by moss and sea weed well supplied,
Its roof with bark o'erspread—its humble door
Hung on a twisted withe—the earth its floor,
With stones and harden'd clay its chimney form'd,
Its spacious hearth by hissing green wood warmed,
Round which, as night her deep'ning shadows throws,
The Hamlet's wearied inmates circling close.
The sturdy settler lays his axe aside,
Which all day long has quell'd the forest's pride.
The wooden cleats that from the walls extend,
Receive his gun, his oft tried faithful friend,
Which crowns his frugal board with plenteous meals,
And guards his rest when sleep his eye-lids seals.
As cautiously the miser locks his store,