Old Spookses Pass | Page 8

thro' my ruddy leaves."
"O, words!" said Katie, blushing, "only words!

You build them up that I may push them down;
If hearts are flow'rs,
I know that flow'rs can root--
"Bud, blossom, die--all in the same
lov'd soil;
They do so in my garden. I have made
Your heart my
garden. If I am a bud
And only feel unfoldment--feebly stir
Within
my leaves: wait patiently; some June,
I'll blush a full-blown rose, and
queen it, dear,
In your lov'd garden. Tho' I be a bud,
My roots strike
deep, and torn from that dear soil
Would shriek like
mandrakes--those witch things I read

Of in your quaint old books.
Are you content?"
"Yes--crescent-wise--but not to round, full moon.

Look at yon hill that rounds so gently up
From the wide lake; a
lover king it looks,
In cloth of gold, gone from his bride and queen;

And yet delayed, because her silver locks
Catch in his gilded fringes;
his shoulders sweep
Into blue distance, and his gracious crest,
Not
held too high, is plum'd with maple groves;--
One of your father's
farms. A mighty man,
Self-hewn from rock, remaining rock through

all."
"He loves me, Max," said Katie: "Yes, I know--
A rock is cup
to many a crystal spring.
Well, he is rich; those misty, peak-roof'd
barns--
Leviathans rising from red seas of grain--
Are full of ingots,
shaped like grains of wheat.
His flocks have golden fleeces, and his
herds
Have monarchs worshipful, as was the calf
Aaron call'd from
the furnace; and his ploughs,
Like Genii chained, snort o'er his
mighty fields.
He has a voice in Council and in Church--"
"He
work'd for all," said Katie, somewhat pain'd.
"Aye, so, dear love, he
did; I heard him tell
How the first field upon his farm was ploughed.

He and his brother Reuben, stalwart lads,
Yok'd themselves, side
by side, to the new plough;
Their weaker father, in the grey of life

(But rather the wan age of poverty
Than many winters), in large,
gnarl'd hands
The plunging handles held; with mighty strains
They
drew the ripping beak through knotted sod,
Thro' tortuous lanes of
blacken'd, smoking stumps;
And past great flaming brush heaps,
sending out
Fierce summers, beating on their swollen brows.
O,
such a battle! had we heard of serfs
Driven to like hot conflict with
the soil,
Armies had march'd and navies swiftly sail'd
To burst their
gyves. But here's the little point--
The polish'd di'mond pivot on
which spins
The wheel of Difference--they OWN'D the rugged soil,

And fought for love--dear love of wealth and pow'r,
And honest
ease and fair esteem of men;
One's blood heats at it!" "Yet you said
such fields
Were all inglorious," Katie, wondering, said.
"Inglorious?
yes; they make no promises
Of Star or Garter, or the thundering guns

That tell the earth her warriors are dead.
Inglorious! aye, the battle
done and won
Means not--a throne propp'd up with bleaching bones;

A country sav'd with smoking seas of blood;

A flag torn from the
foe with wounds and death;
Or Commerce, with her housewife foot
upon
Colossal bridge of slaughter'd savages,
The Cross laid on her
brawny shoulder, and
In one sly, mighty hand her reeking sword;

And in the other all the woven cheats
From her dishonest looms. Nay,
none of these.
It means--four walls, perhaps a lowly roof;
Kine in a
peaceful posture; modest fields;
A man and woman standing hand in

hand
In hale old age, who, looking o'er the land,
Say: 'Thank the
Lord, it all is mine and thine!'
It means, to such thew'd warriors of the
Axe
As your own father;--well, it means, sweet Kate,
Outspreading
circles of increasing gold,
A name of weight; one little daughter heir.

Who must not wed the owner of an axe,
Who owns naught else but
some dim, dusky woods
In a far land; two arms indifferent strong--"

"And Katie's heart," said Katie, with a smile;
For yet she stood on
that smooth, violet plain,
Where nothing shades the sun; nor quite
believed
Those blue peaks closing in were aught but mist
Which
the gay sun could scatter with a glance.
For Max, he late had touch'd
their stones, but yet
He saw them seam'd with gold and precious ores,

Rich with hill flow'rs and musical with rills.
"Or that same bud that
will be Katie's heart,
Against the time your deep, dim woods are
clear'd,
And I have wrought my father to relent."
"How will you
move him, sweet? why, he will rage
And fume and anger, striding
o'er his fields,
Until the last bought king of herds lets down
His
lordly front, and rumbling thunder from
His polish'd chest, returns his
chiding tones.
How will you move him, Katie, tell me how?"
"I'll
kiss him and keep still--that way is sure,"
Said Katie, smiling. "I have
often tried."
"God speed the kiss," said Max, and Katie sigh'd,
With
pray'rful palms close seal'd, "God speed the axe!"

O, light canoe, where dost thou glide?
Below thee gleams no silver'd
tide,
But concave heaven's chiefest pride.

Above thee burns Eve's rosy bar;
Below thee throbs her darling star;

Deep 'neath thy keel her round worlds are!

Above, below, O sweet surprise,
To gladden happy lover's eyes;
No
earth, no wave--all jewell'd sides!

PART II.
The South Wind laid his moccasins aside,
Broke his gay calumet of
flow'rs, and cast
His useless wampun, beaded