Wild Flowers | Page 3

live long, but I for ever?Shall know I gave the beast his due.
"'Mongst all I've known of plows and carts,?And ever since I learn'd to drive,?He was not match'd in all these parts;?There was not such a horse alive!
"Ready, as birds to meet the morn,?Were all his efforts at the plough;?Then, the mill-brook with hay or corn,?Good creature! how he'd spatter through!
Character continued.
"He was a horse of mighty pow'r,?Compact in frame, and strong of limb;?Went with a chirp from hour to hour;?Whip-cord! 'twas never made for him.
"I left him in the shafts behind,?His fellows all unhook'd and gone,?He neigh'd, and deem'd the thing unkind.?Then, starting, drew the load alone!
"But I might talk till pitch-dark night,?And then have something left to say;?But, Mary, am I wrong or right,?Or, do I throw my words away?
Something like Consent.
"Leave me, or take me and my horse;?I've told thee truth, and all I know:?Truth should breed truth; that comes of course;?If I sow wheat, why wheat will grow."
"Yes, Abner, but thus soon to yield,?Neighbours would fleer, and look behind 'em;?Though, with a husband in the field,?Perhaps, indeed, I should not mind 'em.
"I've known your generous nature well,?My first denial cost me dear;?How this may end we cannot tell,?But, as for Bayard, bring him here."
Parting of the Lovers.--Sad News.
"Bless thee for that," the plowman cried,?At once both starting from the seat,?He stood a guardian by her side,?But talk'd of home,--'twas growing late.
Then step for step within his arm,?She cheer'd him down the dewy way;?And no two birds upon the farm?E'er prated with more joy than they.
What news at home? The smile he wore?One little sentence turn'd to sorrow;?An order met him at the door.?"Take Bayard to the dogs to-morrow."
The Journey renewed.
Yes, yes, thought he; and heav'd a sigh,?Die when he will he's not your debtor:?I must obey, and he must die,--?That's if I can't contrive it better.
He left his Mary late at night,?And had succeeded in the main,?No sooner peep'd the morning light?But he was on the road again!
Suppose she should refuse her hand??Such thoughts will come, I know not why;?Shall I, without a wife or land,?Want an old horse? then wherefore buy?
Perplexity
From bush to bush, from stile to stile,?Perplex'd he trod the fallow ground,?And told his money all the while?And weigh'd the matter round and round.
"I'll borrow," that's the best thought yet;?Mary shall save the horse's life.--?Kind-hearted wench! what, run in debt?Before I know she'll be my wife?
These women wo'nt speak plain and free.--?Well, well, I'll keep my service still;?She has not said she'd marry me,?But yet I dare to say she will.
A fresh Thought--Turns back.
But while I take this shay brain'd course,?And like a fool run to and fro,?Master, perhaps, may sell the horse!?Therefore this instant home I'll go.
The nightly rains had drench'd the grove,?He plung'd right on with headlong pace;?A man but half as much in love?Perhaps had found a cleaner place.
The day rose fair; with team a-field,?He watch'd the farmer's cheerful brow;?And in a lucky hour reveal'd?His secret at his post, the plough.
Coming to the Point--Generosity
And there without a whine began,?"Master, you'll give me your advice;?I'm going to marry--if I can--?And want old Bayard; what's his price!
"For Mary Jones last night agreed,?Or near upon't, to be my wife:?The horse's value I don't heed,?I only want to save his life."
"Buy him, hey! Abner! trust me I?Have not the thought of gain in view;?Bayard's best days we've seen go by;?He shall be cheap enough to you."
Symptoms of good Feelings.
The wages paid, the horse brought out,?The hour of separation come;?The farmer turn'd his chair about,?"Good fellow, take him, take him home.
"You're welcome, Abner, to the beast,?For you're a faithful servant been;?They'll thrive I doubt not in the least,?Who know what work and service mean."
The maids at parting, one and all,?From different windows different tones;?Bade him farewel with many a bawl,?And sent their love to Mary Jones.
Victory!
He wav'd his hat, and turn'd away,?When loud the cry of children rose;?"Abner, good bye!" they stopt their play;?"There goes poor Bayard! there he goes!"
Half choak'd with joy, with love, and pride,?He now with dainty clover fed him,?Now took a short triumphant ride,?And then again got down and led him.
And hobbling onward up the hill,?The widow's house was full in sight,?He pull'd the bridle harder still,?"Come on, we shan't be there to-night."
Victory!
She met them with a smile so sweet,?The stable-door was open thrown;?The blind horse lifted high his feet,?And loudly snorting, laid him down.
O Victory! from that stock of laurels?You keep so snug for camps and thrones,?Spare us one twig from all their quarrels?For Abner and the Widow Jones.
[Illustration: a table.]
TO MY OLD OAK TABLE.
Friend of my peaceful days! substantial friend,?Whom wealth can never change, nor int'rest bend,?I love thee like a child. Thou wert to me?The dumb companion of my misery,?And oftner of my joys;--then as I spoke,?I shar'd