The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1844-06-21
From the Citizen Soldier.
THE MAN OF THE HERMITAGE E
BY GEORGE LiPPARD, ESQ.

oh Iot
The morning sky was glowing wit
the soft warmth of the autumnal dawn
Tar, far over head arches the azur,
dome OF the heavens, and far, far aroun'
sweeps the gorgeous prospect Q
wood and field, uprising hill and greer
meadow, the wood clothed with rain
bow hues, the hill~all dusky brown
while the long grass of the meadow
glitters with the first white frost o
autumn.
Our way has lain along yonder greer
meadow, our footsteps crisping the tai
grass at every .step-come let us res
ourselves on yonder stump ofgiant oak
let us look forth upon the sky from tht
interval between the shrubs yet greer
with summer, and the chesnut tree
heavy with fruit, its long limbs sweep.
ing across our vision, while the broad
healthy leaves quivef to and fro, to the
impulse of the momentary breeze.
Hark! A footstep.
"A bold and determined foo tstep,
. yet an ancient man emerges into view,
and stands before the interval ofshrub-
berry and chesnut trees, between our
view and.the red dawn of the uprising
sun.
Tall, straight and erect as the red
hunter of the forest in figure, with the
, girt ofnatufe's own moulded kings, the
quiet majesty of command in every
jes!ure of his limbs, he gazes to the sky
and the blush of dawn falls softly over
his noble face, the lofty massive brow
with the snow white hair, rising IN mas
ses around its thoughtful outline, the
keen piercing eye, shadowed by the
grey brows, the determined nose, the
firm mouth with compressed lips, the
high cheeks, and bold prominent chest
and the furrowed wrinkles ofhis visage
-@.alt are crimsoned by the kiss of the
uprising sun. .t
This is strange old man, and he |
walks abroad at an early hour. Who
is the strangerl
Look again he still gazes on the heav-
ems. Dye mark his eye! Dye mark
how it dilates, flashes, ahdNby my
soul-it burns! Mighty thoughts cross
the old mans soul at this hour, sweled
memories fill lis aged heart-eighty
years upon him with all the story of
The worlds ways and wrongs, yet the
ancient stranger hath blood warm in
his veins, and his Soul is yet young,
fresh as the swaying leaf of the autum-
nal chesnut tree.
Tell US! What are the mighty
thoughts that cross his brain? Are
they thoughts Of God?--Calm dreams
of good old age, looking back to well
spent years? Mighty reveres of for
mer glories, the scene where millions
applaud, where the laural falls freshly
on the brow of the eonquerer, or the
crowded temple where the old firegod
Eloquence stirs mems hearts to higher
purposes and glorious deeds, or the
chair of office, shaken to and fro by the
rockings of the popular earthquake, or
does he dream of the quiet solitude OF /
the eternal grave? =
Who is the stranger standing calmly {
and erect between us and the light Of {
the uprising sun, with the red blush Of
the dawn falling over his wrinkled face
apd snowy hair! In
Not farmer in all this neighboring
and but has seen him thus traversing I
The field at early dawn, wrapt in alb /
sorbing thought--not a ploughboy urg- t
ing the sleek horse along the furrow in t
the calmness of purple twilight but has
looked over his shoulder and beheld the r
tall stranger striding slowly on along q
The verge of yonder hedge, his calm ]
ace upturned to the sky, while his eye a
lilated and flashed with silent yetmigh- q
" thought! O
Who is the stranger! S
1t is the happy Sabbath morn, and
passing through the wicket gate, built h
IN the old stone wall, we enter the rus O
ic grave yard and stand before the f
country church, rising grey and mas n
i've into the clear sky, with the old o