Bloomington herald. [volume] (Bloomington, I. T. [Iowa]) 1840-1849, 1844-03-29
= From the Home Journal and Citizen Soldier.
THE MAN OF THE HERMITAGE.
M GEORGE LIrpARD, ESQ,

! head arctied the azure dome Of the Heavens,
| and far, far around sweeps the gorgeous pros.
pect Of wood and field, uprising hill and green
meadow, the wood clothed with rainbow hues,
the hills all dusky brown. while the long grass
OF the meadows glitter with the first frost Of
autumn.
Our way has lain along yonder green mead.
ow, our footsteps crisping the tall grass at ev-
cry siep-come, let as rest ourselves on yon-
de1 stump Of giant oak, lie, US look forth up
on the sky from the interval between the
shrubs yet green with summer, and the chest
nut tree heavy with fruit, its long limbs
sweeping across our vision, while the broad
healthy leaves culver 10 and fro 10 the impulse
Of the momen,ary breeze.
Hark! A footstep!
A bold and determined fcotstep, yet an an.
cient man energies into view, and stands be-
fore the interval Of shrubbery and chestnut
tree, between our view and the red dawn Of
the uprising sun.
One hand resting on well used cane, while
the other lifts the white hat, half darkened by
Grape from his brow, be ssApds silent and i'm
movable, right between OUT eyes and the up
rising sun.
Tall, straight and erect as the red hunter Of
the forest in figure, with the por! Of natures
own moulded kings, the quie. majesty Of com.
| to the sky, and the blush Of dawn falls softly
over his noble face, the lofty massive brow
with the snow-whi,e hair, rising in masses a
| round its thoughtful outline, the keen piercing
eye. Swallowed by the grey brcws the deter.
mined nose, the firm mouth with compressed
| lips, the high cheek bones, the bold prominen:
chest. and the fuirowed wrinkles Of his visage
all are crimsoned by the uprising sun.
This is strange old man, aud he walks a.
broad at an carly hour. Who is the stran-
ger!
! Look again-he stiu gazes on the Heavens,
dye mark his eye! Dye mark how it dilates,
Pushes andy my soul-it burns =
Mighty thoughts cross the Old Mans soul at
this hour, swelling memories fill his aged
heart-eigh'y years are upon him with all
| their story and experience OF the worlds ways
and wrongs. yet the ancient stranger hath
blood, warm blood in his veins. and his soul
| is yet young, fresh as the swaying leaf Of the
aulumnal chestnut tree.
Tell US! what are the mighty thoughts that
cross his brain! Are they thoughts Of God!
| Colm dreo"s nf good old ago leaking hack IN
well spen, years! Mighty reveries Of former
glories the scene where the million applaud,
while the laurel falls freshly on the brow Of
the Conquerer. or the crowded temple where
the old Fire God Eloquence stirs men's hearts
to high purposes and glorious deeds, or the
chair Of Office, shaken to and fro by the rock
ing Of the popular earthquake. o. does he
dream Of the quiet solitude Of the eternal
grove.
Who is the stranger standing calmly and
cree, between US and the uprising sun, with
tho red blush Of the dawn falling over his
wrnkled face and snowy hair!
Not farmer in all This neighborins land,
tl,o Gold ri;
early dawn, wrapt in absorbing thought. no,
plo"gh-boy urging the sleek horses along the
furrow in the calmness Of purple twilight, but
has looked over his shoulder and beheld the
tail stranger. stridng slowly on a'org the
verge Of yonde1 hedge. his calm face nninrned
to tie sky, while his eyes dilated and flashed
with siIen, ye, mighty thought.
Who is the stranger!
!, is the happy Sabbath morn and passing
through the wcket-ga,e, built on the old stone
wall, we enter the rustic graveyard and stand
before the country church, rising grey and
massive in the clear sky, with the old doors
aud wndow-sills eaten by decay, clumps Of
green mess on the roof, the swallows twitter.
ing round the ancient steeple, with the sun.
shine glimmering over the cracked bell and
rusted vane.
We enter, we seat ourselves on the steps Of
the altar, for the church is crowded we listen
to the words of the aged preacher. whose mes
sage is of life and peace TO the minds OF Een,
from the Lord Jesus, the Cfucifed, the Arisen
and the Mediatorial.
Hark! muTmur, ouzZing sound runs
through rt:c U1rur.t, .Aa nreacher half.pauses,
and every eye is turned toward the door.
Who comes here?
ASH live, Ills our ancient friend, who stood
between our vision and the dawn not long ago.
! Ave he comes slowly along the aisle. his
white hat blackened by Grape in one hand his
cane in the other, while every eye belo'ds ms
lofty brow, the snowy hair and the command
ing countenance scanned by the Wrinkles o.
age. =, =,
Silently he takes his seat-all give way a,
his presence--silently he listens TO tue woro
of God, silently the Sabbath morning wears
away.
Who is the ancient man!
II A new scene! 80,
Here crowding round the bannisters OF the
circular railing in front Of the pulpit. kneei'ng
on the steps Of the altar bowling The heaos low
in silent awe, come young and old, rich and
! poor, come red-lipped youth, blooming NAL
dephood, mature matronage, stern manhood'
: and silver haired age. -.
In the midst stands the preacher. holding
aloft the cup and dread of God, speaking Of
the mystic meaning Of these divine emD1e!ns,
"a he extends the sacred food to the Tips Of
!, ace. or bes;ows the wine of life on the silent
, alteration Of youth.
! And here kneeling with rosy-cheeked mai
den on one side, an aged veteran OF the cross
on the other, here silently bows the stranger
; his long white hairs, hiding the muscular
r hands passed tremblingly over his vlsage; as
he lowers his head in voiceless prayer, mere
4. a 1ont An