Anti-slavery bugle. [volume] (New-Lisbon, Ohio) 1845-1861, 1847-03-19
POETRY.
The Western Emigrant.
ny LYDIA II. sIGoURNeY.

ny LYDIA H. s%IGoURNeY.
Amid those forest shades that proudly rear'd
Their unshorn beauty towards the ~iavoring
An axe rang sharply. There, with vigorous
Wrought a bold emigrant; while by his side
His little son with question and response
Beguiled the toll.
"Boy, thou hast never seen
Such glorious trees, and when their giant
trunks
Fall, how the firm earth groans. Remem-
berest thou
The mighty river on whose breast we said
SO many days on toward the setting sun!
Compared 10 that, our own Connecticut
Is but a creeping stream
"Father, the brook
That by our door went singing, when /
launch'd
My Tiny boat with all the sportive boys,
When school was DER, is dearer far to ne
Than all these deep, broad waters. To my
eye
They are as strangers. And those little trees
My mother planted in the garden bound
OF our f-St home, from whence The irl grant
peach
Fell in its ripening gold, were faireT sure
Than this dark forest shutting out the day."
What, no! my little girl,"-and with light
step
A fairy creature fastened towards her sire,
And setting down the basket that contain'd
The moons repast, look'd upward to his face
With sweet confding smile.
"See, dearest, see
Yon bright wing'd parroquet, and hear the
song
OF the gay red-bird echoing thro' the trees,
Making rich music. Did'st thou ever hear
In fair New England such a mellow tone 20
IL had a robin that did take the crumbs
Each night and morning, and his chIrping
voice
Did make me joyful, as | went to tend
My snow-drops. was always laughing
there,
In that frs: home. | should be happier now
Methinks, if | could find among these delIs
The same fresh v%iolets."
Slow nigh, drew m,
And round the rude hut of the emigrant
The wrathful spirit of the autumn storm
Spake bitter things his wearled children
slept,
And he, with head declin'd, sat listening
long
To the swoln waters of the Illinois,
Dashing against their shores. Starting, he
spake:
"Wife! did | see thee brush away a tear!
Say, was it so! Thy heart was with the
halls
OF thy nativity. Their sparkling lights,
Carpets and sofas, and admiring guests,
Beft thee better than these rugged walls
Ofshapeiess logs, and this lone hermit-holne.'
"No-no! All was SO still around, me-
thought,
Upon my ear that echoed hymn did steal
Which mid the church where erst we paid
our vows,
So tuneful peal'd. But tenderly thy voice
Dissolv'd the illusion and the gentle
smile
Lighting her brow, the fond caress that
sooth'd
Her waking infant, reassured his soul
That wheresoe'er The pure affections dtceH
lind strike a heaAhfuI root, is happiness.
Placid and grateful, to his rest he sank ;
But dreams, those wild magicians, which d
play
Such pranks when reason slumbers, tireles
wrought
Their will with him. Up rose the busy ma
OF his own native city, roof and spire
All glittering bright, in Fancy's frost-wor
ray.
Forth came remembered forms: with curvin
neck
The steed his boyhood nurtur'd, proud
~neigh'd-
The ~favorite dog, e~xulting round his feet
Frisked, with shrill, joyous bark; familia
Flew open-greeting hands with his wei
link'd
In friendships grasp-he heard the keen d
From congregated haunts, where mind wi
mind
Doth blend and brighten-and till morniI
rov'd
Mid the lov'd scenery of his father-land.
From The Boston Daily Whig.
Public Sentiment.