Anti-slavery bugle. [volume] (New-Lisbon, Ohio) 1845-1861, 1850-03-16
From the Independent.
Mother Margary.
ny GEORGE $. BunLBrGH.

ny oEoRoB .. BUnLBfGH.
On bleak ridge, from whose granite edges
Sloped the rough land to the grizzly north,
And where hemlocks clinging to the hedges,
Like a thinned bonditti struggled forth,
In q crouching, wormy-timbercd hamlet,
Mother Margary shivcred in tho cold,
With a tattcred robe of faded camlct
On her shoulders, crooked. weak and old.
Time ON her had done his cruel pleasure,
For her face was very dry and thin,
And the records Of his growing measure
Lined and eross-lined all her shriveled skin.
Scanty goods to her had been allotted,
Yet her thaiks rose oftencr than desire,
While her bony fingers, bent and knottcd
Fed with withercd twigs the dying fire.
Raw and dreary were the northern winters,
Winds howlcd pitilossly around her cot,
Or with rude sighs made the jarring splintcrs
Moan the misery she bcmoaned not.
Drifting tcmpcsts ratified ut her windows
And hung snow-wrcaths round her naked bed,
While the wind-Aows muttered on tho cindcrs
IN INC lisJ spnIh nutVCIcu anu was ucau.
Life had frcshcr hopes when she was younger,
But their dying wrung out no complaints;
Cold and Ponury and Neglect and Hunger
These to Margary were guardian saints.
or the pearls which one time were the stamens
Meath the pouting petals of her lips,
Only four stood yet, like swarthy Brahmins
Donanco ,,orto1 cro,,, Ill coIie,,-sI.,
And their clattor told the bcad-roll dismal
of grim saints as she sat alone;
While the tomb-path opened down abysmal,
Yet the sunlight through its portal shonc.
When she sat her head was praycrlikc bending,
When she rose it rose not any more,
Faster seemed her true heart graveyard tending,
Than her tired feet, weak and travcl-sorc.
She was mother Of the dead and scattered
/ Had been mother of the bravo and fair
/ But her branches bough by bough were scattered
Till her torn breast was left dry and bare.
| Yet she kncw-though sorcly dcsolatcd-
When the children of the Poor depart,
Their carth-vcsturcs arc but sublir.atcd,
So to gather closer in the heart.
With courage which had never fitted
Words to speak it to the soul it blcst,
She endured in silence and unpitied
Woes enough to mar stoutcr breast.
Thus was born such holy trust within her,
That tho graves of all who had been dear
To region clearer and scrcner
.... e.. n.
They were footsteps OH her Jacobs Ladder;
Angels to her were the Loves and Hopes
Which had left her purified but sadder,-
And they lured her to the emerald slopes
Of that Heaven, whore Anguish never flashes
Her rcd whip,-happy land where flower:
Blossom over the volcanic ashes
OF this bHghtcd, blighting world of ours.
All her power was a love of Goodncss
All her wisdom was a mystic faith,
That the rough worlds jargoning and rudcnes
Turns to music at the gate of death.
SO she walked while feeble limbs allowed her,
Knowing we'll that any stubborn grief
She might meet with, would no more thar
crowd her
To the walls whose opening was Relief.
So she lived an anchorcss of Sorrow,
Lone and peaceful ON the rocky slope,
And when burning trials came, would borrow
New fire of them for the lamp of Hope.
When at last her palsied hand in cropping
Ratified trcmulous at the gated tomb,
Heaven flashed around her joys beyond he
hoping,
And her young soul gladdened into bloom.