Anti-slavery bugle. [volume] (New-Lisbon, Ohio) 1845-1861, 1851-04-19
Martha Hopkins,
A BALLAD OF iSDiASA.-nr THE Musn.


From the kitchen, Martha Hopkins as she stoo
there making pics,
Southward looks along the turnpike, with he
hand above her eyes;
Where along the distant hill side, her ycarlin
heller feeds,
And little grass is growing in mighty sigh
Of weeds.
All the Dir is full of noises, for there isn't an
school,
And boys, with turned up pantaoons, are wad
ding in the pool;
Blithcly frisk, unnumbercd chickens, cacklinc
for they cannot laugh,
Where the airy submits brighten, nimbly lean
the little calf.
Gentle eyes of Martha Hopkins tell me where
fore do yc gaze
On the ground that's being furrowed for tn,
planting of the maize
Tell me, wherefore down tho valley, yo have
traced the turnpiko's way,
Far beyond the ttle-pasturc, and the brickyard
with its clay'
All the dog-wood tree may blossom, and tho
dooryard grass may shine,
With the tears of amber dropping from the
washing on the line
And the mornings breath Of balsam, lightly
brush her frccklcd check
Little rccketh Martha Hopkins of the tales Of
spring they speak.
When the summers burning solstice on tho
scanty harvest glowcd,
She had watched n man on horseback riding
down the turnpike road;
Many times she saw him turning, looking back
ward quite lororn,
I'LL amid the tears she lost him, in the shadow
Of the barn.
Ere the supper time was over, no had passed
the kiln of brick,
Crossed the rushing Yellow River, and had for
ded quite a creek,
And his Hat boa. load was taken, Mt tho time
for pork and beans,
With the traders of the Wabash, to tho wharf
at New Orleans.
Therefore watches Martha Notwithstanding in
her hand the pans,
When the sound of distant footsteps seems
exactly like a mans;
Not wind the stove-pipe rattlcs, not a door
behind her jars,
But she seems to hear the ratio Of his letting
down the bars.
Often secs she men on horseback, coming down
the turnpike rough,
But they come not as John Jackson, she can see
it well enough;
We'll she knows the sober trotting of the snrrcl
horse he keeps,
As he joss along at leisure, with his head down
like q sleeps.
She would know him mid thousand, by his
homemade coat and vost
By his socks, which were blue woolen, such as
farmers wear out west;
By the color OF his trowscrs, and his saddle,
which was spread,
BY blanket which was taken for that purpose
from the bed.
None like he the yoke Of hickory, on the unbro-
ken colt can throw,
None amid his fathers corn. fields use like him
the spade and Doe;
And Mt all the npple-cuttings, few indeed the
mon arc seen,
That can dance with him tho polka, touch with
him the violin.
ho has said to Martha Hopkins, and she thinks
she hears him now,
For she knows as well as can be, that he meant
to keep his vow,
When the buckeye tree had bossomcd, and
your uncle plants his corn,
Shall the bells OF Indiana usher in tho wedding
morn,
ifc has pictured his relations, in his Sunday hat
and gown
And he thinks he'll get a carriage, and they'll
spend day in town;
That their love will newly kindlc, and what
comfort it will give,
To sit down to the first breakfast, in tho cabin
where they'll live.
Tender eyes of Martha Hopkins what has got
you in such a scrape,
lis tear that falls to glitter on the ruie Of her
cape,
IA the eye of love may brighten, to be cor-
tain what it secs,
'ne man looks much like another when half
hidden by the trees.
ut her eager eyes rekindle, sho forgets tho pics
and bread,
$ she secs man on horseback, round the cor
ner Of the shed,
ow tic on another apron, get tho comb and
smooth your hair,
lis the sorrel horse that gollops, It's John Jack
sons self that's there.