Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1855-03-01
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ettytlittle incident, connected wi
Village Cottages, prettily teld by
most gifted daughters
Of Waterbury. We find
aie'' Repository. Ed. OF FREE
ATHENwOoD.
A LHGEND OF ST. MINNIE.
by THE AUTHOR OF "EARTH's ANGRLs."
Were you ever in. Montpelier
Not that fine old town of France,
But a fair Green Mountain village
Young for legend or romance.
Brave and hardy are the people
OF our northern state frontier
80 afiirms bold invader,*
And the knowledge cost him dear.
Firm in Doric strength and beauty
Stands their Capitol its. dome
Looking down upon river
Something like the stream OF Rome.
Winding through the verdant valley,
Like shaken silver chain,
Flows the mountain-born Winooski
To the beautiful Champaign.
But we follow not his current,
For the theme. will bid us stay
'Mong the hills that nurse his torrent,
Near the Capitol, to-day.
just across the sparkling river,
Where yon hll-road winds away,
Lightly lifts the graceful elm-trce
Many u slender waving spray.
Where the tiny song-birds rally,
Chirping from their leafy screen,
And the mountain breezes daily,
Coming down bright ravine.
There, above the village murmur,
Aud the din of mill and forge,
Stands an artists quiet dwelling,
In the green and narrow gorge.
On sultry day Of summer
Sank beneath the wayside tree,
One who sighed, in foreign accent,
"Mary Mother, pity mel"
Twas sad and weary woman,
With child Of tender years
On her feet the soil Of travel,
On her face the stain of tears.
Surely she can toll no farther
Meath the bright IMPLYING sky;
But for that sweet, patient infant,
1t were well that she should die
Hers had been happy bridal
In distant father-land;
Hers u husband, brave and noble,
Firm yet gentle, hopeful, bland.
Tyranny proclaimed him rebel,
For patriot heart.had he
They, in want, had fled from peril
lie was buried in the sea.
her land of cross and convent,
Sweet Madonna, pale and fair,
Shrine OF saint, or tomb Of martyr,
Wins the stricken soul to prayer.
Now she scansfthat peaceful cottage
Gray Its walls and sloping caves
Lifting up its modest gables
Carved in pendant oakcn leaves,
Rustic porch with open portal,
ArcheJ windows, diamond pane
Sure it bore no slight resemblance
To some humble rural fame.
Was it not wayward chapel,
Built In form of holy cross
Was it hermitage or dwelling
Long she mused, and much at loss,
Till an organ-tone came swelling
On the silent summer air;
Quick she mounts the rocky terrace
Lifts her child from stair to stair.
Wood, Of Athenwood, was absent;
Minnie had sat down.to play
Hopeful hymns that cheered her husband
These should while the hour away.
On she played and sang, ulheedins
Her who on the threshold stood,
Dreaming Of an old cathedral
Far beyond tlie ocean-food.
Through the curtain came the sunlight
With a crimson-tinted ray;
So II fell, from storied window,
Where in youth she kneeled to pray.
Near her stood slender table,
With Parian vase upon't,
Quantity carved foom antique sculpture
Was 1t not marble fontl
On the walls hung glowing pictures
Autumn scenery. richly wrought,
Graceful forms, and gentle features
Not the haloed head she sought.
When the soaring authem ended,
Timidiy she moved to say,
LADY, please. is it chapel!
have need to rest and pray"
Oh, not utterly mistaken
Was that simple iervent heart
Less than only Heaven, own altar
Is the shrine Of Love and Art.
Minnie placed couch with pillows,
Offering rest and sweet relief;
Spoke as woman speaks to woman
In her trial-hour Of grief.
Bringing food, the cup of water,
Cov'ring for the sunburned child,
Laughed the winsome little creatnre--
Sweet the wayworn pilgrim smiled.
"Now my weary heart Is lighter
Mary Mother heard my plant
II found no priestly altar,
Surely I've not missed saint"
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