Sunbury American. [volume] (Sunbury, Pa.) 1848-1879, 1855-07-14
Selett poetrpg.
THE TOWN CHILD AND COUNTRY
CHILD.
BY ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

BY ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
Child of the Country! free as air
Art thou, and as the sunshine fair
Born, like lilly, where the dew
Lies odorous when the day is new;
Fed, mid the May-howers, like the bee,
Nursed to sweet music on the knee,
Lulled in the breast to that glad tune
Which winds make 'mong the woods of June
l sing of thee-'tis sweet TO sing
OF such fair and gladstone thing.
Child of the Town for thee / sigh;
a gilded roofs thy golden sky
A carpet is thy daisied sod
A narrow street thy boundless road
Thy rushing deers thy chattering tramp
fwatchmen-thy best lights lamp
Through smoke, and not though trelised vines
And blooming trees, thy sunbeam shines,
| sing of thee in sadness where
Else is wreck wrought in aught so fair
Child of the Country thy small feet
Tread on Strawberries red and sweet:
With thee | wander forth to see
The flowers which most delight the bee;
The bush DER which the throstle sung,
In April while she nursod her young
The den beneath the slow thorn where
She bred her twins, the timorous hare;
The knoll wrought DER with wild blue bells
Where brown bees build their balmy cells
The greenwood stream, the shady pool
Where trouts leap when the day is cool
The shilia's nest, that seems to be
\ portion OF the sheltering tree;
a nd other marvels which my verse
Can find no language TO rehcarse.
Child of the Town for thee alas
Glad Nature spreads no flowers nor grass;
Birds build no nests, nor in the sun
Glad streams come singing as they run;
a Maypole is thy blossomed tree,
A beetle is thy murmnring bee;
lhy bird is Gagged, thy dove is where
Thy poulterer, dwells, beside thy hare
Thy fruit is plucked, and by the pound,
IlawEed clamorous all the city round,
No roses twin born on the stalk
Perfume thee in thy evening walk;
No voice of birds-but TO thee comes
The mingled din of cars and drums,
The startling cries such as are rife
When wine and wassail waken strife.
Child Of the Country on the lawn
| see thee like the bounding fawn;
Blithe as the bird which tries its wing
Bright as the sun, when from the cloud
He comes, as cocks are growing loud
Now running, shouting mid sunbeams,
Now cropping fronts in lucid streams,
Now spinning like mill wheel round,
Now hunting Echos empty sound,
Now climbing up some old tall tree
For climbing sake. 'Tis sweet to thee
To sit where birds can sit alone,
Or share with the thee thy yenturous throne
Child of the Town and bustling street.
What woes and snares await thy feet
Thy paths are paved for five long miles,
Thy groves and hills are peaks and tiles
Thy fragrant air is yon thick smoke
Which shrouds thee like morning cloak
And thou art cabined and confined
At once from sun and dew and wind,
Or set thy tottcring feet but on
Thy heightened walks of slippery stone;
The coachman there careerng reels
With goaded steeds and maddening wheels
W hile flushed at wine and stung at play,
Men rush from darkness into day:
The streams too strong for thy small bark,
There naught can sail save what is stark.
Fly from the Town, sweet child for health
Is happiness, and strength, and wealth.
There is a lesson in each flower,
A story III each stream and bower;
On every herb on which you tread,
Are written words which rightly read,
viii lead you from earth!s fragrant sod,
10 hope, and holiness and God.