The weekly north Iowa times. [volume] (McGregor, Iowa) 1857-1867, 1862-12-24
Poetry.
FRANK WILSON.

Twas night at the farmhouse The fallen sun
shot his last red arrow up in the west
shadows came wolfshly stealing forth.
And chased the dush from the nountsin's crest
Night at the farm house The hickory fire
Laughed sud eapsi in the chin nsy's hold,
And baf1ed. with its war mirrh, tn" frost,
As be pried at the psnss with his fingers cold.
The chores we're ani- he'd and farmer West,
As hs slowly slipped frsm his fosning mug,
Toa s,ed his 'eet in calm content
And rejoicsd that the barns were warm and snug.
Washing the tea-things, with barred white arms,
Aud softly humminz . love refrain
With smooth brown braid., and cheeks Of rose,
Washed and warbled his daughter Jane.
She was the mt that his dear wife left,
When she died, some nineteen Mays before;
The light and The warmth OF the old farm-homs.
And cherished by him to his great hearts core.
A sweet. fair girl yet twas not so much
The Shi,n Of feature that made her so
Twas loves own ten derness In her eyes,
And on Lor cheeks loves sunri,s glow.
Done were the te things; the rounded arms
Again were co"ered. the vide hearth brushed;
The, IRON the mante .he took some work,
Twas Il soldiers sock, and her song was hushed.
Her s.ng wa. hu>hed for tsnderer thoughts
Thaa ever we're bodied in word sound,
Trembsd like stars her downcast eyes,
A. she knit In the dark yarn round and round.
A neighbours rap mt the outer door
And h" came. with stamping Of heavy boots,
Frost-wreathsd brow ana mufiied chin
"Come up to the fire. Prett, cold tonight
" hat news do you get from the village to-day
Did you call Tor our papers! All! yes, much Obliged
" hat news do you get from our Company Kr'
"Bad new. = bad news ~ lie >lowly unwiads
His mufiier, AID wipes his frost-frnge eyes,
'Frank Wilson was ouc on the picket last night,
And was kille by some cursed rebel spies.
n C,d ,S,o
Fling the lite back to that whitening cheekl
Lei not the pent breath forever stay
From the lips, too white ana dumb to speak
"Frank Wilson killed ah too bad-too bad,
The fns-t young man, by tar, in this town
Such are the otfc rings we give to war.
Jane, draw fresh mug uegh5or Brown"
Neither did notice her faltsring step;
Neither gave heed to her quivering hand,
That awAwaidly funded the cear-door,
Aud spilled the cider upon the stand.
Bat he father dreamed, as he slept that night,
j hat HI darling had met some fearful woe
And he dreamed OF "eari " her stifed means,
Aud her Glow steps pacing to aud fro.
Twas April day, in the balm Y spring.
The farm house fires had gone to sleep,
The Windows we're open to sun anc breeze,
The hill, were dotted with snowy sheep.
The great elms rustled their new LIED leaves
Softly over the old brown root
And tia. sun> hne, red with sayory smoke
Fell graciousN through their emerald woof
Sounds--spring sound, which the country Yields:
Voices oil laborer., lowing OF herd,
The cav OF the crow the swollen brooks roar, {.
The spoItsman'S gun, and the twitter OF birds,
Ne ted like dim dreams into the air ;
Twas the II. ure shadow OF summer near,
Which tell - weetly plain aud wood
And brought tie" adness on eye and ear.
But a facS looks out to the purple hills,
wasted lace that i tuIl OF woe.
" Wan yet calm, like Il suramer moon
That has lost the round Of It, fullest glow.
The smooth brown brads still wreathe her head;
i1er siu,i lie garment full of grace,
A. II, with color und taste. She lain
"outd ward Oh eyes from her palins face.
IT'S morning hour, but the werk is done
The hou~e o peacefuiiy bright within,
Anu the Wild wood leaves on the mantel shelf
letl how busy her feet have been.
She sits by the window and watches a cloud
Fading away in the hazy sky
Aud Like ttlat cloud" she says in her heart,
''Wh hen summer Is over, too shall die"
he door, ard gate swings to with a clang
she must not sadden her aherso;
: he springs to her ieet with merrier air,
Aud pinchss her face to make it glow.
But ah. no need far a ru il;er red
Than rinche, can bring food brow and cheek
She stand tran fixed b, IA mighty JOY;
Fer millions OF wol Ids I'll, cannot speak.
Frank Wilson gathers her clio to his heart,
With Frightening glance he reads that glow,
And draws from the wells OF her joy-lit ewes
The secret lie long las yearned to kuow.
Frank Wilson living aud strong and we'll :;
Nere you not killed by the rebels say ?"
"rhank G"d wa. not Twas another man
There were t~o Frank Wilson's in Company X"
The church-bell in the distant town
Chime> softly tsrth for twelve o'clock
Another clang OF the door-y ard gate,
A sudden hush ia the tender talk
She flies to meet him the tran sformed child!
her heart keeps time to the ringing tread
%, father! he's come J" and shee seds more
To pinch her cheeks to maze them red