The Evansville journal. [volume] (Evansville, Ind.) 1866-1870, 1868-12-21
to the general student are not nee
essary. The illustrations, too, are
very clear aud satisfactory.

to the general student are not nee
essary. The illustrations, too, are
very clear and satisfactory.
AMONG THE HILLS, and other poems,
BY JOHN g. w WHITTIER Boston FIELDS,
CLARKE il Co.
We close our Budget by referring
to this elegantly printed little volume,
containing the last poems from
Whittier's pen. We shall not COM
ment at length on the beauty of the
poetry. We will only copy single
love scene, from its pages, and then
see if any who reads can resist order
ing the book. After describing his
heroine, the poet tells how she was
wooed and won, as follows:
/" She sat beneath the broad-armed elms
That skirt the mOwing-meadow
And watched the gentle west wind weave
The grass with shine and shadow.
" Beside her, from the summer heat
To share her grateful screening,
With forehead barred. the farmer stood,
Upon his pitchfork leaning.
I" Framed in its damp, dark looks, his face
Had nothing mean or common
Strong, manly, true, the tenderness
And pride beloved of woman.
"she looked up. glowing with the health
The country air had brought her,
And, laughing, said, You lack wife,
Your mother lacks a daughter.
"'To mend your frock ana bake your
You do not need a lady;
Be sure among these brown old homes
Is some one waiting ready
=" Some fair, sweet girl, with skiIlful hand
And cheerful heart for treasure,
Who never played with ivory keys,
Or glanced the polka's measure.
"He bent his black brows to frown,
He set his white teeth tightly,
Ills WELL he said, for one like you
To choose for me so lightly.
'' You think, because my life is rude,
take no note of sweetness;
L tell You love has naughf to do
with meetness or unLneetneSs.
:" Itself it's best excuse, it asks
No leave of pride or fashion
When silken zone or homespun frock
1t stlrS with throbs of passion.
'"You think me deaf and blind, you bring
Your winning graces hither.
| AS free as If from cradle-time
We two had played together
a. You tempt me with your laughing eyes,
Your cheek of sundown's bushes,
| A motion as Of waving grain,
A music as of thrushes.
80 The plaything of your Summer sport,
| The spells you weave around me,
| You cannot at your VIII undo,
| Nor leave me as you found me.
ss'You go as lightly as you came,
Your life Is wen without me:
| What care you that these hills viii close
| Like prison walls about me?
St' No mood is mine to seek a wife,
Or daughter for my mother;
| Who loves you loses IN that love
All power to love another!
"1 dare your pity or your scorn,
| With pride your own exceeding;
| fling my heart into your lap
| Without word of pleading.
"She looked up in his face of pain
| So archly, yet so TENDER
And If lend you mine,' she said,
| 'W1ll you forgive the lender2
'a' Nor frock nor tan can hide the man,
And see you not, my farmer,
| How weak and fond woman waits
Behind this silken armor?
al love you a that love alone,
And not my worth, preSumlng,
| VIII you not trust for summer tfutt
The tree in May day bloomtng?"
| alone the hangbird overhead,
His nair-swung cradle stratning,
| Looked down to see loves miracle
| The giving that is gaining.
"And so the farmer found a wife,
| His motser found a daughter;
| There looks no happier home than hers
| On pleasant Bearcamp water"